Graveyard Waltz by Jessie Thomas

4

“Areyou sure you’re all right?” Nate paused with the key in the lock, one arm hooked though mine—because he insisted, and who was I to argue?—while we stood on the stone portico of Caligari Manor.

A cool wind had sliced through the humidity some, rustling the trees and fluttering the petals that now added color to the landscaped front path. Beyond the mess I carried with me, the night air swept up the sweet fragrance of hydrangeas and gardenias.

I made fun of the Gothic monstrosity a little less now that one of its extravagant bedrooms belonged to me. But there were still times when I felt too small, too simple, too much of an outsider to be one of its honored frequent guests. I mean, what the hell was I doing here? I was about to walk into this place with some seriously grass-stained jeans, sweating like a demon in church, splattered with dried blood. I’d probably leave residual graveyard dirt on the pristine marble floors.

“I’d be more all right if you stopped asking every five minutes.” I extricated my arm from his to put a little more space between us. I didn’t want to, exactly, but it felt like the only polite move left when I was the one wearing my own blood. If I couldn’t scrub the rusty stains out of my favorite shirt, I’d have to burn it along with Nate’s handkerchief. The jeans were resilient enough to recover. Maybe. “All I need are a couple of painkillers, a long shower, and sleep.”

A familiar refrain.

“I think I’ve a right to worry. Someone’s made a threat on your life,” Nate said, shoving the door open so light from the foyer’s grand chandelier slipped from the threshold onto the portico and edged his hair with gold. “They could have killed you tonight.”

I smiled. “Reassuring to know that bothers you now, bloodsucker.”

He returned it, though I noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes. A trace of earlier shame had overstayed its welcome, and I felt guilty that the nickname hadn’t landed with the amount of endearment I’d wanted. “Leave no room for doubt.”

“Well,” I sighed, “I don’t even have the headspace for worrying about death threats. That’s where I’m at, currently, so I’m sorry you’re carrying enough anxiety about this for the two of us.”

“If that makes it less of a burden for you,” he offered, and stepped aside to let me into the foyer first. I never demanded archaic chivalry from him, but Nate always persisted because those gentleman’s habits were tough to break after what I guessed was a bit more than a century.

Possibly a century and a half. Nate kept his true age a frustrating, teasing secret.

“I’ll see if there’s anything in the kitchen while you clean up.”

“Appreciate the offer, I really do, and it’s nothing personal—okay, no, maybe it is, a little—but your cooking skills haven’t improved enough in the last few months for me to trust them.”

“Did you not mention in the car that you were starved?” Nate reminded. “I can scramble eggs without setting the entire kitchen ablaze, and my sandwiches are edible. You sound as though I’d feed you poison—”

“Yeah, but, I don’t really—Nate? What’s with the face?”

He’d halted in the middle of the imposing foyer—the only one in this equation who looked like he belonged there—his lips parted slightly, one hand resting at his hip. I couldn’t decide whether he looked annoyed or concerned.

Second option made my mouth go dry and caused an anxious, cold sweat to break out. The worst conclusions when it came to Nate’s quiet, fatal displays of emotion always involved something grievous happening to Teddy. But then I followed his sightline to the edge of the staircase where a large pile of luggage sat. The kind with expensive and difficult-to-pronounce labels. Leather and cushy fabrics in neutral, sophisticated colors that summoned daydreams of pricey hotels and faraway locales reserved for the rich and famous.

So, a vampire.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Were you…expecting someone?”

“No.” Ah, yes, there it was. The trademarked Caligari tone of quiet aggravation.

The telltale noise of heels on hardwood flooring echoed from above, mysterious and alluring as a ghost, until a woman appeared on the landing of the magnificent staircase. Her black stilettos made slow, clipped notes as she descended to meet us.

“You don’t write, you don’t call, so I had to come all the way here from Manhattan,” she greeted by way of explanation. Her words ricocheted off the wood paneling to command the entire lower floor. A pleasant voice; like most vampires, dulcet tones came with the whole undead package. Honeyed with a trace of something a little bit deeper, smokier.

