Angeles Vampire Page 6

  The multiple conversations surrounding me quickly became senseless chatter, but Mallory’s voice always had a way of piercing through the noise.

  “Frankenstein had fewer blemishes to conceal,” she said, appearing one sink over, already drying her hands.

  “Frankenstein’s monster,” I corrected. “Frankenstein was the mad scientist.”

  “You would know,” she shot back, dabbing at her eye makeup, making sure it was perfect—which it was.

  I let out a long breath, trying to keep my blood from boiling, then turned to her and made sure to keep my tone civil. “That card we received from those—” I glanced around the bathroom, then stepped closer to Mallory before continuing. “—those people claiming to be the True North Society… Did you call the number?”

  “Are you seriously talking to me right now?” Mallory flashed me an annoyed glare.

  “Yes; I’m actually talking to you right now. It’s a free country,” I argued, which I immediately knew was shooting myself in the foot.

  “Then feel free to cut your other cheek, so you’re at least symmetrical.” She smirked at me and walked off, the other girls around clearing a path for her all the way to the door.

  Snickers and whispers reached my ears while I remained standing at the sink, trying to find my composure. I wanted to scream, but instead adjusted my bangs in the mirror, then stormed out of the bathroom. I had known it was a mistake to try and talk to her. But what else could I do?

  I didn’t have many choices other than try and forget about what I’d seen and heard—all about Matthew and the True North Society—and get on with my life, one mailed letter and one new house visit at a time.

  After school, Alexis drove me to work. We were both closing the store as normal, with Candace already here as our pre-closer. Now that the three of us were together, the elephant in the room was the incident at Black Star Canyon that neither of them could yet explain. Of course, I could explain it but had to continue playing dumb.

  “You know the strangest thing about that night?” Alexis asked as she stood next to me, running a finger through the condensation on her glass. “The fact that none of us remembers anything after building the fire… unless someone is hiding something.” She glanced over at me, eyes pleading for more information.

  “Don’t look at me,” I scoffed. “I could ask you the same question.”

  “You’re right.”

  “That’s why I’m telling you we need to sue the manufacturer,” Candace said from the bar. “Our drinks were sealed, but there was something in them.”

  “What are you girls talking about?” Eli asked, coming out from the office. “Someone slipped you a roofie?”

  “No!” Alexis said, sounding incredibly offended, which killed the conversation right there.

  “Okay; calm down. Sorry I asked,” Eli said and stopped at the register to greet a customer perusing the pastry case.

  “At least we’re all okay, right?” Alexis said, her attention back on her glass.

  “That’s the important thing,” I said and took a frothy sip of my white mocha. The more I said about the situation, the guiltier I felt.

  “I’m never drinking again,” she said without a hint of sarcasm, making me laugh. Alexis returned a glare for making light of her statement. “I’m serious, Fee. Don’t you feel the same way?”

  “Sorry; I probably lack the conviction you do, but agree we need to be more careful.”

  “I’m always careful, but things got out of control anyway. I just don’t understand.”

  “Can we just drop it, please?” I seriously didn’t want to keep talking about this. It wasn’t like we were getting anywhere.

  “Right. Never talk about it again,” Alexis said, sounding hurt. “Denial is the best policy.”

  “I’m not in denial, I just don’t want to dwell.”

  “Are you kidding? Alex lives to dwell,” Candace said, rounding the back of the pastry case.

  “And you live to deny,” Alexis argued.

  “Plausible deniability is a valuable skill, and I won’t deny I use it to my advantage.” Candace was about to take a seat on the prep counter, but noticed Eli eyeing her and thought better of it. “I was just testing you,” she said with a smirk.

  Alexis hopped down from her stool and pulled the strap of her apron over her head. I noticed it was time for our shift and hurried to finish my white mocha. As soon as I vacated my bar stool, my phone started buzzing in my jeans pocket.

  The screen displayed Private Number, which I would typically never answer. But I had to know—had to know who it was after my repeated failed attempts to reach the True North Society.

  “Hello?” I answered hesitantly, almost expecting to hear the beginning of a prerecorded message. But I was greeted with a live human voice.

  “Fiona Winter?” the deep male voice asked.

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “This is your callback. If you wish to continue, then return to the location you were originally picked up. Friday night. 11 p.m.”

  “Then what?”

  “Wait. You’ll receive further instructions there. But be warned—we will not wait, and you will not receive another call. Do you understand?”

  I understood the words the mysterious man was speaking, but not what was really going on. I wanted to ask more questions, get further clarification, but Eli was giving me the look that it was time to clock in.

  I cupped my hand around the phone and lowered my voice. “You’re with the True North Society, right?”

  But instead of receiving an answer, the line went dead.

  11

  Fiona

  I took an Uber to the closest shopping center before entering the canyons, then walked the rest of the way. Luckily, I remembered to bring a flashlight, since once I left the main road, there was nothing left to guide my way but moonlight. I waited by the gate where we always parked whenever we came to Black Star Canyon.

