Chapter 47
CHAPTER 47
Ezra met Roger at the Chateau’s secret entrance. Nestled away near the staff parking lot, the door melted perfectly into the wall unless one knew which specific stone was a handle. That particular patch of wall was also in deep shadows, providing obscurity.
Ezra wore a gray leather collar with Candide’s crest tag and an impeccably tailored dark gray suit. His red hair was tamed in a loose style. “You’re not going to blend in looking like that.”
“Don’t worry, I have a disguise.” Roger pulled out the medallion that Noah had given him and put it around his neck.
He hadn’t had much time for magic lessons over the last week, but he’d run through many of the basics with Bastian. The internal seas that had been rising and falling were how his arcane abilities spoke to him. He imagined floating along them, not inside of a ship but as if he were on the waves himself. “Alius sui.”
The tangy scent of burning ozone itched his nose. When he lightly touched it, his hand gently tingled. The sensation was a faint buzz, but other vampires might be able to sense it. He’d have to be careful not to touch anyone else.
“That is a different look. Different smell, too,” Ezra said.
“What do I look like?” Roger asked.
“You appear to be a six-foot blond with decent enough taste in suits but nothing remarkable. In fact, my gaze slides past you.”
“Thank the Heavens for talented warlocks.”
Ezra grabbed the stone and twisted the handle. The door opened inward to a dark, narrow hallway. The occasional tiny LED light provided ample illumination for a vampire, and navigating the passage was a breeze. It reminded Roger of the back ways into speakeasies and secretive donor houses, only the Chateau’s was far neater. There was no hint of fear soaked into the walls, no concern that one might get caught in illicit activities. Instead, a brush of warmth greeted him. Desire.
Oh, how he hoped the evening would end in love rather than terror.
“Did you decide upon a fake name?” Ezra said.
“You’re the writer. Choose one for me,” Roger replied.
Ezra groaned softly. “Pure torture, making me come up with a name. You’re Harry, a friend of mine from England. You do still remember how to speak with an English accent, don’t you?”
“That aristocratic London version or my actual dialect?” Roger replied.
“I hate to say it, but aristocratic. If you sound poor, that’ll attract attention.” Ezra scrunched his nose. “I hate that I just said that. How long until the revolution?”
“Not long,” Roger promised.
“See that it isn’t.”
“You could participate rather than telling me to hurry up.”
Ezra paused. He had the benefit of being shorter and slimmer, and he turned around to face Roger. Sneaking around and having him near reminded Roger of how they’d been in their early nights together, when Ezra was still a mortal. No flicker of romantic love sparked, nor did a long habit of falling back on sexual interests renew. Roger didn’t want to avoid the troubles ahead—and the realization of that was an unburdening, like finally breaking free of water to breathe fresh air when drowning had been so near.
“You’re serious,” Ezra murmured. He pushed Roger’s shoulder lightly. “Why the bloody hell did you wait so long to ask me?”
“Well, I believe you were a bit preoccupied not answering your phone.” Roger flicked the crest tag on Ezra’s collar.
With a frown, Ezra put his hand to his collar. Shame darkened his steel-gray eyes, and he lowered his gaze before straightening his shoulders and meeting Roger’s gaze. “I only wanted some joy. I never expected it.”
“I’m not angry,” Roger replied. “But after tonight, sides will be drawn. Candide will choose herself.”
“We’re standing in the middle of a secret passage on our way to rendezvous with your lovers underneath the nose of an ancient monster who uses any excuse to punish those around him. One might say she’s already chosen a side. Yours.”
“I had to show up on her door and guilt her into this, Ezra.” Roger put his finger under Ezra’s chin when Ezra started to look down again. “We know her. She will defend what’s hers, but she will never fight for change.”
“I hate when you’re right.” Ezra brushed a forming tear from his eye. “Forgive me for hiding?”
Roger managed a smile. “I’ve been hiding in plain sight for a few centuries. I suppose I can forgive you for sticking your head in the sand a few months.”
Ezra laughed, wiped quickly at his other eye, then began to lead the way again.
They trekked up three flights of stairs, bypassing a few other turns and exits. The first room that they stepped into was empty. It appeared to be a small library or an office with many bookcases. Upon closer inspection, Roger noticed that much of the furniture was discreet kink pieces. The Chateau catered to fantasies, and not every vampire had the urge to invade a bedroom or lock their prey up in a dungeon.
