Page 90 of Fire Dancer

“Therefore, Deirdre will remain with you at all times. To orient you to our customer-friendly approach, of course.”

Deirdre? The bitchy brunette with the three-inch nails who’d picked up the vials?

Yep, that Deirdre. She stepped out of the shadows, and it took everything I had not to blanch. Especially when I caught the scent she must have masked earlier. Vampire.

Still, I forced myself to nod. “Of course.”

She stepped closer in a stilted walk dictated by that tight cocktail dress. The sequins flashed, just like her eyes did.

Orient me? More like kill me if I stepped out of line.

“Follow me,” she grumbled.

And just like that, I was in. Well, out the door, but in with the escorts, who were primping for the night in a big, ground-floor room in another building that was part of the La Puebla rabbit warren. The place was set up like a fashion show dressing room, with racks of clothing and a row of light-studded mirrors.

Deirdre introduced me curtly, and everyone looked over with the air of sorority girls, already judging if I was cool enough to join their exclusive club.

I wished I could assure them I really, really didn’t want that. Not at all.

Luckily, the din of hair dryers drowned out any attempt at conversation, and no one seemed to recognize me. Either I was completely forgettable, or they had all been so dazed that no one remembered me from before.

I recognized them, though. Kelly, Rob, Becca, Saanvi, and the others. Poor, meek Delaney was there too, looking like a deer in headlights as she followed the others through the motions.

Ingo and I had guessed at what was going on, but seeing it made the details sink in.

The vials. The escorts. The big event with VIP guests.

Jananovich wasn’t just selling sex or blood. He was running a twisted business catering to vampires — connoisseurs, one might say, not of fine wines, but rare blood types. Why settle for an ordinary human “vintage” when you could sample a fine blend of the best bouquets? A human-mermaid blend, for example. A hint of dragon. Maybe even a splash of pegasus.

My eyes misted as I thought of Stacy. Had she even been aware of her heritage? Had she dreamed of galloping and flying over open plains the way I dreamed of controlling fire?

I looked around the room. Did any of the escorts know about their own heritage?

Somehow, I doubted it.

But Jananovich knew. I could picture him hiring a couple of bear shifters with good noses — like the one who’d kept an eye on Stacy — to scour bars and gyms for promising new “talent.”

Worse, I could picture the rest. Blood samples drawn and poured into vials. Vials used to lure high-end paying clients to events like tonight’s highly anticipated “dinner.”

A hundred thousand per person,I’d heard one of the escorts say proudly.

Nancy’s catering was good, but notthatgood. The main draw — the secret sauce, one might say — was Jananovich’s escorts.

I thought back to all the vials Stacy had picked up over the past weeks. Many more than necessary to draw in customers for one dinner. Unless…

My stomach turned. I would bet good money — say, $30,000 — that Jananovich was running an entire business based entirelyon small amounts of blood. Targeting a different segment of the vampire market, in other words, who paid a premium for handpicked samplers sent monthly, the way some folks paid for a coffee subscription.

My pulse rose, and I yearned to explain it all to Ingo.

I couldn’t — not now — but I did use a trip to the toilet to text him a choppy, telegraph-style message. Then I checked the nanny cam — and nearly cursed out loud. Someone had put a wide-screen TV in front of it, and all it showed now were blurry cables.

Shit, shit, shit. I would have to get back in and reposition that camera.

I sent another text, explaining the problem in staccato bursts of misspelled text. That was the best I could do before Deirdre cleared her throat outside my stall. If I didn’t exit, pronto, she would drag me out and frisk me.

I hit send, then deleted the conversation and cut the link to the camera before emerging with a ditzy smile. In no time, I was squeezed into a pleated chiffon dress and matching emerald pumps, with my hair done in long, loose curls.

And, oh. A glance in a full-length mirror told me I looked pretty damn amazing. Not a good thing, though. Not tonight. I ruffled my hair and plucked at the dress, doing my best to spoil the effect.