"When you're done, you can play with me," Gregory replied.
Ivy worked a little longer. When she finally closed the books, she saw that he had disappeared into the back.
"Gregory?" she called.
"Yes, my sveet," he answered with an accent.
"What are you doing?"
"Come here, my sveet," he replied. "I've been vaiting for you."
She smiled to herself. "What are you up to?"
Ivy tiptoed to the dressing room and slowly pushed open the swinging door. Gregory had flattened himself against the wall. Now he turned quickly, jumping in front of her.
"Oh!" she gasped. She wasn't acting; Gregory made a startlingly handsome vampire in a white shirt with a deep V-neck and a high-collared black cape. His dark hair was slicked back, and his eyes danced with mischief.
"Hello, my sveet."
"Tell me," she said, recovering from the surprise, "if you put in your fangs, will you be able to pronounce w´s?"
"No vay. Thees is how I speak." He pulled her into the room. "And may I say, my sveet, vat a lovely neck you have!"
Ivy laughed. He put in his long teeth and began to nuzzle her neck, tickling her.
"Where do I thrust in the wooden stake?" she asked, pushing him back a little. "Right there?" She poked him lightly where his shirt gaped.
Gregory caught her hand and held it for a long moment. Then he took out his teeth and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. He pulled her closer to him. "I think you've already done it, thrust it straight through my heart," he told her.
Ivy looked up at him, barely breathing. His eyes burned like gray coals beneath his lowered lashes.
"What a lovely neck," he said, bending his head, his dark hair falling forward. He kissed her softly on the throat. He kissed her again and again, slowly moving his mouth up to hers.
His kisses became more insistent. Ivy answered with gentler kisses. He pressed her to him, held her tightly, then suddenly released her, dropping down before her. He knelt in front of her, reaching up to her, his strong, caressing hands moving slowly over her body, pulling her down to him. "It's okay," he said softly. "It's okay."
They clung to each other and swayed. Then Ivy opened her eyes. To the left, to the right, reflected in front of her, reflected from behind her — from every angle in the mirrored dressing room — she could see herself and Gregory wrapped around each other.
She pulled herself free of, him. "No!" Her hands went up to her face, covering her eyes.
Gregory tried to pull her hands away from her face. She turned to the wall, cowering in the corner, but she couldn't get away from the reflection of the girl who had been kissing Gregory.
"This isn't right," she said.
"Isn't right?"
"It isn't a good thing. For you, or me, or Suzanne." "Forget Suzanne! What matters is you and me."
"Don't forget Suzanne," Ivy pleaded softly. "She's wanted you for a long time. And I, I want to be near you, I want to talk to you, I want to touch you. And kiss you. How could I help it, when you've been so wonderful to me? But, Gregory, I know—" She took a deep breath. "I know I'm still in love with Tristan."
"And you think I don't know that?" He laughed. "You've made it kind of obvious. Ivy."
He took a step closer to her and reached out for, her hand. "I know you're still in love with him and still hurting for him. Let me help ease the pain."
He held her hand softly in both of his. "Think about it, Ivy. Just think about it," he said. She nodded silently, her free hand toying with the tassel on her skirt.
"I'll change my clothes now," he told her, "and we'll go home in our own cars. I'll take a long route so we don't arrive at the same time. We won't even see each other going up to our rooms. So—" He lifted her hand to his mouth. "This is my good-night kiss," he said, gently touching his lips to her fingertips.
When Tristan awoke, only his soft glow lit the dressing room, shining back at him from each of the mirrors. But the darkness that he felt surrounding him in the empty room was more than the absence of light. The darkness felt like something real in itself, a soft and ominous shape, a presence that angered and frightened Tristan.
"Gregory," he said aloud, and the scenes he had witnessed hours earlier flashed through his mind. For a moment he thought the room was lit. Had Gregory really fallen in love with Ivy? Tristan wondered. And was he telling the truth about Eric and the dealer? Tristan had to know, had to get inside his head.
"You're next, Gregory," he said. "You're next."
"Would you stop talking to yourself? How's a girl supposed to get her beauty steep?"
Tristan pushed through the dressing room door into the shop, which was lit by two dim night-lights and an exit sign. Lacey was stretched out at the feet of King Kong.
"I waited for you at your Riverstone Rise condo," she said, then held up a dead flower. "Brought you this. There were others, just as dead, forming a T on your grave. Figured you hadn't been there for a while."
"I haven't."
"I checked out Eric," she continued, "just in case you'd gotten lost in that fun house otherwise known as his mind. Then I checked out Ivy, who's not having a good night — so what else is new?"
"Is she okay?" Tristan asked. He had wanted to follow her home and get the rest he needed there. Then he could have made sure that Ella was close by; he could have summoned Philip if she needed him. But he knew if he had gone with her, he'd have stayed up all night watching. "Is she okay?"
"She's Ivy," Lacey replied, fluffing up her hair. "So tell me, what did I miss in this soap opera? Gregory's just as restless as she is. What's eating him?"
Tristan told Lacey what had happened earlier that evening, as well as what he had experienced inside Eric's head — the memory of the scene at Caroline's house, with its overwhelming feelings of frustration and fear. Lacey listened for a bit, then paced around the shop. She materialized her fingers, and tried on a mask, turning to face Tristan for a moment, then trying on another.
"Maybe this isn't the first time Eric's gotten himself in deep," Lacey said. "What if Eric used to hit on Caroline for drug money — the way he now hits on Gregory? And what if that night, when he needed a payment, Caroline didn't come through?"
"No, it's not that simple," Tristan replied, a little too quickly. "I know it's not that simple."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You know that, or you just want to believe that?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Seems to me you'd find it just a tiny bit satisfying to prove Gregory guilty. Poor, innocent, handsome Gregory," she said, baiting Tristan. "Maybe the only things he's guilty of are playing games with girls and falling for your girl — and your girl falling for him," she added slyly.
"You can't really believe that!" Tristan said.
She shrugged. "I'm not saying Gregory isn't a jerk sometimes, but other times, at least one time, he had a good enough heart to save the neck of his messed-up friend." She ran her tongue over her teeth and smiled. "I think he's rich, good-looking, and innocent."
"If he's innocent, his memory will prove it," Tristan said.
Lacey shook her head, suddenly serious. "This time he may throw you as far as the moon."
"I'll take my chances, and I'll succeed, Lacey. After all, I've had such an excellent teacher."
She squinted at him.
"You were right. Eric was easier to slip into when he was sleeping lightly. I'm going to try the same thing with Gregory."
"That will teach me not to teach you!"
Tristan cocked his head. "It ought to get you some points, Lacey — angel points for helping me complete my mission."