Vintage Soul Part 1

VINTAGE SOUL.

The DeChance Chronicles.

By David Niall Wilson.

ONE.

The private elevator had been busy since sunset, shuttling guests from the sub-bas.e.m.e.nt parking area to the top floor penthouse suite. Long, sleek limousines and dark roadsters were lined up like soldiers, and their drivers had gathered in the comfortable lounge provided for them just to the left of the elevator entrance.

By nine, the outer doors had been closed and secured, and the last well-dressed couple had been ushered into the plush elevator and deposited on the upper floor. As the elevator door closed for the final time, a short, wizened man stepped up to the doors, laid his palm across an intricately designed panel imbedded in the metal and dropped his head forward. A greenish glow seeped out around the edges of his fingers. His lips moved slowly in an almost silent incantation.

None of the guests paid him the slightest attention. In the garage below, the drivers watched in silence as the wall where the elevator doors had closed only moments before grew dark, s.h.i.+mmered, and solidified. No trace of the elevator's existence remained. The outer wall of the parking garage made a similar transformation, leaving the drivers alone in the comfortable lounge.

"That's that, then," a sallow, pale faced man said, turning to the driver next to him with a grin. "It's a long time until dawn...cards?"

The other man nodded, and they broke into groups. Some took seats around the single round table in the center of the lounge, others gathering near a small but high-end television in one corner. There was a panel on the wall with a light corresponding to each parking s.p.a.ce. When the owner of one of the vehicles was ready to leave, the light beside their number would flash, and the driver would know to prepare the vehicle and prepare for departure. None of them expected to leave for a very long time.

Many stories above, the guests gathered in the center of the penthouse's large living room. The furnis.h.i.+ngs were Victorian; plush velvet and dark mahogany glittered in the dim light of candelabras spread across every available horizontal surface. The air throbbed with a hypnotic beat that emanated from rows of speakers and originated from a stereo rack tucked into a dark recess half-shrouded in the fountain-like fronds of dozens of potted spider plants. The stereo's controls and multi-colored LEDS peeked out past the deep green leaves and dangling vines creating a pleasant, jungle-like separation of technology and luxury. The music had no lyrics. It pulsed rhythmically and turned the room into a gigantic, beating heart. The guests swayed gently, transfixed by the sound.

The outer wall was a slick, ebony curtain. It glimmered like obsidian, casting the dancing flames of the candles back at the room. Preston Johndrow, the host, stood with his back to that wall and faced his guests. He held a glittering bottle in one hand, and in his other, a crystal goblet. Johndrow was tall. He was a slender man with a trim waist and deceptively broad shoulders that filled out his tailored suit immaculately. His hair was as black as the smooth wall behind him, flecked with just the hint of gray. His smile was wide and expansive.

A slender blonde woman stood to his right. She was dressed in a s.h.i.+mmering black evening gown that clung to her like scales and. Her heels were so tall it seemed impossible she could balance on them and walk, but she showed not the slightest discomfort at the tortuous pressure on her ankles. Her hand rested on the wall beside another control panel. The room was riddled with such devices, each cleverly hidden by plants, curtains, or various pieces of sculpture. Everything blended perfectly, and though they were out of period, the control panels and glowing indicators were swallowed by the overwhelming opulence of the room's ambiance.

Johndrow tapped his goblet lightly on the bottle in his hand, and the room grew silent. He turned to the blonde woman with a loving smile, and nodded.

"Vanessa," he said, "will you do the honors?"

Vanessa Di Caprio did not answer. Instead she pressed her palm flat on the switch. The wall behind Johndrow split down the center. It parted and rotated to either side, disappearing into recesses shaded by crushed velvet curtains that might once have hung in a great theater. In fact, that was the effect. The curtain of wall opened, and the night sky beyond was revealed. Stars glittered brightly, winking at those gathered. The moon hung low on the horizon, yellow and full. In the brilliant contrast of pitch black night and winking stars, with the glow of the city seeping up from below, the moon appeared heavy and sluggish; it's off-white color out of place.

Johndrow's guests gasped in appreciation of the tremendous view. He turned, stared out over the city for a moment, and then turned to face the group once more.

"Amazing as it is," he said, "I know you all haven't come here just to admire my view. Shall we begin?"

