Pale Demon (The Hollows #9)(56)
Author: Kim Harrison

Tired and disillusioned, I looked over the booth. It even had fake fishing poles out the back between us and the stage where a scruffy Were was singing about a last shaker of salt. No, his lost shaker of salt, according to the paper place mat. It must bother Jimmy Buffett that no one could understand his slurred lyrics even if he had them painted on the thick support beams, too. Yep, we were in Margaritaville, and it was steaming Trent’s shrimp that we were still in Vegas.

Uptight, I ate my last piece of shrimp cocktail and took a sip of soda, eying the beautiful servers moving around the tables. Every last one of them was a living vampire, and I thought it odd that vampires and the beach seemed to mix so well.

Still hungry, I ran my finger through the shrimp sauce and licked it off. I was on the outside of the semicircle with my back to the kitchen. Ye olde demon killer was to my left, then Trent, Vivian, and Ivy on the other end. Jenks was on the candle centerpiece, almost asleep despite the noise. My phone said it was seven thirty, but it felt like ten thirty, naptime for pixies and elves on East Coast time. Jenks looked better now that we’d quit moving. I was feeling better now that I’d had a shower and was in a fresh pair of jeans and a black camisole. I hadn’t yet talked to Trent about his new friend, Ku’Sox; I was still trying to wrap my mind around Pierce. He was a black witch. There was no denying it. Maybe instead of trying to figure out if it was wrong to like him or not, I should do the smart thing and…forget about him.

Grimacing, I turned my phone to vibrate and tucked it in a back pocket. Jenks had talked to his kids earlier, and I’d fielded another chat with Bis. Apparently he’d woken up this afternoon for a few minutes and wanted to talk to his folks about having seen the sun. They were at the basilica, a good five minutes’ flight away, and he didn’t want to leave the pixies alone unless we knew about it. He was a good kid. I was surprised, though. Most gargoyles couldn’t stay awake during the day until they were much older.

"Hey, Ivy," I said, leaning across the table. "How come everyone working in here is a vampire? Some kind of union thing?"

Vivian looked up from her corn chips, clearly eager to answer, but Ivy was quicker. I’d seen her watching some of the prettier ones with more than a passing interest. "They’re working off their debts," she said as she sipped her soda, looking as sexy as a vodka commercial.

I glanced at our server flirting with a table of four businessmen, then the vampire stud Ivy had been eying since we walked in. "Really?"

"Really," Vivian said when Ivy air-kissed her chosen one. "The head vampire in Vegas has a policy of free movement on his turf. Otherwise there might be a drop in revenue from the gambling. No one leaves with an outstanding debt. Dead or alive."

Trent was nodding as if he’d known, but I’d never heard of an undead vampire having control of another vampire’s family member, even temporarily. I turned to Ivy to see her blushing a faint, eager red. "That’s why we’re stopping in Vegas," I guessed, and she nodded, eyes on the table as Jenks snorted himself awake with a burst of yellow dust.

"Fewer issues to deal with when I-" She stopped, eyes on the vampire she’d culled from the herd. He was pretty enough, I guess. "You think a human is bad at not knowing when to quit at the gambling table?" she said, chewing the toothpick the cherry had come on. "Try being a vampire, bored and seeing an eternity to find the money you might lose tonight." She licked her lips for someone else’s benefit, and I stifled a shiver. My eyes flicked to Trent and Pierce. Okay, they were watching her flirt, too, both of them weirdly intent and detached.

Pierce was not happy to be here, which I thought rude since his other option was Al’s box in the ever-after. He’d showered as well, so he smelled like hotel shampoo instead of burnt amber. Frowning, he watched everyone from under his funny hat-it had shown up during his shower-gulping his bubbly soda and wiping his eyes when he drank it too fast. Tumbling his clothes in the hotel drier had taken care of most of the stink on them, and he was back in his tidy slacks, casual shirt, and a vest that was probably from his 1800s closet but looked new. He was still wearing that silver amulet. I had no idea what it was, but I thought it telling that Pierce hadn’t taken it off, even when he’d been in the shower.

Trent wasn’t good company, either, seeing that our planned pit stop had turned into a four-hour break at a restaurant he hadn’t picked out. We all had to get out of the car for a while, and I still wanted to talk to Trent about Ku’Sox-to find out if he knew how bad Ku’Sox was before he let him out or after.

Ivy shifted, her motions screaming sex as she smiled up at our waitress when she came back with another soda for Pierce.

"Do you know what you want?" she said as she set it down, voice raised over the music.

"I’ll have the pasta," I said, pointing to it on the menu.

"Same," Pierce said, and I wondered if he could read anything other than Latin. He’d been born in the early 1800s, and it was possible he couldn’t.

"Clam chowder," Trent said as he handed his menu over.

"I’ll have the tilapia," Vivian said brightly, a vestige of her usual polished self showing as she settled into a familiar haunt. "With asparagus."

"Oh God, save us," Jenks said, dramatically holding his nose. "We do have over a thousand miles left to go in that tiny car."

"My mom’s car isn’t tiny," I said, and Trent frowned.

"It is with five people in it," he muttered.

Ivy was handing her menu to the woman. "I want the steak sandwich," she said. "In a to-go bag."

I gazed at her in question, but the woman was nodding. "I’ll put these in," she said, making a last note on our bill. "Anyone else need anything?"

By the look of it, and the slight nudge Vivian was making at Trent to get him to slide over, Ivy needed someone’s neck. I shook my head, but Trent spoke up, handing the waitress a folded bill. "I want another beer," he said. "And if you can get everyone’s meal out here in five minutes, there’s another one of those in it for you."

The woman looked at Ben Franklin’s face and tucked it away. "I’ll see what I can do, honey," she said, smiling at Ivy before she sashayed away.

"Beer and soup?" Jenks said as he dusted a thin sliver of silver, his own light hardly making a dent in the dusky shadows in here. "That’s going to mix well."

"You’d be surprised by how a good beer mixes with clams," Trent said, his attention on the male waiter Ivy was blinking at slowly. God, this was getting uncomfortable, and I put a hand over my neck as it started to tingle.