Midnight Bites (26 page)

He stepped aside to let her out, then closed the door behind her and settled down on the steps. I had wet whites to put in the dryer, so I busied myself with that, making extra sure that everything was untangled, that the dryer sheet was in, that the timer was just so.

Michael waited patiently for me to get the fidgeting done before he said, “If you don't want to go to the party, just say so.”

“Of course I want to go. It's a big swanky dress-up party. How often do I get to go to those, in Morganville? I mean, some of these vampires own their own tuxes, even.”

“Eve.” His voice was gentle, and very kind. “I mean it. If you don't want to go, we won't go.”

“I can't avoid her forever. It's too small a town.”

He couldn't argue with that, and didn't try. “That doesn't mean you have to go to her welcome party. And if you want, I'll dress up and take you out somewhere nice.”

“
Nice
being a relative term around here,” I said, but secretly, the idea that he was willing to put on a suit and take me to the all-night diner made me smile. “Thanks, sweetie. But maybe I should just suck it up and go. What could happen?”

“Oh, plenty,” he said cheerfully enough. And he was right. The two of us had rarely been to a party that
hadn't
ended in some kind of disaster, whether it was the senior prom, where Chuck (aptly named) Joris had vomited in the punch bowl, or the EEK fraternity party, which had ended in a vampire attack. And let's not even
mention
Mr.
Evil Vampire Bishop's big welcome party, which had been a truckload of trouble.

“I'll be fine,” I said, and glared at the clothes tumbling on high heat. “I'll play nice as long as she does.”

I turned around. Michael had come down the stairs and crossed the distance between us, noiseless as the air, and I melted into his arms with a sense of real relief.

He kissed the top of my head. “That's my lady.”

I really hoped he meant that.

•   •   •

I woke up the next day expecting—oh, I don't know, doom, disaster, and apocalypse; weirder things had happened in this town. But things seemed normal enough, even after I left the house and headed off to the day job. The one not-so-great thing that happened was that when I got to Common Grounds, guess who was there.

Gloriana. Deep in conversation with about a half-dozen admirers. She'd picked one of the tables in the darker section of the room, far away from the blazing sunlight, and at first I thought all her new groupies were vamps, but no, some of them were definitely still rocking a pulse. A couple of them were college boys, complete with the ubiquitous backpacks. I was pretty sure one of them was Monica Morrell's future ex-boyfriend, what's-his-name, the football player. Oooh, the fur would fly if Monica dropped in and saw her current squeeze crushing on the New Girl.

I was kind of hoping for that, but no such luck. Gloriana hung out for hours, laughing and talking, ordering regular rounds of whatever.

When she finally left, I saw Oliver watching her with a troubled look on his face. “Boss?” I asked. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he said. “No, I don't think so. Not yet, at any rate.”

No matter how much extra effort I put into customer service, he wouldn't elaborate, and that bothered me because (a) Oliver was pretty free with his criticisms for the most part, and (b) it wasn't like him to look worried. Ever.

No apocalypse had been declared by the end of my shift, though.

I supposed that qualified as a win.

•   •   •

Gloriana's party was fabulous, from the raised-ink invitations on paper so soft and thick it felt like skin (but wasn't, thankfully) to the uniformed vampire doormen on duty at the party building, to the china and crystal and candles on the round banquet tables inside. The vampires had turned out in force; I guess they didn't get much chance to party like it was 1499, either. I was wearing a slinky black velvet dress, with a train that trailed behind me like a fan. It was cut low in the back to show off the rose tattoo I had there, and although I didn't have any really good jewelry, I'd bummed some pretty good costume stuff off people I knew. I looked fab.

Although in the company of vampires, I looked like . . . lunch. But if there was one thing I knew about Morganville, it was that your risk of being lunch was pretty much the same whether you were dressed like a movie star or dressed like a bag lady. Better to go out in style, if you had to go.

For all that, if Michael hadn't been on my arm, the looks I got coming into the ballroom might have made me turn around and run.

