Gypsy Freak

I’ve yet to process all of it yet.

“Ready to order?” Elise, my waitress, asks with a smile of trained patience.

“I don’t suppose you have bourbon here, do you?”

She gives me an apologetic but are-you-for-real shake of her head.

“Two coffees and a small slice of pie, please.”

She toddles off, and I glance down, seeing I wandered around for longer than I realized, since it’s almost midnight now.

I dig around in my jacket, finding my candle, listening as the drunken crowd starts singing a very familiar, very little known song about gypsy pride. The same song my mother sang. The same one Arion sang.

Why are they singing it?

They slap their glasses together over their heads in a cheerful toast once they finish the song, and I blink away from the distraction when Elise puts down the two coffees and slice of pie.

When she walks away, I stick in my candle. I’m fumbling around, looking for that lighter I brought, when someone slides into the booth across from me.

I glance up, seeing Vance staring at my pie with a pitying expression on his face. “This is possibly the saddest thing I’ve seen in a while,” he states flatly.

I pull out my candle and pocket it, bristling a little. “It wasn’t sad until I had a witness,” I grumble.

The rowdy crowd starts singing the creepy jingle of the downtown tourist shop, and I realize they must be pedaling the Gypsy Pride song there as well.

“I’ve looked all over for you. Would it be so bad for you to just make it a general rule to want to be found by a Van Helsing unless you simply don’t want to be found? Looking the hard way is far more tedious than I remember,” he says as he starts fixing the coffee across from me. “Am I taking someone’s seat?”

I glance down, seeing it’s one minute before my birthday.

“I was going to have bourbon on my birthday and pour a glass for Anna. But they don’t have bourbon here,” I explain. “So I got coffee instead.”

He stops, sighs, and shakes his head.

“I didn’t ask you to come judge me. Why have you been looking for me?” I ask, admittedly growing increasingly defensive the longer he stares at me like I’m the most pathetic person he’s ever known.

“I’m afraid you don’t really get to spend your birthday alone, because you’ve allowed Damien to be in your life,” he says as he guzzles his coffee and stands.

Elise stops back by, and he hands her some money, as she stares at him and fans herself with her order pad.

“Oh. This must be coffee number two,” she says with a sigh. “You should bring him more often.”

“My phone hasn’t rang,” I decide to tell him as he quickly guides me out, leaving Elise behind, while she continues to gape.

He really does leave an impression on women.

“Phones aren’t working. There’s an electrical surge in the air tonight. The spirits are riled because it’s almost the death night of this town,” he says by way of explanation. “Happens every year about this time, and it’ll be an annoying couple of weeks with the electricity too.”

That’s not good. I’ll need to salt the house.

“My phone is working. it’s—”

“It’s not working, Violet. Trust me. But we need to go,” he says as he opens his door, glancing at his watch.

Then he quickly leans over and kisses my forehead like we’re childhood friends…

“Happy birthday,” he adds a little uncomfortably, before walking around to his side.

I get in, wondering how we went from that day in Damien’s room to kissing my forehead and hunting me down for a party…after radio silence. And men gripe about women sending mixed signals.

“Why is Damien throwing a—”

“It was going to be a surprise party, but then you surprised us by disappearing right as the snow picked back up. I swear it smells like you’ve been in every part of town today. It made finding you surprisingly difficult,” he answers as he drives us toward Damien’s.

“Who’s going to be at this party?” I ask instead of explaining just how pathetically I wandered around town, hoping to bump into someone semi-familiar.

Including him…

Nope. Can’t bring myself to confess that aloud.

Hell no.

“Possibly everyone but vampires,” he says by way of answering my nearly forgotten question.

“Why is he throwing me a party when the only friends I have are in Vegas?”

“I don’t know, but Damien hasn’t hosted a party in centuries. It’s...actually sort of a big deal. Morpheous men throw the best parties that no one ever really remembers who hosted.”

I’m…not sure what to say to that.

“I just sort of figured we’d do cake and drink bourbon, but he didn’t answer—”

“The phones don’t work,” Vance reminds me on a sigh. “And since when are you and Damien so close?”

For a second, he almost sounds jealous. But he didn’t call even when the phones were working, so I assume I’m reading into it.

“He’s just sort of always there lately.”

“And helping you with your ghost issue,” he adds, possibly letting me know Damien fills him in on my side project.

“Is there a point to this inquiry?”

“No,” he mutters, pulling into Damien’s driveway.

Wow, a lot of people are here.

