by Sharon Joss
“I doubt it’s as simple as that.”
“Watch and learn, fledgling.” Rafe steered him toward the entrance of the theatre proper. The doorways were heavily draped in black velvet. He paused, motioning to the group of blood donors. “Admission to the live show is by lottery. Only ten percent of our nightly visitors win a chance to see the show. The cost of admission is a simple blood donation. Every donor receives a complimentary Glamour cocktail.” One of the uniformed attendants handed a yellow ticket to one of the donors and helped her to her feet. The woman joined the other donors in the café, and received a tiny glassful of golden liquid.
“Is this legit?”
“Of course,” Rafe smiled. “They even get to keep the glass as a souvenir. It’s got the park logo on it and everything. You’d have a riot on your hands if you were to ask any of them to leave. Gold ticket donors give their donations before the show, red tickets get to experience the real thing. The amusement park and concert hall are recent additions, and they do attract many more customers than the theatre could ever hold, but this is the heart and soul of Mythica. Follow me.”
They stepped through the velvet curtains and entered the theatre. Mike followed the vampire down the aisle toward the stage, his curiosity keeping pace with his uneasiness. Silas and a half-dozen vampires gathered casually around the stage, each dressed in extraordinary costumes. Silas offered him a friendly nod, the others glared at him with an intense, unreadable expression. For all his phoniness, Mike felt more comfortable around Rafe. Maybe it’s the silver eyes that makes them look so intense.
Rafe stepped onto the low stage and made the introductions. “This is the new pack Beta, Mike Bane. Mike, don’t feel slighted if no one offers to shake your hand. They’re preparing themselves for the upcoming performance, and you don’t smell like wolf. In fact, I daresay you do smell good enough to eat, but Vince has warned us all that you’re not on the menu.”
Mike nodded to the group. So that’s what a hungry vampire looks like. Good to know. Six sets of handsome faces stared at him; four men and two women. Beneath the scent of dust and bleach and Rafe’s aftershave, the cat picked up the scent of old blood. In his head, he felt the cat regard them as he would a cold-blooded creature like a lizard or a snake. Like Rafe, they all wore make-up. Mascara, rouge, eye shadow, the works.
One of the vamps smiled and showed off his snicked-down fangs. “So you’re the Jag-were.” With his accent, it came out ‘yag-weeer’. It was the tango dancer he’d seen earlier. With those knee-length suede boots and skin-tight purple jeans, he looked more like a pimp than a vampire. He held an ice pick loosely in one hand.
“Easy, Mike,” Silas murmured. “This is Santino.”
Santino leaned in to sniff his neck. “You smell nothing like wolf.” This brought a chorus of meows from the troupe. When Santino leaned in again, Mike backed away angrily, rather than allow the vampire to lick his cheek.
Rafe put a cautionary hand on his arm. “You’ll have to excuse Santino here. He’s an artist and a bit of a diva at times, but he means you no harm.”
“Don’t make excuses for me, Rafe. I’m just having a little fun.” Santino held out the ice pick, handle first. “I’ve brought you a gift. It’s from all of us.”
Bewildered, Mike accepted the pick, noticing as he did that several of the grinning vampires had dropped their fangs. He cleared his throat. “Um, thanks.”
“Use it if you find yourself overcome with the magic of our performance.” This from a Goth vamp in artfully shredded black leather, a ton of silver piercings, and pointy-toed cowboy boots. “It will keep you out of Ozzie’s hands.”
He slipped the pick into his back pocket. There was general laughter from all the vampires at this; even Silas grinned.
The careless expression on Rafe’s face disappeared as he addressed the troupe. “Now listen up. Mike is the new pack Beta. He’s pack. That means teeth off; no matter how he smells.” He thumped Santino in the chest. “Hands and tongues off too, unless you have permission. He’s mine.”
“Are you saying you’ve finally taken a blood steward, Rafe?” This from the hot redhead, Lyrissa. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“He’s Beta. Beta belongs to me, so fangs off. Any questions?”
Santino examined his fingernails. “Watch out, Beta. Lyrissa has a way with that tongue of hers. She can be very persuasive.” The other vamps thought this was hilarious. Even Lyrissa laughed. Mike frowned as the group followed Rafe backstage.
