How do I begin this? I’m mad. No. I was mad. Now I feel like a jerk for getting mad. But I’m still upset. I think I’m mostly upset for being upset because I’ve never been upset with Rosanna. I love Rosanna. That’s why I’m so upset. And all this because of a mortal.

  Let me start from the beginning. When I got out of my casket, the lid to Rosanna’s casket was already open and her casket empty. I went upstairs and she wasn’t in the kitchen or living room. I checked her bedroom. Then I checked the garage. Her car was gone.

  It was almost 8 p.m. Our Cob?lcescu guests were due at 9. The champagne was chilled. We just needed to wait for them to arrive to pop it open. Except now it’s only me waiting. I knew I should have resisted, but I poured a scotch, telling myself it was okay because it wasn’t the special occasion champagne. Tumbler in hand, I headed back to the living room and just off the foyer, I noticed the floor of the finches’ birdcage was a mess. I put my drink down and hurried to clean it. After I finished, Rosanna still wasn’t here so I texted her, “Where are you?” A couple minutes later, I received her answer “I’m sorry! I’ll be back ASAP!”

  But she wasn’t back ASAP. By the time the doorbell rang, the garage door hadn’t opened. Meaning they were here and she wasn’t. It wasn’t lost on me either that Rosanna’s reply didn’t answer my question. She didn’t say where she was.

  I went and opened the front door. On my doorstep, the three of them stood: Ruxandra and Sonya in front and Silviu behind them. The two women curtsied and Silviu bowed. I nodded to them, welcomed them to Los Angeles and to my home and invited them in.

  They stepped inside and looked around the house in a way that told me they were looking for others more than taking in the layout, the furnishings, or Yelena’s vast collection of modern art displayed on every wall and in every corner. They were wondering why I, their imparateasa, had no attendants and why I answered the door myself. When I went to Córdoba to meet Candelario and Los Angeles de Sangre, Codrina, at a minimum, had to accompany me because it would have been viewed as shameful had I been unescorted. In their eyes, this was the same. Thus far, my visitors had only seen me in Bucharest, when I was surrounded by our coven, everyone waiting on me hand and foot, as much as I would allow. They had no idea what my life was like here. That I often went out alone. That I was often at home, alone. That Rosanna, whom they knew lived here, was my friend and not a lady in waiting. Though they had just arrived, somehow, I felt like I already let them down because my life in Los Angeles clearly lacked the regality they expected. I wasn’t the empress Mirela was.

  They followed me into the living room where I gestured to the sofa, but none would sit until I was seated first, and when they did they all sat erect, posture perfect, not relaxing at all even after I suggested it. It took me commanding them for them to gain at least the semblance of relaxation. When I stood to get the champagne, they all stood and all tried to get it for me, and at that point I realized it was useless. It was I who had to yield to them. So they got the bottles and the glasses, they popped the corks, they poured, they toasted to me rather than to their visit, and then we drank. This welcome party, with everything so rigid, was no fun, and I wondered if I made a mistake not inviting Hisato as I thought I should keep this strictly a Cob?lcescu affair. Still no Rosanna.

  Multiple times they remarked on the continued jubilation of the coven due to my victory in the war, for which they gave me sole credit for, which I downplayed as overblown and ancient history.

  As they talked about Romania, I sensed, as none were Ancients, they were not part of any politics within the coven. There aren’t power struggles that I know of, but there are natural factions established by which Eternal heads their line of descent, and during Mirela’s reign, this produced a hierarchy based on which Eternals she favored most. Trajan and Mattei had been at the top, but now, both were dead, both killed by me, leaving their descendants without an Eternal to represent their interests. They were replaced by those next in age, and though these replacements are certainly Ancients, they aren’t old enough to be named Eternals, and this gives them less influence. At least this is how things worked under Mirela. I’m not sure if this is still the case now that I’m empress. I can’t tell if any of them are jockeying for my favor but it’s most probably been observed that I’m closest to Viorica. I don’t ever think about any of this stuff, but now I’m wondering if maybe I should. Maybe I should make a visible effort not to play favorites and treat them all the same. Am I even capable of that? I’m so fond of Viorica. She’s the kindest to me and she knew Yelena. Petru sometimes pisses me off but I respect his advice. Vasile is what I imagine an overprotective dad to be like. And though our relationship improved during the war, Codrina still intimidates me. (I shouldn’t admit that as imparateasa.)

  But back to our younger visitors. They told me things they hoped to do during their stay in Los Angeles. Hollywood Walk of Fame, LACMA, The Getty, Hollywood Sign, Santa Monica pier, Malibu, Universal Studios, and of course, Disneyland. With it being summer, they figured they’d have some problems with the museums, as the sun wouldn’t set before they closed and Sonya, being so young had not yet obtained the power of invisibility and would therefore trip any motion sensors in the museum galleries. I offered to accompany them, informing them Sonya could be made invisible as we toured the museums just by holding my hand. It was a power they did not know possible and, while maintaining formality, they gushed how gracious it was of me and what an honor it would be for them.

