by Flynn, Mac
"It is normal for you to crave blood," he reminded me without looking up from the small case.
"Hey, you may be used to sucking the life fluid out of somebody's veins, but I'm still a little squeamish about this whole draining thing, okay?" I countered.
He turned to me with a few pads and a brush in his hand. "Hold still." I frowned and opened my mouth, but got a dabble full of powder from the brush. I choked and stumbled back against a wall. "I warned you," he added.
I clutched at my tingling throat and glared at him. "You sure you know what you're doing here?"
"Tim would never learn to apply makeup, so I did," Vincent told me.
My mouth dropped so far it hit the subway tracks beneath the street. "You learned how to apply makeup?" I choked out.
Vincent frowned. "It was necessary to ensure Tim survived many of his investigations."
I doubled over from laughter and clutched at my sides. "You. . .know. . .how to. . .apply makeup?" I wheezed.
"You had better hope so. Your survival depends on it," he pointed out. That knocked the amusement right out of me, and I glared at him.
"You just had to remind me," I groaned.
"You lose focus," he pointed out.
I shrugged. "A girl's gotta have ways to mentally survive these insane situations."
"Standing still would work better for surviving," he advised.
I stepped up to him and straightened myself. "All right, but not too much of that gunk. I don't want to end up looking like the Bride of Frankenstein," I replied.
"Close your eyes," he ordered. I did as he said and giggled when the brush glided softly across my cheeks. "Hold still," he commanded.
"I can't help it. That tickles," I shot back.
"Don't speak."
"You're enjoying giving these orders, aren't you?"
"Stop talking." I sighed, shut my trap, and tried not to twitch and squirm. In a few minutes he pulled the brush away. "Open your eyes."
My eyes fluttered open and I was presented with a mirror from the makeup kit that was held up by Vince. I was in awe at the touch of red blush on my cheeks, my finely brushed eyelashes, and the hint of powder over my few imperfections in an otherwise flawless face. "Wow," I breathed.
"Then you approve?" he wondered. Like most artists he wanted approval of his work.
"I'd be an idiot if I didn't. How long did you do this for Tim?"
"A century," he replied as he put away his tools.
"That's plenty of time for practice, but you really did do a good job," I complimented. He didn't turn to look at me, but I detected a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. "So am I ready to go out there?" I asked him.
"Provided you not say anything stupid," he replied.
I rolled my eyes, but felt so giddy at my wonderful pampering that I didn't care about the insult. "Good, so what now?"
"Now we get you inside." Vincent pulled out the notebook and removed one of the clipped photos which he handed to me. I found myself staring at a balding man of fifty with a goofy smile, but hard eyes. He wore a suit that tried to slim his not-slim figure, but ended up showing off his potbelly. "This is Mr. George Boyd, a member of the cult who frequents the restaurant," Vincent told me. "We'll put you at his table and the rest is up to you to find where the cult meets and when, and to get inside with the member to find the boy."
The color drained from my face, but I shakily smiled. "Is that all? I should have him eating out of my hand in a few minutes."
Vincent stepped up beside me and offered his arm. I wondered if this was some sort of trick. "I will help you inside," he promised.
I snorted and took his arm. "At least you're doing something," I teased.
"I won't be far from you. Our telepathic link will allow you to keep me informed about your progress," he reminded me.
"Yeah, about that. I don't really know how to talk to you through that link," I pointed out.
"Focus your thoughts on me and speak in your mind," he instructed. I decided to give his advice a try, and focused my thoughts on the handsome vampire at my side. The one word I wanted to broadcast was a good, loud damn! I knew my message was received when Vince winced and frowned. "Your volume is too high," he told me.
I shrugged and smiled evilly. "Just wanted to make sure my message got through."
"Clearly."
"Hey, I was just trying to get you used to that high volume. If things don't go so well in there you'll be hearing a lot more at that level," I warned him. Vincent ignored me, and led me up to the end of the line and right past it. "Um, you're not thinking of taking cuts, are you?" I wondered.
