Fiery Nights Page 2

  I shrugged back at Byron before Tristan reopened one of the doors into the main club area leading us back into Dante’s Inferno as hinted at by the sign. As Tristan led me into the loud music and pulsing energy in the club, I thought, What am I getting into?

  He pointed out some of the new features of the club, the new live stage and a newer bar. Polished black marble graced the top of a dark mahogany carved-wood bar, with scenes of ancient rites of what looked like naked witches dancing around a cauldron carved into the front panels. Stone gargoyles still guarded the bar from perches on either end as well as from various locations high above the walls.

  We walked over to the bar and he asked, “What would you like to drink?”

  “I tried a Tempting Fateearlier and it was smashing.” I tilted my head and peered up at him. “Anything else on the menu you’d recommend?”

  He stepped back and looked at me. No, appraised me up and down unabashed. If another guy looked at me that way, I’d rip him in a new one, but when Tristan did it, it made me blush. Set me on fire.

  I didn’t blush often and I wondered why I was now. Luckily it was dark in here.

  “I think you deserve a drink as delectable as you look. But that might be hard to concoct. How about a Hotter Than Hell Bloody Mary.”

  “Aren’t you a flatterer,” I said, aware that I was fluttering my lashes like some flirt. “Do you use that line on all the females here?”

  “Never before. Boy Scout honor.”

  I tilted my head. “Were you a Boy Scout?”

  “No. Does that matter?”

  I shrugged and took a sip of my drink. “Excellent choice,” I said. I looked around the club. “I like what you’ve done with the place. The little touches make it unique. And the new drinks are extraordinary. ”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you for buying the club. Saving the place.” Seeing all the people on the dance floor, I added, “You’ve made a lot of people happy.”

  “I hope you’re one of them.” He looked at me so intensely that I felt self-conscious.

  “I am. This is my favorite place for a night out.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that,” he said. “The live music is what I think will really give this place a new life. We had an old punk band in here last week. Wicked fun. You’ll have to come and judge for yourself one night.”

  “I will,” I said. As if I needed another reason to come back. First, this was my number one choice for a night out. Second, the new owner’s penetrating eyes and his special attention on me right now reminded me of forgotten body parts that had been out of commission for far too long. And third, I loved live music.

  iTunes was one thing. It was convenient and you could listen to just about anything you wanted. Records were cooler. That crackly sound and delicate vinyl gave it a sense of something special in a way. But live music—when you could hear the music surrounding you from all angles so that you could practically taste it. When you could see the sweat glistening on the guitar player’s forehead and feel his passion for his song. When you caught the energy of the crowd and jumped or danced with them like some kind of collective orgy experience, well, nothing could replace that.

  “Wicked?” I asked. “You must be local. We didn’t use that expression where I grew up and I only heard it when I moved here. Where are you from?”

  “I’m from Salem originally. But now I live near the club.”

  “Salem, Mass, right? Not New Hampshire,” I said. “We’re kind of between them both.”

  “Yes, Massachusetts. Good ol’ Witch City,” he said. “So where are you from?”

  “San Francisco. I’m a California girl, can’t you tell?” I said grinning, knowing with my Bettie Page-styled black hair, straight bangs, pale skin and goth makeup that I was as opposite of a California girl as you could be.

  “You’re what I hope they all look like.”

  I looked down again. Why did he keep making me blush? This was not something I did often and I didn’t like it.

  “So what made you decide to buy this club?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Every area needs someplace for the people who don’t quite fit in with the general status quo, the traditional boring people who all act the same.”

  “Would you say you don’t fit in to the status quo?”

  He gave me an impish smile and raised one brow. “God, no.” Then he said, “Look what happened to that club in Cambridge. Gone. Replaced by condos. I didn’t want to see that happen to this place—have it disappear and be replaced by yet another condo or warehouse.”

  I looked around the club to imagine it divided into condos that all looked the same.

  “That would have been tragic,” I said. “On behalf of all the misfits here, I thank you.”

  He smiled at me in a way that shot pulses of energy through my body. I took a sip of my drink to break the gaze.

  “I better get going,” I said, standing up. “Thank you for the tour. And for reopening Vamps. I love what you’ve done with it.”

  “Let me walk you out,” he said. He stood and took my hand in his and led me to the front entrance.

  The feel of my hand encased in his warm one did nothing to stop my racing heartbeat.

  “Did you drive? Or should I call you a taxi?” he asked.

  “A taxi would be great.”

  While he placed a quick call, I retrieved my coat and said bye to Byron. He gave me a knowing smile, which I ignored. Then Tristan took my hand again and led me outside.

  “It was such a pleasure meeting you, Maya.”

  “Same here,” I said, feeling pangs of regret for saying I had to leave.

  The regret was amplified when the stupid taxi arrived and Tristan kissed my hand.

  “I hope to see you again very soon.”

  When I closed my eyes that night, I saw Tristan’s dark eyes staring back at me. The moment when my eyes first met his burned on my memory, as if imprinted there permanently. I knew I wouldn’t forget that moment, that feeling, for as long as I’d exist.

