The succubus (Bob, at least, seemed to think that the White Court had been behind a lot of those particular myths) approached from across the lobby. Hair so glossy black it was almost blue, gray eyes, and an almost indefinable sense of perfection to her features drew the attention. I was fortunate that her expensive-but-tasteful ensemble was designed to protect her skin from the chilly Scottish spring and worked equally against the gaze of teenaged wizards. Her allure was different than Maeve's. Sidhe magic marked them as impossible figures of beauty to be worshipped, while White Court enticement to go to your knees was for a different reason.
I'm saying that supernatural sex appeal is a hell of a thing.
Fortunately, months of resisting the sidhe princess' aura kept me from making a complete idiot of myself as she approached. Or maybe there had been truth to Bob's supposition—when I quizzed him further about the White Court—that being in love was the strongest defense against their powers. Regardless, other than a slight shift (that I hoped was subtle) to keep my pants fitting and a quick, reflexive visual scan as if I was trying to see through her warm clothing like I had Superman's x-ray vision, I thought I did okay.
Her knowing smirk said otherwise, but at least my girlfriend was probably similarly distracted by Thomas. Importantly, like me, Mathilda seemed to have more control than her sisters, who were still making noises unbecoming aspiring British matrons.
"Who are your friends, Thomas?" Lara asked, finishing her languid stride across the room. I felt pretty competent at assessing combat readiness based on how people moved and paid attention to their surroundings. While she walked like she was on a Paris runway, there was an undercurrent of martial competence in the way she held herself. Thomas, too, for that matter: both of them likely at least had enough combat training to deal with a conflict if their emotion-manipulating mojo wasn't enough.
"I was just finding out," Thomas answered. "I met Mr. Dresden briefly at Lucius' New Years party, but I was waiting to be introduced to the rest of his lovely friends."
"And their very distinguished chaperone," Lara purred at Abraham Grimblehawk, who was just walking up, somehow juggling two tubs of popcorn and five drinks.
The old man, who as far as I knew was a lifelong confirmed bachelor, didn't seem affected by Lara's allure at all. Thomas' either, honestly. With aplomb, he handed out drinks to our party while explaining, "Abraham Grimblehawk. These are my nieces Edith, Giselle, and Mathilda. And Mathilda's boyfriend, Harry Dresden." I appreciated the warning stress he put on that relationship for both of the sex vampires, and was pretty sure I caught a small nod from Lara as if working out our relationship status by how well both of us were resisting the White Court charm.
"Indeed. I'm Thomas Raith," the dark-haired young man explained to the Grimblehawks, "and this is my sister, Lara."
"Romany a stage name?" Mathilda managed, wondering why Lara wasn't billed as a Raith.
"Married," she admitted, with an insouciant shrug and dismissive wave that showed off that she wasn't bothering to wear her wedding ring and somehow heavily implied it was an open relationship. "So what brings wizards of your caliber to our little screening?"
"We tend to watch most muggle fantasy films. Make sure they aren't too accurate," Abraham explained. "Normally we wouldn't screen horror. But, with Malfoy investment it seemed prudent to be certain. Assure the Ministry everything's above board."
"Is there magic in the plot?" I asked.
"Only your standard unkillable killer," Thomas said. "And our cousin's superpowered ego all over the production." He glanced at the director. "Oh no, he's coming this way."
"If we could get this screening going?" Darby Crane (probably not his birth name, I figured) asked, fairly rudely.
"There's still time to run," Thomas whispered, winking, and then turned and walked away like a man headed to the gallows.
"I'd love to get your opinions, after the film," Lara ventured, then followed her brother.
I deliberately turned to look at Mathilda so as to not be accused of watching Lara leave. Edith and Giselle weren't being at all subtle about lingering on Thomas' retreating backside. "Well, I guess we just need to run into some veela and we'll have the whole set," I joked.
"I'll journal that for the summer, shall I?" Mathilda grinned.
Abraham chuckled and firmly put his hands on his older nieces' shoulders. "Perhaps we can get some seats away from the vampires."
"Vampires?" both of the women boggled, then flushed as they realized what had happened.
