Out of Time (11 page)

“Please save your prattling for someone upon whom it won’t be lost,” the man said. “You should know me well enough by now that I wouldn’t talk to you if I didn’t trust your…discretion.”

Father Cavanaugh laced his hands in his lap, deciding to plunge headfirst into the matter at hand. “Would you like to talk about what happened the other night?”

“My business matters are irrelevant to our conversations.”

“It’s not a line so easily drawn, my son. Such violence. A sin committed—”

“He got what he deserved,” the man said in a smooth voice. “Make a deal with the devil and you pay the price. Right Father?”

Father Cavanaugh could hear the sneer in the man’s voice. “Is that how you see yourself? As the devil?”

A long silence followed, and Father Cavanaugh wondered if he’d overstepped. It was a delicate dance, his relationship with this man, and one he couldn’t afford to ruin. The cost would be both of their souls.

“You tell me,” came the hushed response.

“The devil wouldn’t be here with me now,” the father said. “In God’s house.”

Another protracted silence followed, and the flame on the candle danced. “I’m not here to find God.”

“But to save your soul. Is there really such a difference? Every soul seeks redemption. In that, you’re no different than anyone else.”

“Oh, but I am, Father,” he said. “Or have you forgotten? Forgotten
what
I am?”

Father Cavanaugh felt the same cold rush of fear he’d felt when he’d first learned of the man’s…unique nature. Despite everything he’d learned in seminary about the existence of demons, he’d scarcely been able to believe what his own eyes had seen as the man had changed from mortal flesh to something unspeakable before him.

It had seemed impossible that such a creature could truly exist, and yet, here he sat with one. Something from legend—inhuman, and yet, not. This man might have been controlled by a demon, but his soul lingered. Somehow, it had survived and it yearned for salvation, and Father Cavanaugh would not abandon any plea in the dark, no matter the source.

“You have a soul, my son,” the father said. “You must be patient. God will show you the path, but you must have the strength to take it.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

The father heard the pain, and the longing hidden in the words.

“No, it’s never that. But you must have faith, my son. God will show a sign, you need only have the wisdom to recognize it.”

“A sign,” he said, testing to see how the word felt across his lips. “I hope you’re right.”

The father heard the whisk of the curtain being pulled back, and the man was gone. The small candle that lit the tiny room flickered in the residual breeze and was nearly snuffed out. Such a fragile thing, so easily extinguished. But even a small flame can light the darkness.

Father Cavanaugh closed his eyes and prayed. Prayed for a vampire’s soul.

“TWO YACK YACKS AND a Panther,” Elizabeth said as she leaned against the far end of the bar and waited for her order to be filled. Only three hours into her shift and her feet were already killing her. She glanced at her reflection in the long mirror hanging behind the bar. Between photographs of Clara Bow and Mary Pickford, her own coal-rimmed eyes looked back. She barely recognized herself. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, lips painted in a bright, red cupid’s bow. Her eyes shone a brighter shade of blue as the thick, black Egyptian-style liner stood out against her pale, powdered skin. The effect was a popular style of the day—an odd mix of Lolita and wicked city woman.

The green-spangled bandeau headband and its crimson feather made her feel like a reject from some bizarre Hiawatha Christmas pageant. She could live with all that. It was the rest of her outfit that made her feel uncomfortable. Her uniform amounted to no more than a one-piece bathing-suit covered with green sequins and few strategically placed feathers. Every nuance of her figure was on display for all to see. That was the point really—to appeal to men’s vices, all of them. Charlie, bless him, had seen how nervous she was and reassured her. He had a strict “look but don’t touch” policy. If anyone got out of line, Lester was there to give them the bum’s rush.

Lester, the bouncer, was easily over six foot four and nearly as wide. His square, bald head sat directly on his shoulders, making him look like a Rock ’em Sock ’em Robot. His muscles threatened to burst out from under the strained material of his tuxedo. The upscale outfit was an odd counterpoint to the rest of the club. Not that it was the low end of the spectrum, where décor was a page ripped from a magazine and the only clean glass was one you brought yourself. Charlie’s club was the top rung of society’s bottom ladder. It was just nice enough to lure the uptown crowd looking to go slumming, but not too expensive to scare away the working Joe who wanted to find a good way to burn his hard-earned money.

