What's a vampire story without a ball, am I right? ;)
Don't you roll your eyes at me. I love my clichés. I apologize for nothing!
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 26
An Ode to What Was
The night of the summer masque had finally arrived and with it, a whirlwind of chaos. The residents of the de Chacier estate were quick to band together at the last minute to assist a very anxious Gigi with the finishing touches mere hours before guests were due to arrive. It had been a group effort and quite the thing to behold before Armand declared that there was no more they could do. He then ordered everyone – his eldest daughter in particular – to depart for their rooms and enjoy the last quiet moments before the festivities of the evening would begin.
Revelers began to arrive at the house promptly two hours after sunset, trickling in steadily until a wave of them appeared seemingly en masse. The energy within the walls of the de Chacier home was electric, the lively conversation of old friends greeting one another echoing off of the high vaulted ceilings of the ballroom. The gold leaf designs in the crown molding glinted in the light of crystal chandeliers that hung illuminated over the congregation.
The enormous windows along the far wall had their heavy crimson drapes pulled back, the doors leading out onto the terrace open to let in the night air while providing an inviting view of the gardens just beyond, the paths lined with grand torches of fire. The view of the surrounding mountain vistas and starlit sky in the distance completed the picturesque scene, the perfect culmination of nature and artifice.
Vladislaus and Rémy had entered the ballroom together, the latter leading the way as they weaved through guests across the dance floor to the spot previously designated for the family to assemble.
"Can you believe we've already been here for a month and a half?" Rémy called out, glancing behind him briefly as they continued their excursion through the crowd.
"Time has certainly flown," Dracula answered conversationally, eyes scanning the crowd for some sign of Francesca. He turned his head as discretely as possible, but his mask made the task difficult, obscuring some of his periphery. "I've been meaning to thank you for letting me join you, by the way. I had no idea how much I needed a reprieve from Budapest."
"You and me both – although I feel like I've hardly seen you since we got here!"
"True, but your family has been very attentive, and your sister has been most helpful in finding things for me to do to keep myself occupied," Vlad assured him, still scanning the crowd.
Rémy laughed.
"Yes, Frankie is very good at that. How has she been filling your time? I think I heard Eduardo saying the pair of you have been sparring a lot lately?"
"All amicably done and for the sake of practice, I promise. The… exercise has proven beneficial and she is an excellent opponent."
"Graduating from verbal duels to actual weapons then?" Rémy chuckled, misunderstanding the nature of these sessions. "Well, so long as nobody dies."
Vladislaus smiled at the unintended irony of that statement. Oh, this man had no idea what was going on under his nose…
"I'm amazed at the turnout this evening," Dracula continued, deciding to divert the subject to something less conspicuous. "Is there even going to be enough room for dancing?"
"If you think this is a large turnout, you should see the All Hallows Eve ball my uncle throws each year – or the winter and spring solstice gatherings," he explained. "The guest list for this particular party was far more exclusive than what's normal. Only the most intimate friends of the family were invited."
"I have trouble believing that any one person could be considered sociably intimate with this many people."
"Yes, well, Cece was beloved by many," Rémy answered with a rueful smile. "Ah! Here we are… Alayna!" and he waved his arm to catch his cousin's attention. She lifted her mask to acquire a better view.
"Rémy! Over here!" she called out, grinning as she motioned with her hand for the two gentlemen to join her near the orchestra.
"Has Armand made it down yet?"
"Not yet. Eduardo went to go check on him. Gigi and Marceau are making the rounds and Joe is introducing Vesper to Madame Leblanc's niece," Alayna explained as the pair of gentlemen joined her on either side. She readjusted her mask.
"The adopted one or the dhampir?"
"The dhampir… figured it was best the girl had a companion her own age for the evening."
"A rarity," Rémy replied with a bit of a laugh as he reached out to help her, straightening the disguise on her face so her eyeholes were more evenly placed. She nodded in gratitude. "I hope they get on well," he continued. "The imp could use more friends that aren't two-hundred times her age."
Alayna sent her cousin a disapproving look.
"I sincerely hope you aren't still calling her that. She's almost sixteen! Hasn't she graduated to a less degrading nickname?"
