by Carly Fall
His mind whirled with thoughts of Dedou and her strange ways. Although he’d never given any credence to Voodoo, perhaps there was something to it. He glanced down at his wrist again, the cross almost completely scarred over. The whole ceremony had been surreal, but he had to admit that he felt different than he had beforehand. As if an unseen force surrounded him and offered him protection. He couldn’t explain it, but its energy hung around him, caressing his skin.
Since he’d arrived in New Orleans with nothing but the clothes on his back, he grinned as he pulled out a few pairs of jeans, some shirts, socks, and boxers. Dedou apparently had a thing for superheroes, because the boxers ranged from Superman to the Avengers—the superheroes he had associated himself with in Vegas. It didn’t matter, as no one would be seeing his underwear, anyway. The next item was a wallet, full of credit cards and a fake ID with the name Connor Le Polla.
He smiled at the razor, shaving cream, and toothbrush. Dedou seemed to have thought of everything he’d need.
Shaking his head, he reached into the bag and pulled out a silver knife with shiny, onyx hilt. Flipping it over in his palm, he furrowed his brow. How in the hell had he walked past security in the airport with an eight-inch blade in his luggage? Since Dedou had packed his clothing, he could only assume she had been responsible for placing the blade in there. Security was either really awful at their jobs, or some more of Dedou’s hocus pocus had been responsible. If he were a betting man, he’d place his money on her.
He sat on the bed and stared at it for a moment, then wrapped it in his grasp. It seemed as if it fit the ridges his palm and fingers perfectly, as if it had been crafted just for him.
He looked in the bag again and found a piece of paper folded into fours. After setting down the knife on the bedspread, he slowly opened it.
Vampires can only be killed two ways, it read. First is by the sunlight. The second is with this knife. Do not count on garlic, wooden stakes, or silver bullets. Those are myths to make interesting stories. The spirits have blessed this knife. Wield it when necessary with this knowledge.
He picked up the blade again. Although Dedou had been strange, he couldn’t help but feel she knew exactly what she had been doing with all the talk of wanga, Iwa, and Ko. As he considered the fact that he couldn’t move as she’d slashed his wrists, he’d become a believer in her ability, and he wouldn’t doubt what she had told him. Therefore, he’d carry the knife.
He stood and unpacked the rest of his belongings, then tossed the bag into the closet.
Going into the kitchen, he found a fully stocked fridge, and he quickly made two turkey sandwiches. His stomach roared with hunger as he’d never gotten the PB&J he’d hoped for while at Dedou’s, and he’d skipped the goat stew.
While chowing down, he spotted another envelope lying on the counter next to a cell phone. He opened it to find a set of keys reading Harley, and he grinned. Before the explosion in Guatemala when he’d lived a normal life, he had loved to ride his motorcycle through the back country of North Carolina enjoying the walls of greenery hugging the road and the fresh air against his skin as his bike rumbled beneath him. It seemed like such a lifetime ago, and he missed it. However, the past lay in the past, and he couldn’t go back. He’d already accepted that nothing in his life would ever be the same, so he had to take the hand that had been dealt him and make the best of it.
With the bike, he liked the fact that he now didn’t have to rely on city transportation to get around. Long gone were the days of keeping track of bus schedules and memorizing cab phone numbers.
He picked up the cell phone—fully charged. He played around with it for a bit as he ate only to find that only one number had been programmed in it—someone named Harper. He had no idea who that could be, but he’d let it go for now and assume that she worked for Operation Underworld. Perhaps it had been a leftover number from the previous user who also most likely worked for Dedou. He’d go with the assumption that Harper worked for the organization.
He glanced around the apartment. With the taupe walls, the matching couch, and tawny rug, it definitely was a step up from the rattrap he’d been living in while in Vegas.
Groaning at his full belly, he grabbed the cell phone and returned to the bedroom. Stretching out on the bed, he shut his eyes. He needed his rest because in a few hours, he’d be back to vampire hunting.
* * *
The phone jolted him out of a deep sleep, the sound of a horn blaring coming at him at full volume. As his heart thudded in his chest, he swore under his breath. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and picked up the obnoxious item without bothering to look at the screen. After pushing the answer button, he brought it to his ear.
“Yeah?”
“Hi, Connor! This is Harper, goddess of the keyboard!”
What?
Through the thick fog in his brain, it took a moment for the name to register.
“Oh, hey.”
“It sounds like I woke you.”
Did she talk a million miles per hour, or was his head unclear?
She didn’t wait for a response. “You need coffee.”
He completely agreed.
“Coffee is the nectar of the gods. I wonder who the god of coffee is? Do you know? I should know that. It would be blasphemy if there weren’t one. I need to look that up.”
He stumbled toward the kitchen. “Who are you? Your phone number’s programmed into this phone, but I don’t know where you fit in with Operation Underworld.”
She sighed. “Did you read the paper located under the phone?”
He glanced over at the counter area where he’d found it and saw a folded piece of paper. “No.”
“Well, duh, if you had read, then you’d know who I am!”
He pulled the coffee from the cupboard and scooped it into the machine. “Instead of being a smartass, why don’t you enlighten me?”
