Vampires Never Get Old - Zoraida Cordova Page 0,79
top hat. “While we’re making introductions…”
The boy who’d delivered the invitation stared back at them. He wore a shorter top hat than Smoke’s, but he shared the same hue of dark brown skin and lovely, mischievous eyes.
“My youngest son—Jacques Baptiste Marcheur,” Smoke said with a flourish of his cane.
“Call me J.B.” He tipped his hat. His eyes found Bea, and he looked like he had a secret. One Bea was desperate to know. “Good evening.”
Smoke put a thick hand on his shoulder, then turned back to Mama. “It’s a pity Anaïs isn’t with us.”
Mama bristled.
“Who is that?” Bea asked.
Smoke grinned, his eyebrow lifting. “Hmmm … I see you’re still the same.”
“Never you mind that,” Mama said to Bea. “Smoke, a word in private?”
“Anything for you, chérie. It’s been way too long.”
Mama gritted her teeth, anger in her jaw, then faced Annie Ruth, Bea, Sora, and Cookie. “Stay put. I’ll only be a moment, then we are leaving. Cookie, you’re in charge until I get back. No mess, you hear?”
She waited for the chorus of yes, ma’ams before walking off with Smoke.
Bea turned left and right, itching to explore, itching to meet more of the Eternal men and women in the room. Well-dressed folk weaved through the crowd; strings of black pearls laced within a fascinating tapestry. Her sisters strode to a nearby table to retrieve champagne flutes bubbling with blood.
J.B. stared at Bea, and Bea stared right back. “What are you looking at?” she said.
“You,” he replied with a smug grin.
She tried not to blush. “Why? There’s tons of people in this room.” Her eyes narrowed with mock annoyance, even though she was curious, too curious about him.
“But I’ve never met a more beautiful Eternal woman. My father says the Turners are the loveliest.”
Bea tried to maintain eye contact, matching the intensity of his gaze, and willed herself to not look up at the wriggling skulls lining his hat. They opened and closed their mouths as if they had a message to impart. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“You shouldn’t be doing a lot of things. Probably shouldn’t even be in this town. All everyone keeps whispering about are those pretty Black women in the house on Esplanade Avenue. The ones who have been away so long. Some want you here, and others not so much.”
“I’m not afraid of you—or them,” she bluffed.
He smiled. “I’m not afraid of you, either. Though my daddy says y’all steal hearts.”
“Only our littlest sister, Baby Bird. But don’t worry, I won’t steal yours.”
“What if I wanted you to have it?”
Bea’s eyebrow quirked. “Why?”
“Why not? They say if you love an Eternal woman and get her to love you back, you have good fortune for a thousand lifetimes. That it’ll allow you to cheat injury and death. One kiss can do it.”
“You’re a Walker. A Baron. You are death.”
A smile played across his lips. “That’s an unfortunate stereotype. Maybe I can tell you the truth and you can give me this eternal luck.”
“I’m not a pair of shoes to try on for your test case.”
“What if you love me back?” The cockiness in his voice sent a prickle across her skin. Did he know her secret? Did he know what she was looking for? What exactly could a Baron do—read minds and hearts?
“I’ve never loved anyone.”
“Yet.” He removed his hat, bowed, and disappeared into the crowd.
* * *
Bea wandered through the party, watching as kissing couples slipped into closed-off rooms or sauntered through the halls of the great house. While her sisters mingled and tasted all the food, she explored, peeking into decadent rooms and climbing winding staircases until she found a room that satisfied her curiosity.
The walls boasted violets and turquoises like an anxious sky tumbling into nightfall. The ceilings bloomed in pinks and tangerines, a fruit bowl of the heavens. The doors were inlaid with ivory. Plush tabletops dotted the room, each displaying porcelain game boxes studded with gold, diamonds, precious gems, and the enameled décor of card suites. The ceiling arched in jutting curves and slopes. Chaises and high-backed chairs and claw-footed sofas circled game tables. Warm-weather curtains fluttered along the wall, exposing a set of doors carved from glass and the terrace they led to.
She glided past the game tables to see if they had her favorite, one called Carrom that she’d played with May when they lived in Bombay. She was pleased to find it, tucked in a far corner. Tiny red and black disks sat inside wells along the