The door of my room made a soft clicking sound when I turned the key in the lock. After a second, I turned the key again, unlocking it. By now, I was pretty sure that Mr. Ward, my very reluctant host and owner of my gilded jail, wouldn’t try to sneak into my room while I slept. He’d made it quite clear that he wasn’t interested in me.
Not that I was interested in him, mind. I’d have been stupid to be. Stupid, or suicidal.
I mean, of course he was handsome. The air of mystery wasn’t in the negative column, either. He’d saved my life twice when he could have just let me die and got rid of me as he so wanted. And I knew, with every inch of my skin, every nerve ending in my body, what a wonderful lover he was, and how well we fit together. I knew it despite having shared nothing more than fantasies with him—very realistic fantasies, so realistic, in fact, that I had trouble distinguishing them from reality, but that didn’t make those experiences real.
What was real, as improbable as it might sound, was that Mr. Ward was a vampire, on top of being a millionaire philanthropist and brother to my boss Miss Delilah—and now that I thought about it, I needed to tell her I was quitting because there was no way I could go back to working for her after the way she had treated me. ‘Being gifted as property’ wasn’t part of my job description as a personal assistant.
But as I was saying: vampire. As weird as it still sounded, I had no doubt that Mr. Ward was one. And that was why I’d have been stupid to be interested in him in that way.
That was also why I’d have been stupid to wish I were still on the roof with him, in that hothouse full of gorgeous orchids where we’d made out in our shared fantasy. What had really happened up there was that he’d been cryptic and annoying—as usual.
So yes, it was much better for me to be back in my room. Alone.
The same room where, an hour or so earlier, I’d almost suffocated when I tried to fight back Miss Delilah’s compulsion.
I glanced at the netbook on the desk. It had gone into sleep mode. Was it still connected to the net? Was Miss Delilah still on the other end? What if she was? Would she give me another order—compel me to do something, so that I’d have to obey, or die resisting?
Of course I didn’t want her to order me back to Mr. Ward’s bed. Not at all.
I approached the netbook as slowly and carefully as I would a sleeping tiger or lion, or anything that could have torn my throat out without even trying. Strange how I couldn’t manage the same kind of caution when I was in front of Mr. Ward.
A finger across the touch pad and the screen flashed back to life. The video-chat window was closed. I breathed a sigh of relief… then gasped. The chat program had blinked on again.
I might have been caught in an earthquake for how unsteady I suddenly felt. My finger shook too much to guide the arrow to the little cross in the corner of the blinking window. I took a deep breath to try again, and only then did I notice the name of the person contacting me. It wasn’t Miss Delilah. It was my parents.
Calling myself silly, I slipped into the chair, took a second or two to regain my composure and plaster a smile on my face, then accepted the call. My mother’s image filled the screen.
“Lini! You didn’t tell us you were going to that big party!”
I stared at her, startled beyond words. I’m an only child, and I tell my parents a lot. Or rather, they ask so many questions about what goes on in my life that even if I only answer a select number of them, they still get enough news about me to keep them happy. When I first told them I wanted to move to New York, they weren’t thrilled. They’d watched the same cop shows on TV that I had, and their image of New York wasn’t all that flattering. When I wouldn’t budge, they bought me a can of mace and made me promise I’d call at least once a week. I’d never used the mace, but I did keep my promise.
I hadn’t told them a word about the Ward bash—why would I? It wasn’t like I expected to attend, and even if I’d wanted to talk about Miss Delilah being invited, that wasn’t the kind of thing they wanted to hear from me. They cared about what I did, people I met—and potential husband-material boyfriends, of course.
“I… What?” I managed to say with rare eloquence. “How do you know about that?”
My mother chuckled and turned her eyes to something next to the computer. “Hear that? I told you it was her!”
She looked back at me before she added, “Your father didn’t recognize you in that dress. He said it didn’t look like you. But I’d have recognized you anywhere.”
“The dress? How…”
And then it dawned on me what had happened. Those photographers in front of the mansion last night had taken pictures of Miss Delilah and me. Well, they were certainly more interested in her than they were in the little miss nobody at her side. But those pictures must have ended up on the internet, and since my mother has a rather large appetite for gossip websites…
“My picture is online?” I couldn’t help blurting out.
At the same time, I resized her image to the side of the screen and launched a browser window next to it. I went to the first news website I could think of, searched for ‘Ward bash,’ and it only took me a few moments to find the pictures. Meanwhile, my mother was rambling.
“The first picture I saw, your face was turned the other way, but the caption had your boss’ name and ‘guest,’ and there was something about that guest that looked familiar. So I looked for other shots, and there you were. Your father kept saying it didn’t look anything like you, but I knew it was my little girl!”
As I looked at the few pictures that showed Miss Delilah and me, I had to agree with my dad: it didn’t look anything like me. I rarely wear my hair up like that, leaving my neck and shoulders bare; it always made me feel too exposed. And I don’t wear that much make-up. Not that it wasn’t tasteful, just heavier than I like. It had been Miss Delilah’s work.
Yet my mother was right. Well, she was right that it was me. The ‘little girl’ thing, not so much, but I knew better than to start that battle again.
“So?” my mother said after I was silent for too long. “How was it? Did you meet famous people? How did you even end up there? I thought your boss didn’t take you to parties like that.”
I had to think fast. How much could I tell them?
I couldn’t tell them I’d been compelled to remain in the mansion, that much at least was clear to me. They’d be in New York and bringing the police to rescue me faster than I could finish explaining. And how could I explain it anyway without sounding like a complete lunatic? It might not be the police they brought along, but a team of psychiatrists.