"She'll always be an imp to me," Rémy answered cheekily, but the fondness in his eyes was unmistakable. Alayna offered him no further reply, merely shaking her head as her crimson painted lips took on a more demure smirk. She then turned her attention to his friend.
"Vlad Leinhart, I'd say you clean up very nicely, but I fear I'd risk sounding redundant. I daresay you could make anything look good at this point," she proclaimed with her most radiant of flirtatious smiles.
"Thank you, Alayna," he answered charmingly, offering his hand to her. She accepted it, her grin deepening as he hovered his lips over her knuckles. "I do believe I could say the same of you. You look like a piece of art," he added, making note of the thousands of Swarovski crystals embroidered in intricate filigree patterns on the bodice of her gown. Her entire person seemed to twinkle and glisten.
"I'm glad to have your approval," she replied. "And it was my intention to be nothing short of a masterpiece. I'm pleased I've at least succeeded there." There was a natural pause in the conversation before she continued. "So Francesca was telling me that you are quite the dancer. I hope that I might be able to steal a waltz or two with you at some point this evening?"
"How on earth would she know?" Rémy asked, but his question fell on deaf ears.
"I would be honored," and Vlad bowed his head before smoothly stepping to one side and out of the conversation as another family member joined them.
The mention of Francesca reminded him that he had yet to see her and he couldn't help but wonder – what would she be wearing? Would he recognize her when he saw her, even with a mask? Would she recognize him?
The days leading up to this evening's event had left a maddening sort of anticipation to steadily build in his chest. He couldn't quite explain why, but he was excited. Perhaps it was because tonight's theme was borderline poetic, given all that had transpired between them lately – a masquerade ball; similar to the one in which their paths had first crossed almost four centuries prior.
Oh, the possibilities…
The world in which they lived now was of course quite different and the circumstances of their relationship had altered as well, but the pull he felt toward her had remained undiminished. His eagerness only continued to mount, the promise of being able to dance with Francesca, to hold her, to be close to her…
With any form of sex still out of the question and the progress in acquiring better control over her blood-rage slow going, dancing the night away was a concession he was more than happy to make.
Although if he was honest, while their sessions the last few days had left him even more sexually frustrated than ever before, he was grateful for the opportunity it granted them to come closer together. Yes, he desired to help her because doing so would allow her to be more at peace, more in control of herself and her faculties; but he'd be lying if he said he didn't have certain ulterior motives.
If he could help her acquire better control over her dark passenger, then maybe… just maybe… perhaps at some point in the very near future, they could test those waters of physical intimacy again. The mere thought of such pleasures nearly had his irises glowing in that telltale sign of primal hunger.
His mouth salivated at even the suggestion of feeling her, of possessing her… tasting her.
Dracula nearly groaned at the thrill that tightened his chest – and his loins – having to divert his eyes away for a moment from his present company to regain himself.
God almighty, was he on edge.
His ache for this woman had only grown in depth and intensity since their arrival in France, and the exercise of their nightly sparring and dueling sessions did little to ease the pent up tension. It was no longer just her flesh he longed for, but a growing part of him was now craving her blood as well. It was perfectly natural to desire such a thing, of course – an inherent side effect of the growing affection between them. And while Vladislaus was full aware of the danger, that Francesca's blood had been specifically altered to destroy him, still that shoulder devil had grown more persistent in the back of his brain the last few days…
What if? it would ask.
Over and over again, fueled by a mélange of unresolved sexual tension and a growing emotional connection it would harp at him, chipping away at his sense of self-preservation as a desire-fueled madness started to leak through the cracks. The next step in the natural progression of their relationship was an obvious one, but there remained the obstacle – her poisoned blood and the might of her inner demon.
Yet still, he found himself wondering… what if?
Noticing a waiter passing by with a tray of what appeared to be booze-spiked blood, Dracula reached out and snatched one of the glasses as the servant passed. He downed the contents in a single breath, the familiar richness of the blood and burn of alcohol a welcomed distraction from his present thoughts.
"Are you alright?" he heard Alayna asking and he turned to look at the woman, noticing that she had been joined by the remainder of the de Chacier children, everyone busily chatting amongst themselves, all dressed in fine couture gowns and costumes, masks situated, a collective nervous energy surrounding them.
