Bite Back 05 - Angel Stakes by Mark Henwick Page B

disobeying.
    “I can do it for you,” Yelena said. “Bound to me is bound to House Farrell.”
    I shook my head. That would be cowardly, and an even worse way to treat a friend. If it had to be done, I had to do it.
    I sighed. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”
    For once, I’d called ahead. I was expected.
    The doorwoman, even before the club was open for the night, was dressed in a gray top hat and tails with white gloves. She tipped her hat, pressed a call button and opened the doors for us.
    “Please take a seat, Ms. Farrell,” she said. “Someone will be with you momentarily.”
    The chairs were comfortable and I sat with relief, running and re-running through what I could say to Dominé.
    Yelena remained standing, inspecting a wide rack of cloaks and masks. The cloaks were brightly feathered and iridescent, gleaming like oil on water in the dim lighting. The masks were Venetian carnival masks, full face and bone-white, with black and gold domino masks painted on around the eyes and forehead.
    Dominé always had themed costumes for her staff, but these looked to be for clients. I shivered. There was something slightly sinister about the masks, especially when Yelena put one on.
    Dante arrived.
    When I’d last seen her in Albuquerque, Dante had been dressed in a pinstripe Al Capone suit in keeping with the club’s theme. Today, with the club not open yet, she was in casual—a white, button-up man’s shirt and tan Capri pants. Her glossy black hair had grown out a little, but she still wore it parted and brushed to the right. And she still looked about sixteen to me.
    “Hello, Ms. Farrell,” she said.
    “Hi, Dante. You’re looking well.”
    She smiled a little.
    “Dominé would like to speak to you alone first.”
    I traded glances with Yelena, whose eyes were looking at me from behind a baroque swirl of black and gold paint. With my eukori on the fritz, I needed Yelena’s help to bind Dominé. If she wasn’t in the room, we probably couldn’t do it. But Dante had said ‘first’, so maybe later.
    Is it cowardly to not want to do it right away?
    Yelena slid the mask off and nodded.
    “You could watch the dancing rehearsals,” Dante said to her. “It’s a good show. And it’s okay, it’s not rude—they wear sweats for practice.”
    Yelena’s mouth twisted. “Then they’ll be less naked than I was when I danced.”
    “I can see you have a good dancer’s body,” Dante replied solemnly. “And that beautiful hair. You’d be very popular here.”
    Is this slip of a girl teasing Yelena?
    Yelena laughed, and we left her in the main club as Dante led me through to Dominé’s office at the back of the building.
    She greeted me with a hug and a kiss on both cheeks, European style.
    Her office was bright and airy, but Dominé looked tired and worried.
    As ever, her dress was elegant and her white hair was done, but there was something in her face. Had she sensed something threatening from me?
    “Wine? Champagne?” she said as Dante left us. “Rum?” Her French accent gave the rum a lovely growl.
    “Too early. Just coffee would be fine, thanks.”
    Dominé spoke into an intercom, and then pulled me over to a table covered with sketches.
    “Come. See my next set of costumes for the staff,” she said proudly, passion displacing worry on her features for a moment. “Here, I especially like these for my boys, don’t you think?”
    Shiny black pants, vacuum sealed to follow every contour of calf and crotch. Gray wool jackets with built-up shoulders and pattern stitching to mimic rib cages, open to reveal the abs, of course.
    The matching female costume included layered satin dresses like old-fashioned conical beehives, but split up the front.
    “You’re getting more elaborate,” I said, and then we were interrupted by one of her staff bringing the coffee. He was in jeans and barefoot at the moment, which made me smile.
    She shrugged off my comment, pressing a finger to her lips in