THE ESCORT
He watched from the balcony the two Vampires he’d hired for the night as they walked through the crowd. They did not stop to speak with anyone, as it should be, and the suits they wore completed the disguise nicely—they couldn’t seem too obvious. Yes, they had to blend in, and as far as Victor Vonderheide was concerned, they did so wonderfully.
“My Lord, all is well below.”
“I am aware.” He turned to eye the Vampire when the question drifted to mind, “Has Christian arrived yet?”
“No, my Lord.”
He placed a hand on the railing and turned back to the humans and Vampires. He had had no desire to throw a party, since he and Lillith had just returned from the Vampire City, but he wished to know if Christian was fully healed. He wanted to know more about this human woman rumored to be living in Damion’s home. If he could lure Christian, then surely she would follow. If she did not, well, Victor could just retire to his room. He had no need for blood. All he wished for was rest. The ride back to London had been tiring, as they did not stop once, not even for the watchers. There were no soldiers to aid them, so they were indeed on their
own.
Victor had felt it best to arrive in London as soon as possible. It made it easier to assess Lillith’s situation and easier to return to his bed. Nevertheless, it was not only until he reached his home did he think of the human woman living in Damion’s. And was Christian not still there? He knew he could not pass up the chance to meet the woman. Yes, it was quite the risk, if she indeed was the one they were looking for. All of the Vampires present would fall prey to her blood. There was no telling how they would react, or if at all. But it was a risk Victor was willing to take if it meant that he had acquired the woman before Xavier.
He sighed, turning away from the boring sight of humans fawning over Vampires and Vampires teasing humans. Taunting and tricking the poor creatures might have seemed intriguing to him many years ago, but now it all seemed pointless. What did it matter how you played with them before you killed them? Was it not just as well to kill them quickly, saving yourself the time and anticipation for the taste of blood that was far too often lacking in quality? Yes, over the years, Victor found he’d grown tired of the games. It did not matter in the end. It never mattered.
When he reached the doors to his room, Lillith was exiting hers. She’d changed quickly, he noted, her white blouse and vest gone. She donned a light-blue gown instead, which flowed over her thin legs. Her boots were gone, replaced by equally blue heels, and her hair was done up in a fashion Victor could not begin to fathom. Yes, Lillith Crane was indeed the Princess of Vampires, having a beauty many women would kill for. Unbeknownst to these women, Lillith Crane had indeed killed to gain such beauty.
“Are you not going to join the festivities?” she asked.
Victor stared toward his door. “I am...weary from my journey to and fro. Returning to that world only to return to this one, it is like stepping through two different doors. Places that require completely different faces. It is tiring.” He looked at her with a weary smile upon his lips.
Lillith smiled as well, though Victor noticed it was hesitant, as though she was not sure she should be smiling at all. “I will leave you to your rest then, my Lord,” she said, curtsying.
Victor nodded and reached for the handle of his door, pulling it open, preparing to step inside.
“And thank you,” she said, causing him to turn with the words, “for allowing me to stay in your home.”
“I am only doing what is required of me, Miss Crane.”
“Of course,” she whispered, sure to curtsy again.
He watched as she moved down the hall, her many skirts swaying around her legs.
Victor pulled himself into his room but stopped short, remembering the reason he’d thrown the bloody party in the first place. “Lady Crane,” he called.
She turned.
He did not eye her, but stared upon the smooth wood of his door. “Send Christian to my quarters when he arrives. If he brings with him a lady, I want you to watch over her, please.”
Lillith was silent for a few moments, and then she moved down the hall.
He closed his eyes, hearing her footsteps on the marble floor, and for the first time since he’d been turned, he felt ancient. It seemed as if the years were falling all over his body, reducing him to his true age—an age as numerous as the lies kept. Yes, he’d held his tongue for Dracula more times than he could count, but just as well, he thought, closing the door, it was the nature of his being. To obey the one who made him. It was the same for others, he knew.
He closed the door to his room and walked over to his bed. He relaxed and spread out his aching limbs, his aching shoulders and back. He closed his eyes and let the worry drift from his mind...
Then he sat up.
Since when did he feel old since being turned? Of all the years he’d lived as a Vampire, Victor Vonderheide never felt so...human. What could be causing such symptoms?
He lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck and felt it: the gold band Dracula had given him just before he’d left the City. He brought his hand to his eyes to better glimpse the ring. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered, knowing he had felt his power diminish greatly whenever he put the ring on, but to think it had a lasting effect... It would have never crossed his mind.
He bit his bottom lip, squeezing the ring, the metal clamps retreating from inside his finger, and he felt his power return. Once the metal clamps were safely hidden inside the ring, he slid it off his finger and placed it beside him on his bed.
He stared at it, wondering what that ring had been doing to him all the days he’d worn it. Was it possible Dracula knew the lasting side effects? If he did, why would he allow them to be mass-produced for other Vampires to wear? No, it was impossible...
He massaged the fading weariness from his temples and stood, stretching his arms and legs. The music from the party downstairs pounded against the reinforced door and his blood warmed. Yes, he felt much better now, having taken off the damned ring. He wished to never wear it again if he could help it. But, it was necessary if he wished to manage living on the surface. Or was it?
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. “May I?” the voice asked.
“Who calls?”
“It is I, Christian. Please, may you open the door? The smell of these humans is driving me mad.”
He moved to the door and opened it, stepping aside to allow the Vampire entrance. And when Christian was in the room, his eyes turned crimson, something Victor could not ignore. As he closed the door behind them, he watched the back of the Vampire’s head, smelling greatly now the blood that drifted off the Creature. “You reek,” he said.
“I had to have a quick feed.”
Victor folded his arms across his chest, glaring at Christian’s black hair. “Who was it? A passing maid? The cook? The servant boy?”
Christian snarled, finally turning to face him, his eyes widening. “A passing maid.”
“You disposed of her corpse?” he asked, knowing Christian’s affinity for leaving the bodies where they lay.
“I did my best given the circumstances.”
“You did your best? And what does that mean, exactly?”
“What does it matter? It never would’ve happened if that damned woman hadn’t destroyed my ring.”
“What?”
“Alexandria Stone,” Christian said. “She invited me to the ball tonight, but her stare...”
He stepped forward, ignoring the rest of the words except those that had caught his interest: Alexandria Stone. “What are you talking about?”
Christian sank into a chair next to Victor’s desk and did not look up. “This woman Damion saved...”
“So she is staying at his home?”
“Yes,” he replied, “she is staying there. She is downstairs now. I was told you wanted to see me so I ran up here as fast as I could—”
“Christian,” he said, cutting his words, the realization that she was downstairs tearing his mind in two. “Christian. Christian! It’s been done! She’s been found! Tell me, tell me how you felt when you first laid eyes upon her.”
“I felt... I felt like I could not bite her.”
At these words, Victor ran from the room, completely oblivious to the voice that called after him: “Victor? What in the world? Victor?!”
He was already halfway down the hall, his feet flying underneath him. She’s been found. But what that truly meant remained to be seen. He had to see her, had to witness her for himself.
He reached the end of the hall, his hands crashing against the railing of the balcony, causing the Vampires standing nearby to jump at his sudden presence. “My Lord?” they asked in alarm.
He scanned the Vampires and humans below with unflappable eagerness. “Where is Lillith?”
As one Vampire responded, “She’s down there, my Lord,” another took notice of his bare hands. “You do not have your ring!”
Victor thanked the first Vampire to respond before turning to the other. “No. No, I do not.”
“Wh-Why not?” the Vampire asked, but he was already making his way down the long flight of winding stairs.
When he reached the bottom, he scanned the large room full of people and Vampires, his first step hesitant. He lingered on the ball of his foot: The smell of the humans’ blood filled his nose. He was a full-fledged, unguarded Vampire in a room of vibrant, very-alive humans. He had always controlled of his urges, but he realized he had not fed at all since he’d returned from the City. They had not even stopped for blood during their journey back to London, and now he was cursing himself for forgoing what he needed in lieu of rest.
He stopped one of the Vampires he’d hired for the night, “Take me to her at once.”
“Yes, my Lord,” he said, not bothering to question what it was the Vampire meant. He turned and moved through the crowd, Victor sure to follow close behind, ignoring the other important Vampires and humans they passed. His focus was to secure the woman immediately.
