YEAR OF THE VAMPIRE 10

Chapter 10

Music from: Revenge of the Gods

School Monday was abuzz with the Cornhusker Dance coming the Friday after Halloween, which also fell on a Friday this year, complicating the play schedule. Ivy didn't feel it so much, mostly because she had already agreed to baby-sit for the Marvins both Friday nights when Lornie wasn't available.

Lornie, however, was exuberant.

"I can't believe it!" she crowed, slamming her locker door shut and spinning around with a flourish to lean her back against it. "Jeremy . . ."

Ivy wasn't feeling so jubilant. "Yeah, well, that's good. I kind of thought you'd see that coming." She hugged her textbooks closer to her chest. With Camille and Lornie both having new guys in their lives, she felt like a loose wheel. "That's a full weekend. Dance on Friday, four showings of R and J Friday through Sunday, plus Halloween, and Camille's party on Saturday."

Lornie was still stuck in her own mind. "Yeah . . . but one of those showings is a matinee."

They set off down the hallway of lockers with the other students, some pushing against them going in the opposite direction.

"I still can't believe I got the understudy part." Lornie controlled her smile. "Do you think Dred will ask you to the dance?"

Ivy shrugged. "It won't matter. I've got to sit for the Marvins. We're doing a dry run of the Trick-or-Treating route tonight. Want to come along?"

"I can't make it tonight. We're practicing Shampain for the Wishful scene. It's the only time we can get the Feet of Fire for a full practice. A lot of them double at the Flaming Swords academy. Camille asked them all to her party."

As if on cue, three sophomores from the local dance academy traipsed by. Ivy knew them only from what Lornie had told her, and she watched them glide by, their presence seeming to elevate them from the common students milling to classes.

"So elegant," Lornie said wistfully. "They're very good. I heard one of them even got picked for the county troupe's production of An American in Paris."

"I can't wait to see that number." Ivy trudged on with Lornie.

"You can't sit in for the practice tonight?" Lornie drifted off to the secondary hallway where Mr. Einard's British Literature class awaited her.

"I'll try to swing by if the Marvins are home early," Ivy promised. She quickened her pace, knowing her pass minutes were expiring. "See you!"

Maeve stood at the top balcony at the back of Brylinden Hall. The treetops had already turned orange and red, some already brown below her view. The clouds above were dark gray and smoke colored, moving on separate streams of wind in opposite directions. She waited for them to part, creating a void in the sky to expose the night sky.

But no void appeared.

She breathed a sigh, then smiled at the welcoming aura stepping from the fourth floor door behind her.

"He's here," he said.

Maeve's smile twisted into scorn. "All right. I'll meet you there." She turned, facing Branard. His hands were stuck deep in his front jeans pockets, his double T-shirts hanging off his athletic build. For all appearances, he was just another high school senior at the neighboring town of Shanonton. "Send him in."

"I don't like standing so close to a bonfire," he said after a moment.

"That's just the Bone in you." A slow smile curved her lips. "We've got this. Everything's under control. I don't want a firefall incident anymore than you do."

Branard sighed. "He's got a long history."

"I know." She turned and looked up at him, reading the genuine worry in his face. "So do I. It's nothing I can't handle."

He kissed her lightly and turned, disappearing into the dark of the attic room. "I hope so, Maeve."

Ivy hurried down the sidewalk, clutching her jacket close. The October evening was already chilling into November despite there being over a week left to the month. It hadn't helped that Rowley and Sandy had stomped in every water puddle they came across on their route through the small subdivision of homes. The short afternoon rain had been a deluge during lunch, forcing her, Lornie, and Camille into the crowded school lunchroom earlier that day.

She skipped past a broken spot of sidewalk filled with water. "Crazy weather," she muttered. Her phone buzzed and she looked at it. The screen read Coming home soon?

"Dad," she said, quickly firing a text back.

Need a ride?

She sent a quick No, then added, B home soon.

A smiley face lit up the screen. She returned one, then pocketed her phone.

The town was surprisingly bare of people, and even the shop lights were spotty, making Ivy wonder if the power was out in some places. She hummed nervously, hurrying over a chunk of broken sidewalk. She frowned, unsure where she'd heard the tune before, then recalled the violin melody the man had played at Brylinden Hall.

