A black car pulled up in front of the Continental, an upscale, boutique hotel of Renaissance Revival style architecture. The passenger door opened and Wilee and Genevieve exited the luxury vehicle and climbed the rounded granite stoop leading to the building’s first story. Pushing past the historic paneled wood doorway, they entered the marble foyer and approached the front desk.

The lobby was empty, save for Charon, the concierge, who glanced up from his computer to find the wounded and bloody couple walking towards him.

“Hello, Mr. Sterling. How may I help you?”

“Hello Charon. I apologize I didn’t call ahead. I need a room…” he hesitated for a moment, unsure of himself, and looked to Genevieve for an answer. “…or two… this evening.”

Genevieve slid her arm around Wilee’s waist. “The prince said you’re supposed to be looking after me. I don’t care to be left alone this evening.”

“One room.” Wilee said finding his confidence.

Charon checked his computer.

“That’s not a problem, sir. We’re only at sixty percent capacity.”

“Thank you, Charon.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”

“How good’s your laundry?”

“The best, sir, however, I’m sorry to say that…” He hesitated for a moment looking the couple up and down…no one’s that good.”

Wilee chuckled and slid a gold coin across to Charon.

“Is the tailor in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let him know we will be visiting.”

“Of course, sir.”

A short time later, Wilee dressed in a fresh suit and tie, and Genevieve in a little black dress, entered the speakeasy through a pair of maroon velvet drapes. The luxurious bar was crafted from mahogany. Booths lined the outside walls while several tables were scattered about. Performing on stage was a petite brunette with a commanding presence swaying behind the microphone, singing an old standard. Her voice was strong, tender, and sincere.

Wilee and Genevieve sat at a reserved table. A crystal decanter and two matching glasses awaited them.

“I took the liberty of ordering us a bottle of Sanguine. I hope you don’t mind.” Wilee said as he poured the first glass.

“Well, I can’t say I ever had it.”

“Oh. Well then, you’re in for a treat. Try it. It’s refreshing.” He said, handing her the glass.

“It’s nice. It has an ‘innocent’ taste.”

Wilee smiled in approval and silently toasted his companion before taking a sip himself.

“I noticed you prefer to feed from glasses.” Genevieve said as she laid back in her chair.

“I find that flesh spoils the taste for me. What about you? Your use of sorcery is amazing.”

“Thank you. I still haven’t perfected it yet.”

“Is that why you came to New York?”

“That’s part of it.”

“Oh? And what’s the other part?”

“The past couple years I’ve had to endure a lot of talk about me. First, I was the Fais do-do Bitch…”

“The what?’

“Fais do-do (Fay-dough-dough).  It’s an old term referring to mothers who would put their children to sleep before hitting the town and partying the night away. It’s been said because I didn’t risk my neck to save my shady nut-job coterie mate and told everyone he wasn’t the hero everyone made him out to be, I put him to ’sleep’. Then, in the midst of all that, my Primogen personally asked me to help him research…we’ll just say, ‘forgotten lore.’ I may have not addressed the rumors, but I’ve heard them all.”

‘She must have slept with him because I mean look at him, who’s ever going to say no to that guy?’ she said, quoting word for word what she had once heard in a whispered conversation. A soft bitter laugh escaped her mouth. “Then I became the ‘Social Climbing Bitch’ sleeping my way up the Pyramid.”

There was a short pause in conversation before Wilee reached across the table and gently grasped Genevieve’s hand.

“Do you want to dance?”

Genevieve’s eyes lit up. “You dance?”

“No.” he said sheepishly. “Com’on.”

Wilee led her to the small well-worn wooden dance floor and placed his hands on her hips. Genevieve found Wilee’s awkwardness endearing as she draped her arms over his shoulders.

After a few moments the couple found their rhythm. Genevieve couldn’t help but to smile after noticing Wilee was making a conscious effort not to step on her.

“Relax. You’re doing fine.” she said before kissing him in an attempt to break the tension. “You took quite a beating at the Haunted Mansion. How do you feel?” 

“Oh, my hip hurts. Ribs hurt. Back hurts.”

“How’s your pecker?”

“Pecker. Um… Seems fine.”

“Good. I was thinking we should consummate this deal.”

Wilee responded with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, that’s funny?”

“No. No it’s not funny.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I’m laughing because I’m uncomfortable.”

“Are you saying no?”

“No. No. No, no, no. I just, um…”

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“What?” Wilee said laughing Come on, no. Come on.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you got a scared virgin face.” 

“No, I’m not a virgin. Maybe we should, uh, just slow down a little bit.” 

“You are!”

“I am not a virgin.”

“Is it me? Are you not attracted to me? ‘Cause it’s okay if you’re not, but you’ve got to tell me.”

“No, it’s… I mean… I didn’t… I can’t even remember. Okay, no, I haven’t had sex since becoming Kindred.”

“Oh.” Genevieve said with genuine surprise.

“Are you happy? I think there’s still a shred of manhood left in my big toe if you want to step on that on the way out.”

With a small measure of authority Genevieve took Wilee by the hand and began to lead him out of the speakeasy.

“Wait! What are you…? Where are we going?”

“I’m being your first.”