Vampire Miami (21 page)

Selah felt that old exhaustion. “I can’t leave.
They would hurt my grandmother, my friend.”

“Maybe we can work on getting them out first,”
said Cloud stubbornly.

“You could do that?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I sure as hell
could try. I know a few people. We might be able to figure
something out.”

Selah’s heart leaped. She moved to the edge of
the couch. “Please. Get my grandmother and Maria Elena out. I’ll do
everything I can to help if you can just do that.”

Cloud held Selah’s gaze, and nodded. She saw his
intent, his sincerity. Sank back. The very possibility of their
escape seemed to lift a vast weight from around her neck.

“All right. Let’s start planning. You’ve got to
be at the Wind Tower tonight. Let’s figure out how to pay these
bastards back and make their lives as miserable as possible.”

Selah felt all the conflicting emotions that had
ached within her breast still and grow quiet as she pulled up
before the Wind Tower, killing the motorbike’s engine. It was
Cloud’s bike, the very same on which she’d been rescued early that
day, and she’d ridden it with care and a thrill of excitement,
ridden it slowly, having left the house in Coral Gables with time
to spare so as to arrive at the Wind Tower at the appointed
hour.

The Tower was a modern, almost futuristic
affair, all fluted sea-green glass and white framework, rising into
the night sky like a glittering underwater gem, burning with an
extravagance of light that made it visible from miles away. The
white sides swept up past its final floor into artistic spires, and
it looked to have been the most exclusive property on the Beach
back when money alone was all that mattered. A line of cars were
arrayed before the valet, and she decided to skip them all by
simply parking Cloud’s bike on the curb a half block away.

She smoothed down her dress. It’d been a busy
day. After sleeping all night in one of the bunks, Selah had eaten
a late lunch with Cassie and Barbara and then gone with them to the
remnants of Miracle Mile, the commercial street in the Gables, and
there they scavenged a series of dresses for her to wear,
everything from black cocktail dresses to extravagant gowns. They
had attempted a certain level of levity, and for perhaps half an
hour, Selah had managed to simply enjoy the flow of the finely cut
dresses, to play with the endless shoes, to tease and be teased by
the other two girls.

But with each dress that had flattered her, with
each mirror she gazed into, she felt the invisible gaze of vampires
looking back. She was preparing herself, wrapping herself up in a
bow so that cold, dead hands could peel back the ribbons and expose
her. It had been Selah who decided to find a dress for tonight; if
she was to attend a party, if she was to mingle with monsters, then
she would do so with what pride and elegance she could muster. No
showing up covered in blood and sweat and tears.

After, she had debated visiting the Palisades.
Knew that her grandmother would be tormented with fear and grief.
But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take looking Mama B in the eyes
and telling her what lay in store for her that night. She just
didn’t have the strength, not to shoulder that burden as well.
Instead, Cassie had agreed to swing by and tell Mama B for her,
give her the message that her granddaughter was alive and working
for the Resistance and would contact her when she could. Not the
whole truth, but perhaps there was no call for such pain to be
spread around evenly.

Selah smoothed down the black material of her
dress about her thighs. She had opted for flat shoes, eschewing the
elegance of high heels for the ability to sprint in an emergency.
Had a little clutch in hand, which held a can of pepper spray,
compact, and an old-school cell phone with one speed-dial-saved
number that would summon help.

Deep breath. Music spiraled out from different
floors of the Wind Tower, and it was a gorgeous night, the sound of
the ocean a distant whisper, the air redolent with the smell of the
ocean. People laughed, climbed out of cars and handed keys to the
valet, drinks already in hand. Another night on the Beach, another
night in the vampire city.

She walked up and past the valet stand, ignoring
the covert looks. Her legs felt long and exposed, the air intimate
on her shaved skin, but she knew people were staring at her
battered face and split lip. She hadn’t bothered trying to cover
the bruises with makeup. Let them all see what had been done. She
stepped into the lobby, where people stood in small groups, looking
trapped between arrival and progressing to the next level. She
approached the front desk and waited a few moments until she could
step forward and speak to the incredibly well-dressed young man who
turned expectantly to her.

