Even Vampires Get the Blues (5 page)

“What? Gay? Married? A homicidal maniac?”

“Vampire,” she whispered, her eyes getting even bigger as she looked over my shoulder. A little shiver washed down my spine.

“We prefer the term Dark One, actually,” a voice behind me said. I spun around to face the man. He had been right behind me, which meant I was now all but pressed up against him. Up close, he was even more handsome than standing across the room, the blunt line of his jaw and those bright silver eyes making my breath catch in my throat. “Moravian Dark One is the technical name, to be exact. If you are
finished with your conference, perhaps we could get to my missing statue?”

“Statue?” I asked stupidly, wondering if it was wrong to be so instantly and wholly attracted to a man, especially when that man was a . . .
vampire?
Good lord, it was almost dinnertime. What if he was peckish?

A Diviner with a sense of humor. How amusing.

I blinked a couple of times (like that was going to do me any good). “I'm sorry, I'm clearly a bit out of it. . . . Did she say vampire? You're a real vampire? A Dracula-type vampire?”

“I am a Dark One, yes. Is that going to be a problem to a working relationship?” Paen asked, his voice deep, with a lovely Scottish accent that seemed to roll right through me. I shivered and rubbed my arms, wondering about my reaction to him.

“Well . . . I don't know,” I said, thinking furiously. “I've never worked with a vam—er . . . Dark One before. I've never even seen one. To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure that you guys existed.”

“Really?” His silver eyes roamed over my face, finally touching on my ears. Without a thought, my left hand went to my ear for a moment. “And yet I would have guessed from your facial structure and eyes that you have some Fae blood in you.”

“Something like that. My mother is an elf.”

“Ah,” he said, glancing at my nearest ear again.

I rubbed it self-consciously. “I had them bobbed when I was twelve. It was a coming-of-age present. I can't do anything about the tilt of my eyes, though.”

“Don't. They are lovely as they are. Do I take it that your immortal heritage means you have no
issues with taking my case and performing as many divinations as will be necessary to help me?”

I pulled myself together. Paen was a man, a potential client. His preferred choice of food was no business of mine, so long as I wasn't on the receiving end of those fangs.

A shame. I can think of so many places I would like to nibble.

“I'm only half elf, and not immortal, but yes, absolutely I will take your case. I have no issues whatsoever. Although, regarding the divinations . . .” I bit my lip, hesitating, ignoring my inner voice to worry over something that could become an issue. He seemed to want a Diviner to do the job for him. Clearly he didn't know that I wasn't fully qualified to conduct divinations.

“Is there a problem?” Paen asked, interrupting my uncomfortable thoughts.

If I told him I wasn't a Diviner, would he take his business elsewhere? How unethical was it for me to take a job under false pretences?

“Miss Cosse?”

I sighed. It was unethical enough to make me admit the truth. “I'm not sure where you heard I was a Diviner”—Paen glanced at Clare, who suddenly busied herself with something in a desk drawer—“but I must tell you that although I've had some training as a Diviner, I am not, in fact, one. So if you'd like to withdraw your request for help, I will understand. However, I do have some skills in finding lost objects, and I will be happy to apply my full effort to your problem if you see fit to entrust it to us.”

He rubbed his chin for a moment, his eyes darkening until they were a cloudy grey. “I appreciate your honesty. If you are confident you can help me, I see no reason to go elsewhere.”

I smiled, and heaved a mental sigh of relief. “Excellent. Shall we?” I gestured him back into the office. “You mentioned something about a statue. It wouldn't happen to be a brass statue of a bird, a hawk or falcon, would it?”

He didn't even bat an eye. “No. The statue I seek is black, of a monkey. It is called the Jilin God. Have you heard of it?”

My fingers itched to type the phrase into Google, but I didn't want to look so ignorant in front of a potential client. “No, I'm afraid I haven't, but admittedly, I haven't made a study of art. Can you tell me a little about it?”

“No.”

“Ah.” I waited a moment to see if he wanted to add to that. He just watched me. “Er . . . nothing about it? Nothing at all?”

He made a brief, annoyed, shrugging gesture. “Virtually nothing. I can't tell you when it was stolen from my home, what its history is, or even exactly what it looks like. All I know is its name, that it's black, and depicts a monkey. It's up to you to find it for me.”

Paen leaned back in his chair, a slight arrogant twist to his eyebrows, as if he was challenging me to turn down his outrageous request.