And when they finally reached the main doors, there stood Lillith Crane and a very beautiful woman who seemed quite overcome: Her brow was furrowed, and as he stepped closer to her, Victor saw her eyes were a, interesting brown-green. Her brown hair fell in curls around her face, spilling down her shoulders and back, over the elegant blue gown she wore.
He extended a hand. “My Lady.”
She hesitated, but took it all the same, and he saw that she noticed the cold of his skin. It seemed as though she was prepared to gasp or scream but then her confused gaze met his own and his eyes flashed, forbidding her the notion of doing either. With relief, he saw her beautiful face break into a pleasant smile instead, and he moved to kiss the back of her small hand, glad that she was not immune to a Vampire’s charms. It would not do if she caused a scene in front of all of his guests.
He stared at her, releasing her hand from his own. She was different from most humans; this was clear. It was not in appearance, for she looked like any other rather beautiful human, but it was something within her skin...her interesting eyes...
“My Lord,” she said, curtsying.
“My Lady…”
“Stone. Alexandria Stone.”
“My Lady Stone,” he continued, aware he could not smell her blood, “it seems you are new to London. Please. May you accompany me to my quarters for a talk as to better educate you on the way things are done here?”
She appeared flustered by his bold proposition—as she should be, he thought with a small smile—and she stared uncertainly around at the number of people that watched her with great curiosity. “I...I don’t know what you mean, my L-Lord.”
Victor gazed deep into her eyes. It most vital he get her alone, see what she really was. “Please, I insist,” he whispered.
Her gaze darkened, and then, without preamble, her hand reached forward of its own accord and Victor extended his arm automatically, a smile of satisfaction upon his lips as her arm found its way through his.
All eyes watched them as they moved together, uneven in stride and height, to the staircase. They ascended to the second floor, where two Vampires standing watch waited. Victor saw their bewildered gazes, but nodded to them and brushed past, guiding Alexandria toward his room.
He caught her hesitant expression once they neared the door, but he gave her a comforting smile and opened it all the same, allowing her to see his bed, his desk, and the cold Vampire who stood near the windows across from the door.
Her expression darkened once she eyed Christian and hesitantly stepped into the room.
Victor followed, closing the door silently behind them.
Christian glared at them in alarm. He stepped closer to the wall and snarled. “Why did you bring her in here?”
“I had to be sure,” Victor said, gesturing for Alexandria to take a seat at his desk.
“Well,” Christian snapped, “are you sure? Is she the one he wants?”
Victor’s gaze floated to her. She stayed near the door. “Yes,” he said at last, “I am quite sure it is her. Her blood does such strange things to me.”
Alexandria blinked, staring at them in clear confusion. It was not long before she cleared her throat and said, “My Lords, why am I here?”
They both eyed her, and Christian spoke first, although it was to Victor he spoke, not Alexandria: “What will be done with her?”
He watched her. “We must take her to Dracula, of course.”
Alexandria did not move, her brown-green eyes widening with confusion. “What is going on? Who are you?”
Victor placed a careful hand on her shoulder and she shuddered, but with a stern glance into her sharp eyes, she calmed and he said, “Please relax, Lady Stone. No harm will befall you under our watch.”
With his words and kind stare, she seemed able to move to the chair at last. She sank into it, eyeing both Vampires, and it was clear to Victor that, although his charms worked, she was still perturbed. She still desired to know why she was there. Indeed, she had a will he’d never seen before in a human.
Alexandria said, “Why did I wake up in some Lord’s manor, privy to a murder, only to have the law enforcement dismiss it as child’s play?”
Victor stirred. “What murder?”
Alexandria eyed Christian. “Ask him,” she said at once, gazing upon the Vampire as though he knew more than he had been willing to tell earlier.
Victor marveled at how cold her glare upon Christian was, despite the charm placed on her only seconds before. Why, she wasn’t calm at all.
She said, “He seems to know more about it than anyone else.”
“What is she talking about, Christian?” he asked.
Christian’s eyes shifted from Alexandria to Victor, his face miserable, his eyes blood-red, and at this, Alexandria gasped, but he merely snarled. “When I awoke, fully healed, the maid assigned to me was fixing the room, and she went to open the curtains to let the blasted sun in. That was when I shouted at her, for I did not have my ring, Damion removed it so my healing could not be slowed. And, naturally, I was very...hungry.” His gaze moved to Alexandria’s confused expression before he set his stare on Victor. “She was young and I was unguarded, no longer held back by those damned rings. I took my chance like any other Creature would.”
