by Mari Mancusi
While the cross-walking thing sounds pretty cool (how do they keep their feet from catching fire?) I decide my best bet to find Magnus and Jane is at the round table. I know the unlicensed coven thing is a hot issue with my boyfriend after the evil Maverick attempted to poison his coven last year. Jane would probably be decidedly less interested, but I’m sure she’s glued to Magnus’s side regardless.
I head down the hallway to Room 23B, where the round table is happening. Luckily, they’ve left the meeting room door ajar, allowing me to peek inside without making my presence known. Sure enough, Magnus is there, dressed in a very delectable black suit, his long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. At his right sits Jane, looking more than a little bored. Gone are her trashy clothes—today she looks like she stepped right out of a Banana Republic window display. Her badly dyed red hair is pulled back into a severe bun and her formerly dangly disco ball earrings have been replaced by sensible studs. She looks the part of an Oxford-educated, political mastermind, blood-mate-to-be, which only serves to annoy me further.
I watch as she whispers something in my boyfriend’s ear and he laughs. Laughs! As if he’s having a great time. A great time without me. A great time without me with a girl who isn’t supposed to take my place. My heart aches as I watch her paw at his shoulder with those fake fingernails of hers. (The pink bats are long gone, replaced by a sensible French manicure.) It takes everything inside of me not to barge into the room and claw her throat out for touching my boyfriend like that. Of course he’s not guiltless either—allowing her to do it, thinking I’m safe and sound back in suburban Massachusetts and won’t ever know.
“Excuse me?” She raises a hand. The round table leader gestures for her to speak. “Um, yeah,” she says. “I was just, um, wondering why we don’t legalize all the unlicensed covens? I mean, they’re already here, after all.”
“Maybe you’ve never seen an unlicensed coven,” sniffs a tuxedoed vampire from across the table. “Their ways can be barbaric. They kill dogs, cats, children, all to feed their bloodlust. By accepting them into our midst, we’d be condoning that sort of behavior, which we would never do.”
“Indeed,” adds a woman with bright red lipstick and jet-black hair to his left. “What would Slayer Inc. do if they learned we allowed such vampires into our inner circles? They’d go on the offensive and our tenuous peace would be broken forever. I don’t think anyone here wants that.”
Jane frowns. “You’re totally generalizing,” she says. “Just because they’re unlicensed doesn’t mean they’re all a bunch of child chompers. They may simply be vamps, unable to buy their way into a coven, bonding together for safety purposes.”
“We also don’t need to take on a bunch of charity case vampires,” interrupts tuxedo vamp haughtily. “We have enough problems without instating a welfare system within the consortium.”
A bunch of the vampires at the table titter. I smile. Take that, Jane! No one cares about your opinion.
“Actually Jane has a point,” Magnus interrupts.
Except evidently my boyfriend, that is. Sigh.
All eyes are now on Magnus. He clears his throat and then speaks. “I recently allowed a group of unlicensed vampires to apply to become members of my coven,” he explains. “They had been working as biters at the illegal Blood Bar downtown—abused by their tyrant employer. They were extremely grateful for the chance to join a coven and, I have to say, have adjusted very well to coven life. In fact, I’ve put one of them, a former bouncer named Francis, in charge of security and he does a fantastic job.” He looks at Jane and smiles. (Yes, smiles! Like he’s giving her all the credit for this move, when I know very well it was Rayne and Jareth who talked him into doing the whole open-door policy thing to begin with.) “There is no segregation at the Blood Coven and we like it that way.”
I feel a sickening jealousy crush down on me at his careless use of the word “we” when referring to the boyfriend-stealing bitch beside him. How dare he refer to himself and Jane as a “we”—that’s our pronoun. I’m so mad it’s all I can do to keep from falling over. (Though it’s a distinct possibility this is partially due to the seven-inch platform stripper shoes I’m currently wearing rather than simply my fury.)
The vampires at the table clap respectfully as Magnus yields the floor. A vote is called for, to determine whether the consortium should rule on unlicensed vamps or leave it up to the individual covens. Magnus and Jane smile at one another; they know they’ve won.