He nodded and offered her a congenial smile.
"Of course," he insisted, placing his empty glass on another passing tray.
She looked at him with what could only be described as a knowing expression, but before he could inquire as to its meaning, Armand and Señor Meirás finally joined the party.
"Are we ready to begin?" Armand was asking his eldest, and all eyes turned to Georgine as she nodded discreetly.
"Yes – as ready as we'll ever be."
"Don't sound so nervous, ma fille," the man chuckled, kissing her brow reassuringly. "Everything is perfect."
"And Madame Dubois said she'll be here soon, so Frankie will only have to play the first few numbers," Joséphine added, squeezing Gigi's hand. "All will be well. Cece would be proud."
"That she would," Armand agreed and he rested his hands on his daughter's shoulders, the action bringing her nervous eyes to his steady gaze. "And no matter what else happens this evening, know that I am proud of you, too."
Gigi managed to take a calming breath, her father's words sending a tear to leak from her eye, and she smiled, flicking it away before it could tumble down her cheek and mess up her make-up.
"Thank you, Papa."
"Shall we begin?" Eduardo interrupted delicately, his voice low.
Armand looked to his daughter and when she nodded, so did he and the Spaniard smiled. With a flick of his cape, he made his way toward a podium in front of the orchestra. With his sudden presence and three steady taps of his cane, the excited chatter in the ballroom simmered down to an anxious kind of hum of whispers and shushing.
Vlad sent Rémy a questioning look, leaning in a little as to not be overheard.
"Shouldn't we wait for your sister?"
But his friend merely smiled, expression seeming to tell him to wait.
Suspicious, but willing to trust the man, Dracula contented himself with silence as he returned his attention to Meirás.
"Friends and honored guests," Eduardo announced, his booming voice echoing through the spacious chamber. He motioned with his hand toward the de Chaciers and his smile softened. "Our gracious host has asked that I begin the festivities this evening, and as I know many of you are eager to dance and return to your conversations, I shall keep my words brief."
Then with a slow wave of his hand, the lights in the room started to dim as the wall behind him, situated between two large windows, began to illuminate – a projector hidden somewhere in the room on the second level came to life.
"We are gathered here this evening to celebrate what would have been the four-hundred and fiftieth birthday of a woman we still, even to this day, hold in the very highest of esteem. Tonight, we hold tribute the memory of the Countesse Giovanna Cecilia de Chacier, or – as she was known to those who loved her most – Cece."
The hushed whispers at last fell silent at the mention of Armand's late wife and Vlad noticed out of the corner of his eye the way in which Alayna had moved in to take the free arm of her seemingly stoic father as if in anticipation, Gigi on his other.
Satanas then shared a brief reminiscence of the Countesse de Chacier, the memories tenderly delivered with just the right amount of humor regarding her Italian disposition to break up the underlying melancholy with a bit of affectionate laughter as silent footage and photographs of the woman were cast onto the wall.
It was when the lights were nearly out completely that the Spaniard's speech came to an end, the audio of the old video footage now coming in over the speakers as the orchestra quietly began to play.
Vlad watched the presentation commemorating Armand's wife for a moment or two – just long enough to admire the woman's beauty and infectious smile – but then his attention began to stray. Francesca should be here, he found himself thinking. She should be here with her family. But why would they start without her? Had she insisted on staying behind?
His thoughts took a more sympathetic turn at the thought of her in possible distress.
Was the loss still so painful that she had kept herself removed from the room?
A concern that was as instinctual at this point as breathing would have been to a mortal had the man's brow furrowing as he turned to look at his friend still at his side, intent on asking him once more where Francesca could be. He thought the better of it, however when he beheld the state the de Chacier's were in.
Even with their masks on, he could see the tears trailing down the cheeks of his intended's cousins as they quietly mourned anew for the loss of their mother, Armand's eyes glistening as he fought his own emotions. Even Rémy appeared affected by the presentation, his jaw hard and stance stiff – as if standing perfectly still would afford him the strength he needed to maintain his composure.