After they had both stepped through, Ezra swung the fake bookcase shut. “The door opens on this side by pulling the copy of The Three Musketeers . Every interior room on this floor has one of these secret doors. Try not to get lost in the labyrinth back there. Once the party is in full swing, those passageways will have mortals flitting back and forth.”
“Allowing her patrons all the privacy they need and hiding any bodies from sensitive mortals,” Roger said. “Just as she did in London.”
“Ah, right. I was barely ever in that place. Smelled awful after I became a vampire.”
“That was the Thames,” Roger replied, putting on his English nobleman’s voice as they left the faux library.
“Eh, that’s likely.” Ezra continued on to the stairs that led downward. His demeanor brightened to avid host. “The party shall be on the second floor, with permissions granted for third-floor usage, of course. Anton has insisted that no expense be spared for this grand party, and the last time I checked, the guest list had two hundred vampires on it. Do you remember Faustino? Oh, and Abhijit?”
Roger knew the names. He and Faustino had tangled a few times when Seamus had first moved their group to New York. Those entanglements had included a very loud breakup in a tavern for gay men. The last Roger had heard of Abhijit, he had moved to Los Angeles. That had been in 1983, and Roger hadn’t tried to track him down.
“I think Abhijit’s probably one of the few men over two hundred that I haven’t slept with,” Roger said.
A classical song drifted from the strings of a violin into the hall. Chattering party guests were already in the hallway and in rooms. Mortal pets followed their vampire masters. Donors that worked for the Chateau wore white collars with Candide’s crest tag. They were dressed in black vests and shorts and carried trays with drinks between rooms.
A vanilla-and-floral scent enhanced the earthiness that came from vampires congregating while covering any hint of mustiness. Here and there were vases of beautiful bouquets of red and gold. Little tables had black chits laid out on them with piles of red chits at the back.
Roger picked up one of the red to closer inspect it. The chits were meant to be handed off to donors so that they could prove a recent feeding and earn their pay. They were sitting out like party favors for anyone to grab. Red meant a longer drink with some possibilities for play; black meant an intent to be rough on a donor, possibly to death.
These chits had a crest on either side of them. One was a dagger with a snake wrapped around the hilt and the blade, not quite forming an ouroboros. The other was a raven with its wings spread wide and carrying a rose.
Two new fledglings with crests were serious business. Anton and Seamus hadn’t presented anyone in society like this. Roger had been given his during a quiet night in Paris, while Anton had never graced Dmitri with one.
“Apparently, Faustino is a big shot these nights. Candide told me that he brought multiple gifts to shower upon the new fledglings,” Ezra said, carrying on their conversation. He caught Roger looking at the chit. “Ah, yes. Anton insisted on having those made. A bit darling, but a waste of plastic in the long run, in my opinion. Will you be feeding tonight?”
“I should like to.” Roger pocketed the red chit. “Do you know if they plan to abide by tradition?”
“That was what I heard,” Ezra said, and only from knowing him did Roger spot the worry in his expression.
The custom was that the new fledgling show off and drink from their prey in front of a crowd at midnight. After that, everyone else was allowed to feed. Did Seamus prepare Zack for that? Or is he hoping that he’ll freeze up and make a fool of himself? “I wonder if I’ll be able to snag a hello before we descend into revelry.”
Ezra caught Roger’s eye, and the quick nod meant he’d gathered Roger’s true meaning. “I’m sure we’ll be able to arrange that. For now, though, let me introduce you to a few of my friends. We have so many vampires from out of town that I’m surprised any of my fellow coven mates made the list!”
With the grace and charm of enduring noble manners, Ezra linked his arm with Roger’s and began to take him around the party as if he were an old friend and everyone they spoke to were complete strangers to him. Roger had endured worse, and he faked politeness while keeping his eyes peeled for Zack’s or Takashi’s arrival.
Takashi straightened his sleeves after stepping out of the limo behind Seamus’s pet collection. The three mortals shivered in the cold. Their jackets were thin, gauzy material unfitting for an Illinois winter night. But they made no complaint as they hurried along the path to the front doors behind Seamus, Zack, Anton, and Katie.
Anton wanted Katie’s debut—and therefore Zack’s—to be sophisticated in the eyes of their visitors. That was one reason they’d selected the Chateau to host the celebration rather than Seamus’s mansion or the club Devil’s Cove. Such affairs were supposed to be classy, and though the mansion was a display of wealth, letting vampires know that Seamus’s home lacked the basic protection of a threshold was a massive security flaw. Some elder vampires would consider it a sign that he was a poor master if the mortals he kept never felt safe enough to call their house a home.
