Embraced by the Shadows

by Mayra Calvani

  Alana grinned, raising her glass.

  They had been inseparable friends since they first met in primary school, maybe because in many ways they shared the same thoughts, had the same fantasies, liked and disliked the same things. Twin souls. Ever since they were little, they had agreed on that. In their minds there existed no other explanation for such closeness. They would read the same books, play the same games. Always together, the redhead and the blonde. That's how Mother Superior referred to them, the redhead and the blonde. Who pulled Karen's braids? The redhead and the blonde. Who escaped from the dining hall to avoid lunch? The redhead and the blonde. Who sneaked into the library to read books about ghosts and witches? The redhead and the blonde.

  Everybody who saw them was touched by their charm. How could they not be? They were unusually lovely, with their respectively red and blonde locks, their creamy white complexions. In an island where most children were dark-haired and dark-skinned, Alana and Valeria possessed very uncommon physical traits.

  But the teachers knew about them and would always separate them, so they wouldn't speak in class. It was strange, this closeness, this intimacy. Sometimes one would look at the other, and understanding would follow. Valeria always claimed their minds were telepathically linked. But Alana, a bit more skeptical, thought there was nothing magical about it. Only they were so close, knew each other so well, that often they sensed one another's thoughts.

  Rebellious and stubborn, they both considered themselves utter pessimists. But as much as they resembled one another, in some aspects they differed completely. Valeria acted cooler, more pragmatic and unscrupulous, while Alana tended to be more impulsive, temperamental, moody. Sometimes they had awful fights, even fist fights when they were little, but they always came back together, kissing and hugging. Oddly, this difference in their personalities only served to bind them stronger together.

  Going to college in Boston turned out to be a hard decision for Alana. That night they got totally drunk. They talked and cried and laughed. They would miss each other terribly, but Valeria seemed happy for her. They had a genuinely beautiful friendship, and no distance would ever keep them apart.

  Untouchable, the two musketeers. The twin souls.

  So while Alana had gotten a degree in Philosophy from the University of Boston, Valeria, whose family didn't have the financial means to send her abroad, had gotten hers in Architecture from the University of Puerto Rico. After graduation, Alana, glad to say goodbye to the cruel Boston weather, came back to her sticky hot island, to her family and friends, to Valeria.

  Then they did what they had always planned on doing together: looked for jobs, searched for a cozy apartment, and shared the rent.

  They clinked glasses.

  Alana took the red wine to her lips and drank eagerly, watching Valeria as she did the same.

  "Mmmm. Delicious,” Alana said. She began fiddling with the fork, her favorite pastime while waiting for her food at restaurants.

  "So?"

  Alana smiled. “Don't look at me like that. I'm nervous enough as it is. This whole thing seems insane. I'm still wondering why I got the job."

  Valeria rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. You'll be terrific, super, magnificent! I couldn't think of a job that would suit you better. It's great. And anyway, it's just for a while. I'd be having fun if I were you."

  "But why did he give me the job? I don't know anything about restaurant management. We're talking about a first-rate nightclub, here. You wouldn't believe the amount of money invested in this place. You would think they would have hired a professional."

  "If you say that again, I'm going to kill you. You have a college degree, you're beautiful, you don't need anything else."

  "Oh, thank you,” Alana said with amused sarcasm.

  "You're welcome,” Valeria said in the same tone. “Anyway, you didn't know anything about restaurant management. You do now. You should, after all Victor's training. How many weeks has it been now?"

  In spite herself, Alana nodded. “Okay, okay.” True. Victor had been there with her, training her, helping her, advising her. He was thirty-five, and all of his adult life he had worked in restaurants and nightclubs. During the last three weeks, they had worked together from morning till evening, going over the decoration, the lighting, the menus, the costumes. Talking with the waiters, telling them how they should apply their make-up, wear their costumes, showing them how they should speak, walk, behave. Not only for the restaurant but also the nightclub. He had behaved with the care and patience of an older brother and she would always be grateful to him.

