Chapter 11 Arabella
Arabella
Damien: Dearest sweet Arabella, I need some funds, fast. How quickly can you convert sixteen pounds of Knights Templar treasure into cash? It’s mostly jewel-encrusted crucifixes, etc, but there are some saints’ bones and old hunks of wood that might be from the ark. Call me, darling!
“ARABELLA, YOU WERE AMAZING. How did you do that?” Beth squeals. The Nevermore Coven crowd around me, excitement and awe on their faces.
“You’re like a human pretzel.” Komal jiggles my arm. “You defied gravity! I can’t believe you never told us you could dance.”
“Of course she didn’t tell us. Arabella has to maintain her status as a woman of mystery and intrigue,” Isis declares.
“Unfortunately for her, I saw a vision of her performance. I knew months ago. That’s the advantage of being a powerful clairvoyant.
But I didn’t say anything because it’s Arabella’s secret to tell. ”
“How very magnanimous of you.” Dora shoots her sister a look, then rubs my shoulder affectionately. “I wish I had your grace. Or your bravery.”
Her smile is warm, but her eyes are wide with fear, her gaze locked on the crowd behind me.
I don’t have to turn around to know she’s watching Mike.
He has been worse lately, his behaviour going from disagreeable to controlling.
It might be time he received a visit from the unfriendly neighbourhood vampire.
But first, I have to extricate myself from a revenge plan that’s working only too well.
Winnie throws her arm around me. “You are incredible. I’m so honoured to have you as a friend.”
My cheeks burn. Winnie is a new friend, and although I’m wary of new people, especially humans who’ve recently become aware of the supernatural world, she’s quickly become an important part of my life. My whole body hums with warmth, a strange sensation for a vampire.
I haven’t danced since the day I left Paris. After Gideon took everything from me, I lost the ability to feel the music. So why did it come back tonight, of all nights, while he was watching?
Maybe this giddy sensation has nothing to do with the dance. Maybe it has more to do with the anonymous message I just sent to a high-ranking client reporting Gideon’s attendance at Beth’s pole studio, to make his position with the Conclave even more precarious?
“Seriously, Arabella, you’ve done this before.” Beth plants her hands on her hips. “I’ve been having lessons for six months and I can’t do half those moves.”
“I used to be a dancer,” I murmur. “In a previous life.”
A life that Gideon Blake stole from me.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but Arabella is being modest.”
I stiffen at the sound of Gideon’s smooth voice.
He stands behind Beth, disgusting mushroom drink spiked with blood in hand, impeccably tailored suit hugging his body, his mouth quirked in that cheeky half-smile of his.
The old, polished Gideon is back, his mask firmly in place.
Does he know what I saw while I was dancing?
Did he intend for me to witness the pain in his eyes or the raw wound of his lips?
We’re both playing games with each other, and I abhor losing.
“Arabella? Modest?” Komal’s eyebrows shoot waaaay up. “Those things go together like… like two things that don’t go together.”
Gideon’s gaze flicks to each of my friends, drawing their attention while avoiding meeting my eyes. “Arabella wasn’t simply a dancer. This majestic creature once graced the stage at La Petite Mort, the most secretive and notorious cabaret theatre in Paris.”
“I didn’t grace the stage. I owned it.” I glare at Gideon, but he’s not looking at me. And he won’t shut up.
“In fact, Beth, I’m pretty sure the woman on your poster is a certain grumpy vampire temptress we all know and love.
” Gideon holds out his hand. Wordlessly, Beth peels one of the old Toulouse-Lautrec posters from the wall and hands it to him.
The girls crowd around it, peering at my portrait while I silently plot all the ways I might separate Gideon’s head from his body.
“You can’t see the model’s face, but it sure looks like Arabella.” Komal’s eyes are two round saucers.
“Arabella, did you invent pole dancing?” Beth’s voice rises an octave. “Vampires are so fabulous, it’s annoying.”
“Why don’t you all talk louder?” I hiss. “I don’t think every person in Argleton has heard my secrets.”
I glance around the crowd, that creeping sensation of being watched prickling at my neck again.
“Look at your corset!” Dora whispers, hugging her oversized sweater against her chest. “And those jewels around your neck. You’re so glamorous. I wish—”
Whatever Dora is about to say next is cut off with a whimper when her husband grabs her arm and yanks her out of our circle.
“Mike, you’re hurting me,” Dora cries.
“We’re leaving. Now.” Mike glares at Beth, the vein above his eye pulsing in a way that would make me hungry if only his blood weren’t so unappetising.
