"No," Johnnie said, eyes still on the crowd. "A demon in Cinderella slippers would find no better place to be than a costume ball. So let us go find Cinderella, and hope we do it before the stroke of midnight." He glanced back at Rostislav, and sneered at the gold half-mask Rostislav was sliding into place.
"Didn't you bring a mask, Johnnie?"
"I do not wear masks," Johnnie replied. "You know that."
"Yeah, yeah. You really need to learn to mellow."
Johnnie ignored him, and turned away, sliding into the role of finder that he seemed to have acquired over the years. He looked over the crowds of people again, murmuring softly to himself again as he caught sight of a woman with a particularly extravagant coiffure. "Riddle me, riddle me, what is that; over the head, and under the hat?"
Rostislav frowned at him. "What?"
"Nothing," Johnnie replied. "Just nonsense. Make yourself useful witch, and see if you cannot pick out bits of Cinderella style spell work. I doubt we can detect the demon itself, but the spells and effects employed with Cinderella slippers are more or less rote. Hunt them out, or at least try."
"Oh, yeah." Rostislav made a face. "Because illusions, love spells, and enchantments are so bloody uncommon at a bloody masque."
Johnnie regarded him coolly.
"All right, all right," Rostislav replied, throwing up his hands. "What are you going to do?"
"Examine shoes," Johnnie replied, striving to keep his voice even and unaffected, and not let out the bitterness that always came with the knowledge that he had no abnormal abilities to draw upon. He was the quintessential ugly duckling, and heaven and hell forbid anyone let him forget it. The costume. Already he could see the looks, feel the curiosity. Some knew him, and would tell those who did not. Others would simply figure it out for themselves. Everyone wondered why his father had adopted him. Nearly all pitied him. Many regarded him as potentially amusing. All looked down on him. "Shoes and people."
He pointedly dropped his gaze to Rostislav's shoes, which were as perfect and golden as the rest of the man and ensemble. Rather than a fancy costume, Rostislav simply wore a suit and a black domino mask. Looking up again, he said, "I suppose your shoes are in order."
Rostislav laughed. "I hope we find them quickly, Johnnie. Thank you for coming to help me. You'll be home soon enough, I promise."
Johnnie shrugged dismissively and stifled a sigh. What waited for him at home, but another fight with Elam? Home was seldom a welcoming place at the best of times, and worse still when the Ice Queen was in a foul mood and eager to take it out on his unwanted brother.
Gods above, he wished the day would come when he stopped hoping for Elam to return just some of what Johnnie felt for him. Shoving the thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand, he watched as Rostislav descended the grand staircase and rapidly vanished into the throng below.
Johnnie stifled another sigh, then finally descended the stairs himself. Immediately the press and crush of people began to irritate him. The stench of sweat, perfume, smoke, and the underlying bitterness of too much magic in too small a space began to give him a headache, and he fought his way through it until he at last found a bit of free space near the main bar.
He skimmed the crowd, looking absently at shoes where he was able, but mostly looking for a possible Cinderella or the 'prince.' As it was Jesse Adelardi hosting this event, he should be the 'prince' for whom the demon would have to seek to fulfill the Cinderella strictures.
It was an ever raging debate, which had come first—the slippers or the tale. Most held the tale had come first, and many an abnormal had been inspired. Others held that the slippers had come first: that once upon a time, an abnormal had placed a spell or trapped a demon within a pair of slippers, in order to win her prince and obtain freedom from an evil stepmother.
Johnnie had always thought that was close, but did not believe it had played out quite that way. The various mothers, that was the key. A dead mother, a stepmother, and then the 'fairy' godmother, which in some versions was simply the spirit of the 'good' mother.
The closest he ever came to being a true abnormal was by studying them incessantly. The only thing he excelled at more than finding things was knowing things. Reading, research, talking to those who would indulge him …
His private theory in regards to the Cinderella slippers was that it had never been Cinderella herself who obtained the slippers through positive means. Far more likely, he had always thought, that some girl's over-ambitious mother had plotted to see that her plainest, most lackluster daughter landed a successful marriage. Possibly her only daughter, or perhaps her youngest, but whatever—she could not or would not be what her mother wanted.