And I suddenly realize I’m the one who’s lost. What am I even doing here in Vegas, trying to prove some ridiculous conspiracy theory based entirely on some random college trivia I found off Wikipedia? I mean, what if I’m wrong? What if she actually is who she’s claiming to be—a Rhodes scholar, a political mastermind, a worthy leader looking only to protect and serve the vampires who will fall under her jurisdiction as co-master of the Blood Coven. Why, her expertise could become a real asset to the coven and help them rise to power and wealth beyond imagination, just as Magnus has dreamed of since taking over. Who am I to selfishly try to sabotage all of that goodness simply because I can’t bear to see my boyfriend bonded for eternity to another woman?
I slump into a nearby armchair, discouraged and depressed. In a way I should be happy, right? I mean, it’s not like I want the Blood Coven to be infiltrated by an evil imposter vampire set on its destruction or anything. So if Jane’s on the up and up, that’s a good thing. Sort of. Okay, not really. God, is all of this really just due to plain and simple ugly jealousy on my part? Have I jumped to ridiculous conclusions simply because I can’t deal with the idea of my boyfriend hooking up with someone other than me? After all, the Blood Coven is a highly sophisticated, highly technological organization. Surely, they would have checked out Jane before selecting her and checked her out well. Put her through DNA testing, blood testing, a three-month training course—just like Rayne had to do when she first got certified—before they’d match her up with a blood mate.
The last thing they needed was some stupid high school kid jumping in with her own investigation. What did I think I’d find that they couldn’t?
I’m feeling majorly sorry for myself at this point and decide maybe I’ll go find Rayne and tell her we should just head home to Massachusetts. I don’t belong here in Vegas and, really, there’s nothing left for me to do. Dad’s not even here to make sticking around half worthwhile.
But just as I’m about to punch in my sister’s number on my cell, the meeting room door is pushed open and Jane slips out of the room. She either doesn’t see me or doesn’t recognize me in my showgirl gear as she walks past me, down the red-carpeted hallway in expensive-looking heels. I watch her for a moment, debating what I should do.
Half of me says I need to just look the other way. Forget about her. Go home. Stop wasting time. But the other half, a more curiosity-killed-the-cat half, is telling me I need to follow her to see where she goes.
She turns the corner. Oh what the heck. I rise to my feet. I might as well just follow her one time. Prove to myself that she’s just headed to the ladies’ room and that there’s really, truly nothing nefarious going on here at the consortium conference.
She has a good head start and I’m admittedly more than a bit slow on my platform shoes, so by the time I peer around the corner, Jane’s already pretty far ahead of me. And way past the bathroom, I note. So where is she going? She stops, leaning back on her heels, then turns around. I duck behind the corner, praying she didn’t see me. When I peek back around, a man has approached our Jane. Dressed all in black, he looks like a cowboy from the Old West, complete with ten-gallon hat and a shiny pair of boots. Oh, and did I mention he’s gotta be almost seven feet tall?
He nods to Jane, tipping his hat and says something softly. Damn it, if only I still had that vampire super hearing I used to have when I was turning into a vampire last May. Or at least the Whisper 2000 hearing device I saw on TV. My pathetic human ears are completely useless right no
w and I can’t hear a thing Jane’s saying to the cowboy. And there’s no way to get closer without being spotted and risk being identified, even with my costume.
All I can do is try to decipher her body language; she’s gesturing wildly and alternating between shaking and nodding her head. Whatever she’s saying, she’s definitely adamant about it, that’s for sure.
The conversation goes on for a few more minutes and then, to my surprise, cowboy man leans down and plants a kiss right smack on Jane’s lips. Not a brotherly one either.
Okay, I’m so confused. Jane has a boyfriend? A boyfriend in Vegas? If she has her own boyfriend why has she been all over mine? Unless, of course, this guy—her boyfriend—is in on her whole evil plan. Maybe she’s just pretending to be all flirty with Magnus so he’ll let his guard down, all while she feeds top-secret coven information to her cowboy lover.
Jane pushes him away and wags her finger at him. This time I can make out her scolding him. “Try to at least be a little subtle,” she says. “After all, we don’t want my little blood-mate-to-be catching us out here.”
