TWO
Phoenyx stood casually in the open doorway of El Muerto Lindo. Cortez owned the place and thought he’d been pretty clever for coming up with the name, which translated to, The Pretty Dead. Yeah, that Cortez thought he was a real clever guy, or Sand Demon––depending on who was asking.
Anybody who was anybody in the vampire underworld found their way through these doors at one time or another. It was one of the handful of Crystal Haven’s clubs for the other-worldly to come and play, away from curious human eyes. Sure, a couple of Hotbloods found themselves in the mix, but unless they had something very special to offer the clientele, like a favorite among the vamps, Type O-blood, they never made it out to tell the tale. They were either sold into slavery or murdered. Sad really.
Most of the fresh, flushed faces that she’d seen pass through the doors, all had Hollywood ideals of what vampires were like. The sweetness of Edward Cullen and the romanticism of Lestat––to name two. Well, neither of those characters existed, and the Hotbloods learned really quickly that vampires didn’t fucking sparkle.
Some obscure, indie band was playing loudly through the speakers, when suddenly, every pair of eyes in the place scanned the darkened barroom for the source of the smell that was making their noses twitch with so much bloodlust. Though you’d get the occasional Demon among the bunch, mostly flesh-eaters, the clientele was predominantly Nosferatu, depending on the moon of course. Every now and then a shifter would find their way in and then would just as quickly be escorted out.
Behind the bar, the barmaid Kassandra smiled. Her blindingly white teeth contrasted brightly against her crimson lips, and her skin was nearly as pale, like an ocean pearl.
"Well, well, well," Kassandra murmured, her Russian accent thick. "Look what the cat dragged in…where you been, mishka?"
"Where's Cortez?" Phoenyx snapped, not wasting any time.
Kassandra's red lips pulled into a pretty pout, her pale blue eyes an electric shock, nearly like ice. "You wound me, honey! Aren't you even glad to see me?" she asked in feigned hurt.
Leaning up against the bar, Phoenyx took a handful of mixed nuts and popped some into her mouth. Once, when she’d first met Cortez, she’d commented on how he couldn’t have a bar without any goddamn bar nuts. Ever since, he’d always made sure they were there, even though they usually went stale before they got eaten.
"I need to speak with Cortez. Now.” Phoenyx murmured. “You can flirt later."
The barmaid's lips pursed indignantly. "Cortez isn't here."
Phoenyx sighed. "You're lying… mishka."
Kassandra arched a thin, black brow, her sass starting to show. "He's in back, but don't tell him I sent you in there! I'm on strike two, and he's about ready to fire my sweet ass."
Phoenyx smiled. "It is indeed sweet.”
"Dinner?"
"Not a chance in hell," Phoenyx called over her shoulder as she retreated past the billiards, and into the back room. Quickly grabbing a pool stick along the way, she drummed it on her thigh.
By club standards, Cortez ran a pretty tight ship. He had found Kassandra in Russia, right after her sire, Grigori Rasputin, had been murdered in 1916. He’d saved her life from the very same mob that killed Rasputin, and she felt indebted to him. Following him to The Americas, they stuck side-by-side, through thick and thin. Truth is, Kassandra could have been on her one thousandth strike and Cortez would always turn a blind eye.
***
The hallway was dark, but short, and it didn't take her very long to find the door marked, 'LOCAL CELEBRITY.'
Subtle, she thought dryly, before kicking the door in effortlessly, pinning a very panicked, and surprised, Cortez to the wall with the pool stick.
He was a head taller than her and double the width, but he shrank slowly by the second as she leaned in closer. "Where do you think you're going?" She asked quietly.
Cortez swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably against the hardwood at his throat. "Phoenyx! Baby! I wasn't expecting you!"
"And why would that be?"
His cognac colored eyes darted uncomfortably. "I thought you'd be out taking care of business!"
"I was," she said smoothly. "Something interesting happened, though. Can you guess what?"
