Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side by Beth Fantaskey
But getting to the point. I am loath to admit that I increasingly see the situation here slipping from my control.
As per my last correspondence, I have tried numerous “American” strategies to at least build a rapport with Antanasia—including donning “jeans” (quite comfortable, actually) and, as I’ve mentioned, playing basketball, a sport for “popular kids.” (Just call me “Number 23.”)
Thus far, Antanasia seems less than impressed with my best efforts, though. She is actually getting “involved with” the peasant. (Vasile, if you heard him attempt to make conversation . . . it’s unendurable, really. I would rather have our omnipresent lentils shoved into my ears than listen to him for more than two minutes.)
Honestly, Antanasia quite baffles me. Just the other day, I thought we had experienced a significant breakthrough. I purchased for her the most magnificent dress—really, if you had seen her in it, you would have judged her nearly ready to take the throne. . . . For the briefest moment, I thought we had made progress. The look in her own eyes as she watched herself in the mirror . . . She was altered, Vasile. And altered toward me . . . I could have sworn it.
And yet the peasant clings on like a parasite. A leech or a tick that cannot be dislodged. What does Antanasia see in him? And why does she persist in seeing it? I could offer her so much more. In particular, conversation. Repartee. Not to mention leadership of two powerful clans. A castle. Servants. Anything she desired. Things she deserves, Vasile.
Damn. I’m blathering.
The point is, I quite fear that you will be disappointed with me if I fail to convince Antanasia to honor the pact and accept me as her husband. And, in all candor, your disappointment is a rather formidable prospect. Thus I feel compelled to keep you updated on the situation as it unfolds. I certainly wouldn’t want to present you with an unanticipated failure. I would much rather prepare you for the worst eventuality—even as I fully intend to continue my efforts.
Your nephew, most humbly,
Lucius
P.S. If anyone offers you “saag,” decline if at all possible to do so without breaking the rules of polite society. Is there any chance the cook might ship a frozen hare or two this way ?
P.P.S. The investment I’ve made with your advance on my trust will arrive soon. I am rather looking forward to it.
P.P.P.S. The peasant doesn’t understand the symbolism of the whale in Moby Dick, Vasile. It’s true. Concepts literally pummeled into my brain (recall my half-Gypsy tutor, Bogdana, whose grasp of literary devices was exceeded only by her grip on the switch?) during preadolescence remain beyond his grasp. Is he feeble-minded? Or just obtuse?
Parasite.
Chapter 19
“HEY, BELLE.” I grinned, giving my Appaloosa’s muscular neck a firm pat. “Ready for a workout? Only a few more practice sessions before the show.” My grin quickly faded, though. The 4-H show, just a few weeks away, had seemed like a good idea when I’d signed up, but now I was suffering from some serious attacks of nerves.
Well, it was too late to back out. Or was it?
As I reached for Belle’s bridle, lifting it from a nail in the wall, I heard a truck pull up outside the barn. A door slammed, and I glanced toward the barn door to see a stranger walking toward me. A stocky man in dirty coveralls, holding a clipboard.
“Can I help you?” I offered.
“You know a . . .” He glanced at the clipboard. “A Lou Vlad . . . here.” He extended the roster. “I can’t make out that name.”
“Oh, no.” My heart sank. I didn’t even have to look. “Vladescu. What did he do now? Did he order something?”
“Yeah. And he needs to take delivery of this monster that’s kicking my trailer all to hell. I want that thing out of there now.”
“Monster?”
“You’re looking for me?” As if on cue at the word monster, Lucius appeared from out of the shadows, accepted the clipboard and a pen, and signed.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” the delivery man said, shaking his head.
“Oh, I’m sure I do.”
I followed as Lucius and the man strode through the indoor riding ring, headed toward the door. “Lucius? What did you buy?”
The delivery man called over his shoulder, answering on Lucius’s behalf. “Your friend bought a murderous horse. Thing oughta be put down.”
“Lucius?” We all passed through the barn door and arrived at the dirt drive, where I saw a horse trailer. Rocking. Thudding sounds were coming from inside.
