DISCLAIMER: NOT ME, TPTB.

CHAPTER 2

It was approximately 8pm when Cary Shelley opened his eyes for the night. He had really overslept. With a yawn he almost stumbled down the staircase and put his mug of blood in the microwave to heat it. He could smell something really disgusting and he looked around. Enchiladas. Blanca must have made them, or brought them. During Nick's stay, Cary had given in and brought a stove—moving the old bombe desk to the big guest room. He took his mug, took an enjoyable sip and began his rounds.

Satisfied everything was alright; he let the dog outside and walked out himself, jumping with one smooth movement onto his fence overlooking the Washoe Valley. He could make out all the lights of the cities of Reno and Sparks as they came together in glorious color under their neon signs.

Jumping lightly back down, he and the dog went back inside and Cary made his way to his office and the pile of mail sitting there. He sat down in his rather comfortable and ergonomic desk chair and began sorting. Blanca was not allowed to sort, she just took the mail in.

"Bill, bill, bill, bill—all to Paul," he told the dog. "Ad—now why would I need a Scolari's card? When do I ever grocery shop?" A sigh and he ran a hand through his black hair. "Bill, bank statement, bank statement, bill, junk, credit card. Credit card? Junk, junk, bill."

With another sigh he gathered up all the ads and other assorted junk mail (shredding the things with his name on it) and brought them to the recycling bin in the garage. He shut the door to the bathroom on his way out, sickened by the smell of hairspray and other matter his sensitive nose picked up.

Cary then took the important mail—the bills and bank statements—and went into the library to study them.

After careful perusal, he faxed the bills off to Paul for his safekeeping and payment and then filed away the statements and the originals. Cary kept everything faithfully for five years before throwing away anything at all—two years over the maximum time the IRS needed.

Then, walking back into the library with another mug he looked at the invitation he had received to the Silver Legacy event going on. To go or not to go, that was the question. He lay down on the divan and switched on the television to CNN, catching up on the news.

"So, Fiona, should I go or not?" The dog just cocked her head at him and jumped up on the chair next to him, hanging her head over the end and looking at him. "I did give my employees the week off, so why shouldn't I go and have some fun. After all, I did get Nick to Chicken Dance and Cha Cha Slide." Cary laughed out loud and the Shepard barked.

"But who to take? Should I take a date or go solo? Hmmm."

He arose from the divan and headed toward the phone and took the wireless receiver back with him to his previous position. He speed dialed a number and let the phone ring a few times. It was answered by a female voice in a loud place.

"Jill here," came the tinny voice over the cell phone.

"Cary here. Where are you?"

"Fitzgerald's. I'm on a date with some hot shot official from Sacramento. And you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm off to the Prom."

"Oh, have fun. Toodles," she said, blowing a kiss into the phone.

Cary pressed the off button and looked at the receiver in his hand as if to accuse it of something. He let his fangs drop just because it felt good and placed the instrument on his chest. Who now? He couldn't go alone. How did they call it—stag. Yeah, stag. He couldn't do that.

Not thinking, he tapped a finger on his teeth to think and managed to slice one on a sharp fang. Vampire fangs were shark like in their sharpness. People tended to think of snakes, but Cary always thought of sharks. He sucked the little bit of blood out, enjoying the taste of his victims and also Helena.

The brunette vampire shook his head. No, no use thinking of her. He had to have a date for the night and Jill was busy. Busy. Cary growled at the thought. Ok, then, who next? Allison, Sonya, Gwen, Bunny, Gina—no Kitty; Kitty Orion, the owner of Bloodlines. Kitty hardly ever planned dates as she was so busy. He thought a moment of her speed dial number and the phone beeped out the number.

"Bloodlines, Katherine Orion speaking." Cary could barely hear her even with his enhanced hearing it was so loud. So much for this.

"Kit, this is Cary Shelley."

"Cary," Kitty's voice melted into butter and became as smooth as a WASP could be. Kitty always had a case of the voice that women from wealth had. It sounded sort of English to Cary, and he liked it. Jill's voice was pure upstate New York. "How are you? Speak up, I can hardly hear you."

"Are you busy?" Cary asked her in a slightly raised voice, making Fiona raise her head in wonder.

A throaty laugh from the other end. "Busy? Darling, it's Hot August Nights. Of course we're busy. Why?"

"Well, I was invited to the Prom up the street from you and was wondering if you wanted to go with me."

"You sound like you're telling, not asking, handsome."

"No, just requesting. I really want to go but I don't want to go stag."

Another burst of joviality from the women. "Stag? Cary, modern slang for you? Did you buy a dictionary?"

Cary ran a hand through his unruly hair, catching it on a snag.

"So, would you like to go with me?"

"Hold on." The male heard the receiver being put down and the music faint from the background. Gina was singing, well, thank whoever that he had not invited her. "Alright," said Kitty as she came back on the phone, "I really need to get away from this place anyway. I'll be ready whenever you are."

