by Lisa Emme
I looked at it with a puzzled frown. It was a flyer advertising a new nightclub called Wishes. “No. I’ve never heard of it.” I pushed the flyer back to Tess.
“I think we should go check it out. There’s a two-for-one drink special every night this month,” she replied, tapping at the flyer.
“Sure, why not? What’s the big deal? Why are you acting weird about asking me to go to a club?” It wasn’t like we had never been out dancing together before, and my dating Nash hadn’t changed anything.
“It’s…well…”
Tess bit her lip and tapped the flyer again, this time pointing to the address listed at the bottom of the page. I stared at it a moment, trying to figure out why it sounded familiar.
“Omigod! Is that where I think it is?”
“If you’re thinking that it’s the same address as the warehouse where DiCastro tried to sacrifice you to the Egyptian god Osiris, then yes, it is.”
“They made it into a nightclub? Who? Who owns it?”
“I don’t know, but I heard from some of the guys at the gym that it’s been completely renovated and totally tricked out. You won’t even recognize it.” She clasped her hands under her chin and batted her best puppy-dog eyes at me. “Puh-lease, Harry? Can we go?”
I wrinkled my nose at the idea. I didn’t particularly have fond memories of the place. I still had the occasional nightmare about it. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it, okay?”
Satisfied with my answer, Tess nodded and hopped down off her stool. “Great. I’ve gotta go. I promised Uncle Rigo I would inventory the new crossbow supplies tonight.” She turned and waved on her way to the door. “Good luck with your dinner, Harry.” She gave me an impish grin. “Don’t forget the fire extinguisher is under the sink.”
“Oh, ha-ha,” I replied, flipping her the bird. “Just for that, I won’t save you any leftovers.”
“Promises, promises.” Tess grinned at me again and then hurried out the door.
“I’ll show them,” I muttered to myself. I was going to cook Nash dinner, and he was going to eat it whether he liked it or not.
Chapter Six
“I don’t like it,” Nash complained, leaning forward to grab his beer off the coffee table. He took a swig and then reached for another slice of pizza.
We were eating pizza and not the easy chicken and rice due to a small technical difficulty I had with the oven. It turns out that if you’re running late, doubling the oven temperature does not actually cut the cooking time in half. Who knew?
On the plus side, my kitchen catastrophe meant we ordered a pepperoni and sausage pie from Minetti’s, and since Mama Minetti thought I looked “to-ah skeeny”, she had sent a double order of tiramisu as well. It was no chocolate cassata, but nothing to sneeze at either.
The apartment still smelled like burnt rice and chicken, despite having every window open. I shivered, and only partly because of the cold, night air. “I don’t either, but what can I do? The guy just showed up at the coffee shop. Salvador referred him.”
Nash grumbled again at Salvador’s name. “What was he thinking?”
“Who knows? It’s probably just another one of his tests.”
“Can you do it?”
I thought about the wolf zombies I had raised six weeks earlier when the psychotic Elf prince, Elian Navarre, had hunted Nash and me through the forest, and then nodded. “Yeah, I think so. The only thing I’m worried about is making sure I can control it and keep everyone safe.”
“I should be there when you do it. Isaac too.”
I nodded absently and snuggled up to Nash. It gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling knowing he was looking out for me but still willing to let me be myself. I snuck my hand under his shirt, enjoying the heat coming off his body as I trailed my fingers up and down his torso. “So, are you ready for dessert, or…” I waggled my eyebrows at him, “…dessert?”
Nash grabbed my hand, and I squeaked in surprise as I found myself lifted up to straddle him. His hands tugged at my shirt, yanking it out from where it was tucked into my jeans. “Mmmm, let’s have dessert first.” He pulled me down with a growl and our mouths connected just as his cellphone trilled.
“Crap! I suppose you have to get that.” I made a pouty face as I slid off his lap.
Nash grabbed his phone, punching his finger at it. “Yeah, Nash. Speak.” As he listened to the voice on the other end—I was guessing it was his partner, Dev—he slowly rose to his feet and raked a hand through his hair. Oh no. That wasn’t a good sign. It appeared our date had come to an end.
