THE SOCIALITE
Every time I closed my eyes, the sound of my father’s fang snapping out of its socket rang in my ear. The blunt echo of hit after hit, so much blood I didn’t know how much he had to give.
I couldn’t rest, but tonight Alina did doze off on the sofa by my window.
There was no need to bother her with my sleeplessness.
At least she was getting rest, unlike the last night she spent in my room.
The last couple hours I had gone down to the kitchen for some bites out of boredom and brewing more tea in hopes it would settle me.
The hallways were cold at this hour. A blue hue cast wherever the light invaded the home. Moonlight made everything look as if under water. If only my heart wasn’t so heavy, I could wade through it effortlessly.
Nothing had gone to plan from the first day Alina awoke.
We were supposed to be happily enjoying this new leg of her life.
She should be exploring everything her heart desires in the comfort of leisure and luxury.
A new lab, a wealth of resources at her fingertips, and not needing to sell Vipera spit and sell men for parts anymore.
Most hope was lost regarding my father. Between the past hostility toward him and Silas beating him the other night—my efforts the past few months felt more useless than ever.
Vipera must stick together to ensure our survival.
I could understand Silas has his problems with our father’s attitude, they are too similar in personalities to not cause friction.
But it wasn’t just about our family anymore, others were involved in our trial that we must impress.
Now they were taking it out on all of us, the both of them.
I hoped that the Appraisal would open the door to Father accepting us.
Before, I had hope that he would appreciate what we’d built on our own, between Manhattan and Buffalo.
But the dream veered further and further. All I could see was our demise.
I had some hope still that we could remain a family if we proved ourselves. Now more than ever, I realized my father wasn’t playing nice not because there was an abundance of bruised relationships, but because he wasn’t worried about us. He knew we couldn’t win. This was a spiteful game.
Everything in my body hurt the more my mistakes were adding up.
I missed how things used to be. When I was a child, it all seemed so bright.
The Sundays at the Nest, dressed in white and waiting anxiously for dinner to come.
The way the women of the Nest told me tales of royalty and love that spanned through the centuries I had to look forward to.
That all my sisters married princes, and gentlemen would adore me like a jewel.
Never did I think it would all be gone. I didn’t even think it was in the realm of possibility. Who would? When something has lasted centuries, you’d expect it would last a few more.
It was hard enough living modestly with Alina.
I would do it again if I must, for her, but I dreamed every day of the comforts back at home.
I hoped we could return, together. It was the only reason I made contact with my father again.
Some part of me wanted to know if there was any way out of this, if it went wrong.
He lured me along. He knew it would never be true.
I touched the glass of the window, peering down at the scene below. The main street had an endless flow of carriages by the park, but people who strayed down our narrow street were usually couples or lone stragglers on their way home after whatever mischief they’d been up to so late in the night.
The streetlamps were so charming, dusting the cobblestones with gold. The shadows cast by pigeons showed up into the windows every time they fluttered and preened each other from the homes they’d made atop the iron lamps.
On nights like these, I wished I could enjoy the peace. Quietness has become less of a comfort and more of a warning that something was lurking about. In both city and country, stillness was eerie. Unnatural.
A tapping sound came from down the hallway. There was a scratchiness to it, like claws on glass. It became so frequent, I feared one of the birds was caught in a window.
I scanned the bottom of the windows, looking for any sign of a lost critter.
All the windows were clear. And yet that scratching sound became louder. It became a rattle, then a click, then a chitter.
There was nothing around except the blackness of the stairwell.
The sound became louder before softening, much like the purr of a cat as it tried to manage its involuntary vocalization and breathing.
Only using the tips of my toes, I crept to the end of the hallway, following the subtle sound.
There was a figure standing on the stairs.
Tall and gaunt.
It faced an ascending position toward the roof entrance. There was a slight sway to the body, like a thin tree brushed by a gentle wind. As my eyes adjusted, it could only be one single person.
As I backed toward the stairs headed down, I stayed close to the wall to avoid any creaking of the boards.
The figure stood, unmoving, black hair cascading down her back. Her arms by her sides, not even reaching toward the railings as she froze in the middle of the rungs.
For the first time, I did not think it was safe to say her name.
As haunting as she’d always been, even during her sleepwalks, something about this time tickled the instinctual will to flee.
I would have slipped away unnoticed too.
Except I missed a step.
The yelp came at the same time as the skip of my heart when I stumbled, clutching the railing and the other hand over my mouth.
I was shaking. I was never anything except steady.
Alina turned around.
At first her eyes remained straight forward, then they tilted down slowly as her dazed state adjusted for the angle of the stairwell.
Her eyes reflecting white in the darkness, not even a blink.
Could she see me?
I stayed as still as a mouse, as quiet as my lungs allowed.
A full minute felt like an hour.
She just stood there, staring. The longer she did so, the more my greater senses were reaching a threshold. If I was still any longer, I would break down altogether.
The chittering echoed. It wasn’t like I was used to. The clicking noise of the Vipera was lively, the excitement so animated that it was often associated with all types of arousal.
Hers was grating, scratching, starved.
It was a dry rattle you’d expect to lurk in the sands.
Her foot dropped to the next step down.
Just the movement gave me the bravery to bolt.
I tugged on the first door. Locked.
Footsteps thudded one by one. The rattling became louder, the steps creaking closer together before they became heavier.
I went to the next door, then the next.
My pulse was ready to stop. Then the rattling echoed through the hallway.
She was there, staring down the hallway. Her face pale, eyes blank and full of blood. Her jaw opened and clenched, shakily so, as the rattling continued.
One more door.
One more door was all I’d have time for if I moved and she lunged.
My palm was already wet as my fingers loosened on the doorknob. But just that movement was enough for her eyes to snap to me.
With one last stumble I reached for the final door.
My heart nearly fell right through my chest as I tumbled into the room.
As my knees hit the floor, I shoved the door closed, my fingers fidgeting with the lock as I reached up for it.
A loud thud on the wood made me tumble backward.
“Phoebe?” Mary’s frightened voice cut through the air.
I snapped my finger to my lips when I looked to her from the floor. Just my movement made her flinch.
Rebecca sat up, the two of them putting some distance between themselves in the bed when I turned. But both stopped moving when the rattle began again.
The shadow from under the door paced. Back and forth. The knob turned right, then left, then repeating faster, harder.
My lip trembled against my finger; I couldn’t move from my place. If I just stayed here in silence, she would leave. God help whoever may cross her path.