Chapter 3
Aspen
T he California July heat is scorching, unbearably hot but my agent insisted that this promo shoot was necessary for the tour, which is in three months. We have to get the people excited, she said.
The people are already excited. Once tickets for my retirement tour were released, everything was sold out within one minute.
Even the limited edition hoodies, shirts and little trinket merchandise were completely sold out.
To say this tour will be the most highly anticipated tour around the globe is an understatement.
It’s not like I need the money. My family has loads of it— old money status. Our wealth goes as far back to a time when my ancestors was the face of our own currency.
So, who really needs to do a promo shoot in the middle of Death Valley Desert?
Definitely not me.
“Aspen, darling, face me.”
I do as the photographer, world renowned Petro Devoe, requests and the camera’s lens shutters. He brought prop guns and holsters for the shoot. The theme is ‘Aspen’s Roundup’.
Apparently, I’m going out with a bang.
Quite literally.
Today’s shoot outfits are black sequin shorts that barely cover my deeply tanned, warm walnut, brown cheeks. I’m wearing a sheer white shirt with a black bra underneath. It’s paired with a black cowboy hat with a matching pair of cowboy boots.
“Smize for me. Yes, yes just like that. Beautiful, beautiful,” he flirts.
Bringing the prop gun to my lips, I make a kissing motion to the barrel of the gun. Petro eats every moment of it. We go on like this for another forty minutes until Petro decides he has all the photos he needs.
“You seem distracted today, what’s up?” Petro asks, handing me a white cloth to dry the sweat off my face.
Petro is a tall, slim man with short black hair, who wears sleek circle-rimmed glasses. He’s nowhere near blind, he wears them for fashion and to appear sophisticated. He’s paler than usual since he’s been staying in Paris more this year, evading the tan from the California sun.
His eyes were always his striking feature to me. They’re dark brown, almost black, with subtle red flecks. Alluring. Of course they are, his family are thrallers. They could charm you out of your fortune with one look, one word, one command. You would be none the wiser.
Petro has also worked on many of my sets for years.
Some sets were professional like today and others were for the annual Saint-Claire family photo.
This man has been taking my family’s photos since before I was born.
He and my father were partners in the New Orleans SRU for hundreds of years before they were released.
I can’t remember a time when Petro wasn’t around.
He’s like an uncle that has the soul of a grandpa, fun, observant but stern at times.
Which is how he can tell when my mind is somewhere else.
Like now .
“I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.” I answer him, sipping my bottled water.
The coolness feels as if it’s revitalizing every rib and organ as I drink the water down. Without realizing it, my sips turned into three full gulps, emptying the bottle completely.
“And thirsty apparently.” Petro smirks and I grin up to him before he takes a seat on the sandy desert floor next to me.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “I feel like I’m running out of time.”
He angles his body towards me and tilts his head. “Running out of time?”
“Yes.” I wrap my arms around myself. To comfort myself or to shield myself, I don’t know. “I just never thought finding a partner would be so difficult.”
“Wouldn’t it make sense to wait to make sure you’re choosing the right partner?”
He would be the voice of reason.
“I’m not getting any younger. Most people are paired by fifty.” I don’t mean to, but I pout. It’s just that around him, I feel like I can be the child, a reckless daughter—more like niece— I can never be around my family. “I’ll be eighty this year.”
“Your brother isn’t paired either,” he reasons, his sharp eyes on mine.
I’m the one to look away first, hiding from his scrutiny.
“Roman, no.” I shake my head. “But Raevyn is twice legally separated, which discouraged Roman from making that commitment. Me, on the other hand, my time is limited. I may be a hybrid in genetics but I’m neither a Vampire nor a Siren.”
When someone like us turns twenty-two years old, we are supposed to manifest into our power based on our lineage.
I didn’t, which is why I’m presented as a human, but with a limited extended life span.
Unlike Vampires, Werewolves, and Sirens, unpresented people like me can get sick.
We’re also more prone to depression and are largely and alarmingly at risk of committing suicide.
It’s mostly due to feeling inferior to your family members who have power and dominance and you can’t access any of it.
I’ve felt that way from time to time too.
