Trapped. For four long years. At least Roman's recent engagement had put him in a good mood.
He'd finally agreed to let her venture out into the world, as long as it was the vampire world.
"I can't take it." Gregori gave her a desperate look. Darcy knew he was already regretting his offer to house Roman's newly rejected harem. "It took me a week to move their luggage. Princess Joanna had fifty-two boxes. And Cora Lee had so many trunks—"
"Thirty-four," Darcy muttered. "It's all those hoop skirts she wears. They take up a lot of room."
"Room I don't have." Gregori dragged a hand through his thick chestnut hair. "When I offered to take them in, I didn't realize they would come with so much crap. And they're acting like they plan to stay forever."
"I understand. I'm stuck there, too." Ten women squashed into two bedrooms, sharing one bathroom. It was a nightmare. But unfortunately, dealing with horror was nothing new to Darcy.
"I'm sorry, Gregori, but I don't know how I can help you."
"You can show them how to get a life," he whispered. "Encourage them to be independent."
"They won't listen to me. They consider me an outsider."
"You can do it. Already Maggie is following your example." He lay a hand on her shoulder. "I have faith in you."
If only she had some in herself. There had been a time when she'd glowed with confidence. She took a deep breath. She needed that old Darcy back. She needed this job.
Gregori glanced at his watch. "I have an appointment in thirty minutes, so I'll catch up with you later." He looked around the room and grinned. "I think I see some babes I know."
Darcy smiled as he sauntered off. Gregori was such a charmer. She never would have survived without his friendship.
Maggie sidled up close, a frown creasing her youthful face. "There are so many people here. And they look more… dramatic than me."
"Don't worry. You look adorable." At the beginning of her confinement, Darcy had been shocked by the way the harem ladies dressed. Each one was trapped in an individual time warp, still clinging to the fashions they had experienced as mortals. She'd encouraged them to modernize their tastes, but only Maggie and Vanda had been willing to invent new looks for themselves. Maggie's usual attire was a short plaid skirt, fishnet hose, and a tight black sweater to highlight her generous bosom.
Darcy turned to face the reception desk. It seemed a mile away. Clutching her portfolio to her chest, she weaved through the crowd with Maggie close behind. The Vamps had gathered into groups, chatting and gesturing wildly with their hands. Darcy passed one group, noting the heavy makeup and clothes that showed too much skin. Sheesh. Whatever happened to manly men? She turned to check out the females instead.
"What happened to Gregori?" Maggie looked over the crowd, her eyes wide with worry. Her short stature made it easy for her to lose people.
Darcy spotted him with a group of women, each with hair dyed an unnatural color. They arched around him like a rainbow. When he smiled and spoke to them, they tittered with laughter.
"He's fine." Maybe those women thought green, blue, and pink hair was wild and wicked, but Darcy thought they looked more like a cuddly clan of Care Bears. Hi! My name is TenderHeart Vamp. Do you need a hug? She suppressed the image with a shudder. Good God, she'd been cooped up for way too long.
The receptionist was painting her fingernails a glossy blood red to match the highlights in her hair.
"If you're here for the auditions, sign in and wait your turn." She pointed a wet nail at a clipboard. Maggie studied the clipboard, her eyes growing wider. "Sweet Mary, I'll be number sixty-two."
"Yeah, it's like this every night." The receptionist blew on her fingernails. "But you won't have to wait very long."
"Okay." Maggie added her name on the bottom of the list.
"What about you?" The receptionist wrinkled her nose at Darcy's conservative business suit.
"I have an appointment with Sylvester Bacchus."
"Yeah, right. If you're here for an acting job, you'll have to wait your turn." The receptionist pointed at the clipboard.
Darcy pasted a smile on her face. "I'm a professional journalist, and Mr. Bacchus is expecting me. My name is Darcy Newhart."
The receptionist snorted to convey how underwhelmed she was, then checked a paper on her desk.
Her mouth fell open. "No freakin' way."
"Excuse me?" Darcy asked.
"You're on the list, but…" The receptionist narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure you're Darcy Newhart?"
"Yes." Who else would she be? Darcy's smile withered away.
"Well, that's freakin' weird. I guess you might as well see him. Third door on the left."
"Thank you." Not a good start. Darcy squelched a feeling of doom. She rounded the desk and strode down the hall.
"You'd better knock first," the receptionist yelled in her nasal voice. "He may be in the middle of an audition."
Darcy glanced back. The receptionist was lolling back in her chair, wiggling fingers in the air while she admired her nail polish. Maggie gave Darcy an encouraging smile. She smiled weakly back, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.
"Come in," a gruff voice hollered.
She entered the room and turned to close the door. Behind her, she heard a curious sound. A zipper? She pivoted to face Sylvester Bacchus. He looked about fifty in mortal years, though there was no way she could estimate his age as a vampire. Mostly bald, he had embraced the condition by keeping the rest of his hair buzzed short. His moustache and beard were closely cropped and wellgroomed, dark hair sprinkled with gray. His brown eyes immediately checked her out, focusing on her chest for far too long.
She lifted her leather portfolio to block his view. "How do you do? I'm—"
"You're new." His gaze drifted to her hips. "Not bad."
Her face heated up as she debated the long-range ramifications of starting a job interview by slapping the prospective employer in the face. Her dilemma was cut short when she noticed a blond head slowly rising from behind the desk.
"I'm sorry." Darcy retreated toward the door. "I didn't realize you were busy."
"No problem." Mr. Bacchus glanced at the blonde. "That'll be all, Tiffany. You can… polish my shoes another day."
She tilted her head. "You want me to do your shoes, too?"
"No," he grumbled. "Just come back in a week."
Darcy realized the zipper she'd heard was real. Good God, if this was how auditions were conducted, she needed to warn Maggie. She'd always been under the impression that vampires preferred vampire sex, a purely mental exercise that was considered superior to sloppy and sweaty mortal sex. Obviously, Mr. Bacchus possessed a more open mind. And a more open zipper.
Meanwhile, Tiffany had jumped to her feet and was pressing her hands to her plump breasts. "You mean I'm being recalled?"
"Sure." Mr. Bacchus patted her on the rump. "Off you go."
"Yes, Mr. Bacchus." Tiffany executed an amazing walk toward the door, managing to sway her hips and jiggle her breasts all at the same time. She leaned over to turn the door knob, jutting out her derriere and arching her back as if the act of opening a door could spiral her into fits of orgasmic ecstasy. She paused halfway out the door to toss a seductive smile back at Mr. Bacchus, then slithered down the hall.
Darcy kept her face carefully blank so her simmering anger wouldn't show. She should have known the Digital Vampire Network would adhere to archaic, chauvinistic rules of behavior. It was the same way throughout the vampire world. Most of the female Vamps were at least a hundred years old. Many were centuries old, so they didn't know about the advances mortal women had made.