“What did they say, exactly?” Roman glanced around the club and I followed his gaze. The Utopia was unlike most vamp clubs, decked out in vivid crimson, green, gold, and black. The setup reminded me of a tropical lounge, with lush ferns and sprawling ivies spilling over the edge of built-in flower boxes. Booths, a muted crimson, were smooth and rounded, curving around dark walnut tables polished to a high sheen. The floor was a tiled linoleum, a black and white speckled pattern. There were no overwhelming drapes anywhere like in some vamp clubs, no highly sexual statues, or macabre images. For the most part, it could have been any upscale chic bar.
Shikra squinted. “Let me try to remember the exact words.” After a moment, she shrugged. “He—or she, I have no clue why but I want to say it was a he . . . he said ‘Better count your hours, blood sucker, because I’m going to send your fucking club up into flames.’ And then he paused. That’s when I asked what the hell was going on. He hung up.” She shivered, rubbing her arms. Vamps didn’t feel the cold much, but I knew it wasn’t a chill hitting her.
I closed my eyes. That almost mirrored to the exact word what my caller had said. The only difference had been, “Better count your hours, blood sucker, because I’m going to take you and your fucking bar down so hard you’ll never get up.”
That was all she could remember. Roman told her to put a recorder on the club phone and see if she could capture the message if the freak called back, and then she went to print out a copy of the letter for me.
As we headed out, I glanced back at the Utopia. “I hope it’s just somebody’s bad idea of a practical joke.” But as I stared at the neon sign, I kept seeing the flames engulfing the Wayfarer. “I hope to hell that’s all it is.”
Roman walked me to my car. I stood by the Jag, staring into the night. “I’ll drop by Erin’s and ask her about the job opportunity. I’ll call or have her call you tomorrow night.” And then, Roman drew me in for a quick kiss. His bodyguards were in the background, studiously ignoring us as his hands slipped over my body, cupping my butt. I moaned into his mouth, then pulled away.
“Night doll,” he whispered, then ushered me into my car, shutting the door when I was in. As I drove off, he stood there, one hand raised, watching me go.
• • •
I stopped by Sassy Branson’s old mansion—which was now both the headquarters for the Seattle Vampire Nexus, and Vampires Anonymous. Located on two acres, the estate was gorgeous and the mansion spacious. I stopped at the gate to show my ID. When Sassy had been alive, there had been a simple intercom system, but back then, nobody outside the vampire community knew she was a vamp, and she hadn’t been all that nervous. Now, there was good reason to post armed guards around the perimeter, given the hate groups that were alive and thriving.
The guards told me that Erin was out for the evening—she was off to a movie with friends, so I left a message for her to call me when she got home, and pulled out of the driveway.
I glanced at the clock. Ten o’clock. It felt odd not be down at the Wayfarer at this time. I told myself not to, but I couldn’t help it. I drove by the ruins of my bar and parked outside the burned out shell. Slowly, after a moment, I got out of the car and picked my way through the rubble, which still hadn’t been cleaned up, and entered the hollow husk of the building. The sky had clouded over and the scent of rain hung heavy.
As I stood on the threshold of what had been my bar, my stomach lurched. The Wayfarer had become more than a business to me. It had become a friend. And now, that friend was as dead as Chrysandra. I started to turn away when I thought I saw something in the corner. I spun around, ready to defend myself, but there, in the murky pile of sodden wood and plaster, hovered a faint white light. I could swear a face stared at me from the mist, but then it vanished as lightning crashed overhead and the rain began to pound down in a steady stream. I gave one last glance in the corner, but now there was nothing there. Heading back to my car, I wondered if it had been Chrysandra’s spirit—was she out wandering? Or one of the others who had died? Feeling numb again, and weary, I climbed back in my Jag and headed for home.
The road out to Belles-Faire was slick, the water beading across it as the steady rain became a downpour. My wipers were going full steam and I was doing my best to see between the streams of water racing down my windshield. As I neared the turn that would take me to our house, a blur emerged at top speed from one of the driveways.
Fuck! Another car!
I slammed on the brakes and the Jag began to spin. As I drove into the skid, trying to regain control, the other car loomed large and I realized I was headed straight for it. Holy fuck, this was bad—this was so bad. I considered jumping from the car—I could do it and live, but then my Jag would become a missile bearing down on the incoming vehicle without any constraint.
So I did what I could. Muscles and reflexes took over as I attempted to gain control of the spinning car. Closer . . . closer, the other car was in front of me now and also skidding into circles. And then, everything blurred as my Jag carried me into a crazy dance directly into the other car’s embrace.
The crash was surprisingly muffled, but then a loud shriek filled the air as metal slid along metal and my airbag deployed. It was like being hit with a sledge hammer. As my Jag rolled to a stop, I realized that I was still sitting there, still intact. Instinct took over—and I forced my hands to unbuckle my seat belt, then struggled to open the door. I half climbed, half fell out of my car, stumbling out of the way. I’d seen too many movies where the cars went up in flames, but so far that didn’t seem to be happening. After a moment when there didn’t seem to be any flames, I patted myself down. I was okay. Jarred but all right. I turned my attention to the other car.
The heel on my boot was broken, so I limped over and yanked open the driver door, which was a mangled mess. My strength allowed me to pry it loose, though. With growing relief, I saw that the only occupant in the car seemed to be the driver—a youngish woman. But she looked unconscious, and I could only pray that she wasn’t dead.
Autumn Whispers (An Otherworld Novel) Page 33
