Kiss of Death (9 page)

“O-kayyyyy.”

“
Beacon
…apparently vamps have some sort of beacon to attract other vampires…” I keep reading. “Oh, this is funny. Under beacon it also mentions the word
vampdar.
It's like gaydar…but a vampire radar.” Mercedes laughs.

I keep scanning through the Web page. There's no way we can learn all of these terms in the fifteen to twenty minutes it will take us to get to the club at this time of night, so I look for ones that I imagine would be more common in everyday speech or when first meeting other vampires. “
Blood junkie
…someone who has no control over their blood thirst.” I move on to the next one. “Here's another play on words from the gay community. “
Coming out…
of the coffin.”

Mercedes laughs again. “Yup, like that one, too.”

“
Donor
…someone who gives their blood to a vampire.” I scroll down to the
F's. “Feeding,
i.e. drinking blood.
H, the hunger,
also known as the thirst or need…means the need to feed.”

Mercedes takes the exit onto I-10, traveling east.

I keep scanning through the alphabet, but it's not until I get to
P
that I find something interesting—
Psychic vampires.
My initial reaction is to roll my eyes and comment on how pathetic it sounds…except that I have psychic visions.

“According to this there are two types of vampires—
psychic vampires who drain your life energy rather than blood, and then the vampires who feed on actual blood.” I scan the entry further. “And some vamps can do both.”

“There are a few people at work who suck the life force out of me.”

I laugh. “Gonna name names?”

“No.” She shakes her head.

I keep moving through the alphabet. “A rogue, which is either a donor who parted company with his or her vamp on hostile terms, or a vampire who becomes violent and irresponsible. Maybe the group I told you the bar manager mentioned today are rogues within their community. It sounded like they were pretty rough.”

“And you want to find these people?”

“At some stage, yeah. But that's not what tonight is about. Tonight I just want to get a feel for the vamp community.”

Mercedes nods. “I can help you tomorrow with all the social-networking stuff. Once you're online with some of these people you'll get a good idea of the personality types, too.”

“Thanks.”

Next in the
R's
is
Renfield's syndrome,
a psychological condition that “explains” vampirism. I read it with interest, but it's something I'll revisit more closely tomorrow. There are a few terms derived from
sanguine
and
blood,
and the next
S
is
sexual vampirism.
“You'll like this one,” I say to Mercedes. “
Sexual vampirism
…feeding on sexual energy.”

“As in during sex?”

“Um, it says here that it can be someone's sexual energy or the energy generated during sex. So both, I guess.”

Mercedes looks down at her leather dress. “Maybe that's partly why they wear these clothes. I mean, it's not my taste but it is damn sexy. I even
feel
sexy. And if they
think they can feed off that vibe…” Mercedes takes us off the freeway and onto Vermont Avenue.

“True.” I move back to my BlackBerry screen and the glossary. “
Vampire bait
…someone who wants a vampire to bite them. It also says
vampire bait
is a
wannabe.
And
wannabe
is the last term here. Pretty self-explanatory…it's someone who wants to become a vampire but isn't one.”

“Maybe that's all we're going to look like tonight. Wannabes.” Mercedes keeps driving north, heading back up to Wilshire.

“Surely our age will be on our side. Maybe I'm wrong, but I envisage wannabes as teenagers. You know, kids who are fans of all the vampire movies and books and just want to be a part of it.”

“We're gonna look real old in there, aren't we?”

“No. I checked out the club online and the photos show different ages up to about forty.” I pause. “And Anton Ward, the leader of After Dark, is in his thirties.”

Mercedes nods. “Okay, I feel better now.” She looks down at herself again.

I laugh. “You're worried we're mutton dressed as lamb?”

“What?”

“Oh…sorry, it must be an Australian expression.” I'm starting to lose track of what expressions are Australian and which ones are American—guess I have been surrounded by Americans for nearly two years now. “Mutton dressed as lamb means an older woman dressed in something that's more suitable to someone much, much younger.”

“God, that's us.”