The others murmured a.s.sent, and Vanessa stepped to Johndrow's side. She had the smooth, flawless skin of a seventeen year old, and if it hadn't been for the practiced grace of her movements, and the direct, almost arrogant power projected by her gaze, it would have been easy to imagine that she was Johndrow's daughter. This illusion was quickly dispelled as she wrapped herself around him, insinuated her head beneath his arm and wrapped her leg around his seductively, the spiked heel of her shoe caressing the inner edge of his calf.

Johndrow's smile broadened perceptibly, but he concentrated on his balance, and on the bottle in his hand. He held the stem of the goblet between two extended fingers, and gripped the neck of the bottle firmly with the same hand, being careful not to crack the two together. It should have been difficult to hold the full bottle in this manner, but Johndrow showed no strain or sign of concern. He reached down to a decorative table beside him and picked up a gleaming, golden corkscrew.

His performance was almost theatrical, and his guests followed his actions appreciatively. He twirled the sharp metal corkscrew in and popped the cork. The sound of its release was wet and rich. He handed the corkscrew to Vanessa, who unwound herself, lifted the instrument to eye level and licked the cork, very carefully, teasing every dark drop of liquid from its surface and then holding it in front of her like a lollipop as Johndrow, trying not to show the effect her actions had on him, poured a splash of glittering ruby wine into the goblet.

"Meredith?" he said, holding the gla.s.s out with a slight bow.

A red haired woman stepped from the crowd. She gripped her escort's arm for just a second, released him, and approached Johndrow.

"Such an honor," she said. Her voice was breathy and deep. She wore an emerald green silk dress that reached nearly to the floor, but was slit up the sides nearly to the tops of her thighs, revealing flashes of dark, tanned skin as she walked. To his credit, Johndrow watched only her eyes as she approached.

"We took the liberty of holding a drawing before any of you arrived," Johndrow explained. Vanessa thought it would be more fun to announce both contest a and winner a in the same instant.

Meredith reached for the goblet, but Johndrow pulled it back out of reach. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"Wine?"

The room erupted in a short burst of laughter, and then quieted again.

Johndrow's eyes sparkled. "Wine, indeed," he replied. "Very astute of you, but a of course a this isn't just any wine. If it were, well, I would not be standing here, and most of you," he swept his arm in an arc that encompa.s.sed all present, "would likely not be either."

Johndrow sniffed the wine experimentally, closed his eyes and rolled his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. His eyes flashed open once more, and he held the gla.s.s up for all to see clearly.

"The last time this wine touched the open air, Lord Byron himself was present. It was a party, much like this one, though with considerably more...mortality."

Every gaze was locked on the glittering goblet as Johndrow spoke. There was no sound. No breath. No whisper of air, or s.h.i.+ft of feet.

"The wine was already in the bottle at this point, ready to be sealed, but before they could do so, I begged this single bottle from the vintner, who was happy to part with it. I would say the small bag of gold I presented him had something to do with his good humor, but that is another story entirely. The grapes that year were particularly sweet, and bottles of this wine have sold on the collector's market for in excess of ten thousand dollars.

"This bottle," he softened his voice slightly, though he could be heard clearly throughout the penthouse, "would bring a hundred times that amount, were it available for sale. Before it was sealed, on a dare, I convinced Byron himself to contribute seven drops of his own blood."

"How in the world did you do that?" a man called out from a back corner of the room. He was tall with spiked platinum blonde hair and a long, egg-shaped platinum earring dangling from his left ear. More rings glittered up and down the sides of his cheek, and across his eyebrows. Some were gold, others copper, and still others glittered with jewels. "What would you say to a man of such power that he would willingly gift you with what must so often be taken?"

"That is a tale for another day," Johndrow declared solemnly, "but let me state for the record: the difficulty was not in securing the blood, but in controlling my nerves once the vein had been opened. I do not know if such blood exists in these later days...if so, I have not found it. I would have had more than the seven drops, but if I had not sealed the bottle and taken it from the room, I would have a different bottle for you tonight and a far different story of my time with Byron. Even now..."

Johndrow took another whiff of the wine, and trembled visibly. He extended his hand to Meredith, who took the goblet eagerly. Johndrow snapped his fingers sharply, and the short man who had sealed the elevator stepped forward. He held a tray upon which one more goblet, and several ranks of slender, fluted cordial gla.s.ses were cl.u.s.tered. Johndrow poured half a gla.s.s into the goblet, and then a small splash into each cordial. The little man stood still as stone, and within moments the single bottle of wine had been divided into more than two dozen small portions. Vanessa twined elbows with Johndrow and they waited, gazing into one another's eyes over the top of the larger goblet Johndrow still held.

