Martin looked around. "Nice place. Where are we?"

"This is the Inn at San Francisco," Ann said.

"Rather like pictures from the Gilded Age."

They were in a hotel lobby and Martin’s comment was appropriate. Curving marble staircases with bull-nosed treads and cast bronze balusters in the shape of stylized Eschscholzia californica; Corinthian columns with deep fluting and gilded capitals; multi-tiered crystal chandeliers; frescos so deeply allegorical as to leave the vampire uncertain of the subject—the large two story lobby lacked no ornate or opulent cliché.

"Inns are flexible and both reflect and are independent of their environment to some degree. It depends. The Inn at Shasta has always been a lodge, even before Americans began skiing, and the one at Piraeus is still a dockside tavern; and of course, San Francisco is a complex town even for humans," Ann said. "It’s always had a formal society as well as one or more counter-cultures, whatever the names are this year. The St. Francis and the Ritz-Carlton are inspired by this part of the Inn."

She fit in well: Her dress was silk crêpe, white for the full length skirt, with a violet sash that flowed up over her shoulders, twisted around her torso to form the bodice, then tied in front and fell nearly to the hem line. He couldn’t find any hint of a zipper. He had been trying to follow the flow of the material with his eyes, but he couldn’t determine if the sash was one long strip of material or if it had been cut and sewn. The topology was interesting and reminded him of something. "Like a Möbius strip," he realized.

"Yes," Ann said, smiling.

"Vionnet," he added, dredging the name out of his past.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"My aunt."

"The shrink? She had good taste."

"Actually, she wouldn’t let my kid cousin wear one, not one like this, tighter, with less top."

"How old was your cousin?"

"Sixteen."

Ann nodded. "Some of Madeline’s dresses are not suitable for young girls."

He looked at her again, thinking the dress she was wearing was another. The dress veiled her body from shoulders to toes and by doing so, made it impossible to ignore. "Very elegant."

"Our restaurant is this way."

"This is part of a chain?" Martin asked, wondering about the Inn at Shasta and the Inn at Piraeus.

"It’s a franchise, more or less," Ann said. "Do you want a drink first?"

"Of course."

The bar was quiet. Martin was impressed. The noise from the White Elephant started loud, grew gradually throughout the evening to a painful level, then stopped abruptly at 2:00 AM; while the noise from the No Mirrors Bar peaked erratically several times a night as the demon-vampire or the vampire-vampire or the demon-demon interaction grew heated. The No Mirrors Lounge had its own schedule of noise.

Martin held Ann’s chair, then sat himself. The chair was comfortable and the table was marble. Keeping marble unchipped, unstained and nicely polished was not easy. He ordered scotch. Sipping it, he was startled. If this was the bar scotch, what else did this place stock? He debated asking for a Villeneuve’s Hat, which was the most obscure mixed drink he knew, at least in the States, just to see what the bartender could do, then Ann said something, and he lost interest in business.

"The chain specializes in sheltering non-humans?" Martin asked, watching a trio of diminutive male taldis demons exit the bar ahead of them.

"Immortals and visitors, usually," Ann said.

"How about unpleasant types, female taldis demons, traditional vampires and active werewolves?"

"Them, too. There’s always a truce here. Rather like the one you and Edward maintain in the No Mirrors neighborhood."

"There are some rough types around."

"Here too. There are spells that enforce good behavior, on pain of stoning."

"That’s a little barbaric."

Ann laughed. "Not lapidation, petrifaction." A group of young blond men at the bar glanced up at her. She appeared to pay no attention.

Martin was watching her laugh, and didn’t glance at the man alone at a table across the room, who looked at her, and turned his face away. "What you did to Logan?" Martin asked.

"That was a simple immobilization. You can’t move, you can’t talk, but you can think, see and hear."

"What Dmitri Romanov did to Jan?"

"That was a stasis spell. Ofon’ka has been practicing."

"What do you mean?"

"Stasis spells are tricky for some people to master, but slavers like them."

"Dmitri’s a slaver?" Martin asked.

"What did you think he was doing with Jan?"

"Oh. Of course," Martin said.

"Sometimes Ofonasii Liubinovich needs watching," Ann said.

"How many names do you people usually have?"

"Compared to whom?" Ann asked, amused. "Normal vampires? Immortals, of whatever origin, tend to acquire use names. They’re usually not completely our own doing, mostly they attach to us the way you became first Molchan Grigor and then Malcolm Gregory.

"Anyway, the advantage to stasis spells is that the object retains many of its original aspects. Color and visual textures are life-like, so the merchandise can be seen as it is, but I think the principal reason slavers like them—beyond that their merchandise doesn’t age or need to be fed—is the same reason lawyers hate them: The object, if alive to begin with, has a memory gap."

"You can’t testify to what you didn’t experience?"

