The Vampire Files, Volume Four

by P. N. Elrod

  She wouldn’t find it with me, though. She couldn’t.

  But it was good, all the same, to have her under me, her legs parting and coming up to circle my body. Her dress was in the way, as were my pants. Time enough to remove such details later.

  Only I could not allow later to happen.

  Easier thought of than accomplished. Especially since things had come this far. Stopping now would baffle and anger her. Not that I’d be in such a happy frame of mind myself.

  Her hands were busy, burrowing between our bodies, working away at my waist, undoing buttons, stroking and kneading through the material. She laughed again, finding more proof of her effect on me.

  She couldn’t see my teeth. Just as well.

  With much difficulty, I made myself slow down the pace, drawing away. She didn’t like that and made a pouting sound. She’d probably make more of the same in the next few minutes. I had a lot of fast, smooth, diplomatic talking to do, and she would not be in a state to listen.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” I said.

  “No one knows, come on.”

  “It’s not that. I want it better for you.”

  “Honey, this is fine.”

  “No, it’s not. I want to make it good and make it last all night. We can’t do that in this dump.”

  “But I’m ready now.”

  I drew my lips lightly along her damp brow, down the side of her face, down her throat where the veins pulsed strong and fast, down to between her breasts. “I can make you ready again. I can make what you’re feeling now seem like nothing.”

  “But—”

  “You don’t know how good I can make it for you, Rita. I gave you half a chance, now it’s your turn. Don’t you want to find out?” I looked up in time to see her eyes widening at the possibilities. I’d gotten through.

  “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “Then let’s get out of here.”

  “But couldn’t we just . . . just a little?”

  “You deserve better.”

  That made her think again. Would I be the one? That was crazy. But maybe . . . maybe. Why else would I bother? She had to find out. When I saw the decision in her eyes, I got off her, straightening my clothes.

  None too soon, I thought, torn between relief and regret and violent physical frustration. It would take a while for my highly stirred-up body to catch up with my mind. I could smell her blood running swiftly under that thin layer of skin, hear the heart driving it. One of us had to leave and walk this off. Fast.

  She sat up, smoothing her hair, brushing at wrinkles on her dress. “You better be really good, Sport,” she muttered ominously.

  “Shh,” I said, listening.

  “What?”

  “We got company. Someone just walked in the office out front.”

  “Yeah?” The impossibility of my hearing being so acute escaped her. “So what? Let ’em get their own date.”

  “I’m gonna fade. If they spot you, pretend you’re alone. Meet me in the downstairs hall.”

  “Why so secret?”

  “Why not? Adds to the fun.” I kissed her hard enough so she’d remember it, then slipped out the door.

  I hadn’t made the company up. I’d heard voices and footsteps during a lull in the music, and from the sound of things, they didn’t belong to another couple seeking a little privacy. As soon as I closed the door, the lights sprang on up and down the long room. The painful brightness made me wince, but it instantly melted to soothing gray as I vanished.

  The door behind me opened again almost immediately. Rita would be wincing, too, probably with a puzzled look on her face.

  “Hey!” she whispered. “Hey, where’d you go?” She moved past the spot I occupied, walking along the line of dressing stalls. I followed so she could guide me toward the entry. “Come on, no games, dammit.”

  Another woman’s voice cut in. “Rita, what are you doing here?” It was Ruth Woodring. “All alone?” She made that sound like an unlikely circumstance.

  “I had to fix my garters. My seams got crooked when I was dancing.”

  “Leaving the lights off? You can do better than that, dear.”

  “Where’s your friend?” A man speaking now. Tony Upshaw.

  “What friend?”

  Ruth chuckled. “That tall, dark bed warmer you dragged back here, of course.”

  “Jack Fleming,” added Upshaw, for clarification.

  “What’s it to you?” Rita wanted to know.

  “Maybe you should think ‘what’s it to Shivvey?’” he said.

