When Will I See You Again by Julie Lynn Hayes Read Free Book Online Page B

Miller answered for both of them.
    “Two screwdrivers, thanks.”
    Foster nodded and walked off, and Miller nudged Alexx, leaning in to make himself heard. “Let’s go back there, away from the noise.” They threaded their way between glass-topped chrome tables and metallic chairs. Alexx could see some couples pairing off and leaving, while others seemed content to stay where they were. He wondered how many of the ones heading to the exit were

werewolves, but there was no real way of knowing. At least not until moonrise. He didn’t think he wanted to find out that way.
    They picked a table and took seats on adjoining sides. Alexx perched at the edge of his chair, too excited to relax, absorbing his surroundings. Their table sat in the far corner of the room. A large dance floor lay across from them. It took up a quarter of the available space. Couples energetically writhed to the pulsing music. Alexx tapped his foot in time to the contagious rhythm.
    “Just sip the drink when it comes,” Miller advised. “Vodka can be sneaky, but it’s a good beginner drink. We’re lucky Foster’s here tonight, and that he knows us. And is willing to admit it.
    Otherwise, I don’t think we’d have got in.”
    “I don’t think so either,” Alexx agreed.
    Foster quickly appeared, bearing three drinks and napkins. He set them on the table, taking a seat. Alexx noticed the napkins bore Charisma’s logo—a large ornate dark blue C against the backdrop of a silvery full moon. In one corner were smaller maroon letters— M and E—in a less elaborate script. Marchand Enterprises.
    “Don’t mind Raoul.” Foster sat back, obviously at ease with his surroundings. Alexx wondered if he came here often. “This isn’t a good night for him, as you can imagine.”
    “I guess not,” Miller agreed. He took his drink, sliding Alexx’s closer to him.
    Alexx picked it up. He removed the tiny umbrella and discarded it, taking a tentative sip. It tasted just like orange juice.
    That wasn’t so bad. He could handle that. He took another.
    Glancing toward Miller, he saw him mouth, “Slow down.” He set the drink back on the table.
    “So, your first assignment, eh?” Foster clapped a friendly hand on Alexx’s shoulder. “A lot of great journalists started out in the

mail room, you know?”
    “So I’ve heard.”
    “Where did you get your journalism degree?” Foster pressed.
    Alexx hesitated. “I didn’t,” he said at last. “I never went to college. I came here straight out of high school.”
    “Is that so?” Foster drank from a fluted glass that looked as if it might contain champagne.
    “I’ve been writing ever since I could hold a pencil,” Alexx said defensively. “All I’ve ever wanted to be is a reporter.”
    “And you’re getting your chance to do that. So what is it you’re supposed to be writing about?” the blond asked. “Or did Randy tell you to pick your own topic?”
    “No, he assigned one.” Alexx pulled out a small notepad from his pocket, along with a pen, pushing aside his trepidations. Stop being paranoid, he cautioned himself. Stay cool. “With Lupercalia coming up,” he replied, “he wants a couple of pieces on the local supernaturals, and how they’ve contributed to the economy of Crescent Bay.”
    “Ah, then you’re definitely in the right place.” Foster nodded.
    “The Marchands are the beginning and the end when it comes to Crescent Bay supernatural society.” He gestured with one hand.
    “Philippe Marchand is the head of the family. He’s responsible for everything you see here. When he brought his pack to Crescent Bay, almost fifty years ago, the town was struggling to survive.
    The tourist industry was nonexistent, and fishing was falling off.
    Young people were leaving town in droves, seeking their fortune in bigger cities.”
    “Fifty years ago? That’s a long time,” Alexx commented, taking notes as he talked. “Charisma’s been here that long?”
    “Yes, but not