Chapter Nine
As Lilith exited the red double doors of Bathory Academy and climbed into the back of the waiting Rolls-Royce, she pulled out her iPhone and checked her messages. There were six voice mails waiting, all from Kristof. She instantly hit callback while pushing the button that raised the privacy screen between her and the driver.
"I've been trying to reach you all evening! Where have you been?" the photographer asked in an exasperated voice, not even bothering to say hello.
"I'm, um, taking night-school courses, and I have to keep my cell switched off while I'm in class." While her explanation was closer to the truth than anything else she'd told him so far, it was still a lie.
"Great news! Karl saw the frames I took last night and decided you're perfect for the Maison d'Ombres launch! So you need to get your sexy butt to the location by nine tomorrow morning. I'm going to text you the address. But first, I want to make sure you get a good night's sleep, okay? You don't want to look like you've been up all night when you're in front of the cameras. Oh, and don't bother putting on your face beforehand, either. Stylists will be there to handle your makeup and hair."
"Do you think this is a good idea, Kristof?" Lilith asked, making sure her voice had just the right amount of girlish quaver.
"Kid, it's the best idea I've ever had! Tomorrow's going to be all kinds of crazy, but you have nothing to worry about. Just leave everything up to me."
Lilith smiled as she hung up. So far everything was going perfectly. Aside from pushing that bitch Gala down the stairs, she really hadn't had to cheat all that much in order to get her way. Still, it was frustrating not being able to talk to anyone about what was going on in her life.
After all, what was the point of being a fashion model if you couldn't brag to everyone you know and make them jealous?
"I brought new flowers, Granny," Cally said as she removed the withered bouquet from the memorial vase and replaced it with a fresh one. Her head was buzzing from all the stuff that had happened in the last twentyfour hours, and tending her grandparents' grave helped organize her thoughts.
She found herself thinking about the attack on the pier the night before. She'd been so focused on saving Melinda, it had never crossed her mind that Peter might be one of the strike team. She had been so close, so terribly, terribly close to firing raw lightning into his back. Praise to the Founders she stopped herself in time, but what if she hadn't? What if she'd accidentally killed him? The thought made her chest tighten up. Maybe it was all the stress and emotional turmoil from the last few days that had made her lose control and nearly fry Lilith in class.
It was times like these that she sorely missed Granny's wisdom. Sina Monture had worked hard to give Cally as normal a childhood as any kid with a vampire for a dad, an alcoholic for a mom, and a witch for a grandma could possibly hope for. Even though her grandmother would not have approved of the decisions she'd made or the individuals she was involved with, Cally had no doubt Granny still would have known exactly how to make things better.
Cally opened the invitation Madame Nerezza had given her and read the formal chthonic inscription. Cally could easily see that her name was in a different scrivener's hand than the rest of the invitation. The Presentation Committee requests the honor of presenting Miss Cally Monture at their three hundred and eighty-third annual Grand Ball this coming Rauhnacht, on the stroke of midnight. At the pleasure of the Count and Countess Orlock, King's Stone, East Hampton, Long Island, New York.
Initially Cally had been excited about being invited to the Grand Ball, but now that the thrill was starting to wear off, she wondered how she was going to actually be able to attend.
There were three things a vampire debutante had to have to be presented at the Grand Ball: a full-length black evening gown, an escort, and a father. She had already started work on a dress, but the escort and the father were going to be considerably harder to come by. Cally had imagined that discovering her father's true identity would solve all her problems. But as it turned out, knowing who he really was could generate more trouble than not knowing. Cally wasn't sure which would be worse, her father discovering that she was secretly involved with a Van Helsing, or Peter finding out that she was really a Todd. Either one, she got the dirty end of the stick.
And there was no way Victor Todd was going to stand up in front of Old Blood society and openly acknowledge her as his daughter, especially with his wife and Lilith in the audience.
Suddenly there was a hand on her shoulder. Cally jumped like a startled cat, making a flawless two-point landing on her grandparents' headstone, her fangs bared as she hissed at the intruder.
"Calm down, Cally!" Peter said with a nervous laugh. "It's just me!"
Cally frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you. I know we weren't supposed to see each other tonight, but after what happened at the pier, I wanted to make sure you were okay. . . ."
"I'm all right," she said as she hopped down off the tombstone. "It's just that after last night, I'm kind of jumpy."
"That's an understatement." Peter chuckled. His smile disappeared when Cally did not join in on his laugh. "Is something wrong?"
Cally didn't want to have to admit that she had come to Rest Haven so she could be alone with her thoughts.
"I just wasn't expecting you, that's all," she said, trying to hide the annoyance in her voice.
"What's the matter?" He frowned. "You're acting like you aren't glad to see me."
"It's not that, Peter. It's just that, well, it was kind of weird seeing you trying to kill my friend."
"Cally, you know what I am, what I do."
"I know that; it's just that I never thought you would end up attacking anyone I know. Why didn't you tell me you were going to be there?"
"It never occurred to me you would show up at the Viral Room. It was Drummer's decision to keep the club under observation."
"Who's Drummer?"
"He is, I mean, he was the strike team leader. We were stationed in a panel van parked on the street across from the club. Drummer recognized the girl we ended up chasing as a sucker. . . ."
"A what?" Cally said angrily, her eyes flashing.
"Sorry, I mean a vampire," Peter said, hastily correcting himself. "He's the one who made the decision to pursue her. Samantha and I were just following orders."
