Which was Reg’s polite way of saying the Ancients were dangerous and, in some cases, downright crazy. Something happened to immortals who lived thousands of years. Many began to lose control of their powers or, worse, lose touch with reality. When they wrote the Treaty of Annis, the Elders argued that the most unstable Ancients were the smallest children. And no matter what age they had been turned, after a millennium of immortality, a vampire was bestowed the rank of Ancient and “retired” from responsibilities like serving on the Elder Seat. It kept the governing body young, with Elders ranging from five hundred to one thousand years old, but they continued to consult with Ancients who were still of sound mind.

The truth was, even if Reg had agreed with me, neither of us had the first clue about how to get in touch with an Ancient. It was probably some kind of crime to even try, since only the Elders were in contact with them, as a general rule. The Elder Seat occasionally referenced consultation with the Ancients in the drafting of new laws, but most of us had no idea how the Elder-Ancient relationship worked. Did the Ancients—the lucid ones, anyway—still exert any influence, or were they just figureheads, like family patriarchs withering away in some vampire nursing home?

“Fine, we’ll start with a request to the Elder Seat,” I said. “We’ll ask for an appeal without a sponsor . . . even though it’s probably a massive waste of time.”

“Perhaps we reached out to the clans too early,” Reg said. “A few weeks is hardly enough time to show penance.”

“Perhaps it is too soon, or perhaps you just want to spend a little more time with your human boy toy.”

“Hmm.” Reg frowned the tiniest bit. “You may be right.”

“About Poe or about the Ancients?”

“About the word perhaps. It does sound a little archaic. Perhaps I’ll . . . maybe I’ll try to make a few adjustments.”

I shook my head, feeling that familiar mix of frustration and amusement reserved solely for Reg.

“Just don’t get too comfortable,” I warned him.

This time, when I kicked dirt his way, he anticipated it and was already halfway across the road laughing before my foot hit the ground.

“Sexy nurse, sexy firefighter, sexy CEO, no sexy mummy.”

Sydney thumbed through costumes on a rack, cataloging the series of short, tight skirts and equally skimpy tops.

“We could just wrap her up in ACE bandages,” Sophia offered. “What else do you really need to be a mummy?”