14	REGRETS ONLY

THE LONG TABLE WAS SET IN A ROOM right off the garden, so that the French doors looked out onto a beautiful landscape and twinkling lights, which were complemented by the delicate floral arrangements, exquisite white roses and green pea tendrils in square vases dotted by small tea light candles. The crystal and silverware gleamed, the linen napkins were folded and starched, and the group—an exclusive and elite group that ran not only the Coven, but the city at large—was laughing and smiling over champagne glasses. Oliver caught Finn’s eye in the center of the glamorous bunch, a willowy collection of New York’s most beautiful art enthusiasts.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when he saw the lines crinkle around her eyes.

“Nothing, nothing…” Finn smiled brightly.

“Let me guess, Ivy hasn’t shown up,” he said.

Finn nodded.

“Maybe she’s late,” he said. “You know how artists are. Divas. And from what you’ve told me, Ivy has a bigger ego than most.”

It was a private dinner for the artists who were part of the Red Blood exhibition thrown by their Blue Blood patrons. Everyone was there: Jonathan Jonathan in his trademark plaid suit, Bai Wa-Woo in a dress that looked like it was made of Big Bird’s yellow feathers, even ninety-year-old Hershel Song, the most seasoned and arguably the most famous artist in the collection.

“Yes, you’re right, that must be it,” Finn said.

“She’ll show up,” he said. “You told me yourself she’s flighty, and you only added her at the last minute because she begged to be included.” Oliver was trying not to feel too agitated himself. Finn was a little touchy when it came to Ivy, who was a friend of hers from college—from her life before the Coven—something Finn kept reminding him of.

“Yes, of course, it must have just slipped her mind,” Finn agreed. “This is so embarrassing, though.”

“Let me talk to him.” Oliver walked over to Murray Anthony, who was stuffing his face with little crab cakes.

Murray smiled at him nervously. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I tried—we’ve been trying to track her down for days now. The museum wants to talk to her, too.”

“Anything wrong? Does she not want to be in the exhibit? With all the controversy?” Oliver took a glass of champagne from a passing tray. He knew the flowers—roses, deep in bloom—were supposed to smell wonderful, but he smelled nothing. One day he would ask the Coven doctors what was wrong with him.

“No—you know Ivy doesn’t bother with gossip and the tabloids. She loves a party.”

“Find her, then.”

“Will do. She’ll be at the opening for sure,” Murray assured, even though he looked as if he didn’t believe it himself.

Oliver went back to Finn, who looked decidedly ill. “Oliver—about Ivy, there’s something you need to know—”

“Yes?” he asked, distracted by the sight of Sam Lennox entering the party suddenly. The chief never came to these things. Something must be up. “Hold on, sweet…”

He made his way toward Sam but was interrupted by Chris Jackson barreling toward him. She greeted him with air-kisses on both cheeks. “What a wonderful party,” she said. “Finn outdid herself. Is she all right? She looks a bit pale.”

“She works too hard,” Oliver said shortly. “I don’t know what I would do without her.” He returned her tight smile. This was the world he was part of, one in which empty smiles hid dark hearts. Outwardly his face was placid, but inwardly he was haunted by the image of the pentagram on his office floor. How long had Chris been in his office the other day? Was her visit a warning? A way to tell him that she was the one inside? And if she had been the one to do it, what did she want? And why kill a mortal girl to get it? What was her agenda?

“Well, I just wanted to say hello as I can’t stay,” she said. “It’s the opening night of the symphony as well.”

“Now who has a busy schedule?” Oliver smiled. “Good to see you, Chris. Excuse me,” he said, finally making his way to the chief. Sam looked out of place in the beautiful room; his suit was shabby, and he looked older and grayer than ever.

“We’ve had a security breach,” Sam said, without waiting for pleasantries. “None of the alarms were set off and the cameras didn’t pick up anything, but I’m convinced someone broke into the Repository.”

Oliver kept his calm. “How can you be sure?”

“There are a few seconds missing on the time stamp. Like someone messed with it or caused it to skip. And here’s the thing. It’s happened before but we only noticed it now. We went through the records, and there are several unaccounted moments.”

“What did they take?”

“That’s the thing. Nothing. We can’t figure it out. Nothing’s missing. We had all the clerks go through the archives. Everything is where it should be.”

He frowned. “What do you recommend?”

“Lock and fortify.”

“If we go into lockdown, whoever’s behind this will know we’re on to them,” Oliver said, considering his options. “We can’t show our hand just yet. Do everything you can, but do it quietly.”

“There’s another thing. We found another body.”

“Mortal?”

“Yeah. Bitten. Just like the other one.”

“Where?”

“Out by Fort Greene, not far from where we busted that Neph hive the other week. Another young girl. We’re IDing her now. We’ve got a killer out there. Serial from the looks of it.”

Oliver cursed. “Do you think they’re related? Was there a pentagram?”

Sam nodded. “Big and bloody. We’re keeping this one quiet for now. You still planning on performing the ritual at the ball?” he asked. “The investiture?”

Oliver nodded. “Yes. At midnight. The center of the museum will be cleared for the stage, and Finn and I will be in the greenroom right before and then I’m to make a grand entrance Finn has orchestrated down to the last detail.”

“We’re going to have to double up on the Venators,” Sam said. “I called in a few more from overseas. They’ll be here by Saturday.”

