31
   It was nearly three by the time I walked up the stairs to my apartment. All the bruises were aching. My knees, feet, and lower back were a nearly burning grind of pain from the high heels. I wanted a long, hot shower and bed. Maybe if I were lucky I could actually get eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. Of course, I wouldn't bet on it.
   I got my keys in one hand and gun in the other. I held the gun at my side, just in case a neighbor should open his or her door unexpectedly. Nothing to fear, folks, just your friendly neighborhood animator. Right.
   For the first time in far too long my door was just the way I left it: locked. Thank you, God. I was not in the mood to play cops and robbers this very early morning.
   I kicked off my shoes just inside the door, then stumbled to the bedroom. The message light was blinking on my answering machine. I laid my gun on the bed, hit the play button, and started undressing.
   "Hi, Anita, this is Ronnie. I got a meeting set up for tomorrow with the guy from HAV. My office, eleven o'clock. If the time is bad, leave a message on my machine, and I'll get back to you. Be careful."
   Click, whirr, and Edward's voice came out of the machine. "The clock is ticking, Anita." Click.
   Damn. "You like your little games, don't you, you son of a bitch?" I was getting grumpy, and I didn't know what I was going to do about Edward. Or Nikolaos, or Zachary, or Valentine, or Aubrey. I did know I wanted a shower. I could start there. Maybe I'd have a brilliant idea while I was scrubbing goat blood off my skin.
   I locked the door to the bathroom and laid my gun on the top of the toilet. I was beginning to get a little paranoid. Or maybe realistic was a better word.
   I turned the water on until it steamed, then stepped into it. I was no closer to solving the vampire murders now than I had been twenty-four hours ago.
   Even if I solved the case, I still had problems. Aubrey and Valentine were going to kill me once Nikolaos removed her protection from me. Peachy. I wasn't even sure that Nikolaos herself didn't have ideas in that direction. Now, Zachary, he was killing people to feed his voodoo charm. I had heard of charms that demanded human sacrifice. Charms that gave you a whole lot less than immortality. Wealth, power, sex-the age-old wants. It was very specific blood-children, or virgins, or preadolescent boys, or little old ladies with blue hair and one wooden leg. All right, not that specific, but there had to be a pattern to it. A string of disappearances with similar victims. If Zachary had been simply leaving the bodies to be found, the newspapers would have picked up on it by now. Maybe.
   He had to be stopped. If I hadn't interfered tonight, he would have been stopped. No good deed goes unpunished.
   I leaned palms against the bathroom tile, letting the water wash down my back in nearly scalding rivulets. Okay, I had to kill Valentine before he killed me. I had a warrant for his death. It had never been revoked. Of course, I had to find him first.
   Aubrey was dangerous, but at least he was out of the way until Nikolaos let him out of his trapped coffin.
   I could just turn Zachary over to the police. Dolph would listen to me, but I didn't have a shred of proof. Hell, the magic was even something I'd never heard of. If I couldn't understand what Zachary was, how was I going to explain it to the police?
   Nikolaos. Would she let me live if I solved the case? Or not? I didn't know.
   Edward was coming to get me tomorrow evening. I either gave him Nikolaos or he took a piece of my hide. Knowing Edward, it would be a painful piece to lose. Maybe I could just give him the vampire. Just tell him what he wanted to know. And he fails to kill her, and she comes and gets me. The one thing I wanted to avoid, almost more than anything else, was Nikolaos coming to get me.
   I dried off, ran a brush through my hair, and had to get something to eat. I tried to tell myself I was too tired to eat. My stomach didn't believe me.
   It was four before I fell into bed. My cross was safely around my neck. The gun in its holster behind the head board. And, just for pure panic's sake, I slipped a knife between the mattress and box springs. I'd never get to it in time to do any good, but ... Well, you never know.
   I dreamed about Jean-Claude again. He was sitting at a table eating blackberries.
   "Vampires don't eat solid food," I said.
   "Exactly." He smiled and pushed the bowl of fruit towards me.
   "I hate blackberries," I said.
   "They were always my favorite. I hadn't tasted them in centuries." His face looked wistful.
   I picked up the bowl. It was cool, almost cold. The blackberries were floating in blood. The bowl fell from my hands, slow, spilling blood on the table, more than it could ever have held. Blood dripped down the tabletop, onto the floor.
   Jean-Claude stared at me over the bleeding table. His words came like a warm wind. "Nikolaos will kill us both. We must strike first, ma petite."
   "What's this 'we' crap?"
   He cupped pale hands in the flowing blood and held them out to me, like a cup. Blood dripped out from between his fingers. "Drink. It will make you strong."
   I woke staring up into the darkness. "Damn you, Jean-Claude," I whispered. "What have you done to me?"
   There was no answer from the dark, empty room. Thank goodness for small favors. The clock read six-oh-three a.m. I rolled over and snuggled back into the covers. The whir of air conditioning couldn't hide the sounds of one of my neighbors running water. I switched on the radio. Mozart's piano concerto in E flat filled the darkened room. It was really too lively to sleep to, but I wanted noise. My choice of noise.
   I don't know if it was Mozart or I was just too tired; whatever, I went back to sleep. If I dreamed, I didn't remember it.

32
   The alarm shrieked through my sleep. It sounded like a car alarm, hideously loud. I smashed my palm on the buttons. Mercifully, it shut off. I blinked at the clock through half-slit eyes. Nine a.m. Damn. I had forgotten to unset the alarm. I had time to get dressed and make church. I did not want to get up. I did not want to go to church. Surely, God would forgive me just this once.
   Of course, I did need all the help I could get right now. Maybe I'd even have a revelation, and everything would fall into place. Don't laugh; it had happened before. Divine aid is not something I rely on, but every once in a while I think better at church.
   When the world is full of vampires and bad guys, and a blessed cross may be all that stands between you and death, it puts church in a different light. So to speak.
   I crawled out of bed, groaning. The phone rang. I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the answering machine to pick up. It did. "Anita, this is Sergeant Storr. We got another vampire murder."
   I picked up the receiver. "Hi, Dolph."
   "Good. Glad I caught you before church."
   "Is it another dead vampire?"
   "Mmhuh."
   "Just like the others?" I asked.
   "Seems to be. Need you to come down and take a look."
   I nodded, realized he couldn't see it, and said, "Sure, when?"
   "Right now."
   I sighed. So much for church. They couldn't hold the body until noon, or after, just for little of me. "Give me the location. Wait, let me get a pen that works." I kept a notepad by the bed, but the pen had died without my knowing it. "Okay, shoot."
   The location was only about a block from Circus of the Damned. "That's on the fringe of the District. None of the other murders have been that far away from the Riverfront. "
   "True," he said.
   "What else is different about this one?"
   "You'll see it when you get here."
   Mr. Information. "Fine, I'll be there in half an hour."
   "See you then." The phone went dead.
   "Well, good morning to you to, Dolph," I said to the receiver. Maybe he wasn't a morning person either.
   My hands were healing. I had taken the Band-Aids off last night because they were covered with goat blood. The scrapes were scabbing nicely, so I didn't bother with more Band-Aids.
   One fat bandage covered the knife wound on my arm. I couldn't hurt my left arm anymore. I had run out of room. The bite mark on my neck was beginning to bruise. It looked like the world's worst hicky. If Zerbrowski saw it, I would never live it down. I put a Band-Aid on it. Now it looked like I was covering a vampire bite. Damn. I left it. Let people wonder. None of their business anyway.
   I put a red polo shirt on, tucked into jeans. My Nikes, and a shoulder harness for my gun, and I was all set. My shoulder rig has a little pouch for extra ammo. I put fresh clips in it. Twenty-six bullets. Watch out, bad guys. Truth was, most firefights were finished before the first eight shots were gone. But there was always a first time.
   I carried a bright yellow windbreaker over my arm. I'd put it on just in case the gun started making people nervous. I would be working with the police. They'd have their guns out in plain sight. Why couldn't I? Besides, I was tired of games. Let the bastards know I was armed and willing.
   There are always too many people at a murder scene. Not the gawkers, the people who come to watch; you expect that. There is always something fascinating about someone else's death. But the place always swarms with police, mostly detectives with a sprinkling of uniforms. So many cops for one little murder.
   There was even a news van, with a huge satellite antenna sticking out of its back like a giant ray gun from some 1940s science fiction movie. There would be more news vans, I was betting on that. I don't know how the police kept it quiet this long.
   Vampire murders, gee whiz, sensationalism at its best. You don't even have to add anything to make it bizarre.
   I kept the crowd between myself and the cameraman. A reporter with short blond hair and a stylish business suit was shoving a microphone in Dolph's face. As long as I stayed near the gruesome remains, I was safe. They might get me on film, but they wouldn't be able to show it on television. Good taste and all, you know.
   I had a little plastic-enclosed card, complete with picture, that gave me access to police areas. I always felt like a junior G-man when I clipped it to my collar.
   I was stopped at the yellow police banner by a vigilant uniform. He stared at my I. D. for several seconds, as if trying to decide whether I was kosher or not. Would he let me through the line, or would he call a detective over first?
   I stood, hands at my sides, trying to look harmless. I'm actually very good at that. I can look downright cute. The uniform raised the tape and let me through. I resisted an urge to say, "Atta boy." I did say, "Thank you."
   The body lay near a lamp pole. Legs were spreadeagled. One arm twisted under the body, probably broken. The center of the back was missing, as if someone had shoved a hand through the body and just scooped out the center. The heart would be gone, just like all the others.
   Detective Clive Perry was standing by the body. He was a tall, slender, black man, and most recent member of the spook squad. He always seemed so soft-spoken and pleasant. I could never imagine Perry doing anything rude enough to piss someone off, but you didn't get assigned to the squad without a reason.
   He looked up from his notebook. "Hi, Ms. Blake."
   "Hello, Detective Perry."
