At
Andres' mansion, it's obvious that something is wrong. Phillida is
out of sorts and on the warpath.
The
woman smiled at Drea, holding out her hand. "We've already met,
Andy," she said with a laugh. "You don't recognize me, do
you? It's me, Carley Sampson. Jay's daughter."
"Oh,
my God!" Drea gasped, her hand springing to her throat. Perhaps
it was a tad melodramatic, but she couldn't stop herself. "What
are you doing here? How on Earth?" She couldn't put together a
coherent sentence.
Patting
her hand on his arm, Kirk took up the thread of conversation.
"Carley, we hardly thought to see you here. We had no idea that
you and Andres were acquainted."
"We
met recently," she said, smiling happily at him. "At a
party that the modeling agency gave. I didn't know it, but I've been
working for him over two years. And we never met!"
Drea's
eyes narrowed. Andres never went to any of the agency parties and
rarely admitted he owned half interest in it. In fact, it was rather
a well kept secret that he often contributed designs to their shows.
All under aliases of course, and very hush-hush.
"Really?
How amazing that you met like that," she said, giving her sire a
pointed look.
"I'm
surprised to see you here," Margo said. "Given the
circumstances."
"Oh,
you mean Phillida? Well, she's been very upset...."
Margo
frowned, casting a confused look at Drea and Kirk. "No. I meant
in light of your father's death...."
"My
father's—what?"
"Haven't
you heard? Didn't the police call you?"
"I've
been here with Andres for the last week."
Kirk
took her hand, drawing her away from Andres. Though his wife knew her
better, it seemed natural that he be the one to give her comfort.
Drea stood by Andres, placing her hand on his arm. With a look of
alarm, he gazed into her eyes. They had known one another long
enough, nearly 500 years, that they didn't need to speak to
understand.
Carley
burst into tears, throwing her arms around Kirk's neck, burying her
face in his shoulder. Unable to keep away, Andres went to her, taking
her gently in his embrace. That one, small gesture told Drea that
this was no mere infatuation on his part. He truly cared for Carley.
There was no doubt in Drea's mind that her sire was falling in love.
Andres
held Carley as she wept. His eyes heavy with pain. Having been a
soldier in many lives past, he had seen more death, causing much of
it, than the rest of them combined. But this beautiful child hadn't
the experience of a 914 year old vampire lord. Though he was quite
jaded in many ways, callous in others, he had always been sensitive
to the emotional pain of the women he loved. Drea knew this, for at
one time he had loved her. They had grown apart since she met Kirk,
and were dear friends, much like father and daughter. But there would
always be a place in her heart that only Andres could fill. He might
be an evil, blood sucking fiend, but he was her dark lord and always
would be.
Because
of that, or perhaps in spite of it, she approached Carley and Andres,
putting an arm around each, speaking quietly. Kirk took Margo aside
to the refreshment table. He was pleased to see that Andres' chef had
either learned to cook or been replaced since their last visit.
"The
food might actually be palatable now," he commented dryly as he
picked up one of the hors d'oeuvres.
Margo
sniffed a petitfour dubiously. It merited a taste. "Not bad. If
I didn't know better, I'd swear we'd made these. They're delicious."
Kirk
grinned, nodding. "I know this work."
He
headed toward the kitchen with Margo trailing behind.
"Where
are you going?"
"To
say hello to an old friend."
He
noticed that Rolf stayed with Drea, but Theo followed him. They
entered the kitchen and heard a familiar voice bellowing loudly.
"You
stupid little twits! What've I got to do, stand on my ruddy head to
get you to do this proper? Oi, mate! No! You can't take that tray out
like that. Look at this mess. It's bloody awful." He continued
in that vein for several seconds before realizing he had an audience.
"What're
you doing my my kitchen?" He demanded, before he recognized
them. "Kirk? Margo? Damn me, if it's not two of my favorite
cooks of all time. When're you gonna come work for me, love?" He
asked Margo after kissing her lavishly. "Surely he ain't paying
you enough to put up with him?"
"Her
put up with me?" Kirk looked offended, but shook the huge, red
haired man's beefy hand. "More my putting up with her."
"She
still has those temper tantrums?" He nearly broke Kirk's fingers
when he took his hand.
"But
of course, I am French! I would never expect a mere Englishman to
understand." She tossed her head grandly.
"Good
to see you, Silas," Kirk clapped the bigger man on the shoulder.
"I'm glad to see that Andres finally got himself a more than
adequate chef."
"Trained
with the best," he said with a grin.
"Why,
thank you, Silas."
©
2019 Dellani Oakes
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