Today was Sebastian Lacroix's funeral. It said so in the Los Angeles Times, on the front page: One of LA's Finest Entrepreneur's Funeral Today
Problem was, Sebastian wasn't dead.
The bomb lodged in the Ankaran Sarcophagus had been set off in Sebastian's office, to his horror, but luckily enough not by him. We guessed that it had been set off by Elijah in his absence. I guess Elijah was greedier than he let on.
I had spent days pleading with Sebastian to leave the city and not pursue the sarcophagus, but he had refused to listen, and one day when I walked in, the ugly ancient box sat in his office. I had no idea why Sebastian was constantly staring at it, touching it, practically fucking making love to it with his eyes. Okay, I might have been a little jealous of it. In my defense though, from the first day it was hauled in the expansive office, he had acted completely differently than I had ever seen him.
It was like the Sarcophagus was his heroin. If only one could inject a large ancient box into their veins.
If Elijah had not opened it in his absence, well, let's just say this would be the end of that story. We had been driving downtown just a block away when it was set off, and the ground had shaken with the force of the explosion. As we sat in the luxury vehicle, staring up at the Lacroix building in a plume of flame in stunned silence, I had the urge to say told you so.
Good thing I didn't because if you'd thought Lacroix was moody before his building was blown up... now it was like he was on a constant man-period.
I guess I could understand. Losing everything you own, your business, and being pronounced dead all in the same week? Pretty rough if you ask me. But then again, I'm pretty biased.
Sebastian ultimately decided to go off the radar to get both the crazy Church of Leopold people, and the media off his back. His story was so big that it hit the national news. Even he probably wouldn't have been able to talk, or dominate himself out of a trial for killing Bach's daughter. I never thought I'd see the day Sebastian Lacroix couldn't talk himself out of something. I mean, the guy could talk himself out of a room with no doors.
Despite his obvious depression, Sebastian still found a way to constantly busy himself as usual. He was still the Prince of the Camarilla after all. I think he clung to that title now harder than ever.
It had been nearly a week since then when I finally was spoken to. He had sulked in his room of the safehouse until nearly dawn every day. Just when I thought maybe he had killed himself in there or something, he finally emerged, and his look of absolute depression had lightened slightly.
I held the newspaper up for him to see, where I was laying on the couch.
"I wish my death had been on the front page of a newspaper," I said.
He glanced at it, saying nothing as he walked past the couch, his expression bored.
I frowned, and stuck my head over the side of the couch.
"I have some business to attend to after sunset. You are expected to join me," he walked into the kitchen, got a blood pack out of the fridge and filled a wine glass with it. He swirled it around like it was a fine beverage instead of someone's insides.
He was fully dressed in his usual suit and tie ensemble, and my first thought was that maybe we would be doing something exciting. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Though I'd sat around in the safe house for days now doing positively nothing, I felt a bit apprehensive about going out into the vampire world again. It seemed like every time we turned around, someone was trying to kill us.
"Can I ask what we're doing?" I asked.
Sebastian seemed to read my mind.
"We're relocating to the penthouse apartment," he said nonchalantly, sipping his blood. I quirked an eyebrow at the casual response. Like everyone has a penthouse and it shouldn't be a huge deal. What's next, an extended vaycay on the yacht? Actually, that sounded pretty good...
He didn't seem to notice my inner turmoil, or, if he did, he didn't seem too eager to ease it. He had propped himself up against the kitchen island, not really facing me, just staring at the wall.
I thought that perhaps he intended for me to move in with him. I wanted to ask him but I couldn't get the words to come out.
I decided we didn't need another conversation like this again, not so soon, and not with him so spacey and obviously depressed. I leaned back into the sofa. It was unorthodox, and completely unexpected to move in with him now, if that was what he had meant. I wasn't sure what to think about it, so I tried to reserve judgement.
As we headed to the penthouse I got more and more fidgety. I began counting things in my nervousness, thinking maybe it could keep my mind off moving in with Sebastian. I counted the number of stars I could see out the window of the car, the number of hairs I could see on Sebastian's 5 o'clock shadow, the number of times I had cussed in my head in the past 24 hours. In short, I was acting like a crazy mathematician, and I didn't even like math.
Sebastian eyed me warily from the other side of the luxury Hummer. He seemed to be wrestling with whether he should begin to broach the subject of my insanity or just allow me to act insane.
We pulled up to a typical LA high rise apartment building, except it was anything but typical. It was obviously designed for the mega wealthy. There were gargoyles with lion heads out front in marble. The doors were painted in bright red, but everything surrounding them was stark white. As I climbed out of the car I couldn't help but feel extremely out of place, as I had the entire time I was staying in one of Sebastian's apparently many living arrangements.
