Chapter Three
Lilith Todd walked up the imposing granite stairs that led to the doors of the Belfry. She paused to glance at the throngs of bridge-and-tunnel wannabes gathered on the wrong side of the velvet ropes, hoping against hope that they would be permitted access to the former fin de siecle church, now the hottest club in town. Outfitted in a blush Dolce & Gabbana corset dress and open-toe Manolo pumps, she was the beautiful people personified. As far as Lilith was concerned, all clots were clueless, but some were definitely worse than others. Like, really, who would wear a cheap red top and a cheaper black skirt bought ten years ago at Sears out to a nightclub? Not that it mattered, because that tacky little creature certainly wasn't getting inside tonight, or any other night. Her boyfriend wasn't any better, what with the long, purple leather coat he was wearing. Did that dude think he was going to a rave? How lame! She put her hand over her mouth, just in case she accidentally popped her fangs while laughing at them.
Breezing past the hulking doorman, she made her way through those who had gathered to see and be seen as they danced, drank, and drugged the night away. She really needed a pick-me-up, and although there were at least three bars on the main floor of the club, none of them served her favorite drink.
As she climbed the stairs to the converted choir loft that served as the club's VIP room, the ear-hammering dance music dropped down to a muted roar. She spotted her boyfriend, Jules de Laval, lounging on one of the divans scattered about the room, talking to two of his friends and fellow students at Ruthven's, Sergei Savanovic and Oliver Drake. With his artfully mussed mane of reddish-gold hair, strong jaw, and lambent green eyes, he resembled a virile young king holding court.
"How was your afternoon with Armida and Lula?"
Jules asked.
"One's a short little dwarf and the other looks like a tranny," Lilith replied, kissing the air beside Jules's cheek so she wouldn't ruin her makeup. "Going shopping with them was like watching blood dry, only not as fun."
"I take it they failed the audition?"
"I didn't say that," Lilith said quickly. "I'll tell you more after I get a drink."
"You're going to be Lilith's escort at the Grand Ball, right?" Sergei asked as he watched Lilith walk over to the VIP bar. His eyes were riveted on her hips, beautifully outlined by the blush corset dress she was wearing. Although he had the deep, dark eyes of a poet, Sergei dressed like a rock star and had the sexual appetite to match.
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"It's against the rules. Debutantes can't be escorted by someone they're romantically involved with. It's some stupid tradition. And since Lili and I are promised, that counts me out. Ask Ollie: he can't escort Carmen, either."
"Jules is right," Oliver said. With his dirty-blond hair and boyish face he seemed as harmless as a puppy dog, until you looked into his flinty eyes. "So who are you escorting to the Grand Ball, Jules?"
"It's up to the girls to ask the guys to be their escort, not the other way around," Jules said. "You know that."
"I don't get it," Oliver said suspiciously. "You're telling us that not one of the girls has asked you- the most lusted-after boy at Ruthven's-to be her escort to the Grand Ball?"
"You know Lilith-she doesn't share," Jules said with a shrug. "None of the other girls are willing to risk her getting jealous by asking me. How about you, Sergei?
Have any of the girls asked you to be their escort?"
"Sort of," Sergei said, shooting a glance in Oliver's direction. "It sort of depends on what someone else says."
By the time Lilith reached the bar, the bartender already had her drink poured and waiting for her: AB neg, laced with bourbon, served at body temperature with a hint of anticoagulant; just the way she liked it.
As she took her first sip, the man standing next to her at the bar smiled and winked at her in what he thought was a debonair opening move. He was in his late thirties, his slightly overfed face flushed from drinking, and he smelled strongly of cologne. Compared to the sleekly fashionable club goers he was attempting to mingle with, he looked boring and old-a stockbroker out on the town.
"Sure you can handle a drink like that, little lady?"
he asked, pointing at what he thought was a glass of wine.
Lilith coughed into her fist, trying not to laugh out loud. "Don't worry," she said, giving the glass a slight hoist. "I've been drinking this stuff since I was a baby."
As Lilith turned to rejoin her friends, the stockbroker, emboldened by the alcohol he'd been downing, reached out and grabbed her elbow.
"I was thinking-after you finish your drink, maybe I could buy you another one?"
Lilith looked down at the wedding ring on the man's finger, then fixed him with a stare as blue and cold as ice pulled from the heart of Antarctica. "I'm here with my fiance," she said flatly.
The stockbroker saw a blond youth with the body of a surfer sitting on a nearby divan, watching him with eyes that seemed strangely luminescent in the dim light, like those of a jungle beast. The young man had a slight smile on his face that was far from friendly.
"Sorry," the stockbroker said quickly, releasing her arm.
"You should be." Lilith sniffed. "Go back to Connecticut while you still can, family guy."
