The Vampire with the Dragon Tattoo

Chapter Fifteen

The following evening, Dougal teleported to the lobby at DVN and asked the receptionist for directions to Wilson’s salon.

“Down the main hall.” She pointed behind her at the double doors. “Then turn left and you’ll find it just past the dressing rooms.”

“Thank you.” He strode toward the doors.

“You’re not really getting your hair cut, are you?” the girl asked.

He paused with the door half open. “I look like a pirate.”

She sighed, a wistful look in her eyes. “I know.”

Was that a good thing? He wandered down the hall, then turned left. As he passed a dressing room, his superior hearing caught the sound of Laszlo’s voice.

“Two hundred dollars? For a haircut?”

“You think it was easy?” a man asked. “You came in looking like your hair had been groomed at a pet store.”

“Only once,” Laszlo mumbled.

The man snorted. “I knew it. Oh, and here’s the bill for your new clothes.”

“Five hundred dollars?” Laszlo squealed.

Dougal winced. Apparently a makeover was expensive.

“Relax, dude,” Gregori told him. “You look great!”

“I-I’m not so sure,” Laszlo mumbled.

Dougal reached the open door and peered inside. Laszlo was wearing expensive gray slacks, a red knit shirt of some strange modern design, and a black double-breasted jacket in a military style. The jacket boasted a ton of buttons, which seemed like a good match for Laszlo, but it was his hair that gave Dougal pause. The long, floppy bangs were gone. Laszlo’s hair had been cut short.

Dougal swallowed hard.

“Trust me,” Gregori said. “Leah will think you’re hot.”

“What?” The third man pressed a hand to his chest.

He has to be Wilson, Dougal thought. He was slim with a mop of blond curls and sharply assessing blue eyes.

“You’re trying to impress a girl? Why didn’t you say so?” Wilson grabbed a pair of scissors off the counter, snipped at the neck of Laszlo’s red shirt, and ripped it halfway down. “There. Perfect!”

“What? You just destroyed a” —Laszlo glanced at the bill—“a hundred-dollar shirt!”

“And it looks fabulous!” Wilson peeled the shirt back to reveal Laszlo’s pasty white chest. “Now you’re saying, ‘Let’s get it on, hot mama. I can go all night long.’ ”

Laszlo gulped and grasped at a button on his new jacket.

“Stop that.” Wilson slapped at his hand. “It ruins your aura of confidence.”

“I don’t have an aura of confidence.”

Wilson groaned, then glared at Gregori. “Do you expect me to turn a kumquat into caviar?”

“You did great,” Gregori assured him. “Laszlo has never looked so good.”

“His name is Laszlo?” Wilson asked in a shocked voice. “Oh God, no. We’re getting rid of that.”

“What?” Laszlo sputtered. “But—but—”

“Stop that.” Wilson swatted his shoulder, then stepped back, tapping a finger against his mouth. “Hmm, how about Lance?”

Gregori shook his head. “Not manly enough.”

“You’re right.” Wilson waved a hand in the air. “I once knew a lovely man named Lance, but he fell for a werewolf. Can you believe he chose a fur ball when he could have had me?”

“Unbelievable,” Gregori muttered.

“I’ve got it.” Wilson snapped his fingers, then pointed at Laszlo. “Laser!”

“Where?” Laszlo looked over his shoulder.

“No, you! You’re Laser.” Wilson adjusted the lapels on his jacket. “And I’ll give you some advice for free. Join an all-night gym and put on some muscle. The girls love a man with a strong chest.”

“Oh. Okay.” Laszlo tried to ease the ripped shirt back together.

“Stop that.” Wilson slapped at his hands. “Don’t you want to look sexy?”

“I-I thought she might like me for my intelligence.”

Wilson snorted. “Are you kidding? Women want a guy with presence. Powerful, strong, and—” He glanced toward the door when Dougal stepped in. “Oh. My. God.”

Gregori smiled. “This is Dougal. The other guy who needs a makeover.”

“Oh yes.” Wilson approached him slowly, his discerning eyes examining him carefully. “Yes.”

Dougal inclined his head. “How do ye do?”

“Yes,” Wilson repeated, tapping a finger against his mouth. “Yes.”

Laszlo looked confused. “You’re getting a haircut, too?”