"Yes."

"So what’s petrifaction?"

"That involves a hiatus, too. You’re a statue; you’re stone. You stay that way until you are released. You can get chipped or even eroded if you’re left out in acid rain. Here at the Inn it’s usually just till they can throw you out, but once out, you stay barred for a century or a millennium. It depends on the Innkeeper’s mood."

"It sounds like a useful talent. Can anyone learn it?"

"Not easily."

"Which may be just as well," Martin said.

***

Well, Chasen thought, watching Andrée Chantal and an unknown vampire exit the bar. She was taller than he was this time. That didn’t stop him from recognizing her. The changes in his appearance—he now had dark curly hair, brown eyes, sallow skin and a solid muscular build—wouldn’t have stopped her from recognizing him, if she had noticed him. Had she noticed him? Did her presence mean trouble? Possibly not. Everybody came to the Inn, after all, and she hadn’t even glanced at him or at the objects of his attention. Apparently, she was interested only in the vampire, lucky bastard.

He returned to his surveillance of the blonds. They were easily the dullest subjects he’d watched in recent memory. Still, his instructions were clear: The geek component would lead him to the man with the object. So far, though, none of the geeks had shown any intention of leaving the Inn. There was no way he was going to attempt any violence in the Inn, no matter how urgently Mekonnen demanded action.

***

"Anna, good evening." A man in a very nice evening suit halted a seemingly casual amble and smiled at Ann. He was shorter than Ann, his shaven head about level with her chin. He had black skin, a narrow nose and a pattern of raised scars on both cheeks forming two horizontal mirror-imaged double spirals.

"Good evening, Innkeeper. This is a friend of mine, Martin Stevenson."

"Mr. Stevenson," the Innkeeper said as they shook hands. The Innkeeper’s hands were large for his height, and quite strong. His gaze sharpened at something behind Martin, and he said: "Excuse me." He nodded to Ann and hurried off.

"Brusque," Martin said.

"That was cordial," Ann smiled. "Innkeeper can be a hectic job, especially in a place like San Francisco today."

Something in her comments made Martin look at her. "Do you keep an Inn?"

"I did, a long time ago, when my foster son was young," Ann said. "It was much smaller and less frequented than this one, but some of the problems are the same, then as now."

"How long ago?"

"Oh, before you were born," Ann said. "Keeping an Inn does give a certain structure to one’s daily routine, which I found helpful when raising an infant; and of course, the guests can be an education in themselves."

"Is your son still at home with you?"

"He’s away at school," Ann said.

"A small institution in the north-east?"

"Taz is going to be a junior at Stanford," Ann laughed.

"Taz?"

"His friends there have started calling him Taz, I don’t know why."

"How old is he?"

"Older than you are, younger than I am," Ann smiled.

Martin smiled back in defeat and returned to the subject of the Inn. "You may find this a silly question, but does this place have a street address?"

"It’s not silly, and the answer is yes and no. It has a street address, usually with underground parking and a pedestrian entrance or entrances, but its address and appearance change day to day."

"Rather like The Brothel on 22^nd Street?" Martin asked. "Do you know about that?"

"I’m friends with some of the people there. It moves, but it’s always on some part of 22^nd Street."

"Right."

"Very similar, yes. The Inn moves around a lot more, but the principle is the same. It’s always somewhere in San Francisco."

***

"This is quiet, too," Martin said, pleasantly surprised.

"I like quiet. If it were rated, this restaurant would get one bell. There are other restaurants—"

"Each with a different ambiance?"

"Yes. Here they have an excellent selection of appetizers. Ah, stuffed chanterelles. Do you like oysters?"

"One or two."

"We can order several small plates, so you can have a variety of tastes. And I’m told they have a fine blood list, if you want something substantial."

"How do you know so much about us?" Martin asked. "Most humans think we sleep in coffins and eat only blood."

"Some of my friends are vampires," Ann said. "And some are professional vampire hunters."

Martin heard footsteps halt behind him and turned. Across the table, Ann glanced up and beyond him. She stared for a moment, appearing startled.

"Etana?" Ann asked. "I’d heard you left, but I didn’t know you returned."

"Hey, you were always sharp. I didn’t think you’d recognize me, what with the new body and everything."

"It’s quite a change, but you’re still you."

Martin rose to his feet and turned to face the man who had approached them.

"New name, though: Ethan. I’m going by Ethan now."

"Nice name. I’m using Ann Grove at the moment, and this is Molchan Grigor. Grigor, Ethan. Any last name, or are you just Ethan?"

"Singleton, I decided on Singleton, since I’m the only Ethan that matters. You a mortal, Grigor?"

"Not exactly." Martin was ready to shake hands, but Ethan turned back to Ann:

"You always had a thing for mortals, didn’t you?"

"I like many of them, certainly."

