The Count sent a French girl, Odette, with a tray of food, which I devoured. I suspected that my powers were heightening because this time, despite my pregnancy, flying with the Count had not exhausted me. Could I be pregnant with a mortal child and transforming all at the same time?
I sat at the vanity and watched in the mirror as Odette swept my hair into a sophisticated twist with pinned curls at the crown, held together by bejeweled ornaments. She dressed me in a glistening emerald green taffeta gown with a matching cloak. I watched myself being transformed in the mirror, astonished at my stylish appearance. I could not imagine why the Count had selected such an extravagant and devastatingly flattering outfit for a meeting with my husband. Was he trying to get Jonathan to take me off his hands?
Tiny gems were sewn into the binding of the neckline, throwing light onto my face, which Odette tinted with barely discernible rouge on my cheeks and lips. Thinking of the baby, I had asked her not to lace the corset ribbons too tight. Still, the bodice lifted my breasts high on my chest and made my already small waist look even more narrow. Two puckered seams ran horizontally down the length of the skirt, giving my hips the curve of a mermaid. When she finished dressing me, we both admired her handiwork in the mirror. Before I left the room, she handed me a matching mask that turned up at the ends into cats’ eyes and had a long ebony handle.
The Count tried not to show any pleasure with the way I looked as he helped me into the carriage. We did not speak, and I tried to keep my mind blank so that he could not read my thoughts. He wore a simple black satin half mask so that his face was inscrutable. I tried to fathom the sort of gathering that demanded formal dress, which Jonathan would also be attending. I could not even imagine that Jonathan would agree to be in the presence of the Count. I could stand the suspense no longer and asked, “Is Jonathan aware that we are coming?”
To which he replied, “In a manner of speaking.”
No sooner had I thought it than he answered me wearily. “What can I possibly say that you do not already know? All decisions to be made are yours. I will not interfere, Mina. I have paid the price of interfering in your life before and I will not do it again.” He turned away from me and looked out the window.
I paid little attention to where we were going, though I was looking out the opposite window. I became vaguely aware that we were driving through Mayfair when the Count tapped on the window with his walking stick, and the coachman turned onto a narrow street and stopped. The Count exited the carriage first and helped me out. He took my arm-not lovingly and not roughly but indifferently-and led me down an alley that opened into a small square, in the center of which was a garden. Though it was late autumn, the trees retained their green finery, and heady flower bushes bloomed. I wanted to stop to examine a gaudy pink peony poking through the garden’s spiky wrought-iron fence-a miracle in November-but the Count pulled me on impatiently.
The square was dark but for soft light coming from the windows of a three-story white Georgian mansion. We walked up the steps to an imposing portico supported by four grand Corinthian columns. He lifted a gargantuan bronze knocker with the face of an imperial lion and then smacked it down. The door opened, and we entered the foyer, a room with marble floors and a sweeping staircase with glinting rails of white and gold. Two butlers greeted us, one taking our wraps, and the other giving us long flutes of champagne.
We entered a ballroom where a small orchestra was playing a waltz for masked dancers who filled the center of the floor with a swirl of color and motion. The masks they wore were varied and ranged from simple to severe- masks with jesters’ bells, hawks’ beaks, delicate gold wings, shiny jewels. Some had crests of feathers, and some gentlemen wore full face masks of silver or gold. An enchanting glow filled the room, but I could not find the source of light. A fire blazed in the hearth, but the great chandeliers above were unlit. Gradually, it dawned on me that the light came from the creatures in attendance, the dancers themselves, who were luminous like the Count-not enough to disturb the eye but enough to dazzle.
“Where are we? Who is hosting this gathering?” I asked. My eyes scanned the room for Jonathan, but I saw no one who resembled him. Could he be behind one of the eerie metallic masks?
“There is no host,” he said. “Let’s see, how shall I explain this to you? This is a collective hallucination of mass desire. We and everyone else here have had a part in its design. Many of my kind are here among us. They have come to mingle with one another, and some have brought the mortals with whom they are currently fascinated.”
