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She might have been casting that spell over the whole audience. Ben’s jaw was open.
She gave two encores, then the lights came up, and it was over. I shook my head, like I was trying to clear a fog from my mind. The spell was fading. I reached over to close Ben’s mouth for him. He blinked, also spellbound.
“She’s impressive,” he said.
“Want to meet her? I’ve got a backstage pass.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Perks of the job, baby.”
“Did—was I imagining it? Is she really—”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here. Come on.”
I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the aisle. Back in the lobby, I followed my nose to a side corridor that led to a plain-looking door. We slipped through it to the chaos of backstage. Cables and lighting fixtures decorated shadowy concrete walls. Velvet drapes hung from a ceiling that was lost in darkness. The whole thing was, strangely, both cozy and industrial. Musicians carried instrument cases from the brightly lit stage.
I didn’t spot anyone who looked official. At most rock and pop music concerts, a whole barrage of staff and bouncer types would have stopped us from getting this far. I’d marshaled my speeches that would get me past them to see Mercedes. But no one paid attention to me here. I was almost relieved when I spotted someone dressed all in black and wearing a headset. Even then, I had to intercept her.
“Can you help me? I was invited to visit with Ms. Cook after the show, do you know where I can find her?”
Just like that, the techie showed Ben and me to a back hallway where the dressing rooms were.
“Well?” I asked Ben. “Ready for this?”
He shrugged. “It’s your show.”
“Remember, she’s a vampire. Totally creepy. Don’t let her seduce you.”
“Hey,” he said, indignant, and I knocked.
“Come in,” said Mercedes Cook in her rich mezzo.
I opened the door inward. As I did, the stunning redhead seated at a long, brightly lit makeup table turned to me. She’d put a black silk robe over her gown. Her face was perfectly made-up, if thickly for the benefit of the stage. Cosmetics masked the usual pale vampire complexion. She looked alive, more so than any vampire I’d ever met. And her image showed in the mirror, perfectly clear.
Vases of flowers covered the table and spilled onto the floor nearby, giving the room a tropical, heady atmosphere.
“You must be Kitty Norville,” she said.
I offered my hand to shake, and she did, smiling indulgently. Her grip was cool. I gestured over my shoulder. “This is my friend, Ben.”
“Great show, Ms. Cook,” Ben said diplomatically. He stayed a step behind me, ready to let me make my own mess.
“Thank you very much,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile. “Please, come in, have a seat. I think there are a couple of extra chairs here.” We found the chairs, and I scooted mine close to her, like we were a couple of old friends.
I rarely had a chance to prep for an interview like this, meeting the subject beforehand and getting a feel for how they’ll respond to my questions. In moments, Mercedes put me at ease. Already I could feel that she was going to give a great interview.
“Thanks so much for the tickets. We had a great time.”
“I’m glad. I had a good audience tonight, but I always wonder. Maybe they’re just being polite.”
Friendly, endearing—she didn’t even talk like a vampire. Maybe she was young—for a vampire—and hadn’t yet acquired the arrogance of centuries. I started to ask, then thought I should save it for tomorrow’s interview.
“If you’re up for taking calls during the interview tomorrow, you’ll get to ask your fans directly.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ve done lots of interviews, but never anything like this.” That smile glittered. Not a hint of fang showed. She genuinely seemed happy about the interview. “I want to thank you for giving me this chance. Once I decided to tell the world what I am, I had to decide how to do it. Being on your show see
med like such a fun alternative to a stuffy press conference.”
