No Ordinary Noel
Author: Pat G'Orge-Walker
Date: 2011-09-27 03:45:38+00:00
Keywords: General; Christmas; Christian Fiction; Christian; Fiction; African American; Contemporary Women
Description: Christmasa time of giving. But how about receiving? In Pat G'Orge-Walker's hilarious new novel, a small-town congregation will need every miracle in the Book to rediscover the real reason for the season . . .Even feisty prayer warrior Sister Betty has never seen the kind of trouble brewing at Crossing Over Sanctuary church. The financially-struggling members have until Christmas day to pay off millions in debt to The Cheater Brothers' Piece of Savings Bank. And Reverend Leotis Tom refuses to accept any of trustee Freddie Noel's sinful mega-lottery winnings. Instead, he hopes bickering church m
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.

CRAVE
the vampire legacy
KAREN E. TAYLOR

KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Title Page
BLOOD TIES

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue

BLOOD OF MY BLOOD

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Epilogue

Copyright Page

BLOOD TIES

In loving memory of Lawrence W. Gallagher,
a teller of tall tales, slayer of serpents,
and transplanted Texan extraordinaire.
I miss you, my brother. Walk softly.

Acknowledgments

This one was a tough one, so the list is long. Most importantly, thank you to John, Cherry, and Steven, for not yelling too much and for their almost infinite supply of patience and humor. Thanks to Pete, Brian, and Geoffrey for their love and cooperation throughout a very long and lonely process. Thanks to the friends who asked “How’s it going?” and thanks to those who did not. Hugs and thanks to the many friends on GEnie (if I mention you all, I’ll never finish) who were always there to encourage and commiserate. And to all the many wonderful people who wrote letters wanting to know what was going to happen next—here you go!

Chapter 1

He moved through the narrow streets like a shadow, in stealth and darkness, stalking an unsuspecting prey. I followed close enough to keep him in my sight, but also hidden, my presence merging with the night. His muscles coiled beneath the black sweater, his legs, taut and powerful, and his silvery hair glistened in the moonlight. I held back a gasp at the magnificence of this creature; I did not want to be heard. But my caution made no difference, he was oblivious to my presence. He remained a mysterious and nameless figure intent only upon the quick footsteps of his chosen victim, leading him around a corner and down a darker alley. I hurried to catch up with them, not wanting to miss the moment of capture.

Standing at the head of the alley, I squeezed tightly against its rough brick wall, watching in fearful anticipation. My legs trembled and the breath froze in my throat. Then, when I thought I could stand the waiting no longer, he struck, suddenly and ferociously. His hand snaked out and grasped the young man’s shoulder, spinning him around, silencing his protests with a single glance. His mouth came down on the man’s neck and my hand traveled to my own throat; my pulse pounded in excitement, my breathing quickened, my tongue darted out to lick my lips. The tangy, acrid smell of blood exploded in the air; its odor, enticing and invigorating.

He drank hungrily, silently, but his pleasure was almost tangible, as easily heard as the strangled moans of his victim.

“Ahh.” The slight whisper escaped my lips involuntarily and although it was barely audible, he heard and pulled away to face me. His mouth was bloodied, his canines, sharpened and lethal, and the ecstasy of feeding shone on his features. I do not need to fear him, I thought, he is of my own kind. But the internal reassurances did no good, and, in spite of myself, I shrank away from him, in awe and fright. A look of puzzlement flashed across his face, then he smiled and his eyes, with their intense blue glow, met mine and broke the spell under which his presence had held me.

“Mitch.” I murmured his name and slowly moved toward him, claiming my place at the man’s neck. Delicately, I placed my bite within the marks he had left and pulled deeply on the strong, rich blood. As I drank, Mitch stroked my hair with one hand. His other arm held me and the victim in an iron embrace until I finished my feast. Then with a few hoarsely spoken words, he calmed the man, urged him to forget, and gently deposited the now sleeping form on the sidewalk.

We linked arms and walked back down the alley to return to the pub. I nestled into his strong arm and glanced up at him, smiling. He kissed the top of my head and I sighed. Mitch had adjusted to his new life better than I had ever expected.

“So how’d I do?” It had been his first solo stalking since his transformation and the apprehension he had shown before we came out was now replaced with an exhilaration I knew all too well.

“At first I thought you would have been better off with someone older, someone slower perhaps. But you picked well, he was young and strong and you . . .” I sighed again. “You were perfect, Mitch. No, more than that, you were magnificent. You took my breath away.”

“Well,” he shrugged and pulled me closer to him, “I had a wonderful teacher.”

“Yes,” I said, “I suppose I should offer professional tutoring in bloodsucking. Such a valuable skill.” I tried to make my voice light and teasing, but the acid of the words splashed through.

We walked in silence until we were about a block from the pub. Mitch stopped and turned me around to face him. “What’s wrong, Deirdre? You’ve been edgy and nervous all day. It’s crazy, but I can’t help but think it has something to do with me. Are you tired of me this soon?” The anger and hurt in his voice made me want to cry.

“No, my love,” I reached a hand up to stroke his cheek, “it’s not you. I wish I knew what it was. I’m tired. Perhaps that’s all it is.”

“But we slept all day and just fed pretty well. You should feel great; I know I do.”

I gave him a sidelong glance. “You slept all day, you mean. I don’t sleep much anymore.”

“Why not? Do I snore?” His voice was slightly indignant.

“No, that’s not it,” I said with a small laugh, then sobered instantly. “I feel uneasy, like something is nagging at my mind, but I can’t pinpoint it.” I glanced up at the night sky, mentally numbering the remaining hours until dawn. “We’ll have to leave here soon, you know.”

“I know. Pete’s expecting us back at the pub soon so he can go home. It was nice of him to stay, while we ran out for a bite.” He winked at me and I smiled, but shook my head slightly, for both the bad joke and his misunderstanding of my words.

“No, I meant that we will need to leave England soon.”

“But we just got here. And everything is just starting to fall into place, the house, the pub, and you and me. What else could we possibly want?”

“More than four hours of darkness at night would be nice. You’ve never spent an entire summer at this latitude. I have and it’s an experience I am not anxious to repeat.”

“Oh, yeah.” He paused a minute and ran his fingers through his hair. “I was never real good at geography. Where should we go, do you think?”

I shrugged. “Any place is as good as another, I suppose, as long as we get at least seven hours of darkness. Any less than that and we might be in for trouble. What would you think about Spain?”

“Sounds fine to me.” Mitch’s face lit up with a mischievous grin. “I hear they have some great beaches there. You know, the ones where you can get a really good tan.”

A sharp wave of panic struck me. I remembered too clearly my own initial longing for the sun; how, after over a century of living in the night only, I still missed the warming rays and the brightness of summer days. “No beaches, Mitch.” My voice was imperative and harsh. I reached over and grasped his arm tightly. “You have to promise me, no beaches.”

“Okay, okay.” He disengaged my fingers from his arm, but kept my hand in his. “Bloody hell, Deirdre, I was only joking.”

“Please, Mitch, never joke about that.”

He must have heard the despair in my voice and said no more, but pulled me close to him, rocking me slightly for a few seconds. “Feeling better?” His breath tickled my ear and I smiled into his sweater.

“Yes, thank you. Now, we’d better get back to the pub.”

“Dottie, and Mitch, my boy,” Pete’s boisterous voice greeted us as we opened the front door. “Back so soon? I was just saying that you’d be a while longer. Trying to make a liar of me, are you?”

I shook my head slightly and smiled, knowing that it did no good to interrupt him. Mitch laughed, clapped Pete on the shoulder and stood next to him behind the bar.

“Sure,” Pete continued, “and now I suppose you’ll be sending me home right as I was in the middle of making the acquaintance of a new visitor; telling him the story of how you returned here with a new name, a new husband, and without an extra ounce of fat on your bones. Not that they’re not fine bones, mind you,” and he nudged Mitch, giving him a small wink, “but you both could do with a little fattening up.”

I tensed slightly at his mention of a visitor and glanced around the bar, seeing no one but the regulars. Catching Mitch’s eyes, I shrugged and asked the question I knew Pete was waiting to hear. “What new visitor?”

He looked around in confusion. “Why, he was just here, wasn’t he, boys?” The men around the bar nodded and Pete continued. “Probably stepped off to the gents; he’ll be turning up soon, no doubt. Real eager to see you, he was. Says he knew you both in the States.” Pete’s eyes narrowed in a fake scowl, “Seems to me, Dottie, that last time that happened you took off and left me for another man.”

“But I came back, Pete.”

“And that you did, Dot.” He drew himself a glass of stout, and walked around the bar, lighting a cigarette. “But this wasn’t the same man that dragged you away before. This one is older and has a trace of accent, not American, mind you, but someplace foreign.”

As he settled himself onto a stool to finish his drink, I moved back behind the bar with Mitch. “Do you remember his name, Pete,” I asked with a smile, leaning toward him, “or did you forget to ask?”

“Now, Dottie, don’t give me grief, I get enough of that from the missus owing to my poor memory. Vincent, it was, or something close to that.”

“Victor Lange.”

I knew Mitch well enough to hear the undercurrent of tension in his voice, but Pete merely nodded and announced triumphantly, “Yes, that’s the chap. Know him, do you?”

“Unfortunately.” This time, the anger in Mitch’s voice was unmistakable.

“Well, fortunate or not,” Pete said, glancing curiously at Mitch, “he’s here somewhere.” He drained his glass, stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. Taking off his apron, he tossed it to Mitch, then reached over to give me a delicate pat on my cheek. “Now, Dot, don’t you go running off on me again without notice.”

Although I knew Mitch and I would both be leaving soon, I nodded my head, thinking that we had less than a month before the nighttime hours would begin to dwindle enough to force us to move on. “Well, Pete,” I began, “we won’t . . .” But the rest of my answer went unsaid. The air seemed to thicken over me; the hair on the back of my neck rose. I could hear nothing, but felt the presence of someone standing close behind me, as clearly as if a hand had been laid on me. I quickly looked over my shoulder and around the room, but could see only those who had been there a second earlier, no one else.

Mitch walked over next to me and wrapped an arm around my waist, his familiar touch calming me only slightly. “Don’t worry,” he said, “we won’t leave you in the lurch. Now if you don’t go soon, your wife’ll be mad.”

Pete’s contagious laugh roared over the pub and almost rid me of the unsettling feeling of the invisible presence. “Right you are, my boy. See you tomorrow night.”

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. I was still nervous; I thought that the patrons spoke too loudly and that the smoke of their cigarettes was unnaturally heavy, curling thickly through the dark corners of the room. I breathed my relief when last call had been made and the doors were finally locked. Mitch silently poured me a glass of port, handed me Pete’s cigarettes and began to clear the tables.

When I finished the wine, I lit one of the Players and sat at the bar to watch Mitch wash the glasses and the steins, admiring the grace of his movements and the strength of his hands. He looked up at me, his eyes met mine and he smiled. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said. Suddenly the nervousness fell aside and I felt at peace with myself for the first time since Mitch’s transformation. “I just like to watch you. You do that so well.”

Mitch laughed. “I know, you brought me all the way here just so I could wash dishes for your pub.”

I returned his laugh. “That’s right, my love, regular dishwashers don’t come cheap and you know how Pete is about spending money.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt and completed his work behind the bar. Then he pulled out a glass for himself and filled it and mine with tawny port. He took both glasses and sat down at the closest table. I followed and sat down next to him.

“So,” his voice had lost all of its humor and was intense and serious, “what exactly was that?”

“You mean right before Pete left? I don’t know. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“Wasn’t Max, was it?”

After having lived with the ghost of Max for over two years, I discarded that theory immediately. “No, it didn’t have his imprint, somehow.”

“I didn’t think so.”

I turned to him in surprise. “You felt it too?”

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair in a tired gesture. “But it was vaguely familiar.” Then he shrugged and touched my hand. “Another thing, what the hell is Victor Lange doing here? And where in bloody hell do you suppose he disappeared to?”

I shook my head and my eyes drifted to a corner of the bar, where the smoke of the night had collected and the darkness was impenetrable. Rubbing a hand on my face, I looked again and a shiver of amazement flowed over me. “Why that son of a bitch,” I whispered in a trembling voice, “he never left at all. He’s been here all night.”

“What?” Mitch looked at me in surprise, then glanced over his shoulder. When the figure behind the bar began to materialize into an almost recognizable form, Mitch jumped out of his chair, knocking his glass to the floor in the process. Its crash was the only noise for what seemed a long time. Then there was the sound of footsteps and suddenly Victor stood in front of us.

“Good evening, Deirdre,” he nodded, “and you too, Mitch. It’s good to see you again.”

Mitch and I just stared at him; neither of us ever had any inkling that what Victor had just done was even possible. Mitch cleared his throat and tentatively held out his hand. Victor shook it, grinning.

“Jesus, Victor,” Mitch said with a touch of both anger and awe in his voice, “how the hell did you do that?”

Chapter 2

“Forgive me for the theatrics,” Victor began, ignoring Mitch’s question. He brushed a spot of invisible lint from his impeccably tailored jacket, and sat down at the table. “I did think that our meeting would best be conducted in private. We have a lot to discuss, we three.”

I glanced at Victor uneasily, then glanced away, feeling, as I usually did in his presence, shoddily dressed in my jeans and black sweater. He exuded an elegance and a confidence as easily felt as the power and magnetism of his being. Mitch was still staring at him and I could almost hear the questions racing through his mind. Was what Victor had done possible for us? And if so, how was it accomplished? But where I shrank away from the inhumanity of such a trick, Mitch, I knew, would pursue this new power effortlessly and relentlessly, as he had so readily embraced the unnatural life he had been given.

I shuddered and looked down at the tabletop. Victor reached over and lifted my chin. “Cat got your tongue, Deirdre? I do apologize for the abruptness of my appearance. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“No,” I found my voice and was amazed that it sounded even and calm, “it was just a surprise, seeing you appear like that. After all, we had been told you were here.”

“Yes, well,” Victor looked over to Mitch, “what if you pour me one of whatever you two are having and we’ll get down to business.”

Mitch walked back behind the bar to get the bottle and another glass for Victor. My mouth curved in an almost smug smile as I watched him; Victor might be elegant and powerful, but he could never be a match for the utter intensity and sensuality that Mitch possessed. A low noise escaped my throat, almost a purr, and I blushed, but Victor merely laughed.

“He is developing nicely, my dear. You’ve done a good job with his training.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come now, Deirdre,” Victor admonished, “I do have eyes and my senses are even more finely honed than yours. The glow of transformation still lingers over him. He will do well, and for what it’s worth, I approve.”

Mitch came back to the table and handed Victor his wine. “And exactly what is your approval worth, Lange?”

Victor looked up at him calmly. “Quite a bit, actually. As head of the Cadre, I have the final decision on most transformations, especially one such as yours, since you now both fall into the house of Leupold. Never underestimate the ties of blood, Mitch. As you grow older, you will eventually lose your human family, but your blood clan will continue. And,” Victor gave a low chuckle, “like it, or not, I am the head of that clan.”

“I’d like it a lot better if you could teach me that little trick you entered with.” Mitch sat down and leaned back casually in his chair. “How on earth do you do it?”

Victor gave me a puzzled look. “Deirdre should be able to teach you. It merely requires concentration and practice—years, or more properly, decades of practice. I wish I could take the time to teach you, but I’m afraid my business here is not pleasant and my time is short. I am needed back at the Cadre before tomorrow evening.” Victor stood up and brushed at his jacket again. “And, although I hate to interrupt your honeymoon, the two of you must accompany me.”

“Must we?” Mitch still sat in his relaxed pose, but the glitter of his eyes and the set of his jaw betrayed his animosity.

Victor glared coldly at him, and leaned over the chair, his posture threatening, his tone of voice even more patronizing than usual. “You do remember when you promised to perform a service for the Cadre at our discretion? Well, quite simply, Greer, we are now calling in our marker, and as you value your life and Deirdre’s, you will not refuse. A private jet is waiting for us at the airport and we will leave in an hour and a half. Be there.”

Victor turned to me and the anger in his eyes faded, replaced by something that could have resembled tenderness. Taking my hand, he kissed it; then he spun around and was gone.

Mitch looked where Victor had been standing and shook his head. “Do you suppose he’s actually gone?”

I laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine, my love. Shall we close up now and go home and pack?”

“Just drop everything and do as we were ordered? Give me one good reason why we should have anything to do with Lange.”

“I can give you several reasons, Mitch. We did promise to do the service for the Cadre, whatever it may be. I know that we were hoping never to have anything else to do with them, but so be it.” He nodded reluctantly, and I continued. “And Victor is right about the bond between the three of us, there is no way to deny that.” I stood up and smiled at him, reaching out for his hands. “Plus, if you stay in his good favor, he might even teach you his little parlor trick. I have no inclination to dissolve myself. And even if I did, I have no idea how to go about it.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me. But you’ll have to break the news to Pete.” He pulled me to him and kissed me, his lips cool against mine. Then he held me out and studied my face. “Deirdre, if whatever we are called to do is dangerous,” and he gave a small humorless laugh, “as I’m sure it will be, I want you to promise that you’ll let me bear the brunt of it. Don’t take any chances; I don’t think I want to exist eternally without you.”

“Nor I, without you.”

“So then, we’re agreed.”

“No,” I shook my head with a small smile, “not at all. But let’s not fight until we know what the situation is.”

“Okay, I guess I can live with that, but only for a while. And we’d better hurry, I’d hate to keep Mr. Lange waiting.”

We made it home, and were almost through with our packing when I finally asked, “Why do you hate Victor so much?”

Mitch looked up at me from his suitcase. “It’s not really Victor, you know; I could almost like him if it weren’t for . . .” He paused for a minute, staring at me. Then he looked away. “It’s the whole hierarchy of the Cadre. They sit in their underground warren, spinning their devious little webs, meting out their arbitrary justice.” He folded his last pair of jeans, crammed them on the top of the suitcase and snapped it shut. “They almost succeeded in making me crazy. They would’ve left me in that institution for the rest of my life and not thought a thing about it. They could very easily have doomed you to a hundred years of starvation and never once bothered to ascertain the fairness of the sentence. They’re immoral, inhuman parasites, living off of innocent people and I wouldn’t care if the entire lot died tomorrow.”

Well, I told myself, as I watched him stack our cases by the bedroom door, you asked for it. But I said nothing, and walked across the room, picked up the phone and dialed Pete’s home number.

“Pete,” I said when he answered, “it’s Dorothy. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

“Leaving again, are you?” He sounded more amused than angry.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“And didn’t I know it when that Vincent chap turned up asking for you. I suppose you’ll be taking your husband with you too, leaving me with no help at all?”

“Yes.”

“Dottie, darlin’, you know if you didn’t own half the pub, I’d be firing you right now.”

“I’m sure you would, Pete. I’ll call you when we get there.”

“I’d appreciate that. But don’t you worry, I’ll do fine.”

“Thank you, Pete. You take care now.”

“And the same to you, my girl. Godspeed.”

I hung up the phone, stood for a minute with my back to Mitch and wiped away a few tears. A horn beeped on the street and still I didn’t move until Mitch came up behind me and wrapped an arm around my neck, kissing me softly on the ear. “We’d better get moving, Deirdre, the taxi’s here. Are you ready?”

I nodded and we went downstairs. We locked the house, loaded the boot of the taxi and made it to the airport with five minutes to spare.

The plane Victor had chartered was a small, sleek Gulfstream; Mitch and I were the only passengers evident. The seats were plush and comfortable and I settled in by one of the windows. Mitch sat next to me with a grim smile, outwardly relaxed and at ease, but I could feel the keyed-up tenseness of his muscles as he stretched his legs out. Even though Victor was nowhere in sight, the plane began its acceleration down the runway almost immediately and made a smooth leap from the ground into the night sky.

My sigh from the window was easily audible; Mitch reached over and took my hand. “Nervous?”

“No,” I said softly, turning to him, “not at all. I love to fly. But I was just wondering what it would feel like without the plane, how it would feel to just be picked up by the wind and carried away.” I gave a small laugh to compensate for the emotional outburst. “I guess we would find out soon enough if we were to crash.”

“Do you think we’d survive?”

“You know, I have no idea.”

Mitch was silent for a while. “My guess is we would. Unless,” and he chuckled a little, “we happened to land on a picket fence somewhere.”

I studied the view from the window. “I think we’re safe from that. We’re over the ocean already. But I suppose if you really want to know, we could ask Victor. I wonder where he is.”

Mitch gave a noncommittal grunt. “What is it with you and him, anyway? All of a sudden the two of you seem pretty chummy. You jump to his commands, express concern over his whereabouts. Personally, I don’t know why he even bothers with the damn plane at all; why doesn’t he just turn into a cloud and float back?”

“Mitch,” I turned from the window again and looked into his eyes, “don’t start. There is nothing between Victor and me. I married you and intend to stay married to you. I’m here to fulfill my commitment, nothing else. After that, we’re free to do whatever we like, go wherever we want.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, giving me a boyish grin, so at odds with his silvered hair. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like the guy.”

“I think you have made that more than evident.” My mouth twisted in a dry smile. “But,” and I reached up, kissing him on the cheek, “just put up with it for a while, for my sake.”

Mitch returned my kiss, then moved away from me and laughed. “I will say one thing for Lange, though,” he gestured around us, “he sure knows how to travel. This is quite a setup; how much do you suppose this put him back?”

“Actually, Mitch,” the door to the cockpit opened and Victor came out, “I own this plane. And, believe me, the convenience far outweighs the cost.” He went to the back of the compartment and opened another door. “Now that we are safely airborne, may I offer you a drink?”

Before Mitch and I even had a chance to agree, Victor had poured drinks and brought them over: red wine for me and a scotch on the rocks for Mitch. When I saw Victor’s choice for Mitch I started to laugh.

“What?” Mitch looked at me after taking a long drink. “Is something funny?”

“No, but Victor has a surprisingly good memory. He actually remembered what you drink when you’re angry.”

“Oh,” Mitch shrugged sheepishly, “I see.”

“Not that you don’t have the right to be angry.” Victor’s voice was smooth and conciliatory. “After all, you’ve hardly been away for more than a few months, and I have called you back. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I want to assure you that this trip is necessary. And it was not just my decision to call you, it was a unanimous vote from all the founders.”

Mitch gave a snort. “And what could possibly be so difficult for that esteemed group to require our involvement?”

“We have our reasons, Greer, as I will explain, when you give me the chance.” Victor gave him a warning glare, then turned to me. “In the first place, at least six murders have occurred that lead us to believe that we are faced with a dangerous rogue vampire. Since we became acquainted with you, Deirdre, most of us have come to the realization that we have been weakened by our ritualized training.

“You,” Victor nodded at me, “have the advantage of being able to approach situations such as this from a fresh viewpoint. Being a rogue of a sort yourself, we hope that you can outthink our culprit, or at least anticipate his moves. In addition, Mitch, there is your police training—a highly valuable asset in this situation. Although, I must admit that your transformation has come as something of a surprise. We had hoped that you could cover the daytime and root this vampire out of his lair. But I suspect your new skills will only enhance your old detective instincts.”

Mitch shrugged. “And?”

Victor looked down at his hands for a moment. “And as you know, the Cadre has strict rules governing the killing of one of our own. None of us can attempt to catch and kill this vampire, without incurring the impact of our laws. But you two, since you are not officially part of the organization, can be given special dispensation in this one case only.”

“How convenient,” Mitch drawled. “I remember it otherwise.”

Victor bared his white teeth in a threatening smile. “Different circumstances, Mitch. We’re not talking here about an established house founder, but about an undisciplined murderer.”

“And Max wasn’t?”

“Max would have been dealt with our way. Let’s not begin to rehash a situation that, regretful as it may be, is now over and done with.”

Hearing the pain in Victor’s voice, pain not diminished by the time that had passed since Max’s death, I looked over at Mitch and pleaded with my eyes for him to drop the subject. Then I took his hand in mine and turned again to Victor. “All of that seems reasonable to me, Victor. We will do our best to help you.”

“Thank you, Deirdre. I knew you would. But I’m not quite through with the story. And this part may not be pleasant for you, my dear, but it is the most telling reason we wanted you.” Victor stood up, opened the overhead compartment, and brought out a large manila envelope. “The murders began to occur shortly after you and Mitch left town. Obviously, you personally cannot be held accountable for the deaths, but it seems that you are involved. All of the victims were last seen at the Ballroom of Romance.”

“What a surprise.” Mitch gave a small, derisive snort. The Ballroom had belonged to Max, been passed on to my ownership through his estate. And it carried nothing but bad memories for us both.

Victor sat back down and passed the envelope to Mitch. He took it, but did not open it. Instead he set it down on the seat next to him, as if leaving it unopened could delay the inevitable decision to cooperate with the Cadre. “You’re involved with the Ballroom, too, Victor,” Mitch said evenly. “After all, you’ve been managing it for Deirdre in her absence.”

“Actually, I turned it back over to Fred. After you left town, there was no need to keep him in exile and he does a good job.”

“But,” I said, “Fred is not a rogue.”

“That is true,” Victor chuckled, shaking his head, “and Fred, even with all his faults, is definitely not responsible for the deaths. We have,” he cleared his throat, “screened all the Cadre members, none of them are involved.”

“So where does the Ballroom enter into this?” I did not really need to ask; from the sickening twist of my stomach, I realized suddenly that I knew who the rogue was. I glanced over at Mitch, and his grim nod confirmed my thoughts. But neither of us said a word, we just let Victor continue.

“Ever since the unfortunate occurrences there, rumors have abounded that the club is haunted.” Victor raised an eyebrow in a half-smirk. “Humans, who can figure them out? Business is better than it’s ever been since the rumors started, even the murders haven’t kept them away, but only added to the mystique.”

“Haunted?” Victor’s choice of words threw me off balance. “How could it be haunted? Max is gone.” Mitch looked away from me, and drained his scotch, tensing at the tone of sadness in my voice. I couldn’t help myself; not a day had gone by since his true death that I did not miss him.

“Deirdre,” Victor’s voice wavered only slightly, “it’s not Max who haunts the Ballroom of Romance. It is Larry Martin.”

Chapter 3

“Of course,” Victor went on, “haunting is not the proper terminology, since our murderer is not a ghost. Apparently, as they say, reports of his death were greatly exaggerated and this, too, seems to involve you both. And although we know who the rogue is, we do not know why he is now a vampire,” Victor’s voice became stern, “or why his transformation went unreported.”

I shook my head and sighed. We should never have gone away, should not have allowed Larry to prey upon the city. And now six people were dead due to our selfishness. I squirmed in my seat, avoiding Victor’s gaze. We were almost as guilty as the rogue himself. “Sins of omission,” I murmured.

Mitch got up, went to the bar, and poured himself another scotch. Draining it in one drink, he turned around and looked at Victor, who rose from his seat deliberately and slowly to meet his gaze. Except for the smooth, low hum of the engines, the plane drifted in silence, a silence at first merely uncomfortable, then growing fearsome, threatening, as they continued to stare at each other. The muscles in Mitch’s neck seemed to rise to the surface his skin, twisting and coiling. Victor’s breathing accelerated, small drops of blood-tinged sweat began to appear on his forehead. And I was rooted in my seat, unable to move, unable to speak. The tension in the compartment expanded, growing so great that it seemed the plane must explode. I held my breath, suspended between their power, caught in their gazes like a fly in a web. Then suddenly, when I felt that neither of them could sustain a second more, Victor threw his head back and laughed, joined surprisingly by Mitch only a second later.

“Touché, Mitch,” Victor rasped with a tone of admiration in his voice. “And I am not easily impressed. So, now that that’s out of the way, will you help us?”

Mitch continued to laugh, a thick, harsh laughter I had never heard from him before. He stopped and he smiled. His canines were elongated and his eyes glowed with what seemed to me an inhuman passion. “With the greatest of pleasure, Victor.”

I sat silent for the remainder of the flight, not joining in the tentative camaraderie that seemed to have been established between Victor and Mitch. Instead, I drained two bottles of wine in the absolutely futile attempt to block out the sight of the two of them, both so powerful and terrifying. Every so often, I caught Mitch’s reflected gaze in my window, but I kept my eyes on the night sky above us and the ocean below.

Mitch had finally opened the manila envelope and glanced at the pictures within. He made a move to hand them to me, but I shook my head and looked away. He shrugged at my seeming lack of interest, then turned back to Victor. “These are police photos. Do you mind if I ask how you got them?”

“We have friends in high places. You didn’t seriously think that an organization such as the Cadre could exist without some local support.”

“I never heard of you.”

Victor laughed. “High places, Mitch. I hope I give no offense in saying that the knowledge wasn’t allowed to filter down to the level at which you worked. But these same friends were partly responsible for our calling you in. You are a highly respected member of the department.”

“Were, you mean. I can hardly resume my regular job now.”

I flinched slightly at the regret in Mitch’s voice, but Victor didn’t seem to notice.

“While your return has not been discussed officially, I’m sure that something could be arranged should you desire it. But first things first; I think that you owe me an explanation about our rogue.”

I did not elaborate as Mitch told the story of Larry and how we suspected he had been transformed, how the gunshot from Mitch that had “killed” Larry had also punctured my shoulder and our blood had been mixed, how Larry must have slipped out of the morgue before the mandatory autopsy could be performed, and how the disappearance of the body would just seem like another lost piece of paper in an overwhelmed system of police red tape. Mitch and I had never spoken much of those circumstances, but it was obvious that he had spent a lot of time in thought about Larry. Not that I was surprised, since it was Larry’s nearly fatal attack on him that caused me to change Mitch into what he was. I suspected that he had nightmares about that night; I myself had been haunted for over a century with the details of my own change. But at least, I thought, with a twisted smile, Mitch has the advantage of knowing who to blame.

“Deirdre?” Mitch’s concerned voice brought me out of my reverie, and I noticed that we were alone in the compartment again. “We’re about ready to land. And,” he checked his watch, “we’ve got only about an hour before dawn. Let’s hope they’re not too stacked up or we’ll have to spend the day in here.”

“I’m sure Victor will take care of that.”

“No problem,” Victor’s voice called out from the cockpit. “We’re cleared for landing. Anyway, there’s more time than that, you forgot to set your watch back. Here we are.”

The plane touched down, and when it finally slowed to a stop, a familiar figure emerged from the cockpit and walked up to us. Mitch’s face twisted into a jealous grimace, but I found to my surprise that I was happy to see him. “Hello, Ron,” I said warmly. “Victor never mentioned that you were here.” Ron had acted once as a spy for the Cadre, reporting on my activities, but he had also been a good friend to me during a time when I felt I had no other.

Ron smiled. “Well, someone had to fly the plane and Victor needed to talk to you.” He gave Mitch a quick, furtive glance, then put his arms around me briefly and kissed my cheek, dropping back a respectful distance after he had finished. “Welcome back, Deirdre, it’s nice to see you.”

“Thank you, Ron.”

Ron held out his hand to Mitch. “Hello, Greer,” he said brusquely. “Forgive me if I skip the kiss.”

Mitch shook his hand warily. “Fine by me.”

“Now, let me unload your luggage and we’ll be on our way. There’s a limo waiting.”

Mitch draped his arm around my shoulder and we walked to the door of the plane. Victor stood waiting for us, and opened the hatch. A set of stairs had been wheeled over and we exited into a clear, starlit night. When we got to the tarmac, Mitch put his head up, took a long whiff of the air and smiled. “It’s nice to be home,” he said, with a note of contentment in his voice that I hadn’t heard in months. “I missed this dirty old city.”

“I have prepared a room for you in the Cadre headquarters.” Victor turned around from the front seat of the limousine. “You need not stay there for the duration of your mission, but I thought it would be easiest until you had a chance to make your own arrangements. From what I understand, Mitch, your son has moved into your apartment.”

Mitch nodded. “Yeah, he called and told me. How did you know?”

Victor shrugged. “Very little escapes my notice when it concerns the security of the Cadre. Not knowing how much he knows about us, it seemed a good idea to keep an eye on him, now and then. He knows of your transformation, doesn’t he?”

“No.” Mitch’s face darkened slightly. “Actually, I haven’t broken the news to him yet.”

“Ah, well,” Victor said, “you’ll have plenty of time for that later on.”

Mitch gave a noncommittal nod and looked out the window. I held his arm and rubbed my head against his shoulder. The upcoming confrontation between Mitch and his son had me worried. Chris had a difficult enough time coming to terms with what I was. I suspected that learning what his father had become would result in his permanent alienation from the two of us. Mitch reached over and stroked my thigh gently. “It’ll be okay,” he said, his voice a reassuring whisper. “He’ll get used to the idea, sooner or later.”

Before too long, the limousine pulled up to the back entrance of the Imperial, the restaurant that Victor owned. Below, were the offices and the living quarters of the Cadre. We took the elevator down and entered into the meeting hall where the organization had stood in judgment of me, for the murder of Max Hunter. The room was dark now, we moved through it quickly and proceeded down a dimly lit hallway. Victor stopped in front of one of the closed doors, removed a key from his pocket and handed it to Mitch. While Mitch unlocked the door, Victor explained, “This was Max’s room. I hope you don’t mind, it was the only vacant one currently available. His personal effects have been removed, of course, and put in storage for your use at a later date. But we have tried to ensure your every comfort during your stay here.”

We started into the room and Victor continued, looking somehow embarrassed. “I hope you understand that you both are considered honored guests of the Cadre, so no payment for any of this is necessary. However, should you choose at some point to make this one of your permanent residences, and I sincerely hope that you will, arrangements will be made at that time.”

“Thank you, Victor,” I started, “but . . .”

“No, no, you don’t need to decide anything now. You are most welcome here and your entrance into our community would be for the common good of us all. But we will not press you on the issue; you are free to stay or go. Make yourselves at home, please. And, if I don’t see you before dawn, have a pleasant day’s sleep.”

He left us and I looked around the room that had been Max’s. It was pleasant enough, but dark and sparsely furnished. The furniture was mostly antique, the bed an enormous four poster covered in a red brocade spread. But what caught my eye first was the heavy brass stand, holding a familiar artifact. Victor had indeed tried to see to my every comfort, for he had procured the coffin that Max had bought for me. Mitch was standing over it, shaking his head. Then he looked at me and laughed. “Don’t I get one, too?”

“You can have that one, my love. You know I’ll never use it.” I smiled at him. Now that we were alone, I felt at ease again, as if my moments of fear and doubt had never occurred, as if his presence in my life was all I ever needed. The qualities of strength and integrity that I had admired in him had only intensified after his transformation. Victor was right; I had done well.

“But I want my own,” his eyes danced mischievously, “I wouldn’t want to break from the mysterious image of the vampire. We need to keep up with the others, you know, follow the crowd.”

“You are so far above the others, Mitch, I do not think you need to worry.” I walked over to him and put my arms around him.

He hugged me tightly to him. “Still, I wonder that Victor didn’t take care of it, along with everything else.”

“He didn’t know about you, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. But it sure is nice to know he’s not as omniscient as he thinks.” He moved away from me, and sat down on the bed, testing the mattress. “I guess I was supposed to sleep in this big bed, all by myself, while you slept in your box.” He stretched out on the surface, sighed, then lifted his head. “Well, aren’t you going to get into that thing?”

“I’m not tired.” I stared at him for a while and a slow smile grew on my lips. I unbuttoned my coat and tossed it on a chair next to me. Crossing to the bed, I straddled Mitch’s hips with my legs and kissed him on the nose. “Besides,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper, “I want to try out the bed first.”

His eyes shone with a familiar intensity. “Right here?” he asked, “with the entire Cadre surrounding us?”

“The Cadre be damned.”

“My thoughts exactly, Mrs. Greer.” He pulled me down on top of him and rolled us both over. His cool mouth brushed mine, then traveled to my neck, taking small playful nips. I shivered at the sensation and he laughed in delight. “I wonder,” Mitch whispered against my neck and I could feel his sharpened teeth graze the skin, “how it would feel to drink from you while you drank from me as we made love?” He paused briefly and his breath was warm, enticing. “Shall we find out?”

I did not need to say anything; he could surely feel the response building in my body as I arched my back and pressed up against him. My gums tingled with the growth of my canines and although I had just fed, an overwhelming hunger washed over me. I had only one thought before the instincts took full grasp of me: I need never again struggle to hold back my passion. My hunger and appetite could no longer threaten the life of this man.

That he was technically not a man now, but a different creature, a vampire, did not enter my mind. He was Mitch and I loved him. He eased himself from me slightly and his hands traveled down my body, touching and undressing me until I finally lay naked underneath him. The texture of his bulky sweater and the hard coarseness of the jeans he still wore pressed against my bare skin nearly driving me crazy with my need. I reached up and roughly grabbed fistfuls of his sweater, impatiently pulling it over his head and throwing it to the floor. I ran my nails up his back and he stared down at me, not moving, his eyes so blue and intense that I felt bathed in their light. Then their expression changed so suddenly and he jumped up from me so abruptly that I felt I had been dropped off a steep cliff.

“Cover yourself,” he growled, “there’s someone outside the door.”

Chapter 4

Mitch did not bother to put his sweater back on; he bounded across the room and flung the door open with an incoherent snarl.

“Well, hello, you must be Mitchell Greer.” I instantly recognized the voice, high-pitched, but with a slight lisp and a reverberating huskiness that almost caused the hair on the back of my neck to rise. Wrapping the red brocade spread around me, I slid off the bed and went to stand next to Mitch.

“Vivienne,” I said, my tone wary and cautious, “it is good to see you again.”

Her eyes raked over me, mocking, yet caressing and she pulled me to her briefly and kissed my cheek. “But of course, when I hear my sister has returned, I wanted to give her a welcome.”

I introduced them. “Mitch, this is Vivienne. I don’t believe you met her last time we were here.”

“Sister?” Mitch questioned, not taking his eyes from her. “Deirdre is an only child.”

Vivienne threw her head back and laughed her light metallic laugh. “I know that’s how she would wish it, but sisters we are nevertheless. And,” her eyes focused on Mitch’s bare torso, “I couldn’t miss the opportunity to meet my new brother-in-law. But I have interrupted a ménage à deux, haven’t I? I was so anxious to see you both, that I hadn’t thought you might be otherwise involved. Please forgive me.”

Vivienne headed for the door, then turned with her hand on the knob. “One other thing, mon chers, the days are long here and the corridors are completely safe from sunlight, so after your, ah, sleep, you may wander around as much as you like. And should you wish to join me for a glass of wine, I’d be happy to have you both. Good day.” Opening the door, she walked out with a slow, sensuous stride. I reached over, closed and locked the door, then looked at Mitch.

“You can stop drooling now, Mitch.” I was only half joking. Vivienne was equipped with more magnetism than should be permissible and even I, who knew her for what she was and could never trust her, felt the effect of the utter sensuality she exuded. Mitch hadn’t any previous experience with another female of our kind and I feared his response to her.

His face lit up with a boyish smile as his eyes searched mine. “Why, Mrs. Greer,” he drawled, enjoying the moment immensely, “I do believe you’re jealous.”

“Now, why would I be . . . ?” I started, then returned his grin with a smile of my own. “Yes, you’re right. I am jealous.”

“Good.” His smile faded with that one word.

“Good?”

“Yeah, it almost makes up for all the other men in your life.”

“Mitch, my love, there’s never been anyone else since we met. You know that.”

He frowned. “Except of course for all the men you had in England while I was institutionalized.”

“Mitch, that’s just plain cruel. I was not talking of food; I was talking of love. Surely you know the difference by now.”

“I try, Deirdre.”

I reached out and touched his cheek gently. “Yes, you do. And you are getting better. Now, speaking of love . . .” Dropping the spread I had wrapped around me, I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and pulled him to me.

“And food.” His voice was warm and husky against my hair.

“And food,” I agreed. “I believe you made quite an interesting proposition before we were interrupted.”

“So I did,” Mitch said and pulled me down to the floor with him. Rolling on top of me, he hesitated. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“As if you could.”

Mitch’s eyes lit with passion. He eased his jeans off and lay on top of me for a while, not moving. Then he began to nuzzle the side of my neck, gently at first with just his lips and tongue. His mouth traveled to my breasts, teasing each nipple with his front teeth, but not using his sharpening canines, not yet. I gasped when he reached between my legs, probing and stroking until I felt ready to melt. Time seemed suspended as he continued his ministrations, touching, licking, nipping.

Finally, not wanting to wait for him any longer, I reached down, guiding him inside me. And as he plunged deep within me, his mouth came down on my neck, his bite punctured my skin and I screamed, past caring about where I was and who might hear. He continued thrusting into me and I felt the blood rushing through my veins to answer his kiss. My own teeth sharpened and found his neck, pulling his blood into my mouth, savoring the rich and salty taste that was his alone.

The only sound in the room was our muffled sucking and the slapping of our sweaty bodies together. We continued for a long time, an eternity it seemed, making love and drinking from each other, constantly stoking our passion, continually renewing our strength. Then he withdrew his mouth from my neck and I did the same. He kissed me. The taste of my blood on his tongue was intriguing, enticing and I shuddered over and over as our bodies reached their endless climaxes.

When it was over, he rolled from me with a sigh. “You know,” he said, finally, his voice low and breathless, “that has got to be against the law.”

My laugh was shaky. “Yes, but we are, after all, consenting adults.”

“Even so.”

I snuggled into his side and he rested his hand lightly against my hip.

“I hope we didn’t disturb the rest of the Cadre.” He sounded smug and unconcerned.

“Like hell you do. You wouldn’t have wanted Vivienne to miss out on what a great catch you are.”

“Deirdre,” he slapped me playfully on the thigh, “I like you like this.”

“Like what? All sweaty and sticky?”

“No, jealous. It makes me feel wanted.”

I gave him a little push, got up from the floor and stared down at him. “You should never have any doubt about that. But for now, I need a shower. Would you like to join me?”

“Hot water?”

I remembered the one shower we had taken while he was still human. The temperature of the water had been extremely uncomfortable for him. But it was not so now. I smiled at him, “Boiling, of course.”

“Great.”

We slept undisturbed until early the following evening. Mitch woke first and by the time I opened my eyes, he was already completely dressed, sitting on the side of the bed. “Good morning,” he said and kissed the end of my nose. “Did you sleep well?”

I stretched slightly and yawned. “Yes, actually, I did.” I gave a little smug smile. “The plane trip really tired me out.”

“Only the plane trip, huh? Well, if that’s what it takes to get you a good day’s sleep, I guess we’ll have to fly every night.”

“Fine by me.”

He reached toward me, then over me, and picked up the phone from the bedside stand. I gave him a questioning look.

“I’m calling Chris,” he said, his expression changing to worry, “I thought he’d want to know we were in town.”

“That’s a good idea, tell him I said hello.” I got up from bed, went into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, allowing him as much privacy as was possible. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and hair, and inserted a pair of contact lenses. When I came back out, Mitch was unpacking his suitcase, hanging up what little he had brought with him in an ornate carved armoire. He stopped and looked over at me.

“Chris wasn’t home. I left a message and this number. Do you think that’ll be okay?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? But I’m sure if it’s not, someone will let us know.” I went to my own case, opened it, and pulling out some underwear, my black leather jeans and an ivory tunic sweater, began to get dressed.

“Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the entire setup here was wired, phones and all, with Victor being so extremely security conscious.”

“That may be true, but you can’t really blame him. He takes his responsibility for the Cadre very seriously.” I glanced over at him while I zipped up my pants. “The same way you would, if the job were yours. The two of you are very similar.”

Mitch threw his head back and laughed. “That’ll be the day—Mitchell Greer, the grand-exalted Pooh-Bah of the Cadre.”

“You never know, my love. Another couple of centuries and the position might be open.”

“I doubt it,” Mitch said, “Victor’s just too damned pompous to die.”

I shivered at his words. “Please don’t talk about it. I just barely survived the death of Max with my sanity intact. God knows what would happen if Victor . . .” Suddenly, I wanted to weep. I sat down on the edge of the bed, curled my legs underneath me and put my hands over my face. I felt him move to me and stand by my side. Gently, he laid his hand on my shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Deirdre?”

Shaking my head slightly, I moved my hands down my face and clasped them together under my chin, as if in prayer. Then I looked down at them, flexed my fingers and dropped them in my lap. “I don’t know, Mitch. Maybe it’s just the atmosphere here—it’s so confining, so old. Maybe it’s being called back here and being coerced into killing another vampire. Damn it all, I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to see Larry Martin ever again, and when I do, I have no real desire to kill him.” I jumped up from the bed and paced around the room, searching for something, I didn’t know what. “I need a window, I need to see outside. I’d go crazy if I had to live here for long.”

He stood, staring at me for a while. “Well, maybe you can’t kill him, but I can.”

“I don’t want him dead.” The desperation in my voice filled the room.

“How can you say that, Deirdre? I guess that after all he’s done, you’d just like to invite him over for a drink. How could you have any sympathy for him at all? You should hate him. Have you forgotten what he did to Gwen, what he tried to do to you, what he did to me?” Anger crept into his voice, overlaying the concern for me and the confusion caused by my statement.

At the mention of her name, I was reluctantly swept back to the night that we had found Gwen dead, staked to my bed, her dying blood coating the room around her. I remembered the night Larry attempted to drive a stake through my heart at the Ballroom. I remembered Mitch after his last, almost fatal encounter with Larry; my fear of losing Mitch to death was what had forced me to perform his transformation. I had good reason to hate Larry and hate him I did, desperately, with a fervor beyond any comprehension. His death would be just and deserved. But, another part of me wailed, he was part of me, part of my life, and my blood flowed in his veins. We were bonded together like mother and child.

I gave a choked sob. “God, Mitch, don’t you understand? When I killed Max, he didn’t die—he stayed with me. That was bad enough and I loved him. But if I had to live with Larry inside me, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’d rather walk out right now and wait for the sun.”

“But if I were to kill him, he probably wouldn’t . . .” his voice trailed off.

I walked over to him and put my hands on his shoulders. “The true fact of the matter is that no one knows what will happen. No one, not even Victor.”

“But didn’t Victor tell you that what happened between you and Max was a rarity, that his possession of you was unusual?”

“Now look who’s taking Victor’s side. I wouldn’t like to trust my life and my sanity to his assumptions, thank you.”

He ran his hands down my arms and pulled me to him. “Then what do we do?”

I looked up at him with a half smile. “Damned if I know, my love. If we’re lucky, we won’t be able to find him at all. Hopefully, he’s already left town.”

“Larry, leave town?” Mitch gave a small snort. “I wouldn’t bank on it—not when he’s having such a good time.”

“No,” I said sadly, “neither would I.”

We stared at each other for a long time, needing no words, then he kissed me, leisurely, passionately, as if our love was the only thing that mattered. And when our lips separated and he moved away from me, I sighed.

Mitch smiled. “So, shall we go?”

“Where?”

“Where else?” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The only lead we have and I wish to hell it had burned to the ground years ago. The goddamned Ballroom of Romance, of course.”

Chapter 5

The Ballroom had not changed. I am not sure why I had expected it would. The line to get in was probably shorter than in previous years, but from the noise of the crowd within, it was obvious that the place was still quite popular. Not recognizing the doorman, I gave him my name and asked to speak with Fred. Mitch studied the doorman intently, trying, I thought, to ascertain if he was one of our kind. I tilted my head slightly at him as we entered and Mitch responded with a slightly sheepish smile. There was no way of telling, it seemed.

“Miss Griffin,” the doorman turned around and smiled at me, “Fred’s expecting you. We have your regular table reserved.”

I must have stared at him openmouthed. This same event could have occurred last year or five years ago. How many times had I heard similar words from similar doormen? Had everything changed so little? It seemed my life was an endless coil, beginning and ending here. Sensing my confusion, Mitch took my arm and squeezed it reassuringly. “That’d be fine,” he said, “thank you.”

“Are you okay?” Mitch leaned over and whispered after we were seated. “You seem sort of disjointed.”

“I want out of this, Mitch. The situation, the city, everything. How many times do I need to go through this?”

He nodded as if he understood. “But this time you have me around, and I won’t let you down.”

I touched his cheek. “I know you won’t.”

“Ah, so here’s the happy couple.” Fred’s voice cut over the dance music as he sat down at the table. “It’s nice to see you both again. Under better circumstances, I hope.”

“That depends,” Mitch’s voice was cold, “on whether you still have your gun and whether you plan to strong-arm us again.”

“I think we’re on the same side this time, Greer. No hard feelings, huh? You didn’t exactly do me any favors last time we met, either. I’d spent quite a lot of time worming my way into the Cadre’s inner circle and it only took one look from Deirdre to drop me back down. I would have handled her a little differently had I known.” As usual, his tone was nasty and malicious, but he shook his head a bit and managed to give us an almost friendly smile. “But, Victor tells me that if I help you it will give me a chance to gain back some ground. So, what exactly can I do for you?”

“Larry Martin.” Mitch’s voice was low, persuasive. “We need to find him. Fast.”

Fred shrugged. “Yeah, he’s been around. And all this time we thought he was dead.” He gave me a shrewd look. “Can’t quite figure that one out. Care to enlighten me?”

“Occupational hazard.” Mitch’s tone allowed no argument. “So, has he been here tonight?”

“No, not yet,” Fred looked at his watch, “but it’s still early. I expect he’ll be hungry.”

Mitch stood up and grabbed the lapels on Fred’s jacket. “You knew he was coming here, picking up people and killing them, didn’t you? Why didn’t you try to stop him?”

Fred brushed at Mitch’s hands, shrugging when he couldn’t remove them. “I had no orders about him whatsoever. Why the hell should I get involved?”

Mitch gave an exasperated sigh and dropped his hands. “Why the hell, indeed.” He sat back down at the table. “Get out of here,” he muttered between his clenched teeth, “you make me sick.”

Fred raised his eyebrows and gave a low laugh. “No problem, Greer.” Then he looked at me. “Quiet tonight, aren’t you, Deirdre? Shall I have a bottle of your favorite wine sent over while you wait?”

“That would be fine, thank you, Fred.”

I watched him walk away from our table and surveyed the room, my eyes darting back and forth over the dancing forms. “I think I may sell this place, Mitch. Who needs it?”

“Good idea,” he agreed, giving me a boyish grin, “or like I suggested earlier, burn it to the ground.” He ran his fingers through his gray hair and grew instantly sober. “Maybe we can arrange for Fred to be inside at the time. And a few others I can think of . . .”

Mitch’s voice trailed off when the waiter arrived at our table with the wine and glasses. After he left, I glanced around uneasily. “Mitch, you shouldn’t say that here, or anywhere. Someone might take you seriously.”

“I am serious, Deirdre. Unfortunately, I’m still too much of a cop to put my thoughts into action. But so help me God, if this situation puts you into any sort of danger, or hurts you in any way, I won’t rest until the goddamn Cadre is ground into dust.” His eyes flashed at me across the table. “And,” he said, his voice full of determination, “I’m just the man to do it.”

I reached over the table and cupped his cheek gently in my palm. “I know, my love, but it won’t be necessary. I’m a big girl now and can take care of myself.”

He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I won’t take the chance of losing you, Deirdre, not after it took me so long to get you.”

“We’ll do this together,” I began, then stiffened as one of the dancers I had been idly watching turned and met my stare. His mouth twisted into a smile, a smile that at one time had seemed to me to be innocent and trusting. Now it was merely a grimace, an evil, tormented gesture from a damned soul. Through the darkness that hung over him, I could finally see him clearly. The smell of death coated him. Even the familiar scent of his cologne, one I once thought enticing and alluring, could not disguise the odor of decay and rotting flesh that engulfed him and the air surrounding him. And I, who thought I’d experienced every possibility in my unnatural lifetime, realized that I had never been faced with true evil until this moment. The dark sins that had haunted Max were nothing compared to the utter grotesqueness of the inhuman creature now boldly meeting my gaze and slowly crossing the room to the table where Mitch and I sat.

“Deirdre,” Larry said when he came close enough to be heard over the band, “and Mitch.” His eyes widened slightly, as if he were not expecting Mitch to be here. Of course, I thought quickly, Larry’d believed Mitch was dead. But he did not allow this surprise to interrupt his flow. “Mother and, ah, Father, so to speak. I have so much to be grateful to the both of you for. Your bullet,” he nodded at Mitch, “and your blood, Mother.” He reached out and stroked my cheek, grinning at the shudder he caused. “The combination of those two things gave me everything I ever wanted. May I join you?”

Without waiting for our assent, Larry pulled a chair from the table, spun it around and straddled it, leaning himself toward me. “I wondered when you would get back in town, you might even say I was expecting you.” He laughed, a low, sinister and mirthless sound. “I knew they’d send for you to clean up your dirty laundry.”

I sat silently for a moment, staring at him, trying to determine exactly where his radiated evil dwelled. His physical looks were unchanged; he was still a blond, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered young man, handsome and innocent in his appearance. Even as he sat talking to us, I caught the interested glances some of the girls in the club directed his way.

The differences in him were subtle, but obvious when I looked closer. Now his mouth was drawn out, tightened in pain or anger. His eyes moved about nervously, betraying a manic attitude; his voice had acquired a malevolent edge. When he spoke, his tongue darted out of his mouth, like a reptile’s scenting the air for prey. Underlying my repulsion and disgust, however, I could still feel the strength of the blood bond between us. And the realization that I had somehow given birth to this monster made my stomach wrench and the bile rise in my throat.

“So,” Larry said, returning my look, “what exactly did the Cadre ask you to do with me?” His tone was one of amusement as if we were exchanging pleasantries or jokes.

“They told us we could kill you.” Mitch’s voice held no lightness, only a bitter hatred and Larry turned away from me and directed his gaze on Mitch.

“Did they?” Other than a quick intake of breath and a slight quaver in his voice, Larry’s assurance never faltered. “Now that’s an interesting development. I thought that the killing of another vampire was a definite no-no.”

“Believe me, Martin, they’ll make an exception in your case. As for me, I’ve already killed you once. I’d like nothing better than to do the job right this time.” Mitch gave a little grunt and ran his fingers through his hair. “But Deirdre doesn’t want you dead. God knows why.”

“Why, Deirdre,” Larry reached over and touched the top of my hand, “I didn’t think you cared. I’m touched.”

I pulled away from him abruptly, wiping my hand on the leather leg of my pants. “I don’t care, Larry. I just don’t want to be involved in your death.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “Either way works for me. So what do we do now?”

I was amazed at his compliance, almost as much as the calm assurance in my voice when I answered him. “If you agree, we go back to Cadre headquarters and arrange for a hearing.”

“Just like that, huh? And who guarantees my safety when I get there?”

“I will, Larry.” My eyes met his and I knew he could read the truth in them. “I will guarantee your safety, if you accept the Cadre’s decision.”

“Done. But let’s finish the wine first, okay?” Larry called the waiter over, asked for another glass, then turned his chair slightly so that he could watch the dancers while he waited. “I guess,” he said, his voice soft now, almost wistful, “that asking you to dance is out of the question.”

I could feel Mitch tense, but caught his eye and shook my head slightly. I had a responsibility here, one that I had shirked before, one that was mine alone. For although it had been Mitch’s bullet that allowed the blending of my blood with Larry’s, it had been my presence and my life that originally set him out on the dark path he now walked. I had left town to pursue my own selfish interests, knowing full well of his twisted rebirth. I should have stayed to teach him, to comfort him. Perhaps if he would accept me now, it was still not too late for me to show him a better way.

“Larry,” I said, standing up and taking his hand in mine, suppressing a shudder of distaste, “I would be happy to dance with you.”

So I led him to the dance floor; he put his arms around me and we began to dance. The defiance and the cockiness that he had earlier displayed vanished; the evil air he exuded was still apparent, but was now subdued by a sadness, a solemnness. He held me almost reverently, as if I were delicate and breakable. Even though aware of Mitch’s watchful stare, I finally relaxed in Larry’s arms; he must have felt the easing of my tension, he tightened his hold on me and sighed.

Slowly we circled the dance floor, saying nothing, not even looking at each other. Every so often, I would catch Mitch’s eye as we went around and I would nod to him and smile. Mostly my attention was centered on Larry and the conflicting emotions he was causing in me. The loathing and the disgust at his murderous actions still existed in me, but at war with them was the feeling that had been caused by his earlier greeting of me as “Mother.” It was true—I was as much his mother as Max had been my father and Larry had been as much betrayed, abandoned, and left to his own resources as I had been. But the biggest difference was that I had known of his existence and had chosen to do nothing to help him.

The band started another slow song and I felt Larry’s grip on me change. I looked up at him and he gave me a small smile, but looked away from my direct gaze. “Deirdre,” he said, and his mouth quivered, “I want to tell you what happened to me, how I have been fighting for survival. Will you listen, I mean, really listen? Will you try not to judge me too harshly?”

I swallowed hard. “I’ll try, Larry, I really will.”

“Can we go somewhere private, do you think?”

“Well,” I hesitated, “I doubt that Mitch would stand for that. At least here he can see us.”

Larry nodded. “Yeah, I understand. He should probably join us anyway, even though he hates me.”

“You can’t really blame him for hating you, you know.” I smiled a bit to ease the tension. “You did try to kill him, after all.”

“And he tried to kill me,” Larry said, the madness seeming to return briefly to his voice. “But I guess,” and he sighed again, deliberately controlling his temper, “that probably just makes us even. And here we both are, alive and well, no harm done.”

Although I thought that point was extremely debatable, I let it go. “Shall we see what kind of shape Fred’s been keeping Max’s office in?”

“Sure.” He dropped his arms from me and stood back. “And thanks.”

Chapter 6

The three of us entered Max’s office, escorted by Fred, who sounded almost apologetic when he opened the door. “I hope you don’t mind, Deirdre,” he said, giving me a sidelong glance, “Victor thought it was time for a change in here. After you left town, he called me back to manage the place again. And my first job was to clear everything out of here, then redecorate the room. What do you think?”

Larry moved in quickly and settled in on one of the sofas; Mitch gave him a sharp hateful glare, then went to the bar and began to open a bottle of wine. I stood in the doorway, looking around me, a smile beginning to etch itself upon my face. Suddenly, Max’s office wasn’t Max’s office anymore. It had been totally redone since the last time I’d seen it, over two months ago.

All traces of what had been here before were erased. Gone was the dark, brooding atmosphere that had been so prevalent; now everything was airy, light, and feminine, almost too feminine. The windows were covered with heavy beige tapestry curtains, patterns of gold, mauve, and pale green woven throughout, the carpet was a pale, plush ivory. The sofas were covered in a print damask to match the curtains; the chairs and desk were Queen Anne styling. Even the bar had been replaced, with a delicate-looking wicker one and the stools had been covered with fabric that matched the sofas. I was delighted, not so much by the decor, but by the fact that finally something had changed. The very thought that this office, a place that had remained static for close to ten years, was now a different place, no longer haunted by ghosts of the past, lightened my spirits.

When I started to laugh, Fred stated defensively, “Well, if you don’t like it, we can have it changed, you know.”

“I am not laughing about that, Fred. It’s lovely, really.” Knowing that I could not explain my sudden levity, I searched for an excuse. “I, well, I was just trying to visualize you with the decorator, choosing fabric swatches.”

I was surprised to see him blush. “You thought that I did this, myself. No, actually Vivienne made all the arrangements.”

“Oh,” Mitch said, his voice filled with amusement, his eyes catching mine, “Vivienne.”

Larry caught the look exchanged between Mitch and me, and gave a little snort. Mitch glared at him and the room suddenly seemed filled with tension.

No fool, Fred edged away to the door. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave the three of you alone. You want I should lock the door?”

“Yeah, do that.” Mitch came around the bar with a glass of wine for me and Larry, then, as the door closed and the latch clicked shut, went back for his drink, a scotch on the rocks. I wondered if Larry would recognize this as a sign of Mitch’s bad temper, but with the icy blue stare directed at him, I realized that for Larry the clue was probably not necessary.

“So,” Mitch sat down on one of the side chairs, and I sat down on the sofa facing Larry, “Deirdre says you have a story to tell us, something that might just keep me from killing you right here, right now. It’d better be good.”

Larry gave him a glance out of the corner of his eye, then looked over at me. I could almost tell what he was thinking: Mitch might be the judge, the one to pass sentence, but I was the jury. So he presented his case to me, completely ignoring Mitch. “You were right, you know.”

“I? What was I right about, Larry?”

He gave a sigh. “That this life is not a gift, but a curse. That no one in their right mind would seek out this life.” He shifted a bit uneasily on the sofa. “But then again, I was not completely sane at that time. I am now, you have to believe that, Deirdre.”

I said nothing, but nodded. He certainly spoke with clarity, and his voice seemed calm, untroubled. But the glint of his eyes worried me. I could feel Mitch’s body tense, heard ice clink as he took a drink, saw his stare fasten on Larry over the rim of his glass. “Go on, Larry,” I urged softly.

“Looking back on it all, I think the worst part was waking up in the morgue.” He drained his wine and looked down at the glass in confusion, as if wondering what it was doing in his hand. Then he shuddered and paused for a bit. When he finally continued, his voice was low and shaky. “Or maybe that was just the start of the nightmare . . . I probably don’t need to tell you, Deirdre,” and he began rolling the wineglass back and forth in his hands, “about the utter confusion of the senses I experienced when I woke up. The entire world I thought I’d known had changed: the sights, the smells, even the textures were all different—they were sharp and hurt me, physically. It was like I was a baby, who’d fought his way from the womb and burst screaming into his new environment. But not a baby, because I was born fully aware and functional. I knew instantly where I was and what I’d become. There was the coolness of the slab beneath my cold skin, the coarse weave of the sheet thrown over my body, the odors of death and disinfectant all around.”

I grew increasingly fascinated with his account, his voice was emotionless, almost a drone now, and he was still rolling the bowl of the wineglass over and over between his palms.

“When I sat up, the sheet fell from my face. The bodies around me stunk of decay, and the lights stung my eyes. I glanced down at my chest and saw only a fading scar from where Mitch’s bullet had exited. There was no sign of my skin having been cut open, so I assumed they had not gotten around to my autopsy yet.” Larry stopped for a minute, looked away from his hands and into my eyes. “Would that have killed me, do you think?”

I answered him truthfully, “I have no idea.”

Mitch’s response was a short grunt, then he got up from the chair and refilled his glass at the bar. He lifted the bottle of wine and raised an eyebrow to me, but I shook my head. I did not want anything to break Larry’s concentration.

I shouldn’t have worried, he was too submersed in his past to let himself be distracted. The words flowed from him as if breaking down a dam. And perhaps they were; I remembered the utter loneliness of my earlier days. It would have been a joy and a release to have others of my kind to talk to.

“Well,” Larry gave a small, mirthless grin, “I sure as hell didn’t stay around long enough to find out. I found an extra set of lab whites in one of the open lockers, dressed myself and just walked out.” His grin turned into a choked, almost furtive laugh. “I wondered how they’d explain the missing body. But, hell, from the looks of the place, they had so many of them and I figured that one less probably wouldn’t be noticed for a long time. And they certainly wouldn’t expect the corpse to be walking around.”

Mitch settled back into his chair. “It was chalked up to paperwork error,” he said curtly, “happens all the time.”

“Oh, that’s good then. No APB out on me.”

“Well,” Mitch gave him a grim look, “not per se.”

Larry shrugged. “It hardly matters anyway. Now where was I?”

“Leaving the morgue.”

Larry gave Mitch one last glance, then concentrated his efforts on me once again. “When I got out onto the street, into the night, it was like something exploded in my head, turning me completely inside out. The way the air smelled, the way the people smelled of blood and flesh and perfume . . .” He put his head back for a minute, resting it on the couch and sighed deeply, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Oh, now that part’s probably worth everything else. You know, the way the city seems to touch your skin, the way the night seeps into you, filling you, completing you.”

When Larry lifted his head, he looked first at me and then at Mitch; the air grew electric between the three of us. We were, for the first time since our lives intersected, in perfect concordance. “But I guess,” he said with a shaky, passionate laugh, “I don’t need to explain that to you, do I? You both know it as well as I do.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, the wineglass still carefully grasped between his palms. “I walked the streets that first night, not caring where or even what I was. Just enjoying the feeling of being alive again, you know, being aware. I was so wrapped up in my senses I forgot about sunrise; so involved with the strength and immortality of my new body I almost blew it.” His mouth twisted into a smile, mocking his newborn naiveté.

“Too bad you didn’t.” Mitch’s harsh whisper carried clearly through the room.

But Larry either didn’t hear Mitch’s statement or chose to ignore it. “Fortunately I was near a subway stop when the sun came up. I ran down the steps and hid out the day there, far enough into the tunnel so that I would be safe. I curled into a ball with my back to the entrance and slept. When I awoke at sunset, the whole process began again: the sensory barrage, the fascination with the strength of my body, the scent of the night, but this time there was something else, a closer, more intimate sensation. I realized suddenly that a pair of arms were wrapped around me, that a warm, human body was pressed into my back. I pried the arms from me and rolled over.

“It was an old woman, a street dweller by the looks of her. She was dirty, smelly, her clothes were ragged and filthy; by her head was a large bag, stuffed with more rags, odds and ends that she must have valued. As I looked closer I realized that she was not so much old as used up, her face was dirt-streaked, but unwrinkled and her hair had only a little bit of gray mixed into the greasy brown. Her mouth was hanging open, she was snoring softly, and her breath stunk of alcohol. I figured she must have stumbled into the tunnel some time during the day, seen me and passed out beside me, taking comfort from the only sort of human contact she could have. Or,” his eyes acquired a manic gleam, and he shrugged, grinning, “maybe she had the hots for my body. Who knows? Anyway, I reached over and shook her. She mumbled in her sleep, put an arm up around my neck and pulled my mouth down to hers.

“And then,” Larry’s voice began to shake, and I shuddered, “then, the hunger struck me. At first I thought it was a sexual thing, you know, her mouth was working on me, kissing me and I got hard, real hard. I started to undress her, strip her down through the many layers of dirty rags. By the time she was completely naked, she was half-awake, her eyes were open and she gave me a sort of sleepy smile. Her skin was almost clean where it’d been covered, and most of the bad odors had been removed, tossed away with her clothes. And I wanted her, or something, so very bad I couldn’t control myself. Didn’t care about anything but fulfilling the desire that was overcoming me with each moment.”

Larry got up from the couch so quickly that I jumped, startled. I heard Mitch’s soft intake of breath and watched Larry cross the room, pull aside the drapes and look out into the city night. He remained facing the window as he continued to tell his story. “So I screwed her, right there in the subway tunnel. Over and over again, I pounded into her. She enjoyed it at first, I think, she made all the right noises, but when I wouldn’t stop—I couldn’t stop, there was no satisfaction, no climax, just an uncontrollable hunger, an uncontrollable lust—she tried to push me away from her. She was whimpering softly and crying, and she tried to push me away from her.” The pitch of Larry’s voice rose, the tone was indignant, arrogant. “I think I laughed then, knowing that she was mine, however I wanted to use her. ‘Can’t take it, can you, bitch?’ I said to her as I pulled her tightly to me again, still driving into her. And then,” Larry stopped for a long second and a low-pitched growling noise emerged from his throat. A noise so inhuman, yet so in tune with how I felt, the hair on my arms began to rise.

“And then, my mouth found her neck.”

He had still been holding the empty wineglass in his hands throughout the story. Now he brought his palms together, crushing the crystal, the tinkling of the shards was loud and compelling. More compelling was his deep intake of breath and the odor of blood that filled the room. I could remember the scent and even the taste of Larry’s blood, but it seemed different now, tinged with an unfamiliar flavor. And I knew I was scenting, tasting the blood of the nameless woman in the subway, as easily as if the mouth on her neck was my own.

“And when her blood poured into my mouth, it was like every vein in my body exploded. I could feel the blood flowing through me, could tell that it was strengthening my body, my muscles, my bones. It was like a drug. No, it is a drug; I’d never been so high in my entire life. Never felt so alive or so vital. And the whole time that I sucked on her, I could taste her fear and her pain, feel her feeble attempts to pull away from me, from my mouth and my dick still thrust deep within her. And that only enhanced my enjoyment of the blood. The element of danger, the black chilled air of the tunnel, even her unwilling surrender spurred me on to continue to drink and drink and drink.”

Larry pulled in a long breath. “I drained her completely, still screwing her, drawing out her life. She was dead even before I had finished. And after I was through with her, I tossed her body onto the tracks. When they found her, she’d be just another homeless lush, passed out drunk and run over by a train. Any traces of me would be wiped out with the crushing of her body under the train.”

There was a long, unbroken silence.

Somewhere outside this office the band played and people danced and laughed and drank; somewhere outside these doors people led normal lives, unaffected by dark hungers and thirsts and the desire for death. I realized then that the newly decorated office was a mockery and a sham. It made no difference. It was still Max’s office, would always be. And the three creatures who occupied the room were just a continuation of his dark legacy.

I wanted to say something, wanted to cry out in protest, wanted to throw myself into Mitch’s arms and take comfort there. But there was no comfort to be had. Larry was my creation, my child. And I was fully a part of the atrocities he had committed. I closed my eyes tightly against the tears that were forming and sat straight and rigid on the sofa.

When the voice spoke again, I wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t mine. “And then I realized that this was what life truly is. It isn’t the deceptive beauty of the night or the enhanced senses, it isn’t the perfection of the body or the immortality of the soul. It is the taking, it’s the seduction, it’s the blood and the death.” Larry laughed and broke the spell his story had cast. “And ever since then, I’ve been fulfilling that destiny. Living this life as it was meant to be lived. Although,” he came away from the window and sat back down on the couch, pulling small pieces of glass out of his palms, “you know, sometimes I still wonder if what I am living is reality or fantasy.”

Mitch cleared his throat slightly and his voice sounded hoarser than normal. “Well, it sure as hell isn’t a fantasy for the people you murder.”

Larry looked over at Mitch, a surprised expression on his face. “But it’s not murder,” he said confidently, “it’s survival. And I think you’re wrong, it is a fantasy, it’s all really nothing but a dream.” His expression changed suddenly. “But, you see, the hunger,” he said, a hard, driving anger now coloring his words, “the hunger’s not a dream, it’s a nightmare. I could probably live this life forever and love it, if it weren’t for the hunger. There are times when it’s so deep and so cold, it’s like falling into a dark pit or a grave. Times when the hunger is so strong, it tears me up inside, eating my guts, gnawing at my brain. And that’s why I agreed to go along with you, and why I’ll let you take me in for judgment. Maybe you can take away the nightmare and cure the hunger.”

Chapter 7

Larry had put his face into his hands and slumped down on the couch. His shoulders trembled slightly and I sat staring at him, conflicting thoughts running through my mind. I desperately wanted a shower, with water hot enough to wash his evil from me. I also found myself wanting to comfort him, remembering when he was still human, remembering the time he’d made a declaration of eternal love for me. Had I offered him comfort at that point, could this entire situation have been averted? But I’d done nothing then, and I did nothing now, sitting silently on the couch, looking at him. Finally I felt in control of my emotions enough to raise my eyes to Mitch’s face.

I had expected to find revulsion there and was not disappointed. But there seemed to be something else, sympathy perhaps, or even empathy. Maybe even agreement with Larry’s summation of our life. I attempted a smile, managed only a trembling twist of my mouth, but Mitch seemed to understand and nodded at me.

“Let’s get this damned thing over with.” Larry jumped at the sound of Mitch’s voice and removed his hands from his face. Small drops of blood tracked down his cheeks. Tears, I wondered, or just the tracings from his glass-splintered palms? His eyes held no clue as they fastened on Mitch.

“So,” Larry said, his voice arrogant and assured once more, “what’s it going to be, Greer? Kill me or turn me over?”

“I told you already,” Mitch hissed at him, “I’d just as soon kill you dead as look at you. And your story certainly did nothing to convince me that you’re anything other than scum, but Deirdre doesn’t want you dead.” He turned to me. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, love?”

I shook my head. “Let the Cadre deal with him, Mitch. I don’t want his death or his spirit on my conscience.”

Larry glanced at me. “But you’ll still speak for me?”

“I promised I would, didn’t I? I won’t break that promise. Are you ready to go?”

Larry shrugged, got up from the couch and headed for the door. Mitch moved after him quickly. “Just a minute, Martin,” he said in a stern voice, “if I have to hand you over to those bastards at the Cadre instead of killing you, I want to make damn sure you get there.” Mitch reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Larry gave a smirk and held out his arms. Mitch snapped one of the cuffs on him, and put the other on his own wrist. “Now, I feel better. Let’s go.”

It was a silent cab ride back to Cadre headquarters. Larry sat, docile; Mitch was edgy and nervous; I looked out the window. And when we arrived, Victor was waiting for us at the lower elevator doors. I registered his presence there with shock, wondering how he knew we were coming. He seemed to read my mind.

“Fred called me, of course.” Victor raked Larry with a scornful glance, then looked at Mitch and me angrily. “Funny,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow, “I don’t remember the ‘or alive’ being an option in this case.”

“And I don’t give a damn what you remember, Lange. This is a Cadre matter, you wanted him, we got him for you. As far as I’m concerned he’s your problem now.”

“And mine,” I reminded Mitch gently, then turned to face Victor’s glare. “I have guaranteed his safety, Victor. And I count on you to uphold my word.”

“Presumptuous of you, Deirdre, don’t you think?” His lip curled up into a snarl. “You knew that we wanted him dead. However, in this case your word will be considered as good as mine.” He stopped, his expression lightened and he gave me a slight bow. “Then again, you may have hit upon the best solution; there has been worry among some of our younger members that if we have this rogue killed, they might be next.” Victor laughed. “Can’t have dissension among the ranks now, can you?”

“I suppose not. Larry has agreed to stand trial and to accept the Cadre’s disciplinary actions.”

“And where in all the Cadre can I find someone to stand for him?”

I met Victor square in the eyes and raised my voice to fill the empty hall behind me. “As a member of the House of Leupold, I will stand for him.” Softening the formality of my voice, I continued. “Which is only right, considering he is my responsibility.”

“Done and accepted,” Victor agreed. “Now, Mitch, if you would kindly come with me and bring the prisoner with you.” I moved to accompany them but Victor held out a hand. “You should go to your room, Deirdre. This does not concern you, yet.”

His order angered me. “The hell it doesn’t.”

“Deirdre, please. I will explain this to you later, trust me.” The sudden kindness in his voice decided me.

“Fine.” My tone was still unhappy, but not defiant. I kissed Mitch lightly on the cheek. “Later, my love.”

I could feel three pair of eyes on my back as I walked down the hall and entered the room.

The Cadre staff had been busy in our absence; the bed had been made, the bathroom cleaned and sitting next to my coffin was a larger but plainer one, obviously meant for Mitch. I shook my head, laughing only a little, hoping that he wouldn’t want to live the experience and sleep in that crate tonight. Crossing the room, I sat on the edge of the bed and jumped when the phone rang right next to me.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively.

There was a pause on the end of the line. Then a familiar voice. “Deirdre, um, hi. It’s Chris. Is my father around?”

“No, Chris, not right now. He’ll be back in a little bit, though. How are you?”

“Fine,” he said, but sounded unsure. “I, ah, wasn’t expecting the two of you back for a while. I guess I’ll move out as soon as I can find another place.”

“Well, that’s something you can discuss with Mitch, I suppose. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to stay there as long as you like. We may not be in town that long.”

“Oh, okay.” He paused.

“Well, if there’s nothing else . . .”

“Tell Dad I want to see him . . .”

We both laughed as we spoke simultaneously, breaking for a moment the uneasy tension between us.

“So,” Chris said, “tell Dad I’d like to have lunch with him tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

Now the silence was on my end. I couldn’t tell him that Mitch could never meet him anywhere for lunch, ever. And I sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to break the news to Chris about what his father had become.

“Deirdre, you still there?”

“Yes, Chris, I’m sorry. Someone was outside the door, here, I thought it might be your father.” I laughed nervously. “False alarm, I suppose. He should be back anytime now; do you want him to call you?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

“Fine, and you take care. I hope we’ll be able to see a lot of you while we’re here in town.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” Chris’s voice sounded reluctant, and I knew he didn’t want to spend time with me. The realization of what I was, of what sort of creature his father had married must still be fresh and horrible in his mind. “Talk to you later, then.”

He hung up before I had a chance to say goodbye. I put the receiver down gently and lay back on the bed, my fingers crossed under my head, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the convoluted ties that entangled us all. Chris, Larry, Mitch, even Victor to some extent, and myself—all bound to each other, inexplicably and eternally. I found myself wishing for the first time in many years that I had actually died in the accident that had transformed me. That I had been allowed to bleed out my life with my husband on that rain-soaked road. That I had been buried with him and the seven-month-old fetus who would have been our child.

I sighed and ran my fingers over my stomach, searching for a trace of that child, remembering its kicks and movement, and the feeling of total unity with it, the bond between mother and child that death could not erase.

When Mitch finally came back into the room, I was still lying on the bed, clutching at my barren stomach, blood-tinged tears streaking down my face and moistening the red brocade spread beneath me.

He did not notice me at first. “Hey,” he began, “look what the Cadre delivered while I was out. My very own coffin . . .” His voice trailed away as he looked at me and he quickly shut the door behind him. “Deirdre, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

I choked out the words between sobs. “Chris called.”

“He made you cry?” Mitch came over to me, sat down on the bed and stroked my hair. “What the hell did that little bastard say to make you cry?”

“Nothing,” I sat up and wiped at my eyes, giving him a little smile. “He started me thinking, that’s all.”

“Thinking about what?”

“The baby I lost.” Getting up from the bed, I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, really, it was a long time ago.”

He gave me a curious look. “Obviously it must matter some, for you to still cry over it.”

“No, really it doesn’t,” I assured him. “It’s just that this trip back here has been rather depressing for me. Having to deal with Larry and everything.”

“Speaking of that, it’s a fascinating setup the Cadre has here. Have you seen the cells, or as Victor called them, the retention rooms?”

“No, I wasn’t permitted there, remember?” I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Picking up a towel, I walked back into the room, drying myself, glad that he had been sidetracked from the previous issue. “What was so interesting?”

Mitch may have taken personal retirement from police work, but I could tell that he had lost none of his enthusiasm; of course he would find the Cadre judicial system fascinating, especially now that it no longer threatened me. “Well, there are all kinds of problems in retention, apparently, given vampiric existence and individual experience.”

I wandered aimlessly around the room, clutching the towel in my hands. “So?” From my tone of voice I knew he could tell that I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Well, think about it for a minute. Older vampires have more powers than the younger ones, you know. But the security system has to be beefed up, to a level that can hold the ones who transform.” He shook his head. “Although from what I can tell, the older ones generally don’t need to be incarcerated. I gather that Max was an exception to that rule. You would have been too, I suppose, but you haven’t yet realized your powers.”

I gave a small forced laugh. “And I don’t intend to do so, anytime soon.”

Mitch shrugged.

“And,” I continued, wanting to avoid that topic also, “I do not see how any kind of room could hold a creature who can transform himself into a mist.” I walked into the bathroom and hung the towel back up.

“Airtight,” he said simply.

I stood in the doorway and stared at him for a time in shock. “Airtight? Then how do you breathe?”

Mitch gave me a broad grin. “That’s the beauty of it, Deirdre, we don’t need to breathe.”

“But,” I protested, “I breathe, you breathe. I don’t understand.”

“Victor was kind enough to explain it to me, although he was rather horrified that I didn’t know to begin with. We actually only breathe for two reasons. One of them is force of habit, the other is so that we can speak. But our bodies don’t need the oxygen to survive, all we really need is blood.”

Somehow, being sealed inside a room with no air struck me as more hideous than the starvation that would accompany it, and the very thoughts of it made me shudder. “You know, Mitch,” I said, changing the subject yet again, feeling the walls of this room close in around me. “You should probably call Chris now. I told him you wouldn’t be too long and he’ll be expecting you.”

He went for the phone and began to dial.

“And by the way, my love,” Mitch stopped when I spoke and looked over at me, “he wants to meet you for lunch. You’d better either tell him straight out why you can’t or have a good excuse ready.”

“Damn,” he said quietly and hung up the receiver. “What the hell can I say?”

“You could tell him the truth, I suppose.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I can hear it now. ‘I’d love to meet you for lunch, son, but unfortunately I can’t go out in the sun anymore, because your stepmother has turned me into an evil creature of the night.’ That’d go over real well.”

His words struck me hard. “Jesus, Mitch,” I walked to the door and put my hand on the knob, “that was a low blow.”

Our eyes locked across the room. “Deirdre, I didn’t mean it like that . . .”

“I know you didn’t. Why don’t you stay here and talk to Chris in privacy?” I struggled to give him a smile. “You could even try out your new coffin or get someone to teach you how to transform into a mist. I need to get out of here for a while, need to be alone in an open space. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

I was sure he could hear the urgency in my voice, the desperation I felt locked away in this windowless tomb. He smiled reassuringly and nodded to me. “Walk softly this night,” he said, his tone husky and sincere.

The traditional greeting of the Cadre from his mouth unnerved me and I fled down the corridor, rode up in the elevator, and burst through the back entrance into the comfort of the night.

Chapter 8

After walking several blocks, my claustrophobia faded somewhat and I felt sufficiently recovered to hail a taxi. Even at that, when I climbed into the back seat, I rolled down the window and breathed in the night air appreciatively.

Managing to make the cab driver understand my destination, I finally arrived at the dreary brick building with barred windows. I paid the driver, watched him drive away and walked up the steps to the outer door. Pausing to take a deep breath, I sighed and opened the doors to the institution that had held a crazed Mitch not so long ago. The nurse at the reception desk greeted me with a warm smile, and I laughed inwardly at the difference between her and Jean, Mitch’s favorite nurse, who, we discovered later, was also a member of the Cadre. I wondered how Jean would take the news that we were back in town, and together; how she would react to the fact that Mitch had been transformed.

The current nurse interrupted my thoughts. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like to speak with Dr. Samuels if he’s in.”

“He is.” She picked up the phone. “May I give him your name?”

I nodded. “Deirdre Greer.”

There was no recognition of the name in her eyes, she merely smiled again and buzzed Sam.

“Yes?” Sam’s voice sounded tired and slightly depressed.

“There’s a,” she stopped and glanced at my left hand, seeing my wedding ring, “Mrs. Greer here to see you, Dr. Samuels. Shall I show her back?”

“Mrs. Greer?” he questioned, paused and then laughed. “Oh, yeah, of course, Mrs. Greer. Certainly, Susan, bring her back right away.”

The nurse got up from her desk and motioned me to follow her down the hallway.

Sam stood waiting for me just inside his office door. “Deirdre,” he said, all traces of weariness vanished from his voice, “when did you get back? Is Mitch with you?” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, then took my arm and guided me into his office, closing the door behind him.

“Hello, Sam,” I said, settling into the chair facing his desk, wondering why I had felt the need to come here. “Mitch is in town, but didn’t come with me tonight.”

Sam sat down behind his desk and his eyes raked my face. “Then I guess this isn’t just a social call, is it?”

“Well, no,” I started, “I don’t quite know why I’m here, except for the fact that I needed to talk to someone. And you seem to be the only person that I know and trust in this city who’s not dead and not a . . .”

He gave me a quick glance, reached into his top drawer for his ashtray and lighter, opened a new pack of cigarettes, and offered me one. It was a ritual we’d instated while Mitch was a patient here and signaled the switch from social pleasantries to serious discussion. I accepted the cigarette and he lit mine, then lit one for himself. He inhaled deeply, then blew the smoke out before speaking again.

“Not a what, Deirdre?”

“Not a vampire,” I said in a small voice.

“You have trouble saying that word, don’t you? A problem admitting to anyone, even yourself, what you are?” His manner became at once professional. “Would you like to talk about why this is?” He took another drag on his cigarette, paused, then choked a bit as the ultimate meaning of my words seemed to hit him. “But you said Mitch is here with you. You can trust him, for God’s sake, and he’s not a . . .”

I laughed a bit at his hesitation. “You see, Sam, I’m not the only one that seems to have a problem with the concept. But unfortunately, Mitch is a vampire, now.”

“Jesus.” He stubbed out his cigarette, only half-smoked. “How did that happen? I wouldn’t have thought that you could do that to him, knowing the way you feel about your life.”

“It’s a long story, Sam.” I took a drag on my own cigarette and flicked the growing ash into the ashtray. “And,” I had a sudden thought of Victor’s security measures for the Cadre, and how he would react to my revealing its secrets to a stranger, “most of it, I should probably not tell you. I’m not at liberty to reveal certain details to you.”

“Tell me what you can,” he said, sharply. “I’m pretty good at piecing puzzles together.”

Skipping the preliminaries, I started right in. “I transformed Mitch because I had no choice, he would have died had I not. To this day, I still wonder if that was a mistake.”

“He’s having trouble adjusting to the life?”

