With a sigh, she put it back on the shelf but then wobbled in her heels. She shut her eyes briefly, the alcohol apparently getting the better of her. “Think I need to sit down.”
He started to scout out the place for a chair or crate to sit on, but Emma just went for it and lowered herself to the floor.
“Oh. Okay. This is a thing that is happening.” He joined her, and they both leaned against the shelf of dry goods for support.
After a moment, she said, “I’m frustrated because it’s obvious he’s going through something, but he won’t stop being self-destructive.”
“You can care, and you should care. But you can’t care that much. As hard as we try, mortal or immortal, you can never fix all your clients’ problems,” Henry said. “I’ve got a guy coming in every month to write out family members from his will, only to add them back in again. Think I haven’t told him to consider counseling or at least talking to his children? But you do what you can. Don’t beat yourself up for not being able to save everyone.”
She put her head in her hands. “I’m taking you away from people who need you because of my incompetence.”
“Before you get out the confetti and start throwing yourself a pity party, I will say that as much of a pain in the ass as some of my clients are—like the guy who wants to revise his will every week—I’ll never stop accepting appointments from them. I get the feeling the same is true for you and Wendell. He doesn’t think you’re incompetent.”
“It doesn’t feel pointless to you, though? Catching and releasing them?”
He stared at the cold fluorescent lights on the ceiling. “It’s all we can do.”
Emma put her hand on his bicep. “That sounds like a cynical old vampire thing to say.”
He enjoyed the warmth of her hand and the buzz of the alcohol. He’d forgotten that being stupid could also be fun.
“I’m not that old,” he countered. “Just maybe by Tucson supernat standards. But I’m not being cynical. People only change if they want to.” To his disappointment, she let go of his arm.
“Sounds like you’re talking from experience,” she said pensively.
“Of course. When I first turned into a vampire, I was so excited. Against my friend Grant’s advice, I naively went back to my family in Boston and showed them what I was. I thought I could turn my parents and brothers and sisters and we would be a jaunty vampire family forever.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. Grant indulged me, but they were of course, horrified. He had to help me wrangle them to wipe their memories. Then I became the disgraced eldest son who was supposed to be a lawyer with his father but instead only occasionally wrote them letters from the Arizona Territory.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m starting to understand why Daphne never told anyone in our family that she’s a fairy. That must have been awful for you.”
Henry appreciated the sentiment, but he was also grateful he was so far away from that point in his life.
He swung his head toward her and gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s the beauty of being immortal. You get plenty of time to process your feelings until you can sort out your baggage.”
“Obviously not everyone is like that,” she mused.
“No,” he conceded, “but that also doesn’t mean every immortal has to be an angst bucket.”
“Fair enough.” She laughed. “So what brought you to Arizona from Boston?”
“After I finished law school, I wanted to gallivant for a bit on a grand adventure.” Henry glided his hand into the air like a pirate might declare his surroundings as his. “My grandfather left me some money, and I wanted to see the West. I promised my dad I would come back to work under him, but well, best-laid plans and all that.”
Emma gasped. “You used to party,” she declared.
Henry grinned. “I did.”
She leveled him with a taunting, skeptical grimace. “Prove it.”
Shoving his box of Batty-O’s under his arm, he got to his feet and helped her up. With a devious smile, he said, “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
***
As they stood outside Hotel Congress, Emma knew she should thank Henry for taking the time to help her and head home. Or at the very least, be thinking innocent thoughts about how she was glad to be meeting new people, forging connections, and getting a firsthand look at how people in the community interacted.
Then he’d brought her to Congress and that had triggered all kinds of devious ideas. The large red neon lights of the hotel beckoned her. During law school, this had been one of the best places to hang out or see a show. Yet now as they approached the doors to the historic hotel, she wondered if she should take a leap of faith and book a room for them. Daphne was clearly rubbing off on her.
“Anything I should know about this place from an Underworld perspective? Everyone says it’s haunted.”
His jaw ticked as he took in the reveling crowds milling about on the street. She wanted to grin; was he nervous?
Finally, he said, “I haven’t been here in decades, but after John Dillinger was caught here, a group of ghosts started hosting dance nights in the basement. All types used to go.”
They went inside and hovered just inside the doors. She kept a firm eye on the registration desk while she tried to play it cool. Henry would take her to this party for a little while, and then she would make her move.
“Does this party have a name?” she asked to keep the conversation moving.
Henry’s lips thinned. “Indeed.”
She thought a moment. Ghosts. Parties…Nerdish delight crossed her features. “Please, please tell me they named it Dead Man’s Party.”
He sighed in exasperation. “Yes, yes they did. Rumor is that Danny Elfman was in Tucson once in the 1980s and was inspired by the name when a supernat snuck him into the party.”
“That just made my night.”
He gave her a withering side-eye before he took her hand. No, that just made my night. Taking her hand was becoming a default for him. As he ushered her through the reception area, she smiled at her surroundings.
