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The man smiled, bright enough for a toothpaste commercial, and then reached a hand back down to the car. A pair of gorgeous legs in pink high heels slid out of the car, followed by a slender and scrumptious girl barely covered in flower petals. She had a short, tight skirt made out of them, and more petals cupped her breasts like delicate hands. Other than that, and the baby's breath woven into the tumbled mass of her black hair, she wore nothing. And she wore it well. In the heels, she might have been five-seven, and she had a face that made me think that she was both lovely and sweet. Her cheeks were flushed in a delicate pink blush, vibrant and alive, her lips parted, and she had a look to her eyes that told me she was on something.
"Harry," Michael said. "You're drooling."
"I'm not drooling," I said.
"That girl can't be nineteen years old."
"I'm not drooling!" I scowled, gripped my cane in hand, and stalked on up the driveway to the house. And wiped at my mouth with my sleeve. Just in case.
The man turned toward me, and both his eyebrows lifted. He looked me and my costume up and down, and burst out into a rich, rolling laugh. "Oh, my," he said. "You must be Harry Dresden."
That got my hackles up. It always bugs me when someone knows me and I don't know them. "Yeah," I said. "That's me. Who the hell are you?"
If the hostility bothered him, it didn't bother his smile. The girl with him slipped beneath his left arm and nestled against him, watching me with stoned eyes. "Oh, of course," he said. "I forget that you probably know very little of the intricacies of the Court. My name is Thomas, of House Raith, of the White Court."
"White Court," I said.
"Three vampire Courts," Michael supplied. "Black, Red, and White."
"I knew that."
Michael shrugged one shoulder. "Sorry."
Thomas smiled. "Well. Only two, for all practical purposes. The Black Court has fallen on hard times of late, the poor darlings." His tone of voice suggested muted glee rather than pity. "Mister Dresden, allow me to introduce Justine."
Justine, the girl beneath his arm, gave me a sweet smile. I half-expected her to extend her hand to me to be kissed, but she didn't. She just molded her body to Thomas's in what looked like a most pleasant fashion.
"Charmed," I said. "This is Michael."
"Michael," Thomas mused, and studied the man up and down. "Dressed as a Knight Templar."
"Something like that," Michael said.
"How ironic," Thomas said. His eyes returned to me, and that smile widened. "And you, Mister Dresden. Your costume is ... going to make quite a stir."
"Why, thank you."
"Shall we go inside?"
"Oh, let's." We all trouped up the front stairs, affording me an uncomfortably proximate view of Justine's legs along the way, lean and lovely and made for doing things that had nothing to do with locomotion. A pair of tuxedo-clad doormen who looked human swung open the mansion's doors for us.
The entry hall to Bianca's mansion had been redecorated since the last time I'd been there. The old-style decor had been lavishly restored. She'd had marble laid out instead of gleaming hardwood. All the doorways stood in graceful arches rather than stolid rectangles. Alcoves every ten feet or so sported small statuary and other pieces of art. It was lit only by the spots on each alcove, creating deep pools of shadow in between.
"Rather tacky," Thomas sniffed, his butterfly wings quivering. "Have you been to any Court functions before, Mister Dresden? Are you aware of the etiquette?"
"Not really," I said. "But it had better not involve anyone drinking anyone's bodily fluids. Particularly mine."
Thomas laughed, richly. "No, no. Well," he admitted, "not formally, in any case, though there will be ample opportunity to indulge, if you wish." His fingers caressed the girl's waist again, and she focused her eyes on me in a disconcertingly intent fashion.
"I don't think so. What do I need to know?"
"Well, we're all outsiders, not being members of the Red Court, and this is a Red function. First, we'll be presented to the company and they'll have the chance to come meet us."
"Mingle, eh?"
"Just so. Afterwards, we'll be presented to Bianca herself, and she, in turn, will give us a gift."
"A gift?" I asked.
"She's the hosting party. Of course she'll be giving gifts." He smiled at me. "It's only civilized."
I eyed him. I wasn't used to vampires being so chatty. "Why are you being so helpful?"
He laid his fingers upon his chest, lifting his eyebrows in a perfectly executed "who me?" expression. "Why, Mister Dresden. Why should I not help you?"
"You're a vampire."
"So I am," he said. "But, I'm afraid, I'm not a terribly good one." He gave me a sunny smile and said, "Of course, I could also be lying."
I snorted.
"So, Mister Dresden. Rumor had it you had refused Bianca's invitation."
"I had."
"What changed your mind?"
"Business."
"Business?" Thomas asked. "You're here on business?"
I shrugged. "Something like that." I stripped off my gloves, trying to look casual, and offered him my hand. "Thanks again."
His head tilted to one side and he narrowed his eyes. He looked down at my hand and then back up at me, his gaze calculating, before trading grips with me.
There was a faint, flickering aura about him. I felt it dance and glide over my skin like a soft, cool wind. It felt odd, different than the energy that surrounded a human practitioner - and nothing like the sense of whatever had been pumping up the Nightmare.
Thomas wasn't my man. I must have relaxed visibly, because he smiled and said, "I pass the test, eh?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Whatever you say. You're an odd duck, Harry Dresden. But I like you." And with that, he and his escort turned and glided together down the length of the entry hall, and through the curtained doors at the far end.
I glowered after them.
"Anything?" Michael asked.
"He's clean," I said. "Relatively speaking. Must be someone else here."
"You'll get the chance to do some handshaking, it sounds like," Michael said.
"Yeah. You ready?"
"Lord willing," Michael said.
We started together down the hall, and through the curtained doorway, and emerged into Vampire Party Central.
