Page 8 of A Sacrifice in the Smoke

“That’s my cousin Geraldine,” I say, turning to face Noah again. My voice is flat. What I don’t tell him is how I used to be jealous of her. How I used to envy her ability to feed from the cloud of life-force energy, rather than blood, like all the rest of us. Now I hate her for being such a stark reminder that whatever connection I feel with Noah is merely physical. “That’s one you don’t even want to get near—she’s apsivampire. I’m pretty sure she killed her last boyfriend. But, hey, maybe you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Noted,” Noah murmurs. But his vibrant eyes are slow in pulling away from her. He looks down at me, eyebrows raised. “Your first interrogation, you say?”

“Yes. See that one over there? Wearing the black feathers in her hair? That’s my half-sister Cordelia. If anyone so much as sneezed in this house, she’ll know about it.”

Another drink tray passes by. Just as I reach for another glass, Noah grabs my arm and lowers it. “I don’t want you throwing up and drawing attention to us,” he says quietly.

I’m tempted to tell him it’s far too late for that—we’ve been noticed.

When I left—was it really just a few weeks ago?—the obsession had been leather. In New Ve, though, trends change more quickly than the seasons, as vampires tend to get bored easily.

Despite Noah’s lengths to bring costumes that would help us blend in, my dress is clearly out of date. Apparently lace is the rage in court now—my family has adorned themselves in gowns heavy with intricate knots and braids and skirts and sleeves that are entirely made of near-transparent lace. Their masks are a countless variety of smiles, frowns, leers, and I feel as if I’m in a swarm of spirits, spinning all around in a dizzying array.

I don’t belong here anymore, I think suddenly. Maybe I never did. But if I don’t belong here, and I don’t belong in Oldbel, then is there any place left for me?

The thought echoes through my mind as I scan the room again, searching for Cordelia. Three more of my half-sisters stand on the edge of the dance floor, laughing and fanning themselves, dabbing at their eyes so as not to ruin their makeup. My vision of them is briefly obscured by yet another passing tray. Before Noah can intervene again, I snatch one of the glasses. The slave pauses, startled by the swiftness of my movement—he must be new.

“What vintage is this?” I ask, swirling the wine around, admiring how its surface catches the light.

The boy bows slightly. Impressive, really, considering he doesn’t spill a single drop of wine. “That would be the Louis Jadot 2016 Clos de Vougeot, mistress,” he answers quietly. “It was paired with an excellent human bloodline just this afternoon. Swedish, I believe.”

“You’re right, it is excellent. Here, take this and hand me another glass.”

“By the blood,” Noah snarls, making the boy cringe back in terror. Disregarding him, Noah seizes the new glass from me, grips my shoulders, and steers me toward the set of French doors closest to us. “Walk it off, Travesty.I’lltalk to Cordelia.”

He stalks off, muttering under his breath. I watch my partner go, wondering if I should feel guilty, but my head does feel light. After a moment, I face the door. It’s been weeks since I’ve last opened this door, but my fingers still automatically find the chip in the glass doorknob.

The doors swing open on well-oiled hinges, and a breeze reaches in with eager fingers to caress my face. I start down the path, inhaling deeply, eyes half-closed. I can still hear the music as I lift the mask to let my skin breathe. It’s a beautiful night, the dark sky littered with stars that seem to blink in Morse code. For the first time in days, I feel like myself again. The garden is an old friend, and despite the chill, it greets me warmly. Lanterns sway in a slight breeze.

Soon the cold starts to seep in, though, and the champagne makes its effects known. With goosebumps prickling my skin, I walk back down the path, thinking to return to the mansion and Noah.

“What do we have here?”

My blood runs cold. I turn slowly toward the voice, my heartbeat launching like a rocket. Henry’s eyes gleam as he releases his hold on the petal of a dianthus flower.

The Crown Prince of New Ve. As if anyone could forget, he wears the reminder of it on his head, a silver circlet that shines in the moonlight. Henry would be handsome, with his golden hair and amber eyes, were it not for the cruelty that lives in his smile. No one could truly look at Henry Travesty and mistake him for the angel he appears to be at first glance.

He also has the misfortune of being both a vampire and a blood fetishist. A fact that, while not public knowledge, is whispered about in the shadowed corners of clubs or behind wine glasses at formal dinners.

“You have the eyes of a trueblood, and yet, you look at me with the fear of a mortal,” Henry murmurs. His warm breath tickles my right earlobe and his musky aftershave invades my senses.He’s too close, I think. Suddenly, I know that if I don’t tell Henry who I am, he’ll kill me.

With trembling fingers, I take off the mask and meet his gaze.

But Henry doesn’t look surprised. He just stares down at me with a pensive expression. Worried someone will see my face, I put the mask back in place.

“When I heard of your Awakening, I felt true pity for you,” my brother says, his tone light, as if we’re talking about party favors or the buffet table. “To be a human being is to be fallible, mortal, an animal which feels pleasure or pain depending upon its circumstance and on the influence of others. What a genuinely bad stroke of luck, to have a whore for a mother.”

Before I can respond, Henry seizes my arm, and in the next moment we’re walking farther away from the mansion. He must be taking me toward the swimming pool—that or the tennis courts. I think about screaming, calling out for help, but that would inevitably result in the removal of my mask as the drama unfolded.Henry wouldn’t hurt you at a party the Vampire King is hosting,I tell myself. All of his children, especially the heir, know how much Alexander detests what he calls ‘vulgar behavior’.

The Crown Prince doesn’t say a word, but he keeps turning around and smiling. I begin to take my mask off again. “Leave it on,” he growls suddenly, his countenance darkening.

I freeze, there in the middle of the sidewalk, and stop breathing. “Why?”

Henry tilts his head, blinking at me, as though the answer is so obvious. His hand slides off my arm. “Because it’s more fun this way, silly thing.”

“I b-better get back to the party. My date will be looking for me.”

“Would you like to conduct an experiment with me, dear sister?” he questions suddenly. Mute with terror, I can only shake my head. Henry makes a disappointed sound. “Don’t be so boring, Charlotte—I kill boring people. Now, I’ll ask you one more time, all right? But you better get the answer right, or who knows what I might do. Would you like to conduct an experiment with me?”

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