Chapter 17: Danse Macabre
We found an abundance of outfits in an upstairs bedroom. The entire room overflowed with walk-in closets, antique dressers, and standalone cabinets. Within, I found gowns, dresses, pantsuits, and every manner of clothing from every possible historic period in every cut and style imaginable: Victorian, Regency, Jazz Age flapper dresses, 1940s lingerie, and an entire suite of old-fashioned dresses and bellbottoms in bright, primary colors: contributions from the 1960s and 70s, I took it. Powdered wigs, capes and robes hung from pegs or on mannequins. A tiara glittered from within an old hatbox.
I wrinkled my nose at the selection. “This isn’t a woman’s closet; this is a theatrical wardrobe. And judging from the dust and mothballs, the troupe that went out of business decades ago.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said, heading to the door.
“Colin! I don’t know where anything is!”
“I’ll send someone up to lend a hand.”
“Desiree is a thousand miles away.”
But he only smiled and closed the door.
Grumbling, I stepped into one of the walk-in closets. There was no way all this stuff belonged to Cherise and from what I’d seen of Desiree’s wardrobe, none of this crap looked like her style either. Those were the only two female vampires in the Braden Clan. Plus, the sizes were all over the place. This might be the accumulated clothing of hundreds of years of Bradens out shopping.
Gingerly, I fished out a few remote possibilities and laid them on the bed. One modest, charcoal gray evening gown suggested a possibility, but eyeballing the size it looked off. With a sigh, I kicked off one tennis shoe and sat on the bed.
The door popped open and Cherise strolled in, carrying both of my valises and the duffel bag that had vanished from my car earlier that day.
My heart in my throat, I leaped to my feet. “You!”
“Hiya, sis,” she said with a cheery note and a winsome smile, as if she’d never done anything evil to me, ever. She flung the bags onto the bed with her preternatural strength then dusted her hands together. For once, she wasn’t dressed like a refugee from a sci-fi convention, but wore a fetching if somewhat tight black dress, midi length. Her hair was styled into a vintage chignon, but I knew this rose carried poison thorns.
“You!” I shouted. “You stole my bags?”
“Stole is such a judgmental word,” she said. “I sent Burke to fetch them for safekeeping. You never know who’s running around Port Selkie these days. All sorts of unsavory characters and gooey monsters.”
“Why? Why would you do that?” I moved to take possession of my things, opening zippers and checking everything remained: jewelry, laptop, toiletries. It looked in order.
“Have you heard of the term ‘Kubark’ before?”
Tired of her nonsense, I spoke with some fury. “If that’s more of your Concordance bullshit, I quit! And I’m not paying the damn bills, either. I can’t believe you were behind all that.”
Her green eyes sparkled with merriment. “I developed C.T. based on New Age cult techniques. It’s local now, but someday it might make me some real money! Anyway, Kubark is different. It’s a C.I.A. technique designed to cause fear and anxiety in a target. When the subject questions their own sanity, they become more suggestible. Sadly, Armando shut me down before I could finish my experiment.”
“Why? Why do you keep hassling me?”
Thin shoulders shrugged. “Why not? Immortality is dull without entertainment. This amuses me.”
“You need some better hobbies.”
“Like what, sitting on my ass and watching TV?” An eyebrow flicked with amusement. “If you don’t like it, talk to my lawyer—but hey! You already did! Naughty, naughty, pointing a stun-gun at her. Did you tell Colin about that little trick?”
I colored, shaking my head. “Maybe not.”
“Well-played. You may not be worthless, after all.”
“You,” I said with some vehemence, “belong in jail.”
“By all means, call the police. ‘Hello, officer. I’d like to report a vampire planting subliminal messages in my workout class. She’s also kidnapped my mother. That’s why I flew to Australia under a fake passport. I’ve violated numerous Federal laws as a result of my deep-rooted paranoia.’ Go on, call. Deputy Wabash is parked just down the street.”
