“Wait,” I said.
The glossy red boots were thigh high, laced up the front and had multiple buckles. Santa might wear them—if he were a drag queen. The five-inch heels—as in two inches of platform and an additional three inches of heel—made me wince. I’d be nearly as tall as Johnny in those. “I can’t wear those.”
“You must.”
“Not.”
Risqué scowled. “This is what the Boss has provided you. It’s all there is.”
She needed to think I was motivated by his orders, so I reconsidered the boots. They were stripper sexy, but I wasn’t sure I could walk anywhere in them without breaking my neck. At least the chunky heel was not a stiletto. “Show me the clothes.”
She unzipped the second bag and brought out a red dress.
The skirt was at least longer than hers, but slitted over both thighs. The top draped to enhance, and the back was nonexistent except for a few strings that would keep the front from revealing too much. I gulped. Audibly. Thank the Goddess there were matching dance briefs, high cut on the thigh, but still offering coverage if I did take a tumble in the boots.
“Off with the towel, Miss Modesty.”
Nearly an hour and several strips of double-sided tape later, Risqué had proved that, in spite of her lack of people skills, she did have cosmetology talent. She wanted me to remove Beau’s charm, but I insisted it stayed on. When my clothes, hair, and makeup were done, she presented me with a wrapped and beribboned box from the bottom of the last garment bag. “Boss said to give you this, and to leave you alone with it. I will wait in the bath chamber, and escort you to your place in time for your cue.”
Upon opening the box, I found another gold-bordered note.
Xerxadrea sent these.—M
Pushing back the tissue paper, I saw a row of seven red jaspers—a stone known for its protection against night hazards, for promoting the courage to speak out, and for physical energy. The number of stones and the fact that each one had a means for securing it—gold chains or hairpins, some affixed to scatter pins with clutch backs—I knew these were meant to coincide with my chakra points.
Taking the first from the box, I immediately felt its empowerment. I slid it into my hair at the very top of my head. The updo hid it, but a tremor pulsed over my aura. The second hung centered on my forehead from a chain secured in my hair with pins. The third was the centerpiece of a choker on a thin golden chain. The fourth, fifth, and sixth fastened at my heart, my solar plexus, and at the upper edge of the skirt in the back.
The seventh was trickier. I pinned it to the front of my dancers’ panties.
The stones did not warm to the same degree as the charm, but each jasper worked with the others to create an extra shield for my aura and amplified the strength of it. My body felt energized.
Risqué had declared me ready—a word I was heavily weighing the definition of as I stood alone in the lobby outside the auditorium doors. I guessed they’d cleared it of malingerers before Risqué escorted me to my place. I wondered if latecomers were to be held up somewhere to be allowed in later.
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. Johnny still hadn’t arrived. Where is he? Menessos better not have anything to do with his being absent.
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, Johnny’s not here, and whoever the WEC traitor is—not to mention other assorted unknown enemies—might try to use this event as a means of attack. Deep breath.
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 Johnny.
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 (Channels 3, 6, and 43 all seemed to be tolerating each other well). Between the cameras and the stage lighting, I was unable to see anything else.
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 Johnny anywhere.
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 Johnny was still nowhere to be seen. Had he seen his “dog bed” and refused to have any more to do with this event? I couldn’t blame him if he had.
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.