Victor was silent, but Alexandria appeared blank, her knuckles white within her lap: She held tight to her skirts. “My God,” was the slow whisper that left her lips, forcing her blank stare to turn to Christian. “It...it was you. You killed her.”
Victor remained before his bed, staring daggers at the human and Vampire. Perfect, even more explaining would have to be done to calm her frantic nerves now.
Christian met her eyes. “Yes, I did.”
“Oh, my God. Why? Why would you do such a thing?” Alexandria said, glued to her seat, although Victor could eye the rise and fall of her chest as the Vampire’s words dawned upon her.
Victor spoke up next when it was clear Christian would not be able to answer her. “He had to.”
Alexandria turned to him. “Excuse me?”
“Although Christian is rather reckless, what he did was no different from what any Vampire would do.”
Alexandria’s brow furrowed. “Vampire?”
“The infamous London murderers,” Victor said. “You have read about them in your papers?”
Alexandria nodded, her eyes widening with true realization at last. She stood and stepped back, away from Victor and Christian, who watched her curiously. She pressed herself against the wall, her chest rising and falling, fear wide in her eyes. “D-Don’t hurt me,” she whispered.
“Relax, Miss Stone,” Victor said again. “You are fine. We will not harm you.”
“But he,” she cast a dark look to Christian, who glared back as though sick of her presence, “murdered a woman in cold blood!”
“Whatever Christian did to that woman... It is all very hard to explain, Miss Stone, but if you would please sit and allow us to—”
“Allow you to what? Bite my neck and drink my blood?”
Christian snarled in annoyance.
Victor allowed his eyes to narrow in exasperation. If it were not for Christian’s clear recklessness, he truly believed they could have gone about all of this much smoother. “We shall do no such thing, Miss Stone,” he said, his thoughts returning to the fact that her blood did not seem to reach his nose, even while she stood in clear fear just before him. “Please, allow us to explain what is happening.”
Alexandria looked at him through tear-soaked, blotched eyes. She did not say a word.
No one moved for what seemed an eternity, the music from below pounding against the door was the only thing that broke the unnatural silence of the room.
When the music died, and the band started a different song, someone finally said something. And to Victor’s surprise, it was Christian Delacroix.
“Please, Miss Stone. You said you’ve seen me somewhere before. Where did you remember me from?”
She seemed to gravitate towards the slightest inkling of kindness in his voice, for she stepped away from the wall, although her chest still rose and fell rapidly. “It was a dream. I remember you from a dream,” she said, her voice shaking.
Christian smiled at her handsomely, Victor’s eyes wide in surprise. “Okay. Good. What happened in the dream?”
“It was...dark. There were things all around me. They were watching me.” She recalled the dark night Christian left Damion’s home. “Th–then a large...beast stalked toward me. I couldn’t move. The next thing I remember was you flying toward the large...the large...”
She started to cry.
Christian came to her aid at once. He wrapped two arms around her slender frame, and she grabbed at his suit jacket, sobbing into his chest.
Victor’s wonder at the situation was short lived: Christian eyed him over her head, his eyes turning back to their miserable black. And all at once, Victor understood: The Vampire had only feigned caring and compassion, just enough to get her to talk—to calm down. And he had not even used his charm to do so. Miraculous.
Christian looked down at the human in his arms and placed his hand upon her head. She seemed to wince underneath his touch, but she did not push him away. It was a few minutes before anyone spoke, and it was Alexandria who did so.
“It really happened didn’t it?” she whispered.
Christian, who had taken to running his hand through her hair, said, “What really happened?”
“The dream. It was no dream, was it?”
Victor stared at him, curious, indeed, to see what it was the Vampire would say. He had never moved so quickly before, never acted so...truthfully before. Especially with a human, never mind if she were requested by Dracula, himself.
Christian caught the Vampire’s gaze, as if requesting permission to continue on with his little act.
Victor nodded. Whatever Christian did, it was a start to getting to know more about the curious human, after all.
