Chapter 7

In Which Amelia Swaggers Around Being An Insufferable Pig-headed Jerkwad

Up on the second floor, in his large apartment, Lucian sat slumped on his rich, dark red leather couch watching CSI: Miami, angrily. Why the heck was Viktor so freaking insistent? What could possibly be so valuable to him about an old, musty room, and why would playing Halo in it violate his tyrannical wishes?

Hoping to find an answer, Lucian went back in time, before he'd come to Ördögház. He had lived with his mother, Sylvi, and his father, Sandor, in a small, seaside bungalow; Sandor Hadik had been a carpenter, painter, exterminator, computer technician, and general man-of-work. They'd been poor but relatively happy together; Lucian could still remember playing football with his father while Sylvi made foodfood.

Sandor was Viktor's cousin's… brother's…uh son, twice removed; however, it was simpler for everyone to call him 'inexplicable relative,' since Viktor had no nephews, and Sandor's last name was Hadik, not to mention he was a lycanthrope and Viktor was a vampire—AAAGGGGHHH! Sandor's marriage to Sylvi – she was the illegitimate daughter of the town tyrant – had raised the ire of the stuck-up family of know-it-all aristocrat smartasses. Most of them had shunned Lucian's household in disgust; there were no benevolent relatives or fun-loving cousins in Lucian's lifetime, nor did he know where they were now. If any. Still, even without relatives, life for him had been hard, rough, and brutal, but at the same time enjoyable. Ish.

A super-convenient riot. Lucian had never been told exactly what it was about; he had been too young at the time to understand anything but a sense of panic, and pride kept him from asking Viktor now. But the cause didn't matter to him, then or now; all that mattered was the outcome.

Screw that. Lucian fought the urge to transform into wolf-form and tear the whole building down. Even now, he could hear his mother futilely pleading with his father not to go out in a foolhardy, doomed-to-failure attempt to pacify the insurgents. She'd used those very words in her anguished begging: "Sandor, forget about the people now when we're merely oppressed – think of them later, when we all have to pay the price if you fight." Like a buzzing mosquito, Lucian could still hear his idiot daddy respond pridefully, "We must all fight for what's right," sounding again and again in his mind. Lucian, then only twelve, had crouched – fearful and horror-stricken – in a corner as Sandor, proudly and with his head high, strode out the door with much fanfare… and was promptly decapitated, dismembered and cannibalized. It was what Lucian had always imagined stepping into a meat blender would look like.

He and his mother had spent a full night of terror, with systematic bangs on their door and guttural yells and grunts constant in the streets. As it neared morning, the rioters had inexplicably transformed into nightmarish monsters; some had become insectoid horrible flying screeching things with antennae and clicking mandibles, others had torn out their skulls and were bashing in windows or beating people to death with them, a few dozen had grown into shapeless creatures covered with hideous bloating tumors and wriggling mucusy tentacles with flowers on the ends of them, but most were brutish, hairy beasts with apelike heads that boasted crude mohawks and maws full of carnivorous teeth.

From inside their stronghold – Sylvi had barricaded the door with most of their furniture – mother and son could hear a sudden, ominous silence fall as – what sounded like – a giant creature bellow something. The words were unintelligible, but the horde of monsters evidently understood; with a repugnant roar, like an Uruk-hai gargling mud, they swept mercilessly toward the houses. Screams of terror and pain filled the streets as well as the sounds of those screams being cut off by meaty, splattery thuds. There was a hiss and a whoosh of flames as the creatures set fire to the house.

Lucian, terrified, had clung to his mother; wildly, they looked about for a way of escape, but none was open, and the fire surrounded them. Having no alternative, and unwilling to surrender herself – not to mention her son – to the rampaging beasts, Sylvi had taken Lucian down to the basement, where they had hidden. The last thing Lucian remembered from that night was a timber, plunging down onto their heads.

