Music from: Revenge of the Gods
They walked in silence down the sidewalk, against the chill breeze upgrading to a wind as the shops fell away to be replaced by the more heavily treed stretch of sidewalk two blocks out of the town proper. Also, Ivy realized, much more broken. She stepped carefully over a giant hole in the concrete where water had collected in the earlier shower.
"You don't have to walk me," she told Dred when the quiet became too noticeable. "I always walk alone when Lornie is busy. No biggie."
"You shouldn't," he said, slinging an arm lightly across her shoulders. "Never know what lurks—"
"Off, please," she said, wriggling her shoulder nearest him.
His arm only clamped a little harder. "Just bracing you, Ivy."
"I don't need it." She felt the blush spike in her cheeks again.
The oak trees cleared and a dark shadow fell over them. Ivy nearly stopped as Brylinden Hall loomed several acres away. Even at the distance, the old blend of architectural styles made passersby pause. To Ivy, it was a mix of emotions that made her halt. "A blend of Romanesque Revival, Gothic Revival, and High Victorian styles, utilizing the stone and rustic ironwork rather than common stick style," her father had told her when they'd first seen the house in good daylight. To her, the four-story house was both imposing and mysteriously curious.
"Brylinden Hall," she murmured, eyes riveted to the house. "Dad said it's as complex as a Queen Anne, but solid as a fortress. Looks so gloomy and yet beautiful in the right lighting."
"You think so?" He shrugged, bringing her a few inches closer before relaxing the proximity. "You like it?"
"Well, I appreciate it," she said.
"You and your dad go house gazing together or something?"
"He's an architect. Mostly city planning stuff, but it's kind of fun to look at the different styles. Together." She watched him take in the Hall with a more thoughtful gaze. "You?" His fingers tightened on her shoulder and this time she sidestepped. "Don't get so— Ugh!"
Her shoe caught the uneven sidewalk and her balance toppled, sending her tumbling into the street. Instinctively she held the bolt of cloth up, stretched before her as a wide lake of pothole water rose to meet her. She landed with an "Oof!" and an "Ouch!" until the breath pushed from her lungs as her stomach and ribs met the broken pavement.
"Hey! Ivy!"
She looked up at the bolt of cloth still held out of danger as her elbows crashed to the street. "Ow . . ."
Dred stooped beside her, then straddled her back to pull her up in a graceless motion. "You didn't even try to catch yourself?"
She wheezed out the last of the air in her lungs and pulled the bolt clumsily to her side as she was tugged up. ". . . didn't want . . . to get it . . . wet."
He straightened her once she was on her feet and watched as she brushed the wet, crumbled pavement from her jacket. "It's all wrapped up, Ivy. It wouldn't have got wet. Or dirty."
"I think it's okay."
She coughed and inspected the bolt for damage. The plastic was splashed, but that was about it. She inhaled in a wheezy rattle and tried to get her breath back. "Some bracing."
"Sorry. Let's get out of the road." He took her elbow.
She yelped at his touch, flinching as an ugly red abrade came into contact. The edge of pothole had scraped a hole right through her thin jacket, leaving a reddening abrasion on her elbow. She stepped away, only to have a shooting pain lace up her ankle. "Ow!"
This time she let him catch her waist as she lost her balance. She gripped the bolt of cloth tight to her chest, standing on one foot. "My ankle. I think . . . I twisted it."
He locked his arm tighter around her waist and nearly lifted her onto the grassy curbside. "We'll go inside and you can sit down."
"Here?" She looked up at the cobble path leading to Brylinden Hall. "We can't just knock on a stranger's door. Not this stranger." She looked far up at the balconied and gabled house that seemed to watch their hobbling approach. "Not this house."
"It's okay."
"Do you know them?" She leaned on him as his arm took her waist, biting her lip against the pain crippling her ankle.
"Yeah."
"How?"
They managed the first step of the stone porch spreading before the Hall. It was laden with vines and tangled, dying foliage. Only a muted light came from one heavy drape.
"I live here."
Ivy almost fell over as she looked up at him. "You do? But no one lives here." She had no basis for that, but she always assumed it was some sort of house-turned-museum that was now half-abandoned. She rarely seen lights on inside it at night.
"Yeah. Come on."
They shuffled across the stone porch and he turned them to the left to a single side door. It was dark gray, appearing like a gaping hole in the poor light shadowing that side of the house.
"This is better than the front doors," he said, pausing them to lift the brass latch handle and push the thick door open. "Got steps from the front. This'll take us right to the third parlor."
"Third parlor?" She let him usher her into the hollow of doorway that opened before them. "How many parlors are there?"
"Six. Maybe more. Six, officially, in use." He closed the door behind them and for a moment, inky black engulfed them.
At last . . . a chill breeze seemed to whisper as Ivy stood wide-eyed, waiting for her vision to adjust to the dark.
"What's that?" she said, standing rigid as he prompted her to move.
