2. Opening Pandora's Box
Down at lobby level, Sandrine turned to me and asked, "Did you drive here?"
"Yeah, and I gotta say thanks for hooking me up with the car,"
"Think nothing of it," Sandrine waved away my thanks and said, "I recently acquired a Mercedes Benz SLK and I'm quite eager to see what it can do." Sandrine led me to the parking slot with the sign reading Reserved for CEO and unlocked the gleaming silver Merc parked there. I slid into the smooth leather passenger seat and Sandrine got behind the wheel. The engine rumbled like a big cat straining at its leash and Sandrine carefully reversed out of the parking lot. Sandrine's red-tipped fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel as she waited for a large enough gap in the traffic. When one appeared, she gunned the engine and the SLK leapt into the road, the cat off its leash and roaring. My head was pressed against the seatback through the sheer acceleration. Sandrine smiled as the rev counter wound up. Expertly, Sandrine wove the Merc through the traffic and we soon arrived at a place called Pandora's Box. Which sounded just this side of kinky, but maybe I'd spent too much time stalking kine in nightclubs.
The night was still fairly young and most of Miami's more hard-core night-owls hadn't come out to play yet so the car park still had a few free slots. Sandrine pulled the Merc into one and got out. I unbuckled the seatbelt and followed her. The neon-lit signage of the club depicted the lid of a box opening and closing. From behind the closed doors, I could faintly hear the beat of dance music. The human manning the velvet rope saw us coming and placed on hand on the brass hook at the end of the rope. He unhooked it as Sandrine and I drew near. "Good evening to you," the doorman said, inclining his head to the Prince. Likely he was a ghoul making nice with his master. Sandrine nodded wordlessly as the kine opened the door to the club. Inside, the volume of the music increased considerably and my supernaturally sharpened hearing turned itself down a few notches, to prevent deafening myself. The place was fairly packed, even this early in the night and humans danced energetically, their enthusiasm and zest for life almost palpable. Times like this, I almost wished I was still mortal, and able to fully enjoy this kind of life. On the other hand, having my personal biological clock set permanently at six months past twenty-eight and avoiding all my bits going saggy with age was a decent trade-off.
As Sandrine wove her way through the crowd to the bar, her vampiric presence caused many people to stop and look as she walked past. I doubt most of them were even aware they were doing it. The Presence discipline is a subtle thing and depending on the intent of the Kindred wielding it could inspire awe, attraction or bone-deep terror. Right now, Sandrine seemed to have it set to emit come to me signals. And indeed, a few men and even some women began drifting towards us before their partners yanked them back to their sides. Sandrine smiled slightly, fully aware of the impact she was having on the crowd. As she walked ahead of me, I saw the way her muscles moved smoothly beneath the skin of her back, the dragon tattooed there seeming to breathe in and out as though alive. Sandrine and I arrived at the bar and we perched on the red-leather bar stools. The woman behind the bar was mortal and looked about twenty, though it was likely that she, like the doorman, was a ghoul and could have been a great deal older. The monthly infusion of vampire blood a ghoul received staved off age and gave them superhuman strength and healing abilities for emergencies. Catch is, without a regular supply, the effects wear off and you begin to age again. Also, vamp blood is more addictive than any drug and a human would do practically anything to keep their masters happy. Hence, ghouls were often used to take care of a Kindred's dirty work or to run errands during the day time.
The bartender was about my height, and her long platinum blonde hair was shot through with streaks of red and black. Her green eyes observed me as I sat down. She was wearing a short black leather skirt and fishnet stockings and her lowcut white blouse gave me a good view of the love heart tattooed on her upper right breast. I bet she was a popular girl in high school.
"Sandrine, so good to see you again," the woman with a faint Southern accent. Her gaze fixed on me and she said in a throaty voice, "My name's Pandora," she drew the name out so it sounded like 'Pandorrrah.' "What can I call, you sugar?"
I offered her my right hand and she took it. I noticed faint scars inside her right wrist and wondered how close she'd come to dying before somebody had found her. "I'm Morgan. Nice place you have here."
"Why, thank you, sugar. A girl so does love seeing her effort pay off." Beside me, Sandrine slipped from her stool and said, "I feel like hitting the dance-floor. Why don't you stay here and get to know Pandora better?" Before I could reply, Sandrine was already on the dance-floor and displaying some moves that would have properly scandalised her Victorian contemporaries. I couldn't help but smile at the display of pure teenage energy and rebellion.
"Ah, to be that age again," Pandora sighed. Yep, she'd been around the block a few times, all right, twenty-something appearance notwithstanding.
"So, how long have you...worked for the...company?" I said as man sat on the chair vacated by Sandrine. You really had to be careful of what you said around mortals. One wrong word in the wrong ear, and the next thing you know you're fending off hunters or worse, waking up with a stake in your chest and having to explain to the Prince just why you've felt the need to violate the Masquerade. I know, I've been to more than one trial. The man who'd just arrived leaned over to me and said, "Hey beautiful, how about I buy you a drink?" I locked eyes with Pandora's wide green ones before turning to Romeo. "Not interested," I said. He didn't take no for an answer. Normally I find persistence an endearing trait, but this guy was bugging me.
"Come on, just one drink, I won't even try to cop a feel or anything."
"The lady said 'no.' Now how about you quit hassling her before I have you thrown out?" Pandora said calmly. Her eyes had a look about them that suggested she'd rather enjoy throwing him out if he didn't leave under his own power. The man looked from me to Pandora and back again before he got up. He seemed to be trying to think of an adequate parting shot then decided to cut his losses and just left.
"That one's always been a problem," Pandora said quietly. "Every week he comes in, zeroes in on some unfortunate single girl then lays on his 'charm.' Gets right pissy when he gets told no."
"Why don't you ban him?" I asked.
"He always buys enough booze justify his annoyance," she answered. "And as for how long I've served the Camarilla, nearly forty years. Sandrine...found me at a low point in my life and showed me that I could be something more than I was. She...saved me."
"I understand," I said quietly. That was when the explosion shattered the front windows and all hell broke loose.