‘Ah, yes. Your guests are all waiting.’ Tessa curtsied again and hurried away.
‘She seems nice,’ Ivy said to Olivia as they walked after Horatio.
A few minutes later, Horatio paused in front of a doorway with two footmen standing on either side.
Stop worrying, Ivy, she told herself. This is no big deal. She paused for a moment and closed her eyes, wishing Brendan was with her.
The two footmen opened the doors at the same time and thirty pale faces turned to stare. Black dresses and sparkling jewels or dinner jackets and shiny shoes adorned people who were definitely from a different generation to Olivia and Ivy. This was the society that her grandmother wanted to introduce them to, the very top of the vampire food chain.
Chair feet scraped against polished floorboards as all the men stood up. Someone was playing the piano softly in the corner.
This is so much more formal than anywhere I’ve been, Ivy thought, wanting to scurry back upstairs to the safety of her room.
Ivy’s glance was drawn to one woman who was sitting in a chair, wearing a silver dress. She wore several strands of pearls in a choker at her neck and watched the twins closely. Ivy could see right away that she was the Queen.
‘I present Olivia Abbott and Ivy Vega,’ Horatio said with a bow, and Ivy had no choice but to walk into the room. There was a moment’s silence, and then everyone broke into smiles and applause.
What are they clapping for? Ivy thought. We haven’t done anything.
Olivia dropped into a curtsy and gave Ivy a nudge to follow suit. Ivy copied her sister, and hoped she wasn’t going to topple over, but the skirt of her borrowed dress got tangled up in her legs. It’s eating me alive! she thought desperately.
The Count came over and led the sisters into the middle of the room. Ivy tried hard not to wobble in her shoes.
‘This is your great-uncle Dragos and your great-aunt Elisabeta,’ said the Count, introducing an elderly man in a military uniform and a lady wearing long white gloves and sparkling sapphires. ‘Your great-uncle and aunt are the Viscount and Viscountess of Kolozs.’
Olivia struck up a conversation right away about the house but Ivy felt tongue-tied by all of the assured, elegant people.
‘How are you doing?’ the Count whispered.
‘It’s a little . . . um . . . more elegant than I expected,’ Ivy whispered back and his grey moustache twitched up into a smile.
‘Just wait until the Valentine’s Day ball.’ He winked at her.
Ivy gulped. Uh oh, she thought. What am I going to wear to a ball?
After Ivy had been introduced to too many people with complicated names and titles – including the Queen – the tinkle of a bell rang out.
A man wearing a dinner jacket and a red cravat announced, ‘Dinner is served.’
Glasses clinked as people put them on tables and stood up.
‘Isn’t this so exciting?’ Olivia whispered, her eyes sparkling even brighter than their great-aunt’s jewels.
Ivy nodded, not wanting to spoil it for her sister.
‘You look so beautiful!’ the Countess whispered to Ivy, taking her elbow and walking her towards a door at the other end of the room. But before she could catch a glimpse of the dinner table, Ivy heard the room behind her suddenly fall silent.
Oh no, Ivy thought. Did I step wrong?
She looked back into the drawing room. Her dad stood in the entrance looking as out of place as Ivy felt.
This must be even harder for him, Ivy thought. Today was his first time back in Transylvania for more than thirteen years. After he had run away with Ivy and Olivia’s human mother, his relationship had been forbidden and denounced. He had been the centre of a huge royal scandal.
Just as Ivy was about to break away from the Countess and go to stand next to him, Mr Vega strode into the dining room. He smiled at his two daughters and then bowed precisely to a man about his age wearing a grey tie and thick black glasses. The man bowed back and then they both broke into smiles. Ivy guessed that they must be old friends.
At least he’s got some people on his side, Ivy thought. And he knows how to handle all the formalities.
As he started to make his way around the room, the Countess touched Ivy’s arm. ‘Those are your seats,’ she said and pointed to places in the middle of a long, dark wood table that was so glossy Ivy could see the reflections of all the candles in its surface. It was decorated with red rose centrepieces, napkins folded like origami, six glasses at every place setting, plus more knives and forks by her plate than in her entire cutlery drawer at home.