Page 53 of You’re So Vein

“I will? What does that—”

“This human knows about Upyr.” Kael cuts me off by whipping the tip of his sword at my throat.

“Um, yes,” I stammer out. “But I’m not going to tell anyone. And… and… I’m really very useful to have around. I know all about your culture. There’s even an old stone circle nearby, I could show you if you like—”

“You have defiled a sacred site with your presence?” Kael lunges forward. I step back as Augustin and Dante both pounce on him. Augustin knocks the sword from his hand. Both men lunge for it, but Kael is faster. He grabs the hilt and whirls around, his arm slicing towards me. He’s too fast. All I can do is stare as terror locks my limbs in place and the blade hurtles towards my—

“Easy, Kael.” Dante pushes on his arm, and the blade misses my nose by an inch, sweeping around to point at the ground. “I’m sorry, Ms Ahuja. Nightshade Court vampires tend to be stab first, ask questions never.”

I take a shaky breath to compose myself. “I understand why you’re startled by a human knowing about vampires, but I really am on your side. Gideon Blake has charged my friends and me with solving the mystery of the husker. We have made some progress,” I say. “I look forward to talking to you about it. Come in. Our bartender is slinging some excellent blood cocktails.”

Irene wrinkles her nose. “Unlike Dante here, I abhor vintage. Don’t you have anything fresh?”

“With so many un-Thralled humans around, supplying fresh blood wouldn’t be prudent.” Augustin sounds tired.

“Never mind. I brought my own. Thrall, this way!” Irene clicks her fingers, and a stout woman bounds up behind her, dressed like a Victorian widow. I’m about to protest when badger fur hits me in the face.

“Hang my cloak, woman!” Kael shoves his way past me and stomps into the house. “Which way to the mead hall? We men have business to conduct. And keep that woman and her vicious beast away from me!”

“Who are you calling a vicious beast?” Priya cradles Moana in her arms. “Komal, I know you’re over thirty and still don’t have a husband, but men who hate animals are bad news.”

“Don’t worry, Priya Auntie, I’ve no intention of marrying that man. Mamma and Papa are introducing me to some nice Indian guys with potential.”

Potential is definitely exaggeration, but I appreciate their efforts. I even appreciate them involving my friends. I love seeing Papa poring over the marriage resumes. I just wish there were better options out there for their thirty-two-year-old fuck-up of a desi daughter than Joe the fitness entrepreneur, Rishi the segway enthusiast, and Harish the twitcher.

“Right this way, Sir!” Papa leans on a cane as he leads Kael through to the patio conservatory, where we have set up the food tables. The relentless rain cascades from the guttering in one long sheet, but thankfully, the conservatory is warm and dry.

Kael swipes one of Dante’s bottles and bites off the top, spitting glass shards into Mamma’s date palm. Several guests back slowly away from him.

“So this is where humans live.” Irene casts her appraising eye around the living room. “It’s… bright.”

“Humans enjoy the brightness, dear Irene. That’s why they tend not to live in crumbling old castles with only arrow slits for windows.” Dante pops a cork and holds out a wine glass to me. “Are you sure you won’t partake? You might enjoy it.”

Augustin snatches the glass from under my nose. “Stop bothering her.”

“Don’t answer for me. This isn’t—”

Just then, the door bursts open, and in pour the members of the Nevermore Coven. They’re wearing “VOTE KOMAL” t-shirts and carrying signs, balloons and bakery boxes. I have never felt more relieved to see my friends.

“The cavalry has arrived!” Beth cries.

“And we brought cake.” Celeste holds up a white bakery box.

“I’m going to take James Pond out to the pool.” Maisie plants a kiss on my cheek as she hands me a bunch of balloons and herds her excited pet duck out to the patio. James Pond is wearing a rubber ring with “VOTE KOMAL” written on the side.

“I’m helping Celeste in the kitchen!” cries Beth.

“No, you’re not,” Celeste shoots back as she shoos my nephews out of the fridge.

“Can I straighten up the living room?” Winnie asks. “Maybe pair up the shoes by the door?”

Urgh, I’d forgotten about the shoes strewn everywhere. I hug Winnie. “Go, work your magic.”

My friends scatter themselves throughout the house as more guests arrive, and suddenly it becomes a real party. Isis has brought along her tarot cards and starts reading fortunes. All of her predictions involve wonderful things happening to whoever votes for me. Beth and my father swap mushroom recipes. Platters of delicious food – some desi delights from the aunties and Papa, some traditional British party fare (sausage rolls, crisps and scotch eggs) from Celeste – emerge from the kitchen and are eagerly snapped up. Lilac keeps the drinks flowing for both humans and Upyr (I still don’t trust her, but she’s right that the husker wouldn’t be able to be around all this blood without succumbing to hunger), and Dante discreetly tops up glasses from his own stash of vintage blood.

I remember other times when this house was filled with my friends, back in our teens and early twenties, crowded in the living room, Isis telling fortunes, Dora painting our toenails, Maisie reading out her terrible poetry, all of us dreaming of a bright future.

How is it that being back here feels like both a blessing and a curse?