5

I strode through the back door of the goth club that led to a dark hallway. And then that hallway to an even darker stairway down. And then that stairway led to another corridor with no light at all. I wasn’t worried, though, and continued to stride forward until I reached a set of doors that were barely visible even with my somewhat subpar vampiric vision. While most of my undead compatriots could see even in the blackest of night, I didn’t have all the same advantages they did.

Still, that didn’t matter. My coven had long since gotten used to the little quirks of my condition.

“Who goes—Oh, Rowan, it’s you.”

“That it is!” I said happily, unable to stop my grin as I held the bouquet behind my back. “How are you on this wonderful night, Matthew?”

“I told you to call me Lucifer Duskwood!”

“Right, right, of course you did, Ma—Lucifer Duskwood. My apologies. A lot on my mind lately.”

“Whatever,” came the apathetic reply before the doors swung open.

It wasn’t the grandest building I’d been in, but it was impressive, considering it was tucked away in a human city and could only be reached through the gothic club or the bowling alley next door. There were guards at either entrance: low-ranking vampires at night, and loyal thralls during the day.

It was a lovely space, in a bit of an overwrought way. It was styled like a European castle, but with enough anachronisms that it would also work perfectly as the set of an early-aughts fantasy show. Long, velvet curtains hung on walls that had no windows, vaulted ceilings with elaborate chandeliers kitted out with electrical candles so wax wouldn’t drip onto any of the impeccably dressed patrons. And of course, a sixteenth century organ that was actually the reason I’d found the coven in the first place. They’d reached out to me, having heard about a local vampire who was an expert in restoring musical instruments, and one thing had led to another until I was part of things.

They’d been wary of me at first, which I was quite used to, but after five years, all that awkwardness was behind us.

Well, mostly.

No one ever played the organ, of course; it was just more frills and finery that reminded the elder vampires of the world they came from and allowed younger vampires to roleplay that they were a part of history too. I got it, I did, and I didn’t yuck their yum at all. I just didn’t feel the same compulsion that most of my peers did.

And that was all right. If there was anything I’d learned in my hundred-and-twelve years, it was that it took folks of all different cloths to make the world go round.

Yes sirree, I thought to myself as I scanned the room. A single dish ten times over would be a poor feast indeed.

That was something Ibrahim had said whenever I started to question why he kept me around after something clearly went wrong with my change. It was as wonderfully comforting as it was frustrating—the former because he’d seen me as valuable and had made me his heir despite my obvious shortcomings, and the latter because he acted as if nothing was wrong with me when the rest of the vampire world was all too eager to reiterate that something was clearly amiss with my creation.

But in the decades since he’d walked into the sun, I’d come to appreciate the unfettered affection my sire had had for me. I was never less than in his view, and if that was the case, why should I be less than in my own?

At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.

However, that was not the matter at hand. No, that was Celestia, and my gaze finally landed on her in a lounge area, posed like a masterpiece carved from alabaster.

Taking a deep breath—even though we vampires didn’t actually need to breathe; I just liked the habit—I strode forward, flowers still tucked behind my back.

“Rowan, what are you doing here? You never visit on a weeknight.”

As much as I didn’t want to halt on my path, I wasn’t one to ignore a friendly greeting, so I turned to see Orthallow leaning against a doorway to the dance floor, sipping from a wineglass filled with blood—courtesy of my connection, who made weekly deliveries to the coven on my behalf. Orthallow was actually quite young for a vampire, barely forty, but he did have a serious nature to him that I appreciated.

“Tonight’s a special occasion,” I answered happily.

“Oh?” He simply raised an eyebrow. I’d long since grown accustomed to the micro-expressions the other coven members liked to use. I found it strange that they were so loath to use any of their facial muscles. It wasn’t like we could get wrinkles like humans, but to each their own.

“Yes. I’m here to ask Celestia out. On a date. Naturally.”

Orthallow didn’t say anything for a long, long moment. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of,” he said as he pushed himself off the wall.

“What was that?”

“You mentioned you fixed the organ here, right?”

“I did,” I said slowly. Although I had a naturally sunny disposition that was a bit antithetical to being a vampire, I wasn’t born yesterday. In fact, I was born on August fifth, 1913, to be exact. Orthallow, while being a generally amiable fellow, if not a bit taciturn, didn’t give one lick about instrumental restoration.

“Why don’t you tell me about that?”

Did he seem nervous? If vampires had beating hearts, I would just listen to the rate of that particular organ, but as it were, I had to rely on body language and tone alone, unless it was soon after a deep feed.

“Normally, I’d love to, but I’m afraid I have a mission tonight.”

“Of course, of course. But Celestia is in the middle of a conversation, so you’ve got time.”

He had a point. I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt her if she was discussing something important.

“I suppose that’s true. But do you really want to hear about material analysis and de-oxidization of ancient pipes?”

“I… uh, sure. That sounds fascinating. I’ve always been interested in, um…”

“Restoring instruments?” I supplied, keeping my tone earnest even though I was almost certain that something was going on. But I wanted to give my fellow vampire the benefit of the doubt.

“Well, I would say restoration in general. You know, not letting aspects of the past be forgotten.” While I could agree with it, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end when the man slung his arm over my shoulders and tried to guide me toward a different sitting area on the opposite side of the hall. Away from Celestia.

“Orthallow, I’m not an idiot,” I said, planting my feet firmly. Was I enjoying the sudden curiosity in my passion? Of course! But I wasn’t going to let some false flattery distract me from asking Celestia out. I hadn’t been on a date since my sire passed, and I hadn’t had a romance since I’d turned. The timing had never felt right, and it wasn’t like I had a bevy of suitors waiting in the wings. In fact, the last person who had been interested in me was a warlock in the forties who was very heavy on the war part of that lock, which was why I was completely uninterested.