Chateau de Vampire had all the elegance of a palace and the exclusive air of a private club. As requested, the donor house was closed to the public that night. Red lights illuminated the outside of the building and the three statues along the walk. The center one, which the sidewalk curved around on both sides, was of Seamus. Between the light and the shadows, his long fangs seemed to drip with blood. The last few times Takashi had been here, he’d thought that the statue had a handsome charm, but he only saw the malice in the stone’s form from the way he grinned to the rough hold he had on the nude figure in his arms.
Another of the statues depicted Anton in a billowy shirt. The artist had pulled off the manic quality of his grin, yet Takashi couldn’t help feeling that it was a mask even for the marble Anton.
The last of the statues was of Candide in a centuries-old fashion. The full skirts of her dress nearly hid the kneeling figure at her feet, a nod to how she was known to always have a few mortals at hand.
Two other statues had once decorated the walk, but even their pedestals were removed. They’d been of Roger and Dmitri. Apparently, their fall from grace was complete. Seamus was attempting to erase their presence altogether.
Several black-clad and brown-collared security guards were checking guests in at the door. When they spotted Seamus, they bowed and motioned for him to go ahead.
“Master!” Candide said, bubbling with her French accent. Her blonde hair was in a beautiful braid, and she wore a dark purple dress that had the lightest of sparkle in the weave. She held her hands out for Seamus to take them, and then she kissed him on either cheek as he drew close. “I do hope you and your son will be satisfied with the party tonight! Anton and Takashi have worked so very hard to ensure I nailed every detail!” She let go of Seamus and held one hand out to Anton.
Anton swept in and kissed her cheeks. “You look ravishing.”
“Thank you.” Candide turned her attention to Katie. “Aren’t you darling?”
For the party, Katie had donned a carmine satin dress that ended just above her knee. It was modest without overplaying her youth. She had a gold necklace of a raven with its wings spread and holding a rose. Anton had given it to her, had chosen it as her crest but hadn’t told her yet.
As she chatted with Candide and twirled to show off her dress and high heels, Takashi felt a distance that an elephant couldn’t fill. His tether to her was still there. He could sense her delight in the moment and her growing hunger, but he was hardly standing there inside his own skin. His gaze wandered and landed on Zack.
Zack looked dashing in his black suit. His hair was an artful mess that Takashi wished he’d taken the time to tame a little. In the Chateau’s light, he was a perfect porcelain, the pale pink undertones of his skin having gone almost white after his transformation.
“Zackery, wonderful to see you again, mon cher,” Candide said as she greeted him. Zack managed a smile for her, even when she insisted that he twirl for her, too.
After that, her attention started to drift toward Takashi.
“I believe people are waiting on us, darling,” Seamus said with a grin that was too wide.
“Of course they are. And we are clogging the entryway! Come, come. I have an arm for each of you magnificent new children of the night! Now, I know Zackery was here as a mortal, but did you ever have the chance, Kathleen?” Candide turned to begin leading the way deeper into the Chateau. She held her arms out for Zack and Katie to join her, and they did.
“I never had the pleasure, master,” Katie said.
“It’s mistress, if you insist on being formal, which I insist that you don’t! You’re Anton’s offspring and a promising young mage, I hear,” Candide replied. “I may be a captain, but you, my girl, are royalty. You both are. I hope to see you here all the time. Beautiful young people deserve plenty of time out of the house.”
Candide launched into a spiel about how the Chateau ran and what it offered. Seamus had already set up accounts for Zack and Katie so they could feed at the coven’s donor houses. At least, he had, in theory. His funds weren’t infinite, and something would have to give.
Bitterly, Takashi hoped that Roger had managed to bankrupt Seamus so ruthlessly that the bastard would lose his grand mansion.
The bulk of the party was on the second floor. Many of the rooms had a handful of vampires and their retinues. Faustino had a mortal with a white collar under each arm while he boastfully chatted to the others that, yes, he could be spotted in Manet’s “Masked Ball at the Opera.” That was a line that had worked on Takashi back in their early relationship. Now, it was a braggart’s painful attempt to be influential.
Takashi nearly laughed when a young pale vampire with white-blond hair proclaimed there was nothing amazing about a painting when he had a million views on his most recent film. An argument erupted about whether or not a vampire should engage in creating pornography, but the pale vampire didn’t seem to care what the others thought of his profession.
Candide continued wheeling Katie and Zack through the party and pointing out tiny details that were specific for the evening—like the chits with both crests on them.
