“We wanted to meet other people who are going public and being successful at it. At least, that’s why I’m here,” Gemma said. She and Anastasia smiled at each other. I was fairly certain Anastasia was her Mistress, the one who made her. I couldn’t read all the layers of connection between them.

I said, “So you know all about the proving to Conrad here that we’re real and stuff, right?”

“Joey did explain to us the basic premise, yes.”

“Wow,” I said. “This is going to be so much fun.”

“Look,” Conrad said. “I don’t want to be judgmental, especially when it comes to someone’s lifestyle choices. But there are such things as artificial fangs. People have ritualistically drunk blood for thousands of years. There’s a logical explanation for all of this. And there’s really no way of proving any of you are as old as some vampires claim to be.”

Jeffrey turned to me. “Kitty, you know a lot of vampires through your show, right? How old is the oldest you’ve ever met?”

I kept getting pegged as an expert on this stuff. Probably because I kept sticking my neck out. Ah well.

“Most of them aren’t very forthcoming about their ages. Information is power, and they don’t want to give it away. But the oldest vampire I’ve ever met is about two thousand years old.”

Uncomfortable murmurs and shifting on sofas met the announcement. Even Anastasia looked impressed, narrowing her gaze and studying me as if I had suddenly become interesting.

“But you only have the guy’s word for it,” Conrad argued. “It’s not like you can go back and get a picture or a birth certificate to prove he was alive two thousand years ago.”

“Oh, I believed him,” I said quietly. The vampire in question was not someone I ever wanted to meet again. I didn’t want to dwell.

“What about you two?” Jeffrey said to the vampires. “How old are you?”

Anastasia smiled. “As Kitty said, we’re not forthcoming. Perhaps I’ll mention it later. If you’re paying attention.”

“This is what all these conspiracies and fables have in common,” Conrad said. “Lots of mystery and obfuscation, no actual facts. Are you surprised there are skeptics out there?”

I could see it now, we were going to spend the whole two weeks arguing semantics and trying to prove negatives. I said, to no one in particular, “You know what’s going to be hard about this? I won’t be able to just hang up on someone when they say something stupid.”

We settled into conversation, which migrated, as conversations tend to. Whenever the topic veered into controversial territory—or whenever Conrad declared his disbelief in all of us—Ariel was the one who kept things on track, making light observations or drawing anecdotes from us. That was her talent, and the thing that made her radio show different from mine: She made people feel good about themselves, until everyone was comfortable talking. I had to respect her. Jeffrey and Tina told behind-the-scenes stories from their shows, Grant and Macy talked about how they got their starts, and so on. Conrad even asked questions, although he looked like he didn’t quite believe the answers.

The remote valley and lodge didn’t have cell reception, but Provost provided a satellite phone. Which was good, in case we needed to call the fire department or something—the fire department that would then need two hours and a helicopter to get out here. It was way too soon into this gig to be missing urban living.

The trouble was, there was one phone and several people who wanted to use it. Yes, we supernaturals tended to be a lonely lot, drifting hither and yon without friends and family… or not. Conrad had a wife and two kids, and he spent half an hour catching up with them. Tina spent ten minutes talking to one of her colleagues from her own TV show. Ariel had a boyfriend whom she was more than happy to talk about. “He has a tattoo parlor, he’s a really great artist, everyone in LA goes to him for their tats, he did the ink on my back—that’s how we met. Isn’t that romantic?” And so on. Lee had a girlfriend in Alaska. I didn’t listen in on any of the calls, however much I wanted to. I had some sense of propriety.

Besides, the show people were taping them all, and I’d get to listen when Supernatural Insider broadcast.

Finally, it was my turn. I called Ben. He answered on the first ring.

First thing I said was, “This phone call may be recorded to ensure quality exploitative entertainment.”

“Right,” he answered. “So I guess that means no highly descriptive phone sex.”

I blinked. I had to think about that for a second. “You were planning phone sex?” I sounded a little sad.

“And how are you, Kitty?” he said, amused. “Going stir-crazy yet?”

“I haven’t even been here a day—how can I be going stir-crazy?”

He chuckled. “Maybe because I am.”

Aw, wasn’t that sweet? We carried on like a couple of saps for far too long. Mainly, he kept prompting with questions and I kept talking about the scenery. The show’s editors weren’t going to get anything juicy out of this conversation.

“How’s Cormac’s hearing shaping up?” I said. “Is everything on track?”

“Everything’s on track,” he said. “There’s really nothing I can do until the hearing itself. I’d rather not think about it—I’ll get even more nervous.”

“I’m rooting for you guys.”

“I’ll let him know,” he said.

“I should get going,” I said finally, realizing how late it was and how tired I was from traveling. “I’ll call again as soon as I can.”

“Okay. I’ll try to survive.”

“You do that. But the next time I go to a remote mountain lodge, you’re coming with me,” I said.

One by one, the others had all gone to bed, leaving the vampires and their human servant on the sofas in front of the fireplace. It was just them and me now. They looked at me with that sultry, sidewise glance that seemed to come naturally to vampires. The hypnotic gaze that made you want to look at them and made it easier for them to trap you. I frowned back.

“Aren’t you guys going to get kind of bored, sitting up all night while everyone else is asleep?”

Anastasia’s gaze narrowed. “I’m sure we’ll find ways to amuse ourselves.”

That made me a little nervous for some reason. “Should I be worried?”

Gemma giggled, and Anastasia’s smile grew indulgent. “No more so than usual.”

“Though Tina’s hung a garlic clove on the inside of her door,” Gemma said, still giggling.

Great—the psychic was worried. Did that mean I should be?

I looked at Dorian, the fabulous specimen of manhood sitting on the armchair across from Gemma and Anastasia. He hadn’t said a word yet, but we could change that. “What about you, Dorian? Are you enjoying yourself?”

He didn’t answer. Smiling, he looked at Anastasia, who said, “I think he’s enjoying himself just fine.”

Maybe this was going to be a little more of a challenge than I thought. I moved around the room, closer to him, and leaned on the back of the sofa. Not too close. Close enough to look him in the eye. He watched me calmly, a smile playing on his lips. Not bothered, not threatened. Just unworried. I studied him obviously, peering one way or another.

“So. You guys take the master-and-servant thing pretty seriously.”

“Dorian’s under my protection. It’s a duty I take seriously,” Anastasia said.

“Here’s the thing,” I said, moving around to the front of the sofa and taking a seat among them all. “My whole career is based on getting people to talk. Talk radio, that’s how it works. So Dorian here may be under orders not to talk, or maybe has decided not to talk, but I see that as a challenge. Because if there was some real reason for him not to talk to anyone, you wouldn’t risk him interacting with anyone and leave him in the basement instead. But I’m betting Provost and Valenti and the rest wanted to get this little relationship on camera. So at some point, when you all least expect it, I’m going to get him to talk.” I glared the challenge at them all.