Endless Night (4 page)

“What? What do you see?” I wiggled in my seat at the thought of her possibly knowing the ins and outs of the deaths of two young men at my hand. Mike had pulled a ton of strings and got me off the hook, but that’s not to say it wouldn’t come right back and bite me in the ass someday. This day.

“I see death…and you. And blood. Yours…and others. Lust. Greed. Sex,” her eyes never left the cards. It was like she was seeing things in her head I couldn’t. Regardless of her apparent focus on the cards, it was obvious her focus was wide spread throughout the room.

It was my turn to scoff. “Sex? Yeah, right,” I said, trying to ignore the tightness I was beginning to feel being stuck in that tiny back room.

“Don’t mock, just listen,” her small hand lifted as she spoke and waved, beckoning me to focus on her. It worked. My eyes shifted to focus on her face. “You’re with those not of your kind. Discomfort. Betrayal. Your path shifted,” her head turned to the side eerily similar to that of a bird hunting its pray. Listening to something I couldn’t hear. “‘Cause death done come through your house. The dead surround you now.” Her eyes lifted from the layout of cards to glare into mine, “Murder…and magic bring you here.”

“Ha
ha, what?” I laughed nervously. “What are you talking about?”

“You…” her eyes penetrated my guard and pulled at my thoughts. I could feel her prodding inside my head. “You bring death in my house. Blood on your hands. Blood of the dead come
wit’chu where you go. Why you seek me?” Her train of thought switched so suddenly I almost didn’t catch it.

“I saw your sign. I was walking with my friends and I saw your sign. I don’t know,” I shrugged, “I just came in.” The tiny girl held a stare that would make a lesser man shit his pants. Luck
ily for me, I was a woman.

Her eyes narrowed and I felt her delve deeper into my head. I’d never been to a supposed psychic before, but I was pretty certain this was not the norm. “
Meurtrière,” she said in a near whisper.

“What? No, what are you talking about?” I said, plotting my expedient exit should shit hit the proverbial fan.

The girl inhaled dramatically and stood in one fell swoop. “Murderess!” Her miniature finger came up to point at me with such vengeance I felt the force in my soul.

“You’re fucking nuts!” I stood too. For the first time in my twenty
-six years, I felt two things at once, horrendous fear and pretty fucking tall.

When I stood, my chair toppled over and hit the cement flooring with a wooden clank. In a heartbeat, I heard the beads at the front door and felt a rush of electricity as another being entered the room.

Cyrus wrapped his thick arm around my waist and pulled me backwards from the tiny backroom. All the while, the tiny girl with the dreadlocks was cursing me rampantly in an unintelligible mix of English and some form of French. It wasn’t the first time someone chewed me out in a foreign language and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“Put me down
, goddammit!” I wailed and kicked my feet at his shins.

Admittedly, I didn’t kick as hard as I could have. I didn’t want to bruise the poor boy. But I sure as hell wanted him to let me free so I could take my vengeance on the little woman still cursing my future grandchildren in her odd language. I should have been afraid, hell, terrified, but all I wanted to do was rip her tiny little head off. In my defense, I tended to transform fear into sheer rage. It was sort of a habit.

We were halfway down the block in a matter of seconds, Cyrus still holding me with little effort around my waist. I fought and screamed all the way.

“Are you stupid?” Cyrus let me go with such force I stumbled backward and nearly fell on my ass.

“Fuck you, asshole!” My hair was in a mess from being pressed so closely to him and my dress was bunched around my hips exposing my thick thighs and the bottom of my butt cheeks. I quickly adjusted the dress and made an attempt at the hair.

“Do you know what she is? This isn’t a game, Dylan!” Cyrus was so intense he only exacerbated my fear.
Er, I meant rage.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That girl in that shop believes with everything in her soul she has power. You can taste it on the air the second you enter the beaded doorway. She’s a priestess, Dylan. A high priestess if I had to guess. And she has it out for you now.”

“And how do you know that? Because she saw it in her little cards?”

“No, because she cursed your
house
while I was dragging you out of the room.”

“Oh and all of a sudden you speak French?”

