Dracul (16 page)

Probably a good thing she’s playing blackjack and not poker.

Constantine wins the first couple hands he’s dealt.

Flirting Guy went bust on both hands. He looks from Constantine to me and says, “You must be his good luck charm. Why don’t you come play over here by me?”

Before I can answer, the blond fumes, “
I’m
his good luck charm.”

Constantine murmurs, “I make my own luck.”

“I don’t even believe in luck,” I admit.

“Oh, Honey.” The white-haired woman beside me clucks her tongue. “Don’t say a thing like that. The cards aren’t going to like you now.”

Sure enough, my first two cards equal twelve, so I take another card…and bust.

Fortunately, Constantine wins, which is really all that matters.

The unfortunate side effect is that Flirting Guy attributes Constantine’s win to my presence at his side. Even worse are Flirting Guy’s theories on why I’m losing, and how to fix it. “See, now you’ve lost your luck to him. Come stand by me and reset it.”

“I really don’t think that’s how it works,” I insist as politely as possible.

“Ah, but you might do better over here.”

“I like where I’m sitting.” And I do. I’m not going to mention it out loud or even look up too many times to confirm it, but thanks to the mirrors that line the walls, from where I’m standing, I can see the guy-in-the-navy-blue-jacket-formerly-known-as-the-guy-in-the-silver-jacket watching me. I’m not happy that he’s watching me, but if he’s going to persist in doing it, I at least prefer to be where I can watch him watch me.

We play a few more hands and argue amiably about whether luck is real (the white-haired woman is
sure
it is, the blonde wants to
be
luck, and contrary to Flirting Guy’s predictions, I manage to win a few hands).

Flirting Guy keeps making the novice mistake of taking too many cards at a hot table and therefore nearly always going bust. He is visibly chafing, and even the blonde’s offer to be his luck fails to settle him down.

After Constantine and I both win the next hand (knowing the table is hot gives us a significant advantage), Flirting Guy asks me to kiss his cards.

His request takes me by surprise. “What?” I almost stammer.

“Kiss my cards—for luck.”

“I don’t even—”

“It’s a polite gesture,” the blonde insists. “Just kiss his cards.”

Call me a prude, but I do not want to kiss Flirting Guy’s cards. “No.”

“Please?”

“Are you trying to steal my luck?” I accuse him.

“I thought you didn’t believe in it,” he shoots back, his smile telling me he’s not only still flirting, but enjoying it.

“I don’t.”

“Then what harm is there in kissing my cards?”

It takes me a moment to think of a response, especially since I’m still trying to keep count of the cards and make playing decisions. “Yuck. Germs.”

“Then kiss
me
.”

This is not getting better.

The white-haired woman, who has been chirping and clucking like an excitable, exotic bird at our every exchange this entire conversation, now chuckles. “I bet he’s got a lot fewer germs on
him
than on his
cards
.”

Flirting Guy interprets her words as encouragement. “That’s right. You have no good reason not to.”

I would leave the table right now, but we just started this hand and I’m holding a jack and an ace. Even though my bets aren’t much compared to Constantine’s, it’s still fun to have a blackjack. Excitement over my good hand wars with my frustration with Flirting Guy.

The blonde speaks up. “I think you should kiss him. I’d do it, but I’d much rather kiss this guy.” She pats Constantine’s sleeve.

No.

She can’t kiss Constantine. For one thing, he’s cold to the touch, and she’ll for sure notice. And also, I don’t want her to kiss him.

I have to do something. Say something.
Think
.

“Funny. I’d rather kiss him, too.” I pat Constantine’s other sleeve.

While we’ve been talking, the game has moved forward. Flirting Guy turns a little red in the face as everyone reveals their cards, including my blackjack.

“You think he has made you lucky?” Flirting Guy asks.

“I don’t believe in luck,” I remind him. Either the man is sincerely obtuse, or willfully forgetting where I stand on the luck issue, which I’m sure I’ve mentioned multiple times already.

“Maybe,” the blonde says as she wraps her fingers around Constantine’s sleeve, “if I kiss him, I’ll get lucky.”

