A gentleman in a suit and reflective shades was waiting for us, gesturing that we should follow him. He didn’t bother to wait to see if we did as we were bid. When I checked over my shoulder, someone else had grabbed the rest of our bags. Sara and I exchanged a look, then shrugged and followed.
He led us across the huge bay of the hangar, empty save for the plane we’d arrived in, and out through a people-sized door on the other side. An ocean-scented breeze whipped my hair around. Once I brushed it back, I was greeted by the sight of a sleek white limo. The man who had led us out was now holding the limo door and waiting for us, his expression clearly indicating he was bored and unimpressed with us. Though I knew he was impatient to get out of here, I took a moment to look around. This was my first time in Santa Monica, after all.
The nearby mountains were oddly brown and dead—nothing like the vibrant greens of the Catskills. The sky was alive with a splash of strange oranges and reds, a sunset like nothing I’d ever seen back East. Palm trees were everywhere. Funny looking cacti mixed with some weird flowers that had long green stems, nearly as tall as I was, topped with spiky orange and dark purplish flowers, planted alongside the building, sprucing up the otherwise plain white structure. A touch of the wild in the otherwise carefully deliberate landscaping.
Sara entered the limo, and I soon followed suit. The man shut the door behind us, and I heard the luggage being tossed in the trunk. Despite the more than generous size of the passenger area, which probably could have fit half a dozen people comfortably, it was claustrophobic in the plush interior of that limo, and neither of us wanted to speak.
Soon, the driver got in, turning his head just enough to acknowledge our existence. “Mr. Seabreeze extends his welcome. He’s hosting a party in your honor tonight. You’ll be staying in the guesthouse. We can stop there first if you’d prefer to freshen up, but he was very insistent that he would like to meet you right away.”
“I would rather meet him first.”
Sara didn’t see any reason to delay meeting our host either. “So would I. If we’re going to be stuck here for a while, I want to know who and what I’ll be dealing with.”
The driver adjusted his rearview mirror to look us over, probably not realizing we could see his features at that angle, too. I got the impression it was the first time he was really looking at us—and that he didn’t approve of what he saw. His lip curled slightly before he turned his attention ahead again, starting the limo. “As you wish.”
Though it wasn’t my first time in a limo, this wasn’t something I did every day. For Sara, this was old hat. She lounged back and watched with some amusement as I fiddled with all of the buttons and panels, discovering the hidden TV (how the hell do you get cable access in a car?), satellite radio, selection of drinks, and even something that tinted and untinted the windows. Special sunproofing for the vampire, maybe?
Soon, it wasn’t the car, but what was passing by outside that drew my attention. It didn’t take long for us to reach a ridiculously extravagant area, full of small but manicured-to-within-an-inch-of-the-property-line lawns with weird ornaments and excessive lighting, while the houses themselves, each one seemingly bigger than the next, looked like they belonged in TV shows or movies. Come to think of it, this was part of Los Angeles, so they probably were in TV shows and movies.
For the first time in my life, I was intimidated by buildings.
Sara did not appear concerned, but I was seriously reconsidering making that pit stop at the guesthouse to change into something more appropriate than jeans and T-shirts before visiting this Seabreeze guy. Though with a name like that, I had the feeling I was going to have a very hard time taking him seriously, even if he was a very rich and important vampire who lived in a mansion.
I figured now was as good a time as any to let Royce know we’d arrived safely. Tugging the cell phone out of the pocket of my duffel I’d shoved it into, I scrolled through the few contacts already in the phone.
Someone had been quite thoughtful. Not only had they added Royce’s cell, but they’d included Royce’s head of security, Angus, as well as Mouse, Wes, and a few other familiar names, too. If I needed to reach anyone in a hurry, there were multiple ways for me to do it.
Royce picked up after a couple of rings, though he sounded a bit distracted until he realized it was me.
“Hey, just wanted to let you know we made it here in one piece.”
“Good. Have you met with Clyde yet?”
“No,” I said, glancing at the driver again, “not yet. We’re on our way from the airport right now.”
“All right. Call me immediately if he makes any effort to alter or renege on our agreement. And be careful, my little hunter. I want you to come home to me safely.”
“I will,” I promised. “You owe me a hell of a romantic evening after this.”
He laughed and whispered a promise to do something to me once I got back that had me blushing so hard, I thought I might ignite by the power of my mixed mortification and desire alone. Cripes, I hoped to hell Sara hadn’t overheard, though judging by the look she was giving me it wasn’t totally unlikely.
She didn’t ask, and I didn’t say anything as I ended the call and shoved the phone back in the duffel, still hot with embarrassment. Rather than meet her gaze, I turned my attention to the world passing by. If we were going to be stuck here for weeks or months, I might as well get to know where we were going.
Not that watching the route we took was helping much. We were soon lost in a maze of houses. I would have no hope of finding my way around here without the help of GPS or a map. Few of the streets seemed to run in straight lines. Some curved with the landscape. It was strange and not a little unsettling to a girl who was used to the straightforward streets that ran in simple north-south-east-west lines in New York.
After a while, we were beyond the “mildly impressive and not a little intimidating” mansions and were now drifting past the “are people even allowed to live in these places” estates. The limo turned into a short driveway and pulled up to a manned security station. The driver said something to a guy in a uniform with a clipboard, and then we were beyond the huge, metal gates and prowling past a few fairytale homes that should have been—scratch that—probably were regularly featured on the covers of magazines like We Have Better Homes & Gardens Than You.
Thus, it was not a little disconcerting when we reached one that had a slew of expensive import and sports cars jamming the streets around it and sat somewhat above the others on a rise.
It was enormous. It looked more like it should be housing a slew of families, not a coven of vampires. Though there were curtains drawn behind all of the many windows, there were occasional flashes of what I thought might be a strobe light filtering around the edges on the first floor. Even from within the limo and half a block away, a heavy bass thump rhythmically vibrated under my feet.
Still, something about the place made it seem as if it were standing in silent judgment over the other homes, and finding them wanting.
The driver spoke up, drawing my attention off the small but carefully sculpted water gardens on either side of the long, winding driveway. Funny, I thought I’d heard somewhere that this part of California was in a drought.
“Your bags will be delivered to the guest house.”
Guess that meant I had to leave the duffel in the limo. Not a bad idea. It would probably look pretty tacky lugging it around, and I didn’t like the idea of wandering the halls of this particular master vampire’s house with a cheap department store knock-off instead of a designer travel bag. I already felt out of place. No need to add to the raging insecurities I was already dealing with.