Only then did I turn away and set off down the hall.
I’ll run a shower
, I thought.
As hot as I could stand.
I would wash the dream of Ash from my body even if I had to scald it off. Then, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I would begin again. Build anew, again. Never mind that I had made myself such promises before. This time I would make them stick. I would make new choices, stick to my guns.
But even as I gave the hot-water faucet a vicious twist, I wondered: How could I build anew when my foundation was the same thing it had always been: a broken heart?
Two
Hours later, in the cool of a new Vegas night, I drove back to the
Sher
. I had spent the day doing simple, everyday things.
Running errands.
Watering the garden.
Washing clothes.
As a result, I was feeling calmer, less raw.
The
Sher
is one of those casinos whose looks definitely improve at night. The exteriors of some casinos are brightly painted, so they glitter in the Vegas sun. The
Sher
is desert brown during daylight hours. It’s at night that it truly comes alive, a tribute to the restorative powers of neon. A brightly lit sultan’s palace filled with incredible riches, all just waiting for one of the thousands who come to Vegas each year, hoping to strike it rich.
Open sesame
, it seems to say.
Come on in and be the next Ali Baba
.
But it’s different in the back where the employees come to work. If the tourists can’t see it, why waste money?
Simple parking garage, a few offices, and everyday streetlights.
I parked the car,
then
made my way toward one of the plain doors set in what could have been mistaken for the rear of a Home Depot.
“I must be getting old,” James mourned as he saw me approach.
“Seems I just said good night to you a couple hours ago.”
“What can I tell you?” I asked. Though it was true I was a little early. “Time flies when you’re having fun.” I held up the security badge hanging from my jacket’s zipper.
“Don’t give me any lip, now, young lady. The boss wants everything perfect for that big tournament. I get sloppy, my ass gets canned.” He sent a leer in my general direction.
“Yours, too, even if it is nicer than mine.”
I gave an eye roll, the expected response. Though I had to admit, James had a point on both counts. The Boss, Randolph Glass, was a stickler for high standards. Fail to pass muster, and you’re looking for a new job. My own was reasonably secure, but then I do have a somewhat unusual skill-set. One of which not even
Randolph
is aware: I can sense vampires.
A useful skill to have in Vegas, as it turns out. The undead like to party as much as anyone else. In particular they like the casinos, where they can use their heightened abilities to try and change the odds through a technique vamps call “establishing rapport.” Not surprisingly, this does not go over very big with management. The one thing Vegas casinos do not ever want to do is lose money.
I don’t know how my direct boss, the
Sher’s
head of security, Al
Manelli
, knows about the existence of vampires. Our relationship is strictly military on this point: Don’t ask; don’t tell. Rousting a vamp while on cocktail-waitress duty is how I first caught Al’s eye. I’ve been a member of his security team ever since, a thing my fellow
Sher
employees know full well. What only Al, my best friend
Bibi
Schwartz, and I know is the full extent of my duties: to help keep the
Sher
as vampire-free a zone as humanly possible.
Challenging enough under the best of circumstances.
But, as James had just reminded me, even the best of circumstances were about to go hog wild. For the next several days, as the holiday season counted down to New Year’s Eve, the Scheherazade would play host to the No-Limits Foundation Charity Poker Tournament, one of the biggest benefit tournaments around. With the proceeds going to benefit severely ill and disabled children, the Texas hold ’
em
round-robin would kick off tonight, then run nonstop till midnight, New Year’s Eve, with elimination games running around the clock. The tournament would be broadcast on cable, drawing both pros and amateurs from all across the country. Even a politician was going to be involved. Senator Cabot
Hamlyn
, considered by many to be the front-runner for the Democratic presidential nomination, had signed up to play.
The No-Limits event was the reason I had come in early. The usual casino setup had been changed slightly to accommodate all the new action. I wanted to check things out. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last year and a half, it’s to do my best to avoid surprises. With a final nod to James, I passed through the
Sher’s
employee door.
The locker room was empty. It wasn’t regular shift change time. Though I’ve never had it officially confirmed, I’ve always suspected that somebody’s Uncle
Vinny
got the
Sher
a deal on paint, and the employee locker room is where it got used up. The walls are painted an institutional green; the lockers a blue so bright it hurts your eyes.
With quick, practiced movements, I got out of my streets and changed into my cocktail-waitress costume.
I Dream of Jeannie
gone extremely naughty, an absurd concoction of bright pink velvet and chiffon that covers what needs to be covered and not much else. I swept up my hair, pinning it in place with my silver chopsticks.
Not chopsticks, really.
Stakes.
Silver stakes. Silver is a purifier. When it comes to causing a vampire pain, silver is second to none. And it’s a whole lot more subtle than lugging a bunch of wooden stakes around.
I took a last glance at myself in the mirror,
then
headed out onto the main floor of the casino. No matter how ritzy the hotel or exotic its theme, all of the Vegas casinos are the same in their heart of hearts. Slot machines ring the exterior, with the table games—craps, blackjack, roulette—farther in. There’s always a section set off just for high rollers.
