Year of the Vampire Page 6

  The man smiled, his features appearing thirty or thirty-five in age, lean and strong in the light. His hair was dark, the color uncertain in the lighting. He stood at an easel, a paintbrush in hand as he appraised the woman.

  Ivy watched him speak lowly and nod to the woman, whose back was to her. Black hair cascaded down the woman's back, full and holding a sheen against the gold shawl. A long draw of the harp made Ivy look there.

  The man playing the harp sat on a stone bench, the harp pulled to him as he bent over it, his skilled hands gliding along the strings. Across from him was Mandrake, Ivy recognized, the violin tucked under his chin as he ran the bow across the instrument. His eyes were closed, intent on the musical piece, but when Ivy touched the hedge dividing the yards, he looked up quickly.

  "We have company," Mandrake said, stopping his playing and lowering the violin.

  The man at the harp stopped abruptly, following Mandrake's gaze to where Ivy stood behind the hedge.

  Ivy withdrew and turned to run, but was blocked by a man standing before her.

  He watched her closely. He was younger than Mandrake, but older, she thought, than Maeve and Vohn.

  "One of Mandrake's fans?" he asked, chuckling.

  Ivy shook her head, then nodded before she could stop herself. "I mean, I . . . I heard the playing." She stepped back, her spine meeting the hedge.

  "Bring her here," Mandrake called. "Let's see her."

  The man before her was dressed in casual jeans and a hoodie, the scent of a woodsy aftershave hanging on him. He was older than her, but she didn't recognize him from school. His dark hair fell over his forehead as a gust of wind passed over them. In that moment, his eyes glinted.

  "I, I have to get home," she said, hoping he would move away.

  He did not. "Come meet them, if you have not already," he said, stepping to the side, gesturing to a break in the hedges a few feet away. "I'm Branard. What's your name?"

  "Ivy," Mandrake's voice called to them.

  Ivy was uncertain he was answering Branard or summoning her, but she felt drawn. She nodded to Branard and eased along the hedges until she got to the opening in them.

  "Ivy," Branard said. "You like music?"

  She slipped through the hedges, answering with a quick nod of her head.

  In the garden, the man painting the woman was watching Ivy, as was Mandrake and the harpist. The woman was turned, eyes on Ivy as she stepped through the hedges and around the statues frozen in place around the patio.

  "Another fan," said the man sitting at the harp as he stood up. He threw a distasteful look at Mandrake. He was blond and dressed in walnut brown trousers and a loose tan shirt that looked a century out of style. He sized up Ivy. "Introduce yourself, young lady."

  "She's Ivy," Mandrake said. "That should be enough for you, Mervani."

  Ivy looked from the harpist to Mandrake as Branard nudged the back of her shoulder. "Nice to meet you," she said as loud as she could.

  "Jovan Mervani," the harpist said, bowing curtly to her. "Branard, as you've met," he said, sweeping his arm toward the boy behind her, "Rockfort—"

  "Rocky," the artist said, glancing her over. "You may call me Rocky, Ivy."

  "—the lovely Scarlet," Jovan continued, nodding to the woman watching Ivy. "And Mandrake Malifix," he added sourly, jerking a thumb at the violinist.

  Mandrake nodded crisply to her.

  Ivy's head swirled with so many names so quickly. She looked to each. They all shared the same tall, elegant yet easy posture, their clothes in older styles that she always equated with the Victorian age or stage costumes. Her eyes stayed on Scarlet as the woman pulled up her shawl to one shoulder, her dark eyes shining like liquid in the moonlight. Her dress was long, dark red in the late evening, accented with a gold metal ring at the low neckline.

  She smiled at Ivy, her pale skin appearing bloodless against the red dress. "Welcome, Ivy," she said in a smooth voice that seemed more like a musical instrument.

  "Would you like to sit in?" Jovan asked, laughing. "Perhaps Rockfort can paint you next."

  "Oh, no," Ivy said quickly. "I'm on my way home. I was just passing . . ." She bit her lip, searching their inquisitive faces. "I didn't know you . . . all lived here."

  "Your friend is here," Branard said.

  Ivy looked at him, then followed his stare to see Maeve stepping from the Hall.

