“Since we banished Dion, they think he might target us in revenge. They’re here for our protection … or so they say.”
“You don’t believe it?”
Ballard’s storm-gray eyes were whipped up to hurricane-level ominous. “I think we were as bad a fit for Dion as he was for us. He had some very peculiar ideas. Seems he found others who didn’t find those ideas quite so bizarre.”
I totally wanted to hear more about those “peculiar ideas,” but we were at the top of the stairs now and moving through a curtain of gauzy black streamers into the turret part of the Tower. There sat a man on what looked like an actual throne, all gnarled wood with the burls and knots seeming to form faces that peered out at us. I was so taken with the chair that I hardly noticed the man at first. Ulric and the gang from Maureen Benson High would practically have killed for that chair. I almost wouldn’t blame them. Truly, it was fit for a scream queen … or king.
I only tore my gaze away when I became aware of all the other eyes on me. I looked around the gathering. The Burgess Brigade was there, bright and beautiful, but there were other groups, like the all-female gang that looked like semi-classic gangstas—fedoras, blood-red lips, pinstriped shirts opened all the way down to the top button of their tight vests. Some wore painted-on pants, others short skirts. All were in stiletto-heeled boots. My loyalties immediately swung their way. If I ended up among the vampire lifestylers for any period of time, I wanted to be a gangst-her.
The assembly didn’t stay focused on me for long before all eyes turned back to the figure on that gnarly chair, the throne. My gaze was drawn right along with them, up into the electric-blue gaze of the stunning man seated there. He was staring back at me, and the contact gave me a little “hello, hottie” zing of awareness. Clearly, I was a sucker for blue eyes … his, Bobby’s … though these were set off with some serious guyliner that really made them pop. Also, where Bobby’s hair was shaggy brown, all boy-band badass, the royal vamp’s was sleek and blond, pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck. He was dressed in all black, from the open-necked shirt to the leather duster he had to be roasting in to the ebony pants tucked into fold-over boots. Now, to the fashion-challenged, black is black is black, but anyone who truly cares knows just how wrong that is. Getting your blacks to match, even to the point where vamp-o-vision could barely tell them apart, is a feat worthy of a master. It was a talent I could respect. The Tampa human-vampire community seriously needed to put him on recruiting posters. Based on the capacity crowd, maybe they already had.
“Bingo,” Mina said, a laugh in her voice. “Vlad, Ballard and I are pleased to present to you Cosette.” She glanced over at Ballard, who now looked totally resigned. “Cosette, may I introduce you to our Regent, Vlad Drakul.” Bingo! Half an hour in and already I’d gone straight to the top … of the human community, anyway.
I was sort of on my own from here on out. The Feds had only known so much about how the court ran. Apparently, the first rule of Bite Club was that you don’t talk about Bite Club. There wasn’t a whole lot of info just floating out there for the taking. But it seemed natural, when faced with a figure on a throne, to drop into a curtsey. If nothing else, it gave all the gathered guys a sneak peek straight down the front of my
corset, except for the part covered by my demur little rose. If the curtsey wasn’t right, at least it would be memorable.
When I looked up, Vlad was staring at the rosebud like he could laser it gone. Yup, I still had it.
“Come,” he said, holding out a hand for me to take, “stand beside us as we complete our business.” The royal “we,” I wondered?
I rose from the curtsey and glided forward to take his hand, which he used to guide me over to his left, to where the Burgess Brigade held court. The peacock lady and the explorer—who looked like Indiana Jones, his sandy-brown hair a shade lighter than his outfit—made room for me. He gave me the once-over with interest, but she snapped open her fan to half hide her face, eyes glittering like diamond-studded daggers above the black lace. The others present studied me as well, with varying reactions ranging from speculation to hostility. I got the sense that Vlad had just shown me some sort of approval and that the others were trying to figure out how it might affect their standing. I supposed I should be all aflutter. Since I’d been vamped, the only way I could see myself was through the appreciation in others’ eyes; I was as vain as the next vamp who’d tried to turn her own stylist and start an entourage.
