Blood and Silver Ch. Three

Chapter Three

Lectures and Invitations

Priscilla went home feeling like her head sat precariously loose upon her shoulders. Even though she had covered up her neck--which thankfully wasn't bleeding--with a scarf, she couldn't stop rubbing it. All she could hope for was that she could get past her mother who likely realized she was home past her curfew.

After parking her car in the five-car garage, she stepped into the house as subtly as she possibly could and took off her shoes so that she have a better chance of quietly making her way to her room.

She had barely made it past the library with she heard her mother’s voice.

“Priscilla?” her mother asked.

“Yes, Mom?” she replied. Discomfort was creeping up her skin like an icy flame.

“May I speak with you?” It was more of an order rather than a request. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Priscilla took a few steps back and entered the library. Of all the places in the house, the library was Priscilla's least favorite room which was pretty much because of her hatred for books. It was a large oval-shaped room with bookshelves stacked all the way to the high domed ceiling. Leather couches set in a semi-circular fashion faced a fireplace that was currently unlit. In front of her, a large desk that sat in front of a large window that displayed the eerie night sky. Behind the desk was a tall swiveling chair that was turned away from Priscilla. Most likely at the sound of her approach, the chair twisted around, revealing her mother.

Her mother was a tall, beautiful woman with subtle signs of age creeping into her skin. Her eyes, like Priscilla’s, were a deep, deep gray that reminded Priscilla of a stormy sky. Minus the few creases of age, her face was otherwise flawless, as well as the rest of her slender form. Priscilla inherited almost every feature of her mother, save her mother’s hair which was more of a shade of auburn with slight streaks of grey. The only thing that seemed to blemish her form was the cold disappointment that veiled her face, which seemed like the only expression her mother ever showed.

“What time is it?” asked her mother.

Priscilla automatically dug for her iPhone in her handbag before she realized that the question was rhetorical. She glanced up ruefully, too ashamed of herself to speak.

“Don’t give me that look, young lady,” said her mother coldly. “You know that your curfew was well over an hour ago—”

“Mom, I was—”

“Don’t you dare interrupt me with your querulous excuses, Priscilla Snypes!” snapped her mother, jumping to her feet. “You know that there is no excuse for being out past your curfew without letting your father and I know first. And since when do we get a call in the middle of the night from the police that our daughter is making prank calls? Perhaps, we should take away your privileges of spending time with your friends?”

Priscilla eyes widened. She would have protested, as well as offered an explanation for the “prank call”, but as soon as she was about to speak, her mother’s face hardened. “Yes, Mom,” she muttered, glancing down at her feet.

“Now, I want you to go to bed,” said her mother, her voice a little gentler, “and don’t come out unless I or your father says so. And don’t forget, tomorrow’s the charity masquerade so don’t you dare do anything that might embarrass this family.”

Priscilla had to use all her might to not roll her eyes. Obediently, she trudged to her room with mixed thoughts running through her mind. She was angry about her privileges being taken away and had numerous nasty remarks running through her mind that she could’ve said to her mother and about the stupid charity masque, if she had not been feeling so awful from the loss of blood. That stopped her in her tracks. She had been bitten by a vampire. A vampire! She wasn’t feeling any agonizing pain, so she assumed that the part where vampire bites contain venom as shown on Twilight was false. Perhaps it was like Supernatural or Buffy the Vampire Slayer where there had to be an exchange of blood. She sighed in relief at that thought.

When she reached her room, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Of all places in the world, Priscilla felt safest in her bedroom. Her bedroom sported a large canopied bed and a memory foam mattress in the middle and surrounding it were a walk-in wardrobe, a bathroom, a vanity table, and a large television. After taking a shower to wash the dried blood from her body that, thankfully, did not get on her clothing, she slipped into her nightwear and crawled into bed.

She couldn’t force herself to fall asleep; every time she closed her eyes, the image of Andy’s face and his body deteriorating into a pile of dust kept flashing in her mind like an awful nightmare. “This is going to be a long night,” she said into the darkness of the canopy above her head.

***

Cass woke up feeling well-rested. She sat up in her bed and stretched out her arms. After taking out her retainers and putting them in the cup of water beside her bed, she stood up and slipped into her slippers and black geisha kimono. Assuming that Mar would still be asleep, she left her basement bedroom and headed up to the top floor to wake him.