Her deathly pale skin was nearly luminous, made even starker by a perfect smoky-eyed look. Devastating cheekbones. Lipstick that tinted the Cupid’s bow of her lips bright scarlet. A gorgeous black chiffon dress and those killer stilettos, which had a flash of gold on the bottom of the heel. Her thick, wavy blonde hair had been swept over one shoulder, and a line of delicate gold earrings reflected the chandelier light.

No idea who this vampire was in relation to Nate, but she totally gave off the vibe of an heiress who had murdered two of her husbands and gotten away with it. And stole their entire fortunes for fun.

I was, to be completely honest, mesmerized.

Once at the bottom of the staircase, moving with a languid poise that all vampires possessed, she pulled Nate toward her and kissed both of his cheeks. Nate let her, though the rigidness of his body told me that her affectionate gesture hadn’t done much to wash away his irritation.

He returned to me after she’d released him, sliding an arm around my waist. His gaze flittered to me, but the exasperation in his tone was still mild. “Seraphina, this is Violet Bray, an old friend.”

“A very old friend,” she seemed to correct, one pale, sculpted eyebrow raised. “Don’t let appearances fool you—I’m the oldest friend he has. Isn’t that right, Nathaniel?”

“I thought it was impolite to discuss a lady’s age.”

She scoffed. “Sometimes your need to hang onto outdated propriety is exhausting. There isn’t a lot from the old days that deserves to be perpetuated in this century, if you ask me. Except for the fashion.” She gave a wistful, dreamy sigh, a flutter of delicate eyelashes that framed round, deeply expressive dark eyes. “Oh. I do miss my old gowns.”

“As I recall, you donated them to museums,” Nate said.

It left me wondering her real age beyond the illusion of eternal youth. She could have been twenty-five for all I knew. There was this surreal cognitive dissonance when it came to vamps; the oldest of them always looked the youngest. Shorter life expectancies in the olden days probably made vampirism an attractive option.

“Aren’t visitation rights permitted?”

Violet frowned, then swatted at Nate’s arm with the back of her hand. The least elegant move I’d seen from a vampire in recent memory, ferals excluded. “Wearing them, Nathaniel. I meant that I miss waltzing around when they were still in fashion, not watching from afar while tourists breathe all over them. Please keep up.”

I pulled my lip between my teeth to suffocate the laughter. I needed to discuss fashion history with her at the earliest possible convenience. Preferably after I’d showered and convinced her I didn’t look like this all the time.

“My apologies. It’s been a long night.”

“Aren’t they all?” Her smile didn’t wane like I’d expected when her attention focused on me. I wasn’t anything more than a commoner, a peasant, a pathetic clod of dirt on the bottom of her heel. I had no place in their ranks, and I had no intention of ever changing that. Yet her grin was welcoming, delighted, like maybe we were old friends, too, and she had waited forever to see me. “Ah. So you’re the necromancer I’ve heard so much about.”

Wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or honored that Nate had told his oldest, and possibly dearest, friend about me. I didn’t like having my semi-covert necromancy business out in the open for everyone to see.

“I brought an antique bottle of wine that’s older than Nate to celebrate your courtship. You’ll love it, if you like wine, that is. And, well, there are the bragging rights as well. Not every mortal can say they’ve tasted wine from the eighteenth century.”

Nate set his jaw. “Not the 1796 Madeira.”

“What else would it be?” She gave him a graceful, though impatient, roll of her eyes. “It’s for special occasions only, and this is one such occasion.” Violet pressed a hand to the side of her mouth and spoke to me in a conspiratorial whisper that quickly dissolved into giggles. “You haven’t known him long enough, but trust me…this is a very big deal for him. I could hardly believe it myself when he told me. He hasn’t courted anyone—”

“I have—”

Violet’s peal of laughter bounced around the manor’s interior. “Don’t you lie, Nathaniel. A gentleman knows better.” She patted Nate’s cheek. “There may have been brief affairs and other romantic entanglements of a temporary nature…”

“Violet…”

“But a courtship?” She had a beautiful, sparkling grin. “Unheard of.”

“Should I be worried?” I asked.

Violet took my hands, her large brown eyes captivating as they were earnest. “What I mean to say is that Nate doesn’t make himself available to just anyone.” Her gaze wandered to Nate before returning to me. “So if he chose to court you, Seraphina, then I trust that he chose right. That heart of his may be stubborn, but it’s full of good, too. And I’ve been wanting to meet you for months—he hasn’t extended an invitation.”