Okay then. That means this dude knows about vampires. Not only about vampires, but my vampire in particular. My theory of him being in on her plot is getting more likely by the moment.
Cowboy Man rolls his eyes. “Oh fine,” he says. “Good luck, babe. I’ll see you later tonight.”
She shrugs. “We’ll see if I can break away,” she says. “After all, Magnus needs a lot of attention. If you know what I mean.” She gives him a sly wink and he laughs appreciatively.
I, on the other hand, bristle, not liking for one moment the idea of her giving “attention” to my boyfriend. Especially not the kind of attention one would normally describe with a sly wink.
The two part ways, Jane walking right past me on her way back to the meeting room. (Thank goodness for my disguise!) The cowboy headed in the exact opposite direction, down the escalator toward the convention exit.
For a moment I find myself torn. Should I follow Jane? Make sure the attention she gives Magnus is strictly G-rated? Or should I see where her little friend is going? Try to figure out who he is and if his identity might give me some clue as to what she’s up to?
What would a slayer do?
In the end, I force myself to the escalators to follow the cowboy. It seems like the most logical, big-picture thing to do. After all, if I can’t figure out how to prove Jane is an evil plant set on the coven’s destruction before the blood mate ceremony Friday night, she’ll have an eternity of opportunities to give my boyfriend any kind of “attention” she feels like giving. (Even the NC-17 kind.)
I trail behind as Cowboy exits the Mandalay and slips into a cab. Realizing this may be my once-in-a-lifetime chance to do what they always do in the movies, I jump in the taxi behind him and cry, “Follow that cab!” to the driver. Unfortunately the whole thing is rather anticlimactic when we pull out of the hotel driveway and get stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. A snail could have given chase just as easily. (And for a lot cheaper, judging from the meter ticking upward.) Oh well.
We crawl up the Strip, past the Luxor’s Sphinx and the Excalibur’s castle. We keep going past the New York roller coaster and the waterworks of the Bellagio and are still trailing him past the Stratosphere tower—at the extreme northern end of the Strip. Where is this guy going, anyway? Finally, after about an hour of an extremely slow chase, the guy’s cab pulls off the road, into the circular driveway of a small hotel, very off Strip. Its half burnt-out neon sign identifies it only as THE SUN and its big advertised feature is AC and telephone. Not exactly high-roller digs for Mr. Cowboy. I pay my own cabbie and wait a moment before stepping out and following him inside.
The Hotel Sun is like the anti-Mandalay Bay. Whereas Mandalay Bay has a lush, youthful vibe, complete with waterfalls, tropical foliage, and exotic architecture, the Sun is more the type of casino you go to right before you die. Its décor certainly hasn’t been updated since the seventies—orange and green carpet, old-fashioned crank slot machines that actually spit out real quarters. (It was a shock to me when I first got to Vegas to find out they did away with those at the regular casinos and that now all you get when you win is a slip of paper you have to go cash in, rather than a cup full of cash. Kind of sad if you ask me.) A handful of dumpy-looking, poorly dressed old people sit listlessly in front of the machines, coins in hand, feeding the beast and praying to hit those lucky sevens so they can go back downtown and gamble in style. Judging from the number of junk-filled shopping carts parked outside, I’m guessing more than a few of them are homeless.
But Cowboy doesn’t stop to gamble; he heads straight to the back of the casino, his long strides hard for me to keep up with. As I get closer, I realize there’s actually a theater in the back of the hotel, though who the heck would come all the way up here to see a show, I have no idea. But sure enough, the faded marquee advertises a play—a vampire revue, nonetheless. The kind of song-and-dance number where actors dress up as creatures of the night to entertain any tourists who might need a break from the craps table.
I approach the theater cautiously. At this point I’ve lost sight of Cowboy. Did he go inside? I guess he must have, seeing as there’s nothing else back here. Now what? Did I come all this way just to meet with a dead end?
“Looking to try out? You’re early. Auditions aren’t until tomorrow.”
