Every Which Way But Dead (17 page)

“Waiting for you!” a female voice shouted.

Kisten grinned, moving his body suggestively as he nodded in the direction of the voice. “Hey, Mandy. You here tonight? When did they let you out?”

She screamed happily at him, and he smiled. “You are a ba-a-a-a-ad bunch of vixens, you know that? Giving Mickey a hard time. What's wrong with Mickey? He's good to you.”

The women cheered, and I covered my ears, almost falling over as my balance shifted. Steve took my elbow.

“Well, I was trying to go out on a date,” Kisten said, dropping his head dramatically. “My first one in I don't know how long. You see her, over there by the stair?”

A huge spotlight slammed into me, and I winced, squinting. The heat from it made my skin tingle, and I straightened, almost falling when I waved. Steve caught my arm, and I smiled up at him. I leaned into him, and he shook his head good-naturedly, running a finger along the underside of my jaw before gently standing me upright.

“She's a little out of it tonight,” Kisten said. “You are all enjoying yourself
far
too much, and it's rubbing off on her. Who knew witch runners needed to party like us?”

The noise redoubled, and the pace of the lights quickened, racing over the floor and up the walls and ceilings. My breath came faster as the beat of the music grew.

“But you know what they say,” Kisten said over the rhythm. “The bigger they are—”

“The better it is,” someone yelled.

“The more they need to party!” Kisten shouted over the laughs. “So take it easy on her, okay? She just wants to relax and have some fun. No pretenses. No games. I say any witch with enough balls to bring down Piscary and let him live has long enough fangs to party with. Are you all A-positive with that?”

The second floor exploded into sound, pressing me into Steve. My eyes warmed as my emotions swung from one extreme to the other. They liked me. How cool was that?

“Then let's get this party started!” Kisten yelled, spinning to the DJ nest behind him. “Mickey, give me the one I want.”

The women screamed their approval, and I watched in slack-jawed surprise when the floor was suddenly covered in women, their eyes wild and their motions sharp. Short revealing dresses, high heels, and extravagant makeup was the rule, though there were a few older vampires dressed as classy as me. The living barely outnumbered the undead.

Music rolled from the speakers in the ceiling, loud and insistent. A heavy beat, a tinny snare drum, a corny synthesizer, and a raspy voice. It was Rob Zombie's “Living Dead Girl,” and as I stared in disbelief, the varying motions of the clean-limbed and scantily clad female vamps shifted to the rhythmic, simultaneous movements of a choreographed dance.

They were line dancing. Oh—my—God. The vampires were line dancing.

Like a school of fish, they swayed and moved together, feet thumping with the strength to shake the dust from the ceiling. Not a one made a mistake or misstep. I blinked as Kisten did a Michael Jackson to move to the front, looking indescribably alluring in his confidence and suave movements, following it up with a Staying Alive. The women behind him followed him exactly after the first gesture. I couldn't tell if they had practiced or if their quicker reactions allowed them such a seamless improvisation. Blinking, I decided it didn't matter.

Lost in the power and intensity, Kisten all but glowed, riding the combined agreement of the vampires behind him. Numb from an overload of pheromones, music, and lights, I felt myself go hazy. Every motion had a liquid grace, every gesture was precise and unhurried.

The noise beat at me, and as I watched them party with a wild abandonment, I realized that it stemmed from the chance to be as they wanted to be without fear of anyone reminding them that they were vampires and therefore
had
to be dark and depressed and carry a mysterious danger. And I felt privileged to be respected enough to see them as they wished they could be.

Swaying, I leaned into Steve while the base line beat my mind into a blessed numbness. My eyelids refused to stay open. A thunder of noise shook through me, then subsided to mutate into a faster beat of different music. Someone touched my arm, and my eyes opened.

“Rachel?”

It was Kisten, and I smiled, giddy. “You dance good,” I said. “Dance with me?”

He shook his head, glancing at the vampire who was holding me upright. “Help me get her outside. This is fucking weird.”

“Bad, bad mouth,” I slurred, my eyes closing again. “Watch your mouth.”

A giggle escaped me, and it turned into a delighted shriek when someone picked me up to carry me cradled in his arms. I shivered as the noise lessened, and my head thumped into someone's chest. It was warm, and I snuggled closer. The thundering beat softened to casual conversation and the clatter of china. A heavy blanket covered me, and I made a sound of protest when someone opened a door and cold air hit me.

