Dance in the Dark by Megan Derr Page A

laid over it.
    So it definitely an abnormal behind the attacks. Not that it was a surprise, or narrowed down possible motives, but at least abnormals he knew. For all that he was technically one of them, he knew absolutely nothing about normals.
    Opening his eyes and standing up, he looked around the kitchen and weighed his options. Walking toward the back, he opened the door and glanced out into the alley. He winced for his shoes and slacks as he noted the amount of filth and grime, but ventured out anyway. Reaching the dumpster, he used a handkerchief to open the lid and then lift out a trash bag that proved to be filled with broken glass.
    Throwing the bag on the ground, he opened it and examined the shards of glass. Unfortunately, if magic had been used in the breaking, it did not show in the shards. But it would not, necessarily. Whoever was behind it all had needed to be present to set the fire, but had been good enough to break the glassware from a distance.
    Frowning thoughtfully, Johnnie returned the bag to the dumpster, then picked his way gingerly through the muck and back inside. Once there, he found a clean place to sit down and tried to salvage his shoes. Damn it. He much preferred drawing room mysteries that did not get suspicious substances all over his person. When his shoes were as clean as they were going to get, he strode back out to the bar proper.
    "Hey, Johnnie," Peyton greeted. "G-man just got back. I told him to take it all upstairs. Walsh called to say they found one other place, but were still looking around. I was going to order pizza, would you like any?"
    Johnnie blinked. "What is pizza?"
    Peyton's jaw dropped. "What do you mean—you've never had pizza?" Johnnie just looked at him, not bothering to voice what everyone was clearly thinking: that someone of his position did not eat the same things they did.
    Over by the jukebox, the vampire snorted and wandered over to the bar. "You're stamped 'vampire elite' in sparkly fluorescent pink ink, pretty boy. The clothes, the airs, no concept of real food? Not to mention the pretty. There's only one normal I've ever heard of who could pass as a vamp noble, and his last name sure ain't 'Goodnight'."
    Johnnie regarded him coolly. "So far as anyone here is concerned, that is my last name."
    The vampire lifted his hands in surrender. "Hey, man. I didn't say it was a problem. It ain't. I'm just saying it's sad you've never had pizza." He extended one hand. "Name's Heath Rochester. Call me Heath."
    Johnnie shook hands. "A pleasure to meet you."
    Heath grinned. "You really could be a vamp; it's sort of spooky." Johnnie dismissed the words with a shrug. Heath smiled ever so briefly, as though amused by something, but only motioned to the guys at the pool table. "That's Chuck and Nelson. I think you more or less met everyone else. It's cool you came to help; don't know many of your lot who would."
    His lot. Johnnie almost rolled his eyes at that, but in the end let it go.
    "So, pizza?" Peyton asked.
    "Totally," Heath replied, and clapped Johnnie on the shoulder. "Order up a good variety, Peyt. Let's see what our new friend likes." New friend, ha. It was unfortunate that both Heath and Peyton knew who he was, and chances were that if those two knew, by now everyone knew, and so he probably should not come here again.
    But it had been nice, he realized with a sudden burst of sad wistfulness, not to be seen first as Ontoniel's adopted human—normal—son. He was regarded as a rich, haughty pretty boy here, but he had obviously left a greater impression in the way he had helped out Micah.  He liked that.
    Reclaiming his barstool, he took a sip of the vodka still sitting there. "It was definitely an abnormal who set the kitchen on fire. Given the nature of the attacks, I would say it was the attacker himself who did the fire, rather than hiring someone else to break in and do it. Hopefully Micah and Walsh will bring back useful information."
    Peyton sighed. "I hope