by Jana Denardo
The back door to the bar slammed open. A drunk stumbled out, his penis already dangling out of his pants. Well into his pissing against the dumpster, he noticed he wasn’t alone.
The man scowled at Luc. “Don’t you be telling your old man I’m out here, boy. His shitter is backed up, and I hafta go.”
Luc blinked slowly, still under Arrigo’s control. The drunk glared at them both as if trying to figure out why two young—in looks at any rate, in Arrigo’s case—men were doing in the alley behind the bar.
“Don’t worry, no one’s saying anything,” Arrigo muttered, guiding Luc back to the front of the bar. He left Luc hosing the sidewalk. Arrigo slipped off into the night.
He drove back to the Veer on the Strip. After seeing the poverty Luc struggled with, guilt panged inside Arrigo, making him feel like a bad person for owning a penthouse suite at the Veer. It cost a decadent amount of money, but he’d been alive for centuries. He had more wealth than Croesus. Hell, he’d aged into the next phase of vampiric life, being able to go out in the daylight. He still needed a lot of sunscreen to feel comfortable, though.
Arrigo mopped his brow, pushing his dark curls off his forehead. He gritted his teeth. Only an hour after sundown, and he still perspired heavily; typical of a desert night in August. It almost made him wish that the Normals had the legends right and that he had no biological functions, like sweating. At least the dry air sucked away the moisture almost as fast as his body made it. He longed for winter, even if it meant putting up with annoying, endless streets filled with tipsy New Year’s tourists.
After a quick ride up in the private elevator, Arrigo stopped in his place long enough to take a speedy shower and change his clothes. Slipping on an Affliction T-shirt and black jeans, Arrigo tried to figure out a plan for the rest of his night. He felt lazy and saw no point in going to work since he had already tracked down one ghost story. He had enough money, he could probably take a century off and not make much of a dent in all the reserves he had. Still, he liked to keep busy and often helped small business owners get started. They could be interesting. He currently shared a shop with Taabu, his friend and coowner of their psychic reading and ghost-hunting enterprise. She didn’t need him there for the day-to-day stuff. Taabu performed all the tarot, palm, and rune readings while, when Arrigo felt like it, he chased after ghosts. He had more work than he and his amateur team could deal with, thanks to all the ghost-hunting shows on TV and his current book deal.
Still, he hadn’t visited their psychic shop in nearly a week. He should be a little more supportive. They had an off-Strip location, but still within easy walking distance to where all the action was. Having walked more than he liked in this heat, Arrigo debated driving, but he’d feel stupid taking the car for a relatively short distance. Taabu had talked a little about moving her shop to Tahoe, which had a quainter façade than Vegas. It would probably be an improvement over the bland exterior of their business, looking like any run-of-the-mill, squat office building. Taabu had a friend make her a neon tarot card to hang in the window. Its vibrant blues and reds knifed the night.
Inside, good quality Shoyeido incense perfumed the air. The space was simple, a lobby waiting area straight through the front door. To the left his office door stood, wooden and heavy, and to the right, a brightly beaded curtain separated Taabu’s work space from the rest of the business. The waiting room chairs, all charity rescues, ill-matched but soft and comfortable, crowded the small space. Beyond the beaded curtain, Taabu’s reading room gave a nod to Victorian finery, filled with lots of beeswax candles, books, and arcane knickknacks.
Arrigo walked into his office. He’d gone with a more minimalist style, black leather chairs and photos of the ghost investigations he’d run, though some of Taabu’s candles had strayed into his office. A few dotted his desk and others huddled near his stereo system sitting on top his bookcase. He turned on his computer, dreading how many emails he might have. Still, there might be something in there to interest him.
“Thought I heard you come in.”
He glanced toward the doorway. Taabu lounged against the frame in what he liked to call her priestess clothing: a loose long dress. Sunshine yellow highlighted her dark skin, but the confidence in her eyes appealed to him more than her curvy body. Taabu smoldered.
“Thought maybe I ought to put in an appearance before you thought I died.” He grinned.