“No, Alexandria,” Christian said, not releasing his hand from her head, “it was no dream.”
Xavier marched along, Dragor close on his heels, Vampires clearing a path for them through the many levels of the mansion.
When they reached the last floor, several Vampires who sat at tables sipping glasses filled with blood looked up at their arrival, and many gasped, pushing away their drinks as Xavier passed. He strode to the desk against a wall where a Vampire sat dourly.
“Send word to the Clearance Committee,” Xavier demanded, “I am leaving the City with Dragor Descant.”
The Vampire looked toward Dragor, who had taken to staring around at the high walls of the first floor of the mansion, before turning his apprehensive gaze back to the tall Vampire before him. “D-Dragor Descant is a cr-criminal under word of the Chamber Masters. He is n-not to leave the City b-by any m-means.”
“Dragor is no criminal,” Xavier snarled, sending the Vampire’s eyes to widen. “And the Chamber Masters have no authority over the say of a Member of the Vampire Order. Are you saying you would take the word of Civil Certance over Dracula?!”
“No! Not at all, my Lord! Not at all!” The Vampire nearly jumped out of his chair. “It is just... Lord Certance has made it painfully clear that Dra-Dragor is not to leave the C-City—” he caught Xavier’s smoldering glare “—but if Dracula has said otherwise, I am s-sure Lord Certance would n-not obj-object.”
“I am sure he would not,” Xavier said.
The Vampire, shaking vigorously, grabbed a stray piece of paper and began to write his request. When he had blotched his name at the end, he looked up, and careful not to meet Xavier’s eyes, he called for one of the Vampires sitting at the table nearest them. “Frye, take this paper to the Clearance Committee. Run as fast as you can, do you hear me?”
“Y-Yes, sir,” the young Vampire stammered, very well aware that Xavier stood next to him, staring him down.
He grabbed the paper and folded it, carefully, as to not let any of the ink smudge. With a quick nod to the Vampire behind the desk, he pushed himself through the doors of the mansion.
Xavier smiled. “Thank you,” he said, glad one part of getting Dragor out of the City was over with.
The Vampire behind the desk grunted, pressing his nose into the papers before him, dabbing his quill in the inkbottle. He seemed determined to destroy Xavier’s presence by paying him as little attention as possible.
He turned from the desk and motioned for Dragor to follow before pushing through the doors of Dracula’s mansion, proceeding down the many marble steps before them. It was not until he’d reach the last step did he turn to see that he was very much alone at the bottom of the staircase. “Dragor?” he called.
But Dragor was staring at a figure deep in the distance, causing Xavier to follow his gaze. Even against the torches many Vampires held in their hands throughout the streets, Xavier could see the one darkened figure in particular that stepped toward them with purpose.
He turned to look back up at Dragor, a haunted expression on his friend’s face. “Dragor, what’s wrong?”
The large Vampire rushed down the stairs at an alarming rate toward the dark figure that had covered a great distance in the short time Xavier had turned from him.
Dragor marched up to the figure, his expression that of intense, unintelligible, flustering emotions. “Lu-Lucien?”
The figure removed the hood that hid his face, and Xavier saw that he was pale. A Vampire with slightly frayed blond hair that flew frazzled over his face. His brown eyes were sunken, as though he had not slept in centuries, and Xavier could not place who this strange Vampire was.
Dragor stared at the Vampire mere inches away. “Lucien, why are you here?!”
Lucien opened his mouth and said, his voice holding the air of something quite strange over the words, “I am here because a good friend of mine said I should come before you left. It seems he was right in his timing, as always.”
Dragor did not even seem to register that Xavier was standing behind him, his deep blue eyes stared into Lucien’s. “What friend? How did you know I was leaving? What’s going on?”
“In time. I have only returned to escort you to somewhere safe,” Lucien scanned Xavier’s face, “that is, if it is all right with the Lord of Vampires.”
Xavier said, “Who are you?”
“Lucien,” he said with a slow, toothy smile, “Lucien Caddenhall.”
“Caddenhall?” he whispered in astonishment. “The Lucien Caddenhall?”
“The very same,” Dragor cut in, quite enthused that his friend had come to pay him a visit.