“Hi,” she said, suddenly feeling very young.
“I’m here at Karl Plessy’s invitation? Selah Brown.”

The young man gave her a reflexive welcoming
smile that did nothing to hide the cold evaluation of his eyes, and
quickly scrolled through his tablet until he located her name.
“Welcome, Miss Brown. Take the elevator to the top floor. You’re
expected.”

“Thanks,” she said, as the knot of anxiety
twisted itself in her stomach.
Great.
A small group of
socialites close by had overheard, and eyed her curiously as she
walked away, clearly wondering who she was. She ignored them,
lifted her chin, and tried to look cool and calm and collected.

She shared the elevator ride up with six other
people, and was thus able to sink into the back corner and avoid
eye contact or attention. The others spoke animatedly about how
each had scored an invitation to the event, giving Selah the
impression that each felt it to be a social coup of some kind. She
kept her eyes on her shoes and said nothing. After what felt like
ages, the elevator slowed and the doors parted.

The entire top floor was composed of a single
penthouse. The partygoers passed from the elevator through a small
landing and on to the wide-open double doors that led into the
apartment. Music spilled into the air like outflung gold coins,
along with laughter, perfume, and the smell of cigarette smoke.
Selah trailed in after the other six. A doorman who was clearly
also a guard stared at her impassively, and she quickly glanced
away, as if scalded by his flat eyes.

It was a fabulous-looking party. The kind of
event normal people only saw in movies. A huge crowd filled the
main room—living room? She wasn’t sure what to call it. Rich,
caramel-colored marble covered the floor, and Greek columns and
mirrors along the far walls. Everywhere waiters drifted past, eyes
blank, carrying trays of food for the humans, small aperitifs whose
nature Selah couldn’t guess. Fine pastry rolls, small piles of
glistening compotes atop expensive crackers, smoked salmon, caviar.
Everybody seemed to know everybody else, and as she walked to the
left to find another corner to hide in, she watched as beautiful
people exclaimed in pleasure and surprise at the sight of each
other, leaning in to kiss cheeks, throwing their heads back and
laughing loudly, listening avidly and nodding to show just how well
they were listening. They stood in dynamic clusters, dissolving and
reforming as people pulled away from one group by the magnetic
appeal of another. A swirling maelstrom of metallic dresses,
fabulous haircuts, jewelry, and wide eyes.

Selah resisted the urge to stand behind the
potted plant, and settled for simply standing by its side. She
didn’t know what to do. Where to go. Should she take a glass of
champagne? She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t know what to do with
her hands. Should she try and mingle? The thought of trying to talk
to one of these people both horrified and amused her. Should she
look for Karl?

There was a stir on the far side of the room,
and people craned their necks to see what was happening. Somebody
had emerged from a side door, and was gradually making his way
across the room. Selah couldn’t help but look—she rose to her
tiptoes, and then immediately sank back down, heart pounding. She’d
caught a glimpse of a shaven black head, a hint of black eyes. The
Dragon.

She pressed her clutch into her stomach. She
couldn’t run, but didn’t know what else to do. If she stayed still,
if she looked only down, then he would surely pass by, heading
toward the staircase at the back without noticing her. Did she want
to remain unnoticed? She was confused, couldn’t tell. Thought of
his hands on her hips, then tried desperately to banish the
memory.

People drew back, moving away in complex swirls
of social ranking, voices raised in conversation even as others
fell into whisper. Selah stared fixedly at the ground, willing
herself to turn invisible. Felt attention fall upon her, countless
eyes, and looked up to meet the eyes of the Dragon.

He was dressed in a severe black suit, the shirt
a burgundy so dark that only the raised contours betrayed its
color. Hands linked behind his back he watched her, chin lowered,
studying her face, the people around them grown quiet, curious, to
see this girl was who’d arrested his attention so.

