Page 88 of You’re So Vein

“THE ONLY THING I MANAGED to get out of Lilac is she’s joined Eleanor’s vampire support group, but we already knew she was sired without consent by Baylor—”

I’m only half listening to Beth. I glance around the room, taking in the opulence and wild behaviour. It’s difficult to tell who everyone is with their mask on. The vampires and Thralls revel in their freedom – fangs are openly on display, necks exposed, hair swept back as teeth sink deep. Even we humans can’t mistake the scent of blood thick in the air.

For someone like me, who is used to walking into a room and knowing instantly that I’m different to everyone, having a place where you don’t have to wear a mask is so important.

I think about what Papa told me in the workshop, and how hard it must have been for them to come to Argleton from India all those years ago. When your skin isn’t white, there’s a certain mask you need to wear around white people so you can feel safe. And you don’t even remember you’re wearing that mask until you’re around the people who understand, and then it slips off, and you remember that you’re a different person underneath.

That’s what’s happening here. Vampires hide themselves in plain sight to stay safe in a world that calls them other. But here, they remove their masks.

(Okay, so they don’t literally remove their masks, since this is a masked ball. I’m a politician, not a poet.)

For me, the people I can be myself around are my family and the Nevermore Coven. But even then, I’m wearing a different mask – my Madam MacGyver mask. I’m the one who fixes things, who makes problems go away, who smooths everything over. I haven’t even told them about the real reason I left the RAF.

But with Augustin… I’m a different Komal.

I feel like myself again, an old version of myself I thought bled out on a night mission.

From across the room, Arabella catches my eye, and the slight incline of her chin is the shared acknowledgement of a woman of colour, of a vampire who’s had to wear a mask to stay safe her entire existence. And then she sinks her teeth into the neck of a Sanctus Thrall, and Gideon licks blood from her lips, and I turn away.

Partly to give them privacy, partly because some dark part of me remembers the taste of blood on my tongue from Dante’s challenge, and wonders what it would feel like, not just to be bitten, but to bite. To actually be one of these creatures of the night – to live for eternity, never get old, and bite people when they annoy you. It sounds pretty amazing.

But vampires can’t have children.

You can’t have children now, I remind myself. And that old, deep wound in my heart stabs me anew.

I turn away, searching for a strong, bloodless drink, and my eyes fall on Augustin. He stands at the bar, staring down at a glass of blood, his brow furrowed and his majestic horns drooping. He looks miserable.

Only Augustin Durant could look miserable while wearing horns and a bedazzled suit in the middle of a fabulous masquerade party that’s supposed to help his campaign.

Although he also looks…

… kind of hot.

It’s the antler crown. I’m a sucker for a man in an antler crown, looking like a brooding fae king from a dark romantasy novel.

I didn’t know this about myself until just this moment, but yup. Antler crowns and flame-rimmed eyes do it for me.

I take a step towards him, my heart lodged in my throat, then see Celeste breeze past carrying a tray of delicious-looking red jellies. I reach for one. I need fortification if I’m going to engage with Augustin without jumping his stupidly hot vampire bones.

“Don’t touch those.” Celeste bats my hand away. “I made these for the vampire guests. That vampire sommelier and his vintages gave me the idea – if blood has flavour, and vampires can enjoy different flavours of blood, then I thought I’d try to create a sweet treat they can enjoy, too. I’m testing out a couple of different recipes. The human treats are in the corner, but you’ll have to be fast because Isis and Mina are demolishing them.”

Talking to hot fae-king Augustin about our kiss will be a lot easier on a full stomach. Maybe some pigs in blankets will stop me feeling like I’m going to throw up. I make a beeline for the corner table, but I’ve barely made it three steps when a dark, handsome shadow steps in front of me.

Damn vampires, always looming.

“Komal, just the human I was searching for,” Gideon says. “My wife insists that you speak to the Conclave.”

“Oh, fine then. If Arabella insists.”

Gideon leads me to a group of vampires. Arabella, a snake adorning her shoulders, is in a circle with the three Conclave representatives, plus Alaric and his mother Callista – the terrifying Lady of Agony – and Arabella’s friend Eleanor, who’s talking ardently and gesturing with both hands, splashing droplets of blood from her goblet onto everyone’s clothes. Winnie meets my gaze with a look that clearly says, Get me out of here.

“—illegal siring is the greatest problem affecting vampires today.” Eleanor’s hands wring as her voice rises with urgency. “How can we expect our kin to step boldly into the future when the sins of the past are swept under the rug? How can victims be expected to live for eternity in the presence of their sires?”

“Your sire has been punished for his sins,” says the Lady of Agony, the playful half-smile on her lips a reminder that she enjoyed every moment of administering that punishment.

“Yes, but how many more are out there?” Eleanor’s gaze flicks to Arabella, whose features don’t reveal a thing.

“In my day, we didn’t ask our food for permission to eat it,” Kael growls. “And if we’re talking about unlawful abominations, the worst offenders are those who create Dhampir.”