"Just old house sounds. This door does that."
His arm was around her again, moving her forward, seeming to glide them in a disembodied float until he turned them into a room at their left.
A small parlor opened, swathed in a burgundy color from two Tiffany lamps resting on matching ornate side tables flanking a settee in rose damask upholstery. Dred eased her to the seat.
"Am . . . Are you sure I can sit here?" She sat primly, as if the chair would be taxed by her weight.
"'Course. It's a chair, right?" He grinned at her, then patted the extra seat beside her. "Set down your roll of cloth and we'll look at your ankle."
Ivy smiled timidly, against her will, almost; something in his grin seemed to pull the smile right out of her. "Okay."
He knelt before her and set his textbook on the red and cream Oriental rug. "Does it hurt much?"
She caught her breath as he took her ankle in one hand and carefully slipped off her laceless sneakers. "A little."
He set the shoe aside and felt up her ankle.
She recoiled at the warm swelling on the outside of her ankle when his fingers probed the area. "It's sore there."
He lowered her foot to the rug and sat back on his heels. "I'll get some ice."
"Don't leave me here." The words were out of her mouth before she could think.
He was already on his feet and heading to the far side of the room, opposite from the short hallway they had entered by. "I'll be right back. Just a sec."
She bit back any more words, chiding herself.
He disappeared out the arched doorway to a better-lit hallway beyond. She sighed, trying to ignore the growing pain in her ankle. The room was papered in cream and soft red murals depicting a park with an Oriental gazebo and lazy river and young children rolling a hoop with a stick, seeming from a hundred years or more ago. There was a matching settee and lamp tables with lace-shaded and jewel-strung lamps across from her at the wall, but they weren't lit. She let herself sit back a few inches, then tucked her book bag behind her for support.
A tall, white marble fireplace was to her left and a hump-backed sofa in off-white to her right against the wall. Above it hung an ornate frame of mosaic glass. Four candles, two on each side, stood in gilt holders, but they were unlit. She frowned, expecting a mirror rather than cut and fitted colored glass.
She hummed nervously, holding her hands tight together in her lap.
". . . hell do you think you're doing?" a hushed male voice drifted to her.
Ivy sat straighter, straining to hear.
"Helping." It was Dred's voice, she thought, barely above a whisper.
There was a shushed flurry of the first voice, too rushed and low with base for her to hear. Dred began to speak again, but a sudden sweep of music from overhead drowned him out. The single tone of a violin drifted to the parlor where Ivy sat, and then the tone turned into a blend of strings, all following the same notes. It was a mid-tempo melody, dissolving into a mournful sound that nearly brought Ivy to her feet.
". . . screw this up," came the first male voice again.
Ivy could hear no more of the hushed voices over the violin's haunting melody, but she sat perfectly still, hoping for more.
Dred appeared at the arched doorway, a cold pack in his hand. "This should help."
"Who was that?" she asked as he stooped before her and draped the ice pack over her swollen ankle. At first the cold and weight touched off pain through her sock, but then it abated into a soothing numbness.
"No one." He didn't look at her.
"I don't want to be in the way, Dred."
He glanced up at her, one hand still balancing the pack at her ankle. "You're not. It's okay, Ivy."
Ivy . . . a breeze seemed to drift through the room.
She shivered. "You live here? With these weird drafts?"
"Old houses have weird noises. That's all." He stood up and sat beside her on the settee, careful to position the bolt of cloth between them without squishing it.
"Who were you talking to?"
His dark eyes wavered, something flitting over them as he held her inquisitive stare. "Just . . . others that live here."
"Your family?" she said hopefully.
"Not quite."
"Then who? Do you really live here?" She pulled her foot back under her better, preparing for flight.
"It's an interim house," Maeve's voice said from the doorway.
Ivy yelped and looked to the upperclassman standing under the archway. "You, you live here, too?"
"Dred is kind of between residences right now," Maeve said, pinpointing him with a sharp glare. "He can stay here, until his paperwork arrives."
Ivy glanced to the boy beside her with new sympathy. "Oh, you're a . . . foster?"
A dark look came to his face, but he shrugged. "I guess."
"How's your foot, Ivy?" Maeve crossed the room to the settee. "Feeling better?"
"Yes, it's numb now." She tried to read Maeve's face, but got only a neutral etiquette. "I didn't mean to intrude."
"You're not." A genuine smile broke across Maeve's lips. "The front porch has a lot of old floorboards, so it's not the best route for a sprained ankle. Good thing you used the side entrance," she said, giving Dred a brief glimpse. "Be sure to use the east one on your way out."
"Oh, yeah," Dred said with a sigh.
"Better yet," Maeve said, smiling at Ivy, "I'll drive Ivy home."
The Vampire Zodiac … Introduction … More from Sakurapu … All Chapters
PG13. #YearOfTheVampire #vampire #dramady #highschool #YA #fiction #VampireZodiac
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