I throw the paper away, angered. What business of his is it where I work? I decide in favour of going to meet him only so that I can set him straight as to the fact that he has no right at all to tell me where I can and cannot work. Fucking vampires. Total control freaks. But I can’t help worrying that his dislike of where I am working is not the only reason he wants me to come to the club. I know his secret. That makes me a liability. And I shudder to think how Ethan Cristescu deals with liabilities.
Upon giving myself a sniff, I decide that a shower is on the cards. I’m sure I excreted at least several litres of sweat last night. Fear seems to be conducive to perspiration. Ugh. I peel off my dress and walk straight to the bathroom. It still smells faintly of vomit. I grab the bleach and pour half its contents down the toilet to kill the odour.
Cold water hits me first and I gasp audibly. I lather on a generous amount of my new jasmine shampoo, then I exfoliate until there’s barely any skin left to scrub. If I scrub my skin hard enough will it scrub away the memories too? Probably not.
When I get out of the shower I wrap up in a massive towel and make myself some tea and toast for breakfast. Then I get back into bed, food and all. I might as well allow myself to relax if I’m going to be meeting up with a killer vampire later this evening.
I pull my phone out of my bag and dial Amanda’s number. I need to speak to her to see if she’s okay, but I also want to know if she remembers anything from last night. I hope she does if only so that I don’t have to carry the burden of this knowledge all on my own. It would be a comfort to be able to talk about the vampires with a fellow human being.
The phone rings five times before she picks it up sounding tired. Her throat is scratchy when she answers, “Hello?” as though she chain-smoked one too many cigarettes the night before.
“It’s Tegan, how are you?” I ask, thinking the question is open enough for her to tell me anything odd that might have happened to her last night, with Lucas for instance.
“As good as I can be considering I’ve got a killer hangover,” she replies. “God Tegan, what did I drink last night?” Yeah, the keyword there being killer.
“You probably drank more than I’d recommend,” I tell her. “Although you did get off with that guy Lucas,” I continue as a prompt. “How did that happen?”
“Oh my God, I didn’t actually believe it when he came and started talking to me. But I think I must have drank too much because soon after we went out to the back of the club and he was kissing me and then I just blacked out. All I know is I woke up in my bed this morning fully clothed. How did I even get home?” she asks, her voice a little nervous.
She’s clearly telling me the truth about not remembering anything. I’d be nervous too if I’d experienced that kind of a memory lapse. Right, so she definitely doesn’t recall the whole “feeding” scenario. Damn. Can I tell her what really happened? My stomach turns over on itself, as though to warn me that the vampires might not take too kindly to me revealing the truth of their existence to my friend. So, like the coward that I am, I lie to her.
“Oh well, you were very drunk, so I told Lucas your address and he drove you home.”
Yeah, more like Lucas rifled through her purse, found her address on an ID card, and then brought her there. They seem to like to be in control these vamps, as I’ve already noted.
“Did he really?” Amanda gushes. “What a gentleman! Oh but I didn’t get his number, do you know it?” she asks hopefully.
“No, I don’t have his number.” I tell her flatly. Although I can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s already infatuated and determined to find some way to see Lucas again. It’s going to take a lot more than me not having his number to ward her off.
“Oh well, that’s too bad, but he works in Crimson right? Maybe I’ll go there again to see him. Hey, why don’t we go tonight?”
“I’m not really in the mood for clubbing tonight Mandy, besides, I already have to drop into Crimson today to see Ethan.” I tell her on a sigh, and immediately regret having said it. There’s no doubt she’ll try to hint at me inviting her along any minute now.
“Ethan?” she asks in a questioning tone. “Who’s that?”
“The owner of the club.” I reply.
“The owner? Why on earth are you meeting up with the owner of a night club?”
“Long story,” I tell her, a really long story. “Apparently we’ve got unfinished business to discuss.”
“Oh Tegan, you’re not in any trouble are you?” she continues with worry.
“No, at least not the kind you’re imagining.” I say, wishing I could just tell her the truth.
“Oh I remember now, Nicky told me that some guy who works at Crimson was into you. She never said it was the owner though, wow, lucky girl.?
??
Not lucky in the slightest, I think to myself, but little does she know. There’s a moment’s silence, and I can almost hear the cogs turning in the machine that is her love-hungry brain.
Then she asks, “Hey, you wouldn’t want some company on your visit to Crimson, would you Tegan?” as if butter wouldn’t melt.
I smile to myself. I might as well give in to the inevitable. “You aren’t going to quit asking until I say yes are you?”
“Nope.” She answers sweetly.
“I suppose I’d better say yes then,” I reply, consoling myself with the fact that Ethan can’t try anything too extreme if Amanda is with me. I tell her to meet me around the corner from the club on Davis Street, outside a little café called the Butterfly Inn at five to six. Then I hang up. The time on the screen of my phone reads 14:13. I lie back and cuddle into my duvet, making a nest of it, and try to get some shut eye before an evening that could very possibly lead to anything at all.