“You get her out, kid,” the man insisted. “I’m not touching that thing again.”
Without hesitation, Lucius approached the rear of the trailer, unlatched it, and opened the door.
“Um . . . Lucius? Should you go in there?”
“Kid’s dead meat,” the delivery man noted.
There was the sound of a scuffle, then I heard Lucius’s voice calming the animal, and hooves against metal. Then silence. A long silence. And finally Lucius emerged, leading a very skittish, very powerful horse. The blackest horse I had ever seen. It had to stand a full nineteen hands high. Its eyes rolled wildly, showing whites against its ebony face. I stepped back as it passed by, but it shied, then nipped at me.
“Easy, there,” Lucius soothed. He called back to me, “Sorry, she’s a tad excitable.”
The delivery man took off, muttering about broken skulls, and I followed Lucius, who was persuading his new mount to enter a stall. Right next to Belle’s.
“I want them to be neighbors.” Lucius smiled.
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Great.”
“Easy,” Lucius told the mare again as she snapped at his fingers. He clapped his hand across her muzzle, struggling with her as he hooked her halter to both sides of the stall. When she was contained, he released her, and she took one last lunge at him, clipping his forearm with her teeth. “Dammit!” He shook out his arm.
I planted my feet and crossed my arms. “You bought a horse? That horse?”
“Yes,” Lucius said, rubbing the bite. “I recall a while back that you said—and I quote—that we ‘have nothing in common.’” He jerked a thumb toward his hell horse. “This is something we can share. An activity. A way for us to spend time together.”
“You’re not joining 4-H,” I told him.
“My commemorative club jacket is being embroidered as we speak.” He grinned. “I do so look forward to wearing that blue corduroy. You do know that ‘corduroy’ means ‘fabric of kings,’ right? Appropriate, I think.”
“But I thought you had sort of given up . . .”
Lucius frowned, stroking his horse’s muzzle. This time she flinched but didn’t snap. “You thought I’d forgotten a pact that I have been prepared to fulfill since childhood just because I endure Squatty Boy’s crude advances toward you? I think not.”
“Stop calling him squatty and stop insinuating that he’s stupid. Jake is a very nice guy.”
“Nice. Now that’s an overrated quality.” Lucius unhitched one side of the ropes restraining his horse, and she half reared. He patted the mare’s neck. “Isn’t nice overrated?” He paused, turning to me. “What should I name her?” he mused. “She needs a name if I’m to enter her in the jumper class.”
“You can’t,” I cried. “I’m competing in that.”
“I know. I thought we could practice together.”
“I already told you, I don’t want your help.”
“You’re not afraid of a little friendly competition, are you?”
I stamped my foot. In part because, no, I didn’t want to compete with him. He was a natural athlete. A Romanian all-star polo player. I also didn’t want him to start skulking around the barn. “I told you I don’t want to ride with you.”
“You are completely overreacting.”
“And you are a stupid . . . stupid . . . vampire! You never listen to me. I specifically told you not to interfere in this part of my life. We live together, go to school together . . . This is one pla
“A vampire?” The voice came from close behind us.
Uh-oh.
Lucius and I both swung around to see a very curious, somewhat bemused Faith Crosse watching our argument. Her lightly tanned arms were crossed over her tight cheerleadingcamp T-shirt, and her blond ponytail bobbed, gleaming in the dim light, as she cocked her head. “Did you just call him a vampire?”
I stammered, grasping for an explanation. “He’s . . . he’s sucking the life out of me today,” I finally said.
“Jessica’s full of pet names for me.” Lucius smiled, nonplussed. He extended his hand. “So nice to see you outside of the classroom, Faith.”
Oh, brother.
Faith seemed a little surprised, but extended her hand, too. “Um . . . you too, Lucius.”
Lucius didn’t shake. He grazed her knuckles with his lips. “Charmed, as always.”
“Oh. Wow. That was different.” Faith withdrew her hand, addressing me, the stable hand, as an afterthought. “Hey, Jenn.”
