a hand to touch the face of Freyja’s dead husband before snapping, “Go. Go away.”
At a loss, Jay obeyed, though guilt nagged at him for walking away when she so obviously needed somebody. If he had known how to comfort her, he would have.
The adjacent room was occupied by a small but rowdy group engaged in an intense debate. There were no servant-slaves among them, though someone had left two plates of appetizers on what was probably a priceless antique table.
Jay leaned against the wall, taking a moment to soak up the friendly atmosphere. This group’s energy and enthusiasm felt cleansing after the artist’s melancholy.
“I’m only saying,” a human man protested as he leaned over the table to swipe a snack from the tray, “that working with Rikai is like working with some kind of venomous animal. She’s perfectly lovely right until she tries to eat me. I know you two are close, but I must express concern on behalf of your actors—myself included.”
“Concern noted,” the vampire in the middle of the group answered.
Rikai! Jay tuned into the conversation with interest when he heard the name. Rikai was a Triste, a creature who had studied and trained beneath another of her kind and had gained a vampire’s near-immortality and a witch’s ability to manipulate raw power. She was supposed to be an expert in the study of power of all kinds but was also said to be vicious in her quest for knowledge, willing to exploit anyone who gave her opportunity—except, perhaps, the two others in her elite group.
Given the context, the vampire discussing Rikai had to be Xeke. They were both part of a group called the Wild Cards, a trio of artists whose irreverent works ranged from mildly irritating to frighteningly infuriating. Their third compatriot had once been a witch, like Jay, but had broken those ties long before his birth. Now she was a writer, telling the stories no one wanted her to share. Xeke was supposed to be the most cautious and polite of the three, the one who maintained the greatest number of political and social ties. Jay had never met him but had followed his exploits from a distance.
When Jay made inappropriately intrusive remarks, people called him young and impulsive, unable to control his empathy. When Xeke put the same kind of remarks on film, people called it art. Jay owned several of Xeke’s more controversial videos, and had once written a fan letter that he suddenly hoped Xeke had never received.
“Oh, hell, it’s late. I’ve got to run, luv, if I’m going to get back on set in time.” The blond human kissed Xeke on the cheek and then darted out of the room, nearly colliding with Jay.
Jay tried not to blush as he felt Xeke’s attention turn to him. The vampire stood to greet him with a warm “Welcome” that betrayed both curiosity and interest. His thoughts had a predatory flavor but a neutral tone that Jay tended to find in nature, as opposed to the hostile aggression he associated with most humans and once-humans when they stalked their prey.
“Hi.” Real clever. He tried to ride the coattails of Xeke’s calm-and-collected-ness.
“You look a little overwhelmed,” Xeke observed.
“Is any of this art yours?” Jay said, the first polite question he could summon.
“Some of the photos,” the vampire answered, “but most of my work is in cinema.” He glanced at the clock and remarked, “It’s rather late for your kind to be here.”
Jay followed the vampire’s attention, and realized it was only a few minutes from midnight. Known as the Devil’s Hour at gatherings such as this, midnight was traditionally when the vampires fed. Xeke could smell that Jay was a witch. He was intrigued but also distinctly wary.
“Are you asking?” Jay asked.
“Pardon?”
Oh. He had done that thing where he responded to something not said out loud, skipping ahead in the conversation.
Jay reached a little more toward the vampire’s mind, getting a more solid sense of him, and asked, “You’re Xeke, right?”
“I am,” the vampire answered. “And you are?”
“Jay Marinitch.”
“A full-blooded witch at Kendra’s gala?” Xeke asked, no doubt recognizing Jay’s family name. Voice somewhat cooler, he added, “And a hunter, if I’m not mistaken. Surely you aren’t intending to do something stupid?”
“I try to avoid stupid things,” Jay responded. Occasionally successfully, he thought. He was going to get an earful about coming here once Sarah got wind of it. “I’m here as a guest, not to hunt.”
“Yet you’re armed.”
“Of course I’m armed. You