Velvet (25 page)

“Did I do something wrong?” Lucian asked, looking dejected.

“No, Frankie; you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Frankie?” I asked.

Adrian turned as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Oh, yeah. Just a little nickname I gave him when he came home. Short for Frankenstein. Come on, let’s go eat.”

I followed him into the adjoining dining room (where a small feast was laid out), contemplating the logistics of brotherhood among a thirty-five-, eighteen-, and eleven-year-old. Throw in the fact that they weren’t human, they drank blood, and they lived indefinite life-spans, and I guessed some awkward tension might arise.

“Caitlin; it’s so good to see you again,” Mariana said, bringing a huge silver platter of some sort of meat in from the kitchen.

“That smells delicious,” I said, quite sincerely.

Mariana just smiled. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she thought it was cute that I had complimented her cooking. Of course, considering that she’d had over a hundred years to perfect her recipes, perhaps she had a right to be confident.

“Let’s eat.”

Julian and Dominic materialized out of nowhere, it seemed, and everyone sat. I was between Lucian and Adrian while Julian, Mariana, and Dominic sat across from us. Dishes were passed silently, except when Lucian dropped a green olive. He scooped it up quickly and shoved it in his mouth, but aside from that, everything moved with machinelike efficiency. Everyone, even Lucian and Mariana, had taken three times as much as I had, each staring at his or her own plate of food. It was weird.

A few minutes later, as if on cue, everyone stood up and walked their dishes into the kitchen, plates empty of even the smallest scrap of food. I brought my half-full plate with me and set it on the counter. Thankfully, Adrian took me by the elbow and led me back to the front hall.

“That was tense,” I said, finally feeling like I could breathe.

“You see why I like your house?” Before I could respond, he shook his head and said, “Never mind. Let’s go.”

We climbed the winding stairs and got off at the second floor. At the end of the hundred-foot hall, lined with majestic paintings and expensive wall sconces, we stopped and Adrian opened at a door to our right.

“This is your room.”

13

INTERVIEW WITH A VAMPIRE

The only light came from two bedside lamps and the flickering glow of the fireplace. There was a queen-size, four-poster bed complete with awnings and a mountain of red silk pillows, and it didn’t even take up half the room. I’d probably need a stepstool just to get in it. An old-fashioned gold-brocade lounge chair faced the fire, covered with a deep red throw. French doors led to what I assumed was a deck, although in the gloom outside, I couldn’t really see much. I walked up to the bed and ran my fingers over the fabric reverently. I would kill to work with material like this.

“There’s a bathroom through there,” he said, pointing to a door to the left of the fireplace. “If you need anything, you can either call my phone or push the third button on the intercom, which will connect you to my room.”

“You’re leaving me?” I asked, a little alarmed.

“I’ll be one room away.” He smiled and patted his pockets as if making sure he had nothing left to give me. Finding nothing, he said, “All right, well, good night.”

“Night,” I called as he stepped out and closed the door with a soft click. I stood alone for a moment in the large, extravagant room, somewhat lost. Finally, I grabbed my bag and went into the bathroom, then stopped dead. I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised by the de la Mara grandeur anymore, but the bathroom was
huge
. Tall ceilings, archways, the whole thing made out of warm, honey-colored marble illuminated by soft lights. Rather than take a shower, I filled the claw-foot tub with hot water and poured in expensive, spiced Parisian bubble bath, and stepped over the edge. The tub was so deep that I could float in it. I bunched my hair into a messy bun and leaned my head against the backrest, letting my arms hang over the edge of the porcelain.

This was certainly heaven.

I soaked until I felt thawed out and boneless. If I was going to stay in a room like this, I was going to make the most of it.

When the bubbles were mostly gone, I got out and took a quick shower, threw on some pajamas, and went back into the bedroom. Looking around to make sure no one was there, I used the brocade couch as a runway to somersault onto the bed. It was stupid and childish, but I figured if I was about to suffer from a horrifying nightmare, I’d squeeze in all the stupid, childish fun I could get.

I crawled between the cool sheets, switched the lamp off next to the bed, and nestled into the mound of pillows. I was asleep in seconds.

