Authors: Anthony Francis
There was nothing left to do. I’d finished the paperwork and gotten Cinnamon’s books. I’d made an appointment to inspect the school’s safety cage and picked up a cage of our own. I’d worked out a schedule at the Rogue Unicorn that let me juggle my tattooing, karate workouts, and shuttling Cinnamon to and from the Academy. I’d even found an auto repair shop that had given me a loaner while they repaired the seats; with any luck, I’d be back in the blue bomb when I picked up Cinnamon at the werehouse tomorrow.
There was nothing left to do but dress, drive, and meet the vampire for dinner.
Canoe was only a short jaunt up I-75, a river of black asphalt swimming through hills green with trees. Red taillights blinked northbound, and scattered headlights winked on to my left as the sun went down. I rarely went to Vinings, but somehow I remembered Exit 255 and soon found myself going into deep green hills along the winding path of Paces Ferry Road.
I’ll admit I was apprehensive. I had no idea what kind of restaurant a vampire would have as a current favorite. Based on its name, I was pretty certain Canoe wasn’t an ancient Victorian nestled deep in the woods, with creaking iron gates or mysterious valets to take my car, trapping me there to dine by candlelight under the watchful eyes of my predatory companion, served by black-garbed waiters trained not to notice when the vampire started noshing on me instead.
And I had a moment’s fright as I came to the Paces Ferry bridge and snatched a glimpse of graffiti. But it turned out to be what I was now calling wanker graffiti: white lines, hastily drawn, not magically active. And then I was over the bridge into Vinings, staring down into a cluster of quaint, cozy, houselike shops.
I gave the loaner Accord to the valet without a second thought, and stood before a warm wooden canopy topped by a glowing sign that spelled C A N O E, watching uber-chic yuppies from the Buckhead party district and upper-crust natives of Vinings itself flowing in and out of the restaurant with warm, friendly,
satisfied
smiles.
OK, this is the
last
place I’d expect a vampire to have as a favorite.
Even more heads than usual turned towards me as I ascended the steps, but I tried not to mind. I knew I was doubly out of place. In addition to my deathhawk and tattoos, I now wore a tight, patterned corset bustier, my most stylish leather pants and my best matching leather vestcoat. The outfit went so well together there was no doubting that this was eveningwear, but there was no escaping that it wasn’t
normal
eveningwear either.
Inside was warm, cozy, brick, with huge glass windows looking out onto garden paths. I was early; even with traffic it was still only six-ten, so I decided to wait by the bar. The sun had set only minutes ago; it was highly unlikely that the vampire would be … early?
Calaphase glanced up from the bar and smiled at me. He was wearing another long-tailed coat, narrowly pinstriped, expertly tailored, that gave the impression of impossible elegance from a bygone age. He saluted me with a glass of what looked like liquid gold, finished the last swigs with a flourish and grimace, and then pushed the squat empty glass back to the bartender with a wink and a twenty. I just stared, as the man I’d once known as a biker walked up to me, as sharply dressed as a Victorian James Bond—and twice as appealing.
“Dakota,” Calaphase said, with a smile and a gracious bow. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Afraid I’d jilt you?” I responded.
“Never,” Calaphase said, his eyes drifting over my tattooed midriff, my corset, my breasts. Then he caught himself and looked up. “Sorry. That is quite the outfit.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “Yours is easy on the eyes as well. Shall we dine?”
“We have fifteen minutes,” Calaphase said, extending an elbow. “Care for a stroll?”
I looked outside. “Are you sure you want to go out there? The sun just went down.”
“I like twilight,” Calaphase said, pulling out sunglasses. “A benefit of the Saffron diet.”
Canoe’s garden was as inviting as its interior and as friendly as its clientele. Another glowing sign hung over the patio, lending electric color to the warmth of the torches; under their luminous glow we strolled through green, inviting gardens, watching the Chattahoochee ripple past. Somehow the river looked cleaner here, even though I knew it was the same water that flowed past the werehouse only a few miles to the south.
“So … ” I said. “How much
does
a vampire on the Saffron diet eat?”
“Not much,” Calaphase admitted. “I rarely have more than the squash bisque and a glass of wine. If I indulge in too much solid food, I have a thermos of cow’s blood at the werehouse.”
“Appetizing,” I said. “It looked like the drink was killing you.”