Petro slightly purses his lip while hearing my truth. Stretching my legs forward, I cross my ankles and lean back on my arms and tell him, “I want to experience love at least once before I die, you know?”
Petro places his warm hand on my shoulder. “Sometimes, just sometimes, love will find you in the most unexpected places. Celeste hated me when we met in Greece for a fashion project many years ago. She thought I was this arrogant, egotistical man and couldn’t tolerate me.”
We both chuckle because he does come off as both those things.
Nudging my leg with his leg, he continues.
“But one day, we were in Egypt and I was taking sample shots to figure out how to stage the models to get the right angle. I was looking through my camera, and I stopped when my lens landed on her. My camera naturally focused on her and my breath was literally caught in my throat.” He looks out towards the distance in front of us, not really seeing anything but the memory that plays in his head.
He smiles at the thought. “I’ve seen this woman millions of times and have been married to her for over two hundred years and every day, my breath gets caught in my throat when I see her. ”
It's my turn to look off towards the distance. There’s nothing but cacti, patchy grass in sandy dirt around us. It smells like earth, sunshine and my eternal gloom.
Could I ever find someone that their lens only focuses on me?
***
Five months later, I’m performing my last show on Christmas day. There’s truly no other place I’d rather be than right here, celebrating my eightieth birthday with all seventy thousand of my fans in the Super Nova Arena in Solna, Stockholm.
The crowd is chanting my name as the instrumentals start to play my last song of the night, Red Lights. Sweat coats the back of my neck as I hit the last note of the song, my fans roar and my heart swells. This is it. My last performance.
My final curtain call.
“Solna, you have been so good to me! I love you, goodnight!” I call out, my voice breathless yet steady.
With that, I take my last bow.
The stage lights blackout. The only lights shining on me are the fans’ cell phones dancing across the arena. Their roars intensify as I wave my last goodbye, smiling, walking backwards off the stage.
“You did great tonight, Pen.” Roman drifts out from the shadows to my side, in full tactical gear with his full locs pulled in a thick man bun.
His everyday attire.
My smile drops instantly. I haven’t seen him or my family for months since the Syndicate meeting. Saying I’m still pissed is an understatement.
“Why are you even here, Roman?” We walk down to my dressing room. Several arena staff and fans that snuck backstage hands me congratulatory flowers. I stop every now and then to sign autographs and take a few quick pictures.
“It’s your birthday and I’m escorting you home. Why else?”
“You could have called and I could have caught a flight.”
We arrive at my dressing room and the scent of chocolate fills my nose.
There are even more flowers and cards covering the floor, the counters and chairs here.
I go behind the partition and undress from my stage outfit.
My arms feel heavy when I pull my top off, I must have gone through eight costume changes tonight.
“Not this time. Mom’s orders,” his timbred voice rings out from behind the divider.
Shit, that doesn’t sound good.
What could this be about? From my most recent intel resource, human trafficking has decreased on the west coast these past few months.
“And why is that?” I pull up a pair of skintight leather pants, then put on a black sweater.
“We have reason to believe, there’s a threat.”
I pause for a beat. “Bullshit,” I say as I walk around the partition grabbing my thick-heeled spandex boots to put on.
Roman stands there, tall, back fully erect, his hands behind his back, like the perfect soldier he is.
Sitting on the small red velvet upholstered chair, I say, “I’ve already surveilled this area for well over a fifty-mile radius. That’s from here and to the airport. I saw and felt nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Things change,” he shrugs and hands me a water bottle .
I take a long gulp down and my ribs ache. That wouldn’t normally alarm me, however, they’ve been hurting off and on for weeks now.
I hide my flinch of the small pain from Roman. The last thing I need to hear is a lecture on health from him right now.
“Seriously, my security is the best of the best. Most importantly I can protect myself.”
“That’s cute,” he extends his arm out. “Grab my arm.”
I don’t grab it, he’s not taking me anywhere.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. Checking it, I see it’s Mikhail texting me.
Mikhail :
Hey Birthday Girl. How was the last show?
Before I can respond, he sends me another one.
Mikhail :
Don’t answer that. I already know you did amazing.
Grinning, I put the phone back in my pocket. I’ll talk with him later when I don’t have my helicopter cop hovering over me, looking for any excuse to tap dance on my nerves more.