Fiery Nights (2 page)

I blew out the candles and went upstairs, returning to the
dance floor area where I’d last seen her. She wasn’t there any longer. I walked
the perimeter of the dance floor, looking for her.

Where was she? She should be easy to see with that light.
That glow.

Was it gone? Was it just my mind playing tricks on me?

Yes, that would explain it. I’d never seen anything like
that before. It couldn’t be real. It shouldn’t be.

Nevertheless, I scanned the people at the bar looking for my
little pirate wench. But she was nowhere to be seen.

Exhaling a deep sigh of regret, I realized I blew it.

Maya

An hour or two later, I decided my dancing legs were broken
back in and were now ready for a rest. I went to the ladies’ room to make sure
I didn’t acquire raccoon eyes working up a sweat out there, retrieved my
leather trench coat from coat check, and then pulled a heavy door to walk back
up the alley.

Byron was talking to someone dressed all in black. The man’s
back was toward me and I quickly noted the slightly long black hair on a tall
frame like Peter Steele of Type O Negative, at least 6’ 3”.
Yes! This was a
good night to come back!

Although he was wearing a dark outfit, which looked like a
cape—a cape, capes were donned by many Halloween revelers tonight, much like my
recent encounter with that dark-eyed mystery man—I could still decipher the
broad shoulders.

Byron caught my eye. “You’re not leaving already, are you?
It’s far too early to call it a night.”

“I think I’ve had enough, Byron. Looks as if I need to break
in slowly.”

“Mr. Stone, this is Maya. She used to be a regular at the
old club. It’s her first time back since you reopened it.”

When he turned to me, it was him. The guy who stared at me
on the dance floor; the one who gave me palpitations.

Holy fucking shit!

When I caught those penetrating black eyes again, something
weird happened inside my body. Some sort of connection I’d never felt before. I
was suddenly aware of this thing beating frantically inside my chest. How
difficult it was to swallow. And why I couldn’t break our gaze.

Rein it in, Maya. Rein it in!

“A pleasure,” he said. I wasn’t expecting such a deep voice,
as sexy as Alan Rickman’s but with the accent of someone who grew up on the
North Shore. Amazing how a sexy accent can affect your reaction to the opposite
sex.

He bowed slightly to take my hand and kiss it. The tingle
that shot from his hand on mine, his lips on my skin, did something to me that
I still can’t logically explain.

It really must have been too long since I’d been out and
interacting with the male species.

“Mr. Stone is the new owner,” Byron explained. “He put a lot
of attention into rebuilding the club.”

“And you’re leaving so soon?” he said, never breaking our
gaze. “What a shame. I hope it’s not that the club doesn’t live up to your
expectations.”

Several seconds passed while my eyes traveled from his dark
ones down to stare at lips that I could kiss for days—”interface with,” as the
guys at work said when geeking out talking about girls. Suddenly aware that I
still hadn’t uttered a word, I said, “No, it’s not that, Mr. Stone. It looks
great. I don’t want to overdo it. Haven’t used these dancing legs in a long
time.”

“Please call me Tristan. Come, Maya, I’m not convinced. Let
me show you around. Maybe get a drink. I’d love to get input from a former
regular to see if we’re missing any of the old charm.”

He took my hand and warmth once again spread from where he
touched me all through my body. I controlled my racing pulse for a moment to
turn back and look at Byron. His mouth was half-open in shock, but then he
recovered in time to wag his finger in front of his face with a naughty grin.

I shrugged back at Byron before Tristan reopened one of the
doors into the main club area leading us back into Dante’s Inferno as hinted at
by the sign. As Tristan led me into the loud music and pulsing energy in the
club, I thought,
What am I getting into?

He pointed out some of the new features of the club, the new
live stage and a newer bar. Polished black marble graced the top of a dark
mahogany carved-wood bar, with scenes of ancient rites of what looked like
naked witches dancing around a cauldron carved into the front panels. Stone
gargoyles still guarded the bar from perches on either end as well as from
various locations high above the walls.

We walked over to the bar and he asked, “What would you like
to drink?”

“I tried a Tempting Fateearlier and it was
smashing.” I tilted my head and peered up at him. “Anything else on the menu
you’d recommend?”

He stepped back and looked at me. No, appraised me up and
down unabashed. If another guy looked at me that way, I’d rip him in a new one,
but when Tristan did it, it made me blush. Set me on fire.

I didn’t blush often and I wondered why I was now. Luckily
it was dark in here.

