by Ana Calin
“Radek is back in Berlin,” I manage weakly.
Isolde and Lazarus look at each other, then at me, alarm obvious in their faces.
“He contacted you?” Lazarus wants to know, How dare he?? clear in his voice. There’s still a film of the chalk-white cream that he wears against sunlight on his face, making him very much the cliché of the white-skinned vampire in movies. Too bad he’s restricted in how much he can go out, he could have met a girl to occupy his mind, someone worthier of his affection than me. But the only person he sees more than Isolde, me, and the few girls at the e-zine is the middle-aged, married lady from the lab who supplies him with bags of blood.
“No, and that’s the problem.”
“You would have wanted that bastard to get in touch?” Isolde puts in. “He hasn’t given a sign in five years, why would he now?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I manage his public image in Europe, he should have informed me about his business here. He didn’t even need to do it himself, if he didn’t want to talk to me, he could have had his people do it.”
“Wait a minute.” Lazarus steeples his fingers together over his plate, leaning forward. “Who told you all this? How do you know he’s in Berlin, how do you know he has business here?”
“Herald Gruff. He came to see me.”
“No shit.” Lazarus says. “Another one that hasn’t showed his face in years.”
“I was happy to have him off my back. All that came from him were online threats and live eggs against my windshield.”
“But you would have liked to hear from Radek,” he reprimands. “After everything he put you through.”
My eyes shoot like bullets directly into Lazarus’. “I loved him with all I had, and you know that. I lived things with Radek that I could have lived with none other, you know that, too. Yes, keeping in touch would have been a sign that I meant a little more to him than a few months’ worth of fucks.”
I can feel that Lazarus understands. He lived all that terror with me, and he became a vampire in a violent way, bitten and ravished by a dozen bloodsuckers.
Now, as a vampire, he’s almost as handsome as my midnight prince. Tall and captivating like a French poet with ruffled locks and dreamy blue eyes, the girls at the e-zine swoon over him like crazy. It’s what makes him so good at getting exclusive information, too—people love to serve him, especially women, always looking to win his favor.
Warmth returns to my heart, and I regret my harsh tone.
“The only man who could ever come into question as a partner for me would be you, Lazarus, but I’m afraid my heart will never be completely free of Radek.”
“Maybe you should start looking around,” Lazarus says, earning himself approving nods from Isolde. “It’s been five years. I’d rather see you with a new man than watch you suffer for Radek every day. You became a powerful woman, and you carry yourself around with dignity, you inspire respect, admiration and even fear in people, but inside, you’re dying.”
I look down, blinking away the tears in my eyes. Damn, this is why I hate the subject of Radek.
“Here’s the important thing,” I say. “Radek is here for an auction. This time he isn’t acquiring opera halls or former memorial houses, but an orphanage. One where Hitler’s doctors used to perform experiments.”
“There are many such orphanages in Germany,” Lazarus says. “Why this particular one? We know Radek always has a reason for acquiring specific real estate.”
“Yes.”
“Did Herald mention what was special about this particular orphanage?” Isolde intervenes before I can sink too deeply into the memory of Radek.
“He did, in the end, even though it wasn’t easy to get it out of him.” I tense in my chair. These are no easy things to put into words. “Turns out this particular orphanage remained the property of a Nazi until today. The owner died earlier this year, a very old, respected banker who lived in this very area.” I motion to the window. “The Green Forest.”
“Among the richest people in Berlin,” Lazarus concludes.
I nod. “And it just came out that he was a former Nazi commander.”
“I thought all those bastards were in jail,” Isolde says, outraged, sitting up straight. “Not out there, enjoying freedom and wealth!”
“This only happens because the authorities pick only the low hanging fruit,” Lazarus puts in with a deeper frown. He must be frustrated that he didn’t get this information first. He doesn’t usually miss anything worth knowing. “All of them a bunch of phony bastards.”
“Don’t worry, Lazarus,” I appease him. “There are too many secrets in this world. You cannot possibly uncover them all. You were looking out for other kinds of things.”
“I should have kept my eyes open for Nazi-related stuff. I knew that both Radek the Handsome and his brother Dracula fought against the Nazis, I knew Radek acquired properties that belonged to the Nazis in the last decade, I should have seen the lining.”
“There are many Nazi-related mysteries in Germany and, like I said, you couldn’t possibly have kept an eye open for them all.”
He grunts something under his breath, clearly not agreeing with me, but he leaves it alone.
“So Radek wants to buy this place from the old Nazi commander,” Isolde sums up. “I mean, from his successors.”
“He’ll bid for it at the auction,” I explain. “Herald said the only registered participants are Radek’s people, because he wants to make sure he wins. Another interesting fact that Herald mentioned is that the former Nazi kept the orphanage unspoiled all this time. He thinks everything in there looks exactly the same as decades ago.”
“And Herald gave you all this information just like that?” Lazarus asks suspiciously.
“He came to the e-zine certain I already knew, since Radek and I used to be lovers, and he wanted money from me in exchange for his silence. I persuaded him to tell me the entire story in exchange for a different kind of payment but, because he didn’t get what he wanted in the end, I’m pretty sure he’ll go with it to someone else. Another journal, something big.”