“It’s Jess.”
“Right.” But Faith’s attention had shifted again, to the unnamed horse. “What a beautiful mare. I saw you bringing her in. She looks dangerous, though.”
Lucius unhooked the other lead, freeing his new perilous pet. “I find that horses, like people, are boring if completely broken. I prefer a little spirit.” The animal jerked its head, but Lucius soothed her. “Calm down now.” He addressed Faith and me. “She’s been treated hard, poor beast. Unpleasant childhood.”
“Unpleasant?” Faith cocked her head.
“Don’t ever come near her with a crop or a whip,” Lucius advised. “That’s what the previous owner strongly suggested. Apparently her first master had a quite heavy hand.”
Raised under the whip. I thought of Lucius’s own admission that he’d been hit by his uncles. Again and again. I wondered if he had deliberately chosen the mare for the cruel connection they shared. It seemed like something he would do.
Faith and I both stepped back, dodging quickly, as Lucius led the mare out of the stall.
“You’re not going to ride her, are you?” I asked, incredulous.
Lucius frowned. “That’s what one does with horses, right?”
“I have a spare saddle,” Faith offered.
I glared at Faith. “No! Are you serious?” Normally Faith wasn’t the type of person whose actions you questioned, but I couldn’t believe she thought Lucius should make any attempt to ride the mare with the diabolical look in her eyes and the snapping jaws. “Lucius, don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, I don’t think she’d like a saddle,” he said. “Not yet. I’ll let her get used to carrying just me first.”
I shook my head. “You’re going to get killed.”
Lucius shot me a conspiratorial look. “You, of all people, should know that’s unlikely. Animals can’t use tools.”
Without further hesitation, he swept to the horse’s side and leapt onto her back, with the same ease he demonstrated doing layups on the basketball court. The mare immediately whinnied and wheeled, but Lucius lived up to his boasts. Within seconds, he brought her under control, and the two—madman and mad animal—proceeded into the center of the ring at a brisk but controlled clip, Lucius guiding with his knees and the halter. Every few steps, the horse shied or twisted back to nip at Lucius’s legs. But the two kept a steady, if edgy, partnership. “We’ll be jumping in no time,” Lucius called, grinning.
He was doing it. Riding the meanest-looking mare I’d ever seen. My relief was short-lived as I realized exactly what his survival meant for me. When it came time for the 4-H show, I’d be competing with both Faith Crosse and a Romanian all-star on a devil horse.
Lucius urged his mount into a trot. Then a canter. It was half dance, half barroom brawl.
“Wow.” Faith watched with appreciation. “Lucius must have, like, some kind of magic. I really thought he’d get killed.”
“Give him time,” I replied under my breath. “Just give him time. Someone’ll kill him yet.”
Chapter 20
“THANKS FOR WINNING me the plush hot dog.” I squeezed the big stuffed wiener Jake had won by throwing two softballs through a clown’s mouth. “I had a great time at the carnival.”
“Sorry I couldn’t get the bear.”
“Well, a hot dog’s nice. It’s different, you know?”
We were sitting in Jake’s big Chevy 4x4, idling in front of the farm, trying to figure out how to say good night. Was I supposed to just hop out of the truck at this point? Would he get out, too?
“Did I tell you that you look really great in that dress?” Jake asked.
He hadn’t, but I’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d come to the door to pick me up. The same admiration that I’d seen in Lucius’s eyes back in the boutique. All night long, I’d caught guys checking me out. At first I’d felt a little self-conscious. But it was easy to get used to that kind of attention.
“I like your hair up like that, too,” Jake added.
I twisted one of the tendrils that straggled out of my updo. I’d done my best to mimic the effect Lucius had achieved just by twining his fingers in my hair. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad you asked me to go with you. I had a great time.”
There was a long pause.
“I guess I’ll get going,” I finally said, resting my hand on the door handle.
