Chapter 28
When I open my eyes, I can tell it’s late. Mid-morning sun warms the bedroom and casts the white wallpaper in a golden sheen.
Sitting up, I rub my face, feeling groggy and achy from oversleeping. The result of a restless night. Tossing and turning, waking to every sound.
Both real and imagined.
The candlestick sits on the nightstand, my makeshift weapon. Like a movie on fast-forward, yesterday comes rushing back to me. Shopping for a costume, visiting a tomb, confronting Alice. Then the news breaking about charges filed.
With Mackenzie stuck in the middle of it all.
No wonder my nerves are frayed, my emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. Dinner with Noah was a nice distraction, but my problems haven’t disappeared. They’re still with me, still making me edgy and tense.
I pick up the candlestick and heave a heavy sigh. First, I was hiding from the prying eyes of the press. Now I’m hiding behind my own bedroom door.
I can’t keep living like this.
Time to find a hotel.
Tossing off the duvet, I take a quick, hot shower and dress for the day. As I make my way downstairs, I go over my alternatives and things I need to consider before making the move.
My number one consideration is waiting at the front door, meowing to go outside. “Morning, Clairee.” I don’t know how hard it will be to find a hotel that allows pets.
And I don’t know when the little stray cat officially became mine.
“Guess we better get you to the vet,” I say, watching her race to the hedge and disappear.
Knowing she’ll be coming straight back for breakfast, I stand in the open door and make a mental checklist of what I need to do to get her back to the States. Vaccines, a pet carrier, other kitty cat paraphernalia.
Soon, she bounds back across the grass, passing me in her flight for food. She gets to the kitchen first, circling her usual feeding spot like a feline shark. Yellow eyes wide, she makes pitiful sounds, as if she’s on the verge of starvation.
“I’m hungry too, but we can both wait another minute.” I get out coffee and spoon grounds into the filter. Filling the pot with water, I glance back at the cat. “Sorry, girl. Priorities.”
The machine starts to hiss and spit as I make a bowl of Clairee’s beloved wet food.
While I wait on the coffee, my gaze wanders to the garment bag hanging from a cabinet. My purse is beneath it on the floor, both left there yesterday when I scoured the internet for articles.
Crossing the room, I unzip the garment bag to let the dress fall free. I won’t be leaving the mansion until tomorrow.
Because the dance is tonight.
I stroke the black satin and sigh. Despite my unsettling experiences at the mansion, I don’t want to cancel on Noah.
I bend to pick up my purse, but it’s heavier than usual.
Weighed down by the book I bought at the vampire store.
Setting my bag on the island, I retrieve the book and flip to the table of contents.
A voice inside warns me not to go down this rabbit hole. I don’t need to read stories of the undead when I’ll be spending the evening in the heart of this eerie mansion.
At an event called the monsters’ dance.
But I have hours to kill, and my curiosity is piqued. I recall the glint in the shop owner’s eyes as he slid the book across the counter to me. How he urged me to visit the cemetery and the mausoleum.
Is there something in the book I should read?
“I am starting to worry about my own sanity.” Dropping the book on the marble, I round the island to the coffee maker and fill a cup.
But as I take my first sip, I’m already moving to pick up the book again. Leaving the kitchen, I cut through the entry hall toward the grand staircase. The portraits glare from the wall above. Especially the man in the center.
No matter where I go, I feel his eyes tracking me.
I enter the grand salon that faces the courtyard, a bright room good for reading. Careful with my drink, I settle into the midnight-blue chaise longue and stretch out my legs.
The title of the book may sound interesting, but the reading is dry. More long, fluid, and formal wording, similar to Carmilla.
Instead of boring myself with long-winded chapters, I skip through the pages, pausing to study the occasional drawing. The first sections detail human deformities, spiritualism, and how to recognize demonic activity.
When I come to a chapter on alchemy, I sit up straight and set aside my cup. The first pages list substances used in the defense against evil. But it’s the chart of alchemic symbols that makes my heart kick at my ribs.
Under a category of “planetary metals,” there’s a drawing of the letter F nestled inside a larger V.
Similar to the late Grégoire Marteau’s favorite symbol, though his had an S instead of an F.
I run my finger down the column, the ancient paper rough and fibrous. I stop on the words vis ferrea, followed by force of iron in parenthesis.
Vis ferrea. Latin. So, if the V stands for vis or force in the Marteau emblem as well, what does the S mean? I use the browser on my phone to search for Latin words starting with S.
There are more than two thousand.
Maybe I’m reaching. I can’t be sure the Marteau symbol represents Latin. As far as I know, the letters could signify French.
Frustrated by the lack of clarity, I flip to the part I’ve been waiting for. The real reason I bought the book.
Vampires and related creatures.
The first reference dates back to the year 1047, to the Russian term upir, translating literally to “the thing at the feast or sacrifice.”
Turning the yellowed pages, I read about a “madness” associated with vampire bites. How affected victims reportedly showed altered sleep patterns, increased aggression, and a sensitivity to light.
When it comes to the serious business—the killing of a vampire—desecration of the corpse is a repeated theme. Though the manner varies from country to country. A stake through the heart, burning the body, removing the head, a brick in the mouth.
I flip to the next illustration, the sketch I saw in the store. Then I recall the shop owner’s words. A brick to stop the bite.
“So that’s what he was talking about.” Preventing the creature from rising and resuming its hunt for blood.
I’m so engrossed in the book, I barely register movement outside. A man in black is opening the metal gates. The servant from yesterday, the one who warned Alice to leave.
A white van drives into the courtyard, a French name on the side with a logo suggesting food and drink. Catering. Preparations are underway for La Danse des Monstres.
Reluctantly, I close the cover and check the time. I slept in this morning and now half the day is gone.
I need to wash and dry my hair before I get dressed, and the style I have in mind is complicated. A special twist I saw online, and one I can’t put off until the last minute.
If I want to fit in with the affluent guests, I need to look and act the part. And tonight, that part requires me to chat, smile, mingle, and dance.
All while surrounded by monsters.