“You look beautiful.” Kristoff cleared his throat. “Unexpectedly so. I thought I had bought pink.”
“I had a pink wig once. It was perfect for undercover at colleges.” She fiddled with the seat belt in her lap. She let a few stoplights pass before speaking again. “You know, you haven’t sold me completely.”
“Was there a segue way that I missed?” Kristoff turned the car at a sign pointing to Fremont Street.
“We’ve been in the same city for a week and you haven’t…”
“Stalked you and been generally weird?” Kristoff chuckled. “I’d be suspicious too.”
“I didn’t mean it exactly like that, but yeah.” Red shrugged, flushing.
“I co-run a real estate empire, and I am the ambassador for the second largest vampire city in the west.” Posture loose, eyes sharp on the road, he rested one hand on the steering wheel. The amusement curled in his voice. “You’re fascinating, but I have other interests too.”
Red huffed, shaking her head and crossing her arms over the seat belt. “I’m not saying I expected you to be outside my bushes with your camera, lying in wait for an upskirt shot.”
“When I take your picture, you’ll want me to.” Kristoff grinned at the guarantee. He shot her a sly look out of the corner of his eye. “I know I am a fiend, but I am not going to beat up that bartender.”
Red twisted in the car seat to face him, propping her chin up on her fist. “It’s a legit thing to be concerned about.”
“I don’t need to puff up my chest, flash some fang, and make the boy wet himself. I think it’s healthy to have a rebound after a stressful break up. That’s what bartenders are for.” Kristoff chuckled at her surprised inhale. “I’m sorry I am not playing to your unsouled vampire stereotypes. Should I have clubbed you over the head and dragged you to my lair at the first sign of another male?”
“It was one date.” Red insisted, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. “And no, I wasn’t thinking that. I just… After everything in LA, we never talked. I don’t know where your head is at.”
“I feel the same about you as I ever have.” Kristoff said, both matter of fact and sad. The approaching casino saved Red from finding a real reply. Or understand the pang in her chest at his tone.
The usual bickering rose over smuggling her hunter’s kit inside before she relented and shoved it into the dash compartment. He turned the car up to a valet parking booth in front of a glittering array of blue bulbs reading The Turquoise Mine in curling script. Shaded in every variety of blue from periwinkle to midnight, the busy lobby spilled out into the smoky gaming floor. They walked around a display case of a giant turquoise nugget in the middle of a sea of slot machines.
“Does every supernatural faction have a casino lair in this town?”
“I believe O’Sullivan is just a silent partner. This isn’t his main lair. He doesn’t trust an outsider like me—or anyone else—that much. Rumor has it the First Alchemist managed to hex him once. Never been the same.” Kristoff led them into a small Hawaiian-themed food court. He strode through a swinging door to a fast food kitchen with the authority of a district manager. “Stay silent. I can already imagine your off-color commentary.”
A quick-moving fry cook flashed his fangs in a crooked smile at Kristoff. Chicken sizzled as they passed.
Red leaned closer to Kristoff, wishing she were armed with more than him.
Kristoff put his hand on the curve of her spine, thumb moving in a circle. He opened a freezer door. Sweeping dramatic violin music soared out. They walked into an elegant speakeasy. Kristoff pulled the door guard to the side to whisper to him.
The guard nodded, gesturing to the back of the wood-paneled chamber.
Red turned on her third eye, feeling the pressure of a magic-dampening spell on the room. Sigils unseen to mundane eyes decorated the walls between portraits. Painted demons lurked in the gold frames like twisted renditions of the old Dutch Masters. Darkly dressed vampires lounged with wine glasses like classic villains in repose.
Kristoff put his hand on her shoulder, stalking through the crowd with a nod to a bald black vampire in the corner and a pockmarked man at a piano. Another guard in shaded aviator glasses opened a door by the bar for them.
Persistent ticking chimed out of the spacious private office. Mismatched clocks ticked from every surface. The lights of Fremont Street streamed from floor to ceiling windows, reflecting on the edges of the fine leather furniture. A boat-sized desk anchored the shadowy room. Its high-backed chair was turned away as if the ship’s captain were contemplating the waves.
