There were over eight million stories in New York City, most of them not pretty; but the gorgon story was downright ugly, and looking for that extinct Greek monster, who was not extinct, in a city of over eight million people, was like looking for a needle in a haystack. A needle that could turn you to stone.
Sam had known from the very first that this was going to be a tough case, a dangerous case, maybe the worst of her life. It would be a case to tell her grandkids about, a case to be written up in the Unusual Monsters Scientific Journal, a case she might not survive. But then, that's why she got paid the big bucks, she admitted as she walked up to the American Gothic Club, where she was meeting Nic and the others.
Along with her research today, she'd been thinking over Nic's apology. It had been a nice apology as far as apologies went, even if he hadn't gone down on his knees and begged. There was also a lot of sexual chemistry between them. She would cut him some slack, she decided reluctantly.
Patting down the sides of her French braid and straightening her skirt, she glanced up at the outside of the club. The façade was painted a deep scarlet, with various black paint decorations, and it looked rather like Andy the ghost had somehow won the bid for this particular paint job. On one side of the club, gold American graffiti was prominent with words such as "Fangs feel great" and "Call Vlad for a good suck." Sam shook her head, paid the cover charge and walked inside.
The American Gothic Club took its theme from vampire movies of the sixties and seventies. There were five-foot paintings done on black velvet of the various Draculas and werewolves of that period, such as Frank Langella, Christopher Lee, Lon Chaney and Jack Palance, and Bob Kelljan and Robert Quarry, who'd done the popular 1970 Count Yorga vampire series—true vampire and werewolf Americana.
Inside, the club was dark with fluorescent purple and blue lights. The ceiling was black but had glittering dots, which looked like stars and a blue moon. All the decor was definitely out of the sixties, with black shag carpet and couches and chairs done in vinyl the color of spilled blood. Sam thought it was very campy and, evidently the crowd did too, since the club was full.
The band was great, too. They were playing sixties and seventies rock and roll. Right now they were playing a Rolling Stones song, while various supernatural species mingled with humans on the dance floor. Sam grinned at the song; the Stones were a particularly appropriate soundtrack for hunting this killer.
Spying Nic and Alex at a corner table next to several trios of dancing clubbers, and noting that the encroaching Forest wasn't around, she hurried over, eager to tell them what she'd uncovered. She was also curious to discover if they had made any progress investigating Nero in other Goth bars and Greek restaurants.
Since she was cutting Nic some slack, and since she couldn't see Forest through the threes, Sam grinned at Nic and slid into the seat across from him, noticing just how handsome he looked tonight in his dark blue shirt and faded jeans, which fit low on his hips. He was an American girl's dream, even if he had a Russian anatomy.
"Guess what I found?" she blurted before they even had a chance to say hello. She leaned her elbows on the table. "Gorgons can hibernate like certain species of desert frogs. The frogs hibernate for decades as they wait for a good rain. Well, so do gorgons. I mean, the gorgons don't wait for rain, but they can actually hibernate for centuries. And a gold sword will definitely kill the Meduse. It's his Achilles' heel. Well, his neck is. I found the original curse and how to stop it. Death. Beheading by a solid gold sword." Sam fought down her growing excitement.
Nic's eyes were bright with interest, and even Alex remained quiet.
Hurriedly Sam conveyed her other findings, the words bubbling over like a brook in a flood. "You can also stab the Meduse in its human form, in the eyes, and that will slow him down. With most supernatural creatures it's the heart, but not the Meduse. He has a rocklike substance his heart is encased in, so it can't be touched without a jackhammer drill or some serious hammering and chiseling." Her grin grew even bigger as she waited for her pat on the back; she'd spent over eight hours in various libraries around New York City, deciphering extremely difficult foreign passages. "Believe me, those old texts were Greek to me, but I managed."
Before either Strakhov could comment, Forest appeared. She walked up, slid her arms around Nic's neck and bent to kiss his cheek.
