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he sat back down at the table to pick up his spoon and dig into his ice cream again.
    “She’s old, ” Jackie responded dryly. “Super old. About seven hundred years too old for you.”
    “Yeah.” He sighed. “She probably thinks of me as a punk kid.”
    “Probably,” Jackie agreed, then blinked and suddenly wondered if that was how Vincent and other vampires saw her …as a punk kid. She didn’t like the idea, but supposed it would explain the arrogance she sometimes sensed from them. Perhaps it was more condescension; the amused patience of the aged with exuberant youth. On the other hand, she thought, while they may think of her as a punk kid, they still called her when they had a problem.
     
    “So who are Jackie and Tiny?” Marguerite asked as she followed Vincent into one of the remaining guest rooms.
    “My P.A. and cook,” he answered quickly, but had to turn away to hide his expression as he set her suitcase onthe bed. Aunt Marguerite had always been able to tell when he told a lie.
    “Uh-huh.” She didn’t sound convinced. “And when did you start eating?”
    Vincent didn’t even try to claim that he’d always eaten. While Jackie and Tiny didn’t know him and couldn’t be sure he hadn’t always done so, Marguerite did know him. He’d stayed at her apartment while in New York and hadn’t eaten a thing the whole time he was there. That thought reminded him of a conversation he’d had with Marguerite’s son, Lucern, at the man’s wedding to his editor Kate a couple weeks ago and he brightened.
    “Lucern was telling me that he finds eating helps him build his own blood so that he has to feed less. I thought I’d give it a try.” It wasn’t a lie. Lucern had told him that this was why he ate when the rest of them didn’t. It helped him keep his body mass as well as build blood. Vincent had actually considered eating as well as feeding to see if it reduced the number of times he had to feed in a day, but with one thing and another, he hadn’t actually set out to try it. Until now.
    “And how do your cook and P.A. know about us?” Marguerite asked, pausing by the bed and turning to spear him with her eyes.
    “How do your housekeeper and her husband know?” He gave a shrug. “They were told. It saves me having to spend my time pretending when I’m at home.”
    Marguerite’s mouth compressed. “And these men crawling all over the house?”
    “They’re installing a security system. Crime is rife here. You can’t be too careful.” Vincent waited for her nextquestion. It was obvious his aunt didn’t believe a thing he was saying and Vincent really wished he could just tell her what was what, but the last thing he needed was his aunt sticking her nose into this business.
    “Have you tried to read her yet?”
    Vincent’s eyebrows rose with surprise. The question was not one he’d expected.
    “No,” he admitted. Vincent didn’t often read the humans around him. To him, it seemed like an intrusion and he didn’t care to intrude on the thoughts of his friends. As for non-friends, ambition and drive could color everyone’s choices and both of those were high in the world of theatre. After the hundredth time of finding out the pretty lady flirting with you so charmingly was really only interested in what you could do for her career…Well, it just seemed better not to bother reading them anymore. Not that this was a concern with Jackie. Still, he’d had no reason to read her, so hadn’t bothered.
    Marguerite merely nodded. “I think I’ll unpack and take a shower. Between waiting in the airport and the recycled air on the plane, I always feel gritty after travel.”
    “Okay. Come downstairs when you’re ready and I’ll give you a proper tour of the house,” Vincent said, leaving her alone.
    Jackie and Tiny were still in the kitchen when he went in. Vincent sat down in his seat, picked up his spoon, then frowned at the melted puddle in his bowl.
    “I’ll get you fresh.”