Tired Of Doing Everything
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The air was crisp this morning, just cold enough for me to notice. I felt the coolness on my face as I ran along the river’s edge, a small smile playing over my lips at how peaceful everything seemed on this first day of December. My breath steamed in front of me and frost began to form on the grass as I went.
It might have been the fact that I’d woken up with a spring in my step, but it was hard not to feel happy when there were so many pretty things to look at, like the sun glittering off the water of the Hudson River, or the way the wind had made the bare branches of trees dance against the sky as I jogged down Fifth Avenue.
It would be another month until the snow fell thick and heavy, yet even then these days could still make you wish that winter weren’t so short-lived.
A jog around Central Park would take an hour or so—I didn’t care if people called me crazy for running out here—so I set off into the city proper with only one thought in mind: breakfast.
This time of year wasn’t just about Christmas and New Year’s Eve celebrations. It was also prime holiday shopping season and I knew that most of the shops and restaurants near where I lived would be packed during the next few weeks.
And while I did love a good party, I couldn’t deny that the idea of being surrounded by people all night made me nervous. So, after yesterday’s trip to Saks’ shoe department and lunch at Le Pain Quotidien, I had an appointment to see the ladies who handled all of my wardrobe needs at noon to get ready for my first big event of the season: tonight’s black tie ball.
That meant having a shower, changing my shoes, and getting myself properly dressed before my hair stylist came over to do her thing. I’d already decided I wouldn’t use my own makeup today as I wanted a professional to create something that would suit the red dress I’d ordered from London (which was scheduled to arrive any minute now).
While I could’ve used some of my mom’s vintage pieces as she never minded me borrowing them, there was no chance she’d let me wear anything like this. That’s why I’d gone ahead and arranged for one of the best designers to make a custom creation based on the image I’d sent her.
It would cost me more than I should have spent (and probably double what I could have paid for something similar if I’d tried to buy it in a store), but it was worth every dime.
And besides, there would be plenty of parties later on in the month, not to mention New Year’s Eve when I’d need to go shopping again…
While it might not be true for everyone in the fashion world, I’d grown up thinking that clothes were my passion. When I got the opportunity to attend the New York City Ballet’s Gala each year (or any of their other events) I always took advantage of that because it was one of my favorite nights of the year.
In those cases, though, the company’s costume mistress was often responsible for making whatever needed to be done, so there were no choices involved.
In addition to dancing as an understudy, I also performed in many ballets as either a guest artist or a featured soloist depending on the show’s choreography. I loved wearing the gorgeous costumes designed by renowned artists like Val Caniparoli, Mark Badgley, and others, but sometimes, the pressure of knowing that they’re usually handmade to perfection made me feel uncomfortable.
As much as I enjoyed looking at the final product, the process itself was far less glamorous and it left me wondering how these people created such beautiful garments and then sent them off to be worn in the real world without ever seeing them come apart at the seams.
There was no denying that they had their work cut out for them since I had a tendency toward the curvaceous figure of a dancer and not the waiflike one required by most of the classical ballet repertoire.
But the costume mistress in charge of designing my stage costumes was always so kind when we met and told me that there were no women in the entire world whose bodies didn’t require adjustments and that I should know better than anyone that dancers’ physiques were all different.
She even said that she’d worked on several of my mother’s costumes too, so she understood my desire to look my best onstage.
The same woman was also responsible for making my evening gowns for the galas and the black tie balls. The last one I’d attended was actually two years ago now, but I could still remember the exquisite gown she’d created for me that year.
It was a shimmering green silk, with a sweetheart neckline that revealed a hint of skin beneath the fabric. The material was soft and cool against my body, yet still looked elegant enough to make my mother’s collection of jewels shine brilliantly. And it fits me perfectly. There weren’t many occasions that required me to go formal, but when I did, she created something special for me to wear.
When it came to shoes, however, my mom always preferred me to go with something else, which led me to order my favorites from her old closet whenever possible. Today, my feet were clad in four-inch strappy sandals that matched the outfit she’d picked out for me yesterday.
And while they were a bit impractical for running across town, I loved them. They were so feminine, and they made me feel like I was walking down the catwalk of a runway instead of stepping through a subway turnstile.
As it turned out, that wasn’t such a bad thing to think about on the way to a new beginning.
***
“So where is your father?”
I looked around the room to see who’d asked the question and found no one standing nearby. Then I heard footsteps coming closer and knew it hadn’t been someone from the hotel staff. A second later, a familiar masculine voice said, “He should be here any moment,” as the door swung open and Max walked into the suite.
Max, as usual, looked like he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. His shirt was white cotton, unbuttoned at the neck, and fell away from his broad shoulders with the ease of a well-worn leather jacket. He wore blue jeans, and a pair of boots that went perfectly with his eyes—they were the kind of blue that you couldn’t help staring into and never wanting to leave behind.