The short man turned smoothly on his heel, not even jostling the precious gla.s.ses, and wound his way slowly around the room, dispensing the cordials carefully and quickly, until everyone was served. There were no extras. If there had been, Johndrow would have been outraged at the waste.

He stared at Vanessa a moment longer, and then he spoke.

"She walks in beauty, like the night, Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark, and bright, Meet in her aspect and her eyes..."

He nodded at Meredith, who took a quick sip, and then downed the heady tincture in a single gulp. Johndrow smiled and nodded at the lucky guest. There were murmurs of jealous appreciation throughout the room.

Johndrow tipped his goblet to Vanessa's lips and watched as her head fell back, blonde hair s.h.i.+mmering over her shoulders. Her eyes closed, and she stretched up on her toes, the heels of her too-tall shoes actually lifting from the ground. Her back arched and he watched as she drank. She took exactly half. He drew her to him then and lifted the goblet from her lips, which she pulled back reluctantly. When their bodies met, he drew the gla.s.s up and drank. In that moment, Vanessa's eyes flashed open and her gaze locked with his. They melted together and Johndrow drained the gla.s.s, flipping it distractedly over his shoulder. The short man appeared very suddenly, plucked the glittering projectile from the air, and placed it on the tray without a sound.

"Enjoy," Johndrow called to the others in the room. "Enjoy, and there is more to come. I have brandy, I have the blood of kings...I have the exsanguinated voices of an entire choir in three cases, from ba.s.s and contralto to the s.h.i.+ver of soprano. Tonight, we will celebrate the blood. Tonight I will feed my pa.s.sion, and sate your hunger. To life, and those who grant it. To the blood."

As he fell silent, two dozen gla.s.ses were raised and drained. Moans of pleasure and cries of delight rang out through the room. The conversations that had fallen silent when Johndrow stepped before them returned to full volume. Couples moved about the room, as bottles were brought forth and their cordial gla.s.ses were replaced by tumblers and goblets. The music rose slightly in volume.

Johndrow noticed none of it. He held Vanessa close. Their tongues danced, teasing the last droplets of the wondrously spiked blood from one another and blending it with the kiss. Vanessa had an inexplicable talent for caressing his body with hers, every inch of her a part of the motion and every raw nerve he possessed burned with the need of her. She knew it, and pressed closer, matching his heat but besting his control. She could keep this up all night, and he feared a and dreamed a that she would do so.

"Enjoying yourself, love?" she asked, pulling back slightly.

"Standing here like this, you ask me such a question?"

Vanessa laughed and stepped back, whirling away from him. The dress rippled with every s.h.i.+ft of her well-muscled form and caught the candlelight perfectly, sending tiny reflected flames across her back.

"There is plenty of time, darling," she admonished. "You have guests. You have cognac and whiskey. She turned back and pointed at him with one long nail. "You'd better steer clear of the soprano tonight. I believe I prefer you closer to ba.s.s."

Then she was gone, and Johndrow shook his head to clear it. He had trouble imagining a world that did not center on Vanessa. Even his collection would be an empty pleasure if she weren't there to share it. This concern troubled him, because he knew it was a weakness. Any addiction, no matter how pleasant, was a handicap.

Johndrow turned to the wall beside the stereo alcove. There was another control panel tucked in behind a potted fern. He reached back, flipped a switch, and a portion of that wall slid back to reveal a mirrored bar. Lit with dim, blue bulbs that were there more for effect than for any need of illumination, the bar was magnificent. Bottles of odd shapes and sizes lined four tiers of shelves. Johndrow reached to the bottom shelf, pulled out a round-based bottle of cognac, and tipped two fingers of the contents into a flat-bottomed tumbler. He thought briefly of the priest he'd first shared that bottle with. He closed his eyes a just for a moment a and the scent of the liquor brought back the man's grey eyes.

"Take, drink," Johndrow whispered, "for this is my blood." He took a slow sip of the cognac, though he was reluctant to wash away the magnificent savor of Byron's wine blended with Vanessa's kiss.

