Chapter 37
When I wake up, I’m lying on my side, my mouth full of hair.
Birds chatter, announcing dusk and a memory of the birdcall I heard last night leaks in.
My eyes flick open, and I look towards the big heavy curtains.
The evening sky glows a dusty blue-grey between them, and the glass rattles with the wind outside.
Oscar’s jacket is still there, at the end of the bed.
The image of Felix’s head, dripping with blood as it hung from Oscar’s hand, flickers through my mind.
I sit up, breathless, then walk over to the bathroom, where my dress lies in a crumpled pile on the floor.
I lean into the mirror and inspect my neck.
Oscar was right, the bite is still there and it looks like .
. . exactly like what it is: a vampire bite.
Like I’ve been making out with Count Dracula.
To make matters worse, a strawberry-like mark has formed around the area, like a bright pink highlighter.
How long will it be there? What am I going to say if someone asks what happened? I can’t tell them the truth, then they’ll ask where Felix is now . . .
I grab my make-up bag and cover the mark with concealer as best I can.
Then I grab Oscar’s jacket and head out into the hallway, looking for Mrs Parker.
I want to tell her about the dress. Oscar was so kind to me last night—we had a moment, I know we did.
Maybe now, he won’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.
Certainly, he’ll go easier on me. So I can’t go and piss him off again—the dress looked expensive.
It’s just the ribbon laces that need replacing, and while it has been a long time since I worked as a seamstress, I could probably mend it.
Maybe Mrs Parker has a needle and thread in the right colour.
I glance left and right, but it’s just me up here.
I look over the banister. Everyone has gone, the big wooden doors that opened onto the gallery and then the ballroom are closed again, and the cleaning staff must have been here all day because the house is now sparkling clean, nothing out of place, the air smelling of bleach and citrus.
I turn and walk down the hallway, passing paintings and light fixtures, looking into the rooms. They’re all bedrooms and bathrooms. Where would she be?
But then faint murmuring floats up from downstairs, so I rush down towards it.
A shriek of laughter emanates from my left, so I rush in that direction, under the stairs I just came down, and into a wide hallway.
There are a few doors here, some open, some closed, but the one in front of me is ajar, and that’s where the voices are coming from.
I can hear Oscar and Rupert; Carmilla is probably there too.
But I can’t talk to Oscar in front of them, not about last night and why I might have ripped my dress off. And where the hell is Mrs Parker?
To my right, there’s a room that’s dominated by a billiards table.
To my left is what looks like a library—a tall shelf of leather-bound books stands against the wall—and even though I doubt Mrs Parker is in there, something pulls me towards it.
I gently step through the doorway, still clutching Oscar’s jacket.
The door brushes the ground with a gentle whoosh, and before I can step inside, I hear: ‘Aubrey, is that you?’
Shit.
I step back into the hallway.
‘We’re in here,’ Oscar calls, and I go over to the correct door, push it all the way open and step inside.
It’s a dining room, with multiple arched windows looking out onto the back garden.
There’s a long, rectangular table in the centre, and sitting at the head of it, with a newspaper splayed out in front of him and a glass of amber liquid in his hand, is Oscar.
He’s wearing a dark green silk bathrobe, his chest visible beneath it.
And . . . is that a silver cross around his neck?
A flash of his hands cupping my face, the way he protected me last night.
Carmilla and Rupert are to his right, in pyjamas like me, smoking cigarettes, and there are two unoccupied places set to Oscar’s left. They look towards me, all at once.
‘Merry Christmas,’ Oscar says, his eyes looking straight into me.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I respond as I search his gaze for the kindness, the softness I saw last night—for some hint of understanding—but it’s not there. There’s nothing but ice. He’s probably just trying to cover up last night.
‘I was looking for Mrs Parker,’ I continue, looking away from him and to the others. Because I should try to cover it up too. Rupert takes a drag of his cigarette and Carmilla frowns at me.
‘The Parkers were only here to help with the party. They’ll be off until New Year’s,’ Oscar says. ‘Sit.’ I look back to him and he’s nodding to the seat beside him. ‘Is that my jacket?’
I nod and hand it to him, wishing I hadn’t brought it with me, knowing Carmilla and Rupert are probably wondering why I have it. Hoping Oscar isn’t pissed off. But nobody asks. Carmilla stares down at her phone and Rupert lets out a big puff of smoke.
I take the seat furthest from Oscar, leaving a place between us.
‘Anyway, like I was saying, is there nothing you can do about the peacocks? They were right outside my room most of the day,’ Rupert says, clearly continuing the conversation they were having when I arrived.
Oscar turns his attention away from me and back to Rupert.
‘Just be grateful it’s not mating season,’ he says, taking a sip of his drink.
‘Anyway, they’ll calm down. Last night probably upset them, so many people.
They’re very territorial, you know—better than watchdogs if you ask me.
And they’re awake all day, while we sleep. ’
Rupert takes a final drag of his cigarette and then stubs it out in an ashtray. He throws me a kind smile. ‘What do you think, Baby-V, did those big fucking birds keep you awake too?’
A flash of the bird call last night. It was a peacock. Is that what alerted Oscar?
‘I wear earplugs,’ I say, trying to not take sides. But inside I’m thinking: I’ve never loved a bird more.
‘Well, lucky you,’ he says. ‘Have you met any of Oscar’s pets yet? What abo—’
Oscar shoots him a look and Rupert stops mid-sentence, then Carmilla looks up and says to the entire table: ‘This is so messed up, the last time he stopped sharing his location with me he came back married to someone else.’
‘You haven’t seen Felix this evening have you?’ Oscar asks me, all seriousness. He’s frowning as he nods to the other set place. ‘We can’t find him anywhere.’
I shake my head. ‘Sorry.’ I’m going for nonchalant, but I’m all too aware of Carmilla’s eyes, which are trained right on me now. On my neck, to be specific.
‘No matter,’ Oscar says with a shrug, ‘he’ll turn up.’ What did he do with his body? He finishes his drink, which I think might be whisky.
‘What’s that on your neck?’ Carmilla asks in her posh voice, and my throat tightens.
Oscar starts to laugh. ‘You know me, Carmilla,’ he says, throwing her a look. ‘I couldn’t help myself.’
‘Ah, that’s why she had your jacket,’ Carmilla says, and Oscar gives a small smile, like yes, that’s absolutely why I had his jacket.
And I realise to Oscar, life is a game of chess and he’s always winning.
Always in control. But it feels like we have a secret now, like we’ve bonded.
And this is what I thought it would be like to find my sire. Or at least, closer to it.
‘You be careful of him,’ Rupert says to me. ‘He’ll break your heart.’
‘He’s right,’ Oscar says to me, then he stands up. ‘Let’s retire to the winter drawing room. It’s time for presents.’