The interior was as she remembered. An ornate tile design covered the walls, a strange combination of art deco and casual southwestern flair. The place was packed, and she could feel the bass chugging out from the club room. They headed toward the Tap Room but quickly swung a right to reveal a narrow set of stairs she must’ve missed a dozen times before when she used to come here with law school people.
The stairway was poorly lit by dim electric wall sconces, so she held onto the railing as they descended. When they reached the basement level, they passed a set of restrooms and stopped at an intersection with another hallway; Henry paused. He looked up and down the dark hallway.
At her questioning look, he said, “Sorry. It’s been a while.”
After a moment, he raised a finger in an “a-ha!” gesture and turned right. They walked a few yards before Emma started hearing heavy bass again. She assumed it was floating down from upstairs, but as they approached a dark wooden door, she realized it was coming from the basement level after all. But who cared? This basement was creepy. She should go back upstairs instead of wandering down here. Letting go of Henry’s hand, she walked past him to look for a set of stairs.
She didn’t get too far before he grabbed her hand and pulled her to a halt. She spun around. Why was he stopping her from finding her way out of here? He was grinning.
“Sorry, another deterrent charm,” he explained.
Emma blinked. Damn, those things were powerful. It had seemed like the most reasonable thing in the world to leave.
“Is there a way to totally shake off the effects of these things? This is like the sixth time tonight.” Stupid, smart witches.
Henry smiled apologetically. “Sorry, no. That’s kind of the point. Unless you want to become immortal, you’ll need me or Daphne to escort you.”
Emma swallowed. She had to get a grip. H
e was joking. There was no point in considering that option. She shook off the thought.
She sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. I get it. Escort away!”
Emma allowed him to walk her back toward the dark wooden door. The same thoughts compelling her to leave started back up, but Henry held onto her hand tightly. He stopped in front of the door and stared at the space just to the left of it. He nodded and smiled at nothing; uneasiness crept up her spine.
“She’s here for business. She’s my lawyer.”
What? She’d better scamper back upstairs. It would be more fun there.
Henry continued to nod. “I understand, but she’s Daphne Parker’s sister. She’s expecting us.”
Emma hadn’t heard from that bitch all night! Had Daphne called him and not her? She should go upstairs and call her sister. She tugged at Henry’s hand to let her go, but he kept her in his grip. Who the hell was he talking to? She glanced up and down the dark hallway. No one was here.
“Thank you, I appreciate it. Nice bowler hat, by the way,” he said with sincerity, pulling open the door.
Emma looked at Henry. She wasn’t wearing a bowler hat. There was no one else down there with them. She received a metaphorical popsicle to the ear. They walked through the door.
She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died in her throat.
Chapter Twelve
Oh, hell no. Hell no. This was beyond creepy. The large room in the basement of Hotel Congress was dark, except for the scores of floating candelabras filled with black, flickering candles. While the room was mostly empty, it was frigid. It felt like someone had been overenthusiastic with the A/C. Emma was glad she’d bought her ridiculous vampire cape; it was thin, but at least it warmed up her shoulders a little.
Entrancing minimal techno pumped from a PA system, and at first look, the place seemed almost empty. The forty or so people she could see were spread out, dancing in little pockets with blank yet intent stares. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Only a few people were actually dancing together, which meant that there were probably a bunch of dead people dancing in between the breathers. She wasn’t sure if she would rather be able to see the ghosts or not. At least this way she could pretend it was a lame party and not a room full of spirits. Werewolves and vampires ought to scare her more, but those were at least tangible beings. She took a couple of deep breaths to stymie her panic.
She scanned the area for her sister, someone besides Henry who could assure her that this was all fine. She pursed her lips. No luck.
“Has Daphne contacted you? She told me she would be out tonight, and you said she was expecting us to the invisible bouncer,” she asked, turning to Henry.
His gaze darted back and forth around the room. “Unfortunately, no. I just tried name dropping her since she’s more current with this scene than I am. Got lucky that it worked.”
“Smart,” she said, though she was disappointed her sister was still MIA. As he continued to scan the area, she asked, “Anyone you know?” Though to be honest, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer.
No question, there were things she wasn’t seeing. But if he was here, then she knew she was safe; he’d made sure of that all night. Her pulse steadied at the thought.
“Not yet. I barely recognize the place itself. They’ve done some updating over the years. Looks good, though, and it’s still popular,” he said and made the horrifying decision to approach the dance floor.
She trailed behind him, frowning. “Is it weird that we’re here? Should we leave?” she asked.
Now that she was sobering up, the defenses she usually raised around him were sliding back into place with the protectiveness of a castle’s portcullis. The idea of booking a room for them seemed ridiculous now. His lips quirked into a cynical smile.
“You all but begged me to see Dead Man’s Party and that’s it? You just want to go?”
She didn’t know what she’d been expecting—jolly dancing skeletons, maybe? Certainly not the intense, cold emptiness permeating this basement. Once again, she felt out of her element, and this odd work date with Henry seemed misguided at best. But he did have a point.
She held up a hand. “I know. I…my brain is processing a lot. Also, vampires are one thing. Spirits I can’t see are something else.”
“You scared?” he teased.