“Ignore them,” Silas said.
“I hate them already. What’s the ice pick for?”
“You won’t need it. Just be glad you’re assigned to Rafe. I saw the look Lyrissa gave you, and believe me, you do not want that woman to notice you.”
“I’m a big boy, Silas. I can take care of myself.”
“Who are you kidding? You do remember Yolanda, don’t you? How did that work out for ya?”
He smirked. “I’m a little out of practice, that’s all.”
“I’m serious. She’s crazy. You may have bit off more than you could chew with Yolanda, but I’m tellin’ you that Lyrissa will kill you.”
Mike grinned and shook his head.
“What’s so funny?”
“You know, it’s weird, but I think I’m starting to like this place.”
“Addicting, ain’t it? Let’s go. Show’s about to start.”
Silas explained the set-up to him briefly before the crowd began to arrive. Guests with red tickets were seated in the front row, just steps from the horseshoe-shaped stage. Gold tickets went to the recent donors, who filled the rest of the theatre seats. The atmosphere was intimate; every seat in the house was a good one. The crowd seemed predominantly composed of women, although nearly third of the audience was male. Silas instructed him to only to step in if a guest became unruly.
“Remember, these people are club members,” Silas cautioned him as the ushers helped the audience find their assigned seats. “They’ve paid to come here, and they signed up for this chance to feed the guys who pay our salary. Each of them has a signed waiver on file. You can think whatever you want, but there is nothing illegal going on here.”
“I’m fine with it,” Mike protested. “I’m not a cop any more.”
“Yeah, but this is your first time. Keep a tight grip on your beast, and don’t let the sight or smell of the blood get to you. You’re here to keep order. It helps to keep your attention on the audience, not the vamps.”
“I’ll be fine.” Mike took up his assigned position near the top of one of the two aisles leading down to the stage, while Silas moved into position on the other aisle. The audience was strung tight as a drawn bow with anticipation. The house lights went down, and Mike felt nervous. He sensed both the cat and Tehuantl peering out from behind his eyes, eager to see the show.
The blue-lit empty stage drew the eyes of everyone in the theatre. A hazy fog seeped up from the floor, and the haunting sounds of a pan flute floated an eerie melody across the audience. The fog rose into a thick mist, swirling aimlessly around the eddy of the music. The mist gained in substance and form until a figure appeared.
The piper was the red-headed vampire, Lyrissa, garbed in a hooded cloak, her hands pallid and bony as she played the wooden flute; her face veiled to the audience by dark lashes of focused concentration. The music grew as a second flute joined in with a harmonizing tone and a male figure appeared at her shoulder. His eyes glared out over the audience, and demanded attention. Mike inched forward, feeling the dramatic pull of the scene along with everyone else in the house.
The smoke began to pulse around the pair, as their canticle began to weave a spell, which crawled across his skin with an itchy sensation. He glanced over at Silas, but the were-man’s attention was focused entirely on the stage. The beat of a drum joined the pulsing of the mist, and a bodhrán player appeared seated next to Lyrissa. The music swelled hypnotically with the addition of two more drummers and a fiddler. As the volume
swelled, the tempo and beat of the drums reverberated off the walls and seemed to thrum up from the depths of the floors. A driving rhythm built up. Mike realized the sound mimicked a throbbing heartbeat. A heartbeat later, the vampire performers suddenly materialized onto the stage.
Their appearance had been completely masked by the mist. Rafe stood at the center of the lineup, flanked on each side by four vampires. Of the nine, three were women. The women were dressed provocatively; garbed in tightly corseted bodices coupled with short frilly skirts showing a lot of leg. More cocktail waitress than French maid. The men wore black; each dressed as a different fetish character. Santino was dressed as a pimp-musketeer-pirate guy, while another vampire wore only a tightly-fitted leather mask and straps covering his bloodless groin. On the other side of Rafe stood a guy decked out like a Viking standing next to a three-piece business suit with pointy Italian shoes.