I shake my head. “We're way too hot to be mutton.”

We both laugh.

Sunday, 10:15 p.m.

W
e get a parking spot a block and a half away and both feel more than a little exposed as we walk to the club. Just before we left the car I took another look at the photos I have of Anton Ward and Damien Winters. The only pic of Winters is from his driver's license, but hopefully it will be enough for me to recognize him.

It's 10:20 p.m. by the time we're walking down the alley to Monte Cristo and Malediction Society. The place still looks a little rough from the outside, but small candles run the length of the laneway and instantly give the venue character.

It's been a long time since I've been on the club scene and I feel like an excited teenager. I'm sure the dress-ups are adding to the thrill, and I have to admit I'm more than a little intrigued by Anton Ward. But I remind myself of the real reason we're here: Sherry Taylor.

“Ladies.” The doorman pulls aside a rope for us. “Come in.”

“Thank you.” I immerse myself in the character of Veronica, vampire and temptress. I also put on my best American accent.

After paying the club's entrance fee, we walk up the flight of stairs and the thumping of the music gets louder. “The music's terrible,” I say to Mercedes.

She nods. “And imagine how much worse it will be when we're up there.”

I grimace. “Maybe we are mutton.”

Mercedes laughs and we take the last few stairs. The place looks different than it did a few hours ago, when full lighting showed up scuffed floors and stained upholstery. Now colored lights flow over the bar and dance floor, and the chandelier and a few high wall-mounted candles create a definite ambience. The furniture that looked drab earlier now looks inviting and even somehow romantic. Behind the bar, three pink lights reflect off the white plaster, creating a textured effect. I can see Cheryl making a cocktail, and one other barman helps her serve. The bar's busy, but it's probably just the first rush of the evening. There are only about sixty people here; still early for a club.

Mercedes leans into me. “Want a drink?”

“Yeah. Do you mind getting them? I don't want the bar manager to see me.”

“There's no way she's going to recognize you, but I'll get the drinks. Beer?”

“Yeah, I'll have a Beck's.”

“Sure.”

I sit down on a corner couch that faces outward—the perfect place to people-watch.

Nearly ten minutes later, Mercedes hands me my bottle of Beck's.

“Cheers,” she says and we clink our bottles together. “Seen anyone interesting?” Mercedes takes a seat next to me. “
Interesting
is not a problem, but no sign of Anton Ward or Damien Winters. And I haven't seen anyone who matches the descriptions of the rogue vamps, either.”

Mercedes nods. “You wanna move? Apparently there's a rooftop patio through that door.”

I look around the room. “Let's hang out here for a bit. The place is only just getting started anyway.”

We spend the next hour observing the scene. Fashions range from a more Goth-punk look to the romanticized Victorian, and there are certainly women showing a lot more flesh than us, including some in only bodices, fishnets, knickers and suspenders. Although I've been keeping my eye on the door on and off, I've either missed my targets or they haven't arrived. Given I've been looking around quite a bit and could have easily missed our targets' entrance, I decide it's time to move. Besides, I've been nursing the same Beck's for an hour now and it's time for another drink.

I lean into Mercedes and yell in her ear. “Come on. Let's take a look around.”

“Thank goodness. My legs are falling asleep.”

“What, you want to dance?”

She laughs. “Not to this.”

We're moving toward the bar when I notice several heads turning. Mercedes and I instinctively follow suit and see Anton Ward, flanked by two women, standing at the top of the stairs. The threesome moves forward, with another three couples in tow. Just like everyone else in the room, I feel myself drawn to them, to him.

Ward certainly is striking. He's six foot, maybe six-one, with a slim build, and his coal-black hair looks sculptured, like every strand has been meticulously placed to frame his face and the nape of his neck in a feathered, almost feminine manner. His pearly whites are just that—whiter than white with a pearl-like sheen—and even from here his skin looks silky and pale. His clothes are an unusual juxtaposition of modern and historical. A white shirt has a slight flare at the sleeves and is tucked into tailored black pants that taper at the bottom, following
the natural line of his leg. He also wears a black velvet vest with red, black and gold brocade, and the tight vest accentuates a slim waistline and the billows of his white silk shirt. The outfit is tailored and he wears it well—he looks like he's just walked off the catwalk. There's no doubt about it, Anton Ward is hot.

