He was around five-ten, with sandy hair that fell over his collar. The tailored suit was probably worth my month’s wages. He was handsome, enough so that I doubted he ever got lonely, but it was his deep emerald-green eyes that captivated me. I wanted to fall into them.
I pushed a menu across the bar to each of them. The two wingmen paid more attention to the other people in the bar, but Mr. Beautiful scanned the top shelf liquors. His eyes fell from the expensive spirits to my face and lingered there, then did a brief dip down my body, and dropped to the menu.
When he looked up again, he said with an Irish accent, “A pint of Murphy’s, if you please, and a shot of Midleton.”
I managed to tear myself away from gazing at his eyes and cocked an eyebrow at his friends, both of whom shook their heads. I poured his drinks and set them in front of him.
“The specials are a baked half chicken with potatoes au gratin and asparagus, and a halibut steak with snow peas and crab risotto,” I said, then caught myself, feeling my face flame. “I guess you’re probably not interested,” I lamely finished.
“No, but it sounds wonderful,” he said. “I’m Harold Gallagher, but my friends call me Harry. Do I have the pleasure of meeting the infamous Mistress Erin McLane?”
The accent combined with the eyes left me speechless, so I just nodded. No man in my entire life had affected me like that. I shuddered, then turned away, and walked to the other end of the bar where Jenny waited on me.
“What do you need?” I asked, relieved for the excuse to get away from him.
She gave me her drink order, then said, “Haven’t seen him in here before.”
“Me neither. Do you know who he is? Harold Gallagher?”
“Oh, aye. One of Lord Carleton’s. Handsome lad, isn’t he?”
I tried not to look back at him. “Incredible green eyes,” I managed to say.
There were four of Carleton’s children—vamps he had turned and held in thrall—and I should have figured out that Gallagher was one of them. He had my head all messed up, and I couldn’t understand why.
Jenny smirked. “He’s Irish. From what I’ve heard, he has a generous portion of the gift of gab, or blarney, as some would say.” She leaned close. “Don’t go thinkin with your hormones, lassie. Remember he’s a vampire.”
While I fixed her drinks, I took deep breaths and tried to calm myself. Jenny was right, and I’d never had that kind of problem with any vampire before. I was normally immune to a vampire’s persuasion.
I wandered back to where Gallagher was sitting, picked up the fifty he had laid on the bar, and then gave him his change.
“So, what brings you in this evening?” I asked.
“Curious about you,” he answered. “George and Rodrick seem enamored with you, so I thought I should see what the fuss is about.”
I shook my head. “They’re both under the mistaken impression I’m a pawn to use against the other.”
Gallagher laughed. “I heard you were straightforward.”
“I think you mean blunt.”
He shrugged.
“So, you’re one of Carleton’s children,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I’ve heard there are four of you. Who’s the fourth?”
“Eileen Montgomery. She runs Necropolis.”
“So, Barclay occupies the castle, and Flynn and Montgomery have their nightclubs. Where do you hang out?”
“Ah. Well, I’m at the low end of the stick, so to speak,” he replied. “I run the company that picks up your garbage. I hang out, as you put it, at company headquarters and have a little apartment downtown. It’s modest, but it suits my needs. I throw parties occasionally. You should stop by sometime.”
Gallagher pulled out a business card and a stylish fountain pen. Flipping the card over, he wrote a phone number and address on the back, then handed it to me. The address meant nothing to me, and I thought I caught a trace of disappointment from him when I didn’t react.
“Thank you,” I said, “but I’m not in the habit of attending blood parties. I only have so much of it, and I like to keep what I have.”
“Such a small-minded attitude,” he said. “You should consider expanding your sensory experiences.”
“I’m just a small-town girl,” I said. “I can’t seem to wrap my mind around all your big-city ways.”
I moved away to check on the other customers sitting at the bar, and while I was occupied, Gallagher got up and left with his buddies. He left the change from the fifty sitting on the bar, along with a small gold disk on a chain and a note on a bar napkin.