  “Lissen, you played fetch for him last night, so don’t go doing him or me any more favors. I got my own life to run, and he’s not big in it.”

  “He doesn’t want you hanging around that guy.”

  “Then maybe he shouldn’t take a girl to a party and run off on her first thing.”

  “It’s bigger than that, Rita.”

  “Ah, a lot you know. I’m leaving.”

  Neither made any effort to stop her. I stayed behind.

  As soon as Rita was gone, Ruth filled the silence with a grand sigh. “Well, that wasn’t too completely awful. She’d be all right if she’d lay off the booze.”

  “But she won’t.” Upshaw was a few yards away and walking fast. Checking the little dressing alcoves for me, apparently.

  “Her loss,” sniffed Ruth. “Now, what’s this about things being bigger than they are?”

  “Nothing, just thought I’d scare some sense into her. Shivvey said I should look out for her, keep her out of trouble. That Fleming creep is trouble.”

  “He’s more than that, darling.”

  “Yeah? What more?”

  “Your Mr. Fleming was asking me questions about you.”

  “What’d he want to know?”

  “Oh, I can’t remember details, but the core of it has to do with that dead woman in his club. He thinks you’re involved with it.”

  “What?” Upshaw sounded genuinely shocked. “He told you that?”

  “Not in so many words, but he gave me the impression that you had something to do with it.”

  “I didn’t have—say, wait a darn minute . . . you’re not thinking stuff like that about me, are you?”

  “Since you’ve mixed yourself up with rubbish like Shivvey Coker, I don’t know what to think these days.”

  “Aw, Ruth, you know me better than that.”

  She made no reply.

  “Ruth? Come on, talk to me.”

  “No, you talk to me.”

  “About what?” Exasperation creeping into his tone.

  “Your business with Shivvey.”

  “There is no business. I just go to the Ace to dance, and sometimes he happens to be there.”

  “And you do him favors. What kind?”

  “Nothing much. Just little things like looking after Rita.”

  “Why should you be so anxious to please him? What do you get out of it?”

  “He’s a good man to have for a friend, is all.”

  “Tony, friends like him you do not need, but you must already know that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because you never used to carry a gun, darling. Before meeting Shivvey, you never had to indulge in such Hollywood dramatics.”

  “Gun? But I don’t—”

  “Please, Tony, no fibs. I felt it on you during our dance. I was worried the damn thing would fall out of your trousers and go off like a bad joke.”

  “It’s nothing; don’t let it bother you.”

  “I will if I want to.”

  “This is a rough town. All the smart guys carry around some kinda protection.”

  “Tony, you’re a much better lover than fighter. Get a little smarter and switch back to carrying French letters for protection instead.”

  He chuckled. “I got one of those in my pocket, too.”

  “I’m serious, darling. Men like Shivvey and Fleming are dangerous bastards who chew up people like us without a second thought. We
don’t matter to them. They don’t have friends and never will. You’re no one’s exception to the rule. You get on their wrong side for one second, and you can end up just like Rita’s friend. Are you hearing me?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Do more than guess, sweetheart. This is your life I’m talking about.”

  “Nothing’s gonna happen to me.”

  “Then prove it. If you want to dance so much, start going to different clubs.”

  “Aw, Ruth, you know they charge an arm and a leg to get in. Every night it adds up.”

  “You know ways around that. Or invite me along sometime. We can do a little jig like tonight’s show and collect tips like we used to.”

  “Come on, you don’t need to do that kind of thing anymore. You’re above taking such a cheap—”

  “I can if it keeps you safe.” I sensed her moving closer to him. “Darling Tony, please, listen to me on this.” She’d gone soft and serious, almost pleading. She didn’t strike me as the sort to do that often, only when it mattered.

  “Aw, Ruth . . .”

  “Besides, you’re such a delicious morsel, I want you around for a long, long time to come.” I couldn’t hear exactly what happened next but could imagine her wrapping him in a lengthy embrace.

