In truth, I had almost expected the people who came through the door to be the perfect, Tolkien elf. Though fantasy and popular media had portrayed these beings after some sort of sprite archetype, it seemed logical to me that now, after having lived for so long, I would finally see something truly ancient; they would be something super-human and beyond my meagre experiences.

However, they were rather plain.

Oh, you could tell they were of Irish origin—the brown, blonde and red hair; the fair skin; and the perchance cliché for green all gave that away—but they were flawed—human. They seemed to be as average as the Kami, but without any of that mystical energy surging out of them as they entered.

I took up place near the were-animal called Barry, who was greeting all the new arrivals. If Barry was shaken by the death, it did not show in his smooth welcome and polite small talk as he greeted the guests. I didn’t know what flavour of shape-shifter Barry was, but I imagined maybe he was some sort of cat? He was very smooth and carefree.

“Oberon, lovely to see you again, you are looking healthy,” Barry shook hands with the fairy leader. Oberon was a neat man in a tuxedo, taller than myself with wide shoulders and short blonde hair cropped at the back of his neck. He looked like an Arian model in a plain tuxedo.

The fairies might as well have been normal party-goers.

Sven had come with me, unasked, to help me stay informed. Or stop me stumbling into any more dead. He leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “The man in lead is Oberon—don’t mention Shakespeare. He is the King of the fairies in this region. He’s very powerful and very old.”

That was the vampire equivalent of ‘show the guy some goddamn respect.’

I waited for the handsome Oberon to finish making nice with Miss Kitsune, although from the tension rolling off them, it wasn’t as nice as I thought it would be. Then I stepped in to intercept him, smiling my most mysterious vampire smile I had. I practice. I shook Oberon’s hand.

It was like an electric spark run up my fingertips right into my muscles and eyes; suddenly, I saw.

Oberon was a woman; that much was obvious from her wide eyes and attractive chest. She was also using a lot more power than I was—under the illusion, she was in an attractive, red cocktail dress, with a matching handbag and shoes that looked expensive.

I had seen her before; in the movie theatre. She was Tessa Rounds, actress and perfume model. The last movie I had seen her in had been a comic-book-turned- blockbuster. She had been playing a woman with the power to see the future.

In person, she was, if anything, far more stunning. Her hair was perfectly golden and lazily brushed over her shoulder to fall all the way to her waist; her eyes were a glittering sapphire hue that seemed to capture the gemstones themselves, so intense I was breathless; and her skin was matte-flawless.

In the moment that I saw her, she saw me, too. The two powers seemed to have an almost reversing affect when our fingers touched.

It was like touching a live-wire. She seemed to hum and vibrate with energy and potency—like a huge storm that simmered below the surface. She was very alive and very full of a life-force I was positive would taste delicious. I was hungry for her blood in that moment; in a manner I had not experienced before.

I coughed and recovered my shock, releasing her hand, “Oberon, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Avery False.”

“I’ve seen you in that circus—” She released my hand and suddenly we were both two unremarkable men once more.

I could not tell whether she had realized I was a man or a woman—even without my power emphasising masculine traits, I could still pass as a girly boy. Maybe she would think I was little more than vain; but my luck had not been fantastic this week, so I did not know, “Tabular Rasa?”

That was my more up-market production that I tended to frequent more often; it was a mixture of classic high-wire, circus and dance acts that booked out almost six months in advance. Tickets were exuberant and the shows were the best, if I do say so myself. I had launched six DVDs of live performances from various cities. Usually, I performed as the ring-master, but occasionally filled in for the clowns or high-wire acrobats.

“I’m surprised to be recognised without the makeup.”

“It’s your smile; you have a most…” She suddenly trailed off, her tone becoming accusatory as she changed topics, “You’re one of the vampires that Dante brought in, aren’t you?”

I bowed my head in acknowledgement, “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, my. Well, I’d never have known—I mean... you look so normal.”

I laughed, “I was going to say the same about you.”

Oberon nodded and I walked with her to the buffet table.

“You must forgive me, you startled me back there, and I’m not used to having my glamour broken like that. I’ve never seen a vampire with this sort of power. I do know that some mortals can use our abilities, but I did not know a vampire could learn them.”

I smiled, “From my understanding, your glamour is the ability to alter, or create false images, sounds, even tastes?”

She nodded, “Yes. We can make things that seem unquestionably real.”

“My power is very similar to this, but I am no expert in tastes, and my ability to manufacture sounds is limited.”

Sure, I was being humble, but I firmly respected the old saying about tipping all of one’s cards.

“So, this is why your touch broke the glamour. You are quite a performer, Mr. False; I imagine you have a wide list of talents in that area?”

“For over seven-hundred years, I have been a Jester—a clown and harlequin. My specialty is comedy, but I also have a talent for the finer skills of the art, such as juggling, acrobatics and mimicry,” I said.

Oberon gave me a considering look. She then crossed her arms over her very masculine chest and sipped a drink she had picked up. I was struggling to remember that there was a woman in a red dress under the man drinking champagne.

While I had no idea why our two powers had cancelled each other out, I was curious as to why my talents were of interest to her—surely the fairies had their own entertainers.

It seemed that, as she and I had spoken, the investigation on the dead man had gleaned what information it could. They had begun wrapping the dead werewolf in a sheet and two people were now debating on the proper method of removing the corpse.

I caught sight of Dante and realized he was coming right for me. Diana had disappeared, probably still in the bathroom.

“You may be able to help me with a peculiar problem, Mr. False,” Oberon’s voice drew my attention back to her.

“Oh, what sort of problem would you need a clown’s fixing?”

“One of the heart and of the mind. My brother, Aubrey, is depressed—to be honest, I fear depressed is something of an understatement. He has reached a state of melancholy so intense that I cannot break through. I have tried more conventional methods, but for Sidhe humour and jokes, he has lost all taste.”

“I cannot guarantee that I will succeed where others have failed, based solely on my current performance levels.” I was being modest. I had never failed when I truly desired to go through with something.

“Ah, but all my methods have been tried and trailed a thousand times. A fresh face may just give him the spark once more. Will you speak with me more on this?”

“Well, I may certainly try—that is, if my patron permits it; but might I ask, why is he depressed?” I questioned.

Dante had reached us now, but remained quiet, content to let us finish our conversation before he butted in.

“Ah, my brother suffers from an affliction of long since passing. About six-hundred years ago, his beloved died; since then, he has simply fallen out of touch with the realm of the living. I fear that he might very well fade into dust if I cannot bring him to remember the joy of living once more. He has not laughed since Catherine passed away, nor does he care for food, or music or any lively lass. He sits in his rooms all the time, doing little more than re-reading old books.”

This presented a rivalling interest in my inner artist. I had amused Kings and Lords, I could make a great many people laugh, despite even their own attempts to quiet. I had never faced a challenge I could not crack. “Avery, you look positively excitable.” Dante said.

I licked my lips, “Well, Milord, Oberon does propose quite the exercise of my talents. With your permission, I should very much like to rise to the occasion.”

“I don’t see why not. Oberon has never asked for help from me before; I should not deny such a simple request.”

Thus, we began to discuss Oberon’s brother, Aubrey, whose name, in the old languages, meant “Elf-King,” and I had little more time to ask on the death of the shape-shifter.

James took me through my paces for most of the evening by way of introductions and I found that Dante was able to sit back and carrying a conversation with two individuals for most of the evening while I fielded all his other applications for attention.