At that moment, the door to the coffee shop opened and Angel and Talia came back out, Angel carrying two cups and Talia carrying the laptop. They joined us, settling in at the table. Angel handed Talia one of the cups as the harpy logged in and brought up a document of notes.
“You have something for us?” Herne leaned forward, peeking at the screen.
“We do. We found out the location of the vampire.” Talia brought up a map of Seacrest Cove. “You see the downtown area? Five blocks from the sheriff’s office is a restaurant. The bottom story of the building is Club Majewel. That’s Rayne’s nightclub. It will be open tonight at 9 p.m. From what I gather, he’s almost always there for at least a few hours.”
“I guess we get to go clubbing tonight,” Herne said, grinning at me. “Did you pack your disco dress and leg warmers?”
I snorted. “Somehow, I have the feeling the vamps aren’t into sparkly balls and repeat showings of Saturday Night Fever.”
“I don’t know about their balls,” Talia cackled. “I’ve never seen a naked vampire, but they passed the ‘alive’ stage a long time ago.”
“What’s the scuttlebutt on the nightclub?” Herne drained the last of his coffee and carried his cup and mine over to the recycling bin.
“The Club Majewel is primarily a vampire club, but a lot of goth-geeks flock there. It’s off-limits to werewolves—to most shifters in general, but the Wulfine especially. We all know how well those two groups get along.” Talia frowned. “A little bit of background on Rayne. He’s an old vamp—relatively old. He was turned in 1888, in New York, and eventually made his way west to the Seattle area. He’s established a tidy territory for himself here—he’s the Regent claims holder for the San Juan Islands, as well as Whidbey Island. He doesn’t hold the keys for Camano Island, though.”
“What’s his background? Born in America?” I wanted to know as much as I could about who we were getting involved with.
Talia consulted her notes. “Born in New York in 1862, so he was twenty-six when he was turned. Born to an upper-class family. The father was a banker, the mother an heiress. Even though he was turned, it seems his parents accepted the fact that he was now a vampire and they gave him a sizable chunk of the family fortune. My guess is he used his glamour to effect that. They didn’t care for Rayne’s brother, who decided to make his fortune by helping the poor. Apparently they weren’t exactly an altruistic family. So brother George ended up with a small payout before his parents died and was excised from the will. The majority of the money was put into trust for ‘Rayne’…a long-lost cousin.”
“Let me guess. Since they couldn’t will the money to a dead man…”
She nodded. “Precisely. Rayne’s original name was Winthrop. After he was turned, he changed it to Rayne, and his father set him up with a bank account. He never had to go in to the actual bank because he made arrangements for his personal servant to do so. One of his enthralled victims—a Johan Bates—was his toady for years until the man died. By then, Rayne had established a business and hired accountants. They knew he was a vampire and were very careful never to do anything to make him angry. Apparently he paid well as long as you did the job right.”
“So Winthrop got the bulk of his parents’ fortune while they were still alive. What happened to the rest?” Herne leaned over Talia’s shoulder.
“His parents left it to a small company, which in turn cashed it all in and dissolved the business. There’s no proof, but speculation is that Rayne owned that company as well. So he was well-set when he came to this area. He was able to buy his way into the Blood Brothers Elite, which is supposedly a secret vampire society. Not so secret, not anymore. They became the frontrunners as the Vampire Nation emerged from the shadows.”
Talia clicked through her files till she came to one shadowy image. “Here’s a copy of the daguerreotype taken of him in 1884 when he was twenty-two. It was right when the process became easier and his parents insisted on having photographs of Winthrop—aka Rayne—although I notice they didn’t bother paying for one of his brother.”
The faded photograph showed a stately-looking young man with longish-black hair, down past his ears, and glittering eyes. Even that young, through the veil of years, he looked like a force to be reckoned with. He had a slight build, but looked anything but fragile.
“So, we have an idea of who we’re looking for, at least.” I stared at the image. “What’s he like?”
