Stage Fright (Bit Parts) (39 page)

“Come take a ride with us.”

“Forget it.”

“Don’t be so mulish, Cassandra.  Victor wants to see you.  You wouldn’t deny a condemned man his last wish, would you?”

There it was: the verdict I’d been dreading.  The news came like a sharp jab to the solar plexus.  I’d been holding out hope that the vampires would show mercy and set Victor free, but I should have known better.  After all, I’d stood in front of Bertrand’s peers and experienced their cruelty firsthand.  No creatures that bloodthirsty could be compassionate.

I grabbed my coat and purse and shouted out a good-bye to Andrew.  If Victor wanted a final visit with me, I wouldn’t deny him.

When I climbed into the limo, Hedda slid over to make room.  Charles and a young blonde sat in the seat opposite.  In a way, the young woman resembled Tabitha, only she was shapelier, and her lips more pouty.  As the car eased away from the curb, Charles offered me a leering grin and put his arm around his companion’s shoulders.

“So good to see you again, Cassie!”  His gray eyes sparkled.  As much as I hated to admit it, he’d become devilishly handsome.  He’d lost forty years and thirty pounds.  His black hair was combed away from his face, showing off his widow’s peak.  A small goatee, like the point of a knife, clung to his narrow chin.  The broken blood vessels in his nose and his yellowed fingertips, mementos of years of alcohol and tobacco addiction, had mended, giving him a fresh complexion.

“Care for a drink?” he asked.  “Water?  Coke?”

Just sitting across from my former mentor turned my stomach.  “No.”

“Of course, I no longer need human sustenance, but rest assured, my diet is every bit as delicious.”  He squeezed the shoulders of his buxom companion.  Peeking up from the collar of her coat was a bruise even larger and darker than the one Geoffrey had suffered.  The woman kept her flat eyes fixed out the window as if she was watching her life, and not the scenery, pass by.  When Charles touched her hair, she shuddered ever so slightly.

Disgusted, I turned to Hedda and told her hello.

Hedda flicked her gaze at me and nodded.  “Cassandra.  Good to see you again.”  She dressed smartly in gray wool pants and a maroon sweater, but the past few days had stolen something from her.  She was still beautiful, but the haughty arch of her eyebrows and the proud tilt of her chin had been replaced with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes.

“Yes, Victor has been condemned to death for the murder of Marcella Griffin,” Charles said as if I’d asked a question.  “Do you know what I admire most about vampires, Cassandra?  Their ironclad devotion to their ideals.  They follow their rules to the letter.”

“Wonderful.”

If Charles noticed my sarcasm, he didn’t let on.  “There’s no fussing with interpretation.  No shades of gray.”  Turning into a vampire had robbed Charles of his mellifluous voice.  Its former warmth and richness had grown sterile.  “True, Victor murdered a vampire who had a death sentence on her head, but he had no authority to deliver the killing blow.”

Hedda stared resolutely out the window.  If she was grieving for her dead lover, she wasn’t letting it show.

Annoyed that I was unimpressed by his lecture, Charles shifted topics.  “Have you been to the Bleak Street?”

I hadn’t, but according to an article in the paper, the newly remodeled theater was already drawing a lot of attention.  Apparently, valet parking, a cocktail lounge, and gourmet snacks were exactly what elite movie addicts wanted.  Bertrand had struck gold.

“I hear it’s nice,” I said stiffly.

“
Nice
?  It’s more than just nice.”  He smiled cunningly.  “Every bit of that decrepit old building is gone.  Down to the last prop and piece of scenery.”

I clenched my jaws at his taunt.  Charles had gone out of his way to prevent me from getting a memento from my beloved Bleak Street.  The small amount of memorabilia that survived Marcella’s fire had immediately been sold off at an auction.  A
private
auction.  Since I hadn’t gotten an invitation, I couldn’t so much as place a bid.

 “In a few days, Mercury Hall will undergo its own transformation!  We’re creating the hottest nightclub in the city.  Laser light shows, multi-tiered dance floors, and private rooms.”  He withdrew his arm from his companion and leaned back in his seat.  “We’re calling it Club Mercury.  I’ll send you a VIP pass when it opens.  That way, you won’t have to wait in line to get in.”

