Sin City Vampire Club

by Kristen Strassel

  “You’d be touching me, too.” My knees buckled at the thought of it, and I gripped the counter for balance.

  “No.” She shook her head and concentrated on her work. “I won’t share you.”

  I put my hand over the knife. She was shredding the hell out of a heart of romaine. “Gabriel plans to take you from me,” I said.

  Rainey let go of the knife and wiped her hands on the front of her shirt. She paced in the kitchen. “Gabriel only existed in my head for about two centuries. I’m not sure if he’s more than a figment of my own imagination.”

  “Are your powers that strong?” I hoped to hell they were.

  “There’s no way to tell who has the power until after something happens.” Another riddle. “Gabriel says a lot of things. Not all of them come to pass. I’m in this with you, Holly, until I can’t be any longer. And it hurts that you aren’t.”

  “I’m not throwing away us. I’m—”

  “How can you possibly think anything will be the same after you fuck Blade in front of me?” She yelled the last few words, whether she meant to or not. Blade stoked extreme emotion in both of us. “What we have will cease to exist the moment he comes into our bed.”

  “It could make things better.” That sounded better in my head. “If we can create balance between your light and Blade’s madness, maybe Gabriel will let you stay.”

  Rainey’s eyes darkened. “He needs me. I just have to convince him you need me more.”

  RAINEY HESITATED EVERY time she touched me. The contact sent an electric jolt through my body, and I dreaded the day she changed her mind and walked away from me, deciding I wasn’t worth it anymore. We weren’t worth it. But until then she looked to me for approval, her eyes clouded by doubt. It could’ve been a vision. So many times she told me she didn’t See me in her future. Now I knew why.

  I wished I could go back in time and take my mistakes back. Every time I hurt her. I tried, several times. I would curl into a ball on the floor of the kitchen, squeezing my eyes closed, but I could never make anything change.

  She wasn’t coming to my rehearsals anymore. The deep smudges under her eyes said what she didn’t. I’d taken everything from her, mentally and physically. I kissed the top of her head before I left tonight. She spread her books out on the table, poring through them for the answer to some riddle. I stopped asking her long ago what she was looking for. It never made sense. Now I was afraid of the answer.

  “I shouldn’t be late.” I was exhausted, too. No rest for the wicked. My muscles ached from a new workout routine. But I couldn’t give Callie any room to doubt me, to have a reason to cut me free from the show. Or if she wanted to remain true to her track record, simply cut me. Blade had given me plenty of reason to doubt her. “The photo shoot shouldn’t take long.”

  Rainey’s face lit up, and I thought for a second she’d come. “Send me pictures,” she said instead.

  I nodded and left, reminding myself it was good for us to have our own stuff going on. Being attached at the hip was toxic. I didn’t always understand what Rainey was into, and she hated pretty much every decision I made. That was par for the course. We weren’t fighting, it was how we rolled. I lost her once before, and it was no surprise when it finally happened. This time the difference was she wanted to stay.

  Sin City Vampire Club had started to feel like home. But tonight was different, a dress rehearsal for the real thing. Someone I never met, who said they were a producer, led me through the theater like I never been there before.

  An entire room had been dedicated to hair and makeup. At Cirque Macabre, I was responsible for making myself pretty. We couldn’t afford to have stylists. Since my take of the show was from the profit, I wondered how much this was costing me. Tristan blew me a kiss as his stylist ran a flat iron through his hair.

  “Will you be here every night?” It felt like amateur hour having to ask.

  The stylist picked up a lock of my hair, studying it as she decided what to do. “Not for the performances. We’ll meet with you before the show starts to design the looks with you. But we will be on set for the TV show.”

  Ugh. The TV show. Once the promo started, the clock was ticking on how much freedom I had left. And worse, how much longer I’d be able to keep Rainey. The countdown until opening night was my own personal doomsday clock.

  I met her gaze in the mirror. “I can’t be held responsible for what happens when people touch me.” It was too dangerous to have someone in my face like that, so close to when I ignited.

