by Мишель Роуэн
She held her injured finger far away from her and stared at me, wide-eyed, with a mixture of shock and disgust.
I scrambled to my feet and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
What in the holy hell just happened?
“I… I… uh… I’m so sorry,” I managed. “I don’t know what… I wouldn’t normally do something… I just…”
Ms. Saunders pulled her hand close to her chest, perhaps to protect it from further abuse.
“Get out,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, I’ll get back to work. Again, I’m so, so sorry. Would you like me to bring you a cup of coffee?”
“No, not to your desk,” she said evenly, but her volume increased with every word. “Get out of here, you freak. I don’t care what you’ve heard, I’m not into women. You’re fired. Now get out of here before I call security.”
“But… my job review—”
“Get out!” she yelled.
I took a step toward her, wanting to try to rationalize what just happened, but she rolled backward in her chair as if she were afraid of me. I held up my hands.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I just want to explain.”
She grabbed her phone without taking her eyes off me and hit a number. “Security, this is the fifth floor…”
That was all I needed to hear. I ran out of her office and back through the maze of cubicles. What had just happened? What would possess me to do something so disgusting? And was there really a rumor that Ms. Saunders liked chicks? Because that would explain a lot. But there wasn’t any time to think about what had just happened. I was relying on pure instinct to see me through this. And my instinct was telling me that I’d better get the hell out of there as fast as possible if I didn’t want to be unceremoniously escorted out of the building by two security guards. Back at my desk I grabbed my pink-haired troll doll that was suction-cupped to the top of my computer. Then I opened my top drawer to retrieve the little box of Godiva truffles I kept there for my daily three o’clock chocolate fix. Was I forgetting anything else?
Oh, my God. I’d just been fired. No, couldn’t think about that now. Later. Deal with it later. I nodded to myself and grabbed my bag. It was still soggy from last night. Soggy from my plunge off the top of a bridge with Thierry de Bennicoeur, the suicidal- yet-sexy vampire. Could that have happened for real? No. I must have been so drunk that I’d taken a shower, fully clothed. And accessorized. But couldn’t margaritas only be held responsible for so much?
I heard a ding and the elevator doors opened up. Security got out and I saw Ms. Saunders walking toward them, holding her injured hand and gesturing wildly in my direction. I couldn’t hear what she was telling them, and I didn’t really want to know. The last thing I needed was all my coworkers finding out I was getting physically booted from the company for sucking on my boss’s finger. The word “embarrassing” didn’t even begin to cover it. I made a beeline for the stairs, which took me past Amy’s desk. She was typing steadily and looked up at me with surprise as I whizzed by. I held my thumb and pinkie finger to my ear, making the universal sign for “call me,” then disappeared through the door leading to the stairwell.
I took the stairs all the way down to the parking garage. Out through a set of doors to my right and I was into downtown Toronto’s PATH system—the huge maze of tunnels under the business district. I’d always loved the PATH because it helped me avoid nasty winter weather while wearing expensive footwear. Slush and heels did not combine for good results. Actually, calling them tunnels wasn’t all that accurate. They were more like the narrow halls of a shopping mall. Lined with restaurants and stores, joining together the tall, downtown buildings. Tiled floors led in all directions. Signs above and on the walls pointed toward Adelaide or King Street or Bay. The regular users never needed to look up at the signs, just forward, their lips pressed against their foamy cappuccinos, or their noses tucked into the daily Globe and Mail, as they traveled by foot through the commuting crowds. The tourists walked around as if they’d just entered a surreal, underground world. They were the ones who usually got in my way. I made a quick right, pushed through large glass doors, and then got on the subway. Eyes straight forward, unblinking, my staring contest now was only with the gray stations that whipped past the window.
I got off at my regular stop and walked methodically to my apartment building. Rode up in the elevator to the tenth floor. Slid my key into the lock, then went inside and automatically locked the door behind me. I could still taste the blood from Ms. Saunders’s cut on my tongue. It tasted pretty damn good. My knees buckled under and I dropped to the floor, just past the front door and next to the fridge. The daze I’d been in slowly lifted, leaving behind it the bizarre truth I’d been trying all day to deny.
It hadn’t been a dream.
I was a vampire.
Now what the hell was I supposed to do?
Chapter 4
Falling asleep seemed the best course of immediate action. Some might call it passing out from the shock of realizing I was now a bloodsucking monster, but I’d prefer to simply think of it as a power nap.
When I woke up, it was dark in my apartment, which seemed odd since I’d left the office well before noon. I pushed myself up from the kitchen floor and flicked on a light. The clock on the stove read 7:30. I’d just slept for nearly eight hours. Not good. My mouth felt like a desert. I poured myself a glass of wine from a half-empty bottle at the back of the fridge and downed it while trying to organize my racing thoughts.
I’m a vampire . The words swarmed through my brain. A neck-biting, cape-wearing vampire with a capital V. I began to feel woozy again. I grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter. There were five messages waiting for me on my voice mail. The first one was from my mother.
“Sarah? Are you there, honey? Pick up.” She always started her messages that way. “Just to remind you, the wedding rehearsal and dinner begin at four on Monday, but we wanted some time to visit with you first. Call us so we’ll know when to expect you, okay?”
