Bitten 2 (3 page)

“Dancer auditions were last night,” he said in a gruff monotone, baring fangs in a smile that didn’t come remotely close to reaching his colorless eyes. His surly manner instantly made me feel that he deserved some kind of nickname, and I decided that Chuckles was the most appropriate.

Baring my own canines I said, “I’m here to see Cordova.”

Brows as hairless as the rest of his head knit into a disbelieving frown. “Do you have an appointment?”

Huffing in irritation I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the business card that had been included with the employment documents couriered over earlier that day. The back of the card bore Chrismer’s flowing script indicating the date and time of my appointment with Cordova. Plucking the card out of my fingers, Chuckles peered at it closely, the crease between his eyes remaining firmly in place.

Reaching down to thumb a button on a small device clipped to his belt, he turned his head away to say something in a hushed voice. He spoke in such a low and rapid whisper that even with my wolf hearing I couldn’t figure out what he was saying. After a moment he turned to me and handed back the card.

“The Shepherd is expecting you.”

No shit, Sherlock.

I resisted the urge to make a smartass comment and settled for murmuring “Thanks” and stepped up to the door. I didn’t want to find out firsthand what kind of damage one of his undead meat hooks could do to my face.

The massive wooden door of the church was easily four inches thick but moved smoothly and soundlessly, opening onto a small foyer lit by flickering sconces nestled in amongst the blood red draperies covering the walls. I felt like I’d stepped into someone’s boudoir and half expected to be greeted by a doe-eyed manservant in silk pajamas. Instead a buxom blond with the same dead, milky eyes as the doorman stood behind a podium that had been crafted to look like an old fashioned coffin. The hostess’s fingers moved in a blur over the screen of her cell phone, typing out a message faster than even the most technology-addicted teenager. I’d braced myself to be inundated by pounding techno music, but instead was enveloped in a soft hush.

Quiet as the grave
, the voice lurking in the back of my mind piped up, sending a shudder down my spine.

As I approached, the hostess managed to pull her attention away from her phone long enough to pass her undead eyes over me in an assessing look. The minute wrinkle of her pert nose made me hazard a guess that I didn’t measure up to the club’s usual clientele.

“Cover charge is a hundred bucks,” she said in a grating little girl falsetto that set my teeth on edge.

It had been my experience that some vamps, in an effort to detract from their ageless nature, adopted an almost childlike persona, speaking in high pitched voices and dressing in the latest teen trends. Rather than achieving the appearance of humanity that they were aiming for, they ended up coming across as something out of a low budget horror movie. The hostess gazing at me with a dead stare was no different, and her childish appearance gave me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies.

“I have an appointment with Cordova.”

“One moment please.” Picking up a phone hidden in the back of her coffin podium she spoke in the same rapid whisper as the doorman, and after a moment disconnected the call.

“You can go on through, Ms. Cray.”

Yay. Let the games begin.

As the curtain swung shut behind me, I decided it must have been enchanted to block out the noise and the smell of the club. The fierce pulsing beat of techno music I had been expecting in the foyer started reverberating in my chest, echoing the pounding of my heart. I felt the assault of the music almost as keenly as the stink of vampire that bombarded me, making me wish I had a couple tissues to shove up my nostrils. Somewhere between a mildewed towel and rotten wood, the scent of the undead was far from what I’d call a pleasant aroma.

Ugh. How can mundanes not smell that?

The relentless music and pervasive smell made it hard to think. The human half of me was sorely tempted to duck back through the curtain and hightail it back to my cabin as fast as I could, while the wolf was invigorated by the influx of sensory input. Squashing my warring desires, I faced the main room of the club and immediately felt all other thoughts fade away.

Silence fell over my mind as I was struck by the feeling that I’d stepped into the medieval lair of a blood thirsty villain.

Everywhere I looked was some prop meant to lend the club a dark and dangerous air—massive wrought iron candelabra, taller than I was and draped with ribbons of shredded lace, were scattered around the space to create islands of light. I had to wonder what the fire department thought of the plethora of thick candles lending their flickering glow and distinctive scent to the air. It was sure to pose some kind of fire hazard. Tall bookshelves and curios, filled with a pawn shop’s worth of spooktacular trinkets and oddities, were interspersed between plush velvet couches and leather arm chairs that would have been just as at home in a gentleman’s club. Peering at the nearest cabinet, I saw that it held a selection of skulls that looked just a little
too
authentic for comfort.

Shaking off the chill that threatened to ripple down my spine, I glanced upwards at the ceiling. Traces of the cathedral’s original architecture peeked through the decor where the dark stone pillars curved overhead like the gently sweeping trunks of majestic trees whose branches had woven together to form a thick canopy of curling filigree. It would have been a breathtaking site if not for the flock of glittery, Halloween store bats suspended on strings to loom over the club’s patrons. It was the only part of the decor that leaned more towards trite than elegant.

Even the church’s original pews had been refurbished to meet the club’s needs—transformed into cozy booths and tables spread across the flagstone floor. The only part of the church that appeared to have been left untouched were the intricate stained glass windows, gleaming in the soft glow of lights that had been crafted to look like flickering torches. All of this was lorded over by a DJ in the pulpit, surrounded by the electrical monstrosity of his sound board.

The overall design aesthetic was pretty heavy-handed, but I expected nothing less from the Shepherd of the City and his ilk.

I’m not a religious woman by any means; the last time I attended any kind of church service was my grandmother’s funeral. Still, I couldn’t help feeling that Cordova’s choice of locale for his club was more than a little brazen. Of course, I thought the whole concept of a strip club staffed almost entirely by vampires was trite and held a certain amount of inherent sleaze anyway.

