Guilty Pleasures

Chapter 3

Monica Vespucci was wearing a button that said, “Vampires are People, too.” It was not a promising begi

The button should have tipped me off to what kind of bachelorette party she’d pla

I was wearing black jeans, knee-high boots, and a crimson blouse. My hair was made to order for the outfit, black curling just over the shoulders of the red blouse. The solid, nearly black-brown of my eyes matches the hair. Only the skin stands out, too pale, Germanic against the Latin darkness. A very ex-boyfriend once described me as a little china doll. He meant it as a compliment. I didn’t take it that way. There are reasons why I don’t date much.

The blouse was long-sleeved to hide the knife sheath on my right wrist and the scars on my left arm. I had left my gun locked in the trunk of my car. I didn’t think the bachelorette party would get that out of hand.

“I’m so sorry that I put off pla

“Imagine that, people having plans for Friday night,” I said.

Monica stared at me as if trying to decide whether I was joking or not.

Catherine gave me a warning glare. I gave them both my best angelic smile. Monica smiled back. Catherine wasn’t fooled.

Monica began dancing down the sidewalk, happy as a drunken clam. She had had only two drinks with di

“Be nice,” Catherine whispered.

“What did I say?”

“Anita.” Her voice sounded like my father’s used to sound when I’d stayed out too late.

I sighed. “You’re just no fun tonight.”

“I plan to be a lot of fun tonight.” She stretched her arms skyward. She still wore the crumpled remains of her business suit. The wind blew her long, copper-colored hair. I’ve never been able to decide if Catherine would be prettier if she cut her hair, so you’d notice the face first, or if the hair was what made her pretty.

“If I have to give up one of my few free nights, then I am going to enjoy myself—immensely,” she said.

There was a kind of fierceness to the last word. I stared up at her. “You are not pla

“Maybe.” She looked smug.

Catherine knew I didn’t approve of, or rather, didn’t understand drinking. I didn’t like having my inhibitions lowered. If I was going to cut loose, I wanted to be in control of just how loose I got.

We had left my car in a parking lot two blocks back. The one with the wrought-iron fence around it. There wasn’t much parking down by the river. The narrow brick roads and ancient sidewalks had been designed for horses, not automobiles. The streets had been fresh-washed by a summer thunderstorm that had come and gone while we ate di

Monica yelled, “Hurry up, slowpokes.”

Catherine looked at me and gri

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttered. Maybe if I’d had drinks with di

“Don’t be an old stick in the mud,” Catherine called back.

Stick in the mud? I caught up to them walking. Monica was giggling. Somehow I had known she would be. Catherine and she were leaning against each other laughing. I suspected they might be laughing at me.

Monica calmed enough to fake an ominous stage whisper. “Do you know what lies around this corner?”

As a matter of fact, I did. The last vampire killing had been only four blocks from here. We were in what the vampires called “the District.” Humans called it the Riverfront, or Blood Square, depending on if they were being rude or not.

“Guilty Pleasures,” I said.

“Oh, pooh, you spoiled the surprise.”

“What’s Guilty Pleasures?” Catherine asked.

Monica giggled. “Oh, goodie, the surprise isn’t spoiled after all.” She put her arm through Catherine’s. “You are going to love this, I promise you.”

Maybe Catherine would; I knew I wouldn’t, but I followed them around the corner anyway. The sign was a wonderful swirling neon the color of heart blood. The symbolism was not lost on me.

We went up three broad steps, and there was a vampire standing in front of the propped-open door. He had a black crew cut and small, pale eyes. His massive shoulders threatened to rip the tight black t-shirt he wore. Wasn’t pumping iron redundant after you died?

Even standing on the threshold I could hear the busy hum of voices, laughter, music. That rich, murmurous sound of many people in a small space, determined to have a good time.

The vampire stood beside the door, very still. There was still a movement to him, an aliveness, for lack of a better term. He couldn’t have been dead more than twenty years, if that. In the dark he looked almost human, even to me. He had fed already tonight. His skin was flushed and healthy. He looked damn near rosy-cheeked. A meal of fresh blood will do that to you.

Monica squeezed his arm. “Ooo, feel that muscle.”

He gri

“Buzz here is an old friend, aren’t you, Buzz?”

Buzz the vampire? Surely not.

But he nodded. “Go on in, Monica. Your table is waiting.”

Table? What kind of clout did Monica have? Guilty Pleasures was one of the hottest clubs in the District, and they did not take reservations.

There was a large sign on the door. “No crosses, crucifixes, or other holy items allowed inside.” I read the sign and walked past it. I had no intention of getting rid of my cross.

A rich, melodious voice floated around us. “Anita, how good of of you to come.”

The voice belonged to Jean-Claude, club owner and master vampire. He looked like a vampire was supposed to look. Softly curling hair tangled with the high white lace of an antique shirt. Lace spilled over pale, long-fingered hands. The shirt hung open, giving a glimpse of lean bare chest framed by more frothy lace. Most men couldn’t have worn a shirt like that. The vampire made it seem utterly masculine.

“You two know each other?” Monica sounded surprised.

“Oh, yes,” Jean-Claude said. “Ms. Blake and I have met before.”

“I’ve been helping the police work cases on the Riverfront.”

“She is their vampire expert.” He made the last word soft and warm and vaguely obscene.

Monica giggled. Catherine was staring at Jean-Claude, eyes wide and i

She nodded. The first hint of fear showed in her face.

“I would never harm such a lovely young woman.” He took Catherine’s hand and raised it to his mouth. A mere brush of lips. Catherine blushed.

He kissed Monica’s hand as well. He looked at me and laughed. “Do not worry, my little animator. I will not touch you. That would be cheating.”

He moved to stand next to me. I stared fixedly at his chest. There was a burn scar almost hidden in the lace. The burn was in the shape of a cross. How many decades ago had someone shoved a cross into his flesh?

“Just as you having a cross would be an unfair advantage.”

What could I say? In a way he was right.

It was a shame that it wasn’t merely the shape of a cross that hurt a vampire. Jean-Claude would have been in deep shit. Unfortunately, the cross had to be blessed, and backed up by faith. An atheist waving a cross at a vampire was a truly pitiful sight.

He breathed my name like a whisper against my skin. “Anita, what are you thinking?”