"Interesting, huh?" Cortez said slowly, sweat beading his upper lip, collecting between the dark stubble there. "The nest wasn't where I said it would be? Because it was third party information, beautiful! I––"
"It was a hit." She snapped, pressing the pool stick harder into his throat.
Cortez looked confused, genuinely confused––and alarmed.
Phoenyx narrowed her eyes at him. "You really don't know anything about it, do you?" She asked in sudden realization.
He shook his head vehemently, dark hair falling into his eyes. "You're my bread and butter, baby. I don't bite the hand that feeds me."
Phoenyx cursed under her breath, jerking the weapon away from his throat. "What the fuck, Cortez!"
It was never in her job description to get close to her informants, but when she thought that Cortez had turned, and given her up to this ancient vampire everyone kept bragging about, it had stung a little. She and Cortez went way back, and the betrayal left a bad taste in her mouth. As far as demons went, he was harmless, and she hated to admit it, but kind of fucking likeable.
Cortez rubbed his throat gingerly and grimaced. Leaning forward, he asked, "What happened?"
"What happened?" She bit out irritably. "I walked into Warehouse B thinking I was going to have a blast––and BAM! I get jumped by three vamps. Two, of which, were named Curt and Bob?"
"Curt and Bob?" Cortez couldn't hide his distaste. "Were Skip and Marvin there too?"
"So not funny." She huffed.
Cortez held his hands up in surrender, but couldn't control the small chuckle that escaped him. After gaining some decorum, he cleared his throat gruffly. "I'm sorry, but how do you know it was a hit?"
Phoenyx sighed. "Bob didn't die right away. He was hiding. I found him, threatened him. He confessed."
"Confessed? To what exactly?"
Cortez was like a big puppy, all eyes and exuberance. He wanted to help––he always wanted to help, and it had taken years for Phoenyx to accept that he wasn’t one hundred percent monster. In time, they’d developed a kind of camaraderie, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Cortez had helped her more times than she could count––on both hands. In a lot of ways, he was her only friend.
"What do you know about some Armani-wearing, British motherfucker who may, or may not, have come into town about two to three months ago?" She asked.
Cortez shook his head, frowning. "Haven't heard anything. Well, at least nothing like that. Vampire?"
Oh, Cortez. Just because he was helpful, didn’t mean he was brilliant.
"No. Circus monkey with really expensive taste in clothing."
"Right," he mumbled, not missing the sarcasm. "Little bird, I would tell you if I knew, I swear it. I ain't heard nothing about no Beatles-loving vampire."
Phoenyx pushed her hair away from her face and let her hand drop to her side with a snap. "Listen, if you hear anything, and I mean anything, call me right away, C. These assholes meant business."
“You’re my girl, fresa. I got your back.” Cortez said with a wide, toothy smile.
She didn’t bother to tell him off for the pet name.
He leaned closer. “Those vamps are stupid. They obviously don’t know who they’re fucking with.”
"That's what worries me," she hissed. "These vamps were suicide bombers. They went in there with no intention of coming out, and every intention of taking me down. Whoever this ancient vampire is, and I use that word very loosely, because I’m starting to doubt its validity, he has a beef with me."
"I'll do some digging, yo prometo."
Flipping the pool stick like a baton, she put the ass end in Cortez's hand. "Sorry I almost killed you."
Cortez gestured to her with the stick, and smiled. "Ain't no thang. I knew you wouldn't!"
A dark shadow passed over her face. He may have been certain, but Phoenyx wasn’t. She stumbled on her words. "Just keep your ears open."
"S-sure," Cortez stuttered.
As Phoenyx strode purposefully out of El Muerto Lindo, the night enfolding her like an old friend, her cell phone buzzed against her hip. Without breaking stride, she lifted it to check the Caller ID. It was Hutton.
Her mouth pressed into a grim line as she answered. "H…we need to talk. Now."