Like Carrie, but with an LL. And this party did kind of resemble prom night.
I squeezed Dorian’s hand in gratitude. “I feel like I’ve lost my purpose, Dorian. Everyone has either betrayed or failed me…” I murmured, leaning into his shoulder as I guided him back into the party. “But right now, we have a job to do. Are you still on board with it, or is this a roundabout way of telling me it’s a catastrophic idea?”
He chuckled, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “Oh, tonight will be fun. Taking out the trash is important.” He grew silent as we walked past a huddle of conversation taking place between some vampires. Their eyes tracked us anxiously, their shoulders tense. I realized they weren’t watching us…
Just me.
And I was friends with the vampires. Damn it. I hated when Dorian was right. He was arrogant enough without successfully impersonating Dr. Phil.
“Is it anything in particular, or…” he gestured vaguely to imply all recent events combined.
“I don’t know. Probably a combination. I feel like I’ve lost my place in the world. Who am I fighting for? Why am I fighting? Who am I standing for? One week it could be a vampire, but the next week, one of them murders a wolf and I’m staking him to a wall in a dank alley,” I admitted softly. “I just get so mad at all the injustice. All the backstabbing.”
“Maybe you just need to start a gang,” Dorian offered. Of course that was his solution. To make the city’s crazy lady a gang overlord. “I’m just saying that maybe you need a family. Something to fight for, like you mentioned. Right now, you’re unaffiliated with anyone.”
I frowned thoughtfully. “Is there anything wrong with being unaffiliated?” I asked, wondering if he was dancing around the topic for some reason.
He shrugged. “I’m unaffiliated, too, but everyone needs a buddy in the trenches. Friends and allies make you stronger and keep you safe when you need to rest. They give you something to fight for, something the rest of us can look at, understand, and know ahead of time whether their decision is going to cross that line in the sand. People need to know where you stand on things. What the rules are. Otherwise, they get scared. And scared dogs bite. Without friends to look out for you, eventually that dog will go looking for you. Maybe an entire pack of dogs.
I frowned. “Are you hinting at something specific?”
He shook his head adamantly. “No. Just a word of warning from someone with personal experience. Why do you think I teamed up with the Hellfire Club? That’s my family.”
I nodded thoughtfully, but something he had said really angered me. “I think my line in the sand is pretty obvious. Don’t be a dick,” I snapped.
He met my eyes, a flicker of a playful smile dancing in those depths. “Well, Callie, I don’t mean to tarnish your delicate sensibilities, but there are dicks, and there are dicks,” he suggested, complete with a colorful hand gesture portraying the difference. He grinned proudly.
I slapped his arm, opening my mouth to tell him that not harming innocent people wasn’t a hard rule to wrap your head around. “Do unto others as—”
I was interrupted as the lights abruptly dimmed and the hum of conversation halted instantaneously. Damn. We were running out of time. Dorian had to get moving, fast.
Chapter 5
The music changed to a livelier tune as we slipped back into position, angling our path to where we needed to be.
Members of each supernatural family had contributed something to the night’s festivities. I’d even convinced Fabrizio to write a check for the food—after arguing with him for an hour that no, he wouldn’t be welcome to attend, no matter how many jokes he prepared ahead of time. Inviting a Shepherd to the party would have gone off about as well as a fart during Sunday Mass.
He hadn’t thought my metaphor as funny as the jokes he had already prepared in anticipation of his invite to the party. I’d agreed to let him read me the jokes instead, somewhat soothing his disappointment over the matter. But getting him to write a check had been a stroke of pure genius on my part—letting him do a good deed for the monsters without ruffling any feathers.
The crowd murmured appreciatively as the entertainment seemed to come out of hidden closets around the room, courtesy of Dorian Gray—his contribution to the party.