“Sam, so good of you to join us,” Finn said, coming between the two men and putting a hand on Oliver’s arm. “Are you staying? I’ll have them set another place.”

The Venator chief shook his head and looked uncomfortable. “No, ma’am, I’ll be heading out in a bit. Just had some news to share with the Regent. Thank you, though.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay,” she said warmly.

“Thank you,” he said.

They watched as Finn floated to the other guests. “You’re a lucky man,” Sam said to Oliver.

“Don’t I know it.” Oliver sighed.

“Some of us—Some of us aren’t so lucky.” Sam sighed, and Oliver knew that he was thinking of his life before the War. He clasped his friend’s shoulder and squeezed it in sympathy.

“We all made sacrifices,” Oliver said.

“Some of us more than others,” Sam replied. But he gave Oliver a wry smile and left the party without further comment.

When Oliver walked inside the dining room, Finn was standing at the head of the table. In the candlelight, her beauty glowed, and Oliver felt a surge of pride. Finn made his life possible; she smoothed the relationships and the rough edges created by his position; she urged him to listen to people, to keep his mind and heart open. As for those who resented her high place in the Coven, especially snobs like Chris Jackson, he couldn’t care less. Finn caught his eye before speaking, and he winked at her to let her know she had nothing to worry about. She had this.

“My dear friends,” Finn began. “Thank you all for coming today to celebrate our upcoming Red Blood exhibit. One of the greatest mandates of the Overland Foundation is to promote the vibrant cultural and intellectual life of the city. All the artists in this collection work with blood in interesting and intriguing ways that allow us to more deeply appreciate our own mortality,” she said with a knowing smile reserved for the vampires in the group. “My father, Stephen Chase, was an artist who used blood in his own paintings to display the fragility of the human condition, and it brings me great honor today to know that his paintings will soon be enjoyed by all.”

After the applause had died down, Finn introduced each artist at the dinner, who spoke briefly about their work.

Once everyone had made their remarks, she stood up again. “And lastly, I would like to say a few words about Ivy Druiz, who I am very sorry to say cannot be with us today due to a personal conflict, but her gallery manager, Murray Anthony, is here to answer any questions. Murray assures us Ivy will be with us during the Four Hundred Ball and the opening of the exhibit. I have been drawn to Ivy’s work for years, and I admire her passion for women’s lives and troubles. It’s a real testament of her courage and conviction to create art that gives voice to the voiceless, that finds meaning in our everyday traumas. Thank you for joining us, and here’s to a life-changing Four Hundred Ball! To the artists!”

Glasses raised, crystal clinked, and the dinner party began in earnest with the delivery of the first course—a blood orange salad in a balsamic vinaigrette. Finn slid into a seat across from Oliver and whispered, “Did I do all right?”

“Perfectly,” he assured. “Life changing?”

She laughed. “I really want the ball to be special.”

“It will be,” he said, nuzzling her cheek. “Wait till you see what I have planned.”

The rest of the evening went as well as it could, with a few conclave members getting a little tipsy from the blood wine, and everyone staggering out to an uncommonly mild autumn night. Exhausted, but satisfied that the night went as well as it could, Oliver and Finn finally repaired to the limousine waiting for them by the sidewalk.

When they were alone, he told Finn what Sam had told him about the second fatality, the body the Venators had found in Brooklyn. “Maybe we should cancel,” she said. “Maybe Chris is right. Maybe it’s not time for a party.”

Oliver sighed. He hadn’t told Finn about the pentagram he’d found in his office or the one he saw tagged on their building the other morning, as he didn’t want to add to her worries.

“No, the ball is in two days, you’ll look ridiculous,” Finn said, changing her mind when she saw the look on his face. “Chris Jackson is a frightened woman trying to scare you, make you doubt yourself. Show them your strength. Show them they can’t destroy us. We can still have the party while we keep investigating and bring this killer to justice.”

He loved her passion and ferocity. Finn would make a wonderful vampire, he thought. Except that it’s impossible, and so she will die, and when that happens I will mourn her forever.

He brought her hand to his lips, planting a line of soft kisses, slowly from her wrist, up to her elbow, and past, until he reached her neck. She sighed and reached for him as well, bringing him closer to her so that she was almost on his lap. She turned to him with a sly smile, and Oliver raised the partition that separated them from the driver. Unbuckling his seat belt and hers, he laid her lengthwise on the seat of the car and slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders.

“Darling, do you ever regret it?” he asked as he carefully undressed her. He unhooked her bra with one hand and took a moment to congratulate himself on that.

“What?” she breathed as their lips met, and she pulled his shirt out of his pants and began to unzip.

“All this… me,” he whispered as he moved on top of her.

“Regret you?” she asked, just as he thrust his body into hers, and she shivered, drawing her knees around his waist.

“Yes,” he said, his voice tight, as he rocked against her.

“Why would I do that?”

“If you had never met me, you wouldn’t be part of the Coven, privy to its dark secrets.” You wouldn’t be in danger from our enemies, he thought, but couldn’t admit it out loud, not yet. They would hurt you to get to me. The mortal body count was climbing. Instead he told her, “You would be safe. You would be—”

“—lost without you.” Finn looked deep into his eyes and placed both her hands on his cheeks. “You are my life.”

I have made it so, Oliver thought. You don’t have a choice anymore. And with that thought, he sank his fangs deep into her skin, and soon they were both shuddering in ecstasy.