Page 98 of The Neighborhood Vampire

A voice shouted from down the staircase, “Ladies and gentlemen of the Court of the Crimson Rose, the Countess welcomes you to her Midnight Rose Ball. I now present to you, our leader. The illustrious grand lady of the manor. Our Countess.Sylvia Dubois.”

She was summoned on cue. The darkness gave way to a brilliant light. It took Sylvia a moment to focus as her eyes strained, but it soon became very clear. She stood at the edge of the staircase to examine her small empire below.

The ballroom was rectangular with an ornately decorated, cavernous ceiling inscribed with red and gold filigree. The ballroom stretched up to the second floor where Sylvia stood overlooking her court below.

The grand staircase split into two as it descended to the black and white checkerboard ballroom floor. Red carpet decorated the center of the stairs. Red drapery slung over the marble handrails. Large windows lined the long back wall. Their red curtains were pulled back to provide an excellent view of the darkness outside.

Chandeliers provided most of the light, filling every space of the room. They were made of dark cast-iron, twisted and molded into sharp angular points like fangs. The largest chandelier held the privilege of being placed in the center of the room. Red wax dripped from the candles like gnarled fingers reaching down for the guests below.

Candelabras and other candlesticks were strategically placed around the room to illuminate all the dark corners, so no deed would go unnoticed to the Countess’s watchful eyes. Vases of red and black roses filled in every available spot along the walls. Waiters carried trays of black goblets and waited for the guests to partake in the drink.

The women were dressed in the most exquisite gowns—a menagerie of various shades of blacks, deep reds, purples, and dark greens. Spider-web like lace crawled over their arms and chests, exposing the right amount of skin to be seductive, but concealing enough to tantalize the mind. Their ballgown skirts floated in the air as they moved with grace and elegance. Their hair meticulous and pulled back to show the curves of their faces and jawlines.

A test for her lover—her tavern keeper. She scanned the faces. She didn’t see the masque of her tavern keeper near the beautiful women. He passed. Now test two.

The men wore more subdued clothing to not stand out in the crowd. They wore black waistcoats with matching vests and pants. They lacked any identifying marks. Face to toes, they wore all black. Outside of hair and physical height, it was difficult to tell them apart.

Everyone wore black masques, except for one. The target she sought below. Her prize. Her lover. Her future partner.

A tall, muscular man weaved his way through the crowd. He never took his eyes off her at the top of the grand staircase. He wore a white masque and black clothing, except for a red vest. He moved closer to her. She smiled.

Sylvia took a deep breath and started down the grand staircase. She was a sight of wonder, beauty, grace, and elegance. Her strawberry blonde hair was parted to the side to expose the right side of her face. Her sleeveless, red, flowing gown hugged the curves of her body before billowing out like melted candle wax. She commanded the attention of all eyes in the room.

Her long legs appeared from behind the billowy gown with each step before being enveloped by the skirt once again. Each step was made with the grace and poise of a dancer. She made no noise as she descended to her subjects. Her fingers lightly touched the drapery on the railing, not for support, but to trace an invisible line with her fingertips.

The men plucked the red and black roses from the vases and surrounded her as she descended the staircase. She scoffed at their offerings and turned them away. Dejected, they faded back into the crowd. She worked through the congregation of people offering her a rose for a dance. They held the roses in their hands, but she turned everyone away without giving them a second thought.

Her eyes, alert to every detail, scanned the crowd for her tavern keeper. Standing at a distance, the man in the white masque carefully inspected the suitors’ attempt to vie for her attention.Perhaps he’s unsure if he wants to partake in his test?

On and on, Sylvia rejected the offerings of would-be suitors. The tavern keeper plucked a red rose and plunged himselfinto the crowd. He worked his way toward her, pushing aside his competition. A passing grade so far.

The masked tavern keeper broke through to the inner circle and stood there, waiting for her to acknowledge his rose. He didn’t offer the rose like the others. He held the stem between his teeth. Sylvia stopped in front of the tavern keeper.

Her eyes assessed every part of him, from the white masque to his toes, before they connected with his brown eyes. The tavern keeper didn’t hold out his right hand. Instead, he raised his left and waited. She closed her hand around his and leaned in close. She bit the rose stem. He relinquished. Sylvia pulled back with the rose firmly in her mouth.

The string quartet played a waltz. The crowd parted and retreated toward the wall. The floor was theirs and theirs alone. Her tavern keeper took the lead. They moved as one. Their eyes met, aflame with passion, mirroring the intensity of their movements. They spun to the music. He stopped, yet Sylvia continued to spin away.

The tavern keeper held her hand firm and stopped her from spinning off into oblivion. Sylvia’s eyes focused and locked onto his. A word didn’t need to be uttered. They spoke only in the dark language of desire.

The tavern keeper held the pose, his arm extended firmly into the air. Time stretched endlessly, as if it could have been an eternity or a fleeting moment. Either way, it was torture. Pure torment of her body being separated from her lover. Yet, despite their separation, their eyes locked and their souls intertwined once again.

With a flick of his wrist, she spun back. He caught her against his chest, collapsing his right arm around her waist. Her left arm gracefully wrapped around his shoulders. They continued their waltz. Their bodies intertwined.

The guests disappeared into a blur as if only Sylvia and her tavern keeper were left on the dancefloor. Their faces touched. He bit the rose stem. They held it together. They continued their waltz until the string quartet finished in a flurry.

The room broke into applause. Sylvia let go of the rose. She leaned in closer and gave a small kiss to his neck. The tavern keeper shivered, then he pulled back and held the rose in front of her. The Countess gracefully accepted the rose the rose and smelled it, committing the wonderful aroma to memory. She clutched it close to her chest. They locked eyes once again before the Countess turned away.

“Thank you all for attending my ball. Please, enjoy the refreshments and partake in the merriment,” she addressed the crowd. “Now if you’ll excuse us.”

The Countess took the tavern keeper’s hand and led him to the grand staircase. She hiked up the stairs, never letting go. They flaunted down the hallway like royalty, their backs straight and chests puffed out. The light faded and darkness enveloped them. There were no candles to light the way. Though it was dark, the Countess knew the way.

She opened a door at the end of the hallway and motioned for him to go inside. Her heart raced with anticipation and delight. Her breaths were short with excitement. She could smell the blood coursing through his veins. She could hear his elevated heart rate, the thumps against his chest. She didn’t give a comforting word, only an impish smile. He entered the room, and she followed.

The light of a few candles fought against the darkness, but they could only do so much. The room was grandiose, yet intimate despite its high ceilings. There were no windows. The room was filled with a canopy bed against the back wall and a velvet couch placed near the center of the room. A desk and towering bookshelves filled the side wall. An armoire stood alone against another wall. There was only one door. There was no other escape.

She closed the door behind her and turned the lock. She moved with the grace of a stalking predator. Each step light and with purpose.She closed in on her evening prey. The light danced and flickered off him. The desire in his eyes from moments ago had faded into something much more fearful, like a frightened animal. The tavern keeper backed away and stumbled onto the couch. She stood over him.

“You passed your test,” she said. “You dance well for a tavern keeper.”

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