by Michele Hauf
“We should probably get going. Too many things to do.” She shifted into gear, avoiding the look he gave her, which she felt as a punch to her chest.
Yeah, she wasn’t big on romance. So sue her.
* * *
Certainly Jones met Summer at the curb out behind the Council headquarters, where the Archives was also located. The Council’s vast headquarters was located in the 11th arrondissement tucked amidst businesses and residences, but at only four stories high it remained unassuming with its red brick walls and lacking signage. The Archives twisted and labyrinthed a good seven stories underground. Though Acquisitions was in the same building, Summer had never been inside the Archives, but CJ’s wife, Vika, had told her about it. A fascinating place, for sure.
As she’d requested, Nicolo remained in the car while she walked around to the trunk and met CJ there.
The dark witch was tall, lean and always dressed in black. His long black hair must hang to his waist when not tidily queued with a leather thong, as it was now. Spell tattoos covered his entire left hand. He looked like someone you’d want to walk a wide circle around on the street, yet Summer knew he was kind and gentle, albeit a very powerful dark witch with whom no man should be foolish enough to mess.
Whispering inaudibly, he smoothed the tattooed hand over the dent in the trunk, and with a few metallic pops, the metal rose beneath his palm and reformed into a smooth surface.
“Oh man, you just saved me hours of bodywork,” Summer said. “Thanks.”
“Who’s loverboy in the front seat?” he asked as she popped open the trunk.
“Uh, just a friend.” Her missions were confidential. And she didn’t want anyone from Acquisitions or the Archives learning about her slipup. “We’re heading to the club to meet up with Johnny.”
“Nice. Wow.” He bent over the violin case, inspecting it without touching it. “Paganini’s actual violin?”
She nodded. “Yep.”
Didn’t want to say too much because if she started talking she’d blurt out all the stuff she didn’t want anyone to know about. Like the real identity of loverboy.
“Have any problems obtaining it?” he asked as he lifted it out and carefully held it in both hands.
“Nope.”
“The case is exquisite. In perfect condition, save for the buckles.”
Summer nodded.
And CJ peered at her curiously. She knew witches could perform a soulgaze on their fellow witches. Stare into their eyes long enough and they could read their souls. But she didn’t think they could do it to vampires.
“Something’s wrong,” he said. Not a question.
“Everything’s cool. I’m just, uh... Well, you know this wasn’t Paganini’s actual violin. This is the one rumored to have been used to tempt him by you know who.”
“Right. Which is the very reason we’ve been tasked to retrieve and catalog it. I’ll have to put some devil wards on it. Just to be safe. Might have to look those up. Don’t use malefic magic all that often.”
She certainly hoped not. And if she stood here any longer she’d probably blurt out the truth, so she gestured toward the inside of the car. “New guy. First date. He doesn’t really know what I do. So I should be rockin’.”
“I see. Got it. I’ll tag this and find a place for it in the stacks. Thanks, Summer. Have a good time tonight!” CJ walked by the passenger’s side and bent to get a good look, waved at Nicolo, then frowned, but he didn’t say anything else.
Summer slid into the front of the car. “Whew.”
“You’re keeping me a secret now?”
“From anyone who works at the Archives? Yes. Only Director Pierce and I are aware of your rebirth, as it is. You’re not supposed to be above ground. And until I can figure out what to do about that, you’re just some guy.”
“Your loverboy.” He tilted his head and his eyes twinkled. Probably a reflection from the nearby streetlight. Had to be.
“You heard that? Your hearing is very sensitive.”
“Remarkably so. Want to make it true?”
“Are you propositioning me?”
“Sorry.” He pressed his hands together before his face and smoothed them down to reveal smiling eyes. “It’s a habit.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Apparently I’ve not changed so terribly much after such a long sleep. It makes me happy to talk with women. Your kind fascinates me. Whores, as well as the good and proper. Actually, I prefer a proper woman. I only ever resorted to whores—”
“Not my circus. Not my problem. Let’s get going.” She shifted into gear and pulled the car away from the curb.
“Will there be women at this club?”
“There will be. But they’ll be a lot different from the tightly-laced demoiselles you’re used to flirting with.”
“Similar to the ones in the tavern?”
“Hmm, nope. This is a goth crowd. But there are always plenty of sexy goth wannabes in the mix.”
“Goth meaning Gothic in style?”
“You’ll see what I mean when we get there.”
Did she really want to take him along with her? Induct him into the atmosphere of dark sex and seduction that absolutely oozed from the club?
“You sure you’re ready for this? It’s been a long day. We could go straight to my place and kick back.” Say yes, say yes...
“No, please, I look forward to the challenge of these gothic women.”
Summer rolled her eyes. And then a part of her sighed and pouted. She didn’t want her dead guy flirting with other women.
Chapter 7
Nicolo followed Summer down a dark hallway into a vast nightclub booming with sound and flickering lights. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. The more he looked around, felt the thump of the music in his heart and scented the sage and clove, the more he wanted. The sound was amplified beyond belief. And the energy of the people was also beyond his comprehension. Before them a crowd danced and shimmied and moved to the music, which didn’t sound very danceable to Nicolo.
