"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.
We stood on a concrete deck, elevated ten feet off the rest of a vast, outdoor courtyard. Music flowed up from below. People crowded the courtyard in a blur of color and motion, talk and costume, like some kind of Impressionist painting. Glowing globes rested on wire stands, here and there, giving the place a sort of torch-lit mystique. A dias, opposite the entryway we stood in, rose up several feet higher in the air, a suspiciously throne-like chair upon it.
I had just started to take in details when a brilliant white light flooded my eyes, and I had to lift a hand against it. The music died down a bit, and the chatter of people quieted some. Evidently, Michael and I had just become the center of attention.
A servant stepped forward and asked, calmly, "May I have your invitation, sir?" I passed it over, and a moment later heard the same voice, over a modest public address system.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Court. I am pleased to present Harry Dresden, Wizard of the White Council, and guest."
I lowered my hands, and the voices fell completely silent. From either side of the throne opposite, a pair of spotlights glared at me.
I shrugged my shoulders to get my cape to fall into place correctly, tattered red lining flashing against the black cotton exterior. The collar of the thing came up high on either side of my face. The spot glared off of the painted gold plastic medallion I wore at my throat. The worn powder-blue tux beneath it could have made an appearance at someone's prom, in the seventies. The servants at the party had better tuxes than I did.
I made sure to smile, so that they could see the cheap plastic fangs. I suppose the spotlight must have bleached my face out to ghostly whiteness, especially with the white clown makeup I had on. The fake blood drooling out the corners of my mouth would be standing out bright red against it.
I lifted a white-gloved hand and said, slurring a little through the fangs. "Hi! How are you all doing?"
My words rang out on deathly silence, from below.
"I still can't believe," Michael said, sotto voce, "that you came to the Vampires' Masquerade Ball dressed as a vampire."
"Not just a vampire," I said, "a cheesy vampire. Do you think they got the point?" I managed to peer past the spotlights enough to make out Thomas and Justine at the foot of the stairs. Thomas was staring around at the courtyard with undisguised glee, then flashed me a smile and a thumbs-up.
"I think," Michael said, "that you've just insulted everyone here."
"I'm here to find a monster, not make nice with them. Besides, I never wanted to come to this stupid party in the first place."
"All the same. I think you've peeved them off."
"Peeved? Come on. How bad could that be? Peeved."
From the courtyard below came several distinctive sounds: A few hisses. The rasp of steel as several someones drew knives. Or maybe swords. The nervous click-clack of someone with a semiautomatic working the slide.
Michael shrugged in his cloak, and I sensed, more than saw him put his hand on the hilt of one of his knives. "I think we're about to find out."
Chapter Twenty-five
Silence lay heavy over the courtyard. I gripped my cane and waited for the first gunshot, or whistle of a thrown knife, or blood-curdling scream of fury. Michael was a steel-smelling presence beside me, silent and confident in the face of the hostility. Hell's bells. I'd meant to give the vamps a little thumb of the nose with the costume, but wow. I didn't think I'd get this much of a reaction.
"Steady, Harry," Michael murmured. "They're like mean dogs. Don't flinch or run. It will only set them off."