“It’s difficult,” Calaphase admitted, stopping to stare out into the black flowing water, barely lit by flickering torches. “But the Lady Saffron is right. It’s worth it. I hunger less, and stay awake longer, every day. I’ve seen the aftermath of sunset, and withstood the onset of sunrise. I can’t yet face the sun, but the day is coming.”
Staring out over the water, he looked noble, even heroic, like a sea captain of old contemplating time passing in the night, the essence of his profile, pale skin and blond hair captured by the torchlight, abstracted and made eternal, like a statue of brass.
“And I have the Lady Saffron’s bravery, and your challenge of vampire assumptions, to thank.” He glanced back, weighing something, then smiled. “I bet you usually go Dutch,” he said, again extending an elbow, “but may I buy you dinner in thanks, Dakota Frost?”
“You know, Calaphase,” I said, taking his arm, “perhaps I can make an exception.”
“Here’s to promising exceptions,” he said, patting my hand with his free one.
I smiled, looking down bashfully. Calaphase was charming. Well, yes, handsome, sexy, and in all reality terrifyingly dangerous, but—absolutely charming. I felt no pressure from him, nothing to fear. We would have a nice dinner, and that would be it.
Then Calaphase froze in his tracks. “Speak of the devil … ”
And I looked up just in time to meet the eyes of the Lady Saffron and the Lady Darkrose as they stopped dead not five feet from us on the path.
Saffron wore a stunning red dress of flaring silk with matching red gloves that left her shoulders bare beneath her flaming hair. Her South African vampire consort, the Lady Darkrose, wore a white-trimmed robe open over a black leather catsuit that went well against her dark skin. A typical evening out for them. I could see echoes of smiles and laughter on their faces, and Saffron even had her arm in the Lady Darkrose’s, just as mine was in Calaphase’s; but as they registered my arm in Calaphase’s, the Lady Darkrose’s face went carefully blank … as Saffron’s face turned beet red. I hadn’t even known vampires could blush.
At first, I just thought innocently,
Oh, this is awkward
.
Then the shouting started.
“
Dakota?
” Saffron said—
not
in her indoor voice
.
“Why are you
here
with
him?
”
“Sav—” I began, then bit it off as she glared. “Uh, my Lady Saffron—”
“I thought you disapproved of vampires,” she said, voice rising, “but you just disapproved of
me!
”
My jaw dropped. When had I ever loved this petulant
bitch?
Her voice rose further.
“What, did you get
tired
of your man in black and decided to move on to the next cock
?
”
“Saffron!” Calaphase said, shocked as I was. “That was
completely
out of line—”
“
You
shut your mouth,” Saffron snapped. “And it’s
Lady
Saffron to you.”
“I thought we were friends now, but if you really want the respect due a vampire queen, you have to
be
a vampire queen,” Calaphase said, tilting his head. Diners on the nearby patio had recoiled in shock at her outburst, and Darkrose had intercepted an angry waiter and was speaking in quiet tones. “Is this the example the leader of a great house sets, much less the Queen of Little Five Points?”
Saffron flinched. She opened her mouth, then immediately closed it. Then she nodded to Calaphase, not meeting my eyes, and turned to Darkrose, who was still calming the waiter.
“No, Lady Darkrose, please do not cover for me, that was my fault,” she said, spreading her hands graciously. “Ladies and gentlemen, forgive my rudeness, I was just startled. Please accept my apologies … and a complimentary dessert, courtesy of the House of Saffron.”
With a nod to Darkrose to arrange it, Saffron stalked off. “Walk with me.”
We followed her to a secluded part of the path, and she turned to us.
“Thank you, Lord Calaphase,” she said coldly. “I had that coming. I was out of line. Becoming a vampire hasn’t turned out as liberating as I expected.”
“I know that feeling,” Calaphase said—lightly, but it backfired.
“
Don’t
think I’m distracted,” Saffron said, “from this … this
insult.
”
“Saffron!” I said. “Look, I’m sorry, but
you’re
the one who turned on
me
—”
“That excuse worked when you stuck to humans,” she said coldly, “but not when you’re parading around with a rival vampire lord while wearing the sign of my house.”
“I’m so sorry to have offended you,” Calaphase said. “I made my offer to dine with the Lady Frost as gracious thanks to someone who helped a friend.”
“She’s still wearing the
sign of my house
,” Saffron said, glaring at the collar around my neck. “You’re a vampire—and a clan leader. You should have cleared it with me.”