The music and laughter behind me subsided into an icy silence broken by twin steps crunching on grainy snow and the chiming of a car. “Do you want me to call someone?” I heard a man ask as an uncomfortably cold draft made me shiver.

“No. I think all she needs is some air. If she isn't right by the time we get there, I'll call Ivy.”

“Well, take it easy, boss,” the first voice said.

I felt a drop, and then the cold of a leather seat pressed against my cheek. Sighing, I snuggled deeper under the blanket that smelled of Kisten and leather. My fingers were humming, and I could hear my heartbeat and feel my blood moving. Even the thump of the door closing did nothing to stir me. The sudden roar of the engine was soothing, and as the car's motion pushed me into oblivion, I could have sworn I heard monks singing.

T
he familiar rumble of driving over railroad tracks woke me, and my hand shot out to grab the handle before the door could jiggle open. My eyelids flashed apart when my knuckles smacked into the unfamiliar door. Oh yeah. I wasn't in Nick's truck; I was in Kisten's Corvette.

I froze, slumped and staring at the door with Kisten's leather coat draped over me like a blanket. Kisten took a slow breath, and the volume of the music dropped. He knew I was awake. My face warmed, and I wished I could pretend I was still passed out.

Depressed, I sat up and put Kisten's long coat on the best I could in the tight confines of the car. I wouldn't look at him, gazing out the window to try to place where in the Hollows we were. The streets were busy, and the clock on the dash said it was nearing two. I had passed out like a drunk in front of a fair slice of Cincinnati's upper-middle-class vampires, high on their pheromones. They must have thought I was a weak-willed, skinny witch who couldn't hold her own.

Kisten shifted in his seat as he eased to a halt at a light. “Welcome back,” he said softly.

Lips pressed tight, I subtly felt my neck to make sure everything was the way I'd left it. “How long was I out?” I asked.
This is going to do wonders for my reputation.

Kisten moved the gearshift out and back into first. “You didn't pass out. You fell asleep.” The light changed and he inched up on the car in front of us to bully it into moving. “Passing out implies a lack of restraint. Falling asleep is what you do when you're tired.” He glanced at me as we went through the intersection. “Everyone gets tired.”

“No one falls asleep in a dance club,” I said. “I passed out.” My mind sifted through the memories, clear as holy water instead of mercifully blurred, and my face flamed. Sugared, he had called it. I had been blood-sugared. I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home, crawl into the priest hole the pixies had found in the belfry stairway, and just die.

Kisten was silent, the tensing of his body while he drove telling me he was going to say something as soon as he double-checked it against his patronizing meter. “I'm sorry,” he said, surprising me, but the admission of guilt fed my anger instead of pacifying it. “I was an ass for taking you into Piscary's before finding out if witches could get blood-sugared. It never occurred to me.” His jaw clenched. “And it's not as bad as you think.”

“Yeah, right,” I muttered, hand searching under the seat until I found my clasp purse. “I bet it's halfway across the city by now. ‘Hey, anybody want to go over to Morgan's tonight and watch her get sugared? All it takes is enough of us having fun and down she goes! Whoo hoo!' ”

Kisten's attention was riveted on the road. “It wasn't like that. And there were over two hundred vamps in there, a good portion undead.”

“And that's supposed to make me feel better?”

Motions stiff, he pulled his phone from a pocket, punched a button, and handed it to me.

“Yeah?” I questioned into the phone, almost snarling. “Who is this?”

“Rachel? God, are you okay? I swear I'll kill him for taking you into Piscary's. He said you got sugared. Did he bite you?”

“Ivy!” I stammered, then glared at Kisten. “You told Ivy? Thanks a hell of a lot. Want to call my mom next?”

“Like Ivy wouldn't find out?” he said. “I wanted her to hear it from me. And I was worried about you,” he added, stopping my next outburst.

“Did he bite you!” Ivy said, jerking my attention from his last words. “Did he?”

I turned back to the phone. “No,” I said, feeling my neck.
Though I don't know why. I was
such
an idiot.

“Come home,” she said, and my anger shifted to rebellion. “If someone bit you, I could tell. Come home so I can smell you.”

A sound of disgust came from me. “I'm not coming home so you can smell me! Everyone there was really nice about it. And it felt good to let go for five stinking minutes.” I scowled at Kisten, seeing why he had given me Ivy to talk to. The manipulative bastard smiled. How could I stay angry with him when I was defending him?

