Message-ID: <59431asstr$1254247802@assm.asstr.org>
From: Dreadpirate Tom <dptom@live.com>
Importance: Normal
Subject: {ASSM} New story:  Blood Ties, Prologue-Chapter 13
Lines: 5563
Date: Tue, 29 Sep 2009 14:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


   Story codes for this one will be MF, MFF, mix of Cons and NC, viol,
vampires, caution, sad, deaths (lots)



	
<1st attachment, "blood ties 1.txt" begin>

This is the sequel to Blood Lust.  If you haven't read it, you might have
some difficulty with many of the references and characters.  If you found
the first one disturbing...well, it's probably only fair to warn you that
this one will likely be worse.



   Blood Ties Prologue - Chapter 13

   By Dread Pirate Tom

   Prologue

   In the dead of night, two ten ton army trucks, one hauling excavation
equipment, the other pulling a trailer that had a number of generators
humming away on its roof, rolled through the overgrown streets of a small
abandoned town.  They drew to a stop in front of an open foundation filled
with charred debris.  A number of men in black suits disembarked and
gathered in a circle in the light of the lead truck's headlamps.

   "You're sure this is the place?" Dr.  Nolan asked.

   "Yes, sir.  The signal from the electronic tracking device is
surprisingly clear," one of the other men answered.

   "You can call it a bug, Todd," Dr.  Nolan replied with a laugh.  "I
promise that I won't tell the general."

   He surveyed the scene sourly: he had so hoped that the bug's battery had
died.  While a part of him was excited at the prospect of actually studying
the creatures, he had seen firsthand the horrors that they had inflicted on
Pittsburgh.  There were some things that man should not know, that they
must not know.  There were some things that should stay buried.

   With a grunt, he instructed, "Well, now that we found the place, I
suppose we had better get to work.  Get that equipment offloaded and
running, but don't dig too deep.  The general will have our heads if we
cause any additional damage."

   Once the basement had been excavated down to within a few feet of the
estimated depth of the floor, shovels were passed out.  Without any regard
for their meticulously neat suits, the men, Dr.  Nolan included, climbed
into the open foundation and began to dig.

   They soon unearthed the remains of several bodies, but a quick
examination proved that they were not the ones the men sought.  At Dr. 
Nolan's insistence, the remains were carefully placed in body bags and
carried to the trailer.  The families deserved closure that could not be
obtained if the bodies stayed in this anonymous grave.

   "Why are the bodies still here, sir?" Todd asked.

   Dr.  Nolan answered slowly, "I never really thought about that.  I would
guess that, in part at least, the local authorities are afraid that one of
the ones we seek is alive under this mess, and poking around would release
him.  They did, after all, believe him to be dead once before, and that
assumption came back to bite them." With a wince, he hastily added, "That
bad pun was unintended.  Anyway, they're also a bit overwhelmed at the
moment.  It's only been a little over a month since the incident.  Cleaning
out the massive numbers of dead so that the city's residents can return
from the refugee camps has occupied all of their time so far.  Finally, I
don't think this location is really common knowledge.  We never would have
found it without the transmitter."

   One of the men suddenly called out, "I think I have something here."

   Dr.  Nolan threw his shovel aside and strode over to the most recent
discovery.  Unlike the other bodies that they had found so far, this one's
flesh, while charred, had not decayed.  Kneeling next to it, Dr.  Nolan
played the beam of a high intensity flash light across the upper jaw.  The
light reflected brightly from greatly elongated canine teeth.

   "Yes.  This is one of them.  Supposedly, there's two others, so keep
looking," he said, his voice tight and carefully emotionless.

   As the other men returned to their work, Dr.  Nolan carefully cleared
the remaining debris from the body and pulled the charred remnants of a
wooden stake from its chest.  With the rubble removed, it became clear that
this was the male.  The one who called himself Arthur.

   Nolan used a small high speed drill to bore into the body's thigh bone.
Taking a sterile swab from his shirt pocket, he tore the plastic cover from
its tip and pushed it down into the marrow.  After passing the swab to one
of the men, he gently eased a plastic tarp beneath the body and had it
carried to the trailer.

   The inside of the trailer was crammed tight with a wide variety of
scientific instruments.  The man who had taken the swab earlier looked up
from a microscope as Dr.  Nolan entered.

   "We have viable cells, doctor," the man said.  "Weird as hell; exactly
like you described."

   "Very well," Nolan replied with a sigh.  "Help me get the body into the
tank."

   With the other man's assistance, Dr.  Nolan lowered the remains into a
large glass tank partially filled with a thick scarlet liquid.  Over the
next hour, he checked and rechecked various sensors that monitored the
contents of the tank.  At that time, one of the other men peeked through
the door to inform the doctor that, not only were the remains of the other
vampires not in the basement, but they were missing at least one regular
body as well.  Dr.  Nolan nodded in acknowledgment and waved the man off.
He then returned his attention to the tank and its occupant: there still
had been no sign of any metabolic activity.

   Curiosity, always one of his weaknesses, got the better of him, and he
decided to test one of his pet theories.  Opening a cabinet, Dr.  Nolan
removed a large cage full of rats.  Returning to the tank with one of the
rodents, he gently raised the body's head above the surface of the fluid
and impaled the rat on the long fangs.  He held it there until it had gone
limp with death and then repeated the process until the cage was empty.

   He again turned the beam of his flashlight on the body's face.  Some of
the previously charred tissue around the mouth was now healthy and pink.

   Grimly, he pulled out his cell phone, and punched in a number that he
wasn't permitted to keep in his contacts list.  He waited for a few seconds
while the encryption software synced with that of the receiving phone.

   Disposing with pleasantries or preliminaries, the voice on the other end
asked, "Do you have it?"

   "We have one, General.  The others that were reported to be here
aren't," Nolan answered.

   "Good work, doctor, I knew you were the right man for the job.  Can it
be restored?"

   "I believe so, General, but, again, I would strongly advise against..."

   "The proper precautions have been taken.  Stop worrying, doctor."

   "General, we really have no idea what we're dealing with.  The only
information we have about them is from a short briefing Detective McNelly
gave on how to destroy them, and what we could expect when facing them.  If
what he told us is true..."

   "I repeat.  All necessary precautions have been taken.  Get to New
Jersey."

   With a click, the line went dead.

   Chapter 1

   September Thirtieth

   As the sun set, Dana pulled the big Mercedes sedan off of the highway
and onto an unmarked gravel road.  She cringed at the sound of bits of rock
pinging off the bottom and sides of the car; this was no way to treat a
luxury automobile.  She had always wanted one, though, and Tom and Mia, her
friends and lovers, had insisted on getting it for her.  Living where they
did, Dana now thought that a primer colored, vintage pick-up truck would
probably have been a better choice.

   She followed the meandering, one lane road over and around the thickly
forested hills for nearly a mile before her car emerged into a clearing. 
At the center of the neatly kept lawn was a large, cedar home.  It was a
bright, airy affair; the outer walls more window than wood.  The sight of
it always made Dana grin.  Looking at the place, no one would ever guess
that it was the lair of a pair of vampires.  And their sweet, innocent,
incredibly insightful and beautiful mortal minion, of course, she humbly
appended .

   The gravel road came to an end at the two car garage attached to the
house.  After parking inside and grabbing the bag from her shopping
excursion, Dana peeked through the door that led into the basement.  The
large, steel vault door on the opposite wall was hanging open; the room
beyond in shadow.  Well, she thought, at least they had managed to get out
of bed tonight.  She supposed that was a good sign.

   Acting on sudden inspiration, she waddled across the basement to Tom and
Mia's sleeping chamber at the fastest pace she could manage this far along
in her pregnancy.  The room had been built by a company that specialized in
the construction of panic rooms for the rich and paranoid.  Having been
raised to be strictly frugal, the sight of one of the invoices for the work
had almost made her faint.

   Most of the interior of the room was taken up by a king sized bed and a
single dresser.  Along one wall was a bank of monitors that were connected
to a series of carefully concealed cameras that allowed the occupants of
the room to view the rest of the interior of the house and the yard
outside. Along the wall opposite the monitors were a small bathroom and a
large enclosure that housed a massive air filtration unit.  The monitors
and the air filter were never really used by them, but Tom had thought that
it might look suspicious to refuse the standard bells and whistles that
came with such a place.

   Flicking on the monitors, she gazed from one to the other until she
located her life impaired house mates.  They were seated at the picnic
table in the backyard, each busily draining the life from a big, fluffy
bunny.  Two other limp, fuzzy forms on the table indicated that the pair
was almost done with their dinner.  Involuntarily, Dana's tongue came out
in the universal expression of disgust.  She just couldn't figure out how
they could eat things that were so cute.

   Spared the trouble of searching for her companions, she turned the
monitors back off, and tottered out of the garage and around the side of
the house.  As she rounded the corner into the back yard, Tom was just
finishing skinning and dressing the bodies of their repast while Mia
watched listlessly.  They both looked horrible.  There were large, black
bags under their eyes, and their skin was sallow and looked like it was a
size or two too big.  Clucking sympathetically, Dana gathered them each
into a tight hug, and gave them a peck on the cheek.

   Tom attempted a smile, the expression looking grisly on his drawn face.
"Welcome home," he said.

   Mia merely nodded her agreement.

   Fingering one of the rabbit pelts, Dana said sadly, "I still don't
understand why it has to be bunnies. ...  Why not rats, or ...  I dunno ...
something else kinda nasty?"

   Tom gestured at the rows of 2 x 4 and chicken wire cages that surrounded
the periphery of the yard and contained their fluffy food.  "They breed
like...  well, like rabbits, so they're a sustainable food source," he
explained.  "Besides, we can sell the meat to Peter, so we have a cover
business.  There's not much of a market for rat meat."

   With a chagrined expression, he then said, "I just realized that your
question was rhetorical; you already knew all of that.  Sorry ...  I just
can't seem to think straight lately."

   Dana responded by giving him an affectionate pat on the back as she
moseyed toward the back door.  Halfway there, she paused to rub her back
with a groan of discomfort.

   "I swear the little guy has been kicking me in the kidneys all day," she
grumped.

   Instantly solicitous, Mia and Tom rushed to Dana's side to support her
weight as they hustled her inside to the couch.  There, they laid Dana on
her back with her head in Mia's lap.  Tom then began to massage her feet
and calves as Mia smoothed coconut oil over the girl's distended belly.

   "Mmm," Dana murmured contentedly.  "Every pregnant woman should have a
couple of vile, bloodsucking undead to take care of them."

   She giggled as the vile, bloodsucking undead to whom she had referred
responded by tickling her momentarily.

   The unborn infant was Tom's, conceived on his last night as a mortal
human being.  The three had decided to raise the child together as a
family, albeit an unorthodox one.  Dana had originally had her doubts about
the situation; parenthood just hadn't been on her agenda at this point in
her life.

   Mia's enthusiasm and joy had, however, proved to be highly contagious.
It hadn't taken Dana long to realize that this was Mia's first and, in all
likelihood, only chance to be involved in the rearing of a child as
vampires were, fortunately or unfortunately, sterile.  The woman had seized
upon it tenaciously.

   Once Dana's tummy was gleaming with oil, Mia switched to rubbing her
friend's shoulders.  As she looked down into Dana's smiling face, her eyes
involuntarily slid down to Dana's throat and fixed on the pulsing of the
carotids.  Suddenly, the throbbing of the hearts of mother and child filled
her senses.  She felt her fangs slide into place.  She glanced up at Tom
and saw that he was in a similar state.  Their eyes met.

   The appalled shock that reverberated from both ends of the bond between
them brought them back to their senses.  Feeling their bodies tense, Dana
glanced quickly from one shamed face to the other.

   She sighed deeply before asking irritably, "Were you two thinking about
biting me again?"



   When Mia and Tom both responded with an embarrassed nod, she blew out a
mouthful of air in exasperation.  "Don't you think it's about time you
admitted that animals just aren't enough?"

   "We have enough rabbits cleaned and prepped to make a run to Peter's
place to sell them.  Maybe he'll have a couple of lambs or pigs for us,"
Tom offered lamely.

   Dana shook her head, "You tried that a few weeks ago.  You were able to
keep your fangs to yourself for how long?  Oh ...  Yeah ...  I remember. 
It was only for that night.  And just look at you both.  You would look
right at place in one of those consumption hospitals from the nineteenth
century.  Lately, I feel like I'm living with zombies instead of vampires."

   Mia nodded sadly in agreement, "You're right, animals just aren't enough
in the long run.  We're becoming a danger to you and the baby." She
hesitated a moment before continuing in a low, sorrowful voice, "Maybe it's
time we waited outside for the sun to rise."

   As Tom began to voice his agreement, Dana jumped awkwardly up from the
couch and spun to face her lovers angrily.  "Maybe we'll just wait outside
until we burst into flame.  Maybe we'll just leave poor little Dana to
raise our child all by herself," she mimicked sarcastically.



   Glaring at the pair, she then yelled, "Don't either of you dare even
think about such nonsense!"

   Taken aback by Dana's display, Tom stammered, "Mia's right, if we wait
too much longer, we might not be able to stop ourselves.  Neither of us
could stand it if we so much as hurt you."

   "I wouldn't be very happy if you hurt me, either," Dana replied, "but
there is another solution."

   "What's that?" Tom asked.

   Mia looked at Dana with surprise.  Her lips curled into a slight smile,
and her eyes narrowed and shifted back to Tom with amused anticipation.

   "You know damn well what I'm talking about," Dana replied.  "There are
lots of people who the world would be better off without.  Murderers, child
molesters, televangelists, rapists, and employees of Fox news are all good
examples."

   Tom shook his head.

   "We can't just act as judge, jury and executioner ...," he began.

   "Why the hell not?" Dana cried out in frustration.  "Mia can look
through thoughts and recent memories.  You'll be able to too, someday.  You
can know for a fact whether a person is guilty of some heinous crime or
another.  You were a cop for almost twenty years, Tom.  Don't even try to
tell me that it didn't frustrate you to no end when someone that you knew
was guilty of an abominable act got off on a technicality.  For that
matter, what about all of the brutal crimes that go unsolved every single
friggin' day?  This is your chance to put things right.  What you'd be
doing wouldn't be murder, it would be justice."

   Tom remained unconvinced.  He responded quietly, "Even those who are
guilty of the worst crimes imaginable have the potential to redeem
themselves; to become productive members of society.  If we murder them -
and what you're proposing could not be considered anything other than
murder - we will not only be taking from them what they are now, but
everything that they could become."

   After a derisive snort, Dana answered, "You know as well as I do that
the nationwide rate of recidivism for violent offenders is roughly sixty
percent after three years.  So, most aren't reaching your precious
potential. ...  Not to mention the fact that the same mind scan that tells
you whether a person is guilty of a crime would also let you know if your
intended dinner is remorseful.  If so, you can always skip on to someone
else.  Look, the simple fact of the matter is that you and Mia are among
the most loving, caring people I know, even if you are blood sucking
freaks. ...  If some scumbags have to die to keep you alive and well, so be
it."



   The argument between Dana and Tom raged on for another half hour.  Mia
stayed on the sidelines, but the bond left Tom with no doubt as to whose
side she was on.  The surges of hope he felt from her each time Dana made a
particularly strong point caused his resolve to falter and then crumble. 
Unable to face the battle on two fronts, he turned to appeal to Mia.

   "We promised each other that we would live on nothing but animals," he
said.  He was briefly ashamed by the accusatory tone of his statement.

   Mia's expression became a mix of shame and sorrow.  "We tried our best.
It isn't working.  Now; all that's left to be decided is how badly we want
to go on living."

   Tom looked back and forth between the two women.  Neither of them said
another word, but neither retreated from the proposal.  He threw up his
hands in surrender.

   "All right.  If that's what the two of you want, I won't stand in the
way," he said grudgingly.

   Gracious in victory, Dana closed the gap between them with a few quick
waddles and threw her arms around him to pull him into a tight hug.

   She pressed her lips hard against his for a moment, and then, in a soft,
loving voice, said, "Good.  I love you both, and I can't imagine life
without you. ...  And, Tom?  It's not like you'll have to switch to eating
nothing but criminals.  You've made it this long on animals.  Surely, it
won't take much added to the rabbits to keep you healthy.  Think of them
more as an occasional diet supplement rather than a staple."

   Their attention was drawn by a loud jingling sound behind Tom.  Turning
they saw Mia, standing with a hand on a cocked hip, spinning a set of car
keys around a finger.

   "Hate to break up this Hallmark moment," she said, "but the night isn't
getting any younger."

   "You want to do this now?" Tom asked dubiously.  "I thought I would at
least have a day or two to get used to the idea."

   "The longer we wait the more likely it is that we're going to hurt
someone we care about," Mia said without much sympathy.  "Besides," her
expression said more eloquently than words, "I'm not about to give you a
chance to change your mind."

   With a despairing sigh, Tom followed Mia out to the garage and the new
Ford Flex that had replaced Tom's ancient Escort.  The latter vehicle had
been destroyed by Arthur, or, as Mia and Dana were fond of saying, been put
out of its misery.  As they approached the vehicle, Mia tossed Tom the
keys.

   "You're making me drive, too?  That seems rather cruel," Tom commented
as he snatched the keys from the air.

   "Poor baby," Mia said, "I would be happy to do it, but even though you
and Mark got me a driver's license with my new identity, you've never
gotten around to actually teaching me how to drive."

   The scorn she heaped upon the word 'identity' made it abundantly clear
that the name choice still rankled.  Tom grinned to himself, but decided
not to rub it in.