“I think you deserve a drink as delectable as you look. But
that might be hard to concoct. How about a Hotter Than Hell Bloody Mary
.
”

“Aren’t you a flatterer,” I said, aware that I was
fluttering my lashes like some flirt. “Do you use that line on all the females
here?”

“Never before. Boy Scout honor.”

I tilted my head. “Were you a Boy Scout?”

“No. Does that matter?”

I shrugged and took a sip of my drink. “Excellent choice,” I
said. I looked around the club. “I like what you’ve done with the place. The
little touches make it unique. And the new drinks are extraordinary. ”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you for buying the club. Saving the place.” Seeing
all the people on the dance floor, I added, “You’ve made a lot of people
happy.”

“I hope you’re one of them.” He looked at me so intensely
that I felt self-conscious.

“I am. This is my favorite place for a night out.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” he said. “The live music is
what I think will really give this place a new life. We had an old punk band in
here last week. Wicked fun. You’ll have to come and judge for yourself one
night.”

“I will,” I said. As if I needed another reason to come
back. First, this was my number one choice for a night out. Second, the new
owner’s penetrating eyes and his special attention on me right now reminded me
of forgotten body parts that had been out of commission for far too long. And
third, I loved live music.

iTunes was one thing. It was convenient and you could listen
to just about anything you wanted. Records were cooler. That crackly sound and
delicate vinyl gave it a sense of something special in a way. But live
music—when you could hear the music surrounding you from all angles so that you
could practically taste it. When you could see the sweat glistening on the
guitar player’s forehead and feel his passion for his song. When you caught the
energy of the crowd and jumped or danced with them like some kind of collective
orgy experience, well, nothing could replace that.

“Wicked?” I asked. “You must be local. We didn’t use that
expression where I grew up and I only heard it when I moved here. Where are you
from?”

“I’m from Salem originally. But now I live near the club.”

“Salem, Mass, right? Not New Hampshire,” I said. “We’re kind
of between them both.”

“Yes, Massachusetts. Good ol’ Witch City,” he said. “So
where are you from?”

“San Francisco. I’m a California girl, can’t you tell?” I
said grinning, knowing with my Bettie Page-styled black hair, straight bangs,
pale skin and goth makeup that I was as opposite of a California girl as you
could be.

“You’re what I hope they all look like.”

I looked down again. Why did he keep making me blush? This
was not something I did often and I didn’t like it.

“So what made you decide to buy this club?” I asked,
changing the subject.

“Every area needs someplace for the people who don’t quite
fit in with the general status quo, the traditional boring people who all act
the same.”

“Would you say you don’t fit in to the status quo?”

He gave me an impish smile and raised one brow. “God, no.”
Then he said, “Look what happened to that club in Cambridge. Gone. Replaced by
condos. I didn’t want to see that happen to this place—have it disappear and be
replaced by yet another condo or warehouse.”

I looked around the club to imagine it divided into condos
that all looked the same.

“That would have been tragic,” I said. “On behalf of all the
misfits here, I thank you.”

He smiled at me in a way that shot pulses of energy through
my body. I took a sip of my drink to break the gaze.

“I better get going,” I said, standing up. “Thank you for
the tour. And for reopening Vamps. I love what you’ve done with it.”

“Let me walk you out,” he said. He stood and took my hand in
his and led me to the front entrance.

The feel of my hand encased in his warm one did nothing to
stop my racing heartbeat.

“Did you drive? Or should I call you a taxi?” he asked.

“A taxi would be great.”

While he placed a quick call, I retrieved my coat and said
bye to Byron. He gave me a knowing smile, which I ignored. Then Tristan took my
hand again and led me outside.

“It was such a pleasure meeting you, Maya.”

“Same here,” I said, feeling pangs of regret for saying I
had to leave.

The regret was amplified when the stupid taxi arrived and
Tristan kissed my hand.

“I hope to see you again very soon.”

When I closed my eyes that night, I saw Tristan’s dark eyes
staring back at me. The moment when my eyes first met his burned on my memory,
as if imprinted there permanently. I knew I wouldn’t forget that moment, that
feeling, for as long as I’d exist.

Snap out of it, sunshine. You sound like one of those
chicks in a romance novel.

Then I thought,
What’s the harm? I’m awake. I can’t
sleep. What’s wrong with a little harmless fantasy? When was the last time I
met someone who inspired such longing? Or straight-out lust?

I tucked myself in cozy under my lilac comforter and closed
my eyes.