While Vladislaus could draw up sympathy for their loss, his more immediate concern was with the missing party. He was about to turn to depart in search of her when on the other side of the ballroom, from the second level overlooking the dance floor came the beautiful cry of a violin solo as the orchestra continued to play.
The sound sent Alayna into quiet sobs, which she muffled behind her gloved hand, and then into Rémy's chest when he moved forward to hold her. None of the guests seemed to wonder where this new music was coming from, which left Dracula to be the only head that turned in its direction and it was there he found her.
Francesca, silhouetted by the light of the projector behind her, was the source of the new accompaniment, her shadow strategically falling over the guests as her music flooded the room, creating an atmosphere that left the others momentarily convinced that Cece was somehow there with them. The notes she played shifted the orchestra from melody to counter-melody, enriching the texture of the music and providing a depth to the harmony that moved even Vladislaus.
Or perhaps what had truly moved him was the color of her gown.
She was dressed in blue – but not just any blue.
She was in indigo blue, Venice 1763 blue… his blue. The deep azure-violet hue she had worn in his dreams for almost four-hundred years now. And the colombina mask – it was almost identical to the one she had worn that fateful night. There was no way this could be a coincidence…
Dracula's eyes widened in disbelief, mouth temporarily going agape as an electric wave of shock and delight coursed through his body.
While the rest of the guests were enraptured in their grief at the touching memorial, Vladislaus was in another place and time, spellbound and moved in a way that mere words could not articulate. Their eyes met near the end of the number as Frankie played the final notes, and when the song ended and the lights came back on, his gaze remained even as the room erupted in applause.
She remembered.
Francesca was not the type of woman to haphazardly wear that color to a masquerade ball where Dracula would be in attendance without knowing its significance… not after everything that had happened between them.
He watched her with utter captivation and an inexplicable sense of pride as she made her way to the stairs, her instrument in one hand as she carefully lifted one of the front petals of her full satin organza skirt with the other to help clear a path for her feet as she began to descend. The floral lace that lined her bodice added just the right amount of sex to the otherwise tasteful gown, but it was that exposed v-back and the long lace sleeves that just barely covered her shoulders that sent his already precariously constrained lust into overdrive.
Either the flesh of her exposed neck and back was genuinely turning him on or he was in far deeper than he had initially realized. But watching her travel to the main floor where her uncle awaited her with an outstretched hand left Vlad utterly speechless.
From the paintings he had seen in the family archives, Frankie had been a striking child who had grown up to be a beautiful adult. It was clear from the way she held herself – from the moment they had first met all the way until now – that she had never been insecure when it came to her looks – just as it was clear that the beauty of the other attendants never once gave her moment to pause in self-consciousness.
These other guests, the vast majority being vampires – their beauty was in sync with nature – they were designed to be beautiful – predators that could, with very little effort, mesmerize unwitting, timid little preys. But Francesca's beauty, he realized in that moment, was different from theirs – an exception to the rule. There she stood, her face perfectly symmetrical, her cheekbones razor sharp, and the blue of her eyes as cold, yet paradoxically warm and bright – inviting, even – as the moon. As she held herself with the grace befitting of a queen, intention in her every movement, Dracula found himself privately acknowledging that this woman destined to be his future wife wasn't some average beauty.
She was unrivaled.
Unparalleled.
His perfect complement.
Thank you, Mariella…
"Ma petite, bravo. Il est bien fait…" Armand said in a low voice when Frankie reached him at the bottom of the stairs. The man then took his niece's face in his hands and kissed her cheek with open affection, unimpeded by her mask. The applause continued even as they embraced until the pair turned to the guests.
While Frankie appeared perfectly composed, smile radiant and eyes humble as she bowed in gratitude for the praise of the revelers, Vlad noticed how tightly she was holding the neck of her instrument as she brought it to her chest. Her knuckles were white as if she was internally struggling to hold herself together. He wondered what she was thinking in that moment, if the performance and all it had entailed had left her anxious, but then her eyes found his again and her gaze lingered.
He nodded his silent approval with a subtle bow of his head and that seemed to soothe her. Her smile softened as she visibly relaxed some, nodding in turn to him as if in acknowledgement. It was a brief conversation of looks, but it was clear his presence was all she needed to center herself again and that knowledge alone turned his desire into something far more tender.
