The sooner Ben and I were out of here, the better.
But I paused. “Brenda, can I ask you kind of a personal question?”
“Sure. Amuse me.”
“Let’s see, how can I put this. . . do you dress like that on purpose?” I gestured to her tight-pants, cleavage-revealing, spike-heeled ensemble.
“Like what?” she said, totally deadpan.
“Never mind.”
Hand on my elbow, Ben pulled me away.
Dawn was nearly here. The Strip’s glitter looked tired, desperate almost, in the near-morning light. Like Christmas on downers. Dom might or might not be up still. I had to find him, because no matter how blasé Evan and Brenda were about it, I knew the priestess of Tiamat was a vampire, and I believed she was still at large. I wanted to warn Dom.
He probably just wasn’t answering his phone. Didn’t mean he was in trouble or anything.
“Thanks for humoring me,” I said to Ben as we walked to the Napoli. I felt like we were a team again.
Ben said, “If he’s not answering his phone, how do you even know he’ll be there?”
“Maybe he’s not. But I have to try. And if he’s in trouble—”
“Kitty. You can’t save the world. What makes you think he even has anything to do with that mess at the Hanging Gardens?”
“It’s vampires. They’re always tangled up. Nothing’s ever simple with them. Maybe you’ve noticed.”
“Yeah, I have. So what, we ask for him at the front desk again?”
“I still have the key card to his penthouse. Let’s hope it still works.”
Inside the elevator, I tried the card, and surprise, surprise, it worked. A smarter guy would have had the card canceled or asked for it back. But Dom was a gracious host. He was also a vampire, which made me wonder what his veneer of amiable cluelessness was hiding.
Beside me, Ben was fidgeting, nervous. “This may be a bad idea, walking into a vampire’s lair like this.”
“You’re probably right,” I said.
He did an actual double take. “Really? You’re admitting it?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t help but notice we’re doing it anyway.”
Er, yeah. . . I wrapped my arm around his and squeezed close.
The elevator stopped. The doors opened to the foyer of Dom’s suite. Both Dom’s vampire bodyguards were on watch. Sven stood at the elevator doors, a six-foot-five mass of polished Nordic chill. His smile showed a hint of fang. Behind him, at the other end of the foyer, the other, silent bodyguard stood watch. I avoided looking at him and concentrated on Sven.
I smiled back and waved. Told myself to be brazen. “Hi. Is Dom in?”
“What are you doing here?” Sven said, not angrily or defensively, but curious. Definitely not surprised. He’d probably seen us coming on some security video. It would be easy to keep track of anyone coming to Dom’s suite. Didn’t mean the vampire priestess couldn’t sneak in.
But everything looked normal. Sven even looked relaxed—amused, maybe, at the werewolves who thought they could march in here without a by-your-leave.
I couldn’t make excuses or bluff my way out of this one, so I laid it all out.
“Earlier tonight I had an encounter with the woman from Balthasar’s show over at the Hanging Gardens, and I couldn’t help but notice that she’s a vampire, and I have this sneaking suspicion she may be a really, really old vampire. Like the Babylonian motif over there isn’t just a gimmick. And, well, I had this encounter because she and her boys chained me to a wall and tried to sacrifice me to some goddess called Tiamat. I know this all sounds really silly, but—”
From the suite’s interior came the sudden wail of a woman reaching sexual climax. That kind of orgasmic noise used to make me jealous when I was single and living alone in an apartment complex with thin walls. So. A couple of people were having sex in Dom’s living room. At least, I assumed it was two. And I only assumed they were having sex.