“Is the Will They or Won’t They pair leaning toward the friend zone?” Mics’ lips screwed to the side, trying unsuccessful to squelch a smirk.
“Something like that,” I grumbled. Finding vampire politics a safer topic than my abysmal love life, I rerouted her attention by jerking my chin in the direction of the frenzied spectacle. “The guy with the poof of white hair posing for pictures and shaking hands, is Judge … uh.”
“Yeah, we don’t need Carter here for this at all,” Micah quipped, rolling her eyes.
“Dean,” I pointedly finished, silencing her with a side-eye glare. “The pretty boy making a huge show of asking vamps the tragic stories that led them here, while wearing the I’m listening and I care face, is Representative Alfonzo Markus. Him I remember well, he made quite a scene. All the WASPS were in a titter. Oh! That weasel-faced guy with the glasses talking to Elodie …”
The words died on my tongue. Something in the exchange between the two made me pull up short. So many opportunities to win political favor, and the man I remembered to be County Commissioner Rawling was locked in a heated discussion with the only female member of Rau’s security team. Tendons of his neck bulging, Rawling’s complexion was ruddy, a sheen of sweat dotting his brow and upper lip.
Elodie knew him, which was evident in the way she stepped in close, dropping her voice in hopes his agitated shouts would follow suit. When he failed to take the hint, her gaze flicked to Rau. Seeking his guidance or aid? No. She was making sure Big Daddy vamp was good and distracted before catching Rawling by the elbow and leading him around the side of one of the supply trucks.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I tried to decipher the soap opera playing out. “Huh. I think the composed and collected Elodie may be implementing extreme measures to sway political favor. Saucy little vixen.”
“Right now, I’m more concerned about the water buffalo charging this way. Any idea who this guy is?” Nose crinkling, Micah’s tongue played across her gum-line. “The sight of him makes my fangs ache.”
“That’s not a vamp exclusive emotion. That’s Attorney General Bob Berry. He’s a good ole boy who has made a career out of being the loud mouth who gets things done. You’ll hate him instantly, now smile and play nice.” Leading by example, I welcomed him with a grin wide enough to make my cheeks ache.
“Pardon me, ladies,” he drawled. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and showed off his American by Birth and Grace of God buckle. “I’d like to get in here and help out for a tick, if ya wouldn’t mind.”
“Absolutely.” Shuffling to the side to make room, I eyed the pleasant-faced baby boomer with balding blond hair and a thick paunch around his mid-section. Berry’s mug was splashed all over the Internet. Every news channel and financial magazine debated on if he held aspirations for the oval office and, if so, if he stood a chance. Watching the expert way he played to the crowd removed any doubt that he could take his charade all the way.
“There you go, dear.” Berry offered the next vamp in line a blanket and a smile. “Ole Bob likes nothing more than to help out those in need. Warms my heart and makes me feel a little better about those afternoons I waste on the golf course.”
“H-how many pints of blood do we get this week?” a vampress clothed in rags rasped, her pallid lips dry and cracked.
“Take two, darlin’,” Berry urged, dropping his voice as if it was a secret between them. “Like my mammi used to say, get some meat on them bones.”
Drawn by their own desire to capture a bit of limelight, Judge Dean and Representative Markus swarmed the table. Offering smiles and supplies, they cast themselves good Samaritans for a cause they had still failed to publicly endorse. Micah and I were shoved aside, to make room for the grandstanding. A beat later, Rawling joined the team. Whatever robbed him of his composure moments ago had been restored, bringing with it a jaunty skip in his step. In a true testimony to how far the driven will go for their goals, they worked side by side until the very last vampire meandered through the line. In spite of their efforts, I could see the smiles that never reached their eyes, or the winces whenever cold Nosferatu skin brushed theirs. Of one thing I held no doubt: they would reach for the hand sanitizer the second they were safely back in their cars, to cleanse themselves of the filthy touch of the undead.
