The day of operation 'hors d'oeuvres' or so Sheera liked to call it had arrived, and with a few hours left until the mission, she and Luke made their final preparations on the terrace.

He placed two flutes of champagne on her tray and turned her around. "Now glide into the 'ballroom' like you've done this a million times."

Sheera did her best to embody his suggestion but she knocked over both glasses on the seventh step, adding to the sharp-edged carnage that was already littering the ground.

"I think I've already broken two dozen," she said, plopping onto the nearest chair. "Can't you just execute this mission by yourself?"

"A Kindred never walks into a room without an ally," he said firmly.

"Even a Kindred that hasn't learned any magic?"

"I also couldn't memorize every detail of the evening if I didn't have your brain to help me," he said sheepishly.

She managed a smile. "Well at least I know I have a purpose."

"Wait here," he said, before disappearing inside. He emerged back onto the terrace in short order, armed with a broom and dustpan. "Once we arrive," he said while sweeping up the shards of glass, "maybe you can stick to the hors d'oeuvres and uhh...avoid the champagne at all costs."

"Affirmative," she said nodding. "But wait..." she suddenly added, "what if Gabriel Asher or one of his harbingers of doom asks for champagne, and you and Clement are busy flirting with the sexy female Shadowers?" She shrugged. "Or something."

He put his hand over his heart. "I hereby declare that I would never flirt with a Shadower. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Well if you hit on men who are gay, what would stop you from getting fresh with a Shadower?"

She covered her face in embarrassment but laughed. Luke had a way of always easing her mind whenever she was feeling uncertain. A second later she remembered his people skills were merely a part of his job as her unofficial 'handler.' She sighed.

"Don't tell me your tired," he said, misinterpreting her sigh by one hundred percent. "We've got a big night ahead, buck up!"

She stretched her arms to keep up the 'tired' ruse. "I'm bucked, I'm bucked...believe me."

He shook his head. "I don't believe you, so maybe this'll grab your attention." He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and when he opened them again he extended his hand; somehow, the remaining shards of glass scooped themselves up and floated into the bag.

"Wow..." she uttered, overcome by amazement at the most potent magic she'd seen yet. She emerged from her trance when she noticed him glaring.

"Now wow!" he snapped. "Your reaction is supposed to be nothing; a whole lotta nothing."

She smacked herself on the forehead. "Right, right, can't let the Shadowers find out I see magic 'cause I'm secretly a Kindred." She seemed worried. "I'm gonna get us killed aren't I..."

"Not if you focus a little harder." He closed his eyes again and raised both hands. A few seconds later, smooth little pebbles from a potted plant started zipping their way past her head. She instinctively ducked and he did it again. And again. After the tenth round of flying pebbles, she managed to stay calm, even bored. "Would you like a another oyster canapé sir?" she said calmly as the pebbles whizzed past. "More champagne?" she added as another pebble flew towards her eye before making a sudden sharp turn. "Yes, I'll have my colleague bring it out to you right away," she went on.

By the time the potted plant had been robbed of all its pebbles, Luke seemed a little out of breath. "This is why we constantly practice," he said. "It's draining."

Sheera watched him wipe his forehead with the back of his big manly hand, and suddenly the mission to serve hors d'oeuvres to evil snobs didn't seem all that bad...

***

As the sun set on the pivotal evening, Luke and Sheera waited outside the deliveries receiving door of the five-star Le Mettrice hotel, or in other words a glorified alley beside a dumpster. They were both dressed in formal server attire, looking smart in crisp white shirts and fitted black vests with matching trousers.

"Where is he I'm freezing!" Sheera whined, rubbing her arms and awkwardly jogging in place.

The Shadowers had already installed two of their own security guards outside the main entrance to the ballroom, and rather than have them explain themselves as members of a special staff, Clement had thought it best for the spies to use the back-door entrance.

"Are you nervous?" said Luke.

She could tell that he was measuring her stress levels again, always the avid Kindred handler doing a bang-up job.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine but you can check to confirm it."

He seemed a little hurt. "I was only asking because I'm a little nervous myself. I've never met this sorry excuse for a man who ruined so many lives." He tightened his fists. "And I'm nervous that I might clock him in his soulless face."