  It was a quarter past eleven when bright headlights came inching their way up the gravel road. When the vehicle stopped ten feet from where I was sitting on the gate, the driver’s door opened, and Matthew stepped out wearing a black suit.

  “Hello again, Fiona Winter,” Matthew said, my name sounding so sweet on his lips. He definitely hadn’t been the one who called me.

  “Hello again, Matthew Mercer,” I said, looking him over as he stepped into the headlights.

  He glanced around into the open darkness, then his eyes landed back on me. “This is a long way to walk.”

  “I did what was necessary to get here,” I said.

  “And as your reward, you get the privilege of sitting in the front seat with me.” Matthew produced a smile as bright as the xenon headlights.

  “Wow; that is a privilege,” I said sardonically. “No injection this time?”

  “No needles,” Matthew answered. “We should get going; don’t want to be late.”

  I nodded and made my way toward the passenger front seat of the SUV. When Matthew took his spot in the driver seat, he said, “Two things before we go. First, hand me your cell phone.”

  I didn’t protest, pulling out my phone and passing it to him. Matthew opened the back of it and removed the battery, then reached over me and opened the glove box. He placed my disassembled phone inside and pulled out a black eye mask with a rubber band back, then dropped it in my lap.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “A blindfold,” he said. “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

  “I realize that,” I said. “But when you mentioned no injections earlier, I assumed it meant I could see where we were going.”

  “Well that was your first mistake. Never assume. Now if you’d be so kind, please put on the blindfold, so we can go.”

  I let out an exaggeratedly annoyed breath and did what I was told. “I had hoped we were past this by now. I’ve been chosen and I accepted.”

  “You’re accepting to be a candidate. You’re not being initiate
d. You have a bit of a process ahead of you before reaching that point. We need to be cautious, like President Bolt said.”

  Matthew made a three-point turn to get back to the main road, turned sharply, then sped away. I really wanted to peek through the bottom of the blindfold, but felt Matthew watching me and didn’t want him to have to take extra precautions.

  “How far is it to get to where we’re going?” I asked.

  “It’s about a 45-minute drive,” he said. “Reception gets spotty in places, so I’ll be streaming music. Got any requests?”

  “Anything you’re into, I’m sure will be fine… Unless it’s like polka or something. Is that what you like? I don’t want to offend you.”

  “How about some Top 40?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He turned up the volume and it started with a Charlie Puth song. The music quickly consumed the whole inside of the leather-trimmed vehicle.

  When we reached our destination, he came over and opened my door, took my hand, and led me into some mysterious building. Once inside, he slid the blindfold off my head and placed it in a pants pocket. A few of his fingers brushed my cheek in doing so—right over the scar—and left a trail of hot skin behind.

  If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn this was an office building at 9 o’clock on a Monday morning, with everyone rushing to get stuff done. From an outsider, it just looked like chaos.

  Matthew guided me down several flights of stairs like we’d come in on the top floor, then continued down a labyrinth of hallways. The lower levels of the building were quieter than where we’d arrived. Then he stopped outside of a nondescript door.

  Matthew opened the door and flipped on the lights. I peered into an unoccupied office. There was a large wooden desk, bookcases with rows and stacks of books, and a taller table with blueprints of some kind. And then a long, flowing, formal red dress was hanging from a coat hook. There was also a shoebox on the floor directly below it.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Time for you to get changed,” Matthew said.

  “Seriously?” I asked, glaring at him. You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “I’ll wait right out here.” He lifted his sleeve and tapped his wrist like he was wearing a watch and time was of the essence—and while he performed the irritating gesture, I noticed the edges of a large tattoo on the underside of his forearm. “You have five minutes.”

  The office had an en-suite bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror, seeing myself in the flowing red dress. The skirt nearly brushed the floor, even with the silver open-toed heels I was given. The corset was tight with crisscrossing lace in the back. There was a V-neckline, with sleeves off the shoulders. Besides the scar down my right cheek, there was another large scar on my right shoulder from where the dog had ripped a chunk out of it, trying to pull me. This was the reason I never showed off my shoulders in public. But in truth, despite my bodily imperfections, the dress fit perfectly and looked like it could have been worn by a celebrity on the red carpet. It made me look like a woman—albeit a slightly damaged one—even with my flat hair and minimal makeup just comprising of foundation, mascara, and nude lip gloss. I pinched my cheeks for color, knowing full well it wouldn’t last.

  Now, the ability to walk gracefully was another matter altogether.

  I met Matthew at the door; he took in all of me with his smoky gray eyes filled with what almost looked like desire. I quickly found myself blushing uncontrollably.

  “You look… you look incredible,” Matthew said.

  I reflexively freed my bangs from behind my right ear and put a hand on my shoulder to cover-up the exposed scar, but he reached for my hand and removed it.

  “No; don’t do that. You’re beautiful just the way you are,” he said, tucked my bangs back behind my ear, and traced a knuckle along the palpable line running down my cheek.

