Cosmopolitan

by Shayne Silvers

  Othello and I nodded as one. As women, we were constantly held to a different standard because of our gender, especially when it came to the limitations of our bodies. Milana’s desire to push past those limitations struck me as perfectly legitimate. Frankly, I’d been fighting my whole life—schoolyard brawls that had eventually turned into real bouts against worthy opponents. The fierce joy I took out of those altercations was addictive; without them, I would be little more than a shell of myself.

  Othello perked up as if struck by an idea. “Did you ever meet Asterion?”

  “The Minotaur?” Milana said, surprised. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

  “He and Achilles have set up a sort of Fight Club for immortals and mortals, both. A place for them to test each other’s strength without dying.”

  I gawked at Othello. She’d never told me that. Suddenly, St. Louis didn’t sound so bad. I frowned a moment later. “Wait, isn’t the first rule of Fight Club not to talk about Fight Club?” I asked.

  Othello chuckled. “That’s why I didn’t tell you about it. That, and I figured you might fly there immediately, guns blazing. But Milana here is a goddess. And a Greek goddess at that. I don’t see anyone refusing her entry.”

  I scowled at my Russian companion, but she ignored me. On the other hand, I could tell Milana was completely taken with the idea; Milana stared at Othello as if she were the mythical being in the room. “Can you really do that?” she asked.

  “I can. And I will. Strengthening our ties to the magical community is part of my job. Nate has a lot of infuriating habits, but one of his best traits is his ability to bring people together. I’m sure he’d welcome you.”

  My scowl turned thoughtful. I pointed at Othello. “I t’ink ye just want free samples of designer clothes.”

  Now it was Othello’s turn to glower at me.

  “Whatever you want,” Milana said. “Name it.”

  “Right now, what we want is information,” I said, taking immediate advantage of Milana’s willingness to pay back Othello’s kindness. “Is there anythin’ else ye can tell us about Terry?” I asked. Sure, I was pleased as punch that Milana would be able to follow through on her dream, but that didn’t solve the immediate problem. Based on Milana’s timetable, Terry had only been missing a few days. It was possible Terry had wanted to share the good news with her sister—but planned to wait until she had something concrete under her belt, like an editorial spread in a magazine or a perfume campaign. Something that proved she’d really made it.

  Milana picked up a pen and clicked it a half-dozen times. “There is. There’s a nightclub I suspect will lead you to the Sanguine Council, one way or the other.”

  “Why didn’t ye tell us that before?”

  “Because before I thought you were two well-meaning women looking for a missing girl. Telling you to walk into a lion’s den would have been irresponsible of me, and potentially deadly to you. But if you have a friend who could kill Hercules, you may have what it takes to get the girls back, or at least find out what happened to them.”

  The way Milana said the last made my skin crawl. Sure, I’d considered the possibility that we wouldn’t find Terry alive—even the possibility that we’d never find her…but the idea that vampires had her made me sick to my stomach.

  Vampires were the worst.

  And we were about to meet some. On purpose.

  Ugh.

  “Fuckin’ fangers,” I snarled.

  Chapter 24

  We got ready at the hotel, Othello and I exchanging turns fiddling around in front of the mirror, donning eyelashes, eyeshadow, mascara, and so on. Not that Othello needed any to make her beautiful; her face had a natural allure to it that only got better when she hit you with that come-hither smile of hers. I, on the other hand, needed a fair amount. My skin had always been clear, with a light smattering of freckles littered across my cheeks and nose, but my bone structure came with harsh lines that had to be toned down—bold cheekbones, a rigid jawline, and a slightly dimpled chin…not to mention a host of bruises and scrapes that I had to carefully conceal. Between my features, my scars, and my height, I had to work extra hard to come across as feminine without putting my assets on display—something I usually avoided unless I hoped to use them to my advantage.