As he watched the woman return to performance-mode – compliant and charming as her uncle quieted the crowd by holding his hand up in the air in a request for quiet – Dracula became cognizant of her own influence over his person, that soft smile of hers soothing the fire behind his eyes, turning it down to a more manageable and far less dangerous simmer.
"Thank you all for coming," Armand called out to his guests. "And thank you to Eduardo for your introduction, and to my niece, Francesca, for that beautiful number. Cecilia would have been proud. I know she is," and he gently squeezed the back of Frankie's neck as if in reassurance. "But if Cece detested anything, it was long bouts of weeping, so why don't we get these festivities started and dance?"
There were immediate exclamations of approval as the level of chatter increased, many guests moving to the outer borders of the room to make space for those who wished to dance as Armand escorted Frankie across the dance floor toward an elevated platform near the orchestra. When she was situated, he clapped his hands together once in anticipation before asking loudly enough for the others to hear,
"Well my dear – what shall the first number be?"
A couple of guests began to shout out suggestions and requests, but their words fell on deaf ears as the woman glanced over at the rest of her family still congregated together in their little corner. Her demure smile grew more mischievous.
"I think we should warm everyone up with la danse du diable."
The reaction from the revelers was immediate – some cheering excitedly and a small handful objecting in spite of their smiles. Among the dissenters were Rémy and Benicio Alastair, the former proving the loudest voice of opposition.
"Oh come on, Frank! Not all of us want to risk breaking our ankles within the first fifteen minutes of the night," he shouted, and while his remarks received some laughter, his sister merely shrugged, readying her violin.
"You only hate la danse du diable because you've never managed to best me," she called out mockingly and while he scoffed his disapproval, Rémy's protestations fell silent as the guests began partnering up.
"Come on, Rémy – we might be able to beat her out this year," Alayna replied, extending her hand to him invitation, but the man declined.
"Sorry, Lana, I think I'm sitting this one out."
The woman turned to Alastair, but his hands were already up in defense.
"You know I'll dance any dance but that one, my love," the man replied. "My skills are too limited for such a number.
"Oh, you two are no fun!" she exclaimed, playfully stomping her foot. "Satanas! You'll dance with me, won't you?" she called out, but when the Spaniard turned she discovered that he had already found himself a partner.
"I'm so sorry, mi cielo, but I'm already taken," he explained, motioning to the woman on his arm. "But I'll gladly dance the next with you."
Alayna sighed in disappointment, but offered him a reassuring wave before turning around to look at Dracula.
"Well, Vlad? What do you say? You willing to brave the opening number with me?" she asked. Dracula, whose attention had been previously fixed on Francesca, looked to her cousin with curiosity.
"Gladly, but I'm afraid I'm not familiar with this dance."
"The steps are basic enough. Come! I'll show you."
He took her hand and allowed her to lead him out onto the floor, blatantly ignoring as Rémy teasingly exclaimed, "Nice knowing you, Vlad!" before disappearing into the crowd, his laughter drowned out by the noise of the other guests.
"The difficulty comes when the tempo starts to pick up," Alayna explained. "That's where the name comes from. The couple that can out-dance the devil, or rather the violinist, wins."
"Wins what exactly?"
"The chance to crow over Frankie," she said with a laugh. "No one has ever been able to keep in time with the speed of her fingers."
Once they had taken their place on the dance floor, the music began – a deceptively steady three-quarter rhythm with an underlying fire that put him in mind of Saint-Saëns' infamous Danse Macabre, or at least some variation of it.
But for now the pace was slow enough for him to quickly acquaint himself with the steps. By the second round when the tempo picked up a notch, he already had it down.
"You really are a fast learner!" Alayna replied with genuine pleasure.
"Years of experience and an excellent instructor," he answered with mild flirtatiousness, though now that he had mastered the movements, his attention had already begun to wander back to Francesca again as he stole a quick glance at the woman. "Though you were right. It is pretty straight-forward."
There was a turn and a series of cross-steps that separated the pair for a moment, but when Alayna returned to his hold, she had on a mischievous smile that caught his attention.
