From the archives: I first posted this on my own blog on 12-23-15, as part of a blog hop I was involved in. But I thought it was somewhat timely to revisit it now. 2015 had been a great year, personally, and I had no idea how relatively lousy the next two years would end up being. In fact, I remember feeling nothing but optimism for the coming year. Ha!
It's interesting, though, that I'd have chosen to look back at NYE 99, which I remember as being a frenetic mix of hope and dread.
What can I say? The more things change, the more they stay the same.
*
I think you'd
approach New Year's a little differently if you were a vampire. Especially
after the first several hundred years. With so many chances to get things
right--and so many years to regret mistakes-- I suspect every New Year's Eve
would be either more poignant or less momentous for the undead.
At least that's the premise I've been working with in my
Children of Night series. I'm highlighting this series in this post because the
newest book in the series, To Curse the Darkness just released on December 22.
My vampires are, not unexpectedly, living under cover,
attempting to blend in and act like humans. As a result, they end up
celebrating all sorts of holidays, New Year's Eve among them. In fact, in the
course of just two books in the series--Now Comes the Night and Ashes of the
Day--they celebrate a total of five different New Year's Eves: from 1968 up
until the present.
Here's an excerpt of just one of them. This is from Ashes of
the Day:
December
31, 1999
New
Year’s Eve
Damian leaned against the railing of the second-floor
balcony and cast a jaded eye over the crowded ballroom below. The decorations
were a tad overdone, in his opinion. Gaudy gold-and-silver Mylar festooned
every surface—the bar, the tables, even the walls. The glare all but blinded
him. Overhead, a billowing mass of champagne- and platinum-colored balloons
were tethered to the ceiling, awaiting the stroke of midnight, when they’d be
released. The last day of the year had dwindled down to the final hour. Y2K was
on the verge, that ticking time bomb that would shortly send the world hurtling
back toward the dark ages…or not.
Either way, Damian could not find it in himself to be
concerned, or even very interested, in the fate of the world. The new
millennium, as most people counted it, was about to begin. For the time being,
it was still 1999 and the throng of people gathered on the hotel dance floor
was certainly partying like it.
Exhibiting far more enthusiasm than skill, the crowd sang
loudly along with Prince’s signature anthem as they bounced and gyrated to the
music. The once-familiar song struck a bittersweet chord in Damian’s heart and
he closed his eyes as nostalgia overwhelmed him. How many times had he danced
to this same record back when it was first popular? He didn’t feel even
remotely like dancing tonight. Hadn’t felt like dancing in years.
Memories rose in his mind of a supple young body pressed
tight against his own, warming his back, more often than not. He remembered
arms holding him possessively close, sweet lips dropping kisses all along his
cheek, his neck, his shoulder…
He remembered the feel of strong hands splayed on his hips,
guiding him as they moved together, thrusting, grinding, taunting each other
with graphic reminders of everything they’d be doing together later in bed.
Oh, how he longed to feel that way again, careless and
wanton, desired, loved. Oh, how he longed to hear that sexy voice whispering in
his ear.To feel those muscular arms encircling his waist or his neck, or
wrapped around his shoulders.To see that smile, hear that laugh, just one more
time.
Knowing those wishes would never come true, that those days
of joy and innocence were lost to him, gone for good, never to return, did nothing
to improve his mood.
Folding his arms across his chest, he surreptitiously
touched the small gold rings with which his nipples had been pierced. The rings
had been Paul’s originally, a final gift of sorts. Since he was Vampire, the
pain had been mild and fleeting. The tiny wounds had healed almost instantly
and had done nothing to ease the heavy sense of loss that weighed against his
chest. Perhaps if the physical pain had been more intense, more prolonged, more
on par with his emotional pain, it might have helped distract him from his
inner turmoil. As it was, all he’d had to make do with was Conrad’s anger.
While that was certainly painful to endure, it didn’t so much detract from
Damian’s distress as add to it.
“Slaves were once made
to wear such things,” Conrad had complained when he learned what Damian had
done. “Is that your wish?To be thought of as a slave now? Is that how you want
people to think of you? Is it how you want them to think of me?”
