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  And, of course, Roman, the son of the Vampire Queen, sat in the most luxurious booth, along with several of the higher-ups from the Seattle Vampire Nexus. Menolly was his official consort. She walked a tight wire between her wife, Nerissa, and Roman. Nerissa was her heart-mate. Roman offered her the chance to play hard when she needed to let herself go. Both were head over heels about my sister and skirted each other with varying degrees of respect and suspicion.

  All in all, the bar was crowded, and it made me happy to see the look on Menolly’s face. She’d expected people to ostracize her after what happened, but the truth was none of it was her fault. Maybe tonight would drive that through her thick skull.

  As we gathered around the table, Jenny brought over the cake. Camille winked at her, and the girl, flustered, stuttered out a “Happy Birthday” and immediately left.

  “Hey, I wanted to order—” Camille laughed. “I’m going to have to do something to put Jenny at ease, it seems.” She stood up, looking over at the bar.

  I motioned for her to sit down. “You’re the birthday girl. I’ll get a waitress. What do you want to drink? Do you want anything to eat?”

  “I want a Goblin Blaster and can you order me a grilled cheese and fries? We’ll cut the cake while we’re waiting for the food.” She was eying the massive sheet cake like I eyed catnip. Normally Camille didn’t go for sweets, but Earthside store-bought birthday cake had proven to be a weakness for her.

  I motioned to a different waitress and gave her Camille’s order, and my own. Grilled cheese sounded good, so I asked for two. As the others ordered, I pushed my way up to the bar. Derrick, along with Digger—the assistant bartender who was also a vamp—were mixing drinks as fast as they could.

  Derrick winked at me. “What do you need?”

  “Camille wants a Goblin Blaster. For me? A Kahlúa and cream, please.” I didn’t drink a lot, but when I did, I preferred my booze with something to soften the impact.

  He raised an eyebrow. “She wants a Goblin Blaster? We don’t get much call for those. They’re an acquired taste, that’s for sure.” As he began mixing up the basil liqueur with orange juice and both light and dark rum, the drink took on an earthy, pungent smell. The drink almost glowed green, and I grimaced. I preferred my drinks sweet.

  Derrick added a twist of orange to the glass, then whipped up my Kahlúa and cream, and slid both drinks across the counter. I started to thank him but he had already moved on to his next order.

  I picked up the drinks and brought them back to the table, handing Camille’s to her. She took a long sip and closed her eyes. Something about the basil and orange really appealed to her. Like me, she wasn’t much of a drinker, but ever since Menolly had concocted the recipe, Camille had, for the most part, stuck to a standing order.

  Over the past few weeks, Menolly had gotten so irritable without the Wayfarer to distract her that she’d turned her lair into a makeshift bar and had managed to get just about everyone in the house drunk at one point or another, experimenting with new recipes. The upside was the drink menu at the Wayfarer had increased by at least fifty percent.

  While we waited for the food, Camille cut the cake. The frosting was an inch thick and my taste buds were doing a happy dance on my tongue. Camille’s favorite flavors were strawberry and lemon, so the cake was strawberry with lemon icing. There were chocolate cupcakes for those whose tastes ran to the more traditional, but I wasn’t picky. If it was cake, I’d eat it. And I did. Two pieces of cake and three cupcakes.

  Menolly climbed on the counter and whistled to the bar. “Listen up! Tonight’s not just the reopening of the Wayfarer, but it’s also my sister Camille’s birthday, as you may have surmised. We have a lot of cake here, so feel free to drop by our table for a slice. It’s free till it’s gone.”

  A general round of applause rang through the bar as I settled in beside Camille and Menolly with a sigh of satisfaction. Despite the toadsquatter, everything had gone off without a hitch.

  A little voice in the back of my head kept whispering, Don’t let down your guard, but I was tired of always being on alert, and I decided what the hell. I’d let down my hair for once. A giggle escaped. That was more than a cliché for once. I actually could let down my hair more than usual, because I’d started growing it back in. I was sporting a chin-length shag. Shade liked it, and while I wasn’t sure I’d ever grow it long again, it was fun for a change.

  I downed the Kahlúa and cream and got a second, then a third round of drinks for Camille and myself. A fourth followed shortly. The volume of noise was rising to a steady buzz now as more people crowded into the bar, and I blinked, realizing that I wasn’t following any particular conversation, but instead, I just sat back, taking it all in.

  Menolly was beaming. Another round of drinks later, and the party was growing louder.

  Wild Cherry came over the speakers, singing “Play That Funky Music.” Nerissa grabbed Menolly’s hand and dragged her up to dance. Nerissa towered over Menolly in her tawny, werepuma glory, but the two could boogie it up good. In a skintight hot pink minidress, with golden hair and gold sparkling heels that sent her over six feet tall, Nerissa was a striking sight.

  Camille and Trillian followed, spinning onto the dance floor in all their fetish goth-glory. Dark and vampy, they made one hell of a pair. I blinked. Trillian cut a damn fine figure, now that I looked at him through my Kahlúa colored eyes. The song shifted and it was retro city all over again, with “Electric Avenue,” followed by “She Blinded Me with Science,” then “Whip It,” and of course “Safety Dance.”

  I polished off my drink and grabbed Shade’s hand. “Dance with me.”

  He blinked. I danced, but it wasn’t a common request, considering I preferred curling up on the sofa with television and junk food.

  “Are you sure, babe? You look a little flushed.” His voice sounded huskier than usual, and I wanted nothing more than to press up against him.

  I glanced down at the glasses on the table. Apparently, I’d had seven rounds, not four like I thought. But though my mind was a little fuzzy, more than anything, I wanted to dance with my lover.

  “Dance. Now!”

  We whirled out on the dance floor, but I whirled a little too enthusiastically and would have gone toppling to the floor, except that Shade had a tight grip on my hand.

  He pulled me back into his arms and we began shaking it up to “Elevator Man” by Oingo Boingo.

  But as Shade spun me around, I began to realize that maybe I was a tad drunk. Booze hit my system overly fast and I hadn’t planned on having seven drinks, that was for sure. Not entirely certain what I was doing, I just attempted to stay on my feet. I probably should have asked Shade to take me back to the table, but I was so light-headed I couldn’t seem to form the words.

  The next minute, none of that mattered.

  The door burst open and Daniel, our Earthside, FBH cousin, darted inside, followed by what looked like a very angry Viking. The muscle-bound man wearing the leather breeches and tunic grabbed Daniel by the collar and lifted him over his head.

  Shade let go of my hand and I was so startled that I tripped back into the crowd, taking down a couple of vampires who were dancing. We hit the floor as Daniel sailed across the room; the Viking tossed him like a Scotsman tossing a log in the Highland Games.

  As Daniel landed in a shuddering heap by my side, Camille darted toward the northern intruder, but the man took one look at her, then at the rest of the bar, and vanished from sight, as if he’d never existed.

  New York Times bestselling author Yasmine Galenorn writes urban fantasy, mystery, and metaphysical nonfiction. A graduate of Evergreen State College, she majored in theater and creative writing. Yasmine has been in the Craft for more than thirty-four years and is a shamanic witch. She describes her life as a blend of teacups and tattoos, and lives in the Seattle area with her husband, Samwise, and their cats. Yasmine can be reached at her website at galenorn.com, and via Twitter at twitter.com/yasminegale
norn, and via her publisher. If you send her snail mail, please enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope if you want a reply.