  "She's more Dred's classmate than mine," Maeve said, quickly taking the steps from the house. The stone steps ran half the length of the house, lined with dying off plants in large stone urns. "Hi, Ivy."

  "Hi, Maeve." Ivy swallowed, her throat dry. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, her tone dropping as she moved across the patio to Maeve.

  "It's not a problem at all," Mandrake said, raising the violin to his chin. He placed it against his chest, turning to Jovan but still watching Ivy. "You may stay, Ivy."

  "She has school tomorrow," Maeve said to him.

  He sent her a cross glance, then turned back to the violin, eyes closing, seeming to drift off into a musical realm.

  "Are all these, these people related to Dred?" Ivy asked in a hushed tone as Mandrake drew a mournful sound from the violin. She saw Jovan lean an arm on the harp's top edge, sending a dismissive look at Mandrake, who ignored everything.

  "Sort of," Maeve said, putting an arm across Ivy's shoulder to turn her toward the house. "Far-removed, but kind of related. I'm taking Ivy home," she said to someone behind Ivy. "Are you leaving soon?"

  Ivy turned to see Branard nearly behind her. The woodsy aftershave grew stronger.

  He kissed Maeve's cheek, then grinned quickly at Ivy. "See you later, Ivy."

  "Goodbye, Branard," she said hesitantly, trying to keep the new names and men straight.

  "'Night, Maeve."

  Maeve smiled quickly, pulling Ivy along up the stone steps. "Branard. From Shanonton."

  Ivy half-stumbled up the steps. "Your, your boyfriend?"

  Maeve laughed. "Yes."

  "I didn't . . . didn't know—"

  "Why would you?" Maeve shrugged.

  The violin played deeper into the night, bringing Ivy's attention back to Mandrake.

  He was watching her.

  Goodnight, Ivy, the violin played out, Mandrake's eyes never leaving her.

  She waved a bit. He closed his eyes, turning slightly back to the patio as he drove the violin into a darker theme.

  Maeve mumbled something Ivy didn't quite hear.

  "Show off." Jovan's grumble to Mandrake was loud enough to hear across the yard.

  Maeve hurried Ivy up the steps. "They're both showoffs."

  Chapter Seven

  Ivy and Lornie's plan to be partnered up for the climate study section of science class didn't go as planned.

  Ivy drew Dred . . . for a wind study.

  "Offshore Wind Assessment for Atlantic Ocean Using Satellite Data and WRF Modeling?" She had nearly screamed the title at Lornie. "What kind of insane teacher has freshmen do this sort of project?"

  "Sorry," Lornie had offered meekly. She had been paired with Camille, and had drawn Solar Panels and Applied Offgrid Designs. "It does look like a lot of work. At least we have until February for research."

  Ivy had little hope in passing the social responsibility part of Earth Science that year. "Mr. Van Dreisdeck hates me."

  "Van Dreisdeck hates all freshmen."

  Ivy spent the rest of the day of classes moping.

  She doubted Dred would know anything more about offshore wind trends than she did, and so nearly leaped at the chance to not begin work on it. She would think about it tomorrow. Or after Thanksgiving.

  This time they entered Brylinden Hall by the front entrance, and Ivy felt like she was being swallowed by the mammoth house. She passed under the wide entryway as Dred opened one side of the double-doors and stepped aside on the raised steps leading to the ballroom.

  "It's huge," she said, gawking at the room spreading out to meet them.

&nbs
p; "Yeah," he said. "Pain in the ass to clean, too."

  The door echoed closed behind them. Ivy looked around at the ballroom. It was nearly round, with the staircase curving down from the back center. A few tall doors and entryways emptied into the room, some allowing the afternoon sunshine to peek in, others dim. Only a few chairs in the far right curved to face a large stone fireplace were present, giving the bare, wooden parquet flooring a nearly endless appearance from this angle. Above them, a five-tiered crystal chandelier hung, unlit, its strands of cut prisms dangling.

  "You don't use it much?" Ivy followed him as he headed across the wooden floor.

  "Not much. It used to have a sort of informal entryway before you got to it, from the front, but they took it down after the fire."

  She stepped quicker when she lagged behind. "What fire?"

