Author: Charlaine Harris
Date: 2018-12-15T08:00:00+00:00
Description: Author of the books that inspired True Blood on HBO and Midnight, Texas on NBC Layla LaRue LeMay suspects there's a lot she doesn't know about her new life...well, death. It's been a year since Layla became a vampire and she still hasn't tapped into the raw power of her transformation. It's a point of contention with some of the other, older vampire dancers at Blue Moon Entertainment. But there's only one vampire's opinion that matters... Sean O'Rourke, Layla's maker, protector, husband, and dance partner suddenly seems to be keeping secrets about her true nature...and their future as a couple
Publisher: Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

Layla Steps Up

Copyright © 2017 by Charlaine Harris, Inc.

Published as an ebook in 2018 by Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Tiger Bright Studios

ISBN 978-1-625672-28-5

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Layla Steps Up

Also by Charlaine Harris

About the Author

Layla Steps Up

Layla Steps Up

The music was an eerie solo on a South American pipe, sinuous and curling back on itself, the same way that the two dancers entwined. Sean O’Rourke and Layla LeMay never got farther apart than an arm’s length, never lost contact. His arm wound around hers, her leg wrapped around him while her arms arced backward, and then she climbed up his body, ending with her waist gripped by Sean, her legs straight up in the air. After holding this torturous pose for a long moment, Layla swung downward to land in front of Sean, her back to him. He wrapped both his arms around her, her hands covered his, and his lips grazed her neck. The music came to a stop on a quavering note.

Although this was only a practice session for the Valentine’s Day exhibition, “Love, Sex, and the Dance,” there were a few patrons and dancers sitting in the auditorium. There was a smattering of applause.

Layla lay back against Sean with her eyes closed for a few seconds and then she stepped away, switching her grip to hold his hand and stand beside him while they took a bow and left the stage.

Layla was very pleased. The sinuous duet was by far the most demanding routine they’d ever done. It beat doing a two-step at a charity ball, for sure.

“My woman,” Sean said, giving her a kiss.

“My man.” She put her hand on his cold cheek.

The partners were the only vampire team working for Blue Moon Entertainment. The other dance teams were all vampire/human, as Sean and Layla had been a year ago.

Backstage, Sylvia Dayton, the human owner of Blue Moon, gave them a thumbs-up. Sean nodded, and Layla sketched a curtsy.

“That’s totally appropriate for the exhibition,” Sylvia said in a low voice, when Thompson and Julie’s music came on. The two dancers now on stage presented a distinct contrast: Thompson’s mother had been Polynesian, and he had remained a golden color after his first death. Julie was blonde, and warm-blooded.

The tango music made Layla sway, and she watched the couple dance for a minute or two. When Layla noticed Sean was ready to go, she smiled apologetically and they returned to the dressing room to put on their street clothes.

“Time to call a donor,” Sean said as he zipped up his pants. “You must be hungry.” Layla had met her first death only a year before, and she had to eat more frequently than Sean, who was working on his third century.

“Shall I get two?” Layla pulled her phone from her purse. The volunteer donors’ bureau in Rhodes had a long list of humans who would give blood to vampires for a nominal sum. In return, the vamps would make the experience very pleasant. The contract each client vampire signed with the bureau stated the parameters of the transaction very clearly.

“I suppose so,” Sean said. He was pulling on his boots.

Layla paused with her finger over the speed dial number. “What’s the matter?” she asked. Sean was her maker, and though she knew him better than anyone else, she could not always be sure what he was thinking. But she knew he was not excited, or even pleasantly anticipatory.

“It still seems unnatural to order up blood instead of hunt for it,” he said, his Irish accent making everything sing in Layla’s ears. “And it makes life almost too easy.”

What he left unspoken was his very different experience during his first year as a vampire. Layla had never experienced the necessity of sticking to the shadows, attacking the unwary, fearing exposure with every feeding, constantly looking for a safe place to sleep for the day.

Sean had only described it as frightening. It had never occurred to her that he believed she had missed something.

“Isn’t this better for everyone?” Layla asked. Her hand gripped the phone so tightly that she realized she might crush it. She often forgot how strong she was now.

“I’m sure it is,” Sean said, without conviction.

“You want to go hunting old-style? That would be stimulating for you?” She felt as if a dark pit had opened under her feet. For the past year, while she had adjusted to being dead, Layla had thought she and Sean had been perfectly happy.

“Darling, I would not endanger you,” Sean said. “If I were caught taking from someone unwilling, if I killed someone, the consequences to you would be too harsh.”

“They would? Why?” Layla heard an edge in her voice, and she knew her eyes had narrowed. For the past few weeks, she’d had the uneasy suspicion there was a lot she didn’t know about her altered state. Yet she’d been content enough, and she hadn’t worried about it. Until now.

“You would be left alone.” Sean had his back to her as he buttoned his coat. Layla wished she could have read his face when he said that.

You would be left alone. Layla chewed that over as they left the auditorium. Obviously, she’d be alone if something happened to Sean. But she detected an implication to his words, a nuance beyond the obvious. Layla wondered what he was really telling her.

Sean had turned her to save her life. A stalker who’d been pursuing Layla had finally had a chance to strike at her. Luckily for Layla, he’d attacked her in a public place with plenty of witnesses, and they’d pulled him away in time to save her life … barely. Sean had determined that her blood loss was probably fatal, so he had turned her. They’d been a couple before her death; Layla looked forward to being a couple for hundreds of years.

But as the two walked silently together in the direction of their apartment, Layla mulled over her sense of unease. It appeared that her assumption that life—well, death—was perfect, wasn’t shared by Sean. But she didn’t know what to do about it.

Rubio, the doorman at the vampire-owned apartment building, greeted them by name. He was a vampire himself, of course. During the day, armed humans stood guard. Sean and Layla paid for the extra security, and it gave them peace.

Thirty minutes after Sean and Layla unlocked their apartment door, Rubio called to tell them the donors had arrived. Part of Rubio’s job was to check the donors’ credentials, and he’d never neglected to be sure they were legitimate. When the knock came at the door, Sean answered it. Layla, brushing her just-washed hair in front of the bedroom mirror, heard Sean say, “Good evening.” She came into the living room as he was extending his hand to the female donor.

Usually, if a couple turned up, she would take the woman and Sean would take the man. Not tonight. Layla felt another frisson as Sean talked to the woman, but she was hungry enough to ignore it for the moment.

The male donor’s eyes widened when he saw her. He clearly felt he’d hit the jackpot. Layla knew she was beautiful; people had been telling her so since she was a teenager. Layla’s skin was not yet the bleached white of the older vampires, her hair was a rich mahogany that fell below her shoulder blades, and her eyes were almost the same color as her hair. Her features were absolutely symmetrical.

Groomed by her driven mother, Layla had competed in beauty pageants for all of her short human life, and she’d earned a college scholarship that she’d never gotten to use. But her beauty had also nearly been the death of her – in a way, it had been the death of her -- and Layla never forgot that.

The donor introduced himself as Calvin. He had to be at least twenty-one to qualify for the program, but he looked younger. Calvin might have a good job, but his geeky looks endeared him to Layla, who had been a college student when she died.

The least I can offer him is some enthusiasm. Layla smiled brilliantly as she drew him closer. She tried to keep her eyes focused on his face so she could ignore the visible sign that he was very glad to meet her.

“You don’t want to lie down?” Calvin said hopefully.

“Standing is good,” she said. “You’ll see.”

Layla was tall enough to reach his neck easily, and she licked the spot first, feeling him jerk and gasp. Then she bit, softly, and willed him to be blissful with the pain.

His blood made her soar. Between feedings, she eked out her nutrition by drinking one of the artificial blood drinks, but it was like guzzling Thunderbird instead of champagne.

