Chapter Twelve
It was just after sunrise when Lilith returned home. Since her parents normally retired to their separate bedchambers just before the break of dawn, Lilith had hoped she would be able to sneak back into their penthouse apartment unnoticed.
Instead, the elevator doors opened to reveal a seething Victor Todd pacing the private lobby like a caged animal.
"Where have you been, young lady?" Victor growled, snatching his daughter by the arm and yanking her out of the elevator.
"Let go of me!" Lilith yelped as her father dragged her into the apartment.
"You weren't in your bedroom when the servants came to wake you this evening, and I know it wasn't because you were in a hurry to get to school. Madame Nerezza called to personally inform me that you never arrived at the academy!" Victor snarled angrily as he slammed the door behind them.
"You're squeezing my arm!"
"I should squeeze your pretty little neck! You really had us worried, Lilith! For all your mother and I knew, you were lying in a ditch somewhere with a stake through your heart."
"A lot you care!" Lilith retorted, pulling herself free of her father's grasp. "The only reason you'd hate to see me dead is because that would mean you'd have to start sleeping in the same bed as my mother again."
"How dare you speak to me like that?" Victor gasped. "Are you drunk?"
"Well, duh," Lilith sneered. "I always come home drunk, Daddy! You'd know that if you actually paid any attention."
"Where'd you get that?" Victor asked, pointing to the leather portfolio she was holding.
"It's nothing; it's just a notebook, that's all," Lilith replied, hiding it behind her back.
"If it's nothing, then you shouldn't have any problem letting me look at it," Victor said as he tried to snatch the portfolio out of his daughter's hands.
"Leave me alone!" Lilith shouted. "It's mine! You can't have it!"
"I've had enough of this foolishness, Lilith!" Victor said angrily. "You're grounded until further notice."
Lilith's jaw dropped as if the muscles had been severed. "I'm what?!"
"You heard me. Your grades at school are horrible. From here on in there will be no more partying with those friends of yours until the break of dawn instead of studying. I'm also canceling all your platinum cards-
you'll have to make do with a single gold card."
"You can't do this to me!" Lilith pouted, stamping her foot in protest. "You're being totally unfair."
"No, 'totally unfair' would be if I decided to keep you home from the Grand Ball," her father retorted.
"You wouldn't dare!" she said, tears forming in her eyes. "I'm to be the final presentation of the night!"
"Oh, but I would. And I shall. That is, unless you tell me where you have been tonight and who you were with."
Lilith was in the tightest spot of her life. She had used every tactic that normally resulted in her father capitulating to her will: shouting, whining, pouting, and crying. There was only one move left for her to play. She instantly ceased her crocodile tears and fixed Victor with a look of unalloyed hatred.
"Very well, if that's how it's going to be, you leave me no choice. I'm going to tell Irina all about your precious little Cally."
"What?" Now it was Victor's turn to look stunned.
"That's right, Daddy!" Lilith smirked. "I know about your secret daughter. And if you don't start being very, very nice to me, Mother will know, too! You wouldn't want that to happen, would you, Father dear? So, if you know what's good for you-and your bastard daughter-
you'll keep your hands off my platinum cards. Have I made myself understood?"
"All too well," Victor replied stonily.
Cally was buttoning the white blouse of her school uniform when she heard the doorbell ring.
"Mom! Somebody's at the door!"
The doorbell rang a second time, followed by a loud knock.
"Mom-the door!" Cally shouted again. When it became obvious that her mother was not going to respond, Cally stomped out of her room, muttering under her breath. She glanced at her mother's bedroom, the door to which was still shut. No doubt Sheila was nursing yet another hangover.
Cally peered through the peephole into the hall and saw two tall, moderately well-built men, one blond, the other with brown hair, both dressed in matching dark collarless suit jackets and turtleneck sweaters. They also wore wraparound sunglasses. She opened the door a crack and looked around the doorjamb. "Yes? May I help you?"
Without warning, the blond man pushed against the door with surprising strength, and he and his companion bulldozed their way into the foyer.
"What do you two think you're doing?" Cally yelled.
"You can't barge in here like that!"
The blond man silently pointed to the back of the apartment. The dark-haired man nodded and headed down the hallway in the direction of the bedrooms, while the blond walked into the living room.
"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Cally shouted, hurrying after the dark-haired intruder. "Get out before I have to hurt you and your friend!"
"It's all right, Cally. They mean you no harm. They're with me."
Cally turned to find Victor Todd standing at the front door.
"Dad?" Cally frowned. "What are you doing here?
What's going on? Who are these creeps?"
"Their names are Walther and Sinclair. They are servants of mine," Victor explained, closing the door behind him. "You must forgive their rather brusque manner, but they've only recently been reawakened. I've had them in cold storage since 1965. I cannot rely on undead created in the last century, as they are equally under my wife's control. Sinclair has spent three hundred years in service to the Todds and Walther even longer."
