by Jenna Barwin
“When we’re done with your car, we’ll have it delivered to your house,” she told him.
He nodded, and she watched him hike back to the guard gate. One of their own kind was behind this, or word of their existence had finally escaped to the world beyond their walls. To date, none had figured out the true nature of Sierra Escondida, although other vampire communities had been attacked by self-proclaimed hunters of her people.
“Fucking bigots,” she mumbled. She said nothing of her suspicions when her officers returned empty-handed. Better to keep her mouth shut until she had an idea of who or what was behind this.
Chapter 4
New York JFK Airport—two days later
Cerissa hated traveling on conventional airlines, particularly cross-country flights. Left to her own devices, she would have chosen different means, but her arrival had to be obvious and easily traceable, and business class was too expensive on her budget. When the large, muscular man in the aisle seat staked out the shared armrest, she scrunched away as far as her tiny middle seat allowed.
Nap time. She leaned against the headrest flap and closed her eyes when the plane’s wheels left the tarmac. After a two-day frenzy of last-minute preparations for her trip to Sierra Escondida, she needed sleep, badly.
The sound of a crying baby woke her. Five minutes later, the crying was shrill enough to pierce eardrums.
“If you don’t shut that thing up, I will,” a male yelled from behind her.
Cerissa unbuckled her seatbelt. “Excuse me,” she said to the muscled man beside her, who stepped into the aisle and let her slide past him. The cries weren’t hard to follow. The mother sat two rows from the back in an aisle seat, the baby in her arms red-faced and opening its mouth to let another one rip.
A curly-haired man sat in the row behind the mother. “Get that brat outta here,” he said. It was the same voice that made the earlier threat.
Cerissa stopped in the aisle. “I’m a doctor. Can I help?”
The mother, who looked young and scared, clutched tighter to her baby. Another bloodcurdling yell ensued.
Cerissa touched the mother’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Just let me check him out.”
“Her,” the mother said, a look of hope invading her stressed-out eyes. She lifted the baby, offering the squirming bundle to Cerissa.
She cuddled the child in her arms. The baby stopped crying, her eyes checking out the change in who held her, before screwing up her face again for another round.
The curly-haired man stood up, hunched over to avoid the overhead compartment. “Screw this. Let me out.”
With her free hand, Cerissa stepped forward and reached for Curly’s shoulder, directing her aura into him. “Please sit down.”
Curly sat down, and the baby let out another yell. Curly glanced up at Cerissa, his face relaxing, the anger leaving his eyes. “Hey, beautiful, you want to join the mile-high club?”
Ah-oh. Too much aura. Ten years into adulthood, she still hadn’t mastered the art of subtle influence, especially when faced with an angry person. Direct touch only made it worse. Another reason not to use her aura once her mission on the Hill began.
She ignored Curly and whispered to the baby a soft “Shhh.” To the mother, she said, “Do you have a burp rag?”
The woman handed her a cloth, which Cerissa draped over her silk blouse, and gently rolled the baby to her shoulder, humming a lullaby. The baby stopped mid-screech to listen to her song. A few gentle taps later, the baby burped, sending a small stream of spit-up onto the rag.
Cuddled close to her face, the baby smelled of warm baby powder and sour milk. “When was the last time she fed?”
The mother held up a small bottle. “I was trying to feed her, but she’s not used to the bottle yet.”
“Breast-feeding?”
The mother looked embarrassed. “Yes.”
At Cerissa’s direction, the flight attendant found a blanket and draped it around the mother, while Cerissa rocked the infant. What a sweet face—she wished she had one of her own. Reluctantly, she laid the baby back in the mother’s arms. “She’ll be fine—she’s just hungry.”
The baby disappeared under the blanket, and the light sound of suckling followed. The mother looked relieved. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Cerissa started to return to her seat.
“Hey, lady,” Curly called out. “You sure don’t wanna—”
“I’m sure.”