Waiters wearing only body-paint suddenly mingled through the crowd, some dancing, some laughing, and others carrying golden trays—can’t have polished silver around shifters—full of fresh drinks. We dodged a trio carrying small sticks with crimson ribbons attached to the ends as they skipped and frolicked before us. They entertained the guests with their acrobatics and clever use of their harmless streamers as a playful whip or to rope around a standoffish guest and tug him closer to a lone woman. More often than not, their antics produced successful romantic pairings, and conversation soon grew from its previous sober hum into a playful buzz.
Some of the entertainers were actually doing cartwheels—both in pairs or alone—as they purposely mingled through pockets of conversation, giggling and smiling as they forced attendees to break up from their safe social circles and instead mingle with new groups of guests.
Since Dorian abhorred mediocrity in all things, every one of the new servers were exceptionally pretty to look at. They even moved as fluid as their silk ribbons, weaving through the crowd to ensnare the guests’ attention with artfully choreographed steps.
The body-paint didn’t hurt, and it was done in such a way that their nudity wasn’t quite obvious at first—looking like tight spandex in the now dim lighting. The dancers were painted to look like skeletons wearing Candy Skull masks, the rest of their bodies liberally coated in black. Their Candy Skulls were a myriad of colors and unique designs, turning the party into a Día de los Muertos fiesta. Once you were close enough to really look, it became apparent that not a single thread was worn outside of their ribbon batons. The men were easier to point out and were causing the loudest hubbub among the guests.
Because they had chosen to paint an additional bone on their bodies.
The best part was that the ‘costumes’ were so artfully applied that I found myself actually having to stare at a few of them to confirm that they were actually nude. I wasn’t the only one reacting, but where my giddy laughter was an act, the crowds’ reaction was authentic.
All by design, thank you very much. As each guest began to realize and take a closer look, their attention was suddenly distracted as easily as if someone had flipped the fire-alarm switch.
Dorian touched my wrist with two fingers, subtly steering me in a different direction.
I followed, finding myself smiling at the extravaganza bubbling around me. Dorian was good at his job. I had initially been against the chosen face paint due to some past experiences in St. Louis with Nate Temple where we had run afoul of some actual Candy Skulls—wardens to the prison of Hell—but most of the guests present had no reason to fear Candy Skulls and probably didn’t even know there was a reason to be afraid of such an iconic look.
Still, if any had been wearing black cloaks I might have thrown out a fireball.
The new servers were also each liberally dusted with pheromones to boost libido and inflame sexual appetites. I hadn’t known that was actually a real thing, but apparently Dorian knew a guy named Michael Riley who had nefarious connections in the supernatural underworld. I wasn’t sure how he had acquired the pheromones or how much they cost Dorian, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know since it probably involved things that would make me blush.
If I’d had any doubts about the pheromones working, they were dashed against the rocks of my naivety as I saw guests’ nostrils flare, their pupils dilate, and their postures change. Several sniffed at the air openly—likely the shifters with their hyper-aware sense of smell—but even they couldn’t decipher if it was simply them scenting something very appealing or if it was some kind of danger.
In actuality, we didn’t have anything dangerous planned. We just needed a lot of distractions to keep eve
ryone relaxed and unaware of the clever maneuvering Dorian needed to pull off in the next fifteen minutes.
And sex had clouded male judgment for a good majority of human—and inhuman—history.
Many women, too.
So, even though the various flavors of shifter smelled something strange, none wanted to point it out lest it be seen as a weakness that they couldn’t keep their instincts under control—and since the crowd consisted of almost every supernatural group in town, none wanted to show any sign of weakness that could later be used against them.
Which was a great opportunity for some third party to exploit a weakness. To consider creating one in the first place. Sensory entrapment.
I spotted my target only paces away, and used the motion of setting my empty champagne flute on one of the proffered trays carried by a smiling waitress to conceal my quick assessment of my quarry. Le Bone was a new vampire in town—a security representative for the Master of Paris who was planning to visit Kansas City in a few days on behalf of the Sanguine Council, the ruling body of vampires—but the French vampire had already ruffled some of the wrong feathers in his brief stay. Back in Paris, he had a notorious reputation for drinking his victims down to the bone, emptying them of almost every drop of blood in their bodies. Hence the nickname he had proudly accepted.