   "Oh.  Yeah.  Shit," he muttered.

   After they were seated inside, Tom asked, "So, where to?"

   "Erie is closest.  We would probably have better luck in Pittsburgh or
Cleveland, though."

   "Pittsburgh's out.  Mark got promoted to lieutenant, and I would hate to
put him in the position of having to choose between us and his duty."

   "Okay.  Let's go to Erie tonight, then.  It's already getting late."

   As they pulled out of the garage, Mia asked, "Why is it that Dana got a
Mercedes, and we drive around in a station wagon?"

   "It's a crossover, honey, not a station wagon," Tom replied, "and it
just wouldn't seem right to haul coolers full of dead bunnies around in a
Mercedes."

   "A crossover?  What's the difference?"

   The corner of Tom's mouth twitched upwards in a sardonic half smile as
he replied, "Station wagons aren't cool."

   From their home on the center of the border between Crawford and Warren
counties, Erie was only a half hour drive.  When they reached the outskirts
of the small city, Mia lowered her window and peered out at the people on
the sidewalks.

   "Decent person ...  Decent person ...  Decent person," she commented as
she searched the thoughts and memories of those they passed.

   She repeated this same statement hundreds of times over the next few
miles of their meandering path through the well kept residential districts.

   "You're doing wonders to restore my faith in humanity," Tom commented
brightly.



   Mia reached over to give his hand a comforting squeeze.  "I hate to
burst your bubble, but I just mean that they haven't committed any major
crimes recently enough for me to detect.  Most are bubbling over with
greed, envy, anger, hatred ...  Well, you get the idea."

   "Oh," Tom said as he slumped down with a sigh of disappointment, "Thanks
for the clarification, I suppose."

   Mia raised his hand to her lips.  "I really am sorry, sweetheart, but,
with the aptitude you've shown for our mental abilities, you'll be able to
do this fairly soon.  I love you too much to let you be crushed when the
reality doesn't meet your expectations.  If it makes you feel any better,
there were some who seemed to be truly decent people."

   Tom responded by squeezing her hand and running a finger gently along
her lower lip.  "I don't like to ask this," he said hesitantly, "but is
there any way you could command me not to feel guilty over what we're
planning to do?"

   Mia's head twisted around rapidly to face him.  Her eyes brimming with
tears, she quietly asked, "Could you please pull over?"

   When Tom had complied, she vaulted from her seat into his lap and
wrapped him tightly in her arms.  Pressing her cheek against his, she
whispered, "The compulsion that's part of the bond between Master and
fledgling doesn't work like that, my love.  I can command you to perform
physical acts, but I can't control your thoughts or emotions.  Even if I
could, I would never do such a thing.  If you didn't feel bad about what
we're going to do, you wouldn't be the man I fell in love with."

   "You brought my hunger under control...," he began in protest.

   She cut him off gently, "Hunger is a physical sensation, not an emotion,
and, if you think about it, you'll recall that I just kept you from acting
on it; I didn't take it away."

   She chewed on her lip for a moment before slowly continuing, " I love
you, Tom, with all of my heart and whatever remains of my soul.  When I
gave you the Gift, I made myself a simple promise: if you weren't able to
live with the hunger, I would face the sun with you.  I will not force you
to act against your nature, and I couldn't bear to live without you.  So,
regardless of Dana's wishes, I will keep that promise if you don't want to
take a human life."

   Tom held Mia tightly to him.  "I love you, too," he said fervently.  "I
want to live, and, even more, I want you to go on living.  If what we're
planning is the only way that can happen, then that is what I'll do.  This
is just really hard for me.  I spent my entire life protecting people. 
Going against that is proving to be a hard pill to swallow.  It's a cold,
cruel thing, balancing the value of one life, even my own, against the
value of someone else's.  But I've done so, and decided that our life
together is worth more to me than the life of a criminal.  If there is a
God, may he have mercy on my soul and the souls of those that will die so
that I may live."

   The anguish that Mia had been feeling through the bond for some time
burst free, and the tears began.  Mia held him comfortingly until the sobs
subsided.  As the grief ebbed, embarrassment rose up to take its place.

   Mia pulled back to stare him in the eye.  "Don't you dare feel shame
over crying," she said fiercely.  "As long as you can cry, as long as you
experience grief over what we have to do to survive, you are still human
and not the monster that the hunger can turn you into."

   "Does it ever get easier?"

   "The first is the hardest, but it never gets easy.  At least you should
hope that it doesn't."

   "We should probably get to it before we run out of time," Tom said
despondently.

   Mia leaned in to kiss him passionately before crawling back over to her
own seat.  She clasped one of his hands tightly in both of hers as he drove
the crossover back out onto the street.

   Returning her gaze to the sidewalk, she soon resumed her litany of,
"Decent person ...  Decent person."

   After a few minutes of this Tom glanced over at her, his forehead
creased in thought.

   "There was evidence that Arthur could control thoughts and emotions," he
ventured before quickly adding, "I'm not asking you again to do it for me,
I'm just curious."

   While continuing her search, Mia nodded absently.  "Yes, Arthur could do
it.  It's an ability that grew out of the power of suggestion rather than a
property of the bond between Master and fledgling.  It's an abomination.  I
find it so repugnant that I've never manifested even an inkling of the
ability myself."

   Mia leaned forward as her eyes tracked a tall, thin man strutting
jauntily down the sidewalk.  "Adulterer and embezzler?" she asked.

   "Are you serious?" Tom asked incredulously.  "Those are hardly capital
offenses in any civilized nation.  Not to mention that if we ate him
because of the first, it would be kinda hypocritical."

   "What do you mean?" Mia asked.

   "Well, ever since we said our vows before that Justice of the Peace,
every time we've made love with Dana has been adultery."

   "That's different," Mia protested.

   "It's sex outside the bond of marriage, and, thus, technically it is
adultery," Tom replied loftily.

   "Hmmm, I never really thought of it that way.  We're going to have to do
something to make our relationship with her more official.  I would hate
for her to feel left out."

   With a faint grin, Tom replied, "I doubt the Mormons would have us,
sugar plum.  Now that I think about it, most religions would probably be a
bit put off by the whole evil undead thing."

   Mia's eyebrows shot upwards.  "Sugar plum?" she asked incredulously.

   "Just trying it on for size.  I like it.  It may become my new
endearment of choice."

   Giggling slightly, Mia replied, "I've been a gentle mistress so far, but
if the words 'sugar plum' ever come from your lips again I may just have to
command you to do something embarrassing."

   "Hmmm, like what, Mistress snuggle bunny?"

   Suppressing a laugh, Mia leaned over to whisper menacingly in his ear.

   With a snort of laughter, Tom said, "Pffft, this is Western
Pennsylvania, snookums.  No one would even notice if I did that.  Well,
except the poor chicken and badger of course.  Besides, where would we even
find a badger?  I'm pretty sure they're not indigenous."

   Mia's mouth opened to respond and then abruptly snapped closed as her
head twisted around to look out her window.  "Wife beater," she said.  Tom
tried to ignore the excitement in her voice.

   Tom slowed the car and began to look for a parking spot.  "How bad of a
wife beater?" he asked.

   "The man hits the woman he's supposed to love, and you want to know how
hard?" Mia asked disdainfully.

   "Well, it's always wrong, but it wouldn't seem right to kill him if he
just shoved her around a little on very rare occasions."

   "Right now he's relishing the memory of giving her a black eye and a fat
lip earlier for not having his dinner ready the moment he got home. ... 
Oh, and he had gotten off work an hour early and didn't tell her."

   "Works for me," Tom replied as he hastily parked the car.

   The pair grimly exited the vehicle and caught up to the man Mia had
targeted.  This portion of the city was seedier than the others that they
had been in.  The squat, ugly buildings were uniformly drab and stained
with soot.

   "Does Erie have traffic cameras, or do you see any cops with infra red
gear?" Mia asked as they began to shadow him.

   "Not that I'm aware of and no," Tom replied, suddenly peering
suspiciously at all of the lamp posts and traffic signals.

   "Good," Mia said as her eyes narrowed in concentration.  With a
surprised squeak, she stumbled and nearly fell.

   Tom reached out a hand to steady her.  "Are you alright?" he asked with
concern.

   "Yes, I'm just a little weaker than I thought.  Planting a suggestion
from this range took everything I had.  If it worked, he should be turning
into that dark alley a half block up the street."

   As they rapidly closed the distance to their quarry, Tom commented, "By
the way, it wouldn't take much to rekindle the hysteria from the Pittsburgh
incident.  What are we going to do with our, uh, empties?"

   "I have an idea, but it's going to be unpleasant."

   "I'll follow your lead then, my sweet, dark Mistress of the night.  You
should go first, anyway, because the second one will be easier if you're at
full strength."

   With a roll of her eyes, Mia asked, "Is this sudden endearment fetish
going to last long?"

   "Hmm, I'm rather enjoying it, so probably at least another hundred years
or so.  Besides, it's keeping my mind off what we're doing."

   "Oh.  In that case, you can call me snookums all you want.  Another
sugar plum, though, and I will gleefully order you to find a damn badger,
whether they're native or not."

   She drew his attention by raising a hand, palm out, between them.  As he
watched, the tips of her fingers rippled with change, and the tiny whorls
on the pads smoothed out.  With a nod, she asked, "Have you been
practicing?"

   Tom mentally visualized the pads of his fingers both the way they were
normally and how they would appear without fingerprints.  Concentrating
hard, he superimposed the latter image over the former, and willed the
change to occur.  So all consuming was the effort that he stumbled over a
section of uneven pavement.  It was Mia's turn to catch him before he could
fall.

   "You ok?" she asked.

   He looked at his fingertips for a moment before holding them up for her
inspection.  They were perfectly smooth.

   She beamed at him like a proud parent.  "I knew you could do it," she
said enthusiastically.

   "Thanks," he replied with a smile, before looking around nervously. 
"We're attracting a lot of attention with all of our stumbling about. 
Maybe we should try our luck elsewhere."

   "Everything's fine, no one will recall seeing us," Mia said soothingly.
A moment later, she muttered under her breath, "At least I hope not."

   The conversation ceased as their target did indeed turn into the alley
that Mia had indicated.  The wife beater walked halfway down the dark back
street before he abruptly stopped and looked around in confusion.  In that
moment, Mia was upon him.  She clamped a hand over his mouth and pulled him
behind a dumpster.  As weak as she was, she was still unhindered by his
struggles..

   As Tom nervously looked on, Mia changed the nail on her forefinger into
a sharp claw and drew it swiftly across her dinner's throat.  As the blood
began to gush, she clamped her mouth over the grievous wound.  Thick, hot
liquid poured down her throat, and both she and her victim began to quiver
in pleasure.  Tom looked away in mild embarrassment as a large wet spot
appeared on the front of the wife beater's denim cut offs.

   When the deed was done, Mia hastily wiped off the wound with the back of
her hand to prevent her saliva from healing it.  Narrowing the point of her
claw, she engraved the words 'wife beater' in large, crude letters across
his forehead.

   "That's your plan?" Tom asked doubtfully.

   "Mmmhmm," Mia answered.  "At this point, everyone more or less believes
that the situation in Pittsburgh was caused by a disease that turned those
afflicted into mindless, rabid beasts.  They won't connect that to the
murder of a victim that was obviously targeted specifically.  Even those
who know that vampires exist won't have any reason to think that this is
anything other than a vigilante killing.  The easiest conclusion to draw is
that this scumbag was killed elsewhere and then dumped here.  We'll just
have to be careful not to spill so much blood at a scene that they can tell
the killing was done there.  If we do, it won't take them long to figure
out that a lot of blood is missing."

   Mia's muscles tensed as she gripped the body by the chin and the back of
the head.



   Before she could complete the act, Tom cried out, "Wait!"

   When she paused, he hurriedly explained, "I would be willing to bet that
the combination of a broken neck and a body drained of blood will throw up
red flags in most government law enforcement agencies."

   Mia nodded agreeably and extended a finger.  The nail quickly grew into
a wide, flat blade.  With a crunch of bone, she drove the cruel spike into
the base of the man's skull.

   She withdrew the spike and spread a thin sheen of saliva over the
external wound to close it.  Turning her attention back to Tom, she said
calmly, "Severing the brain stem should work just as well. ...  Anything
else?"

   Tom's jaw opened and shut a few times in shock over the cold blooded
display.  Finally, he commented lamely, "Uh, you have blood all over your
shirt."

   "Easily handled now," Mia said with a smile.  Putting action to words,
she narrowed her eyes in concentration and the blood in question dried and
flaked off; the dust blowing away in the breeze from the nearby great lake.


   They quickly searched the body and pocketed the cash they found to
reinforce the impression that this had been a mortal crime.  They then
threw the body into the dumpster and searched the area thoroughly to make
sure there were no blood spatters.  Mia had moved quickly enough that,
other than her shirt, there were none.

   When they emerged back onto the well lit street, Tom looked Mia over
carefully.  Her eyes were sparkling; her skin taut and healthy.  There were
no signs that the black bags under her eyes had ever existed.  Best of all,
she once again exuded the vibrant energy that had been so noticeably
lacking over the past few months.

   "You're looking good, poppet," he commented admiringly.  "Let's pray
that the Botox crowd never finds out about this."

   "Thanks, lump," Mia replied with a smile.  "How about we find you one
now?"

   "Lump?"

   "You have your endearments.  I have mine," Mia answered haughtily as she
strutted down the sidewalk.

   Laughing, Tom did his best to keep up.

   They drove around the city's streets for several more hours.  During
that time, Tom rejected a number of car thieves, drug dealers, shop
lifters, and a man who was guilty of wearing a cowboy hat in Pennsylvania.

   Shortly after he had turned down an armed robber, mostly because no one
had been hurt during the crime, Mia's eyes narrowed in disgust as she
tracked an average looking man in expensive clothes.

   "I found a winner," she hissed.  "Even if you weren't hungry, I think I
might have to kill him on principle."

   "Really?" Tom replied.  "What did he do?"

   "Yesterday afternoon, he raped the ten year old girl that lives next
door to him.  After he was done, he told her that, if she ever told anyone,
his friends would kill her parents, grandparents and all of her friends. 
Lies, of course, but she apparently believed him."

   "See a parking spot?" Tom asked grimly.

   Twenty minutes later, Tom stood over the man's body.  Stretching his
ability to change to the fullest, he turned the nail on his right index
finger into a short but sharp claw.  Bending down he etched the words
'Child Rapist' into the skin of the man's forehead.

   Pulling the man's head up so that Mia could sever the brain stem, Tom
commented coldly, "Before he died, I caught a number of images from his
mind. ...  As long as we stick to filth like him, I think I might be able
to do this."

   As they made their way out of the city, Mia reached over to switch the
car's heat on high.  Tom shot her a curious look; while they could sense
variations in temperature far more accurately than they could while they
were alive, extremes in temperature no longer caused them discomfort.  Mia
responded to his glance with a small enigmatic smile.

   Soon they left the four lane highway for a narrow, winding rural road.
After several miles of companionable silence, Mia abruptly hunched her hips
upwards and pushed her jeans and panties off.  Before Tom could speak, she
pulled his right arm from the steering wheel and swung a leg over his hips
to straddle him.  She settled into his lap and leaned forward to press her
lips passionately to his.

   Although Tom returned her kiss with ardor, he still felt compelled to
protest.  "Ok.  First driving lesson," he mumbled breathlessly when their
lips parted.  "This just isn't very safe."

   "No?" Mia replied in a throaty whisper.  "Well, in that case, don't you
think you should be looking for a place to park?" She cut off any further
protest with another kiss.

   As their tongues dueled, Tom did his best to hold his own while peering
anxiously at the road through the golden silk strands of her hair.  As the
car swerved from one side of the road to the other, he gave silent thanks
that the road was devoid of traffic and police.  Finally, at the edge of
the range of the high beams, he saw the deep ruts that marked the entrance
to an access road for one of the many natural gas wells in the area.  He
slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel frantically.  Tires squealing, the
crossover made the tight turn onto the rudimentary road.

   The car bounced furiously before coming to a stop.  Before Tom could
even put it into park, Mia had undone the button and zipper on his jeans.
Finding him already hard, she angled his throbbing length upwards and
impaled herself upon him.  As he slid into the wet folds of her pussy,
their low moans of pleasure resonated in the tight confines of the car.

   Tom fumbled around behind her, trying to find the ignition.

   "Why don't you leave it running?" Mia asked breathlessly.  "It's always
better with warm skin."

   "Ahhh," Tom mumbled as his lips searched for hers, "I was wondering why
you wanted the heat on."

   Mia raised and lowered herself experimentally a few times, each attempt
ending with a small thump as her head hit the roof.  She hunched down low
and found the release for his seat.  Tom let out a small exclamation of
surprise as he suddenly plummeted backwards.

   "It took everything I had not to do this right after I ate," she
whispered fervently as her hips began to passionately undulate.

   "I've been thinking about that.  Feeding seemed a lot more...  intense
than it is with the rabbits.  Like we were specifically designed to feed on
people and nothing else," Tom gasped out between groans of pleasure.

   "Uh huh," Mia replied as she increased the pace.  When Tom looked like
he was going to say more, she cut him off with a kiss.  Pulling back
slightly, she said, "Before you go any further, I have no idea how vampires
came into existence.  I don't think Arthur did, either.  In any event,
don't you think that such a conversation could maybe wait for another
time?"

   Tom grinned up at her, "Sorry, curiosity got the better of me.  I have a
surprise that might make up for it, though." He closed his eyes in
concentration, and again went through what was, for him anyway, the slow
process of change.