“Mitch?” I gave a low laugh and crushed my cigarette out. “Actually, he’s adjusted quite well, perhaps all too well.”

“Too well?”

“There are times when I hardly recognize him,” a note of panic entered my voice, “when I feel like I don’t know him at all. I’ve never had the company of my own kind before. And Mitch is undoubtedly that.” I sighed. “To be perfectly honest, Sam, he frightens me. It wasn’t too bad, when we were in England and alone, but now that we’re back here and surrounded by . . .” I broke off, realizing that I was saying too much, “well, surrounded by memories and the like, the reality of his, or our, existence hits me hard.”

Sam gave a noncommittal grunt and cleared his throat. I looked away from him and reached across the desk to help myself to another cigarette. As I lit it, our eyes met, locked together and I felt myself blushing under his close scrutiny.

“That wasn’t what you were going to say, Deirdre. You’re a terrible liar.”

“Only with you, Sam. I never seem to have this problem with anyone else.”

“Including yourself?”

“Especially myself. I’m very good at lying to myself.” I grinned slightly and he grinned back briefly before growing serious again.

“Surrounded by what, Deirdre?”

I gave him a long, calculating look, took another drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. “You must promise to keep whatever I tell you in the strictest confidence. To do otherwise might have dire circumstances for you.”

“Of course.” Sam nodded, his voice pained. “I’ll treat everything you say as patient confidentiality. I would’ve anyway, you should know that you can trust me.”

“Well,” I leaned back in the chair, “trust, as you should know by now, is an extremely rare commodity for me.” But I proceeded to relate the story of the Cadre, how they had been wrongly persecuting Mitch for the murder of Max Hunter, how, when they had discovered that I had actually been the one to kill Max, I was put on trial and escaped their sentence only through Max’s ghostly intervention. By the time I reached the end of my story, involving Larry’s attack on Mitch and my frantic attempt to transform him before he died, we had smoked at least half of the pack of cigarettes; the room was filled with a cloudy, gray haze. Sam’s eyes were red and teary, perhaps some of that was due to the smoke.

“And now?” I jumped a little at the sound of a voice other than mine.

“And now we have been brought back to New York to kill Larry Martin.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“How the hell do you think it makes me feel?” I glared over at Sam from where I sat. “I don’t want to kill him, or anyone. But,” I shrugged away the thought, “it’s out of my hands now, anyway. Mitch and I found him tonight and delivered him to the Cadre; other than speaking for him at his trial, I need never see him again.”

“You’re speaking for him? Why?”

“I must. He’s my child.”

“I see.”

“Do you really?” I got up from my chair and walked around his desk to the window. Pulling aside the venetian blinds, I studied the night streets. “If you do, then you’ll be the only one so far. Even Mitch wants him dead.”

Sam rose from his desk and came to stand next to me. He put an arm around my shoulders and I leaned into him. Just the warmth of his human body and the fact that he showed no fear of me was comforting. I sighed, thinking that maybe it was this human contact that I missed in Mitch. Even as it crossed my mind, the disloyalty and the inherent betrayal in the thought distressed me. I loved Mitch, he was my mate, my lover, my husband. And if now he was something other than he used to be, I knew fully where the blame rested. “Damn.”

“Deirdre,” Sam moved away from me, seeming embarrassed by our physical contact, “I’d like to help you. I really would. But I don’t quite know what to say, what to do.” He gave a small laugh. “All of this is just a little out of my area of expertise.”

“Yes, Sam, I know. Like I said, I’m not sure why I came here tonight.”

“You already answered that question yourself, you know. You needed someone to talk to, needed a friend.”

Friend? the bitter thought jumped to mind, this man is not a friend. I have no friends. This man is prey, nothing but blood for the taking. “Yes, well,” my voice trembled with the desperate strength of that thought and I felt a tingling in my jaws. “I must go. I’ll call you later, maybe we can all get together sometime, before Mitch and I leave.” I moved away from the window and quickly went to the door.

“But you can’t be leaving so soon. You just got here.”

“Our work here is practically done, Sam, now that Larry is in Cadre custody. I need only stand for his trial. And there are too many painful memories in this city for me now, too much death, too much guilt.”

“But none of that is your doing, you should know that.”

I gave him a hard look as I opened the door. “I only wish that were true, Sam.” Then I hurried down the hall and moved out into the streets.

I couldn’t return to Cadre headquarters, not while it was still night; couldn’t lock myself into the tomblike room Mitch and I had been assigned. Just the thought of it made me shudder, made me want to run screaming down the streets. I felt confined, pent-up, suffocated. Hungry. The human scent of Sam still lingered in my nostrils. Oh, God, I was so hungry. I wanted to live the word, wanted to glut myself on blood, any blood. And as that thought took hold, so did the hunger, a blinding, burning-red wall that loomed before me, cutting me off from the rest of the world. There was, at that moment, no one who loved me and no one whom I loved. Nothing existed but a raging hunger, gnawing my stomach, and the hot wild visions of teeth tearing flesh.

I stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing the crowd of evening pedestrians to swear and part around me. My eyes were closed, fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug deeply into the flesh of my palms. I centered on the pain, smelled the rich warm scent of blood dripping onto the concrete under my feet.

Concrete, I thought scornfully, what business did I have here, in this city, surrounded by concrete and glass and steel? A hunter was what I was: predator and creature of the night. I craved clear night skies and wide forests to run, with wild, swift and velvet-skinned prey to pursue through the evening shadows. Not puny humans with their pitiful limbs and tamed blood.

Deep shudders shook my body and I seemed to close in around myself, sinking to the sidewalk, flames of pain shooting through me. The calls for help that rose in my throat became guttural growls on the way and I felt the startled shock of the pedestrians surrounding me, scented their fear and their flesh, heard the tearing of cloth as it ripped away from my limbs. A small human voice cried out in the back of my skull. “No!”

But my body was no longer my own, and this one rejoiced in a freedom denied it for over a century. I sprang to all fours, the feel of the pavement foreign and rough beneath my paws, kicking away the last of my restrictive clothing. Glancing around, tail whipping with anger in the air, I narrowed my eyes. My sensitive ears ached with the screams of terrified humans, and I opened my mouth and roared. And then roared again, leaping forward, running for refuge in a city where none was to be had.

How long I ran, I did not know. Neither did I know if I caused harm or death. I do know that it was a futile escape; the city was endless, the forests that I craved much too far away for me to reach them. It was close to dawn when I found an alley in which to hide. For I knew I must hide, instinctively knowing the danger of the sunrise, as well as the danger from an unidentified pursuit. And although I had managed to evade capture, I was still uncannily aware of the presence of my stalker. But as I settled in, I scented the air and judged it safe for now. Curling into a corner, I licked the blood from the pads of my feet, ripped into shreds by the rough concrete.

They took me completely by surprise, a man and a woman, with no fear of me in their minds as they approached. He held his hand out to me; immediately I lashed out with my claws and opened his arm from elbow to wrist. The smell of his blood filled my senses and I knew him. Our eyes met, his so intensely blue and full of love that his name came back to me. “Mitch.” I could not say the word, but I know he heard, as I heard and understood my name on his lips.

The woman came over and stroked my head, teasing and caressing the soft tufts of hair around my ears. Her soft lisping voice and metallic laughter echoed off the brick walls surrounding us. “Come, sister, we must try to get you back,” Vivienne laughed again, “in more ways than one, I fear.”

Chapter 9

When I finally woke, I found myself naked, covered only with the heavy red brocade spread, lying on the carpet of our room in Cadre headquarters. My arms and legs twitched as I tried to remember what had happened to me. It would have seemed a dream, except that I knew I was no longer capable of dreams. And the stale taste of blood that remained in my mouth, the undeniable ache of the loss of a freedom now beyond my reach told me that what I remembered was all too real. I sat up and looked around me, my eyes narrowed, attempting to adjust to the limitations of this different sight.

“Deirdre?” Mitch rose from where he had been stretched out in one of the chairs. He was wearing only a pair of jeans and it looked like he’d been holding vigil over me for a while. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”

I shook my aching head. “I don’t know. What time is it? And what happened?”

“It’s just a bit before sundown. As far as what happened, well, you changed, transformed.” He smiled at me and held out a hand to pull me up to him. “Damn, it was incredible. You were beautiful.”

The spread dropped from my body. I shivered and he wrapped his arms around me. “Why am I naked?”

Mitch shrugged. “When you transformed, your clothes were destroyed. They’re probably lying in a heap on the street where you lost them. Vivienne says that most vampires prefer to be nude before they begin the change.”

“I’ll try to remember that next time.” My voice was dry and I moved away from him to the dresser, finding clothes to replace those that were gone. “If there ever is a next time. I don’t really remember much about it. What was I?”

“A lynx.”

“A lynx?” I stepped into a pair of jeans and zipped them up. “But why?”

“Vivienne says that each individual has a different form, some even have two, one with wings and one without.” His eyes met mine and his excitement at these new revelations was completely apparent. This situation was a game to him, and one that he very much wanted to play.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t give a damn what kind animal I turned into or why I chose that particular form. The question is: why did I change at all? I had no intention to. I certainly never wanted to.” I pulled on a black sweater and hugged my familiar human-shaped arms to myself, “And I never want to do so again.” Even as I said it, though, I caught the faint growl of disagreement in the back of my mind. Mitch was right, it was beautiful, it was wonderful.

He ignored my denials, concentrating instead on the specifics of the change. “Vivienne says that inadvertent change can be caused by extreme emotions: fright, hunger, hate. Or by the transformation of another vampire, either nearby or linked to the other.”

I sat down on the end of the bed and gave him a long calculating glance. “Then what exactly is my dear sister’s assessment of the change?” My voice sounded brittle.

Mitch laughed a little. “You really are jealous of her, aren’t you?”

“No, but the two of you seem to be getting very friendly. Considering you’ve just met.”

“You are jealous.” He smiled at me. “She’s only trying to help.”

“Is there any reason why we need her help? I don’t trust her. Quite honestly, I don’t trust any of them. And neither should you.”

“Vivienne is harmless. The others, yes, you know how I feel about them. I hate them. For what they tried to do to you, for what they did to me. And yet . . .” Mitch’s voice trailed off.

I could finish his thought for him. Had none of that ever happened, he wouldn’t be what he was right now. And Mitch liked what he was—with almost as much fervor as I hated what he was, both for him and for me.

I sighed. There were reasons not to trust Vivienne; she had so very conveniently detained me the night of Larry’s attack on Mitch. She may even have been involved in that attack. But it would do me no good to attempt an explanation right now. He was too excited with the prospect of his potential powers to listen.

“Besides,” he continued, “Vivienne’s okay. She had nothing to do with the threats to me or to you. And she was one of the Cadre members who decided for you during the trial. So she’s on our side.”

“You and me and Vivienne against the rest of them? How very cozy.” I rubbed my hand over my eyes and leaned my head against the bedpost, realizing that my anger was not really meant for him. “I’m sorry, Mitch,” I said, my voice softer now, “I don’t mean to be so difficult. But my head aches, my body aches. And I’m very hungry.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, a predatory light gleaming from his eyes, “we should hunt tonight. Soon I should think. But before we do, I’d like to get reacquainted with your human form.” With a low laugh he crossed the room and sat down behind me on the bed. His hands began kneading my shoulders and I leaned back into him. “How’s that feel?”

I didn’t answer, just gave a long, low sigh. He pushed aside my hair and nuzzled the nape of my neck. I shivered slightly and he laughed again. “You made one hell of a wild cat, you know. You practically ripped my arm open to the bone.”

“Which one?”

He held out his arm and I lightly traced my nails down his naked skin. “No scars.” I sighed. “I miss your scars. Did it hurt?”

“Just for a minute. I was so relieved to find you before dawn that it hardly mattered. When you didn’t come back in an hour or so, I started to worry. And then I felt you almost like you had climbed inside me. Felt your rage, your confusion, your hunger. I thought I’d go crazy, until suddenly there was a blankness, as if you’d been snuffed out of existence. That was even worse.” He wrapped his arms around my neck, rocking me slightly back and forth. I could feel the muscles of his chest play against my back. “I practically knocked down Vivienne’s door trying to get an explanation of what was happening to me and to you. She was not pleased,” Mitch chuckled and continued, “and neither was the guy she’d been playing with.”

I laughed with him. “Well, fair is fair, after all. It serves her right. Anyone we know?”

“No one I’ve ever seen before. He was very young, very blond and very human.” The last word sounded scornful, demeaning.

“But, Mitch, it hasn’t been that long since you were human, too.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m better now.”

I pulled away from him only slightly, but he noticed immediately. “Deirdre, I was only joking. I know how remaining human has always been important to you. It’s just that this whole thing is so exciting for me. You should remember how it was.”

I thought for a minute before answering. I remembered all too well my initial brush with what I had become and it was anything but exciting. I’d had no one to counsel me, to support me; I had managed to survive by my wits alone, and through the intercession of a bloody and mindless war providing me with an endless supply of dying bodies on which to feed. It had been an initiation only into death and decay and the despair of unending life. For me, there had been no excitement, no joy, no hope.

“Yes, I do indeed remember how it was.” I moved out of his embrace, got up from the bed, went to the door and opened it. “I have to see Larry.”

It took some time to locate the administrative offices of the Cadre. The entire area below the Imperial was like a maze, endless corridors of closed doors through which I padded, barefoot, guided only by an inner sense of where I would place such offices. The halls were empty and as I walked I imagined scores of Cadre vampires prowling the streets of the city in search of prey. The thought first made me shudder, then drew a grim smile to my face. For ten years I had lived in this city believing I was alone, the only one of my kind. Had I only known then, would it have made a difference to my life? Would it have made a difference to the choices I had made?

“Choices?” I muttered to myself, following the faint noise of activity and voices I’d finally picked up. “When was I ever given choices?”

“Deirdre?”

I looked up and saw Ron, standing in an open doorway. “I want to see Larry.”

He looked at me and shook his head. “Well, you sure won’t find him here.”

I paused for a moment, collecting my anger, centering it and met his eyes with a cold, direct stare. “Look, Ron, I’ve had enough of all of this bureaucratic secrecy. I have a right to speak with him, I need to speak to him. If you won’t tell me where he is, I’ll pull this goddamned place down around us. So help me God, I will.”

“Deirdre.” Victor’s smooth calm voice preceded his entrance. “No need for violence, my dear. If you want to see Larry, then by all means you shall. Ron would be happy to take you, wouldn’t you, Ron?” The nuances of his tone merely infuriated me further. Humor her, they said, give the little lady what she wants so that she’ll go away and leave us to our important business.

Ron laughed, the sound a combination of nervousness and eagerness. “I’d take Deirdre anywhere. She should know that by now.” Then he looked down at my feet. “Where are your shoes? It’ll be cold where we’re going.”

“Gone,” I said simply, “and it’s cold everywhere, Ron.”

“Deirdre.” Victor nodded a dismissal and turned to retreat into his office, then spun around. “Oh, and sometime after you are done speaking to Larry, you and I will need to talk about the trial. At your convenience, of course, but we should make it soon.”

“Fine,” I agreed, “I’ll come back afterwards, if that’s all right.”

“Watch yourself, my dear.” His face twisted into a grimace, “I understand Larry’s been highly agitated these past few hours.”

“I can take care of myself, Victor.”

He laughed. “Yes, so I’ve heard. Until later then.”

Ron touched me lightly on the elbow after Victor went into his office and closed the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to put on a pair of shoes, Deirdre?”

I shrugged and gave him a small smile. “Cold feet are the least of my worries, Ron. Besides, my favorite pair got lost on the streets last night.” At his questioning look, I shook my head. “It’s a long story. And one I’m sure others will be happy to tell you. For now, let’s go. I don’t really know why I feel compelled to talk to Larry, but I would like to get it over with as quickly as possible.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I hear you. Larry’s one real strange guy. Gives me the creeps.”

I said nothing, but allowed Ron to lead me back through the corridors and to the elevators. Once inside with the doors shut, he opened the control panel and, taking a key from his pocket, inserted it and dialed in a code on a computerized key pad. The elevator started down with a bit of a jolt, throwing me off balance and into Ron’s steadying arms. We stood for a second, his hands on my shoulders and I blushed, remembering shared intimacies with this man.

I hadn’t known what he was at the time; had no idea of who he really was and why he’d befriended me. He was, I thought, just another man, a source of blood and comfort, one more in an ever-expanding list. And he’d made himself available during a time when I had desperately needed someone. Finding out that Ron was working for the Cadre was a betrayal, but no more of one than his finding out that I was married to a then mortal man. I thought that the scores between us had been evened.

“Deirdre,” his voice caught on my name as his hands reluctantly let go of my shoulders. I stepped back from him, and our eyes met. In a brief flash I felt my mind laid open in front of him; my recent fears and insecurities about what Mitch had become, my uncertainty about our future together, underneath all of which flowed a strong undercurrent of love. In Ron’s mind there lay a submerged anger and a passion that he feared would forever go unsatisfied.

“Ron,” I reached up, gently touched his cheek and the moment’s intuition faded, leaving only a wash of sadness in its wake. Of all beings, I knew what it was like to be unloved, to contemplate centuries of aloneness; I had lost Mitch once and upon finding him again, had made a conscious decision to accept losing him eternally in his death. It was true that circumstances and an impetuous act had taken that decision out of my hands. Somehow, to contemplate loving him for all eternity, to have him in front of me, visible and live, and not be able to act on that love, was truly horrible.

“Oh, Ron, I’m so sorry.” My voice was soft and I brushed away the forming tears as the elevator doors opened on our final destination: the holding pens of the Cadre.

Chapter 10

Ron was right; I should have worn my shoes. The floor was made of rough concrete and my feet were still tender from the abuse I had inadvertently put them through the previous night. And with one step off the elevator I felt a bone-chilling coldness sweep up my legs.

I followed him through dimly lit, winding corridors, totally different from the ones found on the upper levels. This area was almost like a cave, with no doorways, no windows, and the concrete block walls painted gray. I tried very hard not to imagine how far underground we were, but failed and the claustrophobic feeling that I’d felt earlier returned, stronger than before, overwhelming in its intensity. By the time we arrived at the end of the maze and Ron was unlocking the door, my pulse had quickened and my breath was coming in shallow gasps.

“Not very pleasant down here, is it?” He smiled at me, his one hand on the knob of the heavy metal door, his other brushed my shoulder in a gesture meant to reassure.

“No,” I said, as he pushed open the door. “But then jails aren’t supposed to be pleasant, are they?”

A flood of light spilled into the hallway from the room. I squinted and shook my head. “Why is it so bright in there?”

“Sun lamps,” Ron said, reaching his hand around the doorjamb, finding the switch and turning them completely off. The sudden absence of brightness seemed like a blessing. I rubbed my hands over my eyes and I noticed that Ron did the same. “There’s something about the particular intensity of the light that acts as a deterrent.”

“Deterrent?” My voice rose slightly and echoed down the hallway. “Deterrent? Hell, it seems close to torture.” I began to have second and even third thoughts on the benign nature of the Cadre’s justice system. “Is this where I would have been held had I been found guilty?”

Ron gave me a curious glance and nodded.

“Jesus,” the word escaped my lips almost unconsciously. “Hundreds of years locked away down here in an airtight cell, no food, no escape, and sun lamps? Sun lamps?” I started to laugh, “No wonder everyone in the Cadre is so obedient to Victor’s every whim. No wonder many people choose suicide over detention.”

“Well, I admit it seems rather bleak, but vampires have survived it. . . .”

“Bleak, Ron? Bleak doesn’t even come close.” I shuddered violently, still hesitating in the doorway. If this was the Cadre’s version of “humane” punishment, I hated to contemplate the other alternatives. “At least a stake through the heart is quick and clean. And kinder.”

Ron shrugged. “This is the way it is, Deirdre. The way it’s always been.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“And whether you like it or not doesn’t matter. Do you want to go in, or not?”

I nodded. “Yes, let’s go in.” And we entered.

Even had I not known what this area of the Cadre’s quarters was meant for, I could have surmised its purpose from the furnishings. A metal desk and a few uncomfortable chairs were scattered around what looked like a reception area. The desk held only an empty in-out basket, a calendar blotter, and a telephone. With the sun lamps off, the lighting consisted of a few overhead fluorescent fixtures. Everything was utilitarian and nondescript, unlike the flush luxury of the personal living quarters. It was a waiting area.

So were the glass booths I glimpsed beyond a partial wall. We entered the actual cell area and once again my feeling of pent-up anxiety returned. Not for me this time, but in sympathy for the hunched-over figure occupying the very last booth.

Larry sat on the edge of a narrow bunk, his elbows on his knees, his head resting on his hands, his shoulders shaking. I rubbed my hands nervously over my pant legs. Why did I feel I had to see him? Wouldn’t I have been better off not knowing his condition?

“No,” I said aloud and Ron looked at me in confusion. “Sorry, just a little argument with myself. Can I talk to him?”

“Sure,” Ron said, walking over to the wall and throwing a switch. Suddenly the room was filled with the whistling sound of air being forced into the chamber. Starting low, then growing louder and louder as the air filled his lungs, we could hear Larry sobbing. I gasped. The sound system obviously worked both ways because he heard me and raised his head. Our eyes met and some of the despair in his demeanor lifted, to be replaced with a glimmer of hope. He jumped up from the bed and flung himself at the wall, fingers splayed on its surface, his face so close that his features were distorted in the thick glass.

“Deirdre.” There was no mistaking the relief in his voice. “Shit, I’m so happy to see you. Hell, I’d be happy to see anyone right now. Even Mitch’s ugly face. How long have I been here? And what took you so long?”

“I’m sorry, Larry. I wasn’t sure they’d let me see you. . . .” The lie was apparent, even to him.

A twisted smirk replaced the pleased smile that had been on his face. “I know, and you didn’t exactly rush to find out, right?” Larry shrugged and laughed. “No, it’s okay, really, why should you? I mean, what am I to you that you should care?”

I sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Larry, you are my responsibility. One that I have neglected, I confess. And I apologize for that. But I’m here now and I want to help if I can. We can talk; you can communicate with me, tell me your needs, your fears.”

“You’re here now? Actually, you’re there and I’m stuck in here. How can we communicate through this wall? I mean really communicate? And shouldn’t I have gotten bail or something? I haven’t been convicted of anything yet. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

Ron laughed. “That’s not a Cadre rule, Martin. Don’t push your luck.”

Larry struck at the glass wall with his fist. The noise was amplified through the microphone and I jumped. He continued punching to emphasize his words. “Oh, that Ronny is a brave one.” Thump. “It’s fucking easy to laugh when you’re on the other side, isn’t it, buddy?” Thump. “Let’s trade places and see how much you like it.”

“No thanks.” Ron made a grimace of distaste and turned to me. “Deirdre, are you sure you want to talk to this creature?”

“Yes, I do, Ron. I want to. I have to.” I gave Larry a quelling glance, which seemed to calm him, then looked back to Ron. “And I’d like to see him inside the room, if I may.”

“Jesus, Deirdre, I’m not sure you should do that.”

“Are there rules against it?”

“Well, no, not really. But he’s a strange one. He might hurt you.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Ron, what on earth could he possibly do to me? He has no weapons, and no defenses. I think I can reach him, make a difference to the way he is, but I can’t do it through a wall of glass.” I reached out and touched Ron’s arm gently, looking up into his face, studying his eyes. “We’ve been friends, good friends, all things considered. You may stay and watch if you need to, but let me go in. And turn off the microphone. This should be a private discussion. Please.”

It was the last word that settled him, I think. And although I could tell he was not happy about the situation, he agreed. “Stand back, Martin,” he said in a sharp voice. Larry moved quickly to the end of his cot. “Okay, Deirdre,” Ron said, his hand resting on another switch on the wall, “the door will open for just a few seconds. Once you’re inside, you’ll be sealed in with him. And when I turn the microphone off, the air goes, too. Although there should be enough in there for at least a half an hour of conversation.” He looked over at Larry and back at me. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”

“It’s the only way, Ron.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly, then grinned at me, “you always do this to me. Talk me into doing things I don’t want to do. It’s not fair, you know. And Victor will have my ass for this if anything goes wrong. But you know I’ve never been able to resist the pleas of a lady in distress, especially yours.”

I smiled back at him. “Yes, I know, Ron. Don’t worry; I’ll take full responsibility for any consequences.” I stretched up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

He motioned me to the corner of the cell and I stood there waiting, until the glass slid aside, leaving a very thin opening the height of the cell. I squeezed through quickly and heard the panel thump closed behind me with a finality that echoed through the room.

Larry still stood placidly at the end of his bunk. “Nice place, huh? I bet the room they gave you and the hubby is just a little bit better furnished, but I suppose they figured this is good enough for the poor relatives.” Then he held out his arms in a welcoming gesture. “But I’m forgetting my manners, please, sit down.”

I settled in on the edge of the bed and Larry walked over to the outermost cell wall. He knocked on it. “Okay, Ron, you can turn off the mike now.” Ron’s eyes met mine across the room, I nodded and the switch was turned. The whistling sound dwindled, then stopped; other than my low breathing we were surrounded by total silence.

“So,” Larry moved over and sat next to me. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” His voice was sad without any trace of anger or vindictiveness.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Larry. And I’ve come to the conclusion that what you have become is my fault. I shouldn’t have left town knowing you were here, knowing what you were. Of all of the Cadre, I’m the only one who can understand the total solitude you’ve been experiencing, the confusion, and the fear, because I have done to you what Max did to me.”

“Oh.”

I don’t know what kind of explanation he’d expected to hear, but from his reaction this hadn’t been it. Still, I continued. “I am truly sorry, Larry. I should have stayed. I should have helped you, taught you, led you the way you needed to go.”

He brushed off my words. “None of that shit matters now. But do you think,” his voice wavered and I was afraid he would begin to cry again, “I mean, can you get me out of here? Please, Deirdre,” he reached over and touched my hand, then grasped it in his. “This is horrible. You can’t imagine how awful it is, to be locked away in this stinking place.” He dropped my hand and jumped up, pacing the room. “You should have let Mitch kill me. It would have been better. Anything would be better than this.”

“Larry, I’m sorry, I thought this would be, well, more bearable. I really had no idea.”

“You promised me it would be okay.” Larry’s voice grew petulant, whining. “You said that it would be okay if I came with you. That you would help me, take care of me. And then you calmly let them take me away and lock me up. Down here where there’s no sound, no air, no food. Just the damn lights and eternity ticking away a second at a time.”

I lowered my head and opened my mouth to speak. “Larry, I . . .”

“Oh, I know,” he interrupted, spinning around to snarl at me, “you’re sorry, so very sorry. Fat lot of good that does me. You say you’re responsible for what I’ve done, but hell, you go scot-free and I’m the prisoner. How long, Deirdre? How long do you think you could handle this situation?”

“Not very long, Larry. Probably for less time than you have already. But what can I do now? Until the trial, you have to stay here. I’ve no control over it anymore.”

“Oh, but you do.” He came over and knelt before me, taking my hands into his again.

“What can I do now?” I repeated. “I can’t fight the Cadre. Jesus,” my voice rose, sounding strangely dead in the static air, “I couldn’t even fight them for myself. The only reason I’m not occupying the cell next door,” I shuddered, “is because Max’s ghost spoke for me.”

“Well, I don’t imagine I’ll be that lucky. But there is something you can do.” Larry’s voice lowered to a whisper and he glanced over his shoulder to see if Ron was watching. He was, but not intently. He was confident that both Larry and I were under his complete control and his relaxed stance confirmed it.

Larry shrugged and looked back up at me. “You could kill me. Kill me and put me out of my misery. This is hell, Deirdre, a hell you sent me to. Kill me, now. Please. I won’t even try to stop you. I’d do it myself if I could.”

“Oh, God, Larry.” I pulled my hands away from his and covered my face, pressing in on my eyes, trying to prevent the tears. “I don’t think I can. Not in cold blood. Not even if you beg me to.”

“You’re too soft, Deirdre. But you could have Mitch do it. He’d do it if you asked him to. Hell, he’d be overjoyed to kill me, he already said so. The only thing that stopped him from killing me was you.”

I shook my head and gave a humorless laugh, dropping my hands back to my lap. “Yes, you’re probably right. But I don’t know, Larry. I just don’t know.”

“Deirdre,” he grasped my wrists and brought my hands down to his face. “You have to help me. You just do. Here, feel how it is, see how it feels to be me.”

I tried to pull away from him, but he was strong. I made the mistake of raising my head and meeting his eyes. And I fell deep into his madness.

Fell deep into his hunger. This was the hunger of last night, the blinding red hunger that allowed no other feeling. It took hold of me and I began to shake. Larry’s anger and pain were mine. We were one. I screamed and as if from far away, I heard an odd rasping noise, heard a voice from outside calling a name I should have known. But the voices inside were stronger, the roar of the creature that lived within me, the roar of the creature that sought to control my soul. I cried out again, a half-human, half-feline call of distress and despair.

Larry’s hands slipped from mine and he seemed to fold in on himself, collapsing into a misshapen lump on the floor. I roared again and felt the air pressure in the room change. Ron had opened the door.

Before I could even react, I felt a wisp of air pass me, heard the high-screeching call of victory, saw a winged body fly past a startled Ron and out the door. I felt the elation and expectation wash over him as he disappeared from sight. “Death,” he sang. “I fly to find death and freedom.”

Chapter 11

With Larry’s influence gone, I was able to force my body back from the partial transformation it had already made. When my mind cleared and I was myself again I discovered that I was alone and trapped inside the cell. The door had snapped closed before I could escape. Ron, I assumed, had gone in pursuit of Larry.

Grateful for the time alone, I sat back down on the cot and tried to calm my shaking and collect my thoughts. The first one that ran through my head was: Victor would not be pleased. I laughed grimly at that monumental understatement.

Looking to the doorway, I spoke out loud. “Victor is going to have us both for dinner, Ron. And we’ll deserve it.” But how could anyone have known that Larry had achieved the power of transformation so quickly? He’d only been a vampire for a little over two years. And he’d have had no training.

Or, and my distrust of Vivienne surfaced anew, maybe he had. What if she’d been working with Larry for the past two years? Teaching him the tricks of the trade? She seemed secure in the knowledge that she could instruct Mitch in the mysteries and he was only a few months into his existence. “Damn.”

I turned on the cot, pulled my legs up, and wrapped my arms around them, hugging them close to my body, noticing as I did so that my jeans were ripped in a few places. A totally irrelevant thought made me laugh. “I had better get the hang of this changing pretty soon, or it’s going to cost me a fortune in clothing.” I flexed my toes a bit, easing the stiffness from them. At least this time I hadn’t lost a pair of shoes, too.

“Clothing should be the least of your worries right now, Deirdre.”

Victor stood in the doorway, by the control panel on the wall. I resisted the impulse to jump to attention at his presence and just swiveled my head to meet his angry gaze. “Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just leave you in there?” he asked, his long aristocratic fingers playing with the controls. “I could flip on the sunlights and close the door. A year or so locked up in here might teach you caution. Or at least respect for authority.”

I sighed. “Actually, Victor, I have no reasons and no excuses. Do what you want. I’m hardly in any position to prevent you.”

“But I am.” Mitch appeared behind Victor. “Let her out, Lange, or so help me, I’ll bring you down. Right here, right now.”

Victor did not turn to meet him; instead he shook his head slowly and a smile played on his lips. “It was my idea to enlist your help, you know.” He spoke to me as if Mitch was not present. “Not all of the Cadre was in favor of asking a rogue to come in and meddle in our internal affairs. You are an unknown quantity to them and hence, a danger. I argued that I needed you here for those same qualities and I still feel that way. When it turned out that we had not just one rogue to work with, but two, they were not happy. Fortunately,” and the smile on his face broadened, “I have the final say in matters such as this, but,” he turned the switch on the wall and the glass panel slid open, “before you pull a stunt like this again, promise me you’ll think long and hard.”

I squeezed myself through the opening, took a large breath of fresh air as I did so, and exhaled in relief. Mitch came to me and put an arm around my waist, hugging me close to him. I returned Mitch’s hug, then moved away from him and started toward the doorway, anxious to put the place and the event behind me.

“To say I’m sorry, Victor, wouldn’t be exactly true. This setup has got to be one of the cruelest forms of torture ever imagined. And I’m not sure if anyone kept here deserves this particular punishment, regardless of the crime. But you must believe that I didn’t come down here with the intention of setting Larry free.”

“Of course you didn’t, my dear, it’s just that unexpected things happen when you’re around. And for what it’s worth,” Victor looked back over his shoulder and locked the main door before following us into the hallway, “I’ve always felt the same way about this place. This was never my idea, you know; it’s one of Max’s little brainstorms. I always felt that death was far preferable to incarceration.”

“Interestingly enough,” I observed, “so does Larry, at least now.”

“Good,” Mitch said as we reached the elevator, “then when we catch him again we can just kill him without having to worry about consulting him first.”

“Indeed,” Victor agreed with a low laugh. “Mitch, there are times when you and I are in complete agreement; there are other times when I understand why you never progressed past the level of detective in your mortal life.”

Mitch bristled and Victor laughed again. “It’s not a bad quality, you understand, this questioning of authority and the determination to go against it in the face of your conscience. It just rarely endears one to superior officers.” The elevator door opened and the three of us got on. Victor pushed the floor for the Cadre’s living quarters; I noticed that no key was needed for the upward trip. So did Mitch.

“I see that your security on the way up is slack. How many people have you actually had escape from down there?”

Victor cleared his throat, nervously. “Larry was the first one. But then he was also the first rogue to ever be incarcerated. Damn it, I can hardly believe he was capable of escape. His powers should never have been that fully developed. For one as young as he, he had an abnormally strong will. With Cadre members, it usually only takes twenty-four hours in the cell and a full barrage of the sun lamps to bleed away all resistance. This event will surprise some people, shock others, and confirm old beliefs . . .”

“Those old beliefs being?” I knew what they were, I had heard enough of them spoken and implied during my trial by the Cadre. But I wanted Victor to admit the facts. And I wanted Mitch to hear what these vampires, of whom he was so enamored, thought of beings like him and me.

Victor dropped his eyes and studied the floor. “The only good rogue is a dead rogue.”

“Does that include us?” Mitch took a defensive stance, positioning himself between me and Victor.

“Actually, Mitch, your status is questionable. You are, after all, being trained by another vampire. And your reactions and sentiments seem to closely resemble ours.”

The elevator stopped. “You know, Victor,” Mitch said, “I’m not so sure that’s a compliment.”

Victor snorted. “No, from your point of view, I suppose it’s not.”

“How about Deirdre? What is the official Cadre decision on her status?”

The three of us stood in the hallway and Victor gave me a calculating glance. “Had she accepted our offer of her own house last year, we would have welcomed her as one of us. But her disdain of the organization was then and is now apparent in her every move. She is a rogue in our eyes. I doubt after this event she will ever be viewed as anything else. And ultimately, we know that your true sentiment lies with her, Mitch.”

He started down the hallway, then turned back. “Tomorrow evening the Cadre will be meeting to discuss plans for the recapture and disposal of Larry Martin. If I were you, I’d make definite plans to be there. And I’d also watch my back. Have a good evening.”

Once back in our room, I collapsed on the bed. Mitch sat next to me and stroked my hair. “Still hungry?” he asked. “Do you feel up for a hunt tonight?”

“No, but we need to do something. I want to be out of this place for a while. And I am sure I can work myself into the proper mood.”

He smoothed my cheek with the back of his hand and gave the low throaty laugh that always set my pulse racing. “Well, I know it’s been a tough night already for you,” he glanced at the clock on the night stand, “but it’s still pretty early to go out. And I think you need something to occupy your mind other than the bloody Cadre and Larry Martin. Do you think you could work yourself into the proper mood for anything else?” I caught the gleam in his eyes and smiled up at him, reaching my arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine.

When we kissed, his lips were cool, like the coolness of his skin against mine as he removed first my sweater and then my bra. His one hand cupped my right breast, teasing the nipple, rolling it between his fingers. It was like the touch of marble against marble, but it was Mitch’s touch and it never failed. I moaned and his kisses grew fiercer while his other hand unzipped my jeans and reached inside to stroke me.

I bucked up into his caress and he laughed again, then slid my torn jeans and my panties from my body. Removing his mouth from mine he kissed my neck and then my breasts, pausing to suckle each of them in turn. He continued to trace his way down my stomach and further, until his kiss grew warmer, and I caught fire. His mouth teased and encouraged me, his hands stretched up over my body, molding my breasts. And when his tongue stabbed inside me, I could feel the hint of growing sharpness around his teeth.

I gasped and thrashed about on the surface of the bed. The sensations he was causing with fangs and tongue were almost too much to bear. He raised his head from me for one brief second, enough so that I could see the passion in his face and his eyes. Then he bared his fangs and quickly brought his mouth back down on me, penetrating the delicate skin.

I screamed as the flooding orgasms shook my body. And he held on to me, his hands grasping my hips now, keeping my writhing body tightly pressed against his mouth. Mitch pushed me over the brink uncountable times and just when I thought I could stand no more, he took his mouth away, looked up my body at me and smiled. A crimson blotch of blood smeared his lower lip.

He rose from the bed and stood over me. “Still hungry, Deirdre?”

I laughed and began to unfasten his pants. “The blood can wait, my love. Right now I just want you.”

“I was hoping you’d feel that way.” He eased himself out of his clothing and covered my body with his. This time I did not notice the absence of heat in his skin as he entered me, gently at first as if he were afraid to hurt me. But his thrusts grew more frantic as he was rewarded with my shudders and calls of passion. Wrapping my legs around him, digging my nails into the flesh of his back, I tasted the salty flesh of his neck with my tongue and whispered mad words of encouragement into his ear. In a time that seemed an eternity and a mere second, we spiraled down into the deep waves of our passion, holding each other’s spasming body and mind closer than ever before.

He finally rolled from me and I realized that I was crying. And when I looked at him where he lay next to me, I discovered to my surprise that he, too, had been crying. Blood-tinged tracks streaked his face; I touched them with my fingertips in wonder.

He leaned over and kissed me lightly. “Oh, Deirdre, I love you.”

I giggled.

“What? Is something funny?”

“No, I was just thinking that poor Vivienne will never know what she’s missing.”

“You mean you aren’t jealous anymore?”

“After that performance, my love, how could I ever be jealous of anyone?”

“Too bad,” he tried to sound disappointed, but I could hear relief in his voice, “it was sort of fun to get you worked up about it.”

“More enjoyable than this?” I ran my nails along his chest and laughed when he shivered.

“Never.”

We lay for a while, side by side. Barely touching each other, but together and calmed, at peace. There was no need for words between us. Eventually, though, Mitch pushed himself up on one elbow and leaned over to kiss the tip of my nose. “Let’s get dressed and go out. It’s early and there’s lots of night left to enjoy. And I’m hungry.”

“Fine by me.” I got up from bed and went to the armoire that held my clothes. I dragged the hangers back and forth, then opened the drawers one by one. “Damn.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“What was I wearing last night?”

Mitch chuckled. “Fur and then skin.”

“Very funny. No, I mean before that.”

He thought for a while. “Your black leather pants, I think.”

“Damn. That’s what I thought, too. And now they’re lying on the sidewalk somewhere in shreds.”

“And let me guess,” he said, rising from the bed himself and putting his clothes back on, “you have nothing to wear?”

“Well, nothing I really want to wear. I think I’ll give Betsy a call tomorrow and see what she has on her racks this season.”

He gave me a pained glance. “While you’re with her, I think I’ll stop over at the old place and see how Chris is doing.”

“Chicken,” I teased him. The last time he’d seen Betsy was at our wedding where she’d put the moves on every other man there. The first time they met, the night I’d sold my fashion business to her, she had attempted to seduce him while I was in the ladies’ room. She was brisk and abrasive, but we had become friends of a sort. I always felt that she would make a better vampire than I ever did.

“No,” he spoke quickly, “I really should see Chris. I called him while you were downstairs and got the machine again. Didn’t leave a message this time.”

“Fine.” Still looking through the clothes, I finally pulled out a short black skirt, a pair of pantyhose and a red silk blouse, with a deep v-neck, full sleeves and yards of ruffles. “These will do.”

I dressed and as I went into the bathroom to put on my makeup, the phone rang.

“Should I answer it?”

I stepped into the doorway. “Well, yes, Mitch, why on earth wouldn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Lots of reasons, probably. It might be Victor summoning us into his presence. It might be Vivienne trying to arrange for our lessons. It might be Larry Martin wanting to gloat about his escape.”

“I suspect Victor is done with us for the evening. And Larry wouldn’t call, not this soon. And if it’s Vivienne,” I grinned at him, all the bad feelings I’d had about her had been loved out of me, “tell her you can’t come out and play right now.”

He smiled back. “Yeah, I am sort of played out right now.” He picked up the phone and I went back into the bathroom, to finish the attempt to bring a normal color into my complexion. “Hi, Chris,” I heard him say, “I tried to call you about an hour ago.” He paused a minute. “Well, we were on our way out, but we could probably meet you in an hour or so. Hold on a second, okay?”

I heard Mitch set the receiver down on the wooden nightstand. “Deirdre,” he called and I came back into the bedroom, “Chris would like to meet us at the pool hall a little later on. Think we can make it?”

I nodded. “That would be nice, Mitch.” Then I looked down at my short skirt. “But I’ll need to change my clothes again.”

“Why?”

“Can you imagine me bending over the pool table in this?”

His eyes flashed at me. “Yeah, I can.” I felt myself blush at his look of arousal and his knowing smile. “And yeah, you’ll definitely need to change your clothes again.”

Chapter 12

Iput on my last pair of jeans, pulled on a pair of calf-high boots and we left the room. Mitch gave me a questioning look. “Should we lock it?”

“From creatures who can change into winged beasts or wild cats or a puff of smoke? It seems sort of useless.”

“Yeah, well, if you put it that way, I guess you’re right.”

We left through the back entrance to the Imperial. Mitch stood on the sidewalk and sniffed the night air. “Garlic sauce,” he said, with a strong note of regret in his voice, “steak and potatoes. Damn, I’m hungry. And I miss food, I miss the process of eating. I’d give everything I have for a plate of fettucine.”

I sighed, an expression of relief rather than sadness. This was the first time Mitch had ever sounded sorry for what I’d made him into. His lack of regret had bothered me more than I cared to admit.

“I’m sorry, Deirdre, I didn’t mean that to sound resentful.”

“No, that’s not it, Mitch. I miss food too, even now after all these years. I can remember a cake my mother used to bake. It’s one of my earliest memories.”

“That’s interesting. You hardly ever talk about your life before.” He put an arm around my shoulders and we started to walk down the street. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Not really, Mitch, only that there’s no use in it. Those days are gone, the people I loved then have been dust for decades. And talking about them won’t change matters, won’t bring them back. So when I remember, I try to forget.”

“I see.” We walked about a block before he spoke again. “So tell me, if I had died after Larry attacked me, is that what you would have said about me?”

I stopped, reached up and touched his cheek. “Mitch, my love, had you died I would have mourned you for all eternity.”

“Good.”

I linked my arm in his and we started walking again, slowly and in the general direction of the pool hall, but with no particular destination in mind. I imagined that we looked like nothing more than two ordinary lovers, enjoying each other’s company, taking a stroll in the crisp night air. It was a sweet illusion and one that I knew was more useless than old memories. I could feel tension build up in the arm I clasped, could sense Mitch’s eyes sweeping the nearby streets and alleys for likely prey. As I myself was doing.

We found what we were looking for about three blocks away. A couple of kids in their mid-twenties, lounging in an alley entrance, passing around a bottle of cheap wine. They were dressed almost identically, in black leather and chains with the same spiked-up hair, dyed in streaks of various colors. At first I thought they were both boys, but as we got closer and heard their voices, I realized that one was a girl. They were discussing in loud tones a movie they’d seen.

“He wasn’t whining, Danny,” the girl said, taking a swig of the foul-smelling drink, “he was sensitive. He didn’t know what he was getting into at first, and then afterwards when he decided he didn’t like it, it was just way too late.” She sighed, took another sip and passed the bottle to her friend. “But he’s a hunk, anyway.”

Danny took a drink and belched loudly. “Nah, he was a fuckin’ whiner. But, that other one, man, Judy, was he ever cool.”

Mitch laughed as we walked up to them. “Hey, kids, seen any good movies lately? And how would you like to find out what that all is like for real?”

I was startled by his open statement; it was unlike him to talk to his victims first. It seemed cruel, somehow. But I bit back my reprimand when I thought of the way I used to feed before we began to hunt together. I was hardly in any position to criticize his methods.

He looked down at the girl and leaned over to take her chin into his hand, bringing her face up so that she could look into his eyes. Her body followed and she stood, staring at him in admiration and awe.

“Hey, old man,” the boy said, jumping up and pulling a switchblade from his pocket, “quit screwin’ with my babe. Jude, you don’ wanna mess with this old shit.”

But Judy wasn’t listening, she’d been caught in the tantalizing quality of Mitch’s gaze. He led her down the alley and into the darkness.

“Hey,” the boy said again and tried to follow them. I grasped his wrist and held him there.

“Judy will be fine, Danny, there’s no need to get upset.” I twisted his hand slightly and the knife dropped to the sidewalk. “And,” I said, staring into his eyes, “there is no need for your weapon. Is there?”

“No,” I felt his resistance fall away. “I—I guess not.”

I smiled at him, exposing my sharpening canines. “Then let’s join them, shall we?”

“Okay.” He allowed me to take him to where Mitch and the girl stood. Mitch’s mouth was on her neck and she grasped his arms tightly. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling, almost humming her pleasure.

“You’re for real, aren’t you?” Danny’s eyes widened as he watched Mitch feed upon his girlfriend. When he swung his head back to me, I nodded.

“Yes, we’re real. It’s a shame that you won’t be able to remember after we leave.”

“Because I’ll be dead?” Surprisingly, his voice held no fear of this circumstance. Perhaps, the wine he’d consumed affected his judgment, I thought, or perhaps it was just his age speaking. Whatever the reason, I regarded him almost in the same light as he did me, as if we were two alien creatures meeting on common ground.

As indeed we are, I thought and laughed, reaching over to touch my palm to the top of his hair; it felt exactly the way it looked. “No, you won’t be dead. Trust me.”

His eyes worshipped me. “I do. I love you.”

“Thank you, Danny.” I pulled him to me and pierced his neck. His blood tasted clean and young and he pressed himself up against me as I drank, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me close. I could feel the heat of his skin through the leather, feel him grow erect, feel him tremble.

I drew on him slowly, enjoying the warmth of the blood entering my mouth, flowing down my throat and through my body. He shuddered, his grasp on me weakened and I sighed, knowing that I should stop. Still I drank, one more mouthful, one more swallow. When I finally took my mouth away and licked the wound on his neck, I stepped away, and held him out at arm’s length.

He opened his eyes. “That was way cool,” he muttered in a shaky voice.

“I am glad you liked it.” Truly an alien species, I thought with an inner laugh. “Now, Danny, look at me and forget. Forget that this happened. You were drinking wine and you passed out on the steps.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “that was some pretty nasty swill we was drinkin’. Thanks for waking me up, lady. This ain’t such a good place to fall asleep in.”

Mitch came over to where we stood, his arm wrapped around Judy’s shoulders. “You two should go home, now,” he said forcefully, letting go of Judy and giving her a small push in Danny’s direction, “it’s late and the streets can be dangerous. Stay out of trouble.”

“Yeah, come on, Jude, let’s get home.” They twined their arms around each other and stumbled down the alley and onto the street, without even stopping to turn around and look back. We had been completely forgotten, or had merged somehow in their minds with the movie they had been discussing before our arrival.

Mitch and I watched them leave and exchanged a quick contented smile. “That was almost too easy,” he said, taking my arm again, “if this trend continues we could get fat and lazy.”

We walked slowly for another few blocks without speaking again; both of us still so wrapped up in our after-feeding euphoria, that there seemed to be nothing to say. I could feel new life and vitality spreading through my veins and when he smiled I could tell that it was the same for him. At one point he stopped and took me into his arms, kissing me hard and insistently, the taste of the girl’s blood still strong on his tongue.

“There are times,” I said softly, echoing Larry’s earlier sentiments, “times like these, when this existence is worth all of the pain, all of the hunger. And being able to share it with you, my love, is a pleasure beyond anything I ever thought possible.”

“Yeah.” He kissed the curve of my jaw and held me up against him, as if he were afraid I would disappear. Then he checked his watch and whistled. “Do you know we’ve been out here for two hours?”

“Has it been that long?”

Mitch shook his wrist, held the watch up to his ear and brought it back down again, looking at the dial in disbelief. “Yes, it really has. And we’re very late to meet Chris. You want to take a cab?”

I laughed. “Sure. I guess that’s the end of romance for tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, as he stepped to the curb and flagged down a taxi. “The night is still young and I think we’ve done pretty well in that department so far.”

Chris was waiting for us in the near-deserted pool hall bar with three empty beer bottles lined up in front of him, and a fourth, half-drunk in his hand. He slipped off his barstool unsteadily as we entered, returned Mitch’s hug enthusiastically and shook my hand.

“Hitting it a little hard tonight, aren’t you, son?” Mitch looked at the bottles pointedly.

“Yeah,” Chris’s voice sounded sulky. “Maybe I am. What of it?”

“Nothing.” Mitch shrugged and stepped up to the bar, motioning to the bartender. “You’re of legal age. And it’s your life, not mine.” Chris gave him a startled look, expecting, I supposed, more of a lecture from his father. Mitch grinned at the man behind the bar. “Two more beers, please, George. And run a tab for me, if you wouldn’t mind.”

George clapped him on the shoulder. “Sure thing, Detective. Long time, no see. Where’ve you been? Chris here was telling me you got married.” He gestured with his thumb at me. “This the lucky lady?”

I walked over to him and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Deirdre.”

“You look kind of familiar,” George said, squinting slightly through the dimness of the bar. “You been here before?”

“Once or twice,” I replied, taking the bottle he offered me. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He gave me an admiring glance and turned to Chris. “You know, buddy, as far as stepmothers go, I’d say you made out okay. She doesn’t seem all that bad to me. Quite the contrary, actually. Your dad’s one lucky bastard.” He laughed, loud and boisterously. I was instantly reminded of Pete back in England, realizing with a sudden rush of homesickness that I missed him, and that I’d promised to call him when we arrived.

“Got any tables free, George?” Mitch picked up his beer and took a long draught.

The bartender shrugged. “Take your pick, the joint ain’t exactly jumping tonight.”

“Well, then,” Mitch slapped me lightly on my backside, “let’s get going, woman. Seems to me I have a score to even up with you, a reputation to uphold. Last time we were here you managed to beat me by a close margin.”

“Close margin, my ass, Dad,” Chris laughed, “she skunked you. Royally. And you know it.” He shook his head. “And I’ll bet you she does it again.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Chris. Maybe I’ve gotten better since I’ve been away.”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Chris said.

I winked at Chris. “I’m afraid, Mitch, that you are going to have to prove that. And be prepared to put your money where your mouth is.”

I was rewarded with a genuine smile from Chris, and the three of us left the bar to play pool.

Ten games and two hours later, Mitch conceded defeat with a laugh and placed his cue back on the wall rack. “You’ll at least admit that I’ve improved, won’t you? I almost won that last game.”

“Another century or two, Mitch, and you might even stand a chance of winning. But yes, you have improved. Your reflexes are much faster than they were.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice side effect. Like being able to drink as much as you want without that happening.” He gestured to where Chris was slumped over a table, sound asleep. “I guess we’d better get him home,” he looked at the clock on the wall, “and then get back ourselves. It’s getting late.”

“Yes.” Putting away my pool cue, I dusted the chalk from my hands. “The nights are getting shorter. And time seems to pass so quickly that the seasons blur into one another.” I stretched my arms over my head, arched my back and yawned. “I think I’m getting old. I tire so quickly these days.”

“Well, it’s been a rough two days, you know.”

I laughed a bit, then grew serious. “And there seems to be no relief in sight. I wish we’d never come back.”

“I know what you mean,” Mitch went to Chris and shook him. “Up and at ’em, sonny boy. Time to go home.”

“What?” Chris lifted his head and looked around. “What happened? Who won?”

“Don’t ask.” Mitch took hold of his arm and helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you in a cab and home to bed.”

“Skunked you again, huh, Dad?” We moved him out of the pool room and into the bar. “That’s what you get for playing with a vampire.”

“Shut up, Chris.”

“Night,” George called from the bar. “See you later.”

“Hey, George,” Chris called, “you didn’t know that my stepmother was a vampire, did you?”

“Yeah, Chris, I think you told me that after your third beer. Go home and sleep it off.”

Chapter 13

Chris muttered about vampires most of the way home. We didn’t try to quiet him; his drunken condition was fairly apparent. The cab driver snickered every so often when Chris’s voice grew loud, but for the most part he was concentrating on the road and not on his passengers. I had always been amused by the protection of people’s disbeliefs even when I’d thought I was close to the only one of my kind. And now that I knew the city was the headquarters for an international society of vampires, it amused me even more. If they only knew.

Yes, I thought and sobered slightly, if they only knew, they’d be after the Cadre in no time at all, armed with stakes, holy water, garlic, and crosses. Not that anything but the first would do any good, the rest were common superstition. Or possibly not, for with the revelation of new powers, almost anything could be true.

Chris wasn’t talking when we finally arrived at Mitch’s old apartment building. Instead, he was sleeping soundly, his head lolled on the back of the seat, his mouth hanging open slightly.

I caught Mitch’s eye. “Maybe I’ll just wait here with the cab while you take him in.”

“Fine,” he agreed. He opened the back door and halfdragged, half-carried Chris out, up the front stairs and into the building.

The cab driver turned around and winked at me. “Your friend’s got a real snootfull. I wouldn’t want to be living inside his head tomorrow morning.”

“No,” I smiled and settled back into the seat to wait for Mitch’s return, “I wouldn’t either.”

“What’s his problem, anyway? All this talk about vampires?”

I shrugged when I saw Mitch coming back down the stairs. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“No,” the driver said as Mitch got back into the cab, “I probably wouldn’t. Where to now, folks?”

Almost without thinking, I told the driver my old address. “Righto,” he said and we started off.

Mitch gave me a questioning look. “I don’t want to go back to the Imperial, my love, I’ve had enough of that place for one night. But you may go back if you like.”

“Why would I want to go back without you, Deirdre? There’s nothing there for me.”

“Nothing?” My voice was sharp, distant.

He laughed. “I thought you weren’t jealous anymore.”

I shook my head. “I’m not jealous of her so much as of the entire situation. You love the life, the environment, and the possibilities. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding you back.”

He thought for a long time, staring out the cab window. As we were nearing the hotel, he spoke. “It’s not love, Deirdre, not really. It’s pretty close to a morbid fascination and a desire to push everything to the limits. Quite frankly, I don’t understand it myself.”

The taxi pulled up to the front door. I touched his arm lightly. “I think I do, Mitch, but we can talk about it later. Just for fun, why don’t we see if my old room is free?”

The driver turned around and accepted his fare. “Lady, nothing in this city is free.”

“So true,” I said to him as I got out of the cab. “Everything has its price.”

Mitch put his arm around me and we went through the revolving door and over to the desk. “May I help you?” I didn’t know the clerk at the desk, he was young and awkward.

“Well, yes, I hope so. Can you tell me if room 2154 is available?”

The clerk seemed to be startled by the request and looked uneasily around him. “I just got here so I don’t know for sure. Let me check, okay?”

I nodded and he turned. “Hey, Frank,” he called toward the half-open door behind him, “there’s someone here asking whether 2154 is open.”

“What?” He came out of the door and saw me, his face turned pale for a second and then he smiled. “Miss Griffin?” He came around the front desk toward us. “Miss Griffin, oh, my God, it is you. This is really strange that you should come back tonight.” His arms came up as if to hug me and then dropped as he seemed to remember his place. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, “it’s just that it’s been so long and it’s so good to see you.”

I laughed. “It’s nice to see you, too, Frank.” I reached up and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “But why should it be strange? I lived here for almost ten years, it’s only natural that I come back to visit if I’m in the city, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, I guess so, but that’s not what’s strange.” He looked over at Mitch for the first time.

“Frank, this is my husband. Mitchell Greer.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Frank shook his hand. “Say, I remember you. So you two got married, huh? Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Mitch said. “You have a good memory. I wasn’t here all that often.”

“Often enough,” Frank started, “I mean before you showed up Miss Griffin never had any visitors . . .”

“Thank you, Frank,” I interrupted him after taking a glance over my shoulder at the outside sky. I’d lost track of the time, but knew that dawn was close. “We’re tired, and we’d like to check in immediately if you don’t mind. We’ll have time to get reacquainted later.”

Instantly his years of subservience resurfaced. He was no longer an old friend, but an old servant. “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry to keep you waiting.” He motioned to the young man behind the desk. “Get the keys for 2154, Eddie, and let Mr. and Mrs. Greer sign in.”

Eddie reached under the counter and came up with two sets of keys, laid them on the counter next to the register and handed Mitch a pen. While he was completing the needed information, Frank turned to me. “I’ll see you up to the room. Where’s your luggage?”

“We don’t have any luggage,” Mitch said, turning around and walking with us to the elevator. “We left it at, um, a friend’s house.”

“Fine,” Frank said, “that makes it easier then, doesn’t it? But I’ll still take you upstairs, if you don’t mind. Personal service is what we’re known for here.”

After we’d gotten on the elevator and the doors closed, he reached into his pocket, extracting a small white envelope. “This,” he said, holding it out to me, “is why it was strange to see you tonight. Someone left this on the front desk earlier this evening; no one saw him come in and no one saw him leave. All of a sudden there was this envelope with your name and number, like it had appeared out of nowhere.” He laughed nervously. “It spooked the hell out of Eddie and I was having quite a time trying to figure out how I was going to get it to you.”

“I’m sure you were.” I accepted the envelope and stared down at it, barely controlling the impulse to crumple it in my hand and throw it to the floor. I knew the handwriting and could sense the hurried desperation that drove the pen, but the recognition did nothing to quell my nervousness. How could he have known I’d planned to come here? “I’m sure you were. Thank you, Frank.”

“No problem, but it was real fortunate that you decided to show up tonight. What a coincidence, huh?”

Mitch snorted. I caught his eye and gave him a smile, remembering his theory on the subject, remembering with amusement the moments when his human mind had struggled with the inhuman and came up frustrated and confused.

“Coincidence?” he said with a catch of laughter in his throat, “there’s no such thing.”

“No?” Frank said as the elevator stopped, holding the doors open for us to pass through. “Maybe just luck then?”

I looked at the black writing one more time and slapped the damn thing up against my thigh. “Luck?” Shaking my head, I watched Mitch open the door to my old suite of rooms. “I wouldn’t count on it, Frank, but thank you for thinking it.”

Dropping the envelope on an end table in the sitting area of the suite, I looked around me. The furnishings were the same, but had grown shabbier over the years that I’d been gone. It made me feel old. But Mitch seemed very much at home and moved to the bar, slowly, idly checking inside the refrigerator. Frank came in after us and made a move to open the curtains. “Leave them closed, please,” I stopped him, my voice harsh. “I suspect we’ll want some rest.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Griffin. You’re the boss.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Mitch walked over to him, and handed him a tip. “We’ll be fine now.”

“Thank you, and sleep well. I’ll be going off duty soon,” he said, checking his watch, “but Charlie, he’s the day guy now, will be on. Call him if you need anything.”

When we were finally alone in the room, I sighed.

“Glad to be home again, Deirdre?”

“This is not my home, anymore. I have no home.” I stared at the end table holding the envelope.

“Well, aren’t you curious about who sent that? Aren’t you going to open it?”

“It can’t be good news.”

“No, but the sooner we know, the sooner we can deal with whatever it is. You never used to be so cautious, Deirdre.”

“I’ve always been cautious, Mitch.” Then I met his eyes and smiled. “Except where you were involved. I do love you.”

“I know you do.” He walked across the room and picked up the envelope. Some of my wariness must have influenced him, he acted as if the thing could bite him. “Want me to open it?”

“If you’d like.”

“Well, I’m sure not going to go to sleep with it unopened. It’ll make me crazy.”

“We don’t want that to happen now, do we? Yes, open it. Besides, I already know who sent it. Which,” I laughed humorlessly, “is why I know it can’t be good news.”

He slid his finger under the flap, pulling out the single sheet of paper. He unfolded it, read it once, twice, then held it out to me. “It’s from Larry Martin.”

“Of course.” I took the page from him.

“It’s odd.”

I laughed for real this time. “What else would you expect, my love?”

“Read it.” His voice was stern. I gave him a curious glance and began to read aloud:

“Deirdre, I can’t go back to that place. I know you understand. And you have to know that my only response to all of this is death. I don’t really have any other choice, and I’m sorry, but I won’t forget you.”

I folded it back up and handed it to Mitch. “Not quite what I expected, but it will do, I suppose.”

“Will do for what?”

“A declaration of intent.” I turned away and walked into the bedroom, sitting on the bed, taking a quick glance to verify that the curtains were safely drawn in this room also. Mitch followed me and stood in the doorway.

Dawn was close, so close I could see the rising sun as if it were in front of my eyes, feel the scorching heat and the agony of seared flesh, the burning away of skin and muscle and blood and bone.

“Intent to do what?” Mitch’s voice came to me as if over a great distance, his words made meaningless by the vision that was forcing itself into my mind: There is a sadness that calls to me and ties me to the soul within—the strange and familiar sadness of life lived too long. There is an ache for the denied fire of the sun, an urge to hold my face up to the sky and feel its rays caress my skin with burning fingers, an overwhelming wish to fall deep into oblivion and live no more.

“Sleep,” a voice says, “sleep.”

The voice is calm and the eyes in the vision close in peace, a peace unlike any I have ever known. Sins and the guilt of sins fall away before it, hunger has no hold and the self is no more.

All that exists is the peace, the oblivion and the cleansing fire of a rising sun.

Mitch was grasping my hands tightly when my eyes opened and he shook me roughly. I noticed with shock that I was no longer sitting on the bed, but instead stood in front of the bedroom window. “Deirdre?” His voice was harsh. “What the hell is happening?”

I blinked my eyes and shook my head, squirming slightly against his tight hold on me. “How did I get here?”

“You got up from the bed, walked over here, and started to open the curtains. You would have been fried to a crisp if I hadn’t stopped you. What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

He loosened his grip on my wrists, but still controlled my movements. “Do you feel better?”

“I don’t want to open the curtains now, if that’s what you mean. Why on earth would I want to do that?”

Mitch let go of my hands, but stayed close to me, poised and watchful. “Beats me. You muttered something about sleep and smiled, then came over here. I only managed to stop you a second before you reached the window. What do you remember?”

“The sun.” I shivered. “I remember the sun. I wanted to sleep in the sun.”

“But that would have killed you.”

I shivered again and hugged my arms to myself. “That, if I remember correctly,” I gave him a rueful smile, “was the whole point.”

“But why would you want to kill yourself? I thought you were happy with me; thought you loved me.” Shock and hurt showed in his eyes and I reached a hand up to touch his cheek.

“Oh, I am happy, Mitch, and I do love you. But it wasn’t me, you see, who wanted to sleep in the sun. It was someone else.”

“Someone else?” Mitch’s voice rose in anger now, not at me, I knew, but in frustration and fear. “It would damn well’ve been you anyway, if I hadn’t been here.”

“That could be.” I fell silent for a while, staring at the closed drapes, remembering the purifying pain of the vision with both dread and desire. “Thank you.”

Stripping off my clothes, I walked over to the bed and pulled the covers down. “I’m tired, let’s sleep.”

“You sleep.” He walked out of the bedroom and came back with one of the chairs from the sitting area. He placed it square in front of the window, then sat himself in it emphatically. “I’ll watch.”

“There’s no need, my love, everything is over now.”

“I’ll watch anyway.”

I stripped off my clothes and crawled between the coolness of the sheets. Just as I was drifting off, I heard his soft question.

“Who was it, Deirdre?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, falling into a blissfully dreamless state. “I don’t know.”

Chapter 14

Sometime during the day, I became aware that Mitch finally lay sleeping next to me. I woke and looked over at him, pulling the covers down to study his transformed body, something that I had been avoiding since his change. I remembered standing in front of the mirror with him in this room, comparing the difference between his mortal body and my supposedly perfected one. Then his skin had color and texture and scars. I’d lain in bed with him, tracing the welts and tracks of past injuries, listening to his brief descriptions of how they’d occurred. I’d loved his scars, loved the stories they’d told about the truth of him. I’d loved his humanity.

Now his skin glowed with the same translucency as my own and our glorious contrasts were gone, wiped away. I had singlehandedly destroyed his past. A tear rolled down my cheek, but I ignored it and closed my eyes, placing my hand softly on his chest, imagining the feel of him as he was before. He stirred in his sleep and I moved away, got up from the bed, and picked up the shirt he’d left draped over the chair. I put it on and quietly closing the door behind me, left the room.

I walked over to the bar and pulled out a bottle of red wine—not as good a vintage as I’d stocked when I lived here, but it would do. I opened it, poured myself a glass, and carried both glass and bottle to the couch where I curled up, my legs tucked underneath me. As the afternoon waned, I drank and I thought.

Mostly I thought about Mitch. I had expected to feel guilt at his transformation. I’d introduced him to a life I’d always loathed. But what I hadn’t expected was his ready adaptation to the life. It was not that I loved him less, I reasoned, but that he had changed. I longed for someone in whom I could confide and realized with a flash of loneliness that I had few friends, that my closest ties were to Mitch. And he was a vampire.

Draining my glass, I poured another. There lay the problem—as much as I’d like to deny the fact, Mitch was a vampire. And, ridiculous as it was, in my mind, vampires were to be held at a distance; they should be feared and hated, not loved. “Damn,” I said softly to myself, “this is getting me nowhere. I don’t even know where I want to go.”

The note from Larry was lying on the end table where Mitch must have left it. I stretched over the couch and picked it up, opened the envelope and read it again. When I’d first seen it, I’d assumed it was a death threat. Vague and deceptive like its writer, the ominous words that finished it were chosen with care to impart a certain meaning. And yet, with the vision I’d had, I wondered now if it wasn’t a suicide note, if the soul I had witnessed in the sun hadn’t been him. Had I been the one to be confined to that hellhole in the Cadre depths, I knew I would do almost anything to avoid being caught and reimprisoned. Even up to causing my own death.

So was Larry dead? I tried to reach out into the city and touch his mind. We are tied together, I thought, I should be able to find him. But I felt nothing except my own sadness, my own weariness with life. I put the letter away and held the envelope up to my cheek as if this touch would give me some answers.

I was trapped, here in this city, where I had never intended to be again. I longed for the years and months I had spent in England. Even the time I’d been without Mitch now seemed idyllic, when my only worries were what sort of profit the pub was pulling in and when my next meal would walk in the door. I laughed briefly and wondered if I should call Pete. Maybe the sound of his voice, cheerful and normal, would dispel the clouds that seemed to be gathering around us.

Mentally, I added the extra hours to the clock; the pub would be full now, the dart players would be arguing and the pints of ale flowing steadily. If I closed my eyes I could almost hear them, Pete’s thick accent cutting through the other voices, calling greetings to regulars and strangers alike. With a smile, I picked up the phone and dialed the number of the pub.

I let the phone ring twenty times before I hung up, shaking my head. It was too early for them to have closed, especially on a Friday evening, unless Pete had somewhere to go and no one to cover for him. It hadn’t been that long since we’d left; he would hardly have had time to arrange for a replacement for me by now.

I put my hand to the receiver and jumped when it rang. “Hello?”

“Deirdre, it’s Victor. I thought when you didn’t return to your rooms that you might be there. Is Mitch with you?” His voice sounded cold and distant, angry.

“Yes, he’s here. Is there a problem?”

“I need to see you, both of you, as soon as you can get here.”

I looked at the clock again. “We’ll be there in two hours. What’s happening?”

“Larry Martin. All of the Cadre house members received odd letters from him, all different, revealing facts about them that he should not have known. But all similar in that they were death threats. He must be stopped.”

“Yes. I received one, too. But what if he is already dead?” My words were tentative, testing the waters of this theory. “Suicide.”

“Dead?” Victor seemed lightened by the words. “Suicide? Can you verify this?”

“No.” And because I wasn’t sure myself, my voice quavered just a bit.

“Then how can you say he may be dead?”

“I felt something.”

Victor laughed, a cold, hard-sounding laugh. “You felt something? Deirdre, I have all of the house leaders incensed, calling for blood, in some cases your blood, and I’m supposed to tell them you felt something? He has threatened our very existence. You must understand this is serious business. You and Mitch were brought here to do a job. If that job is not done, there will be serious repercussions.”

“Victor,” I began, but he cut me off.

“No, I will not listen to your persuasions or your excuses any longer. You were to have killed Larry Martin and you brought him back for judgment instead. That was acceptable in a way and would have been workable, but then you got involved where you should not have. And you released him—accidentally, or so you say.” His sarcastic emphasis on those last words caused me to shiver and his distrust of me echoed from every word he spoke. “He is your creation, Deirdre, and your responsibility. And you will be held liable for his crimes should you not be able to stop him. This is not a game we play here. I advise you not to rely on blood ties and sympathies to extricate yourself from this situation. You miraculously avoided punishment for Max’s death, but I assure you the Cadre will not be as lenient this time. And we will not be toyed with.”

Had Victor not been so angry, I would have laughed at his pompousness. As it was, I began to shake, feeling the full impact of his words. If Larry were not found and brought to justice, I would pay for his sins, trapped for centuries in the airless glass booths of the Cadre. I drew in a deep breath in anticipation of that incarceration. And knew then that Larry was not dead, he could not be dead. He had engineered this situation, deliberately and with malice, with the very personal intent to make me suffer. I could almost hear his laughter.

“Deirdre? Do you understand? If any member of the Cadre is harmed by Larry Martin and you do not bring him to justice, you alone will be held responsible. The ghost of Max Hunter will not save you now. And neither will I.”

“I understand, Victor. Believe me, I understand.” I hung up the phone and turned around to see Mitch standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

He came over to me and wrapped his arms around me. “I heard everything,” he said, “you don’t need to repeat a word.”

“Mitch,” I said, “I won’t let them put me in their cage.”

“I know, Deirdre, I know,” he smoothed my hair in a gentle gesture. “They won’t put you in any cage. I won’t allow it. We’ll find that bastard and we’ll kill him. Or we’ll tear the whole Cadre down and scatter their fucking ashes over the city.”

“But,” my voice got softer, sadder, “you’re one of them now.”

He held me out at arm’s length and stared at me for a long time, speaking my name softly. His eyes, which had always held a compelling intensity, now shone unnaturally; their effect seemed to be multiplied tenfold by his new vampiric nature. And the emotions of which they spoke were so strong they would have been terrifying, except that the strongest of these was love for me. Mitch pulled me deep into himself as if our souls had been merged.

Our souls were merged. I felt my body flow into nothingness, all physical sensations faded, and there was nothing left in the world but Mitch, his eyes and his love. And they held me as my grasp on the material world faltered and drifted, dissipating into a mist. A momentary panic flooded my mind and my disembodied voice called his name.

His answer to my distress flowed around me, flowed into me. He came to me and we were one; one in a nothingness that was everything, drifting and entwining, folding into one another. It was a union beyond anything I had ever experienced, beyond the enraptured bond of feeding, beyond the imperfect unity of sex, beyond even the compelling call of a dead soul. It simply was. And in its existence it was perfect.

I became Mitch and he became me and we were one. There was no other way to describe the feeling. We had become a hybrid creature, a blending of all that we both were. The inner doubts and fears that we each hid were revealed and channeled back and forth between us—they were swallowed and digested and fed back in almost incomprehensible forms of reassurance and love. I found strengths within him barely untapped. I found insecurities that I would never have expected to have existed. And they were also mine.

“You fear me?” It was not a vocal comment and it did not come solely from my mind.

“No longer, my love.”

Then there was laughter and joy, flowing through the particles that had once been our bodies. And love so strong it threatened to be overwhelming in its intensity. But the threat did not matter; we would never be alone again. Unless we should die.

“Then we must not die,” came the united thought. “We will not die.”

“But we must still go back. We must make it all right.”

It was the sadness of that thought, the cruelness of having to leave this perfected unity that brought us both back down to earth, trapping us once more within imperfect bodies. I felt an indescribable coldness wrap around my being and I was torn apart from him, thrown back into the shell of skin and bones and blood.

I was the first to solidify back into material flesh. I watched as he began to materialize, the mist that contained his soul sluggishly re-forming, gelling. His eyes glowed as if from nothingness, then his face grew apparent, his hawklike nose, his strong mouth and chin. His torso came next, and his legs. Until finally Mitch stood in front of me again. He reached out to me and I fell into his familiar arms. We both shivered then moved apart.

We stood, facing one another, not touching. After a while we found the strength to meet each other’s eyes and smile.

Then I began to laugh and so did he. Shaking our heads at all of the misconceptions we’d held between the two of us.

“I only tried so hard to be the perfect vampire to make you proud of me,” he said, his voice raspy and low.

“I know, my love.” I faltered slightly. Words were so difficult to form. “I know. But I don’t want you to be the perfect vampire, I just want you to be Mitch.”

He nodded, “I know that now. And I’ll not let you down.”

“You could never let me down, Mitch.”

He reached over and rubbed my shoulders. “I won’t. Now, let’s go get the bastards.”

Chapter 15

I realized with a shock that hours must have gone by. The sun had been at least two hours from setting when Victor had called. Now it was fully dark outside.

“Damn.” Unbuttoning Mitch’s shirt, I slipped out of it and handed it to him as I passed.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re late.” I turned in the doorway and smiled at him. “Victor will probably have his bloodhounds out after us if we don’t get there soon. Why don’t you call down to the desk and ask them to call a cab while I get dressed.”

“Fine.” He held his shirt up to his nose, sniffed, then smiled. “Smells good,” he said, as he went for the phone.

I retrieved the jeans and sweater I had worn the previous evening and dressed hurriedly. Before he was off the phone, I stepped out of the bedroom, fully clothed, running my fingers through my tangled hair. “I’m ready. Shall we go?”

When we got on the elevator, I met Mitch’s eyes, and to my surprise I found myself blushing. He gave me a sheepish smile and I knew he must be feeling the same as I. Our newfound unity was wonderful, but embarrassing. We were like lovers opening our eyes to each other after making love for the first time. All of our virginal inexperience and clumsiness had been exposed, not during the passion of the act itself, but afterwards, as we fumbled for something to clothe our nakedness.

I reached over and took his arm, rubbing my head on his sleeve.

“That whole thing will take some getting used to,” he said. “And I don’t think it’s an experience we’ll want to do very often.” He whistled. “It’s way too hard coming back.”

“Yes.”

The elevator doors opened on the lobby and after stopping at the desk to keep the room reserved for our use later, we went on to the street and into the waiting cab.

The Imperial was crowded, a line forming up outside, so we instructed the driver to take us to the back entrance. After we paid him and he drove away, Mitch touched my arm.

“Call me cautious,” and I smiled, because he always was, “but I don’t think we should confide in Victor what just happened to us.”

I looked at him questioningly. “Why not?”

“I have the feeling that what we experienced is not a common occurrence.”

“Oh, how would you know?”

“Well, for one thing, other than us, have you seen any others keeping constant company?”

“Well,” I hesitated, thinking, “now that you mention it, no. But I can’t say that I ever noticed or even considered it.”

“I have.” Mitch’s voice was quiet but emphatic. “I’ve been studying them all and have spent more time with them than you have. They’re solitary and distrustful of each other. If they were bonding into pairs, I would’ve noticed. I haven’t. And they aren’t.”

He stopped, running his fingers through his hair. I prompted him to continue. “And?”

“And on top of all that, they fear us. I can smell it on them. We are an unknown quantity and they’ll admit that. Have admitted that. It’s the reason why they are normally so polite. Because they can’t gauge us and have no idea of the depth of our powers. And I’d sort of like to keep it that way. Shield yourself from their thoughts if you can.”

“I’ll try.”

Mitch opened the door and we descended again into Cadre headquarters.

As before, Victor was waiting for us at the elevators. But this time he wore a broad smile and his manner was completely at ease. “Deirdre,” he took my hand and kissed it, “and Mitch. I’m so glad to see you.”

The change in his manner was amazing. I could only shake my head and stare at him in disbelief. “Victor?”

“Ah, my dear, you are confused. Please accept my apologies for my recent unpleasantness towards you. Perhaps we can put it all behind us. You see, I have received good news. Larry Martin has been found dead.”

“Dead?” I thought back to my vision. “How?”

Victor laughed, “Just the way he deserved, burnt to a crisp on a park bench. Nothing much left of him but charred bone and teeth.”

“Then,” said Mitch, his voice suspicious, “how do you know it’s him?”

“His watch.” Victor reached into his pocket and brought out a heavy gold wristwatch. “Nice piece, too. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have such good taste.” He turned it over to show the name engraved on the back. “We have this,” he playfully tossed the watch into the air, caught it and put it back into his suit coat, “we have the dead body, we have Deirdre’s feelings, and,” he paused, seeming pleased with himself, “we have a witness.”

Mitch’s attention snapped in on the last word. “A witness? That’s good,” he said, barely hiding the scorn in his words, “because everything else you have is nothing. The body could be anyone’s, the watch could have been planted and Deirdre’s feelings, while I have more trust in her than anyone else, are still just feelings. Can I talk to this witness?”

“Mitch, your diligence does you justice. But the entire experience was so traumatic for her that she’s requested to be left alone. She is fairly new and very unsettled. It cannot have been a pleasant experience to witness the death of another.”

“I’ll bet.” Mitch remained unconvinced. And on the strength of his skepticism, I began to doubt myself. Remembering my vision, I shuddered. That it had happened, I felt sure. But to whom?

Victor gave me a curious glance. “Trust me. The dead body belongs to Larry Martin. Our witness gave testimony to the house leaders and they all agreed on her testimony. In fact, after we’d gotten together and compared the letters we received, we realized that they could just as easily be considered suicide notes as death threats.”

“So I thought, too, Victor,” I said, unsure, “but now I don’t know. Maybe Mitch should speak to her anyway.”

He looked at me, “Deirdre, I should think that you of all people would be happy about this. Why would you want this any other way? And why wish up circumstances that are not true? Larry Martin is dead. You are freed of responsibility for him.”

“I don’t feel free.”

“Give it time, my dear, and you will. This whole thing has been hard on you, I’m sure.” He put his arm about my shoulders for a second and gave me a brief hug, before pushing the elevator button. “In fact, as far as I’m concerned your duties are done here. You are free. You and Mitch may leave at any time you wish.”

I opened my mouth to protest and caught Mitch’s warning glance, deliberately forced myself to relax and to smile. “Thank you, Victor.”

“Until then, you are still our honored guests. Now if you will excuse me, I have a full house upstairs.”

We watched as he got on, then linked arms and walked down the hallway to our room. It wasn’t until we closed and locked the door that we turned to each other to speak.

“So, what do you think?”

I shook my head with a grim smile. “I have absolutely no idea, Mitch. None whatsoever. The vision I had was true. We know that now. One of us died this morning in the rising sun. But I can’t know who it was. Or even why it happened. What do you think?”

He laughed. “Me? I think the whole thing stinks of a setup. By whom and for what reason, I don’t have a clue, either. It doesn’t matter; it still seems like a setup to me. And even if it’s just a gut reaction on my part, they tend to be correct more often than not. Then again, if the Cadre has a witness they trust . . .” His voice trailed off in thought, then resumed. “It’s their lives that seem to be endangered. I guess, if they’re satisfied, I should be, too.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not sure either, are you?”

“No.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, then lay down, my feet dangling over the side, locking my fingers together and pillowing my head on them. “I’m not at all sure.”

“Do you think it might possibly have been Larry?”

“I felt a bond with the soul involved. That’s all I can say.”

He sighed. “Personally, I think what I’ve always thought: Larry is crazy. But much too crazy and egotistical to reach the somewhat sane decision to suicide.” He paced the room briefly. “I won’t rest until I’m satisfied he’s dead. He’s too much of a danger, not just to them, but to you. And that’s what matters. I really need to talk to this witness.”

“But Victor won’t let you. He won’t even tell us who she is.”

Mitch sat down next to me and smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fortunately, Victor is not the only vampire in the Cadre. And I know how I can find out. For now, at least, I want you to trust me. We’ll stay here and bide our time. If within a week there has been no sign of the illustrious Mr. Martin, I think I can start nosing around without arousing too many suspicions. And,” he began to unbutton his shirt, “if there has been no sign of Larry in a week, I might even believe he was dead. I doubt that if he’s alive he’ll be able to hold out any longer than that without causing trouble.”

“I want to leave now.” I shrugged and smiled, watching the play of the light on Mitch’s chest muscles. “But I’ve felt that way all along, from our first night here, and I haven’t changed my mind. But because you ask it, I’m willing to wait your week, and see what happens.”

“Thanks.” His eyes were alert, sharp, and I thought to myself that this, finally, was the old Mitch. The man with whom I had fallen in love, the man with whom I would share my neverending life.

My body tingled where his came into contact with mine. Suddenly, worries and thoughts about Larry Martin were buried deep beneath the urgency of my need for him. I longed to see where our newfound unity could lead us.

Slowly, sensuously my hand snaked up around his neck and pulled his mouth down to mine. “After all, my love,” I whispered, in a voice hoarse with passion, “we have all the time in the world. And we’re still supposed to be on our honeymoon.”

“Mrs. Greer,” Mitch said, his eyes glowing, his hands slowly traveling down my body, “have I ever told you that I love the way you think?”

I laughed. “And have I ever told you that I love the way you love?”

What a strange lovemaking that was, I thought, as I lay back in his arms, coming down slowly from the waves of orgasms. Yes, it had been completely satisfying, intimate, and passionate, like every other time Mitch and I made love. Yet I felt more alien and more distant from him than I ever had before. The fault, if fault it was, did not seem to lie in the comparison of the earlier blending of our souls with this physical merging. It lay instead with our subsequent division into ourselves again.

Mitch kissed the top of my head. “That was wonderful, Deirdre. But,” I heard the confusion in his voice, it mirrored my thoughts, “it hurt me.”

“Hurt you? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“And I’m not really sure I can explain.” He stroked my hair lightly and I shivered, then grabbed his hand and put it to my mouth, kissing each finger separately.

“Try.”

Mitch thought for a while longer. “I don’t mean it hurt physically, far from it.” He chuckled slightly. “It felt wonderful, physically. Maybe our best ever. But somewhere, deep inside, it hurt. As if, by pulling away from each other this afternoon, we left behind some sort of psychic wound, one that’ll ache until we’re fully together again. But as aches go, it wasn’t bad.”

I laughed at him, then sobered. “I think I understand. I’m not sure it can be described, but I think I understand.”

“I knew you would.”

We lay quiet for a while, separate physically and mentally, each of us trapped inside thoughts and feelings for which we could find no words. I got up from the bed and began to get dressed.

“Where are you going?” Mitch pushed himself up on one elbow and watched me solemnly.

“I know we agreed to wait for a week, but I want to look for him anyway. In my own way.”

“Would you like some company?”

“Absolutely, my love. We can look together. But be warned, I plan on starting my search where it all began.”

Mitch groaned slightly and shook his head. “Well, I don’t like it much, but it makes sense. Perfect sense. Criminals usually return to the scene of the crime, and while the Ballroom may not be that specifically, we can’t deny that there is something that keeps leading us back there. It’s the ideal place to start our search.”

He got up from the bed and started to dress. “But I still say we should burn the damn place down.”

Chapter 16

I was already settled into the back seat of the cab and Mitch was just about to get in when a familiar figure burst from the front doors of the Imperial, waving frantically in the attempt to get our attention. “Deirdre, Mitch, wait.” Vivienne’s voice was earnest and warm. “Where are you going? I want to speak with you.”

Tensing slightly, I caught back a sound of annoyance. One thing we most certainly didn’t need or want tonight was the presence of another Cadre member. But Mitch shook his head while motioning for me to stay inside. He straightened back up, smiled at her and she ran over to him, holding out her hands in greeting, laughing the odd, metallic laugh that never failed to make a shiver run up my back.

I studied the two of them from the back seat. For once Vivienne was not dressed provocatively, but instead was wearing faded denim jeans, a powder blue sweatshirt, and a pair of running shoes. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore very little makeup. She looked pale and delicate, impossibly young and beautiful, her tiny hands enfolded in his.

Mitch had put on black jeans, with a black t-shirt that was tight enough to reveal a lean and muscled torso. His gray hair was tousled by the wind and I noticed for the first time that he was wearing it longer. I’d never seen him look less like a cop. Or more desirable. Together, I couldn’t help but admit, they made a nice-looking couple.