Over Calvin’s shoulder, Layla kept an eye on Sean, still talking to his donor, who had introduced herself as Sue. Sue had clearly been impressed by Sean, who (though not conventionally handsome) appealed to a certain group of women. The Irish accent, the blade of a face, the long red hair … yes, he had some admirers. When he embraced Sue, she leaned into him. She jerked when he bit, jolted with pleasure. Her arms tightened around Sean, and her eyes shut.

When Sean and Layla finished feeding, almost simultaneously, they each kissed their donors on the cheek. “Keep safe,” Layla said to Calvin, who didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. Neither did Sue. Layla sighed inwardly and began herding the donors toward the door, smiling and talking the whole time. Calvin begged her to request him the next time she called the bureau, and Sue pressed her phone number into Sean’s hand.

After Layla locked the door behind them, she turned to Sean, who had only been waiting to be alone with her. When he kissed her, she responded ardently. Coasting high on the infusion of fresh blood, they couldn’t wait to get to the bedroom. The living room floor was good enough.

Layla had learned everything she knew about consensual sex from Sean. Tonight she tried something Abilene, a sex performer, had described. Following Abilene’s advice, she crawled down Sean’s torso to part his legs and licked the skin behind his balls before grazing that spot with her fangs.

Sean’s reaction was nothing short of explosive. Afterward, he gave her a deep kiss and held her. He said, “That was the best sex I’ve had in a hundred years.”

Layla laughed, proud she had made him so happy. She made a mental note to thank Abilene later. Abilene was an expert at her job, and she was the strongest woman (or vampire) that Layla knew. Layla would never have predicted they’d become friends when they’d first met. She’d shied away from the Blue Moon people, and she felt ashamed of that now.

As she sat curled up with a book a bit later, Layla, relaxed and boneless, told herself that she’d imagined Sean’s restlessness—he surely loved her.

She could not imagine living without him. It terrified her to think of such a thing. She’d been worrying away at Sean’s earlier statement, and she’d figured out what had concerned Sean when he’d said, “You’d be left alone.”

He didn’t think she could survive.

Layla half-smiled. She recalled a pageant in Memphis, Miss Cotton Boll. She had just come off stage after her talent (dancing, of course), and she’d been dabbing her face with a towel when Carla Summers, Miss Dixie Belle, had launched herself at Layla with a pair of scissors, screaming, “You used my music!” Without hesitation, Layla had pulled up her knee and kicked Carla in the belly with all of her strength, simultaneously throwing her towel in Carla’s face to blind her. One of the pageant moms had caught the whole thing on her phone. In return for Layla’s promise not to prosecute, Carla had retired from the pageant circuit that night.

Layla felt fully capable of defending herself.

* * *

The auditorium was booked for another event the next night, so a general practice was scheduled at the Blue Moon/Black Moon studio. Layla and Sean were in their rehearsal clothes and warming up by the time Thompson and Julie straggled in.

Layla thought of Julie as a friend, but the blonde didn’t seem to be feeling the same warmth. She nodded briefly at Layla’s greeting and crossed the room to warm up at the opposite barre, as far away from Layla as she could get. Everybody has an off night, Layla told herself, refusing to be hurt for so small a reason.

Layla was excited about the practice, which was to be conducted by Feodor, the dance master Sylvia had hired for the Valentine Day exhibition. Sylvia was willing to invest in the future: she saw that the novelty of having vampire dancers at fund-raisers and private parties was subsiding. If this presentation was successful (and the event had already sold out), Sylvia would keep Feodor on staff.

The Russian had been trained classically at the Bolshoi decades ago, and it had stunned all of the Blue Moon dancers when they’d found out he was going to be Abilene’s partner. No one had known that the sex performer was a fine ballerina. And none of them knew how Feodor had met Sylvia, who’d only lived a fraction of his life. The vampire was deceptively sleek, an icy blond with pale blue eyes. He carried a cane to practice. He’d slash out with it if he felt a dancer was not working hard enough.

Tonight, Feodor had apparently decided to take their minds off tomorrow night’s opening performance. He led them in a series of combinations. The aged Russian vampire demonstrated steps that Layla had never seen. She doubted anyone had, in decades.

Layla focused intently. From the corner of her eye she saw that Abilene was following Feodor’s instructions with apparent ease, her angular face expressionless. Some of the troupe members were unhappy that a sex performer was getting a plum position on the program, but Layla was sure that Abilene, no matter how she earned her money now, had at some point been an established ballerina.

“You’re lazy, lazy, lazy!” Feodor snarled, whacking Thompson on the back of his thigh.

“Ouch,” Layla whispered sympathetically as Thompson took a position at her right side.

He glared at her. “Better lazy than a leech like you,” he muttered.

Layla’s eyes opened wide, but before she could react to the accusation, Feodor rapped out a new set of instructions. She had to leap (literally) to comply.

Sean had overheard Thompson’s insult. Vampires could hear the merest whisper. As if the evening hasn’t already been stressful enough, Layla thought. Sean’s blue eyes were narrow, his face set in rigid lines as he contained his anger during the class.

When they had a five-minute break, Layla asked, “What the hell was that about? Do you know?”

“I’ll kill the bastard.”

“I don’t understand. Does he think I’m living off you?” She contributed most of her income to their common account, although she put a small sum aside every month to save enough to resume taking night classes. (Continuing her program at the university had not been possible after her death.)

“Don’t worry, darling. You’re right as rain.”

But Layla didn’t feel “right as rain.” To regain control she recited her mother’s mantra: Head up, chest out, shoulders square, big smile, pretty hands. Her mother had whispered those words in Layla’s ears every time she’d taken the stage at a pageant.

And, smiling brightly, Layla got through the rest of the session.

The minute that practice was over, Layla pulled on her coat and boots, hoping that Sean would follow suit. But Sean was clearly determined to confront Thompson, and he waited for all the other dancers to leave.

Julie was waiting for her partner. Thompson glanced at Sean and said, “Julie, can you walk home by yourself tonight?”

“No, I’m staying,” the blonde said. She glared at Layla as if she’d been the offender.

Sean stepped up Thompson, got right in his face. “Talk to Layla like that again and I’ll punch you bloody,” Sean said. There was no doubting his sincerity.

Thompson was no coward. “Your wife is not worthy of being a vampire,” he said. “She’s had a year to become strong. When the parting comes, she’ll flounder and die. You shouldn’t coddle her. You’ll lose your opportunity.”

“Parting?” Layla could hardly decide what question to ask first. “What opportunity?” She looked to Sean for an explanation, but he was glaring at Thompson.

“You and Sean will split up soon,” Thompson told her. At least he didn’t sound happy about it.

Layla would not have believed him if Sean hadn’t stood there silently.

“No vampire couple stays together for long, if one has turned the other. That’s the way it works.” Thompson shrugged.

“Not always,” Sean said, at Layla’s side and with his arm around her. “And not us.” No one said anything else for a long moment. Then Sean turned his back on Thompson. “Sweetheart, will you be braiding my hair?”

Layla, who felt as if she was wandering through a bad dream, picked up a brush and began to work on his long hair, bright and silky and flaming red. She made her back stiff and her face still. She would not break down, not in front of Thompson, not in front of Julie, who was looking at Layla as though she pitied her. That bit worst of all.

After the door slammed shut behind the two, Layla said in a very quiet voice, “Is that true? Will you leave me? You do think I’m too weak to make it on my own, though I don’t know why. And what exactly am I keeping you from?”

She’d tied off his braid. She gripped his shoulders and forced him to turn to her.

Sean met her eyes. “At first, I didn’t realize you didn’t know the tradition. A maker and his child can’t maintain a marital relationship for very long, and a year is the normal … honeymoon period.” He looked down, breaking their connection. “I hoped the time would pass, and we would still be together. I couldn’t bear to tell you such a terrible thing.”

“You hoped my ignorance would leave me happy? That it would be okay if I didn’t know something every other vampire around me knew? Something directly affecting my life?” She trembled with rage.