Dougal shrugged. “I look like a pirate.”

“Oh.” Laszlo frowned, twisting a button on his jacket.

“Hmm.” Wilson circled Dougal slowly, studying him, then reached out to touch his white shirt. “No.” He eyed his kilt. “No.” His eyes widened at the sight of his sporran. “No!” His gaze lifted to Dougal’s hair. “Oh hell, no!”

“What happened to yes?” Dougal asked.

Wilson waved a dismissive hand. “You have great presence, but—” He grimaced. “What in God’s name have you been doing to your hair?”

“I . . . wash it.”

“With what?” Wilson wrinkled his nose. “Lye soap?”

“No’ recently.”

“When did you last use conditioner?”

Dougal paused, trying to remember.

“Oh God.” Wilson shot an annoyed look at Gregori. “How many miracles do you expect me to perform in one night?”

Gregori chuckled. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“Well, that’s true.” Wilson touched a strand of Dougal’s hair and hissed. “Your split ends have split ends. What have you been cutting it with, a dull axe?”

Dougal snorted. “I’m no’ a barbarian.” He reached down to remove the sgian dubh from his knee sock. “I use a wee blade.”

“Oh God.” Wilson jumped back. “That’s appalling.” He tilted his head as Dougal leaned over to slide the knife back into its scabbard. “But kinda sexy. What is that on your hand? A metal glove?”

“A metal hand,” Dougal muttered as he straightened. “I lost my hand in battle.”

“Oh my. It looks so strong. And powerful.” Wilson’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got it! We’ll redo your image based on the theme full metal jacket so we can highlight your metallic hand.”

Dougal winced. “Must you?”

“Yes!” Wilson punched the air with his fist. “We’ll dress you all in black and cover you with zippers and chains. And handcuffs!”

Dougal frowned. “I doona believe that chains and handcuffs will inspire a woman’s trust.”

“Are you kidding?” Wilson grinned. “She’ll love it!”

Gregori chuckled. “Sounds kinky to me.”

Laszlo twisted a button. “You’re doing this for a woman? Which woman?”

“Stop that.” Wilson swatted at him. “Now hush, I have to think.” He walked back toward Dougal. “We’ll get rid of the antique shirt and skirt.”

“ ’Tis called a kilt,” Dougal muttered.

“And what is this strange thing?” Wilson leaned over for a closer look.

Dougal gritted his teeth. “ ’Tis called a sporran—a fine, manly tradition amongst the Scots.”

Wilson smirked. “A furry thing in the groin area. Yeah, I’d call that manly.” He reached out to stroke it.

Dougal stepped back. “Doona touch the muskrat.”

Wilson straightened, his hand pressed to his chest. “Oh my God. I’m in muskrat love!”

Gregori grinned. “I remember that. Captain & Tennille.”

Dougal glowered at them. “What captain?”

“Never mind, gorgeous. Let’s get you started.” Wilson motioned toward a row of sinks and reclining chairs against the wall.

“I need to get back to work,” Laszlo mumbled.

“See you later, Laser.” Wilson waved at him. “You can pay at the receptionist desk.”

Gregori patted him on the back. “Good luck, dude. Tell Abby I’ll be back soon.”

Laszlo cast a worried look at Dougal, then hurried from the room.

Dougal sighed. He should have told Laszlo that he was pursuing Leah. But since he wasn’t making any progress, it hadn’t seemed necessary.

Wilson grabbed a smock off the counter. “Here, take off your shirt and put this on.”

Dougal hesitated. “I canna put that on top?”

“The neckband on your shirt is too high.” Wilson waved a hand. “Come on, strip.”

Dougal winced inwardly, then unbuttoned his shirt. Maybe if he took it off with vampire speed—

“What is that?” Wilson yanked back his collar. “A tat?”

“ ’Tis nothing.” Dougal quickly pulled off his shirt and reached for the smock.

Wilson whisked the smock out of his reach. “Oh my God! It’s magnificent!”

“Snap!” Gregori’s eyes grew wide. “That’s a huge, freaking dragon!”

Dougal turned to grab the smock and heard Gregori’s gasp. Damn! He quickly pulled the smock around his shoulders. Gregori must have seen the scars on his back from being lashed. And being the snitch that he was, he would tell Angus about it. And his wife.