So, bring in magic. A mother who placed a spell or spells in … a new pair of slippers? A favored pair? And suddenly her daughter was far from plain, far from ordinary. Attract the prince, ensnare him, and the deed is done. A glamour, a love spell, tied together just so to make a happily ever after. Such things had been done since the beginning of time.
"Master Desrosiers," said a cool voice.
Johnnie nodded at the vampire, acknowledging and then dismissing him. He did the same as several others greeted him. He was not here to socialize, and they were only acknowledging him because they did not dare offend his father. Turning away from the crowd, he glanced at the bar for a potential place to sit.
Oddly, the bar was occupied by only the bartender and four other guests. Two of the guests wore masks, and two did not. One of the masked was a sharp looking figure in green, and Johnnie sensed he should know the costume, but he did not. The other masked figure was some sort of yellow bird. Of the two unmasked, one was a beautiful woman dressed mostly in diamonds. The other was a plain looking man dressed in simple black, with nothing to cut or soften the severity of it.
Johnnie passed his eyes over each—the two masked figures avoided his gaze, the woman met it and immediately dropped her gaze, and the plain looking man met it, smiling politely before returning to his drink.
No Cinderella candidates here, then. They lacked … something, though as usual he could not put a finger upon what was off. He simply knew they were not right. Well, beauty obviously. The point of Cinderella was that 'she' would be the most beautiful at the ball. The woman in diamonds was stunning, but there were others more stunning. The plain man, obviously not. The two masked figures were not remarkable enough of costume to fit.
Approaching the bar, he sat between the two unmasked figures, a barstool of space on either side. "Vodka rocks," he told the bartender. The bartender nodded and turned to pour the requested drink, and Johnnie turned slightly so that he could look out over the crowd again, carefully maintaining an air of boredom. He was looking now solely for Adelardi—if he could find the prince, Cinderella would present eventually. It was only just past nine; Cinderella would not make herself known to the prince before ten.
Where was Adelardi? He should be around and highly visible, even in costume. This was his fete, so where was he? It occurred to him then, he had never asked Rostislav the purpose of this party. Odd Rostislav had neglected to mention it, but perhaps he had simply forgotten.
Not his annual charity ball, it was the wrong time of year. Not a holiday, though that would have fit a costume ball. Birthday? The ball did not seem to fit that, though. It was possible, but he did not think that was it. He turned to the diamond-encrusted woman. "I beg your pardon, do you know the reason for this fete? I am afraid a friend brought me, but he did not tell me the purpose."
The woman shrugged, and turned slightly away from him. Johnnie lifted a brow at that, but said nothing.
Before he could turn and ask the man on his other side, the very one he sought suddenly appeared. "Master Desrosiers," Jesse said with a smirk. "I am honored you deigned to attend my little fete. You look quite stunning, as always. I shouldn't doubt more than a few here would love whatever taste you were willing to give."
Johnnie ignored him. He did not
deign
to respond to such unclever taunts.
Jesse laughed softly. "Johnnie, Johnnie, as cold and beautiful as any vampire, but it took you only twenty-six years. Dance with me."
Finishing his drink, Johnnie placed his hand in Jesse's and followed him to the crowded dance floor. Immediately people moved to give them plenty of room, and Johnnie felt the prickle of eyes upon him, the heat of jealousy and the cold of contempt.
More than a few vampires disapproved of the way a Dracula had not only taken in a human, but worse, adopted him. Humans were prey, not kin. The only thing worse would be if he and some vampire dared to take up together.
Thinking that of course led to thoughts of his brother, but Johnnie stubbornly ignored them. He focused, instead, on Jesse Adelardi. Not a Dracula, but wealthy and powerful enough in his own right that he was counted high amongst the elite. There were always rumors floating around about he was set to marry this daughter or that, and be made an Alucard, eventually to take up Dracula.
