Eliza Ford: Cause of Death: Unnatural

But it could only ever be a daydream, Em knew. What would Nick think of her if he knew what kind of monster she really was. Nick set up home with a soul eating, blood drinking dark creature over nine hundred years his senior? That kind of shit only happened in movies, and crummy teen novels.

Em shivered and put aside thoughts of Nick tangled in the sheets of her bed and decided to answer Jennifer's question another way.

“I was going out with Robert tonight, but things got messy at work,” she said.

Jennifer had the grace to look slightly guilty. “Have I ruined your date?” she cried. “Oh Em, I'd be really sorry, except... I don't think you should dating that guy. He's your boss!” The irony of Jennifer's moral outrage was completely lost on her. “And he is a bit of a nerd, isn't he? I don't know what you see in him.”

“Class, Jenn,” Em said. “Elegance. Intelligence.” Em tried not to sound too smug. Jennifer had an uncanny ability to attract men with an astonishingly low number of brain cells. Plenty of brawn, but no brain. It wasn't her fault, entirely, but Em knew she shouldn't rub it in. “And he's not a nerd! He's sophisticated.” She tried to sound playfully wounded in case Jennifer had caught the note of smugness in her voice.

Jennifer smirked and waved the bottle of red over Em's glass. Em nodded, and Jennifer muttered “geek” under her breath as she poured. They both laughed.

“And don't worry about tonight,” Em said. “It really did get busy at work. Robert had an invitation to that new burlesque club on the south side. We can go later, I guess, once we're a bit more clear at work.”

Jennifer's ears pricked up. “What's this new club?” she asked. “I can't believe there's a new burlesque club and I haven't heard about it!”

“Well, I don't know, actually,” Em admitted slowly. “It's in one of the old warehouse buildings down that way, but I haven't heard anything about it.” And that was odd, now she thought about it. She thought she'd had her ear to the ground, but this had slipped right past her.

“Weird,” Jennifer agreed. “How'd Robert find out about it?”

“He said he'd got a flyer in his letterbox.” Which was weird too, now she thought about it. “His home letterbox, not his work mail,” she frowned. “I've just realized how strange that is. I'd assumed it had been a work thing because there was a handwritten note on the back asking him to call for a meet and greet. I thought it was the club management trying to get in good with the police...”

Jennifer shrugged. “You guys are crime scene, not police, aren't you? And how did they know where he lived? That's kinda spooky, don't you think?”

Em found she had to agree. Why hadn't she realized any of this before?

“But he did call,” she said, “and they gave him a free admission plus one to tonight, which was supposed to be the opening, and to a behind the scenes tour, or somesuch.”

“Behind the scenes at a burlesque club?” giggled Jennifer. “As if you won't be getting enough tits and ass from the seats out the front! What do they think you are?” She snorted suddenly with a huge burst of laughter. “What do they think Robert is? I wouldn't have thought burlesque was his thing.”

“Oh, leave him alone!” Em laughed. “He's not that much of nerd. And if the tits and ass are worth paying to see the first time, who cares if we get to see them twice. It will be fun. We'll go tomorrow. We should be done with this case by then.”

“I still don't think you should be dating your boss,” Jennifer muttered into her wine glass, but with a decidedly cheeky grin on her face. “Especially when the geek is taking you to a strip club.” She giggled again, and Em threw a cushion at her.

“Shut up, Jenn. And I'm not taking dating advice from you, thank you very much. No one can eat this much ice cream, or drink this much wine!”

Jennifer looked placidly at the snowdrift of tissues and the empty cartons of ice cream on the coffee table. “I know,” she said with a sigh and a smile, and Em could see that she was okay now. “He was a jerk, you were right. Better luck next time, hey.”

Em was relieved. Jennifer had come through this one quite well. It had taken more ice cream and viewings of Titanic than Em cared to remember to get the girl to this stage. Jennifer was very good at flirting, exciting new sex and hopeless adoration, but absolutely dreadful at breaking up or putting her foot down. Em's coaching sessions had resulted in Jennifer finally being able to hang up on a boyfriend before he hung up on her, and being able to say “I hate you” like she meant it. She'd come a long way, and Em had high hopes for her yet. Jennifer was still a naive sentimental, and Em wished she'd slow down on the vodka, but there was a chance, just a chance she might score something more than a one night stand.

Baby steps, Em thought. Baby steps.

The doorman gave them a bored glance. It was a practised bored glance, Em realized. The club had barely been open a week, he couldn't really be bored. Not yet. The thick black eyeliner, the black bow tie and suspenders over his tanned and chiselled naked torso were all part of the same act. He had a thin face and a long nose. It made him look a little like a rat.

There was something else familiar about him too, Em thought, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Her headache was back. It had subsided a little over the last two days - an entire packet of paracetamol and half a bottle of scotch will have that effect - but the mental throbbing seemed to be back now, and twice as bad as before.

“Name?” said the rat-faced man, raising an eyebrow as he scanned Robert's jacket and shirt. He was a little overdressed, Em agreed, but that was Robert. What could you do?

“Robert Williams. This is my guest, Ms Emilia Ambrose.”

The doorman flipped through several pages of his list before he found Robert's name. When he did, he muttered something under his breath and turned to rummage through some papers in a small alcove in the doorway. He pulled out a red envelope, opened it and read its contents. His eyes flashed up sharply to meet Em's, then he lowered his gaze again and checked Robert's name off the list with a flourish.

When he looked up again his demeanour had changed entirely.

“Mr Williams,” he smirked. “Welcome to our humble little establishment. We are so pleased to have you, and Ms... Ambrose... was it?” He flicked a look in Em's direction again but didn't meet her eyes this time.

Em knew there was something about the man that she should be paying attention to, something about him that was... She ran her fingers through her hair and used the movement as an excuse to press her palm against the side of her head. The headache was getting worse by the minute. There was a ringing in her head that sounded like twisting, tearing metal. She could hardly think with the throbbing in her temples, but she smiled at Robert when he took her elbow and they walked downstairs into the club together.

They were seated at a small, round wooden table close to the stage and within moments a young blonde waitress came to take their drinks order. Em watched her carry her tray back to the bar, lean over, give their order to the buff young man mixing the drinks and saw the waitress nod her head in their direction. The man looked over quickly, and even across the darkened room Em saw his eyes widen and a predatory half smile curl his lips.

What was that? Em thought. She suddenly had the strangest feeling that she had forgotten something. There was something about the doorman and the man behind the bar that she should have recognized, but this headache! It's making me crazy, thought Em.

Robert was making small talk about the club and its patrons, Em realized, and she hadn't heard a thing.