Kristoff bowed. “Supreme.”
The chair twisted to face them.
Red couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open at the revealed master vampire. She had met supremes before. Killed one, too. Served others. They were all different, from warmhearted Cora Moon to ruthless Cowboy Kurt and calculatingly pious Hilde Higbee. The Supreme Master Vampire of Las Vegas was in his own league.
“I keep telling you to call me Gary!” He waggled an amused finger at Kristoff. A dotty grin grew on his plain round face. The ordinary features only highlighted the chaos of his outfit.
She had seen anachronistic vampires, wardrobe stuck in bygone eras, but Gary O’Sullivan didn’t seem to be yearning for a past time. He just looked confused on which one he was actually in. A green brimmed visor ringed short brown hair. His slashed blue doublet looked older than Red. The crowning glory of the outfit were orange MC Hammer style puffy pants. She met Kristoff’s eye, desperately biting back the snark.
Kristoff shot her a warning look.
“Don’t be a square, or I’ll yeet you right out that door.” Gary giggled in delight. “I finally got to use yeet in a sentence.” Then a cloud of worry shadowed his face. He looked to Red. “Did I use that correctly? After seven hundred years, it feels like I am sprinting to keep up with you clever little monkeys.”
“I think so, sir.” Red bobbed her head. Glancing around the room, she tried to pretend to be a meek accountant even as she spied with her witch vision.
Painted sigils shimmered on the walls and windows. A complicated sequence wrapped around the room. Red could only decipher a few that meant protection against fire, theft, and magic. Though it was all invisible to non-mages like Kristoff, she could see the writing on the wall. Literally. A lyre symbol marked the ceiling, bigger than the rest. Was it to block divination like her tattoo? Gary was a supreme surviving in an alchemist town; his office was tricked out for defense and protection. She had never seen a vampire’s lair so fortified against the mystical.
“Supreme… Gary. I came because…” Kristoff started to say.
“Because your claimed human was attacked by a werewolf. I got the 411, bro.” Gary pressed his hand to his chest, flashing an easy smile. “The local curs have been informed, but those milk-livered jive turkeys wouldn’t even drag a mouse in the house. It wasn’t the calisthenic canines.”
Kristoff adjusted his cuffs, lips thinning. “Some wolf did. I brought my bookkeeper from Portland, and I am not losing her in Las Vegas just before tax season.”
Gary peered at Red, eyes sweeping over the shape of her legs in her black leggings and then to her face. “She looks more like a jazz kitten on a Sunday morning than a number cruncher.” He chuckled, lifting an eyebrow. “What exactly do you do for him, sweetheart?”
Blushing at the insinuation, Red braced herself. She thought back to Lashawn at the steakhouse and parroted what she remembered. Ignoring Kristoff’s pleased smirk, she spouted off how she saved money for the Novak and Novak Company with a complicated sounding list of deductions for business owners. She thought the detail about how some unspecified dealing weren’t based in Portland, but in Wyoming through a shell subsidiary was a nice touch.
Face falling, Gary held up his hand. “I’m convinced. You’re an egghead.” He settled in his chair, hands clasping in his lap. A wily look scuttled across his face. “I find myself surprised to see you call upon my
help, Kristoff. Sure, I see you on Fremont Street when your Prince has words, but you prefer the Strip, don’t you?”
Polite smile freezing, Kristoff blinked. He didn’t miss another beat, rolling out a smooth answer. “For a nightclub location, it made business sense. I am opening another in the fall in Chelsea even though I’m more of a Hell’s Kitchen man.”
“The famed Novak business sense. Always did know how to spot the better deal.” Gary tapped his temple under his green visor. “You certainly left the Alaric Order at the right time to nestle into Alzbeta Czerin’s strapped-down bosom like a second son.” His irises flickered amber. “Do the alchemists have the better deal now?”
Kristoff met the challenge in Gary’s gaze. “My loyalties are first to my liege lord, the Prince of Portland, and to you as long as I am a guest in your city.”
Red held her breath as the clocks ticked to fill the silence. The more she stared at the odd outfit, the more she wondered if it was a costume. There was nothing addled about the supreme’s shrewd gaze now.
“And guests have rights in Las Vegas. They sure do, buddy, they sure do.” Gary flexed a concrete smile. “Now, you wanted to speak your piece.”
Kristoff nodded, jaw tight, deepening the cleft in his chin. “I chased the two wolves from my nightclub but lost the trail. They shifted and ran across the Strip without a single care about the Dark Veil.”
“Which we don’t tolerate in Fabulous Las Vegas!” Gary lifted a palm in assurance. “I don’t make mongrels and their families comfortable here. These two wolves are probably beating off somewhere, fleeing the state.”
Red filed away his word choice. Not the hilariously incorrect use of the phrase beating off, but the part about the mongrels. She stopped herself from glancing at Kristoff to see if he noticed too.
“You have vassals scattered throughout southern Nevada. One might see a group moving through their territory,” Kristoff said. “I would appreciate it if you made it known that I will pay for solid intel.”
“I’ll send it through the grapevine.” Gary twisted his chair to face the lights of Fremont Street glowing outside his fortified perch. “Sayonara, if that’s all you have to say.”
Kristoff inclined his head, putting a light hand on Red’s shoulder to retreat out of the private office and into the elegant lounge. He murmured into her ear, “Stay behind me.”
Siding up to the piano man, he leaned in for a quiet chat. He flashed a charming grin and then even more charming cash, discretely pressing it into the musician’s hand. Red as his shadow, Kristoff repeated the move again with a bald vampire whose fangs looked nearly blue white against his ebony skin.
Ushering them out of the lounge and through the fast food kitchen, he warned her not to speak. Red picked up her pace to match Kristoff’s longer legs as they walked out of the Turquoise Mine. She leaned into him to whisper. “Did you hear what I heard back there?”
“Let’s get into the car to debrief.” He glanced around, leading her to the valet podium. “Actually, scratch that. Do you have any tricks to detect bugs? Because I’m betting Gary had one planted in the car.”
“I haven’t gotten to that class yet,” Red grumbled. She zipped her lips as the valet came back with the Lamborghini.
The ride back to the strip was quiet. She had a feeling that even without the threat of a listening device in the car they both would have been lost in their thoughts. The night had illuminated more than either of them had expected. Letting down her dyed hair from the bun, she ruffled it and stretched her neck. She rubbed his mark accidentally, turning her train of thought from the walking anachronism on Fremont Street to the vampire beside her. Shifting in her seat, she forced herself not to look at him.
“I can hear you thinking,” Kristoff said, pulling into his reserved spot in the covered parking garage of the Circe Casino
“You didn’t leave me in the dark,” Red said, stepping out of the car and walking with him into a casino side entrance. “It feels like the whole world is keeping something from me sometimes.”
“Honesty is our policy.” Kristoff sighed, smoothing his hair back nervously. “I’ve been busy, but that wasn’t why I didn’t reach out. I needed space.”
Red didn’t know how to compute the statement. “You did?”
“I shared my deepest secret with you last month. How did that work out?” He said flatly.
“Unsouled monster, remember? You don’t have feelings.” She giggled, a high sound forced out of nervous lungs. She wanted to shove it back into her mouth when his expression fell.
“Thanks for the reminder,” he said dully.
She winced. Their last real conversation in Los Angeles was an argument before their raid on the Burrows. She’d called him a monster, she wasn’t joking then. “I just hurt you with that, huh.”
“Why are you surprised? Your job is hurting monsters.” Kristoff shook his head. He turned on his heel, stalking through the crowd just released from the casino movie theater.
Stunned, she blinked at his retreating back, frowning. Maybe his friend Nedda had been right when she’d interrogated Red about her relationship with Kristoff. She didn’t know her own impact. Dodging through the throng, Red trotted to catch up with him as he strode into the under-construction passage to his nightclub. “Kristoff…”
His back stiffened as he turned. He rubbed his jaw, a tight, rueful smile on his lips. “I’m turning into my sire. I just stormed off in a tantrum.”
“Your words, not mine,” she said lightly.
He shrugged, slowing his pace. “I know why you were mad at me. You had the right. It was the timing. I’d only just confessed the secret that could damn me and everything I built. I don’t exactly put it on my business card.”