“No, I speak English, and so does she. Enough of it for me to understand you’ve made an enemy in your first hour in the city. Way to go,” Cyrus paced around me as he spoke.

“Shit, sorry. I was unaware I was supposed to sit idly by while some little girl accuses me of murder.”

“She didn’t accuse you, to be accused she’d have to be wrong, or at least presumably wrong. You are a murderer, of sorts. You killed two boys and she knows it.” Tatum, who’d been meandering, with her stupid ginger boyfriend, down the street to meet us, piped in with her two cents.

“Who asked you?” I turned to glare at my absentee friend. “Maybe if you’d bothered to glance up from that freckled bloodsucker, you could’ve stopped me, but apparently it doesn’t matter what time zone we’re in, you’re still shoved so far up his ass you can taste his haggis.” I stamped my foot against the cracked pavement and moved my vengeance toward the Persian. “And how did she know what’d happened? You’re telling me she’s a psychic? A priestess and psychic? Well, fuck me, eh?” I flapped my arms at my sides unattractively and let out an even less attractive huff.

“You’re the idiot that went into a voodoo shop in New Orleans,” Tatum shrugged her shoulders as if she were talking about washing a red sock with the whites. She didn’t even acknowledge my blatant attack on her and her new found relationship. No big deal. “Why the hell did you go in there in the first place? I never knew mysticism was your thing.” She turned her head coyly as her retarded boyfriend kissed her neck.

“Are you on drugs?” I asked without expecting an answer; Cyrus laughed. “I don’t know why I went in. I’m in fucking New Orleans! What else is there? Ghost tours, voodoo, and apparently red headed vampire boys who can’t stop sucking face with my friend.” No response. “Jesus, I saw the sign. I liked the symbols. Besides, I’d do pretty much anything to get away from this bullshit
.” I lifted my hand and used all my fingers at once to point in the direction of the disgusting show of public affection.

No response. I’d followed Tatum halfway across the country taking her at her word that all she wanted was to spend time with me. To ensure I had fun. To pull me out of the gun-toting funk I’d slipped into since becoming a murderess and full-time author. I’d been with them just over seven hours, including the flight, and all I’d seen of her is the side of her face as it was suctioned tightly to the face of
Vlad the Ginger Kid. I had half a mind to pack my shit and head right back to my dungeon.

“Darling, please make better choices in the future. I’d hate to see you lose that pretty head of yours.” Cyrus took his strong hands and held my face gently between them. I felt instant calm wash over me. Warm hands and pretty green eyes had that effect on people.

Maybe I can stay for the weekend.

I let out a short laugh, “Ironically, that comment just may come to fruition if I keep hanging with the likes of you.” Cyrus gave me an inquisitive look, “Oh, I got a call from Mike.” The look changed to
disdain. “Told me to be safe. Another headless corpse popped up in Texas. Making eight including Reggie. Staked, hands bound with hair, all girls, all affiliated with the vampire subculture.” I don’t know what came over me to explain all this to the likes of Cyrus Atossa, but it all just spilled out.

“Ah, I remember this girl. This is the journalist I met at Macabre Saturnine so many months ago. This is the girl who’s all business; out for the story. I’d think the headless girls would make a better tale than a little vampire party.” He was right. I just didn’t
have it in me to see more death. At least not for a while.

“No, no more true crime. I’m here for the fiction and the free trip. Although, after that encounter, I may start researching magic and mystics
.” A familiar smile spread across my face. It was the smile of horrible ideas fermenting in my ever working mind.

“Embracing the occult I see. I don’t think magic will do you well. You seem to make enemies and those types of people are not the kind you want as enemies.”

“The occult? That has promise.” The cogs started moving of their own will in my head. My thoughts were not always positive. Shit, half the time they’re downright horrendous.

I let my mind spin out of control with thoughts of the occult as I followed Cyrus when he turned down the street and walked away. Eventually, Tatum and Malcolm made their way to lead the pack to our destination.

