Six of one. A half dozen of the other. So much selection! So many choices! Which did he fancy first?
A male?
Or a female?
Reynaldo leaned forward slightly, looking down from the balcony edge at the crowd three stories beneath him. One hand rested negligently on the gold embossed hilt of the sword at his hip. The fingers of his other hand wrapped about a wooden railing crafted to appear worn with centuries of use. It was a good effort unless one had a discerning eye. And experience with the real thing.
But it was still a recreation, and a hurried one at that. The entire palace had that affectation. Here and there Reynaldo caught glints from where the room had been gilded. They might have used real gold flecks in the paint. It was difficult to tell for certain. The sparkle could have other causes. There were large mirrors on the walls down below. They could be refracting what light reached them.
The mirrors could be problematic. He’d have to keep a wary eye on placement once he joined the fest.
If he joined it.
A myriad of chandeliers dangled from the ceiling in his line of sight. They were lit with something resembling candles, creating pools of dim light on the floor below amidst wells of shadows. They hadn’t used actual flames on the wicks. The drafts swirling throughout these lofty ceilings would have created flickers. But that’s what happened when you deployed large ceiling fans.
On the surface, the place was a feast of opulence. It looked almost like he remembered. Unlike his chateau, this building had spent decades in ruins. Such dereliction wasn’t readily apparent. Although the restoration had been rushed, it looked complete...at least throughout the ballrooms and lower floors. The new owners must not value historic accuracy over function, however. Along with the ceiling fans, Reynaldo could spot the telltale grates of central heat, and more than one fireplace glowed with flames that were not fueled with wood. There wasn’t a hint of smoke.
Still and all, this was an excellent venue for a winter ball.
The rooms were full of glittering, gay-sounding persons, sporting masks and arrayed in such finery they resembled a continually moving panorama of Renaissance-style paintings. Like those at his home in Venice. Just as vivid. And exactly as large. Tonight’s event had been hosted for some damn reason he couldn’t recall, if he’d even known it. But he hadn’t much cared why they’d gathered tonight, only that they had. Some of the publicized features included a sumptuous banquet table, an unending supply of drinks...a lot of socializing. According to his invitation, tickets were being snapped up even before they were offered.
He’d added an unwritten codicil. Tickets might be going quickly...but only to those whose pockets could afford it.
Like his.
There was an added bonus. This was a masquerade ball. It was a perfect setting for Count Reynaldo, the last member of the Noble House of Moroseni. Reynaldo was a product of a bygone era. He hadn’t required a high-priced beautician for his look or a costumer for his attire. For the latter, he possessed the actual wardrobe. He’d procured it over the centuries. Had purchased the most unique, costliest materials. Procured and used the finest leathers. Hand selected flawless gems, finely wrought metal clasps, exquisitely crafted trims. And he’d stood for round after round of fittings so that each piece would perfectly showcase a lean muscled physique that never altered.
With such accoutrement, he’d fit in easily with this crowd, but he had his reasons for staying hidden. Normally, he’d be on the ballroom floor, gathering all manner of attention, loudly speaking on all manner of subjects, in some length, and with a lot of knowledge. That’s what a Venetian nobleman was known for.
Tonight, however, was different. It had been months since he’d gone on the prowl. This crowd promised lots of prey.
He was doing the hunting.
Not vice-versa.
In hindsight, he probably should have opted for something besides stark black. He’d look like a raven amongst birds of paradise. He might have chosen velvet rather than a leather long-coat, as well. His waistcoat was crafted of the finest woven black satin he could find. His shirt was fashioned from thin black muslin. Reynaldo lifted a hand, gazed at the lace just grazing the tops of his fingertips. He flicked the material back with a desultory motion, and returned his hand to the balcony railing.
Wearing such attire was eye-catching, but especially so on him. Reynaldo was tall. Broad-shouldered. Blue-eyed. His hair was the color of sun-kissed wheat. He wore it long. Arrow-shaft straight. All that was striking, but there was more. His eyelashes and whiskers were dark, giving his eyes the appearance of being lined, while a barely-there mustache and beard drew attention to full lips and a finely-chiseled jaw. As a horseman and avid swordsman, he was extremely fit, too. The Moroseni family had been very proud of that. The cut of every piece of clothing they’d ordered and paid for was designed to emphasize his anatomy. He’d continued the tradition in the centuries since. And while he hadn’t the ability to see himself anymore, all the old paintings of him were yet another reason he clung to shadows right now. He couldn’t possibly evade attention.
