I never outgrew my fondness for games, Damon replied, not moving his lips.
Just don’t hurt her, I said through gritted teeth. But Damon didn’t say anything, and only half-shook his head in a gesture that was impossible for me to read.
Violet continued to stare at him, her expression worshipful. Typical. Damon always commanded attention from women. Just then, a tall, beautiful woman wearing a midnight-blue silk dress and false eyelashes swanned up to him, two glasses of champagne in her hands. I spotted a gold-threaded silk scarf wrapped several times around her neck. I was sure if she unwrapped it, I’d see two small puncture holes on her neck from Damon’s fangs. Damon, noticing my gaze, raised his eyebrow and smirked. Violet let out a gasp.
“Charlotte Dumont!” she squealed, clapping her hands with delight. I smiled at her, happy she’d at least been paying attention to the show. I couldn’t believe I’d let such an obvious clue almost slip through my fingers.
“Why, yes, that’s my name,” Charlotte said, giggling as she handed a champagne flute to Damon. “I can’t leave you for a moment!” she said to Damon, playfully swatting him on his arm. “Every time I do, I come back to see a crowd fawning over you. And I’m supposed to be the star of our twosome!” She pouted.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Damon said, placing his hand on her shoulder in a move so tender, it surprised me. Did he actually like this woman, or was he just using her for money and status? “This is my old friend, Stefan . . . if that’s what you’re going by nowadays?”
“Stefan Pine, and this is my friend, Violet,” I explained, taking Charlotte’s delicate hand and bringing it to my lips for a kiss.
“I’m an actress. From America,” Violet said, trying hard to put on an American accent as she sank into a deep curtsy.
“Are you?” Charlotte asked pointedly, a sharp edge to her tone as she tried to determine whether or not Violet was competition.
“Well, I’d like to be,” Violet demurred, clearly realizing that her statement was not the best way to get in Charlotte’s good graces. “So would my sister. Cora Burns. Do you know her?”
Charlotte’s expression softened slightly. “Cora . . . the name sounds familiar,” Charlotte said, tugging on Damon’s shirtsleeve. “Do we know a Cora, love?”
Damon rolled his eyes. “As if I could keep track of everyone we meet. That’s what the society pages are for, right? If they’re there, then I’ve met them. And if not, then I haven’t.”
“Well, if you meet her, please tell her that her sister is looking for her,” Violet said tentatively. I felt nothing but relief. Charlotte seemed somewhat familiar with Cora’s name. Maybe Cora simply had gone off with a theater producer.
“Doesn’t ring a bell, sweetheart, sorry.” Damon shrugged.
“It’s okay,” Violet said sadly. “Just so she knows I’m looking.”
“Speaking of looking,” Charlotte said brightly, breaking the silence, “I think I need another glass of champagne.” In the short conversation, she’d already drained her whole flute. “Would you like to come with me? And maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Mackintosh, the producer of our little show. Your sister’s not the only one who could be an actress.”
Violet’s eyes gleamed as the two girls walked away into the swirl of revelers. Damon watched with a bemused expression.
“Women!” he remarked once they were firmly out of earshot. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Am I right? The nagging, the compliments, the enthusiasm . . . no wonder humans age so quickly,” he said, throwing back his own glass of champagne.
“Well, it seems you have a steady source of nourishment,” I said darkly. Was Damon’s choice of women what ignited the wrath of Klaus? Or something else? Whatever it was, I’d play nice until I got to the bottom of it.
“Oh yes. She does well, although the blood is often rather alcoholic. Great before a big night out, but I have to be careful not to overindulge,” Damon said casually, as if he were reviewing a brand-new restaurant. “And you? Have you gone back to human blood in your middle age? Don’t tell me you’re still subsisting on squirrels and bunnies!” He guffawed.
“I’m not talking about Charlotte,” I said, ignoring his teasing. “And I’m here to stop you. You’re being stupid and careless, and you’re going to get hurt. What are you even doing here?”
“I’m here for the weather,” Damon parried back sarcastically. “Do I need a reason? Maybe I decided to see the sights. America felt too small. Here, there are all sorts of diversions.”
“What kind of diversions?” I asked pointedly.
Damon smiled again, revealing his ultra-white teeth. “You know, the usual ones that come with traveling abroad: meeting new people, trying new cuisines . . .”
“Trying your hand at murder?’’ I hissed, lowering my voice so that no one else could hear me.
Confusion crossed Damon’s face, followed by a long, hollow laugh.
“Oh, you mean the Jack the Ripper nonsense? Please. Don’t you know me better?” Damon asked when he finally stopped chuckling.
“I know you well enough,” I said, clenching my jaw. “And I know you love attention. This is bad news for you.”
“No news is bad news for me.” Damon yawned, as if the conversation bored him. “Well, then you know, brother, that I’ve always abhorred guessing games and I have no patience for hysteria. I’d much rather kill discreetly.”
“So you haven’t killed anyone recently?” I asked, my eyes darting around the room to make sure no one was listening. No one was. The partiers around us were far too busy drinking and laughing to think anything of our intense conversation in the shadows.