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Okay, he thought, that's my best line. Where do I go from here? But before he could think of another bit of bio that would snag her, she turned to him quickly and said, "See that girl over there? The tall one with the long ponytail?"
She pointed in the direction of Celine.
"Yes," he said cautiously, and at that moment Celine turned in their direction. She began waving furiously and he scowled, lifting and moving a hand discreetly as if to brush her away. But she was not waving at him; she was aiming the effusive greeting at the girl, who enthusiastically waved back.
Great, he thought, they know each other, and a gloomy mood descended as Celine made her way toward them.
He figured he'd sunk as low as he could go, the night now being thoroughly lost, when suddenly Morgana and Sephora showed up and he was surrounded on four sides. It can't get much worse than this, he thought, forcing a fanged smile, inhaling the scent of the cheap wine— something from Bavaria, no doubt—and wrinkling his nose in distaste.
"Master," Sephora said in her singsong voice, "we have a birthday surprise for you."
"And here she is!" Morgana gestured at the gothette.
Celine laughed, which always got his radar going, but then she moved to the girl and gently but firmly pushed her toward Istvan. "Her name is Doru. She is Romanian and means 'longing.'"
"I know that," he said. It had been his mother's name. And the name of the one who'd turned him.
He stared at the girl, who seemed to feel anything but longing. Clearly she was not affected by all the attention coming her way. She glanced around the room, waved at a couple of friends, did a few dance movements that mimicked a mime pushing the air away from her body in slow motion. Maybe she's a hooker, he thought, rented for the night.
As if to confirm that, Morgana said, "She's yours until sunrise."
"Happy birthday, Master," Sephora said, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Bo
"Is it my birthday?" Istvan said, confused, racking his brain to try to remember the date of his birth, which he had a vague recollection of having been in the fall, not the spring. Perhaps it was the birth into this undead life, but he remembered it was cold outside and must have been winter. He just could not remember dates. These three were always chiding him for not acknowledging their birthdays—both living and undead—so why should they expect him to remember his own?
Morgana just stood there, arms folded across her ample chest and the hideous crucifixes that didn't affect her but bothered his eyes glaring like minisuns. She nodded at the girl, swinging her head slightly in Istvan's direction as if he were a piece of fruit in the market and Morgana was instructing her to "take that one."
Doru, with a small sigh, acted on cue. She placed her glass of undrunk wine onto the bar, took Istvan's arm and silently led him to the door of the club.
He heard laughter behind him and snapped his head around, but the three were still at the bar, smiling, waving, Sephora blowing him a kiss.
All right, he thought as he and Doru, still holding his arm, moved through the crowded streets, their feet in step though he was a good four heads taller. Maybe for once the three had gotten something right and had thought of him for a change! He glanced down at the girl and she looked up, her eyes twinkling like dark stars, her full black-painted lips a bit hungry-looking but nothing he couldn't deal with. She really is a cute little thing, he thought. What a shame to drain her blood.
As they strolled his thoughts moved along a familiar path and he fantasized about turning her. Maybe this was the one who would obey him. One that would love him unconditionally, and let him be. Give him peace. Meet his expectations. Maybe Doru, whose blood was from the same country as his own, would be the perfect mate. Maybe he could ditch the three bitches!
When he caught his fantasy grinding toward the ultimate perfect conclusion, Istvan reminded himself harshly that he not only had been down this road before but had suffered failure three times. He had thought the exact same thing each time he'd turned one of his "wives," and look at the results! There was no point thinking this way. Whatever good qualities this girl possessed now would alter after the change. And in truth, the change required an exchange of blood and he certainly wasn't in the mood to give up anything when he had almost nothing in his system tonight, thanks to the Furies!
Better to just drain this girl's blood and be done with it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, his mother had always said, although they had never owned a horse, either through purchase or gift, so he did not know where she got that saying.
They arrived back at the house and the girl took in the English garden, which Morgana, in her few moments of being industrious, tended. The house needed painting and the porch was awash in spiderwebs but otherwise the structure stood tall in its Victorian splendor. The moment he closed the heavy walnut door he was keenly aware of the incredible mess that the three had left behind. "It's not usually like this," he began, but Doru put a finger to his lips to silence him, meanwhile drawing him toward the red velvet settee.
All right! Istvan thought. These modern women are like that. He would let her lead. It would end the same way regardless and he didn't mind being passive. To a point. His eyeteeth ached in anticipation of piercing flesh, and he licked his dry lips, wanting to wet them on something thick and rich in minerals. He would enjoy a little erotic attention, even if it wouldn't, couldn't lead to what she expected. But it would lead to what he expected. What he deserved. Once they were seated, Doru began unbuttoning his shirt, already open to midchest. She leaned over and pushed the chains aside to kiss his chest, which once had been darkly hairy and masculine but since he'd altered had become pallid like the rest of his reanimated flesh. Not very appealing, but she didn't seem to notice.
Istvan leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling her hands and lips all over him. Yes, she was a delight. Cute. Small. Attractive. He had not fed yet and his blood receptors were fully open, providing acute sensations. He fantasized about how he would take her blood slowly. No, quickly. Maybe a combination of both. He wondered about her family name and was just about to ask when he felt a sharp prick at his throat. Instantly he knew she had bitten him. He felt blood leaving his vein like water dripping from a tap.
Istvan instinctively shoved her hard away from him. She flew across the room and crashed against the wall. Infuriated, she snapped her head up and snarled at him like a wolf; her eyes almost glowed, and her lips were smeared with red that sparkled like jewels. He put a hand to his throat and felt... his own blood! "What in hell do you think you're doing?"
Laughter from the doorway forced his head to turn in that direction.
"Just a joke, Master," Sephora said.
"We wanted to surprise you," Morgana said. "She's from your land."
"She is like us, no? She will be like us," Celine corrected herself. "She is not like us but we will all be like her—"
"No!" Istvan shouted, losing control. "I won't change her."
"Oh, you don't have to bother," Morgana said, striding into the room and helping Doru to her feet. "We've already taken care of that."
"Are you insane!" he shouted. "You made another? You have no right! I make vampires, not you!"
"Made," Morgana said. "We've taken over the job."
"If she is like us now, will she be like us later?" Celine mused in her language confusion.
"She is like us now," Sephora said. Then to Istvan, "We wanted a sister."
"And you should be happy," Morgana added. "She's of your blood."