by Dannika Dark
I took a bite of warm apple pie. “Don’t be such a fanghole. She’s my friend.”
“She’s a cocktail in an apron. You shouldn’t form attachments to mortals. That’s a habit your maker would have broken had he stuck around.”
I shoved my plate away and leaned back in the booth. Now I’d lost my appetite. Christian was pressing my buttons on purpose.
He slapped a large bill on the table. “Let’s go build a snowman.”
I furrowed my brow. “Say again?”
He scooted out of his seat and stretched his arms. “We drove all this way into the city. Might as well have a little fun while we’re here.”
“How is building a snowman fun?”
He grinned fiendishly. “Grab the ketchup and I’ll show you how Vampires have a good time.”
Chapter 2
As soon as we made it home to Keystone mansion, I ducked around the winged statue just inside the front door and headed down the side hall that led to the back of the building. After I ascended to the second floor, I moved through a dark hall absent of windows but illuminated by a few wall lanterns, the light of which soaked into the crevices of the stone that arched overhead.
I should have been downstairs training with Niko, but my head just wasn’t in it today. All I could think about was my father, and I didn’t want Niko to read my color and start asking questions.
Out of nowhere, Gem flew past me from an intersecting hallway.
“Wait!” she cried out, her roller skates skidding to a stop. Gem circled back around, her wavy tresses curtaining her face. She hooked her arm in mine and swept back her purple hair—a pale shade of amethyst that matched her eyes. “Where in the world have you been? I went by your room earlier to see if you wanted to hang out. I’ve been searching all over the mansion trying to find you.”
We continued our walk down the hall, her rolling beside me.
“I went into the city with Christian to have breakfast.”
She flashed me an impish grin. “That sounds mysterious.”
“The only thing mysterious was his aversion to pie.”
“I want to hear all the details.” Gem had her eyes on Wyatt’s office just to the left and broke away to skate ahead of me through the open door. “Visitors!” she announced in a bright voice.
I moseyed inside and noticed Shepherd lying on the black sofa to the left, an ashtray on his chest. Little flecks of grey ash were scattered across his black T-shirt. His ankles were crossed, one arm behind his head while he watched an action movie on TV.
Typical Shepherd.
Gem whirled around and finally took a good look at me. As her eyes dragged downward, she gaped at my pants. “Did you and Christian get into a fight?”
Wyatt spun around in his computer chair and looked me over. “Son of a ghost. I knew I should have made popcorn. What’s the scoop?”
“There’s no scoop.” I glanced down at the red ketchup splattered on my jeans. “Suffice it to say that after building a bloody massacre of snowmen, we’ll never be invited to Saint Vincent’s Church again.”
Wyatt flipped his beanie off, revealing a messy head of nut-brown hair. “You’re going to hell in a handbasket.”
I walked around him and sat on the leather stool. “I ate your chili last night. I’m already there.”
He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, his boot heel propped on the stone floor. Wyatt’s attitude was a lot more easygoing now that—according to him—the house was ghost-free. I hadn’t caught him racing down the hallways in the wee hours of the morning, spooked by something he’d seen. “I’m looking forward to the feast you’re cooking tonight, Julia Child.”
Crap. I’d forgotten it was my week to cook. Everyone rotated chores, including cooking, laundry, trash, and general cleaning to name a few. They were spread out so that one person wasn’t given both cooking and laundry on the same week. After just over a month, it was finally my turn in the kitchen. I hadn’t boiled water in probably seven years. Was it possible to make ramen noodles look gourmet?
Gem glided toward a beanbag chair and plopped down. The oversized chair dwarfed her as it puffed out.
I eased my elbows on the desk behind me and faced Shepherd, who was entertaining himself by blowing smoke rings. “Is this what you do all day?”
He took another drag, eyes still fixed on the TV. “I’m waiting on Spooky to run a file check for me.”
The sound of Blue’s boot heels echoing in the hallway announced her arrival before she ever set foot in the room. A falcon Shifter, Blue strutted in as cool as a cucumber and switched on the trendy floor lamp behind the couch.
