Chapter 51

~~Eric~~

“How the fuck did no cops follow us?” Eric said. Beatrice had to stop driving and let him take the wheel, before the dumb woman ended up getting them all killed. “I mean you nearly hit a hundred pedestrians, and I’m pretty sure you killed a dog.”

“I did not kill a dog, Eric. I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t shut up.”

“ ... I’m pretty sure you—”

“I didn’t hit any fucking dog!” She smiled as she said it, or, yelled it. For some reason, it seemed like she was enjoying this, both the life-or-death scenario, but also the bickering.

“We really going to Rich Side?”

“Yeap, my boyfriend lives here.”

“ ... your boyfriend lives in Rich Side.”

“Yeap.”

“You got piercings coming out of twenty different holes in your body, and you got tattoos covering probably half of you. How did you bag a rich guy?”

He expected her to punch him. He’d have deserved it too. Bitter, just so damn fucking bitter whenever the topic came to money, and women, and it went full on acidic when it was the two combined. He didn’t need a fucking therapist to tell him that. Part of the reason he told Ganders he didn’t want to the job was cause he knew what would happen if conversations ever steered in this direction. Didn’t know how to shut the fuck up.

But crocodile face laughed, and winked her snake eye at him. “He bagged me, you fucker. Now hurry up.”

Bagged her. Rich guy bagged the punk rocker girl. Sounded like something out of a trash romance novel, and considering the smile on her face, it may very well have been a happily ever after ending that would have made Eric puke. But circumstances being what they were, a giant shit show of blood and insanity, he let it slide.

She guided him up to one of the bigger mansions topping one of the smooth hills. He almost suggested she was lying, but she hopped out, pulled Jack out of the backseat into her arms, and started toward the mansion like she knew the place, like she knew the long walkways up to the huge doors, like she knew the guy who owned it like he was her lover.

Well, damn.

“Should I—”

“Come on, you’re helping me, in case I need some extra hands. And besides, I have to keep an eye on you. You know you’re the only human in the city who knows about us who isn’t on a leash?”

“A leash?”

“Brainwashed, dude. You really need to watch some vampire movies.” She adjusted the kid in her arms as they walked. A lifeless corpse. She said it was torpor, some kind of deep sleep for vamps, and the lack of heartbeat or breathing was perfectly normal. And it was, considering she wasn’t doing them either.

“That mean I can use garlic or a holy cross to—”

“Ahaha! Oh fuck no, oh my god please don’t. If you tried to fight off a vamp with garlic, they’d shove that shit down your throat. With a cross? Well, they’d probably stab you to death with it.”

“ ... lovely.”

“But, hey, Fiona’s a good friend to me and a bunch of the vamps down here in the trenches, Natasha and Jack and Damien, and apparently even that slut Jessy. You did her a solid, so I’ll do you one.” She stopped at the door, and knocked.

Thirty seconds later, it opened, and a man in a suit offered a small bow. “Madam Damor. I—oh my, is that the young Master Terry?”

“Yeah Alfred, it is. Julias’s gonna let him use the basement tonight, already unlocked the shit remotely.”

“Very good Madam. And is this a new member of the fold?” The dude nodded toward Eric. Pretty lame of Triss to call him Alfred; guy wasn’t even old. He didn’t seem to mind though, and he stepped aside to let them in.

He seemed kind of creepy too, and it only got worse as Eric stepped into the mansion. A few more people came by to see who had showed up, and they all had the same sort of subtle smile, the smile a person had when they were happy. Brainwashed? Brainwashed.

Eric couldn’t help but whistle. God damn this was a nice mansion, a classic mansion, the sort of mansion rich people had a couple hundred years ago, except now with air conditioning and LED lights instead of shitty old bulbs. LED lights in chandeliers, what a delightful statement of the sort of place Dolareido could be: classic meets modern; also more commonly known as: pretentious as all fuck.

“Come on.” Triss adjusted Jack in her arms, and continued down the hall, past the ‘humans’, and around a corner to find a door, that led to a hallway, that led to a stairway, that led down, and down, and down.

“Want me to ho ... no, I suppose you don’t really need me to hold him, do you?”

“Fucking course not. Christ man, I’m strong enough I could rip you in half and I mean that literally.” She looked over her shoulder at him, and laughed. Not angry then, just boasting about how badass she was. Reminded him of that Jessy vampire, sort of, in a way.

