by Cameron Dean
“That dress really is fabulous, by the way,” she went on as we made our way across the room. Wired energy poured off her in waves. She kept turning her head from side to side, as if searching the room for someone. Abruptly, I felt my nerves steady as I realized why.
She’s here with Randolph, I thought.
Randolph Glass is the owner of the Scheherazade, the casino where I work. Bibi and Randolph are a couple despite the fact that Randolph is married to a rich woman he will never divorce. When Bibi recently broke things off with him, I was the first to applaud and offer support. Since then, Randolph had been away, raising money for a new casino. But now, unless I very much missed my guess, Randolph was back, and Bibi was back in his arms.
“Where the hell have you been, anyway?” she asked. “I thought you were going to come and see my show.”
“I am,” I said as we reached the jewelry cases. “But you know I had a few days off.”
“Well, sure,” Bibi said. “But I didn’t think you’d completely drop out of sight.” All of a sudden, her eyes widened as she swung back around to face me. I could practically hear the coin drop.
“You’re seeing someone new, aren’t you?” she whispered as her grip on my arm tightened in excitement. “That’s why you’ve been flying below the radar. And he’s brought you here tonight. Where is he? Who is he? Details. I want every single one.”
Oh, no you don’t, I thought.
“I should have known I’d find you looking at jewelry,” a voice behind me said, one I recognized.
“Good evening, Candace,” Randolph said as I swung around to face him.
“Good evening,” I responded. “Welcome home,” I went on. “I hope your trip went well.”
I heard Bibi suck in a breath. Randolph simply smiled. He cocked his head in Bibi’s direction, as if asking a question, and she released my arm, though she stayed right where she was. I felt a swift stab of fury, understanding the unspoken signal at once. You bastard, I thought. He was playing one of the oldest power games in the book, and my least favorite: taking sides.
“Very well, thank you,” Randolph Glass replied. I watched as his gaze swept over me in a deliberate assessment, or maybe that should be reassessment. “What brings you here tonight?”
Translation: You’re a little out of your league, aren’t you? Even if you are all dressed up. I might actually have enjoyed the sparring, if Bibi hadn’t been involved. At this point, she could only get hurt. I was about to stick a knife in her all by myself.
“A close friend is an antiquities dealer,” I answered calmly, my eyes steady on Randolph’s, even as I heard Bibi catch her breath once more. And now she did shift position, taking a step away from me, toward Randolph. It was what I’d expected, but it hurt anyhow. Undead didn’t equal unfeeling. “I’m here as his guest.”
Randolph’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. I could almost hear the wheels turn inside his mind. He reached out, slid his fingers down one of Bibi’s arms till his hand met hers, then tugged her to his side.
“How interesting,” he remarked. “I wonder if I know him.”
“I have no idea,” I replied. “He hasn’t been in Vegas long.” Ash had been present at Randolph’s New Year’s gathering, but his purpose had hardly been to socialize with the host. I knew a certain amount of meet and greet went on at such functions, but I didn’t know if the two had done any more than exchange a brief hello.
I saw a spasm of emotion cross Bibi’s face, and knew what was coming, even if my own senses hadn’t already informed me of Ash’s approach.
“There you are,” I heard his voice say, right on cue. I sensed rather than heard him come up behind me to lay the fingers of one hand lightly on my shoulder. “You found someone you know. How nice. Hello, Bibi. Always a pleasure to run into you.”
Bibi’s face had gone as white as her dress. She clearly looked wounded, fearful, and incredibly pissed off. A hard combination to manage, but then Bibi does have talent.
“Ash,” she responded.
“I’m not sure you know Randolph Glass,” I said, picking up the introductions ball. “Randolph, this is the friend I was telling you about.”
“Ash Donahue,” Ash said as he stepped to my side. He extended his hand. I had a strange sense of déjà vu as I watched Randolph’s hand swing up to meet it. This was essentially the same ritual Ash and Carl had performed, though with somewhat different overtones.
