The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters
Page 5“Hi.” His voice was a low purr that somehow managed to carry over the din of the crowd.
“Hey.” I added a little extra breathiness to my greeting and batted my eyelashes for good measure.
He fixed me with a probing stare. His eyes were wide and hazel with a lovely bedroom sleepiness to them. I knew instantly what he was doing.
“You want to meet me somewhere quieter,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He was telling me.
Cocky bastard assumed he’d enthralled me with one look. I didn’t like Charlie anymore.
“Yes.” Let him think I was a dumb human sheep. It would make my job that much easier. No one expects their food to fight back. He’d never see me coming. “Anywhere.”
He placed his hand on my arm and pulled me close, his mouth brushing against my ear. His lips were cold, as was his hand. Even in the humid balm of August, his touch made me shiver. “You’ll let me do whatever I want.”
Oh, so that was the game he was playing. The warrant was starting to make more sense now. Charlie was getting a little overconfident in himself. I was betting there was a trail of bodies the West Coast council had been cleaning up back in California. Pretty dead girls who never got the chance to say no, because he’d had taken away their free will.
It wasn’t unusual for vampires to feed off unwitting humans. That was the purpose of the thrall, after all. But council regulation dictated the thrall was only for feeding purposes, and not for anything more nefarious. True, the rule wasn’t as well enforced as it could be, but if the thrall were used for a vampire to rape and murder someone? Well, the council couldn’t stand for that kind of behavior.
“I’ll let you do anything you want to me, baby,” I promised with coquettish willingness. It was all I could do to fight back my fangs and refrain from ripping his throat out in front of all his adoring fans then and there.
Too bad that wouldn’t have killed him.
No, I was going to need to decapitate him, burn him or destroy his heart. Don’t let the stake-through-the-chest myth fool you. Vampires aren’t that easy to kill. Sure, it would help slow one down, but if you miss a direct hit to the heart, all it’s going to do is piss the rogue off.
My weapon of choice was a 9mm handgun loaded with silver bullets I had specially ordered. Silver, while expensive, is a solid investment in my line of work. It’s as effective as poison on a vampire and has the added perk of being lethal to werewolves too. I had to have my clips preloaded for me because I was so allergic to the stuff I couldn’t touch it.
Silver bullets alone won’t kill a vampire, but if you use them to take out the head or heart, it’s a pretty effective method. Decapitation is messy and unpleasantly intimate. I prefer to blow their heads off from a clean distance and save myself the hassle.
The bonus is, so long as you can keep anyone from finding the body until sunup, the corpse will turn to ash in the morning light. No body, no crime.
“The Columbia Hotel,” he told me. “Meet me in an hour.”
“Of course.”
Back at McCarthy’s, I saw Tyler’s head peering over the line, his gaze sweeping the street. He spotted me and waved to get my attention. My timing was impeccable; he was second from the entrance. I made my way up to meet him, but with every step closer I felt my blood grow cold.
“Son of a…” I cursed under my breath. No wonder he’d been looking for me so diligently.
“Look who I found,” Tyler began, but I didn’t need him to continue. He hadn’t found anybody. Somebody had found us.
“Holden.” I spat out his name, and it had never sounded more like a dirty word than it did in that moment. His faux cheeriness had returned, and he was brimming over with barely suppressed delight. He appeared to be taking great pleasure in the mess he was making out of my night.
“What are the chances?” Holden asked in his best it’s a small world voice.
“I was wondering that myself,” Tyler replied, his tone tight and the polite smile looking forced. I wasn’t doing a very good job of censoring myself either, because neither of them seemed too impressed by the expression on my face. “Did you guys need to talk or something?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Tyler turned from Holden’s affirmative to my emphatic negative and deduced there was something he was missing. He was smart, otherwise he wouldn’t be a detective and Mercedes wouldn’t have set us up. Unfortunately, he jumped straight to the obvious assumption, not that I could blame him.
“So, clearly there’s something going on with you two, and I don’t want to get into the middle of some domestic entanglement.” He moved to step out of the line, and Holden did nothing to stop or correct him.
“Tyler, wait,” I insisted. He obeyed, and I wondered, not for the first time, if I might have a little of the vampire thrall magic in me. “It’s not what you think.”
