Dance in the Dark (8 page)

Johnnie started to argue, then left it alone. "Thank you. I believe I will head that way now, then."

"Go on through that door to the back room, can't miss the stairs."

Thanking him again, Johnnie followed the directions, climbing a small flight of stairs up to what proved to be a small but handsome apartment, along the same look and feel of the bar below. There was a large main room that was kitchen and living area combined, a bathroom in one corner, and two doors leading to what must be bedrooms.

He moved toward the nearest of the two rooms—

Then everything went pitch black. Johnnie's skin prickled, the scent of myrrh and musk roses filling the air, and he could not help but draw a sharp breath. "You again."

The hot-toddy voice washed over him, making him shiver despite himself. "I could say the same; I did not think to see you once, let alone twice."

"What do you hope to gain by all this foolish, melodramatic behavior?" Johnnie asked coolly. The man laughed again, and Johnnie realized suddenly that they were only a step apart. Fingers glided across his face, and he reached up to smack the hand away, furious with both of them when his hand only wound up captured.

Warm lips pressed a firm kiss to the back of his hand. "I admit I thought to see you once, and never again, and sought only to play a bit with you, steal a kiss or two. But I find myself obsessed, and in want of more kisses. I think what I hope to gain by all this foolish, melodramatic behavior is the sound of you screaming in pleasure while I fuck you."

Johnnie jerked back, ignoring the way the words affected him, not quite certain he ever wanted to face how the words affected him—but to no avail, for the stranger was stronger than he, and clearly determined, and only pulled Johnnie flush against him. Then Johnnie was being kissed, hard and sure and possessive, held fast by arms that were like bands against a hard chest, and he did not know what to do except kiss back and hope the assault ended soon.

Except it did not really feel like an assault, and kissing back was repulsive as it should have been, and as the arms loosened so hands could roam, he could not keep himself from shivering. He tried to picture Elam's face, match the shape of the shadow with the form of the man he loved, but Elam's image slipped away with every new touch.

"Why do you hide in the dark?" he managed, flinching at the breathless quality of his own voice. "Are you too cowardly to face the light?"

The stranger only kissed him again, until Johnnie could scarcely breathe, and was left panting and unsteady on his feet when the kiss finally broke. "Greedy," the man murmured. "I want to be the only one who sees you."

"That does not explain why you will not let me see you," Johnnie replied. "You have something to hide."

"Only myself," the stranger said, then abruptly grabbed hold of Johnnie's coat and shoved it off his shoulders, then did the same with his jacket, until Johnnie was in a tangle of fabrics, arms pinned by the clothes and the wall against which he was pressed. His mouth was taken with ravenous force, and he could do nothing but go along with it.  He should be fighting the assault, struggling to get away, but every time he thought about it, he was kissed again and all ability to think shattered.

He moaned softly, unable to bite back the sound, letting his head fall to the side as a hungry mouth attacked his throat. "Are you Eros, sneaking around the dark and hiding yourself until a moment of your choosing?" In his arms, the stranger went suddenly stiff and still. Johnnie frowned, and started to speak—but then realized he was alone in the room, threads of city light slipping through the curtains, and then the overhead light flickered back on.

What had that been about? What was going on? Damn it, he would figure out the mystery of his assailant if it was the last thing he did.  It did not help at all that the man's abrupt departure had left him hard and aching, and why was he so willing to let a stranger in the dark consume him, when his every waking moment was filled with trying not to think about Elam?

Balling his hands into fists, he slowly righted his disheveled clothes and trudged into the bedroom, body still tight and hard with thwarted passion, mind in shambles, and feeling more alone and rejected than ever.

Johnnie took a sip of tea as he perused his newest book. It was not answering the question preying most upon his mind, but it was teaching him other things, so it was not a complete loss. He took another sip of tea, enjoying the book, the morning sunlight spilling through the bank of windows on the eastern wall, the warm calm—the peace.

He might be getting less and less sleep, and he might be going mad between watching Elam and his fiancée and thoughts of that second encounter with his strange Eros, but mornings like this it was easy to pretend everything was fine and simply enjoy the moment.

Who was Eros, damn it? More importantly,
what
was he? Johnnie did not know anyone or anything that could bypass wards, and come and go so easily. It was maddening that he had so little to go on. Beyond the strange magical abilities, he knew his assailant was educated, bold to the point of insanity, magically powerful—and as much as he hated to admit it, the man could kiss.

He could do a great deal more than kiss. Johnny was more disappointed than he liked to admit, given the entire situation, that he had somehow driven the man away before he could enjoy that great deal more.

Closing his book with a snap, he dropped it on the table and finished his tea, shifting to stare out the bank of windows to the flower garden beyond. He needed to stop obsessing. He needed to stop wishing it was Elam, because it definitely was not. He needed to stop feeling as though he were betraying Elam, and his feelings for Elam, because the truth was that Elam could not care less about him.

Stifling a sigh, he poured more tea and picked his book back up. It was infuriating that he could not find an abnormal that fit the description. Sipping his tea, he resumed reading. He paused several minutes later when the sound of the door opening drew his attention. He stared in surprise. "Good morning, Father."

"John," Ontoniel greeted, and took a seat catty-corner to Johnnie. "You have been more reserved than usual lately; not to mention we scarcely see you anymore."

Closing his book again, Johnnie set it aside and took a sip of tea. "My apologies? I am attempting to stay out of the way while Ellie courts his fiancée and the wedding plans are begun. My presence is only superfluous. That aside, I have been consumed by a particularly tricky puzzle of late. Did you require something?"

"No," Ontoniel said, regarding him pensively. "I wanted only to see how you faired. You are family; you should be part of everything."