"Yes."
"That's not nice."
"I know."
"And how are you going to get us in?"
A smirk slipped onto his lips. "You'll see." I was both fearful and intrigued. Vincent guided us up to the door where stood two bouncers and a man with a clipboard. The bouncers opened the door for those with their names on the list. Those not on the list were allowed inside as space allowed, and most of the time space didn't allow anybody else.
One of the bouncers put up his large hand and stopped us from entering. "Where do ta think yer going?" he asked us.
"Inside," Vincent coolly replied.
The bouncer looked to clipboard man, who glanced down at us from his long, thin nose. "Names, please," he drawled out in a nasally voice.
"Vincent," he replied.
Clipboard man raised an eyebrow. "First or last?"
"Only," Vince answered.
Clipboard Man frowned, but checked his list. "I don't see anybody with the only name of 'Vincent' anywhere on my list, so I'll have to ask you to leave."
I watched Vincent for his reaction, and he lowered the angle of his face so his glasses slid down to reveal his dark eyes. They caught the eyes of clipboard man who started back as though he'd been struck. "I'm sure my name is on there. Why don't you check again?" Vincent suggested.
The man mechanically bowed his head and glanced down at his list for only a second before he slowly nodded. "Yes, I see it here now," he announced. His voice was flat, like somebody had sucked all the emotion out of it. "I am sorry for the delay, please step inside." He stepped aside and gestured for the bouncers to open the doors. The pair looked at each other, shrugged, and opened the doors.
Vincent raised his head and his glasses slid back into place. With a wicked grin on his face he led me inside. In stark contrast to the bustling exterior, the interior was quiet and peaceful. Round tables sat on the center floor before a small stage while there were booths with comfortable, cushioned benches along the walls. Everyone was dressed in elegant attire and even the penguin-suited waiters made me feel like a country-bumpkin.
My first reaction to all this fineness was to turn tail and run, but Vincent put his free hand over my arm. "Easy," he whispered.
I frowned. "That's easy for you to say. You can mesmerize them into ignoring you," I quietly hissed.
"There's nothing wrong with your attire, nor your face," he assured me.
I blushed. That was probably the nicest thing he'd ever said to me. Hell, it's one of the few nice things he'd said to me period. "You sure you're the same cranky vampire I'm stuck to for all eternity?" I asked him.
"Waiter," Vincent called out to a young man passing us. I pouted at his lack of answer, but he ignored me. "We're looking for Mr. George Boyd's table. Could you direct us?"
The young man turned and pointed to a booth along the wall close to the stage. It had a great view of both the stage and the rest of the restaurant, and thankfully it was also empty. "That's his table."
Vincent bowed and guided me over to a seat on the cushioned, circular bench. He remained standing close beside me. I pulled at my dress and looked nervously at the other patrons. "I hope he comes quick before they smell my cheap shampoo," I muttered. A horrible thought floated into my mind. "Um, Vince, what if Boyd doesn't come tonight?"
"His summary says he comes here most eve
ry night looking for company," Vincent replied.
"So I'm supposed to woo this bachelor into getting into the cult?" I guessed.
"Precisely."
"That sounds kind of mean," I brought up.
"Console your human emotions with the thought that you are perhaps saving a life."
"I'm starting to think this boy isn't worth it, or the money," I muttered.
Chapter 11
My whining was interrupted by the arrival of our target. Mr. George Boyd himself entered the restaurant and I noticed Vincent slip away from the table. I understood he didn't want Boyd to see me with another man, but I desperately wanted to reach out and grasp Vincent's hand to keep him rooted beside me. Instead I had to make due with a napkin off the table which I mercilessly twisted beneath the tablecloth. Boyd walked over to his usual table, but paused a yard in front of it when he spotted me. "Can I help you?" he asked me.
I plastered a smile on my face that was sickly sweet and barely hid the rest of my trembling face. "Oh-um, maybe? I was just-um-"
Looking for a good time.