I grit my teeth. I didn’t need her lording it over me, reveling in my helplessness. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“Don’t worry, it’s over. Armando’s orders. I’ll find someone else to mess with. How attached are you to those girls, Amy and Maria?”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I ignored her. That’s the way to handle bullies and that’s all she was, a bully. If you don’t react, they get bored and wander off to bother someone else.
Unzipping one of my leather valises, I withdrew clothes and laid them out on the bed. I would attend this party on Colin’s arm, come what may. Time to mingle with ‘his people’ and go from there. There wasn’t much I could control in this situation, or indeed this world, but with Colin by my side nothing could stop me. If he claimed me and his desire to be with me was genuine, then we would find a way to be together. I could stay under his protection without becoming one of them. Desiree had laid that option on the table. I’d been a fool never to bring it up with Colin.
“Thanks for bringing up my bags,” I said with a curt air of dismissal, as if addressing one of the bellhops in Napoleon’s suite. I took diamond earrings from one of my jewelry boxes, went to a mirror to affix them to my lobes. “Please tell Colin I’ll be down soon.”
Her mouth opened then shut again. Icy daggers glared at me before she stepped out the door. But she had to have the last word—she just had to. She was that kind of person, nothing more. I was losing my fear of her. To think, I’d flown halfway around the world to avoid a mean-spirited little tramp.
“Certainly,” she said, fingernails rapping on the doorframe as she paused on the threshold. “Don’t be late, however. I assure you, this evening’s entertainment shall be quite … memorable.”
I disregarded that as just another empty threat. In retrospect, I should’ve listened.
I took my time, anyway. Off the main bedroom, I found a bathroom with clean linen. Locking the door, I took a much needed hot shower, brushed my teeth, and made myself presentable. Then I switched to clean underthings, heels, and a lace and satin evening gown with jacket, cream in color and still in its Parisian shopping bag. I didn’t rush myself, but I didn’t dally either. Who knew what waited downstairs?
The conversation and music from the party never ebbed as evening turned to night and the outdoor lights came on. Conversation was easier to pick out now, but apart from Colin’s brogue and the occasional shrill laugh from Cherise—fingernails on a chalkboard—I didn’t recognize any other voices.
My ensemble complete, I took one last look in the mirror. Yes, it would do. The hair, unfortunately, wasn’t perfect. The gown however had survived its travels unwrinkled and the Parisian shopkeepers had worked magic with their tape measures. It flattered what it could and covered what it must.
Now or never, Rowan. I opened the door and walked down a long, darkened hallway toward the main building of the house. This wing, I gathered, was an unused residential area, and so none of the guests were up here.
At the end of the hall, a further door opened onto a second floor landing, one overlooking the main ballroom. A grand balustrade divided the landing from the space below, the white, rounded columns melding into a pair of sweeping staircases down to the ground floor. The music had switched from the classical of early evening to a moody, wordless jazz.
Below, several dozen guests mingled. Latecomers still arrived. As before, the men wore dark suits or tuxedos, the women gowns and cocktail dresses. Here and there, a liveried servant offered trays bearing drinks or dainties. I recognized the outfits of the servers as the formal attire of a local catering company, one that did weddings, funerals, and like events.
More impressive were the guests. Many were strangers to me, but not all of them could be vampires. The mayor of Port Selkie was speaking to our Congressman for the North Coast District. I recognized the university chancellor speaking to a broad-shouldered man that could only be Xerxes Braden—the mighty leaper! —as well as Ann Tolliver, the Braden’s attorney. Cherise stood at her elbow, making a grandiose arm gesture. The little coterie around her tittered with laughter. No sign of Colin—or Burke.
Finally, Xerxes saw me and rather than running away—I half expected it! —he waved and came bounding up the stairs, two at a time, greeting me with a champagne flute that he pressed into my hands.
“You are Rowan Sparks,” he said. “Forgive me for not greeting you this afternoon. I was in a great hurry.”
I smiled, in spite of myself. His broad, handsome face betrayed an earnest boyishness and I saw what Desiree loved about him right away. He was no Colin, nobody was, but he was gorgeous. “You’re Xerxes, right? Why did you run away? That was some … jump.”