She snorted at him. “I just assumed you were being lazy.”
“That too. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Arrigo brought up his social media sites, preparing to waste an hour or two and pretend he was working.
“Not really. I have another customer, and then I’m going home for the evening.”
Taabu rested a hip on the edge of his desk, a nice hip at that. If he was the type to mix business with pleasure, Arrigo would bet Taabu would rock him. What a pity. It might be worth the risk. She smiled at him, a secret in the subtle curve of her lips. Did she know his thoughts? Some psychics might, but most had trouble reading vampires. Many of them were frightened by the deadness they felt when touching a vampire’s mental shields. Taabu, however, never seemed to fear him.
“You are coming to the barbecue, right?” She played with one of the many bangles on her arm.
“I am. I’ll bring steaks.” Arrigo started thinking of the salty rub he’d use on them. Anything salty made him think of blood. The older he got, the more food satisfied him and the less he needed blood, but he still like that salty, mineral taste. At least the backyard party was supposed to be small, and mostly humans he already knew were invited. “Shani will be there, right?” He couldn’t help the hopeful uptick in his voice.
Taabu let the bangle click against its neighbor, grinning at him. “Don’t you go getting all excited.”
“I like talking to your sister.”
She eyed him like she knew what he wanted to talk about. It occurred to him he didn’t know how Taabu felt about interracial dating. “I know, and you know my sister. If crime lets her have the night off, she’ll be there. I’m more interested in who you’ll be bringing.”
“I’ll be the lone wolf,” he replied, wondering what his werewolf friend, Sharon, would think about that statement. Probably bite his ass, but that would lead to all kinds of fun afterward.
Taabu tsked at him. “As I figured. I should find you a date.”
“Aw, Taabu, no,” Arrigo whined. “You know I hate being set up on a date.”
“And you know how rare it is I set a dog like you up with a friend.” She eyed him. “But you’ve been heeling pretty well as of late.”
“I’ve never been cut out for monogamy,” he replied. That wasn’t entirely true. He’d been known to go decades with one lover, but most vampires found monogamy counter to their nature. Eternity together was too much for most. “I’m flattered, but I’m courting someone.” Did trying to learn more about Luc count as courting? As far as Taabu was concerned, absolutely.
Taabu raised her hands as well as her eyebrows. Damn, courting was too old-fashioned a word, wasn’t it? Keeping up with changing language could be a challenge. “Fair enough. Anyone I know?”
“No.” He shrugged. “Guess I’ll bring beer too.”
“Bring him or her if you want,” she invited before sashaying out of his office. Arrigo rolled his eyes at her before opening a computer file for the number of his contact at Circus Circus. He needed to set up a time to investigate the ghostly screams for help that were supposedly heard on the casino floor. Ghosts were less unsettling than whatever Taabu had in mind. Maybe he should bring a date just in case.
Chapter Two
THE AIR conditioner barely functioned, rattling loud enough to be heard over both the country music throbbing out of the jukebox and the noise of the patrons. Too bad the air conditioner put out more noise than cool air. At least the desert didn’t drip with humidity, not like the bayou Luc came from. The hurricane had stolen everything. Every day Luc wished he had used that
disaster to get out of his personal hell.
As he pulled beers for the bar crowd not interested in small talk with him, Luc awaited the next brawl like the one earlier while wondering why he hadn’t taken off on his da and brother in Houston after they had miraculously escaped Katrina together. Fear clamped him to his family tighter than a gator’s bite. His da had pulled him and his brother out of school when they were kids. What could he do on his own? Dumb as a stump, Luc knew it was easier to stay in his rut, slinging beer for his da, barely scratching out a life.
Luc’s head felt fuzzy. He blamed the heat. Mopping blood off the sidewalk wasn’t a way to live. Something inside him had wobbled drunkenly ever since he’d gone outside. As evening wore on, only the drunks who more or less made the Alibi their home still cluttered the seats; at least until Da ran them out so they could close up.
“What were you doing in the back alley with some guy?” Da balled up his fists.