Later, Lucian had awakened in a makeshift hospital; many others like him were laid about in various positions on the floor, some soaked with blood. He'd been informed simply that his parents were dead; one impaled by a falling metal girder, the other was eaten alive; they were able to identify the latter's remains through dental records. There was also crude writing on his bleached skull which read this gy am Sandoor. Tast gud.

Even now, Lucian would remember his father, and wonder. Was Sandor dismembered? Had he been cannibalized? An even worse idea had occurred to him; had Sandor killed himself as the monsters feasted on his flesh? The pain of not knowing had tortured him for a long time. Of course, it didn't occur to him to take note of when he SAW Sandor's head get lopped off the instant he stepped out the door…

Dimly, as if recalling a dim memory, Lucian remembered being bundled off to a children's home, where he had stayed for three days until his inexplicable relative had taken him to Budapest, to Ördögház. The mansion had been cold, dark, and huge, with very few slaves; Viktor found little necessity, then, to keep up the entire mansion simply for his own pleasure. Viktor had been far gloomier then; it was only after Sonja had arrived that he started thinking of things and people other than himself.

Sonja, yeah. That was another focal point in Lucian's history. When Lucian first arrived at Ördögház, it was only to stay for three months; then he'd been shipped off to—what, college?? But he was only twelve! Ah, trivialities. Anyway, he had made several good friends there. He stayed until his eighteenth birthday; then he came back – with a few of his friends staying at other acquaintances' houses – to Ördögház for a holiday weekend. Finding themselves in need of amusement, they had trooped off to a special music concert, which turned out to be way more diverting than any of them had predicted.

For it was there Lucian had first seen Sonja Dumak. She was one of the featured acts, known simply as Sonja, which was her stage name. Her rendition of Soundgarden's 4th of July had struck him, not only for the flawless execution but the feeling with which she played. No one he'd ever gone to see – or heard – touched… no make that vibrated the deep dark depths of his mind as she did with her music. She was certainly a big improvement over the last act, which featured a ridiculously sexy girl singer who was wearing a full body leotard that looked like it had been airbrushed onto bare skin. It was as if someone had finally understood about his father and inexplicable relative, his friends, the mayhem with which he remembered the monster mutiny, and was reaching out to him in full acceptance of it. Which was, of course, ridiculous, because the girl wasn't telepathic.

When he tried to explain this to his "friends," they had laughed it off, telling each other that 'Lucian just needs to get laid,' and daring him to go backstage and talk to her. So he did.

During the long ensuing conversation with the girl, Lucian discovered their similar backgrounds, excluding the fact that she was born a vampire; she too was an orphan, with both parents ripped from her at an even younger age than Lucian had been. Her father, a daring, adventurous sea-captain, had been an only son; she had no other relations save her mother's grandparents, who were in a nursing home. No one knew where Sonja's father had come from, or even if Davy Jones was his real name; some called him 'the big, tentacley guy.'

After her father's ship had been dragged down into the water by big thrashing tentacles, she was taken in by kindly neighbors, the Bogrovs; for her mother, too, had been taken, by disease. For several years, her life was comparatively peaceful; then, suddenly, Ivan Bogrov's source of livelihood was cut off, sending him and his wife to the human equivalent of a pound and leaving Sonja with nothing but the clothes on her back and her mother's treasured guitar. A year went by; Sonja had joined a local band, giving performances at various concert-halls, until finally she had come to Budapest to perform.

From that point on, Lucian's sympathies were fully enlisted; even more so when she told him that she would have to sleep there, in the concert hall. Impulsively, he invited her to Ördögház for the night, resolving to combat Viktor somehow – after all, he wasn't about to stand by and watch the old geezer deny the girl a room to sleep in, not with all those empty apartments in the mansion. She had accepted, rather doubtfully, and Lucian had led her smugly out to his car. His "friends" were thunderstruck, and rather inclined to nudge one another and hiss risqué comments; Lucian shut them up with a growl, whereupon they were inclined to shuffle their feet and sneeze as they piled into the car and drove off.