The rest of his appearance only served to accentuate the natural features of his handsome face and the long limbs that made him look tall even when he was sitting. I’d often wished that I’d been able to spend more time with my dad before I moved to New York, but there were times I wondered if perhaps some part of me felt attracted to a man like Max because that’s what my dad must have looked like when he was younger.
It was hard not to imagine how I’d look like myself, with a little bit of Max’s magic thrown in, if I grew up with him around. I’d be taller, of course, but I’d probably have his piercing gaze and the same strong jawline. My hair would definitely be darker though, and I’d carry a few of my mother’s traits too—but mostly I thought I’d resemble both of them in that I’d be beautiful and capable.
But as much as I loved my fantasy thoughts of being a young girl next to my handsome father, this wasn’t exactly how I imagined that life to be. For some reason, I’d always pictured the two of us in the woods together instead of in a fancy hotel suite.
Maybe that was another part of why it bothered me so much that Max and Dad had never really tried to get along. They were polar opposites who’d never been able to find common ground on anything. It was a shame. They didn’t understand each other at all. If only they knew how similar they were inside…
They didn’t know that my mother had been the one to suggest this whole crazy adventure in the first place. That was why they’d argued over whether or not to allow me to take a chance on finding out something about her past, and ultimately they agreed to let me do whatever I wanted to do.
But even that was strange. Why hadn’t they fought over the possibility of me getting involved with an unknown entity like the one my mother had mentioned? They might have known that I’d already gone through a traumatic experience involving the undead, so why would they worry that they might lose me if I got caught up in some paranormal mystery again?
No, they both agreed that this was different; they knew me, after all. And so, once they decided on a plan, I’d simply done as they’d asked and followed the directions they gave me.
That meant that we were here now.
The room where the portal to Hell stood, waiting for its appointed time to send me into the underworld. There was nothing supernatural about the doorway itself. At least not in terms of my abilities. What was odd was that my mother seemed to recognize it instantly, although neither she nor Dad had ever seen it before.
Maybe she remembered something from childhood. Perhaps she used to come here to visit the dead in their last moments. Or maybe she’d simply read about it somewhere and believed that it was real. Either way, I’d be doing things differently today.
We all knew my mother was right when she said that this world had to die in order for the new one to start. So I could hardly expect her to fight her own destiny, which included her death.
“Dad?” I asked when the silence began to wear on me. “Is this your favorite restaurant?”
He frowned as if trying to figure out why anyone would ask him that. Then he looked back at me. “No,” he finally answered. “This is where we eat when we can afford to stay in luxury hotels.” He turned toward his brother and then pointed at the menu on the table beside me. “What are you going to have to drink?”
“Oh,” Max replied, turning bright red. “Well, I haven’t thought yet.”
There was a sudden pause, and then the waiter arrived with three bottles of wine and four glasses. Max ordered a bottle of red, my father a glass of white, and I chose the best of the bunch: a vintage Merlot. I was in heaven.
The moment I saw the bottle on the table, it called to me. As far as I was concerned, it was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever laid my eyes upon. It had to be worth at least a thousand dollars.
“You’re lucky,” Max told me with a laugh. He sounded pleased that I’d chosen the same thing as his older brother. “I’m drinking something else, since my old man prefers his with ice, and he doesn’t approve of mine being served warm.”
We both drank deeply from our glasses, enjoying the cool taste of red grapes on our tongues.
When Max was finished, he poured himself another glass and set it down on the table before continuing.
“So tell me,” he said, looking straight at my father. “How does a human get mixed up with demons anyway?”
My father hesitated a moment before responding. “She came to us seeking help,” he finally said, glancing at me briefly before returning his attention to Max. “Her mother is possessed by an Archdemon who’s also very powerful.
She knows that there’s only one way to kill her. She has to go to Hell. She thinks that if she can somehow save her mother, she’ll be able to return home and live happily ever after.”
Max snorted loudly.
“Yeah, well, we’ve been having a lot of trouble with these damned angels,” my father added quickly, shaking his head. “They’re all over town. It seems that someone has taken it upon himself to make sure that none of the vampires escape.”
“Really?” Max said, leaning forward. “Who would want that?”
My father shrugged. “Nobody knows. The only thing everyone agrees on is that it couldn’t possibly be good news for humans.” He paused for a minute as the waiter refilled our glasses. “Anyway, we think it might have something to do with these creatures that have started appearing around the world.”
“Creatures?” Max repeated.
My father nodded. “Some of them are more than five feet tall. They look like people, but they don’t act human. Most of the ones I’ve heard about have been male.”
“And the other kind?” I asked.
“They appear to be children or even babies,” he answered. “But they’re not, obviously. We think they’re made entirely of darkness, although we can’t really imagine what that means for the human race.”
“They’re probably going to destroy everything,” Max muttered darkly, taking another sip of his wine.
I glanced up at his face and shook my head. “Don’t worry too much about that just yet. We still have two problems.”
