47. Winnie

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

WINNIE

Faye: OF COURSE I’m going to use Winnie Wins on the show. I sold the show based on the concept!

Just because your name is on the system doesn’t mean you own it. It’s part of our brand, and if you’re not willing to do what it takes for this business to succeed, then I’ll have to do it myself.

I’ve been doing it myself for months now while you’ve sulked about that ex-fiancé of yours, and quite frankly, I’m sick of it.

When you come to your senses we’re going to have a serious talk about your future with Clutter Queens.

“ O w.”

My hand flies to my head as Beth jabs another bobby pin into my skull.

“Hold still, Winifred. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yes. I loved your work on Hellraiser , but you’re turning me into a slice of Swiss cheese. Ow.”

“A sexy Swiss cheese.” Beth grins as she twirls my chair around.

I gasp. Beth is a magician. She’s twisted my hair into an elaborate style that frames my face with wisps floating free like I’m a fae princess. She’s rubbed one of her serums into my skin and I’m glowing, and the subtle sparkles she’s added around my eyes and across my cheeks only add to the mystical effect.

“Alaric won’t know what hit him.” Komal grins as she tugs on black dress trousers.

“Now, for the finishing touch.” Arabella lifts the lid from an old-fashioned garment box. “I bought this in Paris, but it’s too big for me. And since you’ve volunteered us all as the help and I’m stuck in these degrading polyester trousers…you may as well try it.”

Arabella unfurls a dress that leaves my jaw on the ground. It’s made of some kind of shimmering golden material that catches the light and reflects a rainbow of colours. It’s cut on the bias with sheer panels placed in the most scandalous arrangement, and as far as I can tell, there is no back to the garment at all – just a series of strings.

“What do you think?” she grins.

“Wh-wh-where’s the rest of it?”

Arabella shoves me and the dress into the bathroom. “If you don’t put that dress on, I will come in there and do it for you.”

My heart hammering, I shuck off my clothes and try to sort through the tangle of straps. Outside, I can hear the Nevermore Murder Club chatting away as they pull on their servers’ uniforms and check their spy cameras are concealed and working perfectly. Mina’s husband Morrie is hiding in a secret room off the library, monitoring all the cameras.

Everyone is here except for Celeste, who had to see her mother so couldn’t make it. They’re all excited to meet a room full of vampires who view them as snacks and unmask the murderer once and for all.

Please, don’t let this be a big mistake.

I manage to pull the dress over my head and get the straps laid mostly correctly. I smooth down the front and dare a peek at myself in the mirror.

Okay. The dress looks good.

Damn good.

The sheer panels run down the sides and pierce across my stomach, flowing and dipping in just the right places to show off my curves. I turn around, and the thin laces crisscross my back, giving glimpses of skin along a low slit that reaches nearly to my arse. If I bend over in the wrong company, I could give some poor old vampire a heart attack.

Can I really go to a vampire ball on the full moon in this?

“Are you ready to come out?” Mina calls.

“Yeah, we want to see!”

“If you are climbing out a window to escape wearing that dress, I’d like to point out that this tower is several stories above a shark-infested moat,” adds Arabella.

“There are no sharks,” says Dora. “Winnie, please don’t believe her. There are no sharks .”

“After you fall several stories into a moat, whether there are sharks or not is a moot point,” Arabella huffs.

“I’m not climbing out the window.” I grip the door handle. “I’m coming out. Please don’t laugh.”

I step into the bedroom. Seven heads turn to me. One by one, their mouths fall open.

“Winnie Preston, you fox, ” Isis screeches.

“Alaric’s gonna wish he died again,” Komal purrs.

“I am a fashion genius, ” Arabella preens. “That dress was made for you.”

“I believe it was made for you, ” I point out. “Maybe I should change…”

“Don’t give her a moment to second guess herself.” Komal shoves me towards the door. “Alaric is waiting downstairs. And we need to get to the kitchens and start making those blood cocktails. Isis, do you have the truth potion?”

“Dora’s got it. Apparently, I can’t be trusted with breakable vials.” Isis makes a face as she plonks down on the bed, knocking over her purse and sending an avalanche of makeup and crystal necklaces off the side of the bed.

Dora fishes around in her purse and pulls the potion out.

“I’ll take that.” Arabella holds out her hand. “Since I’m mixing the drinks.”