  Snap out of it, sunshine. You sound like one of those chicks in a romance novel.

  Then I thought, What’s the harm? I’m awake. I can’t sleep. What’s wrong with a little harmless fantasy? When was the last time I met someone who inspired such longing? Or straight-out lust?

  I tucked myself in cozy under my lilac comforter and closed my eyes.

  Tristan and I were at Vamps. We were dancing to an upbeat song. Hard Rock Sofa by Quasar. Our eyes were locked on each other’s, oblivious to the dancing bodies around us.

  As the tempo quickened, the crowd’s energy rose around us, becoming more and intense, almost frenzied. Our bodies moved closer. Still we didn’t touch.

  My body was so hot, on fire. Was it from dancing, the energy of the crowd? Or the rising intensity of how badly I wanted Tristan?

  We moved closer still. Faces mere inches apart. Eyes still locked. Bodies almost touching.

  Almost.

  The tempo grew faster. To a feverish intensity.

  Closer still. I broke eye contact to look at his lips. Licked my own.

  God, I wanted to touch him. Kiss those lips.

  The beat was at a peak now. Almost orgasmic.

  I looked back into his eyes and saw pure, unmistakable lust.

  Touch me, my body screamed silently. Touch me now.

  The crescendo broke. And with it, the crowd lost all control, their sweaty bodies flailing about to dance freely.

  We followed them. And our bodies moved apart to dance wantonly. Seductively.

  When the song ended, the DJ spun in a slower one.

  Our eyes met again. Our bodies moved closer again. One hand reached toward me. I closed my eyes. Then I felt his hand on the small of my back. Pulling me close. Closer.

  A song began playing over this one. It sounded so familiar. What was it?

  Oh yeah, it’s Black No. 1, a great Type O Negative song.

  I should have recogn
ized it right away—it’s my cell phone ring.

  Fuck, it is my cell phone.

  Who the hell would call at this ungodly hour?

  “Hel-lo,” I said, making sure the annoyance was apparent in my tone.

  Double fuck. It was one of the guys at the firehouse.

  “We’re short-staffed tonight. Figures, on Halloween. Can you come in for a few hours?”

  “It’s after midnight. Not Halloween anymore.”

  “Yeah, but I knew you’d still be up.”

  I could use the overtime. Pushing my fantasy aside, I sighed before hopping into a shower of the coldest water I could stand.

  Chapter Two

  Tristan

  Days had passed. I asked myself the same question repeatedly: Why did I let her go?

  I ruminated in my lab, running my hands over a marble globe on an end table. I spun it, letting the cool feel of the marble glide under my fingers and closed my eyes. Then I stopped it.

  My fingers were in the middle of the Atlantic. Might as well have been in the middle of nowhere.

  I should have at least asked for her number or a way to contact her again. Instead, I kept an eye out for her at the club each night, but she wasn’t there. Why should I entertain false hope that she’d return? I hadn’t seen her there before since I reopened the place. Not until Halloween night. And there she appeared to me in that light—a vixen dressed like a pirate.

  What did she look like in everyday clothes? And would she ever return?

  Swallowing some pride, I went upstairs.

  “Byron, has your friend returned lately? Maya, is it?” I said.

  Byron gave me a knowing smile, which he quickly recovered from. “No, I haven’t seen her since Halloween. And only that one time since the club reopened.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  Byron ran his finger over his chin. “I don’t know her that well. We just would talk when she’d come in with her friend Nike some nights. They both helped get people out the night of the fire. I think they work in some sort of emergency services field or something because they seemed to know what they were doing. And that was the last time I saw either one of them until Maya came back.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I want to talk to her about something.”

  Byron smiled that smile again, this time not trying to hide the twinkle in his knowing gaze. “If I see her, I’ll be sure to tell her.”

  Maya

  I thought about him all week. Not even the banter with the guys at the firehouse kept him too far from my mind. Luckily it was a busy week. I had to teach fire prevention and safety to an elementary school and we had a visit from a Cub Scout troop, in addition to the usual calls.

  Every night I wanted to go back to Vamps. Would I still feel that excitement that welled up when I was around him? The one that made me hyperaware of my sexuality?

  I thought about him walking around the perimeter of the club. I checked the website once to see what was going on. Okay, three times. Any live bands playing? Maybe some band I was dying to see that just happened to be playing there tonight so naturally I would go there to see them. I definitely was not there hoping to see the new owner of Vamps who just happened to be ridiculously attractive.

  What about all the women parading around in their tiny, sexy outfits? Usually I loved checking out what everyone was wearing. I never went to Vamps to date so a jealous thought never entered my mind. But now I pouted thinking of all those hot women who would just love to sleep with the new owner.

  Damn sluts!

  Stop it, Maya! What’s gotten into you? You sound like some jealous stalker!

  Obviously I needed some distance because even in my head I was already going crazy over this guy. If I stayed away, maybe I’d forget him.

  At times like this, I wish Nike was still around instead of gallivanting around Europe doing whatever she was doing with Mr. Fancy Pants Michel, who pronounces it so perfectly in his ooh-la-la French accent.

