The Scene (8 page)

             
“From just inside. I saw you pull up through the window.” I nodded at him, still checking my surroundings. I was betting it wouldn't have been so creepy if I'd been there during the daylight. Maybe if it was owned by a nice old granny instead of some vampire Goth freak, but you get what you get I guess.

             
“Would you like to come in?” Cyrus asked from the top step with Tatum in tow.

             
When did she get up there? I need sleep.

             
“Let's get to it.” I took that first hesitant step up the stairs and let out the breath I'd been holding.
Not so bad, right?

             
“You’re looking better. Not even swollen. How is that?” I asked, honestly curious as to how he looked just as perfect as he had before Tatum rocked him.

             
“Hollywood baby, nothing is as it seems.” He smiled that ridiculous smile of his and I forgot why I had been questioning his appearance in the first place.

             
The abode was just as I'd expected: fucking creepy. Everything inside matched the old plantation look of the outside. Tiffany lamps sat atop claw footed tables filling each corner of the room, softly lighting unnecessary areas and leaving grim shadows elsewhere. A large over-the-top staircase loomed over us. A gold carpet clung tight to each step. The room to the right was left pitch black making me feel a little uneasy. To the left of us was a waiting area adorned with more Tiffany lamps upon claw footed tables, and a crimson fainting couch I would have stolen if I had the trunk space. I meandered into the room with the beautiful couch, scoping out the pad. A large cherry wood table sat in the middle of the room scattered with magazines.

             
“Sandora?” I asked, reading the cover of the magazine.

             
“Yes, Malcolm’s new pet project. Think of it as a Vampires Quarterly. Gives information about upcoming shows and events, and obviously features Sween's finest,” he said smiling smugly.

             
“Ah, explains a lot,” I said sarcastically tossing the macabre Tiger Beat back on the table.

             
“If you ladies will excuse me, I will let Mr. McTavish know you have arrived.” At that, he turned on his heel and bounded up the stairs.

             
“Can that guy pick whether he's going to be a dick or dashing? Seriously...” I was growing tired of the inner turmoil he created in me. Should I like him? Should I hate him? Should I give him a shot? Should I kill him? So many choices…so few alibis.

             
Tatum and I took a seat on the couch that made me envious. It reminded me vaguely of the dream I’d had earlier. Only this time I was accompanied by Tatum and not some dork in leather pants. Also, I highly doubted Tatum would try to bite me. Well except that one time, but that’s neither here nor there. 

             
“What is with this place? I was kind of thinking Sween Enterprises would be, I don't know, more enterprise-y,” I said looking around the room.

             
“I know. I was thinking city and skyscrapers too. But, I guess if one makes their living on all that is dark and bloody, they'd better fit the part or they'll lose their target audience,” Tatum answered.

             
“This is true,” I agreed. “Or, he's a big scary vampire.” That idea was becoming more and more conceivable as time went on.

             
“Good evening, ladies. Thank you so much for coming.” We jumped, turned, and stared in that order. The man standing before us did not belong anywhere near L.A. I knew immediately the man standing before us was Malcolm McTavish; the accent gave him away. Honestly, Cyrus did it no justice. Aside from the expertly tailored charcoal black suit, there was nothing about him that said Southern California. His skin was milk white and looked like it might have the same consistency. His thick, wavy, shoulder length hair was an almost unnatural shade of red, nearly matching the couch we were sitting on. Though his voice was cordial, it didn't meet his face. The ocean blue of his eyes was his only saving grace from such a stark and harsh appearance. It was the face of a war torn soldier, that of one who had seen more than their fair share of bullshit for one life time.

             
I stood to greet him, handing him my hand to shake. He kissed it instead, having to bend nearly in half to reach me. Normally I would have grumbled, but after the last two days, I was growing accustomed to random kissing. He was really wide and stocky for being so tall. Taller than Tatum’s Amazonian frame.

“Thank you for having us, sir. We are here, actually, to-” I started to speak, but Tatum cut me off.

              “Find out what the fuck you’re drugging your patrons with to make them see crazy shit,” Tatum said from behind me with a disgustingly sweet smile.

             
“You look quite familiar. Have we met?” He was staring at Tatum, studying her face. Her eyes went wide for a second before returning to their usual blankness.

             
“Probably not. I'd remember that accent, trust me. So, about this completely safe, harmless, all natural bullshit you’re pumping into these people every night. We need to know exactly what we took, what happened to us after we took it, and why this morning we woke up in this dingle berries apartment?...Please.” She ended her rant with a smile. I had a feeling she was still kind of bent out of shape from this morning’s bloodbath. Her voice held contentment. Especially when she mentioned Cyrus.

             
“If you young ladies would not mind accompanying me to my office, I would be more than happy to explain it all to you.” The Irish brogue was mesmerizing; it rolled off his tongue with the eloquence of a fifteenth-century poet.

             
“Of course.” I nodded. “You're not off the hook yet, dude,” I said as I grabbed the quickly fleeing Cyrus just moments before his great escape. He stopped in his tracks, turned on his heel, and saluted me.

             
Something violent is about to happen to this beautiful man.

             
The three of us followed the fiery red hair up the stairs. The gold carpet was soft, lush and probably very expensive. Once on the next floor, the lighting and décor began to change. Large spotlight-type, lights stood high atop metal tripod structures. The new, brighter, more industrialized, lighting was a stark contrast to the soft Tiffany lamps down stairs. There was only one door to the right, closed of course.

