The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight

by Lynne Connolly

  “Do you want to find out?”

  She felt him in her mind at the last word. “You’d do that?”

  “I heal fast. We could play, then I’d take it out. How about oral sex?”

  She’d never thought of that. Wow, yes, she’d take that. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Sure.”

  He sounded so casual about something that must hurt like fuck to have done. Hastily she said, “No, don’t. Besides, I don’t think Regency gentlemen had them.”

  “No, they had piercings in other places. Not something I’d ever considered doing, although I know somebody who does.”

  He sent her a mental picture of a cock with a piercing through the hole at the tip, coming out at the side. It was decorated with rings and a chain. She winced. That must hurt.

  “A friend of mine has it. He’s had no complaints.”

  “You must know him very well,” was her first thought.

  “You could say that.”

  The picture was of man with a foreskin. Nathan had one too. None of her previous sexual partners had been uncut. She’d explored it and the way it covered the most sensitive part of his cock when it was resting. Not that she saw it resting very often.

  Now she buried her thoughts deep and let him lead her into the club.

  Stu gazed around, his mouth slightly open. “It’s a lot bigger than I thought.”

  She hadn’t considered it, but perhaps she was used to large auditoriums, so this hadn’t come as a surprise. “Is your club smaller?”

  “Yeah, a lot. But we’re just starting out. Don’t you have to work?”

  Usually she’d go through to Nathan’s office to remove her outerwear, but now she did it perched on a chair. Nathan made a point of kissing her before he went off to see his manager. “It shouldn’t take long. I’ll be back in ten.”

  Which gave her time to talk to Stu. He might not understand her decision to work with Nathan and go along with her lie, but he had to know. As soon as they were alone, she leaned forward. “Stu, they still think I’m Isadora Bennett.”

  “Keep lying,” Stu said. He brightened. “In any case, having my sister around could seriously cramp my style. The guys over at Vampire Heaven are great. I don’t think they’d want me to drag my sister along. You will come around, won’t you? I’ll leave your name at the door. My boss is looking for dancers.”

  “Are you going into competition with Maskerade?” she asked.

  He snorted. “Nah. That’s a different market.” He got to his feet. “So I’m your old friend, Stu, from Lincoln, Nebraska.”

  “Shh!” She glanced around, making sure nobody was close enough to hear. “After the first night they’ll replace the posters, and I’ll be so good he’ll need me too much to fire me. Thanks.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “I owe you, Stu.”

  “Sure you do. And I’ll make sure you pay.” He grinned, and she grinned back, just like the conspiracies when they were kids. They’d always covered for each other. They made a good double act.

  * * * *

  Upstairs, Nathan stared through the one-way glass down at where Kristen conversed with her friend. When the visitor took her hand, he sucked in a breath.

  “Is she playing you along?” Vella asked quietly from behind him.

  He didn’t confide his suspicions in Vella. To be truthful, he didn’t know. Kristen could be using him, and honestly, he wouldn’t blame her if she was. She’d chosen a heartbreaking career, one where people took the breaks as they happened. “She’s a great dancer and my temporary bed partner,” he said. “The only contract she signed was the one for the club.”

  “I saw that.” Vella didn’t sound pleased. He continued to watch Kristen. “I’ve never known you to sign such a loose contract. Can be ended by either side with a week’s notice? What the fuck made you do that? She’s a nobody; you could have dictated your terms.”

  “And what about the other thing?” she added. Even in the privacy of the manager’s office, she didn’t mention the Thorndykes aloud—that secret organization that had to remain secret for its own sake.

  Nathan wasn’t so paranoid. “Not that, either. She doesn’t know a thing, and she’s a fucking great cover. We open in a week. Let’s move a few people then. Opening night, when the place is throbbing.”

  Vella made a noncommittal sound in her throat, a kind of guttural Uh-huh. “Sure,” said Vella, and she sounded happier now.