I couldn’t tell them about the vampire thing, either. They wouldn’t have believed me—and again, cue my attempted removal to a soft-padded room. Of course I’d probably die the moment I was carried out of the mansion; if nothing else, it’d prove I hadn’t lied. Small comfort.
No, I couldn’t tell them anything but the most mundane details. And that was exactly what I did.
“It’s the first time she took me to something like that,” I started, trying to stick to the truth. I’m not all that good at lying, especially lying to my parents. “She didn’t even tell me about it, just surprised me with a dress and told me she was taking me along. He’s her brother, you know. Morgan Ward, I mean.”
Was I imagining things, or did my voice shake a little bit when I said his name?
“Oh, yes,” my mother said. I maximized the chat window again and saw her nod. “I’ve read about that. There aren’t pictures of him anywhere. Did you meet him?”
“I did, yes.”
If she only knew how closely I had met him…
“What is he like?”
Tall, dark, and handsome, like the heroes in the romance novels I wasn’t supposed to know she read. She hid them in her bedroom closet, and I’d discovered them when I was fourteen. That summer was full of discoveries as I borrowed one after the other and read under the covers so that I wouldn’t be found out.
Cold, distant, and obnoxious, too, and that made for a much less pleasant picture of him, although just as accurate.
I didn’t want her to believe I had paid too close attention to him, or that I’d had the chance to discover how obnoxious he could be. Both things would have prompted her to ask too many questions I wouldn’t know how to answer.
“He doesn’t look much like his sister,” I said; that revealed nothing about him. “I just got a chance to say happy birthday. He was really busy with all the guests.”
All the guests he’d been trying so hard to avoid…
For a second or two, I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t gone out onto the balcony, or if I’d left when he’d asked me to. Would Miss Delilah have found me again before the end of the night and introduced me to him? Or would she have left without me, allowing me to find out on my own that I couldn’t leave the mansion?
I was so caught up in my ‘what ifs’ that I missed what my mother said next. Only when I noticed she was looking at me expectantly did I realize she was waiting for me to answer… but what was the question?
“I’m sorry, your image froze and I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”
“I asked when your plane is coming in, honey.”
Another question I didn’t know how to answer. I’d forgotten all about my plans to visit them for the holidays. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours…
One thing was sure, at least. With Miss Delilah in Paris, it was rather unlikely I’d make my flight tomorrow. After all, I would be unable to leave the mansion until she walked me out.
“Mom, I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll be able to come.”
Her crestfallen expression made me feel guilty—and that guilt made me angry. It wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I still didn’t know why Miss Delilah had chosen me for this twisted game of hers. There had to be a reason—she’d told Mr. Ward I was ‘perfect’ after all, even if I didn’t know what made me so.
“Come on, Lini,” my mother said with a big sigh, and that was just not playing fair. “You promised. We haven’t seen you in almost two years!”
She was right, of course. I had promised to come back for the holidays, and I hadn’t been able to make the trip last year. Miss Delilah had been throwing a big charity gala between Christmas and the New Year, and I’d had too much to do to leave town even for a couple of days.
Right or not, however, it wasn’t up to me. I’d have gladly gone home. And maybe I’d even have stayed there for a while to forget this whole vampire business. But even if I’d contacted Miss Delilah, I doubt she’d have cared about my family plans.
“I really wish I could, Mom, I swear. But something has come up and I can’t get out of it.”
Quite literally.
My father appeared behind my mother’s shoulder. Where her hair was still brown thanks, no doubt, to the coloring skills of her hairdresser, his was more salt than pepper. He seemed as disappointed as she did when he looked at me over the rim of his glasses.
“Is it your job again?” he asked. “Honestly, Angel. You have the right to take vacation days. She’s your boss, nothing more. She doesn’t own you.”
Given the situation I was in, the irony of his words didn’t escape me. No, she didn’t own me. According to her, Mr. Ward did. After all, she’d offered me as a birthday gift to him.
“No, it’s not about her.” I hated lying to them, but what was I supposed to say? “Something else came up. It’s hard to explain. But as soon as it clears up, I’ll be coming to visit, I promise.”
But I had promised to visit for Christmas, so what was my promise worth? That’s the question I read on both their faces, and it was too much disappointment for me to take. Before they could argue any further about something I couldn’t change, I smiled and said, “I have to go now. I’ll talk to you soon, all right?”
They said goodbye, and I shut off the computer. I stared at it for a little while, my mind blank, my heart aching. I missed them, sure, but my numbness came from more than that. I wasn’t used to being a puppet in my own life. I’ve always been a ‘take charge’ kind of person. Even working for Miss Delilah, I’d done what she wanted when needed, of course, but a large part of my job had been fairly independent.
That charity gala thing? I’d planned it all, from beginning to end. Sure, I’d given Miss Delilah regular updates about the planning, and whenever there was a choice, I gave her the options, but she usually picked whatever I suggested was best. She could have planned it herself, and it’d have been just as successful, maybe even more so, but that gala had been my baby, and I’d been damn proud of what I could do.
Now… now I felt like everything was out of my hands. Which of course it was.
I went to bed with that dark thought, and it didn’t make for pleasant dreams or for a nice awakening.
Things grew worse when I turned my netbook back on and checked my email.
My parents had forwarded something to me: a flight receipt.
They were coming to see me.
That? Was not good.
*