No. No.
No
.

“I think he’d rather kiss me than you.” I speak the words like a dare, willing Constantine to state that yes, he’d rather kiss me than the blonde. Maybe she’ll even go away.

Constantine turns and looks at me—really looks at me, for the first time tonight.

For a few seconds, everything in the room seems to stop. In that wordless way Constantine has of communicating with me, every twinkle in his eyes and even the half-smirk on his face are telling me, yes, he’d rather kiss me than the blonde.

And I don’t need a room made of mirrors to tell me my face is sending the same message. I’d rather kiss him than the blonde, or Flirting Guy, or anybody else I’ve ever met or probably will meet if I live to be a thousand years old, which could very likely happen.

“I would,” Constantine whispers. Then he leans down and kisses me.

Chapter Sixteen

His lips are icy cold, which is good, because otherwise I would probably melt.

To be honest I don’t think he ever meant to do anything more than brush his lips against mine. In fact, he kind of did start to move back even as he made first contact, but I might have slightly started to move with him so he couldn’t pull away, and then he leaned in and kissed me, really kissed me, for who-knows-how-long-but-I-wish-it-could-be-longer.

Then he pulls away and I realize the dealer has dealt us in again and we should probably play cards.

Okay, so that kiss probably lasted longer than I realized, but it was like my brain was operating in an alternate universe or something.

Flirting Guy has left with the blonde on his arm. I can see them stomping away in a huff, but I don’t even care.

I want to kiss Constantine again.

I can never kiss him again.

I shouldn’t have kissed him in the first place, or let him kiss me.

Beside me, the white-haired lady is fanning herself and hooting about how hot it is in here, and if she were fifty years younger, something I can’t really catch, and she thinks both Constantine and I got lucky.

The guy-in-the-navy-blue-jacket is watching me intently now. I’m just going to ignore him and focus on my cards, because technically we’re still playing even if I can’t remember what the card count was or even the rules of the game at the moment.

All I know for sure is that my brother was right about Constantine having feelings for me.

Yup. No doubt about that.

And apparently he’s been suppressing those feelings, because of course he has, because we can’t have feelings for each other.

We. Just. Can’t.

I may have lost the next three hands of blackjack.

Or won.

I really have no idea.

All I know is my head is spinning and maybe I’m dehydrated or hungry or something. Some more people join our table and it looks like another one maybe wants my spot, so I finish another hand and then take my leave.

Felix is playing cards but glances up long enough to see I’m leaving. His expression doesn’t hold any indication that he saw the kiss, which makes sense because we aren’t supposed to be watching each other enough to make it noticeable that we’re watching one another, so there’s a good chance he was purposely not looking.

Whew.

One tiny relief in a whole mess of mind-numbing confusion.

I walk around among the blackjack tables a bit. Flirting Guy and the blonde have taken spots at a table near one wall, so I avoid them. I can’t go anywhere near Constantine, I wish to avoid the guy-in-the-navy-blue-jacket, and I probably shouldn’t get too near Felix. That doesn’t leave much, and anyway I think maybe I am thirsty or hungry or something, so I decide to leave off playing blackjack and find food instead.

I circle round where Felix is playing to make sure he sees me leaving. Constantine specifically said he wants one or both of them to keep an eye on me, but I don’t want Constantine leaving the hot table because that was the whole reason why we came, and he should be able to outdo last night’s take if he plays long enough.

Meanwhile, I head to the nearest restaurant and order a double bouquet of teriyaki chicken skewers and a big glass of water.

Yes, water. We dragons are that boring. Alcoholic beverages can be lethal because we can burst into flame. Carbonated beverages, while not strictly dangerous, still cause burping. And though it only happens a fraction of the time, every once in a while, when I burp after drinking soda, a few stray flames will shoot out of my mouth, or smoke curl up out of my nose. It’s not a huge deal, certainly not life-threatening like drinking alcohol, but it’s also not something I’m up to dealing with right now in a public place with lots of mirrors and people watching me.

So I’m drinking my water when the guy in the navy blue jacket comes over to the bar and climbs onto the barstool next to mine.

