Vamparazzi by Laura Resnick Page B

minutes ago, about his supply being pilfered. Tarr must have stolen one of the bottles so he could get its contents analyzed.
    I gagged again when I realized that if Daemon had been thorough enough to anticipate that possibility, then the blood in the bottles might well be human.
    â€œYou’re sure that blood was safe?” I asked faintly.
    Daemon glanced at me in the mirror. “You’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”
    â€œYou had some of that stuff?” Tarr asked in surprise.
    â€œQuite by accident,” I said. “That’ll teach me to poke around in a vampire’s fridge.”
    Daemon’s gaze returned to his own reflection as he purred, “But if you’d like to poke around in something else of mine, I have a few suggestions . . .”
    â€œOh, give it a rest, would you?” I was tired of him already tonight—and he hadn’t even fondled me yet.
    I turned to leave the room and walked straight into Daemon’s assistant, Victor, who was rushing through the doorway. Victor rushed everywhere and seemed to exist in a perpetual state of semipanic. I found him courteous but fatiguing. An effeminate, plump, completely bald man in his late thirties, Victor had a tendency to overreact to everything—which always made me wonder how he’d wound up working for Daemon, of all people.
    When I explained about the bloody carpet and apologized, Victor had a moment of near hysterics over the stain. Then he manfully pulled himself together, patted my shoulder, and told me not to worry about it.
    â€œWe can probably save the carpet. And even if we can’t, I don’t want you to feel bad about it,” Victor said warmly to me. “It’s only a thing . And people matter more than things, don’t they? So I just thank God you weren’t hurt when this happened, Esther.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œHow would she have been hurt?” Tarr asked in puzzlement.
    â€œI don’t want you to beat yourself up over this,” Victor continued. “I want you to try to put it out of your mind. You’ve got two performances to do tonight, and the show must go on.”
    I hadn’t actually planned to think about the carpet ever again, so I was able to assure Victor with all sincerity that I would refrain from engaging in distracting self-condemnation over this incident.
    â€œGood for you!” He patted me again, then pulled out his cell phone. “Now I’m just going to call the dry cleaner and see if he can deal with this tonight.”
    â€œYou know a dry cleaner who works on Saturday nights?” I asked.
    The assistant stage manager knocked on Daemon’s door. “Forty-five minutes to curtain, people.” When he saw me, he paused. “How’s the eye, Esther?”
    â€œI’m fine,” I said.
    â€œSee? She’s fine,” Tarr said to Leischneudel.
    â€œThat’s not the point,” the actor replied.
    Daemon ignored us all.
    â€œCome on,” I said to Leischneudel. “Let’s go get ready for the first show.”
    We left the dressing room and walked down the hall. Victor’s voice, talking urgently on his cell with the dry cleaner, echoed behind us.
    Then I heard Tarr call out, “Hey, Esther!”
    I looked over my shoulder and saw him exit Daemon’s dressing room and come after us. “You and me, we have to talk!”
    â€œNo, we don’t,” I said firmly.
    â€œYou’re the only cast member I haven’t interviewed yet.”
    I was aware of that. And given my druthers, I’d like to keep it that way. “I don’t have anything to say.”
    â€œOh, come on, I gotta have you in the article! You’re Jane, the girl Ruthven really loves.”
    I blinked and looked at Leischneudel.
    â€œI told you,” the actor said. “It’s what everyone’s talking about.”
    â€œAnd those scenes between the two of you are hot, hot, hot! ”