For the first time Sheera realized that in some ways, this Kindred life was new to Luke as well. He'd never been 'in action' on a full-blown Kindred mission, so maybe they needed to be there for each other after all.

"I'm sorry," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "This is all so strange; I don't even know how to react half the time." She shook her head. "A few weeks ago I was working at a goddamn donut shop"

He placed his hand on top of hers and she felt an immediate spark. "What kind of donuts?"

Before she could describe the vast array of flavors whilst absorbing the obvious chemistry of the moment, the receiving door opened and a no-nonsense Frenchman with cropped blondish hair emerged.

"Bon soir," he said curtly. "May I help you?"

Sheera's eyes bugged out. "May you help us? I thought this was all planned out!"

Luke raised a hand to shush her before addressing the Frenchman.

"Bon soir, Clément," he said, before pausing to clear his throat. "Le champagne est vraiement frizzant."

Clément nodded in apparent satisfaction and ushered them inside.

"What did you tell him?" whispered Sheera.

"Code phrase," Luke said casually. "Champagne is fizzy...or bubbly...or tart, hell I don't know. It's what Orisa told me to say."

Sheera trailed behind pouting. "There was a code phrase and you didn't tell me? That's fine, not offended at all..."

They followed Clément along a narrow corridor that led to double stainless steel doors with a view into the kitchen. Clément pushed opened the doors to reveal a pristine and modern cooking space. A sous chef in a crisp white uniform tended to three pans of salmon cooking in an aromatic sauce, while two line cooks meticulously focused on their prep. One was brunoising an endless supply of onions while the other chopped carrots into a perfectly julienne shape.

"Do not under any circumstances interrupt the head chef," Clément whispered, gesturing to the man in the tall white chef's hat. He was busy applying artistically-inclined garnishes to the first two trays of hors d'oeuvres.

Sheera and Luke nodded nervously.

"Your name is Sonya and you are Christopher," declared Clément.

Luke frowned. "What's wrong with Luke?"

Clément raised an eyebrow. "If only I had enough time to explain what is wrong with Luke. Now wait here."

Clément rushed out of the front entrance to the kitchen; it led into a softly lit hallway where he disappeared around the corner.

"Luke," said Sheera in Clément's disgusted accent.

He tried to seem annoyed but broke into a smile. "It's Christopher now."

Clément returned a few moments later and stood frozen in front of the chef. Only when the chef was finished with the final flourish did he push the trays away towards Clément.

Clément snapped his fingers to Sheera and Luke. "You go ahead first, I will bring their champagne."

Sheer and Luke exchanged a long look; it was finally happening, and they could only hope there wouldn't be any mistakes.

Sheera took the first tray of tartare hors d'oeuvres with the vast list of ingredients she'd memorized: salmon trout, pressed caviar, yellow tomatoes, scallions, lemon zest and a sprig of rosemary. She balanced it under one palm with one hand behind her back as Luke had shown her. He was holding the second tray of pork rillettes as he led the way out of the kitchen.

The softly lit corridor and patterned carpet gave way to a pair of finely carved doors, the gilded handles reflecting the light of the foyer's chandelier. There were no windows to offer a peek of what they were about to walk into, so they simply nodded to each other, took a deep breath and made their way in.

Inside, the first sensation was the sound of classical music, but not some serenade of Mozart or a pleasing piano concerto by the likes of Tchaikovsky. Instead of these common compositions you'd expect from a high-brow cocktail party, it was the sort of classical music you'd hear in a movie before they go into the battlefield; the sort of music where the characters are basically about to die. Wagner's Valkyrie, Verdi's Requiem Mass...this was the playlist of the Shadowers.

The death tunes weren't overly loud by any means, but Sheera could still feel an elevated heart rate brought on by the dramatic notes. Once she re-centered herself, she took in the sights of the room. Despite the abundance of looming humans dressed in black, she was struck by the palatial setting. Madam Quillfern had certainly described a five-star locale, but it was hard not to be mesmerized by one thing after the other; the gleam of the marble floors, the lush silver drapery, and the walls with their gilded sconces, adorned by one Baroque painting after another.