Just a little gift so you’ll think of me. Consider it part of the tip.
Chapter 4
I had the next three days off, and as I sat around drinking my tea the morning after meeting Harry Gallagher, I thought about Westport’s vampire problems.
Lord Guy Carleton, the former Master of the City, had been an eighteenth-century aristocrat who fell in with the wrong crowd. He had come to Westport in the 1880s with four of his ‘children’—vampires he had personally turned.
Two or three months before I arrived in Westport, he had lost his head while engaged in a deadly dance with a member of the Hunters’ Guild. That created chaos in the city’s vampire society. Vampires, like the Illuminati, had a very structured hierarchy and didn’t do well without someone in authority.
From what everyone had told me, George Flynn and Rodrick Barclay were the two favorites to win out over their peers and take control over all the vampires in the city. My impression was that they were the oldest of Carleton’s children, and therefore, the most powerful. Meeting Gallagher challenged that assumption. Neither Flynn nor Barclay had felt as strong as Gallagher did, and they certainly hadn’t been able to influence me the way he did.
That got me to thinking about Eileen Montgomery. Her nightclub, Necropolis, was a very popular place where vamp groupies went to indulge in their fantasies.
That made me curious about Eileen. Men always assumed that in any competition a man would beat a woman. And of course, if three men and one woman competed to become the vampires’ Master of the City, the woman’s chances weren’t worth considering.
I had killed a lot of men who held that false assumption.
That kind of nightclub had as little appeal for me as Gallagher’s parties, but I wasn’t afraid of it. Vampires and mages tended to avoid each other. A vampire’s sensuality held little attraction for a mage. What mages would purposely weaken themselves by having their blood drained? The world was too dangerous a place to take that kind of chance. And since vampires’ powers of influence were fairly useless against a mage, the vamps didn’t waste their time on us.
Which brought me around to thinking about Gallagher again. Maybe Jenny was right, and it was simply my hormones reacting to a man who ticked off every single box on my attractiveness checklist. If he wasn’t a vamp, all he’d have to do was crook his finger, and I’d be in his bed.
Then it occurred to me that his bed might be pretty crowded. I certainly wasn’t playing in the same league that he was. His groupies were probably all super models. That thought dampened my enthusiasm, and I turned my attention back to Eileen Montgomery.
Going out to a goth bar didn’t require shopping for a new wardrobe. My Hunter’s uniform—skintight black top and pants—would work just fine. I had left the Illuminati with only the clothes on my back, and while I had abandoned my weapons, I had kept the clothes. With my black hair and pale complexion, I would be right in style. I figured a Monday night shouldn’t be too crowded and crazy, so I made plans to hit Necropolis that evening.
With that momentous decision made, I heaved myself off the couch and dressed to go for my morning run.
Westport was laid out on both sides of the river that flowed from the Coastal Range to the east and emptied into the bay on the west. The harbor area was a mix of warehouses, restaurants, bars, and apartment buildings. The downtown area was east of that on the north s
ide of the river, and my apartment and Rosie’s were in the far eastern part of the city on the southern bank.
Necropolis was located on the north side of the river on the edge of a warehouse district east of downtown, near both a train station and a bus stop. My first impression of the place recalled the expression I’d once heard a man use, “gussied up like a two-dollar whore.” I had expected dark and sinister, instead I found an impressive array of neon. I was willing to bet that Eileen Montgomery owned stock in the local electric company.
The bouncers were a pair of vamps, who leered at me, checked my ID, and made suggestions about where I should spend the night. Once through the door, I found my dark and sinister. I wasn’t a vamp, and it took a while for my eyes to adjust. Even then, the place was dark, lit only by dim fake gas lamps in either orange or red. A really bad death metal band was on stage, making it clear that conversation wasn’t one of the club’s attractions.
