Beautiful Monster (29 page)

              My graduation papers had been scrapped, and I would return for another year after Gatsby went on tour this summer.  I had not gotten the TV audition, no surprise there, but Liam had stepped in to offer his assistance and get me a proper talent agent. With Liam’s guidance, I began to learn the ins and outs of the industry beyond what the school taught me. How to spot a scam; how to know when it’s ok to laugh in an audition and when you have to stay stoic. How to get your name and face noticed without being in the way.

Having passed all of my courses, my final year would be more of an independent study, in which I was expected to put a production of my own, overseeing all aspects.  Ideas were already swirling in my head as I thought of what I would do; everything from serious dramas to full Broadway productions. I was amazed at how much work went into a production, and I realized whatever I put on would truly have to make me happy all year because it was going to take up all of my time.

              But this was not the time to think about it. Having closed Beauty and the Beast last night, we were to head to the theater after lunch for a different kind of show. Porsche’s funeral.

             
The Russian National Ballet had, in cooperation with Liam, flown in to put on one final show; a final goodbye to their young prima donna. I was trying not to think about it, sitting in the theater seats where she had sat only a few weeks ago, surrounded by people who had known and loved her.  Porsche’s family, having never actually appeared in person, had requested that the results of her autopsy be kept a secret, much to our relief. To the world, the ballerina passed away from an AIDS related infection that took her life suddenly, but not unexpectedly. Already, I knew the Russian National had replaced her and life would move on.

             
But as lunch ended and we separated to get changed, it was getting harder and harder.

             
“How is everything?” Sarah asked, as I put her on speakerphone an hour later, rummaging around my room for my black outfit.

             
“It’s…ok.” I replied, pulling off my clothes to put the dress over my head. “I mean, as ok as can be expected. Liam’s sad, of course, and I miss her…but we’re ok. He took me out for pizza yesterday before the show and we had a good time. Sometimes…” I took a deep breath, looking at myself in the mirror. “Sometimes I think my heart will burst from loving him so much. This is like, Hollywood Movie type love. I thought it was fake.”

             
“It is a Hollywood Romance,” Sarah sighed happily on the other side of the phone. “And trust me, I know all about it because even here, the tabloid magazines tell me your every move. How was your pepperoni pizza with olives, by the way?”

             
“Shut up,” I laughed, a rare occurrence in the past few weeks, as I swept my hair up into a bun. “Did you submit your application yet for the school? Deadlines for the graduate program are only a few days away.”

             
Liam had decided to branch out and offer a graduate program next year that would be housed in a small building just off campus. He wanted no more than 10 students to try it out, and I, of course, had recommended Sarah. She didn’t know yet, but I was pretty sure all I had to do was say the word and Liam would let her in.

             
“I’m just finishing it up,” she replied. “I’m so excited. We could spend all next year together!”

             
“Well regardless, I’ll see you in a few weeks,” I said, putting a final pin in my hair.

             
“Yes, I can’t wait to see you in Gatsby, chorus member number 5,” she teased me, and I rolled my eyes.

             
“I should go, Sarah. It’s almost time.”

             
“Yeah,” her voice dropped a note. “I wish I could be there for you, Amy.”

             
“Soon enough,” I smiled sadly as I went to the phone. “Soon enough. I’ll talk to you later.”

             
“Bye,” she said, and hung up, leaving me alone in the silence of the room.

             
A knock came at the door, and I opened it. Liam stood there, head to toe in black as well.

             
“Hey,” I said. “You ready?”

             
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied. “Amy, there’s a lot of paparazzi outside, alright? I just wanted to warn you.”

             
“They can’t even give us a moment’s peace, for a funeral?” I asked, as I locked my door and we headed towards the theater. Liam sighed.

             
“This is…the life I chose. But it doesn’t have to be yours.”

             
“Don’t be silly,” I said, taking his arm. “It is, and there’s no way out of it.”

             
Had we not had reserved seats in the theater, we never would have gotten in. Every seat and aisle was packed with people who knew Porsche and who would miss her terribly.

             
Taking Liam’s hand at the start of the service, I bit my lip, resolving not to cry. I wanted to be strong for him. However, when the Corps de Ballet came out onto the stage and performed a short piece behind a holographic video of my friend, I couldn’t stop the tears.