Then again, the last time he’d danced it had been to a waltz.
No one was performing that refined dance. In fact, men and women didn’t even hold hands, though they did touch. Everywhere. And all body parts. And some didn’t even appear to be paired with another, inclined to dance with whoever moved before them at the moment, be the pairing a male and female, or even male to male and female to female.
And which ones exactly were the men, and which were the women? Many women wore trousers. And those who did not? The shimmer of sparkling clothing drew Nicolo’s eye to very low-cut dresses that exposed so much bosom he felt he must have stepped back to—if he recalled his history lessons—the seventeenth century, a time when nipples could be displayed by the daring. Yet, the seventeenth century had never allowed for a woman to reveal so much leg. All the way up to...there. It was scandalous.
And marvelous.
Sage smoke and sweetness surrounded him as if an opium dream. Bodies and ice. He and Summer walked under a fan that must be another of those fabulous air-conditioning systems such as she had in her car. And not a candle chandelier in sight to drip officious wax into his hair or onto his skin. Summer had called them electric lights. They flashed brightly in all colors, and erratically, making him blink.
Summer tugged his hand and shouted so he could hear over the noise, “We’ll head up to the balcony for a great view of the stage. It’s private, but I have access.”
As he dutifully followed, Nicolo strayed his hand across a woman’s thigh covered with some kind of spangled fabric, and then an arm bare of anything but heat. Scents of fragrance flashed in and out, spiked with whiskey and beer and other liquors he couldn’t name. One woman with kohl-lined eyes was drinking something that glowed violet.
Summer had explained before they’d entered that this was a paranormal nightclub, though humans were admitted. Just a few, and generally they were in the know that demons, faeries, vamps and werewolves danced within.
In his lifetime he’d never interacted with paranormals—beyond his real father and mother and a few demons that had been sent to tempt him—and so he was intrigued to figure who was what sort of creature. But he couldn’t begin to look for fangs or fur because—the music.
Oh, the music!
Following the vampiress up a metal stairs that twisted around tightly, they gained the vast balcony, which stretched along the back wall of the club, opposite the stage. Many people milled up here as well, but it was less crowded. Summer bumped her fist against a tall hefty man’s fist. He must be the balcony guardian. With a nod toward him, she winked, and the guardian’s subtle bow of head granted Nicolo entrance, as well.
“Thank you, kind sir,” he said as he passed the behemoth.
They filed to the balcony railing. The place was large, but the decor was hardly sumptuous. It looked like the framework for something that could become grand if only velvets and gilt and decadent frescos were laid over the black, black and more black. Nicolo supposed it represented a certain paranormal theme. Gothic, indeed.
It should disturb him, but fascination shimmied within him.
Summer leaned onto the chrome railing, and her hair brushed his cheek. He inhaled, taking her into his senses. Mmm, he missed sex. Could a man have sex with a vampire and survive without being bitten? It was a disturbing thought, but one he should not disregard. Of course, what fear had he of a vampire bite now that he was undead? Was he invincible? Hmm...
She gestured toward the stage. “That’s my brother playing lead guitar,” she said in a shout.
Drawn out of his speculation, Nicolo eyed the stage. The man Summer pointed out was tall, lean and wore no shirt, which exposed a well-defined abdomen melded from the palest flesh. Jet-black hair, quite opposite of Summer’s ethereal blond, swung over his dark eyes as he attacked what looked like a guitar. The instrument had six strings, a long neck, and he fingered it as if a guitar, but it was quite different than the ones Nicolo had once played. Streamlined, glossy and so loud.
“Johnny also sings,” Summer added, “but right now the chick singing is his wife, Kambriel.”
Nicolo liked that name. Sounded angelic. But the woman singing was the furthest from any idea of Heaven he’d ever imagined. She had some vocal chords, that was for sure. The song thumped in his body, and her voice growled along his veins, yet it was oddly seductive. Add to that the black, body-tight shiny fabric she wore and the horns at her skull that popped out from thick, coiling black hair. Her breasts were gorgeous, exposed nicely by the bodysuit, and her lips were so red, Nicolo wondered if she had not just drunk blood.
“She’s not a demon?” he asked.
“The horns aren’t real,” Summer said. “Just a prop. She’s vampire. The bass player is also vamp. The guy on the cello is Domingos LaRoque, yet another vamp.” She indicated the brass goggles he wore with a tip to the side of her head. “That dude is terribly allergic to sunlight.”
“The cello he’s playing is remarkable,” Nicolo said, raising his voice and leaning close to Summer. “How is it so loud? I can hear the instrument over the shouts from the people below, which are deafening.”
“Amps,” she said. “The instruments are electric.”
“Like the lighting? I don’t understand that.”
“Electricity powers pretty much everything nowadays.” She waved to her brother, who waved at her and winked. “I should head backstage. Gotta check Domingos’s violin. He might want to use it in the next set. This way.”
Nicolo resisted her tug when she started off. Much as the music promised a sensory overload, he felt as if he were in his element. “Could I watch from up here? I’m fascinated with all this, Summer. Those guitars. I have never seen the like.”
“Of course. Just don’t wander off. I’ll get you a drink, yes?”