Lucius entered the theater just before us, Draco and his mother having gone ahead with a polite nod in our direction. The elder Malfoy turned and acknowledged, "Abraham. The esteemed misses Grimblehawk. Dresden."
"A bit out of your usual stomping grounds, Lucius?" Abraham asked.
"An associate has a stake in the theater and offered the room," he shrugged. Lowering his voice so the director couldn't hear, he admitted, "I'd rather not throw too many more galleons at this by paying to rent a cinema."
For all that Malfoy had gotten it as a cheap favor, the room was nice, with large, plush seating. I gestured toward the back of the auditorium, where there was still some space. I usually sat in the back of theaters out of politeness: nobody wanted to be stuck sitting behind a guy my height. I kept wondering if movie theaters were going to ever realize that the gradually-sloping floor wasn't the most ideal cinematic experience. Over the previous summer, I'd read some news that AMC was going to try out a concept called "stadium seating" in one of the new theaters they were building in the US. Hopefully it would catch on so I could watch films from closer up without feeling like a jerk.
Malfoy had invited enough students that there weren't five seats together as we were among the last in, which suited me fine. It would have killed the mood to be cuddling my girlfriend with her whole family the next seat over. The other three Grimblehawks got seats together a couple of rows away. Abraham shot me a vaguely amused look, and the older sisters were still enough out of it from Thomas that they barely seemed to notice.
I saw that Draco had turned around to look at me where he was sitting next to his parents in the prime central seating for the theater. Seeing he had our attention, settled on what seemed by the other young couples to be makeout row, he mouthed, "Magnets," at us with a grin before his mother chided him for not sitting properly and he turned back to face the screen.
"We get no respect!" Mathilda laughed before snuggling in, already digging into the popcorn we'd gotten from her uncle.
"He's just mad that Parkinson doesn't want to make out," I said, taking a swig of Coke.
"Or Ginny," she suggested, keeping hope alive for that happening.
"We'll see how badly she trounces him in the quidditch rematch," I joked. Oliver's insane training had paid off and the Gryffindor team was doing even better than the previous year. All that stood between him and the cup was the final match against Slytherin the weekend after spring break, repeating the one that had been ruined by dementors.
"Is it weird I'm rooting for Draco?" Mathilda asked. "Don't want Ollie proved right that he should train instead of date."
I shrugged. Of all the friends I'd made at Hogwarts, Oliver was the one I most expected to drift apart from after graduating. It was surprising we got along as well as we did. "Probably better that they broke up on her terms than falling apart once quidditch groupies entered the picture. There are quidditch groupies, right?"
"Of course. The come-ons write themselves," she acknowledged. "Want to take me for a ride on your broomstick? Know how to handle a pair of bludgers, do you? Heard you knew how to find the snitch!"
"Maybe I could learn to appreciate quidditch after all," I grinned.
"If I could have everyone's attention?" the officious White Court cousin yelled from the front of the room, interrupting our conversation. It wasn't really a very big venue, so his voice carried. Like a lot of older movie theaters, there had probably been one or two bigger auditoriums in the building that had walls added down the middle to be able to screen more movies at once. As the crowd quieted, he said, "I'm the director, Darby Crane. I and the leading lady are on hand to answer questions after the screening. And now, Blood Beach!"
"Not even a, 'Thanks for coming.'" Mathilda observed.
"Clearly we should be thanking him," I said sarcastically as the lights went down and the projector lit the screen, the film beginning to spool up.
The movie was about as bad as advertised. It wasn't even entertainingly awful: competently executed but not very good. Static cameras, uninspired music, paint-by-numbers script, and drama club acting made for a film that had earned its difficulty getting wider release. They'd at least picked a nice location to film at—some kind of lush jungle beach that I assumed was somebody's private island they'd used favors to film at.
Lara Romany nee Raith was… miscast. She might have done okay as the naughty friend who gets killed off first, or maybe as a sexy bad guy of some kind, but she was not believable as the innocent final girl. She did fill out a bikini well, and I was glad she hadn't been showing much skin out in the lobby lest my love-based resistance to her allure be sorely tested. When we finished our popcorn midway into the movie and Mathilda wanted to make out, I was all revved up and ready.