Sam's grin fled. She didn't flinch outwardly, but inside she was seething. Once again she had gotten nary a thank-you-ma'am, while Forest stole her thunder with a blatant siren's seduction. Narrowing her eyes slightly, Sam focused on the vampire's dress—or rather, what little there was of it. The vampiress resembled a teenaged rock star who'd forgot to put on her skirt.
Yes, Forest definitely stood out. With her red miniskirt and knee-high black boots, and her see-through black lace shirt, the sultry underdressed vampiress made Sam feel like a true ugly American. Forest looked like sex on wheels, and Nic would be dining in if he didn't show some sense.
He was currently leaning toward Forest, giving her the once-over, as his eyes came to rest on the large nipples barely covered by her black lace shirt. The man was a fool, a darn carnal fool. But then, what could Sam really expect from the Russian rat? Certainly no American justice. Her poor unhappy heart was being batted around like a baseball, and watching her ex-lover—the key word being ex—fawned and drooled over by Miss Melon Breasts with Fangs was not a pretty sight.
The redheaded vampiress was certainly getting Sam's Irish up, and Sam wasn't even Irish, rather a mix of German and English, she reflected crossly. She wished the Irish trollop would go fawn over an American gigolo or someone, anyone, just as long as it wasn't a white Russian she went home with tonight.
Slamming her glass on the table a little harder than she meant, Sam watched Forest slide into the seat next to Nic. Her hand caressed his arm, those wickedly long fingernails scratching the smooth material of his shirt. Nic glanced at Sam, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture of appeal that had a hint of little boy about it. Yeah, right, Sam thought tersely. Nic was about as innocent as a wolf on the prowl. And he was already lurking deep within the Forest.
Chin on her palm, Sam gave Nic a faint smile, as if she could care less what he was doing and with what. If he wanted to date a vampire, get drained dry, go beyond the pale, more power to him.
Nic managed to hide his grin, noting Sam's expression. His Paranormalbuster was not a happy camper. He wanted to laugh, but instead he addressed himself to Forest. "Sam was just telling us what she uncovered." Turning back to the slowly stewing Sam, he added, "Petroff said the swords will be ready by midnight." Then he winked.
Sam stifled a colorful comeback. "What if we run into the Meduse before then?" she asked tersely.
"Are we supposed to just let him go, or become the next monuments to his invincibility?"
"I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, as you Americans say," Nic replied.
His slight Russian accent was sexy. Way too sexy, Sam despaired, for that villainous vamp vixen was still sitting next to him, lapping up his presence like a cat with cream.
"Tomorrow night will be better for our hunt. Petroff and Ripley will be able to join us, as well as Boris and Natasha. Our cousin is still working with his craftsman on the swords," Alex volunteered.
"Where are Boris and Natasha?" Sam wanted to know. She took a sip of her drink, looking over the rim of her glass to scan faces in the crowd. She had expected the pair to be here tonight.
"Setting up Jessie's memorial service," Alex answered.
"And Ripley?" Sam asked, inching to slap Forest's hand, which was possessively patting Nic's arm.
"Using his nose to sniff out some leads," Nic replied. He was enjoying Sam's jealousy—a jealousy she tried to conceal, but somehow couldn't quite manage.
"Sniffing out leads?" Sam said, then found herself feeling stupid when the others laughed. "What's so funny?" she asked.
"Ripley's a werewolf, Sam," Nic explained, his eyes bright with humor—and something else, something Sam couldn't interpret. "I thought you knew. After all, you keep telling me how you're such an expert on supernaturals." Nic's tone was clearly amused, his eyebrow quirking.
Sam began to fume. First Nic made her a one-night stand, then he let the hussy from hell slink all over him, and now he was adding to his list of grievous sins by insulting her professionalism? What a louse!
"Sure," she snapped, both hands planted firmly on the table. Glaring at Nic and Alex, she growled, "What? Just because the man is hirsute, I'm to automatically assume he's a wolf in sheep's clothing?"
Alex almost choked on his drink.
Nic snorted, while Forest started giggling. "Humans," she said. She clearly meant, What are you going to do with them; you can't live with them, and you certainly can't live without them as a food supply.