I glanced over to Clare. She had thankfully stopped consuming flowers, but sat at her desk taking notes, a wary look on her face. That didn't bode well. Clare as a full-blooded faery (albeit one who didn't admit
the fact) had an uncanny sense about people, a sense I had learned to appreciate. “I see. Well . . .” I stopped and nibbled my lip again, unsure of what I wanted to do.

“Yes?”

The fact that Clare was hesitant about Paen raised enough warning bells in my head that I considered refusing the job offer. I had one job already, after all. I wasn't desperate for another one. I hesitated for a moment, and then looked back at the man sitting in front of me, intending to tell him that I was unable to help him. But as I opened my mouth to do just that, waves of coldness rolled off him, a coldness of despair and utter emptiness that buffeted me, leaving me shivering with a sadness that seemed to have no end. “I'd like to come home with you,” my mouth said without consulting my brain.

I almost died. Mentally, I slapped a hand over my mouth and asked myself what my problem was.

Paen's eyes widened. Clare's just about bugged right out of her head. “Pardon?” he finally asked.

“I'm sorry. That sounded like a base proposition, which I assure you it wasn't.”

That's a shame,
a voice in my head said.

I ignored it. “What I'd like to do is go over your home, examining it for clues as to the nature and whereabouts of the statue. Assuming it was there in the past, I might be able to pick up some what-chamacallit . . . vibes and things.”

“Vibes and things?” he asked, disbelief evident for a moment in those gorgeous quicksilver eyes.

“Yes. Emanations and such—very powerful things. They can tell a lot about an object.” Oh, great,
Sam—babble like an idiot in front of a client. A very handsome client, not that his appearance had anything to do with it.

But man alive, he sure rang my chimes, what with those shoulders, and that jaw, and those flashing silver eyes. . . . A quick glance at his expression had me pulling back from
that
particular mental excursion. I dug through my memory of Diviner precepts and trotted out something I thought had a bit more of a professional ring to it. “Sometimes objects leave behind a non-tangible record of their existence. Diviners can use that trail to learn more about the object itself, and tune into its wavelength, if you will, thus allowing them to locate the item.”

“Hmm.” He didn't look convinced, but at least he lost that what-the-hell-are-you-saying-you-idiot-woman-you look. In fact, for a moment there, it looked like he was trying not to smile. “I suppose that's possible, although the statue must have been removed from my home many years ago. Its intangible record may be so weak you can't read it.”

“I won't know until I can examine the house,” I said brightly. For some reason—oh, who am I trying to fool? It was because he was so damned gorgeous, and it had been so very long since I had been with a man—I was quite determined to do anything to prolong our contact, and that included checking out his home. Honesty forced me to admit that common curiosity about what sort of a place a vampire inhabited was not going to do for an explanation of my interest in him. It was the man himself that caught my attention, and held it. “You never know what sorts of things you can learn until you open yourself up to new experiences.”

An interesting array of emotions flitted across his face. At first he looked obstinate, then somewhat surprised, followed by smug, ending with a smile so fleeting I almost missed it, which quickly dissolved into a bland, expressionless look that left me even colder than before. “Very well. As you feel it's necessary, I will allow you to conduct whatever divination rituals you need in my home. What will you require as a retainer fee?”

“Nothing,” I said, quickly flipping over the little sign that stood on the edge of my desk proclaiming that a 10 percent retainer was due at the time of engagement. “We can talk fees and such after I've had a chance to get a better feel for the case, if that's agreeable with you.”

His eyebrows rose for a moment, but settled down almost immediately. “As you like. When would you like to examine my home?”

“Anything wrong with right now?” I asked, standing when he did.

The surprised look was back for a moment or two in his eyes.

A straightforward woman. What a refreshing change.

I jerked as if I'd been shocked. That wasn't my inner voice speaking to me as I had assumed it was—this was someone else. Someone male, someone with a Scottish accent that made me think of
Braveheart
, and men wearing kilts, and wild, sexy masculinity. In other words, it made me think of . . .

“As you put it like that, no,” Paen said, his eyes shuttered. “There is nothing wrong with right now.”

Why on earth was he talking in my head? Why and how? And why didn't I particularly mind such
an intimate feeling? I ignored the questions squirreling around in my brain, confident that I would work out the answers in the near future. It was just one more curious element in what I was coming to believe was a fascinating man.

