Chapter 26
As I enter Pete’s, the atmosphere is thick with vampire vibes.
Nick’s eyes follow me as I walk up to the bar. “You’re back?”
Since he saw me outside, struggling for control with my slayer, I know he’s not just talking about my return from the restaurant.
“I am,” I say with a firm nod.
“Carrie!” says Heather, smiling at me in greeting. “We were just talking about you.”
My gaze darts from my friend to the vampire in the fringed suede jacket and multiple neck chains sitting cozily by her side. Does that mean that Quentin has been pumping Heather for info about me? And that Nick’s just been standing around letting it happen?
My slayer starts to rise at that, but I immediately smack her down. Because honestly, I don’t need her anger right now. I’ve got plenty of my own brewing. It’s my rage that I need to rein in.
“You were talking about me?” I ask, trying to remain calm.
“Nick said you left to have dinner with your parents,” says Heather. “I’m guessing there’s a story there.”
I digest this. Okay, so maybe things aren’t quite as sinister here as I feared. But still…
“Nick also said he’d look after things here while I was gone,” I say with an accusing stare at him.
“And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing,” he tells me evenly.
I glance at Heather, then train my gaze back on Nick. “Are you sure about that?” I ask pointedly.
“Everything’s under control,” he says. Then he turns to Quentin with a joking smile. “See?” he says, gesturing at me. “Didn’t I tell you she’s always on my case?”
I guess he’s just trying to keep Quentin from noticing our subtext, but the jab annoys me all the same.
Cramming down my irritation, I try to play along. “Who’s your friend, Nick?” I ask.
“Right,” says Nick. “You haven’t officially met my bandmate, Quentin.” He turns to the vampire. “This is Carrie.”
“ Enchanté ,” says Quentin with a little bow at me.
“Pleasure.”
I see the exact moment Heather puts it all together, when she realizes that she’s sitting next to a vampire. One of the vampires bent on my destruction.
“The last time I was here, I saw you injure yourself,” says Quentin easily. “I hope it wasn’t serious?”
I shake my head. “It was just a cut,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“And everything’s fine here,” interjects Nick. “No need to stick around. Why don’t you enjoy the night off?”
“What a good idea,” says Heather, getting to her feet. “Let’s go, Carrie.”
“You’re sure you won’t stay, love?” asks Quentin, turning to Heather with disappointment. “Just for one drink ?” The question is for my friend, although I’m almost positive that the way he says “drink” is meant to goad me, to see if it sparks any kind of a supernatural reaction. But as I said a few moments ago, I’m fine .
“Sorry,” says Heather, hurrying over to my side. She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the door.
“Another time then,” Quentin calls after us. It’s an amiable enough invitation, but I can hear the underlying threat designed to poke my slayer. And my slayer hears it too.
But we’re out of the bar now, on the sidewalk. And the farther Heather drags me away from Pete’s, the more confident I feel.
“What the fuck is going on?” asks Heather when we’re about a block away.
I hesitate, wondering where to even begin.
Then, deciding to start with the end, I smile. “I think I just had a really good dress rehearsal.”
***
“But Heather’s okay?” asks Liv. “Right?”
I nod. “She’s Heather,” I say. “Of course she’s okay. She got the two of us out of there like a champ.”
It’s Wednesday morning, and Liv and I are seated at our kitchen island, clutching coffees while I give her the play-by-play of the previous night.
“You kept your slayer hidden in front of another vampire,” says Liv. “That’s huge.”
“I guess,” I say halfheartedly. “Except, with Quentin there, Nick and I didn’t have a chance to finish our conversation.”
Liv raises her brows. “Quentin was the only reason?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. Although, given my track record of avoiding the tough stuff, I understand what she’s getting at. “I fully intend to talk everything through with Nick. But there were too many interruptions last night. And since he can’t do sunlight, I’ll have to go another whole day without knowing where the two of us stand.” I sigh. “And by tonight, it’ll already be time for me to make my stand.”
Talk about a problem wrapped in a difficulty inside a big freaking dilemma.
We’re both quiet for a bit.
“Are you ready for that?” asks Liv, saying out loud what we’re both obviously thinking. “Are you feeling ready for the concert at the Whisky tonight?”
It’s not just a concert , and we both know it. It’s my coming out party—or hopefully my not coming out party.
So am I feeling ready to keep my vampire slayer under wraps in a club full of vampires?
