Other than marble columns the size of Redwoods interspersed throughout the room supporting the ceiling, the area was entirely empty. I turned to Samael only to find him smiling absently, nodding his approval at the design. Or maybe at the piano music playing in the distance.
I grunted imperiously and began walking down the purple carpet between the two streams of blood. With no other indication of where to go, and not seeing any doors but those at the far end of the hall, I made my way onward, ignoring the sensation of the castle’s sentient Beast taking stock of my pulse, my aura, and whatever else it was checking.
Because I definitely felt like I was being watched by a predator.
“Be on your guard,” Samael warned, eyes alert. I rolled my eyes at the understatement of the year. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I had so many questions I had wanted to ask Samael, but the fact that the doors to the Castle had opened of their own accord almost as soon as we had arrived made it pretty obvious that we were expected and didn’t have time for a chat.
“What can we expect?” I asked, hoping he had some inkling on what we would be dealing with here.
He shook his head in answer. “Anything.”
I grunted. I had my new Horseman’s Mask of Despair in the pocket of my Darling and Dear jacket, but I kept my hand rested on the hilt of the katana tucked into a loop on the white ninja outfit I wore.
The bloody Cross Pattée covering my chest was the opposite of subtle, and recalling that I had drawn it with vampire blood made me suddenly wary that I might accidentally offend our host. That would just be terrible.
In addition to the Mask, jacket, and Silver katana, I had my Darling and Dear ass-kicking boots and the Seal of Solomon on my finger; my only other armor or weapon was my dazzling smile and my baby blues.
The über-resistant Darling and Dear threads would be helpful, but unless Dracula had a few demon hookers lounging around, my Seal of Solomon—able to imprison said filles de joie and sulfur strumpets—wouldn’t be worth a…brass nail. Heh.
I looked over at Samael. “Have any more of the Omega—”
His finger was suddenly pressed over my lips and his face was pale, his eyes wide with alarm. “Not here,” he whispered. “It’s best to assume we’re being watched from here on out. Consider your words and actions very carefully. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king,” he said, reciting the parable from the Bible. “Or queen,” he added with a faint smile.
I frowned, not really sure how that tied into anything.
“All those questions you want answered will have to wait.” He smiled grimly. “If we die, answers to your questions will do you no good. We have an expectant audience. And we have parts we must play, whether we want to or not.”
I nodded, feeling like a rookie Shepherd all of a sudden—like it was my first time on a hunt with Roland and I’d just knocked over a vase in a house full of shifters. Of course we were being watched. We were inside a damned living Beast. Samael finally withdrew his finger and we continued onward to the tall, black, double doors—relatively small compared to everything else we had seen so far. They were only ten-feet-tall.
Samael pulled open the doors and I already had my katana out, ready for an assault.
Instead, we found a normal-sized, warm, cozy corridor. Paintings of forests hung from the walls, and a few chairs and side tables hugged the walls to form quaint seating areas—complete with tiny lamps that cast a soothing glow throughout the small hallway. A bouquet of what looked like two-dozen roses filled a vase on the table directly before us and a small card was propped up against it.
“What the hell is this?” I demanded. I wasn’t pleased to notice that the piano music had grown louder, coming from down the corridor to our left. We were much closer now. The music might have even been in the very next room behind the wide, lone door at the end of the corridor. The deep reddish wood was polished to perfection, reflecting the lamplight.
I turned back to Samael, sheathing my katana. He was holding a garment bag in one hand and the card in the other, frowning as he read. A second garment bag hung from a coat rack I hadn’t noticed, and I felt my eyes narrowing in anger.
I snatched the card from his hand, scanning it.
Dinner is served.
It was written in a looping, cursive script that hadn’t been broadly used for hundreds of years. Crimson ink, naturally, and the paper was thicker than a credit card. A true piece of art.
Samael unzipped his garment bag to reveal a tuxedo. I flung the card back onto the table and unzipped my own bag. A red silk dress with one shoulder strap peeked out from within.
“It seems he knows my measurements,” Samael murmured, having taken out the tuxedo. I was betting mine would fit like a second skin as well. It was something creepy villains were good at—dressing their foes in classy evening wear.
Samael folded the tuxedo over his arm and gave me a flat look. I sighed, snatching up the dress a little more forcefully than necessary, and I didn’t pick up the garment bag when it fell to the floor. I saw a door on either side of the table—not having noticed them earlier since I had been more concerned about potential threats.
Samael opened one of the doors and grunted. “Dressing room. Even a cigar and a bottle of scotch,” he said, sounding pleased. “Remember this is all a game to him, and that it’s probably best to play along. Old beings love their pomp and ceremony. They use them like weapons. And conceding this small request could buy us time. The game has changed, so we must evolve.”
As much as I hated to admit it, he made a good point. I sighed and opened the other door to find a surprisingly tasteful dressing room. A white side table held a vase of assorted flowers and a dusty bottle of red wine. The room also had a large standing mirror, a make-up table, and a white divan. I let the door close behind me and held the dress up to my chest, studying myself in the ornate, gilt-framed mirror. It was a perfect fit. I could just tell.
Instead of getting changed, I sat down on the divan, laying the dress down beside me. Then I focused on my breathing, using a ten-count in hopes that it would clear my head. This was turning into an affair. We were no longer infiltrating Castle Dracula in secret. We were now joining him for a formal dinner. I had hoped to sneak in under the radar, maybe even have time to scout the place out a little.
Knowing that Castle Dracula was inhabited by a Beast, I should have known better than to think we could simply sneak in unnoticed. But I—like JFK—often had high hopes.
How did I want to handle this change of plans? Samael wanted me to play along. I understood his reasoning, but how were we supposed to take him down now? Was I walking into a boss fight or an hour of witty banter, thinly veiled threats, and food too rich for my liking?
“I came here for a stake, not a steak,” I muttered under my breath.
Chapter 3
How were we supposed to kill the oldest vampire in the world at a formal dinner party? What if it was a freaking monster’s ball? He obviously had at least one or two friends living here with him. This dinner could be a slaughter like that Red Wedding episode in Game of Thrones.
I leaned back with a nervous sigh, controlling my rising panic. I’d already been through so much tonight before coming here. Roland. War in the streets of Kansas City. Betrayal. Death. I was kind of all tapped-out on surprises.