Another frown tugs at the corners of my mouth. In a futile attempt to outrun a rush of shame, I walk through the crowd. As the minutes tick by, it begins to feel like being stranded on a life-raft at the center of a salty sea—blood, blood everywhere, but nary a drop that I’m allowed to drink. I can’t draw any more attention to myself and I don’t trust my control over the monster.
But how to find a traitor amongst my family, in addition to escaping their notice? I could start, I suppose, by talking to the gossips. If anyone in the mansion is acting suspicious, there’s bound to be a rumor. If nothing comes of that, though, I know who I’ll need to seek out next.
The slaves.
The thought of endangering one of them makes me feel sick. Gossips it is, I think. It may not be a great plan, but at least it’s a plan. When another slave walks past, tray held aloft, I quickly grab a champagne flute and down half of it in a greedy gulp. There are notes of blood within the bubbles, which is just enough to take the edge off.
Slightly calmer, slightly more in control, I rest my glass on the mantelpiece next to a family photograph. Except this isn’t the original photograph, I know, because there’s no sign of me in it. Where I once stood, in the third row back, just behind all the wives, there is only the front of someone else’s suit.
They removed me from the photo.
Before the hurt can set in, my mind flies toward the person who makes me laugh most. I wish Drew was here. This truth is a pain all its own, no less substantial, and I press a hand against my chest as though pressure alone will stop the ache.
Then Noah arrives in a rush of air and familiar scent. The set of his jaw radiates irritation. “Found one of my contacts,” he growls. “She said Leo’s new master should be here… but either he’s running late, or Reinmar decided not to attend this evening. I’ve been all over this goddamn house and there’s no sign of him.”
“Leo? No, wait, hold on. Did you say Reinmar?” I ask with raised brows. When Noah gives me a terse nod, I purse my lips to contain a giggle. “Getting information from him might be difficult to do. I mean, considering he’s several hundred years old and only speaks pre-Teutonic German. Your contact must’ve forgotten to mention that.”
Or she simply didn’t know, which is entirely possible. The auctioneers of New Ve—a wealthy shapeshifter family that’s been here as long as Alexander—don’t exactly research their buyers. They don’t care where the money comes from so long as it continues coming.
“Fuck,” Noah mutters with a thunderous expression. I would bet all the money I have left that his contact will be getting another visit. Not a pleasant one, either.
“Can we focus on why we’re here?” I ask. “I know we need to find Leo, but this is important, too. And I was just about to start my first interrogation.”
To my surprise, Noah doesn’t retort with one of his usual one-liners or insults. Something has caught his attention, and I follow his gaze. No, not something. Someone. At the edge of the dance floor, a vampire stands in a half-circle of admirers. The bones in her wrist jut out delicately as she holds a glass of wine, and her dark hair is so long that it brushes her lower back. Her red dress clings to every dramatic curve.
“That’s my cousin Geraldine,” I say, turning to face Noah again. My voice is flat. What I don’t tell him is how I used to be jealous of her. How I used to envy her ability to feed from the cloud of life-force energy, rather than blood, like all the rest of us. Now I hate her for being such a stark reminder that whatever connection I feel with Noah is merely physical. “That’s one you don’t even want to get near—she’s a psi vampire. I’m pretty sure she killed her last boyfriend. But, hey, maybe you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Noted,” Noah murmurs. But his vibrant eyes are slow in pulling away from her. He looks down at me, eyebrows raised. “Your first interrogation, you say?”
“Yes. See that one over there? Wearing the black feathers in her hair? That’s my half-sister Cordelia. If anyone so much as sneezed in this house, she’ll know about it.”
Another drink tray passes by. Just as I reach for another glass, Noah grabs my arm and lowers it. “I don’t want you throwing up and drawing attention to us,” he says quietly.
I’m tempted to tell him it’s far too late for that—we’ve been noticed.
When I left—was it really just a few weeks ago?—the obsession had been leather. In New Ve, though, trends change more quickly than the seasons, as vampires tend to get bored easily.
Despite Noah’s lengths to bring costumes that would help us blend in, my dress is clearly out of date. Apparently lace is the rage in court now—my family has adorned themselves in gowns heavy with intricate knots and braids and skirts and sleeves that are entirely made of near-transparent lace. Their masks are a countless variety of smiles, frowns, leers, and I feel as if I’m in a swarm of spirits, spinning all around in a dizzying array.
I don’t belong here anymore, I think suddenly. Maybe I never did. But if I don’t belong here, and I don’t belong in Oldbel, then is there any place left for me?
The thought echoes through my mind as I scan the room again, searching for Cordelia. Three more of my half-sisters stand on the edge of the dance floor, laughing and fanning themselves, dabbing at their eyes so as not to ruin their makeup. My vision of them is briefly obscured by yet another passing tray. Before Noah can intervene again, I snatch one of the glasses. The slave pauses, startled by the swiftness of my movement—he must be new.
“What vintage is this?” I ask, swirling the wine around, admiring how its surface catches the light.
The boy bows slightly. Impressive, really, considering he doesn’t spill a single drop of wine. “That would be the Louis Jadot 2016 Clos de Vougeot, mistress,” he answers quietly. “It was paired with an excellent human bloodline just this afternoon. Swedish, I believe.”
“You’re right, it is excellent. Here, take this and hand me another glass.”
“By the blood,” Noah snarls, making the boy cringe back in terror. Disregarding him, Noah seizes the new glass from me, grips my shoulders, and steers me toward the set of French doors closest to us. “Walk it off, Travesty. I’ll talk to Cordelia.”
He stalks off, muttering under his breath. I watch my partner go, wondering if I should feel guilty, but my head does feel light. After a moment, I face the door. It’s been weeks since I’ve last opened this door, but my fingers still automatically find the chip in the glass doorknob.
The doors swing open on well-oiled hinges, and a breeze reaches in with eager fingers to caress my face. I start down the path, inhaling deeply, eyes half-closed. I can still hear the music as I lift the mask to let my skin breathe. It’s a beautiful night, the dark sky littered with stars that seem to blink in Morse code. For the first time in days, I feel like myself again. The garden is an old friend, and despite the chill, it greets me warmly. Lanterns sway in a slight breeze.
Soon the cold starts to seep in, though, and the champagne makes its effects known. With goosebumps prickling my skin, I walk back down the path, thinking to return to the mansion and Noah.
“What do we have here?”
My blood runs cold. I turn slowly toward the voice, my heartbeat launching like a rocket. Henry’s eyes gleam as he releases his hold on the petal of a dianthus flower.