A Dance at Midnight

The roses were wilted again.

Senar trailed a finger across the velvety red petals before letting her hand drop back down to her side. “Henry,” she said.

Within moments, her friend and butler appeared at her elbow. “Yes, Senar?” he asked.

“Change out these roses for fresh ones.” She glanced around the foyer where additional roses decorated the darker corners of the space. “Actually, change them all out. The best roses you can find. No fakes.”

Henry bowed. “Yes, Senar. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Henry.” He left, the soles of his shoes clicking across the marble floor.

With one last look at the roses, Senar made her way to the staircase. She hitched up the ends of her dress and began the upward climb, one hand clasped tightly on the banister.

Streaks of silvery light shone through the arched windows. Halfway up the stairs, she stopped and gazed out at them. Immaculate lawn stretched across, and beyond that, the open fields of rural Massachusetts. There were no stars out tonight.

She lived far out from any city, a decision that she grew more and more grateful for as the years wore on. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, nobody could see her or touch her or threaten her.

Out here, she could be as ill as she wanted to be, and nobody could say a word.

Emotion suddenly clogged her throat and made the backs of her eyes tingle. Quickly, she crossed the rest of the steps onto the second floor. Here, where the guest rooms began, she began her round of inspection, searching for any wilted petals or untucked corners or skewed picture frames. There was no room for error - everything had to be perfect.

The Bleeding Ball was coming up, and this year marked her first time hosting it. Tomorrow, Masters and Mistresses across the nation were going to flood into her home and fill it with noise, smells, and blood. She had gone on long enough without hosting it; she couldn’t decline the invitation again this year without raising suspicions.

So, she said yes, and now, she had to keep her bloodwake hidden not only from her staff but also from a room full of power-hungry vampires for the entire week.

I will. I have to.

She entered the first guest room: a spacious room with a four-poster bed, a large hand-carved wooden dresser, a separate sofa and chaise, and a desk and matching chair. There was a vase of fresh roses on the nightstand; they weren’t wilted, but they might as well be since Henry was coming with a new bouquet soon.

Senar walked around the room. She trailed a finger on the dresser: no dust. She adjusted the frame of the oil painting. It showed two pomegranates; one was whole and the other was split open in half, its seeds resembling glittering rubies.

The silk covers of the bed were pulled taut, but she pulled them tighter. She fluffed up the pillows, too. The velvet of the chaise went every which way, so she took several minutes running her palm over it, making sure the fabric faced one direction.

At the windows, she traced her fingertips along the thick, black-out curtains, making sure that there were no wrinkles or snags in the fabric.

After two rounds of inspection, she left the room. For the other six guest rooms, she repeated the process. She did the same thing on the third and fourth floors. As she left the very last guest room, she heard footsteps down in the foyer along with a whiff of fresh roses.

Henry.

Senar crossed the landing toward the staircase where she, gripping the banister tightly, wound down the stairs. Outside the arched windows, dawn was emerging; the silvery moonlight had transformed into a hazy orange of the coming sun.

Henry met her in the middle of the foyer. He held up a bundle of hemp cloth where dozens of red roses lay inside, their stems sticking out.

She leaned down to smell them but regretted it as soon as the scent of a thousand roses punctured her nose. She straightened. “Thank you, Henry,” she said. “Help Mina set them up. Make sure you only pick the best of the best roses in there. And if they’re not the best, then go get more.”

Henry nodded. “Of course.”

“And when you’re done with that, bring Mina up to help me get ready.”

“Yes, Senar.”

Senar left for her own room. It was located on the ground floor, behind the library and away from the central hubbub of the foyer, dining room, and ballroom. She felt for the necklace around her neck and isolated the key hanging from it. She slotted it into the lock and pushed open the door.

Her room didn’t smell like roses; it didn’t really smell like anything except for the faint hints of lemon from the disinfecting wipes that she occasionally had to use.

Her own four-poster bed stared back at her; the golden silk sheets beckoned her to lie down for some daysleep. She ignored it; she couldn’t sleep even if she wanted to anyway.

Senar veered toward her closet. She flicked on the light switch. White fluorescent light shone down like a beacon. She began to rifle through each hanger of clothing.

The Bleeding Ball was created in 1796 by Margaret Alder, a former German heiress-turned-vampire who, upon arriving on the soil of fledgling independent America, lamented the lack of a social scene for aristocratic vampires. That wouldn’t do for an heiress, nevermind a former one.

She set off to create the Bleeding Ball but first, she needed vampires to partake in it. Easy for Margaret - her name held a certain weight in social circles at the time, so doors opened for her as swiftly as she walked through them.

Before anyone knew it, the Bleeding Ball was born, and it was a resounding success. News of the Ball circulated across the nation where it soon became not only a tradition but one that every Master and Mistress eagerly awaited for.

Everyone except Senar.

She had a good excuse, she thought, but she could never tell it to anyone. Henry and Mina were the only ones who knew but only because they weren’t stupid and not because she directly told them. The other staff had no idea, she made sure of it. As far as she was concerned, her secret was safe within the confines of this house.

