House of Cards (13 page)

There was something very intimate about seeing where he slept. Was he trying to give her a sexual hint? Was this foreplay? No, Sherry decided. After all,
she
had asked to see. And she’d been pretty clear it was a platonic suggestion—just a way of getting to know him better. Of course, he might be leading her there to seduce her. Sherry rolled her eyes at the very thought. If he’d wanted to do that, he might have chosen anywhere for the tryst, including her own suite. There was no need for them to tramp all the way to his room. But he’d never do anything like assault her. He just wasn’t that kind of person.

When they finally reached his room, Sherry was surprised at how simple and small it was. She’d expected it to be at least as ornate and grand as her own, but it looked more like the cell of a lonely monk. A narrow bed with a wooden frame lay against one wall. A dresser stood opposite. The largest piece in the room was a slanted drawing stand, accompanied by a tall stool.

“It’s got . . . clean lines. I like it.”

He raised his eyebrows, as if to question her. “Thanks. I find I don’t need many material items to make me happy. I’d rather use my time and effort on other things. And certain . . . other people.”

Blushing, Sherry just nodded. She bent to look at some of his sketches that were resting on the tilted desk.

“Those are works in progress,” he said hastily. “Would you like to see some finished ones?”

“I’d love to!”

He pulled a large spiral-bound sketchbook from beneath his single pillow. She flipped through its pages, though it was a bit awkward with him standing there, watching her. The sketches were mostly nighttime scenes of Paris, but done so skillfully, she might have stepped through the page and emerged in the lively and vibrant scenes he’d created.

“What’s that?” Lucas cocked one ear to the door. “Coming.”

“What happened?” Sherry looked up. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“I did. The Master wants me. I’ll be right back.” And he left.

Sherry took another opportunity to look around the tiny room. There was hardly anywhere for a person to move; each piece of furniture was practically on top of the other. It would be most comfortable for her to sit on the bed.

As she did, the surface felt surprisingly hard. Maybe Lucas had lied. Maybe he really did sleep in a coffin, and the bed was just a façade. Reaching beneath the thin cotton sheet, she pulled out what she assumed was another sketchbook. That had been what made the bed feel hard.

This one was leather-bound, possibly from the 1600s. It was crumbling, and the string that bound the pages together was falling away. These drawings were crude compared to the others, but you could still see the underlying talent, the hidden potential of the artist. The sketches were full of country houses, drawn in the daytime, and smiling faces that shared certain features with Lucas. A relic of his former life.

“Find everything you were looking for?”

Sherry jumped. Crap. She’d been caught.

“Sorry—I, er, tried to sit down on the bed, and it felt hard underneath, so I pulled out—the hard thing, and it was this . . .” She gestured helplessly at the volume in her lap.

Lucas sighed. “That’s all right. It’s hard to keep secrets around here anyway. Still, there are some things one does want to remain private.” He gently took the sketchbook from her hands.

“Right. Of course. I understand. Sorry.” She looked around the barren walls, and wondered why Lucas didn’t pin some of his sketches up there. Probably another privacy issue. It was one thing to have your own little universe contained within a few pages. It was quite another to have those pages on display for all the world to see, no matter how infrequently the world visited your room.

“What did the Master want?” Sherry asked, her skin prickling. Even
thinking
about that man made her uncomfortable.

Lucas sat down beside her. “Oh, he was just wondering where I’d gone last night. I told him I bought some new things for you. When I mentioned the names of the shops, he thought my purchases too extravagant. He made a tasteless joke about my being ‘in love.’ Said I should find a more suitable mate.” Lucas rolled his eyes.

“Well, er, not that you’re in love with me,” Sherry said, “but a good comeback would have been this: ‘Love has reasons of which Reason cannot understand.’ Blaise Pascal.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows at Sherry. “A charming lady who quotes Pascal. Now that’s someone whose company I can truly relish.”

Sherry blushed and looked away. She decided to change the subject.

“Tell me the truth, Lucas. When you’re above ground, aren’t you tempted—just a little bit—to try and run away?”

