Blessed (25 page)

“Isn’t that stealing?” I asked. “Is he allowed to do that?”

“I think you’ll find that our Zachary, despite the best of intentions, is somewhat predisposed to bend the rules.”

I took comfort in the fact that we’d prevented Brad from learning the knife’s location through me. But then again, he might have found another source of that information.

“Once the angel exits with the knife, be it through a door or window,” Freddy said, “the new metal detectors will sound. Be ready for anything.”

“Wait.” I stopped in place beside a shiny black stretch limo. “If you know these high-society bloodsuckers, why not just
ask
them for Harker’s knife?”

“Don’t say ‘bloodsucker’ or, for that matter, ‘vampire,’” Freddy insisted, urging me forward. “Here, it is ‘eternal,’ and — don’t forget — the story of the knives is considered a myth. We don’t want to do anything to change that impression.” He leaned in, further lowering his voice. “We most especially do not want to reveal to the soulless eternal queen that she holds in her possession the key to fifty percent of the most formidable vampiric abilities that the underworld has ever seen.”

“But —”

“The devil you know,” he muttered mostly to himself, “is still a devil.”

Through the arched doorway, strolling beneath a soaring ceiling and past white stone walls, I was reminded of Sanguini’s, except these weren’t faux painted.

“A first-rate reproduction,” he whispered. “And higher-tech than it looks.”

We’d arrived late to the party. As Freddy tilted his head at a door marked
SECURITY
, I could hear the festivities ahead. Voices, laughter . . . techno rock?

The hallway smelled faintly of cigar smoke.

We made our way past massive dragon-themed tapestries and luminous paintings of Paris to a large courtyard crowded with exquisitely coiffed guests, most of whom were showing fangs.

With my free hand, I tried to pull up the strapless top of my forest-green gown. I felt conspicuous, showing off so much freckled cleavage. I hadn’t picked out the dress. When we’d arrived at the hotel, it had been waiting for me in my suite, courtesy of Freddy. For tonight, he’d also nixed my wearing Kieren’s turquoise crucifix and presented me with a pair of black pearl earrings.

“Va-va-va-voom!”

“Go to hell,” I whispered.

Bar tables dotted the glamorous crowd, flanked by a buffet on one side and the raised stage on the other. The band wore boxy, shiny outfits in primary colors and moved like robots. Red, blue, and yellow lights flashed from the stage and surrounding rooftops.

I noted the glittery yellow linens, the six-foot-long dragon ice sculpture. The empty iron shackles hanging from chains fastened to the surrounding four stone walls.

“First the Louvre . . .,” Freddy said with an amused sigh, pointing.

At the center of the yard, a lit glass pyramid, about eight feet tall, stood on a slightly raised circular platform. I supposed it was art.

“I can only imagine what Her Majesty had to say about that,” he added, scanning the crowd. “She’s brilliant but pragmatic, very old-school, utterly vicious, occasionally petulant, and fancies herself quite the critic.”

“It sounds like you know her pretty well,” I said.

Freddy shrugged, “Before leaving town, I was the premier event coordinator to the eternal hierarchy.” His gaze swept the courtyard. “It appears that I haven’t been easy to replace.”

An elegant man approached, holding a glass of blood wine in one hand and a smoldering cigar in the other. “Feeling nostalgic?”

“Still the faithful lapdog?” Freddy replied.

My fingertips tingled, tempted by the bouquet of the drink, and then I noticed the stranger’s face, build. He looked like Freddy. Not just a passing resemblance. Identical. Exactly alike, except that the twin’s hair wasn’t bleached, he wasn’t wearing eyeglasses, and he was modeling black tails and a diamond-rimmed Rolex.

“I will have you know,” the brother began, “that I’m no longer serving the Mantle in the capacity of personal assistant. I’m the head of the dynastic transition team.”

“So you’re a personal assistant with a better title. You’re surrendering your soul for that.” Freddy leaned toward me. “Quincie, this is Harrison, a lost cause.”

