Die Young Then, Sonny
I was dressed when the limo pulled down the street, its V-8 engine thrumming. Vamps aren’t into green in any way at all, and saving the planet by saving gasoline isn’t among their priorities. I turned, letting the long dress swirl around my ankles, checking to see how much the skirt would inhibit movement. The sleeveless dress was made of thin black silk crepe with a plunging neckline held to decorum with strips of black silk charmeuse. The neckline’s lapels were embroidered with tiny faceted citrines and yellow quartz and black jet beads, which caught the light and mirrored my amber irises. The new sequin-studded leather holster straps were belted on over the waist of the dress and under one lapel, while the holster and H&K were snugged at the small of my back under a short cape that draped from the neckline to my hips.
I didn’t want to attend a party. I wanted to stay home and watch movies with Evangelina and maybe eat a bucket of her homemade ice cream, but I had work to do and Leo Pellissier expected me to do it. I turned, watching myself in the mirror.
The dress was designed to hide weapons while making me look like I had a lot more class than I did. The mirror suggested the designer had been successful. Beneath the wide, flowing skirt that belled out as I moved, I had three thin blades and one vamp-killer strapped to my thighs. My hair was braided and twisted into a bun so tight it made my scalp ache, and eight silver-tipped wood stakes acted as hairpins. My only jewelry was the gold nugget necklace and the gemmed collar of the dress. Beast sent a satisfied purr through me at the vision of the weapons and the bare skin of my arms and throat. Trap, she thought at me. Looks like prey but isn’t.
I wasn’t adept at putting on makeup, so all I wore was bloodred lipstick. Stark and striking was my best bet. New dancing shoes were strapped to my feet, not club shoes, but real dancing shoes, the kind ballroom dancers wear, with straps across the instep to hold the shoes in place and slightly clunky heels for stability. Wearing them, I was six foot three, and imposing. Looks like prey but isn’t. Yeah. Exactly. And I might be able to pull it off, after the magic of Evangelina’s dance and the dinner she had prepared—mostly meat and carbs, my kinda meal.
She wasn’t altruistic by nature and I had to wonder if she intended me to benefit or if I just wandered into her own private spell of happiness. Whatever the reason, I was no longer seeing flashes of nightmares. I took a calming breath, as deep as one that prepared me for a shift. I could do this. I could deal with the dreams later. I spun the lock on the weapons cabinet in my closet, sealing inside everything not in use.
I was moving for the front door before the knock sounded but Evangelina beat me to it, holding the door open wide so that street light and foyer light met and blended and Bruiser’s eyes didn’t have to adjust. He stood in the doorway, a black tux molding to his frame, taller than I was, even in the dancing shoes, his shoulders boxer wide, and his butt cradled by the expensive cut of the suit. His hair was different tonight, combed straight back and moussed into place, a 1940s style that looked elegant and made his hair seem darker than his normal brown. He nodded to Evangelina without really seeing her as he entered, his eyes on me, moving from the tips of my toes to the tips of the stakes fanned out around the back of my head like a wood and silver halo. His eyes were heated and heavy as they slid over me, and I flushed as if he touched me. It was enough to help push the remnant memories of the dreams far away. Evangelina pushed his shoulder to move him inside; shut the door.
I don’t know what I expected him to say, but I wasn’t disappointed when he said, “Weapons?” Eyes holding his, I gave him the list and his mouth curled up as I spoke, his gaze searching out the probable location of the blades and gun. “Show me.”
I turned around and flipped up the small cape to display the holster, my right hand on the butt for drawing, and whirled back around, sliding my legs, one at a time, through the skirt slits in little dancer kicks. Bruiser was a leg man and his pupils widened at the flash of skin. I was sure the kicks and skin would have been flirting for most girls, but I had no idea how to build upon it. And no desire to, I assured myself.
I ducked my head, feeling self-conscious, and picked up my tiny bag, sliding the long strap over one shoulder. I nodded good-bye to Evangelina and caught her watching Bruiser. A quick glance at Bruiser showed him watching back, surprise and unwelcome speculation on his face, as if he’d just recognized her, standing in my foyer. “Miz Everheart,” he said.
“Have fun at the ball, Mr. Dumas.” She lifted the nearly empty glass in the half-drunken salute I’d seen several times this evening, though this time she seemed stone-cold sober. “Don’t let Cinderella here kill your golden goose.”
I flinched at the acerbic tone and the insult, feeling sucker punched. Bruiser said, “That would make you the ugly stepsister in your jumbled nursery rhyme.”
“More like the wicked witch of the west, sweetie, with a broom, a gingerbread house, and a big cauldron out back to cook up curses.”
“I was under the impression that you were a white witch, not a sorceress.”
“I walk a fine line during negotiations. And I’ve been known to bloody my athame when needed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Miz Everheart.”
“You do that, Mis-ta Du-mas,” she said, spacing out the syllables in what sounded like a taunt. Evangelina turned her back and moved into the kitchen where she turned the music up, Celtic notes tinkling on the air.