Dark Wine at the Altar (Hill Vampire #11)
1. Sangeet
Chapter 1
Sangeet
Rancho Bautista del Murciélago—October 20
H enry and I are getting married tomorrow.
It all seemed so unreal. Cerissa Patel had never expected to be wed this young. The Lux didn’t marry until they became fertile. For her, that was a hundred years in the future. Of all the traditions she’d broken while carving out her own identity, breaking this one made her the happiest.
The spicy fragrance of chrysanthemums scented the air and the golden flowers filled overflowing vases scattered throughout her home’s drawing room. Cerissa and her vampire fiancé, Enrique “Henry” Bautista Vasquez, chose the flower together because it symbolized long life and happiness.
A moving crew had removed the wood and leather armchairs along with the grand piano that normally occupied the drawing room, and turned the couch so the seating area ran the length of one wall for the party. Rented folding chairs had been positioned around the perimeter, leaving the center empty—that was where her friends and family would gather, and the talent show of the sangeet would take place.
The henna tattoo artists breezed in and brought cushioned loungers with them. At the direction of the party planner, they arranged their tools in front of the rustic river-stone fireplace and positioned the lounger so she could see everyone at the sangeet once they arrived.
As she paced the length of the room, joy trickled through her veins, a babbling brook of energy she couldn’t contain.
The party planner stopped Cerissa, squeezed her arm, and smiled. “Everything is set. I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding. The hairdresser and makeup artist will arrive at three in the afternoon at Karen’s house. Relax and enjoy your sangeet .”
“Thank you so much for everything.”
The gracious woman nodded and waved goodbye as she went through the back hallway to the kitchen.
“Come on, bestie.” Karen Turner clasped Cerissa by the shoulders and pivoted her to face the loungers. “It’s the maid of honor’s duty to make sure you have fun at your own party. Your wine has been poured and is waiting for you. I’ll bring the food later. Time to get decorated.”
Cerissa patted Karen’s hands. “All right, all right.”
The doorbell rang. Finally, her guests were arriving, and the catering staff would guide them in. She stretched out on one of the portable lounge chairs, kicked off her sandals, and greeted her friends and family as they formed a line to say hello and wish her a happy married life.
The sound of so many friendly voices triggered a flood of childhood memories from her time in India. Women dancing in silken saris at the week-long celebrations, the processional with the groom riding on an elephant surrounded by his family beating drums, the elegantly adorned mandapa on which the day-long wedding ceremony took place—all that and more flashed through her mind.
Hindu weddings could stretch over multiple days with the various prayers and ceremonies aimed at merging two families together. But Henry was Catholic, and she wasn’t a practicing Hindu. Still, as a child, she’d absorbed the traditions until they’d turned into her wedding fantasies. He had indulged her every desire, and they’d blended the key Catholic and Hindu traditions to create a celebration that was uniquely theirs . They both agreed to omit the elephant, briefly considered the white horse option instead, then rejected it in favor of brevity, with Henry arriving for tomorrow’s ceremony on foot.
The shortened two-day celebration kicked off in the early afternoon at Rancho Bautista del Murciélago —Spanish for Bautista Ranch of the Bat—and only mortal guests attended the first part of the party, which began in the daylight hours due to the amount of time the mehndi ceremony took. Henna tattoos took a while to apply, and her friends and family were tasked with keeping the bride entertained with a freestyle talent show during the time-consuming process. The vampires would join them after dusk for the sangeet .
Once she’d greeted all her guests, and they’d gathered in groups to chat among themselves, the tattoo artist handed her the illustration, a modern mehndi design Cerissa had selected in advance. “That’s the one. Perfect.”
“Let me see.” Karen snatched the drawing from her fingers. “So this is the one you picked?” She gave a sly grin from where she lay on the second lounge chair. She was having her hands and feet decorated, too. “Why wouldn’t you show me before now?”
“Uh, bad luck?” Really, while Karen had been wonderful through all the planning, Cerissa just wanted to make this one decision on her own. She’d selected a more modern, temporary henna tattoo. The intricate interlaced lines formed an upside-down V on her hand, with a mandala flower in the center and a circle around her middle finger to look like a ring held the lacy sleeve taut. Hidden within the delicate artwork were Henry and Cerissa’s names to attract good energy and bring them luck.
The wedding tomorrow night would be at Rolf’s mansion.
Karen nodded, returning the drawing to the mehndi artist. “Ready?”
Cerissa glanced at the talkative guests filling the room. “Ready.”
She rang a crystal bell Karen had provided for this purpose. The chatter in the room died down. “Welcome, everyone. I’m honored to have you here. Henry and I both appreciate your love and friendship, and we’re so happy members of my family could fly in for the wedding celebration.” Being surrounded by loved ones brought tears to her eyes, and her throat clenched, her voice choking with emotion. From the table next to her, she lifted the waiting glass and took a sip, and the smooth zinfandel soothed her throat. “Let me introduce you to my mother Deveshi, my Auntie Agathe, and you all know my cousin Ari.”
Each stood and accepted the partygoers’ calls of “welcome” and “nice to meet you.”
“Of course, I’m looking forward to seeing you display your dancing and singing skills.”
That got both a laugh and a round of boos.
“If you’d like, please pick out a henna design and take turns on the third lounger to have your choice applied. A notebook of simple designs is being passed around the room.” She raised her glass. “Enjoy, indulge, and have fun. The bar is open! Let the party begin.”
After the cheers and applause died down and people headed to the dining room to grab drinks and appetizers, Nicholas, the assistant town attorney, stepped next to Cerissa’s lounger and held out the artwork for the tattoo he chose—an all-seeing eye for his palm.