  She dropped my hair and turned to Tristan, the panic clear on her face. Like he wasn’t as dangerous as I was.

  “Wait until you see yourself on TV. Those cameras pull up shit you didn’t even know about. You’ll be glad they’re here. They work magic.” Tristan winked at me and then smiled at his stylist. She moved from hair to makeup, dabbing his face with a sponge. “Don’t worry, they’ve all signed a non-disclosure agreement. No one knows anything until we want them to.”

  No worries about that rule being enforced.

  I always thought Tristan was perfect, but under the harsh lights, his humanity vanished. His skin had a gray tinge to it, and dark purple pooled under his eyes. Pink, jagged scars were clearly visible on his neck when he pushed his hair over his shoulder. I wondered when the last time he fed was, and why I never noticed that he looked like that before. None of the vampires did. I wasn’t totally like them, but we shared enough common ground that they shouldn’t have been able to trick me so easily.

  I wondered what else I missed. What I didn’t know until they wanted me to, like the stylists. Blade’s warning hung heavy. Control slipped through my fingers like sand, and sand extinguished fire.

  Stop staring at Tristan. Let him think the illusion still works. Everything in Vampirelandia was one big game.

  I took in the room; its entire purpose was transformation. I should’ve felt at home. Mirrors and lights were bolted to the walls, and we sat in heavy, barber-style chairs. The stylists had loaded in for the long haul, with drawers full of more makeup and hair products than I’d seen in most stores. I tried to let myself enjoy it as the woman behind me sectioned my hair and clipped it up. She got over any fear she had about touching me. I meant to try to figure out what she was doing so I could recreate it, but my gaze fell to the row of wigs on the wall.

  I hoped they were wigs. Someone could’ve collected scalps like trophies and thought it was no big deal. No wonder Rainey didn’t want to come anymore. Vampires were nasty.

  “What are those for?” I asked.

  “The wigs? We were going to try a couple different looks on you, to see what the producers liked.”

  “No. That wasn’t part of the plan,” I said sharply enough for Tristan to jump in his chair. “I have final approval over every part of my performance.”

  The stylist took it in stride, which was a good thing, since she had a curling iron in her hand. Not the burn I was after. “I don’t think you need them. You’ve got gorgeous hair. I was just going along with what I was told,” she said.

  I smiled at her in the mirror. I could sympathize with that. “Check with me first from now on. My hair is one of my signatures.” It was deep red, down to my waist, and nicer than any wig.

  She teased and curled and clipped. It was relaxing to have someone else do this for me. It reminded me of travelling to my mentor, Bette’s, dressing room. Watching her get ready. I could smell her setting powder. I wished I could see her again; I needed her now more than ever. Only problem was Bette lived and performed in 1964, and the present was my prison. I felt closer to her that night than I had in a long time.

  The stylist gasped when she stood in front of me, makeup brush in hand. “Your eyes are gorgeous!” she exclaimed. “Do you wear contacts?”

  “No.” My eyes were gold, flecked with brown and a tiny bit of green. Like my hair, people assumed they were fake. Both were the only remnants of the fire I clung to. “What can you do to make them stand out?�
��

  “So, so much. Close your eyes and let me play.” She told me what she did each step of the way. No more surprises. When I opened my eyes, she’d ringed them with smoky browns and golds, and used black liquid to line them. This wasn’t a makeup style I could wear every day—it was meant to look good on a larger than life billboard.

  Two sets of lashes later, I batted my eyes at Tristan. He wore eyeliner, too. That wasn’t anything new. He leaned into the mirror, checking everything over before kissing his stylist on the cheek and settling in the empty chair next to me.

  “I had no idea the producers were coming.” He fidgeted in his seat. “Callie held them off as long as she could, but we might as well get this over with. We can do all the promo shit tonight and then focus on the show.”

  “I thought we were keeping this small. Between us. No one ever mentioned a an army of producers or a glam squad.”