  I flinched at his touch, but again, didn’t pull away like I’d done to everyone else in the past. Even Sean knew better than to touch my scars.

  “There’s just one thing missing.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?” I asked, actively restraining my hand not to adjust my hair or re-cover my ugly shoulder.

  He reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a black felt jewelry box. He opened the lid and presented the little box to me.

  Inside was a white gold necklace with a compass pendant, diamond accents, and an “N” of rubies.

  “Are these real?” I asked with a slight gasp.

  He nodded as he removed the necklace from the box.

  I turned around and lifted my hair so he could place the chain around my neck. When I turned back, he was looking at me in that way again, making me feel elated, tingly, and uncomfortable all at the same time—all feelings that labored my breathing.

  “There,” he said. “Now you’re ready.”

  Instead of subjecting me to more stairs, Matthew led me to an elevator, which really helped in the high heels. He took my arm and looped it through his elbow, making us look like a couple ready for prom or a wedding. I felt the eyes of everyone we passed in the halls, not overly comfortable in this formal attire.

  After a few more turns and hallways, we entered a door that said, Backstage. It was dark, and we passed by what looked like a lot of random junk: boxes, stacked chairs, rows of curtains, ropes extending into the rafters, and strewn-about musical instruments.

  Matthew held back a curtain to let me through and I found myself on a large stage with the other three candidates. A towering burgundy curtain separated the stage from whatever auditorium lay beyond. And all was quiet.

  Of course, Mallory Fiennes was there. Naturally, she greeted me with a glare of contempt, but the other candidates seemed almost happy to see me. They were all dressed just as elegantly as I was, and the girls had the same ruby and diamond pendant at their throats.

  Numbers had been taped to the stage floor, and Matthew told me to stand on the number three. Mallory’s spot was directly to my left on number four and she seemed even more unhappy about that.

  “That dress sure accentuates your flaws,” she whispered without turning her head toward me.

  “Excuse me?” I said, even though I’d heard her loud and clear. It hurt, but I tried not to let it show—not to give her the satisfaction of getting under my skin.

  “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “I have just as much right to be here as you.” I continued looking straight ahead, out at the burgundy curtain.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Matthew was talking with some soldiers on the far side of the stage and glanced over a few times.

  I ran my fingers through my hair and made sure my right cheek was covered. The shoes themselves were comfortable, but I still oscillated my weight between feet. I didn’t know how long we’d be standing here. At least I knew enough not to lock my knees. I didn’t know if I was sweating more from my nervousness or the overhead lights.

  After a few minutes of standing in silence, the soldiers walked off the stage, into the staging area.

  Matthew came over to me first. “You’re going to be fine,” he said before joining the soldiers offstage.

  Then it was just the four of us in the middle of the immense stage before the towering burgundy curtain, under the blazing lights. Other than some inconspicuous fidgeting, nobody moved. The whole room was silent. Nobody dared talk.

  Then, the overhead lights went out and we were shrouded in complete darkness. What surprised me more was the applause that followed—and not just applause, but thunderous applause that drowned out all my immediate thoughts. While I heard the curtain parting, the strings segment of an orchestra began playing somewhere below us. The assortment of strings was soon accompanied by wind instruments, and then drums, quickly building to a crescendo. The thunderous applause grew even louder.

  Blinding spotlights suddenly shone down on each of us, finally giving me a glimpse of how grand this auditorium was that stretched out before us—
and it was completely full. Rows extended back into darkness. There were tiers and balconies, every seat in the house filled, and now those men and women in half-masks, tuxedos, and formal gowns were up on their feet, applauding—all for us.

  12

  Fiona

  The music died down, but the applause continued as the seven masked figures in black robes entered from the side of the stage. A separate spotlight shone on the figure with the strange bird mask—who last time had claimed to be the president of the True North Society and of some other world organization. It followed her as she floated to the center of the stage. She raised up both gloved hands. The roar subsided to a murmur and the audience took their seats.

  “Welcome, esteemed Society members and friends.” She spoke into a hand-held microphone. “Many of you traveled many miles to be here tonight—on this momentous occasion—to witness and celebrate the newest pledging of candidates into the True North Society. We have members joining us from all fifty states and forty-six nations around the world. I am honored and humbled that all of you could be here this evening. I thank you,” she said and held her free arm out in a sweeping gesture. “And to the future candidates, thank you.”

  She turned to us to continue her speech. “I know that you did not make this decision lightly and I hope you are ready to work.”

  I didn’t know what she meant by work, but I already had quite a lot of work between school and the coffee shop. I gulped at what she was insinuating.

  “The trials on the road to initiation that I mentioned last time will not be trivial, they will not be easy, and they will not be without purpose. They will test you physically, emotionally, and will test your sense of commitment to this unique institution. I don’t want to scare you, but I want to prepare you—prepare you for anything, because that is what it will take. All four of you are coming from very different backgrounds, social standings, educational levels, work experiences, and life experiences.