Zara's Curse (Empire of Fangs) (5 page)

7.

Loud knocking woke Zara up, and when she rolled over to look at her little digital clock, which was shaped like a cow, she saw it was 9 p.m. on the dot.
 
She cursed and sprung up and answered the door.
 
Twig was there again, shaking his head at her.
 
He was wearing a shirt that actually had a collar on it, and he had combed his hair.
 
He had put on a pair of skinny jeans and a pair of black Adidas shoes.
 
His little mustache was sharpened like two daggers.
 
It was as dressed up as Zara had ever seen him. She couldn’t help but be a little impressed.

“Wow,” she said.

He looked her up and down, “My thoughts exactly.”

“Don’t start.
 
I dozed off.
 
Now I gotta rush.”
 
Zara sighed loudly and went to her room and flung open her closet.
 

“I’ll just hang out here, you do your thing,” she heard Twig shout from the living room, followed by a can of something opening.
 

She shouted back at him, “Aren’t you driving?”

“Not tonight princess.
 
We are on foot m’lady.”

Just as well
, Zara thought.
 
She highly doubted the rusty Scout would make much of an impressive entrance.
 
At least on foot they could pretend they parked around the corner or something.
 
Plus a stroll in the night air might clear her mind and give her time to get her head straight.
 
She had barely known Micah and already he was making her a mess.
 

She came out of her room wearing a sleeveless black Volcom shirt and a pair of tight, cuffed, blue jeans and a pair of black Pro-Keds.
 
She had combed her bangs away from her forehead and had on her twine and silver bracelet her dad had gotten her for her birthday.
 

“What do you think?” she asked Twig who was sipping a Pabst.

“You look great.
 
Natalie Portman meets Avril Lavigne.”

After several more trips to the bathroom to adjust her makeup, Zara was finally ready, and they left the apartment, trotted down the outside stairs out onto the sidewalk into the warm summer night.

There was a moon out that hung in the sky like a big gold coin.
 
A breeze stirred the leaves on the elm trees overhead, making them chatter and whisper.
 
They walked down the hill that led to Pearl Street.
 
The stone mansion was only about seven blocks away from where Zara lived.

“So.
 
What’s this guy like?”
 
Twig asked between sips of his Pabst, which he was still carrying.

“You should like, finish that,” Zara said, dodging the question.
 
She didn’t really want to talk about Micah—she didn’t want to jinx her chances with him.

“Oh, nobody cares.
 
It makes no sense that we can pay to drink it in bars but not outside.
 
It’s ridiculous!”
 
Twig said, holding his arms out and scanning the streets for anyone who might care.

She gave him a long look and he rolled his eyes and finished his beer and then stamped it out on the sidewalk.
 
He tucked the smashed can into his pants pocket.
 
“There.
 
Now, you gonna tell me about your future husband?”

Zara flushed.
 
“I dunno…he has dark hair, tall, very light blue eyes...wears a peacoat sometimes…”

Twig put his hand in front of her to stop her from walking into the intersection.
 
A car honked as it raced by.
 
“You should be careful,” he said. And then after a long pause he mumbled, “Yeah, I know the type.”

When they got to the stone mansion, they both tilted their heads up and down to inspect its grandeur.
 
“It’s so cool,” Zara whispered.

“Quite the stronghold,” Twig replied.

Twig pushed opened the big steel gate, which creaked loudly.
 
They walked up the walkway and climbed the big stone steps that led to an oversized oak door.
 
There was a strange silver plaque on the door, with symbols etched into it.

“Latin?” Zara said, crinkling her nose at the plaque and squinting.

“Hungarian,” Twig corrected.

“And you know that how?”
 
Zara said, genuinely amazed.

“Two years of linguistic studies.
 
You’re not the only one bettering yourself with education.” He twirled the end of his mustache with his finger, studying the words on the plaque.

The door suddenly opened, before either had knocked.
 
A lithe woman stood in the doorway, with long black hair, with the same fair skin and silvery blue eyes that Micah had.
 
She wore a light white silk dress that hung to her knees.
 
She tilted her head and smiled warmly at the new guests.

“You
must
be Zara,” she said.
 
Her voice was honeyed and musical.

“Yes…I am, hello,” Zara said, trying to adopt her host’s tone, although not very successfully.
 

“I’m Vivian, Micah’s older and wiser sister, and all day long all my brother has talked about is a cute girl named Zara he met at a club.”
 
