Club Nexus (Ivy Granger, Psychic Detective) (2 page)

But now I eyed the door with longing, wishing I had a way
inside.  Normally, I could make an excuse to run back for supplies, but it was
a “special” night according to Puck and he’d locked the doors to all except
paying guests.

One by one, vampires had been letting themselves in with newly
crafted keys made of iron.  I don’t know how Puck managed to convey the keys to
the vampires without suffering the effects of iron poisoning, but his security
paid off.  There was no way a faerie could steal one of those keys and gain admittance
to his special bloodsucker party.

I was still glowering at the door when the southern vampire,
who’d been sitting at the bar, stood and made his way toward the back room.  As
he slid a key from the pocket of his leather jacket, an idea sprung into my
mind and I smiled.  Heart racing, I grabbed a stack of bar towels, upended the
vampire’s unfinished drink on them, and hurried to his side.

“Excuse me,” I said.  “Can you hold the door?  I need to
swap these for clean linens or Puck will have my head.”

A look of distaste crossed the vampire’s face, either at
such pushy behavior by a servant or the mention of Puck, I wasn’t sure which.  Maybe
he was just annoyed that I’d delayed his dinner plans.  Whatever the reason for
his pinched expression, the vampire held the door while I scurried past,
hurrying on once he’d followed me inside.

The vampire rushed past in a blur of movement, not willing
to waste any more time before going below stairs.  I shuddered, gripping the
linens tight to my chest.  The man probably already had his fangs in some poor
schmuck’s neck by now.

The door clicked shut and I released a shaky breath, setting
the soiled towels on top of a low stack of cardboard boxes.  The vampire hadn’t
bothered to switch on the lights in his hurried descent to the crypts below,
and I certainly wasn’t going to turn them on.  The room was dark, but my
Unseelie eyes were suited to lurking in shadows and I didn’t want to alert
Puck, or any of the vampires being entertained with blood and vice, to my presence.

I tiptoed to the door we’d just come through and, after
placing my ear to the wood to listen for anyone approaching, bent low and blew
an icy mist into the lock.  When the keyhole was filled with ice, I turned
toward the stairs at the back of the room.

Silently, I dodged crates and boxes, making my way across
the room and down a flight of stairs.  At the bottom, I could hear movement and
the dry, hacking sound of a laughing vampire.  Beneath it all ran a soundtrack
of agony: moans, cries, and shrieks of pain or terror.  I swallowed hard and
pulled myself up to my full seven foot height.

Soon I would be free of this prison and though the roads to
the Winter Court were sealed, I’d find a new place to live where the ones
crying out in agony were Seelie fae, as it should be.  I imagined Puck chained
in iron and strung from one of the court’s elaborately carved balconies.  How
Mab would have laughed at such a sight.  She always did love the sweet taste of
revenge.

I blinked back icy tears at the memory of my lost queen—if
only she’d return to us!—and pulled the dagger from my apron.  Strangely, the
weapon made me feel closer to my liege.

I moved forward, but as I was about to turn the corner into
the wine cellar, I heard the faint scuff of a boot on the stairs.  I ducked
into deeper darkness behind a rack of wine bottles, embracing the shadows as I
held my breath.

Seconds later, a man in an old-fashioned waistcoat came into
view.  I frowned, studying the man as he descended the stairs.  How had he
opened the locked door above?  The ice I’d frozen the lock shut with shouldn’t
have melted so quickly.

Flame flickered in the man’s eyes, providing my answer.  The
dapper gentleman was a demon.

After surveying the room and tugging at his gloves, the
demon continued on.  I listened, wondering if I should make my escape before
more partygoers made their way through the door and down the stairs.  I dug my
fingernails into my palm, trying to stem the wave of dizziness that threatened
to overwhelm me.  If I was discovered, Puck would take great pleasure in my
punishment.

The sound of an argument and Puck’s strained voice convinced
me to stay.  For once, the trickster sounded worried.  Plus, I couldn’t shake
the feeling that I had a duty to fulfill.

I pressed my lips together and crept out from behind the
racks of wine, inching my way along the demon’s trail.  At the first open
doorway, I could hear the demon and Puck arguing.  I stole a glance into the
room, and jerked my head back.