“Layla LaRue LeMay,” he said sharply.

“Am I supposed to leap to attention because you used my whole name?” Something vast and cold stirred inside her. “Do you have any respect for me at all?” She felt the hairs on her arms stand on end as she went on full alert.

Sean was clearly shocked. “Can I talk to you for a moment without you snapping at me?”

“Speak,” she snapped.

“I didn’t want you worrying about something that might never happen. I thought you’d pick over every little thing, wondering if it meant the beginning of the end.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing now. Tell me the truth.”

“It’s true that if a vampire turns a human and the two are lovers, often the relationship doesn’t last more than a year, maybe two.”

For the first time since she’d woken up dead, Layla wanted to pulverize something, anything.

“But we can be the exception,” he said. “I love you more than I’ve loved anything or anyone in my life.”

How can I argue with that? Layla thought. But she didn’t melt against him. She put her hand on his shoulder to keep him away. “Sean, I managed to live through a lot when I was human. I’m proud of that. I got away from a terrible situation. I recovered from terrible injuries. I was educating myself, supporting myself. Whatever I am, it isn’t weak.”

“I know, darling,” Sean said, suspiciously eager to close the subject. “Don’t worry about what Thompson said. He’s never had a lover who lasted longer than two months, right?”

Layla managed to relax, but it felt like stepping back from a high drop. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her palms were bleeding. She’d almost hit Sean. She would have enjoyed doing so. With some effort, she subdued the expanding chill of rage inside her.

The shadows in the corner of the room moved. Layla was surprised to see Feodor was there. The Russian was so ancient that he could be almost invisible, something she’d never seen or imagined. Feodor said, “Someone as beautiful as your wife deserves the truth. I believe she can defend herself.”

“Thank you, Feodor,” Layla said, startled at Feodor’s presence. Why did the Russian care about her relationship problems? She was surprised he even had an opinion about her ability.

Sean was even angrier at a second intrusion. “My woman is my concern, Feodor. Layla was a delicate woman, and she is a fragile vampire. But she has great heart.”

Feodor didn’t respond, but faded away in a disconcerting fashion.

The long walk home was thick with unspoken words. They were silent until they turned onto their street. Sean said, “You are just as beautiful as you were the night I met you.”

No matter how frustrated Layla was, she had to smile at Sean. She thought his mouth was delightful. When he smiled, the corners came up in a way that made her heart ache, like a letter M. She knew she loved Sean, but she also suspected he didn’t really respect her. She was turning that suspicion over in her head.

“You were pretty skeptical about me when we met,” she said. “You didn’t want to be my partner.” She was watching her footing. The pavement was still dotted with patches of snow.

“Ah, I didn’t know you, sweetheart.” They walked for a moment in silence, passing a phalanx of cars parked at the curb. Parking was a premium in the older neighborhoods. Though all these vehicles were cold and silent, somewhere nearby Layla heard an idling car. Nothing moved on the streets. It was after 2 a.m.

“It’s true I’ve never had to deal with the fear of being exposed,” Layla said. All the vampires born before the past few years had feared being found in the daylight more than anything else.

“The effort to conceal your true nature is very … suspenseful. I had no advice or help at all when I came over. It was a terrible time.” Sean’s expression was bleak. Sean’s maker had drained him for a jolt of energy, and literally fled the scene to avoid being staked by suspicious townspeople. He visibly banished his bad memories and looked at Layla with determination. “You don’t need to be killing and ripping and having territory fights, Layla. Not with us being together.”

For once, the Irish accent didn’t make his words charming. Layla couldn’t unhear the subtext. “You won’t be hurt. Not as long as I’m protecting you.” When had he decided she was “delicate”? That was what he’d told Feodor.

A long black limo passed them and coasted to a halt at the light at the next corner. Someone coming home from a fancy club, or maybe a show and dinner? They hardly lived in an upscale neighborhood. Somehow, on the lonesome night street, the darkened windows of the limo seemed sinister. When the light changed, it passed on slowly.

Though she noted the limo and thought it was out of place, Layla was preoccupied. She faced a new reality. She’d been walking through her life blindfolded, content with the status quo after the terrible years of living in fear of her stalker. She and Sean danced together, rehearsed together, had friends in common. They called donors. And they fed from each other during sex, which was incredible.

At least to me. Before she’d met Sean, the only sexual experience she’d had was a brutal rape. What she had with Sean was deeply satisfying. She knew Sean had had centuries to develop a sophisticated taste, and he’d certainly been excited by Abilene’s little trick. But for the first time, Layla thought, Am I boring? The idea bit at her.

“We’ll be grand.” Sean had obviously been following his own train of thought. He sounded as if he were convincing himself. “And if Thompson says anything of that nature to you again, I’ll take him apart.” He nodded sharply as if to say, There, that’s settled.

A black limo passed by them again. Layla thought it was odd they’d seen two similar cars so late at night, but she’d had another new thought as she reinterpreted Feodor’s words. Feodor was hinting she should have taken Thompson apart herself.

That was how vampires proved their strength; they didn’t wait for someone to defend them. Layla had not been identifying herself as a vampire; she’d been sleeping during the day, awake at night and drinking blood, but she hadn’t truly come to terms with her new state of being. Inside, she’d still been Layla LaRue LeMay, pageant queen from Tennessee. She hadn’t tapped into the power of her transformation.

No wonder they all thought she was weak.

She was still turning this new idea over when she climbed into bed. While Sean was absorbed in his latest book purchase, a thriller, Layla turned on her side away from him, and pondered. She could hear and smell and taste things that she hadn’t when she was breathing. She knew that, at least theoretically, she was incredibly strong, incredibly powerful. But she’d never had to call on her strength and cunning in the hunt, she’d never had to call on her senses to hide, and she’d never had to disguise what she was. Layla wondered if those were the stressors that triggered the true vampire nature. She remembered the feeling that had flooded through her earlier, when Thompson had insulted her. She’d felt a hint of the power she hadn’t tapped.

Her last thought before the sun rose was I really am a wimp.

The next night, Sean and Layla had to hurry to the auditorium for the dress rehearsal. All the patrons, students from the university dance classes, and a few other people had been invited to attend.

Layla wanted to talk to Sean as they walked, but she wasn’t sure what to say. The revelation that she must seize her new role or forego any respect from her peers left her stymied. She didn’t want to jump on some innocent human and drain him dry, just to prove herself qualified to be a vampire. But her lack of gumption was not only reflecting poorly on her, but also on Sean, apparently. Sean, who’d been on the phone while she dressed, seemed just as lost in his thoughts as she was. They entered the stage door in an uneasy silence. Layla felt relieved that she’d have to focus on the mechanics of the duet.

Just inside the door, Sean stopped dead. He even pulled on Layla’s arm to get her to backpedal.

A woman she’d never seen before was talking to Sylvia just inside the door. Since Sylvia normally didn’t let outsiders backstage before a performance, the tall woman was likely to be a very generous patron.

Before they could leave (if that was what Sean intended), Sylvia noticed them and beckoned them forward. “Hi, you two!” Sylvia said cheerfully. “Got a minute?”

Under Layla’s hand, Sean’s arm was as hard as a stick of firewood, and she could feel the tension vibrating through him.

“Layla, this is Margo DeCordova, one of our platinum contributors,” Sylvia told them. “She’s just returned from a long stay in Europe. Sean, you remember Margo, of course?”

Sean stood silent. Layla had to take the lead. “Thanks so much for your generosity,” she said to the woman, with her best pageant smile. “We’re having so much fun with this event, and you’ve made it possible.”

Margo DeCordova gave Layla the most minimal upturn of the lips. Her attention was fixed on Sean. “Oh, Sean and I know each other,” Margo said.

“Mrs. DeCordova,” he said, with a miniscule dip of the head.