“I guess, yeah. I ... yeah.” Yeah, he was walking down the stairs of a mansion, with two vampires. The mansion was filled with brainwashed servants, or assistants, or whatever it was called when someone was both a housekeeper, and a slave. They seemed happy, but did it count if it was brainwashing happy? “So who lives here?”

“Not sure what name he uses for records and shit, but we know him as Julias Mire.”

“Doesn’t ring a ... a...” Shit. He stuck out a hand to catch the hallway wall, and breathed deep. Stars speckled his vision, warning him that his blood pressure was low. Well, no fucking duh, he’d given a bucket of it to the kid in Triss’s arms.

Kid looked better, at least. Instead of looking like roadkill after a few crows had had their turns with it, now he just looked like fresh roadkill. All things considered, that was a pretty miraculous recovery. He still had no hands, but there were some weird lumps where the blood, flesh, and skin was at his wrists, like bone was trying to get out. Gross.

“Don’t pass out on me. Or I’ll lock you up in the dungeon until Julias can deal with you.”

“Dungeon, yeah ri—there’s a dungeon, isn’t there.”

“Yeap. Viktor, Julias’s sire, used to own this place. Sick fuck, powerful as hell, did some nasty crap, tortured people, shit like that. He was this kid’s grandsire.”

“You’re telling me an awful lot about your secret vamp society.”

“Nothing that’s dangerous, nothing you can use to prove we exist or somehow attack us. The fuck do you take me for?”

“A loud mouth punk.”

Again she laughed, and the two of them stepped into a tunnel. More tunnels, god damn it not more tunnels. At least these were well lit, with flat walls instead of the curved walls of the old abandoned tunnels. There were half a dozen gates, each that looked ready to kill him if he said the wrong password. But they were open, and Triss walked through them without fear.

“Ah, this is a nice bed. Was fucking Julias on it when we learned Jack here had disappeared. Hope he doesn’t mind.”

Imagining crocodile face having sex was a weird image. She had a killer body, the sort you’d find on a fitness model advertising her dance routine. Muscles, but no steroid abuse, lean and ripped but without hitting the point of amenorrhea. Probably could be one of those new internet ass girl sensations, putting pictures of herself in a thong online and letting the money roll in, if not for the claws and crazy eye and the teeth. And the weird, long tongue he got a glimpse of too.

He looked around the room. A rich man’s underground bunker, with a huge fancy bed, four poster, with big wardrobes on the wall, and a laptop.

“No bathrooms?” he said.

Dumb question, and she looked at him with a raised brow before laughing.

“Vampires don’t shit or piss, man. We’re dead. We drink blood and sleep during the day.”

“Right, right...” He leaned against the wall, and looked around some more at the indulgent decor while the woman put her friend on the bed. “He safe here?”

“We just need to close the gates behind us as we leave, and it’ll lock down until someone either undoes the locks remotely, or at the digital padlocks at each gate.”

“Sounds high tech. Not worried about a hacker trying to get in here while you sleep?”

“It’s also got some giant-as-fuck locks that you lock from the inside, big metal bars and padlocks and shit, old school. If we were staying in the room, I’d get those too, but Jack should be safe with the high tech shit until Julias returns.”

“ ... that is pretty damn secure. Next you’re going to tell me you sleep inside unbreakable coffins that are locked from the inside.”

“I don’t. Pretty sure my boss does, wherever he sleeps.” She set the kid down gently, and pat his head a few times. “God damn this kid, constantly getting into shit. Poor guy can’t go five feet without vamps or monsters or werewolves — or hunters apparently — fucking up his day.”

“ ... werewolves exist?”

“Oh yeah. You think vamps are strong?” She shivered, rubbed her arms, and motioned for him to join her as they left the kid in the bunker. “You saw the shit Fiona and Athalia were doing in that nightmare world. Imagine a ten-foot-tall wolf beast capable of doing that, being that strong, except out here in the rea—physical world. Fucking juggernauts.”

Werewolves. Werewolves. He started breathing faster, and his eyes went wide as he watched the girl’s back and followed her. Werewolves. Wolves. Shit, who had Fiona mentioned?

“ ... Fiona said something about a woman named Avery.”

“Yeah, pack leader of the werewolves here in Dolareido. Why’d Fiona bring her up?”

