She opened the door and while the light that came through was bright, it wasn’t direct, stunning sunlight. Brenden stepped through and the receptionist moved around him and led him into the room proper. This was clearly a private door into the boardroom from the big man’s office. The stub wall extended for five feet, then the room opened up.

  Because the office was on the top floor, they had taken advantage of the fact. All three walls were solid glass from floor to ceiling. So was half the roof, which soared up thirty feet to meet the building proper where it turned into a normal roof. The brilliant morning sunlight bathed the room in incandescent brightness.

  Brenden narrowed his eyes against the light. It was just a bit too bright and direct for his comfort. The sun was a pulsating disk hanging in the sky directly in front of the windows.

  “Donald, perhaps it would be a good idea to polarize the windows so our guest can see?” The woman’s contralto voice was low and rich, the accent educated and upper class British. She spoke perfect Common.

  “What? Oh, yes, yes.” That was a man, on Brenden’s right. There was the sound of purring. A motor of some sort, Brenden guessed, and running very quietly.

  Then darkness rose, spreading around them, finally blotting out the light. Brenden tracked the shade as it moved up the windows, over onto the roof, until it met the solid wall. The room fell into what felt like a dim early evening light, except the sun still hung, a subdued copper penny, in the sky outside the windows.

  Brenden blinked again, adjusting.

  Coming toward him was a slender woman wearing black and white. She had very red lips and black eyes and her skin was pale and flawless. Her hair was quite black and cut in a short style that Brenden found oddly feminine, despite preferring long hair on women. She was beautiful in a stark way. She was all form and minimal decoration.

  She smiled, showing even white teeth and held out her hand. “I am Harriet Winslow. It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Christos.”

  He shook her hand, which was long and slender, like her. Her grip, though, was strong.

  “I must apologize for dazzling you with the light,” she added. “We have had very little to do with vampires and aren’t used to the differences between us.”

  “You know I am vampire?” Brenden asked.

  “You didn’t think we would let you step into this room without running a background check?” The question came from the man on Brenden’s right.

  Brenden turned to face him. “Not everyone is as thorough as I would be under the same circumstances, Sir Winslow.”

  Donald Winslow was old. Brenden’s own research had warned him the man was nearing his century mark, but despite his wealth he had not qualified for regeneration.

  Winslow was in a wheelchair, yet his tanned face was barely lined and his shoulders were wide and strong. He sat upright, his silver-haired head erect and his brown eyes studying Brenden under strong brows. Winslow had lost the use of his legs from a climbing accident thirty years ago, which had also disqualified him for regeneration, for spinal cord injuries were one of the few traumas the medical industry had not yet learned how to heal.

  Winslow’s chair sat in front of the big, fully-automated desk. He had moved out from behind it to greet Brenden. “You’ve come a long way to speak to me in person, Mr. Christos,” Winslow said. “Please sit and speak.”

  “Thank you.” Brenden sat in the chair Winslow indicated, while his wife nudged one of the barrel chairs around to face them both. She lowered herself into the chair in a way that made the most of her long legs. Brenden found himself watching her rounded hips fold as she sat. The black and white gown split and fell to either side of her knees, revealing the same milky white, glowing flesh. She was as young as Winslow was old.

  Both of them were watching him expectantly.

  “It is about the Majestetisk Teater, in Oslo,” Brenden began.

  Winslow stiffened.

  “Then you are not here about advanced security procedures,” Harriet said.

  “I apologize for the deception but it was necessary, as I’ll explain in a moment.” Brenden leaned forward. “There is a highly advanced security monitoring system watching the theatre. I didn’t understand why such lengths had been taken over a building that is ready for demolition, until I looked into who owned the theatre and the building’s history.”

  “The theatre is a part of my family’s personal history,” Winslow said. “But then, you know that already, do you not?”

  “I remember,” Brenden agreed.

  “Of course,” Harriet said softly, in a tone that sounded like she was chiding herself. “You would have been a part of those times as much as you are these.”

  “I remember,” Brenden told her, “because for a while, I worked for Ms. Anderson’s company, providing security. I was a part of her security detail when she was travelling.”

  “Then you have a far more intimate connection with my family than I had supposed,” Winslow said. “Does your connection have anything to do with the theatre in Oslo?”

  “It’s the reason I thought I should speak to you in person, rather than through the nets.” He chose his next words carefully. These people were already awkward around him. There was no need to farther underline their differences. “The security camera monitoring the back of the theatre recently recorded some footage that, if it were to become public, would embarrass a number of people.”

  “Whatever did you do behind the theatre, Mr. Christos?” Harriet Winslow asked. There was a thread of amusement in her voice.

  “Me?”

  “I hire only the best, Mr. Christos,” she replied. “They are above corruption because I pay well and they have professional reputations to maintain. Any footage from our security monitors is confidential and treated with high security. The only way you could possibly know that embarrassing footage was recorded is because you were a part of that footage.”