“Delivery,” she said, tapping Shepherd’s forehead with an envelope. When she bent over the corner of the sofa to drop it in his lap, her long brown hair tickled the top of his head and made his nose twitch.
In a gravelly voice, he said, “I don’t get mail.” Shepherd blew out another ring of smoke.
She yanked a red pillow out from beneath his head. “You do now. A messenger dropped it off a minute ago. Better take it before I let Wyatt have the first look.”
Wyatt rolled his chair across the room and reached out with grabby hands. “Gimme.”
Shepherd snatched the envelope and set his ashtray on the floor. He swung his legs over the edge of the sofa, ashes scattering onto his lap. Shepherd was a lot like the furniture in some of the rooms; he might not fit in with his surroundings, but after a while, you got used to him. He ran a hand across his buzz cut, a cigarette firmly wedged between two fingers.
Wyatt used his heels to propel his chair back to his desk, where he rummaged through a drawer and retrieved a box of chocolate-covered raisins. “Well?”
Shepherd ripped open the envelope with his teeth and spit the loose paper onto the floor.
Blue picked up his ashtray and set it on the end table to the right of the sofa.
“What is it?” I asked, watching him read the letter.
He wadded the paper up in his hand. “Something I don’t have time for.” Shepherd stood up and showered the floor with ashes. The muscles on his arms flexed and hardened as he dusted off his clothes. Shepherd spent a lot of time doing pull-ups, and it showed with nearly every subtle move he made. He tossed the paper into the wastebasket across the room and stalked toward Wyatt, who spun out of the way so that Shepherd could grab a file off his desk. “Send me the rest when you’re done.”
As soon as Shepherd left the room, Wyatt nearly tipped over his chair as he dove into the trash.
“What’s it say?” I whispered, sidling up next to him.
He smoothed out the crumpled paper and read it to himself. “Holy Toledo! This is an invitation from Mr. Patrick Bane.”
“You mean the guy whose party we crashed?” Mr. Bane was an elite member of society who belonged to the higher authority. We’d recently attended a masquerade ball at his mansion.
Wyatt set the letter on his lap and gave a throaty chuckle. “My favorite part is where it says Mr. Shepherd Moon. I never thought of Shepherd as a mister anything but a pain-in-the-ass chain-smoker. I bet he’s afraid he’ll have to put on a suit.”
Blue furrowed her brow. “What’s the invitation for?”
“I bet Patrick wants to extend his gratitude for saving his kid, so he’s inviting Shep over for dinner.”
I pursed my lips, remembering how Shepherd caught the falling boy. “Does Shepherd even know how to use silverware?”
Shepherd wasn’t the most affable guy, but I’d never held that against him. He didn’t usually attend events that weren’t work related unless they involved a glass of beer and game of darts. Better him than me. Dining with modern-day aristocrats wasn’t my style.
“We should show this to Viktor,” Blue said. “Whether Shepherd wants to go or not is beside the point. We have to maintain good relations with the higher authority, and this guy’ll be insulted if Shepherd doesn’t at least reply to the invitation.”
Gem struggled to her fe
et and skated over, collecting the paper and thoroughly examining every word. “Cordially invited. Alas, I never get cordially invited to anything.”
“Maybe someone should go with him,” I suggested. “Just to make sure things remain cordial.”
“Me!” Gem volunteered, raising her hand.
“Wait a second, wait a second,” Wyatt interrupted. “I’m his partner. It only makes sense that I go with him.”
Blue and Gem exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes.
Wyatt rose to his feet and lifted his nose in the air. “Oh ye of little faith,” he said, circling around them.
Gem carefully rolled backward on her skates and then leaned against the desk. “Feel free to go. But if Mr. Bane happens to have any ghosties wandering around his great big mansion, you might end up having an argument with them at the dinner table, completely oblivious to the living people around you. Wait’ll Viktor hears about that.”
