She was as bizarre and she was desirable. And mysterious. Rumors circulated that she was a bondage freak, a Satan worshiper, that she was a lesbian, that she drank blood for sexual pleasure. A vampire, a junkie, a succubus. But of course she had people who were deft with the media. None of the rumors could be substantiated, her slim publicist in black dexterously avoiding all questions with a well timed, withering No Comment. No reporters were ever allowed into the revelry. And she seemed to have a sixth sense about it. As if she could smell them. None ever escaped being discovered. And effectively silenced. Film destroyed, bribes paid. And no invitee would ever dare spill to the tabloids for fear of complete and total social exile. An invitation to one of the Society's affair was comparable to a winning lottery ticket. Everyone wanted it, craved it, dreamed about it. And here it was in his trembling hands.
Sebastian was a post graduate art student and he'd had a gallery opening about three weeks ago. It was his first as a professional artist. He was finally making a living doing what he loved. Art. He didn't have to wait tables or push papers anymore. Imagine his astonishment when the gallery owner called and told him Genevieve De Sangre had purchased one of his works. From his very first show. That in itself was enough, and now here was this invitation. A ticket not only into the most exclusive party in town, but also an inroad with a well known exclusive crowd. Who knows? He might even get a business card or two from some of the major art world movers and shakers. The opportunities in this one piece of paper, this tiny square, took his breath away.
What will I go as? Sebastian thought suddenly. It would have to be good. No one would be interested in exhibiting an artist who couldn't even come up with a novel costume design. Sebastian racked his brains for a suitable costume idea. After many rejected ideas he fell into an exhausted, tormented slumber. He dreamt of Genevieve De Sangre. Her golden eyes laughing at him as she made a spectacle of him in what appeared to be a circus ring. Dwarves smoking stogies and vampires, werewolves, and emaciated men with tattered black raven wings on their skinny shoulders leered at him from the stands and yellow eyes glowed from a shadowy stone arch behind Genevieve. He woke in a sweat. He could scarcely recall his dream, except for those gold eyes, and the crimson drop he barely glimpsed on her full lips. What the hell is that supposed to mean? He thought. He finally decided to go in a tuxedo with a werewolf mask, which he'd elaborately constructed. The finished mask was spectacular. The eyes on it really seemed to glow with lupine fire.
The day of the party Sebastian was so excited he couldn't paint. The hours eased by and finally it was time to get ready. He put on his tux, and carried the werewolf mask to the car. It was dusk and his neck tingled as he thought of the gaiety the night was to bring. He checked his pocket for the invitation one more time and began the journey to The Tower of Darkness. Sebastian traveled down the highway and the houses began to spread out, soon the number of cars dwindled to just him. A lone car on a scarred highway in the purplish light of dusk, like a bruise. Sebastian shivered. It dawned on him how remote the Tower really was. Soon there was nothing but fields flanking the highway, and he almost missed his exit because the road sign was so poorly maintained. He drove past a trailer park and a Big Boy. And then he was alone again on a tree lined road. Suddenly as he came over a gentle rise, a pair of intricate wrought iron gates rose in front of his car, framing a long driveway filled with cars leading up to a massive stone fortress. He can hear the howls of the patrol dogs guarding the grounds. He drove up to the gatehouse and rolled down his window. A large man with a jagged scar twisting down his face, and a glass eye with a little mushroom cloud graphic. He wore all black and heavy, studded rings on his disfigured knuckles, also twisted with scars. He held out his hand without saying anything. Sebastian fumbled in his tux pocket and finally placed the invitation and the small white envelope that had come enclosed, sealed with instructions to present to the gate keeper, unopened, under threat of non admittance to the soiree. The gatekeeper opened the small white envelope. Inside was a medallion, engraved with his name on one side and the words, Let the Grand Festivities Commence and Genevieve De Sangre's distinct signature. The gate keeper checked it against his list, and then held the medallion out to Sebastian. He unhooked the clasp and put it on.
"Medallions must be worn at all times, keep care with it. Anyone found not wearing one will be escorted out." The man said, his voice like ice cracking when you pour the liquor on it. He made the word escorted sound like a cruel torture. Sebastian was under the impression that it would not be a pleasant way to end up. He nervously swallowed and touched the medallion at his throat. "First timer, eh?" The man said with a twisted grin.
"Uh…yes….I'm looking forward to it…..uh…a lot." The man laughed and the gates swung open. He eased his car up the drive. The Tower loomed in front of him, with high stone towers. In the uppermost windows of the north tower he spied a silhouette, and then the distinct outline of a rifle. He shuddered.
Finally he was at the entrance. A valet scurried out to the car. He retrieved his mask and stepped out of the car. The valet took his keys wordlessly. And before he could protest his car was gone. Oh well, he thought, when in Rome do as the Romans do. He walked up the massive staircase. The doorman eyed his medallion as he crossed the thresh hold. As he entered the main foyer he gasped and stopped dead in his tracks. In the center of the mosaic floor was a large fountain spurting blood red wine, which party goers were catching in wine glasses or directly in their mouths. Music thudded from hidden speakers, and couples writhed against each other in various states of undress. He was surrounded by beautiful women, dressed as nymphs and fairies, angels and demons. Men were satyrs, devils, all manner of costume. Strands of lights were intertwined with draped white chiffon and tulle. Sebastian began to make his way through the foyer. He entered the main party room. Here it was just as wild, if not wilder than the first room. The center piece of the room though was a large throne. As he looked at it. It was a living tree. A very old, twisted tree. Ivy clutched the high back. Somebody long ago began cultivating this tree to grow like this. In the seat there were gold and scarlet and deep purple pillows. And perched on those pillows was Genevieve De Sangre. She was breathtaking. Wearing nothing but an intricate necklace and a sheer wrap around her waist. Her long golden hair reached her knees. He lips were curved into a little smile as she surveyed her party. As he stood there her eyes, those gold eyes from his dream, locked onto his. He felt a heat in his face, and a twinge in his stomach. Then, she licked her lips and beckoned him.
His feet wouldn't cooperate. He swallowed and began to make his way through the crowd. Her gaze never left his and he felt his confidence growing with each step. He arrived at the foot of the throne. Her low throaty voice greeted him warmly.
"Hello Sebastian, I've been expecting you." Her beautiful breasts swayed as she moved over and patted the seat beside her. As he took his place beside her he could feel the beginnings of an erection. She was so magnificent and her voice brought to mind the murmured whispers of lovers in the moonlight.
