that we ever glimpsed the sun in New Sanguinus—the Vampyrs in charge of the cumulogenerators saw to that.
Finally, the train deposited me at the raised platform near Bressov Towers. I stared up at it—and up. The black glass, carved with elaborate art deco shapes inlaid with gold, soared into the twinkling stars. Leave it to the Bressovs to request the omnipresent clouds cleared out for their party after sun had set. I clattered down from the platform and approached the grand entrance, sucked in my breath, and marched toward the red carpet.
Sleek private limos swooped down from the air, their prows shark-like, and deposited furred and flocked Vampyrs onto the carpet before me. It seemed like a nearly endless stream of them—skin and hair and eyes of every possible shade, yet nearly all dressed in black or jewel tones. Though my dress was dark, it was probably the brightest color here. I waited for an opening between the couples and clusters and approached the bouncer, alone, shoulders pulled back.
“Hand,” he said.
I held out my left hand. He ran the scanner over the back of my hand, and it chirped cheerfully and turned green.
“The lift to the grand ballroom is just inside, on the right.” He smiled without humor. “Just follow the crowd.”
The marble-lined grand foyer was positively cavernous. Rounded settees dotted the landscape, interspersed with spiky, painful-looking metallic sculptures and vases spewing blood-red roses, white lilies, and other flowers that must have been shipped in from the farmlands at unfathomable cost. Vampyrs lounged on the settees, surrounded by their entourages of other Vampyrs and Donors alike. I entered the lift—it was bigger than my compartment in Undertown—with only a single Vampyr and his Donor, whom he kept chained on a delicate gold leash. Her hollowed-out eyes darted toward me; even painted with gold leaf, there was a darkness shrouding her gaunt face that made my stomach churn. I leaned against the lift wall and closed my eyes.
Deep breaths, Raven. Pretend you’re on another mission. Play it cool.
The lift doors opened onto a scene of complete and utter chaos.
The grand ballroom must have been at least five stories tall, with a ceiling that came to a high point, echoing the pointed top of Bressov Towers. The upper three stories, I wagered, were occupied by shifting, chaotic holographic lights that fluttered through a sequence of geometric patterns and dark images, spraying their glow onto the dancers far below. While the grand hall was dimly lit, I imagined it was still plenty bright enough for Vampyrs, with their keen senses, to see everything that was transpiring. I hoped my eyes would adjust quickly, as well—I didn’t relish the thought of stumbling around blind in a cave full of predators.
A million smells washed over me as I stumbled onto the slick marble floors: perfumes and cologne, expensive and ancient vintages of wine, and a heady bouquet of sweat and musk. For creatures so concerned with the smell of our blood, these Vampyrs sure know how to stink up a room themselves. But then an Administrative strode past me, decked in tux and tails, discreetly spritzing a crystal-cut bottle in his path that seemed to instantly neutralize the bodily odors, leaving behind only the pleasant, enticing scent of a faraway buffet.
Couples and trios whirled around the main dance floor to a bizarre musical blend of operatic symphony and electronic trills. The only music we get down in Undertown is whatever pop dreck they pipe down the Stream; while this music’s subtleties were lost to my untrained ear, I could tell it bore a good deal more intricacy and subtleness than the bland Vampyr crooner of the month they were always showcasing on the Stream vids.
But I had no intention of dancing, even though the beautiful flounce of my gown’s skirt was designed for it. Not that I had the first clue what I intended here. Would it satisfy Victor enough to catch sight of me,
Finally, the train deposited me at the raised platform near Bressov Towers. I stared up at it—and up. The black glass, carved with elaborate art deco shapes inlaid with gold, soared into the twinkling stars. Leave it to the Bressovs to request the omnipresent clouds cleared out for their party after sun had set. I clattered down from the platform and approached the grand entrance, sucked in my breath, and marched toward the red carpet.
Sleek private limos swooped down from the air, their prows shark-like, and deposited furred and flocked Vampyrs onto the carpet before me. It seemed like a nearly endless stream of them—skin and hair and eyes of every possible shade, yet nearly all dressed in black or jewel tones. Though my dress was dark, it was probably the brightest color here. I waited for an opening between the couples and clusters and approached the bouncer, alone, shoulders pulled back.
“Hand,” he said.
I held out my left hand. He ran the scanner over the back of my hand, and it chirped cheerfully and turned green.
“The lift to the grand ballroom is just inside, on the right.” He smiled without humor. “Just follow the crowd.”
The marble-lined grand foyer was positively cavernous. Rounded settees dotted the landscape, interspersed with spiky, painful-looking metallic sculptures and vases spewing blood-red roses, white lilies, and other flowers that must have been shipped in from the farmlands at unfathomable cost. Vampyrs lounged on the settees, surrounded by their entourages of other Vampyrs and Donors alike. I entered the lift—it was bigger than my compartment in Undertown—with only a single Vampyr and his Donor, whom he kept chained on a delicate gold leash. Her hollowed-out eyes darted toward me; even painted with gold leaf, there was a darkness shrouding her gaunt face that made my stomach churn. I leaned against the lift wall and closed my eyes.
Deep breaths, Raven. Pretend you’re on another mission. Play it cool.
The lift doors opened onto a scene of complete and utter chaos.
The grand ballroom must have been at least five stories tall, with a ceiling that came to a high point, echoing the pointed top of Bressov Towers. The upper three stories, I wagered, were occupied by shifting, chaotic holographic lights that fluttered through a sequence of geometric patterns and dark images, spraying their glow onto the dancers far below. While the grand hall was dimly lit, I imagined it was still plenty bright enough for Vampyrs, with their keen senses, to see everything that was transpiring. I hoped my eyes would adjust quickly, as well—I didn’t relish the thought of stumbling around blind in a cave full of predators.
A million smells washed over me as I stumbled onto the slick marble floors: perfumes and cologne, expensive and ancient vintages of wine, and a heady bouquet of sweat and musk. For creatures so concerned with the smell of our blood, these Vampyrs sure know how to stink up a room themselves. But then an Administrative strode past me, decked in tux and tails, discreetly spritzing a crystal-cut bottle in his path that seemed to instantly neutralize the bodily odors, leaving behind only the pleasant, enticing scent of a faraway buffet.
Couples and trios whirled around the main dance floor to a bizarre musical blend of operatic symphony and electronic trills. The only music we get down in Undertown is whatever pop dreck they pipe down the Stream; while this music’s subtleties were lost to my untrained ear, I could tell it bore a good deal more intricacy and subtleness than the bland Vampyr crooner of the month they were always showcasing on the Stream vids.
But I had no intention of dancing, even though the beautiful flounce of my gown’s skirt was designed for it. Not that I had the first clue what I intended here. Would it satisfy Victor enough to catch sight of me,
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