I jumped at the familiar voice in my head. Boyd looked at me like he worried I was having a seizure. "Are you all right?" he wondered.
My smile, if possible, grew bigger. "Me? I'm just fine. I just thought I could-um, find a good time and this table looked like a good spot."
Boyd raised an eyebrow, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. "Well, you've certainly come to a good place. This is my usual table."
"Oh! I-I didn't know," I replied.
You're a terrible liar Vincent commented.
And you're an ass I shot back.
Boyd slipped into the seat beside me and looked me over with eyes that were hungry for more than the house steak. "I'm not sure I've seen you in here before. Is this your first time?"
"Yeah, my first time for a lot of things tonight," I told him.
"Seeing as how we're table mates, how about I make this my treat? You can order anything you want on the menu and I'll order it," he offered.
"That'd be great!" Especially since I didn't have any money on me. "I'll just have what you're having."
Steer the conversation back to the chance at a good time Vincent advised.
Right now you are the most annoying voice in my head I snapped. Outside my mind I slid closer to Boyd and leaned a little on his arm. "So about that good time. I hope it's got something more than a drink involved."
"And mashed potatoes," he joked.
"I was looking for something a little harder and more exciting," I cooed.
Don't become too intimate with him Vincent warned.
I smirked. Jealous? I teased.
He's to lead us to the cult, not his bedroom.
Maybe they're the same spot I countered.
"Miss?"
I snapped out of my inner conversation and sheepishly smiled. "Sorry, just kind of dozed off there. What were you saying?"
"I was saying I know a lot of places to have a good time, but were you looking for private or public?" he asked me.
"Private, but not too private," I replied. "Like a club or something. I'm trying to find a place where I can talk to people about my-well, my strange interests."
Boyd raised an eyebrow. "Strange interests?"
I shrugged and tried not to rip my napkin in two. "I don't really know how to explain this-"
You're interested in the practical applications of ancient rites and rituals.
"-but I'm kind of interested in the practical applications of ancient rites and rituals," I finished.
A wide grin slipped onto his face. "Really? I happen to be a student of such things. What do you think of the daily exercising of spirits with daily aerobics?"
It's a trick question. There is no such thing Vincent told me.
"It's great except I think getting drunk during exercises might hurt your muscles," I teased.
Boyd leaned back in his seat and chuckled. His potbelly jiggled. "So you don't think much of it?"
"I think what you just said is a bunch of hogwash," I replied.
"Well, you're right. I was just testing to see if you had a basic knowledge of rituals or was pulling my leg."
"And did I pass with flying colors?" I asked him.
"Almost as beautifully as yourself," he answered. He slid closer to me and I smelt his breath. It smelled like he'd just come from a brimstone ritual complete with rotten egg scent. His voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "Of course, what you're asking to see isn't all good times. We have a serious membership."
"We?" I repeated.
"The cult I belong to. We worship a very old god, one far older than any these pathetic established religions preach about," he told me.
"Sounds interesting. Any chance I can get a seat for the next sacrifice?" I joked.
He chuckled and I stiffened when I felt his hand settle on my leg. I had to hold back my natural reaction to beat the man out of his suit. "Well, we do get to bring a guest to the general meetings, and there's one tomorrow night if you're available."
"Now that sounds like a good time. One I wouldn't miss for the world," I cooed.
"Good. Until then, how about you and I get to know each other a little better?" he suggested.
I'd rather play in traffic I thought.
Focus Vincent advised.
I am focusing. I'm focusing on not trying to kill this lecherous leach I replied. I turned my full attention back to Boyd. "That sounds great. Let's start with food, I'm starving." I wasn't really hungry for anything because of my appetite for only blood or Vincent's life force, and was a little nervous when he ordered our meals. I hadn't eaten any food since before I got the ring stuck on my finger.
Any ideas how food will affect me? I asked the annoying voice in my head.
It won't.
Won't what?
It won't affect you.
So no puking all this stuff up?
No.
So where's the stuff going to go? Right through me?
