Chapter 20 – Valtu
Valtu
My favorite night of the year has arrived; the night of the winter recital.
Never mind the fact that it’s late November and technically not winter yet. It’s cold, foggy, raining most days, and Venice already dove headfirst into Christmas decorations. It’s winter enough for me.
The best part of the night, however, isn’t just that I can watch my students display their talents that they’ve been developing over the last few months, but that after the recital there’s a black-tie cocktail party in the inner courtyard.
The school strings a canopy across the roof to keep the rain off and they go all out with the food, drinks, and decorations.
Of course, tonight is more significant than ever.
Tonight, Dahlia is playing.
I just know she’s going to be spectacular.
“Val, you’re blushing,” Doctor Van Helsing says.
I glance at him as he appears behind me in my mirror. He’s wearing a black suit and looking dapper as always, and other than the hipster-ish glasses on his face, he looks exactly the same as he did back in the day.
I give him a withering look and finish adjusting my bowtie. “Remind me why I said you could come, Abe?”
He raises his martini glass to his lips. “Always good to have a doctor in the house, I say.”
“Yeah, that’s what you say.” I finish with the tie and then attempt to put some sculpting paste in my hair so that it’s not a wavy mess. I put too much and with a sigh of frustration, end up slicking my hair back off my head. Thank god I stopped aging before my widow’s peak expanded.
“Oh, a new look on you,” he says. “You are definitely trying to look like a count tonight. Have you ever thought about blending in? You Venetian vampires are something else.”
I turn around and notice he’s actually holding two martini glasses. He hands one to me.
“Cheers, by the way,” he says with a wink and we clink our glasses together.
I have a sip. Gin with a twist and it’s stronger than it should be. I cough. “Did you put ether in here or what?”
He shrugs. “Nothing wrong with a little hair on your chest, Val. Might stop you from blushing.” He walks out of the bedroom.
I go back to inspecting myself in the mirror, vanity taking complete control over me.
He’s right, of course. My cheeks are a little pink and the whole reason I’m fussing is that I want to look good for Dahlia tonight.
The recital is a big deal for the both of us, of course, and it will be the first time we’ll be in public together outside of class.
Not that I plan on revealing our relationship to anyone, that would be stupid, but it will feel good to be with her in that setting.
I just hope I can hold myself together when I’m near her, I have a bad habit of totally losing control.
I leave the bedroom and head down the stairs. It’s drizzling outside, so we can’t enjoy our drinks in the garden, and Van Helsing has settled in the leather armchairs in the sitting room.
“So where is she now?” he asks.
“At her apartment,” I say, relaxing into the chair but keeping note of the time on the grandfather clock in the corner.
“So she doesn’t live here yet?”
“No, though she spends most of her time here.” Actually, Dahlia seems rather scared of her apartment.
She doesn’t say that but when she’s talking about it, her heart begins to race and she looks unwell.
I wonder if I am at fault for telling her that the area is haunted.
She said she didn’t believe in ghosts but she probably didn’t believe in vampires then, either.
“It’s just rather curious, don’t you think?” he says after a sip. “Considering how when I was last here you told me that you were done with her.”
“I never said I was done with her,” I snipe at him. “I’m not that callous. I said I needed to end things for her sake.”
“And for your sake too, don’t forget.” The way the doctor lets those last words hang in the air makes me know he’s alluding to what happened with Lucy.
“Obviously my resolve is a lot weaker than I thought,” I comment bitterly, placing my drink down on the table and fiddling with my cufflinks. It’s an old tuxedo, complete with tails, though the cufflinks are new. Silver dahlias in bloom that I purchased from a trinket store just for this occasion.
“And so, have you had any contact with Saara and Aleksi?” he asks.
I originally invited Van Helsing out to Italy right after the night Bitrus and I went to Poveglia, when I drained that woman and murdered that man and they said I helped open a portal to Hell.
I figured if Saara and Aleksi continued to be successful with that fabled book of theirs, then I was going to need more help.
The two of them have Venice at their feet but with that book they could have the world.
I also placed a call to my friend Absolon and his witchy vampire lover Lenore, but so far I haven’t had a response.