He waited. Holden waited. My brain waited, which pretty much left me hanging in the wind.
“At eleven o’clock at night?”
“She probably told you about our new client,” Holden replied by way of explanation.
“Charlie Conaway?”
“You know those Hollywood types,” I chimed in. “Odd hours.”
Holden shrugged a halfhearted apology. “What can you do?”
“You need her now?” Tyler asked, obviously miffed about waiting in line for forty minutes only to have me vanish again.
Holden was already leaving the line, angling me back towards Times Square, when I turned back to Tyler and said, “It won’t be long. We’re just going to the Columbia Hotel.” Holden squeezed my elbow in warning, but I kept right on talking. “Meet me at the Billie Holiday Bar? One o’clock?”
I could tell he was going to protest, but I took advantage of his hesitation and went for broke. I shot him a variation of the look that landed Charlie’s attention earlier, only poutier.
“Okay,” Tyler replied, and then I could no longer see him as he was swallowed up by the crowd surrounding the bar.
Chapter Five
We had an hour before I was supposed to offer myself up to Charlie at the Columbia Hotel. Holden seemed inclined towards spending this time scolding me for not bailing out of my date with Tyler sooner. I reminded him he’d been the one who told me I shouldn’t cancel in the first place. That silenced him for the short term.
My thoughts were otherwise occupied. I hadn’t brought any weapons with me, with the exception of a small silver switchblade I had hidden in a garter holster beneath my dress. The weapon was designed so it was safe for me to hold, with a spiffy mother-of-pearl handle.
Unfortunately it was meant for protection, not as an offensive weapon. And since Charlie was being careful to stay in well-populated, human-heavy areas, there was no way for me to get away with using a gun.
We were going to need to stop so I could get something different. Since both my apartment and Keaty’s office were west, and the Columbia was comfortably nestled in Midtown East next to Bryant Park, I was going to need to do a little shopping. I wouldn’t have enough time to get home and back before the rendezvous.
Unlike Canal Street, where every other store was designed for the sole purpose of taking your money, Koreatown was smaller, more insular and less inviting to Ma and Pa Missouri. Blessedly, a few stores bucked the trend, and even after eleven at night one enterprising shopkeeper was still open. And judging by the stuffed Hello Kitty in the window, he was just what I was looking for.
A smart Korean novelty shop in New York knows exactly how to rip off tourists who assume all Asian cultures are the same. By carrying a little of everything, they could cater to every whim and reap the financial gains of other people’s ignorance.
Inside, the shop smelled like incense and spice. One wall was crammed full of children’s toys, from plush animals to Chinese kites. Racks of Oriental fans and paper-thin bamboo umbrellas overwhelmed the aisles, and on the facing wall was every conceivable color of kimono.
Towards the back of the store, behind a beaded curtain, a shriveled Asian man peered out at me with inky black eyes. In that moment it became clear why the shop was so cloying with spicy smells. This man wasn’t human, and the smell of decay coming off him would be noticeable to even the most mundane nose. Humans would pass it off as body odor, but I knew better.
He was a lesser fae of some kind. I was betting on ogre, based on the smell, but from what I knew of the fae, most ogres preferred to destroy things rather than keep nice, tidy stores.
I shrugged off the question. It didn’t matter what kind of fae he was, because he had what I needed inside the glass cabinets at the back of the store.
I moved with determined focus towards the man, Holden trailing behind, and when he saw what I was after in the cases, his reaction said it all.
“Ohhhh.” His eyebrows went up in surprise before he caught himself and returned to his typical aloofness.
The fae-Korean shopkeeper had been kind enough to stock a limited but functional selection of Japanese katana swords.
“That one.” I tapped the glass above a black-sheathed katana, inlaid at the hilt with the pattern of a phoenix. It wasn’t the design that made me choose it—the cherry blossom one was prettier—but rather it had the longest blade of the bunch.
Reach counts for a lot when you’re five-foot-four and fighting a six-foot-tall vampire.
The old man eyed me but wisely said nothing. He must have known I was on to him. He pulled it out, and where the blade met the hilt, it was engraved with gold dragons. I took back my earlier assessment; it was the prettiest after all. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">