***
The next few days passed by uneventfully, at least for me. Nash and Dev, however, were practically run off their feet as one norm after another seemed to go psycho, apparently hell-bent on wreaking as much havoc as possible.
First there was the seventy-five-year-old woman who went ballistic when she didn’t win at seniors’ bingo night. She had attacked the man calling the game, beating him senseless with the bingo ball cage. She had then proceeded to chase all her fellow bingo players around the hall (not as hard as it sounds since most either used a walker or a cane), tackling them and then dabbing them all over with the multicoloured bingo dabbers while laughing hysterically. When the police finally arrived, she was sitting under a table humming to herself and tearing the lids off the dabbers so she could drink the liquid ink. The responding officers had understandably been less than worried about the near catatonic woman. That is until she wrestled one of them to the ground, pulling his side arm from the holster and wildly opening fire on the room. She had managed to shoot both officers and three of the cane-and-walker crowd—luckily all superficial wounds—before putting the gun to her chest and blowing a hole through her heart.
The second incident was just as bizarre. A salesman at a local car dealership inexplicably went nuts, stripping off his clothes and running around the dealership. It all seemed rather harmless until he dumped several gallons of motor oil on himself, jumped into one of the showroom cars and fired it up, driving it through the large plate-glass window. He then careened through the lot, crashing into one new car after another like he was playing bumper cars or smash-up derby. When the police arrived, they managed to hem his car in, but before they could apprehend him, he slid out of the car and across the hood (the motor oil making him particularly slippery), and made a dash for the busy street. The driver of the bus that flattened him like a pancake, didn’t even have time to slam on the brakes when the salesman threw himself in front of the hurtling vehicle.
With three bizarre incidents involving norms going homicidally, or at least suicidally, loopy, it was hard not to jump to the conclusion that we had some sort of epidemic on our hands. It was also hard not to assume, at least for those in the know, that a supernatural influence could be at play. I was discussing just that possibility with Isaac while he puttered around my kitchen. After my easy chicken and rice incident, I had been banned from cooking until Isaac could give me a few basic lessons, so he was making dinner.
“Do you think it could be some sort of mind control?” I asked, helping myself to another scoop of his homemade guacamole. It was unbelievably good with chunks of avocado, onion and tomato, and plenty of garlic to give it some kick—that whole vampires-hate-garlic thing is hogwash. He had even made his own crispy tortilla chips to go with it. What can I say? There are benefits to knowing a foodie who loves to cook.
Isaac placed a long salmon fillet on a cedar plank skin-side down and then brushed it with sauce. We were having one of my favourites, grilled salmon with chili glaze and lime crème fraȋche.
“That is a possibility, I suppose, although the only known supernatural in the area with the ability to do such a thing on that kind of scale is currently incapacitated.” Isaac arched an eyebrow at me, and I shuddered, thinking about Juan Carlo.
“It just seems like too much of a coincidence for there not to be a supe involved. They’ve already ruled out hallucinogenic drugs. The tests all came back clean. Nas
h and Dev are really getting pressure from higher up to put a stop to it all.” I grabbed the pitcher of margaritas and topped mine up. Isaac had a real theme going tonight. Tess was going to be sorry she had to work late and miss out. “Nash must be getting desperate for answers because he even asked me to go to the funeral for the bingo lady to see if I might be able to find something out.” And you know Nash must be desperate if he was asking me to poke my nose into things.
“Yes, well…” Isaac cleared his throat. “Speaking of the detective, there is a topic that I wish to discuss to further your vampiric education.”
Isaac was my guru when it came to all things vampire. Seeing as how I had been kept in the dark about my parentage for most of my life, I was embarrassingly lacking when it came to knowledge about my own kind. “Sure,” I replied. “Shoot.”
Isaac finished garnishing the salmon with lime slices and then set the plank aside, ready to go on the grill. “As you know from our conversation the other day, I am aware that you and Cian enjoy a sexual relationship—”
“Omigod! Stop right there.” I held up my hands as if warding him off. “We are not going to talk about my sex life.” I frowned at him. “Besides, you’re a little late for the birds-and-the-bees talk, don’t you think?”