Tristan and I were at Vamps. We were dancing to an upbeat
song.
Hard Rock Sofa
by Quasar. Our eyes were locked on each other’s,
oblivious to the dancing bodies around us.

As the tempo quickened, the crowd’s energy rose around
us, becoming more and intense, almost frenzied. Our bodies moved closer. Still
we didn’t touch.

My body was so hot, on fire. Was it from dancing, the
energy of the crowd? Or the rising intensity of how badly I wanted Tristan?

We moved closer still. Faces mere inches apart. Eyes
still locked. Bodies almost touching.

Almost.

The tempo grew faster. To a feverish intensity.

Closer still. I broke eye contact to look at his lips.
Licked my own.

God, I wanted to touch him. Kiss those lips.

The beat was at a peak now. Almost orgasmic.

I looked back into his eyes and saw pure, unmistakable
lust.

Touch me, my body screamed silently. Touch me now.

The crescendo broke. And with it, the crowd lost all
control, their sweaty bodies flailing about to dance freely.

We followed them. And our bodies moved apart to dance
wantonly. Seductively.

When the song ended, the DJ spun in a slower one.

Our eyes met again. Our bodies moved closer again. One
hand reached toward me. I closed my eyes. Then I felt his hand on the small of
my back. Pulling me close. Closer.

A song began playing over this one. It sounded so
familiar. What was it?

Oh yeah, it’s
Black No. 1
, a great Type O Negative
song.

I should have recognized it right away—it’s my cell phone
ring.

Fuck, it
is
my cell phone.

Who the hell would call at this ungodly hour?

“Hel-
lo
,” I said, making sure the annoyance was apparent
in my tone.

Double fuck. It was one of the guys at the firehouse.

“We’re short-staffed tonight. Figures, on Halloween. Can you
come in for a few hours?”

“It’s after midnight. Not Halloween anymore.”

“Yeah, but I knew you’d still be up.”

I could use the overtime. Pushing my fantasy aside, I sighed
before hopping into a shower of the coldest water I could stand.

Tristan

Days had passed. I asked myself the same question
repeatedly: Why did I let her go?

I ruminated in my lab, running my hands over a marble globe
on an end table. I spun it, letting the cool feel of the marble glide under my
fingers and closed my eyes. Then I stopped it.

My fingers were in the middle of the Atlantic. Might as well
have been in the middle of nowhere.

I should have at least asked for her number or a way to
contact her again. Instead, I kept an eye out for her at the club each night,
but she wasn’t there. Why should I entertain false hope that she’d return? I
hadn’t seen her there before since I reopened the place. Not until Halloween
night. And there she appeared to me in that light—a vixen dressed like a
pirate.

What did she look like in everyday clothes? And would she
ever return?

Swallowing some pride, I went upstairs.

“Byron, has your friend returned lately? Maya, is it?” I
said.

Byron gave me a knowing smile, which he quickly recovered
from. “No, I haven’t seen her since Halloween. And only that one time since the
club reopened.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

Byron ran his finger over his chin. “I don’t know her that
well. We just would talk when she’d come in with her friend Nike some nights.
They both helped get people out the night of the fire. I think they work in
some sort of emergency services field or something because they seemed to know
what they were doing. And that was the last time I saw either one of them until
Maya came back.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to talk to her about something.”

Byron smiled that smile again, this time not trying to hide
the twinkle in his knowing gaze. “If I see her, I’ll be sure to tell her.”

Maya

I thought about him all week. Not even the banter with the
guys at the firehouse kept him too far from my mind. Luckily it was a busy
week. I had to teach fire prevention and safety to an elementary school and we
had a visit from a Cub Scout troop, in addition to the usual calls.

Every night I wanted to go back to Vamps. Would I still feel
that excitement that welled up when I was around him? The one that made me
hyperaware of my sexuality?

I thought about him walking around the perimeter of the
club. I checked the website once to see what was going on. Okay, three times.
Any live bands playing? Maybe some band I was dying to see that just happened
to be playing there tonight so naturally I would go there to see them. I
definitely was
not
there hoping to see the new owner of Vamps who just
happened to be ridiculously attractive.

What about all the women parading around in their tiny, sexy
outfits? Usually I loved checking out what everyone was wearing. I never went
to Vamps to date so a jealous thought never entered my mind. But now I pouted
thinking of all those hot women who would just love to sleep with the new
owner.

Damn sluts!

Stop it, Maya! What’s gotten into you? You sound like
some jealous stalker!

Obviously I needed some distance because even in my head I
was already going crazy over this guy. If I stayed away, maybe I’d forget him.

