Frost Moon (8 page)

I blinked in shock.

The maid was Savannah.

11. THE VAMPIRE QUEEN OF LITTLE FIVE POINTS

Savannah Winters was dressed head to toe in black and white. A black, corset-like mask covered her delicate oval face from neck to nose. Her glorious flaming red hair swung free beneath a frilled maid’s cap. And she wore a matching black satin French maid’s dress, whose elaborate white lacings barely seemed to hold in her curvy form. The uniform was a hell of an outfit; Jinx would have
died
for it, if only she could have seen it; on the other hand, Jinx and Savannah still talked, so maybe they shopped at the same store.

But the outfit was more than pretty. The mask had no opening for her mouth. Restrictive leather mittens came up to her elbows. And barely visible beneath the ruffles of her dress were a pair of thigh bands: steel, black-rimmed, and connected by a short chain that rattled with each step. Thigh-high black boots with locked buckles finished the outfit. The boots ended in platforms so totteringly high that I felt like I’d fall over just looking at her.

“Savannah,” I said. “What the hell’s happened to you?”

At that Savannah glared at me from beneath her maid’s bonnet and tossed her antique featherduster down. She stomped loudly over towards the center of the room, rattling with each step, and stopped straight in front of me. Even with her platforms, I still towered over her, which ruined whatever effect she’d been aiming for.

She glared up at me, silent beneath her mask; then imperiously— and it’s quite a trick to do that wearing a fetish maid’s outfit—she held up her two black-mitted hands like a surgeon. Without a word “the Lady Darkrose” and the dog-boy got up. Darkrose’s boots clacked against the floor; the dog-boy was silent except for the rattling of his leash chain. They stepped to either side of Savannah and quickly unlaced the white lacings on her mitts; then, when she snapped her freed fingers, the dog-boy began unlacing the mask from the back. Within a few moments, he was peeling it off Savannah, and I could briefly see her long, sharp canines release the chewed black ballgag, glistening with saliva, that had kept her silent.

That didn’t last for long.

“Ptheh,” Savannah said, wiping her mouth. “Why the hell are you here, Dakota? And it’s the Lady Saffron now. Our receptionist
should
have explained that we were busy—”

“Whatever happened to you as ‘the vampire queen of Little Five Points’?” I asked.

“I still am,” Savannah said, sulkily, turning away, eyes flicking sideways to the black dominatrix figure before strolling back to the throne, the chain between her thighs continuing to rattle with each step. “This is the Lady Darkrose, who came here from Africa to contest the appointment of such a junior vampire to this post—”

“So you folded?” I said. “You let her move in and take over—”

“Move in, yes, but take over, no. I am still the
Lady
Saffron,” Savannah said, seating herself in the throne straightly, stiffly, as if she was afraid she’d sit on a tack. “And this is my domain. Make no mistake—
I
am queen of the vampires in the Little Five Points district.”

She snapped her fingers, and both the Lady Darkrose and the dog-boy knelt by the side of her ‘throne’ and stared at the floor. I stared at Darkrose; the black dominatrix’ face was controlled—no, composed. Her eyes flicked up at me, and I arched an eyebrow, as if to say,
is this for real?
Darkrose briefly nodded; then looked back down. I saw no resentment…in fact, she seemed completely comfortable in her role.

“Then what the hell is this show?” I asked.

“I am the queen of the vampires in Little Five Points,” she said, “and if I want to be the
bondage
queen in my own court, then I shall have it.”

I touched my hand to my forehead. “Darkrose is your domme,” I said.

“That she is,” ‘Saffron’ said, smiling down at her.
“And
my second in command.”

“Both roles I am happy to play, my Lady Saffron,” Darkrose said, staring at the floor, still perfectly composed. Clearly she had some BDSM training beyond just picking out her wardrobe, as she was as comfortable kneeling on the floor as she had been on the throne.

“Sorry,” I said at last. I felt so stupid. They’d warned me to expect a show in the outer office, and I still came in here and took everything so damn seriously. “I am such an
idiot.”

“That you are,” Savannah said, still smiling.

“Who’s the lucky dog?” I asked.

“Ah, Doug,” she said, patting his head. “Friend of a friend. I’m training Doug for a show. But you know all about training, don’t you, Dakota?”

I said nothing.

