A Beginner's Guide to Fangs Read online

  There’s a white limo waiting outside, and a guy in a black uniform to open the door for us. Aurélie is wearing one of those super-rigid gowns that takes a team of servants to put on. The thing would probably kill me all over again if I had to spend more than five minutes in it. It’s mostly a shiny goldenrod color with cream ruffled trim and bronze fleur-de-lis on the bodice. Guess after a few centuries, she’s gotten used to it. She kinda resembles a lemon meringue pie that a faerie godmother turned into a princess.

  The ride is fairly short, and we stop at the Fairmont Olympic Hotel. Evidently, one of the Old Guard has influence over the people who run it. Aurélie takes me by the hand and leads me in the front door, across the lobby, and around toward like convention type rooms. I suppose it’s probably cheaper to rent them at midnight than during the day, assuming vampires even bother paying for stuff like this.

  Aurélie heads over to a set of double doors where a seriously massive dude in a jet-black suit stands guard. He kinda reminds me of Maui from Moana, only with a buzz cut and no tats. People are not supposed to be this buff. His mere existence defies biology. He grabs the doorknob with fingers as thick as Sophia’s wrist, and pulls it aside for us.

  The room beyond is nothing at all like what I’d expected. Tables along the left side have trays of hors d’oeuvres and snacks. Most of the room is open space except for faux-marble columns, and maybe twenty or so people stand around in clusters talking. It looks like a tiny version of the holiday parties at Boeing that Mom used to drag me to, only without the decorations.

  Really, I’m not sure what I was expecting… like some big brooding ‘head vampire’ guy on a throne in a castle type room with a bunch of Dracula wannabees hanging around and skeletons chained to the walls. This looks so… corporate and normal. I don’t even feel like Average Girl who went through the wrong door and walked into a Goth convention.

  “Aurélie Merlier,” says a thin blond man in a purple-and-white suit as equally ridiculous as my dress. He, too, looks like he stepped straight out of a reenactment of Louis XIV. “And introducing Sarah Wright.”

  Oh great. Thanks for calling attention to me. And how did that guy know my name?

  Duh. Aurélie probably told him already.

  One or two people had looked over at the mention of Aurélie’s name. When he says mine, everyone stops their conversations to stare at me―except for nine people in ordinary street clothes. While the gazes of two dozen or so vampires drill into me, two things become obvious simultaneously: those nine people are the only ones here not dressed to the hilt, and they all look foggy, as though they’d each smoked a whole bag of weed.

  I glance at the snacks, finally noting how bizarre it is to have food out at a vampire event―until realization smacks me in the face. Those foggy people stumbling around in street clothes are the real snacks. That food must be for them. Chances are, I may be the only vampire in the room who could even eat anything on the table and not have it come flying out of their mouth in seconds. In more ways than one, I’m definitely the youngest person in the room. Most of the vampires look to have been at least in their late twenties when they turned. A little less than half are women, two of whom have been staring cattily at Aurélie since we arrived.

  Yeah, okay, they’re gorgeous, but they’ve got nothing on her. Geez, really? Vampires get jealous over looks? Ugh. Neither of them even spares me a two-second glance. Guess ‘cute’ doesn’t register as a threat. About a third of the vampires appear older, including one guy who kinda looks like that dude from that beer commercial. I guess he’s the most interesting vampire in the world―or at least the most interesting vampire in Seattle.

  “Greetings, everyone,” says Aurélie, holding my hand up. “May I present Sarah as my protégé. She is new among us, and Innocent.”

  The group mostly nods or gives me the kind of looks one reserves for fluffy white kittens wearing pink bows. However, one guy who has the look of a Mafia don shoots me a glare. He’s clearly not on board with ‘team cute.’ Right. Considering I’m only here as a courtesy and I’m not really keen on inserting myself into vampire society, no big deal. And him, I’ll avoid entirely.

  Once the attendees stop staring at me and go back to their conversations, Aurélie guides me around the room from cluster to cluster for more direct introductions and social pleasantries. We first interrupt a pair of Academics from their discussion on philosophy and astronomy.