So far, none of those rumors had come to pass, and of course the lack of marriage always created further rumors. Jesse was, of course, heartbreakingly beautiful. His was a handsome beauty, rather than Elam's more androgynous features. His hair and eyes were a deep, soft gold, set in flawless, sun-kissed skin. It was little wonder that he could get Rostislav to do whatever he asked. Johnnie had tried to tell Rostislav a thousand times the futility of being a human and loving a vampire, but they had always had stubbornness in common.
"I suspected you were the help that Rostislav mentioned," Jesse said, smoothly leading the dancing, hand warm where it curled around Johnnie's hip. How many people, over the hundreds of years of Jesse's life, had fallen victim to his warmth and charm and beauty? "I do thank you for coming," Jesse continued.
Johnnie ignored the thanks, and simply asked, "He neglected to mention the purpose of your masque."
"Oh?" Jesse asked. "It's the one hundredth anniversary of my hotel. I've never managed to stay so long in one place; it's quite exciting for me. The day it opened, I threw a masque." He pulled Johnnie closer, turning them neatly, moving gracefully across the dance floor. Beautiful, so close to perfection, but Johnnie remained unmoved. He possessed no special ability to resist vampires, he simply had grown up with them, amongst them, and the lure of that wicked beauty had lost its shine along the way. "Naturally, another masque was the only suitable option."
"Of course," Johnnie said, turning his head, following a pair of handsome blue high-heeled slippers. No. He turned back to Jesse. "You are careless."
"It was not my spell cage which failed," Jesse replied.
"Mm," Johnnie murmured, "but you did possess a pair of Cinderella shoes. You are no necromancer, but neither are you a fool." He pulled away as the dance ended, and sketched a half-bow that was only just barely polite.
Jesse's mouth quirked in amusement, but he said only, "Thank you for the dance, Master Desrosiers."
"My lord," Johnnie murmured in reply, then left him, moving through the ballroom, surreptitiously examining shoes. After half an hour, he decided to try something else. He searched around for Rostislav—and paused, frowning, as he finally saw Rostislav tucked into a discreet, shadowy corner with Jesse. What they were doing, he could not determine.
But he could guess.
He turned away in anger and contempt—and jealousy. Vampires
never
took humans as lovers; it was beneath them to have truly amorous relations with their food. If Jesse was doing anything, he was toying with Rostislav, and Rostislav knew that.
But Rostislav had always loved Jesse, the same way that Johnnie had always loved Elam. Stupid, to fall for vampires, but they had fallen all the same.
Rostislav was apparently wearing the mask of a fool for the ball, Johnnie thought as he glanced toward that dark corner again. He watched them a moment, quoting softly to himself, "So true a fool is love, that in your will/Though you do anything, he thinks no ill." Turning away again, he climbed the stairs he had earlier descended.
Away from the crowds, standing in a dimly lit hallway, he weighed his options. He should have had Jesse or Rostislav give him access to the spell cage in which they had tried to bind the shoes. Going back down into the crush below was not worth it, however. Not when he had other means to try first.
Moving to the lobby, he pressed the button on Jesse's private elevator. Though he possessed only ordinary senses and laid no claim to special abilities, one could not live his entire life amongst abnormals without some effect. He could almost always feel magic, unless it was very slight or too subtly cast. He could also smell it, when it as strong enough or, like downstairs, there was simply a great deal of it.
He felt it now, like a prickle across his skin, as he stepped into the elevator. Glancing at the control panel, he immediately saw where a special key was required to access the very top floors. Jesse's rooms, he knew, occupied the top three floors of the hotel.
The thing about the more powerful abnormals, Johnnie had learned over the years, was that they stopped worrying about normals. Instinct drove most normals to avoid abnormals like Jesse Adelardi. Over time, Jesse and his ilk, Johnnie's family included, become accustomed to being avoided. They largely ceased to notice normals.