At times like this, I wish Nike was still around instead of
gallivanting around Europe doing whatever she was doing with Mr. Fancy Pants
Michel
,
who pronounces it so perfectly in his ooh-la-la French accent.

I mean, come on. Who else could I talk about this with? I
was certainly
not
going to talk about it with the guys at work.

Woe is me
, I thought, knowing I was being dramatic. I
put the back of my hand against my forehead as I looked at myself in the
mirror.

“How sad are you right now?” I said to my reflection.

Settling into my sofa, I grabbed my iPad to compose an
e-mail to Nike. I hadn’t sent one to her since she’d left since I was hurt
about her minimal communication, but I needed someone to talk to and Nike was
still my closest friend, even though she was across the ocean or wherever the
hell she was these days.

Hey Nike,

How are you doing? I haven’t talked to you in so long and
it sucks. I miss you big time.

How’s it going with Michel? (Note how I resisted adding
ma belle after his name. Yeah, I know it’s a guy’s name. Don’t I get maturity
points for holding back?)

Are you getting it on all over Europe? On the Eiffel
Tower? Leaning off the Tower of Pisa? (Okay, maybe I’m not that mature yet.)

I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since the night of the
fire! I went back to Vamps recently for the first time. Byron was there at the
front door. He asked about you and says hi. The new owner rebuilt it well. He
kept much of the old charm, but rebuilt the stages differently so they can have
live bands now. That’s pretty cool, I think. Anyway, thought you’d be
interested in our old haunt. And Michel would be interested in his old club.

So I met the new owner. A guy named Tristan Stone. Tall,
dark and staggeringly handsome stranger. Totally my cup of tea. I hate to admit
it, but I think I’m smitten. Ridiculous after just one conversation, isn’t it?
Go ahead and slap me back to reality.

But it’s not only his looks that draw me to him.
Something about him just—I don’t know how to describe it—but it’s as if we
connected. I can’t stop thinking about him. Whenever I close my eyes, I see
him. It’s awful! I know, it sounds cheesy. But maybe you know what I mean. You
turned into jelly whenever you saw that Michel guy, not your normal “I’m not
dating anyone I meet while wearing a schoolgirl outfit” tough-ass self. What is
it about us and owners of this club making us forget all reason? Does an
irresistible love potion come with the deed? Ha ha.

I don’t know if you’ll even get this. If you have access
to e-mail doing whatever it is you’re doing over there. But I just wanted you
to know I miss you. And you were the one person I could talk to about things
like this.

And to let you know I feel like some psycho stalker
because I can’t wait to go back and see him again. As if he’d even remember me.
Just another visitor to the club. Obviously I need to get a grip.

So I hope things are great with you and we’ll see each
other again soon. Any idea when you’re coming home?

Are you coming home?

Your utterly mature friend,

Maya

I signed out of my e-mail and went to bed. I crawled under
my comforter and tried not to think of him.

As I drifted off to sleep, I saw his eyes. Those dark
haunted eyes that were imprinted on me. Would I ever forget them?

Tristan

None of my books answered any of the questions about Maya’s
light. So I drove to Salem to have lunch with someone who might—my mother.

We sat down in her dining area with large windows showing
off her gardens. Although it was early November in New England and the flowers
were gone, Mother ensured she would have the most of her gardens for as much of
the year as she could. She called the garden her incomplete canvas, one that
she’d redesign throughout the seasons. Brilliant reds of Japanese maples and
other perennials now dominated the landscape.

We discussed family matters over light sandwiches that
Charlotte brought out. Mother had hired Charlotte in recent months to help her
around the house, saying it was too much for her to take care of on her own
anymore. Charlotte had lost her husband months before and looked for a job to
keep her mind focused on something besides mourning.

Following the meal, Charlotte brought us tea. Tea was a
daily ritual in my parents’ house. Mother used it as her salve for all life’s
matters, her quiet meditation throughout the madness of any day.

“Tristan, something is troubling you. I could sense it since
you came in.”

I desperately wanted to tell her about Maya, but didn’t know
where to begin. “Yes, Mother. Something is on my mind. Something I don’t
understand.”

“What is it?” she asked and took a sip of tea.

“It’s a woman.”

My mother leaned forward, smiling. She’d wanted me to settle
down and get married for ages, so any mention of a female had her imagination
spiraling. But with my ability, whatever it was, I wasn’t a good companion for
another person.

“Go on,” she encouraged.

“She came into my club the other night. There was something
about her that I’ve never seen before.”

“What?”