“It’s been a long time.” From the way Margo said those words, Layla knew the woman had had sex with Sean.

This was horribly unpleasant, though inevitable, since Sean had led a long life before meeting Layla. But Layla had learned to conceal her emotions in a tough school. Her gleaming pageant smile remained fixed on her face. She glanced sideways at her partner, hoping he would break his silence, but Sean seemed frozen. This woman had him spooked.

At first glance, Layla couldn’t see the danger. Margo was middle-aged, very groomed and toned. Her hair was an unobtrusive and well-bred blonde, her suit was expensive without being extravagant, and her makeup and jewelry were understated. Margo gave the impression of being a civilized woman. But when Layla reached Margo’s eyes, she understood. If Margo could have dug a spoon into Sean and eaten him, she would have.

Later, Layla could not recall any of the conversation after that. Sean remained stubbornly silent. Finally, Layla said, “Nice to talk to you two, but we have to get ready, and we’re running late.” After a long moment, Margo and Sylvia stepped aside so they could pass. Sean led Layla past them with almost offensive haste. The confrontation—if it had been that—was over.

Layla felt a rush of relief as they reached the safety of the dressing room. Perhaps, while they changed into their practice clothes, Sean might explain his reaction to Margo DeCordova.

He looked as though he’d seen the Devil, and maybe that was explanation enough.

But they weren’t rid of the woman, not even when they came out in their black leotards and tights and began to warm up with the other dancers. As Layla and Sean stretched, Margo watched. She was clearly used to being the top dog (Or top bitch, Layla thought) in any room. Layla noticed there was a vampire following Margo everywhere she went; he wore a suit and tie, he was heavily muscled, and he looked extremely bored. Margo’s bodyguard.

I’m not surprised she needs one, Layla thought. A cold tendril of anger wound through Layla’s heart. The more Margo watched Sean, the more the woman discarded the veneer of propriety. Her eyes were greedy, avid, as if Sean was hers for the taking. Layla thought, She’s stalking Sean just like Carver Hutton stalked me. I could kill her for this.

And the thought of killing Margo didn’t seem strange at all.

“Who is she?” she asked Sean, in a voice so low only another vampire could have heard it.

“Margo DeCordova,” he said, his face blank.

Layla had an impulse to knock Sean to the floor. “I know her damn name,” she hissed. “What was your connection to her?”

“We fucked, is that what you want to know?” Sean’s unusual outburst made Layla jump. She gave Sean a very flat look.

In a calmer voice, he said, “She is a woman with unusual tastes. I don’t want to remember it.” He avoided looking in Margo’s direction.

Layla saw Sean actually shudder.

I might not be a great vampire, but I’m not stupid, Layla thought, and Margo’s trouble. As the other dancers arrived, their reactions were oddly the same. They gave Margo a startled look, glanced at Sean, and then ignored Margo ostentatiously.

On full alert, Layla listened with close attention to the conversations around her. “… back from Europe,” Julie was whispering in Thompson’s ear.

The last to arrive, black-haired Abilene, stopped dead when she saw Margo DeCordova. And Abilene’s upper lip drew back in a snarl. She spun on her heel and left.

This was a very bad portent, because Abilene cared for nothing and no one besides her partner in their sex performances for Black Moon, which took place in secret little clubs across the city. Her partner’s name was Mustafa, and he was very quiet. In fact, Layla had never been sure whether or not Mustafa could speak English.

The room was fairly humming with tension when Margo DeCordova left to take her seat in the auditorium. After she vanished, the fear drained out of the room. Sean sagged against the wall, his eyes closed.

* * *

Sylvia Dayton called, “Everyone crowd around.”

Feodor suddenly materialized (had he been avoiding Margo, too?) to give them notes on the previous rehearsal of “Sex, Love, and the Dance.” He’d moved Layla and Sean to the last slot, the closing duo.

“Concentrate on each other,” Feodor said. “You’ll make everyone in the audience think about sex. This is good for Valentine’s Day.” There was a smattering of laughter.

Layla was glad she had the length of the program to get into her own head, to prepare. While the other dancers went through their own pre-performance routines, she and Sean kept moving and stretching. In the second half of the program, Thompson and Julie’s tango was snappy and erotic, and Abilene’s technically perfect ballet with Feodor was a real achievement. Abilene’s short dark hair and small, slender body contrasted beautifully with Feodor’s sleek muscles and fair looks. There wasn’t sexual passion in the way the two interacted … but it was picture-book beautiful. Layla gave Abilene a quick kiss on the cheek as she left the stage, and Abilene looked startled, but pleased.

Ten minutes before they were to go on, Sean put his arms around Layla, and he lay his head against hers. It was what they had done every time before they performed this duet. The ritual forced them to put aside all the other stimulations around them. Layla thought about the two of them becoming one: connection, reconnection, the bond of lovers.

Layla’s sharpened senses and her awareness of her partner made the ten minutes magical. After days of uncertainty and surprise, she found peace in the knowledge that she was about to do something she did very well. No one could deny that.

“Time,” said Sylvia quietly, and Layla was back in her body, her troubles temporarily banished. There was only Sean, and her, and what they would create together. They took their places on stage in the darkness, and the gusty voice of the Andean pipe began, eerie and wailing. The lights slowly came up. And they danced, twining and releasing, sinuous, two halves of one whole.

The applause was almost an anticlimax. Layla bowed, and smiled, and did the expected things, but it was her satisfaction with their work that made her happy. That, and the anger on Margo’s face, out in the audience. Surely she would leave Sean alone, now—she’d seen how together Sean and Layla were.

Late that night, within the dark safety of their apartment, Sean made love to her with a special tenderness. “Darling, don’t worry, everything will be fine,” Sean murmured. “Let’s forget our problems for tonight. We’re together. That’s everything.”

Layla thought, Everything will be all right, after all. She would find a way to prove herself. Sean would confide in her fully. This temporary rift would be healed.

She snuggled up beside him, feeling blissful at the moment dawn claimed her.

* * *

Layla woke as suddenly as she had died. She and Sean always opened their eyes at the same moment. Every night, her first move was to turn to him and smile. As she did tonight. But he was gone.

“Honey?” Layla said, but her voice hit the silence of the apartment with a thud. How could this be? she thought. She thought hard, running various scenarios in her head, trying to come up with one that could explain his absence in a non-alarming way.

Moving as quietly as she could, Layla sat up to look around the bedroom. There was not a whisper of sound aside from her own tiny noises; the slither of one silk pajama leg against another, the slide of her hair against her shoulders. She saw well in the dark, but now she wanted to see perfectly. Silently, she padded over to the doorway to switch on the light.

Sean’s pillow was on the floor, and the book he’d been reading, the one he’d placed on the bedside table, had been knocked to the floor.

After a quick glance around, Layla thought the rest of the room seemed the same. Sean’s clothes were hung up neatly; he had been a valet in his human life and kept his old habits. His shoes were side by side on the closet floor. She crept into the bathroom. His toothbrush was dry. So was the shower stall.

Still moving silently, Layla entered the living room, veering left to detour to the tiny area that was called a “kitchen.” In the small refrigerator, both six-packs of synthetic blood were intact. But turning to face the far wall, Layla noticed that the flat-screen had been knocked off its stand.

Layla felt that cold swell of anger again. She made no attempt to tamp it down, not this time.

She checked the inner door, the first of two between the apartment and daytime intruders. Both doors, which had different keys, were unlocked—not broken. This had been a planned attack. A duplicate set of keys could have been created, or the guards could have been bribed. Either way, this was treachery.

Her first impulse was to go downstairs and kill the doorman. She had no qualms at all, though she didn’t know quite how she’d accomplish it. But Layla realized that the day guards—who had to be the ones who’d let this happen—were off duty.

Fine. She would track them down.

Acting on instinct, Layla called Abilene. She was the smartest and the hardest vampire Layla knew.