“Excellent. We have another case we're presently engaged with,” I said, shooting Clare a meaningful look that, judging by the confused expression on her face, went totally over her head. I gathered up my coat and tapestry bag, closing my laptop and slipping it into the bag. “But I think we can handle both cases without any difficulty. Clare, another minute of your time, please?”

Paen walked to the door as I conducted a quick whispered conference with Clare. “You don't mind if I go check out this statue thing, do you? I was going to swing by Mr. Race's house to pick up the information about the manuscript he asked his housekeeper to get for me, but I can't do both tonight. Can you work on the manuscript case by yourself for a bit?”

“Of course. I have arranged for a meeting with a fence in two hours. I can go to Mr. Race's house first, then meet the fence.”

“A fence!” I stared at Clare.

“Yes. Raul the fence. He wouldn't talk to me on the phone, so I am going to meet him later tonight—”

“How on earth does an underwear-modeling faery know a fence?”

Clare gave me a wounded look. “I do wish you would stop being so silly about that faery business. And as for Raul, I met him at a party. He is a very nice man for a criminal.”

Now, how on earth was I supposed to reason with that sort of an attitude? I didn't even try.

“Be careful, no matter how nice a criminal he is. I'll call you in a bit, after I check out Paen. Er . . . check out Paen's house. It shouldn't take long, so hopefully I will be back in time to help you with your fence guy.”

“All right,” she said, her eyes worried. As I started to leave she tugged on my arm, saying in her soft, sweet voice, “Sam, I'm not sure you going to this man's home by yourself is a smart idea. He's a vampire! He's powerful! He could do any number of wicked things to you, and you wouldn't have any way of stopping him!”

I sighed as I looked at the dark figure waiting for me in the hallway. “Yeah, I know. Makes me goose bumpily all over just imagining what sorts of wicked things he could do, too. Especially with those delectable lips.”

“Sam—”

“Don't worry, I'll be fine. Unless I get lucky and Paen tries to seduce me over to the dark side.”

“Sam!”

I laughed and patted her arm as I passed. “Stop making that scandalized face, I'm just teasing you. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing
ever
happens to me, remember?”

I really hate it when my own words come back to haunt me.

“So, you're Scottish,” I said by way of making polite (if inane) conversation as Paen drove us to his home.

“Yes, I am.”

“A Scottish vampire . . . er . . . Dark One.”

“Yes.” He kept his eyes on the road as we drove into the darkness. Night had fallen fully, the air thick with the promise of more rain, the stars and moon obscured by the usual soggy clouds that I'd seen hang over Edinburgh for much of the two years I'd lived there.

“Is that unusual? I mean, I always imagined you guys were from Eastern Europe. Romania, or somewhere like that. Or is that just legend?”

His silver eyes flashed my way for a moment. “The origins of the Dark Ones are lost to us, but much of our heritage goes back to the Moravian Highlands in what's now the Czech Republic.”

“Huh. Interesting.” I looked outside at the black nothingness that whizzed by us as he drove beyond the suburbs of Edinburgh into the lowlands, quickly heading into the windswept hills of East Lothian on
a long, empty road. “I'm Canadian. And American. Both. My dad is from the US, but my mother is Canadian, and I grew up there. I've got a dual citizenship thing going, in case you were wondering. That's how I was able to open up a business here.”

He said nothing. I took that to mean he wasn't wondering about the ins and outs of my heritage.

“Did I thank you for giving me a ride to your house? Clare has a car, but she tends to start writing poetry to the stars or a flower and doesn't pay much attention to actually driving, so I really do appreciate you giving me a lift.”

“Yes, you thanked me.”

“Good.” Silence fell between us—not a companionable, comfortable silence, but one that was fairly awkward and weighty. It itched along my skin like raw wool. “Finn was nice. Are you sure he won't mind being left in Edinburgh? I hated to rush you into leaving, but I wanted to see the house before deep night was upon us.”

“No, he won't mind.”

“OK.” More silence. I surreptitiously picked at a fingernail for a moment, wondering why I could be silent with so many other people without feeling anything, but was bothered by Paen's silence. I mused on that for a few minutes, then decided I'd put the question to the man who sat so close to me that his hand brushed my leg every time he shifted gears (something I was very well aware of). “Paen—”

His shoulder twitched.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you by using your first name. I realize that's rather unprofessional of me, but it kind of slipped out.”

“I don't mind if you call me Paen,” he said, rather gruffly, I thought.

“Oh. Good. I'm Sam, by the way. Do you dislike talking to me?”

