Vampires Never Get Old, page 20
Black-and-white lanterns hung above, dusting everyone in golden beads of light, and a brass band played music that made Bea want to dance and find someone to whisper all her questions to.
Mama stepped deeper into the room. The crowd started to part, eyes finding Mama and greeting her with nods of acknowledgement and respect and, if Bea wasn’t mistaken, fear.
How do all these people know Mama? Bea wondered, as they sauntered down a path made just for them.
The bodies shifted into a long, wide lane, and one individual stood at the very end.
Fear tugged at Bea so hard she thought her legs might give out beneath her. The hair on her arms stood at attention. Her teeth elongated, ready to bite, and the spikes on her tongue protruded. Every part of her prepared to fight or run.
The man waiting for them wore the tallest top hat she’d ever seen, rimmed with writhing skulls. It was the richest and blackest velvet and matched his beautiful skin. The tails on his coat dragged behind him and a fat cigar sat in his very pink mouth, shrouding him in plumes of smoke. Her daddy would say he was casket-sharp, ready to attend the most glorious of funerals.
Bea felt the deep breath her mama took.
“Good evening, my greatest love,” the man said through a puff of his cigar. “You are a sight for sore eyes. I reckon it’s been about four hundred years.”
Greatest love … who is this man? Bea inspected him. More questions blossomed inside of her.
Mama pursed her lips. “Maybe it should’ve been five hundred.”
“And let you miss me? Never.”
“Still full of empty flattery, I see. The years haven’t clipped your tongue.” Mama shifted her weight left and right, right and left. “And where might your wife be?”
“Tending to crossroads business while I’m away.” He smiled, the cigar lifting with the curl of his lips, and his eyes found Cookie, Annie Ruth, Sora, and Bea. His dark eyes searing and intense. “Not all of us can cut loose.”
“While the mouse is away, the cat will always play, it seems,” Mama replied.
“And who do we have here?” The man turned his attention to Bea and her sisters.
Mama stepped aside. “May I present a few of my daughters. This is Annie Ruth, Carmella, Sora, and Bea. Girls, this is Jean Baptiste Marcheur.”
“Back to formalities, my Evangeline?” he asked, then turned to them. “Most folks call me Smoke.” Thick vapor rings billowed from his mouth, dancing in circles around them. His gaze intensified, searching their faces as if looking for something Bea couldn’t quite discern.
“Beware of the charms of a Shadow Baron, my girls, for they are full of hot air,” Mama said.
“So cold you are. Has your heart hardened so much without me?” He whipped around and tapped the shoulder of another person in a top hat. “While we’re making introductions…”
The boy who’d delivered the invitation stared back at them. He wore a shorter top hat than Smoke’s, but he shared the same hue of dark brown skin and lovely, mischievous eyes.
“My youngest son—Jacques Baptiste Marcheur,” Smoke said with a flourish of his cane.
“Call me J.B.” He tipped his hat. His eyes found Bea, and he looked like he had a secret. One Bea was desperate to know. “Good evening.”
Smoke put a thick hand on his shoulder, then turned back to Mama. “It’s a pity Anaïs isn’t with us.”
Mama bristled.
“Who is that?” Bea asked.
Smoke grinned, his eyebrow lifting. “Hmmm … I see you’re still the same.”
“Never you mind that,” Mama said to Bea. “Smoke, a word in private?”
“Anything for you, chérie. It’s been way too long.”
Mama gritted her teeth, anger in her jaw, then faced Annie Ruth, Bea, Sora, and Cookie. “Stay put. I’ll only be a moment, then we are leaving. Cookie, you’re in charge until I get back. No mess, you hear?”
She waited for the chorus of yes, ma’ams before walking off with Smoke.
Bea turned left and right, itching to explore, itching to meet more of the Eternal men and women in the room. Well-dressed folk weaved through the crowd; strings of black pearls laced within a fascinating tapestry. Her sisters strode to a nearby table to retrieve champagne flutes bubbling with blood.
J.B. stared at Bea, and Bea stared right back. “What are you looking at?” she said.
“You,” he replied with a smug grin.
She tried not to blush. “Why? There’s tons of people in this room.” Her eyes narrowed with mock annoyance, even though she was curious, too curious about him.
“But I’ve never met a more beautiful Eternal woman. My father says the Turners are the loveliest.”
Bea tried to maintain eye contact, matching the intensity of his gaze, and willed herself to not look up at the wriggling skulls lining his hat. They opened and closed their mouths as if they had a message to impart. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“You shouldn’t be doing a lot of things. Probably shouldn’t even be in this town. All everyone keeps whispering about are those pretty Black women in the house on Esplanade Avenue. The ones who have been away so long. Some want you here, and others not so much.”
“I’m not afraid of you—or them,” she bluffed.
He smiled. “I’m not afraid of you, either. Though my daddy says y’all steal hearts.”
“Only our littlest sister, Baby Bird. But don’t worry, I won’t steal yours.”
“What if I wanted you to have it?”
Bea’s eyebrow quirked. “Why?”
“Why not? They say if you love an Eternal woman and get her to love you back, you have good fortune for a thousand lifetimes. That it’ll allow you to cheat injury and death. One kiss can do it.”
