1.1 Blood and Unicorns

Compared to a paint brush, the camera felt awkward and clumsy in my hands, but as far as my mother is concerned, painting pictures isn't much different than taking them. Making my way through the crowd at the Fairway, the oldest and most respectable building in Harbor Village, I obliged the young, attractive couple who approached, and snapped their picture. I handed over the Polaroid and scurried away, before they could ask for another. The only thing more insufferable than making tedious conversation with the Village's elite is taking their picture.

"Martini, Miss Thorne?" A passing waitress extended her tray of gifts with a smile.

"I shouldn't really drink on the job," I said. "Oh, what the hell." I tossed back the drink and moved on, trying not to dwell on my growing resentment at feeling less like a member of the family and more like the help.

My self-pity was momentarily forgotten when my gaze wandered in the path of a ridiculously handsome stranger walking by. With a face I could paint, and a physique I could sculpt naked, his electric blue blue eyes were so magnetic they compelled me to snap a picture before he was lost to the crowd. I caught the photograph, shaking it absentmindedly as he cast a coy glance of his shoulder, and was gone.

"Late again, Amelia. But at least this time you're properly dressed for the evening."

I turned. The woman standing behind me was tall and graceful, slender curves defined by a backless champagne gown. Her deep brown skin sparkled under the ballroom lights and chandeliers, glinting like the sequins on her dress.

I sighed, allowing her to fuss with the curls that had escaped my bun.

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world, Mom. Never mind the fact that Jeffrey couldn't bother to make it to my very first art showing." I cleared my throat, avoiding her sharp gaze by pretending to inspect the camera.

"He's the governor. Your father has certain responsibilities--"

"He's not my father."

A tight moment of silence passed. Ten years since this argument first began and still no truce in sight. Jeffrey could marry her, whisk us into his fancy mansion, and play house with my mother and sister all he wanted. I didn't owe him.

"The donors are here." Her reply was curt, tighter than my dress. "We need you at his side during the speech. Tonight's important, Amelia. Don't let us down."

As mom sauntered away, I remembered the picture in my hand, taken aback at the sight of the stranger's handsome face, which was nothing more than a twisted, ghostly blur.

After another hour of taking pictures, I finally hung up my camera, escaping to the bathroom for a quick touch-up. I pushed up my cleavage, inspecting my teeth for lipstick in the bathroom mirror. Any other time I would have felt sexy and powerful in my little black dress. Tonight I just felt...

"Useless," I muttered, at the girl in the mirror.

A stall opened behind me; a slightly older woman approached the bank of sinks and began to wash her hands, lips scarlet as her dress - a mermaid gown with a slit up the side. Her porcelain skin was  flawless, a beauty mark at the corner of her lip. Jet ringlets were coiled to one side, fastened in place with a black hair stick in the shape of a glittering snake.

"You may be useless, but at least you are beautiful." She dried her hands, French accent smooth as butter. "Careful. Beautiful things can be dangerous."

She left with a wink, a leggy dreamy trailing Chanel fragrance in her wake.

I followed her from the bathroom, searching the lamp-lit corridor for signs of the mysterious stranger. But she moved fast--the hall was empty.

Disappointed, I walked to the railing ahead, peering over the balcony to the party happening below. Some charity event. Half of them came for the free drinks. The rest had only shown their faces to line Jeffrey's pockets in hope of future favors. And he would accept, as always, at our family's expense.

Drumming my manicured nails on the rail, I thought of all the reasons I had left to stay in the Village. Not many. This summer I would put the final nail in my art degree - and never look back. New York City couldn't come sooner.

In need of something stronger than a drink - I slipped through the Fairway's back exit, glancing behind me to ensure no prying eyes had followed. Outside, alone with the dumpsters, I found my respite. Leaning against the Fairway's golden bricks, I lit a joint with my lucky brass Zippo - the only possession dad left behind, apart from his family of course. The Army general had cared more about "saving the world" than he had his own family. I exhaled a heavy plume of smoke, thumping my head on the bricks. Why the hell didn't he take me with him?

