I turned and saw Alex coming back down the hallway from the transport. At his side, moving with a bouncing gait, strode a short, slight man wearing orange-tinted glasses and a dark suit. Without his fedora of last night, Truman Capote’s blond hair hung lank and thin, but his face still had the impish look he’d had even in his older years. A fluorescent purple scarf was draped around his neck. I suspected Truman might have enjoyed my ugly coat that was now probably resting inside a Dumpster behind the Monteleone.
Once they got in the room and Alex retreated to his corner to stand guard, Truman gave him an exaggerated wink, which brought a smile to my face. Alex blushed and looked uncomfortable. Teasing him about the flirtations of an openly gay man who was a member of the historical undead would be a great way to annoy Alex. After today, however, I wasn’t sure how we’d ever get back to the teasing stage.
“I believe he’s been asked to testify today,” I told Lennox, who’d continued to track Truman’s progress through the room. “He’s a member of the historical undead, Truman Capote, the author. He wrote Breakfast at Tiffany’s and In Cold Blood.”
“Ah, right. I believe I saw them on the telly.” Perhaps Lennox didn’t share Gerry’s love of books and arcane bits of knowledge. Gerry hadn’t even owned a telly until I badgered him for one as a teenager.
We made hasty promises to stay in touch, and I returned to my seat.
“Hi, Truman, you’re sitting next to me,” I said, pulling out his chair. I figured after he’d asked me to suck on his cherry, we should be on a first-name basis. “Sorry you got dragged into this.”
“Pish-tosh.” His pupils were the size of pennies behind those glasses, and he smelled of gin. Not a good state for a star witness. “I have often been skewered by Johnny Carson on national television,” he said. “So what the hell’re the wizards going to do, kill me?”
He gave a broad smile to Christof before leaning over me to focus his attention on Florian. “Are you one of the Rolling Stones? I did so enjoy your early music. Even kept up with it after my human death, at least until the disco era. Emotional Rescue was such a mistake.”
He turned to me and spoke in a stage whisper. “Why did one of the Rolling Stones make it onto your council and I wasn’t even asked?”
I’d witnessed the entire exchange with openmouthed amazement, and it occurred to me that I had no business attending these council meetings, sentinel or not. I wasn’t weird enough.
Florian leaned over. “What is the significance of a rolling stone? Does it have something to do with gathering moss?”
Thankfully, I was spared from answering by Zrakovi calling the meeting to order, then having to pause for the arrival of a red-haired bombshell poured into a low-cut leopard-skin dress. Only once she got closer, I saw it was a very ancient bombshell whose caked makeup looked more Bette Davis horror movie than glamour queen. Baby Jane had made her entrance. Florian sniggered; Christof looked annoyed.
“Yes, well, thanks to all of you for attending on such short notice,” Zrakovi said. He introduced himself as the acting First Elder, explained that a warrant had been issued for the arrests of Geoffrey Hoffman, Adrian Hoffman, Etienne Boulard, and Garrett Melnick—and therefore there was currently no vampire representation on the council.
My eyes almost crossed out of boredom as a motion was solicited and approved and voted on to banish the Realm of Vampyre from representation on the Interspecies Council until matters could be resolved.
During all the ayes and seconds and motions, I slouched down in my seat and tried to keep my eyes open. Holy crap, but I was tired, and Zrakovi spoke in a droning monotone that did nothing to wake me up.
“Now, to new business.” Mr. Monotone speared me with a decidedly unfriendly look. “Although I mentioned a warrant for the arrest of Etienne Boulard, we still must discuss the matter of the burning of his Wild Love club.”
Guess it took too much effort to get the name of L’Amour Sauvage right, much like the name of my friend Eugenie. Or he considered neither of them important enough to care about.
“As it is well known that one of our council representatives, Captain Jean Lafitte, had recently threatened Mr. Boulard, we feel it is necessary for the continued integrity of this council to ask Mr. Lafitte to testify as to his whereabouts when the incident occurred.”
Jean gave Zrakovi a small smile. “Pardon, Monsieur Zrakovi, but I know not of the incident to which you refer. Do you mean there was a fire? I hope my former colleague Etienne was not injured.”
Zrakovi blinked at him, and I leaned back. This part of the meeting could prove entertaining. Zrakovi was a smart man; he couldn’t have reached his level in the wizarding hierarchy without a certain degree of savvy. But he was no intellectual match for the scheming mind of Jean Lafitte.
“No, he wasn’t injured,” Zrakovi said slowly. He was already losing ground, and he knew it. “Could you tell us where you were during the hours of two and seven last evening?”