Things got really boring after that. This person or that would propose another person I didn’t know for knighting or eldering or whatever. The latter seemed particularly unappealing. All I could picture was someone withering on contact—coquette to crone in zero to sixty.
I couldn’t have been the only one bored. People shifted behind me, as if restless or—
A hand descended onto my shoulder. Firm, just shy of painful in its pressure, and a few degrees colder than human.
—or as if making room for someone sneaking in.
Crap on a crispy, crumbly cracker.
“If you wouldn’t mind coming with me,” the owner of the hand said, voice deep and low.
“Actually, Vlad asked me to stay,” I answered, trying to make eye contact with him, pleading silently.
He looked at my captor first, awe in his eyes, and I knew I was sunk. When he lowered his gaze to me, he seemed impressed. He wasn’t the only one. His court had already started clearing a path. Indy and Peacock Girl both looked at me with new respect, maybe even twinged with fear.
“We can always talk later,” Vlad said quickly, his failure to defend me taking him instantly from hot to not.
Based on the painful pressure settled on my shoulder, I wasn’t so sure there’d be a later for me.
3
The vamp behind me insisted that ladies go first, steering me in front of him with that chill hand. He still hadn’t allowed me to so much as turn to see who I was dealing with. This was what Sid and Maya had wanted. I was supposed to get caught. But plans were known to go wrong, especially around me. I tried not to let the chill creep all the way up my spine.
He led me to a dark wood door on one wall of the turret room. It looked sturdy enough that even a vamp like me might have trouble breaking it down. We were too high up for it to be a dungeon, but they probably didn’t call this place the Tower for nothing. I was no history buff, but didn’t people used to get walled up in towers? Wasn’t that where English queens went to die when they didn’t pop out baby boys? Anyway, that’s how it had been in the movie I’d seen with the really awesome period clothes and jewelry and the so-stylish Anne Boleyn. It seemed old Henry the Eighth had gone through as many wives as I had shoes in my former life. Probably a slight exaggeration, but you get the biopic.
Through the door was an office, and I felt my shoulders relax just a bit at the sight. No torture devices, no armed guards. Just a plain old dark-paneled office … with no way out except for the door that shut behind us with the finality of dirt being thrown over a grave. The vamp released me and leaned against the door as an extra barrier between me and the outside world.
Now that I could, I whirled to get a decent look at my captor. Whoa. If Bigfoot had a nearly hairless brother, this guy was it. He had to be almost six and a half feet tall with a face overly blessed with bone and cursed with barely enough skin to cover it. Prominent brows, Jay Leno’s chin, cheekbones that stuck out so far it made the rest of his face seem sunken … like Lurch from The Addams Family. Based on the pallor of his hair and skin, this guy hadn’t seen the sun in a long, long time, which meant he was a very old vamp. Like ancient. It was no wonder Vlad had looked at him the way he did. A true believer had only to glance at Very Scary Vamp to know exactly what he was—the real deal.
Speaking of which, Very Scary crossed his arms over his chest, fixed me with his gaze, and put a considerable amount of force behind mesmerizing me with it. “Who are you?”
he demanded.
As u
sual, the whole mesmeric magic rolled right over me. He must have been especially strong, because I felt a tug, but it was nothing I couldn’t shake off. When I’d first been vamped, a psycho-psychic told me that I was chaos. Maybe that was it, but if you talked to my parents, they’d tell you I’d never listened in life. Why should I be any different in death?
I hadn’t expected to be captured so soon, but apparently, it was show time.
“I’m a runaway,” I answered, as an opener.
Very Scary’s nearly colorless brows rose to his hairline, as if he’d expected more trouble extracting information from me. “Elaborate.”
“Well, okay, I haven’t exactly run away yet, but I’m hoping you’ll help me with that.”
“Who are you running from and why?”
“You really don’t know who I am?” I asked incredulously. “Why did you grab me then?”