The stockbroker slunk back to his place at the bar, looking glum as he motioned to the bartender for another drink.
"Did you see that clot?" Lilith said as she rejoined the group. "Seb's really slipping if that's what he's allowing into the VIP room nowadays. That guy is so gross!"
"I wouldn't worry about it," Sergei replied. He eyed the human seated at the bar. "Your admirer is probably headed for the cellar."
"I hope he's A poz and drinks scotch." Jules sighed wistfully. "The only donor the club has on scotch right now is a B neg. Seb swears up and down that the clot's on an intravenous drip of Glenlivet 21 Year Old, but it might as well be rotgut as far as I'm concerned."
"So what were you talking about while I was getting hit on by Mr. Wife-and-Two-Kids-in-Danbury?" Lilith asked.
"Nothing, really," Oliver said. "We were just discussing the Grand Ball."
"Don't remind me!" She groaned. "I still haven't found a decent gown!"
"You didn't buy anything today?" Jules asked, surprised.
"Of course I bought something!" Lilith said, rolling her eyes in disdain. "I found these really gorgeous Louboutin knotted platform mules and this really, really cute Derek Lam dress in French navy blue with buttons down along the right side, oh, and this really, really, really sweet matching blue quilted patent leather Marc Jacobs satchel. I just didn't see a gown I liked, that's all."
"Well, as long as it wasn't a wasted trip," Jules said.
"You know, I was thinking it might be nice to go back to your place tonight," Lilith said with a wink.
"Your parents are still out of town, aren't they? And we had such a nice time the other night. . . ."
"We can do that, if that's what you want," Jules replied hesitantly. "But-"
"But what?"
"We won't be alone, that's all. Aunt Juliana and Uncle Boris are getting their home out in the Hamptons ready for the Grand Ball, so Xander's staying with us for the time being."
"Ugh. Never mind! I couldn't get comfortable with Exo hanging around. Maybe even peeping through the keyhole, for all I know." Lilith shuddered at the thought of Xander Orlock seeing her naked. "Couldn't you tell him to get lost or something?"
"Lili, you're going to have to get used to having Exo around," Jules said wearily. "He's my cousin, after all. Eventually he's going to be part of your family, too, at least by marriage."
"Don't remind me." Lilith scowled.
"I've never been out to the Orlocks' estate in the Hamptons," Oliver said. "What's it like?"
"King's Stone is pretty cool. Exo told me that it's supposed to be modeled on a castle or something from the Old Country. Uncle Boris had it built from stone blocks quarried from the Carpathians. The place is humongous! When me and Exo were kids, we used to play hide-and-seek there all the time."
"I need another drink," Lilith announced loudly, holding up her empty glass and wagging it at Jules.
"Your legs don't look broken to me," he replied, turning back to his conversation with Oliver. Lilith's eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. Typical Jules! One minute he was all over her, lighting candles and giving her back rubs and jewelry, the next he acted like he couldn't be bothered to remember her name. Lilith got up from the divan and stormed off in search of a fresh drink.
As she returned to the bar, the stockbroker who had accosted her earlier slowly raised his head and stared at Lilith. The lust that had burned in his eyes was now extinguished and replaced with anguish. It was the look of a man who realized that he'd passed into dangerous territory and had no clue how to get back to safer ground.
"Something . . . in my drink," he managed to slur as he tried to step away from the stool, only to have his legs buckle underneath him.
Suddenly Sebastian was there at the stockbroker's side, catching him under the arms before the clot could hit the ground. Although the club promoter didn't weigh more than one hundred and twenty pounds and wore outlandishly high platform shoes, he had no trouble hoisting the drunk back onto his seat unassisted.
"Andre, Christian-please escort our friend here to the cellar," Sebastian said to the bodybuilderscum-bouncers flanking him. "Quentin-what was he drinking?"
"Scotch," the bartender replied.
"Perfect!" Sebastian smiled, flashing a set of pearly white fangs. "Andre, set our new donor up on a Bushmills IV drip."
"Ten or Sixteen?"
"Start him out on the ten-year-old," the promoter replied. "I'll decide whether to step him up or not after he's been typed."
"Gotcha, boss."
Lilith sipped on her new drink as she watched the bodybuilders drag the clot behind the tapestries hanging along the back wall to the hidden door that led directly to the cavernous basement underneath the club. As far as the humans lounging in the Loft were concerned, the staff were merely escorting yet another over-served patron off the premises, but the truth was far stranger-and darker-than anything they could ever imagine.
