Chapter 34
34
J ames, my vampire client for the evening, brought back two drinks from the bar, both filled with crimson liquid. The “rocks” in his snifter were gelatinous cubes of plasma. How they got the blood to do that was beyond me, but I really didn’t want to know.
He presented me a glass of wine with flourish, flaunting it like a magician who’d just pulled a bunny out of a hat. “Olivia, you’re in luck,” he twinkled. “They have soil!”
I was glad that I was being paid to hang out with James. Decoying for him was a task as painful as getting a bikini wax on sunburn. Though attractive in a bad boy kind of way, he was so awfully uninteresting that he made Bloody Hell, the edgy British rock-themed nightclub he’d taken me to, as fun as hanging out at the DMV. If he was this boring as a vampire, I kept thinking, he must have been downright tedious as a human.
“Huh?”
James placed the glass in my hand carefully, as if handling the Holy Grail. “This, my dear, is Soil.”
I squinted at the liquid and joked lamely, “Looks like wine to me.” I couldn’t be bothered with devising clever repartee. I was performing my job at a C- level, and the worst thing was that I didn’t even care.
“Soil is the label of the wine. It’s very special,” he said, pooching his lips out pompously. “It’s all the rage. The cool kids love it. Love it !”
“It was very sweet of you to bring me a drink so hip,” I said diplomatically. I’d asked him for a martini. So, not only was James boring, but also a bad listener. I couldn’t wait to tell Robert about him.
Coming home to Robert and telling him about my night was one of my favorite things about us sharing a home. He showed thoughtfulness I hadn’t experienced while living with Nick. Whenever Nick had listened to my stories, he’d done it begrudgingly, like he was doing me a favor. And he almost never reciprocated; probably because he’d worried about keeping all his lies straight.
“Try it,” he coaxed.
I took a sip. “This is wonderful.”
It took everything I had to keep a straight face. The wine was not wonderful. Well, I guess you could say it was wonderful in the same way using a pinecone as a loofah would be wonderful to a masochist. Soil tasted weird and bitter. It wasn’t just weird; it was off . I would rather be drinking actual soil. I didn’t want to insult James, however, so I kept sipping like a good little decoy.
“My friend owns a vineyard up in Napa. Tristan Egret,” he said, dropping a name.
I bit down on my tongue to stop myself from screaming. Give it a rest already, James. Throughout the evening, he’d cited the designer names of everything from his shoes (Prada), his suit (Tom Ford), his home furnishings (Fendi Casa), to his area rug (Jonathan Adler). Not once had I asked. Funny how my billionaire boyfriend never felt compelled to do that.
I shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. I haven’t heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t have,” he patronized. “The Egrets are famous wine growers in Italy. Tristan came to Napa to start his own label.”
“That’s nice,” I said, because “Who gives a shit?” wouldn’t have sounded as polite. I smiled sweetly and took another gulp of the godforsaken wine, trying to finish it as speedily as possible. Like taking medicine. Bonus: having a solid buzz might make dealing with James easier.
“Tristan’s father was quite upset when he branched out on his own.”
“Is Tristan hu-human?” I hiccupped, embarrassed. The wine was not sitting well on my stomach. “Excuse me.”
“Oh, yes, Tristan is very human. He dedicated Soil to his father, who’d told Tristan when he left Italy that any soil he touched in America would turn acrid and produce unusable grapes. Tristan picked the name as a big middle finger to his daddy.”
Looks like Daddy was right, I wanted to say.
He said, “So, Tristan starts his own winery, creates a bunch of hip wines, and makes a fortune. Like your drink? It cost eighty dollars. So, you can imagine what a whole bottle costs.”
I froze with the glass against my lips. Eighty dollars for this swill! To me, eighty dollars was equivalent to a week of groceries. “Thank you for splashing out on me so lavishly.”
“Don’t mention it,” he simpered. “ Now Tristan’s father is all about the Napa business, of course, but Tristan wants nothing to do with him.”
And I should care because? “Bet Tristan felt good, proving his father wrong.”
“He did. Tristan prefers kooky names, says it gives him an edge over the other wines on the market.”
“What other—” A huge yawn escaped me. “Oh my! I’m so sorry!” I threw a hand over my mouth.
“Am I that boring?” he asked stiffly.
“No, not at all!” Yes, absolutely. “I don’t know what came over me!” I blinked, feeling very sleepy. The nasty wine wasn’t helping.
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. I apologize. Please, continue.”
“Tristan is fond of single-word names: Wasp, Flight, Soul. They all have some esoteric meaning, I think, though I don’t know exactly . . .”
I tuned James out as he prattled on about his friend’s wine empire. I wasn’t only feeling sleepy, but ill. I hiccupped again as acid rose in my throat, burning my esophagus and leaving behind a revolting aftertaste. I set the glass down and fumbled for my purse. I needed mints. Immediately.
I groped my clutch and tried to pull it on my lap discreetly, but I couldn’t get a grasp on it. It kept falling out of my hand like oily satin. I frowned up at James, who didn’t seem to notice my clumsiness, as he was too busy yapping away. Why had he bothered to hire me? It would have been cheaper, and probably far more enjoyable, for him to just go out with a mirror.
I finally got a hold on my clutch. The thing felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. As James jabbered on, I went to work on getting it open. My fingers felt fat and numb, and I couldn’t get a good grip on the zipper.
A wave of nausea fluttered through my insides, and I swallowed it down. I needed those damn mints! In my haste to get to them, my hand flew out wildly, knocking over my glass. Wine pooled on the table’s center, spilling lazily over the side.