“Smart. Ruthless. Over the years his love for money has translated into a desire for power. He runs the nightclub, but he has his investments in a number of places, of course. He’s a silent partner in at least twenty different companies, including a weapons company, an organic baby food company, three different restaurants, and several other assorted businesses.”
“A baby food company?” I blinked. That seemed odd for a vampire.
“As long as people keep breeding, there will be a need for baby food.” Talia shrugged. “Good business sense.”
Herne frowned. “He’s had a long time to grow financially savvy. What’s it take to get into the club? Is it for members only?”
“Nope, though there’s a dress code. No jeans. No casual clothing. Ties are optional for men, but sports coat is the least you can get away with.” Talia glanced up. “I think you and Ember should do a little shopping if you want to talk to him. Showing up at the door and asking to be let in looking like that? Not going to fly. Unless you brought some fancy duds, you’d better get out to the mall right now.”
“You’re kidding. I don’t want to go visit a vampire club.” I held up my hands. “I don’t like vampires, I don’t want to know vampires.”
“You’re going to meet them tonight. Yutani can’t go in, he’s a shifter. Viktor probably wouldn’t stand a chance in hell in getting in. Angel’s human and I don’t want her in danger. And Talia…” He paused, blushing.
“I look older, I know. I’d possibly be able to get in if I draped myself in a fur coat and diamonds, but that’s not going to happen.” She leaned back, shaking her head. “I chose an older form to be anchored into for a reason. People take me more seriously, and frankly, I wanted to be a little invisible in society. And older women are invisible. Nobody notices a grandma—she’s not young enough to be fuckable to a lot of guys, and she’s not a threat to wives or girlfriends.” With a shrug, she added, “It was deliberate on my part.”
“You look lovely, Talia. Seriously. But do you ever regret it?”
At that, she laughed. “No. Luckily for me, I don’t have the aches and pains associated with age, at least not for humans. I go about my life relatively unnoticed. It works for me, especially after my past and the heartache I went through.”
Herne slapped the table, pushing himself to his feet. “All right. Let’s get a move on. Come on, Ember, I’m going to buy you a pretty dress.” He was grinning. “Whether you like it or not.”
Grumbling under my breath, I stood and, slinging my purse over my shoulder, followed him toward the parking lot.
AN HOUR LATER, we were arguing in the closest department store we could find. Herne had found a nice black suit, and a pale green button-down shirt. We were in the women’s department now, and I was staring at the racks of dresses. There were a lot of pretty clothes, but not many fit my style.
“What do you want to wear?” he asked.
“Jeans. I guess, though…I have a corset with me—it’s black. I can wear that with a nice skirt.”
“Or short shorts,” he suggested playfully.
I gave him my best are you kidding me look. “I’m dressing for this club, not for you.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind looking at your legs. Though I imagine your neck would be of more interest.” The smile vanished as he turned to me. “How much have you had in the way of interaction with the bloodsucker group?”
“Vampires? Not much. The most I’ve ever talked to them is when Viktor and I met that pair beneath Viaduct
Market when we were hunting for Kuveo.”
“A nightclub run by a vamp will be far different than a chance encounter. There are certain tells that indicate you’re willing to be a blood donor. Wearing a certain type of necklace, for one thing, certain phrases. Anybody walking into a vampire club is usually looking for either an adrenaline rush—kind of like slumming, only more dangerous—or they’re looking to hook up with a vamp. A lot of wannabes searching for a potential sire hang out there.”
I cringed. The thought of willingly subjecting myself to being turned into a vampire made me queasy. Very few of the Fae ever went that route, and almost no shifters. It was mainly a human thing—a desire to become more than mortal, to become stronger, more powerful. Although the romance of the vampire still existed, now it was more about longevity and freedom from illness, as well as the ability to accrue a fortune over the years.
“I can’t imagine offering myself up for that.”