Rubbing his palms together, Markus blew on his fingers reddened by the cold. “That’s the last of them, and a good day’s … my mistake, I mean a good night’s work.”
Early morning hour brightening the sky from cobalt to indigo, the Nosferatu retreated into their tents, happily hauling their cargo. Even the film crews were winding up their cords, storing away the last of their equipment.
Maybe I was tired.
Maybe I was peckish.
Maybe I was tired of watching them pretend to be evolved beings they most definitely were not.
Whatever my reason, the poison of my question slipped from my lips to slaughter their bolstered audacity. “I didn’t realize you were all such friends to the fang. It would do a great service to our cause for you to go on camera with your official endorsement.”
Shifting on their feet, the three politicos exchanged uncomfortable glances. After watching their antics from the sidelines, Rau edged in closer. His arms crossed over his broad chest, hatred wafting off of him in anticipation of their predictable response. The triplets guarded the perimeter, ready to move in if Rau so much as twitched.
After a measured pause, Markus spoke, his voice the silky timbre of an A.M. talk radio host. “We’re all friends here. Surely, we can be honest. While we have nothing against the Nosferatu, it’s a volatile time to publicly support the bill. The effect such a show would have on our careers would be immeasurable. You have to understand that.”
“If the bill doesn’t pass it will cost more vampires their lives,” Rau rumbled. “Look around! You can’t deny their suffering.”
“I am looking around.” Berry dragged a hand over his face, the jovial smirk he offered the crowds evaporating into stone-cold calculation. “I see this spectacle and my heart bleeds. It does. But then I remember most of these folks are hundreds of years old, giving them ample time to perfect this little act. It’s a fantastic show. Well done. Everyone has a part to play, and they do so with practiced expertise. It’s just that, well, I’m not buying a ticket.”
It’s a hard pill to swallow when you hear your exact thoughts uttered from the tongue of a closed-minded bigot.
Still, my reasons were real. My hate was justified … wasn’t it?
Chapter Eighteen
Experiment Day 365: Cause
Deductive Reasoning – Reasoning from one or more premises to reach a logically certain conclusion.
“Good boy!” Letting Batdog scarf the treat pinched between my fingers, I scratched him behind the ears. His entire backside whipped side to side with happiness. My sweet boy was growing and putting on weight—no longer did his ribs protrude from gaunt skin. Plus, he now wore a bright yellow collar with a bat signal tag to prove to the world he was the spiffiest little smoosh face around.
Curling my legs underneath me, I gathered the pup into my lap and gazed out the window to watch the glittering cloak of night descend. Just as the lights of the city below twinkled to life, a soft knocked rattled my door.
“It’s open, Mics,” I called.
Rising with a yip, Batdog hopped off the bed. He scurried over, offering Micah a frenzy of greeting sniffs. Leaning against the door frame, she crossed her slippered feet at the ankles and made kissy noises at our newest roommate. “How did you sleep? Any more nightmares to speak of?”
I arched my back, stretching my arms over my head, and tried not to call up the grizzly images that now roosted behind my eyes. “No. Thankfully, Joselyn’s dad didn’t visit me last night to skin me alive for my sins against him. But I did dream I was painting a wall beige while wearing a hot dog costume. What do you think that’s about?’”
“No idea. I’m sure it’s phal
lic in some way.” She shuffled across the floor, curled one leg under her, and flopped down on the edge of my bed. Patting the mattress, she coaxed Batdog back up and welcomed him with scratches down his spine. “But I am glad you’re making strides toward getting past what happened because we have a new development that demands your attention.”
Talons of icy fear clawed at my guts, the mug of blood I finished only moments ago threatening to make a second appearance.
“I can’t leave this room,” I argued, as if suggesting otherwise was the most ludicrous concept imaginable. “Death and despair and all things bad are out there. Here, here is good.”
Lifting her chin in that way she did whenever she was trying to make a point, Mics ignored my outburst and pushed on like I hadn’t uttered a word. “Do you remember me telling you about one of my biggest sources, that reporter, Carter Westerly?”