Isaac gave me a long suffering look. “I’m sure you are more than capable of handling the mechanics of your relationship or any contraceptive issues you might have. But, as I was saying, I am aware that you enjoy a sexual relationship that involves the sharing of blood.”
Heat rushed to my face. While it was true there had been several times where, in the moment, I had taken Nash’s blood, it wasn’t something I wanted to think too closely about. The experience was beyond anything either of us had ever felt. Nash got off on it as much as I did, his blood strengthening our mate connection to the point where we were in each other’s mind, sharing each other’s sensations. It had led to some mind-blowing orgasms. Not that I had any intention of telling Isaac that.
“There is nothing for you to be embarrassed about,” Isaac continued, ignoring my discomfort. “It is a perfectly natural instinct due to your heritage. In fact, the vampire’s ability to feed during sex and provide his or her donor with an extraordinary sexual experience is key to our species’ survival.”
“Great. So I’m not a freak. Can we change the subject now?” I gulped the last half of my margarita and then poured another.
“No.” Isaac folded his arms over his Oh Crêpe apron. “I would be remiss in your education if we didn’t go over a few…safety precautions.” He crossed the kitchen to pull something out of the breast pocket of the suit jacket he had left hanging over the back of a chair and handed it to me.
I took it hesitantly. It was a glossy, trifold pamphlet with The Human Circulatory System written on the front. “You have a brochure?” I gaped at him.
Isaac shrugged, gesturing for me to take a look. Inside, a full-length colour depiction of the human body with all its arteries (in red) and veins (in blue) was laid out and labelled. I flipped the page over to glance at the back. There was a small white rectangle at the bottom where Riverton Blood Services and an address had been stamped. The rest of the page was taken up by what appeared to be a menu of sorts, listing blood type and price per litre. The strangest part was the words We Deliver! written in—what else?—blood-red letters across the top.
“Is this the equivalent of a vampire takeout menu?” I snorted, feeling a little less embarrassed.
“While it is preferable to use a live donor, in a pinch, a blood bank can be a feasible alternative. As you are probably aware, the life essence found in a being’s blood slowly dissipates once that blood has been spilled. As a result, you require a larger quantity of bagged blood than you would from a fresh meal.”
Ewww, he’d just referred to Nash as a meal.
“Of course, as a dhamphir, the taking of blood is not yet a necessity for you. However, over time, as your powers continue to grow, you will find the lure much harder to resist.” Isaac paused as I squirmed in my chair. “It is nothing you should feel uncomfortable about.” He gave me a pointed look, took the pamphlet from my hand and opened it fully, laying it flat on the counter. “What we need to discuss are the safe places on a human from which to feed.”
I did a face-palm, shaking my head. My life had become nothing if not entertaining. If you had told me six months ago that I would be sitting in my kitchen getting an anatomy lesson from a vampire, I would have said you were crazy.
“Now, the first thing you need to remember is to always select a vein rather than an artery. I’m sure you can ascertain why.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s so I don’t use Nash to recreate a Jackson Pollock on the nearest wall.”
“Correct. The velocity of blood flow through a punctured artery would result in probable death for your meal.” He looked pensive for a moment. “Although, with your penchant for werewolves, there is a greater chance that they could survive a puncture to a major artery.”
“My penchant for werewolves? There’s just one werewolf.” And I was pretty sure I was in love with him, although I wasn’t ready to admit that aloud to anyone.
“As I was saying, avoid the arteries and instead choose the veins. There are several excellent locations on the body that lend themselves to both the practical as well as the sensual considerations.” He pointed to the diagram in front of us and ticked locations off. “In the neck you will find the external jugular. At the collarbone, the subclavian is also a safe choice. Then there are the extremities. The femoral vein in particular can be quite erotic due to its proximity to certain regions of the body. And, of course, you have already discovered the radial vein at the wrist.”
