"Ye'll find out." Connor motioned to the double doors on the right. "I'll take ye to the meeting hall."

"No thanks. I know the way." Vanda strode through the doors and down the hall, her high-heeled boots clicking on the spotless and shiny marble floor.

The unpleasant smell of antiseptic cleanser couldn't completely mask the delicious aroma of blood. The mortal workers at Romatech manufactured synthetic blood all day. That blood was shipped openly to hospitals and blood banks, and secretly to Vamps.

Roman Draganesti invented synthetic blood in 1987, and in recent years, he'd come up with Vampire Fusion Cuisine. On weeknights, Vamp employees worked at Romatech, making lovely drinks such as Chocolood, Bleer, Blissky, or Blood Lite for those who overindulged. The combined scent of all these drinks lingered in the air. Vanda took a deep, satisfying sniff to soothe her frazzled nerves.

Her superior Vamp hearing caught the sound of crackling static. She glanced back and spotted Connor standing by the double doors. He was watching her progress with a walkie-talkie in his hand. Did he suspect she'd make a run for it? It was awfully tempting to teleport to the parking lot and speed away in her black Corvette. No wonder he'd confiscated her keys. She could always teleport straight home. But they knew where she lived and where she worked. There was no running away from coven law.

Of course, only Vamps who drank synthetic blood acknowledged Roman Draganesti as Coven Master of East Coast Vampires. As she neared the meeting hall, Vanda's steps slowed. If Roman had some kind of complaint against her, why hadn't he approached her in private? Why humiliate her in front of the other bigwigs in the coven?

Connor's softly accented voice carried down the long hallway. "Phil has arrived? Good. Let me talk to him."