The music softened in volume, but the relentless beat continued without a pause. Rafe stepped off the stage and slowly, deliberately, gazed directly into the eyes of every person in the first row. A wave of wordless sighs rolled across the audience. With a casualness that seemed to project both disinterest and extreme desire, Rafe pointed to a twenty-something man in front of him, and invited him to rise.
The young man’s face glowed as if he’d just won a new sports car, and he eagerly bounced forward, his arms flung wide to greet his about-to-be dining companion. He lifted his chin in offering, and Rafe smiled widely at the audience, allowing them a good look at his now snicked-down fangs.
In spite of Silas’s warning, Mike couldn’t tear his eyes away from the moment when Rafe embraced his volunteer victim like a lover and bit deeply into his neck. As the music reached a crescendo, the man in Rafe’s arms spasmed; his back arched and his legs dragged limply toward the floor. As Rafe dug in and the blood began to flow, the audience sighed as one, then howled their approval.
Unexpectedly, Tehuantl roared himself awake in a surge of power. Mike fought to maintain control and made a mute appeal to the cat, but got no response. The taste of blood filled his mouth as he watched a drop of blood escape Rafe’s lips and roll down the neck of his victim. Oh god no! The theatre was full of people, but it was Rafe that Tehuantl was lusting after. It didn’t matter. Nothing with a heartbeat was safe when Tehuantl came out to play. He had to stop it.
He fought the onslaught, his arms and legs cramping from the stress of the forced change. Not this time, asshole.
Suddenly Silas was standing right beside him. “Fight it, man,” he whispered, he grabbed his arm. “You can’t shift here.”
“Help me,” he grunted.
Silas fished the ice pick out of his back pocket. “It’s silver. If I stab you with this, it’s going to hurt like hell. Are you sure?”
Rafe shifted his angle on the stage. He’s watching us. The pace of the music increased as the two vampires on either side of Rafe stepped forward to select their victims from the front row. The scent of blood and Tehuantl’s irresistible hunger filled him.
He nodded. “Do it.”
Silas stabbed him in the ass with the pick.
He grunted; the acid sting of silver raced through him like venom. Tehuantl and the cat instantly vanished. He yanked the pick out of the fleshy part of his ass, rubbing his butt cheek furiously where he’d been punctured. “Son of a bitch.”
Silas grinned. “Sorry, it’s the best spot for missing anything important.”
Every inch of his ass felt as if it was being stung by electric wasps. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“Burns like hell, though don’t it? Ozzie invented it. They’re pretty handy in emergency situations. Better a pain in the ass than two days in Ozzie’s clinic. You okay now, or do you want me to hit you again?”
He shoved Silas away from him. “Hell no,” he whispered. Neither the cat nor the psychotic priest had left the slightest trace of themselves behind. His butt felt like a queen bee was doing a bump and grind act, but it was better than the alternative, and the emergency hadn’t disrupted the show. The music continued to rise and fall as the vampires continued to select and feed on the volunteers.
Still shaking, Mike watched as the last two vampires fed. Rafe released his dazed victim into the arms of an usher, who reseated the donor, and handed him his complimentary cocktail. The vampire then selected a second donor from the audience.
By the time the feeding was finished, each vampire had fed from two volunteers, and the audience was chanting in time with the throbbing of the music. The donors in the first row appeared glassy-eyed and smiling in their seats. The vampires were bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked and fairly vibrating with energy. The mist reasserted itself across the stage, and the music began to fade. One by one, the vampires and musicians began to disappear into the fog. Eventually, only the caped figure of Lyrissa remained, until in a final wisp of smoke, she too vanished.
With the last echo of the flute, the house lights came up, and the audience stirred. The now-subdued crowd rose to leave as if they were exiting a Sunday movie matinee. Mike checked the faces of the volunteers, but although one or two seemed a bit unsteady on their feet, they all appeared thoroughly satisfied by the experience. Son of a gun. He’d never seen anything like it.
After everyone had gone, Silas showed him how to secure the premises for the night. Even as the ache in his butt receded, his body still thrummed with the music and power of the performance.
“Is it always like that?” His butt still burned where Silas had stabbed him.
