“Bonsoir, Adrienne…” the woman said.
Then she looked down at the reptile, her tone becoming exasperated: “Oh, for the love of God, Jules, I know it’s your favorite new toy, but really! It smells!”
It did, of carrion and death. The great predatory lizard reared; there was a blurring, and it was a man on one knee with a hand touching the ground. He rose and returned Adrienne’s embrace gracefully; then the pair both stood while servants cleaned them with hot, scented damp towels and dropped loose robes like Adrienne’s over their heads. They and she had a family resemblance; the pair were a little below medium height, dark-haired and olive-skinned, with a look of vital, well-preserved early middle age.
Their eyes were hot gold, like pools of molten metal with darker flecks crawling through them in slow motion.
“Our baggage and servants should be here momentarily, Adrienne,” Julianne Br?z? said. “But it is great fun to fly in to the tower on one’s own wings. And the refreshments were lovely! I was always partial to blonds.”
“So am I,” Adrienne said. “I have an absolutely wonderful new one you must meet. She has the most interesting mind.”
“We heard,” her father said. “Stealing Adrian’s lucy! Not that the boy doesn’t deserve it, with some of the things he’s done. He always was a strange one.”
“He’ll come ’round eventually,” Julianne said. “He’s our boy at heart.”
She smiled, blood crimson on her teeth before she licked them clean.
“Those two were absolutely delicious… They were really very thoughtful of you, ma fille douce. And it was so sweet; the man kept trying to protect her, and she kept calling his name. Marvelous!”
“Chivalry is not dead,” Jules said. “Not Californians, from the accents?”
“No, my renfields picked them up for you… tourists at San Simeon, in fact. I’ve had them combing the possibilities, with the party in mind.”
“Ah.” Jules sighed. “The Enchanted Hill was such a pleasant place in its prime. A shame to think of it being overrun with gawkers.”
“There were some fabulous parties there when we were a newlywed couple,” Julianne agreed, and then laughed softly: “Particularly the parts that our host didn’t allow into the papers.”
Jules nodded. “What a pity William didn’t transition successfully. Still, he was genetically marginal-a tragedy more common in his generation.”
An attendant set out wine, bread, olive oil, a selection of cheeses and dried fruits and nuts. It would have been chilly for humans, but the Shadowspawn reclined comfortably around the table, nibbling and sipping, enjoying the jeweled arch of the heavens and the new moon. Wood burned in iron cages at the corners of the terrace, reflecting on the water of the pool below.
“So, what is this of Hajime invited to the estate?” Jules said. “Speaking of the party.”
“Oh, Jules,” Julianne said. “You’re not still angry with the man for killing us?”
“It was grossly offensive,” Adrienne’s father replied.
Adrienne smiled. “And you’ve been very good about living in a reclusive way down in La Jolla since then,” she said. “With me as public head of this branch of the family, the T?kairins felt… easy and un-threatened. But now… now I think it’s once more time for the Br?z?s to spread their wings here in California, a little.”
The molten eyes turned to Adrienne. “Oh, my darling girl, whatever could you mean?” her mother said. “We were simply taking our time adjusting to the postcorporeal state.”
White teeth gleamed in the night, and all three laughed. A servant’s hand shook a little as she poured more of the wine. A few red drops spilled on Adrienne’s wrist; she considered them and then slowly licked them up.
“We should talk. And then, if you have a taste for midnight flight, perhaps we could do some hunting together. There’s a little loose end you could really get your teeth into.”
“Let me give you a hand!” Peter said.
He took the big ceramic bowl of potato salad out of Ellen’s arms and put it on one of the picnic tables. Others jumped to take the rest of the precariously-piled loads from the two women. People were milling around the walled rear yard, and into the house through the sliding-glass doors. Japanese lanterns bobbed overhead, casting shifting light.
More than half of the attendees were apparently the Villegas clan, but a substantial number of Monica’s tennis and library-volunteer friends were there too, and their spouses and children. Fiona Duggan was attending, with a Chinese man a little younger than she. Most families seemed to have brought a dish, including enough cakes and trifles and empanadas to make her feel guilty just looking. The sheltered walled garden was comfortable if you had a jacket, but there was a constant traffic of laden plates into the house and empty ones coming out. Children ranged from teenagers-the male ones giving her wistful looks-to a small fair-haired baby being dandled and admired.
Oh. That’s where the… little girl from San Simeon went.
She was too young to cry much, though she looked around dubiously.
She’ll forget. She’s really too young to know her mother’s gone. And growing up a renfield… well, better that than some things.
The big brick barbecue pit smoked over the oakwood coals at the edge of a flagstone patio, with Jose presiding-or attempting to, as his father and uncles crowded around offering advice with bottles of beer in their hands. A long spike over one end held a yard of carne al pastor, thin-sliced pork loin dripping with little sputters and spurts of flame. Smells pungent and meaty and spicy drifted on the air.
Jose flourished a knife as long as his forearm and sliced off an edge from top to bottom onto a plate of tortillas. More of the flat wheat-breads warmed on a comal, a flatiron, supervised by Jose’s rather stout mother and a doe- eyed, strikingly pretty girl who was probably his sister from the way they teased each other. Chicken thighs and breasts and drumsticks sizzled, and some hamburgers and bratwurst, and steaks that smelled as if they’d been marinated in lime and garlic and pepper…
“The brats I brought, they’re one of Minnesota’s national dishes,” Peter said. “These things always turn into an amoeba party when Jose’s putting it on.”
“Amoeba party?”
“Multiplication by division. He has a lot of relatives,” Peter said. “Beer or wine? The Rh?ne de Robles is good, but…”
“Beer, thanks. More cooling!”
He fetched her one, a light pale ale from the Rancho Sangre brewery.
“Maria’s-Jose’s mother’s-adobo chicken mole is just great,” he went on. “And Frank Milson, he’s the husband of one of Monica’s tennis buddies, makes this amazing cowboy beans and bacon thing.”
She loaded her plate with everything he’d recommended, and a red chili tamale with shredded pork and an ear of roast corn, and circulated. That was prolonged by Monica dragging her off for a complete rundown on her hours at Jean-Charles’ establishment to an admiring and envious group. Evidently an outfit from him was a rare and coveted reward in female renfield circles, much less a complete wardrobe.
Then she returned to sit beside Peter and the doctor at the end of one of the outdoor tables, a folding model that was a little unstable on the clipped grass.
“Hello, Dr.-”
“I’ve been in America a generation now, Ellen. Fiona will do,” she said.
Then she grinned. “I’ve not brought any haggis, honest. Though it would have to be certified organic haggis here. You’ll find few towns this size with healthier populations.”
“I’ve noticed,” Ellen said. “Why… oh, of course… Fiona.” She nodded, with an odd smile.
It’s a show ranch, she thought. But a people show ranch. We’re the palomino horses and certified Angus cattle. Or… well, considering all those jokes they tell about sheep and shepherds, maybe we’re the cute bouncy waggle- tailed big-eyed fleecy flock of pedigree ewes and rams.
She concentrated on eating for a while; everything was good, and she’d gotten used to spicy in Santa Fe, where even the chocolates could have red chili.
From here a big pepper tree shut out most of the stars… and the lights of the casa grande over the wall and on its hill. There was a pleasant burble of voices, mostly talking in English but liberally flavored with Spanish words, sentences, inflections and occasional conversations. Ellen ate and let the ambience flow into her. It was more