There was a long pause, and Savannah just seemed to look at me, drinking me in. Finally, she leaned forward in her chair, clanking a bit as she did so, still smiling with the slightest wince. “Now. Tell me why you’re here.”

“I need some help,” I admitted. “I’m doing a new kind of magical tattoo—”

“I cannot believe you still do that… Satanist stuff,” Savannah said.

Oh, Lord, not this again.
“Excuse
me, the lesbian bondage queen is going to lecture me about Satanic?”

“There’s nothing Satanic about bondage—”

“There’s nothing
wrong
with bondage,” I said, “but when you play the Satanist card you also get fifty million Bible passages asking God to deliver people from—wait for it—bondage.”

“Please,” Savannah snapped, “The terms aren’t analogous and you know it. Magical tattooing, on the other hand, is derived in an unbroken chain from ancient religious ritual bloodletting—”

“Excuse me,
vampire
bondage queen?”

“I’m primarily a vegetarian,” Savannah said. “I only drink what I have to survive—”

“Great. But I don’t care. I’m not here to debate with you,
Savannah”
I said.

At the second use of her real name, the tall black vampire and the dog-collared submissive both twitched. Savannah’s hands tightened on her throne, and after a moment Darkrose sighed, stood up and walked out. Doug the Dog flinched, but he was leashed to the throne, and Savannah made no move to free him.

At no time did the crosses on the wall even so much as shimmer, not even when Darkrose passed them. Normally when a vampire expressed ill will or anger or even got a little cross—
ha
—in front of a crucifix, it would flare up like magnesium. Even the religious tats on my knuckles tingled sometimes when I faced a pissed-off vampire. But despite Savannah’s scowl—I got nothing. No flares, no tingles, no sign she bore me any ill will.

Interesting.

“Your self-control is extraordinary,” I said.

“I have help,” Savannah replied. “You’re not helping, but I have help.”

I scowled at her. I knew exactly what she meant—she was saying she was drawing on her Christian faith, on Jesus, to help her handle her hour of trial—me. The whole idea of hearing this from a lesbian vampire in a fetish bondage outfit continued to leave me speechless, and Savannah took the opportunity to deliver a lecture that I’d heard before.

“Dakota. I am a vampire now,” she said. “I have entered a whole new world, with rules and customs that have evolved over the centuries to keep us civil. Here, we leave our human names behind to protect our loved ones. In this world, I am the Lady Saffron. You are
not
to use my human name in front of a fellow vampire—”

“And what name do you still write on your scientific papers?” I asked.

After a moment, Savannah replied, “Savannah Winters.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” I asked. “It’s a beautiful name. I loved your name. You could have been Lady Savannah—”

“It was taken,” Savannah said, a little piqued. She looked at me, hurt maybe. “You think I didn’t try?”

“Not very hard.” I said. I was starting to wonder what I had seen in her. “Just like you didn’t try very hard to stay human after I
begged
you not to become a vampire.”

The side door opened, and the Lady Darkrose appeared, having donned a long, shimmering transparent coat and acquired a small, boxy purse.

“Excuse me,” she said—speaking directly to me, oddly subdued. Then she leaned in to kiss Savannah’s cheek, and said softly, “I am stepping out.”

“Oh please don’t,” Savannah said, oddly pleading. “We never have time to play anymore. Dakota and I will be done in a minute—”

“You two will be arguing for an hour,” Darkrose said, in her odd accent. “I am just going clubbing. And it is not like I am leaving you to your own devices.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Savannah said, very quietly.

“You’re not leaving us like this, are you?” Doug asked, whining through his mask. His leg shifted, at which point I noticed that the metal codpiece of his shorts was actually a
cage,
hiding nothing—at which point I immediately looked away, turning quite red.

“Please, Brer Rabbit, don’t throw me in the briar patch,” Darkrose responded, touching Savannah’s glorious red hair tenderly. Then, impulsively, she leaned down and kissed her.

Two lesbians kissing for real is nothing like you see in porno. It’s nothing showy, no flicking tongues or exaggerated heavy breathing. It’s simple and pure and as natural as any man kissing a woman: a moment of attraction, a moment of vulnerability, a moment of pure tenderness as lips press against lips and eyes close with bliss.