Surrendering? So Freddy’s brother was a vampire, had
chosen
to become a vampire. Like Uncle D.

Harrison puffed on his cigar. “She’s an eternal. I can smell the blood on her.”

I saw no reason to confide that I’d been drinking warmed
porcine
blood.

“Who is she again?” he added. “I don’t remember her from the guests’ files. Don’t tell me she’s a rogue.”

“No, no,” Freddy replied, reaching for his handkerchief. “Nothing like that. She’s simply an as-yet-unregistered neophyte.” He began cleaning his lenses. “Emphasis on the
neo.
The eternal that elevated Quincie abruptly left town —”

“Without paying taxes on her?” Harrison looked me up and down, apparently unimpressed, before returning his attention to his twin. “Ah, and so you dragged in this little charity case hoping I’d finesse her papers in the midst of this grand celebration in honor of Her Majesty’s glorious return from her international tour and —”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Freddy asked.

“Not so much,” Harrison replied. “These aristocratic bastards still treat me like servant meat. Come on, we can take care of the forms in my office.”

“Quincie,” Freddy began, “why don’t you enjoy the party? I’ll deal with this. My brother and I may end up chatting awhile. Family reunion, you know.”

What was Freddy doing? Where was he going? Hadn’t his own words been “stay very close”? Then I realized: it would be a hell of a lot harder pulling a fast one on the security guard with Harrison hovering over us. I’d have to handle the job by myself.

As the twins abandoned me to the party, I heard Harrison say something about the queen’s already having scheduled tonight’s event planner for execution.

My last major social event had been the eighth-grade spring fling.

Granted, I’d hit a handful of weddings with Kieren, helping out Miz Morales with her bridal clients, and of course Sanguini’s launch party had been a total blowout. But with those, I’d had jobs to do, clearly defined roles. Truth was, I didn’t have practice mingling, let alone at an upscale undead social affair.

The scent of human blood rose from hundreds of wineglasses, and I had to struggle to think straight. I debated taking refuge inside the castle, but Freddy had mentioned security cameras, and I didn’t want to draw the guard’s attention too soon.

Weaving through the international, multilingual crowd, I tried to appear uninterested as I overheard talk of fashion in Milan, drug trafficking in Colombia, and human trafficking in South Asia. It was all I could do not to turn and look when someone mentioned a “Zachary” and “the End Days.”

“The exalted mistress fears God,” muttered a man in a top hat.

“Bit late for that,” his female companion cheerfully replied in a British accent.

Hardly anyone looked over age forty, but that was a lie. I’d appear seventeen forever. At twenty-seven, folks might write me off as fresh-faced, at thirty-three as having great skin. But how soon would I need to become a makeup expert or disappear for twenty years only to return again as “my daughter”? How could I run Mama’s restaurant that way?

Still, as a freak in the human world, it was freeing to be just one of the crowd. Was this the glittering underworld that Brad had hoped to introduce me to? In my gown, I felt almost like a princess. And, really, what was so awful about that?

A few steps later, a bald man with large gold hoops dangling from each earlobe caressed my cheek. “What’s this? New blood? Tell me, sweet. Who’s your master?”

“Master?” I asked, drawing back.

“Who do you belong to?” he clarified. “I might make an offer of purchase.” Glancing at my teeth, he added, “Too late, I see. Pity, that. No offense.”

With a bow, he moved on, and I realized that my fangs had descended.

That’s when the music stopped, and a woman onstage rang a small silver bell. “Treats for everyone!” she announced in a shrill voice. “Suicides, fresh and delicious!”

The crowd politely applauded as a line of teen and twenty-something captives, wearing nothing but translucent red knee-length sheaths, snaked through the nearest arched door until they circled the courtyard. The shackles on their wrists and ankles, the chains connecting them, had been forged from red tissue. A tribute to the iron hanging from the walls? The prisoners looked forlorn, rabbity, but utterly resigned.

Suicides, the announcer had said. They had entered freely and of their own will.

