Forty-Four
T he city was as cacophonous as ever.
My time at the manor had made the quiet familiar, comfortable, where the noise of the city once was. Now, the honking of horns, the screech of tires, the shouts of men selling wares, was all too loud, too overwhelming. So much was happening on the city streets. I wondered at how I had never noticed before. But it was comforting, in a sort of nostalgic way, to be surrounded by the buzz of life once more.
Sinclair, Séra, and I had made a day trip into Manhattan to post the flyers. The invitations to the Masquerade. Hastily ordered from a printer with a massive sum to have it ready this morning.
It would be the party of the century. Dancing girls, costumes, imported liquor—the expensive stuff, acrobats, a wax museum of hired entertainers, the whole manor dressed up in a Garden of Eden guise. It was to last the whole weekend. Séra had quipped that maybe we could actually enjoy the festivities after our ordeal was done and over with.
Vince had been vehemently against the trip, as though if I ever left the house, I’d never come back. There was a violence simmering in him, perhaps deadlier than the beast I’d yet seen. The glimpses of darkness that came through here and there—only, I knew, it wouldn’t take much for him to snap, to unleash whatever it was he kept at bay.
“Absolutely not,” he had said, when Séra invited me to go with them.
I shot him a look. “I haven’t seen the city since I left,” I said. It’d been nearly two and a half weeks since he’d brought me to the dinner club.
“We’ll watch over her,” Séra promised.
It had taken some convincing, but Vince didn’t want me out of his sight. Not when the vampires who hunted him knew of my existence, and not when the human world was searching for me, too. Lucas had yet to rescind his award of one million dollars for my return.
I wore a pair of tinted glasses and wrapped my hair in a scarf, for good measure.
We could have sent one of the servants, but Séra insisted on making it a day trip. I think she knew how stir-crazy I was feeling, even though I hadn’t voiced it. She linked arms with me, holding Sinclair’s hand on her other side as we made our way down the street.
My two vampire companions didn’t burn in the sun. Didn’t cower at the touch of iron, the sight of the Christian crosses on churches we passed, around the necks of other pedestrians. The robust smell of garlic from a street vendor didn’t phase them, though perhaps the scent was stronger, more pungent, given Sinclair’s scrunched nose.
“We should put one on every block,” Séra said, swinging their joined hands.
“We have enough to.” Sinclair held the bundle of flyers in his free arm.
Admittedly, I paid less attention to the posting of the flyers. I watched the people on the street with a new set of eyes, inspecting each stranger through my glasses, wondering who was a vampire, hiding, and who was human? Was it obvious to Séra and Sinclair if we were to run into another inhuman creature? Or was it possible to blend in so completely that one could live wholly as a human, even if every cell in their body said differently?
I watched Séra and Sinclair’s expressions closely, but they gave no indication that we crossed paths with other vampires.
And the humans—it felt strange to refer to them as such, but how else could I?—they were all the same, yet different. I saw now the twinge of grime at the hem of many girls’ skirts; the worn cuffs of a man’s coat; the stray mark of kohl at a woman’s eye. I saw the tiredness pull down their eyelids, saw the sharp cheekbones hidden under rouge. Some with a glaze to their eyes, the telltale sign of an early drinker; some with blank, exhausted stares.
Perhaps I’d been ignorant to the strife of others before. My privilege gave me leave to spend away my days partying, dancing, living, while so many others—like Adam, so long ago—wasted away, slowly, beneath the surface. It was a fact I’d forgotten in our time apart .
No, not forgotten.
I knew. I knew what Adam went through. I knew how different his life was from mine, but I chose to ignore it, especially once he was taken from me. Preferred only to live at night, when only the shiny things caught the light.
Séra was pestering Sinclair for a treat, the sweet scent of cinnamon wafting down the block we walked. “I still love the taste of sugar,” she argued, turning to me and winking. “Besides, Helena can enjoy it, too.”
Sinclair grumbled and passed her a few coins.
