camera. Their skin is solid, no black cracks running through it, and their horns have barely broken through.
“Cute,” I say. And I mean it. They are pretty cute.
“Thanks! And you are …” He wrinkles his nose and looks in alarm at Doug. “She’s a dine and dash, right? You’re not feeding off that regularly. You’ll make yourself sick.”
“Rude.” I’m more offended than I should be, but it gets old being told you’re not delicious.
Doug covers quickly. “Sorry, right, Nina, this is my cousin, Jason. Jason, Nina. Nina’s my friend. She saved me.”
“Saved you from what?” Jason asks.
I shuffle awkwardly. “Do you two need to catch up? I can give you a few minutes.”
Doug squeezes my shoulder gratefully. “Don’t wander too far. Don’t let anyone touch you if it seems like they really want to.”
“And be sure to hit booth seventeen,” Jason says.
“Do not hit booth seventeen,” Doug corrects, glaring at his cousin.
“What? She could use some.”
Doug points out where they’ll be—a group of chairs near the far wall—and I agree to meet him in half an hour. I don’t mind wandering on my own. Doug can get info on anyone Jason might know who needs help, and I can stare. I recognize only a handful of the demon varieties here. I’m a little offended on my Watcher heritage’s behalf, but the truth is we only focused on the most common and most threatening. There are more demons and more hell dimensions than we could ever truly catalog. That won’t stop Rhys from trying, though.
At first it’s fun, like wandering through a department store all decked out for a baffling holiday. But after a while I notice the bright exteriors and fun booth designs aren’t matched by the general tone of the demons.
I catch several hushed conversations trying to locate missing friends and relatives. The closing of all portals and hellmouths left so many demons orphaned here. Two demons huddle, their heads close and their fingers linked. I could swear they were crying, and the waves of sadness coming off them are almost palpable. I reach up to find tears streaming down my face.
The waves of sadness are palpable. I turn directions quickly, needing to get away from them before they suck me in. A booth ahead has the biggest human crowd of any I’ve seen. There’s a banner above advertising autographs and photos for twenty quid a pop. I can’t figure out who here would be able to charge that. The signs all feature a beautiful blonde and a stylized title card for something called Harmony Bites.
I edge around, trying to get a peek at the blonde to figure out why she would be here. But it’s not her behind the table. It’s a demon, pinkish, with big floppy ears and folds upon folds of drooping skin. He’s totally bald but wearing a garish suit and holding a kitten in the crook of his arm.
“Clem!” a woman shouts. “Clem, marry me!”
“Get in line, sweetheart,” he says. “No, seriously, get in line. There’s a line.”
“How long are you going to be filming here?” A young man leans against the table, all eyes on the blonde in the photo above Clem’s head.
“Just as long as it takes us to finish up the special, Vamping London.”
“She’s not really a vampire, though, is she?”
Clem winks. “No, and I’m not really a demon. I just wear this every day for fun.” Everyone in front of the table laughs, but it’s an uneasy one, and I can see several of them frowning as they try to puzzle out whether he’s joking.
A vampire has a reality show? Really? We have got to get cable at the castle. Vampires were messed up by the end of magic too. They can’t sire any more like themselves. Any new vampires turn out as zompires, mindless beasts. No old vampires are willing to sire now; the more notoriety they get, the more dangerous it is for their survival. Apparently this blonde didn’t get that memo, or doesn’t care.
As a Slayer, do I have a responsibility to hunt her down? If she seems to have a body count, I guess maybe I should. I decided to be a different type of Slayer, but if I let a known vampire go free and she kills even one person, isn’t that death partly my fault?
“Come closer.” A gaunt, grayish man leans in my direction, and I’m grateful for the table between us. His booth has a large sign that says DIRECTIONS. DIRECTORY. TRANSLATION. ANSWERS.