"Who's Samantha?"
"She's the woman you fried, Cally!" Peter replied testily. "Doc Willoughby says she'll need a couple of skin grafts for her back."
"I don't care," Cally retorted. "She was trying to kill Melinda!"
"So she and Drummer deserved what they got?"
"Yes! I mean, no!" Cally covered her face with her hands. No matter what she said, it seemed to be the wrong thing. She wasn't ready to talk about any of this yet. "I don't know what I mean, Peter. I'm just so confused. . . ."
"Cally, what's wrong with you?" Peter asked, a worried frown on his face. "We've never talked to each other like this before. It's not just what happened on the pier, is it?"
"I'm sorry if I'm acting really weird right now, Peter."
She sighed wearily. "It's just that I've had a lot to deal with in the last twenty-four hours, and it's really been messing with my head."
"What kind of stuff?"
"I don't want to say."
Peter smiled and stroked her hair. "C'mon, you can tell me," he said. "You said yourself that I was the only person you could really talk to."
"Not this time," she said, stepping away from him. Peter took her firmly by the shoulder and turned her back around so that they were face-to-face. He gently lifted her chin so that he was looking directly into her sparkling green eyes. "I hate seeing you this worried. Please tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong, really. It's just that things are-
complicated right now. Last night, after I got home from the pier, I found my father waiting for me in the living room."
"You're joking, right?" Peter's eyes were wide with surprise.
"Afraid not," Cally sighed. "I want to tell you who he is, but I don't think that would be a good idea right now. If it's okay with you, I'd rather wait until I figure out who I really am and where I fit in all of this."
"What's to figure out?" Peter smiled reassuringly.
"You and I belong together. That's all that really matters, right?" He stepped forward, opening his arms to hug her, only to have Cally quickly sidestep his embrace.
"That's what I thought, too, but now I'm not so sure."
"What do you mean?" Peter asked, his smile sliding off his face like eggs off a plate. "You don't want to break up with me, do you?"
"Damn it, I don't know, Peter. All of this is so con- fusing! I still want to be with you, but I don't know how much longer we can keep seeing each other before something bad happens."
"What is there to be afraid of?" Peter asked, an edge of resentment in his voice.
"What is there not to be afraid of?" Cally replied with a humorless laugh.
"I don't understand." Peter frowned. "You've always said that our being together was worth the risks we have to take. What's made you change your mind?"
"I won't lie to you-what happened on the pier last night really made me rethink what we're doing. We almost killed each other."
"Yeah, but we didn't."
"That's not the point! I don't want to be in a position where we resent each other, Peter. And when you were talking about your friends, I could see it in your eyes, if only for a moment. You hated me for what happened to them."
Peter dropped his gaze. "It wasn't your fault, Cally. You didn't know it was me. You were just trying to help your friend."
"Peter-you don't understand. Even if I had known it was you beforehand, I still would have done the same thing. Just as you would have, even if you'd known Melinda was my friend. It's hardwired into us. And even though I know that you were just doing what you've been raised to do, part of me is still angry at you for attacking Melly, and, I'll admit, I'm also a little bit scared of you. I saw the look in your eyes when you spun around. You hated me right then as much as anyone can hate anything-up until you recognized me. Hate like that doesn't just go away, Peter. You and I both know that.
"I was dreaming we could run away somewhere
and start a new life together, but the best we can ever hope for are stolen moments, nothing more. There's no future in this. Not for me, and certainly not for you. That's why I don't want what we have to be ruined any further."
As she moved to leave, Peter grabbed Cally's arm.
"Don't do this, Cally!" he pleaded. "We can get it to work, I know we can!"
"Don't make this any harder than it already is, Peter."
"No. I won't let you do this to us!" he said, tightening his grip. "I love you, Cally. Why are you tearing us apart?"
Suddenly her hand was on his throat, her fingers biting deep into the flesh. Peter let go of Cally's arm and began clawing at his neck, gasping desperately for air.
"Can't you see?" Cally whispered hoarsely as the tears ran down her face. "Love will always tear us apart."
Peter awoke to find himself sprawled across a grave. As he struggled to stand, his body was racked by heaving coughs that made his bruised throat burn.
He'd loved Cally with all his soul, and she had repaid him by crushing his heart and physically attacking him. His father was right: you couldn't trust vampires. Not even the half-human ones. They corrupted everything and everyone they came in contact with, including him.
He'd lied to his father about Cally's whereabouts, even tampered with evidence that might lead his father to her. And for what? He dared not tell his father what had happened for fear of losing his respect. And if the others at the Institute learned he'd covered for the sucker responsible for what happened to Big Ike, Sam, and Drummer, no one would be willing to partner with him ever again.
If only there was some way he could redeem himself. Maybe then he could close his eyes at night and not hear Drummer's screams. . . .
As he shuffled through the carpet of fallen leaves that covered the ground, Peter's eye was caught by what looked to be an envelope lying at the foot of a grave. On picking it up, a formal RSVP card fell out. It was written in some arcane alphabet. Frowning, Peter turned the envelope over and was surprised to see a computerprinted label, the address written in English, on the front. His eyes widened in surprise on spying the name Orlock.
While vampires liked to hold themselves above the lowly humans on whom they preyed, they apparently didn't consider it beneath them to make use of human inventions, such as the postal service. They would end up paying dearly for their carelessness.