Biting Nixie (35 page)

“Uh…yeah,” Bart said weakly. Confused.

Well, nail the
B
in BINGO.

It gave me time to think up a cunning plan. A plan so cunning you could slap a wig on it and call it my mother.

All I had to do was delay the bad guys until the mayor finished. When the speech was done, the people would leave for the other delights of the festival. The Lestats could terrorize an empty room all they wanted—as far as I knew, floorboards didn't scare easily.

If I could delay them until the VIP tourists dispersed, Nosy's Gang was screwed.

I took a quick look at the clock hanging on the wall behind Cutter. Four-oh-eight. The festival started at four thirty. Whoo-boy. I had my work cut out for me.

“So. You boys here to brawl?” I cocked a hip, checked out my nails, and slewed a catty glance at the lead leathercoat.

Mr. Lead Leather wore his hair spiked and his leather studded. Yum—if I hadn't already developed a taste for Julienned vampires. At my come-hither smile Lead Leather gave a start of surprise, then smiled back—with a hint of fang. Not as long or sleek as Julian's. I wondered if size of fang and size of
thang
were related. Probably. If so, I had gotten extremely lucky in the fang lottery.

I nearly slapped myself. Julian, I reminded myself, was going home as soon as this was over. It wouldn't matter how long his fangs were. They wouldn't reach from Boston.

Mr. Lead Leather's smile faltered. Oops. Too much thinking, not enough seducing. I deliberately tipped my head back, just enough to expose some throat, and winked. Well, I figured if a flash of panty can do it for a regular guy, a flash of jugular must be a vampire voyeur's dream.

Leathercoat's fangs grew and his eyes turned red. Nail me an
I
. He took one step forward before Cutter held up an arm. “Bludgeon! Hold up.”

Cutter? Bludgeon? Could they get any daggier?

Cutter turned to me. “How do we know you're telling the truth?”

“Don't you guys have a truth ray, or something?” I widened my eyes in waves, like I was some sort of Rasputin. “Laser vision?”

Cutter's gaze went ruby hard, and not the kind of red that Bludgeon-Leathercoat had. Angry red, not lusty red. “If you're not Emerson's minion, prove it.”

Okay, now I was out of my depth. How did you prove you were
not
a vampire's human minion? “Glad to, Ichabod. If you'll just tell me what the difference is between minion and sex slave.” At five simultaneous gasps and four sets of suddenly stiff—er, fangs—I added, “Hey, he's an old guy, but he is pretty well-endowed. A girl would be
baka
not to indulge. And being a sex slave's kind of fun.” I hooked my thumbs through the belt loops of my superlow skinny jeans and did a grind, ending in a bump of my nearly naked hips.

Nostrils flared at that. Bludgeon Leathercoat's eyes got even redder. Like I was super-delectable now. Apparently having an old guy in the vampire world was a good thing.

Give me a
B
, give me an
I
, give me an
N
!

Cutter was the first to get his er, fangs under control. “What has bakery got to do with this?”

“
Baka
,” said Bludgeon Leathercoat under his breath. “Means stupid, stupid.” He winked at me, a sign we were on the same wavelength. I gave him a conspiratorial smile and blew him a kiss. He knew what
baka
meant! Either he kept up with his slang, or he'd died quite recently. Which meant he wasn't that powerful.

So it was one pint-sized punk against three vampires, a human, and a fledgling.

Not much better odds, but hey. I'd taken on Ruthass and won. How hard could it be?

I studied my naked hips. “You wouldn't think such a fusty old lawyer dude would be any good,” I said thoughtfully. “But apparently they teach more than legal briefs at the old Paper Chase. They must teach bikini briefs.” I released my belt loops and slowly unbuttoned the top button of my jeans. “Boy-cut briefs. French-cut briefs.” I pulled out my waistband and took a look in. Gave my panting audience a naughty smile. “
No
briefs.”

If vampire eyes were stove burners, those boys would have been set on Inferno. Even Bart looked like he was smoking a little out the ears.
B-I-N-G.

“And Emerson certainly knows how to handle all those briefs. Especially the no-briefs. Mmm. What he can do with a fang”—I touched one finger to my neck—“a finger”—I flicked my butt—“and a cock.” I made a riding gesture with
two
fingers. “Well. He's a real
stallion
.”