   He smiled. "Sergeant Storr said you'd be coming down."
   "Is everyone else finished with the body?"
   He nodded. "It's all yours."
   A dark brown puddle of blood spread out from under the body. I knelt beside it. The blood had congealed to a tacky, gluelike consistency. Rigor mortis had come and gone, if there had been rigor mortis. Vampires didn't always react to "death" the way a human body did. It made judging the time of death harder. But that was the coroner's job, not mine.
   The bright summer sun pressed down over the body. From the shape and the black pants suit, I was betting it was female. It was sort of hard to tell, lying on its stomach, chest caved in, and the head missing. The spine showed white and glistening. Blood had poured out of the neck like a broken bottle of red wine. The skin was torn, twisted. It looked like somebody had ripped the freaking head off.
   I swallowed very hard. I hadn't thrown up on a murder victim in months. I stood up and put a little distance between myself and the body.
   Could this have been done by a human being? No; maybe. Hell. If it was a human being, then they were trying very hard to make it look otherwise. No matter what a surface look revealed, the coroner always found knife marks on the body. The question was, did the knife marks come before or after death? Was it a human trying to look like a monster, or a monster trying to look like a human?
   "Where's the head?" I asked.
   "You sure you feel all right?"
   I looked up at him. Did I look pale? "I'll be fine." Me, big, tough vampire slayer, no throw up at the sight of decapitated heads. Right.
   Perry raised his eyebrows but was too polite to push the issue. He led me about eight feet down the sidewalk. Someone had thrown a plastic cover over the head. A second smaller pool of congealing blood oozed out from under the plastic.
   Perry bent over and grasped the plastic. "You ready?"
   I nodded, not trusting my voice. He lifted the plastic, like a curtain backdrop to what lay on the sidewalk.
   Long, black hair flowed around a pale face. The hair was matted and sticky with blood. The face had been attractive but no more. The features were slack, almost doll-like in their unreality. My eyes saw it, but it took my brain a few seconds to register. "Shit!"
   "What is it?"
   I stood up, fast, and took two steps out into the street. Perry came to stand beside me. "Are you all right?"
   I glanced back at the plastic with its grisly little lump. Was I all right? Good question. I could identify this body.
   It was Theresa.

33
   I arrived at Ronnie's office a few minutes before eleven. I paused with my hand on the doorknob. I couldn't shake the image of Theresa's head on the sidewalk. She had been cruel and had probably killed hundreds of humans. Why did I feel pity for her? Stupidity, I suppose. I took a deep breath and pushed the door inward.
   Ronnie's office is full of windows. Light glares in from two sides, south and west. Which means in the afternoon the room is like a solar heater. No amount of air conditioning is going to overcome that much sunshine.
   You can see the District from Ronnie's sunshiny windows. If you care to look.
   Ronnie waved me through the door into the almost blinding glare of her office.
   A delicate-looking woman was sitting in a chair across from the desk. She was Asian with shiny, black hair styled carefully back from her face. A royal purple jacket, which matched her tailored skirt, was folded neatly on the chair arm. A shiny, lavender blouse brought attention to the up-tilted eyes and the faint lavender shading on the lids and brow. Her ankles were crossed, hands folded in her lap. She looked cool in her lavender blouse, even in the sweltering sunshine.
   It caught me off guard for a minute, seeing her like that, after all these years. Finally, I closed my gaping mouth and walked forward, hand extended. "Beverly, it has been a long time."
   She stood neatly and put a cool hand in mine. "Three years." Precise, that was Beverly all over.
   "You two know each other?" Ronnie asked.
   I turned back to her. "Bev didn't mention that she knew me?"
   Ronnie shook her head.
   I stared at the new woman. "Why didn't you mention it to Ronnie?"
   "I did not think it necessary." Bev had to raise her chin to look me in the eye. Not many people have to do that. It's rare enough that I always find it an odd sensation, as if I should stoop down so we can be at eye level.
   "Is someone going to tell me where you two know each other from?" Ronnie asked.
   Ronnie moved past us to sit behind her desk. She tilted the chair slightly back on its swivel, crossed hands over stomach, and waited. Her pure grey eyes, soft as kitten fur, stared at me.
   "Do you mind if I tell her, Bev?"
   Bev had sat down again, smooth and ladylike. She had real dignity and had always impressed me as being a lady, in the best sense of the word. "If you feel it necessary, I do not object," she said.
   Not exactly a rousing go-ahead, but it would do. I flopped down in the other chair, very aware of my jeans and jogging shoes. Beside Bev I looked like an ill-dressed child. For just a moment I felt it; then it was gone. Remember, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Eleanor Roosevelt said that. It is a quote I try to live by. Most of the time I succeed.
   "Bev's family were the victims of a vampire pack. Only Beverly survived. I was one of the people who helped destroy the vampires." Brief, to the point, a hell of a lot left out. Mostly the painful parts.
   Bev spoke in that quiet, precise voice of hers. "What Anita has left out is that she saved my life at risk of her own." She glanced down at her hands where they lay in her lap.
   I remembered my first glimpse of Beverly Chin. One pale leg thrashing against the floor. The flash of fangs as the vampire reared to strike. A glimpse of pale, screaming face, and dark hair. The pure terror as she screamed. My hand throwing a silver-bladed knife and hitting the vampire's shoulder. Not a killing blow; there had been no time. The creature had sprang to its feet, roaring at me. I stood facing the thing with the last knife I had, gun long since emptied, alone.
   And I remembered Beverly Chin beating the vampire's head in with a silver candlestick, while he crouched over me, breath warm on my neck. Her shrieks echoed through my dreams for weeks, as she beat the thing's head to pieces until blood and brain seeped out onto the floor.
   All that passed between us without words. We had saved each other's lives; it is a bond that sticks with you. Friendships may fade, but there is always that obligation, that knowledge forged of terror and blood and shared violence, that never really leaves. It was there between us after three long years, straining and touchable.
   Ronnie is a smart lady. She caught on to the awkward silence. "Would anybody like a drink?"
   "Nonalcoholic," Bev and I said together. We laughed at each other, and the strain faded. We would never be true friends, but perhaps we could stop being ghosts to each other.
   Ronnie brought us two diet Cokes. I made a face but took it anyway. I knew that was all she had in the office's little fridge. We had had discussions about diet drinks, but she swore she liked the taste. Liked the taste, garg!
   Bev took hers graciously; perhaps that was what she drank at home. Give me something fattening with a little taste to it any day.
   "Ronnie mentioned on the phone that there might be a death squad attached to HAV. Is that true?" I said.
   Bev stared down at the can, which she held with one hand cupped underneath so it wouldn't stain her skirt. "I do not know positively that it is true, but I believe it to be."
   "Tell me what you've heard?" I asked.
   "There was talk for a while of forming a squad to hunt the vampires. To kill them as they have killed our ... families. The president of course vetoed the idea. We work within the system. We are not vigilantes." She said it almost as a question, as if trying to convince herself more than us. She was shaken by what might have happened. Her neat little world collapsing again.
   "But lately I have heard talk. People in our organization bragging of slaying vampires."
   "How were they supposedly killed?" I asked.
   She looked at me, hesitated. "I do not know."
   "No hint?"
   She shook her head. "I believe I could find out for you. Is it important?"
   "The police have hidden certain details from the general public. Things only the murderer would know."
   "I see." She glanced down at the can in her hands, then up at me. "I do not believe it is murder even if my people have done what the papers say. Killing dangerous animals should not be a crime."
   In part I agreed with her. Once I had agreed with her wholeheartedly. "Then why tell us?" I asked.
   She looked directly at me, dark, nearly black eyes staring into my face. "I owe you."
   "You saved my life as well. You owe me nothing."
   "There will always be a debt between us, always."
   I looked into her face and understood. Bev had begged me not to tell anyone that she had beaten the vampire's head in. I think it horrified her that she was capable of such violence, regardless of motive.
   I had told the police that she distracted the vampire so I could kill it. She had been disproportionately grateful for that small white lie. Maybe if no one else knew, she could pretend it had never happened. Maybe.
   She stood, smoothing her skirt down in back. She sat her soda can carefully on the edge of the desk. "I will leave a message with Ms. Sims when I find out more."
   I nodded. "I appreciate what you're doing." She might be betraying her cause for me.
   She laid her purple jacket over her arm, small purse clasped in her hands. "Violence is not the answer. We must work within the system. Humans Against Vampires stands for law and order, not vigilantism." It sounded like a prerecorded speech. But I let it go. Everyone needs something to believe in.
   She shook hands with both of us. Her hand was cool and dry. She left, slender shoulders very straight. The door closed firmly but quietly behind her. To look at her you would never know that she had been touched by extreme violence. Maybe that's the way she wanted it. Who was I to argue?
   Ronnie said, "Okay, now you fill me in. What have you found out?"
   "How do you know I've found out anything?" I asked.
   "Because you looked a little green around the gills when you came through the door."
   "Great. And I thought I was hiding it."
   She patted my arm. "Don't worry. I just know you too well, that's all."
   I nodded, taking the explanation for what it was, comforting crap. But I took it anyway. I told her about Theresa's death. I told her everything, except the dreams with Jean-Claude in them. That was private.
   She let out a low whistle. "Damn, you have been busy. Do you think a human death squad is doing it?"
   "You mean HAV?"
   She nodded.
   I took a deep breath and let it out. "I don't know. If it's humans, I don't have the faintest idea how they're doing it. It would take superhuman strength to rip a head off."
   "A very strong human?" she asked.
   The image of Winter's bulging arms flashed into my mind. "Maybe, but that kind of strength ... "
   "Under pressure, little old grannies have lifted entire cars."
   She had a point. "How would you like to visit the Church of Eternal Life?" I asked.
   "Thinking about joining up?"
   I frowned at her.
