Kiss Of Darkness. Heather Graham

      “Are you coming with us?” Mary demanded, her expression seductive as she sat on the edge of Jeremy’s bed at the former seventeenth-century monastery, now a youth hostel, where they were staying. “I can’t believe I got the invite. Some girl on the street just came up to me and started talking. It’s a private club. There’s not even a sign on the door. She says people will be there from all over Europe. It’s in the ruins of some old cathedral. There was a Hungarian couple in the café, and they said it’s almost impossible to get into the local club scene, especially the “castle” vampire parties. But I got an invitation. And get this. They supposedly brought in a famous dominatrix to be the hostess. Celebrities even come to Transylvania to show up at these parties. I guarantee you, it’s the coolest thing we’ll do all year.”

      Mary was gorgeous, an energetic pixie with brilliant blue eyes and a cascade of wheat blond hair. Jeremy was old enough, however, to know that going out with him hadn’t suddenly become the focus of her life. She wanted to get into this club, but she was scared, and she wanted friends with her.

      In high school, he might have dropped everything to do what she wanted. Though he’d never been a first-string player, he’d made his way onto the football team just because she was a cheerleader. He’d learned the guitar because she loved musicians. He’d never set out to be one of the in-crowd, but somehow, in his quest for her approval, he’d become one. He’d kept his own brand of morality, though, and that had somehow made him more desirable—to all the girls but Mary.

      He had to admit, he’d chosen to attend Tulane, in New Orleans, largely because of her. But he was past that. He was twenty-two, ready to graduate—with honors—and either accept a decent job offer, or head off to grad school. He had gained four inches since his eighteenth birthday, and time spent in the college gym had actually given him shoulders and a chest. He was serious and studious, something Mary had always teased him about, but something other girls seemed to appreciate. Once, he had worshiped Mary, now he saw her from a clearer perspective, but he still loved her, just more realistically, so he’d agreed to join her on this trip for their last spring break. Still, this wasn’t exactly like visiting England, or even France or Italy.

      This was Transylvania. They had started in Bucharest, explored Walachia before heading into Sighisoara and dining in the ancient home—now a restaurant—where Vlad Tepes, the man who’d become known as Dracula, had been born. They had strolled medieval towns, visited dozens of churches, heard about history and architecture. Their guides had all spoken English. The Romanians were no fools. Americans were willing to spend lots of money to travel, to feel a part of myth and mystery—and buy souvenirs.

      There were twenty students in their group, and luckily everyone got on well. Even better, they had crossed paths with an international convention of psychologists a few days earlier, and one of them was Jessica Fraser, who he’d met when she’d given a lecture at school. She had spent her free afternoon with them, and even claimed to remember meeting him. He had to admit, he’d developed a little bit of a crush on her. In fact, compared to her, Mary had started to seem kind of shallow and not at all interesting.

      He had an uneasy feeling about this invitation of hers, too. He’d heard a little about the kind of parties she was talking about. Rumor had it that on top of the usual bondage scene, they were run by a group of people who actually believed that they were vampires.

      “Mary, I don’t like it.”

      “Don’t be a wuss, Jeremy. I’m a journalism major. Think what I can do with this story.”

      Mary’s idea of journalism had landed them in several uncomfortable situations already. For about six months, he’d had an out, because he’d gotten into a serious relationship with a pretty English major. But she’d left the school when her mother got sick, and never returned. They had called each other every night for a while. Then the calls had become fewer and fewer. Even their e-mails had dwindled, until they’d finally drifted completely apart.

      So here he was in Transylvania, and here was Mary, ready to use him again. No, that wasn’t fair, he told himself. She’d always been a good friend.

      “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

      She laughed. “Oh, Jeremy. Come on. You’ve been mourning Melissa too long. What’s the matter? Are you afraid you might get laid?”

      “Mary,” he murmured. He hated it when she talked that way, no matter how liberated the world was supposed to be.

      “Please, Jeremy. I’ve read up the recent surge of private sex clubs—there was an article in the paper a few months back about one right in New Orleans. No sign on the door. People come from all over, because they can do what they want to do there.”

      “Yeah. Have silly rituals and slice their thumbs and suck each other’s blood. That’s pathetic, Mary.”

      “No, it’s not. No one is allowed to push anyone else into doing anything they don’t want to do. The woman who wrote the article said she wasn’t hit on as much there as at a bar.”

      “Maybe she’s old and ugly. And if there was already an article—”

      Mary sighed. “Jeremy, I want to take this story national. An exposé—what’s going on here and in the States. Look, I’m going, with or without you. I won’t be going alone. Nancy agreed to come. But we need a guy. I mean, we’d like to have a guy with us. And, if you don’t go, what are you going to do? Play some dumb computer game all night?”

      “Mary, I designed that game, and it’s going to get me a good job.”

      To his amazement, she took his hands, pleading. “I want this story so badly, Jeremy. Please.”

      “All right, fine. I’ll go.”

      She jumped up, a brilliant smile on her face. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Ever.”

      “Listen, Mary, when I say we have to leave—”

      “We leave. Fine. Now, quit worrying. I always land on my feet.”

      “How do we get there?” he demanded.

      “It’s too cool. We head up that path toward the mountain, and we get picked up by a carriage.” Mary shook her head, smiling. “I still don’t know why that girl invited me. I guess I’m just lucky.”

      I guess you’re just beautiful, he thought.

      But he wanted her to be happy, so he kept his mouth shut. He’d go, but he still didn’t like it.

      He was still unhappy when Mary went to her room to change for the night. While she was gone, he went outside. The psychologists were all in the