Biting Nixie (18 page)

The next morning was band auditions for the festival. Monday morning's not the best for musicians of any kind, but I figured at least they'd had the whole weekend to warm up.

Besides, this was the third time auditions had been scheduled. More importantly, there was less than one week until show time. And too many things had interfered already.

I
had
to hear the bands this morning. Or else.

I commandeered the council chambers for the auditions. The room had been restored to its 1872 glory (after The Fire). All around me head-high wainscoting and hardwood floors gleamed. Since there was nothing but bare wood and chairs, the reverberation alone would break eardrums. I'm used to it, though.

As the first band set up, I settled into a chair in the back of the room. Dirk Ruffles rushed in a few moments later, prattling breathlessly. “Sorry I'm late, Nixie. Have I missed anything? Or have I missed everything? Am I too late, or only Meiers Corners late?”

“Don't stress. We're just starting.”

The first band was three high school kids who'd obviously never played anywhere but their parents' basements. The singer was screaming but I could barely hear him because he'd forgotten to turn on the mic. The guitar solo was punctuated by squeals of feedback.

Since it was probably their first public appearance, I let the kids jump and jangle for almost ten minutes before I stopped them. “Thank you.”

They came slouching back, trying not to look too eager. The singer said, “So, like, can we play?”

“I'm scheduling you for two a.m.” By then the beer tent should have done its work.

“All right!” Echoes of congratulations and body slams escorted them out. As the next band set up Dirk leaned over to me. “That was nice of you, Nixie.”

“Yeah. I'm a softie. Don't let it get around.”

“Too late.” The deep, cultured voice came from behind me.

“Julian?” I spun. Sure enough, there he stood, tall, dark, and luscious. Instant bootie burn. I shot up from my seat. Almost fanned my crotch.

He smiled slightly. “We're glad to see you, too.”

We? Him and who…oh. I glanced down at his hips. But if Mr. Big Gavel was waving hi, I couldn't see it under the worsted. Stupid suit.

Julian took the chair on the other side of me. “How are things going?” Said with obvious concern, he was asking if I had recovered from the up-chuck and run from Friday night.

“Fine.” Dirk was listening in and I didn't want any awkward questions, so I added, “I finished locking down all the committee chairs and backups, and yesterday I confirmed the venues. Today Dirk and I are auditioning bands.”

“Ah.” Julian flashed a look at Dirk. Message received. “How long will that take?”

I skimmed over my list. Twelve bands. “If everyone does preset before they come in? Three, maybe four hours.”

“Mind if I watch?”

Did I mind? Did I mind that Julian was sitting so close I could feel his sexual heat beating like radioactive fallout through my body? Hell, yes, I minded. I leaned in. “I don't know if I'll get any work done that way. Don't you have meetings, or something?”

“Not right now. The opposition is conferring. I'm all yours for the next four hours.” Julian bent in close too, so close his lips were a breath away from mine. “Any way you want me.”

Whoo-hoo. Fan me with a bellows. Any way I wanted? I could think of a lot of ways…if there were a bed nearby, which there wasn't. Not that no bed would stop Julian. I remembered a couple incidents while standing… Did I say bellows? Fan me with a jet engine. “Working,” I managed to grit out.

“No problem.” Julian sat back, casually stretched one arm around my chair. His arm was hot as coals. When his fingers began to trace curlicues on my neck, I nearly shot into orbit.

“Working,” I reminded him with a squeak.

“You're not actually working right now, Nixie,” Dirk pointed out oh-so-helpfully from my other side. “You're waiting for the next band to start.”

“
Thanks,
Dirk.” Couldn't they tune any faster?

In fact, Julian had drawn the Mona Lisa on my neck before the band was ready to play. His fingers obligingly dropped away on the first beat. Perversely, I missed them.

Just as the band finished I felt a really warm hand slide under the bottom of my hoodie. Fingers landed unerringly on the naked skin between my top and my low-cut jeans. “Julian.”

“What?” He was all innocent-like. The fingers caressed lightly along my spine, down to the dimples in my hips. I squirmed. They stroked down under the band of my low-riders. When they started rubbing my tailbone I nearly shrieked.

“Hey, Nixie! What's up?” a honeyed contralto said.