He threw his head back and roared. “One small step for mankind, one giant leap for Xerxes Braden!”
“Enjoying that champagne, are we?”
“Tonight, yes. Tell me,” he asked, a hand pressed on my shoulder. Dark, expressive eyes peered into mine. “You’ve been staying with Desiree. How is she?”
“She’s … doing great!” I said.
“Did she mention me?”
“Every day. ‘Oh, Xerxes would love this.’ Or, ‘Xerxes would look good in a suit like that.’ Non-stop, pretty much.”
“That is good. I am glad. Come, I’ll take you downstairs to meet the people.” He took my arm, friendly enough, but not possessive. For a vampire, he proved disarming.
The party proved awkward. Due to all the non-vampires, none of the Blooded spoke of anything important or secretive. The talk revolved around money, politics, the wine country, stock portfolios, and the recent election. Xerxes introduced me around, proving a gallant gentleman, but the names ran by so fast they blurred. A few flutes of the easy-drinking champagne, a light, sweet, almost ethereal vintage with an unusual rose tincture coloring the gold, only added to my confusion. It was not Napoleon suite champagne! But it went down easy all the same.
Xerxes excused himself and I found myself pigeon-holed between Ann Tolliver, the lawyer, and a good-looking, long-haired man with a touch of a Spanish accent.
“I take it you’ve found your mother?” Tolliver asked me, raising an eyebrow with icy disdain.
“Yes, in fact. Look, sorry about earlier tonight, it was just…”
She waved a hand, dismissive. “Armando has persuaded me to drop the matter. I’ve spoken to the Sheriff. The complaint is withdrawn.”
Relief flooded me. “Thanks, Miss Tolliver, umm, Ann.”
“Pardon me,” she said, smiling to the man but not me as she left.
The man—was this Armando Braden? Colin’s liege, the head of the Braden clan?
He took my hand and kissed it, the picture of elegance. “Miss Sparks, I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last. I’ve heard so much about you over the past week.”
In spite of myself, I flushed. Colin, Xerxes, and now Armando were all gorgeous. Cherise was pretty if creepy and Desiree beautiful in an understated way that you didn’t notice until you spent a lot of time with her.
Many of the other guests I’d been introduced to had also been paragons of good looks, with apparent excellent health, towering heights and enviable figures. Combined with a certain—darkness, say, or even mystery—to their eyes, a touch of madness along with a certain pallor or flush to their skin, and I was starting to identify the appearance of the Blooded. Maybe they used magic to improve their looks. It seemed plausible.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Braden,” I said, determined to make an impression for Colin’s sake.
“Please, call me Armando.” He gestured toward the patio outside. “Would you mind if we had a word?”
“Of course,” I said. He took my arm and we stepped out under the moonlight.
His manners caught me off-guard and he followed it up with a wink. But before I could suspect of him less than honorable intentions, he turned away, eyes following a vehicle coming up Buckmeadow Road. Headlights knifed the dark.
“Colin’s told me everything,” he said. “You have my deepest apologies for any inconvenience you might have suffered.”
“Inconvenience?” I said. I groaned inside, but he was being gracious, after all. “He told you everything?”
“Yes?”
“Even about my luggage stolen?”
“No?”
I told him what Cherise had done lately: stealing my luggage, telling Burke to pretend he didn’t know about all this, promising a ‘memorable’ evening.
He looked away, his interest waning. It reminded me of a parent listening to someone complaining about their kid’s bad behavior, but not acknowledging it. This guy was sire to both Desiree and Cherise, yet each of the women had their own fledgling or fledgling-to-be in Xerxes and Burke. I didn’t even know how to process that dynamic. I wound up my complaint, fast.
“Anyway,” I said, keeping a steady voice. “I don’t know what to think. Colin keeps saying it’s over, yet Burke and Cherise keep giving me a hard time. And my poor Mom, getting dragged from Arizona to here for no reason!”
