“I don’t like this, Miss A. I wish you would let me come with you.”
The woman smiles to herself as she watches the glittering city slip past the window of their sleek rental car. Bless her human family, they worry so about her and do not take well to change in her schedule. This journey from London to New Orleans counts as the biggest change to date. “I know, petit,” she murmurs for perhaps the hundredth time, “but I told you; I do not know my host, nor do I know the guests. I would be foolish indeed to risk your safety when I cannot guarantee it.”
“Still don’t like it.” The car glides to a stop at the curb. Her driver turns to scowl at her over the seat. “What if the Big D is there?”
“It’s been ages since my turning, Michael, I will not be fussed if you call Dracula by name now.”
Michael gets out to open her door. “S’not what you said when I was ten. Fine. But listen, if you do run into any trouble promise to call me, yeah? Da would beat my arse if I let anything happen to you.”
She gives him her hand and allows him to assist her to the sidewalk. Brown eyes laced with gold glint at him from behind the delicate filigree of her mask. “Ma petit cher, do I look like someone who will need rescue from trouble?”
“You’re too confident by half, you know that.” He extracts the invitation from his coat pocket and puts it into her gloved hand. “Have a reasonable amount of fun, then.”
Tapping one corner of the heavy card stock against her ruby lips, she watchs her personal assistance drive off. A reasonable amount of fun. Yes, that might very well be possible. In fact one might say anything is possible with this crowd.
With a swish of emerald green silk, the Comtesse von Corbuleac joins the party.