   She laughed. "Okay, okay, stop glowering at me. Why are we going?"
   "Last night they raided the party with clubs. I'm not saying they meant to kill anyone, but when you start beating on people"-I shrugged-"accidents happen."
   "You think the Church is behind it?"
   "Don't know, but if they hate the freaks enough to storm their parties, maybe they hate them enough to kill them."
   "Most of the Church's members are vampires," she said.
   "Exactly. Superhuman strength and the ability to get close to the victims."
   Ronnie smiled. "Not bad, Blake, not bad."
   I bowed my head modestly. "Now all we got to do is prove it."
   Her eyes were still shiny with humor when she said, "Unless of course they didn't do it."
   "Oh, shut up. It's a place to start."
   She spread her hands wide. "Hey, I'm not complaining. My father always told me, 'Never criticize, unless you can do a better job.' "
   "You don't know what's going on either, huh?" I asked.
   Her face sobered. "Wish I did."
   So did I.

34
   The Church of Eternal Life, main building, is just off Page Avenue, far from the District. The Church doesn't like to be associated with the riffraff. Vampire strip club, Circus of the Damned, tsk-tsk. How shocking. No, they think of themselves as mainstream undead.
   The church itself is set in an expanse of naked ground. Small trees struggled to grow into big trees and shade the startling white of the church. It seemed to glow in the hot July sunshine, like a land-bound moon.
   I pulled into the parking lot and parked on the shiny new black asphalt. Only the ground looked normal, bare reddish earth churned to mud. The grass had never had a chance.
   "Pretty," Ronnie said. She nodded in the building's direction.
   I shrugged. "If you say so. Frankly, I never get used to the generic effect."
   "Generic effect?" she asked.
   "The stained glass is all abstract color. No scenes of Christ, no saints, no holy symbols. Clean and pure as a wedding gown fresh out of plastic."
   She got out of the car, sunglasses sliding into place. She stared at the church, arms crossed over her stomach. "It looks like they just unwrapped it and haven't put the trimmings on yet."
   "Yeah, a church without God. What is wrong with this picture?"
   She didn't laugh. "Will anybody be up this time of day?"
   "Oh, yes, they recruit during the day."
   "Recruit?"
   "You know, go door to door, like the Mormons and the Jehovah's Witnesses."
   She stared at me. "You've got to be kidding?"
   "Do I look like I'm kidding?"
   She shook her head. "Door-to-door vampires. How"-she wiggled her hands back and forth-"convenient."
   "Yep," I said. "Let's go see who's minding the office."
   Broad white steps led up to huge double doors. One of the doors was open; the other had a sign that read, "Enter Friend and be at Peace." I fought an urge to tear down the sign and stomp on it.
   They were preying on one of the most basic fears of man, death. Everyone fears death. People who don't believe in God have a hard time with death being it. Die and you cease to exist. Poof. But at the Church of Eternal Life, they promise just what the name says. And they can prove it. No leap of faith. No waiting around. No questions left unanswered. How does it feel to be dead? Just ask a fellow church member.
   Oh, and you'll never grow old either. No face-lifts, no tummy tucks, just eternal youth. Not a bad deal, as long as you don't believe in the soul.
   As long as you don't believe the soul becomes trapped in the vampire's body and can never reach Heaven. Or worse yet, that vampires are inherently evil and you are condemned to Hell. The Catholic Church sees voluntary vampirism as a kind of suicide. I tend to agree. Though the Pope also excommunicated all animators, unless we ceased raising the dead. Fine; I became Episcopalian.
   Polished wooden pews ran in two wide rows up towards what would have been an altar. There was a pulpit, but I couldn't call it an altar. It was just a blank blue wall surrounded by more white upsweeping walls.
   The windows were red and blue stained glass. The sunlight sparkled through them, making delicate colored patterns on the white floor.
   "Peaceful," Ronnie said.
   "So are graveyards."
   She smiled at me. "I'd thought you'd say that."
   I frowned at her. "No teasing; we're here on business."
   "What exactly do you want me to do?"
   "Just back me up; look menacing if you can manage it. Look for clues."
   "Clues?" she asked.
   "Yeah, you know, clues, ticket stubs, half-burned notes, leads."
   "Oh, those."
   "Quit grinning at me, Ronnie."
   She adjusted her sunglasses and did her best "cold" look. She's pretty good at it. Thugs have been known to shrivel at twenty paces. We would see how it worked on church members.
   There was a small door to one side of the "altar." It led into a carpeted hallway. The air-conditioned hush enveloped us. There were bathrooms to the left, and an open room to the right. Perhaps this is where they had ... coffee after services. No, probably not coffee. A rousing sermon followed by a little blood, perhaps?
   The offices were marked with a little sign that said "Office." How clever. There was an outer office, the proverbial secretarial desk and etc ... A young man sat behind the desk. Slender, short brown hair carefully cut. Wire-frame glasses decorated a pair of really lovely brown eyes. There was a healing bite mark on his throat.
   He rose and came around the desk, hand extended, smiling at us. "Greetings, friends, I'm Bruce. How may I help you today?"
   The handshake was firm but not too firm, strong but not overbearing, a friendly lingering touch, but not sexual. Really good car salesmen shake hands like that. Real estate brokers, too. I have this nice little soul, hardly used at all. The price is right. Trust me. If his big brown eyes had looked any more sincere, I would have given him a doggie biscuit and patted his head.
   "I would like to set up an appointment to speak with Malcolm," I said.
   He blinked once. "Have a seat."
   I sat. Ronnie leaned against the wall, to one side of the door. Hands folded, looking cool and bodyguardish.
   Bruce went back around his desk, after offering us coffee, and sat with folded hands. "Now, Miss ... "
   "Ms. Blake."
   He didn't flinch; he hadn't heard of me. How fleeting fame. "Ms. Blake, why do you wish to meet with the head of our church? We have many competent and understanding counselors that will help you make your decision."
   I smiled at him. I'll just bet you do, you little pipsqueak. "I think Malcolm will want to speak with me. I have information about the vampire murders."
   His smile slipped. "If you have such information, then go to the police."
   "Even if I have proof that certain members of your church are doing the murders?" A small bluff, otherwise known as a lie.
   He swallowed, fingers pressing the top of his desk until the fingertips turned white. "I don't understand. I mean ... "
   I smiled at him. "Let's just face it, Bruce. You are not equipped to handle murder. It isn't in your training, now is it?"
   "Well, no, but ... "
   "Then just give me a time to come back tonight and see Malcolm."
   "I don't know. I ... "
   "Don't worry about it. Malcolm is the head of the church. He'll take care of it."
   He was nodding, too rapidly. His eyes flicked to Ronnie, then back to me. He flipped through a leatherbound day planner on his desk. "Nine, tonight." He picked up a pen, poised and ready. "If you'll give me your full name, I'll pencil you in."
   I started to point out that he wasn't using a pencil, but decided to let it slide. "Anita Blake."
   He still didn't recognize the name. So much for me being the terror of vampireland. "And this is pertaining to?" He was regaining his professionalism.
   I stood up. "Murder, it's pertaining to murder."
   "Oh, yes, I ... " He scribbled something down. "Nine tonight, Anita Blake, murder." He frowned down at the note as if there were something wrong with it.
   I decided to help him out. "Don't frown so. You've got the message right."
   He stared up at me. He looked a little pale.
   "I'll be back. Make sure he gets the message."
   Bruce nodded again, too fast, eyes large behind his glasses.
   Ronnie opened the door, and I preceded her out. She brought up the rear like a bad-movie bodyguard. When we were out into the main church again, she laughed. "I think we scared him."
   "Bruce scares easy."
   She nodded, eyes shining.
   The barest mention of violence, murder, and he had fallen apart. When he "grew up," he was going to be a vampire. Sure.
   The sunshine was nearly blinding after the dimness of the church. I squinted, putting a hand over my eyes. I caught movement from the corner of my eye.
   Ronnie screamed, "Anita!"
   Everything slowed down. I had plenty of time to stare at the man and the gun in his hands. Ronnie smashed into me, carrying us both down and back through the church door. Bullets thunked into the door where I'd been.
   Ronnie scrambled behind me, near the wall. I had my gun out and lay on my side pressed against the door. My heart was thundering in my ears. Yet I could hear everything. The wrinkle of my windbreaker was like static. I heard the man walk up the steps. The son of a bitch was gonna keep coming.
   I inched forward. He walked up the steps. His shadow fell inside the door. He wasn't even trying to hide. Maybe he thought I wasn't armed. He was about to learn different.
   Bruce called, "What's going on here?"
   Ronnie yelled, "Get back inside."
   I kept my eyes on the door. I would not get shot because of Bruce distracted me. Nothing was important but that shadow in the door, the halting footsteps. Nothing.
   The man walked right into it. Gun in his hand, eyes searching the church. Amateur.
   I could have touched him with the barrel of my gun. "Don't move."
   "Freeze" always sounds so melodramatic. Don't move, short, to the point. "Don't move," I said.
   He turned just his head, slow, towards me. "You're The Executioner." His voice was soft, hesitant.
   Was I supposed to deny it? Maybe. If he had come here to kill The Executioner, definitely. "No," I said.
   He started to turn. "Then it must be her." He was turning towards Ronnie. Shit.
   He raised his arm and started to point.
   "Don't!" Ronnie screamed.
   Too late. I fired, point-blank into his chest. Ronnie's shot echoed mine. The impact raised him off his feet and sent him staggering backwards. Blood blossomed on his shirt. He slammed into the half-opened door and fell flat on his back through it. All I could see were his legs.
   I hesitated, listening. I couldn't hear any movement. I eased around the door. He wasn't moving, but the gun was still clutched in his hand. I pointed my gun at him and stalked to him. If he had so much as twitched, I would have hit him again.
   I kicked the gun out of his hand and checked the pulse in his neck. Nada, zip. Dead.
