38. Brody
Brody
She knocks on my door at six thirty so we can head down to the gala together.
I almost faint when I see her. She looks stunning. Perfection incarnate.
It’s her hair that I notice first. Normally she wears it long and loose and it has this slight wave to it, but tonight it’s glossy and shiny and the curl is more pronounced, with a section pinned back from her face to really highlight her cheekbones.
Her dress is cut from a dark purple silk, sweeping down to the floor as it hugs her hips, cut low at the front and with tiny thin straps.
She’s taller than normal, the stiletto heels she’s wearing making her legs look fantastically long.
She looks like a classic movie star; classy, immaculate and self-assured. She knows exactly how gorgeous she is. Next to her I feel an awkward lumpy mess. Like I’m made of clay that’s been handled by an inexperienced hand, misshapen and overworked.
“You look very handsome,” she tells me as she leans in to kiss my cheek. I breathe in the scent of her, like warm summer rain with a hint of spice. She does the same and then takes a step back. “You smell like vampire.” She sounds almost disappointed.
“It’s Ivan’s suit, and he lent me some of his cologne.” Apparently it’s a brand that vampires love but is too subtle for a human to smell. It was weird applying it, like I was splashing myself with a tiny bit of vodka, all alcohol but nothing more.
“Oh.” Yes, definitely disappointment there. “I recognise the suit now you’ve said it.” She reaches out to finger the lapel.
“I didn’t have anything that was white tie.
” I feel like a child, a kid who needed to borrow an outfit because he wasn’t adult enough to have his own.
I hate feeling like this. Inadequate. Inexperienced.
Not worthy of her time or attention. And certainly not worthy of the smile she’s bestowing on me.
“It suits you,” she says, and then she raises her index finger and motions for me to give her a twirl.
I oblige, feeling my cheeks burn as I do so.
We drink champagne and chat to some of the investors. There’s a buzz in the air, a sense of excitement, like anything might happen.
Clara comes to find us, a bottle of champagne in one hand and three flutes in the other. “I pilfered some of the really good stuff from Daddy’s cellar,” she says as she pours some into a glass, catching the overflowing foam in her mouth.
Ari takes the bottle to inspect the label and then lets out a loud whistle. “This is the really really good stuff,” she says.
“Only the best for you two.”
I take a sip. It’s… well… I’m not actually sure if I like it any better than the random brand Mum and Dad get from Aldi at Christmas when they’re pretending to be fancy.
Ari leans in to whisper in my ear. “That bottle is probably worth three grand.” She says it with more than a hint of scandal. And it is truly scandalous that there’s a single bottle of champagne in the world that costs more than my rent for three months.
But obviously I don’t say anything in that vein, and instead paste a smile on my face. “It’s nice.”
“It isn’t,” Clara says as she takes a sip. “It tastes like rats’ piss.” She puts her glass and the bottle down on a side table. “I’m going to find something half decent.” she stalks away from us.
Ari shakes her head a little as she watches her friend. “Sometimes I think we are entirely separate species,” she says softly.
“I am an entirely separate species,” I reply dryly.
“Touché.” Then she turns to face me. “But I feel more like you than I do Clara right now.”
I don’t know if it was the words themselves, or the way she looked at me as she said them, but a warm feeling stretches through my belly. “Shall we find some more of the cheap stuff?” I ask her and offer up my arm.
“That sounds delightful,” she replies as she threads a hand through my arm. “It’s still five hundred quid a bottle though,” she adds with an air of nonchalance.
“And a bargain at half the price.”
She smiles. “You know that makes no sense, right?”
She’s right. It really doesn’t. “It’s something my parents say. I’ve never really thought about it.” I smile. “Mum is the queen of the nonsense phrase; she’s always saying stuff like ‘he’s not the brightest tool in the box’ or ‘the world is your lobster’.”
“She sounds cool, your mum.”
“Hmmm. More like a certifiable lunatic.” But I’m only joking and Ari smiles at the warmth in my voice. I love my family and I can’t help but show it.
We find some more champagne and then some nibbles, thankfully sans horseradish this time, and I’m starting to feel that comfortable wooziness that comes from fine wine and even better company.
But then we meet Cecil and Iris Francis and the evening starts to shift off centre a little.
“Of course, vampire only dating is to be applauded,” Iris says.
“Yes, can’t have them infiltrating can we?
” Cecil adds. I recognise the voice as one of the men from last night and the conversation about hunting that Ari thought I mis-heard.
But standing here with him, looking into his eyes as he begins to pontificate on the moral danger of vampires dating normies and what it might do to the “bloodstock”, it doesn’t feel like much of a leap to imagine him chasing down a human. We are nothing to him.
It’s chilling.
