24. The Countess and The Tavern Keeper

Chapter 24

The Countess and The Tavern Keeper

“ L et me see!” Sylvia shouted as she pushed her way through the small assortment of vampire bodyguards. Streaks of black ran down her face as her tears mixed with her mascara. Fury and anger blazed from her furrowed brow. “Let me see! That’s an order from your queen.”

Her wall of defense parted, and she was free to return to the scene where her life shattered. The spot where Sebastian, her lover—her former lover—her King was slain. She rushed down the hallway back onto the dance floor.

She stopped. All eyes fell on her as their Queen was rendered silent. The vampires and their ghouls took steps away from the now empty spot where Sebastian once stood.

Sylvia covered her mouth with her left hand and stretched out her right. Extending it into the void, hoping to pull him back to life as she moved closer to the scene of the crime. She stopped and knelt to the ground on both knees. She sat back on the heels of her feet.

Her hand trembled and twitched. She needed to caress the spot he once stood, but her body held her back. If she didn’t confirm his absence by touching the emptiness, then he’d still be there. Somewhere. At least she hoped.

A tear left a black, viscous trail down her pale face. Her sapphire blue eyes rendered a bloodred to match her crimson jacket. Her hand hovered over the spot. She dared not touch the emptiness. The once raucous nightclub was silent.

Sylvia pressed down on two of the cold checkerboard tiles where Sebastian previously stood. She dragged her fingers across the floor, hoping, praying, she would find some remnant of Sebastian. There was only emptiness.

Sebastian Savino was gone.

Sylvia closed her eyes, seeking solace in her memories. She wanted to see Sebastian once more time. She needed to see him again.

Sylvia stood in the dark hallway leading to her grand, illustrious ballroom below. She hid in the shadows, listening as the sounds of a string quartet and other revelry found their way up the staircase and into her ears. She detested music and sound. She demanded silence from her servants and caretakers of her French countryside manor. However, tonight was different.

She adjusted her masquerade mask. Its crimson color matched her flowing gown. Her heart raced. She had turned many humans to vampires, but this was different. Tonight was the night she would lose her lover and gain a partner.

The clock struck midnight. The string quartet silenced their bows. Twelve gongs echoed throughout the hallway. Sylvia straightened herself, ready to proceed for her grand entrance.

A voice shouted from down the staircase, “Ladies and gentlemen of the Court of the Crimson Rose, the Countess welcomes you to her Midnight Rose Ball. I now present to you, our leader. The illustrious grand lady of the manor. Our Countess. Sylvia Dubois.”

She was summoned on cue. The darkness gave way to a brilliant light. It took Sylvia a moment to focus as her eyes strained, but it soon became very clear. She stood at the edge of the staircase to examine her small empire below.

The ballroom was rectangular with an ornately decorated, cavernous ceiling inscribed with red and gold filigree. The ballroom stretched up to the second floor where Sylvia stood overlooking her court below.

The grand staircase split into two as it descended to the black and white checkerboard ballroom floor. Red carpet decorated the center of the stairs. Red drapery slung over the marble handrails. Large windows lined the long back wall. Their red curtains were pulled back to provide an excellent view of the darkness outside.

Chandeliers provided most of the light, filling every space of the room. They were made of dark cast-iron, twisted and molded into sharp angular points like fangs. The largest chandelier held the privilege of being placed in the center of the room. Red wax dripped from the candles like gnarled fingers reaching down for the guests below.

Candelabras and other candlesticks were strategically placed around the room to illuminate all the dark corners, so no deed would go unnoticed to the Countess’s watchful eyes. Vases of red and black roses filled in every available spot along the walls. Waiters carried trays of black goblets and waited for the guests to partake in the drink.

The women were dressed in the most exquisite gowns—a menagerie of various shades of blacks, deep reds, purples, and dark greens. Spider-web like lace crawled over their arms and chests, exposing the right amount of skin to be seductive, but concealing enough to tantalize the mind. Their ballgown skirts floated in the air as they moved with grace and elegance. Their hair meticulous and pulled back to show the curves of their faces and jawlines.

A test for her lover—her tavern keeper. She scanned the faces. She didn’t see the masque of her tavern keeper near the beautiful women. He passed. Now test two .

The men wore more subdued clothing to not stand out in the crowd. They wore black waistcoats with matching vests and pants. They lacked any identifying marks. Face to toes, they wore all black. Outside of hair and physical height, it was difficult to tell them apart.

Everyone wore black masques, except for one. The target she sought below. Her prize. Her lover. Her future partner.

A tall, muscular man weaved his way through the crowd. He never took his eyes off her at the top of the grand staircase. He wore a white masque and black clothing, except for a red vest. He moved closer to her. She smiled.

