A Dance at Midnight

let it bleed

-

The first to arrive was Mistress Giana Silvestre of Florida. Giana crushed Senar into a hug, her perfume encapsulating them both in a haze of peony and berries.

"My darling Senar, I've missed you, how have you been?!" She let go but kept her hands clasped around Senar's.

The vampire was older than Senar by nearly a century, but she looked as young as the day Senar first met her back in the '30s: her chestnut waves were as sleek as ever, her bright red lipstick was perfectly applied, and her warm hazel eyes glittered under the chandelier's glow.

The two women used to be close, but once Senar got sick, they grew apart. Entirely Senar's fault, but for whatever reason, Giana continued to treat her kindly - a fact that made Senar feel even worse about herself.

Senar squeezed Giana's hands. "I'm so happy you're here. I've been counting down the days for this ball," she said. She deftly avoided answering Giana's true question: How has she been?

I've been busy dying, she thought grimly.

Giana's gaze traveled upward. "Well, you've certainly outdone yourself. Not that I'm surprised. Everything looks marvelous."

Senar gave her a smile. "Thank you," she said. "Please, make yourself at home. If you need anything, Henry and my maids -" she brandished a hand toward the side of the room where the nine of them stood - "will take care of you."

Giana gave her a final squeeze and floated over to Henry. "Henry," she exclaimed, "so good to see you..."

After Giana left with Henry, more guests arrived. As soon as Senar was finished kissing the cheeks of one, another came through the door until the whole foyer was filled with Masters and Mistresses from across the nation.

Chatter and laughs filled the air, along with the scents of forty-eight different perfumes and colognes. Refreshments and drinks were passed around on gold trays by maids dressed as waitstaff, and the soft peal of jazz filtered through conversations.

The curtains were drawn, showing a view of the clean-cut lawn under a sky full of stars. The chandeliers were lit halfway, and the low golden light seeped through shadowy corners. Gowns of silk and velvet rustled, and suits of crisp edges were smoothed down by steady hands.

Senar looked at it all from her perch on the staircase. Her hand rested lightly on the banister as if she were merely putting it there rather than for support. Her eyes scanned the room.

As if reading her thoughts, Henry appeared in front of her a few moments later. He bowed. His dark blonde hair was neatly trimmed and greased, and the bowtie near his throat was perfectly aligned. "Senar," he said, his green eyes steady on hers, "the ballroom is ready."

Some of the nerves fell away from her shoulders as she heard these words. "Good," she said. "Thank you."

The first time she met Henry Turner was during the second world war. They were both pilots; she trained him, actually. Just like now, he had been a reserved man, only speaking when spoken to and with succinct answers; although they didn't bond like schoolmates, they developed a kinship.

And then Henry got shot down by enemy fire.

Senar turned him then. Life had been hard enough back then, having lived through the Yellow Peril and all its fallout, and she had finally made a friend, albeit reticent, who wasn't afraid or suspicious of her. She wasn't about to lose him.

He hadn't been exactly thrilled when he found out he was a vampire - she didn't blame him, she'd reacted much worse when she'd been turned. Decades passed with them not seeing each other, but then, one afternoon, he stood on the front stoop of this very house, with fresh flowers in one hand and a homemade casserole in the other.