“Uh-huh?” Abilene asked. She had just woken, too.

“It’s Layla,” she said. She paused, overwhelmed with her loss and fear. Telling someone made this situation seem more real.

“You called me to tell me your name?”

“Abilene,” she said. “Sean is gone.”

After a moment of silence, Abilene said, “You mean … he left before you rose?”

“No. I mean someone took him.” That was the only possible interpretation of the evidence.

“Someone came into your apartment. In a vampire-owned building. Took Sean, while he slept.”

“Yes.”

“It would be stupid to ask you if you’re sure,” Abilene said finally. “But what if he decided to go out to San Francisco to take the job offer?”

If anything else falls on my shoulders I will collapse. “Of course,” Layla said. “The job offer.” Layla’s rage grew to encompass Sean, as well as his abductors.

“Maybe you didn’t want to relocate? Maybe Sean could have decided it was … time for him to go, to avoid weepy goodbyes?”

“Only if he decided to leave naked,” Layla said, proud of how calm her voice sounded. At least she had an answer for that.

“Not Sean,” Abilene said. There was a moment of silence. “Okay,” she said abruptly. “Call Christoph. He owns your building, right? He’s liable for anything that happened to Sean during the day. I’ll call some of the others. We’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” Layla said, but Abilene had already hung up. Layla started to call down to Rubio, but that would be a waste of time. Instead, she called the owner of the building, a vampire named Christoph Simonson, who was about a hundred and fifty years dead, and a real estate magnate.

He answered on the second ring.

“This is Layla LeMay,” she said. “You may not remember, but my husband and I live in your building on Morley.”

“Who could forget you?” Christoph said jovially. “You are the fairest of them all. How are you and Sean?”

“Sean was stolen from your building while he slept.”

“Impossible! You can’t blame me if your man decided to leave you without saying goodbye. Though how any man could walk out on you …”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that.” Layla loosed her rage. “I hope you weren’t involved, Christoph.”

“Of course not!” Christoph protested, but Layla overrode him. “If you were, I’ll tell the sheriff, and he’ll descend on you like the wrath of God unless I get to you first. Killing me won’t stop the news spreading; I’ve already shared it.”

“Layla, I know the Christoph Enterprises contract guarantees to keep you safe from day entry,” Christoph said coldly. “And I intend to honor that contract.”

“Great!” she snapped. She paused to gain control of herself. “I expect you to personally interview the people who were supposed to protect us. Someone unlocked the doors to our apartment. You know what that means, Christoph. I want to know who bribed them. I want Sean back. So don’t be gentle.”

Christoph’s voice grew farther away, and Layla recognized that he’d turned from the telephone. She heard him say, “Find the day guards at the Simonson Arms, and bring them to me. And spread some plastic on the floor.” Christoph’s voice grew louder. “I’ll call you after I question them.”

“Good,” Layla said, and ended the call. At least that was in motion.

Although she didn’t want to do anything but pace back and forth, Layla ran into the bedroom to pull on her clothes and wash her face. In less than ten minutes she was ready for action, her hair braided to stay out of her way.

By the time Abilene knocked, Layla hands were shaking with anxiety.

Abilene had brought her partner (in life and in sex performance), a hugely muscular man with a bald head and a dashing mustache. His real name was Mustapha, but Abilene called him Moose.

To Layla’s astonishment, Thompson came in on their heels, followed by Feodor. Layla was glad to see both of them, but was also surprised that they’d cared enough to come. And she was even more surprised when Rick and Phil followed. Rick was Phil’s keeper, lover, and protector. Phil was divinely beautiful, perhaps fifteen in appearance, and he’d always been fond of Layla. Phil was physically as strong as any vampire, but he was very fragile mentally. His life had been hard, and even his death hadn’t freed him from an episode of abuse.

Layla felt a flare of hope. Moose was a human, but he was incredibly strong for a non-vampire, and he would do anything Abilene told him to do; and Abilene herself was a stone killer. Thompson was an asshole, but he was never afraid. Though Layla didn’t know Feodor well, he’d impressed her as an old-school vampire; he wouldn’t hesitate to kill and dispose of a human if it suited his purpose. And she was touched that Rick and Phil had shown up. Rick never let Phil out alone; Phil had no limits when he was angry.

“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Layla said. “If you need blood, there’s synthetic in the refrigerator. Here’s the situation: when I woke up today, Sean was gone. All his clothes are here. His shoes are here. There’s no note.” She took a deep breath, which she didn’t need. “But our doors were unlocked, his pillow was on the floor, a book too, and the television had been knocked over.”

“You called Christoph?” Abilene asked.

“Yes. He’s going to interrogate the day guards.”

“It’ll be his ass if something happens to Sean,” Abilene said with some satisfaction.

“Yes,” said Layla. “It will be.”

“Where are Sean’s keys? Maybe he walked out in a brand new outfit, and took them with him.” Thompson was not sneering, but he wasn’t far from it.

Layla went to the bowl on the bookcase by the door. She lifted Sean’s keyring and dangled it before them. There was a shamrock charm hanging from ring along with his keys; it had been a gag gift from Julie last Christmas. Layla opened her own small purse, and extricated her own set. She put the two side-by-side on the coffee table.

“So humans came in during the daylight, and they had a copy of your keys,” Abilene said.

“Had to have. They took him from our bed, but they left me.” Layla was bewildered that only Sean had been snatched.

“I guess you should have been kidnapped, since you’re so pretty?” Thompson said.

The next thing she knew, Layla was holding him up by his throat.

Vampires weren’t often taken by surprise, but all those in Layla’s living room were. Even Layla.

No one moved.

Thompson didn’t need air, but clearly the pressure of Layla’s grip was hurting his neck. He glared at Layla, and his hands began clawing at her arms. But she kept him suspended, and she enjoyed every second of it. He could not make her put him down. After she was sure she’d proved her point, Layla let his feet touch the floor. She expected he would counterattack, and she was ready and eager for it; her fangs ran out. But Thompson only stared at her.

“Thompson, I have to know something. Is this some kind of joke? Maybe you decided to goad me into acting like a ‘real’ vampire? Tell me now. If you lie, I’ll kill you.” The rage surged through her, and her head felt like it was whirling.

I have one thing, she thought. Sean. And he’s gone. I will do anything to get him back. Anything.

And she thought, I’m sure going to have to kill a lot of people.

Thompson twisted his head from side to side to stretch his neck. He said, “I had nothing to do with whatever’s happened to Sean.”

Layla believed he was telling the truth. She glanced at Abilene, who nodded. She believed Thompson, too.

The phone rang before she had a chance to calm down. “What?” Layla snarled.

“Christoph here,” the vampire said smoothly. “I have tracked the guards on duty yesterday. One of my other humans heard them talking about leaving the country. My man at the airport caught them. After some quick and dirty questioning, they’ve confessed they were bribed by a woman whose name they cannot say. Literally, they can’t say it. They’re under some kind of compulsion. Their description of the man who paid them matches Don Brewer, Margo DeCordova’s bodyguard, and I remember hearing that Sean was Margo’s designated victim the last time she was in Rhodes.” A scream rose in the background, but Christoph didn’t mention it.

“That bitch,” Layla whispered.

“Please understand that my involvement is at an end. I have honored our contract. You will have new guards tonight, and a year off your HOA fees.”

“All right, Christoph.” Layla didn’t thank him. He had only done what he ought to do. She didn’t know if she’d ever see Sean again, but she was getting a real break on their budget.

She hung up and told the other dancers what the building owner had said, though they’d probably been able to hear it.

“Tell me about Margo,” Layla said to Feodor. “Last night I could see that there was some big knowledge about her that you all knew, something that included Sean.”

“Margo is a sexual sadist,” Feodor said in his precise but accented English. Phil looked directly at Layla, and nodded silently.

