House of Cards (10 page)

It was awful. Not that the victims would know it, of course. They were beyond feeling, beyond hearing, beyond any sort of human pain. But the meaninglessness of all they had been through, of all they were now . . . it overwhelmed Sherry. Her heart ached to know their names, their stories, not just their fates. One set of bones was so much like the next, and somehow, that was even sadder than the presence of death all around her.

Lucas must have sensed her grief, because he cleared his throat and tried to distract Sherry from the grisly surroundings.

“Did you know that La Résistance
had their secret headquarters here? I tried to assist them during the Second World War, but of course, Master quickly put a stop to that,” he said dryly.

Sherry’s ears perked up at the mention of La Résistance
.
She’d studied it twice, once in the States, and then again when she came to school in France. It had always been one of her favorite subjects, the secret army that helped defeat the Nazis. They had gone underground, both literally and figuratively, to attack the German’s military superiority with subterfuge and resourcefulness.

“Was that the regular Résistance or the Communist Résistance?”

Lucas stopped walking and turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised.

“Ah, it was the ‘regular’ Résistance, if you wish to call it that. I was never much for Communism, although I could see how certain aspects of it had merit. I’m surprised you were aware there was a difference.”

Sherry shrugged. “There was a conspiracy theory a few years back that the friction between the two almost brought down the entire Résistance operation across Europe. Not that I’m one for conspiracy theories, of course,” she added hastily.

“Nor I,” Lucas said warmly, and continued walking, careful to guide Sherry over a large puddle. “And I meant that I was pleasantly surprised that you knew. So few young people are interested in history nowadays, it’s quite a treat to find one who is.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“I don’t know, Sherry. You are a very unusual girl. I mean that as a compliment, of course.”

Part of Sherry felt warm all over when he praised her, and it wasn’t just from blushing. But she was still glad for the cover of darkness that hid her reddening cheeks. Except that Lucas could see her face anyway, without additional illumination. Oh well.

They talked a little about his take on history before finally climbing a ladder that led to a closed manhole cover. She was almost sad to see this part of the journey end. It was so fascinating, getting to know someone who had seen and experienced such amazing things in the past. It was like talking to a wise, endearing grandfather—if a grandfather could be in his twenties, and incredibly sexy.

Still, she was relieved when they climbed out of the manhole and into the open night air. Lucas had thought taking this way might be less crowded than the entrance in Montparnasse. Apparently, there were many entrances and exits to the catacombs, both secret and public, that Sherry knew nothing about.

She stood up and looked around. They were in an alleyway, similar to the one she’d been kidnapped in just last night. She could run now. She could run and scream and hide. But could she move fast enough so that Lucas would be too late to stop her?

He turned to her and said, “I’m truly sorry, but I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t help you escape. If that’s what you were thinking. The only reason I know it’s crossed your mind is because it would have crossed mine too, if I were in your position. You’re wondering why I can’t just let you go, and return back to the catacombs empty-handed. Believe me, I wish I could. If it only meant punishment for me, I’d do it without hesitation. And if I thought I could run away successfully myself, I would have done it years ago. I know it sounds hard to believe, Sherry, but I am as much a prisoner of the House of Cadamon as you are.” He replaced the impossibly heavy manhole cover with the ease of lifting a pizza box.

Sherry closed her eyes for a moment as a heavy feeling settled in her heart. So that was it, then. Her last chance at freedom:
gone
. But if she expected more tears from herself—or even impotent rage—they were not forthcoming. Instead, she actually felt grieved on Lucas’s behalf. If only there were a way they could escape together.

Still, now that she was above ground again, part of Sherry wanted to dash wildly into the nearest crowd, just to
attempt
an escape. But what had Lucas meant, that he’d let her go if it only meant punishment “for him?” Maybe it meant certain death from the vampires when they found
her
. And of course they’d find her—they were hunters by nature.

Part of her also felt the need to stay by Lucas’s side. It was inexplicable, but she felt she simply couldn’t leave him. A powerful force urged her to remain where she was. Was it boy-girl attraction? Vampire magnetism? Could it be the beginnings of . . . love?