My heart leaps to my throat at the voice behind me. I whirl around, then let out a sigh of relief as I realize it’s not Cowboy Man, snuck up behind me, ready to kill me and dismember me and feed my bones to the vultures. Rather the voice belongs to a boy who couldn’t be much older than me, leaning casually against the wall, giving me a curious once-over. He’s super cute—though a bit on the emo side—with black razor-cut hair falling into intense green eyes, rimmed with guy-liner. He’s wearing a Straylight Run black hoodie, a pair of skin-tight black jeans plastered to his skinny legs. On his feet are the requisite black Converse and a pair of small silver hoops are threaded through his ears.
“Huh?” I say, then remember what I’m currently wearing. He probably thinks I’m some wannabe showgirl, down on her luck, hoping for a gig. I can feel my face heat, wishing I’d had time to change back into my normal clothes and pull the ridiculous wig off my head. “Oh, no, I’m just thinking about . . . um . . . going to the show. It looks cool.”
He chuckles. “It’s not, actually. Trust me. And even if you were some kind of masochist who still wanted to see it anyway, you can’t. At least not until we replace our leading lady.” I realize, suddenly, that he must be one of the actors. He sighs “We are currently Mina-less here at the Sun Theater ‘Dracula Revue.’”
“Mina-less?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a playbill and hands it to me. I thumb through it, checking out the photos and bios of the actors in the play. Sure enough, Emo Boy is featured as one of the actors, and there’s Dracula, played by Cowboy Man, a few random actors, then Mina, Dracula’s girlfriend . . .
. . . played by a girl who looks a hell of a lot like our Jane.
I do a double take and it’s almost enough to make me trip over my platform shoes all over again. The photo is unmistakably her. But the name listed below the photo is not Jane. It’s a girl named Sasha.
I look up. “Sasha?” I say, realizing my voice is trembling.
The boy nods. “Yup. Girl just up and left the show a few days ago without so much as a good-bye text and we haven’t seen her since. The next show’s supposed to be on Saturday night and we still don’t have a replacement. Kind of getting desperate, let me tell you. In fact, I bet Cornelius would hire just about anyone who was to apply, if you catch my drift.” He winks at me, then adds, “And please do. Because we get paid by the show here and I’m completely broke. If we don’t do Saturday’s performance I have no idea how I’ll come up with my rent money.”
I nod vacantly, my head positively spinning. Jane was here a few days ago, working as an actor fo
r a cheesy, off-Strip Vegas vampire revue? Oxford-educated, Rhodes scholar Jane? It didn’t make any sense. But what other explanation was there? She’d been talking to Cowboy Man and he’d led me here. And the photo in the playbill is unmistakably her.
Something is definitely rotten in Vegas.
“I’m Sunny,” I introduce myself to Emo Boy. I pull off my wig and hold out my hand. He shakes it with a firm grip. I notice his fingernails are painted black. Rayne would like that. Actually I don’t mind it either. For some reason it works on him.
“I’m Jayden,” he says. “One of the vampires here.”
I drop his hand like a hot potato.
He laughs. “An actor playing a vampire, that is.” He smiles at me, a friendly, infectious grin. “Don’t worry, there are no such things as vampires outside of popular teen girl books and silly Vegas revues.”
If only he knew. “I suppose not.” I smile back. “Which is probably for the best. Don’t want you to be all trying to suck my blood or something.”
Jayden starts to reply, but at that moment his pocket starts beeping. He pulls his cell out and scans the screen. “Sorry,” he says, looking back up at me. “Looks like Cornelius just arrived and wants to start rehearsal. I’ve got to get inside.” He sounds almost reluctant and suddenly I realize I’m wishing I could talk to him longer as well. “It was nice to meet you. Hopefully we’ll have a show for you to catch on Saturday.”
He starts toward the door, but I stop him. “Hey, can I keep this playbill?” I ask. After all, this is proof of Jane’s double life. I need to show it to Rayne. “You know, in case I want to . . . come back and audition tomorrow? This way I’ll have all the information.”
He shrugs. “Sure, no problem. We have to print new ones anyway when we get our new Mina. If we get her.” He sighs deeply. “Please consider auditioning,” he says. “You’d be perfect for the role.”