   Mia came to a sudden stop.  She flexed the muscles that surrounded his
manhood as she felt large, firm knobs form along the formerly smooth length
of his shaft.  She threw back her head in laughter.

   "Well," Tom said dejectedly, "that certainly wasn't the reaction I was
hoping for."

   Still giggling, Mia leaned down for another kiss.  "It feels great, my
love.  I wasn't laughing at your effort.  I was just thinking that when I
asked you earlier if you had been practicing, I should have known that you
had been ...  and with what part." With a roll of her eyes, she added,
"Men."

   "Yep," Tom said agreeably, "we're pigs."

   "I can't wait to tell Dana you said that," Mia said with a smile as she
made some subtle alterations of her own.  "She was beginning to think that
we would never be able to teach you anything."

   After that, conversation between the couple devolved into the soft
sounds of passion.  Tom gripped Mia's hips and began to thrust forcefully
up into her.  Mia closed her eyes and threw her head back in pleasure.

   "Faster!  Harder!  Don't stop!" she shouted throatily.

   Tom immediately increased his pace, speeding up until his modified organ
was churning her copious juices into a froth.  Mia's fingernails bit into
Tom's shoulders as her body began to spasm in orgasm.  The pulses of
pleasure were still coursing through her when she felt his seed, warm from
the car's heater, splash deep inside her.  The sensation sent her back to
blissful heights.  Through it all, Tom's rapid thrusts continued unabated.

   When her orgasms had mostly subsided, she opened her eyes and grinned
lazily down at her still pumping lover.  The grin faded with astonishment
when she saw the look of pained exhaustion on his face.  While formidable,
their endurance wasn't inexhaustible.

   "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said hastily.  "You can stop now."

   With a groan, Tom collapsed back into his seat, his hands clasped over
his cramped abdominal muscles.  Mia felt anger and resentment flash
fleetingly through the bond before his emotions settled into dull
resignation.  She was grateful when he accepted and returned her embrace.

   "I really am sorry," she whispered in his ear as she held him tight.

   "I know you are," he replied quietly as he traced his fingers up and
down her spine, "and I know the whole absolute obedience thing is almost as
much of a pain in the ass for you as it is for me." With a small frown, he
added severely, "At least this wasn't nearly as bad as a few weeks ago when
you told me that I could take my friggin' rabbit and shove it up my ass."

   Mia went stiff as she worked hard to quell the uprising of mirth
inspired by the memory of his attempts to comply with that inadvertent
order before she could countermand it.  When she finally trusted herself to
speak she said, "I'll try harder.  I promise."

   Tom pushed her upwards until he could look her in the eye.

   "The bond works both ways, you know," he said sternly.  "I can't believe
you thought the thing with the rabbit was funny."

   They stared at each other soberly for a long moment until Mia was no
longer able to withhold a snicker.  Tom's frown deepened as she broke down
into a giggling fit.  The absence of any malice or mean spiritedness in her
amusement soon caused him to relent with a small chuckle of his own.

   "Ok, I suppose it was a little funny," he said.  "A very little."

   Mia swooped back down for another quick embrace before disengaging and
returning to her own seat.  Sensing that Tom was still more than a little
sullen, she decided not to tell him that Dana had saved the surveillance
video of the unfortunate rabbit incident.



   Chapter 2

   September Twelfth to October Fifteenth

   Dr.  Nolan walked rapidly down the long, windowless corridor.  By decree
from above, this portion of the small, underground laboratory was all but
abandoned after dark.  As a result, he was accompanied only by the echo of
his footfalls on the highly polished tiles of the floor.  At the end of the
hall stood a massive, steel door.  His hand shaking slightly in
trepidation, Dr.  Nolan entered his eight digit code into a pad to the
door's right.  He then stooped to have his retina scanned, and swiped his
security card through a reader.  After all of these tasks had been
completed, there was whir of electric motors followed by heavy clunks as
the thick deadbolts disengaged.

   The room behind the door was centered on a large, one way window that
looked out into absolute darkness.  The only occupant of this room was a
soldier in full combat gear.  When Dr.  Nolan entered, he found himself
staring down the barrel of the soldier's weapon.  Dr.  Nolan held his
identification badge up next to his face, and waited while the soldier
checked his name against the very short list of authorized personnel that
was printed on the wall behind the doctor.  This was done meticulously even
though the soldier had passed the doctor through on hundreds of previous
occasions.

   When the soldier finally lowered his weapon, Dr.  Nolan walked to the
bank of controls and monitors that ran the length of the wall beneath the
window.  The flick of a few switches produced a low hum, and then the room
beyond the window was illuminated by row after row of florescent tubes. 
The vast chamber was an unrelieved white, from the tiles on the floor to
the painted concrete walls and ceiling.

   At the far end of the room, a man was held in a standing position with
arms outstretched.  There were thick steel bands circling his chest,
stomach, neck, thighs, elbows and wrists.  A dome of a duller colored metal
crowned his head.  All of the restraints were anchored to a thick steel
post that ran from the floor to the ceiling.  A web of wires attached him
to a variety of machines that hummed and beeped as they monitored every
conceivable property of his condition.

   "Anything, uh, unusual to report?" Nolan asked.

   "Other than the fact that he's awake, no," the guard replied.

   Dr.  Nolan and the soldier moved to a second reinforced door, and each
produced a key suspended from chains around their necks.  They turned their
keys simultaneously, and the door swung silently open.  Dr.  Nolan strode
hastily through it.  He had only taken a few steps into the room when the
door automatically pulled shut.  He flinched at the click of the locks
sliding home.

   He strode with feigned confidence to the tightly bound man, and forced
himself to meet the eyes that stared at him balefully from beneath the
thick lead cap.

   "Welcome back among the living," Dr.  Nolan said, his voice cracking
despite his efforts to keep it calm.  "Restoring you to that condition put
a sizeable dent in the lab's rat population.  Your name is Arthur,
correct?"

   Arthur remained silent.

   Over the next half hour, Dr.  Nolan bombarded his new lab specimen with
questions.  How old are you?  What year where you turned into a vampire? 
How often do you need to feed?  How do you create others of your kind? 
What abilities do you have besides the obvious?  Why are you harmed by the
sun's touch?  How many of your kind are there in the country?  How many in
the world?  Who put the stake through your heart?  What happened to the
woman that was with you?

   Arthur made no reply.  He didn't even bother to breathe.

   Pacing back and forth in front of the vampire, Dr.  Nolan sighed and
wrung his hands.  "I know this situation is hardly a pleasant one for you,
Arthur," he said.  "Believe me when I tell you that I don't really want to
be here, either.  Look on the bright side, though.  You're not burned up,
staked and buried in a basement any more.  Don't you think a little
cooperation is warranted?"

   In a hoarse voice, Arthur stated impassively, "I am surprised that
Detective McNelly hasn't already given you the answers to all of your
questions.  He caught me as being one of those bootlickers who are always
so eager to please."

   Dr.  Nolan met Arthur's eyes with surprise, "Tom McNelly is dead.  My
understanding is that you killed him."

   "Ahh, what a pity," Arthur said smugly.  "What of Mia?"

   "I see what you're doing.  Sorry.  I'm going to have to insist on at
least a quid pro quo."

   Arthur again went silent and remained so through the rest of that
session and many of the ones that took place nightly for the next several
months.

   The nature of the information that the higher ups wanted required that a
large variety of physical samples be taken.  Once Dr.  Nolan discovered
that anesthesia didn't work on the undead, he left most of such work to his
lab assistant, Susan Wong, a woman of mixed Asian and Irish ancestry.  She
attended to such matters with a clinical detachment that Nolan alternately
respected and found appalling.

   With scalpels and needles, she collected endless samples of Arthur's
flesh and fluids.  Together, they exposed him to light of various
spectrums, and radiation of every conceivable wavelength.  They caused him
injury with an amazing variety of solids and timed how long it took for
those wounds to heal.  In the name of science, they shocked him, burned
him, cut off extremities, and removed organs.  Several times, acting on
orders from above, they had his dormant body carried to a specially
prepared room where they could expose small parts of him to sunlight.  When
Arthur awoke at dusk to find his hands or feet burnt to the bone, the
curses and threats that he uttered sent chills up and down Nolan's spine.

   Arthur had no choice but to endure it all.  Even as a fledgling, he had
never known such weakness, or such hunger.  While the lead cap was
laughable, his attempts to plant suggestions in the minds of his tormentors
resulted in nothing more than his own severe headache.  As time went on,
the emptiness inside him grew; they fed him nothing but a few rats each
night.  In time, it took all of his effort, all of his will, to simply
maintain his sanity and his very identity in the face of that gnawing
hunger.

   On occasion, he despaired and considered just giving in to that
mindless, ravenous part of him.  The thought of becoming nothing more than
a bestial feral did have its attractions under his present circumstances.
Each time, though, he forced himself to go on.  His captors were, after
all, only human.  Eventually, someone would swing the lead.  When they
did...Oh, when they did, he would teach these foolish men and women the
meaning of wrath.  He would show these dabblers what evil truly was.

   Nearly a month into his ordeal, he experienced the sensation of a small
bubble of emotion forming on the fringes of his consciousness.  The raw
anger and hunger that poured from the newly created bond made it clear that
what had been created was a feral.  It persisted for several hours; its
rage hammering into his weakened mind like salt poured on a fresh wound. 
It then vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.  Over the next few nights,
this occurred again and again.

   And then a different kind of bubble appeared.  One that radiated calm,
confident discipline.  In the pitch black of his prison, Arthur smiled. 
Thereafter, he was careful to suppress his emotions to the fullest extent
of his considerable abilities, not wanting to give the being on the other
end of the bond any inkling of its full nature.  His artificially created
fledgling was certain to notice the presence of the bond.  It would
undoubtedly inspire curiosity.  As long as it was not also a source of fear
or suspicion, he or she would, in the fullness of time, come to
investigate.

   Chapter 3

   October Twenty-third

   The Greyhound bus from Portsmouth, Virginia arrived in Pittsburgh at
quarter after four in the morning.  The bleary eyed passengers slowly
stood, milled around for a few minutes, and then awkwardly pushed their way
out onto the stained concrete of the terminal to collect their baggage.

   Balathu of New Sippar patiently awaited his turn to collect a duffle bag
and a set of golf clubs.  Of medium height, he was a bit on the thin side,
but was in excellent physical condition.  He had dark eyes and the dark
hair for which his people, the sag-giga, had named themselves millennia
before.  His facial features could easily pass for Caucasian, and his skin
was light enough that it could be mistaken for a tan.  In part, he had been
chosen for this mission because of his appearance and the resulting ability
to blend in without notice.  This was a necessity, given the paranoia that
Americans presently exhibited towards people from his region.

   Slinging his luggage onto his shoulders, he walked to the ticket
counter, where, as promised, an envelope was waiting for him.  Inside was a
single key and a piece of paper with an address written on it.  The sects
of Utu, the sun god, and Pabilsag, god of the trees, had been waning in
numbers and influence for thousands of years, but some things they could
still accomplish.

   After quickly checking the address against a map of the city that hung
on one of the terminal walls, Balathu strode outside.  The city was still
in slumber.  Other than the stairwells, only a few windows of the tall
buildings that surrounded the intersection were lit.  Glancing around
curiously, he closed his eyes and performed a mental exercise.  One that he
had been required to repeat multiple times each day since he had begun his
training at the age of three.  In response to his internal mantra, his mind
purged of emotion.  His breath came out in a long, slow sigh as his body
relaxed.

   When he again opened his eyes, the city pulsed with color and light.  He
carefully studied the flows of zi, of life, of spirit, that suffused all
living things.  At this early hour, most of what he could see were mere
shadows of what had transpired in the days, weeks and months before.  Gorge
rose in his throat at the sight of the remnants of the twisted black lines
that marked the one time presence of his enemies.  The abominations, the
seeds of the Outsider, had been here and in great numbers.  At this very
intersection, between the federal building and the federal court house, a
powerful abomination had performed atrocities that he dared not imagine.

   Tentatively, he drew in a deep breath and tasted the zi.  The city's
collective spirit was tainted by the sour and sickly sweet flavor of fear,
but it was an old terror.  There was nothing to indicate that his enemies
were still present.  If only he could have gotten here sooner, but it had
taken months for news of the events to be received, analyzed and, finally,
believed by the heads of his sect.  He couldn't blame them for their
doubts. What had occurred was almost without precedent.  In fact, there had
only been three such occurrences in all of recorded history.  The first had
occurred in what was now known as Slaghtaverty Dolmen, another in fifteenth
century Europe, and the third, and most recent, on Roanoke Island in the
seventeenth century.  None of those instances, however, had even come close
to reaching the magnitude of this one.

   There had been further delays even after the decision had been made to
dispatch him.  The tramp freighter on which he had found employment had
taken several months to get from Zayed to Portsmouth.  It had steamed
slowly from port to port, exchanging one cargo for another until even his
well trained patience had been near the breaking point.  It would have been
so much better if he could have taken a plane, but that which he carried
could not be risked to the corrupt hands of customs officials or the inept
fumbling of baggage handlers.

   He pushed such thoughts aside.  The past could not be changed, and it
was pointless to lament that which might have been.  There was still much
he could accomplish here, such as tracking down the abominations that had
survived the battle and escaped the city.  He did not believe for a second
that a people as soft, decadent and willfully ignorant as the Americans
could have destroyed them all.

   He checked the street signs and began hiking to the address that he had
been given.  Twenty minutes later, he stood in front of a run down
apartment building in an area known as Polish Hill.  His key unlocked both
the lobby and the door of an apartment on the sixth floor.  The place had
formerly been leased by Thomas McNelly, a man who, if the reports they had
received were correct, had been at the center of the resistance of the
abomination offensive.  Unfortunately, again if the reports were correct,
McNelly had died as a result of his efforts.

   Since the time that the place had last been occupied, it had been
emptied of furniture.  The sect's agent had, however, placed a small futon
in the living room for Balathu's use.  It did not occur to Balathu to be
grateful; the man had simply been doing his duty, as did they all.

   When he entered the kitchen, he found a large manila envelope sitting on
the counter.  The name "Samuel Mason" was written on the front in large
black letters.  It was the same name that appeared on his passport, credit
card, and Pennsylvania driver's license.

   After opening the envelope and peering curiously at the documents and
thin cell phone it contained, he opened the refrigerator door.  Inside were
tubs of hummus and baba ghannouj and a plastic bag of lafa.  He prepared a
light repast, and walked back to the living room.  There, he knelt on the
floor and carefully pulled each of the woods and irons from his golf bag.
Once a club was free, he cast it carelessly aside.  They were a pretense,
nothing more, serving only to hide his sacred trust from prying eyes and
the electronic intrusions of x-ray machines and metal detectors.

   At last, he reverently withdrew a long, narrow, silk wrapped bundle from
the depths of the bag.  Sitting cross legged on the floor, he placed the
bundle in front of him and carefully undid the ties that held the silk
closed.

   Inside was a bronze sickle-sword that gleamed brightly even in the
feeble light filtering in through the window from the approaching dawn. 
The flat of the blade was thickly inscribed with cuneiform.  The hilt was
made of leather wrapped bone.  The leather had been replaced many times
over the centuries, but, if the legends were true, the bone was from the
thigh of the very first abomination that had been slain by his Order.

   The blade had been forged over the course of more than a hundred years
during the time that Khufu was building his tomb.  Its making had been
accomplished as much by fine manipulations of the zi as by hammer and fire.
It had been designed for only one purpose: to slay the seeds of the
Outsider.  The most minor of wounds that it inflicted would take weeks for
them to heal.  Any blow that it landed which would be fatal to a mortal
would also destroy an undead utterly and completely.

   In the language of his people it was known as Buzur Ud Ug, or Hand of
the Sun's Anger.  Like all novices before him, he had endlessly practiced
the forms with an identically weighted weapon in the hope that he would one
day be chosen to wield the sacred blade.  Now that the day had actually
arrived, he wondered if he was truly worthy.

   Taking the hilt in his hand, he rose to his feet.  In consideration of
the low ceiling, he ran through the most basic of the forms, consisting
only of a series of thrusts and low parries.  The sword felt right in his
hand, almost as if it were alive and was responding to his will instead of
only his muscles.  As he considered this, he realized that, in many ways,
it was a living thing.  Satisfied that his charge had made the journey
unscathed, he carefully returned it to its silk wrappings and stowed it
back in the bag.

   He again turned his attention to the packet of documents that had been
left for him.  The papers included the names and probable locations of all
known associates of McNelly, as they were the ones who were most likely to
have useful information concerning the incident.  It also contained
transcripts of the news broadcasts concerning the event.  The latter,
fortunately, had been greatly edited to eliminate needless repetition.  At
the top of the list of associates were Mark Kimmel, currently a lieutenant
in the homicide division of the police zone covering the downtown area, and
Dana Smith, whereabouts unknown.  Kimmel seemed the obvious person with
whom to begin his investigation of the event.

   He checked his battered Timex, and compared the time with the notes
concerning Kimmel's work schedule.  The policeman would be reporting for
duty in less than an hour.  Since he had time to kill, he did some light
calisthenics and took a hasty shower.  Returning to the living room with a
towel wrapped around his waist, he took a small cone of incense from his
bag.  As the smell of bakhour filled the room, he sat cross legged on the
floor and began to chant.

