Dance in the Dark (10 page)

Peyton sighed. "I hope so."

"So how did you decide on the name of your bar?" Johnnie asked.

Peyton grinned. "I can see you already know the answer. It was about six years ago, now. I'd just quit Blue because of crap that went down and was going to keep going down; that pack went bad a long time ago. Anyway, I was drowning my sorrows in beer with my last twenty when I met this guy named Jack. He'd just ditched a problem situation of his own, was looking to follow his dream of being a singer.  I could strum a guitar well enough; it was about the only thing I hadn't yet pawned.  He had a gig, was good at getting them, so we palled around together for a bit. Wasn't really my thing, but hey, it was better than moping. A couple months later, we met this guy Roosevelt. He did drums, needed a new band. He also had a bassist friend, called himself Cat. So we played for a bit together, did all right. It was my idea to call us Bremen Town, ‘cause it was a lot like the old story, yeah?"

"Then what?" Johnnie asked, as obviously the band had not stayed together.

"We came here," Peyton said. "We weren't real big, so we had odd jobs to supplement what we made when we got a gig. I worked here, serving drinks and bouncing the occasional problem. Cat fell into music tutoring. Last I heard, he'd gotten a degree and was a proper teacher and shit. Roosevelt owns a bed and breakfast; it's just outside the city on the west side. We all found things we'd rather be doing, and our hearts just weren't in the music anymore.  Eventually we broke up. We were all cool with it, except Jack. He always hated us, claimed we were just using him and all." Peyton shrugged. "I hear about him from time to time; last I heard he was still singing and doing well for himself. Me, I like serving beer."

Heath laughed. "You like lording it over the six drunks who keep you in business. Speaking of, business must be booming with Mr. Fancy Pants here ordering vodkas all over the place."

Peyton flipped Heath off. "This places closes, jackass, you'll have to find a new watering hole on which to waste your trust fund."

Making a face, Heath only said, "Water me."

Rolling his eyes, Peyton moved to a special cooler below his shelves of liquor and pulled out a bottle of dark green glass wrapped with a black, green, and silver label. Blood wine, Johnnie recognized. Vampires had a million and one ways to enjoy the only sustenance they required, even if the traditional method remained the favorite.

Setting the bottle and a wine glass in front of Heath, Peyton took the twenty Heath held out, then moved down the bar to refill drinks, including a fresh vodka for Johnnie. He also set a fresh beer on the bar, two stools down from Johnnie.

A minute later G-man appeared and moved immediately to the waiting beer. "Thanks," he told Peyton.

Johnnie half-turned to face him. "Thank you for getting my belongings."

G-man shrugged. "Forget it. Wasn't doing anything else, and the way they tried to get information out of me, I can see why you didn't want to go yourself."

Johnnie nodded in agreement. "I have no doubt they are under orders to keep me there once I appear."

G-man rolled his eyes. "A blood sucker tried to tail me, but he sucks at it. I lost him down on fourth."

Lifting one brow, Johnnie said, "You have experience with being followed?"

Peyton and the others laughed. "Yeah, he's good at that shit. He's like some secret agent, government spy type. That's why he's G-man."

"I see," Johnnie said. "So what—" he stopped as the door opened, and a man came in bearing boxes that clearly contained food. The pizza, he supposed.

"Set'em on the tables," Peyton ordered, and handed over the necessary cash. "Thanks, man." The delivery man nodded, and departed, and Peyton set Chuck and Nelson to squaring everything away, including bringing Johnnie a plate. Acutely aware of all eyes on him, but somehow amused rather than annoyed, Johnnie obediently picked up a piece as he saw someone else do, and took a bite.

It certainly was not the four-star cooking of his father's in house chef, or anything like the food at the restaurants and caf
é
s at which he infrequently dined. It was greasy and salty and seemed made of nothing but cheap cheese and questionable meat. But he did not hate it. "Not bad," he finally said, setting the piece down and wiping his hands on the napkin Peyton offered him.

