The Grand Foyer was big enough to drive a car into, with marbled and burled wooden antiques and carved wooden moldings everywhere. Directly ahead was the extravagant, curving Grand Staircase, hand-carved wooden railing, and champagne-toned carpet up the steps.

“The staff at the Elms is delighted to be hosting the conclave and will do everything possible to see to the comfort and safety of our guests,” Amalie said. From the corner of my eye, I caught her giving Eli and his fighting leathers a once-over, her eyes lingering on his backside in the taut hide. She might be in her fifties, but she wasn’t dead yet. She said, “May I give you both a tour?”

“Why, we’d be delighted, Miz Amalie,” Eli said, his voice taking on a familiar, upscale, New Orleans accent. I lifted my eyebrows at him in surprise. He ignored me and gifted Amalie with a polished, friendly smile. One showing teeth. He never gave me that smile. “It’s truly a beautiful place,” he said as Amalie led us from room to room, describing the house’s grandeur.

I let them pull a little ahead, and managed not to gawk too badly. Growing up in a children’s home had done nothing to prepare me for this opulence of grace and old money. Every room was titled, Grand This or Grand Whatever, or was named after a king. And it looked like it. And every room’s name was capitalized, like the NOLA palace it was. Holy crap. But I said nothing as Amalie and Eli discussed each room, how the tables would be set up, where waitstaff would enter and depart, and which doors would be used for guest entrance and egress. I just watched them, the armored and leather-clad man and the woman in the unwrinkled linen pantsuit and dainty heels. They seemed to get along famously, while I was the duck out of water and knew it.

When we finally reached the Grand Ballroom, which was fifty-eight freaking feet long, Eli put his hands to his hips and studied the space. He said, “We at Yellowrock Securities understand why you would not want the windows replaced or cameras installed, Miz Amalie. But may I suggest cameras on blocks, unsecured, and resting atop the display cases along the walls?” He pointed to two locations that provided good coverage of the room. “And maybe in the Chaperone’s Alcove?” He indicated an oval seating area where chaperones had waited while their charges danced and courted in a bygone era. The alcove opened to the stairway area and to the kitchen/public toilets area. I had looked over the floor plan and it was a nightmare from a security standpoint. “We could brace them in place with blocks instead of screws and stretchers, keeping the integrity of the pieces protected. And perhaps beneath there.” He pointed to cover the office and the kitchen. “And then station a few smaller cameras at the back and side entrances.” Eli gave her a winning smile and finished with “All without damaging any woodwork, of course.”

“Hmmm,” Amalie said. “What about wiring? Electricity?”

“We can manage with battery-powered cameras for a few hours. All we’d need would be a secure, portable Wi-Fi console set up in a separate room. Perhaps on the second floor, somewhere discreet?”

I wanted to sock him in the biceps. Just for being so unexpectedly capable in the rarefied atmosphere. And then it occurred to me that he’d been in the army long enough to have stood security for embedded newspeople, traveling political types, maybe even diplomats. Huh. Eli had unexplored skills and abilities, and not just for making things blow up and go bang.

Looking from my partner to the area we’d be guarding, I was glad Leo had wanted to build a new clan home instead of trying to buy this place or some other old, fancy one. As the online tour and photos suggested, the Elms was remarkable, but impossible to totally secure for vamps. “Jane? What do you think?” Eli asked me, and gave me a look that said he knew I’d been woolgathering.

I tilted my head to our guide and drew on all the memories of the single etiquette class at the home. It was every bit of the meager manners at my disposal, but for once I didn’t sound tongue-tied or snarly or bored or overwhelmed. Even if I was all four. “Miz Amalie, I think your home is stunning. From a security standpoint it’s a challenge, but doable. We’ll need names of your staff for background checks, and whatever catering company will be providing tables, linens, and food. Waitstaff. Your own security. Anything and anyone who comes from off-site.”

“We’ll be handling everything on-site, Jane,” she said, “according to the contract drawn up by the New Orleans coven. The Elms Mansion and Gardens is a full-service venue with the capability to provide everything from flowers and sound system, to tables and linens, to catering and drinks, to cleanup, for as many as eight hundred people. The four hundred guests expected this weekend will be no challenge to our staff at all. I’ll send you the final list of our people, but please know that most have been with us for years and have proven completely trustworthy.” I nodded at her statement. Alex still needed to finish the background checks. “Do you also need to see the wine list and menus for the meals?” Amalie asked.

“That won’t be necessary,” I said. “We’ll be talking to Lachish, and with you, between now and the weekend. My partners will need to get in to set up and test the security system. I’ll leave it to Eli and you to find a mutually agreeable time.”

Miz Amalie passed Eli a business card, a fancy one made of paper so heavy you could have used it to shingle a roof, and we made our way outside, down the walk, to the curb. There was something about old money and deep-rooted refinement, elegance, and pure style that left me knowing I was outclassed in every area.