Layla sat down abruptly. She’d experienced sexual sadism; and the thought that Sean might be going through the same thing, had probably gone through the same thing on Margo’s previous visit, made her sick.

“And Margo’s at least three-fourths demon.” Abilene was serious. “That gives her the power to control most humans, as well as a few vampires.”

Again, Layla realized that she was lagging behind on learning about her new world, the vampire world. There were demons, they had power, and Sean was in the hands of one who liked to hurt people. “He’d been with her before. The way she looked at him, I could tell she wanted him back.” She rubbed her face with her hands.

Feodor’s face was calm, but his hands were clenching and unclenching. “Many years ago, I was her prey. I can’t say it was all bad. At the beginning, I was having a wonderful adventure. Toward the end I didn’t amuse her any more, however, and she turned to torture to keep things interesting. For her.”

Moose put his huge hand on Feodor’s shoulder.

Abilene explained, “Moose had an episode with Margo, too.”

“So how old is Margo? That’s a lot of sex adventures.” Layla said. She didn’t feel guilt that her own virtues had led to Margo’s interest in Sean. She was not responsible for the woman’s evil.

“She ages slower than most humans,” Feodor said. “She had me over a hundred years ago. But I still remember it much more clearly than I want to. If I hadn’t believed Margo to be in Europe, I wouldn’t have answered Sylvia’s invitation to come to Rhodes.”

“Moose was five years ago.” Abilene leaned against her partner, her arm around his waist. “She left for Europe because she had damaged him so badly. He was in the hospital. She was scared of the consequences.”

“You didn’t strike back?” Layla was incredulous.

“That was before my time,” Abilene said. “If we had been together then, I would have killed Margo. I still imagine it when I need to cheer myself up.”

“She asked me if she could borrow Phil,” Rick said. Rick has his arm around Phil’s shoulders. “I told her what would happen if she tried.”

“Where does she live?”

“If she’s returned to her home, rather than some hotel, she lives on Hartford Avenue,” Feodor said. “In a house … well, a mansion.”

“Can we do something obvious, like send the police to search her house for Sean?” Layla was grasping at straws.

“Margo can bribe almost anyone,” Thompson said. “She married money and she’s made money. And since she has so much demon blood, she can compel people to do what she wants them to do. Even some of us. That’s why she wasn’t arrested for what she did to Moose.”

“When I saw her backstage, I could tell that she had acquired more power,” Feodor said. “I called a friend of mine in Prague who has connections in demon circles. She told me that Margo had been studying with a renegade witch … and that witch is now shunned by her community.”

“I’ll go break into her house. And I’ll break her fucking neck.” Layla paced, unable to stay still.

“You’ve forgotten something,” Thompson said. “You’re due on stage tonight. She’ll come to you. Margo’s sure to be in her seat. She wouldn’t miss the first performance. And she wouldn’t miss showing her power in front of someone younger and more beautiful.” For once, he didn’t sound resentful.

“How can I dance without Sean?” Layla was incredulous that anyone could expect this of her.

Abilene put her hand on Layla’s arm. “If you aren’t there, she’ll figure you’re too distraught to fight.”

“You mean … I have to do this?”

“Yes,” Abilene said simply. “Not only will it lull Margo into thinking you’re not going to fight for Sean, but you owe Sylvia. We all do. She has organized us, arranged our appearances, and she has set a series of protections in place for us. If she also borrowed money from Margo, well … that’s the mistake she made.”

“Sean will be shamed if you don’t honor your obligation to Sylvia,” Thompson said.

Layla looked at each of them in turn. They all nodded, even Moose, even Phil. “Well, if Margo’s in the audience, at least she can’t be at home torturing Sean. I can’t leave him there at her mercy.”

“You’re going to try to bargain with her?” Thompson asked. The scorn was back on his face.

“I’m going to kill her,” Layla said, with bone-deep sincerity.

The room fell silent.

“Well, you’ve finally bloomed,” Thompson said. “Took you long enough.”

“If you’re not willing to help me, you can leave now.”

Rick said, “That’s why we’re here.”

“All of us want to kill her,” Abilene told Layla. “We didn’t know if you’d reached that point yet. Sean pampered you.”

Layla started to dispute this, but realized it was true, and at this point it made no difference. “I need two things. I need a witch, one who’s shunning Margo. That shouldn’t be too hard to find. And I need a partner for tonight.”

Not completely to Layla’s surprise, Feodor stepped forward. “I can partner you. I know the routine.”

“It’s very exacting,” Layla said. “The timing has to be perfect, or we’ll both look like fools.”

“You are telling my grandmother how to suck eggs. I danced with the Bolshoi,” Feodor said with dignity.

Layla was unsure how that would qualify him for a sex-drenched modern number, but she could not turn him down. “Great,” she said. “We need to practice right now. At the studio.” Though it was the last thing she felt like doing, both she and Feodor could be injured if they missed a hold.

“Since you’re sure she’ll come to lord it over me, we’ll have to get her then, though it would be helpful if someone would go to the mansion and make sure she actually drives out tonight. When she comes to the theater … .” Layla outlined a sketchy plan.

Abilene said, “I know a witch. I’ll call her. And I’ll make sure you’re armed.”

Thompson began calling the other troupe members to tell them what had happened, and what they could expect tonight.

Layla grabbed up everything she would need, and she and Feodor caught a cab to the Blue Moon studio. They had just enough time to get in a rehearsal before the performance.

A CD of the Andean pipe music was there, and Layla, in leggings and a T shirt, assumed her starting position on the floor. It felt strange and wrong to look up to see Feodor instead of Sean; even more wrong to feel his larger hands on her body in the grips that she’d only practiced with one person. Layla couldn’t make a connection with Feodor: she knew that they were going through the motions correctly, but there was no fire. This duet was nothing without passion.

“We have to do better than this,” Feodor said, his accent more marked. “You have to feel something for me.”

“All right,” Layla said. “Hit me. Or kiss me.”

Feodor chose the kiss. He was taller than Sean, and smelled different, and held her differently. But Feodor could kiss, and he gave it everything he had.

When they broke apart, Layla could see that Feodor was pleased. “Now we can do this,” she said. “Now I feel something.”

She felt like she couldn’t stand Feodor. But he didn’t need to know that. He smiled and gave her a little bow.

Thirty minutes later they were at the auditorium, putting on the plain black stretch outfits for the number. Everyone changed in the same room; there was no modesty among the vampires, and that indifference had come to encompass the human dancers, too. As Layla put on her ballet slippers, she listened to progress reports.

Abilene said, “It was really easy to find a witch who was happy to discover Margo’s current location. Clemence is standing by in the dressing room: woman in her fifties, gray hair, purple sweater.”

“What does Clemence need to do the job?”

“Proximity. That’s what we need, too. We have to lure Margo backstage. I don’t think that will be any problem. She’ll want to show off. Clemence will counteract any spells Margo attempts.”

“In the meantime?” Layla asked.

“Moose went to the DeCordova mansion. He just called. Margo’s limo is pulling out. She’s definitely coming to the theater.”

After a few minutes, the ensemble in the orchestra pit began to play an overture. The dancers huddled together in a cluster, and they all wound their arms together.

“Strength, Layla,” whispered Abilene.

The bright music came to a halt. From the stage, Sylvia gave a little speech about the close ties between love, sex, and the art of dancing. She said, “I guarantee if you don’t see the connection now, you will when this evening is over.” The audience laughed, and settled in to see something unique.

The program began with a waltz. Karl and Megan seemed to float across the stage. Megan, a human, looked beautiful in a full-skirted chiffon gown. Karl, a vampire, was classically handsome in a tux. It was a lovely routine, dreamily romantic. The dancers could practically hear the audience react with a syrupy “Awwww.”

The progression from romantic to sexual crept forward, in keeping with the Valentine theme. Team after team performed, some of six dancers, most of two.

