“They were nice ladies,” Larten chuckled. “They loved my knife trick.”

‘You should try it at the Cirque Du Freak,” Wester said drily. “It would go over well there.”

The pair had bumped into their old ally, Mr. Tall, a while ago. They’d spent a fun few nights with the circus crew and Larten had performed some of his old magic routines in the show. He had been rusty to begin with, but adjusted swiftly. He had an incredibly fast hand, even for a vampire. It was how he’d earned his nickname — one of their friends had once said his fingers moved as if made of quicksilver.

Larten and Wester had been traveling the world for almost twenty years since their first time at Council. Both had learned a lot, not just about the ways of vampires, but about ladies too. Larten had been a slow starter but was making up for lost time, dazzling maidens with his smile, confidence and agility wherever he went.

The pair occasionally met with their master, Seba Nile, but spent most of the time by themselves or with others their age, vampires in their thirties, forties, fifties or sixties. They were youths by vampire standards and had been cut loose by their masters to explore the world of humans one final time before pledging themselves to the demands of the clan.

The door to their room crashed open. Wester whirled defensively, then relaxed as a large vampire with long blond hair staggered in. It was Yebba. He had been traveling with them for the past month, though it had been a few nights since they’d last seen him.

“I’m thirsty,” Yebba roared, kicking Larten’s bed. “Up, cur, and come keep me company.”

“Wester says the sun hasn’t set yet,” Larten yawned.

“I don’t give a damn,” the massive vampire said, then collapsed like a bear and sat on the floor, blinking dumbly.

“A heavy night’s drinking?” Wester smiled.

“Aye,” Yebba said morosely. “A woman broke my heart. What else could I do but drown my sorrows in ale?”