I thanked the driver for opening the door for me, smiling at him. He gave me a smile back, and it made me feel marginally better.
Sebastian strode towards the door, pulling it open like he had done it a million times. I hung back, slipping in after him.
To say the place was impressive would be a vast understatement. Important looking people walked around with important looking faces on. Everyone was a flash of suits around me. I looked down at my sweat shirt and jeans, the only clothing I had at the moment, and tried hard to blend into the wall behind us.
A familiar looking woman intercepted Sebastian as he was heading towards the elevators. I felt my stomach drop into my feet as I recognized her. It was Jenine, or Jenny or whatever. That bitch from the party. The woman he had probably snogged in the past.
He slowed his mad dash to greet her. She smiled at him, commenting on his funeral and how nice it had been. Her fangs were shiny and white.
She glanced towards me, and I could almost feel her brain working around, trying to figure out who I was. I certainly looked different than I had the night of the party. Probably more like a homeless person. The way she was staring at me, I felt like I may need some holy water. Isn't there a church right around the corner, I thought absently, I'll just be right back... I nearly groaned aloud when I realized this probably meant she lived here too.
"Oh do forgive me," She crooned, "I did not notice your... daughter, was it?"
Sebastian handled her sarcasm smoothly, as I suspected he would.
"My childe actually, of no relation," he said in a dismissive tone. He looked at his watch, clearly trying to end the conversation in a way that wasn't rude.
She smiled again at me, and I couldn't help myself from leaning back away. It was a predatory smile, a clearly fake smile, oozing with death.
"Anyway, Sebastian," she turned back to him as if I had left the room or something, "we should arrange a lunch date."
Sebastian's eyes glazed over with what I could only assume was lust. I wished he'd look at me that way. I suppressed the feeling of jealousy and irritation. I was careful to keep my expression neutral and stop myself from doing something stupid like biting my lip like the last time we'd met.
I held my breath, wondering what he would say.
"Jenibelle, you and I both know that I no longer can present myself in public with the given situation."
She gave him a small pout, but didn't press the issue further.
As we got into the elevators, Sebastian shot me an apologetic look, or maybe it was concern that was gleaming in his eyes. I couldn't tell. The elevator closed and he turned to me and said, "I believe Jenibelle intends to kill you."
I missed seeing which button he pressed to go to our floor because of the monologue of panic-stricken cussing in my head.
"Why do you say that?" I asked in a high pitched voice. The kind of voice that women on cheesy horror flicks have when they meet the monster and are on the verge of screaming. Except this was no movie, and I couldn't just leave the theater.
"We have had an... encounter in the past," he said hesitantly.
I gave him a flat look, "you had sex with her."
He stared at me, "A bit... more than that."
I glanced around the elevator trying to think of what exactly he could mean by that.
He sighed, defeated, "She is my ex-wife."
The elevator chimed and he got off, leaving me stunned, just standing there. The elevator doors began to close before I recovered and got off.
I supposed I couldn't blame him, and at least he'd told me and been truthful, but I'd nearly shit my pants in fear. This chick was beautiful and evidently powerful, and extremely...pissy. I just couldn't believe I was already in danger again. So much for relaxing in the penthouse.
I was so deep in thought that I nearly ran into Sebastian as he stopped to unlock the door, which was the only door on the entire floor, to the penthouse.
As soon as we entered, the negative thoughts in my head ceased. A small house could fit into this one room! The entryway was completely bare of furniture, save for a large glass chandelier that hung from the ceiling. The floors were polished, much in the same way as his office had once been before it had been engulfed in flame.
The entryway led directly into the foyer, also decorated sparsely, with just an expensive looking coffee table and chairs. It looked like a king's palace and I immediately felt uncomfortable.
As I began wandering inside, I realized Sebastian had been watching my reaction closely, and he was now following me, hands behind his back. My eyes immediately landed on a large tapestry that hung from the wall, one of the few things in the entire apartment.
He followed my gaze, which wasn't hard to notice, since to look at the thing, I had to crane my neck all the way back. It was huge, nearly engulfing half the enormous wall.
"It's an heirloom," Sebastian said.
I turned to smile at him, "Its very beautiful."
It depicted what looked like a queen or a woman of another high stature as evidenced by the throne she was sitting on. She was surrounded by people who were handing her things. One was giving her cloth, another a baked pie. It was amusingly fitting for Lacroix, but I think the thing that stuck out the most to me was the woman's face. Her expression was one of exasperated boredom, and it was a look I had seen on him many times.
I didn't say that though.
The rest of the penthouse looked quite the same. There was a master suite that I peeked into, and quickly averted my path. I heard a small scoff of amusement come from Lacroix behind me, who was still following me. I saw him shake his head out of the corner of my eye.