Shit shit shit. Quick, think fast.

“She asked if I’d seen her, said she might be looking for Jack too.” Fuck. Fuck fuck.

“Ah, yeah, she might be.”

Shit. Fucking shit fuck. Avery was a pack leader. Pack, leader, of werewolves. Wolves. Oh god, oh christ, fucking hell.

The moon, its voice ... her voice. The taste of blood, of flesh in his mouth. The dreams, running around at night, hunting something. The hunt, the need to hunt, to defend his territory, to scout and smell and feed. He wanted to sink his teeth into something and tear it apart. He wanted to hunt.

Oh mother fucking hell. Every part of him wanted to faint, faceplant right there in the scary hallway underneath the vampire’s mansion; the low blood pressure didn’t help. But he held his weight up, hand to the wall, and forced himself to walk after the scary vampire lady.

“Still lightheaded?”

“Y-Yeah ... definitely ... need to get back home, rest, eat and drink, feed my cat, and call my boss.”

“Ah right, Bloodlust. Just tell your boss you were doing a favor for the Invictus and everything will be fine.”

“ ... Ganders works for the Invictus?”

“Eh the Bloodlust situation is a little weird. But for conversation’s sake, yeah, he does.”

“The fuck kind of world did I get pulled into?”

The two of them walked back up the stairs and back into the hallways of the huge mansion. Triss walked its massive corridors like she knew it inside and out; very much at odds with her punk rocker aesthetic.

“In here, come on.” She pulled open a door, and walked through. It was some sort of meeting room, or living room, or tea room. It was some kind of big waste of money, a room that obviously served no purpose other than to be fancy and entertain guests while they sipped expensive drinks and talked politics or stocks. He felt annoyed just being in it.

He sat down in a chair at one of the tables, and she sat down across from him, a strange expression on her he couldn’t place. Scrutinizing him was his best guess.

He could tell her, tell her he might be a werewolf, tell her about the dreams, tell her ... tell her nothing. You have no proof, no idea if it’s true. Just shut the fuck up and don’t say shit.

“You’ve stumbled onto a big secret here, Eric.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“It’s a vampire’s city, and I mean that. Vampires own this city, we run it. The Invictus in particular own and run it like a well oiled machine, all money money money, but they bow to the Prince, the ruler, who’s from a different covenant, not Invictus. And Jack? Jack’s the woman’s lover.”

“Prince? Woman?”

“It’s a weird title, genderless.”

“ ... right.” He set his elbows on the table, and clutched his temples in his palms. “So I’m in deep with the mafia now.”

“Well, I mean other than you owing Jessy a favor, the Prince and the Invictus now owe you a favor ... though I wouldn’t push them on that. They won’t kill you or turn you into a thrall, and you should consider that the favor returned.”

“Guess I should be thankful then.”

“Very. Though a lot of thralls are pretty happy with their setup. Not gonna lie, Dolareido is probably the nicest vamp city in this country, Eric. You got lucky.”

Lucky, yeah, real fucking lucky.

“I ran someone over. Might have ... killed her.” And that was going to make a lovely addition to his nightly nightmares about hunting, this woman’s face the moment the car hit her. Maybe she’d show up as a ghost in his next nightmare, and scare him to death.

“Heh, yeah, she went flying. Surprised that bitch didn’t crack her head open on the hood of the car.”

God damn this woman was callous. She shrugged at him, tapped a claw against her teeth, and waited for his response. This conversation was important; fuck it up and she’d drag him back to the other vamps for a thorough brainwashing. Or, let her know he was thinking he might be a fucking werewolf, and who the fuck knows what would happen.

“You’re being awfully informative.”

“I saw a random human keep it together and help out both a friend of mine, and a vamp with crazy teeth.”

“And a crazy eye.”

“Ha, this?” She pulled down on the normal eye’s cheek, and leaned in a little so he could see it more clearly. “Blood magic made this shit. It’ll probably melt away or something in a few hours and I’ll have to regrow my normal eye.”

“ ... oh.” The snake eye was the normal eye. Well. Fuck him. “So ... what do I do now?”

“Not exactly sure. I can’t let you just walk out on the honor system. My boss would kill me, or the Prince would.”

