Page 34 of Born Reckless
I’ve barely left the Godfrey Tower since I arrived in Chicago. Sure, I’ve snuck out twice in the middle of the night when I just couldn’t stomach the donor blood. I’m proud of myself though, I didn’t kill anyone. With my shameful practice on Mason, I’ve gained some pretty damn good control. But the fresh air hits me in the face, and I actually startle. The open space, even though it isn’t a whole lot until the next towering building, feels… too exposed. And it’s a genuine reaction when I look around, scanning the sidewalks, the street, for any sign of foul intentions.
Maybe I’m starting to buy into my fake role too much.
The car is silent as we roll into the night. The very last hints of the sun sink behind the cityscape, casting us in dark shadows. Further into the heart of the city we go, away from the river.
Ten minutes later, we stop in front of one of the most beautiful buildings I’ve ever seen. Nestled between much, much taller buildings, is a terracotta-clad, dark brown building. Only eleven stories tall, every single window is arched, and gorgeous columns stretch up each corner of the building. Detailed carvings are nestled into the details.
It looks old, like the mansion of a wealthy industry person built in the late eighteen-hundreds. Honestly, it looks like something that should exist in Gotham City.
The driver opens the door, and Tabitha and Elena climb out, followed by Mason, and then myself.
I hate admitting that I'm nervous. I will never say it aloud. But as we walk up the stairs to this grand building, I'm sweating bullets. Not literally. I don't know if I can sweat anymore. But something about this feels… official. It feels dangerous.
I swallow once and hold my chin high.
There are two men standing at the doors and the second the breeze moves in my direction, I know they’re also vampires. For the first time, I bother to pay attention. One man has a series of roses tattooed across his knuckles, eight of them. The other man has a shaved head, and his rose is tattooed on the left side of his skull.
I glance down my own arm, at my own tattoo. How? How the hell is this thing supposed to tell these people if I'm going in and out of the city? How did the blood of one human turn a tattoo into a tracking device? It's not like a microchip was inserted inside me.
There areothershere in the city, Roman had said.
I wipe my hands down the sides of my pants, even though my palms are not actually sweaty.
We walk into a big entryway. The entire thing is made up of this tan, sandy stone. Great walls stretch above us, and a massive chandelier hangs overhead. Straight ahead, there is a set of big doors. They are decorated with stained glass. I can't quite make out what the picture is supposed to be. But most of the glass is red.
On either side of these doors, there is a beautiful set of curved stairs rising up to an upper level. A grand balcony overlooks the area where we are standing. Branching off of this central vein, there are numerous doors.
It's beautiful. It's definitely old. It kind of feels like we’re stepping back in time.
Tabitha goes straight for that set of doors and pulls one of them open. There, she waits for Elena to walk through. With one glance over his shoulder at me, Mason walks through the doors as well. So, feeling a little bit like I'm going to throw up, I follow him.
It's a ballroom. There's no other way to describe this space. Massive columns are set up around the outside perimeter of the space. The floor is covered in some kind of marble, but it's aged and chipped. There are windows, all of them high up, at least twenty feet in the air. The ceiling of the place is crisscrossed with an intricate set of beams. The closer I look, the more I realize that they have carvings in them. There are people carved there, hundreds of men and women. Extending from the ceiling, there are four black chandeliers, glittering crystals hanging from the arms.
Straight ahead, in the middle of the room, there is a table set up. There, a man and a woman speak to one another. Just behind them, in the shadows, there is another man and woman.
"Where is Roman?" Elena asks. She doesn't hesitate one second as she walks straight to that table. She lays her bag down on its surface and pulls one of the five chairs out.
"He's on his way," the man who stands at the table answers. "He was dealing with an issue in South Shore."
Goosebumps rise along my arms. I try not to picture what kind of "issues" Roman might be involved in dealing with.
Next to Mason, I approach the table.
"Juliet, this is Sigrid," Mason says. He nods toward the woman at the table. "Sigrid Haugen. Sigrid, this is Juliet Doe."
"Our newest refugee," she says. She takes a step forward and her eyes never leave mine once. She extends a hand and cautiously, I take it. Her eyes narrow slightly at me the moment our hands touch, and I wish I knew what was going on in her head. She is thoughtful, her lips pursed just slightly. But it only lasts a moment, and then she offers a small, warm smile and releases my hand. With one breath, I know she is human. "I will be very curious to learn more about you, Juliet Doe. It is not very often the Godfreys speak so highly of anyone."
She has a heavy accent, and I'm not sure where it's from. Nordic, maybe? She's very blonde, her hair a few shades lighter than my own. She has vividly blue eyes, and her stare is intense. It's kind of difficult to tell, but if I had to guess, I would say she's probably in her mid-thirties.
"I look forward to learning more about you as well," I say. Because that's the honest truth. If she's a human, why does she have a position on the Chicago Night Council?
She offers a smile, and while it is not scary, it makes something prickle underneath my skin.
"Juliet Doe," a smooth voice says from behind me. I turned to see the other man who was standing at the table. He wears a suit, but somehow, the way he wears it feels entirely different from the way Mason wears his. His eyes are dark, so dark that they almost seem black. They are hooded beneath dark eyebrows, and dark, thick, somewhat curly hair. He sports what seems to be two days’ worth of beard growth.
He's definitely easy on the eyes, even if holding his gaze isn't the easiest. His attention is intense. "I’ve been very eager to meet you since Mason called me."
"Juliet, this is Sebastian Vincent. He is the head of the medical and blood supply division."