The vampires were actually drooling blood out the corners of their mouths.

And the big hand of the clock behind Cutter was on the three.

I polished more fingernails. “So you boys were here to disrupt the mayor's speech?”

Cutter sucked his tongue back into his mouth. With a vestige of bluster he said, “We're here to scare your rich donors, donor. Ha-ha.”

“Good idea.” I polished the other hand. “Too bad you're too late.”

Cutter flashed a look at his Rolex. “What are you talking about? It's only quarter after four. Fifteen minutes yet.”

“Right. Sure. Good timing.” I paused, looked him straight in the eye. “If Meiers Corners were on Standard Time.”

He laughed. “I adjusted for that, blood-bitch. Daylight savings, central time-zone. It's four fifteen.”

“Uh-huh. But that's not what I meant.”

“Wha…?”

“Meiers Corners time, Nimrod. Everything's twenty minutes early. The mayor's speech ended five minutes ago.”

Cutter looked shocked. Bart swore. All four vampires plus semi-human ran from the hall toward the council room. Going to check it out, but I knew it'd be empty.

“BINGO!” I crowed after them.

“Very nice,” a deep, cultured voice said from behind me. “You know they'll just go on to the next venue.”

“And we'll deal with it,” I said without turning. “But at least the VIPs aren't RIPs. Speaking of Meiers Corners time, aren't you a little late, Emerson?”

“You didn't seem to need the cavalry.” He came up behind me and slid his arms around me. “And I so enjoyed hearing about my exploits. Am I really a stallion?”

“Don't let it go to your head.” I rubbed back against his leather-clad hips. “If I thought you were really hot, I'd have compared you to a Maserati or Quattroporte.”

He leaned down, flicked his tongue across my earlobe. “I'll just have to try harder, won't I.”

Whoo-boy. Rev my engine up. “Yeah,” I breathed. “After.”

“After what?”

“After we check out the sheepshead tourney.”

His tongue took an interesting detour. “That doesn't start until four thirty. It's only four-seventeen.”

“Weren't you listening, Emerson? Meiers Corners time!” I turned in his arms and tapped his nose.

Julian released me with a sigh. “Since when are you the responsible one?”

“Alien body snatchers!”

We emerged from City Hall into wisps of smoke. The tail end of a limo streaked down Main. Apparently the Nosy Gang hadn't used umbrellas to get to their ride.

Daniel Butler opened the back door of our limo. “Sir? Miss?”

As we ran for cover, I asked Julian, “How come they're all smoking and you're Ice Cube?”

“An advantage of age.” He smiled, revealing gorgeous long and sleeks. Much better than Bludgeon-Leathercoat's. Coolness was not the only advantage of age, I thought. As Butler shut the door, I said, “We have about three minutes.”

Julian's smile widened. “What I have in mind takes only two.”

He underestimated. When Butler popped open the limo door exactly two minutes, twenty seconds later, I was still pulling up my pants. But in his defense, Julian had gotten rather creative.

Just outside Nieman's door a very red-looking Steve Johnson blocked Cutter and his trio backup. They'd apparently lost St. Barty along the way.

Steve, who'd died a year ago, was…has been…had been Gretchen O'Rourke Johnson's husband. Damn, this living-dead thing was hard to conjugate. Was Julian
was
, or was he
had been
?

Anyway, it became evident to me that Julian was right—age did make a difference. Cutter looked normal but the leathercoats were starting to smolder. And looking closer, Steve's red face might have been because he was about to burst into flames. “Better get those canvas gloves,” I murmured to Butler.

Before Towering Inferno III could happen, Julian took over. “Inside,” he said, muscling all five vampires into the bar.

“What?” Steve exclaimed. “Letting in this gang of hoodlums is suicide!”

“A scene involving spontaneous combustion is worse.” Julian pushed them all the way through the bar into the back room. More of an expanded hallway, really, but tables had been set up for the tournament here as well as in the bar area. Some were already occupied.

Julian glared at the half-dozen players, eyes flashing violet. “
Scram
.”

They took one look at him and ran.

“Scram?” I echoed. “Scram? How trite is that? Why not—‘Begone!'? Or ‘Off with you!'?”

“Nixie,” Julian said warningly.