“Honestly? I think I am,” I say. And I’m not just saying it to put my friend at ease. “Last night, as unsettled as things were between Nick and me, I really did feel like I had the upper hand on my slayer. And I did get through that trial run with his bandmate.”
“And don’t forget,” says Liv, “you also stood up to your parents.” She grins. “If you managed to do that, I’m betting you can do anything.”
Reminded of the night’s other face-off, I frown down into my hazelnut brew.
“Uh-oh,” says Liv. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay,” I tell her. “It’s just…with the vampires, if I can manage to get through tonight, it’s done. You know? My problem with them should be basically over. But with my folks? I’m pretty sure last night was just round one. And now I have to wonder what their countermove is going to be.”
“Countermove?”
“They’re lawyers,” I say. “They love a good fight, and they don’t like to lose. So I don’t think they’re going to let this lie. What if they, I don’t know…file a court motion to have me declared legally incapacitated? ”
Liv laughs. “Oh please,” she says. “If every actor-slash-bartender were deemed incapacitated, you couldn’t get a drink anywhere in Los Angeles.”
I smile. “True enough.” But then my smile starts to fade. “But…do my folks maybe have a point?” I ask my roomie.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean being an actor in Hollywood is like being a drop of water in the Pacific. Or a grain of sand on Venice Beach,” I say. “And with those odds…”
“Hey,” says Liv. “Stop. You had a great audition yesterday. For a great role. Remember?”
With all the other drama going on, I’ve practically forgotten about the procedural crime drama. Was that audition really just yesterday ?
“Have you heard anything?” asks Liv.
“Not yet,” I say. “But I should probably call my agent this morning and check in.”
My roomie gives me a look. “Probably?”
“I should call,” I say, correcting myself. “I will call.”
“Good girl,” she says. She drinks the rest of her coffee. “I’ll leave you to it.” With a reassuring pat on my shoulder, she gets up, puts her mug in the sink, and walks over to the bathroom. At the door, she turns back. “You’ve got this, chica,” she says with a wink before she closes herself inside.
As I find my phone, I hear Liv run the shower. I stare down at the touchscreen. I’ve got my agency’s info pulled up on my contacts, but my thumb hovers tentatively over the Call icon.
Being hesitant about dialing my agent is nothing new for me. But this morning, it’s… different . Usually when I check in after an audition, I’m expecting bad news. Mostly I’m just calling to confirm that it’s a no and crossing my fingers that it’s not a no, and . But this morning, for a refreshing change, I’m actually hopeful that it might be good news. So if it’s not, the bad news will be that much more crushing.
But there are already way too many I-don’t-knows in my life. And this, for better or worse, is at least something I can know .
I take a deep breath and press Call.
“The Rebecca Sloane Agency,” says the assistant in his familiar businesslike tone.
“Good morning, Kevin,” I say with all the positivity and confidence I can muster. “It’s Carrie Adams. Is Rebecca available?”
“Hold, please.”
Click.
I wait, bracing myself for his standard she’s-not-available-I’ll-tell-her-you-called response, already thinking about how to—
“Hello, Carrie.”
For a moment, I’m too surprised to speak.
“Carrie? Are you there?”
“R-Rebecca?” I stammer, trying to get my head around the fact that my agent has actually accepted my call. “Y-yes. I’m here. Hi.”
“You made quite an impression over there at Robbery-Homicide,” she says.
“I–I did?” I barely squeak out.
“They’re still seeing a few more people for the role, but you’re definitely in the running.”
I’m in the running?
Oh. My. God.
So it’s not a no . Or a no, and .
It’s a maybe !
“We should have an answer in a week or two,” Rebecca continues. “So let’s sit tight and see how this all plays out. If we get an offer, we’ll talk that through. Otherwise, we’ll discuss where we go from here.”
Hearing this, I know I should be happy, elated, freaking over the moon with joy, and of course I am. But what I’m mostly feeling in this moment is… relief . In the process of being honest with my parents last night, I also had to be honest with myself. I had to face the fact that this chosen career path could turn out to be a long and winding road to nowhere.
Maybe I’ll be in the service industry for the rest of my life , I told them. But if I’m okay with that, then you have to be too.
But now…
“Sound good?” asks my agent.
I smile. “Sounds great.”
