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Henry answered Tony Stark's last question.
But there was no follow-up.
The young billionaire had probably gone offline.
After finishing the hint program he intended to leave for Stark, Henry returned home. Tony Stark's artificial intelligence code contained quite a few clever ideas, and some of them could definitely help improve the behavior logic of Henry's core robot, BB.
Since Henry was currently rebuilding BB's system, he had to admit Stark's approach was very valuable as a reference.
Of course, Henry had no intention of copying Stark's unfinished AI program and transferring it to his own server.
It wasn't because the prototype version of JARVIS was incomplete.
The real reason was simpler.
With the abilities both men possessed, tracing file transfer routes would be trivial.
Henry simply didn't want to expose the location of his private server.
After all:
> Wherever something passes, it leaves traces.
That rule applied not only in the real world, but even more so on the internet.
Better to stay cautious.
Besides, their current arrangement was already a habit:
take something, leave something.
Both of them silently agreed not to probe into what the other was doing outside the Hollywood Kid supercomputer.
Otherwise Stark Industries' servers would never be able to keep Henry out—Tony Stark knew that perfectly well.
Unfortunately, by the time he realized it, he had already invited the wolf into the house.
Too late to kick him out.
---
Back to real-world arrangements.
In the Western world, Easter isn't fixed like Christmas.
It falls on the first Sunday after the full moon following the spring equinox.
The vampire invitation specified the evening before Easter.
April 6th, 1996.
A Saturday night.
After repeated consideration, Henry decided he couldn't simply ignore the event.
If the creatures behaved like Charlie from the Continental described—
relentless and persistent—
then avoiding them wouldn't stop their ambitions.
---
So at the appointed time, naturally at night, Henry drove alone to the location.
His outfit was the same one respectable suit he owned:
navy Armani suit
newly purchased brown calfskin shoes
The estate hosting the banquet looked completely normal.
There were none of the signs one might associate with a cult.
No disturbing blood smell.
No eerie decorations.
By all appearances, it was simply a typical upper-class gathering.
Many attendees were elderly men and women who required assistance just to walk.
Their clothing and jewelry were exquisite.
Their hair and beards meticulously groomed.
Yet none of that could hide the unmistakable signs of decline on their skin.
These people were clearly near the end of their lives.
---
Not long after arriving, Henry was stopped by one such elderly man.
The old man looked so frail he seemed ready to collapse at any moment.
He leaned closer and asked in a hushed tone:
"Sir… are you one of them?"
"No, Mr. Bernard," Henry replied calmly.
"I'm also a guest who received an invitation."
"Oh… I can see that."
The old man stepped back and looked Henry up and down.
That glance carried a deeper meaning.
Henry's Armani suit might be considered luxury for blue-collar and white-collar workers alike.
But to true members of the upper aristocratic class, proper clothing meant hand-tailored suits, made from high-quality fabric.
Celebrities wore Armani mainly because of sponsorship deals.
It didn't necessarily mean the clothes were truly elite.
Of course, compared to two-hundred-dollar department-store suits, Armani still looked impressive.
The old man didn't rush to conclusions, though.
"Have we met somewhere before?"
"New York, four years ago," Henry replied.
"At a fundraising banquet hosted by Ms. Audrey Hepburn for UNICEF. I was her assistant."
"Oh… now I remember."
The old man patted Henry on the arm thoughtfully.
"Good luck, kid."
Then he walked away.
---
Even though the old man had tried to remain polite, Henry could clearly sense the meaning behind his reaction.
The man probably thought Henry was another naïve youngster lured here as a blood bag.
That was why he fled so quickly.
Honestly—
Henry was already starting to regret coming.
---
Looking around, he saw young people roughly his age scattered throughout the venue.
They behaved as if they had entered some extraordinary place.
Constantly trying to network.
Constantly seeking connections.
But meeting rejection everywhere.
Despite the elegant surroundings—
fine food, expensive wine, refined atmosphere—
two groups were clearly separated.
Even while standing in the same room.
One group:
Old money elites.
The other:
Ambitious young hopefuls.
Old wealth on one side.
Hungry opportunists on the other.
Henry's appearance and age clearly placed him among the latter.
Young.
Ignorant.
Full of excessive ambition.
Too blind to realize they might merely be items on someone else's menu.
---
Then suddenly—
A third type of person appeared.
She was also young.
But possessed stunning beauty and overwhelming confidence.
Even when facing the elderly elite, she maintained a proud, superior attitude.
She wore a tight crimson dress.
Her high heels added nearly a hand's height to her stature.
The blonde beauty brushed past everyone attempting to talk to her—
even those reaching out to plead for attention.
She walked straight toward Henry.
Her lips, painted with Chanel Coco #920 Honey Apple, glowed with a seductive sweetness.
Irresistibly inviting.
"Henry Brown?" she asked.
"Yes. That's me."
Suddenly—
She leaned in close.
Too close.
From his ear down to his neck, she quickly sniffed along his scent.
Someone timid might have jumped three steps back.
Henry did step back—
but not from fear.
He simply didn't want to stand too close to a beautiful woman.
Especially if she might be a vampire.
Besides, the banquet hall was full of hidden cameras and microphones.
The surveillance was subtle but thorough.
Henry had no intention of giving reporters a chance to spin gossip from a single photograph.
---
For some reason, his reaction amused the woman.
She chuckled softly, shooting him a flirtatious glance.
"Come with me," she said.
"Lord Dragoneiti wishes to see you."
She didn't hide the invitation.
Many people noticed.
Some looked jealous.
Some sympathetic.
Others secretly delighted.
Ignoring the spectators, Henry followed her.
They entered a corridor guarded by several massive men.
The message was obvious:
No entry without permission.
---
Beyond the corridor was another banquet hall.
The decorations were similar.
But the people inside were completely different.
Clothing here was far more casual.
Some appearances were… difficult to describe.
For example:
A man with a wild punk hairstyle wearing a leather vest.
If someone like that had walked into the front hall earlier, the elderly guests might have had heart attacks.
Aside from unusual fashion, everyone here shared the same aura as the blonde woman:
arrogant and flamboyant.
Every single one of them looked down on others.
Literally.
With their noses.
---
Near the fireplace stood two chairs.
One was already occupied.
A tall man with brown hair and blue eyes.
Strong build.
He looked completely normal.
Between the chairs sat a small table with fine liquor and glasses.
The bottle hadn't been poured yet.
Henry was guided to the empty chair.
Only then did the blonde woman open the bottle and pour brandy into both glasses.
The mysterious host sat calmly across from him.
The real conversation was about to begin
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