Max looked surprised, so I explained. “First, we need to figure out how to kill the Archdemon before the Archdemon kills my mother. And second…”
“Second, I’ll have to go to Hell,” I said, cutting him off when he opened his mouth.
“It sounds pretty grim,” he agreed quietly, frowning.
“Yes, it looks bleak, but there is a possibility that things will work out,” I said with determination.
“How could anything possibly work out for us? You don’t know these creatures, and we certainly can’t trust them,” he reminded me.
“That’s true,” I admitted, thinking again about the Archdemon. “The Archdemon isn’t likely to be interested in helping us unless she gets something out of the deal.”
Max frowned, and for a moment I wondered whether he was actually worried for me. His gaze focused on mine, and I found myself staring at him curiously. I realized that I wasn’t used to being stared at by boys in general, and now, suddenly, here was this handsome man staring at me with those deep brown eyes of his and I couldn’t help myself.
“Why did you choose to come with us tonight?” he asked abruptly, breaking into my thoughts.
I took a quick breath and tried to keep my tone light. “To be honest,” I replied, “I was bored sitting in a hotel room waiting for my mother to return from wherever she’s been. And besides…it’s always nice to be seen as a woman rather than a freak.” My voice was dry and bitter as I spoke, and I felt the heat rise under my skin as it had during the fight. “And you seem like a fun guy to talk to.”
A flash of amusement crossed Max’s expression as he raised a hand to run his fingers through his hair. “Well, if you’re bored in that hotel room, I might have a way to pass the time,” he offered casually.
“Oh?” I said politely, wondering where this line was headed.
He chuckled as if he’d read my mind. “Not exactly,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, I have a girlfriend. But we’re in love, and it’s complicated, so maybe if we went back to your hotel room—”
“No!”
Max’s head snapped up as if he hadn’t quite expected my reaction. I was relieved to see his lips twitch into a smile. “No?” he asked quietly.
“Absolutely not,” I insisted. “I’m sorry,” I added quickly, seeing the hurt flash across his face. “You’re very attractive,” I admitted with embarrassment, “and I would probably jump at an invitation like that…except that…”
“Except what?” Max prodded gently.
“There’s this vampire who wants to eat my soul,” I finished.
“Vampires don’t really do that anymore,” he protested, but I cut him off before he could say any more.
“They can,” I said firmly. “And I’m afraid of vampires.”
“Ah,” he murmured thoughtfully, nodding to himself. “I see.” Then he smiled warmly at me. “Then let’s go to my place instead.”
I hesitated, unsure. Max watched me carefully, and it occurred to me that this wasn’t the first time I’d been invited back to someone’s apartment. There were all kinds of bad memories associated with that idea, but Max seemed genuine. He didn’t have any evil intentions—I could tell that from his expression.
So despite my fears, I decided to take him up on his offer. As the only thing I’d done for the last week had been lie around in bed and watch TV, I figured it wouldn’t be a total disaster.
“Okay,” I finally agreed, taking another drink of my wine as the tension left me. “Thank you.”
Max flashed his dazzling grin and nodded to me with a little bow of his head. “Come on, then,” he said, holding out his hand.
As we walked toward the parking lot, I turned to study him closely. If he had been trying to make sure nobody recognized him outside the bar, he was succeeding. Most people didn’t notice him except to give him a wide berth or mutter something rude behind their backs. He seemed almost invisible as we passed through the crowd.
His body blocked most of me from view, so I knew he was tall without having to look at the other boys. At least six feet tall, which made me feel small next to him. His hands were big enough to wrap around my waist comfortably, and when his arm brushed mine, I felt the warmth of his touch against my skin.
He moved confidently in front of me, but as I studied him more closely, I began to wonder if maybe he wasn’t just good at looking inconspicuous. He looked like he belonged in Hollywood, although I had never actually seen anyone in a movie wear sunglasses indoors before. It made no sense to me.
When we stepped out of the alleyway, I saw that Max’s car was parked right there near the curb, making it easy for him to open the passenger door for me. A few curious glances followed us as we walked toward the vehicle, but most people simply ignored our presence and kept walking as if nothing odd or unusual had happened.
The inside of Max’s car smelled expensive; the leather seats were soft and smooth and covered in dark blue fabric, and the dashboard glimmered beneath the lights. The smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t want to think about anything unpleasant tonight, and the scent of the cigarettes was familiar and comforting.
I took in my surroundings again. My senses told me this was a rich guy’s vehicle: expensive leather seats, tinted windows, and fancy gadgets. And the sound system was incredible, sounding much better than my own speakers in my car. This guy definitely liked music.
We sat down in comfortable silence and waited for the driver to return.
“What are we listening to?” I asked, reaching for the CD player as I leaned over Max to reach his cup holder.
My fingers grazed something hard and cold. I froze, pulling my hand back. The object had come from between Max’s seat and the console, and although it was a long way away, it was still too close to my own body for comfort.
It was a gun.
The End