Grave Peril (The Dresden Files, #3)

by Jim Butcher

I shrugged my shoulders to get my cape to fall into place correctly, tattered red lining flashing against the black cotton exterior. The collar of the thing came up high on either side of my face. The spot glared off of the painted gold plastic medallion I wore at my throat. The worn powder-blue tux beneath it could have made an appearance at someone’s prom, in the seventies. The servants at the party had better tuxes than I did. I made sure to smile, so that they could see the cheap plastic fangs. I suppose the spotlight must have bleached my face out to ghostly whiteness, especially with the white clown makeup I had on. The fake blood drooling out the corners of my mouth would be standing out bright red against it. I lifted a white-gloved hand and said, slurring a little through the fangs. ‘Hi! How are you all doing?’ My words rang out on deathly silence, from below.