Lucian had never ceased to be shocked at Viktor's reaction to Sonja. When he brought her into the mansion, complete with backbreaking baggage and guitar-case, he expected Viktor to turn sixty-nine shades of red and detonate like a nuclear warhead, and Viktor seemed prepared to act the part. Until he was introduced to Sonja. Something about her appearance, or voice, or manner, or waistline, or bustline (BEH!) – something – seemed to strike a resonant chord in him. He was never anything less than courteous and – this astounded Lucian even now – cordial to her, and she was always amiable and respectful. The mutual friendliness between the two increased after Sonja voluntarily played her guitar for them, leaving Lucian scratching his head over the whole thing and predicting that it wouldn't last a week.

The end of it was that Sonja came to live with them.

It was only with the greatest difficulty that Viktor and Lucian succeeded in getting Amelia to agree to the scheme; on Amelia's part, at least, existed a deep and festering hostility against the 'pretentious schutta' who had the nerve to barge in uninvited and tell everyone what to do. Her physical appearance and skill with the guitar and her voice did nothing to increase Amelia's feelings. But fortunately, it was not her decision to make, so it was resolved.

Sonja had, knowingly or otherwise, started a revolution – at least concerning Viktor. Almost immediately, new slaves were hired by the truckload: several for the gardens, new ones for car care, and at least ten more for the house; Sonja couldn't stand uncleanness. Parties were thrown way more often than before; Viktor was anxious for Sonja to be accepted into society and – even more amazing – Viktor himself began to socialize. He even ENJOYED IT! Instead of Lucian merely visiting home, as previously planned, he never returned to college; instead, Viktor allowed him to remain home and finish studying in a personal apartment.

Yep, Sonja sure caused a revolution; and even now, she remained Viktor's closest friend. He preferred her company over anyone else's, and he treasured her approval, almost like a fifteen-year-old high school freshman with a crush. Weird.

Lucian's eyes suddenly went wide with horror. REALLY weird. Earlier, Viktor had referred to Sonja as a trollop. If Sonja, the central figure of his life, counted as a trollop, then there must have been someone else!!!!!!! Someone else, valued even more than Sonja!!!!

Menacing revelatory music cue: DUUNNNNNNNNNNNHHHHHHHHHHHH!

He jumped as a knock sounded on the door. "What!" he snapped, cheesed off at being interrupted.

The door opened, and Viktor looked in. "Lucian… I… um…" He stopped, unsure of how to continue, and remained in the doorway.

"If you're here to blow up in my face like a two-year-old, don't bother and don't come back until you grow up," said Lucian.

Viktor still hesitated. "I'm sorry about how I reacted earlier. I was… overzealous."

Lucian stared, unbelieving. This was a new tack for Viktor; he never EVER owned up to his tantrums, much less apologized for them. Little did he know of the visit and resulting explanation that had come from Sonja. "Well, I'm sure you must have had your reasons. I sure as heck had no intention of upsetting you."

Viktor looked uncomfortable to say the least. "I'd rather not talk about it," he said abruptly.

"I understand," said Lucian, without understanding in the least.

Viktor cleared his throat. "I, uh, happened to be in the library earlier, and I heard you and Lorenz talking. Is there a problem between you two?"

Now Lucian was uncomfortable. "We had a slight disagreement," he answered defensively.

Viktor looked displeased. "What about?" he asked.

Lucian's face tightened. "Nothing that concerns you vampires."

Viktor chuckled grimly. "Lucian, knock it off. I heard every word." He moved closer to his inexplicable relative. "You were being extremely unfair to Lorenz, Lucian. He has every right to visit Sonja when he wants – furthermore, I am far from permitting you to execute him if he comes here again. If Sonja wants to see him, then he has a right to be here."

Lucian struggled to contain the animal rage that was boiling inside him. "And what if his intentions are less than savory?" he demanded.