Still trying to get my bearings, I warily watched the sashaying approach of a petite brunette. A bright red leather corset hugged her shapely figure as if it had been made for her, the addition of a frilly garter skirt, red sequined pasties, and sheer red stockings left little to the imagination. She was the poster child for the sultry seductress except for the milk white stare that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A gold chain with glittering rhinestones proclaimed her name to be Candie, but somehow I doubted she was as sweet as the moniker implied.

“Hello, beautiful,” she said with a flirty smile and husky lilt to her voice that I’m sure worked wonders on the club’s typical patrons. I wasn’t a typical patron and her femme fatale act was lost on me. “Can I get you a table?”

Suppressing a reflexive shudder I folded my arms over my chest and regarded her with a blank stare. “I’m here to see Cordova.” I said yet again, starting to feel like a broken record.

“I’m afraid the master is busy at the moment. Can I interest you in a cocktail instead?” she asked, dismissing my request with a flutter of her fake eyelashes. “Or perhaps a private dance?” she added, with a pucker of her painted lips.

Christ, am I going to have to be vetted by everyone before I can see Cordova?

“He’s expecting me,” I stated in a monotone, ignoring her attempts at seduction. “The doorman and hostess have both called ahead to confirm my appointment. I’d rather not keep the Shepherd waiting any longer.”

Something in my flat stare took the shine off her smile, and I was relieved when she dialed the seductress act back a little, offering me something much closer to a professional smile.

“Right this way.”

Following the exaggerated sway of her hips through the spread of tables, I traipsed along behind my guide as she led me across the floor. All around me, customers sporting business attire were sipping brightly colored cocktails while their eyes greedily drank in the pasty white flesh of the beautiful men and women undulating right in front of their noses. I couldn’t see the allure myself, but I suppose it takes all sorts.

Stopping at a heavy velvet curtain like the one in the foyer, Candie swept it aside to reveal a narrow set of stairs leading up. Gazing upwards into the gloom, I was reminded why mundanes are afraid of the dark. As if sensing my hesitation, Candie gestured for me to proceed with a sweep of her pale arm, her blood red lips spreading into a wide smile that flashed fang.

Reminding myself that this was going to be my first paying gig in some time and that a wolf could not survive on ketchup and crackers alone, I set my foot on the first stair and was instantly grateful for the escape from the repetitive beat of the music. The prickle of magic made my teeth itch even as some of the tension eased out of my shoulders, the quiet settling around me in a welcome embrace. Gripping the handrail I made my way up the curving stairs, unsure of what I would find at the top.

CHAPTER FOUR

A PLUSH FOYER reminiscent of a high-end office building greeted me at the top of the stairs, and for a moment I wondered if I had been transported somewhere else. Looking around, I saw that the original stone walls of the church still peeked through here and there from behind thick beige fabric panels suspended from the rafters and extending all the way to the floor. A small seating area contained a sleek white leather sofa and two uncomfortable looking clear plastic chairs. An oval glass table sat in the middle with an artfully arranged vase of lilies scenting the air with their soft perfume that did little to soften the cold feel of the space, or mask the stench of vampires. White and grey geometric rugs covered the wooden floors that would have looked a hell of a lot warmer if they’d been left bare.

I’m no interior decorator, but if Cordova had been going for something that felt about as welcoming as an exam room, he’d certainly achieved success.

I approached a sweeping metal and glass receptionist desk, eyeing the pair of closed doors behind it. The woman seated there looked as polished and austere as her surroundings. Ebony hair with a single bright pink stripe was styled into a sleek, asymmetrical bob to frame a narrow face. Sitting ramrod straight in a high-backed clear chair similar to those in the waiting room, I was surprised to realize that she was human.

So far all the staff I had seen around the club had been vampires, and I had to wonder if she felt safe up there, cloistered away in her quiet little corner while a veritable horde of the undead lurked beneath her.

“Hi, I’m here to—”

“Mr. Cordova will be with you momentarily, Ms. Cray,” she said before I could finish getting the words out. “May I fetch you some coffee or water while you wait?”

I was relieved that I wasn’t getting the same interrogation I’d received from all the other employees I’d encountered, and felt a thread of tension slip out of my shoulders at her welcoming manner.

“Coffee would be great, thanks.”

Moving with a kind of fluid grace that I doubted I could ever manage, the receptionist rose from her desk, coming around towards me and directing me to the seating area. I marveled at the impossibly tall heels she wore; if I tried to wear them I’d be lucky to limit the damage to a couple broken ankles. The unrelieved black of her clothing cast her in stark relief against the subdued colors of the decor.

Settling into the chair demanded a feat of balance and dexterity that I didn’t possess and I found myself sliding into a slouch on the slick Plexiglas no matter how hard I fought to sit up straight.

How the hell does she sit in one of these things? Does she have non-slip pads on her ass?

While I pondered the core muscle strength required to remain upright in the damn chair, the receptionist returned with a cup of coffee that smelled deliciously strong and made my mouth water. A black and red lacquer tray appeared in front of me, bearing the steaming cup of coffee alongside a metal pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar.

Damn, a girl could get used to this kind of service,
I thought, adding cream and sugar before lifting the cup to my nose.

The rich smell teased my senses while the warmth spread through the china and into my fingers. I paused only long enough to blow away the steam before taking the first sip. My lips curved into a contented smile and I hummed in appreciation. My lack of funds had me living on cheap store brand coffee and my taste buds buzzed in delight at the reminder of the real thing.

“Oh, that’s
good,
” I purred, opening my eyes just enough to look up at the receptionist who looked on with an expectant expression. At my words her features softened into a pleased smile, and she gave a shallow bob of her head. “Where on earth did you find coffee this good?” I asked, taking another sip, savoring the dark caramel notes on my tongue.