NeoGeisha

One

If desperation had a smell, it would be dusty felt, old wood, and stale alcohol—the exact odor coming from the ballroom in The Artisan Hotel. Not the gaudiest option on the Vegas Strip, but it certainly bore the mark of its new owners. There was a certain irony that vampires had chosen Las Vegas—a city in the center of a vast desert—as their headquarters in North America. Books and movies from the late twentieth century cast New Orleans as the hub of paranormal activity. But it was as if the vampires of the deep had decided the southern-fried swampy city with its Mardi Gras beads and voodoo queens was too much even for them. And Vegas did have one particular advantage: it didn’t truly come alive until after sunset.

Macijah Cage St. John stood in the foyer of The Artisan, desperately wanting a cigarette. Intellectually he knew it was ridiculous. His condition had left him with no need of nicotine, or any earthly drug for that matter. He was impervious. But the action of bringing a cigarette to his lips and inhaling the smoke deeply into his lungs offered a sense of peace he needed right now. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was nervous. He and Phoe had been working Las Vegas for the last couple of months in preparation for tonight. One false move and it could all go to hell in a blaze with Cage St. John—everyone’s favorite scapegoat—sitting on top of the shitstorm cake.

He wasn’t sure if he was on edge because of the mission, or the fact that he had somehow managed to become embroiled once again in government intrigue. Cage had spent the better part of his early working life as a spy for MI6. And what was his new employer, The Bureau for Espionage And Strategic Tactics, aka B.E.A.S.T., but a new and improved version of the same old secret entity? When that bastard, B.E.A.S.T. chairman Maurice Wilder, had contacted Cage and Phoebe, he had made it clear he was willing to pay well for their talents. After Wilder had secured a full pardon for Cage—a condition for turning over that damned amulet—he supposed he owed Wilder a favor or two and had agreed to join B.E.A.S.T. under the condition that when he was done, the British government, the CIA, and the Interplanetary Union would leave him and his love the fuck alone for the rest of their days. But…Phoe had been right all along: despite his grumbling, he loved the intrigue, and he was good at it.

Cage was right where he belonged. Yet it didn’t make him any less anxious.

A group of overdressed humans passed by. Tourists. He could smell them. Their blood had a rancid, nouveau riche bouquet that turned his stomach. Despite the growing threat of the Others, tourists still flocked to Vegas in droves to gamble in the casinos and engage in questionable behavior. The whole city was like a giant buffet for the bloodthirsty.

Cage didn’t deny that he’d taken advantage. He suspected that many of the so-called tourists had really come here looking for the vampires and their promise of immortality. Humans’ desperation for the gift, as they so ridiculously referred to it, had given birth to a whole new breed of crazies: the babydolls. Vampire groupies who willingly let the undead feed on their blood in the hopes that someday they would be rewarded with eternal youth.

Cage didn’t feel particularly guilty about indulging. A particular brand of lowlife swarmed this city that was not only appetizing, but rather deserving of their fate. Drug dealers, pimps, space pirates, middle-aged businessmen looking for an extramarital engagement—all of them eventually made their way to the Vegas Strip.

And The Artisan was the axis on which all of the debauchery turned.

I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me, Mr. St. John.

Cage whipped around, his autopistol clutched in his hand and poised to fire. He pressed the barrel against the side of the speaker. I don’t think so, he growled.

Jesus, Cage. It’s me. Phoe smiled and pushed her hair away to reveal the tiny tattoo behind her ear. Calm down.

Sorry, he whispered in that delectable ear before leaning in and placing a gentle kiss over the tattoo. You can’t blame me for not recognizing you.

Only for nearly killing me, she huffed. Come dance with me. She took his hand and led him into a vast ballroom full of twirling couples. In this whole godforsaken hell in which they were living, Phoe was a light. He could see her glowing from within the shell of the creature she wore as a disguise. She was a vision in a dress of red silk with folds of orange that made her look as if she were on fire. It clung to the assumed shapely form of Delphine LaLaurie, the vampire queen of New Orleans, but the movement was all Phoe. As soon as they stepped into the ballroom, the swirling crowd of couples stopped to watch them.

