Chapter 3
The party continued for several more hours.
Throughout the evening, Bedelia remained the perfect hostess. She drifted effortlessly from group to group, ensuring that every guest received her personal attention. She spoke with business leaders about their companies, politicians about their ambitions, and socialites about their families and charitable endeavors.
What impressed her guests most was her apparent sincerity.
She seemed genuinely interested in their lives.
She asked about husbands and wives, children and grandchildren, aging parents, financial worries, business opportunities, and future plans. More than one guest left a conversation with the distinct impression that Bedelia Marie Dubois was a remarkably compassionate young woman.
In many ways, she was.
Yet beneath the pleasant smiles and effortless charm, another process was taking place.
She listened.
Carefully.
Patiently.
Methodically.
Whenever conversations turned toward crime, organized or otherwise, she paid particularly close attention. She listened to concerns about drug trafficking, gang activity, corrupt officials, hate groups, violent offenders, and the countless lesser predators who preyed upon ordinary people.
She asked questions.
Never too many.
Never enough to arouse suspicion.
Just enough.
A few guests found it curious that she seemed especially interested in such matters, but they quickly dismissed the thought.
After all, wealthy people often worry about security.
What none of them realized was that vampires possessed many gifts.
One of those gifts was memory.
Anyone observing Bedelia throughout the evening would have assumed she was simply enjoying herself. She accepted glasses of wine, laughed at stories, danced occasionally, and appeared every bit the gracious hostess, indulging in her own celebration.
Most would have expected her to remember only fragments of the evening by the following morning.
They would have been mistaken.
The wine, though pleasant, had no effect upon her whatsoever.
Every face.
Every name.
Every conversation.
Every rumor.
Every whispered accusation.
Every careless comment uttered after a few too many drinks.
She remembered them all.
Her memory preserved information with a precision that would have impressed the most advanced computer. A conversation heard for only a few seconds could be recalled decades later, word for word, tone for tone.
As the evening progressed, Bedelia quietly assembled a mental map of Savannah.
Who held power?
Who influenced others?
Who could be trusted?
Who could not?
Who feared whom?
Who preyed upon the innocent.
And who might someday require her personal attention.
As she smiled and accepted another glass of wine, several guests remarked upon how fortunate Savannah was to have attracted such a charming and civic-minded newcomer.
In that respect, they were correct.
Bedelia genuinely cared about the city.
What they did not understand was that, over the course of two centuries, she had adopted many communities as her own.
And whenever she decided that a place belonged to her, she became extraordinarily protective of it.
Especially when predators threatened the people under her care.
After all, a city only had room for one apex predator.
It did not need competitors.
Suddenly, Bedelia's face lit up with genuine delight.
Across the crowded ballroom, she had spotted Henry Agron and his wife, Jeselle.
They had been on the guest list from the very beginning, and as the evening progressed without seeing them, Bedelia began to fear they might not attend.
Without hesitation, she excused herself from the group she was speaking with and made her way through the crowd.
"Henry! Jeselle!" she exclaimed. "I was beginning to worry that you weren't coming."
The warmth in her voice was unmistakable.
Jeselle smiled apologetically.
"I'm afraid the delay was my fault," she said. "There was a little mix-up with the babysitter. If anyone is to blame, it's me."
"Nonsense," Bedelia replied immediately.
She reached out and gently squeezed Jeselle's hand.
"You can do no wrong as far as I'm concerned."
Jeselle laughed.
"I doubt Henry would agree with that."
"Oh, I think he would."
Bedelia's blue eyes sparkled mischievously.
"Henry knows that I am very protective of you and the children."
Then she added with complete sincerity, "Heaven help anyone who was ever foolish enough to be against any of you."
Henry smiled politely.
To everyone else, it sounded like a figure of speech.
A kind remark from a dear friend.
To Henry, it was something else entirely.
Now that, he thought, is a monumental understatement.
He knew exactly what Bedelia meant.
Over the past year, their unusual friendship had deepened into something neither of them had anticipated. Henry had learned that beneath her charm, generosity, and occasional eccentricities existed a level of loyalty that bordered on the terrifying.