It was odd, I thought, that he was not leading, not showing off, or going into long monologues about each room.
There was a kitchen with highly outdated appliances, some of which I assumed probably didn't even work they were so old. I opened the refrigerator, stopping a moment to admire the detailed work it took to make the snarky brass handle, and found it full of packs of blue blood.
There was a second bedroom and I assumed that was where I would be staying, an office, which looked like it was the only part of the house that got any type of use at all. Typical. And finally there was a bathroom, fit with a very inviting looking cast-iron clawfoot tub. Everything was immaculately clean.
When I had finished my tour in the bathroom, I turned around to find Sebastian still following me. The bathroom was large but it suddenly felt constrictive and tight with both of us in it and him blocking the entrance.
"So..." I said hesitantly when several seconds had passed and he didn't say anything, "Is this where you live?"
He nodded, "Yes, although, I only used to visit perhaps once a month."
Translation: Yes, although no because I used to live in my office.
He must have been thinking along the same lines, because at the thought of his office, he frowned. I figured I'd better distract him quickly before he got into a terrible mood again.
"Its so beautiful. Everything looks like it has a story, its so old..." I trailed off as I realized that might have offended him. "I mean, it's great, I used to love antiques and history and... all of that..." I amended quietly.
He nodded again and more horrible awkward silence shrouded us.
"Perhaps we should talk about my... association... with Jenibelle," he said.
I had nearly forgotten. He was eyeing me expectantly.
"Okay," I said, "We probably should."
I followed him out of the bathroom and into the foyer with a sigh of relief to be out of the cramped space. We sat opposite one another in the red scratchy chairs that bordered the coffee table.
He stared at the coffee table for a moment and cleared his throat and I had the inane urge to begin fidgeting.
"I met Jenibelle many years ago, certainly before you were born, although I cannot suffice to say the exact date. She was one of many of my colleagues working on a particularly arduous takeover of another corporation."
His eyes were glazed over again, with that same aggravating look he'd had downstairs, lost in a memory.
"She was the first woman I had ever considered worthy of my respect," he glanced at me, "In my time, you understand, women were not quite on the same...intellectual level as they are today..."
"I was young. Stupid. I thought I knew her well enough to..." He trailed off, and I could see where it was going, "Anyway,we separated after her final episode of whore mongering."
I raised my eyebrows and choked back a peal of laughter at his interesting choice of words. Perhaps that was why he was so insecure and hesitant in our non-existent relationship.
"I didn't know that vampires married or divorced," I admitted.
"The intelligent ones do not," he spat, "It is a pathetic attempt for us to be human when we so clearly aren't. It is called a blood bond but according to the Camarilla legally it is the same as a human marriage."
His honesty and malice regarding the topic was scary, and it made my chest constrict.
"Do you believe that vampires can love at all?" I asked, glancing up at his face and instantly regretting it. I was unable to look away from the pain in his aristocratic features. I had never quite seen him with an expression like that before.
"No," he said, his voice serious and cold, "We are not equipped to do so. What I thought was love, I know now is lust."
I took a deep breath, willing away the sick feeling I had. This was the first deep conversation we'd ever really had, and it was going horribly. Maybe it was best if we changed the subject a bit, "What should I do about Jenibelle?"
He shook his head, "You cannot fight her." He looked up and down at my body uneasily as if I were a sick and dying animal that may need to be put down.
I snorted, "Yeah, I know better than that."
He raised his eyebrows quizzically at me, "I have never heard a lady make that noise," he said simply.
I picked a small piece of fuzz off my jeans.
"Any how," he cleared his throat, "I suggest you avoid her."
"Why is she so mad at me anyway?"
He gripped the base of his nose and closed his eyes, "She...is... I've never any kind of luck understanding her, but perhaps it is the power. Believing that I did in fact embrace you, she may think I will leave the role of prince to you, whereas before now it was hers for the taking upon my real death."
"Why would she think that you would leave it to me?" I laughed at the thought. I didn't know shit about vampire politics and everyone knew it.
"That is typically the role of the childe. Why do you think every vampire within listening distance is so enamoured with you? They have no idea why I would take, well honestly, a mere peasant as my childe," he looked amused, as if the whole thing was a funny inside joke. And I guess it kind of was, because...
"But they don't know that you aren't really my sire."
"They will not find out about your past," he said, his voice haughty and confident, "I've made sure of that."
I shook my head, squinting at the shiny floors."Why would you do that? It doesn't make any sense. I have no real ties to you. Why do you want them to think I am your childe?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper,
He stared at me for a long time without answering, and then he abruptly changed the subject.