Fiona smiled and there was laughter in her silver-blue eyes as she said, “Right back atcha. You look … magnifique.”

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, as though everyone in the room couldn’t hear him.

“Later, you can kiss me all you like.”

“All? Are you certain, because that would be a lot of kissing, perhaps hours of it?”

Everywhere, he sent for good measure.

A lovely wave of buttery croissant wafted over him, which in turn caused him to draw his breath in deeply. He watched her sigh, and her lips parted as though she struggled to draw air.

Santiago said, “Lo siento, mi amigo, but the hour grows late and the landing platforms close on time. They do not care that you wish to kiss your woman.”

Fiona chuckled but rolled her eyes.

“Santiago is very right,” Jean-Pierre said. “We should go.” He pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants and touched the screen a couple of times. He touched again to connect with the Las Vegas Two arena theater to set up the folding time for their party of four. He’d preset the ticket numbers so that as a group they were already confirmed and identified. Because of his status as a Warrior of the Blood, and because the ticket numbers were courtesy seats provided by the owner of Dark Spectacle, they did not have long to wait.

Fiona clung to his arm as she said good-bye to her daughter.

A minute passed.

A return call allowed them to fold to the VIP landing platform as a group.

They were greeted by a tall dark beauty, wearing a skimpy red silk dress. She opened her mouth to speak then blinked a couple of times as she looked first at Jean-Pierre, then Santiago and Zacharius.

Jean-Pierre knew that look: the eyes that widened almost in shock, the lips that parted. A blush soon covered her cheeks, but he doubted she was embarrassed. He was a man who knew women and when he glanced back at Zach and Santiago, each appraised the woman, her willingness, her level of interest. Had the circumstance been different, she appeared to be just the sort of woman any of them would have taken into the red velvet booths at the Blood and Bite.

Fiona glanced up at him and narrowed her gaze. He opened his eyes very wide, but she shook her head at him and laughed.

When the hostess had collected herself, she pushed back a wave of her long, flowing brown hair. She inclined her head slightly and began her speech, greeting them in her special VIP voice and manner.

“Welcome, most exalted Warriors of the Blood and Ms. Fiona Gaines. The proprietor, the Amazing Rimizac, wishes me to take you to the box he has set aside for your use tonight. Champagne and a fine selection of delicacies imported from Mortal Earth await you. If you will follow me.”

She turned and headed down a short flight of stairs.

At intervals, security personnel nodded to the hostess as she led their group to the right, up a shallow ramp covered in a very fine scarlet carpet. Jean-Pierre did not know whether to be impressed or concerned. The owner showed a tendency to attend to details, not a good thing in an enemy.

Given the size of the arena theater, the walk was long. In the distance, he heard an orchestra tuning their instruments.

As he walked, he kept his left arm around Fiona, low on her waist, but very light. His right hand remained free so that he could draw his sword into his hand if needed.

The box was low as boxes went yet it was situated, as all the boxes were, a considerable distance from the central stage. This was not an average production by any means.

This was spectacle.

Fiona sat in the front row of the box to his right. Zach and Santiago took the chairs behind them. He scanned the enormous theater, going from box to box and the less expensive seats high in the galleries. He extended his vision. By habit he hunted for death vampires, but given the level of security he doubted any were present, certainly not visible.

He turned back to Santiago, who in turn leaned forward and whispered, “I do not see the enemy—do you?”

Jean-Pierre shook his head.

The theater was built in a deep horseshoe with a ceiling that rose at least ten stories in height to allow for a true spectacle performance, which always involved genetically altered swans and geese.

Zach also leaned forward. “There’s something wrong here. Have you looked at the next four boxes to the left of us?”

Jean-Pierre shifted his gaze. He had scanned them but he had not paid attention to the occupants. Before, he had been looking for the pale, almost bluish complexion and overall beauty of death vampires. Now he saw something else and as he continued shifting his gaze from box to box, he cursed beneath his breath.

“Mon Dieu,” he murmured.

Fiona slipped her hand in his, her fingers cool against his palm. “What’s the matter? You’re scowling and muttering.”

Of course she could not have known. “In many of the boxes on our level, the entire distance around the theater, are High Administrators from Territories known to be allied with Endelle.”

“Oh, no,” Fiona whispered, her fingers clasping his tightly.

