Chapter 5 Arabella
Arabella
Alyra: When are you moving into your new home? I’m looking forward to introducing you to my friends. They’re all excited to avail themselves of your services. We’ll make certain you fall in with the right vampires at Sanctus. I don’t want any ex-Dusk Court weirdos to sink their fangs into you!
Isis: Hey, Arabella, I’m dying to know, have you ever been tempted to give a long-winded tell-all interview to a flattering biographer who begs you to grant him the Kiss?
And also, do vampires have special vampire dentists? Or are you immune from gum disease?
“I REFUSE TO DO IT.” I bark into my phone as I survey the chaos of my room. Cleo VII, my pet Egyptian cobra, uncoils herself from beneath a stack of cashmere and regards me with reproach.
I should hire Winnie to help me sort and pack my things – she is literally creating a business as a professional organiser for Upyr – but that would mean breaking the rules I made for myself over a century ago.
Rules I’ve broken only once.
Arabella Lestrange does not need help.
Arabella Lestrange does not owe anything to anyone.
And Arabella Lestrange does not risk her pretty vampire neck by stepping out of the shadows.
My rules have served me well. I dragged myself from the darkness of poverty twice, changed my name, and found my way to this small village where no one would ever connect me to the life I had before.
I purchased my immaculate townhouse on the outskirts of Argleton in cash some five years ago from an old client who’d held on to it since Queen Victoria started moping about like the original MySpace goth.
From the outside, the building is nothing much.
This is deliberate. I cannot draw attention to myself.
But inside, I’ve spent my money wisely – on luxurious furnishings, bamboo bedding imported from Japan and fine Venetian stemware.
Everything in this house has been carefully chosen for me and me alone (with the exception of the zoo-quality enclosure and rockery – that is for Cleo VII’s enjoyment).
In all the time I’ve owned it, not a single other soul, human or Upyr, has walked through the front door.
I prefer it that way.
I like to surround myself with the finest things in life. They say money doesn’t buy happiness, and they’re wrong. What’s the point of eternity if you don’t enjoy it?
Far too many vampires don’t figure out this simple truth, which is why I’ll never run out of clients.
And one of the finest things in life is solitude. Peace. Safety. Not having to rely on anyone but yourself.
“You can’t refuse. You’re our only hope.” Isis wails from my phone speaker.
Ah, yes. Solitude.
I roll my eyes at the painting on the wall above my bed.
It was the very first thing I purchased when I rebuilt my fortune, and although the eye-watering price tag almost sent me back to the poorhouse, it was worth every penny.
A naked woman draped over a faux Greek temple stares down at me with daring eyes – so dark they’re almost black, except for the golden halo ringing the edges.
The figure had been painted with blotches of colour like dabs of light.
The collar of jewels around her neck is rendered in brilliant shades of cobalt and crimson, the scarab at its centre invisible unless you know what you’re looking at.
I whip my head away from her daring stare.
Sometimes, that woman encourages me to say yes to things that could threaten everything I’ve built here, like joining a ridiculous book club determined to meddle in local supernatural mysteries, or accidentally buying a house in the estate owned by the man I hate most in the world.
The Sanctus Estate catalogue lies open on the table next to my phone, my latest folly on display, mocking me.
The sleek renders and professional photographs suckered me in, and when I saw my new client Alyra Maythorn’s home on the estate, I did something most un-Arabella-like – I succumbed to a whim.
I came home from that meeting with Alyra, Sanctus catalogue tucked under my arm.
I unfolded the artful origami packaging and took in the modern design.
Every house on Sanctus Estate oozes opulence and luxury, with a timeless style that will outlast the centuries.
Every house is set among the trees to hide us from the world and protect us from the great circular deathtrap in the sky.
All the amenities I could ever need. Security to prevent nosy humans from discovering our secrets.
Even better is the company ethos – a community run by Upyr, for Upyr, without affiliation or oversight by the courts.
A promise of something more.
Permanence. Longevity. A home.
I saw myself there. I saw myself happy.
So I did something I’ve done only once before – I allowed my heart to rule my mind. I made the call. I signed the contract and transferred the money. A place at Sanctus was mine.
A home that I earned, a place no one could take away from me.
Now, Gideon Blake threatens to ruin it with his mere presence.
And the Nevermore Coven want me to stick to him like dried blood on a cashmere scarf.
“What’s changed?” Celeste’s concerned voice murmurs down the phone line.
“Arabella is afraid our little murder investigation will embarrass her in front of all her posh vampire friends,” Isis humphs.
My secrets dance on the end of my tongue, but I need to hold them closer than ever now.
I called Celeste because she’s more likely to take my side if I pull out of spying on Gideon and Sanctus.
Celeste – who owns the Glazed and Confused bakery – is the Coven member I’m closest to, perhaps because she’s almost as secretive about her past as I am about mine.
I feel safe in her company. Plus, she always smells like cinnamon and lemon curd, which is what matters in a friendship.