She wondered if she should hurry back to the others but decided she was still too pissed at Jules. The way he ran hot and cold with her was enough to make her tear her hair. Didn't he know how lucky he was to have her? He said he hated it when she got jealous, yet it seemed as if he wasn't happy when she wasn't. There was no pleasing him. If her father hadn't signed that marriage contract with Count de Laval, she would be sorely tempted to dump Jules's perfect, sculpted ass for someone more supportive. But who? Lilith had spent her entire life visualizing herself as Jules's spouse and the next Countess de Laval. The thought of being with anyone else was as alien to her as the concept of sharing.
"Lilith, my dear!" Sebastian said, turning his full attention to the beautiful blond heiress. "You must have sneaked in while my back was turned! You know you're not supposed to come into the club without giving me a kiss!"
"I would never forget something like that, Seb."
Lilith laughed, kissing the air next to his powdered and rouged cheek.
"Now you have to tell me how much you missed
me since the last time you were here! You did miss me, didn't you, darling?"
"Of course I missed you, Seb! I always miss you."
"Hang on a moment," he said, putting a finger to the Bluetooth earpiece clipped onto his left ear. "I've got an incoming. Yeah, Tomas-what is it? Really?
Where is she?"
"What's going on?" Lilith asked, her curiosity piqued.
"We've got a celeb on the way up to the Loft."
"One of ours or one of theirs?"
"One of theirs. Some hot little fashion model named Gala."
"Gala?" Lilith raised an eyebrow. "I just saw her at the trunk show at Bergdorf's this afternoon."
"You lucky little bitch! I never get to go shopping anymore. I have to order most of my ensembles online. I would love to chat more, but I have to make sure the staff knows that our little celebrity is Off The Menu.
Ah! There she is!" Sebastian said, tottering off as fast as his platform shoes could carry him.
Lilith watched as the club promoter approached the model, fawning over her like a dog eager to ingratiate itself with a pack leader. Gala had exchanged the bland Maison d'Ombres threads she'd worn at the show for a metallic silver halter dress with matching strappy high heels that showed off her sun-kissed skin and toned body. Lilith felt a flare of jealousy as she realized that Sebastian was greeting Gala exactly like he'd welcomed her. As the model moved through the room, every head turned to follow her. When she sat down, her barely there skirt rode up, revealing panties to match. The eyes of the men shone with lust, while those of the women flashed with envy-especially Lilith's.
"What's all the excitement about?"
Lilith was startled by the sound of Jules's voice in her ear. She had been so focused on the attention Gala was getting, she had failed to notice Jules walking up behind her.
"It's nothing, just some model named Gail something, I think."
"Really?" Oliver stood on tiptoe in order to get a better view. "Is she hot?"
"Of course she's hot," Sergei replied, rolling his eyes.
"She's a model. Duh! "
Oliver nudged Sergei in the ribs. "Wanna go check her out?"
"I don't know why you're in such a hurry to go ogle some tarted-up clot." Lilith sniffed.
"Jealous much, Lili?" Sergei snickered.
"What's there to be jealous of? If her tan was any oranger, she'd be an Oompa-Loompa!"
"She still looks hot," Sergei said with a shrug.
"Whatever!" Lilith snapped. "Excuse me-I need to put on some lipstick."
The ladies' room in the Loft, unlike its sister downstairs, did not have a vanity mirror over the sink. Normally Lilith would bring Tanith or one of the other girls with her so that they could check each other's makeup, but Tanith was dead, Melinda had defected, and she'd had enough of Carmen for the day, thank you very much. Without a spotter, she did not dare apply any more lipstick. But then, she hadn't really needed to fix her makeup in the first place. She'd simply had enough of the others drooling over that bimbo model.
Just then Gala entered the ladies' room like she was striding down a runway in Milan. She passed Lilith without a single glance and disappeared into one of the stalls.
Lilith turned the sink faucet on with her elbow and began to pretend to wash her hands. A minute later she was rewarded by the sound of a flushing toilet and the stall door reopening. She pulled a length of brown paper towel from the dispenser, taking her time drying hands that had never been wet. She then stepped out of the way, allowing the model access to the sink.
"I saw you at the trunk show," Lilith said, the words tumbling out faster than she'd intended.
"Yeah?" Gala said in a politely bored voice as she stuck her hands under the running water.
"I was wondering-can I ask you a question?"
Gala shrugged but did not bother to look up at Lilith.
"What do you think of Kristof?"
Gala turned off the water and looked sideways at Lilith. There was a hard glint in the model's aquamarine eyes that Lilith had not seen before. "What about Kristof?"
"I'm just asking if he's any good? I'm thinking of taking up an offer to pose for him-"
"You? Pose for Kristof?" Gala ran her eyes up and down Lilith's body like it was a dirty rag. "There's this magazine called Vogue, sweetie-you better pick it up and thumb through it before you go wasting Kristof's time."
As Gala walked out of the ladies' room, she thought she heard the low, throaty growl of an angry dog. But that was ridiculous. What would an animal like that be doing in a Manhattan nightclub?