Lucien looked to the guards that stood on either side of the large doors leading into the building. “Perhaps,” he said, “we should walk and talk.” With that, he led them away from the marble steps to Dracula’s mansion and farther into the streets of the dark, bustling City. The light that peered over the steps and the entrance to the mansion faded from the three men’s bodies as they walked.
When they were a far distance from the mansion, and the large fire that roared, suspended by what could only be magic over the steps, that Lucien spoke again. His hood drawn upon his head, his features hidden, save his mouth, which moved rapidly as he talked. “There is not much time to explain, but I was called here because of Dracula.”
“What of Dracula?” Xavier asked, glancing at Lucien over Dragor’s shoulder.
It was for the slightest fraction of a second that Lucien seemed to hesitate with his words. “I am a Member of the Alliance for All Dark Creatures. As you may have heard, we specialize in the combination of Dark Creatures’ powers, hoping to one day bring forth a better world for our kind. Perhaps even living amongst the humans, without the use of special jewelry and enchanted objects.”
Dragor nodded, staring ahead. There was no time to grab a cloak for him, so he was left with the clothes he had worn since he’d been put in the Chambers of Waiting.
Xavier listened carefully, ignoring the ogling stares of Vampires as they passed.
“We reside in the County of Lane,” Lucien was telling Dragor. “Our Head of Office, Demetrius Bane, prides himself on working with Dracula, but as of late, the Great Vampire has been less of a compliance. It is bad enough I am here—I’ve managed to slip past the Clearance Committee unscathed—but Demetrius insisted I come, if only to fetch Dragor. He believes you will be safer in Lane. The news of your attack on Damion has spread like wildfire. The remaining Centaurs and Merpeople have passed it along. Of course, they’ve acquired their information from the Vampires who are entering the City for Dracula’s Ball.”
Dragor looked to Xavier, extreme unease upon his face.
Xavier returned the glare, only colder in temperature.
They walked along, not saying a word as they passed the odd, stretched buildings built of dark stone. Some of these buildings were pubs, others inns, which the Vampires who now traveled to the City in abundance, occupied fully. The richer of these guests were, as Xavier knew, holed up in the Secondary House.
He cast a glance over his shoulder to the silver building made of material he could not make out from the distance. The Secondary House was a large building, but paled in comparison to Dracula’s towering mansion, seen from anywhere in the dark City. The two pillars that held up the Secondary House were illuminated by the torches that passed.
He turned his attention back to the road in front of them. The main road of the Vampire City ran from the Clearance Committee building to Dracula’s mansion. But, of course, there were many small roads that veered off, leading to the many houses that made up the large City. Vampires from all over England lived in these houses, but they were not his concern at the moment. His focus was on Lucien Caddenhall.
The Caddenhalls, as Xavier learned through his study of Legendary Vampires and the Places They Inhabit, were renowned for their lone war against the Invaders—secretive, darkly cloaked figures that plagued the family for many generations. It was said that the Invaders, as they were known, arrived on the doorstep of the next Caddenhall family, if only to brand the newborn—boy or girl—with the mysterious emblem. Xavier glimpsed the emblem several times throughout his studies, but it was never explained what the emblem stood for.
As for the Caddenhall family, whose newborn was marked, they were powerless to stop the Invaders. Immediately upon entering the threshold, the Invader grew in power and no Creature, no Vampire, nor Lycan, could ever touch him.
Xavier thought this miraculously odd, for it was never stated in his studies of The Caddenhall Curse, and he wondered why Dracula had never done anything to stop them.
Xavier looked up to see they had reached the black gates of the Clearance Committee. The white building—such a contrast from the murky darkness that surrounded them—stood erect with its black flags hanging from poles next to the doors.
They were opening and Lucien, hidden fully in his cloak, slid behind Dragor, and became his shadow. The Vampires that were leaving the building stopped, their gazes catching Xavier with curious intensity. It was as if they’d figured him a painting—as there were many of the Vampire—until they realized that it was the real thing standing before them.
A woman, a tall withstanding woman with glassy brown eyes, curtsied upon recognizing him, and then nudged the Duke of Lessingway with her elbow, causing him to hold his midsection, sending him into a sort of half-bow. “My Lord,” she said, “I must say what an honor it is to meet you. We’ve met once before. I’m the Countess of Lane, Catalina Zey.”