   After a few minutes, the chanting faded and then stopped.  From an
apparent vantage point just outside the living room window, he regarded his
motionless body, the now empty vessel of his spirit.  As always, the sight
of his own flesh existing apart from him caused a mild sense of vertigo. 
Pushing the sensation aside, he flew swiftly and invisibly through the city
to see what information could be gleaned from observing and listening in on
Kimmel's interactions.

   Chapter 4

   October Thirtieth

   Nate Belmont grinned at his brother Ed as they exited the ancient
hunting lodge with the black and tan coon hounds panting at their heels. 
It felt good to be back in the forest.  Forty years ago, when they were
kids, they had spent a good part of every fall and winter at this remote
place.  Back then it had been a necessity: without the meat taken during
the hunting excursions, their large catholic family, living on the income
of a single coal miner, would have teetered on the brink of starvation. 
Now, with Ed a successful private contractor and Nate safely ensconced in
the ranks of middle management of a Fortune 500 company, it was just for
fun.  Nate had to admit, though, that his mouth was watering more than a
little at the thought of raccoon stuffed with green apples and onions and
topped with strips of salted pork.

   Although October had almost drawn to a close, snow had not yet fallen.
The dry brown and red leaves crinkled under their feet as they walked
deeper into the woods.  They couldn't have asked for a more perfect night.
The air was crisp and clear, and the trees were bathed in the silvery light
of the waxing moon.  With low whistles, Nate and Ed sent the dogs ahead to
sniff out and tree their quarry.

   Moments later, the hounds began to bay.  Nate and Ed turned toward the
sound and picked up the pace, almost jogging through the starkly lit woods.
The barks grew more frenzied and increased in volume as they closed the
distance.  A broad, gleeful smile spread across Nate's face: these days,
the mutts might be more accustomed to lounging on the sofa than tracking
down varmints, but they could still do the job.  He twisted his head, and
gave his brother a terse nod, indicating that Ed could have the first kill
of the evening.  Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he reached up to
flick on his head mounted light.  With the moon so bright, it wasn't really
necessary, but every little bit helped.

   The dogs were soon in sight, barking up into the bare, skeletal limbs of
a large maple.  Nate bobbed his head to play the light through the
branches. There was a flash of greenish yellow as the beam of his headlamp
reflected off a raccoon's eyes.  Ed brought the butt of his rifle to his
shoulder, peering down through the phosphorescent marked open sights.  Many
hunters preferred shotguns for hunting coons at night, but the brothers
preferred to test their skill with high velocity .22's.

   The rifle barked once.  The raccoon jerked violently backwards, and fell
to the forest floor.  Nate quickly ran over to the trunk to hold the dogs
back from the kill.  He stood, giving his brother light and holding the
dogs, as Ed skinned and field dressed the animal.  It was a big one.  So
big that it would probably have to marinate for a day or more before it
would be tender enough to eat, but, in the end, it would be delicious.

   Before Ed could finish his task, the dogs began to whine and tried to
pull free from Nate's grasp.m He wondered if they had already caught the
scent of another animal.  Only one way to find out, he thought as he
released them.  To his surprise, the dogs didn't go galloping off into the
woods barking joyfully.  Instead, they skulked back in the direction of the
camp, crying and whining, their tails tucked between their legs and their
hackles raised.  A shiver ran up his spine.

   As he watched the dogs vanish in the distance, the sound of a stick
breaking beneath a foot caused Nate to jerk around to shine his light
frantically through the trees of the suddenly foreboding forest.  He
directed the beam toward dimly perceived movement, and started in surprise
when it illuminated a young woman in obvious distress.  The poor dear must
be freezing, he thought, as he took in the fact that she was dressed only
in a light skirt and thin blouse.  On the heels of this thought came the
realization that she was beautiful.  With a hint of guilt, his eyes traced
lasciviously over her lush, voluptuous curves

   The woman stopped a few yards from the men, and, teetering, grabbed hold
of the trunk of an oak to steady herself.

   "Please help me," she whispered in a voice so low that Nate had to
strain to hear it.

   Ed, his gun again in his hands, walked quickly to the woman's side and
peered out into the dark depths of the forest, unsuccessfully seeking
whatever had frightened the dogs and might be chasing her.

   "What seems to be the problem, Miss?" Ed asked.

   "I'm so hungry," she hissed.



   The malevolence in her voice brought Nate's eyes back to her face.  He
stumbled backwards in fright and shock as the soft, silvery light of the
moon reflected red from the eyes of a predator and gleamed off the long,
sharp fangs that were revealed by her snarl.

   She abandoned the pretense of feebleness.  Her hand, held straight and
flat, flashed out in a motion too quick for Nate's eyes to follow.  He
heard a sickening crunch as it connected with his brother's throat.  Ed's
gun fell to the ground at his feet as he staggered backwards, clutching
silently at his neck.  Nate pulled his own rifle from his shoulder as Ed
fell to his knees, his face noticeably swollen and blue even in the pale
lunar light.



   Before Nate could raise his weapon, the woman was upon him.  She took
hold of his flannel shirt just below the collar and hurled him to the
ground.  The impact sent his gun flying from his hands.  He started to pull
himself to his feet to scramble after it when her foot came down upon his
chest, pinning him helplessly to the forest floor.

   She bent over his supine form to grab hold of the waistband of his
jeans. With a violent jerk she tore the garment down his legs, the rough
fabric abrading his skin.  Goose bumps rose from his exposed parts at the
touch of the cool fall air.  Straddling his hips she squatted down to sit
on top of him.

   "It's your lucky night," she said as she smiled hungrily down upon him.
"I'm in need of more than just your blood."

   Nate gaped up at her, his mind struggling to comprehend the fact that
the thing that sat astride his hips wasn't truly human.  He began to pant
with fear as he watched the tip of her tongue slide sensuously over the
long, sharp teeth that gleamed so brightly in the moonlight.  She leaned
over and inhaled deeply, seemingly smelling him.

   Squeezing his eyes shut to block out the sight of her pale face, he
whispered, "This can't be happening.  Vampires aren't real."

   He flinched as her palm slapped hard against his forehead.  "Deny my
existence all you want.  You're still meat, in all senses of the word."

   Nate roused himself from his numb stupor as she started to pull the
skirt up her legs.  Without warning, he swung his fist at her jaw with all
of his strength.  She saw the blow coming and jerked her head to the side
to avoid it.  Before he could withdraw and swing again, she caught his arm
in both of her hands.

   "Shame on you," she chided.  "Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's not
nice to hit a girl?"

   She grunted with effort, and Nate screamed as his arm was wrenched from
its socket.

   Biting down on his pain, Nate clawed beneath the collar of his shirt
with his remaining hand and pulled out the small gold cross that his wife
had given him for their anniversary years before.  Brandishing it
triumphantly, he thrust it in front her face.

   Giggling with delight, she caught his wrist and held him steady as she
plucked the cross from his grasp.  She examined it closely before pulling
the chain up over the top of his head.

   "It's very pretty.  Thank you," she said mockingly as she hung it around
her own neck.  Still holding his wrist in one hand, she reached down to pat
his cheek gently with the other.  "Poor baby," she said with exaggerated
sympathy.  "What did you think would happen?  That I would cower back while
you ran away?  Sorry, sweety, but it just doesn't work that way outside the
movies.  You see, my god is a lot older than yours, and, unlike you, I know
mine exists.  I've seen it." Her eyes grew haunted at the memory, and a
shudder of fear and revulsion rippled down her body.

   Visibly steeling herself, she again smiled down at him, "Enough about
that, though.  Time to get back to business."

   Using one hand, she slowly pulled his arm upward.  He was awed by her
strength:
struggle as he might, he couldn't stop the movement or pull himself

free. When his arm was straight, she struck at his elbow with her other
hand.  He heard a wet snap as the joint gave way.  Oddly, he felt nothing
for a moment, but then agony spiked white hot through his nervous system.
She laughed wildly as screams of pain erupted from his throat.

   She reached down between their bodies, and he felt her fingers, cold as
the grave, caress his fear shriveled manhood.  She gave the flaccid flesh a
few desultory strokes before sliding her hands up to his shoulders.

   He looked up at her through watery eyes, his expression a mixture of
defiance, agony and terror.  "I wouldn't give a blasphemous bitch like you
the pleasure," he forced out through the pain.

   With a throaty laugh, she replied, "Maybe not, but it won't be for lack
of trying."

   She leaned down over him, and he felt a pinprick as one of her fangs
pierced his shoulder slightly through his shirt.  His eyes widened in
disbelief as his cock surged to life, betraying him despite all of his pain
and fear.  He then whimpered as his manhood was engulfed by the vampire's
cold, clammy sex.

   "Mmm," she moaned as she began to raise and lower herself on his member.
"That's better.  I haven't had a good, hard cock in months."

   He hunched upwards, trying to dislodge her from his hips.

   With a sneer, she said contemptuously, "You don't need your legs to give
me what I want, only what's between them.  So, are you going to settle down
and enjoy the ride, or do I need to break a few more bones?"

   His legs went still, and she gifted him with a small, smug smile.

   She rode him hard and fast, staring down into his eyes.  Each time his
overloaded brain tried to escape the hurt and terror in the oblivion of
unconsciousness, she brought him back by slapping him across the face hard
enough to make his ears ring.  Each time his erection started to soften,
she returned it to life with the prick of a fang.  His fear, pain, and the
chill of her flesh precluded any chance of him reaching climax.

   At last, her body tensed, and she began to moan with her impending
orgasm.  She bent her head down towards his, her jaws gaping to prominently
display her fangs.  Realizing what was coming, Nate squeezed his eyes shut
and gritted his teeth, mentally saying goodbye to his wife and children. 
The icy touch of her breath upon his throat forced a forlorn whimper from
his lips.

   "Shhh," she whispered soothingly.  "You're going to like what comes
next."

   Fresh agony lanced through him as her teeth tore into his defenseless
throat.  Pleasure such as he had never known followed immediately after. 
He moaned feebly as his cock erupted into the depths of her cunt even as
his life gushed down her throat.  As he listened to the obscene sucking
sounds of her feeding, his vision grew hazy.  When the dark rose to take
him, he welcomed the comfort and release that it offered.

   Alicia rose from the body with a happy, satisfied sigh.  Smoothing her
skirt back into place, she rose and considered the scene.  Coming to a
decision, she dragged the bodies over to the base of one of the larger
trees and arranged them in sitting positions against the trunk.  She placed
the barrel of Ed's gun under his chin, and stretched his hand down the
trigger.  After the shot rang out, she frowned at the relatively minor
wound inflicted by the small caliber weapon.  With a dismissive shrug of
her shoulders, she repeated the process with Nate, making certain that he
sustained enough brain damage to keep him from rising.

   When she was finished, she surveyed the tableau unhappily.  It certainly
wasn't the best cover up she had ever done, but there was little else she
could do under the circumstances.  Hopefully, there were enough scavengers
in the forest that any evidence that could reveal that this hadn't been a
dual suicide wouldn't last for long.

   Before she left, she searched through the pockets of the men.  She
cackled gleefully as she located a set of car keys; at long last she had a
ticket out of the boondocks.  She suddenly slumped, her joy leaving her as
abruptly as it had come.  Now all she needed, she thought dejectedly, was a
destination.  A place where she could survive on her own.  Her abilities in
the areas of compulsion and memory alteration were so limited as to be
nearly useless.  Without them, she wouldn't last long in any population
center.

   Mulling over her options, she ran silently back through the forest in
the direction from which she had appeared.  Her feet fell so lightly on the
forest floor that the dry leaves barely whispered at her passage.  She had
learned many things during her time with Lei.  She would lack the strength
to apply most of that knowledge for decades, possibly centuries.  Some
things, however, required only strength of will and clarity of purpose. 
Much to her surprise, she had discovered that she possessed both qualities
in abundance.

   After several miles, she arrived at a small, ramshackle hunting camp,
likely abandoned for years before she and Lei had taken it as their
residence.  Entering the single room structure, she lifted a trapdoor on
the floor that allowed access to the dark crawlspace beneath the camp.  She
sighed with relief when she saw that Lei was still there.  The ancient
vampire appeared to be in peaceful slumber on the quilt that Alicia had
spread out beneath her.  The illusion was marred only by the wooden stake
that protruded upwards from between her small breasts.

   Yes, Alicia thought with a grim smile, she had learned many things from
Lei, including how to disguise her thoughts and intent.  She immediately
cut that undeservedly arrogant line of thought off.  Despite her newly
learned skills, she knew that Lei would have found her out easily, had the
ancient one not been so preoccupied with whatever had brought her to this
forsaken place.

   Hopping down into the shallow space, she took hold of the stake and
pushed it firmly back into place.  The thing just wouldn't stay put.  It
constantly eased slowly outwards like a splinter from the sole of a foot.
She shivered as she considered what would happen to her if it ever came
free.

   During one of her endless lectures, Lei had explained that, while a
stake through the heart would kill a young vampire outright, it would only
immobilize an ancient one.  Alicia supposed that made sense.  After all, it
wasn't like their hearts actually did anything anymore.  So, even as she
had driven the stake home, she had known that it alone wouldn't kill Lei.
Destroying her was the last thing that Alicia wanted to do.  Inside Lei's
flesh resided the thing that she called the Outsider.  That thing, that
monster, that god, was the source of power for all vampires in existence.
No one had ever accused Alicia of being brain surgeon material, but even
she knew that it wouldn't be smart to destroy the source of her own
strength and the reason for her continued life.

   She traced her fingers over the cold, still flesh of Lei's cheek.  She
felt some remorse over what she had done.  However, once she had learned
that it had been Lei who had staked her Master, she had no choice but to
make the bitch pay.  Something like that could not go unavenged.  In
retrospect, though, she probably should have waited until they had
relocated to someplace more urban, and she had learned enough to survive on
her own.  From the time she had staked Lei until tonight, she had been
forced to feed solely on the few deer and rodents that she managed to run
down.  It had been meager, unsatisfying fare.

   As she considered her future, she realized that she had only one real
hope.  Perhaps Arthur had been old enough that the stake and fire hadn't
killed him.  Perhaps, deep down in his grave of rubble and ash, he still
possessed some vestige of life.  Perhaps, she could resurrect him.

   Shortly after dusk the following night, Alicia threw Lei over her
shoulder and ran back to the hunters' cabin.  On the way, she again spooked
the coon hounds that had returned to huddle near the cold feet of their
former masters.  From a safe distance, their eyes watched her accusingly as
she passed.  When she reached the camp, she smiled at the huge, bright red,
Dodge pickup truck that was parked in front.  She peeled back the
rubberized canvas that covered the bed and tucked Lei inside.  After
smoothing her fingertips with an effort of will, she climbed behind the
wheel.  She immediately shrieked in frustration: the damnable thing had a
standard transmission.

   Muttering under her breath, she turned the key in the ignition, and the
big hemi engine roared to life.  In a series of jerks, stops, and stalls,
the big truck slowly moved down the dirt driveway as Alicia taught herself
the basics of how to drive a stick through trial and error.  Mostly error.
As the truck turned onto the tar and pitch rural road at the end of the
driveway, the mournful howls of the dogs rose from behind her.  The sad
cries accompanied the truck until it was well out of sight.

   Alicia had gleaned enough information from Lei to have a decent idea of
where Arthur had fallen, but it was still well after midnight by the time
she reached the abandoned town.  The clutch had given out more than twenty
miles away, and she had been forced to abandon the truck along the side of
the road.  With Lei burdening her shoulders, those twenty miles had seemed
endless.  Finally, though, she trotted past the skeletal remains of a steel
mill and entered the ruins of the community that had supported it.

   The town wouldn't be there much longer.  A number of the small, wood
frame homes had already collapsed into their own foundations.  The ones
that were still standing were silent and empty with only a few strips of
paint on the grey weathered wood of the exteriors giving any hint as to
their original color.  Their cracked and grime covered windows peered down
on streets that were overgrown with weeds and small trees.



   Finding the grave took hours more.  The weeds that choked the streets
extended well above her head in many places, reducing her visibility to
nothing.  She probably wouldn't have found it before dawn if it hadn't been
for her greatly improved sense of smell.  Catching a faint whiff of charred
wood, she followed the scent to an excavated foundation.  Weeds grew high
around and in the basement, but the tracks of some kind of heavy equipment
were still visible in places.

   Dropping Lei carelessly to the ground, Alicia sank to her knees at the
edge of the gaping hole.  "It's just not fair," she protested feebly as she
began to cry hopelessly.

   Dawn was imminent when she finally regained control of herself.  Wiping
the tears from her face with the back of her hand, she tucked Lei under her
arm and searched forshelter.  Fortunately, one of the nearby houses was
more or less intact.  She curled up with Lei in the corner of its basement.
When oblivion claimed her, she still had no idea what she would, or could,
do next.

   Chapter 5

   November Fifteenth

   Dr.  Nolan's thin lips pressed together in distaste as he again hurried
down the long, windowless corridor to visit his unwilling charge.  He had
grown to hate his time with the monster.

   He had tried to resign from his position on a number of occasions, but
each time the general had refused to accept it.  The general had insisted
that there was no one else for the job, that Nolan's experience in
Pittsburgh combined with his doctorate in biochemistry made him the one and
only choice.

   The worst part about it was that, despite all of the horrific acts in
which they had engaged, they had learned so little about the nature of the
beast.  The unique cells of the vampire remained a complete mystery.  In
the presence of injured flesh, they somehow caused rapid, almost
instantaneous, mitosis in the surrounding tissue.  They did not, however,
appear to give off any chemical, protein or radiation that would account
for this.  In an uninjured, living host the cells were completely dormant,
dying out in less than a day.  Similarly, when introduced to a dead host,
the cells remained quiescent and shortly expired.  While they could heal
the injuries of an animal, they were never able to take hold fully.