   I use ammunition that can take out vampires, if I get a lucky shot, and if they're not ancient. The bullet had made a small hole on the side it went in, but the other side of his chest was gone. The bullet had done what it was supposed to do; expand, and make a very big exit hole.
   His neck lolled to one side. Two bite marks decorated his neck. Dammit! Bite marks or not, he was dead. There wasn't enough left of his heart to thread a needle. A lucky shot. A stupid amateur with a gun.
   Ronnie was leaning in the doorway, looking pale. Her gun was pointed at the dead man. Her arms trembled ever so slightly.
   She almost smiled. "I don't usually carry a gun during the day, but I knew I'd be with you."
   "Is that an insult?" I asked.
   "No," she said, "reality."
   I couldn't argue with that. I sat down on the cool stone steps; my knees felt weak. The adrenaline was draining out of me, like water from a broken cup.
   Bruce was in the doorway, ice pale. "He ... he tried to kill you." His voice cracked with fear.
   "Do you recognize him?" I asked.
   He shook his head over and over again, rapid jerky movements.
   "Are you sure?"
   "We ... we do not ... condone violence." He swallowed hard, his voice a cracking whisper. "I don't know him."
   The fear seemed genuine. Maybe he didn't know him, but that didn't mean the dead man wasn't a member of the church. "Call the police, Bruce."
   He just stood there, staring at the corpse.
   "Call the cops, okay?"
   He stared at me, eyes glazed. I wasn't sure if he heard me or not, but he went back inside.
   Ronnie sat down beside me, staring out at the parking lot. Blood was running down the white steps in tiny rivulets of scarlet.
   "Jesus," she whispered.
   "Yeah." I still held my gun loose-gripped in my hand. The danger seemed to be over. Guess I could put away the gun. "Thanks for pushing me out of the way," I said.
   "You're welcome." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Thanks for shooting him before he shot me."
   "Don't mention it. Besides, you got a piece of him, too."
   "Don't remind me."
   I stared at her. "You all right?"
   "No, I'm well and truly scared."
   "Yeah." Of course, all Ronnie had to do was stay away from me. I seemed to be the free-fire zone. A walking, talking menace to my friends and coworkers. Ronnie could have died today, and it would have been my fault. She had been a few seconds slower to shoot than I was. Those few seconds could have cost her her life. Of course, if she hadn't been here today, I might have died. One bullet in the chest, and my gun wouldn't have done me a hell of a lot of good.
   I heard the distant whoop-whoop of police sirens. They must have been damn close, or maybe it was another killing. Possible. Would the police believe he was just a fanatic trying to kill The Executioner? Maybe. Dolph wouldn't buy it.
   The sunshine pressed down around us like bright yellow plastic. Neither of us said a word. Maybe there was nothing left to say. Thank you for saving my life. You're welcome. What else was there?
   I felt light and empty, almost peaceful. Numb. I must be getting close to the truth, whatever that was. People were trying to kill me. It was a good sign. Sort of. It meant I knew something important. Important enough to kill for. The trouble was, I didn't know what it was I was supposed to know.

35
   I was back at the church at 8:45 that night. The sky was a rich purple. Pink clouds were stretched across it like cotton candy pulled apart by eager kids and left to melt. True dark was only minutes away. Ghouls would already be out and about. But the vampires had a few heartbeats of waiting left.
   I stood on the steps of the church, admiring the sunset. There was no blood left. The white steps were as shiny and new as if this afternoon had never happened. But I remembered. I had decided to sweat in the July heat so I could carry an arsenal. The windbreaker hid not only the shoulder rig and 9mm, plus extra ammo, but a knife on each forearm. The Firestar was snug in the inner pant holster, set for a right-hand cross draw. There was even a knife strapped to my ankle.
   Of course, nothing I was carrying would stop Malcolm. He was one of the most powerful master vampires in the city. After seeing Nikolaos and Jean-Claude, I'd say he ranked third. In the company I was judging him against, third wasn't bad. So why confront him? Because I couldn't think of what else to do.
   I had left a letter detailing my suspicions about the church and everybody else in a safe deposit box. Doesn't everybody have one? Ronnie knew about it, and there was a letter on the secretary's desk at Animators, Inc. It would go out Monday morning to Dolph, unless I called up to stop it.
   One attempt on my life and I was getting all paranoid. Fancy that.
   The parking lot was full. People were drifting inside the church in small groups. A few had simply walked up, no cars. I stared hard at them, Vampires, before full dark? But no, just humans.
   I zipped the windbreaker partway up. Didn't want to disturb services by flashing a gun.
   A young woman, brown hair style-gelled into an artificial wave over one eye, was handing out pamphlets just inside the door. A guide to the service, I supposed. She smiled and said, "Welcome. Is this your first time?"
   I smiled back at her, pleasant, as if I wasn't carrying enough weaponry to take out half the congregation. "I have an appointment to see Malcolm."
   Her smile didn't change. If anything it deepened, flashing a dimple to one side of her lipsticked mouth. Somehow, I didn't think she knew I'd killed someone today. People don't generally smile at me when they know things like that.
   "Just a minute; let me get someone to handle the door." She walked away to tap a young man on the shoulder. She whispered against his cheek and shoved the pamphlets into his hands.
   She came back to me, hands smoothing along the burgundy dress she wore. "If you'll follow me?"
   She made it a question. What would she do if I said no? Probably look puzzled. The young man was greeting a couple that had just entered the church. The man wore a suit; the woman the proverbial dress, hose, and sandals. They could have been coming to my church, any church. As I followed the woman down the side aisle towards the door, I glanced at a couple dressed in postmodern punk. Or whatever phrase is common now. The girl's hair looked like Frankenstein's Bride done in pink and green. A second glance and I wasn't sure; maybe the pink and green was a guy. If so, his girlfriend's hair was a buzz so close to her head, it looked like stubble.
   The Church of Eternal Life attracted a wide following. Diversity, that's the ticket. They appealed to the agnostic, the atheist, the disillusioned mainstreamer, and some who had never decided what they were. The church was nearly full, and it wasn't dark yet. The vampires had yet to show. It had been a long time since I'd seen a church this full, except at Easter, or Christmas. Holiday Christians. A chill tiptoed along my spine.
   This was the fullest church I'd been to in years. The vampire church. Maybe the real danger wasn't the murderer. Maybe the real danger was right here in this building.
   I shook my head and followed my guide through the door, out of the church, and past the coffee klatch area. There really was coffee percolating on a white-draped table. There was also a bowl of reddish punch that looked a little too viscous to be punch at all.
   The woman said, "Would you like some coffee?"
   "No, thank you."
   She smiled pleasantly and opened the door marked "Office" for me. I went in. No one was there.
   "Malcolm will be with you as soon as he wakens. If you like, I can wait with you." She glanced at the door as she said it.
   "I wouldn't want you to miss the service. I'll be fine alone."
   Her smile flashed into dimple again. "Thank you; I'm sure it will be a short wait." With that she was gone, and I was alone. Alone with the secretary's desk and the leatherbound day planner for the Church of Eternal Life. Life was good.
   I opened the planner to the week before the first vampire murder. Bruce, the secretary, had very neat handwriting, each entry very precise. Time, name, and a one-sentence description of the meeting. 10:00, Jason MacDonald, Magazine interview. 9:00, Meeting with Mayor, Zoning problems. Normal stuff for the Billy Graham of Vampirism. Then two days before the first murder there was a notation that was in a different handwriting. Smaller, no less neat. 3:00, Ned. That was all, no last name, no reason for the meeting. And Bruce didn't make the appointment. Methinks we have a clue. Be still, my heart.
   Ned was a short form of Edward, just like Teddy. Had Malcolm had a meeting with the hit man of the undead? Maybe. Maybe not. It could be a clandestine meeting with a different Ned. Or maybe Bruce had been away from the desk and someone else had just filled in? I went through the rest of the planner as quickly as I could. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. Every other entry was in Bruce's large, rolling hand.
   Malcolm had met with Edward, if it had been Edward, two days before the first death. If that was true, where did that leave things? With Edward a murderer and Malcolm paying him to do it. There was one problem with that. If Edward had wanted me dead, he'd have done it himself. Maybe Malcolm panicked and sent one of his followers to do it? Could be.
   I was sitting in a chair against the wall, leafing through a magazine, when the door opened. Malcolm was tall and almost painfully thin, with large, bony hands that belonged to a more muscular man. His short, curly hair was the shocking yellow of goldfinch feathers. This was what blond hair looked like after nearly three hundred years in the dark.
   The last time I had seen Malcolm, he had seemed beautiful, perfect. Now he was almost ordinary, like Nikolaos and her scar. Had Jean-Claude given me the ability to see master vampires' true forms?
   Malcolm's presence filled the small room like invisible water, chilling and pricking along my skin, knee-deep and rising. Give him another nine hundred years, and he might rival Nikolaos. Of course, I wouldn't be around to test my little theory.
   I stood, and he swept into the room. He was dressed modestly in a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt, and blue silk tie. The pale shirt made his eyes look like robin's eggs. He smiled, angular face, beaming at me. He wasn't trying to cloud my mind. Malcolm was very good at resisting the urge. His entire credibility rested on the fact that he didn't cheat.
   "Miss Blake, how good to see you." He didn't offer to shake hands; he knew better. "Bruce left me a very confused message. Something about the vampire murders?" His voice was deep and soothing, like the ocean.
   "I told Bruce I have proof that your church is involved with the vampire murders."
   "And do you?"
   "Yes." I believed it. If he had met with Edward, I had my murderer.
   "Hmmm, you are telling the truth. Yet, I know that it is not true." His voice rolled around me, warm and thick, powerful.
   I shook my head. "Cheating, Malcolm, using your powers to probe my mind. Tsk, tsk."
