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of his magazine, Sween . Oversized claw-footed tables, Tiffany style lamps, and extravagant fainting couches.
    These people are really into lounge chairs and fainting couches. 
    Off to the far left of the front door, a squared archway opened into a separate room. A parlor I believe they called it. A small sitting room with overly fancy furniture like my grandma had in her front room. Only, we were never allowed to sit on that furniture. These assholes lazed on them like they were in an opium den.
    All over the parlor, Victorian clad vampires lounged about chatting and mingling among themselves. No one noticed little ol’ me peaking my head around the arched entryway. Beautiful rust --colored curtains cascaded from the ceiling and draped around the doorway. Each hooked with a loop to the inside wall.
    I stood in awe at all the beautiful people lying about. I made a bet with myself that not a one of them held down a normal job. Like the wake up with the sun and actually work kind. Most of them looked like they could be featured in Malcolm’s magazine right along with Dominika and Cyrus. Perfect makes me want to punch infants.
    I glanced over my shoulder toward the entrance where my so-called friends still stood like a group of walking, talking dildos. Malcolm continued some kind of ritual greeting with those that welcomed them into the home. Lots of unnecessary bowing , shaking and kissing if you asked me. I was more interested in what was going on in the room full of neat furniture and bloodsuckers.
    I rolled my eyes and moved them back to the scene before me. All those perfect little bloodsuckers breathing perfectly good air and leaving little for the rest of us hacks. A couple sat just adjacent from me, about fifteen feet away. The girl was young. If I had to guess, I’d say just this side of legal. The man she was cradled against looked like he could be Cyrus’s Viking brother. Sweeping stark blonde hair sat atop a very lovely pale face, brushing a set of equally blonde brows. I’d been standing at the edge of the entrance to the parlor staring into the abyss of lazing Sanguinarians for well over three minutes and not one person, or whatever, noticed me. Until I took the chance to allow my gaze to linger on the blonde version of Cyrus. I was innocently admiring his perfection when he caught my gaze. A nasty looking snarl spread across his powder-white face. The sudden change to his expression sent a chill up my legs and into the back of my head before an aching in my stomach triggered my spidey sense. The once perfect specimen of Nordic manliness transformed into a grinning wraith. My breath caught and I took a step back. One of the loungers left his position near the curtains and pulled a thickly wound cord. The curtains closed with little effort and the manic blonde on the other side was out of sight.
    A fear hit my heart and made it skip a beat. A fear I had forgotten in recent months. A fear I learned to appreciate while hunting the killer of so many dead girls. A fear that told me to respect it or feel its wrath.
    When I first stepped foot in Midnights Dream, I nearly exploded from holding in the laughter, but I later learned not all of those in the scene were horrendous losers offing hookers at every turn. In fact, some were quite stoic and some were fucking frightening. They may not explode in the sunlight or fear garlic, but immortal or not, one of them just might kill you where you stood.
    Enter Deadly Bitch.

 
    Chapter Four
    As soon as the curtains closed, it seemed as though I was being hurried off to the farthest corner of the house. I was told it was my room for the weekend. I worried that I was being taken to a darkened room to be slaughtered and offered up to the vampire gods as sacrifice. Malcolm led the way up the big curved staircase and along the landing on the second floor. We walked past at least two doors on the way, all closed. Of course, I loved snooping. What could I say, I was curious. You