Lucas shook his head. “Even if the Master would consent to
let
me go, there is only one thing I value more than my freedom right now.”

He tipped her chin with both hands. Their faces were centimeters apart. “Can you imagine what that thing might be?”

Sherry’s heart beat wildly inside her chest, a frantic, caged animal desperate to be free. She didn’t care if Lucas could hear it or not. To hell with waiting any longer. She was just going to throw her arms around his neck and—

Suddenly, Lucas sat up straight and cocked his ear again. He let out a long sigh and stood up.

“We’d better go. Master wants another reading. For himself. Now.”

Chapter 10—Insufferable

S
herry popped another grape into
her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. She concentrated long and hard about what to do next. There were so many important decisions to be made, so many factors to consider. And she dare not make a single misstep.

Cheese. Definitely more cheese. With careful fingers she picked up a small cube of Jarlsberg and put it in her mouth. Perfection. She was very much enjoying her snack of crackers, fruit, and other gourmet delicacies brought in by Lucas. She still had no idea where he got all her meals, but this place certainly knew how to put together a cheese board.

It had been over two months since the “almost kiss,” and nothing like it had happened since. Requests for her readings were coming less often from the group and more from individual vampires, like the Master. At first Sherry was afraid this meant they were tiring of her, and were beginning to make up their minds as to how and when her life should end. Lucas explained, however, that it was more an issue of practicality. With eight different vampires in the House, all with varying interests and self-imposed schedules, it could be difficult to gather them together for hours at a time. Unless, of course, it was just before dawn, but by then everyone was too tired to do much of anything.

The readings had a wide range of outcomes, depending on the vampire who requested them. Gavin’s were usually calm and sedate, cards like the Three of Wands, Six of Pentacles, Temperance. Things that indicated hard, steady work and endless patience. Which wasn’t surprising, since he was usually immersed in some new mathematical puzzle that “needed” solving.

The other woman, whose name she learned was Clara, had readings that were more confused. The Two of Cups, the Seven of Cups, the Five of Wands. Windswept emotions and attempts to find mental balance. Sherry suspected she was trying to get over another vampire, not of the House, who’d recently spurned her affections. Clara was oddly polite to Sherry. But maybe people had been more mannerly when she was human, whenever that had been.

The Master’s readings were always made up of the same three cards, the ones she’d read for him on the first night. The Tower. The Seven of Swords. The Five of Pentacles. Never had she gotten such a consistent reading for a single person before. She was beginning to wonder if what Lucas said about him was true, that he was unchangeable. But he never seemed concerned about what the fates might have in store for him. He just thanked her for her services, and otherwise left her alone.

Sherry dreaded reading for Thomas the most. It was disquieting enough to be in the room alone with other vampires, as Lucas couldn’t always be with her. Sometimes the Master sent him on errands around the city. But at least with the others, she got the impression that they sought her out only for her psychic abilities. Thomas, she felt, just wanted . . .
her.
He barely looked at the cards anymore, preferring to let his eyes wander all over her body, never meeting her gaze. Often, when she was traversing the darkened hallways, he would appear suddenly, moving just a little too close to her, whether he was walking in the opposite direction or coming up from behind. Sometimes, she swore she could feel his eyes on her even when he wasn’t in the room.

The cards she drew for herself were shifting slightly as well, although they always kept with the same general theme. The Lovers. Strength. The Queen of Swords. A fruitful and happy union borne of dark struggles and patience. Whenever she asked the cards what to do about her captivity, the answers were the same. The Nine of Wands. Judgment. The wand card indicated that she should not give up hope, that she had secret powers which remained hidden, even to herself. But she still hadn’t figured out how Judgment applied to her.

Lucas’s cards followed the same pattern as hers. The Queen of Swords. Judgment. He still got The Moon quite a bit as well. Occasionally there was The Lovers, or a few Cup cards. Those usually indicated that his emotional state was in a better place. But it was frustrating getting the same results for themselves, week after week, with no change in their circumstances. All the other readings’ prophecies had come true many times over.

