by Lysa Daley
“She… doesn’t like me.”
Ah. Now it made perfect sense.
“Why do I feel like there might be a lot of shes who don’t like you?”
“Believe me, there’s a whole lot more satisfied she-customers than unhappy ones.”
Ugh. Gross.
“Why is this particular fair lady unhappy with you?” I asked.
“That’s not important.” He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, pulled out a yellow index card, and handed it to me. It contained a string of numbers and letters that made no sense.
33561N1171852W
The only thing I could think was that it looked like a very elaborate password for something.
“I’ll text you the address. You’re going to see a lady named Santina. Give her that card and ask her what she knows about Bernardo.”
I knew enough Italian to know that the name Santina meant saint. I hoped that was a good omen.
“Will she be expecting me?”
“No.” He shook his head and pointed to the index card in my hand. “But that will get you in.”
“Okay,” I said. It didn’t sound too difficult.
“And, no matter what, don’t tell her you know me.”
“Then what am I supposed to say?”
“Tell her you work for Stroud. She’s super into girl power and all that. If she thinks you’re after Bernardo on your own, she’ll be all about a chick bringing him down.”
“Then what?”
“When you have some information, call me.” As he walked away, he added, “And if I were you, I’d bring that gun Stroud lent you. And your wand.”
The address turned out to be a commercial high-rise in the center of Beverly Hills. Beverly Hills was only a couple miles away from Westwood, where I lived, but despite the close proximity, it was a whole different world.
After dark, it became vampire world.
The short winter days of January meant that dusk would be around 5:00pm. I looked it up to find that sunset would be at 5:21pm. As long as I was done and headed home before then, I should be safe.
After the sun had completely set, all bets were off.
Beverly Hills was home to the largest vampire coven in the world, outside of London. It was even bigger than the New York or Moscow’s covens. This all had to do with the unique history of the area. Vampires came to the U.S. in droves right after WWI, fleeing Europe where they were exterminated in droves.
In some ways, back then, Los Angeles was still the Wild West. Traveling all the way out to the West Coast wasn’t easy. You had to take a train that took several days from the east coast.
Most people didn’t bother.
This meant that a lot of the people who went to the trouble of traveling to California made the trip in order to start over or hide from whatever unpleasantness lay hidden in their past.
Including the vamps.
Until the 1950s, the vampire covens remained small. Mainly little regional groups that struggled to stay hidden and alive. When the freeway system began to spider web out over Southern California, the regular humans fled the city for suburban life.
When they left, the vamps moved in and took over. Beverly Hills was the perfect location for them. Filled with tall metal buildings and lots of iron, this kept the weres and fae away, and no other supernaturals challenged them. Humans still worked in Beverly Hills, but most left at night, heading back to their suburban bliss.
For years, the streets of Beverly Hills were rolled up after dark, and it became a sort of ghost town at night. You couldn’t have asked for a better environment for the vamps.
Small covens moved in, eventually banding together into what would become one powerful group. They called themselves the West Winds. Despite the lyrical sounding name, the coven controlled and terrorized the area for decades.
Over the years, literally thousands of unsuspecting regulars have disappeared. Lured in by the glamour, money, and nightlife associated with Beverly Hills, they became easy prey for the vamps.
Because of this, the coven thrived and grew.
Wealthier than ever, in a century they’d gone from being immigrants hiding in the shadows to captains of industry, banking, technology, and entertainment.
Eventually, the supernatural magistrate and their law caught up with them, and the vampires had to stop killing innocent humans.
Instead, the coven turned the situation around. They fed in legal ways on willing “participants.” Instead of preying on innocent victims, the vampires now paid willing participants to “donate” blood for money. Blood slaves.
As long as some basic guidelines were followed, this was all perfectly legal. That still didn’t mean you wanted to get caught in Beverly Hills after dark.
Despite the legal “blood slave” loophole, Vampires could still glamour innocent victims. They’re both super fast and super strong. Sunlight didn’t kill them but burned their paper-thin skin to a crisp. And, in a hostile situation, a good wooden stake to the heart really did the trick and turned them to dust.
Interestingly, contrary to the legends, they couldn’t turn into bats or wolves or any other animal. Only animagis could do that.
It was almost 4:30 when I crossed Wilshire Blvd. The address Stryker had texted me was a tall sleek building of black glass and chrome off the corner of Wilshire and Rodeo Drive.
This building had once housed a famous Hollywood talent agency, who after decades of trying to stick it out, had finally given into the ever-looming dark presence of the vampires and fled the neighborhood for the safer locale of Century City a mile down the road.
Despite that, parking was still impossible. I ended up on a side street three blocks away.
I walked into the sleek granite lobby and up to an electronic board that listed the tenants with dull, description-less names like Gordon and Case, LLC; White, Rosenstein and Jones, LLC; Jenner, Li and Henshaw, LLC.
Finally, I found West Winds Consulting, LLC on the 13th floor.
What was it with the 13th floor?
Walking confidently, I breezed past the security desk. At first, I thought the security guards hadn’t noticed me. But when I glanced back, I saw one of them quickly look away from me. Still, I caught enough to see his red eyes. Red vampire eyes.
