She smiled. “As half Bloodborn, I suppose I qualify as an unnatural blonde. But no, I don’t color my hair.”
I took another envelope out of my jacket and carefully placed the hair within. I didn’t bother to seal it-no saliva, you see-and tucked the envelope and tweezers away in a pocket.
“Know anyone with red hair who might somehow gain access?”
“Well…There’s Varma, I suppose. But I don’t see how he could possibly get in here.”
“Who’s Varma?”
“One of Lord Galm’s bloodchildren-a human that’s been fully transformed. He’s one of Father’s favorites, though why, I don’t know. He’s an irresponsible hedonist.”
“That’s a fine way to talk about your own brother.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were the wrong thing to say: Devona’s jaw tensed and her eyes flashed. Literally.
“He’s not my brother!” she snapped. It might have been my imagination, but her canines seemed longer, sharper. “In Bloodborn terms, we’re considered the equivalent of cousins. Distant cousins at that.”
I held up my hands in what I hoped was a placating gesture. “Okay. I’m not here to untangle the roots of your family tree. I’m here to help you find out what happened to the Dawnstone.”
She glared at me for a moment longer, and then, with a sigh, relaxed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that half-humans like me are looked down upon by the fully Bloodborn. To put it mildly. I’m not sure Father would ever have given me my position if I hadn’t displayed a talent for magic. It’s one of the few advantages of being half human: we tend to possess more aptitude for magic and psychic feats than the fully Bloodborn.”
I understood then why her position and its attendant duties meant so much to her. It was a way for her to feel important, to be something more than just a mere half-breed in the eyes of the fully Bloodborn-and most significantly, in the eyes of her father.
I understood how she felt, at least a little. I was a zombie-not human anymore, not even alive. I’d seen the looks of disgust, heard the jokes and taunts, especially when my latest batch of preservative spells started to wear off and I didn’t look my best. I knew what it was like to feel less than everyone around you.
If she couldn’t get the Dawnstone back, she’d consider herself a failure to the Bloodborn, to her father, and especially to herself.
I was determined to do my best to see that didn’t happen, whether I kept my body from crumbling to dust or not.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you like that,” Devona said.
“Forget it. We’ve all got something that pushes our hot button.”
“What about you?”
“With me, it’s flies who mistake me for a nursery. Now let’s go see if we can find Varma. I’ve got a few questions to ask him.”
FIVE
Devona wasn’t too thrilled with what I had in mind. Truth to tell, neither was I. But we needed to talk to Varma, and in order to do that, we had to find him. And the most likely place to look was Lord Galm’s party.
“You said yourself that Galm won’t be there, that he’ll be meditating to prepare himself for the Renewal Ceremony. And I can stay out in the corridor while you hunt for Varma in the ballroom. Then the three of us can go somewhere private and we’ll see what your cousin has to say for himself.”
She agreed, but she didn’t look happy about it.
We went back downstairs, and I took up a position in the corridor about fifty feet from the ballroom entrance.
“Good luck, Devona. Oh, and you, uh, might want to zip yourself up.”
She looked down at her jacket, which was still open halfway to her waist. She smiled. “I suppose I should if I don’t want to attract any more attention than necessary.” She pulled the zipper tab upward, and then headed for the ballroom. Considering how tight her leather outfit was, I thought she would attract attention no matter what she did.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall and waited. I’d waited quite a bit during my two decades as a cop, and I was real good at it-and being dead made it even easier. I listened to the sounds of celebration wafting from the ballroom, stared at the opposite wall, and let one part of my mind wander, while another kept watch for Devona’s return.
I don’t know how much time passed, but eventually I became aware of someone approaching. I turned, expecting to see Devona, hopefully with Varma in tow, but instead a middle-aged woman in an elaborate pre-French Revolution gown and a towering white wig staggered down the corridor toward me. Her skin was ivory white, and I doubted it was because she powdered it. She wore a fake beauty mark in the shape of a tiny bat on her left cheek. Cute.
“Pardon, Monsieur, could you direct me to the-” That was as far as she got before doubling over and vomiting a gout of red-black liquid all over the corridor floor.
I was sympathetic vomiter when alive; all I had to do was hear someone retch and my own gorge would start to rise. My zombiefication had cured me of that, but I was still uncomfortably aware of the booze I had drank at Skully’s while waiting for Honani to show up, still sitting undigested in my stomach. I knew I had to get rid of it soon, before it pickled my dead innards.
When she was finished, she straightened and wiped her mouth with a dainty hand. Her wig had gone slightly askew, but she didn’t bother to right it. She smiled shyly at me.
“Forgive me, but I have such trouble resisting the temptation to overindulge at these affairs.”
I was hoping that would be the end of it, and she would return to the party. But she stood looking at me expectantly, so I said, “No apologies necessary.”
She looked into my eyes and I noticed a thin red line dimpling the flesh of her neck. From an encounter with Monsieur Guillotine? “Well, aren’t you a gallant one?” She reached out and drew a long, blood red fingernail lightly down my cheek. “And you’re rather handsome, in a consumptive sort of way.”
Some compliment. But I didn’t say anything.
She smiled lopsidedly. “Did you know that the Bloodborn do not cast shadows? It’s true. And I miss mine something awful. Perhaps you would be a gentleman and take its place for a while?”
Before I could answer, she linked her arm in mine, and started pulling me forward. Despite appearing mid-dle-aged and being inebriated, she was still a vampire and strong as hell. I couldn’t resist, not unless I wanted an arm torn off for the second time that day.
“I’d be honored,” I said as she dragged me toward the ballroom. At least she’d mistaken me for a Shadow. I could only hope Lord Galm’s other guests would do the same.
“Matthew, allow me to present the honored Amadeo Karolek. Amadeo, this is my new Shadow, Matthew.”
The male vampire, who was dressed in a coat of gold brocade, didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “Charmed,” he said in a voice which let me know he was anything but.
I almost offered my hand to shake, just to irritate him, but the way he glared at me, he’d most likely have crushed it, and then torn it off.
“Excuse me, Calandre, but I see someone I really must say hello to.” And then Amadeo collapsed into a pool of black water and flowed away across the floor.
Calandre-which meant lark, she’d told me-still had a death grip on my arm. But after introducing me to more than a dozen vampires, all of whom acted like I was some new species of giant maggot, I was considering sacrificing the limb, like an animal caught in a leg-hold trap, desperate to escape. But I’d already had an arm reattached once that day, so I resisted the urge.
I knew next to nothing about Bloodborn etiquette, but from what I was able to observe as Calandre hauled me about the ballroom, Shadows were supposed to walk or stand at least three feet behind the vampires they belonged to, keep their heads down, and remain quiet. But Calandre, still drunk-or whatever the vampiric equivalent was of gorging on too much blood-was parading me around like I was her new lover. And the other vampires definitely did not like it. I had the impression her behavior was akin to that of a human woman going to a party and introducing everyone to her favorite vibrator.