VAMPS AND THE CITY 

DELETED SCENE

PROLOGUE

October 31, 2001

It was a silly story, not the kind that would leave a reporter lying in a pool of blood. Not when the reporter was Darcy Newhart. She was the queen of silly stories, and more than three million viewers loved her daily reports on Channel Four.

This was the first step in Darcy’s overall plan for success. After dazzling New Yorkers with her entertaining reports, she would move on to more important subjects, like local crime and fraud. Then, she would graduate to a national network where, thank goodness, crime and fraud flourished on an even grander scale. Eventually, if all went according to plan, she would be the star of a prime-time news magazine, co-anchored with a pretty-boy reporter named Blaine or Corbin. If he was somewhat lacking in intelligence--no matter. She’d make up for it with her razor-sharp wit.

Blaine, you ignorant slut. I’m new in town, and you’re going down. Yes, Darcy Newhart would make it all the way to the top.

That was the plan. It was stupendous.

This was reality, and it reeked. As the newcomer at Channel Four, Darcy was given the assignments no one else wanted. She interviewed the pregnant hippo at the Bronx Zoo who looked much the same as the other hippos. She did a feature on the birthday party of 103-year-old Mabel Binkley from Brooklyn. Mabel had run a speakeasy in the 1920’s, outlived six husbands, and was only slightly more coherent than the pregnant hippo. Mabel’s secret for longevity was a shot of Wild Turkey every day. Then, there’d been the cannoli eating contest in Little Italy, the female impersonator beauty pageant in Queens, and the funeral for poor Mabel when she passed away in the bed of a fifty-two-year-old Cuban dance instructor. Alas, Hector specialized in the rhumba, but not in emergency resuscitation. 

Darcy’s strong sense of professionalism became her own curse. She did such a fine job on all the silly stories that viewers begged for more. So, it came as no surprise when she was given a silly Halloween assignment--investigate a popular, new trend among the disenfranchised youth of New York City. For these kids, life was more exciting when they pretended to be dead. Or rather, undead. Some dabbled in this latest fashion by wearing fake fangs. The more serious proponents had their teeth altered and drank synthetic blood in vampire clubs. 

After a few nights of filming, Darcy realized the real action was happening outside the clubs where the kids went to hurl when they’d imbibed more blood than their stomachs could bear. Why were these kids so alienated from the real world that they preferred living in a fake one? That was the question she wanted to answer tonight. 

It was late that Halloween when she and her cameraman Jack strolled into The Fangs of Fortune vampire club in Greenwich Village. Jack placed his video camera on their empty table to silently announce their intentions. They were welcomed with the usual snarls and hisses, but Darcy knew the kids would eventually come around. They always did.

Soon enough, a young couple sauntered toward them. Like most of these kids, they probably went to nearby NYU. The boy was dressed in full Dracula attire, but the girl had opted for casual Goth--black pants with metal rings and zippers, and a T-shirt with fishnet sleeves. 

“Hi,” the girl began shyly. “Are you the reporter who’s doing a story on us?” 

“Yes, I am.” Darcy gave her an encouraging smile.

“We heard about you from the other clubs. I’m Taylor.” She smiled, then grimaced when her fake fangs plummeted to the table. “Shit. I hate it when that happens.”

“I told you to get implants,” the guy next to her growled.

“Is that what you have?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah. I mean no.” He bristled with indignation. “I don’t need implants. I’m a real vampire.”

“Ah.” Darcy motioned to the camcorder. “In that case, would you mind appearing on our report and giving us your name?”

“I guess not.” He brushed back his dyed black hair. “I go by the name Draco. I have an ancient soul.”

“I see.” Darcy nodded at Jack, and he turned on the camcorder. Draco hissed when the light struck his face.

“Excellent fangs,” Darcy commented. Definitely implants. “Can you tell me, Draco, why you want to be a vampire?” 

“Why should I? Are you some kind of shrink?”

“I’m just asking questions. That’s what I do.”

“Well, I can do whatever the hell I want. So, I drink a little blood. My mom drinks martinis all day. My dad’s banging the maid. Which one of us is the evil one?” He turned with a flourish of his cape and stalked to his table.

“Sorry.” Taylor smiled apologetically while she wiped off her fake fangs on her T-shirt. “He’s having a bad day. Failed his calculus test.” She ran after him.

Poor kids. Darcy exhaled a long breath. “Did you get that?”

“Yeah.” Jack lowered his camera. “These kids are messed up.”

“I think they’re just trying to figure out where they fit in.” The older she got, the more Darcy realized what a lucky childhood she’d been blessed with, growing up in sunny Southern California with loving parents. She’d been so busy running the school newspaper and spending her spare time at the beach, she’d zoomed through her childhood. Those had been the golden days when she’d dreamed big and played beach volleyball hard. Her dreams were limping forward now, but she compensated for that stress by going to the beach whenever she could. Nowadays, that was the Jersey shore. Not as warm as she liked, but she could still dig her toes into the sand and bask in the sun.