  He chuckled again. An intimate sound now, with a note of chagrin in it. Couldn’t tell if it was real or not. “Okay. If you wanna put it like that. But no more dancing for tips for you. We got a front to hold up. People might think we’re on the skids.”

  “Haven’t you heard? It’s become fashionable to be destitute. I heard Vivian Vandersil say so. She hardly wore any diamonds at all tonight.”

  “Snooty rich bitch.”

  “Yes, and may she never lose those twin left feet of hers and graduate, but never mind her.” Ruth’s voice got lower. “You said you had some French letters?”

  “Right here.”

  “Only one? How pessimistic you’ve gotten. Or maybe you’ve used the rest up on other women tonight. You’ll be too exhausted for me.”

  “Honey, I’ll show you just how wrong you are . . .”

  “Not if that bed warmer is lurking about. I’d rather not have any surprises.”

  “I checked. He’s gone.”

  “Are you sure they both came in here?”

  “I was sure. He must have ducked out when I came to get you. I figured you wouldn’t like Rita making free with the premises any more than me.”

  “You’re right, darling. The nerve of her, just waltzing in like she owned the place. I reserve that privilege for myself. Legitimately, too. But be a dear and check again on the men’s side, won’t you? Then do lock the office door. I’m sure no one will miss us for the time being. We can always say we’re rehearsing . . .”

  What they planned to do next would not convey the sort of information I wanted to know about either of them. Well, maybe about Ruth, but for that sort of thing I’d rather be an active participant than an invisible, eavesdropping presence. Rita would be downstairs impatiently—I hoped—looking for me. I had to keep her happy.

  This time using him as a guide, I followed Upshaw as he hastened toward the front and waited for him in the hall while he checked the other dressing area. He was pretty quick about it; I was soon sieving under the office door even as he softly turned the inside catch.

  Predicament time. Once all of me was fully on the other side of the door and back in the party, I had some obstacles to overcome. I was invisible, stuck in a large room crowded with people, and no matter how drunk some of them were, my sudden appearance in their midst would—to put it mildly—be awkward. Some of the mob element here knew me by sight or by name from all the time I’d spent at the Nightcrawler Club. There were enough rumors and questions floating around town about me. I didn’t need to add to them.

  But trying to navigate through so many shifting bodies to find the exit, negotiate the stairs down, bumble into the street . . . no, that didn’t appeal, either. Without sight it was too easy for me to lose my way.

  I looked over my last mental picture of the room. From where I floated in front of the office the exit for downstairs was on my right, the mirrored wall was on my left. If I followed along that . . .

  Easy enough. I rose high so as not to give a chilling brush to anyone, and drifted along, using the line of distinctively flat surfaces to keep my bearings. I kept the pace slow so as not to confuse up from down. In a way it’s like swimming with your eyes shut. All too easy to twist things and end up in the wrong direction when it was time to come up for air. I had no need of air, but it can be a hell of a jolt materializing a few feet above the ground.

  “Eek,” said a woman. She actually did say “eek.” She sounded startled, but not scared. “Look at that!”

  “What?” Another woman, sounding bored.

  “There! That shadow up there.”

  “What shadow?”

  “There! Moving there!”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t tell me you can’t see anything that big.”

  “Okay, then I won’t.”

  “You gotta be able to see! It’s right there!”

  “Jen, really. How much have you—”

  “It’s there I say. Look in the mirror! You can see it in the mirror!”

  Oh, shit. I didn’t know what the hell was going on; it didn’t sound good. I needed to be elsewhere fast, but hesitated, wanting to know more.

  “See? It’s just hovering there. Like a shadow, but there’s nothing to cast it. Oh, that’s so strange.”

  “In the mirror?” Skepticism, unmistakable, thank Houdini.

  “Yes!”

  “Jeez, Jen, are you gonna go nuts on us with that occultism again? There are no such things as ghosts.”