To his surprise – for the first time in centuries – Viktor smiled. A bit grimly, but it was a smile nonetheless. "Lorenz Macaro is a very gracious and respectable young man."

"And supposing he has designs in coming in here?" Lucian retorted, his jealousy completely out of control.

"Then he'll come to me."

Wrathful, Lucian started to slam the door. Viktor stopped it with his hand. "And, Lucian," he added, "I think you should talk with Sonja before becoming too hasty. After all, this is her decision. So get that through your thick skull, dumbass."

Lucian slammed the door and threw himself back into his chair, raging silently.

"What is the meaning of this?" Amelia demanded, making a big entrance into the kitchen just as Grushenka retrieved her pie from the oven. "I did not authorize you to bake a pie. I specifically instructed you to make the lemon meringue. Yet here you are, baking a – what the heck is that?" she peered confusedly at the dish in question, "Some kind of pie." Amelia finished, regaining her toxic mood. "Why?" When Grushenka didn't answer immediately, Amelia repeated herself, this time screeching. "WHY?!"

"If you'll give me more than a nanosecond to respond, Lucian said – " Grushenka tried to explain but…

"Frick Lucian. Explain immediately." No one new to Ördögház could guess Amelia's true nature simply by looking at her stunning features. Her lustrous black hair bound tightly on her gracefully sculpted head, she looked out at the world through imperious green eyes. A strapless satin gown exposed slender white shoulders, while a jeweled silver pendant – her most treasured possession – rested on the flawless ivory expanse of her bosom; she constantly wore fancy dresses, further adding to her visual appeal and splendor. Amelia was an astonishingly beautiful woman, but in appearance only. Her venomous personality, however, did not match her supermodelesque façade. At the best of times, she was merely an outsider to the residents of Ördögház. At the worst of times – which was most of the time – she enjoyed punishing other people as a means of releasing her anger and frustration at the rest of the world.

"Answer me!" she repeated, dangerously.

"Lucian's orders, Lady."

"That is better. Explain him."

Grushenka's fright gave way to confusion. "What do you mean?"

Amelia hissed dangerously, baring her fangs. "Tell me why Lucian told you to, you wretched animal!"

"Oh." Grushenka sighed in relief. "Well, I'm no psychic, and Lucian didn't tell me a whole lot, so you'd have to go ask him."

Amelia's emerald eyes turned red and Grushenka stepped back in fright as the vampiress emitted a shriek like an enraged panther, still baring her fangs. "VERY WELL!" she thundered. "I shall speak with him, seeing that you have lost all ability to explain anything." Amelia was almost beside herself with fury, but she hadn't lost her temper yet. She stormed out of the room. Behind, in the kitchen, Grushenka gave a profound sigh of relief.

Amelia marched grimly up the front staircase, determined to take this farce up with Lucian. He had his way entirely too much; a spoiled lycan prince. Viktor got mellower every day, but not she. No, at least she had some will power to stay cruel. And if either of them thought that she was going to stand by and let her authority be insulted, well, they had something else coming. Glancing upwards, Amelia sighted Sonja, on her way down. Ah, good. Someone to vent her wrath upon.

The woman and the girl drew level, and Amelia eyed Sonja coldly. "Where have you been?" Amelia demanded, frostily.

"Pole dancing," Sonja said dryly, without missing a beat. "Great ab workout. And guys throw you money, too. You really ought to try it sometime."

Amelia's eyes were now so red they almost glowed. "The slut confesses," she spat.

"Gotcha!" It didn't take any close scrutiny to notice the deliberateness of the act, which betrayed a rising temper within Sonja. "I was merely talking with dear Viktor."

"Talking with dear Viktor," repeated Amelia, slowly, with relish; a perfect opening. "About what?"

Sonja's smile was enchanting as she looked Amelia in the red eye. "What I talk about with Viktor is irrelevant to you, Lady Amelia. And none of your business," she replied sweetly, with a trace of warning hidden in her tones. "I happen to be one of his closest friends, as you well know."