Herne held up an iridescent red skirt with an asymmetrical hem. “This would be pretty with a corset.”
I didn’t hate it, though I wasn’t much into wearing red. I held it to my body. It fell to the right length. “All right, I’ll try it on.”
“As far as offering oneself up to be turned, consider—you’re Fae. You’re at the beginnings of your life. You’re what, thirty? That means you have a long, long lifespan ahead of you. If you were thirty and human? Not so much.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s something you need to think about, especially with your friendship with Angel.”
I froze. “What?”
“Remember, you’re going to outlive her by potentially thousands of years. You have to remember that.” His words were soft, but they hit me like a sledgehammer.
I blinked furiously, trying to keep back a sudden wave of tears. “I can’t even think about that. I don’t want to think about losing her.”
“You may not want to think about it, but one day it will happen. And you’ll still look like you…while she will be older and tired. Ember, I didn’t want to hurt you, but to understand the impetus some of the vampire wannabes face—think of that. Humans have a fragile timeline in this world, and they’re usually well aware of that.” He handed me the skirt. “Try this on, see how it fits.”
As I silently carried it into a fitting room, my heart was racing. I hadn’t really thought about it before. Mama J. had died, but she had been killed by a drunk driver. My parents had been murdered. I had lost two boyfriends to the creatures I hunted down before I worked for the Wild Hunt. But losing people to age—that hadn’t happened in my world yet.
I tried to shake it off, tried to push it away as I tried on the skirt. It fit perfectly, draping at just the right length. I hated it—oh, it was pretty, but it made me think of blood, which made me think of the vampires, death, and that brought my thoughts back around to Angel.
“She can’t die on me,” I whispered to my reflection. “I need her in my life.” And then it occurred to me that Morgana hadn’t always been a goddess, though I wasn’t sure just what she had been. She had been turned into a goddess. If it could happen once, it could happen again. There had to be some way to extend Angel’s life.
But for now, I pushed away the thought. We had business to take care of. Angel and I were young—well, youngish. And since there wasn’t anything I could do about the situation now, I decided to revisit it later. Resolutely steering my thoughts away from the subject, I slipped back into my jeans and carried the skirt out.
“This will work,” I said, turning toward the shoe department. But I knew that as soon as the evening was over, I was donating the skirt to a thrift shop. I’d never wear it again.
CLUB MAJEWEL WAS an underground club, literally, beneath a SubCult restaurant that catered to all varieties of shifters, Fae, and other Cryptos. The club had an outside entrance, around to the side, and was very low-key in terms of advertising. From the outside, it could have been a basement entrance to any apartment or private residence. There was an old saying about how old money didn’t need to advertise—it was only the nouveau riche who went all out for gaudy representation. In this case, it held true.
The club and restaurant were found on Pirate Cove Road, a side street off the main boulevard that ran through the town. Here, the shops were boutiques, mostly, including a few tourist souvenir shops. There was quite a lot of foot traffic, but most of the pedestrians seemed headed to one of the cinema complexes across the street. I wished I was over there, about to see Bad Bitch 3 instead of headed down into the heart of bloodsucker territory.
Herne and I were decked out in our new clothing, and I had done my makeup to match. We parked a block away in the nearest parking lot, and walked to the club. Along the way, heads turned as we passed by—and it didn’t take a genius to notice that most of them were appreciative glances. I caught sight of our reflections in a shop window and had to admit, we made a striking couple. Herne was hot to trot in his designer knockoff, and I looked pretty damned good, even if I still thought I’d be giving the skirt away.
“Have you thought about whether you’re going to see your grandparents?” he asked as we turned the corner and we came to the Saltwater Cuisine, the restaurant atop the Club Majewel.
I groaned. “Lovely. Yet another subject I really don’t want to think about. Can we have one outing where we’re not discussing something I really don’t want to think about?” I loved hanging with Herne, but today his choice of conversation was sorely lacking.