Arabella would only agree to help tonight if she could stay in the kitchens and mix the cocktails. She said she couldn’t have any of her clients in the room see her in a uniform or her business would be ruined.

Mina picks up Oscar’s lead. The ladies crowd around the mirror for one final fit check before herding me down the narrow tower staircase. Alaric waits at the bottom, Mirabelle simpering around his ankles. When I see him, the butterflies in my belly practice their Olympic diving routine.

He’s wearing an immaculately tailored suit. It’s not his usual anachronistic style, but a fashionable cut with modern lines in a crisp, soft fabric. He must’ve paid a fortune to have it made so quickly to his exact measurements, because this suit hugs him so perfectly it should be illegal. The flickering light from the candelabra in his hands makes the sharp lines of his cheekbones stand in high relief. He’s too beautiful to be real.

And he’s mine .

“Most Reverend Winifred.” His eyes widen to black holes. “You are exquisite. No one will be able to keep their eyes off you tonight.”

“Or their fangs,” Arabella supplies from behind me.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Alaric growls.

“Yeah, it’s just our necks on the line,” Isis chirps.

Alaric holds out the candelabra to me. “I brought you a gift. In case you need to run away.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you ran out of these? On account of all the maidens?”

“I had Reginald order several more. A certain professional organiser has made us appreciate the value in being prepared.”

Alaric tucks my hand under his.

“Don’t leave my sight,” he whispers. “Remember, to the guests in this room, you are food. The only thing stopping them from biting you is the fact that I have claimed you.”

“Have you?” I whisper. “Claimed me?”

“Sweet Winifred, it’s you who have claimed me.” Alaric draws my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles to his cool lips. The way his eyes roam over me makes me feel like I’m wearing nothing at all and he’s kissing something much more intimate than my fingers. “In this dress, I am utterly at your mercy.”

As we weave our way through the castle, the murmur of voices rises from below. Alaric’s portraits and suit of armour are back in their places on the walls, freshly dusted. I love being surrounded by these depictions of him from different times – tiny windows into his life.

Reginald is at the door, greeting guests and taking their coats. Gideon sweeps them through the house, talking a mile a minute so no one has a chance to peer into any of the adjoining rooms and see the mess that we haven’t yet cleaned up. I’m excited to get stuck into those rooms once tonight is over.

Because I’m staying.

Black Crag is going to be my home, too.

I’m giddy with the idea of it, and terrified. I don’t know what I’m going to do for money. Faye’s become hostile ever since I suggested that she do the show alone and not use Winnie Wins. But Alaric’s creative energy is infectious, and he has my head spinning with ideas. Maybe I’ll write a book, like Marie Kondo. Maybe I’ll put a desk beside his in the study and we can spend our evenings in a frenzy of creative energy, as long as everything is tidied away at the end of the night.

I’ve never lived with another person apart from Mum. Patrick wanted me to move in but I kept putting it off. I wasn’t afraid of him, but of his stuff. And he didn’t even have that much stuff.

But Alaric has a lot of stuff. Too much stuff. He has habits that remind me of those nightmarish final years of living with Mum. I wouldn’t have been able to say yes to him if he hadn’t made the progress he’s made on the rooms we’ve done together. He’s shown me that he’s willing to change. He understands why I need things neat and tidy.

As we drop the girls at the kitchen and glide along the hallway together, I twist my head, admiring what we’ve achieved. The hallway is empty of boxes and art supplies. Everything is clean and tidy and perfect . The golden threads of Alaric’s tapestries glitter in the candlelight. Voices and laughter and music drift from the ballroom, and despite the danger beyond those doors, I find myself excited to be on Alaric’s arm in Arabella’s pretty dress.

I can’t believe this is my life.

Alaric doesn’t look quite as excited. This is a big step for him, to go from seeing practically no one to hosting an extravagant ball. And that’s aside from the danger of tonight’s plan. His memories hang thick in the air, and his eyes gaze forward, hardened and resolute. If this is what he looked like before striding into battle, he must have sent his enemies running in terror before even drawing his sword.

I squeeze his arm. “You can do this. I’m right here at your side.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Alaric sucks in a deep breath and pushes open the doors.

We sweep into the room, carried by the swell of the music and the rush of voices. I gasp as I take in the finished ballroom. I hadn’t had a chance to see it since Gideon and Alaric had finished decorating.

I don’t recognise the dusty, cramped space filled with a towering loom I encountered on my first night here.

