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“Maybe.” I took a sip of the cocktail and felt the bubbly, licorice-like alcohol burn all the way down to my stomach. “Of course, it’s highly likely that after one or two more of these, I’ll be dancing on the bar right alongside you.”
She laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.”
I took another sip as our bartender returned. “Got a message from the boss for you, Lizzie. She’d like to see you if you’ve got a spare moment.”
“Does your boss have a name?” I said, even as my heart rate jumped.
“Indeed she does,” a voice said from behind me. “And she will introduce herself once you are in her presence.”
I jumped slightly and swung around. The man who had spoken was tall and thin, with pale hair and even paler eyes. Not a werewolf, but something else. Something other than human. He gave me a polite smile and added, “If you’ll please follow me, Ms. Grace, it would be appreciated.”
You want me to come with you? Belle asked, concern in her thoughts.
I hesitated. No. You weren’t invited, and I have a bad feeling it wouldn’t be wise to go against her wishes.”
Well, you know I’m only a mental shout away.
I know. I picked up my drink and motioned the pale stranger to lead the way. We made our way along the top tier, past the end of the bar, and toward a pod that was closed off by a wrought iron door that was an intricate mix of vine leaves and skeletal spines. There was an inconspicuous keypad on the right-side wall, and after my escort put in a code, the door slid aside to reveal a set of black glass stairs.
“Please,” the thin stranger said, and motioned me on.
I took another drink and then entered the confines of the stairwell. The gate closed behind me and the shadows pressed closer. As I paused, uncertain of my footing, light flared, forming a chain of blue that led the way up the circular stairwell.
At the top there was another metal door, but it opened as I approached. The room beyond was all dark glass and metal, and filled with shadows despite the bright array of lights that constantly swept across the windows. There was a black table sitting in the middle of the room, with a couple of plush-looking chairs at the front of this and a third behind. The room seemed to hold little else in the way of furniture.
“Please, do come in,” a soft, slightly accented voice said. “I won’t bite, Ms. Grace, I assure you of that.”
I hesitated and then moved into the room. “I’m afraid you have the better of me, as you appear to know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
A figure appeared out of the gloom. Her skin was like porcelain, pale and perfect, with little in the way of lines to suggest her age even though I suspected she was far older than she looked. Her hair was a lush chestnut that had been swept into a loosely bound topknot, and her eyes were a gray so pale there was only the slightest variation between her irises and the whites of her eyes. She was wearing a rich brown dress that looked for all the world like an eighteenth-century riding gown, but her feet were bare.
“My name is Maelle Defour,” she said, in the same unthreatening tone. “And I wish to welcome you to my establishment.”
I didn’t immediately answer. I couldn’t, because every instinct I had was again telling me to run, and it was taking every ounce of concentration to stop from doing just that.
Maelle Defour wasn’t just a powerful woman of indeterminate age.
She was also a vampire.
Chapter Five
Oh, fuck, came Belle’s comment. You want me to magic up a distraction or something?
No, not yet. Her canines aren’t visible, so I don’t think she’s intending an attack.
If she were, you probably wouldn’t know about it.
Thanks for yet another cheery thought. I took a sip of alcohol, trying to act nonchalant when every bit of me was quivering. Which, as a vampire, she’d undoubtedly sense.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Defour,” I said, glad my voice at least sounded normal. “But I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to why you summoned me.”
“Surely not?”
She motioned toward one of the chairs at the front of the desk, and all but glided to the one behind.
I sat down and crossed my legs—an action that revealed a little too much upper leg for my liking. Vampires, I’d been told, considered blood taken from the inner thigh to be far sweeter than that from the neck or the wrist. Which was weird, but I wasn’t about to tell a very old vampire that—especially when I was locked in the same room as her.
“I’m afraid you really do have me at a loss,” I said.
