18. Amber Hart, second reprise anew
The Grand Wyndham Hotel looms over the street, an austere art deco spike thrust into the heart of Manhattan, disdainful of the smooth modern artifice of glass and steel to either side of it. Buttresses, arches, even gargoyles adorn the stone edifice. It should look garish, like nouveau riche among old money, in a city like New York, but... but somehow it feels distinguished, like a man who has embraced the greying of his hair without attempts to conceal it. The Wyndham is honest. It presents itself proudly to the world, proclaiming that it is not like the city around it. Or perhaps that's just another layer of masks. Amber is no stranger to presenting herself as something, someone, she isn't, and doing it so masterfully the mask is too beautiful to want to pull aside.
When she enters, the same bald and dark-skinned man is standing behind the front desk. He makes eye contact with her from across the opulent lobby and flashes a smile of brilliant white as she approaches. The foyer of the Grand Wyndham Hotel is as opulent and beautiful as its exterior, pillars forming archways dividing sections from each other, forming natural sitting areas where wealthy patrons sit and read, talk quietly among themselves, or manage their lives on phones. It's hushed, but in the way of a cathedral, not a library.
Amber wears what she thinks of as her Secretary Outfit - suit without tie and pencil skirt, low heels and a folder of papers under one arm. It's a disguise, of sorts, hiding as a piece of scenery in the lives of the rich and powerful without claiming to put herself among them. Not A Threat. She heads straight for the receptionist, heels clicking on the marble floor.
The attention of the place seems to draw down and focus on Amber, the atmosphere becoming oppressive, as though the history in the stone was suddenly possessed of physical weight and pressure. But the feeling passes as quickly as it came on, replaced with an air of guarded approval. She avoids tripping over her heels at the weight of the building, but it's a near thing. She didn't feel any such pressure last time she arrived. The master of the place looking in on her, perhaps? Amber can't be sure if she imagined it all, but the hotel for just a moment felt... alive.
The receptionist nods to her politely, speaking in his slow, accented voice. "Miss Hart. The Wyndham welcomes you once again. I am given to understand you are not here today as a representative of Don Siveri?" If it's a test, it's a very straightforward one.
"Indeed. I'm here working on fulfilling one of his promises, but not as his representative," she nods agreement and adds some clarifying words. A straightforward test perhaps, but her own situation is anything but straightforward.
"Then, Miss Hart, I'm afraid I must quickly inform you of the Rules of The Wyndham." He smiles apologetically for the perceived waste of her time. "They are relatively simple. Firstly, no violence may be done on the grounds of the Wyndham Hotel by guests, except in self-defense against an aggressor. Violators are no longer guests of the Wyndham. Secondly, no mortal guests of the Wyndham Hotel may be fed upon except by permission of the Lord Wyndham. Violators are no longer guests of the Wyndham. Any deaths within the hotel are a personal affront to the Lord Wyndham, and incur a debt in addition to room costs. Finally, all prices are negotiable. Once agreed upon, they are final. Those who do not pay when it is due are no longer guests of the Wyndham." He recites the rules with the easy cadence of words carved on the chambers of his heart, and the solemnity of a monk reciting catechisms. "Do you understand the Rules, Miss Hart?"
"I understand," she agrees easily. Simple, straight to the point, and entirely reasonable as far as she's concerned. They're far more likely to protect her from an elder than they are hinder her actions. If Lord Wyndham is amenable to helping Amber speak with Dona Dominguez, she'll appreciate all the protection she can get.
"Splendid! Then I am to inform you that Lord Wyndham is waiting for you in the lounge on the 13th floor." He slides a keycard, solid black with a simple golden sigil on it, across the desk. "This will allow access. Please do not lose it." She doesn't recognize the precise symbol itself, but remembers a coat of arms similar to it from some history book or another she read in college. It looks like the crest of a Voivode, a rank of Slavic nobility in the middle ages.
"Thank you," she places the key card in a pocket and returns his smile with a polite one of her own. No more is required of her for politeness in this interaction, and she doesn't give it. On the elevator and up to the 13th floor, she remains still as only one of the dead can. It's going to be on Theo to ask what he wants to know of her, nothing given away for free.
