When I open my eyes, I find myself standing in front of a glass door that’s pulled opened for me by a ghostly butler. Faint music, raucous laughter, and the feeling of being in the right place at the right time welcome me.
“Thank you,” I tell the ghost, which elicits a gracious nod from him in return.
As I head down the grand wooden staircase, I know exactly where I am. Lord knows I’ve watched the movie enough times to realize I’ve been transported to some sort of recreation of the most famous ship to ever hit an iceberg. All I need now is for Jack and Rose look-a-likes to come running down the staircase, hand-in-hand, beside me. I quickly make my way down the steps and enter the dining room where the real party is in full swing.
When I enter the room, I notice scantily clad women dancing among the living guests to music that’s meant to entice the partygoers to toss away all of their inhibitions, even if it’s only for one night. I’m not sure what the prim and proper Rose would say about a burlesque show now occupying the floor meant for first-class passengers, but I find the whole scene intriguing. I can see why my mother wanted to come to this party so badly. Even if my father isn’t here, she would have enjoyed feeding off the sexual energy in the room. I’m not even a succubus, and I can feel it slithering like a living organism around my body.
The goth vibe of the room translates to the bar area as well where two coffins have been erected on either side of it. From blood to alcohol, both are filled to the brim with what this particular crowd of revelers most desire. Even though I would love a drink right about now to calm my jagged nerves, quenching my thirst isn’t what draws me to the bar. A woman does, and her name is Imperia.
Imperia is a succubus I’ve met a few times before. She used to be a friend of my mother’s, but they had a falling out a few years back. I’m not sure what drove them apart, but as my mother so curtly told me at the time, their feud wasn’t any of my business. I chalked their dispute up to them each being pretty vocal about their own opinions and neither giving in when they felt they were on the right side of an argument.
I’ve always admired Imperia’s fashion sense, and tonight is no exception. Her long white hair is brushed to one side, and she’s wearing a skin-tight black jumpsuit that accentuates all of her curves. My eyes are drawn to the large tattoo of a bat covering her left shoulder. During my teenage phase, I told my mother I wanted to get a tattoo just like it, but she forbade it. Personally, I think she became jealous because I aspired to emulate someone who wasn’t her.
As I approach the bar, Imperia is staring up at one of the two women sitting in swings that are dangling from the ceiling.
“Hey, Monday!" Imperia yells loud enough to be heard over the noise in the room, gaining the attention of the blue-haired girl swinging above the bar. "You ready for a drink yet?"
Monday shakes her head as she looks down at Imperia. “Not yet, but thanks for asking!”
While the girl continues to swing above the crowd with her long-feathered skirt billowing out behind her, Imperia returns her attention to a drink she’s making behind the bar when I walk up.
“What can I get for you?” Imperia asks me just before she glances up to see who she’s talking to. Her hands stop moving, and her blood-red eyes express her shock at seeing me. “Eve? What in the world are you doing here? Does your mother know where you are?”
“No, she doesn’t. I’m here to find my father,” I tell her, watching closely for her reaction to my words. “Have you seen him?”
Imperia drops her gaze from mine and slowly resumes making the drink she was working on. She remains silent, which could be a good thing, or it could be her answer to me. I watch her top the tall glass filled with a raspberry colored liquid with whipped cream. After she places the cherry on top, she sets it on the bar in front of me.
“Drink it,” she orders, quickly cleaning up her area before returning her full attention to me. “What makes you think he’s here?”
I wrap my hands around the glass, hoping I’ve found an unexpected ally at The Monster Ball. “My mother was convinced he would be here tonight. Did you know they met each other at one of these balls?”
“Of course, I knew that,” Imperia says, folding her arms over her chest. Her lacey batwing sleeves cross over each other. “Your mother and I have been friends for more years than I like to count.”
“Does that mean you know who my father is?” I feel like I’m on the verge of finally discovering his identity. I’m so excited I can barely breathe.
Imperia sighs. “Yeah. I know who he is, and yeah, he’s here.”
“Where is he?” I ask, practically ready to crawl over the bar and choke the information out of her if she doesn’t give it to me on the spot.
“Eve,” she says, leaning as close as she can to me across the bar, “if he wants you to know who he is, he’ll come to you. Stop asking questions about him. You don’t realize how powerful he is, and men like him treasure their privacy.”
My heart sinks with disappointment, but I refuse to give up. I’m so close to finding my father. I won’t let my search for him be derailed now. I stare at the drink in my hands and try to come up with a scheme to make Imperia tell me what she knows.
“Excuse me, Imperia,” a man with a silky voice says as he sidles up next to me. “Would you mind making me another one of your specialty drinks? I’m sorry. I don’t remember what it’s called.”
“Kiss This,” Imperia answers as her voice becomes soft and seductive. “If you want, Lance, I can take you somewhere private and show you exactly what inspired the name for that drink.”
Lance laughs good-naturedly. “I’m afraid I’m spoken for this evening. Otherwise, I would certainly consider taking you up on your kind offer.”
“Your loss will undoubtedly be someone else’s gain this evening,” she tells him coyly as she begins the process of making him what he requested.
“Your hands are going to freeze if you keep holding that glass so tightly,” Lance says to me as he reaches over and gently pulls my right hand away from my drink.
My first instinct is to yank my hand out of the stranger’s grasp, but I don’t. As I stare dumbfounded at his hand, my body and mind instantly go numb. The music and the noise of the crowd fade like someone just turned down the volume on both. At first, I assume what I’m seeing is a trick of the light in the room. I squeeze my eyes shut, count to three, and reopen them. It’s not an illusion or a hallucination from not having slept in over 36 hours. The man standing beside me…the man whose face I haven’t even seen yet is someone I’ve been searching for almost as long as my father.
Breathlessly, I let my gaze drift up the dark sleeve of his suit jacket. Like ripping off a bandage, I quickly lookup. I find my breath again as his face, just like his hand, glows iridescent to my eyes. He’s handsome, but I knew he would be when I first heard the silky tone of his voice. He has an accent that sounds like a mash-up of British and French. It’s odd the way just hearing someone speak can instantly conjure a picture of how they should look, but the image my mind created doesn’t do this man justice.
His face is clean-shaven and perfectly oval, and his silky blond hair is blended into layers that end right above his shoulders. His bright blue eyes shine with mischief, but they also hold a promise of kindness that he only reserves for those he truly cares about. A slim nose leads to perfectly bow-shaped pink lips that part as if they’re begging to be kissed but not by just anyone. Only me.