She cast a sidelong, judgmental glance at Nate. “Very rude indeed, sir. Which is why I know it’s time to make a house call when you’ve ceased all forms of communication.” She smiled at me again. “He is good at disappearing when he feels inclined to do so.”

“But the 1796 Madeira,” Nate protested, as if inciting a conflict intentionally. Combative banter was always a sign of friendly affection from my knowledge, so I had no doubt in my mind that these two had been getting on each other’s nerves on purpose for longer than I’d been alive. “It’s worth $16,000 at the very least. You have little more than a quarter of the bottle left—”

“Oh, will you—enough about the Madeira! You’re free to complain about it when the subject arises, but I’ll do whatever I want. It’s the only mortal indulgence I’ve allowed myself to keep. Wine is for drinking and celebrating, not for auctioning off to stuffy men so it sits in a cellar unappreciated. I’m far too old to be concerned about such trivial things. When you reach my age, maybe you’ll finally learn to live a little more.”

Hard not to see the irony in that.

I pulled away from Nate to level him with a halfhearted glare. “Are you saying I’m not worth a bottle of wine that costs sixteen grand?”

Nate sputtered in his attempt to backtrack, which was the first time I’d seen him struggle to come up with a witty retort or something more of the silvery, smooth persuasion. Not going to lie, it was endearing to watch him try to twist his way out of it. And funny. “I was not implying that…I would not…of course you—it’s that Sera prefers Rosé…”

“Sure,” I deadpanned. “Right. You weren’t at all. I see how it is.”

“Ooh, I like her, Nate.” Violet’s grin was radiant, and she squeezed my hands gently before she let me go.

Surprising even myself, I found that she had a charming way about her that I knew would be easy to get along with. Being with Nate had softened my feelings about vampires some, but only the ones I felt were trustworthy. If Nate counted her among his chosen few, it was probably safe enough to extend that trust.

“Seems you’ve found someone who can endure your personality and match wits. It only took you a hundred and fifty years of waiting. Well, no…I suppose a hundred and twenty may be more accurate, when you account for the undead years alone.”

Nate was, in a word, mortified.

He dragged a hand down his face. “Violet.”

“A hundred and fifty, huh?” I asked, laughing at his open-mouthed glare. Nothing like a little age gap romance.What’s a century and some change in the scheme of things?

“Violet likes to round upward,” he grumbled. “A hundred and forty-seven would be more accurate.”

“Not exactly a deal breaker, though you’re right…it does kind of kill the intrigue.” I slipped my arm around the small of his back while he continued to quietly fume over his dear old friend spilling the beans about his precious secret. I leaned my head on his chest, forgetting that my clothes were a disaster, forgetting that he and Violet could smell the rusted stains.

Violet’s giggling rang like a clear bell up the staircase and through the foyer. “And I promise you don’t look a day over twenty-eight, though you certainly sometimes act like a disagreeable old soul.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I learned that pretty quickly.”

“Always set in his ways, so the most finely aged of trifling grudges constantly becomes new again. Like, say, wine.”

“That sounds suspiciously like someone else I know.”

I looked up just in time to see the accusatory expression on Nate’s face before he leaned down to nudge my forehead with his own.

Sometimes our height difference had its advantages.

He stayed there long enough to kiss me, a brief but lingering gesture, only because there were remnants of blood on my lips. I wondered if he could still taste it, and who, really, was worse at teasing whom.

He groaned as he broke away from me, and that didn’t help the situation in the slightest. “I’m beginning to regret making introductions for the two of you. I fear you’ll form an alliance and I will be the one to suffer the consequences. A force more unbearable than this city’s supernatural gossip.”

Violet was giddy. “That’s the idea. Finally, at long last I have a cavalry’s worth of sarcastic fortitude against Nathaniel Caligari.” As if suddenly struck with a thought, she turned on her heel and headed for the mountain of luggage. Stopping only to push a long swath of hair behind her ear, she dug through a leather overnight bag. “And now that you’ve been the one to mention the gossip first…oh, where did I put that…?”