“The one with the great hair and ass I wanna bounce quarters off of? Yes, I remember him, and no, even he couldn’t get me out of this room. Although, I am game for him coming in.”
Hand stilling on Batdog’s side, she glanced up at me with a half-smile tugging back one corner of her mouth. “Glad to see your libido wasn’t traumatized by your ordeal.” Scratching resumed at the insistence of Batdog’s plaintive whimper. “Recently, Carter aired a series of news segments hinting at a more sordid side of vampirism and how it could be connected to missing persons’ cases … namely, Joselyn’s.”
Kicking my legs off the bed, I crossed the creaking floor to my mini-fridge and pulled out a second blood bag. My moment of nausea passing had returned me to a normal famished state. “Wasn’t he hired to be their boy and make them look like fuzzy teddy bears with fangs?”
Micah cupped Batdog’s face between her palms, tickling his snout with the tip of her nose. “Exactly. They couldn’t have been pleased. And now, Westerly is MIA. He has been noticeably absent from his segments, he won’t answer my emails, and his voicemail box is full.”
I took a pull from the blood bag and swallowed down a mouthful of metallic necessity. “Putting on our critical thinking hats, we can’t ignore one glaringly obvious fact. He was taken by vampires. If they wanted to silence him, he’s probably already been silenced in the eternal sense of the word.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” My bed springs squeaked as Micah pushed off the pillow-top mattress. Scuffling my way, she dug a piece of paper from the pocket of her fuzzy pink robe. “Then, I found this.”
I took the final slurp from my bag, then tossed it into the trash. After wiping my hands off on the front of my pajama pants, I accepted her offered paper. “The Vampire Coalition and their supporters present their annual celebrity auction. Join us at The Ballroom at LoRicco Towers to bid on an evening of fun with local celebrities, including Start Your Day host Chuck Kelly, Political Outlook vampire correspondent Mathieus Vaughn, and CYBC on-air anchor Carter Westerly. All proceeds will benefit the Youth Law Center, which provides abandoned children with safe and healthy living arrangements.” Going off script, I added, “So vampires can feel better about themselves after eating people.” Dropping my hands to my sides, my head lolled in Micah’s direction. “This doesn’t prove anything. It could have been posted weeks ago.”
“Look at the time stamp at the bottom. The site was last updated last night. If one of their eligible bachelors weren’t going to make an appearance, it seems they would have updated that at the same time they posted their vegan menu options. Which, by the way,” Micah scoffed, “is hysterically ironic at a vampire event.”
“Okay, so he’s healthy enough to make social engagements. What’s the issue then?” I asked, handing her back the paper.
“The issue,” adjusting the frames of her glasses, Micah’s lips pursed as she mulled over the issue, “is that they can’t risk having Carter’s blood on their hands when they’re trying so hard to get the NPI Bill past. My guess? They are hoping auctioning him off to a room riddled with vamps will land him in the company of a Nosferatu with a loose moral compass and ravenous appetite. Which is why, pause for dramatic effect, we need to send you to the auction and make sure you have the winning bid.”
Cue the blinding terror. “That’s tonight and really goes against my whole Not Leaving This Room objective.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Micah planted herself firm and prepared for battle. “Vinx, if we don’t help him, he could die. Add to that what an asset he could be to our cause. We want to walk the path Joselyn walked and find out her truth? He can show us the way, he’s been there. You stay here, holed up in this room, and you are sentencing him to death. Or, you can shimmy into the ridiculously expensive gown one of our benefactors donated, get over your shit, and be a hero. Your choice.”
“How ridiculously expensive?”
“If we sold this house, you might be able to afford one of your own.”
Suddenly parched by fashion lust, I centered my argument on one undeniable truth. “You know I’m not ready, Mics. The fact that my last field trip ended in voluntary manslaughter is undeniable proof of that.”