  “This is small. It’s a fraction of what we had for Immortal Dilemma. Wait ‘til things get going. The stage crew, the people who get asses in the seats. It’s fucking amazing.”

  He was much more of an artist than anyone gave him credit for. Of course, he knew he could hold up his end of the bargain, which had nothing to do with playing the guitar. None of the stylists could take their eyes off him. The woman who flat ironed his hair kept coming over to touch it.

  “I didn’t agree to any of this.” I understood that we needed a crew, but I protested on principle.

  “Good thing we didn’t ask you first. It’s a business, Holly. It takes money to make money.” I’d been caught in Tristan’s thrall and never heard Callie come into the room. “And we never would. You’re an employee.”

  She took the stylist’s place, running her hand over Tristan’s hair. It shined like glass. As far as Callie was concerned, I wasn’t even there. She beamed at Tristan like they were on a first date. It made it hard to hate her, but I still mustered up the energy to do it.

  “That wasn’t what I signed off on,” I said.

  My stylist tugged my head back as she brushed out the curls. It was an awful lot of work only to brush it all out.

  Callie smirked. “Take another look at your contract and stop bitching. There are a hundred girls who will be lined up outside this door who can do a striptease set to fake fire. And they’ll work much cheaper than you do.”

  The only reason I kept my mouth shut was because in a few hours we’d be done with the photo shoot. Once the posters of Tristan and me were plastered all over the city, Callie’s threats would be empty. She needed me much more than I needed her. She didn’t know it yet.

  Tristan led Callie out of the room, murmuring something to her that made her shriek with laughter once they reached the hall. Whatever. He only postponed the catfight. Their days were numbered, living high atop the city, looking down at the rest of us—Blade and Rachel craved revolution. My presence guaranteed there would be no peace in the city.

  So much for positive energy. If I didn’t have Rainey in my life, I’d choke on the hatred that swirled around me like a dust storm.

  Igniting would be easy if I had this much hairspray in my hair every night. A spark would be all I needed.

  “Wow.” It looked like she’d scalped a supermodel and put her hair on my head. Voluminous waves fell softly to my waist. Everything she’d done had mimicked fire. “You turned me into a goddess.”

  “That’s all you.” The stylist beamed. “I’ll help you with your headdress later.”

  It came. Best news I’d heard all day. It had been made for me, much like the one Cash had given me the last night I performed at Cirque Macabre. This time, I ordered a matching body piece that fit over my arms so it would look like I had wings. The costume drained my bank account, but like Callie said, it took money to make money. Rainey would have to float the rent until money started coming in from the show. Then she’d never have to pay a dime again. If Gabriel didn’t take her from me.

  But I wouldn’t think about that right now. I practically floated to my dressing room, paying no mind to Callie’s scrutiny. I had to get used to it. She talked to Lennon, who I wouldn’t ignore.

  “You look gorgeous, doll.” She reached out like she meant to touch me, but didn’t. “Do you have some time after the photo shoot?”

  “I’m staying to practice.” I had nothing but time for Lennon, and I’d bend and twist it to make it suit us.

  “Great. We need to catch up.” She winked and turned back to Callie. I’d been dismissed.

  Boxes dwarfed my tiny dressing room. I ripped into them and cradled the contents like a baby when I reached them. I was so glad the door was closed. No one needed to see me hugging a fake wing. I placed the headdress and the wings on the couch, and tossed the cardboard into the hallway. If I was paying for all these employees, I’d get my money’s worth.

  So much was riding on tonight. I meant to ask Tristan what he planned to wear, but I’d been so flabbergasted by the stylists and my money once again going into everyone else’s pockets, I forgot. I assumed he’d wear the vinyl pants he usually wore on stage. They always looked like they’d been poured on him, still wet, and left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  The Afterlife was all about fantasy. We gave people a chance to leave their lives behind and play in our world. A place where nothing was off-limits and pleasure ruled. I had to make them feel it deep down inside, in a place that scared them. I couldn’t play it safe.