As soon as they hit her palm, she was pulling me in the direction of the stand selling tarts, coated almonds, and pretzels. My mouth instantly turned watery, having forgotten how delectable some of the food on the street was.
“A cinnamon roll for me, please,” she said to the vendor.
He looked at me as he began to wrap her pastry in paper.
“The same, please.” I gave him a smile, but he didn’t return it.
Séra dropped the coins into his palm—more than double the cost from the look of it, but the vendor didn’t say anything, pocketing the change.
“Can you taste it?” I asked once we began to stroll away. Taking a bite, the sweetness spread across my tongue, and I nearly moaned.
Séra grinned. “Not like you can,” she said, but she began to eat it anyway. “But I still have a soft spot for it.” She linked her arm with mine again, and we began a slow stroll, in no hurry to join with Sinclair again. We could see him across the street, tacking a flyer to an electrical pole .
“You know, I had to eat human food when I worked at your house,” she said.
It had never crossed my mind before. “I hope you didn’t torture yourself with it,” I laughed, recalling Vince and my conversation about it.
She shrugged. “At first, it was unpleasant, but I found the more I did it, the more enjoyable it became.” She took another bite of her cinnamon roll as though for proof. “If I ate nothing at the house, the cook would be suspicious,” she said.
“I suppose.”
As we neared Sinclair, he turned, spotting us amongst the crowd on the sidewalk. But then his eyes darkened. I could see even from as far as I was, and he started toward us, dropping a few flyers in his wake.
Séra turned and spotted what Sinclair had seen before I even knew what was going on.
“Not another step,” she demanded, just as I was able to whirl around.
Dixon stood not five feet away from us, a concerned sort of look in his eye. He stopped, rooting himself to the pavement, but his eyes were on me.
“Dixon?”
What was he doing?
“You should know better than to walk up on us like that,” Séra hissed.
I felt Sinclair approach from behind, creating a barrier between me and the rest of the street. If something happened to me, Vince would have their heads, nevermind that it was just Dixon .
He still didn’t pay Sinclair any mind. “Why did you call Flora?” he asked me. Some shadow moved in his pupils. He was slightly ruffled, like he had run down the block to reach us, his jacket undone.
I sputtered for words. “I wanted to come over.”
“Liar,” he accused, but there was no venom in it. “What’s going on?”
“This doesn’t concern you,” Séra said, stepping just slightly in front of me.
He turned to her then, his ire directed at her. “I think it does.” His low voice dripped with warning, a flare to his nostrils, before he looked at me again. “Don’t you dare bring any attention to her.”
“What are you talking about?” I laughed, but it felt flat.
He narrowed his eyes on me. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention to the news, but mortals are dying left and right. Why do I have a feeling it is because of Vince?”
Words stalled in my throat.
“That’s something you’ll have to take up with him,” Sinclair said from behind me.
“Call off your dogs,” Dixon hissed at me.
I stepped away from Séra and Sinclair, earning protests from both. “It’s fine,” I insisted. “Dixon won’t hurt me.” I sent him a glare that dared him to try anything.
I’d known him longer than the both of them, as it was. Never before had he done anything but stand guard for Flora and me while we enjoyed our evenings, driving us around, keeping us from trouble. But I knew to whom he was loyal, and this posturing was just worry for Flora’s safety .
I wondered if his protectiveness just came from knowing what lurked around at night—him being one of them.
“Let me talk to him?” I raised a brow at Sinclair, tired of the vampire standoffs.
His lip curled, but he backed away, motioning for Séra to follow. She had dropped her pastry in the surprise of Dixon’s appearance, the sugar now leaking onto the sidewalk.
“Thank you,” Dixon said, swallowing and straightening his jacket as the two gave us a moment alone.
I waited until they were across the street once more—close enough to rush over if need be, but far enough to give us some semblance of privacy, likely still able to pick the conversation up amidst the noise of the street.
“What are you doing?” I turned to Dixon, hand on my hip.