“You got blood-sugared in five minutes?” Ivy sounded horrified.

“Yeah,” I said dryly. “Maybe you ought to try it. Go sit and soak up the pheromones at Piscary's. They might not let you in, though. You might kill everyone else's buzz.”

Her breath caught, and I immediately wished I could take it back.
Shit.
“Ivy…I'm sorry,” I said quickly. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“Let me talk to Kisten,” came her soft voice.

I licked my lips, feeling like dirt. “Sure.”

Fingers cold, I handed the phone to him. His unreadable eyes met mine for a flash. He listened for a moment, muttered something I didn't catch, then ended the call. I watched him for any hint of his mood as he tucked the little silver phone away behind his wool coat.

“Blood-sugared?” I questioned, thinking I ought to know what happened. “You want to tell me what that is exactly?”

His hands shifted on the wheel and he took a more relaxed position. The come-and-go flashes from the streetlights made eerie shadows on him. “It's a mild depressant,” he said, “that vampires kick out when they're sated and relaxed. Sort of like an afterglow? It came as a surprise the first time a few of the newest undead got sugared shortly after Piscary's went to an all-vamp clientele. It did them a world of good, so I took out the tables upstairs and put in a light show and DJ. Made it into a dance club. Everyone got sugared after that.”

He hesitated as we made a sharp turn into an enormous parking lot down by the riverfront. Piles of snow rose six feet up at the edges. “It's a natural high,” he said as he down-shifted and drove slowly to the small cluster of cars parked by a large brightly lit boat at the dock. “Legal, too. Everyone likes it, and they've started self-policing themselves, kicking out anyone who comes in looking for a quick bleed and protecting the ones who come in hurting and fall asleep like you did. It's making a difference, too. Go ask that FIB captain of yours. Violent crimes being perpetrated by single young vamps have dropped.”

“No kidding,” I said, thinking it sounded like an informal vampire support group.
Maybe Ivy should go. Nah. She'd ruin it for everyone else.

“You wouldn't have been so receptive if you hadn't needed it so much,” he said, parking at the outskirts.

“Oh, so it
is
my fault,” I said dryly.

“Don't,” he said, his words harsh as he yanked the parking brake up. “I let you yell at me once already tonight. Don't try to flip this back on me. The more you need it, the harder it hits you is all. That's why no one thought anything less of you—and maybe they think a little more.”

Taken aback, I made an apologetic face. “Sorry.” I kinda liked that he was too smart to be manipulated by wicked female logic. It made things more interesting. Slowly he relaxed, turning off the heater and the softly playing disc.

“You were hurting inside,” he said as he took the singing monk CD out and put it in its case. “From Nick. I've watched you hurt since you drew on that line through him and he got scared. And they got a kick out of seeing you unwind.” He smiled with a distant look. “It made them feel good that the big bad witch who beat up Piscary trusted them. Trust is a feeling we don't get very often, Rachel. Living vampires lust after it almost as much as blood. That's why Ivy is ready to kill anyone who threatens your friendship with her.”

I said nothing, staring as it started to make sense.

“You didn't know that, did you?” he added, and I shook my head, uncomfortable with digging into the whys of my relationship with Ivy. The car was getting cold, and I shivered.

“And showing your vulnerability probably upped your reputation, too,” he said. “That you didn't feel threatened by them and let it happen.”

I looked at the boat sitting before us, decorated with blinking holiday lights. “I didn't have a choice.”

He reached out and adjusted the collar of his coat about my shoulders. “Yes, you did.”

Kisten's hand fell from me, and I gave him a weak smile. I wasn't convinced, but at least I didn't feel like so much of a fool. My mind went over the events, the slow slide from a relaxed state into sleep, and the attitudes of those around me. There hadn't been any laugher at my expense. I had felt comforted, cared for. Understood. And there hadn't been a flicker of blood lust coming from any of them. I hadn't known vampires could be like that.

“Line dancing, Kisten?” I said, feeling my lips quirk into a wry smile.

A nervous laugh came from him and he bowed his head. “Hey, ah, could you not tell anyone about that?” he asked, the rims of his ears reddening. “What happens at Piscary's stays at Piscary's. It's an unwritten rule.”