The sounds of a live band greet in the 13th floor lounge. They're not the main attraction though, rather a soft backdrop for the business conducted here. A bar stretches across the left wall with shelves of alcohol you could sell to afford a payment on a car, and Amber's keen instincts pick up on at least three wine bottles among those shelves filled with human blood. The atmosphere is hushed but not subdued, with a low hubbub of conversation freely broken by laughter now and then. Waiters and waitresses walk among the tables and booths, carrying drinks. Every surface here oozes class and wealth. The dark, polished wood, the low lighting, the immaculate shine of the brass fixtures, even the light tang of cigar smoke in the air, all combine to throw up a wall of sheer taste that would send a lesser woman scurrying away.
Amber, fortunately, is not a lesser woman. She's a vampire, as are several other people here. Meaningful glances flick across the room, eyes meeting with a quiet shared understanding, attention resting on her with guarded curiosity. She's not here to make a splash, not this time. Amber returns the glances of the other vampires in the room, eyes flicking to each of them as they note her entrance and she notes their presence. Secretary outfit. Not hiding that she's a fellow predator, but establishing that she's not clawing for position tonight. No one rises to intercept her from their individual fiefdoms of mortals as she crosses the room.
Sitting alone in a booth, Lord Theo Wyndham is dressed for the evening in a silk shirt with two buttons undone to show just the right amount of his chest without seeming to deliberately show off, and a jacket casually thrown across his frame. His hair is so perfectly mussed it must have taken a professional stylist ten minutes to create the exact aura of casual elegance on display, and his green eyes - weren't they brown last time? - alight on Amber with the rest of the undead. He tips a wine glass filled with dark liquid in her direction. A salute and an invitation to approach.
With a polite nod to the master of the house, she heads in his direction. Does bottled blood still... work right? She's not sure, now that she thinks of it. Hopefully. The thought of drinking it simply for the iron taste, rather than the rush of life force and emotions and power it contains, isn't one she particularly cares for. "Thank you for seeing me," she gives him a dip of the head as she gets close enough. "I can't say I've ever seen anything quite like it," she looks around the room curiously, giving him something to work with if he doesn't already have his own plans for the conversation.
"The Wyndham is unique. She was built by my... let's call her my Second Mother, Lady Hypatia Wyndham. Even after renovations to keep with the times, she keeps many secrets. The 13th Floor is set aside for... distinguished guests." He nods generously to Amber. "Guests with exacting requirements." He takes a sip from his glass, and Amber can smell the fresh blood. "Can I offer you a drink, Miss Hart?"
"Yes please," she takes a seat, curious to try some of the 'liquor' for herself. "I try not to be too exacting myself. The larger your expectations grow, the more effort you have to spend seeing them met."
Lord Wyndham smiles, chuckling. "You know, I asked Don Siveri about you, after our introduction. Among other things, he described you as, 'possessed of wit with both sharpness and adaptability.'" He lifts a hand and almost instantly a waiter is at Amber's elbow, presenting her with a glass of... something. It smells like human blood, yes, but something else... it takes her a moment to realize she's smelling wine. And not in the dry, uninterested way that her vampiric senses register it, simply empty liquid. It smells sweet. Appetizing, for the first time since she breathed her last.
"Don Siveri is a flatterer, among other things," she says with an inward turned smile. Would Lord Wyndham keep her secret? Perhaps. Is she willing to share it? Not in the slightest. And so she takes the easy road, of giving in to the whispers and acting the love-struck servant. She takes a sip of the blood-wine, hiding deeper emotions.
The rush of the blood is muted by distance from the veins of its donor, but still present. It provides a surge of pleasant, tingling warmth through her body, the warm afterglow of a lover's kiss, compared to the ecstatic act of drinking it fresh. And the wine - god, it tastes right. The blood distorts it a little, but not in a bad way. This particular vintage is very fine, and the sweetness of the grape must have been bred specifically to be accompanied by human blood. Just tasting wine again sends a little frisson of pleasure down Amber's spine. Wyndham watches her drink with his expressive eyes, smiling a little in what Amber is startled to realize might be a moment of shared genuine human warmth at her. "How do you like the vintage? My vintner charges an arm and a leg, but I find I can't argue with the results."
