Emily concentrated on Volkov’s words.
The change will be slow.
There was a chance. Her mother had to live.
Emily immediately chastised herself for this; how could she choose any of them? But what would happen if she refused? Volkov and the countess would probably choose for her, and kill the rest. Apart from Victoria, of course, she would be left to cross the threshold into death and new life.
One of the bodies stirred; it was Simone.
“What the hell is going on?” she murmured. She twisted her body and realised that her hands were bound above her head. “Oh, shit.”
“Whuzzit?” Nick garbled, responding to Simone’s voice and opening his eyes, followed by a yawn that invigorated him a little. “Did something happen?”
“Too right something happened, we’re fucking tied up,” Simone said, energy flooding back now that she was awake. She clocked Volkov and Emily almost immediately.
“Oy!” she cried at Volkov indignantly. “What the hell do you think you’re doing you little pervert?”
She scanned Emily quickly then turned back to Volkov again, the anger clear on her fierce, beautiful face. “You’ve put her in a white dress. An honest to God white dress! This is absolutely bloody ridiculous, what sick fantasies of yours are you subjecting my best friend to, eh?’ I swear when I get out of this I’m going to completely own you; you understand that you blood sucking son of a bitch?”
Emily cringed, now ever more conscious of the scrap of clothing that barely covered her. The infamous Simone bravado would not get her very far here. But at the same time, her friends’ words resonated with her. Was she just a part of some fantasy, not even a person in her own right? She sat and pondered this, wishing that she didn’t have to look at them.
Volkov rolled his eyes. “I would have my lady deal with you were she not occupied with the frivolities of ladies’ gowns. But for now, you may bask in the knowledge that you may die tonight.”
Simone went pale beneath her smudged makeup. “What?”
Nick was looking up at the bindings on their arms fixedly.
“Rope,” he said to himself. No one heard him.
Simone became even more agitated. She began to thrash her body wildly, swinging about with all the strength that she could muster. Some plaster from the ceiling came loose and flaked down to the floor, fluttering in the air like white butterflies.
“Don’t,” Nick said. “You’ll bring it down. It could kill us.”
The ruckus stirred the others, until all five of them were awake and asking their own questions, shouting over one another. Volkov raised his hands like a negotiator.
“Be still,” he said, simply.
Like magic, a calm settled in the room and everything fell quiet once again. Even Emily could feel it, his bid sitting on her skin like a cloak. She wished that she could shrug it off.
I’ll get you out, she thought. These were words that she couldn’t speak. I promise, I’ll get you out.
“So, Miss Emily,” Volkov said, turning to her. “Who will it be?”
Emily pushed herself up from the slab and back onto uncertain legs. She wobbled a little but worked furiously to retain her balance. When she was upright, she gave Volkov a contemptuous glare and clenched her fists.
“You can’t expect me to make this choice,” she said. “It’s abominable that you would ask me to do this at all.”
Volkov approached her and she resisted the urge to flinch back. She needed to stand her ground. He placed his hand against the small of her back, the coldness of his touch penetrating through the thin material of her dress. She gasped at the feeling, but remained standing nonetheless. He gave her a gentle but insistent push, urging her forward. She tried to remain in her spot, working to keep her feet rooted to the ground, but his strength outweighed hers by a considerable measure. He was taller and his arms possessed more muscle than she could ever hope for. Her body had always been slight, physically weak. She moved forward as he demanded. She didn’t want to have to go any closer; she knew she wouldn’t be able to look anyone in the eye.
“If you speak to them, they will speak back,” Volkov said from over her shoulder; he was following her walk towards the middle of the ballroom. “Other than that, they are silenced. We are capable of many things, Miss Emily, do you see this?”
Emily nodded. “Oh yes, I see it, as clear as day, though I suppose you wouldn’t know much about that, would you?”
Volkov laughed. “How very charming.”
“It’s not charming,” Emile said sourly. “It’s just the truth.”
“I used to know the sun,” Volkov replied, voice measured and careful. “Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away…”
She threw her hands over her ears and began humming, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping that this would somehow work against his poisonous words.
“No, stop it, I don’t want to know about you and I don’t want to be like you!” Emily cried, pressing her hands against her ears harder.
Then his hands were around her wrists and holding tightly, squeezing into her skin painfully. He tore her hands her ears and roughly clamped her arms to her sides. She stood there, pinned, and found herself looking straight into Volkov’s eyes once again. It always seemed to come to this, her trapped in his gaze and feeling helpless.
Their faces were so close together, the tips of their noses brushing lightly against each other. Over time Emily had managed to become mildly accustomed to the smell that followed Volkov around, but she was still not used to the stink of him when he was up close. He smelled of death itself; it wasn’t the sort of thing that you ever really got used to.
“You have to choose, Miss Emily,” Volkov said sternly, a dangerous edge to his voice. “It’s part of the ritual.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Emily said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want any part of this!”
“And how many times must I tell you that what you desire is irrelevant, Miss Emily?” Volkov leaned in even closer, resting his lips along her jaw. “It is what is destined. You cannot fight what is destined. This is something that you will have to learn.”