He took my arm, leading me past the twirling dancers and through a labyrinthine series of rooms, littered with couples intertwined in the darkness. I saw flashes of naked skin, arms twisted around bodies like serpents, booted legs spread in the air like wings, and one bare-chested lady swinging on a velvet-roped seat hanging from the tall ceiling. In one room, a woman with hair piled high atop her head played a piano, her crinoline covering the bench, while a man in a powdered wig turned the page of music for her. With the masks and the music and the champagne, which quickly went to my head, I could not tell who was mortal and who was not.
The Count read my thoughts. “Everyone has come seeking answers to questions and the fulfillment of desires. You want to see Jonathan. He has his own reasons for being here. All is arranged.”
He opened double doors to a room and invited me to enter first. In this room, the candles were lit. It took me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the flickering light, but the scene before me came all too quickly into sharp focus. Three lavish gowns were strewn across a chaise-two white ones, and one of scarlet that slashed across the other two making a cross. Jonathan was lying supine on a huge bed covered in plush red velvet. Straddling him, riding him like some sort of animal, was a blond woman in a red corset that I knew must be Ursulina. Her voluptuous, scarlet lips were curled and her mouth wide-open while she took her pleasure. Two dark-haired women lay on either side of Jonathan, kissing and caressing him and each other. His eyes were shut tight, his mouth open, and his face shining with rapture as each of the women sucked the fingers of his hands. Ursulina’s head was thrown backward, exposing her long ivory white neck.
I thought I would run away in horror, but I forced myself to watch. I saw the Count watching me through his mask with great interest. The foursome on the bed did not seem to notice me, and I wondered if this vision was real. As I watched the blond succubus writhe on top of the father of my child, rage suddenly rose inside me, taking me over and igniting some primitive sense of rivalry. I was possessed by fury and I wanted to punish her for all that she was doing and all that she had done.
I focused my intent on that pristine white neck of hers until I felt I could puncture the skin. Making a crescent in the air with my finger, I slowly and carefully made a big slash at the base of her throat. Her head popped up straight, and our eyes met, hers wide with surprise, and then seething with anger. With no time passing, I flew through the air, and my lips were on her with such force that I threw her off Jonathan, pinning her arms to the bed while I sucked in her strange-tasting blood. It was tart, like a bitter fruit that one cannot stop eating despite the astringent taste and the way it makes the mouth pucker. I heard myself grunt with pleasure while the others tried to pry me from her. The Count yelled at them in a language I did not understand, and they backed off. I was electrified with the thrill of vanquishing her in this way, eager to drain her until she was inert.
But soon I felt her gather her strength. Stronger than me, she flipped us over, dislodging me from her neck, which was bleeding a rivulet of shimmering rubies down her chest. I could feel her try to close the wound with her mind, but with each mental stitch she made, I reopened it. The tug-of-war went on, with me reopening the wound each time she closed it, my excitement growing as I watched it bleed its unnaturally red stream. Our fingers were linked, and she pushed my hands toward the bed, while I pushed against her. In my mind’s eye, I saw her flying backward away from me, hitting the heavy wrought-iron headboard, and falling into her sisters’ arms. With that image strong inside me, I pushed with all my might and powered her off me. The Count grabbed me, and, before I could attack her again, he had me by the waist and was taking me away. Ursulina, still pressed against the headboard, was hissing at me like a serpent woman. Jonathan and the other two female creatures cowered together, looking like some profane triptych. His face was full of terror.
“You are going to be a father, Jonathan,” I said. “It’s a boy.” I freed myself from the Count’s grasp, and together we walked out of the room.
I caught a glimpse of myself in a full-length gilded mirror as we walked through the ballroom. I looked taller, stronger, my already correct posture now exhibiting a strength that gave me a statuesque potency. I felt as if people were moving aside to make way for me, admiring me and fearing me as I glided through the crowd. As we left the mansion, a force gathering inside me erased every thought and consequence of what I had done.