Calaphase stiffened. “Yes, yes of course, my Lady Saffron.”
“What? No, no of course
not
, ‘my Lady Saffron,’” I said. “Calaphase said you didn’t share well with other clans, but this is
ridiculous.
”
“You’re being naïve,” Saffron snapped. “If I had the reputation of ‘sharing,’ the Gentry would eat me alive—or, more likely, eat
you
alive, first chance the Lady Scara got—”
“But this is Calaphase,” I said. “He’s a friend—
our
friend. And we’re here for dinner-as-food, not dining-on-companions. He’s on the Saffron diet, maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“
You’re
wearing
my
token,” Saffron said. “Calaphase still needed
my
permission.”
“Look, Saffron,” I said testily. “I’m a full grown adult, not a teenager on curfew.”
“If the sign of my house means nothing to you, we can dispose of it,” Saffron said, voice unexpectedly level. “Lady Darkrose, bring me the key please.”
My hand went to my throat. The steel collar I wore was my shield against the world of vampires, my guarantee they would treat me decently. I’d only worn it for a few months, but it had been fitted just for me, so I had gotten used to it—and forgotten that only Darkrose had the keys that could take it off. As possessive as Saffron was, I never thought that would happen.
In moments, Darkrose rejoined us, her dark face a mixture of shock and embarrassment. Without a word, she slipped a leather-gloved hand inside her robe, briefly exposing the hard ribbing of her corset, boots that seemed to come to her hips, the handle of a whip. But she was Saffron’s dominatrix only
inside
their bedroom. Outside, Saffron called the shots. And when Darkrose’s hand returned, it held a single silver key on a golden chain.
Saffron took it and stepped up to me. “Turn ’round.”
I just stared at her in shock. “Saffron … ”
“I said,
turn ’round
,” Saffron snapped, reaching out, then jerking her hand back.
I felt my hands
tingling,
and looked down to see the religious symbols tattooed on the back of my knuckles glowing slightly as they reacted to the hostility in her aura. That
never
happened—Saffron normally kept her aggression under such a lid that she could safely live in a deconsecrated church, complete with exposed crosses. She was more steamed than I thought.
“Don’t touch me,” I said quietly, meeting her cold red gaze. Scratch that—she was
much
more steamed. “Vampire queen or no,
do not touch me
without asking.”
“As you wish,” Saffron said. “But you have something of mine and I want it back.”
“
Fine
, then,” I said, turning, sweeping the long tail of my deathhawk out of the way.
I felt Saffron step up behind me, felt her hands fumble at the lock, felt the coolness of the keychain against my neck. Then there was a pop, and the lock opened—freeing my neck from the collar for the first time in two and a half months.
Saffron pulled it off, scraping my neck, and angrily I turned to face her. We glared at each other a moment, her holding the collar—and then Saffron flung it into the darkness over the Chattahoochee, where it vanished with a distant
plop
.
“But … you had it
made
for her,” Darkrose said, staring after it.
“That was a long time ago. A different life—when I believed we could still be together. Or at least close,” Saffron said. I felt my throat. I’d never liked it, but now I was sorry that it was not just off, but …
gone
. “I should have abandoned that hope long ago, and the collar with it.”
“That … was …
foolish
,” Calaphase said, fangs clenched, pale face livid. Saffron glared at him, but he just straightened his jacket with a sharp jerk. “Dakota—the
Lady
Frost—has performed
invaluable
services to my clan and our clients.”
“Then
you
give her protection,” Saffron said.
“Perhaps we will, but she has provided even greater services to you,” Calaphase said. “You do
not
know how much her dispatching that magician last year helped your reputation with the clans. It’s bad enough you’d withdraw her protection, but it is worse that you’d do so as such a public stunt in front of the humans. Not even old school vampires would—Oh,
damnit.
”
Suddenly Calaphase cursed and pulled out his phone, which I now could hear faintly buzzing.
Never underestimate vampire hearing.
His brow furrowed, his thumb hovered over the button to kill it, but after a long pause he said, “Sorry, I have to take this.”
“What? Am I not here? Is this not important? Don’t you have voicemail?” Saffron said, looking legitimately astounded. “Am I really
nothing
to you two?”
“Yeah Gettyson, now isn’t the best—” Calaphase began, waving her off. “What? What? What the f—speak up, I can’t—Holy crap!”