And two bodies had recently shown up in my city, drained of all blood.
Haven—the Master Vampire of Kansas City—had sent some of his vampires to question Le Bone on the matter, but the French prick had denied all allegations, rudely informing them that if they had a proper accusation with corroborating evidence, Haven could take it up with Le Bone’s Master when he arrived. In the meantime, he had more important matters to attend—like confirming that this backwards city was safe enough for his Master to visit in the first place.
His words.
That hadn’t gone over well, and Le Bone had since refused meeting with anyone else until his Master arrived—days from now.
Le Bone had also made the grave mistake of forgetting to request permission from Haven to enter the city in the first place, and had shown exactly zero remorse when confronted about it, once again redirecting all further inquiries to his Master. Since I felt like I owed Haven a favor or two for his agreement to sign the lease that paid me back for Roland’s new home—a decrepit old church I had purchased—I’d offered Haven my non-existent investigator services.
Le Bone was currently too busy ogling a female ribbon dancer to notice me brushing past him. Then again, he also had two looming security guards shadowing his every move, which was why I arched my neck in their direction as I slipped past their boss, momentarily distracting them with the pale, vulnerable flesh over my carotid artery since they were also vampires. I waved my hand at someone behind them, conveniently clutching my compact mirror in that palm so my gesture turned into an impromptu strobe light to flash directly into the guards’ eyes. It worked as planned because their eyes flicked away from my throat at the sudden flash of my mirror long enough for my other hand’s motion—signaling Dorian—to go unnoticed.
For a single moment, both guards regarded me, assessing me for any sign of threat…and I was somewhat disappointed to realize that they had no idea who I was.
But right then, Dorian ‘accidentally’ nudged Le Bone with an elbow, following my signal. Le Bone grunted, drawing the guards’ attention away from me—the apparently non-threatening woman in the white dress. I watched from the corner of my eye as Dorian mumbled an apology and then picked out the entertainer Le Bone seemed fixated upon. “The best five-thousand you’ll ever spend,” Dorian encouraged, chuckling good-naturedly.
Le Bone grunted, the comment calming his initial anger from Dorian’s elbow. “Is she yours?” he asked Dorian, eyeing the ribbon dancer with a visible hunger.
Dorian scoffed. “Oh, I thought you were admiring Tyler,” he said, jerking his chin at the male server currently smirking at Le Bone. The vampire stiffened, finally turning to face Dorian as if only just now realizing who he had been talking to. Dorian shrugged innocently, discreetly eyeing Le Bone’s attire. “I thought you played both sides against the middle.”
Le Bone didn’t find that humorous at all. “No. I do not, Mr. Gray. Not all of us share your appetites. My Master will be here soon—”
Dorian clapped his hand over his mouth in a show of flamboyant embarrassment, simultaneously managing to interrupt Le Bone’s comment about his Master—but done so cleverly that Le Bone didn’t even appear to realize it. “That’s the thing about immortality,” Dorian said with a smile. “Plenty of time to sample all the fruits. Try Tyler. I won’t tell anyone…” He winked, tipped an imaginary hat and walked up to kiss Tyler full on the lips. They took their time extricating their faces from one another and, surprisingly, no paint was smudged. Only the best makeup for Dorian Gray’s Dance Squad.
The guards were so baffled that they hardly even noticed as I awkwardly slipped past them with a murmured, “Excuse me,” as I brushed their arms with my fingertips. They were tall but had looked lanky, and I hadn’t been sure if they had any muscle to speak of since I was more familiar with shifters who were typically built like powerlifters. Vampires, on the other hand, typically had that old-man muscle—tight and tough as coils of wet rope but not as flashy.
I was still surprised to learn that they didn’t recognize me—especially after all of Dorian’s talk about the rumors flying around town about me. I had needed to know—before the figurative bullets began flying—if my cover was blown. If they had been keeping a close eye on me all night, we would have had to switch to Plan B.
