Chapter 1 : Part 4

Fanged & Fabulous
by Michelle Rowen

(Page 4 of 6)

But it seemed to get my point across. Chad was now the one scrambling backward, nodding like a lunatic, saying, "Yes, yes, I promise," over and over again. Then he got shakily to his feet, and with a last look of fear - the intense kind one might have just before losing total bladder control - he turned and ran from the park like the proverbial bat out of hell.

I leaned over and picked the stake up from where Chad the Vampire Slayer had dropped it and studied it for a moment. I had to go find Thierry, tell him what had happened here, and ask him what I should do about it. If anybody would know, he would. He just wasn't going to be too happy about it.

Slayer of Slayers, huh?

I threw the stake into a nearby garbage can.

That new little nickname was so going to come back to bite me in the ass.

I first tried calling Thierry's cell phone, but it immediately took me into voicemail, which was frustrating at the best of times. He wasn't at his town home, either. So I'd gone back to my apartment to change, then paced back and forth impatiently until eight o'clock when I knew somebody would be at his new vampire club. It didn't open for another hour, but some of the staff would already be there setting things up.

It had only been one week since Haven opened. I didn't like the place as much as Midnight Eclipse. Instead of being hidden behind the façade of a tanning salon, the entrance to Haven was a plain-looking door located along an abandoned alleyway. No bells, no whistles. Just an ugly, three-hundred-pound vampire bouncer named Angel (unfortunately, no relation or even a passing resemblance to David Boreanaz) who sized up vamps who came a-knocking.

Typically the entrance was also monitored by Barry Jordan, the manager of the club. He was extremely short and usually dressed in a tuxedo as well as a sour and annoyed expression. The guy hated me with a passion. Can't say I was all that thrilled with him either. Unfortunately he recently married my best friend Amy, who seemed to like him just fine for some odd reason.

Barry had a really annoying habit of calling Thierry "the master," which was very Renfield, and kind of creepy. And he seemed to have a big problem with those who did not refer to him that way. Namely, me.

Barry wasn't at Haven tonight. It must have been his night off.

The club was small, intimate, with dark walls, ornately carved cherry wood tables and chairs. A splash of color came from the blue and teal ceramic tiled floor, which had a swirling pattern like a whirlpool. Actually it looked more like a flushing toilet, if you ask me. Modern chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, filling the club with a soft, flickering light that filled me with anything but ease. I was way too stressed out by the time I got there.

"Where's Thierry?" I blurted out as I entered the club.

George was lighting a candle on a nearby table and he looked up at me. "Do you realize how often you enter a room saying that?"

I blinked at him.

"You could come in here with a 'Hi George, how are you doing George,'" he continued. "But, no. It's all about Thierry."

I felt a wave of anxiety. "I need to find him. I have a major problem."

He rolled his eyes. George was a waiter at the club. He'd also worked at Midnight Eclipse, and I considered him one of my very best fanged friends. Totally gorgeous, too. He had shoulder-length sandy blond hair, a square jaw, high cheekbones, full lips, and bedroom eyes. A body like a Chippendales dancer, or one of those hottie male models on the covers of romance novels. Yeah, George was damn hot.

Too bad he played for the other team.

"Marco dumped me," he announced.

"Who's Marco?"

"My boyfriend." He frowned. "You knew that already."

I shrugged, feeling too distracted to fully concentrate on what he was saying.

"He was one of the construction workers who worked on the club," he said.

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll . . . I don't know . . . meet somebody else." I glanced around the dimly lit club. "So where's Thierry?"

He sighed and leaned against the table. "Your lack of compassion for my acute depression is duly noted. What's your trauma du jour, anyhow?"

I quickly explained what had happened, starting with the jog and ending with my new nickname. George whistled.

"Well, that explains all these crazy rumors I've been hearing," he said. "About some badass vampire in town. I never realized it was you. No offense."

My anxiety increased another notch. "There are rumors? Already? What am I going to do?"

He appeared to think about it. "You should probably talk to Thierry."

"Well, duh."

Copyright © 2007 by Michelle Rowen

About the Author

Michelle Rowen was born in Toronto, Ontario. As a child she decided that when she grew up she would become a flight attendant, a jewel thief, or a writer. One out of three ain't bad. She is a self-confessed bibliophile, the proud owner of an evil cat named Nikita, Reality TV junkie, and has an unhealthy relationship with all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer.