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Beneath it is a blurry photograph of me, taken during one of our book club meetings. The hem of my dress is rumpled and I’m making a face (no doubt at something Isis said).
My heart stutters against my ribs.
She sent out flyers with myphotograph.When did she print these? How many vampires have seen this? What if one of them recognises me…
“Excuse me for a moment.” I grit my teeth as I crumple the flyer in my fist.
I find Beth back at the food table, pouring generous lugs of green smoothie into paper cups and thrusting them beneath the noses of unsuspecting guests.
“Beth, what is this?” I shove the flyer under her nose.
She beams at me. “I thought it was obvious. I’m drumming up business for Zen and Tonic.”
“Not by mooching onto people at Sanctus withmylikeness, you’re not.”
“Why not? What’s the big deal?”
The big deal is that vampires have long memories, and if anyone at Sanctus used to frequent a certain Parisian horror cabaret…“I chose Sanctus because of itsprivacy. I have to live there and conduct my business. I’m trying to make a good impression and stay under the radar. You tossing my name around is going to have the opposite effect. I don’t evenuseyour beauty elixirs.”
“Youshould. I have a special formula for vampires that will give you a healthy glow—”
“I’m immortal, Beth.” I touch my cheek, which looks perfectly lovely, thank you very much. “My skin will look like this forever.”
“Yes, and the death mask look was hot twenty years ago, but if you used my elixirs, you could look more like Alyra. She’s one of my best clients. Don’t you want that?”
I follow Beth’s gaze to Alyra. Now that Beth mentions it, shedoeshave a certain aliveness about her that belies her years. Her cheeks have real colour in them, her lips are rosy, and her skin looks soft, without the kind of waxy look older vampires get.
Shedoeslook good. Damn good.
Maybe I’ve been underestimating Beth’s talent.
But I won’t admit that to Beth.
“If Alyra loves your elixirs so much, put her name on the flyer. Take mine off.”
“Fine, fine.” Beth’s face falls. “I don’t want to fight. I’ll change the flyers. Forgive me?”
“That entirely depends on what torture you have planned for us tonight,” I grumble.
“You’ll love it. You’re so graceful – I bet you’re a natural dancer.” Beth grabs my hand and drags me towards the main studio. “Could I get everyone inside? Our evening activities are about to begin!”
The guests crowd the studio doors. The book club ladies crowd around Beth, pulling off layers to reveal their workout gear. We traipse in last and huddle in the corner, half-heartedly doing warm-ups while theaudience gawps. I notice Winnie’s fiancé, Alaric, standing with Mina’s husbands, his usual grumpy expression softened with curiosity.
The studio is nothing like my beloved theatre. The lighting is all pink and purple neon. There are mirrors along one wall, and a water fountain and cubbies for students to store their clothing. Ten poles are spaced evenly around the high-ceilinged room. Dora stares at them as though they’re medieval torture implements, her face growing pale as she catches sight of the audience spreading around the walls.
I follow her gaze into the crowd. Behind a hooting gaggle of older women led by Mrs Ellis of Naughty Knitting Club fame, I’m surprised to see Dora’s husband, Mike. He stands with his arms folded and a sour expression – not at all the face I’d expect a man to wear when he’s about to see his beautiful wife swing around a pole.
Mike is one of only a handful of men in the crowd. Komal makes a face at her arch-rival, Augustin Durant, who stands in the doorway, shaking hands with everyone as they enter and reminding them that they can vote for him in the upcoming mayoral race. He spends a particularly long time chatting with Alyra and her friends.
Komal seethes. “What’s he doing here? He doesn’t get to ogle us while he schmoozes for votes!” she hisses at me. “He’s not even dancing. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!”
Before I can stop her, she stomps over to Augustin and tries to kneecap him with her yoga mat.
Augustin leaps out of the way, upsetting the table holding Beth’s green smoothies and making everyone in the room sigh with relief. Komal continues to berate him in a rapid-fire string of half-English, half-Hindi insults while he wipes green goo off his tie and tries valiantly not to stare at her breasts bouncing in her tiny workout bra.
