After dinner, Mitchell and Peterson led me upstairs, to a large bedroom. It was done up like Elton John’s wet dream, with a large four-poster bed, antique dressing table and chair, large gilt-framed mirror and expensive persian rug, covering dark floorboards. Elaborately-patterned, designer wallpaper adorned the walls. There was also an en suite bathroom, decorated a bit like the one I’d been in earlier except this one had a shower, toilet and basin. I walked around the bedroom, checking the floorboards to see if any of them were loose - they’d make good weapons. But sadly, no such luck. Then I tossed open the velvet curtains, I checked the windows. They were nailed shut. I looked out, across the clear, moonlit night, to see the vast english countryside. Rolling hills and the odd cluster of woodland and, crucially, not a single house or light, as far as the eye could see.
Bollocks! I stamped my foot and slumped down in the chair. I’d never felt more impotent.
My tired face stared back at me, from the mirror. I was clean and smelt beautiful but no amount of washing and expensive toiletries could erase the trauma of the past few days. Reaching towards my collar, I craned forward, inspecting it closely. Tiny black crystals were embedded into dark metal. I had to find a way of getting this thing off. If I didn’t, I risked being forced to spend the rest of my life here, as a prisoner of that scuzz bucket, Beaufort. I clenched my fist.
No way! I will escape. Or Nik will come for me.
Or would he? Was I that valuable to him? It felt like it, when I was with him but I was beginning to have my doubts. Our relationship had been complicated from the start and maybe now, I was too much of a liability for Nik to have in his life. The Ahimsas already spent their lives constantly looking over their shoulders for Draculs. Perhaps Carlotta was, at this very moment, advising him to cut me loose. A wave of pain coursed through my chest at the thought of him tossing me aside. And it probably would be that easy for him. I was just another girl, of the many that he must’ve had and would have, during his very long life. What was he doing right now? Was he thinking of me? He’d warned me that I had to be careful and he’d been right.
Tears welled at my eyes and I sniffed and wiped them away. I had to be strong. If I fell apart, I had no chance of escape. I couldn’t rely on the slim chance that Nik would rescue me. I had to find out as much as I could about Beaufort. What his strengths were, what his weaknesses were and most of all - what he really wanted from me. I was bone tired and wished I could get a good night’s sleep. But could I trust what Beaufort had said? Would I really be safe from vampire attacks here or should I sleep with one eye open?
I got up and walked over to the bed. Spreading my hands across the soft sheets, I couldn’t help but be a little impressed. It was perfectly made, with hospital-tucked corners, fluffy feather pillows and a plump eiderdown. Everything about this place seemed designed to delight but why? Why did Beaufort care what I thought? Where did he keep the humans he fed off? And did they also get this kind of deluxe treatment?
I crept towards the door and opened it a crack. Mitchell and Peterson were still outside. Nik had told me vampires didn’t need much sleep. They’d probably stand there all night. Peterson turned towards me, he’d taken off his glasses and his dark eyes flashed a warning. “Goodnight Ms Ryan.”
Giving him a murderous glare, I slammed the door shut. “Goodnight, arseholes.” I screamed at the closed door, as I stormed over to the bed.
Blowing a strand of pink hair from my face, with a loud huff, I collapsed onto the eiderdown. A puff of air released from the bedding, which for some reason made me feel even angrier. Then, as I looked at the antique dressing table, I decided I’d had enough. I got up and strode towards it. Squatting down, I lifted it up and was about to hurl it over when I heard….
“I hope you’re not about to damage my Louis the Sixteenth dressing table.” It was Beaufort’s voice.
I dropped the dressing table and whipped my head from side to side, searching for the source. Then I spotted tiny speakers, disguised as lights, at two ends of the bedroom ceiling. But where was the camera?
“What do you expect?” I snapped. “I’m not gonna go to sleep in a dracul vampire’s house, without arming myself.”
“Ah. So your plan is to smash up my dressing table and use the broken wood as stakes. Am I right?”