His grimace filled the silence that followed. Alert, thoughtful eyes watched a Mercedes-Benz park in front of the gates and several figures exit. Then his strong gaze turned toward me and he tapped his chin. “I’ve given my ruling on this matter.”
“You … you have?” He’d said it as if I should understand what all that means.
“Yes. You are under Colin’s protection and must not be harmed by anyone else in the clan. The same protection extends to your entire family. Ours is not a Fair Game realm; we are civilized and obey the Law of Dagon.”
“But—”
“No more needs to be said. It is my ruling, and Cherise needs to learn to obey my rulings. That is for me to handle.” His hand shot up, waving to the people coming up the path. “Desiree, welcome home!”
It was my friend from Paris, dragging a single rolling suitcase up the gravel path! Playing porter, Colin carried two bags for her. I ran down the walk to greet her, but Xerxes beat me to it.
I stood on a balcony, watching headlights dwindle down Buckmeadow Road. The mayor, the chancellor, Ann Tolliver, and the other ‘normals’ drove off in ones and twos and threes.
It was after two in the morning. The party’s noise died down and the ocean surf pounded, a deep rumble only a few miles away. This place was named Braden House and belonged not to Cherise, but the entire clan, only one of many mansions they owned on both sides of the California-Oregon border. Their other guests came from further afield, from Portland and other ‘duchies’ and ‘counties’ within the Kingdom of Dagon. None of it made sense yet, but if I could figure out real estate finance, I could figure out this.
Reunited with Desiree and Colin, I stuck like a shadow to them as the party wound down. Xerxes made up our fourth, embracing Desiree in a way that showed me the two of them were much in love and Armando didn’t enter the picture. I was happy for them, but didn’t pry into the clan’s convoluted web of relationships. I had my own worries.
Cherise mingled with some of the outlanders as did Armando, both acting like gracious hosts. I got the distinct impression that both Xerxes and Desiree disliked Cherise more than I did, though they wouldn’t get into the reasons. Desiree assured me the harassment was over and that I should ignore any further ‘little games.’ My mother was off-limits and Burke would be punished. I still hadn’t seen my ex-husband tonight, although in theory this was his Ascension—the moment he would be elevated from thralldom to fledgling. A thrall was a mortal who served a specific Blooded, offering allegiance and receiving protection. In contrast, a fledgling was a newly blooded vampire, claimed by their master. They explained this all in between chit-chat about Paris and the Portland Court.
“What punishment will Burke get?” I asked, but they didn’t know. “So where is he?”
“He’s downstairs, getting ready for his big moment.”
“Downstairs?” I asked, looking around the courtyard. “We are downstairs.”
“Under the ground,” Xerxes said, tapping his foot on the paving stones.
A shiver ran through me. Overhead, the stars sparkled. I was alone with the Blooded, apart from a few other mortals in the service of other vampire guests. The other Bradens didn’t have any other thralls or human companions at the moment. Burke and I were it.
The lights within the house dimmed and everyone remaining moved in wordless unison into the ballroom at the foot of the stairs. The moody jazz gave way to dramatic orchestral sweeps, a peculiar arrangement I’d never heard before—not that I’m a connoisseur of Classical music. Yet something in the symphony’s impassioned notes carried a vestige of the outré within its discordant melodies and sweeping, almost cosmic refrains.
“What’s that weird music?” I whispered to Colin as we filed along with the other guests, gathering at the base of the stairs.
“Zann’s Last Symphony,” he said, patting my hand. “Shh.”
A shaft of silver moonlight fell from a skylight, illuminating a sweep of second storey landing. From the shadows stepped a pale figure. Though black-clad and wearing a voluminous hood, I could tell by her gait and figure it was a woman. Something silver glittered in her hands. A shape lurched in the shadow behind her.
I trembled in Colin’s grasp, fearing the sluagh was back—that strange, shadowy monster they’d created and fed upon my fear.
With a flourish, the figure’s hood fell back, revealing Cherise. One hand still held the silver object. The other held onto a rope, a coil that looped back toward the dark figure lurking in the shadows.