   He shrugged, hands open at his sides. "I control my church, Miss Blake. They would not do what you have accused them of."
   "They raided a freak party last night with clubs. They hurt people." I was guessing on that part.
   He frowned. "There is a small faction of our followers who persist in violence. The freak party, as you call it, is an abomination and must be stopped, but through legal channels. I have told my followers this."
   "But do you punish them when they disobey you?" I asked.
   "I am not a policeman, or a priest, to mete out punishment. "They are not children. They have their own minds."
   "I'll bet they do."
   "And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked.
   "It means, Malcolm, that you are a master vampire. None of them can stand against you. They'll do anything you want them to."
   "I do not use mind powers on my congregation."
   I shook my head. His power oozed over my arms like a cold wave. He wasn't even trying. It was just spillover. Did he realize what he was doing? Could it actually be an accident?
   "You had a meeting two days before the first murder."
   He smiled, careful not to show fangs. "I have many meetings."
   "I know, you are reeal popular, but you'll remember this meeting. You hired a hit man to kill vampires." I watched his face, but he was too good. There was a flicker in his eyes, unease maybe; then it was gone, replaced by that shining blue-eyed confidence.
   "Miss Blake, why are you looking me in the eyes?"
   I shrugged. "If you don't try to bespell me, it's safe."
   "I have tried to convince you of that on several occasions, but you always played it ... safe. Now you are staring at me; why?" He strode towards me, quick, nearly a blur of motion. My gun was in my hand, no thinking needed. Instinct.
   "My," he said.
   I just stared at him, quite willing to put a bullet through his chest if he came one step closer.
   "You carry at least the first mark, Miss Blake. Some master vampire has touched you. Who?"
   I let out my breath in one long sigh. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding it. "It's a long story."
   "I believe you." He was suddenly standing near the door again, as if he had never moved. Damn, he was good.
   "You hired a man to slay the freak vampires," I said.
   "No," he said, "I did not."
   It is always unnerving when a person looks so damn blase while I point a gun at them. "You did hire an assassin."
   He shrugged. Smiled. "You do not really expect me to do anything but deny that, do you?"
   "Guess not." What the heck, might as well ask. "Are you or your church connected in any way to the vampire murders?"
   He almost laughed. I didn't blame him. No one in their right mind would just say yes, but sometimes you can learn things from the way a person denies something. The choice of lies can be almost as helpful as the truth.
   "No, Miss Blake."
   "You did hire an assassin." I made it a statement.
   The smile drained from his face, goof. He stared at me, his presence crawling along my skin like insects. "Miss Blake, I believe it is time for you to leave."
   "A man tried to kill me today."
   "That is hardly my fault."
   "He had two vampire bites in his neck."
   Again that flicker in the eyes. Unease? Maybe.
   "He was waiting for me outside your church. I was forced to kill him on your steps." A small lie, but I didn't want Ronnie further involved.
   He was frowning now, a thread of anger like heat oozing through the room. "I am unaware of this, Miss Blake. I will look into it."
   I lowered my gun but didn't put it away. You can only hold a person at gunpoint so long. If they aren't afraid, and they aren't going to hurt you, and you aren't going to shoot them, it gets rather silly. "Don't be too hard on Bruce. He doesn't do well around violence."
   Malcolm straightened, pulling at his suit jacket. A nervous gesture? Oh, boy. I'd hit a nerve.
   "I will look into it, Miss Blake. If he was a member of our church, we owe you an extreme apology."
   I stared at him for a minute. What could I say to that? Thank you? It didn't seem appropriate. "I know you hired a hit man, Malcolm. Not exactly good press for your church. I think you are behind the vampire murders. Your hands may not have spilled the blood, but it was done with your approval."
   "Please, go now, Miss Blake." He opened the door as he said it.
   I walked through, gun still in my hand. "Sure, I'll go, but I won't go away."
   He stared down at me, eyes angry. "Do you know what it means to be marked by a master vampire?"
   I thought a minute and wasn't sure how to answer it. Truth. "No."
   He smiled, and it was cold enough to freeze your heart. "You will learn, Miss Blake. If it becomes too much for you, remember our church is here to help." He closed the door in my face. Softly.
   I stared at the door. "And what is that supposed to mean?" I whispered. No one answered me.
   I put away my gun and spotted a small door marked "Exit." I took it. The church was softly lit, candles maybe. Voices rose on the night air, singing. I didn't recognize the words. The tune was Bringing in the Sheaves. I caught one phrase: "We will live forever, never more to die."
   I hurried to my car and tried not to listen to the song. There was something frightening about all those voices raised skyward, worshipping ... what? Themselves? Eternal youth? Blood? What? Another question that I didn't have an answer to.
   Edward was my murderer. The question was, could I turn him over to Nikolaos? Could I turn over a human being to the monsters, even to save myself? Another question that I didn't have an answer for. Two days ago I would have said no. Now I just didn't know.

36
   I didn't want to go back to my apartment. Edward would be coming tonight. Tell him where Nikolaos slept in daylight or he'd force the information from me. Complicated enough. Now, I thought he was my murderer. Very complicated.
   The best thing I could think of was to avoid him. That wouldn't work forever, but maybe I'd have a brainstorm and figure it all out. All right, there wasn't much chance of that, but one could always hope.
   Maybe Ronnie would have a message for me. Something helpful. God knows I needed all the help I could get. I pulled the car into a service station that had a pay phone out front. I had one of those high-tech answering machines that allowed me to read my messages without having to go home for them. Maybe I could avoid Edward all night, if I slept in a hotel. Sigh. If I'd had any solid proof at all right that minute, I'd have called the police.
   I heard the tape whir and click; then, "Anita, it's Willie, they got Phillip. The guy you was with. They're hurtin' him, bad! You gotta come-" The phone went dead, abruptly. Like he'd been cut off.
   My stomach tightened. A second message came up. "This is you know who. You've heard Willie's message. Come and get it, animator. I don't really have to threaten your pretty lover, do I?" Nikolaos's laughter filled the phone, scratchy and distant with tape.
   There was a loud click and Edward's voice came over the phone. "Anita, tell me where you are. I can help you."
   "They'll kill Phillip," I said. "Besides, you aren't on my side, remember."
   "I'm the closest thing you've got to an ally."
   "God help me, then." I hung up on him, hard. Phillip had tried to defend me last night. Now he was paying for it. I yelled, "Dammit!"
   A man pumping gas stared at me.
   "What are you looking at?" I nearly yelled that, too. He dropped his eyes and concentrated very hard on filling his tank with gas.
   I got behind the wheel of my car and sat there for a few minutes. I was so angry, I was shaking. I could feel the tension in my teeth. Dammit. Dammit! I was too angry to drive. It wouldn't help Phillip if I got in a car accident on the way.
   I tried breathing deep gulps of air. It didn't help. I turned the key in the ignition. "No speeding, can't afford to get stopped by the cops. Easy does it, Anita, easy does it." I talk to myself every once in a while. Give myself very good advice. Sometimes I even take it.
   I put the car in gear and drove out onto the road-carefully. Anger rode up my back and into my shoulders and neck. I gripped the steering wheel too hard and found that my hands weren't quite healed. Sharp little jabs of pain, but not enough. There wasn't enough pain in the whole world to get rid of the anger.
   Phillip was being hurt because of me. Just like Catherine and Ronnie. No more. No freaking more. I was going to get Phillip, save him any way I could; then I was turning the whole blasted thing over to the police. Without proof, yeah, without anything to back it up. I was bailing out before more people got hurt.
   The anger was almost enough to hide the fear behind it. If Nikolaos was tormenting Phillip for last night, she might not be too happy with me either. I was going back down those stairs into the master's lair, at night. Didn't seem real bright when you put it that way.
   The anger was fading in a wash of cold, skin-shivering fear. "No!" I would not go in there afraid. I held onto my anger with everything I had. This was the closest I'd come to hate in a long time. Hatred; now there's an emotion that'll spread warmth through your body.
   Most hatred is based on fear, one way or another. Yeah. I wrapped myself in anger, with a dash of hate, and at the bottom of it all was an icy center of pure terror.

37
   The Circus of the Damned is housed in an old warehouse. Its name is emblazoned across the roof in colored lights. Giant clown figurines dance around the words in frozen pantomime. If you look very closely at the clowns, you notice they have fangs. But only if you look very closely.
   The sides of the building are strung with huge plastic cloth signs, like an old-fashioned sideshow. One banner showed a man being hung; "The Death Defying Count Alcourt," it said. Zombies crawled from a graveyard in one picture; "Watch the Dead Rise from the Grave." A very bad drawing showed a man halfway between wolf and man shape; Fabian, the Werewolf. There were other signs. Other attractions. None of them looked very wholesome.
   Guilty Pleasures treads a thin line between entertainment and the sadistic. The Circus goes over the edge and down into the abyss.
   And here I go inside. Oh, joy in the morning.
   Noise hits you at the door. A blast of carnival sound, the push and shove of the crowd, the rustling of hundreds of people. The lights spill and scream in a hundred different colors, all eye-searing, all guaranteed to attract attention, or make you lose your lunch. Of course, maybe that was just my nerves.
   The smell is formed of cotton candy, corn dogs, the cinnamon smell of elephant ears, snow cones, sweat, and under it all a neck-ruffling smell. Blood smells like sweet copper pennies, and that smell mingles over everything. Most people don't recognize it. But there is another scent on the air, not just blood, but violence. Of course, violence has no smell. Yet, always here, there is-something. The barest hint of long-closed rooms and rotting cloth.
   I had never come here before, except on police business. What I wouldn't have given for a few uniforms right now.
   The crowd parted like water in front of a ship. Winter, Mr. Muscles, moved through the people, and instinctively they moved out of his way. I'd have moved out of his way, too, but I didn't think I'd get the chance.