“Or even, ‘Out of my way, peasant!' Really, Julian, what's happened to you?” I cocked my head at him. “Where's the ‘I believe you're out of line, sir' Julian I fell in love with?”

He stared at me, his eyes suddenly bright blue. “Why, Nixie. I didn't know you cared.”

I could have cut my lips off. “Yeah. Well.” ATTITUDE deflated to attitude, which slunk away, whimpering.

“Aw, isn't that cute,” Cutter sneered. “Little chew toy's in
lo-ove
.”

I swatted Cutter's mohair-clad arm. “Fuck you, fang-boy.”

“Ooh. Witty.”

“That's enough.” Julian's low growl was annoyed enough to make even me shut up. “You are here to disrupt the Sheepshead Tournament, correct?”

“Yeah,” Cutter said, sounding kind of sulky. “And don't think you can stop us by yakking.
This
event goes all night.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” Julian crossed his leather-clad arms over his magnificent naked chest. His earring winked in the half-light coming in low through the smoked-glass window. The guy looked good enough to eat. And we'd just done that in the limo ride over. Whoo boy. Julian continued coolly, “But you should know the Ancient One has sent us six of his best. They're due to arrive shortly. Including—Logan.”

“Logan?” Cutter went suddenly pale. “Logan…Steel?” he repeated, as if numb.

“Who's Logan?” I mouthed to Julian.

Julian just gave me a quick “no” with his eyes. He'd tell me later, I guessed. He'd better.

“Not
Logan
,” Cutter said. “Aw, shit.” He started pacing the confined area. Stopped. Demanded, “When will they be here?”

Julian shrugged. “Around sunset. Which is just about…now.”

“Fuck!” Cutter whirled. “We've gotta go!”

“But boss,” the lead leathercoat said. Bludgeon, I remembered. “Nosferatu said to disrupt the festival. He's not going to like it if we don't even try!”

Cutter stopped hard. He stood there, quivering, as if caught between a rock and a wrecking ball. “Shit. Oh, shit.”

Suddenly he lifted his head and his nostrils flared. “Fuck. He's here. I'm doomed.” He went from quivering to full tremble, his eyes riveted on the doorway.

A man sauntered in. Tall, movie-star gorgeous, the man had gold-flecked hazel eyes and a mane of bright blond hair that shimmered down his back like a river of sunshine.

With a nod for Julian, the blond glided up to Cutter and patted his cheek. Cutter took it, simply standing there, shaking like a leaf. “Hello, Cutter,” the man said. “How nice to see you.” His voice was deep, and lazy. “How very nice. Because I seem to recall you owe me money.”

“Ye…yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Logan, sir. I just don't have…much with me. That's it, I don't carry cash…”

“That's all right, Cutter.” The blond man smiled gently. “I'll let you have another chance.” He extended a strong hand toward the other room. “Sheepshead? Double or nothing?”

Cutter groaned. Like a man walking the green mile, he trudged through the doorway.

“Nicely done, Logan,” Julian said, holding out his hand.

The blond man shook it, grinned. “Can't stay long, Emerson. Got a fish to fillet.” He nodded in the direction of Cutter.

“Of course. Just wondering if you brought anybody with you who could take care of three yearlings.” Julian flicked his eyes toward the three coats, who had begun shivering.

Logan's smile broadened. “Oh, I don't think anyone else will be necessary.” He crooked a single finger at the three coats. “Come with me, little minnows. Let me teach you a man's game.”

Steve made a choked sound. “Five-handed sheepshead with four players against you? Begging your pardon, lord Logan, but are you insane?”

“Why don't you come and see?” Logan's eyes glittered rose-gold, and just the tips of his fangs showed as he spoke. When Steve hesitated, he said, “C'mon, it'll be fun. I'll buy the first round of drinks. How about a Red Special?”

“Well…”

Bludgeon, the one who seemed to like me, who knew what
baka
meant, clapped his hands. “All right! Red Specials are the best! Let's go!”

Everyone stared at him for a moment, including Logan and Julian. Bludgeon shrugged. “He knows how to play sheepshead and he's buying a round of Specials. He can't be all bad.”

Logan laughed. Clapped Bludgeon on the back. “How right you are, fledgling. Come along now. Let me show you how to win on three jacks and an ace—without a partner.”

“All right!” Bludgeon said again as they disappeared into the bar.