“But you said—”

“Yeah yeah, I’m not going to kill you, but I do need to get you under surveillance. I don’t know where my boss is right now, and I can’t take you back to our lair. Guess that means we’re going to Elysium, after I give Superman a call and throw him a quick update.”

~~Antoinette~~

Jack was alive.

She sat in her chair in her main office, and smiled. The Invictus were on the site of the violence, and were cleaning up the mess as per her rules as to how Masquerade risks were to be managed. Some of her thralls were there as well, mostly to observe and ensure the Invictus were doing things correctly. No doubt they thought their methods perfect, and they were methodical, but still, she had cause to make sure they did things correctly.

The video feed of three thralls showed the cleanup, and one of the thralls was standing shoulder to shoulder with the Invictus Kindred, to let them know of her presence. They were all friends after all, cooperative, the covenants in Dolareido. They had no reason to deceive her.

She smirked. Of course they did. If presented the opportunity, the Invictus or Carthians would take her head and then her city, and that was the spice in their relationship.

“How was he?” she said into the speaker on her desk.

“Well, Triss says it’s pretty damn surprising he’s still alive. Said he looked like you did after Lucas’s assault on your tower.” Julias’s voice.

That was hard to imagine. Such damage would kill most Kindred twice over, and to picture Jack with such horrible wounds made her withered heart ache.

“Does he need blood?”

“Triss got him a meal. He’ll need to sleep for a few days, and I’ll make sure he gets some more blood. He’s still young; regrowing his hands will take time.”

She squeezed on the arms of her grand chair, and grit her teeth as she imagined the sight of her poor little Ventrue with his hands chopped off. Such brutal, vivid imagery, one she was quite familiar with from a different age. But to imagine her love, torn, shredded, with hands removed and bones exposed, was too much, and she wanted to tell Julias that his childe should be with her, being cared for by her.

But that would be overstepping her boundaries. As Prince, she had no true boundaries, but it was to the respect of both Julias and the Invictus that they manage their Kindred’s condition, and ensure his recovery. Politics.

“Yes ... I imagine it will. I trust you will instruct the boy to come to me once he has healed?”

The man made a small, warm chuckle. Julias was a delight when he wanted to be, when he put aside his new position as council member of the Invictus, and returned to his playful ways.

“I will, Prince. And I know it’ll be the first thing he’ll want to do when he can.”

She nodded, smiled at the speaker, and pulled her hair over her shoulder to begin combing it with her fingers. “I trust the Invictus are pursuing these hunters with every resource they have available?” A subtle nudge to remind him that the Invictus were ultimately under her control, here in Dolareido.

“Yes Prince. We ... we fucked up pretty bad. We knew of the four hunters from investigating Barry’s death, but we didn’t know anything about this Jeremiah bastard until Triss brought it up today.”

Ah yes, the man with a name. The taint on her city.

“I will bring this up in the next meeting of the Primogen, Mister Mire. We can discuss the specifics then.”

“I see. Fair well then, Prince.”

She pressed the button to hang up, sighed, and eased her chair about until it was facing the window, and Jacob.

“Jeremiah,” she said. “I did not expect the man to come to this city.”

“You knew his name?” the old monster said.

“A human who has hunted monsters for many decades, but I know none of the specifics.” Trusting Jacob with such information was dangerous, but this problem was bigger than their squabbles, as Jacob proved when he came to her only an hour ago to share what he learned of his meeting with Azamel; or rather, what he was willing to share of it. “I did not suspect the man to come here, quiet as Dolareido is.”

“He wouldn’t have if not for that old bitch.”

She nodded, and sighed as she combined in her mind the joy of Jack’s safety, with the frustrating circumstances that continued to assault her city. Jack had been kidnapped, and not far from where the Invictus had had their ball as well. Was he betrayed? Her sources said the boy had gone to speak with Damien before his capture, but for all the possible reasons Damien might have to betray Jack, she doubted he would. Not for fear of death at her hand, but because the man was not Lucas. Maria, on the other hand, might have orchestrated his death, and adjusted events to make Damien seem the guilty party. But did Maria even know that the boy was the one who had killed Lucas, and would she respond to the knowledge by plotting the boy’s death if she did? Too many unknowns.

The old man headed for the door, and offered her a casual salute as he left. “I’m off. Glad your boy toy is still kicking.”