  A crowd waited for me on stage. A bright green backdrop had been set in the same spot that Immortal Dilemma had taken its last breath. A cloud of stylists surrounded Tristan. Nobody paid any attention to me as I approached the backdrop, but an audible gasp rose from the crew when I dropped my robe. For the first time in a long time, I was the center of attention. This feeling had been like a scar, a fading memory. I’d rip myself open to make this show work.

  I wore Rainey’s favorite outfit—booty shorts, thigh-highs, and pasties. She wouldn’t be able to think of anything but me when she saw these pictures. And they’d be plastered all over the city.

  “If I knew you planned to show that much skin, I would’ve done body makeup.” My stylist didn’t know where to look as she approached. “Glitter, or something.”

  I crossed my arms over my bare stomach. I had no reason to feel self-conscious. I spent more time at the gym than I did at my house. I looked damn good.

  “Holly’s perfect.” Tristan was shirtless, too. But he didn’t need pasties. Everyone faded away as he stepped into place. “Is this one of your costumes?”

  “Yeah, for the last number.” The one that scared me most.

  “We’ll add the fire in Photoshop. That’s when we’ll get rid of the green and make this ready for prime time.” The photographer shook both of our hands. He laughed nervously, running his hand through his hair to conceal his gaze had fallen to the tassels that swung from my pasties. “No need to ignite tonight, but do what comes naturally. I caught your show a couple times at Circus Circus. Incredible. Glad to see you on stage again, Holly.”

  “He wants you,” Tristan whispered as the photographer walked back to his camera.

  I narrowed my eyes at him and licked the peach gloss from my lips. My stylist lunged at me, but she’d have to get used to the fact I wasn’t perfect. “He can’t have me.”

  “Nobody can.” Tristan’s lips were so close I worried he’d get tangled in my fake hair. He stood behind me and put his hands on my waist. “That’s what this photo shoot is about. Driving everybody fucking insane with need until they can’t think about anything else.”

  Tristan spoke my language.

  I laughed as the first flash fired. “These pictures will be on the side of a bus. We can’t go too far.”

  He inched closer, wedging his leg between mine. “We’ll push the limit as far as it can go, and then we’ll kick that door down, too. Nobody’s ever seen anything like this. Are you with me?”

  My pulse thudded. Tristan hadn’t been clear about what he wa
s adding to the show. The music he sent me was solid, but he wasn’t breaking new ground. He already performed a live sacrifice as his swan song to Immortal Dilemma. I feared what would top that. “I’m taking this as far as I possibly can.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “IF IT FEELS AWKWARD, you’re doing it right.” The photographer had no idea how true that statement was. Tristan and I posed as lovers, and a fan blew in our faces while he put his mouth on my neck. His fangs tickled my skin, teasing me.

  I didn’t know what I wanted him to do. When Blade bit me, I burst into flames. Tristan wouldn’t survive that.

  I closed my eyes and let out a sigh as the photographer moved closer, hoping to capture the forbidden moment. The one where I let Tristan inside me. Gave him my blood and relinquished control.

  The next pose was simpler. The photographer asked us to look down the barrel of the lens while Tristan covered my pasties with his hands. I held onto his arms, and it was up to the viewer whether I meant to keep them in place or drag them away. My hands were pale against his inked skin. For the last set, we stood facing each other, so close we should’ve kissed. But we didn’t. Tristan held me by the waist and I let my head fall back, my hair cascading down to my tiny shorts. He bared his fangs like he intended to make me his.

  “Amazing.” The photographer had run out of superlatives and kept resorting to the same ones. Tristan’s posse surrounded him as soon as the producers were satisfied with the shots, but that didn’t stop Callie from getting in the middle of all of it and dragging him away.

  My robe had fallen off the chair, and I picked it up and put it on. It had been a long time since I felt like this. Performing for a crowd, even as small and judgmental as this one, was an incredible high. To be the center of attention, to live the fantasy...but it was a lie. It always was. I’d crash harder this time because I had further to fall.