“Wow.” Mercedes lets out a gush of air.

“That's our guy. Keep your cool.”

She looks at me and raises her eyebrows. “Keep
my
cool.” She leans in. “You could lose the dropped jaw, honey.”

I laugh. “Okay, okay.”

She looks back at Ward and shakes her head. “Of course
he's
the one you're after.”

Ward scans the room, taking the clubbers in like mere peasants to his aristocracy. His eyes seem to rest on me for an extra beat, before moving on to Mercedes and then to the people nearest us. The whole lackadaisical look only takes him five seconds, but I get the feeling he's soaked up everyone in the room in that short time frame. Just like a cop or FBI agent would. And why did his eyes linger on me? Do Mercedes and I stick out in some way?

Ward moves, and his entourage follows. Presumably they're all After Dark members, but it's impossible to know for sure. Does he have a girlfriend and friends who aren't in After Dark, or is his social life exclusive to his house? They make a beeline for the bar, and the other club-goers part down the middle so Ward and his crew can walk a straight line without having to weave through the masses. He certainly is treated like a celebrity…just what cult leaders normally expect…and demand.

There is a definite energy about him…. I know what Cheryl was talking about when she used the expression
je ne sais quoi
. He obviously has a magnetic personality, not that dissimilar to our descriptions to date of Sherry.
But how deep was her interest in the Goth world and did she come in contact with Ward or After Dark?

Mercedes and I watch as Ward and his followers get drinks. No money exchanges hands, but Cheryl did say he had a tab. And likely the club gives him a few free drinks. If he's as powerful as he seems in the community, his presence in the club could be enough to draw people in—much like celebrities get comped everything because the exposure they bring will more than pay for any bar tab. It reminds me of an interview with Jim Carey I once saw. He joked that when he was trying to break into the business he had no money to pay for new clothes and eating out, and once he became famous he couldn't pay for these things no matter how hard he tried.

To my surprise, Ward suddenly comes directly toward us, drink in hand.

“Ladies,” he shouts, just audible over the music. “Welcome to Malediction Society.”

I smile. “Thanks.” Again, I make sure I use an American accent, another layer of my fake identity.

Mercedes gives Ward a rather cheesy grin.

“Let's go onto the patio, so we can talk.” Ward frees himself from his two women and links arms with Mercedes and me. He doesn't wait for a response, rather he assumes he won't meet resistance. I'm happy to oblige, for both professional and personal reasons. The more I can learn about Anton Ward in an unofficial way, the better…and the man is enticing. His group follows us.

As soon as we're outside, the oppressive nature of the music lifts, and I feel like I can breathe once more. Maybe I'm getting old.

Anton Ward takes in a big breath. “That's better. Now we can hear each other.”

I smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

The patio has spectacular views and I admire the bright lights of L.A.'s skyline.

Once we're at the edge of the patio, Ward unlinks our arms, turns us around and leans on the patio wall. “So, are you ladies new in town or just new to Malediction Society?”

“What gave us away?” I bat my eyelashes a little, even though I want to say:
You can't possibly know we've never been here before.

He gives the cuffs of his shirt a quick and precise tug. “It's a pretty regular crowd in here. Same people most weeks. And I've never seen you here, or anywhere, before.”

I nod. “We're new in town. This is Crystal and I'm Veronica. We just moved here from North Carolina.”

“Ahh…let me guess, actresses?”

“Is it that obvious?” Mercedes gives him a flirtatious smile and a slight giggle.

I don't know the actual stats, but I'm sure at least ninety percent of the people who relocate to L.A. are actors or singers.

He holds out his hand. “I'm Anton Ward.”