Seeing the brief flash of hurt before Sam tightened her expression, Nic backtracked. "Sorry, Sam. You're right. We should have told you. You don't have any problem working with werewolves, do you?" He waited patiently for her answer, his gray eyes curious.
Leaning across the table, Sam stared daggers at him. "As long as he's housebroken and doesn't bite, I have no problem with the guy. And I guess it goes without saying that Forest would be at home with the dogs."
All three reacted differently to Sam's words. Forest laughed outright, glancing from Sam to Nic expectantly. Alex looked everywhere else. Nic looked pissed off, his mouth suddenly a grim line.
"How bighearted of you, Sam, being willing to work with the fur challenged," he said.
"Oh, lay off. I didn't mean it like that." She was indignant. Who was he to be pissed at her? He was the one at fault. In fact he was so at fault that if he was California he would have fallen off into the ocean.
"Sure—some of your best friends are werewolves," Nic agreed sarcastically, steadily holding her gaze.
Obviously having a vampire for a cousin made Nic a bit touchy about supernatural creatures. "No. But one of my good friends is a witch, my brother has dated a werelioness and I have a goblin for a pet." She wasn't a preternatural bigot, she was just choosy. And if she tended to prefer men who didn't try to sip your blood like fine champagne, or men with more wit than hair, that was her business!
Leaning toward Sam, Nic studied her with a new intensity she found unnerving. She remarked tensely, "Not meaning to change the subject, but I am." Ignoring Nic's odd huff she continued, "I think I know where the Meduse might strike next."
Nobody asked where with bated breath. Sam narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, but Nic just continued to stare at her strangely. He took a long sip of his Rolling Rock beer. The silence stretched into a minute, until Alex finally asked the big question: "Where?"
"The Statue of Liberty." Sam waited for everyone to make the logical connection. They remained silent, however, staring at her with varying degrees of disbelief.
"Well, the Meduse is really into statues, you know. He finds them arousing. And you can't get bigger or more womanly than the lady herself."
"You mean, he'll go and look at her like a porn magazine or something?" Alex managed to ask, his voice a little shaky. He was clearly suppressing laughter.
Sam nodded.
Alex cracked up. Nic snorted in disbelief, and Forest was staring at Sam like she was the stupidest human alive—which in her opinion was saying something.
"That's an usual ideal, Sam. Original, even," Nic added when he saw Sam flinch.
"It's a great idea. There's no lady larger in the good ol' U.S.A., and without question she's the prettiest. She makes Philadelphia's Liberty Belle look cracked and tawdry in comparison. So, that's where I'll be tomorrow night—a front row seat at the Statue of Liberty," Sam said through clenched teeth. She glared at Nic. "Go ahead and snicker. They laughed at Galileo, Peter Venkman and Victor Frankenstein. I'm glad to be in the company of giants."
Forest hooted with laughter, for once forgetting her sex-kitten image.
"You can't go charging off into New York City at night by yourself," Nic said. "It's dangerous and deadly. You know it's an urban jungle out there, filled with all kinds of lethal creatures. Even without the Meduse hanging around," Nic added.
"Oh, give me a break. I'm free, proud, and a member of the World Bustin' Association. I'm not afraid of no gorgon. And heck, if I were a gorgon, I would find that statue sexy." Seeing the disbelief in their eyes, she opened her mouth to tell them that she had also found an obscure reference to Medusae having an affinity for large stone, copper and marble statuary. And the bigger the better. The perverted monsters liked nothing more than to have intercourse with hard, cold humanlike statues. And none of this modern art stuff for them. They might be perverted, but they had traditional taste.
Before Nic could say more, Alex put in his two cents: "I'll go with Sam."
She kept her mouth closed tight, narrowing her eyes at Nic, who was still smiling at Forest. See if she would mention finding that really old book at the library and the odd reference it held—the strange reference about the statues sculpted by Michelangelo and da Vinci that had met with a really scary fate. The gorgons had gotten their rocks off by having bizarro sex with them; the sculptures had been destroyed and the world had lost another David or two. And how do you think the Venus de Milo had ended up looking how she did? Well, let the oversexed vampires and the underbrained Nic figure it out for themselves.