In just a span of twelve hours, though, this bubble of safety was going to break, and she will have to hide her bloodwake like her life depended on it. Which it did.

She didn’t know exactly what caused bloodwake - just that it only afflicted vampires so that they could no longer drink blood, and blood no longer did what it was supposed to for them. She was, per the term, “awoken from the blood.”

And if just one Master or Mistress knew that she was bloodwoken...well, she might as well behead her herself.

Therefore, Senar had to choose the perfect gown. If anything, she had to - literally - distract her guests with all the glitz and glamour if she had any chance of making it through the night.

After carefully mulling over her options, she chose her green gown - the only green one she had in her arsenal. The piece showed off her shoulders and the shimmering layers of the skirt caught any and all kinds of light.

Carefully, she laid the gown and all its layers onto the chaise. From several feet away, outside the door, she heard footsteps and the telltale scent of coconut body lotion. She straightened just as there was a knock on the door.

“Mistress, it’s Mina,” the maid said.

“Come in, Mina,” Senar said.

The door cracked open. Mina smiled at her and gave a small obeisance. “Hi, Mistress.”

“Hi, Mina,” she said.

Mina entered fully and closed the door behind her. She came over and stood in front of Senar, giving a full bow this time. The human woman was in her mid-twenties and had been with Senar for the past decade. Senar had doubted her ability because of her young age, but Mina had quickly proven herself to be a hard and attentive worker and got along well with not only her but also with Henry and the rest of the staff.

“The Ball is in twelve hours,” Senar said, “and I need to look the best I’ve ever looked.”

Mina nodded. Her auburn hair glinted in the dim lighting; she had beautiful hair, Senar was rather envious of it. “I’ll start the bath, and we can go from there.”

“Thank you, Mina.”

As Senar undressed, the maid busied herself with the arrangements for the bath. After, she came out of the bathroom and began to set up the vanity with lotions, oils, and makeup. She reached into her uniform pocket for her Walkman.

It wasn’t that Senar didn’t like modern times; it was that phones made it easier to spread secrets and rumors, and she wasn’t going to risk having her entire identity blown up on a tiny device made by humans. Thus, the house relied on postal mail, and there was neither a computer nor one of those “smart” televisions in sight.

Except without any of these devices, the house was deathly silent, and, with the silence, the vise around her heart grew tighter. Enough was enough, so she allowed Walkmans, the old version that played music and nothing else.

Mina clicked a few buttons. In moments, quiet jazz filled the room. She dropped the Walkman back into her pocket and turned to face Senar. “Whenever you’re ready, Mistress,” she said.

Senar entered the bathroom in her robe. The clawfoot tub awaited her, its water hot. Steam curled off the surface, and the rose petals lazily meandered among the bubbles. She loosened her robe, set it aside, and stepped into the tub, trying not to let the water tip over the edge and splash onto the floor.

The heat of the water soothed her muscles and nerves. She leaned her head back against the tub. Mina took her spot behind her, and soon, her fingers gently massaged her scalp. The minutes ticked by in companionable silence. Mina hummed to herself here and there, but her hands never stopped.

Meanwhile, Senar kept her eyes closed and practiced her breathing. She had never thought she would do something fragile humans made up, but she found that, even as a vampire, the focus of the exercise helped.

In. Out.

Strangers in my house. Thirsty, dangerous strangers in my house.

In. Out.

There’s going to be so much blood. Blood everywhere. I won’t be able to escape it.

In...Out...

Everything is going to be OK. I have to be OK-

“Mistress.” Mina’s voice rung from somewhere far away. “Mistress.”

Senar opened her eyes. The water was now lukewarm, and her hair was cleaned, dried, and brushed. She craned her neck to look at Mina who gave her a small smile. “We’re done, Mistress.”

“Oh, right,” she said.

Mina lent out a hand. Senar grasped it and pulled herself up and out of the tub. Water spilled from her limbs. Mina handed her her robe, and Senar pulled it around herself quickly before the air cooled her warm, supple skin.

Holding onto each other to prevent from slipping, the two of them exited the bathroom. She settled in front of the vanity where various bottles of skincare and makeup took up most of the available space on the desk.

The mirror stared back at her, urged her to look at it, but Senar kept her head down for another moment before bringing it up.

She didn’t know what she expected to see through the glass, but her heart deflated nonetheless. Her skin was sallow, her cheeks hung thin, and her dark circles shaded her eyes without need of eyeshadow.

The lack of blood was taking its toll on her, and she’d be a fool not to acknowledge it.

Mina’s reflection appeared behind her. Senar searched for pity or sympathy in Mina’s blue gaze, but there was none. All she said was, “How would you like your makeup, Mistress?”

The Bleeding Ball was a show of all things excess, and the way she looked, especially as the hostess, was no exception. In fact, perhaps the most important thing about the Ball was her.

Senar looked straight in the mirror, into her own eyes. She pulled back her shoulders and raised her head. “Make me beautiful,” she said.