“You’re a Walker. A Baron. You are death.”
A smile played across his lips. “That’s an unfortunate stereotype. Maybe I can tell you the truth and you can give me this eternal luck.”
“I’m not a pair of shoes to try on for your test case.”
“What if you love me back?” The cockiness in his voice sent a prickle across her skin. Did he know her secret? Did he know what she was looking for? What exactly could a Baron do—read minds and hearts?
“I’ve never loved anyone.”
“Yet.” He removed his hat, bowed, and disappeared into the crowd.
* * *
Bea wandered through the party, watching as kissing couples slipped into closed-off rooms or sauntered through the halls of the great house. While her sisters mingled and tasted all the food, she explored, peeking into decadent rooms and climbing winding staircases until she found a room that satisfied her curiosity.
The walls boasted violets and turquoises like an anxious sky tumbling into nightfall. The ceilings bloomed in pinks and tangerines, a fruit bowl of the heavens. The doors were inlaid with ivory. Plush tabletops dotted the room, each displaying porcelain game boxes studded with gold, diamonds, precious gems, and the enameled décor of card suites. The ceiling arched in jutting curves and slopes. Chaises and high-backed chairs and claw-footed sofas circled game tables. Warm-weather curtains fluttered along the wall, exposing a set of doors carved from glass and the terrace they led to.
She glided past the game tables to see if they had her favorite, one called Carrom that she’d played with May when they lived in Bombay. She was pleased to find it, tucked in a far corner. Tiny red and black disks sat inside wells along the board’s perimeter, and a beautifully drawn square held a circle in the center.
Her eyes cut to the door. She knew she should go back to the party. Her mama would be looking for her and she’d get a tongue-lashing for wandering off. But she started to clean each disk—they boasted little peacocks and doves and she couldn’t help herself. She lined up the little Carrom chips on both sides as if May were standing across from her. Despite being younger than her, May had always won, landing her ten Carrom disks in the pockets first.
A servant pushed a chai cart into the room. “Care for tea?”
Bea nodded.
On the sandalwood tea table, the woman set out sticky, blood-soaked dates and a sanguine beignet doused in sugar. Lifting the kettle, she poured the steaming hot liquid into a small tumbler. She took out a vial. Blood. “Half or whole?”
“Whole,” Bea replied.
The servant opened the spice box and dropped scoops of poppy, fennel, and nutmeg into the vial, meant to sweeten. She stirred the spiced blood into the liquid, and it went an inky black.
“Thank you.” Bea took a sip, her tongue flaring as it extracted the blood.
The woman nodded and left the room.
One of the terrace doors opened.
“Well, well,” a voice called out.
Bea glanced up to find J.B.
“I didn’t know anyone was going to be in here,” he said.
Bea eyed him suspiciously, the tug of his presence strong now that they were alone.
“Have you decided on my proposition?” he asked with a clever smile, revealing a set of dimples. He moved closer to the game board. The tea churned in Bea’s belly. “Care to wager?”
“What you’ve heard about Eternal women is untrue,” Bea replied. “It would be a waste.”
“How do you know?” His eyebrow lifted.
“I’ve been one for two hundred years. I think I’d know about this.”
“Are you sure?” He grinned, revealing the tiniest sliver of a gap between his front teeth. “How can you know everything?”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I’m never certain about anything.” He took a seat opposite her. “Witnessing death does that to you.”
All the things Mama had said about the Shadow Barons stacked one on top of the other, like the layers of a crepe cake.
“They will always pull the Eternal toward rest.”
“They leave their mark.”
“They aren’t able to resist sweeping them away.”
“You’re afraid,” J.B. challenged.
“I am not.”
“Then let’s play.” He motioned at the board. “I win, we put it to the test. One kiss. You win, you can ask me a question. I can feel them humming through you.”
Bea jumped as if he could hear the loop of questions spinning in her head. She nibbled her bottom lip. Her eyes cut to the door again, knowing she should return to the party, knowing her sisters and mama were probably panicked and looking for her. But her eyes found his again, his challenge glinting. “You must have dozens of women wanting to kiss you. Even other Eternal ones. You don’t really need one from me.”
“Maybe. But I’ve never had the chance to kiss someone who looks as beautiful as you do.”
She blushed. “Your false flattery will get you nowhere.”
“I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting a Turner woman before. Let alone getting a kiss from one. I have to take the chance.”
“We’re enemies.”
“That makes it even more interesting.” J.B. removed his top hat and his beautiful locs fell over his shoulders. “But I’ve never truly believed it. Yes, we exist on opposite sides of life and death. You should be dead. I can take you to the land of the dead at any moment. You can feel it.”
Bea could, but she didn’t want to admit it. Every few minutes that deep pull would tug at her. The warning drumming through her. She reached for her tea and gulped down a giant too-hot sip.
“But you can also affect me. One bite and I’m shut out. My abilities gone.”
Mama had never told her this. Maybe she didn’t know herself.
“The stakes are even, so do you accept?”
Bea knew she should say no. Her mouth opened to refuse, but her hand extended. “If you insist.”