“Gee, thanks.”  It shamed me to think that I’d ever admired this arrogant man.  The last few weeks had taught me a lot.  Most importantly, that I needed to pick my role models with greater care.  “It sounds like the Widderstrom Grieve is doing well.”

I purposely used the name to infuriate Charles, and it worked.  “It’s the
Corning
Grieve now,” he said sharply.  “Bertrand put me in charge.  Unlike its former head…” he cut his eyes at Hedda, “…I’ll make sure it thrives.”

I didn’t think it was possible for me to hate Charles more than I already did, but watching him dance on the ashes of Hedda’s beloved grieve was more than I could bear.  “I like things better the way they were,” I said.  “The Widderstrom Grieve had
soul
.”  At the word, Hedda sighed softly.

Charles narrowed his eyes.  “This is progress, Cassie.  This is business and getting a return on your investment.”  In a brutal display of strength, he put his arm around his companion, crushing her against him.  When she whimpered, he drove his fangs into her neck and began drinking.  All the while, he kept his eyes fixed on me.

By the time the limo pulled up in front of the old glove factory, I’d nearly lost my breakfast.  Seeing Charles suckle at the neck of his blood partner was almost more than my stomach could bear.  If Hedda hadn’t sensed my distress and soothed me with a bottle of cold water, I would have vomited into the ice bucket.

Pleased at how he’d upset me, Charles delicately licked the blood from his fangs and smiled.  His blood partner trembled, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

Hedda’s eyes narrowed.  “That was in very poor form, Charles.  It’s shameful to feed on your partner so publically.”

“Don’t be such a prude,” he said and got out of the limo before anyone else.

“I’m sorry,” Hedda said before she exited; although, it wasn’t clear to whom she was apologizing: me or the blonde.

Charles stayed in the lobby to wait for his partner, but Hedda stepped into the elevator with me.  When the doors closed, she said, “Thank you for agreeing to see Victor.  The visit will mean a lot to him.”

“You’ve started to like him, haven’t you?” I asked, surprised.

A sad smile played on her lips.  “I wouldn’t have thought it possible, especially not after what he did.”  She twisted a ring around her finger.  “But we’ve had many, long talks, and I think we understand each other.”

When the elevator reached the fifth floor, I once again hugged Hedda.  This time, she accepted my embrace.  “I wish you the very best, Cassandra,” she said, tightening her arms around me.

To my relief, Victor was not being tortured or ill-treated.  Instead, he’d been sequestered in one of the lavish apartments.  Even so, misery haunted his eyes as he paced the plush carpeting.  Despite the enormous TV, sunken fireplace, and view of the Detroit River, this was still death row.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.  He’d developed a nervous habit of running his tongue over his fangs.

“I feel like this is all my fault!”

He shook his head.  “No.  In fact, I should thank you for re-igniting my creative spirit.  For the first time in a very long while, I felt human again.”  He glanced out the window, taking in the Canadian shoreline across the river.  “From the moment I stepped into the Bleak Street, all I wanted was to become a playwright again.  I would have given anything to recapture those years.”

Pity tugged at my heart.  Victor’s ridiculous clothing and his fanciful staging of his play had been an effort to reclaim his creativity.  Unfortunately, all it had done was make him appear foolish.

“Bertrand might have asked you to spy on Hedda,” I said, “but someone put Bertrand up to it.”  Although I had no concrete evidence, I was determined to let Victor in on my suspicions.  Quickly, I told him about Charles and how he’d plotted to become a vampire.

When I’d finished my story, I was certain that Victor’s eyes would blaze red, and he’d fly into a rage.  To my surprise, however, all he did was smile sadly.  “An interesting theory, but I’m afraid it’s come too late.  My sentence has already been delivered.”

“But I’ll find proof,” I argued.  “I can help you with this!”

“I believe you,” he said, “but regardless of what Charles did, I murdered one of my own kind.  If nothing else, I believe in our code of ethics.  I want to die honorably.”

My fists tightened in frustration.  “How can you give up so easily?”

“Leave vampire politics to the vampires, Cassandra,” Victor said quietly.

“But what about your grieve!”

“It will remain within the Stuyvesant family,” he said.  “The only concession to my penalty was that I can choose a successor.  Edith Stuyvesant, my first creation, is a strong, intelligent woman with a sense of honor.  She won’t let Bertrand or anyone else bully her.”

Tears blurred my vision.  I’d never guessed when I’d first met the arrogant man in the ridiculous costumes that I would end up missing him so terribly.

