"You're sure I look all right?" Cassandra asked for the third time since she got into the cab. "You didn't say that this was going to be formal or anything."
Strephon sighed. He had dressed in formal dinner clothing because that was What One Wore to Dinner. He was too unfamiliar with 21st Century fashions to wear anything else. The dress she was wearing looked adequate, as far as he could tell, and she had applied the artifices that mortal women use to approximate faerie glamours well enough. "You look very beautiful," he lied. She was by no means plain, but compared to the women of the Unseen Realms, no mortal woman could rank higher than "nice". Having lived among mortals and indeed having loved one, Strephon knew that there were things more important than a staggeringly beautiful appearance; but he rightly judged that this was not a good time to go into this.
"I just don't want to look like a fool in front of Melchior Dusk and his rich friends. This could be a big story for me!"
Strephon mumbled something vague in reply. He was still in a testy mood. Devon had appeared whilst he was dressing for dinner and requested a report on what he had learned. Strephon told him to soak his head. He also was having second thoughts about attending this party. Perhaps there was no connection between the werewolf attack last night and his visit with Melchior, but the appearance of a wolfen detective afterwards was too coincidental for Strephon's liking.
He regretted bringing Cassandra into this. Already she had nearly been killed and now he was bringing her into the intrigues of the Fae. She had no idea what kind of danger she faced. And for what? To serve as a shield from another fae's romantic overtures? Several times that day he considered calling her and cancelling their date, but he couldn't quite work up the nerve. He couldn't think of an adequate lie to protect her. And he did promise to give her the chance to interview Dusk. Now he would have to try to learn more of Melchior’s plans without revealing his own intentions and protect Cassandra all at the same time.
Tobias pulled up in front of Vanir Technologies. "Here you are. Have fun, you two!" He unfolded the wheelchair and held it as Strephon hoisted himself out of the cab on his canes and slid into it. Strephon paid his fare and bade Tobias good night.
The night security guard glanced at the guest list as they entered the lobby and directed them to the lift. Strephon pressed the Up button. Before Cassandra could open her mouth, he said "You look fine. I'm sure you will be the most beautiful reporter there."
The affair, Strephon saw, was not a dinner so much as a cocktail party with a large buffet table. This was probably just as well, for there were many guests and a banquet would have been much less informal. Many of the guests were already here, and Strephon noted with some vexation how many of them seemed other than human. It was like a carnival of masks, in which everyone was pretending to be someone they were not; Strephon included.
"Look, that's Aoi Kurayami!" Cassandra said in hushed tones. She gestured towards a small, dark-haired woman wearing a leather coat and dark glasses with a distinct aura of the undead. She had the arm of a pretty young man in a white jacket. A gigolo, no doubt; and probably also a midnight snack. "She runs a big computer firm and owns a chain of cyber-cafes in town." No wonder Melchior invited her. Was she already an ally, or was Melchior trying to cultivate her?
"I think that's Malcolm Raven over by the buffet table. He's one of the most eligible bachelors in town. The woman with him is Anna Chelsea; she's a big marketing consultant." Strephon looked where Cassandra pointed. Perhaps bringing Cassandra wasn't such a mistake after all. She knew these people, by reputation at least. She did not know, however, that the handsome man piling slices of rare roast beef onto his plate and the woman accompanying him were werewolves. So was the man walking up to them.
"Planning on hogging the whole table?" the newcomer said with a deceptively light tone.
Raven flashed a toothy smile. "You're always free to scavenge my leavings, Lukas. It is your style after all."
"Omigosh," Cassandra whispered. "That's Lukas Bianka, head of the Redemption Decency League."
"Really," Strephon said. He wondered if Mister Bianka had ever played Virtual Hot Tub.
A large woman of a certain age and many chins towing a thin gentleman who would barely make a mouthful for either of the werewolves interposed herself between the two males. "Mister Bianka, it is soooo good to finally meet you. I'm Mrs. Trotter, of the Redemption Culture Claque. You might know my husband, Lemuel."
"L.G. Trotter," Cassandra explained, "he's president of the Fiduciary Trust Bank.
"Your organization has done such splendid work. We need more voices like yours speaking out against corruption and immorality in this city," Mrs. Trotter gushed.
"You are too kind," Bianka said with a brief bow.
Strephon turned his attention away from the buffet table and towards the other guests. Most of them seemed mortal; all of them looked rich. He wanted to make a special mental note of any who seemed inordinately interested in him, but it seemed that nearly all of the guests were either staring at him or politely pretending not to. Was it because they sensed his fae nature, or simply because of his wheelchair?