Keep moving, Cage muttered, pulling Phoe close while moving slowly to the lazy music. We don’t want anyone to notice Tristram’s consort dancing with one of the underlings.

I think it’s pretty much common knowledge that Delphine dances with whomever she likes, Phoe whispered, tracing her tongue gently along the cuff of his ear. Or did. Perhaps you’re my babydoll.

Funny, Cage growled, nipping her throat. His chest tightened and he inhaled her scent deeply. She might look like Delphine LaLaurie, but she smelled like Phoe: honeysuckle and summer rain. Creighton’s glamor serum was good, but it wasn’t potent enough to disguise his true love. Synthesized from the same formula that made them shifters with a shot of a DNA sample, the glamor altered the user’s physical appearance to look like the sampled host. Chemical wizardry at its finest.

She giggled. This is killing you, isn’t it?

He pushed her away from him in a graceful twirl, admiring the soft line from the hollow under her arm that disappeared under the red silk bodice where Cage knew it would curve around her ample bosom. What do you mean?

I get to be the international woman of mystery this time. And you’re…backup.

Charming, he grumbled.

Don’t worry, she said, moving suggestively against his pelvis. I won’t get a big head.

Just be careful, he said, stifling a small groan.

Aren’t I always?

No, actually. You aren’t. You’re terribly reckless.

I’m everything you made me, darling. Over the last year, Cage had worked hard at training Phoe to become a slick killing machine. It was laughable really, considering the fearful mousy woman he’d fallen in love with on that Maglev train so long ago. But she’d risen to the challenge; a badass angel had been lurking beneath the sweet little librarian all along.

Phoe gasped as he wrapped an arm around her waist and dipped her low. "Would you rather Ollie had given you the glamor? Then you could have spent the last couple of months playing footsie with a two-thousand-year-old vampire."

Cage pulled her up fast. Playing footsie?

Oh relax. Tristram is an ancient. In every sense of the word. She tilted her head toward a passing waiter. That platter of shrimp has more sex drive.

Cage pulled her against him hard enough to push the breath from her chest. He tipped her chin high and forced her to look at him. This isn’t a game, Phoe. You’ve been privy to some of the vampire underworld’s most sheltered secrets. If they find out that you aren’t Delphine LaLaurie, they’ll kill you. And thanks to the glamor, you won’t be able to shift.

Phoe reached up and grasped Cage’s hand, bringing it to her lips. I promise I’ll be careful.

This is your first assignment, and overconfidence can get you killed.

Phoe rolled her eyes, twirling away from him again. They’d had this conversation ad nauseum since going to work for Wilder. You trained me well, lover. I’ll be all right. Anyway, you’ll be listening. She raised her hand so that he could see the tiny comm unit in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. If she got into trouble, it would allow her to call him for help. I have every confidence that you won’t let me be killed. Besides, it isn’t as if we have much of a choice. Tonight, every king will be in attendance, and the Quorti will be exposed. If we don’t move now, then everything we have done will have been for nothing. She nuzzled his neck. You act as if you don’t think I can pull it off.

That’s not what I meant, he said with a heavy sigh. I just…

I know. You worry. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his forehead. Cage had been completely against Phoebe’s involvement with this mission. While she was intelligent and fearless, she had so much to learn. Wilder had insisted that the best training was hands-on, so here they were. It didn’t mean Cage had to like it.

His hand slid along her side until he reached a delicate hand. Take this, just in case. She palmed the tiny metal case he passed. Inside was a vial of the serum for the glamor. If it starts to wear off, press the vial tight to your throat and push the plunger hard.

She nodded and slipped the vial into her bodice. Just don’t let go of the rope, okay?

He leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers, tasting the distinct flavor of sunshine and fresh strawberries that was all hers. Never.