“I assume you woke Teddy.” Nate sighed and tucked a hand into his pocket. “You know, I’ve been trying to get him on a reasonable circadian rhythm.”

“What use am I as his loving aunt if I don’t spoil him rotten?” Violet challenged. “He’s tucked into bed with a book on molecular biology that he asked me to bring and his favorite ice cream that I made a special trip for. I’m so envious that he can enjoy food again. I do miss eating—”

“He knew you were coming here?”

Violet was having difficulty finding whatever she needed from the sound of things clanking together in her bag between her frustrated noises.

“Teddy has always been better than you about keeping a line of communication open. Of course I told him. Ah! There it is.” She straightened up to hand Nate a fancy envelope made of thick, expensive ivory paper. He was as reluctant to accept it as she was to give it to him. “He warned me that you wouldn’t be happy with this—though after a hundred and twenty years of friendship, the warning wasn’t necessary.”

Nate’s face remained impressively stoic, but from the way I felt his body tense beside me, I knew whatever was in the unaddressed envelope had to be bad news. No names, no clues about who had sent it. A shimmering gold seal was so smudged that I couldn’t figure out what sort of crest or logo had been left in the blob of wax. Outside of hunter-vampire business relationships, I didn’t have much knowledge about the politics and social hierarchy of Nate’s fellow undead. I never devoted the time to learning anything except the quickest way to stop a feral in its tracks.

What is this? A pretentious cease and desist letter? A formal complaint from a neighbor about the necromancer overstepping on the vamp community?

Nate knew. His ice blue eyes narrowed. The reaction didn’t seem too grave, but he was far from happy about it. “No.”

He stepped away from me to try and shove the envelope back into Violet’s hands, but she folded them behind her back to avoid his petulant maneuver. “Now isn’t the time. There are more serious matters at hand that need my attention here. Why did you not refuse it on my behalf in front of the Consortium? You know my feelings about this, Violet. I won’t permit it.”

They were almost the same height, so Violet was able to tilt her chin up to meet him.

Shadowy vampire consortium? Unmarked envelopes? Someone’s about to get murdered.

There was a reason why my mind went immediately to murder. In my short-lived career as a hunter, I’d heard the term passed around. It was this super-secret vampire enclave—reserved, I guess, for the most antique vamps even older than Nate—who made important decisions when needed. I’d dealt with them maybe twice: whenever they wanted a misbehaving vampire executed.

Budding vampire romances and necromancy didn’t seem to fit the Consortium’s priority list, though. But maybe Teddy’s new mortal status was on their radar.

“I’m not the one who has the final vote in these verdicts. I’m simply the messenger, so you can take that,” she nodded at the envelope, “and that beastly frown of yours and direct it at those who have no respect for your antisocial preferences. I told them that someone else would be better suited, but a Consortium decision is a decision I can’t overturn. They chose you.”

Or maybe not.

“I refuse.” Nate’s knuckles were taut around the edge of the envelope, ready to tear it to shreds and burn the confetti in the nearest fireplace.

“You can’t,” Violet replied. “No one declines the invitation.”

“Then let this be the first. It isn’t an invitation, it’s an order that I believe I’m within my rights to refuse,” he said. “I will not have the same people who talk about me and my son and Sera honored as guests in our home. I have no social capital in the city as it is for this to cost my reputation anything significant. I’m sorry, Violet.”

“Nate, you don’t understand,” she told him, almost grimacing. “It’s impossible to decline. The Eternal Night has a binding contract once the host is chosen. It’s already been sealed in ink—it has been for months now. I would have delivered the message sooner, but I knew you were already burdened with so much, and with Sera you sounded so happy, I didn’t want to be the one ruin that for you.”

“The Eternal what?” I finally asked. “I don’t want to interrupt here, but some kind of brief explanation would be helpful. For, you know, context.”

“Don’t listen to him. It’s not nearly as horrible as he makes it sound. Nathaniel can’t be bothered with one of our oldest vampire traditions, though I’ve always had a wonderful time,” Violet assured. “It’s a gathering—a grand ball held every fifty years, so we make the most of it.” Her voice took on that dreamy, wistful quality again. “It happens not just here, but in cities all over the country across three nights. Nate’s been chosen as host by the Consortium for the vampires of Buffalo.”