  “Eleanor St. Ives,” says a thirtyish woman in an elegant but simple white dress, blonde hair up. Her striking grey eyes fixate on me for only a second before she diverts her stare to Aurélie. The woman radiates a fish-out-of-water vibe like she’d much rather be in a lab underground somewhere and has little time for socializing. “A pleasure.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Pascal Ivanov.” Her conversation partner offers me a noticeable but weak smile. The man’s younger with wild light brown hair and an Adam’s apple sharp enough to kill. “You are quite fetching.” He glances at Aurélie. “Are you certain she is one of us? She looks like one of the canapes.”

  His utter lack of any accent makes me think he’s been around for a long damn time. I offer a polite smile, baring my fangs.

  “She’s an Innocent, dear,” says Eleanor. “Quite rare. Charming as well as the pity.”

  “Pity?” I ask, hoping not to sound too rude.

  “Being darling and lifelike will only take you so far.” Eleanor clucks her tongue like she feels sorry for me. “You’ll never truly come into the power our kind deserves.”

  Pascal taps a finger to his chin. “There are advantages nonetheless. Don’t be so quick to discount. I’ve been studying the different strains of vampirism for some time now, and it’s a misconception that the Innocent are useless.”

  My eyebrows flatten. Gee, thanks bud.

  Eleanor flashes a ‘go to hell’ smile at him. “Well, I shall take your word for it then.”

  “Nice to meet you both,” I say.

  Aurélie exchanges pleasantries with them, then pulls me along to the next group consisting of two rather attractive guys plus one of the women who’d stared daggers at her when we arrived. The guy on the left is as pale as the walls with shoulder-length black hair, the other African American. All three of them appear to be in their twenties. The woman’s wearing her red hair long and straight, and locks her green eyes (yeah, that’s appropriate) on Aurélie. As soon as we get close enough to converse, the hostility melts out of her, which morphs into a ‘please like me’ expression.

  Wow, my mentor must’ve whammied her with the juju pretty hard. Well, that’s one way to deal with jealousy.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Aww, you shouldn’t have,” says the pale man. “How did you know I wanted a kid sister?”

  I let out a nervous laugh, hoping he’s making a crappy joke.

  “Ashton James.” The pale man nods at me in greeting. “A pity you were taken so young. Are you even of age yet?”

  “Do not mind him.” The other man offers a hand and bows. “Henry Arnold. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Hello.” I shake hands with him.

  He looks a little strange. Despite being quite handsome, undeath did bizarre things to his African American complexion. Right before my eyes, the grey blotches fill in, and he takes on the appearance of a normal person. Yeah, ‘looking alive’ is something I take for granted. Other strains have to turn it on.

  Ashton takes my hand as if to kiss it, but doesn’t. “Satisfy my curiosity, I beg. Who suffered such a lack of decency that they bestowed the Transference upon a child?”

  “I’m older than I look.”

  “Ashton, dear,” says Aurélie, “you know it is impolite to ask a lady her age.”

  “True, true.” He releases my hand and offers an apologetic bow. “Forgive me this indiscretion.”

  It’s beyond weird to see a guy who looks like he’s twenty-five or so speak like some dude from an old movie. Then again, for all I know, he cou
ld’ve been around in the 1900s.

  “Vanessa. How are you?” asks Aurélie in a tone more than a little patronizing.

  “I’m fine,” says the redhead. Her right eye twitches.

  “Please contain yourself dear. I would most appreciate you not making a mess of Sarah’s first gathering.”

  The unnatural calm recedes from Vanessa. Her eyes go steely. Hands on her hips, she smirks at me, clearly unimpressed. “Why did you do that to her?”

  I shake my head. “Aurélie didn’t do the Transference.”

  Vanessa gestures at me. “No, I mean putting her in that ridiculous outfit.”

  That myself, Aurélie, and the guy with the fluffy collar by the door are the only ones in the room not wearing modern clothes becomes glaringly obvious. Also, it’s pretty evident that most of the vampires have been watching me since I walked in, politely looking away only when I turn in their direction.