“My name’s Harper Quinn,” she said with irritation lacing her voice, as if she didn’t have time to explain herself to him. “I’m a hacker queen. I’m the one you call when you want to know anything about your case. If you want to know the background of a guy, call me, and I’ll pull up everything available including the type of toilet paper he uses. Need to know who owns a building? Call me. The weather in Turkey? I’m the one. Although, I can’t imagine why you’d want to know the weather in Turkey, but I don’t ask questions, I just get you the information.”
He wondered how she could talk so fast, and his brain struggled to keep up with her words. He already knew the weather in Turkey at this time of year—cold with a chance of rain.
She sounded as if she were perpetually jacked up on Red Bull and coffee, her high-pitched voice running a million miles per hour.
He rubbed his face, trying to get rid of the last bits of sleep. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”
“Here it is!”
Confusion tore through him. What the hell was she talking about? “Excuse me?”
“The coffee goddess, Connor! Try to keep up here—this isn’t rocket science! Caffeina is the goddess of coffee. That is such a cool name. If I ever got a dog, I would totally name it Caffeina. Now I think I want a dog.”
The girl was strange, but he could see vampires, so he guessed that meant they’d get along just fine.
There was a brief beat of silence, then she spoke again. “How’s your mission going?”
“I haven’t started. I work at night, so I’ll have some coffee, then head out.”
“Well, good luck.”
Before he could say goodbye, she hung up.
Setting the phone down, he shook his head. Operation Underworld was certainly filled with different characters, and he supposed that meant he fit right in.
8
Connor waited patiently in line at the nightclub. The place swarmed with vampires, and based on the light tinge of the aura around them, they were hungry.
He stared at the group of four in front of him and marveled how much
they looked like humans. Their skin, their eyes, the facial features … he’d never have guessed they could even be a different species. All dressed as if they’d just walked off the pages of a men’s fashion magazine, and all looked like the gorgeous models in said monthlies.
Three female vampires strutted by, and he couldn’t help but swivel his head as he followed the sway of their hips, just like every other straight guy in line. They, too, were incredibly gorgeous, and he imagined they’d be very sought after in the club. Why they didn’t want to have anything to do with the male vampires, he didn’t understand. Unless, of course, they’d found that they could get their fill of blood easier without them.
Two human women seemingly in their twenties approached the four vampires. The brunette wore a pair of Daisy Dukes and a white top knotted below her heavy breasts. The blonde wore a body-hugging blue dress that fit like a second skin. Both were tall and rail-thin, and he pegged them as out-of-work actresses.
That was the thing about Los Angeles—everyone wanted to be famous. He’d lived here about six months a few years back, and ninety percent of everyone he’d met had either been a model or an actress and almost none worked in their careers. Instead, they waited tables or took jobs as cashiers in the high-end clothing stores hoping to be discovered by some agent or producer. He’d found the whole scene pretty sad.
As the line inched up to the door, the vampires allowed the girls to cut in with them. One almost immediately had his arm around the blonde’s waist and leaned in as if he whispered something to her. Connor wondered if the vampire could smell the blood, and if each plasma type smelled different to them.
Another woman approached the group, her lush lips turned up into a small grin. Immediately, he sensed she was different from the other women, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Perhaps it was the simple way she dressed—wearing jeans over thin legs, a white button-down shirt, her blonde hair twisted up into a knot on top of her head. She glanced over at him through black-rimmed glasses, her dark gaze meeting his just for a moment.
She looked back to the vampires and the women. He thought he saw a flash of irritation cross her face, but it disappeared as suddenly as it had come. His heart thudded in his chest as she came toward him.
“Hi.”
His breath caught in his throat. Up close, her tawny skin and dark eyes made him think of her as Middle Eastern, but the blonde hair threw him. He tried to remember seeing a blonde-haired woman in his tours to that part of the world, and he couldn’t recall any. However, he also knew he wasn’t an authority on such things. Now, if one wanted to discuss what razor settings gave the best high and tight, that, he could answer with confidence.
Regardless, she was one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen.
He cleared his throat. “Hi.”
She tilted her head as she looked him over and crossed her arms over her chest. It was as if she undressed him with her gaze, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Did she find him attractive, or was his fly down? Did he have a line of toothpaste down the front of his shirt? Why did she study him so closely?
“I was wondering if I could jump in line with you. It’s so long, and I’m supposed to meet some friends, but of course, I’m late. I don’t see them, so I’m assuming they’re already inside.”
So that was it. She’d show a little interest in him, he’d let her cut in line, and she wouldn’t have to wait to get inside to meet her friends. Basically, she was playing him, but he nodded anyway and opened up the velvet rope. Grumbling ensued from behind him, but he killed that with a quick glare to the complainers.
“Have you tried to call them?” he asked as she stepped in front of him.
“Yes, but it’s so loud in there, I doubt they’d ever hear their phones ring.”
He could understand that. The nightclubs tended to have almost deafening music, and hearing a phone would be difficult.