Hmm.

“They want Nate to invite a bunch of pretentious, gossipy vampires to the manor to rub elbows and get absolutely wasted on expensive booze? For not one, but three nights?”

“You would be in attendance, as it’s customary for vampires to be escorted by their mortal partners, if they so choose,” Violet explained. “In fact, it’s a rather reverent occasion for courtships. I never had interest in it myself—I’ve always been more invested in others’ courtships—but many have found a certain beauty in choosing that night for their partners’ turning.”

I swallowed. “No offense, but that really doesn’t sell it for me.”

Nate’s anger seemed to simmer, a phantom of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Your shared contempt has never been more attractive.”

“You’re allowed your contempt,” Violet said, large eyes flickering to the envelope as she nodded toward it. “But it doesn’t change the Consortium’s decision. The invitations have already gone out, so we have only a few weeks to dust the old place off and make the necessary arrangements. It’s been too long since the manor has seen a show of hospitality. We used to throw the best parties…they were the talk of the town. Everyone wanted an invitation.”

My eyebrow shot up, but Nate clarified, “You did. I had no part in them, except to act as though I was pleased to be there.”

“And time did not help that, I see,” Violet answered with a huff. “I’ll take care of everything, you have my promise. I’ve already made plans to stay here at the manor. You’ll be a host in title only, and you’ll leave the rest to me. Does that satisfy you?”

Nate growled. “If we must.”

“It might do us all some good,” she suggested. “Quiet the chatter that’s been circulating about Teddy and your necromancer with a public appearance. It may shut them up.”

My jaw dropped, though I’d been totally aware that this had been going on behind our backs. Nate told me before that word traveled fast whether you wanted it to or not. Once he’d built up his strength, neither of us had kept Teddy confined to the manor. And Teddy had been the one to report on the city’s vampire gossip like a grocery store tabloid.

“What have they been saying about me? This Consortium?”

“I don’t listen to them.” Nate’s hand came to rest on my back and sent an unexpected chill right through me. “Neither should you. What business is it of theirs?”

“Darling Seraphina,” Violet said, her eyebrows pulling together somewhat. “You can’t possibly do what you’ve done and hope it fades into obscurity. The boy vampire, newly mortal again, is causing a stir. People talk. It can’t be helped, good or bad.”

“Yeah, well, they should just leave Teddy out of it.”

“They should,” she agreed. “But Teddy is smart, and capable, and more resilient than we give him credit for. He can take a bit of chatter. It’s a lot less dangerous than the streets you found him on.” Her knowing gaze swept to Nate. “If anyone dares to open their big mouth while they’re a guest in this house, I’ll show them the door myself. And I won’t be quiet about it. Nate will tell you, he has stories. Oh, do we have stories.”

I stifled a yawn before it had the chance to escape. “I’ll let you tell me all of the embarrassing ones, though, because I’m sure Mr. Doom and Gloom over here has an interesting past buried somewhere underneath all of this charming broodiness.”

“Perhaps another night,” Nate replied. “Sera needs to sleep sometime before dawn.”

Not a chance in hell of that happening tonight, but I appreciated the concern for my already irreparable sleeping habits.

A new thought struck, anyway, and I glanced down at my bloodied tank top and filthy jeans like it was a reflex. Like I couldn’t picture myself cleaned up and presentable for the general vampire public’s scrutiny. “Does this mean I have to find a dress?”

Violet looked pleased, her hands clasped together, her long, delicate fingers curled beneath her narrow chin.

Nate, who was not at all pleased by any of this whatsoever, seemed to perk up a bit at the suggestion. I noticed the flash of interest that lit the bright blue of his eyes, and once again it felt good to know he found this whole mess attractive.

When Nate’s entire wardrobe consisted of waistcoats, neatly pressed shirts that cost more than my entire closet, and jeweled cufflinks, what could he possibly wear to a ball that would outdo all of that?

Cons: House full of snobby, rich vampire elitists and their human blood donors for three freaking nights of undead debauchery.

Pros: Brand new designer gown from my wildest dreams, Nate dressed to the nines, and the opportunity to slow dance together in front of every one of those aforementioned snobby, rich vampire elitists until my feet ache.

Maybe this wouldn’t be too terrible.