Walking arm and arm, Tatum and Malcolm were oblivious to the world around them. As was I, to a point. I had visions of sugarplums dancing in my head. Fiction books based on all things occult. So many aspects to cover. So many opportunities. So many terrible situations to get myself into along the way, all in the name of research.

Maybe I could write a memoir of my research. Who the hell would read a book series like that?

Chapter Six

A fifteen-minute-walk through the streets of New Orleans took us to our destination. A two story Victorian teahouse smack-dab in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter. The sun had nearly set leaving the sky a gradient of blue that ranged from royal to nearly white nearest the setting sun behind the horizon. Night had come to New Orleans and we, the four of us, were just getting started.

“Hiding in plain sight are we?” I said with a snarky tone. I hadn’t even experienced anything yet and I already wanted to go home.

“I am allowing you to attend a very exclusive summit. You will meet those of my kind and you will behave appropriately.” Malcolm spoke to me as if I was so beneath him, he wouldn’t spit on me to save my life.

“Or what? You’ll give me a spanking?” I raised one defiant brow.

“I might,” Cyrus smiled widely and I blushed and moved on.

A set of small front steps led us to a covered patio lined with hanging strings of charms and pendants, each a different symbol. I tried to eye each of them
. This was the type of minute detail I needed for a killer fiction novel. Who’d have guessed you’d find something like this in the backwoods streets of downtown New Orleans?

“Each House is represented,” Cyrus said from nowhere as if reading my mind. “This is Malcolm’s House, C
ailleadh,” he pointed to a braided Celtic cross that held a green stone in the center. It was only one of well over a dozen hanging charms that were collected on the eaves of the porch. Others were shaped like Ankhs, or crosses, or stars. I wondered what the other Houses were called. “Each House has a Primus and each Primus has a Secondus. You’ll be meeting them all. Right about…now.”

The ornate door opened then. The
streetlamp shone oddly across the face of our greeter. She was so tall she made Tatum look like…well…me. Her hair was pulled back tightly in a way that made all her features more prominent than was attractive. The light cast shadows across her face that caused it to look more monstrous than human. She wore a shiny black latex bodysuit complete with thigh-high stilettos. The woman looked as though she was getting ready to slip through a tight space more than ready for a party. But then again, I wasn’t not the expert in this category.

Malcolm stepped to the door and extended his hand to the woman towering over him. She said something I didn’t understand and leaned a great distance to kiss Malcolm across his knuckles. It struck me as odd that a woman would be kissing a man’s hand, but again, not the expert.

No more formalities followed with the oversized woman. Malcolm and Tatum walked in a strange fashion through the door. Cyrus extended his arm as escort and I reluctantly took it. The woman waited at the doorway with her eyes to the ground. I smiled in her direction, but she never acknowledged anyone but Malcolm.

The door closed behind us and the woman swiftly moved
past us and pulled back a heavy set of drapes to reveal a secondary space.

“Master, Malcolm McTavish, Primus, House of C
ailleadh, Los Angeles. Escort, Tatum Price.” Malcolm and Tatum waited at the entrance to the other room as the girl announced their presence. The two moved into the space where a large group of others were gathering. “Sir, Cyrus Atossa, Secondus, House of Cailleadh, Los Angeles. Escort, Dylan Hart.” The girl introduced us as if she’d been reading from a list of guests. Maybe she had memorized the damn thing.

I looked at Cyrus with shock. He’d mentioned
Secondus, talked like it was some kind of right-hand man, a second in command; he never said it was him. I always thought he was some kind of lackey. A minion to do bidding. If he was a second in command, they must have a strange way of honoring that.

Cyrus held a stoic expression and led the way through the black curtains. All the while, I stared at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

Once inside, we were greeted by a line of strangely dressed vampire folk. Not one of them seemed to be representing the same period or genre. Malcolm and Tatum were dressed very L.A. chic; the charcoal black suit with an emerald green tie and a floor length crushed velvet green dress worked well for the two. The others weren’t quite so blessed with such glorious fashion sense. One couple donned Victorian garb that matched the teahouse, another matched the latex girl at the front door, and yet another couple of women wore all white lace down to their delicate fans. I looked down at my little black dress and instantly felt underdressed. Especially in my flats. I snuck a glance to Cyrus’ other hand and smiled from ear to ear when I saw my sexy black heels dangling from his fingers.