Cally stared at the blond man, who was busy taking every book off the shelves in the living room and placing them into tidy stacks on the floor. "They're undead?"
"Yes. But you have nothing to fear from them," her father assured her. "Walther and Sinclair recognize you as family, and they are under strict orders not to feed on your mother."
"Well, that's something of a relief, I guess." She pointed at the blond undead, who was still stacking books. "Which one is he?"
"That's Walther."
"Thanks." Cally put her fingers in her mouth, whistled, and shouted: "Hey, Walther!"
The blond undead stopped and turned to face her.
"Yes, young mistress?"
"What are you doing?"
"I am preparing your belongings for packing."
"What?"
Cally turned and ran down the hallway and into her room. As she slid to a stop in the open doorway, she saw that Sinclair was diligently removing each article of clothing from the wardrobe and neatly folding it before placing it atop her bed.
"Get out of my room!" Cally shouted. "Who said you could come in here and start touching my stuff?!"
The door to her mother's bedroom opened to reveal Sheila Monture, sans makeup and dressed in a ragged housecoat. "What the hell is going on? I'm trying to get some rest!" Sheila froze when she saw her former lover standing in the hallway. "Victor? What are you doing here?"
"Don't touch that!" Cally snatched one of her dresses from Sinclair and returned it to the wardrobe. Sinclair reached in and pulled the same dress back out.
"I said don't touch it!" Cally repeated angrily, yanking the garment out of the undead servant's hands again and shoving it once more into the wardrobe.
Sinclair, his face registering no signs of irritation or surprise, removed the dress for a third time.
"What is this guy's malfunction?" Cally groaned in exasperation.
"There's no point in trying to stop him, Cally,"
Victor explained. "You'll give up long before he will. The undead never grow weary. Once they're given a task, they will complete it no matter how long it takes or how arduous it might be."
"Why are they here? And what's this about packing our things?" Cally asked, turning to face her father.
"You and your mother are leaving New York."
"What do you mean we're leaving?" Sheila
frowned.
"Cally is in grave danger. You must leave the city as soon as possible. I have one-way tickets to Sweden already booked-"
"Sweden?!" Cally yelped. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I realize it's far away, but you should be safe there."
"Safe from what?" Sheila asked nervously.
Victor turned to face her, his manner grim. "Lilith knows that Cally is my daughter."
"What?" Sheila gasped. "Are you sure?"
Victor nodded. "She threatened to go to her mother with the information when I said I was going to ground her for playing hooky from school."
"How could she have possibly found out?" Sheila said.
Victor turned to Cally, fixing her with a stern gaze.
"Has Lilith tasted your blood?"
Cally nodded. "We got into a fight at school," she said sheepishly. "She bit me on the shoulder."
"Well, there's no point crying over shed blood,"
Victor said. "What's done is done. It's only a matter of time before Lilith tells her mother the truth. The only reason she hasn't done so yet is because she and her mother are not close."
"Where in Sweden are you sending us?" Cally
asked.
"There is a hunting lodge that belonged to my father, located twelve kilometers out of Kiruna, the northernmost city in the country. It's actually in Lapland, near the Arctic Circle. I have arranged for servants loyal to the Todd bloodline to tend to you there. I will also arrange for tutors so that you are properly educated while you're in seclusion."
"How long will we have to stay there?" Cally asked.
"Ten, maybe twenty years. By that time, you should have sufficient expertise to protect yourself against Irina, given that you learn to master the Shadow Hand."
"Ten years?" Cally wailed, a stricken look on her face.
"But I like it in New York! This is so not fair. Just when I'm finally making friends at school and I get invited to the Grand Ball, I have to move to the North Pole!"
She plopped down on the edge of her bed, tears welling in her eyes. "This is bullshit. I don't want to move to Sweden. You can't make me!"
"I'm not doing this to be mean, Cally," Victor said gently. "I'm trying to save your life-and your mother's."
"Can't you at least let me attend the Grand Ball before sending me away?" Cally pleaded. "Rauhnacht is this weekend. I'll do as you ask if you'll just let me go."
"It won't work. There's no way I can publicly acknowledge you as my daughter. And the rules forbid girls from being presented unless they have a father or other male relative to introduce them."
"I realize that, but I just thought maybe you could get someone to at least pretend to be my dad."
Victor paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
"You know, having someone else say you're his daughter might make Lilith's claims less believable." He nodded.
"Very well, I will arrange a surrogate for you. But you have to promise me you won't tell anyone you're leaving the country, understand?"
"Thank you!" Cally exclaimed, throwing her arms around Victor's neck. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You're the best father in the world!"