A sudden, screeching noise erupted from a nearby speaker. As the kids gathered in the center of the room to wiggle and writhe, Darcy realized the loud, grating noise was supposed to be music. 

She scanned the dark room, searching for the next lucky kid to be in her report. A table in the corner caught her eye. Two men and one of them was wearing a kilt? Now, that was different. 

Jack, with his eagle eye for important news, had zoomed in on a scantily clad girl who was dancing on the bar. Darcy left him to enjoy himself and approached the two mysterious men in the corner. They were big, solid men who sprawled in their chairs in a way that said they were at ease with their size and strength. Maybe one of these kids was a trust fund baby and had been issued bodyguards at birth. These guys certainly looked powerful enough to protect anyone. 
The man in the kilt had shoulder-length, auburn hair gathered in the back with a leather cord. His companion was well-dressed in a dinner jacket and tie. His thick brown hair was cut in a more modern style. He looked younger than the kilted guy, about her age of twenty-eight. Each had a glass of artificial blood on the table in front of them. The glasses were half full, though Darcy hadn’t noticed either of them drinking.

“May I join you?” Without waiting for a response, she draped her jacket over a chair, then sat with her purse in her lap.

The two men exchanged glances.

“We were just leaving,” the younger one said.

Darcy nodded knowingly. “Not your scene, huh?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Pretending to be vampires,” she yelled over a climactic swell in the music. “You’re not really into it, are you?”

The music shifted to a slower, quieter rhythm. Darcy glanced at the kids who now undulated to a hypnotic, bass-throbbing beat. A deep voice reached out and grabbed her attention. 

“We have no need of pretense, lass,” the kilted man said.

A real Scottish accent. Darcy couldn’t help but smile. “Have you been in America long?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Long enough.”

“You know, my first impression was that you’re a couple of bodyguards for one of these kids.”

“We doona know them personally.”

“Oh, then why are you here?” 

The Scotsman lifted his brows. “Why are ye so nosy?”

“Are you a television reporter?” the younger man asked.

Great. They didn’t even recognize her. Maybe they were from out of town. She gave them her sunny, professional smile. “I’m Darcy Newhart from Channel Four where local news comes first. Tune in weekdays at two or seven P.M., and I’ll be there.”

“I’ll look for you at seven.” The younger one gave her an apologetic smile. “Two is not a good time for us.”

“Working stiffs, huh?”

His smile broadened. “Yeah. By late afternoon, we’re getting a little stiff.”

The Scotsman rolled his eyes. “Why are ye here, lass? Are ye investigating this club?” 

“I’m doing a story on kids who pretend to be vampires. It’s a bunch of hooey, really, but that’s my specialty.” She leaned forward. “I told you what I’m doing.

Now, it’s your turn.”

Amusement seeped into the Scotsman’s sharp blue eyes. “How do ye propose to make us talk?”

Darcy gave the men her best seductive look. “I have my ways.” She’d discovered early in her career that a perfect smile and a Wonder Bra constituted powerful tools in investigative reporting. So, she typically wore bright lipstick to accentuate her smile and a tight, V-neck sweater to highlight her other attributes. That was as low as she would go for a story, but it was usually enough.

“We heard something bad has been happening at this club,” the younger one confessed.

Darcy sat up. The Wonder Bra strikes again. She removed a pad and pen from her purse. “Define bad. Are we talking drugs?”

The Scotsman gave his companion an annoyed look. “Ye canna keep yer mouth shut, Gregori?”

“Gregori?” Darcy jotted the name down. “That’s a good name for a pretend vampire. Very Transylvanian sounding.”

Gregori shot the Scotsman an irritated look. “Now look who can’t keep his trap shut.”

“You two are undercover cops, working narcotics, right?” Darcy leaned toward the Scotsman. “A word of advice, if you don’t mind. If you want to fit in here with the other fake vampires, you gotta dress the part.”

He arched a brow.

“That kilt will never strike terror into the heart of a female. In fact, it makes me want to jump on a horse with you and ride across the misty moors into the sunset.” 

A corner of his mouth tipped upward.

Good. She was gaining their confidence. She tilted her head toward Gregori. “Now, the black eveningwear is much more like it. You would make one classy looking vampire.”

He gave her a wry look. “Thank you. Unfortunately, I left my cape at the cleaners. Those blood stains are murder to get out.”

Darcy laughed.

“We must go,” the Scotsman announced.

“Why?” Gregori whispered. “I’m having fun.” 

The Scotsman stood. Goodness, he was a big one. Darcy blinked, then realized she was losing her story. “Wait a minute. Look, I can withhold any information you have until after you make your arrests. Come on, help me out.” She gave them her best injured puppy look. “I want to do a serious story for once.”