That got me a startled glance. “Pardon?”

“I wondered if you disliked talking to me. Especially since you were doing that whole non-verbal talking-into-my-head thing earlier.”

Thank heavens for seat belts, that's all I can say. The belt kept me from bashing my brains out on the windshield when Paen slammed the brakes on, sending the car into a little spin in the (thankfully empty) rain-slickened road.

“Are you all right?” he asked once the car came to a stop, flipping on the overhead light so he could peer anxiously at me.

“I think so.” I sat back and rubbed a spot on my neck where the seat belt had burned it. “I'm just a little shaky. Nothing like pulling a one-eighty to get your adrenaline flowing, eh?”

He didn't answer, just opened the car door and got out to look at the front of the car. I sat for a minute, figuring he was just checking on the car, but when he started walking away from me, I got out.

“Is the car OK?”

“Yes. I'm looking for the demon,” he said, peering into the night. “Damn. I wish I'd thought to bring a torch.”

“Demon? What demon?” I hurried over to where he stood, the car's rear lights our only illumination.

“The one that I almost hit when it jumped out in front of me. At least I assume it was a demon—it rose up from the ground, and there are few beings but
demons which will do that.” He frowned at me. “Do you have much experience with them?”

“Demons? No, not a lot,” I answered, thinking about the one who had given me the bird statue. “All I really know about them is that they're bad news, and they have a nasty-smelling smoke.”

“Exactly,” he said, lifting his head.

I sniffed along with him, the faintest hint of a smoky stench reaching my nose. “That does smell like a demon. That or really bad fertilizer. But why would one jump out in front of us?”

“A good question, but one I can't answer right now,” he said, giving me a gentle push toward the car.

I reentered the car, belting myself in, pulling down a small mirror to look at my neck.

“You're hurt,” Paen said as he buckled up, leaning close to me in order to eye the spot on my neck that stung. That's what my mind said, anyway. My body didn't care why he was close; it just wanted him closer.

“Not really. It's just a little abrasion. All in a day's work,” I quipped, suddenly overwhelmed by his nearness. His aftershave, a citrusy scent that mingled with something that was much earthier, much more male, and 100 percent pure pheromone as far as I was concerned, curled around me. I breathed it in again, my breath coming in short, shallow little bursts. Shivers skittered down my back while goose bumps broke out on my arms. I'd never had this sort of a reaction to anyone before, and I wasn't quite sure if I was comfortable with such an overpowering reaction. I tried to analyze just what it was about him that held such an attraction for me, and ended up putting
it down to the fact that he was different from everyone I'd met before. Paen was missing something; he had a great need in him that I could feel even when I wasn't near him. That need called to me.

His eyes lifted from the spot on my neck to mine, two brilliant points of silver light in the dark, and I was suddenly reminded that needy and attractive as he was, I was trapped in a confined space in the middle of nowhere with a man who had no soul, a man for whom the word dinner meant who, not what.

“You're not going to bite me, are you?” I asked on a breath, my heart beating madly from the combination of adrenaline and Paen.

“Do you want me to?” His voice made me shiver again, the sound of it like the touch of raw silk on my bare flesh. In the blackness of the car, his eyes shone like the purest mercury.

“Part of me does,” I answered. “Part of me wants to . . .”

“What?” he asked, his head moving closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck, just above the spot the seat belt had scraped.

“Bite you back.”

His head tilted slightly as he considered me. “How would you bite me?”

“How as in how, or how as in give you a demonstration?”

His eyes glittered.

“Demonstrate how you would like to bite me.”

I swear, looking into those eyes was like falling into a pool of quicksilver. They seemed to mesmerize me, pull me in and consume me. Without thinking of the wisdom (or lack) of making out with a client, I
tipped my head slightly to the side and nuzzled a spot behind his ear, where the tendons of his neck met his jaw. All reason, all common sense, all thought but that of the man whose presence drew me disappeared as I licked a spot, then gently bit it.

Paen sucked in air, shuddering slightly as I nibbled the spot behind his ear, swirling my tongue over it once more before withdrawing.

“
That
is how I would like to bite you. Well, just one of the ways.”

He didn't move, didn't pull back in disgust or triumph, either of which I half expected.

“You are a very honest woman,” he said after a moment's silence.

I frowned. That wasn't quite the response I had imagined to my nibbles. “Yes. Half elf, remember? It pretty much makes it impossible to lie, what with that whole elves-can't-dissemble thing happening. Plus I've found it's just easier all around to tell the truth. Did you like it?”

