Free The Color of Light by Helen Maryles Shankman Page B

Not as powerful as the hit from living blood, but there were times it got the job done.
    He started to make his way to the focal point of the room, a massive fireplace with an Art Nouveau mantle, rescued from some defunct tycoon’s Roaring Twenties North Shore palace, all chubby angels and nymphs and grapevines. On impulse, he changed directions, headed for his office. He would be the second to speak tonight, right after Giselle. But before he went on, he needed to make a phone call.
    “Hi, guys.”
    Giselle Warburg was the heiress to a banking fortune, and she looked it, every inch the aristocrat, with her long thoroughbred body, her casually expensive clothing, her narrow patrician face, the easy confidence in her throaty voice. Right now, she was standing in front of the central fireplace, trying to get their attention. “Guys, if you could find a seat.”
    Gracie and Tessa had set out all the folding chairs in the closet, but there weren’t nearly enough. Some students perched on the carved staircase leading to the second floor. Others leaned against anything upright, the squared oak columns, the lacquered walls, the display cases, the piano.
    “On behalf of the board, I just want to tell you how proud we are of you. Just from the stuff we’ve been seeing in your studios and the things in the cases, I want you to know, everybody is very impressed. You’re the most talented group of students we’ve had at the Academy to date. I can see it’s going to be very hard to choose a winner of the Prix de Paris this year.”
    There was thunderous applause. She smoothed a strand of straight ash-blond hair back behind her ear and glanced at her notes before she went on.
    “The Naked Masquerade is in two weeks. For you first-years, that’s the annual American Academy Halloween party. There will be prizes for the most creative costumes, so get cracking. On the job front, Dreamland mural studio is looking for painters. And Clarice Runyon, some of you know her work, is looking for an assistant to answer phones and do light office work. Come see me if you’re interested.”
    “Now, I want to introduce you to the man throwing this party, the man whose home you are trashing and whose wine you are guzzling. The man with the vision. The man who founded this school. I give you Raphael Sinclair.”
    There was a surge of murmuring as Giselle stepped back out of the spotlight.
The vampire, it’s the vampire! Did you notice any mirrors in this whole house? Did you see him eat anything? Don’t let him look you in the eye! So why does he wear that hat all the time?
    I hear he’s a vampire.
    The area in front of the fireplace remained empty. The restless muttering grew louder. Giselle’s expression grew puzzled, then concerned.
    And then, there he was.
    Somewhere, someone must have opened a window or a door, or perhaps it was only the evening breeze wafting in, because suddenly the curtain draping the window gusted in and then out again. The candles flickered and guttered, sending a series of shadows rippling across his face. There was a wagon wheel chandelier over their heads, studded with twelve white pillar candles, and the light from above threw his eyes into deep shadow. From somewhere outside, they could hear the sound of chimes ride in on the wind.
    He stood there with his hands in his pockets, gazing down at the floor, collecting his thoughts. When he finally glanced up, there was an audible intake of breath.
    “Hello,” he said. “I’m Raphael Sinclair. Welcome to my home.”
    The pitch of the murmuring rose, then died away.
    “The other day, someone said to me, ‘What’s a board member?’” There was a flutter of laughter. “And I thought, yes, what is a board member? What do we do? What do we create?”
    Rafe looked around the room as he spoke, his eyes alighting briefly on one face and then another. Those under his thrall felt a shiver of warmth followed by the hairs prickling up on their neck, though they could