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  As we opened more bottles, things improved. They seemed to chill out on their empress etiquette, and became more cheerful and animate. As they smiled, I couldn’t help but be reminded how beautiful they all are. Ruxandra with her wavy auburn hair and long legs. Blonde Sonya with her delicate build and adorable button nose. And of course, Silviu, lean but not bony, cognac eyes that didn’t avert when I looked at him, and his short dark hair with the reddish tint I never forgot. Tonight he wore a neatly pressed black dress shirt with rolled sleeves which allowed me to admire his forearms. As I took him in, I thought how nice it was to have him here, sitting so close. And for a moment, I wished Silviu needed me to hold his hand at The Getty as well.

  We actually got quite drunk from the champagne, with me drinking the most since the strength of Mirela’s blood sobers me up so quickly, and soon enough we were laughing at the stories they told, mostly regarding those in our coven. It was clear they were doing their best to entertain me and they were all attentive to my replies, and secretly, at least I think and hope I didn’t make it obvious, I relished Silviu’s attentiveness most.

  As often seems to happen with youngish adults who are drinking, the topic of conversation found its way to relationships and sex. I’m sure I helped encourage this. Again, they had funny stories and it seemed the more lewd, the more we laughed. Though not said directly, I was soon able to surmise that all three of them had had sex with each other. It wasn’t that they generally slept around in the coven, but as they were friends who all had endless time on their hands, it seemed it was just something that was bound to happen. And yet, though they were all fond of each other, there was no deep romance between any of them. In fact, none currently had anyone in their lives they’d consider a significant other. Since these three knew each other intimately, they were able to tease each other about their sexual predilections, which resulted in playful and sometimes raucous laughter all around.

  But things slowly and subtly quieted as it became more and more noticeable that in this round robin sex chat I never took a turn to contribute something funny and/or perverse of my own. Sure, as imparateasa, I may have been perceived as needing to maintain some kind of regal decorum and not toss my hat into this oral circle jerk, and none would dare goad me to participate, but I think it became plainly obvious that my silence was due to nothing other than a lack of experience.

  Though the coven is aware of the favor Mirela showed me and that she once referred to me openly as her lover, I don’t believe it could be known with certainty that our relationship had actually been sexual. But even were it correctly presumed to be the case, it is still known that the entirety of our amorous relationship had existed for a mere handful of nights, during the last and perhaps final Communion of the Ancients. The assumption would be that this is the extent of my sexual history (no living vampire knows about my childhood and I don’t believe my night spent with that pedophile as an adult is common knowledge), and this scant past would suggest a negligible future as a matured child. And this is why they grew quiet. There was pity for their imparateasa. It’s hard to say exactly what I was feeling at that moment. Humiliation? Though I am by now well accustomed to feeling left out, I still experienced a self-loathing for being so pathetic.

  The deflated silence made the approaching car seem louder.

  The whole mood had shifted.

  The garage door opened and Rosanna entered the house. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said earnestly. “Please forgive me, Imparateasa,” she said and curtsied. She then curtsied to our guests, “I beg your pardon.” It was all obviously sincere. But what else was obvious was that she had been crying.

  With her sincerity and emotional state, I figured all would be forgiven by our guests, but to my surprise, Sonya, meek little Sonya, stood and firmly stated, “We can attend to the imparateasa if you cannot. And we will if you will not.”

  Rosanna bowed her head.

  My feelings immediately mixed. I felt sorry for Rosanna for this reproach but I too had been and still was mad at her for being late. No, not for being late. For her reason for being late. The reason I assumed at least. She had to have been with Bruce. She was late to meet guests from our coven because of a mortal. In their eyes, I had lost face by greeting them myself, alone. This too, because of a mortal.

  But even if I was angry with her, I loved Rosanna as much as always. “No harm done. Go freshen up and come join us for a toast to our guests.”

  “Thank you, Imparateasa.” She curtsied again and went to her room.

  I felt like commanding the three of them to forget it and be kind to Rosanna when she came back. And they would have to obey. But with the unwritten laws of the coven (at least I think they’re unwritten) I knew Sonya was in the right.

  Sonya’s anger made my anger lessen. It’s like I felt only so much anger could be dished out to Rosanna. Poor Rosanna. But then I thought of Bruce’s stupid face. They must have been arguing. And just like that, my anger surged again. But when she reappeared, it ebbed once more, as her dark eyes that I love so much still looked sad.

  “Get a glass and then come sit beside me,” I said. When she returned with a glass and a new bottle of champagne, she sat and I hugged her and kissed her face. “I missed you. I love you so much,” I said, signaling to them that Rosanna is a favorite, and without commanding it, I let them know they should be nice to her. (So much for not playing favorites. But hey, it’s Rosanna.)

  She apologized again for being late, opened the bottle, poured, and then toasted to their arrival. The cheer from earlier in the evening slowly returned as we drank. Eventually, everyone, including Rosanna, was laughing together.

  But telepathically, I asked, Did you get in a fight with Bruce?

  He called me a whore. Yeah, I worked in the Red Light District and I’m not ashamed of it in the least, but he didn’t know that.

  I’m telling you, you should just kill him.

  I did. His body’s in the trunk.

  And then my feelings shifted again. I felt bad, like she had killed someone she had feelings for because I willed it so, and in that way, I had hurt her.

  Is that why you were crying?

  No. I didn’t cry a single tear over him. I cried while driving because I knew you’d be disappointed I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I let you down tonight, Orly.

  So yes. I’m upset for being upset with Rosanna. The distress of it all is taking forever to wash away. Writing it out feels like it’s helping though.

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