“At least the bastard isn’t here,” Angelo said finally. As if saying the man’s name would summon him. “He isn’t, is he? Coming here.”
I didn’t know. That was the problem. Roman, aka Dux Bellorum, aka Gaius Albinus, was a two-thousand-year-old vampire with aspirations of world domination. That might have been an exaggeration, but not much of one. He was the central figure in what vampires called the Long Game: rivals collecting allies and power in attempt to be the Master of them all. In a sentence, the one who dies with the most toys wins. Trouble was, vampires were undead …
The anxiety Angelo had been masking with his suave indifference broke through in the tightening of his jaw, the stiffening of his spine. “What about any more sign of vampire-killing demons arriving in Denver? Any of those, by chance?”
“We put up those protection spells. It should at least warn us if the demon comes back,” Cormac said. He and Amelia had cast the spells—and suggested that they weren’t entirely sure the spells would work. The demon we’d battled last year knew we were looking for her now. Next time—if there was a next time two-thousand-year-old ar>—her approach would be different.
“So what do we do now?” I asked, sounding plaintive.
“We do what Alette says,” Ben answered. “We hold tight. Nothing much we can do but keep on until we get more information. I’ll go to Wyoming, you’ll write your book and do your show—”
“You can’t possibly go to Wyoming, not after all this.”
He pursed his lips, gave me a look. “Until we know for sure that the world is ending, I’m going to work. You should, too. You can’t sit around stewing all day, every day. At least, you shouldn’t.” He furrowed his brow, probably realizing that yes, I was totally capable of stewing all day, every day, if I let myself.
But it seemed weird to just keep on the same after what had happened.
“Right, that’s the plan. We go on with our lives. Such as they are.” Angelo leaned forward. “If you see anything, hear of anything, you will let me know?”
“You ask that every time you see me. Yes. I told you about all this, didn’t I?” I hoped my thin smile was comforting. Angelo seemed unconvinced.
“Well, then. Until next time, Regina Luporum.”
“I wish people would stop calling me that,” I muttered. The title didn’t actually mean anything. I’d earned it for having a big mouth, not for having any real power. Mostly, people teased me with it. The more I complained, the more they teased. I should know better.
“If the European vampires are calling you Regina Luporum, who am I to argue?”
“They’re just teasing.” Sure enough, Cormac had his lips pressed tight together to keep from smiling, but his eyes shone with amusement.
“Whatever you say. Until next time, then. May our immediate futures be woefully quiet and uneventful.” He gave a little bow as he stood, sweeping his arm in a parody of courtliness, and walked away.
So that was the plan. Keep living our lives. Ben goes to work, I go to work …
I called out, “Hey, wait a minute—” Angelo turned, scowling, and I asked, “Do you happen to know any vampire strippers? You know, strippers who are vampires?” I winced hopefully.
He rolled his eyes and marched out. Ah, well.
I didn’t know anything about Angelo: how old he was, how he’d become a vampire, where he came from, anything. It had taken me years to learn what I knew about Rick, and now I was back at square one. I’d have to start withersion="1.0" e
Chapter 3
BACK TO work, then. It wasn’t the end of the world—not yet, anyway—so we had to keep on with our lives. This was better, I knew. The alternative was freezing in place and never moving again.
Angelo came through on finding me a vampire stripper to interview on the show. Or stripper vampire. I still wasn’t sure which way to go on that one. Her name was Colette, and when I asked if that was her real name or her stripper name, she just arced a neatly plucked brow at me and smiled.
I had to admit, I hadn’t ever known any for-real strippers, and I didn’t know what to expect. No expectation at all was better than defaulting to TV stereotypes. She arrived at the studio before the start of the show, and when I met her in the lobby, my first impression was to think, yup, she’s a vampire. She had mahogany hair, light brown skin, wore a real rabbit fur stole over a stylish black silk dress and knee-high leather boots, and held herself with a poise that made me swoon a bit. She’d walk into a nightclub and turn heads, and I tried to remember if I’d ever seen her at Psalm 23, the club the Denver vampire Family ran and used as hunting grounds. I didn’t think so.
In the studio, I offered her a chair and showed her how the headset worked. She was polite, smiling wryly when I avoided looking directly into her hypnotic gaze.
I watched the clock; we were seconds from go, and through the booth window I saw Matt staring, frozen. I’d warned him that she was coming, and that he shouldn’t look directly into her eyes. But it was pretty hard not to, I supposed, when somebody like that walked into the room. The vampire gave him a smile that made him blush. Wrapped him around her finger with nothing more than a glance, and the thing was, that was her vampire nature, and had nothing to do with her profession.
But I could totally believe that she made really good tips.
I found a stray pen resting on my table and threw it at the booth window. Matt started at the thunk it made, shook his head clear, and got to work, or acted like he was working, flipping switches and cuing up the show’s opening.
He