"Well, I'm glad at least one of my daughters thinks so." Victor chuckled. "Go ahead and attend school tonight. But try to steer clear of Lilith as much as possible."
"So she knew I was her sister all this time," Cally said sourly, shaking her head. "And she still treated me like crap. And to think, I actually felt guilty for not liking her when I learned the truth. What a bitch." She grimaced and gave her father an apologetic look. "Sorry about that."
"Don't be," Victor said.
The car phone was ringing as Victor Todd climbed into his Rolls Tungsten. He tapped the communications panel of the LCD display built into the back of the front passenger seat, activating the car's hands-free system.
"Talk to me," he said by way of greeting.
"Victor? It's Karl." The disembodied voice that came through the Rolls's sound system was that of Victor's most trusted vassal, Baron Karl Metzger, who handled several of the Todd family's investments.
"How's the weather in Paris?"
"Much like New York, this close to Rauhnacht,"
Metzger replied. "I was calling to see if you received the package I sent?"
Victor glanced over at the unopened padded envelope sitting on the seat next to him. It had been delivered to the penthouse just as he was leaving to retrieve Walther and Sinclair from the cold-storage warehouse. "I have it with me, but I haven't had a chance to look at it yet."
Although HemoGlobe was Victor's primary business and moneymaker, he had long ago learned the wisdom of diversifying into other fields of endeavor. After all, a wise man doesn't keep all his blood in one cellar. Over the decades he had sunk funds into numerous businesses, ranging in everything from farm implements to telecommunications.
"I just need you to look at them and give me your okay before I sign off on the new contract for the replacement. My son and I will take everything from there."
"Very well." Victor sighed. "I'll take a look." He picked up the envelope and opened it, pulling out the proof sheet.
He made a strangled, snarling noise as he saw the blond hair and ice-blue eyes of the model, and the photographs slid from his numbed hands and across the floor of the luxury sedan.
"Is something wrong, my liege?"
Victor Todd did not answer but instead wrenched the LCD panel from its mounting and hurled it out the closed window of the speeding car and into the streets of Brooklyn in a spray of shattered safety glass.
* * *
Although virtually all his paying work was done with a digital SLR camera, Kristof still preferred to shoot at least one or two rolls of 35-mm film with his old Leica. While digital cameras were far more cost-effective and granted instantaneous knowledge of what shots were worth keeping, traditional film allowed him latitude in high-contrast situations, revealing a world of detail in the highlights and shadows that could never be coaxed from a digital file.
It was because of this appreciation for the inherent poetry of black-and-white photography and old-school optical lab techniques that Kristof had turned his second bathroom into a darkroom. In the blood-red glow of the light, he watched as Lili's face gradually appeared on the exposed print paper floating in the developer tray, like a ghost emerging from a fog bank. As Kristof quickly transferred the print from the developer tray to the stop bath with a pair of tongs, then moved it to the fixer tray, he thought he heard someone moving around in his combination sleeping area/office/living room.
It was probably his assistant, Miriam. She was always forgetting something. Last time it was her purse. The time before that it was her laptop. Setting the timer for two minutes, he opened the door to the darkroom and stuck out his head.
"Miriam-is that you?"
He waited for a reply, but all he heard was silence. He shrugged and ducked back inside the darkroom as the timer went off. It must have been the building settling or the upstairs neighbors coming home. He removed the black-and-white print from the fixer tray and placed it in the wash, swishing it back and forth with his tongs. As he looked down at the print floating in the distilled water, Kristof noticed for the first time what appeared to be a double exposure. As he pulled the photograph out of the rinse tray and clipped it to the drying line strung across the bathtub, he could clearly see the outline of the Eiffel Tower superimposed over Lili's face. But that was impossible. He'd triple-checked all his cameras before the shoot for light leaks and film misfeeds.
Kristof's frown deepened even further when he discovered that the double exposure did not seem to affect either the clothing the model was wearing or the surrounding props and scenery. Although her features were still visible, it was as if she had suddenly been transformed into glass. How the hell was it possible for Lili to be the only thing affected in the entire frame?
Looking more closely, Kristof realized that the Eiffel Tower on Lili's face was not the haphazard result of one exposure being taken atop another, but the simple fact he was looking through Lili's head at what she was standing in front of, which just happened to be the fake window with its pretend view of the Eiffel Tower.
"What the-?" he muttered, snatching the print off the line.
Kristof turned around to discover he was no longer alone. Standing between him and the darkroom door was a tall man with dark hair gone gray at the temples, his eyes glowing like those of an animal.
"What do you think you're doing with my daughter?" the intruder growled, flashing fangs as white and sharp as those of a wolf.
Kristof didn't have time to explain, but he did manage to scream.