They stood in silence for a moment, and the line moved forward. He couldn’t help but take quick peeks at her out of the corner of his eye, and he noticed that she seemed very focused on the vampires—probably blown away by the beauty of the boys. Maybe she’d dated one of them before, or maybe she’d been a meal for one, and she was trying to remember where she knew him.
He didn’t lack in the looks department, and he’d never had trouble with women, but these guys weren’t in his league. Hell, they weren’t even in the same universe. If she wanted rugged, tough, and simple, he was the guy, but apparently, she preferred haute couture and hair gel. He decided to give it a go, anyway.
“My name’s Connor, by the way.”
She grinned, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Little dimples pinched her cheeks, and his chest felt a little lighter as their gazes met. Even though she was using him, maybe they could get to know each other, anyway. She was definitely different from the other women in line, hell, the other woman in the city, and he certainly felt an attraction to her.
“Sami,” she said, sticking out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, and thank you again for allowing me to join you.”
Her handshake was soft, yet firm. She didn’t play coy or try to be cute like the two women who fawned all over the pretty boys in front of them. He thought he detected a slight Middle Eastern accent in her voice, but nothing very pronounced that could allow him to say for certain.
“So, do you come here a lot?”
He cringed as the words left his mouth. Talk about a cliché, douchebag line.
“No,” she said with a grin as she shook her head. At least, she hadn’t rolled her eyes. “I’ve only been here a couple of times. The day job keeps me busy, and I have to get proper rest. I don’t have a lot of time for the party scene.”
He tried to remember going to bed at a decent hour and sleeping through the night, then enjoying the daylight hours. He missed the sun, and once again wished he hadn’t been given his ability. He longed for ‘normal.’
“What’s the day job?”
She hesitated just for a second. “I work in law enforcement.”
One of the vampires in front of them stiffened, then slowly turned around. Sami glared at him, and a stare-down that seemed to go on for long, painful minutes ensued. It became apparent that neither wanted to back down. Just as Connor was about to step in, the vampire turned back around, and she looked up at him with a smile, as if nothing had happened.
He furrowed his brow. Her interest in the bloodsuckers seemed to be more than just admiring their looks. Yes, it definitely seemed as if it went a lot deeper.
“I wonder how long until we get in?” she asked.
He shrugged, wondering what she’d said that the vampire didn’t like. People didn’t react to someone saying they were in law enforcement unless they had something to hide.
He’d be watching this group closely tonight.
“I’m not sure.” He moved to the side and checked out the length of the line. Another man came out of the club and talked to the bouncer in charge of the outside crowd, and then they began moving again. “It looks like they’re letting in a lot of people now.”
“All the bars must finally be staffed.”
Although she’d said she didn’t frequent the place, she seemed to have a good working knowledge of how the business operated. While he, on the other hand, had no idea if there was one bar or ten inside. He glanced over at her, wondering if she realized she’d just lied to him when she said she didn’t have time for the party scene. If she knew the bars were staffed, that led him to believe she frequented the place a lot more than she let on.
He supposed he should be angry she’d lied, but instead, his interest had been piqued, and he decided he’d also be keeping an eye on her, as well. There was definitely something going on between her and the vampires, and he intended to find out what.
They shuffled forward until they reached the bouncer. Although he had a few months before hitting thirty-five, he still got carded. He flashed his fake I.D. at the man—he certain
ly didn’t want his real name floating around in the real world.
“Connor Le Polla?” the bouncer asked, eyeing him warily.
He nodded, wondering what the issue was.
“Seriously, that’s your name?”
“Yeah. Why?”
The bouncer burst out laughing. “You know Polla means dick or cock in Spanish, right? That means that your name translates to Connor the Dick.”
No, he hadn’t realized that, and he clenched his jaw in irritation. Dedou.
“Man, I’d change that if I were you,” the bouncer said as he handed back the I.D. while shaking his head.
As he followed Sami into the club, he wondered if Dedou had done it on purpose, or if she’d simply looked for a variation of his real last name, Dickson. He’d go with the former.
Sami had simply disappeared among the throngs of people, and a bit of disappointment railed through him. However, unless she left, their paths would cross again at some point. At least, he hoped so. Yes, she’d lied, but he also found her intriguing, and he wondered what her secrets could be. People who had something to hide were the ones who didn’t tell the truth.
He glanced around the warehouse converted to a nightclub. The main dance floor stood on the entry level, the music beats causing his body to vibrate. Strobe lights and lasers flashed around him, and he noticed there weren’t any tables around the area.
He pushed through the crowd to the second floor, which held a bar and a balcony where one could look over the dance floor, but he imagined the VIP section would be located on the top floor, and the vampires looked like they were all about being important and treated well.
Arriving on the third level, he realized he had been right. The mood was very different up here; much more relaxed, although it still held the vibe of a nightclub. There didn’t seem to be the intensity of the lower two floors. Half of the area had been cordoned off where elevated booths looked over another small dance floor and a bar. The people behind the velvet ropes were served by three women, all dressed in golden-colored shorts and bra-tops, while the rest of the crew wore black. Obviously, their dress signified them as special. The music didn’t seem as loud, and the crowd definitely wasn’t as thick.