             
Liam, however, was looking straight ahead, his eyes almost unseeing as he watching. He had no tears, although his eyes were dark and his jaw was set.   He held my hand throughout the entire service, and he spoke a eulogy that would break even the hardest of hearts. But it seemed he had resolved to let no one see what he was feeling. 

             
Porsche was buried in a cemetery in the center of the city, “where everyone will see her all the time” Liam had said, with a half smile.

             
The service at the cemetery was smaller, and more private. I recognized almost everyone surrounding the grave from the funeral, except for a group off to the side. Most of them with flaming red hair as well, they kept to themselves, almost as if they were lurkers. They also didn’t cry, but looked on with stony faces, as the dirt covered her grave.

             
“Liam,” I said when they had finally disturbed me to the point where I had to say something. He looked up then, as if recovering from a coma.

             
“Huh?”

             
“There. Them. Who are they?” I nodded in their direction and he followed my eye line. Finally, for the first time in hours, I saw him react.

             
“Hm, I was expecting they’d be here.” He said, watching. One of them looked up, and met his eyes, and then whispered to the group. “They’re Shields: the Camerons, the McIntoshes and the De Ritters. I don’t think any of them are the
official
Shields for their bloodlines, the ones with the most power, but they all carry it. They probably know who the next one is already.”

             
“And they want to talk to you,” I said, watching as the same one tried to catch Liam’s eye. He sighed, letting go of my hand. His beautiful eyes met mine. They glistened with deep sorrow, and a strange resolve that unnerved me.

“I want you to stay here, Amy.”

              “Sure,” I replied, although I was thoroughly confused. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and then let go of my hand, heading off.

             
Watching, the Shields surrounded him immediately.  I could see by his body posture he was in no danger, but curiosity was burning through me. What was it that they wanted? And what was Liam planning?

I approached the Shields cautiously. They were giving me looks that should have burned holes through my skin, and I had to force myself to smile as I approached, holding out my hand. Not to my great surprise, none of them took it.

              “I’m Liam,” I said. “It’s good of you to come. I knew Porsche very well, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”

             
“Her body was defiled,” one of them growled at me, and it took every ounce of will I had to stand my ground. “Her throat was gouged out.”

             
I looked around to make sure no one was listening, and then lowered my voice.

             
“Yes, and I’m sorry for that. In return for her service, Porsche wanted immortality, a life with no pain. I realize this is against everything you stand for…but Porsche was friend, my best friend, and it was her choice. I didn’t…I didn’t know that it was an impossible promise, and neither did she. She died a hero, saving my life and the life of my…Amy.” I wasn’t sure what to say.

             
There was a long silence, and then at last, one of them, a man in his fifties, stepped forward, his hand extended.

             
“I am Thomas De Ritter,” he said. “Porsche was my daughter.”

             
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Sir,” I said, with as much respect as I could. Porsche had rarely spoken of her parents, having left home at a young age to pursue a career in dance that they didn’t believe in.  On a few drunken nights, she had told me stories of them breaking her dreams and not believing in her talent; stories I could share. My own parents were across the ocean, still shaking their heads that their son played make believe for a living. I could only imagine their reaction if I explained to them I was also a vampire.

             
“We had our differences, but you made her dream come true. And I believe she was happy in the last years of her life, and for that I thank you.”

             
“She was very happy,” I said, in memory. “Dancing was all she ever wanted to do.”

             
“Well, then, I thank you for helping her,” he replied, and there was another pause, as I tried to gather the courage for what I wanted to say next.

             
“I was wondering, Sir… if you wanted to help me. Not as payback, by any means, but as assistance to living by your code.”

             
This attracted the attention of the whole group, who turned to me. I took a deep breath. I felt incredibly human, and I had no doubt that part of that came from being with them. My nerves felt like it was my first stage show and all eyes were on me.

             
“How?” he asked. His eyes that looked so much like Porsche’s were bearing into me.

             
“Well, Sir, what if I asked for your assistance in getting rid of two vampires?”

             
“Who?” Thomas shot back, clearly interested, but not dropping his guard any further.  I bit my lip, looking around once more to check that Amy was still too far away to hear what I was about to say:

             
“My sire, Selene. And consequently, myself.”

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