Her gaze jumped around the room. She rubbed her forearms to try to smooth down the goosebumps that had gathered there.
“Let’s call it uneasy,” she answered.
“All right. Then let’s try to make it easier.” He gestured toward the dance floor. “Let’s dance. Though I warn you, I’m rusty and don’t know anything about dancing to robot noise.”
She debated the wisdom of dancing with her boss in a hotel basement, but nothing about these circumstances came close to a normal work situation. Besides, it was one dance. She glanced at the plastic grocery bag in his hand that held his box of vampire cereal.
“How are you going to dance if you’re holding onto that?”
Henry looked down at the bag as if surprised by its existence. He shucked the bag from the cereal and stuffed the plastic in his jacket pocket. Then he slid a finger under the cardboard lid and popped the box open. He leaned it against his knee to tear open the plastic bag that contained the cereal.
He held the box aloft and proudly declared, “Party snacks!”
A grin broke out across her face. A clearer picture of the vampire was forming. The string of degrees on his walls and usual long-suffering attitude had thrown her off. He seemed like a total law nerd, but he hadn’t been lying at Krueger’s. The man had definitely used to party.
“So are we going to dance, or are you going to worry about cereal all night?” he asked.
Emma couldn’t argue with that, so she followed him out to the black-and-white-tiled dance floor, where the music was much louder. Nightclubs normally left her sweaty from all the warm bodies crushed into one room. Not the case here. The air on the dance floor was especially cold; bouncing around was the only way to stay warm.
She watched Henry move. He was right; he was a shitty dancer. But he seemed to be enjoying himself so much that it was hard to fault his technique. He started jumping and throwing his fist in the air in time to the thumping beat. Bits of cereal spilled to the floor and crunched under their shoes. Emma laughed and swished her cape around as she danced.
He scooped a handful of Batty-O’s from the box and let the cereal stream into his mouth. His eyes were bright. Instead of acting as her diplomatic shepherd, the man seemed to finally be letting loose. Henry tilted the box to her in offering. She peered at the small burgundy rings coupled with the pink bat-shaped marshmallows. Couldn’t hurt to try. She grabbed a small handful of the cereal and tossed it in her mouth. Emma squinted and shook her head back and forth until she swallowed.
“Is this real blood? It tastes like sugary blood-flavored wheat dust!” she shouted.
“From cows!” He threw his hands up in excitement. “Isn’t it great?”
“Not at all,” she called. “Think I prefer steak!”
“Ha! Your mouth is completely red.”
Emma closed her mouth and ran her tongue along her teeth, tasting more blood. Then she stuck out her tongue. He stuck his back out at her. His was a vivid red, and his fangs were down on proud display.
She grabbed another handful, but instead of eating it, she threw individual Batty-O’s at him. Seeing Henry have this much fun was addictive. She couldn’t stop herself. Henry held his hands up in a defensive maneuver, but neither of them could seem to stop laughing.
Suddenly an invisible force snatched the cereal from his hand. The poor box of Batty-O’s flew across the room and landed dejected in a dark corner. Her eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
Henry raised a placating hand at someone she couldn’t see. “Fine, I get it. We’re sorry for the disturbance.”
A moment later, he stepped a little closer to her.
“A dead cowboy apparently doesn’t share our fondness for cereal,” he explained with a roll of his eyes.
“His loss,” she scoffed.
This was a stupid, stupid thing to do, but she was tired of yelling. Yet again, she pushed aside the voice of reason that usually governed her actions and leaned forward so he could hear her when she talked. Then she remembered his enhanced hearing, realized getting closer was a completely unnecessary thing to do. She started to pull back, but he put a hand on her shoulder and angled his ear toward her mouth.
“Something you wanted to say?” he asked.
Emma hesitated, which turned out to be ill-advised. She closed her eyes as she caught a light whiff of his cologne. Kind of made her want to nuzzle his neck. Distracting notions of her lightly nibbling on his ear and then breathing heavily against his skin clouded her mind. She jerked her head back a little, unable to summon the courage to take that leap. At least, not yet, a dark part of her admitted. She took a breath and finally remembered the thought that had been needling her all night.
“Do you like being a vampire?”
While they weren’t touching, they were so close that she felt the vibrations of his laugh. “Not that it doesn’t have its downsides, but yes. I really, really do. Why do you ask?”
Despite the cold air, her skin started to flush from his nearness. She wasn’t totally sure why she wanted to know. But Wendell had been miserable for decades, and Henry was often a bit of a curmudgeon. She wouldn’t want that suffering for Henry, though why it was any of her business, she didn’t know.
She shrugged. “Just curious.”
To her surprise, he stayed close and didn’t let the conversation fade back into just dancing. “I know corporate law was guilt-inducing, but why were you so desperate to leave?”
Emma hesitated again but knew she’d poked and prodded him about his personal tragedies earlier, so it was only fair to respond in kind. She felt so flustered that any dancing skill she normally had fell by the wayside; knowing it would look ridiculous, she decided to march in place beside him to minimize the risk of accidentally hitting him or worse.
Destiny: A Fantasy Collection Page 37
