Raving Moon, Lords of the Night Book One

Chapter 9: Celebration

"I figured I'd find you hiding in plain sight," she said as she waved to a member of the serving staff. She sat across from me. "Looking good. I haven't seen that suit in a while."

"It's one of my favorites, no matter how outdated it is."

The server came to the table with a plate of grilled vegetables and whiting stuffed with a mix of crab and lobster meat. I raised an eyebrow as he brought the dish over to Rodmilla. She sipped her drink and shook her head, pointing and nodding in my direction.

"Don't look at it like that. Eat something; you'll feel better."

"I feel fine," I lied. I felt nervous. The fact that she'd noticed, even though I'd been working hard to conceal my unease, was a testament to our long enduring friendship. "Why do you and Carl insist on feeding me?"

"Because we are your friends, and, if we don't do it, no one else will." She put her glass down, and used a cloth napkin from the table to shine a scuff from her boot.

"You look handsome tonight, as usual."

"Thank you," she said with a sage bow. "Don't try to change the subject. Eat."

I shook my head and took a few bites. She stood and I watched as she headed to the bar and returned with a bottle of Sweet Life. She poured herself a glass and offered me some. I declined. I'd heard that it didn't taste quite like the real thing and that it left a strange pharmaceutical aftertaste on the tongue, but never tried it. I didn't want to test my luck. Who knew what it might do to my cravings or to the monster.

Coward, he hissed in my ear.

I shook my head, dropping my fork to cover my ears.

"That bad?" she asked. "I barely remember what food tastes like. Last time I ate a piece of haggis I was violently ill."

"You sure it wasn't just the haggis?" I laughed.

"Very funny. I'm telling you, you don't know what you're missing." She claimed a fork from the table beside us, and hovered over my plate before spearing a baby carrot. "My Aunt Siobhan made the most delectable Hag-" She dropped the carrot, untasted. "Great, who's idea was it to invite The Howler?"

I looked across the room and spied the trio of reporters who handled the majority of The Howlers's Gorgon City news division. The paper's recent editorials had been extremely unflattering to the thrones. A lot of my peers were questioning the need for a news entity that stirred up the people. I assumed their invitation was a necessary evil. Their coverage of the induction would placate a lot of uneasy minds.

I ignored the two lycanthrope reporters, my attention drawn to their leader, Melissa Assilem. She was possibly one of the most well known Pre-Men in America, a celebrity among journalists and her people alike. Mrs. Assilem was an outspoken Activist who shared her anti-Council rhetoric with anyone willing to listen or read. Her heavy brow and thick nose were gifts from her Neanderthal ancestry. She wore her hair in a short pixie cut which allowed her to show her myriad ear piercings.

She wore a modern take on the old plague doctor's regalia, her purse made in the image of the hook-nosed bird-like mask of those men and women who braved the streets during those dark days. The plague doctors were not only daring physickers, but renowned vampire hunters. The goggle eyes of her purse glowed each time a vampire approached. As I watched, I wondered if the lenses were enchanted like an authentic plague mask or merely a trick to anger the older vampires in the room.

I returned my attention to my plate and Gates's hand, poised just above her dropped fork. She stared into my eyes for a long moment then shrugged, going back to her Sweet Life. I smirked. Rodmilla Gates complained about missing the taste of food whenever we ate together, but never actually tried a bite. Carl once told me it was because the stomach pains were debilitating and she couldn't bring herself to power through it. The thought of Rodmilla afraid of a belly ache was comical. The thought of Carl made worry come flooding back.