He studied me, debating whether to answer. “You didn’t appear on the security cameras,” he said finally, moving over to the desk but keeping his gaze on me in case I made any move to escape. As if his sealed door wouldn’t nip that in the bud. He opened a drawer and pressed a button hidden inside. A good quarter of the wood-paneled wall slid aside to reveal closed-circuit televisions, showing different scenes within the club. “People were reacting to and interacting with empty air. You didn’t show on the video feed, but their reactions gave you away. None of my people are currently out on the floor, and I hadn’t cleared anyone else for entrance. Voilà, intruder.”
“So you came to check me out.” Crud puppies—Marcy and Brent! I tried not to show my sudden concern. I had no way of getting word to them, not unless I used Bobby and his mind-speak to pass it along, but he hadn’t answered me earlier. I thought fast. Maybe … that had to be it! Giving Marcy a human partner, someone who’d show up onscreen, provided the perfect cover for people to respond in her general direction. As long as Brent stayed close there’d be no chance for anyone to put the moves on her, making their arms appear to hang in midair. I started to relax.
“May I?” I asked, gesturing toward one of the two leather-upholstered armchairs facing the desk.
“Please,” he answered. He didn’t sit himself, but instead perched on the edge of the desk to loom menacingly over me, arms crossed.
I took a deep breath. Out of habit, and because I was going to need it for all the explaining I had to do.
“First off, my name is Gina Covello. I’m the girl your council warned you about.” If my name meant anything to him, he kept it off his face. I was a little hurt. I’d thought a Kill or Capture order from on high would make me a household name. Top of vampdom’s Most Wanted; a figure to terrify the newly minted into drinking their blood like good little vamps. So much for that. “You’re going to want to look me up. The fact that you’ve got me is going to score you a bunch of brownie points. Maybe even a reward. But it gets better. I’m here to make you a deal. I want to switch sides.”
“You thought the best way to do this was to come into my club like a sneak thief and play with the humans?”
“First of all, I came in through the front door, not like a sneak thief, although I can totally rock a cat suit. Second, I wanted to get the lay of the land. You know, do some recon before presenting myself.”
Very Scary Vamp opened up the long drawer of the desk, the front of which folded down so that he could access a keyboard. At the press of a button, a flat-screen rose from the desk’s surface. It was wicked cool. Bobby’d be geeking out. Between that and the sliding panels hiding the security screens, I was kind of impressed myself. So weird that the public areas of the Tower were so purposely old-looking while the private parts were so high-tech modern. Apparently you could teach an old vamp new tricks.
He didn’t explain, but I figured Very Scary was doing some recon of his own. After less than a minute he looked up, spearing me with the kind of look I’d give a pair of all-access passes for Fashion Week. He practically licked his lips.
“Now that we have you, what is it you think you can offer that’s worth your freedom?”
“My boyfriend, Bobby Delvecchio, two c’s. I’ll wait,” I said, as his fingers flew over the keyboard.
A second later, I thought I could see drool forming. While the council gave only half a damn about me, Bobby, with his major mojo, was quite the catch. “According to our files, Mr. Delvecchio is devoted to you. Why should we deal when we could as easily use you to bait a trap?”
Luckily, I had an answer for this.
“If Bobby came to my rescue—and he would—he’d burn this place to the ground. Trust me, you don’t want to be on his bad side. You want him working for you, not against. The only way you’ll get him to work for you is to let me convince him.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re going to make us a very attractive offer. And because I’m tired of having no control over my life and being locked away in a government facility between missions. No shopping, no partying. Rules, rules, rules.” That last part was from the heart.
“You think working for us will grant you more freedom, given that we have no reason to trust you?”
I summoned my inner diva. “I think that you might be as motivated as I am to negotiate the proper incentive plan.”
“I see.”