“We’re just going out for a bit, Vivienne,” I heard him saying, “but maybe you’d like to join us?”

“Well, yes, I would.” She rolled her eyes at him. “But only if I’m not interfering. I don’t want to be the unwanted third.”

“Vivienne,” Mitch’s voice caressed the name, “how could a lovely woman like you ever be unwanted? Please join us.”

With his second impassioned invitation I realized what he was attempting, understood his motivation as plainly as if he had spoken his intentions out loud. He was going to get the information he required from her.

Understanding didn’t necessarily mean I had to like his methods. Suddenly I had a flash of how he must have felt while he was still mortal; how he must have suffered to know that I had need to seek out the embrace of another. Even though the need had always been for sustenance and not for love, it was still a kind of betrayal and it hurt.

“Deirdre, sister?” Vivienne leaned into the cab. “If you are sure you have no objections?”

I forced back my petty jealousy and gave her my brightest smile. “Mitch is right, you should join us.”

With another laugh, she got into the cab next to me, giving me a small hug as she settled in. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here,” she whispered into my ear. “I have been so wanting a sister, and a friend, for so long.”

Mitch crawled in after her and draped his arm over the back of the seat, lightly caressing the tip of my shoulder. “This is nice, isn’t it? One big happy family.”

Vivienne leaned her head back into him and giggled again. “Yes, it’s very nice, Mitch. So where are we going? And what are we going to do once we get there?”

“Good point, lady.” The driver turned around. “Where to?”

Mitch and I said in unison and with about the same amount of enthusiasm, “The Ballroom, please.”

“Oh,” she purred, sounding as young and innocent as she looked, “I love the Ballroom. What fun. Such a marvelous idea.”

We were a block away when she turned to me. “I was very angry, you know, when I’d found out that Max left the place to you. I always thought that it would be mine someday. I even had plans for it.”

“Really?” I shook my head, the club had never been anything other than a burden to me. And although I’d never admitted it to him, Mitch’s idea of burning it to the ground appealed to me. “What sort of plans?”

To my surprise, Vivienne took a sidelong glance at Mitch, then blushed. “It’s silly, you know, but I hate to say, actually. It’s a difficult thing to explain without sounding, oh,” and she waved her tiny hand in the air, “rather indelicate. Let us just say I had planned to close it, redecorate it and open up an entirely different type of club.”

Mitch leaned forward and met my eyes, nodding. “Seems like a good idea to me, no matter what type of club Vivienne wants to open. What do you think, Deirdre?”

I shrugged. “It sounds like a wonderful opportunity for all of us. I never wanted any part of the damn place.” I looked out the window and sighed. “And it always seemed a vindictive joke on Max’s part to will it to me anyway.”

“Max.” His name on her lips seemed to drip with venom. “Please don’t get me started on Max. We should be having a good time and not be raking up the past tonight.” Her childish manner had instantly vanished and her eyes narrowed, studying my reaction, “But, in the matter of the Ballroom, you would perhaps consider selling it to me?”

“Perhaps. What sort of price did you have in mind?”

The price she quoted made Mitch and the cab driver whistle in disbelief. There was probably a time in my life when I would have been impressed also, but that was before I had amassed a small fortune through the sale of my fashion business and a large one through the death of Max. “That seems satisfactory. Let’s draw up the papers as soon as possible.”

Vivienne clasped her hands together, in an appealing gesture. “Oh, my sister,” she cooed, “my sweet, sweet sister, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said, embarrassed by her enthusiasm. “It’s my pleasure.”

The doorman recognized Vivienne and let us in with no questions and no hassles. We pushed our way across the crowded dance floor and up to the bar.

“What’ll it be, folks?”

I glanced at the bartender with no recognition. He was young and good looking, with no characteristics to make him different from every other normal man here, as if he had been assembled haphazardly from available parts.

“We’ll have a scotch on the rocks, a glass of red wine,” Mitch looked down at Vivienne, “and?”

“Oh,” she laughed, “Marky knows what I want, don’t you?”

The bartender winked at her. “I most certainly do, Miss Courbet.”

He mixed the drinks and handed them over to us one by one, “Scotch on the rocks, red wine, and my special formula Bloody Mary. On the house, of course, and with your permission, Mrs. Greer.”

At my look of shock he grinned at me. “Fred told us that first night who you were. And he said you were always to be greeted by name.”

“Thank you.” I motioned to Mitch and Vivienne. “Why don’t you two get us a table someplace? I’ll be right over.”

After they left, I looked around. “I’d like to speak with Fred. Is he in tonight?”

“Nope, nobody here but us chickens,” Mark laughed. “He mentioned last night that he was going to take a few days off. Said he figured since you’d probably be in town for a while, that you’d be in every now and then to keep an eye on the place. The place pretty much runs itself anyway. No problems, the customers drink and dance and get into just a little bit of, well,” and he winked at me this time, causing me to laugh in spite of my dismay at his familiarity, “hanky-panky every now and then to keep things interesting.”

“I see.” I picked up my wineglass and took a sip. Then another. It was from the special stock that Max always saved for me.

“How’s the wine?” Mark asked, making an idle sweep over the surface of the bar with a dish rag.

“Wonderful, thank you. Just like old times.”

“But better I’ll bet.” His eyes glinted at me through the dim, smoky air.

“Yes,” I admitted with a smile, relaxing with surprise into his warm, friendly manner. “Infinitely better.”

“Good,” Mark said, “we aim to please.”

Mitch and Vivienne were deep in conversation when I arrived at the table. He glanced up at me for a minute, then turned back to her. “The doorman?”

“No, not the doorman.” She took a long sip of her drink, then pulled out the celery stick and sucked on it briefly, before smiling at me. “Mitch and I are playing a game of questions. He is most delightful, but I don’t suppose I have to tell you that.”

“How wonderful.” I sat down and took a pull on my wine. “Who’s winning?”

Mitch shot me a hard look for intervening. I could feel his frustration. Vivienne was proving to be harder to manipulate than he thought. It was a good lesson for him to learn, I thought, and I turned my chair slightly and watched the dance floor.

“So, what about the bartender Mark, then?”

Vivienne put her head back and laughed. “That is an interesting one, Mitch. And one that I cannot answer. It’s not that easy, you see, telling one of us from one of them. I think that Marky, if not a vampire now, will be one soon. He’s only here two maybe three months and he’s already a favorite of Fred’s.” She waved her hand in the air again, seeming to dismiss the situation. “And you should know, mon chou, that I am, in any event, the wrong person to ask. Now Victor, he is a different story. Victor knows everyone, poor man, that’s his job. He knows the new ones and the old ones and the ones that only appear every century or so.” She picked up her drink and stared at him over the rim of the glass. “Why do you need to know all this, anyway?”

Mitch smiled. “Curiosity, mainly. I’m so very new and Deirdre is unfamiliar with the turf, so to speak. I still find it hard to believe that the city could contain so many vampires and no one would notice.”

“Ah,” Vivienne said with a tilt of her head, “curiosity. I understand that quite well. And there are really not so very many of us, Mitch, as you seem to think. Most of the house leaders had been called here when Deirdre was under scrutiny and on trial. And they seemed to have lingered longer than usual. Even I have stayed much longer than I planned. It was fortunate in a way, that the Larry Martin situation turned up so quickly after your departure. We would all have been in very unpleasant moods if we’d left, then had to be called back after such a short time.”

I gave a half laugh. “If the house leaders’ recent moods can pass as pleasant, then it really was fortunate.”

Vivienne reached over and laid her hand on my arm. “Poor Deirdre, we have not been very nice to you, have we? Myself, I think that Victor put you in an impossible situation, one which looked like you could never win. But,” her face brightened a bit and she drained her drink, “you did win. I am very relieved, for many reasons, that things turned out as they did.”

She waved her hand and the waiter almost instantaneously appeared with another round of drinks.

“Good service,” Mitch observed with a grin, “even better service than Deirdre usually gets. She often has to wait for a minute or two.” He eyed Vivienne’s glass. “So what exactly is in Mark’s special blend Bloody Mary?”

“A little bit of this,” she admitted, “and a little bit of that. But,” she gave Mitch a serious glance, “certainly not what you’re thinking. I much prefer that drink unadulterated.”

The band stopped playing and the dance floor began to thin out. I couldn’t stop myself from studying the dancers intently, although I knew that catching Larry a second time would not be as easy. If he was even around and alive to be caught. The whole endeavor seemed futile to me. If he were dead, we were wasting our time. And if he were not, he most certainly would not come here.

Mitch followed my gaze out on the dance floor and suddenly tensed. “What?” I whispered to him over the table, completely ignoring Vivienne’s presence. “Is it him?”

“No,” Mitch said, rising from his chair and waving, “it’s Chris. What the bloody hell is he doing here?”

“Hi, Dad.” Chris sat down at the table and nodded to me. “Deirdre.” He was drunk again; he’d barely had time to sleep off last night’s alcohol. Mitch frowned in his direction and Chris looked away from both of us, focusing instead on Vivienne with growing interest. “And friend.”

“Mitch,” she said, her voice light, “aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Vivienne, this is my son, Chris. Chris, this is our new friend Vivienne Courbet.”

“Very nice to meet you, Miss Courbet.” Chris was teasing her with his formality, to his eyes she would appear younger than he.

“And you, Chris.” Her words were as soft as velvet. Velvet covering cold hard iron, I thought and stole a glance at Mitch. His expression of distrust seemed to agree. “I see that you are as charming and handsome as your father. But younger,” she laughed at Chris and winked at Mitch, “and far better looking. Would you like to dance?”

“Well, yeah.” Chris was completely enchanted with her, “I’d like that very much, but the music’s stopped.”

Vivienne’s voice deepened. “Ah, mon petit chou, when one is young and in love the music never stops. Besides, I have monopolized your father’s attentions for way too long. We wouldn’t want Deirdre to get jealous, now would we?”

“No, ’course not.” Chris’s voice cracked slightly. She rose, took his hand, and led him to the empty dance floor.

Mitch stared intently as the two of them began to dance. “I don’t think he knows what she is, do you?” I asked him. “Do you want me to stop them?”

“No,” Mitch shook his head and flicked a glance to me, before returning his attention to the dance floor. “I think this might be a good thing for him. Maybe he’ll be able to understand our relationship better as a result. And maybe he’ll be able to accept the fact when he learns what I have become.”

“Maybe,” I agreed half-heartedly. “Or meeting her might just prove to be the worst mistake of his young life.”

We watched them dance for a while; he towered over her and the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. To any outsider they would look like a young couple in the first flush of love.

At first they held each other apart while Vivienne chattered up into his face. She smiled, she flirted, and he responded, warming to her more, rewarding her efforts with a smile so much like Mitch’s that it made my heart twist. As they continued swaying to their own personal music, they drew each other in closer, their bodies touching, not even a hair’s breadth separating them. Chris put his head down closer to hers and she stretched up on her toes, her lips straining to reach his ears.

“I hope she’s not hungry,” I said to myself, feeling somewhat uncomfortable and very much a voyeur.

Mitch groaned a bit. “I suspect watching this is not such a good idea. Excuse me for a minute.” He got up from the table and disappeared into the men’s room. I continued to watch Vivienne and Chris, fascinated at how she managed to hypnotize him, there, in full view of everyone in the club. Was this how I looked in the process of the hunt? Was I as good as she?

“She’s really something, isn’t she?”

Mark’s unexpected arrival made me jump and I knocked over my wineglass, not breaking it, but spilling the dregs on the table. “Yes, she certainly is.” I mopped up the wine with the loose napkins on the table and when I was done he set three more drinks in front of me, removing the empty ones to a tray set on the table behind him.

“Fred says you were the best.” He placed both hands on the heart-shaped table top and leaned into me, an undisguised admiration reflected on his face. “He says you could capture them with just a look, just a movement of your hand.”

“I was the best?” I saw no need to hide my nature from this young man and I was too weary for denials. “Why the past tense?”

Mark looked away, blushing. “Fred says that when vampires,” his voice lowered on the word, “fall in love, they lose their touch. They become soft; their instincts get dull.”

“Ah, I see. I suppose Fred is an expert.”

“He’s usually right.”

The laugh I tried to give came out more of a growl; it was a threatening sound and he backed away. “And Fred probably is right,” I continued. “I don’t know. But I have never gone hungry. Please tell him that for me next time you see him.”

“Oh, God, I—I mean, I meant no offense, Mrs. Greer. Really. I was just sort of talking off the cuff. That happens when I get nervous.”

“No offense taken, Mark. At least not from you. But from Fred?” I shrugged. “Our Fred should remember not to sit in judgment over his elders and his betters. I’ve won with him before and I have no doubt I can do so again.”

Mark gulped. “I’m sorry I said anything at all. Shit, Fred will be really mad at me now.” His hangdog attitude did not calm me down, but merely annoyed me further. Who the hell was Fred to inspire such devotion in a man? But I kept my thoughts to myself and pulled my eyes away from him, fastening them again upon the couple on the dance floor.

“Please, don’t say anything to him about this, Mrs. Griffin.”

“Fred and I are not close. Not by any stretch of the imagination, Mark. Should we never come into contact with each other again, I would not spend even one minute of my endless time seeking him out. So your secrets are safe with me. And you’re free to think whatever you like.” I turned my direction back to Chris and Vivienne on the dance floor. His hands had reached lower on her body and had pulled her in against him. Her mouth was still on the level of his ear and I could see her lips moving. She was not biting him, I realized with a sigh of relief, she was only talking to him. And what kind of harm could that do?

Mark snuck off when he discovered that I was paying him no attention and Mitch returned. “Are they still at it?” he asked, a tone of disgust appearing. “Maybe we should just leave.”

The band, now, had returned to the stage and they started to tune their instruments, laughing and joking with each other, some of it apparently focused on the two on the dance floor. It seemed good natured though and I assumed that they were well acquainted with Vivienne’s presence at the club.

Without warning, Chris abruptly pulled away from her; his sudden separation and withdrawal of support caused her to stagger. They stared at each other, their breath coming in short gasps. Finally, Chris looked over at our table, then back to her. All the blood had rushed out of his face, as if she had indeed been feeding off of him. And in a sense, that was only too accurate.

“That can’t be true . . .” His voice carried even over the discord of the instruments. “My father is not a vampire. And he will never be one.”

Chapter 17

Chris took one last look at our table, catching my eyes and holding them for a time. Then he pushed Vivienne away from him and ran out the door. The three of us watched him leave without making a move to stop him, without saying a word. There was nothing that could be done or said.

Vivienne slowly approached the table, her hands pressing firmly against her mouth. When she lowered them, her lips were almost white. “I’m so sorry, Mitch. I thought he knew.”

Mitch stared off in the direction of the street as if he were able to see through the walls and watch Chris’s retreat. His face was expressionless. “Maybe it’s better this way; I’m not sure I could have found the right words. He’ll go away for a while, sleep off the beer, and things will be okay.”

“Oui.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed Mitch’s cheek with a gentleness that surprised me. “Perhaps you are right. I pray that you are.”

I said nothing. I had seen the expression on Chris’s face. Had read the hatred in his eyes. There would be no forgiveness, no understanding and it would tear Mitch to pieces. I sighed.

“We are doing no good here, Mitch,” I said to him. “Let’s go home. Vivienne, are you coming?”

“No, I think I’ll stay here for a while, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you wish to be alone and I’ve caused enough trouble for one evening. Please know that I did not mean to.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Trouble seems to follow me wherever I go.”

She seemed so sincere in her upset that I almost believed her. I could see from Mitch’s face that he did. Perhaps that was most important right now.

He straightened his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t worry about it, Vivienne. It was inevitable that Chris find out sooner or later.” He gave a humorless laugh. “It’s not as if I could’ve been able to hide what I am from him indefinitely. I was deliberately avoiding the issue, knowing that there was no way he would take it well. We should have told him immediately, even before we left for England.”

“But,” I reached over, took Mitch’s hand and squeezed it, giving the only comfort I could, “now at least he knows.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and strangely enough, that’s a big relief. Let’s go.”

We said brief good-byes to Vivienne, waved to Mark as we walked through the club and stood on the street for a few minutes. Mitch looked intently at the crowd of pedestrians for Chris’s familiar figure, but he was nowhere in sight.

“You want to go after him, don’t you?” It wasn’t really a question on my part. It is what I would have wanted to do.

“Yeah, do you mind?”

“Even if I did, my love, what else would I have to do?”

We started walking down the street in the direction of Mitch’s old brownstone apartment building. “Chris was always such a good kid. Never gave us any trouble, not even during his teenage years. Most kids go crazy at a certain point; turn rebellious and hate their parents, you know the phase. But not Chris. He always followed my advice, was always around to talk to after a particularly bad day at the department. And even if he never said that he was proud of me, I knew that he was.”

“He’s your son, Mitch, and he loves you. He’ll
come around.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

We stopped under a streetlight and I squinted up into the light reflecting from his face. “You want the truth?” I waited for his nod, then continued. “If he doesn’t come around, you’ll both still survive. You’ll both go on with your own lives. Isn’t that the way it should be?”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

We searched until the sun was almost up. Chris was nowhere Mitch thought he might have gone. We made a final check back at the apartment, let ourselves in the front door, and listened. His place was empty.

“We’ll have to go somewhere soon, Mitch. It’s almost dawn.”

“I know. But I’m worried about him, where could he be?”

“It’s a big city, my love, and Chris is a big boy. I’m sure he’ll be okay. Could he have gone to his mother?”

Mitch always teased me that I had no past because I chose not to speak of it. I thought he had told me most of the intimate details of his life, but I realized that there were things he held back on also. His previous marriage was one of them; I didn’t know his ex-wife’s name.

“Barbara’s?” He thought about the idea and rejected it. “No, I don’t think so, the two of them have never really gotten along that well since the divorce. And he absolutely hates her new husband.”

“Sort of like he hates your new wife?”

Walking to the curb and signaling for a cab, he laughed and looked back over his shoulder at me. “Much worse than you.”

“Worse than me? Is that possible? Who is this guy, Jack the Ripper?”

He gave me a quick look. “I’ve never told you the story of my divorce, have I?”

“No, other than the fact that your wife, Barbara, was tired of being a policeman’s wife. So she remarried? Who was the lucky man?”

“My ex-partner.” His voice held no emotion and I couldn’t read his eyes.

But I couldn’t help stifling a quick laugh as I got into the cab and gave the driver the address of the Imperial. Mitch slid over next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. “I can understand why you don’t want to talk about it, Mitch. That must have been a pretty humiliating experience for you.”

“Actually,” he spread the word out, trying to maintain a serious expression, but failing, “it was the funniest situation I’ve ever been involved in. You’d be amazed at the machinations these two put into the affair, when all either one of them needed to do was tell me, honestly and up-front, what was going on. I knew for years before Martin got up the nerve to confess.”

“But you still don’t like to talk about it.”

“I don’t talk about it, Deirdre, because it’s unimportant to us. Unimportant to almost everything in my life. And I never loved her the way I love you.” He touched his hand to my upper thigh, rubbed down to my knee and up again. “You’re all that matters to me. And I don’t ever want you to forget that.”

The Imperial was deserted when we arrived and the pre-dawn streets surrounding the restaurant were practically empty, giving the area an almost surrealistic quality. We let ourselves into the back entrance with our key and made our way through the corridors to our rooms.

I smelled the roses before we were halfway into the room. I stopped, inhaled deeply, and turned to Mitch, who was turning on the light by the bed. “They’re lovely, Mitch. Thank you so much.”

“Huh?”

I pointed to the bouquet sitting atop the dresser; a dozen blood red roses and one black bud. Walking over to them I buried my nose in the blooms and pulled in their rich scent.

“I didn’t send them.”

I spun around and he was smiling a rather sheepish smile. “I’ve been a little busy and haven’t really had time to think of flowers. They must be from Victor, or maybe the whole Cadre; you know, as a sort of thank-you for a job well done.”

“Well, maybe.” I turned back to the dresser and looked around for a card. “But I didn’t really do anything. If Larry is truly dead, he did that on his own. They should have sent these to the cemetery in that case.”

“Maybe they’re just standard Cadre decorating, then. Pretty though, I wonder why there’s one black rose with the rest.”

“Max used to do that. Do you remember when we first met and my office was filled with flowers?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at the memory. “I wanted to know who died. I’m afraid that’s as close to romantic behavior as I ever get, Deirdre. You’ve tied yourself down to a very practical man.”

“You don’t hear me complaining. I don’t need roses, my love.”

“Well, if this is a Max-type tradition,” he walked over to the dressers and looked at the roses, fingering one of the velvety blooms, “I would expect that these came from Victor. Maybe as an apology for his ‘unpleasantness.’ ”

I smiled at his impersonation. “You do that so very well, my love. But I keep telling you to watch your step; Victor might just resign and they’ll elect you to the job.”

I stepped out of my clothes and kicked them over into the corner of the room. “I really have to call Betsy this afternoon; I can’t go on wearing the same things over and over again. But first, I want a shower and some sleep. Interested?”

His eyes lit up and ran appreciatively over my naked body. “You’re perfection, you know.”

I gave a low chuckle as I went into the bathroom. “You aren’t so bad yourself, Detective, or have you failed to notice? Come here.”

He stood in front of me and I pulled the t-shirt from his body. “Now,” I reached up and took hold of his shoulders, turning him around to face the mirror over the sink. “Look at yourself.”

I stood behind him, one arm stretched around his neck and the other resting on his upper arm. We both stared at our reflection and our eyes met. Our skin glowed, his a slightly darker hue than mine. His gray hair flowed back from his forehead, ending just a bit above his shoulders. He might be mistaken for an old man at first glance until he opened his eyes; electric blue as always, they glowed with an inner heat that hinted of stronger flames within. We were both strong and conditioned predators. “See,” I said with a twisted smile, “perfection.”

Then I slapped him lightly on his backside and ducked away from him, pulling open the shower curtain and turning on the water. “I get first dibs on the hot water.”

Mitch skinned out of his jeans and his underwear. “The hell you do.” He stepped into the shower and lifted me up by the waist, twisting me around and setting me down behind him. We played the game for a while with the hot water splashing over our bodies, warming our skin to a near-human temperature. It had been a difficult night and we had more than our share of problems to solve, but together we were one. In that unity, all else in the world seemed to pale.

After all the soaping and the teasing, the nipping, the gentle and the not-so-gentle love play, we dried each other off and got into bed. Mitch gave a great yawn, exposing slightly sharpened canines that had grown during our play and I laughed at him, softly.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re like a great big dog, sometimes. Especially when you yawn like that.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said, baring his teeth to me in a fake snarl. “I prefer to think of myself as a wolf, hunting the wilds in search of warm, rich blood.”

He growled at me and just for a second his face seemed to twist into another shape; I saw what he could be. I gasped; he was frightening but beautiful. Then he yawned again and the illusion disappeared.

“Damn, I’m beat,” he said, reaching over and giving me a light kiss. “Sleep well, Deirdre.”

He was out almost instantly, sleeping the way I used to, effortlessly and deeply, almost boneless in his utter relaxation. I lay sleeplessly next to him for a while, disturbed by the sounds of daily life outside the room, sounds that urged me to find a window somewhere in this crypt and look upon daylight one final time. I stayed in bed and resisted the whispered seduction, but the seeds of yesterday’s dawn vision had been planted.

This time the picture seemed clearer, sharper; a lone figure in the pre-dawn mist, sitting quietly, unmoving. The sky lightened, the sun rose, and the figure glowed, echoing the colors of dawn, before bursting into flame.

I turned my face to the ceiling of the darkened room as if to feel the cleansing heat of my vision. Ah, to see the sun once more, I thought and sighed. But Mitch stirred next to me, and murmured my name, reminding me that I had reason yet to live. Closing my eyes, I nestled into the cool skin of his shoulder and slept.

Chapter 18

I woke in the late afternoon with a start, shivering in the draft from the open door. Open door? I sat up in bed and elbowed Mitch.

“What?” His eyes opened and he stared around the room hazily until they focused in.

“Mitch, we did close the door this morning, didn’t we?”

“Of course, closed and locked.”

“It’s open now.”

“What the hell?” Mitch jumped from the bed and crossed the room, slamming the door shut and turning the dead bolt. “That’s strange. Really strange.” He started back across the room and yelped as he stepped down on something. He bent down and picked up the stem of a rose. It was missing its bloom completely. “Damn,” he said and then, “stupid thorns.” Hopping over to the bed, he sat back down, laid the stem on top of my covers and inspected the sole of his foot. “I suspect I’ll live.” He pulled a thorn from his skin and tossed it into the corner of the room. “This is why I never send a lady roses, she just finds a way to hurt me with them.” He smiled to soften his words. “What the hell were you doing while I was sleeping, Deirdre, dancing the tango with Max?”

I looked at him, puzzled. I remembered the vision before I fell asleep, but afterwards there were no memories. It had been an exhausting week so far and my sleep must have been deeper than normal. I shook my head, and the covers were scattered with the petals from the missing rose.

“Tell me,” he said, the expression in his eyes betraying the fact that he knew that I could not, “that you got up from bed, opened the door, and got that rose, tossing the stem to where I would step on it and sprinkling your head with the petals.”

“Mitch,” I started, swallowing hard to overcome the rush of panic I felt, “I didn’t do that. Someone else was in this room today.”

“Yeah,” his eyes flashed angrily, “I was just sort of hoping that you’d developed a taste for stupid practical jokes in your old age. I wonder who it was. Vivienne, maybe? She seems like the type somehow, to perpetrate a little playful fun, nothing serious.”

“Vivienne would be more likely to crawl into bed between us than to pull a prank with a flower.”

He laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Chris?”

Mitch thought about that for a minute, went to the dresser and pulled on a pair of jeans. Then we went back to the door and inspected the knob. “I know I locked this; I do every time we’re in here. In order for anyone to get in they would have had to either break the lock or have a key. The lock isn’t broken that I can see, and it’s not been tampered with. Even had it been, I don’t think Chris has the skills for breaking and entering. But as far as the key situation goes, we only have Victor’s assurance that ours are the only ones.” He walked back to the bed, his gaze falling on the two coffins held on the ornate stand. “Although, wasn’t this box delivered for me when we were out? So it’s possible that a staff member might have access, like in a hotel.”

“We never bother locking the door when we leave, Mitch. You always say what good does a lock do against a creature who can dissolve into a mist.”

“Exactly.”

Our eyes met. “And of course,” he said with a scornful laugh, “if you want to narrow a suspect list down to only one creature like that, this place sure as hell is the wrong bloody place to start.”

“Well,” I tucked the covers under my arms, checked the clock and picked up the phone. “We’ll mention it to Victor. Maybe it was just a staff person after all. No harm was done, really. And although I don’t much like the thought of people coming and going without my knowing about it, they can’t have meant to hurt us. We’d both be dead, if they had.” I dialed my old office. “I’m going to give Betsy a call. I still need some clothes to wear. I hope she’ll deliver.”

It was a comfort to hear Betsy’s brusque voice answer the call. And there could be no question in my mind that she was delighted to hear from me.

“Deirdre,” her voice boomed from the receiver and I laughed softly, seeing Mitch’s fake wince, “how’ve you been? And what have you and that handsome husband of yours been up to?” She laughed so loudly that I had to hold the phone out away from my ear. “As if I didn’t have a good idea of what I’d be doing in your place.”

“Betsy,” I said, always tickled by her no-nonsense approach to everything, “you’d be surprised.”

“Try me.” Her voice was sly and devious. “You might be surprised instead. Now, what can I do for you?”

“I need some clothes; we ended up staying in town longer than we’d intended to and I underpacked.”

“What kind of clothes?”

“Like the last time you rode to my rescue, an assortment, mostly casual, but some dressy. You remember the sizes and colors, don’t you?”

“Yes. You’re in a rut, you know. And you’re fortunate that I have some here that will suit you. But is there any reason why you just can’t go shopping like everyone else in the world?”

I laughed. “It’s just so much fun making you do this, Betsy. Meet me at the Imperial in about an hour or so and I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Damn straight you will, Deirdre. And you’ll pay my outrageous prices, too.” I could visualize her, writing up the invoice while we were still talking, tacking on a huge percentage for the inconvenience of my wanting to do business this way. I didn’t mind, the money meant nothing. I needed the clothes and I would get the pleasure of her company for the evening on top of everything. It was a fair exchange.

“I don’t suppose you’ll be staying in town for too long this time either, will you?”

“No, Betsy. We have some unfinished business to complete and then we’ll be gone again. I’d say no more than two or three weeks at the most.”

She sighed. “Too bad. I could still use you as a consultant. Maybe next time.” Then her voice brightened. “I’ll meet you in the Imperial bar in two hours. And bring your detective with you if you can.”

I hung up the phone and looked at Mitch. “Betsy says . . .”

He grinned. “You don’t have to repeat it, I suspect the entire Cadre knows what Betsy says. But you’ll have to count me out on this one, babe. I am not going to dinner with that particular predatory female.” He sighed and pulled a shirt out of the closet. “I suspect I’m going to have to spend the entire evening convincing Victor that he’s got a security problem here in his little kingdom. Then I need to track down Chris and see if we can talk about this. I’ll meet you back here sometime later tonight, okay?”

He came over and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me not too gently on the lips. Then he ran his fingers through my hair; a few rose petals floated down. He studied them and shivered. I knew what he was feeling. Against the backdrop of the pure white sheets they looked like many drops of blood. If our daytime visitor’d had murderous intent they could very easily have been. He pulled me close to him again, and kissed me for a very long time; his mouth working on mine, his tongue running over my lips, my teeth. His eyes were opened and we locked gazes.

When we finally separated, I sighed. “I love you, Deirdre. Be careful tonight. I’m going to convince Victor that he’s got a problem here if it kills me. And until he manages to set up some sort of security system, we’ll have to maintain a watch ourselves.”

“You be careful, too. Go softly with Victor; he’s not as placid as you’d think. And probably too powerful to annoy.”

He laughed. “I don’t give a flying fuck for Victor’s power. He’s put you in danger and he’ll solve that problem or pay for it.”

He kissed me one more time, just a brushing of his lips against mine. He was halfway to the door when he turned around and spoke again. “Do me a favor?”

“Anything, love.”

“Ask around, if you can, and see if anyone else received either roses or a visitor today. If this is happening to everyone, it’s not quite the same as if it is just happening to us.”

I nodded. “I shouldn’t be too late, Mitch. Expect me around eleven o’clock or so.” I blew him a small kiss and he chuckled and went out the door. After he closed it, I could hear the jingle of keys outside and saw the dead bolt turn. He was locking me in, to keep me safe. I smiled softly to myself, stretched and got up, brushing the rose petals from the sheets onto the floor.

Betsy was waiting in the bar for me when I arrived. I’d found a black miniskirt and a lacy blouse in my luggage and wore them with a pair of plain high-heeled pumps and flesh-tone hose. The skirt and blouse were leftovers from my years alone in England, where my provocative dress had been designed to entice my victims. She looked me up and down and made a clicking noise with her tongue. “You should be paying me double, you know. God, that outfit is horrible.”

I shrugged and looked down at myself. “I didn’t have much else that would be suitable at this point. This is good enough.”

She threw her head back and laughed loud and long. “Yeah, good enough, but only if you’re planning on picking up a few bucks on the street afterwards. Here,” she shoved a bag in my direction, “I knew somehow that you wouldn’t have anything appropriate. Go to the ladies’ room and change into this.”

“But, this is fine . . .”

“The hell you say. I will not eat dinner with someone who looks like she’s a twenty-dollar hooker. At least what’s in the bag raises your price a bit. Put it on and I’ll order you a drink.”

I leaned over the table and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You haven’t changed a bit, Betsy McCain. And it’s nice to see you, too. I’ll have a cabernet or a merlot or something similar.” I took the bag and went into the ladies’ room.

It was a simple dress, elegant and understated, made of dark green velvet in a princess style that fit tightly through the bust and the waist and flared out through the hips. I slipped it on over my head after removing my skirt and blouse and smoothed it down. The material felt soft and rich under my touch, the skirt fell only about two inches above my knees.

But the color, although flattering, made me nervous. The only times in the past years when I’d deviated from my normal black, white or red pattern, I’d worn this color. And each time it had been a disastrous evening. I didn’t need any more of those. But it was a pretty dress and Betsy would be disappointed if I didn’t wear it. I shrugged off my superstitions as best I could and smiled at myself in the mirror before I left the room.

As I walked into the bar area, I heard her voice in heated tones. “She only went to the ladies’ room for a minute, for Christ’s sake. And hell no, I’m not going to go get her; whatever you have to say can’t be all that important. If it is you can get her yourself.”

Betsy was very petite, shorter than me. Her brown hair was worn slightly longer than last time I’d seen her, but otherwise her appearance hadn’t changed. She was brassy, inside and out. At this moment she was standing at the table, hands on her hips, feet firmly planted on the floor, staring a very agitated Victor fully in the face. And winning, I observed, with a wry grin, a fact established by the fact that Victor’s answer to her was soft and placating.

“Is there some sort of problem, Victor?”

He jumped as I came up behind him; he’d been so preoccupied with Betsy that he hadn’t heard my approach.

“Deirdre.” He spun around and grabbed my arm. “I need to speak with you, now.”

“Fine, Victor,” I pulled away from him with a quick gesture, “I take it this is a private discussion.”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go somewhere else and keep it so. Betsy, why don’t you get them to seat you in the dining room now? I’ll join you as soon as I can. But there’s no reason you should miss dinner on my account.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ve left the box of clothes with the coat-check girl and I’ll leave the bill for you if you don’t return.”

“Ms. McCain,” Victor made a slight bow in her direction, “I apologize for interrupting your evening, but rest assured I would not have done so unless it was very important. Dinner tonight will be on the house.” He waved his arm and the maitre d’ came over to us. “Give Ms. McCain our best table, a bottle of our best champagne, and the best steak she’s ever had. Give the check to me.”

Betsy eyed the young host admiringly. “I’m not really in any hurry, Deirdre, take your time.”

Victor took my arm and led me away hurriedly. “Green,” I muttered under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just that sometimes superstitions have very good basis in fact.”

He escorted me to his restaurant office without another word and closed the door once we were safely inside.

“So, what seems to be the problem, Victor?”

“We have another body. We think it’s the body of yet another vampire, but we don’t know right now.”

“And how did this one die?”

“Same way, an apparent suicide. He was sitting on a bench in Central Park when the sun came up.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“No, we don’t.”

“When will you know who it is?”

“Soon, I hope. But identification in these cases is often next to impossible. The police cooperate as much as possible, but when all you have to work with is a pile of charred bones and teeth, it’s difficult.”

“I take it there’s no witness this time.”

He cleared his throat. “None have come forward at this time.”

“And are you sure this is another suicide?”

“Dammit, Deirdre, it’s hard to tell. But there are very few other ways that a vampire can be forced to witness a sunrise, short of shackles and chains, and there is no evidence of that in this case.”

“Are you positive? It just seems to be too much of a coincidence, two suicides right in a row.”

“Yes. That is what I thought. I was hoping you might know something.”

“I? I know nothing at all.”

“Ah.” He fell silent for a while, brushing slightly at the sleeve of his impeccable suit coat. Then he looked up and met my eyes. “We do have one theory. Tell me, my dear, have you ever been caught in the sun?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“And what was your first reaction?”

“Truthfully, Victor? My very first reaction?”

He nodded.

“I wanted to stay, regardless of the danger. I miss the sun. But then the pain would grow unbearable and I’d remove myself.”

He nodded again. “That seems to be the way we all feel. There is the longing for the sunlight at the same time there is the fear. So when a vampire suicides, this method is the one normally chosen. Having two right in a row is unusual, I’ll admit, but not totally unheard of. It might be possible for one of us to take that desire in another and twist it, so that it is acted upon. We are connected to each other in strange ways and the actions of one, as you well know, can carry unimaginable consequences for another.”

I shook my head in agreement and remembered my recent visions. “Yes, I can see how that might happen. But what I don’t understand is why you needed to tell me about it.”

“Where’s Mitch?”

“What?” My confusion must have been very apparent. “Mitch? He was going to talk to you about your sloppy security and then go to find his son. You must have seen him.”

“I did see him, about an hour or so before sunset. He stormed into my office, talking all sorts of nonsense about how someone had broken into your room overnight and scattered rose petals. When I told him I had better things to worry about than flower petals, he stormed away, blustering about how we would pay if anything ever happened to you.”

“You think he had something to do with this?” My voice rose in anger for the first time. “Mitch?”

“Well, we haven’t ruled out the possibility. He hated Larry Martin. And he’s not exactly on good terms with anyone in this organization. And while Mitch may have perfectly good reasons for his reaction, the fact still remains that he’s been overheard calling for the downfall of the Cadre on many separate occasions.”

“Jesus, Victor,” I shook my head in disbelief, “that’s all just talk. You can’t really think that.”

“Well, we would like to speak with him as soon as possible. He’s with his son, you say?”

“He’s looking for his son. Last night Chris found out from Vivienne that Mitch had been transformed. He’s more than just a little upset about it.”

“Um, hmm.”

“What?”

“One more reason for him to be angry.”

“Victor,” I went to the door and opened it, “if you can believe that Mitch is twisting the minds of other vampires so that they’ll sit out in the sun and burn themselves to a crisp, then you are just as crazy as whoever is doing it. If anyone is.”

“Could be. But when you see Mitch, please tell him we need to talk.”

“You’re wasting your time, Victor. If there is a killer loose, it’s not Mitch. I’d put my money on Larry Martin if I were you.”

“Larry Martin is dead.”

“Well, then, almost anyone else other than Mitch. And I wouldn’t write Larry off completely. Theoretically, Victor, we’re all dead. You, me, Mitch, Vivienne, the whole damn Cadre. We’re just a bunch of animated corpses walking around preying on the lives of others.”

“And just maybe,” I said softly to myself as I closed the door, thinking about my strange visions, wondering if perhaps these thoughts traveled and were intercepted and acted upon by the others, “maybe I’m the one doing it.”

Chapter 19

Betsy was halfway through her salad when I arrived at the table and sat down. She smiled at me, then frowned, seeing the expression on my face. “Something wrong, Deirdre?”

“Damn green dress for one thing.”

“Oh, come on, the dress looks wonderful on you; I meant to tell you so before that Victor person waylaid you. What did he want, anyway?”

I picked up the almost empty bottle of champagne and poured myself a glass, draining it in one draught. Then tipped the bottle again to get the last few drops.

“Deirdre?” she repeated, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing of importance, Betsy. Politics, suspicions, murders—just business as usual.” I gave her a light smile. “Victor has an overactive imagination, I’m afraid.”

“So do I.” She pushed her salad bowl away and leaned over the table toward me. “You can tell me, sweetie, I can keep a secret. And if you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to let my imagination fill in the details.”

I sighed and signaled the waiter to the table. “Another bottle of champagne, please.” When he left I looked her dead in the eyes. “Don’t ask me for confidences, Betsy, and don’t try too hard to be my friend. Do you know what happened to the last female friend I had?”

Betsy only hesitated a minute. “Sure, she was murdered—brutally, as a matter of fact, and in the apartment behind my office.” She raised an eyebrow at the surprise that must have shown in my face. “Of course I know about the incident; it was in all the papers. And even if it hadn’t been, I would have made it my business to find out. Hell, it was my business to find out. I needed to know why you were so anxious to sell me Griffin Designs for such a low price.”

She looked around her cautiously, exercising a discretion I would never have suspected she possessed, especially after drinking almost an entire bottle of champagne by herself. “I know quite a bit about you, Deirdre. More than you’d think.”

“Even so, Betsy, a friendship with me is a dangerous commodity. I imagine that Gwen died cursing me.”

“I think, Deirdre, that you were cursed long before Gwen was killed. And that you carry the curse within your veins.”

I stared at her for a moment, growing uncomfortable with the closeness of her words to the truth of my existence. “Yes,” I finally said, getting up from the table, “I think you may be right.”

She reached over and placed her hand on top of mine. “You’re not leaving so soon, are you? You can’t—we haven’t eaten yet.”

“I’m sorry, but I really need to go. I’ve lost what little appetite I had, anyway. It’s nothing personal, Betsy. Just that the little unfinished business I told you about keeps growing and if I don’t get started on it soon, it may go completely out of control.”

“Okay, then, go if you have to. Take care of yourself, Deirdre. And if you need a friend, I’ll be here for you.”

“Thank you, Betsy. Enjoy your meal, and thank you again for the clothes. You’re a lifesaver, truly. I’ll call before I leave town and we’ll reschedule dinner.”

“And I’ll hold you to that.” She gave me a knowing smile and a wink.

“Good night, Betsy. And thanks again.”

“Anytime,” she replied and I started to walk away. “Oh, and Deirdre?”

I turned, “Yes?”

She held her glass of champagne up in a toast. “Good hunting.”

I didn’t stop to ask her what she meant, just turned again and walked away, not looking back. But I did remember to stop at the coat-check counter. The young girl looked up at me when I approached. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I think you have a package here for me.”

“Your name?”

“Oh. Deirdre Griffin or maybe Greer?”

The girl nodded and smiled at me. “Victor had it sent to your rooms, Ms. Griffin. I hope that’s all right.”

“That’s fine.”

Once again I navigated the elevator and the corridors, and went back in the room, I checked the clock. It was only a little after nine, plenty of time before Mitch would return and more than enough to sort through the clothes that Betsy had provided, maybe even time to take a walk alone afterwards. I realized with a small rush of surprise that I missed the solitude I had grown accustomed to over the years, missed the feeling of unity with the night and nature.

The box of clothes had been placed on top of the coffins. I shook my head as I walked over to it, thinking that I really should get Victor to remove them. Neither Mitch nor I had the desire to try them out. Slitting the top of the box open with my nails I pulled out several pairs of black jeans and heavy black sweatshirts.

“Bless you, Betsy,” I said as I delved further into the box. She’d also included a red sweater tunic almost identical to one I once owned and had to discard, some oversized t-shirts, a dressy black and white lightweight suit and three dresses identical to the one I now wore only in different colors, a red one, a black one and a white.

I shook out the dresses and the suit and hung them in the armoire. The rest I folded and put away in the dresser drawers, keeping out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. When I shut the drawer, the dresser shook and some of the rose petals fell away.

Picking up the vase, I carried it into the bathroom to freshen the water and to find an aspirin. The medicine cabinet actually held a bottle to my surprise, and as I dropped a tablet into the water I realized that I’d forgotten to ask Victor if he’d sent the flowers. “Well, it had to be Victor,” I said aloud, contemplating the black rose bud surrounded by the sea of red, “Who else would know?” It made sense that Victor would remember Max’s methods; even made sense that he would attempt to copy them.

I placed them back on top of the dresser, turning the vase slightly to show them off to their best advantage. As the vase twisted I noticed a corner of white underneath it, almost invisible against the white dresser scarf.

The card that came with the flowers had been taped to the bottom of the vase, almost as if the sender had not wanted me to find it right away. The envelope was not written on, but when I pulled the card out, I recognized the handwriting and wished Mitch were here for many reasons.

The least of which was to vindicate his theory that Larry Martin was still alive. Larry’s card read: “Deirdre, I hope these flowers find you happy and well. Unfortunately, by the time you read this note, some will be missing, torn away in violence from their kindred.” I glanced away from the note and counted the flowers. Ten red and one black were remaining. There had been twelve red ones last night, I was sure. “I told you I wouldn’t forget you,” the note continued, “and as I’m sure you remember, the black rose is you.”

It was easy to connect the two missing roses and the two dead vampires. Larry was once again displaying his flair for the melodramatic. I would have laughed out loud had I not been so convinced that this time he would succeed in his plans and I would be dead.

I dropped the note on the floor and walked over to the bed. Pulling off the green velvet dress, I vowed with a grim smile never to wear the color again, no matter how long I lived, put on the jeans and sweatshirt, pulled on my boots and left the room.

When I hit the street and the outside air I let the breath I’d been holding escape in a sigh of relief. My heart was racing, but I walked slowly, in an attempt to calm my panic. Fleeing Cadre headquarters seemed a good first step. That sanctuary, if it ever had been one, was no longer safe for me. Larry had been there at least two times that I knew of, once to deliver the roses and then just this morning or afternoon while Mitch and I lay unaware. I shivered in the warm spring air, imagining him standing over me, watching the rise and fall of my chest in sleep, showering me with blood red petals.

How could he do all these things? He was a relatively new transformation and a rogue at that with no one to teach or to guide him. I had to find the answer to that question. If I didn’t, ten other Cadre members would die. And then it would be my turn.

I thought back over my unnaturally long life. There was a time when I would have welcomed Larry’s attention, when I would have given him all I owned to have him provide for me the release of death. “But not now. Please, not now,” I whispered to myself. “Now I have Mitch.”

I continued walking, my pace picking up now. Without conscious thought of where I was going, I just walked, letting my awareness flow into the workings of my body, the feel of the concrete under my feet, the smell of the night air. I turned down one street and doubled back another, finding myself at last in an alley that seemed very familiar. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, searching my mind for clues to this place and remembered that I stood outside Larry Martin’s old apartment building.

There was no police cruiser waiting outside the front door this night, as there had been that other time, no need for me to climb the wall and break into an open window. I walked around the side of the building and entered the front door.

I remembered his apartment number and in less than a minute stood outside the door. There was no good reason to assume that he still occupied this place, and yet there was really no reason for him not to. I knew better than most that the habits of a vampire die hard.

Listening at the door, I heard no sounds of life from within. I stooped over and put my face up to the keyhole, inhaling the scent of this place. It reeked of him. Larry Martin still lived here.

He’d grown more cautious, I thought, noticing extra locks on the door that had not been there before. Breaking them was possible with a few strong kicks, but the noise might attract the attention of his neighbors. Not really a likely prospect, but a possibility I didn’t much care to test.

The longer I stared at the locked door, the more I knew I had to get inside. Then the answer hit me. The powers he used to enter my room were no different than the ones I possessed. I had transformed into a mist once before and I could do it again.

I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to remember how the sensation of melting away felt. My body swayed slightly as I reached out to the air around me, willing it to flow through me, willing myself to dissolve into it. My arms and legs tingled and I felt a shiver sweep along my back. I emptied my mind of all thoughts of flesh and bodily contact; tried to will my body to merge and combine with the air around me.

But when I opened my eyes, I saw that I had failed. I was as substantive as I had been before the attempt. Laughing bitterly at myself, I remembered lines from Hamlet, “O, that this too too solid flesh would melt . . .” and “. . . ’tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d . . .”

“Damn.” I walked away and down the front steps of his building back to the street, talking to myself. “That’s what you get for trying to hold on to this body for so many years, Deirdre. When you want to get rid of it, you can’t.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” came a familiar voice behind me, “as bodies go, it’s certainly one I’d like to hold on to.”

I spun around. “Mitch!” I threw myself into his arms and kissed him, then snuggled into his familiar suit coat. “How on earth did you know I was here?”

“Coincidence?”

“Not on your life.” I hugged him again and noticed that he was wearing his shoulder holster and his gun.

“Armed and dangerous, tonight, are we?”

He shrugged. “I thought it might come in handy. So when I was over at the old apartment I picked it up.”

“Did you see Chris?” I asked anxiously. “Is he still upset?”

“One crisis at a time, Deirdre.” Suddenly all the life went out of his eyes. “But, yeah, I saw Chris. We can talk about it later, okay?”

“Fine. So tell me how you knew I’d be here.”

“Well,” he took my arm and led me back up the steps to Larry’s apartment, “actually, I got back to the room earlier than I expected and saw the note on the floor. I know you all too well by now, Deirdre, and knew that you would attempt to meet the threat head-on.”

“I failed. Miserably.” We now stood outside the same door and I gave it a feeble kick. “Couldn’t even get in the damn door.”

He smiled down at me and kissed the top of my head. “So I gathered. He’s not home, is he?”

“No.”

“Good. That makes this much easier.” He pulled out his gun and fired at the locks. The noise of the shots echoed through the hallways, but not one person stepped out to see what was happening. Mitch looked around a second before reaching down and turning the knob, then gave me one of his mischievous smiles. “God, I love this city.”

Chapter 20

We entered the apartment. It was filthier than I remembered. “I find it hard to believe that even someone as crazy as Larry would live here.” I waved my hand in front of my nose and coughed. “It’s more than foul.”

Mitch scanned the place. “I don’t actually think he lives here. For one thing, there’s no coffin. And Larry would most definitely opt for sleeping in a coffin. This is more of a hideaway, I’d suspect, and one that he hasn’t actually used for a while.”

“How can you know that?”

He pointed to the table surfaces. “By the fact that the dust is relatively undisturbed, for one thing. If he were here regularly there’d be cleaner patches, just from his touch.”

“Then this is a waste of our time.”

“Not necessarily. He keeps this place for a reason, I assume. If we can find that reason, then we won’t have wasted our time.”

I gave Mitch a wide, delighted smile.

“Why are you smiling?” he questioned. “Did you find something already?”

I nodded, still smiling. “Yes, I’ve discovered that my detective is back. I missed him. He’s been so busy trying to be a vampire, he forgot what he was good at.”

“You don’t get much of a chance to use police skills washing mugs and waiting bar in a pub, Deirdre. Not that I minded helping you out, but you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice saddened, “I do know what you mean. When all of this is over, my love, we’ll have to see if we can find you a job better suited to your skills. I can always hire another dishwasher.”

“So, what are we looking for here?”

“I don’t have a clue. You’re the detective, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said with humor in his voice, “I think so, but this was your idea.”

I kicked at a dusty pile of books. “I think I was hoping to find something that would explain how Larry managed to develop his powers to such an advanced stage in so short a time. He can’t possibly have done it all on his own, you know.”

“You think someone is teaching him on the side?”

“Yes.” Suspicions of Vivienne instantly came to my mind, but I kept them there, knowing that they might be unfounded. Knowing also that they could easily be shrugged off as jealousy on my part.

“Who would do that? Not a Cadre member, certainly.”

“Why not a Cadre member? Who else would know so much? Victor said that all of the notes delivered to the house leaders contained personal details that Larry should not have known. He must have a source of information somewhere.”

“It would have to be someone fairly high up in the organization. How about Ron?”

I thought for a moment then dismissed the idea. “No, quite honestly, I can’t see Ron having the initiative to stand against the organization. He’s very dedicated to Victor. I think that only a very few of the Cadre would have enough gumption to plot something like this.”

Mitch grunted slightly in what I took to be agreement and opened a box that had been placed under one of the end tables. I walked into the kitchen, shuddering at the number of roaches that scurried away at my approach. There was nothing here with the exception of busy and thriving insect colonies, the cupboards and appliances were empty.

“Deirdre,” Mitch called to me as I was leaving the kitchen, dusting my hands on my pants. “Did you ever think that maybe Max is helping him?”

I laughed grimly. “Very funny, Mitch. Max is dead. Buried. Even his ghost is gone forever.”

“But,” and he held up a black leather bound book with a triumphant smile, “his words aren’t.” He tilted the box he’d been examining over on its side so that I could see what it contained. “Do these look familiar?”

I felt like a fool. “Damn, Max’s journals. I’d forgotten about them.” It all fell into place. Larry hadn’t needed help from anyone; all he needed to do was read the words of the master. Max had been, by Victor’s admission, the most powerful vampire the Cadre had ever known. No better teacher could be found anywhere, living or dead.

Mitch straightened up and lifted the box effortlessly. “Let’s get these out of here and into a safe place before he finds out they’re gone.”

It wasn’t until we were in a cab and halfway to Cadre headquarters that I thought to ask. “Where are we going to find a safe place, Mitch?”

“The holding cells, of course. Larry’s crazy, but he’s not stupid enough to return there.” He patted the top of the box that sat on the seat between us. “Not even to get these babies back.”

Mitch kicked open the door of Victor Lange’s office and dropped the box of books on the floor. “Larry Martin is still alive, Lange. I’m afraid all your evidence to the contrary is useless. Even your eyewitness, whoever she may be.”

Victor lifted his face to us and from the bloodstained tracks we could tell that he had been crying. “Jesus, Victor,” I rushed to him and knelt next to his chair. “What’s happened?”

“It was Ron.”

“Ron?” Mitch’s voice was gentler now. “What about Ron?”

“The body in the park was Ron’s.”

“Oh, God, no.” I felt tears spring up in my eyes, for Victor’s sorrow and for my own. Ron had been both my lover and my friend.

“Why would he do this to me?” Victor sobbed uncontrollably and I patted his shoulder, trying to offer what little comfort I could. “Ron was my son. No, he was even closer than a son; out of all my offspring, he was the finest and the best. How could he kill himself without even saying a word to me first?”

Mitch crossed over to stand in front of Victor’s desk. “Ron didn’t commit suicide, Victor. He was killed by Larry Martin.”

“Larry Martin is dead.”

I thought that if I had to hear those words from his mouth one more time I would scream. In deference to Victor’s pain, though, I said nothing.

Mitch held no similar compunction. “Bloody hell, Victor, haven’t you been listening? Larry Martin is still alive and kicking. Very much so. He is more powerful than you can imagine and capable of much more than the simple parlor trick he used to escape from your escape-proof cells. To top all of that, he is about as crazy as they come. And he seems to have found an easy, sure-fire way to kill vampires.”

Victor rose from his chair, pushing me away. He took no further notice of me even when I rose to my feet and stepped back out of his way. He did look at Mitch and opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again, shaking his head. Shuffling past Mitch to the doorway, he seemed like an old, old man. I remembered that he had reacted this way after Max’s true death; it had been a horrible sight then. But he had recovered quickly from that blow and his sanity had not been affected. Apparently, Ron’s death stole not only his vitality and youthfulness, but his mind and his ability to reason as well.

He turned back to us for a second, straightening himself up somewhat, almost returning to life. “Chase after shadows all you like, Greer. Go hunting for the ghost of Larry Martin if it makes you happy. You have my permission, in fact, you have my blessing.” He laughed, a mocking cackle of his former strength. “For that matter, you can have my job. The Cadre is yours, now. Destroy it or save it, it’s all the same to me. Ron is dead. And I,” he sighed, a tired and sorrowful exhalation, “I have lived too long.”

“Victor,” I called after him, pleading for his return.

His lifeless eyes caught mine and held them. “I hope you understand that this is all your doing, my dear.” The cruel words were delivered in a voice so devoid of emotion he might just as well have been discussing the weather. “Ultimately and undeniably your responsibility. That old bastard Max would have been proud of you.” Victor looked away and around the office; the finality of the gesture tore at my heart. “I’ll be in my room if anyone wants me.”

The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock on the desk. Mitch and I stared at each other for a while, then both turned when we heard footsteps in the hall. Vivienne rushed in, breathless and tearful. “Was that Victor?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes, Vivienne, it was.” I felt myself warming toward her, now that I realized that she might not be in league with Larry Martin.

“Mon dieu, what has happened to him?”

“Ron is dead.”

She nodded solemnly, “Oui, so I heard. That is why I came down here to Victor. Oh, the poor man, will he be all right, do you think?”

“I doubt it,” Mitch said with certainty.

“Then who will be in charge?”

Mitch cleared his throat. “Surprisingly enough, Victor gave the job to me.”

I looked at Mitch and my laughter was hollow. “You see, my love, I told you we would find a job to fit your abilities. But I had no idea it would be so soon.”

“I’m glad,” Vivienne said with conviction. “It’s no surprise to me. You are young and powerful, Mitch. We all know this and admire you. You were the perfect choice.”

“Well,” he looked embarrassed, but his tone was firm and commanding, “I don’t know how perfect I’ll prove to be, but I will try to get us all out of this in one piece. The first thing we need to do is call a general meeting.”

“I’ll gather the house leaders for you, Mitch.” She glanced at the clock. It was barely one. “I assume you’ll want them here tonight, before another sunrise.”

“That would be best, don’t you think?”

“It will be difficult, but I will try to get them all together. Shall I tell them the council room at four?”

“That sounds good. And thanks, Vivienne. Your support will be very helpful with the other leaders.”

She laughed. “You’re welcome, Mitch, but don’t overestimate my influence with the Cadre. I am tolerated simply because of my age and my power. I am not as well respected as Victor, nor am I as feared as Max was. But I’ll give whatever support I can. I enjoy my life too much to want to end up a heap of ashes on a park bench.” She gave us each a small salute and rushed out the door and down the hall.

“Amen to that,” I said.

Mitch walked over to the desk and sat down in Victor’s chair.

“How does it feel?”

“Frightening. As if someone just told me I’d been elected president.”

“Well, in a way, I suppose you have.”

Idly, he flipped through the Rolodex on the top of the desk. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But you know as well as I that this isn’t what Victor intended.”

“True,” I agreed, “but who better to fight a rogue than another one? And now instead of having the Cadre at our throats, we’ll have them protecting our backs.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Deirdre. But it would be nice to think so.”

I curled up in one of the side chairs at Victor’s desk and took notice of the surroundings for the first time. The office was bleak and sparsely decorated, the walls were painted stark white and held only two adornments. One was a smaller representation of the large mural that hung in the judgment hall, depicting a medieval city by night. The second was the seal of the House of Leupold.

The desk was easily the most impressive piece of furniture in the room. Made of solid mahogany, it was massive and solid, the top surface highly polished, reflecting in its gloss a small brass carriage clock and the Rolodex that Mitch had been inspecting, along with a desk calendar, blotter and telephone. The chairs were high-backed and covered with burgundy leather, and I thought, wiggling slightly, very uncomfortable.

Through a door off to the right was another office. From what I could see, it was more modern and more comfortable. I got up from my chair and peered inside. This was where Ron had worked, no doubt. His death seemed unreal to me, and that fact saddened me even more. “Damn,” I swore softly and wiped the tears away from my eyes.

“What’s the matter, Deirdre?” Mitch got up from the desk and came over to me, draping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close to him.

“Nothing. And everything.”

“Strangely enough, I know what you mean.” He went back to the center of the office and picked up the box holding Max’s journals. “Let’s get out of here, for now. I have no desire to spend the rest of the night pawing through Victor’s desk.”

“What are you going to do with those?” I asked him as we turned out the lights and left the office.

“For now, they’ll stay with me. I’m the only one I trust enough to guard them. After the council meeting, we’ll put them down in the cells. Although I’m really hoping I’ll have a chance to read them soon.”

We trailed back down the winding corridors to our room. I hesitated just a bit before opening the door; I no longer felt safe here. I wondered if I would ever feel safe again.

Mitch set the box of journals down next to the bed. “We’ll catch him, Deirdre. And when we do, I’m going to kill him. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I won’t stop you this time, Mitch. And if there are consequences for his death, I’ll take them, gladly. They’ll be worth it if we can rid the world of this monster.” I shivered as I caught a glimpse of the bouquet on the dresser. Then shivered again when I counted the red roses and found there were now only nine. “He was here again, Mitch, and there’s another rose missing. One more rose, one more death. I wonder who it will be this time.”

“No one, if I can help it.”

“And if you can’t, then what? At this rate I have only nine days to live.”

“Deirdre, trust me. I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever. Between you and me and the Cadre we’ll find a way to catch him. I promise.”

I said nothing, thinking that all I really wanted to do was to catch the next flight out of here. But I could not voice that thought. Running away, as desirable as it seemed, was not a good solution. Most of our current dilemma had been caused by my last escape from this city. This time I would stay and do it right.

“So,” I said abruptly, changing the subject, “I take it you did speak with Chris.”

Mitch ran his fingers through his hair. He was tired already, I could tell and the night was not yet over. “Yeah, I talked with Chris.”

“And?”

He scowled. “And just like you might expect, he hates you for turning me into what I am. He says he’ll try to kill you if he can; he seems to think that your death might return me to my normal state.”

I laughed. “So now Chris wants to kill me, too? I’m becoming a very popular sport.”

Mitch turned to me and grabbed me by the shoulders. “This is not a game, Deirdre. He’s serious. I asked him to consider seeking therapy.”

“Therapy? Mitch, he doesn’t dare. If he were to tell anyone what his problem is, they’d lock him up in an institution and throw away the key. Just like they did to you.”

“Except that because of that, there is now one highly qualified psychiatrist in the city who is also an expert on vampires. Or if not an expert, at least one who’s open-minded on the subject.”

“Sam.” I was surprised I hadn’t thought of him. “Of course. And Chris already knows him and trusts him.”

“His first appointment is Monday evening at eight. Sam thought it would be a good idea if you could be there, not visible and not actually in the office with them, but on-site somewhere so that you could be consulted if necessary. Although,” Mitch twisted his mouth into a half smile, “I suspect that Sam just wanted to have you there. He’s a real fan of yours.”

“Jealous?”

“Only a little bit. After the other day I have no doubts about you or your feelings for me.”

I pulled in a deep breath and exhaled it, put my arms around him and hugged him tightly to me. “It’s the same for me. But it’s lonelier now, somehow, walking around in this body without you.” I began to cry, long racking sobs that had been pent-up for way too long.

He rocked me back and forth for a while, stroking my hair. “I know, Deirdre, I know. Funny how it all worked out, isn’t it? We share the most incredible bonding experience that could ever be possible, and we feel more alone afterwards than ever before.”

After a while my tears subsided and eventually he moved away and looked down at me. “Look at you,” he brushed his fingertips over my cheeks, “you’re a mess. Why don’t you get cleaned up and ready for the council meeting. I’m going to have a look at Max’s journals.”

Chapter 21

I’d always felt that there was nothing that a hot shower couldn’t cure. I turned out the bathroom light and closed the door, stripping off my clothes in almost complete darkness. The only light was the small strip that shone under the door, a calming reassurance that Mitch was nearby.

Turning the knob to the hottest setting, I stepped into the tub and pulled the curtain shut. With the flow of the water over my body, I felt myself relax, felt a warmth spread through my chilled limbs. My mood lightened and I began to sing, softly at first and then with more confidence, enjoying the sound of my voice echoing off the walls.

“Pack up all my care and woe, here I go, singing low. Bye, bye, blackbird . . .”

I sang the whole song through twice, then once again. It had always been one of my favorites. The last time through, a lower voice from outside the tub joined in. “Make my bed and light the light, I’ll arrive late tonight. Blackbird, bye bye . . .”

The addition of another voice made the entire experience much more sensual. The steam seemed to grow thicker, and the water felt alive, as if it had hands that were molding and touching my skin. The fragrance of the roses from the other room filtered in and I inhaled deeply. “Ahh, love,” I called over the sound of the water, “if you’re going to join me, you’d better get in here now. We’ll be out of hot water soon.”

“That’s an invitation I’d never want to turn down, Deirdre.” Mitch’s voice sounded different, higher pitched than usual, but I shrugged it off to the poor acoustics of the room. “But I’m afraid I have some serious business to conduct. I’ll be back for you later.”

“What?” I shook my wet hair and reached over to turn off the water. “What did you say? Mitch? Where are you going?”

My only answer was silence. I pulled open the curtain at the same time the door was opened and the light switched on. I blinked my eyes at the sudden onslaught, and peered around me. Mitch stood in the doorway, staring at the red petals scattered on the tile floor.

My eyes searched the room for a sign of someone else, but he had gone. Slipped in and out and delivered his message without either one of us knowing he was there.

“Bloody hell.” Mitch reached out and folded me into his arms, paying no attention to the fact that I was sopping wet and soapy.

My teeth were chattering and my whole body shivered. Larry had been in here with me, sharing the intimacy of the shower. Had he reached out and caressed me, under the guise of water and steam and mist?

My mind screamed for escape. “We’ll never win, Mitch. He’s too powerful. If he can come in here, like he just did, without either one of us noticing, he can do anything. How can we ever hope to stop someone like that? We could go away, somewhere he wouldn’t be able to find us. Build our powers together so that we could match him. But it’s hopeless right now.”

He shook his head. “I can’t give it up, Deirdre. Can’t just let him kill us all without a fight. There must be a way to stop him and we’ll find out what it is.” He reached over for a towel and wrapped it around my naked body protectively. “If it were just you and me, then maybe it would be different. But now I find myself responsible for the members of the Cadre as well. I cannot run away from this, as tempting as the idea is.”

I sighed, the shivering subsiding as his arms and the towel warmed me. “I know, Mitch. I know. But I’m frightened. I’ve never been so frightened in my whole life. Because now I have something to lose, something that makes my whole existence worthwhile. Maybe Fred was right.”

“Fred? What has he got to do with all this?”

“Nothing, really, except for what he told Mark.”

“Mark?” His mind seemed to blank on the name for a second. “Oh, yeah, Mark. The bartender at the Ballroom. What did he say?”

“That when vampires fall in love, they lose their edge and their instincts.” I moved away from him, wrapped the towel completely around me and went out into the bedroom. Looking at the clock I saw that there were two hours left before the council meeting. “I need to think,” I said. “I need to be alone.”

“But you shouldn’t be alone, Deirdre, who will protect you?”

“The same person who always has, Mitch. I will protect myself. If I can’t do it, then quite honestly I don’t deserve to live.” I pulled the sweatshirt I had taken off back over my head and gave a low laugh. “It seems like all I’ve done all night is change clothes.”

“I can’t let you leave, Deirdre.”

I zipped up my jeans and stepped into my boots. “You can’t make me stay, either, Mitch. I have to go. I’ll be back, probably in time for the council meeting. But if not, go ahead without me. This is what you’re good at.”

“But what if Larry finds you?”

I laughed and pointed to the roses. “He’s not had any trouble doing that so far, has he? Don’t worry about me, Mitch, you need to watch out for yourself. I’ll be safe for a while. After all, I’m lucky enough to know exactly when my time is coming. Nine days from now, if we don’t discover a way to stop him, I’ll be dead. And all your promises and vows will not help.”

I kissed him full on the lips. “Don’t worry about me, my love,” I repeated, “I’ll be fine and I’ll be back. I just need to approach the situation my way, not yours or the Cadre’s. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I do.” He hugged me to him and kissed me back. “I don’t like it much,” he acknowledged his standard answer with a small grin, “but I do understand. Keep in touch.”

“Always.”

“Well, Deirdre,” I said to myself as I hit the street, “where to now?”

I didn’t have an answer for that, but I stood still for a moment, my face raised to the sky, my nostrils flared to better inhale the night air. Then I began to run. Abandoning all thoughts, I allowed my legs and my body to think for me, to carry me to where I needed to go. Street after street I ran, and block after block. Not knowing my destination, or even knowing whether one existed. It made no difference. I felt freed, as if I had just awakened from a coma and found that I was alive once again. I had been trapped within my thoughts, within my fears for too long, but now the spell had been broken and I was finally free.

My feet slowed finally outside a grim brick building, the institution in which Sam worked. I laughed. Obviously there was something here that kept drawing me back.

I flew up the steps and into the front door. “Hello,” I greeted the sleepy nurse at the desk, “Sam’s in, isn’t he?”

She looked up at me with surprise. “Yes, he’s here. May I give him your name?”

“No need,” I walked past her, “I know the way.”

Without even knocking I flung open the door to his office. He jumped up from his desk, then relaxed when he saw me. “Deirdre, what an unexpected surprise.”

“For me, also, Sam.”

He gave me a questioning look. “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t really know right now. But something brought me here.”

Sam looked puzzled. “Is it Chris?”

“Chris?” I didn’t recognize the name for a second. “Oh, no, it isn’t Chris. That’s something to worry about tomorrow or the next day. For now, I just want you to listen while I tell you everything that’s been happening. That’s what you’re good at. And maybe you can give me a new slant on things. See something from a human perspective that the rest of us can’t glimpse.”

I told him everything. It took me nearly three hours to recount the last week’s events. By the time I had finished he had filled half of a yellow tablet with scribbled notes. He had interrupted when he needed to, attempting to clarify events and emotions. Finally we both seemed satisfied and he put his pen down.

“Busy couple of days, huh?” He smiled wearily. “I wish I’d had a full night’s sleep to filter this on, but I think I have everything.” He stood up from his desk and stretched, turning to the window and peeking through the venetian blinds.

“It’s almost dawn, you know. Do you have enough time to get to shelter?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. Do you have a bed here I can use?”

He laughed. “We’ve got plenty of beds, Deirdre, with doors and windows that lock tight. But I doubt it will serve as much protection for you.”

“I don’t need protection, Sam, I just need a sunless room. I can take care of the rest. But I do have one other request.”

“What’s that?”

“Stay with me through sunrise. If I have another vision, I want you to be there with me. Maybe you can find out something that I can’t.”

“No problem.” He reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out a set of keys. “Thanks to the cutbacks in mental health these days, we have half a wing sitting empty. I can put you there, it’s as safe as anywhere else.”

“It will be fine, I’m sure. Shall we go?”

He started for the door, then turned back and opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out his portable tape recorder. I raised an eyebrow in question. “I thought that if you did have this vision, that I might hypnotize you afterwards. We can get much better detail this way. You know you can trust me; I’ve recorded you before.”

“Well,” I said with a shrug, “recording is one thing and hypnotism is another. But, I suppose it can’t hurt to try. I’m not entirely sure that you can hypnotize a vampire.”

“Of course you can.” His voice held no doubts.

“You sound pretty sure of yourself, Sam.”

“I am sure. From the story you told me, it’s obvious that it’s possible. It’s just a matter of finding the proper method.”

The room he showed me to was utilitarian. It had a small bed, unmade, but with bed clothes folded and set off to one side. The only other piece of furniture was a chair sitting in the corner opposite the bed. The room’s most noticeable feature was its lack of windows with none facing to the outside and none in the door facing toward the hallway. Once the door was closed I would be completely safe from sunlight.

“Sam,” I said with a sigh of relief, “this is absolutely perfect. Thank you.”

Sam looked around and laughed. “If this is perfect for you, Deirdre, I’d sure hate to see what you consider substandard.”

I laughed with him. “Perhaps perfect is not the proper word. Safe springs to mind and right now that is more important than decor.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Sunrise is close now.” I sat down on the bed and pulled off my boots. Then I stretched out on my back and closed my eyes.

I heard Sam moving around the room. First he closed the door and locked it, then he pulled a chair over to the side of the bed. The pages of his notepad rustled and he clicked the pen several times, then scribbled on the paper, testing the ink.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’m here and ready. Is there anything else I need to do?”

I shook my head on the pillow. “Watch,” I said, “and listen. If I attempt to leave the room, you can try to stop me. But not to the point of danger to yourself.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Not if I were aware of it, no. But these visions have been very powerful. I can’t vouch for your safety. If it’s a choice between me and you, save yourself.” I gave a chuckle at those words; Larry was not the only one with a flair for the melodramatic. “Then again, I may just fall asleep and all of this will be for nothing.”

“Even so, I’m sure it will not be a disappointment. How many doctors have had the opportunity to witness a vampire at rest?”

“If you had asked me that question three years ago I could have told you very few. But given what I’ve learned since then, that number is probably more than you think. The question really is how many doctors have known what they were witnessing?”

“That is always the question, Deirdre. Recognizing what the eye sees is more than half the battle.”

“Shrink talk?” I gave him a quick smile.

“Common sense.”

I shivered and he moved out of his chair quickly, deftly unfolding the blanket and covering me, before I had even realized I was cold.

“Your comfort is important if the hypnotism is to succeed,” he explained as he settled back down into his chair.

“Ah, thank you.”

This particular section of the hospital was totally silent. The lack of windows helped alleviate the sounds from outside and the corridors outside the door were deserted. The only noise I could hear was Sam’s breathing, quiet and controlled. And far from being a distraction, his presence was a comfort. I felt my body relax further.

“Sunrise is close,” I whispered, afraid to break the spell of the silence, “I can feel it now.”

Consciously, I made an effort to reach my mind out into the dawn. And felt the scream of pain slowly rise up within me to escape into the blinding and burning light of the sun.

Chapter 22

I woke to total silence. Sam slept soundly in the chair next to me. I sat up and looked around, tossing off the blanket. With no windows and the door closed I had no way of knowing whether it was an hour past dawn or before dusk.

Quietly, I reached over and turned his wrist gently so that I could read his watch, but even this touch woke him up. His eyes popped open and he gazed around in confusion, blinking his eyes until he saw my face.

“Morning,” he said, standing up and rubbing the back of his neck, tilting his head from side to side until the bones cracked. I winced at the sound.

“Is it morning? I can’t tell. This room is very effective.”

He looked at his watch. “I should have said ‘evening,’ I suppose, since it’s going on seven right now. And I know it’s not the morning. You talked for almost an hour this morning after the sun came up and you didn’t really settle in until well after eight.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t you remember?”

I shook my head. “No, not really. I remember the sun rising. And then nothing until just now.”

“Interesting. Especially since I didn’t tell you not to remember. Fortunately, I got it all on tape. And I think I might have even gotten some details that will help. But,” and the look he gave me was sad and distant, “don’t ever ask me to do this for you again. I found out things I didn’t want to know.”

He didn’t answer my questioning look, but paced briefly around the room. “I guess you can’t leave here until the sun goes down, huh? I sure wouldn’t mind having a comfortable chair.”

“No, I can’t even walk down the hallway. But you can go and I’ll come when I can.”

He dismissed that idea immediately. “We’ll listen to the tape first. That’ll kill an hour and I’m actually anxious to hear it again. The voice on the tape was disturbingly familiar.”

“Familiar? Why wouldn’t it be? It’s my voice.”

“Well,” Sam gave me a tentative glance as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he should be frightened or not, “it was you, and it wasn’t. I did manage to get through to Mitch though to tell him you were here and safe. And he let me know that your vision was true. Another vampire turned up dead shortly after sunrise this morning.”

“Damn.”

“That’s what I said, too. But we’ll listen to the tape and you can see why. You might want to get comfortable before I start this.” He settled back into his chair, motioned me to the bed, and I lay down again, on my back, my hands grasped behind my head.

At first the only sound on the tape was my scream. It was terrifying. I could feel the pain all over again, smell the burning flesh, feel the anger and the despair. I gasped in remembrance. Sam just nodded his head.

“It stops soon.”

And it did. But the echo of it would remain in my soul.

The tape wound silently for a minute or two. When Sam’s soft voice began speaking, it did not seem an intrusion, but merely a continuation of the silence.

“Deirdre? Are you still in pain?”

“No, the pain is gone.”

“Good. Now I want you to listen to my voice very carefully. Listen and pay attention to every word I say. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I want you to imagine yourself in a room of total white. The walls are white. The floors are white. The ceiling is white. It is a room of absolute safety, there is no harm that can come to you in this room. Are you here now?”

There was a pause on the tape. Then my voice came back, softer now, so soft that I had to strain to hear it. “Yes, I am here.”

“And how do you feel?”

“I feel safe.”

“Good. When we start talking about something that upsets you, that might make you want to scream again, I want you to remember that you are in the white room and that you are safe. No harm can come to you in this room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Now I want you to think back, before you screamed. Do you remember why you screamed?”

There was a silence on the tape. I could hear my breathing, labored and heavy, but I was not speaking.

“Deirdre?”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember screaming?”

“Yes.” My voice filled with tension. Sam recognized it instantly.

“You are in the white room, Deirdre. No one can harm you here.”

“I,” there were a few short gasps on the tape until I continued, “I hurt. I hurt because I screamed. I screamed because I hurt.”

“Do you hurt now, Deirdre?”

“No, the pain is gone. Because she is gone.”

“Can you remember back before the scream?”

“Yes.” I could hear the reticence in my own voice. My inherent cautiousness apparently overflowed into my subconscious, as well.

“Tell me what you were doing before the scream. Before the hurt.”

There were four or five definite deep breaths on the tape. And then I began to speak. Sam was correct; the voice was mine, but it was not mine. I struggled as the tape played to recognize the voice.

“I’m with him.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s my friend. He treats me better than the rest. I’d like him to be more than my friend. I’d like him to be my lover, but he says it’s too soon for that. He says that we need to move slow and that I need to prove how much I love him first.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s my friend. I don’t have very many friends, you know.”

“Yes, I understand that he is your friend. But what is his name?”

The voice on the tape giggled. “Larry, of course.”

“Larry?”

“Yeah, Larry Martin. I do him favors and he stays my friend. I don’t mind doing him favors usually, but I’m angry about the last favor he asked me to do.”

“What kind of things does Larry usually ask you to do?”

“Usually he just asks me to do easy things. You know, like opening the door to let him in, or like putting the flowers in her room. One time he wanted me to go to Victor’s office and steal some papers for him. And sometimes I just give him money. Those are easy things.”

“And what was this last favor he asked you for? The one you’re angry about?”

“He wanted me to tell everyone that I saw him die.”

I motioned to Sam to stop the tape and he did so. “Mitch should be listening to this. Whoever she is, she’s Victor’s witness.”

“Does it really matter at this point? She’s dead.” There was an underlying emotion in his words that brought me up short. I had forgotten that this person speaking through me was one of the figures in the sun.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” I felt myself blushing slightly. But the voice sounded so alive and enough like me, that it was hard to believe she was dead. “Please, start it again.”

He wound it back just a little bit and restarted the tape.

“. . . tell everyone that I saw him die.”

“Why would he want you to do that?”

“He wanted everyone to think that he’d died so that they’d leave him alone. If they thought he was still alive, you see, they’d hunt him, and when they found him he’d have to go back to the prison in the cellar. I can understand that, I’d never want to be put down there. There’s no air and no food and it’s bright all the time. It’s a horrible place; no one should have to suffer like that.”

“So you did this last favor for him. Even though you didn’t want to.”

“Oh, no, I wanted to. I told him I understood and I would do almost anything for him. I didn’t get angry until later.”

“What happened later?”

“Well, later it all turned into a big deal. I had to speak to all the house leaders and swear an oath on my honor that what I’d said was true. They kept asking me questions that I had a hard time answering, even though Larry and I practiced before.”

There was a pause on the tape. “Go on,” Sam prompted.

The voice sounded angrier when it spoke again. “All I figured I’d have to do would be to tell Victor that I had seen Larry sit on the park bench and wait for the sun. That I had watched him burst into flames. And that he was dead.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you did say?”

“Yeah, but I had to say it in front of everyone. And if they find out I lied about it, which they will, I’ll be punished.”

“How will they find out that you lied?”

“Mitch knows that I lied.”

With her mention of his name I knew who she was. My eyes caught Sam’s and he nodded. “Jean?” I mouthed the word and he nodded again. I sighed.

“And she’ll know, of course. And if she knows, she’ll tell Victor. They’re very close, you know. Even though she killed Max, Victor still likes her. Almost everyone likes her. I think even Larry likes her, deep down inside, although he pretends that he hates her. It’s not fair.”

“Of course it isn’t fair.” I could feel the gentle tugging from Sam, attempting to keep her on topic. “But what about the testimony you gave? Did they believe you?”

“Yes. That was the easy part. I was upset anyway, that I had to tell his lies in front of everyone. So I just let them think that I was upset because I watched him die. I was very convincing,” the voice laughed, a whining little laugh that would have enabled me to identify her clearly if I had not already done so. “So much so that I said that I wanted to go away for a while. It was very traumatic to watch one of us die and I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“And they believed you?”

“Why wouldn’t they? What reason would I have to lie?”

“And then what happened?”

“I found out that somebody actually did die, that he killed one of us, so that he could escape. All of a sudden I was an accessory to murder. We fought about that, but eventually he convinced me that no one would ever know.” There was a long pause on the tape and when the voice resumed, it was lighter, almost girlish. “We made love that night for the first time. And he told me he loved me and that when he left he would take me with him. And so I kept my mouth shut. It was in my best interest, anyway. I didn’t want to be punished and I wanted to be with him. Almost all my dreams were coming true.”

“And then what happened?”

“Then he killed again. When I asked him about it he denied it. It was just a coincidence, he told me. Ron had been depressed since she came back into town with Mitch. Ron loved her, you see, and he knew he couldn’t have her.” Jean sighed. “I know how bad it is to love someone, to know that you can’t have them. And it’s worse for us, because the pain lasts forever.”

“I see. And you believed him?”

“Partway. I wanted to believe him. Then he asked to meet me and I said yes. I thought I loved him, you see, and I thought he loved me. We went to the park together and he’d brought a bottle of wine for me. And a blanket for us to lie on. A moonlight picnic he called it. I drank all the wine because he kept filling my glass and I didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t notice until it was almost all gone that he wasn’t drinking any. And when I asked him why he wasn’t, he just laughed at me. ‘It doesn’t agree with me,’ he said. ‘But it will work just fine on you.’

“Then I tried to stand up. I didn’t like being laughed at, not even by him. And I couldn’t move. All of a sudden I felt like my veins had been filled with glue. My blood had been slowed down. He looked down at me and laughed again. I asked him to help me and he reached down and picked me up. Carried me to a bench not too far away and sat me down. I still couldn’t move but I watched him gather up the picnic stuff. He came back over to me and I thought he would pick me up again. But he didn’t. He laughed again. ‘You pitiful slut,’ he said, ‘how on earth could you think that anyone would love you?’ I opened my mouth to say his name and my tongue wouldn’t move. I wanted to spit at him and call him every name in the book, but I was totally and completely paralyzed. All that remained was my brain. And he walked away; he didn’t even look back.”

The tape wound out for a while and I thought it might be over, but Sam shook his head.

“What is your name?”

“Dr. Samuels, don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Jean, you know, the night nurse. But you knew that, you just wanted me to say it on the tape.”

“Yes, Jean, I know you.” On the tape, Sam’s voice was sad, it almost sounded as if he were crying. I looked over at him this time and saw that he was.

“Jean? Can you tell me what happened next?”

“The sun came up and I died.”

The tape ended exactly where it started, but this time there were two voices blended into one and the scream lasted much longer.

Chapter 23

“Jesus.” I sat up on the bed, stretched out briefly and stood up.

“Yeah.” Sam looked at his watch. “We can go to my office now. The sun is down. And you can tell me how Jean got involved in all of this.”

I picked up the tape recorder. “May I borrow this? Just for the evening. It would save me a lot of talking and convincing. The Cadre is going to find this whole thing a little difficult to swallow.”

“Be my guest, but don’t forget to give it back, okay?”

I nodded my agreement and slipped the recorder into the front pocket of my jeans. “Thanks.”

We walked down the hallway and returned to his office. He sat down behind his desk and glanced around. “On second thought,” he got back up again, “let’s go someplace else. I’ve been here for over twenty-four hours. They can do without me for a while. And I’m not actually on duty again for another four hours.”

“Whatever you’d like, Sam, is fine with me.” I leaned up against the door of his office. My voice sounded dull and I felt subdued, out of place. Listening to the tape, hearing Jean’s story told in her words with my voice had been emotionally and physically draining. And even though I’d slept the entire day, I still felt weary.

Sam picked up his suit coat, checked his pants pockets for his keys and put an arm around my shoulder. He flipped out the light, led me out of the hospital, and helped me into his car.

“I thought we’d just go to my place, if that’s okay?”

“Hmm?” I had been staring out the window, contemplating Jean’s death and Larry’s duplicity. “Bastard.”

“What?” Sam’s voice was shocked and I laughed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you, honest.” I reached over and laid my hand softly on his arm. “I meant Larry.”

“Oh, well, then, that’s okay. He is that.”

He drove for a little while longer without speaking, concentrating on navigating the congested streets.

“Are you okay, Deirdre?”

“No, Sam, I’m not. Everything has gone wrong. I’ve unleashed a psychopathic vampire on the world. One who has no morals, no scruples. I have no way to gauge his powers, and I feel like I’m losing ground with each waking minute. You see, Jean was number three. Nine more and it will be my turn. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to do anything to stop him when he comes for me.”

He pulled his car in front of a high-rise apartment building. “We’re here.”

“Where?”

“My place. I asked you if it was okay.”

I gave a tired laugh. “Any place is fine, Sam.”

The attendant came around and opened my door, then held my hand as I got out. Then he went to the other side and collected Sam’s keys.

I remained silent on the elevator ride to his apartment. He put an arm around me again when we stopped on his floor and led me down the hallway, then unlocked his door.

“Find a seat,” he said, taking off his suit coat and draping it over a chair at his dining room table. “I’m going to have a beer. Would you like one?”

“Beer?” I said the word as if I wasn’t quite sure what it was. “Sure, that would be fine.” I sat down in one of his overstuffed chairs and curled my legs underneath me. Sighing, I stretched my head back over the neck of the chair, flipping my hair up and over the back.

“You drink beer?”

I smiled, remembering how he’d reacted when he first discovered that there was something different about me. “Yes, I can drink almost anything. And haven’t we been through this before? That time over at Mitch’s place when you thought I was an alien?”