“¡Ay, puñeta!” Damian had snarled, baring his teeth and
shocking himself with his own boldness. “Déjate de leches. Tell me, who are these people about whom
you’re so concerned? And what has any of it to do with you? Are the rings
yours? Did you force me to wear them? No! So why should you have a say in this
at all? Why do you even care what I do?” It was not his usual habit to
disregard his sire’s wishes so recklessly or to respond so rudely to his
complaints. No one spoke to Conrad in that fashion. No one without a pronounced
deathwish, that is.
Is that what it’s come to?Damian wondered. Am I so weary of drawing breath I’m looking to end
it all? Perhaps he was.
“Silence,” Conrad
commanded. “You go too far. Have you forgotten who I am that you dare speak to
me in this manner? Are you trying to make me lose my temper?”
Damian looked away.
For all that a shudder ran through him when he contemplated the likely result
of Conrad’s losing his temper, he still couldn’t honestly say no, that wasn’t
exactly what he was trying to do. He needed something, didn’t he? Needed
something drastic and extreme, something strong enough to pull him out of the
abyss of grief he’d fallen into. Anything was preferable to what he was feeling
now.
“Everything you do
concerns me,” Conrad said after a moment, his voice lower but no less intense.
“Don’t ever think otherwise. You’re a part of me, Damian, a part of my family,
blood of my blood. Nothing will ever change that. And I will always have a say.
Always.”
And that, Damian
thought, was precisely where the problem lay. It was obvious that what Conrad
objected to most of all was the idea of someone else’s “mark” being made
visible on Damian’s body—a body Conrad still thought of as belonging to him,
however little he wanted anything to do with it anymore.
Yes, the small bits of
metal would last for centuries—another of Conrad’s complaints, and far more
valid than the rest, in that at least it was true. They were as permanent a
reminder of Paul as any Damian could think of, something he would carry with
him wherever he went, something he could keep symbolically close to his heart
for potentially the rest of his life. But what right had Conrad to rage about
that either? None at all. Not when he himself had two living, breathing vampire
children to remind him of his last lover. As a bequest, they had no equal. As a
memorial, nothing else could come close. Of that Damian had no doubts
whatsoever. They were his one saving grace, the only things that made his life
worth living…
“A penny for your thoughts,” Conrad said, appearing at
Damian’s elbow with two glasses of champagne in hand.
Damian started. As his mind returned to the present, the
first thing that struck him was that the same song was playing—whether again or
still he didn’t know. Memories washed over him once more and his heart twisted
in grief. How was it the years could flash by, while the minutes lagged? Time
was cruel, fickle, wearisome. How much more could he bear before it broke him?
“What’s wrong? Is one penny not enough? Perhaps you’re
holding out for more?”
“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped. “More what?”
Conrad frowned. “Why must you scowl at me in that fashion? I
did not invent the phrase and I’m quite sure I used it correctly. If you think
I meant to imply your thoughts were not worth very much, I assure you you’re mistaken.
I merely intended to inquire what was on your mind.”
Damian sighed. “Of course. I beg your pardon. Your use of
the vernacular is exemplary. But I have nothing whatsoever on my mind—not even
a penny’s worth.” He waved at the dance floor. “I was merely observing the
crowd.”
“Ah.” A pleased smile curved Conrad’s lips. “Getting hungry,
are we? Good. I’m pleased to hear your appetite’s returning.”
“No, I’m not particularly hungry.” There was only one taste
Damian was craving, and as he had virtually no chance of satisfying that
craving… “It all seems somewhat pointless, I’m afraid.”
Conrad’s smile disappeared. “Here,” he said, handing Damian
one of the glasses. “Take this, at least. You look as though you could use
something.”
“Thank you.” Damian took the glass and looked at it with
distaste. Here was something else he’d felt no inclination for in well over a
decade. “But I’m not, as they say, in the mood for it.”
“Hold on to it just the same,” Conrad said when Damian
attempted to give him back the glass. “You’d do well to keep up appearances.”
He studied him for a moment then asked, “Damian…you would tell me if there was
anything you needed, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course,” Damian replied dutifully, lying again because
what was the point of anything else? The truth wouldn’t do either of them a
damn bit of good.
*
Everybody has secrets...but some have the ability to
destroy them all.
Damian and Conrad's road has been a rocky one, and Damian is struggling to
trust in the relationship he and Conrad now share -- what seems like a perfect
love. After all, it's fallen apart before, why couldn't it do the same
again?
Secrecy and conflict within the nest continues to grow, and Georgia's hold on
the deadly secret she carries begins to erode. What she hides threatens their
entire species...