Rage can make humans smell like brussels sprouts.
“I can’t believe you made my wife take her clothes off and grind her arse in front of the whole village. ”
“It’s just a bit of fun.” Beth coos in her calming yoga voice. “We’re all adults here. Why don’t we go out to the lobby, have a mushroom shake, and I’ll explain to you—”
“You think a bunch of leering men ogling my wife is fun?” Mike glares at Gideon. “He’s the worst of them, with his jaw on the ground and his tongue out like a panting dog.”
Gideon is the worst, but Mike is a close second with this nonsense. I will not stand for anyone hurting my friends.
“Better a panting dog laying at my goddess’ feet than a jealous arsehole who doesn’t even know he has a goddess,” Gideon says breezily. “And I wasn’t looking at your wife. No offence, Dora.”
“None taken,” she says glumly.
“You should have been watching your wife, instead of watching me, because you missed the most beautiful thing in the world – raw female sexuality.” Gideon pats Mike’s shoulder affectionately, like a father advising a son. “Remember that for next time.”
“There will be no next time.” Mike’s face is as red as arterial spray. People in the crowd behind him stare at their shoes, doing the typical British thing of pretending they’re not profoundly uncomfortable. No one intervenes. “I’m getting this place shut down.”
No matter what century we’re in, there are always men afraid of the power of women.
My fangs slide down, itching to sink into Mike’s neck, despite the foul scent, and give him something to really be upset about. But one terrified look from Dora and I stop myself. She doesn’t want us to interfere, especially not in front of everyone.
As much as I yearn to introduce Mike’s testicles to the knife I keep in my boot, I don’t want to do anything that will cause Dora more hurt. But Mike should watch his back.
No one – no one – gets away with hurting my friends.
Dora tugs on his arm. “Mike, please don’t—”
“Get in the car.” Mike yanks Dora towards the door. “You’re not going to make a fool of me in front of the whole village. I don’t want you to set foot in this place or talk to those women ever again.”
“That’s Dora’s decision, don’t you think?” Beth says sweetly.
“Please, Beth,” Dora begs. “It’s fine. I just want to go home.”
“That’s my sister you’re manhandling.” Isis steps forward, her hands clenched into fists. “If you hurt her, I will curse you so that every two-factor authentication you try to complete will be unnecessarily complicated—”
“I’m the man in my relationship, Isis, not you.
It’s my job to handle this.” Mike laughs woodenly.
“And unlike Gideon here, I’m a real man.
Real men don’t need to look at strippers or hurt their wives.
But they also don’t tolerate being humiliated.
We’re going home, and I don’t want to see or hear from any of you.
And no filling our letterbox with hex bags again, either. ”
“You can’t keep me from my sister!” Isis yells.
“Watch me!” he shouts back.
Before Isis can reply, Mike drags Dora out of the studio, slamming the door behind him so hard the wall shakes.
“He’s a pleasant fellow.” Gideon’s eyes narrow at the door as the room returns to a normal level of conversation.
“One of these days, I swear I really will curse that bastard.” Isis is shaking all over.
“To do that, you’d need actual magical powers,” I remind her, although more gently than usual, because for once she and I are in agreement.
Isis cradles her head in her hands. “Thanks for bringing that up, Arabella, and reminding me that the Meriwether sister who has real magic refuses to use it to put her mean husband in his place.”
“Will he really stop us from seeing Dora?” Winnie’s lip wobbles. She hasn’t seen one of Mike’s outbursts, which are getting more frequent.
“He’ll calm down in a few days and forget about what he said. But he doesn’t like us very much.” Beth sighs. “I guess that’s only going to get worse now that I run the studio and we know Arabella used to be an erotic dancer.”
“He never used to be like this,” Isis sniffs. “He was always a grump and a killjoy, but I’ve never seen him grab Dora like that. I don’t know what’s changed him, and Dora doesn’t want us to interfere.”
Dora doesn’t need to know.
A silence settles over our group.
Gideon meets my eye and the rage I see there mirrors my own. He nods once, flashing me a slow smile with a sliver of fang.
“You ladies should have seen Arabella’s theatre.
” Gideon waves his arms dramatically, smoothly changing the subject.
“It had this wild gold-and-crystal chandelier, velvet-lined booths, dancers dressed as Egyptian goddesses, Greek monsters, and Countess Bathory, and these creepy religious statues over the stage that would sometimes drip fake blood on the audience.”