“Both?” Katie exclaimed delightedly. “Wait, do I have one?”
“I was going to make a show of telling you tonight.” Anton nodded to Katie’s necklace. “A raven and a rose. Death, magic, and beauty.”
“Do you know yours?” Katie picked up a black chit from a nearby table. “Dagger and snake. What does that mean?”
“Killer and survivor,” Seamus replied. He plucked the chit from her hand. “You needn’t worry about carrying one of these tonight.”
“He’s right,” Candide said. “I would have supplied my own gifts for you to drink from, but many of our guests have brought offerings. I should be introducing you two to some of them, unless you would like to take over that duty, master?”
“I enjoy watching you play hostess, Candide.” Seamus kissed her cheek. “You have always impressed me.”
“Thank you, master.” Candide dipped her head in acknowledgment, then steered Zack and Katie to a room farther in.
For Takashi, keeping in step behind them was an exercise in walking on broken glass and smiling through it. Seamus hadn’t glanced his way. With Zack’s focus on what was happening to him, would anyone notice if he slipped away?
He held off from a step, then another. When no one, not even one of the pets trailing after Seamus, turned toward him, he slipped into one of the nearby rooms.
Light conversation was happening in this room, but Takashi wasn’t immediately sucked into the verbal wordplay. Instead, he stayed up against one of the walls beside the entry. No call of his name nor one of Seamus’s people came to fetch him. He was free.
“Ah, Takashi!” Ezra said.
Takashi cursed his luck, then fate, and for good measure, destiny. If any of those entities existed, certainly they believed only the wicked deserved any peace. He plastered on a smile he knew was too weak and faced Ezra.
Ezra was handsome in his gray suit and collar. He had another man on his arm. Something about the dark blond, white vampire was oddly familiar, but Takashi couldn’t place his finger on the reason why.
“I didn’t expect you to be a wallflower,” Ezra said. “I don’t know if you’ve met my good friend Harry. He’s from England.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” the man said, his English accent thick.
And one Takashi had heard before. That was Roger’s voice. He rarely fell back on his older accents, but he’d used it shamelessly in bed back in 1921. Takashi scanned the details of the man’s face and settled on his brown eyes.
The disguise was fantastic, but those eyes were Roger’s eyes.
Roger was alive. He had come into the heart of the beast that wanted him dead.
Takashi could cry, but he couldn’t allow himself to do so.
“Yes, a pleasure,” Takashi said breathlessly.
“I am hoping that you can keep my good friend entertained while I see to a few things,” Ezra said. “Candide is the hostess, but she did beg of me to help her this evening.”
“Perhaps we’ll be able to meet you upstairs?” Roger asked.
“Mm, yes. In about half an hour?” Ezra replied.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Roger slipped from Ezra’s side and took up a position against the wall beside Takashi.
“Wonderful.” Ezra dashed off.
The relief of having Roger next to him robbed Takashi of his senses. He searched for other minutia of his lover that he’d missed, but Roger was even standing differently. His swagger and posture had been like a cat on the prowl. Now he moved with a stalwart set to his shoulders and a confident control in his step.
Speaking at all would break Takashi’s voice, he was certain of it. After the tumbles and pitfalls of the last few evenings, his composure was a fraying rope. Once it broke, the fifty-ton weight of pressure he’d managed to hold off would crash into him, obliterating what little calm he had left.
If only he and Roger were alone, he might be able to find some strength from their reunion rather than feel that it was cutting away at that fraying rope.
They needed privacy, and they wouldn’t find it in crowded rooms full of vampires with fantastic hearing. Takashi cleared his throat. “I hear there are all kinds of rooms on the third floor. Any fantasy could be fulfilled.”
“A few more minutes,” Roger whispered. “I’ve only just come down the stairs. Might seem odd to turn around and run up them.”
Takashi nodded. He let his hand hang down, closer to Roger, and Roger brushed the back of his hand with his. Their light touch tingled, and it took Takashi a second to realize that magic, not love, was causing the sensation. Roger’s disguise was so complete because he had arcane help.
“This is, perhaps, the most excruciating night in my entire existence,” Takashi murmured. “And I will remind you that I died with my brains spilling out of my skull.”
“Careful now,” Roger replied. He had his gaze out on the room. “We’ve only just met.”
“I am sick to death of games,” Takashi said. “They are a poison for which I have no antidote.”
Roger raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps we needn’t wait so long.”
“My thoughts exactly. To the third floor. Now.”