“Alas, yes. The arranged marriage thing is a big deal among the older generations.” His expression became grave. “If you’re unlucky enough to still have parents kicking around the way Freddie is, defying them in these matters is as close to a death sentence as you can really get in our world.”
My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of this. How was any of it actually happening? This whole situation felt like a bad plotline cooked up by a Jane Austen aficionado in the seventh circle of hell.
“I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that vampire dungeons are real.”
“They were, for the most part, abolished among most civilized members of vampiric society shortly after the French Revolution.” He shook his head. “The Jamesons still do things the old-fashioned way, though. According to my contacts, when Frederick said he would not marry Esmeralda, they tossed him into it.”
“That seems a bad way to make someone fall in love with their daughter.”
He snorted. “Indeed.”
“But . . . Naperville? There are vampire dungeons in Naperville?” I thought back to the cookie-cutter suburb I’d visited once back in college when my roommate invited me home for Thanksgiving. How could a place like that have a vampire dungeon?
“You’d be surprised how many unassuming suburbs have vampire dungeons,” Reginald explained. “Here in Chicago, the Jamesons must have had to make do with the limited options at their disposal. Though honestly, hiding him out there is kind of perfect.” He gave me a sardonic smile. “Nobody expects a vampire dungeon in Naperville.”
He had a point there.
“You know,” he added, shooting a pointed look over his shoulder. “We should probably keep our voices down. The Jamesons have ears everywhere.”
My skin prickled. “Really?” I asked, sotto voce.
He shrugged. “Probably not, but I’ve always wanted to say something like that. Either way, I don’t think it’s a good idea if we’re overheard.”
He had a point there, too. Nothing good would come of Gossamer’s very human clientele overhearing this conversation.
“So that picture I saw on Instagram . . .” I trailed off, fidgeting with the rim of my We Are Pulchritudinous as I remembered the image of Frederick being helped into the back seat of a stretch limo by a gorgeous Esmeralda. “You’re saying that he didn’t go into that limo willingly.”
“He couldn’t have.” Reginald’s expression turned even more serious. “That man is head over fangs for you. The past few weeks have been a nightmare for me, personally, with how often I’ve had to listen to that goofball wax poetic about your literally everything. It’s been embarrassing for both of us.” He shook his head. “I have not seen the picture you are talking about, but he would never have willingly gone anywhere with Esmeralda. Especially now that he has you.”
My heart soared at the confirmation that Frederick had feelings for me, even as my stomach plummeted at the thought of him being in danger.
“So what do we do?”
“We have to get him out of there. If we don’t . . .” Reginald shook his head and looked over his shoulder again. “He’ll be shipped back to New York and married to a woman he doesn’t love before next week.”
“Can they do that?” I asked, horrified. “Would a wedding against someone’s will even be legal?”
He snorted. “We don’t do things the way humans do them, Cassandra.”
That had to be the understatement of the century. My fight-or-flight instincts were kicking in, the urge to go out to Naperville right that second and demand they let Frederick go nearly overpowering me. But I still had enough common sense to know that barging into a house full of angry vampires would be a seriously terrible idea.
And then, all at once, the beginnings of a plan came to me.
“I have one idea on what we could do to get him out,” I said. “You may not like it.”
Reginald stared at me. “That sounds ominous.”
“It might be,” I conceded. “Or it might just be legitimately ridiculous.”
“Let’s hear it.”
I spun my mug of coffee around and around, just for something to do with my hands. Some of its contents sloshed onto the table, but I was too keyed up to care about that. I’d clean it up later so whoever was in charge of closing wouldn’t have to.
“How familiar is vampire society with TikTok?”
From: Cassie Greenberg [[email protected]]
To: Edwina D. Fitzwilliam [[email protected]]
Subject: My terms
Dear Mrs. Fitzwilliam,
I will not beat around the bush with you. You have kidnapped someone who means a lot to me. Specifically: your son. I insist you and the Jamesons release him immediately from the Naperville Dungeon. If you do NOT let him go within twenty-four hours, I will be forced to go on TikTok and tell the entire world that vampires are real!!
I look forward to your immediate response.
Cassie Greenberg
I reread my email to Frederick’s mother, trying to work up the nerve to hit send.
“Your plan isn’t ridiculous,” Reginald said. “It’s brilliant.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
“Will it work?”
Reginald hesitated. “Maybe.” He stood behind me, leaning over my chair as he read the email I’d just drafted. Around us, Gossamer’s patrons sipped their coffee and ate their muffins, hopefully oblivious to the fact that Reginald and I were plotting a vampire rescue in the western suburbs. “Aside from Esmeralda, who just uses Instagram to post pictures as far as I can tell, the social media phenomenon has passed most vampires by. A lot of them are centuries old, after all. They don’t pay much attention to current events. If they’ve even heard of social media, it’s likely just that it’s a tool today’s humans use to spread information.”
This tracked with everything I knew about Frederick’s Luddite ways. But the idea that his captors might find my threat convincing was still hard to believe.
Especially since I barely knew how to navigate TikTok myself.
“I get that Mrs. Fitzwilliam and the Jamesons don’t want the general human public to know that vampires are real—”
“They don’t,” Reginald said, bluntly. “None of us do.”
“Okay,” I said. “My concern is what happens if they call my bluff. I have seven followers on TikTok. I use it to watch cat videos. Even if I knew how to post something like this to TikTok—which I only barely do—there’s a roughly zero percent chance anyone would see it.”