Her steps slowed as she looked down the turn of sidewalk out of town.

Brylinden Hall rose from the trees, its top roof spires and dormers jutting up like stone monoliths from a bygone era.

Against the night sky, Ivy's mind leapt to scary movies she'd watched, most on weekends with Rowley and Sandy Marvin, and the Hall rooftop seemed like the backdrop for a horror film. As she watched, the strains of music rode the chill breeze. She stopped, listening, and realized the music matched the tune she was humming.

She stopped humming and watched the street.

The sounds of a harp and violin mingled, departing from the tune she knew. It was a friendlier melody than the tune she'd heard from the Hall. She followed it. Low voices drifted to her, the deeper sound of men's voices and a lighter one of a woman. None were familiar, but she knew it wasn't singing.

The high hedges that separated the Hall's property from the adjoining vacant lot weren't as tight as during the summer when the foliage was fuller, so Ivy could see into the back garden of the massive house. In the moonlight, she saw a stone garden of statues atop the fitted patio rocks. She slowed, watching as she departed the sidewalk and walked parallel to the hedges in the adjoining empty lot.

In the Hall's garden, life-size marble statues moved slowly across the patio and browning grass, their steps jerky and short, halting.

Ivy stopped, eyes locked on the scene.

The gray statues were men and women, five in all, draped in ancient Greek clothing of matching marble, moving sheepishly in a closing circle to where a man stood at an easel, painting on a canvas. They didn't walk, just sort of slid.

Ivy halted, holding her breath.

The garden statues solidified in place, unmoving.

Ivy's attention went to the patio amid the sculptured hedges lining the stones.

The man turned to what seemed to be one of the statues until the woman struck a different pose, angling her neck back so that the shawl draped at her shoulder slipped down. The strap of her blood-red dress was a stark contrast to the shawl, which now caught the moonlight and shone in metallic gold.

The man smiled, his features appearing thirty or thirty-five in age, lean and strong in the light. His hair was dark, the color uncertain in the lighting. He stood at the easel, a paintbrush in hand as he appraised the woman.

Ivy watched him speak lowly and nod to the woman, whose back was to her. Black hair cascaded down the woman's back, full and holding a sheen against the gold shawl. A long draw of the harp made Ivy look there.

The man playing the harp sat on a stone bench, the harp pulled to him as he bent over it, his skilled hands gliding along the strings. Across from him was Mandrake, Ivy recognized, the violin tucked under his chin as he ran the bow across the instrument. His eyes were closed, intent on the musical piece, but when Ivy touched the hedge dividing the yards, he looked up quickly.

"We have company," Mandrake said, stopping his playing and lowering the violin.

The man at the harp stopped abruptly, following Mandrake's gaze to where Ivy stood behind the hedge.

Ivy withdrew and turned to run, but was blocked by a man standing before her.

He watched her closely. He was younger than Mandrake, but older, she thought, than Maeve and Vohn.

"One of Mandrake's fans?" he asked, chuckling.

Ivy shook her head, then nodded before she could stop herself. "I mean, I . . . I heard the playing." She stepped back, her spine meeting the hedge.

"Bring her here," Mandrake called. "Let's see her."

The man before her was dressed in casual jeans and a hoodie, the scent of a woodsy aftershave hanging on him. He was older than her, but she didn't recognize him from school. His dark hair fell over his forehead as a gust of wind passed over them. In that moment, his eyes glinted.

"I, I have to get home," she said, hoping he would move away.

He did not. "Come meet them, if you have not already," he said, stepping to the side, gesturing to a break in the hedges a few feet away. "I'm Branard. What's your name?"

"Ivy," Mandrake's voice called to them.

Ivy was uncertain he was answering Branard or summoning her, but she felt drawn. She nodded to Branard and eased along the hedges until she got to the opening in them.

"Ivy," Branard said. "You like music?"

She slipped through the hedges, answering with a quick nod of her head.

In the garden, the man painting the woman was watching Ivy, as was Mandrake and the harpist. The woman was turned, eyes on Ivy as she stepped through the hedges and around the statues frozen in place around the patio.