"Yes, so you say." The lady's voice was sarcastic and insinuating.

"No. So he says." And Sonja continued down the stairs, her back silently imparting a sense of triumph.

Amelia was struck dumb with indignation for an instant, then she snarled at her own vulnerability and glided up the rest of the staircase. Finally reaching Lucian's apartment, she rapped sharply on it thrice. The sounds of a loud exasperated groan and heavy stomping approached the door. It flew open – whenever Lucian was in a bad mood he would answer the door thus, which inflamed Amelia to no end. It did no great lengths toward improving her temper.

"Oh, hey, Amelia," greeted Lucian, thinly disguising his disgust.

"I am here for nothing but a straight answer from you, lycan," said Amelia harshly, seating herself on his leather couch.

Lucian remained standing, eyeing her coldly. He was in no mood for another one of Amelia's intrusive visits, daddang her. "Do you, now? What do you want to know?"

Amelia cursed silently at the unconscious repetition of her own words to Sonja. "I want to known just what the heck is going on around here!" she snapped, collecting herself.

Lucian's whole mind was swearing most profusely inwardly. Did he not make himself abundantly clear that he wanted the whole matter to be kept QUIET? If they had only obeyed him, Amelia wouldn't be barging into his apartment and demanding an explanation. "Many things are 'going on around here,' Lady Amelia, to what things in particular are you referring?" he asked, with an annoyed note to his voice.

Amelia glared. "What I want to know is why you instructed the lycan wench of a cook to bake a pie. That is absolutely unacceptable! You know full well she is only allowed to do it on baking day, once a week, unless she has specific orders."

"She did have specific orders." Lucian's eyebrows were raised. He knew it wasn't the pie itself that had made Amelia's blood boil; it was the encroachment upon her command that was the main problem.

"Yours!" Amelia hissed. "You have no authority here! Your orders mean nothing!"

"Yes… they do," he said, forcing his voice to stay even; he wasn't about to raise his voice yet, even though he felt like ripping Amelia's fancy dress to shreds and bleeding her dry. "If they didn't, why the heck do you suppose Viktor lets me have charge of the mansion while he's not available?"

Amelia sneered. "I always said you were far too rash to have charge of a mansion, animal that you are!"

Lucian's jaw was set and grim; Amelia's scathing comments had gotten under his skin. "I am not an animal! I'm twenty-two years old and civilized as they come! You call that an animal?"

"You're a lycan! If it were up to me, you'd never come out of your room without a handler. And a leash!" she flung at him.

A clever expression stole over Lucian's face as he said, "Then I am grateful. That it is not up to you. At least I don't go around attacking people on a whim. Which is more than I can say for you." And he sat back on his heels to watch the effect of this barb; knowing Amelia's lethal temper, he calculated that it would be a magnificent one.

"YOU RAT BASTARD!" she screeched, apparently aware of the fact that his parents had not yet learned to control their animal-like impulses around the time he was conceived. "I will not speak to you! I'll talk to Viktor! If he's indulging you I will put a stop to it, I guarantee it!"

"I highly doubt that you'll find him indulging me," remarked Lucian, with an undertone of sarcasm. He opened the door to show that the interview was over.

"Now get your ass off my couch and get the heck out of my apartment!" he snarled.

With a freezing look, Amelia swept out of his apartment and slammed the door behind her.

Lucian watched her leave. Then he settled his long figure back down onto the couch, lately so popular with Amelia's ivory ass. He swore.

"This is just freakin' great," he muttered to himself. "Even though I'm just as resolute as Viktor, now he has someone else on his side. I am going to play Halo, though, before I leave for Dallas, and it must be perfect." He slammed his fist down. "It will be perfect." His voice sounded relentlessly in his ears, echoing off the floor and ceiling. Perfect, perfect, perfect.