I shook my head. “I need to go alone, without distractions. I’ll also need wheels.” I couldn’t take the motorcycle; it was too flashy for undercover work.

He smiled. “Done. You have forty-eight hours. We need to move quickly before the Hekate Council gets wind of this.”

“No problem.”

Assuming we were finished, I stood to leave.

“I’ll have Frank arrange for transportation immediately.”

I nodded and turned to go.

“Oh, Sabina?” he said. I stopped on my way to the door to look at him. His eyes held the same red glow I’d witnessed the night before. “I don’t need to remind you of the consequences of fucking me over, do I?”

Goosebumps spread over my limbs. “No.”

He rose and came toward me. I gulped, fighting my instinct to turn and run. He ran a finger down my cheek.

“Good, because I’d hate it if you forced me to harm that smooth skin of yours.”

I swallowed, hoping my voice wouldn’t crack. “You can trust me.”

He smiled and leaned in. His nearness made my limbs turn leaden, as if surrendering.

“How about a kiss to seal the trust between us?”

I nodded even though I felt ill at the thought. Remembering how easily he’d taken control of me the night before had me on edge.

He smiled and pressed his mouth against my lips. My body pressed against his of its own volition. He leaned down and scraped my neck with his fangs. A sigh escaped me as his tongue replaced the sharp points.

“I can’t wait to taste your blood again.” He whispered this against the moist skin, sending a shiver through me.

Abruptly, he pulled away. “I’ll see you in two days.”

Dismissed.

I blinked, trying to regain my mental equilibrium. He watched me with a knowing half-smile. Self-revulsion washed over me. How could I be so weak? It was as if his touch hypnotized all the sense from my head. I shook my head a little, trying to clear it.

“Okay, see you then,” I squeaked. I turned quickly and escaped the office before I could make more of an ass out of myself.

18

I pulled off the highway near St. Helena, about an hour north of San Francisco. Giguhl had his nose pressed against the window of the minivan, checking out the scenery. He wore a black sweater and four matching microfiber booties that Vinca insisted he needed to keep his paws warm.

Traffic was heavy, even though most of the vineyards had closed for the night. Since it was grape harvest time, tourists flocked to the small towns of Napa Valley to take in some local flavor. It didn’t take long for me to see the sign for Immortal Vineyards. The picture of a vampire in full cape and fangs holding a glass of wine was a dead giveaway.

The vineyard was set back from the main drag, down a winding dirt road. I pulled off into the attached parking lot, which was already full of cars. According to the information Frank gave me, the vineyard center played up its vampire theme by opening only at night. Visitors seemed to enjoy the kitsch without ever suspecting vamps really ran the place.

“Okay, Mr. Giggles, here’s the deal. We’ll split up. I’ll go in the visitors’ center, you head out onto the grounds. We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

He pulled his nose from the window, leaving a little smudge on the glass. “First, it’s bad enough I have to wear this stupid sweater,” he said. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll let you destroy my dignity further by calling me that insulting nickname.”

“The sweater looks good on you. Brings out the yellow in your eyes.” I said. We both knew that I wasn’t about to stop using the name.

“Flattery will get you everywhere. But I’m serious about the nickname, Sabina. It’s animal cruelty.”

“Tough titty, Mr. Kitty.”

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

I nodded. “So I’ve been told. Now, if you’re done whining, can we do this?”

“What am I looking for again?”

“Secret rooms, anything with security-cameras, guards, you name it.”

“Got it. Look for a room with a sign with a big arrow that says, ‘Kidnapped Mancies Here,’ ” he said. “Come on, Sabina. Do you really think they’d keep them here, in this public place?”

“That’s what Clovis said.” I shrugged. “Besides, they’re already hiding in plain sight with this whole vampire theme they’ve got going.”

“All right,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “For the record, though, I really hope Clovis is full of shit.”

“That makes two of us. See you in an hour.” I opened the car door and stepped out into the damp night air. He jumped out the door and landed soundlessly on the gravel lot. As I watched, he shot off through the dark and disappeared behind the main building.

Clovis’s claims about David not really being a traitor rushed back to me. As sick as it sounds, I really hoped he was lying and that David was the betrayer the Dominae painted him. Otherwise, I’d have to take a long hard look at my grandmother’s motivations for sending me on this mission. The very idea she might have lied to me made me ill. I steeled my spine and reminded myself that Clovis was no fool. He was trying to fill my head with doubts to further his own plans. I’d do best to remember that going forward.