A knot of fear formed in my belly. What was that thing behind her? Would she bring it out here? Had it died? I did not know what to expect.
The music fell into a softer movement, a quiet passage in the thundering symphony. It sounded like the ebb and flow of the not-too distant sea. Cherise lifted the silver object, revealing it to be a gleaming knife. It glinted in the moonlight.
In a panic, I looked around the room. Everyone stared at the strange ritual, enraptured.
Cherise raised her knife on high. The rope in her hand jerked forward, dragging the leashed creature forward. It crept low to the ground as if on all fours, still half-wrapped in shadows. It bleated, making a noise like a goat or a sheep.
Could that be Burke? Or the sluagh?
Cherise’s voice filled the ballroom, leading a dark liturgy of the Blooded. Even Colin chanted in time. Every throat save mine joined in the prayer:
“Hastur, we call unto thee.
“Kutulu, we dream of thee.
“Dagon, we kneel to thee.
“Death to the rest!”
Their voices raised as one. Cherise jerked the rope, pulling the beast out into the darkness.
The creature stepping into the light proved to be a frightened sheep. It bleated in alarm. Her dagger flashed in the moonlight, plunging down in a sweeping arc, driven by her supernatural strength. It bit into the neck of the terrified animal, striking home.
I recoiled in terror at that first spurt of blasphemous crimson. Colin’s arms wrapped around me as I buried my face in his shoulder. “It’s horrible!”
“Shh, shh,” he murmured. “It’s over. You don’t have to look.”
But I had to. I had to see what monstrous deed had been committed, what horrible thing these Bradens had done.
Blood pooled beneath the corpse at the top of the stairs. Rivulets ran down the white marble, black in the moonlight, a river of death advancing one step at a time.
Cherise descended the staircase. With the bloody knife, she traced out an arcane symbol on the plain stone wall between the stairwells, one of those Goetic runes. A concealed doorway appeared, a stone portal creaking inward on unseen hinges. Beyond lay a staircase, winding down into the darkness.
Armando joined her and, arm-in-arm, they stepped through the portal, walking down into the unknown. In ones and twos, the other vampires and their thralls filed through the secret door, following the Bradens into their mysterious crypt.
“Can you do this?” Colin asked, his voice a soft whisper in my ear.
My heart pounded through the thin dress, so loud he must hear it—feel it—against his breast. Why, oh, why had they done such a horrible thing? How could such evil exist? But somehow, I had to go on, to see this through. If not for my sake, then for the sake of those I loved. Even him.
I looked up into his eyes. “What just happened?”
“It’s an ancient rite.”
“Ancient rite? She slaughtered a poor sheep!” I hissed, insistent but keeping my voice down. Some preternatural instinct told me not to make a scene. While I thought I’d taken the measure of the Bradens—and only feared Cherise and perhaps Armando—some of these other strangers looked even more ominous and powerful.
One ancient, balding specimen eyed with me a predatory gleam beyond sexual, peering into my spirit as if to devour my entire being. Another stood so broad-shouldered and feral, with hair so thick at his neck over the tuxedo, it’s a wonder he didn’t burst his suit apart.
If I’d seen anything like that in Colin, I would have run for the hills. But he never looked like that; he never looked at me like that.
Colin sounded pained. “I figured she’d kill a dove or the like. But no, she’s got to do it the old way. Blood and drama to impress the other clans, show our toughness.”
“Even a dove—!” I lowered my voice even though most of the others had already passed through the portal. The music had fallen silent and the only sound, apart from our voices, was the clomp of their feet receding down into the darkness and the faint drip-drip of the blood trickling down the stairs. “Even killing a dove is horrible. Murdering animals is wrong.”
“Pookie does it.”
“Pookie does not.”
“He’s a cat. Cats are hunters, killers, terrors of the rodent world. Humans kill, too—and they’ve killed a sight more people than we ever have.”
“But … it’s so wanton, so wicked, right in front of everyone and for no reason.”
His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. “There’s an old saying: angels love, humans kill.”
