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“He had no clue on a lot of things.” I stared at my hands. “I want to apologize. I treated you badly. I didn’t look beyond the fact that you are Svartan. I was brought up to consider your people dangerous. And I just accepted it as fact.”
Trillian broke out in a smile then, the easy charm giving a warm glow to his otherwise aloof nature. “Not a problem, Menolly. I think… if anything… the past couple of years have brought us to an understanding and—I hope—a mutual respect.” He leaned back and yawned, stretching. “And now, I think I’ll head back to bed. Your sister is snuggled warm, and I want to be next to her.”
He stood and—without thinking—I rose and crossed around the table to give him a hug. Surprised, he accepted and returned it. Then without another word, he headed back upstairs.
I watched him go, suddenly feeling more at peace. Yes, we were facing danger from all fronts, but we had a pretty damned good foundation here at home, and no matter what, we’d persevere. Another glance at the clock told me it was nearing three thirty. While I couldn’t fall asleep early like most people, I could go down, crawl into bed next to my gorgeous wife, and just let my mind wander. And that’s just what I did.
The next night, I received a call from Erin. She wanted to take Roman up on his offer, and with both a heavy heart—it suddenly felt like I was losing her in an odd way, like she was “growing up”—and a smile, I told her that I’d contact him and we’d hammer out plans soon. I slowly dressed, my thoughts drifting over the past few years as I thought about how far we had all come from where we started, then, glancing at the clock, I shook away the memories as I headed up the stairs.
I entered the kitchen to find myself in the midst of a bustle of activity. And it wasn’t just for dinner. Then I remembered, it was Samhain Eve, and we were scheduled for ritual. As I glanced at the table, I saw an urn sitting there, and I knew what it was before even bothering to ask.
Father’s ashes.
Camille saw me staring at it. “I picked them up today. We’ll consecrate them in our ritual tonight, then when we head back to Otherworld next, we’ll take them with us and scatter them up at Erulizi Falls.”
I nodded. “Sounds right. So what are we doing tonight?”
“Ritual down by Birchwater Pond and then a late dinner. Hanna’s making ham and sweet potatoes and a green bean and bacon dish. Apple pie for dessert. I’m going to run up to my room and get ready. You should, too. Formal dress. We need to keep some traditions alive.” And with that, she bounced off, hurrying out of the room.
Iris and Bruce came crowding into the kitchen just then. Iris was wearing a formal blue gown and her white fur cape. Bruce was dressed in rusts and greens.
“Iris! Are you joining us tonight?” It seemed like it had been forever since we’d all been together. I realized how much I missed having her around the house. But there was no way our house could fit everybody now, and she and Bruce needed their own space.
“Yes, we are. The Duchess is taking care of the babies. Chase will be joining us, too.” Iris grinned. The Duchess was her mother-in-law, who had arrived to help out when Iris had her twins a week ago. And she showed no inclination to return home, so Iris was making full use of her to steal moments away from the sudden influx of responsibility twins had thrust upon her. Add wet nursing Chase’s daughter, Astrid, to the mix, and she was one tired house sprite.
The men were carrying stuff out into the backyard, and I realized they were heading down to the pond with the odds and ends we would need. As I stepped out onto the steps of the back porch, the wind whipped past. A storm was on the way and we were due for strong winds and heavy rain. The air felt chill, ready for a good blow.
Morio slid past me, dressed in his ritual kimono that he reserved for holidays. He was carrying a box with candles in it, and he gave me a little wave as he hurried toward the path.
I turned back inside, not bothering to ask what I could do. Everything looked firmly under control, so I returned downstairs to my lair and opened my closet. There, in the back, hung two gowns. My usual—black as night and beaded—covered me fully, from throat to hem, from shoulder to wrist. But behind that, hung one I’d worn before I was turned. It was a pale shade of silver, and it shimmered with beaded embroidery. It was also sleeveless and had a low neck. I hadn’t touched it since the last Samhain I had worn it—the year before I was turned. But something pushed me tonight to take a chance. To take a step from where I’d been stuck for the past fourteen years.
Three nights ago had been the fourteenth anniversary of when Dredge turned me, when he killed me. Covered with his scars, I had come back to life as a vampire. The scars on the inside were a long ways toward healing. The scars on my body would never fade, a constant reminder. But maybe, maybe I was ready to face them. Maybe I was ready to let go of the fear of being seen. Seen as ugly, as deformed.
Hesitating, I almost caved and reached for the black gown, but then I shoved it to the side and pulled out the silver one. I slid out of my jeans and shirt, wishing I could see myself in a mirror. But truthfully, I had eyes. I could look down, see the marks on my body, the hundreds of intricate spirals and designs he had carved into my flesh. Everywhere was marked, except for my hands, my feet, and my face. Even my pubic mound bore the letters etching out his name. He had claimed me for all time. But he was dead, and now Roman was my sire. And I was still here, still in control, loved and in love.
Pushing aside the past, I slid into the silver gown. That it was sleeveless wouldn’t bother me other than my scars showing. The cold didn’t faze me when it was natural weather. I added a silver shawl, and then, before I could talk myself out of it, I undid the perpetual braids that I kept my hair in. I loved the corn rows, but tonight I wanted to be free—free from my usual identity.
I thought about Trillian, how I had categorized him and stereotyped him based on his looks. I’d been trying so hard to avoid showing my scars, that nobody had even had the chance to see the real me. Who I had been—unmarred, alive, pretty without a scar on her body—was forever gone. Now I was simply Menolly, the vampire. Menolly, the wife. Menolly, the mother of Erin, my middle-aged daughter. Menolly, the warrior and the sister. Menolly, consort of a Vampire Lord. And that… that had to be enough for anybody. Including myself.
Laughing, I slipped on a pair of black flats and then, with one last pause, I headed upstairs.
“Menolly? Everybody’s gone down to the pond. I waited for—” Camille rounded the kitchen corner and stopped, gasping.
“What? Too much?” Nervous once again, I shifted uncomfortably, my resolve of a moment before starting to slip.
“You’re so beautiful. I haven’t seen you in that gown since…” She stopped. “Oh, Menolly. The last time you wore that was before…”
“Before Dredge turned me. The year before. I know. I thought… I thought it was time to drag it out again. Do I look okay? I can’t see myself in the mirror.” I trusted Camille. She’d tell me the truth, even if it was what I didn’t want to hear.
But she just smiled, ducking her head. “Better than okay. You look wonderful. And your hair. I miss your hair like that. It was always so curly and pretty. It’s hard to see just how much it shimmers when you’ve got it back in the braids. But whatever makes you comfortable, that’s all that matters.”
She was wearing her priestess robes—a sheer peacock halter dress, beneath which she wore an ornate demi-bra and a pair of bikini panties. She was carrying the cloak of the Black Unicorn that matched the horn—a gift from the Black Unicorn himself.
Once every so many thousand years, he shed his body like the phoenix and was renewed. The hide and horn were considered great artifacts and some nine or so pairings of them existed. Any sorcerer or magician or witch would slaver to have them, which made Camille a sitting duck should some unsavory and powerful wizard type find out she owned them.
“I have to charge the horn tonight—I exhausted it last week in Elqaneve getting those damned doors open so De-lilah and I could escape.” She slid the horn into the inner pocket of the cloak. “Tonight’s going to be so hard,” she said, sinking into a chair. “I have to stand up there and summon our father’s spirit among the roll call of the dead. Do you realize how difficult that’s going to be for me?”
She didn’t say it accusatorily. In fact, the resigned look on her face told me she’d already resolved the fact that—as Priestess—she was responsible for the tough part of the job tonight.
