Oberon had an old Victorian mansion in the heart of the upper-class district of the city. It was not a big district, and each property had nice, big fences, lush lawns and noticeably high hedges.

There were no families out walking the dogs on the street, but plenty of cars slowing to gawk at the grounds, and during the day, tour buses, I was willing to bet. The place screamed money and private security. I liked it.

I also noticed that the Spider’s estate was just around the corner.

I had not spoken to him since the night before, I needed time to figure out what I might say when I did see him. How do you ask an ancient and powerful vampire if he had killed your friend just so you would move cities without incurring a similar fate?

No; instead, I went to cheer up a suicidal fairy.

How had this week gotten so complicated?

I buzzed on the intercom at the front gate and was surprised to hear Oberon’s voice on the other end.

“How may I help you?”

“Well, actually, I’m here to help you—it’s Avery False.”

This statement was followed by a pause as the video camera mounted on the gate whirled to life and zoomed in on me.

I had donned a short, stark-white wig and my ’red herring’ persona’s clothing. Despite the name, the costume was mostly white—white tuxedo pants and jacket; white boots; a white suit-shirt; a heavy, vinyl coat with faux arctic fox fur around the neck; and an ash-white cane with a silver pawn on the top.

I had sprinkled a little silver glitter around my eyes and was wearing a pale pink gloss across my lips that gave my white, white smile a sinister look.

I looked very, very gay.

It was a costume for stage lights and, up close, it gave me a surreal look. I had made it about five years ago for an Alice in Wonderland performance.

“Mr. False, forgive me. The costume is a little... eccentric, don’t you think?”

“My art is rarely understood.” I sighed, “Shall I vault your fence, or will you open yourself to invasion, my darling?”

“As long as you don’t have a horde of flamboyant peacocks behind you, I’ll take the chance,” I could hear laughter in her/his voice—was this as annoying and confusing for everyone else who knew my gender? —and the gate buzzed open.

Since I was not one to resist an opening, I raised a horde of peacocks behind me and strutted through the open gate.

The red herring outfit turned heads. It always turned heads; I was very, very gay.

I was also being chased by a dozen peacocks with little ribbons on their necks.

There were people on the grounds—guards and couples—and soft music played in a garden gazebo. Apparently I had been invited while there was a party on.

How... awkward.

Oh, well. Oberon could have told me to dress casually.

If only she knew what was under the tuxedo. I stifled my amusement.

People stopped talking as the birds and I invaded the driveway. I did not hide or slink past them; I gave luxurious bows and adjusted my top-hat presumptuously. I smiled brightly, spun on the spot and skipped merrily.

“I am the humble and the superlative red herring. My heart beats for the forlorn; my voice breathes mirth and lusty abandon to those in need. Consider me nothing more than supertaster, stupendous, sumptuous, and splendid. I bid your indulgence.”

I was facing a garden statue and the introduction brought a stir of laughter from several of the people in the garden.

Easy laughs meant liquor.

“Are you the entertainment then?” Someone called in a Cornish accent—I had not heard one so strong in at least sixty years.

I spun to the little crowd my entrance had attracted.

Impetuous outrage flew across my face, “Entertainment? Entertainment! Do I look like a fool or buffoon—is this not Timmy Gate’s sixth birthday party?”

Oberon appeared from the main house, looking flustered. She was a girl today, and wearing a tasteful, crème evening suit.

“Mr. False! Where did the peacocks—oh, damn it,” Her voice burst into a laugh.

I took off my top-hat and pulled out a dozen white roses, falling to my knee in the gravel as she approached, “Oh, in all the worlds in all of the heavens, none so radiant a prism or jewel I have beheld than strikes my fancy now! Please, Madame, a token of my gayest affection.”

Her laughter reminded me of the Emperor’s— childlike and full, and as hollow as her soul, I knew.

Did one simply hit a certain age when laughing was an act? I steeled myself. Vampires and fairies had more in common than I had first thought.

A person’s laughter will tell you a lot about them.

She took the roses, “You look very gay.”

“My dear, I am so gay that I must run when I pass a catholic priest.” I announced with a flippant wave of my hand, “It is simply impossible for me to be seen in public some days—men will leave their wives for me. You see, it happens all the time. A fleeting glance of this pert ass—“ I slapped my own ass delicately, “—and this girly face, and I have them begging at my door.”

She laughed at my dramatics, then, remembering her guests, took me by the elbow, “Okay, well let’s get you out of the public light and to my brother’s room. You are good in person, too. I hope this works! He’s been really glooming up the place for years.”

“Did you consider therapy before you considered a clown?”

“Oh, heaven’s no.” She laughed that off.

Typical—a lot of ancient beings thought therapy was against our unspoken laws. When someone set up a comfy leather chair one day, they would make a fortune on all our pent-up rage and father issues.

Melancholic vampires never lasted long. The Emperor had been known to simply tell those that were unhappy with their existence to walk into the sunlight. Unlike popular fiction, most of us were well-adjusted—like me.

Although, I was beginning to feel rather not well-adjusted.

The house was three stories of domestic colonial design, with ivy sculpture and hugging along one side, licking the buttresses. It had smooth, marble flooring and a sleek black and grey decor that felt more like a business or show-home than a house people lived in.

But, I was currently living in a hotel, I could not truly throw stones.

There were some brilliant artworks hanging along the walls—paintings I had never seen before, but that looked like they had come from the renaissance. I let my gaze drift over the large pictures—portraits that had faded from their original vibrancy, but that still spoke levels about the artists’ skill.

I did not ask about them as we headed upstairs to the first floor; the peacocks trotted ahead of us, occasionally weaving around Oberon’s legs. However, aside from cursing the birds, she did not speak.

I had been hoping she would tell me a little about her brother, but it sounded as if I would see for myself when I got there.

She led me into a large, well-lit sitting room just as a maid set bone china dishes, filled with Asian pastries and cakes, onto the two-person table.

And sitting at the table, sipping chamomile tea, was the most gorgeous man I had ever seen.