The first thing I noticed was a gentle rocking motion. It seemed vaguely familiar, like stepping into someone’s house you haven’t been to in years and remembering the smell of it. Blue sky and green tree branches waved above me in a friendly, lazy sort of way. As I looked around, more details settled into place, like graphics loading in a video game. I realized, finally, that I was sitting on the floor of a fishing boat. And with sudden clarity, I knew exactly where I was. In fact, I’d been here many times.

And I absolutely didn’t want to be here now.

My throat was already tight with tears as I looked up. And there he was, sitting on an old folding chair in a flannel shirt and jeans, looking out over the water. He noticed I was awake and looked over at me with a wide smile.

“Hey, care bear, how was your nap?”

I blinked my way past the tears to look at his face.

“Dad?”

The smile disappeared. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He stood up and came over to me. “Why are you crying, honey?” He knelt down and wiped a tear off my cheek. Then his expression cleared and he smiled sadly. “You’re a little bit surprised to see me, I bet.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“You grew up so beautiful. That’s all your mother’s doing, of course.” He turned to look back the way he’d come, and I looked with him. There, at the end of the boat, I saw my mother, sitting in a chair with a book and a cold soda. She looked over at us, sliding her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose.

“Is she awake?”

“Yep,” he called to her.

She set down her things and picked her way over to us, looking young, thin—beautiful, even. Like they’d been frozen in time from when I was five years old.

“What’s going on?” I asked, waiting for them to keel over dead or start talking in demonic voices. They looked at each other and back at me.

“We’re going fishing,” my dad said. “Like we do always do.”

“Mom never came with us.”

“I came a few times, when you were younger,” she explained. “You two always seemed to enjoy it more than I did.”

I looked at my dad. He was thirty, maybe thirty-five, with laugh lines and boyishly tousled hair. He looked so … alive.

“Come on, Cait; let’s fish.”

He grabbed my hands and pulled me up. My mom smiled encouragingly and went back to her chair and her book. Still somewhat bewildered, I followed him over to the rail where two chairs were set with fishing poles.

“It’s so good to see you, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “Did you miss me?”

I took in a shaky breath. “Yes.”

He looked out over the water and swallowed. “I’m sorry about the way I left. There was nothing I could have done, but still, I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t take it anymore; I let my pole drop against the deck and flung myself onto his lap. He wrapped his arms tightly around me.

“It’s okay, Caitlin,” he murmured as I cried into his shirt.

“No, it’s not,” I sobbed.
“I grew up without you.”

He didn’t reply, just tightened his hold on me as the sun played in golden waves over the lake. I felt exhausted and heavy, like all my mass had settled to one side of my body, pinning me with gravity.

“Caitlin,” he said quietly, “I wanted more than anything to live. To be with you and your mom and see you grow up, because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. But it doesn’t work that way. I couldn’t come back.”

My lips trembled as a few more tears trailed down my cheek. “Why not?”

He kissed my forehead, but didn’t say anything.

I closed my eyes and listened to the steady beat of my father’s heart. He seemed so real.

“You’re exhausted,” he said finally. “Why don’t you sleep?” I started to protest, but he hushed me. “I’m right here. It’s okay.”

He smiled, so I smiled and laid my head down again and closed my eyes, and soon the sun and the waves rocked me to sleep.

When I woke up (which was a weird thing to do in a dream), the sun was gone, and the stars were out. I stretched and murmured incoherently.

“What time is it?” I asked with a little yawn.

“Almost midnight.”

I froze.

No.

I looked up slowly and saw that the arms that were holding me did not belong to my dad. They belonged to Adrian.

“No,” I whimpered.

He looked sad. “I’m sorry, Caitlin. Your dad had to go.”

“
Please bring him back,” I begged.

“He told me to look after you. I promised him I would.”

The whole world tilted upside down, the stars rocked wildly in the sky, and I felt dizzy and nauseous. Slowly, everything stopped spinning, and I realized I was lying back in bed. A large, dark shape was half sitting and half lying next to me.