“If you’re asking about the performance, yeah. That’s how most of the nest feeds, except for Ambrose and Cobb. They’ve always preferred their own blood stewards. And Lyrissa lost her public dining privileges decades ago because she’s well, crazy. She likes to play with her food. The estate stores the excess blood donations for research and to cover the slack on nights when the park is closed.”
“What kind of research?”
“Ozzie’s supposed to be working on finding a cure for the lycanthropy virus, but don’t believe it. Ambrose even built Ozzie his own clinic for processing and typing the blood donations. He does a little lab work for the local vets, but that’s it.”
“What’s his deal, anyway? When I woke up the other night, he was slicing me up with a scalpel.”
Silas seemed uneasy. “Now you know why nobody wants to lose control on duty. The guy gives everybody the creeps, but Vince won’t listen if you complain. I try to stay away from him.”
“Well, you were sure right about that ice pick.”
“Yeah. Tanner, our old Beta had to do the same thing to me on my first night. The very next day he hooked me up with this therapist, Sarah Powers. She helped me take my control to a whole new level. I never lose control any more.”
Mike nodded. “She’s working with Tom. Just in case.”
“Oh she’s the best. I don’t know much about shifters, but Dr. Sarah has helped every single wolf in Vince’s pack. The company even pays for it.”
“What happened to Tanner?”
Silas shook his head. “Nobody knows. When Tanner disappeared, everybody was certain that something bad had happened to him. It was too much of a coincidence that we’d lose so many guys in such a short time. And he had amazing control of his beast; almost as good as Vince. But the fact is, he wasn’t an easy guy to like.”
“Ambrose told me Vince was the one people didn’t like.”
Silas snorted, as if the idea was preposterous. “No way. Vince is the best Alpha around. Other packs send their new wolves here to train. That’s how we got Yolanda and Wyatt. You’re still new, but give him time. Vince is a very good Alpha. You’ll see.”
“He’s going to bust a gut when he hears what happened here tonight.” He’d been blindsided by Tehuantl’s interest in the vampires. He wasn’t safe to be around, he realized. Nothing was going as he’d expected. He was going to have to talk to Vince about being reassigned to another area of the park.
“Nothi
ng happened here tonight, Mike. Nothing. Vince and Rafe both like you. And as for the rest of the pack, the only person who would rather have Trick as Beta is Trick. We need you, Mike; everybody feels it. Lycans don’t have a lot of options when it comes to jobs these days, but generally, Mythica is a good place to work. This is a good pack to be in, Mike. You’ll see.”
CHAPTER 25 : WOLF’S LAIR
Vince Dazak lived just outside of Rushville, about two miles from Mythica. When Mike knocked on the front door, he was surprised to see that Merlene Zimowski-Dazak was human. She possessed the blue eyes, silver hair, and gentle figure of a healthy woman in her mid-seventies. She greeted him warmly and asked him to wait in the living room while she checked to see if Vince was awake. His esteem for Vince went up as he recalled Yolanda’s earlier frustration with the Alpha. He wondered if Vince’s wife knew about Yolanda.
The room was cozy and homey; comfortable-looking furniture covered in a brown floral fabric. A small photo gallery on the fireplace mantle held a number of faded family photos arranged around a sixties-era wedding photo. Even through the bushy-hair and groovy tie-dye tee shirt, Mike could see the telltale golden eyes of Vince’s wolf. Beautiful Merlene wore a peace sign necklace over her simple white shift and a wreath of white flowers in her long dark hair. A freckle-faced boy wearing a flowered garland around his neck stood frowning between the happy couple, his resemblance to his mother obvious. Mike recognized Ozzie immediately. Mike squinted at the photo to be sure. Yup, Ozzie hadn’t changed much.
A collection of faded photographs documented Ozzie’s growing up years; elementary school sports pictures, high school, and college graduation. Nothing recent. No grandchildren.
“This way, Mike.” Merlene beckoned to him from the kitchen. He followed her through the family room; noticing his and hers matching recliners flanking a shared end table before a second fireplace. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, he glimpsed a meticulously-groomed back garden framed by dense woods before he was ushered down a short hall into Vince’s home office.