“Yes, please. A nice absinthe, perhaps.”
“I’ll have the bartender send one your way. When the set is done, come backstage. The door is down there.” She pointed to a door outlined with a red glowing light. “I’ll let the bouncer know about you.”
She leaned in closer to his ear, and her hand slid across his shirt. Nicolo tensed at that touch. To seek her intimate companionship or not? Her touch did not warrant his caution. “Don’t tell anyone who you are. Just try to blend in. Observe. Don’t ask anyone questions. Save them for me, yes?”
He nodded and placed a hand over hers to keep the connection that felt so seductive to him. “Don’t worry. I’ll take things slowly and with caution.”
And before she could slip away, he curled his hand across her back and bent to kiss her. Quickly. A moment of touch. A test, even. Could she allow him this intimacy? And was it acceptable for him, for his own morals, to continue to seek kisses from a vampire?
Yes, most definitely.
She smiled at him, then shook her head as if at a naughty child and walked off.
He’d taken liberty with that kiss. He hadn’t been able to resist. Kissing her was divine. Of course, it had been so long since he had shared a kiss with a woman. And he’d never thought that after rising from the dead the first itch he’d feel compelled to satisfy was to have sex. But it was certainly humming about in his thoughts. And lower. He did have a fine new body, after all. No sense in letting it stand around, observing. He wanted to feel the touch of a woman’s hands glide over his skin, and the heat of her mouth at his. And to hear the sounds of her desire. Now that was gorgeous music.
He would have Summer. He must.
He nodded in agreement with his lascivious thoughts as he followed Summer’s trek across the dance floor and to the stage door. Odd woman, she. And not simply because of her masculine clothing and carelessly untidy hair. She was independent and strong. She wasn’t about to shrink back and be submissive to anyone. That vampiress could be a force that he would indulge. But he would remain cautious. Unmoored is how he felt as he navigated this world. He didn’t want to risk sinking by losing Summer’s trust, and her guidance. A careful seduction must be employed.
When the absinthe arrived, delivered by a pretty blonde with fangs, he smiled widely, but had to dispel a shudder when she ran her tongue along one of the fangs. He was all for testing the modern-day woman in his arms, but the only vampire he trusted at the moment was Summer.
“I thank you,” he said. “Salut!” And he turned to watch the show, hoping she would leave him be.
He loved women of all sorts. But until today, he’d never included vampires in that mix. His world was growing bigger. Faster. Louder. And all he could do was hold on and take it all in. It felt rather lovely. Empowering, even. Potential beckoned.
He tilted back a few sips of absinthe. “Aggh, this is terrible.”
Apparently, the quality of absinthe had not survived the ages. But certainly, music had blossomed into something new and devious. And it made his heart thump with joy. Leaning onto the railing, he watched the band yowl and torture their instruments as the crowd danced and bounced and beat their fists in the air. The musicians garnered a sort of manic following.
He remembered such adulation. How it had fueled his creativity and lifted him on days when he’d felt less than adequate. The clatter of applause, of cheers and cries of “bravo” had never failed to fill his soul with a jubilant desire for more, more and more.
Nicolo gripped the chrome railing. “I need to play again,” he said. “It is all I know.”
The cello player stepped off stage momentarily, then returned with a violin. Summer must have provided the fix the instrument had needed.
The violinist bumped fists with Johnny and Kambriel, and then the who
le crew set off the next song. The singer’s booming yet sultry voice invited everyone to jump into the flames and sacrifice their souls. Violin and guitar danced in strange harmony, mixing with the thumping drumbeat. The composition was in standard four-four time. A basic beat. The bass guitar played the rhythm while the brother, Johnny, mastered some fine scales with notes that screamed from the instrument.
Nicolo took it all in. When five more songs were finished, the crowd roared for the last song. He noticed Summer peek out from behind the backstage door. She gestured to him, which he assumed meant to come below.
Leaving the tasteless absinthe sitting on a steel-topped table, he nodded to the behemoth at the stairway and made his way down. Many female hands stroked his body as he pushed across the dance floor. He didn’t get any images from them as he had with the women in the tavern and Summer. Perhaps the touch had to be longer, more intentional. A good thing, or he might go mad if every tiny contact delivered him some information about a person’s life.
Nicolo turned and eyed one particular redhead clad in black leather horizontal strips that revealed more than they covered. The undercurves of her breasts enticed. He wanted to touch everything. To inhale it all and fix it into his system.
He filed through the crowd and into the backstage area and found Summer in a room cluttered with instruments and assorted stage gear. She stood over a table, violin case before her, cleaning the bow with a cloth. The violin in the case was remarkable. It was violet and...not solid.
“What did you think?” Summer asked as he joined her side and looked over the violin.
“The band is quite remarkable. The music. My God, Summer, how is it that it was so wonderful?”
“I bet it’s a lot to take in.”
“No, not at all.” He stroked his fingers over the outer edge of the violin and then was surprised. “It’s metal?”
“Aluminum,” she said. “Probably didn’t have that metal in your time. It’s very lightweight.”
“But there’s no body. No interior to amplify the sound. It’s been carved out. How does it work?”