Boy toy. She smirked at the man, and offered a small wave. His meaningless barbs were just that, meaningless, and if anything, his insults were his way of showing approval. A typical man. The thought made her laugh; Jacob being typical was a pleasant surprise, and one that made her happy. So long ago, the two of them had been friends, of a sort, and perhaps that day could come again.

Alone once more, she let her mind drift to Jack. Daniel was headed toward the old prison, where he could put his mastery of auspex to use to perhaps find where this Jeremiah fool was hiding. How ridiculous, a human hiding in her city, and yet, how very problematic. Kindred, Uratha, and Begotten she could hunt down, use her tools and her sheriff to track down the strange tracks they often left. There were others too, other entities that either hid in the darkness, or in plain sight, such as the Prometheans, the Changelings, or the infernal Mages who forever reaped only chaos for their efforts. She was confident none of these were in her city.

But humans were a more difficult enemy to manage. How does one find and expunge a kine, hidden within the millions of her city?

She sighed, and grit her teeth. On top of all this, Clara’s words still echoed in her mind. Someone else was tampering with the realm of spirits, according to her, and it had the werewolf concerned. If it concerned Avery, then it concerned Antoinette.

A new mission for Daniel.

“Beatrice Damor, and ... Eric, was it?”

“Eric Tanverson,” he said, nodding. An elbow from Triss in the side was enough to get the man to bow in a similar manner to the Nosferatu.

“I must thank the both of you. If not for your interference, my beloved would be dead.” She waited, to see if either of them would speak, or if they understood that it was best for them to be quiet. Eric opened his mouth, but he caught on quickly, and closed it as she smirked, and stood up. “Miss Damor, I understand that you not only rescued Mister Terry from hunters, but that you went into the realm of the Begotten.”

“Yes, my Prince,” she said. Oh, delightful, that she was learning to play the game, titles and all. “Pretty terrifying shit, nightmare realms. Saw a huge cave, and a giant jungle with two moons. The scariest shit though was that Jeremiah person. Man knew what he was doing. Him and his hunters had special knives that seemed pretty weird, oddly dangerous somehow. And they were really good with their pistols, and Jeremiah himself had grenades coming out of his ass, and—”

Antoinette held up a hand, and nodded. “Hunters are forever experts at the tools of their trade, young Nosferatu. And to our chagrin, their tools have grown impressive the past couple centuries. Where once our largest worries were torches and swords, now we deal with rifles, flamethrowers, grenades as you mentioned, and worst of all, digital communication. In the past, for news to spread between hunters took weeks, or months, and through word of mouth, misinformation was common. Now, if one of these hunters manages to capture a picture of something important, they can share it with their associates anywhere in the world in the blink of an eye. Now, more than ever, we have to be careful.”

“I uh ... maybe I shouldn’t have driven in there with a car then,” she said.

“Perhaps. No doubt the hunters are now educated to your presence and visage, but for the moment, my concern is more so about the revelations you have made to this man.” She gestured toward Eric. Like Beatrice, he was a mess, but unlike Beatrice, he was alive. Flesh, a man, who smelled of blood and the mud of a jungle. A strange odor, to be sure. “I understand that Fiona accidentally brought this man into the fold. Is that true, Mister Tanverson?”

“Er, yeah.” He squirmed. There was something to this Eric Tanverson, something odd, something she could not quite place her finger on. “She was looking for Jack, thought I might have seen him, since I work at Bloodlust. But she mentioned four people, and I had seen those. We managed to follow them, and ... everything ... went to hell.”

Sunrise was in an hour. It had been a long night for everyone involved, but perhaps no one was suffering the stress of tonight as much as this poor fool. Eric Tanverson, an attractive man, black, with a shaved head and face, and some grit to his dark brown eyes. Ganders no doubt hired him due to the sexual allure of his hard personality, the brooding, dark, handsome motif. The total opposite of Fiona.

Such a strange girl. First Damien and now this Tanverson. The girl was too young to understand these bitter fools were sexually appealing, but emotionally damaged, and often incapable of maturing past the point of that damage. She would learn some day, no doubt, about why a girl flirts with a bad boy, but does not bring him home.

“But, um,” Beatrice said, “I am worried about them, or Fiona at least. That Jeremiah fuck was ... he wasn’t normal, my Prince. Didn’t feel normal at all.”

