My eyebrows shot up, and a hot ripple of annoyance went through me. Of all the damn nerve. We’d made a deal. He was going to teach me how to adjust to being a vampire without getting myself killed, and in return I was going to use him for all the information I needed and then go back to my normal life. What part of that didn’t he understand? Okay, maybe I hadn’t been clear on all the finite details, but I’d never agreed to be a waitress at his stupid vampire club.
I shook my head. “No can do. I left my waitressing days behind a long, long time ago. Hated it then, and I’m not putting myself through it again now.”
Zelda stared at me for a moment and then suddenly burst into tears. “But… he said… you were… going… to help out.”
I held up my hands to try to calm her down. What the hell just happened?
“Sorry.” I patted her awkwardly on her shoulder while she sobbed. “Nothing against waitressing, really. It’s a fine, noble profession. It’s just not for me. Nothing personal. Thanks for the clothes, anyhow.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just… just…”
“Just what?”
“Ralph!” she wailed.
“Ralph? Who the hell is Ralph?”
“Ralph’s dead!”
I shook my head. “Okay, Zelda. Take a deep breath and tell me what you’re talking about.”
The waterworks eased up a bit. “Ralph was a waiter here. Until tonight. He’s dead. The hunters got him.”
“Oh. Sorry.” There wasn’t much more to say than that. Another one bites the dust. She sniffed loudly and ran the back of her hand across her nose. “He always thought he was going to live forever.”
“Well… wasn’t he?”
“He refused to believe that anything bad would ever happen to him. But it did.”
“That sucks.”
“So, it won’t be forever, see? Just until we find somebody to replace him permanently. Thierry said that you wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, he did, did he?”
Zelda looked at me with a hopeful expression. Great. Now I’d feel major guilt if I said no. I had enough guilt to deal with today without adding any more to the load. I sighed.
“Okay. But it’s just going to be for tonight.”
A bright smile chased the rest of her tears away. “Thanks. I’m on bar, so we’ll get to chat more later.”
“Super.” Any enthusiasm in my voice was forced. “So you can serve alcohol, huh? I thought you had to be nineteen to do that.”
“I’m covered,” Zelda said. “Since I turned three hundred and nineteen last Tuesday.”
“Oh.” I paused to let that little piece of information sink in. “Um, happy birthday?”
“Actually, I stopped celebrating them when I turned two hundred.” She moved toward the door. “I’ll be out by the bar. Any questions you’ve got, don’t hesitate.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I watched the three-centuries-old redheaded bartender leave the office and shook my head. Appearances sure can be deceiving. So there I was. Just sucked into working the table-waiting shift of a dead vamp with the improbable name of Ralph. In a way it was probably a good thing I was filling in tonight. It would help me take my mind off what had happened in the underground. I could rub elbows with the other creatures of the night who enjoyed smoky clubs with dark-haired jazz singers. Maybe learn more about the hunters and how best to avoid the same fate as Ralph’s. I might even be able to find out what the real story on enigmatic Monsieur de Bennicoeur was.
And the most important question of all: were vampires good tippers?
Along with the clothes, Zelda had been kind enough to leave her makeup bag for me. After applying a coat of bright red lipstick, I found the troubles of the day seemed to slip away. Or, at least, I was able to block out any unpleasant thoughts focusing on my slightly
see-through reflection while I applied the war paint. When I was done, the memories immediately flooded back. Poor Quinn. I got a shiver down my spine every time I flashed back to what happened. Why couldn’t I be more coldhearted? Maybe that would come in time, but right now I felt like I’d aided and abetted a murder.
After a few minutes I finally stepped out of the office and scanned the darkened club for Thierry, but he was nowhere to be seen. Big surprise. I still felt embarrassed about what had happened earlier. I don’t know if I felt more embarrassed about the impromptu wrist sucking or the subsequent face sucking. It was neck and neck—no pun intended. But I was still desperate to talk to him. If I was going to wait tables, I wanted it to be worth my while. Start my tutoring deal right away. No time to waste, especially after getting myself into that unfortunate predicament this afternoon. Barry made a beeline toward me. He was wearing a matching tuxedo to the one he’d worn last night, only tonight he had a red rose tucked into his lapel. He smiled his tiny-fanged, slightly condescending smile.
“Good evening, Sarah,” he said drily and without much interest.
“Howdy,” I replied. “So here I am, ready to pitch in and help out. Just for tonight. Why don’t you tell me where you want me to go?”
I left it open for him, baiting him to say something rude and inappropriate, but either the line went over his head or he wasn’t in the mood to play games. Frankly, neither was I.
“I don’t think it will be too busy. Just make yourself available to the customers that do make it out tonight. We have a very limited menu, people mostly order drinks—a lot of us can’t eat solid food as easily as others—”
“Oh, really?” I cut him off. “I guess that would explain it.”
He blinked at me. “Explains what?”
“My missing appetite. Good to know that it’s a normal vampire thing.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Quite normal. Anyhow, as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me— George will be here to help out, too, but he doesn’t start until eleven. I tried to get him in earlier, but he wasn’t answering his phone.”
“I think I can handle it.” I glanced around the empty club. “Where’s Thierry, anyhow? I need to talk to him.”
Barry’s expression darkened. “The master has gone out to attend to another business matter. He will return shortly.”
I frowned down at him. “Why do you call him master, anyhow? Seems kind of formal.”
He sighed heavily. “Like I’ve said before, it is a term of respect. He is the oldest of our kind that I’m personally familiar with, and I will call him master”—he searched briefly for the right words—“because that is simply what he is called.”
“Uh-huh. And what’s his regular drink?”
“Excuse me?”
“When you gave us our drinks last night, you gave him his regular drink. What is it? I figure I should know these things so he won’t have to ask. Don’t want the master to go thirsty.” I smirked at him.
Barry stared at me for longer than was comfortable before he finally spit it out. “Cranberry juice.”
I was surprised. “No blood?”
“He rarely drinks blood in public.”