  I mean, come on. Who else could I talk about this with? I was certainly not going to talk about it with the guys at work.

  Woe is me, I thought, knowing I was being dramatic. I put the back of my hand against my forehead as I looked at myself in the mirror.

  “How sad are you right now?” I said to my reflection.

  Settling into my sofa, I grabbed my iPad to compose an e-mail to Nike. I hadn’t sent one to her since she’d left since I was hurt about her minimal communication, but I needed someone to talk to and Nike was still my closest friend, even though she was across the ocean or wherever the hell she was these days.

  Hey Nike,

  How are you doing? I haven’t talked to you in so long and it sucks. I miss you big time.

  How’s it going with Michel? (Note how I resisted adding ma belle after his name. Yeah, I know it’s a guy’s name. Don’t I get maturity points for holding back?)

  Are you getting it on all over Europe? On the Eiffel Tower? Leaning off the Tower of Pisa? (Okay, maybe I’m not that mature yet.)

  I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since the night of the fire! I went back to Vamps recently for the first time. Byron was there at the front door. He asked about you and says hi. The new owner rebuilt it well. He kept much of the old charm, but rebuilt the stages differently so they can have live bands now. That’s pretty cool, I think. Anyway, thought you’d be interested in our old haunt. And Michel would be interested in his old club.

  So I met the new owner. A guy named Tristan Stone. Tall, dark and staggeringly handsome stranger. Totally my cup of tea. I hate to admit it, but I think I’m smitten. Ridiculous after just one conversation, isn’t it? Go ahead and slap me back to reality.

  But it’s not only his looks that draw me to him. Something about him just—I don’t know how to describe it—but it’s as if we connected. I can’t stop thinking about him. Whenever I close my eyes, I see him. It’s awful! I know, it sounds cheesy. But maybe you know what I mean. You turned into jelly whenever you saw that Michel guy, not your normal “I’m not dating anyone I meet while wearing a schoolgirl outfit” tough-ass self. What is it about us and owners of this club making us forget all reason? Does an irresistible love potion come with the deed? Ha ha.

  I don’t know if you’ll even get this. If you have access to e-mail doing whatever it is you’re doing over there. But I just wanted you to know I miss you. And you were the one person I could talk to about things like this.

  And to let you know I feel like some psycho stalker because I can’t wait to go back and see him again. As if he’d even remember me. Just another visitor to the club. Obviously I need to get a grip.

  So I hope things are great with you and we’ll see each other again soon. Any idea when you’re coming home?

  Are you coming home?

  Your utterly mature friend,

  Maya

  I signed out of my e-mail and went to bed. I crawled under my comforter and tried not to think of him.

  As I drifted off to sleep, I saw his eyes. Those dark haunted eyes that were imprinted on me. Would I ever forget them?

  Tristan

  None of my books answered any of the questions about Maya’s light. So I drove to Salem to have lunch with someone who might—my mother.

  We sat down in her dining area with large windows showing off her gardens. Although it was early November in New England and the flowers were gone, Mother ensured she would have the most of her gardens for as much of the year as she could. She called the garden her incomplete canvas, one that she’d redesign throughout the seasons. Brilliant reds of Japanese maples and other perennials now dominated the landscape.

  We discussed family matters over light sandwiches that Charlotte brought out. Mother had hired Charlotte in recent months to help her around the house, saying it was too much for her to take care of on her own anymore. Charlotte had lost her husband months before and looked for a job to keep her mind focused on s
omething besides mourning.

  Following the meal, Charlotte brought us tea. Tea was a daily ritual in my parents’ house. Mother used it as her salve for all life’s matters, her quiet meditation throughout the madness of any day.

  “Tristan, something is troubling you. I could sense it since you came in.”

  I desperately wanted to tell her about Maya, but didn’t know where to begin. “Yes, Mother. Something is on my mind. Something I don’t understand.”

  “What is it?” she asked and took a sip of tea.

  “It’s a woman.”

  My mother leaned forward, smiling. She’d wanted me to settle down and get married for ages, so any mention of a female had her imagination spiraling. But with my ability, whatever it was, I wasn’t a good companion for another person.

  “Go on,” she encouraged.

  “She came into my club the other night. There was something about her that I’ve never seen before.”

  “What?”

  “She was surrounded by a soft white light. Where all I saw around other people were the usual darkness and shadows, she projected this—glow.”

  Mother looked me in the eyes for several long moments. I looked down at my tea, which was still untouched.

  “Interesting,” Mother said. “What happened to the darkness?”

  I tried to remember. “I’m not sure exactly. I don’t know if it was still there. I was so focused on her that I didn’t notice.”

  “Next time you see her pay attention to what happens.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll see her again.”

  “But Tristan,” she said touching my hand, “you must.”

  “Why?”

  “Obviously something special happened between you two. And considering your gift.”

  “Curse,” I corrected.

  She ignored my correction.

  “It means something. It’s something worth pursuing.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Drink your tea and I’ll read the leaves. Maybe we’ll find some insight there.”