Castle Radovsky was famous for its lavish entertaining and I couldn’t understand why Mama would so demean her dining setting for tonight’s guests.
“I don’t want to ruin them, Drusilla.”
Elegant in a black dress, she put the finishing touches to the exquisitely laid table, red hair pulled into a loose bun showing off drop pearl earrings, a present from Papa for her 300th birthday.
Moonlight flooded through the castle’s mullioned windows reflecting off gleaming wine glasses guarding the serviette draped cream plates…more for show than practicality. Pendant lights hung above the table festooned with silver cutlery and candle holders…uncommon for our genus. A green plant thrived in a corner of the room; I wondered why it hadn’t blackened and withered.
Papa, handsome in his tuxedo, escorted Lord and Lady Spyridon over the threshold, five wax-pale daughters in tow—Transylvania’s answer to Pride and Prejudice.
“We smell food.” Nostrils quivering more guests entered having just flown in from New Orleans and Russia.
Papa served cocktails, velvet-smooth liquid that glowed blood-red, until Mama announced dinner was ready to be served.
Glamoured into acceptance of their fate the humans sat on the white plastic chairs chattering to their chosen dinner companions, ignorant of the emergence of drooling fangs.
“Go to your room now, Drusilla,” Mama ordered before the feasting began.
I was too young yet to partake in the Radovsky family’s vamp fest.