Laughing, the others dug into their own food, demanding more beer from Peyton. Johnnie slowly ate his own pizza; the one with vegetables was so far his favorite of the options provided. He watched his companions surreptitiously as they all ate—Peyton at the bar, eating between replenishing drinks, G-man back in his corner, cap pulled low as he nursed a beer and slowly ate his pizza, Nelson eating enough for three though he was half the size of everyone else in the room, Chuck barely eating at all, Heath nibbling almost playfully while he drank his wine.

Throughout, they talked and laughed and joked. Clearly they were all good friends, never mind their colorful mix of races. In his circles, vampires did not mingle with lone wolves, never mind imps and low-level alchemists and witches.

Witches. Try as he might, he missed Rostislav. Being a much more powerful witch, Rostislav could have helped with the case.  The bar would have amused and pleased him; Johnnie wished he were here now. He would have been vastly amused that Johnnie had a 'case' at all. "The more he looked inside the more Piglet wasn't there," Johnnie muttered the quote to himself, and tossed back the last of his vodka.  "Water," he said, when Peyton shot him a silent query.  He finished off the last few bites of his vegetable-laden pizza and pushed the rest away.

Micah and Walsh would be back soon. Unfortunately, there was not much more he could investigate. He could ask about the harassment, but he sensed he already knew where that ended, which was in nothing useful. "So who was harassed and by whom?" he asked the room.

"Me," Nelson replied. "Walsh and Micah, too. I guess they thought we would be easy targets. Just came up, shoved us around a bit, told us if we didn't stop coming to the Bremen, we'd regret it." Nelson rolled his eyes. "Different guys for each of us, just a few Joes hired just to harass. We can probably hunt them out, but I doubt it would go anywhere."

Johnnie shook his head. "No, guys like that are just paid to do a job; they do not ask the details, and no one gives them. We will wait and see what Micah and Walsh have to say."

"Probably not for a couple more hours, if they're playing gumshoe," Peyton replied.

Nodding, Johnnie stood up. "I am going to go situate my belongings. Call me immediately if they return, or something else happens."

"Sure," Peyton said, and waved him off.

It should feel strange, really, striding with such familiarity through the bar to the back and then up the stairs to the apartment above. But he only felt oddly proprietary—and despite repeated admonitions to himself, the beat of his heart increased with anticipation. Like the suite in Jesse's hotel, he could not think about the rooms above the Bremen without thinking about Eros.

He pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing the door behind him again.  He looked around the space. It really was a tidy little set of rooms. The living area was generous, the bathroom adequate, and he did not care about the kitchen because he had very little use for one. It could all use a bit of touching up, some cosmetic changes here and there, but overall …

What was he hoping; that he could there? He had pressed his luck as it was, defying his father just that morning. If he dared to tell Ontoniel he was moving out, and planning to live above a bar in the worst part of the city … and it was a bad idea, anyway. Peyton and Heath knew who he was, which meant
everyone
knew who he was, and he sincerely doubted they would want him there much longer than it took to solve the case.

The idea appealed, however, no matter his misgivings. He could all too easily imagine his belongings there. If he fronted the money for the expansions Peyton wanted to make, he could expand the upstairs as well, meaning there would be more than enough room for his books and clothes, and whatever else he brought with him.

He strode across the living area to the rightmost bedroom; the one that contained no windows. It would make an ideal library, and the second room would be his bedroom. He stood in the middle of the room, imagining, wishing there was a way to make the dream a reality. Now that he had thought of it, he very badly wanted it.

The light flicked off, and Johnnie whipped around—right as the door clicked shut. Hands sank into his hair in the next breath, and before he could say a word a mouth took his in a ravenous, bruising kiss. Johnnie meant to push him off, get some space, resolve this strange matter once and for all—but his fingers only gripped the soft cotton of the man's shirt.  Johnnie kissed back hungrily, even though he should not, even as it ached because he was so tired of living with someone who barely acknowledged him and wanting someone who would only kiss him in absolute dark.