  Nathan liked Kristen far too much for his comfort. He even slept with her, something he’d never done with his sexual partners before.

  Every month for three days at the height of the full moon, a shape-shifter had to change to their other form. It was a primal compulsion. If he didn’t do it of his free will, his body took over, reminding him of his dragon. What he was, what he always would be. Last night was the last one for a month where he sneaked away in the early hours of the morning to undergo the shift, and back again as fast as he dared. Slipping back into bed to hold her against him. Content just to hold her sometimes, he knew he was growing into one of life’s saps.

  He had to do something. He’d been training Kristen with Steve for the past two days, ignoring the pangs of jealousy when Steve put his hand on her breast. This weekend, it would be for real, and Steve would be helping her display that gorgeous body to anyone who had the money to gain admittance and the fortitude to stand in line. Because he sold no advance tickets for this deal. He wanted the critics to come in with everyone else and decide for themselves. He was that confident.

  Chapter Seven

  “I might not make your first night,” Nathan said casually to Kristen over dinner preparations.

  They’d cooked a meal together, simple, but she loved the domestication of it. She’d eaten well from takeout food that came from some of the world-class restaurants nearby. But tonight she’d shown him some home cooking, and he’d made the salad with a dressing he said he’d learned in London years ago.

  She put down her knife carefully, laying it blade toward the cutting board she was using to chop the onion on. “I thought you wanted to see me.” She tried hard to hide her disappointment, but in her book, he was letting her down. He’d all but promised. It was that “all but” that had tripped her up.

  “Darling, I have a business to run,” he said patiently, and that “darling” was anything but fond.

  She saw red. What a patronizing bastard. How dare he assume she expected anything more than a job and good sex, even if they had spent a few nights together?

  Not recently though. For the last three nights, she’d woken and found herself alone and the place next to her cold. He’d fucked her and left, and he’d come to her apartment, not the other way about. No holding or cuddling afterward, nothing but a quiet, “It’s late; we should sleep.”

  Part of her anger was for herself. He’d never promised her any more than good sex. She had no right to expect anything else. They were adults, weren’t they? And he was right. He was a businessman. He couldn’t spend all his time with her.

  She’d thrown herself into work, setting herself to learn as many dance steps as she could. Tango, waltz, salsa, and more, she’d mastered the basics, and she was ready to expand her repertoire.

  Not that Nathan showed any interest. Steve was more enthusiastic, seeing this as a chance to push his career up a notch. Ballroom champion to professional dancer. TV beckoned. Steve was tall, handsome, and muscular—everything a good dancer should be. He could dance some ballet steps, had seen himself as a kind of Billy Elliot at one time, he told her. But he preferred the challenge of the ballroom until the rules began to chafe. Now with the clubs, he got to combine his interests.

  And Steve wasn’t with his previous dance partner, as she’d assumed. Nathan had made it appear that way, had probably thought so. But she was with another man, and it was his baby she was expecting, not Steve’s. When Nathan had discovered that, he’d ground his teeth. She’d been standing close enough to hear it.

  “Do you
want our affair to stop? I could move out. I can afford to find something bigger, thanks to you.” Not on Lake Shore Drive, but who cared about that? She could afford a good area and a bigger place with the salary she was getting.

  She had nothing to complain about. Even after dinner, when she’d hoped to do something mundane with him like watching TV, he made his excuses and left, as her mother used to put it.

  “I need to check on something. Don’t wait up. Thanks for a great meal.”

  He kissed her on the cheek and shot her a haunted look as he’d left. What the fuck was that about? On the cheek? Like a sister or something?

  Kristen wasn’t stupid. She knew the signs. They’d come a bit early, but if she wasn’t mistaken, and she never had been before, this was the start of the brush-off. She needed to start looking for another place. Staying in this apartment building, watching him with another woman, was out of the question.

  This had happened before, of course it had, and it made her feel dejected, but she’d gone on. It had never meant that much to her.