   When they were present in sufficient numbers at the moment of a human
host's death, however, something amazing occurred.  The cells divided at a
rate far greater than exponential; a single cell might spontaneously split
into five or more, each with the same size and volume as the original. 
Some of the cells then aligned with, engulfed, and replaced nerve fibers
and neural tissues while others moved sluggishly, amoeba-like, through the
host's circulatory system, pushing the host's other fluids slowly in front
of them.

   In this way, the host was restored to a semblance of life, or, at least,
necrosis did not occur.  Dr.  Nolan was still trying to think of a term for
the state.  It couldn't be called life: there was no respiration; no ATP
synthesis; and no elimination or any apparent waste product.  In short, the
cells violated nearly every principle of biology, chemistry and physics
known to man.

   After the preliminary results of the study had been released, the
general had ordered him to explore the military applications of vampirism.
It had soon become clear that he wanted nothing less than a 'super soldier'
program; like a cliche from an old X-files.

   Again he had protested.  In response, the general had pointed out the
peaceful applications that might arise from the study.  If they could
harness the vampire's regenerative abilities, disease, disfigurement, birth
defects, cancer, even death itself, would all be things of the past.  The
general had also carefully explained how ruinous a dismissal from
government service could be to a career.  To his shame, the carrot and the
stick had their intended effect: he had agreed to stay on.  Within a week,
the first group of aging, hopeful volunteers had arrived.  All were men who
had once been in one of the nation's Special Forces units, but were now on
the verge of retirement.  None were married or had other close family. 
None would be missed.

   Following scientific method, Nolan's first task had been to discover how
many of the unusual cells were necessary to change a person into a vampire.
The quantity had turned out to be surprisingly small.  Even so, there had
been a number of regrettable errors in the beginning.  After receiving the
shots - Nolan refused to think about what was in the syringes that didn't
contain the cells, but knew that it was likely similar to what was used to
execute prisoners by lethal injection - many of those first men had awoken
as little more than beasts.  After Nolan and Susan took samples and
readings, the mindless, raging men were carted away.  Nolan didn't like to
think about their ultimate fate, but he saw each of their faces in his
nightmares every time he slept.

   Their first true success had also been a disaster.  The medic who had
gone to check on the man had found that he had undone the simple straps
that had been used to bind him to the gurney.  The medic had been attacked
without warning.  His shouts had attracted the attention of the guards, but
the two of them hadn't been able to extricate the medic from the vampire's
grasp.  Reinforcements had been summoned, but the medic was dead by the
time they arrived.  Nolan had gotten there just as the grief stricken new
vampire had risen from his kill.

   Several days later, the new vampire, consumed by guilt, had tried to
hang himself.  The effort had, of course, failed, but it had taken hours
before someone had been able to get close enough to the flailing man to cut
him down.  There had been talk of leaving him hanging there until dawn, but
Nolan wouldn't allow such an unnecessary indignity to be heaped upon the
already badly traumatized man.

   Nolan had again tried to convince the general to cancel the program. 
Again he had failed.  The general had merely ordered him to use better
restraints each time they went through the creation process.

   Now there were twenty freshly created vampires; all growing increasingly
hungry on their diet of rats.  Seven volunteers had been lost as a result
of waking up as raging beasts.  Another five had not risen at all, for
reasons that Nolan could not ascertain.  Despite the losses, the joint
branch advisory board that the general had implemented had insisted on
keeping the program active until there were ten more.  The applications in
the field, they insisted, were endless.

   From an academic point of view, Nolan had to admit that they had learned
a great deal more from the new cadre than they had from the monster.  First
and foremost, it seemed that all of McNelly's grim warnings about mind
control and memory alteration were completely unfounded.  While a few of
the volunteers reported that they were occasionally able to pick up an
image from the mind of another, that was the full extent of it.  That was
not to say, however, that vampirism did not confer certain advantages.  The
increases in speed, strength and agility were astounding, as was the
restoration of youth and rapid regenerative ability.

   As he began the procedure to open the outer door to Arthur's prison, he
realized that this could very well be the last night that he had to deal
with the monster.  All of the volunteers had reported a peculiar mental
sensation, and the board wanted to know why.  With any luck, he wouldn't
even need Arthur's cooperation to gain the information the board wanted.

   Once that question was answered, the board had given their consent to
have Arthur returned to his grave.  Nolan was relieved.  As dangerous as he
knew the new vampires were, there was something about Arthur that disturbed
him deeply.  As a man of science, he had never believed in the existence of
evil, except in terms of relative morality.  Arthur had shaken that
conviction to the core.

   A moment later, as he stared down the barrel of the guard's weapon, he
asked, "Did you get the amendments to the access list?"

   "Yes, sir," the guard answered.

   After carefully comparing Dr.  Nolan's ID to his face and the list on
the wall, the sergeant gestured toward the latter and lowered his gun. 
Twisting his head around, Dr.  Nolan verified that five names had been
appended to the bottom of the list.

   That had been another matter upon which the board had vetoed his
suggestion.  He had recommended that the new vampires not be brought into
Arthur's presence.  He had argued that they still knew too little about the
nature of the beasts to take the risk.  The board, in turn, had cited to
his report that refuted the existence of any sort of special mental
abilities based on a study of the volunteers.  While he believed that his
report was accurate based on the available evidence, there was still too
much they didn't know.

   He turned on the lights in Arthur's prison, and then he and the guard
used their keys to open the inner door.  Dr.  Nolan strode quickly across
the room; while he still feared Arthur, he had grown confident in the
effectiveness of the bonds that held him.

   Arthur lifted his head at the doctor's approach, the lead cap that
crowned his head clanging dully against the steel support post.  "Ahh, good
to see you, doctor," he said in the strangely emotionless voice that he had
been using for the past month.  "I trust you are well this evening." His
dull, murky eyes narrowed as he added, "I believe my liver has finished
regrowing, if you should need another."

   Blanching slightly in shame at Arthur's statement, Nolan blurted out his
question, "We have created several vampires using your fluids.  Each of
them reports a foreign presence in their mind.  Each of them can also point
unerringly in your direction even if taken blindfolded to a remote
location. What can you tell me about this phenomena?"

   "I have no idea of what you're talking about, doctor," Arthur replied.
"Perhaps it is the result of the unnatural way in which they were created."

   "Uh huh," Dr.  Nolan said skeptically.

   "You have reason to doubt my honesty?" Arthur asked indifferently.

   Annoyance overcame Nolan's fear, at least for the moment.  "Well, let's
see," he replied.  "From what you've told me so far, you are somewhere
between three years old and thirty million; vampires are either alien
invaders, the last of God's angels, souls that escaped from hell, or
naturally evolved predators of humanity; you were staked by George Clooney
or slipped and happened to fall on a shard of wood; and - hmmm, what else?
- oh, you would very much like to brutally violate Miss Wong's anus.  I
think that pretty much sums up everything you have told us over the past
few months.  So, do you know why I think you're lying?  Because your lips
are moving."

   "Come now, doctor, that's hardly fair.  The last of those observations
is certainly true enough."

   "Yes, I'm sure it is," Dr.  Nolan replied dryly.

   They both turned to look as the door to the room opened.  Susan entered,
pushing a large piece of machinery ahead of her.  With only a nod of
greeting to Dr.  Nolan, she plugged the machine in and extended or
otherwise deployed a wide variety of antennas.  After flicking a few
switches, turning a few dials and pushing a number of buttons, she gazed at
the monitors on the top of the device for a few minutes.

   Finally, she looked up with a terse nod, "All set, doctor.  If there is
any electromagnetic output of any sort, we'll pick it up."

   "Ok, Ms.  Wong.  Tell the others to come in.  Let's get this over with
as quickly as possible," Dr.  Nolan replied.

   Susan walked across the room and spoke briefly into the intercom. 
Moments later, the door swung inwards again, and five men in standard
battle dress uniform filed in.  The last was still in the doorway when the
first turned to gape at Arthur.

   "Doctor Nolan, that presence I was telling you about just changed," he
said hurriedly.  "I can't describe it....  I never really got anything but
a sense of direction from it before, but now it's like it's leaking, uh,
happiness or something."

   "I believe the term you are looking for, cretin, is triumphant
jubilation," Arthur drawled.  "All of you stop where you are.  Don't let
that door close.  Bring me the guard from the outer room, and don't let
these two escape."

   Dr.  Nolan and Susan gaped in surprise as the five men hurried to carry
out Arthur's instructions.  Two of them strained mightily against the
closing door.  Another vanished into the outer room.  After a burst of
gunfire, he emerged, dragging the guard behind him and peering down with
concern at the bloody holes in his own uniform.  The final two hovered near
the doctor and his assistant.  No alarm had been raised.

   "Stop what you're doing this instant," Dr.  Nolan commanded tremulously.
"Don't follow the prisoner's orders.  Release the guard immediately."

   "I'm sorry, doc...," one of the men began.

   "Silence," Arthur directed coldly.  "Now release me."

   One of the men that had been standing near Susan ran over to examine the
steel bands that held Arthur in place.

   "There's only one key that can open that device, and it's not here," Dr.
Nolan observed.  "Give this up.  You're not going anywhere.  Now would
someone please tell me what is going on here?"

   "The answer is quite simple, really," Arthur said.  "Fledglings are
bound to obey their Master.  Alas, I am afraid that isn't you." Turning his
attention to the man holding the guard, he continued, "I do not require a
key, just bring him to me."

   The face of the man holding the guard twisted in dismay as his body
dragged the man forward without hesitation or conscious volition.

   "Closer," Arthur said hungrily.

   Arthur held his jaws open wide as the struggling guard was forced ever
nearer.  When his shoulder was pressed against Arthur's face, Arthur bit
down suddenly, tearing a hole in the guard's uniform.  Arthur's next bite
tore deeply into flesh.  He sucked ravenously as the guard writhed in
pleasure.  When the man's last breath rattled in his throat, Arthur sighed
deeply in satisfaction.

   "Break his neck, and throw him aside," he commanded absently as his
restored senses plumbed the workings of the locks that bound him.

   Dr.  Nolan gazed at Arthur with astonishment.  In an instant, the
vampire's sunken features had filled out, his wasted, drawn skin had become
taut and healthy, and his dull, listless eyes had become dark, glittering
pools of malice.

   Arthur had no hope of understanding the complex electronics of the
bindings, but he didn't need to.  In the end, all locks consisted of a bolt
that fit into or around a fixed object.  Arthur focused his will.

   The quiet of the room was broken by a succession of clicks as the steel
bands around Arthur's torso and limbs sprang open one by one.  When silence
again reigned, Arthur staggered forward, free at last.  The dark, scraggly,
uneven hair on his head stirred as if in a breeze, and settled into a neat,
orderly arrangement.  The healing process then seemed to reverse to a
slight degree.  His cheeks hollowed, lines appeared around his mouth and
eyes, and his hair turned a steel grey.

   Seeing Dr.  Nolan's confused expression, Arthur deigned to explain, "The
Gift restores youth and vigor, but I prefer a more dignified appearance."

   Susan squeaked with surprise as he grabbed the front of her lab coat and
pulled her in close.

   "Poor little Susan," Arthur whispered cruelly.  "You took such joy in
sticking me with needles and cutting off this bit and that.  And now here
you are, subject to my whims and fancies.  Karma, as they say, can be quite
a bitch."

   She set her jaw and met his gaze with a challenging stare.

   "I'm afraid that there isn't much time," Arthur said regretfully as he
reached inside her lab coat to fondle one of her breasts.  "I must make
this place mine before an alarm is raised.  I suppose that we'll have to
settle for just a taste of things to come."

   Susan remained expressionless as Arthur ripped open the front of her
blouse and tore away her bra to expose her chest.  Her nipples stood erect
in the chill air of the room.  Her eyes widened in trepidation when the tip
of his forefinger lengthened and narrowed to a sharp point.  Her brave
facade crumbled in a whimper as he traced that cruel implement in circles
around her areola.  She then squealed in pain as Arthur thrust his altered
finger through the flesh of one of her nipples, piercing it through.

   With a small smile, Arthur said, "Oh, come now, Susan.  It can't be that
bad.  I understand that such things are considered quite fashionable by
your generation." Withdrawing the spike, he cupped her small breast in his
hand.  As that hand began to ripple with change, he said softly, "Something
like this on the other hand..."

   Susan's eyes went wide with shock, and her mouth opened and closed
silently.  Her eyes then rolled upwards as her body went limp, held up from
the floor only by Arthur's grip.  His hand again rippled slightly, and
Susan fell to the floor.  Blood ran freely from the five deep punctures
that marked where his fingertips had been touching her flesh.

   Without looking up from Susan's ravaged flesh, Arthur commented dryly,
"My apologies, Doctor.  Now that I think of it, I may have forgotten to
mention the ability to change during our conversations."

   While everyone's attention was fixed on his unfortunate assistant, Dr.
Nolan decided that discretion was the better part of valor.  He slowly
backed towards the door, away from the cluster of uniformed undead. 
Spinning abruptly about, he made a run for it.  He felt more than saw the
figure rushing past him at an impossible speed.  Arthur came to a stop in
front of the doctor, ending his attempted escape by placing a palm on his
chest.

   With a pitying smile, Arthur said, "Come now, Dr.  Nolan.  Did you
really think that you could escape me so easily?  A learned man such as you
should know that 'between the idea and the reality, between the motion and
the act,' the shadow always falls." At the glimmer of recognition in the
doctor's eyes, Arthur chuckled dryly, "Yes, I know that's not what the
esteemed Mr.  Elliot had in mind, but it is, nevertheless, appropriate....
Don't you agree?"

   Turning to several of the nearby fledglings, Arthur directed, "Lock him
up in that ingenious contraption."

   The fledglings immediately complied, and, despite all of his efforts to
resist, Dr.  Nolan soon had taken Arthur's place in the massive restraints.


   Struggling futilely against the thick, steel bands, Dr.  Nolan spat,
"Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, demon.  Even if you manage to escape
the lab, a number of people know what was going on here.  They'll track you
down relentlessly, and, when they find you, they'll put you down for good."

   "Only if they know that I escaped," Arthur replied calmly.  "I think I
have an idea that will keep that from happening until it's too late.  In
any event, you have far more immediate concerns.  Despite the ill manner in
which I have been treated over the past few months, I suppose that I am in
your debt for removing my body from that dreadful basement and restoring me
to a degree of health." A cold smile appeared on his face as he continued,
"I always repay my debts in full.  So, good doctor, I shall give you a
choice: you can either become one of my fledglings and live
forever, albeit with a few less personal freedoms than you are used to;

or I will grant you a relatively quick death." Arthur cut Dr.  Nolan off
before he could speak, "No need to answer now.  Think about it carefully. I
will return for you shortly."

   Arthur reached down and pulled Susan to her feet, slapping her face
lightly until she regained consciousness.  "I'm afraid that you will not be
given such a choice, my dear," he told her as she struggled weakly in his
grasp.

   Susan whimpered as Arthur used a newly formed claw to open a vein in his
wrist and pressed the wound to her lips.  She cried out in pain and then
pleasure as his teeth found her throat.

   After quickly dressing in the fallen guard's uniform, Arthur roughly
kicked Susan's body over to Dr.  Nolan's feet.  "She may awake before I
return.  Self control is a characteristic that new fledglings rarely
exhibit.  If you choose death, it won't take much urging to get her to
grant your wish.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.
I bid you farewell for now, Dr.  Nolan."

   Dr.  Nolan watched as Arthur led his fledglings into the outer room. 
Any hope he had that the main door would contain them was dashed when he
heard the heavy thuds of the bolts releasing.

   The room was suddenly plunged into darkness.  Dr.  Nolan stood, helpless
and bound, straining to see the young woman that he knew was lying dead at
his feet.  His heart raced ever faster as his treacherous imagination
supplied endless scenarios of what would occur when she rose again.

   Chapter 6

   November Fifteenth

   Joseph Bonn walked slowly along the part of the Cleveland river front
known as the Flats.  The long strip of clubs, bars and restaurants was
crowded for a cold Thursday night, and the drone of thousands of
conversations being carried on at once filled the air.  He wasn't quite
sure why he had come here: he didn't drink, or smoke, or even particularly
care for music.  In fact, he had but one vice, and he would never dream of
practicing it in the presence of witnesses.  However, he had been unable to
bear the thought of another night at home.  Perhaps what he had needed was
the simple satisfaction of walking among the masses knowing that he was
superior to them in the same way that a wolf was superior to the sheep on
which it preyed.

   He stared with contempt at the people around him.  They could never
understand the pleasure and gratification that could be had from breaking
the will of another; of twisting them until they would perform the most
unspeakable acts at his whim.  These sheep would never know the thrill of
causing the light to fade from the eyes of an innocent.

   He paused to watch a young, well dressed, couple argue in the parking
lot.  The woman of the pair was a beautiful blonde.  Likely around twenty
years old, she had lush, ripe curves that had not yet begun to sag or
soften with age.  He idly wondered what she was doing with the man, who was
tall and gangly with features that could, at best, be described as
"ordinary."

   He listened to their slurred tirades with amusement until, with sharp
exchanges of the word, 'Fine,' the argument came to an abrupt end.  The
young woman ran wildly, an arm covering her face to muffle her sobs.  The
man staggered off in the opposite direction, cursing under his breath.

