A WOMAN STOOD UP, grabbing at Jean-Claude, and a security guard was there to help her back to her seat as he floated higher out of reach. It took me a second to see the longish blond hair and realize the guard was Wicked, of the Wicked Truth, and as if the thought had conjured him I saw Truth among the tables. His darker hair made him almost invisible in the dimness. They were shadowing Jean-Claude through the room, making sure no one got out of hand. They were dressed in the same outfit that all the Guilty Pleasures staff wore, so I hadn’t picked them out. There were at least four more regular security people circulating through the tables. Wicked seemed to be directing them while Truth just stayed close to Jean-Claude as he hovered over the mostly female audience. Seeing Truth staying so close, I realized just how vulnerable Jean-Claude was as he flew above them. I fought to keep the earlier murder scene out of my head so he wouldn’t pick up on it while he was onstage. I trusted the Wicked Truth to keep him safe. I trusted them to keep anyone safe. They were just that good. I fought to let go of my fears and be here and now.
Ethan slid his arm more solidly across my shoulders, which reassured both of us since wereanimals like big puppy piles, or in this case kitten piles. I hoped he was only picking up on my emotions and not the actual memory. I tried to keep my nightmares to myself. He hugged me a little closer as if to let me know it was okay.
Graham leaned into me and asked, “What’s wrong?”
I just shook my head and started to push him back from me, suddenly feeling claustrophobic with both of the men so close, but the moment I touched his bare arm a sense of calmness washed over me. Touching the werewolf steadied me in a way that touching the weretiger didn’t; maybe it was because wolf was Jean-Claude’s animal to call, but whatever the reason I was suddenly able to give my attention to Jean-Claude and the show.
He floated effortlessly over the excited crowd, the blue spotlights following him so that he moved in the halo of them. He was so beautiful that it made my chest tight, and over that was the thought I’d had almost from the beginning with him: How could anyone that beautiful want me? I cleaned up well, but who could compare to this, to him?
Then he was above me, his curls floating out from around his face. The eye makeup was almost like a domino mask across his eyes, larger than it had looked when I’d seen him in a vision earlier. The feathers on the wings moved in that small wind. I wanted to reach up and touch them to see if they were as soft as they looked. I stared into his eyes, their color lost in the blue spotlight so that they looked black like his hair. He reached down his hand toward me, and I offered him mine but let him dictate how much touching happened. It was like an even more complicated hand kiss, where if you offered your hand too forcefully you would end up smacking the man in the face.
He touched just his fingertips to mine and for a second the wind of his power played in my hair, sending it in a nimbus of curls around my face like a mirror of his. He smiled that smile that was only for me and then he was up and back over the crowd, faster this time so you could see the wings tremble as if they wanted to flap but couldn’t.
The crowd was screaming and clapping, and the extra security guards had to keep making them sit down so Jean-Claude didn’t hit them or they didn’t grab him. Wicked and Truth stayed with Jean-Claude, using their more than human speed to keep up. They were vampires, not shapeshifters, but not all vampires have to rely on mind tricks to appear faster than human normal; like I’d explained to McKinnon earlier, some vampires are just that good.
Jean-Claude hovered over the stage, bringing his body from horizontal to vertical, one foot downward, one half bent at the knee, his arms upraised. He was pinned like a butterfly by the blue spotlight and then he slowly began to descend the few feet to the stage. One foot touched down first and then the bent leg came down behind him as if to help balance the wings on his back. The crowd went wild, standing up, applauding, and so much money appeared in the women’s hands that it looked like a forest had sprung up.
The blue spotlight began to change gradually to a more natural color, and Jean-Claude’s voice filled the room. I wasn’t sure if he was using a small microphone or vampire powers, but did it really matter? “Welcome to Guilty Pleasures.”
More screaming and shouts of “Jean-Claude! Jean-Claude!” and just high-pitched squeals, like the grown-up version of a child’s delight, wordless and unselfconscious. Strip clubs are one of the few places where women are encouraged to be as uninhibited as they want to be. I knew dancers who worked both male and female crowds and they all agreed that the women got out of hand more often than the men. I’d been shocked when I’d first found out, but where else could women let down all the socialization to be nice, to be quiet, to be nurturing, and finally not have to be any of those things, sometimes for the first time in their lives. It had taken me a long time to understand why women go so wild here, because though I tried to be kind I was too blunt to be considered nice by girl standards; I always spoke my mind, and I hated being expected to nurture just because I was female, so I was controlled here because I didn’t need an excuse to let go. I had had to date other women to understand my own sex better, because I was too much an outlier.