  Now she wasn’t dejected. She was mad. How dare the bastard drop her so fast? The rich were different, all right.

  Fuck, what had Stu said? His boss was looking for dancers? Just to spite Nathan, she’d go and see him. And she should check on her brother. She hadn’t set foot in Vampire Heaven yet.

  She gave her brother a quick call. Yes, he was working tonight, and she should come over.

  She found a black dress, the standard little black number she used whenever she needed to be a bit more dressy than usual. Then she went out, hailing a cab outside the apartment. Taxis tended to congregate at this part of Lake Shore Drive, certain of customers if they waited long enough.

  When she gave the address, the driver made no comment but took another look at her. His attention flicked to his rearview mirror and back again, and he wasn’t checking the traffic behind them.

  Maybe the dress was a bit on the tight side, but dancers liked to display their bodies and weren’t shy about it. Why should they be when their job was to display the grace and beauty of the human form?

  But the area was respectable enough, down the street from Maskerade—within sight of it, in fact. She’d been too busy practicing and fucking to visit Stu.

  Only fucking. Recently it was as if Nathan had thrown up a wall between them. The only times he communicated with her telepathically were when they were working, and he used it casually, giving instructions and nothing else. He didn’t share her bed, and at times she felt more alone than ever in her life before. Even when he was present. That large penthouse held space and little else.

  She was a big girl. She could take it. But that promise of something special… It had lured her into thoughts she shouldn’t have allowed herself. Now she wanted company and some fun. Nothing too extreme, just an ordinary night.

  Or as ordinary as a night could be in a Goth club.

  The cab stopped outside a large door painted purple, but the letters ringing the arch at the top told her she’d come to the right place. Vampire Heaven, a reasonable play on words and not too scary. The door was open, but the red light inside was subdued. She barely made out the heavy black doorknocker in the shape of a demon’s head and the chunky chains, more for decoration than purpose.

  Someone was going inside. She followed him, and he paid the doorman with a crumpled note. Kristen mentioned Stu’s name to the doorman, who was stagily garbed in ragged black with red paint additions. He had a double piercing in his neck, small studs just where a vampire might bite, and the obligatory neck tattoo. His looked real. The straggly beard wasn’t an improvement to the look.

  Trying not to compare the entrance to the glossily impressive lobby of Maskerade, Kristen walked inside. The doorman waved toward the dark passageway from which predictably heavy rock music thumped.

  Kristen liked a blast of rock, but the sound system favored bass and treble at the expense of the midsection. The thumps and screams were magnified to the exclusion of anything else that might be going on between them.

  Her shoes stuck to the floor as she walked along the passage toward the noise and the flashing lights. An overwhelming sense of nostalgic familiarity hit her, and she recognized the kind of cheap club she’d frequented as a student. She hadn’t been in a place like this in years.

  Inside it was much as she’d expected, with a dance floor at the front and tables ringed with chairs and couches. The upholstery and paintwork was done in purple, or a dark blue, but knowing the theme here, most likely the former. The dim lights made it hard to tell. Although eleven was early for a place like this, the club was reasonably busy. Enough to say it wouldn’t be going out of business soon.

  The clients were in black, red, and purple with the occasional flash of white, making Kristen glad she’d chosen the black dress. Vampire-themed clubs were still thriving, then. Although declared dead a number of times, vampires had their fans. Or rather, the imagined lifestyle, because she had always believed that vampires were a product of Bram Stoker’s fevered and vivid imagination.

  Kristen crossed to the bar, having to walk around several groups to get there. About twenty people were on the dance floor, gyrating in the flashing lights. A few glanced at her, then looked away with disinterest. One or two men let their gazes linger, but she was used to that. Not vanity, but the result of honing and working her body as hard as she could.

  Her face, now… Men didn’t look too closely at that. Even Nathan didn’t spend too much time gazing into her eyes. He was far more interested in her body. The attention didn’t bother her now. She stuck her nose in the air and took no notice.

