Every step we take echoes.
“It’s a long climb,” Victor says as we reach a staircase at the end of the circular room, a staircase that winds itself up and up and up. Worst of all, it has no railings. One slip and it’s a long way down. I suppose vampires don’t have to worry about such things—like cats, they always land softly on their feet, no matter the height.
After circling the room three times we arrive on the next floor, an empty space, large and filled with couches without sitters, a bar without occupants, a pool table without players. It’s sad, an unappreciated playroom. We continue the climb to the next floor: something of a library, though so few lamps are lit that it’s difficult to tell. This tower seems more and more like a ghost house, one that never wanted to exist in the first place.
Eventually we do find life: a Lesser servant who quickly disappears around a corner, perhaps out of respect for Victor. A few floors later, we arrive at what is clearly the guests’ quarters. I remember Victor said that humans aren’t allowed in the council chamber itself, so this is where they must wait. Their purpose is to feed their masters. They are all young and gorgeous, carefully dressed and made up like dolls that have the audacity to live and breathe. Boys and girls, no older than myself. All of them wear thick, black collars to hide what I know are the bite marks of their masters. Some, slightly older, wear them on their wrists as well. Vamp bites leave scars if the vampire isn’t careful, and I have a feeling that their masters aren’t. After all, in a vampire’s eyes, a human is easily replaced with another. As long as the heart beats and the blood flows, what’s the difference?
I get glassy-eyed stares from some in the room. I realize they think I’m one of them, merely a plaything and food source. I feel sorry for them, and I’m glad when we continue up the stairs.
We have to be near the top of the tower when the stairs end at a hallway. It’s narrow and cramped, an odd choice compared to the rest of the grand, but empty, design of this place.
“Are you ready?” Victor asks me, already halfway toward a door.
“Yes,” I say with so much conviction it frightens me. Because I’m not nervous. I have been every step of the way, but these last few are the easiest. The journey, which started back when I was a scared girl trapped in a closet as my brother was taken, will end behind this door that holds the most powerful vampires in the world. And I won’t bow to them. They will bow to me. Because this city has shown me everything I need to know. The Old Families aren’t powerful, they’re feeble.
Victor gives me one final look, both hands on the massive doors. I nod and he pushes them open.
Chapter 11
The Vampire Council. I’m staring at it. The heart that moves the world is right in front of me. Thirteen vampires sit around a large, wooden table, a single chandelier hanging from the ceiling. On the walls, misaligned portraits of their ancestors, painted by some long-forgotten artist in an era left to history books. Thirteen Old Family vampires. Some are elderly, ancient even, with straggly gray hair that hangs on only by some miracle. Others are younger and appear to be Clive’s age, even though they may be pushing five hundred. At least one is the same age as Victor but not nearly as handsome, his plump body giving way to a rotund and almost-teenish face.
And one woman. She must be Lilith. She’s intimidating, reflecting an aged beauty that is timeless yet frightening. Her stare is stern and cold, as though she’s uninterested in things that don’t bleed for her. I’m reminded of a school mistress from classrooms that could only be found in a child’s nightmare. I guess I was hoping for someone a little, I don’t know, softer.
None of them stand up or offer us seats. They simply turn as little as possible to get a view of their new guests. It doesn’t even seem like we interrupted anything, and I can easily imagine this group gathering dust while waiting for some important news to come their way.
“Forgive my absence,” Victor says. “I should have reported immediately once my father was no longer head of the family. But I trust you received word from the messenger I sent.”
Victor is speaking more formally, melding into the world in which he’s lived for four hundred years. For his efforts, he receives a bored pause, while each of the Old Family look at each other, wondering who will bother speaking first. One of the oldest finally does.
“Yes, we were informed by your messenger that changes were afoot. Not exactly proper, but that isn’t unusual for the House of Valentine.”
“I beg your pardon, Lord Paxton?” Victor asks, a calm but immensely powerful tone in his voice that demands everyone be held accountable for what they say in front of him.
“Your father chose to abandon his post here and live near that city.” He says the last word with disgust, as though it tastes bad on his tongue. “A very, very disrespectful thing to do.”
“Perhaps he chose to spend time at a place that he could mold, rather than sitting in a room, waiting for the world to mold him.”
“I never expected you to defend your father.”
“I’ll defend who I choose and it will be no business of yours.”
“Watch your tone, young Valentine,” a vampire who looks familiar says. “My grandson stands at your side. I would not have him painted with the brush of your impudence.”
Now I recognize that he has Richard’s eyes, his sharp features. He’s the head of the Carrollton family: Montague Carrollton.
“Apologies, my lord,” Victor says. “I would do nothing to disrespect your grandson or your esteemed family.”
“Apology accepted.” Lord Carrollton glances around. “Shall we speed these proceedings along? I wish to have some time with my grandson.”
“Very well,” Lord Paxton says. “Young Carrollton, you stood as witness to this Valentine’s rise?”
“I did, my lord.”
“Was it an honorable battle?”
“It was, my lord. No one interfered. It was father and son. I give you my word.”
“Lady Faith, were you also in attendance at your father’s passing?”
“I was.”
“Did you find fault with it?”
“I did not, my lord,” she says, her confidence matching her beauty. “My father brought on his own demise by challenging my brother. In fact, he taunted him, forced him to take action.”
“Then it seems, Victor Valentine, that you have earned the right to take a seat at this table, to be named the head of the Valentine house.”
“Do not be so hasty,” the chubby-faced Old Family says, “to give such power to such arrogance. Barging in here after a long absence is perhaps forgivable. But to have the audacity to bring a human in here as well, I’m afraid, is intolerable.”
“Lord Asher, in this instance, tolerances must be given,” Victor says.
“Is that so?” he scoffs.
“It is.” Victor stares at Asher, daring him to challenge him, to say anything else. But Asher simply leans back, as if bored with this conversation. I’m surprised he retreated so easily.
“Who is this young woman, then?” Paxton asks.
“Allow me the honor to present Dawn Montgomery.”
I hold my breath, waiting for their reaction. There’s a slight murmur at the sound of my last name from the oldest council members. They may be wondering: Is she the Montgomery? The fifteenth family of myth? Or does the name mean nothing at all to them, eradicated from their memories just as my ancestors were removed from life?
“She was the delegate for Denver,” Victor says, and the whispers die down, my position as nothing more than common human reaffirmed in their eyes. “She, along with Richard, Faith, and myself, has uncovered information of grave importance. A plan that could threaten all of vampire-kind is already unfolding. We need the Council’s help to stop it.”