Bedelia genuinely cared about his family.
And if anyone ever harmed Jeselle, his son, or his daughter, she would move heaven and earth to protect them.
Should she fail to intervene in time...
Henry suspected the responsible party's remaining days would be measured in hours rather than years.
The thought should have frightened him.
Oddly, it did not.
Perhaps it should have disturbed him that one of his family's most devoted guardians happened to be a two-hundred-year-old vampire.
Instead, he found it strangely reassuring.
Jeselle, blissfully unaware of the direction of Henry's thoughts, smiled at Bedelia.
"You've created a beautiful evening."
"Thank you," Bedelia replied.
For a brief moment, Henry noticed something unusual.
The expression on Bedelia's face softened.
Not the polished smile she showed politicians and business leaders.
Not the carefully crafted charm she used to win over strangers.
This was something different.
Something genuine.
She looked at Jeselle and the children she had never met but already knew by name and seemed almost... happy.
Truly happy.
It occurred to Henry that immortality might be a lonely thing.
Perhaps that was why Bedelia valued the Agrons so much.
Not because they were useful.
Not because they served her interests.
But because, after two centuries of watching people come and go, she had finally found a family she genuinely cared about.
And that, Henry suspected, was a bond stronger than blood.
Henry suddenly found himself thinking about Benjamin Reese.
Over the past year, Bedelia had mentioned him several times in passing. From what Henry had gathered, Reese was a police officer in New Orleans. Beyond that, Bedelia had revealed remarkably little, which in itself was unusual. She generally had an opinion about everything and everyone.
Yet when it came to Benjamin Reese, she became strangely guarded.
Henry had often wondered why Reese had never visited Savannah. He certainly must have had plenty of vacation time.
A year was a long time, at least the way humans viewed it. Perhaps a vampire saw it differently.
Then again, maybe Bedelia had her reasons. Possibly, Reese had his. Or perhaps both did.
After all, relationships between men and women were complicated enough under ordinary circumstances. Adding a several-hundred-year-old vampire to the equation could hardly simplify matters.
Henry immediately recognized that he was wandering into dangerous conversational territory.
Unfortunately, like many men before him, he chose to proceed anyway.
He took a sip of his drink.
"Bedelia?"
She turned toward him.
"Yes, Henry?"
He hesitated.
Then, against his better judgment, he opened his mouth.
"Are we ever going to meet that beau of yours, Benjamin Reese?"
The effect was immediate.
Bedelia froze.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for most people in the room to notice.
But Henry noticed.
Her smile remained in place, yet something behind her eyes changed.
For perhaps half a second, an expression crossed her face that he had never seen before.
Sadness.
Profound sadness.
Then it vanished.
The perfect hostess returned.
Jeselle noticed it too.
"Henry," she said warningly.
"What?" he asked.
His wife gave him a look that clearly said, "You are about to regret this."
Bedelia stared into her wine glass for a moment.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft.
"I hope so."
The answer surprised Henry.
It was not what he had expected.
No witty comeback.
No teasing remark.
Just three simple words.
I hope so.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Then Bedelia smiled again, though this time the smile seemed slightly more fragile.
"Benjamin is a very good man," she said quietly. "One of the finest I have ever known."
Henry suddenly realized he might have stumbled into something far deeper than a simple romance.
Bedelia had lived for more than two centuries.
She had known thousands upon thousands of people.
Kings, politicians, merchants, soldiers, criminals, priests, and every variety of humanity in between.
Yet when she spoke of Benjamin Reese, it was with a tenderness Henry had never heard in her voice before.
Jeselle gently touched Bedelia's arm. In that moment, she did not notice how cool Bedelia’s flesh was.
"He's important to you."
Bedelia looked at her.
For a moment, the immortal vampire seemed unexpectedly vulnerable.
"More than I can adequately explain."
Henry wisely decided not to ask any further questions.
He had already inserted one foot into his mouth.
There was no need to see if the other would fit as well.
Fortunately, Bedelia laughed softly.