Being stupid, I reached out and ran a finger over the arch of his blood-reddened ear. He beamed, shifting to take my hand and brush his lips against my fingers. “Unless you want to get yourself banned from there as well,” he said.

A shiver went through me at his breath on my fingers, and I pulled my hand away. His speculative look went right to my core, pulling my stomach into knots of anticipation. “You looked good out there,” I said, not caring if it was a mistake. “Do you have a karaoke night?”

“Mmmm,” he murmured, shifting in his seat to fall into his bad-boy slump against the door. “Karaoke. There's an idea. Tuesdays are slow. We never get enough people to get a good buzz going. That might be just the thing.”

I turned my attention to the boat to hide my smile. The image of Ivy on stage singing “Round Midnight” flitted through me and was gone. Kisten's attention followed mine to the boat. It was one of those remade riverboats, two stories tall and almost entirely enclosed. “I'll take you home if you want,” he said.

Shaking my head, I tightened the tie on his coat, and the scent of leather puffed up. “No, I want to see how you pay for a dinner cruise on an iced-over river with only sixty dollars.”

“This isn't dinner. This is the entertainment.” He went to toss his hair artfully aside, then stopped mid-movement.

The lights in my head started to go on. “It's a gambling boat,” I said. “That's not fair. Piscary owns all the gambling boats. You won't have to pay for a thing.”

“It's not Piscary's boat.” Kisten got out of the car and came around to my side. Looking good in his wool coat, he opened my door and waited for me to get out.

“Oh,” I said, more lights turning on. “We're here checking out the competition?”

“Something like that.” He bent to look at me. “Coming? Or are we going to leave?”

If he wasn't going to get his chips for free, it would be legal under our arrangement. And I'd never gambled before. It might be fun. Accepting his hand, I let him help me out of the car.

His pace was rapid as we hustled to the railed gangplank. A man in a parka and gloves waited at the foot of the ramp, and as Kisten talked with him, I glanced at the boat's water-line. Rows of bubbles kept the riverboat from becoming iced in. It was probably more expensive than taking the boat out for the winter, but city regulations stipulated you could only gamble on the river. And even though the boat was tied to the dock, it
was
on the water.

After speaking into a radio, the big man let us pass. Kisten put a hand on the small of my back and pushed me forward. “Thanks for letting me borrow your coat,” I said as my boots clattered up and we found ourselves on the covered walk-way. Tonight's snow made a white icing, and I brushed it off the railing to make slushy clumps in the open water.

“My pleasure,” he said, pointing to a half wood, half glass door. There was an etched intertwined pair of capital S's on it, and I shuddered when a shimmer of ley line force passed through me when Kisten opened the door and we crossed the threshold. It was probably the casino's antitampering charm, and it gave me the willies, like I was breathing air coated in oil.

Another big man in a tux—a witch, by the familiar scent of redwood—was there to greet us, and he took both Kisten's and my coat. Kisten signed the guest book, putting me down as “guest.” Peeved, I wrote my name below his with big loopy flourishes, taking up three entire lines. The pen made my fingers tingle, and I looked at the metal barrel before I set it down. All my warning flags went up, and while Kisten bought a single chip with most of our date allowance, I made a precise line through both my and Kisten's name to prevent our signatures from possibly being used as a focusing object for a ley line charm.

“And you did that because…” Kisten questioned as he took my arm.

“Trust me.” I smiled at the stone-faced witch in a tux handling the guest book. There were subtler ways to prevent such thefts of focusing objects, but I didn't know them. And that I had just insulted the host didn't bother me at all. Like I would ever be back there again?

Kisten had my arm so I was free to nod, as if I was important to anyone who looked up from his or her gaming. I was glad Kisten had dressed me; I'd have looked like a whore here in what I had picked out. The oak and teak paneling was comforting, and the rich green carpet felt scrumptious on my feet, clear through my boots. The few windows were draped with deep burgundy and black fabric, pulled aside to show the lights of Cincinnati. It was warm with the scent of people and excitement. The clatter of chips and bursts of sound quickened my pulse.

The low ceiling could have been claustrophobic, but it wasn't. There were two tables of blackjack, a craps table, a wheel, and an entire bank of one-armed bandits. In the corner was a small bar. Most of the staff was of the witch or warlock persuasion, if my gut instinct was right. I wondered where the poker table was. Upstairs, perhaps? I didn't know how to play anything else. Well, I could play blackjack, but that was for sissies.