“It’s really hard to keep up with your mood swings,” I tell him before I get out of his car.

“I’ll explain my mood swings when I decide I’m okay with you hating me the way all Portocale gypsies do,” he says in an annoyed tone as he guides me up the stairs.

Before I can even bother asking the pointless question I rarely get a response to, the door swings open, and Damien grins down at me, a lit cigar hanging between his unnaturally perfect lips. He grabs my hand and drags me inside, not giving me any time to ask him what’s going on.

I practically stumble over my feet when I see two people having sex on one of the tall couches. I pull my hand out of Damien’s and keep watching, when another man comes up behind the woman and decides to get in on the fun.

She certainly doesn’t seem to mind.

I can’t look away because…seriously?

This is beyond shocking as far as cultural shock goes. My momma raised me to be a semi-good gypsy. These people don’t give a damn who thinks they’re good or not. I suddenly feel like a sheltered little girl.

That actually pisses me off a little.

“You said you weren’t throwing this kind of party,” Vance says in a bored tone as his hand touches the small of my back and starts guiding me away.

My neck hurts from looking over my shoulder so hard. This is…sort of awesome now that the shocking part is over. I could seriously take notes in a place like this and feel like a diva the next time I’m in the bedroom.

Maybe then the damn guy would call.

Anna would give my vagina lessons on getting that call-back if she were here.

You left too soon, Anna. You’re really missing out. I’m keeping a list of things to tell you all about just so you can be jealous.

“Well, it’s been a while since I threw a party. I had to use one of those enchanted envelopes to give everyone a reminder of who I even am,” Damien answers, pulling me away from Vance…and out of my own head.

So many people walk by us, too caught up in kissing, touching, or grinding to pay us any attention. It’s really freaking distracting, because my eyes want to see all the really scandalous thing. I’m starting to wish my neck was made of rubber.

“So this is who you are?” I ask, going off his comment as I see five women paying one naked man a lot of attention…like this is his birthday party.

Standing between Vance and Damien…I can feel the warmth slithering up my spine. My head really shouldn’t be going there. I’m not sure why it is.

“I’m a being of sexuality. Clearly this is the kind of party I end up throwing,” Damien says in an amused tone. “I’m starting to think you like it.”

I continue watching the new scene before me as one girl moves onto the man’s lap, not even bothering with a condom, much like Vance and Anna.

“I’m guessing immortals don’t worry about pregnancy or disease?”

“We are the disease, so no. We don’t get other diseases,” Vance says, steering me away once again, keeping me between him and Damien, as Damien gives a few courtesy smiles to people who are staring like they expect him to speak.

For whatever reason, he looks…weirdly even better tonight—Damien, that is. He’s always freakishly gorgeous, but tonight there’s…a glow about him. Not a neon sign glow, but a brighter, healthier sort of glow.

It’s a subtle yet notable change. If that makes any sense. There’s also this confident, arrogant smile he’s wearing that really suits him better than the sad one he pretends not to normally have.

Vance seems distracted, checking his watch, looking anywhere but at me.

“I’ll be right back, birthday girl,” Damien says close to my ear. “Don’t leave Vance.”

With that, he disappears into the throngs of people, and I look around, taking in all the lavish silks hanging from the mirrored ceilings. All the mirrors Vance broke have been restored, and it makes the party seem endless.

“Is this house bigger?” I ask Vance, wondering if the bouncy castle Damien has rented normally has seven people having sex with each other, or if the rental company will have to use a lot of bleach.

“It’s not any bigger,” Vance says dismissively, bristling when his eyes linger over one pair who are really quite distracting.

I start watching them too, because she’s hella limber, and I’m not sure how she’s bending that way. It defies all natural laws, if I’m being honest. I hope that’s not the standard guys expect…

Vance and I both lean our heads to the left when she pulls off a back-bend blowjob that has all of our attention.

“Damn,” I say on a surprised, slightly inferior breath.

I can’t even do a simple backbend. Let alone attempt the multitasking. My teeth always chomp when I slip…

Vance shakes out of the distraction, straightens his tie, curses Damien’s parties, and starts guiding me toward a corner with a large mushroom-like chairs that turn into sofas or beds or anything else you need.

Vance gestures for me to sit first, and I do so, even though I’m curious how rude it is to sit and stare. More and more people start coming in with robes and masks, and Vance groans.

“He really should have specified it’s an elegant affair,” Vance tells me just as one guy lifts a girl up and lets another guy push inside her, while he holds her up from behind.

“Yeah. Sure,” I say absently, riveted to this.