"What?"
"She looks beautiful tonight, doesn't she?" she prompted with a knowing look in her eyes that not even her mask could conceal. There was another turn and then he lifted her up into the air as the steps demanded before offering a reply.
"And how exactly am I expected to reply to that?"
"With the truth, of course," Alayna answered without missing a beat. "She changed her gown for this evening at the last minute, you know, and was very specific about the color. Given your expression earlier, I have this sneaking suspicion that the alteration was for you."
Dracula, without even deciding to do so, instinctually stole another look at Frankie out of the corner of his eye, surprised to find the woman watching them. He held her gaze for perhaps two seconds at most before he felt Alayna's fingers delicately turning his attention back to her as the steps in the dance had her circling him once.
"So the question remains – why that specific shade of violet-blue?" she asked with a false degree of curiosity, as if she already knew the answer to her own question. "Clearly it holds some sort of significance…"
"It's a reminder," he explained, being purposefully vague, "a reminder of an opportunity lost ages ago."
"And perhaps an invitation to start anew, at the beginning? Or as close as one can get to it, anyway. As far as I know, time-travel is still impossible."
There was something in the tone of Alayna's voice that intrigued him and as another round began and the tempo of the dance increased, he turned to look at his beautiful dance partner who was now staring back with a kind of recognition that had not been in her eyes previously.
She knew something…
"My cousin was a very different woman in 1763," Alayna continued with great sympathy. "She has always kept her deepest feelings secret, but I know how much she regretted leaving that night. If you take this chance to try again, your majesty, make certain – for her sake – that it's truly what you want. Francesca has suffered enough."
Dracula couldn't be more grateful for the fact that he was wearing a mask at the moment, certain that if he hadn't, his expression would have betrayed his true feelings.
"How…" he began, but she hushed him with a bold finger over his lips as they turned to the music once more.
"And the next time you decide to discuss Augustine and the prophecy with Signore Bernardini, might I suggest you find a more private place to do so?" she whispered low enough for only him to hear. "The family archives, though out of the way of the rest of the house, aren't exactly sound-proof."
As soon as he recovered from his astonishment, Vladislaus found himself chuckling at her revelation.
"I'm usually much more discrete," he insisted, strangely relieved by the fact that yet another person had discovered his true identity. It was rather liberating if he was being wholly honest with himself.
"I don't doubt that," Alayna replied with a laugh. "But perhaps in the future…"
"Duly noted," he answered, lifting her into the air again with a newfound spring in his step. "So Lady Alayna – now that you know just whom you are dancing with, how would you feel about showing these peasants how it's done?"
"I would be honored, Mr. Leinhart."
Another round of the song led to yet another tempo increase, leaving Frankie's fingers to fly over the strings of her violin with utter mastery as the orchestra and the dancers struggled to keep up. But as each couple gradually began to drop out, the crowd on the dance floor thinned until, several rounds later, Dracula, Alayna, and a small handful of dancers remained. After a while, even the other musicians were struggling to keep pace and with each individual that dropped out, the room grew more still, everyone anxiously waiting for the next misstep that would send another competitor to the sidelines.
As anticipated, there were a few memorable fumbles, some smashed toes and even a broken ankle – though the bodily harm caused more amusement to the group of vampires than anything else.
Meirás and his partner were one of the last ones to drop out, the Spanish devil proclaiming that he had had enough and that he was getting too old for this which was met with much laughter and a rousing cheer that they had made it that far.
This left Vlad and Alayna as the last ones on the dance floor and Frankie, who had been watching their progress closely, made no effort to conceal her amusement. Her brow was arched in an exaggerated kind of skepticism, lips curled into a twisted smile that was borderline Machiavellian. She took a moment to remove her mask so she could see better.
"Do my eyes deceive me, or are we already down to the final pair?" she asked playfully. "Alayna, Mr. Leinhart – I'm impressed!"
"Really? I feel like I've been waiting all night for you to at least make this difficult," Dracula replied, his taunt earning a few oohs as Alayna sent him a warning look, which he aptly ignored. "You mean tell me we're done warming up now?"