In the centre of the floor, a raised dais draped in ivy and golden fronds houses a lively band playing galloping music on fiddle, double bass, and a couple of flute instruments I don’t recognise. The musicians play naked, their bodies painted with glittering gold, their hair pinned beneath golden wreaths. Around them, couples and groups spin and twirl in an ocean of swirling colours beneath a canopy of glittering fairy lights and golden spheres.

Alaric’s golden-threaded tapestries line two walls. Vampires crowd in front of them, snapping photos using the electronic photo booths Gideon set up. Apparently, that thing about vampires not showing up in pictures is false.

The butterflies in my stomach flutter nervously as I take in Callista’s guests. I had no idea to expect so many vampires. Everywhere I look, my eyes are drenched in the sight of rich, sumptuous gowns and impeccably tailored or excessively flamboyant suits – some fiercely modern, others pulled from the trunks of ancient royal wardrobes. Even without fangs on display, there is something otherworldly about them – their skin is too flawless, their eyes are too bright, too sharp, and their smiles far too smug.

The raw, primal power in the room has a heaviness that makes me feel drunk, even though I’m too nervous to touch a drop. My fingers tighten around Alaric’s arm.

I’m going to be eaten alive. What are we doing?

Callista sweeps over to us, wearing a crimson dress that’s straight out of a Dracula movie, her lips painted a matching colour. The lipstick looks wet, as if she’s painted her lips in fresh blood.

“My son, you came. I had my doubts.” She leans in, kissing both his cheeks. “And Winnie Preston, stepping bravely into a nest of vipers. But who will offer the poison bite?”

Before I can answer, she takes Alaric’s arm and drags us over to a circle of vampires. The only one I recognise is Gideon, who looks utterly edible in a grey suit and shimmering golden waistcoat that makes his hair look like a halo.

“Ms. Preston, I heard congratulations are in order,” he says, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now that you’re intending to stay in Argleton, what can I do to convince you to work with my clients?”

“Oh, Gideon, you jest!” A woman in a purple velvet fishtail dress slaps him playfully on the arm. “What could one of us possibly want from a human apart from the nectar of her veins?”

My stomach lurches. I force a smile on my face.

“My fiancée is a professional organiser, and tonight’s ball would not have been possible without her.” Alaric sweeps his arm around, indicating the room. “You know what some of us are like. Over the centuries we accumulate the ephemera of an immortal life. This very room used to be filled to the brim with my various obsessions. But Winnie has worked her magic and now look at it.”

“Callista, you never told us your son was a comedian.” A man in a matching pinstriped purple velvet suit leans in to kiss Callista’s cheeks. “Alaric called this woman his fiancée.”

“Yes, Alaric and Winnie are to be wed,” Callista says. “I thought you would approve, Bernard, as you have long campaigned in the Midnight Court for restrictions on human/vampire interactions to be lifted.”

“I…” The man looks lost for words. “I didn’t know the Lady of Agony shared our beliefs. Because of course, since the invention of contraception, the danger of Dhampir is nearly nonexistent. As prominent members of Nightshade, you have always advocated for a return to our traditions?—”

“Yes, well.” Callista flashes me a tight-lipped smile. “Perhaps some traditions need to change.”

“We couldn’t agree more, and we’re very happy to meet you both.” The woman extends her hand for Alaric to kiss. “You must be excited, Lord Valerian. You haven’t sired a vampire before, have you? It’s the most beautiful ceremony.”

I turn to Alaric who has gone, if possible, even paler. “What’s she talking about? What ceremony?”

“Please, don’t concern yourself with it. I would not do anything that you do not wish.”

“Oh, Alaric, quit teasing the girl.” Norman laughs. “You know you cannot take a human as a wife . It’s absurd. You’d have what, fifty years together if you’re lucky? I assume you will seek permission from the Conclave to give her the Kiss?—”

My heart hammers a mile a minute. “Alaric, is this true?—”

“So, Callista, will you be staying on in Argleton?” Gideon cuts in, flashing Alaric a stern look. “I still have a few homes unsold in my Sanctus Estate, and for such a majestic lady I would make you a good deal?—”

“I toured your estate at a party last week, but I don’t much care for modern architecture.” Callista makes a face. “There aren’t even any gargoyles. Honestly, Gideon, it can’t be that expensive to slap up a gargoyle or two. This used to be a proper country.”