I made my way to the bar and ordered a faux Bloody Mary. The bartender smirked at me, letting me know that he was aware I wasn’t the real thing and I wouldn’t have gotten a drink with the good stuff no matter how I ordered. While on a mission for the Illuminati, I had worked for a couple of weeks in a true vampire club that served the real thing. The low-end mixer was sheep’s blood, while the top-shelf came from the local blood bank.
Sipping my drink—skimpy on the vodka—I looked around and took in the crowd. Probably a third of those mingling, dancing, or making out in the booths were vampires. Most of them were dressed far more normally than the human wannabes. Girls in LBDs with sky-high hemlines and plunging necklines were common. Skintight catsuits—similar to how I was dressed but usually with far less modest necklines—were common. The guys sported a lot of leather. There was also a wide selection of cloaks, corsets, and billowy sleeves.
Two sets of stairs led to a mezzanine overlooking the main floor, with tables arrayed along the balcony. As my eyes finished adjusting, I saw there were also doors along the wall past those tables, and there were couples occasionally going in and out of them. Some of the people coming out didn’t look very steady on their feet. I must not have stood out because it took me twenty minutes to get hit on the first time, and he was human. I wandered around, mingled a bit, and generally watched what was going on.
One table on the mezzanine was set apart from the others with a lot more space around it. A flame-haired beauty sat there alone, dressed in a long black dress trimmed in red, with lots of lace and frills, and a blood-red overbust corset. She watched the scene below her with what seemed to be bored detachment.
Either I had found Eileen Montgomery, or the woman was one of her children. The air of authority was unmistakable.
Making my way across the bar to the stairs nearest her table, I climbed up to the mezzanine. Once there, I could see that her table was surrounded with black velvet ropes strung between stands. I walked up to the rope and stood in front of her. I was sure she was aware of my presence, but she ignored me for a couple of minutes before turning her head.
“I’m Erin McLane,” I said. “Eileen Montgomery?”
She didn’t react, except with her eyes, which scanned me up and down a couple of times and then stopped on my face. I met her eyes, and we stared at each other.
With a slight smile, she motioned to the empty chair across the table from her. I unhooked the rope, passed into her space, and re-hooked it.
I sat down and set my drink on the table. We regarded each other silently. She was about my height and build but bustier. I had noticed before that even centuries-old vampires had a fortunate relationship with gravity. That part of them not changing didn’t seem fair. She had probably been around thirty when she was turned, an age when women reached their full, mature beauty. She was striking, every bit as beautiful a woman as Harry Gallagher was a man.
“And to what do I owe this pleasure, Miss McLane?” she purred, her voice sensual enough to get a reaction from a corpse.
“Harry Gallagher came by to see me last night, and it occurred to me that you were the only one of Lord Carleton’s children I hadn’t met. Curiosity.”
She smiled. A genuine, non-cynical, thousand-watt smile. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, then,” she said. “And what did dear Harry have on his mind?”
“I think he was curious. That’s what he said, anyway. Wondering why Mr. Flynn and Mr. Barclay had taken an interest in me.”
“And why have they?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. Mr. Barclay was the first to approach me, and I have no clue as to his motivation. I think that sparked Mr. Flynn’s curiosity, and now I have more vampires in my life than I ever wanted.”
“I’m not sure any of us have a clue as to what motivates Rodrick,” she said. “You do know he’s not quite right.”
“Mr. Flynn made a similar statement. My impression was that Mr. Barclay is stark, raving mad, but I only had the pleasure of his company once.”
Montgomery threw back her head and laughed, a full, bosom-shaking belly laugh.
When she sobered and turned her eyes back on me, she still had a quirky smile on her face, which I could see echoed in her eyes. She took a drink of her Bloody Mary, then her eyes narrowed.
“Yes, I can see why the boys would find you entertaining. But that’s not what draws them, is it?” She studied me, then said, “You’re really that young, aren’t you?”
“I’m twenty-three.”