I headed up the path to the replica castle housing the visitors’ center. The thing looked like something straight out of Transylvania—all crenellations and gargoyles. To the right of the path lay a clearing designed to look like a graveyard. Some wiseacre had made up fake headstones for some of the most famous vampires in history— Erzebet Bathory, Vlad Tepes, Gilles de Rais. I ignored them and continued to the wide oak doors leading inside.

Sconces shed an eerie glow on the fake spider webs and aged stone walls. Just like every bad movie about my race ever made, the room played up every false vampire stereotype.

Along one wall stood a bar, which resembled a black lacquered coffin with a closed lid. Behind it, a woman dressed in a high-collared black cape and a pair of fake fangs poured samples of the vineyard’s wines. Kitty-corner to the bar was a wall filled with vampire souvenirs— bumper stickers, stakes, crucifixes, strands of garlic.

Little did most mortals know that the last two items actually had no effect on real vampires. Sure, we weren’t thrilled about crucifixes, but that was more of a principle thing than a real fear. As for the garlic, I loved it roasted and spread on crusty French bread. However, the vamp community had long encouraged these particular myths. If mortals knew our real weaknesses, it could spell disaster.

A perky blonde approached me as I looked at a bumper sticker that read, “Vampires do it all night.”

“Welcome to Immortal Vineyards,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”

I put the bumper sticker back, embarrassed to be seen with it. “Do you offer tours?”

“Yes, in fact we have one starting in five minutes. It meets by the bust of Bela Lugosi,” she said without a trace of irony. “In the meantime, why don’t you head over to the blood bar and sample some of our wines? Be sure to taste our Sanguinarian Shiraz. It’s to die for.” She smiled at her bad pun and winked at me. I barely managed not to flash my fangs and hiss at her.

She left to accost some other unsuspecting person, leaving me free to wander to the bar. A few other people leaned against the coffin, sipping from small glasses of wine. It didn’t take long for the fake-fanged brunette to approach me.

“Good evening, I’m Drusilla,” she said. “Might I tempt you with some bloody good wine?”

At that point, I seriously considered leaving. All the kitsch and puns were about as charming as a poke in the eye. However, I needed to figure out if Clovis had been telling me the truth. So, I forced a smile at the idiot and nodded.

“I’ve heard good things about the Shiraz,” I said.

She nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Our Sanguinarian Shiraz is our newest vintage,” she said as she took a bottle from behind the bar and poured a sample into a small glass. “It’s an earthy wine with notes of chocolate, raspberry, and leather.”

I raised an eyebrow at that last thing. “Leather?”

She laughed. “It works, believe me.”

I held her eye as I took a tentative sip. The only thing I tasted was wine. It didn’t suck, but what did I know from wine? I made appreciative noises, and she refilled the sample before moving on to another visitor.

Luckily, the tour group started gathering right then. I slammed the rest of the sample and walked over just in time to bring up the rear. The group consisted of a white-haired couple, a pair of newlyweds—obvious from the gratuitous tonsil-hockey—and two ladies with Texas twangs and big hair. A guy dressed in a tuxedo and cape with movie star hair and ridiculous neon white fangs welcomed us.

“Good evening, my name is Ivan. Who’s ready to explore the inner workings of the only vampire-owned vineyard in the world?” As he spoke through the plastic fangs a line of drool formed at the corner of his mouth. Amateur.

The others cheered. I stood back and wondered what they’d do if they knew a real vampire stood right behind them.

Ivan led us through a short hallway into what appeared to be a museum. Interactive displays sat alongside movie paraphernalia from some of Hollywood’s more famous vampire flicks. A sign on one wall read, “Vampires and Wine—A Retrospective.”

About ten minutes into it, I was ready to impale myself with a corkscrew. Ivan’s ridiculous blather about vampire lore and the intricacies of winemaking were enough to make me long for the sweet release of death.

I looked at my watch—only thirty minutes until I had to meet Giguhl. Time to get serious about my reconnaissance.

I raised my hand, interrupting Ivan’s soliloquy about tannins. “Yes?” he said, sounding annoyed by the interruption.

“Can you point me to the little girls’ room?” I asked. The entire group turned to look at me, except for the newlyweds, who were playing grab-ass by a diorama depicting the life of a grape.