Two

As Phoe stared around the table, she contemplated just how weird her life had become over the last year. Twelve months ago she’d never have thought that she’d be sitting, perfectly calm, at a table full of vampires. Funny, they looked absolutely nothing like vampires in the movies. These guys were not glamorously sexy, and they definitely didn’t sparkle. In fact, most of them looked like folks she might see at the library back in St. Francisville. Her chest ached thinking about her hometown. She’d spent her whole life longing for a faraway adventure, and now that she had one, all she wanted to do was go home and have a glass of iced tea with old Miss Ava from across the road.

Ladies and gentlemen, let us get this meeting started. Tristram banged on the mahogany conference table with enough force to crack the finish. I know that each of us has guests to attend to. There was a rumbling of laughter around the room that turned Phoebe’s stomach. The partygoers in their imitation finery who had been dancing so carefree and clueless were most likely tonight’s meal.

I thought Ankhil called us here, the shout from the vampire beside Tristram made him growl.

The Quorti will arrive in his own time and not before, Tristram snapped. You would do well to remember your place, Balthazaar.

Balthazaar snarled then lunged forward and bared his teeth. I am the vampire king of Las Vegas and do not take orders from sniveling secretaries.

Do you mean to threaten me even when you know I could have you torn limb from limb and tossed into the fireplace with the slightest glance? Tristram gestured toward the fireplace in question where several overgrown drones stood with their arms crossed, obviously waiting for the opportunity to attack.

Phoebe stood and placed calming hands on both their shoulders. There now, let us not fight amongst ourselves, she purred, drawing her vowels out in a slow, Southern drawl. Balthazaar is merely trying to ascertain the purpose of our little soiree, love.

Yes, a stocky vampire called Gerhard said, stepping into the light. Two babydolls hung from his massive shoulders like a human scarf. It isn’t often that Ankhil appears in a place so… unprotected. Something about the vampire’s grin betrayed his intentions.

I assure you that the Quorti is well-protected, Phoebe said, flashing Delphine’s vampire eyes. Not that anyone here would dare challenge him. Balthazaar backed off, obviously realizing how close to the line he was. She smiled to herself, enjoying the feeling of power and dominance. Why on earth hadn’t she started consorting with spies years ago?

Balthazaar was right, though. No one had seen Ankhil in at least a hundred years. He was the oldest living vampire, and possibly the first, himself a Sin’khari. This made him the most powerful vampire in existence—the Quorti. To take his blood would be to take in all the power of the universe. He was pestilence and immortality, feast and famine. He saw the past and the future with perfect clarity. Which made Phoebe’s ruse that much more precarious.

Gerhard’s intimation that he intended to take the Quorti’s power was a lofty goal that many an ambitious vampire had tried to achieve and failed. If the Quorti was coming into the light, something important was happening. At least that’s what Wilder and the rest of B.E.A.S.T. thought. If they could eliminate Ankhil, then they could eradicate the vampires easily.

Tristram cleared his throat and gestured that they should all sit. Phoebe took her place beside him, purring low in her throat as he traced a sharp fingertip along her cheek. She felt the burning as the skin was broken slightly. He leaned in and lapped at the tiny pearls of blood that appeared. Phoebe dug her fingernails into the heel of her hand to keep from recoiling at his touch. The venom in his saliva tingled. I will never tire of you, Madame Delphine, he whispered. Your blood is like liquid fire. So warm and wet.

Your blood calls to mine, Tristram, she whispered.

He grinned, nuzzling against her throat. You are delicious.

If we could skip the love-in…tell us why the fuck we’re here, Balthazaar interjected.

Tristram pulled a suitcase from beside his chair and opened it in front of him. The Quorti has called you all here tonight to give you instruction, my children. This is the future of our business. Inside the suitcase were many vials, not unlike the vial currently poised between Phoebe’s breasts. Tristram pulled one of them out and held it up to the light. The liquid inside was thick and silvery, like mercury. Phoebe watched as it glistened in the light, mesmerized by the strange beauty. Construction of Aduamet is nearly complete on Phobos. Soon, with the help of Derek Machine and Manticore Technologies, we will be able to come into the light. A great civilization worthy of our ancestors. A great cheer rose from the vampire kings.

Phoebe’s belly flopped and she had to swallow back the bile. She wished she could see Cage. Where was he? He’d promised to stay close.