Behind me came a sound, like another panel sliding aside. I couldn’t help but swing around toward it, even though I didn’t really want to turn my back on Very Scary. A woman and two men stood in the new doorway created, but my eyes stayed on her and her golf-pencil skirt. Ever seen a golf pencil? One-third the regular size, good for scoring. The woman exuded a sense of power the two with her lacked. Her hair was a wavy, glossy black, her skin like faded mahogany. Her nose was pierced with a very impressive diamond stud, and her eyes were ice cold and dark as obsidian.
“Selene, would you please secure our guest?” Very Scary asked. “I need to confer with the council.”
“My pleasure,” she answered, turning those depthless eyes on me. She had the look of a pit bull who’d just been thrown a new squeaky toy that probably wouldn’t make it to dinnertime in one piece. I didn’t like that comparison at all.
She gave a jerk of her head, and the men on either side of her flanked me, each taking an arm and “helping” me to my feet. As they held me, Selene approached to pat me down herself. She removed my rosebud, but neither man holding me used the excuse to look down my corset. I took that as a bad sign. When men are too focused to notice breasts, it’s a sure signal that the crap has hit the fan.
“Let’s go,” she said when she concluded her search. I’d purposely come weapon-free, so there’d been nothing to find.
“I’ll be in touch,” Very Scary said as I was dragged along behind Selene, through the slid-back wall panel.
Next came an elevator and a ride to the basement, or what amounted to it. I thought I’d heard somewhere that there weren’t a lot of basements in Florida because of the water level. Or maybe that was New Orleans. Wherever we were, Selene held her hand before a palm reader or something on the basement wall and yet another hidden door slid open before us, revealing a dungeonlike area with two cells, no windows, concrete everywhere, and a drain in the center of the floor, which I didn’t even want to think about. Okay, so I was thinking about it … a drain for when they hosed the place down, right? Cleanliness, not disposal of blood and guts, surely.
These guys were really fond of their secret doors and sliding panels. If things went bad and Bobby had to rescue me … well, I might never be found.
One of Selene’s goons opened a jail-like cell using a keycard attached to a cord around his waist, then saw to it that I made an entrance. Once I was in, the barred door shut behind me with a hydraulic hiss. Like the door in the boss-vamp’s third floor office, I heard it auto-lock on contact.
“None of this is necessary, you know,” I told her. “I came to you.”
“So you say,” Selene answered, unmoved.
�
��The fact that I’m here would kind of support that—”
“Selene!” a voice crackled over an intercom by the sliding panel. “Trouble out on the floor, zone 2B. Take care of it.”
“Come,” she ordered the two gorillas in monkey suits who’d shown me in. They followed her out.
I was left alone. All alone. Worried and wondering if Marcy was the “trouble” and whether anyone would remember about me when it all died down.
4
Sadly, this wasn’t exactly my first time locked away in a dungeon. Because, oh yes, I was living la vida loca. Seeing the world, one dungeon at a time. Probably I could put together my own coffee table book on the subject. Or better yet, start some kind of style trend. I could see the Project Runway segment now—“Captive Couture, It’s Killer.” ’Cause nothing said style like bedpans and bindings.
It was a measure of how worried I was about Marcy that the flashbulbs in my mind quickly turned to flashfires and my quip about Bobby burning the place down around us came back to haunt me. He wouldn’t really … at least not while there were innocents around to take collateral damage. But he wasn’t the only player here. What if Dion really did come back to take revenge, as the police seemed to think he might? Suddenly, it wasn’t just Marcy I was worried about. It was all those other people out there in the club. And myself! Concrete might not be terribly burnable, but if the Tower went up in smoke, where would that leave me? Trapped. A tragic figure locked away like one of King Henry’s wives.
Totally unacceptable.
I saw down on the end of the cot—my cell was so small, my knees practically knocked up against the bars—and closed my eyes to reach out to Bobby again. If he was listening, I knew how to get his attention.
Help, I’ve been deflowered! I shouted mentally, going for the psychic equivalent of an all-points bulletin.
What!!! The extra exclamation points were implied. I could almost hear his mental voice go up an octave.
Fangtastic Page 3