“Oh . . . uh, yeah. I’ll get the door.” Jake shut off the engine and jumped out, coming around to my side. He opened my door, and I tried to climb down, almost falling in my heels.
“Crap!” Classy, Jess.
As I stumbled, though, Jake caught me, and suddenly we were very close to each other. Face to face.
That’s when he kissed me. Really kissed me. His lips were softer than I expected, and a little wet. My lips parted slightly, like I’d seen on TV and in the movies for years and years. It seemed so natural as it was happening—and then our tongues met. Jake kind of squashed his tongue against mine. So this is what it’s like. . . . The feeling wasn’t electric, but I felt a thrill of happiness. Jake wrapped his arms around me, a bearlike embrace. A wrestler’s hug. Our tongues twisted around and around and Jake stroked the small of my back. Nice. And it would no doubt get better with practice. Maybe I would borrow Mindy’s article on “75 Sex Tricks to Drive Him Wild.”
Jake pulled away first. “I gotta get going, or I’ll break curfew. I’ll call you, okay?”
I realized I was still clutching the stuffed toy. “Yeah. Sure.”
He leaned in to kiss me again. A light, sweet touch on the lips. “Later.”
“Bye.” I stood there watching as the truck pulled away.
When the taillights had almost disappeared into the darkness, I walked toward the porch, swishing the hem of my dress against my knees. My first real kiss.
“Well, how was it?”
The deep voice coming from the darkness startled me, stopping me short. I peered into the gloom. “Lucius?”
“I’m right here.”
I followed his voice to the front porch steps, where he sat in the shadows next to a dimly flickering jack-o’- lantern. I walked closer. “You were spying on me.”
Lucius held out a bowl. “I’m on candy duty. Want some? I think it’s mostly soy nuts left. The children were not happy with the selection.”
I accepted a pack and sat down next to him on the step. “We don’t get many trick-or-treaters out here. Nobody lives within a mile.”
“Oh.” Lucius shrugged. “I guess it was me that hated the soy nuts.” He pulled the stuffed hot dog from my arms. “Your parents won’t like this in the house. Meat toys. Did Squatty win that with some feat of physical prowess?” He tossed the wiener over his shoulder, onto a chair on the porch.
I ignored the taunt. “You were waiting for me, weren’t you?”
Lucius stared into the dark distance. “How was it?”
“How was wha
“He kissed you. How was it?”
I smiled, remembering. “Nice.”
“Nice?” Lucius gave a short, derisive snort. “I repeat one more time: Nice is overrated.”
“Please, don’t go there,” I urged. Don’t ruin this.
“When you kiss the right person, it will be a hell of a lot better than nice,” Lucius grumbled.
“You have no right to say that.” I stood to go inside, smoothing my dress. He would not spoil this moment for me. It would not happen.
To my surprise, Lucius relented. “You are right. That was rude. I had no right.” He patted the step. “Please. Keep me company. I find that I’m melancholy this evening.”
“You should have gone to the carnival,” I said, sitting back down.
Lucius took a deep breath, exhaled. “There’s nothing there for me.”
“It was kind of fun. There were games, and we—”
“Do you ever, for one minute, look at my life from my perspective?” Lucius interrupted, a bit sharply. “Think about how I might feel?” He turned to face me, his eyes glowing dimly, like the jack-o’-lantern’s. “Do you ever look beyond yourself?”
“What? Are you . . . homesick or something?”
“Something like that, yes.” The glimmer flickered to life. “For god’s sake. I live in a garage, away from everything I’ve ever known. I’m sent here to court a woman who dismisses me in favor of a peasant—”
“Jake is a perfectly nice guy, Lucius.”
Lucius snorted again. “Is that what you want out of life? Nice? Must everything be nice?”
“Nice is . . . nice,” I protested.
Lucius shook his head. “Oh, Antanasia. I could show you things so far beyond nice, they’d spin your lovely head.”
His voice had changed suddenly. Grown even lower and more throaty. There was a quality in it I’d never heard before but instinctively recognized. Sexual power. Lust. Desire. An edgy, angry, frustrated desire.