So now we go to Plan D,” he said, downing his glass and holding it out to me in a mock toast.
“Plan drunk?” I asked wryly.
“That’s a good one!” he said enthusiastical y. “But no.
Plan Damon.”
“And what would that be?” I asked, turning to face him.
“Is that ‘Kil al of London before Samuel does it first’? Is it
‘Compel your way into mil ions before running away’? Or is it ‘Go over to his side, because you always want to be the one to win’?”
“None of the above.” Damon shrugged. “But I wil say it’s far better than moping, which is Plan Stefan.” I glanced back at my notebook so he wouldn’t see the redness rise to my cheeks. Was that true? And why did I care? Damon liked to deliberately provoke, and no matter what, I walked into his trap.
Just then I heard a light knock on the door.
“Come in!” I cal ed, grateful for the interruption.
Cora entered the room, the train of a red silk dress trailing on the floor behind her.
“Stefan, are you feeling better?” she said.
“I’m fine, I just had a headache. I stil do,” I said.
“Wel , I would too if I spent al my time moping,” Damon said. “Come on! I stil haven’t told you my plan. My name has been cleared, we’re not dressed like paupers, and I think the only thing we can do is go out tonight. There are dozens of bal s in honor of the Lord Mayor’s Parade. Why, there’s even one at White’s that Lord Ainsley is giving.
Heard about it this morning at breakfast.”
“That isn’t a plan, it’s a party. You can go if you want, but I’m going to stay here and think.”
“It’s a party with people who know Samuel. We go, we gather information, and then we plan. Who knows? Maybe we can even prevent some attacks. It’s worth a try.” Cora nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. After al , if we’re there, maybe we can find out if Samuel’s already starting to turn people into vampires. And maybe we wil find information about what he’s doing with them.” I glanced from Cora to Damon. Both were staring at me, wil ing me to say yes. What did I have to lose? The childish part of me wanted to stay in, but I realized they were right.
At this point, the only thing we could do was gather as much information as possible.
“Al right. I’l be down in a moment,” I said.
Ten minutes later, courtesy of a compel ed coach driver, we were in front of what looked like an average residence in central London. It was a townhouse, with a lit gas lamp out front. The only sign that it was a nightclub was the stream of people constantly entering and exiting. To the left of the entrance, a man in a top hat sat on a high stool, scrutinizing a list of names.
“Welcome to White’s!” Damon said grandly, as if it were his own private establishment. I rol ed my eyes as I helped Cora out of the carriage.
Upon hearing Damon’s voice, the man by the door looked up.
“Count de Sangue. Welcome back!” He bowed with a flourish and ushered us inside. We walked down a carpeted staircase and into the party.
“Just like old times.” Damon sighed happily, rubbing his hands together. The air was fil ed with the sound of instruments tuning up, ice cubes clinking in high-bal glasses, and chattering conversations punctuated by laughter. The crush of the crowd created an intoxicating aroma, and every thought in my brain was superseded by the sound of hundreds of heartbeats th-thumping under the din.
“Why, hel o there!” A girl’s voice yanked me from my reverie. I whirled around to see a tal woman with dainty features and butterscotch-colored hair. I sniffed, taking in the burnt-coffee smel of her blood. Her slow, sleepy smile and slight waver indicated it would almost certainly be tinged with rum, and I could imagine my fangs gently sliding against her skin until…
“Charlotte!” Damon said, licking his upper lip. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
Charlotte. I stepped back as though I’d been slapped.
I’d been so entranced by the scent of her blood that I’d forgotten I knew her. She was the actress Damon had taken up with before the Jack the Ripper accusations. I hastily took a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray, downing it fast. Hopeful y the alcohol would numb my craving for blood.
“Wel , I can’t say the same of you, you brute,” Charlotte said. She pouted, but I could tel from the way her eyes danced that she was only putting on a display of anger. “Not only did you disappear, but you became a wanted criminal in the blink of an eye. Of course, I knew it wasn’t true. You only travel in the best circles, so you’d never go to that awful East End, even if you were a murderer.” She laughed. Her fingers grazed her neck. It was an unconscious gesture, but seeing it caused my pulse to pound.
“It real y is rather funny, when you think about it. Me, in the East End, with prostitutes, when I could be here, with you on my arm.” Damon flashed her one of his charming half-smiles.
“It is, isn’t it?” Charlotte laughed again, but her eyes seemed hol ow. Something about her was amiss, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I hadn’t known her wel , but on the few occasions our paths had crossed, she’d always seemed flirtatious. Now, her statements were half a second too slow, as if she were struggling to remember her lines.
She ran her finger along Damon’s col arbone. “Wel , you’l have to tel us al about life on the lam. How delightful y have to tel us al about life on the lam. How delightful y slum-worthy it must have been.”