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For their purposes, I was: ready (adj.) “completely prepared.” Meaning: I was dressed and able to proceed with this ceremony. Taped into a revealing dress—which would be on the news!—and coached in how to not stomp or march. Risqué had made me practice walking in the damned platform boots until I could move with some measure of confidence and grace.
However, for my own reasons, I was not: ready (adj.) “inclined to start.” At least not yet. Joh
Inside, voices chattered quietly, and music began to play. The voices began to hush. Risqué had told me the doors would open and I’d enter. At the sound and light cue, I was to walk the red carpet to the stage steps. I would take the steps up to center stage where Menessos would await me. She’d not said what I could expect from there.
Damn, damn, damn. I’m about to become a master vampire’s court witch, I’m wearing next to nothing and about to be on TV, Joh
Beyond the doors, the music waned and Menessos’s voice called out to address those assembled. My hand strayed to my neck, to the bite. Love him as he loves you.
“Vampires mine, honored Offerlings, beloved Beholders, members of the media, guests—welcome, all of you, to our ceremony. In an effort to be open and allow the public to see us . . .” He went on with his prepared opening speech.
Very exposed, I was an image of vulnerability. Bait. But thanks to Beau and Xerxadrea, I was not defenseless.
If only I was calm. For that, I realized, I needed Joh
I heard Menessos’s voice whisper as if next to me, “Come.”
The doors before me swung open.
Everyone came to their feet. In the seconds before the cameras flashing burned out my retinas, I saw a DJ booth (Jaded Jason, according to the logo), and a news crew area (Cha
Fighting to not squint, I found that directly ahead I could see the equally-lit stage where Menessos sat on his throne, across the long hall, and Goliath sat to his right. Behind them, the bank of screens displayed the stylized fang symbol I’d seen on the plywood by the theater’s front doors. No sign of Joh
Where is he?
Goliath Kline caught my eye from the stage. Despite Menessos’s obvious possession of the stage, Goliath still had considerable stage presence. Tall and Nordic in a supermodel way, with eyes the color of summer forget-me-nots, he was nothing like his younger brother, Samson, whose spirit was now housed in my protrepticus—which rested in a black velvet pouch draped from a belt at my waist. Risqué had fretted over this addition to the Boss’s selected ensemble as well, and grouched about my being afraid I might miss a call. I let her grouch. She didn’t need to know what it really did.
I heard the music swell slightly. The houselights dimmed a bit, leaving the scarlet aisle more highly illuminated. That was my cue.
Chin level, shoulders squared, I moved forward amid an orchestrated melody of pomp and spectacle. My steps were as confident as any I’d ever taken.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
There were several rows of chairs at the back of the house for less exalted guests and Beholders. I moved past them, concentrating on walking and the stage before me. My eyes were adjusting to the lights and I could make out that the tables seemed to be occupied mostly by vampires and Offerlings. My best guess numbered them at about a hundred. It seemed that, with the exception of Risqué, basic black was a requirement for the ceremony, or they dressed dark all the time, in love with the stereotype. I imagined some mundane humans were there, too: local celebrities, movers-and-shakers, politicos.
But Joh
Another mental signal from Menessos instructed me to stop several paces from the end of the ramp and turn to face the crowd. Smile regally. A follow spot “hit” me—as if I weren’t already noticeable. Around me, vampires were breathing me in, murmuring of roses and warmth.
I saw Seven—my predecessor!—standing to my left at a table in the row closest to the stage. A ruggedly handsome man, who had to be Mark, stood next to her. He was broad-shouldered and built like a lumberjack, as if muscle and brawn were part of whatever his trade had been in life. At the table to my right, I spotted Heldridge, the local vampire lord and owner of the Blood Culture. With the spotlight in my eyes, I couldn’t see any further.
Menessos stood on stage and extended his hand. “I present to you Persephone Isis Alcmedi!”
At my name, Seven zoomed in on me.
“Henceforth,” Menessos continued, “she is Erus Veneficus of this haven.”
I turned toward the stage and carefully made my way up the steps. Reaching the stage I took the vampire’s hand. Menessos twirled me around in a pirouette. That was a move Risqué had not prepared me for; I barely stayed on my feet.
From stage left, Mountain came forward with a large wooden chest. While he held it, Menessos opened the lid. Drawing a blood-red velvet cape from within, he placed it upon my shoulders and adjusted the hood before once again reaching into the chest. This time he held up a much smaller item. Mountain backed away.
“Shall I, Master?” Goliath asked. The others called him Boss, but Goliath always used “Master.”
“No. I will display to her, and to you all, the honor I feel at having her here. I will place it upon her myself.” With that he crouched before me, carefully not going down on one knee. Still, a few gasps were heard. He held the elaborate red garter open and ready. I lifted my foot, somehow retaining my balance on one leg, and he deftly maneuvered the symbol over the boot and up my leg to mid-thigh.
The garter was a symbol of power among witches, and in some traditions it marked the high priestess in a coven. I was certain the symbolism was not lost on the vampires, or at least not on Menessos.
He came to his feet and took me into his arms, dancing me merrily around in a circle. I caught a glimpse of a close-up of our faces in the big television screens. Gri
The houselights came up and the music kicked in again but this was not orchestrated. Now, the beat thudded from the speakers like that of a dance club. Waitstaff offered stemmed glasses on trays to the vampires and placed red pillar candles around the room. “My sincerest thanks to Heldridge for providing the beverages,” Menessos a
He led me to the divan on his throne’s left. When I sat, he gestured to Goliath. After Goliath had taken his place in the smaller chair, Menessos sat in the center.
Risqué climbed the steps—her golden ringlets and shiny orange rear end were probably quite a sight as she ascended—carrying a tray with three glasses. She offered the tray to Menessos first, then Goliath who pinched her bottom. When she offered me the tray, she said, “Yours is strawberry wine.”
I sca
The doors I’d entered through swung open and a body flew through, rolling and twisting in what seemed a gymnast’s nightmare, only to leap, arcing up and out, and into a series of spectacular backflips along most of the length of the red-carpeted aisle. When the figure came to stand upright, he hesitated only until polite applause began, then threw his arms out and whips shot up with a crack. He went into a routine I thought might snap the leather lashes across the bodies of the vampires, but none reacted. The crackling sounds worked with the music and I was impressed with how this performer was emphasizing the beat through dance and whip.