"These vials contain the key to our new world, children. A serum devised to create a subservient race that will answer only to us. They will keep our people fed and our businesses fat. Humans are simply food. This serum—Eshar—will put them in their rightful places, and the best part is, they’ll be begging for it. They’ll pay for it."

Drugs? Balthazaar said, leaning back and flopping his large boots on the table. Gods, Tristram. That isn’t even original. Others began to mumble in agreement. Humans are weak. Stealing their money with new and interesting drugs is all well and good, but why should we give up our place here to scuttle away like rats?

The Earth is dying, Tristram boomed. Food will become scarce.

Only a privileged few will be able to flee to the Colonies, Gerhard sighed.

So we’ll be importing our food no matter what, Balthazaar barked. Why abandon what we’ve built here?

How long do you think we can sustain ourselves on this planet?

The IU is already moving in on our operations.

It wouldn’t be the first time the vampire eradicated whole races.

Soon everyone was shouting over one another until there was a nonsensical din that hurt Phoebe’s ears. She wanted to cover them and block out the doomsday rhetoric, but a glimpse of her reflection in the shining table reminded her—she was Delphine LaLaurie, vampire queen of New Orleans.

Silence, a voice boomed, echoing off the walls and blocking out the chatter. Immediately, the vampires obeyed. Phoebe hadn’t noticed the man standing behind her, nor had her companion. When he did, Tristram bowed down and the others followed suit, genuflecting as if the stranger were a god. Tristram elbowed her side and she bowed down.

The Quorti.

Ankhil was impossibly tall and thin with a slightly elongated skull and large eyes that gave him an alien-like look. His skin was surprisingly bronzed, not the deathly pallor of most of the vampires she’d met. His hair was so black it was nearly blue in the lamplight and was gathered in a high ponytail that hung to his waist in thin braids. He wore a long kilt of shining silk that hung low on his narrow hips, and when he strode into the room, his movements were smooth and ethereal, as if he were floating. Phoebe couldn’t help but watch, fascinated but afraid that he would take one look at her and see through the glamor façade.

My children, he began. Calm yourselves and let us talk. His voice was high-pitched and melodic. No wonder so many had fallen under his spell. Ever since the first of you were awoken, we’ve hidden in the shadows. Thieving our meals in the dead of night like rats. Our great race was once at the top of the food chain, feasting on whatever we wished, living our lives in the light, with no fear of the repercussions. No…humans. Within the great Sin’khari, some races were elevated, others were cattle. Ankhil paced around the large conference table, gazing at each one of his so-called children.

But here… Here on Earth when I was awoken from my long sleep by my Sin’khari fathers, I was forced to live in the dark. Breathing the deathly stench of rancid earth. Feasting on the blood of grubs and rodents. Never again. We should have the humans crawling along the ground like beasts. His words were met with snarls and growls of approval and suddenly Phoebe felt completely at risk.

"Where the hell are you, Cage?" She looked down at her hand, adorned with a jeweled claw ring that covered her index finger. Cage had given it to her so that she might use it as a weapon if the worst happened. Staring around the room, she began to map out each of the vampires’ positions and the likelihood of whether she would be able to take them out on her own.

"Our businesses in every major city will source Eshar. Shipments of product will arrive in a week’s time from Aduamet to ports in the Americas, Europe, and Asia."

What about Corsair gangs? Balthazaar’s dissenting tone would not be silenced this night. If we’re moving all of our product by means of shuttles between Earth and the Colonies, Corsairs are bound to interfere. Not to mention the IU.

You’ve nothing to fear from the IU, Phoebe said, standing up and striding to Balthazaar. Her belly was tight and she was trying desperately to keep the tremble from her voice, but as Cage had told her—this wasn’t going to work if she let them run over her. They are much more interested in evacuation than our little endeavors. Besides, they are more than eager to let our kind shuffle off to Phobos.

How do you know this? Balthazaar asked.

Phoebe slid her hands over his shoulders, stroking his skin with the tip of her claw suggestively. "Because I’m not stupid, dear. The IU is made up