“Wh-what happened to you?” Gregori whispered.

“ ’Tis nothing.” Dougal snapped the smock together.

“Dougal, your back . . . sheesh, man.” Gregori grimaced. “I guess it must have happened before you were transformed?”

“Aye.” Dougal strode toward one of the reclining chairs in front of a sink. “Can we get on with this?”

“What did I miss?” Wilson demanded. “Was it another tattoo?”

Gregori sighed. “I think it’s personal.”

“Ye’re damned right,” Dougal growled.

“Hmm.” Wilson tapped his mouth with his finger. “Talking about personal, I think we’ll put you in some incredibly tight black pants. So what have you got on now? Boxers or briefs?”

Dougal blinked. “Ye—ye mean underdrawers?”

Gregori snorted. “If he’s a real Scotsman, he’s going commando.”

“Really?” With a grin, Wilson walked over to his workstation. “So tell me, are you a real Scotsman?” He grabbed a blow dryer. “ ’Cause I feel a breeze coming on.”

Dougal groaned. It was going to be a long night.

Leah was in the lab, concentrating on a printout of a DNA strand, when Abby nudged her with her elbow.

“Look who’s back! It’s Laszlo!”

“Hi,” Leah mumbled, not looking up.

Abby nudged her again harder.

“What?” Leah lifted her head and discovered Laszlo standing across the room with a hopeful expression on his face. For the first time she could see his forehead. “You got a haircut.”

“Yes.” Laszlo fiddled with a button.

“It looks great!” Abby said. “Don’t you think it looks great, Leah?”

“Sure.” It looks short. “I guess you’ll be able to look in a microscope now without your hair falling in your eyes.”

Laszlo nodded. “Yes.”

“And that new jacket is fabulous,” Abby said, nudging Leah with her foot.

What was going on? Leah aimed a questioning look at Abby, then glanced at Laszlo. “Yes, it looks wonderful on you.”

“Really?” He gave her a hopeful smile.

“Did something happen to your shirt?” Leah asked.

His smile faded as he tried to push the torn edges together. “It was an accident.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Leah gave him a sympathetic look.

“Did Gregori come back with you?” Abby asked.

“No, he’s still at the salon.” Laszlo tugged at a button on his jacket. “He’s there with Dougal.”

Leah stiffened. “Dougal’s there? Why?”

Laszlo frowned, twisting the button. “He said he looked like a pirate.”

Then he was going to get his hair cut off? Leah jumped to her feet, her heart pounding. “Do you have his phone number?”

“Dougal’s?” Laszlo shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”

“Abby?” Leah turned to her.

She shrugged. “I don’t have the number for his cell. I usually call the office.”

“Then call Gregori!” Leah yelled. “Hurry!”

Abby pulled out her phone and pushed some buttons. “What’s wrong, Leah? Oh, hi, sweetie,” she said into the phone.

“What’s happening to Dougal?” Leah demanded.

Abby paused to listen. “Gregori says he just sat down in the chair—”

Leah grabbed the phone. “Gregori, you have to stop him!”

“Leah?” Gregori asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t cut his hair. Don’t change anything about him. I like him just the way he is.”

“What?” Laszlo’s button popped off and hit the floor.

“I—” Leah’s breath caught at the devastated look on Laszlo’s face. Oh no! Had he gotten his makeover to impress her?

“Dougal, what are you doing?” Gregori said on the phone. “Aw, sheesh. Leah? He heard you.”

She gulped. “What is he doing?”

“He tore off the smock and he’s putting on his shirt. He just left some money on the counter,” Gregori reported.

“Dougal!” a voice shouted over the phone. “Come back! You have to at least let me cut the split ends!”

“He vanished,” Gregori said. “He’s probably teleporting to Romatech.”

Leah’s heart lurched. Holy crapoly! What had she done? Dougal knew how she felt, and he was coming.

“Tell Abby I’ll be there soon.” Gregori hung up.

In a daze, Leah handed the phone to Abby.

“You like Dougal,” Laszlo whispered.

His sad face tore at her heart. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know how you . . . I’m sorry.”

The lab door burst open, and Dougal zoomed inside. He stopped, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair wet, loose, and wild, and his eyes focused on her, gleaming like emeralds.

Her heart stuttered. “Dougal.”

He strode toward her and grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”