Bad Blood (15 page)

Speaking of Cornelius, now that we’re back at the hotel I’m getting more and more nervous to meet him. After all, he is Jane/ Sasha’s friend. He knows about vampires. He knows about my boyfriend. What if, somehow, he knows about me? What if he recognizes me somehow? Decides I must be up to no good, nosing around where I don’t belong? I know in my head the chances are slim to none. After all, Jane’s gone out of her way to remind me how insignificant I am to her, but that doesn’t stop my heart from beating a little faster with nervous anticipation for our meeting.

“Are you Sunshine McDonald?”

I nearly jump out of my skin as a stage hand comes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. I force myself to suck in a shaky breath and nod. I really need to chill here. It’s just a play. Nothing bad is going to happen to me here. Even if Cornelius wanted to be rid of me, he couldn’t do anything in front of all these people.

“Yes, I’m Sunny.”

“Cool. Here’s your schedule and crew contact information. Everyone’s e-mail is on there—we eventually need to add yours so if a rehearsal is canceled we can let you know.” He hands me a white sheet of paper and I stuff it in my pocket. “And here’s your costume,” he adds, handing me a plastic shopping bag with handles. “This is a dress rehearsal so you need to put it on now. Bathroom’s down the hall.”

“Oh cool, thanks.” I take it from him, all scared thoughts of Cornelius being replaced by curiosity. The play takes place in Victorian England and I’ve always been such a fan of the clothing of the time period. Long, beautiful dresses with miles of fabric . . .

I open the bag. Er, make that inches of fabric.

In fact, this “costume” can hardly be called a costume at all. Maybe half a costume that the seamstress ran out of material while making? I hold up the skimpy leotard for a closer look, hoping it’s just an optical illusion. I mean, here I thought my Vegas showgirl disguise was revealing. This thing is microscopic—low cut at the top and only a swatch of fabric away from being properly classified as a thong on the other end. Accompanying this half-acostume is a pair of fishnet stockings, a gauzy veil, and a pair of platform shoes of a height that rivals what I was tripping over yesterday. Yikes. I’m supposed to “float” across stage in those? I’ll be lucky if I make the journey without causing myself permanent harm. (Suddenly the whole “break a leg” saying makes a lot more sense.) I thought Mina was supposed to be virginal, for goodness’ sake! What virgin would be caught dead wearing such a thing?

Well, besides me, I guess.

I draw in a breath, trying to calm my rising panic. How can I wear this crazy getup onstage? In front of an audience! I mean, sure, I wouldn’t know any of them, I suppose, but still! What if someone takes a photo? What if it ends up getting posted onto Flickr or Facebook? What if someone tags me in it? Maybe that’s why Jane’s listed as Sasha in the playbill. She’s incognito. Doesn’t want her political aspirations to be dashed by some slutty web pic. (Though why a Rhodes scholar would be in a cheesy little low-rent play to begin with, I still don’t understand.)

“Quiet on the set. He’s here!”

A silence falls over the stage as the auditorium doors swing open and

“Dracula” walks into the theater. I draw in a breath. Dressed in a black, fitted tuxedo and a sweeping black and red cape, Cornelius is a walking, talking stereotype of the infamous vampire of Hollywood imagination. A Bela Lugosi in the flesh. (My sister insists Bela is the only Dracula she’ll accept, completely dismissing works by actors like Christopher Lee and Gary Oldman. I secretly believe, however, this isn’t due to any superior acting, but rather the fact that her favorite Goth band, Bauhaus, once wrote a song about him.) The other actors watch, seemingly frozen in place, as he walks down the auditorium aisle with a grace and presence you don’t actually see much from guys who are seven feet tall. Human guys, that is.

His piercing gaze sweeps the room, taking in each actor, until his eyes lock on me. He stares at me as if he’s trying to probe my mind and reveal my deepest thoughts. I shiver involuntarily. I can’t help it; he just looks evil. Instinctively, I throw up a quick mind block to stop him, something Magnus taught me how to do after his friends and fellow coven members kept bringing up things in conversation that I hadn’t said out loud, which can be more than a bit awkward.

“Hey, Cornelius, I want you to meet our newest Mina,” Jayden says. I hadn’t heard him come up behind me and his presence makes me feel more at ease.

“This is Sunny. She’s really great. And she looks perfect for the part, don’t you think?”