I pursed my lips and folded my arms, glaring at the speakers, in florid silence.
“Mitchell and Peterson would disarm you before you even realise they’ve entered the room. All you will accomplish is destroying a very rare and priceless antique. I’m sure you’ll agree with me, that would be a shame.”
His treacle-lined voice had the same effect on me, as someone insulting my mother. I thumped both fists onto the dressing table. “The biggest shame here, is that you hide behind security staff and speaker systems, instead of taking me on, one-on-one, in a fair fight. Because when that day comes, I promise you, that the rare and priceless antique I’ll be destroying is YOU!”
There was a brief pause and then he replied. “You’re tired Bree. Get some sleep. No harm will come to you tonight. We’ll talk more in the morning.” The intercom clicked off.
I hated him. The veneer of politeness masked a man who, instinct told me, was capable of unspeakable acts of depravity. Even worse than that - he was a coward. He’d been terrified of me, when he’d seen me at the restaurant. But now, surrounded by his henchmen, he talked big. I’d get my own back on him. Whatever this was, I’d find a way out and then I’d enjoy watching him suffer.
Resigned to my fate, for now, I checked under the pillows and was not surprised to find a set of luxe pyjamas, in my size. Unbuttoning my shirt, I stopped at the second button - was he watching me get changed? He probably was, the pervert! Add that to the list of things I hated about him. I stomped towards the bathroom. He probably had cameras in there too but it felt more private. I changed into the pyjamas and then brushed my teeth with the new toothbrush and toothpaste on the basin. Then I got into bed, still seething. But against my expectations, I soon felt my eyelids get heavier. And as they did, one thought drifted through my sleepy head.
You may have the upper hand for now, Beaufort. But not for long. Not for long…
I slept the dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted and awoke feeling like I’d just closed my eyes for a moment. However, the sound of birdsong and the sunlight filtering through the crack in the curtains, told me it was morning. Suddenly remembering where I was, I sat bolt upright. Now I’d had a good night’s sleep, my thoughts were clearer, my body was stronger, I felt more positive about my situation.
Yes. Today is a good day for breaking out of a vampire’s lair!
I jumped out of bed and was just about to get into the shower when there was a knock on my bedroom door. I stiffened. “Who is it?”
“My name is Darla. Mr Beaufort has assigned me as your personal maid. May I come in?”
Personal maid? What in the hell was going on here? “Sure.” I answered weakly, hoping it wasn’t another vampire.
A pretty, young woman with dark curly hair, slicked back into a tidy ponytail, entered. She had a smattering of freckles across the light brown skin of her nose and cheeks and her eyes twinkled as she smiled at me. In one hand, she pulled a small wheelie suitcase. Draped over the other arm, was a pile of clothes, on hangers, with the tags still on. As she came closer I gawped at the price of one of the shirts. It cost more than my monthly rent. Darla held up the shirt against my cheek. “It suits your colouring. Mr Beaufort will like that.” As her hand brushed against my face, I sniffed but detected no vampire scent. Darla was human. My eyes flicked immediately to her neck - no bite marks.
I wasn’t going to let the opportunity to pump her for information slip past but I was aware that Beaufort could be listening and watching us and I didn’t want to get her into trouble. I kept my questions as neutral as possible. “Why have I been assigned a maid?”
She smiled as she pulled the suitcase over to the dressing table. “Mr Beaufort likes all of his favoured humans in the house to have a personal maid.”
I creased my brow. “Favoured humans?” How many humans were here? And on what basis did Beaufort select the humans he favoured? “Do you have a maid?”
She laughed slightly, as if I’d said something ridiculous. “Oh no. I’m one of the house servants.”
I studied her. She looked normal enough but what human, in their right mind, would choose to come and work for a vampire? “Did you know he was a vampire when you started working here?” I asked.
She swallowed and her chest rose and fell a little faster. “No.” Her haunted expression left little doubt in my mind - she was scared. Her eyes darted to the speakers and then back at me, as if she was sending me a silent warning.
