silent, like most vamps, and absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was full and thick, shoulder length and a tawny wheat color that reminded me of my Nerissa. Her eyes were icy blue—she had only been a vampire for five years, if I remembered right, but she had adapted quickly. She was wearing a PVC dress, with a zipper pulled down around her navel. She’d had implants before she died and her breasts were two glorious globes but they looked fake as hell. I wondered how being a vampire affected having implants, but decided to keep my mouth shut for now.
“I trust the service was good? And your drinks?” She gave a little dip, curtseying to Roman. Which was smart, considering his status.
He glanced at me and I nodded. It had become my place to answer the niceties such as questions like this when we were out. It was part of my job, and considered beneath Roman’s stature.
“Wonderful, and great service.” I gave her a toothy smile.
“I wondered . . .” Shikra paused.
“Yes?” Again, my place to answer. It was also my job to field queries coming at Roman when we were out together unless his bodyguard intervened.
“I need to ask Lord Roman’s advice, if I may. Something has come up and I don’t quite know what to do. I thought about approaching the police, but something just . . . is warning me not to.”
She looked so worried that I motioned for her to sit down without asking Roman if he was willing to listen. But he simply waited for her to join us.
“What seems to be the problem?” Roman leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze locking hers. That was one thing that made him so popular—when he turned his attention to someone or something, he gave it total focus with an intensity that was almost frightening.
Shikra pulled out a letter and put it on the table. “I received this the other day. It was followed up by two anonymous phone calls. I think there’s a connection but I can’t prove it. I’ll let you read the letter first.”
The minute I picked up the paper, I recognized what it was. I’d seen the same thing come through my office—on the same letterhead. From some company called Vistar-Tashdey Enterprises, it was an offer to buy the Utopia Club from Shikra. Strongly worded, it was almost a demand, when I read through it again. There were no names listed, no signature other than that of the lawyer representing VT Enterprises. Same as the one I’d received.
On edge—the letter was as off-putting and self-important as the one I’d received had been—I held up the paper. “Can I have a copy of this? Do you have a copy machine on the premises?”
She took it. “Yes, I’ll have one made. But this isn’t the only problem. Last night, and then about an hour ago, I received two phone calls. Someone threatened to burn down the club. No reasoning, no blackmail demands. Just a gruff voice, making a death threat. I have no idea if the caller was male or female—the voice sounded disguised.”
A shiver ran through me. “Roman . . . ”
He seemed to be thinking along the same wavelength. “You’re thinking there may be a connection?”
I nodded. “Could be. As far as the letter, can you think of some reason anyone would want to buy your club? No offense, but . . . are you making a ton of money?”
Shikra shook her head. “That puzzles me, too. Oh, I’m getting by—business isn’t bad. But it’s not the best, either. There’s no real reason to buy me out unless they want the land the building is on, and I don’t own that.”
I didn’t want to tell her about my experience—not yet. Not until we knew what was going on. “Make us a copy of the letter, please Do you happen to have a recording of the messages that came through?” I knew it was a slim chance, but thought I’d ask anyway.
As I thought, she didn’t. “No, I took the calls when they came in. The voice was the same both times, and it sounded muffled, like whoever it was, was trying to disguise it. And both times, the calls were short. I asked questions—or tried to, but they didn’t answer.”
“What did they say, exactly?” Roman glanced around the club and I followed his gaze. The Utopia was unlike most vamp clubs, decked out in vivid crimson, green, gold, and black. The setup reminded me of a tropical lounge, with lush ferns and sprawling ivies spilling over the edge of built-in flower boxes. Booths, a muted crimson, were smooth and rounded, curving around dark walnut tables polished to a high sheen. The floor was a tiled linoleum, a black and white speckled pattern. There were no overwhelming drapes anywhere like in some vamp clubs, no highly sexual statues, or macabre images. For the most part, it could have been any upscale chic bar.
Shikra squinted. “Let me try to remember the exact words.” After a moment, she shrugged. “He—or she, I have no clue why but I want to say it was a he . . . he said
I closed my eyes. That almost mirrored to the exact word what my caller had said. The only difference had been, “Better count your hours, blood sucker, because I’m going to take you and your fucking bar down so hard you’ll never get up.”
That was all she could remember. Roman told her to put a recorder on the club phone and see if she could capture the message if the freak called back, and then she went to print out a copy of the letter for me.
As we headed out, I glanced back at the Utopia. “I hope it’s just somebody’s bad idea of a practical joke.” But as I stared at the neon sign, I kept seeing the flames engulfing the Wayfarer. “I hope to hell that’s all it is.”
Roman walked me to my car. I stood by the Jag, staring into the night. “I’ll drop by Erin’s and ask her about the job opportunity. I’ll call or have her call you tomorrow night.” And then, Roman drew me in for a quick kiss. His bodyguards were in the background, studiously ignoring us as his hands slipped over my body, cupping my butt. I moaned into his mouth, then pulled away.
“Night doll,” he whispered, then ushered me into my car, shutting the door when I was in. As I drove off, he stood there, one hand raised, watching me go.
I stopped by Sassy Branson’s old mansion—which was now both the headquarters for the Seattle Vampire Nexus, and Vampires Anonymous. Located on two acres, the estate was gorgeous and the mansion spacious. I stopped at the gate to show my ID. When Sassy had been alive, there had been a simple intercom system, but back then, nobody outside the vampire community knew she was a vamp, and she hadn’t been all that nervous. Now, there was good reason to post armed guards around the perimeter, given the hate groups that were alive and thriving.
The guards told me that Erin was out for the evening—she was off to a movie with friends, so I left a message for her to call me when she got home, and pulled out of the driveway.
I glanced at the clock. Ten o’clock. It felt odd not be down at the Wayfarer at this time. I told myself not to, but I couldn’t help it. I drove by the ruins of my bar and parked outside the burned out shell. Slowly, after a moment, I got out of the car and picked my way through the rubble, which still hadn’t been cleaned up, and entered the hollow husk of the building. The sky had clouded over and the scent of rain hung heavy.
As I stood on the threshold of what had been my bar, my stomach lurched. The Wayfarer had become more than a business to me. It had become a friend. And now, that friend was as dead as Chrysandra. I started to turn away when I thought I saw something in the corner. I spun around, ready to defend myself, but there, in the murky pile of sodden wood and plaster, hovered a faint white light. I could swear a face stared at me from the mist, but then it vanished as lightning crashed overhead and the rain began to pound down in a steady stream. I gave one last glance in the corner, but now there was nothing there. Heading back to my car, I wondered if it had been Chrysandra’s spirit—was she out wandering? Or one of the others who had died? Feeling numb again, and weary, I climbed back in my Jag and headed for home.
The road out to Belles-Faire was slick, the water beading across it as the steady rain became a downpour. My wipers were going full steam and I was doing my best to see between the streams of water racing down my windshield. As I neared the turn that would take me to our house, a blur emerged at top speed from one of the driveways.
I slammed on the brakes and the Jag began to spin. As I drove into the skid, trying to regain control, the other car loomed large and I realized I was headed straight for it. Holy fuck, this was bad—