  "What's happening to you? This is not like you. You're always sure of yourself. Too sure of yourself, if you ask me. These past few weeks you seem different."

  Alana had told Valeria she'd had trouble sleeping. She had told her she had been having dreams, strange dreams. But she had not told her what the dreams were about. They were used to telling each other their most intimate fantasies. But these dreams ... well, were somehow too private, too weird. They were her secret. Of course, Valeria had questioned her about them, but Alana had averted her eyes and said she could never remember their content, which at least was partially true.

  As if she had been reading her thoughts, Valeria said, “Does this anxiety have anything to do with the dreams?"

  Damn. Her pulse raced. “What? No, why do you say that? I'm not getting enough sleep, that's all. I told you I never remember the dreams."

  "That's strange for someone who usually has such vivid dreams.” Just a hint of suspicion in her voice.

  "Yes. Very strange,” Alana calmly said, giving her best performance and not falling for the bait.

  For a second they stared at each other.

  Then Valeria said, “You were making noises last night."

  Alana was momentarily stunned. “What?"

  "I heard you making noises, moaning. I was too sleepy to get up and take a look, but I heard you."

  "What do you mean, I was moaning?"

  Valeria laughed. “Moaning. You know. Moaning.” She dramatized this a bit too loudly, and the people sitting at the next table turned their heads to look at them.

  Alana flushed, stirring uncomfortably in her seat.

  "There's nothing to be ashamed of, my little twin soul."

  "Valeria! You're making this up!"

  "It's true, I swear it."

  "Tell me the truth!"

  "What's the big deal? I suppose you had one of those dreams last night, one of the ones you can't remember?” Valeria teased.

  "No, I didn't,” Alana lied, suddenly annoyed. “And stop talking to me in that patronizing tone. And don't call me your little twin soul again. In case you forgot it, I am the older one.” Never mind that she was only three weeks older than Valeria.

  "Oh, I forgot. Would you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"

  Alana gave her a malevolent smile. Then she lifted her glass and took a sip.

  "My God, are we moody today! My last intention is to get you angry. Today of all days. I brought you here to celebrate. But I can sense your transformation in the air. It's like poison gas. When you get in a bad mood I can smell it, I swear."

  "You know what your problem is? You swear to much,” Alana said.

  Valeria laughed, patting Alana's hand. “Try to relax, will you? Don't you remember when they first hired me at the firm? I couldn't eat or sleep for a week. Everything will go great tonight, you'll see. Do you want to make a bet?"

  "No, I don't want to make any bet. I just want tonight to be over.” But in fact she wasn't thinking about tonight. She was thinking about what Valeria had said about the moaning. And about how aroused she had awoken this morning, sweating, her throat parched, her pulse throbbing in her temples.

  "Valeria,” Alana said, her voice lower and more confidential. “Was I really ... What's wrong?"

  "Don't turn your head now, but there are two guys over there who are staring at us."

  "Where?"


  "Behind you, the last table. And they're not that bad-looking either,” Valeria mischievously said, pretending not to look at them.

  Alana turned her head to glance at them. One of them smiled, lifting his wine glass to her. They were handsome in an office-executive kind of way.

  Alana scowled at them, then turned to Valeria. “I hate when they do that. Why don't they let us eat in peace?"

  "I know. They're cute, though.” Valeria glanced at them and smiled. She was enjoying this. She always did.

  "No, Valeria, please,” Alana urged, suddenly panicked. “They're going to come over to our table, like last time. And you remember how it ended up. They were a couple of arrogant jerks."

  "Maybe these aren't arrogant jerks."

  "I'm not in the mood."

  "You know what your problem is?” she said, mimicking Alana. “You're never in the mood."

  "Oh, shut up."

  Valeria pouted playfully. She looked lovely, clad in an elegant navy-blue suit, her face expertly made up, her thick blond hair falling sleek and straight down her shoulders, perfectly even bangs covering her forehead and brows.

  Wherever they went they always got attention from men.

  The redhead and the blonde.

  Are you sisters? No, twin souls....