But it looked like we were good to go—which was why I had signaled Dorian to proceed as planned. If I had given him a different signal, he would have pretended to trip into Le Bone rather than bumping the vampire with his elbow—giving me enough time to slip away from the guards as they rushed to protect their boss from the clumsy-footed Dorian Gray.
The feeling I couldn’t seem to shake was that Le Bone was frequently heard speaking of his job as the equivalent of the Secret Service for his Parisian Master, verifying that Kansas City was secure and safe enough to host his boss in a few days. Which meant he should have been digging into every player in town, making sure they weren’t a threat. And with my newfound reputation, I should have been at the top of his list for people to watch out for. His own guards hadn’t even heard of—or recognized—the resident, white-haired psychopath when she was only inches from their faces. I was like a flashing neon sign for any security group keeping tabs on local dangers for the impending arrival of their boss. Any real security force would have heard of—and taken appropriate action against—Callie Penrose.
Now, thanks to my investigation, I knew Le Bone had projects on the side, but I hadn’t expected that his entire cover was a blatant lie. Le Bone Thugs weren’t doing what they claimed to be doing, and weren’t the prestigious group they claimed to be.
None of this showed on my face as I moved seamlessly towards the man I had waved at behind the guards—the only other partygoer privy to the details of my operation tonight.
Cain, the world’s first murderer, was currently suffering the amorous affections of two rather senior, rather handsy, women that stood only as tall as his chest, forcing him to have to look down at their flaunted décolletage every time they asked him a question. He looked panicked and a little wild around the eyes.
Chapter 6
Cain smiled at me like I was a life preserver in the middle of the ocean after his ship had sunk two days ago, extending a hand to grasp my outstretched palm tighter than necessary. He bowed, kissing it dramatically. The Playboy Grannies paled in fear, seeming to recognize my white hair. I quickly decided there was only one way out of this, killing two birds with one stone. I slapped the back of Cain’s head playfully to let them know he was still on the market for them.
And that maybe I wasn’t as deadly as they feared.
Cain shot me a knowing scowl, reading into
the real reason for my slap and not approving of being offered up as the sacrificial hunk of meat for these two women to gnaw on. The fear in their eyes faded somewhat and they exchanged a brief, thoughtful look. I instantly began lavishly complimenting their dresses…that they simply must tell me who did their hair, and oh, didn’t Cain look so handsome in his fancy gray suit?
I risked a glance over my shoulder to verify Dorian had left to do his part for the night. Thankfully, he was gone, so all I had left to do now was wait.
I leaned in with a mischievous grin, speaking loud enough for Cain to hear clearly. “He’s like an older brother to me, and I have to tell you that I can’t remember the last time any woman—let alone women—held his interest for so long. He’s not an easy one to pin down. He must really enjoy talking to you two.”
The women were too busy blushing, giggling, and fanning themselves to notice Cain’s face. I could actually feel his immortal soul snarling at me as he smiled with his teeth.
My charm solidly slipped me into their good graces. They hadn’t seen me murder anyone in the last thirty seconds, and I obviously wasn’t competition for their prize, claiming to be like his younger sister.
I was awesome in their eyes.
They doubled down on their efforts to flirt outrageously with Cain, and I watched the train wreck in slow motion, smiling and nodding my head agreeably every now and then as my mind began to wander, hoping Dorian was almost finished with his part of the plan. I found myself considering Cain’s harem, wondering what supernatural family they belonged to. Judging by their obvious age and that I couldn’t sense any wizard or shifter tendencies to them, I was leaning towards witch.
Which—heh—seemed to be a common occurrence tonight. There were a lot of witches here, and they were likely all members of the Hellfire Club—Dorian’s family, as he’d told me earlier. He was practicing what he preached, bringing an army with him everywhere he went. It brought his earlier points about my lack of purpose and affiliation into perspective—
Sinner: Feathers and Fire Book 5 Page 3