I startled myself by breaking into hysterical giggles. Knocking over an eighty-dollar glass of wine wasn’t even close to being funny, especially since some of it had splattered on my—Dignitary’s, technically—expensive suede stilettos. A couple vampire hipsters sitting nearby shot me disdainful scowls. Ew, look at that vulgar human! So drunk! Who brought her here?
“I’m so sorry, James! I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m not feeling so—” I hiccupped loudly. My mouth watered and my insides churned. I threw a hand over my mouth, dropping my handbag under the table.
James, recognizing the human signal for I’m going to hurl , yanked me up by the crook of my elbow. With the swiftness of a cheetah, he whizzed us though the crowd and down the stairs, pushing me out the fire exit into blessedly cool air.
I scurried as far away from him as I could and then heaved my guts up next to a dumpster. The rankness of the alley didn’t help. Its strongest aroma was stale urine, though decomposing animal was running a close second. I heaved again, hoping vomit wasn’t splashing on my Seraphin Blythe dress. Marlena surely wouldn’t like that.
When my guts ran dry, I croaked, “I’m so sorry, James, but we may have to call it a night.” He wouldn’t expect me to continue with our date in the state that I was in. Would he?
In lieu of an answer, he grabbed my bicep, though it was more like a savage yank. I’d have a nice bruise to look forward to tomorrow. “Ouch!”
“Oh, just shut the fuck up, would you?”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “What?”
He held his hand up and opened and closed it like a chicken clucking. “Human women are all the same. Squawk-squawk-squawk !”
“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle back?” I said indignantly, no longer caring if the asshole liked me or not. I’d see to it that Michael banned him from Dignitary for life, grabbing me like that.
I bent at the waist and gripped my thighs as invisible spikes stabbed my stomach. Oh no. I was going to be sick again.
“Drugging you should have made this easier on both of us, but then you had to go and be disgusting.”
I gaped at James—all three of him. My vision had taken on a kaleidoscope effect; his form swayed and glittered before my eyes. “You drugged me?” Soil. That nasty, piss-tasting, pompous Soil! I knew something was wrong with it.
“You know, you really do look like Penelope. Although, she had far more class. You think she barfed all over like this? No, she died quietly like a good girl. Like I said, class . How much longer do you think you’ll be?”
“You . . . killed Penelope?”
He chuckled. “Sometimes, I even feel bad for it. You decoys, you’re all so very pretty,” he said condescendingly with a snort. “It’s so easy with humans, it hardly seems fair. You roommate, now she was a fighter. Even still, easy as pie.”
“Liz? Why?” I said between gags.
“I thought she was you, of course. Oops. My mistake.” He shrugged. Two white spikes glimmered in the moonlight. His fangs. They were dripping with saliva. “But this time, I’ll get it right.”
James pounced just as I made a move to run. Improvising, I bent forward and made a gagging sound, pretending to vomit. He jumped back, which I knew he would, him being as vain as he was. God forbid I wreck his expensive suit.
I couldn’t have planned what happened next any better. A car rounded the corner, one of those street racing zoomers straight from The Fast and the Furious . It had an obnoxious neon-green paintjob and ultra-bright headlights, which must have been hell on delicate vampire eyes. James hissed as it came bearing down on us, his hands flying to his face to shield his vision.
I made a run for it. Though I was in stilettos and drugged, I thought I was making respectable distance. James undoubtedly would have caught me, had he not had to contend with the driver, who was exiting the car to confront him. I did my best to tune out the guttural moans suggestive of someone being pummeled. My money was on it not being the vampire.
I peeped over my shoulder as I neared the end of the alley. James had the driver pinned against the car. The man’s face contorted when the vamp lowered his mouth to his neck.
Worry about yourself , I thought.
I rounded the corner, my heavy feet clomping unsteadily on pavement. Thank goodness I’d knocked my wine over, because the amount James had put in there might have killed me. I was beyond loopy and sick from the few sips I’d had.
My mouth was parched and gritty as steel wool. Whatever drug James had given me was peaking. If I didn’t find a decent place to hide soon, I’d be toast. I was running past row upon row of abandoned warehouses, and wasn’t it my luck that the doors to all of them were locked! Why? I thought furiously. It’s not like people want to break in and steal lead paint off the walls!
I cried out with relief as a door finally gave way on the scariest place in the bunch, a ramshackle structure that was probably haunted by as many mold spores as ghosts. Rusty as it was, I hadn’t expected the door to surrender so easily. I lost my balance when it screeched open and stumbled backward, my elbows slicing apart as I landed hard on the ground. The door slammed shut with a bang I was sure James had heard. I sat up clumsily and moved my head side to side, trying to regain what flimsy bearings I’d had.
“Olivia! I’m coming for you, you dumb bitch!!” the vampire shouted from somewhere not too far away. “You’re only making it worse by running!”
I jumped up and hobbled towards the door, using what was left of my ebbing strength to wrench it open once again. Inside, I had to plug my nose to stop myself from vomiting. Muggy swamp combined with rotting sugar—what on earth was that revolting sickly-sweet stench? Weirder still, a strange green light shined out from underneath a tarped over doorway.
I tilted my head and listened. James’s shouting was getting louder, which meant that he was getting closer. I had no choice but to go deeper inside the building. I swatted the tarp aside and barreled through the entryway, which was linked to a long hallway. I ran blindly until I reached the end, then stopped in my tracks, gasping.
This was the last thing I’d anticipated.