Cornelius gives me a critical once-over and for a moment I think he’s going to disagree with Jayden. Say I’m completely wrong for the role and need to leave immediately. But instead, after a moment, he nods. “Indeed,” he says in a deep, rich voice. He bows low to me. “Thank you, milady, for agreeing to join our little troupe. We are most honored to count you as one of our own.”

“Sure, no problem. I’m excited about the role,” I reply, realizing my voice sounds shaky and squeaky as it always seems to when I’m nervous. (My kingdom for Rayne’s sexy, throaty smoker’s voice.) Why am I freaking out here? The guy’s just an actor. A wannabe vampire in some cheesy little show. Nothing to be scared of. Right?

Except that he knows Jane. And Jane knows vampires. Meaning there’s more to Cornelius than the other actors here probably know.

“Is everyone ready to begin tonight’s rehearsal?” Cornelius asks the group. Eric salutes. “Ready when you are, boss.”

“Excellent. Then let us begin.”

And with that, everyone takes his place and the dress rehearsal begins. I’m not in the first act so, after changing into my crazy costume (which is even tinier on me than I thought it’d be), I wait in the wings, watching the performance. It’s not really your typical play, I soon realize, but more of a string of themed dances, strung together by a bit of bad dialogue. Jayden’s playing, as he said, the Jonathan Harker character, lawyer and boyfriend to my character, Mina. In act one, Jonathan goes to Transylvania to consult with his client, Dracula, about some land the vampire is trying to purchase. It’s not much of a role, but Jayden plays it in style. He delivers even the cheesiest lines with just the right inflection. And he looks positively conflicted when Dracula sends three scantily dressed female vampires—played by some very attractive young blond dancers—to seduce him. He’s a great dancer himself, I soon realize: lithe and limber as he crosses the stage with breathtaking grace. I just love a guy who can dance and dance well. Magnus, well, he tries when I insist, but his coordination leaves a bit to be desired.

Act two takes place back in London and that’s where I come in. I’m lying in a makeshift stage bed (basically a board covered with a sheet, so not all that comfortable) when Dracula comes to my window. I rise sleepily, stretching once, before gliding over to the window as gracefully as I can, to greet him. I pull open the window and Dracula climbs in, dancing around me with fluid grace. According to the script, next he will sweep me into his arms, brushing aside my hair, exposing my neck. All around him the chorus dancers whirl and twirl and sing.

Cornelius grabs me and I suddenly realize he’s not only tall, but pretty damn strong, too. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt if his fingers leave bruises on my arms. I swoon, as I’m supposed to do, looking up into his eyes. He sweeps aside my hair, peering down at me and then . . .

. . . starts sniffing me.

I cock my head in confusion as he takes another whiff. What the heck is he doing? This is so not in the script. At first I wonder if perhaps I forgot to use deodorant this morning, but his expression seems more puzzled than repulsed. A moment later I find myself unceremoniously crashing to the stage floor, slamming my butt against the wood.

“Ow!” I cry as a sharp pain jabs through me. “What did you do that for?”

“Sunny, are you okay?” Jayden’s at my side a moment later. He looks up at Cornelius. “Dude, what are you doing?”

But Cornelius ignores him, his piercing eyes seeing only me. “How dare you?”

he demands in a low growl that can only be described as feral and frightening.

“How dare you infiltrate my play?”

I see a flash of teeth. Fangs. My heart stops beating. Oh my God, please tell me those are implants. The music dies. The chorus stops swirling. Everyone’s eyes are on me.

“Wh-what?” I ask, my mind racing. “What do you mean?” I realize, suddenly, unequivocally, that he knows. I’m not sure how or how much, but he knows something. He smelled something on me. Some lingering trace of Magnus, dusting my skin, perhaps?

He’s a real vampire, probably evil, and he knows who I am and probably what I’m doing here. Oh God, this is not good. Where’s Rayne and her stake when I need her?

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he hisses. “You’re marked. Do you think I wouldn’t have noticed?”

It’s then I remember. I have a small scar on my neck from where Magnus bit me that first night at Club Fang. It’s never completely healed and it’s definitely visible for someone who knows what they’re looking for. Someone like another vampire.

I glance around the room, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Am I in danger here?