Panic creeps along my spine. “Alaric, what’s this about a ceremony?—”

“Fancy a drink?” Isis pops up between us, thrusting her tray at the vampires. As they leap on the glasses filled with crimson liquid, she hisses in my ear, “Meet me by the ugly baby statue. I have an update.”

I nod. I know exactly which statue she means.

Isis darts away before the vampires can replace their empty glasses on her tray.

“Excuse me,” I force a smile. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Winnie, wait.” Alaric chases after me. I duck through the crowd, trying not to draw attention to myself as I head for the fat cherub flanking the door between the ballroom and drawing room. Alaric catches me beneath the statue. He grabs my wrist, whirling me around so we are chest to chest.

“Please, Winnie, don’t listen to anything they say. They mean to unnerve you, because your presence has startled them and they need to be in control?—”

“Is what she said true – if we were to be married, you have to turn me into…into one of you?”

His face twists with frustration. “I can explain?—”

“You should have told me this when you asked me to stay.” I shove him away. “I don’t want to be a vampire, Alaric. Don’t you get that this changes everything?”

The hurt stabs the butterflies, killing them dead. How could he not tell me this? How could he hate what he is and yet expect me to just give up my human life like it’s no big deal?

I know my argument is reasonable, my anger justified. But Alaric’s face crumples, his lordly mask falling away. Agony paints his eyes as twin universes collapsing into black holes – desolation eating away everything he is.

And I know that not even this ancient, immortal warrior is impervious to wounds.

“As you wish.” His voice is hard as steel.

“Alaric, I didn’t mean?—”

“There you are.” Isis appears, completely oblivious to the tension crackling between us. “I wasn’t supposed to take so long but I got waylaid by a bunch of blood-drunk fangsters wanting refills. Callista’s friends are chugging it back like…well, like vampires at a blood bank. At this rate, everyone in the room has had some truth potion by now. And I have news?—”

“Is everything okay?” Komal appears on my other side. She’s come from the direction of the kitchen dumbwaiter, her tray filled with glasses brimming with blood. Alaric’s eyes drop to the red liquid, his eyes flashing.

He lied to me. He said he’s never going to hurt me, but he’s going to make me like him. After everything he told me about how much he hates what his mother did, he wants to do the same to me…

I think I’m going to be sick.

“What did you want to tell us?” I snap at Isis. I need this to be done so I can get out of here.

“I’ve identified Baylor Godsven.” Isis shifts some of Komal’s full glasses to her tray. “See that man over my right shoulder? No, don’t look . I don’t want him to think that I’m talking about him. Laugh at something I just said.”

I throw back my head and force a laugh. Alaric chuckles beside me, but his features are grave, his laughter a harsh bark. He hisses at Isis, “Be careful around him. He has husked two people. His hunger will be a demon gnawing at his stomach. He might snap at any moment.”

“Oh, I think he’s already snapped. He’s a man of dark proclivities,” Isis smirks. “Or so he has informed me while he tried to shove his hand down my shirt.”

Alaric’s dark eyes become storm clouds. “That beast. I shall see him out immediately.”

I can’t bear to look at him. Is this chivalrous monster all an act for my benefit?

He knew how fragile my trust is after Patrick. How could he do this to me?

“No, Alaric,” Isis laughs. “This is what I wanted! I’ll use my womanly wiles to get that confession out of him. I bet that a guy like him gets off on the thrill.”

“I’ve found someone, too.” Komal nods to a woman in a circle in the corner of the room. “You know her, Alaric? Her name is Eleanor Mock of the Blood Alexandre. According to the secrets she’s spilling after three cocktails, she was sired without consent by a now-dead vampire. According to what I hear, this horny old vamp sired at least ten women before he met the justice of the Mora. What if she’s taking revenge on men who prey on women?”

“Patrick would never hurt a woman,” I cry, flashing a glare at Alaric, who turns away.

“But he did cheat on you, didn’t he?”

I nod. “But how would she know about that?”

“Oh, Winnie, this is a small village. She probably heard us all talking about what a wanker he is at the pub.” Isis rolls her eyes. “We did that a lot.”

“Because he is a wanker,” Komal adds, lifting her half-empty tray onto her shoulder. “I’m going to get back there and see what else she feels like confessing.”

“And I’ll stick close to Mr. Dark Proclivities.” Isis sashays her hips and breaks out her most dazzling smile. “Have fun, you kids. We’ll keep you informed.”

“Isis, wait?—”

She darts away, leaving me alone with Alaric.

