House of Cards (21 page)

Chapter 16—An Impossible Game

C
hristmas morning was a wonder
. Sherry had no idea how Lucas had managed to sneak a tree into her suite without waking her up, much less arrange the mountainous pile of gifts beneath it. The tree’s decorations—bright rainbow bulbs, silver tinsel, twinkling strings of lights—spoke to her of warmth and comfort and Christmases pasts. She tried to throw her arms around Lucas to thank him, but was so weak from her earlier blood loss that the enthusiasm of the gesture was somewhat diminished. Still, he seemed to enjoy whatever affection she was capable of.

Pain from the gash on her arm made unwrapping somewhat difficult, but Lucas was happy to help. “I wrapped them, after all. It is only appropriate that I should be the one unwrapping them,” which made Sherry laugh. There were several new books which were not in the library, including ones written when Lucas had been a boy. There were more perfumed soaps, scented lotions, and oodles of candles to replace the ones she’d burned up. Best of all, there was a brand-new deck of tarot cards, embossed with a gorgeous Victorian design. Sherry almost wanted to begin using it right away, but was reluctant to give up the old deck. It felt like a betrayal of Kaileen. Would Lucas be offended if she neglected his gift? She decided to use the new deck for readings with him and the other vampires, and keep the old one for personal divination.

She’d been too exhausted the night before for a proper
réveillon
, the midnight meal that Parisians served on Christmas Eve. So Lucas had it prepared for her on Christmas Day instead. All the traditional foods were there. There was hot mulled wine, which warmed Sherry considerably, as she had less blood inside her to do that job at present. Oysters accompanied by little sausages to start. A main course of roast goose, plump full of raisin stuffing. Perhaps it was her near-death experience, or the fact that the goose didn’t look like a sleeping lovebird, but whatever the reason, Sherry heartily consumed as much of it as she could. For desert there had been the traditional Bûche de Noël—France’s answer to the Yule log.

Her arm and neck healed fairly well over the coming months, although she made it a point to keep far, far away from either Peter or Adrian. Sometimes, she would see them in the hall, grinning at her lecherously. Whether they still craved the taste of her blood, or they were doing it just to scare her, she would always quickly turn and walk in the other direction.

In fact, she made a point of avoiding all the other vampires. Before being fed on so unexpectedly, she’d let herself be lulled into a false sense of security. As if the brutality they were capable of would always be kept at bay. Sherry knew now that believing that had been a mistake. It was completely plausible that, at any moment, one of these creatures could erupt into uncontrollable violence that might end her life.

She was not asked to do a group reading for quite a while, until Valentine’s Day. Although she managed to sit as far away from Peter and Adrian as possible, she was visibly shaken while doing their readings. She noticed that Thomas and Gavin were still sharing some sort of private joke—the undoing of another innocent, most likely. But she did not comment on the wicked source of their merriment, as she had done before. All her bravery seemed to have evaporated, drained like the lost blood.

It was even worse now that Vasha had finally come out of her room. Whether the other vampires had gotten tired of transporting nourishment to her (either in the form of victims, or from their own veins), or she’d gained enough confidence to be seen again, was anybody’s guess. She glared murderously at Sherry whenever they were together, mumbling under her breath. A long emerald scarf covered her head and half of her face, which was looking much better from what Sherry could see. The angry red boils were almost gone, giving her features a scratched, pock-like appearance. Her dark honey hair had recaptured its shimmering elegance, and the burned part had grown back almost entirely. Sherry doubted she’d ever ask for another reading. Probably didn’t want to risk losing her life completely to a fire that she was certain Sherry would set.

But the special treats from Lucas continued. More champagne—this time in honor of Valentine’s Day. A new perfume that she didn’t already have in her collection, somehow. And boxes upon boxes of handmade confections from the finest chocolatiers in France.

Unfortunately, her secret adventures in telekinesis had all but come to an end. She certainly hadn’t been working with the swords anymore. For one thing, she was terrified to go into the drawing room alone, beautiful as it was, since she’d nearly been killed there. Second, the loss of blood made her too tired and weak to do much of anything for a long time. When it finally occurred to her that she should, she was almost afraid to try lifting the swords again. She feared that the more she practiced with them, the stronger the likelihood she’d have to use them one day. Which made absolutely no sense, but Sherry had long ago learned that fears did not have to be rational in order to exist.