“Your gift is safe with me.” Red stepped into sync beside him. “Revealing it… That doesn’t feel right even in my head.”
“You say the word and those alchemists will have me hooked up to tubes, ready to siphon.” Kristoff shook his head. “You have the power between us, Red, even if my claim is on your neck. You always have.”
“I promised Nedda I would be gentle with you.” Red touched his arm. Meeting his blue eyes, she smiled. “I meant that.”
“It’s no fun if it doesn’t hurt.” Chuckling, he brought her knuckles to his lips. Then he released her hand, clasping his own behind his back as they walked down the empty corridor. “I delayed our debrief. We can start with Gary’s genie pants or the fact that he was hiding something.”
“You know, the clothes were strange, but I’m more confused about all the clocks. We’ll put a pin in that topic though.” Red pushed open the swinging doors to the silent nightclub. “He mentioned ‘the mongrels and their families.’ The Synod only released the photos, not the family connections or the names. And try getting anything out of the Gendarme, I dare you.”
“It hasn’t hit the grapevine. I’ve had my own minions listening in the right underworld pits.” Kristoff sat next to her at the bar.
“I saw shielding sigils and felt magic dampeners in his lair,” Red said. “He’s used to fighting mages. I bet that all his places are like that.”
“Are you sure about the shielding?”
“One looked just like my ink.” She patted her left shoulder. “It’s a symbol to block divination, seers, location spells, whatever.”
Kristoff brushed his hand over the tattoo. “So that’s what it is? I wondered.”
Red shivered at the feel of him even through her hoodie. She wet her lips, trying to stay neutral. “The Immortal Alchemist checked it out. Said it was magic. I never noticed. I forget it’s there most of the time.” She dipped her head. “She tried to help me find my mother too. Failed. The signs point northwest, but it’s still a question mark. She did answer something, though. I haven’t told anyone but Vic.”
“Tell me what the Immortal told you.” Sounding almost desperate, Kristoff tipped her face up. His thumb rubbed her chin, leaving tingles behind. He pulled away, shy
ly. “She’s a legend where I’m from. It must have been important.”
“I always wondered why I was different from the other witches. My magic. Some of it was taken. Ripped out from the root.” Red caught the startled understanding in his eyes, grateful she didn’t have to mangle Perenelle’s garden metaphor to explain. She huffed out a short laugh, then puckered her mouth. The question mark over her origins was like fighting a hydra. More popped up with every answer. “Now I know it was a mage. Maybe a minor demon. I hated vampires for so long because I thought they had done this to me.”
“You might still have plenty to hate certain vampires for,” Kristoff said quietly, as if to himself, eyes lowered. A slight shiver ran over his broad shoulders as if an old memory bubbled up. His eyes met hers, and a wistful hope softened his chiseled features. “You know Oregon is my home territory if you need anything. In the meantime, I can make you a drink. A real one. You can have the very first before the opening.”
Red smiled at him. There was something tempting to the idea of a drink with him, to finally dish like the fashion police about Gary. The need for bed cut the conflict. She didn’t have the mental energy to think about what it meant that she wanted to stay. “I need to let the Gendarme know about Gary before I hit the sack. Part of my deal with the alchemists.”
“You get the wolves, and they get to discipline the locals.” He cocked his head. “I paid good money to ensure every vamp in Nevada knows I want intel on the Lopeses. I’ll pass it along what I learn.“
“Vic started a rumor through the hunters that we’re going to an old Constantine hideout. Made it sound like there will be alchemists waiting at every gas stop until we get there.”
“I can give the rumor wings.” He wagged his eyebrows, diabolical glee crinkling his eyes. “I’ll say my men will take over the guard, pretending you’re going to Oregon. Then they’ll really want to stop you in Battle Forge.”
The boyish charm didn’t distract her as her thoughts jumped to exactly what kind of battle they were forging. Tomorrow was the big showdown. It would have been intimidating even if she hadn’t gotten her ass handed to her by Frank this morning. The thought made Red cringe. “Even taking a short cut, it’s a long drive, and I still feel that spell I hit Frank with. And the jeep he hit me with too. Vic keeps saying I am the lynchpin.”
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