CHAPTER ONE:
The year is 1939, during a typical summer July. America is a growing, changing nation; it slowly climbs out of the snatches of the Depression towards a bigger, brighter future. And nowhere does that future sparkle brighter than in Los Angeles. All sorts of happy hopefuls pour into the city through its newly-built Union Station, ready to see the glimmering city lights and the rolling Hollywood Hills. California is a place of endless opportunity.
For the wealthy and established, life in the City of Angels could be luxurious. High among the lush mountains around the city, one particular girl stares out of a window at the twinkling of streetlights far down below. She stops, turning away to pace the floor of her living room once again, liking the sound of her house-slippers on the hardwood floors. The girl knew her aunt despised the clacking, so she keeps pacing anyways.
Catching a breeze from a distant open window, Jess pulls her silk dressing gown even tighter around her shoulders, shuddering. Aunt Maleficent always opened the windows at night, when the outside air had a distinctive chill in it. Jess never understood why her aunt stayed in California when she had a strong liking for the cold. But Aunt Maleficent would answer every time: "Los Angeles is where the money is, Jezebel".
Not that Aunt Maleficent needed the money. Her last marriage had been extremely profitable, to some wealthy Russian businessman with the last name of Chernabog. After his untimely, unexpected death left Aunt Maleficent an heiress worth millions, Jess began to question her aunt's innocence in the whole ordeal. Everything looked a little too convenient. But Aunt Maleficent was the only family Jess had left, and Maleficent had taken the girl in as the daughter she'd never had.
"Jezebel," Aunt Maleficent's deep voice calls from the divan by the fireplace. The flames paints the older woman's sharp face with a strange glow, giving unnatural warmth to her pale – almost greenish tinged – face. "You know how the endless pacing bothers me."
"I'm bored," Jess says softly, "I think I'm going to bed soon." She turns away from the floor-length windows.
"Oh Jezebel, before you go," Maleficent takes another puff from her cigarette, the long holder wedged precariously between two fingers.
"Yes, Aunt Maleficent?"
"I've received responses from each of our invited guests for the banquet Saturday evening. Six fine, young society members from around the Los Angeles scene, it'll really be something." Another long drag from the cigarette. "I think you're going to enjoy yourself, Jezebel."
Jess secretly hated when her Aunt called her the nickname "Jezebel", but Maleficent had proven adamant on using it. "Aunt Maleficent, you know I don't like social events like those. They're always so stuffy and forced."
"This isn't like the dinners we attended with my late husband, darling," says Aunt Maleficent. "The guest list was specifically planned with you in mind. It's not too often that you meet other teenagers your age, and all successful ones too. Each one had a connection with Chernabog in one way or another, and I thought I'd respect his wishes by inviting these particular individuals."
"My uncle died almost a year ago."
Maleficent sits up, annoyed. "And I didn't know of these connections until recently. Really, Jezebel, must you contradict me on everything?" Maleficent's voice had become cold and even darker, frightening Jess. Her aunt composes herself, closing her eyes and taking another puff. "I'll have Grimhelde or Cruella leave out a new gown for you for the dinner."
Jess nods silently as her aunt references the two housemaids. As quietly as she can, Jess turns and slips from the room, leaving Aunt Maleficent alone in the dim-light darkness.
...
The silver moon hangs high in the starry sky, casting sparkling beams of moonlight into Jess's bedroom. At the opposite end of the house from the living room, the bedroom has a view of the manor's estate. The large, old brick building sits deep in a grove of enormous oak trees, the entire ground sloping upwards before dropping off into a sheer cliff at the back of the estate. Thick mud puddles are the result of an unusually stormy afternoon, and a lone figure stumbles around in the darkness.
Jess finishes removing the last pin from her raven-colored hair, and she leans into the mirror to check her roots. Right there, sparkling almost white against the rest of her dark hair, is a thin stripe of very-light blonde. It was at Aunt Maleficent's request that Jess dyed her hair so dark, since her aunt believed it "brought out Jezebel's stunning beauty to its fullest". That tiny stripe of natural blonde – just like the name Jess – were just scraps of a broken identity that her aunt tried to replace.
Jess moves towards her bed, and the figure outside catches her eye. From her perch three-stories above the ground, the shape is nothing more than a blurred shadow, but she watches the figure trip and stumble into a mud puddle. Even from afar, Jess recognizes the slow, limping gait of a familiar man.