I glance at the door. “I’m going to leave. I don’t think I can stand this a moment longer?—”

“Shall we dance?”

He holds his hand out. Do I imagine it, or are his fingers trembling a little?

“I don’t want to dance. I am trying hard to hold it together right now, but if you drag me into the middle of this room and put on a show for these vamps after what you just told me, I am going to lose my shit .”

“I would never make a spectacle of you.” His eyes have gone back to being hard chips of obsidian. “if you leave this ballroom, I cannot protect you. And somewhere in this castle is a vampire who longs for a neck as beautiful as yours. I wish only to explain what you heard, and it will be safer on the dance floor with everyone around us. I know that you abhor what I am, but will you allow this vampire to have this dance?”

A knife twists in my gut, severing butterfly wings as I clasp Alaric’s hand and allow him to pull me onto the dance floor. My body is numb where he touches me. He sweeps me into his arms as the band begins a slow, mournful tune, appropriate for the feelings that are dying inside me…

Wait a second…

“Is this…” I raise an eyebrow as the string ensemble strikes a familiar tune. “…’Rain’ by Sleep Token? This is on my Get Shit Done playlist. You hate this song.”

“You have opened my eyes to new wonders, Winnie Preston,” he says as his fingers find the hollow of my back. He presses me against him, our hearts thudding against each other – two beats of mine to every one of his.

Alaric’s cool fingers knit in mine as he holds my hand up and spins us slowly, his feet moving between mine with easy grace. For a moment, I forget the anger in my heart.

He can dance.

Of course he can dance. He’s had several lifetimes to learn.

Alaric’s cheek grazes mine. His skin is as cool as stone, which is what I need my heart to be right now. A stone, impervious to his tricks.

“We have many laws about humans,” he whispers. “Some are to protect you from us. Others are to protect us from you. Most of us old enough have been persecuted at one time or another. But this law is for everyone.

“A vampire and a human cannot make vows to each other until they are both Upyr. As much as a couple may love each other, eventually immortality will come between them. The human will beg to live forever, or the vampire will resent their love aging while they remain unchanged. Eventually, time will rob the couple of their happiness, and the vampire will bury his beloved and must continue, enduring, long after his love becomes dust. To know love and to lose it is a fate worse than death, which is why relationships like ours are forbidden even if we stayed out of each other’s beds.”

His words sink in. I can’t believe I never considered what it means to be with a vampire. Alaric won’t age. He’ll still look this fucking devastating in a hundred years. And in a hundred years, I’ll be dead. What we have now feels so real and unbreakable, but time itself would tear us apart.

How could I be so stupid? How could I let myself fall for him when he’s going to hurt me worse than Patrick ever could?

My dress tightens like an iron maiden closing around me.

“When were you going to tell me this?” I choke out.

“I have no intention of ever granting you the Kiss. I made a vow that I would never sire a vampire. My mother calls this life a gift, but I have never believed that until I met you.” His cheek shifts against mine, sparking fire in my skin. “If I died on that battlefield, I never would have met you. Eternity was worth the wait for you, Winnie Preston.”

My eyes burn with unwept tears. Damn him and his pretty words. “But you must have a system, right? For choosing who gets to be a new vampire? Surely you have to grow the population at some point?”

“Normally, a vampire couple will apply to the Conclave for a license to sire offspring, and that couple will choose an appropriate human to continue their bloodline. There have been occasions when an Upyr has fallen for a human and successfully petitioned the Conclave for the right to sire them. But it is not common, especially not among the courtly classes, for they don’t like to introduce new blood. I do not care what Perdita or anyone in this room says, you have nothing to fear from me?—”

Don’t you understand? I want to scream at him. I have everything to fear from you.

If you kept this from me, what else are you keeping?

What if I wanted this? What if I chose you over mortality? Why didn’t you give me a choice?

What if I agreed and then we broke up? What if I asked you to do this, but you refused, and I resented you? What if ? —

“—Patrick’s body…pity about…absolutely delicious…”

My ears prick up. I nudge Alaric’s arm, steering him closer to the woman who laughed Patrick’s name.

“Winnie, please.” Alaric’s voice cracks with pain. “You know how I feel about you. I would never?—”

“Ssssh, I heard?—”

“Sorry to break up the party.” Komal tugs on my arm, startling me out of Alaric’s embrace and the conversation I’d overheard. “We have a problem. I can’t find Isis.”