The music s.h.i.+fted through a syncopated variance on the original heartbeat. Blood scented candles in various corners of the room fed the illusion that they all stood within the walls of a giant, beating heart; the speed and regularity of the music orchestrated subtle changes in the mood of those gathered. It was going well. The wine had been a major coup, a one time chance to present them all with something they had never had, and could never hope to have again. It was a moment's distraction in an eternity gone bland, and he knew they would talk of it and relive it for days, years, possibly centuries to come.

Johndrow watched Vanessa move among their guests. She had a knack for coming just close enough to make the men uncomfortable, and to bring the women to the brink of anger, and then slip away, or pull back, or say something a more than likely about Johndrow himself a that set whoever she was talking to back on his heels, or at her ease. Every eye followed her when she was near.

Johndrow saw her turn into the hall that led to the kitchen, and he smiled. He wished, suddenly, that there was no party. He wished he had her to himself, that he could track her down that hall, corner her, and taste her again -- thoroughly. He felt the ghost brush of her teeth on the skin of his throat and took a long gulp of the cognac, cringing at the waste. It should have been sipped a savored one small swallow at a time. A hand brushed his elbow lightly, and he turned, startled.

A short, very thin man with long moustaches, a beak-like nose, and dark eyes smiled up at him. The man held a small tumbler cupped between his palms, and Johndrow caught the scent of the bayou, Cajun blood. The drink was whiskey, warm and raw, served at room temperature. Johndrow smiled.

"It is marvelous," the little man said. His voice was soft, but it carried easily. He surveyed the room and took a sip of his drink. "Truly marvelous."

"Thank you, old friend," Johndrow replied, turning and refilling his own gla.s.s. "I wanted it to be special. Vanessa and I don't get out as much as we once did. There are some here tonight we haven't seen in years. It isn't good to remain cooped up too long. There is too much to forget, and once it's gone a you never really get it back, do you?"

He glanced thoughtfully at the cognac in his gla.s.s. It held a fleeting glimpse of the past. It held the essence of a lifelong fallen to ash, but it was a pale image of the reality that had sp.a.w.ned it.

"You have a better reason to remain locked away than most," the little man chuckled. "She is magnificent, as well, but you know this. Even my Ligaya watches Vanessa with hunger."

Johndrow laughed. The little man, whose name was Joel, had traveled the world with his lover Ligaya for nearly a third of that time, and nothing born of darkness or light could part them. They were insatiable, incorrigible, and Johndrow found that he had missed their company more than he'd realized.

"It is good to see you both," he said, taking a sip.

A scream rose from the hallway where Vanessa had disappeared, and everyone in the room froze. The sound cut through the rhythmic heartbeat flowing from the stereo and slapped conversation to silence. It echoed, rose a second time, and then fell away. Johndrow dropped his gla.s.s and was at the door the hall before it touched the polished wooden floor.

He reached the kitchen in seconds, but it was empty. There was a cras.h.i.+ng sound in further down the hall, and Johndrow launched himself toward it. It came from the direction of the elevator. As he hit the hall, he saw the doors closing, but before he could reach them, they had sealed tightly. The small man who'd served the wine and sealed the door lay on the floor. He was broken. That was the only way to describe it. His arms and legs jutted at impossible angles. Blood soaked the floor and leaked from his pale lips. His eyes were open wide, staring up at the ceiling in abject terror.

Johndrow turned to the panel on the wall to alert the drivers. Where the panel had been there was nothing but a molten ma.s.s of circuits and wire fused into a single, shapeless lump. Nothing remained. He knew this would alert the drivers as well as he might have, but he screamed in frustrated anger. The corpse beside him told him the intruder was no ordinary threat, and he knew there was nothing the drivers could do.

"What is it?" Joel cried, joining his friend in the hall.

"Vanessa," Johndrow growled. "Someone got in here and they've taken Vanessa."

"How do we get down?" Joel asked, turning and looking for a door, or a panel that might open on a stair.

"There is no other way," Johndrow said flatly. The elevator is the only entrance. It can be operated manually, a.s.suming anyone is left alive below. If not, I'll have to send someone down the shaft. It could take hours, and by then?"

Joel didn't answer. Others poured into the hall, some clutching drinks, some half-amused, wondering if this was a new and unexpected amus.e.m.e.nt. With a snarl, Johndrow pounded his fist into the wood paneled wall. The wood cracked and buckled inward.

Several floors below, the huge garage door slid open silently, and a single dark Mercedes coupe rolled out into the darkness. The door did not close behind it, and no one followed.

TWO.