Stepping in close, Micah locked her stare with mine without wavering, her jaw tensed with resolve. “You were cornered and used your fangs to protect yourself. That’s the most pure and basic display of vampirism I can think of. I have no doubts you’re ready, Vincenza. Now, it’s time to convince you. One last test. When it’s over, if you still don’t think you’re ready, I’ll let you hole up in here and rot. If that’s what you think will truly keep the world safe.”
One more test. And yet, I couldn’t decide what the more terrifying outcome would be: an involuntary killing spree, or actually being swayed.
Sweeping my gaze over what appeared to be a block of unmarked warehouses and industrial buildings, I tilted my head in suspicion of the obscure alley entrance that Micah claimed led to one of the most exclusive vampire clubs in town. “What did you say this place was called?”
“No name.” Micah shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat and raised her shoulders to her ears to battle the chilly night air.
“No Name? Meaning, like, be who you want, bite who you want, without being hindered by identity or consequences?” Nearby, a crow’s wings beat the air. Following the sound, I watched it lift from its street light perch as if chased away by the building stormfront of my own unease.
“No name as in it’s not a public establishment you’re going to find on Yelp. It’s privately owned and by invitation only. But way to go reading into the metaphor.” Finding her pockets inadequate to the warming task, Micah cupped her hands in front of her mouth and blew hot breath on them.
“And, of course, I have an invitation,” I grumbled under my breath.
How I envied her battle against the cold. Clad only in a miniscule, black slip dress, I longed to feel the frosty nip of night. If for no other reason than to distract from the harsh claws of terror ripping my insides to ribbons.
“Of course, you do,” Micah confirmed, keeping her distance, careful not to crowd me.
“There’s humans in there?” It was both a question and a warning of my slippery control.
A roll of her shoulders and Micah was all business—minor discomforts chased away by her pivotal mission to get me through that door. “Yes, there are bound to be humans. Consensual blood lettings are allowed. More importantly, there will be upwards of fifty vamps in there. All I want you to do is walk in through the front door, make your way through the club, and come out on the other side. Simple as that.”
“And if they suspect I’m not what I claim to be?”
“Well, then that’s going to make that last part a lil bit trickier, isn’t it?”
As I risked a step forward, I blinked and that basement floor splashed with blood flashed behind my eyes. Wobbling on my designer heels, I let the wave of crushing regret crest and rescind. “Are you sure I’m ready for this?” I asked Micah … and myself.
“I’m sure you have to be.”
Th
e nondescript exterior of the club opened up to a world of trendy opulence. Brick pedestals hoisted industrial iron posts up to reclaimed wood beams. To the right of them were intimate bistro-style tables, to the left cozy white leather booths. At the far end of the expansive space, a bar sat in the corner with different sized wicker lanterns hanging overhead. Positioned next to that was the dance floor. On slate tile, couples swayed to the latest Ed Sheeran masterpiece, the walls on two sides of them beautiful mosaics of repurposed barn wood. At first glance, it looked like any other hot spot where people went to be seen and feel better about their social status. Only upon closer inspection could I catch a glimpse of fang, or a wrist pressed delicately to another’s lips, as the metallic tang of blood lingered in the air.
“You’re new,” a voice as decadent and smooth as warm maple syrup murmured against my ear.
A snarl brewed at the back of my throat. Spinning, in preparation to advise him in the most adamant of ways to back the hell up, I found myself face to face with lethal beauty. The kind that could only be compared to a prowling panther, fluid elegance with chaos and carnage lying just beneath the surface.
There was no denying he was the most beautiful specimen of the male form I had ever laid eyes on. His skin, sun-kissed caramel, accented the deep blue eyes that mirrored a galaxy’s starry eternity. My fangs ached to trace across his sculpted jawline, fingers twitching to weave into toffee-hued locks that fell in unruly waves just past his ears.
Still, sex appeal didn’t grant him the right to lean-up on me without permission. A point I fully intended to press—by any means necessary—the first moment I was able to pry my stare away from his pecs.
Damn … their outline is visible through his shirt and suit coat. That’s powerful peckage.
Veiled (Veiled Book 1) Page 16
