Robyn Bachar: Blood, Smoke and Mirrors

For the next several minutes Zach let me lean on him as I tested my wobbly legs doing laps around the room. At first it was a struggle, but as we continued to move I realized most of the problem was in my head. Sure I had plenty of aches and pains, but he healed my injuries very well and they’d been reduced to bruises and sore muscles. Once he was convinced I wasn’t going to crumple like a wilting flower, Zach gave me free reign of the room and also the ginormous master bathroom and retreated with his laptop into the main room.

When I was clean and clothed-he’d brought a T-shirt and jeans from my suite in addition to the pajamas I was wearing-I emerged into the main area of his lair to discover a feast fit for ten people waiting for me. I’d always wondered what it would look like if someone ordered everything on a restaurant menu, and thanks to Harrison I had my answer.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” he offered as an explanation as I stared in amazement at the banquet.

“Right…”

Like a parent trying to keep an eye on his child without hovering constantly, he observed me from a distance for the rest of the day. While he took calls on his cell phone and worked on his computer, I lounged around and watched movies until evening began to draw near. True to his word, Harrison found not only a makeup artist for me but also a hair stylist, a manicurist, and a fashion consultant who brought enough clothing to fill the women’s section of a department store. The four of them swarmed around me like stylish bees and whisked me back into the bedroom. It was an effort to find something that I looked good and felt comfortable in. The experience was even more overwhelming than Portia’s stint as the Makeover Fairy. My hair was trimmed and warm red highlights were added, and my poor, neglected nails were molested in some acrylic fashion the girl called “French tips”.

The makeup artist was a woman named Willow, who was slightly older than me, with shocking purple hair and funky black rhinestone-studded eyeglasses. She clucked with disapproval as she examined the dark ring around my eye.

“Oh, honey, what happened?” she asked.

“The ex-girlfriend threw down with me. She won.” It was both a simple and accurate explanation, and Willow sighed and shook her head.

“She must be a real bitch.”

“You have no idea.”

“Well, it’s obvious you’re the one he loves now, or he wouldn’t be lavishing all this attention on you.” She winked conspiratorially. I fought the urge to frown in response, uncomfortable with that idea, and she took my hesitation as uncertainty. “Don’t worry, hon, we can see it in the way he looks at you. Right, Steph?”

The girl attacking my nails looked up and nodded. “Oh yeah, totally. You know we do weddings too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Great, a vampire wedding, just what every little girl dreams of. My stomach plummeted and hung out somewhere between my knees for the rest of the experience. By the time they were finished, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. My hair was curled and swept up into a million-and-one hairpins piled on top of my head, with a few soft, decorative ringlets cascading downward. The makeup was flawless, concealing my bruises and improving my features so I looked like a movie star. The consultant had chosen a long, draped dress made of an airy material that seemed to float around me as I moved. Shades of light, summery green that I probably never would have chosen actually looked fabulous with my highlighted hair and the spray-on tan Willow had assaulted me with.

I looked fabulous. I hoped it made Laura suffer.

When I emerged from the den of fashion and was free of the hovering stylists I found Zach waiting for me, dressed in an honest-to-goodness tailor-made designer tuxedo. I’d never seen a tux that wasn’t a rental before. He looked damn good. For a walking corpse, right? Right, I meant damn good for a walking corpse.

This could only end badly.

“You look stunning. Ready to go?” he asked, offering his arm.

“Yeah, just walk slow. I’m wobbly enough without balancing on these stilts.”

“Of course.” Zach smiled. “I must apologize, though.”

“For what?”

“Smudging your lipstick.” Gathering me into his arms, he kissed me. Unsteady from the shoes, I couldn’t do much other than cling to him. “I want you to stay here with me tonight.” I started to shake my head, but he cut me off before I could protest. “Nothing improper need happen, I only want to make sure that you’re safe and well.”

Though his words sounded sincere, there was an intensity in his eyes that promised much more. “I’ll think about it,” I replied weakly.

With me holding tight to his arm we made our way to the elevator. After a short ride we emerged onto the floor of the art gallery, arriving at his super-secret ninja back way in, which I was rather grateful for considering I didn’t want to make an awkward grand entrance from the main doors. Caterers, security and other random minions parted before us like the Red Sea as Harrison swept past them. We walked through a set of swinging doors into the gallery itself, and I was struck by the thick, roiling scent of mixed magic-some vampire, some shapeshifter, a little bit of everything but faerie.

“I thought this was a human party?” I asked between gritted teeth, a fake smile plastered onto my face as we gazed out at the crowd.

“What would you prefer, the rich and privileged or the fanged and furry?” he asked, guiding me into the fray.

“None of the above.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”

There were vamps at every turn, sipping wine, discussing the artwork, exchanging polite conversation with one another. A sprinkling of shapeshifters was mixed in with the walking dead, as well as assorted magicians-necromancers mostly, with a few sorcerers and thankfully not a single witch in sight. It quickly became obvious to me that the safest place to be when surrounded by a roomful of vampires is on the arm of the richest and most powerful one. I’d wondered what the other vamps thought of Harrison. He was practically a baby, yet he ordered around one of the three members of the Midwestern vampire council like she was his bitch. What’s more, she actually allowed him to treat her that way. Considering that Lovely Laura Barrenheart was the only female vampire council member I’d heard of, she really ought to be one tough broad, because she’d beat out the old boys’ network. Or she was a turbo slut who’d slept her way to the top, but that was a very un-feminist thing for me to think. As a result, I’d figured Harrison had to be pretty powerful and well respected.

Boy, did I ever call that one.

The vampires were easy to spot. It’s the lack of sun that gives them away. Even in a world that believes in better living through chemistry old vamps don’t seem to have heard of a tan in a bottle. I thought they’d be snide to Zach, talk down to him like they were old money and he was nouveau riche, but they didn’t. The vampires liked him, and most were even happy to see him. They seemed to respect him, and I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or terrified by that. Probably both. It was strange to me. When people reacted to Lex they feared or respected him for being a member of the magic police, but Zach they treated like their favorite politician, the one they not only voted for but were willing to donate to his campaign fund as well.

Me they treated like arm candy. I was on display as much as the artwork while Zach showed off that the new Titania was his pet. I wanted to strangle him for it. At least he was introducing me as Catherine Baker, the name I actually go by but virtually no one had used once since I’d been drawn into the crazy Titania drama. It was the polite thing to do-broadcasting a person’s True Name to the world is an enormous faux pas in magician society.