Now here I was, staring at the signs, nerving myself up for this. Finally I rang the doorbell and was buzzed in.
Inside, the remodeled building felt even more like a doctor's office. It was a small but brightly lit room, in earthtones, with padded chairs, magazines on coffee tables, and even a couple of potted plants. A reception desk served as gateway for three doors going left, back and right. Except for the blonde girl behind the desk, the room was empty-things had to be slow at nine-thirty on a Friday night. Then the phone rang, and I realized that it was only a couple hours past sunset. Vampire business might just be starting to heat up.
'Hello, Junior Van Helsing Detective Agency,' said the girl into her headset. Surely she couldn't be in college. She had to be a high schooler… or a something.. 'I'll put you through to Detective Nagli.' She pressed a button, then looked up at me. 'How can I help you?'
'I'm here to see 'the Lady Saffron,'' I said, pronouncing her vampire name carefully, trying to hide my resentment. 'Is she still-'
'Ah, Vampire Consulate business,' the girl said, oddly embarrassed. 'You're, um, you're in the right place, but… I'm sorry, can you wait maybe an… hour?' She cringed at my glare, and said hastily, 'The Lady Saffron is here, but she's… ah… entertaining the Lady Darkrose right now. They won't receive visitors for at least an hour-'
Huh. She'd gone and shacked up with someone else-another vamp from the sound of it-and built up a whole entourage. I don't know why it pissed me off, but it did.
'She'll receive me,' I said. 'I'm an old friend of 'Saffron'-'
'Are you now?' said another voice. A young, young man, wearing a suit with all of the grace of a bum, had come to slouch in the side door. Just beyond him was a hard-looking man with a dark beard, openly staring at me with an unfriendly scowl. The boy's gaze had no such hostility, but still pinned me with a calculating eye. 'If you're an old friend, surely you know Saffron doesn't like to be disturbed when entertaining Darkrose.'
'Or maybe I don't,' I said. 'I don't know who this Darkrose is.'
'An old friend of Saffron who doesn't know who Darkrose is?' The boy raised a manila folder to his lips. 'An old friend… or an estranged friend, perhaps?'
'Both,' I said. 'Now take me to see Saffron. I'm headed to a werehouse, and I need to ask for her protection-'
'Ah,' the boy said. 'Makes sense now. Show her in.'
'You do it,' the girl said. 'They're in there with Doug-'
'You're the secretary,' the boy replied.
'You're the idiot who wants to interrupt her after she gave orders not to be disturbed-'
'You're forgetting they're vampires,' the hard-faced man said, with a sudden, bitter laugh. He had an odd accent, not English but maybe somewhere from the ruins of the empire. 'They'll love the chance to show off their little court.'
The boy and the secretary looked at him, then each other. 'Vickman's right,' she said.
'Fine,' the boy said, handing the envelope to Vickman. He whipped out his phone and tapped off a few quick instant messages, then snapped it closed and said, 'Come on, old friend of Saffron, and let's see how you handle this.'
He opened the door to the left into a small hallway that led to a conference room, dimly lit, with a wetbar and overstuffed couches opposite a conference table. The hum of a refrigerator came from a set of built-in cabinets behind the bar, and I swallowed. What kind of drinks would a vampire serve at a bar? The boy stepped between the table and wetbar to an elaborate, heavy wooden door, and pressed a button on an intercom.
'Just who the hell are you?' I asked.
'I work for the Junior Van Helsing Detective Agency,' he said. 'We have an… arrangement with the Consulate to handle their reception in exchange for the office space.'
He pressed the button again. After a moment, a woman answered in a strong but oddly clipped variant of an English accent, like Vickman's. I didn't recognize the voice.
'Yes, what is it?'
'I have a… supplicant for the Lady Saffron,' the boy said, looking at me.
'I'm not a 'supplicant,'' I snapped. 'I'm an old friend-'
'I understand,' the voice replied. 'Show her in.'
'Thanks,' the boy said. 'After you, my dear-'
'For the second time in as many days,' I said, 'Fuck that.'
The boy shrugged, smiling. 'Have it your way, Miss Frost.'
'I never told you my name,' I said.
He tapped his head. 'Quick.' Then he shrugged, as if he hated calling attention to his smarts. 'Also notice 'detective' in Junior Van Helsing Detective Agency?'
'You're a real little dick, you know that?'
He looked back in shock, saw me smiling, and then got it. 'Have it your way, Miss Frost,' he said, and opened the door.
The interior of the church had been redone since I'd last seen it. The altar and pews had been long gone when Savannah had converted it to a living space, but now her futon, beanbag and Target end tables were gone too, replaced by a large L-shaped sofa and elegant coffee table, which faced a widescreen TV sitting on a circular platform. Sweeps of fabric hung from the ceiling, pouring down like tapestries on the walls where her posters had once hung. Small statues stood on pedestals beneath the stained glass windows; an elaborately dressed maid was dusting one bust carefully. And at the end of the room, on the raised dais that had once held the altar, an unfamiliar black female vampire sat on a throne, staring at me with cold blue eyes.
The door closed behind me, and I stepped forward. The vampire was stunning: tall, strong, body wrapped in a tight leather corset-like bodice that accented her bust. Crossed legs seemed poured into boots that came all the way up to her bare thighs-just Savannah's type. Beside her, a masked man knelt, his young muscular chest harnessed in crisscrossed straps of leather, and wearing cheekchiller chaps that exposed his backside. I arched an eyebrow: the boy was wearing a collar and leash, and the leather mask was in the shape of a dog's face. Also Savannah's type.
I was confused. The black vampire on the throne was not Savannah. .. but this scene was all too Savannah. The colors of the fabric sweeping the ceiling were those Savannah liked. I remembered shopping for couches with her and looking at this specific one. Even the statues on the pedestals looked familiar-Savannah had once kept them in her storage unit. The entire scene was something she might have designed, down to the leashed dog.
'Who are you,' the vampire said, 'and what made you brave disturbing-'
'And who the fuck are you?' I asked. 'And where's the Lady Saffron? I need to-'
The vampire inclined her head, and the maid turned to look at me.
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?'