  Tonight, for example, we were hunting vampires who preyed on young, attractive women. Which meant our best bet to beat them at their own game was to slut it up a little and play coy. Othello was already in her dress, a sultry black number with slits down the sides that offered brief flashes of leg, hip, and ribcage. It was as risqué as you could get while still revealing nothing. Dresses weren’t my thing, however, so I’d gone for a sleeveless, indigo jumpsuit that hung from a collar of fabric around my throat and hugged my body in all the right places.

  Once ready, we called a cab; Serge was still monitoring Chapman’s hotel, texting Othello frowny face emojis every half hour to keep us updated. Assuming everything went down according to schedule, the Grigori would be coming for the seed in the next two days, which didn’t give us much time. But after the fiasco with Darrel and Gomorrah, I wasn’t sure if that timetable was still intact. Which is why, if I hadn’t heard anything from Serge by morning, I planned to go knock down Chapman’s door. If the Grigori or the Unclean tried to stop me, so be it, but I’d promised Hemingway I would get the seed, no matter what.

  And I always kept my promises.

  The nightclub, Twice Shy, was one of those glitzy, upscale places with a line perpetually wrapped around the corner. Fortunately, Othello had called ahead, using her GrimmTech connections to get us a table and bottle service in the VIP section. When I asked why she hadn’t called in all sorts of backup from either GrimmTech or her friends in St. Louis—an obvious solution to our predicament—she’d explained that her role at GrimmTech didn’t allow her that kind of freedom.

  “Research and development, moving assets, putting in work orders…” she said, pausing for emphasis, “all perfectly legitimate. But if they knew their boss was running around getting herself into dangerous situations, the board would have a heart attack. Going out for a night on the town, however, is expected, even encouraged.”

  “Ye shouldn’t risk ‘em gettin’ pissed at ye, then,” I insisted, still worried for her. “This could be dangerous. Why don’t ye go back to work, and I’ll call ye if I need anythin’?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Othello said, smirking. “If anything, I’m safer than you are.”

  I decided not to argue that point. Somehow whenever I argued with Othello I ended up repeating her words back to her a few minutes later. Only later would I wonder what she’d said that had changed my mind. If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed she were some flavor of Freak—a mentalist, or something equally irritating. In hindsight, it made sense that she and Death were dating. Who else would have the balls to stand up to her?

  It’s not like Hemingway could die.

  “And your friends in St. Louis?” I asked.

  “Busy,” Othello said. “Nate’s running things out there, but many of us have split off and are operating independently. I considered calling in reinforcements from Kansas City, but Callie has her own shit going on.” Othello continued speaking, mostly to herself at this point, “Besides, neither of them could exactly be considered independent these days, whether they wanted to help or not.”

  “Who’s Callie?” I asked.

  “A wizard who used to work with the Vatican. You’d like her…” Othello studied me for a second. “If you two didn’t kill each other, first.”

  I cocked an eyebrow.

  “She’s…competitive.”

  I grinned. “Enough said.”

  Together, Othello and I made our way to the back of the nightclub where, overlooking the main dance stage, a series of shady-looking booths were arranged so those who wished could watch the crowds dance below—the perfect VIP section for elitist assholes, date rapists, or vampires.

  Pick your poison.
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  We sidled up next to one another in one of the booths and watched as a beguiling young woman with pink hair and an outfit that made ours look tame danced her way over to us, a massive bottle above her head, sparks flying from its top.

  They died as she poured the champagne into fluted glasses that had been lined along the table’s edge. The girl seemed a bit baffled by us—two attractive women sitting alone at a booth, unfettered by male attention. It was common in New York City to see wealthy, beautiful women out and about, but less common to see them entertaining themselves. Othello flashed her a smile and waved her down to a crouch, shouting above the blare of the music—a haunting, bumping breed of techno that struck me as remarkably European. “I have a question for you!”

  The girl nodded demurely and smiled.

  “I was hoping to speak to the owner. Is that possible?” Othello slid a wad of bills across the table, clasped together by a thick gold band.