“Yeah.” He was bending over the refrigerator and brought two cans out. I watched him wipe the tops of the cans with a towel. “That was a pretty stupid thing for me to say, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“That you were an alien.” He laughed nervously. “I really felt like an idiot when I finally realized the truth.” He reached up into a cabinet, brought down two beer mugs and came into the living room. He set his beer and mug down at the table opposite from where I was sitting, then turned to me. “Here you go,” he said, handing me the mug first and then pouring half of the beer into it. He set the can on a glass end table next to my chair and rubbed his hands together briskly. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, this will be fine.”

“Do you mind if I order myself a pizza? I’m starved, but I don’t want to eat it in front of you if it’s a problem.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to eat some, it’s not a problem at all. Besides, it’s your stomach, go for it.”

“Thanks.” He picked up the phone, placed his order and sat on the couch across from me. He poured his beer and took a long drink. “Ah, that’s better. I was getting pretty dry towards the end there.”

“Yes,” I cradled my drink in my hands and took a sip, “I felt the same. That was a pretty terrible session, I guess.”

“Well, I could say that I’ve sat through worse. But,” his eyes lit up in a smile, “I’d be lying. Although almost all of the serious discussions you and I have had have been of the same intensity. I have to admit that I was surprised.”

“Why?”

He laughed again. “This is probably going to sound just as dumb and lame as the alien comment, but I can’t help it. You’re the first and only vampire I’ve ever met.”

I interrupted him. “But you knew Jean.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but I didn’t know she was a vampire until just this morning. That, as I’m sure you can imagine, was a huge shock.” He shook his head and took another drink of his beer. “But, I’m getting all mixed up here. That’s not what I wanted to say.”

“Go ahead, Sam. Take your time. I’m listening.”

“Okay then.” He drained his mug and poured the rest of the can into it. “Since you were the first vampire I ever met, I just naturally assumed they were all like you. Not monsters, but civilized, genteel, beautiful creatures. Creatures trying to live in balance with humanity and the world.” He chuckled, then his expression saddened. “I guess I got this idealized vision of what you were, and even though I knew that sometimes things went wrong with a few, like Max or Larry, I still thought of you all as gods, or super-human beings that could solve the world’s problems. Disease, wars, poverty, famines, they were all in your reach to change. You are practically invincible, you never grow old or sick or die. Somewhere along the line I thought that there should be a higher purpose in a vampire’s life than getting drunk in the park and killing each other. You, as a race or a species or whatever, have been given such a wonderful gift. Immortality could be such a blessing. But then I find out that vampires are driven by human emotions and in some cases the baser of those emotions at that.”

“So, you have been disillusioned. The godlike race of creatures that you thought would solve the problems of humankind, only end up adding to them.”

“Well, yeah, something like that. Pretty stupid, isn’t it?”

“No, Sam, it makes perfectly good sense. We all waste our lives and my species is no different than any other in that respect.” I took another sip of my beer and stared into the mug. “I’m not sure if I can explain it. But I’ll try. The eternal years begin to weigh on you after a while. You can’t stay in any one place for too long without people beginning to wonder why you haven’t aged, why your lifestyle is different from everyone else’s. So any thought of devoting a lifetime to a career of doing good for people is out of the picture. You cannot endure the daylight, so about fifty percent of your time is spent being pent up inside.”

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about the daylight thing. Studies these days show that a certain amount of sunlight is important to human mental health. Some people go crazy after a while when denied the sun.”

I nodded. “I can’t confess to knowing the origin of the vampire species, Sam, but I can vouch for the fact that I was once human. Most of the time I think that I still am. And I know that lack of sunlight is a problem for me. There are times when I long for it, when just the thoughts of being able to feel the warmth on my face can move me to tears.”

“But that all still doesn’t explain why you can’t do something with your lives.”

“No, it doesn’t. That, I think, is the fault of the hunger. We are all driven by our need for human blood. It is an addiction of the worst kind. We cannot survive without it. And to get it we must prey on humans.” I met his eyes and held him to me. “Don’t ever make the mistake of underestimating that interrelationship, Sam. You and I may be friends, I may be everything that you said I was—civilized, genteel, and beautiful. But if you kept me locked in this room for more than a week, I would be hungry for your blood. If denied it for too long, I would eventually be forced to take it. We must feed, we crave the blood. Oh, I could make you believe that you wanted to give it, but it would still be a taking and a rape of your being.”

We were both breathing heavy when I had finished. His was due to fear and excitement; I could smell both emotions clearly from where I sat. But my problem was different. To my embarrassment the talk of feeding had triggered my instincts. My gums were tingling and my canines were growing. I put both hands over my mouth to hide them, but he could not have missed the rush of arousal that shone in my eyes.

He drained the rest of his beer in his glass, and walked over to me, his eyes still locked in mine.

“Go away, Sam,” I said, my words muffled behind my hands. “Go into the next room and stay away from me, until I’ve calmed down.”

“How could you ask such a thing, Deirdre, when you’re the hunter and I’m the prey? Would you turn down a willing sacrifice? I just want to know what it’s like.”

“Sam, please. I’m not really hungry.”

He pulled my hands away from my mouth, and pulled me up to stand in front of him. “You once said you couldn’t lie to me, why are you doing it now? Do you want my blood?”

“Sam,” I tried to laugh to lighten the mood, but my voice shook and betrayed me. “You don’t want this to happen, you really don’t.”

“Why not? Will it hurt?”

“No.”

“Will it kill me?”

“No.”

“Will it help you?”

“Damn it, Sam, yes, it will help me. You’ve sent me deep into the hunger now. I have no choice but to feed. Either on you or on someone else.”

“Then feed on me. I’m here and I’m willing. And it will help me to understand, too.”

“Dr. Samuels,” I snaked my arms up around his neck and pulled his head down to my level, “I think you must be crazier than your patients.”

“Don’t talk, Deirdre. You’ve done nothing but talk about being a vampire since I’ve known you. Show me what it’s like.”

I hadn’t had a willing victim in a long time. In fact, not counting Mitch, it had been since I had convinced Larry to let me feed on him in the cellars of the Ballroom. There was a heady sensuous feel in this man giving himself to me.

I put my mouth up to his neck. My tongue emerged to lick his skin, drinking and savoring the tang of sweat and salt. He moaned and held me closer to him, rubbed himself against me so that I could feel the extent of his arousal, his surrender. His hand came around behind my head and he tangled his fingers in my hair, holding my mouth to him.

“Oh,” he moaned again, as I continued to lick the surface of his neck in preparation of my bite. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind I heard laughter. So he wanted to feel the kiss of a vampire, did he? Then let’s give him his money’s worth.

My hand reached over and pulled at his hair, bending his neck further down so that I could feed without stretching. I continued to lick him, and he began to stroke my back and my behind with his other hand. “Ahhh,” I took my mouth from his neck for a minute and licked my lips. Then I brought my teeth full into him and he cried out. It didn’t matter whether it was passion or pain, we were both too far gone to care.

My fangs split through the surface of his skin and I sucked on him, drawing his blood deep into my mouth, taking swallow after swallow of the bitterness of him. His body pounded up against me as I drank, and from his heavy breathing I knew that he was close to orgasm. And still I drank from him, deeply, taking much more than I needed, more than I had meant to take. He was gasping for air, but his hand was firm on the back of my neck, holding my mouth to him, asking me to take more and still more.

Then I felt the pulse in his neck falter and finally pulled my mouth away. He fought to keep me there, but now I was stronger. I had always been stronger, I realized. I could have resisted the temptation he offered, but I had wanted this seduction as much as he. I switched my grip from his neck to his shoulders and grasped him, probably with more roughness than was necessary, leading him to the couch, laying him down. I stood over him for a moment and shook my head in disgust. Then I bent down and checked his pulse. It was weak, but steady.

His eyes fluttered open and fastened on me. “I had no idea it would be like that,” he said, his voice breathless and raspy.

“The hell you didn’t, Sam. You brought me up here for this very reason.”

“It’s true,” he said, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his neck, “that I wanted to see what it was like. If not to feed, then to be fed on. But I hadn’t expected . . .”

“What hadn’t you expected? You didn’t think you’d like it? But I told you you would.”

“No, you said you could make me like it, make me think I wanted you to feed. That’s not what happened.”

“No,” I agreed, checking his pulse again, “that is not what happened. And what happened can never happen again.”

“You’re angry, aren’t you? Why? You were only doing what you needed to do to survive. You were helping me with an important research question: Why do vampires not accomplish anything in their long life spans? And now I know. Or I think I do. That kind of experience can only lead to the desire for more. I would imagine after years, it would become overwhelming.”

“Yes. Isn’t that what I said? You could have just believed me.”

He smiled up at me. “Don’t be mad, Deirdre. I’m a doctor, after all. And a very curious one at that, or I wouldn’t have become a psychiatrist.”

I smiled back at him in spite of my anger. “And curiosity killed the cat. You’re lucky you didn’t find some other vampire to do your research with. A response like yours could get you drained completely dry.”

The doorbell rang and he got up from the couch to answer it. “It’s probably the pizza,” he said, checking through the peephole. “Yep, dinner time for Sam, now.” He opened the door, took the pizza from the delivery boy and held it out to me. “Hold this for me, Deirdre, while I pay.”

I walked over, took the box from him and set it on the kitchen counter. Then I opened up the refrigerator and removed two more beers. “Think fast,” I called and tossed a can to him as he was closing the door.

“Hey!” He spun around, caught it and laughed. “Don’t shake up the beer.”

I went into the living room and curled back up into my chair, studying his movements through lidded eyes. His movements were quick and not at all sluggish, which is what I would have expected. He came in and sat on the couch again, the pizza box in one hand and the beer in his other. He set the beer on the end table and pulled a piece of pizza from the box. “You’re sure you don’t mind if I eat in front of you?”

“Eat your pizza, Sam. Believe me, I’m not hungry.”

Chapter 24

I watched him devour the entire pizza. He made no apology for his voracious appetite and for once I didn’t mind. He had, after all, spent the entire day at my side, watching over me. He had brought me back to his apartment and fed me, as if he knew what I needed more than I did.

And his supposition was right. I no longer felt dull and sluggish. His vibrancy and life was now flowing through my veins, and I was renewed, reborn. I sipped on my beer and smiled indulgently at him as he wolfed down the last piece.

“Good?” I asked him at last, as he wiped away the tomato sauce that clung to his lips. He crumpled the napkin and put it into the empty box.

“It was wonderful. And I was starved. I mean I was hungry before, but afterwards . . .” He rolled his eyes and I laughed again. “I mean you want to talk about a gigantic case of the munchies, that one had to take the cake.”

“Or the pie.”

He groaned. “That was a very bad joke, Deirdre.”

“Sorry, I’m not feeling particularly witty right now.”

“What are you feeling?”

I could almost hear his shrink mode kick in and it annoyed me. “What’s this all about, Sam? Feed the vampire, then analyze her? Pin her down on your charts for manic depression?”

“No, I just wanted to know how you felt. You seemed upset before we got here. I was curious to know if the feeding helped. Obviously not. I’m sorry I asked.”

My anger disappeared as fast as it came. “No, I’m sorry, Sam. You didn’t deserve that remark. I’m feeling better. Less anxious and more relaxed. Better able to cope with what’s happening. How did you know?”

“That you needed to be fed?”

I nodded.

“I didn’t, not really. But you were so pale and so tired, I figured it couldn’t hurt. And guess what?” He rubbed his neck again where I had bit him. “It didn’t hurt either one of us.”

“Not physically, no. But I worry about the friendship and the professional relationship we had.”

“We still have them. I gave you something you needed when you needed it. It didn’t cost me much and was very pleasurable for me to give. Where’s the harm in that?”

“No harm, I’m just not used to looking at it in those terms, I guess. Taking a willing victim is a lot more,” and I felt myself blushing, “well, intimate than picking one from off the streets. It feels different.”

“Well, if it makes you uncomfortable we won’t make a habit out of it, okay?”

“Fine.”

He rose from the couch and gathered up the pizza box and the empty beer cans. “Be right back,” he said, “don’t go away.”

He put the garbage into the can in the kitchen, then disappeared down the hallway. A few minutes later he came back, his hand fingering his neck still.

“Does that hurt?” I asked with concern. “If it does, it shouldn’t.”

“No, I was just looking at it in the mirror. Doesn’t even make that much of a hickey. I’m betting that all traces of it will disappear in a day or two. You want another beer?”

I gestured to my full glass. “I don’t need one right now, but thank you.”

He glanced at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. “And I have to go back to work in a couple of hours, so I’d better switch to something a little softer.”

He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a can of ginger ale. “This is better.”

Then he settled back in on the couch. “So,” his voice was now professional, even the way he sat seemed different, “what do you think about the Larry Martin situation now?”

“I understand a little better now how he manages these murders, but that won’t help us stop him, or even catch him. And it doesn’t help at all with the powers he’s developed. He’s still capable of slipping into a room without anyone knowing he’s there.”

“Have you ever known a vampire who got paralyzed from drinking wine?”

I thought for a minute and smiled. “I never have. I’ve never even gotten drunk. Neither has anyone else I’ve ever come into contact with.”

“Then Larry must be drugging these people. What sort of tolerance do you have for drugs?”

“Drugs? About the same as alcohol, I think. I haven’t experimented that much with illegal drugs. Once, when I was attending night school at Berkeley I did drop some acid. It was a disappointment. I was hoping it would be an escape.”

“And?”

I shook my head and gave a half smile. “Nothing. It had no effect other than the amusement I got from watching the antics of the other people. Marijuana is the same.”

“How about prescription drugs?”

“What would I need prescription drugs for? I’m never sick.”

“I would assume the same is true of over-the-counter items: aspirin, ibuprofen, cold medicines?”

“I don’t need them so I’ve never taken them.”

He leaned forward on the couch eagerly. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” His question confused me. “I told you I don’t take any of those, so I wouldn’t know.”

“No, what’s it like to never be sick, to never have a headache, to never have a cold?”

I thought for a second. “I can’t answer that one either, Sam. Because I don’t remember feeling any differently.”

“But you must have been sick sometime before you became a vampire.”

I laughed at his choice of words.

“Was that funny?” He seemed offended.

“No,” I lied and he raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes. It was the way you said ‘became a vampire.’ Like it was an occupational choice I’d made somewhere along the line or I woke up one day and said ‘I think I’d like to become a vampire now.’ ”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know. Having a full stomach makes me giddy, I suppose. To answer your question, yes, I must have been sick before, but I don’t have memories of it. Other than my pregnancy. I do remember that.”

“Pregnancy cannot really be considered a sickness.”

I laughed again, this time harder. “Spoken like a true man.”

He blushed and I reached across to where he sat and patted his hand gently. “I was only teasing you. And yes, you’re right about that one, too. But I remember that particular health occurrence very clearly. Is this leading somewhere?”

“I’m only trying to get some sort of feel for a vampire’s makeup. If Larry is drugging his victims, it might help to determine what kind of drug he’s using. For no other reason than that there might be an antidote. If he can’t kill, he becomes less of a threat.”

“That’s true, Sam. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“What if we were to try a little experiment?”

I looked at him and smiled. “Another experiment? I would have thought that you’d have had enough research tonight.”

“Funny lady. But I’m serious. Not tonight, though, since I have to be at work soon. But during the day, maybe. I could block off the room we were in today, administer different drugs to you and we could monitor their effects.”

“How long would this take? It sounds like a long-term deal to me. Remember, I have only nine days left. And there are others who have even less.”

“I have a theory that would probably cut back on the time actually needed. Whatever Larry’s using, it would make sense that it’s a drug that he’s had firsthand experience with. I could get his records from his other institutional stays and see what he’d been prescribed over the years.”

“Well, I don’t know. It seems like a long shot to me.”

“Yeah, I agree, it is a long shot. But what have you got to lose?”

I studied his face for a minute. “I lose nothing if we succeed. But if we fail, I’ll have spent the last nine days of my life in a futile endeavor.” I got up from the couch. “I’ll mention it to Mitch and the rest of the Cadre. If they decide it’s worth the risk, I’ll consider it.”

“That’s all I can ask. Thank you.”

“What do you get out of it, Sam?”

“Me?” He got up from the couch and put his suit coat back on. “I get to experiment on a real live vampire. It’s the medical opportunity of my lifetime.”

“But you won’t be able to publish the results.”

“Knowledge for its own sake is still a valuable thing. Come on, lady,” he put his arm around my shoulder in a friendly gesture, “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Mitch was waiting for me at the back door to the Imperial. Sam pulled over and got out. “Told you I’d have her back safe and sound. And right on time.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Mitch called. I stepped out of the car and right into Mitch’s arms. He kissed me like I’d been away for years and I returned the kisses gladly. I had missed him, and hadn’t realized how much until I saw him again.

He held me out at arm’s length and looked down at me. “You look great. Less frazzled than when you left and definitely better rested. So what happened? Sam told me on the phone that he thought he’d found out something that might help us. Something about how you were tuned in to Jean when she died?”

“Give me a minute to catch my breath, love. Oh, God, how I missed you.”

He laughed down at me. “I missed you, too. But I didn’t worry about you; somehow I knew you were okay.” He kissed the tip of my nose and hugged me to him again. “But what on earth do you have in your pocket?”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” I reached in and pulled out the mini tape recorder. “Sam recorded what I saw this morning. It’s a very convincing session.”

He took it from me and smiled. “Wonderful. I’m sure it will come in handy. Thanks.” He kissed me one more time, then put an arm around my waist and we went inside.

When we got back to our room I noticed several things missing. I looked at Mitch. “Where are the flowers? And the coffins? I was just getting used to those.”

“I had the coffins put into storage. Quite honestly every time I looked at them I got the shakes. This has been a bad enough nightmare without having to look at a constant reminder of impending mortality every day and night.”

“Yes, that’s how I felt, too. Thank you. But what about the flowers?”

“I had them moved into the council room. Some of the leaders didn’t believe my story of how a rose would disappear with each death. They’re each going to take turns sitting with them, ‘just to see what happens.’ ” He barked out a laugh. “Damn bloody fools, they’ll sit around debating what to do until they’re all just heaps of ashes. And it would serve them right.”

“I take it you’ve been having a difficult time convincing them of the dangers.”

“Difficult doesn’t even come close to describing it, Deirdre. But I want you to tell me everything that happened while you were gone. And what has Sam discovered?”

I stretched out on top of the bed. “Why don’t we start at the most important thing first? Larry has discovered some sort of drug that can paralyze a vampire.”

“A drug? But how is that possible? I thought we were immune to the effects of drugs and alcohol.”

“Apparently so did everyone else, except for Larry. Sam thinks, or hopes, that he is using a drug that he’d once been prescribed during one of his many institutional stays. Something that he might have had already and discovered its effect on himself by accident.”

Mitch thought for a minute. “That makes a lot of sense, but how will Sam know what drug it is? I’ve seen Martin’s record, he’s been in and out of those places since his middle-teens. The list of drugs he’s taken over the years has got to be fairly impressive. How does he plan on narrowing it down?”

I sat up and scrunched back into the headboard, bending my knees and hugging them to my chest. “He hopes to experiment on a willing guinea pig.”

“No,” Mitch said emphatically. “I won’t allow him to experiment on you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me? You won’t allow it? I see that being appointed the leader of the Cadre, even temporarily, has gone to your head. I will most certainly consider your opinion in this, but in the end the final decision will be mine. I trust Sam not to hurt me.”

He had the good sense to hang his head just a bit. “I didn’t mean to come across so authoritative, Deirdre. But the thought of you putting yourself into danger for this organization really bothers me. These are the same people who would have willingly locked you away . . .”

“Yes, Mitch, we’ve been through all of that over and over again. And I have to admit that I feel the same way at times. My fondest dream right now is to get this all taken care of and move far beyond the reach of the Cadre forever.”

He chuckled a bit and walked over to sit next to me. “I like that dream.”

“I thought you might. But we can’t do that now; like it or not we have made a commitment here. And I intend to stand behind my promises, whether or not those who extracted those promises are worthy. Sam said something today that really hit home.” I tried to paraphrase his many questions into one. “He wondered why, with all of our eternal life and our powers, we don’t try to make a bigger impact for good on the world around us.”

“To be honest, Deirdre, I have wondered the same thing.”

I gave him a rueful smile. “I would have expected no less from you, my love. You are still very new at this.”

He shot me an angry look. “Now that’s hardly fair . . .”

“I don’t mean that to sound patronizing, Mitch,” I interrupted. “With only a little more than two months under your belt, you have made great strides. You are an excellent example of what can be done.” I reached over and squeezed his arm. “Especially when you start with prime material. But your thinking is closer to Sam’s at this point than mine is. His question took me completely by surprise. And made me take a hard look at my priorities.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your priorities.”

“Yes, there is. I’ve been fending for myself for so long that I sometimes forget that the world out there is not just for my taking. I can’t make a difference to the problems of disease and war and famine. But I can make sure that I live up to my promises.” I made a face at him. “You can probably wave the flag now, if you want. That was an incredibly maudlin speech.”

“Not maudlin at all, Deirdre. It’s just unlike you to take the big view. Not that I didn’t think you cared about those things, but that you had distanced yourself from them.”

“Distanced is a good word. We are a very insular breed, so totally convinced of our superiority. I suspect that we need to have a Larry Martin come along every so often and shake us up. Living forever can make us entirely too complacent.”

“And danger can make us reckless. Do you really intend to have Sam run his little experiments on you? What if something goes wrong?”

“If something goes wrong, then I die. I don’t want to die, Mitch, and I don’t intend to die. But if it happens at this point, no one can say that it wasn’t long overdue.” I leaned my head up against his arm. “I don’t mean that to sound cruel, Mitch, I don’t want to leave you. I love you. But you must see that, if I don’t take this chance, it’s possible Larry Martin will find a way to kill all of us. And I would be just as dead either way.”

Chapter 25

Mitch looked at me, his eyes glowing with passion and pride. “You’re right, Deirdre. I’m sorry that I was being so obstinate with you. If you feel this is something you have to do, then do it. I’ll support you one hundred percent of the way.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m probably just jealous anyway. You seem to have accomplished more in your time away than I have. All I’ve managed to do is make a large number of the house leaders angry and upset. And believe me, you don’t want to make these people angry.” He ran his hand over his face. “I haven’t shaved since you left, haven’t showered either. These people can run you into the ground with their pettiness and their disputes.”

I took a long look at him. Despite his complaints, he was smiling and seemed relaxed and fit. “And you’re loving every minute of it all.”

“No, I’m not.” His voice held a touch of laughter.

“Tell the truth, Mitch. You’ve been having a good time.”

“Well, at least I feel like I’m accomplishing something more than balancing the bar tab every night. I got them to agree to post a guard at all the possible entrances to this place. I got them to agree that they would not go out except in pairs. And I got them to accept this as a sort of martial law period.” He laughed out loud this time. “Now that was an accomplishment.”

“Martial law? What exactly does that mean?”

“Basically, that anyone who steps out of line has to deal with me. No questions, no complaints. My decision is law. That’s probably why I came down on you so hard about this experiment thing.”

“It’s perfectly all right, Mitch, I understand. I didn’t really mean that remark about how being leader has gone to your head. You’re not like that. I don’t think you ever will be.”

He kissed me and jumped up from the bed. “And now for the surprise.” He started to remove his clothing, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “In the midst of everything else, I learned one other thing. I guess I should say that I’m ashamed to admit that this is what I’m most proud of. But,” and he stepped out of his pants and his briefs, “that would be a lie.”

I started to laugh. “You learned to take your clothes off? I could have taught you that. So who’s your teacher?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He gave me a mock glare and I laughed again. He looked so wonderfully ridiculous, standing there, stark naked, his hands on his hips that I couldn’t help myself. I laughed until tears started to stream down my face.

“Shut up, woman,” he was trying hard to control his own laughter. “This is no time for levity. Now watch.”

He closed his eyes for a minute to concentrate. When he opened them again, they were unfocused, staring off into the distance, as if he were seeing into another world. Then I saw the outlines of his body blur, change and I realized he was in another world. He moaned and fell to the floor on his hands and knees. A shiver began to run up his back, his skin texture changed and silver, wiry hair began to cover him, starting from the middle of his back and spreading all directions. He lifted his head and gave a wordless cry that turned into a howl as his face changed shape, and animal features quickly superimposed themselves over his familiar ones. He shuddered once and howled again and the transformation was complete.

What had once been Mitch was now a very large, very frightening silver-coated timber wolf. I shrank back just a little on the bed and he turned his head to stare at me, a wild and feral look in his eyes.

“Mitch?” I saw recognition begin to grow in his eyes. He padded over to me and sniffed at my outspread hand. Then he jumped up onto the bed and lay down next to me. I stroked his head lightly and closed my eyes. I could feel the essence of his soul within the body of the animal and I relaxed totally. He lifted his head to my face, his tongue out slightly, panting, exposing a set of truly dangerous-looking teeth. But the eyes were the eyes of the man I loved and I felt no fear. I hugged him around the neck and whispered into his pointed ear.

“Very nice, my love. You make a superb wolf. But can you change back now? I want you to teach me that clothes trick.”

The wolf shook his head ever so slightly and sat up, giving my face a sloppy lick. Then he closed his eyes again. This time the outlines of the wolf faded into nothingness, curling into a mist that slowly wound its way to the center of the room. And coming out from within the mist, as if he were walking through a tunnel, was Mitch. Then the mist was gone, as quickly as the wolf had disappeared and he stood in front of me again, in all his naked glory.

“So what did you think?”

I knew he was very pleased with himself. And I was very happy in his pleasure. That he could learn to do this so quickly, so effortlessly was amazing. I held my arms out to him. “I think I love you, Mitchell Greer.”

“Aw, shucks, ma’am, I’ll bet you say that to all the wolves.” He approached me with a wide grin spread across his face; I could plainly see the wolf buried deep within him. And what had once appeared to me to be a denial of our human nature now seemed normal and natural.

“So are you going to teach me the clothes trick or not?”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Greer.”

“And mine, my love.” I lay back on the bed and he removed my clothing slowly, one piece at a time. When I was finally naked, he covered me with his body, pinioning my arms with his hands, and my legs with his. I put up a mock struggle and he growled at me.

“So, now that you are the prisoner of Mitch, the grand-exalted Pooh-Bah of the Cadre, wolf and mist extraordinaire, what will you do? Try to escape?”

I put my mouth up to his ear and bit gently on the lobe. “Never,” I whispered, “but you must be careful at all times that I don’t turn the tables on you. Then you’ll be my prisoner.”

The phone rang and we both jumped. “Damn.” He rolled off of me and reached for the phone. “Yeah? Okay, I’ll be right there.” He slammed the receiver down.

“Bad news?”

“Another rose has disappeared from the vase. Right under the nose of the guard, who saw nothing. Now the leaders are willing to listen. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Mitch, I understand. I think I should come with you this time, don’t you? Because if they’re willing to listen, I have things to say they need to hear.”

The Cadre’s council room was amazingly normal in its furnishings. I suppose after my exposure to the judgment center I was expecting trappings and ostentatiousness. Instead, this room was a typical conference room. No different from the one at Griffin Designs or many other places I had been. It held a long chrome and glass table, surrounded by chairs with chrome frames and black leather seats and backs. In one corner was a credenza that held a pitcher of ice water, some glasses and a telephone. And of course the vase of roses.

I went over to it and counted. There were, indeed, only eight red ones left and they were starting to look bedraggled and dry. The black rose bud had still not opened. Mitch sat down at the short end of the table away from the door and motioned for me to take the place to his right. As I did so, he pulled the tape recorder from his pocket and set it on the table. He sorted through the sheaf of papers he’d brought with him and only looked up from them when the other members began to file in.

Vivienne came first and she threw a kiss to me as she sat down to Mitch’s left. I had never learned the names of the other members, but since none of them looked at me when they entered, it did not seem to be an issue. Mitch could tell me who and what they were at a later date. They were a gray and lifeless group at best, no less bedraggled than the roses in the vase. They took their places around the table without a word to each other. That the seat next to me was left vacant came as no surprise.

Victor was the last to arrive. He sat at the opposite end of the table nearest the door. I tried to catch his eye, but he avoided all direct contact with everyone. He kept glancing at his watch and then at the door, mumbling to himself the whole time. I noticed that the others kept their distance and wondered why Mitch had even invited him. He couldn’t possibly follow the discussion, much less have anything to add or suggest.

But to my surprise he opened the meeting. “Call to order,” he said and his voice was strong. “Are all houses present?”

Mitch spoke up. “All houses present.”

“Good,” Victor said. “As soon as Ron gets here we can start.” At the mention of the name, a muted whisper rose from the others for one brief second.

“Victor?” Vivienne’s voice sounded soft and concerned. “Ron can’t be here tonight, he asks that we go on without him.”

“Fine,” he said, his voice quavering a bit. He put his hands on top of the table and leaned in toward us. “Where are my notes? I can’t run this meeting without my notes. Ron knows that.”

This time Mitch interrupted him. “Ron left the notes with me, Victor. Now with your permission we will start.”

Victor nodded regally in Mitch’s direction. “If you would read them for me, young man, I’d be very grateful. My eyes are not what they used to be.”

Then, as if the meeting were over, he got up from the table, pushed his chair back underneath and left the room.

They all watched him leave and then turned their attention back to Mitch. He cleared his throat and began.

“Three sunrise deaths have occurred. Does anyone still believe that these deaths were suicides?”

The woman sitting next to Vivienne spoke. “Since I was the one who fought most adamantly against you, Mitch, I have to admit that the third death has convinced me. Two suicides, two mornings in a row could be coincidence. But three? No, I will now agree that these are murders and should be punishable as such.”

Mitch glanced around the table. “Anyone else want to make a case for these deaths being suicides?” He paused and searched the faces of the others. “Okay, then, we’re all agreed.”

The man two seats down from me spoke next. “So we’ve agreed that the deaths are murder, that doesn’t prove who is responsible. It could just as easily be any of us as this Larry Martin person.”

“I have a witness of sorts to one of the deaths.” Mitch turned to me. “Deirdre, can you relate what happened to you the past three mornings?”

I stood up from the table, feeling at more of an advantage that way, and told them of the visions I had seen. These actually proved nothing but my sensitivity to the events. And prepared the way for the recording that Sam had made that morning.

“Mitch will play the tape from the session this morning after Jean’s death. I will come back when it is through and answer any questions you might have.”

“Deirdre, you’re not staying to hear the tape?” Vivienne asked the question we had set up ahead of time.

“No,” I said and walked to the door, “once was quite enough, thank you.”

I had at least three-quarters of an hour before the tape ran all the way through. Although I had prompted Vivienne to ask that question, it was absolutely true that I never wanted to hear the tape again. So I took the elevator upstairs into the Imperial and sat down in the near-empty bar.

The bartender smiled. “Red wine, right?”

“Yes, thank you. Slow night, tonight?”

“About par for a Sunday.”

“I guess it is Sunday, isn’t it?”

“All day,” he laughed and handed me my glass. “You’re from downstairs, aren’t you?”

I took a long sip of the wine. “Yes, my husband and I are staying here for a while, as Victor’s guests. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I know it’s none of my business, but there’s been some talk today. About Victor and how he’s sick and might be closing the place. This is a good job with great tips and I’d hate to have to go somewhere else.”

“Victor is very upset about the death of a close friend. But I haven’t heard a word from him or anyone else about the Imperial closing. I think your job is safe for now.”

“Thanks.”

He started to wash glasses, but I was aware of his curious glances in my direction.

“Big goings-on down there this weekend.”

“Really? I can’t say that I’ve noticed. I’ve not been in that much. You know how it is when you’re from out of town, lots of people and places to visit.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s how it always goes. So where are you from?”

“Here actually, but I’ve spent most of the past two years in England.”

“And you came back for business?”

I shrugged and finished my wine in one drink. All of his questions made me nervous. “Half business, I suppose,” I said, sliding from the stool and laying a bill on the bar. “And the other half is none of yours. Good night.” I smiled pleasantly at him, but I knew he got the hint.

“Night, Miss Griffin,” he said, as I walked away.

I didn’t notice that he’d used my name until I was already on the elevator.

The tape was very close to the end when I arrived back at the council room. I could hear the uncomfortable blend of Jean’s voice and my voice in the hallway.

“Dr. Samuels, don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Jean, you know, the night nurse. But you knew that, you just wanted me to say it on the tape.”

“Yes, Jean, I know you. Jean? Can you tell me what happened next?”

“The sun came up and I died.”

Our scream echoed down the hallway until Mitch pushed the button to cut it off. I heard him clear his throat. “How about if we take about a fifteen-minute break and then reconvene?”

The leaders filed out of the room even more solemnly than they entered. But each one who came through the doorway made a special point of noticing me. Some nodded or said hello, some actually came over to me and shook my hand or patted my shoulder. Obviously the tape had affected their opinion of me, favorably.

I went back into the room. Mitch and Vivienne were still sitting at the table, staring at the tape recorder. When they looked up at me, their faces were bleak and unbelieving. And I could tell that Vivienne had been crying. But she smiled at me, then got up without a word and left the room.

“Jesus, Deirdre.”

I moved behind him and rubbed his shoulders. “That was my reaction, too. Horrifying, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. The whole experience was a shock. And I know Larry Martin, know what he’s capable of. And still . . . poor Jean.”

“Yes. But it seems to have served its purpose. I think the Cadre will listen to anything you have to say now, Mitch.”

“I think you’re right, Deirdre. I just wish it hadn’t been necessary.”

Chapter 26

The Cadre had surprisingly few questions when they sat back down. Mitch mentioned the drug experiment to them and how I had volunteered. The project received their unanimous approval. Not that I felt that I needed their okay, having already committed to the endeavor in my mind and heart, but I appreciated their support. And said so.

The woman next to Vivienne spoke up again. “What else can we do to protect ourselves and our house members?”

“Just what we’ve already discussed. Stay indoors as much as possible and when you do go out to hunt, do it in pairs if you can. Report any stranger found in Cadre territory to security immediately. I think that it’s possible that Jean might not have been the only plant Larry had here, so screen your people carefully. And as ridiculous as it might seem, don’t accept a drink from anyone you don’t know. If he can’t get the drug into your system, he can’t kill you.”

“Can’t kill us that way, you mean. There are still many other ways to skin a cat.”

Mitch looked at the man who spoke. “True, John, very true. So watch your backs. And trust no one but your closest and oldest friends.”

“Mitch?” I felt uncomfortable speaking up in this group, but I wanted to mention what had just occurred with the bartender.

“Yes, Deirdre?”

“Does anyone know the status of the Imperial employees? How much of Victor’s life they’re privy to? And how much do they know or should they know about this setup down here?”

“Good question. Does anyone have any answers?”

“I’ve often wondered about that myself, Mitch,” Vivienne said and was met with agreement all around the table. “Unfortunately, the Imperial was always Victor’s business and he preferred to keep it that way. As Max did with the Ballroom of Romance. Why do you ask, Deirdre?”

“When you were playing the tape I went upstairs for a drink and the bartender was too curious for my tastes. And as I left he called me by name. I hadn’t given him my name, nor had I ever seen him before.”

“Do you know his name?” Mitch’s voice sounded more worried and less in control than it had before.

“No. Now that I think about it, he wasn’t wearing a name tag.”

“What did he look like?”

I thought for a minute. “Young, good-looking, nothing remarkable or out of the ordinary.” I found to my surprise that I couldn’t pull his face to mind. “Light hair, I think, but dark eyes.”

“Ah, well, I’ll have security look into it.” He pushed back his chair. “If there are no further questions, I think we should adjourn.” He yawned and stretched. “I haven’t had a chance to shave, shower or welcome my wife back home properly.” His statement drew a few chuckles from the leaders before they sobered again. “Just remember the basic security methods and you should be fine. We’ll meet again tomorrow night, same place, same time.”

It took another half hour for the meeting to die down completely. The leaders all had individual questions they wanted to ask of Mitch or of each other, questions that had not seemed important enough for a council meeting venue, but were important enough to delay our departure. Finally the last of them were gone.

Vivienne stayed by Mitch’s side the entire time, but for once I found her presence comforting. I knew that he admired her and he’d be less than a man if he didn’t find her desirable. If something should happen to me, it was good to know that he wouldn’t have to be entirely alone.

Mitch came over to me, as if he’d been able to read that last thought in my mind. “Now that Cadre business is taken care of, I believe that you and I have some catching up to do. Let’s get out of here.” He pulled me to my feet and we started out the door.

“Have fun you two,” Vivienne called after us, “and try to be a little quieter this time. Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

Mitch turned in the doorway. “Ear plugs are hardly a new invention, Ms. Courbet. I suggest you invest in a few pairs.”

Her delicate, metallic-sounding laughter followed us down the hall.

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Mitch replied. “I like Viv a lot. She’s really pretty different than she seems at first. When you get to know her better, you’ll understand what I mean. And she thinks the world of you.”

“Of me? Why on earth?”

He smiled a little sadly. “She takes this blood ties thing very seriously. As ridiculous as it might seem to us, she really does consider you her long-lost sister.”

“So, can I assume she’s the one who taught you the clothes trick?”

He opened the door to our room, held it for me to enter. “Clothes trick?” He blinked his eyes for a minute, then a smile crossed his face and he laughed. “Oh, the clothes trick. Yes, she’s the one who taught me.”

“Did you take off your clothes in front of her?”

“Well, it was either that or allow the ones I was wearing to get shredded to bits. But it was nothing sexual, I swear.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his chin. “Mitch, you’ll disappoint me if you say you aren’t attracted to her. How could you not be? But you can find a woman desirable without having to make love to her, can’t you?”

“Of course I can. That particular situation has only been a problem one time in my life—the night I took you back to my apartment for the first time. Do you remember? I was so nervous and you were so jumpy.”

“Well, of course I was jumpy. I was trying to keep you from discovering my deepest, darkest secrets.”

“Secrets? There was another secret besides your being a vampire?”

“Naturally. I didn’t want you to know that I was falling in love with you.”

“That soon?”

I reached up, and cupping his face in my hands, pulled his lips to mine. “Oh, yes, my love,” I murmured between kisses, “that soon.”

“You never did get to shave, did you?”

We were both lying on our sides, his chest pressed up against my back, our legs curled together. He rubbed his chin against my shoulder, and I feigned a wince of pain. “What makes you think I need a shave?”

“The fact that I don’t have a square inch of skin on my body without beard burn is a pretty good indicator.”

“Poor baby,” he continued, rubbing his chin on me. I giggled, then sighed.

“What’s wrong, Deirdre?”

“Nothing, really. What time is it?”

“Why? Do you have a hot date lined up or something?”

I pushed myself up on one elbow and looked at the clock. “As a matter of fact, I have to be with Sam at the hospital in about an hour. I’ll have to leave soon to avoid getting caught in the sunrise.”

“Bloody hell.” He sat up abruptly. “I’d forgotten all about that. Do you have to go today?”

“The sooner I go, Mitch, the sooner we’ll be done. And I promised Sam I’d be there.”

“What kind of security arrangements have you made for yourself?”

“Security arrangements? None, of course. Why would I be making security arrangements?”

He grabbed my shoulders and rolled me to my back. “You can’t go out by yourself, especially at this time of the night.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” He pushed me back into the mattress. “What do you mean, ‘why not?’ You were at the meeting, you heard the rules. Stay in as much as possible and if you must go out, only do it with an escort.”

“But the black rose is still in the vase. I should be safe for at least the next eight days.”

“Fuck the black rose. You don’t really think that Larry would miss the opportunity to kill you earlier than planned just because a black rose is still around, do you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Then I’ll ask you again, Mrs. Greer, have you made security arrangements for this little trip of yours.”

“No, sir, I haven’t. Can you help me?”

“Well, it just so happens that I know this ex–police detective who’s absolutely crazy about redheaded vampires.”

“He sounds nice, tell me more.”

“I think if you asked him very nicely, maybe with a kiss and a declaration of love, that he might be interested in providing you with an escort to your destination.”

I smiled up at him and kissed him. “I love you, Mitch.”

“That’s pretty good, but not perfect. I think you’re going to need a little more practice.”

I glanced over at the clock again. “Some other time, Mitch. If you’re going to get back here before dawn we’ll need to leave here fairly soon.”

“Damn. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Let’s just make sure you have enough time to get back here.”

As it turned out Vivienne was waiting for us at the elevators. “I knew you’d be leaving soon,” she said, kissing me lightly on the cheek, “and I figured you were like me and would completely forget about our new security measures. So I thought I might go with you. Perhaps your doctor would like to experiment on me, too.”

I looked at Mitch and he nodded. “That would be wonderful, Vivienne. With two of us, the whole thing should go much quicker.”

“Thanks, Viv.” Mitch ruffled the top of her hair. “I was going to take Deirdre over and then come back here, but this is much better for everybody, I think.”

Vivienne laughed. “Of course it is. You should never be in such flagrant violation of your own rules, Mitch.”

“I wasn’t violating the rules.”

“Oh, but you were, mon cher. You seem to have forgotten that if you took her there you would either have to stay there until she is done or come back by yourself. And traveling alone is not permitted.”

“But that doesn’t apply to me.” He was growing angry and I shot Vivienne a warning glance. Teasing was fun, but did have its limits.

“Mitch,” I placed my hand on his arm, “you need to be as cautious as everyone else. Maybe even more so because we’re all relying on you. But it doesn’t matter now, I have my escort and Sam will have two of us to work on. It couldn’t have worked out better if we’d planned it this way.”

“If you’re both happy, then I have no complaints. Let’s see if we can get you two guinea pigs into a taxi and into the laboratory before the sun comes up.”

Sam was waiting at the door of the institution for us. We both got out of the taxi and he smiled and gestured at the lightening sky. “Cutting it a little fine, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Sam, don’t you know that living dangerously keeps you young.”

“Oh, is that what does it?”

“Absolutely. And I’ve brought you another cold body to experiment on. Vivienne Courbet, meet Dr. John Samuels.”

He took the hand she held out, “Sam to my friends if you don’t mind.”

“Enchanté, Dr. Sam. It is an honor to meet someone who is so willing to help our kind.”

“Ready, willing, and able.” He glanced at the sky again. “But I’d better get you inside to safety right now. If anything happens to you while you’re under my care I have no illusions about what Mitch will do to me. That kind of living dangerously can put you in an early grave.”

He opened the door. “Deirdre, why don’t you go in first and get settled in? I’ll show Ms. Courbet around a bit and we’ll meet you at the room.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Sam, I think she should come with me. She needs protection as well.”

He blushed. “Of course. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking of. You two go on ahead and I’ll find an extra bed.”

Vivienne took hold of my arm and we went down the hallway to the deserted wing. When I figured Sam was out of earshot I turned to her. “Maybe he didn’t know what he was thinking about, but I sure did.”

She giggled. “As did I. Because I was thinking the same thing. He’s a very beautiful man, Deirdre. I can’t believe Mitch would allow you to be alone with him for too long.”

“Why not? I allow him to be alone with you. And minus his clothes.”

She blushed, “It’s not what you think, Deirdre. I like Mitch very much, but he’s your husband and you’re my sister.”

I stopped. “You don’t need to explain anything to me, Vivienne. I trust Mitch.” I gave her an affectionate look. “And I’m learning to trust you. Anyway, we are here.” I opened the door and let her enter first. “I’ll admit that it’s not a very pretty room, but it’s completely shielded from the sun. We’re as safe here as anywhere these days.”

I walked in behind her and saw that Sam had refurnished the place a little. Instead of the small chair, there was now an overstuffed armchair, next to it was a square end table on which a row of pill bottles were arranged along with a pitcher of water and several glasses. And although the bed was still the narrow hospital one, it was now made and had two pillows at its head instead of one. On the top of those pillows rested a single red rose.

My heart started to race and I felt Vivienne’s startled gasp next to my ear. When we heard footsteps in the hallway we both turned around and snarled in unison.

Chapter 27

Sam entered the room. “I have an orderly bringing an extra . . .” He stopped in midsentence and looked first at me and then at Vivienne, taking in our defensive stances. “Something wrong, ladies?” Nervously, he backed off just a little.

My voice was stretched and anxious. “There’s a rose on the pillow, Sam.”

“Yes, I know.” His tone was so matter-of-fact that I wanted to strangle him. “I put it there.”

Vivienne let out a long breath and I felt the tension flow from my body. Unfortunately for him it was replaced by anger. “You put it there? Damn it, Sam, take it away. Now. You should have know better than that.”

“Better than what? For Christ’s sake, Deirdre, it’s only a rose.”

“Didn’t I tell you how Larry was keeping track of his kills with roses?”

“Oh.” The color drained out of his face and he rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Jesus. I’m so sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking. It seemed like a welcoming gesture, somehow.”

I shook my head.

“Don’t worry about it, Dr. Sam,” Vivienne sat down in the chair, “it’s over and done now. We had a shock, that’s all. Deirdre doesn’t like shocks. And these days, neither do I.”

A metallic squeal came from the hallway and an orderly entered the room wheeling another narrow hospital bed. “Where do you want it, Doc?”

“Anywhere,” and he looked over toward us, “unless the ladies have a preference.”

“Anywhere is fine by me.” I said, my good humor returning. “What do you think, Vivienne?”

She waved her hands in the air. “Anywhere is also fine by me.”

“Thanks,” Sam said dryly. “You’re both such a big help.”

The orderly set the bed up on the opposite wall and left the room. Sam went over and closed and locked the door. We grinned at him and then at each other. I saw the mischievous glint in Vivienne’s eyes and knew that no matter what, it would prove to be fun to watch her work him over.

Sam looked at his watch. “Sunrise time. You ladies might as well settle in. It’s going to be a long day.”

I slipped off my shoes and crawled into the bed. Vivienne did the same but with a giggle. “We should have brought our nighties, Deirdre. We could have had a pajama party. Did you bring your pajamas, Sam?”

“No, I’m the doctor, I’m not allowed to wear pajamas. Deirdre, how do you feel? Have the visions started?”

“Not yet, Sam. Maybe there’ll be no visions this morning.” But even as I said it, I knew I was wrong. The fourth rose had been taken and the fourth vampire would die. Once again I pushed my consciousness out into the dawn and braced myself for contact.

When I finally made contact, it was weaker than any of the others. It was the same feeling, the same scenario, but watered down as if layers of insulation had been interposed between my mind and the pain. And then the tenuous grip I had loosened further and I lost the vision completely.

I sat up in bed. “I think there was something, Sam, but it was so very far removed, that I’m not entirely sure it actually existed. It may have been nothing but my imagination this time.”

“Oh, well,” he said, sympathetically, “you can’t be right every time. How about you, Vivienne? Did you get any visions, clear or otherwise?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t. But then I didn’t have them with the others, either. Perhaps I’m just not a vision kind of person. In fact, when I closed my eyes and tried to get a vision, the only one that came was that of you, Dr. Sam, sans pajamas.”

“Right.” He took her teasing good-naturedly. “Let’s talk drugs. I thought I would start with the more common tranquilizer families today. We might even get through them all, since I now have two lovely volunteers instead of one.”

“What exactly will we need to do, Sam?” Vivienne waved to me from her bed and gave me a sly wink. “Will it involve long needles, electrodes, or being strapped down?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Ah, too bad.” Her voice was totally believable, but I could see her face. I stifled a laugh.

“What?” Sam spun around and she tried but failed to compose her face into the disappointed expression that her words required. “Oh, I see,” he said, “teasing the doctor again. Ms. Courbet, if you would like needles or electrodes or black leather straps I’m sure we can reach an amiable agreement.”

“No,” she said, somewhat chastened, “that’s not really necessary.”

“So I thought.” He turned his back to her again. “To get back to the original question, all I will be doing is giving you each a pill and studying your reactions, if any. Before that, though, I will need to administer a small physical examination. Not anything terribly involved, simply a recording of vital statistics: body temperatures, pulse rates, reactions. General medical background. Who wants to be first?”

“Let Deirdre go first. If she lives through it, I’ll be next.”

Sam opened his black bag and came over to stand by the side of my bed. “She’s charming, Deirdre, under what rock did you find her?”

“Be nice, Sam,” I advised him as he poked and prodded at me. “She does have a temper, you know.”

“She’s not the only one.” His teeth were clenched together and he held an instrument with a small knob on the end of it.

“What’s that?”

“A new kind of thermometer. You insert the knob into the ear. It will record body temperature in three to four seconds.”

He put a hand on the side of my cheek and attempted to take my temperature. After much longer than the time he’d specified, he took it back out of my ear and hit it on the back of his hand. Then tried again, still with no result. “So much for modern technology,” he said in disgust, put it back into his bag and pulled out another instrument that I understood. “Open up,” he said and plopped it under my tongue. “This one will take three to four minutes, but at least we’ll get a reading of some sort.”

After he had finished with me, he did the same series of tests at Vivienne’s side. Finally, when he’d written all the numbers and results on his charts, he turned to the row of pills. “Now, let’s see.” He made a show of picking out exactly the right pill for each of us. “Ah, here we go, how about a nice little black and green one for Deirdre?” He handed it to me, along with a glass of water and I swallowed it. “And,” he carried a glass and a pill across the room to Vivienne, “here’s a nasty little red and white one for Ms. Courbet.”

“Why thank you, Sam.” She took the pill from him and looked at it intently before popping it into her mouth and swallowing it without use of water. “I see that your adjectives work properly, even though your instruments do not.”

“Quite to the contrary, it’s not my instruments that are at fault, but the person whose temperature registers below the normal range.”

“Touché,” she said with a smile. “I think we have had enough sniping, don’t you? I promise to be good if you do. So now what happens?”

“We wait.”

“Wait? I’m not very good at that. What are we waiting for?”

He sighed. “I thought you knew what you were getting into here, Vivienne. We wait to see if you have an adverse reaction like total paralysis to the drug. If it does not happen within four hours, we try again.”

“This could get very boring, Sam, and very quickly at that. Have you brought any games for us to play?”

“I think you play enough games on your own, Vivienne. You certainly don’t need any encouragement from me.”

“Sam,” I called him from across the room. “Can we sleep?”

“Only if you don’t mind being woken up every fifteen minutes or so.”

“You know,” I said, looking at the many bottles of pills displayed on the table, “this could take more time than any of us actually have. Is there any way to streamline the process? Take the pills closer together, perhaps? Or narrow down the infinite choices?”

“I’ve thought about all of that, Deirdre. If you take more pills than one every four hours we’d have no way of knowing whether an adverse reaction was caused by the particular drug, or by a combination of it and the previous ones ingested.” He straightened the row of pill bottles and sat down in the chair. “And I’ve already tried to narrow down the choices. They must be drugs that would have routinely been prescribed for somebody of Larry’s mental health background and they would have to have been available during the years that he spent time in hospitals.”

I sighed. “I should have known that you would be thorough about all of this. I don’t mind for me so much, I rather enjoy the peace and quiet, but my little sister is not quite as tractable.”

Sam gave a laugh. “So I’ve discovered.”

“I will have you know, Dr. Sam, that I am not her little sister, I am her big sister. Deirdre’s a mere babe in arms compared to me.”

Sam perked up slightly. “How old are you, Vivienne? If that isn’t too rude a question to ask of a beautiful woman.”

“I don’t mind, I’m not ashamed of my age. Why should I be? I still occupy the body of a nineteen-year-old. I was born in March of 1698.”

Sam gave her a long and very pointed look. Then he whistled between his teeth and she laughed. “Thank you, Sam. Even after three hundred years a girl likes appreciation from a healthy and handsome young man.”

We all waited in silence for a while. Until Vivienne sat straight up in bed. “Mon dieu, this will drive me crazy and you will have your adverse reaction in a lot less than four hours. Is there nothing for us to do? And if so, do we have to lie around like lumps for the rest of the day?”

Sam looked over at her and so did I. “I never said you had to stay in bed the whole time. And as far as something to do, I did have them bring the VCR and some appropriate movies for us earlier this morning.” Sam got up from the chair, went to the closet in the side wall and wheeled out a cart containing the television, the VCR, and his determination of appropriate movies.

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Movies? What kind?”

Vivienne was faster than I. Before Sam could even plug in the equipment she was examining the boxes. When she finished, she looked up at him and smiled. “Dr. Sam, I take back every insult I have thrown your way today. If this is your assessment of appropriate viewing for two female vampires, you are one very sick person. And,” she blew him a kiss, “I think I love you.

“Deirdre, come here and see what he brought for us.” She waved her hands excitedly. I came over and knelt next to her on the floor and she pushed the boxes into my hands. “Look, here’s Love at First Bite and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Fearless Vampire Killers, along with a whole bunch more. Sam, where did you get all these? I can’t believe that these are standard fare for a place like this.”

He looked slightly embarrassed. “I brought these from home; I’ve been acquiring quite a collection the past year or so.”

“Interesting,” I said very quietly to myself. “But where are the alien movies, Sam?”

Our eyes met and we laughed.

“Aliens?” Vivienne missed the private joke completely, of course, but she was too preoccupied with the movies to even notice. “Pooh, who needs aliens when you can have Louis Jordan? Oh, I don’t know which one to pick first. Deirdre, you pick. Which is your favorite?”

“I’ve never seen any of these.”

“What?” Both she and Sam looked at me in astonishment. “You’ve never seen any of these?” Vivienne spread the boxes out on the floor. “These are all the classics.”

“Oh, I did see that one in black and white many years ago.” I pointed to the box with the picture of a hideously deformed vampire. “Nosferatu. It was too sad for me.”

“Well, if you don’t like sad, my melancholy friend, then I have the perfect movie for you.” She selected one and put it into the machine.

Vivienne and I watched the movie four times in a row, curled up together in her narrow bed, interrupted only by Sam’s occasional physical checks and new pills. The only adverse reaction we reported at the end of the day was that our sides hurt from laughing. And every time I did my best George Hamilton imitation by waving my hand and saying, “It’s a creature of the night, it flies,” we would be assailed by uncontrollable hysterics.

When Sam announced that the sun had set and that Mitch was waiting for us outside, I was disappointed that the day had ended.

“Will I see you ladies tomorrow?” Sam asked as he escorted us down the hall toward the lobby.

Vivienne gave me an encouraging look. “I will come if Deirdre does.”

I sighed. “I’m not sure, Sam.” The previous day’s fervor for this experiment had waned when I viewed the prospect of spending whole days confined here, without sleep, without Mitch. Maybe Sam was right in his assessment of vampires being selfish and uncaring. Or maybe I was just tired.

“Deirdre, is there any special reason why you don’t want to continue?” He rubbed his hand over his neck.

“Not really, Sam. But it seems like we’re searching for a needle in a haystack here. There are too many choices and so few days left. I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough. I hope you both come back.”

Chapter 28

Mitch was holding a cab for us in front of the hospital. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t come inside to get you.” He held the cab door open for us; Vivienne hesitated just for a moment, then got in first. I followed her, Mitch sat down next to me and closed the door. “That place gives me the creeps.” His eyes sought out mine and I caught a brief glimpse of the haunted visions he had experienced there.

“I understand, Mitch.” I took his hand in mine, brought it up to my mouth and kissed the palm before bringing it down to rest on my thigh.

He patted me briefly. “So, how’d it go in there today?”

Vivienne smiled. “It wouldn’t exactly be my first choice in how to spend my time. But Deirdre and I enjoyed the movie.”

“You saw a movie? I thought you were supposed to be testing drugs.”

“We were, Mitch. The problem was we could only test one drug each every four hours. We couldn’t sleep, couldn’t leave the room. It was frustrating.”

“And a waste of your time, I would think. Did you find anything out?”

“Not a thing.”

“Sam’s nice, though. And Deirdre finally got to see Love at First Bite.” Vivienne chuckled to herself. “You two should really leave your bedroom every once in a while. There’s a world out there, you know. See a movie, take in a show, ride a roller coaster, do something for God’s sake. You both need to realize that there’s more to life than blood and sex.”

She smiled at us, then, to soften her lecture, “Not that there’s anything wrong with blood and sex. Except that I can’t quite decide which is the proper order.”

“Will you be going back there tomorrow?” Mitch asked.

“No,” I was sure now, “it really is a waste of our time. We could test these drugs from now until next Christmas and it wouldn’t really do anyone much good. Sam was very persuasive when he first spoke of it.”

“He could persuade me to do almost anything,” Vivienne interrupted.

“Yes, well, but the truth of it is that I think he’s just trying to conduct his own personal research on vampire physical makeup. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But now is not a good time.”

“There never seems to be a good time for anything these days,” Mitch agreed. “And when we have time on our hands we don’t ever seem to use it the way we should.”

“That’s life,” Vivienne chimed in. “The way it always has been; the way it always will be. And believe me, I’ve seen enough time go by to know.”

“By the way,” Mitch leaned forward in his seat to talk to her, “Deirdre is interested in learning a few of the tricks you’ve been teaching me.”

“Mitch, you’re no gentleman. And you promised you wouldn’t tell her. What must she think of me now?”

“Well,” I stretched the word out as long as I could.

“No, no, don’t tell me, Deirdre. I’m sure I don’t want to know. Do you really want to learn these tricks? I don’t mind teaching you, we could start tonight if you like. I’m sure that you’re just as quick a learner as your charming husband.”

The smile faded from my face. As much as I’d enjoyed my time with Vivienne, I didn’t really want her company every waking moment.

Mitch jumped in with an enthusiastic, “That’d be great.” So I smiled and nodded and accepted the fact that tonight at least would be spent learning her tricks. If I could actually learn them. Although I’d transformed twice already, it was not a conscious effort. And my one attempt to do it on purpose failed miserably.

“Sure,” I said, my voice not as eager as it could be, but pleasant enough. I’d finally admitted to myself that these skills could be useful and that I was being incredibly stubborn attempting not to learn them. And they’d certainly had a good effect on Mitch. “Let’s do that.”

The cab pulled up in front of the Imperial. “Good, then that’s settled. The two of you come to my room around ten; we’ll have some wine,” she gave a deep chuckle, “and do a few tricks.”

The first thing I did when I got back to our room was collapse into one of the armchairs.

“Tough day?” Mitch came up behind me and rubbed my shoulders.

“Not exactly tough, but exhausting.” I stretched my legs out and wiggled back into his strong hands. “Oh, that feels good.”

“You and Viv seem to be getting on pretty well, though.” He brushed my hair over to one side and kissed the back of my neck. It made me shiver as always and I put a hand up to stroke his cheek.

“I think that I like Vivienne better these days, but she can still get pretty wearing after a while. She seems to have this need to be constantly on display. It’s endearing in one way and damned annoying in another.”

Mitch laughed. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. To be honest, I could have done without her company tonight.”

“But, Mitch, you were the one who sounded like you were interested. I was just going along to be amiable.”

He snorted. “Oh, hell, I only sounded interested, because I thought you wanted to spend time with her.”

“Well, it won’t be that bad. She serves a decent wine.”

“And teaches a decent trick.”

“This is terrible. She’s a vibrant, beautiful, and powerful woman and we’re talking about her as if she were a not-sobright relative to be tolerated.”

His hands continued to work their magic on the tense muscles of my neck and back. “You know what it is, don’t you?”

“No, tell me.”

“You and I are complete in ourselves. We don’t need the companionship of others anymore, because we have each other. And we always will. So the intrusion of someone else is just that, an intrusion.”

“I fed on Sam the other night.”

“What? Where’d that come from?”

“An intrusion. He wanted to know what it was like, the taking of blood. And he pushed me past my endurance and I fed on him.”

Mitch’s hands stopped their massage. “You didn’t sleep with him, did you?”

“Good heavens, Mitch, no. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Then why is it an issue? I’m not trying to imply that you’re lying or that it should be an issue. I’m just curious why you’d bring it up.”

I shook my head. “I don’t really know. There’s something about feeding on someone who wants you to that just feels strange.” I twisted around in the chair so that I could see his face. “You know what an intimate experience it can be, even with a stranger. But to know the person ahead of time and to have them practically beg you to bite them, well, like I said, it just feels strange.”

“Is that why you aren’t going back there tomorrow?”

“Partly,” I admitted. “And it really does seem like a waste of time. What good does knowing the drug Larry’s using do? It’s not going to stop him.”

He walked away from me and went to sit on the bed. “There was another murder this morning.”

I nodded. “Yes, I felt it. Although it was vague this time, nothing at all like the experience with Jean, thank God.”

“Yeah, that was a rough one. They all are in their own way. And I feel like I’m failing horribly at this. All of my attempts to beef up security and keep people safe just aren’t working.”

“Who was it?”

“Someone who should have known better. John Harwicke, one of the house leaders.”

“I only met him last night. He was the skin-the-cat guy, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. That was him.” Mitch rubbed his forehead and then ran his fingers through his hair. “The trouble, Deirdre, is that I don’t have a clue what to do next. It seems too much like playing into his hands to just sit and wait for him to come after us. Yet that’s exactly what we’re doing. All of us. Hiding in our warren, shivering in fear of the great and powerful rogue.” He got up from the bed and paced the room. “People are starting to treat that damned vase of roses like the holy grail or something. They stop by the council room as if it were a sacred shrine and count the roses. One of the guards told me that some stop by five or more times a day now.”

I shrugged. “Why don’t we just throw them out? Where is it written that we have to play by Larry’s rules? Maybe we don’t need to play at all.”

He stopped pacing and looked at me, a broad smile growing on his face. “Damn, Mrs. Greer, you know, that is one hell of a suggestion. I think I’ll do just that.”

“Glad to be of service, love. While you’re doing that, I’m going to shower and change my clothes so that we can go to Vivienne’s. But we won’t stay long.”

“We couldn’t stay too long in any event. There’s a council meeting at two that I have to run. And you know, now that we’re cleaning house, I suspect these meetings may be something else that goes the way of the roses.” He grimaced. “The damned things are totally redundant anyway. We have the same agenda, night after night. I tell them the same things over and over and they just don’t listen.”

He came over to me and gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes. Save some hot water for me.”

I was out of the shower before Mitch returned, wrapped in a towel, using another to dry my hair. He burst into the room with a wonderful glint in his eye. “God, but that felt good. I took the goddamned flowers and the vase to the Dumpster in the back of the restaurant. I ripped each one of them to shreds and sprinkled them on top of somebody’s uneaten dinner. Then I took the vase and flung it against the alley wall.”

“Wonderful. If nothing else, Mitch, at least you feel better about it all. That can only help.”

He did a double take, noticing my apparel for the first time. “You’re out of the shower already? Nothing went wrong, did it?”

I got up from the bed, walked to the dresser and picked up my hair brush. “No, nothing was wrong. I just didn’t feel like a long shower tonight. And,” I intercepted his skeptical glance, “I admit I felt just a little edgy about what happened last time. It still scares the hell out of me that he can just come and go as he pleases. But right now it also makes me angry. And I think the anger is winning.”

“Okay, that’s great. I’m sorry I missed the shower with you, though.”

“Have one by yourself. Take your time, use all the hot water if you want. I’m going to get dressed in a minute.” I looked at the clock. “I might even stop at the bar for a drink before we go to Vivienne’s room. You could meet me there.”

“Will do.”

I finished brushing my hair and started to dress. Mitch was singing in the shower, and although it was often hard to tell just what he was singing, this one was faintly recognizable as “Born to Run.” “Appropriate,” I laughed and took a fresh pair of jeans from the dresser. Then put them back. I’d been wearing black jeans for too long, I decided. Time for something a little brighter. I removed the red velvet dress from the armoire and pulled it on over my head, smoothing it down over my hips.

Slipping my feet into my black high-heeled pumps, I walked into the bathroom. “Hey,” I called in to Mitch, “I’m almost ready to go. How are you doing?”

“Just fine. It’s sort of nice to not have to share the water.”

“That’s what I thought.” I got my makeup out of the medicine cabinet, but knew I couldn’t put it on in here. “Steamy enough for you?”

“Yeah. Now get out of here, woman, and let me take my shower.”

I made do with the small mirror over the dresser, put a little rouge on my cheeks, applied some mascara and fluffed my hair just a bit. “See you up there,” I called loud enough for him to hear over the running water, picked up my purse, and left the room.

The bar held a lot more people than last night, but I managed to claim a small table in the corner from a couple who were leaving for dinner. Curious, I checked around for the bartender I’d met last night, but didn’t see him. It was possible, I admitted to myself when the waiter brought me a glass of wine, that I was being overly paranoid. The man last night may have just been a talker, and he could have overheard my name mentioned elsewhere. The entire atmosphere of the Cadre, I decided, was intended to breed suspicion and paranoia. I’d be happy to see the last of them when we finally were able to leave.

Despite my newfound positive attitude about Larry Martin and his reign of terror, I still acknowledged that I, at least, could not leave here until he was eliminated or neutralized. He was, as I had said so many times, my responsibility.

I settled my chair back against the wall and watched the people around me. That had been one of my favorite pastimes before I became involved with Mitch, the Cadre, the whole terrible mess that had begun in a Kansas cornfield so many years ago. Actually it had been started long before then, with the carriage wreck that had killed my husband over a century ago, the scent of his blood that had drawn the attention of Max. I sighed. I still missed Max. He’d been there for so long for me and I’d relied on him without even knowing that I did.

But Max was dead and so was the past. It was time to start looking to the future. I was jolted from my thoughts by the arrival of the waiter with a glass of wine I hadn’t ordered.

“It’s from the young man at the end of the bar.”

I was afraid to look for a minute, but eventually my eyes traveled to where the waiter had pointed, expecting to see Larry Martin standing there. Instead I was delighted to see Christopher Greer.

I flashed him a bright smile and waved him over, before I remembered what Mitch had told me the other day. Chris wanted to kill me so that his father could return to a normal life. I panicked slightly, but it was too late to take away the smile and the wave. Chris was already moving toward me, weaving his way through the tables and the people.

“Hi.” His voice didn’t sound like the voice of someone who wanted to kill me.

“Good evening, Chris. Join me?”

“Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, he’ll be on his way fairly soon. Last time I saw him he was singing in the shower.”

“Oh, no, Dad was singing?” Chris pulled out a chair and sat down. “When I was a kid that used to drive my mother crazy. What song was it?”

“Hard to say,” I smiled at him and took a sip of my wine, “they all sort of blend together. Does it matter?”

“Sometimes you can gauge his mood by the song.”

“That must be a corollary to the fact that he only orders a scotch on the rocks when he’s angry.”

“Yeah. Funny, isn’t it, how all our little day-to-day habits can sometimes say more about us than anything else? Like how I knew you were in a good mood before I even sat down.”

“Me? Really? How could you tell?”

“You were studying the people around you. When you’re not happy you tend to stare into thin air.”

I took another sip of my wine. “I’m afraid I don’t know enough about you to guess your moods, Chris. You’ll have to help. What kind of mood are you in? Happy? Sad? Murderous?”

He jumped guiltily at the last word. “Dad told you I said that?”

“Well, you can’t blame him too much, I suppose. He’s been very worried about you, and how you seem to refuse to accept what has happened. There’s not really anything that can be done to change your father back at this point. And even if there were, I’m not sure he’d thank you for it.”

“So what did you say when he told you I wanted to kill you?”

I glanced up at him and smiled. “You won’t like it, I’ll bet.”

“I’m a big boy, Deirdre, I can take it.”

“Oh, it wasn’t all that bad, Chris. You don’t seem to understand that in spite of how you feel about me, I like you. You’re a good kid and a good son. Most of the time.” He blushed at that and I smiled at him. “First thing I did when Mitch told me that you’d vowed to kill me was laugh. And then I said something about how attempting to kill me was becoming a very popular sport.”

“Why? Who else was trying to kill you?”

“Else? Are you still angry with me?”

He shook his head. “Nope. And you know, I’m not sure I ever was angry with you. Dad, yeah, for leaving town and not telling me what had happened. And myself, for not being able to accept you, when it’s obvious that you make him very happy.”

“You saw Sam tonight, didn’t you?”

He gave me a sheepish grin very similar to his father’s. “Yeah, you can tell, can’t you?”

“A little. There’s nothing wrong with that, though. Sam’s a good doctor and I’m glad he’s helping. If you had tried to kill me, it would have been a very difficult thing for Mitch.”

He laughed. “To say nothing of how difficult it would have been for you.”

He motioned the waiter over. “Another Coke for me, please, and a glass of wine for the beautiful lady.”

I smiled at him.

“Well, you are. And I’m sorry I said I wanted to kill you. I’d been drinking heavily ever since you and Dad got married. I got a little crazy, I guess.”

“It happens.” I took a sip of wine.

“So who is trying to kill you?”

“Larry Martin.”

“The bastard that tried to kill Dad?”

I nodded. “One and the same. Trouble is he’s already killed four vampires and everyone around here is just a little tense about the situation.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“If you’d asked me that question a day or so ago, I wouldn’t have been able to answer. Now it’s easy. I’ll get him before he gets me.”

“When you get him, save a piece of him for me, okay?”

I toasted Chris with my glass of wine. “You’ve got a deal.”

Chapter 29

Chris got up from the table and put some money down to pay the bill.

“You’re not leaving, are you? Don’t you want to stay and see your father?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight. I really came to find you, to apologize for how shitty I’ve been with you. You can’t help what you are. I think I always knew that, but it took me a while to really know it.”

“Well, I’ll tell Mitch that I saw you and that everything is fine. Then he’ll have one less situation to worry about.”

“Okay. Thanks for being so nice about all this.”

I rose, moved around the table and gave Chris a hug. “No problem. Now if you’d shown up with a hammer and a stake that would have been a different story.”

He laughed and hugged me back. He even kissed my cheek lightly. Then he walked away and I sat back down, sipped at my wine, and watched the people around me.

Five minutes later, Mitch showed up.

“You just missed Chris,” I said when he sat down.

“Chris was here? Tonight? Wasn’t he supposed to have an appointment with Sam?”

“Yes, he stopped here on his way back.”

“I see that you’re still alive. Either you did some real good sweet talking or he feels better.”

I gave a small laugh. “He feels better. I save my sweet talking for handsome police detectives.” My eyes swept over him. He was wearing a pair of tight jeans, with a button-down shirt and his suit coat. I wondered how many people knew that the suit coat meant that he was wearing his shoulder holster. “You look very nice tonight. Almost good enough to eat.”

“Don’t start, Deirdre,” he said with a mock groan, “we have to go to Vivienne’s pretty soon.”

“But we don’t have to stay, do we?”

“No, but then I have a council meeting. What’s gotten into you these days anyway? You’re even more amorous than usual.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Never.” He reached over and took my hand. “But there’s just not enough time in the day to take care of everyone else and satisfy your insatiable appetites.”

“Ah, but that’s why there are nights.”

“Okay, okay.” He stroked the sleeve of my dress. “I’ll try to make room in my busy schedule for you.”

“Why thank you, Detective. That’s very kind of you.”

“Kind, nothing. Whatever’s gotten into you has also gotten into me. It’s like I can’t get enough of you.”

“Living under a death sentence might have something to do with it. And the fact that we actually spent time away from each other. To say nothing of how you’ve been romping naked with blond French women.”

He chuckled. “That does tend to have an interesting effect on the male libido.”

“No doubt. And speaking of which, I guess we should be moving along. She’ll have everything ready for us and we won’t be there.”

But when we knocked at her door, there was no answer. We knocked again and called her name and still there was no response. “Maybe she forgot,” I said.

“Viv? Forget something?” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “You must be joking. That woman never forgets a thing.”

“Well then, maybe she found something more interesting to do than endure a visit from an old married couple.”

“Yeah, that could be it. She might even have taken her own advice and gone out to ride a roller coaster. But I don’t like it, her going away and not letting us know.”

“Mitch, my love, I would back Vivienne against an entire army of Larry Martins. She’ll show up a little later on, with a saunter in her step and a smug smile on her face. Let’s go back to our room so that I can have one, too.”

When she didn’t show up for the council meeting Mitch tried to hide his concern. The leaders were more despondent than usual due to the death of John Hardwicke that morning and were not noticing anything. Several of them argued that he shouldn’t have removed the vase and the roses without first seeking full approval. The rest simply sat, completely demoralized. Mitch outlined his plan for not having a plan. He compared Larry to a terrorist, who gets just as much delight in watching people scurry around in terror as he does from blowing up buildings.

“We don’t want to feed off his behavior,” Mitch told them. “We need to deal with him in a rational and sane manner, rather than running around in panic.”

“Are you saying we shouldn’t worry about him at all? That the danger is over?”

“I’m saying no such thing. Just don’t let him preoccupy your thoughts. He’s only one man, after all. We allowed him to frighten us and I suspect he loved every minute of it.”

It was not terribly surprising that the Cadre members found Mitch’s speech distressing. They wanted him to tell them what to do, they wanted rules and regulations to follow, even if they were outdated and useless. The Cadre had become so used to taking orders from Victor that they’d lost all of their initiative. I looked around the table before we left; these were the dinosaurs of our breed, I thought. And they were not necessarily at fault. The organization that had brought them together for mutual protection had turned most of them into cowards.

As we walked out of the room I found myself remembering Sam’s thoughts that every so often a Larry Martin is needed just to shake things up.

We checked Vivienne’s room one more time. There was still no answer and Mitch’s look of worry increased.

“She’ll be okay, Mitch,” I said, “you can almost count on it.”

“I hope so. I’ve grown pretty fond of her these past couple of days. She just seems so small and frail and innocent.”

I started to laugh as we went back into our room. “We are talking about the same woman, aren’t we? Vivienne Courbet? She might be small, but she is far from frail. And innocent?” I put my hand over my mouth to control my laughter. “She’s got you completely fooled, Mitch, if you can even voice such a thought.”

He gave me a sick little grin. “You’re probably right.”

“Probably, nothing. You should have heard her today at the hospital. I thought Sam was going to hit the ceiling.” I stopped for a second. “Sam.”

“What about Sam?”

“Vivienne is with Sam tonight; I’d put money on it.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I have no doubts about it whatsoever. Trust me on this one, Mitch, I know I’m right.”

“Fine. I’ll quit worrying then. I just hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Disappointed? Because Vivienne is with Sam? Hardly, my love. I think they make a lovely couple.”

“No, disappointed because you didn’t get to learn any tricks tonight.”

“I’ve never cared about the tricks, Mitch. If you can and want to do it, that’s fine. There may come a day when the changing is important to me. I can learn then. And you can teach me.”

“So, what shall we do now that Ms. Courbet has stood us up?”

“I think we should just go to bed. I didn’t get any sleep today at all. Every fifteen minutes or so, Sam would come around and test our non-existent reactions. I’m tired. I just want to stretch out and sleep for about a year.”

“Bed it is then.”

I didn’t actually sleep much that night. Mitch and I lay together and he began to talk. About his past, about his failed first marriage, about his childhood hopes and aspirations. And he talked about Chris, especially when he was younger.

“He used to have these horrible tantrums. We never knew what they were about. I’m not real sure he did either. We tried everything we could to stop them. We bribed, we pleaded, we yelled, we even spanked. None of it did any good. Then one day he threw a real fit. He and I were shopping somewhere and he flung himself to the floor, screaming bloody murder. I couldn’t take it anymore, I didn’t want to deal with him at all so I just turned my back on him. He quit screaming until he crawled around my feet to sit in front of me. He started back in and I turned around again. We did this about four or five times and he stopped. Completely. Never had another tantrum afterwards. Kids are strange sometimes, we expect them to think like us and they never do.”

He talked most of the night and I said little. I just snuggled in closer to him, my head resting on his chest, listening to his rumbling voice.

And at sunrise I had no visions. It was as if the symbolic gesture of destroying the roses had broken the spell on me. I sighed and curled deeper under the covers, sleeping at last.

When I woke the next evening I felt fully rested. Ready for almost anything. Mitch was up and moving around in the bathroom. I could sense the activity above me in the restaurant and the occupants in the rooms surrounding us slowly coming to life. “Mitch?” I called loudly so that he could hear me.

“Yeah, babe, what do you need?”

“Nothing, I guess. I just feel like we should be doing something. About Larry.”

He walked out of the bathroom, naked except for a towel wrapped around his neck. He still had a spot of shaving cream close to his right ear. I rubbed my finger in the same spot on my own face and he wiped it off with the end of his towel.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking that, too. It’s one thing to say we won’t allow him to panic us. And another to just let him run wild. We still have to stop him, you know.”

“Exactly. Did you ever get a look at Max’s journals?”

“I scanned some of the more recent ones, yeah. They would make interesting reading some day and they explained a lot about how Larry accelerated his power. But they didn’t have any practical solutions for this kind of situation.”

“Too bad, that would have been nice.”

“That’s what I thought, too. But I’m afraid we’re pretty much on our own with this one.”

As if on cue, someone knocked on the door outside. “Deirdre, Mitch, are you there?” It was Vivienne.

“I told you she’d be okay, didn’t I?”

He took the towel from around his neck, wrapped it around his waist and opened the door.

She flew in to the room. “Sorry I stood you up last night, but another opportunity arose and I figured you’d understand.”

“Hello, Vivienne. And how is Sam?”

“Sam’s wonderful.” Her voice sounded wistful. “But how did you know I was with Sam?”

I shrugged. “I just did. Mitch was a nervous wreck about you not being here, though. Next time leave a note.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mitch laughed and Vivienne looked over at him and whistled. “Nice towel, mon chou.”

“Thanks, Viv.” He walked over to the dresser and got some clothes.

“No need to get dressed on my account, Mitch,” she said with a sly smile. “I’ve seen you naked before.”

“But not in front of my wife and not quite this soon after sleep. I’ll be more comfortable dressed.”

“Fine, but I want to go on record as saying I’m disappointed in you.”

Mitch just smiled and shook his head, took his clothes into the bathroom and shut the door.

“He’s no fun.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, Vivienne. So what’s the big deal that you had to come knocking on the door so early?”

“Tonight I decided you are going to sell me the Ballroom.”

“Just like that?”

She smiled. “Oui, just like that.”

“But what about Larry Martin? We have to do something about him.”

“Larry Martin will be around to deal with later on. His type does not go away. And a night out won’t hurt either you or Mitch. Perhaps we will even find him there, at the club.”

I had never expected that I would feel sentimental about the Ballroom of Romance. But as our taxi pulled up in front, I was surprised to find myself crying. The Ballroom had been a staple of this city’s night life for over twelve years. And for a good part of those twelve years it was like my second home. But everything changes and the Ballroom was a part of the past.

There was no crowd outside the door as there would have been in years past. But it was still a good location and pulled in a lot of people. Vivienne was going to get a very good bargain.

Mark saw us enter and met us at the door. “Evening, Vivienne, Deirdre, Mitch. How’s business?”

“That’s what I need to be asking you, Marky.”

He tilted his head a bit. “I won’t even ask what that’s supposed to mean. I’m glad to see the three of you, though. Especially you, Mitch. Fred’s missing.”

“Missing?” Fred never struck me as the kind of person who would just pick up and leave. “When we were in here last you said he was on vacation.”

“And he was. From the club, that is. But he stayed in town instead of going away. He would call me every night, here, after we closed out to see how we did. But the last time I heard from him was Wednesday night.”

“Maybe,” Mitch said, glancing around, “he changed his mind and went out of town anyway.”

“That’s possible, I suppose. But his vacation was over on Sunday, he should have been back by now.”

“Have you contacted the police?”

“No,” Mark said, “that seems so drastic.”

Mitch nodded. “And a waste of everyone’s time at this point, unless you have reason to believe that he was kidnapped or a victim of foul play. Do you have reason to believe that?”

“No, I sure don’t. I suspect he’ll turn up soon.”

“Could be. Keep us informed, though.”

“Will do. Now, do you all want to sit at the bar or at a table?”

“Actually, Marky, we didn’t come to party. We came on business. Do you have an office somewhere we can use?”

He laughed. “Very funny. Just tell me if you want a table or do you want to sit in the bar.”

“Seriously, Mark,” and she certainly looked serious, “we need a place relatively quiet so that we can conduct business.”

“You, Vivienne? Sorry. You and business do not mix.”

I smiled. “Not yet anyway. But you should watch how you speak to the new owner, Mark.”

“Vivienne? You’re buying the place?”

“Oui, I am. Down to every rat’s whisker and roach’s leg.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then you can use Max’s office.”

“Max’s office?” The words gave me a chill. I’d never expected to hear them again.

Mark noticed my reaction. “Weird, isn’t it? Max has been dead for over two years and most of the staff here now never knew him, but that room will probably be called Max’s office forever.”

I smiled. “A living legacy. Max would have appreciated the gesture.”

“Consider it done, Deirdre.” Vivienne extended her arm and we shook hands. “I’ll even have a plaque made up to put on the door. Something ornate and gothic feeling. Max’s office will go down in history.”

Chapter 30

The deal could not actually be finalized that night, because neither Vivienne nor I had our attorneys present. And sadly enough we discovered that we shared the same attorney, Ron Wilkes, and he was dead.

So we did very little business, but we did party. We stayed late into the night, paying the band extra so that we could dance. Vivienne discussed her plans for remodeling and redecorating eagerly. The new name of the club would be Dangerous Crossings and it would have a definite S&M theme.

“You’re going to turn the Ballroom of Romance into an S&M club?” Mark had finished the last of his duties and had joined us around the table.

“No, no, you don’t understand.” Vivienne sighed, she’d attempted to explain this repeatedly throughout the night. “It will not be an S&M club, but it will be decorated like one. People love this stuff whether they would ever use it or not. Black leather and chains and studs. And crucifixes.”

“Crucifixes?” I asked her, laughing at the thoughts of a vampire opening a club with crucifixes hung on the walls. “How on earth do these fit in?”

“You’ll see,” she said mysteriously. “It has something to do with the name of the club. It has something to do with what we all are, deep inside.”

Right after she made that last statement, Mitch got up from the table. “Nothing personal, Viv,” he said, reaching over and patting the top of her head, “but that about does it for me. I need to get back soon. Anyone else want to go?”

I stood up. “I’m with you, Mitch.”

Vivienne remained at the table with Mark and one of the band members. “I’ll stick around for a while, if you don’t mind. I want to snoop into things around here that are none of my business.”

“Be my guest, sister. My business is your business.”

“So what do you think of Viv’s plans for the club?” Mitch asked me, as we got into the cab.

“I think they’re strange, no question about that. I also think that she’s right and that after opening, Crossings will probably be one of the more popular night spots around here. She’ll get rich.”

“Do you mind?”

“That Vivienne will get rich? No.”

“No, do you mind that she’s taking what must be an icon in your life and completely changing it.”

“No,” I told him emphatically. “Life is change and growth. To expect anything to remain static for too long is ridiculous. The Ballroom of Romance has been dead for years. It’s time to bury it and move on.”

“I’m starting to feel that way about this whole city. I want this all to be over. We have to find Larry Martin and finish this, once and for all.”

“I agree, Mitch, but how do you propose we go about it? Take out an ad in the personals? ‘Would Lawrence Martin please present himself to Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell Greer so that they can kill him and get on with their lives?’ ”

He laughed. “You’d certainly get points for being original. And it could be that the direct approach might be the best one, especially when dealing with Larry. But how do we lure him out?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted as the cab pulled up to the Imperial. “Let’s sleep on it.”

When I woke the next afternoon, I woke to an empty room. Mitch had been with me when I fell asleep, I knew. But he was gone now. I got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, slipped on my boots and went in search of him. The hallways were completely deserted and had an eerie feel to them. But I could hear a low undercurrent of voices coming from somewhere on this floor. I followed the sound and ended up at the door into Victor’s office. I knocked softly and when there was no answer I opened the door and walked in.

Mitch sat at the desk with the phone to his ear. He looked up and smiled at me, beckoning me to come in closer. He looked tired, but seemed happier than when we had gone to sleep last night.

“And they seem to help your anxiety?” he asked the person on the phone. “Uh-huh, well if that’s the case, then keep taking them. It’s no shame, son, to take help when it’s needed.”

“Tell Chris I said hello.”

“Deirdre says hello, Chris. Yeah, she told me she saw you and that the two of you have made peace. I’m proud of you for that. Thank you.”

I watched the expression on his face change as he listened to Chris.

“No, I do not think that’s a good idea. And it’s not even necessary. I’m close anyway. Some of the leads I’ve found this morning have paid off. I now have a general idea of where he’s hiding. And an idea on how to lure him out.”

“Larry?” I mouthed the word and he nodded. “You’ve found Larry?”

He nodded again. I felt a flash of relief combined with a rush of fear. He’d found Larry. And had a plan.

“I promise I’ll keep you informed. If you’ll do the same. Okay then, you have a good evening and I’ll talk to you later.”

He hung up the phone.

“How’s Chris doing?”

“Better. Much better. Sam’s got him on some sort of antidepressant now. Chris says they help immensely.”

“And you’ve found Larry?”

“Not yet, but I’m close. Very close.” He opened his top desk drawer. “Look what I found outside our door when I came out this afternoon.” He pulled it out, a black rose.

“He hasn’t forgotten me. How sweet.”

“More importantly, he hasn’t forgotten the game. I keep forgetting that Larry is no more than a child in some respects. I keep expecting him to make sense. Why did he back off when I threw away the roses? They were nothing more than a bit of melodramatic decoration to us. But they were important to him, because they were part of the game.”