She settled into her seat as the flight attendant’s “prepare for landing” announcement echoed over the speakers. The man in the window seat next to her eased up the closed shade, and she watched the plane’s descent through an orange-brown layer of smog with rows of cookie-cutter homes barely visible through the late afternoon haze—neither reassured her.
Her stomach growled at her, and not from lack of food. Did she really want to call this home? If her project was successful, she’d be here for a long time. Frowning to herself, she decided to withhold judgment until she saw the Hill in person. She still had a long drive before she reached her final destination.
She took out a compact mirror and ran a brush through her long, dark hair, the thick waves fighting back. Her makeup had survived the six-hour flight mostly intact, but she sponged on a bit of base to even out her skin tone. Whatever possessed her to buy this brand? Each time she flipped the bottle over to pour some out, the label read “nutmeg.” The same word the other children taunted her with for being dark brown like her pita. She shook off the ages-old memory.
A short time later, she collected her luggage, signed for a rental car, and drove west to Sierra Escondida. The sun had set by the time she arrived, and a canopy of stars blanketed the night sky, a spattering of white pinpoints across an expanse of black. Sometimes, she wished she could pick one star and follow it to wherever it might lead, instead of going where she was ordered to go.
The guard at the gated entrance examined her credentials before directing her to the country club where she’d find the mayor of Sierra Escondida. She drove up the main road through low, rolling foothills, which were dotted with floodlights illuminating the vampires’ homesteads. Large, sprawling vineyards, the woody grapevines showing no sign of awakening from their winter slumber, created dark patches between them. She rolled down the car window and took a deep breath of the clean night air, perfumed with the smell of freshly turned dirt and wild sage.
No smog. Much better.
Maybe this will be a good place to live after all. If only she didn’t have to live among vampires. Then it might just be perfect.
Chapter 5
The country club’s parking lot was well lit. Cerissa stepped out of the car, straightened her suit jacket, brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt, and then threw back her shoulders—time to take center stage and wow them. She’d spent her whole life pretending to be something she wasn’t. How was this any different?
A man quickly appeared at her side. He removed his black cowboy hat, his fingers sweeping his honey-blonde hair to the right, smoothing it out. His intense cerulean-blue eyes pinned her, sending an uneasy shiver across her skin, the hair on her arms standing at attention. She steeled herself to ignore the predator vibe he gave off. She wasn’t prey.
“Are you lost, miss?” he asked with a friendly smile, flashing a little fang, his eyes turning solid black.
His reaction could signal aggression, hunger, or sexual interest, and with vampires, she had a hard time telling the difference. Even before he smiled, she had pegged him as one of them. Easy to spot the visual differences: a certain shining intensity in the eyes, the paler skin, the enlargement of pupils when aroused or angry. But deep ridges in the fingernails were the confirming feature. The ridges grew more pronounced the longer a vampire lived, like rings on a tree. She quickly glanced at Zeke’s nails—he was well over a hundred years old.
“I’m here to see your mayor,” she said, showing him the parchment envelope, sealed with red wax. “My name is Ceriss
a Patel.”
“And I’m Hezekiah Cannon. Zeke to my friends.”
She didn’t recognize him. His picture wasn’t in the dossiers of politically important vampires she’d studied.
“The mayor’s at the dance,” Zeke added, holding open one of the large doors to the country club’s entrance.
She stepped into a carpeted hallway, where people in evening gowns and tuxedoes milled around. The slightly muffled sound of a dance band bled through the wood-paneled wall.
The sudden touch of Zeke’s hand on her arm startled her. She jumped slightly and glanced up at him, and he smiled, pointing the way with a tilt of his head.
Relax. He only wants to guide you through the crowded ballroom.
Yet the way he held her arm carried a “she’s with me” message, as if daring others to challenge him for the privilege. Many of the male vampires, and some of the females, were tracking her every move.
