Page 13 of Vain (The Seven Deadly 1)

And I got that, I’ll admit, not in the healthiest of ways. I won’t lie to you, it felt gratifying...in a sense. I was rather unrestrained with my time and body. I wasn’t different from most girls I knew. Well, except the fact I was exponentially better looking, but why beat a dead horse? The only difference between them and myself was I kept them wanting more. I used many, many, many boys and tossed them aside, discarding them, ironically, like many of them did to so many other girls before me.

This is what kept them baited. I gave them but a glimpse of my taste and they tasted absinthe. They were hooked by la fée verte as I was so often called. I was “the green fairy.” I flitted into your life, showed you ecstasy, and left you dependent. I did this for fun, for the hell of it, for attention. I wanted to be wanted, and my word, did they want me. Did they ever.

CHAPTER TWO

Pembrook wound through the cobblestone drive of the palatial estate.

“Drop me off at the service entrance,” I told him. I wanted to avoid running into my father if possible.

He snorted. “I have to see your father.”

“Oh,” I said.

Pembrook had his own parking space in the last of the twenty ports off the carriage house. That’s how often he visited our home. As much as it pains me to say it, Pembrook was like an uncle to me. Whenever I filled out paperwork for visiting physicians, as it was considered beneath us to visit an office, under the tab “who shall we contact in case of an emergency,” I always, always, always put Pembrook.

He was the only reliable one. He was my father’s attorney and yet the only adult in my life that had any interest in what I did with that life. He was Pembrook.

Pembrook was English, but had lived in America for close to thirty years. He specialized in international law as well as got me out of my minor legal tiffs. Standing freakishly tall at six-foot three, he was lean, bordering anorexic-looking. If I were to guess, more than likely hadn’t had more than maybe an ounce of fat on his entire body at any given moment of his life. His cheeks were a bit sunken and he reminded me so often of one of the rare, gaunt and goth creatures who attended my prep school, but his look was natural. I suppose that’s what leant him additional intimidation factor as an attorney. I believe he played it up when possible. I also believe he was a virgin. For one reason: He lived and breathed his job. For another, I couldn’t imagine a single woman taking pity on the poor man. Then again, he was rich, who was I to say?

“Pembrook, who do you visit when you return to London?” I asked, suddenly struck with the interest to know what went on there when he left here.

He eyed me strangely. “You are odd.”

“Pembrook, answer me.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “I visit my sister and her family.”

I checked my shocked expression as best I could. “You have a sister?” I asked in disbelief.

“Why is this so hard to imagine, you daft girl?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Pemmy. I cannot conjure a female version of you, I suppose? What does she look like? Another Bram Stoker character inspiration?”

He sarcastically looked at me with pity. “What an astute observation coming from someone who couldn’t hear the sirens blaring down the street of her latest conquest.”

“Point, Pemmy. Point.”

“You are sorely in need of guidance,” he said more to himself than to me.

“I am fine,” I spit back, folding my arms across my chest as the gravel crunched beneath our shoe-clad feet.

“Clearly,” he added sarcastically.

We approached the service entrance nearest the carriage house and Pembrook opened the door for me.

Inside were members of the staff. Gerald, our head chef, stood at one of the giant Viking ranges experimenting with sauces no doubt, but the remaining crew sat strewn about the large industrial kitchen. The kitchen, aside from our everyday, more personal one, was where the food was prepared for more formal dinners and I knew then just why my father was truly disappointed in me.

I looked around me wondering why there wasn’t more fire beneath their asses. The staff sat reading, listening to music or just staring into space. I suppose it was too early to do prep work. They paid no immediate attention to me either as I was often seen entering my father’s abode at that hour. I used the service entrance to access my wing of the house in order to avoid my parents. They wouldn’t say anything to my father and neither would I. It was an unspoken agreement we all had. They looked up briefly for confirmation, but when their gazes swung to the figure behind me, they began scrambling around. Pembrook was certainly not expected and I almost burst out laughing.

“Oh, cease this incessant buzzing,” Pembrook told the seemingly aimless help, his hands raised above his head, giving him a luring feel. I waited for fangs but none came. “Calm yourselves, fools. I am not your boss, and I couldn’t care less if you st with a knife in your hand or a magazine.” But the staff continued on as if they’d not heard a word. “Very well,” he sighed, gesturing for me to continue.

“Carry on, Gerald,” I said, saluting the head chef. He smiled and waved me on.

Gerald was the only member of our staff I could stand and that was more than likely because he was mute.

When we reached the grotesquely large foyer, I made a move for the winding stairs.

“Ah, ah, Sophie,” Pembrook said and I cringed into myself. “Come with me.”

---