   Winter was wearing a proverbial strongman's outfit. It had fake zebra stripes on a white background and left most of his upper body exposed. His legs in the striped leotard rippled and corded, like it was a second skin. His bicep, unflexed, was bigger around than both my arms. He stopped in front of me, towering over me, and knowing it.
   "Is your entire family obscenely tall, or is it just you?" I asked.
   He frowned, eyes narrowing. I don't think he got it. Oh, well. "Follow me," he said. With that he turned and walked back through the crowd.
   I guess I was supposed to follow like a good little girl. Shit. A large blue tent took up one corner of the warehouse. People were lining up, showing tickets. A man was calling out in a booming voice, "Almost show time, folks. Present your tickets and enter. See the hanging man. Count Alcourt will be executed before your very eyes."
   I had paused to listen. Winter was not waiting. Luckily, his broad, white back didn't blend with the crowd. I had to trot to catch up with him. I hate having to do that. It makes me feel like a child running after an adult. If a little running was the worst thing I experienced tonight, things would be just hunky-dory.
   There was a full-size Ferris wheel, its glowing top nearly brushing the ceiling. A man held a baseball out to me. "Try your luck, little lady."
   I ignored him. I hate being called little lady. I glanced at the prizes to be won. It ran long on stuffed animals and ugly dolls. The stuffed toys were mostly predators: soft plush panthers, toddlersize bears, spotted snakes, and giant fuzzytoothed bats.
   There was a bald man in white clown makeup selling tickets to the mirror maze. He stared at the children as they went inside his glass house. I could almost feel the weight of his eyes on their backs, like he would memorize every line of their small bodies. Nothing would have gotten me past him into that sparkling river of glass.
   The Funhouse was next, more clowns and screams, the shooting whoosh of air. The metal sidewalk leading into its depths buckled and twisted. A little boy nearly fell. His mother dragged him to his feet. Why would any parent bring their child here, to this frightening place?
   There was even a haunted house; it was almost funny. Sort of redundant, if you ask me. The whole freaking place was a house of horrors.
   Winter had paused before the little door leading into the back areas. He was frowning at me, massive arms almost crossed over equally massive chest. The arms didn't quite fold right, too much muscle for that, but he was trying.
   He opened the door. I went inside. The tall, bald man who had been with Nikolaos that first time was standing against the wall, at attention. His handsome, narrow face, the eyes very prominent because there was no hair, nothing much else to stare at, looked at me the way elementary school teachers look at troublemaking children. You must be punished, young lady. But what had I done wrong?
   The man's voice was deep, faintly British, cultured, but human. "Search her for weapons before we go down."
   Winter nodded. Why talk when gestures will do? His big hands lifted my jacket and took the gun. He shoved one shoulder so that I spun around. He found the second gun, too. Had I really thought they'd let me keep the weapons? Yes, I guess I had. Stupid me.
   "Check her arms for knives."
   Damn.
   Winter gripped my jacket sleeves like he meant to tear them. "Wait, please. I'll just take the jacket off. You can search it, too, if you like."
   Winter took the knives on my arms. The bald-headed man searched the yellow windbreaker for concealed weapons. He didn't find any. Winter patted my legs down, but not well. He missed the knife at my ankle. I had one weapon, and they didn't know it. Bully for me.
   Down the long stairs and into the empty throne room. Maybe it showed on my face because the man said, "The master waits for us, with your friend."
   The man led the way as he had down the stairs. Winter brought up the rear. Perhaps they thought I would make a break for it. Right. Where would I go?
   They stopped at the dungeon. How had I known they would' The bald-headed man knocked on the door twice, not too hard not too soft.
   There was silence; then bright, high laughter drifted from inside My skin crawled with the sound. I did not want to see Nikolaos again. I did not want to be in a cell again. I wanted to go home.
   The door opened. Valentine made a hand-sweeping motion. "Come in, come in." He was wearing a silver mask this time. A strand of his auburn hair was stuck to the forehead of the mask, sticky with blood.
   My heart thudded into my throat. Phillip, are you alive? It was all I could do not to yell out.
   Valentine stepped against the door as if waiting for me to pass. I glanced at the nameless bald man. His face was unreadable. He motioned me ahead of him. What could I do? I went.
   What I saw stopped me at the top of the steps. I couldn't go farther. I couldn't. Aubrey stood against the far wall, grinning at me. His hair was still golden; his face, bestial. Nikolaos stood in a dress of flowing white that made her skin look like chalk, her hair cotton-white. She was sprinkled with blood, like someone had taken a red ink pen and splattered her.
   Her grey-blue eyes stared up at me. She laughed again, rich and pure and wicked. I had no other word for it. Wicked. She caressed a white, blood-spattered hand against Phillip's bare chest. She rolled her fingertip over his nipple, and laughed.
   He was chained to the wall at wrist and ankle. His long, brown hair had fallen forward, hiding one eye. His muscular body was covered in bites. Blood rained down his tan skin in thin crimson lines. He stared up at me from that one brown eye, the other hidden in his hair. Despair. He knew he had been brought here to die, like this, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. But there was something I could do. There had to be. God, please let there be!
   The man touched my shoulder, and I jumped. The vampires laughed. The man did not. I walked down the steps to stand a few feet in front of Phillip. He wouldn't look at me.
   Nikolaos touched his naked thigh and ran her fingers up it. His body tightened, hands clenching into fists.
   "Oh, we have been having a fine time with your lover here," Nikolaos said. Her voice was sweet as ever. The child bride incarnate. Bitch.
   "He isn't my lover."
   She pouted out her lower lip. "Now, Anita, no lying. That's no fun." She stalked towards me, slender hips swaying to some inner dance. She reached for me, and I backed up, bumping into Winter. "Animator, animator," she said. "When will you learn that you cannot fight me?"
   I don't think she wanted me to argue, so I didn't.
   She reached for me again, with one bloody, dainty hand. "Winter can hold you, if you like."
   Stay still, or we hold you down. Great choices. I stayed still. I watched those pale fingers glide towards my face. I ground my fingernails into the palms of my hands. I would not move away from her. I would not move. Her fingers touched my forehead, and I felt the cool wetness of blood. She brushed it down my temple to my cheek and traced her fingers over my lower lip. I think I stopped breathing.
   "Lick your lips," she said.
   "No," I said.
   "Oh, you are a stubborn one. Has Jean-Claude given you this courage?"
   "What the hell are you talking about?"
   Her eyes darkened, face clouding over. "Don't be coy, Anita. It does not become you." Her voice was suddenly adult, hot enough to scald. "I know your little secret."
   "I don't know what you are talking about," I said, and I meant it. I didn't understand the anger.
   "If you like, we can play games for a little while longer." She was suddenly standing beside Phillip, and I hadn't seen her move. "Did that surprise you, Anita? I am still master of this city. I have powers that you and your master have never even dreamed of."
   My master? What the hell was she talking about? I didn't have a master.
   She rubbed her hands along the side of his chest, over his rib cage. Her hand wiped away the blood to show the skin smooth and untouched. She stood in front of him and didn't come to his collarbone. Phillip had closed his eyes. Her head arched backwards, a glimpse of fangs, lips drawn back in a snarl.
   "No." I stepped towards them. Winter's hands descended on my shoulders. He shook his head, slow and careful. I was not to interfere
   She drove her fangs into his side. His whole body stiffened, neck arching, arms jerking at the chains.
   "Leave him alone!" I drove an elbow into Winter's stomach. He grunted, and his fingers dug into my shoulders until I wanted to scream. His arms enveloped me, tight to his chest, no movement allowed.
   She raised her face from Phillip's skin. Blood trickled down her chin. She licked her lips with a tiny pink tongue. "Ironic," she said in a voice years older than the body would ever be. "I sent Phillip to seduce you. Instead, you seduced him."
   "We are not lovers." I felt ridiculous with Winter's arms crushing me to his chest.
   "Denial will not help either of you," she said.
   "What will help us?" I asked.
   She motioned, and Winter released me. I stepped away from him, out of reach. It put me closer to Nikolaos, perhaps not an improvement.
   "Let us discuss your future, Anita." She began to walk up the steps. "And your lover's future."
   I assumed she meant Phillip, and I didn't correct her. The nameless man motioned for me to follow her up the stairs. Aubrey was moving closer to Phillip. They would be alone together. Unacceptable.
   "Nikolaos, please."
   Maybe it was the "please." She turned. "Yes," she said.
   "May I ask two things?"
   She was smiling at me, amused with me. An adult's amusement with a child who had used a new word. I didn't care what she thought of me as long as she did what I wanted. "You may ask," she said.
   "That when we go, all the vampires leave this room." She was still staring at me, smiling, so far so good. "And that I be allowed to speak with Phillip privately."
   She laughed, high and wild, chimes in a storm wind. "You are bold, mortal. I give you that. I begin to see what JeanClaude sees in you."
   I let the comment go because I felt like I was missing part of the meaning. "May I have what I ask, please?"
   "Call me master, and you will have it."
   I swallowed and it was loud in the sudden stillness. "Please ... master." See, I didn't choke on the word after all.
   "Very good, animator, very good indeed." Without her needing to say anything, Valentine and Aubrey went up the steps and out the door. They didn't even argue. That was frightening all on its own.
   "I will leave Burchard at the top of the steps. He has human hearing. If you whisper, he won't be able to hear you at all."
   "Burchard?" I asked.
   "Yes, animator, Burchard, my human servant." She stared at me as if that was significant. My expression didn't seem to please her. She frowned. Then she turned abruptly in a swing of white skirts. Winter followed her like an obedient puppy on steroids.
   Burchard, the once nameless man, took up a post in front of the closed door. He stared straight ahead, not at us. Privacy, or as close as we were getting to it.
   I went to Phillip and he still wouldn't look at me. His thick, brown hair acted like a kind of curtain between us. "Phillip, what happened?"