A slow smile spread across my face, the upturned curve of my
lips feeling odd after so many years of enslavement.  The demon was circling
Puck, keeping him distracted and off balance.  I had no idea what their
argument was about—money, a girl, a drug deal gone wrong—and I didn’t care.  What
I saw in that room was an opportunity.

I slipped a hand into my apron, gripping the jeweled
dagger.  This was my chance.

With a wild yell and bark of laughter, I rushed into the
room.  I raised my arm, thrusting the dagger toward Puck’s heart—if the bastard
even had one—but was wrenched to the side as a vampire appeared before me.

The southern vamp from the bar
, I thought as my
vision tunneled, shadows racing in from the periphery.  I tried to move again
toward Puck, but pain slammed into me.  I gagged and slid to my knees.

The vampire snarled, holding a bloody, lifeless arm in his
grasp.  Confused, I looked down to see my own arm missing, blood oozing from my
shoulder.  Understanding dawned and I smiled.  I’d be out from under Puck’s
thumb no matter what happened now.

I fumbled at my apron with the fingers of my remaining hand,
muscles already growing slow and weak.  The demon continued his argument with
Puck and the vampire was babbling about the need to protect Bite Club or some
such nonsense.  My head buzzed and my vision blurred.

I didn’t have much time.

I extracted the ice pick from the torn seam where I’d kept
it, longing for the day I’d win my freedom.  It wasn’t as elegant as the
jeweled dagger, but it would have to do.

I managed to get a foot under me and lunged, jamming the ice
pick upward.  I felt the silver punch through muscle and slip beneath the ribs
and into Puck’s heart.  His eyes widened in surprise and I laughed.

Adrenaline fading, I hung limply in the arms of the vampire
who’d grabbed hold of me.  Licking my lips, I looked up into the frenzied face
of the vampire.  The creature latched onto my neck, sinking his fangs into my
jugular, but I no longer cared.

“I did as you asked, my queen,” I rasped.

My vision dimmed to a tiny point of light and my body felt
pleasantly cold.  I relaxed, a smile still on my lips.  I’d served my queen and
been granted my own wish.  No more tending bar in a sweaty nightclub.  No
further decades of servitude to the almighty Puck, who was now dying alongside
me in this moldering, old wine cellar.

I was free.

T
he first rule
of Bite Club is
there are no rules
.  The lack of restrictions is what
makes our soirees so dang irresistible.  Bite Club is an all you can eat buffet
of blood and wonton pleasure.  But like all good things, Bite Club comes in
small doses.

If vampires bit and drained everything in sight on a regular
basis, we’d be hunted, staked, and burned to ash never to rise again.  I tugged
at the brim of my hat, which sat catawampus from a burst of speed, and made my
way down the spiral staircase toward the bar.

I’m not a rogue—I can play by the rules—but immortality is a
long, long lifetime and I’d found that Bite Club helped its members cope with
the boredom and frustrations of eternal life beneath Vampire Law.

The vampire council mandates that all new fledglings adhere
to their laws, or perish.  What our masters don’t bother to tell us is that
even after decades of following the rules to the letter, the restrictions do
not lift.  And after half a century, the laws regarding how one must conduct a
hunt had begun to chafe.

Vampire Law states that feeding must be done discreetly. 
Blood slaves, humans who give their blood willingly, are encouraged—so long as
we only make slaves of those unfortunate souls whom human society has already
forsaken.  We feed off the fringe of humanity—the homeless, addicts,
runaways—those who are unlikely to be missed or whose disappearance can easily
be explained away.  But this forced discretion scraped against my true nature
like a wooden stake against my heart.  Vampires are predators, not scavenging
birds meant to swoop in and pick at the garbage that humans cast aside.

I am no trash pickin’ gull.  I am a vampire.

When I was first turned, I left the familiar bayous of my
hometown seeking freedom.  I had hoped that a change of scenery and putting
distance between me and my master would alleviate the feeling of suffocation
that plagued my new existence.  Who would have known the undead led such a
repressed life after death?

Inching my way north, I’d found my salvation in a dockside
tavern outside Boston.  I’d met a man, much like this Puck I was to meet with tonight,
who organized a special club for vampires who wanted a taste of excitement—and blood.