"Another fan," said the man sitting at the harp as he stood up. He threw a distasteful look at Mandrake. He was blond and dressed in walnut brown trousers and a loose tan shirt that looked a century out of style. He sized up Ivy. "Introduce yourself, young lady."

"She's Ivy," Mandrake said. "That should be enough for you, Mervani."

Ivy looked from the harpist to Mandrake as Branard nudged the back of her shoulder. "Nice to meet you," she said as loud as she could.

"Jovan Mervani," the harpist said, bowing curtly to her. "Branard, as you've met," he said, sweeping his arm toward the boy behind her, "Rockfort—"

"Rocky," the artist said, glancing her over. "You may call me Rocky, Ivy."

"—the lovely Scarlet," Jovan continued, nodding to the woman watching Ivy. "And Mandrake Malifix," he added sourly, jerking a thumb at the violinist.

Mandrake nodded crisply to her.

Ivy's head swirled with so many names so quickly. She looked to each. They all shared the same tall, elegant yet easy posture, their clothes in older styles that she always equated with the Victorian age or stage costumes. Her eyes stayed on Scarlet as the woman pulled up her shawl to one shoulder, her dark eyes shining like liquid in the moonlight. Her dress was long, dark red in the late evening, accented with a gold metal ring at the low neckline.

She smiled at Ivy, her pale skin appearing bloodless against the red dress. "Welcome, Ivy," she said in a smooth voice that seemed more like a musical instrument.

"Would you like to sit in?" Jovan asked, laughing. "Perhaps Rockfort can paint you next."

"Oh, no," Ivy said quickly. "I'm on my way home. I was just passing . . ." She bit her lip, searching their inquisitive faces. "I didn't know you . . . all lived here."

"Your friend is here," Branard said.

Ivy looked at him, then followed his stare to see Maeve stepping from the Hall.

"She's more Dred's classmate than mine," Maeve said, quickly taking the steps from the house. The stone steps ran half the length of the house, lined with dying off plants in large stone urns. "Hi, Ivy."

"Hi, Maeve." Ivy swallowed, her throat dry. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, her tone dropping as she moved across the patio to Maeve.

"It's not a problem at all," Mandrake said, raising the violin to his chin. He placed it against his chest, turning to Jovan but still watching Ivy. "You may stay, Ivy."

"She has school tomorrow," Maeve said to him.

He sent her a cross glance, then turned back to the violin, eyes closing, seeming to drift off into a musical realm.

"Are all these, these people related to Dred?" Ivy asked in a hushed tone as Mandrake drew a mournful sound from the violin. She saw Jovan lean an arm on the harp's top edge, sending a dismissive look at Mandrake, who ignored everything.

"Sort of," Maeve said, putting an arm across Ivy's shoulder to turn her toward the house. "Far-removed, but kind of related. I'm taking Ivy home," she said to someone behind Ivy. "Are you leaving soon?"

Ivy turned to see Branard nearly behind her. The woodsy aftershave grew stronger.

He kissed Maeve's cheek, then grinned quickly at Ivy. "See you later, Ivy."

"Goodbye, Branard," she said hesitantly, trying to keep the new names and men straight.

"'Night, Maeve."

Maeve smiled quickly, pulling Ivy along up the stone steps. "Branard. From Shanonton."

Ivy half-stumbled up the steps. "Your, your boyfriend?"

Maeve laughed. "Yes."

"I didn't . . . didn't know—"

"Why would you?" Maeve shrugged.

The violin played deeper into the night, bringing Ivy's attention back to Mandrake.

He was watching her.

Goodnight, Ivy, the violin played out, Mandrake's eyes never leaving her.

She waved a bit. He closed his eyes, turning slightly back to the patio as he drove the violin into a darker theme.

Maeve mumbled something Ivy didn't quite hear.

"Show off." Jovan's grumble to Mandrake was loud enough to hear across the yard.

Maeve hurried Ivy up the steps. "They're both showoffs."

The Vampire Zodiac … Introduction … More from Sakurapu … All Chapters

PG13. #YearOfTheVampire #vampire #dramady #highschool #YA #fiction #VampireZodiac