arguing that it already has in some places. Most of the lycanthropes think we need to do what we can to bring cases and establish precedents that make our status a civil rights issue rather than a criminal one. Make sure it gets decided in courts first.”
“What do you think?”
“That they may have a point? I don’t know. It’s surreal to be talking about it in the open. I know this stuff has been public knowledge for years, but it seems like such a no-brainer. I’m still a person, still a U.S. citizen, why are we even arguing about this?”
I squeezed him. “The way I understand the argument is that we regulate guns because they’re dangerous weapons, and werewolves are dangerous, therefore…” I waved my hand, leaving the rest of the statement open.
“It’s enough to make you want to run off into the woods and never come back,” he said.
The police had cleared out the protests after dark—we could safely leave through the front doors, now. Waiting for us on the front sidewalk, Emma looked as enthusiastic and hip as she had at the airport, in a silky blue dress with a hem that danced at her knees and a sweater over her shoulders. Her hair hung loose, shining.
“Ready to go?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Are we dressed for it?” I was business-casual, in khakis and a blouse, and Ben wasn’t wearing a tie with his suit jacket. I expected vampires would treat this kind of event like dressing for prom: a celebration of fashion, excess, and an exercise in one-upping each other. How did a couple of werewolves fit into that?
“You’re fine,” she said, smiling.
The car drove what felt like the long way around, but I was beginning to wonder if London had a direct route between any two points.
“I wanted to ask you—I went to a lecture on vampire physiology, and there were no vampires in the audience. Aren’t you guys interested in that sort of thing? I figured one of you was sponsoring a research lab somewhere.”
“There isn’t really a tradition of funding scientific research among vampires,” she said. “Was it interesting?”
“It was a little over my head. A sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic kind of thing. I took notes.”
“I think it may come down to vampires not really being interested in what mortals have to say about them.”
“Yeah, so I’ve gathered,” I said.
She fidgeted with the edge of her sweater. “It doesn’t even seem real sometimes. Some days I feel like I ought to be getting up in the morning and going to class. I’m still young by human standards, never mind vampire. It’s like I don’t know what I am.”
“But is it getting any … I don’t know. Easier doesn’t seem like the right word.”
“Alette says that in another ten years, when I stop relating to people who look my age, and the people my age start looking older, I’ll feel less torn. The old life slips away, and it really does feel like you’ve died. You move on. Ned says the same thing. So I guess I just have to wait a few more years before it starts to feel normal.”
Normal. How could we even use that word to describe our lives? Because normal was what you lived with every day, no matter what it was. Nobody had the same normal when you put it like that; normal didn’t exist.
“You look really good,” I said. “Have I mentioned that?”
She shrugged, but her expression brightened. “I’ll never have to worry about wrinkles, will I?”
We drove on.
Chapter 6
THE CAR turned a corner and maneuvered between buildings that must have been a couple of hundred years old—tall, looming, neoclassical. A cobbled space had been reclaimed into a small, exclusive parking lot, lit by muted orange streetlights. Expensive luxury cars, big sedans, a few elegant limos, all polished to a shine, were lined up. Uniformed drivers lingered nearby, vigilant. A couple of them were werewolves, who straightened when they saw Ben and me. I kept my chin up, my gaze steady, prepared for posturing. But they only watched.
There were a couple of makes of sports cars I didn’t even recognize. I had the sudden feeling I was on the set for the latest James Bond movie. This obviously had to be a meeting of mobsters, trust fund babies, or vampires.
“Holy shit, is that a Bugatti?” Ben said.
“What’s a Bugatti?” I said, thinking it was some kind of local wildlife.
“Two million dollar sports car,” he said.
“Yeah?” I looked to where he was staring, like a kid with his face pressed to the window of a candy shop.
Colored a shade of blue that verged on black, the thing was shaped like a teardrop and didn’t seem to have any hard edges. Even knowing nothing about cars I could tell it was impressive.
“Maybe you could ask Antony to let you drive it around the block,” Emma said.
“Antony?” he said.
“Yeah. He’s pretty laid back, for a vampire.”
Ned’s driver, Andy, guided us to the front door. The building standing before us was a neoclassical marvel, with wide columns of pale granite holding up a peaked roof that showed friezes of toga-draped figures reclining and dancing in various states of merriment. Many wore or carried masks, smiling and frowning. This was a theater, I realized. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Arms spread wide, Ned was waiting for us at the top of the wide steps that led to the theater’s ornate, brass-decked front doors. “Welcome! Thank you for joining us!”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said wryly, bracing for more vampire bullshit than I’d ever encountered in my entire life. Somehow, I had to make it through the rest of the evening without saying anything snarky.
“It’s too late to back out, isn’t it?” Ben said.
“Never too late,” I said. “Just as long as we know where the exits are.”
He offered me the crook of his elbow, and I put my hand in it. Together, we climbed the stairs and met Ned. Emma followed.
“Any trouble?” Ned asked her.
“No,” she answered.
“Expecting any?” I said.
“Oh no, nothing apart from the usual.”
“What’s the usual?” I said, and he just smiled.
We passed through the doors into a gorgeous carpeted lobby, where crystal chandeliers hung from ceilings painted with lush baroque murals, chubby rosy cupids pulling goddesses of love in golden chariots, that sort of thing. The box office windows had gilt bars over them, and the walls had mahogany wainscoting and elegant antique chairs with embroidered seats.
Ned admired me admiring the scene. “The Restoration of the English theater took place in palaces like this.”
“It’s amazing,” I agreed.
“You seem less impressed, Mr. O’Farrell.”
“It’s a little busy for my tastes,” he said.
“Ah, you’re minimalist, then. A Beckett man.”
“I don’t know that I’m an anything man.”
“That just means you haven’t had a chance to develop a taste for anything yet,” he said.
We crossed the lobby and Ned put his hand on the painted door that presumably led to the main part of the theater. Ben’s hand moved to mine, pressing it where it rested on his arm, just as my nose flared, taking in a thick,