“Rocky!” I jumped. Not all of it was surprise at seeing her. Julian's hand took advantage of my momentary rise to slip between the cheeks. “
Argh
!”

“Nice makeup.” Rocky took off her glasses and polished them. “Is that a new shade of blusher?”

“Uh, maybe.”

“Well, it's really a good color for you.” She put her glasses back on, adjusted them some. “Looks real natural.” She stopped, and frowned. Her eyes followed the curve of Julian's arm around my shoulders. Went down. Stopped.

“OMG.” She turned bright red. “OMG.” She covered her mouth. “OMG,” she said again, sort of muffled.

“Rocky, it's not what you think.”

“Yes it is,” Julian said.

“OMG,” Rocky squeaked, turning flame red. I felt just as red. As I extracted Julian's hand from my posterior, Rocky spun away. She fled to the other end of the room, where the second band was packing up. She was bright red as she hooked up her karaoke machine. Bright red as she played what thankfully turned out to be decent rock and roll, although it was kind of weird hearing the Mozart Concerto in G for flute and garage band. And as she packed up and left, I thought I heard her say “OMG” another four or five times.

Seven more bands followed in the next three hours. They ranged from okay to pretty good to absolutely top of the food chain. I was relieved not to have to turn any of them down. Most I gave the standard contract—$500, free food and beer, and all the CDs they could sell. Two I gave $1000, and I was still under budget.

In between each band Julian caressed some portion of my anatomy. After the scare with Rocky he started back at the top. But he was an industrious boy and he busily worked his way back down. By the second-to-last group he'd snuck his hand into the sweet spot of my low-rider jeans. After three hours of foreplay I was practically crawling the ceiling.

The second-to-last group took the stage while my eyes were screwed shut and I was concentrating really really hard on not rocking my hips in time to Julian's fingers in my slit. Dirk was normally clueless, but even
he
would notice me having an orgasm right next to him. Probably.

So I didn't see the band until the first dirgy downbeat. My eyes snapped open. At first I thought my eyelids were still closed because I saw nothing but black. Black instruments, black horned glasses, cascades of black hair, black eyeshadow and jewelry. Then the black resolved into five metrosexual morticians.

Moaning about the futility of love, life, and the universe.

Ugh. Emo.

I hate emo. They're at the opposite end of the spectrum from Guns and Polkas. We sing about the
stupidity
of love, life, and the universe. Totally different.

Dirk leaned over. “They're kind of depressing.”

“They're emo. That's their thing.”

“Emo?” Julian asked.

“Yeah. Emotive Hardcore. Though these kids are going for the EZ-bake version—a mushy sort of goth. Depressing, really. Real drama llamas.” I watched them shuffle around, all pale and drawn. White faces, black clothes. Red lipstick. “How vampirey,” I said without thinking.

Julian bent his head, skimmed just the tip of a fang along my neck. “Not really.”

I shuddered with instant lust. Fueled by three hours of intimate touching, but hey. Spark to dry tinder. Enough was enough. I shouted, “Okay, thank you!” The moaning faltered. “Thank you very much.”

Jangled chords petered out. “But…” The lead moaner (or I guess singer) looked at his mates in confusion. Focused on me. “We just started.”

“And I could tell instantly your band is
just
what we need. Here's your contract, sign and return.” One more band. One more band to go, and only three of Julian's four free hours had passed. One more band and I'd have an hour with Julian. With what he could do in five minutes, I wondered if I'd survive a whole hour.

Pachelbel's
Canon
sounded discreetly to my right. Julian slid a slim flip phone out of his breast pocket. “Emerson. Yes. Yes, I understand.” He shut the phone. “Nixie. I have to go.”

“I thought you had four hours!”

“They got done early. I'm sorry.” He stood.

I leaped to my feet too, practically threw the paperwork at the band. “Julian, I've only got one more group. Can't you wait a few minutes?” At the front of the room the last band started tuning up. One part of my mind heard the guitarist match the fifth-fret E-string to low A…and miss by about twenty yards. “It won't take long.”

“Believe me, I wish I could.” He bent and kissed me, all tongue and heat and liquid desire with just the hint of fang. “But Nosferatu himself is there. Negotiations have reached a critical stage.”