   His voice was an abused whisper; screaming will do that to you. I had to stand on tiptoe and nearly press my body against his to hear him. "Guilty Pleasures; they took me from there."
   "Didn't Robert try to stop them?" For some reason that seemed important. I had only met Robert once, but part of me was angry that he had not protected Phillip. He was in charge of things while Jean-Claude was away. Phillip was one of those things.
   "Wasn't strong enough."
   I lost my balance and was forced to catch myself, hands flat against his ruined chest. I jerked back, hands held out from me, bloody.
   Phillip closed his eyes and leaned back into the wall. His throat worked hard at swallowing. There were two fresh bites on his neck. They were going to bleed him to death if someone didn't get carried away first.
   He lowered his head and tried to look at me, but his hair had spilled into both eyes. I wiped the blood on my jeans and went back to stand almost on tiptoe next to him. I brushed the hair back from his eyes, but it spilled forward again. It was beginning to bug me. I combed my fingers through his hair until it stayed out of his face. His hair was softer than it looked, thick and warm with the heat of his body.
   He almost smiled. His voice breaking as he whispered, "Few months back, I'd have paid money for this."
   I stared at him, then realized he was trying to make a joke. God. My throat felt tight.
   Burchard said, "It is time to go."
   I stared into Phillip's eyes, perfect brown, torchlight dancing in them like black mirrors. "I won't leave you here, Phillip."
   His eyes flickered to the man on the stairs and back to me. Fear turned his face young, helpless. "See you later," he said.
   I stepped back from him. "You can count on it."
   "It is not wise to keep her waiting," Burchard said.
   He was probably right. Phillip and I stared at each other for a handful of moments. The pulse in his throat jumped under his skin like it was trying to escape. My throat ached; my chest was tight. The torchlight flickered in my vision for just a second. I turned away and walked to the steps. We tough-as-nails vampire slayers don't cry. At least, never in public. At least, never when we can help it.
   Burchard held the door open for me. I glanced back at Phillip and waved, like an idiot. He watches me go, his eyes too large for his face suddenly, like a child who watches its parent leave the room before all the monsters are gone.
   I had to leave him like that-alone, helpless. God help me.

38
   Nikolaos sat in her carved wooden chair, tiny feet swinging off the ground. Charming.
   Aubrey leaned against the wall, tongue running over his lips, getting the last bit of blood off them. Valentine stood very still beside him, staring at me.
   Winter stood beside me. The prison guard.
   Burchard went to stand by Nikolaos, one hand on the back of her chair.
   "What, animator, no jokes?" Nikolaos asked. Her voice was still the grown-up version. It was like she had two voices and could change them with a push of a button.
   I shook my head. I didn't feel very funny.
   "Have we broken your spirit? Taken the fight out of you?"
   I stared at her. Anger flared through me like a wave of heat. "What do you want, Nikolaos?"
   "Oh, that's much better." Her voice rose and fell, a little-girl giggle at the end of each word. I might never like children again.
   "Jean-Claude should be growing weak inside his coffin. Starving, but instead he is strong and well fed. How can this be?"
   I didn't have the faintest idea, so I kept quiet. Maybe it was rhetorical?
   It wasn't. "Answer me, A-n-i-t-a." She stretched my name out, biting off each syllable.
   "I don't know."
   "Oh, but you do."
   I didn't, but she wasn't going to believe me. "Why are you hurting Phillip?"
   "He needed to be taught a lesson, after last night."
   "Because he stood up to you?" I asked.
   "Yes," she said, "because he stood up to me." She scooted out of the chair and pattered towards me. She did a little turn so the white dress billowed around her. She freaking skipped over to me, smiling. "And because I was angry with you. I torture your lover, and maybe I won't torture you. And perhaps, this demonstration will give you fresh incentive to find the vampire murderer." Her pretty little face was turned up to me, pale eyes gleaming with humor. She was good.
   I swallowed hard, and I asked the question I had to ask, "Why were you angry with me?"
   She cocked her head to one side. If she hadn't been bloodspattered, it would have been cute. "Could it be that you do not know?" She turned back to Burchard. "What think you, my friend? Is she ignorant?"
   He straightened his shoulders and said, "I believe that it is possible."
   "Oh, Jean-Claude has been a very naughty boy. Giving the second mark to an unsuspecting mortal."
   I stood very still. I was remembering blue, fiery eyes on the stairs, and Jean-Claude's voice in my head. All right, I had suspected it, but I still didn't understand what it meant. "What does the second mark mean?"
   She licked her lips, soft like a kitten. "Shall we explain, Burchard? Shall we tell her what we know?"
   "If she truly does not know, mistress, we must enlighten her," he said.
   "Yes," she said and glided back to the chair. "Burchard, tell her how old you are."
   "I am six hundred and three years of age."
   I stared at his smooth face and shook my head. "But you're human, not a vampire."
   "I have been given the fourth mark and will live as long as my mistress needs me."
   "No, Jean-Claude wouldn't do that to me," I said.
   Nikolaos made a small shrugging motion with her hands. "I had pressed him very hard. I knew of the first mark to heal you. I suppose he was desperate to save himself."
   I remembered the echo of his voice in my head. "I'm sorry. I had no choice." Damn him, there were always choices. "He's been in my dreams every night. What does that mean?"
   "He is communicating with you, animator. With the third mark will come more direct mind contact."
   I shook my head. "No."
   "No what, animator? No third mark, or no you don't believe us?" she asked.
   "I don't want to be anyone's servant."
   "Have you been eating more than usual?" she asked.
   The question was so odd, I just stared for a minute, then I remembered. "Yes. Is that important?"
   Nikolaos frowned. "He is siphoning energy from you, Anita. He is feeding through your body. He should be growing weak by now, but you will keep him strong."
   "I didn't mean to."
   "I believe you," she said. "Last night when I realized what he had done, I was beside myself with anger. So I took your lover."
   "Please believe me, he is not my lover."
   "Then why did he risk my anger to save you last night? Friendship? Decency? I think not."
   All right, let her believe it. Just get us out alive, that was the goal. Nothing else mattered. "What can Phillip and I do to make amends?"
   "Oh, so polite, I like that." She put a hand on Burchard's waist, a casual gesture like petting a dog. "Shall we show her what she has to look forward to?"
   His whole body tensed as if an electric current had run through it. "If my mistress wishes."
   "I do," she said.
   Burchard knelt in front of her, face about chest level. Nikolaos looked over his head at me. "This," she said, "is the fourth mark." Her hands went to the small pearl buttons that decorated the front of the white dress. She spread the cloth wide, baring small breasts. They were a child's breasts, small and half-formed. She drew a fingernail beside her left breast. The skin opened like earth behind a plow, spilling blood in a red line down her chest and stomach.
   I could not see Burchard's face as he leaned forward. His hands slid around her waist. His face buried between her breasts. She tensed, back arching. Soft, sucking sounds filled the room's stillness.
   I looked away, staring at anything but them, as if I had found them having sex but couldn't leave. Valentine was staring at me. I stared back. He tipped an imaginary hat at me and flashed fangs. I ignored him.
   Burchard was sitting beside the chair, half-leaning against it. His face was slack and flushed, his chest rising and falling in deep gasps. He wiped blood from his mouth with a shaking hand. Nikolaos sat very still, head back, eyes closed. Perhaps sex wasn't such a bad analogy after all.
   Nikolaos spoke with her eyes closed, head thrown back, voice thick. "Your friend, Willie, is back in a coffin. He felt sorry for Phillip. We will have to cure him of such instincts."
   She raised her head abruptly, eyes bright, almost glittering, as if they had a light all their own. "Can you see my scar today?"
   I shook my head. She was the beautiful child, complete and whole. No imperfections. "You look perfect again, why?"
   "Because I am expending energy to make it so. I am having to work at it." Her voice was low and warm, a building heat like thunderstorms in the distance.
   The hair at the back of my neck crawled. Something bad was about to happen.
   "Jean-Claude has his followers, Anita. If I kill him, they will make him a martyr. But if I prove him weak, powerless, they just fall away and follow me, or follow no one."
   She stood, dress buttoned to her neck once more. Her cottonwhite hair seemed to move as if a wind stirred it, but there was no wind. "I will destroy something Jean-Claude has given his protection to."
   How fast could I get to the knife on my leg? And what good would it do me?
   "I will prove to all that Jean-Claude can protect nothing. I am master of all."
   Egocentric bitch. Winter grabbed my arm before I could do anything. Too busy watching the vampires to notice the humans.
   "Go," she said. "Kill him."
   Aubrey and Valentine stood away from the wall and bowed. Then they were gone, as if they had vanished. I turned to Nikolaos.
   She smiled. "Yes, I clouded your mind, and you did not see them go."
   "Where are they going?" My stomach was tight. I think I already knew the answer.
   "Jean-Claude has given Phillip his protection; thus he must die."
   "No."
   Nikolaos smiled. "Oh, but yes."
   A scream ripped through the hallway. A man's scream. Phillip's scream.
   "No!" I half-fell to my knees; only Winter's hand kept me from falling to the floor. I pretended to faint, sagging in his grip. He released me. I grabbed the knife from its ankle sheath. Winter and I were close to the hallway, far away from Nikolaos and her human. Maybe far enough.
   Winter was staring at her as if waiting for orders. I came up off the ground and drove the knife into his groin. The knife sank in, and blood poured out as I drew the blade free and raced for the hallway.
   I was at the door when the first trickle of wind oozed down my back. I didn't look back. I opened the door.
   Phillip sagged in the chains. Blood poured in a bright red flood down his chest. It splattered onto the floor, like rain. Torchlight glittered on the wet bone of his spine. Someone had ripped his throat out.
   I staggered against the wall as if someone had hit me. I couldn't get enough air. Someone kept whispering, "Oh, God, oh, God," over and over, and it was me. I walked down the steps with my back pressed against the wall. I couldn't take my eyes from him. Couldn't look away. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't cry.