  “Of course! He usually comes in a little later in the evening. Do you want me to send him your way when he does?”

  “Please.”

  “Alright, let me know if I can bring you anything else,” she said, palming the cash with the expertise of a card hustler, “I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

  After she left, Othello and I scoped out the nightclub in its entirety. The vibe struck me more like one of those underground dance clubs you find in Los Angeles, with people dancing in a huddled mass, eyes pinched shut, bobbing to the rhythmic pulse of the music. Red lights overhead tinged everything, flickering over the crowd in waves.

  “What did Milana say to look for again?” I asked, ducking close so Othello could hear me without straining.

  “She said the owner has ties to the Master of the city, and that most of the girls who were taken had recently come here. It was the only link she could find.”

  I studied the crowd. “They picked the right place. With this light, everyone’s eyes glow red, and pale seems to be the fashion. D’ye t’ink they took the girls from here, or followed ‘em back?”

  “Here, probably. If they used their gaze, and the girls were already a little drunk, they could probably be talked into just about anything.”

  The gaze Othello referred to was a vampire’s hypnotic stare, a sort of mind control that put people under a temporary spell. Resistance varied, but alcohol would certainly make someone more susceptible—lowered inhibitions had their drawbacks, after all. I took another drink of champagne, savoring it. Luckily, I was immune to that little trick.

  I’d hate to waste good champagne.

  “Keep your guard up,” I warned her.

  Othello nodded, then stiffened. “What is he doing here?”

  I followed her gaze, catching sight of a slender man in a stylish suit jacket and jeans, the bright red hue of his dress shirt intensified beneath the strobing lights, his shoulder-length hair brushing the edges of his jacket. He seemed to sense someone staring and glanced up, locking eyes with first me, and then Othello. They widened.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  Othello’s expression had landed somewhere between concern and relief, as if she couldn’t quite decide how to feel. She waved the newcomer up, inviting him to join us, but he jerked his head and pretended to be fascinated by a gaggle of girls posted up down the line of the bar.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Othello muttered.

  “What?” I leaned in, trying not to let my frustration show. “Who is he?”

  “He’s a friend. I think. It’s hard to tell with him, lately.”

  I reached up and took Othello’s chin in my hands, plumping her cheeks as I forced her to look at me. Her eyes went wide with surprise. “Who is he?” I growled. “Don’t make me keep askin’ ye.”

  Othello swatted my hand away playfully and smirked. “His name’s Alucard. He’s a vampire who works for the Council. And if he’s here, things are about to get really ugly.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because lately he’s become a bit of a wild card. He and Nate went their separate ways a little while ago. He’s still one of us…but he and I shouldn’t be seen together.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a pride thing. I work for Nate, and he’s trying to establish himself with the Council. Still, I’m surprised he’s avoiding me here. He must be up to something.”

  I tossed down the remainder of my champagne. “Alright, I’ll go find out.”

  Othello’s hand on my arm stopped me from rising and walking away. “Quinn! That’s not a good idea.”

  “Ye want to know why he’s here, don’t ye? And ye say he’s a member of the Council, which means he may know what’s goin’ on and where the girls were taken. I don’t have connections to St. Louis, so it makes sense that I should go.”

  Othello looked conflicted but released my arm. “Alright, but hurry back. And for God’s sakes don’t flirt with him. Even if he sparkles.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Please. Everyone knows that’s not how it works. Besides, I hate vampires.”

  Othello’s laughter chased me down the stairs.

  At least one of us was having fun.

  Chapter 25

  I settled in on Alucard’s left, sliding onto one of the barstools, and propped my elbows on the bar. The bar area was surprisingly deserted; the bartender spotted me and quickly ambled over, eager to make some money. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll take a Cosmo.”

  Alucard shifted his wandering attention to me. “How very Sex and the City of you,” he drawled in an accent fresh out the bayous of New Orleans.

