Inside Mr. Longfield's private quarters, I couldn't help but wonder: "Why can't anything be normal with these people?"
When I first got the chance to take part in what they called "the ritual," I thought—hell. The candles, the heavy curtains drawn across the hallway... it all felt like a staged performance, a perfect setup meant to make someone look far more fearsome or powerful than they really were. But believe me, girl, I was dead wrong.
The moment we crossed those doors, one thing became immediately clear: the air inside was heavy, dense, as if something from the past was gripping the place with ghostly hands. The lights were low, the table was rectangular, and Killian had his name on his chair; Lucius's seat remained empty. The rest of us sat in order of importance; I ended up far away from Mr. Longfield's beastly, emperor-like armchair. Some sat in silence, heads bowed; no one spoke to each other. Only Evangelina was staring directly at the graphs on several screens, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Three men in suits opened a door and walked out at a brisk pace, but I didn't focus on them. What struck me was what I saw next. Framed like a trophy on the wall were the two bloodstained shirts belonging to the fake guards who tried to jump me before Killian tore them apart. Yes, right there, in a macabre display. I stood up and, though Ursula tried to stop me, I went straight through that door. I found myself in a massive hall. Next to that bloody relic were others—hundreds of them. Some were nameplates, others glasses, combat boots; there were English and Italian books stained red, a woman's bracelet, high heels, men's blazers riddled with bullet holes, torn riding boots, and more and more. I felt like I was standing in a sinister museum when, to make matters worse, I heard Mr. Longfield's voice behind me.
"Everything you see here belonged to our enemies—traitors, mercenaries, assassins, and saboteurs who went against this family. Each and every one of them tried to hurt us. I keep these so we don't forget: the world we helped build is evil, cruel, and more than willing to repay our offenses."
When I turned around, he looked sad, but in a fraction of a second, his face lit up. He took my hand and said, "Follow me. I don't want to scare you. There's also hope. Come..."
We moved into another high-ceilinged room where what looked like old satellites hung from above. We didn't stop there, but Longfield raised a finger before leaving and told me, "We made those," as if I were supposed to know what they were or even what he was talking about. Then came another museum of personal objects, but these were perfectly arranged on polished shelves. Most were weapons and suits—no blood. My gaze stopped on a shelf holding nothing but a single plastic toy bat, the kind children use.
"See?" he said. "They are the ones who gave their lives to protect us. It's important to remember them too, especially here, near the most sacred place in this house."
Longfield's eyes filled with tears. Not fully understanding the weight of it all, I placed a hand on his shoulder and suggested gently, "Sir, I think you could use some fresh air. It's getting hard to breathe in here."
He replied instantly, "No, I can't leave her. I won't abandon her here alone in the dark. Go! Go now!"
I obeyed. I rushed out of that room and, only two doors later, I was exactly where I knew deep down I'd end up... completely lost. Panic set in. I couldn't hear any voices or see a single landmark I recognized. I knew I hadn't come down any stairs, so I ruled that out and slipped through one more door—and there... I saw it.
There was a giant steel cylinder connected by hoses to various gauges—a kind of altar with a photograph of Diana, Killian and Lucius's mother. Beside it sat a comfortable chair, two wine glasses, an open bottle of wine, and a stereo system.
Mr. Longfield came looking for me, and when he found me there, he walked over, rested his hand on the cylinder, and said, "What do those newspapers say about me? That I'm agoraphobic, right? That I'm afraid to go out there... and part of that is true, but she is the reason. My wife Diana is asleep in here, frozen in nitrogen, waiting for me to wake her up."
Killian walked in and, seeing us together, grabbed my arm. With his other hand, he patted his father's shoulder and told him everyone was waiting. His father seemed confused, so his son whispered, "The Evangelina matter, remember?"
Then his father snapped back. "Of course. We have to unmask that plot. Either she's the smartest woman on this planet, or it's a classic Vandereck trap." He started toward the door but turned back, kissed the cylinder, murmured, "I'll be back soon," and left. Killian and I stayed behind for a few minutes while he explained. Tears rolled down my cheeks for Mr. Longfield's tragic love as I listened to his son.
"I was a child, Carmilla, but I can't forget it. My mother went riding that morning, and one of the employees didn't secure the saddle properly. Her neck snapped when she fell. We never saw her body because, in less than an hour, she was already in here. The funeral we held was just a ceremony to hide this from the press. This wasn't my father's idea; he simply respected her wishes. During her life, she was fascinated by the possibility of being frozen immediately after death, waiting for medical advances to repair the damage and bring people back to life. But I'm sure she never imagined this decision would also freeze and bind my father completely, leaving his own life in suspension, tying him to a hope, to a future that might never come. He is truly in love with her and can't leave her alone in here. He sits in this chair in the mornings, plays the romantic songs she loved so much; in the afternoons, he comes to greet her, and after dinner, he pours two glasses of wine and talks to her. He asks her to be patient, that he'll wake her soon. To keep him from losing himself in his madness, we join him every now and then, but he doesn't allow it often—only on special occasions."
