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Scarlet closed her eyes and reclined on the sofa. She let Sam's passionate music sweep away her senses. She reveled in the melody and the emotions it brought to the surface. Coherent thought ceased for a moment while she let herself float on the rising tide of Sam's solo. If she had tears, she might have cried.

His next tune was much livelier, if still slightly macabre. It had Scarlet's feet tapping out the rhythm even as Sam danced to his own music in the parlor.

Devonte felt a chill go down his spine at the soft but powerful knock at the door. Even without seeing who the guest was, he knew it was an ancient. He quickly glided to the door and waved to the footmen to open it.

Cassandra walked in, stately and elegant, and absolutely beautiful. Even though Devonte didn't need to breath, he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. This was an honor indeed, to welcome such a powerful woman to the ball.

He swept a low bow. "It is my personal pleasure to welcome to the dance, Lady Cassandra."

Cas gave a shallow, elegant courtsey, and retorted, "no, no, dearest Devonte. The pleasure is all mine."
She paused for a moment to take in the scenery, and the music and the delightful array of guests and donors, "And might I say," She added, "your Manor is absolutely stunning! I must ask you the name of your designer."

Cassandra's words were pronounced, and she enunciated clearly, but not enough to be patronizing. Her 'R's had a little roll to them as a remnant of the russian culture she had been living in for the past couple of centuries. She bore no shame in the fact that her fangs were showing, or that her eyes were an abnormal yellow; this was a commonplace of wonderous creatures such as herself, and she felt quite comfortable.

Approaching the door, Jamie gave one last glance toward the road. Satisfied, he turned towards the door, wiping some of the blood off of his face. "Well, at least I'm not the only late one," he thought as he recalled seeing someone else enter before he could reach the door. "I hope my contact's here already."
Taking a deep breath, Jamie knocked.

Devonte herd the knock and felt like cursing. Gracefully bowing out of his current conversation, he said, "One moment, my lady. The bar is open to all your needs."

He went to the front door and one of the doormen opened it automatically. When Devonte saw the the man beyond, he felt uncharacteristically like sinking his teeth into the man's neck right then and there, consequences be damned. His usually cold garnet eyes hardened and darkened to a menacing burgundy.

"Musicians are supposed to come in the back," he snapped. "How did you get this far without an invitation?"

Devonte's nostrils flared as he caught the scent of fresh blood. Even though he had fed several days earlier, the hot, metallic scent was always an enticement.

"I'm not aware of any Goldschmidt in attendance," he replied icily. "Now get around to the serving entrance before any of the guests see you." He gestured around the castle and closed the door on the young man. Turning back to the whirling ball, he took a deep--if unnecessary--breath to calm himself. Now where had Lady Cassandra gone?

Jamie reached the back door a few moments later. Using his instrument to gain entrance, he was guided down several hallways until he reached the are where the orchestra was situated. Calmly joining the guitarist already there, he asks him: "Hey, do you know Waltz for Zizi? It's not exactly dark or Gothic, but it's melancholy." Getting no response, Jamie shrugs and tries to follow along with the song they were already playing, sweeping his eyes across the dim room for Goldschmidt.

---

Alfons finally approached the Wrought-iron gate. Flashing his invitation, the bouncers let him pass. "Thank you," he says. Walking up to the door confidently, he thinks sarcastically, "Zeledon should be happy to see me." Alfons grins and knocks on the door.

neutral Alfons's grin was gone the instant he saw Devonte. He could tell he was pissed. Taking a deep bow, he introduced himself. "The name's Alfons Goldschmidt the Third. I have an invitation for the wonderful Waltz you are holding." He presents his invitation. "I believe a friend of mine, a musician, arrived earlier; did he not?"