  Fuck sparkles. Othello should have warned me about that.

  “How very metrosexual of ye to notice,” I shot back in my own brogue.

  Alucard snickered. “So, what’s a gorgeous thing like you doing in a dive like this?”

  “Waitin’ for someone handsome to come talk to me,” I replied.

  Alucard dipped his shoulder, hunkering down so he could speak without shouting, the flirtatious expression on his face completely at odds with what he said next, “Did Othello send you?”

  I matched his expression, playing with the ends of my hair, which I’d teased and curled to give a little volume. “She wants to know what you’re doin’ here,” I replied.

  “Feeling’s mutual. This club ain’t the safest place y’all could have ended up for a night on the town.”

  “Aye. Good t’ing we were lookin’ for trouble.”

  Alucard’s eyes narrowed, but he kept up appearances, scanning the bar as if eyeing his competition, or staking out other girls to talk to. “Did she tell you who I am?”

  “Aye. And what ye are.”

  He grunted. “Which means you’re a Freak. And that she trusts you. Othello doesn’t go around spilling secrets, last I checked, and she’d never offer me up to a Regular. Especially one so…” He paused, and the leering smile became momentarily real. “Tall.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fangers aren’t me type, sorry. I’m partial to long walks on the beach, and you’re so pale you’d blind people…and that’s without the whole goin’ up in flames t’ing.”

  Alucard raised both eyebrows. “Maybe Othello doesn’t trust you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, scowling.

  “Nothing. You can ask her later. Anyway, as much as I’m enjoying this stimulating conversation, why don’t you let me in on what you two are doing here?”

  “Ye first,” I said.

  Alucard shrugged. “I’m here on business.”

  “Council business?”

  “Maybe,” he replied, coolly. “What’s it to you?”

  “We’re lookin’ for a friend. A girl who was taken by local vamps. Her and a few other missin’ girls were last seen here, and we heard the owner has an in with the Master of this city.”

  Alucard’s eyes flashed. “You two are gonna get yourselves killed,” he growled. “Get Othello and get out of here.”

  I took the drink
the bartender offered me and smiled, glad to diffuse the sudden tension for a moment. “Put it on his tab,” I said. Alucard didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t argue, either. “Listen, ye have no idea who I am, so I’m only goin’ to tell ye this once: don’t ever tell me what to do unless you want to end up mounted on a wall somewhere.”

  “The owner doesn’t know the Master of this city,” Alucard said, as if speaking to a small child.

  “Huh?”

  “The owner is the Master of this city.”

  Well, that put a damper on things. I sipped the liquid brimming along the lip of my dangerously full martini glass to hide my surprise. Othello and I had been under the misapprehension that a few rogue vampires had been abducting girls from this bar. But if the Master owned the bar, that meant he’d probably approved the whole thing.

  We weren’t up against a few New York City vampires.

  We were up against them all.

  “Now do you understand?” Alucard asked.

  I sighed, then nodded.

  “Look, I’ll check on this friend of yours, and the other missing girls. But for now, you’d best get out of here, alright?”

  “Leave?” I swirled my martini glass. “No t’anks.”

  “What?”

  “I promised Terry’s sister I’d find her. I don’t care who it is, or how many fangers I have to blow away,” I said, grinding my teeth together as I spoke, “I’m not lettin’ ‘em have her.”

  Ordinarily, I might have taken Alucard’s advice. Killing a whole host of vampires was a tall order, with or without my abilities. Vampires were fast, mean, and they had a nasty tendency to survive anything short of staking, dismemberment, or fire. But, both as a woman and as someone who knew what it was like to be under a manipulative vampire’s thumb, leaving the girls to their fates was simply not an option.

  I’d rather die first.

  Alucard stared at me for what felt like a minute before chuckling to himself. “I don’t know where they hide you girls, but if I meet one more woman who sends shivers up my spine, I think I’ll retire.”