Tapping on his shoulder, I pointed to his hidden hand and my much needed shoes. He smiled and sneakily handed me one at a time. No one was paying any attention to the two of us; they were all focused on Malcolm and his new fancy American girlfriend. Shoes firmly attached to my feet, I stuck the roll-up flats in my purse and proceeded with the evening.

Malcolm followed along the line the other guests had established as we were entering the room. He and Tatum shook hands and kissed knuckles with every last individual in the room. Following Cyrus’s lead, I did the same.

I heard so many names as I kissed and shook. I had no clue what the fuck I was doing, but I was doing it. I felt so unbelievably out of place in my little black Macy’s dress and my clearance heels. I just wanted to go home and put on my pajamas. But all the vampire hierarchy information I was soaking in, just being in the presence of these people, was worth the discomfort. With every introduction, I was building characters. With each
glance at the layout of the teahouse, I was creating scenes in my head. A fiction book was what I had in mind and what better to inspire fiction than reality?

We’d reached the end of the line and I stood there hanging in space with nothing to do and no one directing me to the next activity. Cyrus held his arm out for me once again and once again I took it. I felt better being connected to him. I felt less vulnerable. If there
was anything in this world I hated being, it was vulnerable. Alright, there were a shit load of things I hated, but vulnerability was probably in the top three.

The group, at least ten Houses from what I could gather, each with a Primus and a
Secondus, and some with escorts, made the cozy room feel downright snug. There weren’t many seating areas in the Victorian decorated room so I stood. And I waited. For what? I didn’t know…something. There had to be a reason for all this formality.

A second door opened at a far wall and light spilled into the dimly lit room. Another latex wearing girl stood at the doorway without a sound. Her eyes focused on the floor at her feet. She stood motionless as the others moved
past her into the adjacent room. These girls appeared to be the help. The help, shoved into skintight shiny suits.

I was thankful for the broad space we were entering. This room was five times the size of the other and boasted an elegant formal dining table with enough chairs surrounding it to seat everyone in the room. Tall white candles twinkled throughout the room and cluttered the table in intentional chaos. Ivory plates sat atop brushed gold chargers and held burgundy cloth napkins. Each place setting was marked with a card with a name scrawled across it.

Assigned seating, great.

I waited and watched the crowd at they moved, as if in a dance, to their respective seats. For the most part, each member of each House sat together.
I felt Cyrus adjust his weight to walk and I followed his lead. Quickly, he found our names, conveniently, right next to each other. If I was being honest, I wasn’t exactly heartbroken I had to sit next to the man for the evening. Only curious as to why he and I had been placed together from nearly the moment we’d gotten on the plane. My gut told me this was completely intentional.

Malcolm sat to the left of
our group with Tatum between Malcolm and me, thank God. There was obviously a pattern here. I made a mental note to ask Cyrus as many questions as I could about the formalities of the culture when we were alone. Then I thought momentarily about being alone with Cyrus. Then I blushed and thought about something else. Anything else.

The center of the long table was covered in an ivory silk cloth as long as I
was tall. Assuming this cloth covered our would-be dinner, I didn’t think too much of it and waited for the next social cue. All the guests lifted their napkins and placed them in their laps; I followed suit. When everyone sat quietly, I did too. I did everything short of breathe in the same cadence just to make sure I didn’t stand out as an outsider. It was odd that I was involved in any of this in the first place. Other than the fact that my best friend was screwing the Primus of the House of whatever, I saw no reason for my ass to be placed uncomfortably in this over-the top seat. But I didn’t complain. Nope. I sat there and shut the fuck up, for once. I’d seen enough of this world that it didn’t shock me anymore. It was intriguing. And frightened me just enough to watch my ass.

