Page 10 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Court? There's no way these guys are more than a standard coven, even if they do have a powerful vamp or two in their ranks, but I guess coven doesn't sound flashy enough. And it doesn't distinguish them from witches.
Vampires consider most witches beneath them. Actually, most vampires considereveryonebeneath them.
"I have… unique qualifications," I reply, leaving it deliberately vague. No need to show all my cards yet.
He smiles, revealing the barest hint of fang. "We'll see."
The massive oak doors swing open before us, revealing a foyer that could swallow my old apartment whole. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, velvet drapes—the complete vampire cliché package. Do they have a supernatural interior decorator who specializes in "blood aristocracy chic"? Or does the taste for overindulgence come with the fangs?
My escort leads me through winding hallways to what can only be called a throne room. Because of course they have a fucking throne room.
Three vampires lounge on ornate chairs at the far end—two men and a woman. The apparent leader, a blond man with chalky marble skin and a face that belongs on Renaissance paintings, occupies the central throne. The woman to his right has skin like burnished copper and wears a cocktail dress that very well may have cost as much as every piece of opulent furniture combined. The third vampire, pale and dark-hairedand brooding with steepled fingers and black eyes, watches me with naked calculation.
A half-dozen more vampires hover around the room's edges, their stillness unnatural. Guards or courtiers, hard to tell with vampires. The pecking order is always complicated.
"Regina Cook," my escort announces before melting back into the shadows.
The blond vampire rises with liquid grace. "Welcome to the Crimson Court. I am Valerian, First of the Blood. These are my companions, Esme and Dominic."
Esme?
At first, I think he's joking, but the laugh dies in my throat and I have to pass it off as a strangled hiccup when I realize they're all dead serious. Fortunately, they don't seem to notice.
He descends the dais steps to stand in front of me. Up close, his eyes are the color of aged whiskey, and his smile is practiced perfection with fangs poking out over his lower lip.
"Thank you for seeing me." I keep my voice steady, my posture straight. Showing weakness to vampires is like bleeding in shark-infested waters.
"The pleasure is ours." Valerian circles me slowly. "You're a witch, obviously. But there's something... different about your energy."
I tense. "I'm a siphon."
The quiet murmurs around the room confirm that I've captured their attention. Good.
"A siphon?" Esme rises now, joining Valerian. Her accent is faintly French. "How extraordinarily rare."
She says it like she's just been offered a new designer bag that isn't even on the market yet.
"And valuable," adds Dominic, remaining seated but leaning forward.
"I can channel magical energy and amplify it," I explain, though they certainly know what a siphon is. "I'm currently seeking a new coven arrangement."
"Currently seeking." Valerian stops in front of me, too close for comfort. He smells of blood beneath the expensive cologne. "That implies you were previously... attached. Why the change?"
The question I've been dreading. I weigh my options. Lies would be detected instantly by their heightened senses. A partial truth, then.
"My previous coven and I had a difference in philosophy."
"Philosophy," Esme purrs, gliding around me. "Such a delicate way of putting things."
"You're running from someone," Dominic states bluntly from his throne. "I can smell the fear on you."
Damn vampires and their sense of smell. My jaw tightens. "I'm seeking mutually beneficial arrangements with a new group. My personal circumstances are irrelevant."
"On the contrary." Valerian gestures, and a servant appears with a silver tray bearing crystal glasses of dark red liquid. "Your circumstances are entirely relevant to our interests. Please, drink."
I take the offered glass out of politeness but have zero intention of consuming anything in a vampire lair. The liquid inside is too thick to be wine.
"We should discuss terms," I suggest, steering the conversation back to business.