But I wasn’t about to give up that easily. “Why don’t you find another job?”
A look of pain flashed across her features but she ignored the question. “Right. Time for you to get into the shower. Put these on.” She dumped the pile of clothes into my arms. “Then when you get out I’ll do your hair and make up.”
She turned away from me, as if trying to avoid my accusing eyes. Reluctantly, I went to the en suite bathroom and did as she’d instructed. It was clear that Darla either wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me more than she had. But I was determined to keep trying.
After my shower, I walked back into the bedroom.
Darla stood behind the chair, at the dressing table and patted the backrest. “Come take a seat over here.” She opened the suitcase and took out a blow dryer, hairbrush and curling tongs. My eyes immediately went to the curling tongs. The metal lever would make an excellent weapon. It was unlikely to be made of silver so it wouldn’t kill any vampires but it could maim them and buy me a few seconds. I glanced into the suitcase that lay open, on the floor. Inside I spotted hair pins. Perhaps I could swipe one and use it to pick the lock on my collar? I wouldn’t do it right away, I’d talk to her for a while first, get her to relax, before choosing my moment carefully.
Darla plugged in the hair dryer and switched it on. Holding the dryer in one hand, she waved it over my head as she brushed my hair with the other hand. I decided to start casually, asking simple questions before working up to what I really wanted to know. “How long have you worked here?”
“It’ll be five years in January.” Her voice sounded weary and defeated.
Eyeing her in the mirror, her face seemed to take on a sad, wistful expression. “Did you answer a job advert or?…”
She gave a brief, bitter laugh. “I used to work for myself, getting clients through a beauty app.” As she talked her eyes grew misty. “I was hired to come here and do a job for one of Mr. Beaufort’s parties. It was a lot of money, I felt really lucky to have won the work. And he,” her voice cracked. “Let’s just say when he finds someone whose skills he likes, he doesn’t let that person go.” Her eyes widened meaningfully on the last few words.
What was she trying to tell me? Was she a prisoner here too, just like me? “Do you live here, like Sally?”
She nodded, looking down at the floor as she bit her lip. It looked like she was trying to stop herself from crying. But then she corrected her expression and took a deep breath as she fluttered her lips. “I think if we curl the ends, like this.” She held up a lock of my hair, and wound it round the curling tongs. When she let go, it had formed a beautiful loose corkscrew which she teased out, with her fingers. “That will really suit you. What do you think?” There was genuine concern in her voice and I sensed that, whether or not she wanted to be here, she was good at her job and took real pride in her work.
“Yeah, that looks really nice.”
She nodded proudly and started work on the rest of my locks. “What about you, how did you end up here?”
Her question surprised me but I wasn’t going to lie about it. Flattening my eyes, I replied, “I was kidnapped and brought here against my will.”
She hesitated, for just a moment, the slightest crease disturbing her forehead before she carried on. “That’s unusual. Most of the people who come here do so voluntarily…” She switched off the blow dryer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “… At first.” I almost missed what she said, it was so quiet - certainly quieter than what the speaker system could pick up. Her gaze flicked to mine and then quickly away again, as she bent down to put the hair dryer and hair brush away.
She was being careful - telling me just enough that I understood the humans here were prisoners. Even though our conversation had been surface level, I already liked Darla. She was trusting me when she barely even knew me. That took balls.
I thought carefully of what else I could ask. “The grounds of the estate look huge. How big is it?”
“Oh it runs for miles in all directions. If you want to explore the estate, just ask Mr Beaufort and he’ll let you. Do you ever go running?”
I nodded, enthusiastically.
“Then why not ask if you can go for a run? You’ll have to take your bodyguards of course.”
Of course. But Darla understood what I was thinking. Exploring the grounds was the first step. Maybe during the run I could do something to shake off Mitchell and Peterson. Or, even better, find a well-shaped stick to stake one or both of them with.
