Fire Dancer (Spellbound in Sedona #2)

Chapter Fifteen

PIPPA

I shrugged out of one sleeve, then the other, letting Jananovich take it. Shouldering my backpack, I followed him down the dim hall, down two steps, around a corner, up four steps to the right…

The place was definitely the product of a stoned, 1970s, peace-love-granola architect/artist type. The walls were raw cement, which would keep the temperature cool in summer, while the red oriental runner rug helped keep things warm now.

“May I offer you a drink? Tea? Coffee?” he asked, half turning.

“No thank you,” I said, tearing my eyes away from a side room we passed. A study, by the looks of it.

No bloodstains. No coffin. No coffee-table books of Transylvanian castles.

Either Ingo had been in his line of work for too long, or Jananovich was as slick as they came. My inner pendulum swung back and forth.

“Oh. Actually, some wine would be good. To show you the decanter, I mean,” I added quickly.

“That can be arranged.” He smiled and gestured me into an office on the right.

I pointed straight ahead to a glass door leading to the terrace beyond. “Ideally, I’d like to demonstrate outside. I’m afraid I might spill something.”

And, shit. Was that a flicker of excitement I’d just glimpsed?

Wine, I wanted to insist. I mean spilling wine, not blood!

My inner pendulum swung back over to high alert.

“Certainly.” He continued to the terrace.

I stepped outside. And stepped, and stepped… The terrace was as big as a tennis court, and that wasn’t counting the infinity pool. Something I’d bet was added after La Puebla’s days as a commune. There were at least a dozen lounge chairs there, all facing the views, and a barbecue big enough to grill an elephant.

“Wow. Great views,” I couldn’t help saying, though I did hold back, Especially of Chimney Rock .

I turned to see the side of the building. Most of it was taken up by a massive living/dining/entertaining room with three-story windows facing the incredible view. The place had definitely undergone a major facelift since I’d visited on a catering job a few years earlier. I’d never seen so many sofas in a private home, though. Some were more like lounges, and I couldn’t help thinking it would be a great place for an orgy.

The question was, sex orgy or blood orgy?

Both made my stomach turn, but I managed another approving squeak.

“Wow.”

“It is nice, isn’t it?” he conceded.

As far as architecture went, sure. But I did notice extra-thick curtains for the windows, currently pushed away. Vampires weren’t allergic to light, as popular myths claimed, but they did avoid blazing sunshine.

Like now? Jananovich, I noted, remained in the shaded part of the terrace.

I pulled myself together and pointed to a table. “May I unpack here?”

“Be my guest.”

I’d definitely piqued his curiosity, which could be good or bad. Good because it gave me a chance to get a sense of what he was really up to. Bad because I had the sneaking feeling he was more interested in me than the glass. And, yikes. If he offered me a consulting job, I would be out of there faster than Road Runner sprinted away from Wile E. Coyote.

While I unpacked the glass and other gear I’d brought, my host pressed an intercom.

“George? Some wine, please,” he said when someone answered. Then he glanced at me. “Red or white?”

I gulped. My turn to go for a neutral voice. “Red, please.”

The man on the intercom went through a list of fancy labels and years for Victor to ponder over. First-world problems.

“Just an ordinary Barolo, please.”

Ha. One of the random things I’d learned from catering was that there was no such thing as an ordinary Barolo.

An older man appeared with the wine, looking every inch the butler. He disappeared just as quickly, leaving no impression whatsoever.

I heaved an inner sigh. Rich men’s ideas of perfect butlers were old, gray, nondescript men. Their idea of perfect housemaids were curvy, young, and buxom. The world was so fucked up.

Victor opened the wine, and I handed him a glass. He held it up to the light, studying the design.

“I went for a reticello pattern,” I said, watching anxiously for his reaction. “So the glass has its own beauty but still allows you to appreciate the wine.”

“Lovely,” he murmured, turning it this way and that.

I held out the decanter and watched nervously as he filled it, then poured from the decanter to the glass.

“Lovely, indeed,” he said, more to himself than to me.

I showed him the matching stopper for the decanter — and whew. It fit perfectly.

I gave myself an inner high five.

“Just lovely,” he repeated, sniffing, then taking a sip.

He nodded in approval, and I couldn’t help swelling with pride.

He offered me a glass too, and I nearly accepted. Then I pulled myself together. Much as I wanted — and needed — the prize money, this wasn’t only about winning a contest. I was here to help Stacy and learn whether Jananovich was a genuine threat.

And if he was a threat? I had a wooden stake and a pocket full of garlic.

Well, okay. The wooden stake was just a sharpened pencil, the best I could manage on short notice.

“Are glasses your specialty?” he asked.

“Oh no.” I whipped out my phone to show him the shop’s website, then stopped. “Poor reception here. Do you have Wi-Fi so I can show you?”

The network was LaPuebla2, and the password was guest . Apparently, cybersecurity was not an issue up here. Not for his guests, at least.

“Here are a few others…” I said, scrolling through the images for him to see.

“Quite a varied selection,” he observed.

When his breath warmed my shoulder, I ended the show and stepped back into my own space.

“I’m so glad you like it.” I cleared my throat, working up my nerve to pop the million-dollar question. “I’d love to show Stacy the decanter. Do you know where I could find her?”

“Unfortunately, she’s unavailable.”

Aha. Well, that proved she had been here. Jananovich was her boss, and he was the one who’d ordered the vials. So, Ingo hadn’t been overly paranoid.

But, yikes. Now, I was.

“Oh. I hope everything is all right?” I asked.

Again, the neutral voice contest. Jananovich was winning, though.

