The Key (Sanguinem Emere) (6 page)

A smile hitches itself onto his lips, mechanical and full of regret.

He casts his eyes down and a little blip of shame sends a sonar signal through my heart. But that doesn’t stop my knee-jerk reaction of shunting my face abruptly to the side when he lightly grazes my chin with the back of his hand.

“I see,” He mutters. “Well I can’t make you stay, but I do wish you would. At least for a few days. My home is open to you. I’ll provide you with clothing, toiletries, whatever else you desire. If we are without something you need, you can always instruct my man, Julian, to collect it for you.”

He stands and makes to leave, but he reaches out a hand to me as he goes, hoping I’ll take it to stand, I assume, “I really do hope you choose to stay.”

I ignore his hand and stand in the small space between us, neatly pressed to his chest, “You promised me a story, Mr Kron.”

He winces at the formal title, but takes the range opportunity to place a very chaste kiss on my forehead before I can move away, “Tomorrow night.

“If you’re still here.”

MONDAY 17 November 2008… 11:03

I woke up with twelve roses on the bed beside me this morning and I called in to work sick.

And in a way, I’m beginning to think that I am. Behaving just like a beaten wife. The promise of his story was just too good to pass up. At least that’s the reason I’m defecting to when it comes to a plausible explanation as to why I am still here. See, I think I know what he’s doing – keeping me here with tiny flashes of a story, assuring me that he will give me the scoop I have so desperately wanted ever since the opportunity to meet him became a reality. But maybe it’s just a means to keep me from going home.

But to what end? What can holding me here in the throes of anticipation possibly accomplish that he could want? And what does he care if I go home now and refuse any further contact with him?

I won’t do that, but it is nice to think I’m capable of it.

Delilah sashays towards me from the doorway, a smile on her face and two very green drinks in her hands. I have to admit, it is good to have this time with them in what feels like their natural element. Her and Cecily. Though the urge to rip into my baby sister has definitely not abated entirely.

I touch the bracelet on my wrist and think wistfully of him.

It’s pouring down buckets outside, casting the upstairs room we’ve congregated in into comforting darkness - lit with the familiar lamps and candelabra - but the killer summer heat hasn’t died in the storm’s wake. If anything, the air’s just become more stifling, hunkering under the suffocating humidity of the season.

Well, at least he has an air cooling system.

Cecily, her one leg draped over my less at-ease lower half, has curled herself under the arm of one of the young guys that arrived a couple of hours ago. I think his name is Cameron.

If I understand it correctly, Dimitri has friends just about everywhere and sometimes they randomly show up at his home, whether by invitation, or the hell of it, and make themselves at welcome.

Which roughly translates into drink and make merry.

On this particular occasion, Delilah sent a single text out, and within an hour, we were sequestered in the cosiest ‘living’ room available, availing ourselves of our host’s extensive liquor selection, as well as other, drier, smokier treats.

Cecily’s hand wafts the joint up to me and I take it gratefully. It’s nothing new. Not to me. This is the way the other half lives.

Haven’t seen Dimitri at all since last night, though. He certainly wasn’t lying about having everything I may need. I took a peek inside the closets. Yes, that was a plural. Three huge, pretty mahogany cabinets, full to bursting with clothing I never thought I would be wearing. Fabrics I can’t name and in colours that make me giddy with excitement to try them on. Curiously, they all seem to be of the appropriate size. And with shoes to match. And in styles that I am rather fond of. It makes me wonder, did he have clothing purchased just for me? For such an occasion when I would find myself in his home without outfits of my own?

And don’t get me started on the make-up, the creams, the bath salts and other enticing beauty items. No, I’m not really a girly girl, but it is a lovely thought that I may be able to pamper myself.

Delilah’s face swims to me through the haze of smoke. The drinks she’s been feeding me have started to take effect, evidently. A comforting buzz settles in under my skin and the brush of her fingers on my arm, so heightened by the weed and vodka, makes me shiver a little. Good thing too. If I were too sober, my patience may have run out by now.

Killer game he’s playing. But it’s really not for me. I don’t need the story that badly. Even if the bulging cabinets are meant to be incentive.

Nor do I need him for that matter.

“Hey Plum, having fun?”

I shrug at my friend’s question  and cringe a little as Cecily, next to me and still half draped over my lap, emits a kittenish moan. I clench the muscles in my face to stop my eyes from roaming over there. I do not want to know.

“Ease up,” Delilah lays her arm across my shoulders as she hands me the toxic-looking beverage.

“I am,” I mutter, “I just wasn’t really expecting this.”

“You’re wondering where he is?”

“No.”

“Uh huh,” She smiles in a patronising manner and pats my leg, taking the joint from my fingers. “He’ll be around.”

I glance around the room, ignoring the heat in my face at her not-so-subtle teasing.

“In the meantime, have a bit of fun. Loosen up.”

I turn to her, studying her expression, trying to see through to what would have made her let Dimitri pull her into this. He has a point. If I’m going to start understanding him, I need to understand them first, don’t I? She’s been here the longest. She’s closest to him.

That hurts.

She doesn’t notice my pointed glance. Or she pretends not to.

“Xavier, over there, has been watching you the whole morning.”