“Uh, yeah.” Just Julian's kiss made me dizzy. Dizzy like he'd shorted me out. “Maybe I can come along?” After all, it was a meeting. If he could rub me to near orgasm while I auditioned bands, maybe I could do a Police Academy on him and blow him under the table.

“Nixie.” Julian grabbed me and kissed me harder. “I'd love for you to come along.”

Oh, yeah. “Dirk, gotta go. Take the last band, will you?”

“But Nixie…” Dirk winced as the group struck their first chord—G major with overtones of F-sharp, B-flat, and the kitchen sink. “I don't know if I'm qualified.”

“Just give them the last time slot. 2:30 a.m.” I cringed as the band oozed into the next chord. If notes were cars, I think there was a D major under the wreckage. They were worse than the high-school garage band. It sounded like they had only started playing their instruments two days ago. “Maybe 3:00 a.m. would be better.”

“I don't know, Nixie. I'm not sure they're what we want.”

I wasn't sure either, but I was thinking with only one of my wet parts, and it wasn't my brain. “It'll be fine. Just give them the standard contract.” The singer started. He sounded like a cat or dog, if they were frozen and cut with a band saw. “On second thought, the minimum will be fine.”

Pachelbel started firing again. “Emerson. Yes, I'm on my way.” Julian flipped his phone shut and slid it into his breast pocket. “Nixie, I've got to go.”

“I'm coming!” I tossed my file at Dirk, who for once was speechless.

As Julian and I got to the outer door a smoky-glassed limo slid to the curb. My hackles raised at the in-your-face wealth until I remembered Julian was a sun-shy vampire. Then the opaque ride became an Opportunity. “How far do we have to drive to this meeting?”

Julian turned to me, his eyes lit with interest. “How far do you need?”

“With this morning's foreplay? About three minutes.”

“I think we'll have three minutes.”

To my surprise, Daniel Butler got out of the driver's seat of the limo. Still dressed in his butler costume, but with a jaunty little cap perched on his silver head. Huh. Maybe he worked as a driver for living. It would explain why he'd done bus-duty on our field trips.

As Daniel opened the limo's passenger door, Julian smiled at me. “Here we go.” He flowed down the stairs and into the car almost too fast for me to see.

I followed at a clumping run and hopped in after him. “Whew! That was fun.” I glanced at Julian, was surprised to see him slumped in his seat. Intense pain seared his face. “Julian, what's…wrong?”

I sniffed. Something smelled funny. Smoky, like Sunday grilling out…and I remembered Julian telling me about vampires burning—dying—if they were out too long in the sun. And though it was November, today's sun was bright and direct.

I swore. “Julian! Are you okay?”

“I…will be. In…a minute.” He passed a hand over his face. He was sweating profusely, and looked sick.

Without thinking, I reached up to touch his face. Instantly I pulled back my fingers. Julian's skin was hot, almost burning. And not a hundred-and-four-degree fever burning.
Burning
burning, like an oven. I swore again. “Why didn't you tell me noon sun would make you burst into flames?!”

“Not…sun. You.” And shockingly, Julian reached for me.

I pulled back. “WTF, Julian! You're badly injured! I can wait until tonight.”

“May…be…still meeting…then.” Julian spoke slowly, his voice cracking. “May be now…or never.” His fingers closed over my breast.

“Stop that! Sex isn't important enough to die for, Julian!”

The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Already…dead. And not flaming. Don't flame for…ten, fifteen minutes.” His voice was gaining strength.

The squeezing fingers sent little shocks of need through me. “Shit. You're a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Just…stubborn. Like you.”

“Not. Stop that, I said! We've got three minutes before we get to the meeting place. Concentrate on healing, not sex.”

He leaned over, began to kiss along my ear. “I recover…fast.”

“Yeah? Fast enough to take another serious hit of sun when we get there?” I closed my eyes and without meaning to, leaned into his lips. “I'm guessing those fifteen minutes before you burst into flame include a few minutes of unconsciousness.” I pulled back, although it wasn't easy. Glared at him. “What if you get halfway to the door and faint? How'm I gonna drag your giant carcass the rest of the way?”