The vampire flies over the dance floor and toward the back of the club. It’s almost empty now, since many of the humans have realized there’s a fight going on and don’t want to be caught in the crossfire.
I reach for my bag again, but the other bartender stops me.
“Your pepper spray won’t protect you,” he smirks. “Don’t worry, just stay behind the bar and watch the show.”
I’m about to tell him that I don’t appreciate his condescending tone, but I’m interrupted by the body of the offending vampire flying through the air and onto the dance floor right in front of the bar. The remaining people scatter to the sides of the club, either heading toward the elevators or staying to watch, frozen in fear and horrified curiosity.
The vampire in the leather blazer walks slowly out from the back of the club, lit by the purple and red glowing neon lights. She watches the other vampire as he scrambles to his feet, like a lioness circling a gazelle.
“Well, well, what do we have here,” she says, her voice smooth as the velvet drapes at the back of the club.
“You can’t treat me this way!” he shouts. “I’m Lazarus Gray’s progeny!”
“That’s interesting,” she responds, a smirk across her blood red lips. “I don’t see him anywhere here. All I see is the bloodless form ofmypatron. It’s very bad for business. Some would go so far as to say it’sdisrespectful.”
Xia emerges from the back, holding the form of the girl, her dress now stained irreparably crimson. She looks weak but seems to be clutching the front of Xia’s shirt.
Thank Hecate, she’s still alive. But that doesn’t mean the threat is vanquished. Either of the vampires could still hurt someone. Vampires are incredibly powerful and strong, and it’s dangerous tounderestimate them. Especially one who can fly. She must be at least a hundred years old, if not much older. Not only are they formidable opponents, but they’re ruthless and bloodthirsty. I’ve seen a single, hundred-year-old vampire take out half a dozen young witches on the battlefield like it was nothing.
The vampire in the blazer moves closer to the other one, who cowers before her.
Her voice takes on a low, predatory tone. “I don’t like rival vampire gangs sneaking around my business. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Lazarus sent you over here to keep an eye on us.”
A horrible chill crawls up my spine.
“You can’t hurt me!” the other vampire whines, looking desperately around for the others he arrived with. “Celine, you-”
“You’re not in Lazarus’s territory anymore,” she responds, a glint of joyful malice in her eyes. “You’re inmyclub. And I don’t like being spied on.”
She reaches down and pulls out something strapped to her ankle. It’s a gleaming dagger, with a bright ruby at its hilt. The other vampire tries to run, his form blurring as he bolts. But she catches him easily, holding him by the lapel of his dark shirt. In a smooth movement, she drives the dagger deep into his chest, and his form goes limp. Thick blood gushes freely from his wound and coats the dance floor in crimson.
With a self-assured grin, she takes the body of the now-inanimate vampire and hands it to one of the men who arrived with him, who is now gaping at her in fear.
“Take him back to Lazarus,” she says to him. “A message from Celine Côté, Tudor Thornblade’s eldest progeny. If Lazarus, or any member of his gang, dares to eventhinkabout setting foot inmyclub, or drinking from any ofmypatrons…I will stake them so fast that the blood will still be fresh on their fangs.”
The vampire and the rest of his gang take the body away, disappearing into the night without another word.
Celine turns to the bar, holding the dagger in her hand. It must have a wooden core, making it a lethally effective stake. Bright red blood drips down its hilt. To my horror, she looks directly at me, her eyes meeting mine.
I stare back at her, my heart beating wildly in my chest. In thedarkness of the club, I didn’t notice it before, but her eyes are a spine-chilling, impossible shade of pale violet.
We gaze at each other for a minute.
Then she steps toward me. The predatory tilt of her head puts my nerves on high alert and all I want is to run away. Yet, I’m rooted to the spot. My fingers tingle, itching for my wand. But even if I had it, would it be enough to save me? I’m not used to feeling so helpless, so completely out of my element.
She raises an eyebrow at me, then holds out a bloody hand. “A handkerchief, please.”
“Oh!” I gasp, jumping slightly at the request. I fumble around the bar and find a clean napkin. Fighting the urge to run, I move closer to her, handing her the rose-embroidered cloth.
Without breaking my gaze, she takes it, and runs it over the sharp blade, soaking the white fabric in blood.
“Thank you,” she says, her lips twitching slightly as she hands it back to me. Then she tucks the dagger back into its sheath at her ankle and disappears into the darkness of the club.
I take the bloody handkerchief to the sink, running it under cold water to remove the stains.
Then I wash the blood from my hands.
A QUORUM
