Page 98 of Cloak of the Vampire
She was sold right into them.
Horrified, I watched as Kaylon practically forced Zoey off the stage. Right before she disappeared backstage, I saw fear clouding her face as tears escaped her eyes.
All her efforts ... for nothing.
But I didn’t have the time to feel sorry for Zoey, because my own time was up.
Kaylon looked at the paper in his hand and mumbled something to himself. He waved to someone offstage, who then came up to join him to also stare at the paper in his hand. They whispered among themselves and then looked back into the crowd as if something was terribly wrong. I was the last person from the Rayne League. Surely it was now my turn.
Kaylon and the other person were now joined by a third person, who peered out into the crowd, scanning it from the stage as if they were looking for something or someone.
Then Kaylon said into the microphone, “Lord Rayne, we appear to be missing the recommendation for one of your Commons. Might you join us so we can sort this out?”
The crowd grew restless; audible gasps fell from the lips of the spectators. I watched as Ragnor, with Margarita behind him, joined Kaylon and the two others onstage. They talked, and from the looks of things, the conversation was not positive.
I shrank lower into my seat, wondering if I would have a chance to participate in the Auction at all. I’d been so preoccupied with Ragnor and whether he was going to buy me and what I would do for my performance that I hadn’t gotten around to getting Lon’s recommendation. And now, my turn was likely over before it had even started.
Ragnor, Margarita, and the other two vampires left the stage. Margarita looked as if she had swallowed something bitter. Ragnor looked as if he was at his bullshit limit for the day, and the other two looked relieved.
And as if it had never happened, Kaylon smiled and said, “Please welcome to the stage—Aileen Henderson!”
CHAPTER 38
I climbed the stairs to the stage, watching the awaiting canvas on the easel. The claps of the audience were like a soft buzz in my ears; all sounds were overtaken by the war drum that was my heart.
My face felt warm when I reached the spotlight in the center of the stage. My stomach churned as bile rose up my throat. I felt sick. I felt too hot. I could tangibly feel the stares of the hundreds of vampires in the audience as they landed on me, expectant and exhilarated at the sight of another noob laid down for the butcher’s knife.
I came to a stop near the easel, seeing the paint palette resting on the wooden chair, and was suddenly overcome by sharp, painful regret. I’d been stupidly arrogant in thinking I could take on the Auction with painting as my chosen act. It wasn’t even about me not coming up with a plan—it was the fact I just wasn’t good enough. Potential? Talent? I had none of those when it came to art. I was mediocre at best.
A desperate, reckless impulse told me it still wasn’t too late. That I could perhaps do something else other than painting, like executing Iovan’sImperium.
But Abe had explained that once you chose an act, you couldn’t replace it with another. It would disqualify me from participating, and the fate of those disqualified was the same as the unbought, if not worse.
The impulse disappeared, and I deflated. It was too late to change course.
I took a shuddering breath and knew that, ready or not, I had to start. I grabbed the palette, sat down on the stool, and stared at the blank canvas. I tried to come up with something to paint—anything would do at this point—but my head was just as horrifyingly blank as the canvas.
Pray to the Morrow Gods for me, Aileen. Please.
Tansy’s words from before she left for her own performance reverberated through my head, causing a ripple in the blankness that was my mental canvas. My eyes widened as an idea, an awful, terrible idea, rose from the bottom of my mind, digging its claws in my psyche.
No,a deep, frightened voice whispered in my head.Don’t do that, Aileen.
But that idea refused to leave. It dug itself deeper inside my head, taunting me, daring me to do what I had once promised myself I would never, ever do.
“You can do this, Henderson.” The sudden murmur came from Kaylon, who spoke off mic from the foot of the stage near where I was sitting, giving me an encouraging thumbs-up.
But I wasn’t encouraged. I was petrified. Because what Kaylon basically said was to move it, and I was too frightened of my one and only option to do that.
I glanced at the audience. Since the stage light was so fucking bright, the audience seemed like the black abyss, ready to swallow me whole. I just wanted to see Ragnor’s face, even if for a split second. I wanted him to give me reassurance that he would buy me out.
Yet the darkness was too deep. As deep as the cold, chilly realization that I was on my own.
And my decision was made.
I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep, uneven breath, and, with my heart booming in my ears, let the paint palette drop to the floor. I then sank my nails into my left arm. I didn’t wince; the sensation was too harrowingly familiar, and my nails tore through the skin, drawing blood.
Please,I silently begged, hating myself for what I was about to do.If you’re out there, please hear my call.