Sherry gave a tiny shake of her head. “Love” was unlikely. After all, they’d only just met. Maybe it was sympathy. Abandoning Lucas seemed somehow . . . wrong. Then he’d be as trapped as she was by the House of Cadamon, with no one there who understood. He’d suffer a heartache she was loathe to inflict on anyone, especially a person as kind as Lucas. Then again, if she somehow got the chance to leave and didn’t take it, she might pay with her life.

She was shaken from these morbid thoughts by the sound of Lucas’s voice.

“So, we are finally above ground,” he was saying, “and I assume you are hungry.”

Sherry’s stomach growled as if on cue. Both of them smiled at the same time.

“So, a meal it is, then. And after that, young lady, we have to buy you a new coat. I saw you shivering down there in the tunnels. If you’re going to be staying with us for any length of time, we can’t have you freezing to death.”

That was fine with her. After all the vampires had put her through (as well as what they might put her through) the least they could do was see to it that she was kept warm.

To her surprise, Sherry found herself and Lucas in the first
arrondissement
, walking toward a group of buildings that looked very familiar. When Sherry saw the sign for the restaurant, she immediately understood why. It was because she’d seen this place dozens of times in the culinary sections of newspapers, and the page-after-page spreads of glossy magazines. He’d brought her to le Grand Véfour, one of the oldest and most expensive restaurants in Paris.

Le Grand Véfour. Unbelievable. An institution synonymous with the city itself. Sherry marveled at the entrance’s enormous white columns, faded to the color of old bone. As she and Lucas walked through the crowded archway, people seemed to step aside just in time to let them pass through. The vampire must have been responsible for that, but Sherry was damned if she could figure out how. It must have been more of his supernatural powers.

She tried to steal a discreet glimpse through the floor-to-ceiling arched windows at the other diners, already inside. Unfortunately, it was impossible: her view was blocked by small white curtains that covered the window bottoms. Oh well. She’d just have to wait until she got in the restaurant to see what it was like.

If
they ever got inside. It was no doubt a very nice gesture, offering to take her to le Grand Véfour
,
but Sherry didn’t see how they could pull it off. Reservations were needed here—weeks, sometimes months in advance. Unless Lucas had a standing order for a table for two, she’d be having her dinner elsewhere.

Much to her surprise, they were ushered inside by a gloved attendant and brought to the maître d’s podium.

“Avez-vous réservé?” The slight, dark-haired man behind the stand didn’t even glance up at them.

“I’m afraid not. We did not make a reservation in advance.”

“Non réservé?” This time the maître d looked up, with a distinct air of disdain. He pursed his lips and eyed Sherry up and down, as if she were a street urchin begging him for a crust of bread.

“Je suis desolé, monsieur, mais c’est impossible. If you would care to book a table, we have one available in November, I believe.” He went back to looking at his list of patrons who already had reservations, or whatever was so important he couldn’t make eye contact with those standing in front of him.

“My guest will need to eat before then,” Lucas said. Then he stared very hard at the maître d. Too hard. The man met his gaze, swallowed, and said in a voice barely above a whisper:

“Right this way, monsieur.”

Sherry’s mouth nearly dropped open. She hurried after Lucas and the nasty little man. Incredible.

Lucas turned his elegant neck, looking back at Sherry over his shoulder. “We could eat upstairs, if you like.” He made a graceful gesture above his head. “On the second floor.”

“Oh no, thank you—this is fine.” Sherry was trying hard not to ogle her surroundings, but it was almost impossible to stop staring. The lavishness of the restaurant was overwhelming. She marveled at the gilded frames encasing mirrors and paintings that covered entire walls. Most of the illustrations showed women wrapped in long skirts and shawls, poised with plates of fruits and other edibles on their heads. Floral patterns and elaborate designs swirled all around them. Sherry wondered if they ever grew tired standing there, year after year, doing their careful balancing act. Always holding delectable morsels, watching meals being eaten right in front of them, but never able to partake of these sensuous pleasures themselves.

Sherry and her companion sat down on red velvet cushions in front of a starched linen tablecloth. She ordered her meal, but Lucas declined, much to the waiter’s surprise.

“Sometimes,” he admitted in a low voice, leaning slightly across the table, “I can create the illusion of consuming mortal food, if no one is looking closely. Unfortunately for me, the staff here is far too attentive. Therefore, I dare not risk arousing suspicion. It’s simpler not to order anything at all. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the service, however. I thought you might like traditional French cuisine.”