“So he quit killing us when we quit paying attention?” I thought about that for a while. And shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t quite get it.”

“Neither do I, yet. Except for the gut feeling that I’m right. That black rose outside our door is an invitation to play the game again. And we’re going to accept it, but on our terms.”

“But we don’t know the game.”

“Oh, but we do. It’s king of the mountain. That’s why he uses his powers so flagrantly. He wants to be the best. Larry Martin, King of the Vampires.”

“Why don’t I like the direction this is taking, Mitch?”

He gave me a sheepish grin, “Because you know me too well. I’m going to step forward and offer Larry the chance to be the best, by beating me. If Victor hadn’t stepped down, it would have been him.”

“So how do we issue the invitation to him?”

He picked up the black rose. “We send this back to him. He’ll want to know if finding this has frightened you or made you mad or sad or anything else. So he’ll be around waiting for our response.”

“Which is?”

“Basically, it’s meet me out behind the school after class and we’ll see who’s the best. Although for Larry it needs to be dressed up just a bit.”

We worked until sundown on our response. It was simple enough to seem totally transparent, melodramatic enough that he couldn’t possibly resist.

Eventually the note that we stapled to the rose read: “Enough. Let’s settle this the only way it can be settled: Single combat, winner take all. Tonight at midnight in the Ballroom of Romance.”

“And if he doesn’t get it today?”

“Then we just keep trying until he does.”

I threw the rose into the Dumpster at sunset. I didn’t have to feign my apprehension, although it was purely for Mitch and not for me. And I didn’t stay around to see if it was picked up. I didn’t really want to know.

After that all we needed to do was wait. I called over to the club and told Mark, since Fred was still missing, that we would be closed this evening due to the impending sale and the staff should take the evening off with pay. He could go home or do anything he wanted as long as he was back at the Ballroom by eleven-thirty, waiting for us by the private entrance.

Back in our room once again, Mitch did not turn on the light, but locked the door and reached for me. I made a feeble attempt to push him away.

“Don’t you think you should save your strength for the confrontation?”

He laughed. “As if making love to you could do anything but increase my strength. I need the time with you, Deirdre, the unity and the closeness. It may be our last time together.”

“Please, love . . .”

“Face the facts, Mrs. Greer. Larry Martin has more powers than I could learn from Vivienne in a year. There’s no bloody way I can hope to match them, or even come close.”

“Then why meet him? We could leave, now. The Cadre is in such a shambles with Victor the way he is, they would never know. Or even care.”

“But we would know. And we would care.”

I sighed. He was right; I knew we couldn’t abdicate responsibility, but the temptation to turn and run was great. And the risk of losing Mitch was too real.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “If I don’t meet him now, Deirdre, I’ll have to do it some other time. How many more deaths do you want on your conscience?”

“None,” I agreed, “but most especially I do not want yours.”

He pulled me to him and held me close, stroking my hair. “I don’t want to die and I don’t intend to. I’ll live through this, I promise you. Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

“No.” I buried my head in his shirt to hide my tears.

“That’s right. I don’t plan on starting now.”

“But you said this might be our last time together.”

“Oh, that. I meant tonight.” His words were light and reassuring, but his voice was choked. I lifted my head, our eyes met and in his I could read determination, fear, love.

“Well, then,” I said, attempting to keep my voice light, “that’s an entirely different story, isn’t it?”

We filled the waiting hours making love. At first I still protested that he should save his strength, but eventually I could not deny that I wanted him as much as he wanted me. Finally, I gave myself entirely to the experience, savoring and treasuring each caress, each kiss, each stroke.

A wildness filled us both, as if our humanity fell away from us. Perhaps it did. I felt, in the touch of his tongue, the mouth of the wolf on me, felt the hair on his head thicken under my fingers. My nails dug into his shoulders and arms like the lethal claws of the cat, leaving bloody ruts that I licked clean and watched heal. We had no voice, we had no breath, but we had bodies that melded and fit so closely I could not tell where I left off and he began.

Mitch buried himself inside me; he threw back his head and howled. The sound of his passion made the hair on my body stand on end and I growled my response. Frantically, desperately, we strove, grappling together, biting and licking, riding out each shuddering wave before being overwhelmed by the next. Then he slowed his thrusts, a deliberate gentling, but still diving deep within, wrenching orgasm after orgasm from my shivering body. His breathing grew deep and labored and I knew he was close to his own climax. I opened my eyes, to see his, glowing silver-blue in the darkness of the room.

Suddenly, as his seed filled me, we exploded into one another. We were one in body as we had been one as a mist. Blended and combined, never to be separated again.

As we rolled from one another, and lay panting on the bed, I did not feel an absence. I knew he was with me still, and would be with me for the rest of our days.

I also knew that there would be no difference between his death and mine.

When we arrived at the Ballroom the place was black, the front of the building locked up solidly. But Mark was there to let us in.

“What are you two up to?”

“We’re taking inventory.”

“Oh, sure.” He winked at Mitch. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, go on home and have a good evening.”

I waited until I heard the back door close before speaking. “Do you think he’ll actually show?”

Mitch laughed. “I’d be very much surprised if he isn’t already here.” He took off his suit coat and flung it over one of the tables. I was surprised to see that he wasn’t wearing his holster, even though I knew that the bullets would not permanently harm Larry. Then I nodded and smiled, knowing that he had sufficient confidence in his own powers to do without it was a comforting thought. He embraced me briefly, then walked to the center of the dance floor.

“Hey, Martin,” he called, “did you hear me? I know you’re here, why don’t you just crawl out of whatever hole you’re hiding in and get this over with.”

Chapter 31

I heard a hiss behind me. We spun around to see a cloud of mist approaching. And as on the occasion that I had seen Mitch do this, locked within its center was a figure. The cloud stopped moving and the figure grew larger, finally coalescing into the familiar features and body of Larry Martin.

He bowed to me and smiled, exposing his canines fully, then reached into the already dissipating mist to produce a black rose to throw at my feet.

“Deirdre, I’m glad you’re here, too. It will make it easier to find you when I’m done with Mitch.” He turned away from me to Mitch and held out his hand. They shook hands briefly, only the veins that bulged and twisted under the skin betraying the strength of their grips. Then they each took a deep breath and their eyes locked together.

I had seen Mitch do this on the plane with Victor and knew that he was good. Taking a few steps back I positioned myself so that I could watch the action but not interfere with either’s direct line of vision. It was dark on the dance floor, but I could see the tension in each of their faces and bodies.

By the set of Mitch’s shoulders I could tell that he was straining hard to maintain his erect posture. Larry too seemed to be tiring, his tension showed in the constant clasping and unclasping of his fists. The pungent, tangy smell of their sweat fell around them, forming an almost tangible curtain and Mitch’s shirt was drenched. The contest seemed to last an eternity, many hours of them staring, boring deep into each other with their inhuman stare.

Finally, Mitch squared his shoulders and took a step forward, and then another, his gaze never faltering. Larry held his eyes up, but with each step Mitch took, he took one backwards. All it took was one bad step for Larry to lose his balance. He went to catch himself and in so doing, he dropped his eyes.

I wanted to cheer, but knew that was only the preliminary round. They wasted no time getting to the next game. Mitch stepped forward and grasped Larry by the shoulders. Larry did the same. Neither of them moved a muscle visibly. But I knew that they were pushing against each other as hard as they could. The tension in their necks and backs gave the motion away. They stood like statues in the center of the dance floor, striving, but not moving, each trying to dominate the other through sheer strength.

A small quiver shook through Larry’s body and the shape of his face changed, almost liquefying, as if it were a reflection in turbulent water. I blinked my eyes and when I opened them again, the figure standing there was not the same. The features of Mark were superimposed over the more familiar ones of Larry Martin. Then in a blur he became the unknown bartender at the Imperial, then Fred, and finally, incongruously matched with the male body, my face appeared.

I gasped involuntarily, but Mitch was unsurprised by the events and maintained his position and his grip. Perhaps, I thought, he knew that these powers were possible. Whatever the reason, his unwavering concentration seemed to distress Larry, who gave a disappointed grunt and resumed his own form and face. Again, hours passed, but the transformations must have sapped some of Larry’s endurance. With one burst of strength, Mitch finally pushed Larry back a step and that round ended.

I gave a sigh and let out a relieved breath.

“Fuck.” Larry’s obscenity echoed in the empty room, “This is bullshit, Mitch. Let’s get to the real contest.”

“Fine by me.”

If their combat hadn’t been so deadly serious I might have laughed at this point. Mitch’s earlier assumption that this was similar to a schoolyard vendetta proved to be true.

But children in school were not equipped with the weaponry exhibited here. In a flash, both men were gone and in their places stood snarling animals. Mitch’s silver timber wolf was familiar to me. Larry’s form was darker and harder to distinguish, until his high laughing bark gave him away. The hackles on both of their necks rising, the wolf and the hyena circled around each other warily. The hyena leapt first, attempting to sink his yellow teeth into the silver flank of the wolf’s back right leg. Contact was made, but a sharp back kick from the wolf dislodged the hyena’s bite. If the contest had been to first blood, Mitch would have lost. But we all knew the contest was to the death.

They squared off, again and again, each scoring a succession of minor wounds that healed almost as quickly as they were inflicted, each managing to protect their vital areas, faces and necks. Their snarls and howls grew loud in that space and I wanted to cover my ears. I wanted to intervene, but knew I couldn’t. My human form would be no help in this situation, and my animal form was totally inaccessible to me.

Finally, after many feints and false passes, the wolf that was Mitch spun around in a flash of silver and sunk his teeth into the hyena’s throat, Larry’s throat. His yelps of pain filled the air, but Mitch continued to hold tight, dragging him back and forth. Blood spurted out from between the wolf’s lips. He lifted his enemy high in the air and tossed him into the corner of the dance floor.

As the wolf came forward again licking the blood from his mouth, the hyena hunkered down, whimpering slightly. His body shivered and shuddered and shifted in its form. With a rush of giant black wings a large black buzzard flew up from where the hyena had landed. The wolf howled his frustration at his prey escaping and lunged up into the air, snapping with powerful jaws at something he couldn’t catch.

I held my breath, not knowing if Mitch had achieved mastery of a flying form. The buzzard flew down at the wolf, long lethal talons extended, slashing at the eyes and sensitive nose. The wolf crouched low as if to avoid the claws, then with nothing but the strength of his hind legs launched himself high in the air to grasp Larry’s neck between his teeth again.

They both fell to the dance floor but the wolf maintained his grip and flung the buzzard back and forth until his body went limp and the light in his eyes died. The wolf dropped his enemy and threw his head back and howled in victory.

I felt the hair rise on my arms and I let out the breath I was holding. The wolf turned to me, silver-blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. Then his outline blurred and within seconds a naked Mitch was standing in front of me, wounded and bruised, but healing and well.

I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him to me. “Well fought, my love, well fought.”

Our only error was inexperience. A sinister hiss came from the seemingly dead body of the buzzard and Mitch spun around, to see the buzzard dissolve into a mist and drift off. As it dissipated, Larry’s voice echoed through the empty club. “It’s not over yet, Greer. If I can’t kill you I can at least kill your son.”

Mitch stared at me, defeat reflected in every part of his body. “I lost. And Chris is dead.”

“No,” I screamed at him, “you can’t give up now. Follow him as a mist and stop him. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

He hesitated only a minute, then began to flow into the mist form, disappearing after Larry, driven by his urgency to save his son.

I started to run and burst out of the back door of the Ballroom, tearing off down the sidewalk and toward Mitch’s old apartment. I noticed as I ran that the sky was already lightening with the approaching dawn. How long had they fought? It seemed like no time at all, it seemed like forever. My pace quickened; now I was not only racing to Mitch’s side, I was running a race with the sunlight. A race I knew I would lose. I stopped and gripped my hands together, feeling a cry of despair rage through my body.

Helpless, angry, at the end of my rope and my life, I screamed my distress. And then it happened, my mind remembered the accidental transformation I had made, duplicated the event. I was almost instantly a lynx again and I ran, my powerful leg muscles propelling me forward in giant bounds that covered more ground than my human legs could ever hope to achieve. Still the distance was almost too great for me. I approached the steps of the apartment building just as the rising rays touched the sky. But the front door was closed and I was trapped outside. In desperation I drove my body up against the door time and time again, each lunge stronger than the last. Finally the door weakened and fell in. I bounded up the stairs and into Mitch’s apartment.

He sat on the living room floor cradling Chris’s body on his lap. I looked at him, trying to put words into my stare. Mitch shook his head and tears began to stream down his face. “He’s dead, Deirdre. Chris is dead.”

My tail whipped in anger and my head snapped back and forth searching for the enemy that caused so much pain. “Where is he?”

“In the bedroom,” Mitch said. “Unless he escaped. He was acting strange.”

I sprang though the bedroom door. Larry was sprawled on the floor, twitching slightly. He’d managed to drag himself out of the sunlight coming through the window, his hair still smoldered slightly from where it had made contact. I paced back and forth for a minute, growling slightly, not wanting to approach him, but knowing that I had to drag him back into the light. The light would kill him.

I attempted first to push him, placing the top of my head on his shoulder. When that didn’t work, I sprang around him and sunk my teeth into his bare leg and began to drag him inch by inch into the sunlight.

“Deirdre, no.” Mitch stood in the doorway, a horrified expression on his face. I felt the sun burning into my fur and the flesh underneath, but still I pulled on Larry’s inert body. Blood from his leg filled my mouth with a strange medicinal taste and I felt my tongue go numb. It did not matter, nothing mattered but Larry’s death. I kept pulling until finally his body lay fully in the sunlight. As did mine. The air was filled with the pungent smell of burning flesh and hair.

I tried to crawl away but found my limbs were paralyzed. All I could do was lie on the floor next to my fallen prey and die with him.

Mitch moved into the room, crossing the sunlight himself and pulled the spread from the bed and flung it over me. He darted in and out adjusting a fold here and there until my body was fully covered. Then I heard him move slowly into the other room and fall to the floor.

When I next became aware it was dusk. And I was once again back in my human form. I cautiously lifted the spread from my head, then tossed it off completely when I saw that the room was in near darkness. Next to me was a pile of charred bones and ashes, all that was left of Larry. I stood up, my limbs stiff, the healing burns on my body crackling with each step. But I was alive. Something I had not expected.

I walked slowly to the other room. Mitch was rousing now, also covered with burns. Chris’s dead body lay where Mitch had dropped him to save me. Tears formed in my eyes and I let them fall. Mitch lifted his head and saw me. He struggled to stand and when he succeeded we stumbled toward one another, grasping each other in a sorrowful embrace.

“It’s over, my love,” I whispered with a parched voice. “It’s finally all over.”

And yet, the scars that had been formed would take more than a lifetime to heal.

Mitch and I lay in the dark room in the institution for a week under Sam’s care for the severe burns we sustained. After a time, and a little bit of blood-sucking on his own, using needles instead of fangs, Sam was able to explain why Larry had collapsed after draining Chris, and why I had gone into partial paralysis after biting Larry.

“It was that antidepressant I’d given him,” Sam said, “amitriptyline. A standard drug, and widely administered when Larry was undergoing his years of treatments. One of its side effects causes a drastic change in blood pressure and blood sugar contents. Interesting. I wonder how many other drugs of its type would cause the same effects.”

Mitch looked up at him from the bed. “We’re not going to find out now.” The intensity of his voice was enough to make Sam back off.

“Well, I wasn’t suggesting that we experiment at this point in time. You two are healing miraculously, but are still in no shape to act as my guinea pigs.”

“Good. And I would appreciate it if you keep to yourself the knowledge of how this drug works on us.”

Sam laughed. “Of course, Mitch. I’m not likely to call up the pharmaceutical company and say, ‘Oh, by the way, please add stopping vampires cold to the list of possible side effects.’ ”

Mitch chuckled weakly. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

We had few visitors. Vivienne stopped by every night, whether to see us or Sam, I wasn’t quite sure. But it didn’t matter, her lighthearted chatter was comforting, as was her obviously growing relationship with Sam. They positively glowed when they looked at each other. Mitch and I laughed about it after they left the room.

“I guess we should be upset,” I said, reaching a hand over to him from my bed, “both of our ‘friends’ deserting us and finding someone new.”

He returned the squeeze of my hand. “As if I had a need for anyone but you.”

Mitch’s ex-wife came by often, Chris’s funeral arrangements quite rightly preoccupying her thoughts and conversations. I stayed out of their discussions and their arguments, feigning sleep when necessary. Over and over she would demand an explanation. And Mitch would only sigh and shake his head.

“Later, Barbara,” he would say wearily, “let’s just get through this and we’ll talk about it later.”

Chris was eventually buried in the same cemetery in which Max lay. It was a fitting end to the cycle. His death was tragic and unnecessary, and I ached for Mitch’s grief. But it seemed to punctuate the ending of that portion of our lives; it sealed us closer, if such a thing were possible, into the existence of vampires, blocking us forever from humanity.

The night we were scheduled to leave we made the trip to the cemetery. Chris’s grave lay not too far from Max’s, so after I made my good-byes, I walked away and allowed Mitch privacy with his son, and found myself in front of the marker that read “Father.”

“It’s over, Max,” I whispered, hope replacing the grief in my voice. “It’s finally over. Now I can live unhaunted by the past.”

Mitch came to me after a while, his face streaked with blood-tinged tracks. We stood silently for a while, looking at each other.

“Let’s get out of here.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and we supported each other to the front gate where a cab waited to take us back to Cadre headquarters.

We stayed for only a while, having very few friends left to bid good-bye. Vivienne rode with us to the airport, sitting between us, holding our hands in hers.

When the cab stopped, she looked at us both. “Are you sure you can’t stay on for a while? Everything is in such a shambles. They want me to take charge of the Cadre. Mon dieu, who would have ever thought it? I knew I’d stayed here too long.”

“You’ll do fine, Viv.” Mitch reached over and ruffled the top of her hair. “I have faith in you.”

“Strangely enough,” she grew serious, “I’m looking forward to the challenge. But I have some big shoes to fill.”

“And Victor?” I asked. “How is Victor?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Who can say? Sam thinks he may be able to help him. But Victor has lived a long time and he’s tired. As we all are. This is a shock to many of us, finding out after so many centuries that we’re not totally invulnerable.”

“It takes some getting used to, I guess,” Mitch said.

She asked the cab driver to unload our luggage and stay to return her to the Imperial. We climbed out of the cab and waited awkwardly at the baggage check-in.

“So will you stayand help?” She didn’t look at either of us, but fastened her gaze on the driver moving the suitcases out of the cab trunk.

“Vivienne, we can’t.” My voice was sad.

“Ah, well, I knew that, I suppose. But keep in touch when you can. There will always be a place for my sister and her husband in my life.” She smiled and laughed, kissing us both full on the lips before getting back into the cab.

We boarded the plane, and waited for takeoff, not speaking. Once we were in the air, I sat back in my seat and gave Mitch a smile.

The lights of the city disappeared quickly underneath us and we flew into the night to a brand new life.

Epilogue

With some of the proceeds from the sale of the Ballroom, we bought a large cabin in Maine. Nestled deep in the forest there, it is a welcome haven, an oasis from the death and destruction we underwent those awful few weeks. Our meager needs are easily supplied, a fully-stocked wine cellar and fully-stocked refrigerator, the bags of blood courtesy of Sam. He has promised to come back with the spring thaw to bring another shipment.

Mitch and I are finally at peace, finally happy. We have each other and we have the vastness of the woods to run, wolf and lynx, when we so choose. The beauty of the night seen from animal eyes is beyond description.

Deer and moose live wild here, they sense our difference, and allow us to approach them, even in animal form, allow us to feed on their blood if we so wish.

Mostly we sit by the fire, staring at the dancing flames. There is no need for speech between the two of us now, so completely are we merged, as if Mitch and I were one body, one soul.

If we desire human contact there is a cabin three miles down the road. A lone woman lives there; she too seems to be around only at night. We know she is there, sitting on her porch, watching the night. We can scent her blood, her perfume, the smoke of her cigarette curling in the cold air and somehow through the darkness she can see us.

Always, when we visit, she shakes her head, amazed at the sight of two such incongruent animals running together. “There’s a story there,” she says, pitches her cigarette onto the ground, goes inside and closes the door, leaving us alone in the night once more.

BLOOD OF MY BLOOD

For my father, Willard R. Gallagher,
with all the love and thanks
a daughter could ever express

Acknowledgments

As always, thanks go out to Pete, Brian and Geoff for their support, encouragement and love and for caring more about the book process than regular dinner hours. Thanks also to Elise and Paul for answering the phone, to the folks at Aspen Systems and Shaw Contract, to Marty for his pyrotechnical expertise, to Lyn just because, to Harold for being a great first reader, to Dave for never doubting I could do it, to Cherry for holding on, to John for remembering, to my dear friends from GEnie, sff.net and dm.net, and to the many readers who asked for more. All of you have made this possible.

Part 1

Chapter 1

The bar was dark. It didn’t matter much, I could see what I needed. Even when the flare of a lighter and thick clovescented smoke caused my eyes to blink and tear, I could see my reflection in the mirror clearly over the bottles. And knew myself for what I was.

The same wasn’t true for my companions; they were too young to see anything at all. They tried and tested life, rejected and embraced ideals. I found them both amusing and tiresome at the same time. But they accepted me fully as the real thing, even when my clothes and actions didn’t always mirror theirs. My life was darkness and darkness was what they said they wanted. Fools. All of them fools.

It was Monday and their night at The Blackened Orchid; they had a different bar for every night of the week. Drink all night and sleep all day seemed to be their motto. Suited me fine, since I only ever saw them once a week. That night they were playing a game; they always played games. I didn’t usually join in, but this one, in particular, interested me. Smiling at my reflection in the mirror, I ran my fingers through my closely cropped red hair, downed my Pernod and knew I’d win.

“Earliest childhood remembrance, right?” The boy who called himself Hyde began. “I guess I was about three and I fell down and cut my knee. I watched the blood run down my leg, and put a finger in it and tasted it and liked it.” He licked his lips and smiled what I guessed he considered a wicked grin. “I liked it a lot and went back for more. Then it started to hurt and I cried. My mother picked me up and cleaned it off; the bandage had pictures on it. But I liked the blood better.”

One after another they told their stories, childhood woes of despair and pain, disillusionment and deaths, grandmothers’ funerals and hospital bleakness. When they had all finished, Hyde turned toward me and touched me, tracing the black rose tattooed on my shoulder. “Okay, Lily, love, your turn. What’s your earliest childhood remembrance?”

A smile twisted my mouth. “Interesting that you should ask, Hyde.” My voice was quiet, pitched almost to a whisper, but they all stopped to listen. From behind the bar, Moon gave me an admonishing glance, but I winked at her and shook my head, sending her the message that it didn’t matter. They’d never believe what I had to say.

“Go on, then, Lily, tell us.”

I looked each of them in the eyes before I started, and when I was sure I held them, I spoke. “One night, my first night of awareness, I wake to darkness and death and the dirt of the grave. How long I’ve been here, inhaling the corrupted odors of the surrounding dead, I don’t know. But I know that I have to get out.”

I paused a bit for effect and Moon filled my glass. As I swallowed it all and continued, the memories took hold and my voice filled with desperation. “I have to get out.” I hissed the words. “Get out. I am suffocating. Dying again. I do not want to die. Not again. I claw through the cheap wood of my coffin, splinters piercing my tender baby hands, blood dripping onto my face and into my mouth as I struggle, blood giving me strength and feeding my desire for freedom. Finally I break out and tunnel through the compacted earth up to the surface. It’s a long way, and I feel like I’ve been digging forever. My shroud eventually falls away in tatters, scraped away by the dirt. And when I emerge into the night, my second birth, I am naked, shining lily white in the light of the moon, squalling after life and the bitch of a mother who left me for dead.”

The bar remained for at least a minute in total silence. Then Jewel began to clap her hands, the dim light catching the sparkle of her silver rings. Eventually the rest of them joined in, until Hyde cleared his throat and licked the tip of his middle finger, tracing a line in the air. It served as a salute and an insult both. “Score one for Lily. A very good story, love.”

From behind the bar Moon chuckled, checked the clock and announced last call. Answered by the standard protests and profanities, she still served them all a final drink with a smile, then verbally pushed them out of the bar when they were done. “Go on now, you’ve all got places to go. So get.”

Hyde lingered longer than the rest, nursing his last drink, casually bumping up against me as if by accident. I didn’t acknowledge him; I just kept my head down, studying the bar and my glass. Finally, when he cleared his throat, I looked up at him. He gave me a twisted smile and I smiled back. He had an interesting face, young but with promise of depth as he grew older. His skin was darker than mine, and his features were a fascinating blend of white and red, reflecting mixed blood somewhere in his not too distant ancestry. His head was shaved on the left side, exposing an ear with a row of studs and hoops, but the rest of his hair hung over his face and his neck like a thick dark veil. We’d been lovers when I first arrived in this city, and I knew he hoped for a repeat of the experience.

Encouraged by my smile, he wrapped an arm around my neck and whispered in my ear. “We’re heading out to the graveyard, love. Come with me. We’ll fuck each other’s brains out on the steps of one of the mausoleums. You won’t be sorry.”

I chuckled deep in my throat. “A charming offer, Hyde. But not tonight. Maybe you can give me a rain check, huh?”

“Aw, Lily, please.” With his pleading he lost all pretense of sophistication, and I could hear the voice of the young boy who’d drunk his own blood so many years ago. “I’ve been dying for a taste of you since that last time.”

I reached up and scratched my nails lightly over the stubble on his cheek. “Well, then you’ll have to die just a little bit more, Hyde. That’s what it’s all about anyway, isn’t it?”

He gave a drunken laugh and dropped his head to lick my tattoo. “If that’s what you want, love. But if you change your mind you know where I’ll be.”

He reached into his pocket and put some money down on the bar. “Night, Moon,” he called as he went out the door to join his friends on their weekly date with death.

I stayed with Moon, staring into the dim mirror over the bar as she completed the washing up, trying to peer into my past, trying to pull answers to my questions out of the air, out of the haunted look that always seemed so deeply set into my eyes. Somewhere, I knew or prayed, there was a woman who could answer all my questions. Not the least of which was “Why?”

My thoughts were broken by the touch of a hand on mine. I looked down. Moon’s skin is so beautiful, I thought, so brown and rich, so much more complete, more satisfying than my own pasty white color. I sighed and she laughed, her broad face shining. “Let’s go home, girl,” she said, “ain’t nothing left to do here.”

We walked the tree-lined streets silently for a while. The air had cooled from the heat of the day and a light breeze wafted the scents of magnolia and wisteria to us. “Ah,” Moon said with a pleased sigh, “a beautiful night, Lily. Almost cool enough to make my cup of tea a welcome event, ain’t it?”

I snorted. “You and your tea, Moon. It’s always a welcome event for you, no matter what the weather.”

“True, child, but on a night when there’s a chill in the air, it’s a blessing, too. And would you look up there at that sky? That sickle moon holding on for dear life? Tomorrow night at this time it’ll just be a memory. And it’ll be colder still. Almost October now.”

I nodded. Another winter on its way. More death for the city.

But she was right, the night was beautiful, and I almost wished I had taken Hyde up on his offer. Moon, as usual, seemed to read my thoughts. “You should’ve gone with your friends, honey. Ain’t nothing to do with an old lady like me.”

“They’re not really my friends, you know that. Besides, you’re not old. How can you be old when I can remember when you were born?”

She shook her head. “The world’s full of wonders, Lily girl, and you’re one of them. Look at you, young and bursting with life, and then look at me, dried up and past sixty years. And you can remember when I was born.”

“But you know how it is, Moon.”

“Lord, yes, child, I know how it is. And I know the sun sets and the moon rises, but it don’t stop me from marveling at how that all works from time to time neither.”

I hugged my bare arms to myself and shivered slightly. “Does it work?” I whispered the words and she didn’t seem to hear.

Instead, she frowned down at me and shook her head, wrapping a fleshy arm around my shoulders. “Cold, honey? I told you to take your jacket, but no, you never listen, do you?”

“Don’t mother me, Moon. I don’t really feel the cold, you know that. I feel . . .” I stopped. Damn it, I thought to myself, I shouldn’t have told that stupid story.

“What do you feel, Lily?”

I snuggled into her warm flesh and wrapped an arm around her waist. I felt lonely. I felt lost. I felt myself a complete misfit, at odds with the rest of the world. But most of all I just felt angry. No one should have to live the way I’d had to: balanced between life and death, not truly human, not truly other. A hybrid mixture. And the worst of both.

“Lily?”

The sympathy and love in her voice brought me back to the world. But I didn’t want her sympathy and love. I didn’t know what I wanted. Didn’t know what I felt. And it didn’t make one damn bit of difference. No one had ever asked me what I wanted. You got what you got. One of the few things I had in common with my friends in this city was the firm conviction that life sucks. They would follow the statement with “then you die.” As for me, well, I wasn’t so sure.

But for them, life was short. I had no doubts about that, having seen foster mothers and friends grow old and die. Suddenly I had a longing for a pair of warm arms around me, a pair of warm lips pressed against mine.

I gave Moon a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I feel like I want to meet Hyde and the others. Don’t wait up for me, okay?”

Chapter 2

One thing I’d noticed in all my travels was that each place had its own distinctive scent. Kansas, where I’d spent most of my first hundred years, had a clean smell, wholesome and pure, with an underlying aroma of cow shit that somehow only added to the ambience for me. Places further south seemed to carry a sultry floral scent, seductive and tempting. This city, this very fine city, was no exception. But underneath the perfume of the people and the flowers and the wine, death and decay were ever present. Despite the guise of carnival, there was a dark element at work, like waking up and finding a finely dressed corpse in bed next to you instead of the lover you thought was there. But, hey, it was home. At least for a while.

When I arrived at the cemetery, I was surprised that the police hadn’t already been called to the scene. Someone had brought a boom box and the wailing of songs about angry young boys and girls echoed from the crumbling tombstones. Couples had already paired off and were in various states of making love. My eyes scanned over them all briefly, searching for Hyde. He was why I’d come, wasn’t he? I needed a panacea for my soul, for quieting my thoughts and my mind. For one night, at least, he could provide.

I found him, sitting alone on the steps of a mausoleum, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, arms hanging down, one hand gripping a bottle neck and the other cupping the inevitable smoke. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and when he raised his head, he saw me. A faint light seemed to glitter in his eyes. He waved and called.

Sighing, I walked over, climbed the steps and flopped down next to him. Hyde wrapped a leather-clad arm around my neck, cigarette dangling from his fingers. He passed me the bottle and I took a large swallow, choking only slightly.

“Jesus, Hyde, what is this stuff?”

“Mad Dog, Lily Love, 20/20. The finest wine available for four dollars.”

I took another drink; it wasn’t so bad the second time around. “Nothing but the best, huh, Hyde?”

He laughed. “Drunk is drunk. And just as drunk regardless of how much you spend.”

“Ah.”

The tape that the others had been playing ran out with a loud click. We sat quietly for a time, the silence punctuated only by moans from some of the couples and by Hyde taking an occasional drag. He didn’t bother to unwrap his arm from my neck to do this, just pulled my head in to rest by his chest while he inhaled. Somehow I didn’t mind. When his cigarette was done, he flicked it out onto the cemetery path and we watched the embers die.

“What’s it all about?” His voice was pitched low so as not to disturb the others around us.

I gave a small chuckle. “Alfie?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, never mind. It’s an old movie, probably about thirty years old or so. I remember watching it when I was younger. It had a song, a good song as I remember.”

“Oh.” He took another drink and tried to hand the bottle back to me.

I shook my head. “No, you drink it, I’ve had enough.”

He put the bottle up to his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “It’s not all that good, anyway. And it’ll just make me sick tomorrow.” He set it down on the step next to him. “I sort of remember that song. Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Sing it for me?”

I laughed. “Right here?”

“Sure, no one cares. Hell, they’re all so involved with each other they wouldn’t know it if all the dead people here got up and danced around.”

“Okay.” I gave him a dubious glance. “Here goes nothing. But stop me when the dead start dancing, okay?”

My voice wavered at first, then grew stronger, asking the questions the piece of sixties music raised. I felt silly singing this song here, although Hyde seemed to hang on my every note as if his life depended on it. At first I thought he was putting me on, feigning the interest, but when I got to the end, he wiped at his eyes.

“Hey.” I reached up and stroked his cheek gently. “I’m not that bad a singer, am I?”

“Nah, you sing good. It was just, I realized when you got halfway through that my mother used to sing me that song. When I was a baby, you know.”

“Why that song?”

“Alfie. It’s my name. Well, Alfred anyway. Only, Mom called me Alfie.” He glared at me as if he expected me to challenge his name.

“Alfred is a perfectly good name. Although Hyde suits you better.”

He grunted just a bit. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

I got up from the steps, brushed off the back of my jeans and held out my hands to him. “Let’s go for a walk. This place depresses me.”

He laughed. “Yeah, you know what? It does me, too. I think I’m getting too old for all this shit.”

I gave him a glance out of the corner of my eye as he took my hand and we walked out. Hyde? Growing up? I shrugged. “Has to happen sooner or later, I guess.”

We strolled aimlessly for a block or two, hand in hand, not speaking. Then I cleared my throat. “S-so,” I stammered, then shivered to disguise the feeling as cold. “Where do you want to go?” I was surprised to find out that I suddenly felt uncomfortable with him. I was used to Hyde the boy, the joker, the one who played games. Tonight he was different. He’d changed. It always amazed me how fast true humans could change. It’d taken me almost a century and a half to reach the ripe old age of nineteen, but they seemed to grow and age and change right before my eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know. We could stop over at my place. We could get a pizza or something and I think I have some beer. Maybe even some more wine.”

I chuckled. “I’ll pass on the wine, if you don’t mind. And probably the pizza. But a beer would taste good.”

“Yeah. And we’ll have it all to ourselves. Ron’s still over at the cemetery.”

“Ah.” I shivered again and he put his arm around me.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to make love, Lily. I won’t pressure you.”

“It’s not that, Hyde. It really isn’t. I think I might want to make love anyway.” I put an arm around his waist and pulled him close to me. “I’ve just been in a strange sort of mood since we were all at the bar.”

He laughed and kissed the top of my head. “I like your strange moods. Good thing, too, ’cause as far as I can tell, you’re always in one.”

“I have a strange life.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m not sure I can.” Or that you’d believe me if I did.

“Whatever.” He bumped his hip over into mine repeatedly until I started giggling and pushed him away playfully. “We don’t have to talk, you know.”

We didn’t talk much at first. When we got to his apartment he didn’t even turn on the lights, but stood behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders, walking me back to his bedroom. He put something on the stereo, lit a few votive candles and sat down next to me on the bed. Once again he ran his finger over the rose tattooed on my shoulder.

“Why a rose, Lily?” he asked softly. “Shouldn’t it be a lily? And a white lily to match the owner?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. It was an impulse decision. It seemed right at the time.” I thought about it for a little bit. “Still does, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, then maybe I should call you Rose.”

I snorted. “If you do, I’ll call you Alfred.”

He pushed me back against the bed, held my shoulders down and moved his legs over to straddle me. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

“Oh.” I smiled up at him. “You think not?”

“Actually,” he said as he ran his hands down from my shoulders, caressing my breasts through the thin T-shirt, teasing my nipples into erectness, “I don’t much care what you call me. I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Oddly enough, Hyde, so am I.”

Afterward, I realized that he had changed. The first time we’d made love, he’d been awkward, unsure of himself, unsure of what to do with my body and his. This time, he had been smooth and flawless, from the time he stripped me bare to the last few little shudders we both gave when I raked my nails over his shoulders and back. He rolled from me with a sigh, leaned over to deposit a light kiss on my shoulder and stretched out on the bed next to me, his naked body barely grazing mine.

I felt like I was glowing down to my toes. “Why don’t we do this more often?” I asked, resting on one elbow and brushing his hair away from his face. “It was wonderful.”

“That’s a question I’ve asked myself many times, Lily Love. You tell me.”

I giggled. “Because I kept saying no?”

He tilted his head to one side and smiled. “Yep, that’d be it. Now, how about that pizza and beer?”

I managed to eat one piece of the pizza, and did better than that with the beer. I could eat solid food, but generally preferred a liquid diet. Once I’d recognized the fact that I was different from other people, somewhere around the biological age of seven or so, I’d tried to force myself to grow. Gorging on everything I could find, I only succeeded in making myself deathly ill for a week. I never tried the experiment again.

Hyde didn’t seem to suffer from anything worse than a healthy appetite, and he didn’t seem to mind that I ate very little. “More for me,” he mumbled around a mouthful when I refused a second piece. “Although it wouldn’t hurt for you to have just a little more meat on your bones.”

“I noticed you weren’t complaining about that a little bit ago.”

“Probably not. Why would I? You’re a beautiful woman, Lily. Perfect just the way you are. As skinny as an alley cat and twice as horny.”

I rolled up my napkin and tossed it at him, hitting him square on the forehead. “Thanks a lot, Hyde. Although, at least you have the good sense to call me a woman and not a girl.”

He finished the last slice of pizza and wiped his mouth on the napkin I’d thrown. “I think, somehow, it’s been a long, long time since you were a girl.”

“Really.” My tone of voice was evasive. I avoided his eyes and got up, picking up the empty pizza box and carrying it to the kitchen. When I came back he was sitting on the couch, still regarding me with a faintly puzzled look.

“Hyde, you said your mother called you Alfie. What does she call you now?”

“She doesn’t call me anything anymore.”

“You don’t speak to her?”

He gave me a funny lopsided grin. “I guess I could, but it wouldn’t do much good. She’s dead. Been dead for about three years now.”

“Oh,” I said, wishing that I hadn’t steered the subject in this direction. I could hear the sadness in his voice. “I’m really sorry to hear that. She must have been young. And it must have been a shock. For you, I mean.”

“Nah, it’s okay. It wasn’t too bad, as these things go, I guess. She had cancer, but she didn’t linger. And she didn’t even seem to suffer too much.”

We sat silent for a while. He stared at me, cleared his throat and looked away. “So,” he said, glancing back at me, this time catching and holding my attention, “what about you? I got the feeling from the story you told that you don’t get along with your mother. She still around?”

“My mother?”

“Yeah.”

“My mother?” My voice rose a little hysterically. “How the hell would I know? I never knew the bitch, but I assume she’s still around. And I doubt she’ll ever do me the favor and die.”

“Hey, Lily, calm down. I was only asking.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you, Hyde. It’s just not a good situation.”

Hyde shrugged. “Like me and my dad. Yeah, I know how it is. But everyone dies sometime, Lily. You’re just saying all of this because you feel like you’re inferior or something, because you weren’t important enough to her. Obviously, she abandoned you when you were just a baby. I could recognize the truth under that goofy story from the bar.”

“No, Hyde, I’m saying it because it’s true. It’s all true. I woke up in the grave, the premature grave she consigned me to. She gave birth to me and then she walked away and let them bury me. She didn’t even stop to see if I was breathing, didn’t even stop long enough to see if I was alive. That’s how fucking important I am to her. I bet she doesn’t even remember having me.”

“Of course she remembers having you, Lily.” He reached up and pulled me down so that I was sitting on his lap. “You’re hurt and upset and that’s perfectly understandable. You don’t need to embellish your story to impress me. I like you anyway.”

If his words were supposed to be calming, they had the opposite effect. I pushed away from him and stood in front of the couch, glaring down at him. “It’s not a story, Hyde. How many times do I have to say that?”

“It’s okay, Lily. Say it as often as you need to. I don’t mind.”

I gave a little exasperated scream. “It’s not a question of need. It’s the truth. My bitch of a mother left me for dead. And what’s worse? She may never die. Ever. You see, she’s a vampire.”

Chapter 3

Hyde’s mouth dropped open and he stared at me in shock for a second, before he shook himself and smiled. “Yeah, I understand. You mean she’s like a vampire, you know, figuratively?”

I shook my head. I didn’t even know why we were having this conversation. It didn’t change anything. But I laughed unpleasantly and continued. “No, I meant what I said. She is a vampire. Period. Not just that she acts like one, although”—and my mouth twisted in a wry smile—“I guess she must act like one on occasion. She’d have to, wouldn’t she? But other than that, she is really and truly a vampire.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t believe me.” It was not a question. “I might’ve thought that you would at least hold out a semblance of belief. Ever since I’ve known you, you and the others have been playing at life and death, playing vampire. You talk incessantly about taking and drinking blood; you stay up all night and avoid the sunlight. I guess it never occurred to any of you that you might be imitating something more real than pulp novels and cheap movies.” I sat back down on the couch and he put his arm around me.

“Well,” he said, giving me a weak grin, “I know how you are, Lily. I know you can spin a story and have even the smartest of us believing it. So when you ask me if I believe that your mother is a vampire, I have to say no. And if you were to ask if I believed in vampires in general?” He shook his head. “In a word? No.”

“Ah. Okay then.” I gave it up; there was no use in trying to convince him. “But I had you going for a while, didn’t I?”

Hyde leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Do you really want to know?”

I nodded.

“It’s a hell of a good story, Lily, but once again the answer is no.”

I shrugged. “All right. Have it your way. We’ll give it a rest. It’s been a wonderful evening, Hyde. I’m sorry I spoiled it with talk. Would you walk me home?”

“Of course,” he said. “And you didn’t spoil a thing, Lily. I love the sound of your voice. And as a matter of fact, I think I love you.”

I blinked. “Yeah. Right. Let’s get going, Moon will be waiting for me.”

“You told him what?” Moon was angry.

“I told him the truth. You know I did. Same as I told the truth in the bar tonight. He didn’t believe me. They didn’t believe me. Why would they?”

“Even so, Lily, honey, you can’t go around telling everyone your mother’s a vampire. They’ll think you crazed. Besides, no one really knows for sure what your mother was.”

“Philomena knew. When she found me in the cemetery that night, she knew. And I listened to her when she talked about it to others. She knew.”

Moon nodded. “Gramma Philomeen was a wise woman. So I guess if she said that’s how it was, that’s how it is.” She got up from her chair. “You want a cup of tea, Lily? My old bones got awful cold waiting for your young ones to get home.”

I laughed. “I told you not to wait, Moon. But yes, I’ll have a cup of tea.”

“What else do I have to do but wait, child?” she said as she walked into the small kitchen. “I don’t sleep so well these days, anyway.”

While she was fussing in the kitchen, I went to my room and took off my clothes. On my way to the dresser to get my nightgown I paused at the mirror. My body was flawless, as white as polished marble and just as cold. I squinted at my reflection, as always, thinking she might look just like this. Then I shook my head, put on my gown and went back into the living room.

Moon set a mug next to my chair and settled back into hers. Taking a sip from her cup, she glanced over at me. “But you had a good time with him, yes?”

“With who?”

“Hyde. You like him, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose so. He’s changed. Or changing. Anyway, I think he likes me more than I like him.”

“Nothing wrong with that, Lily. Comes a time a girl thinks of moving away from her folks and getting on with life. And you are certainly old enough.” She laughed, then grew serious. “You’ll need someone to take care of you, once I’m gone.”

“Gone? Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Don’t pay any attention to me, girl. I’m just feeling old and cold.” She paused for a minute, shivered, then took another swallow of tea. “So, was it like the way you told it? Tonight in the bar?”

“Yes, it was. If I close my eyes and think about it, I can remember. And, you know, I don’t want to remember.”

“Ah. I can well understand that, honey. It’s not a pleasant thing to look back on. Still, you are here now. And I love my Lily child. You are my comfort.”

I snorted, trying to think how I could be her comfort. I had teased her from the day she was born, to the point now that few people remembered her given name. I’d grasped at her first childish attempt to say her given name, and she had become Moon. I teased her now, even when it seemed our roles had reversed. I’d been a moody, willful child, and an angry and resentful teen, attempting to adjust my old knowledge to a body that developed painfully and slowly, chafing constantly under the restrictions placed on me by my perceived age. “I must be a cold comfort, then, Moon, and you could do better. Why did you never marry?”

She shrugged. “Never got around to it. You were a handful; it’s not easy raising a child that takes ten years or more to grow one year. And besides”—she leaned forward and gave a girlish giggle—“the only man who ever asked me was Bowlegged ’Lo.”

I laughed with her. “Bowlegged ’Lo? Angelo asked you to marry him? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Sure as I sit here, Lily. He wasn’t a bad-looking man, really, when he was younger. But Mama would have no part of him. ‘He’s got evil eyes and bad legs, Mary Lou,’ she’d say. ‘No girl of mine is going to give herself to that bastard bokor.’”I could hear her mother’s voice as she spat the word. “Why, he even followed us around for years so he could be with me, hoping Mama would change her mind.” Moon settled back into her chair, fanning herself with her hand. “It wasn’t no use. But bad legs or not, oh, girl, how that man could kiss. I was real crazy about him for a while, but then Mama died and I got you and he quit asking.”

“Still, you had no daughters. And there have always been daughters.”

“I have you. And that’s enough for me.” She set her mug down and got up, laughing. “More than enough, actually. And the time comes sooner or later when it all has to end. Get some sleep, Lily.” She moved over to me and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Moon.”

I sat for a while, flipping through the television channels. Nothing was on, as usual. Turning the set off, I wondered what Hyde was doing right now. Sleeping. Probably snoring. Or maybe he’d gone back to the cemetery with the other kids. I hummed his song idly and opened the box that contained Moon’s caracoles: the twenty-one small cowrie shells that told her the future.

They were worn from years of use, having been handed down mother to daughter starting with Philomena. Much like I had been. But these, at least, served a purpose. From my cradle I had watched Philomena cast these for her clients, foretelling their future, guiding them as well as she could. And since the fortunes would always come true, the shells would bring us gifts: food, money, clothes and trinkets. Philomena refused to train me in the art. “You have other powers, baby,” she’d say, “no need to be mixing them up.” But even forbidden, I had watched and I had learned. I separated five from the group that would not be cast, and cupped the other sixteen in my hands, holding them to my mouth and breathing my question into them.

“Is it time?”

As I dropped them, I knew by the way they fell that the answer was the same as always.

“No, the time is wrong.”

“Thanks so much.” I put them back into their box and closed the lid. “And what a surprising answer.”

Moon called out from her room. “Put those things away, Lily. They’ve got nothing good to say for themselves tonight.” I should have known she wouldn’t yet be sleeping. Had I been caught with the shells by Philomena, I’d have had a lecture to look forward to. But Moon was more at ease with her rituals and her religion. More at ease with me. “And you get yourself to bed now, hear?”

I sighed. Over a century lived with nothing to show for it but the same unanswered questions. It would never be time. “Okay, Moon. I’m going.”

I lay in bed for a while, watching the patterns of shadows on the ceiling, counting years instead of sheep. So many years stacked up behind me. So many stretched out ahead of me. And still, to the outside world, I was nothing but a scrawny young woman, barely out of her teens. Moon and I had once played with a politically correct term for what I was; temporally challenged was the best we’d come up with. But there were no help groups for me, no twelve-step program to make me normal. I was what I was. And I hated every long minute of it. All the decades of school, learning the same facts time and again, until I knew them better than my teachers, only to start over with each new move. And it was as much or more of a nightmare for my keepers as it was for me. Having to move every five or six years had taken its toll on their patience and their finances. Now, at least, I had achieved a maturity of body, which meant that Moon and I could stay here in this place for a longer period of time.

Poor Moon. She did not even have the luxury of love and children to make it worth her while. She should have married ’Lo anyway, I thought, bad legs or not.

I sighed and rolled over on my side. Just before I drifted off, I said the names of all the women who had been my mothers and whispered a prayer for their spirits, those lovely spirits who had sacrificed much to keep me safe. Each name, each face, each voice that had sung me to sleep, the arms that had held me and rocked me and tried to give me love; all were carried deep within me. But following the list, there was always the nameless one. The bitch who birthed me and left me for dead. The one who made me what I was. I cursed her life, prayed for her death and fell asleep into bitter dreams of betrayal and the stench of the grave.

Chapter 4

“Wake up, Lily Love, I’ve brought you a present.”

I pulled the blanket up over my head. “Go away,” I muttered, waving a hand imperiously at whatever annoying person dared to bother me.

“But it’s a pretty present and you’ll like it. Come on, Lily, it’s a wonderful day outside.”

“Hyde?” I squinted out from under my covers. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Moon let me in. And she says it’s high time you were out of bed anyway.”

I groaned. “Hyde, go away. I hate mornings.”

“Well, then”—he tugged at my toes—“you’re in luck. It’s not morning anymore.”

I sighed and rolled over, trying to fall asleep again. But I could still feel his presence. Sitting up, I stretched and yawned. “Okay, okay, I’m up.” I glared at him and then opened my eyes wide. “Jesus, Hyde, what the hell did you do to yourself?”

He rubbed his hand over his hair. “I got a haircut,” he said, blushing slightly.

I crawled out of bed and touched his closely shaved head. “What did you do? Join the Marines?”

He laughed. “Nope, Lily, it’s worse than that. I have a job now; I’m working at my father’s shop.”

“Working? But you always said you were never going to support society by buying into the system.”

Hyde shrugged. “It’s only my father’s shop, Lily. I’ll be learning to be a mechanic; it’s a good skill. And besides, I said that years ago, when we were just kids. I’m surprised you even remember.”

I gave him a twisted smile. “I remember everything, Hyde, you should know that by now. And speaking of remembering, where’s my present?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, square black box. “It’s not much, really, just a token. Dad was so happy when I told him I was coming into the business, he gave me a little money to live on until payday. And I saw this in the window of the jewelry store, the one next to the bar, and thought of you.”

I opened the box. It contained a small silver ring, in the shape of a lily. “Oh, that’s lovely, Hyde, thank you.”

“Go ahead, put it on. I want to see it on your hand.”

I gave him a hesitant glance. He’d changed so much since we’d known each other. And I wondered what this was a token of. Esteem? Love?

“Jesus, Lily, just put the damned thing on. It won’t bite.” He took the box out of my hand, pulled the ring out and pushed it onto my right ring finger. “There, see? A perfect fit.”

I held my hand out, admiring it. Then smiled at him and gave him a hug, not so much for the present as for his picking the right hand.

He kissed the top of my ear. “I’m glad you like it, babe. Someday, maybe I’ll get you another for the other hand.”

I pulled away from him and changed the subject. “So when do you start your job?”

Hyde looked at his watch. “In about twenty minutes, actually, so I’d better get moving. You going to be at the bar tonight? I’ll pick you and Moon up and walk you home.”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

He gave me one more kiss, this time on the tip of my nose, and went back out of the room. “Later, Lily.”

I walked out into the kitchen and sat down at the small table. Moon handed me a mug of coffee and I looked up at her.

“Who was that man?” I said. “He sort of looked like Hyde, but I don’t know him.”

Moon chuckled. “He’s growing up, Lily. Got himself a new haircut, a new job and a beautiful little girl. I expect he feels pretty good right about now.”

“And I feel like shit. He bought me a ring, Moon.”

She leaned over me. “So I see. It’s very pretty.”

I gave a little smile. “Yes, it is. But what am I going to do with him?”

“Love him if you can. And if you can’t, you send him on his way as graciously as possible. He’d take good care of you, Lily.”

“But I have you, Moon. And besides, I’m way more than old enough to take care of myself.”

She turned back to the sink and continued washing dishes. “That may well be true, Lily. But until I can scrape the money together for another set of identifications for you, you’ll have to take care of yourself without a job. And if something should happen to me, I’d like to be sure you’ll be okay. It’s what I’ve lived my life for, after all.”

Moon finished drying the last dish and turned around, towel in hand. “Now, let’s not worry about this. You going to wait some tables for me today?”

“Sure, why not?” I got up and stretched. “Tips are usually good. I guess I’d better start earning my keep before you marry me off to Hyde.”

She laughed. “So go get yourself dressed and be quick about it. I don’t want to open up late.”

Moon usually tended bar with the same quiet confidence as she approached everything else in her life. Considered one of the best bartenders in the Quarter, she was also among the few to be mentioned by name in one of those prestigious travel magazines. Unlike other tourist bars in the area, The Blackened Orchid did not provide music other than the blare of the jukebox. Instead, we relied on solid and simple food, a good selection of wine and the atmosphere that Moon provided to attract and keep our clientele. On slow nights, Moon would often cast her shells for customers or read their palms.

I watched her, as I always did, in between carrying trays of drinks and blackened steaks to my tables. Secure in who she was, Moon was beautiful. Her smile lit up her entire body and made one feel blessed. I loved her, more than Philomena and any of her descendants, perhaps because she had not been distracted by marriage and children of her own. For Moon, my care was not a burden accepted in the name of duty. It was something done of love.

Tonight, though, she seemed nervous and moody. Close to tears, she struggled to deal with a situation she normally dealt with easily by a smile or a joke. “Harry”—her voice quavered as she called to the bouncer—“get this gang of young hoodlums out of my bar. Now! And I don’t ever want them in here again. They’re nothing but trash. And underage trash at that. Out!” She flicked a towel at them, shooing them like chickens. “Out!”

They yelled obscenities back at her while Harry pushed them out. “You fat old bitch,” one of them screamed, his pasty face reddening with anger, “you’ll be sorry you fucked with us.”

Moon lost her temper completely. “Any woman would be sorry to admit that, boys.” She continued to scream even though they’d gone. “No woman in her right mind would let you near. Not that boys like you can do much more than talk about it.”

I went over to her and put an arm around her. “It’s okay, Moon, they’re out of here. What on earth did they do?”

“They were saying how they’d like to . . .” She gave me a quick glance and then just as quickly looked away again. “Nothing, really, Lily. Don’t pay me any mind. I’m just all unsettled tonight.” She waved to Harry. “Come on over here, honey, and tend the bar for me. I need to go wash up after dealing with that dirty trash.” She ran from the room; the tears on her cheeks glistened in the light as she pushed open the kitchen doors.

I caught Harry’s eye and he shrugged. “Just a bad night, Lily,” he said. “Let it go.”

Hyde showed up, as promised, just around last call. Moon, having calmed somewhat, although not without considerable damage to the glassware, greeted him warmly, displaying more enthusiasm than she’d had all evening. Still, I thought that she dawdled at the bar, taking much longer than normal to do the closing tasks. She chattered at Hyde while she worked, asking him questions about his first day at work. And he told stories of the people who’d come in and the crazy way they’d acted.

Looking back now, I recall that they laughed a lot together. But I didn’t join in. I didn’t pay them much attention at all. Instead I listened to the night. It whispered darkness and anger and danger. Since the altercation between Moon and the young men, I had grown increasingly nervous. I had even sent Harry out several times to make sure they had gone. With each of his reassurances that everything was fine, Moon relaxed. And I had tightened up inside, until every muscle in my body was tense. By the time Moon was ready to go, I was so edgy I wanted to scream.

“Lily?” Hyde touched me on the shoulder and I jumped.

“Don’t pay any mind to her, Alfred,” Moon said. “She’s nervous as a cat tonight. We had a run-in with some trash tonight and it put her off.”

I stood up and stretched my neck, trying to loosen the tenseness. “Me? And who’s the one breaking all the glasses tonight?”

“That’s neither here nor there. I’m just a clumsy old lady, Lily. Let’s go home.”

Still, I hesitated at the doorway. The streets were quiet and dark. I did not want to go out onto them. “Can’t we just stay here?”

Moon took my arm. “I want some rest, Lily. I can hear my bed calling to me from here.” Leaning over me, she whispered in my ear, “And what will happen, will happen, my Lily child. You can’t hold it back. Besides,” she said louder now, “we have your fine young man to protect us.”

I looked over at Hyde. “He’s not my young man.”

“Well, if you were to ask me, he should be.” She pulled me out onto the sidewalk and started to lock the door, but stopped abruptly. “Lord, what’s wrong with me tonight? I forgot the shells. You two wait here and I’ll be right back.”

Hyde pulled me into his arms and gave me a long, passionate kiss, his tongue lightly grazing my lips. “Think she’ll let me stay the night?” he whispered.

I laughed. “Maybe she will. But I’m not sure I will.”

“Aw, Lily, you heard Moon. I’m your young man now.”

“So she says. Don’t I have anything to say about it?”

“Of course you do.” He hugged me close to him. “And I hope it’ll be yes again.”

I smiled, thinking how nice it was last night. At least before we started talking. “I’ll think about it, Hyde.”

Moon came out and locked the door, giving Hyde a quick wink. “Can’t forget the shells, now, can I?” she said, putting the box into her apron pocket. “How can I tell the future of you young folks without my shells?”

“Future?” I asked. “Who said anything about the future?”

“Well,” Moon said, “someone should be talking about it. So I’ll just walk ahead and let the two of you work it out. Don’t be too long, though. I’ll want that cup of tea with you both tonight.”

She headed out at a quick pace. Hyde put his arm around my shoulder and began leading me in the same direction. I looked up at the sky as we walked. “No moon tonight,” I said quietly. “It’s such a dark and evil world without it.”

Hyde snorted. “Nothing evil about the phases of the moon, Lily. What’s gotten into you tonight?”

“Nothing,” I said, walking a bit quicker now to catch us up with Moon. “It was a pretty ugly scene tonight. I don’t like that.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re sensitive.” Hyde kissed the top of my head just as Moon turned the corner.

I heard the scuttling of feet and her muffled scream. “Moon!” I called, and tried to break away from Hyde’s arm.

He pushed me away with so much force that I fell to my knees. “Stay here, Lily.” To my surprise, he reached into his boot, pulled out a large knife and ran to the corner.

“The hell I will.” I got up off the sidewalk and ran after him.

Moon lay on the sidewalk still and quiet, as one of the men from the bar rifled through her wallet; the other two circled Hyde, switchblades out. I didn’t stop to think or reason. Instantly I launched myself at the man with the wallet, grabbed him by the waist and threw him down to the pavement. He bounced and groaned, until I kicked him in the stomach as hard as I could. His body rose up off the ground and then settled back down about a foot away and he was silent. I dropped down next to Moon, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She’d been stabbed and the blood pooled around her body. Her eyes were open and glazed over. The shells from the box had scattered around her, some covered with her blood, but still easily readable, the last fortune she’d ever cast.

Unheeding of my surroundings, I moaned in disbelief at what the caracoles had to tell.

“Lily, run!” I turned away from Moon and saw Hyde doubled over; the men were laughing and their blades dripped blood. When Hyde hit the ground they turned to me. “Lookie here,” one of them said, “we got us a bonus.”

I faced them, standing slowly and deliberately, and snarled. “Bonus, my ass. What you’ve got is trouble.”

They came toward me, closing their knives and putting them back into their pockets. “We like trouble, bitch, and we like ass.” One of them started to unbuckle his belt; the other smoothed back his greasy blond hair. “And we think we’re really going to like yours.”

“Moon was right, you know,” I taunted them, “you really are nothing but fucking trash. So you want me? Hell, who am I to say no? I’ll even meet you halfway.”

My arm shot out and grabbed the closest one by the elbow. I snapped him around and slammed him up against the brick wall. The street seemed to echo the cracking of his bones; he twitched once and lay still. His friend took one look, turned around and ran like all the demons of Hell followed.

I let him go and went over to Hyde. He opened his eyes for a second, his teeth bared in a terrible parody of a smile. He tried to talk, I think, but what he was saying, I never knew. The words garbled up in his throat and blood trickled out of his mouth.

Then he was gone. And I was alone, totally alone, for the first time in over a century. Alone and almost as helpless as the baby Philomena rescued from the cemetery.

I smoothed back his short hair and wiped the blood from his mouth. Then, on hands and knees, I crawled over to Moon’s body, ignoring the way my knees scraped against the rough concrete of the sidewalk. I held her cold hand and picked up the scattered shells, putting them one by one into my pocket, cursing the twofold message they foretold.

“The cost is great.”

“The time is now.’

Chapter 5

When the police arrived, they found me incoherent and hysterical, babbling on about wasted lives and bloody hands. They assumed I was in shock. In reality, their arrival brought me back to myself, but I continued the act. No one would expect the eyewitness of such an attack to make sense. I needed time to rehearse in my mind the story I would tell; I had, after all, killed two men, in a rather incredible manner. I had no desire to start out a new life in jail.

It soon became apparent that I wouldn’t be required to tell much of a story at all. The whole event seemed self-evident to them; we’d been attacked and Hyde had killed two of the assailants before he died. I latched on to their theory and reinforced it with nods and sobs. The only other living witness was not likely to come along and set the record straight.

So, after answering their questions and making my statement, after watching them cover and carry off the bodies of the only two people I’d had in this world, I was finally free to go. It was almost dawn when they loaded me ever so gently into a police car and drove me home.

One of the men took my keys from my hand and opened the door for me. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked. “I can take you somewhere else, if you like. I still think you should go to the hospital and . . .”

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine, Officer.” I turned my head away from him so he couldn’t see my unnaturally dry eyes. The last thing I needed now was to be burdened with more of his assistance. “I really have no other place to go. But I will be fine, thank you.” I shut the door, then leaned up against it.

Drawing in one ragged breath after another, I attempted to hold myself together. I had arrangements to make, I reminded myself; it was important for me to stay in control. And I’d been so used to my guardians dying; this was just one more to add to the list.

“But,” I said aloud to the now-empty house, my voice quivering, “this was Moon. And Hyde.”

Walking into the living room, I stopped in front of the shrine of her patron saint. “You had no right,” I told the statue of St. Barbara, “you had no right to take her away, to take them away. They were all I had. I was all Moon had. What will she do without me? And what will I do?” I picked up the statue and thought to throw it on the floor. But just the feel of it was comforting; warm to the touch and familiar, it was part of Moon and breaking it would hurt her. Instead, I sank to my knees and cradled it like a baby, rocking back and forth, staring at the statue’s face until I couldn’t see it anymore. But there were no tears.

At some point in my misery I must’ve curled up and slept. I dreamed that Moon came and stood over me, taking the statue out of my arms and placing it back on the altar. She bent over and smoothed my hair and whispered again the words she said outside the bar door. “What will happen, will happen, my Lily child. Even you can’t hold it back.”

“But, Moon,” I said in the dream, “if you knew this was going to happen, why didn’t you try to stop it? You walked right into it.”

“Hush, child.” She ran the back of her hand along my cheek. “It will all work out. You’ll see. It always does.”

Because it was a dream and because she was with me, I was comforted and slept on.

The phone woke me. Bleary-eyed, I peered at the clock; I’d slept for about three hours, just enough to leave me miserable and craving more.

I got up off the floor and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Lily?” I didn’t recognize the voice. Must be a policeman, I thought.

“Speaking.”

There was a pause. The man on the other end of the line cleared his throat. “This is John Shepard. Alfred’s father.”

“Alfred?” I shook my head. Who the hell is Alfred? Then I remembered. Hyde. “Oh, yes, Alfred.” I took a deep breath. “Oh, Mr. Shepard, I’m so very sorry.”

“They said you were there? Can we talk about it?”

“Of course,” I started, “there had been a disturbance earlier, you see . . .”

“No, not on the phone.” His voice was hoarse. “The boy deserves better than that. Can I come and see you?”

“Of course.” I gave him the address, asked him to give me about an hour and said good-bye.

I wandered into my bedroom, aimlessly, with absolutely no idea what to do with myself. Totally unprepared for a life alone, I couldn’t bear to think of all the things I’d longed to do once on my own. And I would have given up every single one of my dreams for the sight of Moon walking in the front door.

“But it’s not going to happen, Lily.” I looked at myself in the mirror. “Moon is dead. Hyde is dead. Two other people you don’t even know are dead. All because of her. Your mother.” I spat the word and watched my eyes narrow in the mirror. “I hate her, whoever and wherever she is. But I will find her. And I will get my revenge.”

Stripping off my waitressing clothes, I walked down the hall to the bathroom. I lingered in the shower longer than necessary for cleaning my body; I stood for a long time, my head pressed up against the smooth shower wall, and let the water wash over me, let the hot stream release the tensions and aches. But the water did nothing to loosen the bitter tears I knew were trapped inside, did nothing to release the hard little knot that had tied itself around my heart last night. Was it from seeing Moon and Hyde dead on the sidewalk? Or was it from finding out I could kill? And kill with precision and elation?

I searched my memories for other occasions when I’d used this sort of force, and found nothing. I had never been in a similar situation before; my caregivers had seen to that. I’d led an incredibly long but sheltered life. And I had been taught from the minute Philomena found me that aggressive physical action against others was wrong. Had she known the extent of my true powers and established this taboo early on for the protection of all? Or for my protection?

“It doesn’t matter now,” I said, turning off the cooling water. “They’re all gone.”

I heard the doorbell ring as I was toweling myself off. “Hold on a minute,” I called. “I’ll be right out.”

I put on some clean underwear, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. For just a second I pulled the shirt up to my nose and sniffed. Moon had always done the laundry and made sure my clothes were clean and sweet-smelling. She’d even taken to putting lavender sachets in with the clothes when she put them away. It was a comforting and soothing smell.

I stopped by the bathroom and picked up another towel, rubbing my hair with it on the way to the door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see someone other than Mr. Shepard standing there.

“Hello, Angelo.”

“Miss Lily.” He doffed his hat to me and gave a sad little smile. “I heard what happened to Moon and that young man, and come to offer my sympathies. May I come in?”

“Well.” I looked at him, this wrinkled old toad of a man, and I was barely able to control a giggle, remembering how Moon had spoken of him. “For a while, I guess. I’m expecting someone.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, that young man’s father. He was here when I show up, sort of skulkin’ outside the door, afraid to ring the bell, Bible in hand, all sorrowful eyes and hound-dog ears hangin’ down. I can tell, he just want someone to tell him it’s not his fault. So me, I sent him away for a while.”

“You sent him away?” I opened the door wider and Angelo walked in, hanging his straw hat on the rack as he passed. “What do you mean you sent him away?”

Angelo winked at me. “You know, I cause him to remember something important he needed to do back home. He get there, he’ll wonder what it was.” He threw back his head and laughed; it had a dry, humorless sound. “Some of them is so easy to turn, it seems a crime not to.”

“Ah.” I motioned with my arm. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll fix us a cup of tea.”

“Not got nothing stronger?”

I raised my eyebrows. “So who’s got sorrowful eyes now? I’ll see what Moon has put aside.”

He followed me into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “Ain’t Moon’s stuff anymore, child, it’s yours. And I figure you’re plenty old enough to pass out the booze. How old are you now, anyway?”

I pulled a bottle of sherry out from under the sink and held it out for his approval. “I’m nineteen or so, ’Lo, you know that.”

Angelo nodded, and I filled a small juice glass and handed it to him. He drank half of it down. “Shit, missy, you been nineteen for a long time now. Ain’t no need to prevaricate for me. I was almost your stepdaddy, after all. I know the score, I do.”

“I’m sure you do.” I hesitated, then took another juice glass from the cupboard and sat down at the table with him, filling both glasses. “Okay, so I’m almost a century and a half old. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He shook his head and gave a long, low whistle. “I knew you was different, but I didn’t know how much. One hundred and fifty years old and never been on your own?” He finished his glass and poured himself another, then reached across the table and patted my hand. “Don’t you worry, Miss Lily, I’ll take care of you now. I figure I owe it to Moon.”

I stood up, leaned over the table and stared him down. “Jesus Christ, Angelo, you act like I was five years old and not very bright. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I don’t want anyone to take care of me.”

“Independence. I like that. It’s a good thing. But you be needing some help, I think, with the funeral and such?”

I sighed. “Yes,” I admitted, “before there was always someone else to take care of it. I don’t know what to do.”

“Then you just leave it to ol’ Bowlegged ’Lo. I’ll see that Moon goes out right. Her mama never thought I was good enough”—he gave a low laugh—“and maybe she was right. But I loved that girl. Ah, she had a smile that could light the world and make a bad man good. No tellin’ what sort I’d have been if she’d had me.” He wiped at his eyes and I had to look away, ashamed that this wizened old reptile could cry and I couldn’t. Where were my tears?

After a while, he reached over and touched my hand again. “Ah, well, the dead are dead. And we are left behind to live. But I can be a help to you, Miss Lily. Just tell me what you want.”

“What?”

“You said you don’t want no one taking care of you. So what do you want?” His eyes were bright with tears, but eager and searching.

I sat back down at the table again and drained my glass. “I want to find my mother, my real mother.”

“I can help with that. Already know some stuff, yes, I do. And when you find her? What then?”

I looked him dead in the eye so that there would be no mistaking my intent. “And when I find her, I will make her pay.”

Chapter 6

Since I was an aleyo, not an initiate on any level, I was required to wait outside the mortuary doors while Moon’s ceremony was held. Angelo sat and kept me company, though, and gave me a running commentary on what was happening. I didn’t listen; I didn’t care. Moon was dead and gone; nothing they said or did would bring her back. And after going through similar ceremonies for other mothers I had lost, I knew the routine by now. They would bathe her, purify the body and clothe it in her initiation robes. The spirits that had been with her in her life would be asked if they wished to stay or to go with her. Shells would be cast and read. A black chicken would be killed and they would sprinkle the blood over the funeral gourd filled with bits of food and ashes. Then they would moan and chant and cry, bidding farewell to their sister.

I knew the ceremony well enough. And it gave no comfort. When I heard the series of three loud knocks on one of the inner walls, I knew that the service was almost over.

“They goin’ soon,” Angelo said unnecessarily, “and she goin’ with them. Now we take the old used shell to the cemetery.”

I gave a relieved sigh and stood up, smoothing the skirt of my black dress and picking up my purse. “These things seem longer each time I go to one. And after all these years, one would think they’d let me go in.”

Angelo looked up at me. “They don’t know nothin’ about all your years, girl.”

After the procession, I stood at her grave and watched them lower her into the ground. I had no tears to cry; instead I stood tall and pale amidst her weeping friends. One by one they stopped in front of me, some with a kind word, some with just a nod. Two handed me trinkets, a set of red beads and a white plate, souvenirs from the ceremony I’d been barred from. Soon only Angelo and I remained at the grave site. I gestured around me. “All these graves,” I said quietly, but not caring if I was heard. “All this death, all this sadness. And it hasn’t touched me. Will it ever?”

Angelo sidled up next to me. “A better question, Miss Lily, is why would you want that touch? You’re perfection—ageless, graceful, beautiful.”

I shook my head. “So are the goddamned statues here, ’Lo.” I gave a bitter laugh. “And they probably know more about life than I do. Hell, even you probably know more about life than I do. What do you want with me?”

“I told you. I want to help you.”

“But why? And don’t tell me it’s for Moon.” I pointed to the open grave. “She’s beyond caring or knowing.”

“That may be, Missy, or it may not be. You want I tell it straight?”

“Yeah.”

He pulled himself up to a height I’d not have thought his wizened body capable of. He seemed to stand straighter, prouder, almost defiant. “I one of the best mayomberos alive in the world today. Baptized or unbaptized. I have power, I like power; I am drawn to it like iron shavings to a magnet. And you, Miss Lily”—he shrank back down a bit, as if in deference to me—”you have powers like I never seen. Unskilled, undeveloped, but so strong I can smell them.” He sniffed to emphasize his point. “Oh, yes, they be strong. And I can teach you to use them. To get what you want in life.”

“And what exactly do you get out of it, Angelo?”

“I learn about you. Maybe some of that beauty and grace you don’ want will rub off on old Bowlegged ’Lo. Maybe I learn to live a very long time. Maybe I get nothin’ but the thrill of the tryin’.”

I sighed. “Can we talk about this later? I’m tired, Angelo. And I want to go home.”

Angelo must have given Mr. Shepard a suggestion to end all suggestions, since he never returned to the house. I finally met him at Hyde’s funeral service two days following Moon’s. He was very much like Angelo described, eaten up with guilt inside and sorrowful as a whipped dog. I half expected him to put his head back and howl while the congregation sang “Amazing Grace.” Trying to stave off an attack of the giggles, I threw myself into the singing of the song. It had always been one of my favorites; so many of my mothers had rocked me to sleep singing it. By the time the hymn ended, though, I had no desire to laugh. All those wasted lives over the years. I had lost too many mothers, I thought angrily, and too many friends. It’s time for a reckoning.

I stood biting my lip and clenching my fists as they carried the coffin out of the church. The rest of the congregation filed out around me until I was alone. Let them go without me, I thought. I’ve no desire to stand tearless over another open grave.

But as I left the church, Hyde’s father came up to me. “You can ride with me, Lily. He’d have liked that. Besides,” he said, taking my hand, tucking it into his arm and walking me to the lead car, “we never had that talk.” He shook his head slightly, wondering, I supposed, why we hadn’t. I made a mental note to ask Angelo just exactly how that little trick worked.

Once we were in the car, Mr. Shepard cleared his throat. “I’ve heard the police tell it, of course, but you were there. How did my son die?”

“He died well, if such a thing is possible. There had been trouble at the Orchid earlier that evening and these men were waiting for us, or maybe just for Moon. Hyde, er, Alfred died protecting her. And me.”

“That’s what the police said.”

“And that’s what happened.”

“I was afraid”—he looked out the window for a second, then looked back at me—“that he’d maybe started the fight himself. It wasn’t easy trying to raise the boy after his mother died. Alfred was always difficult for me to handle; his mother had a way with him, but he and I never could agree. And when she died, he kind of went weird, that crazy hair, the black clothes, staying out all hours and associating with freaks.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat; I was undoubtedly one of those freaks.

He cleared his throat again and continued. “It seemed like he and I were constantly fighting about one thing or another, all of it so unimportant now.” Tears began to flow from his eyes and stream down his face, but he didn’t notice or care. “And so, when the police came and told me he’d died in some sort of a scuffle, I thought that he’d done it on purpose. To show me that he was a man, or to prove something. I felt, oh, I don’t know, like maybe if I’d listened more to him or given him more, he’d not have done it.”

“But it wasn’t like that at all, Mr. Shepard. He was a good person and his death was not your fault. It was just something that happened, that no one could prevent. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“Then who can I blame?” He turned to me, angry. “His mother gone and now him?” He shook his head. “It makes no sense.”

I gave him a sad smile. “Nothing makes sense these days.”

My voice seemed to bring him up from the depths of his thought. “But here I am going on about me and I’ve forgotten that you haven’t just lost one person close to you, but two. I am sorry for both of those losses, Lily.” He reached over and patted my hand. “I heard you singing in church; you have the voice of an angel. Such a voice can only be inspired by faith in God. And the Lord will give us each comfort in our grief.”

I shook my head angrily as the procession stopped at its destination and we got out of the car. I had no Lord to comfort me, no gods, no beliefs to hold close in the dark of night. I had no love now, none to take and none to give. All I had left in me was anger. And that anger would have to carry me through.

I stayed only long enough to watch them pull the coffin out of the back of the hearse and set it up on its platform. The prayers they would say over his body meant nothing. The flowers that they’d heap on the newly covered grave would wither and die. Hyde was dead and all I had left of him was the taste of cheap wine, a remembrance of soft kisses and the touch of a silver ring on my hand.

I turned my back and walked away.

For several days I ignored the phone and the doorbell, choosing to take the time to sort out the many years of memories left in the house. Most of Moon’s belongings I bundled up into bags and boxes for charity, keeping only a few items for myself. They wouldn’t fetch much at a pawnshop, I knew, but they had sentimental value for me. I dragged old dusty boxes and trunks from the crawl space, disturbing spiders and roaches, the former sauntering away to sulk in dark corners and the latter scuttling away like dead leaves in the wind. The deeper I delved into the boxes, the deeper into early memories I sank. Bits and pieces of my previous caretakers formed fully fleshed in my mind. The ring Moon’s mother, Sarah, wore, a flower I had picked for her on a sunny spring day, her grandmother’s wedding dress; all precious in my eyes. I almost laughed out loud when I found the favorite lace shawl that had belonged to Philomena’s youngest daughter. I smoothed it between my trembling fingers; there was the tear I had made in it one day, carefully mended by loving hands.

Finally, near the bottom of the last trunk was a real treasure. Wrapped in faded silk, an ornate garnet necklace set in gold, it had been the first object I remember ever seeing, sparkling in the moonlight around Philomena’s throat as she bent down to pick me up from my own premature grave. It was worth more money than all the rest of it, probably worth more money than any of them had ever had. That no one had ever sold it was a testimony to the love everyone held for that remarkable woman.

And I was the last in her line to own it. I sat down cross-legged next to the trunk and I fastened it around my neck. Holding the stones against me, I thought I could hear Philomena’s rich laughter and her dark velvet voice. I felt her warm presence, and the anger I’d been holding inside seemed to lessen. “No,” I said bitterly, pulling off the necklace and throwing it back into the trunk. “I don’t want your comfort. It’s a lie. Just leave me my anger and leave me alone.”

Something crinkled when the necklace hit the bottom. I leaned over, peered in and saw a fairly large scroll of paper, brittle with age. I pulled it out carefully and unrolled it.

It was a rubbing of a tombstone. That much I could tell. I carried it into the kitchen and laid it out on the table. I could read the name Williams and the date 1860. The rest was too faded. I held it up to the light, only to see lettering on the back. Turning it over, I recognized the crude writing of Philomena. She hadn’t been able to read, but she could copy the letters. These, too, were faded, but I could read them. “John Williams Beloved Husband of Dorothy Grey Williams 1830–1860.” Beneath this a different hand had written, “Father and Mother?”

The doorbell rang and I answered it. Angelo stood there. “Miss Lily, you finally answerin’ the door?”

“Hello, Angelo.”

“You got dirt all over you.” He peered at my hair. “And a spider in your hair. What you been doin’?”

I brushed at my head. “Cleaning. Sort of.”

“And you ain’t wearin’ those red beads like I told you.” He walked over to Moon’s altar and took them from where I’d draped them about the statue. “You give offense to that spirit, you sorry.”

I allowed him to put the necklace on me. Unlike Philomena’s garnets, they were cold to the touch and their presence far from calming. Instead, they reminded me of my anger and that was a good thing. I needed that emotion; it was the only one I had.

“You’re right, Angelo,” I said. “I’ll wear them from now on.”

“Good. They give you strength, they give you protection if you treat them right.” He hummed and nodded. “But I didn’t come to tell you that.”

He walked into the kitchen and helped himself to the sherry, pouring two glasses and handing me one.

“Besides to drink all Moon’s sherry, Angelo, what else did you come for?”

“A celebration, Lily.” He clinked his glass up against mine. “You be happy when you see what I found for you.” He smiled his froggish smile, reached into his coat pocket and handed me a folded piece of paper.

I opened it up. It was a copy of a ten-year-old newspaper article from the New York Times fashion section.

I looked at him. “So?”

“The picture, Missy, look at the picture. And tell me who it look like.”

I peered at the paper. It was hard to see clearly; the machine on which he’d copied it wasn’t very good. But the likeness was there and I felt the shock of recognition reverberate through my whole body. It could have been me, older and more haunted, perhaps, but I’d looked in the mirror often enough to see the truth. I gave a triumphant laugh; the bitch was nameless no more.

“Deirdre Griffin,” I said aloud.

Then, looking back to the kitchen table where the other paper lay. “Dorothy Grey.”

“Dorothy Grey?” Angelo grinned at me. “Who she?”

“Deirdre Griffin, Dorothy Grey, my dear sweet mother.” I smiled back at him, then impulsively hugged him. “You know, Angelo, I’ve always wanted to go to New York City.”

Part 2

Chapter 7

The scent of her blood drew me, such a tantalizing fragrance, beckoning me to leave the forest behind, to be pulled against all instinct into the warmth and comfort of light and fire. The Wolf and I had run far and fast, but he’d tired of the game long before I had and now I was alone. Alone, as it had been at the beginning. As it seemed I should be.

There were hours left before dawn and so I stayed, just beyond her range of vision. Perhaps she saw the twitching of my tail or the glare of my eyes in the glow of the moon as I paced back and forth beneath the trees. Perhaps she sensed the presence of another mind just outside her cabin. But she showed no fear; she merely sat, rocking, peering out into the night and waiting for me to reveal myself as I was so often tempted to do.

I knew her fairly well, in my other form, that graceless and flawed form onto which I had held tight for so many years. Too many years. I growled at the thought of having to reassume that form.

“Hello?”

I edged back. She had never attempted to speak to me before, not when I came as Cat.

“Deirdre?”

The name. She called that name, the one that pulled me back into the other form. I snarled, then screamed my anger.

“Deirdre?” She stood up, moved to the railing of her porch and called me again, this time with doubt in her voice. And a small cache of fear.

A low rumbling vibrated my whole body; the Cat was pleased. She could feed off fear almost as well as she could feed from this woman’s blood. But with the calling of the name came the knowledge of who I was deep inside. And the knowledge that this woman was a friend and not to be harmed.

The Cat growled again, but quieter this time, recognizing her defeat. “It is all right, my pet,” I whispered to her in the recesses of our mind, a soft whisper, as if I were soothing the tufts of hair on her ears. “We had a good night. We will have other nights more glorious. But now it is time for home and bed.”

In response, the Cat yawned. The woman gasped at this careless display of deadly teeth, and the hands that gripped the railing turned white at the knuckles. The small rush of her fear was invigorating, but the game was over. I gave one last call to her and ran off into the night.

I shed the cat form just before I reached the door of our cabin. Transformation had become easier over the years, still painful and still a wrenching away from the familiar, but it was a known pain and sadness I had learned to discard as quickly as a wet garment. There would always be time enough to wear it again.

“Hi, honey, I’m home.” I called our typical greeting when one or the other of us stayed out alone. Mitch looked up from where he’d stretched out with a blanket in front of the fire.

“So I see.” He smiled and held his hand out to me, the blue of his eyes reflecting the dying flames. “Come warm yourself by my fire, Mrs. Greer?”

“Always.” I lowered myself onto the floor; he wrapped me up in his arms and dropped a lazy kiss on my forehead.

We lay for a while in silence, basking in each other’s presence, and then he chuckled.

“Did the cat have fun playing with her toy?”

“My toy?”

“Elly. I knew you would go there after I left. You really shouldn’t, you know. Elly’s a good person. A friend. We have so few of those, we should be careful of them. And not scare them to death at night, romping in front of their house.”

“She is never all that frightened, Mitch. Tonight she called my name. She knew it was me.”

“See, that’s what I mean. It’s not good. You’re breaking all your own rules, Deirdre.”

I gave a low laugh. “But for the fact that I break my own rules, Mitch, you wouldn’t be here now.”

“Yeah.” He stopped for a minute and kissed me on the end of my nose. “I’d still be a detective in New York, eating bad Italian food and hanging out with shady characters.”

“The good old days?” I was sorry I’d said it before the words were even out of my mouth.

He said nothing, just looked deep into my eyes, then looked away, as if absorbed by the fire. “I love you, Deirdre, you know that. So let’s not discuss the past.”

Just those few short words and I could feel my life drain away. And here it is, I told myself, the resentment and the anger you’ve been expecting for so long. I’d hoped never to face this situation, knowing all the while that it would come. I had done the unthinkable to him, ripped him away from humanity and life, and he would never forgive.

“Besides,” he continued, as if it mattered now to either of us, “it’s not wise for you to tease her. She’s perceptive and she’s curious. A dangerous combination for us.”

“What?” I glanced over at him, trying to maintain a balance between reality and my inner fears. He seemed unaware of my struggle, unaware of the turmoil his previous words had wreaked.

“Elly. You should quit visiting her late at night.”

“Yes, Mitch, you are right.” This conversation was safe, at least, and I sighed to myself in relief. “But sometimes I feel like I have to communicate with one of them.”

“Yeah, I know.” He pulled away from me and got up from the floor, walking over to the door of the cabin, opening it onto what remained of the night. “Deirdre, we need to talk about the future . . .” he started, then stopped, radiating a tension that was palpable even from across the room.

“What is it, love?”

He paused in the doorway, staring out into the night, then closed and locked it. “Nothing,” he said. “I thought I heard someone outside, but there’s no one there.” He fastened the heavy shutters on all the windows and pulled the draperies closed. “I’m imagining it. After all, who would be there? Forget about it. Let’s just go to bed.”

We made love, tucked up together in the loft of the cabin, sealed tightly against the killing rays of the sun. I had searched so long for someone, despairing over the years and decades. Then I had found him and lost him and found him again. His presence was all I needed to make me smile, to make me whole. When he made love to me, he was everything I had ever wanted. Passionate and tender, rough and gentle, he took me places I’d never dreamed existed, carried me to heights and depths almost unimaginable. He was my mate and my soul. Forever.

As always with Mitch, this time was like the first time, filled with need and desire and hunger no amount of blood could quench. And when it was over, I still ached with love and longing for him as if it were our last. I lay awake after the sun had risen and he had fallen into the deathlike sleep I used to know.