What a kiss. The few one-night stands in his past, desperate attempts to banish Elam from his mind, had never felt anything like Eros' kisses. Johnnie should be afraid, angry, or at least offended, but it was hard to think of anything except the hot mouth plundering his like he was the property of Eros. Johnnie wanted to know how the hands gripping his hair would feel elsewhere.

Eros finally tore away, and Johnnie had trouble gathering his thoughts. All he could focus on was his breathing. Finally gathering enough air, he said, "I did not think I would encounter you again."

Eros angled Johnnie's head, nipped his ear, nibbled along the column of his throat until he reached the collar of Johnnie's shirt. "I did not intend to visit you again, but my resolve vanished when you reappeared. You are more than you seem, human child of the Dracula. Too beautiful to be truly normal, too warm to be a vampire; every lordly order you hand out is matched by a gesture of kindness."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Johnnie said, genuinely baffled. Too beautiful? Too warm? Lordly? Kindness? None of those fit him, not really. His looks were barely passable for his strata, he was hardly 'lordly'—more like simply reserved.  Eros chuckled and sank his fingers into the hair at the nape of Johnnie's neck, tilting his head for another plundering kiss. Johnnie moaned despite himself, fingers still tangled in the cotton shirt Eros wore. But then Eros slid his free hand down Johnnie's back to finally rest on his ass, jerking them flush.

It reminded Johnnie that he while he could not see, he could still touch. Loosening his fisted hands, he splayed them across a chest that proved to be impressively muscled beneath the cheap fabric of his shirt. He moaned again as Eros continued to kiss him senseless, and shifted his own arms to wrap tightly around Eros' waist.

He broke the kiss briefly, startled as his back met the wall, and the arm around his waist suddenly became a hand grabbing him through his pants, fondling with a boldness that would normally have had Johnnie reaching for his dagger. Instead, he thumped Eros hard on the chest, wishing he could
see
. "Do not mess up my clothes—" He bit at Eros' lips as he was cut off, eliciting another chuckle before the kiss grew deeper.

Eros shoved a hand inside his pants and boxer briefs, grabbing firm hold of Johnnie's already hard cock. Johnnie jerked, hips moving of their own volition, and really—it had been far too long since he had had any attention but his own. Eros' laugher was warm against his skin, and his tongue warmer still as he lapped at Johnnie's throat just above the collar of his shirt.  "I want to see you naked, spread out on your bed and begging me to take you."

Johnnie felt his way up Eros' body, then sank a hand into soft, soft hair, tugging hard. "I want to see you, period."

"That would spoil the fun," Eros murmured, then kissed him again, cutting off Johnnie's reply, eventually making him forget what he had been going to say. Suddenly he was no longer pressed against Johnnie—but in the next moment, belt and button and zipper were undone, and the hottest mouth Johnnie had ever felt engulfed his cock. Johnnie only just barely bit back a shout. He clapped one hand over his mouth, the other once more fisted tightly in Eros' hair, as Eros sucked him off like their lives depended on it.

Only the fact that everyone downstairs would hear him held back another shout as he came in Eros' mouth. He was still attempting to catch his breath when Eros rose and kissed him. Johnnie made a sound that might have been a whimper as he tasted himself in Eros' mouth, and the scent of myrrh and musk roses was heavy all around them.

He fumbled in the dark a moment, but at last found what he sought. Eros jerked in surprise, grunting as Johnnie fumbled through fabric and finally got hold of his cock and stroked, as hard and sure as he could manage with absolutely no visibility. Eros kissed him again, kept him pinned against the wall, and there seemed something urgent, even desperate, about his rough-edged kiss.

Eros' cry was soft, further muffled by Johnnie's mouth, and he shuddered quietly in Johnnie's arms.  His kiss softened, a little clumsy but somehow sweet. "I want to see you," Johnnie repeated in low tones, releasing Eros' cock, gripping Eros' shirt, feeling like a clinging child. Pathetic, pleading was too much like begging for his taste, but …

"See me once, and you'll not want to see me again," Eros replied. "Spy by candlelight, and the dripping wax will stir me."