“Good evening,” he said at last.

“Hello,” she managed. Why couldn’t all these
people mind their own business? She took a breath, and then stepped
out from behind the frond, feeling slightly ridiculous for having
been caught almost but not quite hiding.

He watched her, and she wondered if they would
make small talk, if he would ask how she was, why she was here,
whether she found the crepes to her liking. The thought of
chitchatting while all these hangers-on watched made Selah want to
scream, to laugh. It was all so ridiculous, she didn’t think she
could go through with it. Instead, he simply offered her his
arm.

Selah blinked as this gesture set off a
firestorm of whispers, and without thinking she stepped forward and
slid her arm through his. He turned and led her through the crowd,
walking as if through a bank of fog, ignoring faces and politely
framed greetings, Selah drifting alongside him as if in a dream,
trying to avoid the jealous, spiteful glares and curious appraisals
discretely leveled at her. As if she’d cheated in some manner, cut
ahead in line, broken social mores she wasn’t even aware of.

They crossed the vast room, and she tried to
think of something to say. Stole glances at the side of his face,
but it betrayed nothing, was as stoic and harsh as if carved from
obsidian. He moved with that same fluidity that she recalled,
though it had no similarity to Cloud’s natural grace. It was
unnatural, unnerving, but she felt as if at any point he could
sweep her up into a ballroom dance, or break into a run, or stop
and grow completely still.

They reached the base of the steps, and Selah
saw that there was nobody standing too close to them. A second
guard in an elegant suit stood to one side, his presence keeping
the uninvited from ascending. The Dragon ignored him, and took her
hand from his arm and extended it so that she could go first.
Carefully, terrified that she might trip before this whole crowd,
she ascended the spiraling stairs and left the crush of perfume and
resentment behind as she climbed to the roof of the Wind Tower.

The music here was elegant, produced by a string
quartet that seemed able to blend their sound with the night winds
so that their music was ethereal, beautiful. The sky was vast, a
great dome of eternal dark with no clouds to obscure it, vast and
total in every direction, the light of the rising moon obscuring
some of the stars. Selah resisted the urge to stare up, and instead
stepped forward and aside as the Dragon came up behind her.

There was a second party happening here on the
tower roof, a roof that was more garden, a garden out of a dream. A
lawn as fine as a putting green covered the ground, and everywhere
beautiful ferns and slender palms grew, their layout creating a
cunning and subtle maze through which ran slender streams and the
sound of falling water. White beds and recliners stretched under
sumptuous tents, ensconced under vine-covered trellises.

Fewer people mingled about, and they seemed to
be either much calmer and self-possessed than those below or vastly
more nervous at being here. The Dragon stepped up next to her, and
led her forth from the solarium and out into the night. Once more,
she took the Dragon’s arm, and followed his lead as they drifted
along a path of white stones.

They passed a group who turned to regard them.
Polite nods of the head, and Selah snapped her gaze away as she saw
that two of them were vampires, skin luminous in the light of the
moon, eyes like black holes in their skulls. Three people sprawled
out amongst cushions on a vast king-sized bed beneath the falling
fabric of a tent to their left, and Selah once again looked away
with a stab of fear and revulsion. The woman in the center drank
from the neck of the man to her right, even as the other man
stroked and kissed her shoulders.

On they walked, and Selah couldn’t decide where
to gaze. Finally, she settled for keeping her eyes on the night sky
just above people’s heads, not interested in investigating the
sources of laughter or small cries of pleasure and pain.

They reached the edge of the garden, a railing
set before a glass wall, and the Dragon released her arm and leaned
forward, resting on his forearms as he gazed out over the city.
Selah examined him, and then rested her hip against the railing,
holding her clutch artlessly.

“That should afford you some measure of
protection,” he said at last, turning his head to look at her.

Selah almost asked what, but stopped. Of course.
She’d been seen on his arm by almost everybody.

“Thank you,” she said. “But I don’t think it
will ultimately make much of a difference.”