“She was surrounded by a soft white light. Where all I saw
around other people were the usual darkness and shadows, she projected
this—glow.”

Mother looked me in the eyes for several long moments. I looked
down at my tea, which was still untouched.

“Interesting,” Mother said. “What happened to the darkness?”

I tried to remember. “I’m not sure exactly. I don’t know if
it was still there. I was so focused on her that I didn’t notice.”

“Next time you see her pay attention to what happens.”

“I don’t know if I’ll see her again.”

“But Tristan,” she said touching my hand, “you must.”

“Why?”

“Obviously something special happened between you two. And
considering your gift.”

“Curse,” I corrected.

She ignored my correction.

“It means something. It’s something worth pursuing.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Drink your tea and I’ll read the
leaves. Maybe we’ll find some insight there.”

We drank our tea in silence, caught up in our thoughts. I thought
of Maya the whole time. I tipped the cup upside down when I was done so the
leaves could slide down the china, leaving a trail as they descended. My mother
looked upon these markings as foretelling the future. I’d known her for too
long to question her methods.

“While we wait, let’s do a reading,” she said.

“Not a full one,” I said. “Just one card.” She shuffled the
cards skillfully as she’d done this hundreds of times. “I wish my gift was
similar to yours—how nice must it be to tell people their good fortune.”

She looked at me over her Tarot deck. “It’s not all fun and
games, Tristan. Most of the time when people come to me, it’s because they’re
troubled. And much of the time, when I read for them, they have reason to be.
It’s not that easy to see that their worst fears may be imminent and yet try to
focus on the positive. Try to help them find a way out of their predicament.”

“The difference is that you choose to meet with people. You
can help them. I
don’t want
this ability. What good is it to see sadness
in people? I can’t do anything about it! I don’t want to see their pain.” Why
was I raising my voice right now? And bringing up a topic I hated to discuss
with her?

“Tristan,” she said in a soothing voice. “Some gifts take
more time to develop than others. Especially if the person fights it. Maybe
someday you’ll find what makes your ability so special. Our paths are not
always clear at first and you’re still so young.”

I bit my tongue to stop the retort forming and let her do
her thing.

“I believe in you, Tristan. I always have. One day you can
do great things. I know this.”

“Of course you think that. You’re my mother. Nobody else
feels that way about me. Especially not me.”

She looked at me with the sympathy only a mother expresses
without embarrassment. Then she said, “Close your eyes. Focus on your concern.”

I closed my eyes and thought of Maya and her light. Then I
picked a card.

“The Emperor,” she said. “Major arcana.” She looked up at
me. “You want to find some control over things you have no control over. You’re
thinking about her; she’s thinking about you. You will spend much time
together. Working together—maybe having fun together. Ultimately, you must work
with her to achieve your desires.”

“This is ridiculous,” I said, pushing my chair back. “I’m
not buying it. I might be wondering about her, but she is most definitely
not
thinking about me. Why would she? And I have been alone for thirty years.
Someone is not going to walk into my life now and change everything just
because of what you see on some card.”

She just smiled at me and picked up my tea cup to examine
the leaves. She turned the cup around slowly and hmmphed here and there.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” she said and looked up at me. “Can you bring
her here?”

“Bring her here? I don’t even know how to contact her. Why
on earth would I bring her here?

She put down the cup and looked me straight in the eye. “I
want to meet her.”

Maya

One week went by. Saturday night. I wished I was spending my
evening getting ready to go to Vamps and seduce one Mr. Tristan “Smoking-Hot
Guy” Stone. But I was a working girl. So instead, I sat around in a firehouse,
the only female working with a bunch of guys. Although I was usually one of the
first ones to engage in the friendly banter that kept us entertained during the
dragging moments, lately I was distracted by other things.

Bob Walker, a middle-aged firefighter, noticed I wasn’t my
perky old self. After most of the guys went out on a call and it was only the
two of us left, he asked, “What’s with you lately? Most people can barely get a
word in when you’re around. You haven’t said two sentences in a row all week.”

“Things on my mind. You know, things.”

“I know what that means,” he said with a smirk. “I have two
teenage daughters. I don’t need a crystal ball to see that by ‘things’ you mean
a guy.”

I frowned. So much for keeping my angst to myself.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.

As a matter of fact, I would have liked to spew out all the
racing thoughts in my brain to someone who would just listen to me ramble. But
then that would require spilling the beans on my secret other life where I
liked to go dancing in underground fetish clubs. And that would not go down
well in a firehouse full of guys, for me at least.