Sylvia took a deep breath and started down the grand staircase. She was a sight of wonder, beauty, grace, and elegance. Her strawberry blonde hair was parted to the side to expose the right side of her face. Her sleeveless, red, flowing gown hugged the curves of her body before billowing out like melted candle wax. She commanded the attention of all eyes in the room.

Her long legs appeared from behind the billowy gown with each step before being enveloped by the skirt once again. Each step was made with the grace and poise of a dancer. She made no noise as she descended to her subjects. Her fingers lightly touched the drapery on the railing, not for support, but to trace an invisible line with her fingertips.

The men plucked the red and black roses from the vases and surrounded her as she descended the staircase. She scoffed at their offerings and turned them away. Dejected, they faded back into the crowd. She worked through the congregation of people offering her a rose for a dance. They held the roses in their hands, but she turned everyone away without giving them a second thought.

Her eyes, alert to every detail, scanned the crowd for her tavern keeper. Standing at a distance, the man in the white masque carefully inspected the suitors’ attempt to vie for her attention. Perhaps he’s unsure if he wants to partake in his test?

On and on, Sylvia rejected the offerings of would-be suitors. The tavern keeper plucked a red rose and plunged himself into the crowd. He worked his way toward her, pushing aside his competition. A passing grade so far.

The masked tavern keeper broke through to the inner circle and stood there, waiting for her to acknowledge his rose. He didn’t offer the rose like the others. He held the stem between his teeth. Sylvia stopped in front of the tavern keeper.

Her eyes assessed every part of him, from the white masque to his toes, before they connected with his brown eyes. The tavern keeper didn’t hold out his right hand. Instead, he raised his left and waited. She closed her hand around his and leaned in close. She bit the rose stem. He relinquished. Sylvia pulled back with the rose firmly in her mouth.

The string quartet played a waltz. The crowd parted and retreated toward the wall. The floor was theirs and theirs alone. Her tavern keeper took the lead. They moved as one. Their eyes met, aflame with passion, mirroring the intensity of their movements. They spun to the music. He stopped, yet Sylvia continued to spin away.

The tavern keeper held her hand firm and stopped her from spinning off into oblivion. Sylvia’s eyes focused and locked onto his. A word didn’t need to be uttered. They spoke only in the dark language of desire.

The tavern keeper held the pose, his arm extended firmly into the air. Time stretched endlessly, as if it could have been an eternity or a fleeting moment. Either way, it was torture. Pure torment of her body being separated from her lover. Yet, despite their separation, their eyes locked and their souls intertwined once again.

With a flick of his wrist, she spun back. He caught her against his chest, collapsing his right arm around her waist. Her left arm gracefully wrapped around his shoulders. They continued their waltz. Their bodies intertwined.

The guests disappeared into a blur as if only Sylvia and her tavern keeper were left on the dance floor. Their faces touched. He bit the rose stem. They held it together. They continued their waltz until the string quartet finished in a flurry.

The room broke into applause. Sylvia let go of the rose. She leaned in closer and gave a small kiss to his neck. The tavern keeper shivered, then he pulled back and held the rose in front of her. The Countess gracefully accepted the rose the rose and smelled it, committing the wonderful aroma to memory. She clutched it close to her chest. They locked eyes once again before the Countess turned away.

“Thank you all for attending my ball. Please, enjoy the refreshments and partake in the merriment,” she addressed the crowd. “Now if you’ll excuse us.”

The Countess took the tavern keeper’s hand and led him to the grand staircase. She hiked up the stairs, never letting go. They flaunted down the hallway like royalty, their backs straight and chests puffed out. The light faded and darkness enveloped them. There were no candles to light the way. Though it was dark, the Countess knew the way.

She opened a door at the end of the hallway and motioned for him to go inside. Her heart raced with anticipation and delight. Her breaths were short with excitement. She could smell the blood coursing through his veins. She could hear his elevated heart rate, the thumps against his chest. She didn’t give a comforting word, only an impish smile. He entered the room, and she followed.

The light of a few candles fought against the darkness, but they could only do so much. The room was grandiose, yet intimate despite its high ceilings. There were no windows. The room was filled with a canopy bed against the back wall and a velvet couch placed near the center of the room. A desk and towering bookshelves filled the side wall. An armoire stood alone against another wall. There was only one door. There was no other escape.

She closed the door behind her and turned the lock. She moved with the grace of a stalking predator. Each step light and with purpose. She closed in on her evening prey. The light danced and flickered off him. The desire in his eyes from moments ago had faded into something much more fearful, like a frightened animal. The tavern keeper backed away and stumbled onto the couch. She stood over him.

“You passed your test,” she said. “You dance well for a tavern keeper.”