“We should go,” he said, turning toward her. “I should take you home immediately. I believe there is much more going on here than just Casimir’s interest in you.”

“We can’t leave, Jean-Pierre. We just can’t.”

He admired her conviction but he hated that she was beside him and in danger.

She leaned toward him and whispered. “You know, I think everyone is staring into this box.”

He glanced around and realized that what she said was true. He had been so concerned about determining any overt threat that he did not realize their box had become a matter of interest. Great interest. He was surprised and did not quite know what to make of it.

After a long minute, one by one, spectators began rising out of their seats. At first, he thought it might be in some sort of protest of their war efforts, perhaps an expression of disapproval of Endelle’s policies or the recent battle at the Grand Canyon.

Instead, however, applause began, and more and more people rose to their feet turning to face their box. This was not disapprobation. Quite the opposite.

He was stunned, feeling as though a sharp breeze had just struck his face. He looked back at Zacharius who was now smiling. He leaned forward and said, “I think they might be expressing their appreciation for what we do. Imagine that.”

A full minute passed and nearly every person had risen to their feet. Whistles started up as well until soon the arena theater was a sea of thunderous applause, shouting, and hoots.

Then Fiona stood, stepping away from him, from his brother warriors, and also offering her applause. Her eyes were drenched with tears as she smiled down at him.

He turned and waved Santiago and Zach forward to stand beside him, which they did. The applause escalated into a roar.

Jean-Pierre had never experienced anything like this in his life. He was moved beyond words. He put his hand over his heart and offered a bow. More shouts and whistles. All three warriors bowed repeatedly. He did not know how long it would continue, but finally the lights in the theater dimmed, a sure signal that Dark Spectacle was about to begin, and at last the audience returned to their seats.

* * *

Fiona sat down again and wiped away her tears. She was so moved by what had just happened, for such an outward and enormous show of support for the warriors. Given that she and Jean-Pierre both believed there was significant danger in the event this evening, and that it was possible some of that danger might be directed toward the notables present, she was grateful she had insisted on coming tonight. She had no idea what was about to happen, but that her presence might be necessary weighed on her.

She didn’t understand all that living on Second Earth entailed, but five months had taught her that increased power often demanded an intuitive approach. Her intuition had screamed at her to attend Dark Spectacle and with so many notables present, she began to understand that the scope of the situation could certainly be much larger than she had imagined.

She folded her hands on her lap and took a deep breath. She relaxed her shoulders and sank inward, focusing her thoughts on all that was around her, all the people leaning forward in their seats, the vibrations of excitement in the air.

Off to the right some fifty feet was the entrance point for the performers, an enormous black tunnel that had been given the shape of a dark cave, the underworld spilling forth its secrets.

From the opening, a long black pathway, perhaps thirty yards in length, rose at a steep angle. The path was maybe ten feet wide and led to an expansive central, circular stage that had to be fifteen yards across.

To the left of the round stage in a semicircle was a huge double orchestra that rose from the depths.

A heavy roll of drums began. Shivers and goose bumps traveled up and down Fiona’s body. Jean-Pierre reached for her hand and she gave it to him gratefully. She leaned close. She had heard so much about Dark Spectacle and if just this pounding of drums was any indication, the show would astonish and terrify even on its own merit.

What else the evening might have in store for them, she didn’t want to imagine.

The music began, filling the entire space, driving hard. She touched Jean-Pierre’s sleeve and looked at him. To his mind, she sent, I don’t know this music.

Holst’s The Planets. I believe it is “Mars.”

If she made it through this night, she wanted to listen to it again. It’s amazing, she sent.

Yes, it is.

From the cave, and lit with dim spotlights, came a sudden brisk flow of women flying in full-mount, all bearing dark gray wings, all wearing strange gray costumes that looked both ethereal and dirty, like substantial cobwebs that hung for thirty feet from their arms and legs as they flew up the ramped path. Once they reached the circle they began to fly in an ever-increasing spiral up and up. There must have been fifty of these women, flying in formation so tight and exact through the spiral that one error would send them all spinning out of control.

But by the time they were essentially flying in this enormous whirlwind of movement, the audience was crying out and applauding like mad. Lights from the ceiling above grew from white to pink to red until the whole image shifted to the appearance of flames flickering above the round stage.