Nic started to argue with both his brother and Sam, but Forest got there first. "Let's dance, Nicky—now." Giving him a come-hither look, she pulled him to his feet.
Glancing over to note Sam's reaction, Nic hid a smile. He could almost see the steam jetting from her ears. Taking a quick peek back at Forest, he could see why. The Irish vampiress looked ravishing tonight, although a little wooden. Yes, for all her fine looks, Nic just couldn't seem to see Forest as a threat to his feelings for Sam; she was all bark and no bite.
"Sure," he replied, glancing once at Sam as he led Forest to the dance floor. It would be better to let her cool down.
"What a creep," Sam muttered as he left.
Alex looked amused. "Nic, a creep? What will he think?"
Sam drew her attention away from the gruesome twosome and gave him a dirty look. "Not Nic. Forest. Boy, that lady is a tramp."
Alex started laughing again, wiping his eyes.
Sam ignored him. "Nic's no creep. He's just a lecherous, oversexed and rutting Russian. He's also pretty dim-witted when it comes to figuring out the psychology of a gorgon. Lucky I'm here."
Alex laughed even harder. The course of true love was certainly not running smoothly for his big brother. "He'll be glad to know that he's not a creep—and that you're jealous."
"Oh, drop it, joker boy," Sam snapped. Nobody said she was jealous, not without getting a fat lip in the process. Lucky she was acting the lady tonight, or Nic's little brother would have trouble sipping for a week. She instructed him testily, "Give me the low-down on those clubs and Greek restaurants."
Alex stopped chuckling. "Okay. You were wrong about the restaurants, but some of the bartenders at the Goth clubs think they might have seen him. Those at the Breed Club, the Resident Evil Bar and Club Dread all remembered seeing a male supernatural with Jessie who fits Nero's description."
"When was the last time they saw him?"
"Last night, here."
"Damn! We missed him."
"I know," Alex grumbled. "But we'll get him yet."
"Get who?" Forest asked, walking back to the table. Daintily she sat down in her chair, running her fingers through her shoulder-length copper curls. Her mini-mini skirt sliding up almost to her waist, Sam noted nastily. Nic remained standing, watching Sam.
"Who else? The gorgon," Sam retorted. "Where have you been? Planted in la-la land?"
Forest took her time answering. Pointing a long red curved fingernail at Sam, she suggested with pure ice in her voice: "Watch out, little human, I don't like being insulted."
"Then don't hang around," Sam shot back. Yes, her Irish was up, as well as her English, her German, and her dander.
Alex snorted. Nic suppressed a grin, knowing that he really shouldn't find Sam's insults humorous. After all, Forest was a vampire, and an enraged vampire could wipe the floor with a human. They often did, cleaning up any blood they might have spilled while drinking, sort of like some people use bread to sop up steak juice. Still, Sam was made of sterner stuff than most mortals, and Nic enjoyed her jealousy. And she was jealous, she cared about him far more than she wanted him to know.
The Irish vampiress struck fast, latching on to Sam's arm with terrible strength, knocking over her drink in the process. "I don't like being given instructions. Especially not by a short and stupid mortal whose lifespan is growing shorter by the minute."
Grimacing in pain, Sam retained a half grin. She knew she had to. Never let them see you sweat: Her parents had drilled that into her as a child. Supernatural creatures thrived on fear and pain, and Sam wasn't about to give this venomous vamp the thrill.
Jerking out a cross she had hidden in her jacket pocket, she pressed it down on Forest's arm. Immediately the Irish vampiress's skin began to smoke.
"Short maybe, human, definitely, but stupid, no way."
Forest jerked back her scorched arm, her fangs extended. She hissed at Sam, "You're stupider than I thought!"
"But you aren't as tough as you think you are," Sam wisecracked unwisely. She ignored Nic's nervous expression.
"You'll pay for this, you malicious miscreant!" the vampiress howled, cradling her arm.
"No, she won't," Nic broke in harshly. "We are at serious business here, and you provoked her."