“Actually, I believe we have met before,” Ash went on. “I had the pleasure of being at your home on New Year’s Eve.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Randolph replied. Okay, points for you, I thought. “Candace tells me you’re an antiquities dealer,” he went on.
“Donahue and Associates,” Ash answered, then he grinned. “I’d be happy to give you my card.”
Randolph gave a quick laugh, as if Ash’s own response had measured up. “I’ll consider it,” he said. “The casino hosts a variety of exhibitions, as you must know. But I’m thinking of starting a more personal collection. It’s one of the reasons we’re here tonight.”
“Any particular area of focus?” Ash inquired.
Randolph shrugged but his eyes stayed sharp. “I’m trying to stay open about that,” he said.
“You’ve come to the right place, then,” Ash said easily. “With that approach, you’ll be a collector after Luther Covington’s heart.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me—” a smooth voice said. As a group, we turned to find one of the tuxedo-clad waiters standing nearby. “We’ve just been informed that we’re ready to begin. If I could encourage you to select places near the podium…”
“Thanks. We’ll do that,” Ash said. He took my arm. “A pleasure to see you both again,” he said to Bibi and Randolph. “If you decide you’d like to use my services, Candace will know where to find me.”
“Good luck,” Randolph said.
“And to you,” Ash replied.
Bibi and Randolph moved away first. Ash and I held our ground. If we had all proceeded together, we might have felt compelled to sit together, too. Now that would have been a lot of fun. Bibi looked back, just once, casting a long look over her shoulder. Her eyes resting first on Ash, then moving on to me. They spoke volumes.
“What a fortunate thing it is that looks can’t actually kill,” Ash remarked. “If they could, Bibi would have me buried six feet under.”
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t joke about this situation,” I said as we walked toward the podium. “What Bibi thinks may not be important to you, but it is to me. Losing my friendship with Bibi is going to be difficult enough without you poking fun.”
“I apologize,” Ash said at once. He was silent for a moment, as we selected our seats, second row from the back, on the left-hand aisle. I could see Bibi and Randolph closer to the front and on the right. Bibi’s back was straight as a fireplace poker. “Believe it or not, I actually thought joking might help.”
“No,” I said simply. “It doesn’t.”
“Then I stand corrected and it won’t happen again.”
“You make it awfully difficult to stay angry with you,” I remarked after a moment.
Ash turned his head to look at me directly. “Is being angry with me what you want?”
“No,” I said again. “No, it isn’t. It’s just…The situation with Bibi is complicated. Deciding how I feel may take some time. Now let’s stop talking about it, so I can enjoy what we came for.”
I saw the smile come back into Ash’s eyes. “And what is that?” he inquired.
“Simple,” I said. “Watching rich people fight to the death while pretending they’re doing something much more civilized.”
With Ash’s arm around my shoulders, I settled back in my seat to concentrate on the auction.
Half an hour later, I was back to enjoying myself. The fears, the pain of seeing Bibi, not forgotten but allowed to rest quietly in the back of my mind. It hardly takes a Ph.D. to figure ou
t that Vegas is a town that runs on money. But I had been telling Ash the truth when I said I was looking forward to watching the wealthy at play. Even if the color of the blood in your veins is blue, the color of money still talks.
The auctioneer finished with Luther Covington’s collection of Anasazi pots, took a calm sip of water, and consulted his notes.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we move now to ancient Egypt and a collection of heart scarabs. The first item in this group is listed in your catalog as number four seven five.”
There was a rustle of paper as the attendees consulted the catalog notes while one of the auctioneer’s elegantly attired assistants held the scarab up for view. Even from a distance, I could see this was not the item Ash intended to bid on. This one was large, a pale green. So far, Ash was biding his time, seeming more than content to wait and watch others do polite battle for what they desired. I wondered if he would have much competition when his time came. I had something of an answer when, to my surprise, bidding for the first scarab was brisk and spirited. Eventually, it went to a small, dapper man sitting not far from Bibi and Randolph.
“Do you know him?” I murmured quietly.
“Not personally,” Ash replied. “But I certainly know him by reputation. Most of his clients are museums.”
As we spoke, a ripple of motion in the right-hand section of seats caught my eye. A latecomer, his dark hair—long enough to brush the top of his tuxedo jacket collar—was moving quietly yet with purpose up the far right aisle. Though he was careful not to disturb the other guests, obviously not seeking attention, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Everything about him seemed clear and precise, as if the shape of him had been cut out of the air by a thin, sharp knife.
Vampire, I thought.
Ash cocked his head in the newcomer’s direction, as if the other vampire’s presence made an actual sound. I felt his body go alert, a current of something I couldn’t quite put a name to humming through it. But he didn’t turn to look. Instead, he kept his gaze focused on the podium. If the newcomer realized he wasn’t the only vampire present, he gave no sign. As I watched, he slid into a vacant seat about halfway to the podium, on the far aisle. Just before he sank down into it, he shifted, turning his body so that he could gaze out over the back half of the assembled guests. I felt a stab of horror shoot straight down my spine.
Along the right side of his face, hidden from my view until that moment, ran a long, jagged scar. My hands went clammy and my head felt light.
“Ash,” I managed to get out.
Ash turned his head then and looked at the vampire. I knew the second their eyes met. An arc of pure energy seemed to sizzle through the air, so intense I all but saw the spark. Then the second vampire smiled, a flash of perfect, even teeth, before sinking down into the chair, back to us, face to the podium.
“That’s him. That’s the one who attacked me,” I whispered, even though I wanted to shout.
I felt Ash’s energy leap, like a mastiff straining against a leash. “You’re sure?” he asked at once, careful to keep his own voice low.
“Positive,” I replied. “There can’t be that many vamps sporting that particular combination. Dark hair, facial scar. Remember, I told you I marked him myself, four nights ago. It’s how I got him to back off.”
Ash made a hissing sound through his teeth, and I pulled my eyes away from the other vampire to the one at my side. Ash’s always pale face had gone dead white with fury.
“You know him, don’t you?” I suddenly said.
Ash shot me a quick glance, and I saw the molten silver of his eyes. “We’ve met,” he responded, his own voice expressionless. “In San Francisco. His name is Sloane.”
Sloane, I thought. Without warning, my neck began to throb, as if remembering the grip of his teeth. My arms began to tremble, as if the sight of the scar Sloane now carried brought with it a sense memory of how it had come about. I could almost feel the sudden, miraculous drag of the silver as it had made its way down his face. The stench of flesh seemed to rise in my nostrils.
Bidding on the next heart scarab commenced. I barely noticed.
“Candace,” Ash said after a moment. He reached to place one of his hands over mine, and it was only then that I realized how tightly I was gripping them together in my lap. I forced them to relax, then turned the top one palm up to lace my fingers with Ash’s.
“I want to ask you to do something for me,” he said. “It won’t be easy. I’m going to ask it anyhow.”
“What?”
“I want you to let me handle this situation. At least for now. It may be better for us if he thinks you don’t recognize him. But you may have to meet him, do the small-talk thing before the night is out. Can you do that?”
“Just tell me one thing,” I said. “Sooner or later, are we going to take him out?”
Ash smiled. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Sloane will be made to pay for what he’s done. You can count on it.”
“Then I can do whatever it takes,” I said.
He gave my hand a quick squeeze then released it. In the next moment, I understood why. At the front of the room, a third heart scarab was being held up for display prior to its auction. I recognized it at once. Dark and small, this was the scarab that Ash intended to bid on. I wondered who his competition would be. Other than Sloane, of course. There was no way the timing of his arrival was simple coincidence.