   As the man vanished into the darkness of an alley, a pair of rough
looking men suddenly broke off their conversation to follow after him.  Joe
grinned at the sight: apparently he wasn't the only predator among the
flock tonight.  He watched their retreating backs for a moment before his
thoughts returned to the lovely young woman.  His eyes swept the
waterfront, searching for her.  He found her at the entrance of a narrow
alley, leaning against a building with her face to the wall.  After a few
seconds, she staggered further into the shadows.

   His erection throbbed to life as he considered the unexpected
opportunity that had fallen into his lap.  With all of the witnesses in the
area, he wouldn't be able to take possession of her as he had all of the
other young women he had collected at bus stops and shelters for victims of
domestic abuse.  Even if he could, the secret room that he had constructed
in his basement was already occupied, and would be for at least another
week

   Nevertheless, he only hesitated for a moment before starting in her
direction, palming the knife he always carried in his coat pocket.  The
temptation of the thrill he would get from killing her here, so close to
succor, was simply too great.

   By the time he reached her, she was deep inside the alley, crouched down
with her face buried in her hands.  For a moment he merely admired the
gentle curves of her buttocks.  It was truly a shame that he had to make
this quick.  He lovingly recalled the faces of his past victims as he
prepared to add to the list.  Thumbing the release on his switchblade, he
moved in for the kill.

   He reached for her, intending to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle
her cries as he slit her throat.  At the last minute, she spun to avoid his
grasp.  Coming to her feet, she reached out quickly, too quickly, to take
the wrist of the hand that held the knife.

   He stared at her dumbly.  There was no sign of sorrow or distress on her
face; no indication that she was in any way impaired by too much alcohol.

   Her sky blue eyes stared back at him coldly.  "Well, well, well," she
said softly.  "How're you doing tonight Joe, you sick bastard you?  You're
not what we were fishing for, but you'll certainly do." Her lips split in a
grin that exposed brilliant white fangs.

   This development was so unexpected, so far beyond his experience, that
he stood as if paralyzed.  Her empty hand flashed towards his throat, and
he felt sudden warmth on his neck and chest as his blood gushed freely. 
Instantly, she pulled him close and pressed her face into the wound she had
just inflicted.  Although they did not pierce him, he could feel her fangs
on either side of the adam's apple that had been torn asunder by her blow.
His free arm wrapped around her and held her close as his body exploded in
orgasm.

   As he fell to his knees, she stopped feeding momentarily to whisper,
"You were never a predator, Joe, just prey with pretensions of grandeur."

   When he went still, she rose from his corpse.  The index finger of her
right hand began to ripple, and then abruptly stopped.  She stooped to pick
up the knife that he had dropped.  Squatting near his head, she began to
carve.

   Several minutes later, the man with whom she had so publicly argued
walked up behind her.

   "Gee, that was fun," Tom said in a disgruntled voice.

   Mia turned, and then winced when she saw his face.  His nose was
flattened, and his ear was swollen like the head of a cauliflower.  Even as
she watched, the swelling of the ear receded until no injury was apparent.
The nose, however, remained flat.

   "How did you ever survive twenty years as a cop?" she chided gently as
she reached up to take his nose between her hands.  With a sharp twist, she
snapped it back into place.

   After a grunt of pain, he answered, "I had a gun and a badge when I was
a cop." He paused for a second before adding pointedly, "And backup."

   Mia made certain that his nose was straight and watched the bruises fade
from under his eyes before she replied affectionately, "Sorry, lump, but we
netted more fish than expected." She emphasized her words by prodding the
body at her feet with a toe.

   Tom started in surprise as he noticed the corpse for the first time. 
Bending in for a closer look, he read the words that had been carved into
its forehead.  "Damn...  A serial killer," he remarked.  "Not a bad catch
considering that all we were after was a couple of muggers."

   "Speaking of which, did both of them follow you?" Mia asked.

   Still gazing at the dead man, Tom nodded, "Yeah, one had a gun.  I still
can't get clear images from other people's noggins, but it seemed pretty
obvious that they wouldn't have hesitated to kill me if I had resisted."
His head tilted to the side as he considered his statement.  "Well,
resisted less effectively, I guess I should say.  It was messy, by the way.
I could use some help cleaning up."

   "Okay," Mia said agreeably.  "I just need a few more minutes here. 
There are probably some families out there that could use some closure."
Bending back over Joe's body, she opened the front of his shirt and resumed
carving.

   "Whatcha doing?" Tom asked curiously.

   "Just before he tried to attack me, he reminisced about all of his past
victims, mostly by name.  I thought I would help the local police out by
giving them the list."

   "Heh.  Kind of you."

   "I thought so," Mia replied brightly

   When she was done, they decided to carry Joe's body to the alley in
which Tom had been attacked to make it look plausible that all of the
bodies had been dumped off instead of being killed on site.  When they
arrived, carrying Joe between them like a friend who had too much to drink,
Mia noticed that both of the bodies in the alley had bloodless tears across
their throats.

   "You fed on both of them?" Mia asked with surprise.

   "Well, yeah," Tom replied with more than a little embarrassment, "I
couldn't let the second go free after what he saw, and I'm not capable of
the good ol' mind zap yet.  I figured that, if I had to kill him, I might
as well make it matter."

   "Waste not, want not," Mia commented with aplomb.

   She bent over the bodies.  Both were badly beaten.  One had bulges under
his shirt from shattered ribs.  The other was surrounded by a fairly large
pool of blood.  Placing her palm just above the surface of the grisly pool,
Mia rotated her hand in circles.  The puddle quickly dried into a fine
powder.

   "Wax on.  Wax off," Tom said from behind her.

   "Huh?"

   "You know.  Mr.  Miyagi..." He broke off with a sigh when she continued
to look at him blankly.  "Never mind.  We really need to get a membership
to NetFlix.  Your education in classic cinema is obviously sadly lacking."

   "Classic cinema, eh?" Mia replied.  "I can't wait."

   She peered around at the surrounding buildings.  One of the adjacent
apartment complexes was a good eight stories high, easily the tallest
building in the vicinity.  Her hands rippled, and thousands of nearly
microscopic hooks sprouted from her palms and fingers.

   Reaching behind herself, she patted her own back and said, "For now,
though, how would you like to hop on?"

   Blinking his eyes in confusion, Tom replied, "What?"

   Mia twisted her head around to give him a randy smile, "We just fed. 
I'm so horny that I don't think I can wait until we get back to the hotel.
Obviously we can't fool around right here.  So, if you grab hold, I can
carry you up to that nice, flat, secluded roof and have my way with you."

   Laughing lightly, Tom walked over and wrapped his arms awkwardly around
her shoulders.  The second his hands locked across her upper chest, she
began to rapidly scale the wall.

   "Uh, did I ever mention that I'm scared to death of heights?" Tom asked
nervously as they passed the sixth floor.

   "You big baby," Mia replied.  "A fall from here would barely even bruise
you anymore.  Maybe you should try to think about what's waiting for you at
the top."

   "Hmm, that's working," Tom said as he pressed the proof against her
round backside.

   With a snort of laughter, Mia cleared the low wall that surrounded the
roof.  Spinning around, she jumped into his arms and pressed her lips to
his.  He roughly pushed her skirt up as she undid his belt.

   Twenty minutes later they were laying languorously entwined on the dirty
rubber of the roof.

   "I needed that," Mia murmured contentedly into his chest.

   "Mmmm, me too," Tom replied as he ran a hand caressingly down her side.

   "So, did it work?" Mia asked.

   "Uh, I thought so, but, if you're asking, maybe it didn't."

   "Not that, silly.  That worked just fine," Mia replied.  "I'm talking
about having the bad men who we knew had hurt a lot of people before try to
hurt you, too.  Did acting in self defense make it any easier for you to do
what we have to do?"

   "Actually, it did.  A little, anyway.  Thanks for humoring me.  I
appreciate it.  By the way, that was quite an impressive performance in the
parking lot.  Oscar caliber, if you ask me."

   Mia giggled softly against his throat, and he could feel her lips
curling up into a lazy smile.  "You did pretty well yourself, lump.  Sean
Connery has nothing to worry about, but it still wasn't bad."

   "I'm stuck with 'lump' forever now, aren't I?" Tom asked mournfully.

   With a snicker, Mia squeezed him softly and replied, "You betcha."

   "And I still can't call you sugar plum?"

   "Of course you can.  You'll just have to find me a badger afterwards."

   They giggled together for a few seconds before Mia rolled over onto her
back to gaze up at the stars.

   "Do you ever miss the Sun?" she asked.

   Tom gestured toward the night sky, "What's to miss?  Right there are
millions of suns.  They're just a bit farther away than good ol' Sol."
Turning on his side he nuzzled briefly at her neck.  "Besides," he added,
"you brighten my life so much that I have no need for such a paltry,
inconsequential thing as the Sun."

   With a burst of delighted laughter, Mia replied, "You say the sweetest
things.  Corny and cheesy, but sweet." She pulled him close for a tender
kiss.

   After a moment of companionable silence, Tom asked, "What about you?  Do
you ever miss it?"

   After a thoughtful pause, Mia replied wistfully, "Not the Sun itself,
really.  When I was a girl working in the fields, the afternoon Sun would
warm the crops of oats and wheat, and the most heavenly aroma would fill
the air.  It was the smell of home, of safety, of summer.  It filled me
with such contentment that I was certain that nothing bad could ever
happen. During the various times that I've lived in more rural areas, I
could sometimes catch the slightest whiff of it at the moment I awoke.  It
was always gone in an instant, though.  I miss that smell more than
anything."

   Tom gave her a comforting hug, and was about to comment when an outcry
rose from the street below.

   "Time to go," Mia said as she hopped to her feet and pulled on her
panties.

   Tom nodded in agreement as he, too, hastily dressed.  They walked to the
edge of the roof opposite the bodies and looked down.  Police cars were
converging on the area from all directions.

   "Now that I think about it, maybe we should have waited until we made it
back to the hotel," Mia said regretfully, "They'll see us if we climb down,
and they'll be too far away to blur.  We're going to have to jump."

   "You have got to be kidding," Tom said fearfully, although he knew she
wasn't.  "I don't think I can do that."

   Mia took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  "Shall we go on
three?" she asked.

   Tom gave her a dubious look, but nodded.

   Swinging his hand back and forth, she said softly, "One...Two...Three!"

   Tom leapt.  The moment of free fall was as exhilarating as it was
terrifying.  The rapid acceleration.  The wind rushing by him, tugging
forcefully at his clothes and hair.  Involuntarily, he found himself
letting out a muted whoop of excitement as they plummeted toward the ground
below.  The sudden, jarring stop at the end was much less fun.  Tom's hand
was torn from Mia's as he landed badly and rolled across the pavement.

   From flat on his back he grinned up at Mia.  "That wasn't so bad," he
said cheerfully.



   Then he tried to stand.  The flash of pain through his leg made him cry
out and fall back to the ground.  Looking down, he saw that his ankle was
twisted inward at nearly a right angle to his shin.

   "Well, shit," he said with disgust.  "Two broken bones in one night. 
That's a new record for me."

   Mia immediately squatted next to him, "Yeah, keep this up, and I'm gonna
have to start charging you for my medical services." Taking his foot gently
in her hands, she said, "This is going to hurt.  Ready?"

   At his nod, she twisted and pulled, putting the bone back into place. 
It would have healed on its own within a few minutes, but the process would
have been a good bit more painful and taken time they didn't have.  She
glanced up as a policeman shined his flashlight down the narrow alleyway in
which they had landed.  Her eyes narrowed with concentration, and he
flashed the beam from side to side before moving on.

   Pulling Tom upright, she instructed, "I would like to give you a minute
to heal, but we need to get out of here." She draped one of his arms across
her shoulders, and looped one of hers around his waist.  Together, they
hobbled off in the direction of the parking garage in which they had left
their car.  Within a block, Tom was walking on his own with no sign of a
limp.  There was no further conversation.  Mia was too busy keeping the
small army of police that were scouring the area from paying them any mind
to speak.

   Once safely in their station wagon, Tom sighed with relief, "I don't
think I've ever been so happy at the thought of getting back to a hotel
room."

   "We have another stop to make, first," Mia interjected.

   Tom's brow furrowed in confusion.  "We do?" he asked.

   "Yep, our friend the serial killer was keeping a girl in his basement.
Based on the images I got from his mind, I don't know if the police will
find her when they search the house.  At least in time."

   "Alrighty, then.  Where are we heading?"

   Half an hour later, they pulled to a stop in front of a huge Victorian.
Mia examined it carefully, comparing the reality with the second hand
memory she had stolen.

   "I think this is the place," she said.

   They strode casually up the wide sidewalk to the porch, their fingertips
rippling and smoothing as they went.  Tom tried to peer through the faceted
panes of leaded glass that were set in the heavy oak door as Mia held her
hand up by the knob and lock plate.

   After a few moments, Tom said nervously, "Is this going to take much
longer?  In a neighborhood like this, we're bound to draw attention to
ourselves if we keep standing here."

   "Keep your pants on.  There are seven different locks.  This wacko was a
paranoid bugger even for a serial killer."

   "Known a lot of serial killers, have you?" Tom asked.

   "Only one, but I lived with him for over a hundred years.  Does that
count?  There.  That should do it."

   The door swung silently inwards, and they stepped inside.  Mia paused in
the foyer, and peered around carefully, making full use of all of her
senses.  "Huh.  That's interesting," she commented as she led the way to a
large living room furnished with overstuffed leather couches and mahogany
tables.

   Striding over to the stone fireplace that took up most of one wall, she
tapped the painting above the mantle.  "I'm pretty sure that's a real Van
Gogh," she commented as she took hold of the frame.  It swung open on
hidden hinges to reveal a safe.

   "Really?" Tom asked indifferently.  "It's kinda ugly.  Incidentally, I
thought we were here as rescuers, not thieves."

   "We are.  I just thought that the poor thing deserved a little
compensation for what she's undoubtedly been through."

   "Oh.  Okay," Tom said agreeably.  He then watched silently as she placed
her hand over the combination dial.  It spun rapidly back and forth,
seemingly on its own, for several seconds before Mia took hold of the
lever. Inside the safe were two stacks of cash and a large manila envelope.


   As Tom reached for the envelope, Mia scooped up the money.  "Why on
earth would anyone keep so much cash on hand?" she asked.

   "Get away money," Tom replied as he reached into the envelope and pulled
out a bunch of Polaroids bound by a rubber band.  "To use if the police
were on to him, and he had to get out of town quickly.  Credit and debit
cards are too easy to trace." His eyes widened as he looked at the
pictures. "Jesus fucking Christ," he exclaimed as he pushed them back into
the envelope, which he quickly returned to the safe.  He immediately pulled
his hands back with revulsion.  When he noticed Mia looking at him
curiously he said, "Trophy pictures.  You really don't want to look at
them. The guy was one sick son of a bitch."

   Leaving the painting extended so the safe and its contents wouldn't go
unnoticed when the police arrived, they explored for a few minutes before
finding the door that led to the basement.  The room at the base of the
stairs was filled with dusty boxes.  The poured concrete floor and block
walls were unpainted.  One wall was covered with a large sheet of cork
board to which a number of hooks had been affixed.  Poorly maintained tools
hung from roughly a third of them.

   "What now?" Tom asked.

   Mia walked over to the cork board and began to pull on the hooks. 
"Could you give me a hand?  I know its one of these, but the image wasn't
clear enough for me to know which one."

   Tom joined her at the wall, and, together, they worked their way through
the rows of hooks until Tom found one that moved.  There was a click, a
hiss of hydraulics and a rumble as part of one of the cement block walls
slid slowly down into the floor.  The opening revealed a set of stairs
leading down into darkness.

   "That's just pretty damn cool," Tom commented.  "Why didn't we think of
a secret subbasement when we had our 'panic room' installed?" A moment
later he shuddered as the scent of fear wafted out from the opening, so
thick as to be almost palpable.  He inhaled deeply, feeling somewhat
ashamed as his fangs descended and his cock became erect.

   Mia ignored his question, but a line of drool seeped from the corner of
her lips as the delicious scent of terror triggered its primal response in
her as well.  As one they walked to the dark portal.  A great deal of care
had been expended on the door itself to insure that it blended seamlessly
with the wall, but that's where the craftsmanship ended.  The stairs were
constructed of thick boards, marred in numerous places by the half moon
indentations of a hammer gone astray.  The walls were made of roughly
mortared cement block.

   As they descended, the air grew moist and thick with the smell of decay
and death.  At the bottom of the stairs was a thick steel door.  It fell
open at the touch of Mia's hand and mind.  The room beyond was coated in
acoustic tiles to dampen any sound.  Tom had never seen a medieval dungeon,
but the room was exactly what he had always imagined one would be like. 
Whips, flogs, canes, cattle prods and pokers hung from the walls.  Iron
chains hung from the ceiling; the bottommost links attached to loops of
leather.  A number of wood and metal contraptions were scattered around the
room.  Tom refused to look at any of them closely enough to divine their
purpose.  The room was absolutely silent except for the hum of a sump pump
which sat in a pit in the center of the floor.

   In the corner of the room, a waifish redhead was caged.  The enclosure
was so small that she was forced to crouch bent over on her knees.  Her
skin was a roadmap of pain.  Her breasts, back, buttocks and loins were
crisscrossed with long, angry red welts from the touch of a whip.  Her
inner thighs and the areas behind her knees were blistered with burns.  Her
skin was loose and had an unhealthy pallor from malnutrition and
dehydration.  The bottom of her cage was fouled with her own waste.  She
gave no sign that she was aware of their presence.