Tendrils of cigarette smoke wound their way up into the thick haze covering the room like a cloud. Stools lined the long, wooden bar and small, two-top and four-top tables filled nearly every inch of the modest floor space. A small, upright piano was pushed against the far wall, but no one was playing it. The crowd didn’t seem to notice the lack of music. They were having a good time and didn’t mind showing it.

The club was dark. Two weak, overhead lights cast a yellow glow that barely made it to the plank floor. Dark stained, wood paneling and deep red brick made the place feel even smaller than it was.

Elizabeth was more than a little overwhelmed at first. The doors opened at eight o’clock, and people had been streaming in ever since. They barked out orders for Panther and Scat and a hundred drinks she’d never heard of. She’d laughed when Charlie loaded her first tray with tea cups. He explained all drinks were doled out in tea services, a rather thinly veiled attempt at confusing police raids. It made the room look like a mad tea party, or something out of a Fellini film.

Charlie patiently taught her what each drink was and, thankfully, she was a quick study. A Yack Yack was a glass of bourbon flavored with iodine and burnt sugar. A Panther was whiskey with a touch of fusel oil. When the bartender asked you to pick your poison, he wasn’t kidding. But the danger didn’t seem to bother anyone. They were already living dangerously, breaking the law by being there, so what was another risk? After all, that’s where the fun was.

Charlie set down the drinks she’d ordered and gave her an encouraging smile.

Dixie, the club’s other waitress, slid in beside her. “You doin’ okay, honey?”

She felt as tired as Dixie looked. Dix couldn’t be over thirty but looked ten years older. She wore too much make-up, trying to hide the lines, but it only made her look used up. Peroxide blonde hair one shade too pale for platinum curled in tight waves around her face. She was the type of woman life liked to kick around. Always getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop, she’d said with a hint of southern twang. She’d come to New York from Georgia when she was seventeen. Lookin’ for somethin’ better, she’d said. When Elizabeth asked if she’d found it, Dix had just smiled and cast a quick, rueful glance at Charlie. Not that they were an item or anything. Can’t compete with a ghost.

“I’m all right,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “Hanging in there.”

“Servin’ swill with a smile. You’ll do okay, kid.”

Elizabeth nodded and, armed with her tray and a new round of drinks, went back to work. As tiring as it was, she hadn’t realized how much she missed having something to do. It helped her keep her mind off Simon. The big jerk.

She served the drinks and put the money in a small clasp box she kept on her tray. “Y’all need anything else?”

“We’ll let ya know, honey,” the man said with a smirk.

Elizabeth smiled and turned to take another order. So far the patrons hadn’t been too patronizing. A few propositions and one loud proposal were about it. She wasn’t used to being stared at, but it was oddly intoxicating. She’d spent most of her life trying to downplay her sexuality, but there was nowhere to hide in this outfit. Much to her surprise, a part of her found she liked it—the attention, the subtle power, the confidence.

“What in God’s name are you wearing?” said an all too familiar voice.

She turned to head back to the bar and felt herself flush. Men had been watching her all night and one off-handed comment from Simon made her feel self-conscious again. Quickly, she shoved that feeling aside and lifted her chin in what she hoped was cool detachment. “Simon.”

He continued to look at her with his patented disapproving face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with forced disinterest.

“Another round, doll!” a man from a nearby table shouted.

“Comin’ right up,” she said and then turned back to Simon. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”

He followed her to the bar. “It took me two hours to find this damnable place. The least you can do is talk to me.”

Charlie had clearly heard the damnable place remark and frowned. Elizabeth gave him an apologetic smile, before turning back to Simon.

“So you came here to what? Remind me you don’t approve?”

“I came to apologize,” he said through gritted teeth.

She refused to show her surprise, and instead set down her tray and crossed her arms under her chest. “Okay.”

His eyes darted down to her cleavage, and she quickly uncrossed her arms.