I guess someone must’ve been expecting me, after all.
Did this mean Stryker called ahead?
Another vampire, dressed in a crisp security guard’s uniform, stood at the bank of elevator cars.
“Good afternoon, miss,” he said, looking me dead in the eyes and making me uncomfortable. It wasn’t a great idea to look straight into a vampire’s eyes.
Up close, I was surprised by how flawless his pale skin looked. His features seemed perfect. I felt so drawn to him that I leaned forward. What a beautiful creature.
“What floor?” He smiled, trying to glamour me.
I forced myself to look away. Then I shut them tight and spun around. This took a serious effort. To break the spell.
A glamour wasn’t exactly magic. It was more primal. More dangerous. There was more than a hint of dark magic in the vampire’s glamour.
“Uh… 13th floor, please,” I finally answered, continuing to avert my gaze as the elevator doors opened.
“I’d be happy to accompany you.”
“No. I’m fine.” I stepped into the elevator. It took all of my strength to avoid his gaze as the elevator doors slowly shut.
As the elevator ascended, I wondered what I would encounter at West Winds Consulting, considering I’d barely made it through the lobby.
I felt the inside of my jacket for the gun Mr. Stroud had given me. I made sure to load it with the iron and wood bullets. Just for good measure, I sprinkled them with a little holy water I had laying around too.
A high-pitched ding announced that I’d arrived at my floor. The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped out into the lavish reception area of West Winds Consulting.
For some reason, I was expec
ting a lot of sleek modern furnishings with chrome and glass. All straight lines and hard edges.
But it was warm and cozy like an old library. It made me want to kick my feet up, have a cup of tea, and read a mystery novel. An expensive oriental carpet in deep jewel tones spread out beneath a room filled with antique mahogany furniture and ornate Tiffany lamps.
“Can I help you?” said an impossibly beautiful receptionist in an elegant navy suit. She sat behind a simple secretary desk with a black granite top.
I recognized the dullness in her eyes. A blood slave. She was one of the thousands who “willingly” gave their own blood to feed the vampires. Had she first been a donor and then became receptionist, or was she promoted from office worker to donor?
“I’m here to see Santina,” I said.
“Do you have an appointment?” Her limp eyes rose up to meet mine.
“No.” I pulled the piece of paper from the change pocket of my wallet. “Please let her know that I have something she might want.”
I held up the strange string of numbers and letters for the receptionist to briefly see. She reached out to take the card, but her slowed reaction gave me plenty of time to pull it out of her reach.
“Sorry.” I smiled. “Only Santina gets to see this first hand.”
She picked up the phone. “Have a seat. I’ll let you know if she’s available.”
Chapter Nineteen
Before I could page through half of a glossy copy of California Entrepreneur magazine, two young men in expensive suits appeared in the reception area.
Even behind their hipster square eyeglasses and designer haircuts, their predatory look told me they were both vampires.
The older one spoke, “Are you armed, miss?”
“Yes,” I said. I’d be crazy to meet with a vampire without protection.
“I need any weapons, holy water, crucifixes, or sharp wooden objects.”
I hesitated. Of course they weren’t going to let me keep my gun. But I wasn’t so sure I wanted to give it up.
As if reading my mind, he said, “I can offer assurances that you will be safe as long as you are on the premises.”
I stood, removing the small handgun concealed in my jacket.
The younger vampire took it and handed it to the receptionist. She, in turn, got up and reached out to a small oil painting of a provincial European countryside. One side of the painting swung open, revealing a high-tech wall safe behind it.
Old world art meets modern day security.
“You can collect your weapon on the way out,” he said, then moved toward an ornately carved door on the opposite side of the reception area. “This way, Ms.…?”
“McCray,” I answered, following him. “Lacey McCray.”
“McCray?” he repeated as if he knew the name.
“Yes.” I watched his face for more of a reaction. It seemed like he wanted to say more.
After the slightest hesitation, he said, “Follow me.”
I was shown out of the lovely reception, through the ornately carved doors that had probably been stolen off the front of an ancient Asian temple.
Wide wooden planked floors lined a hallway showing off an impressive art collection—everything from medieval oils to a few modern masters. Were they real? If so, they were worth a king’s ransom.
Because they lived for so long, vampires tended to become rather wealthy over time. That is if they had half a brain. By the looks of things around here, someone had more than half a brain.
We passed a row of offices filled with suit-wearing, phone-talking business people. At the end of the hallway, I was led through a set of wide smoky glass doors. My two escorts showed me into the corner office to end all corner offices. The decor was minimal but elegant, feminine but powerful.
This was the boss’ office. At the moment, it was empty.
“Can I get you a coffee… or…” one of my escorts began. “Or something else?”
The or something else carried a dark innuendo. The only something else I could imagine was a nice steamy mug of blood. But surely he knew I wasn’t a vampire.
My blank look must have prompted him to explain. “I just thought… your kind… might be a touch on the carnivorous side.”
Apparently, he knew I was an animagus. Maybe he assumed I shifted into a tiger or a shark to eat a little raw meat now and then.