I stopped for a quick check of the poker area. For the
Texas
hold ’
em
tournament, the poker tables had been divided from the rest of the casino by a half wall of columns. The players were already in their chairs, eyeing each other as they waited for the first elimination round to begin. There were at least three dozen tables set up, along with the TV cameras that would document every minute of play straight through the final game. Only six players would qualify for that New Year’s Eve game, and I couldn’t begin to guess who would make it that far. When I was certain there were no vampires at any of the poker tables, I moved on.
I was halfway across the casino when I felt it: a sudden shot of cold. This was the feeling I hadn’t gotten at any of the poker tables, the one that tells me there’s a vampire around. My ability to sense vampires is a strange side benefit of the night in
San Francisco
when Ash decided to give a whole new meaning to the promise “I’ll make you mine.” A promise he had attempted to make good on by draining me of blood in the elevator of my apartment building. I’m still not precisely certain why he didn’t finish the job. I had managed to pull free and stagger out into the hall. And that’s where I would have bled to death if not for the quick actions of my friend
Bibi
, who found me there. As I recovered, I found that the little love bite Ash had given me had left something special behind.
When a vampire is near I get cold all over.
Most of the time it’s just a mild chill.
But if the vamp is truly powerful, the cold seeps into my skin and gnaws at my insides. The vamp I was sensing now was midlevel. Not a human bloodsucker, but still scum. I let my eyes sweep the casino as my legs carried me in the direction of the cold. A fine-boned, black-haired man was standing at one end of a craps table. Chances were good I would never have noticed him at all if he hadn’t set off my vampire radar. He was dressed like a typical tourist in jeans and a polo shirt.
Tourist my ass
, I thought. For all his careful camouflage, he wasn’t behaving like one. Tourists shooting craps always do the same thing: They watch the dice roll along the felt. This guy was focused on the
boxman
, Larry, who announces who gets paid off and how much.
Rapport in action
, I thought. This was my vamp, and he was trying to improve his odds. I sauntered a little closer, trying to figure out my next move. The table was crowded, so I would have to be reasonably subtle.
You’re a cocktail waitress, Candace. Act like one
, I thought. Quickly, I snagged a forgotten drink, set it on my tray,
then
sidled closer to the vampire.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said brightly.
Not very original, but it did the trick, broke the vamp’s concentration. I saw Larry shake his head and blink, hard.
“Hey, I’m
playin
’ here,” the vampire said, his eyes still on the
boxman
. Clearly, this guy had seen
Midnight Cowboy
one too many times.
“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, sir,” I apologized at once. “But if I might speak with you for just a moment?”
He turned to snarl,
then
paused as he got a good look at my harem-girl outfit. I saw his gaze slip down my front to settle on my cleavage.
Two can play at the distraction game, pal
, I thought.
“Do we get to talk in private?”
Slimy creep
, I thought. I let myself flush. “I—” I began, then stuttered forward, as if I had been hit in the back. The drink flew off my tray and down his front. Perfectly good bourbon, sacrificed for a good cause.
“What the hell?” Furious, he dabbed at his shirt with a drenched handkerchief. “Watch what you’re doing, can’t you?”
“
Omigod
.
I’m so, so sorry,” I said at once. I yanked a napkin from the tray and began to help him wipe. “Of course, the casino will arrange for your clothes to be replaced. If you’ll give me your name and tell me where you’re staying, I would be happy to arrange that for you.”
The vampire hesitated, his expression considering. He wasn’t about to give me the address of where he nested during daylight hours. “I just got here,” he said finally. “I haven’t checked in yet.”
“Then let me take you to speak to my manager. He’ll authorize the chit for the costs to launder or replace your shirt.” I gave him my brightest smile, leaned a little closer. “Nobody’s going to care if you’re really a local. Let me do this, and you can use the chit to gamble instead, if you want.”
Larry leaned over when the guy hesitated. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll save your place.”
The vampire grinned.
“All right.”
“This way, sir,” I said, motioning toward the nearest exit sign. It led to a staircase that didn’t get used all that often, and then mostly by employees. The official procedure I had established with Al called for me to usher any bloodsucker out of the casino by the closest exit possible, preferably quietly. And that’s what I intended to do.
I led the way down the stairs, listening to his footsteps and gauging my chill level to determine how close the vamp was. He was one riser above me. In a more public exit, I would have asked him to go first. But I could hardly do that when I was the only one who knew where we were going. That’s when he did it: He reached out and touched my ass.
Sliding his hand between the layers of chiffon that danced down my legs to get to as much bare skin as possible.
The truth is not pretty, but it is the truth.
I lost it. All my hatred, my disgust for vampires, my self-disgust for loving one, came to a head in one brilliant, crystalline moment.
With a shout, I pivoted on one heel, drove the tray I was still carrying straight into his stomach. The vampire doubled over in pain, and I brought my knee up beneath his chin, knocking him over. He fell backward, spread-eagled on his back. Before he could so much as get an elbow beneath him to lever himself up, I was kneeling down beside him.
One hand grasping his shiny, dark hair.