Gala already had a realtor lining up a new place for her that was more befitting her rising supermodel status, but until something opened up she still split the rent three ways with two other models from her agency, living in an apartment in Chelsea. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, she was momentarily startled by what she thought was someone standing in the shadows of the doorway of her building. She gasped in fear, but when she looked again, the figure had disappeared.
Damn it, Skyler, you better not have palmed off acid as X on me again, she thought sourly as she unlocked the door to the lobby. She had that shoot with Kristof first thing Monday, and the last thing she needed was to spend the next eighteen hours tripping. Kristof hated it when his models arrived for a shoot looking tired and worn out.
It was one thing to pretend she was partying her ass off for the cameras; it was quite another to look like she'd just closed down the last bar on the Bowery. As Gala walked past the bank of mailboxes in the lobby, she had the weirdest feeling that she was being watched. She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing. Still, she couldn't shake the sensation that someone, or some thing, had been behind her.
Damn it, Skyler! Dosed again!
She punched the call button and heard the elevator start to make its way back down from one of the upper floors. As she waited for it to arrive, she consoled herself with thoughts of all the nice things she was going to buy herself with the money from the Maison d'Ombres contract.
After what felt like an eternity spent modeling expensive cars, clothes, shoes, perfumes, and jewelry, she was finally going to be able to afford them. Not bad for a high school dropout from Ledbetter, Texas, with nothing but a GED and some kick-ass genes to her credit.
The doors to the elevator opened, revealing pitchblack darkness. At first she thought the bulb inside the car must have burned out, but as she stepped in, Gala heard broken glass crunch under her foot. Someone had shattered the overhead light.
Gala quickly stepped back out of the elevator. The very idea of being sealed inside a pitch-black box, even for a few seconds, was enough to give her the chills, tripping or not. For all she knew, whoever broke the light was still in there, watching her from the darkness. Cursing under her breath, she began climbing the stairs to her fifth-floor apartment. The building was prewar and the steps were worn from generations of foot traffic up and down their flights. One thing was for certain, in her new building-wherever that might be-this kind of thing would never happen. Supermodels didn't take the stairs.
As she reached the third floor, Gala heard the scuffing of a foot on the landing above her. She paused and leaned out past the banister, looking up the narrow shaft of the stairwell. To her surprise, she saw someone peering back down at her from the fifth floor. She instantly recoiled, her heart racing in her chest, and began frantically fishing around inside her Gucci tote. She sighed in relief as her fingers closed around her cell phone.
She was about to punch in 911 when it suddenly occurred to her that calling the police might not be the smartest thing to do. After all, she was underage, drunk, and on drugs. While she wasn't sure she'd really seen someone looking back at her from the landing above, she was dead certain she couldn't pass a breathalyzer test. She was probably just seeing things. She was tripping, after all.
Mustering up her courage, Gala edged over and peered up the stairwell. No one was looking back down at her. With a sigh of relief, she returned the cell to her purse and resumed her climb.
As she reached the landing, there was a loud flapping sound, like laundry on a clothesline snapping in a high wind, and something large and dark came swooping down the stairs. Before she could react, Gala found herself being pummeled by huge, leathery wings. The thing attacking her thrust its face into hers, revealing a hideous mix of bat and human features: short, piglike nose, beady eyes, and gnashing fangs.
Gala screamed and clapped her hands over her eyes in a desperate attempt to blot out the horror before her.
As she spun around, the heel of her shoe abruptly gave way, sending her tumbling down the steps. She came to rest on the next landing, her legs bent like those of a broken doll.
She moaned in pain as she lifted her head, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, only to freeze upon seeing that her attacker was crouched over her like a vulture. The model opened her mouth to scream, but she was so frightened all she could manage was a choking noise.
The creature's monstrous features seemed to waver, as if seen through a haze of rising heat, and, to her surprise, Gala suddenly found herself looking into the face of a beautiful young girl with cold blue eyes and long honey-blond hair.
"Nobody talks to me like that and gets away with it," the bat-girl snarled. She grinned, revealing a pair of white canines that grew bigger and bigger the longer she smiled. "Kristof is mine, bitch."
Before the creature could sink her fangs into Gala's throat, there was the sound of a door being thrown open.
"Who's there?" a man's voice called out.
The bat-girl yanked her head back, hissing in anger. And just as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. In her place was an older man Gala recognized as one of her neighbors, dressed in a loosely belted bathrobe and carrying a hockey stick as an impromptu weapon.
"Oh my God! I'll call nine-one-one!"
Gala looked up and saw the bat-girl hanging from the ceiling over the Good Samaritan's head like a monstrous chandelier, grinning down at her with demonic glee.
Only then was she finally able to scream.