Flicking ash, I cursed, dabbing at the flecks that landed on my gown. My little sister, Alessa, would kill me when she found out I had worn it. I rolled my eyes, imagining what she was doing at this very moment - probably laughing at one of Jeffrey's perfectly timed, perfectly dull jokes. A priest walked into a bar... and left with a concussion. Get it, Amy? Get it? But I didn't get it at all. Were we Jeff's family or his constituents? Sometimes it was hard to tell.

I wanted so badly to take Alessa with me to New York, away from this toxic town and the social brush-fires that came with it, but I knew she'd never leave Mom and Jeff behind. I blew a few smoke rings and checked my watch. Damnit. Almost speech time...

Somewhere, a bottle rolled and glass crunched underfoot. Suddenly hyper aware of the fact that I was alone and weaponless in the middle of the night, the hairs on my arms stood on end.

"Hello?" I took a hesitant step forward, trying to see beyond the short scope of light provided by the street lamp. It was a starless night and fairly warm for September in the Village. But mass murderers don't give a shit about climate and temperature - unless they're disposing of the body.

I removed my phone from the clutch hanging at my side. Turning on the flashlight app, I scanned the darkness for signs of bad guys lurking. The Village was a strange place, but I tried not to feed into the rumors. Satisfied that there was nothing there except my overactive imagination, I turned on my heel, dropping my phone with a gasp when I spotted the stranger behind me.

Between paintings and masterpieces, he was a gallery all his own.

His golden features were strong, pronounced but still gentle - from the curve of his full lips to the squareness of his jaw. Large eyes held the color of a summer sky, framed by luxurious lashes. Revealing no concern in his clear, handsome face, his full brows were relaxed, dark as the honey waves that fell past his shoulders. His Colgate smile came easily, suiting his face like a brush to canvas, and the suit he wore was tailored and expensive, designed to hug his tall, trim frame.

What had that woman in the bathroom said?

Beautiful things can be dangerous...

"My apologies." His sweeping English tones held notes from exotic places. He was far from home. "I did not mean to startle you." He stooped and retrieve my phone, extending it with a friendly hand. "I can replace the mobile if you wish."

I reached for the phone; my face grew warm when our fingers brushed. My heart still leaped in my chest.

"No worries. Insurance." Realizing I was staring, I gave a nervous laugh. "I'm Amelia. I think we saw each other inside. Well, I saw you anyway."

"How could I forget?" His smile was the epitome of perfection. "I hope I haven't disturbed you--it's a beautiful night to be alone. I'm on my way out, actually. Crowds can be rather tedious."

"Tell me about it." Against my better judgment, I began to relax.

"Pardon my manners. I'm Dorian Gray. It's wonderful bumping into you, Amelia..."

"Thorne. Nice to meet you too."

He held out his hand and I offered the wrong one. Blushing, I switched the joint to the other hand and shook his properly.

"May I?" he said.

Intrigued, I passed the joint. He raised it to his lips, discovering the cherry was out.

"Oh! Here." Chuckling in embarrassment, I stepped close and flicked the Zippo, watching as he puffed the joint back to life.

Eyes closed, Dorian inhaled, releasing white streams from his lips and nose. "Mmm. Marvelous weed."

"Sativa. It's called Dreamscape. I'm usually shit with names but this one stuck out. Put dream and escape in a sentence and I'm sold."

"You're not alone in that regard. Aren't we all searching for a dreamscape? Life has no meaning otherwise."

Smart, handsome, thoughtful, charming. What other party favors were hidden up his sleeves? Dorian passed the joint; my heart jumped at the thought of sharing something that had been between his lips and were now between mine. A kiss-less kiss. A dreamscape.

"So. Are you one of Governor Foley's constituents?"

"Absolutely. Politics bore me, but catered events are the saving grace. The Governor's a gem, though I have yet to meet a politician who can throw a decent caper."

I snorted, handing back the joint. "It's a charity event. He wouldn't know excitement if it smacked his ass and performed the hula. But if the donation is right he might do a little dance for you."

Dorian laughed. "Tempting. But he's not the one I'm interested in." The trophy of moments passed. "Have a drink with me sometime?" His smile was provocative, the kind of invitation that would have you waking up in his sheets the next morning. This time his fingers lingered when he passed the joint.

"I'd like that." I smiled, lower lip between my teeth as I tucked my hair behind my ear. Suddenly, I was a teenager again.

The timer on my phone beeped. Shit.

"That's my cue." I ground the joint beneath my heel. "If I don't get back soon my family will send out a search party."

"Care for an escort?" Dorian extended his arm; we fit like puzzle pieces.

Headed for the main entrance, we made our way around the side of the building. We hadn't taken more than a few steps when Dorian stopped abruptly. I followed his hardened gaze straight ahead, where a familiar figure had struck a determined path our way - the woman in the scarlet dress had returned.

"Opal." Dorian's greeting was cold and empty.

"Dorian, mon vilain, it's been ages."

"On the contrary. We meet too soon."

The woman's laugh raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

"You look much happier these days." Her gaze flashed briefly to mine. "I'm disappointed."

"Then I am pleased." Dorian smiled at me, but his joy was gone - there was only sadness. "I'm sorry, Amelia."

"For what?"

"For everything." He let go of my hand, returning his attention to Opal. "Make it quick."

The mystique of their conversation had me sweating.

In slow, deliberate movements, Opal reached in a bright clutch that matched her gown, removing a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook. Tapping the carton against her palm, she plucked a cigarette and slipped it between her teeth, lighting it with a match she shook out and casually tossed aside.

"Darling, I should like to try something new." Opal exhaled a fresh plume of smoke, her bright brown eyes fierce and narrow. "We've done bombs in Dubai, drowning in the Caribbean, fire in Paris--"

"Poison in Petra," Dorian drawled.

"My favorite." She countered with an evil smile. "The smell of almonds will never fool you again."

"Dorian, I think we should go inside," I said quietly. "Now."

Dorian apologized with a smile. "My night has ended."

"Too true." Opal chuckled.

"Dorian..." I shook my head, not sure what to do.

"It's alright." He took my hand and raised it to his lips. "Go without me. You'll miss the speech."

"Yes, she will." Opal took a quick step forward. "There is blood on your hands. She will stay and bear witness as you atone for your sins. Perhaps silver bullets shall do the trick."

"Right here." Dorian tapped his heart, never wavering as Opal reached in her purse once more, this time removing a snub-nosed revolver glinting silver in the moonlight.

I stepped back with a gasp. "Are you crazy?"

"Aren't we all?" Opal's smile fell as she raised the gun. "Good night, darling."

Dorian shoved me aside. I fell to the ground, watching, terrified, as Opal fired three times. Each shot was like the blast of a cannon. But no one from the Fairway heard, not above the classical music and the steady drum of conversation. Meanwhile, Dorian teetered and dropped, motionless.

I screamed at Opal. "Why?!"

"Why not?" Opal blew the barrel of the gun. Then, as if the murder was nothing more than a check off her list, she turned on her Louboutins, and left.

"Dorian? Dorian!" I crawled forward on my hands and knees, tears falling.

His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as blood pooled beneath him.

"I-I'm sorry." I put pressure on the wounds, but couldn't stop the bleeding. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't be." He gasped; the blood in his mouth trickled down his chin. "I'm not."

"Help! Someone help us, please!"

"No. No." Dorian took my hand, protesting with the last of his strength. "Run."

"You're dying."

"I'm not afraid," he whispered back. "The end is never really the end, you see..." Dorian's eyes glazed. His chest stopped rising.

"Dorian... Dorian?" I shook his shoulder. "No-no-no-no-no!" I scrambled for the phone in my purse and rose to my feet. My bloodied fingers slipped across the cracked screen as I tried and failed to unlock the damn thing. Cleaning my fingers on my dress, I was finally able to dial the number.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"Uh. I'm-I'm at the Fairway." I swallowed. "Something's happened... I-I did everything I could."

But that was a lie. I could have jumped in the way. I could have taken the bullets for him. I was a coward.

"Amelia?" That voice. I knew that voice... It couldn't be.

The phone nearly slipped from my hand. I knew that voice. It couldn't be...

"Hello? Ma'am, can you hear me? Are you in immediate danger? Ma'am?"

I turned. The voice on the other end faded to white noise as I .

Dorian wasn't just alive. He was on his feet, and walking, a bloody apparition that just moments ago was completely, absolutely, one-hundred percent dead.

"Please, Amelia, don't be frightened. I can explain--"

But for once I did the smart thing. I ran.

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