As the light changed I could finally see that his vest and pants were shiny vinyl in a rich blue, or maybe it was teal. The shininess of the fabric under the lights kept changing the color slightly as he moved. The wings were white, edged in shades of blue. “You have all tempted me down from heaven with your beauty.” When he said tempted, the women cried out as if they were thinking of all the temptations they’d passed up or given in to, and beauty made them beam at him as if him merely saying the word made them feel beautiful. I sat there enjoying the audience’s reaction to his voice without getting caught up in it. I was his human servant, which meant I had immunity to the kind of power that he’d spread over a crowd. His own vampire marks kept me safe, but when I’d first stepped inside Guilty Pleasures nearly ten years ago I’d used my own fingernails to draw blood so the pain would keep me free of his voice. He was a lot more powerful now than he had been then; I was happy to be free to watch but not be bespelled. There were signs at the door and all over: Warning: Vampires, shapeshifters, and other supernatural beings are inside. By crossing this threshold you give consent for them to interact with you, and for any preternatural abilities that they may possess to be used on you. I was still glad to be too powerful to be rolled by his voice.
Music started building again, harder music with a beat to it. “To know you better, I will give up my wings and ask you, glorious creatures, to help me earn my horns instead,” he said, grabbing the front of his vest and ripping it open; the wings came with it, and two of the security people caught them carefully and were handing them back to others near the stage curtain, but the audience didn’t notice they were watching Jean-Claude suddenly dance shirtless. You’d think that him with wings would have been more eye-catching, but you’d be wrong. I was in love with him, so I’d have believed I was prejudiced, but the crowd’s reaction told me it wasn’t just me.
The only darkness on the pale perfection of his chest was a cross-shaped burn scar. It was very similar to the cross-shaped scar I had on my left forearm. Jean-Claude’s was from centuries ago when someone shoved a cross into him trying to save their life. Mine had been a vampire’s daytime guardians branding me to amuse themselves until the vampires rose for the night. Jean-Claude and I had both killed the people that marked us. He’d been hunting humans and I’d been hunting vampires. He’d needed food, I’d been executing criminals—let he who is without sin cast the first stone.
Jean-Claude strutted and stalked the stage while the crowd screamed his name, and some tried to rush the stage. Security caught them, keeping them from climbing onto it. Jean-Claude teased, dancing in front of them as security fought to hold them back. Wicked and Truth stood on either side of the stage, only interceding if the shapeshifters and Buzz couldn’t manage it. I was too short to see all of the dancing unless I stood up, which most of the rest of the crowd was doing at their tables. Some of the women at the stage threw money even though they were being held back by security. A pair of pink lacy panties sailed past the security to land on the stage. I hadn’t seen anyone taking off their panties; did people bring clean underwear to throw at the stage? I hoped so.
The music changed and Jean-Claude grabbed the front of the pants and pulled. They came off in one piece like magic. He tossed them behind him where someone caught them and took them back behind the curtain. I had a glimpse of the thong he was wearing. He never stripped down that far, or at least not as long as I’d seen him onstage. He usually stopped with just his shirt off. I now knew why the pants had been looser than his normal for onstage: to give room for the pair of skintight leather boots that came up to at least the middle of his thighs. The boots were blue; I’d never seen him in boots that color before. From where I was sitting it looked like he was nude except for the boots, because I just wasn’t tall enough and sitting in my view was mostly women from the audience holding up money, or throwing money, or a thong, or . . . were those condoms still in their wrappers?
“Buddha sitting under a tree, it’s never been this bad,” Graham said, almost yelling over the sounds of women screaming Jean-Claude’s name.
I could only nod in agreement. There was a surge behind us almost like the ocean drawing back before it slams the shore, I couldn’t describe it any better than that. I turned to look, but Ethan already had my arm and was pulling me to my feet, as I realized the crowd on this side was about to rush the stage en masse. Graham was on the other side of me, not grabbing my arm but facing the other way like he was going to block for me.
Ethan had a death grip on my left arm as he half led and half dragged me to the door beside the stage that led to the employees-only area. Graham came at our backs. I saw Truth and Wicked onstage with Jean-Claude. They were moving him toward the second exit that was literally at the back of the stage. Ethan got our door open. I must have hesitated, because he said, “Wicked Truth have him. We have you.” He spilled us through the door, with Graham having to push the crowd away to get us through and close the door. Luckily they weren’t trying for our door but just to rush past toward the stage.