She shook Zara’s hand and Zara blushed.
 
Vivian had the same cold, silky hands as her brother.

Vivian’s eyes traced over to Twig, and her smile faltered for the briefest of moments.
 
“And who is this interesting fellow?”

Twig didn’t offer his hand, but instead gave a formal bow.

“Twig Vanderbilt the Second,” he said, as he rose. The two studied each other for a long moment.
  

“Don’t mind him,” Zara said, apologetically.
 
“He likes to joke around.”

Vivian had already lost interest in her new guests.
 
A small black Siamese cat that had been prowling at her ankles caught her attention.
 
She scooped him up, and took one of the cat’s paws in her hand and pointed to the interior of the house with it.
 
“Now that we are all properly introduced, please come in.
 
This is Selma, by the way.”
 

Zara smiled graciously and petted the cat’s head as she went past Vivian.
 
Twig took the cat’s paw and gave it a little jiggle.
 
“A fine specimen,” he said, his eyes still fixed on Vivian.

Vivian ignored him.
 
She told Zara she would go and tell Micah Zara had arrived, and then she glided elegantly across the room and through an archway into another room.

The living room was nothing like Zara expected.
 
She had thought it would be full of ancient furniture made of oak and cold ironwork, but instead it was very modern, while maintaining a certain vintage vibe.
 
The room was huge, with flawless dark hardwood floors.
 
The walls were not like the rough stone exterior of the mansion, but instead were plastered over, and painted in shades of muted violet.
 
Groups of well dressed, professional-looking people holding wine glasses sat on rich leather couches.
 
The walls featured abstract and art nouveau paintings of girls with absurdly long, flowing hair.
 
A black flat screen was mounted over an unlit fireplace.

Among the formally dressed professionals, there were also a few small groups of much more casual-looking young people, dressed more like Zara in t-shirts and jeans.
 
These must be Micah’s friends, she thought.
 
She scanned the room over and over but did not see him.

Twig had found a glass of wine already, and was sipping it with his pinkie extended.
 
Zara lightly elbowed him in the ribs.

“Could you maybe be a little less confrontational mister ‘Vanderbilt’?”

Twig looked puzzled, and then shrugged.
 
“Lighten up Zar, it’s just my way of breaking the ice.
 
And this place looks like a veritable iceberg.”
 
He motioned his wine glass towards a group of men in thin-rimmed glasses and turtlenecks who were huddled together on one of the couches, all leaning in close and involved in some intense discussion.
 

“What do you reckon they are talking about?
 
My guess is Japanese film.
 
Wanna get a wager going?”

“Yeah, yeah.
 
Can we just
try
to keep an open mind,” she said softly.
 
“And where did you get that wine?”

Twig pointed to a silver tray with at least twenty full wine glasses sitting on it by the front door.
 
She wondered how she missed it.
 
She nonchalantly eased over to the table, took a glass and returned to Twig.
 

It felt like an eternity to Zara, standing there trying to look natural among the strangers.
 
Twig said he had to use the bathroom, and despite Zara giving him a very worried look, he said he would be quick and left anyway.

He disappeared through the archway Vivian had gone through, and Zara could already hear him introducing himself to some girl with a very pleasant voice.
 
She hated his ability to mingle in any situation.
 
He could be dropped from a plane in the middle of an African village and in a week he would be the most popular guy in the village.
 
Maybe even made chief.
 

She noticed she was twisting the tip of her sneaker into the hardwood floor and stopped herself.
 
Just when she thought she couldn’t take the waiting anymore, Micah stepped through the archway and flashed a surprised smile at Zara. She gave him a wave and he started over to her.
 
This time he was wearing black slacks, some fancy loafer shoes, and a white
The Damned
t-shirt, which was severely faded and looked older than he did.
 
He had combed his hair back and it was no longer as wild as it had been the night they met.
 

“Hey, you made it!” he said, and the two gave each other a light hug.
 

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me. I absolutely love this house.”
 
She looked around the room but the house had suddenly become less amazing in his presence.
 

“Thank you.
 
It’s been in our family for a very long time, my uhh…great grandfather actually designed it a long time ago.” He seemed mildly embarrassed.
 
This annoyed her slightly.
 
If anyone was to be embarrassed about their living conditions it should be her.
 
Two Casa Zaras could easily fit in this room alone.
 
But from her many visits to the Winters’ estate, she had come to learn that the rich were very quirky when it came to discussions about their lavish homes.