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“Heard and understood,” Zach said.
As she smoothly pulled off the street into the parking lot of the club, I saw that there was a number of cars already here. I glanced around the lot. Not many people hanging outside, but given the rain, that wasn’t a big shock. The double doors leading into the warehouselike club were painted bright red, a shocker against the white and black stripes that patterned the walls. Three stories tall, the club was housed in what had once been—by the faded sign still propped against the back wall—a meatpacking plant. Leave it to irony.
As we climbed out of the car, I noticed the bouncers by the doors. One moment, there had been no one in sight. Now two very hefty, tall gentlemen were manning the velvet ropes gating off the entryway. We’d have to get through them to get into the club. The men were wearing PVC that looked almost as tight as my costume, and they had on motorcycle boots and dark glasses. They were carrying nasty-looking billy clubs that looked capable of breaking bones on first strike.
“Make a note,” I said softly. “Don’t let the leather twins get the first swing.”
“This is not going to turn into a confrontational situation,” Menolly said in a strained voice. “Those men are vampires. Get in a fight with them, and they won’t need their nightsticks to take you out, Kitten. One of them feels old—very old. He’s been around a long time, by my guess. And the longer the life, the more power he’ll have. I wonder why Wade hasn’t mentioned him.”
“Maybe Wade doesn’t know about him,” I said, making sure my fringe was hanging straight.
Zach looked uncertainly at the door. “I so do not want to go in there, but I’m right behind you.” His voice squeaked a little, and I detected the whiff of fear emanating off him. I didn’t blame him. My stomach was having a butterfly party of its own.
“Don’t worry.” Menolly patted Zach on the back. “We won’t let anybody get you. If Fraale approaches and introduces herself, let me speak first.”
I took a deep breath and tried to get into the mind-set of what a vampire’s pet would act like. Then it occurred to me. When I was in cat form, and when I wanted to be petted or brushed, I cozied up to Iris or my sisters and played the sweet and fuzzy card.
The domesticated puss is, as all cats know, just a ruse. Yes, cats most certainly love their humans, and yes, they cherish having a good home. But beneath that veneer of cooperation still lurks the tiny heart of a tiger. I’ll willingly walk into a gilded cage with my feet, yodels the housecat at night, but you can’t imprison my spirit.
I focused on Iris holding me, coaxing purrs from my throat. I conjured up the memory of curling up on the pillow next to Camille, and her waking in the middle of the night to scratch behind my ears and tell me what a good girl I was. Yes, in tabby form, I’d willingly wear a collar if it meant love and protection and acceptance.
As I sank into the energy, I moved a little closer to Menolly and let out a small mew. She turned to look at me, then smiled.
“Good, girl. I see it in your eyes, Kitten. While we’re in there, I’m calling you Desiree, so nobody hears your real name. You just call me Mistress. Are you ready?” She looked at me.
I nodded. “Yes . . . Mistress.”
“Very good. Zach, you should really call yourself something else, too. Why not Jerry?”
He blinked. “Jerry? Where’d you come up with that? Okay, I’m Jerry. Uh . . . yes, Mistress.” Sucking in a deep breath, he looked over at me. “Delilah—be careful. Please?”
I nodded. Roz indicated he was ready and then he broke off from our group. He’d go in separately and keep a low profile until he was needed. With one last look around the parking lot, Menolly led us toward the doors of the Fangtabula.
The bouncers were no problem, once Menolly showed her fangs. They backed away, gave her a curt nod, and eyed the rest of us as we followed her in.
The Fangtabula was vampyr to the extreme. In other words: They were hyping it up for the wannabes and tourists. The color scheme was red and black, with touches of silver and white tossed into the mix, and the vista that opened out before us looked like it was right off of an Elvira movie set.
The main room was huge, with a staircase descending from the entrance to the main floor, which had been tiled in a checkerboard of black and white. The ceiling stretched a good twenty feet overhead, and large cloth panels in black and red velvet draped down to produce a labyrinth of billowing walls.
The lights were dim and strobing, creating a vortex of light and shadow. It was like being in the middle of a gothic Cirque du Soleil tent. Only this was a warehouse, not a tent, and the acrobats here relied on supernatural powers rather than the strength of their mortal bodies.
Two grand stairwells led up to a second level, one on either side of the room, and in the center of the room I could see a railing surrounding three sides of an open area below, where yet another staircase descended into the underground levels of the club.
Drinks were served at a bar along the left wall that was surrounded by a number of tables and booths. On the other side of the enormous hall was a grotto, looking a lot like the “pit” back at the Collequia in Otherworld. The Collequia was a nightclub and opium den Camille used to frequent. She was never into the drugs, but she met a number of interesting men there, including Trillian, which pretty much summed up the kind of place it was.
The grotto was thick with conveniently placed divans and giant beanbag chairs, where several lovers’ triads lounged. It was obvious that one woman was playing blood host for a vamp who looked like he’d just stepped out of a biker’s version of GQ, though there was no way of telling if she was a blood whore or not.
The vamp was simply gorgeous, with brilliant red hair that draped down to his lower back. He wore skintight leather pants and not much else. He nuzzled her throat, and at first I thought he was kissing her till I saw the trickle of blood flowing from the blonde’s neck. Her eyes were closed, a look of bliss on her face as his tongue coaxed the blood out, drop by drop.
As I watched, the vampire glanced up. His tongue never missing a stroke on her neck, he gazed into my eyes, and I couldn’t look away. I stopped in my tracks, mesmerized by his absolute beauty. My breath quickened in my chest, and I started to blush. It felt like his gaze was peeling layers away, down to my skin, down to my muscle, down to my very bone. To my horror, I felt myself getting wet, and even though I tried not to, my hand slid toward my crotch.
I whimpered.
Menolly whirled around, took one look at me, then glanced over at the vampire. So quick she was only a blur, she opened her mouth, her fangs sliding down as she let out a loud hiss. Startled, he pulled his energy back, and I felt him receding out of my space. He gave her a courteous nod and returned his attention to the young woman on whom he was feeding.
“Shit,” she said under her breath. “That was just lovely. Try to keep your eyes down, Kitten. You, too, Zach. Some of these vamps are very old and very powerful, and I might not be able to stop a few of them from coaxing you away. Don’t look at any of them face on. You’re supposed to be my pets, anyway, so you shouldn’t be looking anywhere but at your feet unless I tell you to.” She nodded to us and headed toward the center of the room. Zach and I swung in behind her, following about three paces behind. I could sense Roz near us, but couldn’t see him anywhere. He cloaked himself well.
The farther we made our way into the heart of the club, the more I understood why Menolly wanted to get here ahead of time. For one thing, it would be easier to spot Fraale, but for another, the sheer energy of the club, even sparsely attended, was overwhelming. Intoxicating, frightening, pushing me to want to shift, the Fangtabula was a smorgasbord of emotion and hunger.
