Part 2 (2/2)

”Professor, your key,” the young man behind the desk said. ”Thank you,” he murmured.

Again, he looked around the lobby.

Then he reminded himself that he was out of time, and he hurried up the stairs.

Jessica sipped her wine, staring at the fire burning in the grate. The flames fascinated her, rising, falling, lapping at the ancient stone of the hearth. Gold, red, even a touch of blue...

”Don't you agree, Miss Fraser? That society itself has created so many of the difficulties our children face? Society and the modern world, with its bombs and wars?”

She stared across at the st.u.r.dy German professor who had spoken to her. They had been talking about dealing with teenage angst. She blinked, realizing she didn't have the least idea what he had said in the last few minutes. That morning, she had given her speech. She had been asked to speak about teenage fantasies, and setting troubled youth on the right path. The German had been quizzing her endlessly, it seemed, apparently quite taken by her ideas.

She had to get out.

Why? she taunted herself. Why was she so eager to escape into the night when she was suddenly afraid of shadows?

Confront your fears. It was one of her own doctrines.

”A very difficult time, yes,” she agreed, and rose, smiling. Watching the fire had been like an opiate. She felt positively serene.

Surrounded by...normalcy.

”Excuse me, will you? It's a bit late, and I'm feeling a bit jet-lagged suddenly. Good night.”

The desperate urge to escape-even to hide-was on her again. She had to force herself not to run out of the restaurant.

She looked at her watch, disturbed to see it had grown later than she had expected. She started briskly walking across the square to her hotel.

Confront your fears. She had done so, hadn't she? She would do so.

In the middle of the square, she found herself pausing. She looked up at the sky and shuddered. The night was red.

She heard something and swung around. Her breath eased from her lungs. It was just an old couple, hand in hand, out for a stroll.

She turned and started walking again. Her nape grew cold. Ice cold. It felt as if the darkness was following her. Looming ever closer...just a breath away. She spun around. The square was empty. She quickened her pace, trying to be calm, logical, attempting not to give in to sheer insanity and run.

Light blazed from her hotel. She was almost running as she neared the entry.

A man was exiting, arm in arm with an attractive woman. They were laughing. Lights shone behind them. Jessica recognized the man; he was an American movie idol. She gave no sign she recognized him, but thanked him as he held the door, then hurried in.

The shadows were gone. The darkness was gone. She let out a breath, shaking her head. She was letting her imagination get the better of her. She strode to the desk, smiling as she asked for her key, the old-fas.h.i.+oned kind that was always kept by the concierge. He gave her the key, along with a note.

She read the message left by the college student she had run into earlier, a deep frown creasing her forehead. She looked at the stately concierge, with his graying hair and upright stance. ”Where is the police station?”

She felt it again. There, in the bright light of the lobby. Felt it. The darkness, so black, and yet....

Red.

It was time for her to act.

Literally.

”Oh, my G.o.d!” Mary said. ”That must be her, the dominatrix the Hungarians were talking about.”

Jeremy stared at the woman. She couldn't be missed, and not only because of the black leather mask hiding her eyes. Her hair was pitch black, her skin fair. She was wearing black leather pants that clung to her form, showing little, but somehow emphasizing the perfection of her hips and thighs. When he forced his eyes upward, he saw she was also clad in a sheer black blouse over high, full b.r.e.a.s.t.s-he had to look twice to realize she was wearing a skin-toned top beneath the blouse. She was completely and decently clad, but the outfit still had an erotic appeal. In this case, more was less. He tried to stop staring. The sight of her was kicking his libido into overdrive. It was a strange feeling.

But then, strange feelings had been coming on ever since Mary had first talked to him about the party that afternoon.

She had been thrilled all during the ride in the black carriage, drawn by two black horses, that had taken them deep into the woods. The carriage had felt like something out of an old-time horror film, as had the ride through the fog-drenched trees. Nancy, a cute redhead, also in the journalism school, had been every bit as excited. She had stared out the window every few seconds, saying, ”Can you believe this?”

She said it again now as they stood there, just inside the entry.

”Can you believe this?”

Mary nudged her. ”Nancy, don't gawk. We'll look totally out of place.”

Jeremy was fairly certain they didn't look as if they belonged to begin with. The girls had dressed in miniskirts and boots, but it was cold out, so they were also wearing tights and sweaters and heavy coats. He was in his usual tourist garb, jeans and a sweater. But here...

People were in every manner of dress. And undress. Several wore traditional vampire capes, but they weren't in the majority. A few of the women were topless. One, a redhead of about thirty, was naked. She wore nothing but a belly-b.u.t.ton ring and a silver belt. An extremely well built black man strode by, and he, too, was in the buff, except for a flapping loincloth. A few of the men smoking and drinking at the bar wore coats-at least some people in the place recognized the fact it was cold out.

And, to be fair, there were a number of men and women in very ordinary clothing. The kind that actually covered their bodies completely. As he watched, a middle-aged man at the bar adjusted his fake fangs.

”Where's the girl who invited you?” Jeremy asked.

Mary shook her head. ”I don't see her. It's a big place. She must be somewhere.” She led them toward the crowd by the bar.

”Americans,” the woman in black leather said, suddenly materializing in front of them. Strangely, Jeremy got the idea that she wasn't particularly pleased. A look pa.s.sed across her face in a fraction of a second that made him s.h.i.+ver.

Then it was gone. As if it had never been.”Americans,” she repeated. ”You were invited?”

Her English was heavily accented. She rose, walking toward them. She was strikingly beautiful, with perfect features, dark eyes.

He wondered if in real life she might be a model.

Actually, she didn't walk. She sauntered, every move entirely languid and sensual, her eyes filled with an amused confidence that both set a fire in Jeremy's gut and also a warning. She eyed Nancy and Mary with a smile, then turned her attention to Jeremy, sliding a hand down his arm. Again, he was strangely excited, and yet...he didn't feel she found him particularly exciting. In fact, it was almost as if she were putting on a performance. But for whom?

Of course, her whole life was probably an act, if she was indeed the dominatrix, as Mary believed.

”A woman I met in town invited me. She told me to bring friends,” Mary explained quickly, then introduced the three of them.

Jeremy noticed that the woman didn't introduce herself in return.

Again something indefinable pa.s.sed through the dominatrix's eyes, so quickly that he decided he might have imagined it.

Must have imagined it.

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