I smiled. “I would love a coffee with a little cream, if you have it.”
He nodded with a trace of disappointment, like a host who’d baked a special pie that none of his guests wanted. Nevertheless, he stepped into a small kitchenette on the far side of the office—home to a cappuccino maker that looked like it cost a week’s salary.
While I waited, I strolled over to the floor-to-ceiling windows with a western view. The glass had been coated with a dark covering that filtered out any direct sunlight.
The view was breathtaking.
Orange and yellow street lights slowly twinkled on in anticipation of the coming night. The flat expanse of blue ocean was visible beyond the city, where a sliver of sun hung behind clouds in the gray winter sky. Within the hour, the sun would dip below the horizon and be gone until dawn.
“I see you’re enjoying the view,” said a female voice directly behind me.
Startled, I spun around to find an elegant dark-haired woman with olive skin standing five feet away from me. Damn vampires and their ability to silently sneak up on you.
“It’s impressive.” I nodded.
Her minion came back with two cups of coffee in delicate bone china tea cups. He’d made his boss a cup of coffee as well. At least, I hoped it was coffee. I couldn’t quite see into her cup.
“Have a seat,” she said cordially, as she slid behind her Queen Anne style desk. “I’m Santina.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Lacey.” I sat in one of the two silk-covered chairs positioned in front of her desk, balancing my cup and saucer on my lap.
Like a teenager who’d hijacked her mother’s wardrobe, Santina looked too young to be wearing the modern cut burgundy suit with an embroidered double CC on the lapel. Chanel. Still, she made an already good looking suit better with her nearly perfect figure.
“You must be Stryker’s new girl?” She grinned.
So much for not mentioning Stryker’s name.
I hadn’t been totally convinced that she was actually a vampire until she leaned back in her white leather Eames desk chair, flashing her pearly white smile that included a pair of gleaming fangs.
If the intent was to frighten me, it worked.
She continued, “I see he’s going for something a little younger. Of course, it’s not hard to be younger than me, considering I recently passed the half century mark.”
I gaped. 500 years old?
“But you are very pretty,” she added. “He does have excellent taste.”
Did she think I was his assistant or his girlfriend?
Great. I was trapped on the 13th floor of an impenetrable high-rise with a jealous ex-girlfriend, who just happened to be a five-century-old power vampire.
“I’m Mr. Stryker’s new assistant,” I replied, treading carefully.
“Oh.” She drew back. “What happened to Clive?”
“He came out on the wrong end of a fight with a leprechaun.”
“Figures.” She rolled her eyes. “Dumb ass. And now he hired you?”
“I was also working for Mr. Stroud, but Stryker asked me to help him on this one case. It’s a temporary thing.”
“And what case is that?”
“He’s trying to find a vampire named Bernardo.”
At the sound of that name, her face fell. “Bernardo is no longer a member of this coven. And he hasn’t been for quite some time.”
“Can I ask why?” This might not have been wise, but I was too curious not to ask.
“He broke our rules,” she answered without hesitation. “Simple as that. He was lucky we didn’t sentence him to death. Some… others… spoke
up for him and his life was spared. Perhaps that was a mistake. Why do you seek him?”
“He skipped his bond with the magistrate.”
“Ah.” She waved a dismissive hand and took a sip of coffee. “Not my problem.”
“But the rules of the magistrate apply to all supernaturals.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “But that’s their problem. We police our kind from within. If he broke your rules, then he’s your problem.”
I wasn’t getting very far with her, so I reached into my pocket and pulled out the paper Stryker had given me.
She watched me with interest. “What’s that?”
I held it up for her to see but still far enough away that she couldn’t grab it. Her eyes widened slightly. Obviously, this meant something to her.
“That dirty dog,” she muttered with anger blazing in her eyes. She stormed away from me and I felt a chill of fear watching this angry vampire.
“Stryker said that you could have this if you gave us information on Bernardo’s whereabouts.”
She turned away from me, pulling in a few deep breaths. What in the world did these number and letters mean?
“Okay. Yes.” She returned to her desk. “I may have a last-known address for him. I can’t guarantee that’s where he currently resides.”
Stryker warned me that she might say something like this. He told me not to fall for it. Covens kept a very close eye on any of the current or former coven members for a simple reason: the actions of one may bring harm to them all.
The vampire community had worked long and hard to rehabilitate their reputation in the supernatural world—mostly in an effort to stop the rest of us from randomly driving stakes through their hearts and such.
I shook my head politely, trying to maintain an element of decorum. “Unfortunately, I’m going to need something that’s a little bit more concrete than that.”
Something flared in her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. “We don’t know where Bernardo is currently living. We were keeping tabs on him — for obvious reasons — but he hasn’t been seen there in a while.”
I nodded but remained silent.
“I can give you his last known address, as well as the contact information for someone may know more than we do,” she said, picking up her $1000 Mont Blanc pen from its gold holder and scribbling a name on a piece of personal stationary. “This person has been reluctant to talk to us. They may, however, find your boss to be… more persuasive.”