Luc stared, clueless. “What are you talking about? I was only outside twice. Once to throw the garbage out and once to pass a mop.”
“Stanton said you were behind the bar with someone, c’est sa couillon,” his brother, Henri, said, closing the space between him and Luc.
Luc tensed. Nothing he said would matter. He understood his kin too well. They weren’t in a listening mood. “That drunk? I wasn’t out back.”
“Trying to make your own money sucking off the patrons in the alley?” Da growled.
“No!” Luc’s arms crossed in front of him, reflex from years of taking beatings. Doing something like that had never crossed his mind. He grasped what Da thought of him, especially since that time Henri thought he knew what was going on between Luc and Billy Ballons back home. Luc had barely survived that beating.
Sudden pain flared in his hip as his brother knocked him onto the pool table. That told Luc all he needed to know; he’d have to fight for his life this time too.
ELENI WAITED for an hour after nightfall before she opened the curtains. As an ancient, one of the advantages Arrigo had over her was he withstood sunlight. At least another fifty years stood between her and aging into that sort of freedom. How unfair life was, letting a bastard like Arrigo live while her love crumbled to dust.
She thought about leaving the curtains closed. This neighborhood offered little worth seeing. The houses stood too close together, depressingly old and barely above the poverty line. The elderly woman who had owned this house—Eleni had commandeered it for her own—had done her best, keeping it neat and clean, and absolutely stuffed with schnauzer memorabilia and ridiculous plastic horses. That alone made Eleni glad she had killed the old bitch, dragging her wrinkled carcass out to the desert.
She wanted to have a place without maid service stumbling in at inopportune times. This gave her a certain facelessness that would work in her favor. Of course, one damn nosy neighbor tried to visit the original homeowner. She at least bought the idea Eleni was Mrs. Saxon’s niece; Eleni had said her aunt had gone out East to visit with family, but if Nosey kept butting in, there would be a second body out in the desert…. Eleni didn’t want to drink from the neighbor. She smelled like showering was something she only did for special occasions.
The doorbell finally rang. She’d been expecting George Lewis for hours. What was the point of having a human servant to do all the daylight things if he never bothered to show up until the sun went down? She hated depending on anyone, but it was a necessity. Granted, the dependency lessened nowadays with online shopping and twenty-four-hour stores. She particularly liked the latter; not that she had any burning desire to go to Walmart at three in the morning. Still, Walmart proved a good hunting ground, especially if she wanted someone who wasn’t drunk or a diseased whore. Granted she also found those at Walmart in the wee hours, but there were people coming off or going onto late-night shifts. They made for good eating.
George stood on her cracked stoop, beaming. He was a pretty thing she’d found in the parking lot of a community college in Florida. He’d seen her snacking on another night class student—night classes, another boon to vampires and other night-dwelling Supernaturals—and instead of running to help the student or fleeing, George had simply watched her, then told her how cool he thought vampires were ever since he watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer growing up. He proclaimed her as cool as Dru, whoever the hell that was.
Annoyed at first that he hadn’t been more afraid of her—a more appropriate reaction—she considered killing him. However, he’d been pretty enough to make her pause. With big limpid brown eyes, like a cow, and sun-bleached light brown hair, George reminded her that she did, on occasion, still miss the sun. Instead of killing him, she took him on as a Renfield. Eleni didn’t need her ability to mesmerize to get George under her thrall. Traveling with her sounded like a better idea than attending night classes in social work because he had no idea what he wanted to do, and his parents insisted on school or getting out on his own, letting him see how hard it was to make a living without an education. He’d been with her three years. She hadn’t once regretted sparing him. He burned up the bedsheets with her, even though he foolishly thought she loved him. Eleni snorted; as if she could ever love a toy. Love had died inside her when they’d murdered Dario.
George bore a slight resemblance to Dario Pena, the Spanish explorer who’d brought Eleni into the vampiric world. Love for him had filled the marrow of her bones, woven into the soul, right from the start. He’d showered her with attention, showed her true power, wicked in all the right ways. They spent over ten decades together, then that bastard Arrigo and the fucking Chiaroscuro deemed Dario had broken too many of their ridiculous laws. Why shouldn’t vampires kill humans for food? Did they not slaughter chickens and pigs by the millions? It’s what predators did.