Xavier nodded his greeting. “Countess Zey. Glad to make your acquaintance. We have met once before?” he asked, not remembering her.
She seemed to blush, except her pale cheeks did not show it. “Besides the hallways of the Great Vampire’s mansion,” and she gestured toward the mansion behind him, “we have met on more than one occasion. Do you not remember when you were training with Dracula? You visited Lane—but of course, I was a mere girl. I had not yet reached my Age—you’ve met my sister, the Princess of Lane, Liliana Zey.”
Xavier smiled, for the name triggered in him the remembrance of the Princess. When he had known her, she had not reached her Age, but she was still quite beautiful, still quite passionate. “Of course. Liliana. How is the Lady fairing?”
She smiled. “My sister is fantastic. She’s here with my younger sister, Joyana. My mother could not make the trip, but she wanted to visit. Is this Lord Descant?” she had taken notice of the large Vampire at last.
Dragor seemed hesitant to respond, and then Xavier said, “Yes, it is he.”
Catalina appeared appalled, although curiosity lined her gentle eyes. “But surely it is not true. Forgive me for prying, but there are talks halfway through the country by now of Dragor Descant’s attack on your First Seat!” she said, completely ignoring Dragor.
Xavier did not turn to look at him but knew his eyes had darkened in shame. “Lady Zey,” he said, “I did not know you to be one to take to rumors.”
She recoiled under his gaze. “O-of course not Xavier, but the talks are so thunderous—they nearly surpass the talks of Eleanor Black’s revival!”
Xavier must have showed the anger he felt, for Catalina stepped back, now half-guarded behind the Duke of Lessingway, a position the Duke most certainly did not favor. He was sure to take deep, slow breaths, allowing the feelings that arose with the name to leave him. When they were mostly gone, he countered, “They are calling it a revival?”
“Yes. Have you not heard?”
“I do not need to hear. I was there!”
The Duke finally stirred. “Then what, pray tell, took place that night, my Lord?”
Xavier glared at him. “I will not discuss the Order’s matters with you—”
“According to my ears around the mansion, you haven’t even told the others in the Order with you,” Camaril said.
Dragor raised a fist to stop him from moving forward, much to Xavier’s surprise, and spoke, his voice rough from not being used since they left the mansion. “Camaril Edinson, brother to the King of Lessingway, Gregory Edinson, you will hold your tongue.”
Camaril stared at him, whatever words he had ready to utter pushed back down into his throat with Dragor’s next words: “There have been a constant barrage of Vampires who claim they know what is taking place. This is simply not so! Yes, it is true I have done things I should not have, but what business it is of yours—” he pointed a large finger to Camaril and Catalina “—Countess and Duke? You are here in preparation for the Ball, I gather, so let it be. Do not poke your noses in things that are not of your concern. It is a trying time for the Vampire City—for all Dark Creatures! Surely, surely there are much more important things to attend to than gossip and rumor. And how dare you—how bloody dare you—speak to Xavier in such a way?! Are you not aware of his standing, his right?”
The two Vampires had clearly understood something in Dragor’s speech Xavier had not, for they held very grave, apprehensive looks upon their faces, and nodding curtly, they rushed past Dragor, not taking notice of the cloaked figure who stood behind him.
Lucien reappeared clapping a white hand on his friend’s back. “Excellent job, very well done, deliciously convincing.”
Dragor looked most pleased with himself.
Xavier stared. “Why the congratulatory remarks?”
He could not see Lucien’s eyes, but knew the Vampire was staring at him. White lips moved underneath the hood, “There is, it appears, a lot you must learn.”
“Indeed,” Dragor agreed.
“What d—?”
But Lucien’s cloak had already swayed, and it was through the small light of miniature torches that Lucien slipped through the door. A short Vampire strode through, not aware that Lucien had passed him at all.
Xavier blinked, and Dragor smiled. “It is his curse, I’m afraid.” And Dragor moved to catch up to Lucien.
Xavier stood there, incredibly confused. Lucien Caddenhall was a mystery. Shrouded in secrets that seemed so very important, but at the same time, so very out of reach, and as he approached the doors to proceed inside the building, Xavier could not help but feel there was so much more to what just happened than what he could begin to fathom.