"Nice digs," Mag said, when they were inside Antton's home. The house was large, set on an acre-and-a-half of forested land in the foothills outside the city. The furnishings in the living room were modern but more of the comfortable sort rather than lots of steel-framed leather and glass. One big bay window overlooked the rambling front yard while a second one gave a marvelous view of the mountains behind the house.
"Do you run a lot out there?" Brand asked.
Antton nodded. "In both forms, actually. Speaking of which, I think it's time for you to have a real lesson on shifting. That you managed to do it the first time without any help is impressive but as you said, it was also painful." He turned to Mag. "Do you want to join us?"
"Umm, if it's going to hurt him then no. I'm not certain I could just stand by and watch."
"Very well. We'll be back in half an hour or so. Feel free to look around."
After they left, Mag took Antton at his word and explored the rest of the house. The ground floor consisted of the living room, a dining room with a long table that could easily seat ten people, a very well appointed kitchen and, much to his surprise, a large media room with a huge TV, two gaming systems, and a computer that would put most people's to shame.
Upstairs there were four large bedrooms, all with king-sized beds, dressers, walk-in closets, and en-suite bathrooms. It was obvious which one was Antton's, because it had the best view of the mountains, with a small table and two comfortable chairs in front of the window.
As he walked back downstairs, feeling duly impressed with what he'd seen, he thought he heard a noise from the living room. He hurried the last few steps, wanting to find out how Brand's lesson had gone, and froze when he got to the arch leading from the hallway into the room. A very tall man with shoulder length blond hair was standing in front of the fieldstone fireplace, staring at the painting above it.
Mag backed away as quietly as he could, praying the man hadn't heard him approach.
There was a low chuckle then the man said, "I'm safe enough. You can come in. I'm Randulf, a friend of Antton's."
Mag remained where he was, studying the man. Finally he came closer. "You're not Fedor. The nose is wrong."
Randulf tilted his head. "Just what's wrong with my nose?"
"Nothing… nothing…" Mag stuttered, looking up at him. Randulf towered over him, a good five inches taller than Mag's six-one. "It's a very nice nose and it's not like Dante's."
Randulf roared with laughter. "Good gods, I hope not."
"Now what's wrong with my nose?" A second man appeared suddenly at the far end of the room. He wasn't nearly as tall as Randulf. His hair was deep auburn and so long that even tied back, it hit well below his shoulder blades.
Mag gulped. "Who… Who are you?"
The man bowed. "Dante, but not Alighieri. He's long dead. Of course, technically, so am I."
"You're a vampire? Well, duh. I guess that's a given," Mag said, beginning to relax slightly.
"I am, whereas Randulf there is a werewolf." Dante turned to Randulf. "Where are the others?"
"On their way still, I presume. Ulrik was in Germany last I heard. I have no clue about Vesper."
"Vesper is in the house."
The three men all swung toward the sound of the deep voice. A man stood in the darkened doorway between the living and media rooms. "Would someone mind closing the drapes? I'm not as old as Dante, so the sunlight is a bit bothersome."
Mag walked swiftly across the room to do as he asked, closing the drapes over both windows.
"Thank you, young man," Vesper said, finally coming into the room. He was probably six-foot with raven-black hair cut short and well styled. "I'm, as you probably gathered, Vesper—and a vampire. You are?"
"Mag. Magnus Larsson."
"Scandinavian?"
"Way back when. Swedish actually, on my father's side."
"Then you and Ulrik should get along famously. He's Swedish too. Has been for—" Vesper glanced at Randulf, "—two hundred years?"
"Give or take."
"Two hundred and eight, I believe," Antton said, as he and Brand joined them.
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