to see first if they wanted to ask anything of her mistress.
Gavivi was an elegant, tall, chocolate-skinned woman with short curls dyed golden blonde. She wore a turquoise silk suit, and her long nails and eye shadow perfectly matched the vibrant color of the silk. There was nothing inconspicuous about this particular companion.
“You have excellent hearing, and terrible manners,” Gerry said, though he rose to stand politely while Gavivi took her seat. It was clear from the look she gave him that Gavivi wasn’t sure if the action was gentlemanly, or that of a mere servant of a vampire acknowledging a vampire’s lover’s higher status.
The status thing bothered Sara in the oddest ways. She knew that if she were a companion she wouldn’t be one of the ones that rubbed it in to the less psychically gifted. She’d be very serious about the whole thing, aware of the honor and responsibility of someday having companions and slaves of her own. She’d prepare for the future rather than just reveling or groveling in the throes of companionship.
“You look sad,” a voice she’d never heard before said.
She looked up, not realizing that she’d been staring at the tablecloth or that anyone else had entered the dining room. She saw that the man who’d spoken was distinguished looking in a bland way. He had the look of a high-level bureaucrat, a tall man with nondescript features, commanding and utterly forgettable all at once. He had a high forehead and fading blond hair, and wore wire-rimmed glasses over pale blue eyes. He was dressed in a gray suit, his shirt and tie a matching ice blue, the tailoring subdued but expensive. If Sara had not known exactly who he must be she might not have recognized him for what he was. He did not display the glow of charisma that shone around Gavivi and every other companion Sara had met. There was power there, she realized, but it was as restrained and subtle as the cut of his clothes. The look he gave her was full of sympathy,the sort of look she would normally have found offensive, but—
There was such deep understanding in his eyes. He was the sort of person, that, when he looked at you, he looked at you.
Oh, yes, he had a great deal of psychic talent all right. Sara managed to shake off the spell and remember that she and this companion weren’t the only people in the room. She even managed a small, knowing smile—that the companion returned with a full-wattage grin and a deep, rich laugh.
“I’m with Rose Shilling,” he identified himself. “Sorry if my comment was presumptuous, but you were looking sad, Ms. Czerny. I see it as my duty to try to make a lady smile.” He then shook Gerry’s hand before he turned to Gavivi and finished introducing himself. “Roger Bentencourt.”
From the admiring look in Gerry’s eyes and the way Gavivi preened, Sara could tell that the others were affected by the man’s concentrated attention, while she wondered how he’d learned her last name. Mind reading was the explanation she preferred, as she hated the notion that such a companion would take any interest in anything outside the immediate wants and needs of his vampire lover. Sara was certain that Rose, a contented, complacent, retiring, and decidedly old-school strigoi, wouldn’t be bothered with anything so déclassé as learning the names of another vampire’s slaves. Sara didn’t like the idea of a companion taking initiative of any sort. Rather, Olympias wouldn’t like the idea; she didn’t like the idea of anything that might make her job more complicated than it already was.
Making my life more complicated, that is. Sara tried not to think that thought, not in this room full of psychics far stronger than herself, but the bitter words flitted through her mind before she could stop them. Chances were good that neither of the companions noticed. She was only a slave.
Bentencourt took the seat opposite Sara and turned his intense scrutiny on her once more. “Do we
Learning to Kill: Stories