‘Well, she has something of your husband as well, especially around the cheekbones.’
Heat rises to my face, more from annoyance than anything else. I’m standing right here, for fuck’s sake! Mistral’s eyes widen, and he licks his lips. My mother twines her arm with mine, bringing me close.
Mistral touches my cheek, then cups my chin. ‘A real beauty,’ he murmurs, his iridescent blue eyes on me. I take in a breath. He’s beautiful, all smooth skin and cheekbones, his hair like spun gold. I try to slide my arm free but my mother clutches it tightly, so much that it hurts.
Mistral smiles. ‘A shame you’re human. Though, a very special one. You know, my youngest son is a similar age.’ He turns his attention to my mother. ‘Perhaps we need to talk, Penelope?’
I take a step back, shaken. A shame I’m human? He really is a dick. I feel a hand on my shoulder.
It’s my father. His cool lips brush my cheek. ‘Halloween greetings, Emelia.’
‘And to you,’ I say, but he’s already turned his attention elsewhere.
‘Any such discussion can wait, Mistral. Surely we have other things to manage at this point.’
Mistral grins, all white teeth and cheekbones. ‘Is he always this boring?’ He winks at my mother, who looks outraged.
‘Friedrich, you know better than this?—’
‘Oh, I’m joking.’ He laughs, then bows to my father. ‘My apologies.’ He bows to me, too. ‘And to you as well, beautiful one. Come, Aleksandr, let’s talk business then, shall we?’
My mother watches them go, her perfect crimson lips half open. My mouth is tight.
‘There will be dancing soon,’ my mother says, still holding my arm. ‘You’ll stay for that, won’t you?’
‘Er, sure.’ She knows me too well. I’ve been at this party for ten minutes and I already want to leave. ‘I’ll just get a drink.’
My mother kisses my cheek and releases me. I head to a table at one side of the room, set with refreshments for the blood dancers, and me. Fruit spills from silver gilt baskets, meats curled into succulent morsels nestle among gleaming olives and soft cheeses, hunks of fresh bread like soft pillows. A novelty, or so I’ve been told, among vampires. We’ve always fed our blood dancers well, wanting to keep them in top condition. But when I was born my mother had no idea how to feed me, vampire children needing only the blood of their parent to survive until they’re old enough to hunt. A wet nurse was brought in, then apparently a human chef was found in one of the Safe Zones, and brought to the house with instructions to teach my mother how to cook. She fed me until I was old enough to insist on doing it myself, spending hours alone in the kitchens with the lights on, listening to music while I experimented, my mother happy to indulge my whims. But the presence of real food, well-prepared, at a vampire function, is seen as an eccentricity. I suppose it’s also a reminder of the disappointment of their human heir. Again, I feel that flame inside me, flickering. It feels like defiance.
Glasses stand in orderly rows next to the food, some full of wine, blood red and sunshine gold, more with water, sparkling silver bubbles. I pass on the wine, despite how I usually enjoy it, another way I while away my days. Something about the room seems off and, even though I’m in my own home, I feel the need to stay sharp. I fill a small plate with food and pick up a glass of water, nodding to a blood dancer standing nearby, holding a jug of what is probably more wine. The air is filled with the scent of violets, and I wonder why he isn’t dancing. Perhaps he’s tired. He seems tense, though, his gaze darting around the room. I don’t recognise him. When I smile at him, he doesn’t smile back.
I find a seat near the long windows, eating while I watch shadowy trees dance under the moon. My thoughts shift to the humans out there, living in the Safe Zones. I wonder whether they’re celebrating Halloween too.
Your family farm.
Kyle’s words sit uncomfortably with me, like a prickle in my chest. I’m desperate to go, to live a life in the light with them, free from the weight of my family name. To live in a place where I belong, where I can do as I wish without worrying about being attacked, rather than being under guard the entire time. A place where I fit in, rather than standing out. But doubt now blooms inside me, along with my desire to leave, to forge my own path. My planhasto work. I don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t.
Do you not realise what a difference you could make?
More words, spoken in a darkened hallway. They sit strangely with me as well, but for a different reason. No one has ever suggested that to me before. ThatIcould make a difference. I can’t imagine how. And I don’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out. Panic twists, low in my stomach, at the thought of my impending coronation, as I stare into the darkness. Along with it is yearning. I wonder whether Kyle is somewhere out there, what he could be doing that has taken him from my side.
‘… The North Wind will blow…’ My ears prick up and I turn, scanning the room. There’s a small group near me, three blood dancers. I think it was one of them who spoke.
‘It’s a nursery rhyme,’ says another, leaning in close. ‘But they’ve changed it.’
Who? Who changed it? Are they talking about therebels? I lean in as well but one of them notices me and nudges the others, their worried expressions changing to smiles.
‘My lady,’ says the one closest to me. They move away before I can ask them anything, splitting up as they enter the crowd, trailing glittering temptation. I put my plate aside and get up, following in their wake, hoping to hear more.
Despite what Kyle told me, the rebellion still seems like nonsense. As if humans could do anything against the four families. But to hear our dancers talking about it… Again, I note the extra guards in the room, the feeling that something isn’t quite right, the strangeness seeming to press at the walls. I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I could ask my father, at least, though I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.
I wander through the crowd, people dancing, feeding, talking in groups. But no one is saying anything interesting. Then I spot my father, broad-shouldered and lean in his usual gilt-edged black, talking with Mistral and another vampire. If I’m not mistaken, it’s Stella’s father, Artos Ravenna. I can’t see my father’s face, but Mistral looks serious.
I move closer. A few guests smile at me – they look vaguely familiar, so maybe I’ve seen them at Gatherings. I smile back, sipping my drink, trying not to seem as though I’m eavesdropping, though I’m sure my father knows I’m there. As does everyone else.
‘… honestly, humans are becoming more and more difficult to control. It’s like they don’t want to be in Safe Zones anymore. If it wasn’t going to cost so much, I’d be tempted to release them and let them take their chances. After all, stocks worldwide are heading back to record levels.’ Mistral frowns, his arms folded.
‘They’re still nowhere near pre-Rising levels, though,’ my father replies. ‘And the unrest is getting worse. They’re making incursions into our cities, and I’ve no idea how they’re getting through the perimeters. I’ve had reports from all over the country.’