“Yes.”
Too much.

I smiled.

“Would you like me to reciprocate?” he asked, his breath hot on my skin. I shivered again, a delicious shiver of anticipation and excitement and arousal. Beneath that, a deep, endless need of my own burst into life, consuming me with its power.

“You know, I think I would.”

Heat flared along my neck as his tongue swept across the spot that had been scraped. Pleasure of a nature more profound than just sexual burst into being within me, setting my whole body trembling as his tongue caressed the sore spot, taking with it all
the pain and discomfort, and leaving me strung tighter than a concert violin.

“You're hungry,” I said suddenly, wondering how I knew.

“I am.” His teeth nipped my skin.

“Then go ahead.” I waited, my body clenched hard.

“I don't normally—” He stopped, hesitating.

“Don't what? Drink blood?”

“No, I must drink blood to feed.” Paen's eyes had darkened until they were the color of clouds over the moon. “I don't normally feed from women I respect.”

His words touched me in an oddly endearing way. “Are you saying you like me?” I asked, wondering why it meant so much that he did.

“Yes,” he answered, his breath hot on my neck.

“Good. I like you, too.”

“It is for that reason that I hesitate,” he said, his lips caressing the skin on my neck. I melted. “But if you're sure—”

“I'm sure,” I said, pressing myself against his mouth.

“I won't take anything you don't want to give,” he reassured, his tongue flicking across my pulse point.

“Dinner's on,” I said, my head lolling back as his tongue swept across my skin once again, sending ripples of excitement through me. Pain, red and hot and deep, flared from my neck for a second before it dissolved into a pleasure that seemed almost obscene in its quality. I twisted slightly so I could clutch Paen's head, my fingers tangling into his curls as he drank from me.

“Dear god, don't stop,” I gasped, my body seemingly one gigantic erogenous zone as he took life from me.

I won't. I can't.

A familiar rush of lightness raced through me. I struggled against it, clutching Paen's head even harder as my mother's blood kicked in and sent my consciousness flying out of my body.

“No, dammit!” I yelled silently as my ethereal being floated out of the car, Paen's head bent over mine the last thing I saw before I was caught on an astral wind and whipped away from the car. “Dammit, this isn't fair! Why can't I stay?
Nooo!
”

I drifted down the road, past houses, up over trees, gaining speed as the wind carried me farther and farther away from my body. There was no moon, so I couldn't see where I was going, but as I was whipped along over fields, housing tracts, and stretches of untouched land, I had a feeling I was heading to somewhere specific.

I've found that time passes differently when you're an astral projection. Either it seems telescoped, running so slow a second seems to take minutes, or it's speeded up like a movie being fast-forwarded. In the time it took me to swear silently (in my astral form, I couldn't speak aloud), I found myself zooming up to a looming black structure, a castle, an ebony mass silhouetted against a midnight sky. Before I could blink, I was whisked through the castle, down stairs, and suddenly plunked down in a rectangular room lined with bookcases. At one end of the room sat a large desk, a man seated behind it, shadowed by the light that illuminated only one corner of the desk. He shuffled through papers, and occasionally peered at a computer monitor as he tapped a couple of keys. He looked vaguely familiar. For a moment, I couldn't
place him, but in a flash of memory I realized he was the man who had been arguing with the antique shop owner.

“Huh. I wonder what I'm doing seeing him? It's certainly not the man I'd like to be looking at right this moment.”

Although the words I had spoken didn't make a sound, the man's head snapped up just as if he had heard them. He half stood while scanning the room, evidently startled by my interruption, but I knew that wasn't at all possible. My astral form was soundless and invisible. In reality, I wasn't really there, so how could he see or hear me?

“Uh . . . hello? Can you hear—whoa! Where did
you
come from?”

The small monkey named Beppo—at least, I assumed it was the same monkey; I couldn't get close enough to see if he wore the same leather collar—raced across the room and jumped onto the desk. The man had been in the process of sitting back down, but he shot up again at my words, his head turning back and forth as he scanned the room. A chill rippled through me as his gaze approached me. I was suddenly very, very afraid, and wanted nothing more than to be away from that room. There was an aura of something powerful around him, as if he suddenly presented a threat. I tried to tell myself that I was being ridiculous, that there was nothing anyone could do to me in astral form, but my brain didn't want to listen.