   Both Tom and Mia stood mute, shocked by this wanton display of senseless
cruelty, and struggling to suppress the hunger that the girl's scent
inspired.  After taking a deep, steadying breath and wiping the drool from
her chin, Mia strode purposefully across the room and grabbed the front of
the cage.  With a groan of tortured metal, the hinges bent and then
shattered.  Slowly and gently, Mia eased the girl out from her confinement.
It was obvious to Tom that she wanted nothing more than to embrace the
broken woman, but there was simply no place to touch her that wouldn't hurt
her badly.

   With a sympathetic wince, Mia picked the girl up and, cradling her like
a child, carried her toward the stairs.  Tom shuddered with revulsion when
they passed him.  The girl's eyes were fixed, and stared blankly into
infinity.  He had seen more life in the eyes of a corpse.

   He followed along as Mia carried the woman out from the basement to a
bathroom they had found earlier.  As she gently set the girl on the floor,
she said softly, "Could you see if you could find something for her to
wear?"

   Tom spun on his heel, and went to search the house for a bedroom.  When
he returned a few minutes later, a set of scrubs clutched in his hand, the
situation had changed dramatically.  While the woman still had a number of
scars, the numerous open wounds were no longer evident.  Mia had also wiped
most of the filth from her.  The woman now showed awareness of her
surroundings.  The scent of fear still rolled off of her in waves, though,
and her eyes darted from place to place like those of a small frightened
animal.  When Tom entered the room, she flinched back with a frightened
squeal.

   Mia placed a hand gently on the girl's shoulder.  "It's ok," she said in
a comforting whisper.  "He won't hurt you."

   Despite Mia's assurances, the girl continued to cower fearfully until he
handed her the scrubs and turned to leave the room.

   Before he left, he met Mia's eyes.  "We can't stay here much longer. 
The police could be here any minute.  In fact, I'm surprised they're not
here already."

   Mia nodded and sent him out of the room with a gesture.  A few minutes
later, she and the girl, now dressed in the scrubs, emerged.

   "What now?" Tom asked.

   "I don't know," Mia replied, "I was thinking we could just leave her
here for the police to find.  They'll see to it she gets the care she
needs."

   "Maybe," Tom said doubtfully, "but if we do that, the media will be all
over her like stink on shit.  A serial killer murdered in Cleveland is
going to be pretty big news.  Do you want to put her through that nightmare
on top of what she's already had to endure?"

   "So what do you suggest?"

   "I saw a phone book in the other room.  Let's grab it on the way out and
find a listing for a shelter, like Haven or something.  We can drop her off
there."

   "Sounds good to me."

   After they had deposited her at the entrance to a shelter, her pockets
stuffed with money, Tom finally turned the car in the direction of the
hotel.

   "You did a good thing tonight," Tom commented.

   "I think so.  She's probably still going to be really messed up for a
really long time, though.  I was able to take away the last week or so of
her ordeal, but she was there a good bit longer than that.  What could
possibly make a person want to do something like that to another?"

   "I don't know, sugar plum.  If I did, I would have been an FBI profiler
or psychologist instead of a glorified beat cop."

   They rode the rest of the way in silence, each lost in their own
thoughts.  At the hotel, they turned the car over to the care of the
valets, and strode wearily across the lobby.

   As they entered the elevator, Mia glanced over at Tom with an arched
eyebrow.  "By the way, don't think for a second that you managed to sneak
that sugar plum by me, Badgerboy."

   She was still chortling evilly when they entered their room.  There,
they found Dana stretched out across the king sized bed wearing just her
panties.  One hand was tapping at the keyboard of her laptop.  The other
was curled protectively around her distended belly.

   "Hey, you're back," she said happily when they entered.

   "So are you," Mia said with surprise.  "I thought you were all excited
to see that band..." She fumbled to a stop, unable to recall the name of
Dana's favorite group of the week.

   "I was," Dana replied with a grin, "but it's not much fun without a few
drinks.  Plus, the little guy here makes dancing a bitch." With a gesture
toward the television, she added, "I'm guessing the two of you were
responsible for that?"

   Joe's large Victorian filled the screen; the words "Breaking News"
emblazoned across the bottom.  The deep, confident voice of a
representative of the city's police force assured the viewers that there
was still not enough evidence to substantiate the allegation that Senator
Bonn had been a serial killer.  He then went on to preach against vigilante
justice and asked that anyone with information concerning the killings
contact the police at once.  The reward for doing so was quite substantial.

   "If so, what possessed you to eat a state senator?" Dana asked
curiously.

   Tom and Mia looked at each other with astonishment.  "I had no idea he
was," Mia said slowly.  "He didn't think about it, and he hasn't done any
government related work in the past few weeks.  All I know was that the guy
was an honest-to-god serial killer whose hobby was torturing young women in
his basement.  Truly a sick puppy."

   Dana remained silent for a moment, inviting further details, but none
were forthcoming.  With a shrug, she turned the laptop so that the screen
faced them.

   "Check this out," she directed.

   Tom peered at the screen for a second before saying, "Ok, I give up. 
What is it?"

   "It's the Megan's law website for Pennsylvania," Dana chirped.  "I had
forgotten all about it until tonight.  I thought that the two of you could
use it kinda like a take out menu."

   Tom let out a startled laugh while Mia merely shook her head in
amusement.

   "How on earth did someone so young become so...so bloodthirsty?" Tom
asked.

   He had meant the question to be rhetorical, but Dana answered soberly,
"I was valedictorian of my high school and got a 3.9 GPA my first year at
CMU.  Then, suddenly, I was a cop.  You can do the math."

   Now that Tom thought about it, Dana had shared a number of happy
memories from her childhood, but had always evaded questions about her
recent history or the reason she had chosen her profession.

   "Do you want to tal...," he began.

   "No," Dana answered shortly.

   "I do want to talk about what the two of you did tonight, though.  Did
it help?" she asked expectantly.

   "I think it did," Tom answered.  Pointing at the TV, which still showed
the Victorian, he added, "Seeing what happened there, though, truly made a
difference.  Knowing what kind of monsters are out there makes me think
that we really are doing the right thing."

   Tom looked back and forth between the women as they broke into gales of
laughter.



   "What's so funny?" he demanded.

   "You are," Dana gasped out between guffaws.  "I never thought I would
hear a vampire complaining about how bad the other monsters are."

   Tom grinned, but shook his head.  "Mia and I may be vampires, but we're
nowhere near as monstrous as that guy was."

   Dana's laughter slowly diminished to an occasional hiccup.  Adopting a
pout, she said slyly, "Yeah, you two are pretty lame as monsters go.  I
mean just look around.  There's a sweet, virginal, nearly naked nymph on
the bed in front of you, and yet neither one of you has made any attempt to
ravish her.  All the other monsters would be appalled.  Absolutely
appalled."

   Tom and Mia again exchanged amused looks before descending upon their
giggling victim.  Dana looped an arm around each of their necks as they
took turns kissing her before descending to her breasts.  As Dana cooed her
encouragement, she snaked a hand between her lovers and delved into her
panties.  After rubbing her fingers lightly over her clit, she plunged a
finger deep inside her already moist pussy.

   Mia chuckled at the sight before wryly commenting, "Virginal my ass."

   Dana merely grinned in reply, and then gasped as Tom took one of her
nipples between his lips.

   As Tom alternated between giving Dana long, lingering kisses and sucking
on her turgid nipples, Mia kissed and licked her way down the soft skin of
the girl's protruding belly.  Stripping Dana of her panties with a
flourish, Mia bent to suck the swollen, pink clit into her mouth.  She
concentrated briefly, and the tip of her tongue divided into four equal,
and very nimble, parts.  The altered organ immediately began to lap at
Dana's clit from every direction simultaneously.  Only moments later,
Dana's body stiffened, and she announced her first orgasm of the night with
a loud, drawn out moan.

   Mia continued her oral ministrations, and Dana continued to orgasm,
until Dana pushed at the top of Mia's head with a muted and breathless, "No
more.  Please.  I need to catch my breath."

   With an affectionate smile, Mia returned to her place next to Dana,
where she and Tom gently caressed the still squirming girl who lay between
them.  During one of their down strokes, Tom and Mia's hands converged just
below Dana's navel.  Their eyes met briefly, and, with wicked grins, they
moved their hands lower.  Dana groaned and tilted her pelvis upward as two
fingers were thrust deep within her.  She humped her hips in time with the
plunging fingers for a moment before running a hand beneath her heaving
buttocks to add her own finger to the mix.  Having three digits wriggling
independently inside her and massaging her innermost flesh caused her
pleasure to peak yet again.

   After she had calmed somewhat, she giggled at the wet, slurping sounds
that continued to emanate from her center.

   Locking her gaze with Tom's, she demanded lustfully, "Enough foreplay.
Fuck me already!"

   Grinning widely, Tom rolled off the bed, and, after removing a condom
from his jacket pocket, rapidly disrobed.  Quickly rolling the rubber down
the length of his cock, he returned to the bed, and, with Mia's assistance,
eased Dana around until her hips were even with the edge of the mattress.

   His nostrils flaring from the strong scent of her arousal, he pressed
forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her wet sex with a single
smooth motion.  As he started to gently work himself in and out of her
clasping, well lubricated sheathe, Dana wrapped her legs around his hips
and tried to force him to increase the pace.

   "I didn't ask you to make love to me," she complained lightheartedly. 
"I asked you to fuck me!"

   She let out a satisfied groan as Tom settled into a fast and steady
rhythm.  At the same time, Mia leaned forward to press her lips against
those of her young lover, her still modified tongue sliding both over and
under its counterpart.  Dana's eyes initially widened in surprise, but then
she wrapped her arms around the other woman, holding her tightly as she
returned the kiss with passion.

   Having climaxed only a few hours before, Tom lasted long enough for Dana
to reach quite a few more orgasms.  They lasted so long and blended
together to such an extent that there was no hope of actually keeping
count. Finally, though, the contractions of the hot, wet flesh that
surrounded him brought him to the brink.  He made a last few erratic
thrusts, and then held himself fully inside her as he came.

   Feeling him throb within her, Dana held an arm out to invite him to join
her embrace with Mia.  He gladly accepted.  For a time, they lay sated,
chuckling as they took turns feeling the child kick, seemingly in protest
of the tremors that had so recently shaken his normally sedate environment.

   Panting and sweaty, Dana murmured contentedly, "Okay, I take it back. 
Consider me very well ravished." With a languorous stretch, she continued,
"I really can't wait until we can dispense with the damn rubber, though."
Holding up a hand to forestall the tired old lecture, she said, "Yeah,
yeah, I know that we have no idea what exposure to your evil, nasty fluids
would do to the baby, and I'm not suggesting we risk it.  I'm just looking
forward to January, when it won't be a concern any more."

   Looking over at Mia, who was still fully dressed, Tom offered, "If you
give me a little nip, we probably have time for another go before dawn."

   With a smile, Mia replied, "That's ok, I'm still good from earlier.  I'm
quite content with some quiet cuddle time."

   "Earlier?  You two didn't fool around in the torture house, did you?"
Dana asked incredulously.

   "Of course not," Tom replied sardonically.  "We're not that crass.  We
fooled around on a roof overlooking a triple homicide."

   "Ahhh, I see," Dana drawled sarcastically.  "That's so much better."

   After that, although their hands kept slowly stroking the bodies of the
others, they remained silent.  Light was beginning to show around the edges
of the heavy curtains when Tom suddenly said, "I need to give Mark a call
soon."

   Dana muttered sleepily, "You're not planning another one of those
confession, absolution things are you?  I thought we were finally past
that."

   "Impudent child," Tom chided jokingly.  "Don't think for a second that
it's too late to start making you eat bugs like a good minion.  But no,
while I probably will confess, I'm not after absolution.  I was thinking
that maybe Mark could point us in the direction of those who are truly
deserving of our attention."

   Chapter 7

   November Fifteenth

   Arthur followed his new minions down the long, deserted corridor, his
mind feverishly considering his possible courses of action now that he had
his freedom.  Dr.  Nolan was correct about one thing: if he simply escaped,
he would be hunted like an animal, and, with an entire nation mobilized
against him, he would inevitably be brought to bay.  A return to the
shadows on the fringes of society was simply not an option.

   There was always the possibility of fleeing to another country.  It
would be too risky to take a ship or plane overseas, but he could drive
south to Mexico and beyond.  The idea of running, however, rankled.  It had
never been in his nature to avoid a fight.

   After what had occurred in Pittsburgh, conflict seemed equally
unattractive.  He had severely underestimated both the effectiveness of
humanity's response to a vampiric incursion, and just how significant an
advantage that the ability to move about during the day truly was. 
Whatever damage he and his followers might do at night, they would be
helpless while the sun was in the sky.

   Perhaps, though, he just wasn't thinking on a grand enough scale.  An
entire nation, possibly an entire world full of nations, opposed him, but
nations could be slain.  As with anything else, all that you had to do was
find the heart and mind and ruthlessly crush them.  The more he considered
it, the more the idea appealed to him.  If he could reduce the great
nations to anarchy and barbarism, he would have nothing to fear for
centuries to come.  Except Lei, of course.

   By the time they had arrived at the main laboratory and volunteer
barracks, he had the outline of a plan.  It was risky, even desperate, but
there was no other palatable choice.  After he and his new followers
subdued and dispatched the few lab assistants who were present, he had all
twenty of his fledglings line up along the length of the large room.

   He walked back and forth in front of them, searching their thoughts and
memories.  What he found pleased him greatly.  In his experience, those who
were called upon to kill their fellow man, at least those who did not
succumb to combat trauma or other severe psychological disorders,
reconciled their actions in one of two ways.  First were those who came to
think of themselves as mere agents of their cause, absolving themselves of
responsibility based on the notion that they were only pawns carrying out
some greater purpose.  Second, were those who dehumanized their opponents,
absolving themselves of guilt based on the idea that those that they killed
were something less than human.  Whether by coincidence or psychological
screening, most of these men fell into the latter category.  Now that these
men were truly set above the rest of humanity, it would not take much to
turn them into the ruthless, merciless killers that he needed.

   They seethed with resentment and hatred towards him at the moment, but
that could be changed.  It would have to be.  If he were to succeed in
overthrowing the current regimes, he needed their loyalty.  The absolute
obedience compelled by the bond was useful, but it only went so far.  He
could not foresee every contingency or development.  Unless these men were
willing to act on their own initiative, in the absence of direct orders,
his plan would fail.

   He would have to invent a cause that these men could believe in; they
would never accept his actual intent.  Fortunately, the power of suggestion
made it unnecessary to be particularly creative in that regard.  He stood
gazing at them for a few more minutes more, his mind gently and
imperceptibly prodding them to accept what he was about to tell them. 
Under his expert manipulations, doubts receded and certain old grudges were
reinforced.

   Finally, he began to speak.  "Gentlemen, you do not know me.  My name is
Arthur.  It was my essence that was used to make you what you are now. 
Like you, I once served my nation proudly.  For King and country, I fought
with fist and sword on heaving wooden decks that were slippery with the
blood and entrails of friend and foe alike as musket and cannon balls
whizzed past my head.  And what, I ask you, awaited me if I beat the odds
and survived my naval career?  If I was lucky, a pittance for an allowance
and a room at the Greenwich Hospital for elderly and infirm sailors.

   "Things have not changed.  For years you have risked life and limb to
protect the freedoms and serve the interests of the soft, privileged
civilians of this land.  You have killed for them, and have seen friends
die for them.  And for what?

   For the next half hour, Arthur commiserated with his fledglings as a
fellow soldier.  He extolled upon the virtues which had been conferred upon
them by his essence, setting them apart and above the rest of humanity.  He
commended their long, honorable service, and vilified the treatment they
had received from the civilians and government of their nation based on
offenses both real and imaginary.  He belittled the idea that they had any
further duty or obligation to their country past the service they had
already given.  Again and again he emphasized the tragic end that likely
awaited them once the experiment had reached it's conclusion.  Throughout
it all, he reinforced his words with light touches on the minds of his
listeners.

   Arthur paused to gauge the mood of his audience.  As a result of his
earlier mental prodding's, nearly all were angry, and not at him.  With a
cold smile, he concluded

   "In its current state, the world would never - could never - accept us
for what we are, but we have the power to change that.  I am proposing the
start of a new world order.  One in which vampire and human coexist
peacefully, with the vampires serving as protectors and judges.  While none
of you have truly manifested it yet, we do gain the ability to look into
the hearts and minds of people to see the truth of things.  Who better than
us to preside over judicial proceedings?  Why have such monumental
decisions as guilt or innocence decided arbitrarily by a jury of the
ignorant when we can know the answer with absolute certainty?  We can even
know when someone intends to commit a crime, but has not yet acted on that
intent.

   "We deserve to live.  To do so we must feed.  Isn't it fitting and
proper that the filth and vermin who we know are guilty of capital crimes
are used to sustain us, rather than leeching away the nation's resources in
a prison cell?

   "Bringing about such change will not be easy.  The old regimes must be
torn down from the top.  Have no doubt, blood will run in the streets
before we are through.  When all is done, though, we will have a near
utopian society.  A civilization that doesn't know war or corruption.  A
world in which crime never goes unpunished.  A society in which you will
play a vital and respected role for all of eternity.  Is that end not worth
any means?

   "Now you must choose.  Will you join with me, and help forge a better
world, or will you stay loyal to the existing powers and be repaid for that
loyalty with a stake through the heart?"