Sighing, I got out of bed, pulling the heavy comforter with me, wrapping myself up to keep vigil. I sat in the armchair by the bed and waited, listening to the birds outside greeting a dawn I would never see. Soon, I prayed, let the dreams start soon and get it over with.

Mitch began to mumble in his sleep and I tensed, but he quieted down almost immediately. So it would not be soon. With one last doubtful glance at his still and perfect body, I rose from the chair and went downstairs to prepare for the long day.

In the kitchen I made a pot of coffee, gathering a mug and a carafe and the cigarettes sitting on the counter. There were only three left in the pack, just as there was very little coffee remaining. I glanced anxiously at the calendar on the wall. Sam would be visiting in about a week with our quarterly shipment of supplies. We could do without the coffee and the smokes and all the other little luxuries he brought, but three weeks ago we had drunk the last of those precious little bags Sam managed to procure for us. And even though taking from animals could maintain our bodies, only human blood could assuage our darker thirst.

“You will find us quite hungry when you arrive, Sam.” I laughed after I said it. He was always so avidly curious about our feeding habits that I accused him last time of deliberately shorting the order so that he could better observe our hunger when next he arrived. He didn’t deny the possibility and showed no fear of my anger. After having been Mitch’s psychiatrist and the best man at our wedding, after having removed a bullet lodged in my shoulder and acting as my confidant, after having taunted me into feeding on him one lonely night, I suppose he was entitled to this familiarity. I missed him, missed the interplay of vampire and human. Here was the reason I sought poor Elly out for so many nights—I longed for recognition and acceptance, longed for an acknowledgment of my existence.

The coffee had finished, so I filled the carafe, and prepared to carry it, the mug and one of the remaining cigarettes back upstairs. As I walked past the front door, I shivered, an involuntary reaction. But a reaction to what? I looked over my shoulder, peering at the solid wood as if I could see through it. There was nothing and no one there, of course. And even had there been, I could hardly open the door in broad daylight. I gave a nervous laugh. I was letting my hunger and my worry about Mitch and his dreams get the best of me. Still, I hurried up the stairs as quickly as I could, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Upstairs, settling into the chair again and wrapping the comforter around me, I poured a cup of coffee and waited.

The dreams began about two weeks ago. Mitch said he never remembered them and I always told him that was for the best—they couldn’t have been pleasant. He would thrash and flail and cry out with such anguish and pain that I found it better to sit up and wait until the dreams played themselves out. To be perfectly honest, I was not sleeping all that well either; I would awaken with the setting of the sun, feeling as if all my energy had been completely drained away. Without blood and sleep for so long, it was no wonder we were both tense and nervous.

“You are quite right, my love,” I whispered to him. “We do indeed need to talk about the future.” But I feared the future all the while I continued to run from the past. All I had was now. What was there left to say?

I drained my cup of coffee and poured myself another. Maybe he won’t dream today, I thought, but even as the words came to me, Mitch cried out. I jumped from the chair and lay down next to him, holding him as he screamed, attempting to comfort him with the touch of my body.

“Hush, my love, sleep now.” I crooned it over and over, wrapping my arms around him and rocking him like a child. But the dream was strong, stronger than it had ever been before. He trembled, he clenched his fists, he thrashed back and forth on the bed, he bit into his lip until blood dripped down his chin.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tense and flex. He shuddered and opened his mouth. And for the first time his distress found words—words that made me loosen my embrace and retreat to the corner of the room.

“Kill her.” The words began as a choked whisper, increasing in vehemence with each repetition. “Kill her.” Stronger now, it became a chant, growing louder and louder until the words echoed off the walls of the small loft, filling the cabin that had once been our home.

“Kill the bitch who made me what I am.”

Chapter 8

As soon as the sun set, I left. I had no other choice. Mitch would most likely have no remembrance of the dream upon awakening; he had never remembered before. But I would be tortured by the memory with each touch and every word, knowing only the truth of the dream.

I had thrown some of my clothes into a backpack and dressed in my heaviest jeans, shirt and hiking boots. It was reflex only; no coat in the world would ever give me warmth. Shivering uncontrollably, I made my way through the woods, carrying the thoughts of Mitch’s voice with me.

“Kill her.” The words were uttered with such hatred and such vindictiveness, it was hard to believe that they had come from the mind and heart of the man I loved. How could I have been so wrong about him?

I stopped and turned, standing just under cover of the trees, watching the cabin for a minute or two. Would he wake soon and find me gone? And would he come after me or would he consider my absence the best alternative? I ached to go back inside and crawl into his arms. But now there could be no comfort found in his embrace.

The Cat prowled restlessly inside my mind. “Let me out,” she begged, “and I will take you far away. We will run and we will feed and we will be whole again.”

I shook my head as I turned my back and walked deeper into the forest. She would carry me beyond myself, beyond remembering, true, but the cost was great. With no reason to return to human form, the Cat would soon forget the rules that governed our life. If I had wanted death, I’d have stayed and accepted it from Mitch’s hands.

I wandered for a while, aimlessly, shivering and crying. The Cat growled within, not liking or understanding the despair. She knew only the night and the forest and the taste of blood. “Let me out,” she wailed again, “and I will kill them. It will be easy, we are stronger than they are, older and wiser.”

“No, my pet. There will be no killing.”

It only needed the cold October rain to complete my misery. The trees provided no protection from the storm. And I was chilled, with a deathlike cold that penetrated beyond my flesh and bones and burrowed deep into my soul.

“Oh, God, how could I have been so wrong?”

It came as no surprise when I found myself mounting the steps to Elly’s cabin and knocking on the door.

She threw the door open. “Deirdre? Oh, my dear, please come in. You’re soaked to the skin.” She peered past me into the darkness. “Isn’t Mitch with you?”

At the question, I collapsed into Elly’s arms, incapable of speech. She let me cry for a while, then led me into the warmth of her cabin and sat me down in a chair next to the fireplace.

I shivered. “You’d better get those clothes off,” she said. I fumbled with my shirt, but my hands trembled far too much.

“Help me. Please.”

She couldn’t have heard the words clearly through my sobs, but she understood and knelt down in front of me, taking off first my boots and socks, then my jeans and panties. Her touch as sexless as that of a mother, she unfastened the buttons on my shirt, undid my bra and pulled me to my feet.

“Stand there in front of the fire and dry off. I’ll get you a blanket.”

I did as I was ordered, comforted somehow by her command. It was a relief to let go of all the decisions and cares, to deliver myself into the hands of someone I trusted. Elly’s cabin was plainer than ours, but homier somehow. I never walked into her place without feeling peace descend on me; from the candles always burning on the mantel to the braided rugs on the floor the room exuded a welcome, even for such as me. As I watched the dancing of the flames, my sorrow subsided slightly and I felt warmed.

Elly entered the room again, bearing a heavy blanket, and gasped when I turned around.

I managed a smile. “What?”

“You are so perfect. Like a goddess.”

I laughed—a wild and desperate sound. “I am not a goddess, Elly.”

“No? Are you sure?” She held out the blanket to me, an offering.

“Positive,” I said, and took the blanket, wrapping it around me as I sat back down. “Not a goddess, just a bedraggled and miserable creature of the night. Thank you for taking me in. I had nowhere else to go.”

“No problem, you are always welcome here.” She showed no surprise at my words, but merely repeated hers. “You’re always welcome. Can I give you a cup of tea? Or”—she gave me a shy smile—“something a little stronger?”

“Something a lot stronger would be great, thank you.”

She nodded and headed out to her kitchen, coming back with a large bottle of red wine and two glasses. “Will this do? I have scotch instead,” she said as she uncorked the bottle, “but as I remember, that is Mitch’s drink. Dare I ask? Is he okay?”

I felt my mouth clench. “Mitch is fine, I daresay. And the wine is, too.”

She poured the wine and held a glass out to me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Ah.”

The fire crackled and sighed. Beyond the cabin’s walls, the storm continued, accented now with great booms of thunder. It was exactly the sort of night that had always made Mitch and me abandon all thoughts of the world outside; we’d make slow love by the fire for long, lazy hours, needing only each other.

I choked back a sob and drained my glass.

“More?” Elly’s glance was curious, but kind.

“Keep filling them. Please.”

She did so and we were silent for a while, drinking and listening to the rain.

“So,” Elly said as she poured the last of the wine into my glass, “we’re not to talk about Mitch. What shall we talk about?”

“What would you like to talk about?”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, what couldn’t we talk about? There must be a million questions I want to ask you.”

“Questions are good,” I said, finishing my glass, “but what if you don’t want to hear the answers?”

“Deirdre, I always want to hear the answers. More wine?”

“Yes.”

As Elly got up and went into the kitchen, I laughed quietly to myself. Which of us was now the cat and which the mouse?

“I’ve got a better idea.” She came back into the room, handed me an open bottle and picked up a carved wooden box from the mantel. “You drink this and I’ll read your cards. Then I won’t have to ask as many questions.”

“My cards? As in telling the future?”

She shrugged. “The future, the past, the present. It’s all in here.” She shuffled the brightly colored deck, larger than normal cards.

“But I don’t believe in such things.”

Elly laughed. “In this case, it doesn’t matter much. The cards don’t care if you believe or not.” She handed them to me. “Just hold them for a minute and think about what you’d like to know.”

I cupped my hands around them; they felt warm, almost as if Elly had transferred some of her human warmth to them. Perhaps she had. I closed my eyes and thought about the question that had been bothering me ever since the dreams started.

What the hell is happening to us?

“Done?” Elly asked. I opened my eyes again and at my nod, she reached out and took the cards from me. “You’re cold as ice, Deirdre. Tuck back under that blanket.” She groaned as she knelt on the floor in front of the fire. “Bad knees,” she said, a note of laughter in her voice. “Oh, I’m getting old, you know how it is.” Then she gave me a sharp look. “Or maybe you don’t. Doesn’t matter, does it? Now”—and she began to deal out the cards one by one, carefully and meticulously setting each one in its place—“let’s see what’s going on.”

She studied the cards for a long time. And as she viewed them, I studied her, trying as always to find an understanding of her. She was probably in her middle or late sixties, her hair gray and curly, her face crinkled with creases imposed by life and laughter. She was every bit as homey as her cabin.

Elly looked up at me, nodded, looked back at the cards and gave a small, nearly imperceptible sigh.

I decided to play along. “What is it? Elly, you are making me very nervous.”

“No need to be. Give me your left hand.”

I held it out to her, palm up. The light of the fire reflected off my golden wedding band, and I sighed. I should have stayed at home, I thought, and given Mitch a chance.

“Probably,” Elly said, staring intently at my palm.

Had I said it out loud?

“No, but it’s an easy enough thought to read. And you just tensed, so I could guess your response. I’ll get you home to Mitch very soon. But here, see this.” She cradled the bottom of my hand very gently in hers and slowly traced a line along my palm. “This is your lifeline.” She stopped abruptly, her fingernail marking the spot. “I have seen them branch out; I have seen them straight and continuous; I have seen them pitifully short. But I have never seen one with such a complete and definite stop. And then a gap; not a very big gap, I’ll grant you, but it’s there nevertheless.” She lifted her nail and set it down on a different spot. “And then here it starts again. By the looks of this you will live for a very long time.” She dropped my hand and shivered, hugging her arms to herself. “A very, very long time.”

“Great.” I hoped the sarcasm was not lost on her. “But what do the cards say?”

She got up from the floor, poured herself another glass of wine and bolted it down. “I thought you didn’t believe in such stuff.”

I smiled and shrugged. “Well, you have gone to so much trouble, the least I can do is ask.”

“You want a blow-by-blow description? Or just the overall view?”

I looked at the clock on her mantel. It was late, far later than I had thought. Most of the night was gone, with only wine and talk to show for it. I would need shelter during the day; I knew of a cave not too far away, but I had little time to waste on foolishness. “Overall, I think. I should be going soon.”

“You can stay the day here, you know. I have an extra room and I won’t disturb you. It’s small but completely dark. I suppose it was to have been a storage room or something. But I use it for meditation sometimes, so there’s a bed and a lamp and a heavy lock on the door. You’ll be quite safe.”

“Ah.” I gave her a doubtful glance.

“We’ll talk about the cards first and then you can inspect it. How’s that?”

“Fair enough.”

“You have nothing to fear from me, Deirdre.” She reached over and lightly touched my arm. “I certainly know that you aren’t quite human and I believe I know what you are. We needn’t talk about it. But I have been your neighbor and your friend for over a year—if I’d meant you harm, you’d have sensed it by now. And”—her mouth twisted into a wry grin—“I’d have been dead. Mitch would rip my heart out if he thought I was a threat.”

Just yesterday that comment would have brought me a feeling of security and love. Tonight it made my already cold blood freeze up in my veins.

“I’ll stay. And the cards?”

“Oh, yes, the cards. Things will work out for the best eventually.”

I almost screamed in frustration. “Jesus, Elly, that’s it? Things will work out for the best eventually?”

She snickered. “You did say you wanted the overall view. And that’s it. I can explain what all these cards mean, of course. There are swords.” She pointed to one particularly gruesome card of a dead body impaled with ten swords. “They represent strife and conflict. And the others, well, they represent other powers in the world that seem to be opposed to you. There has been sorrow and confusion. And there will be more to come. But in the end, it will all work out. You must have faith and hope.”

“Sounds easy.” I stood up from the chair, stretched, and the blanket fell away from me. I’d gotten so comfortable, I’d forgotten I was naked underneath.

“So perfect,” she whispered, and I blushed as I hurriedly wrapped back up again. “First things first,” Elly said. “I’ll get you a nightgown, get you set up in your room, and then we’ll talk some more.” She gave me another quick appraising glance. “So very perfect, it’s hard to believe you’ve ever had a child.”

Chapter 9

The room was exactly as Elly described it. It had a single bed, a nightstand with a lamp, an ashtray and a half of a pack of cigarettes. The walls were bare, with the exception of a shelf that held an assortment of candles in cups. Small but safe, the room would be perfect for my daytime sleep. If I could sleep.

I had taken a shower to warm up and while I was drying off, she’d knocked on the door and handed me a plaid flannel nightgown. “Still hot from the dryer,” she’d said, “and probably a bit too big for you, but it’ll do.”

“It will do perfectly.” The gown had a clean fresh smell; I had held it up to my face and sniffed, then smiled. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” she’d said. “You get right into bed, now, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea to help you sleep.”

So here I was safely ensconced in Elly’s little meditation nook. I sat on the edge of the antique bed; it rose high off the floor, so high that my feet did not touch the carpet. I swung my legs back and forth, appreciating the still-sweet smell that wafted off the voluminous gown, and I felt like a young child again.

Elly knocked on the door.

“Come in,” I said. “It’s your house.”

“For you,” she said, and handed me a cup of something hot.

I smelled it and crinkled my nose. “What is it?”

“Herbal tea. I brew it myself. In fact, I grow all the herbs in the back garden. This blend is chamomile, mostly. A little bit of rosemary. And catnip.” She sat on a small wooden chair next to the bed.

“Catnip?” I smiled and sniffed at it again, then took a small sip. “It is not bad, actually, all things considered. What will it do to me?”

She laughed. “Nothing. Except perhaps relax you a bit. And, I hope, help you to sleep. I took a chance that your physiological makeup is human-based. Especially since the candles work.”

I looked over my shoulder at the candles flickering on the shelf. “Well, of course they work. You light them and they burn.”

“And how do you feel?”

I thought. “Peaceful. Calm. Remarkably mellow, now that you mention it.”

“And are you hungry?”

It was an interesting question. I hunted deep inside my body for traces of the blood thirst; I knew that I hadn’t fed for days and that I was craving human blood. But the drive wasn’t there. The instinct was buried, covered up with layers and layers of comfort and peace.

I shook my head. “No, I am not hungry. I should be hungry, but I’m not. At least not enough to . . .”

She finished the statement for me. “. . . feed on me. That’s good.”

I blinked. Was it good? Of all times, could I afford my instincts to be suppressed now? I set the cup of tea down on the nightstand, picked up a cigarette instead. I saw no matches, so I got up from the bed and lit it from one of the candles, blowing them all out after I had finished. “All the same, Elly, I do not wish to be drugged, so I think I’ll pass. And take my chances on the sleep. Just as you will have to take your chances on the other.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed. “I invited you in knowing what you were. I can hardly throw you out now. I’m sorry if I gave offense.”

“No offense taken.” I inhaled deeply. Already I felt my mind clearing of peace and comfort and the dearth of instinct. I was not so sure it was better this way, but my restless hunger had always been my truth and I did not want it taken away. “You need not fear I will feed on you. I am not that hungry and I have over a century’s worth of practicing willpower.”

“That long? When were you born?”

“Too long ago, Elly. It might as well be eons.”

“And Mitch?”

She was determined to talk about Mitch. I sighed. “Mitch is much younger than I; he is new to the life. Or the death.” I gave a sad little laugh. “He was transformed two years ago.”

“And you brought him over?”

“An interesting way of putting it.” I took a last long drag on my cigarette and stubbed it out angrily. “Almost as if I had invited him to a dinner party.” I hugged my arms to myself. “If only it were like that. A pleasant little invitation to a pleasant event.”

She reached to the nightstand and got a cigarette for herself, lighting it with a pack of matches from her jeans pocket. “And it isn’t like that? All those years, all those endless, wonderful years to spend with someone you love?”

“Love?” I blinked at her again, this time through a cloud of smoke. Anger built up within me and the Cat growled, clawing at the surface of my mind. “We know nothing about love.”

I stopped and put my hands over my face, drawing in a deep breath, forcing calm upon the Cat. Slowly, I brought my hands down to my mouth, exhaling gently. “What I did to Mitch was not done out of love. I did it out of my own selfish need for him, for a companion. Out of desperation and loneliness.”

“Even so, you love him, Deirdre, and he loves you.”

“Does he? Yesterday, I would not have doubted that statement. But now, you see, he wants me dead. Can you blame him? I made him into an inhuman monster, took away his soul and his life.”

Elly got up from the chair, walked over to the shelf that held the votive candles and picked up each cup, sniffing each one in turn and setting it back down. “I make these,” she said. “It involves a lot of work, gathering the herbs, blending the scents, making sure that all the elements are in place. And yet, when I pull them out of the mold, they seem so much more than what I’ve put into them.”

“And?”

“And Mitch is more than what you have made of him. He’s himself, his own man. He’s with you because he loves you. I’d be willing to bet my life on that. Why won’t you?”

“Because I heard him say the words. He talks in his sleep.”

“In his sleep? Then he was dreaming? But that’s not the same as saying the words when he’s awake.”

Suddenly I was angry. “What the hell difference does it make? You do not understand. Cannot understand. The dreams are real. And so are the words. I heard his voice, Elly. You did not.”

“And will running away from it do you any good?”

“Of course not. Tonight I will go back and face him.”

“Good. You owe him that, I think.”

We fell into silence. I took another cigarette from the pack and Elly handed me the matches. I pulled one out and closed the cover, glancing at the printing as I did so. A jolt of shock shivered up my spine. “ ‘Meet me at the Ballroom of Romance’?” I read. “Where on earth did you get these?”

“Your place, I think, last time I was there. Why?”

I laughed. “Actually, I suspect the question is, ‘Why the hell not?’ I really should not be surprised. It is his damned legacy after all. I used to dream also, you see, dream of killing my maker.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

That one word took me back years. Back to the wet, cold streets of New York City and the terrifying weeks between holidays that held no meaning for one such as me. Weeks that ended with the lifeless body of Max pinned to his office door at the Ballroom. He had been my best friend and my worst enemy. Not a day went by when I didn’t curse his name. I would miss him forever.

“And”—I looked Elly straight in the eye—“do not doubt me when I say I loved him. That is how much love means to me.”

She reached over and wiped a tear from my face. Then she held out her finger for me to see. “Do you always weep blood?”

I looked away from her. “It means nothing.”

“If you say so.”

Not very subtly, I changed the subject. “Elly? Why aren’t you afraid of me? You invite me into your house, you give me wine and friendship and counsel, you even touch me. And yet you show no fear.”

She laughed. “Life is too short for fear.”

“For you, perhaps. But for me?”

“For you, most especially. Now, I should leave you to get some rest.” She walked to the door, put a hand on the knob, then turned back around. “Will you be okay?”

I shrugged. “I will be fine. So long as I do not dream.”

“You dream too? The same dreams? Is that possible?”

I thought. My dreams, when I did sleep, had been confusing, filled with darkness, the dirt of the grave and a struggling toward the light. And a deep hatred toward someone who betrayed me. Could this be what Mitch dreamed?

“It is possible, I suppose, that I share his dreams.”

“But are they his?” She moved back into the room and sat in the chair again.

“Who else would they belong to? They certainly do not come from me.”

“Who else indeed? I saw someone in your cards. A woman, capable of great mischief and evil, but tied to you very closely by blood. When was the last time you saw your daughter?”

“I have no daughter. I did have a child, once, stillborn. They took it away from me before I even saw it. I was changing, then, you see. Becoming what I am now.” I shook my head. “They buried it, Elly, damn it, I saw the grave. The child was dead.”

My hands cradled my stomach as if I could still feel the movement within, rocking back and forth on the bed. “Poor little one,” I whispered, unheeding of Elly’s presence, “you never even had a chance. How could you escape your fate, with your father dead and your mother dying? And all of us sacrificed to the blind hunger of a vampire.”

“Deirdre?”

I looked up at her now and saw my anguish mirrored on her face. “The child was dead, Elly,” I repeated with conviction. “Any other option is unthinkable. And impossible.”

She said nothing.

“I should rest now,” I said, crawling under the covers and turning my back to her. “Please go.”

“I’m sorry, Deirdre. I didn’t know. Of course the child is dead. The woman in the cards is someone else, obviously. And they are only cards, after all; they know nothing. Sleep well, my dear.”

Chapter 10

The first thing I did when Elly left was to get up from the bed and lock the door. I did not want further conversation; I did not want more questions. The ones she raised were distressing enough.

The second thing I did was relight the candles on the shelf. I made a mental note to find out from Elly what herbs she used in their making. Sam would be greatly interested. And if they could grant me a solid day’s rest, I would be grateful. I had no audience right now, no reason to be proud or strong. I wanted sleep.

Turning out the lights, I lay in bed and watched the flames flicker in the glass cups; their reflections danced on the paneling behind the shelf. I felt the wash of unnatural calm and comfort sweep over me again and abandoned myself to the sensation. In the back of my mind, I heard a soft purring; even the Cat was quieted.

My last thought before I drifted off was of Mitch. “Sleep well, my love,” I whispered, and reached my mind out to him, to open the link we so often shared, but felt nothing in return. Had he shut me out? Or was he sleeping and dreaming of revenge, of killing me?

I inhaled deeply; right now, I didn’t care. I was too calm, too tired to worry or dwell on the situation. There would be time tonight to make it right. Time was the one thing we had in plenty.

I slept straight through until dusk, a dreamless and rejuvenating sleep. I could almost feel the sun setting as I opened my eyes; the Cat stretched and yawned, testing its claws on the edges of my mind. “We’re hungry,” it protested, “and we do not like the smell of this place.”

“I am sure you do not, my pet, but soon we will be home.” Thoughts of returning did not worry me, as they had last night. Amazing, I thought to myself, what a good day’s sleep can do for one. I looked around the room for my clothes, but realized that Elly had left them downstairs. I hoped they were dry by now.

I opened the door to almost total darkness. The cabin had a feel of emptiness. There were no sounds, no movement and no life within, as if it had stood empty for years. I paused outside what must have been Elly’s bedroom, and peered inside. It was neat, orderly and unoccupied. When I started down the stairs, I wondered how long I’d actually slept, then laughed to myself. I might have delivered myself into the hands of a witch, but I was hardly the Sleeping Beauty type. And any Prince Charming who came to wake me up would have a definite surprise.

“Elly?” I called out when I got to the living room, although I knew she wasn’t there. I checked all the areas of the cabin, but there was no sign of her, although she had left some herbs on the table in her workroom. Putting them to my nose, I recognized some of the scents as those she’d used in her candles. And I realized that they were picked fairly recently.

After switching on a light in the living room, I saw that a fire had been lit, some time ago, and that my clothes were folded neatly and set on one of the chairs. I dressed by the dying flames, ran my fingers through my tangled hair, laced up my boots. Finding a scrap of paper in the kitchen, I wrote her a short note, thanking her for her hospitality. I called her name one more time with no answer, before going out the unlocked front door and closing it behind me.

The night was clear and cold and beautiful. The Cat grew alert, waking from the stupor of the day; its senses tingled. “Let’s run,” it urged, “far and fast and wash off the scent of that place. Let’s feed. I smell blood.” I nodded; I too smelled blood. Fresh blood. I inhaled deeply and sighed. Human blood.

We followed the scent; it led us behind Elly’s cabin and to a still, fragile form lying on the ground outside a tidy little herb garden. “Ah,” the Cat purred, “she can’t have been dead long, her blood is still fresh, we will feed well for a change.”

“No!” I screamed it in defiance of the instinct. And with that sound, Elly moved slightly and gave a low moan of pain.

I moved toward her. From the way her leg was twisted up underneath her, I knew that it was broken. And broken quite severely, if the smell of blood was any indication. I knelt down next to her, holding my breath, holding tight control over the Cat. “Elly?” Brushing her hair back from her face, I said her name again and her eyes opened.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said, in a voice so soft it could have been drowned out by the rustling of leaves. “It was almost as if someone pushed me.”

“Hush,” I said, examining her for wounds other than the leg injury. That was all there was, but it was bad enough. I poked my fingernail through the knee of her blood-soaked jeans and ripped the fabric down to the hem. Pushed her? Hell, it looked as if someone had cracked her leg wide open; shards of bone stuck out through the skin’s surface and the entire leg from knee to foot was purple. The bleeding had stopped, but not all that long ago, judging from the warm pool beneath her leg. And she was pale and shivering; she’d lost quite a lot of blood.

“I can’t fix this, Elly. And I can’t move you, or you will start bleeding.” I brushed her face again and tried to smile, but stopped when I realized that with the scent of blood my fangs had grown. She looked at my mouth, winced and closed her eyes. “But I will get you a blanket and call an ambulance. Will you be all right here?”

She gave a weak snort that might have been amusement, but didn’t open her eyes. “Been lying here for what feels like most of the afternoon; a few more minutes won’t kill me. But hurry.”

It only took a few minutes to make the call and gather up some blankets from my bed upstairs. The scent of the candles still lingered in the room and in the fabric, for which I was grateful. I had no desire to present the ambulance crew with a bloodless body to carry away.

Elly stirred slightly as I wrapped the blankets around her. “They will be here soon.” I began to get up, but she reached up and grabbed my hand.

“Don’t leave me, Deirdre,” she whispered. “The woods are full of evil.”

“Hush, Elly. Don’t be silly. There is no evil in these woods. You are in shock, and it is no wonder. You have lost a great deal of blood. Your mind is wandering.”

She gripped my hand with more strength now. “There’s nothing wrong with my mind. Just don’t leave me.”

I sighed and sat down cross-legged next to her. “I am here.” I pulled her hand away from mine and tucked her arm back under the comforter, but left my hand on top of hers through the fabric, so she could feel my presence. “I am here, Elly. And I will stay with you until they get here.”

“Talk to me, Deirdre. Give me something to concentrate on. I don’t want to drift away.”

“What should I talk about?”

“Tell me about how you became what you are.”

I laughed in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “Very well,” I said. “That will guarantee you won’t drift away. It is not exactly a bedtime story.”

She gave a weak smile and began to talk.

“It was 1860. Right before the war. I was seven months pregnant and my husband and I, oh, we were so happy. We had married late, you see, and I was old to be having a first child.”

“How old?”

“Twenty-eight.”

Elly smiled. “That’s a magic age. And not too old for children.”

“Not now, no. But then? Most of my friends had been married for ten years or more, with a brood of children to show for it. It was a different time.” I sighed. “As for it being a magic age, try being twenty-eight for over a century. I would give a lot to see just one gray hair in the mirror. Or just one wrinkle. But that’s not in the story.” I reached over and smoothed her hair back. “It was cold that night. Raining. We had been at his sister’s house, and decided to take the ride back regardless of the weather and the lateness of the hour. The horse took a fright, the carriage overturned, my husband died. I went into labor. And then I was rescued.” I gave a short, hard laugh. “At first I thought it was my husband, that everything would be well. But the eyes were all wrong, the hands were all wrong and I was damned forever.”

Elly had grown quiet; her eyes were closed, but her face was still twisted in pain. “It was not his bite that turned me, you understand. I fought him, fought him hard, knowing even amidst the pain and the darkness and the death, that what he was forcing on me was wrong. Oddly enough, the fighting both saved me and doomed me. He didn’t drain me dry and leave me dead, true, but after that time his blood was in my blood, his legacy in my soul. And he abandoned me then, to find my own way.”

Elly made no response; she had either passed out or fallen asleep. The smell of her blood filled my head; I touched my hand into the pool below her leg and brought it up to my mouth. The little bit of blood remaining was cold and sticky and coated with dirt from the ground. Still, it was blood, and human blood at that, so I licked my hand, slowly at first, savoring the taste. The Cat howled, frustrated with this half feeding. “Tonight, my pet,” I soothed it, “we will feed tonight. But not this blood.”

I finished cleaning my hand just as the ambulance pulled up. The two medics worked quickly and efficiently, examining Elly and getting her onto a stretcher and into the back of the vehicle. They asked me questions while they worked.

“How did this happen?” The driver’s tone was brisk and slightly accusatory.

I wiped my hand on the side of my pants, feeling strangely guilty for what little taste of blood I’d had. “I don’t really know. She said she fell.”

“A pretty bad break for just a fall. When did it happen?”

I thought for a second. “Not that long ago, I would suppose. Probably an hour or two before sunset.”

“Where were you at the time?”

“When she fell? I was upstairs, either sleeping or dressing.”

“Sleeping? At sunset?”

I shrugged. “I’m a bit of a night owl, I fear. Otherwise I would have been here when she fell. Or I would have been able to prevent it.”

“Are you next of kin by any chance?”

I gave him a sharp glance. “No, only a neighbor. Why do you ask? Surely her injuries cannot be that serious.”

He shook his head. “She’s lost a lot of blood and she’s unresponsive. At the very least she’ll probably need a transfusion. I was just hoping you two were related. Makes it a bit easier, is all. No problem, Elly’s well known around here; we’ll have no trouble finding a donor if we need one. Shall we go?”

“We?” I glanced at the evening sky. I had hoped to get back to Mitch soon, but felt an obligation to make sure that Elly would be all right. Mitch would wait. “Fine.” I began to step into the back of the vehicle.

“Why don’t you ride up front with me?” the driver asked, “and John will ride in the back.”

“Fine,” I agreed again. I opened the door and settled into the seat.

John sat in the back, and the driver slammed the doors and got in behind the wheel, turning on the siren and heading carefully out of the dirt road to the main highway.

“So,” he said to me over the sound of the siren, “who are you anyway? I thought I knew everyone round here.”

“Deirdre Griffin-Greer. I live in the cabin next to Elly’s.”

“Oh. The new summer folk. I see.”

“Not exactly summer folk, since we were here all last winter. But I get your point. And you?”

“Nope. I’ve lived here all my life.”

I laughed. “No, your name?”

“Oh.” He blushed slightly. “Bob Stephens. Pleased to meet you.”

“Not such pleasant circumstances, I fear. Will she be all right?”

“Should be. She’s a strong old bird. Strange, too. Sort of our local wise woman.” He gave me a sideways glance. “Some call her a witch. Which is nonsense, of course. There’s no such thing. But she’s highly respected; folks will be real upset if something happened to her. Are you sure you don’t know how she fell?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I didn’t push her, if that’s what you are implying.”

“Not implying anything. Just curious.”

We pulled up at the hospital and they rushed her inside. “Stick around,” Bob said to me. “We’ll need someone to fill out forms and such.”

I sighed. “I’m not sure how much help I will be, but I will stay. For a while.”

Over the many years I have developed an active dislike for hospitals. For one with heightened senses, they can be agony. The sounds of pain, the smells of sickness, death and despair are overwhelming, frightening in their intensities. This place was no different from countless other hospitals I had encountered. The accumulated scents of distress and fear hung heavy in the air, making the space feel closed and entrapping.

Still, I sat in the emergency waiting room for a while, attempting to occupy my mind with magazines and television, but the Cat was restless and so was I.

A woman came in, cradling a small child in a blanket. “She was running,” the mother said to the nurse hurriedly, “and fell down.” She flipped the blanket back, exposing the little girl’s knee, wrapped with a red-stained towel. “She must’ve been carrying a glass of something, I guess, and it broke when she fell. There’s a huge piece still stuck in there. I couldn’t pull it out.”

The scent of blood and panic washed through the room and I caught my breath. This was torture, for the Cat as well as for me.

Quickly I moved out of the room and walked up to the reception desk. “Excuse me,” I said to the nurse on duty, “if there is any news of Elly, can you let me know? I’ll be right outside the doors. I really need some air.”

She looked up at me with tired eyes. “Don’t we all, honey? Go on out. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

Chapter 11

The rain had stopped and the sky was almost clear, but it had gotten colder.

“Think it’ll snow?”

I turned around and saw the ambulance driver, huddled over, smoking by the outdoor ashtray.

“Probably,” I said, walking toward him. I glanced at the sky again. “But not for a while.”

He laughed. “You can tell?”

I nodded. “Usually.” Then I gestured to his hand. “Would you happen to have an extra? I hate waiting and I hate hospitals.”

“You and everyone else in the world.” He handed me a cigarette and lit it for me.

“Thanks.”

We stood silently for a while until he cleared his throat. “It’s Deirdre, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“So, Deirdre, why were you sleeping at Elly’s place instead of your own?”

“More questions? You should be careful what you ask, Bob.”

He shrugged. “Can’t help myself, really. Just naturally curious, I guess. You don’t have to answer, you know.”

“But still you keep asking. The last time a man got this interested in my life . . .” My voice trailed off. I should not have come here, I thought. I should have gone home to Mitch.

“What happened to him?”

I laughed. “He asked so many questions that I had to marry him.”

“Oh. A fate worse than death, then?” He was smiling at his joke.

“Actually, Bob, that is not too terribly far from the truth.”

He stared at me a long time. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“No. Excuse me, I should go back inside and see about Elly.”

“Damn, I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier, I guess, and I meant to, but it slipped my mind. Elly’s fine. You could see her if you wanted, but she’s heavily sedated right now. I suspect she’ll sleep till tomorrow morning. Probably best that you come back later.”

He stared off into the trees and shook his head. “It really was quite a nasty break. I’d still like to know how it happened.”

“So would I.”

He lit up another cigarette and offered one to me. I shook my head. “No, I should be going.”

“Where?”

“Home. Thank you for all your help.” I began to walk away from him.

“Hey, how are you going to get there?”

I’d planned to get into the woods as quickly as possible and give free rein to the Cat. But I could hardly admit that.

“I’ll walk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. All that way? In the dark? In the cold? I’m off duty now. Let me get my stuff together and I’ll drive you. I need to stop by Elly’s place and lock up, anyway.”

Bob drove a little red convertible with plates reading BABE-MGNT. After I’d settled into the seat I turned to him and smiled. “Babe Management?”

Even in the darkness of the car, I could tell that he was blushing.

“They’re old plates. From my youthful days. I just never got around to changing them. And besides, it’s Babe Magnet.”

“Oh.” I gave him an appraising glance. He was quite good-looking; although just a few inches taller than I, he was wellproportioned and muscular, with clean features and white teeth. I could well believe the epithet was apt.

“Youthful days? And just when would that have been? Two years ago?”

“More like nine years. I don’t think I’m any younger than you. You’re what? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”

“Close enough.”

We rode in silence for a while.

“So why were you sleeping at Elly’s place?”

“You never stop, do you? If you must know, my husband and I had a small disagreement.” Yes, I thought to myself, if hearing that someone you love wants to kill you could be considered small.

“Eh. Marriage. I have to admit I don’t understand it. And I wasn’t very good at it. This your first?”

“Second, actually.” The tone of my voice went flat, expressionless.

“A rough time, Deirdre? And this one isn’t going any better? You can tell me all about it.”

“No,” I said firmly, “the first was not a rough time. He died. And Mitch is not a rough time, either.”

“Which, if you don’t mind my saying so, is why you spent the night at Elly’s place. I understand.”

“No, Bob. I do not think you do. But it does not matter.”

He gave a small snort of amusement. “You’re probably right, especially since I don’t seem to be getting anywhere. You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Trying? Was that what he was doing? And was I that much out of practice? I had been holed up for way too long, I realized, to not recognize a pickup attempt. I glanced over at him again, reassessing, reevaluating. Yes, he would do. He would do quite well.

Still, I was nervous. I had fed for over a year from animals or from the supplies that Sam provided; I was a long way from the lone huntress I’d been. “But fresh blood,” the Cat protested. “You promised fresh blood.”

“That I did, my pet,” I whispered as the car pulled into a rutted lane that led to Elly’s cabin. “And we shall have it.”

Bob stopped the car. “I’ll just be a second,” he said, opening the car door. “Have to make sure everything is secure.”

I followed closely behind him. “I will come in with you if you don’t mind. I need to get my stuff together and use the bathroom. I will only be a few minutes.”

“No problem.”

As I walked up the stairs, I could feel his eyes on me. I went into the bathroom, closed the door and ran the water to disguise the fact that I was not tending to natural functions. “This should not be difficult,” I told my reflection. “You used to do it all the time. He is already interested. Take it slow and easy, make up something to keep the two of you here.” I combed through my hair with my fingers, pinched my cheeks to coax a little bit of color into my pale skin. Not that it really mattered; his kind always found me attractive. “The nature of the beast,” I said, giving myself a wide smile, feeling the excited anticipation of feeding build, the slight tingle of gums as my fangs began to grow. “It’s show time.”

“Bob?” I called out to him as I came down the stairs. “I don’t think I want to leave here yet.” I tried to put a small tinge of fear into my voice.

“Why, what’s wrong?”

I avoided his eyes and shrugged. “If you must know, I’m a little nervous about going home. It would probably be better if I wait and sneak in while my husband is sleeping. He always goes to bed right at ten o’clock, no matter what.” It was a blatant lie, but Bob would have no way of knowing that. I warmed to the part and expanded a bit. “He’ll have put away enough beer by then to be totally unaware of anything. And in the morning, well”—I dropped my head as if ashamed—“he’ll be so hungover, he will take any sort of explanation I give. Yes,” I said as if just making up my mind that second, “I should probably stay here for a while.”

“He won’t come looking for you?” Bob was falling very nicely into the role of protector. I almost laughed out loud; if anyone needed protection right now, he did. And if Mitch came for me, he would allow nothing to stand in his way.

But I played along and hesitated as I looked at the clock on Elly’s mantel. Not quite nine-thirty. “Probably not.”

“But he might?”

“It is possible, I suppose.”

He nodded. “Then I’ll stay as well. Just in case.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a weak smile. “Why don’t you build a fire and I’ll find us something to drink?”

He began to hum a song as he eagerly arranged some wood in the fireplace, and his thoughts were easy to guess. The babe magnet strikes again. I shook my head as I walked into the kitchen. Why was I playing this game? It was demeaning to all of us. And totally unnecessary. I could do anything I wanted with this man and make him forget it all one second later. He was mine for the taking, game or no game.

“Bob, can you come in here for a minute?”

“Sure thing.” He moved into the doorway. “Need help with a bottle or something?”

“No.” I looked him straight in the eyes. “Come closer, please.”

He approached, curious, but with just a small touch of fear. “So, what’s up?”

“I did not bring you here for protection from my husband, who is neither a drunkard nor an abusive man.”

Still held by my stare, he took this in. “So why are we here?”

“We are here because I want you. Because I need you. Because it has been way too long since I have fed.”

“Fed?”

I smiled at him. It might have been an encouraging smile, even a reassuring smile, except for the fangs that were growing in anticipation.

He stiffened and made an effort to pull away. But held by my gaze, he was helpless. I moved over to him and took him into my arms. “Yes, my darling. My sweet, sweet darling. And you will feed us well, won’t you?”

Bob shivered, trying to break my grasp, then relaxed as I continued to look into his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. “I will feed you. I will give you anything you want.”

“I know you will.” I smiled one more time, fangs fully grown, fully visible. Then my mouth went to his neck and we were both carried away by the tide of his blood.

I had almost forgotten the taste of fresh human blood; forgotten the sheer ecstasy feeding was. Time seemed suspended, thoughts forgotten; all that was important was my mouth and his blood, the pressure of his warm body up against mine, his moans, my contented sighs.

How could I have gone so long without human blood? And what had I become in the interval? A hunter of plastic bags and animals? I almost choked in scorn, and the Cat rejoiced deep in my mind. “Yes,” it purred, “this is what we’ve needed. This is what we have craved. Take it all.”

Not all, I thought, we must never take it all. But still I drew upon him, one glorious mouthful after another, a hand holding the back of his head, and the other pressed up against his heart, measuring the beats, waiting for them to slow. And when they slow, I told the Cat, reminding it and reminding me, when they slow, we must stop.

And there it was: the jump of his heart and a faltering of the steady pulse. Stop. Now. We must stop now.

I pulled my bloody mouth away from his neck as I forced the snarling Cat back down deep into my mind. Poor pet, I thought with sympathy, you are still hungry, I know. And I am still hungry. We will have more later.

His eyes rolled open and focused on mine; he smiled, faintly. “Are you all right?” I asked, my voice husky from the emotion of feeding.

“What happened?”

I shook my head. “Nothing happened, Bob. Do you understand? Nothing happened. You took me home and came over here. You checked the inside of the cabin and then lay down on the couch. You were very, very tired.”

He yawned. “Yeah, I’m very tired. But if I’m sleeping, why am I here with you . . .”

“A dream, of course. I was never here with you.You dropped me off at my cabin and came here by yourself. Go lie down again and sleep.”

I led him over to the couch and laid him down. There were no blankets with which to cover him; I’d taken them for Elly earlier. But I smoothed his hair back and kissed the top of his forehead. “Sleep now, Bob. And remember, I was never here.”

He muttered the words back to me and fell asleep. I checked his pulse one last time. He would live.

I moved out of the door, closed it and started down the front porch steps, phasing into the Cat as I did so, with only one thought in my mind. “Home. I am coming home.”

Chapter 12

Something was wrong. The Cat paced around outside the cabin, uneasy, sniffing the night air. It smelled wrong; the other’s scent was still here, but not strong; neither the man’s, nor the Wolf’s. Instead there was a sickly sweet smell, different and new, but not unlike the scent in that other place we had been. The Cat wailed, its tail thrashed and its ears flattened on top of its head.

I concentrated on calming and suppressing the Cat; recreating my human form in its place. Shivering and naked, I walked up the steps, opened the door and started to call, “Hi, honey, I’m . . .”

The cabin was empty. And not just empty of life and Mitch; there was nothing there. The kitchen cabinets hung open, with nothing inside. The furniture, the rugs, the draperies were gone. I stared for a while in disbelief and then climbed the stairs, checking on the other rooms. The towels and toiletries were missing from the bathroom; only a slight moistness in the air showed that this room had been used recently. The bedroom had been stripped as well, and on opening the closet I discovered that even my clothes were gone.

I leaned up against the wall and began to laugh. It had a hysterical sound, echoing through the rooms. That he had left was perhaps not surprising, given the recent content of his dreams. But to take everything? Even down to the draperies at the windows? It made no sense.

Then again, he wanted me dead. And this would most certainly do it. Mitch had to have known that I’d be forced to assume the cat form, and he knew as well as I the hazards inherent there. He had left me naked, cold and with inadequate protection from the coming sun.

“Cruelly done, my love.” I slid along the wall, sat down on the bare wood floor and began to cry, quietly and desperately. With nothing and no one left to me in the world, all that was left to do was to wait for the dawn.

I must have sat for hours, hunched over in my misery, weeping bloody tears, expending the precious energy stolen what now seemed a lifetime ago. Eventually, though, I ran out of tears and a deadly calm took over. I got up from the floor, opened the window shutters and looked out on the night. Dawn was no more than an hour or two away.

I almost expected to see the Wolf come loping through the trees and up to the door, like so many nights before. Or to hear Mitch’s voice call from another room. Despite the physical evidence, his leaving was hard for me to believe. There must be some explanation, my heart insisted, some reason for him to do this. How could I have been so wrong about this man? I knew him so well, I thought, I knew his mind and his heart and his soul. The Mitch I knew would never have done this.

And yet, was he the Mitch I knew? I had taken him away from all he valued. His son died because of me. To say that his life had changed drastically because of me was one of the century’s greatest understatements.

I had let my love and need for him rule me. I realized now that I was a fool to think that our love was great enough to surmount the impossible obstacles. I’d made him into a monster, turned him into a feral hunter. And then I’d locked him up here, and taken away even the bitter pleasures of our kind.

“Of course he left,” the Cat scoffed. “It is right that he left. He did not love us. He did not know us. And we will survive without him.”

“Perhaps you are right, my pet,” I soothed, managing to hide my inner thoughts. I did not want it to interfere with what I had planned. “We will leave soon,” I said, “but first there is something I must do.”

I padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. He hadn’t taken everything, of course; some of the drawers still contained valueless junk: candle ends, corks from wine bottles, bits of papers, matches. I pulled out a pack of the latter and gave a hard little laugh. “The Ballroom of Romance, again, I see. But Max would be happy, no doubt, to be a part of this last act.”

Stacked in the corner of the kitchen was a pile of newspapers. And yes, under the sink, he had left the cans of kerosene, something Sam had brought in each and every delivery, along with matching lamps the first time, thinking we might need it should the power go out. “Thank you, Sam. Although I fear you will find nothing much of value on your next visit.”

Starting upstairs, I crumpled up sheets of paper and placed them along the hallway, on the outer walls of the bedroom and bathroom, in the closet. Then, area by area, I splashed some of the kerosene onto the paper and tossed a few matches onto the piles. The flames were slow to catch at first, but I spilled more kerosene onto the open flames and walls. Soon the fire burned brightly and fiercely, licking at the walls. Lovely flames with such wonderful warmth, burning away the deceit and lies that lingered in Mitch’s absence.

I laid a path of fire down the stairs, and repeated the same process on the ground level. Almost, I wanted to stay and let the fire take me, but by this time, the Cat was in a state of nearpanic. I soothed it again, and went outside to watch the cabin burn.

As I’d hoped, the entire structure was quickly engulfed in flames. I was surprised, though, when I heard the sirens. It should have taken them longer to respond. I pulled back deeper into the woods and watched the trucks pull up in front of the cabin, followed by a familiar red convertible. Bob flung his door open and began to yell at the crew. “Someone’s in there. Or was in there. Did she get out in time?”

“Haven’t seen anyone,” one of the police answered. “Besides, they left town. That Greer fellow stopped by the station last night sometime and said they’d be gone for a while and asked if we could look out for things until they get back.”

Bob shook his head. “You must’ve heard him wrong. I dropped the woman off here earlier this evening. Around ten or so.”

The cabin shuddered, and the roof fell in. “You’d better be wrong, Bob, because no one’s going to be walking out of that. I just hope we can keep the trees from burning—a fire like this can take out acres. Wonder how it started.”

“Jesus.” Bob took a step toward the cabin, his voice rising in panic. “She has to still be in there. Otherwise, she’d be standing out here.”

“No one in there, Bob. In fact, there’s nothing in there at all. Some moving van came in and packed up all their stuff today. They stopped for directions is how I know. They moved out, so far as I can tell. You know how it is with summer folk.”

“But she was here. Earlier this evening, she was with Elly at the hospital. How can she have moved out?”

The police officer shrugged. “I’ll tell you what I think, Bob. I think he left her. Moved out while she was with Elly, lock, stock and barrel. I do know there was a woman with him when he stopped by the station. Couldn’t have been her, I guess, from what you say. So here’s the picture: Greer’s got himself another woman and they go off together. And she gets home and realizes what happened, she gets mad and starts the fire herself, then heads out somewhere else. Won’t be the first time a woman did something crazy when she got rejected.”

Another woman? I wanted to come out of the woods and question this man. But what did it matter? Mitch was gone and I was alone. I turned my back on all of them and headed deeper into the trees, phasing into the Cat as I ran, letting it carry me where it willed.

I woke the next evening, shortly after sunset, safely tucked up into a cave. Human once again, or as close to human as I would ever be. Naked. But alive. The Cat had more self-preservation instincts than I’d ever expected. I probed its mind, deeply embedded in mine. Revenge burned close to the surface; it had kept us alive because it wanted Mitch dead. I knew that feeling. Thoughts of revenge had kept me going for almost a century. But the Cat did not remember the regret and the high price that came with the goal. I did not want Mitch’s death. I wanted an explanation, a reckoning. Most of all, I wanted my life back the way it had been, when I had been his love and he had been my reason to exist.

“The one certainty in the world, Cat,” I said as I crawled out of the cave, “is that once changed, life is never the same. But it does go on.”

Our cabin was now nothing more than a few charred timbers standing in a pile of ashes, all cordoned off with yellow police tape. By now they’d have discovered that the fire had been set deliberately and that I did not die inside. I suspected with a bitter laugh that there would be a warrant out for me.

I needed to get out of this place, out of this state. Cadre headquarters in New York seemed a long way away, but it was my only refuge now. From there I could rebuild what was left of my previous life. But I could hardly make the entire trip as the Cat. I needed clothes, at the very least, to get to some other town where I wasn’t known, where I wasn’t wanted by the law. I would need access to my bank accounts.

First things first, I told myself. I remembered that I’d left my backpack at Elly’s cabin; tucked inside it was a change of clothes and my wallet. “We will start with that.”

Elly’s cabin was locked, but that was no obstacle for me. I chuckled to myself. According to the old legends, you could not keep a vampire out of your house once you’d invited it in. Apparently that old legend was true. I broke the lock and entered, closing the door behind me.

I found my pack and put on my clothes: a pair of jeans, a tank top, a flannel shirt. Unfortunately, I’d lost my favorite pair of boots while phasing into the Cat. I walked up the stairs and into Elly’s bedroom. Her boots were a little too large for me, but I borrowed a couple of extra pairs of socks to pad them. The clothes, after all, were for disguise, not for my comfort. Naked or clad, it was all the same to me.

As I laced up the boots, I heard the sound of tires on Elly’s gravel driveway. Had they come looking for me this soon? Someone knocked on the front door. “Hello?”

The voice sounded familiar, but out of place.

The knock came gain, harder this time, and the door swung open. “Hello, is anybody home? I’m looking for the Greers.”

I almost laughed out loud with relief. This was the first lucky break I’d had in a while. “Sam?” I stepped out into the hallway.

“Deirdre?” He looked up at me, his handsome face creased into a smile. “Thank God you’re all right. I saw your cabin and I feared the worst.”

I moved down the stairs and gave him a small hug. “I am so very glad to see you, Sam, you have no idea.”

“What the hell happened? Your cabin is gone, burned to the ground.”

“Yes, I know. I torched it; it was a lovely fire.”

“Deirdre? Are you okay? Where’s Mitch?”

“Mitch is gone, Sam.”

“Gone?” His voice sounded slightly hysterical. “He was in the cabin?”

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t burn the cabin down around him, Sam. He is gone. That’s all. He packed up everything he had and everything I had and left town. No note, no warning, no reason. Just gone.”

“But why would he do that? Why would he leave you? That makes no sense.”

I shrugged. “Sense or no, Sam, that is what happened. And so I burned the cabin down. Hell hath no fury, you know.”

“Okay. That I can understand.” Sam was ever the psychiatrist, and a small smile crossed his face. “I’m glad to see you’re in touch with your anger. But, Mitch? Leaving? There must be some reason. Could he have been forced?”

“Forced? Mitch? Who in this world could force him to do anything he did not want to do?”

“You could. But other than you, no one, probably.”

I nodded.

“Maybe he felt there was some threat? Something that might harm you if he stayed around?”

I shook my head. “There is only one creature in the world who wants me dead, Sam, and that is Mitch himself.”

“And so he left to protect you. See, that’s the best reason in the world.”

“Oh, yes, indeed. He wanted to protect me enough that he packed up all of my clothing. He took the curtains from the windows, took all the furniture and everything else in the cabin and moved it all to God knows where. Then, to protect me again, I suppose, he stopped by the local police station, with another woman waiting for him in the cab, to tell them he would be leaving town for a while. Good protection, that.”

He started to speak and I laid a hand over his mouth. “No, Sam, I do not want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever. He is gone; let us leave it at that.”

“Fine, Deirdre. You’re the boss. But what now?”

“Now,” I said, taking the wallet from my backpack and tucking it into my back pocket, “you will take me out of here and back to New York with you. I am a member of the Cadre, if it still exists. They will take me in; they have to.” I laughed, a small bitter cackle. “They are family.”

“Vivienne will be thrilled to see you again, Deirdre, I’m sure of that. And she will help you.”

“I do not want help. I just want a safe place to stay. Preferably someplace where I am not wanted for arson.”

Sam laughed. “Never a dull moment with you, Deirdre Griffin.”

“On the contrary, Sam, most of my life has been comprised of nothing but dull moments.” I took his arm and headed him to the door. “But you are never around to witness them. I would have been perfectly content with another century or so of dullness, if Mitch had not . . .” I choked back a sob.

“You’ll find him again, Deirdre,” he reassured me as we got into the car and drove away. “I’m sure of it.”

“And when I do?”

“Then you’ll know.”

“I do not want to know. I do not want to find him.” I shook my head and stared out the window. Somewhere deep inside my mind the Cat rumbled. Yes, we will find him. We will know. And then we will kill.

Part 3

Chapter 13

I only lingered long enough in New Orleans to attend Moon’s funeral mass, held on the ninth day following her death. I’d closed our two bank accounts and converted everything to cash. It wasn’t much; even considering my limited experience with money, I knew that a little under two thousand dollars wouldn’t last long. Angelo had taken away my biggest worry, that of what to do with our small house, by offering to take over the mortgage payment for me in exchange for being able to live there, at least while I was “off gallivantin’ in the city.”

I’d gotten used to Angelo by this time; it seemed natural to me that he should pick up where Moon left off. His froggish walk and his squinting eyes became familiar, and before he moved in he brought me gifts and objects that might prove useful to me in my search. Some were vials of offensive-smelling liquid or lotions, all precisely labeled in his small square handwriting. I laughed at first when he started pulling them out of his black medicine bag, but he peered at me so intently that I sobered immediately and listened to what he had to say.

“Now this,” he’d say, holding up a particular bottle, “this one keep folks from takin’ your money. Put a dribble on your wallet or your bags; they avoid them like the plague.” Or: “This baby let you guide some poor man’s mind, just a drop in his drink and crash! You inside his head, pokin’ around just as if you was at home in there. Now I make some of these extra strong, on account of the power of the folk you be meeting, so be careful if you use them on regular folks.” There were oils to hide my natural scent and ointments to confuse the eyes, “like the grease on the lens of the camera that make them models look so good.” He chuckled to himself over that one. “I givin’ you the best I got, Lily girl. You have faith and believe and you do just fine.”

Odd that I couldn’t believe. Despite all the strangeness of my life so far, it still seemed unlikely that such power could reside in little jars. But I’d packed them just the same at his insistence, smiling to myself, thinking as I’d wrapped the last of them that at the very least, when I run out of money, I can set up a corner stand and sell them on the street.

Moon’s mass was held early that morning; when I arrived at the church, the sun was just rising and the streets still held a trace of predawn haze. I wore a black skirt and a black T-shirt with my heavy boots. The only flash of color was my hair, flaming above my pale skin, and the red bead necklace I’d received at the grave site.

Sitting in the back pew of the church, I rested my arm atop one of the two cases I’d packed. Inside were three pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, assorted socks and underwear and a black leather jacket. The other bag contained what few cosmetics I used, my wallet and money, and ’Lo’s “medicines.” My stomach was fluttering and twisting itself in knots at the thought of the journey that lay ahead. But I’d resolved to find my mother. And find her I would.

After the service ended and the congregation filed out, I lingered, wanting to postpone one of the last tasks I had to do. But I had bus tickets and very little time to waste. I sighed, picked up my bags and walked over to the small, dark alcove that held the statues of the saints. I knelt in front of the altar for St. Barbara, dropped a quarter into the box and lit a candle.

“This is for Moon, you understand,” I whispered to the statue as I blew out the match. “I don’t know you. I don’t love you and I don’t honor you. But she did. Hold her safe.”

Someone came and knelt beside me. “Well done, child,” Angelo said. “Now take them beads off and give them to the saint.”

I gave him a questioning look, but at his intense gaze, I pulled them off over my head and laid them at the feet of the statue. In the flicker of the candles, they looked like a pool of blood. I shivered slightly, then got up from the kneeler. Angelo remained behind for a minute. I watched him as he lit a candle, held his hands out over the beads and sprinkled them with liquid from a vial he pulled out of his pocket. His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear the words. After a while he nodded, as if concluding a pleasant conversation, and lit another candle. Picking the beads back up, he turned and handed them to me.

“I bought you a little extra protection, Lily child. Just you make sure you wear these all the time. Don’t let nothin’ happen to them.”

I looked at them, balled up in my hand like little crystallized drops of blood.

“Go on, put them on, or at least put them in your pocket. He keep you safe.”

“If you say so, ’Lo.” I draped them around my neck again and tucked them under the neck of my shirt, and Angelo smiled.

“That’s right, Lily. No need to tell the world your secrets.”

The bus station was about a mile and a half away, so we walked. The morning haze had burned off while I was in church. Angelo and I moved in silence, passing the corner where Moon and Hyde had been killed. Now, in the bright sunshine, with the street vendors and their colorful wares, with the boys dancing for tourists’ money, with the music and the smell of flowers, it seemed like that terrible event had never happened. But underneath all the gaiety, I smelled the scent of death and it hardened my heart.

“Dirty trash town,” I muttered under my breath. “I’ll be glad to leave.”

Angelo grunted. “But you be back, Miss Lily. We all come back.”

We arrived at the bus station with about an hour to spare. I went into the ladies’ room and changed from my skirt into a pair of jeans. When I came out, Angelo waved me over and we sat for a while on the hard bench, sipping too-strong tea from white Styrofoam cups. Eventually the loudspeaker announced boarding for my bus and he reached into his pocket.

“I just got this this mornin’.” He handed me a small piece of laminated paper, a Louisiana driver’s license for one Lily Williams, aged twenty-two. “Figure you be needin’ some sort of identification, couldn’t send you out there without. No, no thanks for old Angelo. Moon fix this one up; give me the information and the picture months ago and asked me to hold on to it till the time was right.”

I thanked him anyway, gave him a small hug and walked out of the station to board the bus.

The trip took over thirty hours, too long a time to be cooped up in an enclosed space, even when those hours meant less than seconds to someone like me. I spent a lot of those hours studying my fellow passengers, wondering about their lives. There wasn’t much else to do.

As the miles accumulated and the scenery changed, the window on which I lay my head grew cooler. I tried to sleep, but the woman in the seat next to me was restless and anxious and the all-too-familiar emotions were contagious. By the time we arrived at our first scheduled stop, I was jumpy and nervous, but I filed into the restaurant with the rest of them, sat down and ordered coffee and food.

“Can I join you?”

I looked up to see my seatmate smiling at me. She was, I guessed, in her late thirties or earlier forties, sort of pudgy, dressed flamboyantly and with no regard for color matching. But she had a nice smile. And I was stuck with her for the next twenty-some hours, so I smiled and said, “Sure, why not?”

She sat down and settled in on the stool next to me. “This ride seems like it will never end and we’ve just started. Are you going all the way?”

“Just to New York.”

“I’m going all the way up to Rhode Island. My sister lives there. Taking the bus seemed like a good idea, to save on airfare, you know. But now I think I should have saved up a bit more money and taken the plane. You have relatives in New York?”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

She gave me a questioning look, but didn’t comment, absorbed as she was in her own problems. “My sister’s married, three kids, a perfect house, a perfect husband, a perfect life. Me”—and she laughed—“I’m a bit of a gypsy. Never put down roots, never had a relationship with a man that lasted more than a year. They think I’m abnormal and they’ll parade all of the available bachelors past me for approval. It makes me want to scream just thinking about it.”

“Yeah.”

“They don’t seem to understand that I’m fine just the way I am. And can’t comprehend that I’m perfectly content to live alone for the rest of my life. The me my sister thinks I am is a different person. That me is young and in love and happy. But it’s not me.” She laughed. “You know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I was in love once.” Her face softened and relaxed as she thought; I could feel the tenseness drain out of her as if she were reliving the best day of her life. “But that was a long time ago and he’s gone. And I’m happy just the way I am.”

“Yeah.”

She got up from the stool. “Excuse me a second, I need to go to the ladies’ room. I absolutely hate the lavatories on the bus, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

While she was gone, I pulled out one of Angelo’s little vials. Control, it was, and I dropped a bit in her coffee. I’d had enough of a glimpse of her mind to know what to do.

Back on the bus, I sat next to her again and pushed my arm up against hers. Then I closed my eyes and tried to get into her thoughts.

It was easy. She’d opened up in the restaurant and I knew where to look. Buried deep within was the memory of that one day and the man she loved. I sorted through and found it. Oddly enough, it was a gray day, rainy and cold. But there he was and there she was, sitting on a bench, his sweater wrapped around her against the cold. The wind whipped through her hair; she pushed it out of her eyes and looked up at him and smiled.

“Stay there,” I whispered to her. “Stay there with him.”

Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked over at her. She was sleeping soundly, her mouth slightly open, but smiling. The tight lines on her face had loosened and she looked young and pretty again.

I was tempted to go back into her mind to see what had gone wrong, but I resisted, leaned my head against the window again and slept.

My dreams were not as good as the one I sent her. Instead, I was back in my grave, digging to the surface to find, not Philomena waiting, but the dead bodies of Moon and Hyde. The dream played in my mind all night, over and over, endless variations on the theme of loss and sadness. I woke with a start and realized it was morning.

The rest of the ride was boring and uneventful. My seatmate had calmed down and seemed content to just sit and stare dreamily out of the window. We spoke about trivial things, but I said nothing to upset the equilibrium she’d achieved. I was nervous and edgy enough all on my own to make up for it.

The weather had changed drastically the next time we stopped. Gone was the bright sunshine of early fall in the South. Now it was cloudy and chilly and unpleasant. I pulled my bag down from the overhead rack, unpacked my black leather jacket and put it on, huddling into it for the rest of the trip.

Chapter 14

It was close to midnight when the bus finally arrived in Manhattan. The terminal was a snarl of people and escalators. I followed the arrows on the signs, swallowed up and carried along by jostling crowds. Eventually I reached the exit, stepped out of the bus terminal and onto the streets for my first glimpse of the city in which my mother lived. My initial impression was of the vastness of this place; my second was of its sterility and coldness. It had an odd sort of smell, metal and stone and glass, artificial smells that hung in the air as thickly as the exhaust of the cars. I slung my bags over my shoulder and hugged my arms to myself, glad that I’d unpacked my jacket and put it on at that last truck stop.

I had no idea at all where to go. I walked for a long time, aimlessly, letting the streets carry me. Not the best thing, I supposed, for a young girl to be doing in a strange city. Still, I remembered the strength I felt dealing with Moon’s and Hyde’s killer. I felt practically invincible. “Bring on your worst,” I whispered to the streets. “I can handle anything this town can throw at me.”

Finally growing hungry and tired, I stopped some fifteen blocks away from the bus station at a neon sign for what appeared to be an Irish pub. Opening the door and peering inside, I saw that it was cozy, not particularly large, but with a few tables, a long bar and a jukebox. There were enough patrons to indicate it was a fairly reasonable place to be, but not so many as to make it a tourist bar. I walked up to the bar and took a seat toward the far end, stowing my bags at the foot rail.

The bartender came over to me and gave me a sharp look. “ID?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you an ID about you?” He had a thick Irish accent.

“Oh. Yeah.” I leaned over and stretched my arm down to pick up my purse, placed it on my lap and fished out my wallet. My shiny new license was there and I showed it to him. “Will this do?”

“And you know it will.” He smiled at me then. “So what’ll you be having, Miss Lily Williams?”

I thought for a minute. “A Guinness, I guess. And a club sandwich?”

He reached under the bar to get a glass, and pulled me a draft. “The kitchen won’t be open right now,” he said, shaking his head as he set the glass on a paper coaster, “but I’ll see what I can find for you.” He left the bar, returning a few minutes later with a small bowl filled with pretzels and chips. “No real food back there and no one to cook it if there were. But we have these. Can I get you anything else?”

I took a sip of my beer, then shrugged. “Probably not. Unless you can recommend a good hotel nearby?”

“That I can do, and easily, too. Right across the street is the side entrance to one of the better hotels in the neighborhood. A grand place, almost a landmark, it is. And being as it’s only a Tuesday, they should have a room or two available. When you get there, tell them Michael sent you.”

“Thank you, Michael.”

“A pleasure, Miss.” He set my tab in front of me. “And welcome to New York.” He moved away and tended to some of the other customers.

I glanced at the bill and raised my eyebrows. Welcome to New York, my ass, I thought. It’s more like put your hands up in the air and give us everything you’ve got. I couldn’t believe they could charge this much for a beer. I finished my drink, thankful I hadn’t ordered more, then gathered up my bags and left some bills on the bar.

The side door to the hotel was locked, but I walked around to the front entrance. It is a grand place, I thought, taking in the lush exterior and the uniformed doormen, much too grand for my tastes and budget. But it was my first night here and all I cared about now was a warm bed.

Paying for the room in cash was a complication I hadn’t expected. “Yes, I’m quite sure I don’t have a credit card,” I told the woman at the reservation desk for what seemed like the hundredth time. “And I don’t see what the problem is. I have more than enough cash to cover the cost of the room. I don’t mind paying in advance.”

“But,” she said, shuffling papers around, “what about extra costs? And what if there’s damage to the room? I need someplace to charge it. I’ll have to get somebody to okay this. And at this hour where will I find someone?” She glared over at me. “Are you sure . . .”

“Look.” I took my wallet out of my purse, slammed it down on the counter and pushed it over to her. “Pick it up and look inside. No charge cards. Not a one. But there’s money. Take what you need to cover your ass and let me get some sleep.”

“Is there a problem?” A large man walked up and stood next to me at the counter. A very large man. He towered over me and the woman behind the desk.

The woman flinched. “Oh, no, no problem, Mr. Adams, except this young lady wants to pay cash and I . . .”

“Last time I checked, Mary, cash was still the legal currency.” He glanced down at me. “She seems a perfectly nice young lady. Take her money and give her a room. I’ll authorize it.”

She shrugged, took my money and handed me a room key and a receipt. “If you would stop by the desk tomorrow morning, Miss, we’ll give you an itemized list of charges. And we can settle up then on anything extra.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Mary.” The man smiled at the clerk, picked up my bags and took the key out of my hand. “And now I will show you to your room.”

The elevators were ornately decorated and extremely slow, giving me enough time to study this man. He was easily over six feet tall, I judged, and probably tipped the scales at three hundred pounds or more. His skin was pale, his hair jet black; his clothes fit him perfectly. In his impeccable and undoubtedly expensive suit, he exuded a heady combination of power and charm. He certainly wasn’t the bellboy. “Thank you,” I said to him with a smile, “I really am tired and all I want is a hot bath and a soft bed.”

“A sentiment,” he said, “with which the owners of the Westwood all agree. We are, after all, in the business of providing just that.”

“We?”

“Yes, I am one of the owners.”

I laughed. “Well, I was pretty sure you weren’t the bellboy. But I appreciate you vouching for me.” I gestured at my clothing. “Especially since I don’t really look like a perfectly nice young lady.”

He snorted. “Clothes aren’t important. You have a nice face. And a familiar one, somehow.” The elevator stopped and he allowed me to go first. “The room’s to your right,” he said, catching up with me. “But no, you can’t be familiar. This must be your first visit to town.”

“Yeah, it is. Does it show?”

“You seem a little lost, yes.” He stopped outside a door, unlocked it and flipped on the light. “This is a nice one,” he said, setting up a luggage rack and putting my bag on it. “These used to be apartments at one time, you know. So each room is just a bit different.”

I looked around. It was a lovely room and I said so. He seemed pleased. I reached into my purse, then hesitated. Does one tip the owner of a hotel? He noticed my confusion and laughed. “Save it, sweetheart, and buy yourself a cup of coffee tomorrow morning. Enjoy your stay, be sure to lock the door after I leave, and if you need anything at all just call down to the desk.”

I followed him to the door and clicked the dead bolt after it closed. “I’m here,” I said out loud. “I’m really here.” I tossed my purse onto the bed, and walked across the room. Pulling the curtains open, I looked out onto the city. It was so big. How would I ever get around?

At least I had a place to start, thanks to Angelo. Griffin Designs, just a cab ride away tomorrow morning. She wouldn’t be there, of course, since it would be daylight. But maybe I could trade my likeness of her for an address where she would be.

And then?

All of a sudden I started to shake. What would I do when I finally met her? Kill her? Find her sleeping in a coffin and drive a stake through her heart? I sat down on the bed and unlaced my boots, pulling them off and tossing them across the room. I’d probably just done the stupidest thing I’d ever done in my whole wretched life. I had no plan; all I had was anger and my thoughts of revenge. Those might have carried me this far, but I doubted I could ride them all the way. And what would I do when I ran out of money?

I got up, unzipped my suitcase and pulled out the silk bag that contained Moon’s shells. I shook them out into my hand and looked at them. I hadn’t washed them after Moon’s murder—it hadn’t seemed like something I should do—so some of them still carried the stain of her blood. A wave of anger swept over me. One more victim to add to my list of scores to settle.

I cupped the caracoles tightly as I breathed my request for guidance into them. But I didn’t drop them. Instead I stood still for a while, listening to the sounds of the city outside. Somewhere out there was the person I was looking for, and the answers to my questions rested only with her. It had nothing to do with Moon or her shells. I was on my own, at last. Small comfort now that this was what I had wanted for many years.

I put the shells back into their bag, noticing as I did that one of them had cut my palm. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it stung and I was bleeding. Absently, I put the hand up to my mouth and licked off the blood.

“Ick,” I said, making a face and going into the bathroom to wash my hand and to get a drink of water. “I can’t imagine having to make a steady diet of the stuff,” I told my reflection as I rinsed my mouth. “But maybe you get used to it after a while.”

I smiled into the mirror and examined my mouth. Philomena had always been quite strict about not ingesting blood, as if the slightest taste would cause me to grow fangs. “Nope,” I said, running my tongue over very decidedly not-sharp canines, “not tonight.”

I stripped off my clothes, turned out the lights and crawled into bed. I lay awake and looked out on the night sky, listening to the sirens racing up and down the streets. I forced myself to not think past this particular moment, to not even consider what would happen to me tomorrow. As my eyes closed and my mind started to wander, I seemed to hear Moon’s soft voice. “Sleep, child. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”

Chapter 15

I woke at dawn, having forgotten to pull the curtains closed the previous night. Once I was awake and remembered where I was, going back to sleep was impossible. So I showered and brushed my teeth, then opened my bag and took out a clean set of clothes. I laughed to myself as I zipped up my jeans; at least I didn’t have to worry about what to wear, since all I’d brought was black jeans and T-shirts. Opening my cosmetic bag, I applied a small touch of color to my cheeks and eyelids, added a little mascara to my eyelashes. I pulled out the vials that Angelo had given me one by one and lined them up on the glass shelf above the sink, reading the labels and descriptions again. Courage, attraction, disguise, confusion, command and a few others, plus the control that had worked quite well on the bus. He’d been so happy to provide them and so sure of their powers. The very least I could do was use them. But which would be most appropriate for this auspicious occasion?

I picked up the bottle labeled “Command” and read, “Apply to palms of hands for success in bending others to your will.” I shrugged and unscrewed the cap. It smelled earthy, a combination of wet autumn leaves and fresh dirt, with a delicate underlay of rotting meat. “Yeah, ’Lo,” I said, wrinkling my nose, “people will agree to anything you want just to get the smell out.” But I took a second sniff and felt myself strangely drawn to the aroma. I dabbed just a bit on the palms of both my hands, rubbed them together and cupped them around my nose. Like so many perfumes, it had a different scent when applied to skin. “Not too bad,” I said to my reflection. “Let’s see if this one works as well as the other.”

The Griffin Designs offices turned out to be not that far from the hotel. “You might still want to take a cab,” the woman behind the desk advised. “It’s easy to get turned around unless you know your way.” I’d made arrangements to keep the room for at least one more night, and paid in cash again. There’d been no problem this morning, perhaps because of Mr. Adams’s endorsement from last night. She’d had to answer the phone in the middle of our transaction, so I glanced around the lobby, then walked over to peer into the hotel restaurant. It was quite elegant, white linen cloths on the tables, flowers in tiny little bud vases and cut-crystal and silver salt and pepper shakers. “If you want breakfast,” the woman said as I walked back over to the desk and she handed me my receipt, “don’t eat here.” She looked around to make sure she wasn’t overheard. “Leave this place to the rich tourists. There’s a perfectly good diner one block over. And they won’t charge you New York rates for eggs and coffee.”

“Thanks.”

I followed her instructions and found a plain place with more of a homey feel than the hotel’s restaurant. Sitting at the counter, I felt more comfortable with the glass and chrome shakers and the cheap green-speckled Formica counter. The waitress, I realized with a pang, reminded me of Moon, so I ordered a cup of coffee, deciding that my normal morning tea might make me homesick. I also ordered two pieces of toast, more to give myself something to do than to eat.

I poured as much cream into the coffee as would fit in the cup, made a show of putting jelly on the toast. But I wasn’t particularly thirsty or hungry. I was nervous. Why on earth did I come here?

“More coffee?” The waitress gave me a tired smile. “That’s a pretty ring you have on, honey. It’s a lily, right?” I looked down at my hand and nodded, suppressing the wave of sadness and anger I felt inside.

“You get that around here somewhere?”

“No, it was a gift. From someone back home.”

“That’s nice. Must’ve been from a young man, I figure, seeing as how you’re such a pretty young thing. He come with you?”

“No, he’s dead.”

“Oh, Lord, and didn’t I just put my foot into it? I’m sorry, honey, you’re awful young to be carrying such a sorrow.”

“It’s okay,” I said, pulling a bill out of my pocket and putting it on the counter. “I’m not all that young. And I’m glad you mentioned it, actually, since I was just wondering what the hell I was doing here. Now I know—I’m going to meet my mother. And she’ll balance the account.”

I walked out onto the street and hailed a cab for Griffin Designs.

“I’d like to see Ms. Griffin.” The receptionist looked up at me with no recognition and no enthusiasm.

“Ms. Griffin?” She held up a finger while she picked up the ringing phone. “Griffin Designs, may I help you?” She paused for a second—“Just one moment, please”—pushed a button on the console and hung up the phone, turning to me again. “Sorry,” she said, “the phones are hell right before a show. Who did you say you wanted to see?” The phone rang and she sighed. “See? They’re hell.”

I waited. “I’d like to talk to the owner,” I said when she looked back at me again.

“Oh, I see. She’s not here right now. Did you want to wait for her?”

“Will she be in?”

She shrugged. “As far as I know she will be.” The phone rang again and she answered it.

I shook my head when she’d finished. “Man,” I said with a smile, “I’d hate this job.”

She shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I’ve had worse. Anyway, I guess she’ll be in. At least no one’s told me differently. Do you have an appointment?”

“Well, no, but I’m sure she’ll see me. We’re, um, old friends.”

She nodded, looking me up and down. “Okay, then, have a seat. But I’ve got to warn you, she hardly ever hires anyone off the street. And you’re just a little bit too short.”

“Too short?”

The phone rang and she stopped again to answer it. I really would hate to have her job. You never even got to finish a sentence.

It didn’t seem to faze her, though. She switched from phone to conversation without so much as a blink. “Yeah, short for a model. Otherwise, you’ve got the build for it.”

“Scrawny, you mean?”

She laughed. “Here we prefer the word sleek. Or lithesome. Or whatever the hell the fashion industry is pushing down our throats this week.”

“I’m not looking for a job.”

“Okay, whatever. Suit yourself. I just happen to know for a fact that she doesn’t have old friends. Or any friends.”

I smiled. “Now, that’s not much of a surprise at all.”

“You do look sort of familiar, though.”

“I’d guess I would. I’m her . . .”

“Shhh.” The receptionist seemed to spring to attention. As if on cue, the elevator doors opened behind me. I didn’t turn around at first. “Morning, Lucy.” The voice was deeper and more harsh than I’d expected, clipped and quick. “And what do we have here?”

“She wants to see you. But she doesn’t have an appointment.” The phone rang again, and Lucy seemed happy to return to it. I had the feeling the owner made her nervous. Not surprising, I thought, considering what the owner is.

“Another one?” She sounded annoyed. “Well, turn around, girlie, and let me look at you.”

I turned and came face-to-face with a total stranger, who obviously didn’t think I was one.

She beamed and enveloped me in a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you. And much earlier than you normally get about. What’s happening? How’ve you and that handsome hubby of yours been getting along?” She stepped back and took a long look at me. “Damn it, Deirdre, every time I see you, you look worse than before. What the hell have you been doing to yourself? And where did you get those god-awful clothes? And that horrible haircut?”

I ran my hand through my hair. “Excuse me?”

“Forget it.” She linked her arm in mine. “Send some coffee back, Lucy. And some Danish, I think.” She moved me through the inner door and walked me down the hallway. “I do hope you have time for a good gossip, Deirdre. It’s been so long.”

We reached an office at the very end of the hall. She entered first and then beckoned me on. “Come in, come in. No need to be formal. Something must be going on with you or you wouldn’t be here. You’d be cozied up in that little cabin with that detective. So sit down and tell me all about it.”

I sat as ordered; she was such an imposing woman.

“Well?”

“Who are you?” I asked.

She laughed. “Funny, very funny.”

“I’m not joking. Who are you?”

She stopped for a second, gave me a critical look, blinked once and moved closer to me. “Jesus.” She shook her head; her heavy earrings made a clacking sound. “You aren’t Deirdre, are you?”

“No, I’m not her. I’m Lily Williams, her daughter.”

“Daughter? You’re her daughter?” She took me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. “There’s no question about the resemblance, although now that I look closer, I see a difference. It’s your eyes, I think.” She cocked her head to one side. “They’re not as deep. Deirdre has always had eyes you could fall into.”

I disengaged myself from her hands. “I don’t want to be rude, but who are you?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Betsy McCain.” She reached out to shake my hand, obviously an instinctual reaction, since we’d already had more than enough body contact for politeness’ sake. “I bought Griffin Designs from your mother a couple of years ago. She didn’t tell you?”

“Ms. McCain, I have never spoken with my mother; I haven’t met her. I didn’t even know where to find her until a few days ago.”

There was a knock on the door, and Lucy came in with a plate of pastries and some coffee, setting it on the large desk. “Thanks, Luce. And hold my calls, will you?” Lucy nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

Betsy walked around to the desk. “She must have had you when she was very young, I suppose.” She poured herself a cup and motioned me to come over. “Here, fix it yourself,” she said, shoving a cup into my hands. “I’m not very domestic.”

“Not all that young.” I poured half a cup and topped it off with creamer. “Far as I can tell, she was twenty-eight at the time.”

“And you’re what? Nineteen? Twenty?”

“Twenty-two, actually,” I said, remembering the age printed on the ID Angelo had given me.

“So that makes Deirdre . . .”

“Much older than she seems. Yeah.”

Betsy put her head back and laughed. “I knew it. She’s had cosmetic surgery. She’d never admit it, but I had my suspicions. No one looks that good for so long. And so when you were born she put you up for adoption?”

“Close enough. Ms. McCain, what can you tell me about my mother?”

“Betsy, call me Betsy. I get enough of the Ms. stuff around here to make me crazy. I haven’t really known your mother all that long, but I’ll tell you what little I do know.”

She knew plenty, enough to fill about another two hours of conversation. Lucy had been right, this woman had no friends. She wouldn’t have latched on to me quite so tightly if she had. And she wouldn’t have pursued the one friend she used to have, my mother, with as much determination.

The picture she painted for me was quite clear. Deirdre Griffin was beautiful, talented and rich, leading an exotic and full life, including a whirlwind courtship and marriage to a handsome man who adored her. In short, she possessed everything while I had nothing.

And then there was the question of the mysterious deaths, one of which happened in the private apartments located off this very office. They were, Betsy maintained, just unfortunate coincidences in which my mother had accidentally become involved. “It was almost as if death followed her around,” Betsy said, a sad, understanding look on her face. “She’s had her share of hard luck, no doubt about it.”

I tried not to laugh out loud. I wanted to jump up from my seat and scream, Of course death followed her around, you stupid woman. She’s a fucking vampire. I kept my thoughts to myself. This was fascinating stuff.

“But,” Betsy continued, “she rose above all of it. And now she’s hopefully enjoying the sort of life she deserves. I can only think of one thing that could help complete that life. Meeting you.”

I smiled my sweetest smile while seething inside. I’ll help complete her life, you bet your ass I will. “Thanks, Betsy. So you’ll help me find her?”

“Of course I will. What are friends for? Besides, I happen to know exactly where she is. It’s not much of a secret.”

She moved to her desk again and opened up a file on her computer. “Here we go,” she said after pressing a few keys. “I’ll print it out for you.”

She went over to the printer and pulled off the sheet of paper. “It’s this awful little one-horse town in Maine. God only knows what they were thinking. But it shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

I took the paper from her, folded it up and put it into my purse.

“Now,” she said, looking at her watch. “What do you want to do for the rest of the day? I propose a shopping trip and a nice meal.”

“I guess so.”

“You only guess so?” She put her hand under my chin and lifted my head up. “What kind of twenty-two-year-old girl doesn’t jump at the chance to go shopping?”

“A twenty-two-year-old girl who has no money?”

“Lily, sweetheart, you are the only child of Deirdre Griffin. You certainly aren’t poor. I’ll foot the bill and take it out of my payments for the business at a later date. She won’t miss it one bit; she’s good for it.”

I thought back to all the lean years and all the hardships my life had brought upon my caretakers; the decades of just scraping by, all that moving, all those extra expenses, the way Moon would get a wounded look in her eyes just thinking about paying monthly bills. I gave a hard little laugh. “She’d better be. I’m about to develop expensive tastes.”

Chapter 16

Betsy McCain was true to her word. We splurged that day and she returned me to the Westwood Hotel a totally different person. She’d even rushed me into one of the fanciest salons in the city for a total makeover including hair extensions, a three-hour ordeal that cost twice as much as I’d brought with me. As a result, the woman who stared back at me from the mirror in my hotel room had long hair and wasn’t quite me. I looked like the few photos of my mother that Betsy had been able to show me. It was frightening, almost as if I had come to New York to find her, only to end up being her.

But, I thought, as I struggled with the back zipper of the long black sheath dress Betsy had picked for me to wear at dinner, Deirdre Griffin had enjoyed life longer than any creature had a right to. It was my turn now. I slid on a pair of high-heeled sandals, sorted through the bags of clothes and found the sheer embroidered shawl we’d gotten to go with the dress. I’d never felt so elegant. And the fact that my mother would pay for it all made the emotion much sweeter. “This is just the first installment, my dear mother. There will be many more to come.”

I wrapped the red crystal bead necklace around my wrist a couple of times and wore it as a bracelet. Betsy had been appalled that I was wearing such a “tacky” piece, and made me promise not to ruin the neckline of the designer dress with it. But I wanted it with me; it served as a reminder of why I was here. Revenge.

I stopped in the bathroom before going to the lobby to meet Betsy, checked my makeup and hair one last time and flipped off the light. Turning to go, I stopped and turned back, deciding to try another of Angelo’s medicines. Not bothering to read the labels this time, I smelled each of them and picked out the one that was most like perfume. It gave off a sweet but musky smell, seeming to envelop me in glamour and mystery. When I looked into the mirror one last time, I felt that I was my mother. I smiled, only mildly disappointed that my teeth were still even and straight.

Betsy took me to a restaurant called The Imperial. It was, she said, one of my mother’s favorite places. “Not her very favorite, though; she far preferred The Ballroom,” she explained in the cab. “But that wasn’t much more than a pickup joint. Your mother inherited it from the former owner, Max Hunter, but sold it to a woman she knew. It’s now a fetish bar, Dangerous Crosses or something. Lots of chains and whips and weird folks all dressed up in leather and plastic with nothing much better to do than torture each other in public.” Betsy shook her head. “I like sex as much or better than the next person, but I prefer to torture my friends in different ways.” She laughed and nudged me. “As you well know, Deirdre.”

“What?”