  “Call me Brenden,” he told her, a smile of appreciation for her mental agility. “I was part of the video, yes. I’m here because when I tried to find who owned the theatre, I discovered that it was owned by you, sir.” He glanced at Winslow. “You don’t have even an umbrella corporation over it. It’s not owned by your enterprise here.” He looked up at the grand roof. “You own it personally, Sir Winslow. Given the theatre’s history and the connection with your family, I can understand that. But what you need to know is that a copy of your security footage is out there. Somewhere.”

  There was a short, stunned silence.

  “Impossible,” Winslow declared. “My wife runs a very tight ship.”

  “A copy came to you?” Harriet Winslow asked.

  “Indirectly. Now I need to find the source. I figured you’d like to know you’ve got a leak, too.”

  Winslow shook his head. “I find this very hard to believe, but I cannot understand why else you might be here.”

  Brenden pulled a small reading board out of his jacket and held it out. “You can see for yourself. I converted a copy. You can watch it right now.” He mentally crossed his fingers. He preferred that they not see the clip. There was no need to broadcast his transgressions any farther than he had to.

  Winslow shook his head. “Not right now.”

  “I will,” Harriet Winslow said, holding out her hand.

  With a sigh, Brenden handed the board over.

  She placed it on the desk next to her. “For later,” she said. “For right now, let’s discuss next steps.”

  “You need to talk to your security company, ma’am,” Brenden told her. “The leak came from there. I would like to know who has the clip.”

  She glanced at Winslow, then rose gracefully to her feet. “Very well,” she said.

  “Now?” Brenden asked, startled.

  “Is the matter not urgent?” she asked. “You would not prefer that any stray copies be rounded up as soon as possible?”

  “Of course,” he said, standing up.

  “I’ll be back before you miss me,” she told Winslow, as she turned and walked toward the big doors. “Penelope! Please have the car brought around!” she called out.

  Brenden nodded at Winslow. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  Winslow shook his head. “A minor matter. Harriet will sort it out for you.” He was already moving the chair back around the desk, the quiet motor purring. Brenden had been dismissed.

  As Brenden followed Harriet Winslow over to the door, the glass walls and roof depolarized, flooding the room with brilliant light once more.

  Brenden stepped out and shut the door thankfully behind him. Contact with humans who didn’t know and understand vampires always left him feeling edgy and tense.

  Harriet Winslow was standing just beyond the door, waiting for him, one hand on her slender hip. It was a reminder that he still couldn’t relax completely, yet. He still had to negotiate through the next hour or so, until he could bid the fourth Mrs. Winslow goodbye and get back to the station.

  He painted a polite smile on his face. “Lead the way,” he told her.

  Chapter Two

  Berlin, Germany-Austria Confederacy, 2263 A.D.

  When the elevator doors shut and the car began to descend, Harriet Winslow leaned back against the wood-paneled walls and studied Brenden openly. “I’ve only met one other vampire. He isn’t at all like you.”

  “You’re speaking of your brother-in-law, Richard Dansby?”

  Her face showed a touch of surprise. “No one is supposed to know that,” she said slowly.

  Brenden gave her a stiff smile. “We all know of each other, ma’am. Sometimes directly, sometimes by reputation. Your brother-in-law prefers to remain as human as he can, which is why he doesn’t advertise that he is vampire. That’s one difference between us.”

  “Call me Harriet,” she said. “You don’t care to be considered human? But you are human.”

  “I was human,” he qualified. “That was a very long time ago. Even vampires are changed by the passing of time.”

  “Time is clearly the most powerful force in the universe, then, if it can change you. I understood that you could never change. Not your age, your health, not even your mental state.” She straightened up from the wall as the elevator slowed. “You are not a Spartan anymore?”

  Brenden stepped back, letting her emerge from the elevator ahead of him. “Your research on me was thorough, I see.”

  She gave him a smile and stepped out, her legs swinging freely from the hip, as the gown flowed around her calves in soft folds. “It’s my job to know exactly who it is that steps through that door and why they want to speak to my husband.”

  She waved at the receptionist with a lift of her hand and strode past him, heading for the glass entryway. Brenden barely had to shorten his steps to keep pace with her. “Should you have a coat?” he asked curiously.

  “There’s no need,” she assured him and pushed the door open.

  Chilled air touched them. Germany felt nearly as chilly as Oslo, which was saying something. But the brisk air didn’t seem to bother Harriet Winslow. She moved across the pavement, her shoes clicking with a light, feminine sound, her legs swinging easily under the expensive folds of her gown. Brenden realized he was watching her rear curves and the way the dress outlined them. He jerked his gaze back to the limousine at the curb.

  The limo was the latest in zero-impact tech. The Mercedes Benz-Volvo brand was by far the most luxurious in Europe. The door slid open just as Harriet Winslow reached it and she stepped into the car with barely a break in her stride.

  Brenden followed, aware that he wasn’t anywhere near as graceful. His size forced him to double over and shuffle through whenever he got into cars or moved through small doorways. At least he didn’t have to turn sideways to get his shoulders through this opening. The standard two-foot-wide doors from a few centuries ago had always been an issue for him, until wider doors became the norm.