I look to the man she indicates. Young and attractive in a metro-boy kind of way, clean-shaven blonde with green eyes and a kid’s smile. No Dimitri. “So?”

She waits for his glance to catch hers and then curls her fingers salaciously at him.

He smiles not-too-shyly and I see that I have misread ‘Xavier’. No sweet, young man, this one. My match-making Delilah stands, ignoring my hissed, slightly inebriated protestations, and kisses him once on the cheek by way of greeting.

“Sweetheart, this is Eva, a dear friend of mine. Be gentle.”

Xavier seats himself on the sofa with a quiet laugh and turns his brilliant green eyes on me. I take a sip of the emerald thing Delilah brought over.

Bitter but familiar. And herby.

And immediately the effect starts to take hold of my brain, my mind. The edges of everything soften just enough. Maybe too much, as even Xavier’s smile is not so threatening now.

His fingers graze my cheek and I smile provocatively at him. If there is a game afoot here, I may as well play it to the best of my abilities.

Try to understand what it is he wants.

What Xavier wants, incidentally, is becoming all too clear. He fingers come to rest on my collar, his thumb dropped down to casually toy with the low neck of my blouse.

“Eva. That’s a pretty name.”

I don’t even bother to staunch the giggle as the drink, combined with everything else I’ve imbibed and the third joint of the day amplifies the hilarity of his come-on, “Really? Does that line usually work for you?”

He smiles in a head-ducking manner which seems almost shy and, I have to admit, he is kind of cute. It seems Dimitri only chooses the pretty ones. Except maybe for me. But then again, I’m supposed to be here to observe, not to take part.

Whatever.

“She underestimates you, doesn’t she?”

“What do you mean?”

“Delilah. She should have been telling you to be gentle.” He whispers good-naturedly as he leans in closer to me.

I pull back just enough to smile up at him, “And you’re assuming she wasn’t?”

His lips are soft and the kiss is sweet. But bland. Just like him. Bland and slightly dull and all-too predictable. Definitely not a Dimitri.

He puts something in my hand and I look down at the little pill lying there. Someone took the time to etch a tiny smiley face into its surface and I glower playfully at him. “Seriously?”

“Well, you can’t blame me for trying to soften you up.” He winks.

I sneak the pill between my lips and wash its vague medicinal taint away with more of the bitter, herb drink.

“Brave.”

“Why?” I raise an eyebrow in query. The colours in the room have already started to strict opposites. All the lights painfully bright and the shadows so dark that features turn to obscurity and become nothing more than shadows within shadows. Xavier’s hair is like a flaming white halo hovering over his crystalline green eyes and inviting lips.

“What if I have ignoble intentions?” He feigns concern and we both burst into giggles as he can’t hold the expression, the substances comingling, flowing between us. Making us friends where sobriety would have seen us pass one another by.

I raise my glass to him invitingly.

Fuck it all.

“When in Rome…”

MONDAY 17 November 2008… 18:16

My head buzzes like a thousand dragonflies in a dim, murky swamp. Only it’s cold here, a vague breath of winter in a warm wrap of silk. Every thought, clear and crystal like the tinkling of a delicate, glass bell is overwhelmed by an immediate sense of drowning, of the sludge and lichen-laden water rising up to swallow me in blissful unconscious dreams. But something urgent scratches behind my eyes, a grain of sand caught and irritating as I try to recall why I need to wake up.

A party. A guy. Another one. Xavier. Everything got out of control. Colours swirling. And then waves of sickness and my body going numb.

And then nothing.

The sound of a door clicking closed makes my eyelids pull up on puppet strings, but as quickly as my eyes open they beg to close again. Too bright. But not before I see the man walking smoothly towards me, almost stalking around the bed I lie on. It is the same room I awoke in before, but there is no Cecily, no Delilah, no Xavier – though I can’t quite recall how that ended - and my head is painfully weary, desperate to be allowed a pass into slumber once more. I try to speak to the man, but he just smiles with a concerned twist to his sharp, pretty features and I whimper at the raspy sound emanating from me. My tongue is like sand between my lips.

Why is it so hard to move? Can the drugs really have done all this?

A warm flush of memory makes my stomach heave quietly and briefly – a taste of something. A drink. Not green, but red. Like wine.

He slithers towards me, a python gait, and his hand wraps around my arm, preparing to squeeze the life from me. I try to crawl away, but my limbs are less responsive than my mind and I simply lie there, too weak to respond to him, as his hand lays itself on my chest, dangerously close to parts that belong only to me.

This must be the Levi that Delilah mentioned.

His beautiful golden hair, falling in renaissance curls around his face reeks of smoke and the sickening scent of cheap cologne which makes my stomach churn unhappily. But there is an unusual intensity in his eyes, a depth I haven’t seen before. It makes me tremble with something other than my simple, instinctive uncertainty. Although the addition of his identity to the fact that he is with me alone in here makes me feel a bit more comfortable. This is Dimitri’s right-hand man.

Nothing to be afraid of here.

With a short laugh, distorted by my throbbing head to a generous hiss, his tongue slides from between his lips and plays with my lower lip as his teeth encircle it and he bites down just hard enough to sting slightly. I attempt to return the favour, as anger at being treated like a plaything fuels my fight reflex, but he just laughs again and pulls away before my slow responses can position him as the victim.