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TWENTY-FOUR
When I got to Briggs Hall I stopped in the coatroom in the lobby to shuck off my long down coat and swap my boots for party shoes. While I was trying to tighten the buckle on my right shoe I heard whispering coming from the back of the coatroom. I froze, poised awkwardly on one leg, and listened.
“You would tell me if there was something really wrong, wouldn’t you?” a woman’s plaintive voice pleaded. I hated to be eavesdropping on what sounded like a lover’s quarrel, but I was afraid that if I moved I would give away my presence. So I listened, waiting for a response, but none came.
“After all, you’ve known her longer than I have and I know how much you care for her.”
Hm…not a lovers’ quarrel then. Perhaps a ménage à trois? I had to admit I was curious now. I stealthily pushed aside a layer of heavy winter coats…and uncovered Diana Hart standing alone beside Liz Book’s fur coat.
“Diana?” I asked, too startled to worry about keeping my presence secret. “Are you okay?”
Diana looked up guiltily, her eyes bloodshot and bleary. “I’m fi-ine,” she warbled, her chin quivering. “It’s Lizzie I’m worried about. She’s fading away and I can’t figure out why. I thought I’d ask Ursuline, but she won’t tell me.”
I glanced at the fur coat, which I had seen move to protect its owner when Phoenix had flown at her. The coat hung on a padded hanger now, its sheen faded.
“And look!” Diana stroked her hand down the lapel of the coat and then held it up to me. Long brown hairs clung to her palm. “She’s shedding in the middle of the winter. She must be sick, too.”
“Could that be why Liz is ill? If her familiar is sick, could it make her sick?”
Diana furrowed her freckled brow and pressed her face against the dull fur. “I don’t know. A witch and her familiar are interconnected. Usually the familiar grows weak because the witch is sick, but I suppose it could happen the other way around. But then what is making Ursuline sick?”
I touched the fur coat gingerly. I remembered when I had held the coat the night of the ice storm it had bristled with static electricity, but now it lay limp and inert under my hand. Somethingwaswrong with it.
“Gosh, I have no idea. Are there vets for familiars? I don’t suppose you could take it to the Goodnoughs?”
“Oh my, no! Abby and Russell have a Humane Society sticker on their car—I’m sure they would disapprove of fur coats! I’d have to coax Ursuline into taking bear-shape.” We both looked at the coat dubiously. Diana may have been trying to figure out how to turn the coat back into a bear, but I was remembering how large and fierce the creature on the porch had been, and planning my retreat.
“Well, you let me know how that goes,” I said, backing out of the coatroom. “I guess I’ll go into the party now.”
“You do that, dear,” Diana said absently. “I’ll be along in a moment. I’m just going to spend a few more minutes with Ursuline.”
I left Diana murmuring to the coat and walked toward the Main Parlor, brushing brown hairs off my silver dress. My head was down looking for stray hairs, so it wasn’t until I was in the doorway that I looked up and saw how the room had been transformed. I’d admired the stately hall the last time I’d been in it, but the heavy drapes had been drawn over the windowsthen. Today the drapes had been pushed back, revealing a wall of glass facing the western mountains. The sun hovered just inches above the highest, turning the sky a brilliant fiery red and the mountains a deep violet. Swaths of russet light poured in through the glass, deepening the colors of the Persian rug and turning the oak beams and panels a rich honey gold. It was the painted triptych, though, that was most affected by the light; it seemed to bring the figures to life. The gilt on the horses’ bridles and saddles gleamed like real gold, the grass and leaves sparkled as if freshly dewed, and the faces of the men and women glowed as though blood flowed through their veins—all but the Fairy Queen, whose face, untouched by the sunlight, remained pale and icy. I was so busy looking at the painting that I hardly noticed the human inhabitants of the party until Soheila Lilly appeared at my side with a glass of champagne for me.
“It’s beautiful in this light, no? The drapes are drawn open on this day only—or else the light would fade the paint.”
“That’s a shame. It looks as if it was made to be in this light. I’d love to see the painting inside.”
“You’ll have a chance. The painting will be opened soon.” Soheila glanced out the window where the sun was just slipping behind the peak of the western mountains. “We always wait until a few minutes after sunset to give the night people a chance to join in…Ah, here they are now. They must have come in their limo to avoid the sun.”
Soheila motioned with her champagne flute toward the doorway. Standing on the threshold were the three Russian studies professors—tall, blond Anton Volkov, back from his conference apparently, petite Rea Demisovski, and short, bald Ivan Klitch.
“Are they really…”
“Sh…They don’t like the modern terminology. They prefer to be known as night people, or nocturnals.”
“But do they—” I lowered my voice to a barely audible whisper “—drink blood?”
Anton Volkov’s head shot up and snapped in my direction, his cold blue eyes fixed on mine. He was all the way across the room, but I could swear that he’d heard me. He took a step forward, but Rea Demisovski put a restraining hand on his arm and pointed at the floor in front of them where a thin ribbon of red light stretched from the windows to the bottom of the triptych. He took a step back, never taking his eyes off me.
“Damn,” I said, turning to Soheila to ask if she thought he had heard me, but Soheila had left my side. She was standing a few feet away with Elizabeth Book, their heads together, whispering. The dean looked upset at something, worry weighing down her face. When she looked up at me I was alarmed at how much she had aged in the few days since I had seen her last. Her eyes, fastened on me, were bloodshot and one eyelid drooped slightly. For all that, her look was keen when she approached me and I was afraid that she was going to scold me for offending the resident vampires—for surely that’s what they were. Glancing back at the doorway where they hovered behind the bar of red sunlight I could practically feel Anton Volkov’s bloodlust. He was staring at me as though he’d like to eat me.
“Callie, dear…” It was the dean’s voice, only so much weaker than her usual tone that I had to look down to check that it was really her…and that was another thing. I could have sworn that when I met Dean Book she was my height, but now she was a good two inches shorter than me. Even allowing that I was wearing higher heels, that was still a lot of height to lose to osteoporosis in a few months. “Callie, dear,” she repeated in a quavering voice. “I have a favor to ask you.”
“I’m sorry if I insulted the Russian studies department, Dean Book. But honestly, how could you have sent me to his office knowing what he is?”
Dean Book looked confused. “Do you mean Professor Volkov? Why, he’s a perfect gentleman.”
“I think he turned into a bat and chased me!” I hissed.