Cinnamon and lemon curd and something else. Something odd and earthy and wild that I can never put my finger on, but my vampire senses tell me is not entirely human. But Celeste doesn’t ask about me, so I don’t ask about her. That’s our unspoken rule, and it’s worked well for us.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know the Meriwether sisters were visiting the shop when I called, and Celeste put me on speakerphone, a betrayal I’ll not soon forget.
“What’s changed is that I don’t want to do it.
It’s dangerous.” I run my hand over my head.
When I lived in Paris, I used to trap my curly hair in jewelled combs, pins and tiaras.
Now I wear it in a buzzed short style that accentuates my long neck.
“There is a murderer on the loose. We should leave this to the authorities. Tell Alaric’s mother our suspicions. Let the Conclave handle it.”
Cleo VII slithers to safety as I toss the catalogue onto the bed.
“Except that’s not true, is it?” Dora says firmly. “You don’t want to bring the Conclave into anything to do with Sanctus. That will bring court scrutiny down on this little vampire community, which is the last thing you want when you’re moving there.”
Even without my secrets, Dora makes me uncomfortable because she knows me too well.
Humans should not have the power to see the future – even for Upyr, the magic of Dust Court vampires makes us nervous.
Humans with magic are like stilettos on a trampoline – impressive in theory, catastrophic in practice.
For nearly as long as there have been vampires, the Upyr of Europe have been ruled by a series of vampire courts.
The number and nature of those courts have changed over the centuries, but now there are three.
The Nightshade Court, who excel in warfare.
The Midnight Court, which is the court of entertainments and frivolities, and the Dusk Court – a secretive cult of magicians.
Vampires are not required to be affiliated with a court, but those of us who are uncourted are still expected to obey their laws without enjoying any of the benefits.
Affiliating with a court breaks my rules. I’ve gotten along just fine for nearly a hundred and fifty years without relying on the courts for a handout, and I’m not about to start now.
I can’t risk a court finding out that I broke one of the cardinal vampiric sins.
Isis senses my hesitation and pounces. “Winnie told us that you know Gideon from years ago. She also told us that Callista tasked Gideon with finding this murderer, and Gideon cares about Sanctus so much that he’ll do anything to get the Conclave off his back.
He’s our best lead and the reason you’re suddenly a vampire chicken. Did he break your heart?”
I wish I could reach through the phone and pluck out her eyes.
“I’m not a chicken, and Gideon Blake did not break my heart.”
“That’s impossible.” The shop bell sounds in the background and a new voice joins the conversation.
Komal. Wonderful. “Arabella would have to have a heart for Gideon Blake to break. No offense, Arabella. Don’t mind me, ladies, I just came in to get a box of cream fruit buns.
I’ve got a village council meeting tonight and I’ll need copious amounts of sugar to deal with Councillor Durant.
Ever since he announced his mayoral campaign he’s been even more insufferable than usual—”
“Komal’s right,” I snap.
“I know I’m right. That man is determined to ruin all my ideas for making Argleton the best tourist destination in Loamshire, and he’s the reason there isn’t funding for the Gazette, either—”
“No, I mean, you’re right that Gideon didn’t do anything as dramatic as break my heart.
He stole from me and destroyed the life I built for myself after my Kiss.
It took me decades to remake myself into the ravishing creature you know and love.
” I pick up the phone and train the video camera on my face.
“I simply don’t relish the thought of spending time with him while he’s strutting about as king of his private kingdom. ”
“Then do what you do best,” Isis says in that annoying singsong voice of hers. “Make him understand exactly what he’s missing out on.”
“We know Gideon can’t be the murderer, but we do need eyes on what’s going on at Sanctus,” Dora says. “Gideon has information we could use.”
“Then ask him yourself.”
“Arabella, you promised—”
I hang up the phone. The woman in the painting stares down at me, her expression filled with disapproval. I step over Cleo VII and turn to my closet. I’ve started packing some of my older gowns between layers of tissue.
I run my fingers along the beautiful fabrics, my mind whirring over what Iris said, before selecting a crimson suit with immaculate black patent leather piping along the seams.
Because even though I told the girls I was quitting, Isis’s idea appeals to the vampire in me that hungers for revenge.
Gideon Blake deserves to suffer.
He cares about Sanctus so much he’ll do anything to save it.
I know exactly how to break a vampire like him.
It will mean doing disgusting things. Smiling at Gideon Blake.
Flirting. Giving him just enough to believe he has a chance with me.
Debasing myself by pretending to enjoy his company.
But if I can get close enough to learn Gideon’s secrets, I can use them to take the one thing he cares about – Sanctus Estate.
I hold the suit up to the mirror. Perfect.
Cleo VII flicks her tongue in agreement.
If I must spend my precious time on this earth in the company of Gideon Blake, then I will make sure he spends every moment regretting his betrayal. And that begins by taking his precious development from him, the way he took everything from me.
Gideon Blake should never have crossed me. It may take one hundred and fifty years, but Arabella Lestrange always wins in the end.