Thankless. This job was thankless.

Sophie took a seat on a stool and leaned her elbows on a granite countertop. She let her thoughts wander again to her favorite subject of late—starting her own cosmetics firm. She was facing the shiny surface of a chrome toaster and she scooted down to examine her reflection.

Clear skin. Tiny wrinkles touching the corners of wide blue eyes. Generous mouth with none of the telltale crinkles that caused lipstick to smear and marked the lips of the middle-aged woman. She truly did not look her age. Not in the way of vampires who not only physically stopped the aging process but reversed it. But nearly as good. Her creams slowed it to a crawl. And her cosmetics transformed the plain into…She examined her features. Her mascara made pale lashes long and dark, and her blush gave cheeks the definition that nature hadn’t.

She touched the tip of her nose. Nothing short of surgery would fix something like that, of course. But artfully applied foundation, dark at the sides of her nose and light at the tip, diminished the contour.

She wasn’t beautiful by any means. But she was good at this. She could show others how to be good at it, too.

She’d made a success of the catering business; why not try her hand at cosmetics?

The screech and howl came simultaneously and Sophie jumped off the stool.

Ye gods, she thought. The idiot has caught herself on fire.

This was exactly what she feared might happen. Sophie knew in spite of her warnings to Mrs. Deveraux, she would be blamed for the accident.

For a second, she considered fleeing. But that would be a waste of time. Mr. Deveraux knew his wife had hired Sophie to cater his party. Unless she planned to transport herself to an alternate universe, he would find her.

She might as well face the music now. Teleportation would be a last resort. She listened as the din of the crowd gradually faded from shock and horror to mumbled condolences to the new widower. Sophie waited for the kitchen door to open and for the bereaved to storm in to exact his revenge.

It took much longer than she anticipated. The crowd was slow to leave, evidently, and Mr. Deveraux in no hurry to show them out. This puzzled Sophie but again, the antics of vampires were a constant source of puzzlement to her. They never did what was expected or what decorum dictated. She guessed that’s what came from living hundreds of years and not being tied to the laws of god or man.

Sophie began to relax. Obviously, Mr. Deveraux was not devastated by the loss of his wife. Perhaps he had grown tired of her already. After all, what could he have had in common with such a young woman? In the manner of adolescents today (for to Sophie, anyone under the age of thirty was an adolescent), she would neither know nor care anything about recent history, let alone events from her husband’s distant past.

Sophie took the fact that Deveraux had not yet made an attempt on her life as a sign from the gods that it was indeed time to switch careers.

When it became obvious that the party was proceeding, Sophie took a seat again at the counter. She pulled a small notebook from the pocket of her tunic and opened it. On the inside cover was clipped a pen which she pulled free. With a careful, precise hand, she started making notations. She thought a night cream would be a good introductory product. When women saw the results, they would naturally want something for the daytime, too. Following that, she would launch cosmetics: foundation, blushers, mascaras. All with the same miraculous base guaranteed to slow the ravages of age.

Hmmmm. Ravishing. That might be an appropriate name for the line. A play on words. Ravaged to Ravishing. Voilà. A slogan.

Sophie felt the excitement build. She would do this. While the catering business was basically a one-woman show, this would be different. Her lotions were made the old-fashioned way, by hand. She would need to find a suitable place to make the cosmetics in batches large enough to accommodate what was sure to be a huge demand. And there was packaging and marketing to consider. She knew a warlock in advertising. He could help her find the right people to handle—

The kitchen door flew open. Sophie, caught unaware and deep in her own musings, nearly fell off the stool. She scrambled to regain her footing and steeled herself to meet Mr. Deveraux.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she began, turning to face what would surely be her angry host.

The words died on her lips. Mrs. Deveraux stood smiling at her from the doorway. “Not to worry, Sophie,” she said. “Mr. Deveraux had a long, full life. He went out in a blaze of glory befitting a vampire of his age and stature.”

Sophie was too stunned to reply. How could a vampire as old as Mr. Deveraux let himself be caught on fire? Her candles were magic. One puff on one candle and the rest extinguished themselves. It was a safety feature of her own invention designed exclusively for vampires. The only danger would have come when the cake was presented.

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Mrs. Deveraux waved a hand. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I have no intention of seeking retribution.” She bent her head and examined her carefully manicured fingernails. “It was entirely my fault. I tripped on the rug and the cart bumped Mr. Deveraux. When he turned around, poof. His jacket caught. It was an unfortunate accident.”

She looked up at Sophie then, her own eyes tightening a little at the corners. “I’m sure you must be relieved to know I don’t hold you responsible in any way.”

Sophie was smart enough to recognize the threat. She shrugged. “I am relieved, yes.”

The bright smile returned. “Then please come and do a quick cleanup, will you? There is ash on the cake, but I think if you work your magic, you can re-frost it or something and we can enjoy it. After all, my guests and I have heard so much about your wonderful cakes. It would be a shame to throw this one away. Will you fix it? Please?”

Sophie waved a hand, and a spatula flew from a drawer and into her grasp. She followed Mrs. Deveraux into the living room, barely drawing so much as a glance from anyone at the party. In fact, everyone seemed to have recovered quite nicely from the recent tragedy, thank you. The laughter and chatter and clink of glassware went on as if Sophie were here to clean up a small culinary accident instead of disposing of the host’s mortal remains.

Sophie examined the cake. A dusting of ash did indeed cover one side, and a small mound of the stuff sparkled on the floor. Vampire dust was like diamond dust, hard and bright and the consistency of fine beach sand. Wouldn’t do to bite into it. She started to smooth dust and icing away from the base of the candles when Mrs. Deveraux stopped her with a butterfly touch to the arm.

“Get rid of those candles, too, won’t you? It’s a gruesome reminder of—well, you know.”

Sophie nodded. Yes, she did know. Mrs. Deveraux showed no more grief for her dearly departed than any of her guests. Maybe it was a good thing Sophie hadn’t met Mr. Deveraux. He must have been a thoroughly disagreeable individual to have his passing marked with such ambivalence.

Sophie invoked a spell and the candles disappeared. It made patching the icing much easier. When she was finished with the cake, she muttered another spell and a small dustpan and whisk broom materialized. She scooped up the ash from the floor and the small mound of dust-embedded icing and, with a nod to Mrs. Deveraux, retreated with relief back to the kitchen.

Sophie scraped the gritty icing into the garbage disposal. She stared at the sandy residue left sparkling in the dustpan. This was the first time anything like this had happened at one of her parties. She’d heard the stories of vampires accidentally immolating themselves through drunken or careless behavior. It happened more often than people realized, actually. Vampires took their immortality for granted and didn’t follow basic principles of common sense. Falling asleep with a lighted cigarette, for instance, was as fatal to vampires as humans.