Kyle, as Warren’s lover, knew a lot more about the things that go bump in the night than most humans, to whom vampires were movie monsters, not men who wore Scooby-Doo shirts and lived in upscale houses in real towns. It wouldn’t be long, though, I thought, before vampires were outed. Werewolves had outed themselves a year and a half ago—though they were careful what they told the public. The fae had been out since the 1980s. People were gradually learning that the world is a scarier place than the scientific reasoning of the last few centuries had led them to believe.

“We die during the day,” said Stefan. “But Max was very old. He was capable of all sorts of things, and it would not surprise me to know that he could walk in the day. I only met him once—a long time beforeNosferatu. He attended one of thefestas of the Master of Milan, the Lord of Night, without invitation. It was odd to see so many powerful people cower before one unwashed, poorly dressed, amazingly ugly man. I saw him kill a two-hundred-year-old vampire with a look—just disintegrated her to dust with one glance because she laughed at him. The Lord of the Night, who was her master, was very old and powerful, even then—and he did not voice an objection though she was the youngest of his get and dear to him.”

“Is Schreck still alive?” Warren asked.

“I don’t know,” said Stefan, and added, half under his breath, “I don’t want to know.”

“Was he always that ugly, or did he get worse with age?” asked Kyle. Kyle was beautiful, and he knew it. I was never certain if he was really vain, or if it was one of a dozen things that he used to camouflage the sharp mind behind the pretty face. I suspected it was both.

Stefan smiled.“That’s the question that haunts the older vampires. One doesn’t ask questions about age, but we can tell, more or less. Wulfe is probably the oldest vampire—other than Max—I’ve ever met. Wulfe is not ugly or monstrous.” He paused, then continued thoughtfully, “at least not on the outside.”

“Maybe he was fae or part fae,” I ventured. “Some of them are very … unusual-looking.”

“I have never heard that about him,” said Stefan. “But who would know?”

Warren hit the play button and, somehow, knowing that Max Schreck, who had played the original Count Orlok, had been a nightmare for vampires, made the movie a lot scarier—and it had had plenty of that going for it anyway. Only Warren seemed impervious to the effect.

When the movie was over, he glanced at Stefan.“Vampire,” he said without insult, “why don’t you come down to the kitchen with me while these two look through Kyle’s amazing library of video wonder for something that will keep Mercy from speeding all the way home.”

“Hey!” I said indignantly.

He grinned at me as he rose from the floor to stretch, his lanky body reaching for the ceiling under Kyle’s admiring eyes. Warren wasn’t as pretty as Kyle, but he wasn’t Max Schreck, either, and he knew he was playing for an audience. Maybe Kyle wasn’t the only one who was vain.

“Hey, yourself, Mercy,” Warren said. “How about we do a second movie? Stefan’s used to staying up late, and you have no Adam to go home to. You two find something else, and Stefan and I will refill the popcorn bowls.”

Kyle waited until Warren and Stefan were downstairs before saying,“Stefan looks hungry. You think Warren is going to feed him before bringing him back?”

“I think,” I said, “that might be a good idea. He already had a bite of me today and was starting to look at you like you might be dinner. I don’t think Warren would let Stefan feed from you if he asked, and you consented. Werewolves are possessive that way. Probably better if Warren does it. Being a werewolf with a pack, Warren won’t end up Stefan’s good friend Renfield.”

Kyle grimaced.

“Don’t start the conversation if you don’t want an honest answer,” I told him, hopping out of the chair and perusing one of the bookcases stuffed with Blu-rays, DVDs, and VHS tapes.

When Warren and Stefan came upstairs, it was obvious to me that Stefan had fed again. He was moving with something close to his usual grace.

“Don’t you haveBride of Frankenstein?” he asked, when Kyle held upThe Lost Skeleton of Cadavra as our pick for the second movie.“OrFather of the Bride?Four Weddings and a Funeral?” He glanced at me. “MaybeThe Butterfly Effect?” Yep, he was feeling better.

I threw a pillow at him.“Just shut up. Shut. Up.”

Stefan caught the pillow, tossed it back to me, and laughed.

“What’s up?” asked Kyle.

I buried my head in the pillow.“My mother has given up on doves for the wedding and—though I didn’t know they were in contention—apparently pigeons. She wants to release butterflies and balloons instead.”

Warren looked properly appalled, but Kyle laughed.

“It’s a new trend, Mercy,” he said. “Right up your alley because it’s supposed to be based on an Indian legend. The story is that if you catch a butterfly and whisper your wish to it, then let it go, that the butterfly will take your request to the Great Spirit. Since you released the butterfly, when you could have killed or captured it, the Great Spirit will be inclined to view your request favorably.”

“I am doomed,” I told the pillow. “Doomed to butterflies and balloons.”

“At least it isn’t pigeons,” observed Warren practically.

2

“SO WHAT DID YOU DO TO DARRYL?” ADAM ASKED AS he shut the driver’s-side door of my Rabbit.

Usually I drove the Rabbit, but Alpha wolves don’t deal well with commercial airline travel. Having to trust some stranger to fly the plane had left Adam with a need for control, so when his daughter Jesse and I picked him up from the airport, he got to drive.

“I didn’t do anything to Darryl,” I protested.

Adam gave me a long look before he backed out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit of the airport parking lot.

“I stopped by Stefan’s on the way to movie night,” I said. “Adam, Stefan is in real trouble. He’s lost a lot of his menagerie, and he hasn’t replaced them. They’re dying; he was dying.”

Adam reached out for my arm and turned it so he could see the inside of my elbow. I looked at the flawless skin with interest, too.

“Mercy,” Adam said, as Jesse snickered in the backseat. “Quit screwing around.”

“It’s on the other arm,” I told him. “Just a couple of marks. In a day or so, they’ll be gone. You know it won’t hurt me. Our mate bond and the pack keeps him from connecting to me the way he would a human.”

“No wonder Darryl was upset,” Adam told me as he pulled up to the ticket booth behind another car. “He doesn’t like vampires.”

“Stefan needs to gather more people into his menagerie,” I said. “He knows it, I know it—but I can’ttell him so.”

“Why not?” asked Jesse.

“Because a vampire’s menagerie is made up of victims,” Adam answered. “Most of them die very slowly. Stefan’s better than the average vampire, but they are still victims. If Mercy encourages him to go out hunting, she’s telling him that she approves of what he’s doing.”

“Which I don’t,” I said staunchly. The driver of the car in front of us was arguing with the ticket lady. I picked at the seam of my jeans.

“Except that it’s Stefan,” Adam said. “Who’s not such a bad guy for a vampire.”

“Yeah,” I agreed soberly. “But he’s still a vampire.”

The lady in the ticket booth apparently won the argument because the driver handed her his credit card. I noticed that the ticket lady had a bouquet of helium balloons beside her; in the center was a Mylar balloon that said,“Happy Birthday, Grandma!”

“I have a request,” I told Adam, as he handed the parking ticket to the lady in the booth.

“What’s that?” He looked exhausted. This was his second trip this month to the other Washington on the opposite side of the country, and it was wearing on him. I hesitated. Maybe I should wait until he’d gotten a good night’s sleep.