Sherry was sure she would enjoy the entire experience. Lucas even treated her to a bottle of Romanée Conti, which the sommelier was all too happy to procure. Sherry said she hoped Lucas would drink most of it, because it really wouldn’t do her any good to down an entire bottle by herself. Lucas said he preferred white wine with a completely straight face, until she realized he was teasing. He didn’t drink anything but blood, of course. Why couldn’t she seem to remember that?

For a fraction of a second their fingers touched when he passed her the bread basket. She expected him to feel cold, clammy, like the vampires in storybooks. Like Thomas when he’d grabbed her. But Lucas’s skin was different. It was just . . . cool. Cool and smooth and precise. Sherry found herself wanting to grab his hand and stroke it, just to see if the rest had that same satin, magnetic quality.

In fact, every little thing he did was fascinating. The way he waved his napkin onto his lap. The way he pushed the tiny cup of butter across the table so that Sherry could reach it. She couldn’t stop looking at him. His movements were so perfect and synchronized that it was like watching an elegant, human-shaped machine. She tried her best not to stare, but he must have caught her looking at least once. And was it her imagination, or had he stolen a few glances at her as well?

She tried to keep her eyes on the tablecloth to avoid seeming rude, and weird. What would Lucas think of someone who couldn’t keep her eyes off him, for even a minute? Few words passed between them—it was hard to come up with things to say. That, and the fact that her mouth was full of food most of the time made talking nearly impossible. God, she hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been! It’d been all day since breakfast, and she’d forgotten about lunch entirely.

Sherry was enjoying the subtle flavors of the rich pâté set in front of her when she looked up to observe the other diners. Now she could see clearly those whom she’d been unable to earlier, when she’d been outside the restaurant. An elderly couple holding hands across the table. A small family out for a special meal. Two young lovers, gazing with complete rapture into each other’s eyes.

Their lives were so simple. So
set
. They found one special person, settled down, and had babies who grew up, met someone, had babies, and so on. No one ever got divorced. No one they loved ever died.

Sherry shook her head the tiniest bit. Her feelings were unrealistic. She was only observing these people for a fleeting moment—a brief glimpse into the book of their lives before the cover was snapped shut. Maybe one was battling drug addiction, another one chronic illness. But there was no way to tell. For this precious time, however brief, everything in their lives was perfect. Without stain. Sherry’s jealousy ate at her, made her want to hate them. But she couldn’t. Not really. She could only watch with an aching fondness as they went about their evening, blissfully unaware of their good fortune.

What if she were one of those young lovers, and Lucas was her boyfriend? To unassuming eyes, they looked like any other normal pair, just having dinner together. But this was le Grand Véfour. Lucas would have taken her here for a reason. A special reason, because few came to this restaurant for an ordinary meal. It might be . . . her birthday? Their anniversary? No—he was going to propose! Yes, that had to be it. If they were an unmarried couple, and he took her here, it could only mean one thing: that he wanted to make her his own. Forever.

Forever. That could never be. She was mortal, and he was not. Even if her wildest dreams came true, and Lucas was madly in love with her, she would still grow old and die. He’d just end up alone again. What creature in his right mind would want to do that to himself?

Sherry tried to forget these morbid thoughts as she wolfed down her truffle ravioli. She ate the cheese course so fast, she barely recognized what was served. But it was impossible not to notice that the desert (a chocolate sorbet) was almost more extravagant than the meal. A twinge of guilt arose within her when she looked at Lucas. What a shame he could only witness her adventure in gastronomy, but not share in it himself. Still, he seemed pleased as he watched her satisfy her appetite, thanks to his generosity.

Lucas paid the bill with hardly a glance at the total, and Sherry felt glad she wasn’t wearing her old coat, the one that was just a bit too small. She’d definitely have had trouble buttoning it up after a dinner like this one.

She thanked Lucas profusely as they were leaving, though he waved her off as if he treated mortals to dinner at le Grand Véfour
every evening. Sherry was so busy trying to express her gratitude that she didn’t see the next customer entering the restaurant, and bumped right into him.