All Souls' Night - Renee Rose Page 0,59

family name. The Durand Vineyard is a generations-old establishment in Arizona, and I’m its prince. I’ve lived all twenty-five years of my life on a strait-laced path, much like the rows of grapes on my family’s land. I had been groomed to take over from my father and run the business alongside my two sisters. But on my first day of high school, I happened into the school library and stumbled upon a student government meeting.

Seeing Robert’s Rules of Order at work had fascinated my mind. I was used to straight rows of vines, predictable harvest times, and the precise measurements of wine blends. I liked things old, orderly, and results-oriented. By the following year, I was the class vice president. Every year that followed, I was elected president.

Before this scandal, I was on the trajectory to become city mayor. I had my sights set on congressman. But even though the story only ran on the second page of the local rag, my future is now blurred. Likely less than ten percent of my constituency read the papers, but it is enough to potentially lose my seat. All because of a photograph that’s been taken out of context.

“Perhaps a new video ad where we show the people your clean-cut image to help detract from—”

My gaze shoots up. The young man before me squirms. He was an intern not long ago. I elevated him to this position when I saw his hunger as a political animal.

He thinks he’s dealing with a man’s base needs. I don’t have those. I’m not a saint, but I’m as close to it as any modern man could get.

Despite what that gossip rag printed, I’ve never had group or public sex. I’ve never taken my clothes off outside of a locked bedroom with the lights off. I’ve only had sex with two women, and not at the same time. Charlotte Pratt and I waited three months before taking our relationship behind closed doors. With Amber Walt, who I’d thought would become Mrs. Councilman Durand, I waited six months into our committed relationship.

That photograph of me coming out of Club Toxic was not the whole picture. That salacious report of what I’d been doing inside is complete fiction. The problem is, the actual facts surrounding the story sound more like science fiction and fantasy than the voters would believe.

“Where are you going, sir?”

“To clear my name of this nonsense,” I say as I slide into my suit jacket and straighten my tie. Ever since my first election as class president, I’ve worn a suit and tie every day, except for on the weekends. Then I wear a collared shirt and pressed slacks to relax.

On the streets, the sun is starting to set. Masked goblins and witches roam from door to door. Superheroes’ capes trail behind as children run up to open doors to receive their rewards. I’d forgotten it was Halloween. I probably should’ve dismissed my staff to go home early, but like me, they are all workaholics who live for the job.

Once in my car, I pull out of the city. Concrete buildings give way to rolling green pastures. The fields of green are spotted with the colorful heads of grapes. It’s harvest time, and many workers are out tending to the crops that will make the older citizens celebrating this festive holiday drunk in just a matter of hours.

I drive past the turn that would take me to my family’s vineyard. Memories flood my mind, of my time there with my family. My older sister Marechal, who was forever in the lab blending berries, but would always look up when I wanted to run a debate strategy past her. My baby sister Cari, who loved to color in my homemade campaign signs, insisting her color scheme would be my winning strategy.

I see both their smiling faces looking at me with trust and love. But as I wind along the road to my destination, my mind begins to fog. The curves of the lane bend. In my mind, things get dark and twisted and bloody.

Memory is a fickle thing. I remember the night I went into Club Toxic to seek out its owner, Lucius Frangelico. The billionaire was trying to purchase my family’s vineyard out from under us. I walked into a nightclub on family business, and I left a sex dungeon as a sexual deviant.

The funniest part is that, during my business meeting, everyone inside the club had been fully clothed. The young people had