Hell's Bell (Lizzie Grace 2)

It still might be wise to have a spell or two ready to use, just in case.

Given her admitted knowledge of the darker arts, that’s probably not a good idea. There’s the risk of her sensing it and getting annoyed. And I very much suspected it would not be wise to get on the wrong side of Maelle Defour.

Better to be on the wrong side than to be dead.

I don’t think she wants me dead, Belle.

Well good, because seeking revenge isn’t on my to-do list today.

I grinned, but it quickly faded as the car came to a stop and the driver opened my door. I climbed out and looked up at the building. In the waning light of the afternoon, it looked almost otherworldly, especially against the very ordinary buildings on either side. The entire thing had been painted matte black—even the windows—and the walls were decorated with weird, almost alien-looking biomechanical forms. It looked like something that belonged in a science fiction film rather than out here in the middle of the Victorian countryside.

“This way, please.”

Roger motioned me toward the main entrance, which had been styled into an air lock. He unlocked the door and then ushered me inside. The second set of doors that led into the main area were open, so I continued on.

The room beyond was huge, and had been painted battleship gray rather than black. The arched ceiling was adorned with more of those biomechanical and alien forms, but in the cold light of day, this vast room held none of the heat, energy, or intrigue that it did at night. In fact, it looked and felt rather soulless. Which, considering a vampire owned the place, was rather apt.

Of course, the whole “did vamps possess souls” debate was still very much ongoing. Not even the books we’d gotten from Belle’s gran could answer that particular question.

I paused at the top of the steps that led down to the lower-tier dance floor. It was empty, which was no surprise given the place didn’t open its doors until the sun had begun to set, and at this time of year that was generally around eight. But there was also no one behind the bar that dominated half of the upper area, nor was there anyone replacing the tea candles in the grotesquely shaped lanterns that adorned the table in every seating pod, or otherwise getting the area prepared for use by guests.

Which was decidedly odd—in a place this big, I would have thought it’d be safer to allow more time to prepare rather than less.

My gaze rose to the ceiling. Maelle had built a dark glass and metal room into the point where all the arches met, and though it was obvious right now, at night it disappeared into the darkness and was all but invisible. Only the occasional glimmer of a strobe flickering across its surface gave its position away, and I doubted many of those who frequented this place would have noticed. The only reason I’d done so was thanks to the sensation of being watched.

Which once again I was.

Maelle made no acknowledgment of my presence, however, and after a second or two, disappeared into the darkness behind the glass.

“Would you care for a drink, Ms. Grace?” Roger moved past me and walked across to the bar—a vast twisted metal and glass construction. “My mistress will be down momentarily.”

“I wouldn’t mind a sparkling water.” I perched on the nearest barstool—which, following the theme of the entire place, was shaped like an alien’s head—and watched him move across to get my drink. “Where are all the staff? I would have thought they’d be here by now to get things ready for opening.”

He placed the opened bottle and a glass down in front of me. “Normally that would be true, but we had to delay opening this evening.”

I nodded my thanks and then said, “And has this delay anything to do with my reason for being here?”

“Indeed it has,” a soft and slightly accented voice said. “And I do appreciate your promptness in answering my request to see you.”

I swung around and watched Maelle approach. She was once again wearing what looked like an eighteenth-century riding gown, although this time it was dark green rather than brown. Her rich chestnut hair had been plaited and curled around the top of her head, and under the bar’s cool lighting rather looked like a crown. Her skin was porcelain perfect, and gave no hint of her age. But she was old.

Very old.

“Let’s be honest here,” I said, my tone as neutral as I could manage. “It wasn’t an invitation. It was more a demand.”

A small smile touched her too-perfect lips. “That is very true, but I do have my reasons and they are quite urgent.”

“Something I gathered from your thrall, and the only reason I am here.” I hesitated, and then added bluntly, “And I do not appreciate the threat against my friend. You were the one who said you’d prefer a relationship based on respect rather than one mired in animosity and distrust. Threats are more likely to garner the latter, Maelle.”

“Another truth, and I do apologize for falling into habits of old.”

She sat gracefully on the stool beside mine, a far too close position that had my “other” senses flaring to life.

Maelle Defour was hungry.

Dangerously hungry.

My pulse rate jumped into overdrive, which was very unwise given the waves of hunger washing from the other woman. But it wasn’t like I could control either my pulse or the fear that accompanied that jump.