Page 64 of Fire Dancer
PIPPA
I shrugged out of one sleeve, then the other, letting Jananovich take it. Shouldering my backpack, I followed him down the dim hall, down two steps, around a corner, up four steps to the right…
The place was definitely the product of a stoned, 1970s, peace-love-granola architect/artist type. The walls were raw cement, which would keep the temperature cool in summer, while the red oriental runner rug helped keep things warm now.
“May I offer you a drink? Tea? Coffee?” he asked, half turning.
“No thank you,” I said, tearing my eyes away from a side room we passed. A study, by the looks of it.
No bloodstains. No coffin. No coffee-table books of Transylvanian castles.
Either Ingo had been in his line of work for too long, or Jananovich was as slick as they came. My inner pendulum swung back and forth.
“Oh. Actually, some wine would be good. To show you the decanter, I mean,” I added quickly.
“That can be arranged.” He smiled and gestured me into an office on the right.
I pointed straight ahead to a glass door leading to the terrace beyond. “Ideally, I’d like to demonstrate outside. I’m afraid I might spill something.”
And, shit. Was that a flicker of excitement I’d just glimpsed?
Wine,I wanted to insist.I mean spilling wine, not blood!
My inner pendulum swung back over to high alert.
“Certainly.” He continued to the terrace.
I stepped outside. And stepped, and stepped… The terrace was as big as a tennis court, and that wasn’t counting the infinity pool. Something I’d bet was added after La Puebla’s days as a commune. There were at least a dozen lounge chairs there, all facing the views, and a barbecue big enough to grill an elephant.
“Wow. Great views,” I couldn’t help saying, though I did hold back,Especially of Chimney Rock.
I turned to see the side of the building. Most of it was taken up by a massive living/dining/entertaining room with three-story windows facing the incredible view. The place had definitely undergone a major facelift since I’d visited on a catering job a few years earlier. I’d never seen so many sofas in a private home, though. Some were more like lounges, and I couldn’t help thinking it would be a great place for an orgy.
The question was, sex orgy or blood orgy?
Both made my stomach turn, but I managed another approving squeak.
“Wow.”
“It is nice, isn’t it?” he conceded.
As far as architecture went, sure. But I did notice extra-thick curtains for the windows, currently pushed away. Vampires weren’t allergic to light, as popular myths claimed, but they did avoid blazing sunshine.
Like now? Jananovich, I noted, remained in the shaded part of the terrace.
I pulled myself together and pointed to a table. “May I unpack here?”
“Be my guest.”
I’d definitely piqued his curiosity, which could be good or bad.Goodbecause it gave me a chance to get a sense of what he was really up to.Badbecause I had the sneaking feeling he was more interested in me than the glass. And, yikes. If he offered me a consulting job, I would be out of there faster than Road Runner sprinted away from Wile E. Coyote.
While I unpacked the glass and other gear I’d brought, my host pressed an intercom.
“George? Some wine, please,” he said when someone answered. Then he glanced at me. “Red or white?”
I gulped. My turn to go for a neutral voice. “Red, please.”
The man on the intercom went through a list of fancy labels and years for Victor to ponder over. First-world problems.