“And yet not. You’re a very dangerous young lady, aren’t you? And wise beyond your years.” She leaned forward and put her elbow on the table. “Or maybe not wise. No. Experienced and knowledgeable, but still naïve and hopeful and optimistic. What is it you really want from me?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, really. I might hope the coming war doesn’t happen, but that’s not a possibility, is it? One of you has to win, or the chaos will continue. I guess that’s what I want. Peace and quiet. The end to the chaos. The end of the vampire attacks on humans, shifters, and other vampires. Because I seem to keep getting drawn in, no matter how much I try to avoid it. I want the end of what is bringing vampire hunters to Westport.”
“Are you talking about Hunters or hunters?” The inflection in her voice signaled a distinction that was impossible to miss.
I shook my head. “Not members of the Hunters’ Guild, although if the chaos continues long enough, it might draw their attention again. But there are a number of people who have come here looking for bounties, and once that idea has been planted, some idiot is bound to decide it’s a good idea.” In my mind, I pushed down the image of my black-cloaked stalker, but I couldn’t discount the possibility that a Hunter was already in the city.
She nodded. “Any guesses as to who might be in favor of that and have the means to make it happen?”
“Have you ever heard of the Columbia Club?”
Montgomery bit her lip for a moment, then nodded.
“Or someone similar to their members,” I said.
I stood up. “It was nice meeting you. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, stop by Rosie’s. I’m sure you know my schedule.”
She gave me that quirky smile-grin again. “I might do that. Good evening, Miss McLane. Do drop in again sometime. I’ve enjoyed it.”
On my way home, I decided that handicapping the race to succeed Lord Carleton as Westport’s Master of the City wasn’t an easy task. Carleton had been young for a Master, a little less than three hundred years old. But Westport wasn’t that important of a place, and he’d set up there in the 1880s, when the west was still wild and he hadn’t had any competition. The four children I was aware of were all about the same age, born in the 1800s as far as I could tell—about two hundred years old, give or take a couple of decades.
They had to know that as soon as word of Carleton’s death got out, any ancient vampire without a seat of power would be making plans to land in Westport. The difference in power between a two-hundred-year-old vamp and a five-hundred or thousand-year-old vamp was va
st. None of the Westport contenders I had met would have a chance against such an interloper.
What I did know was that scenes such as the one I’d walked into with the vamps attacking those shifters couldn’t continue. I had been told there were five packs operating in the greater Westport area, including one based in a mountain town twenty miles north of the city, and another one southeast of the national park to the east of the city. One on one, a young vampire and a werewolf were about even, but if the wolves came out in force, it would be a bloody mess on both sides.
Then there was the upcoming war between four vampire factions. I didn’t know what kind of jockeying for advantage was going on between them, but at some point, open hostilities would break out, with the possibility that the human population might notice. Since dead vamps looked a lot like any human who was missing a head or had a stake in the heart, that might cause some panic among the city’s citizens.
When I got to my apartment complex, I stopped. The limousine parked in front of my building wasn’t something I expected, and I couldn’t think of anything good that it might be carrying.
I slowly backed into the shadows and then made my way around the outside of the complex, approaching my building from the rear. Mindful of my stalker in the black cloak, I scouted the area quite thoroughly before sneaking toward the door.
“Ah, Miss McLane. Good evening,” a voice said from behind me.
My heart stopped, and I whirled about to find a vampire in a business suit standing there, a smile on his face, and an envelope in his hand. My heart hammered in my chest, and I wanted to kill him. I knew he’d sneaked up on me like that on purpose just to scare me.
“Mr. Barclay sends his regards,” the vampire said, extending the envelope.
I tried to keep my hand from shaking as I took it but was only partially successful.
“Mr. Barclay should try making an appointment or use the postal service,” I said, whirling away from him and unlocking the door. I slipped inside and pulled the door closed after me.
Night Stalker (Rosie O'Grady's Paranormal Bar and Grill Book 2) Page 3