  And Valeria loved the attention, much more than Alana did. Valeria was a natural flirt, with her angelic big brown eyes and sweet smile. During her four years at the university she'd had a long line of boyfriends.

  She would jump from one relationship to another with no regrets, in a very pragmatic, cold-blooded manner. Now Valeria was seeing someone at her firm, a married man she referred to as “The Pirate.” Just as Alana had her ghosts and witches and demons, Valeria had her pirates.

  On the other hand, Alana had never had much success with men. She'd had a few boyfriends, but there was always something missing in the relationships. She was easily bored, annoyed by them. She didn't even enjoy their caresses. In the end she always drove them off before the relationship could progress beyond a few kisses. She knew she was unrealistic and demanding, waiting for the perfect kind of man to sweep her off her feet. But she couldn't help feeling old-fashioned about it. She wanted to fall in love, and she wished the first time to be perfect.

  Over lunch the conversation turned to safer subjects. Alana talked about the restaurant, giving Valeria a preview of what to expect that night. It was going to be an event, and members of the press had been invited. Alana enjoyed most describing the menu, which would offer dishes like Dracula's Steak and Virgin Sacrifice Potatoes.

  Valeria laughed. “Virgin Sacrifice Potatoes?"

  "Ridiculous, isn't it? My idea."

  "I know.” She gave Alana a knowing look.

  Alana raised a brow. “And I suppose you're the expert of experts?"

  "A lot more than you, that's for sure. I'll be happy to give you a few theoretical lessons."

  "It's not theoretical lessons that I need,” Alana said, popping a little carrot stick into her mouth. Then, to change the subject, she added, “How's your ‘Pirate’ doing?"

  "He's fine. We haven't been together for more than a week. It's so hard seeing him every day at the office, and not being able to touch him. We just look at each other, eat each other with our eyes. We'll be together tonight. He'll come with me to the opening.” Valeria sighed.

  "Don't look at me with those sad puppy eyes."

  "I'm not doing anything."

  "I'm not going to tell you anything anymore. You know what you're getting into."

  "I'm only trying to enjoy life, make the best of it,” Valeria said, a wan smile playing on her lips. “We're pain and pleasure machines...” she began tauntingly, mimicking Alana and her fervent philosophical arguments.

  "Don't give me Nietzsche. I know about Nietzsche. He was a madman.” Then her expression turned softer, her voice gentler. “What's going to happen when his wife finds out? She will find out. They all eventually do. What's going to happen to the kids? To you? I don't want you to get hurt. And you will get hurt."

  "I'm a survivor. Besides, I'm in control of the situation."

  "Stop the cool act. This is not like your past conquests. This time you're more involved than you think you are. And I'm going to tell you something else. Those kids will get hurt most of all."

  Valeria rolled her eyes, obviously mortified. She looked like an impetuously stubborn child being reprimanded by a parent. “Don't go into ‘Cosmic Justice’ again. It bores me to hell. Things like this have been happening since the beginning of time, and they will continue to happen.” She paused, and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I'm not saying I'm proud of it. I feel guilty, too, for the kids."

  "I know you do."

  "But what do you want me to do? Maybe my guilt isn't strong enough. Maybe I don't have morals. And I'm selfish, I know I'm selfish.” She threw Alana a piercing look, then gulped down the rest of her wine.

  "No, you're not. You're giving yourself completely to him. You wait for him. You see him only on those occasions when he sees fit. He's a lucky bastard, with a young and beautiful mistress falling head over heels for him, and a family who doesn't suspect a thing. Every man's fantasy. He doesn't make you any promises. He cannot offer you any plans for the future."

  "I take what I want from him. And I'm not head over heels for him. Far from it. The least I want is complications in my life. I don't ask for any future with him. I don't want a future with him. Get that into your thick head, will you? I told you, I'm in complete control of the situation."

  Alana nodded, weighing Valeria's words in her mind. She sighed, suddenly overcome by a keen urge to smoke.

