d

Lenya began the taskt of greeting her guests Dealing with people was a real source of pleasure for her, particularly in a friendly environment, free of the endless academic back biting she had dealt with back at the University of Vienna.
 
“Cassandra, what a beautiful dress,” she said with honest enthusiasm.  It must be freezing for the other woman, although perhaps not, her austere attitude towards the use of magic was not universal.
 
“And of course you company is more than gift enough.” The pair of witches hadn’t had much to do with each other before now and Lenya was looking forward to talking with the other woman.  Traditions varied widely and Lenya was always interested in discovering others.
 
She turned to Max giving him a smile at the fox hat the tall scholar was still sporting. Rather than making him look ridiculous it leant him an appealing air of quirkiness. In the background the diesel engine of the boat cut out, its low chug suddenly absent from the night, replaced by the gentle sound of the waves and the bump of the hull against the small dock. She kissed each of his cheeks in European fashion.
 
“I’m sure we can find work for you Max,” she said with a smile, though in truth the dinner was largely ready to go. Lenya was not a cook either but years of following obscure alchemical formulae was surprisingly good training. That and Jakalo had been a huge help. Her mouth wetted slightly at the remembered scent of roasting goose. It would be almost as delicious as the gosser.
 
“Thank you Atlas,” she said with a sunny smile.
 
“One of the advantages of coming by boat is that no one has to drive home.” She was a little surprised the vampire had accepted her invitation, he had always been rather standoffish in the past. Plus the sun was still setting, although the short winter days meant it would be pitch black shortly.
 
“I hope you are recovering well,” she continued. Lenya was a private person and had not inquired as to how the vampire had been injured. Perhaps the story would be told later this evening. Martinmass was a great holiday for telling stories, particularly in these snowy latitudes.
 
"You are most welcome to my home."