“I love it,” she said.
“I can’t wait until sunset to show Marcus. I mean, once Marcus is off work and gets here.” He winked at Cerissa over the faux pax.
Since everyone assumed her relatives were ordinary mortals and unaware vampires existed, all the mortal mates had to play along.
After the other partygoers made their decisions, the mehndi artist gently patted Cerissa’s leg. “Now relax and we’ll make you ready for your wedding.”
Nearly laughing in her joy, she lay back while the skilled illustrator drew thin lines using a dark brown henna dye. She took a deep inhale and stopped worrying over how their months of planning would turn out. The first domino of their ceremonies had toppled, and the events would run of their own accord until the last domino fell and she was finally, ever so happily, married.
A karaoke machine had been rented to provide music. Ari, along with her friends Nicholas, Jayden, and Luis, kicked off the show with a country line dance—one that failed miserably. But the crowd hollered and laughed appreciatively.
Even Deveshi smiled and clapped with the songs. Cerissa looked nothing like her amma , although they both had green eyes. Cerissa’s human appearance, from her dark brown hair to the shape of her eyes and the bow of her lip, were passed down entirely from her mortal father’s side, while her Alatus Lux mother provided the third DNA strand, the strand unique to all Lux, which gave her the ability to morph forms. Deveshi’s human appearance was passed down from her mortal mother, and she was shorter, plumper, and darker skinned than Cerissa as a result. Her dark hair was shot with gray and woven into a braid that ran down her back. She wore a sari in a silken gold fabric with green trim, and a bindi—the traditional red dot—between her eyes.
Although their relationship remained rocky, they’d grown closer in the past year. After Cerissa used forbidden Lux tech to save Karen’s life, Amma had defended her in front of the Lux Assembly of Protectors. Amma’s actions were the first step in healing their relationship, which broke when Amma abandoned Cerissa as a child.
So she was trying to move them forward, and that meant including her mother in all the main wedding events.
Sitting next to Amma was Agathe, the head of the Lux, who was pretending to be an aunt. So far, no one questioned it even though Auntie Agathe’s appearance—a rounder face and a broad, flat nose, her textured dark brown hair woven in many tight, beaded braids—didn’t look much like Amma or Cerissa’s. Maybe her friends assumed her aunt had married into the family.
Cerissa’s attention shifted away from her family when Rick, the husband of Henry’s maker, started singing a Sam Smith love song. He and Anne-Louise had arrived last night and were staying in the recently finished guest house. As the NYPD detective sang, he showed a hidden talent for crooning.
Guests meandered in and out of the drawing room, many returning with small plates. Waitstaff hired for the day served a buffet in the dining room, filled with specialties from Veracruz, Mexico, and provided by a local specialty restaurant. They took care of keeping the food warm and plentiful.
Shayna read a beautiful poem about love and marriage. It brought tears to Cerissa’s eyes, but Karen blotted them with a tissue before they could ruin her makeup. For a group of friends unfamiliar with the sangeet tradition, they’d caught on quickly.
Once the artists finished applying the henna tattoos, they folded their loungers and said goodbye, and, with much hoopla, the partygoers carried in the side-by-side chairs for the bride and groom. Cerissa took hers, waiting for Henry to wake and for the designs on her hands and feet to dry.
Her friends fed her bites of hors d’oeuvres and sips of wine as others performed. The plantain quesadillas were to die for, and the Ostiones a la diabla —translated as the devil’s oysters—were spicy and flavorful, grilled with cheese on top. The one she ate was so hot it made her eyes water. When Henry ordered them, he’d joked about the increased potency oysters were reputed to deliver. He thought it an appropriate dish for the night before the wedding, even though he wouldn’t be partaking.
Finally, thirty minutes after dusk, sounds of the front door opening reached her ears, which meant the vampires were arriving, and excitement laced her blood. Henry and other Hill residents had slept at Rolf’s house from sunrise until an early moonrise woke them midmorning, and based on the whispers she overheard in the days leading to the sangeet , they had some sort of top-secret plan in the works, which had something to do with how they’d spend the daylight hours hidden indoors.
She turned toward the drawing room entryway and blinked in surprise at what she saw.
Seven vampires in black suits, white shirts, and skinny black ties filed into the room, carrying black canes, Henry in the lead with his long ebony hair tied back in a ponytail. Nicholas, standing at the karaoke machine, started the music—a popular lip-syncing hit by Train.
In three rows with Henry at point, they performed a fusion of soft shoe and line dance. A real Bollywood number. Cerissa clapped, excitement filling her, watching Henry being all suave and nimble, the group in perfect sync. It reminded her of Christopher Walken’s famous dance filmed on two floors of a hotel, where he skipped across marble tiles, pranced up a staircase, and used a bellhop cart for an amazingly graceful spin.
Henry’s movements mesmerized her, but she broke her gaze free to observe who danced behind him, just so she’d know who to thank later. The rows suddenly separated, and the dancers jumped into a one-two-four pyramid, with Marcus, Tig, Rolf, and Father Matt on the bottom, kneeling, and, surprisingly, Leopold and Anne-Louise as the next two standing straight.
Both lived in New York. How had they learned and practiced not only the dance steps, but the pyramid? They couldn’t have mastered it in one day, could they?
A giant vault took Henry to the top, balanced on the two New Yorkers’ shoulders, the tall ceiling high enough to accommodate him. When the song came to a close, he gracefully leapt to the wooden floor, landed on one knee, and held out his hand. Nicholas dropped a box onto his palm, and Henry laid it in her lap. “For you, mi amor .”