  "It's just so physical,” Valeria said. “I just ... I can't control myself. The passion is so strong, so totally commanding. You know what I mean."

  In spite of herself, Alana had to laugh. It amazed her, the way Valeria was. At times so cool and down-to-earth, at other times such a slave of the senses, lecherous. Alana couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy.

  All of a sudden the image of that long pointed nail flashed into her mind. Just the memory of it was enough to make her heart race, her stomach tighten, her face flush.

  "I just get so restless sometimes,” Valeria went on. “I feel like grabbing whatever life offers me. In a few years we'll be old ladies, no one will look at us. And we'll be sick, and we'll suffer. These are the best years of our lives, and I don't intend to throw them away. And you should understand that, better than anybody else,” Valeria said. She looked right into Alana's dark eyes, and held her gaze for a moment.

  "Yes ... I do,” Alana said, wincing at the allusion to her mother's death.

  "That's why I hate to see you alone. You hate socializing. You look at men as if they were the plague. The only thing which seems to make you happy is your books and classical music. And don't tell me that to be alone is better than to be in bad company. You don't deserve to be alone. God, you're missing a hell of a lot, Alana.” Valeria placed her knife and fork on the plate and shifted in her seat. The wine, the passion in her voice had flushed her cheeks. “But the problem is you don't want to do anything to change it, either. Like I said, these are the best years of our lives."

  Alana snorted, somewhat hurt by Valeria's words. But she had to admit Valeria was right, in a way. She remained stubbornly quiet, though, her hand fiddling with the fork, her eyes cast down.

  Valeria sighed. “Now I truly did it, didn't I?"

  "Are you finished with that steak, Valeria?” Alana said coolly, looking up at her. “Victor must be waiting for me at the restaurant. We still have a million things to do before the opening.” She signalled to the waiter.

  "Always good at changing the subject,” Valeria muttered. She threw her napkin onto the table and leaned back against the chair, folding her arms across her chest. “Sometimes I wonder, Alana,” she said. “What are you waiting for? Who are you waiting for?"

  CHAPTER 2

  Walking into La Cueva del V
ampiro seemed like stepping into a high-budget horror film. A lush, expensive burgundy carpet covered the floors. Gruesome stalactites hung from the ceiling, and through the crevices, shafts of red light filtered down like bloody shimmering knives. Round slabs of stone, decorated with candle-lit skulls in the center, stood as tables. All around, spider webs twined around the gothic candelabra and skeletons rested propped up against the imitation stone walls. The waiters, with their frightful make-up and costumes—some as vampires, some as zombies, some as Frankenstein, some as werewolves—added to the total effect.

  Alana, too, had taken extra care in transforming herself for tonight. She had brushed her hair until it glowed like a red satin cape down her back. She had spent nearly half an hour applying her makeup: silvery pale foundation and powder, black eye shadow and liner, burgundy-red lipstick. After putting on her costume she had spent a long time admiring the result in the mirror. She loved her burgundy medieval gown, which had a low neckline and was snug at the waist. The sleeves fell wide and loose down her arms, like the wings of a bat. The skirt, smooth and sleek, flowed down to her mid-calves and revealed the sensual curve of her hips. Around her neck she wore an ornate brass choker with the face of a Cobra snake—mouth open exposing fangs—in the center. On her feet were burgundy velvet, high-healed pumps.

  Now and then she caught an admiring glance from a man sipping his wine or eating his dinner. Thrilled, she tried not to lower her eyes or appear shy. She had forgotten all about the dreams, about the creature, about questioning why she had been hired for the job. There was nothing strange about this place. How could there be anything strange about it, when people obviously enjoyed themselves so much? It was incredibly fun, to watch their fascinated faces when they saw her and spoke to her, to watch them grimacing and hear them laughing when they looked at the skeletons around them or read the menu.

  The opening had begun at eight o'clock, and since then, the restaurant had swarmed with customers. It was almost ten o'clock now. Although her only responsibility was the restaurant, Victor, managing as always, had advised her that it might be better for publicity if she also hung around the nightclub tonight.