"Fine. See you in about an hour."

"I'll be there. Kisses." And she hung up the phone.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""

An hour later, to the nose, Cary's doorbell rang and he went to answer it. Then he whistled. Kitty was dressed in a vintage Balmain gown and it complemented her chestnut hair and green eyes. She also wore a white pearl necklace of three strands and white gloves. She looked sort of beautiful. Not Jill-like, but still.

As for her part, she tried not to gasp when she saw him for as usual Cary dressed for his looks. He wore a white tuxedo with a green cummerbund that set off his eyes to perfection, taking whatever yellowy-brown out of them existed. He also wore white bucks, like Pat Boone used to wear, just for quirky fun. He looked gorgeous, but then she thought wryly, he always did. After all, he had been brought across mainly because of his face.

"Well, aren't we dressed for the title of Prom King and Queen," joked Kitty and came up and gave Cary a long kiss and then bit down on his neck, sucking the blood right out of him.

The assault was so unexpected Cary didn't do anything back at all. The only thing he could do was moan with the pleasure of it.

It ended as suddenly as it began and Kitty licked her lips dry and reapplied her red Brenda Frazier lipstick in the mirror. Cary was dazed as he picked up his cup and drained the rest of the contents.

"What was that about?" he asked in wonder, rubbing his neck.

"Just in case I don't get to do it later," she answered him, making him blush for she knew his

reputation well.

"Well, ready to go?" he asked her.

Kitty took his arm. "All ready."

They exited out of the house and into the limo Cary had rented for the occasion. After all, it was a prom and he remembered biting high school students at their proms and their memories of such.

"Oh," Cary suddenly remembered, turning to her, "here." And he gave her a wrist corsage wrapped in a white box with a blood red ribbon.

It was now Kitty's turn to blush.

"Thank you, Cary. This was sort of unexpected."

"It's a prom and I've had enough high school students to know what to do."

That earned him a raised eyebrow for Kitty exclusively drank mortal blood from bottles only. She was like Nick in that way—except for the fact that Nick's was cow.

"Well," she was astonished.

"So why did you decide to go? Club not busy tonight?" inquired he.

"No, it was very busy indeed. I just needed to get out, as I told you. Why did you invite me?" she challenged back.

"You were on the list," said Cary, honestly. "I asked Jill first if you want to know the truth of it."

Kitty nodded. "I figured as such. That is why I bit you and said that I might not get the chance again."

She sighed dramatically. Cary asked what was wrong.

"The club," she began. "It's getting to be overwhelming. There are more vampires coming into Reno due its reputation—both the city and the club. Gina isn't a competent assistant and I need someone with club experience to help me run it. Any ideas?"

"None," answered back the other. "However, as part owner I do have a stake in this, if you would pardon the pun." Silence in the back and then, "I know, I'll ask Nick. He might know a vampire who needs a job, after all that's what he does."

The hired limo let them off on Sierra Street to the side of the Silver Legacy Hotel and Casino, since Virginia Street was closed to automobile traffic, unless you had a classic car of which the stretch was not.

They entered and Cary immediately led the way back to the oil derek that stood in the middle of the casino. It was actually a huge working model of one and the dome above changed with the weather. Sometimes it was sunny, sometimes stormy and sometimes, like tonight, stunt people were climbing all over it.

The two watched for a few minutes, Cary savoring his surroundings. Of all the hotels in Reno, the Victorian themed legacy was his favorite. From the costumes to the food, it was all as it was in the nineteenth century, or at least some tourists' vision of that decade.

Kitty nudged her date and they went back into the ballroom where the dance was being held. Cary showed the doorman their tickets and they checked their coats and entered into the room just in time to see Nick Knight and Esme Ruto having a sweetheart dance. That caused a raised eyebrow from Kitty and a strange look from Cary.

The dance ended and they made their way over to the two vampires, who had finished and were pretending to drink.

"Cary!" exclaimed Esme, as if she was truly glad to see him.

"Esmeralda. Nicolas. How are you two doing tonight?" asked the dark haired vampire.

"We're just fine, cher," answered back Esme.

"We are?" Kitty jumped in between them. "Are you two a 'we are' now?"

"I don't know about that now," said Esme, coyly, "but we have been seeing each other for a while."

"Why don't you two ladies go powder your noses? I need to talk with Nick."

"If you ruin this…" started an irate blonde vampress.

"It's something Kitty and I discussed in the car, Esme. It has nothing to do with you at all."

With a suspicious look, for she knew him well, the two women left to see what was going on in the room. At that, Cary took Nick aside and told him about the problems Kitty was having with the club.

"So, you have all these people and vampires looking for work and here is a job just waiting for them. They need some accounting background and preferably some nightclub background as well. But the job pays well and the hours, well, for vampires it's perfect."

Nick thought a minute.

"I do have several vamps in mind…" he began, when he noticed his friend freeze in place. Just like a statue, he froze. Nick turned and saw Myra standing there, smiling at them.