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He made a sound of disapproval. “It’s no wonder you’re alone.”
I held up a finger. “I choose to be alone. No one chooses it for me.”
Otto adjusted the vest of his three-piece suit. “We should leave if we don’t want to be late. There might be traffic.”
“In Fairhaven? You really haven’t left the house in a long time.”
“There might be a parade. The town is ridiculously fond of them. I recall one year they threw a parade because there was a winter without snow. They brought in a snow machine to mark the occasion.”
Glad I missed that one.
Otto insisted that I drive one of his vintage sports cars to the funeral.
“Are you sure this is for my benefit?” I asked, settling behind the wheel of a 1950 Maserati.
“Not at all. I simply refuse to be seen in that thing you call a truck.”
“It seems wasteful to have an entire fleet of cars you don’t drive.”
“I’d be more than happy to drive them, once my vision has been restored.”
I looked at him. “Do you really think it’s possible?”
“Not so far. Then again, I haven’t met every witch and mage in the world yet.”
“What about fae? They have magic. You might want to reconsider that redhead.”
Otto turned his head toward the passenger window, where sunlight streamed through the car. “Their magic isn’t capable of undoing the curse.”
“Even though blindness was an unintended consequence?”
“In my experience, unintended results are harder to undo than the intended outcome. Too unpredictable.”
There were a surprising number of cars parked on the surrounding streets. The attendees had to be here out of professional courtesy. Charles Diamond hadn’t exactly exuded the kind of warmth and charm that drew a crowd.
We were stopped at the entrance by a middle-aged woman in a gold dress. Her turquoise eyeshadow and heavy foundation seemed overly dramatic for a daytime event. Beside her stood a man in a simple black suit and wraparound sunglasses.
“They’re clean,” she said to him.
Otto urged me forward.
“What was that about?” I whispered.
“Weapons are prohibited at official functions, except those belonging to the deceased,” Kane’s voice interjected.
The prince of hell was impeccably dressed as always. Then again, he could make a suit made from toilet paper look chic.
“In that case, I’m glad I left my grenades at home,” I said, “but shouldn’t he have to remove his fangs?” I motioned to Otto.
The vampire scowled.
Kane let the joke slide. “What a welcome surprise, Miss Clay. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I believe you know Otto Visconti.”
“I do, hello, Otto.”
“And I recognize that voice,” said Otto. “Hello, Kane.”
