"Well?" I asked Ben. "Ready for this?"

He shrugged. "It's your show."

"Remember, she's a vampire. Totally creepy. Don't let her seduce you."

"Hey," he said, indignant, and I knocked.

"Come in," said Mercedes Cook in her rich mezzo.

I opened the door inward. As I did, the stunning redhead seated at a long, brightly lit makeup table turned to me. She'd put a black silk robe over her gown. Her face was perfectly made-up, if thickly for the benefit of the stage. Cosmetics masked the usual pale vampire complexion. She looked alive, more so than any vampire I'd ever met. And her image showed in the mirror, perfectly clear.

Vases of flowers covered the table and spilled onto the floor nearby, giving the room a tropical, heady atmosphere.

"You must be Kitty Norville," she said.

I offered my hand to shake, and she did, smiling indulgently. Her grip was cool. I gestured over my shoulder. "This is my friend, Ben."

"Great show, Ms. Cook," Ben said diplomatically. He stayed a step behind me, ready to let me make my own mess.

"Thank you very much," she said, flashing a brilliant smile. "Please, come in, have a seat. I think there are a couple of extra chairs here." We found the chairs, and I scooted mine close to her, like we were a couple of old friends.

I rarely had a chance to prep for an interview like this, meeting the subject beforehand and getting a feel for how they'll respond to my questions. In moments, Mercedes put me at ease. Already I could feel that she was going to give a great interview.

"Thanks so much for the tickets. We had a great time."

"I'm glad. I had a good audience tonight, but I always wonder. Maybe they're just being polite."

Friendly, endearing—she didn't even talk like a vampire. Maybe she was young—for a vampire—and hadn't yet acquired the arrogance of centuries. I started to ask, then thought I should save it for tomorrow's interview.

"If you're up for taking calls during the interview tomorrow, you'll get to ask your fans directly."

"I'm looking forward to it. I've done lots of interviews, but never anything like this." That smile glittered. Not a hint of fang showed. She genuinely seemed happy about the interview. "I want to thank you for giving me this chance. Once I decided to tell the world what I am, I had to decide how to do it. Being on your show seemed like such a fun alternative to a stuffy press conference."

I was sought after. My show had credibility. I could have burst with pride.

I tried to stay grounded. "Going public will change everything. No one will ever look at you the same. This could end your career."

"Or raise it to an entirely new level. Going public certainly hasn't hurt your career."

"I can't argue with that. But most of the time I feel like I'm madly treading water just to keep from going under."

She laughed, a musical sound—of course. "Oh, that doesn't have anything to do with being a werewolf. That's life."

She had a point. I just smiled. "I won't be offended if you decide to back out of the interview."

“Don't worry, Kitty. I'm not exactly an innocent young thing in this business. It's my choice to go public, and I know what I'm doing."

These kinds of interviews involved a bit of give and take. We were both after publicity, but ideally we wouldn't sound self-serving. We wanted to be entertaining. I wanted the whole thing to sound like a pleasant conversation. And at the same time I wanted to get as much information as I possibly could.

My smile turned sly. "Just how 'not young' are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Why is that the first thing anyone wants to know about you when they find out you're a vampire?" Her gaze became hooded, her smile mysterious.

Ah well, it was worth a try. "Morbid curiosity, I think. Can I ask if you belong to a Family? Do you have a Master or someone you had to argue with about this?"

"No Family. I'm the Master of my own little world. I like it that way."

"Amen," I said. "I figure in the interview we'll get the big news out of the way, I'll ask a few questions, then open the lines for calls. Sound good?"

"Fabulous."

“Then I'll see you at the station at eleven tomorrow night. You have my number? You'll call me if you need anything?"

"I'll be fine, thank you," she said, another laugh hiding in her voice. "Thanks again for agreeing to do this."

"My pleasure."

We shook hands, she and Ben smiled at each other, and we made our way out of the theater. I was almost skipping, I felt so good.

I chatted at Ben. "This is going to be great. She's so cool, she so doesn't act like a vampire. Most of them are total snobs, and I was thinking snob and Broadway star to boot, she'll be terrible. But she was totally decent. My audience’ll love her."

An amused smile touched Ben's lips. "Maybe it's because she's been passing as human. She's like you—you spend enough time acting human, you seem more human."

"Hmm. You may have something there." I mentally wrote it down for the interview tomorrow. I could use it to launch a whole discussion. Oh, I was so looking forward to this.

"It's nice to finally see you in a good mood," Ben said.

I was in a good mood, wasn't I? Grinning, I hugged his arm. "How long do you suppose I can make it last?"

"You'll have to find a way to stay distracted, so you're not worrying about anything."

Even mentioning worries darkened the edges of my thoughts. Stay distracted. Just like he said. I pulled his arm over my shoulders and pressed myself close, so we walked body to body. "And how do you suggest I do that?"

He stopped and cupped my face to kiss me, a long, sensual caress of lips, filled with heat and longing. My scalp flushed and my toes curled.

I pulled back and smiled. "That's a start," I said.

We went straight home, and Ben made sure I stayed distracted for a good long time.

Another Friday night arrived, right on schedule.

I sent one of the interns—one who loved show tunes and would be awed by her presence—to the KNOB lobby to wait for Mercedes Cook and escort her to the studio.

Ten minutes ahead of schedule, Mercedes swept into the studio, gracious and scintillating. I was heartened that it didn't seem to be an act. Maybe she was like this all the time. She wore a black camisole, matching cardigan, and a long, sweeping skirt with sandals—comfortable and perfect for summer, while still managing to display the height of fashion and panache. Her hair was tied back in a bun, and beaded earrings dangled from her ears. I'd never possess that much flair if I lived a thousand years.