Page 64 of Blood from the Marrow
Beyond the wrought-iron gate, the estate rose like a memory from Narine’s first life as a Persian Princess. Domes, arches, and intricate mosaics caught the sunlight and scattered it as a welcome.
The main house, with its pale plaster walls, sat at the center of the compound with smaller buildings scattered around it. In the courtyard, Narine’s rose garden was dying. The last time Elena had been there, it had been teaming with thousands of bright pink Mohammadi rose blooms. Now, the bushes were drooping in some places and looking burnt in others. Some had been left leafless as if plagued by locusts.
Elena adjusted the hood over her head and glanced at the massive arched entrance ahead, its mosaic of Hera glittering ingold and cobalt. The sight of it made her want to hiss, which was preferable to the grief over fucking bushes.
Marisol pointed to the ocean just visible beyond the house’s wall of tinted windows. “It’s incredible.”
“And completely unnecessary,” Elena groused while Margot unlocked the massive door. The smell of salt breeze and the sound of waves crashing on rocks were taking her to memories she didn’t want to remember. Not right then.
Had Narine traded her life for more of this? Had she fashioned herself a queen in need of more subjects? Eyes on the ruined bushes, Elena wished she’d detected the rot growing sooner. Wished that she’d wondered about the motive behind Narine’s need for extravagance.
“Unnecessary?” Zuri laughed. “Says the woman with heated-seat toilets.”
Inside, Elena was surprised to find the portraits and photos of Narine were gone. Her stomach roiled with the sensation of having toppled a rival regime rather than lost a daughter.
“How many fit here?” Librada asked, looking at the place with new eyes.
“There are a hundred and twenty-two residential quarters in all,” Margot explained, gesturing vaguely toward the additional buildings outside. “We hosted upwards of two thousand for the first Shadow Feast Na?—”
Margot stopped herself from uttering Narine’s name like she might unwittingly curse herself with Elena’s ire. Librada asked Margot to show her every inch of the grounds. Hel followed.
“Come on, Bambi.” Zuri rolled suitcases off to the side of the foyer like that was far enough. “Let’s go check out the pool.” She held out her hand and Marisol interlaced their fingers with a practiced ease that made Elena yearn for their touch. They were gone before Elena could ask them to stay just a moment longer.
The only suitable place to receive cartel leaders answering her call was the ballroom. Sitting in one of the dining room chairs that had been dragged in, Elena couldn’t decide whether the intricate crystal chandeliers and peacock green walls looked more or less ridiculous now that the cavernous space was empty. Without the energy of a party, the place felt like a tomb.
It took her a moment to realize why she was itching to crawl out of her skin. The ballroom was so reminiscent of Sayah’s estate. Was Narine playing at romanticized notions of power? Her gut churned again. Were they all?
As if they were attending a Victorian-era high society ball rather than whatever the hell this was, Librada announced the first vampire to arrive. Elena stood, imagining Zuri’s face when she called it the Undead United Nations. Thinking of her eased the dread coiled in Elena’s gut.
Bernice Moseley strode in after Lib with a handful of her Louisiana cartel behind her. She’d started as a teenage seamstress at the turn of the 20thcentury. By her mid-twenties, she’d made herself a fashion empire. Over a hundred years later, she was still the epitome of sleek couture.
In a long-sleeved black pantsuit with a thick gold belt and dramatic wide-brimmed hat, Bernice had the alluring presence of Joseph Baker and the striking magnetism of Eartha Kitt.
“I was beginning to think you were dead,” Bernice said matter-of-factly as she glided across the room, gaze dissecting Elena from top-to-bottom.
“Disappointed I’m not?” Elena replied, unsure whether it sounded like a joke. Whether she meant it as one.
Bernice’s smile bloomed slowly from one side of her mouth to the other, her dark eyes searching. “Now, would I have come all this way if I didn’t want to see you alive and well?” She said it like she was costuming a threat in pleasantry. “And I must admit, this is not where I expected to find you.”
Elena pretended Bernice meant the room itself. “I suppose it suits the occasion.”
“Ah, yes.” Bernice removed her hat, handing it to one of her companions without looking. “The occasion.” She gave Elena another assessing look. “Are we going to crown you as our savior? It would be quite the spectacle.”
Elena’s muscles clenched reflexively. She knew she’d have to show the others that she was worth siding with, but she didn’t think she’d hate diplomacy quite so much. With vampires, it was always about the show of strength. About testing each other for weakness. “If you’ve come to watch a spectacle, Bernice, you’re in the wrong place.”
Bernice tilted her head, making a sound in her throat. “Everyone’s waiting to see if the mighty Elena can pull us back from the brink,” she said as if she’d been in conversation with herself first.
Elena’s jaw tightened. “I’m not offering spectator seats.”
Bernice’s smile softened, but her eyes remained sharp. “I’ve never been much for the sidelines, but let’s not pretend this isn’t a gamble for all of us. Sayah’s made her moves and you’ve been”—she held Elena in silence before finishing—“quiet.”
“Planning,” Elena corrected, keeping her tone even despite the irritation creeping up her spine.
“Here’s hoping it’s a hell of a plan,” Bernice said, her voice honeyed but firm. “Because let me tell you, darling, there are whispers that Sayah’s already won. People are saying that resistance is futile and anyone who stands against her is signing their own death warrant.” She waved a hand.
“Do they?” Elena’s gaze narrowed, reading her old friend’s intentions in every micro-movement of her body. “And what are you saying, Bernice?”
Bernice stepped closer, like she’d forgotten that Elena was older than she was. “I’m saying you’d best give them something to believe in. Because if you don’t, Sayah will.”
