Kicking It

When I finished, he didn’t say a word, and I finally asked, “What?”

“I think you should drop the case. If it had anything to do with my dream . . .”

“Tell me about it,” I said gently.

“I saw fangs. You paralyzed, being sucked dry . . .” The haunted look was back in his eyes.

“Vampires?” I asked doubtfully. I thought about Ariana Weaver—dark glasses, dark clothing, a club that meant she’d be active at night and probably asleep by day . . . But I just couldn’t buy it. For one thing, she’d been captured on film. “Do vampires really exist?”

Apollo shrugged and the sheet he’d wrapped around his hips began to slip. “Depends on your definition. There are certainly things that go bump in the night. Some like the taste of blood. But I’m not sure that’s it. There was something . . . different . . .”

“Different how?” I prompted.

“Maybe if you’d let the dream play out . . .”

I stared down at the crumbs now decorating Apollo’s previously clean sheets. There was just no way to eat a croissant neatly. None. “So you’ll help me?” I asked.

He looked at me steadily. I could feel it even without meeting his gaze. “I’m trying, Tori. You told me to stay away, to give you and Nick a chance. I’m trying to honor that, but every time you pull me back in.”

“I know,” I said quietly, “but—”

“Have you tried calling the police? Having the wife file a missing person’s report?”

“Didn’t do any good the last time, fifteen years ago . . . if that was the last time. The men were never found.” Gareth wouldn’t be, either, not unless we found him. I felt it in my bones. “Will you help?” I repeated.

I looked up at last, and saw Apollo swipe a hand down his face. “You know I will. If the alternative is that dream coming true . . . I’ll help. But, Tori, you’ll owe me.”

That was the problem with gods, and what kept me from giving in to whatever was between me and Apollo. With gods, everything came with a cost. But in the balance of a man’s life versus complications for me, I knew which way the pendulum had to swing.

* * *

Since I couldn’t think of any good way to break into The Parlor during the day without getting caught, it seemed safe enough to call Detective Armani—Nick—and fill him in, just in case we were about to get in the middle of a police investigation or some such. He confirmed that Gareth hadn’t been missing long enough to officially launch an investigation and also unofficially confided that The Parlor had been named as a “last known” location in other cases that had led nowhere. I was ordered to be careful. And, if possible, to hang on to my waitressing outfit, because “That I have to see.”

Men. What was it about boots and booty shorts?

I promised, thinking of all the fun that would come after.

Then I had the day ahead of me to plan, to obsess and worry over my missing scientist. I had to hope that whatever was happening was on pause for the day, which I spent finding creative ways to hide lock picks, pepper spray, and an actual stiletto in the limited amount of fabric my costume provided. By nightfall I was as ready as I was ever going to be. Apollo had gotten himself invited into a game, and we had arranged for him to text or call me, his needy girlfriend, periodically to let me know what he’d learned.

We thought we’d planned for everything. We were wrong.

* * *

I arrived early for my shift, hoping I’d find some unguarded doorway or some other opportunity to poke around. To that end, I wore crepe-soled shoes, dark-wash jeans and a black T-shirt, the better for sneaking around. My stilettos and minuscule costume rested in a string backpack tossed carelessly over my shoulder. Anyway, there was no way I was walking the L.A. streets in them. Not unless I really wanted to make some extra cash and wasn’t too particular about the way I went about it.

But the doors weren’t open yet, even for employees, which meant I had to knock and Red had to eyeball me through the keyhole to approve my entrance. So much for stealth. Once I was inside, he announced, “You’re early.” And not like it was a good thing.

“Problem with that?” I asked. “I can be late tomorrow to make up for it.”

The right side of his mouth twitched at that, and I thought I might actually get a smile, but he fought it valiantly.

“Better not be. Boss lady wouldn’t like it.”

Boss lady. It was what my assistant, Jesus (pronounced Hey- Zeus), called me. Times like these I missed the hell out of him. I could only imagine his scathing commentary on the place. “Tinfoil bikinis? Really? It’s like The Wizard of Oz meets the deli counter. If I only had a style . . .” I could hear it now, like he was whispering in my ear.

“Speaking of the boss lady—,” I began.

“Yeah, she wants to meet you, too. There was a lot going on last night. She didn’t get to give you her blessing and the new employee orientation. I’m sure you’ll meet her tonight.”

Oh goody, goody gumdrops. I felt like someone had walked over my grave while I was still in it, very much alive and screaming to be heard. It was not a pleasant feeling.

I pasted a smile on my face as though I were looking forward to it.

“Since you’re here, you can help Tonio out behind the bar. He just got in a new shipment.”

Sure, it was Friday night. Had to stock up for the weekend. “No problem,” I answered. “Just let me get changed.” If I wasn’t able to sneak, at least maybe I could distract.

The waitstaff did have a tiny locker room at the back, and I’d been assigned a cubby along with my costume, but the room itself didn’t open onto anything but a bathroom with a few stalls so we didn’t have to take up those meant for customers. I’d checked it all out the night before. If there were any secret entrances or exits, they were well concealed. I looked again just to be sure that I had the place to myself, knocking on walls, reaching into unassigned and thus unlocked cubbies, but I found nothing and couldn’t stay long. I was expected out front.

I checked my cell phone before setting it down on the bench beside the bag, from which I pulled my shiny silver shorts. Apollo was supposed to call or text me every hour so that I’d know he was okay. There was a message waiting for me already.

ALL SET FOR THE GAME, BUT APPARENTLY THE FIRST RULE IS “NO ELECTRONICS.” WON’T BE ABLE TO TEXT OR CALL. IF I’M IN TROUBLE, WILL DO MY BEST TO RADIATE IT OUT THROUGH OUR LINK. SAME GOES FOR YOU. KEEP AN “EAR” OUT.

That feeling of someone walking over my grave escalated. Now I had two graves to worry about. Two graves and no plan but divide and conquer. ’Cause that worked out so well in horror films. At least there wasn’t any hanky-panky going on with us. That would have been the kiss of death.

My brain was doing what it always did under stress—bibble. I finished my quick change and left the locker room behind me, going back to the bar, where I was sure Tonio would give me something to do besides wait and worry.

Tonio turned out to be the bartender in the silver pants and shot glass bandolier from the night before. Without all that, he looked like a normal guy in a faded khaki Metal Mulisha T-shirt, jeans, and boots. His dark hair was spiked up and his chinstrap beard nicely highlighted the lines of his face. He had nickel-sized plug earrings in both ears, black on the outer rim, toxic green on the interior.

I was cutting lemon wedges when I casually asked him what had happened to my predecessor and why we were short-staffed. Was she yet another disappearance that could be laid at The Parlor’s door?

“Amber?” he asked. “She just ditched. Couldn’t take it anymore. I hear she got a job dancing somewhere on the Sunset Strip.”

“Did she give notice?”

Tonio gave me a “get real” look. “No one gives notice. It’s not that kind of job. Lots of turnover. Here one day, gone the next.”

I tried to look impressed. “Sounds like you’ve seen it all.”

“Been here almost a year.”