Outings with Lucas were a welcome distraction from her anxieties. Paris held true to its tradition of moody weather as the winter marched forth into spring. One minute, there would be placid breezes and clear skies—the next, torrential rainfall and blustery gales. It was hard to know what to wear with Lucas on their excursions, so Sherry did what she had done the last few winters in France: she dressed in layers and carried an umbrella.

As usual in her adopted city, it was hard to complain about the weather when one had the privilege of experiencing Paris in the spring. It was truly glorious. As the cold season ended, the city was dull and gray, encased in seemingly endless drizzle. Every year Sherry wondered if she’d ever see color again. Or if color had ever existed, and she’d only imagined it. But then, almost overnight, Paris exploded into a riotous rainbow affair, trees and bushes bursting with vibrant blooms. Outdoor vendors sprouted up out of nowhere, their noisy stalls displaying an infinite variety of fruits, vegetables, flowers, and clothing. Parisians put away some of their beiges, blacks, and browns, and let the bright, rich fashions of the new season come alive.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Sherry thought to herself, if she and Lucas could experience this every year? The unpleasant Paris winters were almost worth it just to step out in the springtime, walking the narrow streets, holding his hand, hearing his voice. And if she were a vampire, she’d never have to worry about it being her last spring. There would be an infinite number of this beautiful season to enjoy, forever and always, with him.

But Lucas’s good mood did not always last long. He seemed more distracted lately, preoccupied with something he didn’t discuss with Sherry, and she didn’t want to pressure him by asking what it was. Whatever the concern, it made itself known in a variety of ways. It might be the especially grieved looked he had when he returned from certain outings, his skin warmer and his face more flushed than when he’d gone out. Sherry knew that killing was still an aching burden to him, one that not even she could hope to understand. But he seemed absentminded in smaller ways as well. She had to bring his attention back to conversations they were having, or remind him of ones they’d already had. Although he was always very apologetic about it, it kept happening more and more.

She tried to keep their exchanges light and pleasant whenever she could, sprinkled with interludes of heavy kissing. Sherry was tempted to give herself over to him completely, if it would ease the pain in his heart, whatever it was. But she was reluctant to take such a big step, just in case. In case they wouldn’t last. In case fate decided to rip them apart after it was done. It would be so much more painful to Lucas if she should die, having made that ultimate expression of love. Which was exactly what tempted her so—she might have only one chance to know what it felt like. But still, she resisted. For him.

However, they couldn’t just sit in her room making out all the time. Not with another gorgeous Paris spring laid out before them, although Sherry wouldn’t have minded spending more time in Lucas’s arms. He insisted they see and do as much in the city as possible, and that Sherry enjoy every delicious meal his vampire nature no longer afforded him.

They were strolling along a side street one evening, trying to decide on a restaurant for Sherry. They needed one where the waiters wouldn’t look too closely at Lucas as he chopped his food into tiny pieces, moving them around on his plate. If he could manage to do that, and lift his spoon or fork a few times to his mouth, it was easy to convince others that he was really eating. He’d even managed to fool Sherry a few times, much to her chagrin. She really ought to know better by now.

After “window-shopping” eateries for a while, she pointed out a cute little bistro to him, with green-and-white-checked awning. It was noticeably less expensive than the places he typically treated her to, but she didn’t want him to think she was taking advantage of his generosity. She was also afraid to ask where he got money from, or where any of the other vampires did. She had a nagging suspicion the source was their victims.

“It’s a shame all the tables out front are taken,” Sherry sighed. “It’s a nice night for an al fresco dinner.”

“I’ll get us one,” Lucas replied, and before she could say anything, he was walking toward the restaurant.

Sherry thought that maybe he was going to bribe a waiter. But instead, he went up to two of the patrons, a very tan older man sitting with a pretty young woman. After a brief conversation, the two appeared very dazed and lethargic. Muttering apologies, they looked around as if they’d lost something, gathered their belongings, and hailed a taxi. Lucas motioned to her to join him.

“Wow, that was nice of them, to give up their table. Were they just leaving?”

“No, I made them leave.”

“What?”

“I made them leave. The same way I procured seats for us at le Grand Véfour
.
Hypnosis, glamour, whatever the modern term is for it.”

“But that’s terrible! And this is different than le Grand Véfour—we weren’t stealing anyone’s table out from under them. At least, I don’t think we were. Those patrons just now, they were here first. You shouldn’t do that to people!”

