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Orlando this happy, except I keep saying that and he keeps getting happier.”
    Raymond paused outside the door to the réfectoire. “I think an Aveu de Sang does that to a man.”
    Jean grinned and kissed his Avoué. “I think it might.”
    Jean was tempted to linger, but their guests waited. Pulling back with the whispered promise of more when they were finally alone, he pushed open the door, allowing his Consort to precede him into the room. In other circumstances, their positions would have been reversed, but Raymond was the director of l’Institut. Here, he was the senior one, not Jean.
    Every head turned at their entry, silence settling across the room.
    “Bonsoir, everyone,” Raymond said, his voice resounding in the cavernous space. “Welcome to l’Institut Marcel Chavinier. I hope everything has been to your satisfaction so far. Tonight is your chance to mingle, to catch up with old friends and perhaps make new ones. We’re looking forward to a busy, productive week.”
    “Monsieur Payet?”
    “Please, call me Raymond,” Raymond said to the man who addressed him. “We are not a formal bunch here at l’Institut.”
    “That’s a relief,” the other man said. “My colleagues in Canada all warned me about how formal and stiff the French were. I didn’t want to offend, of course, but I will admit to being a first-name person myself.”
    “Martin, I assume?” Raymond asked, amused at the other man’s ramblings. The Canadian wizard’s accent gave away his identity as clearly as if he wore a tag proclaiming his name and origin. He was nearly as tall as Raymond, though easily ten years younger. His light brown hair was short and somewhat tousled, like he had run his fingers through it more than once, but his smile was infectious, lighting his hazel eyes from inside.
    “Oh, yes, I’m sorry, Martin Delacroix. I’m very excited about my chance to come study and research here at l’Institut. I’ve always been fascinated with the way magic works in the other magical races, but my studies have been almost entirely theoretical. In Canada, anyway, they have little use for vampires.”
    “You will find that here as well, in many cases,” Raymond said, “but the vampires—some of them, anyway—have decided we are not as bad as all that.”
    Next to him, Jean smothered an inelegant snort. “The vampires you will meet here at l’Institut fall into two categories,” he said. “Those who have chosen to form partnerships with wizards and those interested in forming those partnerships. We’ve had a few complete our seminar and decide not to go farther into the process, but only perhaps one in twenty. They wouldn’t be here if they weren’t at least willing to listen and learn.”
    “My partner, Jean Bellaiche,” Raymond added, “speaking of vampires who have stuck around.”
    “Call me Jean,” Jean said, shaking Martin’s hand. “We’re looking forward to working with you this year.”
    “Have you met Alain, Orlando, Sebastien, and Thierry yet?” Raymond asked. “Sebastien and Thierry are here full time. Alain and Orlando are part-time, but they’re part of our faculty as well.”
     “I’m not sure,” Martin said honestly. “I’ve met so many people so quickly, and names are not my forte.”
    “Alain is the blond wizard standing next to the slender, dark-haired vampire,” Raymond said, pointing toward Alain and Orlando. “They split their time between Paris and their new home in Pouilly-en-Auxois. They were the first to discover the partnership bond that can exist between the right vampire and wizard.”
    “Are they researchers?” Martin asked.
    Raymond could not stop the laugh that escaped.
    “No,” Jean said, answering for Raymond, “they’re lovers.”
    “Is that typical?” Martin asked.
    “It isn’t atypical,” Raymond replied, still chuckling at the thought of Alain and Orlando as researchers. “The partnerships work through the exchange of blood, and that is a very