wall. Taking my hand, he leads me past a set of grand winding stairs. I find myself next in an exquisite open planned room. The walls are covered with a shimmering white wallpaper, which sparkles in the subdued light. Tall silver candelabras hold smooth white candles, whose flames bring brightness to the room. A huge mahogany table with a perfectly varnished shine sits at one end of the grand space. Bottles of alcohol and plastic cups are cluttered on its surface. Floor to ceiling French doors look out into a well-loved garden.
The room is crowded with people. Their skin is as white as calla lily petals. Faces hidden beneath the skull masks they wear like mine, they chat animatedly and dance to the rock music, playing from speakers.
“Do they think they’re all vampires?” I joke, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “I’ve never seen people so pale.”
“No, they’re not vampires,” Rafe assures me, his painted lips turned up with amusement. “Over there is my cousin, Micah.”
As if he’d some how heard his name over the noise, the man turns to stare at us. Like Rafe, his face is painted like a ghastly skull. Vibrant green eyes inspect me from head to toe, a tight smile on his lips. His skin is more of a honey brown than Rafe’s pale complexion. Chocolate brown hair is gelled back off his forehead. Dressed in black like his cousin, the jeans hug his brawny legs, the shirt only emphasizing the hard-packed chest beneath the material.
Moving through the throng with almost feline grace, he halts before us. “So, you’re Samantha.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I accept the free hand he holds out, noting the beer bottle he has in the other. The scent of it is strong on his breath when he leans in to talk to me.
“Likewise. Welcome to our humble abode. You lied to me, Rafe. She’s much more beautiful than you described.”
“You live here?” I reply, glancing up at Rafe for confirmation and blushing at his cousin’s compliment, although I’m not sure how he can tell with my mask in place.
“Yes,” he admits with a small careless shrug of his shoulder. “My studio, where I paint, is also upstairs. I can show you later.”
Nudging his arm with my elbow, I shake my head in amusement. “You could have told me the party was at your house, you know.”
Low thick brows dip with an expression of worry. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You have a very lovely home,” I tell him, more pleased at his behavior than worried. A chance to see his art has me giddy. He’s spoken about it with such passion that my imagination has run wild with what it must look like. Something bold and abstract, perhaps with bright colours?
“Micah can show you around while I sort something out, if that’s ok?”
“Sure. I can. We’ll start with down here,” Micah mutters before raising his bottle to his lips and swallowing a gulp of beer.
Before I can say a word, Rafe strides swiftly off, through the other guests, on long legs. Observing him go, I trail his cousin reluctantly when he gestures for me to follow him to the door. We view a living room that has been decked out for comfort and relaxation. Four long leather couches face a massive plasma screen. Beneath are an assortment of game consoles. A few bookshelves bear games and DVD’s in both French and English. Moving on in the tour, we come to a kitchen. Bright, airy, the appliances are top of the line. A kitchen table with six chairs dominates the center.
“How many of you live here?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. Running my hand alone the smooth surface, I trace the swirls in the light wood. There’s more here than two people would need.
“Four,” he tells me, brawny arms crossed idly over his chest as he swirls the contents of his bottle from side to side. “Our other cousin.”
I pick up on the fact he’s only mentioned three people not four. “They’re not here tonight?”
“No.” He doesn’t elaborate.
An awkward silence stretches.
“What do you do for a living, Micah?” I question, grasping for something to say.
That earns me a chuckle. “I prepare the dead for they’re passage to the afterlife. I’m an undertaker.”
Turning to face him, my spine presses into to the hard firmness of the table as I lean back into it for a second. “Your family seems to have a bit of an obsession with death.”
“Oh,