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The vamp seemed to soften visibly. “Of course,” she said.

Her human companion, the designer-clad fangbanger I’d noticed earlier, thought, That’ll last ten minutes, until she turns her back on Sophie-Anne. Then they’ll be plotting again. Sure, they all say they like crackling fires and long walks on the beach by moonlight, but whenever you go to a party, it’s maneuver, maneuver, maneuver, and lie, lie, lie.

Sophie-Anne’s gaze just brushed mine, and I gave a tiny shake of my head. Alabama excused herself to go congratulate the newlyweds, and her human tagged along. Mindful of all the ears around us, most of which could hear far better than I could, I said, “Later,” and got a nod from Andre.

Next to court Sophie-Anne was the King of Kentucky, the man who was guarded by Britlingens. Kentucky turned out to look a lot like Davy Crockett. All he needed was a ba’ar and a coonskin cap. He was actually wearing leather pants and a suede shirt and jacket, fringed suede boots, and a big silk kerchief tied around his neck. Maybe he needed the bodyguards to protect him from the fashion police.

I didn’t see Batanya and Clovache anywhere, so I assumed he’d left them in his room. I didn’t see what good it was to hire expensive and otherworldly bodyguards if they weren’t around your body to guard it. Then, since I didn’t have another human to distract me, I noticed something odd: there was a space behind Kentucky that stayed constantly empty, no matter what the flow of the crowd might be. No matter how natural it would be for someone passing behind Kentucky to step in that area, somehow no one ever did. I figured the Britlingens were on duty, after all.

“Sophie-Anne, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” said Kentucky. He had a drawl that was thick as honey, and he made a point of letting Sophie-Anne see his fangs were partially out. Ugh.

“Isaiah, it’s always good to see you,” Sophie-Anne said, her voice and face smooth and calm as always. I couldn’t tell whether or not Sophie-Anne knew the bodyguards were right behind him. As I drew a little closer, I found that though I couldn’t see Clovache and Batanya, I could pick up their mental signatures. The same magic that cloaked their physical presence also muffled their brain waves, but I could get a dull echo off both of them. I smiled at them, which was really dumb of me, because Isaiah, King of Kentucky, picked up on it right away. I should have known he was smarter than he looked.

“Sophie-Anne, I want to have a chat with you, but you gotta get that little blond gal out of here for the duration,” Kentucky said with a broad grin. “She pure-dee gives me the willies.” He nodded toward me, as if Sophie-Anne had lots of blond human women trailing her.

“Of course, Isaiah,” Sophie-Anne said, giving me a very level look. “Sookie, please go down to the lower level and fetch the suitcase the staff called about earlier.”

“Sure,” I said. I didn’t mind a humble errand. I’d almost forgotten the gruff voice on the phone earlier in the evening. I thought it was stupid that procedure required us to come down to the bowels of the hotel, rather than allowing a bellman to bring us the suitcase, but red tape is the same everywhere you go, right?

As I turned to go, Andre’s face was quite blank, as usual, but when I was almost out of earshot, he said, “Excuse me, your majesty, we didn’t tell the girl about your schedule for the night.” In one of those disconcerting flashes of movement, he was right beside me, hand on my arm. I wondered if he’d gotten one of those telepathic communications from Sophie-Anne. Without a word, Sigebert had moved into Andre’s place beside Sophie-Anne, a half step back.

“Let’s talk,” said Andre, and quick as a wink he guided me to an EXIT sign. We found ourselves in a blank beige service corridor that extended for maybe ten yards, then made a right-angle turn. Two laden waiters came around the corner and passed us, giving us curious glances, but when they met Andre’s eyes they hurried away on their task.

“The Britlingens are there,