Killian hugged me, and we headed toward the meeting. At the threshold, without him noticing, I waved to the cylinder.
When we arrived, it felt like casual conversation: they were discussing past business, history, and travel. Mr. Longfield shared a few measured anecdotes, respectful of his rivalry with Annia's father's empire. She even laughed at the absurdity of some of the decisions they had made just to outdo each other. Forty minutes later, he called the meeting to an end and stood up. As we all did the same, Mr. Longfield spoke.
"Can anyone tell me one of the three mistakes made in all of this?"
No one understood what he meant. He went around the room, pointing to each person; everyone shook their heads or said, "No, sir, sorry." Longfield saved Evangelina for last and asked, "Did you notice any of the three errors, clever girl?"
She smiled and, with natural ease, replied, "No, there weren't three. There were four. Of course, I didn't want to interrupt you, but if you'd like, I can point them out."
Surprised, he said, "Go ahead. Speak freely."
Evangelina then explained: "The first mistake was when you celebrated your supposed success in patenting CRISPR-Cas9 gene-editing technology in 2006. That's impossible because it was introduced in 2012, and UC Berkeley and the Broad Institute of MIT/Harvard are still in a legal dispute over that patent. The second is that Vandereck, Annia's father, and you could never have fought over a defense contract for Pakistan with President Koštunica in 2001, because Koštunica led Yugoslavia, while Pervez Musharraf was the president of Pakistan at the time. It's also impossible that you sold Rembrandt's The Storm on the Sea of Galilee at a public auction for double what you paid, because that painting was stolen from a Boston museum in 1990. And finally, graph number seven on that screen is false: it doesn't specify the country, but a projected growth rate would never be optimistic when four of the seven remaining indicators show figures worse than the Great Depression of '29."
A heavy silence fell over the room, until Mr. Longfield smiled. He walked past Ursula and whispered, "Good work. I've never seen anything like it. She's the real deal."
Then he turned to Killian, pointing at the screen. "Call our man over there and find out what the hell is going on. Did none of our economists notice that? I want an explanation—or their heads—all of them—before the day is out."
Afterward, he offered Evangelina a contract, but she politely declined. He asked if she worked for Vandereck and insisted she was born for this, but she just smiled and said, "Look, I'm young and I like my life exactly as it is, so no, it's not what I want. I appreciate it, but if you really need someone smart on your side, you should hire my cousin Bruce; he always beat me at everything. I'm going to visit him in Paris. I promise I'll tell him about you, and we'll see what he says. Sound good?"
We celebrated that night. Everyone was happy. Killian and I stayed in Annia's room drinking; tomorrow we leave for Paris.
I kept the secret about Diana, Mr. Longfield's wife, because it seemed like few people knew and no one talked about it. I swear, girl, I couldn't get her out of my head; I imagined her frozen, floating in the dark, listening from the other side to her husband's voice promising he'd come to rescue her soon.
By midnight, Killian had fallen asleep, taking up almost the entire bed. Evangelina poured me a glass of wine and asked for a kiss, but I refused. Annia pulled me away and asked for help moving my man so we could lie down next to him.
Only Annia, with her muscular arms, managed to shift him a few inches, and she too collapsed onto the mattress, exhausted.
I said, "Seriously? Now that you're not getting married, now you want to sleep together?"
No one answered.
I gave Killian a tender kiss. He looked so handsome; even asleep, he looked like a stallion. I whispered, "Rest well, love."
I got nothing back but an unintelligible mumble.
Turning around, I saw Evangelina on the sofa unbuttoning her shirt. "You won't be sad tonight, gorgeous," she told me. "I promise."
That lit a spark in me. Suddenly, I wanted Killian to wake up, to take me to his room so we could explode together in a wonderful orgasm. But he's still asleep, and I'm still torn; the goddess of fertility is now massaging her neck. I know her: Evangelina is stalking me like prey, beckoning me with her gestures. I was going to say no, that it was late, that we'd been drinking and all that... but well, girl, don't be mad at me. Beauty and intelligence turn me on.
When I get to her side, she whispers, "I just want to watch a movie with you, I promise."
We turned on the screen in front of us. We picked one of those romantic movies where the girl travels to another country and meets a prince. After a few minutes, she drapes an arm over my shoulder; my face flushes as her hand slides down to my chest.
I close my eyes. I feel her mouth on my neck. I don't resist; I just tremble. Her other hand slowly moves up my thigh, parting my legs as she whispers in my ear:
"Carmilla, beautiful, I love you. Close your eyes tight and think of whoever you want—Killian, Lucius, both at the same time... or you can open them and look at me while my tongue moves over you."
I felt her body slide down as she slowly pulled away my underwear...
I opened my eyes, girl. She smiled and ran her perfect tongue over those incredible strawberry lips. I wanted to see her. If I'm going to live this, I wanted to see it all.