the moment the portly master of ceremonies announced our bout that those who dwelled in the depths of the swamp had nothing but disdain for the vampires who ruled from their gilded thrones in the city.
But the wanting inside me continues to grow each day.
I want to learn more about this Sunan. Does magic like this even exist? Would it truly be possible for me to return the dark gift that made me a vampire? What would be the cost?
Is it possible to be human again?
These things plague me. Gnaw at my insides. Or maybe they are only distractions.
Maybe these are the kinds of dreams permitted me now. A chance to once again walk unencumbered in the sun. To go to Celine. To win her heart once more. To find a way to return her stolen memories. Or work to earn her love a second, a third, a thousandth time.
Love is a strange beast. It is not so different from fear. Both make us feel uncertain and on edge. Uncomfortable in our own skins. Hot and cold at the same time.
But only one of them is drawn from hope.
I think about what drew me to Celine in the first place. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t struck by her beauty. But the Crescent City has the loveliest young débutantes in the whole of the South. Belles of every proverbial ball. The last few years, my uncle has made several pointed introductions to daughters of important men throughout Louisiana. Each young woman was accomplished and articulate, spoke several languages, and understood her supposed place. Perhaps that is why I found none of them appealing.
I don’t want someone who understands and accepts the world she is given. I want someone who expects more. Who fights for it and isn’t afraid to dirty her sleeves in the process.
I want a girl like Celine Rousseau. No, not like her. I want her. The want consumes me.
Again I laugh into the darkness.
Such selfish thoughts. Even in my waking dreams, I think only of what I want.
My thoughts return to Sunan. If an unmaker such as he—or she—exists, there might be something about it in the written lore. The old library in the heart of the Vieux Carré contains many of the best-known accounts of fey creatures this side of the Mississippi. Additionally there is a bokor on Dumaine with a famous collection of mystical tomes. Alas, this particular voodoo priest would be unlikely to lend them to a vampire, as he is known to serve good mystères rather than evil.
Perhaps it is time for me to have my fétiche made so that I can walk about in the daylight and plead my case in person. Or maybe I should ask one of the mortal servants in my uncle’s household if they would mind borrowing a few books from the library for me.
I could also simply continue wearing the mask I have worn for the last six weeks, one of dissolution and debauchery. That is the easiest, most expected course of action for a newborn vampire.
If I wear this mask long enough, perhaps I’ll forget that I ever wanted anything else.
CELINE
The puppy bounded through the shop, her short legs causing her to tumble every third step. Nonetheless she righted herself each time, her stubby tail wagging with joy, her cheerful barks filling the space with the sound of happiness.
Then the little corgi squatted right in the center of the new rug, lolled her tongue at Celine, and began to urinate.
“Pippa,” Celine wailed toward the back room. “Collect your tiny terror or else she’s liable to ruin the entire establishment before we’ve even opened our doors.”
“Queen Elizabeth!” Pippa scolded as she rushed into the shop in a flurry of pale green linen, her white silk sash trailing behind her. The second the corgi saw Pippa, she rolled over and yipped once, her four little feet in the air. “Elizabeth”—Pippa pointed a finger down at the grinning dog—“we’ve discussed this. Your behavior is unbecoming of a monarch of England.” With an apologetic glance at Celine, Pippa swiped the protesting royal off the floor and passed the puppy to Antonia, who’d only just finished taking stock of loose merchandise to be sorted tomorrow.
“Such a naughty little cadela,” Antonia cooed, the Portuguese word rolling from her tongue. “Come sit beside me in the storeroom, minha filha. If you behave, I promise you a piece of ham and maybe a bit of bread and cheese.”
“No ham,” Pippa implored.