Twice Bitten (Chicagoland Vampires 3)

"It's been a long day."

"Which is exactly why you need this," Lindsey said.

"Is there any chance I'm getting out of it?"

"Not even slightly."

"Then I guess I'm in."

Lindsey winked but then frowned as she took in my loungewear. "First things first, the wardrobe." She turned back to the other vampires and twirled a finger in the air. "Saddle up, then meet us in the lobby in twenty. The cabs should be there by then."

When she'd cleared them all out, we walked back down to my room.

"So," she said when she was finally perched in front of my open closet door, "this is the first time you've gone out with us since Commendation. It's also the first time you've gone out since you were, you know. . ."

"Dumped? Thrown back? Replaced?"

"Is there a polite way to say it?"

"Not really. What's your point?"

"My point is, the best revenge is a life well lived or whatever. That means you need to look completely, insanely fabulous, and you need to have a fantastic time." She pulled a pale blue sleeveless shirt with a drapey neckline from a hanger, then grabbed a pair of straight-legged black pants. The outfit assembled, she turned back to me. "The place will be full of Cadogan vamps, and you know word travels. That means it's time to teach him a lesson."

I grimaced. I didn't want to play the "teaching Ethan a lesson" game, especially since I was working on swearing him off, but I knew when I'd been beat. I held out a hand, then opened and closed my fingers.

"Gimme," I said, then took the bundle and headed for the bathroom. Ten minutes later, I emerged ponytailed and lipsticked, my beeper clipped at my waist. Lindsey had demanded I wear my hair up.

Combined with the drapey neckline, she'd explained, it was the vampire way of announcing that you were single . . . and that your carotid was available. I wasn't much interested in looking for love, but I figured arguing the point would just take too long.

We headed downstairs where the rest of our entourage waited in equally trendy, neck-baring attire. Like a woman on a mission, Lindsey gave a hand signal, and we all dutifully filed outside. A line of black and white cabs was parked outside the House, ready to ferry us to Temple Bar. The official Cadogan House watering hole was situated in my favorite neighborhood, Wrigleyville, just blocks from Wrigley Field.

Paparazzi snapped pictures as we crammed into the cabs, and their comrades in arms were waiting outside the bar when we arrived fifteen gloriously traffic-free minutes later. (There were obvious advantages to doing most of your driving while most of the population was asleep.) We were ushered into the bar, a PRIVATE PARTY sign on the door warning humans and others that they wouldn't make the grade tonight. Membership, I supposed, did have its privileges.

Even as late in the night as it was, the bar was still hopping, the two bartenders - Sean and Colin - passing out drinks while classic rock played on the stereo system. Lindsey led us through the crowd of vamps to a table marked RESERVED.

Unlike Cadogan House, Temple Bar lacked fine antiques and carefully chosen paintings. But it did have new and vintage Cubs gear of every shape and size - vintage jackets, pennants, bobble-head dolls. As you might imagine, I felt right at home.

We'd only just pulled out chairs and taken our seats when Sean popped up on the other side of the table. Like Colin, Sean was tall and lean, and he had short, ruddy hair framing an oval face and bright blue eyes. Sean was handsome in a kind of earnest, old-fashioned way, as if he might have stepped out of the photograph of a World War II battalion.

On the other hand, he was a vampire, and immortal. He very well might have been a member of a World War II battalion. Sean crossed his arms and looked us over with amusement. "And what brings Cadogan's finest to our little neck of the woods tonight?" Everyone pointed at me. My cheeks heated.

"Ahhh," he said, then glanced over at me. "So our Sentinel has finally escaped the confines?"

"She has," Lindsey said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "She's done her duty with the shifters, and now she's working on a little oblivion. What would you recommend?"

"Hmm," he said, looking me over. "Girly or manly?"

I blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"

He moved around to my side of the table, then crouched down on one knee, one hand on the back of my chair.

"Women who drink socially tend to fall into two categories," he said with the confidence of a sociologist or purveyor of spirits, the jobs probably having a lot in common. "Women who drink girly: women who stick to colorful things in martini glasses, white wine, frozen drinks; and women who drink manly: women who aren't afraid to sip at a good Irish whiskey, or a bit of stiff Scotch. Which type of woman are you, Sentinel o' mine?"

I smiled back at him from beneath my bangs. "Why don't you decide?" He winked. "I do like a girl with moxie."

Well, he was definitely going to like me.

Sean apparently deemed me worthy of a manly drink. He brought back a chubby glass half filled with ice and golden liquid. "You can handle this," he advised in a whisper, then moved on to put drinks in front of everyone else.

Cautiously, I lifted the glass and took a sniff. I'd never been much of a drinker, and this smelled only slightly more palatable than diesel fuel. But I liked the idea of being the girl who ordered a Scotch on the rocks - assuming that was what this was. There was something kick-ass about it, like being the girl who drove a Wrangler, the girl who wore her boyfriend's jeans, the girl who played flag football with the guys on a cool fall day . . . and won. I lifted the glass and took a cautious sip . . . then spent the next few seconds coughing.

Margot, laughing beside me, patted me on the back. "How's that drink, Sentinel?" I shook my head, a fist at my mouth as I tried to catch my breath. "Rocket fuel," I wheezed out.

"Did you let him choose your drink?"

I nodded.

"Yep, that's your mistake. Never let Sean or Colin choose the drink, Merit. They have a sadistic side.

But they do the same thing to everyone, if that makes you feel better. She lifted her glass. "Welcome to the club."

"Speaking of the club," I asked her, motioning to the partygoers around us, "where did all these people come from? There must be a hundred vampires in here."

"Remember, there are still three hundred and something vamps affiliated with Cadogan, even if they don't live in the House. For some strange reason, those couple hundred have no desire to play vampire sorority girls and hang out with the rest of us."