Vampires Never Get Old - Zoraida Cordova Page 0,76

that’s true? Mama just hates—”

The tiny ping of the doorbell ruptured through the room.

“How could we have visitors already?” Cookie headed for the window-doors. “No one even told the aunties where we ended up.”

They all rushed to the lattice balcony and peered down. The water spread out left and right, choked with boats and water-coaches and floating streetcars headed in a hundred directions.

A young man in a black top hat held a red envelope in his white-gloved hands. A layer of sweat glistened on his brown skin like honey spread over pecans. It was too hot to wear what he wore, and the whole thing made him look out of place; a trinket from another time, much like them. They never advertised it, always trying to blend in as much as they could and maintain the classic refinement Mama always wanted. But he seemed so proud to stick out, as if he’d fallen through time and tumbled onto their new doorstep. He was even more peculiar than the peculiar sort in this Ward.

Mama stepped outside to greet him.

“She’s nervous,” May whispered.

Bea watched closely. Her sister May had the talent for sensing emotions, but Bea noticed how Mama gripped her hands tight to hide a tremble. Only a trained eye would’ve detected it, the tiniest flutters rippling through her fingers. Which made Bea even more curious as to the identity of this handsome young man.

“Who is it?” Baby Bird asked.

“Never seen him before,” Sora replied. “But he reminds me of Tristan Hill. Remember him from when we were in Harlem? I used to love the way he’d kiss my neck before finding his way to my mouth. I should’ve chosen him for my eternal partner. I thought someone cleverer would come along and they never did. He’s been dead a hundred years now. I missed out.” She perched farther over the railing. “But I’d bite him.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Cookie said.

“How do you know? You’re always trying to tell us what we would and wouldn’t do halfway in between all the things you say we should and shouldn’t do. Just ’cause you the oldest. Always acting like you Mama,” Sora snapped.

Cookie slapped her leg, and Sora squealed. “That’s a Shadow Baron, silly.”

The young man lifted his sunglasses and glanced up. They all went silent. He smiled, tipped his hat, and sauntered down the pier and back into his boat.

Shadow Barons were the mortal enemies of Eternal women. They were Walkers of the roads of the dead, ready to pull those who had cheated death or lived a little too long with their canes. They were keepers of the crossroads.

Bea didn’t take her eyes off him until he became as tiny as a black pepper grain in the distance.

But she wanted to know every single thing about him.

* * *

“What kind of party is it, Mama?” Bea asked, as her three older sisters, Cookie, Sora, and Annie Ruth, stood at the edge of their house pier waiting for the water-coach Mama had hired.

“I told you exactly what you need to know,” she replied, while inspecting each one of the dresses she’d handpicked for them to wear. “We’re showing our faces. We always do this when we arrive in a new place. We’ll be there an hour tops, so don’t get comfortable.”

“Who goes to a ball for that short a time?” Sora complained.

“We do, that’s who.” Mama adjusted the pearls on Cookie’s collarbone and smoothed the satin neckline of her dress. “This isn’t a friendly invite. It’s a summons—and the Turner women will only oblige but so much. They operate by different rules here. It’s Mardi Gras season. This fête brings all the Wards together. It’s supposed to foster peace. Help all the peculiar folk of the world mingle.”

“But—” Sora started.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be in this wretched place, so it’s best to get on with a few folks here and be cautiously friendly. Everyone is all mixed up, and it requires a particular sort of manners.”

Ever since the young man dropped off that invitation, Bea had wondered about what other sorts of immortal folk lived in all the versions of this city. When they’d arrive in other places, Mama would host a small dinner party, inviting other Eternal Black women—mostly her sisters if they were close enough—or hosting the Amaranthine if near their nations or any others. Mama would sometimes even invite a few carefully curated white vampires, sharing a decadent meal of blood-infused cocktails, richly beating hearts—collected by Baby Bird—and