I sighed. I was to be one of the bridesmaids in my cousin’s wedding back in my hometown of Abottsville, Ontario. I decided to pull a Scarlett O’Hara and think about it tomorrow. I had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment. To say the least.
The next four messages were from Amy. She was desperate to know why I’d been fired. Apparently, there were now multiple versions of what had happened circulating through the office. One had been that I’d made a pass at Ms. Saunders. I gently bashed my forehead against the cool surface of me fridge. Great, just great. With my luck I’d probably end up getting sued for sexual harassment. What could I tell Amy that didn’t sound crazy? I decided not to call her back until I figured that out. I poured myself another glass of wine and downed that one, too, then considered having another one. But there wasn’t enough wine on the planet to help me relax.
I took a quick shower and then slid into a pair of hot pink yoga pants—I didn’t do yoga, but they were trendy—and a snug white T-shirt with DIVA imprinted on it in pink and purple sparkles. My comfy clothes. The clothes I usually wore when I was having an ugly night and staying in to watch Sex and the City on DVD.
But I wasn’t doing that tonight. I needed answers and knew where I could find them. I grabbed my purse and searched through it. For a fleeting, panicky moment I thought that I’d lost what I was looking for during the course of the day, but there it was at the bottom of my purse, stuck to a loose cough candy. I pried the honey-lemon lozenge off the business card and stared at it with deep apprehension: MIDNIGHT ECLIPSE TANNING SALON. Okay, Monsieur Thierry de Bennicoeur , I thought. You’ve got some ‘splaining to do.
Less than an hour later I squinted at the business card again to double-check that I was at the correct address. I looked up at the tanning salon’s exterior and made a face. It was run-down, as was the entire neighborhood in this west end part of Toronto. There wasn’t a Starbucks for blocks. But I didn’t need it to be a fancy
, four-star spa. I just needed answers. My face stung from the blowing snow. It was even colder than last night had been, and there was no more fooling myself that I wouldn’t be hip-deep in the cold white stuff within a couple of weeks. Thus, the upcoming trip to Mexico.
I shoved the business card deep into the pocket of my black leather coat—my backup jacket since my nicer, more expensive burgundy one was all but ruined from last night’s surprise swim. I pushed open the frost-kissed glass door to the salon. Inside there was a tall reception desk with the Midnight Eclipse logo—essentially a solid black circle bearing the words “Midnight Eclipse”—painted on the otherwise empty wall. A plastic potted palm tree stood with very little dignity in the corner. To the right of the desk was one black door and to the left were two white doors. Add to that the soggy green floor that I stood on, and it was pretty much all the room had to offer.
I frowned, feeling tense. Where was everyone? If the place was closed, the door would have been locked, wouldn’t it? This sure didn’t look like a place “Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Intimidating” would frequent. Why would he send me there in the first place? What was this, some kind of joke? After the day I’d had, I wasn’t in a laughing kind of mood. A crying-hysterically-and-babbling-incoherently mood, maybe. Laughing, not so much.
“You must be Sarah,” a voice ventured.
“Hello?” I looked around, but still didn’t see anyone. “Who said that?”
“I’m Barry.” A very small man emerged from behind the desk; he couldn’t have been more than four feet tall. He wore a tuxedo and had a black top hat perched crookedly on his head. “Barry Jordan.” He extended a small hand upward. “I was told to expect you.”
“Hi.” I shook his hand automatically. No reason for me to be rude, after all. “Then I guess I’m Sarah.”
“Excellent. I take it you’re here for the grand tour?”
My gaze slid from the potted plant back to the desk. “There’s a grand tour?”
“Absolutely.” Barry’s smile showed off tiny fangs. He released my hand. A miniature vampire. Collect ‘em all.
“You’re a vampire?”
“Yes, of course.”
I sighed. “Good. I have so many questions, I need to—”
He waved his hand. “All in good time. Are you ready for the tour?”
I stared at him for a moment. “Um. Okay, I guess.”
He grinned, hurried over to the right, and opened one of the white doors into a room with a toilet, a sink, three lockers, and a wooden bench.
“The changing room,” Barry announced.
“Ah.”
He closed the door and moved to the other. Inside were two tanning beds, currently not in use. A dirty towel had been rolled up and discarded in a corner. Another potted palm tree sat near the door.
“The tanning room.” He made a presentational flourish with his arm, as if he were showing me something very impressive. “Employees tan for free.”
“Vampires tan?” I said with a frown. “But I thought—”
He waved me off again. “Please do not interrupt.” Barry Jordan was quickly outstaying his welcome as tour director in my book. He clicked the door closed and breezed past me on the way to the last door. I held up a hand to stop him.
“Listen, I don’t want to waste any more of your time. I’m really not all that interested in the inner workings of a tanning salon. No offense.”
“But you’ll want to see this. I’m sure you will.” He looked extremely disappointed; even his bow tie seemed to wilt a little bit.
I sighed with impatience. “All right, then. Go ahead.”