“Item four seven seven, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer was saying now. “One of the most unusual of the heart scarabs in the collection, due to its color and the detail of its ornamentation.”
Bidding commenced. For one breathless moment, not a soul in the room moved, as if neither Sloane nor Ash wanted to be the first to tip his hand. Then the museum collector whose successful bid had won him the first scarab raised his paddle to display his number. Instantly, Ash raised his own, number 8. Sloane, number 25, topped Ash’s bid. For several minutes the three men engaged in the most spirited bidding the evening had yet seen. Then, presumably having reached his spending limit, the museum collector abruptly shook his head. Now, it was just Sloane and Ash. I heard a murmur move through the room as the bids climbed into the triple digits.
“Four hundred thousand dollars, the bid stands at four hundred thousand to bidder number eight,” the auctioneer said. An expectant hush fell across the assembled guests. Again, the auctioneer called out the amount, inviting any additional bids. He lifted the wooden gavel, the traditional tool for signaling the end of a bidding session. I risked a glance at Sloane to catch his reaction at Ash’s victory.
“Five hundred thousand,” a voice suddenly spoke out.
A startled murmur filled the room then quickly hushed. Again, the auctioneer called out the bid, inviting other participants to go higher. Ash’s body hummed with tension but he stayed absolutely still.
“Sold,” the auctioneer finally announced, bringing the gavel down with a crack. “To bidder number thirteen.”
Lucky number thirteen, I thought.
Randolph Glass’s number.
Seven
“Congratulations,” Ash said agreeably some time later as he and Randolph Glass shook hands. The auctioneer was taking a break. The guests were on their feet, discreetly stretching, sauntering around the room. Waiters once again threaded through the crowd, offering food and drink. It seemed that spending money, or even just watching others do it, was hungry work. I saw more than a few glances aimed in our direction. Watching to see how the loser took it was always good sport.
“It’s a fascinating piece,” Ash was saying. “An excellent way to begin that private collection we were discussing earlier.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Randolph said. His eyes were gleaming with undisguised triumph.
He doesn’t give a damn about that scarab, I realized suddenly. What Randolph cared about was beating Ash. How can Bibi think for a moment she loves this guy? I wondered. But then, no doubt, she wondered the same thing about me. At the moment she w
as on the other side of the room. I didn’t know if it was her idea or Randolph’s.
“If you decide not to make it a permanent acquisition…” Ash began.
“You’ll be the first to know,” Randolph said smoothly. “There’s a very good chance we may be able to come to terms. But I’d prefer to save that discussion for a future occasion, if you don’t mind. Perhaps you and Candace could join us for dinner some evening, after one of Bibi’s shows.”
“I’m sure we would both enjoy that,” Ash said.
“Then, if you’ll excuse me…” Randolph let his voice trail off. Important man. Places to go. People to see. And I did just beat you, after all.
“Of course,” Ash said.
“Slimy bastard,” I muttered under my breath, as he moved off.
“But so predictably human,” Ash said. “Now that he’s flexed his muscles, my guess is he’ll part with the scarab without too much fuss. Probably the purpose of that dinner invitation, in fact. We’ll give it a day or so then follow up. I hope you won’t mind having dinner with the boss.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and get the chance to stab him with my steak knife. Rare steak, of course.”
Ash smiled and ran a hand down my arm. The second he touched me, I knew what was coming next. Together, as if we had choreographed it ahead of time, we turned to face Ash’s other competitor.
“Hello, Sloane,” Ash said. His voice sounded warm, almost pleased. Just for a moment, he let his eyes linger on the other vampire’s face, on the scar I’d put there myself. “You’ve looked better.”
Sloane grinned like a shark. “Hello, Ash. You’re looking well. Too bad it won’t last long. I’ve been asked to see to that, personally, by the way.”
“You always were good at doing what you’re told.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed, and I could tell that Ash’s barb had hit home. I might not have understood the context of their conversation, but one thing was as clear as glass: These two hated each other.