"She’s always been a little pamiscuous," Ethan told Martin. "She usually has four or five of them around."

Oh, Martin thought. "Promiscuous." And it sounds as if those grapes are sour.

"I prefer ‘eclectic,’" Ann said, calmly. "After all, I usually have only four or five of them around."

"Eclectic is good," Martin said, watching Ethan frown.

"Are you with someone, Ethan? A young man is attempting to gain your attention."

"What?"

"Behind you," Ann said.

Ethan spun around. Martin decided if he ever had to fight him, he’d cheat. Not only was Ethan young—about twenty-two at most—tall—about 6’6"—and well muscled—he could have been the ‘after’ example in an ad for an exercise video—he was fast and agile. He was wearing only a sheer linen kilt, sandals and a lot of massive gold jewelry: armlets, bracelets, a necklace and a wide belt of flat links, all with hunting scenes—men in kilts like Ethan’s, armed with spears, facing huge lions and strange winged beings—in high relief. In addition to having long honey-colored hair and dark blue, long lashed eyes, he had a golden all over tan, totally lacked body hair and was uncircumcised.

"Ah, he’s just one of the clan."

"You’re gathering the clan again? Have you brought all your family?"

"Just the boys, you know, my brothers and cousins and uncles."

"You’re fortunate to have so many good looking relatives," Martin said, as the young man signaling to Ethan was joined by a crowd of tall blond men. None of them, the vampire noticed, were quite as tall as Ethan or wore as much jewelry. Most of them were dressed in kilts, but some of them, seemingly older than the average although that might have been because they had shaved heads, wore toga-like garments in stripes of red and green, while others wore tight white pants under strangely cut caftans.

"Yeah, they all look a lot like me," Ethan said, smiling at Martin. "We planned it that way."

"All thirty-six of them," Ann said mildly.

"No, there’s more of us. There’s got to be more of us around here somewhere."

"Ah, those four beautiful blond boys in the quiet bar?" Ann asked. "I didn’t realize they were with you. I don’t think I’ve met them before."

"Most of them are new, so are some of the others, but hey, we’re all kin."

"What are the forty-one of you going to do to pass the time? Your old occupation is mostly non-existent in this century, except on some of the cable channels. "

"Oh, you know, this and that. Gotta go. Drop around sometime, Grigor, we’ll have a beer."

"Thank you," Martin said.

Ann watched Ethan. Martin also watched the hulking blond gather up his relatives and lead them across the restaurant to a closed set of double doors, where a tall man carrying a slender staff and with his hair and beard in long black ringlets, waited. Martin somehow recognized the Innkeeper, even wearing long robes with colorful spot patterns and deep fringes. He guessed costume changes, including body shifts, were part of the job.

Martin sat again. He knew there was no point in asking Ann how long ago she’d known Ethan. He’d just get another answer like oh, before you were born. He concentrated on what might be important now: "Is he one of the rough types you were talking about?"

Ann turned to him. "He’s more uncouth. Are you immune to him? He was trying with you, there at the end, but you seemed unimpressed by him."

"Trying what?"

Ann smiled. "To enlist you. He likes followers. He can be very charismatic; although apparently not to vampires."

"Or to you?"

"No, and he knows I’m immune, he doesn’t bother trying with me. I don’t think he’s a problem; certainly not tonight. Are you going to eat that last mushroom?"

"No," he said, passing her the remaining stuffed chanterelle. "What was his old occupation?"

"Looking good at state orgies," Ann said, "and other ceremonial events. He might actually be much happier this time around—we have mirrors now."

"Speak for yourself."

Ann chuckled. She seemed more amused that his somewhat feeble sally deserved.

"Is he right about you and mortals?" Martin asked. "Or were you just confusing him with words?"

"That’s usually unavoidable. He’s approximately correct, at least about the numbers. I often have more than one lover at a time. However, he’s wrong when he implies that my lovers are chosen only from among mortals and he totally ignores that I select them carefully, whether they’re mortal or immortal."

Well, hell, Martin thought. She ignored most of his questions, but she would freely deliver some very interesting facts, if he were willing to wait patiently. "Ah. I see. Does the selection process involve essay questions?"

"A series of vivas," she said, her mouth slowly curving into a smile.

"I always do well on orals," he said, leaning forward across the table.

"Really?" she said, moving to meet him.

Before Martin could reply, Ethan stuck his head around the door and bellowed. Martin winced and looked around. The Innkeeper, walking out the main entrance, frowned, and recrossed the room. Ethan pulled his head back. Good for the Innkeeper, Martin thought.

Straightening, Ann watched as the four clansmen from the bar came hurrying across the room. "Now that’s interesting."

"What?"

"They all have laptops."

"So?"

"That’s as unusual as a vampire with a suntan," Ann said.

--------------

Continue to Chapter 2b