83

You really can't blame the mortals for feeling the way that they do. Were you in their place, you might even have felt just the same. Of course they don't know the circumstances that bought your status. How many of them would accept a forced payment of eternal damnation and blood-lust in exchange for early entrance to an art exhibit, you wonder. Not many.

"Thank you, Jonathan," you say as he ushers you through the door.

"You're most welcome, ma'am," the ghoul replies. "Might I offer a word of advice?"

"Certainly."

"Your clothing," he says, trying to pick his words carefully so as not to offend. "It is in poor shape."

If you were still capable of going red in the face from embarrassment you might have. In your rush to get to the party on time, you neglected your physical appearance after the business with Hauberk. Your tailored suit is, of course, impeccable, but it's wrinkled and torn now, unseemly in several respects. "Do you have a suggestion?" you ask.

He's already on the case, perusing a long closet of formal wear while eyeballing you to figure out your size. "The Mistress insists that her visitors fit a certain aesthetic. These backups may not be as good as a proper fit, but it will have to do." He pulls out a luxurious Givenchy suit and urges you to try it on. It's a little tight around the chest, but you can make it work.

"This is excellent, Jonathan, thank you," you say gratefully.

"No trouble at all, ma'am." He shows you up the stairs to the observation mezzanine. "Enjoy the show."

The Exhibition Begins