evening air, though the rain had stopped. Streetlights glistened on the pavements, and there was a musty smell of damp fallen leaves from the gardens.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing calm as the doorman bowed them through, and an attendant in a dress almost as elegant as hers escorted them up a grand curved staircase. The main dining room walls were about half floor-to-ceiling windows draped in carnelian curtains with beige blinds; there were oxblood marble pillars against the walls between, and some fairly good period paintings, including what she thought from a brief glance was an actual Watteau.
Napoleon III, basically, but a restrained example of Second Empire style.
There was a very low murmur of conversation from the widely spaced tables; arrangements of striking hibiscus flowers rested between the place settings, and the cloths were white damask over burgundy. She caught more than a few discreetly admiring glances. And a few yellow-flecked eyes lingered on her as well, with a different hunger added.
Oh, great. The chic Shadowspawn hangout. What wine goes with human blood? Or does the blood count as wine and go with food?
Two figures sat at a table set for four, watching her and Adrian approach: a man and a woman with their faces underlit by the candlelight. That wasn't all that made them appear rather sinister, but it didn't hurt the effect, either. Nor did the fact that their eyes weren't flecked with gold. They were the burning hot-sulfur yellow she'd noticed with Adrian's parents at Rancho Sangre, like windows into a pit full of lava; evidently that was a mark of the postcorporeal, unless they deliberately controlled it.
Wait a minute, she's -
'Great-grandfather,' Adrian said.
Etienne-Maurice Breze, also born heir to the Duc de Beauloup, looked…
A lot like Adrian, Ellen thought, dazed. That family has to be seriously inbred.
He rose for a moment, and inclined his head slightly, with a lordly insouciance.
Oooof. Talk about presence. It's like getting punched in the gut, psychically speaking. You can't look away, and it's not just those fires-of-Hell eyes.
The little hairs tried to stand up on her arms and down her back. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly through barely parted lips, struggling for control.
A little older, I'd say he was thirty if I didn't know better, a bit…coarser, perhaps. More rugged. An inch or two taller, enough to be just average instead of a bit short like Adrian. Though I suppose when he turned twenty in 1898 he was tall by the standards of the day.
He was certainly dressed differently from his descendant, in a full ankle-length wide-sleeved robe of some rich black velvet, a color that swallowed light, embroidered with black YLI silk thread in sinuous vine patterns around the hems, neck, cuffs and down the front panel. It caught subdued flickers as he moved, looking at Adrian with his head tilted slightly to one side. His long raven hair was pulled back at either side and pinned by a gold- and-ruby clasp at the rear of his skull, with the rest flowing loose beneath it down his back.
The robe was slit halfway down, and fastened with black-and-gray catches of Brazilian onyx. Beneath the black velvet was a high-collared shirt of white silk showing at cuffs and neck. The only other touch of color was a golden ring, set with the jagged trident and black sun.
As the mouse put it: Say what you like about cats, but they've got style.
'Great-grandmother.'
This time Ellen blinked a little in surprise, the interrupted thought registering.
Seraphine Breze was black. Specifically she was that dark chocolate color combined with a tall, slim build and sculpted aquiline thin-nosed face that was common in the Horn of Africa, Somalia and Ethiopia and Eritrea. Against it the yellow eyes were like windows into a world of chaotic fire.
She was dressed in a halter-top gown of an old-gold color that showed off the long slim neck and body, slit from ankle to thigh to give a glimpse of a leg like a gazelle's. A broad belt of platinum and blazing blue tanzanite cinched her narrow waist, and more of the blue jewels shone in her mane of sculpted, curled hair.
I could have sworn Adrian said she was French, or at least as much as Shadowspawn can be any human nationality. And…Wait a minute…they've both got swords with them, hanging on the back of their chairs, and nobody's noticing!
Adrian bowed with a hand on his heart; Ellen sank into a carefully practiced curtsy, spreading her own long dress of robin's-egg blue a little as she did. It couldn't hurt…and this was approximately the ruler of the Earth and his consort, or something much closer to that than she'd thought there could be.
A little informal family tete-a-tete with the masters of the universe. Or the chief ranchers of humans.
The Shadowspawn touched fingertips, evidently their equivalent of shaking hands; she'd seen it before, and then exchanged the air kiss on the cheek.
And I don't feel in the least slighted by not being included. I'd rather tongue-kiss a tarantula.
Adrian made the introductions, calmly naming her as 'Ellen Breze,' and 'my wife.' Both the Shadowspawn looked at her…
Uh-oh. There's that chocolate-coconut-macaroon look again. Why do these people…things…whatever…find me so attractive, or appetizing, or both? They all want to eat me, metaphorically and then literally. I dont mind it with Adrian, except when I get the flashbacks about his lovely sister and her winning ways, but he doesn't want to kill me as as part of the peak experience.
But they nodded acknowledgment and murmured polite words. Adrian held her chair, and put her purse on the handbag stool; it was all very Old World. Etienne sighed.
'You always were the most willful boy,' he said, in a smooth, rich voice that vibrated with undertones of power. 'Willfully eccentric, as well.'
'It is a Breze characteristic, Great-grandfather,' Adrian said lightly. 'After all, belonging to the Order of the Black Dawn was an eccentricity in its day, is it not so?'
'And your parents?'
'Well, the last time I saw them. Though that was rather under false pretenses, as I was infiltrating their house with a view to a kill.'
Both the older Brezes laughed indulgently; rather as if listening to a child describing a prank.
Which, to them, is pretty much the truth.
'Ah, yes, your father has written an amusing letter about how you deceived him and killed Hajime,' Etienne said.
The sommelier came and popped the cork from a bottle of champagne, holding it expertly tilted to keep the noise and foam to a minimum. Then he filled their flutes; it was a Reserve Blanc de Blancs d'Ay Brut Millesime 2000 Grand Cru, tickling her palate with citrus and honey.
Etienne sipped, nodded approval, and continued: 'It was about time that someone put the little yellow monkey in his place. We did not reveal the secrets of Power to the swine so that they could raise their hands against their betters.'
Ellen choked, then coughed to cover it as the pair looked at her.
Okay, gotta remember this guy was born when Ulysses S. Grant was president and the Eiffel Tower was daring modern architecture. He was my age when Wilbur and Orville were making plans for a flying machine. Plus he's just plain evil, of course.
Gold and beige tableware was set out, and the amuse-bouche bites arrived: langoustine arranged in a little pyramid, an almost liquid mozzarella cheese, miniature samosas, beetroot as well as cheese and olive chips, with a choice of four types of bread: cereal, baguette, shrimp and bacon bits.
'Still, it's good to see family now and then,' Etienne said. 'Particularly your children, one imagines.'
Adrian's hands didn't even pause as he broke a piece of bread, but his nostrils flared slightly.
'I did not have that pleasure. I was under an assumed identity, after all.'
Seraphine made a tsk sound. 'Ah, well, your parents…our grandchildren, after all…will take excellent care of them. Perhaps better than Adrienne would have, not being either as busy or as ambitious. They much valued their time with you two when you were young, despite having to maintain the pretense that they were your aunt and uncle.'
'No more fosterage?' Adrian said.
Ouch, Ellen thought. Adrian really loved his foster parents, even though they were renfields. He still blames