“I saw you kiss Constantine,” he says without preamble.

“I’m sorry?” I sputter, nearly blowing water out my nose.

At least it wasn’t fire.

“I saw you kiss Constantine,” he repeats in the same gruff, unimpassioned voice.

“Technically, he kissed me,” I defend myself before realizing I don’t even know this guy or why I should have to answer to him. “Who are you?”

“Special Agent Nick Gane, FBI.” He flops open his wallet, snaps it closed again, and tucks it back into the interior pocket of his jacket.

That was probably his badge or ID or whatever that he just flashed me. I guess I could ask to look at it more closely to make sure it’s real, but I don’t know what a real one looks like anyway, and as my brother Felix, aka Vasile, has recently proven, IDs aren’t impossible to fake.

I sip more water and try to pretend like I’m not nervous. Why has this guy been watching me, how does he know Constantine’s name, and is he going to try to arrest me for counting cards?

It’s not illegal. I read that in all the blackjack books. Totally not illegal. I know my rights, but I’m also not going to accidentally confess anything by trying to defend them.

Agent Gane continues, “I’ve been watching Constantine for months now. He shows up in Vegas every few weeks, wins big money at the casino, kisses a pretty girl. Every time, the girl ends up dead.”

Again I sputter. This time, water really does come out my nose, and I reach for napkins. “What? How many times has this happened?”

“Two that we can link him to, several more before that could have been him, but right now, he’s just a person of interest. We need tangible evidence. Maybe this time we can catch him in the act.”

I’m still patting my nose dry. I think I might have a piece of ice lodged in one nostril. This is not going well. “Maybe you can catch him before he acts.”

“We’d need your help for that.” Agent Gane slides me a business card.

In spite of the fact I’m currently suffering from a horrendous case of brain-freeze, I still manage to think quickly. “The dead girls—how do they die?”

“He slits their throats. They were each found fully clothed in their hotel room bathtub. No water in the tub, either. Like he dumped them there.” Gane taps the card, which is still sitting on the bar. “If he asks to come into your room, don’t let him in. Call me first. We’ll take it from there.”

My head hurts. I stare at the card, trying to think how I’m going to call Gane before Constantine enters my room, when he can teleport and appear inside my room without notice.

Not that I really believe Gane. I mean, they must have the wrong guy, right? Constantine’s not…I mean sure, but, he wouldn’t…

Granted, I’m still not entirely certain he wasn’t the one who stole my backpack last week. But murder?

That doesn’t even make sense. What would he stand to gain?

The neck-slitting thing makes sense, though. Vampires are renowned for biting their victims in the neck. Slitting their throats would theoretically disguise the signs of a bite.

Constantine said he’s not a biter, that he doesn’t need to drink blood.

But what do I know about him, really? I know he’s charming. Charming enough I let him kiss me, even though I know better.

He didn’t kiss me because he cares about me—he kissed me because I’m his next target. If Agent Gane hadn’t spoken with me just now, I wouldn’t have hesitated to let Constantine into my room. He could very easily get close enough to bite me.

Too easily.

The bartender places my double order of teriyaki skewers in front of me, and I’m reminded of all the victims Vlad Dracula was said to have impaled.

That’s a lot of skewers.

I take Agent Gane’s business card and tuck it into my handbag. My head is still throbbing from the ice, which has melted and is now trickling out my nose. I dab at it with my napkin. “Thank you for warning me.”

“Stay safe and have a good night.” Agent Gane flashes me a bright smile as he slides off his barstool. A gold-tipped canine twinkles with the light reflected from my jeweled dress.

I’ve seen Agent Gane before.

But where?

Regardless of the skewers’ resemblance to impalement victims, I’m still hungry. I chew the food thoughtfully while I try to remember. Where did I see Agent Gane before? Was he handing me a bag? My bag? Was he working security at the airport and scanned my bag?

But the airport people didn’t hand me my bag. I put it on the conveyer belt. I took it off again on the other side. I don’t think the security people even touched it. Did they?

I should probably learn to pay more attention.

I’m halfway through the skewers when Felix hops onto the barstool Agent Gane vacated.