"Nor I." She looks for a way to ask if there are cheaper varieties without sounding, well, cheap, and gives up on the idea. "Probably easier to mix the blood with the alcohol than my usual attempts to mix the alcohol with the blood," she ends up with. You have to get mortals really wasted before you can taste the alcohol in them, she remembers with a fond smile at the attempt. This seems more pleasant.
"Oh no, not at all." Wyndham shakes his head. "You can't just take the two and add them together. The grapes have to be grown in... certain ways." He takes another sip, meeting Amber's eyes over the rim of his glass. "I wouldn't hire a vintner if I could get away with a bartender." He says to soften the blow.
Oh. Oh. Not something she'll be pursuing, then. "Sensible. I was hoping you could put me in touch with the Dona," Amber changes the subject towards business. She'll drink the rest of the glass more easily if she doesn't have to think about exactly what went into making it. "I have some updates to provide her, and some questions before I proceed."
"Of course. I'd be happy to arrange the meeting as well, if you'd prefer to use the Wyndham. That is what she's for, after all." He finishes the rest of his glass and sets it down delicately. "Don Siveri has a long history with my second mother, and one more favor done will hardly be noticeable on their ledger." He grins and leans back, looking over Amber thoughtfully. "Care to share what he has you doing for the Dona? Inquiring minds have been dying to know." He presses a hand to his own chest modestly, still with that megawatt smile that makes Amber want to like him despite herself.
"Looking into the legal side of one of her... business ventures. She wasn't expecting to be attacked from that direction, and it's one of my areas of expertise," she shrugs modestly with a tilt of her head, "so I'm trying to keep things a bit cleaner, less likely to attract attention than her usual solution." Delivering the severed heads of your business rivals to their bosses doorstep may be traditional, but Siveri's right - it's a terrible way to do business this century. Besides the ethical problems of murdering willy-nilly, though she's a bit more sympathetic to that outcome now that she's met Salazar's gang.
"Legal trouble?" He shakes his head sadly. "I suppose corporate law would confuse someone who was last active before the stock market was invented." Lord Wyndham leans forward a little, almost conspiratorially. "Between you and I, our Elders often find themselves in such messes because of these complexities, don't they? My second mother, though I love her dearly, couldn't understand the need for wi-fi in the hotel despite months of explanation."
"Not Siveri," she feels the need to point out. "He runs his company just as modern as can be. It's why we're well situated to help out the Dona," Amber nods. His words aren't wrong, just wrong about her regnant. "I suspect that's the way this is trending - we'll offer her a source of 'clean' money and legal backing in return for favors owed. I just need to check with her to make sure she's amenable before I bring a proposal to the table."
"Clean? Ah, the Dona is involved in something illegal." He chuckles. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, should I? She doesn't seem the type to respect laws among man or the dead." There's a moment of calculation, then his eyes clear. Lord Wyndham appraises Amber with a new respect. "I see. So these legal troubles must be coming from competition. A criminal organization would be able to handle something less motivated in specific on their own. I imagine chasing down these threads is becoming dangerous." He nods to Amber in seeming genuine acknowledgment.
"Quite," there's a touch of smugness in the word, and she takes another sip of the blood-wine, pleased with her own ability to - so far - handle dangerous people and situations cleanly. She's a bit surprised though, at the fact that the Dona's business is less than legal was news to him. Perhaps he knows less about the situation than she'd imagined, and the realization warns her against sharing any more secrets without a purpose in mind for leaking them. "I'd be just as happy to meet with her on her own turf, though thank you for the offer of neutral ground."
"You're very welcome." Theo considers Amber seriously, despite the nearly omnipresent small smile, and something about his attention makes her feel good. Respected, an equal, someone a part of his world and not a subordinate. It reminds her, for a dizzying moment, of Siveri, how he can pack so much meaning into a single glance or a quiet word. "It's always gratifying to see that my intuition was correct."
"Thank you for the wine. I look forward to meeting here more in the future," she returns the niceties. "Perhaps someday even some business of my own." with a genuine smile. It's a nice change of pace from her usual run-ins with fellow predators - no threats, no posturing. Pleasant even. She looks forward to seeing more of him.