I don’t need luck. I have this very sharp sword.
Vampire Falls. Season one, episode eleven – “Family Ties and Family Cries”
The hall is clear from last night, though the smell of stale beer and bad decisions lingers above the rows of banquet chairs. You would never know that those above the legal (and not legal) drinking age are hungover; everyone is sitting up straight, talking slightly louder than necessary, movements jerky with nervous energy.
We areon edge,people.
“I can’t see Felix,” Roxy says, for the seventh time, looking at her watch then frowning at the stage as if Felix is a bus. “Where is he, babe? Whereis he?”
I don’t reply. I don’t blame you for thinking I’d be pacing up and down the aisle, clothes-lining any stewards who dare to cross me, but I’m not. I remain in my seat, my posture reminiscent of a southern belle, because I am cool. I am uncharacteristically, ethereally, cucumber-like, baby.
Because I know,I just know, that something life-changing is about to happen to me. I know it like Juliana knew the only way to stop her sister, Renata, from using the Casket of Diurnacles to eradicate Portland of demons, and possibly humans, was to overpower her with a sword forged of the first huntress’s armourthen hold Renata beneath the surface in the Lake of Rogressa, which would reverse time so Viggo could conceal the Casket, therefore saving the world, but not their relationship. That was beyond strained, and we all knew it. Also, sorry for spoilers.
The curtain at the edge of the stage ripples, resulting inveryloud shushing from all around me, including Roxy who sprays my face a little. Felix appears and Roxy grabs my hand as he walks over to the mic. Someone wearing the hotel uniform follows him, pushing the cauldron on a large trolley. Felix clears his throat.
“Good morning, fair Fallers. Please listen up, as there’s a lotat stake. I’m drawing three names. Those people should come up to the stage to claim their position and receive further information about the competition.” Whispers tear through the audience; we were all expecting more than three participants. “If I draw a name and they are not in this hall right now, they forfeit their position, and another name will be drawn. Stewards, please close the doors.”
The audience turns to the back of the hall where four stewards nod at Felix then shut the doors one by one. One of them has a chain hanging around his neck, jangling it with every movement like he’s a prison warden. The suggestion that we could be locked in here just adds to the tension, despite being wildly illegal in terms of fire evacuation procedures.
Everyone turns back to the stage. We’re a flock of sparrows, I tell you. Conference Hall A is silent, which makes Felix’s gulp down the mic even more audible.
“Dimitri, who works here at the hotel, has agreed to act as an independent witness. So, if he’s ready?”
Felix looks at Dimitri who’s staring at us all in the manner of someone who’s just walked on stage in front of a bunch of desperate superfans: a little scared, a little bemused, and possibly a little stoned.
“I guess . . .” says Dimitri, shrugging.
Felix turns to us, his face serious.
“Let the Fall Games draw commence.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
VIGGO RASSMUSSEN
Destiny is simply for those who have run out of luck.
Vampire Falls. Season four, episode nineteen – “Make Me”
Have you ever been in a hotel conference room with approximately eight hundred people holding their breath? It’s a surreal experience, especially compared to the usual cacophony of individual conversations and convention soundtrack.
I look at my hand. My fingertips have turned white where Roxy has squeezed the life out of them, but the pain is good because the rest of my body feels numb. I just need to sit perfectly still on my banquet chair that smells faintly of Jägermeister, remain calm, and all will be well. I know it.
Felix rolls up his sleeve like he’s about to deliver a newborn calf, and leans over the cauldron. Some audience members can’t contain themselves and there are a couple of actual yelps as Felix pulls out the first piece of parchment. He unfolds it, shows it to Dimitri, who shrugs (I know Felix needed someone independent but show a little razzmatazz, Dimitri) and goes back to his mic stand.
“The first name is . . .”
He looks up at us, his eyes scanning the chairs. Even from this distance, I can see a sparkle in his eye. He’s already happy for whoever it is.
“. . . Rashawn Thompson!”
We don’t need to look round to find Rashawn, because everyone turns towards the eardrum bursting scream at the back of the hall. A guy with blond, shoulder-length dreadlocks jumpsup and down, as people around him smile and clap (almost genuinely) for him.
“Come up and join us, Rashawn! Congratulations!”
He lets one last scream fill the air, then stops jumping around. He beams at everyone, smoothing down hisHemoglovin’T-shirt as he makes his way to the stage. A steward directs him to one of three chairs lined up at the side. The winners’ chairs.
The next one is mine. I just know it.