“If I may ask,” Lazarus puts in, “what was the different kind of payment that he wanted from you in the end?”
“Sex. He wanted sex.”
Lazarus’ face darkens. “He came looking for money, but he ended up wanting sex. How come?”
I jut out my chin. “You’re suggesting that I seduced him.”
Lazarus’ frame sags a little, clearly regretting the unspoken accusation. I raise my chin even higher.
“I did seduce him. And I’m not going to apologize for it. It got the truth out of him.”
I look from Lazarus to Isolde. They’re both speechless, but I keep my ground.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because we have another problem now. Since I gave him blue balls, Herald must be more furious than ever. I managed to part from him on good terms, promising that we’ll meet for lunch sometime soon, but I think at this point he saw through me. I’m sure he’ll go to the competition to sell the information, and the competition is gonna pass it on to rich and powerful people interested in acquiring the valuable property. So, if we want to get to the bottom of this, we have to take matters into our own hands.”
Lazarus watches me with a frown, and Isolde with wide eyes.
“We have to crash the auction. We’ll go there unannounced. My position as CEO of the European Hellhound might just get us in. If not, then my position as Prince Radek’s former lover.”
“Why?” Lazarus reacts. “Why would we do that? Why do we even care about what Radek buys or doesn’t buy?”
“Don’t let your hatred of him blind you, Lazarus,” I say. “When I first met him six years ago, he had come to Berlin with a plan. The only thing we know about that plan is that it was an evil one, definitely not in the interest of the common man or good supernatural beings, like us. When I left the Carpathians, his part of the deal was that he would support us in the fight against evil. Now he c
omes to Berlin, and he doesn’t even let us know, which can only mean he didn’t want us to know. Doesn’t that make you wonder if he hasn’t resumed his original evil plan?”
“So all you want is to make sure that Radek hasn’t changed sides again?” Isolde inquires sweetly, but there’s suspicion behind her words.
My heart pulses like a fresh wound inside my chest. “Yes, that’s all I want.”
My chin trembles with threatening tears, so I push myself off the chair. Yes, that’s all I want, I try to persuade myself.
“Excuse me,” I manage, heading towards the majestic open double doors that lead to one of the hallways. I manage to keep my back straight and all, but the moment I close the door to my room behind me, I can’t hold it in anymore. I crash on my bed, face down, letting go of a stream of tears into the pillow, clutching it tightly, and screaming into it.
It feels liberating, letting out these muffled screams. They’re screams of frustration and rage, a lot of rage. Rage that I’m partly grateful for, because it’s what helped me keep at the top of the media world in Berlin, which is a real jungle.
Rage and a lack of fear are undeniable advantages that I took with me from the Carpathians. It takes quite a bit to even make me jump.
After having faced vampires and Bloody Maries, after having tamed The Midnight Monster, the power plays and petty schemes of the surface world are often mere jokes. Men like Herald Gruff no longer intimidate me, and women like the beautiful blonde Radek speared my heart with that last night at the castle is mere motivation for me to crush them all.
At midnight, I’ve cried enough. My eyes are heavy and puffy, but my heart feels a lot lighter, as if it’s unloaded ballast. I haven’t cried like this since I fell to my knees at Magda’s door five years ago but, unlike then, I don’t feel weak now. I feel light and ready to face the Prince of Midnight again.
CHAPTER III
Radek
Lawyers on my right, financial advisors on my left. However human, all of them are devils. There are no angels in this business.
I’m sitting at a special table in the conference room at the Hyatt, waiting the thing out. All the participants let my lawyers win, who keep bidding higher. They do it slowly but expertly, just in case there’s a surprise.
Sure enough, a surprise pops up. A gentleman in the back, salt and pepper hair, bushy eyebrows, permanent frown on his forehead. The kind of man who strives to look serious at all times, God forbid he shows a bit of good nature. That is considered weakness in the German business world. He just keeps bidding.
I expected there would be real competition, there always is. In this business, information always leaks. Plus, I spotted Herald Gruff in the room from the start, no matter how hard he tried to stay undercover. A hoodie among suits tends to draw attention. I’m pretty sure he has to do with the presence of real competition in the auction room.
The bidding slowly becomes dangerous. The lawyer by my side starts to sweat, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief, barely managing to hide his rising panic. I look from him to the bidding competitor, fixing my gaze on him. But, just as he begins growing sick under the poisonous energy of my stare, the doors open and another surprise enters the room. A surprise that rips right through my heart like a fucking bullet.
“Please, gentlemen, go ahead with your thing,” Juliet Jochs says, walking boldly down the aisle in high heels, chin high, her entire frame elegant. Lazarus Raica accompanies her on the right, stare hard like a bodyguard’s. “We’re only here to document the auction process, as representatives of national press and district court. Das Volk—the German people—requires complete transparency on the fate of historical buildings of such importance.”
“Miss Jochs, please,” the auctioneer squeaks, holding up his plump hands and walking over to stop her like a desperate bouncer. “These proceedings are closed to the press.”
“No they’re not.” Juliet reaches inside her suit jacket and produces a document. I zoom in on it—it’s an authorization of participation from the district court.