“That’s what I came to ask you,” he seethed through his teeth, attempting to keep his voice low. “What is this about a huge party? And Flora can’t come?”
“I thought you didn’t want her at the manor, anyway.”
“I don’t.” He ran his hands through his hair. “But you’re planning something.”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a wall, throwing my pastry in a trash can. I couldn’t tell him the truth while in the center of the crowd. Who knew who was listening?
“Marcel Brancato? Does that ring any bells?” I whispered, knowing he would hear me.
Dixon’s eyes turned to slits. “If he’s here, then he’s the one killing mortals.”
Mortals.
“How do you know? ”
“He has a penchant for making a mess,” he grumbled, and with one sentence, I had so many questions. “Why is he here?”
“You must know.” I looked at him directly.
Dixon didn’t seem as disconnected from Vince as he’d like me to think. He was too concerned about the goings-on of the manor to be completely ignorant of who Vince was. And if he knew Brancato…
“Vince’s Sire?”
I nodded, and Dixon cursed under his breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you’re throwing a huge party to draw Brancato’s attention?”
I crossed my arms. “Who are you, Lloyd Dixon?”
He groaned. “You sound like my mother.”
I gave him a look.
“You’re involved; I know you are. You hate Vince, for whatever reason. You know who Brancato is. Do all vampires just nose around in each other’s business, or are you that involved?”
He pressed his lips together tightly. Debating what to reveal.
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. “You men! Telling your little half-truths! You know, keeping things from me, from Flora, is only going to put us in danger. We’re mortals.” I threw the word back at him. “We can’t protect ourselves if we don’t know what’s after us.”
Dixon’s resolve broke. “I was sent here to watch Vince. By my own… coven,” he said through gritted teeth. “His Sire has caused a lot of problems for us.”
Of course he had a coven, a den, whatever they were called, back in England. He was Born—his whole family must be vampires, then. “Are you the heir of your coven?” I asked .
He looked annoyed. “No, I am not. Which is why I was sent.”
“A brother, then.”
“Does it matter?”
I shrugged. “I’m just curious. Getting to know you, Dixon.” I patted his arm.
He grumbled something under his breath I couldn’t hear and ran his hand through his hair again.
“What has the Sire been doing to bother you? And what’s his name?”
Dixon looked up at me hesitantly. Cleared his throat. “His name is Andreas,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Just Andreas. All we know is that he has been around for a very, very long time.”
He looked around, as though worried passersby would hear. “He wants to establish a sort of royal hierarchy for our kind, of course, with him at the top.” Dixon paused. “Though my family claims their line runs even older.”
Vampire politics. Something I hadn’t considered.
“And he wants Vince back? Why, when Brancato is right there?”
Dixon shook his head. “It’s not about either of them. It’s the fact that Vince refused and defected. His Sire still claims ownership, but Vince has refused.”
A weight settled in my stomach. Glancing across the street, I saw Sinclair leaning against a building, staring at us with his arms crossed. Séra had disappeared. I scanned the street quickly, but she was nowhere.
“Not many stand up to their Sires and survive,” Dixon said from beside me.
“So, you must help us.” I faced him again. “Go to the party. I’ll be with Flora, at her house,” I said, when he began to protest. “We’ll be fine there.”
Dixon took a deep breath, one that he didn’t need, and peered over at Sinclair with furrowed brows. Perhaps thinking about the company he’d have to keep tomorrow night. The Made vampire across the street smiled sharply, deadly teeth on display.
“Please,” I whispered, holding onto Dixon’s arm. “It’s going to come down to one or the other. Brancato can’t win. He can’t have him back.” I swallowed a lump in my throat.
“Have you ever seen a vampire fight before, Helena?” Dixon said absently, still watching Sinclair, almost with curiosity.
I shook my head.
“There’s always collateral damage.”
He looked down at me then, coming to some conclusion. “Vince will get my aid. But only so the Sire can’t have what he wants.” And with that, he turned his back on me and walked away into a crowd of people, disappearing in the blink of an eye.