I turned away. Savannah had found someone, and I was watching my more than adequate replacement. That stung like a son of a bitch.

I heard the clacking boots again, and shifted to look at Darkrose as she approached. She was tall for a woman, easily six-one counting the boots, which left her over an inch shorter than me not counting
my
boots. And, yes, I am petty enough to like being taller than Girlfriend 2.0.

“A pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Frost,” she said. She was having a far better time than I would, coming face to face with a lover’s ex-girlfriend; in fact she seemed to be enjoying herself as she looked at the pair sitting on the throne, then back at me. “Have fun.”

“So…” Savannah said, shifting uncomfortably on the throne and scowling. “Now that you’ve ruined our Friday evening, could you finish telling me why and then get the hell out?”

“Well, uh,” I said, kneading my brow, trying not to look at Doug’s crotch. The cage was surprisingly distracting, once you noticed it. “Uh, I’m—”

“Spill it,” Savannah said.

“I need to go to a werehouse,” I said. “I’m doing a tattoo for a werewolf, and Jinx needs to consult with another werewolf about it before she can clear the design. But there are vampires running protection for the werewolves, so she sent me to you.”

“And exactly
why
is your little problem important enough to disrupt
my
play night?”

“My
werewolf
client,” I said, “seemed to think it was urgent that he get this
control charm
inked before the next full moon, which is a week from Saturday. Did I mention
werewolf?
Full moon—werewolf. Any more questions?”

“No,” Savannah said, shaking her head with a wry smile. “Life sure is complicated.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“Sooo… “ Savannah said. “This would be the werehouse… near the Perimeter, out towards Six Flags?”

“Suuure,” I said. “I don’t know, Savannah. I don’t keep up with all the people who come running to the vampires for protection. Jinx seemed to think you would.”

“As it so happens, I do. But… should I now add you to that list?” she asked. “Are
you
now running to
me
for protection?”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” I said. “If that’s what it takes to get free passage—”

“Do you want my protection?” she said, firm, almost formal, but still smiling.

“Yes,” I said. “I want your protection. So, look, what do we have to do? Do you just call them and put me on a list, or do I need some kind of visa or something?”

“Or something,” Savannah said, smiling even more wickedly now. “Doug,” she said, crooking her hand. He stood, and I turned my head to inspect the sofa, the widescreen TV. I heard ripping of Velcro, his leash rattle to the floor, and then Savannah’s stage whisper:

“Fetch the box with the… signs of my house… from the dungeon.”

Doug disappeared through the same side door that Darkrose had first gone through. I looked at Savannah; something about the way she was smiling was making me very uncomfortable, though the crosses were not shimmering, so she meant me no harm. Suddenly I wondered whether that was a myth; but before I could ask, Doug returned.

He had shed his puppy mitts and was carrying a large plastic box filled with metal bands similar to the ones on Savannah’s thighs. Savannah ferreted around in it a bit, and withdrew a metal collar and a golden padlock. She held it in her hands, staring at me; I swallowed.

“Doug,” she said. “If you would be so kind, give Dakota the sign of my house.”

Doug took the collar and lock and padded towards me, and as he turned I got a good eyeful of the cage on his cock. I winced—now I’d gone and named what it was. I’d really been trying not to think of it. In all fairness, it didn’t show as much as I first thought it did: it had thick metal bars and you had to think for a second to realize ‘he’ was in there. But I still ended up with Savannah’s caged submissive standing next to me respectfully holding a collar.

I raised an eyebrow and looked at Savannah. “Is this really necessary?”

“Actually, it is,” she said, smiling. “Think of this as your visa.”

I sighed. “Fine,” I said, turning my back to Doug.

He fumbled with the collar a bit, reaching up. “God, you’re tall,” he said, voice muffled by the dog’s mask but clearly audible.

“You’re not gagged in that thing?” I asked.

“I couldn’t go ‘ruf, ruf with a gag in my mouth,” he said. “Could you kneel or—”

“Give me that,” I said, taking the collar. It was curiously heavy in my hands, and I felt all tingly. It was heavy and silvered on the outside, backed with dark rubber on the inside. A dangling ring hung beneath an elaborate engraved
S
on the front, and there was an odd little post-and-hole contraption on the back where it came apart. Now
I
was fumbling with it, and I looked over to see Savannah smiling, amused.