“You quit early.” He grabs a skewer and starts munching.

“We need to talk. Let’s take these back to our room.” I grab the skewers by their sticks.

“You’re turning in early?”

“I really need to talk to you without Constantine there. Is he still playing?”

“Winning big at that hot table you found for him,” Felix confirms.

“Good. Let’s hope it stays hot.” I keep my mouth shut until we’re back in our room.

“The guy-in-the-navy-blue-jacket-formerly-known-as-the-guy-in-the-silver-jacket is Special Agent Nick Gane from the FBI.” I pull the business card from my handbag and show it to my brother, who’s tearing into the teriyaki skewers like a dragon who hasn’t eaten in hours. “He’s watching Constantine because he thinks he might be a murderer, and he thinks I might be his next victim.”

Quickly, while my brother sits on the loveseat and eats, I share with him everything Agent Gane told me, along with my own analysis of it. “I don’t think Gane realizes Constantine is a vampire, but the murder scenes he described make sense if Constantine was after human blood.”

“Constantine said he doesn’t drink blood.” Felix shakes his head. “I bet they all say that, don’t they?”

“I highly doubt any of them admit the truth of what they do or what they’re after.” I’m pacing the room. I’m not sure if it’s the lower height of the heels or the airy straps that let my feet breathe, but tonight’s shoes are far more comfortable than the pair I wore last night. “I trusted him. I’m a fool.”

“You were smart enough to call home when you felt like you might be in danger. You followed your instincts. That was good.”

“But I’ve exposed you to danger, too.”

“He doesn’t know we’re dragons. He doesn’t realize what he’s up against.” Felix spins an empty wooden skewer between his fingers. “Think we could drive one of these through his heart?”

I stop pacing and stare at the sharp point of the skewer. Never mind that it looks way more fragile and brittle than the stake Constantine pulled out from under his heart the night he showed up at my place after getting my backpack back. I just can’t imagine trying to kill him, with a kabob stick or anything else.

“I don’t know,” I admit, realizing as I speak them that the words refer to so much more than the skewer.

Do I believe Agent Gane’s story? Maybe he has the wrong guy. He said himself, he needs more evidence. Maybe Constantine was there to help those girls when other vampires attacked, but he got there too late.

Maybe Gane made up the whole thing.

But why would he do that?

“We’ve got to figure something out.” Felix stands. “Constantine could return at any moment. Tonight’s our last night here, so it stands to reason if he’s going to act, it will be tonight. We need to be prepared to defend ourselves.”

“Yes.” I pinch my eyes shut and try to envision myself using a stake or even a chicken skewer against Constantine, but all I envision is that kiss.

That beautiful, perfect, over-way-too-soon kiss.

Could I really kill him, even in self-defense?

I don’t want to find out.

“We need to leave,” I realize aloud, and immediately start running around the room throwing my things back into my bag. “We’re dragons, right? But we can’t turn into dragons in here—we’ll break everything. He can’t bite through our scales when we’re dragons.”

“Only dragon horn, dragon claw, and dragon fang can pierce dragon scales,” Felix repeats the rule we grew up learning. “But if vampires are half dragon, can their fangs…”

I stop throwing things in my bag for just a second and face Felix.

The fear and uncertainty on his face speak to me more clearly than words.

We don’t know what we’re up against. As dragons, we’re accustomed to a certain level of invincibility.

But we may have met our match.

Felix grabs his bag and starts shoving stuff—my stuff, his stuff, the room service menu, it doesn’t matter—into his bag. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he agrees. “And quickly, before Constantine comes back.”

Most of my things are crammed into my bag when I open up the wardrobe and stare at last night’s dress. The sight of it reminds me I’m still wearing the blue evening gown.

“Should I change clothes before we go?”

“We don’t have time. The way I see it, we need to get out of here, find a place where we can change, and fly away without being seen. We’ll fly home in dragon form. Your dress matches your scales. In fact,” he looks the dress up and down, taking in the high leg slit and the low, wide shoulders, “you might be able to change into dragon form without destroying the dress. Is it stretchy?”