Page 60 of Fire Dancer
So, huh. Three or four relics in a pool of fifteen — at least as far as my senses could ascertain. I could be wrong. In fact, I was almost guaranteed to be wrong, because I was me. Still, this was way, way out of proportion to a random, everyday sample — even in Sedona, a place that attracted all kinds of supernaturals and relics.
Which led to my next question. Were those four here by design or coincidence?
I glanced at the security guys, then did another round of the tables. Having finished eating, the guests drifted back to the lounge chairs, where they collapsed in weary, sated bliss. I stacked plates and collected silverware, brought them into the kitchen, then headed out for more.
Kelly stood and made space for me to clear her table with a friendly smile.
“Thank you. That was delicious,” she said.
“I’ll let my boss know. Thanks.”
Then my eye caught on a detail, and my stomach lurched.
Kelly tilted her head. “Everything okay?”
I forced a smile. “Sorry, yes. I was just admiring your scarf.”
She touched the Monet flower print and chuckled. “I’ll let my boss know. Thanks.”
My forced chuckle probably sounded like a hyena, but Kelly went on her way with a happy, clueless smile.
I did my best not to stare, though I probably failed. Stacy had the same scarf.
My mind spun.
Stacy. Scarves. Blood vials.
A job that came with a chauffeur a hell of a lot like those security men.
A job that had made her increasingly nervous, though she wouldn’t say why.
Ingo’s suspicions about a criminal vampire, Victor Jananovich.
I scanned the “consultants” who’d just enjoyed a good meal. People doing their best to hydrate and top up their iron.
My mind jumped back to vials. Lots and lots of them, a steady order, fifty per week.
Fifty vials with just a few drops each. Shot-glass size, more or less. Enough to remind a person of their loved one…or to savor a sip.
Earlier, my imagination had served up a dozen titillating scenarios about what was going on in this group. Now, it was coming up with a much more frightening one.
I tried doing the math. Fifty vials…fifteen “consultants” with pale, weary complexions, plus wristbands and tight collars.
“Oh, Pippa, I meant to ask,” Nancy said when I was back in the kitchen, “are you available to help on Friday? Same client, but this time up at La Puebla.”
My eyes bugged out of my head. “La Puebla?”
“Yep. An easy job,” Nancy assured me. “All we have to do is bring in the food and drink, set it all up, and leave, then pick everything up the next day. They want to do the serving themselves.”
The feeling in my gut got that much more ominous. What did that event entail that the client didn’t want us to see?
Nancy must have read my mind, because she gave me a significant look. “If they don’t tell, we don’t ask. Business is business.”
It was, as long as the refreshments were food and drink. But what if the menu went beyond that?
“I’ll have to get back to you about that,” I stammered.
“Thanks,” she chirped, cheery as ever. “Do you want me to wrap up these leftovers for you?”