Out for Blood
Page 31
“Get in,” Jenna said, sliding into the front seat before anyone else could. She loved driving almost as much as she loved shooting stuff.
“Shotgun!” Chloe yelled. She always got shotgun because she made mixes for the half-hour drive to town. I climbed in the back with Spencer and Jason.
“So where are we going?” Spencer asked as Jenna pulled out, scattering gravel. “The Blue Cat?”
“The Blue Cat shut down last month,” Jason told him, raising his voice over the loud music that filled the van.
“What about Conspiracy Theory?” Jenna asked. Everyone nodded. Conspiracy wasn’t a dance club like the Blue Cat had been, but it was a funky cafe in an old three-story house with live bands on the weekends. It’d be the most popular spot now—mostly because none of the other clubs let in minors as easily as Conspiracy Theory did.
I rolled my window down, enjoying the cool breeze that smelled like cedar and grass, flatly refusing to check my phone one more time. I had a life; I was busy taking out bloodthirsty vampires to make the neighborhood safe again. I didn’t have time to wait around for Quinn Drake to deign to honor me with a reply.
The forest and mountains gave way to fields and farms and then the tiny town of Violet Hill, tucked into the edge of the lake. It was mostly art galleries and old bookstores and organic cafes. There were probably more crystal shops in the village than in all of San Francisco. Every July there was an art festival and people drew on the streets with chalk. There were farmers’ markets and a pioneer museum. I loved it, even though Grandpa thought it was run by a bunch of, and I quote, “pot-smoking hippies.” He could overlook that though, since it was a convenient crossroads for several vampire tribes, both civilized and Hel-Blar.
There were other creatures too, according to Spencer, but I’d never seen any of them. He was convinced there were werewolves, but even his professors in the Paranormal Department wouldn’t give him a straight answer. I kept telling him that probably meant one of them was a werewolf. You never could tell at our school.
Jenna drove too fast, as always, so we made it to the main street in twenty minutes. Violet Lake looked like a dark blob of ink on the edge of the paper-white stones. We parked down the street from the coffeehouse and walked up through the abandoned factory district. All half a block of it. Violet Hill was nothing if not quaint.
“That’s the one,” Chloe said confidently, nodding to the old glass factory. Broken shards still glittered on the pavement, even though it had closed ten years ago. It was wide enough to maneuver in with some cover, so we wouldn’t draw the attention of any late-night pedestrians. They mostly went in the other direction toward the taxi stand or the bus stop.
The lawn outside the cafe was littered with smokers, the music from the jazz-rock band pouring out of the open door. We eased through the crowds and claimed the torn velvet couch in the very back where the light was dim and the floors were sticky with spilled drinks. Candles burned everywhere in jam jars, and twinkly lights were wrapped around the bar counter. The buzz of the espresso machine was a constant vibration under the music.
I took everyone’s drink orders since I was the bait. I was the one who had to prance around being all obvious and dumb. I giggled.
“Better,” Spencer approved. “You sound less like you ate an angry helium balloon.”
I made a face at him before making my way through the crowd toward the counter. I eyed the patrons unobtrusively. The three guys at the pool table were trying to look like predators, all suave and cool, but they were harmless. The girl in the back corner flirting with a guy in a leather coat was on my radar. She looked hungry and I didn’t know if it was for attention or blood. The two at the table under the window were underage and desperately trying not to look it. The waitstaff looked harried and didn’t have time to care who was drinking illegally and who wasn’t. Besides, it was Violet Hill, possibly the most liberal, free-thinking town on the planet. Drinking was no big deal. Fur coats and pesticides on the other hand …
The bar was actually a series of old wooden doors hinged together. The one at the end had belonged to a saloon at the turn of the century. There were two bartenders and a press of thirsty people waving money and shouting orders over the band. I fluttered my eyelashes and leaned on the bar, making sure my cleavage, such as it was, was visible. Part 1 of the plan required I be seen.
“A shot of Kahlua, please,” I ordered. I made sure my voice was a little too loud. I leaned farther over, catching the eye of two guys who were staring at me. The one on the left might possibly be vampiric. It was kind of hard to tell. I worked up an annoying giggle.
He raised his glass to me and eased out of the line, leaving a gap and a better view of the people on his other side.
I choked on the giggle.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I scowled at Quinn.
It was just my luck that he was lounging there with a pretty girl on each arm. No wonder he hadn’t answered my text message.
And worse, he would catch Part 2 of the plan, in which I was soon going to make an ass of myself, and he’d miss Part 3, in which I redeemed myself by kicking actual ass.
“Buffy.” He grinned, eyes flaring when he took in my short dress and daring neckline. I forced myself not to blush or fidget. I lifted my chin, daring him to make a single comment.
“Your name’s Buffy?” The girl on his left sneered.