It took Johndrow the entire night, and his staff working throughout the day, to arrange a meeting of the council. It had been several years since they'd last convened, and many members were reluctant a particularly those in attendance at his party the previous night. Threats had grown fewer and less likely in recent times. Electronic security, for those who could afford it, had progressed to incredible levels, and, as Joel had bemusedly put it, people just weren't as frightened. The human race had reached a point in its evolution where they were as likely to seek and embrace the way of the blood as they were to reject or fear it. They were as likely to attract groupies and talk show hosts as any form of modern slayer.

None of this changed the face of Vanessa's disappearance. When Johndrow's staff managed to free up the elevator, the guests had dispersed quickly into the fading night. Johndrow had rushed from the main door of the garage, but there was no sign of forced exit, and none of the drivers remembered seeing anything out of the usual. In fact, their memories were sufficiently clouded that Johndrow was certain they'd been wiped, hurriedly and without much thought to what consequences such an act might have on their minds. Most of them vaguely remembered arriving at the party. A couple were able to tell him what hand they last remembered holding in their poker game.

None of them remembered anything out of the ordinary, nor had they seen Vanessa or anyone unexpected. In the chaos that followed the elevator repair, no one thought to check for an empty s.p.a.ce in the lot, and by the time they did, half the guests had disappeared into the night, and there was no way to sort it all out. No one remembered opening the outer door or hearing any alarm from the penthouse above.

On top of this, there was the matter of Stine, Johndrow's head of security. The man had been ancient and quite skilled at his duties. Whoever had taken Vanessa had brushed past the gnomish wizard with no more thought than one gave a mosquito, and the result of that encounter had been astonis.h.i.+ngly violent a and final. Stine's people had worked over the body for twelve hours straight, but the effort was wasted. There was no chance of resuscitation, and despite intricate charms and incantations, they'd been unable to extract any information from the corpse.

Since Johndrow's penthouse would not be fully secured for several days, the elders had opted to meet in Joel's office. His quarters were not as ostentatious as Johndrow's, but the security was tight. Joel occupied the seventeenth floor of a twenty story office building in downtown San Valencez, California. Below were the vaults and offices of the bank Joel had built and held full controlling interest in. The eighteenth floor was vacant, not accessible by public elevator or stair, and housed offices for security and other dealings that required separation from the financial inst.i.tution below. The upper stories were apartments Joel leased to relations and a.s.sociates. Each had its own private security and access. There was a helo pad on the roof.

The last time the council had met, there were sixteen in attendance. Tonight, there would be only ten. The Resendez brothers were in Argentina on business, and though their people had, of course, been alerted, and warnings pa.s.sed, they were unable to return in time to be present. Claudia Forsythe and her current paramour, who Johndrow knew only as Benjamin, were in Europe and could not be reached. Copper and Alicia Contreaux were still in Louisiana, and there were reports that the two had troubles of their own in the bayou.

Johndrow glanced up and down the hallway as he entered the large conference room Joel had cleared for the meeting. Two of the small, gnomish men and one gnarled woman, a good foot shorter with piercing blue eyes and a hooked nose reminiscent of a buzzard were stationed at intervals up and down the hall, and there were others at every entrance. At Johndrow's apartment, Stine had been alone, and had fallen to the element of surprise. It was obvious that his people considered the threat a serious one. Johndrow had never seen such a concentration of the security force. He knew it must have cost a fortune, and he knew as well that a bill would arrive at his penthouse shortly for his part in it. Joel was a good friend, but business was business.

Joel stepped up to greet Johndrow at the door, laying a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "They will be sufficient," the old man a.s.sured him. "They take what happened last night as a personal affront. I would not like to try and breach their defenses tonight."

"I would have had them there last night, if I'd had any idea..." Johndrow's features darkened. He was angrier than he'd been in over a century, but there was nothing on which to vent his rage. He wanted to roar up and down the hallway, smas.h.i.+ng anyone and anything that got in his way, but it would have served no purpose, and he knew that Joel was right. If he tried something crazy like that tonight, it would be his bones scattered haphazardly over the carpeted floor.

"Come in," Joel said, stepping aside. "Corwyn, Ballard, and Jensen are here already. I just received word that Grimshaw and Nystrom are in the garage. Lydia and her Adriana will be fas.h.i.+onably late, of course, and that only leaves Ligaya, who will finalize security. We've commissioned extra wards. It's an inconvenience, I know. No one will be able to leave before the charms are raised, but it will afford us the extra level of security we need to be certain we are not disturbed."

