The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

that lit nothing in particular. I suspect the decorator doubled as a set designer. I could imagine him directing the “shoot”, placing the chaises lounges in the dark corners, imagining a dilettante vampire gracefully sprawled on each one, surveying the eager crowd for their next meal, the sexual predator at its most predatory.
    Unfortunately, this set was inhabited by real people. On the nearest chaise langue, two private school “Let’s go Goth tonight!” girls were touching up each other’s nail polish. Pink nail polish. A middle-aged couple sat erect on the next, staring around them, eyes wide with delicious “can you believe we’re in a vampire bar, Frank?” horror. Chaise loungue number three was occupied by a fifty-year-old platinum blonde. She looked suitably predatory, but her prey - every guy under thirty - was scampering the other way every time accidental eye contact occurred. And on the fourth chaise loungue, a guy in his late thirties in full vampire gear, from the boots to the leather duster, lay with his eyes slitted, the tip of his tongue out, his expression rapturous as he stared at the frieze above his head - an erotic panorama of Dracula-style vampires invading the beds of virginal girls.
    “One word,” I said to Tiffany as we walked in. “Eww.”
    “That’s not a word.” She looked around. “But I second it. Damn.” She sighed. “I guess we should get a drink. Too bad those chaises loungues are all taken. They’re kind of cool.”
    “You want one?” I started towards the guy enjoying the painted scenery.
    She tried to grab my arm, but missed, managing only a chirped, “Don’t!” that was almost drowned out by a bass-heavy blast of unintelligible punk rock.
    As I approached the man, he froze, the sight of an actual woman inducing stark terror. He adjusted his overcoat, and slid his hand from . . . wherever it had been.
    “Are you—?” I garbled a name, knowing the music would swallow it.
    “Um, yes. Yes.”
    “Your wife is on the phone.”
    He shot from the lounge and disappeared into the crowd. Two nearby college girls sidled towards the vacated couch. A look from me stopped them cold.
    “Your throne, madam,” I said with a flourish.
    Tiffany laughed and sat on one end, leaving the top for me. We lounged. It wasn’t easy with two people and one chair, not without doing that fake lesbian-show thing that seems to attract guys even better than a free beer sign.
    We still attracted plenty of attention. Guys looked, and looked some more, and kept looking. Not one took even a tentative step in our direction, all wary, as if certain the presence of actual twenty-something single women had to be a set-up.
    Had they already gotten a taste of the performance-art advertising? As hard as I looked, I didn’t see any other obvious scenes playing out around us. A few people were drinking fake-blood drinks, and a couple in a corner were going at it pretty good - neck nibbling included — but with the awkwardness of outsiders trying really, really hard to fit in.
    “We have a contender,” Tiffany whispered in my ear.
    She directed my attention across the floor to a guy who was definitely checking me out. He stood with a small group of men hovering, obviously corporate types scoping out the alternate nightlife. My admirer quickly looked away when I glanced over. He shifted, then cast a surreptitious look my way. Hmm.
    “Well?” Tiffany asked.
    “A distinct possibility.”
    He was an average guy. Average height, average build, medium-brown hair. A pleasant face. Not someone who’d catch my eye, but when he caught mine, I took a closer look and saw nothing that quashed the deal.
    “OK, he’s playing shy,” Tiffany said. “So I’m going to give him an opening. I’ll go to the bar and take my time getting us drinks.”
    I watched Tiffany leave, the crowd parting for her, admiring looks following her ass as it swayed through. And when I turned back to my admirer, he was gone. His group was still there, but he was nowhere to be seen. I looked around, hoping he was making his way over to me. No sign of him. Great. Apparently I’d been hanging around Tiffany so long I’d learned her trick for freezing out guys with a single look. I considered going after Tiffany and switching my beer to a double Scotch, neat. Instead I curled up on the chaise loungue and tried not to sulk.
    A few minutes later, Tiffany returned, blue eyes wide. “There’s a vampire here!” She plunked