Regardless, I need to assemble friends of mine in one fashion or another, to put our heads together and plan.
It’s totally possible that the two of them are full of shit and the faces in the water that Bitrus saw were just regular ghosts from the very haunted island, and that the masked plague doctors were just tall people in masks, and that the demons they talked about weren’t anything at all.
In fact, I’m holding onto that being true.
But then you factor in the people who have started to go missing, the people turning up dead from extreme “accidents” and the fact that the whole city is on edge these days, and you really have to wonder.
It’s been enough, anyway, that I asked the doctor to stick around for a bit. He’s been gallivanting around Italy, staying relatively close, but decided to come in to the city for the recital.
Because Saara and Aleksi will be at the recital.
We try to make a point of not having too many vampires around humans at the same time because it tends to alarm them in a subconscious way, but I heard from Bitrus that they’ll be there because they obviously don’t give a fuck.
Me bringing Van Helsing might add to the mix, but since there will be drinks and music and the world these days already feels like it’s holding its breath and waiting for something to happen, perhaps nothing will feel out of place.
It’s not long before we finish our martinis and it’s time to go. Not wanting to walk in the rain, I take my own boat and follow the canal behind my house as it leads to the Grand Canal and then down to the narrow slip of water that cuts in behind the conservatory.
There, someone takes my boat and ties it up (seems I wasn’t the only one who decided to arrive this way) and me and the doctor enter the building.
People are everywhere—teachers, students, friends, family, local musicians—dressed to the nines and gathered in various sections across the school, enjoying the prosecco the waiters are handing out until the recital starts and everyone will be called into the concert hall.
“Why don’t you help yourself to a drink,” I say, laying a hand on Van Helsing’s shoulder. “I’m going to go find Dahlia.”
I begin prowling around the first floor looking for her and when I don’t spot her anywhere, I go up to the second. There are few people grouped here and there, mainly ogling the paintings and sculptures that are strewn about the school, but I don’t see Dahlia.
I bring out my phone to text her, the only communication we have, and keep walking down the hall, but that’s when I catch the scent of her. I would know her natural smell anywhere, like a spring meadow and honey.
I pause and turn around to see her coming out of the washroom and heading down the hall, not seeing me.
I take a moment to take her in from behind. She’s wearing a one-shouldered burgundy gown made of silk, the fabric clinging to the full curves of her ass.
Fuck me.
I’m immediately hard and I start walking fast after her, so fast that in seconds I’m in front of her. A risky maneuver, but I don’t think the few people on this level will notice.
“Val,” she cries out in shock, trying to stop but still runs up into my chest. She tries to take a step back but I grab hold of her elbows, about to put my lips all over her.
“Not here,” she says, glancing around anxiously.
I nod and look for an escape. I see it in the door next to us, the office of the cellist professor. He’s obviously downstairs right now getting ready with his students. I should be doing the same, just my attention is a little more concentrated on Dahlia.
I try his door and the knob turns, unlocked. I quickly open it and shove Dahlia inside, locking the door behind us.
“What are you doing?” she cries out.
“What do you think? You’re far too gorgeous to not have my tongue all over you.”
“But the recital,” she stammers, and I reach up and make a fist in her hair that’s gathered in curls around the top of her head, flipping her around so that she’s pressed against the door, the back of her head thumping against it.
“My hair! It took me forever to get it like this,” she says indignantly.
I kiss her hard, my fingers going through her hair and pulling out bobby pins so that her hair is loose around her shoulders.
“You’re such an asshole,” she says, punching me on the shoulder.
“Do you want your hair pulled or not, you little whore?” I growl at her before kissing her hard, making a tight fist in her hair again and giving it a sharp tug. She whimpers against my mouth, her tongue sliding against mine and I’m shot with the stricken need to consume her.
I can’t get too carried away, though it’s hard when my mouth slips down to her neck and I begin to lick and suck at her soft skin, the surest way to get her dripping wet for me.
I hadn’t fed on Dahlia since that first time in the Red Room—honestly I’d been too afraid—but I’m starting to need it. The hunger is becoming too much.
Not tonight, I remind myself. This is her night, not yours.