He coughed. “I guess I’m batting a thousand on the helpful-boyfriend scale today?”
“No, it’s not that.” I didn’t want him to think I was pissed at him. “But right now, we’re about to subject ourselves to an evening with a group of people I really don’t trust, don’t want to know, and am pretty much afraid of. I’d rather focus on the job and save tackling my social quandaries like my friends dying before I’ll even remotely hit middle age, and dealing with family I don’t want in my life, later.”
“Got it. Sticky subjects off the table for now,” he said, taking my hand as we approached the entrance. He squeezed my fingers and I flashed him a grateful smile.
The entrance to the club was at the bottom of a wide staircase that led down by the side of the restaurant. At the top, guarding a red velvet rope that was strung across the steps, was a tall black man. He was wearing a designer suit—it was no knockoff, that much we could tell by its cut—and a black hat. He reminded me of one of the Rat Pack members from the old movies of Frank Sinatra, looking suave and yet burly enough to take apart anybody causing trouble.
A line of people stretched around back of the restaurant. Some caught my eye immediately, and I could feel a strong pull coming from them—glamour. They were vamps, no doubt. Others were waiting nervously, whispering together in groups of three or four, and I realized they were fans, hoping to get in.
We took our place in line, waiting quietly behind a woman who was wearing a red dress so tight I could see every curve—and she had plenty of them and they were in the right places. Her shoes were black platform pumps, and her hair was piled high in a blond chignon. Her eyes were dark, glittering and bright, and her lips seemed super-plump, rouged with a bright red lipstick. She gave us the once-over, and smiled slowly, revealing the tips of her fangs.
“Well, what a handsome couple. You’re new here?” Her voice was husky, sounding like she had smoked for too many years, but it still drew me in.
Herne gave her a slow nod. “Yes, we are. We’re just visiting.”
“How lovely. And I love your skirt,” she said to me, holding my gaze.
I felt like I wanted to move toward her, to be her friend, and then I realized she was using her glamour on me. The Fae weren’t immune to it, even though we had our own brand of glamour, but vamps were very, very good at mesmerizing people. It was innate to their nature.
I shook my head slightly, trying to clear my thoughts. “Thank you,” I said, unsure of what to add. I deci
ded to play it safe and leave it at that.
She waited for a moment, then, her eyes lingering on Herne, she turned around to face the front of the line again.
The line was moving, as the bouncer allowed some of the people in. A few groups he turned away, and they stood opposite the club, looking forlorn. I wanted to tell them to go to the movies, go do anything but wait here with wounded egos, but again, decided silence truly was golden.
When the woman in front of us came to the bouncer, she whispered something to him, and I saw her give us a short nod. He nodded back, and—after checking our identification for age—let us through without a word.
We followed her down the steps and into the club.
The inside of the club in no way matched the dreariness of the outside. Inside, the main room was a swirl of color. They weren’t disco balls, but illuminating globes swirled from the ceiling, creating a lightshow as good as any I had seen at a concert. The bar was long and gleaming—chrome and glass and sparkling clean. Behind the bar, three bartenders were fielding a steady flow of drinks. I wrinkled my nose when I realized that a lot of the drinks going out were bottled blood—which again was carded for. They carded for age for alcohol, and to see if the customer was a vampire in order to buy blood.
The noise level was high, with music was playing in the background, and every corner of the room was filled. I spotted one corner booth where two girls—I assumed they were human—were practically hanging on the arms of a vampire. He was dressed to the hilt, but they were barely clothed in sparkling dresses so low cut that the V-necks reached their bellybuttons. I glanced away when I spotted the bloody marks on their necks.
We spotted a small table near the bar and I sat down to claim it as Herne went up to order our drinks. I glanced around, looking for Rayne. The sooner we got this over with, the sooner we could leave.
Herne returned with our drinks. He had ordered a Sazerac for me—cognac, sugar, bitters, and absinthe, and a drink for himself that I didn’t recognize.
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