City of Fallen Angels

Many New York restaurants had garden terraces; few were open this late into the year. This one was in a courtyard between several buildings. The walls had been painted with trompe l’oeil murals showing Italian gardens full of flowers. The trees, their leaves turned gold and russet with the fall, were strung with chains of white lights, and heat lamps scattered between the tables gave off a reddish glow. A small fountain plashed musically in the center of the yard.

Only one table was occupied, and not by Raphael. A slim woman in a wide-brimmed hat sat at a table close to the wall. As Simon watched in puzzlement, she raised a hand and waved at him. He turned and looked behind him; there was, of course, no one there. Walker and Archer had started moving again; bemused, Simon followed them as they crossed the courtyard and stopped a few feet from where the woman sat.

Walker bowed deeply. “Master,” he said.

The woman smiled. “Walker,” she said. “And Archer. Very good. Thank you for bringing Simon to me.”

“Wait a second.” Simon looked from the woman to the two subjugates and back again. “You’re not Raphael.”

“Dear me, no.” The woman removed her hat. An enormous quantity of silvery blond hair, brilliant in the Christmas lights, spilled down over her shoulders. Her face was smooth and white and oval, very beautiful, dominated by enormous pale green eyes. She wore long black gloves, a black silk blouse and pencil skirt, and a black scarf tied around her throat. It was impossible to tell her age—or at least what age she might have been when she’d been Turned into a vampire. “I am Camille Belcourt. Enchanted to meet you.”

She held out a black-gloved hand.

“I was told I was meeting Raphael Santiago here,” said Simon, not reaching to take it. “Do you work for him?”

Camille Belcourt laughed like a rippling fountain. “Most certainly not! Though once upon a time he worked for me.”

And Simon remembered. I thought the head vampire was someone else, he had said to Raphael once, in Idris, it felt like forever ago.

Camille has not yet returned to us, Raphael had replied. I lead in her stead.

“You’re the head vampire,” Simon said. “Of the Manhattan clan.” He turned back to the subjugates. “You tricked me. You told me I was meeting Raphael.”

“I said you were meeting our master,” said Mr. Walker. His eyes were vast and empty, so empty that Simon wondered if they had even meant to mislead him, or if they were simply programmed like robots to say whatever their master had told them to say, and were unaware of deviations from the script. “And here she is.”

“Indeed.” Camille flashed a brilliant smile toward her subjugates. “Please leave us, Walker, Archer. I need to speak to Simon alone.” There was something about the way she said it—both his name, and the word “alone”—that was like a secret caress.

The subjugates bowed and withdrew. As Mr. Archer turned to walk away, Simon caught sight of a mark on the side of his throat, a deep bruise, so dark it looked like paint, with two darker spots inside it. The darker spots were punctures, ringed with dry, ragged flesh. Simon felt a quiet shudder pass through him.

“Please,” said Camille, and patted the seat beside her. “Sit. Would you like some wine?”

Simon sat, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the hard metal chair. “I don’t really drink.”

“Of course,” she said, all sympathy. “You’re barely a fledgling, aren’t you? Don’t worry too much. Over time you will train yourself to be able to consume wine and other beverages. Some of the oldest of our kind can consume human food with few ill effects.”

Few ill effects? Simon didn’t like the sound of that. “Is this going to take a long time?” he inquired, gazing pointedly down at his cell phone, which told him the time was after ten thirty. “I have to get home.”

Camille took a sip of her wine. “You do? And why is that?”

Because my mom is waiting up for me. Okay, there was no reason this woman needed to know that. “You interrupted my date,” he said. “I was just wondering what was so important.”

“You still live with your mother, don’t you?” she said, setting her glass down. “Rather odd, isn’t it, a powerful vampire like yourself refusing to leave home, to join with a clan?”

“So you interrupted my date to make fun of me for still living with my parents. Couldn’t you have done that on a night I didn’t have a date? That’s most nights, in case you’re curious.”

“I’m not mocking you, Simon.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip as if tasting the wine she had just drunk. “I want to know why you haven’t become part of Raphael’s clan.”

Which is the same as your clan, isn’t it? “I got the strong feeling he didn’t want me to be part of it,” Simon said. “He pretty much said he’d leave me alone if I left him alone. So I’ve left him alone.”

“Have you.” Her green eyes glowed.