“The hunters have fled the abandoned prison, but I suspect you are right to fear this Jeremiah. I will direct my concerns to him, and see that Daniel’s eyes are kept open for this man.” She stepped around the desk, and began to pace to and fro in front of it, with the two visitors waiting on her word. It was clear to see that Eric was surprised by her; the white hair and red eyes were no doubt the cause, as well as her height. But the man adapted, and she smirked as he stood up straighter. “Have either of you spoken with the Begotten since the encounter with Jeremiah?”

“Um, no, my Prince,” the Nosferatu said. “But, she’s friends with a lot of us. And on our way out, Azamel said Jeremiah’s intrusion was probably just him testing the waters of the lair. He wouldn’t be able to get anywhere from his ... uh, position in the lair? Whatever that meant. She was sure he’d run when Mark arrived.”

Antoinette sighed, a disappointed sigh, and emphasized the sound a little to let Beatrice know she was not happy about the lack of information. And Jacob probably would not be either. It had been a prime opportunity for the girl to learn something about this human named Jeremiah, and instead she had rushed toward her goal. Her goal to save Jack though; thus, Antoinette could only summon so much annoyance.

“And now we have you, Eric Tanverson, a human, who knows of us. A Masquerade violation on Fiona’s part. It—”

“It wasn’t a violation. Shit went to hell and the only way I could save her life was by getting her back to her nightmare world lair thing, or whatever. She—”

Antoinette sprinted into the man’s personal space, appeared there in but a fraction of a second, a window of time the man did not have the reflexes to react to, before she set her hand around his throat. She squeezed it as she glared down at him, cut through his eyes with her own, and forced the man to his knees as he reached up to grab her wrists. The need to breathe was a terrible weakness to have.

“Do not interrupt me, Eric Tanverson. In any other circumstance, I would either see you dead or a thrall at my whim. The only reason I spare you is because your interference has ultimately led to my beloved’s second life being spared. You are in my world now, child. I rule this city, and you are but a tiny cog in its machinery. I am the Prince of its denizens of the night, and people like yourself are normally food. Expendable. Understood?”

The fool man managed a nod, despite how tight her grip was, and despite how she could see the asphyxiation start to manifest on him, with veins bulging and eyes growing wide. Fear. Good. Fear was a powerful teacher.

She let him go, and he fell to his knees, coughing. No room to be kind, no room to spare his feelings, as every month brought with it new hardships that required a firm hand. Her city was falling apart underneath her, and she would have to fix it.

“You will be watched, Eric. I have eyes everywhere. If you so much as even entertain the notion of exposing our kind, then you will join my dungeon as a food source. I will remove your hands and feet, tie you to a wall, drip an IV bag into your veins, and give your blood to hungry Kindred for months before I finally decide to simply stop replacing your source of nutrients. I will let you die of thirst, cold, and alone. Do I make myself clear?”

Her words earned a greater fear still, proper fear, the cold sword strike of fear to the heart, that lasted and carved into the soul. She did not enjoy the use of its power, unlike Jacob, unlike Nosferatu in general, but it was a valuable tool nonetheless. He stood up, nodded, and adopted the most rigid, military posture she imagined the man capable of with his apparently damaged knee.

“Yes ma’am.”

“My Prince, Mister Tanverson. I am your Prince.”

“ ... yes, my Prince.”

Again, something told her there was more to this man, but she could not understand what it was. Perhaps the thrall she would have shadow the man would answer the peculiarity, with time.

“Now that you understand how we do business, here in the heart of my city, you may rest easy, Mister Tanverson. You have done me a great service and I will be sure no Kindred or Begotten or Uratha harm you. Given time, you may find yourself to grow fond of the night life, and of the creatures that live within it.”

“ ... yes, my Prince.”

Utterly, deliciously perfect. The man was afraid of her, and a terrified being was one that could be crafted, molded, altered to fit the desired role. Lucky for Tanverson that she was a kind ruler.

“Since you work at Bloodlust, you will no doubt encounter creatures of the night on a regular basis. They will undoubtedly come to know you, and you will come to know them. And now with the threat of these hunters knowing your face, I will instruct the Invictus to keep an eye on Bloodlust, with a constant Kindred presence. It is in there territory, after all.”

Triss raised her hand up to her shoulder height, like a child trying to get attention without seeming too obvious. How quaint. Antoinette nodded in her direction to give her permission to speak.