After Abilene and Feodor finished their ballet, Abilene took her bow and made a graceful exit into the wings. She dropped the elegance and seized Layla by the shoulder. “Listen,” Abilene said. “Don’t lose your shit. The bitch brought Sean with her.”

Layla felt as if the ceiling had fallen in on her. “How does he look?” she said.

“Frozen,” Abilene said. “I can’t tell if it’s witchcraft, or if she’s threatened some terrible reprisal if he …” She paused.

“If he gets up and screams, ‘This woman tortured me!’” Thompson said, finishing her thought. “More likely, Margo threatened Layla.”

“Let’s see how that works for her.” Layla hardly recognized her own voice. “She thinks I’m weak. She’ll let me get right up to her. She’ll want to wave Sean in my face. That’s why she brought him.”

Feodor at her side, Layla stood like a statue in the wings. Her new partner was intelligent enough not to speak. Layla’s thoughts were concentrated on rescuing Sean.

She knew it was time for her to let her new nature go free from all restraint. She was no longer human. She had to act like the vampire she’d become. Layla could control her own future, independent of anyone else. It seemed that she had been able to remain tethered to her former life by the insulation of Sean’s care.

Sylvia came to stand beside her. “I heard about Sean.” She looked guilty. “I’m sorry.”

Layla turned her face to Sylvia. “I’ll get him back in time,” she said.

“In time?” Sylvia was clearly taken aback; this was not the reaction she’d anticipated from Layla LeMay.

Yes. In the next thirty minutes. “I understand he has another job offer?” Layla said conversationally, and Sylvia flinched.

“I didn’t realize that you didn’t know all about it,” she said.

“Sean and I haven’t really discussed it.” Layla’s voice was eerily calm.

“He has a chance to open his own dance school in San Francisco,” Sylvia said. “An old friend of mine asked me for a recommendation. And since the, ah, honeymoon year, with you and Sean … was almost over, he was thinking about taking the job as a contingency plan. If you two found you couldn’t …”

“Yes.” Layla couldn’t bear for Sylvia to falter on.

At the moment, the dance was imperative. It would be the first time Sean had seen her from the audience, she realized with a jolt. She glanced in the backstage mirror. She did not look grieved, furious, or in limbo. Her face was under control. She was ready to dance.

Feodor took her hand. “Remember, you can’t look out. Do not falter, woman. If you spook Margo, she’ll take him away.”

“Yes,” she said. Head up, chest out, shoulders square, big smile, pretty hands.

On the darkened stage, they took their positions.

When the spotlight came on, Layla lay on the floor clinging to Feodor’s leg, her back to the audience. Face forward, Feodor was looking down at her with unmistakable possessiveness. For a long moment, the auditorium fell silent, and the piping music started its breathy sound. Then Feodor reached down to pull Layla up and in one smooth movement she was on her feet and turned. Their faces were side by side, the glacially handsome Russian and the beautiful American. The audience gasped audibly.

Layla moved from Feodor’s waist to his shoulders and then she was up in the air, Feodor effortlessly lifting her to sail in the air, and all the while she was reminding herself not to look out. She wound around Feodor in the performance of her life. She never took her eyes from him, and his never strayed from her.

The message of the duet was entirely different with Feodor as her partner. Her body said, “I can’t let you go, though I want to,” rather than “I will never let you go.”

When they took their bow, the applause was tumultuous. Under other circumstances, Layla would have felt proud. But as she smiled and acknowledged the audience, she looked at Sean. Seeing him wiped away every emotion other than pain. He was sitting by Margo, dressed in a suit and tie. His face was blank, and his shoulders sagged.

With a supreme effort, Layla kept smiling, and she did not release Feodor’s hand. If she had wondered whether she had enough guts to get Sean back, she doubted no longer.

Once she and Feodor were in the wings, she waited at a gap in the curtains to see what Margo would do. “Feel secure enough, bitch?” Layla whispered. “I am such a wimp, I can’t hurt you, right? I betrayed Sean tonight. I danced with someone else! You want to bring him back here so you can parade him in front of me. And Feodor.”

Layla barely registered meeting Clemence, though she did see that Clemence approached her very slowly and carefully. But Layla could feel the witch’s power. “Do anything to her you can,” she said.

Clemence nodded calmly. She looked like anyone’s grandmother, in a fuzzy home-knit sweater. “I look forward to it,” she said. “Her teacher is cursed among us.”

“I am going to kill her,” Layla said.

Clemence nodded again. Then she melted into the background. Like magic, Layla thought, feeling a smile pull her lips up.

“Abilene,” she said, “can you bring me my jacket?”

“Here,” Abilene said. She was still wearing her tutu, and she looked fragile and doll-like. She had Layla’s jacket, a cheap denim one, over her arm. Layla slid into it carefully. She didn’t want to cut herself with the stiletto Abilene had taped inside.

It was lucky she’d been quick, because some of the patrons took advantage of their privileged status to come backstage to congratulate the dancers. Layla, standing side by side with Feodor, gave each one a brilliant smile and said, “Thanks so much!” over and over.

After an interminable wait, Margo de Cordova finally appeared, Sean in tow. Layla felt Sean’s presence before she saw him. He looked … stretched tight. When his eyes met hers she read hopelessness. He shook his head in answer to Margo’s tug on his arm. He clearly didn’t want Margo to approach Layla.

But Layla had been sure she wouldn’t need to make a move, and she was right. Margo began making her way inexorably closer, Sean in tow behind her along with the bodyguard—Don Brewer, Christoph had said—who looked bored.

Layla made herself very involved with small talk with Feodor, while the other troupe members began to herd visitors—and the human dancers—back to the dressing rooms. Karl, still in his tux, leered seductively at a middle-aged patron. She looked delighted and willingly followed him back into the wings—out of sight, out of hearing. Well done.

Margo was wearing a small fortune in diamonds and a satisfied look. Don Brewer scanned the area around Layla and Feodor. He didn’t seem to be worried about a bunch of dancers, even when Feodor drifted to one side of him, and Thompson to the other.

Abilene was talking animatedly to Moose, who had just walked in with Phil and Rick, other Black Moon employees. Rick held Phil’s hand, and Layla could tell that Phil was on edge. His young face had an ancient expression; in his eyes, she could read all the terrible episodes of his life.

“Sean!” Phil said. Layla had seldom heard Phil speak before, and she was surprised at his light voice.

Margo halfway turned, startled but not alarmed, and she did nothing but smile when Phil put his arm around Sean. But when Phil started to lead Sean away, Margo said, “Young man, Sean stays with me tonight.”

Everyone was in position. Sylvia was way in the background, and the other patrons were gone.

Layla took a step forward, willing bloody tears to stain her cheeks. “Please let Sean go,” she pleaded pathetically, and Margo’s face showed both satisfaction and contempt.

“Sean is with me for now,” Margo said. “I suppose a new vampire like you is just too insipid for his tastes. Sean, what do you say?” Margo laughed.

Sean tried to speak, but he could not. He looked desperate. That had to be an enchantment, or maybe just Margo’s goblin mind-bending. Layla hoped Clemence could counteract it, but at the moment her priority was to move Sean away from his position at Margo’s side.

“But I need him,” Layla whined, her hands clasped together, and moved closer. Margo didn’t seem to fear her at all, and permitted it. Layla looked over Margo’s shoulder at Feodor and Thompson, who were flanking Don Brewer. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

The bodyguard caught the signal and took alarm. Then he glanced from side to side, realizing he was boxed in. It was too late.

Everything happened then: Layla yanked the stiletto from under her jacket, Thompson and Feodor both seized Don’s arms, and Phil grabbed Sean and threw him away from the fray, flinging him over to Moose. Margo had time to look livid and to raise her left hand—which gave Layla a perfect target. She slid the stiletto into Margo’s heart, her surging strength sliding the blade between Margo’s bones as easily as if her flesh had been butter.

Margo looked absolutely astonished in the few seconds before the light went out of her eyes.