The dance band wrapped up a song and announced a break. The momentary silence was replaced with the white noise of voices. She spotted the mayor’s table before Zeke directed her to it. The town’s council members were seated with the mayor or hovering nearby. All going according to Leopold’s plan—not that she agreed with his plan.
All right, here I go. First impressions can never be redone.
“This little lady’s here to see you,” Zeke told the mayor. She kept her mouth shut, even though Zeke’s “little lady” comment rubbed her the wrong way—some of the older vampires clung to their sexist lingo. Not her battle—at least, not tonight.
She bowed to the mayor in the old-fashioned “make a leg” style she’d been taught. With her left leg extended forward, right leg bent at the knee taking her weight, the bow was a customary sign of respect when greeting a vampire of his rank, and also kept the bower off balance, unable to attack. In her outstretched hand, she offered Leopold’s letter to him.
Even with her eyes lowered, she could still see the mayor. He looked just like his dossier photo—Old England was written all over his face. She waited for permission to rise, but he was slow in giving it. He took the envelope and broke the seal. Only then did he nod at her. Well, scratch him off the list as a potential investor in their project. His little show of power told her all she needed to know about him.
While he read the letter, she looked for other high-ranking officials who matched her dossiers. To the mayor’s right, in the seat of honor, sat the Hill’s vice mayor, Rolf Müller, a thin, square-jawed vampire. Except for the modern tuxedo he wore, he could have stepped out of a Nazi recruitment poster. His light blonde hair sported a style popular in the early 1940s: long on top, combed over to one side, with a buzz cut on the sides and back.
The mayor harrumphed and tossed Leopold’s letter on the table, his expression turning sour. No surprise. She’d warned Leopold that closed societies didn’t like strangers, and with the recent attack on one of their founders, her presence would be doubly unwelcomed.
“Let me text Leopold to confirm it,” Rolf said, his fingers flying over the phone’s screen.
The rest of the vampires at the table stared at her silently. A tall, striking woman of African ancestry strode toward them, moving with the muscular grace of a warrior—the town’s chief of police, another important vampire from her dossiers. The chief’s afro wasn’t more than an inch long, but the severe haircut looked good on her, letting the angular beauty of her face dominate. She arrived just as Rolf’s phone faintly buzzed.
“The letter is legitimate,” he announced, tilting the phone in the mayor’s direction. The chief leaned over to read it too.
The mayor returned his stern gaze to Cerissa. “In spite of Leopold’s seal, we had to confirm he sent you. Our community doesn’t use envoys—it’s not part of our tradition.”
She nodded. She wanted to seem agreeable. Her project needed his vote of approval, along with the rest of the town councils’, to succeed here.
“Won’t you have a seat…” the mayor said, glancing down at the invitation again, “Dr. Patel, is it?”
“Yes, Dr. Cerissa Patel.”
“Mayor,” the chief interrupted, stopping Cerissa from taking the offered chair. “She should be searched first.”
“Of course, you’re right.” The mayor gestured toward the chief, inviting her to go ahead. “I hope you don’t mind,” he added, glancing back in Cerissa’s direction. “We can’t be too careful. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do,” Cerissa said. If she carried a bomb, they would have smelled it. Same with a gun—gun oil usually gave it away. But a silver stake? Even a vampire couldn’t smell silver.
Without a word, the chief tapped Rolf’s shoulder and positioned her body between the mayor and Cerissa, acting like the mayor’s bodyguard.
Rolf got up and started his search with her small purse, yanking it off her arm. Had the chief picked Rolf because he was the highest-ranking vampire on her small police force? From what Cerissa had observed so far, rank mattered more among vampires than gender sensitivities.
He dumped her purse onto the linen-draped table and pawed through the contents. At least she didn’t have anything embarrassing in it. All he found were her keys, wallet, phone, and a tube of lipstick. He opened the tube of lipstick, brought it up to his nose, and sniffed it.
Eww. Note to self: replace lipstick.