We had a moment of silence behind the closed door, hearts pounding. I had a moment to acknowledge that it had been maybe frightening to see them go for the stage, but we hadn’t been the target, just an obstacle to be trampled. Ethan and I looked toward the few steps that led up to the stage door.
“I’m counting to five,” I said.
“You can’t go out there, Anita,” Ethan said.
“I can,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.
“You can’t hurt customers, and they sure as hell will hurt us,” Graham said.
He had a point because my training was mostly how to hurt or kill people. I wasn’t a cop; I was an executioner.
The door opened and Truth came through with Jean-Claude and Wicked following. Someone else still onstage closed the door behind them. I got a glimpse of other black-shirted security massed in front of the door as it closed. It shook as if someone had fallen against the door.
I was trying to decide if I was really afraid of the crowd outside and did we need to rescue the rest of security when I realized that Jean-Claude was laughing. His eyes were bright, and it wasn’t vampire powers. He was giddy on the energy of the performance and the crowd’s reaction. He leaned against the wall in his fabulous boots and the thong, looking drunk, drunk on power.
“You enjoyed that,” I said almost accusingly.
“Why did you take the pants off after they were so wild?” Truth asked.
“I did,” Jean-Claude said, “it was part of the act.”
“I’ve never seen the crowd like this,” Graham said.
“What did you do to the audience?” Truth asked.
“Nothing I have not done before,” Jean-Claude said, standing there so full of the energy of the crowd that I could feel it coming off him in waves.
“That can’t be true, they’re crazed out there,” he said.
“We need to help the other security,” Graham said.
“Our duty is Jean-Claude’s safety,” Wicked said.
The door shook again, shuddering this time under the weight and energy of the crowd still trying to get to Jean-Claude. “We need to call more security from the other clubs,” Truth said.
“Or calm the crowd,” I said.
All the security looked at me, and then Wicked Truth and Ethan all shook their heads. “You can’t go out there,” Ethan said.
“We calm the crowd, or we call the police to do it for us,” I said.
Truth looked at Wicked. Wicked said, “Our duty lies here.”
“If Jean-Claude caused this while we guarded him, then it is our duty to fix it if we can,” Truth said.
“I did not do this,” Jean-Claude said, laughing wildly, slumping a little down the wall.
“You’re power drunk,” I said, and I couldn’t keep it from sounding accusatory.
Truth went toward the side door that we had come through, because the stage door was still shuddering as the crowd tried to push through. Wicked turned to Graham and Ethan. “Get Jean-Claude and Anita out of here.”
“And Nathaniel,” Truth added.
“All the principals,” Wicked said, and the brothers went for the door.
Jean-Claude pushed away from the wall, trying to go after them I think, but he was too drunk and started to collapse. Graham caught him, and the moment he touched him the energy changed. I felt it like a switch turned on inside me. I felt better, clearer-headed, and I realized that it was overfeed from Jean-Claude. He straightened, keeping his arm across Graham’s shoulders. “Stay by my side, Graham, there is something in the club tonight. It has tampered with us, and it does not like wolves.”
“If you did not do this, then it was done to you,” Wicked said.
“I fear so,” Jean-Claude said.
“No vampire should be able to roll you, you’re our king,” Truth said.
“So I thought, and if they could attack me, it would not be here, not while I was surrounded by lust. It is the element where I command.”
“You are steadier now, more in command of yourself,” Wicked said.
“I felt better when Graham touched me, too, but not this much better,” I said.
“Wolf is my animal to call, ma petite.”
“Mine, too,” I said.
“Wolf comes to you through your shared marks with me and the absent third of our triumvirate, but it was mine first. The first power that came to me and marked me as a master vampire.” He seemed utterly sober now, as if he’d drunk a dozen cups of coffee and been dunked in ice water in the last few seconds. He was still wearing the leg-hugging blue leather boots and the thong, but the clothes didn’t matter; he was suddenly every inch a king, dominant to everyone and everything he surveyed. Jean-Claude hid it most of the time; I think it was habit because playing the fop who got by on his looks and seducing the right people had been how he’d hidden in plain sight from other powerful vampires for centuries. He’d hidden just how powerful he was even from me at first, and I was good at judging ages and power levels. Standing there in an outfit that would have made most people put him in the beautiful-bimbo box, suddenly all the camouflage was gone. He stood there in a mantle of power and command that didn’t need crowns or scepters. The intelligence in his face and the certainty with which he held his body said he could walk into a throne room dressed like a stripper and it wouldn’t matter, they’d still curtsy as he passed and believe he had a right to sit down wherever he damn well chose.