“‘Talked’?” Takashi nudged Roger’s leg subtly.
“Maybe a bit more than talked.” Roger grinned slyly at Takashi.
“I’m glad you found a way to settle him.”
“For now,” Roger whispered. He leaned in to speak directly into Takashi’s ear. He didn’t need Zack to accidentally overhear him or Kit, who had the superior hearing. “Candide has always prided herself on her ability to control a tight donor house of pleasure. She hasn’t resorted to using those gray bands on anyone, has she?”
Takashi faked a smile as he drifted back, and then he leaned in, using Roger as a shield from even potential lipreading. “You know her better than I. Do you think Zack will have the same reaction as last night when he sees them again?”
“No idea,” Roger said. “We talked, but.”
“But he’s a hunter at heart.”
“Not that.” Roger glanced at the other three, but Zack was currently holding out a lip gloss applicator like he could waggle it enough and Carver would take it. Confident their conversation was still private enough, he told Takashi, “It’s not the hunter in him. It’s the hero.”
“And that is more dangerous,” Takashi murmured. He squeezed Roger’s shoulder. “Hopefully he can keep it together and we can pull this off.”
As Takashi started to back away, Roger put his arm on top of his and held him close. “You’re not all right with the gray bands, are you?”
“With ridding someone of all sense of self and leaving them to be mindless puppets?No,” Takashi said with a low snarl. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“All right, all right, all right!” Carver said loudly as he took the lip gloss applicator from Zack. “Girlify me.”
“It’s notgirlyto care about your appearance and lip moisture,” Zack replied.
Carver sloppily spread the lip gloss across his bottom lip. “Yeah, well, don’t think I’ll be doing any kissing tonight, so why’s that matter?”
Zack shrugged one shoulder, but Roger could feel the spike of ice-cold fear emanating from him—a dread of rejection. Zack continued to play off the moment like he couldn’t care, though. “You never know. You might.”
“Oh?” Carver asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No promises,” Zack replied.
Carver leaned forward. “You’re a tease, huh?”
Zack snatched the applicator from Carver and tried to spread the lip gloss out better, but he wound up sticking it in Carver’s mouth when the limo bounced.
Kit laughed and shook their head before taking it back. “Just wait, Carver. We’ll have you with your own makeup bag inside a week.”
“Nope,” Carver replied.
“Bet we could,” Zack joked.
The three of them made up a mock wager that Roger lost track of because the limo was turning onto the long drive heading for the Chateau de Vampire.
Candide had dreamed of building her own donor house away from the bustle of Chicago for over a century, and she’d finally built it during Roger’s cursed coma. The building rivaled the splendor of a French palace, reminding Roger of centuries past. The structure was only three stories tall. A front garden had several topiaries of rabbits and birds. Red and purple lights cast illumination on the outside of the first floor, lending an element of dramatics to the impressive structure. All the lights were on in the first and second floor; no one seemed to be occupying the third floor.
Vehicles dropped their passengers off a good forty feet from the door, enough that a group of statues decorated the walkway. One was in the center, and crimson lights drew attention to it. The main figure was modeled after Seamus, though the statue made Seamus to be taller than he actually was. He was showing his fangs, about to go for a kill bite on the collapsed figure in his arms, a nude woman with her face blank in ecstasy.
Dotted around the walkway were four more statues. The two nearest to the circle drive had their backs to approaching guests so that they were facing the statue of Seamus. One was of Dmitri, standing solid and imposing in a suit styled from the 1930s—an era of dress he liked above others. The other was Anton, one foot on a chair that he was tipping backward. His marble was styled as if he had on a billowing shirt, open to his mid-torso and displaying his muscular pecs. Those had been exaggerated as well. His mouth was open, fangs long and lips grinning. Somehow, the artist had managed to capture a manic glee in the statue’s eyes.
On the far-right side, nearer to the entrance of the Chateau, was a statue of Candide and one of her pets. She had her headhigh, her hand entangled in her pet’s hair. The figure depicted beside her was on his knees and nude except for the collar around his throat. He had his face buried in Candide’s long skirt. She’d chosen to have the artist display her in a mid-eighteenth-century French gown, the details nearly lost in the dim lighting on the statues.
Clearly, Seamus had demanded his statue remain the brightest focal point.