He dropped her purse onto the table to join its contents and moved behind her, roughly patting her down. “You don’t belong here,” he angrily whispered in her ear.
After checking her sides and back, he ran his hands up her legs above her hemline. His fingers came within a millimeter of touching an area he had no business touching. She ignored him, keeping a pleasant smile plastered on her face despite Rolf’s inquisitive fingers.
“She’s clean,” Rolf announced to the group, removing his hands from her body and returning to his place at the table.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. She swept up the contents of her purse, returning them to her small bag.
“Won’t you have a seat?” the mayor asked, his voice becoming solicitous. “And what Leopold writes is true? You’re here to represent him on a business proposal?”
“We’re investigating possible locations for our biotech research facility.”
The mayor tapped his fingers on the introduction letter. “I wish Leopold had picked a different date for your arrival. Inconsiderate. He should have known the dance was scheduled for tonight.”
“Leopold thought the dance would provide an excellent opportunity to network and find investors for our project. We hope to convince all of you,” she said, making eye contact one by one with each power holder at the table, “that our research lab will offer an investment opportunity with explosive profit potential.”
“Who’s going to run this lab?” the mayor asked, squinting at her with suspicion. “I don’t see Leopold moving here.”
“You’re right; he’s quite settled in New York. I’ll be in charge.”
He interlaced his fingers over his substantial paunch. “Envoy or not, no mortal who isn’t mated to a vampire is permitted to live on the Hill.”
“I understand. My immediate plans are to take up residence in a nearby city, not on the Hill, if your town proves to be a good location for our lab.” She’d prefer that over living on the Hill, but didn’t hold out much hope. Leopold had warned her how they would react.
The mayor harrumphed. “Well, it’s not that simple, Dr. Patel. You’d still need the council’s permission to do so, but first things first. We’ll have to figure out who you can stay with tonight.”
“I’m happy to find a hotel.”
“That just won’t do.”
“Well then, Leopold mentioned Ms. Greenleaf—perhaps I could stay with her until we decide whether Sierra Escondida is the right location for our project.”
“He did, did he? But he couldn’t be bothered to call Gaea in advance and make the arrangements with her.”
The mayor stared a
t her, like he was waiting for her to defend Leopold’s bad decision. She kept her mouth shut. Leopold hadn’t wanted to risk being told no. While the treaty required them to give her access to the Hill, if the mayor cited security reasons, he could have delayed her arrival. By showing up unannounced at a public event, it would catch the mayor off guard.
Zeke cleared his throat, and the mayor glanced his way. “Sorry to leave you standing there, Zeke. Why don’t you pull up a chair?”
“Don’t mind if I do, but if the little lady would like to dance, I’d be just as happy to escort her to the dance floor.”
There he went with the “little lady” stuff again. Oh well, this wasn’t the place to say anything.
“Go ahead,” the mayor said. “I’ll take care of the arrangements with Gaea in the meantime.”
The band had returned from their break, kicking off the set with a stale dance tune from the 1990s. Cerissa didn’t like mixing business with pleasure, but Zeke and the mayor had decided the matter without consulting her. Zeke tossed his hat on the table and offered his hand.
Once on the dance floor, she mirrored his moves to the music’s upbeat rhythm. He had a languid style, like a tiger moving across the hot savannah. “If you’re not Leopold’s mate, do you have a boyfriend?” he asked. Then he seemed to catch himself. “Or girlfriend?”
“Neither.”
“You’re awfully pretty—too pretty to be single.”
She smiled, tilting her head and dipping her eyes in a self-deprecating way, a look she’d seen other young women assume.
He returned her smile. It rounded his cheeks into two little balls and lifted the corners of his eyes, giving him an innocent look. She didn’t buy it.
“A fellow would be pretty lucky to have you for his girl.”
She smiled again, a little less than before. She didn’t want to encourage this—Zeke was cute, but she was here on business and couldn’t afford any distractions. It was better to keep him at arm’s length.