Damn
.

To the left was a large open landing where the new, bright lighting, was emanating. It was fully equipped with professional cameras and lighting configurations. Large beautiful drapes hung around the space, creating a very interesting backdrop. I was guessing they did all photography and publishing of
Sandora
in-house. There were a few very attractive people lounging upon yet another fainting couch I would have stolen. This time it was done in a royal blue. One of those attractive people caught my eye and smiled viciously, Dominika.

Fuck
.

She handed off the long-stemmed glass she was holding and slid gracefully off the couch. She began moving toward us slinking and swaying as only someone so fierce can do. As she had the night before, she focused her sights on Cyrus, but unlike last night
, I couldn’t care less.

             
“Cyrus, my darling, I see you have brought my lovely friend back to visit me,” she said slyly, kissing him on either cheek. The thick Russian-type accent was beginning to make me sick.

             
“The statuesque blonde.” She kissed Tatum on either cheek. Tatum returned the kiss; mimicking Dominika’s movements.

             
“And the Rubenesque brunette.” She leaned in to kiss my cheek. As she did this, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and planted one on the bitch. Just as she had done to Tatum, I held her tight and kissed her as hard as I could. I'm pretty sure it didn't look as hot with me doing it, but I didn't care. I wanted to throw this skank off her game. After a moment or so, I pulled back, preparing to see the shock on her face. But to my surprise, she didn't let me go. She grabbed the back of my head and held it so hard I thought she'd pull me right into her mouth. Just as suddenly as it happened, it was over. She pulled her head back and gave me the same evil smirk she had given Tatum the previous evening.

             
“I am glad to see you have let go of those pesky inhibitions.” She leaned in closely and whispered so only I would hear. “He will always think of me.” At that she turned, greeted Malcolm, and sauntered back to her perch upon the coveted royal blue fainting couch. It took all I had not to tear into her throat with my bare hands.

             
I now had the opportunity to glance around at my entourage. As I suspected, they were all staring, jaws dragging the floor, eyes wide in shock. All but Malcolm. He was still composed and waiting patiently.

             
“Close your mouth, sweetie. You'll catch flies.” I touched my finger to Cyrus' chin closing it softly. I winked at Tatum and turned to join Malcolm at the bottom of the second flight of stairs. The narrow stairwell was only wide enough for one at a time.

             
“You are such a slut,” Tatum said in my ear suddenly right next to me.

             
“I know. You love it.”

             
“Generally, but I don’t like that bitch. She’s creepy.” She stepped ahead of me to create a single file line heading up to the top floor.

             
The stairs ended at a door marked PRIVATE. Malcolm pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked the door. As he turned the knob, I expected to hear a creepy creak as the door opened, like an old haunted house. The door opened quietly and a soft light flicked on. We all entered the room, one after another, with Cyrus taking up the rear. The space was large and seemed to be a converted attic, spanning the area of the lower floors. Having only one small window, there wasn't much of a view to speak of. Although, I would bet that tiny view looked over the entire property. Malcolm motioned for us to take a seat in the leather bound arm chairs surrounding an oversized masculine desk that sat nearly in the center of the room. Behind the desk, two authentic looking suits of armor stood guard over the master of the house. Broadswords and ancient family crests adorned the walls on either side of us. The entire room exuded ancient, violent, masculinity.

             
“Could I interest either of you ladies in something to drink?” Malcolm offered.

             
So many quips and so little time.

 
              “No thank you,” I said instead.

             
“I suppose you would prefer to get right down do it then.”  Malcolm supposed correctly.

             
“Yes please,” Tatum spoke harshly before she shot him a look I didn’t fully understand. Her face was soft, but the look seemed angry. Well, more threatening than angry, I guess.

             
“From what Cyrus has explained to me, you ladies are curious as to the goings on one of my establishments. Embrace,” he said.

             
“To say the least,” I chimed in with a less than eloquent tone.

             
“I would be more than happy to elaborate; to the best of my ability, of course.”  Malcolm motioned for us to take a seat in the large leather chairs as he made his way behind his desk. “Embrace is my brainchild, and as you may have guessed, a nearly completed project. The experience could use some fine tuning, but I believe we provide a safe and exciting environment.” He took a seat in his large chair.

             
“Get to the point ginger.” Tatum was tossing insults, it was about to get ugly.

There
’s that look again.

Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds until he spoke again.

              “My apologies. The experience I speak of contains many intricate parts that must function together perfectly to create the...magic... you could say. We use trained actors and models,” he waved his thick hand in Cyrus' direction, “Hollywood props, and of course a hint of a natural substance to enhance the experience.”

             
“And this natural substance?”

I am so sick of beating around the bush.

              “Ah, yes. Sanguinaria Canadensis. A wonderful little plant; completely harmless of course. Sang is also known as Bloodroot. The effect is similar to that of morphine. We have acquired a derivative which allows one to mix it with any liquid, relatively undetected. Consumption may induce feelings of calmness and vertigo. This sensation assists us in our performance. You see, all that you experienced last night was simply a vision created by your mind, with our help of course.” He said this as though it was a completely normal statement.

             
“How is this legal?” I was flabbergasted they could legally drug people.