He kissed her neck then, and a shudder of revulsion shot through her. “Please don’t do that.”
She felt his smile against her skin. “And what will you do if I refuse, Miss Emily? It is time. You must make your decision or I shall be forced to take matters into my own hands. This is not something that you want, trust me when I say this.”
Then, thankfully, he stepped back. Emily moved closer to her captured friends and family hesitantly, only able to conquer the debilitating fear a little bit at a time. She was trying, desperately, to figure out what she could do. It was becoming more and more hopeless by the second. She looked at them all, one by one, and they met her eyes with their own, communicating what could not be spoken.
“I’m so sorry, all of you,” Emily whispered. “I don’t know what I can do.”
She turned shakily to Volkov. “If I choose one, you’ll let the rest go?”
Volkov nodded tersely. “But of course, Miss Emily, I would not dream of doing otherwise.”
“Is your promise worth anything?”
He smiled enigmatically, his mouth tugging up a little at the corners. “That is for me to know,”
“And me to find out,” Emily finished, giving her own terse nod in return. “All right.”
She was trying with all her intellectual power to conjure up a plan that would work this time, one that accounted for the second vampire. It wasn’t working, she knew it wasn’t.
She went around the edge of the chandelier, so that she could see everyone. She started with her mother, who looked at her with heavily lidded eyes. She was exhausted but awake, if only just.
“Mum, I’m sorry that I got you into this,” Emily said.
Victoria attempted to lift her head a little higher, so that she could really look at her daughter.
“Emily… keep fight
ing…” her voice was breathy, ragged with sickness. “I’m not… angry with you… could never… I love you.”
Her head dropped, as if the weight had become too much to bear, and she was silent again. Emily’s heart squeezed with sorrow. She could never choose her mother, and besides, there was still a chance that she could be saved. She went to her father and drew the same conclusion before speaking to him. But when she did, this is what she said:
“Dad, you and mum are two of the greatest people in the world. I hope you know that. I’m sorry that you both got dragged into this. I never meant for it to be this way.”
Christopher went to speak and for a moment it was like his mouth was gummed up and he couldn’t form words. Then, everything cleared and he was finally able to say what he needed to.
“If I had more words I would have more to say, but I don’t,” Christopher sounded the way that he always did, like her father. “I’ll just say this. Do what you must, and good luck. We both love you, okay?”
Emily nodded. “Okay.”
“Really, Miss Emily, I must ask that you hurry along,” Volkov interjected, folding his arms.
She went to Abrahms, who looked at her with a fixed stare, grey eyes steely and determined.
“Pray for me, Reverend,” she said, and that was all.
He nodded once, slowly. “I failed you.”
She smiled gently. “No, you didn’t.”
Next it was Nick, and Emily simply apologised once more for dragging him into this mess with her.
“I only wish I could have known you better, in more normal circumstances,” she finished with a weak laugh, unable to keep the sadness from her words despite forced joviality. Nick shifted uncomfortably.
“It has to be me,” he said, suddenly, as if he knew he only had so much time. Emily’s eyes slid to Volkov, who did nothing more than twitch one dark eyebrow. “Emily, you have to choose me. You must. Come on, you know how it goes in these stories. Someone has to die, right? And let’s face it, I mean...”
He stared at her imploringly; Emily could hardly stand it. She could hear Simone thrashing angrily, but Emily wouldn’t look at her. She could imagine it, though; her choppy blonde hair flying about her face as she furiously tried to object. Instead, Emily looked at the man who had been unfairly brought into this nightmare of a situation.
“Nick,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Nick glanced up, then back at her pointedly; it was a swift movement, disguised by him wriggling as if to escape. Emily looked up as slyly as she could and briefly saw the rope tied up at the top. It was starting to fray, just a little bit. Perhaps Nick had a plan. She hoped that he had a plan.
Emily walked away, a tear slipping silently down her cheek. Finally, there was Simone, who was clearly frustrated by her inability to speak and was choosing to express this frustration physically. She continued to twist back and forth, wrists chafing against the rope. If she could speak, it was guaranteed that she would swear a blue streak. Emily stood and watched her in silence for a while, waiting for her to calm herself down. However, it quickly became evident that Simone had no interest in calming down, so she spoke.
“Simone, come on,” Emily said. “I need you to be strong, okay?”
“Are you fucking serious with this shit?” Simone spat, words coming back like a candle burning twice as bright for half as long. “Emily, you can’t go along with this! You’ll die, for God’s sake!”
Emily sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think it’s as simple as that, Si. It seems to me that there are two choices and neither of them are good.”
“You’re smart, Em, you’ll figure it out,” Simone said. “I trust you. I really do. I just don’t want you to die. There has to be another way out of this.”
Emily felt a sob bubbling up in her chest, but she pushed it down.
“Don’t hate me for what I’m about to do,” she whispered.
Simone’s eyes widened quizzically, but Emily was already walking away, back to where Volkov stood. She stopped by his side, glancing at him askance.
“I will never forgive you for this,” she hissed.