The two latex
girls came into the room carrying silver platters with many pewter goblets balanced on them. They handed out the drinks one by one and left the room promptly when finished. Without thinking, I lifted my glass to inspect the contents. I was eagerly hoping it was full of some kind of delicious alcohol. Cyrus made a low noise and moved his head in such a slight manner I barely caught his expression. He was telling me to put my glass down and behave. I did.

No one else had lifted their cup. Each member of the group sat motionless in wait of something I was unaware of. One of the white lace ladies, I recognized her as the one who I’d thought was Dominika, stood at her seat and lifted her cup. No one else followed so I didn’t either. At this distance, she really didn’t look that much like Dominika. She didn’t have ‘cunt’ stamped across her face.

“Welcome to all in attendance. My gratitude to every Lord and Lady and the House with which they represent. As Primus of the House of Porte, representing New Orleans, and the Southern Cabal, I embrace you all into our Community. Please, eat as you will, drink freely, and enjoy your stay.” She made eye contact with each of us before moving on, “A toast…” Everyone raised their glasses. “To reverence and mien. To collaboration and distinction. To love…and lust.” The woman in lace tilted her cup toward Cyrus and me. “May the future meet you with life and power until the day your life should cease. Blessed be!” The woman in white lace delicately tilted her cup and drank. Everyone followed a second later, as did I.

The woman sat, but as she did
, she lifted her lace-gloved hand and snapped dainty fingers. A moment later, latex girls came hurrying through the darkened doorway they had disappeared through previously. Each took a place at the ends of the table. With practiced flourish, the two removed the silk cloth to reveal our buffet.

The body of a naked woman lay motionless in the center of the table. She was dark
--skinned and lovely. Her long hair had been intentionally placed around her head to look as though it was flowing. My mind flashed on a headless Reggie, naked hookers in black and white, guzzling gallons of blood drenching a damp basement. Adrenaline took over and I couldn’t breathe. Without my control, my body pushed itself back into the chair as far as it would go and my eyes closed tight. I waited to hear Tatum react. Nothing. Seconds passed; it felt like minutes. A round of applause rolled lightly through the room, but no reaction of terror. No screams. No gasps of horror.

Shit. Naked bitches
on the table cannot be a good thing.

I forced my eyes open and darted them around the room. Victorian clad heads of staff dined on intricately wrapped pieces of sushi. Each fanged mouth gobbled up rice and seaweed like it was their last meal. In shock, I looked to the dark skinned woman on the table. Covering her flat stomach, ample chest, protruding hipbones, were little pieces of sushi and other edibles. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted naturally, but she was breathing normal controlled breaths. A living, breathing, food canvas. In that moment, I was both relieved and disappointed. I was quite ready to Quinton Tarantino my way out of this den of bloodsuckers. Plus, what kind of vampire colony
sat around and ate raw fish and rice?

I
didn’t eat anything that once touched someone’s naked flesh as a rule, so I quietly sipped from my fancy pewter glass. No one had seemed to notice my quiet spectacle and I was glad for that. I wasn’t really ready to explain to a room full of plastic fanged blood drinkers that I thought perhaps they were serving up a pretty little Creole girl for dinner.

I watched as the pleasantries continued. The little vampires played nice, drank their respective liquids from their fancy glasses, ate stinky fish from the flesh of the naked girl on the table, and I prayed they’d be serving something edible soon.

Cyrus spoke only when spoken to and I noticed the other Secondus’ did as well. Malcolm was holding a superficial conversation with a woman to his left and Tatum sat there looking pretty, as she did so well. The Victorian-clad man sitting to my right stared down my dress as often as he could and the woman across the table from me watched him with a crooked brow. Other than the weird clothes and the naked girl, it seemed like any other business dinner I’d ever attended. The hostess welcomed her guests, made a toast to teamwork, and fed everyone food and drink. The only suspiciously odd thing was the obvious line drawn in the sand between Primus and Secondus. Oh, and the plastic fangs. It seemed ridiculous to me why anyone would take this game of dress up so damn seriously. Serious to the point of allowing yourself to be treated as a second class citizen all in the name of bloody hierarchy. It was probably why I was single and worked for myself. Lack of appreciation for authority and chain of command. Damn the man. Save the Empire.