“You’re hideous and morbid.”
Strong hands gripped my wrist, pulled me in for a kiss.
I pulled my lips away. “No. I can’t.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes—how can you ask that?”
“Are you two coming or what?” a voice called out. It was Xerxes, shouting from the stairs. He stood with Desiree on the threshold, not bothered by the horrible act of brutality. Dez also acted normal, as if one of her clan mates hadn’t just slaughtered an animal while invoking the names of gods and demons. Only Colin and I remained in the upper hall.
“We’ll be there in a minute!” Colin shouted. “Leave it open.” They nodded, descending into the darkness.
“Please, Colin,” I said. “I can’t do this. I want to go home.”
“Anything I say cannot do justice to the complexity of another,” he said. “But I can try.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me show you something,” he said, leading me out onto the patio. Above us, a full moon poured its light onto the illuminated square and sweeps of lawn. Overhead, stars twinkled and a few jetliners traced a lazy course across the sky. It all looked so vast yet so normal.
“You asked me what happened—why I’m always alone.”
“Yes.”
“In those days, they hunted the Blooded with more vigor. But I was young and bold and fell for a saloon girl. Rosalita was her name, met her in Leadville, Colorado during the silver boom. Typical mining camp town, but I was young, drunk, and indestructible. And so I was, but she wasn’t. A pair of witch hunters, Jesuit Inquisitors, did for her what they couldn’t to me.”
I held his hand, not knowing what to say. Words cannot soothe some ancient sorrow. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. It was so long ago, I hardly recall her face. But I remember the self-hate, the blame, the self-pity, that followed. Decades of it. It’s been a weight around my shoulders for so long, it’s the only emotion I’ve known for a hundred years. Yet here we are.”
“Here we are,” I said, twining my fingers in his.
“Do you see the stars?” he asked, pointing. I nodded and he went on. “There’s trillions of them out there, grains of sand up against the blackest of night. Each so far from its neighbor, even the Immortals cannot cross from one to the other.”
I didn’t know where he was going and shivered against his shoulder in the coldness of it all. In my mind’s eye, sheep’s blood trickled down the stairs.
Strong fingers touched my chin, wiped damp from beneath my eye, something I hadn’t known was there. His voice grew huskier. “Out there, somewhere, is a single grain of burning sand. And around that bit of fire is a fleck of nothing, a little mote so small you can’t even see it. And on that bit of dirt are pools of mud and spit. Out of that puddle crawls a bit of life, such a wee speck you’d miss it if you blinked. Yet it endures, and multiplies, and over millions of years, it fills the land with everything we’ve ever known and that has ever been. Including me. Including you.”
I stared in mute fascination.
“And out of all that madness, all that chance, all that randomness—over so vast a stretch of time, you and I meet. What else can you believe? Blood is magic, blood is life, blood is love; nothing else is real.”
“Colin,” I said, holding onto him.
“You can walk away from this. You have that right.” His arms released me and he stepped back. “You’re free.”
Not everything I learned in Concordance proved to be useless. At times, our trainers played lectures from genuine teachers or read to us from some of the great religious passages of the world. One such anecdote stuck with me and while I cannot say with a certainty that it swayed me in that moment, there upon the lawns of Braden House, I cannot say it did not.
It’s a Zen Buddhist parable. One day a monk enters a butcher’s shop in the city and he speaks to the butcher there.
“Give me your best piece of meat,” the monk says.
“All my meat is the best,” says the butcher. “There is not a piece that is better.”
And the monk became enlightened.
Pookie does it. Angels love, humans kill.
You have been lifted from the land of the sheep into the kingdom of the wolves.
All my meat is the best.
My laughter broke the silence, a mad but a joyous thing. “I’ve come this far,” I said. “You’re right. Everything dies. Nothing matters. Our hearts are real—blood is magic. All else fades away.”
His silver smile flared in the moonlight and for the first time, he showed his fangs. A pale hand extended out to take mine. “From the mouths of babes, wisdom.”
“I’m no child!”
“But you’re a total babe.”