“Damn it. I meant Lily. But you are so much like her. It must be the clothes. Or maybe the perfume you’re wearing. What is it, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I just threw some on as I was walking out of the room. A friend of mine in New Orleans gave it to me.”

“New Orleans is a wonderful city.”

“To visit, maybe. But to live there? New Orleans is a city of death.”

She gave me a hard glance. “It’s not just your looks, you know. You think like your mother.”

I shrugged and turned my head to look out the cab window. We were halfway through dinner when her cell phone rang. Betsy scowled and swore and dug into her purse, flipping open the phone in annoyance. It had been a festive meal up until then, unlike any other meal I’d ever eaten. I knew that other cities I had lived in had similar restaurants, but I had never been privileged enough to dine at them. While Betsy talked to her caller, I wondered briefly what Moon would have thought about all of this, then squelched the thought. I knew well enough what she’d think, so well I could almost hear her. “Damned rich folks spending hundreds of good dollars on food that won’t do them no good and other folks are starving on the streets right in front of them.”

“It’s just not right.” I whispered the thought for her.

Betsy’s voice grew louder. “All of them? All of them? How can that be?”

She paused a second. “So I’ve got a show coming up in two days and you’re telling me that every stinking model is sick? How can that be?”

She listened for a minute more and rolled her eyes. “Stupid little bitches. Okay, fine. I’ll be right there.”

Clicking off the phone, she shoved it back into her purse. “I’m sorry, Lily, but I’ve got to get back to the office. Turns out that every model at the Aspen Agency is suffering from food poisoning. Bad tuna or something. What a goddamned disaster.” She stood up. “Anyway, you stay and finish the meal. I’ll sign for the bill now, but I’ll let them know that as long as you stay, you can run a tab. Will you be okay? Do you have cab fare to get back to the hotel?”

I nodded. “I’ll be fine, Betsy.”

She shook her head again. “I can’t believe this, I really can’t.”

“Good luck,” I called to her as she hurried out of the restaurant.

I picked at the food that remained on my plate, then pushed it aside. The waiter came over to remove it, refilling my wineglass before he did so. “Shall I bring the dessert cart over?”

“No, thanks. Can you set up a tab for me at the bar? My friend said she’d cover it.”

“Already taken care of, Miss. You can go over any time you’d like. And enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“Thanks.” I stood up, stretched and smoothed the tight dress over my hips, wishing I had worn my jeans. Then again, I thought, as I caught the admiring gaze of a few of the men in the room, no one ever looked at me that way while I was wearing jeans.

As I sauntered to the bar, I felt their eyes follow me. Is this the way my mother acquired her victims? Did she lure them with sex and beauty? I ran my tongue over my teeth, wondering how it would feel to be her, to choose anyone I wanted, to drain them of their lifeblood and leave them for dead. Who would I pick for the night?

I found myself a small table in a shadowy corner of the bar area, sat with my back to the wall to better observe the people. The waiter came over and I ordered more of the red wine we’d been drinking at dinner. He disappeared for a second, then returned with a full glass. “This is all taken care of, Miss,” he said as he set it in front of me.

“Thanks.” After he left, I continued the game of choosing a victim for the night. So many people, so much blood to be had.

No, not that one, I thought, avoiding the stare of a man at the end of the bar, he’s too obviously influential. He’d be missed and that would not be good for me. But he was handsome, older than me, physically at least. I’d have said he was dintinguished, but that conjured up images of gray-haired, cigar-smoking old gentlemen in waistcoats. He certainly wasn’t one of those. And there’d been something about his eyes. I glanced back to the end of the bar and he was gone.

Well, I thought, we didn’t want him anyway. Pick someone else.

The trick was, I supposed, to find someone healthy and robust, but not too beautiful. How would I do it? Call them over to my table and share a drink or two with them? “Hi,” I would say, “my name is Deirdre and you look like you need a friend. Join me?” I would turn the full force of my power on them and they wouldn’t refuse. And we would talk and laugh and become friendly. Then I would take them home and drain them dry.

I shook my head. “This is really lame, Lily,” I said to myself. “And it isn’t getting you anywhere.” I drank my glass of wine in one gulp and got up from the table, bending over to pick up my purse and my shawl from the other chair.

“Leaving so soon, Miss Williams?”

I jumped, I hadn’t heard anyone come up on me. Turning around, I came face-to-face again with my benefactor from the Westwood Hotel. “Hi. It’s Mr. Adams, isn’t it?”

He smiled. “Yes, how nice of you to remember. And don’t you look lovely, all dressed up? Surely you can stay for a little while longer and brighten up an old man’s evening.”

I blushed. “Well, I guess I could stay. I was just leaving because I was bored.”

“We can’t have that, now, can we? Come join me at my table. And call me Claude, there’s no need to be formal.” He took the shawl from my hand, wrapped it around my shoulders and tucked my hand into his arm. “That’s a lovely perfume, by the way. Where did you get it?”

“A friend of mine in New Orleans gave it to me.”

“Ah. And what does this friend of yours in New Orleans do for a living?”

“Why, he’s . . .” I hesitated. What did Angelo do? “He’s a bokor.”

“Indeed. I could have guessed that. And based on the results, a fairly good one. So, did he tell you what this particular scent could do?”

I blushed again. “There’s a label, but to be honest, I didn’t read it. I picked this one because I thought it smelled different.”

“Different. Yes. You have a discerning nose. I suspect you have good instincts. Still, you should give your friend a little advice my mother once gave me.”

“And what’s that?”

He put his head back and laughed. “ ‘Voodoo don’t pay the bills.’ So I took her advice, came to this city and made my fortune. Now come with me, my dear. There’s someone at my table who wishes to meet you.”

We crossed the room, my hand still tucked into his arm. I felt the eyes of most of the people there follow us; I suppose we looked a fascinating couple. Claude was so very large, so very powerful, and I was so small next to him. And yet, I was not without power. Gone was the girl from New Orleans; she was a woman now, and one who could choose to be anyone she wished. And tonight I chose to be Deirdre Griffin.

The man who sat at the table did not glance up at our approach. He was, I judged, in his mid-forties, with dark hair only just faintly salted with gray. A full glass of red wine sat in front of him, untouched and unnoticed. Except for the fact that he was tracing circles on the surface of the table with his forefinger, I’d have taken him for a statue, a wax figure: elegant and cleverly designed, but completely without life. My companion touched him gently on the shoulder.

“Victor”—it seemed to me Claude said the name with more deference than affection—“this is the lovely Lily Williams, a fair flower traveled here from my former hometown. Miss Williams, this is Victor Lange, a very old and dear friend.”

Victor Lange’s gaze lifted from the table where he had been watching the tracing of his finger. He was the man I had seen at the end of the bar. But his eyes were empty now, with no spark of life or thought, barely focusing on my face. Then they widened ever so slightly, studying me in great detail. I remembered something Betsy had said in the cab on the drive here—about my mother’s eyes and how one could fall into them. Victor had eyes like that. When he smiled at me, I took in a small gasp of air. And I knew what he was.

He stood up gracefully and pulled out the chair next to him. “Sit here, Miss Lily Williams, and let us get better acquainted. My dear friend Mr. Adams will go to the bar and get us some of the good wine, won’t he? None of this slop they brought me earlier.” Victor picked up the untouched glass and handed it to him. Their eyes met, and for a moment or two there was silence.

Claude cleared his throat, looking nervous for the first time since I’d met him. He seemed to shrink in on himself, and gave a small nod. “Well, I suppose I could. I wouldn’t be away for too long.”

Victor waved his hand. “Stay away as long as you need to, friend.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from that last word. “And Miss”—he looked at me and winked—“ah, Williams and I will be here when you get back.”

“I don’t know,” Claude hesitated. “I’m not supposed to . . .”

“Go.”

It was just one word, one very little word, but uttered with such command that Claude turned instantly and walked away.

“Sit,” Victor said to me, in much the same tone of voice, and I sat. “Now”—he seated himself next to me—“now we can talk for a little while without supervision. They keep me under a very tight watch, did you know? They think I’m not right.”

“Not right?”

“Not right as in damaged in the head. And I suppose it is true. I have times when I am not myself. But just the sight of you brings me back.” He reached over and touched my hand. “Deirdre.”

I jumped, almost as much from the coldness of his skin as from the name. He didn’t seem to notice. “Why are you here, Deirdre? Under a different name? Are you in trouble?”

I wanted to laugh out loud. He thought I was my mother. What an amazing bit of luck. And what couldn’t I learn from this man.

I played along. “Yes, Victor, I’m in trouble.”

He smiled again, not a pleasant smile. “And you have come to me for help. How ironic. Where is Mitch?”

“Mitch is not here.”

“Ah, I see. I never liked him much anyway. For what it’s worth, I always thought you were better off with Max.” His eyes glazed over a bit, losing some of the life and depth they’d had. “Max,” he said in a whisper, “then Ron. So many others. All dead. You have caused me much grief, Deirdre. But, for Max’s sake and the love he bore you, I will help you. Stay until Claude leaves again.” His eyes spotted the large form crossing the bar with a bottle and glasses. “We will go someplace private and you can tell me your story.”

Chapter 17

I was in over my head, I knew. Way over my head. Although Victor might not have had all his faculties, he certainly had enough to be a real threat to me. If I’d been smart, I’d have turned and run back to New Orleans. But I’d become obsessed with learning as much about my mother as possible, and Victor Lange certainly had more information than Betsy McCain. Even if he’d been the devil himself, I’d still have gone with him.

A plan began to form in my mind. It was vague and shadowy, an outline only, with none of the substance filled in, but it was a plan. If I could convince her friends that I was her, then I could take her life away from her. And leave her with nothing, the way she’d left me.

Claude returned with the bottle of wine and showed it to Victor. “Perfect,” he exclaimed. “You’ll like this, my dear. It’s the best wine the cellar of The Imperial has to offer.” He held the bottle out to me so that I could read the label. As Lily, I knew only that it wasn’t Mad Dog 20/20. As Deirdre, though, I had to concur with Victor’s pronouncement and nodded. “Very nice indeed. Thank you, Claude.”

He poured three glasses and handed one to Victor, one to me, and picked up his own. “To friends, old and new,” he said, but the power of his voice was dimmed. Claude drank, giving Victor and me a few uneasy glances, noticing that, in his very short absence, the dynamics of our threesome had switched. He was now the outsider and the visitor. I smiled at him and sipped at my wine.

He took my smile as encouragement. “So, Lily, tell us about New Orleans. It’s been some time since I’ve been there.”

I shrugged. “It’s New Orleans. And probably hasn’t changed one single bit since you’ve left. It’s still sinking into the swamp, it’s still dirty and it still stinks of death.”

Claude laughed. “Ah, I know it well. Home sweet home. I miss it still.”

Victor had gone silent. His glass was empty and he was back to tracing on the tabletop again. “Victor?” I placed a hand on top of his and he brushed it away.

Claude leaned over and whispered to me. “Don’t worry about it, Lily, he does this sometimes. He is, well, different. You mustn’t mind him.”

At this statement, Victor’s mouth seemed to stiffen into a grimace, and I caught a glimmer of anger in his eyes as they quickly darted to me, then back to the table, but he said nothing.

Claude didn’t seem to realize that Victor was not quite as unaware as he seemed. His actions were like taunting a tiger at the zoo. But in this case, the bars were made of paper and only the tiger knew. If Victor ever gained full control of his mind and situation, I had a feeling that Claude would be quite dead in a matter of seconds. I should have been frightened. Instead I felt a rush of excitement. And with that rush, I also felt Victor’s knee very purposely brush up against mine. He was not as out of it as they all thought. Whoever they were.

Claude kept talking about his boyhood days and nights in New Orleans; I made an effort to listen and respond appropriately. We talked of Mardi Gras and blues and the bars of the Quarter. The bottle of wine was emptied, and Victor woke from his trance enough to ask Claude to get another.

When he had gone, Victor looked up at me. “Ten minutes after I leave, excuse yourself for the ladies’ room. Next to that door is a door marked ‘Employees Only.’”I craned my head a bit to see where it was. “No.” He touched my hand and I looked back at him. “You can’t see it from here, but it is there.” He pressed something into my hand, a key. “This will open it. Take the stairs to the very bottom and follow the hall to the very end. This key will open that door also. I will wait for you there. You’ll recognize the place when you get there.”

I nodded.

“I needn’t tell you that you must be unobserved.”

“No, you needn’t tell me. But I’ll be there.”

“Good.” He smiled at me one more time, gave my knee a quick squeeze and then turned back to his study of the tabletop just as Claude came back. “More wine?” asked Claude.

He started to pour, but Victor looked at him and shook his head slowly. “Not for me, Claude. I think I shall retire now.”

He stood up, and Claude motioned to the bartender. I watched as Victor crossed the room; when he reached the doorway, another man approached him and walked him out. A very tight watch.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Victor?” Claude’s nervousness fell from him as soon as Victor was out of sight. He was once again self-assured and powerful. “He lost some very dear friends a few years ago, in a nasty series of even nastier murders. It was as if his mind became unhinged. I didn’t know him then. But I understand he was dynamite. Ran things with an iron fist and forget the velvet glove.” He laughed and filled my wineglass. “A real tiger. He owns this place, did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t. Still, it’s sad.”

“Mmm. So how do you like the wine?”

I held my glass up and admired it in the light. “It’s good. I’d hate to have to tell you the brand of the last wine I drank. But this stuff, it makes that other seem like swill.” I gave a little giggle. “Okay, it really was swill. But then as my friend Hyde would say, ‘Drunk is drunk no matter how much you spend.’”I checked the clock over the door. Time to go. “Speaking of which, I really must make a visit to the little girls’ room. Where is it?”

He pointed it out to me and I collected my purse, holding it to cover the key in my hand. “Be back in a bit,” I said, and walked off, deliberately staggering just a little.

I did stop in the ladies’ room first, to check on my appearance. I ran a hand through my hair, and marveled again at how amazing it was that they could do such a thing. Then I opened my purse and pulled out the little vial of scent. This time I did read the label. “Disguise,” it said. “Wear this to confuse the eyes of others. Will mold your appearance to your thoughts.”

I didn’t really believe in it. But I dabbed some more onto my neck and my wrists, just in case. My heart was pounding; I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. “I am Deirdre Griffin,” I whispered, opening my eyes and focusing on my reflection. “I am Deirdre Griffin.”

Then I exhaled the breath and stepped outside. The key fit the lock and I went in quickly, shutting the door behind me quietly. It clicked solidly, regardless of my care, and I turned the knob, suspecting and then realizing that it was locked from this side also. With no way to open it again.

“Great.” My voice echoed loud in the landing. I looked down at the staircase. It seemed to go on forever. I sighed, took off my shoes, hooked the straps over my fingers and started down. No sounds filtered in from the restaurant, and the only light came from the fixture at the exit. Step after step, I plunged deeper into darkness and silence. After two full flights, my legs started to shake. After three, though, I could see what seemed to be the end of the stairs. Only one more flight now, I told myself. When I reached the bottom, I leaned up against one of the walls; it was cold and damp. There were no lights in this hallway, just the slight glow from above and the tiny crack of light under the door at the corridor’s end.

It occurred to me as I started down the hall that this was perhaps one of the stupidest things I’d ever done—masquerading as a woman I’d never known to meet in secret with a vampire who, by his own admission, was not quite himself.

“No,” I whispered to myself, “stupid doesn’t even come close to describing this.”

But I had no choice now. There was no way out of this place, except with Victor’s help. And so I would continue the game. Still, when I inserted the key into the lock, I saw that my hands were shaking.

I paused, took a deep breath and opened the door.

Victor was sitting calmly in what appeared to be a waiting room. It was a room one would expect to find in an institution or a hospital; the difference between these surroundings and the lush interiors of The Imperial was shocking. But Victor seemed quite unaware of where he was; he still exuded elegance and power. Smiling, he rose and gave me a small bow. “Right on time, Deirdre.” He crossed the room, took my hand and kissed it. “You were always so socially responsible, so dependable. True to your word. I do apologize for the surroundings, but this is my home now. Or rather, the next room is my home.” He beckoned to me and opened a door. “We can be a bit more comfortable in here, at least.”

I preceded him; this room was even more bizarre than the first, containing a few chairs and two large glass tanks. One of these tanks was completely empty, the other was filled with antique furniture: two large wing chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet, a mahogany end table between the chairs, a large armoire and a single bed with mahogany posts. “They so very graciously allow me something a little less institutional in my chamber. I’d be more thankful, except that this entire organization only exists because of me. The blood-sucking Cadre should be thanking me.”

I nodded, suppressing a shiver. What was this place?

“The Cadre’s holding pens, of course. As you should remember.” He gave me a shrewd look and I smiled knowingly. He had picked that thought right out of my mind. I would need to be much more careful.

“Of course I remember, Victor. How could I forget?”

“How indeed. So let us sit and be comfortable.”

I walked into the glass tank and chose one of the burgundy chairs. He followed closely behind me and opened the armoire, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. “They even allow me a few vices now and then. What harm can it do? My dear concerned friends in the Cadre do not know that I can get out, you see.” He laughed and sat in the chair next to me. “I won’t tell them how I do it, of course, even if they find out. I must keep a few secrets for myself. And I trust you will keep this one as well.”

“Of course, Victor.”

“So”—he handed me a glass of wine—“what is happening, Deirdre? What were you doing in New Orleans? I thought you and Mitch had settled into that little love nest in Maine. And how do you come to be without him? The man who swore to protect you for all eternity let you out alone?”

I laughed, hoping it didn’t sound too nervous. “There are all sorts of jails, Victor.” This, at least, I could talk about with authority. “Maybe I got tired of being held and protected.”

“Understandable.” He drank his wine and studied me. “And so you came here to me. Why?”

I didn’t know how to answer him; this was not going well. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just leave.” I got up from my chair and started for the door, but he was quicker than I and blocked the exit.

Putting his hands on my shoulders, Victor looked down at me. “No need to explain, Deirdre, my love. You came to me because you couldn’t stay away for too long. We have always been such good friends.” He said the words caressingly, lovingly. “Yes, such good friends, you and I. For what it is worth, I have missed you, too.”

Before I knew he had even moved, he’d wrapped his arms around me and was kissing me. Softly at first, then harder and more demanding. I wanted to push him away, but it would blow my cover. So I relaxed and kissed him back, realizing halfway through that it was no longer an act. I liked having him kiss me. I liked the way he held me, I liked the way he smelled, the way his solid body seemed to melt into mine.

He broke off the kiss and looked down into my eyes. I couldn’t even begin to understand what lay behind his glance. I blushed and tried to look away. “Ah,” he said, “I see it now.”

“What do you see, Victor?”

“I see the girl you are.”

Victor had changed and I was afraid. But caught in his gaze, I couldn’t escape; all I could do was continue the bluff. “Deirdre?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah?”

He didn’t answer, but I felt his body tense. He picked me up and carried me a few steps, dumping me unceremoniously onto the bed. I reached my arms up to pull him down to me. “I’ve missed you so, Victor.”

He smiled down at me, the tips of his canines obvious. “Have you really, Deirdre?” Then he caught me by the wrists, pulled me to my feet and put his hands on the sides of my face. I could smell the wine on his breath, caught the scent of blood.

“Who the hell are you?” His eyes were wild with rage. “Because you sure as hell are not Deirdre Griffin. You can’t even know her, or you would know that she’s no friend of mine, having been responsible for the deaths of those I loved.”

I gave a little whimper and tried to pull away from him. “Oh, no, you are not leaving. I will give you five minutes to explain what sort of game you are playing and why. And no lies. It has been a while since I’ve killed, but I assure you I still know how.”

Chapter 18

“I’m her daughter.” My voice sounded very small and very scared.

“Deirdre’s daughter?”

I nodded, biting my lower lip. “Yeah. I came to the city to find her.”

“Why?”

I looked away, and he tightened his grip on me. “No lies, girl. Why are you looking for your mother? And why should I care?”

I looked him in the eye. “She left me for dead. Abandoned me at birth, buried me and walked away. Over one hundred and fifty years ago and I still remember the moment I woke, fully aware, in my coffin; I still remember the fear and the stench of death; I can still taste the dirt of the grave in my mouth.”

“Ah.” He dropped his hands and stepped away from the door. “That seems reason enough, I suppose. And your name really is Lily Williams?”

I shrugged. “Close enough.” And since it looked like he would not kill me, I laughed. “At least it’s probably as close as Victor Lange is to your real name. Can I have another glass of wine, please?” I turned my back on him and walked over to the table, refilling both glasses, then curling back up into the chair.

I held out his glass to him. “Victor, I have a proposition for you.”

He looked at me, unbelieving at first. Then his mouth twisted into a smile and he started to laugh, long and hard. When he could speak again, he shook his head.

“Oh, you really are her daughter, I’ll grant you that. Other than the obvious resemblance, you have her courage. Her strength of purpose. I admire your spirit as I always admired hers.” He took the glass from my hand.

“Sounds patronizing to me.”

“Of course it does. You are talking to a creature, my dear, who would be quite content to rip you apart limb from limb and lick up the remains. Allow him to patronize you. Besides, I meant it as a compliment. You could do worse than to take after Deirdre Griffin. She is a formidable woman.”

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

He sat in his chair and set his glass down. “I can dislike her and yet still admire her finer qualities. You may have been born one hundred and fifty years ago, but you are so very young. What sort of upbringing did you have?”

“A sheltered one.”

“No doubt. You are an interesting creature, Lily Williams. Not a full vampire and not a full human. But we have little time for physiological discussions.” He looked at his watch. “In a little over two hours my keepers will be here to check on me, to secure me for the day. And you must be gone before they arrive. What sort of proposition did you have in mind?”

I took a deep breath and started in. “Victor, you said earlier that Deirdre has caused you a lot of grief, and you just now said she is not your friend. And I certainly have no reason in the world to love her. Will you help me get revenge?”

“What do you want to do? I am reluctant to agree to her death.”

“I don’t want her dead.” The lie dropped convincingly from my mouth. “I just want to strip her of everything she has. And leave her with nothing, the way the bitch left me.”

“And how do you hope to accomplish that?”

I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have a plan?”

“Well, no, not really.”

Victor smiled, picked up his wineglass again and clinked it against mine. “I think we can do better than that, Lily. Children these days have no idea how to do anything at all. So let us make some plans.”

Before I left he handed me another key. “This one will let you ride the elevator. You can’t get back through the stairway door.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And still you came? Not knowing what you would find here? You are amazing.”

“No, Victor, I’m a realist. Once the door shut, what other choice did I have?”

“True enough. Now, when you are going back on the elevator, do not stop on any of the other floors. Do not. I cannot guarantee your safety. And there are others who might recognize you as your mother, and these have even less reason to wish her well. Plus, the warmth of your body calls to us. You are only alive now because I find the attraction of your person greater than your blood.”

I shivered slightly.

“You do well to be afraid. But come back to me tomorrow during the daylight hours; we will have more of a chance to talk uninterrupted and you will have less of a chance to be discovered.”

That night I called Angelo. “Miss Lily, I so pleased to hear your voice again. You been okay in that city?”

“Been doing great, Angelo. More than great, actually.”

“You find your mother?”

“I’m going to fly to Maine soon, ’Lo. That’s where she is. Now, listen. In a day or two, you’ll get an envelope in the mail. It’s filled with a list of things I need you to get for me before I return. Along with plans for something you’ll have to have built for me. Can you handle it?”

“Depends, Lily child, on who got the money.”

“Don’t worry about the money, ’Lo. By the time you get the plans, there’ll be an account for you to use for all of this. All the information you need will be with the rest of the stuff. It should be more than enough to take care of what I need and repay you for your trouble.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Angelo? Are you still there?”

“I hear you. Just it been so long since I hear the words ‘don’t worry about the money.’ And I never expected to have them fall out of your mouth.”

I laughed. “Yeah, me neither. It’s nice, isn’t it? It turns out my mother is very wealthy and has some very helpful acquaintances. But that’s not important right now. I’ll call you again later on in the week to make sure you can get everything ready.”

“You be careful now, Miss Lily. No money in the world can replace you.”

“Thanks, ’Lo. I’ll be okay.”

I spent the next two weeks under the rather erratic tutelage of Victor Lange. He taught me many things about my mother and her lover, many things about the nature of vampires. “We are most susceptible during daytime sleep,” he explained early on, “and there are ways in which our minds may be manipulated then. Dreams, especially, are powerful weapons. I have paved the way for you already, by invading Greer’s dreams, an easy enough trick if you know how to do it. Especially easy for me, since I’ve done it to him before. Come, I will teach you.”

He took my hands and pressed them up against his temples, then put his hands on mine. “Here,” he said, “relax a bit. Open your mind and I will show you his.”

It was like the experience I’d had with the woman on the bus, but much more intense. And Victor knew exactly where to go. He had indeed already planted the dream, my dream, the one of my grave and death and the hatred of one woman. “Pour yourself into him, Lily,” Victor whispered. “Take all your hate and all your anger and make him feel it.”

We both felt his panic, his fear. When he woke the contact was broken, but Victor smiled. “Well done, Lily. You are a natural.”

I’d brought my entire stock of Angelo’s medicines with me one day and we tested them on Victor. Some turned out to be totally useless, but others worked well enough to be added to my arsenal. We already knew that the disguise potion worked fairly well, and the scent-killing one was determined a success when a blindfolded Victor couldn’t detect me. And I’d done some of my own testing, sneaking a few drops of the control liquid into his wine. He’d sipped and smiled. “But I have already agreed to help you, Lily. Surely this kind of coercion is unnecessary.”

Victor thought, and I agreed, that the best route to my mother was through Mitchell Greer. He laughed about this. “Love is one of the most dangerous emotions a vampire can permit herself. It gives your enemies power over you. And no matter what you may say of her, your mother loves. Not wisely, perhaps, but with her whole being. It is, to be honest, an emotion that has mostly evaded me. With one or two exceptions.” Victor’s eyes clouded over, as they often did when he would allow himself to think of the past. His pain in this became my pain. I had lost so many people I had loved, and somehow the blame for them all ended up transferred to my mother.

At the end of the two weeks, I knew much of her life and hated her more than I ever had. Victor admitted that I was probably as well prepared as I would ever be. He’d managed to work a little financial magic as well, by arranging to have all of my mother’s accounts transferred to accounts that I could access. “In some cases,” he said, “this would have been impossible. But your mother has never been cautious with her money; it was never an obsession with her. Max had been involved in so many of her financial deals, and therefore the Cadre had full access as well. And I am not without friends outside these hallowed halls; I was able to call in a few old debts. As a result, you are now an extremely rich young lady and your mother is totally destitute. For some, this would be revenge enough.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. It was my final test.

“For some, yeah. But if money doesn’t matter to her, I haven’t accomplished anything, have I?”

He smiled. “I think you are ready, Lily. I am, in a way, rather disappointed that you proved such a good student. I will miss our meetings. You have brought renewed life to this old man.”

I looked at him. “Old?” As ever, he was impeccably dressed and exuded a power that was almost palpable. I crossed the room and stood in front of him. “You aren’t old, Victor. You’re just temporally challenged, like me.”

He laughed at this. “Oh, such a politically correct answer from my young rebel.” He kissed my forehead and on impulse, I threw my arms around him and kissed him on the mouth.

I was unprepared for his reaction. And mine. During the time we’d gotten to know each other, he had been teacher and I had been student and there was no crossing that line. We’d had no physical contact past that first time when I was pretending to be my mother.

But now, there was no pretending, no mistaking the complicated emotions of the two people caught in this kiss. Now, no obstacles stood between us, for he had been inside my mind as I had been inside his. I pressed myself closer to him and deepened the kiss, uncaring of the fact that his canines had grown, caring only that I was here and with him. A rush of hunger emanated from him. And something else, something more important, something I didn’t understand.

Then he slammed a wall over his mind and the kiss ended. I staggered back from him, breathing heavily, wiping my bloody lips with my hand.

“Damn it, Lily, why did you do that?”

“I wanted to, Victor. Besides, you wanted it too. You can’t deny it; I felt it.”

“Forget about it, Lily. It didn’t happen. I can’t allow it. What we have is nothing more than a business deal. I’ve helped you and you’ve helped me. Don’t expect anything else.”

“But . . .”

“No. Listen to me. Go and do what you have to do. Just don’t get yourself killed, little one. For that death would be on my shoulders and I couldn’t bear it.”

“I won’t die, Victor. I promise. Besides, I’m not sure I can.”

He pushed me away gruffly. “Don’t get too self-assured, Miss. Everyone can die.”

I began to walk away. “Wait, Lily,” he called after me. “I almost forgot to give you these.”

He held out his hand, showing me two small capsules.

“What is it?”

“Amitriptyline. It’ll stop any vampire cold. But don’t use it unless you need to, emergencies only. I’d rather no one knew that I knew about its effects.” He smiled as I took the pills and stashed them in my pocket. “Remember, it doesn’t pay to reveal all your secrets. Ever.”

“Good-bye, Victor.” I kissed him on the cheek. “And thanks.”

Chapter 19

I didn’t bother to pack any of my new clothes; instead I had the hotel box and ship them to New Orleans. If all went as Victor and I had planned, I wouldn’t need them. All I needed was what I’d brought with me. And two sets of plane tickets. One to get from here to Maine. And two seats on the privately chartered jet from Maine to New Orleans.

As I settled into the seat in the first-class cabin, I sighed and smiled. This flight was a far cry from the bus trip to New York. I owed Victor a great debt of thanks for all of this. That he insisted his motives were not out of care for me, but out of hate for my mother, didn’t bother me. He’d been useful and I was thankful.

I wrapped myself up in the airline blanket, leaned back against my pillows, closed my eyes and attempted to touch Victor’s mind, as he had taught me to touch Mitch’s. Contact was made almost immediately. He was sleeping and I smiled. Our two weeks together had been incredibly intense, and I realized now that he had come to mean a great deal to me. I was more than just a little bit infatuated with him, and still rather annoyed at his brusque dismissal of me our last night together. I wanted to prove that I could move him, that I’d been worthy of his attentions.

So I entered his mind. It was easy. I knew him.

I wake him with soft kisses on his face and mouth. His eyes open and fasten on me, first in shock and then in understanding. “Yeah,” I whisper, “it’s only me.” I put my hand to his mouth. “No talking,” I say. I feel his smile under my fingers and I crawl under the covers with him. He’s totally naked, his skin flawless and smooth. I don’t mind the coldness too much; I’m warm enough for both of us. I cover him with my body and give him my warmth, with my mouth and my hands and my soul, until he cries out my name and rolls me over onto my back. He straddles me then, staring at me with those deep fathomless eyes. Quickly shifting the lower half of his body, he enters me without hesitation and I gasp. Victor smiles and shakes his head, working his way deep inside me, filling me completely. He is so cold and Iamso hot and we fit together perfectly, just as I’d imagined we would.

And when he bends his head down to pierce my flesh with his teeth and drink at my breast, I shudder as the orgasm shakes my body. Victor laughs, blood dripping out of his mouth as wave after wave of ecstacy washes over me.

And I woke.

“Damn it, Victor, don’t do that.” I said it out loud, getting a few curious glances from the other passengers. “Who the hell cares,” I said to the closest passenger. “It’s none of your damned business anyway.” I threw off the blankets in a huff and went into the rest room. Bending over the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, then stood up and looked in the mirror. I was flushed and looked dazed, I’d been sweating profusely and the hair was matted around my neck. My hands shook, and I lifted up my shirt to see where Victor had fed during the dream; there was nothing there, of course. It had only been a dream. But it felt so real.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard his laughter, blushed and then smiled. On impulse, I kissed my reflection in the mirror. “For you, Victor,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

By all accounts, my mother and her husband were living in relative seclusion in a fairly small town northwest of Portland. I’d arranged for a rental car to be waiting at the airport; thanks to Victor’s financial arrangements, there was no problem with credit or cash. I simply signed the forms and they handed me the keys.

I showed the young man behind the counter the paper Betsy had given me with my mother’s address. “Can you tell me how to get to here?”

“Yeah, that’s right easy,” he said. “It’s about sixty-five miles or so. Maybe take you an hour and a half. Nice drive, too. Scenic. Just take 495 to 95—there’s signs when you leave the airport for these—and follow that until you get to 202. From 202 you go, oh, I dunno, maybe about twenty miles or so, and then you turn on to . . .” He stopped a minute. “No, wait, I think it’s more like thirty miles. And then you . . .”

“Right easy?” I smiled as I interrupted him. “Do you have any maps?”

He did and I thanked him. The car was waiting at the curb, and I put my bags in the back and got in behind the wheel. It had been a while since I’d been able to drive, but I had countless years of high school and driver’s education training. “Nice to know,” I said with a laugh as I pulled into traffic and turned on the radio, “that some of that uselessness is finally paying off.”

It was a pleasant ride, and I only got lost twice. The town itself wasn’t quite as small as I’d imagined it would be. There were even a couple of different motels to choose from. I checked into the one closest to the road I’d need to take to my mother’s cabin. Once again there was no problem with credit, and in no time at all I had my room. I stayed long enough to use the bathroom, and then went back into the car and got back onto the road.

The cabin was not nearly as easy to find as the town. I hadn’t wanted to ask for directions, even had the motel desk clerk been able to give them. After driving past the road about four times, I finally glimpsed the small sign that announced their road. Parking the car on the side of the main road, I walked down the dirt road, looking at the few cabins that lined it. The first three were easy to eliminate; two had children playing outside and one was completely boarded over.

I walked further in, deeper into the woods. The road was overgrown now with weeds and was getting rougher. I spotted one cabin, way back into the woods, and followed the path until I saw a woman picking something out of a garden. Not this one, I thought, but from there I saw the roof of another cabin, in a much more secluded area.

I approached it warily, looking for signs of life. That it was occupied was obvious, but either the inhabitants weren’t home or they were sleeping. As I moved closer, I saw the name on the mailbox. And smiled. “Bingo. I’ve found you.”

I used the ointment Victor had suggested to hide my natural body scent, smearing it over my skin and clothes. Then I found a tall sturdy tree and climbed up as far as I could and still keep under the cover of the leaves. I settled my back into the tree trunk, straddling a large branch, and swung my legs back and forth. All I had to do now was wait for the sun to set.

While I waited, I concentrated on the cabin, searching, as Victor had taught me, for the minds of the two inside. And there they were, sleeping, entangled in each other. I probed a little harder until I could distinguish between the two and separated them slightly. The obviously feminine one I pushed aside. The masculine one I surrounded with a feeling of discontentment. Even from this distance, I could sense his small insecurities and past disagreements that could be fueled and fired. Mitch’s mind was much less protected than I’d expected, his thoughts more chaotic, and the seeds that Victor and I had endeavored to plant during our training had grown and twisted.

Then the sun set, he awoke and I was instantly thrown out of his mind. It felt like I’d been doused with cold water; I shivered and renewed my grip on the branches of the tree.

About an hour later, just as I thought they weren’t going to leave the cabin that night and I’d resigned myself to sleeping in my tree instead of a nice comfortable motel bed, the door opened.

Holding my breath, not daring to move, I watched them come out of the cabin. I caught a flash of pale naked skin and then saw them transform. It was not the painful transformation I’d seen countless times in movies and on television, but a quick and sharp change, a rapid casting off of one garment in favor of another. It was beautiful in a way, beautiful and terrifying. Although Victor had warned me, I was still unprepared for the sight of a silver wolf and a large tawny feline where their human forms had been.

As they loped under my tree, the cat form hesitated. I saw the twitch of her tail, the gleam of her eyes. Huge paws with tearing claws caught at the base of the tree, a tremor seemed to run under her skin and I feared she had scented me. But she merely shook herself and ran out into the woods to follow the wolf.

I gave them time to get far enough away and then I breathed. “She didn’t notice me,” I whispered to the trees. “She couldn’t smell me, she didn’t know I was here.”

I allowed myself a victorious smile, and quietly climbed down out of the tree. Walking lightly on the grass growing alongside the gravel driveway, jumping at every sound in the woods, I found my car where I’d left it and drove back to my motel. Tomorrow morning I would be back.

On the way back to the hotel, I stopped off at a fast-food drive-through and took the bag back to my room. It wouldn’t do to show my face around town too much. Someone might recognize me. And for all I knew, they could be in town as well, scouring the streets for victims for their inhuman hunger.

Victor had explained to me that vampires did not need to kill for blood. “A small amount will do just fine,” he’d said. “Only the very newest and most inexperienced of us kill. And those that do, do not survive long. The rest of us have learned that moderation is the key to long life.” Even knowing that, I couldn’t get away from the image of my mother as murderer. She had worn that title for as long as I’d known of her.

“She’s evil,” I’d said to Victor once, and he’d laughed.

“Evil is in the eye of the beholder, my dear. And I doubt that you would find too many people who would agree with you. But have it your way. She’s certainly caused me enough grief for me not to dispute you.”

I made a few phone calls before I got ready for bed. One to the moving company to make sure that they were set up and ready to go for the day after tomorrow. And one to Angelo to tell him that I’d be arriving tomorrow night. No one picked up at my house. Moon’s voice was still on the greeting of the answering machine and when I heard it, I felt my mouth tighten in anger. I left a short message, hoping Angelo would get it in time.

Then I set the motel alarm clock for four in the morning and lay down to sleep, trying to calm myself by counting off the red beads on my necklace.

I burst through the cemetery dirt. All around me lie the bodies of people I have known who have died. They are laid out in a straight line, the feet of the first corpse close to the head of the next. I follow the trail of loved ones and acquaintances, all dead. Some I have all but forgotten, but seeing their quiet pale faces brings them back to me. And with each new face and each new body, I grow angrier. I can’t cry, I can’t turn away. All I can do is follow the path. And look at their faces. I begin to walk faster, then run, but the supply of bodies seems endless. I have quit looking at their faces; I have quit counting them; they seem to stretch on past the horizon.

But suddenly, the line is ended with the body of Hyde. And just past him, in a clearing, is my mother’s cabin. I can hear her inside with Mitch. They are laughing, they are talking and laughing. And they are making love. I hate her. And I will make her pay.

Chapter 20

I woke with the alarm, determined to do whatever I needed to do to drive my mother and her lover apart. I showered, covered my body with the scent-disguise ointment and dressed once again in black jeans and shirt. I rubbed my hands over my clothes as well, in case they had picked up what Victor’d referred to as “human scent.” Lacing up my boots I felt a rush of excitement. Today was the day. “Wish me luck, Victor,” I whispered to him.

I almost heard his mocking laughter. “You will need it, my girl. But hold to the plan and you can’t fail.”

I tossed the leather jacket over my shoulder, collected my bags and checked out of the hotel. “I want to get an early start.” I smiled at the tired desk clerk, who’d been sleeping when I showed up.

“Early?” He pushed a receipt to me to sign. “It’s not early, it’s too early for that. It’s late.”

“Whatever. Thanks.”

I dropped the car off at the rental agency’s office in town, pushing the keys into the night slot. Then, because I found one open, I stopped at a convenience store and purchased two large thermal jugs. After filling them with coffee, I was ready.

Even with all the errands, even after walking to the cabin, dawn was still an hour or so away. And although I could see the light of a fire inside and seemed to see movement, I decided I would be safer if I hid my bags and climbed the tree again.

Not more than two or three minutes after I’d settled into the same branches I’d occupied the previous morning, the cat form that was my mother ran past. She didn’t stop this time, but raced for the front door. There she phased back into human form. I held back a small gasp; even though I couldn’t see her face, I could see that she and I could be twins. Her skin was probably slightly paler than mine, her breasts a little more full, but I could pass for her. I was sure of it.

She opened the door. “Hi, honey, I’m home,” she called, and I rolled my eyes. Just like some stupid sitcom on television, I thought. Then the door shut and I was alone in the woods.

They talked for a while; I couldn’t hear the words, but the murmur of their voices carried through the trees. I concentrated on the mind of Mitch as I’d found it that morning; he seemed apprehensive and edgy. I pushed myself into his head just a little harder, and the door opened. I could see the glow of his eyes, peering into the night, searching for me. Then he shook his head and closed the door.

I smiled. “Yeah, you sense me. But you can’t possibly know I’m here. Besides, it’ll be dawn soon and time for all good vampires to be in bed.”

Just like in the dream, they laughed. And they made love before they slept. I could feel the passion in his mind; I could feel the love the two of them shared. It was strong, so very strong. And quite beautiful. And, I thought with a twisted smile, so soon to be gone.

When the sun finally rose, I relaxed slightly, since now there was no fear that either of them would spot me. Even to open the shutters slightly would mean death.

Mitch fell asleep; I could feel his mind drifting. My mother, though, was awake. And upset. “Good,” I said to myself as I climbed out of the tree, retrieved my bags and quietly approached the front porch, “I want you upset. And you’d better get used to it, bitch, ’cause it’s only going to get worse for you.”

I sat up against the door, leaning the side of my head up against it so that I could better hear what was happening inside. She was moving around, making coffee, it sounded like, talking to herself about being hungry. Fretting, I knew, about the man who lay asleep upstairs. The man who was about to dream what I wanted him to dream.

Seeing them together hadn’t changed my mind; it had only emphasized to me what she had and what I lacked. So I turned the dream on full power, pouring into it all that I could remember of my escape from a premature grave, filling it with the despair of that moment, the total despair of all my subsequent years. The deaths, the tears, the wasted lives and the anger: I channeled it all into Mitch’s sleeping mind. And most of all, I sent him complete and utter hatred of the creature known as Deirdre Griffin.

“Kill her,” I whispered. “Kill the bitch who made me what I am.” Realizing, as I said the words, that I had lied to Victor. I did want her dead.

“Kill her.” I burrowed deeper into his mind, still hissing words of hate and anger. “Kill her. She deserves to die. Kill her!”

When I heard my words in his voice, I knew that I’d succeeded. Now all I had to do was wait for her to leave. Victor had assured me that she’d leave. “What else would she do?” he’d said. “Not that she’d fear that he’d kill her, although that thought will occur to her. After all, she killed her creator.” He’d stopped for a while, then continued, his eyes harder. “No, what she will be most upset about will be that he doesn’t love her. That will drive her away. She will be devastated and she will run.” He’d laughed then, and I’d laughed with him. “As I’ve said before, love is an emotion a vampire can’t afford.”

The day stretched before me, gloriously bright. Mitch’s sleeping mind was still troubled, fretting over the images and emotions I poured into it repeatedly. Most gratifying, though, was the total and utter despair that radiated from my mother. She cried and, feeling the heat of her tears on my own face, I smiled and laughed. “It worked, Victor,” I said. “We did it.” I remained curled up next to the front door of the cabin, reveling in my success, until movement within sent me back up the tree.

The sun had barely set when the door opened and my mother came out. She was dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt and heavy hiking boots, a backpack hanging from her arm. She looked pale and thoroughly miserable, stopping only once to stare back at what used to be her happy little love nest, before disappearing off into the woods.

I climbed down from the tree for the final time and followed in her path. When she knocked on the door of the closest cabin, the woman let her in. I gripped the beads around my neck. “Keep her there,” I ordered the woman. “Give me an extra day to get away. I don’t care if you have to break your back to do it. Just keep her there.”

Then I headed back through the woods and walked into the front door of the cabin. “Hi, honey, I’m home.” I breathed the words, and stepped into the kitchen. Taking a mug from the cabinet, I filled it with coffee from one of the jugs, then added a dash of Angelo’s control liquid. I sniffed at it; it smelled like coffee. I dabbed a little more of the disguise ointment on my hands and my hair. Then I quietly went up the stairs.

Mitch was still sleeping. I took a minute to look at the man that my mother loved so desperately. He was attractive, I thought, his face was rugged but handsome, and what part of his body I could see looked well-formed and firm. But his hair was totally gray. I wondered about this, since he didn’t look old enough to have gone this color. It can’t have been his age. Victor was far older than Mitch and his hair was dark.

He moved then and opened his eyes. They were steel blue and, had I never stared into Victor’s eyes, I’d have thought them the most intense thing I’d ever seen. But these eyes smiled for my mother when they smiled at me. I held my breath. Would he recognize the difference as Victor had? I’d have to keep away from him physically and emotionally. Fortunately, I had a diversion already planned.

“Dressed already, Deirdre?” His voice was smooth. “Going to go over and play with your toy again?”

I smiled. “No, my love. Something even better.” I handed him the mug and he took a long sip.

“Ugh,” he said, making a face, and I tensed, worried that he tasted the potion. “I’d forgotten that we were out of cream.” But he took another sip anyway. “Thanks. That’s exactly what I needed. But tell me, what could possibly be better than playing with your toy?”

I smiled, reached my hand over and stroked his cheek. “I have a surprise for you. How does a second honeymoon in New Orleans sound?”

“Sounds wonderful, actually. I’ve been getting kind of bored lately.”

“Gee, thanks a lot.” I forced a smile. “But I know exactly what you mean, Mitch. And I can promise that this trip will be anything but boring. So drink the rest of your coffee and get ready. I’ve made all the arrangements and we don’t have much time. Our flight leaves at ten.”

“That soon?” He tossed the blankets back. “I guess I’d better shower, then, and get moving. Care to join me?”

I turned away and walked over to the dresser. “No, not this time, my love. I’ll get us packed and call a cab for the airport.”

“Great.” He hesitated in the doorway for a minute, then shrugged. “This is a wonderful idea, Deirdre. And just what we needed.”

I turned and watched him head into the bathroom, heard the water turn on. “No, Mitch,” I whispered with a smile, “it’s not at all what you needed. But it works for me.”

Part 4

Chapter 21

“So,” Sam said as we sped down the main road out of town, “aren’t you going to say something about my car?”

I looked around at the interior: leather seats, complicated dashboard with more dials than anyone could possibly want, pretty decent stereo system. “It’s nice?” I ventured. “Is it new?”

Sam laughed. “I should’ve remembered, Deirdre, you’re totally unimpressed with cars. Yeah, it’s new. A birthday present from Vivienne.”

“Ah.” I ran a hand over the seat. “A very expensive present, no doubt. And how is Vivienne these days?”

“She’s fine. Or at least I guess she is; she’s been in Paris the last couple of weeks.”

“Paris? How lovely.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Cadre business, of course. She asked me to come along, but to be honest, I didn’t relish the thought of being the only warm body there.” He gave a bitter laugh. “It’s not always comfortable being used as arm candy.”

“Arm candy?”

“Yeah, you know, sort of like a trophy wife.”

“Ah.”

“And the meetings? God, I thought psychiatrists were boring. You have no idea. The tracing of the various houses, who bit whom and when, catching up on hundreds of years of small talk. I just couldn’t stomach it. So I figured it would be a perfect time to visit you and Mitch.”

I winced at the name. “Your timing was excellent, Sam.”

He glanced over at me. “And you still don’t want to talk about it? Are you sure? It’s what I’m good at, after all. And maybe I can come up with some insights . . .”

“No.” I interrupted him and laid a hand on his arm. “Just drive.”

“But . . .”

“Just drive, Sam. I want to be as far away from here as possible by dawn.”

“Oh, yeah, dawn. I guess I’d better think about finding you a place to spend the day.”

“Or not.” I turned away from him and looked out the window.

“You’re not allowed to talk like that, Deirdre.”

“Advice from the doctor?”

“No. Words from a friend.” He reached over and gave me a small punch on the arm. “Besides, if you burst into flames in my new car, I’d never forgive you.”

I permitted myself a small wry smile. “I will try to keep that in mind, Sam. At the very least, I promise to get out of the car before I spontaneously combust.”

Sam kept driving for hours, humming along with the songs on the stereo. His voice had a peaceful sound, comforting somehow. I concentrated on the night’s scenery flowing past my window and felt the miles accumulate behind us. He stopped for gas once, but said nothing, sensing that I wished no conversation. He pumped his own, paid and got back behind the wheel without a word. And still we drove, his sleek car eating the miles. Every minute carried us further away from the cabin and my previous life, until there seemed to be no previous life, there was merely the car and the road and the endless night.

At one point, I turned away from the window and glanced over at him; he was relaxed at the wheel, totally in control, and if the smug smile on his face was any indication, he felt pretty good about the situation. I thought about Bob the previous night; must be that white-knight syndrome, I thought, they all want to be rescuers. Even Mitch fell into that trap. But no, I was not going to go there. Not now. I sighed and stretched my legs out in front of me. Elly’s boots looked so large on my feet; I clacked them together and laughed.

“What?”

“I have clown feet.”

“Oh. I see. You don’t exactly look like the Deirdre I’m used to. So what’s going to happen when we get to New York?”

“First I am going to buy some new boots that fit.”

“Yeah. And after that? Seriously, Deirdre, what will you do?”

“Sleep. Feed. Repeat as necessary.”

“There’s more to life than that.”

“And what exactly would that be?”

He shrugged. “You used to know.” Then he reached over and flipped open the console between the seats. “Cigarette?” He offered the pack to me.

“No, thank you. Those things will kill you, haven’t you heard?”

“I’ve heard the rumors, yes.” Sam smiled and knocked one out of the pack for himself, then pushed in the cigarette lighter on the dash. “But I don’t smoke that much. Most of the time. Only when presented with a particularly tricky problem.”

“And what exactly is the problem this time, Sam?”

He reached down, pulled out the lighter, lit the cigarette on the glowing coils. “You, of course.”

I took the lighter from his hand and blew on it as it cooled, watching the glow grow dimmer, then wink out completely. I stuffed it back into its little compartment. “Why am I a problem for you, Sam? It has nothing to do with you.”

“But I was best man at your wedding. And you two are so right for each other.”

“Were. Were right for each other.”

“No, you are right. There has to be some explanation. And I can’t believe you are just going to let him walk away. How can you do that?”

“I have to, Sam.” I looked at the clock. “For now, though, we had better find a place to stay at the next exit. If only for the sake of your car upholstery.”

“There must be some mistake,” I said to the clerk at the hotel desk. “Run it through again.”

“Sorry, I’ve run it through twice and called. The card is declined; apparently the account has been closed.”

“Closed? How can it be closed?” I felt the panic and anger begin to rise within me; I reached over the desk and caught hold of his shirt, pulling his face close to mine. The Cat within stirred and growled. “As if it was not enough of a blow for him to take everything, he closed my account also?”

“Miss, I, um, don’t know what to say . . .”

Sam came up behind me then and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Steady,” he whispered to me, and I let go. He handed the clerk a card. “Here, this one should work fine. We’ll still want the two rooms, adjoining if you have them.”

“Closed?” I paced around my room, trying to calm myself and the Cat. “What sort of goddamned explanation can there be for that, Sam? He left me first without shelter and clothing, and now he’s left me without money. Do you have any idea how much was in that account?” I spread my fingers out wide, stretching them as if they were taloned, then relaxed them and gave a humorless laugh. “Hell, how could you? Even I do not know how much was in there.”

“Deirdre, this isn’t good.”

“Really, Sam? Really? Don’t you have any words of wisdom for me right now? You want to tell me again how right Mitch and I are together?”

He shook his head. “The sun will be up soon.”

He pulled the curtains back just a bit to peer at the sky. “Will you be okay in here during the day?”

I walked over and felt the material at the window. “No, actually, I won’t. These are too flimsy. But I can sleep in the bathtub, I suppose. And I can put a blanket under the door to keep any stray light out.”

“Can I get you anything beforehand?”

“You mean like a bottle of wine? Or a good book? No, I don’t think so.”

He walked over to his room and came back with a large cooler. “I unloaded these from the trunk while you were, ah, checking us in.” He lifted the lid, picked out a plastic bag and tossed it to me. “Will this help?”

I turned the bag of blood over in my hand. “It certainly cannot hurt. Now, if I only had a few of Elly’s candles, I would be all set.”

“Elly’s candles?”

“Not important. I will be fine, Sam. Thank you.”

I gathered the pillows and blankets from the bed, went into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. The room was totally dark except for a small sliver of light shining in around the door. I blocked the light under the door with a towel; there was not much else I could do.

I turned the lights on long enough to heat the blood under hot water. Then I tore a corner off the bag and drank. I remembered the first time I had fed out of such a bag. Mitch had still been human then and had not known what kind of creature I was. I could clearly remember the look of disgust mingled with sympathy on his face when he caught me in the act. But I had not wanted his pity or his understanding. All I had ever wanted was his love.

I dropped the empty bag into the toilet and flushed it away. “I should have known then,” I said to my reflection in the mirror as I stripped off my clothes. “I should have known.” I splashed some water on my face, dried off and made my bed in the tub, turning out the lights and settling in for the day.

I lay for a long time, silent, but not sleeping, eyes wide open, staring at the darkness. Searching for an answer, any answer other than the obvious one. And found nothing but lies and deceit and a wide gaping emptiness where I had once felt love.

“You arrogant bastard, Mitchell Greer, I growled, hearing the Cat’s approving rumble. “How dare you do this to me? Damn you to hell.”

I closed my eyes and took a long deep breath, forcing the anger deep inside. He was already in hell, I knew. And I knew who had put him there.

“Let us kill him,” the Cat said. “We will find him and kill him and then we will be free.”

I mentally smoothed the hair on its back. “Not free, pet. Just let him go.”

“Never,” said the Cat. “We hurt and we will make him pay.”

It was a long day. Only the thought of how much it would upset Sam kept me from opening the door and walking out into the sunlight.

Chapter 22

I knocked on Sam’s door at sunset.

“Are you ready to go, Sam?”

I heard a muffled “Come in,” and opened the connecting door. Sam was in bed, and apparently, from the vacant stare he gave me, still mostly asleep.

He groaned. “Is it morning already?”

“Not morning at all,” I said, “or I’m in trouble.”

“Just an expression of speech, Deirdre. Must you be so literal in the morn—er, whatever?”

“How’d you sleep?”

He scrunched up his face and scratched the back of his head. “Like the dead. And you?”

I gave a little laugh. “Like the undead.”

“That’s better, right? The sleep of the undead is the ultimate rest?”

“Quite the contrary, actually. Hasn’t Vivienne taught you anything at all?”

He looked away. “Yeah, she has. I’d hoped maybe it was different for you. Do you dream?”

“Yes. Which is why I prefer not to sleep any more than necessary. And I have been up for about five hours, waiting for the sun to set. I will go in search of coffee for us and let you get ready. How do you like yours?”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

I started for the door. “Deirdre, hold on a second.” He crawled out of bed, barely managing to cover himself with a sheet. The good doctor slept without the benefit of pajamas; the bed was rumpled and sweaty, the room reeked of human scent. I took in a quick breath, trying not to remember the taste of his blood.

“What?” I said.

He hopped over to the chair on which his pants hung, took out his wallet and handed it to me. “You are going to need some money.”

“Oh. Money. Yes, that’s right. I have no money. Thank you.” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but failed.

“There’s got to be an explanation, you know. I wouldn’t give up hope.”

“Hope? That is a human emotion. I am not human, Sam, and I have no hope. Do not ever use that word around me again.” I slammed the door, cut through the motel parking lot and walked into the restaurant across the street.

Sitting at the counter, I realized I was shaking. Either with anger, sadness or hunger; I could not really tell the difference. I picked up a menu and glanced at it while waiting for the waitress. Sam would probably want breakfast before we started back driving.

“What’ll you have?” The woman behind the counter wiped it off with a wet cloth and set out silverware and a napkin.

“Coffee,” I said. “Two cups. And”—I looked back at the menu, thinking what the hell, I could order it even if I couldn’t eat it—“the three-egg breakfast.”

“Bacon or sausage?”

“Both.”

“Bread?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

She looked at me and gave me a tired smile. “No, what kind of bread? Toast, muffin or biscuits?”

“All three?”

She shrugged and wrote it down. “It’ll cost you extra, honey, but it’s not my bill. You must be awfully hungry.”

“You have no idea,” I said. “I am starving to death. But, unfortunately, the breakfast is not for me, but for a friend who will be joining me. I can’t eat anything; I’m on a liquid diet.”

“Suit yourself.” She pulled two mugs out from under the counter and poured coffee, pushed a pitcher of cream over to me and moved away.

I picked up one of the mugs and sipped at it, savoring the warmth. It felt familiar in my hands; the coffee smell taking me back in time to when I used to serve coffee in a place like this.

“If only,” I whispered.

“If only what?” Sam sat down next to me. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

“If only I could eat the fabulous breakfast I just ordered for you.” I smiled at him. “I’m sorry, Sam, I should not have lost my temper just now. None of this is your fault and you are only trying to help.”

“You ordered me breakfast? Really?”

I gave him a smile. “Well, you are paying. It is the very least I could do.”

He poured cream and spooned some sugar into his cup. “You don’t like having to depend on anyone, do you?” He took a drink of his coffee.

“No, not at all. I am used to making my own way.”

“And you will again. But for now you need a little help. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. And everything. It should not be this way. And what would have happened had you not been here to help me?”

“You’d have found another way.” He took another sip of his coffee. “This is good stuff,” he said. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Here you go.” The waitress set a plate down in front of Sam, heaped with food.

“This is great, thank you. But who’s going to eat it with me?”

I shook my head; the smell of the bacon and sausage and eggs was making me nauseous. “You’re on your own, Sam. All I can do is order.” I reached into my pocket and handed him his wallet. “Take your time. If you give me the keys, I will wait in the car.”

He made a move to hand them to me, then pulled them back. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“If you say so.” He dropped the keys into my extended hand. “But no joyriding without me.”

“That’s probably another word we should avoid.”

“Deirdre . . .”

“Never mind, Sam. I will survive. I’m damned good at that.”

I had barely opened the car door and sat down when Sam came out of the restaurant.

“You could not possibly have eaten, Sam,” I said when he climbed in and started the engine.

“I’m not hungry. I’ll pick something up a little later and eat while I drive. And I didn’t like the thought of you being alone.”

I laughed. “I have been more alone than you could ever imagine, Sam, for most of my life. Fifteen minutes sitting by myself in your car can hardly make a dent in it.”

“Even so. Let’s just go.” He pulled the car out onto the street. “I’m anxious to get home.”

I sighed. “Yes, let’s go.”

He remained quiet until we reached the turnpike. “So, what will you do when we get to the city? With Viv out of town, I’m not sure I can get you into Cadre headquarters. Do you have any other place to stay?”

“No. They will let me in.”

“And then? To be honest, Deirdre, I can’t see you living like the rest of the Cadre. They are leeches.”

“No, they are vampires, although I will grant you that it’s a delicate distinction.”

Sam snorted. “You know what I mean.”

I shrugged. “I’ll have to do something. Betsy McCain asked me to work as a consultant last time I was in town. I could do worse, I suppose, than going back to Griffin Designs. To be honest, I miss the excitement of the business. Now, at least.”

He nodded. “That sounds like a good plan. And I’m sure that when Vivienne comes back, she’ll make sure that you have enough to live on until you get back on your feet.”

I looked over at him. “It is not the money, Sam, it really isn’t. It is just the way he did it. Callously and calculated. If he wanted me dead, a stake through the heart would have been kinder, cleaner. Damn it, you have got to understand. Mitch was all I had. All I lived for. I would have let him kill me. No, I should have. It is the way it works, after all.”

“The Mitch I knew would never kill you.”

“No. But I’m beginning to think he was never the Mitch any of us knew.”

“But why do you think he wants you dead?”

“Because he said so. Period.”

“So that’s why you don’t want to see him again? Because you think he’ll kill you?”

“Either he will kill me or the Cat will kill him. There seems to be no other alternative.”

“The cat? What the hell is the cat?”

“My alternate form. You surely must talk about these things with Vivienne.”

He nodded. “Ah. The inner animal. Yeah, she mentions it every so often. But it’s a metaphorical creature. No one turns into an animal. It just isn’t possible.”

I snorted.

“Really, Deirdre. I’m a doctor and a scientist. There’s no way you can change into a cat. Of any size. So when you say the cat wants to kill Mitch, you really mean that deep down inside you want to kill him. And that’s understandable considering the circumstances. But I don’t for a minute think you’d act on that impulse.”

I gave a bitter little laugh. “Well, I am glad that there is at least one of us who is sure. And you are the doctor and you know best, whereas I, apparently, do not know anything.”

“I didn’t say that, Deirdre.”

“You did not have to. Forget it. As far as I am concerned we have reached the end of this discussion. I have no desire to go through it all over again. Turn on the stereo and sing.”

We spoke only a little on the rest of the trip. Traffic got heavier the closer into New York we came. Sam’s relaxed attitude was replaced with grim determination; his humming had stopped. He gripped the steering wheel now like a lifeline.

“I hate traffic,” he muttered under his breath. “These people are crazy.” But when we emerged into the city itself, he managed a smile. “Almost there,” he said, “and not quite midnight. Where to first?”

“The Imperial. Let’s see if the Cadre is in the mood to entertain prodigals this evening.”

“If I remember correctly, they should welcome you with open arms. You and Mitch did save them from Larry not too long ago.”

I gave a small laugh. “That is true, I suppose, in theory. Except I was the one who created Larry. Some might think I was merely cleaning up my own mess.”

“But you must have some supporters in the group?”

I thought. “No, not really. If I hadn’t killed Max, of course, he would welcome me. Victor has no good reason to love me. Ron Wilkes is dead. Even Fred, who would have let me in just to cause trouble, is dead. Other than Vivienne, there is no one to whom I can turn. It is rather ironic, in a way. For all those years, I never even dreamed of their existence. And when I finally did discover them, I went out of my way to make enemies of the whole lot. Never thinking that someday I would need their support.”

He pulled his car into a parking garage. “Well, most of them know me. Or should. And Vivienne is still leader, so I have some small power, if only because I can whisper in her ear.” His voice grew tense. Was this how Mitch had felt, I wondered, when he’d still been human?

Sam shrugged off his resentment. “They are a self-serving crowd, there’s no doubt about that. But if we’re lucky, Claude will be watching the door tonight.”

“Claude?”

“He’s new. Originally from New Orleans, I gather. Mostly, he gets stuck with the jobs no one else wants to do. New man and all that. Lately he’s been guarding Victor.”

“Guarding Victor?”

“They’ve been keeping him under lock and key, in the basement somewhere. Whether to stop him from wreaking havoc on himself or them, I’ve never been able to ascertain. He’s apparently gotten senile. Or so they fear.”

“Poor Victor. And there’s one more thing for which he can hold me accountable.”

“I don’t think he’s capable enough of reasoning it out that far. The few times I’ve seen him, he was barely able to focus his eyes.”

Sam found a parking space and stopped the car. I did not move from my seat.

“You know, Deirdre, if you don’t want to do this, you can stay at my place. It’s quite safe, I promise you.”

“I am sure it is, Sam. But it’s not that.” I opened the car door and slid out. “Shall we?”

Chapter 23

Sam misunderstood my reluctance. I had no fear of my welcome from the Cadre. Regardless of the bad blood that had flowed between us, they had to take me in. Kinship meant a great deal to those whose real families had died centuries ago. For most of them, this organization was all they had. And I knew that I could hold my own with all of them, should I have to force my way in.

No, my problem was not with the Cadre. It was this place, so fraught with memories and ghosts of love. Damn it, I thought, as we got onto the elevator to the restaurant, how the hell can less than five years with one person make such a difference? Five years was nothing to me. Five years was a mere blink, a moment. And yet, that minuscule portion of time defined me, baptized me. Mitch had washed me clean with his blood and his love.

And now he is gone, the Cat growled within me, and we will be better without him.

“Never.”

Sam gave me a curious look as the elevator doors opened. “What?”

“Nothing. Just having an argument with myself.”

He smiled. “Let me know who wins, okay?”

We entered the bar of The Imperial, and Sam spotted a table in a corner. “Why don’t you go sit down and order us a drink of something? I’ll see who’s around.”

I crossed the room, feeling horribly out of place, dressed as I was in jeans and flannel shirt. But when I sat down, I took off the shirt. At least the tank top underneath was moderately fashionable and mildly sexy. I laughed to myself as I motioned to a waiter. My clothes did not matter, my self-image did not matter. No one ever saw the same person I saw in the mirror. They only saw the vampire mystique.

“Good evening,” the waiter said automatically, then actually looked at me and smiled. “Oh, hi, you’re back. Nice to see you again. You drinking wine tonight?”

“Excuse me?” I studied his face and had no recollection of ever having seen him before.

“Wine? Are you having wine?”

“Wine would be fine, thank you. Two glasses, please, and I prefer red, if you would be so kind.”

He laughed. “Like I could forget the kind of wine you drink. Be right back.”

I watched him walk away. I suppose it was possible that I’d had dealings with him at some point. But it would’ve been over a year ago and I should have remembered.

Then Sam waved from the other side of the room and began walking in my direction, accompanied by one of the largest men I’d ever seen. For all of that, the man remained distinctive and powerful, and I guessed that this must be the Claude of whom Sam had spoken.

His face creased in a smile of recognition, mounds of flesh narrowing his eyes. Pushing Sam aside, he surprised me by leaning over the table and kissing me first on one cheek, then on the other. “Ma chérie,” he said. “I am happy to see you back so soon. But without your perfume. And how is our friend, the bokor?”

I pulled away from his unwelcome attention. “Excuse me? Do I know you?”

“But of course you do.” Then he stopped and stared deep into my eyes. “Oh. My. You aren’t Lily, are you?”

I held his gaze until sweat began to form on his forehead. Then I dropped him. “No, I am not Lily. I am Deirdre Griffin. Or Dorothy Grey, if you prefer. Of the house of Alveros. And you?”

He relaxed and took out an embroidered handkerchief to wipe his brow. Stashing it back inside his vest pocket, he made a little bow and gave my hand a small kiss. “Claude Adams, newest member of the house of Courbet. Miss Griffin, I do apologize for my untoward familiarity.”

“No matter, Claude. I see Vivienne has taught you proper manners at least.” I smiled at him. “Now, why on earth would you think I was someone called Lily?”

“I met a charming little woman-child about two weeks ago. She was staying at my hotel—I own the Westwood Hotel, Miss Griffin, and should you ever need a room, we would be most happy to serve you.”

“Thank you. And the woman?”

“Oh, it is just that the resemblance is so striking. I see little differences now, of course, and I knew at the time that she wasn’t quite one of us. But she could be your twin. She’d come to town from New Orleans, she’d told me. And since I was from the same city, well, we sort of had a bond. She came here fairly often, for about two weeks, I think. And then she was gone without even a good-bye. We shipped some boxes for her at the hotel, to an address in New Orleans, so she must have gone back. I never did find out why she was here; perhaps it was a familial matter.”

“And her name is Lily?”

Claude nodded. “Lily Williams, yes. I would remember anyway, even if we’d never had any further contact outside the hotel. She had been paying for her room in cash at first, and there was some problem with that at registration. You can’t get anywhere these days without a credit card, you know?”

I gave a rough laugh. “Yes, I do indeed.”

“Although, now that I think about it, she checked out with a card. Funny, after that scene at registration, when she swore up and down she hadn’t one.”

The waiter came over and brought us our wine. “Thanks, Bobby,” Claude said. “Bring another glass for me, if you will. And put it all on my tab.”

I sipped my wine and nodded. “Serving the good stuff, I see.”

Claude laughed. “Bobby must think you are Lily also. She managed to develop very expensive tastes while she was here. After confessing to me that first night we all sat down together that the last bottle of wine she’d drunk was swill, I found the change interesting. But looking back, I think now she was merely trying to impress Victor.”

“Victor?” I choked. “Victor met this woman?”

“Yes. He was quite adamant about being introduced to her, as I remember. It had been a while since he’d shown any interest in anything, so I obliged him.”

Sam cleared his throat. “If Victor didn’t comment on the resemblance, Claude, it can’t have been all that great.”

“No, I swear, Sam. They are almost identical. But Victor”—Claude shrugged and made a small motion to his head—“well, he’s not quite right, so perhaps he does not remember Miss Griffin.”

“For Victor to not remember me, Claude, he would have to be dead.” I shook my head. “And this whole affair is all very strange. A woman arrives here from New Orleans; my identical twin, but with bad taste in wine. She stays at your hotel and befriends you to the point where you bring her here and introduce her to Victor. Who doesn’t recognize the resemblance. She runs up huge bills, which she manages to pay with a previously nonexistent credit card. Then vanishes again, supposedly for New Orleans. A rather hard-to-believe story, I think.”

“But it’s all true, Miss Griffin.” Claude dabbed his forehead again, this time with one of the cocktail napkins. “Except for my bringing her here. She was just here, having had dinner with one of our regulars.”

I sighed. “Which one of your regulars?”

“Betsy McCain. Do you know her?”

I jumped up from my seat, managing to knock into the waiter who was bringing Claude’s wine. The glass fell to the floor and shattered at my feet, splashing the legs of my jeans with wine. “Great, just bloody great. And so appropriate that I go stained to this meeting.”

“Deirdre?” Sam stood up and touched my arm. “What is it? What meeting?”

“I need to see Victor. Right now.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that is possible, Miss Griffin. He’s not supposed to have visitors. He is, as I have said . . .”

“Do not try to tell me again, Claude, that Victor is not right. He is the oldest. And the most powerful among us. If he chooses to have you all think that he is senile, then that is what you will think. And I would be willing to bet my now-nonexistent fortune that he’s been having at least one goddamned visitor. A charming little woman-child by the name of Lily Williams.”

Claude shook his head. “Even so, I cannot take you to him.”

I reached over and touched his hand, not so gently sinking my nails into his skin. His eyes rose to meet mine. “But of course you can, Claude,” I said, smiling. “Of course you can. In fact, it will be your great pleasure to do this. Isn’t that true?”

The expression on his face changed from reluctance to eagerness. “Of course, Miss Griffin. We can go right now if you’d like.”

“Yes, I would like, Claude. Thank you so much.”

He got up first, and Sam and I followed him. “What is this all about, Deirdre?” Sam whispered to me as we headed for the private elevator that led to Cadre headquarters.

“Victor is about as senile as you, Sam. The old bastard set this whole thing up. Found a woman who looked enough like me to be me. Taught her. Financed her. With my money, I suspect, but that does not matter at this point. Then sent her to Maine to seduce Mitch away from me.”

“Maybe not seduce,” Sam started to say, but Claude interrupted him.

“Sam, I’m sorry, but you at least have to stay here,” he said. “Vivienne will have my hide if you set foot past the restaurant without her.”

Sam glared at him. “I’m looking after Miss Griffin’s best interests. I should be there.”

I gave him a small hug. “No need for you to get further involved, Sam. I will let you know how it all turns out.”

“But who will protect you?”

I looked at him for a second, my mouth twisted into a half smile. “The Cat, of course. As she always does.”

The elevator door opened; Claude made a courtly gesture with his arm. “After you, Miss Griffin.”

“I will be fine, Sam. Go home, get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow sometime. And thank you.” On impulse I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You’ll always be my white knight.”

Claude had a smirk on his face as the doors closed.

“What is your problem?” I demanded.

“No problem. You seem pretty free and easy with Miss Courbet’s human, though. I’ll have something to trade her if she gets angry about this visit to Victor. I shouldn’t be taking you. Why am I taking you?”

“Because I asked you.”

He patted his forehead with his handkerchief again. “Yeah, that’s why.”

The doors opened onto a maze of gray halls and a gray floor. I’d forgotten how bleak this place was. Elly’s boots made a horrible racket on the concrete floor. The last time I was here I was barefooted and the occupant of the cell was Larry Martin.

I shivered, and Claude looked over at me. “Chilly down here, isn’t it?”

I laughed, trying to hide my nervousness. “Someone should start a fire; it would do the place a world of good.”

Claude inserted his key into the outer door. The waiting area had changed a bit. The sun lights were dimmer and the partial wall that used to screen the tanks had been converted to a full wall with a door.

“It’s in here.” Claude moved over to the door that led to the holding room.

“I know where it is, Claude. I have been here before, although it has changed a bit.”

“We redid the area. For Victor, you know, so he would be more comfortable.”

“That is admirable. Although how this place could ever be comfortable . . .” My voice trailed off.

“Miss Griffin?”

“Pardon me, Claude. Bad memories. You may go now.”

“Oh, no, I’m not that crazed. I’m staying with you. I like having my skin on my body.”

“Fine,” I agreed, thinking I would need what little strength it would take to convince him to leave for this meeting with Victor. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The tanks were bigger than I remembered. And Victor was getting first-class treatment, it seemed, since he sat in a burgundy velvet armchair sipping on a glass of wine. His room was lavishly furnished, but it was still only a cell. Not for the first time, I felt a wave of sympathy for the creature inside.

Claude flipped a switch on the wall and I heard the whoosh of air within the tank. It still gave me the chills.

“Hello, Victor,” I said, and he turned around and saw me.

His face grew softer and he smiled a tender smile. “Are you back so soon, girl? I lose track of time in here. How did it go?”

“Victor?” I moved closer to the thick glass wall so that he could see me clearer. His eyes opened wide and he smiled again, a different smile this time, cynical and intelligent. He was no more senile than I. And I had no doubt he was quite capable of pulling the unbelievable stunt I’d managed to piece together.

“Victor, who the hell is Lily Williams?”

Chapter 24

“Open the door, Claude,” Victor ordered, ignoring my question, “and let me greet my dear old friend Deirdre.”

“I can’t do that, Victor. You know I can’t.” Claude looked at me pleadingly. He was totally out of his element here. And had no choice, caught as he was between me and Victor.

“Open the door, Claude,” I ordered, “and I will make sure you come to no grief with Vivienne as a result.”

He looked back and forth between the two of us. Then he threw his arms up into the air. “I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. But since you two are here and Vivienne is off somewhere else, I’ll open the goddamned door.”

He stomped over to the cell door and unlocked it, then walked to the door of the outer room. “I’ll even be a sport and give you some privacy.”

Victor pushed open the door and watched until Claude left. “Don’t tell him, my dear, but I can actually get out anytime I want to. They expanded the cell with my full approval and from my plans. Of course, this was before they decided to put me away. But I knew it was coming. Did they think I was crazy enough to tell them the truth?”

“They think you senile, Victor. It was all Claude could talk about. Sam, as well.”

“And what do you think?” He bent over and took my hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it.

“I think you are as sane as you ever were, Victor. For what that is worth. Are you going to answer my question?”

He laughed. “You were always so direct, Deirdre, even to the point of rudeness. Here, come in, let me offer you a glass of wine.”

“My question, Victor?”

“Patience, Deirdre, patience.” He took me by the arm and led me to one of the armchairs. “Sit,” he said, then went over to the armoire and pulled out an extra glass.

He settled into the other chair and poured my wine. “A toast to you, Deirdre. And congratulations.”

I raised my glass, then stopped. “Congratulations? For what?”

He looked at me and laughed. “You really do not know, do you? Such a deliciously convoluted situation and you have no idea. If only Max were here, he would appreciate the richness of the joke. But Max is not here”—his eyes narrowed and he scowled at me—“as well you know.”

I drained my glass and helped myself to another. “Is that what this is all about, Victor? Revenge for Max’s death? I thought we had settled that score years ago.”

“And we did, Deirdre. I bear you no ill will, really.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Forgive me if I say I find that rather hard to believe. For bearing me no ill will, you have certainly caused me a lot of pain.”

“Pain? You dare to talk to me of pain?”

I looked away from him. He was right. “I am sorry, Victor, I should not have said that.”

He nodded. “Apology accepted. It’s old business, Deirdre. Let’s let it go. But why don’t you tell me how you think I have caused you pain?”

I took a deep breath, feeling stupid and clumsy. “I think you found someone who looked like me and trained her to be me. And you sent her to Maine with instructions to seduce Mitch away from me so that I would be left alone.”

“Then you know nothing, Deirdre. I did no such thing. And speaking of the devil, where is the intrepid Detective Greer?”

“Gone. Packed up everything and left me. I can’t help but think it has something to do with this Lily Williams.”

Victor shrugged. “Or could it be that you are grasping at straws and trying to find reasons in a situation where there are no reasons other than the obvious ones? Is it so impossible to think that Mitch got tired of you and took off? It wouldn’t be the first time in history and certainly won’t be the last. Weren’t you the one who once told me I shouldn’t count on constancy in love or friendship among vampires? Why must it have anything at all to do with Lily?”

I bit my lower lip. He was right, unfortunately. I had been willing to take any explanation, no matter how far-fetched, in lieu of the truth. I felt tears form in my eyes and put my face into my hands.

“Then again,” he said, and there was an edge to his voice that made me drop my hands and look up at him, “you may be close to the truth. With only the characters reversed.”

“Reversed? What do you mean?”

“Simply that I did not find Lily Williams, she found me. With the express purpose of finding and hurting you. I will admit to helping her, but she asked so nicely. And I always had trouble resisting a sweet-talking redhead.”

“But why, Victor? Who am I to her that she should go to all this trouble?”

“Who indeed? How much do you remember of your transformation?”

“I remember all of it as if it only happened yesterday, Victor.”

He nodded. “And how many months pregnant were you?”

“Seven.”

“And the blood that flowed through your veins also flowed into the baby?”

“Well, yes, of course, it had to.”

He nodded again. “And?” he asked, for all the world as if I was a slow student constantly missing the question.

And then I realized I was missing the question. The question and the answer.

The world stopped for me in that second. Unthinkable, I had said to Elly, and so it was. Unthinkable, but not impossible, “The baby?” My voice was less than a whisper, more like a gasp of pain. “My baby was alive?”

“Not at first, no. She lay dormant for a while, how long exactly she wasn’t sure. No more than a few years, I would guess. But she had enough of Max’s blood in her veins to sustain her, and she woke up in the grave and dug her way to the surface.”

“Oh, dear God.”

Victor chocked his head to one side, a smug expression on his face as he handed me my glass and clinked his own against it. “And so you see, congratulations really are in order, my dear. You have a daughter. And I, I suppose, have a granddaughter. Of sorts. It is a complicated situation. I grew quite fond of her, poor little motherless waif.” He chuckled. “Although I daresay she’d hate that description.”

“But why did she come to you? Why didn’t she come to me?”

“I told you it is a rather complicated situation. Lily is unlike you and me. She ages and develops and grows, but very slowly. I would venture a guess that her physical and mental development is no older than twenty, despite the fact that she was born in 1860. She was found in the cemetery by a woman by the name of Philomena, a runaway slave skilled in the arts of what we now call Santeria. Fortunately, this woman recognized Lily for the hybrid that she is and passed the care of this special child to her daughters. But the last caretaker did not marry and so when she died, quite recently murdered as a matter of fact, Lily had no one.”

“And she came to New York looking for me?”

“Scraping together a pitiful amount of savings, she walked to the bus station and ended up here, yes. She followed an old newspaper article to Griffin Designs, met Betsy McCain. They dined at The Imperial the evening I met her.” He smiled and his eyes softened. “She’s a brave one, Deirdre. She came all the way down here to meet me knowing what I was. And she had me fooled for a while; I truly did think she was you. She’s good. She’s damn good. The amount of power that girl has stored up within her is amazing.”

I nodded. “It all makes sense, now that you say it. But I should have known. Or Max should have known that such a thing was possible.”

Victor shrugged. “Familial virtues were rather wasted on Max, Deirdre. You of all people should know that. He did what he wanted and the rest of us could be damned. To be fair to you, though, there is no way the situation could have been foreseen. Lily is unique.”

I remembered, though, all of the tears I had wept for that stillborn child and the way the pain of our separation never dissipated. “No, Victor, I should have known.” I sipped at my wine, staring at nothing.

“Perhaps it is a mother-and-child bond,” Victor said softly. “I am no better than Max was at such things.”

“But why didn’t she come to me, Victor? I would have helped her, would have told her or given her anything she wanted.”

“There is a simple answer to that, Deirdre. Very simple. She is a child still, a confused and angry child. Imagine the hurt she felt; the cruel fact of knowing that your mother abandoned you, birthed you and buried you and left you to rot. Intensify that by all of the years she spent in a less than desirable home situation, being cared for out of duty and not love. I grant you, this is not any more rational a reaction than your guilt, but it is just as real. You left her for dead and she hates you for that.”

Chapter 25

“So how does Mitch fit into all of this?”

Victor put his head back and laughed. “Quite uncomfortably, I would think. One day Lily will let down her guard or even grow bored with the game, and he will wake up next to someone other than his beloved wife. Imagine his horror when he realizes that this is not just another woman—it is his wife’s daughter, his stepdaughter.” He laughed again, harder this time.

“Victor, you are a sorry son of a bitch.”

“Thank you, my dear, I do try. So I suppose you will be going after them now?”

I sighed. “I do not have a choice, now that I know who Lily is. If she had been anyone else, merely another woman, I could have let it go. I would have had to let it go.”

“Had to let it go? I would have thought you’d be angry enough to track them down and kill them.”

“I am. And therefore, I could not. You have an animal form, do you not?”

He blinked. “Actually, I have several. But it is not something we discuss readily. That form is a reflection of our inner instincts; it is often not complimentary or pretty. We are, after all, monsters under our human skins.”

“Just so. I will not ask what form your baser instincts take.” I gave him a sharp look and then a small laugh. “I probably do not want to know. But have you ever had your animal form angered by another?”

“To the point of wanting to kill? Of course.”

“And what was the outcome?”

“They died. And the problem is?”

“I do not want Mitch dead. I will gladly live the rest of my life without him before being responsible for that. But the Cat is not of like mind.”

“Ah. I see. You face an interesting dilemma, then. I have never been at odds with my inner form. It must be uncomfortable.”

I laughed. “I always seem to be fighting something or someone, Victor. At least this time the enemy is easy to see.”

“But not easy to eliminate. For what it is worth, Deirdre, I am sorry for your conflict. You must truly love him.”

“Yes, I do. And for that, I am sorry.” I got up out of the chair and drained my wineglass. “I should be going now. New Orleans?”

“Yes, that is where she should be.”

“I will find her. Thank you, Victor.”

He rose and walked to the door with me, kissed my hand again. “Why are you thanking me? If not for me, none of this would have happened.”

“If Lily is as determined as you say, it would have happened regardless. At least you told me the truth. You will, however, give me back half of the money. As soon as possible.”

“Only half?”

When I didn’t answer, he smiled. “Of course, half of the money. I’ll have it taken care of tomorrow. And I will let you know when it is done.”

I shook my head. “Victor, you are not senile. I will tell them if you want.”

“Later, perhaps. I don’t mind the confinement as much as you’d think. I am comfortable, at least. And Iam old, Deirdre, so very old. And so very tired.”

“Walk softly this night, Victor.”

I started toward the outer door. “Deirdre?”

Turning around, I was surprised at his grief-stricken expression. Even more surprised to see bloodstained tears streaking down his face. “Yes?” I said.

“Go easy with her. She is a child. A beautiful child.”

“I will try, Victor.”

“See?” He wiped at his eyes in annoyance. “I really am an old man. But Lily—oh, she made me feel young again. Bring her back to me.”

I nodded to him and opened the door. “Lock the cell again, Claude,” I called. “We have finished our visit. And no harm done.”

“Thank you, Miss Griffin.” He hurried into the room; I heard the air turn off, heard the click of the tank door as it closed and shivered again.

“What did you do to him?” Claude’s voice was a combination of accusation and awe. “I could swear he was crying.”

“It has nothing to do with me, Claude. Now, can you show me to a room in the Cadre quarters? I need some rest.”

“I had them get your old suite ready while I was waiting.”

“That will do just fine. Thank you.”

It was the same set of rooms, but it seemed different somehow. “No roses?” I asked Claude after he opened the door and handed me the key.

“Roses? You want roses? I can get you some.”

“No, I don’t want roses. May I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead, Miss Griffin.”

“First thing, please call me Deirdre. And how long have you been, ah, a member of the Cadre?”

“Six and a half months.” His answer was immediate and exact.

“Well, when Vivienne gets back in town, you should get her to fill you in on recent history. I doubt there are too many oldtime members of the Cadre who would want to see you walking down the hall bringing me roses. But thank you for the offer. And thank you for getting the room put together for me.”

“Miss, er, Deirdre? Did you need anything else? I notice that you have no place to sleep.”

“There is the bed, Claude. That will be fine.”

He looked horrified. “But, what about your coffin?”

I laughed and shrugged. “I do not have a coffin. And I do not need one.”

“But, what about protection?”

“Claude, do you actually think a coffin gives you protection? Keeps you safe? What’s to stop someone from opening the lid? The sanctity of vampire sleep? I doubt it.”

He shook his head and gave me a wry grin. “It gives me the creeps to think about sleeping in the open.”

I smiled and pointedly walked to the door, grasping the knob. “And it gives me the creeps, as you say, to think about sleeping any other way. Good night, Claude.”

I locked the door after he left and turned the dead bolt. A useless gesture, I knew, against creatures that could turn into a mist and drift right in. But for the most part, Cadre members were painfully polite. I had no fear of them interrupting my rest.

Stripping off my clothes, I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the water warmed, I looked into the mirror. “You have a daughter,” I whispered to my reflection. “A daughter.” And I smiled.

