Shit. That was close. That was too damned close. I’d been mad about what the Red Devil had said before, calling me stupid. But he was absolutely right.
I could have killed that girl. And if he hadn’t stopped me I think I would have.
So much for coming to her rescue.
S arah!” George exclaimed when I returned to the club. “We’ve been worried about you.”
I glanced at Amy, who was still on the dance floor, attempting an awkward, high-heeled version of the Running Man. “Yeah, it looks like it.”
“Amy hides her concern really well. Where have you been?”
Secretly meeting with Thierry. Trying to save an innocent, but badly dressed fledgling.
Going homicidal and nearly making the fledgling more than just a fashion victim. Getting reamed out by the Red Devil.
All of the above.
“I was in the washroom,” I told him instead.
“For twenty minutes?”
I put a hand over my stomach. “You do not want to know the details. Trust me.”
He made a sour face. “Forget I asked.”
I would never take my chain off again. Ever. Stamped it, no erasies. I twisted my finger around the very necessary piece of jewelry.
George gave me a thorough look. “Now that you mention it, you don’t look so good.”
“Really?” I said dryly. “Because I feel like a million bucks.”
He crossed his arms. “Then the inflation rate is not in your favor. Do you want to leave?
Had enough with the partying for one night?”
I let out a long, shuddery breath. “To put it mildly.”
I felt sick and ashamed by what had happened. And sweaty. And miserable. And horrifically embarrassed. And scared. And… well, that basically covered it.
That was a whole smorgasbord of emotions to deal with at one time so I knew the stress showing through on my face was impossible to hide.
Amy pranced off the dance floor and made a beeline over to us. “Hey! You’re back. Want to dance?”
I looked at her wearily. “Not a chance.”
“You’re such a poet!” She grinned and pulled a cell phone out of her small, beaded bag. “I borrowed this from you earlier. Mine was dead and I had to call Barry. You have a text message waiting there. Somebody with the initial G?” She could barely control her curiosity. “Who’s G, Sarah? Hmm? Someone hot?”
I snatched the phone away from her. I hadn’t even realized it was missing. I glanced at the screen and my stomach took a deeper nosedive. “G is for God, if you must know. I’ve recently become incredibly religious. It must be my Bible quote of the day.”
Yeah, like she was buying that one.
“Grant?” she guessed. “Maybe Gary? Geoffrey? Gerard? Greg? Gaston? Stop me if I’m getting close.”
Gideon.
My knuckles whitened as I clutched the small pink phone.
“I didn’t mean to read it,” she said innocently. “But he wants to see you immediately and apparently you know what he wants.”
I gave her a tight smile. “Super. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Well? What does he want? A midnight rendezvous? A little boom-shaka-laka?” Her smile was blindingly white. “Sarah, I’m so impressed. You had me convinced you were still pining over stupid Thierry. You could have told me, you know, instead of being all secretive about this new piece of yummy. Then I wouldn’t have bothered setting you up with Jeremy.”
“I am obviously an enigma,” I sighed wearily, “when it comes to the yummy.”
“Details! I want details!”
George raised his eyebrows. “That makes two of us. I live with you and even I didn’t know about this. Keeping secrets from your bestest friends, Sarah?”
If only they knew.
I slipped the phone into my bag. “Right. Well, I think I’m going to call it a night.”
Amy and George exchanged a glance.
“Fine,” she said, pouting. “Be that way. But I’ll figure out who your new mystery man is.
Just give me time.”
I pasted a frozen smile on my face. “You’re immortal now. Take all the time you need.”
Then I grabbed my coat and left the club, attempting to ignore her dirty look and George’s curious one. Neither attempted to follow me, which, based on my dour mood and where I was headed, was a very good thing.
“You got my message?”
Gideon’s deep voice greeted me from the shadows of his fourth-floor suite at the Madison
Manor. If I could find a bright point in this otherwise dark scenario, the boutique hotel at
Spadina and Bloor—in the part of Toronto called the Annex—was only a few blocks away from Darkside. His room in the restored Victorian mansion even had a fireplace, which currently wasn’t lit despite the cool temperature of the room. As far as I knew, he didn’t go out. Why should he when I was only a text message away to do all of his chores?
The ensuite bathroom light was on. Otherwise the main room was dark, the blinds drawn.
To my left, double French doors led to a snow-covered balcony overlooking Madison Avenue.
“Obviously I got your message,” I said tightly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”