Sherry finished her snack and glanced down at her hands. The henna had worn off six weeks ago. She really ought to get it redone. Too bad the woman she went to only worked during the day. There was no way the vampires would let her go above ground without an escort. And what difference did the henna make at this point, anyway?

She had almost forgotten what daylight looked like. Essentially, she was becoming as nocturnal as her immortal captors. It was hard to tell when it was day and when it was night, it was always so dark down here. She found herself sleeping when the vampires slept, rising when they did. This might be a problem if she ever had to return to the real world. Which was a big if.

At least she was getting used to the low lighting. Admittedly, it had taken her a while to stop feeling for nonexistent switches or pull chains in every room. And sometimes it
was
a pain to have to drag a candle with her to the unlit areas of the House. But all in all, there were more benefits than drawbacks. For one thing, the flames made it that much warmer in the cool underground air. They also cast a calming, romantic glow on everything they touched. It was unlike the harsh, florescent glare she was used to above ground. And, as a token to her meager vanity, candlelight was a universally flattering source of illumination. After a few weeks, her eyes had adjusted, and it seemed an almost natural way to live.

In fact, she was settling into quite a little routine here at the House of Cadamon. She missed her old life less and less, now that the threat of imminent death no longer hung over her every waking moment. Each night, she awoke to a cozy fire, courtesy of Sir Lucas. This gracious gesture was even more appreciated now that winter had begun in earnest. Every day, she spent hours reading in the forest-like library, where Lucas often joined her. She was surprised at how easily she held her own in their discussions about books, and she taught him a few pool moves he hadn’t known. The meals continued to be deliciously extravagant. Too extravagant. Her jeans were beginning to get a bit tight. She’d have to start cutting back.

Not that Lucas seemed to mind any change in her appearance. She’d tried several different makeup styles using the wide array of supplies in the bathroom, and even sixteen types of perfume (not on the same night, naturally). Sometimes he commented on these alterations, sometimes not, but he always seemed glad to see her. She couldn’t tell if it was from the extra effort she was putting in—men were frustrating to figure out sometimes. The best she could manage was to wear the styles that seemed to make him smile a bit brighter. Which were usually the ones she felt most comfortable in, most like
herself
.

In fact, with Lucas’s assistance, she was amassing quite a little collection of clothing. New items appeared weekly, sometimes daily. Beautiful knit scarves. Handsome leather gloves. And cashmere. Cashmere everything. She was beginning to wonder if there were any cashmere goats left in existence whose fine, delicate coats hadn’t been combed out on her behalf.

She’d even managed to feel more comfortable moving through the catacombs when she went out with Lucas. Of course, she was always sure to keep very close to him, partly because she was still concerned about getting lost. But it was also because she harbored the tiniest, illogical fear that some of the long-dead inhabitants would suddenly reanimate and attack her. It was an absurd imagining, and she was very glad Lucas had blocked her thoughts so that he was unable to hear them. She didn’t want him to know the kinds of distressing things that ran through her mind, especially as they wound their way through the dark, sinewy underbelly of the city.

An even more dangerous thought, which she just barely managed to suppress, also kept making itself known at odd moments. Becoming like them. A vampire. What would it be like? Did she really want to, even if she could? To be given eternal life. To never get sick, or grow old and die. To be beautiful forever. Well, no, she wasn’t really beautiful now, so making her a vampire wouldn’t change that. But maybe she’d
feel
more beautiful. More powerful, invulnerable. To be immortal would mean feeling the beauty of forever.

The best part of immortality would be that she might spend it with Lucas. That was always part of her fantasy. Her family would still be around, of course, but she’d have to limit contact with them if she turned vampire. After all, she’d only have a few years to keep visiting before they noticed she wasn’t aging.

But strangely enough, she had grown more and more at peace with the possibility of their loss. Her parents thought she was doing just fine, thanks to e-mails sent by Lucas on her flat’s computer. And her former friends were preoccupied with their new, adult lives. Lucas said there’d been hardly anything from them in her inbox for a long while now. Most of the psychics had abandoned the square for the winter, as they always did.