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I m fine just people watching, if truth be told, I said politely, the hairs on the back of my neck
standing on end. The words demonologist and private session just seemed like an incredibly bad
juxtaposition. People are so fascinating if you have the time to really study them.
True words. I won t ask you any more about yourself since I m sure Imogen will pump you for all
the information you re willing to divulge, he said, laughter rich in his voice as we moved on at a
slow amble. My sister appreciates people watching, as well. Some might call her nosy, but in reality
she just likes mortals.
Keep in the open, I told myself. Stay around other people. Do not, under any circumstances, go
off anywhere alone with this bizarre man. I really am not all that interesting, I assure you. I do feel
bad about my horrible foot-in-mouth disease with Imogen, though.
He paused in front of a booth dedicated to personal time travel, shooting me a curious look.
Pardon?
I made a little face. I said I wanted to take photos of Imogen at the place your father met his end.
My father? Ben blinked. My father is in South America.
Oh, I m sorry. A blush warmed my face as I realized that once again I d verbally embarrassed
myself. I thought you and Imogen had the same father.
We do. He s in Brazil, I believe. Or Argentina. Somewhere with lots of nearly naked young
women and a high level of debauchery.
I stared at him in incomprehension. He s not dead?
No. He leaned in close and said in a low voice, My father is a Dark One. He can t die unless
someone goes to quite a bit of trouble, and I can assure you that no one has done that in several
centuries.
Several centuries, I repeated, just as if that weren t the least bit startling, although, of course, my
brain was screaming at me to run far, far away from the crazy man.
And then the thought hit me what if Imogen and her brother were having me on? What if they were
teasing me, the ignorant little American tourist? What if they were waiting to see me freak out,
whereupon they d all have a good giggle at my expense?
The bastards. I wouldn t give them the pleasure!
Well . . . three hundred? That seems about right. I think it was in 1708 that he flipped out. So three
hundred and four years.
I may not have had a lot of pride left that wasn t in tatters after the smear campaign by Barry of the
Many Hands, but what I did have I gathered around me. Oh, that kind of Dark One. I thought you
meant the . . . um . . . non-three-hundred-year type.
He looked at me as if potatoes had started a cabaret act on my head. The what?
You know, the kind that aren t around for three hundred years.
I think the potatoes may have begun a trapeze act, because the look he gave me was one of utter
incredulity. That killed my idea of his pulling my leg people who were teasing you seldom bore that
sort of expression when you sussed out what it was they were doing.
You did say three hundred years, didn t you? I asked, suddenly worried that I misheard him.
Maybe he had every right to look at me as if I was the odd one.
Yes. He continued to eye me. My father is actually older than three hundred years. He s . . . Let
me see. I m three hundred and nineteen, which means he must be around three hundred and forty. Or
three hundred and forty-two. Somewhere in that range.
What do you say to a man who claims he s over three hundred years old? I don t know what you
would say, but I decided that the best thing to do was to agree with him and try to get rid of him.
Just so. Those are my favorite kind of Black Ones.
Dark Ones.
Sorry. I cleared my throat and tried to sidle away. I think I ll just
Ben evidently wasn t having any of it. He followed after me, giving me a look of much
consideration. There are only two types of Dark Ones, Io redeemed and unredeemed. My father is
the latter, naturally.
Naturally. I wondered if I dashed into the big main tent if he would come after me, or if I could
lose him in the crowd that was starting to gather.
Although he did love my mother. In his own fashion. It was only afterward that he lost the ability
to feel any such emotions.
Well, you know how it is with Dark Dudes that happens.
He stopped me by taking hold of my arm, swinging me around to face him, his eyes narrowed on my
face. You do know what a Dark One is, don t you?
Of course, I lied, giving him what I hoped was a serene smile. They re . . . um . . . They live a
long time, and they . . . uh . . . hang out at fairs, and . . . er . . . do other stuff like . . . urm . . .
Being vampires, a female voice said behind me.
Eyes wide with disbelief, I spun around to find Fran smiling over my shoulder at Ben.
Sexy, sexy vampires, she added with a little sigh of pleasure.
Panic hit me then, hard and hot in my gut. I looked around wildly for an escape, throwing to the
wind my desire to photograph Imogen. There was no way on this green earth I was going to spend any
more time with people who thought they were three-hundred-year-old vampires!
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