  “Oh, c’est le plus mignon!” squeals Aurélie, sounding like a big version of Sophia. “I mean, she is the cutest!”

  I shift my eyes to her, and back to Vanessa.

  The woman makes a sympathetic face at me.

  “We must continue,” says Aurélie, pulling me along.

  “Nice meeting you.” I wave at the three of them.

  “Why would Vanessa ruin this party?” I whisper.

  Aurélie smiles to herself. “She is a Fury.”

  Well, obviously, that should explain everything. I guess that means she’s got a hell of a temper and probably ridiculous strength on top of it.

  We walk the rounds having brief conversations with other vampires. Eventually, I make the acquaintance of the ‘most interesting vampire in the world.’ He looks fiftyish with traces of silver in his black hair, thickest in two light spots above his ears. His suit makes my dress feel cheap. It’s iridescent and either dark blue or black depending on how the light hits it.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” says the man. “I am Arthur Wolent.”

  Unlike Ashton, this guy does take my hand and kiss it.

  “Hi.” Unsure if I’m supposed to wave, curtsey, or what, I stand there like a tool.

  “She is not yours?” asks Arthur, eyeing Aurélie.

  “It’s a bit of a mess what happened to me.” I manage a weak chuckle. “I don’t want to bore you with it.”

  “Oh, do indulge me.” Arthur smiles a kindly, grandfatherly smile. Something lurks behind his eyes, green as emeralds and as fierce as a dragon’s. I get the distinct impression making him angry would be a major mistake.

  “Well, I’m sure you’re not at all interested in teen drama, but my former boyfriend cheated on me. When I told him we were done, he flipped out and stabbed me. A vampire happened to be following me, intending to bite me, but when he saw Scott kill me, he decided to do what he could to save me.”

  “Ahh.” Arthur nods. “Interesting. And you are not with the one who gave you the gift?”

  I shake my head. “No. When I woke up, I had no idea what happened and he wasn’t around, so I went home.”

  “Home?” His eyebrows go up. “To your mortal family?” He appears stunned for a second, but smiles. “Interesting.”

  “I felt too guilty letting them think I was dead, so I went back.”

  The room falls silent.

  “Her mortal family bears no risk to us, and they are under my protection,” says Aurélie.

  “That is extraordinarily reckless,” says the guy who looks like a Mafia don. He strolls over, left hand in his pocket, right hand holding a wine glass of blood. “This girl should have disavowed all ties to mortal society. They are too great a risk and should be dealt with as soon as possible.”

  “Now, Paolo,” says Aurélie, “you cannot know that.”

  Dealt with? Before my brain catches up with reality, I get in the guy’s face. “Don’t you dare threaten my family!”

  “Control your protégé.” The man glances pointedly at Aurélie. “What steps are you taking to clean that situation up?”

  “My family is not a situation to be cleaned up,” I say, almost shouting. “Leave them alone.”

  Aurélie barely has time to open her mouth before I’m sailing across the room to a face-first encounter with the wall. The next thing I know, I’m lying in a heap of ouch, the whap of my impact echoing in my head. Somewhere in the blurriness of the room behind me, people shout at each other. I’m in so much pain, I don’t even try to move for a few seconds until the fogginess clears enough that Aurélie’s shouting becomes actual words instead of mere sound.

  “How dare you!” Aurélie’s eyes glow red.

  “You should have spent time teaching your child manners rather than dolling her up,” says Paolo.

  When I try to push myself upright, my left forearm bends like a noodle. Ow.

  I’m pretty sure my jaw broke. Probably my face, too. And yeah, left shoulder’s a mess. I think I flew like Supergirl. My side aches as well, in the distinct bruise pattern of a hand. Grunting from the pain, I pull myself up with my right arm, letting the left one dangle limp. Oh, look at that… my right foot is pointing the wrong way―and my shoes are missing.

  I sit up a little more and notice both shoes are still standing in front of the shithead who threw me across the room. Crunching and cracking fill my head as my bones begin knitting back together.