The Scotsman hesitated.

“Come on, Connor,” Gregori muttered. “How often do we get to talk to a pretty woman?”

Darcy flashed him a smile. “What a charmer. A good thing you’re not a vampire. No woman would be able to resist you.”

Gregori grinned and adjusted his bow tie. “Hot damn.”

With a snort, Connor sat back down. 

Darcy wrote Connor’s name in her notepad. “So, are you two cops or not?”

“Not,” they both answered. 

“Okay.” She tapped her pen on the pad while she considered. “Well, it’s pretty obvious that you’re not here to pretend. I’m guessing you’re a little too old and wise to play make-believe.”

Connor narrowed his blue eyes. “Lass, ye have no idea how old I am.”

“I’d say no more than thirty-eight.”

He grimaced. “Och, thanks verra much. I was only thirty-two when I was transformed.”

Did she hear that right? “Transformed?”

Gregori frowned. “What are you doing, Connor?”

He shrugged. “Ye wanted to talk to the nice reporter, so I’m talking. Doona worry. We can erase her memory afterward.”

“Excuse me?” Erase my memory? Her nerves tensed. This was taking an unexpected turn toward the Twilight Zone.

Connor watched her with his twinkling blue eyes. “Ye’re a bonnie lass. Ye wouldna be a wee Scottish now, would ye?”

Oh, right. Darcy relaxed. Nothing supernatural here. The guy was simply flirting with her. It was a common result of the Wonder Bra. Along with bulging eyes and drool. Also possible--mild stroke, fever, and a low to moderate risk of sexual side effects. If an erection persisted more than eight hours, she was not responsible. Fortunately, this was mere flirtation. This she could handle. She leaned forward to reward the Scotsman with a little more cleavage. “So tell me, Connor, what were you transformed into? Casanova? Or maybe Braveheart?”

A hint of a smile lingered over his wide mouth. “Nay, lass. I was thirty-two when I became a vampire.”

“Sheesh,” Gregori muttered.

Darcy sat back. A surprised laugh escaped her mouth. Connor looked quite amused with himself, but his companion looked extremely annoyed. “What’s wrong, Gregori? Didn’t you know your friend is actually a gruesome creature of the night?”

Gregori shook his head. “I can’t believe this.”

“Me, neither.” Darcy turned back to Connor. “So, who changed you into a vampire? Was it the monster from Loch Ness?”

Gregori tilted back his head and moaned at the ceiling.

Connor frowned. “Och, lassie. Doona be making fun of our dear Nessie. She wouldna like it one bit.”

Darcy laughed. She hadn’t had this much fun in months. “I suppose you know Nessie personally?”

He shrugged. “I havena seen the wee beastie in over a hundred years, but I pray she’s doing well.”

Darcy waved at Jack to get his attention. “If you’re not working undercover, I’d like to get you two on tape.” These guys could add a lot of humor to her report.

The two men stiffened. Slowly, they stood.

Connor narrowed his eyes on Jack’s camcorder. “Is that a digital camera?”

Darcy snorted. “I wish. The two top reporters have all the latest technology, but I’m stuck with this old dinosaur.”

“You calling me a dinosaur?” Jack asked as he approached.

“Your old video camera is.” Darcy blinked when Gregori zipped behind her so fast, he was like a black blur. “What was that?” She turned back in time to see

Connor wrench the camcorder out of Jack’s hands.

He pinned her with a sharp, blue gaze. “Ye willna be taping us. Do ye understand?”

A blanket of cold air pressed against her forehead, and she shivered. “Yes,” she whispered, then wondered why she had so readily agreed.

“I understand,” Jack said, his face blank.

Connor set the camcorder down. He and Gregori sauntered toward the bar.

Jack visibly shuddered. “Who are those men?”

Darcy glanced at the camcorder on the table. She wanted to tell Jack to pick it up and get Gregori and Connor on tape. But the words wouldn’t come out. Fine, then she’d tape them herself. She reached for the camcorder, but her hand stopped an inch away as if it had hit an invisible wall.

Ye willna be taping us. Connor’s words echoed in her mind. She glanced back at the Scotsman, who was now at the bar with Gregori. He turned toward her, saluted her with a full glass of blood, then chugged down the entire glass.

Darcy’s stomach twinged. How gross. She’d thought Connor and Gregori were nice guys, but they were just as screwed up as these poor kids. She put on her jacket, then swung her purse onto her shoulder. “Let’s get outta here.”

“Fine by me.” Jack picked up his video cam.

Darcy spotted the glowing exit sign for the back door. “Maybe we can catch some poor kid in the alley, heaving. That would be a fitting end to this wretched story.”

Jack followed her out the back. The heavy metal door shut with an ominous bang. She shuddered as an uneasy feeling enveloped her. There was something wrong here. 

Something evil.