  The place smelled of beer, heavy perfumes like musk and patchouli, and something else she couldn’t identify. Sharp and sweet at the same time. Maybe it was an air freshener the owners pumped in to get rid of the other odors. Not unpleasant, at any rate.

  The bar was well-polished dark wood, although she doubted anyone slid beers down it Western-style. They probably sold a lot of Bloody Marys here, too. The bottle of grenadine behind the counter was half-full.

  Stu glanced up and noticed her. A smile broke over his face. Despite the theatrical dark lipstick and pale face, she recognized the boy she’d grown up with, the one who was full of fun and a ringleader in their more imaginative exploits. Even though she’d been old enough to know better, she’d still beaten him climbing to the top of the oak trees near their home. Although Stu had won the race when they’d run ten times around the frozen lake.

  The boyish grin evoked a responsive smile from her. As soon as he’d dealt with the customers, he came over to her. “Hi, sis— Kriss, glad you could make it. What can I get you? On the house.”

  By which he probably meant on him. She felt in her pocket for the ten she’d stuffed there after paying off the cab. “I’m good for it. What, you think they weren’t paying me?” She shoved the ten over. “Beer. In a bottle, please.”

  A new voice broke into the conversation. “And she’ll take the cap off herself.”

  Startled, she whipped her head around and saw a stranger standing next to her. Since customers were coming and going, she’d probably thought nothing of it, but when she looked at the newcomer, she wondered how she’d not noticed him before.

  He was tall, with the long dark hair that was practically obligatory in this place. The man still stood out in the crowd. His eyes were a pale gray, arresting and not altogether comfortable to look into, but she met his gaze boldly and took a breath to quell her initial trepidation.

  He was smiling at her, thin but well-sculpted lips curving at the corners. He wore a relatively simple outfit of black T-shirt and well-cut jeans. But he was no skinny student or would-be vampire. His shoulders were broad and his frame powerful.

  “Hi.” He held out his hand, and after a glance at Stu, she took it. “I’m Trent De’Ath, the owner of Vampire Heaven. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Do you greet all your guests personally?”

  “Only
when they’re as pretty as you.”

  Apart from groaning softly, she showed no response other than keeping the smile firmly fixed in place. This guy was Stu’s boss, and she didn’t want to piss him off. But she couldn’t resist one question. “De’Ath? Really?”

  “Really. That gave me the idea for the theme of the club. How could I ignore that?”

  “So you don’t believe in this vampire sh—lore?” She waved her hand around, indicating the skull nestled on a high shelf behind the bar and the upside-down pentacle hung over the dance area. And that was just for starters.

  He shrugged. “I bought a lot of occult items at an auction. They turned out very useful. Actually, the skull is plastic, and the pentacle doesn’t have anything to do with vampires, but it looks good.”

  “But Bram Stoker invented vampires. They’re fictional. You can say what you want about them.”

  Silently Stu slid her beer in front of her, together with her change. She wanted to shove it back, but Stu would reject it. She’d get it to him another way. And more. He was a student, and he needed every penny he could get. He’d taken the cap off for her. She took a pull.

  De’Ath laughed. Not a sound she particularly liked. His voice was pleasant, like a singer’s, carefully paced and mellifluous, but his laugh was more like a donkey’s bray. “Stoker didn’t invent vampires. They might be legendary, but they’ve appeared under different names and in different disguises for centuries. Stoker just used some of what was already out there.”

  Despite her skepticism, the idea fascinated her, and being the person she was, she immediately thought of a dance featuring the history of vampires. Or a vampire waltz. No, that had been done. She recalled a few movies where the vampires, clad in ragged historical clothes, pranced in a parody of a waltz or a minuet. Something sexier than those formal dances. No, it had been done. That was the trouble with this place. It had all been done before.

  She turned her attention back to the man before her, leaning against the bar, as if relaxed. “Like the chupacabra, you mean?”