The other girl pinched her. “Don’t be rude.” She smiled at me apologetically.
“Shotgun!” Chloe yelled. She always got shotgun because she made mixes for the half-hour drive to town. I climbed in the back with Spencer and Jason.
“So where are we going?” Spencer asked as Jenna pulled out, scattering gravel. “The Blue Cat?”
“The Blue Cat shut down last month,” Jason told him, raising his voice over the loud music that filled the van.
“What about Conspiracy Theory?” Jenna asked. Everyone nodded. Conspiracy wasn’t a dance club like the Blue Cat had been, but it was a funky cafe in an old three-story house with live bands on the weekends. It’d be the most popular spot now—mostly because none of the other clubs let in minors as easily as Conspiracy Theory did.
I rolled my window down, enjoying the cool breeze that smelled like cedar and grass, flatly refusing to check my phone one more time. I had a life; I was busy taking out bloodthirsty vampires to make the neighborhood safe again. I didn’t have time to wait around for Quinn Drake to deign to honor me with a reply.
The forest and mountains gave way to fields and farms and then the tiny town of Violet Hill, tucked into the edge of the lake. It was mostly art galleries and old bookstores and organic cafes. There were probably more crystal shops in the village than in all of San Francisco. Every July there was an art festival and people drew on the streets with chalk. There were farmers’ markets and a pioneer museum. I loved it, even though Grandpa thought it was run by a bunch of, and I quote, “pot-smoking hippies.” He could overlook that though, since it was a convenient crossroads for several vampire tribes, both civilized and Hel-Blar.
There were other creatures too, according to Spencer, but I’d never seen any of them. He was convinced there were werewolves, but even his professors in the Paranormal Department wouldn’t give him a straight answer. I kept telling him that probably meant one of them was a werewolf. You never could tell at our school.
Jenna drove too fast, as always, so we made it to the main street in twenty minutes. Violet Lake looked like a dark blob of ink on the edge of the paper-white stones. We parked down the street from the coffeehouse and walked up through the abandoned factory district. All half a block of it. Violet Hill was nothing if not quaint.
“That’s the one,” Chloe said confidently, nodding to the old glass factory. Broken shards still glittered on the pavement, even though it had closed ten years ago. It was wide enough to maneuver in with some cover, so we wouldn’t draw the attention of any late-night pedestrians. They mostly went in the other direction toward the taxi stand or the bus stop.
The lawn outside the cafe was littered with smokers, the music from the jazz-rock band pouring out of the open door. We eased through the crowds and claimed the torn velvet couch in the very back where the light was dim and the floors were sticky with spilled drinks. Candles burned everywhere in jam jars, and twinkly lights were wrapped around the bar counter. The buzz of the espresso machine was a constant vibration under the music.
I took everyone’s drink orders since I was the bait. I was the one who had to prance around being all obvious and dumb. I giggled.
“Better,” Spencer approved. “You sound less like you ate an angry helium balloon.”
I made a face at him before making my way through the crowd toward the counter. I eyed the patrons unobtrusively. The three guys at the pool table were trying to look like predators, all suave and cool, but they were harmless. The girl in the back corner flirting with a guy in a leather coat was on my radar. She looked hungry and I didn’t know if it was for attention or blood. The two at the table under the window were underage and desperately trying not to look it. The waitstaff looked harried and didn’t have time to care who was drinking illegally and who wasn’t. Besides, it was Violet Hill, possibly the most liberal, free-thinking town on the planet. Drinking was no big deal. Fur coats and pesticides on the other hand …
The bar was actually a series of old wooden doors hinged together. The one at the end had belonged to a saloon at the turn of the century. There were two bartenders and a press of thirsty people waving money and shouting orders over the band. I fluttered my eyelashes and leaned on the bar, making sure my cleavage, such as it was, was visible. Part 1 of the plan required I be seen.
“A shot of Kahlua, please,” I ordered. I made sure my voice was a little too loud. I leaned farther over, catching the eye of two guys who were staring at me. The one on the left might possibly be vampiric. It was kind of hard to tell. I worked up an annoying giggle.
He raised his glass to me and eased out of the line, leaving a gap and a better view of the people on his other side.
I choked on the giggle.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I scowled at Quinn.
It was just my luck that he was lounging there with a pretty girl on each arm. No wonder he hadn’t answered my text message.
And worse, he would catch Part 2 of the plan, in which I was soon going to make an ass of myself, and he’d miss Part 3, in which I redeemed myself by kicking actual ass.
“Buffy.” He grinned, eyes flaring when he took in my short dress and daring neckline. I forced myself not to blush or fidget. I lifted my chin, daring him to make a single comment.
“Your name’s Buffy?” The girl on his left sneered.
The other girl pinched her. “Don’t be rude.” She smiled at me apologetically.