The hot shower was relaxing and soothing. I toweled myself dry, flipped off the lights, pulled the heavy red brocade spread from the bed and crawled in. Despite all of the events and revelations of the past few days, I knew I would sleep. And sleep well. Everything would eventually work itself out, I thought, even with Mitch. The Cat will forgive. And I will find my daughter and make her understand.

“Yes, the Cat will forgive and it will all work out,” I assured myself as I drifted to sleep. “I have a daughter.”

I am not sure how he got into the room. But suddenly, here he is, next to me in the bed. Oh, the dear familiarity of that body and those hands. My heart rises up within me and I start to speak his name. “No.” He lays his hand over my mouth. “Don’t speak. No words.” And so I lie silent, listening to the sweet whispers his lips give to my flesh. He kisses my face, my neck, gently and slowly tracing the slope of skin from breasts to belly, his canines lightly grazing, testing, nipping, searching. I gasp and lick my lips as he works his way lower, still probing with tongue and teeth. Then he rears his head back and strikes, his fangs cut into my flesh and I feel the irresistible pull of blood rushing from the center of my being in answer to his need. I cry out, wordless because of his command, unaware of everything but the relentless tremors of my spiraling orgasm.

When the shudders subside, he looks up at me and smiles, blood smeared around his mouth. “Mitch,” I say, my voice still soft and hoarse, filled with love, “that was wonderful. But how . . .”

He puts his hand over my mouth again. “No words, remember? I have missed you.” He laughs and his face twists, changing. In the dim light it looks brutal, bestial. He licks my blood from his lips and smiles. “Yes, I have missed you. But Victor is right. She’s good. Damned good.”

The Cat howls within me and bursts through in fury. Before I can whisper the words to stop, she flings herself onto him. Claws extended, she rips the smile off Mitch’s face; blood spurts all around us, driving her into a deep frenzy of slashing and tearing. His skin hangs in tatters, and his smile now consists only of teeth and gore, frozen in place.

I leap on top of him, front claws digging into his neck, back claws raking open his stomach and groin. Burrowing my muzzle deep into his chest, I search and find the ultimate reward, his steaming-hot and beating heart. I shake it from side to side, tearing it away from the anchoring arteries, ripping it free from his cold, betraying body. I savor the taste of him, bite down hard, chew and swallow. When the last morsel is gone, I jump down and settle onto the floor, leaving his grinning corpse on the bed. Methodically and fastidiously, I go about grooming all the blood from my fur: a delightful task for his blood feeds me like no blood ever had before. I take my time, what is time to me? I am free of love and honor and conscience, free finally of the other.

A few more strokes of my tongue, and I am totally clean. I jump back up on the bed, and push the covers over him, rolling him closer to the edge, nudging him with my head until he falls with a sodden thump. I lie down again and close my eyes. A deep contented rumble vibrates through my body, my tail twitches once or twice, I yawn. And sleep.

Chapter 26

“Jesus Christ!” I sat straight up in a cold sweat and looked around me. No blood, no body, no Cat. “So much for forgiveness,” I said, and swung my legs over the side of the bed, shuddering slightly at the remembrance of Mitch’s body lying there on the floor. The dream had seemed so real; even now the taste of him lingered in my mouth. And his blood had been so sweet, his death so satisfying. I shivered and went into the bathroom to splash cold water onto my face.

“I can hardly wait to hear what Sam has to say about all of this,” I said. Checking the clock at the bedside table, I saw that it was nearing 4:00 p.m. I had slept a good long time, but felt weary and drained. “A little more sleep and a lot less dream would have been good.” Worse, the dream of blood had awakened my hunger; I would need to feed soon, if only to have the strength for my next task.

I had to find Lily as quickly as possible. There was no way I could make up for her feelings of abandonment and hatred, but I had not known of her prior to this. Whether I should have known, whether I had suspected her existence somewhere deep in my mind, was unimportant now. What was important was that I find her.

Hopefully, when found she would be alone, having released whatever hold she’d had on Mitch. I did not want to see Mitch. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. The dream had been awful enough. I had no desire to repeat it in real life.

I sighed, picked up my clothes and promptly dropped them back to the floor. They were travel-worn and stained with wine; I crinkled my nose with distaste at the thought of putting them back on. On impulse, I threw open the door of a heavy armoire and found to my delight a heavy terry-cloth robe hanging there. I wondered briefly, as I wrapped myself in it, whether the Cadre provided these much like the higher-class hotels, or if it had been forgotten by the last occupant and ignored by the cleaning staff. It did not really matter; it was clean and fresh. As I was tying the sash at the waist, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Who’s there?”

“Deirdre? I’m back; let me in, sister.”

I smiled, I should have recognized the knock. I flung open the door and Vivienne threw herself into my arms, hugging the breath out of my body and depositing a warm and lingering kiss on my lips.

She laughed, that soft metallic giggle I found entrancing and annoying at the same time. As I often found her.

“I heard you were here, ma chérie, as soon as I woke up. These long flights, you know how it is. It has been so long; you are a bad sister for staying away so long. But oh”—and she gave me another hug and kiss—“it is so good to see you. I also hear that Mitch, he is not with you. So we will have the time for a nice long girl talk, no?”

“Well,” I said, putting the robe back to rights and tightening the sash again after her enthusiastic hugs, “I have some time. But first I need some clothes. I came away in a bit of a hurry, you see, and did not pack much.”

She gave a little disdaining puff. “You are always in a bit of a hurry, Deirdre. Never having time for anything. But come along to my room; I can give you clothes. And then we will go out together, yes? I am famished.”

She grabbed my arm and dragged me down the hall to her room. Claude struggled in with about ten suitcases, setting them very carefully in a row on the floor. “I brought these in as soon as I heard you were awake, Miss Courbet.”

“Merci, Claude. This is my sister, Deirdre.” She threw an arm around my neck. “You are to give her extra-special treatment.”

Claude nodded. “I have already had the pleasure of meeting Miss Griffin. I trust she slept well.”

“Well enough, Claude. Thank you.”

“Will there be anything more, Miss Courbet?”

“Not now, Claude, I must get my sister dressed. And after that we shall be going out for a bite.” She winked at me. “Perhaps you would like to join us?”

He looked back and forth between the two of us, then pulled out his ever-present handkerchief and patted his forehead. “I have already eaten,” he said, “but if you need me to come with you, I would of course be delighted.”

“No, no, Claude. That is not necessary. And how is Victor these days?”

He jumped guiltily. “He is fine. Just fine.” He looked over at me. I shook my head and he relaxed. “You know how he is; he has good days and bad days.”

“As do we all, mon petit chou.”

“So, if there isn’t anything else?”

“No, you may go.” She walked over to him, stretched up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Have a good evening, Claude.”

He gave us each a small bow and walked out the door, shutting it carefully and precisely behind him. We heard his heavy footsteps move down the hall, heard the elevator bell ring.

“I know,” she said, her voice soft, but filled with laughter. “You must be thinking, ‘What was she thinking?’ ”

“Not at all, he seems nice. And you certainly can’t fault his manners. But after Sam, you must admit that he is rather an odd choice.”

“What does Sam have to do with it? It is none of his business who I choose to . . .” She stopped short and put her hand up to her mouth. “Oh, you think that Claude and I are lovers? No, no and no.” She giggled again. “Although I do think that it might be an intriguing possibility. But no, Deirdre, he was here to protect my interests while I was in Paris. He is very loyal to me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am the only one who treats him like he is a member here. The rest of them avoid him, as if being overweight were contagious. One would think that after centuries, they would look less to outer qualities and more to the inner virtues.” She shrugged. “And Victor likes him.”

“No doubt.”

“Victor gets out of his cell all the time,” she informed me with another giggle. “The other house leaders do not know. They fear him, you know, as well they should, since they put him there.”

“But aren’t you in charge of the Cadre?”

She rolled her eyes. “In name, yes. And they defer to me; but we are ruled now by council decisions. And so Victor was put away.”

“He does not need to be there.”

“No, you are right. But that was not a question. You have seen him?”

I told her the story as she unpacked. During the process, Vivienne would throw a dress or skirt at me and have me try it on for her. As I finished explaining why I had to go to New Orleans to find Lily as soon as possible, she nodded and removed one final piece from her suitcase. “Here, here is what you should wear tonight; it is perfect for you and you will feel more comfortable appropriately dressed. And yes, of course you should go to New Orleans to see your daughter. But tomorrow I will help you with the arrangements. Perhaps I should even send Claude with you? Yes.” She nodded again and tossed me the garment. “He will be able to help you, I’m sure.”

I looked at what she had chosen for me. It was a shiny black vinyl bodysuit. “This will make me more comfortable?” I smiled. “Are we going scuba diving?”

“No, silly. We are going to my club. Dangerous Crossings. Now go and change. I want you to look magnificent tonight.”

As I dressed, I thought about Vivienne. While she called me sister, we were not related by anything other than Max’s insatiable hunger. He had found her in a brothel in Paris, she’d told me once, and changed her life forever. “That bastard. It is not that I resented him for that, mon chou,” she’d explained. “I had a life that could only be improved. But he was just so distant and superior. Oh, you knew how he was. He made me want to scream and tear his hair out. I was so very happy when he died.”

I remembered how she’d come over to my side during my trial for Max’s death. And how we’d spent time together watching movies while Sam experimented on us like research animals, searching for the drug that could paralyze vampires.

I also remembered, less fondly, that she was the one who had trained Mitch how to transform into animal form. Mitch, in turn, had tried to train me. But I could only transform to the Cat under duress, and had never been particularly at ease with the concept, preferring instead to stay in my human shape.

Perhaps, though, I thought as I zipped up the front of my outfit, she could train me how to control the Cat. I would ask her.

Looking in the mirror, I scowled. The bodysuit fabric was thin and it fit over my body like a second skin. I felt naked, and wondered again how this would make me more comfortable. But I did not have much time to worry about it for the door opened and Vivienne came in, looked me up and down and clapped her hands together. “Perfect,” she said. “But let us do something different with your hair.” And she proceeded to slick it back and roll it into a tight bun at the nape of my neck, pulling jeweled pins out of her own hair to fasten it. “There, now you are perfect. Let’s go.”

If I hadn’t known the way by heart, I would never have recognized our final destination. Dangerous Crossings was what Vivienne had made of the Ballroom of Romance.

“Did I not tell you I was going to renovate the whole place?”

I looked around in disbelief. “You may have mentioned the fact. But this place looks like a dungeon.”

The walls had been covered in heavy stone and cement and were decorated with implements of torture. And crucifixes. “It is very nice,” I said, knowing that she would want me to say something. “Unique.”

Vivienne laughed. “Deirdre, my sister, you are not a good liar. Very nice? It looks like a nightmare one might have about the Inquisition. But they do not care; we have a waiting list for the next year or so. I do not understand. One would think that the world is full of more than enough torture for humans. And still they pay hundreds of dollars to get in, hundreds of more dollars for special scenarios. Not to mention the exorbitant liquor prices we charge. It is worse than a nightmare; it is a sin.” She laughed again, and the metallic peals echoed in the empty room. “Then again, it serves a purpose. For all concerned. And I get no complaints.”

“So, if this place is so popular, where is everyone? By now the Ballroom would have been so crowded you wouldn’t be able to move.”

“But this is not the Ballroom, Deirdre. And it is early yet; we don’t really open for another hour or so. It is an off night, tonight; weekends are really our best times. We’ll get enough people here, though, to give you a feel for what we are. And easily enough to offer a good selection of choices for the evening’s meal.”

“You feed off the customers? Is that a good idea?”

She put an arm around me and began to lead me across the room. “It is a wonderful idea.” Giggling as she opened the door that led to the private offices, she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “For that, they pay extra.”

Chapter 27

The area behind the club had changed as well. “Private rooms,” Vivienne explained. “I had to give them all the dungeon feel as well. But this next you should find amusing, at least.” We stopped outside an office door that now displayed a small but ornate brass plaque embossed with the words “Max’s Office.” It hung off center, just a few inches too many to the right.

“It’s crooked,” I said.

“But of course it is.” She opened the door. “It had to be to cover the hole.”

I gasped when I saw what she meant. “But this is the original door.” I reached over and felt the splintered hole. “This wasn’t here when I owned the place.”

“No, I had it taken down for you. I thought you’d feel more comfortable that way. But now I own the club. And I like the reminder.”

“Reminder?” Shivering, I moved my hand from the door and held it out in front of my face, as if I could still see Max’s blood. “For what do you need a reminder?”

“That our lives, no matter how long they are, can always be ended. Abruptly and violently. And often by someone we trust and care for. Maybe even someone we love.”

I looked at her in surprise. I had never known her to be so serious about anything. “It is a very good thing to remember.”

She laughed then. “It is a morbid thing to remember, you mean. Sam says it gives him the creeps. But he will be joining us here soon, a special occasion because you are here. He does not care for the club all that much.”

“That does not surprise me.”

“And I can tell that you do not either, little sister.”

“I did not say that I did not care for it. It is certainly different than I expected . . .”

She shrugged. “It does not matter to me whether you like it or not. You have always been more puritanical than I ever was. I find the place amusing is all. And when it stops being amusing, I will sell it and move on.”

“Fair enough, Vivienne. I was not sitting in judgment of you.”

“No?” She gave a little flip of her hand. “I felt that you were. But, let us not talk of that. Wine?”

“Yes, please.” I settled in on the couch and she went over to the bar and opened a bottle. “I notice that you didn’t redecorate the office to match the rest of the place.” I ran my hand over the floral chintz upholstery. “Why not?”

She gave me a bright smile and handed me a glass of wine. “I did not want to work in a dungeon, you see. There is enough torture to have to sit with the accountants and lawyers.”

“I can certainly agree with that.”

The door opened and Sam came in.

“Good evening, ladies.” Dressed in a tuxedo, he looked incredibly handsome, a fact not lost on Vivienne, whose face lit up.

“Oh, mon beau morceau! It has been too long.” She threw herself into his arms and seemed to melt all over him. I got up from the couch as they kissed, and walked over to look out the office window, feeling totally unnecessary and out of place. I’d have been better off had I never left this city, had I stayed with Max and never met Mitchell Greer. But even as I thought it, I knew that last was a lie. I might have to choose to never see Mitch again, but I was glad he had been in my life.

“Deirdre?” Sam stood next to me. “Vivienne tells me congratulations are needed.”

“Yes. ‘Congratulations, you have a daughter. And condolences, she hates you and has done everything within her power to make you miserable.’ ”

Sam laughed. “From what my friends with children tell me, this is not very unusual. Although I see what you mean. And what will you do?”

“I have to find her. I will leave for New Orleans tomorrow evening, I suppose, provided arrangements can be made in time.”

I glanced at Vivienne, and she nodded. “Time is no problem. I have asked Claude to take care of everything, Deirdre. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“And what about Mitch?” Sam asked. “What will you do about him? It’s entirely possible, you know, that he left with her believing she was you. That seems to have been her plan. In that case, it was not a betrayal of you. I told you there had to be a good explanation, and there it is.”

I nodded, agreeing. “And I can accept that, Sam. Understand it, almost. But the Cat is not so forgiving.”

“The cat again? You take it so literally, Deirdre. This cat creature is merely a subconscious expression of the anger and the instincts with which your human side can’t deal.”

“You think so?” I knew there was only one way to win this argument. But I hadn’t the strength to transform and control the Cat this evening.

Vivienne began to laugh. “Sam, darling, you aren’t listening. I’m crazy about you, mon cher, you know that, but sometimes you can be so—oh, how do they say it now?—yes, clueless. Deirdre’s cat is real.”

“I know she sees it as real. As I know you talk about your alternate forms as being real. But it’s impossible for a human body to transform into another creature.”

Vivienne threw her hands up into the air. “Sam, we have been over this ground a thousand times. Perhaps I will just show you.”

“But you always said you couldn’t show me. Now you can?”

“No, I said I preferred not to show you. There is a difference. And so”—she began to undress, right there in the office—“I will change my preference. And my form. Voilà!”

When she stood naked in front of us, she closed her eyes and clasped her arms around her shoulders. A shadow seemed to come up from the floor to cover her pale skin as she crouched down. Her neck craned out from her body; as it thinned and lengthened, she shivered. The shadow continued to grow and become more substantial, until her body was completely covered in black lustrous feathers. Her human face disappeared, she stretched her arms out and wings developed.

Sam gasped. I smiled. And in less than a minute, the transformation was complete. Where Vivienne had stood, now was a huge, beautiful black swan. She made a crooning noise and walked over to Sam, rubbing her head against his leg, stretching her beak up until it touched his lips. Then she shivered again, spread her massive wings and dropped them back down. The feathers seemed to flow back into the floor and the human Vivienne was back.

She held on to Sam for just a minute, wearied by the rapid transformations. Then she laughed and started to put her clothes back on. “Here, after all this time, Sam, you thought I had run out of surprises.”

He had backed off from her slightly. “I should have known better. And I should have believed you. How many more forms do you have?”

She shrugged as she fastened her bustier. “Two more, but I choose not to show them. To you or to anyone. The swan is at least reasonably attractive. I am so vain, don’t you think?” She smiled shyly and fluffed her hair. “And you must understand our alternate forms are private things, Sam. We keep them secret if we can. Except from those who train us and from those whom we train.”

“And Deirdre’s cat?”

Vivienne finished his sentence. “Is just as real as she is. And more dangerous, for a variety of reasons. But enough of the serious for tonight. I am ready for some play. And Deirdre must have something to eat before her trip.”

The club had filled up while we’d been in the office. It was not as crowded as the Ballroom would be, but then, it was quite obviously not the same place. I looked around me in disbelief. It was like I had landed on a distant planet. The people seemed to be dressed in costumes, some even wearing masks and capes. There were women and men wearing collars and cuffs being led around like trained animals, people wrapped up in what looked like cellophane, people in various forms of disarray with just scraps of clothing covering their genitalia. Others were completely dressed from head to toe, except for cut-out portions over their private areas. I saw tattoos and piercings in places I could not even begin to consider. Some people were being waited on by slaves; others were being whipped or spanked or tickled. I had never even imagined that this scene existed so openly, and breathed a silent thanks that Vivienne had made me wear this ridiculous bodysuit. I would have been appalled and embarrassed in any case, but at least my dress conformed.

That Vivienne found the entire situation amusing was not surprising. When we had emerged from the back rooms, she’d been greeted with a small burst of applause. Everyone knew who she was; everyone wanted to be with her. As we walked through the crowd, hands reached out to touch her, faces leaned over to kiss her. They adored her.

I looked at Sam and raised an eyebrow. He smiled at me, put an arm around my shoulder and whispered, “I don’t mind. She enjoys this so. And it’s certainly more enjoyable than Cadre functions. Once we get to the table, they all pretty much go about their business and leave us alone.”

“Doesn’t she worry about people finding out who she is?”

Sam laughed. “Vivienne doesn’t worry about anything. You should know that by now. She’s like a child, accepting all that life gives her with wonder and delight. To worry would detract from the enjoyment. And it seems to work for her.”

Our table was situated on a high platform, roped off from the rest of the area. Facing the club, three chairs were set up behind a long narrow table. On the wall behind us hung a large tapestry depicting the symbol of the house of Courbet. I felt hideously conspicuous, seated between Sam and Vivienne, my every movement on display for the crowd. But Sam was right, we were ignored for the most part, except for occasional glances and whispers.

Vivienne poured us each a glass of champagne from the setup to her right and giggled. “Isn’t this fun?” she whispered to me as a man dressed in a black leather jumpsuit and chains called her name from below the platform and threw her one red rose. She caught it, sniffed it and smiled her thanks. “I always wanted to be royalty,” she confided, “and this is as close as I’ve ever been.”

“The problem with playing Marie Antoinette, though, is that one often loses one’s head.”

“It is sweet of you to worry about me, little sister. But my head is firmly fastened on, merci.”

Sam cleared his throat and smiled. “In other words, Deirdre, stay the hell out of it.”

I nodded. “I am sorry, Vivienne. That was inappropriate.”

“No need for apologies. We are family.”

Halfway through our bottle of champagne, a waiter came to the edge of the platform. “Miss Courbet?”

“Yes, Jules? What is it?”

“All is ready.”

Vivienne jumped up and clapped her hands together. “Marvelous. Please see that Doctor Samuels has everything he needs while we are away.” She reached down and pulled me to my feet. “Come, Deirdre. Here is the best part.”

Chapter 28

“How many, Jules?” Vivienne asked as we went back into the private area.

“Full house, Miss Courbet. All eight rooms are occupied.”

“And how are they?”

Jules smiled. “The same crop as always. Room Five is a bigger tipper than most. And Room Seven seems to have changed his mind.”

“Ah, poor little lamb. He should have thought longer before allowing himself to be led to the slaughter.”

I stiffened at the word. “No, Deirdre, I did not mean it that way. There is no harm here. No one dies. No one even gets hurt. They wish to give their blood, they want the danger and the excitement and they pay well for it. And we take so very little. Isn’t that right, Jules?”

“Oui, Miss Courbet.” He laughed, and I caught the glimpse of growing canines.

“Another one, Vivienne?” I said. “My, my, you really have been busy, haven’t you?”

She stuck her tongue out at me. “Don’t be such a pig, Deirdre. There is Claude for the Cadre and Jules for the club. Do not ever think me so much a fool to live the life I do without protection.”

I nodded. “I see. And now what?”

She laughed. “And now we play. Loosen up a bit, sister. It’s only life.”

The whole thing was more than surreal. Eight dungeon rooms with eight men, blindfolded and chained to the walls, in various modes of dress and undress. The doors were open, and as we walked down the hall and peered inside, Vivienne made suggestive comments about each. When they heard her voice, they stood up a bit straighter and smiled. “It is apparently an honor to be chosen,” she whispered to me. “I do not understand it, but I do not complain. And neither do they.”

“All right, Vivienne. You’ve convinced me. My life has certainly been dreary enough for all of us recently; for tonight, I will try to play.”

She deposited a long kiss on my lips. “Your problems will still be there tomorrow and you will face them then. And, I have no doubt, conquer them, as you conquer everything. Forget Mitch, forget Lily and just be yourself tonight.”

Once I relaxed and cleared my mind of tomorrow’s journey, I realized that Vivienne was right. There was no harm in the situation, and its very ridiculousness lightened my spirits.

“It is rather like a smorgasbord, isn’t it?” I said with a laugh as we inspected each man closely.

“Just so,” said Vivienne, “and so very difficult to choose.” She hesitated outside Room Seven. “This one, I think . . .” she began, and the man trembled visibly. She winked at me and put her finger to her lips, silently walking up to his side, laying her hand gently on his chest. He jumped and bit his bottom lip. “This one, I think, can go now.” The man relaxed, then flinched when she touched her tongue to his neck and ran her hand along the lower part of his face. “Words to the wise, mon chou. One must not offer what one does not wish to part with.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, his voice cracking slightly on the words. “I’ll remember. Thank you.”

She slapped him lightly on the face with both of her hands and giggled. “Jules,” she called, “let this one go. He is unworthy of our attentions.”

We walked back out into the hallway.

“And now, sweet sister, we must choose.”

I shrugged. They all seemed the same to me. “Pick one for me, Vivienne.”

“You take all the fun out of it, Deirdre. But if you insist.” She closed her eyes and spun around, pointing her arm, stopping eventually at Room Three. “Dinner is served, Madame Greer.”

She gave me a little push into the room and shut the door behind me.

“Hello?” The man chained to the wall craned his head forward a bit, attempting to see beyond the blindfold. “Vivienne?” He was wearing a suit and tie, but the tie had been loosened and his neck was exposed.

“No, I am not Vivienne.” I walked toward him, feeling incredibly stupid and awkward.

“Then you are the one with the red hair. I am pleased to meet you. And serve you.”

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why? Why would you allow this? Chained like a prisoner, blindfolded, waiting for someone to choose you and take your blood?”

He seemed confused. “It’s just a game, isn’t it? They told me it wouldn’t hurt.”

I laughed. “And what if they lied?”

“But they wouldn’t lie. This place would have to close down.”

“Ah. And so here you are. And here I am. Now, what do we do? I could unchain you and take off your blindfold and we could talk. Or I could drink your blood.” He gave a sharp intake of breath at that. “I am very hungry,” I confessed, moving closer to him and breathing the words into his neck. “I am also very angry, not at you, of course, but you are here. And those that I am angry with are not. What is your name?”

“Um, they told me there would be no names.”

I reached up and grasped his throat. “I asked your name, human. Do not make me angrier.”

“Kevin,” he blurted out. His fear was intoxicating and I felt my hunger grow. The Cat purred deep within me. “I like this game,” it said. “Let us play some more.”

“So what is it going to be, Kevin?” I took my hand from his throat and ran my nails down his neck and chest. “Talk? Or blood?”

“I paid extra for the vampire scene, didn’t I?”

“I suppose you did. And I promise you I will not disappoint you.” I stood there silently for a minute, scenting his flesh and his sweat and his blood. Then I laid my hands on the wall on either side of him, holding him firmly in place with my body. “Turn your head,” I said to him, and he did so with no questions. I could feel him tremble next to me; his hands opened and closed uselessly in their shackles; he swallowed hard and gave a small smile.

“When?” he asked, trying to move his head.

I grasped his chin and pushed the side of his head to the wall. “Now.”

He jumped when the tips of my fangs grazed his neck, gasped as my teeth penetrated his skin. We both moaned as his blood began to flow. I drew on him slowly, savoring him, enjoying the stolen warmth that rushed through my body. Every mouthful was ecstasy, the shared experience more intensely sensual than any act of sex or love. Each successive sip tasted better than the last, urging me to take it all, drink it all, swallow it all. Drain him dry.

“No.” I pulled my mouth away from him and stepped back, wiping my bloody lips on my hand.

Kevin groaned and moved his hands feebly. “Are you done?”

I laughed. “Yes, thank you. I am finished. Was it worth what you paid?”

The mouth under the blindfold smiled. “Yeah. Oh, yeah.” He was silent for a while, still smiling. “Thank you. It was incredible. Like someone was dragging my soul through a velvet tunnel. I felt like I could die and not care. How’d you do that?”

I reached up and patted his cheek. “Trade secret, Kevin. I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“What do I do now?”

“Oh, I expect Jules will be along soon to release you. Perhaps he will even bring you a drink.”

I opened the door and walked out into the hallway. All of the rooms but one were empty now. I chuckled as I walked past Room Five hearing deep laughter and higher-pitched giggling from behind the closed door. Trust Vivienne to keep the big spenders happy.

Jules met me at the door to the club. “Everything satisfactory, Miss Griffin?”

“Fine, Jules, thank you. Take him a drink, please, I suspect he is quite thirsty.”

He nodded. “But of course. For the rest of the night he can drink as much as he likes for free. It’s part of the package.”

I shook my head. None of this made any sense to me at all. Not for the first time, I wished I was back in the cabin in Maine. But the cabin lay in ashes, along with the shreds of my relationship with Mitch, and no amount of wishing could make life different. I sighed. “Tell Sam and Vivienne that I needed to take a walk. I will see them later back at headquarters.”

“As you wish.”

I walked the city streets until it was close to dawn searching for what I had lost. It was a futile endeavor; what I had lost seemed unrecoverable. Mitch had gone and I was alone. I had a daughter, true, but she had been instrumental in taking from me what I most valued. Perhaps it was fitting. I had left her for dead. Poor little one, never having a chance for a normal life. My daughter, blood of my blood, closer blood and dearer than any lover I had ever had. Had I but known, I’d have sacrificed everything to have her with me.

But I had not known and I had left her, chasing down love and blood for so many years, finally finding all I had ever wanted in Mitch. And now? Now I had lost everything. I had neither of them. She hated me. And he had destroyed my love by his leaving. It mattered little that he might have left believing her to be me. I condemned him for the same reasons I condemned myself. He should have known.

I sat on the steps outside his old apartment for some time, hoping for a miracle. Hoping that all I had been through was nothing but a bad dream. And that he would come out of the door and smile at me, his eyes glowing with love and promise. I closed my eyes and pretended that all of that was true. That Mitch was only a flight of stairs away. That he would come and call me inside to bed.

Then this would be a perfect world. One in which the Cat’s instincts had not been aroused. One in which I didn’t have to fear the killing of one I loved. Or fear his killing me.

I sighed and opened my eyes. It was not a perfect world, nor would it ever be.

But there is an easy solution, I thought. I can sit here until dawn. I closed my eyes again, and this time imagined the lovely heat of the sun’s rays caressing my upturned face. After all the long, cold and dark years, I yearned for the sunshine almost as much as I feared it. Perhaps it was time. And it would not hurt for too long, I thought, and, oh, the warmth would be heaven.

“Miss Griffin?”

I opened my eyes not to the sun, but to Claude’s wide face. He looked distressed and anxious.

I snapped at him. “Damn it, Claude, call me Deirdre. Unlike the rest of the Cadre leeches, I do not require your worship or deference.”

“Miss Courbet sent me out to find you,” he said, glancing uneasily at the late night sky. “It is close to dawn and we should be getting back. Our flight to New Orleans leaves a little after sunset tonight.”

“Did Vivienne fear I came out here to greet the sun?”

Claude hung his head and shrugged. “I don’t know what she fears, Deirdre. She doesn’t confide in me that much. I was just told to find you and bring you back.”

“And if I do not wish to be brought back?”

He laughed nervously. “Please don’t make that an option, Deirdre. I can’t afford to fail.”

“Very well, then. I do not need your failure on my shoulders with everything else. And I suppose we should go at that. There is nothing here that matters anymore.” I got up from the steps without looking back.

There would be no miracles for me, I knew. Just endless lonely nights falling on top of each other. “And someday,” I whispered, “I will greet the sun.”

Claude shivered at that. But had no words in response. He took my hand and tucked it into his arm, and proceeded to escort me back to Cadre headquarters.

“How old are you, Claude?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Ah,” I said, “that is younger than I’d thought.”

“I look older, I think, because of my size.”

“And you have been with us for six months?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“And tell me, Claude, do you like it? Is the life of a vampire everything you ever wanted?”

He paused and looked down at me with a puzzled expression. “You know, I don’t really know. And no one’s ever asked me that before. A lot of the life is wonderful, the heightened senses, the power and the strength. I was always a night person—I used to play piano in a blues band in New Orleans—so I would wake with sunset and sleep with the dawn. That much, at least, is the same.”

“And the blood does not bother you?”

He blushed. “No, the taking of blood is wonderful. Much better than anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“And so you do like being what you are?”

He puffed his lips out. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I guess I do.” He smiled. “And Vivienne is great; she’s patient and gracious. And generous. She bought me my share of the Westwood. A birthday present, she said. And I like the work. And you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, do you like being a vampire?”

“It is all I have known for so very long, Claude.” We entered the back door of The Imperial and got on the elevator for the Cadre level. “I struggled for years, on my own. No guidance, no training. Had Max stayed around, things might have been different. Things should have been different. But they weren’t. The cycle of life goes on all around me and I remain untouched. I have held on to my humanity for too long, I think.”

We stopped outside my door and he unlocked it for me. “And so you don’t like it?” he said.

I kissed him on the cheek. “In a word, Claude? No. But I do not know how to let it go. And I cannot stop from hoping that there is some purpose to my life beyond feeding and sleeping and yearning after the sun. Good night.”

I closed the door and lay down on the bed. I felt the sun begin to rise, and I cried myself to sleep.

Part 5

Chapter 29

Looking out the window of the chartered plane, I tried as hard as I could to ignore, without seeming to, the man who sat holding my hand. He was a stranger. And a dangerous one at that.

It had, at first, gone all too easily. From the moment she had left the cabin to the moment her loving husband and I had boarded the plane, I’d been prepared for a fight, a protest, something that would interfere. It had all gone according to plan, and that made me nervous. Deep down inside, maybe I was hoping that it wouldn’t go this far.

But he’d accepted me without a question; he’d been happy and loving and trusting. At least until we boarded the plane. It worried me quite a lot; up until now I’d have had a way to escape, should he discover that I wasn’t who I pretended to be. Now I had nowhere to run and nothing much in the way of protection. I fingered the beads hidden under my shirt. “Please,” I whispered. “Please.”

“Deirdre?”

When I didn’t respond, he squeezed my hand. “Deirdre? Come back.”

I jumped and laughed. “Sorry, Mitch. I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say again?”

“I said your name.” He gave me a sharp look. “Are you feeling all right? You seem kind of edgy.”

“Edgy? Me?” I shook my head. “No, I’m not edgy.” I paused a second, trying to think of what sort of complaints a vampire might have and settled on the obvious. “I’m hungry.”

“You are too edgy. But I know what you mean about hunger. It’s been scarce pickings lately. Will we have time to feed after we get there?”

“I’m sure we can manage something.”

“Good.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Go back to your window-watching, my love; I know how you are on planes.”

He got up from his seat and wandered about the plane, poking into the compartments and bins. While he was distracted, I allowed myself a small look around and a smug smile. This sure beat sitting elbow-to-elbow with sweaty people on a hot, stuffy bus. It was even better than the first-class flight from New York to Maine. “Nice plane, huh?” I called to him just as he called out to me, “I found the bar. Do you want a drink?”

“Sure. That’d be great. I’ll have whatever you’re having, thanks.”

I heard the clink of ice, heard the liquid sound of something being poured into glasses, heard him walk up next to me.

“Did you say something about the plane?”

“Yeah, but it’s not a big deal.” I reached a hand up for the glass. “Thanks, love. What is it?”

“Scotch.”

Victor had filled me in on likes and dislikes for both Mitch and my mother, but there had been so much he’d told me. I’d tried to focus on names and events as being the most important. But I did remember him mentioning Mitch drinking scotch. And so, it seemed natural that he and my mother would both indulge. “Oh,” I said, “that’s good.”

He stood over me. “I know how much you enjoy a scotch every now and then.” He took a sip from his glass. “This is a particularly good one, actually. Nothing like a single-malt to bring happy times into proper perspective.”

“That’s true, Mitch.” I raised my glass and clinked it against his. “Here’s to all our happy times.”

He took a seat across from me this time. I could feel his cold blue gaze on me as I sipped at my drink.

“What is it, Mitch? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Deirdre, my love. What could possibly be wrong? Here I am in the embrace of my loving wife, who has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to plan a surprise vacation for me. I’m thrilled.”

I gave him a smile and a nod before turning back to the window. “Anyway, we’ll be landing soon.”

“And then what?”

“It’s a surprise,” I said. Provided Angelo follows my instructions, I thought, a very big surprise. “But”—I looked over at him—“your glass is empty. Let me get you another.”

I got up from my seat and went to the bar, feeling his eyes follow every move I made. “This plane reminds me of the one we took from England,” he said from his seat. “In fact, it seems almost exactly the same. I guess they build them all the same, but even so, it seems strange. Don’t you think?”

“Not all that strange,” I said over my shoulder. “It’s Victor’s plane.”

“And exactly how did you manage that? Last I heard, Victor was crazier than a loon. Has been ever since his pretty-boy friend was killed. What was his name again?”

I smiled, my back still to him. Finally, a test. And one to which I knew the answer. I turned around and leaned up against the bar. “Victor may be crazier than a loon, Mitch, but you aren’t. And you know the name as well as I do. Ron Wilkes. In fact,” I said, remembering another bit of truth to throw into the deception, “he copiloted the flight from England.” I laughed and guessed. “You never liked him much, did you?”

My correct answer should have relaxed him. “No, I sure as hell did not. I’m sure you can remember why.” He was far from relaxed; his mouth tightened and his eyes bored into me.

I licked my lips and ran a hand over my front jeans pocket, taking small comfort in the three little bulges I felt. “Emergencies only,” Victor had said. I thought, somehow, that this would qualify. But I needed to gain just a few seconds without Mitch’s sharp eyes watching me.

“Do me a favor, love? Go up to the cockpit and check when we’ll be landing. I want to see the city lights as we fly in.”

Mitch scowled at first, and then gave a small twisted smile. “You and your window-watching. Okay, I’ll check.”

As he turned to go, I spun around again and reached into my pocket, pulling out the vial of Angelo’s confusion potion and one of the two small capsules Victor had given me. I didn’t have time to think. With shaky hands I opened the vial first and then the capsule, pouring the entire contents of both into Mitch’s glass, and stuffed the empty containers back into my pocket.

By the time Mitch came back down the aisle, I had finished pouring the scotch and swirled it around a bit. I put the glass up to my mouth and pretended to take a sip, while I sniffed at it. It smelled like scotch. I handed it to him, thankful he didn’t prefer vodka.

He took it from me, drank it down in one gulp and dumped the leftover ice into the sink. “The pilot says we’ll be there in about five minutes and suggests that we sit down and fasten our seat belts. I’ll clean up here first.”

I looked at the ice in the sink. Was there a residue of powder? “Don’t be silly, Mitch. I’ll put this all away.”

“Sit.” His voice was harsh and commanding. Then he smiled briefly. “I can manage to put away a few glasses without your help. And you wouldn’t want to miss your first view of the city, would you?”

I went back to my seat and sat down. Minutes later, he sat across from me. “All done,” he said. “Now we don’t have to worry about flying glassware during touchdown.”

I looked out the window as I was expected to. He stared at me a while, then sat next to me, peering over my shoulder. “It’s a pretty sight, isn’t it?” His voice tickled my ear and I shivered. “Glad to be back, honey?”

“Back?” My voice cracked slightly and I cleared my throat. “I’ve never been here before. You should know that.” I turned my head and found myself nose-to-nose with him. The expression on his face was that of pure fury.

“No,” he hissed at me, his canines growing with his anger, “I know that Deirdre Griffin has never been here before. But you? You are not Deirdre.” He grabbed my shoulders with unbelievably strong hands and shook me. “Damn it, you look like her, you smell like her. Enough to make even me wonder. Your voice is right and you give all the right answers. But you don’t speak the way she does. I get no feeling for your soul, as if a stranger had crawled into her skin. When I touch you, you don’t respond right. And your eyes are wrong.” He paused, loosening his grip on me; his eyes glazed over. He shook himself, as if trying to rid himself of the drug, but it was useless. His eyelids drooped; his hands fell from me and dropped at his side. “What did you put in my drink?”

I smiled, offering Victor a silent thanks. “Amitriptyline. It won’t hurt you, really, just slow you down a bit.”

“And then what do you plan to do with me? Drop me off at a park bench somewhere to watch the sunrise?” He said the words slowly, making a visible effort to control his speech.

“I intend to keep you. Safe and whole. You won’t be harmed.”

“Keep me? For how long?”

“Until my mother comes for you.”

“Your mother? Who the hell are you?”

I laughed at his confusion. “My name is, at least currently, Lily Williams.”

He gazed at me blankly. “Lily Williams?”

I nodded. “That’s right, Lily Williams. Beloved daughter of John and Dorothy Grey Williams. Born in 1860. Any of this sound familiar, Mitch?”

He rolled his eyes and worked his mouth for a while before he managed the words. “You’re Deirdre’s daughter?”

“Nice to meet you.” I laughed. “Although I guess under the circumstances, I probably shouldn’t call you Daddy.”

Chapter 30

When the plane finally taxied to a stop and the roar of the engines died out, I called to the pilot. “Can you get me a wheelchair, or a cart or something? My friend is just a little bit disoriented.”

The pilot studied Mitch lying limply in the seat. “Should I call for an ambulance? He looks pretty bad.”

I shook my head. “No. This happens periodically. Stress or something. Brings on little seizures. He’ll be okay after a bit of a rest.”

“Whatever you say, Miss. Victor says you’re the boss on this trip.”

With the pilot’s help, I managed to get Mitch into the wheelchair and off the plane. I’d bundled him up in one of the blankets as if he were an invalid, and people naturally accepted him as such.

Angelo was waiting at the gate for me. “Miss Lily,” he yelled, walking toward us, “welcome home. And what have we here?”

“This is my stepfather, Mitchell Greer.”

“But”—Angelo peered at him closely—“he one of them. How you do this to him?”

“Modern science, ’Lo. Beats that voodoo stuff anytime.”

“My medicines didn’t work?” His expression was doubtful and pained.

I touched his arm. “Actually, they worked quite well. I just didn’t want to take any chances.”

“I suppose you get that hair with modern science too?”

I nodded. “Extensions. I’ll have them taken out tomorrow. But it’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Angelo chuckled and took the wheelchair handles. “It’s something, that’s for sure. So what now?”

“Is the tank finished?”

“Well, Lily, I’m glad you asked. It weren’t easy; those are some pretty weird-ass instructions you sent along. And it cost twice as much as you expected—to get them to do it fast and right. But yeah, it done. I don’t suspect Moon would care for what we do to her bedroom.”

“Moon’s dead. That’s what started this whole crazy thing.” I sighed and leaned over Mitch, touching his hand. His eyes rolled open briefly and his mouth opened and closed. I laughed. “Later, Mitch, we’ll talk later. For now, let’s get you to your new home.”

It took half an hour to find a van that would accommodate Mitch and the wheelchair. And another thirty minutes to get from the airport to the house. I kept checking my watch, nervous as a cat. There was plenty of time until dawn, so I didn’t have to fear breaking my promise to Mitch or Victor that there would be no deaths. But I wasn’t entirely sure how long before the drug would wear off. And I sure as hell didn’t want him loose when it did.

I paid the cab driver when we arrived, and left Angelo to struggle with Mitch while I went inside the house to inspect the holding tank. Even standing in Moon’s bedroom, it looked exactly like those in the cellars of The Imperial. It had been furnished with nothing but a cot, fastened to one of the side walls. I inspected the dials, remembering Victor’s instructions; it all seemed as it should. I shrugged; I was hardly an expert in the incarceration of vampires. So, I thought, whether it will hold him or not, time will tell.

Angelo approached with the chair. “Do we just wheel him in and shut the door?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want him to have anything around that he can use to break the glass. We’ll move him onto the cot and then shut the door.”

“He awful cold,” Angelo said as he gripped Mitch under his arms. “You don’t suppose he dead, do you?”

“His eyes are still open and moving, so, no, I don’t suppose he’s dead. On the count of three?” I held Mitch’s ankles. “One, two, three.” ’Lo heaved him up out of the chair and I swung his legs over. We laid him out like a corpse, his arms folded over his chest. Then we pushed the chair back out and closed and sealed the door. I flipped a switch on the control panel, turning on the microphone, so that I could tell when he woke up. Then I checked and locked the shutters at the window, pulled the two sets of heavy curtains closed, turned off the overhead light and went out to the living room.

Angelo was in the kitchen. “What do I do now, Angelo?” I sat down in a chair at the small table and sighed. “I have a semiconscious vampire locked up in a large glass tank in Moon’s bedroom. And to be honest, right now I have no idea why I’ve done this. It made sense at one point, I guess, but now?”

Angelo shuffled over to me and handed me a glass of brandy, setting the bottle on the table in front of me. “You sendin’ a message to your mama, is what you’re doin’. Can you forget how bad you felt all these years, knowin’ she did what she did to you? Buryin’ you before your time? Leavin’ you to be raised by strangers? Never once wonderin’ about you? Never once carin’ if you still lived? This all is a message, Miss Lily, and one she won’t soon forget. You stole somethin’ from her as she stole from you.”

“And when she gets the message and comes after him? What happens then?”

Angelo chuckled. “Lord, Lily, I don’t know. But it’ll be a powerful thing to witness. She not likely to hurt you, you her own blood. Even to such as them, that got to matter.”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

“And in the meantime, child”—he leaned over me, smiling in my face—“you give me such a gift. That man, he be hummin’ with power. I can feel it runnin’ along my skin like a river’s current.”

“But what good will it do you? You can’t use his power.”

“Maybe not. But I can learn from it. I can study it. That creature in there, he like a living god. He won’t never die, Miss Lily, not on his own. Think of it. Even you grow older, even you will die someday. You can count your years if you want. But he will walk the earth after you and I are dust in the eyes of the gods. I want a piece of that, child.”

“He is not to be harmed, Angelo. I promised.”

“Hush, child, I won’t harm him. But we need to think about feedin’ him. Just that short time I touched him, I felt a strong hunger.”

I finished my drink and poured myself another. “I don’t know about that, ’Lo. It doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Well, don’t think on it for too long, Lily. Eventually he come out of that cage, one way or another. You want to be standin’ in his way when he does? Not me, no, sir, I like the blood in my body to stay just exactly where it is, thank you very much.”

I shook my head and stood up. “I can’t think anymore tonight. I’m tired and I need some sleep. So you should go now and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You go to bed if you need to, Lily. But I’m not leaving you alone in this house with that creature. I stay here on the couch. Just in case.”

“Whatever.” I walked down the hall and stood in the doorway to Moon’s room. Mitch was lying as we’d left him, but his eyes followed me and his mouth moved. “You won’t be hurt,” I said to him, “and when my mother gets here, you’ll be free to go. This was never about you.”

I sighed, closed the door and went into my room. Lying down on the bed fully dressed, I stared at the ceiling awhile and pictured what my mother was feeling right now. Totally alone in the world, abandoned without notice and without explanation. It was possible that she hadn’t yet realized the situation, but eventually she would return to the cabin, finding it empty and deserted. “You’re lucky, bitch,” I whispered in anger. “You, at least, don’t have to dig your way up to the surface and go through decades of agonized yearning for someone to return to you.”

How long would it take for her to find us? She had to make the effort; everything I’d learned about her pointed to her finer qualities. Her sense of duty and moral obligation. Her compassion for others. Her deep ability to love. I laughed at the irony of the situation. Had she just followed through on all of that with me, there wouldn’t be a situation.

I rolled over and looked at the clock. Three hours before dawn and still not a sound from Mitch. If he stayed quiet until sunup, we’d at least have another full day of safety; he’d never attempt to break out in broad daylight.

I got up from bed to check on him one more time. The house was dark now; Angelo had turned out all of the lights, leaving only the candles on Moon’s altar burning. I could hear Angelo chanting softly; the sound was musical, hypnotic. The hair rose briefly on my arms and I shivered. I didn’t ask what spirits he petitioned; I didn’t want to know. He walked a darker path than Moon ever had. One did not become a bokor without the taint of death.

Sensing my presence, he looked up at me, his eyes reflecting the candle flames. He nodded once without stopping his chant, and I left him to his devotions.

Outside of Moon’s closed door was a small pile of bones and feathers, a charm Angelo had no doubt left there to keep us safe from what was within. I smiled and left it undisturbed as I opened the door a crack and peered in.

It took my eyes a while to adjust to the darkness, but eventually I could make out the still form lying there. He hadn’t moved; his arms were still crossed over his chest. Only the glare of his eyes betrayed his awareness of me. “Good night, Mitch,” I said. “See you in the morning.”

Chapter 31

“Five days, Miss Lily. He been layin’ there for five days, not so much as moved a muscle. We got to do something.”

I ran my fingers through my hair, short again now since I had cut off all of the extensions. “I don’t know, Angelo, I don’t like the thought of it.”

“It has to be done. We got to feed him; a little fresh blood’ll push that drug right out of him. Unless you want to show your mama a corpse when she comes?”

“I don’t think she’s coming, Angelo.”

“Then even more reason to feed him. We can’t keep him here forever.”

We were sitting in the kitchen again, as we had night after night, day after day. The bottle of brandy I’d bought the second day after my return was almost gone. Resting my elbows on the table, I put my hands over my face. “Let me think, ’Lo, let me think.”

“Think all you want, Lily, you know I right.”

But I couldn’t think. We’d been discussing this issue since that very first night and had gotten nowhere. Angelo was determined to “feed the creature” and I was just as determined not to upset the status quo.

I yawned and moved my hands up to my temples, holding my head, eyes down and staring at the tabletop. Then I looked up at Angelo. “It doesn’t have to be human blood, does it?”

“I’m no expert, child. I suppose he could make do with cow or dog or even chicken blood. Human be best, of course, but harder to come by. Although”—he stopped and thought for a moment—“there are ways. But no,” he said quickly to forestall my objections, “it don’t need to be human.”

Just the thought of him scurrying about in an alley somewhere, procuring a dog or cat to give blood for our guest, gave me the creeps. Strange, I had no problem picturing a vampire feeding, could even visualize the experience clearly. But this was somehow different. One was a natural instinct; the other seemed furtive and dirty. Then again—I shot Angelo a glance out of the side of my eye—it wouldn’t be the first blood to stain his hands. And probably wouldn’t be the last. If putting fresh blood into Mitch’s system brought him out of his stupor, as ’Lo argued it would, it was a good thing. And if it didn’t, well, we wouldn’t lose much for the effort.

He must’ve felt my determination waver. “Why don’t you go out for a bit to clear your head, Lily, and let ’Lo take care of it for you?”

I gave him a doubtful look. “I don’t know.”

He laughed. “You been saying that for five days now, girl. Let me take care of it for you.”

I sighed, drained my glass and stood up. “I could use a break away from here, I guess. And you could be right.” I stretched, thinking a nice long walk would be wonderful. “So go ahead and feed him if you can. But make it quick and painless, okay? No torture of dumb animals.”

Angelo looked hurt. “I never took any life without the proper respect, Miss Lily. I know what to do. Been prayin’ on it since that first night. Don’t you worry about it; ol’ Bowlegged ’Lo will do the thing right.”

For a while I just walked, enjoying the early evening. New Orleans had cooled down a bit since I’d left; it didn’t have the same crispness of autumn in New York, but the air here in October was light and sweet, unlike the heavy mugginess of summer. The smell of death still lingered, though, try as I might to ignore it. Pervasive, it hovered on the streets, haunting the corners and the alleys, pushing me away from any possible solace I might find at The Blackened Orchid, drawing me finally to the cemetery where Hyde and I used to go with his friends. “What’s it all about?” I whispered as I sat down on the steps of the mausoleum. I closed my eyes and leaned back. Almost, I was back in that time with the smell of Hyde’s jacket, his cigarettes, the cheap wine he drank; I could almost feel the weight of his arm around my shoulders. I hadn’t loved him, but he was real and warm and alive. He had kept me rooted in place. He had made me feel human, loved.

As had Moon. She’d been an anchor. Without her, I’d just drifted and allowed myself to be tossed around by the wind and the waves. I’d merely reacted, instead of taking action, falling upon bits of good luck, only to twist them to fit my anger.

And where was my anger now? I tried to find it, tried to dredge it up from the bottom of my empty soul. Sadness and sorrow I found in plenty, but the rage that had kept me striving for so long was gone. I gave a wan smile, remembering one of Moon’s favorite sayings. “Be careful what you wish for, child, it usually comes true.” She’d said it to me more times than even I could remember. I’d never listened.

But what I’d wished for had come true. The instrument used to bring my mother to her knees in sadness and misery was lying inert in a glass tank in Moon’s bedroom. I had won; I had made her feel the anguish of what I felt. And it didn’t do me one damned bit of good. I was still here, still Lily, still poised between human and vampire. And more alone than I’d ever been before.

“Jesus, Lily,” I said with a laugh, hearing the whisper of my voice in the old tombstones, “you’ve really fucked up this time. And there’s no one to drag you out of it but you.”

I could run. I had money, I had identification. I could hitch a ride out of this death-ridden city and never look back. Angelo could deal with Mitch. Or if Mitch ever woke, he could deal with Angelo.

What did it matter to me? Things would eventually sort themselves out with or without my involvement.

In the back of my mind, though, I heard Moon’s voice again, just as clearly as if she were sitting with me. And I knew that I couldn’t run. “You don’t have to say it, Moon.” I shook my head and got up from the steps. “I’ll clean up my own mess.”

The house was totally dark as I approached. I hoped Angelo was still out trying to get blood for Mitch; it would make my task a little bit easier. All I need to do, I thought as I unlocked the front door, is to load him into the chair and get him somewhere else. I would contact Victor afterward and make arrangements to return Mitch to New York, where his own kind could take care of him. It seemed like a reasonable plan, a safe plan.

The candles were lit on Moon’s altar and Angelo sat cross-legged in front of it, chanting. The objects on the table, though, had been rearranged, jostled out of place by something new. Assuming it was probably the remains of the animal he had killed to get blood for Mitch, I moved closer to get a better look.

Not an animal, no, I thought as I approached. It was a sculpture, a representation of a human hand. I wondered what purpose it served. Did it give power of command? Strength? Invisibility?

I reached down to touch it. It was soft and flaccid, made of rubber or latex to simulate the feel of human flesh. I looked closer, and pulled back in shock when I saw the darkened and thickening pool the object rested in. It smelled of death; it was death. It was real.

“Jesus Christ, Angelo.” I whirled around. “What the hell did you do?”

He kept chanting. I leaned down and slapped him hard across the face. His eyes focused on me and he smiled. “He was playin’ possum the whole time, Lily. Not drugged, not sleepin’. Layin’ there with them electric glowin’ blue eyes, bidin’ his time. He a smart one, oh, yeah. He was just waitin’ for someone to open the door.”

“So you cut off his hand?” I screamed at him. “What possible use could that have for anyone?”

“Ain’t his hand. It Greg’s hand.”

“Greg’s hand. I see. Now, just who the hell is Greg and where is the rest of him?”

Angelo laughed. “That’s pretty funny, Lily. ‘Where is the rest of him?’ you ask.” He leaned his head toward Moon’s door. “In there.”

“And Mitch?”

“He in there too. Probably had a good meal out of the young Greg.”

I started to go to the door, then stopped. “Maybe you’d better tell me what happened before I go in.”

“I go out to find a dog or somethin’. Like you told me to. I weren’t lookin’ for human blood. But I stumble across this young man, Greg. He been drinkin’, oh, a good long time. And he say to me, ‘You look like you live here, do you?’

“I figure he wants directions or somethin’, so I nod. ‘Long enough to help you out, young man. What you want?’ So he introduces himself and tells me he’s here in New Orleans for the first time. Always wanted to see the place, he say, so he takes off and comes down. But he’s tired of the tourist places, he say, and he wants to see something real. ‘Real?’ I say. ‘And what is real?’

“ ‘Voodoo or vampires,’ he say. ‘Either one will do.’

“ ‘Well, Greg,’ I say, ‘it just so happen that Bowlegged ’Lo can show you both—you come to the right man.’ ”

I looked at him in disbelief. “Or the wrong one. So then what happened?”

“I get the Greg man back here to the house. He pretty drunk still, but he slip me a hundred and say, ‘Show me what you have, little man. And if it’s good, I might pay more.’

“I laugh at him. ‘It be good, don’t you worry about that. Which do you want first?’

“He thinks. ‘Voodoo,’ he say.

“And so I do a little mumbo-jumbo for the man. Not the real stuff, he don’t get that for what he payin’. But I light the candles and burn some incense, drop a few herbs on the fire. He get all nice and woozy and I make the fumes dance for him. Easy trick to show the tourists. Real impressive.”

He stopped for a second and looked at me. “I teach you that one, Miss Lily. You got the power to move the smoke around, I sure.”

I shook my head. “Some other time, Angelo. Get on with it.”

“So after the smoke dance, he shake his head. ‘That’s all you got for me? Where’re the vampires? Can you conjure them out of the smoke?’

“ ‘Don’t need to conjure them, young Greg. I got one in the next room.’

“ ‘Cool,’ he say.”

Angelo looked over at me. “Now, I don’t know what he think I goin’ to show him—maybe a human dressed up like a vampire. But I take him into the room and he stand there for a while. Mitch, he just layin’ on the bed, nothin’ movin’ but his eyes.

“ ‘So this is it? This is your vampire? Some old guy with long gray hair sound asleep inside a glass tank? I want my money back.’

“ ‘Not sleepin’,’ I say. ‘He just waitin’ for you to go in.’

“Greg put his hand on the door handle, and I think I see that vampire’s eyes glimmer. I think I see his hand twitch. But I open the door and Greg walk in . . .”

“And then?” I prompted him impatiently.

Angelo started to chuckle. “Then all hell come loose, Miss Lily. I never seen nothin’ like the jump that vampire make. Split second or less and he there at the door. I can almost smell his breath. He don’t want Greg, no, he don’t want the man I bring him. He want me.” Angelo rolled his eyes. “No way is ol’ Bowlegged ’Lo goin’ to end up as a vampire’s supper, Miss Lily. So I summon all my strength and all the strength of my spirits and I close that door. Whomp! It shuts. But that Greg man, he try to get out too and his hand get stuck.” ’Lo laughed and wheezed. “That old door cut his hand off clean as a cleaver. It flop on the floor and twitch like a dyin’ fish. Blood spurtin’ all over my feet. And the rest of Greg be in the tank with Mitch. He get all crazy, and start screamin’, but Mitch pick him up and he grow quiet. It all grow quiet. And I pick up the hand and hightail it out here to let them both sort it out.”

“Is he dead?” I should’ve known better than to leave the house. The murder of an innocent man now rested on me. I felt dirty and frightened.

“Don’t know, Lily. But I expect so.”

“How could you not know, Angelo? How can you care so little?”

“He wanted what he got, child. He pay good money to see a vampire. I show him a vampire.” He pushed his lips out and shook his head. “You don’t ask to see a vampire, ’less you don’t mind losin’ a little blood.”

“A little blood? He got his fucking hand cut off, Angelo. And then you just left him in there to die.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “You promised me, Angelo. No human blood, no torture.”

Angelo stood up. “Not my doin’, Lily. He were a gift. His appearin’ when he did and askin’ what he asked. A gift from the gods.”

“The gods don’t give gifts, Angelo. They curse.” I sighed and opened the door to Moon’s room.

Part 6

Chapter 32

As it turned out, there were three of us on the private flight from New York City to New Orleans. At the last moment, Victor decided to go. “I know Lily better than any of you,” he said, “and there is a bond between us. Besides, I want to ensure her safety.”

“I will not harm her, Victor.”

“You say that now, Deirdre, and I believe that you mean it. Now. But she is unprepared for this confrontation. And if the cat gains control, there is no predicting what it might do.”

“I can control the Cat.”

“Can you? I wonder.” The plane began to taxi for takeoff. “I loved Max like a brother. Or a son. But he should never have let you go without training for so very long. You have too much power, Deirdre, and not enough practice in dealing with it.” He laughed. “And the rest of the Cadre is so damned frightened of you, none of them would take on the task.”

“They are frightened? Of me?”

He nodded. “Except for myself. And Vivienne, who is frightened of nothing. Yes, they are. Terrified.” He turned to Claude. “Isn’t that right, Claude?”

Claude gulped and pulled out his pocket handkerchief again. Dabbing his forehead, he gave me a weak smile. “That’s true, Deirdre. You have a formidable reputation.”

I gave a small laugh. “I do not feel formidable. And find it rather strange that others should think me so.”

“We have discussed this before, Deirdre,” Victor said. “You are a very dangerous combination. A rogue, with sharply honed survival skills. You flaunt the traditions we were all taught, you sleep in a bed, you risk your skin for the sake of others, you are capable of love, deep love, enduring love. And you can kill. And have.”

He looked over at Claude. “See what’s left in the bar after that last flight, Claude. And let me know what they were drinking.”

“That last flight?” I said.

Victor smiled at me. “I’m surprised you can’t sense it, my dear. Lily and Mitch took this very plane to New Orleans just five short days ago.”

“Scotch,” Claude called back to Victor. “A lot of the scotch is gone, Victor.”

He nodded. “Interesting. It appears that Detective Greer did not go along with her totally unaware. Let that be a consolation to you, Deirdre.”

Claude came back with a bottle of wine and three glasses. “What’s the story on the scotch?”

I smiled sadly. “Mitch only drinks scotch when he is angry or upset.”

Claude sat back down. “You don’t think he’ll hurt her, do you, Deirdre? She’s rather a special young lady. Vulnerable. But with such a hard inner core of anger. You could feel it radiating from her. It was almost overwhelming.”

“She certainly had plenty about which to be angry,” I said, frowning. “Her mother left her for dead.”

“But how could you know, Deirdre?”

“Damn it, Claude, I should have known. After I realized what I was, I should have dug her up myself or waited by her grave for some sign of life. The real question is, how could I not know?”

He looked away from me. “It will probably all work out eventually. The two of you have all the time in the world to make it up.”

I glared at him. “You are so young, Claude. There are some things in the world that time does not heal.” Victor nodded at this and I continued. “So do not presume to tell me it will all work out.” I tried to keep my words level, but some of the anger I felt gave my voice a sharp edge.

He glanced back at me and dabbed at his forehead again.

“For Christ’s sake, Claude, put that damned hanky away,” Victor snapped. “You don’t really need it; it is a pretense. And annoying.”

He shrugged and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. “Habits die hard.”

“You are right, Claude. They do indeed. And sometimes our habits are the only thing that keep us alive.”

Then I turned my back on both of them, ignoring further attempt at conversation, watching out the window for the rest of the flight. Despite the situation, I loved the feel of flying, never tired of studying the night sky and the clouds billowing below us. Somewhere off in the distance, lightning lit up the sky.

I had never been to New Orleans. I noticed, as we waited for the limo outside the airport, that it had a sickly sweet smell, like decaying flowers. Claude, however, sniffed it in as if it were the best perfume, reminding me with a pang of how Mitch always reacted when we returned to New York. “Good to be home?” I asked.

“Always. I miss this place. There’s no other city in the world like it. You know how it is.”

I thought for a moment and realized that now I had no home. “Not really. Not anymore. So where are we going?”

“French Quarter.” Victor and Claude said it in unison.

I laughed. “Are you sure?”

Victor cleared his throat. “Even if I hadn’t known that is where she lives, we’d be there. It’s the only place to stay. Vivienne made the reservations, Claude?”

Claude nodded. “But of course.” He managed a little flip of his hand in imitation of his patron. “ ‘Only the best for my friends.’ Although,” he confided as the limo pulled up and we got in, “there really are better places to stay. But this hotel has the benefit of Cadre endorsement and all of the little special touches that go with such an endorsement. Plus, I suspect Vivienne is a part owner.”

It was a luxurious place. We had three suites on one of the upper floors, each lavishly decorated in rich hues of multicolored brocade and velvet. The windows were covered with steel shutters and curtains, and each room contained a large ornate chest at the foot of the king-size bed. I opened the lid and peered inside. Not for storing clothes or luggage, I discovered. Instead, it was outfitted with padding and pillows and a lock on the inside. I gave a twisted smile.

“Very nice,” I said to the bellboy as he entered with the bag that Vivienne had packed for me. “All the comforts of home.”

“We try, Miss Griffin.”

“I am sure you do,” I said, and gave him a tip.

“Have a pleasant stay.” He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

I opened the draperies and shutters and stared out for a while. Mitch was here. I could feel him quite definitely. But I had not come for Mitch. I had come to see my daughter. Or was that just a pretense for exacting the Cat’s revenge? I did not know my own mind anymore, did not recognize my motives. Mitch’s leaving had leveled my life to its foundation, and I was not entirely sure that I could build it back up again. Worse, I was not sure I wanted to.

And what of the daughter? We might be tied by blood, but no love existed between us. I remembered only the movements of the baby inside my womb; she remembered digging her way up to the surface from the grave to which I’d consigned her. “Love?” I gave a bitter laugh. “I will be lucky if she does not kill me at first sight.”

“Deirdre?” Claude knocked on my door. “Are you ready? Victor’s anxious to leave as soon as possible.”

“Be right there,” I called to him as I secured the window covering again.

It was a short ride to Lily’s house. The neighborhood was rather run-down, but the row homes were charming. They all had the typical balconies with wrought-iron scrollwork, and lush vegetation surrounding them. As we pulled over to the curb, an ambulance pulled out and raced away.

“That is her house,” Claude said after referring to the piece of paper on which he’d written her address. “I wonder who the ambulance was for.”

Victor and I both concentrated on the house. “Not Lily,” Victor said. “I feel her still inside.”

“And it was not Mitch; he is still here as well.”

We sat for a while staring at the house. “I will go in,” I said, “alone. She is my daughter and he is my husband and it is my place to go.”

“I can’t argue with that, Deirdre,” Victor said. “It seems to be entirely a family matter. But remember, you are not to hurt her.”

“And Mitch?”

Victor laughed, an evil sound in the confines of the car. “Rip him to shreds if you like, my dear. I’ve never liked the son of a bitch. As you well know.”

I nodded and opened the limo door, quietly closing it behind me. Beneath the smell of the flowers and the vines was the scent of blood. Fresh human blood. The Cat stirred restlessly within me. The front door was unlocked and I went in. The living room was crowded and cluttered, boxes stacked up and clothes thrown everywhere. On a table on the far wall a small altar had been built; in the center stood a statue of a woman in a crown surrounded by candles. I walked over to it and saw that in front of the saint was a drying pool of blood. I touched a finger to it and put it in my mouth. Yes, it was human blood. And relatively fresh.

Mitch and the girl were in the kitchen. I could hear them, talking. About me. And forgiveness. And dreams.

I heard her begin to cry, and recognized the desperation in her tears. I heard him comfort her. When I pushed the door open, I saw them. Mitch, shirtless, holding and comforting the girl and whispering to her over and over, “It’s okay, Lily, it’s okay.”

Such a touching scene, I thought, as the Cat growled within me. So sweet. A red streak of anger flashed across my mind. Lightning flashed outside. “It is not okay, girl, as my dear husband wants to insist.” I felt the Cat rising in response to the rage, and was powerless to stop it. “But we do not want to hurt you.” My voice sounded strange, different, caught between human and animal. The last sentence was more of a growl than words. “Move away from the man.”

She turned and stared at me for one short second. But I was not concentrating on her. My entire being was centered upon the man who’d betrayed me.

As quickly as I changed into the Cat, he became the Wolf. And we were locked in a deadly embrace. I clawed at his fur; his teeth ripped flesh from my shoulder. He was stronger, but I was angry. And I would win. We rolled and fought, biting and clawing, our wounds healing almost as quickly as they were inflicted. And then we rolled apart. I crouched, prepared to spring again, tail whipping. He stood, hackles up and teeth bared, growling, guarded.

Somewhere out in the street the girl, my daughter, was running away in fear. Thunder rumbled in the distance and rain rushed down the sides of the windows. I heard Victor call her name, and turned as a footstep in the doorway caused us both to jump. Claude stood there watching us. Putting his hands on his ponderous hips, he began to laugh. “I see you are at a standstill. What else did you expect? This battle will not do either of you any good. And neither of you can win. Don’t you know that already? Even I know that, and I am, as Vivienne says, such a baby. But fight if you must. Victor has gone after Lily.”

Chapter 33

“The gods don’t give gifts, Angelo. They curse.” I sighed and opened the door to Moon’s room.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight I saw. Mitch, shirtless now, cradled the young man like a baby. He’d tied his shirt around Greg’s arm like a tourniquet and the bleeding had slowed. But still, the inside of the tank looked like a killing floor. Blood was everywhere.

Mitch looked up at me as I walked in, his pale skin seeming to reflect the light. His lips moved, but Angelo must’ve turned the microphone off. I threw the switch.

He gasped, pulling air into his lungs so that he could speak. “Open the goddamned door, will you? He’s still alive. Barely. But the air is running out. And he’s bleeding to death.”

My hand reached for the handle, then hesitated.

“Open the door, Lily, for God’s sake. You want him to die?”

I closed my eyes for a second. I had no choice. I opened the door.

“Thank you,” Mitch said, walking out of the cage, carrying the man. “Now call an ambulance. He may still live.”

Not taking my eyes off him, I picked up the phone that used to sit on Moon’s nightstand and did as he ordered.

“They’ll be here as soon as they can,” I said after I hung up.

“Good.”

Mitch moved out to the living room and laid the young man down on the couch. He bent over him, holding his face in his hands, and talked to him softly. Finally, Greg nodded and his eyes closed.

“Is he dead?” I asked, my voice small and frightened.

“No. But I made sure he wouldn’t remember how this happened. I told him he’d gotten drunk and shut his hand in a cab door. No voodoo or vampires.” Mitch smiled, exposing his canines. “We don’t need the publicity. Now, where’s the other one?”

“Angelo?” I looked around. The front door was standing open and the hand on the altar was missing. Thunder rumbled, there was a flash of lightning and the wind picked up in the trees outside. “Gone, I guess. Took his gift from the gods and ran away.”

“Too bad,” Mitch said. “I wanted to have a little talk with him.”

“Other than the fiasco with Greg, none of this was his doing, Mitch,” I admitted. “So maybe you should have that talk with me.”

He nodded. “Good idea,” he started to say, but the sound of the siren outside made him stop.

The ambulance pulled up, and bustled Greg off to the hospital with minimal questioning, due to Mitch’s persuasiveness. After they’d left, I went into the kitchen and sat down at the table, pouring myself a glass of brandy. Mitch followed me. “I’ll have some of whatever that is. It gets awful dry in that fish bowl.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“You want to tell me about it? Why you did this?”

I bolted my drink down and poured another. “What would you say if I told you that it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“I’d say that was a smart-ass answer and that it’s not going to cut it.” He reached over and took me by the shoulders, as he had on the plane. I winced—the bruises he’d left before hadn’t healed—and he dropped his hands. “I’d also say that you’re so bloody much like your mother, it’s uncanny.”

We sat in silence for a while.

“So,” he said finally, “the dreams I was dreaming were yours.”

“Yeah, they’re mine.”

“And that’s why you did it? To hurt her for what she did to you?”

I shrugged. “When you put it that way, it sounds so petty and trivial.”

“No, none of it is trivial, Lily. But the damage can be healed.”

“Can it?”

“Deirdre will be furious, no doubt about that. But she’ll forgive it once she sees reason.”

I shook my head. “Reason? If she forgives this, she must be a fucking saint. So far as she knows, you left her with nothing. I had it all moved out after we left. I even had them take down the curtains. Sends a nice message to the one you love, doesn’t it? ‘I’ve cleared out, honey, without notice. And I’ve taken your nice safe home and turned it into a death trap.’ She heard the dreams, you know. She thinks you want her dead. Because I did.”

“And now?”

I bolted back the brandy. “For all I know, she might be dead. Victor said that might be a possibility. That she’d just wait for the sun one morning and that would be that.”

Mitch stood silent for a minute. “No, she’s not dead. I’d feel it if she were.”

“I’m glad, I guess. If only for you. You’re not what I expected. But then none of this is what I expected. I want to die.”

Mitch reached over and ruffled my hair. “You’re just a kid, Lily. I don’t care when you were born. You’re still just a girl. Life is always different than what you expect. You’ll do okay.”

Suddenly, and without warning, I started to cry. The tears I hadn’t shed for Moon and Hyde and all the other caretakers in my life roiled up and fell down my cheeks. A lifetime’s worth. Or more. It felt good to let them go.

“Lily?” Mitch got up from his seat and came around behind me. “It’s okay,” he said, patting my shoulder, “it’s okay.”

I stood up and turned around to face him, still crying. I couldn’t seem to stop. He put his arms around me and pulled me close to him, patting my back lightly. “It’s okay.”

Then I felt him tense up. And heard a slight intake of breath behind me.

“It is not okay, girl, as my dear husband wants to insist. But we do not want to hurt you.” In mid-sentence her voice changed, sounding less human and more animalistic. “Move away from the man.” I turned to face the speaker.

In the split second it took me to recognize the face, the woman was gone. In her place was the huge, snarling wildcat, terrifying in the enclosed space. Slowly, I backed away from Mitch as he transformed into the large silver wolf.

The cat gathered strength in her hind legs. I saw the tensing of her muscles, felt the burst of air from the twitch of her tail. She sprang upon the wolf, claws extended. His blood spurted out, covering the kitchen floor and splattering the walls.

And I bolted and ran, out of the house and onto the streets.

I continued to run, crying, heedless of where I was or where I was going. Barely noticing the rain and the storm that rose up around me. It only mattered to get away from what I had seen. I ran until I could no longer hear the inhuman screams and growls. Ran until I could no longer smell the scent of blood. She was killing him. I’d felt the rage of the cat and knew there was no way to stop it. So Mitch was wrong; it would never be okay. And I would be next.

I ran for my life.

Even so, after about eight blocks I felt my feet slow. Gasping for air and still crying, I stopped on a corner to catch my breath. I coughed, choked, shivered. I was drenched, sopping wet from head to toe. And the smell of blood lingered in my nose, so thick and strong it was nauseating.

I dropped down to my knees and vomited on the street. The sour taste of brandy and tea washed up over me. People passing by would assume I was drunk and would hurry away. And if they stopped to help, what could they possibly do?

But there were no people. The street was deserted. I vomited again. Like the tears, there seemed to be an unending supply. Weak and shaking, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve.

I heard a deep chuckle behind me. Heard the click of a switchblade being opened. “Lookie here. It’s my little hellcat again. I was hoping we’d see each other. Seems to me I got a score to settle.”

I swiveled around on my knees and looked up at him, recognizing him. Overcoming another wave of nausea, I pushed up on my hands and forced the words out. “Leave me alone,” I said between clenched teeth. “Go away. I killed your friends. I’ll kill you too.” And as if to punctuate my words, I vomited all over his shoes.

He jumped away. “Fuck, these are new shoes, bitch.” Then he kicked me over onto my back. “But shit, I can get more. And you ain’t going to be killing anyone no more. Right now I’d say you too sick to even fight, girlie. But I’m not taking any chances this time.”

He grabbed at my shirt, catching instead the red necklace. It broke, scattering its crystalline drops over the sidewalk. They shimmered in the falling rain.

I turned my head to watch their flow. And his blade came down. I saw it flash in the rain out of the corner of my eye. Felt it enter my chest. Felt the burning pain as my blood spilled on the pavement, blending with the fallen beads until everything was blanketed in a pool of red.

And then the pain stopped, held in suspension above me along with the tears and the sorrow. The air grew sweeter as the odor of death dissipated. Had it been my death I had always scented?

I realized it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not the fact that I could feel my life flowing away, or even the fact that the shattered body of my assailant hit the sidewalk next to me. None of it was important now. I was free of the past and of the restraints of my flesh.

A dark shape hovered over me, stroked my face and whispered words I couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter. I knew him, knew this angel, knew his name and his touch. “Victor.”

I let him wrap my lifeless limbs in black velvet wings, let him carry me off to death. I smiled. And my eyes closed.

Chapter 34

Claude stood there watching us. Putting his hands on his ponderous hips, he began to laugh. “I see you are at a standstill. What else did you expect? This battle will not do either of you any good. And neither of you can win. Don’t you know that already? Even I know that, and I am, as Vivienne says, such a baby. But fight if you must. Victor has gone after Lily.”

With Claude’s accurate summation of the situation, all of the blood lust drained away from the Cat. Besides, it thought, the other fights well and our honor is satisfied. That will teach him not to hurt us again.

Mitch and I transformed to our human forms at the same time, both naked, both bleeding from slashes and cuts.

“I’m sorry,” he said, staring into my eyes. “I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. And then she drugged me and held me here. I just got out of the tank tonight.”

I nodded. “I understand. Now, at least.” I reached over and gently touched a particularly deep gash on his neck. “The Cat had other ideas, of course.”

He smiled at me. “I know. The cat always does.”

Claude cleared his throat, and I blushed. “I need some clothes. I am sure Lily has something that will fit me. But I am not too sure about you.”

“I’ll look around,” Mitch said, “and find something. You go get dressed.” He walked up to Claude and extended his hand. “Mitchell Greer. And you are?”

“Claude Adams. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“I’ll bet.”

I left them to their introductions and moved away. It was odd, walking into my daughter’s room for the first time. The bed was unmade; I sat down on it and looked around. The room was sparsely furnished, refreshingly so after the clutter of the living room. I studied her books, studied her choice of music, studied the pictures she had chosen to decorate her walls. I repented bitterly the years we had spent apart. I tried to determine why she had chosen a particular book over another by the same author, or why she had collected so many albums from a particular group. But she was a stranger to me. And probably always would be.

I sighed and opened her clothes dresser, found a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt and put them on. They smelled clean and fresh and reminded me for some reason of Elly. I looked at myself in the mirror, dressed in my daughter’s clothes. Held my hair back away from my face. “I am sorry, Lily,” I said to my reflection as if it were her. “I did not know.”

The words sounded insincere even to me. I gave myself her response.

“Mother, you should have known.”

Mitch had found some clothes he said had been left behind by Angelo. The pants were too short for him, and the arms of the shirt were just a bit too long. I looked him up and down and started to give a little laugh.

He reached for the buckle of the belt. “I could take them off again, you know.”

“No. Stay dressed. Where’s Claude?”

Mitch shrugged. “He said he went out for some air and to watch the storm. That really blew up out of nowhere, didn’t it?”

I nodded. He crossed the room to me and touched my cheek. “You, on the other hand, look perfect in her clothes. You are so beautiful.”

I pulled away from him. “Do not try to sweet-talk me, Mitchell Greer.”

“Ah.” He went over to the window and looked outside. “Still mad at me?”

“Not angry, really, not anymore.” I went over to the altar and toyed with the image, picking it up and examining it, then setting it back down in its place amid the candles. “But I am hurt. It will take a while to heal, you know.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Good. I am afraid you will need it.”

“I hope Victor finds her. “He peered out into the night through the curtain of rain. Then he moved quickly away from the window to fling the front door open.

“Jesus Christ, Victor, what the hell happened?”

I turned and caught my breath. Victor was carrying Lily in his arms, her arms and legs limp, her chest covered in blood.

He looked up at me. I knew that vacant stare and my heart fell. “He’d already stabbed her before I got to her. I couldn’t stop that. But I killed the greasy little bastard.”

“Oh, God.” I bit my lower lip. “Is she dead?”

Victor cocked his head at me. “Hard to say, really. She has no pulse and she’s stopped breathing.”

“Victor?” Mitch’s voice sounded strained, angry. “So how does that mean it’s hard to say if she’s dead? Sounds dead to me.”

“You forget her mixed blood, Mitch. She is only part human, after all. And she has died before. This time, though”—he shot me a harsh glance—“there will be no burying.”

He carried Lily into her bedroom and laid her down on the bed, smoothing the hair back off her forehead, holding one of her tiny lifeless hands in his. “Claude.” His voice was commanding. “Make sure all the windows are covered. We may need to stay here after dawn.”

“But, Victor?” Claude’s voice was frightened. “How can we stay here? Where will we sleep?”

“The other bedroom is completely secure,” Mitch said. “I can vouch for that, having spent the last five days and nights there.”

“I don’t know,” Claude said.

“Damn it, Claude, it’s time you learned how to survive without your props.” Victor lifted his ravaged face and stared him down. “Either stay or go. It makes no difference to me. Or to her. But don’t bother me now with your choices.”

Claude looked ashamed. “I’ll stay.”

“Good. Now go away, get us a drink. Fix the windows. Make yourself useful.”

While Claude prepared the house for dawn, Mitch moved two of the chairs from the living room into the bedroom and placed them on either side of the bed. Victor took one and I took the other. And we waited.

Chapter 35

I let him wrap my lifeless limbs in black velvet wings, let him carry me off to death. I smiled. And my eyes closed.

Even with my eyes closed, I knew this place. I’d been here before. I remembered this halfway place between death and life. I hadn’t liked it much the first time, and I sure as hell didn’t like it any better now. But at least I knew it for what it was.

This time, though, there was no dirt to dig through. No wooden coffin to stand in my way. I knew that all I needed was the will to surface and it would be done.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back to that world so full of pain and sorrow and the stench of death. They were waiting for me, I knew, hovering over my body. But here it was quiet and sweet and calm. No storms, no lightning. No pain.

And Moon and her mother and her grandmother and even Philomena were here in this place. I felt them as surely as I felt the others, just out of reach, whispering, comforting, singing. They would take me beyond, I knew, if I asked them. And I could be done with it all.

I stood, silently, precariously balanced, fearing a move in either direction. I heard my mother’s voice, whispering over my body. I heard Victor’s voice respond. But that way was pain. And behind me was peace.

“And death, Lily child, make no mistake about that.” Moon’s voice tickled my ear, and I felt the weight of an invisible arm on my shoulders. “We all of us here already lived and it’s no crime to die after life. But you ain’t never lived. You only existed. Go on, girl, take a chance. It won’t be easy and it won’t ever be exactly what you expect. But you are a wonder, like the rising of the moon and the setting of the sun. The world needs wonder. That man needs you. Even your mama needs you.”

“Don’t you need me, Moon?”

“Child, I love you. More than I ever loved another being in that wicked world. You were my life, my reason for living. But I’m dead now. And so, no, I don’t need you. Not like that. Not the way they do.”

“Moon?”

“You’ll be okay, girl. I promise. And I need you to live for me; otherwise there’d be no sense in my life. Move forward, Lily. It’s the only way.”

I nodded. Took a deep breath. And opened my eyes.

Chapter 36

The body lying on the bed took in a huge, shuddering breath. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. “Victor? Are you here?” Lily’s voice was soft and uncertain.

“Yes, Lily.” The relief in his voice was wonderful to hear. “Welcome back, little one.”

“I feel strange,” she said, “and scared. Everything looks different. Intense.”

“Yes. A lot of things will seem different to you now. I can’t say that I am glad for that. Perhaps we should have let you go. I am just an old selfish man, Lily, but I am glad to have you back.”

“Old, my ass.” She gave a weak smile. “You are not old, Victor.”

“No, right now I am as young as I have ever been.”

“So,” she said, and raised her hands to her face and her mouth, “what does this all mean? Have I changed? Am I like you now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I never liked that goddamned halfway shit. And now you won’t be able to patronize me like you used to.” She snorted a bit. “So this is what being a vampire is like.” She ran her fingers over the blankets on the bed and looked around her room with new eyes. “It’s all so intense, so real. Or surreal. I wonder how you can stand it.”

He laughed. “Sometimes I can’t.”

I started to move out of the room. I was not needed here. But then Lily turned her head and looked at me.

“Mother.”

Not a question, but a guarded naming.

“Yes,” I said, and she nodded.

There was so much I wanted to say to her. So much I needed to say to her. It could wait; it would have to.

The sun rose and her eyes filled with pain. “Victor?” she rasped, turning away from me and reaching out to him. “What is that?”

He gripped her hands. “Only the sun, Lily. Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Promise?” She smiled at him with such trust and love, it nearly broke my heart. She was my daughter, true, but somehow I knew she would never smile that way for me.

“Promise.”

I turned away and walked out of the room.

Epilogue

Victor remained behind after all the others left. “You’ll need training, Lily,” he’d said. “We don’t need another like your mother. And if I go crazy again”—he’d laughed—“at least you have a place to keep me safe.”

“You were never crazy, Victor. Were you?”

“Close, perhaps, but not entirely, no.”

Even so, I look over at him sometimes from my position behind the bar and I wonder. There are still times when the vacantness shows up behind his eyes, when the countless years of his life seem to sag off him like a skin too large. But then he’ll look up at me and smile and at that moment, he is all there, alive and vibrant. I don’t worry about the occasional blank stare. He’s Victor and he’s here. That is all that matters.

He bought me The Blackened Orchid. At least, he insists it was for me. My name is on the deed, but he runs the restaurant and takes care of it all. I just tend the bar, moving into Moon’s space quite easily, reading shells and palms for the customers on occasion. It adds color, Victor says. And it’s good for business.

He takes me out hunting every couple of nights. “It doesn’t pay,” he says, “to go hungry at first. Hunger, like every other emotion, makes you careless.”

The hunger takes some getting used to, there’s no question about that. It takes hold, deep down inside, and won’t ever let go. And the feeding is incredible. Nothing I ever imagined came even close to that first rush of hot blood. It makes me shiver to think about it.

Victor says that I am a natural. “I have never trained someone as quick to pick up on the whole thing, Lily. If I weren’t a tired old man, I’d be frightened.”

I have never seen him as old. “You can’t be all that old, Victor,” I tease. “What’s six or seven centuries anyway? Just a drop in the bucket of eternity.”

Angelo seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. I picture him sometimes, his curved legs running in fear from that night, brandishing the hand at a sky filled with lightning and rain. But he’s part of my other life. And that’s all gone now. There’s no room for anything in my life but the hunger and the blood and Victor.

As for my mother, well, the way I see it, we’re even. I don’t like her much. And I don’t understand her. But all of my anger bled out of me that night, rolling away like the red crystal beads on the sidewalk, washing away in the storm with the rest of my human blood.

We didn’t speak much while she was here. I was ashamed and she was ashamed. And while we could agree that we’d treated each other abominably, we couldn’t seem to get past the walls we’d both erected against each other.

The night before she left, though, we stood, side by side and silently, in front of the mirror in my room, and stared deeply into our images’ eyes. After a while, she reached out and touched my reflection. Her hand was shaking and I saw blood-tinged tears begin to streak her face. I reached over and touched my hand to them in the mirror. It was as close as we dared get to each other, I guess. Then, at least. And maybe always.

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

Compilation copyright © 2011 by Kensington Publishing Blood Ties copyright © 1995 by Karen E. Taylor Blood of My Blood copyright © 2000 by Karen E. Taylor

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-7366-6