“You’d be surprised what you can learn from travelers passing through a town,” he replied. “Especially from a Countess.”

“Oh?” She sat next to him and leaned in closer. “And what exactly have you learned from me?”

“You really love the color red.”

The Countess chuckled and whispered into his ear, “I love it more than you know.”

She ran her fingers through his dark hair before making her way to the strap around the back of his head. Her fingers followed the path to the velvet mask. She could hear his heart beating faster. The blood coursed through his veins.

“Shhh. It’ll be okay,” she said to calm his nerves.

It didn’t work, as she sensed his heart rate increase.

She pulled back to lift the mask above his head. Her heart fluttered in anticipation as the tavern keeper’s rugged face was fully revealed. The Countess held the mask up to the dim light to examine each curve. She studied it for a moment before tossing it behind the couch.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing this any longer,” she said.

Sebastian Savino’s breathing labored. She traced his jawline with the back of her hand down to his chin. She gently placed a finger on Sebastian’s lips.

“Shush,” she said. “It will be over quickly. Enjoy it while you can. Take it all in. Everyone should be as lucky as you.”

The Countess removed her masque and gazed into his brown eyes. Her sapphire blues reestablished their connection to his soul, the same connection they had on the dance floor. Sylvia’s fingertip traced an invisible path from his lips, down his throat, and over to the place on his neck she had kissed earlier.

She circled the spot continually, like she was committing it to memory. Sebastian gulped. He shifted on the couch. His breathing increased. Each breath was shorter than the last. She paused.

“This is what you want, right?” she asked. “All of this tonight was for you.”

“I do,” he answered. “Countess, I do want it.”

“Excellent,” she said as she leaned in closer. “After tonight, we’ll no longer be a Countess and a tavern keeper. We shall be a King and Queen. The start of a new empire. Do you want that?

“Yes,” he whispered back.

He tilted his head. She kissed his neck again before licking it. Her eyes met Sebastian’s one last time, and she smiled. Two sharp fangs elongated from her mouth.

“After tonight, you’ll never want or need again,” she whispered into his ear. “You’ll awaken into a new world where we’ll be together. Forever. But first . . .”

She leaned in and placed her lips onto his neck. Each fang pierced deep into his neck. His body twisted and contorted in anguish. Her hand moved across his chest in a feeble attempt to soothe him. She repositioned herself, attempting to ease the transition. She moaned with ecstasy as she drank the blood. His blood. Her lover’s blood. Her King’s blood.

He crushed the arm of the couch with his grip. His fingernails jabbed into the wood. She yanked his hand away, wrapping her fingers into his. Their hands clasped tight. Sylvia released her bite, satisfied the transformation would commence. Blood dripped down her chin, bringing back memories of the night they first met.

The last thing Sylvia said before Sebastian blacked out and gave up his former life were the words, “I love you.”

Sylvia opened her eyes, hoping, begging, praying this would only be a nightmare. Hoping she would wake up and find Sebastian waiting for her. For Sebastian to swoop in and help pick her up off this dance floor, where they would continue with their empire. But there was no Sebastian. Only the scattered ashes of his body.

She snarled, elongating her vampire fangs in anger. She stood and marched down the hall toward a doorway. She descended the steps into the basement of the building, followed by a small assortment of vampiric guards. Streaks of black ran down her face as her tears mixed with her mascara. Fury and anger overtook her eyes. The musty odor of the well-aged basement filled her senses as she breathed deeply with an inner rage.

Embedded into the wall was a wooden door with ornate iron fixtures, similar to the one in their basement. She circled a few times in front of the door. She clenched her fists and breathed deeply. She could only think of Sebastian. His ashes scattered to the wind. She would never see her husband, her lover, her confidant, her King again. Her memories were haunted by the horrified expression on his face as they locked eyes one last time. Her heart raced. Adrenaline pulsated through her body.

“Bring me the bottles. Both of them!” she shouted. “Do it now!” Her voice reverberated off the stone walls.

Her accompanying guards entered the wooden door. They hurried back, carrying two bottles and a glass. Sylvia snatched the glass from one of their hands.

“Pour!” she commanded.

They each poured the contents into the glass. Red wine came out of the bottle labeled The Lovers’ Kiss Hugo & Alice . Blackish red contents poured out of the second bottle labeled Blood From My New Pet . The two liquids sloshed and intermixed until the goblet was nearly full.

Sylvia recited an old, forbidden language, not conjuring the powers of the arcane, but something much darker. She chugged the unholy concoction in one gulp, never stopping for air. Trickles of red liquid dripped down the sides of her mouth. Her eyes dilated. The irises turned red.

“Hear me. Lose yourself in me. Heed my words, my command,” Sylvia growled. “I command you, Hugo Dodds. I command you to kill the witch .”