A full smile consumed his face. J.B. motioned for Bea to start first.
She thumped one of her Carrom chips easily into a near pocket and smiled triumphantly.
“Lucky,” he said.
“You know it’s possible that I could pocket all my men before you get to take a single shot.”
“Yes,” he said. “The perils of this game—not even getting a turn or chance to choose your own fate. But it’s unlikely that you’ll win that way. You’re liable to get distracted or run out of blessings. My father said the Turner women are lucky, but he didn’t say they are infallible.”
“I have an ironclad focus when determined.”
“I’ve been known to prevent a lady or two from doing what she’s set her mind to.”
“How much champagne was required?” Bea teased.
J.B. laughed, and she loved its deep, warm sound.
She felt the pull again. That deep tug and a headache that punched its way into her temples. The warning.
“My father was in love with your mother, you know?” he said.
“I didn’t. Not until tonight.”
He continued: “He was her first love. Despite the rules. Despite the hate from both Barons and Eternal folk. Wanted to marry her, but she didn’t return to this Ward … or any others … after finding your father.”
“They could’ve never been together.”
“But they were for a long time.”
Mama’s secrets settled over her. She’d never imagined her with another partner outside of Daddy.
“Why would she even play around? Or come that close to death?” Her mama wasn’t a gambling woman. “He could’ve killed her. You all always pull folks toward the crossroads. It’s in your nature.” Bea’s stomach dropped as more questions added to the tornado of others within her. Mama had avoided all her detailed inquiries on the subject over the years, only giving them a single and sharp message—Stay away from the Shadow Barons!
“My father is very powerful. He has a lot of control.”
Bea crossed her arms, confident this shouldn’t take very long. She’d embarrass him and send him on his way. She circled the board and shot another disk into a pocket.
“Your turn again,” he said.
Her fingernail throbbed from the plucking of the disks. She paused to suck on it.
“Need to forfeit due to pain?”
She scoffed. “You wish.”
“Rather I want. I need to know if what my father said is true. He has a luck that all the Walkers dream of. That I want. He’s charmed—and I think it’s all because of your mother.”
“Maybe he’s lying. Maybe it’s all a bluff.”
“They may call him Smoke, but he doesn’t blow it. There’s something else.”
Bea leaned over the board again to study her next move. She wondered what a kiss with him might be like. She’d had many over the years, but never one so dangerous. A kiss with an enemy. A kiss that could kill. She thumped another disk, but the tug of his presence sent sharp pain through her. She missed the pocket this time and cringed.
She felt his big smile and scowled.
“My turn,” he said, flicking one of his Carrom chips into one of hers and landing two of his disks in opposite pockets. “Seems like we’re tied already.”
Bea grimaced. What would happen if she lost? Would she honor the wager? Her head said she should immediately return to the party. She was supposed to be mingling and meeting others, looking for someone who might turn out to be her eternal love. But her silly feet wouldn’t move. She’d fallen into a strange bubble with J.B.; an electrified tether kept her planted in her chair.
J.B. took a second turn and easily landed another piece in a pocket. “That’s three to two now.”
“The game is far from over, so I wouldn’t get cocky.”
He didn’t take his eyes off her as he sank every last piece with one flick of his finger.
She sat back, stunned. Her head spun with surprise.
“I won.” J.B.’s eyes twinkled with delight. “A bet is a bet. You owe me that wager.”
Just one kiss won’t do anything, she told herself. Her own curiosity chipping away at her fears.
“I won’t bite,” he said.
She laughed.
He shifted closer to her. “And I won’t pull.”
She’d never kissed a non-mortal before.
“Do you promise not to bite?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she replied.
“May I?” he asked, reaching for her.
The words hung between them like a series of fireworks ready to explode.
She nodded. His palms grazed the nape of her neck first. The feel of his skin on hers made her heart flutter. A tingle to his touch, a reminder of what it felt like before her heart stopped. Up close, Bea could see the rich tones of his brown skin. His eyes combed over her face, and she felt him taking in every detail. His heart thudded so loudly it was the only noise between them.
Looking at him was like discovering something new about the world she’d known so long.
He leaned forward.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
He pressed his lips onto hers, the most delicious curiosity guiding his tongue.
COFFINS Or How Else Does One Get Beauty Rest?
Zoraida Córdova & Natalie C. Parker
You’re probably familiar with the idea that vampires sleep in coffins. At least, some vampires—like, the father of vamps, Count Dracula himself—sleep in coffins. (Others prefer spooky old mansions or low-rent, basement apartments). In some cases, the vampire must sleep in their own coffin with their own grave dirt or they’ll become weak and die. In others, it’s a means of keeping away deadly sunlight. And nothing says “Hey, I’m totally undead” quite like the sight of a vampire crawling out of a coffin! Whatever the reason, the vamps who need their trusty death box are literally stuck with it. They cannot leave it behind even if they want to! In Dhonielle’s story, she’s reimagined the coffin in the most magical way—by transforming it into an apothecary that moves to a new location every few years. Bea is both bound to her family and anxious to strike out on her own, even if she has to burn to do it.
How far would you go to gain your independence?