Darla finished curling my hair and put the curling tongs back into her suitcase. I couldn’t help glancing to the side and she noticed my line of sight.
“The tongs are made from heat-resistant plastic. They snap pretty easily.” Her voice had a tone of resignation that suggested she’d previously had this exact same idea. If the tongs were plastic, they’d be no good for staking vampires. Inwardly cursing, I reasoned that it should’ve been obvious. No vampire would arm his human captives with potential weapons.
Bending down, she took the makeup box out of the suitcase and started applying cream over my face. “Your skin is a little dry. What moisturiser do you use?”
I raised one eyebrow. “Er, whatever I can afford, which is normally the shop’s own no-name brand.”
She chuckled. “Well, one thing you will get here is access to top of the line products. Mr Beaufort likes his pets to look well-groomed.” She emphasised the word ‘pets’ and ‘well-groomed’ in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. Is that what I was here? A pet? Darla clearly thought so. But if I was a pet. What was she? Just a servant? As she bent forward to dab concealer onto my lower eyes, I whispered. “Do the vampires feed on you?”
She whispered back, quickly, her eyes wild with fear. “No. I’m not a blood slave.”
Blood slave? What the hell!
I broke out in goosebumps as my mind went into overdrive. So far I’d learnt that there were some humans who were pets - Darla thought I was one of these. Then there were human servants, like Sally and Darla. And a third class of humans - blood slaves.
I didn’t want to get Darla into trouble. She’d probably already risked a lot by telling me what she had done so I decided to stop the questions for now. If she was going to be my personal maid, I’d have time to find out more later.
Grabbing a huge brush, Darla dusted powder all over my face before crouching down in front of me, to shape my eyebrows. As I looked in the mirror, my face already looked way better than it normally did, when I did my own makeup. She had a real talent. “Where did you learn to do makeup like this?”
Her tone lifted, telling me that this was a topic she enjoyed. “I went to beauty college. As a child I was always doing my dolls’ hair. That’s all I ever wanted to do - make them look pretty. When I left school it was an obvious choice for me.” She withdrew the mascara brush from its tube. “Look up.”
I did as instructed and she started applying mascara to my top and bottom lashes. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I was growing up. That’s probably why I’ve ended up drifting from one, dead-end, office junior role to another. You’re really lucky.”
Her face crumpled and she looked like she was about to cry. “Lucky, right.”
I gulped, aware that I’d put my foot in my mouth. She would be lucky if she wasn’t a vampire’s prisoner. Was she even paid? I suspected not. And coupled with her use of the term ‘blood slave’ I guessed that she too was a slave - kept here against her will, performing work for no pay. Even though I’d told myself I’d asked enough for today, I couldn’t resist asking one final question. “What’s the pay like?”
She shook her head, her eyes welling with tears, confirming what I’d suspected without uttering a word. The desolation was written all over her face. But Sally, Beaufort’s cook, had seemed so cheerful. Had that been an act, a survival mechanism? And if I was a ‘pet’ what special privileges did that give me, other than maid service?
Darla put the final touches on my face and stepped aside to show me in the mirror.
“I look amazing!”
She smiled. “Thanks. Now you’re ready for your first day in Beaufort Heights.” Seeing my frown, she explained. “That’s the name of this mansion - your home for the foreseeable future.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm but she looked at me with pity and compassion.
I tried to infuse my returning smile with as much gratitude as I could. Holding her hand, I squeezed it lightly and looked into her eyes. “Thank you.” I wanted her to know that I wasn’t only thanking her for doing my hair and make up.
She nodded and zipped up the suitcase, as she began walking out. Her shoulders slumped and her footsteps seemed heavy on the wooden floors. It was only then that I remembered I hadn’t swiped any of the hair pins, as I’d been planning. Damnit! I’d have to wait until tomorrow - if I lasted that long. But the way Darla had described it, I wasn’t here to be fed on. The question still remained.
What was I here for?