All Just Glass - Amelia Atwater-Rhodes [67]
CHAPTER 22
SATURDAY, 6:29 P.M.
SARAH FELT ABOUT as stupid as she ever had in her life, sitting in front of the full-length mirror while Christine did her hair. Christine had insisted on helping, and short of shoving her down the stairs, Sarah couldn’t figure out how to convince her otherwise.
The evening had taken a surreal turn somewhere. Maybe it had been when she had tasted a symphony, or when she had spoken to Michael, but she was pretty sure it had happened somewhere on Madison Avenue, on a rack between Chanel and Vera Wang.
Going shopping for formal wear in New York with a vampire who had once founded a mystery cult in the days of the Roman republic, and who tended to chatter about the fall of empires in the tone most people used when discussing the weather, was a unique experience. Kendra referred to Nikolas as “Nikki,” a nickname she claimed he hated. She also referred to Tizoc Theron, one of the most powerful mercenaries in all of vampiric existence, as her “Tizzy.” The Inquisition was “a dreadful inconvenience,” World War II was “a little spat” and the fall of Midnight, the vampiric empire that had reigned for centuries, was “an unfortunate event.”
If Sarah lived two thousand years, maybe she would look back and agree. For now, the sentiments were almost as unsettling as the expression on Kendra’s face when one of the shop managers—who had instantly appeared to wait on Kendra when she had crossed the threshold—presented a dress she found unattractive.
Now Sarah was in a turquoise dress with a neckline slightly lower than she was used to but, fortunately, no eighteenth-century-style hoops—something she had been a little worried about, given the individuals she was going with. Even better, she was almost certain no one had died in her acquisition of the dress, or in the search for shoes to match it.
“You look far away,” Christine remarked.
Sarah tried to pull herself back to the moment. “Did you know Nero played the lyre, not the fiddle?” she asked. “There was no such thing as a fiddle yet.” The misconception about which musical instrument Nero had played while Rome burned was apparently one of Kendra’s pet peeves.
“Um, okay,” Christine answered, pulling Sarah more truly into the correct time and place.
“I feel like an idiot,” Sarah said aloud for the first time.
“You look beautiful,” Christine insisted.
“Not because of that.” Sarah shook her head. “Despite people trying to kill me, I just spent two hours shopping. With, I’m pretty sure, an outright psychopath.”
“That’s most of the line, or so I’ve heard,” Christine murmured, her tone so dry Sarah actually laughed.
“Where do I fit in, then?” she asked.
Christine shrugged. “Wherever you want to. What show are you seeing?”
“I don’t remember.” The name had been meaningless to her. She was hoping Kendra was right that she would like it, but wasn’t convinced that her tastes and those of a millennia-old vampire were likely to be the same.
When someone knocked on the door, Sarah called out, “Come in,” without realizing that it was still an hour before the time Kristopher had agreed to pick her up. Christine tensed, and this time Sarah was the one to put herself between the human and the vampire, making no attempt to hide her anger.
“What do you want?” she snapped at Kaleo.
Kaleo quirked one brow. “I’m not here to hurt the girl. I just need to speak to you, Sarah.”
“Out! In the hall.”
The Roman looked amused by the order but obeyed, which Sarah found a little unsettling. She took a minute to reassure Christine and then followed Kaleo.
“Nikolas and Kristopher aren’t here,” she said flatly. “So what do you want?”
“Are you under the impression you are such a nonentity that I could not possibly be here to speak with you?” Kaleo asked.
“If you have something to say to me, then just get on with it. You freak the hell out of Christine just by being here.”
“Kendra mentioned you are going to a show tonight,” Kaleo said.
“Yeah, she does like to chat,” Sarah quipped.
Kaleo