“I know Ian,” I said. “But I’m not with him.”

“Ian Ducharme,” Graham said with a cynical smile. Then his expression changed. “A sexy señorita with the Grant family and Ian Ducharme? Don’t tell me this is Milagro de Los Santos!”

I was a little annoyed at the sexy señorita description. “Okay, I won’t.”

“Come in! Come in! Welcome to the Bloody Good Table.”

The interior of the house was chic and modern, dove grays, snowy white, and black with red accents. A niche in the long hallway held a tall vase of red ginger, and the dark gray runner was edged in red.

Voices and music came from down the hall. “Everyone’s in back,” our host said.

five

My Fair Vampire

As we entered the large back room, people turned to look at us and a shout of “Wilcox!” went up. There was a jumble of greetings, backslaps, hugs, and kisses. Graham had my arm and was saying, “This is Milagro from California.”

A few guests stared, but other than that they went on with their conversations.

A glass of red liquid was put into my hands. “Wild boar,” someone said. Everyone looked at me expectantly, but as I was about to take a sip, I heard someone say, “With bathwater.”

“Whose bathwater?” I asked, which people found hilarious.

“Water from the City of Bath,” Graham said. “Lots of sodium and mineral that stands up to the gaminess of the boar.”

So I took a sip and swished it around in my mouth before swallowing. “I get the mineral and salt from the water, and the boar … it’s fresher than I thought, cleaner.”

“It’s from a small herd that’s taken over an apple orchard,” Graham said. “That’s the apple you’re tasting.”

“Like Eve,” Wil joked.

While I was introduced, I surveyed the crowd. Only about half were vampires, and the others seemed totally cool with hanging with blood-drinkers. There was a bubbly Indian scientist, a gorgeous Latvian painter, clever and grungy graduate students, and a range of foodies. Some may have been thralls, but I couldn’t tell by their manner.

It felt different than Ian’s crowd, less decadent, I thought as I sampled a canapé of red caviar and salmon mousse accompanied by an eel’s blood spritzer.

The food was prepared for both vamps and nonvamps. We all shared spring lamb carpaccio. The wild boar had been braised in Barolo and herbs until it was tender, but fresh blood thickened the sauce for the vamps.

I was introduced to a zoologist who procured rare animal bloods for his culinary adventures. He was anxious about dessert. “It’s something I’m trying out for the first time, Masai trifle, a construction, if you will, of the Masais’ diet of blood, milk, meat, animal fat, tree bark, and honey.”

“Really?” I said, and smiled as if I wasn’t squinging inside. “A construction, not a deconstruction?”