“But, but,” the auctioneer blabbers.
“I’ll be honest with you, Mr.....” She takes his nametag between her delicate fingers with red nail polish and then lets it go like it’s dirty. “Geier—it means vulture, hmm, suits the context.” She lets out a giggle. “Sorry, I just had to.” Fuck, I can’t take my eyes off of her, it’s like they’re stuck to her like a kid’s tongue to icy metal.
“I had reason to believe this auction has been arranged,” she says. “That the winner has been known from the start. This means fraud, so I went with it to district court, and they decided they prefer to have this monitored. I’m sorry we didn’t make it from the beginning, we’ve only just obtained emergency authorization.”
“How the fuck did she obtain that?” the lawyer nearest whispers to another.
“This is Juliet Jochs from the European Hellhound,” the other one replies. “She’s better connected in Berlin than fucking Merkel.”
I can’t take my eyes off of Juliet as she takes a seat in one of the middle rows across from me, offering me her alabaster profile. I zoom in on her to take in every detail, from the light freckles that betray her true delicate nature to the dark makeup around her eyes, which creates a powerful contrast to her blue irises.
People’s reactions to her aren’t lost on me either—they all freeze for a moment when they see her. If when I last saw her she was practically still a girl, she’s a woman in full bloom now, elegant and dignified, and I can imagine also intimidating. Her hair has grown so much, and I love it. I love the messy bun on top of her head, curly white-blond strands rippling out here and there, adding to her impactful persona.
This is the first time I see her live in many years, but it’s not like I haven’t seen her at all. Even though I resolved to do it as little as possible, nostalgia led me down to the cellar rather often, to the mirrors, where I could watch her. I watched her run her fingers through her long, white-blond curls at the vanity table in the evenings, the dark makeup wiped away from her eyes, revealing her soft gaze. I hoped I’d see pictures of me in her room, something that would betray she was thinking about me as well, but there was never anything.
I never watched her if she was out, though, only when she was alone in her room. Outside she would be interacting with men; maybe she even went out on dates, but I protected myself against that information. Whenever I activated the mirrors and saw that she was out, I’d shut them down, spin on my heels and stomp back up to the castle, swearing to myself I’d never activate the mirrors again.
“Prince Radek,” the lawyer nearest says, tearing my eyes away from Juliet. I know he’s been whispering all along, but now he’s raised his voice. There’s fidgeting and worried faces everywhere.
“He’s winning,” he says, pointing inconspicuously to my competitor who’s outbidding us. My eyes land on him with too much poison. In the beginning I was dosing it, but I’ve lost my focus because of Juliet.
Sweat breaks out all over the guy, and he crumbles to the floor in what looks like an attack of epilepsy. There’s the sound of chairs being knocked back, people hurry over to him, and soon Juliet falls to her knees beside him, too.
Her healer instincts take over, and she rips the guy’s shirt open, her hands expertly scanning his chest and belly. It looks like a quick and expert caress, while her right-hand Lazarus is baiting attention away from her, yelling and having people call the ambulance, the man’s family, asking who knows him, sending people out of the room to look for God knows what. Pretty much making so many waves that everyone is distracted from what Juliet is doing.
Meanwhile, Juliet detects the man’s problem, runs her hands expertly through his hair, her right one resting on his forehead as she pulls him out of mortal danger. He comes back to himself, but he’s exhausted and confused. She sits back on her heels, her hands now resting on her thighs. She looks up at me, and my breath catches in my throat. All mental activity shuts down.
>
For the first time in years, Juliet Jochs and I look straight into each other’s faces, but it doesn’t last long. Lazarus cuts into my field of vision, offering Juliet his big bony hands to help her back up to her feet as the ambulance whines in the distance.
The auction session is called off, but as we emerge from the conference room into the lobby, surprise—A flood of reporters rushes to us, probably tipped off by Herald Gruff.
Security men now join my lawyers and financial advisors, making it hard for the press to get to me, which was the idea when I hired them. It’s not like I need protection against physical assault, but I do need a good reason to refuse giving interviews, or to only take a limited number of questions.
As usual, my group is soon insulated, reporters fighting each other to get to me, but all I can focus on is Juliet.
She talks to people somewhere in a corner. Lazarus stands by her side, as always. Son of a gun is obviously still in love with her. He hovers over her like a fucking vulture.
I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, actually I’m pretty damn sure I’m not, but I grab the nearest security guy by the elbow and point at Juliet.
“Bring her to me. Be discreet.”
But there’s nothing discreet about the way the big man makes his way through the crowd. When he gets to Juliet, Lazarus places himself in front of her, facing the security guy. I activate remote hearing, listening to them.
“It’s a bad idea,” Lazarus says, shaking his head with those every-woman-thinks-I’m-cute locks. I wonder if Juliet finds him attractive.
“Prince Radek requested her personally,” the security guy insists. “That’s a great honor.”
“Yeah, sure,” Lazarus retorts. “She’ll pass on the honor. Now, if you don’t mind.” He grabs the guy’s elbow, and tries to force him to turn around, but the security tears himself from Lazarus’ hold and makes to move past him to grab Juliet.