  He shot her a hasty look, then grinned. "I don't know much about it, Ivy. Long before I got here. Like, decades ago."

  "Oh."

  He led them to the kitchen via a long hall positioned behind the staircase. It was newer than the previous old kitchen Ivy had seen before, with updated brushed brass, chrome, and stainless steel appliances. The tile flooring, however, appeared older, showing some scorch marks near the back door that led out to the side of the garden. She could see the patio from this angle.

  She automatically went there and stood before the tall, wide window that looked out over the patio. All the statues were standing around the patio, all facing inward, motionless. She could see a bit of movement in the grassy area beyond the patio, near the outermost statue, but couldn't discern what it was. She didn't hear a lawnmower running.

  "Oh! And who is this?" a man's flighty voice queried.

  Ivy spun around, eyes locking on Dred.

  He stood at the three-door refrigerator, one side open, and closed it as the man's voice rang out. With the door shut, the man was fully revealed from behind it.

  He was tall, lanky, with a jaunty tilt to his head and posture that made his light blue silk shirt and tan cloth pants seem effeminate. He studied Ivy with pale blue eyes, his wavy, shoulder-length hair an almost ash blond. He smiled at her, then glanced to Dred, flicking his wrist with a sweeping movement at the boy.

  Dred groaned and opened the refrigerator door again, eclipsing the man from his view. "Hey, 'Vandis."

  "E-vandis," the man said precisely, stepping around the door to see him. "Evandis." He turned back to Ivy. "And who is this lovely young lady?" He made the few steps to her, smiling warmly. He bowed and offered his hand, palm up. "I am Evandis. And you?"

  Ivy slowly raised her hand. "Ivy."

  "From school." Dred closed the door and set two colas on the marble counter. "Ivy, Evandis. Evandis, Ivy."

  Evandis took Ivy's hand in a light touch, bent closer, and kissed the tips of her fingers. "Charmed, my dear."

  She slowly pulled her hand back, trying not to giggle. "Hi. Me, too."

  He straightened and looked from her to Dred. "Ah, a study date."

  "It's not a date!" Dred nearly sputtered. He snapped open the sodas, reddening beneath his collar. "Got it, dandy-man?"

  Ivy frowned. "Dred . . ."

  "He is." Dred took the long way around the square wooden table that sat center in the kitchen. He offered Ivy a soda and nodded. "Let's go."

  Ivy glowered at him, then offered Evandis a quick smile. "Nice to meet you."

  He was looking at Dred. "Don't do anything ungentlemanly, young man."

  "Mind your own business," Dred grumbled, tugging Ivy with him.

  By the time they were climbing the staircase, Ivy had nearly shaken her soda into an overflow. She slowed climbing. "Who is he? Family?"

  "Evandis? Yeah."

  She frowned at his back, steadily stepping up. "You have a lot of family here."

  "Yeah. Not much left . . . in Canada anymore."

  They got to the top and started down the long hallway of doors. A few side tables lined the walls, each with a bouquet of flowers in a jewel-tone glass vase. The flowers were autumn arrangements, mostly daisies and sunflowers.

  "Is Evandis related to Mandrake and Jovan?"

  Dred nearly stopped, turning to her at the fourth door. "You remember them?"

  She nodded. "Yes, from the other night. And what's up with those statues, the ones that were moving?"

  He stared at her for a long moment. "Uh, it's a trick Evandis does. Makes them look like they're moving. Does a lot of historical stuff. Like Roman. Likes Erté, too. I think that's an old fashion designer."

  The name rang a distant bell in Ivy's memory. "I think Erté is an artist."

  "Same thing." He slowly nodded. "Yeah, but they're distant cousins," he said in reply to her question. He turned and walked on, glancing over his shoulder to see she was still there. "It's an old family home."

  She looked far up at the tall walls, passing beneath hanging lantern-style ceiling lights of wrought iron.

  He stopped short of the second to the last door. "Uh, I kinda didn't think we'd be . . . I gotta clean up my room real quick, Ivy." He grinned as she looked skeptically at him. "I thought we'd go to the library today, so it's a mess." He opened the door, emitting a loud creak of hinges. "Can you wait right here for a sec?" He pushed her to an alcove sunk into the wall near the corner of hallway and patted the back of the cushioned window seat there. "Let me clean up, 'kay?"

