“It’s going to be all right,” Lauren said, the words hollow in her own ears, but they were the only ones that seemed appropriate at the moment.
Stacey was harder and firmer. “You need to start out by being glad you’re alive, and then you need tostart believing what we’re saying. You are going to do every single thing I tell you to do, and then, when we’ve all survived this, we’ll work on getting your fiance back.”
“I’ll call Barry today,” Lauren told Heidi, handing her a napkin to dry her eyes. “Don’t cry, Heidi. It won’t help any.”
“Don’t cry?” Heidi exploded suddenly. “You’re telling me I was bitten by a vampire—because I ‘m weak—and that I called my fiance and trashed the prospect of my marriage. And you don’t want me to cry?”
“No, don’t cry, get mad,” Stacey said. “You need to be angry. Take a good hard look at what the creature trying to seduce you made you do. Wake up!”
“I am awake. Believe me, I’m awake,” Heidi retorted angrily. She wiped her face and stared at the other women. “If this is some kind of practical joke…”
“I wish it were,” Lauren said softly, reaching across the table to gently touching her friend’s hand. “I’ll call Barry. We’ll convince him your phone was stolen by someone who overheard you talking about him and decided to be cruel.”
“Will he believe it?” Heidi asked.
“Will he believe it if you tell him you were under the influence of a vampire?” Stacey asked curtly.
“You will call him? You’ll convince him?” Heidi said to Lauren.
“Of course. You love him, and he loves you. He’s just angry right now—but he loves you.”
Heidi was quiet for a minute. “So…what now?”
“I have to get back over to the hospital,” Lauren said.
“Yes, of course, we need to go back,” Heidi said.
“Not you,” Stacey told her firmly.
“What?” Heidi protested.
“You’re with me. You need another day to replenish what you lost—and you need to learn the ropes,” Stacey told her.
“What ropes?” Heidi asked.
“Vampire killing ropes,” Stacey said in a tone that left no room for argument.
Mark leapt up, knocking a table over in his haste to reach “Nefertiti” before she could sink her fangs into the man.
“Stop!” he shouted, and threw himself at the woman.
She went flying down to the stage beneath him. Her eyes—a deep brown with a hint of the light that gave her away seething fire—met his.
Then the heavyset man had him by the arm and was dragging him up.
“He’s a psycho!” Nefertiti shrieked.
“Bastard! Pay for your own entertainment,” her big client bellowed.
“Call the cops,” Nefertiti said.
“I’ll handle this asshole better than the cops,” the man said, drawing back his massive fist.
Mark easily dodged the blow. “She’s diseased!” he shouted as he ducked. The other man had put so much weight into his attempted attack that it carried him down to the floor with an oomph.
“Diseased?” he said. “Oh, God!”
Nefertiti took that moment to race, naked, backstage. Mark leapt over the big man on the ground and followed her.
A half-dozen not-so-hot looking showgirls in various stages of undress shrieked as he went flying through the dressing room in pursuit.
Nefertiti grabbed a silk robe and kept running, heading for the back door.
She pushed through it; Mark was right behind her.
The door led to a long hallway.
She reached the door to the street just a split second before he did. She burst outside, and he followed, catching her by the arm.
She spun around, fangs bared, ready to shape-shift. By then he’d drawn a small little squirt gun from his pocket. He fired and hit her squarely between the breasts.
She screamed.
People stared.
“Cops! Somebody call the cops!” came a cry.
“He’s got a gun!” someone else roared.
“It’s a frigging water pistol!” a third person chimed in.