Victor wiped a tear from my cheek.  “I have something to give you.”

“No more gifts,” I pleaded.  His uncashed check was somewhere at the bottom of my purse, and the Jaguar was sitting in my garage because I couldn’t bring myself to drive it.

His lips lifted in a humorless smile.  “This is different.”  He left me sitting on the couch and went to the desk.  When he returned, he was carrying a very familiar script.  “I want this to be your play.”

I couldn’t speak.  I pressed my lips tightly together as I accepted the battered copy of
16 Voices
.

“I’d like for it to be staged.  At least once.  I don’t want the play to die with me.”

“It won’t!”  I paged through the script.  The thing had been read and written on so much that it was nearly falling apart.  “In fact, I’ll stage it right away.”  I met Victor’s eyes.  “Can you make a last request?  To see
16 Voices
staged?”

He ran his tongue over his fangs as he considered this.  Finally, he shook his head.  “I can’t endure the torment of waiting for the end to come.  I’ve clung to life long enough, and I want to get this over with.  Besides, in order to keep from going rogue, I’d have to take more shine, and I refuse to do it.  When I drained Andrew, I realized how wrong it is.  I violated him in a way that no human should ever be violated.  Your souls are your most precious gifts.  No one should take that away from you.”

I cried when we said good-bye.  Victor’s eyes remained dry, but his lips trembled and he swallowed repeatedly.  We shook hands, but he pulled me into an awkward embrace.

“I won’t forget you,” I said fervently.

He nodded, and a little of the sadness left his eyes.  “Thank you.”

I pressed the ‘down’ button on the elevator, but was instead lifted to the sixth floor.  The doors opened up on a loud argument between Hedda and Charles.  Standing behind them was Isaiah.  My heart jumped when our eyes met.  I immediately looked away, but blood surged to my cheeks.

Charles’s eyes snapped at me.  “What did Victor want?”

I had exited the elevator without realizing it.  Silently, I held out the
16 Voices
script.

Charles rolled his eyes.  “Not that monstrosity again.”

I clutched the play to my chest, worried that he’d try to snatch it from me.  “I want to stage this as soon as possible.”

His upper lip curled.  “Where do you plan to do that?  Neither the Bleak Street nor Mercury Hall is available.”

For a moment, I scrambled for an answer.  Then I said, “How about the Cipher?”

He started to frown, but smiled nastily instead.  “And where will you get the funds to pay for this production?”

Shit.  It was like he’d sunk a dart into my helium balloon.  Unfortunately, he was right.  I could waitress full time for ten years and still not make enough to stage a play.  I glanced at Hedda, hoping she might be able to help, but she sadly shook her head.

Charles smiled smugly.  “That’s what I thought.”

Defeated, I headed back towards the elevator.  “The limo is waiting for you downstairs,” Hedda said.

 “
I’ll
take Cassie home.”  Isaiah picked up a box at his feet.  “That is, if she’ll let me.”

At least one thing in this miserable day could make me smile.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Neither Isaiah nor I spoke as we walked to the parking lot.  For days, I’d been fantasizing about what I’d say when I saw him again.  Now, however, I didn’t know how to breech our awkward silence.

When we reached the lot, his Jeep was nowhere in sight.  Instead, he unlocked the doors of a pick-up truck so old and battered it made my Focus look like it had just rolled off the assembly line.

“Where’s your baby?” I asked. 

He smiled ruefully.  “I had to sell it.  The insurance wouldn’t pay out, and Charles refused my request for reimbursement.”

When we were both seated, Isaiah laid his box on my lap.  “This is for you.”

I immediately knew where it had come from.  Bleak Street energy warmed my fingertips, and the box itself had the familiar, comforting smell of the dusty theater.  Eagerly, I tore off the tape.

“Don’t expect too much,” he warned.

I laughed when I pulled out a single, worn slipper.  It must have come from the costume closet.  I also found a creased red gel; a thick, gold braid that had once tied back one of the stage’s curtains; and makeup so old it had cracked like dried mud.  Each, lowly object pulsed with Bleak Street energy.

“I wanted to get something nicer for you,” Isaiah said, “but everything at the auction was too expensive.  It’s not that you aren’t worth it,” he quickly added, “but Perry wouldn’t let me mortgage the store.”