“Nonsense. Do you think that man is going to apologize to his wife when he returns home later this evening, the scent of his mistress’s perfume still heavy all around him? Or the obnoxious mistress—will she apologize to the store clerk she got sacked this afternoon for not attending to her idiotic needs quickly enough? Don’t worry about them. People like that can take care of themselves.”

Sherry looked down and was silent. It hadn’t occurred to her that the patrons might be horrible people. Of course, he could be making it up so she’d feel all right about using the table, but deep in her heart, she knew that wasn’t the case. It must be a terrible burden to see people’s thoughts the way he did. It was like reading tarot. Sometimes, you learned things about customers you’d just as soon forget. And seeing inside the heads of that man and woman had obviously stripped Lucas of his previous good humor. Funny, how little it took to get a person down sometimes.

“We still didn’t have the right to take their table,” she said softly, fingering the necklace Lucas had given her on Christmas Eve. She stroked the hard golden feathers of the little bird as if to soothe it.

“Would you rather be pointlessly moral, and eat inside?” He made a show of examining the menu, as if he were actually going to eat what he ordered.

Sherry took her own menu in hand, and looked it over. “No, they’re gone, so as you said, what’s the point?” She waited a few beats, then spoke again. “And thank you, for getting it for me. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful.”

“You’re quite welcome,” he smiled (smiled!). “And you didn’t.”

But it was hard to recover the peaceful feeling they’d enjoyed earlier. As Sherry mindlessly chewed her food, and Lucas pushed his around the plate, distracted, it was easy to silently envy the people going about their everyday lives. How lucky they were to be unaware of the hellacious position that she and Lucas were forced into by the House of Cadamon.

As they watched confused tourists, hurried mothers, and old friends greeting each other, Sherry was struck by an idea.

“Let’s play pretend!”

“Pardon?”

“Let’s pretend. Pretend we’re high school students, trying to decide between universities. Or newlyweds! Yes, we’re very young newlyweds, married right out of high school. Our parents didn’t approve, of course, but they figured, better let us get married, rather than look like we’re shacking up. We’re both so headstrong, we’re going to do what we want anyway. We’re on a short honeymoon before we start scraping together money for you to attend l’
École des Beaux-Arts
. Someday you’ll become a famous artist, but nobody knows it yet.”

She paused. She’d ruined it. Charades and making up stories with tarot cards was one thing, but now he must think she was truly insane. Men, even ancient immortals like Lucas, probably daydreamed about blowing up buildings, or violent car chases. Of being suave spies who could have any number of impossibly beautiful women, and usually did. They didn’t fantasize about marrying too young, being too poor, and enjoying it. Or, if they did, they certainly didn’t tell anyone.

He looked at her strangely. She was just about to apologize when he motioned for her to get up. She did, and went over to ask him what was wrong. As if it wasn’t obvious. Jesus, he must think she’d really lost it, and now he wanted to leave.

He looked at her again, but this time with a secret smile. Guiding her back to the folding chair, he pulled it out for her, and pushed it back in as she sat down. He made a grandiose gesture of unfolding the cheap paper napkin, waving it out, and placing it gently in her lap, as if it were made of the finest linen.

“I’m sorry, my dear, the silver so
does
need polishing.” He took out his handkerchief and began rubbing invisible spots on the plastic cutlery. “But Henrico gets so tired, you see, staying up late studying à l’Ecole
,
that sometimes he neglects his duties.”

Sherry giggled. “Henrico?”

“The busboy, darling. Remember, I told you, he’s my friend from school? How else do you think we were able to afford such an expensive restaurant as this, on the first day of our honeymoon? I had to beg Henrico to let the owner allow us use of the back porch for our meal. Of course, with his father’s money, and his own earnings here at La Fantaisie
,
Henrico
was able to attend les Beaux-Arts
an entire semester earlier than me. But I swear on our eternal love,
mon amour,
I will be a better student than he ever dreamed, and eventually, the most famous sketch artist of all time!”

Sherry was laughing in earnest now as he uncorked an imaginary bottle of wine, and poured some into an imaginary glass. They were having a marvelous time with their little game, until a squawking family of tourists came bustling out of the restaurant. A father, mother, and three school-age children. The parents seemed to be arguing in German, or Dutch—it was hard to tell. Sherry looked at them intently, but couldn’t determine the content of the heated conversation.