Eleni screwed her eyes shut but failed to quell the memories of Arrigo leading his bastard team of vampires, werewolves, and witches to hunt Dario down. She’d been at the opera—one of the few things open late back then—by herself, as Dario hadn’t cared for opera. Eleni had witnessed the fight from a distance, disbelieving as Arrigo hacked off Dario’s head. The love of her life had died for nothing, and all she could do was honor the promise she’d made him; if she saw the Chiaroscuro, run.
If they could destroy Dario, Eleni stood no chance, not then. She’d almost thrown herself on them, wanting to follow Dario into death. Instead she had fled, then plotted, grew in strength, and exacted revenge. She’d killed Arrigo’s wife once, but he’d gone on as if nothing had happened. He hadn’t wilted as she had. Arrigo found love after love while her heart remained a piece of shattered glass. Maybe he didn’t feel love as she did, not deep to the soul.
His life didn’t deserve to be filled with light. Whenever their paths crossed—not often enough—Eleni darkened his world by robbing it of those he loved before disappearing again. If she had one skill, it was her ability to hide from the idiotic Chiaroscuro. No matter what she did to Arrigo, it never felt like enough. Oh, she could kill him, but that was too peaceful. No, he deserved every iota of pain she could inflict.
Eleni drifted back to the present, looking at George with his pretty face that reminded her of Dario, especially now that he had grown a thick beard and mustache like so many other hipsters. It nicely hid his chin and some of the contours of his face, which would help when she sent him on the more dangerous parts of his spying mission: an up close and personal with Arrigo’s partner. Had George said something to her? She didn’t know.
“You found something,” Eleni said, stepping back. “I hope it’s worth being late.”
“Sorry, I was going to call, but I forgot to charge the phone up. But I did get a lot of interesting photos before it died.” He wiggled his cell phone at her. “I charged it up some in the car on the way back here.”
“Let’s see them.” Eleni knew he wouldn’t be wasting her time with nonsense. She’d scared that tendency out of him within the first two months of their partnership.
George bou
nced across the worn carpeting to the couch that still had a schnauzer throw draped over the back of it. After plugging his phone in so he could get to the pictures, he flopped down on the couch, nearly elbowing a stupid plastic horse off the end table. Eleni wished she could move some of the tacky crap, but if any curious neighbor peeked in, she didn’t want them wondering why Mrs. Saxon’s niece was rearranging her house while she was away. He bent his head over his phone and swiped the screen.
Eleni sat next to him, still wondering what compelled this generation to stare at increasingly smaller screens when there were bigger, better options. George handed her the phone. The picture showed a rather nondescript building with a neon tarot card glowing in the window. The sign painted on the glass read Taabu and Giancarlo’s Psychic Advisement and Paranormal Investigations. Eleni blinked. What in the hell? Giancarlo was the name Stefan told her Arrigo went by now, but really? He owned a psychic shop? How utterly tacky. What was he thinking? He was probably sleeping with whoever this Taabu person was because that’s the only thing that made sense. If he had one of those popular ghost-hunting TV shows, Eleni would have seen it. Could there be any money in this? She didn’t see the purpose if there wasn’t. Was this what ancient vampires did to amuse themselves?
“You’re sure this is the right place?”
George wrinkled his nose at her, the look in his eye suggesting his thoughts ran more to screwing her than the task at hand. “I’m sure. Here, look.” He scrolled past the next few pictures to one of a man in the lobby. By today’s standards, Arrigo stood at less than average height. The tall, leggy woman with dark brown skin made him look even shorter. Arrigo was broad shouldered, leanly muscled, and handsome. Even she couldn’t deny that. He’d had short hair the last time she had seen him. Eleni wouldn’t have thought to hunt for a man with a ponytail. Did he wear it in those ridiculous man buns too? What a stupid look.