Luckily, Michael stayed steady and whispered, “Easy. They're not going to hurt us.” It was the
us
that did it—the fact that we were a unit, and he didn't even try to think about it any other way. I took a deep breath, put on a brave smile, and raised my chin. That put my veins on display, but whatever.

Michael was wearing a nice black suit and a tie that wasn't quite
conventional, in this crowd, but he didn't give a damn. Anyway, it was a music tie. They could munch ass if they didn't approve.

There was a line of vampires to meet; some I already knew, and some I didn't. I took my cue from Michael about how respectful to be, but not because I felt particularly humble; many of these old-school vamps took offense easily. When I got to Amelie and Oliver, I breathed a sigh of relief. They might take offense, but I knew what I could get away with.

I shook Amelie's hand firmly. She was wearing white gloves, and I was pretty sure the diamonds around her wrists were real. The gown was ice blue and really beautiful, and probably made by some famous designer I'd never heard about. Oliver was in a tuxedo, with tails. Damn, he James Bonded up really well. He bent over my hand, just a little—more of a suggestion of a hand kiss than anything else.

And then there was Gloriana, in a deep, vivid red gown, laughing and flirting with a whole circle of male admirers, both vamp and human. I saw Richard Morrell, the mayor, right in there, while his sister, Monica, stood off to the side, looking very unhappy. She was used to being the belle of the ball, and she'd certainly dressed for it, but whatever she was wearing, it looked like a knockoff rag next to Gloriana's dress, and she knew it. She also was alone, which was very unusual indeed. Even at a vampire party, she would have expected to draw some male attention, but there was a brand-new queen bee in town.

I felt Michael slowing as we passed Gloriana's group, as if he was reluctant to miss the opportunity, but he kept going. We went to the punch table, which featured two kinds—with plasma and without. He poured mine first. When I looked over at him, his face looked paler than normal, and the pupils of his eyes had gone wide, even in the relatively bright light.

“What?” I asked him.

“Nothing.”

Shane squired Claire over to join us, already scanning the edible snacks with the eye of a kid who'd grown up snatching food where he could. He grabbed a plate and filled it until Claire slapped his hand. “You're not starving,” she said. “Come on.”

“It's been a long time since lunch,” Shane said. “So, yeah, I am, Slappy Girl. Do you want one of these or not?” He held up a carrot stick. When she nodded, he fed it to her. Awww. So cute. “All right, you are now a party to the overindulgence. Quiet.”

Claire, bless her, had somehow blackmailed Shane into donning a suit jacket, at least, although the pants looked suspiciously like dark jeans. At least he'd left the tuxedo T-shirt at home. The vamps wouldn't have been amused. He was even wearing a tie, though it featured Bettie Page in a lot of provocative poses. I hoped Oliver hadn't noticed.

“Did you see Gloriana?” Claire asked her boyfriend. Shane—big, scruffy Shane, who was cute in a totally different way from Michael, but really, just about as sweet—looked down at her and cocked one eyebrow.

“Am I alive?” he asked, and put his hand over his heart. “Yep, I noticed her. Oh, sorry, Mikey. No offense to the unalive.”

Michael would normally have flipped him off—best-friends love—but he just gave Shane a look. Not his normal look, either. “Watch yourself with her,” Michael said. “There's something . . . not right about her.”

“Dude, she
looks
very right.” Shane lost his humor, and started to frown. “Are you okay?”

“I can feel . . .” Michael shut his eyes tightly. “I can feel her from here. It's like a . . . call. A pull.”

His hand was tight on mine, so tight it was painful, and I gave a
little squeak of pain. When his eyes opened, they were crimson, and his pupils had shrunk down to small pinpoints.

I turned and looked. Gloriana was standing up. The men crowding around her were backing off, making . . . an exit. She smiled at them and glided out, hardly seeming to touch the floor as she went.

She headed straight for us.

For Michael.

She was wearing red gloves, and her diamonds, just like Amelie's, were real. Her smile was brighter than the glitter of the jewels. “Michael,” she said, and took his hands in hers. He dropped mine so fast it was as if he'd forgotten I was there, and leaned in. She air-kissed him on both cheeks. He didn't pull back very far, and she didn't let go of his hands. “So glad you came to my party. It wouldn't have been a welcome without you,
mon cher
.” She did let go then, but only to reach up and touch his eyelids to close them. “You're going too far. Control. You must learn control.”