“I hope so too,” he admitted. “She had to leave suddenly. Something about her mother…”

Alarms went off in my mind. Big, whooping ones, like a nuclear weapons silo signaling DEFCON 1. Stacy had lost her mother to cancer years ago. I clearly remembered her mentioning it.

I glanced at Jananovich. Was the man innocently mistaken or a cold-blooded killer? More to the point, was he a man at all or a vampire?

My phone rang, and I pulled it from my pocket. “Hello?”

Metal shop noises came through from the other end of the line as Abby spoke.

“Hi, it’s me,” my sister said, sounding rushed and annoyed.

Bang! Bang! She hadn’t bothered putting her work aside for this call. Which made sense since I’d drastically downplayed the situation.

“Oh, hello,” I said loudly, shooting an apologetic look at my host.

“Calling like you asked me to.” Abby’s sigh was punctuated by another couple of hits of the hammer.

“Yes, that’s right,” I said, playing out my side of a different conversation. “I’ll be sure to pick that up on my way home. I’m at La Puebla right now, but I shouldn’t be long.”

There. Another layer in my safety net, such as it was. I’d just made clear to Jananovich that someone knew where I was, in case he suddenly decided to off me and claim I’d never been there.

“See you at the shop soon,” I finished, then smiled, hung up, and apologized to my host again. “Sorry.”

“Not to worry,” he murmured, more focused on the glasses and decanter than me.

He liked them. He really liked them!

I could have cheered…until I pictured blood instead of wine.

Maybe it was time to get going.

“I’d be happy to leave the pieces with you to mull over,” I said, gathering the packaging.

Just then, the wind shifted, and along with the influx of fresh mountain air, I caught a whiff of ammonia mixed in with the Yves Saint Laurent.

My gut lurched. Shit. He really was a vampire.

“They are appealing,” he murmured. “Very appealing.”

More like terrifying. All the more so with the abruptness of my realization.

Of course, not all vampires were criminals. But with Ingo’s warnings, Stacy’s disappearance, and Jananovich’s interest in unidentified liquids, I veered way over to the bad guy hypothesis.

I made a show of checking my watch.

“Oops. I didn’t mean to take so much of your time. I really should be going.” I did my best not to rush, but the love vials I’d brought in case I needed another excuse to chat rattled, and one fell to the floor.

Quick as a cat, Jananovich caught it. I reached out a split second too late, and our shoulders brushed. I straightened quickly, but not before my nose wrinkled. Now that I was onto that hint of ammonia, it was all I smelled.

And, shit. Jananovich’s nostrils were flaring too, and his eyes gleamed as they roamed over my body.

Crap. Had he sensed my mixed heritage? Vampires had good noses, but I had it on good authority I smelled ninety-nine percent human.

Too bad for that one percent Jananovich had just caught on to. His eyes closed the way a wine enthusiast’s might when challenged with a taste test.

Interesting, his glittering eyes purred when they reopened. Very interesting.

I thought back to the beautiful consultants. Had they gone through an interview process that included a sniff test and ended with the same predatory purr?

“A pity you have to go. This has been a most fortuitous meeting,” he said.

I did my best to sound chipper and walk, not sprint, for the door.

“I’m so glad. I hope you like my contest entry.”

“I do. We’ll have to wait until the official deadline to declare a winner, but I feel very optimistic.”

Funny how quickly $25,000 had fallen off my radar.

“Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” I said, closing a hand around the lump in my pocket.

And my garlic close by, an inner voice added.

I nearly bolted outside without my jacket, but Jananovich held it out, stopping me.

It took everything I had to turn my back to him and slip into it. The hair on my neck stood, and I swear, a spot on the side of my throat warmed. Was he staring at it?

Time slowed to a crawl. I patted my pants pocket, but the sharpened pencil seemed laughably small now. A dozen doubts filled my mind. Could I whip it out in time to stop him from biting? Was it even big enough to stop a full-grown vampire? Most importantly, did stakes really kill vampires, or was that only urban legend?

Ingo would know all the answers. Why, oh why, hadn’t I believed him earlier?

“There you are,” Jananovich murmured, releasing my jacket.

Stepping away, I forced a smile. “Thank you so much again. I look forward to hearing from you.”

“I’ll look forward to that too, Ms.…”

“Martin,” I stupidly supplied. “Pippa Martin.”

He nodded, reaching into his pocket.

My heart went still, and my hand tightened around the pencil.

He pulled out a business card and held it out. “Let me know if you ever happen to be interested in a little work on the side.”

I took it slowly. Did I have the nerve to ask what kind of work?

No, I did not.

I stuck it in my pocket, thanked him again, and practically dove headfirst into my car.

Victor Jananovich stood still, watching me go.

Closing the door of my little Subaru made me feel a tiny bit better. Closing the circle of the driveway and heading for the exit even more so. I held my breath for the eternity it took the guards to open the gate.

The bear shifter guards. My knuckles went white on the steering wheel.

I imagined Jananovich’s eyes on me the whole time, and the closing scene from Interview with a Vampire haunted me all the way back down the mountain. The one where the reporter drives away, believing he’s safe, only to have Tom Cruise lean over from the back seat to bite him.

I gulped and checked over my shoulder at least three times.

No Tom Cruise. No Victor Jananovich. Not even Brad Pitt, who frankly wouldn’t have been an entirely unappealing option.

A moment later, I chastised myself. Just kidding?

The vacant back seat didn’t make me feel better, though. Neither did a last, desperate call I put through to Stacy, hoping against hope that she would answer.

But there was nothing. Not even a voice message.

I raced down the mountain road, and every time I reached a curve, the vials in my bag clinked.