  She sat down with a bounce, staring up at him, steadying her cola before it sloshed out. "That bad?"

  He nodded solemnly.

  "All right," she said, licking the few drops of soda that had jostled out onto her thumb. "Guess I'll wait here, Dred."

  He watched her for a moment, then grinned and turned and left. "Right back, Ivy!"

  She frowned after him, then settled back into the cushion. It was embroidered with a dark pattern of black, golds, and deep reds with a few hints of navy and green. The alcove was a deep bay window, rising above the patio and garden and lawn outside. Its tall panes of glass gave a clear view of the backyard and over the dividing hedges to either side of the property, but the baring trees blocked much view of the two vacant lots. She hadn't really thought about that before, the vacant land flanking the Hall.

  "You parry like Evandis!" a male voice shouted from outside.

  "You thrust like him!" shouted a deeper tone.

  "Damn you!" A laugh followed. "And you know that?"

  A long string of cursing came from the first man.

  Ivy stood and leaned a knee on the cushion to see across the seat better. With her head nearly touching the window pane, she could see more of the patio below. Among the statues, two figures, both male, circled each other, swords in their hands. Both were tall, one a little thicker built than the shorter, and both crossing swords in a whipping fashion before them.

  "Two centuries of training on me and you still can't keep up!"

  Ivy stood, blinking. She cocked her head to one side when the figures clashed blades again and one beat the other back to the far end of the circle of statues. She recognized one, the one who had just spoken. It was Vohn.

  "Two centuries?" she murmured.

  The taller figure's sword lashed, nearly clipping Vohn's T-shirt. Vohn leapt back and retaliated with a quick charge. The taller man ducked the third flash of blade. The head of a male statue in a toga toppled off. It rolled to a stop near a flower pot.

  "Ha!" the man cried, pointing his sword at Vohn. "Evandis will be livid!"

  "He can grow it another!" Vohn shouted.

  "What is going on?" a third man's voice demanded.

  Ivy moved to the next panel of glass to see the patio more directly below her.

  The potted, drying plants were positioned to block off the lawn, hiding the man and a woman standing on the patio stones.

  "Vohn has decapitated Evandis' second favorite work," the man said, nodding to Vohn. He was dressed in dark leather pants and a gray tunic belted at the waist by a holster belt.

  "You'll have hell to pay for
that," the woman said. She was in a tattered red dress, long and sweeping, with one sleeveless shoulder ripped.

  The third man turned, and Ivy recognized him as Rockfort. She thought at first that the woman was Scarlet, but when the woman turned, she noticed her hair was not piled in an updo, but was cut short, barely dropping chin length.

  The deep bellow of a cello drew from down the hallway, and Ivy saw Vohn look there. The baritone melody continued, something menacing in its notes, as if echoing the argument on the patio. Vohn looked from the Hall, away from where Ivy watched, to Ivy's window. He stalked toward the Hall, looking up at the other second floor window.

  "Cut it, Mandrake!" Vohn ordered.

  Ivy stepped back and looked down the hallway. All the doors were still closed. She edged forward, peeking out the window. Vohn was gone, and his fencing partner had joined Rockfort and the woman on the patio.

  "Hey, let's go," Dred said from behind her.

  Ivy yelped and turned, clutching her soda can. "Okay."

  He glanced at the window, scowling. "Uh, they're doing a play."

  "Really?" She warmed to the subject. "Like, for a playhouse? A theater?"

  "Yeah. Out of town. Not sure where."

  "Was that Scarlet?"

  He walked them to the room he had earlier. This time, the door was open, exposing a somewhat orderly and definitely male-owned bedroom. "No. That's Berella, Scarlet's sister."

  "Sister," she murmured, pausing at the doorway.

  The room was well-lit and open, with a twin bed against near wall, a desk at another, and a modest fireplace between two tall windows.

  Something about the confines made her hesitate.

  "Unless you'd rather, you know, not be alone with me," he said.

  She felt his breath on her neck, just to the side of her ponytail. She shook her head, feeling his chin just above her ear. "Um, well, it's not—"

  "We can leave the door open."

  She looked up at him, seeing a void in his dark eyes.