"I am certain I shall come in handy should someone misplace a ring or a glove," Johnnie replied. "Until then, I doubt I am missed overmuch."

Ontoniel frowned. "I am not convinced you are at ease. You seem troubled of late."

"Only my puzzle causes me trouble, father," Johnnie assured him, more than a little discomfited by the show of concern. It was not typical for Ontoniel to show him any such concern; he must want very badly indeed for the wedding to go well.

"What is this mystery?" Ontoniel asked.

Johnnie hesitated, but whatever his motives, his father had asked after him. It would not kill him to discuss the matter with someone else, even if he preferred not to consult others unless strictly necessary. "I am trying to determine what manner of abnormal can come and go with a thought. I mean quite literally appear and disappear in the span of a heartbeat. He can also bypass wards without effort, no matter how thorough and strong they are, and can see in the dark with daylight clarity."

Ontoniel was silent, obviously lost in thought. Finally he asked, "Have you met this abnormal, or is this one you have only heard about?"

"I have met him twice," Johnnie said. "Always in absolute dark; he seems to have some sway over that, as well.

"I see," Ontoniel said, brows lifting. "That … sounds only like a creature that does not actually exist. Even abnormals have their myths and legends. Every race has its fictional monsters to explain what cannot otherwise be explained or to romanticize the truly frightening and make it easier to bear. What you describe sounds like a legend, a being from another plane, one who can move between planes with impunity."

Which was practically impossible. Once moved across the planes, creatures tended to stay put, or remain only for a brief stay. One classic example was the dream plane: those who entered it only stayed for a brief time. But those who dwelt in the dream plane, succubi and the like, never left it.  Hell was another well known example: demons left, summoned by those who would harness their power. But once out of hell, they rarely went back. Angels, too, were often pulled from their plane and given corporeal form.

Precious few were the abnormals who could move across the planes as they chose. They were called Walkers, those who could walk across the planes, and of those only one had ever actually been confirmed—Black Dogs, and very rarely did anyone encounter one of those. Otherwise, it was all myth and legend and unconfirmed sightings.

So he was being molested by something that did not exist. The thought should irritate him. He
did
find it frustrating, but like all real mysteries that fell across his path, it only made his blood run hot in thrilled determination.  It was as heady as the kisses he could not forget no matter how hard he tried. "So he is merely clever," Johnnie said aloud. "That was my conclusion, but it still leaves me wondering what he is, that he could pretend to be something that does not exist." Perhaps he would be better served to find the true motive for the man's behavior, and then deduce from there what he was—yes, that was perfect.

"He is not merely a clever human?" Ontoniel asked. "Give that lot magic, and they can be too crafty for anyone's peace of mind."

"No, he was too powerful magically to be even a sorcerer; I could smell it on him. He had to be on a par with at least a free imp." He drummed his fingers on his book.

Ontoniel seemed to hesitate, then said, "What about a half-breed? The history of abnormals is rife with the consequences of mixing races."

"I am considering that, but his abilities should still be present somewhere and so far I have only found abilities that come close. I suppose I should better factor in how those that are close might alter if crossed with certain other races." His head hurt just thinking about it.

Silence fell for what seemed several minutes, but could not have been more than a couple, before Ontoniel said, "More than likely, this stranger of yours is an imp or something. However…"

"However?"

"However, demons and angels are not the only ones to have forever crossed their planes and settled here. I once heard of a succubus who managed to leave the dream plane and become a normal human. The degree of veracity to the tale, I could not tell you, but in light of such an outlandish description, I suppose the possibility must be considered."

Johnnie frowned pensively at his book, then quoted, "How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" He looked up. "I will need better books. Where did you hear this tale of the succubus turned human?"

"Ages past, and I believe I was still buried somewhere in Eastern Europe at the time," Ontoniel said. "I cannot even recall who told me. More than—" A knock at the door made him pause, then call for the knocker to enter. The door was opened by a servant, who stepped toward them and extended a letter to Johnnie.

Rostislav? But even as he thought it, Johnnie dismissed it. Letters were not Rostislav's style. If he had any interest in seeing Johnnie, he would simply have shown up somewhere, sat down next to Johnnie, and ordered a beer. If had been nearly two months now since his falling out with Rostislav; there definitely was nothing coming from that quarter. Accepting the letter and thanking the servant, he examined it.  Cheap paper and ink, and he was immediately caught by the name on the front of the envelope—
Johnnie Goodnight
. Opening the envelope, he pulled out the letter.

Johnnie,

I'm sure this is presuming. I send a letter to be as discrete as possible, since I know enough about vamps to know that would be appreciated.

I don't have any right to ask, but I also don't have anywhere else to turn for help. You helped Micah out, and so I was kind of hoping you'd help me. These past two weeks, someone has been harassing me, vandalizing the Bremen, roughing up my customers. I think someone is trying to shut me down, but I don't know who or why. None of my efforts to figure it out have come to anything.

Any help you can offer would be appreciated, and I would certainly pay you back to the best of my ability.

~Peyton

Johnnie folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope, then tucked the envelope into an inner pocket of his black and silver checked vest. He stood up. "I am sorry to depart so abruptly, Father, but there is a problem requiring my attention."

"Who would ask? What problem? Is it Rostislav—"

"Not Rostiya," Johnnie said, then could have kicked himself for using the diminutive of Rostislav's name, as though they were still friends and he could still do that. "This is something else entirely, and a trifling. My presence is not required here today, anyway. It will give me a good reason to stay out of the way. If I am to be absent overlong, I will send you word.  Thank you for assisting me with my puzzle." He pulled his jacket down from where he had hung it on a hook near the door, smoothing the black fabric into place, adjusting his dark aquamarine tie. Then he tucked his reading glasses away and retrieved his cane from where he had propped it against the table.