Frankie balked.
"Is that a challenge?"
"That would require us to be on the same level, dragă."
Another round of oohs and some snickering had the woman narrowing her eyes a bit in his direction, though the pleasure that curved her lips remained.
"What are you doing? Are you trying to get her angry?" Alayna whispered.
"Just trust me," he answered, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him.
"No one has ever out-danced my fingers," Frankie announced proudly.
"Well, there's a first for everything," he countered, suave and gaze full of suggestion.
"Very well. Alayna, I apologize in advance," and she raised her instrument, readying herself.
"Oh, you're not the one that's going to owe me an apology if my toes end up smashed," and the woman sent his majesty a disapproving glance, but he had an air of confidence about him that hadn't been there previously.
"Don't worry. I've got you," Dracula assured her, though his eyes remained fixed on Francesca. "Ready when you are, Miss Chase!" he then called out.
Frankie began to play, a single cellist and the pianist the only surviving musicians. As anticipated, the pace was devilish and quick, the kind that required surgical precision in the execution of each note and step – not to mention supernatural speed and agility. Much to the surprise of all, Vlad was able to keep time and about halfway through, Alayna gave up trying to do the steps and simply allowed him to lead her about utterly and completely.
The tempo continued in its ascension to madness until the cellist dropped out abruptly with a shout of profanity, followed by the pianist who simply couldn't keep up without hitting so many wrong notes.
All eyes were fixed on the dancing couple, Vlad making a point to use as much of the available space as possible as he wildly spun and lifted and twirled Alayna about. They were nearing the end of the round and for a moment, Dracula was certain that this little competition would end in a draw when Frankie suddenly fumbled her fingering, sending the tune to a screeching halt.
And just like that, the dance was over and the rapt audience of costumed guests erupted into a thunderous applause.
"The devil" had lost and Frankie, a little embarrassed but by no means angry, opted to accept her defeat with grace as she joined in the ovation, Alayna and Vladislaus taking their bows.
Eduardo crossed the floor to lift Alayna up into his arms in congratulations, the pair laughing as Dracula turned to face Francesca and her crooked smile. She curtsied low in his direction – a sign of her concession – but there was mischief still in her eyes, even as she bowed her head in acknowledgement of his victory.
"Well done, Vlad!" Rémy called out as he made his way over, clapping his hand onto his friend's shoulder. "I had no idea you were so light on your feet!"
"Your friend is full of hidden talents!" Alayna exclaimed, joining the two men. "Thank you for the dance, Mr. Leinhart."
"And thank you for being such an excellent partner," Dracula replied, his attention being momentarily diverted away from Frankie, who was preparing for the next number. "These things always tend to go much smoother when only one is leading."
"Then don't ask my sister to dance," Rémy said with a laugh as they started to make their way back to the sidelines as a more manageable waltz began to play.
"I don't know," Vlad answered, stealing a look back at the aforementioned woman still situated with the orchestra. "I think I might be up for that challenge."
"Well, best of luck to you," and then Rémy disappeared back onto floor as Lucia grabbed his arm, pulling him into the sea of dancers.
Though he could have contented himself with remaining where he was so he could watch Francesca undisturbed, Dracula was soon asked to dance by one of the anonymous female guests. When the waltz had ended, Frankie remained with the orchestra and so he decided to dance the next with Georgine, and then the one following with Joséphine. He even danced with Vesper, who insisted at the start that she wasn't very good, but by the end proved herself far more proficient than she had initially let on.
By the time the first hour had ended, Vladislaus had danced every number. But when he routinely turned to check to see if Frankie was still at her podium, he was astonished to find that the woman was no longer there. The one known as Madame Dubois had arrived at some point to take up the position of first violin.
As the next song began, Dracula's eyes hastily scanned the ballroom in search of the woman, eager to dance with her, but she was nowhere to be found. In fact, in this sea of swirling dancers and masks, he was having trouble identifying anyone. With trepidation swelling in his breast and a sudden haste in his step, he made his way through the congested crowd of guests and over to the staircase, removing his mask as he climbed the first couple of steps to acquire a better vantage point.