And then we meet the Montagues. “William Montague,” he introduces himself.
“And my wife.” He doesn’t even give her a name.
It’s weird and awkward and I feel very sorry for her.
Imagine being known only as a man’s wife for eternity.
“We were very pleased to see modern technology finally being used to the benefit of the vampire population.”
Mrs Montague says nothing, her eyes trained to the floor.
“We’re assuming,” Mr Montague continues, “that there will be a significant focus on marriage matches.” It isn’t a question. “If we are to be shareholders, then we will expect to have a say in the development. And we certainly don’t want to be encouraging casual hookups.”
“We want vampires to find true love,” Ari assures him, her voice as sweet as honey, but she reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it so hard she almost breaks my bones.
The Montagues move away in search of someone else to berate about traditional values and for a moment I breathe a sigh of relief.
So far I seem to be getting away with my deception.
Perhaps I’m far better at pretending to be a vampire than I’ve given myself credit for?
I grab another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and a little canapé from another; it looks like a miniature taco topped with guacamole.
But just as I’m about to bite into it – all puffed up and congratulating myself on my camouflage skills – I’m approached by a guy in his mid-twenties. So I guess he’s about seventy in real years. Older than my parents. Which is nuts and so I’m just going to try not to think about it.
“Blundell,” he says, thrusting his hand towards me.
I make a show of juggling my glass and the little taco as if I’m trying to return the handshake but unable to. “Sorry,” I say and put on a grimace. “I’m Brody.”
“A pleasure.” He puts his outstretched hand into the pocket of his penguin suit and scans the room. “I hate these events,” he says conspiratorially.
I just nod and glance at Ari, but she’s deep in conversation with another stuffy looking older vampire. I have no idea who this guy is and so I’m not about to slag off any other guests, or the event itself. He could be anyone. He could be someone important.
“I always find them so dull,” Blundell adds. I’m assuming Blundell is his surname but he’s not offered me anything else. Perhaps it’s a posh vampire thing like the guys who went to Eton and exclusively use their surnames?
I nod again and stuff the miniature taco into my mouth. At least if I’m chewing he can’t expect me to answer and hopefully he’ll move on and find someone else to make small talk with.
“Any good?” he asks as he watches me chew, leaning slightly against the wall as if he’s making himself extra comfortable for the show.
I hate people watching me eat. It’s like when the waiter asks “is everything OK?” about your meal the second you put a large chunk of steak into your mouth. I do this weird thumbs up.
“I’m not normally a fan of worm food,” he says and there’s a sneer in his tone.
Worm food? I swallow. “I think it was beef actually,” I reply.
He laughs. “I mean the kind of food the worms eat. Have you ever tasted worm?” There’s a glint in his eye.
I don’t think he’s meaning worm as in annelid. I shake my head.
“Fucking delicious. Especially if they are young and fit. Like him.” He points towards one of the waiters, the same one who had touched me when he was handing out the Alba last night.
“Oh… ermmm…” What the fuck am I meant to say to a vampire who is casually pointing out humans he wants to fucking eat?
“You should join the hunt one day,” he says. He grins and reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a business card. “Give me a call if you’d be interested. We need more young people to get involved with the community.”
I take it from him, being extremely careful not to touch him as I do so. “Great. I’ll call you,” I mumble and slide the card into the inside pocket of Ivan’s jacket.
“You won’t regret it. It’s super fun. The best event of the season I promise. Ohhh, is that Olivia?” He points towards a female vampire who is chatting to Clara. “I must go and say hi. Hope to see you soon, Master Brody.” He flashes me another grin and saunters off.
I turn round to find Ari staring at me with her mouth wide open. “Who was that?”
“Some dude called Blundell.”
“What did he give you?” She sounds worried.
“His number. He invited me to join a hunt.”
“He did what?”
“Yeah. Fucking creepy bastard.” I shake my head. “I didn’t think any of them would be that blatant.”
“I think you might have given some of them too much credit.” She sounds almost sad. Like melancholy laced with anger and bitter disappointment in her fellow vampire.
I can see them now. So clear its’s as if we’re standing in broad daylight.
These vampires would kill me without a second thought.
The only thing standing between them and savagery is the threat of a scandal which could expose them to their non-vampire counterparts because they might hate the normies but they’ll still hoard our money like fucking dragons.
Oh, and that they think I’m one of them.
I try to tamp down the rising panic. The panic that says I’m literally dead if the mask slips.
Ari’s finger tips are light on my arm. “Are you OK?” She reaches up on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear.
“I’m fine,” I whisper back, plastering a smile on my face.
“I can feel your heart racing.”
“I… I…” I stammer, unable to get the words out.
Ari leads me away from the crowds.