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And that I’m a trophy.
“She runs Dark Eyes.”
&nbs
p; I stare at him. “Dark Eyes?”
“Oh, I thought you would have heard about that, since you heard about all the Manson stuff. Come, I’ll show you.”
Wolf grabs my hand and leads me out of his bedroom. His grip is still strong, as if I’m about to throw myself at another human on the tour. Which begs the question…
“How many people are in this house?” I ask him. “Any other humans?”
He nods. “Yvonne. She’s the housekeeper. She’s Amethyst’s mother.”
“Okay, there’s obviously some big story about how all this happened.”
“Not as big as you might think,” he says as we go down another set of stairs to what feels like the main level. There are rooms in all directions, and quick glances as we pass by show decadent furniture in velvet, satin, and leather, gilded lamps, priceless artwork, shelves of old books.
“Where’s Solon’s bedroom?” I ask, reverting to his shortened name.
Wolf gives me a curious look. “Upstairs. At the very top.”
I bring up the image of the house from the outside in my mind’s eye. The top is like a tower, very pointed. It’s rumored that the previous occupants removed all the rafters so that the top could be opened and you’d have a view of the night sky. Given what I know now of the owners, I think the rumors are probably true.
We pass by the front door, and I eye it briefly, wondering if I can get out of Wolf’s grip and make a run for it.
“You can try,” Wolf says, picking up on my emotion. “But the outcome would be the same. Futile.”
I give him a furtive glance. “Why? How come when I leaned out the window, no one outside saw me or heard me?” I pause. “Oh god. Am I…a ghost?”
The thought terrorizes me for a moment.
He snorts. “No. You’re not a ghost. Solon has this place under, uh, well, what you might call a cloaking spell.”
I slow, pulling him to a stop. “A cloaking spell? You said he wasn’t a witch.”
“He’s not a witch. But he deals with witches and they do him favors in exchange for the vampires he brings them. I don’t know who did this one, it was so long ago,” he says, gesturing to the house around us, “but we’re able to hide in here. Humans can’t find us here, can’t see us. Neither can vampires or even witches. Unless they’re invited inside, it’s like none of us exist.”
“Well, shit.”
“And if you, specifically, try to leave, the house won’t let you. The door won’t open for you, and if it opens for someone else and you try to sneak through, you won’t be able to pass through.”
I stare dumbly at the door. It’s so close and yet I have no doubt he’s telling me the truth. There really is no escaping this place, and I don’t know much longer I have before that really sinks in. The whole turning into a vampire and discovering you’re half witch, along with all the other shit, is a lot for my brain to compute these days, almost fooling me into thinking that I’ll be okay. Distracting me from the devastating truth.
“No point getting sad about it,” he says to me, grabbing my wrist. “I’ll get you a drink.” I perk up a little at that and he gives me one of his easy grins. “Not blood. Solon is in charge of that. But I can mix a pretty good cocktail.”
I follow him down another set of stairs, then another, until it feels like we’re in a basement, although there is another stairwell off to the right, perhaps leading down to the same level where I was kept before.
Then Wolf opens a set of doors in front of us and we step into another world.
“Holy shit,” I say breathlessly.
“Welcome to Dark Eyes,” he says with a grin.
Wow.
Dark Eyes is a large opulent lounge, the kind you’d see in a vintage film noir from the 40s, in some exotic city. It’s all curved plush leather chairs around circular glass-topped tables, priceless vases full of five-foot-high pampas grass, dark wood walls interspersed with frescoes painted right onto the walls and ceilings, tons of giant Turkish rugs draped across the floor, all the dim mood lighting you could want. At one end there’s a gorgeous teak bar with rows and rows of the most high-class and expensive alcohol you couuld imagine, at the other there’s a small stage with a microphone, framed with velvet curtains.
