A Den of Tricks (A Shade of Vampire #54)(45)

I went into my room and opened the box. A gorgeous dress awaited, layer upon layer of delicate, ivory-colored organza with thousands of perfect pearls, along with matching earrings and a pair of elegant shoes.

A smile settled on my face, and I lifted the dress in the air, loving how the light threw shimmering reflections at it from all angles. I slipped into the shower, then got ready for my dinner with Vincent, all the while going over my encounter with Zane—repeatedly, almost obsessively. I kept looking for something that wasn’t there, eager to replay the scene in which he’d pushed me against the wall and hidden his face in my hair.

My skin tingled as I put the dress on, pulling the fine long sleeves over my arms. I wasn’t sure whether it was the fabric or the memory of Zane’s touch that had such an effect on me. A couple of deep breaths later, I stepped into the shoes, and took a gander at myself in the mirror.

Why am I still thinking about him? What the hell is wrong with me?

I shook my head, then put the pearl earrings on, sprinkled a little perfume from the small fragrance atomizer I’d brought from The Shade, and stilled. A chill trickled through my limbs—I found myself under the impression that someone was watching.

Was I getting paranoid, or was there a daemon around? I carefully scanned the room, but the air seemed normal, and there wasn’t a single glimmer of red eyes. No, I’m just imagining it.

Not that I could be blamed for feeling on edge, based on what had happened earlier.

I left my room, blowing out the lights on my way out, and locked the door behind me. There was tension mounting in the air around me, but it was all part of my thought process. I was feeling watched, followed, and constantly surveyed.

Spotting Zane at the bookstore had kicked off alarm signals in my head. I was seeing him everywhere, so to speak. Whenever I found myself alone now, I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder and check… just in case.

The daemons had definitely played a part in this… trauma, for lack of a better word. I’d never been this guarded before. It took daemons using invisibility spells to try to kill us in order for me to become more aware of my surroundings.

But it felt as though I were taking this state of alertness just one step too far. There was no daemon following me. I was on my own as I walked up the alley leading to the White Star Hotel.

Surprisingly enough, I was hoping I’d see Zane again sooner rather than later, though I didn’t know why, exactly.

I must be losing my mind…





Avril





(Daughter of Lucas & Marion)





Lemuel’s studio on the first level could easily be described as a dump. It was a large room, tucked away on the first floor of what looked like a derelict building in the slums of Azure Heights. His choice of location actually made sense, as few to none would think of looking around these parts for… anything, really.

He locked the door behind him, then walked across the room, which was filled with old furniture covered in dirty cotton sheets. There was a wooden bookshelf leaning against the wall at the end, loaded with dusty books, and a lever hidden behind an encyclopedia. The old Iman pressed it, and the entire bookshelf shuddered, clouds of dust falling off in thick rolls as he pushed it to the side.

Heron and I were speechless at the sight of a small, hidden chamber filled with boxes of scrolls and manuscripts, their pages yellowed by the passage of time.

“I keep everything here,” Lemuel grumbled as he started looking through the scrolls, selecting a handful, which he handed over. “I don’t know why, but I just do. It’s like… something inside me tells me that I need to preserve the history of my people and keep it away from the Maras… so, I do.”

“Yeah, you’ve been mind-bent like crazy.” Heron frowned, staring at the old Iman.

Lemuel blinked several times, then shrugged, while we started reading through the scrolls he gave us.

“That’s highly probable, and I don’t know why. But as long as they don’t know about the archives, I’m good. They can’t make me forget about something they don’t even know I have, right?”

“Fair point,” I muttered, while scanning the texts.

“It says here that there was a hundred-year war between the Maras and the Imen when the Maras first arrived on Neraka,” Heron said, checking another scroll. “But there is no mention of a truce. I specifically remember the Lords telling us about a truce, about how they came to finally get along with the Imen, when they swore an oath to only consume animal blood and so on…”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Lemuel replied. “All I know is that there is a long-standing truce, but I have no idea who signed it, or when it took place. It’s just common knowledge. Something we’ve learned since we were children.”

“Do you remember anyone teaching you that, in particular?” I asked, suspecting another instance of the Maras mind-bending “facts” into the Imen’s heads.

Lemuel shook his head, then gave me a large notebook filled with handwritten notes and sketches. I recognized the daemons in the drawings, but not all of the creatures. Some of the illustrations were quite strange, depicting massive beasts, along with pit wolves and what looked like giant bats with big, round red eyes. The artist had used red ink to emphasize that specific trait.