Wyatt plopped down on the couch, his eyes fixed on his skull belt buckle. “Point taken. I’m not a big fan of those intimate dinners anyhow.” He lifted his head, and a smile touched his lips. “Just remember, Rollergirl, it’s going to be a private dinner with a high-and-mighty political official. No studly men to admire, no dance party, and you’ll be subjected to stimulating conversation about the economy.”
“Point taken,” she parroted back. “What about Christian?”
I chortled. “I’m not sure if Mr. Bane is prepared for asinine remarks about his décor. Plus, Christian doesn’t eat, so between an imperious Vampire who eats candy and a chain-smoking caveman like Shepherd, it would be an award-winning dinner.”
Blue tapped her feather earring, her eyes downcast. “Viktor should decide. Maybe it’s not necessary.”
“Viktor should decide what?” our fearless leader asked. Viktor’s Russian accent was smoky and relaxed. Sometimes in conversation he would drift into his mother tongue, and then Gem was the only one who could understand him.
He stood at the door, his steel-grey eyes looking among us with great interest. Viktor was like a senior hipster, always making whatever he wore look like a fashion trend. His swanky loafers matched his brown chinos, and he had on a beige sweater over a button-down shirt.
The silver-haired fox stroked his short beard, his other hand in his pants pocket. “We’re not keeping secrets, are we?”
Blue crossed the room and handed him the creased letter. “This came for Shepherd.”
“Spasibo.” Viktor read the short letter and turned it over. “What an honor. I’m assuming by the condition of this paper that Shepherd has seen it.”
Wyatt snorted. “Shep isn’t going.”
“Nyet. He will accept this offer. I think it best if I send one of you with him to make sure he does not insult Mr. Bane. I cannot go. If Patrick wanted me to join him, he would have included me in the invitation. He will understand why I cannot send Shepherd in alone. Too much wine, and sometimes a man can divulge more information than he is permitted.”
I tied my hair back. “My vote goes to Claude.”
Viktor drew in a breath through his nose and pursed his lips. “I think another male companion would send the wrong message. Why would I send another man who was not invited? If Shepherd has a female companion, it appears more casual.” Viktor scratched beneath his chin and looked between us girls. “Raven, I want you to go.”
“But I’m not—”
“Ah-ah,” he said, wagging his finger. “No arguments. You have complained about not having enough work, so you cannot pick and choose. Everyone else has work, so you will take assignments as I give them.”
“He might be insulted by the fact I’m there. I was the one who let the kid fall, remember?”
“All the more reason to make amends.” Viktor left the room, Blue following behind.
“Picking Raven out of you three makes sense,” Wyatt remarked, pulling his chair up to his computer.
Gem glowered. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Wyatt grabbed his loose beanie and pulled it over his head. “No offense, ladies, but Blue is too much of a distraction to have at the dinner table. I think Patty would lose all interest in Shepherd, and Blue would end up the center of attention.”
I chortled and clapped his shoulder. “So he picked the troll. Thanks for pointing that out.”
“I don’t mean it that way. Blue distracts every red-blooded male with a pulse—even a stiff in a suit like Patrick.” He looked at Gem. “And you’re too much of a free little spirit on wheels. You’re liable to leave the table and start snooping through his rooms.”
A blush touched Gem’s alabaster cheeks. “Moi? I’d never do anything inappropriate.”
Gem liked snooping, and I could only imagine the temptation in a mansion like Patrick’s, which we’d all admired firsthand.
Wyatt pointed at me. “So that leaves you.”
I tugged at my sleeve. “Do I need to get dressed up for this?”
Wyatt chuckled. “A private dinner is rarely black-tie. Just avoid leather.”
“What about Shepherd? He wears that leather coat everywhere we go.”
“You can bet your bottom dollar he won’t this time. Viktor will probably handpick his outfit to make sure he doesn’t look fresh out of prison. I bet Viktor’s quietly freaking out over all this. If Patrick starts asking questions about Keystone, change the subject. Guys like him love getting the inside scoop. It makes them feel all powerful and shit.”