Once she reached his bedroom door, she opened it without knocking. She knew that knocking would not have worked so she did not even try. Making no effort to hide her footsteps, she walked over to Mar’s large four-poster bed and positioned herself at the foot of it.

“Oh, Mar,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Time to get up."

Mar responded with a slight stir and inhaled deeply. He was such a heavy sleeper, Cass knew, but he needed to get up.

“Mar!” she exclaimed. “Wake up.” He stirred a little more. Cass rolled her eyes. “Well, Mar, since shouting at you is not working, then maybe I should do something less gentle.” She glided over to his nightstand and picked up the half-filled glass of blood and was about to splash it on him when his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist.

“If you splash that on me, young lady, you’re washing the sheets until the stain comes completely out,” said Mar groggily. He opened his eyes a little, blinking away the sleep from them. “You have bed hair, darling.”

“Your hair is a bit disheveled as well,” Cass shot back as she made a sweeping motion with her index and middle fingers, sending Mar's blanket and sheets flying backward into a neatly folded pile at the foot of the bed.

Mar smiled as he sat up. “Good morning, Cass,” he said. “Do you want to make breakfast or shall I?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” replied Cass, scratching her chin between her thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. “I was thinking maybe I could drag your lazy Sanguimagus butt out of bed and force you into doing all the dirty work in the kitchen.”

“Ooh, ever so energetic in the morning, aren’t you, my dear?” teased Mar. “However, I think I’ll get out of bed on my own and assist you in making breakfast, if you don’t mind.”

“Sounds good to me, Mar.”

They settled upon making cinnamon rolls and Mar made the rolls while Cass made the frosting. They barely spoke as they cooked.

Cass did not want to mention it for fear of bringing an unpleasant atmosphere into the room, but she guessed that Mar had communicated with Tara during the night. Sometimes, she went upstairs just to check on him and she would hesitate upon entering his bedroom because she would hear him speaking to someone. Often when she was younger her reasoning for going up was because of recurring nightmares about how she got her scars. Mar would happily allow her in and hold her hand while she slept. Times when she did hear him speaking to someone, she never heard who he was speaking to, but she guessed that it was Tara.

As they were eating breakfast, however, Mar seemed to have something to say.

“Cass, I found out about something last night that I don’t think you’re going to be pleased to hear,” he said.

Cass stopped between bites of cinnamon roll and looked up expectantly.

“There is a Van Helsing in town.”

Cass’s eyes widened. “A Van Helsing?” she repeated. Mar nodded. “But I thought they were dead?”

“I thought that they were too, darling, and last night I even looked into the town’s directory for a Van Helsing, but I couldn't find any.”

Cass bit her lip as she gathered her thoughts. “Well that’s going to make things a little difficult.”

“I know; which is why we are left with two options: we can stay here and try to discover who the latest descendant of that sadist is…or we can leave.”

“I’m not going back to Wyoming, Mar,” said Cass.

“I know, sweetheart,” said Mar. “I don’t want to go anywhere either, this has been our home for the last ten years and will remain so.”

“There must be someone who was related to the Van Helsings.”

“I’ve looked into that as well, Cass, but I drew up a blank.”

“Well, what can we do?” she asked after a while.

“I’ve been thinking that we should get out of our little hole of solitude and try to associate ourselves with the inner circles of this town,” replied Mar.

Cass nodded her agreement. “Well, there’s the Snypes family. We could look into what they have going on.”

Mar chuckled. “It’s funny you should mention that,” he said. “They just happen to be having a masquerade this evening.”

“Oh, God, do I have to wear a dress?” grumbled Cass.

“Yes, you do,” he replied.

“Fine," she breathed. "Have you managed to whip up an invitation?”

“As a matter of fact I have.”

“Well, then I guess I’m going to be jumping into a corset!” shouted Cass, dramatically.

“You don’t have to wear a corset, my dear,” Mar reassured her. “However, if you don't pick out an elegant dress yourself, then I’m going to have to. And though I have picked very wonderful dresses out for you over the years, I think it’s time you start thinking for yourself.”

“I'm not very good at hiding my scars with magic,” Cass reminded him, miserably. “It's hard enough focusing a portion of my concentration to hide them in public, but doing that and dancing at the same time?” she shuddered.

“Need I remind you the definition of a masquerade, my child?” replied Mar.