It will be absorbed by your body, but won't provide you with any nutrients.
So like eating a school lunch?
I wouldn't know.
You lucky dog.
"You know, I haven't learned your name," Boyd mused. His curious hand slid up a little farther on my leg, and I had to repress a shudder.
"I'm-er, Myra Banks," I lied.
"A very good name," he complimented. There was an awkward pause between us. "Aren't you going to ask mine?" he wondered.
I jerked away from him. I'd forgotten I wasn't supposed to know him. "Oh, right. What's your name?"
"George Boyd. I'm a philanthropist by profession, but that's just to get the tax breaks." He thought the joke was so funny that he leaned back and burst out laughing. I was just glad his hand detached from me. He got control of himself, reattached his hand to me like a parasite, and looked me over with that same wild glint in his eye. "So what do you do for a living?"
"Oh, just this and that. Whatever buys these overpriced-"
Lovely Vincent scolded me.
"-these lovely dresses," I corrected myself.
"Anything?" Boyd asked me. That was not a question I wanted an old bachelor to be asking me.
"Short of selling myself on a street corner," I added for clarity.
His face drooped, but his hand and dirty mind weren't about to give up the hope of an exciting night filled with candles and Viagra. "So you're a companion for the rich?" he boldly wondered.
"Among others," I replied. Like the living-impaired.
Undead Vincent argued.
Unbelievably thin-skinned undead I shot back.
"I see. I think," Boyd commented. "Anyway, what do you say to finishing our meal here and heading back to-"
"-my bus stop. If I don't get home in a few hours my roommate will worry sick about me," I told him. And not be able to save me from trouble because the sun will be up at that hour.
That struck the final blow to Boyd's hopes of getting some
of my nice ass. "I see. I can drive you home, if you like," he gallantly offered.
"Oh, no, that's fine. I like to-um, to ride the bus."
No one likes to ride the bus Vincent spoke up.
Aren't you decomposing yet? I shot back.
A sly grin slipped onto Boyd's face. "I think I know you're game," he told me.
The bottom of my stomach dropped to the floor. "Y-you do?" I stuttered.
He scooted closer to me and I felt his hot breath on my cheeks. I couldn't hide the shudder of disgust, but he took it as a compliment because his grin got wider. "You like to keep an allure of mystery around you, don't you?"
I exhaled through my nose. My secret was safe. "Yeah, that's right. That's me. The mystery woman with a mystery past."
"Then you'll be the perfect addition to our little club. I'm sure even Leader Sins will be happy to see you."
"Leader Sins?" I repeated to keep up my dumb ploy. I just wished I was acting my lines more than bumbling through them.
"He's the leader of our small group. All new initiates have to speak with him before being admitted, but I'm sure you won't have any trouble with him."
I nervously laughed and tore the napkin in two. "I'm sure I won't," I replied through ground teeth.
"Ah, here comes our dinner."
Ask him the location of the cult center Vincent advised.
Don't you think he'd be smart enough not to tell me that? I pointed out. Our plates were set before us and Boyd had trouble cutting into his steak. He just couldn't get the hang of using a knife and fork at the same time. Never mind. "Um, Boyd, darling," I spoke up.
He looked up from his plate with a large piece of parsley hanging out of his mouth. "Yes, dearest?" the parsley-er, Boyd asked me.
"I was wondering where your little group meets. Some sort of hidden tower in the middle of the city or a creepy mansion out in the country?" I guessed.
He smiled and shook his head. "I can't answer that, not until you've been okayed through Leader Sins. Sorry."
I shrugged. "That's fine. I trust you."
The rest of that long, long evening was spent on Boyd's favorite subject: himself. He talked endlessly about his wealth, his stocks, his wealth, his cars, his wealth, his wine cellar, and did I mention his wealth? It was enough to drive a normal girl insane and sane again with boredom. Finally the clock struck a late hour and this Cinderella had to get out of there. "I think I have to leave," I interrupted another long dissertation on the benefits of being him.
