Vampires working and sweating? I realized most of the workers’ shirts actually did show signs of wetness under the armpits. So these aren’t vampires but Beholders. A lot of them. My count topped twenty.
“Did you hear me? Where are those carpenters?” The female voice again.
“They went to get drinks,” came a static-laden reply through a two-way radio on the podium.
The woman grabbed the handset. “Mark,” she replied, no longer shouting. “I don’t care if they take their break early, but they didn’t check with me. I intend to stay ahead of schedule.”
“They checked with me. I meant to tell you.” He sounded apologetic.
After releasing an aggravated sigh toward the ceiling, she continued. “There’s nothing elegant about cinderblock. I want it furred out and I expect to see the drywall hung by dawn.”
“They’ll get that done. It’s this exterior wall I’m worried about.”
They sounded like a married couple disagreeing about which work needed to be done on the house first. He wanted structural issues fixed; she wanted the aesthetics addressed.
“The bricklayers will be here tomorrow,” the woman replied.
The man’s voice came softer, saying, “If I had a dollar for every tomorrow . . .”
“Then you’d be funding this job.”
Speaking of the guy paying for this, I located Menessos to the right of the doorway I still hadn’t passed through. He was only a few feet into the room and no one seemed to have detected him yet.
The man said, “The pyramids couldn’t have seemed as impossible as this, Seven.”
Seven?
“The pyramid builders didn’t have jackhammers or cranes. So I don’t want to hear the word ‘impossible’ again.”
Before she had a chance to speak again, Menessos softly said, “Seven.”
The woman turned. “Menessos!” She approached him with open arms and he accepted her embrace. “I worried when you did not return last night.”
“All is well,” he said.
Not quite mollified, she looked him over to make sure. As she performed her inspection of him, I made an inspection of my own. Her dark hair was pulled back into a single long braid. Her eyes had bright blue irises that darkened at the outer edges. The coloring gave her eyes the impression of glowing. Paired with high cheekbones and perfect proportions, hers was a striking face—even at the thirty-something she was. In this environment it didn’t surprise me that she wore little, if any, makeup. Her lashes couldn’t naturally be that lush and full, could they? The bracelets with bright blue-green stones that matched her tank top, however, did seem odd for a work zone.
She’s definitely a vampire. And from his words, the guy she was talking to, too.
She caressed Menessos’s biceps. “I hope she’s worth all the efforts these men are making. I’m dealing with enormous amounts of whining.”
“I heard that,” the man called from the ceiling opening.
She laughed; it had a melodic and playful quality. Doesn’t seem so dangerous. Maybe this will be okay. My sassy smart-ass self had stood up to Menessos and Goliath as necessary. Perhaps that boldness would serve me well here. Even if I was horribly outnumbered.
Menessos maneuvered her hands into his and held them. “She is definitely worth it.” He gestured to the doorway. “Let me introduce you.”
“She’s here? All I can smell tonight is wood dust and sealant!” She searched for and found me, half hidden behind the door frame. “You’re not timid, are you?” she called with a laugh. It was said without aggression, but the question bore a challenge nonetheless.
That made my feet move. Be bold. Marching forward, I put on my most amiable smile. “No. Just cautious.”
“Persephone, this is Seven.”
“Interesting name,” I said, and I extended my hand and shook hers with as much confidence and strength as she put into it. No limp-fish handshakes here. Cold, definitely, but firm.
“As is yours.” Her hands went to rest on her hips.
She was clearly capable and had taken my usual pose. I gave her a brownie point or two for that. I decided to keep her talking about herself, if I could. “So you’re in charge of the renovation?”
“I am.” She seemed very pleased that I acknowledged her authority in the task. Unfortunately, she wasn’t willing to give me any more details about herself. “Any special requests for your chambers?”
My chambers. I would be staying here, in the midst of this disaster area trying to be brought back to life. “Requests? From what I’ve seen so far, finished would be nice. And clean.” At least it’s not tunnels and rats.
Seven’s reaction was enigmatic. “It’s not finished, but you can give it the once-over. This way.” She was petite, much shorter than I, but despite my longer stride, I had trouble keeping up with her as she walked through the house.
“You’ve done a massive amount of work already,” I commented as I followed her up steps that led up to the left side of the stage. Menessos was right behind me.
“Yes, it’s quite an undertaking, but not impossible.” She smiled as she stressed the last word.
Crossing the brightly lit stage, Menessos gestured at an open framework slightly upstage. “I thought the screens were going up tonight?”
“They are. They’re over there,” Seven said, pointing at a row of boxes that, according to the labels, held large flat-screen display monitors. “The rest of the crew has gone to the Blood Culture. They should be back any minute.”
The Blood Culture was a bar for vampires, and its owner, Heldridge, could’ve been the poster boy for the “Vampire Executive” PR campaign. I’d met him at the Eximuim and he definitely had the bloodsucking-lawyer-type persona.
As I understood it, the blood bars paid cash to donors. Around here, many of the donors were nurses and staff from the Cleveland Clinic and University Hospitals—who enjoyed the supplemental income. The bar then resold the blood like any other retail operation.
Seven guided us into the stage-right offstage wing and through a maze of stacked lumber, stage lights, and other material. She opened a door in a cinderblock wall that opened into a rectangular space. The far wall soared up two stories. Two doors pierced it. One at floor level, the other opened onto a small landing atop a flight of metal stairs.
“This area was used as the green room when they did live shows here.” Seven indicated the space around us. The room was gray. Floor and walls. She started up the stairs to the upper door. We followed. “I know, it’s not green. That’s just the theatrical term for any room used by the performers as a sort of lounge area close to the stage.
“Here we are,” she said from the landing. She tapped in numbers for the keyless electronic lock and opened the plain steel door, went in and hit the light switch.
The first thing I saw was a broad stone fireplace centered in the finished room. Finished. I almost cheered. Seven had said “not finished”; she’d meant “not furnished.” The walls were solid, the ceiling and floor complete. I allowed a small sigh of relief to escape my lips. Seven could take it for appreciation.
The stacked stone rose up fifteen feet, like a giant support column. The bottom was open to the front and back. To the right of it, a black-granite-topped bar separated a small kitchen with stainless steel appliances and pale cabinetry from the rest of the space. The opposite side, except for a pair of dark mahogany tables and wrought-iron lamps, was empty. There were black-lacquered doors in the wall to my left, leading, I guessed, to a bathroom and a closet.