The tension dissolved.
"Oh, don't look so worried, Henry," she said. "If I were angry, you would know it."
Henry raised an eyebrow.
"That statement is somehow comforting and terrifying at the same time."
"Good."
Bedelia lifted her wine glass.
"It was intended to be."
This time, all three of them laughed.
Yet even as the conversation moved on, Henry found himself wondering about Benjamin Reese.
Because for the first time since he had known Bedelia Marie Dubois, he had seen something capable of unsettling her.
And whatever that something was, its name was Benjamin Reese.
It was well past eleven o'clock when the first guests began to depart.
One by one, Savannah's elite approached Bedelia to thank her for a wonderful evening. Each received the same gracious attention that had characterized the entire event. She thanked them sincerely for attending, wished them safe travels home, and exchanged a few final words before they descended the steps to waiting automobiles.
More than one guest privately remarked that they had never encountered a more charming hostess.
Henry and Jeselle Agron were among the last to leave.
As they approached the front door, Henry found an opportunity to speak with Bedelia privately.
"About earlier..." he began.
Bedelia immediately narrowed her eyes.
"No."
Henry blinked.
"No?"
"No."
He sighed.
"I was trying to apologize."
"You were trying to apologize for asking a perfectly reasonable question."
"Still—"
"No."
The word came with such force that Henry almost laughed.
Bedelia pointed toward the front door.
"It is late."
"Bedelia—"
"You have two children at home."
"Yes, but—"
"And a lovely wife."
Jeselle smiled.
"She's got you there," Jeselle stated with a grin.
Bedelia nodded approvingly.
"Exactly. Therefore, you are going home, you are going to spend time with your family, and you are not going to stand here apologizing for being concerned about me."
Henry surrendered.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good."
She kissed Jeselle lightly on the cheek and embraced them both. But she needed to be cautious. It had been some time since she had fed, and with no fresh blood in her veins, her flesh became too cold, more like that of a cadaver than a living human being.
"Now go."
The Agrons departed, and Bedelia stood on the front steps watching their vehicle disappear into the Savannah night.
Gradually, the mansion emptied.
The musicians packed their instruments.
The caterers collected dishes, tables, linens, and serving equipment.
Employees extinguished lights throughout portions of the house.
Shortly after midnight, the last truck rolled away.
Silence settled over Pecan Hill.
For the first time all evening, Bedelia was alone.
She slowly wandered through the grand foyer.
The chandeliers still glowed overhead.
Half-empty wine glasses missed by the caterers remained on a few distant tables.
The faint echoes of laughter seemed almost trapped within the walls.
The party had been a success.
Everything had gone exactly as she had hoped.
Savannah's leaders had accepted her.
New friendships had been formed.
Important information had been gathered.
The future looked promising.
Yet as she stood alone in the enormous mansion, an unexpected feeling settled over her.
Loneliness.
The irony was not lost on her.
A few hours earlier, the house had contained a hundred people.
Now it felt impossibly empty.
Bedelia moved to one of the tall windows overlooking the moonlit grounds.
Beyond the glass stretched ancient oaks draped with Spanish moss, their shadows swaying gently in the night breeze.
Her thoughts drifted southward.
To New Orleans.
To a certain police officer.
A small smile appeared on her face.
Benjamin Reese.
How she wished he were here.
Not because she needed protection.
Not because she required assistance.
Simply because she missed him.
After more than two centuries of existence, Bedelia had learned that wealth could purchase almost anything.
Grand estates.
Fine clothing.
Works of art.
Political influence.
Entire fortunes.
But none of those things could replace the simple comfort of being beside the person you loved.
For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine Benjamin asleep somewhere in New Orleans, blissfully unaware that he occupied nearly every quiet corner of her thoughts.
Then she laughed softly at herself.
A powerful vampire, feared by criminals and respected by politicians, standing alone in a mansion and mooning over a policeman.
Life, even a very long life like hers, she reflected, could be wonderfully absurd.
Still smiling, Bedelia turned away from the window and disappeared deeper into the waiting house.