He was shuddering very slightly, but when she stepped back, he opened his eyes, and the red was almost gone. Almost. “Thanks,” he said. His voice sounded rough in his throat. “Have you met my friends? You remember Eve. . . .”

Somehow, having my name follow the word “friends” didn't make me feel any better at all. I didn't say anything. Neither did Gloriana, who just nodded very slightly. I couldn't tell what she felt about me, if she felt anything at all.

“And this is Claire—”

“Yes, we've met,” Gloriana said. Her voice was warm and very sweet. “How is dear Myrnin? I thought he would be here tonight.”

“He doesn't do parties, mostly,” Claire said. She seemed kind of charmed by Gloriana's make-nice attitude, which was surprising; Claire was usually more levelheaded than that. “Well, neither do I, really. Oh, this is Shane, by the way. My boyfriend.”

“Charming,” Gloriana said, and extended her hand to him, knuckles up. Shane, who looked just about as overcome as every other guy in the room, took it and shook vigorously. Gloriana looked, just for a moment, taken aback; then she smiled, again. “Very direct, I see.”

“I'm not subtle,” Shane agreed. “You're very pretty.”

Claire dug her elbow into his side. He didn't seem to notice. Gloriana's smile grew wider. “Yes,” she said. “I'm afraid I am. It's a bit of a curse, sometimes.” She turned back to Michael, who was still treating me like a nonperson, and held out her fingers. “Perhaps you'll save me from this sea of admirers,” she said, “and escort me to the dance floor.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, because without a glance at me, Michael walked her past me, out to the open area of the ballroom, and the musicians struck up some kind of a waltz. And that wasn't Michael. It just . . . wasn't.

She was doing this to him.

As I looked around, I saw it on the faces of the guys who'd been hovering around her earlier—a kind of lost longing, as if she were the only girl in the world. I even saw it on the faces of guys I would have sworn knew better, like Richard Morrell.

It was creepy, to the power of actively sinister.

Claire put her arm around me. “Hey,” she said softly. “Are you okay?”

I was, surprisingly. “That bitch is going down,” I said. “She is
not
taking my boyfriend for a party favor.”

“Chill—she's just dancing with him,” Shane said. He was watching Gloriana with that same eerie, distracted concentration, and now Claire noticed it, too, with appropriate levels of alarm.

“No, she's not,” Claire said, and smacked his arm. “Hey!”

“Oh, sorry,” Shane said, and then looked around. “Right. Michael,
not a party favor—how exactly are we going to accomplish that? Because she's wearing him like a paper hat right now.”

I marched right over to the receiving line, grabbed Oliver's hand, and said, “Dance with me.”

He gave me a long, odd look, exchanged a glance with Amelie, who seemed amused, and finally said, “If you insist.”

“I do,” I said. “Come on.”

In my high heels, I was almost a match for Oliver in height. The last thing I wanted to be doing was clutching his undead body and twirling around on the dance floor, but I needed to keep Gloriana in sight, and I needed information. Oliver was a two-in-one.

And surprisingly, my vampire boss could
dance
. Like, reality-show-winning dancing. He whirled me around like an expert, and all I needed to do was pay attention and relax. That was a lot more fun than it should have been.

“Now,” he said, about a minute or so into the ballroom display, “what exactly do you want from me?”

“Gloriana,” I said, a little breathlessly. “I need to know what her deal is. Now.”

Oliver glanced over at Gloriana, who was clinging to my boyfriend like red moss on a tree. Michael looked dazed. She looked delighted. “Ah,” he said. “Gloriana doesn't like to be alone. I think she's decided that Michael is her newest accessory.”

“He didn't want to go,” I said. “She did something to him. I saw it. Some kind of—vampire superpower.”

“Glamour,” he said. “Most vampires have it, to some extent, though we rarely bother to use it. Gloriana is one of the few that has it in strength, and can use it on her own kind.”