Part 9 (1/2)

The Vampire Cafe is located in the Ginza neighborhood of Tokyo, which is about as opposite of Asakusa as you can get. I'm talking luxury boutiques-Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and a twelve-story (!) Abercrombie and Fitch. If Jayden weren't so hungry, I'd so be shopping like a fiend.

We took the subway here and had a car almost all to ourselves after getting on and having Jayden shake and s.h.i.+ver like a heroin addict. He woke up with major blood withdrawal and it's been getting worse ever since. Some j.a.panese women wearing surgical masks over their mouths gave him dirty looks before exiting to another car. Sadly, I couldn't very well explain to them that vampirism isn't exactly an airborne virus they could catch.

We meet up with Rayne outside the Ginza- itchome Station, entering a world of bright lights and tall skysc.r.a.pers, to which my sister immediately turns up her nose in disgust. I think from her research she a.s.sumed j.a.pan was one big charming manga full of boys and girls wearing cat ears, not a neon version of Fifth Avenue.

”Come on,” I say, grabbing her arm. ”We've got to hurry.”

After wandering around a bit-Tokyo addresses are almost impossible to decipher, due to the fact that they're based on a block system, rather than street address-we finally locate the building that houses the Vampire Cafe.

The three of us board the elevator and it slides open into a dark, mysterious restaurant. A j.a.panese hostess, dressed in a French maid's uniform, greets us at the door and leads us inside.

Rayne lets out a low gasp as we step into the restaurant's interior. The place is like her dream bedroom. All decked out in black and crimson with Gothic candelabras offering low mood lighting. In the center of the room is a life-sized, old-fas.h.i.+oned coffin, adorned with skulls and roses, and the black carpet has big red splotches that I guess are supposed to represent bloodstains.

Now, as you know, I myself am totally not into the whole Goth esthetic at all, but I have to admit, this place is pretty awesome, with many of the tables enclosed by red velvet curtains to give diners a sense of ultimate privacy. Our hostess leads us over to one of them, pulling back the curtains and allowing us to slide into our seats before closing the curtains once again, leaving us in a kind of cozy little cave. On the table are bloodred napkins, chopsticks, a candle, and a bra.s.s bell.

”If only Jareth were here,” Rayne swoons. ”This is, like, the most romantic restaurant ever.”

”We're not here for the five-star dining,” I remind her. ”Especially since two out of the three of us can't even eat food.”

”Yeah, yeah. Step on my rapture, why don't you?”

I open my mouth to tease her some more, but at that moment the curtains part and a man, dressed in a butler's uniform, starts chattering at us in rapid j.a.panese.

”No, no!” Rayne interrupts. ”No habla j.a.panese.”

”That's Spanish, you moron,” I point out, pulling the phrase book I bought at the airport out of my bag and frantically paging through.

”Eigo wo hanas.h.i.+masu ka?” Do you speak English?

”Hai! A little,” he replies, looking excited but unsure. ”You are American?”

We nod.

”You like blood... c.o.c.ktail?” he asks.

Rayne gives me an excited glance. ”Yes, please!” she says. ”Two cups.”

”I'll just take... um... mizu,” I add, after looking up the j.a.panese word for water. No blood for this fairy, thank you very much.

The waiter nods and backs away, the curtains slipping shut behind him. Rayne turns to Jayden and me, an ecstatic look on her face. ”Oh my G.o.d, that was easier than I thought!” she gushes. ”I guess I shouldn't expect anything less from Tokyo. It's so much cooler than the United States. I mean, they don't even try to hide the fact that they're serving vampires here, like Club Fang has to do back home.” She reaches out and grips Jayden's forearm. ”So awesome, huh?” she asks him. ”We'll get you fixed up in no time!”

The waiter returns a moment later with two dainty winegla.s.ses filled with red liquid and my cup of water. Rayne and Jayden grab their drinks and each take an eager sip. Then they look at each other and set down their cups in apparent disgust.

”What?” I ask. ”Not your blood type?”

”It's wine,” Rayne replies in an overwhelmingly disappointed voice. ”Like, real wine.” She looks up at the waiter. ”I thought you said it was blood.” When the waiter looks back at her blankly, she grabs my phrase book from me and starts paging through. ”Chi?”