Count Reynaldo Moroseni was a vision of male beauty.
He always had been.
A booming laugh tugged at his ear. Reynaldo turned his head toward the sound, swept a lanky lock of hair over a shoulder, and looked down at the perpetrator. A tall fellow was regaling a bevy of females about him, his arms flung wide as if to highlight his point. That position was unforgiving. The fellow wore a long coat that showcased wide shoulders and what at first glance appeared to be a fit frame. But with his arms uplifted, the coat couldn’t disguise the distinct roll of flesh at his midriff, cinched there by his belt. The fellow was attractive, however. Mid-forties perhaps. His dark hair carried a slash of silver at each temple. Reynaldo would guess him as a descendant of some eastern European country...perhaps Romania. Mayhap Hungary. Something Slavic. He had high cheekbones and his skin was ruddy, but not overly so. He was clean shaven. Like Reynaldo, he’d dressed as a cavalier, but had chosen peacock blue and deep red for his color scheme. Should Reynaldo choose to approach him, they’d look fantastic side-by-side. They looked close in height, too, making a swift prick to his neck easy to accomplish. Reynaldo could get the fellow into a corner. Mesmerize. Lower his lips to where a vein most likely throbbed at a thick throat...
Reynaldo closed his eyes and licked his lips, as if in anticipation.
No.
Wait.
Reynaldo opened his eyes. Took a step back from the balcony. Shook his head as if to rinse it of images. What was he thinking? The dark-haired fellow was out of shape. Any blood might be tasty, but it could cloy, too. A little went a long way, and even then it might create bloat, sometimes for days.
Reynaldo dismissed the gent from consideration and moved his gaze. He had time. He had an eternity of it. And he wasn’t desperate. Nor was he weak with need. Besides, it was winter. The nights were long, this one barely started. Clocks had yet to strike the hour of eleven. As he watched, attendees poured into the throngs beneath him, parting the crowd to fit more humanity into an already-packed space. It pushed several groups up staircases to landings and other sets of steps...one of which eventually led to his hiding spot.
That could be fortunate.
Too bad none of those on the stairs caught his eye.
He wondered if the new arrivals were simply arriving fashionably late, or if there was still a crush at the gate, bottlenecking the entrance. He’d seen the security when he’d first arrived. Given his limousine to the care of a valet who’d stared open-mouthed up at him. Reynaldo had taken one look at the situation; they’d employed x-ray scanners, appeared to be checking weapons such as his sword...why, they were even doing pat-downs. He’d meandered into darkness and vaulted to the top of an outer wall. From there it was an easy hop to the roof. Then he’d slid through an unlocked door onto this perch.
The security might be tight, but it was entirely ineffective. Other than the valet, he didn’t think anyone had even seen him.
Hmm.
Despite the cold outside, the rooms must be overheating. Reynaldo couldn’t feel temperature, but he watched as men dabbed at lips and foreheads with handkerchiefs they secreted back into their pockets. Women waved ornate fans with alacrity, while some pressed lace-edged cloths to their breasts.
Thinking of...
Mounds of breasts were on display, especially when viewed from his perspective. Many a bosom was framed with fabulous-looking jewelry; most with gems of a size they looked faked. Almost all of the women appeared to be young. Fairly trim. Beautiful. It was misleading. He surmised that many had assisted their figures with foundation garments. Almost all appeared to have bolstered their countenances with cosmetics. And everyone sported a mask. They also benefited from the filtering effect of faux candlelight. Why...it would be difficult to find a natural beauty among them.
Not that it mattered, really.
Reynaldo wasn’t interested in anything so fleeting as physical beauty. He just needed a moment or two at first. Long enough to taste. Decide if they were the one to sate the only desire left to him...the taking of blood.
His canines tingled in anticipation. Reynaldo lifted his upper lip, giving room for fangs that hovered at piercing status before returning to what was humanly normal. That took effort. And more time. Many would call this perusal a time waste, especially another associate of the Vampire Assassin League.
