A huge bouncer stood guard at the dark red door. His nostrils flared as he took a sniff. Phil knew he didn't carry the usual mortal scent. Since most Vamps didn't know about shape shifters, they didn't realize the significance of his different scent. They simply thought he was a strange-smelling mortal.
"Place is closed," the bouncer grumbled. "Get lost."
"I'm here to see Vanda Barkowski."
"You know Vanda?" The bouncer took another sniff, and his beady eyes narrowed. "You're an odd duck."
"Not even close." Phil showed his MacKay Security & Investigation ID card, knowing the Vamp bouncer could see it in the dark. "I'm returning Vanda's car. She left it at Romatech."
The bouncer still eyed him suspiciously. "I'll have to frisk you."
"Fine." Phil raised his arms to shoulder height so the bouncer could pat his navy polo shirt and khaki pants—the MacKay uniform for guards who didn't wear kilts.
"What's this?" The man patted his pants' pocket.
"It's a chain. Silver."
The bouncer jerked his hand away. He hesitated, then asked, "You're not planning on using it on anyone?"
"No." Phil smiled, understanding the bouncer's predicament. The Vamp couldn't confiscate the silver chain without giving himself severe burns. Luckily for Phil, silver was only painful when introduced internally, as in silver bullets. "You can call Connor Buchanan at Romatech if you want to check on me."
The bouncer shrugged his massive shoulders. "I'll just keep an eye on you." He opened the door. "Go on in."
Phil was instantly bombarded with loud, pounding music and red and blue laser lights slashing across the large renovated warehouse. As his eyes adjusted, he noted the stage was empty. The male dancers must be on break.
A group of Vamp women were writhing on the dance floor. A few Vamp men sat at tables, drinking glasses of Bleer topped with pink-tinted foam while they watched the women dance. Their eyes narrowed when they spotted him. Competition.
He scanned the huge room but couldn't see Vanda. The bouncer was standing just inside the door, watching him. He recognized the woman behind the bar. Cora Lee Primrose, former member of Roman Draganesti's harem. She'd shed her Southern belle hoop skirts in favor of more modern garb—hip hugger pants and a sparkly halter top.
She did a double take when he eased onto a barstool. "Phil? Is that you?" she yelled over the loud music. "Land sakes, I haven't seen you in ages."
"Hi, Cora Lee. You're looking great."
"Why, thank you kindly." With a giggle, she flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder. "Would you like something to drink? We have a few mortal drinks like beer."
"I'll have one of those." He stood so he could pull the wallet from his back pocket.
"No, you don't. It's on the house." She cast a flirtatious look at him as she filled a glass. "Land sakes, you've filled out nicely over the years."
"Thank you." He settled back onto the barstool. "So, is Vanda here?"
With a sigh, Cora Lee set the beer in front of him. "I should have known you'd come to see her. The way she used to talk about you—goodness gracious, we were scandalized."
His first sip of beer went down with a gulp. "Why? What did she say?"
"What didn't she say? I do declare she would describe every part of your manly physique from the top of your head down to your toes." Cora Lee gave him a sly smile. "She was quite poetic about your buttocks."
He gulped down more beer.
Cora Lee wiped the counter, still smiling. "She always claimed you had a crush on her."
His hand tightened around the glass. "Did she, now?"
"According to Vanda, she can make you do anything she wants like a trained puppy."
He downed the last of his beer and slammed the glass onto the bar. "Where is she?"
Cora Lee pointed to a series of doors along the back wall. "The first one is her office."
"Thanks." Phil slid off the stool.
"Don't forget to knock," Cora Lee warned him. "Vanda's got the dancers in there. It could be kinda awkward if you just barge in."
He stiffened. "Why? What's she doing with them?"
Cora Lee shrugged. "The usual. She has to personally check out the costumes and dances before the guys go on stage. Quality control, you know."
Phil's jaw clenched. "You don't say."
"Oh, I do. One time I went in there, and Terrance was prancing around naked." Cora Lee giggled. "Vanda told him to put a sock on it."
"I understand," Phil growled. As he stalked toward her office, the music ended. With his superior hearing, he heard Vanda's voice through the door.
"Oh my God, Peter, it's huge!"
"They don't call me the Printh of Peckerth for nothing," a man boasted.
"You can't let him on stage with that," another man protested. "He'll make us look small."
"You are smaller than me," Peter insisted.
"We are not!" a third male shouted.
"Calm down!" Vanda's voice sounded agitated. "Peter, I'm glad you've come back to dance for us, but this—this is too much. You'll have to lose a few inches."
"No!" Peter screamed. "I won't let you touch it!"
"Don't tell me what I can't do!" Vanda yelled. "Where are my scissors?"
Peter squealed. Like a girl. Which he might be soon.
Phil threw the door open and charged inside. "Vanda, stop! You can't cut off a man's—" He halted, stunned to see Vanda standing behind her desk with her scissors poised on a sparkling red sheath.
It wasn't a dong. It was a thong. With a long sheath stuffed like a sausage.
Vanda's mouth fell open. "Phil, what are you doing here?"
He glanced around the office, noting that the three slender young men were fully clothed and regarding him curiously. "What are you doing, Vanda?"
Her cheeks grew pink as she lowered the thong to the desk. "I was conducting a business meeting."
"Vanda," one of the male dancers whispered. "Won't you introduce us to your handsome young friend?"
"Sure, Terrance." Vanda spoke through gritted teeth. "This is Phil Jones." She gestured to the other male dancers. "Terrance the Turgid, Freddie the Fireman, and Peter the Great."
"I remember you from the coven meeting," Peter said. "You thaid you would help Vanda with her anger problem."
"I don't have an anger problem!" Vanda pointed the scissors at Peter, then at Phil. "And I don't need your help."
Phil arched a brow at her. "As your sponsor, I suggest you put the scissors down."
She slammed them onto the desk. "You are not my sponsor."
Terrance smiled at him. "You can be my sponsor."
Vanda groaned. "Phil, we're trying to have a costume meeting here." She handed Freddie a thong that looked like a fire hose, and Terrance a thong covered with ivy.
Terrance dangled his costume in front of Phil's face. "Isn't it fabulous? I'm doing an ode to Tarzan."
"That's nice," Phil mumbled.
Peter made a grab for the red sparkly thong.
"No!" Vanda snatched it from his hand. "You're not dancing in this monstrosity. I design the costumes, and I'll tell you what to wear."
"That'th not fair," Peter whined. "I had that cuth-tom made to fit me perfectly."
"No way," Freddie grumbled. "You would have to use padding."
Peter huffed. "I never uthe padding."
"You would have to." Vanda set the costume on the desk. "There isn't a man on earth who could fill that thing."
"I'm not so sure about that." Terrance glanced at Phil and winked.
Phil had had all he could take. "This meeting is over." He gave the men a warning look and motioned to the door. "You will leave."
"What?" Vanda's eyes flashed with anger. "You can't do that! This is my—" She paused when Peter and Freddie scurried from the room. " — office."