Sam agreed. "We have better things to do than trade insults all night. I get enough of those from Nic," she said. But she was pleased as punch that Nic had taken up for her.
Before Forest might launch herself across the table, Nic staunchly placed both hands on the woman's shoulders, suggesting firmly, "Forest, remember that Sam was invited here by the Prince of New York, New Hampshire and Vermont. Prince Varinski wouldn't like it if you attacked her. She has Petroff's protection as well as my own."
Then, dropping his hands from Forest's shoulder, he grabbed Sam's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Let's dance, Sammy." He gave her no chance to object.
"The name is Sam," she protested, tugging slightly on her wrist. Forest gave her a look that would have sliced her to ribbons if it was a blade, then stormed off in a huff, her red miniskirt barely covering her fast-moving bottom.
"I'm really not in the mood to dance with a devil," Sam spoke up as Nic led her to the floor.
"Tough."
On the dance floor, the band was playing an old Chicago tune; "Colour My World." Glancing over Nic's shoulder, Sam couldn't help letting her feminine side enjoy a victory; Nic had taken up with her and Forest was stomping upstairs to the bar area of the club!
"That's some playmate you've picked out for yourself," she said snidely.
Nic only smiled.
"Better watch your neck, your back and anything else that gets in the way of those snapping fangs," Sam remarked, secretly savoring his closeness.
"I'm a grown boy. I can take care of myself."
Sam snorted. "You're not as smart as you think, buster. You're not as tough as you think. You may be good-looking and all that, but good looks don't cut it with a fang-face."
"I happen to like fang-faces."
"What, you want to end up sharing a sepulcher with some nasty Nosferatu? Funny, I didn't take you for a sucker."
"I think I'll manage."
Sam couldn't stop herself. "You may not realize it, but you're heading the way of the uneternal big sleep by letting her hang all over you."
"She's beautiful, sexy and none of your business," he replied, stoking her jealousy. She was hot and bothered; her lips were in a pout, her pink, ripe lips, making him ache for a taste. She pushed against his chest, but Nic didn't release her. She felt too good in his arms.
"Are you always this charming, or did you take piss-women-off lessons?" How dare the rotten rake flirt with both her and Forest! He couldn't have that birch and her too; only he was too dumb to recognize that fact.
"You know, you're adorable when you're mad, Sam. It makes me want to kiss all the spit and vinegar out of you."
"I don't think that can be arranged," she replied angrily. His face was just inches from her own, with its dark smoldering gaze daring her, challenging her. But he had used and abused her, and he didn't deserve for her to give him the time of day, much less a kiss. He could have all the vinegar he wanted, though.
"Too bad. We could have a lot of fun."
"Ha!" Sam knew it wasn't her best comeback, but she was again thinking of how hot and honeyed Nic's kisses were; how much she wanted not only his lips, but also wouldn't mind another in-depth history lesson about Peter the Great. She stifled a groan.
"We can have a lot of fun, Sam, if you let us."
"In your dreams. I won't sit through intimacies with liars, betrayers, or one-night standers."
Nic stopped dancing and held her at arm's length. "You better walk easy around me, Sam, and learn where to draw the line. I'm prepared to give you some leeway because of our past, but don't insult my honor anymore. And for the hundredth time, you're not a one-night stand!"
"Don't threaten me, Nic!" she snapped.
"Don't push me, Sam, or you're gonna end up on the floor with your skirt around your head." Nic stared at her, smoldering. Oh, how he wanted Sam—here and now! "You want to make a scene in the middle of a vampire bar?" His eyes were glittering with the red-hot glow of desire; this feisty female roused his passions faster than anyone he had ever known.
"You know, buster, somebody needs to teach you a lesson."
"Who's going to do it?" he asked smugly. "You?"
"You bet. I'm the one wearing the boots that are going to kick your Russian butt right back to Vermont."
"Sounds kinky. Let's go," he replied. He wore a wicked grin, a lady-keep-your-knees-together grin. "I'm all yours. I know you want me."
Unfortunately, before Sam could punch Nic in the gut or let him have a piece of her mind or boot, Ripley interrupted them. "Outside, now. There's been another stoning."