My mouth opened. I had no way to translate what he was saying into something I understood. Finally I managed, “Looking up a friend who works here. And you?”
“Oh! I’m not, you know, staying at the, ah, inn,” Bud said. His face reddened a bit, then split into a wide grin. “Just here for the food. Great restaurant. Follow me in.”
He rolled the car forward, and I started the Vespa up and followed.
As I rode through, the gate squealed shut behind me. So this was it: I was heading through creaking iron gates towards a mysterious chalet nestled deep in the woods. My Vespa would be taken away by mysterious valets just as the sun would set, trapping me to dine under candlelight under the watchful eyes of predatory vampires, served by black-garbed waiters trained not to notice when their masters started noshing on you instead.
Or not to notice when Transomnia had me dragged out and shot.
Either way, I was committed. I was going to ask for help from my worst enemy.
Beard the Lion
“My name is Dakota Frost, but I doubt I’m on the guest list,” I told the maitre d’, tucking my gloves into my helmet. “I’m just here to see Lord Transomnia.”
The Stone Rose Sanctuary was plantation-style rather than Victorian, new rather than old; but everything else was as I expected. A valet did indeed whisk my Vespa and Bud’s Volvo away, a doorman opened a door onto a plush red foyer, where a black-garbed maitre d’ ushered Bud off to join his party before returning his attention to me. He stared at me, not really seeming to comprehend. Apparently I wasn’t dressed fancy enough to overcome the language barrier.
“Lord… Transomnia?” the thin, hawkish man asked. His face was lined, and he had a long shag of graying hair, almost a mullet; but his eyebrows were dark and his eyes sharp, making him look far younger. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that name.”
“Really?” I said, hopes falling. But this place had been here for at least six months, back when Transomnia had been trying to hide from Valentine by playing junior wharf rat at the Oakdale Clan. At least one of his people had been here. “What about the Lady Nyissa?”
At her name, the maitre d’ rankled. Jackpot. “The proprietor of the Sanctuary,” he said crisply, “prefers her privacy. The Stone Rose Cafe has a policy not to mention her, or her associates, by name. If you are a client of the club, however-”
“As I said, I’m not a diner or a client,” I said, glancing around the foyer. “I’m here on personal business with one of the associates of the proprietor of the Sanctuary.”
The front door opened, and a charming older couple walked in, a cheerful, vaguely Asian man and an older woman with hair strikingly dyed half black, half blond. She smiled at me, then murmured to her companion, and a gold nose ring sparkled as she turned her head. Interesting.
“ Please, ” the maitre d’ said quietly. “Are you a friend of the proprietor?”
“No, I’m her worst enemy,” I said, and the headache I’d been nursing suddenly got a little worse-probably the effect of the Sanctuary Stone. Interesting. “Well, technically, the worst enemy of her master, the Lord, uh, ‘T’. I called ahead. They should be expecting me.”
The maitre d’ stared at me, then the new couple. He raised his hand to them for a moment’s grace, then leaned forward to me. “Ma’am,” he whispered, “the proprietor and her associates are not… disposed… at this time-”
“I understand they may not be up yet,” I said, smiling. Messing with this guy was turning out to be quite fun. “I can wait in the throne room like last time.”
“Theme rooms are reserved for clients,” the maitre d’ said, his confusion and reluctance shifting into stern suspicion. “If you would like to reserve one on an ad hoc basis-”
“Excuse me,” said a dark-suited man, stepping out of a side room to catch the maitre d’ by the elbow. “The Lady informs me we have another, um, trespassing situation, like we did a couple of weeks back, so the guards will need to-”
“Hi,” I said, waving my fingers at him cheerfully.
The dark-suited man looked up at me briefly and did a double-take. “Holy sh-” he said, hand going to his breast pocket, then freezing there as he caught sight of the couple behind me. His eyes flickered between me and the couple. He made a strangled noise.
“Dakota Frost,” I said, even more cheerfully. “We met in the van last week?”
“What-yeah,” he said, relaxing slightly, hand still inside his jacket. “Uh… yeah.”
“I can wait in the throne room until you guys figure out how to fit me into your schedule.”
“Uh… yeah,” he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off my tattoos. “Let’s do that.”
“Should I put up my hands?” I asked.
His eyes flickered again to the couple. “No, but… put the gloves and helmet back on.”
“Uh, sure,” I said. “I guess I am more dangerous naked.”
I wished I had a picture of the maitre d’s mortified look as the older couple laughed. I smiled at them, popped my gloves back on, then the helmet.
“I hope you guys enjoy your meal this evening,” I said.
“Oh, we’re not here for dinner,” the woman said, smiling. “We’re here for the club.”
And with that last word, it hit me. That was how vampires made their money: prostitution. Vampires were dark, edgy and attractive, and their bite was damn near orgasmic. That vampires traded in sex didn’t surprise me, but there was more to it than that: there was the club, the clients,-and despite their trash talk, Transomnia’s band of vamps had done little more than scare me. After the initial assault, they hadn’t done me physical harm.
The reactions of the guards seemed to confirm my perception of their reluctance. In a side room, three surrounded me while the first man searched me thoroughly, but not a one of them drew a gun. That was encouraging. That they were all packing, not so much.
“Damn, she’s taller than she looked in the video,” one of the new guards said.
“And throws a hell of a punch, too,” said another, bearded guard, glaring at me-and I recognized him as the tough bruiser who’d attacked me first on my last trip to Blood Rock. He looked considerably different cleaned up and in a suit. “For a girl, that is.”
The new guard chuckled, and I glared. “Would you like a demonstration?”
“Settle down,” the first guard said, as he finished patting me down.
“I told you, I’m not armed,” I said. “Not so much as a toothpick.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said, pulling out an airport-style scanning wand. It made a wzzowing noise as he ran it over my jacket, and he pulled my cell phone out of my pocket.
“Do not turn that on,” I said. “I’m on the run. The police can track you with that.”
His mouth quirked up. “You really think they’re tracking you?”
“Certain,” I said. “My source in the DEI called to warn me.”
“ You have a source in the DEI?” he said, laughing.
“Ex-boyfriend,” I said.
His face hardened. “Ah,” he said. “Good contact to have.”
The bearded guard cleared his throat. “This is nuts,” he said. “We should just-”
“We should just what?” the first guard said sharply.
“Eat right, and practice clean living,” I said.
“Unbelievable,” the first guard said, motioning with his hand.
I kept the same smile plastered on my face that I’d had since walking in the door. They had kicked the shit out of me earlier. But I was here to ask for help, so I sat on my anger.
They led me down a winding stairway, then down a well-appointed corridor with many doors on each side. And then I was back in the throne room I’d seen before: dark curtains, elegant couches, the same metal chair in a lowered area of flagstones, and the same steps rising to a medieval style throne… and behind it, the Sanctuary Stone-wailing.
This was magic I understood: a single resonator inscribed with graphomantic runes, charged up by the