“Well, he’s not scooping anything out of me.”
“On that note, better avoid alcohol. I know how you love your wine, but—”
“No vino, no fun-o.”
Wyatt laughed. “Be sure to take pictures.”
Chapter 3
“I must be crazy for letting Gem talk me into this.” I stared up at Claude, who hovered over me with a hungry look in his eyes.
The kind of look a hairdresser gives when they see a head of long hair walk into their salon.
He continued spraying a stream of water through my hair and massaging my scalp with his other hand. It felt so good that I’d almost forgotten about the cold sink pressing against my neck. Claude had the gaze of a savage lion, his golden eyes rimmed in black. “It’s about time you checked out my salon. Razor Sharp is where the magic happens.”
“So this is what you do all day to fight crime?”
Claude gave a tight-lipped smile and continued the sensual massage. There was no denying the man had magic fingers.
That afternoon, Gem had decided to get a touch-up on her roots. Claude could have done her hair at home, but I gathered she liked the attention he lavished on her in front of all those women, who wanted him for themselves. I also suspected that she and Claude had ulterior motives to talk me into chopping and dying my raven-black hair.
Claude had a fascinating operation. He owned the salon and mostly booked preapproved clients. He didn’t go so far as to do full background checks, but he made sure everyone was either an elite member of society or obscenely rich. At the end of the day, if he didn’t hear any juicy gossip that might link to a case, at least he received a generous tip. Most people were careless enough to speak freely in his presence, assuming he was no different from hired help who kept secrets. Especially when they would invite him to their house for a private appointment. Claude said the upper class was like that, and servants were privy to some of the greatest secrets in history.
But Claude was no servant. He stood at six and a half feet tall and looked more like a cross between a Viking and Adonis, with sexy curls of blond hair and sensual lips that were made for exploring a woman’s body. Whenever he’d lick those lips, women would fan themselves. Claude was as Chitah as they came, evident in the way he moved with feline grace and the way his eyes hooded when staring at people. Sometimes he growled and made other catlike sounds that could make a person’s hair stand on end.
I’d seen that behavior toward him in clubs. Except here in his salon, they had to abide by his ru
les. So they sat obediently in their chairs, black capes fastened around their necks while they watched his every move. Claude could make combing hair look sexy.
He only hired women to work in his salon, which was clever since it never took attention away from him. That allowed him to get close to almost any customer he wanted.
I peered up. “Don’t chop it all off. I know how you guys love to turn two inches into seven.”
Claude stirred with laughter. “Actually, it’s eight. But don’t tell anyone.”
He led me to my chair and lowered the headrest as I got situated. Then he excused himself to check on Gem, who was seated farther down to the left.
“Complete makeover or just a touch-up?”
I swung my gaze toward the man sitting to my right, his medium-length hair covered in foil at the ends. “Would you believe me if I said I just came in here to get my hair washed?”
Still staring ahead in the mirror, he replied, “Only if you believe I’m dying the tips of my hair pink.”
I played with a strand of wet hair. “I’m going to a dinner at some big shot’s house, so they want to polish me up.”
“They?”
“My boss.”
He closed his eyes. “You didn’t strike me as a woman who does what she’s told. Guess I was wrong.”
“Do I know you?”
He chuckled quietly. “I hope your hairdresser doesn’t cut off too much.”
I slouched in my chair, having second thoughts about all this. It was a ridiculous idea, but my black hair was part of my identity. Chopping it off or dying it would make me feel like an imposter.
“Take my advice,” he continued. “Be your own boss in life. Once you get rid of people dictating how you should live, the world is your oyster.”
Claude returned and began soaking up the ends of my hair with a towel.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I said.
He gazed at me through the mirror, a smile hovering on his lips. “Too late.”
“I’m serious. I just want a trim.”
He leaned over my shoulder, eyes still centered on mine. “We agreed on highlights.”