He nodded, straightened his tie, and reached forward to open the door. A wave of voices, loud music, smoke, and darkness seemed to rush into the reception area, and my mouth dropped open at what I saw inside.
“This is the real Midnight Eclipse,” Barry said proudly. “Vampires only.”
I blinked in disbelief. Of all the things I’d expected to see behind that last door, this wasn’t it. But I suppose it made perfect sense. A nightclub for vampires. Somewhere to relax and unwind after a hard day of avoiding the sunlight and pointy wooden objects. After a moment my eyes adjusted to the dimness. A long, black-lacquered bar hugged the wall to the left. Booths and tables flaunted sexy crimson tablecloths and small, glowing lamps. At the far side there was a stage, where, over the murmured conversations of the crowded club, a beautiful, raven-haired Bertie Page look-alike was singing a throaty rendition of “Fever.”
“Have you ever waited tables before?” Barry asked.
“In college,” I said, my voice barely audible. “But I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”
“Good.”
I shut my gaping mouth. “Wait a minute. Forget I said that. I don’t want to work here.”
“I thought you were here for a job interview.”
“No. I need to talk to Thierry.”
“Thierry?” Barry sounded shocked. “You mean the master.”
“The master?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Without respect. The master is to be respected.”
I glanced back into the club. A few eyes were now on me. Curious gazes from the gathered vampires. It was funny, because if I hadn’t been told they were all creatures of the night, I’d never have guessed it. They looked perfectly normal to me. Not Goth, anyhow. Not one pasty face or black Marilyn Manson outfit to be seen.
Barry took a deep breath and a smile blossomed on his face again. “You’re new. He mentioned that you were without a sire, so any missteps are to be expected, of course.”
“Missteps?” My patience was waning. “Look, Tuxedo Boy, is Thierry here or not?”
The smile slipped from his face again and his eyes flashed angrily at me. Yikes. I didn’t want to make him pop a blood vessel or anything.
“Barry,” a smooth, deep voice said to my left. “It’s all right. Please leave Miss Dearly to me.”
The sound of his voice coursed down my spine like the feel of your first shot of tequila on frosh night. Shocking and unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant.
I turned, already knowing who it was.
The master.
He looked different than he had last night. More put-together. Less suicidal. His dark, almost-black hair was brushed off his face. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a square jawline showing a small amount of fashionable stubble. His full lips were unsmiling, of course, and gray eyes that seemed almost silver watched me as if I were the only person in the room.
He, unlike the others in the club, was dressed all in black. He wore a button-down silk shirt that was open at the neck, black jacket, and black dress pants. The darkness made his face look even paler, but it wasn’t unattractive and pasty. It was as if he glowed with power. An inner energy that made me tingle right down to my toes.
Yowza.
“Sarah,” he said. “I was not certain that you’d come.”
I forced a smile. “And yet, here I am.”
Barry made a sound and I grimaced. He probably wanted me to bow before the master, or something. As if that were going to happen. Thierry’s gaze moved to the tiny man. “Be so kind as to fetch Miss Dearly and myself something to drink.”
Barry bowed, the little brownnoser that he was. Then he backed away and headed toward the bar. Thierry gently took me by my elbow and steered me over toward a booth.
“Please sit,” he said.
I sat.
He took a seat across from me and met my eyes. “I imagine this is all quite overwhelming for you.”
“You could say that.” I leaned back and tried to look as comfortable as possible, given the situation. “I thought this was supposed to be a tanning salon.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “It is. But as you can see, it is also much more than that. The previous owner believed it to be an ironic joke. A vampire club behind the facade of a tanning salon.”
“Funny.”
&
nbsp; Thierry didn’t smile.
I swallowed and tried to chase my nervousness away. “So, you own this place, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
Whether or not he also thought it was cool, he made no indication.
I forced a smile. “Look, I have tons of questions for you about this vampire thing.”
“So, at last you believe that you’re no longer dreaming?”
I looked away and concentrated on smoothing out a wrinkle on the red tablecloth. “To tell you the truth, I did think it was all a dream. I was positive of it. At least until something weird happened today.”
“What happened?”
I was embarrassed, but anxious to move onto my real questions, so I launched into a quick retelling of the finger-sucking incident. If he found it amusing, he didn’t give any sign.
“It is to be expected,” he said when I was finished. “Your body craves blood now. You
were simply acting on instinct.”
“It’s an instinct I don’t want. How do I stop it?” That comment almost earned me a smile. Almost.
“You cannot stop it.”
Barry stopped at our table with two drinks on a tray. He placed a martini glass full of dark red liquid in front of Thierry. “Your usual, master. And one newbie special.”
He plunked another glass of Gatorade-for-vamps in front of me. Slightly pink water. I gritted my teeth and glanced at Thierry.
“Do I have to?”
“No.”
I looked back down at the diluted blood. “But if I don’t, I’ll get the headache from hell again, right?”
He paused before answering. “That is correct.”
“Well, then, down the hatch.” I gulped a bit of the drink. Damn if it didn’t taste fantastic. I was so grossing myself out, but hey, at least it beat sucking on fingers.
After a moment I placed the empty glass back down on the table and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Good?” Thierry asked.