Oh. Wait.
That was wrong. A VAL associate would more likely be agog at his casual attitude and general laissez faire. He had an assignment, after all. He’d received the message last eve. Any of the others would no doubt be busily fulfilling it. Not Count Reynaldo Moroseni. Besides - he reminded himself - the message had come with the usual subject letters – R.A.Y.L.
Read at your leisure.
That admonition had been borderline amusing. Everyone at the Vampire Assassin League knew Reynaldo and what he was like. Akron would never send him an imperative assignment. Reynaldo may be a vampire. He may be an assassin. He may be under contract with the VAL. But he’d been a pleasure-seeking nobleman of leisure first.
And he still was.
He’d open the message when he finished here. Before dawn. When he sought out his rest. Maybe. Or he’d check it tomorrow evening. Perhaps later. Nothing about the message sparked his interest. These assassinations were always the same. Perhaps some politician had chosen the wrong foe. A jealous spouse might have been cuckolded. A party could be over-anxious to receive an inheritance from someone taking too long to leave this world. Or it could be his forte - vengeance. It could even be a rich spouse wanting out of a prenuptial agreement. There were so many reasons to want someone eliminated. If one had the funding. And connections.
Whatever it was...it could wait.
Clear strains of a waltz started up from across the room. Reynaldo moved his head slightly to peer around a chandelier. Narrowed his eyes. Blinked. Recognized yet another sign of historical inaccuracy. A sound system was in place on the minstrel’s balcony. It amplified volume, causing the string quartet to sound like a small orchestra. The cello player was interesting. It was impossible to decipher why at first. She was unassuming. Wore a figure-consuming smock. Her hair was shrouded by an off-white linen cap-thing. She was plain-looking, too, but that was primarily due to the absence of cosmetics. Then she moved. Her youth was instantly apparent. As was her dexterity. And level of energy. She exuded the latter. Her bow flew about the strings, while her cheeks darkened with rose-infused color.
Ah. That was it. She radiated emotion. Intensity. Zeal.
His mouth almost watered.
As if it still could.
He pushed the instant thought aside, although it lingered, carrying an aura of distaste. That was odd. He’d made the decision to join the undead nearly five hundred years ago. It had come with the shock of losing passion and anything else of an emotional bent...but over all, it was worth it. Besides – he reminded himself – the alternative was an agonized death. So, he’d accepted the terms. Dealt with the loss of physical satisfaction. Reiterated that he had no regrets about his decision until he believed it.
He was a vampire.
Undead.
Uncaring.
And unlucky.
But, he’d been warned about that. According to VAL leader, Akron Profit, there was one thing that changed this existence. He’d have to be excessively lucky to receive it. One thing had the power to reanimate, giving back all the sensory pleasures of the world.
One.
Just one.
Somewhere out in the cosmos he had a mate. Somehow he’d have to locate that one. One. Join physically with them. And do his best at getting said being to embrace an eternity of undeath. The possibility wasn’t worth mulling. Odds of just crossing paths were astronomical.
Accidenti!
Now, why had he pursued this train of thought? He damned the thought again. Such a thing was senseless. He existed for pleasure, not laments!
Reynaldo blinked the minstrel balcony back into view. Pondering a mate was a real waste of time. He was content with vampirism. So he couldn’t consummate anything. What of it? There were compensations, most of them quite nice. He didn’t get old. He didn’t get wrinkles. None of him sagged. He never got ill. If he got wounded, he recovered easily. He had powers unimaginable to a human. Strength. Speed. Mesmeric ability.
Besides...
Reanimation appeared to have a traumatic side. It came with a lot of angst and worry. If the experience of Nigel’s mating in Venice was anything to go by, it all seemed to be a lot more work than it was worth.
Reynaldo considered the cellist another moment before finally shifting his attention. Selecting that woman was fraught with complication. Her absence would be noticed. He’d have to wait, even for a quick taste. He’d have to wait longer if he wanted more. He’d be better off selecting one of the attendees. Surely down there, somewhere, was a human with the same air of emotion about them.
The partygoers had assembled into couples while he’d been occupied with the cellist. They swirled about the parquet floor beneath him in a melody of color and sound, spreading out as if for his delectation.
And that’s when he saw them.