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"She should be okay until I get home. She's sound asleep."
"Okay. Get your butt in gear, Chase."
Chase broke into a smile. "My pleasure. Just don't go shifting on me when I'm not prepared for it."
I waved my hand. "Get out of here, both of you. If there's trouble, call me on my cell phone."
Once they left, I hurried upstairs and slipped on a tight, thigh-high black leather skirt, then laced up my new magenta and black bustier, jiggling so my boobs were ready to bust out. I slid my feet into a pair of round-toed pumps with four-inch stiletto heels and twirled in front of the mirror. Woo-hoo, good enough to eat!
We needed all the information we could get. If there was an inside person at the bar, they wouldn't talk to Menolly, but they might talk to me. Especially if I turned on the charm.
I wrapped a velvet stole around my shoulders and cautiously descended the stairs, careful to avoid catching my heels on the numerous cracks that split the wood.
Menolly glanced up at me as I entered the kitchen. Her jaw dropped, and she coughed. "Damn good thing Trillian isn't here to see you. I'd never get you out of the bedroom."
"You may have that trouble soon enough. I just can't get him out of my system. So, you ready?"
"Whenever you are." She held up the keys to her truck.
"I'll take my car. If we're seen entering together, whoever's working on the inside might get suspicious." I made sure I had everything and nodded toward the door. "After you." And we headed out into the stormy night.
The Wayfarer was rocking as usual. It had real Otherworld feel—the lights were fashioned to look like kerosene lamps, and the decor appeared rustic on the surface but was polished when you looked closely. Long benches and tables served the crowds, as well as booths for private parties. In addition to the standard beer and wine, the bartender kept a few goodies such as Cryptozoid Ale and Brownie Beer behind the bar, all pricey and in high demand.
A staircase ran along the back wall, leading up to two floors of rooms that were always full. The portal itself was secreted in the basement, and an OIA agent was on guard night and day to process the passports of those entering from OW. It was where we'd first made our appearance Earthside.
Menolly was in full swing at the bar. The lights were dim, and she was working like crazy. The crowd of subculture FBHs who thronged to the bar loved the fact that she was a vampire, though they kept a respectful distance, except for the few who were hung up on the mystique of vamp lore.
While acceptance of the undead was still sorely lacking, things were slowly changing, although their reputation hadn't been helped by all the horror movies and vamps who loved to play up the whole ooo-spooky image. Dracula, for instance, had been a resident of OW, and during his deportation to the Subterranean Realms, he managed to escape and to flee Earthside before the guards could stop him. He'd single-handedly destroyed potential relations between vamps and humans for hundreds of years.
I wandered up to the counter and pushed through the crowd. Women dressed so skimpy they made me look like a nun clustered in groups at the tables, alert for any sign of Sidhe men who might wander through. They weren't Faerie Watchers though. No, the Faerie Watchers Club preferred to focus on the magic and sparkles and unicorns. These women were looking for a party and maybe a little more. They called themselves Faerie Maids and a few—usually the most interesting—had enough success that they'd become addicted to sex with the Sidhe. Gods only knew what they'd do if they ever slept with a Svartan.
The women weren't the only ones looking for a little action. Several men wandered through the bar, but most of them knew they didn't have a chance in hell. Menolly told me they picked up the women who were left sitting alone at the end of the night. It was sad, really, but overall, very few of the Sidhe paid any attention to the open invitations.
I slid onto a stool, glancing around. Here and there, I spotted another Faerie or two. Even a few Weres were hanging around the outskirts of the room—you could tell them from the gleam in their eyes. They met my gaze, and some nodded, a few gave me a half wave, acknowledging our common roots.
Where should I start? A tingle in the back of my neck alerted me, and I turned around. In the corner booth, I spotted a young man. He looked Japanese, but a glamour around him caught my attention.
"A glass of white wine," I murmured to Menolly when she finally made her way over to me. "And who's that? Over there in the booth?"
She glanced at the man as she set the Riesling down in front of me. In a whisper, she said, "I've never seen him in here before tonight. I can tell you, he didn't come over from OW. He smells like a demon, but I'd bet my fangs that he's not from the Subterranean Realms."
I sipped my wine and slowly pushed myself off the stool, strolling over to the booth. As I approached, the man looked up, and I saw that he wasn't quite as young as I thought. His face was smooth and unlined, but his eyes were far older than twenty-something. I leaned against the wall separating his booth from the next one.
"Won't you sit down, beautiful lady?" he asked.
I accepted his invitation, sliding into the opposite seat. As I cradled my wineglass in my hands, it dawned on me that this was no chance meeting. He'd been waiting for me, though I didn't know how or why. After a moment's silence the air around him rippled. Magic, all right.
"Grandmother Coyote said you might be able to use my help," he said abruptly. As he blinked, his chocolate eyes turned a startling shade of topaz.
Bingo. I knew I sensed something familiar about him. His scent was thick with musk, but beneath the masculine odor, I could detect the subtle smell of Grandmother Coyote's energy mingling in his aura—as if she'd leaned against his shoulder or patted him on the back.
I took a sip of my wine and contemplated this odd turn of events. "Perhaps." Toying with my drink, I gazed at him, trying to figure out just who he was. Menolly was right. He wasn't from the Sub Realms. That much I could tell, so he couldn't be the Psycho Babbler, as charming as he might seem.
That left the question as to whether he was in league with Bad Ass Luke. Whoever he was, he was handsome, with shoulder-length hair the color of charcoal, smooth and shining and gathered back in a pony tail. He had no facial hair save for a small goatee and a pencil-thin mustache, and while his build was slight, he looked wiry under the green cable-knit sweater. Hmm… he really was cute. What might he be wearing below that sweater? I couldn't very well ask him to stand up so I could see his pants.
Shaking myself out of my reverie, I said, "So, who are you?"
The corner of his lips crooked into a cunning smile. My pulse revved, and I shifted in my seat, wondering if he could read me.