In between all of that — with most of the tables removed for more of a mingling experience — were the Shadowers. They weren't dressed in the style of cultish cloaks or anything, but were intimidating nonetheless. The men wore tailored black suits paired with spotless loafers, while the sinister women wore long black gowns paired with bold red lips. Somewhere in the center of it all was Gabriel Asher.

Sheera had been shown an old photo of him, but nothing could prepare her for the experience of being in his presence. His stature was tall and broad, and the black hair that fell to his shoulders seemed silky, reflecting the light from any one of eight crystal chandeliers every time he moved. When he turned and his pale narrow face and emerald eyes revealed themselves to Sheera, she froze.

Unable to move, she felt a sudden chill as Gabriel stood there chatting only twenty feet away. She felt someone poke her in the middle of her back, and it was enough to break her out of the trance. Luke then passed by with an encouraging look, reminding her of the role she had to play. She offered hors d'oeuvres and explained ingredients as instructed, but even though she fulfilled her requirements, she couldn't shake the chill of being in a room full of Shadowers. As she glanced around to see if anyone else seemed interested in salmon tartare, it occurred to her that this medium-sized ballroom was full. She had to wade her way through a sea of black just to get from one area to the next. There were at least a hundred of them.

She looked over at Luke and he was realizing the same thing. They were severely outnumbered.

Despite the initial feeling of defeat for the battle that lay ahead, they still had a job to do, so Sheera set to work observing every detail she could.

There were at least twenty Shadowers in their forties or older, and they were likely the most experienced. There was also a total of ten imposing giant-like men, along with forty women who were sure to be agile and dangerous. And a dozen were a fresh crop just out of their teens. One of the younger ones stuck fairly close to Gabriel. He had silk black hair like Gabriel, only it was shorter wavy, and uncombed. He pushed it to the side as he listened to whatever Gabriel was saying. He was nearly as tall as his Gabriel but leaner, with intense dark eyes and a humorless face, as if the world had once wronged him and he'd never forget it.

Sheera inched her way over so she could listen to their conversation.

"Damien tell them what you've been learning," said Gabriel in a velvety British accent. He placed his arm stiffly around the morose young man's shoulder. Damien said something in a low voice, and Gabriel started to laugh as his nearby 'yes men' chimed in.

"Excuse me," said a man now towering over Sheera.

Sheera was still busy straining her ear to try to hear Gabriel's conversation.

"Excuse me," the man now bellowed, and when she turned she could barely hold in her gasp. He was seven feet tall and looked like a mad scientist's' failed experiment, with dark sunken eyes and pointy teeth that peeked out of his mouth like fangs.

"Y-y-yes?" she uttered.

"Is there dairy in this?" he said, gesturing to the salmon tartare appetizers. "I'm lactose intolerant."

Sheera breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "There is some butter," she said apologetically.

He shrugged. "Butter's not dairy," he said casually. Sheera stopped herself from correcting him as popped two hors d'oeuvres in his mouth all at once.

Another task of Sheera's was to observe the Shadowers' actions to identify any weaknesses. She finally had her first one: dairy.

As Clément and two other servers milled about serving champagne, Sheera went back to the kitchen to get a tray of fresh of hors d'oeuvres. Once there, she froze in place as Clément had instructed, saying nothing while waiting for the chef to push the finished tray towards her.

Luke followed a few seconds later and did the same.

"Did you see him?" Luke whispered.

"He's hard to miss," Sheera whispered back.

"He has the most punchable face of anyone I've ever seen," said Luke through gritted teeth. "And did you see his wretched son?"

Sheera's eyes widened. "Damien is his son?"

"Sure is; I heard Gabriel refer to him as 'son' when he was talking to one of the women."

"I guess I see a resemblance."

"None of us even knew he had a son. Now we don't just have to stop Gabriel, we have to destroy his evil spawn too."

Sheera nodded slowly, wondering what else this surreal night would reveal.

"Va!" screamed the chef.

Sheera and Luke practically jumped at his shrill voice telling them to go.

They took the trays and went back for round two, hoping their mission would continue to go as planned...