Checking the hall to be sure of its emptiness, Jess's feet fly as she runs downstairs. From a distance, she can hear the crackling of the living room fireplace, leading her to believe that Aunt Maleficent is still lounging on her divan. Jess scurries down and down, past the maids' quarters and the kitchen before finally reaching the side door.
Jess throws open the door, seeing a muddy old man thirty feet away. "Mr. Wayne?" she calls, keeping her voice just low enough. "Mr. Wayne, would you like to come inside?"
The aged groundskeeper turns at the sound of her voice, nods, and begins to limp towards the door. He thanks "Miss Jessica" several times, referring to her full name like no one else does. The downstairs is quiet and drafty inside, and Jess leads the old man into the abandoned kitchen.
Jess throws a switch and a single lightbulb glows above a large table. She can see the fresh mud staining the groundskeeper's pants and sweater. "Mr. Wayne, would you like some help cleaning up? I saw you fall into the mud from upstairs. I can fetch some towels for you."
Wayne shook his head, "Oh no, don't trouble yourself over me. It's just a little mud. Believe me, it takes plenty more than a mud puddle to take this old geezer down." He laughs, and it turns into coughing.
"Can I heat some water for tea, or coffee? Maybe a warm drink for you?"
"Really, Miss Jessica, you're too kind." Wayne leans back into his wooden chair. The muscles in his wrinkled face sag as he relaxes a little, yet his ice-blue eyes are still bright and alert. "Does your Aunt know I'm here?"
Jess lowers her head, "I don't think so." For whatever reason, Aunt Maleficent never particularly liked Mr. Wayne, and she made that clear on several occasions. However, the groundskeeper had stayed on this estate since its construction, living in a modest house on the edge of the property; this manor's land was his home long before Chernabog purchased it. "I'm sure she won't mind if I just give you a helping hand. She is too busy plotting – I mean, planning – some dinner banquet this weekend."
"I've heard grumblings about it." Mr. Wayne speaks in a weathered voice, "Sounds like she has invited quite a few young, eccentric members of the Los Angeles scene."
"And I'm sure we'll all get along swimmingly," Jess says with sarcasm. She turns towards Wayne. "Do you know anything about these guests?"
He straightens up. "Not much, I'm afraid. Some are natives to the area, most are not. A few are far more famous than the others, but they are all important in their unique ways."
"Knowing my aunt, they're all loaded with money."
Wayne shakes his head, "That's what you would think, but it's not quite so."
"Aunt Maleficent said something about them all being connected to Uncle Chernabog in one way or another. What do you think about that?"
"I'm not sure. Your late uncle was a rather secretive man, especially with his business transactions."
Jess's brows furrow, "So you are thinking that these were all business associates of Chernabog's? I thought they are just kids, right?"
"Oh yes, very young. I saw the envelopes when Grimhelde was taking them to be mailed, so I happen to know exactly who has been invited to this dinner." He watches Jess's face light up with a question, but his cool eyes give a clear no. "No, that is not my place to say anything. If your aunt wants to keep it a surprise, then so be it. I would be intruding to say anything otherwise."
Jess hated pouting, but she finds herself slipping back into it. "Aunt Maleficent is already forcing me to attend this dinner, and here she won't even tell me who is invited. She keeps reminding me that she's hosting this dinner for me, even though I never wanted this. If she would just listen, she could understand."
Wayne speaks carefully, "I think she tries to do what she believes will be best for you. And if that includes hosting these parties so you can meet other remarkable youth, then she will do it."
A silence passes in the dimly-lit kitchen, and Jess finds Mr. Wayne's words to be surprisingly reassuring. He has always been her favorite of the staff at the manor, with his calm countenance and wise sparkle in his eyes. "Mr. Wayne, you have a daughter, don't you?"
He nods, his face lighting up. "Wanda. She's a good twenty-seven years old, and sharper than any tack you can find."
"Does she live around here?"
"In the city. She attended the university and now works as a full-time private investigator. She is incredible, really, working in a field that so few women decide to go into. But she's always been so smart and independent like that."
"You must be so proud," Jess smiles, then pauses to think. "Mr. Wayne, you love your daughter?"
"Of course, Miss Jessica."
"And so you trust her? You know, to handle herself and make her own decisions?"
Mr. Wayne could see where this was heading. "This is about your aunt, isn't it?" Jess nods, and he continues. "Jessica, she loves you, you know that? And I think she does trust you. But you are an eighteen-year-old girl, and she still tries to look out for you. It's as simple as that."
Jess nods again, but her smile is a lie. Deep down, she knows that nothing is ever so simple.