The bell rang again, and the guests rushed to choose their respective prey — some courtly in their seduction, others tearing into the first available victim. It was like a Victorian parlor game, set amid a mouthwatering orgy of slaughter and desecration.

A gaunt boy, a suicide with hair like straw, ripped off his tissue shackles and sobbed. Loud. Grating. He’d changed his mind. An eternal seized his neck and broke it.

Sanguini’s had never seemed so wholesome. I couldn’t believe that Freddy had left me alone here. It was clearly no place for a seventeen-year-old virgin vampire.

Meanwhile, human servants huddled in the middle of the yard, making an impressive effort to maintain their flow of small talk. “Have you tried the wild prawns?” “Will the governor be indicted?” “Does it usually snow before Thanksgiving?”

Just then, I overheard someone mention another familiar name. “Miranda?” I asked a nearby servant girl. “You said something about a Miranda?” Could she have been talking about Zachary’s Miranda?

“The former regent,” came the reply. “Miranda was our ruler, however briefly, before the current Majesty ascended to the throne. She was famous for her temper — Miranda, I mean — even before her father formally presented her to eternal society. And then there was the angel! How is it that you haven’t heard the stories?”

Oh, my God! Zachary was in love with the dead undead vampire queen! How was that possible? I’d assumed she’d been like me, a regular girl, an unwitting victim, not . . .

I stared, mesmerized by the spectacle in the courtyard — at an eternal on his knees, nursing blood from a vein below his victim’s rib cage. As he gripped the backs of her thighs, the girl being bled jerked her hips forward, long blond curls falling across her tear-stained cheeks. Then she threw her head back again, and another aristocrat claimed her open lips with his own.

“Temper?” I choked out, forcing my attention back to the pretty servant. “What were you saying?”

Just then, she presumed to run her fingertips down my bare arm, and I found myself intrigued by her boldness. Her dress resembled a toga. Her dark hair had been twisted with shiny gold ribbon and secured in loops. “You’re a neophyte!” She moved to press her breasts against mine. “Drowning in the guilt, cutie? Is that why you’re not sampling the freebies?”

Freddy had told me to blend. “That’s right. I’m new around here. You were saying something about . . . the late Queen Miranda?”

“The Dragon Princess, they called her — before she ascended to rule, of course — but then the angel appeared and . . . it all happened so fast. She abdicated almost immediately upon taking the throne.”

“The angel?” Right,
Zachary.
God, I’d almost forgotten what I was doing here! What time was it? Had he already made off with Harker’s knife?

“I know, angels crashing eternal galas.” Taking my hand, she raised it to her creamy throat. “My mistress says it means that the End Days are nigh.”

I felt her pulse, wild with anticipation. Her heartbeat,
beat, beat,
urging me on.

“She won’t do it.”

“Miranda?” I asked, losing my concentration.

“My mistress! She won’t let me drink. She only blesses the boys. She’s afraid of the competition. That’s not you. You’re a modern woman, newly risen.”

“You
want
to drink?” I asked. “To become like me?”

Gray eyes shining, she breathed, “We’ll be BFFs.”

Best friends forever . . . The thought of Kieren sobered me.

“No, thank you.” Had I blown my cover, turning her down? “It’s nothing personal. I’m just not in the market for a new best friend.”

The girl looked stricken. “Please.”

“The lady said no,” a raspy voice interrupted. “Run along. If your mistress finds out about this . . .” She’d already hurried away.

The new arrival’s neatly trimmed mustache and mirrored sunglasses fit well with his cream-colored tux and cape but made it hard to judge how old he looked. Colorful flashing lights reflected off his hair. Was it red or blond? I couldn’t tell.

“You’ll have to forgive them, all of them. The aristocrats, the personal assistants, the wannabes . . .” He shrugged at the blood orgy. “The pathetic, self-sacrificing party favors. And this. Tonight
this
is considered the height of eternal culture.”

As the musicians switched to classical music, the overhead lighting lost its colored tint. “Oh, that’s better.” He gestured to a bar table in the corner. “My, the queen is in a lousy mood.”