The waiter nods and points to the gla.s.s. ”Chi,” he a.s.sures her with a wide, naive smile. ”You no like it?” Rayne sets down her gla.s.s, looking b.u.mmed. ”No, I like it fine. It's just not what I expected is all.”

The waiter shrugs, then scurries away, probably lamenting the fact he got stuck with the American table tonight. Rayne watches him go, scowling. ”Wine,” she repeats scornfully.

”Come on, Rayne, what did you expect?” I ask. ”This is a real restaurant. They're not just going to have blood on the menu. The j.a.panese health department would shut them down in a heartbeat, I'm sure.” I pull open the curtain to spy on the rest of the place. In a corner, a group of j.a.panese teens are having what appears to be a birthday party, complete with ”bleeding” raspberry cake. ”Face it.

This place is just a tourist trap, not a real vampire den.”

Rayne bites her lower lip. ”That's just their cover,” she says, unwilling, evidently, to give up. Her eyes scan the room. ”The forums said they have blood on tap. Maybe it's not in the main restaurant. Maybe they have a back door into a secret room. I don't suppose your phrase book has how to say 'blood bar' in j.a.panese, does it?” She starts looking through the book again.

”Sure, it's right after 'Where's the bathroom?' in their list of top useful phrases,” I reply dryly. Rayne throws the book at my head.

At that moment, the waiter returns with our first course. Some kind of shrimp appetizer, swaddled in a plastic coffin and dripping in bloodred c.o.c.ktail sauce. Genuine or no, I give this place an A+ for presentation.

”Do you know any vampires?” Rayne asks the poor waiter, evidently done with any attempts to speak his native tongue.

”Vampire!” He nods enthusiastically. Rayne's eyes light up. ”Where?”

He c.o.c.ks his head in confusion, then makes a sweeping gesture around the restaurant. ”Vampire... Cafe!” he says slowly, as if speaking to a dim- witted child. Which, of course, in this case isn't far off the mark.

Rayne lets out a frustrated breath. ”Well, where's the back room? I heard there's a Blood Bar here. Where's the entrance to that?” She's practically shouting now, falling into the trap so many tourists do-a.s.suming that if they only speak louder, they'll suddenly be understood.

But our waiter only looks baffled. ”Bath-room?” he tries. Poor guy.

”No, no! I mean-”

”It's okay,” I cut her off. ”We're fine,” I tell the waiter. ”Domo arigato. Thank you.”

The waiter looks relieved and babbles something in j.a.panese that I a.s.sume is ”Enjoy your meal” but very well could be ”Go back to McDonald's, you stupid American pigs.” I poke my appetizer with a chopstick, then take a tentative bite. Hmm, not bad. I chase it with Rayne's gla.s.s of wine and then steal her appetizer off her plate. ”Too bad you guys can't eat,” I tell the two sulking vampires across from me. ”This is pretty good.”

”A vampire restaurant is the stupidest idea ever,” my sister grumps. ”Seeing as real vampires don't eat.” She slumps back into her chair with a huff. ”Maybe we should have tried somewhere else.” She pulls the curtain back, as if she wants to just leave then and there. I'm about to tell her that she can't just up and walk away on the bill and, besides, I want to finish my meal, but then I notice that the birthday party people are all looking at us, and whispering furtively to one another. I also notice that none of them seem to be actually eating any of the cake in front of them, but the red sauce has been drained dry.

And they all have identical gla.s.ses of red wine. ”Rayne,” I hiss. ”Take a look at that group over there.”

Rayne stops climbing out of the booth and looks over in the direction of the party. ”What, more stupid tourists? Who cares?”

”Yeah, but they keep looking at us and whispering.”

”Whatever. I'm so-” Rayne cuts off as she does a double take. ”Wait a second,” she hisses. ”Is that...” Her eyes widen in recognition. ”Oh my G.o.d, it is! What the h.e.l.l is he doing here?”

14.

”Who?” I ask, trying to peek back through the curtains for someone recognizable at the party table, praying it's not a member of the Blood Coven. But before I can scan the crowd, my sister yanks me back inside the booth.

”Race Jameson,” she hisses. ”He's sitting at the far end of the table.”

”What?” I stare at her. ”Are you sure?”