Come to think of it, a lot of the theater seemed to be. The other couples in the back row with us were clearly also taking the opportunity to "snog" in the local parlance, but I absently noted that quite a few of the rows featured tight embraces. We were distracted from our canoodling by an action scene and I thought I could make out the White Court vampires watching the audience and glowing faintly. Maybe it was just a weird effect of the projection light, but I wouldn't put it past them to use their sexy horror movie to feed. I wondered if the movie would get anywhere near this kind of hormonal response if there weren't three sex vampires in the room.
It didn't actually feel like an attack or anything, and I was distracted enough to give them the benefit of the doubt that it was harmless, so I turned my attention back to Mathilda for several more scenes until the vibe got so heavy I realized I was in danger of going too far in public. From the muffled moans down the row, some of the other kids hadn't stopped. "More Coke?" I asked, breaking away.
Eyes dilated and not just because it was dark, she pushed a strand of hair behind an ear and nodded, "Okay. Lots of ice!"
I managed to get out into the aisle with only six people annoyed at me for bumping them while they were fully engaged, but I noticed movement as I was hitting the doors and Thomas caught up to me in the little airlock between the theater and the lobby. "Enjoying the movie?" he grinned.
"Enjoying your snack?" I fired back.
"It's the only thing that makes this little punishment detail worthwhile. I'm trying to talk Lara into just doing skin films. Skip the subterfuge."
"Punishment? What did you do to have to go on a movie tour?" I asked, pausing before heading out into the lobby.
"I'm always on our father's shit list," he shrugged. "He's mad at Lara for doing something so crass as starring in a movie, so she has to tour and I have to 'chaperone.' Why'd you use your influence to get this show?"
I blinked. "What do you mean, influence? We saw the photo and props at the Planet Hollywood, we were curious, and Mathilda asked about tickets. But we thought this was a regular screening. No clue you were going to be here."
His relaxed expression fell into something more serious. "We had to rush to get this screening set up. Someone was pulling strings to have it happen quickly. Maybe right after your girl was asking about it…"
"Well that's not what I wanted to hear," I said, trying to figure out how this was going to screw me over.
I didn't have to wait long at all. While I was thinking, I heard someone out in the lobby incant, "Stupefy!" and the familiar sound of a stunner hitting a person, who then flopped to the floor.
Raising a finger for silence, I peeked out into the room (though not taking part of my attention off the vampire, in case he was in on the plan). Leaning against the concessions counter was a mad-looking thirty-something guy with a mop of dark blond hair and freckles. He hadn't been in any pictures in a decade and a half, but I'd made a point of knowing who the at-large Death Eaters were and I was pretty sure that was Barty Crouch Jr., who'd never been caught after Voldemort's fall any more than the Lestranges had.
He had, of course, a large, mangy-looking black dog with him that was even more familiar.
One Death Eater and Sirius Black we could maybe take. Six adult wizards, Draco, and three White Court vampires if they'd help were pretty good odds of even doing it without upsetting the theaters full of muggles. Of course, as soon as I thought that, more figures started to enter. The tall, masked Death Eater that I was pretty certain was Cantankerous Nott pushed through the front door, draped in an enormous snake. He was followed by Mavra and three male Black Court vampires. In her penchant for dressing up for the occasion, she'd worn a bikini and they were wearing shorts.
Slightly-decayed corpses in bathing suits are very gross.
"So there's not even a ritual?" Crouch asked Nott, moistening his lips with his tongue and twirling his wand absently.
"No. With the anchors, the enemy, and multiple dark marks all in the same location, the call should have already been made. We simply must do this." He put his wand to his left inner forearm, and I caught a glimpse of the Death Eater tattoo writhing with the silent spell.
Thomas at some point had scooted in next to me to peer out as well and he sighed, "You have to stop making so many enemies, Dresden."
I shrugged. He wasn't wrong. But it wasn't exactly the right opportunity to make friends. I was just hoping I could get out of this one without burning down a theater full of horny college students.
That I'd basically given up on getting out of it without blowing the Statute of Secrecy was a given.