Cornelius stares down at me, his face twisted with rage. Jayden tightens his grip on me, a sweet, protective move, but stupid, under the circumstances. What’s he going to do against a vampire?

Then it strikes me. He has no idea. None of them do. They all think their boss is a little weird. A little crazy. But they have no idea what lurks beneath his dark tuxedo and pale flesh.

Cornelius’s eyes dart around the room; he realizes he’s being watched. He lets out a reluctant sigh and then shakes his head at me. “Pack up your things and leave,” he says, sounding like it’s killing him to let me go. “You’re not welcome here.” He looks up at the other actors—the voyeurs who very likely just saved my life. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But she isn’t right for the part. We must continue our search for Mina.”

From the other actors’ groans, I realize this probably isn’t the first time they’ve gone back to the drawing board when it comes to assigning Mina’s part. But they obediently slink offstage, accepting without question that the rehearsal is over. I get the feeling not many people ever stand up to Cornelius. Except for Jayden, that is. He rises to his feet and stares up at Cornelius, arms crossed over his chest. The guy has to be at least a foot taller than my friend, but Jayden doesn’t seem the least bit scared. If only he knew there was so much to be frightened of. “What’s wrong with her?” he demands. “She’s perfect for the part. I chose her myself.”

Cornelius shakes his head. “She won’t work. I’m sorry.”

“We have a show in two days,” Jayden argues. “One that people have bought tickets for. We don’t have time to keep looking for another girl. Either get Sasha back here or let Sunny do her thing. At least for Saturday. Then we can hold more auditions next week.”

But the vampire just shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m sorry, but no.” And with that, he turns and walks offstage. I scramble to my feet, realizing my legs are still more than a bit wobbly from my scare. And my wrist hurts from trying to break my fall.

Jayden gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what goes through that guy’s mind sometimes. I think you’re perfect. For the role that is,”

he adds, looking a little sheepish. “But he’s the one funding the show, so we’re really just stuck doing what he says.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him. As much as I want to uncover the Sasha/Jane mystery, I don’t want to wind up dead from doing so. It’s probably better to try another tack. One that preferably doesn’t piss off an evil vampire. Though what that will consist of, I have no idea. I’m running out of time and don’t have very many leads.

“Let me make it up to you,” Jayden says, looking honestly upset. “Let me buy you dinner, at least.”

I force a shaky smile and nod my head. Maybe all is not yet lost. “Sounds like a plan.”

13

Jayden takes me to a small taqueria, very off-Strip. The type of place that sells three tacos for a dollar. Of course I have to break it to him that I’m actually a vegetarian, which, I’ve found, is usually a major disappointment for guys. But Jayden takes it all in stride, ordering me a plate of refried beans, grilled peppers and onions, homemade guacamole, and corn tortillas. It turns out to be one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had and I’m stuffed before I can even finish half of it.

The tables are all outside, giving us a chance to enjoy the milder Vegas temperature, now that the sun’s gone down. Covered with checkered tablecloths and illuminated by stubby candlelight, the place has a quiet, quaint feel that’s so different from what you find on the Strip. I’m really enjoying learning about the backstreets of Vegas, I realize, as I take another bite of beans. Getting the insider’s tour.

As we eat, Jayden entertains me with silly pet stories from the Popovich Theater and soon I’m laughing so much I can hardly swallow my food. It’s also nice, I realize, this simple pleasure of sitting down to a meal with another person. Magnus can’t eat human food, so we usually skip the whole dining out thing that’s a staple of most dates. Not that he wouldn’t go if I asked him to; I just find it too disconcerting to chow down while he just sits there, watching with food lust in his eyes. (Most vampires, I’ve learned, find the fact they can’t eat anymore the most troublesome of all the changes of becoming creatures of the night. My sister, I believe, would gladly exchange her ability to go out during the daytime if she could just eat one more Kimball’s Dairy extra massive ice cream sundae without puking it all up.)

I glance over at Jayden, who’s stopped talking to concentrate on cutting his carne asada with a plastic fork. Laughing, I hand him my knife.

“Need help?” I ask.

He shakes his head and waves off the knife. “I try to stay away from knives,”

he says, going back to his totally gimped version of cutting.

“But why?” I ask, puzzled. “Don’t you think it would be easier?”

He looks up, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m a hemophiliac,” he explains, his voice sounding a little unsteady. “Do you know what that is?”