***
I bask in my good news through most of the day, but as it gets closer to nightfall, my thoughts grow darker too. Can I really pull this off? Can I really keep my slayer concealed at the Whisky around Dracula’s Army and their fanged fans? Or—
Nope. I can’t start worst-case-scenario thinking. I’ve got to hang on to the confidence I was feeling earlier. I need to stay positive.
In my bedroom, I button the last button on the long-sleeved black jumpsuit Heather brought over for me to try on. Then I turn around to show her.
My friend gives me a quick head-to-toe and nods approvingly. “I like it.”
I face the mirror to see for myself. “You’re sure?” I ask, but it’s not my style game I’m worried about. After all, tonight’s not about looking good. It’s about looking, well, not like a slayer.
Standing behind me, Heather meets my gaze in the glass. “Black is always minimizing, and the one piece gives you a nice, long line. Plus, the drop-shoulder seam deemphasizes your upper body.” She flashes a grin. “Not to mention that jumpsuits are sexy as shit.”
I frown, playing with the sleeves. “I’m not sure that matters.”
“Of course that matters,” she says.
“That only matters if I matter to Nick,” I say.
“For what it’s worth,” says Heather, “I think you do matter to him. I think you matter a lot.”
I stop fussing with my outfit and turn to look at her directly. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, last night?” she says. “With Quentin? Once I figured out what the fuck was going on, it seemed like Nick was being genuinely protective of you.”
“It did?”
“It seemed like he had your back.”
I think about this. And yes, I guess it kind of did.
“We still haven’t really talked,” I tell Heather. “Something always gets in the way.”
Heather shoots me a challenging look. “ Something ?”
I’m about to rattle off the same list of excuses for the delay that I gave Liv this morning, but then I stop myself. Because, if I’m being honest, that’s all they really are. Excuses.
“Or me,” I confess, “Maybe I get in the way. My fear gets in the way.”
Heather regards me curiously.
“What?” I ask.
“Get real, Pinocchio,” she says. “You’ve had the guts to be straight with your parents, your agent, and even that creepy barfly at work. So you can definitely gather up enough girl power to hash it all out with Nick.”
I let this sink in.
She’s right of course. As unbelievable as it might have seemed just a week ago, I finally laid down the law, so to speak, with my parents. I asserted myself with Rebecca—a move that, if it hadn’t gone well, could have lost me my agency representation. And even though I highly doubt Pete would fire me if he caught wind of me dressing down my regular Tuesday-night drunk, it wasn’t exactly the most professional move in the world. It could have put my job in jeopardy.
But with Nick? What’s at stake is somehow bigger. Bigger than my parents’ approval or my acting career or my weekly paycheck. What’s at stake is… my heart .
“You know that first night you learned what you were? Well, I meant what I said,” says Heather.
I think back, trying to remember what she told me the night I found out I was a vampire slayer. “That Nick has epic dimples?” I ask.
“No—well, yes, I meant that too,” she says with an offhand shrug and a wave. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Then what are you talking about?” I ask. “No offense, but I kind of had a lot running through my mind that night. I don’t exactly remember our conversation word for word.”
Heather looks me straight in the eye and gives me the kind of look you wish you could wrap up and stick in a drawer so you can pull it out every time you’re feeling scared or lost or insecure. “I said it then and I’ll say it again,” she says. “You’re a lot stronger than you think you are.”
I smile back at her, and—
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” says Liv, scurrying through the doorway. She has several rosary-type necklaces draped over her arm, each with a large cross dangling from it. “Time to accessorize.” My roomie dumps the whole armload around my neck, then spins me toward the mirror. “What do you think?”
“I think Madonna called,” says Heather. “She wants her eighties look back.”
Peeking around my shoulder into the mirror, Liv talks to my reflection. “They were my grandmother’s,” she says. “She was very devout. Maybe they’ll help you keep the vampires at bay.”
“Thanks,” I say with a grin. “But I don’t think vampires are really afraid of crosses.”
“And judging by Quentin’s wardrobe,” Heather says, “they’re definitely not afraid of overaccessorizing.”
I take the necklaces off and hand them back to Liv. “It was a good thought though.”
Liv shrugs and starts to leave.
“Hang on,” says Heather. “Maybe just one.” She goes after Liv, sorts through the necklaces, and selects an amber-beaded strand with a large silver cross. She hangs it back around my neck, then steps back, admiring her handiwork. “Who’s dressed to slay now?”