“Caitlin?”

I didn’t answer, just closed my eyes and let the hot, miserable tears trickle down my face in silence. I could feel the sheets and blankets rustle as Adrian slid into bed beside me. Large arms wrapped around my shoulders and I turned and buried my face in his chest, misery winning out over embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” Adrian said after a moment. “I couldn’t wake you up.”

I rubbed enough tears out of my eyes to look up at him. “What?”

“You slept fine for a few hours—then I could tell.” He sounded concerned. “I tried to wake you up, but I couldn’t.”

I didn’t say anything, just held on to him as tightly as I could, the dream still vivid in my mind.

“Do you want me to take it away?”

I thought about it. “No. Not this time.” I didn’t know if that meant he’d leave, but I hoped he’d stay.

He tucked me against his side, drew the covers up, and wrapped his arms around me like he wasn’t ever going to let go. And I let him, because it was him, and because I was tired, and because, in the middle of everything, being next to him felt like the safest place in the world.

*   *   *

“How was quality time with Mr. Man over there?” Trish asked lightly as I closed the door to her truck. Ahead of us, Adrian pulled back onto the road. I’d wanted to show up at school in Trish’s car just in case Norah saw me and reported back to her parents that I’d come to school with the wrong person.

“It was nice.”

Trish rolled her eyes as she pulled onto the road and headed for school. “I said it once and I’ll say it again: You are the worst storyteller on the face of this planet.”

“What do you want to know?” I asked, settling back into the seat, feeling more rested than I had in days.

“Oh, I dunno; how about
did you sleep with him?
”

I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “Yes.”

Trish’s eyes popped open wide before she noticed the grin on my face. Her eyes narrowed. “Let me rephrase: Were you sexually active with one Adrian de la Mara on the night of the eighteenth of December?”

I smiled at her. “Nope.”

“You’re such a killjoy,” she muttered at me.

“You know, what I don’t understand is why everyone’s so interested in whether or not I have sex with Adrian. It’s not like we’re not the only couple in Stony Creek.”

Trish gave me a dry look. “Mystic, it’s
Stony Creek
. There’s literally nothing else to talk about.” She turned left. “Besides, I don’t think you understand how much of a
thing
Adrian is here. I mean, first his aunt and uncle show up out of nowhere about ten years ago and hole themselves up on the mountain and hardly ever talk to anyone in town, and then Adrian shows up out of nowhere about two years later and gets chauffeured to fifth grade in a brand-new Mercedes, and he’s this awkward, cute kid that never talks to anybody, and then high school hits and that boy turned from cute to forest-fire-in-the-middle-of-a-dry-July
hot
and didn’t give a single girl the time of day, and then you show up and suddenly wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, you’re together twenty-four/seven and
not
trying to lick each other’s faces off every five seconds—which you should be because you’re both too hot not to—so you understand if we’re all a little curious as to
why
.”

I stared at her. That was the longest sentence I’d ever heard in my life.

She saw the look on my face and sighed. “Let me make this simple: You and Adrian are magical strangers in the land of Stony Creek. All the dull little woodland creatures want to understand the smallest details about the magical strangers, but the magical strangers keep to themselves, thus building up their own mystery and allure. That curiosity built and built until everyone imploded, creating a black hole that sucked the entire universe into the size of an eyeball, which burned a hole right through space and dropped straight down into hell, where it was incinerated. You basically just killed everybody, Caitlin; are you happy now?”

I just kept staring at her. “I … don’t think so? But it was fun to listen to you talk. I just thought you should know that.”

Trish rolled her eyes and parked. We got out of the truck to head to first period—as usual, I sat on Trish’s left and Ben sat on her right. He was a foot taller than both of us, with short brown hair, huge arms and shoulders, and the kind of face that would look stern if it wasn’t constantly lit up with a smile. When I’d met him that first day of school, he’d looked kind of caveman-ish. As I was observing him discreetly, he reached out and took Trish’s hand in his own; neither of them looking at each other, intent on the lecture Mr. Warren was giving. They were absolutely adorable, and I felt a strange surge of happiness.