Page 16 of You’re So Vein

Alaric’s Thrall settles Hannah at the kitchen table, then leads me into a lofty drawing room where a fire roars in the hearth and a black-and-white cat luxuriates across the rug. Gideon Blake stands at one of the high arched windows, the moonlight casting a halo about his golden hair, as if he were a saint anointed by the Christian god and not a proud and prolific sinner. He sips from a glass of blood and surveys the valley below.

The lord himself sits behind a large easel, brush in hand and starched white collar speckled with paint. He does not look up as we enter.

“Augustin Durant to see you, my lord,” Reginald says.

“Hmmmm.” Alaric bites the edge of his lip as he adds shading to the painting of Winnie’s face.

“My lord. Your guest is here.” Reginald snaps his fingers in front of Alaric’s nose. The vampire doesn’t even blink, so intense is his concentration.

“It’s no good, Reginald.” Gideon helps himself to the carafe of blood on the table. “I’ve spent the last ten minutes asking Alaric to be the best man at my wedding, and all I got was a noncommittal grunt.”

I bite my tongue.

My friendship with Alaric and Gideon is new. When I first moved to Argleton, Alaric was the only other vampire, although he never left the castle and I never introduced myself. But when Gideon arrived and started building Sanctus, I saw my chance. We are working together on this Conclave visit, but I have to remind myself that, for all our ease, they are old friends with ancient ties, and I am new to their company.

It does not always work. Sometimes, like now, it reminds me of being at the orphanage, afraid and alone and human, intruding on the other children’s games, never invited, never included. Despite their differences, Alaric and Gideon are so at ease with each other. I’ve never had a friendship like that. I’ve never been anyone’s best man.

I thought I had, once, but…

No, don’t think of him now. You must focus, for Hannah.

Gideon slumps down in one of the chairs closest to the fire. “I say we start without Allie. Fancy a glass of blood? This one is a 1920s Vaudeville Starlet. You can practically taste the sequins. Allie always has a decent vintage, although it’s a pity he won’t share his delectable wife—”

“If you so much as wave a fang at Winifred’s neck, I will circumcise you from the inside out,” Alaric deadpans, without looking up from his painting.

“A drink would be lovely.” The scent of the blood swirls around me. I can’t keep vintage at home, because of Hannah, so I usually attend a feeding club in Grimdale, but visiting Chirag Ahuja meant I couldn’t go last night. I’ll think better on a full stomach. I accept a glass from Gideon and move to the opposite chair. “Should we—”

“That’s my chair.”

Alaric towers over me, his dark eyes aflame. Even for a vampire, he moves impossibly fast. At over 500 years old, Alaric’s ancient strength is potent, dangerous. And right now he’s glaring at me like I’m on the menu.

Gideon smirks over his glass. He knew, of course.

“Ah, yes. Your chair.” I rise with the casual ease of an aristocrat, even though inside I am a bundle of nerves. “I was just testing it for you, making certain no one had left their pet cactus behind upon its exalted cushion.”

I hover beside the fire while Alaric arranges his long limbs, the leather crackling with delight at his presence. The cat leaps onto his lap and circles before plopping down. She regards me with a look that’s almost as venomous as her companion’s.

Alaric is from a prominent family in the Nightshade Court – the vampire court of warriors. Gideon is a disgraced son from the Midnight Court – the court of entertainment and fancies. And I am our Dusk Court representative – the court of mages. The three of us have been meeting in secret ever since Alaric incurred the wrath of the Conclave by declaring his intention to marry a mortal. We want to force the Conclave to rewrite the vampire–human laws.

Our chance approaches. After Gideon had a falling out with the Conclave and Alyra was killed and Arabella attacked on Sanctus property, the Conclave – the council of elders from the three courts, who oversee the Upyr laws – have declared that they’re sending three delegates to check up on vampire affairs in Argleton. These representatives – one from each court – will decide whether the ancient laws should be amended. For them to even consider our suggestion, they first choose a champion among us to complete a series of three challenges, one set by each court.

Alaric strokes the cat until her purrs reverberate through the dim room. “My mother informs me that the three delegates have been chosen. They shall arrive within days.”

“Which officious bloodsuckers are they sending to judge us?” Gideon leans forward, drumming his fingers against his glass.

The Conclave kept the identity of the delegates secret from us until the last possible moment. They agreed to these talks only because of the support for Alaric and Winnie, and the number of vampires expressing interest in Sanctus, but they’ll give us every opportunity to fail.

“The Nightshade Court sends Kael Morrigan, of the Blood Morrigan.”

Oh.

Not a good start.

His challenge will absolutely involve bloodshed.

Gideon winces. “Couldn’t they send your mother instead? I’d feel safer.”

“The Lady of Agony will also be visiting.” Alaric’s voice is as sharp as the sword blades that decorate his hearth. “She wishes to enjoy the inevitable bloodbath that will ensue if I’m in the same room with that man.”