One guest in particular caught his attention: a thin man in an ill-fitting tuxedo with glasses and a sadly blemished face who hovered nervously near the punch bowl. He was definitely a mortal. Magic of the fae tinged his aura, but Strephon guessed that he was merely one of Melchior's mortal employees.
Cassandra gasped. "Holy shit! Do you see him?" Strephon frowned at the vulgarity, but turned to this latest guest and almost gasped himself. "That's Simon Knox, publisher of the Morning Star!"
"Indeed," Strephon said. Knox was a broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a fine, pointed beard. A gorgeous blonde hung on his shoulder. Strephon frowned; he could not read the man's aura. He sensed that it was a powerful one, but he could divine nothing of its nature. Perhaps this one was a mortal sorcerer. That would be peculiar, since the Star regularly dismissed accounts of the supernatural. Then again, perhaps it was not peculiar at all.
The doors opened again and another pair of guests entered. One was another werewolf: a knockout blonde with long hair tied back in a braid and possessing a savage animal charisma. Strephon barely noticed her, focusing instead on her companion.
It was that damn detective!
What did this mean? Was the detective a minion of Melchior's? Had Melchior sent the wolves to kill him?
"It's that detective," Cassandra whispered. "What's he doing here?"
"Undoubtedly he is wondering the same about us," Strephon replied under his breath. To his relief, however, the detective's companion headed straight for the buffet table and he followed her lead.
Strephon watched the little drama at the meat tray intently. Since the "Big Dogs" had taken an interest in his life, it only behooved him to take an interest in theirs. He wondered why Melchior was gauche enough to invite leaders of more than one pack to the same party. Then again, perhaps it was a deliberate political move to ensure that no single pack was snubbed. Or perhaps a reminder to whichever leader he was negotiating with that they were not the only pack in town. He tried to listen in on the conversation, but just then some boor in a blue serge jacket tried to engage him in a conversation about Brexit. Or perhaps breakfast, Strephon wasn’t sure which.
By the time Strephon managed to extricate himself, the principals had withdrawn to neutral territory, but from what he could see, the President of the Decency League had made advances toward the blonde and the detective had faced him down. Intriguing. The somewhat befuddled young man who had interrogated Strephon the other day was nowhere to be seen; the detective now possessed an intensity, a drive and a bite. Strephon was beginning to regret having baited him. The detective's companion observed the altercation with some vexation, but a bit of satisfaction as well.
"Pardon me," one of the waiters interrupted him with a tray of champagne glasses. "Would you care for a drink?"
Strephon nodded and took one of the glasses. Cassandra reached for one, but then paused. "Um... could you bring me a rum and coke?"
"Certainly." The waiter glided away to bring the drink. Strephon directed a narrow glance at Cassandra, who returned it with a secret and slightly embarrassed smile.
Melchior was engaged in a conversation with the Aoi Kurayami while Inanna hovered at a discreet distance. They seemed to be discussing Vanir’s new game system and placing them in Miss Kurayami's cyber-cafes and possible strategies for international distribution. It all seemed quite conventional if one didn't know the gentleman was a Lord of the Fae and the woman a powerful vampire.
Strephon glanced over to a bald thin man with a thin, beakish nose whom he recognized: the owner of an old established New Age bookstore who at various times had claimed to be Aleister Crowley, Mithras and the Egyptian god Thoth. He did resemble Crowley a bit. And Thoth, if one looked at him sideways with an imaginative eye. He was busy chatting with a vague, grey gentleman, whom Strephon suspected might be a party-crashing ghost, but gave Strephon a friendly wave.
"Ah, Strephon; I'm glad you could make it." Melchior came over to him and offered his hand. "I hope you're enjoying yourself."
"Yes, I am," Strephon replied politely. "I don't think you've met Miss True." He gestured to Cassandra.
Melchior took her hand and gave her a charming smile which froze as Inanna whispered behind him, "She's a reporter. From the Oracle."
"It's so good to finally meet you," Cassandra said sweetly. "I was hoping I might ask for a few moments of your time."
Melchior curled his lip, but only for a moment. Then the mask returned. "Why certainly, my dear. Come with me. Inanna, will you keep Mister Bellman entertained while I'm gone?"
Inanna gave a predatory smile. "Why certainly."
Strephon cursed again. This was the last thing he wanted.
NEXT: Private Conversations