I felt my face flush again. He was referring to where I had first bitten Nash. It was a totally in-the-moment thing, although Nash had known what I had intended and encouraged me. His blood had called out to me, and I had responded. The result had been two small scars on his wrist.
“So how come the bite I gave Nash didn’t heal completely?” Usually, when a vampire licks the wound made during a blood exchange, the magic that is vampire spit instantly heals it. For some reason the bite I had given Nash had left a permanent mark. That it had become an erogenous zone for Nash like his mate mark at the base of my neck was for me, was just a lucky turn of events. The spot was so sensitive, Nash had taken to wearing a leather bracer on his wrist to protect it.
Isaac gave another of his annoying Gallic shrugs. “This I do not know. It could be as your powers are so newly acquired combined with your half-vampire status, your saliva does not contain enough of the component that gives it the ability to heal. Or, it could be something related to your mating with Cian. He did, after all, mark you as well.”
Nash had said pretty much the same thing. “So are we finished then?” I couldn’t keep my voice from sounding grouchy. Aunt Flo had arrived for her monthly visit, and talking about my sex life with Isaac was making me cranky.
Isaac grabbed the salmon plank and moved towards the stairs. He’d have to go up to the roof to use the grill. “Yes. You are, as they say, off the hook.” He looked back at me and then pointed to a bag of basmati rice sitting on the counter top. “Your first cooking lesson is in reading and following the instructions exactly. If you begin now, the rice should be ready when the salmon is done.” He started to walk away, but then turned back again, taking a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me thoughtfully. “Oh, and, Harry, you should probably suggest to the Magister that you take this week’s meeting somewhere other than Dante’s.”
“Not necessary. I’ve already been informed that we will be dining at Cirque.” With Tomas—another reason I was cranky.
With a nod, Isaac turned and left the kitchen. It wasn’t until a full minute later when it dawned on me. Did he just sniff me and imply that he knew it was that time of the month? Eww!
***
After dinner (which was delicious and I d
idn’t even screw up the rice) Isaac disappeared to spend some quality time with Christina, Nash’s sister. Christina was also a foodie, and although they never came right out and said it, it was pretty clear they were doing more than just trading recipes.
Nash was working on yet another case involving an HRN—a homicidally rampaging norm—so I didn’t expect he’d show up until the middle of the night, if at all. From what I gathered on the news, this time the incident had gone down at a Gas & Shop. A man had apparently stopped to get gas. While his car was filling, he entered the store and started stuffing his face with junk food he hadn’t paid for yet. When the clerk confronted him, the man ran wild up and down the aisles, tearing things off the shelves before bolting from the store, grabbing the gas pump from his car and dousing himself with gasoline. Witnesses said he laughed gleefully and then pulled a lighter from his pocket and set himself on fire. Because he had been standing right next to his car with the gas tank open, the flames had jumped, causing his car to explode as well. This set off a chain reaction, taking several more cars with it. By the time the fire department arrived the entire gas station was in flames, and the whole block had to be evacuated.
With Isaac out and both Nash and Tess working, I was feeling at loose ends, so I went downstairs to hang out at the coffee shop. Both Hector and Barbie were working out front, while Hilde was busy baking up a storm in the kitchen. I really liked Hilde. She was a character. She appeared to be a typical sixteen-or seventeen-year-old Goth chick—dressed in black with an ear full of hoops from lobe to helix and a spiky mop of hair dyed a fiery red—but then you looked into her eyes and saw the old soul starring back. I wasn’t sure how old Hilde was, younger than Isaac for sure, but not by much.
At first our relationship had been kind of strained and awkward. I admit it was mostly my fault. I just didn’t know how to deal with the idea that she was bound to me like Isaac was. Isaac had been an accident, but Hilde had been on purpose at her request, and she looked at me like I was some sort of saviour, her gratitude and devotion making me extremely uncomfortable. I think Isaac must have finally taken her aside and spoken to her because eventually she toned down her hero-worship towards me, and we settled into a much easier friendship. She was a real asset to the bakery side of the coffee shop. Boy, could she bake. And if she went out of her way to make sure there were always plenty of my favourites, I wasn’t going to complain.
