Vampires Never Get Old - Zoraida Cordova Page 0,78

Some of her earliest memories included releasing a werewolf from a bear claw in their lawn at the Colorado house, spotting the boo hag Mama caught lurking in their wardrobe in the Lowcountry, and watching the conjure woman who came for blood to mix into her potions when they lived in Kingston, Jamaica.

The water-coach waited its turn to dock. A tuxedoed porter helped them out and onto the marble pier.

“You all stay close to me. I’ll be saying hello to a few acquaintances and introducing you, then we’ll be on our way. Our driver will be on standby,” Mama instructed.

“All dressed up for five minutes,” Sora mumbled.

“What was that?” Mama’s eyes narrowed.

“Nothing.” Sora glanced away. “Just saying how pretty you and my sisters look tonight.”

“That’s what it better be.” Mama smoothed the front of her gown, stretched upright, shoulders squared, and turned on her heel. “Stick close. Especially you, my honeybee.” Her eyes cut to Bea.

* * *

The cavernous ballroom spilled over with the most beautiful people Bea had ever seen. They sauntered in and out of plush game rooms and decadent tea salons and balconies. At first glance, they all seemed exceptionally glamourous, but upon deeper inspection, she spotted their eccentric details: Many held goblets of blood and exposed their pointed teeth as they laughed and smiled; tipped ears peeked out from behind tall and festive headdresses; many faces flickered as they shifted back and forth through various forms, light fuzz coating the arms and necks of several; and some sauntered about with plates of party food floating at their sides. Bea made mental notes so she could tell May and Baby Bird every detail when they returned home.

Black-and-white lanterns hung above, dusting everyone in golden beads of light, and a brass band played music that made Bea want to dance and find someone to whisper all her questions to.

Mama stepped deeper into the room. The crowd started to part, eyes finding Mama and greeting her with nods of acknowledgement and respect and, if Bea wasn’t mistaken, fear.

How do all these people know Mama? Bea wondered, as they sauntered down a path made just for them.

The bodies shifted into a long, wide lane, and one individual stood at the very end.

Fear tugged at Bea so hard she thought her legs might give out beneath her. The hair on her arms stood at attention. Her teeth elongated, ready to bite, and the spikes on her tongue protruded. Every part of her prepared to fight or run.

The man waiting for them wore the tallest top hat she’d ever seen, rimmed with writhing skulls. It was the richest and blackest velvet and matched his beautiful skin. The tails on his coat dragged behind him and a fat cigar sat in his very pink mouth, shrouding him in plumes of smoke. Her daddy would say he was casket-sharp, ready to attend the most glorious of funerals.

Bea felt the deep breath her mama took.

“Good evening, my greatest love,” the man said through a puff of his cigar. “You are a sight for sore eyes. I reckon it’s been about four hundred years.”

Greatest love … who is this man? Bea inspected him. More questions blossomed inside of her.

Mama pursed her lips. “Maybe it should’ve been five hundred.”

“And let you miss me? Never.”

“Still full of empty flattery, I see. The years haven’t clipped your tongue.” Mama shifted her weight left and right, right and left. “And where might your wife be?”

“Tending to crossroads business while I’m away.” He smiled, the cigar lifting with the curl of his lips, and his eyes found Cookie, Annie Ruth, Sora, and Bea. His dark eyes searing and intense. “Not all of us can cut loose.”

“While the mouse is away, the cat will always play, it seems,” Mama replied.

“And who do we have here?” The man turned his attention to Bea and her sisters.

Mama stepped aside. “May I present a few of my daughters. This is Annie Ruth, Carmella, Sora, and Bea. Girls, this is Jean Baptiste Marcheur.”

“Back to formalities, my Evangeline?” he asked, then turned to them. “Most folks call me Smoke.” Thick vapor rings billowed from his mouth, dancing in circles around them. His gaze intensified, searching their faces as if looking for something Bea couldn’t quite discern.

“Beware of the charms of a Shadow Baron, my girls, for they are full of hot air,” Mama said.

“So cold you are. Has your heart hardened so much without me?” He whipped around and tapped the shoulder of another person in a