  “Yeah, but there are shadows, and that’s what I’m looking at right now. Open your eyes.”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Remember when Madame Arcadia told us about how mirrors can reflect stuff we can’t see in this world? That’s why we can see ghosts in them but not when we turn around to look behind us.”

  “Oh, good God. Jen, there are no such—”

  “It’s my gift! My gift has opened my eyes to it! Madame Arcadia told me I was psychic.”

  “So she could get another buck out of you. For cryin’ out loud—”

  “Oh! Oh, it’s moving!”

  Damn right I was moving. Maybe to her I was a ghost, but I was the one getting spooked.

  “Quick, it’s shooting off that way! Follow it!”

  Behind me, a lot of noisy commotion went on as the psychic Jen began her hot pursuit of whatever the hell she was seeing of me in the mirrors. She must have been trampling people to judge by the language and outrage springing up in our wake. I nearly veered away from the mirrors to dodge her but thought better of it. I still needed to follow them. If I had had the time to spare, I’d have stayed on and maybe found a way to talk with her and find out more, but not tonight.

  I shot forward until I ran out of smooth surface, slowed, and thus avoided slamming my amorphous form into the far wall. It doesn’t hurt, but I didn’t want to risk losing my way from the disorientation. There. Now, if I went a little to the right, then one of those big open windows should be just about . . . yes, it was.

  Over the sill and hurtle down the side of the building. Had to turn again, as I was going headfirst. Not a pleasant experience, especially because I hate heights. Maybe I couldn’t see how far down it was, but I could queasily imagine it.

  Finally, a solid, reassuring surface came up to meet me. Sidewalk. Cement. Terra-very-happy-firma. No chance of long drops or internal vertigo. I pressed flat against the wall, placing what would become my feet on the ground, and slowly eased back to the rest of the world.

  Grayness, then darker patches taking form, coalescing into recognizable shapes. The walk, the lights, the street, lines of parked cars taking on solidity even as I did the same. I kept still and held to a mostly transparent form,
making a check for witnesses while remaining fairly unnoticeable. There were people gathered at the front of the building and none pointed my way, all absorbed in their own conversations. I completed the materialization process and gulped a deep breath of exhaust-laced air.

  Son of a bitch. I’d gotten away with it. I gave in to a relieved self-congratulatory smile.

  Then a brief but saturated weariness stole over me, reaction to the exertions, invisible and physical, and with it came a not-unexpected warning curl of hunger. Rita had awakened a lot of demanding desires within, and they would need to be appeased. Soon. I’d stop at the Stockyards before the night was out and drink my fill there. That would at least remove the edge of blind need. Though a mediocre substitute for making love, it was safer.

  Much, much safer.

  And as for the psychic Jen spotting me in the mirrors . . . that was one hell of a discovery. Invisible in them while solid, and the reverse when I wasn’t. And not readily apparent to everyone. Maybe there was something in that weird stuff after all. I’d have to toss this one at Escott, hear what he had to say. Hopefully, it would help me get over the stupefaction. But delving into the world of the weird could wait for another night, though it might have been nice to have gotten Madame Arcadia’s number.

  I looked up at the second-floor window exactly above and behind. It was that feeling of being watched you sometimes get. Damned if some dark-haired girl wasn’t looking down at me. Staring, actually. Mouth open. Lots of white showing in her eyes.

  Oh, hell. She must have seen my materialization. Couldn’t be helped.

  When in doubt, bluff. I smiled and gave her a jaunty wave, wondering if she was Jen the psychic.

  “Eek!” she said—and she really did say it, giving me my answer—then recoiled back out of sight so quick that it was as though someone had grabbed her from behind.

  I got out of there.

  Happily, no one paid any attention to my second entrance to the foyer, not even Rita, but then her back was to me as she peered expectantly up the stairs.

  “Let’s go,” I said, moving in next to her.

  She whirled, overbalanced, and caught herself, but I put out a steadying hand. “Hey! Where’d you co—”