   The torchlight reflected in his eyes, giving the illusion of movement. A scream built in my gut and spilled out my throat. "Phillip!"
   Aubrey stepped between me and Phillip. He was covered in blood. "I look forward to visiting your lovely friend, Catherine."
   I wanted to run at him, screaming. Instead, I leaned against the wall, knife held down at my side, unnoticed. The goal was no longer to get out alive. The goal was to kill Aubrey. "You son of a bitch, you fucking son of a bitch." My voice sounded utterly calm, no emotion whatsoever. I wasn't afraid. I didn't feel anything.
   Aubrey's face frowned at me through a mask of Phillip's blood. "Do not say such things to me."
   "You ugly, stinking, mother-fucking bastard."
   He glided to me, just like I wanted him to. He put a hand on my shoulder. I screamed in his face as loud as I could. He hesitated for just a heartbeat. I shoved the knife blade between his ribs. It was sharp and thin, and I shoved it hilt deep. His body stiffened, leaning into me. Eyes wide and surprised. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He toppled to the floor, fingers grabbing at air.
   Valentine was instantly there, kneeling by the body. "What have you done?" He couldn't see the knife. It was shielded by Aubrey's body.
   "I killed him, you son of a bitch, just like I'm going to kill you."
   Valentine jerked to his feet, started to say something, and all hell broke loose. The cell door crashed inward and smashed to bits against the far wall. A tornado wind blasted into the room.
   Valentine dropped to his knees, head touching the floor. He was bowing. I flattened myself against the wall. The wind clawed at my face, tangling my hair in front of my eyes.
   The noise grew less, and I squinted up at the door. Nikolaos floated just above the top step. Her hair crackled around her head, like spider silk. Her skin had shrunken against her bones, until she was skeletal. Her eyes glowed, pale blue fire. She started floating down the steps, hands outstretched.
   I could see her veins like blue lights under her skin. I ran. Ran for the far wall, and the tunnel the ratmen had used.
   The wind threw me against the wall, and I scrambled on hands and feet towards the tunnel. The hole was large, and black, cool air brushed my face, and something grabbed my ankle.
   I screamed. The thing that was Nikolaos dragged me back. It slammed me against the wall and pinned my wrists in one clawed hand. The body leaned into my legs, bone under cloth.
   The lips had receded, exposing the fangs and teeth. The skeletal head hissed, "You will learn obedience, to me!" It screamed in my face, and I screamed back. Wordlessly, an animal screaming in a trap.
   My heart was thudding in my throat. I couldn't breathe. "Nooo!"
   The thing shrieked, "Look at me!"
   And I did. I fell into the blue fire that was her eyes. The fire burrowed into my brain, pain. Her thoughts cut me up like knives, slicing away parts of me. Her rage scalded and burned until I thought the skin was peeling away from my face. Claws scrapped the inside of my skull, grinding bone into dust.
   When I could see again, I was huddled by the wall, and she was standing over me, not touching, not needing to. I was shaking, shaking so badly my teeth chattered. I was cold, so cold.
   "Eventually, animator, you will call me master, and you will mean it." She was suddenly kneeling over me. She pressed her slender body over mine, hands pinning my shoulders to the floor. I couldn't move.
   The beautiful little girl leaned her face against my cheek and whispered, "I am going to sink fangs into your neck, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."
   Her delicate shell of an ear was brushing my lips. I sank teeth into it until I tasted blood. She shrieked and jerked away, blood running down the side of her neck.
   Bright razor claws tore through my brain. Her pain, her rage, turning my brain into silly putty. I think I was screaming again, but I couldn't hear it. After a while I couldn't hear anything. Darkness came. It swallowed up Nikolaos and left me alone, floating in the dark.

39
   I woke up, which was a pleasant surprise all on its own. I was blinking up into an electric light set in a ceiling. I was alive, and I wasn't in the dungeon. Good things to know.
   Why should it surprise me that I was alive? My fingers caressed the rough, knobby fabric of the couch I was lying on. There was a picture hanging over the couch. A river scene with flatboats, mules, people. Someone came to stand over me, long yellow hair, square-jawed, handsome face. Not as inhumanly beautiful as he had been to me before, but still handsome. I guess you had to be handsome to be a stripper.
   My voice came out in a harsh croak. "Robert."
   He knelt beside me. "I was afraid you wouldn't wake up before dawn. Are you hurt?"
   "Where ... " I cleared my throat and that helped a little. "Where am I?"
   "Jean-Claude's office at Guilty Pleasures."
   "How did I get here?"
   "Nikolaos brought you. She said, 'Here's your master's whore.' " I watched his throat work as he swallowed. It reminded me of something, but I couldn't think what.
   "You know what Jean-Claude has done?" I asked.
   Robert nodded. "My master has marked you twice. When I speak to you, I am speaking to him."
   Did he mean that figuratively or literally? I really didn't want to know.
   "How do you feel?" he asked.
   There was something in the way he asked it that meant I shouldn't feel all right. My throat hurt. I raised a hand and touched it. Dried blood. On my neck.
   I closed my eyes, but that didn't help. A small sound escaped my throat, very like a whimper. Phillip's image was burned on my mind. The blood pouring from his throat, torn pink meat. I shook my head and tried to breathe deep and slow. It was no good. "Bathroom," I said.
   Robert showed me where it was. I went inside, knelt on the cool floor, and threw up in the toilet, until I was empty and nothing but bile came up. Then I walked to the sink and splashed cold water in my mouth and on my face. I stared at myself in the mirror above the sink. My eyes looked black, not brown, my skin sickly. I looked like shit and felt worse.
   And there on the right side of my neck was the real thing. Not Phillip's healing bite marks, but fang marks. Tiny, diminutive, fang marks. Nikolaos had ... contaminated me. To prove she could harm Jean-Claude's human servant. She had proved how tough she was, oh, yeah. Real tough.
   Phillip was dead. Dead. Try the word over in your mind, but could I say it out loud? I decided to try. "Phillip is dead," I told my reflection.
   I crumbled the brown paper towel and stuffed it in the metal trash can. It wasn't enough. I screamed, "Ahhh!" I kicked the trash can, over and over until it toppled to the floor, spilling its contents.
   Robert came through the door. "Are you all right?"
   "Does it look like I'm all right?" I yelled.
   He hesitated in the doorway. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
   "You couldn't even keep them from taking Phillip!"
   He winced as if I had hit him. "I did my best."
   "Well, it wasn't good enough, was it?" I was still screaming like a mad person. I sank to my knees, and all that rage choked up my throat and spilled out my eyes. "Get out!"
   He hesitated. "Are you sure?"
   "Get out of here!"
   He closed the door behind him. And I sat in the floor and rocked and cried and screamed. When my heart felt as empty as my stomach, I felt leaden, used up.
   Nikolaos had killed Phillip and bitten me to prove how powerful she was. I bet she thought I'd be scared absolutely shitless of her. She was right on that. But I spend most of my waking hours confronting and destroying things that I fear. A thousand-year-old master vampire was a tall order, but a girl's got to have a goal.

40
   The club was quiet and dark. There was no one there but me. It must have been after dawn. The club was hushed and full of that waiting silence that all buildings get after the people go home. As if once we leave, the building has a life of its own, if only we would leave it in peace. I shook my head and tried to concentrate. To feel something. All I wanted was to go home and try to sleep. And pray I didn't dream.
   There was a yellow Post-it note on the door. It read, "Your weapons are behind the bar. The master brought those, too. Robert."
   I put both guns in place and the knives. The one I had used on Winter and Aubrey was missing. Was Winter dead? Maybe. Was Aubrey dead? Hopefully. Usually it took a master vampire to survive a blow to the heart, but I'd never tried it on a fivehundred-year-old walking corpse. If they took the knife out, he might be tough enough to survive it. I had to call Catherine. And tell her what? Get out of town, a vampire is after you. Didn't sound like something she'd buy. Shit.
   I walked out into the soft white light of dawn. The street was empty and awash in that gentle morning air. The heat hadn't had time to creep in. It was almost cool. Where was my car? I heard footsteps a second before the voice said, "Don't move. I have a gun pointed at your back."
   I clasped my hands atop my head without being asked. "Good morning, Edward," I said.
   "Good morning, Anita," he said. "Stand very still, please." He stood just behind me, gun pressing against my spine. He frisked me completely, top to bottom. Nothing haphazard about Edward; that's one of the reasons he's still alive. He stepped back from me, and said, "You may turn around now."
   He had my Firestar tucked into his belt, the Browning loose in his left hand. I don't know what he did with the knives.
   He smiled, boyish and charming, gun very steadily pointed at my chest. "No more hiding. Where is this Nikolaos?" he asked.
   I took a deep breath and let it out. I thought about accusing him of being the vampire murderer, but now didn't seem to be a good time. Maybe later, when he wasn't pointing a gun at me. "May I lower my arms?" I asked.
   He gave a slight nod.
   I lowered my arms slowly. "I want one thing clear between us, Edward. I'll give you the information, but not because I'm afraid of you. I want her dead. And I want a piece of it."
   His smile widened, eyes glittering with pleasure. "What happened last night?"
   I glanced down at the sidewalk, then up. I stared into his blue eyes and said, "She had Phillip killed."
   He was watching my face very closely. "Go on."
   "She bit me. I think she plans on making me a personal servant."
   He put his gun back in his shoulder holster and came to stand next to me. He turned my head to one side to see the bite mark better. "You need to clean this bite. It's going to hurt like hell."
   "I know. Will you help me?"
   "Sure." His smile softened. "Here I was going to cause you pain to get information. Now you ask me to help you pour acid on a wound."
   "Holy Water," I said.
   "It's going to feel the same," he said.
   Unfortunately, he was right.