Johndrow nodded distractedly. He'd expected as much, and knew the others would as well. Only extraordinary circ.u.mstances could have dislodged them all from their comfortable holdings at such short notice, and anything less than perfect security would not do at all. They would see it as their due.

They were ten of the most powerful creatures on earth. They were men, or had been men, and women, but now they were more. Sixteen floors beneath them were corridors and offices where the finances of the world were bartered, traded, negotiated and sealed. Huge vaults held the vast fortunes of those who ruled the daylight hours. The wealth of minor foreign countries was tucked safely beneath the polished marble floors, and centuries of treasures, secrets, and lives were tucked into row after row of secure safe deposit boxes, some so old and intricately guarded that the building could withstand anything short of nuclear attack and not breach their integrity. That was what the world saw.

Beneath those secure vaults, beside them, sometimes even within them, were other vaults. Joel had gathered wealth, treasure, and power of his own. Centuries of it. There were secrets held safe within his walls that kings would ransom their holdings to acquire, that wars could be and had been fought over; artifacts that required such deep concentration and dedication to control and secure that the task boggled Johndrow's mind. And Joel was only one of the ten.

Before long the first nine were seated. Ligaya entered last, drawing the doors closed behind her. Just for a moment the gnomish security woman's fierce eyes filled one pane of the gla.s.s paneled door behind her, glared into the room, and then were gone. Ligaya seemed not to notice. She took her seat beside Joel, and Johndrow rose slowly, getting right to the point.

"There's no sense in my going over the events of last night in detail," he said. "Most of you were there, and those of you who were not have no doubt gathered the details through your own people. Vanessa was taken, right out of my penthouse, right out of my party. Most of you know a knew a Stine. He was one of the oldest and most trusted of his kind. There was only just enough left of him for identification. My elevator system was thoroughly fried, and at least a dozen drivers had their memories wiped. All of this took place in the span of only a few moments time, and the intruder left no trace."

"It's bad about Vanessa," Nystrom called out. He was a trim man in a gray suit, and as he spoke, he slowly filed a long, sharp fingernail. He didn't meet Johndrow's gaze. In fact, he looked somewhat bored by the entire proceeding, though it would have been a mistake to believe he wasn't paying scrupulous attention. "The two of you have been together a long time now," he went on. "I remember a time when you were not, though. In fact, most of us remember that time. Vanessa has disappeared in the past, what makes you so sure someone took her this time?"

Johndrow's hands shook and he dug his nails into the hard, smooth surface of the conference table. Had it been wood alone, he'd have splintered it, but it was reinforced against just such extreme treatment. He kept his voice even and calm. Nystrom and Vanessa had been involved with one another for a short period, perhaps fifty years, before Johndrow had met her. He knew Nystrom was testing his nerves, but they were dangerously frayed, and he had to fight to keep from launching himself across the table and gripping the smug b.a.s.t.a.r.d by the throat.

"I am as aware of Vanessa's history as any of you," he said. "Probably more than any other, I understand her nature, and it is true that in the past she has been a somewhat less than reliable."

There was a soft snicker from one corner of the room, but it fell to silence before Johndrow could pinpoint the source.

"This is a serious threat," he said. "You can sit there and make light of it if you want, but I don't think there's anyone here who believes that Vanessa, even in a fury, could have done what was done to Stine, let alone what happened to the elevator and the drivers below. She's old, and she's powerful, but none of us is that powerful."

Nystrom glanced up, as if he took offense at this statement, but he held his tongue. He stared pointedly at where Johndrow still clutched the conference table in a death grip, chipping his nails from the pressure. Nystrom went back to his manicure, shaking his head.

"What would you have us do?" The speaker was Andrew Corwyn, a peevish, bookish little man with large gla.s.ses perched on his nose that he no longer needed, but wore in memory of a mortal life he claimed to miss. No one believed him, of course, but neither did they suggest he cast aside the spectacles. "I mean," the man said, glancing around at the others for support, "It's your problem, not ours. It was your party, your security, and, to be blunt, Vanessa was your lover. How does this affect me?"

"You were at the party," Joel cut in evenly. "It could as easily have been you, or your Meredith, that was taken. Would you feel differently then? How is security at your place, Andrew? A few gnomes short of a quorum, I'm betting, since they won't work unless you pay them fairly."