“Hey, baby. You new around here?” a man on a stool asked with a sloppy wink. Apparently Simon wasn’t the only one to notice her breasts nearly spilling out.

“I beg your pardon?” Simon said coldly. “I’m trying to talk to my wife.”

The man snorted and mumbled something under his breath.

Charlie leaned on the bar. “Problem, Lizzy?”

“Yes,” Simon said.

“No,” Elizabeth said quickly. “No problem, Charlie. Is it okay if I take a break? Just for a few?”

Charlie looked at Simon and frowned, before giving her a quick nod.

She smiled at Charlie and brusquely led Simon over to a relatively quiet corner of the room where the dirty dishes were stacked.

“Well?” she said, nearly crossing her arms again, before thinking better of it. She did feel more at home in her own skin, but not quite that comfortable.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?”

He glanced irritably back over to the bar. Charlie was watching them out of the corner of his eye. “While I don’t like the situation, this place isn’t what I’d choose. I…I respect your decision.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded curtly and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I reacted badly this afternoon. The stress of our situation. I apologize for taking it out on you. It won’t happen again.”

She could tell how hard this was for him. Admitting he was wrong came at a high price for Simon. Although, he did deserve it. He’d acted like a prize mule this afternoon and she really had no idea why. She wanted to make him squirm, but she felt oddly touched by the nervous way he pushed his hands into his pockets and looked away, almost shyly.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I was kind of in your face.”

“Yes, you were a bit—”

She put her hand on his arm to interrupt him. “You better stop while you’re ahead.”

Simon smiled gently. “Right.” He looked down at her small hand resting on his arm.

She was about to pull away, when she looked over Simon’s shoulder.

“Charlie’s watching us,” she whispered.

They were so awkward around each other, so aware of the other physically, it was hard not to notice. Charlie did. If they were going to fly under people’s radar, they had to look and act the part of a couple. She tentatively ran her hand down Simon’s arm. “We need to play our parts remember?”

He cleared his throat, his eyes on where her hand was touching his arm. “Parts?”

Elizabeth nodded slowly, gaining confidence from the tremor in Simon’s voice. “We’re married, remember? Newlyweds. Charlie may not look it, but he’s damn savvy when it comes to people. Just play along.”

She licked her lips and moved a little closer. She realized under this pretense she could play out things she would never allow herself otherwise. This was a chance to touch him, to feel how it would be to be with him. She laid a hand on his chest and could feel his heart beat faster at her touch, see his eyes grow darker. She moved closer, all her reasons forgotten. She let her eyes slide down from his eyes to his lips. They were so sensual. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She wanted to kiss him. Knew she could, and leaned that much closer.

Simon’s hands, strong and warm, wrapped around her upper arms. For a moment she thought he might push her away, but his head inclined a fraction, his eyes dipping down to her mouth. The rest of the room blurred around the edges and left only him. Inescapably, she was pulled closer and closer, her lips nearly on his.

“Doll! How’s about some service?” a man at a nearby table called out.

Startled, they both jumped back. As quickly as it had been woven, the spell was broken.

All her courage drained away, Elizabeth stepped back and looked down. “I…I should get back to work.”

She wanted that moment back, but the brief intimacy had dissolved, replaced with their usual guarded tension.

“Of course,” Simon said awkwardly. “I’ll be going.” But he didn’t move.

“Right.”

“Right.”

He looked like he was about to say more, but merely nodded and turned for the door. She watched him walk away and let out a quick breath. As almost kisses went, that was a doozy.

Simon left the club as more patrons were coming in. A thick, burly man shouldered past him and surveyed the room. With a quick nod to Charlie, he turned and pulled open the door, motioning the all clear. Slowly, conversation waned. When the newcomer stepped inside, it stopped entirely.

Whoever he was, he certainly knew how to fill a room. He was tall, but it was the ineffable way he commanded attention that made him seem larger than life. He walked down the few steps that led to the floor, surveying the room the way a lord surveys his subjects. He not only accepted their rapt attention, he demanded it. The initial silence gave way to anxious murmurs. The man caught Charlie’s eye, and with a nod, summoned him.