I take his hand, but instead of a handshake, he brings my hand up to his lips and plants a delicate kiss on it, all the while maintaining eye contact. I feel a slight tingle all over my body as his lips brush my hand. I even have to resist the urge to take a breath and let it out with a contented sigh.

Next he takes Mercedes' hand in his. “A pleasure.”

She gives another little giggle and this time I'm not sure if she's playing along with our act or genuinely affected by his kiss. Who would blame her?

Ward straightens up. “And this is Teresa and Paula.”

The girls both give us the slightest nods, in between their dreamy, smoldering looks. They are both beautiful, sexy women, but it seems to me they're obscured by the image they're trying to portray. Anton introduces the other three couples, but keeps his gaze firmly on me.

After a long stretch of silence, he says to me, “Your spiritual life force is very strong, Veronica.” His almost-black eyes are still fixed on me. The look is hard to describe. There's something purely animalistic about his gaze—lustful, but at the same time there's almost a hint of worship in it. “I've never encountered anything quite like it,” he says.

My life force? Could this somehow be related to my gift? I don't know much about people's energy or life force, but I guess it's possible that with my mind somehow linked to the future he senses something different about me.

His eyes take in my face slowly, studying every inch of it. “I am both a psi and blood vampire, and to feed on you…it would be a feast.”

I try to play it cool, but am a little unnerved. “Thank you.”

“You feel…different. It's most unusual, but I can't tell if you're one of us or not.”

This gets the attention of his followers, who immediately seem to freeze.

Teresa moves closer to Ward. “Are you all right, master?”

He keeps his eyes on me but puts his left hand up to Teresa's face and plays with her hair. “I'm fine, Teresa. It's just…unusual.”

“Yes.” She leans her head into his shoulder, somewhat comforted.

Maybe the girls are on drugs. There's certainly something dreamy about them, almost like their minds are only partially in the here and now. But again, it could all be part of the image. I take a closer look at the pupils of Ward, Teresa and Paula—the three closest to me—and they all seem normal.

“So, Veronica. Given I cannot read you, you will have
to tell me.” He smiles, still playing with Teresa's hair but staring intently at me. “Are you one of us?”

When Mercedes and I created our characters in the car we didn't get this far. I didn't think we'd talk to anyone, much less have this sort of conversation with Ward himself. If I say we're donors, am I effectively inviting them to bite us? I'd do a lot for my job, but offering my blood definitely crosses the line. Besides, Ward's already looking at me like I'm something between a snack and a conquest; the last thing I need is to offer myself up to him. But if we say we're vampires, will he then produce a couple of willing and able donors for us?

I lift my eyes to his. “I am, and Crystal is my donor.”

He studies us closely. “You are partners?”

“Friends,” I answer evenly.

There's a long moment of contemplative silence before he takes his hand away from Teresa and delicately cups my jaw. “I could feel your presence as soon as I entered the club. It's almost overwhelming.” Again his eyes travel over my face as though he's searching for something. The intensity of the look and his dark eyes takes my breath away.

I try to hide the gulp, try to hide my desire to run—although I'm not sure if I'd run away from him or to him. A glance at Paula and Teresa tells me they're less than impressed that Ward's paying me so much attention.

With his face only inches from mine and his hand still resting against the length of my jaw, Ward takes a deep, long breath almost like he's drinking me in. Then he suddenly withdraws and pulls a card from his vest pocket. “I'm throwing a party tomorrow night. I'd like you…and Crystal…to come.” He takes the hands of Teresa and Paula. “Until tomorrow.” He gives us a nod and turns abruptly, moving back inside the club.

I let out a sigh and turn around, leaning my wobbly elbows on the patio wall.

“What was that about?” Mercedes is curious, but I also get a hint of jealousy in her tone.

“I don't know. I guess he wants my blood…my energy.”

She smiles. “I think he might want more than that.”

“I'm just glad we got through it.” I turn around again, leaning my back against the barrier. “I'm sorry, Mercedes. I should never have brought you.”

“Don't sweat it. Besides, having to think on my feet was worth it to meet him.”