‘Okay, well, gotta run. See you later.’ She squeezed past, brushing against the male. He inhaled sharply, as if she’d hurt him. She rolled her eyes. Stupid, sensitive fae. She didn’t have time to go back and apologize, regardless of what Mia would have done.
She was around the corner when he called out for her to wait. Ignoring him, she found the employee access for Vanity and slipped inside.
She took her place behind the bar, a monstrosity of crystal bits and glass tiles that was actually shaped like a peacock. She gave a little half smile to the bartender she must be relieving. He was fringe, tall and not unattractive. Mia had insisted she had no amorous relations with any of the other employees, but based on how this one looked at her, Tatiana had to wonder. She wiggled her fingers at him. It seemed the kind of puerile gesture Mia might make. ‘Hi, there.’
‘You’re late.’ He winked. ‘But in that outfit, I forgive you.’ He tossed a small white towel onto the shelf beneath the bar and came toward her. ‘Everyone’s taken care of at the moment.’ He pointed toward the sink in front of her. ‘There are a few glasses I haven’t washed yet.’
‘I’ll do those. Don’t worry about it.’ She picked one up and looked for a rag.
His eyes widened. ‘Aren’t you going to spray gloves on?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Why should she bother with gloves? This wasn’t her skin anyway.
He tipped his head and lifted a shoulder. ‘Alrighty, then. Well, I doubt you’ll be too busy. It’s been slow. I think people are a little freaked out about all the missing fringe.’
More nonsense she didn’t understand or care to. She just wanted him gone so she could tend to her own business. She scooped up a rag and waved it at him. ‘Well, you have a good night. Better get home before the sun comes up.’
He gave her a mock salute, gathered his things, and left through the door she’d come in. As soon as he was gone, she tossed the rag down and surveyed the rest of the lounge. What she saw stunned her. Some kind of cheap imitation comarré. They didn’t glow. She inhaled. Didn’t have that same sweet blood scent. No, these were clearly kine masquerading as comarré. Was this some sort of parlor trick?
All around the room, idiot fringe indulged themselves with the counterfeits. Didn’t they know any better? Or was this their way of mimicking their noble betters? Anger at such posturing churned in her gut. What fools.
The sound of glass shattering tore her attention away from the scene. She glanced down. Her hand was clenched and the tumbler she’d been holding in her right hand lay in pieces on the metal countertop. Bright platinum peeked out where the glass shards had gouged the false flesh she wore. She adjusted her illusion to mend the wounds and swept the pieces aside.
‘What kind of beer do you have on tap?’
She tucked her hand behind her and looked up into the face of a remnant. Disgusting mud-blooded hybrid. She’d had enough of this part of the charade. Waiting on these half-wits was getting her nowhere. Time to find someone who could lead her to the girl. ‘Taps are dry. Go home and drink there, freak.’
Finding some small joy in the remnant’s shocked expression, she flipped up the service bar and headed out into the rest of the club. If tonight proved fruitless and she had to return to this dump, she was going to reward herself by killing a few of the patrons.
She deserved that much, didn’t she?
Chapter Fourteen
Chrysabelle extended her stride to keep up with Mal’s long legs. They’d dropped Doc off at the freighter, then parked in Dominic’s private garage near the club. She’d pushed for driving to the streets Doc had told them about, but Mal had insisted that driving might scare off anyone lingering nearby. Which was exactly why she wanted to do it. Any opportunity to get Creek out of their path. Well, Mal’s path. She wouldn’t mind another chance to talk to Creek, find out exactly what he was up to without Mal freaking the guy out. Creek might be human, but his speed and weapons said there was more to him than that. What human killed vampires with so little fear?
Which led her to wonder what was going on with the dead fringe if Creek wasn’t killing them. The deaths could be the result of a turf war. The fringe were getting more territorial lately and definitely bolder. The way she’d been tracked was proof of that.
Maybe she’d run into her friends Frankie and Ruby. She wondered what they’d think of Mal. Probably that she never traveled without dangerous male company. She laughed softly.
‘What’s so funny?’ Mal asked.
‘Hmm? Oh, nothing.’ No point in telling him. He’d just get all bothered that she’d been in danger, which might have been touching once, but now that she knew it was just his way of guarding his own freedom, it lost some of its appeal. Also, telling that story might lead to Creek and she wasn’t up for that conversation with Mal.
‘Laughing at nothing is one of the first signs of mental illness, I believe.’
She stared at him. ‘Did you just make a joke?’
He clutched at his dead heart. ‘I can be funny.’
‘I … I’m sure you can.’ Not that she’d ever seen that side of him before. What a change from the man who’d been on the verge of losing control just a few hours ago at her home. Had he forgiven her for sending blood to Dominic? Or was it the possibility of his curse being removed that had him in such a good mood? Whatever the reason, she liked him this way. He seemed almost … human. Like Creek. Not that she could ever mistake Mal for anything but vampire.