It took him a moment or two, but at last he saw a pop of indigo and that familiar head of mahogany hair near the door of the ballroom leading out onto the terrace. Frankie was with her uncle, her arm linked around his as they began to make their way out into the gardens.
Before they could disappear into the darkness of the evening, however, she had turned her head to look back into the ballroom as if she had sensed the man's gaze and her eyes found his on instinct.
Determined not to lose her a second time, Dracula braved the throng of revelers, keeping his attention fixed on the door as he weaved his way through the crowd.
The night air was cool against her skin, a welcomed contrast to the stuffy heat of the ballroom. Frankie's arm was still linked around her uncle's, the pair strolling seemingly without aim through the rose gardens as the music from the house could be heard in the distance, a lovely accompaniment to the sound of the crickets and various water features throughout the grounds.
"So," Armand began, attempting to prompt conversation, but his niece remained silent, eyes diverted down to the ground as they continued to walk, "have you made your decision?"
Frankie didn't answer right away, though she did move a little closer to him, her hold on his arm tightening somewhat as if she were suddenly nervous.
"Not yet," she admitted with a heavy sigh. "But I must… and soon."
"Indeed," was all the reply he offered. After a moment or two of silence, he continued. "Has there been any noted progress with your sessions with him?"
"It's slow going," she explained, attention now diverting to the flora and fauna surrounding them rather distractedly. "On the one hand, his tutorage is helping me feel a little more in control of myself and the sparring exercises are certainly a welcomed benefit. I've needed the practice. But I'm afraid it's also added an unforeseen complication of sorts that I'm not sure how to address."
"What kind of complication?"
"That tension between us has only gotten worse. And because we haven't yet found an outlet conducive to the present situation…" her voice trailed off, not that she needed to elaborate further. He understood perfectly.
Armand patted her hand reassuringly.
"I see."
"I'm scared, Armand," Frankie said after some deliberation. "Things are getting too intense. I'm afraid if we don't find a way to… well, to cool things off, we're both going to end up out of our depths. I could hurt him… "
"You won't hurt him."
"You don't know that."
"No, but I know you," he said and he kissed her hand affectionately before wrapping his arm around her waist as they continued to walk. "And I think you've come to care too much for the man to risk being negligent."
The woman sighed heavily, brows furrowing over her eyes with poignant concern. When they neared the end of the loop amongst the flowers, the steps of the terrace leading up to the ballroom in view, Frankie paused in the shadows when she noticed Vlad silhouetted near the door. He hadn't spotted them yet, but she could feel him searching for her and the very sight of him sent her insides to flutter in nervous anticipation.
"I think I'll take another turn or two before heading back inside," she announced unexpectedly, moving out of her uncle's hold before they could step into Vladislaus' line of view.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Positive," she replied, retreating suddenly into the darkness.
"Francesca…"
But before he could chide her for her blatant cowardice, she had vanished into the shadows of the gardens.
Armand glanced up in the direction of the ballroom to find Dracula waiting rather inconspicuously for her return and the man sighed, shaking his head in a blend of resignation and mild amusement. He couldn't recall a time in his life he had seen his poor niece thus, so undone.
As he ascended the steps to rejoin the party, Vlad made note of the man's arrival, looking on expectantly.
Armand offered his king a half smirk as he approached, knowing full well the question his majesty had yet to ask. He placed his hand on Vlad's shoulder, pausing in the doorway as he studied his countenance for an extended moment, searching. What he saw there brought his smile to his eyes.
The two said nothing, but there was an understanding that passed between them as Armand motioned with his head toward the gardens behind him before releasing Vlad's shoulder. Dracula immediately excused himself before making his way down the steps and into the night, the Comté turning to watch him disappear into the shadows just as Eduardo appeared.
"Well?" Satanas asked expectantly.
"She's besotted," Armand replied, allowing his gaze to linger on the beauty of the evening for a moment longer before turning his attention to the Spaniard. "The poor woman doesn't stand a chance."
Eduardo balked at that.
"Nor does he."
Ehehehehehehe! I can't wait for the next chapter! LET'S. GO.
But first - REVIEW, DAMN IT! I see you lurkers in my stats! :( Why do you deprive me, so? #RUDE