Volkov kept his arms folded. “I did not ask to be forgiven. Have you made your choice?”
Emily dropped her head, unable to look at him any longer. “Yes.”
“Then speak it, Miss Emily.”
Emily took a long, slow breath. “I choose Nick. I’m sorry, Simone. I’m so, so sorry.”
She didn’t look at her while she said it. She couldn’t turn back to face any of them. She could only imagine the look on Simone’s face, and for a terrible, selfish moment she was glad that her best friend could not speak to rightly condemn her. But she had to do as Nick asked; he was on to something, she was sure of it. She couldn’t bear the thought of killing him. It was far too much for her to comprehend. The act of killing was baffling, but the idea of killing someone whose only crime was being vaguely associated with a woman that’s gotten herself caught up with monsters was entirely impossible to her. She had one scrap of hope left, and she gave it to Nick.
Emily forced herself to stand closer to Volkov, laying a shaking hand on his arm. “Let them speak again, and let them live. Please, it’s all I ask. You…” here she needed to stop and take a breath, unsure of how many of these she had left. “You can make me one of you, and I will bear it. But let it just be between you and me, as it was meant to be. Please, Richard, if you have any humanity left then you’ll do this for me.”
This got his attention, and Volkov looked down at her, and her hand on his arm, with curiosity.
“Miss Emily,” he said, voice strangely light, almost childlike. “I have not been human for a long time now, longer than you can really comprehend. What makes you think that I have any of your humanity left within me?”
Emily swallowed hard, hating that she was about to do this, and moved her hand to his chest. The move was unexpected for them both, and for a moment they both remained there, still as statues, with Emily’s hand laid over Volkov’s chest. Then her fingers slipped beneath his shirt. He was cold everywhere. There must be ice in his veins; is this how it would be for her, an eternity of unfeeling cold? She couldn’t think of anything worse. But she went on, moving her hand down, and she felt his body tender under her touch; so, he was still human in some ways. She shifted and pressed her breasts against his arm, and lifted her head up to his ear.
“You can do what you want, I won’t resist you anymore,” she whispered, trying not to cry as she did so. “Please just let them live. Give them back their voices and let them live, Richard, I beg you.”
Volkov’s jaw tensed. Emily’s hand rested, waiting, above the waistband of his trousers, fingertips delicately brushing the hem. Emily was glad that he wasn’t looking at her; she was worried that her mask would crack soon. He’d had centuries to perfect his own façade, while she stumbled through this like a child playing make-believe. He looked at her for a moment, and she did her best to look back at him without breaking, which is what she really wanted to do.
“I do not need your permission, Miss Emily,” he said coolly, the sudden lack of care in his voice chilling her to the bone. However, he let her hand remain where it lay and she made no attempt to remove it. They stood awkwardly together, like statues, and Emily realised that she had no idea what she was doing. But his words remained with her: I do not need your permission…
She frowned and, still looking up at him, said: “Yes, Richard, you do. You shouldn’t control people like that, even if you can. It’s not… isn’t it better if I go willingly? Wouldn’t you rather I did that?”
And then he smiled at her again, that little quirk at the corner of his mouth. “It is of little concern to me, Miss Emily. I am only interested in the results. How I reach those results is irrelevant, wouldn’t you say?”
Emily wished she could turn her head and look away. She couldn’t stand his face, so smug and complacent, so cruel. But she didn’t; she refused herself and continued
to stare into that hated face, entirely defiant.
“You will do it, Richard,” said Emily. “Because if you kill them all, you’ll have no one to torment me with, will you?”
Volkov considered this for a moment, and it was this moment that Emily decided that she had passed the point of no return, and slipped her hand into his trousers. He didn’t breathe but he gasped regardless, the instincts of his body, male and frozen in the prime of his young life, for as long as he drank enough blood. He must not have fed in a while; his eyes were lined with crows’ feet, deep grooves around his mouth. Emily even noticed little flecks of grey hair in his beard and the hair on his head. Closing her eyes, she bit down on his earlobe, as hard as she could. Typically, he derived pleasure from this and moaned softly, but she was glad that she could at least physically relieve her frustrations on him in some way.
“Very well then, Miss Emily.” Volkov sighed.
It was then that the countess reappeared in the ball room, dressed in a resplendent gown dyed a beautiful shade of indigo. She took in the sight of Emily and Volkov entwined and sniffed contemptuously.
“I did not think you were the kind to give in to a woman who bats her eyelashes at you, Richard,” she said. “The art of manipulation is a fine one, and this woman clearly has little grasp of such things.”
Volkov’s eyes narrowed, his hatred barely concealed.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he hissed venomously, “but this is not your decision to make. It is mine. Miss Emily is mine.”
A sickening feeling washed over Emily, but she did not move. Instead, she stole a glance towards the chandelier, looking up to where Nick’s wrists were bound. He was working on it slowly and methodically, and the rope was growing more frayed by the second.
The countess gave a petulant tut. “Very well, Richard. I suppose I cannot deny you that. But what shall we do with the remaining four?”
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