  He settled himself on the other seat from the one Harriet Winslow sat upon. She had placed herself in the corner, the dress once more flowing away from her knees, which were crossed. Her ankles rested together and were pushed just to one side so the gleaming flesh of her lower legs made an elegant angle.

  The door closed automatically behind him and the car pulled away from the curb.

  “No belts?” Brenden asked.

  “We’re staying on the ground,” Harriet told him. “The headquarters for our security detail is just across the city. It will only take a few moments.”

  Whoever was controlling the car was good. The car was moving and breaking with perfect smoothness. Given what he had seen of the Winslows so far, the driver was probably the best of his type and paid very well.

  The environmental controls in the car were flawless, too. He couldn’t sweat, but he could feel the heat against his skin.

  “You might want to take your coat off, Mr. Christos. The temperature is regulated by my biometrics and I’m not rugged up like you are.”

  “I’m fine,” he said shortly. “I don’t feel the heat.”

  “Or the cold,” she added. “Does that mean you only feel what is just right?” And she smiled. It was a very different smile from those she had given him in the penthouse office. It wasn’t just the smile. It was her eyes, too.

  Startled, Brenden considered her anew.

  “Do you know Berlin very well, Mr. Christos?” she asked. It was an innocuous question.

  “I’ve spent time here, but long ago. Before the dome was built.”

  “Very little has changed under the dome from when it was first built. You might find you remember more than you believe, if you were to visit the old city.”

  “We don’t get to forget anything,” Brenden said gruffly and wondered why he was rubbing his nature in her face like that. She was only being polite.

  “Ah, yes, of course,” she replied smoothly. “Never forgetting anything must make reflections upon happy times a rich experience.”

  There was nothing in her words but simple charm, but Brenden shifted on the seat, uneasy. He looked at her. “Are you flirting with me?” he demanded flatly.

  Her smile held the same secret knowledge as the previous one. “I’m quite sure your ego is not easily swayed by flattery.”

  “Yet you try to flatter me by judging my ego to be above the very same flattery.”

  Her smile this time was full of promise.

  Brenden looked out the window and not to check the view. He already knew exactly where they were going. The address for the security headquarters had surfaced when he had been researching Winslow, but it had been described as a holding company address, the only other one in Berlin itself. Once Harriet Winslow had said they were staying in Berlin, he had summarized their destination.

  Instead, he looked out to give himself time to pull his reaction together.

  He looked back at Harriet Winslow. “I wonder if you properly know what you’re playing with.”

  “I don’t play, Mr. Christos.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said sharply.

  “I do.” She rested her hand on her crossed knee and the long slender fingers curled over the edge. They were manicured, but short, unlike the latest fashion that seemed to call for an impractical length. “You are referring, of course, to the fact that you are a vampire.”

  She said it with the same inflection she might have used if he had been religious, or an off-worlder. It made it sound like a minor impediment that interested her very little.

  “You have a vampire as a brother-in-law, but he passes as human. If you think you know us because you know your brother-in-law, you’re sadly misinformed.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” she said. Her voice was smooth and mellow. “I see people drawing blood and drinking it, every day in boardrooms around the world. They’re metaphorical vampires, it is true, but they are just as ruthless about acquiring their wants as any real vampire. It makes vampires like you a refreshing change. You’re open about what you are and what you need.”

  Brenden didn’t want to be amused by her, but humor was warming his belly. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been accused of being honest.”

  “It’s a forgivable sin,” she replied, her smile growing warm once more. “Although duplicity is a part of your nature, isn’t it?”

  “Not since the Revelation,” Brenden pointed out.

  “I wonder, did you find that a relief? Not having to pretend to be human, generation after generation?”

  “It came with its own problems,” Brenden muttered.

  “But you were raised to slaughter Persians,” she pointed out. “There are not too many other lifestyles that are more straightforward. I would imagine the simplicity is something that continues to appeal to you.”

  He studied her. Openly, this time. She didn’t seem to mind the examination.

  “You’re anything but simple,” he said.

  “But my wants and needs are very simple.”

  “I doubt that.” She might be looking for her next bed partner, but she wasn’t singling out a twenty-year-old garden boy to fill her needs. Her tastes were far more sophisticated. There still remained one question. Why him? There was a range of possibilities and some of them were disturbing.

  “Have you grown bored with your latest paramour?” he asked, testing one possibility.

  “Bored and looking for a new diversion?” she concluded. “I can see why you might think that.”

  The car came to a gentle stop and she glanced out the window, then smiled at him. It was the gracious hostess smile. “I’ll show you through and introduce you to the manager.” She slid along the seat to the door, which moved aside obligingly.

  Her rear view as she stepped out was enticing and Brenden’s body tightened in response. She was getting to him, he realized.

  The Winslow estate’s security command center was a sleek, proto-modernist design that blended in with the centuries-old buildings around it, but still managed to look very new at the same time. There were three floors, which matched every other building, but the lead-lined windows were polarized. Brenden assumed they would also be bullet and explosion-proof. The stonework around them would be a thin fascia. There would be plasteel beneath and it would be thick.

 

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