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Mircalla wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. Valerie hurriedly stepped aside, blushed and throat clenched, and shrieked, “Miss Karnstein!”
“What?” Mircalla answered in the same tone, sneaking in another kiss. “He already left.”
“Someone will see us, don’t! Ethel is probably around.”
Mircalla, laughing heartily, pressed her in a gentle embrace and leaned her cheek against hers then sighed. “I miss you.”
“I’m right here.”
“I miss you still.”
Valerie shifted position and cupped Mircalla’s face in her hands. Her eyes were bright and clear, and she had a silver glow around the edges of her body as if lit by a lantern from within. The light washed over her, tickling her finger tips, and before words formed in her mouth, she tipped Mircalla’s chin and brushed her lips against hers. She wanted it to be polite and quick, a shadow of something greater that they shared last night, but Mircalla did not let go.
Valerie had never dreamed of this, of stealing moments away from the watchful house, frolicking in decaying rooms, and smiling from ear to ear. She had never looked at someone like this before, she dreaded meeting the intensity of her gaze in mirrors, for it was intense and sometimes left her sore. But, as long as Mircalla was here, she was a friend, a lover. She was home.
It was her own name echoing back in the shape of Mircalla’s body; it was a return, reclaim, self-knowledge to love her. She would be like her one day: a vampire. With its vitality and bloodlust and mystique and a firm belief in herself that won’t be taken away.
When she broke the kiss, it was to say, “I love you.” But moments like these were always fragile and disappointment settled in her chest like a heavy stone. A creak down the hall, barely audible, shattered the spell. Valerie pulled away, eyes sharp, and laced her fingers together.
“A carriage is approaching the drive, madam.”
As soon as Ethel fell silent, Valerie heard the crunch of gravel and snow, accompanied by a roar of laughter. When Ethel opened the door, Valerie saw four carriages with horses like mountains that were controlled by young men with smudges of mushroom-colored strands of hair on their upper lips instead of mustaches, wiping the sweat with the back of their tight gloves, puffs of breath visible in the air. It was hard for her to not be taciturn or morose as the horsemen helped the ladies step out in their embellished gowns and powdered faces.
Valerie’s attention was attested by the sight of Cecilia Harker. She advanced to the doorway as the host and noticed the healthy flush on her guest’s cheeks. A rich velvet cloak covered her back as flakes descended around her, as though she was a subject of a painting. She was laughing still as they approached Valerie, a glowing smirk stretching the skin like a dough, and cupped by fine jewelry. The lighthearted conversation carried on as the sound of carriage wheels and the galloping hooves died away in the winter air.
“Valerie, dear! It has been a long time since I had the pleasure of your company!” Cecilia raised her arms and hugged her. “Frankly, I am upset with you for not visiting us again.” She pulled away from the hug to look at her. Valerie was numb with shock, unable to return her guest’s interest, and by the time she managed to command her tongue to speak, they were already in the drawing room, surrounded by the scent of freshly baked goods that filled the room, accompanied by the warm crackling of a cozy fireplace. Mixed in with these warm smells was the waft of sugary, thick perfume that caught its way up to Valerie.
Cecilia Harker was acting unlike herself—without boiling anger or snide remarks about the state of her house or her looks. Valerie struggled not to raise a brow and instead chose to purse her lips for a while before her silence could be seen as rude.
“It is so pleasant to have you here at Vertigo Peaks,” she finally muttered, “I hope you had a pleasant ride.”
“Indeed. Thank you for being so generous and inviting us all.” Cecilia gestured at her friends. Lady Amelia, Lady Catherine, and Lady Evelyn waved at her at the same time. The more she looked at them, the more they looked like bad copies of Cecilia Harker. Their stiff movements only showed vigor when she was speaking and they stared at the wall whenever conversation shifted away from her.
“Such an exquisite place! You’ve done a marvelous job bringing this old treasure back to its glory, I must say. Everyone had been worried about its…derelict state, you know. Ah.” She sighed, “It feels like yesterday when I was sitting in this very room with your husband and his sister.” Then her gloved hands flew to her mouth as if she had said something obscene. “My apologies…What a babbler I am! But you must understand, Valerie, it is because I missed the ease of our conversations. I do not mean to open old wounds.”
“We all are saddened by the passing of his sister and whom, I am told, I look very much alike,” Valerie said to cut the subject short. The only ease Valerie had ever gotten from Cecilia Harker’s conversation was when Valerie left the dinner party. What was she trying to do? Valerie narrowed her eyes. It was too late to look away.
“Passing?” Cecilia almost spat out her tea. “No, my dear. She wentmissing. The poor soul was never found, nor a body recovered, so everyone naturally assumed she was dead after months of search. But… Yes, she went missing. Not a usual demise one might say.”
Valerie perked up. The ladies were whispering among themselves like a council, nibbling on a piece of cookie or gulping tea, electrified by the apparent misinformation Valerie had received.
“No need to fret, Mrs. Harker,” she added in a low voice, “How did it happen? She could not have disappeared into thin air, right? Something must have precipitated these horrendous events.”
Her guest nodded in an understanding way and leaned over the table. She had a sandwich in one hand, a teacup in the other.
“Is it really hard to tell, Mrs. Vertigo?” She tipped her head back, looking at the walls lined with portraits, hunting prizes, and the scrolls of peeled wallpaper lying on the floor. Even in the afternoon, it was dark. Yet, Valerie could see the layers of old and yellowed wallpaper with strips of stamped flowers, the faded corners. A shiver ran through her spine as Cecilia poured herself another cup of tea with a dash of lemon and a spoonful of sugar.
“I wish to take no part in private affairs. They are often trifling and not nuanced enough to keep me engaged. But, your family, madam, is different, isn’t that so?” Her knowing smirk was annoying as ever but more importantly, her certainty made Valerie’s skin crawl. “The circumstances that led to the disappearance of the young lady have never been a mystery to us—to those who knew them both well. Your husband and his little sister.”
“What do you mean?” Mircalla raised her cup and took a sip. She did not realize she had been this thirsty.
“There were rumors, or rather stories, about their strenuous relationship. But do not be mistaken! They were a wonderful pair in the public, in the company of others. They were both devoted to this town as their sole duty, working day and night to make this hellish piece of land habitable, running auctions and organizing charities for those in need. It was when they were alone, or distant from the crowds, the most discordant arguments were inflicted.”
She chuckled. She had a wild gleam in her eyes that scared Valerie. “Now I can see, in many ways, it was like having two appointed conductors for the same symphony; oblivious to each other’s sheets or movements in the air. One can never suppose it will end well. Such a waste! Mr. Every Vertigo himself seemed to be indifferent to this supposed affliction. We very much never saw him set foot outside the house, but you know how talks spread like wildfire.”
“But why?” Valerie kept asking to herself, then realized she was saying it out loud too. It was difficult enough to wrap her mind around the meticulously crafted secrecy of her husband and his family. It was even more difficult to comprehend the possibility of jealousy and rivalry between siblings.
A few minutes later, Cecilia Harker broke a shortbread biscuit in half, once again high-spirited and flamboyant, and resumed talking. “Let us talk of things light and merry, please! I am growing tired.” She patted the back of her hand. “I am planning the annual ball of the season and there’s nothing in this world that would make me happier if you were my guest of honor.”
