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Corin and Angela continued their trek through the gallery, arriving at the far end of the room. They stopped at a piece titled James Radcliffe, which depicted a handsome gentleman with slicked-back golden-brown hair, soft hazel eyes, and an impish smirk. He wore full evening attire with a white piqué dress shirt, matching waistcoat and bowtie, and a black tailcoat with silk lapels.

Corin touched his chin in contemplation. “The artist seems to have left the Renaissance period far behind. This James character is dressed like he’s from the late Victorian era—or possibly Edwardian.”

“Renaissance to Edwardian,” Angela mused. “Why that timespan?”

Corin walked on to the next portrait with Angela’s arm still wound through his. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I will say the Edwardian era was the pinnacle of formal fashion. Oh, how I miss the days when I could put on my tails without people mistaking me for some stage magician.” Angela stopped and tugged on Corin’s arm, her eyes wide and fixed on the wall. Corin followed her gaze to the next relief carving.

The figure in the portrait had cornflower-blue eyes and a full brown beard. He wore a black doublet and a white collar. His hair was short, and there was no scar on his cheek, but there was no mistaking it. It was the man Corin saw in Angela’s memories—the vampire who saved her life in the subway. Corin’s eyes darted to the plaque below the carving—Edgar E. Blair, Self-Portrait.

Angela shook her head in disbelief. “That’s—”

“I know,” Corin whispered. He then caught the scent, too faint for any human to smell, but unmistakably the odor of a corpse, and the aroma was growing stronger—coming closer. There was another vampire in the room!

Corin’s mind raced. No, we’re not ready. This vampire may have saved Angela, but … “We need to leave.”

A rich deep voice addressed them from behind, speaking with a haughty Oxford English accent. “So soon?”

Corin stiffened. Even with his enhanced senses, he had failed to hear the discreet footsteps coming up behind them. He turned with his niece to face the speaker, the undead artist everyone knew as Edgar Blair.

Mr. Blair gave Corin and Angela a pleasant look. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with unparalleled refinement and dignity. “I rarely cross paths with a fellow blood drinker,” he said, keeping his voice low so no one else would overhear. “Welcome.”

Such courtesy and friendliness this creature exhibited, but something about Mr. Blair’s manner had the hairs on Corin’s neck standing on end. Narrowed eyes, tense shoulders, a twitch at the corner of Mr. Blair’s eye—yes, this affable demeanor was a charade. Corin pulled Angela close and steeled himself, knowing she would sense if he gave in to his fear. He loosened the obsidian handle of his cane with his thumb. It released with a soft click, and Corin readied himself to unsheathe his blade.

Mr. Blair glanced at Corin’s cane, and Corin thought he glimpsed the briefest flash of red in the other vampire’s eyes. “Whatever you have concealed in your walking stick, I recommend you not brandish it in public.” He offered Corin his hand in greeting. “Shall we keep things civil?”

Corin checked his peripherals to see if anyone had noticed their exchange. They were far enough away from the other visitors that no one could eavesdrop on their conversation, but Corin saw a few people glance over, perhaps recognizing the artist. Corin secured the handle of his sword cane with a subtle flick of his wrist and shook Mr. Blair’s hand, placing himself between the large gentleman and his niece.

“You’re the artist?” Angela asked incredulously.

“I am,” Mr. Blair replied, “and I’m happy to see you well, my dear. I do apologize for frightening you in the subway the other night. I know my other face can be quite disturbing.”

Angela shared an uncertain look with Corin before responding. “I’m … I’m sorry for almost setting you on fire.”

Mr. Blair chuckled. “No harm done.”

Corin wrapped his arm around Angela and cleared his throat to draw Mr. Blair’s attention away from her. Again, he was sure he glimpsed a flicker of red in Mr. Blair’s eyes as they shifted back to him. “Edgar Blair, is it? Is that your real name?”

“No, Edgar Blair is an alias.” He placed a hand against his chest. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Ezekiel Blake.”

*****

Ezekiel had caught the other vampire’s scent while speaking with Prudence, and he resolved to eliminate the beast before it could harm any of the gallery visitors—before it could harm Prudence. This intruder may be more powerful, Ezekiel thought, but he shook his head, his stubbornness prevailing. It doesn’t matter. Prudence’s safety is all I care about.

Any lingering trepidation vanished the moment Ezekiel glimpsed the uninvited vampire. It was an older man leaning on a cane, likely turned around the age of seventy. Even if this creature’s blood was more potent—even if his brute strength and magic were greater—Ezekiel’s much younger body would still give him the upper hand in speed and stamina. Ezekiel could dispatch him with no effort before the intruder had a chance to retaliate.

Emboldened by his perceived advantage, Ezekiel closed in on him from behind and observed his target’s companion. Wait, was that the woman from the subway? Why was she here?

Ezekiel greeted them, and it took all his willpower to maintain his cordial façade and hide his anger toward the unwelcome vampire. He took stock of his quarry, a well-dressed gentleman with snowy-white hair and a petit handlebar mustache beneath an aquiline nose. Ezekiel tried to warn the woman and expose her escort’s nature, addressing him as “a fellow blood drinker,” but she didn’t appear surprised. She must have already known. So why would she accompany him? He must have compelled her with magic. Ezekiel had to help her!

The older vampire pulled the woman back to his side as if he were claiming her as his property. “Edgar Blair, is it? Is that your real name?”

Ezekiel would cajole this fiend, lure him somewhere private, and then take him by surprise. “No, Edgar Blair is an alias. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Ezekiel Blake.” And you’ve sealed your fate, old wretch!