I was indoctrinated into Bite Club, a no fangs barred
gathering of vampires who, like me, chafed at the rules that bound our daily
lives.  At one of our meetings, humans could be purchased and, so long as we
were within the confines of the designated location, we could do what we wanted
with them.  Some meetings were in places suitable for hunting games while
others were in more comfortable settings for sating hunger for something other
than blood.

But no matter what, the venue had always changed.  That was
why I got so excited when I learned of this place.  Following rumors from other
members, I was led to a city where Bite Club was hosted not once, but many
times at a place called Club Nexus.  The meetings were behind closed doors,
down in the club’s wine cellars, but I didn’t mind the crypt-like setting if it
meant I could have my fun without interruption.  Puck made sure that only well
vetted members were allowed admittance, so there was no risk of punishment from
the Vampire Council.

I smiled, the skin stretching tight across the bones of my
face.  It wasn’t breaking the law if the uppity council didn’t know about it.

I sidled up to the bar, awed once again by the shelves of
glowing liquids encased in glass bottles.  None of these victuals would sustain
me, there was only one substance now that could accomplish that, but I ordered
a shot of bourbon anyway.  I stared into my glass, watching the blue, green,
and pink reflections sparkle across the surface, while I waited for my contact
to arrive.

I breathed deeply as two women, one fae and one human,
crossed the room heading toward the other end of the bar.  I no longer had to
breathe to survive, but I scented their blood like a sommelier running wine
along the tongue.  The faerie smelled like toasted pain and simmering hope, as
if she was a creature of fire who’d long been broken and was only now beginning
to put the pieces of her life back together.  The human lacked the subtleties
of fae scent, but her blood pounded tantalizingly beneath the skin and her hair
smelled like cherry blossoms.

As a fool boy, I’d picked bushels of cherries from a nearby
orchard and ate until I thought I would burst.  Groaning with an upset stomach
from overeating, I’d felt dumber than a stump, that was certain, but now I’d
give anything for that sated feeling.  I needed an abundance of blood and pain
to feel content these days, both of which were in short supply while following
the rules of Vampire Law.

I flicked my eyes to the shifting purple sand in the
hourglass suspended above the bar.  Puck was late.

I didn’t care for Puck’s company; he was slicker than a
bullfrog in a rainstorm.  But I had to admit, for a faerie, he was sensible. 
He’d had the horse sense to make a regular business of the Bite Club clientele
and our sundry needs.  Deviance is nothing if not full of variety and Puck had
discovered how to capitalize on each and every one of our desires.  In fact, I
wouldn’t be surprised if the imp was purposely late to our meetings to build
the suspense, and empty my wallet.

I scowled at the time and massaged my temples. 
Where the
devil was he?
  Beneath my glamour, my fangs lengthened.  I needed to feed,
now.  Perhaps if I bought the ladies at the other end of the bar a drink, I
could lure them into a shadowy corner.  The council be damned.

I was so caught up in the dust storm of my thoughts that I
jumped when a hand slapped my back.  I turned to see the body of a young man
attached to the offending hand.  Puck appeared to be about seventeen, no more
than three years younger than I’d been when I was turned, but his dimples and
mop of curly, blond hair gave his face a childish innocence.  As my ma would
have said, he was cuter than a box of puppies.

And like a puppy, he’d be happy to take all I had to give
and then shit in my boots.  Too bad he was the only purveyor of vice—true vice,
the kind without limits—in this god forsaken town.

“You’re late,” I said.  I tossed back the bourbon and
upended the empty glass, slamming it on the bar with a wallop.

“Sorry, Cyrus,” Puck said.  The curl of his lip was enough
to know the faerie’s apology wasn’t genuine, but I held myself rigid.  Tearing
off this one’s head would do me no good.  More’s the pity.

“I ain’t seen hide nor hair of you all evenin’,” I said.  I
frowned around my fangs, trying to ignore the ache in my jaw.

“Busy night,” Puck said with a shrug.

Puck looked around the bar and smiled at one of the women
I’d been stalking. 
My prey.
  The predator in me wanted to lash out and
tear his spine through his eye socket, but I pressed my lips together and
remained seated on the barstool.  The faerie may be too big for his britches,
but he’d provide me with a dinner date soon enough.