“It’s Nina’s,” I murmured to my shoes.
“You can thank me later,” Nina said as she brushed past us in a cool wave. “Come on. We’ll go over the ground rules in the car.”
“Ground rules?” Parker asked, his eyebrows raised.
I shrugged and stepped through the door, feeling a little shudder when Parker put his hand on the small of my back, took my keys, and locked the door behind us. His smile was sweet as he looked down at me and my legs turned against me, going all Jell-O-y and warm, setting my heart off in a series of nervous pitters.
“We should go undercover more often.” Parker’s eyes were fixed firmly on my breasts, and when I caught a glimpse of myself in the vestibule mirror, I saw why.
“Nina!” I hissed. The corset had pushed my normal, barely-B’s into voluptuous, chin-skimming C’s that seemed to jiggle appreciatively with every move I made. Although I had every intention of being indignant and Gloria Steinem–pissed, I must say my cinched-in waist looked extra slim with my new, top-heavy body, the effect being a pretty hot hourglass in a butt-length skirt. Either way, I crossed my arms in front of me and scowled.
“Pervert,” I muttered to Parker.
“Tease,” he muttered back, that devilish half grin on his face, his hand on my ass. I swatted it away and slid in next to Nina in the front seat of her black Lexus.
“Nice car,” Parker said.
“Keeping a little in the bank for one hundred and sixteen years—plus my twenty-nine real life years—can earn you a bit of interest,” Nina said, smoothly pulling into the midnight traffic.
“I’ll bet.” Parker nodded.
“Okay,” Nina said, her dark purple fingernails drumming on the steering wheel. “First things first: you’re going to stick out like sore thumbs.”
I frowned down at my vamp makeover. “Then what was all this for?”
Nina pulled the car onto a dark, slick street, headlights cutting yellow rifts through the fog. “I might be traveling with breathers, but I do have an image to maintain.”
“What do you mean we’re going to stick out?” Parker was leaning over the front seat, his eyes wide, a bead of perspiration forming on his upper lip. “Is that safe? Don’t we not want to stick out? Like, really not want to?”
“Well.” Nina’s eyes found Parker’s in the rearview mirror. “You’re obviously not vampires.”
“Because we’re not dressed right?” I asked.
“Because you’re breathing. That’s a hard one to miss amongst my crowd. That and your overwhelming stench of first-life.”
Parker wrinkled his nose. “Okay …”
“And your lack of horns, fangs, uncontrolled slobber, slime trails, or lichen sets you apart from the general demon population.”
“So what does that mean for us?” Parker asked.
Nina shrugged. “It means you don’t make a scene. Don’t ruffle any feathers, don’t get on anyone’s radar and don’t go anywhere alone. Generally no one will bother you—certainly not the vampire set.”
“See?” I told Parker. “I told you. Vampires are very rule oriented.”
“Well, when the options are follow the rules or spend eternity running for your life—being hunted by pithy little blondes or mocked by the high school goth set—the decision becomes quite simple, really.” Nina looked up into the rearview mirror, but there was no return reflection.
“So we should be okay?” Parker asked.
“Should be. But you will be recognized.”
I shuddered. “Is it really that bad?”
“Not usually, but sometimes the service at the bar can be so slow and”—Nina rolled her eyes—“some demons have no self-control. Either way, most vamps will just dismiss you guys as fanpires.”
“Fanpires?”
“Breathers who pretend to be vampires. Anytime a new vampire movie comes out, they’re out in droves. Thanks a lot, Twilight.”
Chapter Fourteen
Dirt was located in an old church just off the Haight on a dark side street. The high ceilings and large, Gothic windows of the old structure made for one heck of a bar. Which would have been incredibly swanky if it weren’t for the bloodless clientele and the occasional three-horned Asimian demons delivering drinks.
We strolled up to the front door and my breath caught in my throat when Vlad—dressed entirely in black, as usual—stepped out of the shadows, a pale-faced young woman curled around him. The girl blinked at me, her crimson contacts barely obscuring her blue eyes. Her hair had been dyed Crayola black, the blunt-cut ends streaked with deep red. Her white pancake makeup made her pretty face look flawless; the heavy coal eyeliner made her large eyes swim under her pointed bangs and long false eyelashes. She looked me, Parker, and Nina over slowly, her matte, deep purple lips pursed, then rested her head against Vlad’s chest, exposing a thick, red, satin ribbon tied around her neck.
“This is Lucy,” Vlad said by way of explanation.
“Oh, please,” Nina groaned. “And I’m Van Helsing.”