Guilty Pleasures

“What’s it called?”

I shrugged. “The Animator; what else?”

He actually smiled. “Okay. How likely is it that it’s zombies?”

“Not very. Zombies don’t run in packs unless they’re ordered to.”

“Even”—he checked his notes—”flesh-eating zombies?”

“There have only been three documented cases. All of them were solitary hunters.”

“So, flesh-eating zombies, or a new kind of ghoul. That sum it up?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, thanks. Sorry to interrupt your night off.” He closed his notebook and looked at me. He was almost gri

“Don’t give me a hard time, Dolph.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Riiight,” I said. “If you don’t need me anymore, I’ll be getting back.”

“We’re finished, for now. Call me if you think of anything else.”

“Will do.” I walked back to my car. The bloody plastic gloves were shoved into a garbage sack in the trunk. I debated on the coveralls and finally folded them on top of the garbage sack. I might be able to wear them one more time.

Dolph called out, “You be careful tonight, Anita. Wouldn’t want you picking up anything.”

I glared back at him. The rest of the men waved at me and called in unison, “We loove you.”

“Gimme a break.”

One called, “If I’d known you liked to see naked men, we could have worked something out.”

“The stuff you got, Zerbrowski, I don’t want to see.”

Laughter, and someone grabbed him around the neck. “She got you, man…Give it up, she gets you every time.”

I got into my car to the sound of masculine laughter, and one offer to be my “luv” slave. It was probably Zerbrowski.

Chapter 6

I arrived back at Guilty Pleasures a little after midnight. Jean Claude was standing at the bottom of the steps. He was leaning against the wall, utterly still. If he was breathing, I couldn’t see it. The wind blew the lace on his shirt. A lock of black hair trailed across the smooth paleness of his cheek.

“You smell of other people’s blood, ma petite.”

I smiled at him, sweetly. “It was no one you knew.”

His voice when it came was low and dark, full of a quiet rage. It slithered across my skin, like a cold wind. “Have you been killing vampires, my little animator?”

“No.” I whispered it, my voice suddenly hoarse. I had never heard his voice like that.

“They call you The Executioner, did you know that?”

“Yes.” He had done nothing to threaten me, yet nothing at that moment would have forced me to pass him. They might as well have barred the door.

“How many kills do you have to your credit?”

I didn’t like this conversation. It wasn’t going to end anywhere I wanted to be. I knew one master vampire who could smell lies. I didn’t understand Jean-Claude’s mood, but I wasn’t about to lie to him. “Fourteen.”

“And you call us murderers.”

I just stared at him, not sure what he wanted me to say.

Buzz the vampire came down the steps. He stared from Jean Claude to me, then took up his post by the door, huge arms crossed over his chest.

Jean-Claude asked, “Did you have a nice break?”

“Yes, thank you, master.”

The master vampire smiled. “I’ve told you before, Buzz, don’t call me master.”

“Yes, M-M…Jean-Claude.”

The vampire gave his wondrous, nearly touchable laugh. “Come, Anita, let us go inside where it is warmer.”

It was over eighty degrees on the sidewalk. I didn’t know what in the world he was talking about. I didn’t know what we’d been talking about for the last few minutes.

Jean-Claude walked up the steps. I watched him disappear inside. I stood staring at the door, not wanting to go inside. Something was wrong, and I didn’t know what.

“You going inside?” Buzz asked.

“I don’t suppose you’d go inside, and ask Monica and the redhaired woman she’s with to come outside?”

He smiled, flashing fang. It’s the mark of the new dead that they flash their fangs around. They like the shock effect. “Can’t leave my post. I just had a break.”

“Thought you’d say something like that.”

He gri

I went into the twilit dark of the club. The holy item check girl was waiting for me at the door. I gave her my cross. She gave me a check stub. It wasn’t a fair trade. Jean-Claude was nowhere in sight.

Catherine was on the stage. She was standing motionless, eyes wide. Her face had that open, fragile look that faces get when they sleep, like a child’s face. Her long, copper-colored hair glistened in the lights. I knew a deep trance when I saw it.

“Catherine.” I breathed her name and ran towards her. Monica was sitting at our table, watching me come. There was an awful, knowing smile on her face.

I was almost to the stage when a vampire appeared behind Catherine. He didn’t walk out from behind the curtain, he just bloody appeared behind her. For the first time I understood what humans must see. Magic.

The vampire stared at me. His hair was golden silk, his skin ivory, eyes like drowning pools. I closed my eyes and shook my head. This couldn’t be happening. No one was that beautiful.

His voice was almost ordinary after the face, but it was a command. “Call her.”

I opened my eyes to find the audience staring at me. I glanced at Catherine’s blank face and knew what would happen, but like any ignorant client I had to try. “Catherine, Catherine, can you hear me?”

She never moved; only the faintest of movements showed her breathing. She was alive, but for how long? The vampire had gotten to her, deep trance. That meant he could call her anytime, anywhere, and she would come. From this moment on, her life belonged to him. Whenever he wanted it.

“Catherine, please!” There was nothing I could do, the damage was done. Dammit, I should never have left her here, never!

The vampire touched her shoulder. She blinked and stared around, surprised, scared. She gave a nervous laugh. “What happened?”

The vampire raised her hand to his lips. “You are now under my power, my lovely one.”

She laughed again, not understanding that he had told her the absolute truth. He led her to the edge of the stage, and two waiters helped her back to her seat. “I feel fuzzy,” she said.

Monica patted her hand. “You were great.”

“What did I do?”

“I’ll tell you later. The show’s not over yet.” She stared at me when she said the last.

I already knew I was in trouble. The vampire on the stage was staring at me. It was like weight against my skin. His will, force, personality, whatever it was, beat against me. I could feel it like a pulsing wind. The skin on my arms crawled with it.

“I am Aubrey,” the vampire said. “Give me your name.”

My mouth was suddenly dry, but my name was not important. He could have that. “Anita.”

“Anita. How pretty.”

My knees sort of buckled and spilled me into a chair. Monica was staring at me, eyes enormous and eager.

“Come, Anita, join me on the stage.” His voice wasn’t as good as Jean-Claude’s, it just wasn’t. There was no texture to it, but the mind behind the voice was like nothing I had ever felt. It was ancient, terribly ancient. The force of his mind made my bones ache.

“Come.”

I kept shaking my head, over and over. It was all I could do. No words, no real thoughts, but I knew I could not get out of this chair. If I came to him now, he would have power over me just as he did Catherine. Sweat soaked through the back of my blouse.

“Come to me, now!”

I was standing, and I didn’t remember doing it. Dear God, help me! “No!” I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand. I tore my own skin and welcomed the pain. I could breathe again.

His mind receded like the ocean pulling back. I felt lightheaded, empty. I slumped against the table. One of the vampire waiters was at my side. “Don’t fight him. He gets angry if you fight him.”