  Something changes in Aurélie’s presence. “You forget who you speak to, Cabrini.”

  She may be white as snow and look like a five-foot-five porcelain doll, but all her supernatural beauty warps in on itself. To my eyes, she looks no different, but she’s as terrifying as if a legit dragon loomed over him, ready to breathe enough fire to melt down a whole village. Even the dazed mortals react to her, cowering and scurrying to the sides of the room. Arthur Wolent raises an eyebrow.

  Paolo leans back, the blood in his wine glass shaking.

  “I will not tolerate such violence against an innocent girl seeking only to protect her loved ones. A minor infraction upon your ego does not equal their lives.”

  “I…” Paolo cringes away from her.

  My right foot rotates to point forward with a snap. I grab the edge of the table and pull myself upright as my jaw squishes back into place. Miraculously, I haven’t gotten any blood on this dress, though a grimacing facial expression is pretty clear in the splat I left on the wall.

  Henry Arnold walks over and offers me a handkerchief.

  “Thank you.” I take it, and wipe my face free of bloody plaster dust.

  Content that Paolo’s delicate ego has been torn to ribbons in front of everyone, Aurélie ceases throwing off terror and goes back to her usual self. The guy backs away from her and hurriedly walks out of the room.

  “I will say it again so everyone is perfectly clear.” Aurélie turns in place, gazing around at everyone. “Her family has my trust. I will vouch for their secrecy. Anyone who harms them will answer to me.”

  After a long, awkward silence, the din of conversation gradually resumes.

  I pad back over and step into my shoes. Or the shoes I’m borrowing for the night. Aurélie starts fussing with my hair, which exploded out of her braid when I smooched the wall. We wind up just letting it hang loose. She also pulls two pins out of me, straightens the warped metal by pulling it through her fingers, and replaces them in the dress after tugging the detached bodice back in place.

  “Ouch.”

  She shakes her head. “The man’s not even three hundred years old and you’d think he was sneaking up on five centuries.”

  I blink. “Umm. Is he going to be a problem? Should I be worried about my family?”

  “I doubt it.” Aurélie pats me on the shoulders, adjusting the dress. “I trust that they will not do anything to call undue attention.” She raises her voice enough that it becomes obvious she wants everyone to hear her. “Many of us employ mortals as helpers and assistants. That you happen to be related to yours is of no consequence.”

  “Okay. Umm. Sorry i
f I embarrassed you yelling at that guy. This whole ‘society’ thing is new for me.”

  “It was a faux pas, but not a great one. The man did threaten your family. Normally, at these events, it is poor form to raise one’s voice at someone who is your elder. Though, only the older Traditionalists bother to be offended whenever the etiquette is disregarded.”

  “Traditionalists are the same as Old Guard, right?” I ask in a whisper.

  She twitches. “Yes, though, the term ‘Old Guard’ is what the younger ones refer to those of us who have been around for a while. I dislike the phrasing. Thank you for using ‘Traditionalist.’”

  I nod. “Is it rude to ask someone what, umm, kind of vampire they are? Like Fury or whatever?”

  “It’s a topic better reserved for private conversation, not polite company.”

  “Okay. So…”

  “Why did I announce you as an Innocent?” She smiles.

  “I was about to ask.”

  “Because of your appearance.” She caresses my cheek again. “I did not want anyone making the mistake of assuming you a mortal girl I brought along as treat.”

  Her ambiguity with treat makes me shiver. That could mean food or something sexual.

  “Ou les deux,” mutters Aurélie.

  The dazed people have resumed wandering the room, sometimes helping themselves to the food from the table. Every so often, a vampire approaches one and takes a bite.

  “Are those people going to die?” I ask, feeling markedly less cool about having fangs.

  Aurélie shakes her head, failing to hide her amusement at my distress. “No. They are complimentary, like the hors d’oeuvres. When this meeting is over, they will not remember ever being here.”

  I slouch with relief. “That’s good. So, umm, now what?”

  She pats me on the back. “Now that you have been officially introduced, mingle.”