Layla smiled.

Before the body could bleed substantially, Layla caught it and held it up, using Margo’s evening shawl to absorb the blood. In the next instant, Abilene scooped up Margo’s feet. They carried the body over to a dusty width of canvas, part of a long-dismantled set. Within a minute they’d flipped the sides over Margo’s body, and Don, seeing his employer was dead, quit struggling. As soon as Feodor and Thompson released him, the bodyguard simply shrugged and walked away.

Feodor and Thompson looked at her questioningly. Should he be released?

Layla wasn’t sure if Don had participated in Sean’s captivity or not … but he had bribed the men who abducted Sean. In a second she bounded forward, landing high on his back, wrapping his arms to his sides with her strong legs. Layla twisted Don’s head until she pulled it off. It wasn’t easy as the vampire movies made it seem, and it was quite messy.

But she felt even better after she’d done it, which was strange and interesting.

She tossed the head into the bundle with Margo. It would go to ash soon, anyway.

All this had taken less than three minutes. Sylvia was standing with her mouth open; no sound was emerging.

Layla said, “Sean and I accept the job offer in San Francisco.” After a long moment, Sylvia nodded. She leaned against the wall. Her legs were unsteady.

Sean looked almost as rocky. He was standing supported between Phil and Moose.

Layla said, “Phil, I’ve got him. Thanks so much. You too, Moose.” Phil stepped away, a faint smile on his face, and melted into the darkness of backstage with Rick. Abilene leaped onto Moose, who caught her easily. “You are my sweet honey child,” she said. He grinned in reply, and carried her back to the dressing room.

Layla gripped Sean’s upper arms, to be sure he stayed upright. He sagged against her.

“Can you talk?” she asked.

He shook his head violently.

“Okay, honey. Okay. You’ll be all right.”

But Sean seemed agitated, and though he didn’t push Layla away, he didn’t seem as happy, or relieved, as she’d imagined he would.

“He’s bespelled,” said Clemence. The gray-haired witch seemed quite pleased at the outcome of the evening. “Margo died before she could remove it.”

“You think you could have told me that before I killed her?” Layla, still pumped up, had to restrain her impulse to deal out more violence.

“Margo wouldn’t have done it,” the witch said, shrugging. “But I’ll start work. May take me a few tries.” She retreated to a quiet corner, and then began to mutter and move her hands around.

Thompson and Feodor carried Margo’s wrapped body away from the stage area and down the stairs, directly out the back door to the Blue Moon van. Don the bodyguard had crumbled to ashes. Sylvia, who appeared to be a little steadier, got a dustpan and broom to dispose of him and went in search of a trash can.

Layla didn’t care what became of either of the remains. She trusted Thompson and Feodor to dispose of Margo in a safe place.

The building, so full an hour before, had emptied with incredible speed. Through the heavy curtains, Layla could hear the cleaners moving around the auditorium. “Goodbye,” Clemence called. “It may take a little time, but he should speak again tonight. If not, take two aspirins and call me … well, in the evening.”

Layla was alone with Sean, and he was still propped up against her. She felt she could stand there all night, him leaning on her. She could feel that he was growing stronger.

The moment finally came when Sean was able to step back from her, to look into Layla’s eyes.

“While you can’t interrupt me,” she said, “I’m going to tell you a few new rules.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“When you have a job offer, you tell me. When you have a stalker, you tell me. When I need to step up and break someone’s bones to establish my strength, you tell me.”

Sean nodded emphatically.

“Now,” Layla said. “We’re going to leave Rhodes, okay? You’re going to accept the job offer. And I am going with you. And we will not split up.”

When Sean began to cry, she did, too.

Layla had never seen him weep. His short time in Margo’s hands must have awakened some terrible memories. But Layla steeled herself and finished what she had to say. “Listen. If you ever, ever disrespect me again, I will take your head off. You know I can do it. Sean, you made me, but I’m not your baby. Don’t keep things from me. Don’t imagine I can’t survive without you. Now, do you understand all that? Because you can go to San Francisco all by yourself if you don’t.” She felt her ferocity rise again, and the process felt smoother and stronger. Sean could feel it too. He nodded emphatically.

Layla’s anger seeped away as she looked into Sean’s face. “I’d kill her all over again,” she whispered.

Outside the back door, Margo’s limousine and driver waited.

Sean glanced at the car, back at Layla, a question in his eyes.

“I’m not telling the driver he doesn’t need to wait,” Layla said. She shrugged. “Sooner or later, it’ll come to him. Wait. Is he the one who drove you over to Margo’s? After they took you?”

Sean nodded.

Layla knocked on the chauffeur’s window. Startled, he opened the door and said, “Can I help you?”

For the first time, she used her glamor. Looking directly into his eyes, she freed herself to take his will. “You drive back to the nearest police station,” she told him. “You’re terribly afraid you may have done something awful to Margo after you picked her up from the theater.”

The man stared at her, dazed. “I will,” he said.

Layla broke eye contact and strode back to the sidewalk where Sean was waiting. She felt strong, she felt capable, she felt like she would never live a passive life again.

“I have a new mantra,” she told Sean, as they walked down the cold street.

He pantomimed raising his head, bracing his shoulders, smiling, and holding his hands in graceful curves. Layla laughed.

Sean waited, his eyebrows raised inquiringly.

“Head up, shoulders square, no smile, fangs out,” Layla said.

And Sean nodded.

ALSO BY CHARLAINE HARRIS

GUNNIE ROSE

An Easy Death

A Longer Fall

The Russian Cage

MIDNIGHT, TEXAS

Midnight Crossroad

Day Shift

Night Shift

STANDALONE WORKS

Small Kingdoms and Other Stories*

Dancers in the Dark*

Layla Steps Up*

The Layla Collection: Dancers in the Dark and Layla Steps Up*

Sweet and Deadly*

A Secret Rage*

THE AURORA TEAGARDEN MYSTERIES

Real Murders*

A Bone to Pick*

Three Bedrooms, One Corpse*

The Julius House*

Dead Over Heels*

A Fool and His Honey*

Last Scene Alive

Poppy Done to Death*

All the Little Liars

Sleep Like a Baby

THE SOOKIE STACKHOUSE SERIES

Dead Until Dark

Living Dead in Dallas

Club Dead

Dead to the World

Dead as a Doornail

Definitely Dead

All Together Dead

From Dead to Worse

Dead and Gone

Dead in the Family

Dead Reckoning

Deadlocked

Dead Ever After

A Touch of Dead

The Sookie Stackhouse Companion

After Dead: What Came Next in the World of Sookie Stackhouse

THE LILY BARD MYSTERIES

Shakespeare’s Landlord

Shakespeare’s Champion

Shakespeare’s Christmas

Shakespeare’s Trollop

Shakespeare’s Counselor

THE HARPER CONNELLY SERIES

Grave Sight

Grave Surprise

An Ice Cold Grave

Grave Secret

THE CEMETERY GIRL MYSTERIES, co-written with Christopher Golden

Pretenders

Inheritance

Haunted

ANTHOLOGIES, co-edited with Toni L. P. Kelner

Many Bloody Returns

Wolfsbane and Mistletoe

Death’s Excellent Vacation

Home Improvement: Undead Edition

An Apple for the Creature

Games Creatures Play

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Charlaine Harris is a #1 New York Times bestselling author. Born and raised in the Mississippi River Delta area, Harris has been published in thirty-five languages, sold over 37 million copies of her work, and been selected as a 2021 Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America, in addition to Lifetime Achievement honors from both Malice Domestic and RT Booklovers. Three of her series have been adapted for television, as HBO’s True Blood, NBC’s Midnight, Texas, and the ongoing Aurora Teagarden movies on Hallmark Movies & Mysteries. Her latest novel, THE RUSSIAN CAGE, continues her national bestselling Gunnie Rose series.

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