   It took all of Arthur's will to keep his emotions under control when all
but one of the fledglings chose to follow him.  He was surprised that such
jaded and cynical men could believe such nonsense, even under the influence
of suggestion.  Humanity would never be willing to knowingly coexist with a
creature that fed upon them, and even Arthur cringed at the Orwellian idea
of thought police amplified and made a reality.  Then again, any port would
do in a storm, and what he had told them about their ultimate fate as
subjects of Dr.  Nolan's experiment was very likely true.

   After seeing to it that the man who had refused to join him was placed
in restraints to prevent him from raising an alarm, Arthur walked alone
back out into the hallway.  This portion of the complex was shaped like a
dumbbell, with his prison at one end and the lab at the other.  The area
was free of cameras.  Those in charge did not want any more people than
absolutely necessary knowing what took place here.  At the center of the
hallway connecting the two areas, another branched out.  Arthur used the
guard's identification card to open the door that allowed access to that
area.

   Unlike the research area, the hallway beyond the door was equipped with
a camera every twenty feet.  Arthur walked purposefully down the doorless
corridor, keeping his head down to avoid any chance that those watching the
cameras would recognize him for what he was.  The sight of a single man in
uniform, however, was apparently not a cause for alarm.  After several
hundred feet, the route was blocked by another door; this one guarded by
several soldiers.  Arthur worked them like a puppet master, forcing them to
act out the charade of checking his id and passing him through.  Once past
the door, Arthur purged their minds of the memories of the last few minutes
and moved on.

   The hall on the other side of the door was only around thirty feet long
and ended in a stairwell leading up.  At the base of the stairs was a
single door that led to the facility's security center.  It had been placed
deep inside the base with the expectation that any intrusion would be from
the outside.  A quick exercise of will unlocked the door.  The two men
inside barely had time to gape at him in surprise before their thick, hot
blood splashed across the monitors that filled the room.

   On his way back to his fledglings, Arthur paused only briefly to feed on
the guards at the central door.  Gathering his minions, he led them back to
the stairs and up into the areas that housed the facility's garrison.

   The majority of the company sized force died in their sleep at the hands
and fangs of Arthur and his men.  The only exceptions were close friends of
his new fledglings and the commanding and executive officers.  These men
were, in essence, press ganged into the service of Arthur's supposed cause.
If the Gift took hold in all of them and Susan, Arthur would have control
over forty-three fledglings.

   In Pittsburgh, Arthur had learned the hard way that there was an upper
limit to the number of ferals that could be created by a single vampire. 
Once that number was reached, the creator became as bestial and unreasoning
as his creations.  He wondered if there was a similar limit applicable to
intelligent fledglings.  If so, what consequences would surpassing that
boundary have?  It made him uneasy to sail into uncharted waters, but he
needed the loyalty of these men.

   His plan to gain that loyalty was simple: a man of great intellect had
once said that a prince's ultimate goal should be to have his subjects both
love and fear him.  Giving these men a course of action that would appeal
to their egos, and showing mercy to their friends were steps toward gaining
their love.  The ease and brutality with which he dispatched those who were
now their foes had already earned him their fear.

   Once the relatively small facility had been cleared of potential
opposition, Arthur had his men gather in the mess hall.  The bodies of
those who had been given the Gift, but had not yet risen, were laid
carefully on several of the long tables.  Looking around at the expectant
faces of his followers, he decided that a brief question and answer period
was in order.  Having examined the minds of these men, he knew the answers
to all of the questions he intended to ask, of course.  However, each time
they participated in the furtherance of his stated cause, even in such a
minor manner as voluntarily and truthfully answering his queries, they
would bind themselves ever more firmly to him.

   "Where exactly are we?" he asked the group at large.

   A cacophony of voices informed him that he was on the edge of Fort Dix,
New Jersey.

   He spent the next few minutes going from man to man, asking their names,
branch of service and special skills.  Then he again addressed the entire
group.

   "I understand that this place is powered by a nuclear reactor," he said.
"Do any of you know anything about it?"

   Three men raised their hands uncertainly.  Looking back and forth
amongst themselves, they silently chose one man as their spokesman.

   "Yes, sir," he said.  "The three of us are, or at least were, Navy
Seals. The reactor here was finished last year as a new prototype for
training glow worms in the Navy nuclear power program.  It's part of the
plan to turn Fort Dix into a multi-branch base.  This lab complex was built
in secret under the cover of the reactor construction.  I don't know what
they were going to use it for, but it was retasked when Dr.  Nolan found
you.  Anyway, the three of us have all spent time on subs and carriers that
used similar power plants, and, like all Seals during the cold war, we were
trained to disable equivalent reactors on enemy ships.  So, we know the
basics of how they work."

   Arthur nodded his head attentively and stated, "To have any hope of
success, we will have to keep people from learning what transpired here
tonight.  Would you be able to rig it to explode?"

   The Seal spokesman was shaking his head before Arthur had finished his
question.  "Nuclear reactors can't explode.  At least not in the way you're
thinking.  I don't remember exactly why that is, but it has something to do
with there not being enough of the right kind of uranium in the fuel rods
for a supercritical reaction." He hesitated for a moment, discomfort
evident in his features.  Finally, he offered, in a low, embarrassed voice,
"We could probably rig it to melt down, though.  The area would be hot
enough that they might not be able to sort things out for a few months at
least."

   "Excellent," Arthur replied.  "I want the three of you to make it
happen, but give me at least an hour.  I need to check on the good doctor
and his assistant." Turning to again address the group as a whole, he said,
"While I'm gone, the rest of you divide up into pairs, but don't leave this
facility.  I also want you to search the barracks for civilian clothes that
fit you and change into them.  I will give you your assignments when I
return."

   Without further ado, Arthur spun on his heel and exited the mess hall.
His first stop was the lab where they had tied up the ranger who had
refused to join the cause.  Despite the lip service he had paid to mercy
when they had restrained the man, the soldier had heard too much to be
allowed to live.  Without preamble, Arthur made two swipes with hands that
had been changed into savage claws.  The first nearly severed the ranger's
head from his shoulders.  The second eviscerated him.  After removing the
heart from the chest cavity, Arthur carried the remains to an incinerator
chute.

   To prevent the man's fate from causing dissension in the ranks, Arthur
would tell the others that he had left the man bound, so that he could not
betray them, and that radiation would not harm their kind.

   Arthur was nearly to the room that had been his entire world for so long
when he felt a new bond forming on the fringes of his consciousness.  When
Arthur flicked on the lights of his former prison, he saw that Susan was
crouched on the floor near Dr.  Nolan's feet.  Her lips were pulled back in
a snarl as she glared hungrily at her former mentor.

   As Arthur strode across the room toward the pair, he said offhandedly,
"Stay motionless, Susan.  Do nothing unless I tell you."

   Her body stiffened at his words, and she became as still and silent as a
statue.

   As he grew near, Arthur saw that Dr.  Nolan's forehead was beaded with
sweat, and his body was quivering with fear.  His eyes kept sliding to his
former assistant before being abruptly averted.

   "Shame on you, Susan," Arthur said.  "I believe that you've frightened
the poor man.  He is certainly under too much stress to make a rational,
reasoned decision concerning my offer.  Be a good lass and help calm him.
Orally pleasuring him should suffice."

   Susan immediately lunged forward to undo the doctor's pants.  Pulling
his shrunken member free, she began to exuberantly suck and slurp on his
soft flesh.  Despite the doctor's fright, her actions soon provoked a
response.  As he hardened, her head began to bob.

   "Be careful now, dear," Arthur admonished her gently, "Don't bite or
otherwise draw blood."

   Arthur and Nolan watched Susan's efforts for a moment, until Arthur
asked lightly, "Does this meet your expectations, doctor?  I believe you've
pleasured yourself in the bathroom to this scenario a number of times while
your wife slept." Gesturing absently toward the restraining device that
held the doctor fast, Arthur added, "Well, almost this scenario.  In your
fantasies your positions were reversed, if I recall correctly."

   Dr.  Nolan's face flushed red, and he carefully avoided looking down at
Susan.  "That's a lie," he protested vehemently.

   "As you wish," Arthur replied indifferently.  "In any event, we are
short of time.  This place is about to become quite radioactive.  I take it
from the fact that you did not provoke Susan to kill you that you are at
least considering my other offer."

   "Would you tell me one thing?" the doctor asked breathlessly.  Susan's
ministrations were causing him to pant heavily.

   "Of course," Arthur replied magnanimously.

   "What are you planning to do now that you're free?"

   Arthur considered repeating the pretense that had worked so surprisingly
well with the fledglings, but decided that his debt to the man demanded the
truth.

   Calmly, he said, "You seemed familiar with the poem that I quoted
earlier.  Do you recall the last stanza?"

   Dr.  Nolan's face creased with confusion at this seemingly irrelevant
question, but he finally nodded.

   Arthur then continued, "Then you know my intent, and you have given me
the kernel of the army I need to make it a reality."

   Dr.  Nolan's eyes widened in sudden comprehension and horror.  In a low,
despondent voice, he said, "Then I choose death."

   With an amiable nod, Arthur bent down to Susan's energetically bobbing
head.  He whispered in her ear, "Take it all in, dear.  Yes, that's it. 
Now bite.  Bite hard."

   Susan's jaws drew closed with an audible click.  Dr.  Nolan's blood
spurted outward from the horrible wound like a fountain, soaking her
entirely.  She reeled backwards, choking and gagging on the mangled body
part that remained in her mouth and throat.

   "You don't have to breathe anymore, Susan," Arthur observed with
amusement.  "Just spit that little thing out and feed before he runs dry.
It might be your last chance for quite some time."

   Following Arthur's instructions, Susan spit and then clamped her mouth
over the gushing injury.  Although this reduced the flow, rivulets of blood
still ran down her chin to drip on the floor.

   Arthur stepped forward to look closely at Dr.  Nolan's pain and horror
contorted face.  "I only promised that your death would be quick, doctor,
not painless," he said mildly.  Looking down, he tapped the toe of his shoe
in the widening pool of blood.  "My, my, my," he said with a smirk, "aren't
you just a juicy little piggy?"

   Those were the last words that Dr.  Nolan ever heard.

   "Stand, Susan," Arthur commanded.  When the woman was facing him, he
asked, "Besides wood, sunlight, and, to a lesser degree, fire, did you and
the doctor discover any other weaknesses of my kind?"

   "Not really," Susan answered sullenly, "Although we did learn that
chunks won't regenerate into a whole new being.  Get blown to bits and
you're as dead as anyone else.  Also, if you're drained of fluids,
regeneration is slowed dramatically."

   "Hmmm, interesting," Arthur said in a tone that suggested it was
anything but.  "Follow along now, girl, and keep up."

   Susan followed for a few steps before asking, "Why are you doing this to
me?"

   "Because I can.  Be silent now.  In fact, don't speak again unless I ask
you a question or give you permission."

   Susan tried to protest, but found that not only could she not, but the
mere attempt caused her pain.

   Chapter 8

   November Fifteenth

   Bradley Furner exchanged hand signals with Jack Unger and Gary Revay as
they crept up to the chain link fence topped with concertina wire that
surrounded the reactor training facility.  The irony of the situation made
him queasy.  All three had been Master Chiefs in the U.S.  Navy, serving
most of their time in the SEAL program.  Afterwards, their careers had
pretty much followed the course that Arthur had described.  After decades
of honorable service, each had been within months of mandatory retirement.
Now, their youth miraculously restored, they were looking in at nuclear
power plant on U.S.  soil, planning to betray all that they had sworn to
defend.

   He had grown increasingly depressed as the retirement date approached.
Unlike many of his friends, he had nothing outside the Navy.  No wife.  No
kids.  His only family was a sister in Idaho who he only spoke to on
Christmas.  Then he had been approached with an ambiguous offer of
participation in an individual combat enhancement program.  If nothing
else, he had been told, it would extend his service by months if not years.
He had jumped at the opportunity eagerly.

   What a fool he had been.  The first inkling he had of the true nature of
the program was when he had awoken after being injected multiple times by
Nolan's assistant.  At first he had been exuberant.  Even in the heavy
restraints he felt better than he had in decades, and far stronger than he
had ever been in his life.  Then he had felt the fangs with the tip of his
tongue, and the exhilaration faded.  Immediately thereafter, a lab
assistant had entered the room, and he had first experienced the hunger.  A
hunger that could not be sated no matter how many rats he drained.  Even
when he had lived off grubs for more than a month in the jungles of
Somalia, he had never known the like.

   Since that first day, the hunger had been his constant companion.  Until
now.  His mind tried to shy shamefully away from thoughts concerning the
reason for that absence.  He had known the kid on whom he had fed, as he
knew most of the garrison.  A fresh recruit from the inner city of
Philadelphia, he had been a good soldier who had been shaping up to be a
fine man.  Now he was dead.

   He still had trouble accepting what it was that he had become, but the
truth was undeniable.  Like everyone else in the world, he had avidly
watched the news from Pittsburgh during the outbreak.  Like most people, he
had believed the government officials and medical experts who had assured
the world that it had only been a very unique disease that had caused all
the problems, but now he knew the truth.  He no longer had a pulse.  His
body was always exactly room temperature.  He didn't even have to breathe
except to talk, although the habit of a lifetime was hard to break.  No
disease could do that.  He found it strange that he had never felt more
alive than he did after he was technically dead.

   Guiltily he returned his thoughts to his current course of action.  He
didn't like what he was doing.  In fact, he hated it.  But what other
choice did he have?  As a young man, he had recklessly risked his life time
and time again, convinced of his own immortality.  Then, when he had
reached the age when there were definitely more years behind him than there
were ahead, thoughts of his own inevitable demise had plagued him with
increasing frequency.  He didn't want to die.  He supposed that no one did,
but now, if this Arthur character was telling the truth, he might truly be
immortal.  How could he give that up?

   For weeks now, as the hunger became increasingly difficult to control,
he and the others had been grumbling about their ultimate fate.  None of
them were naive enough to believe that they would ever be allowed complete
freedom again.  In fact, once they had received their injections, they had
not been permitted outside the facility at any time for any reason.  The
thought that they would be disposed of at the conclusion of the program had
been brought up more than once; each of them knew all too well how callous
bureaucrats could be when it came to expending the lives of anonymous
soldiers.  Morale had been low.

   Arthur had offered them something that had been severely lacking: hope
for the future.  Hope that they would again be free.  Hope that their lives
would have purpose and meaning for all of their existence.  Hope that their
lives wouldn't be snuffed out in the near future as a matter of
bureaucratic convenience.  He knew there would be a price, that the good
ol' U.S.  of A., and the rest of the world, would take one hell of a hit.
In the end, though, it would all be for the best.  Wouldn't it?  Briefly,
he imagined what it might be like, living in a world where the guilty were
always caught, and the innocent were never falsely imprisoned.  A world in
which he would always be valued as a keeper of the peace and a bringer of
justice.  Unless Arthur was bullshitting them.  He forced that thought
aside: too much depended on the truth of Arthur's

   words.

   Shaking himself from his reverie, Brad joined his partners in devising a
plan of attack.  Briefly they discussed the degree of lethal force that
should be used; the place was, after all, manned by their own countrymen.
They unanimously decided that the quick, clean deaths that they could give
would be far more merciful than the long, lingering ones that would result
from radiation poisoning.

   Once they made it inside, the rest wouldn't be difficult.  During their
long careers, they had performed missions that were far more challenging.
Security here was relatively light compared to that of similar facilities.
Located at the heart of Fort Dix, it depended significantly upon the
protection offered by the large army base.  The only real impediment in
their way was actually getting inside the perimeter of the fence.  They
were woefully under equipped for such a mission, lacking even a simple bolt
cutter.

   Jack studied the fence for another moment, and said, "I wonder...  Cover
me."

   He waited until the roving patrol had turned around a corner, and,
before his partners could protest, he sprinted at full speed toward the
barrier.  Just short of the fence, he gathered his legs under him and
jumped.  Brad and Gary looked at each other in silent astonishment when
Jack cleared the top with more than a foot to spare.

   As Jack knelt with his purloined M16, ready to provide cover fire if
necessary, Brad and Gary began their own runs.  Brad also cleared the fence
easily.  Gary wasn't so fortunate.  He hit the ground on the opposite side
hard and lay groaning in pain.  Brad went to his side and winced at the
sight of the deep lacerations that the razor wire had inflicted on his
abdomen and legs.

   "Hang in there, Gary," he whispered as he clasped the man's shoulder
supportively.

   As Brad and Jack discussed how they were going to evacuate their wounded
partner, Gary looked down at his body with confusion.  Pushing a finger
through one of the rents in his clothing he probed tentatively, and then
with more force.

   "Uh, guys," he whispered disbelievingly, "I think I'm okay."

   The other two looked at him with surprise, before rushing to his side to
probe at the previously injured areas themselves.  They had been told that
they were now able to regenerate quickly, but this was beyond their wildest
expectations.  Pulling Gary to his feet, they ran at a low crouch toward
the entrance.

   The men were well practiced in stealth, and were able to get within ten
yards of the men standing watch at the facilities entrance without being
noticed.  In all fairness, though, the guards were scandalously lax,
spending more time discussing which port had the best whores than they did
scanning their surroundings.

   Brad and Gary crept slowly behind them.  Drawing combat knives, they
lunged forward.  With their greatly increased strength, they were easily
able to drive the knives into the base of their targets' necks, severing
the spinal cord.  Death was nearly instantaneous and, more importantly,
silent.

   Wiping his blade off on his victim's dungarees, Brad looked up at the
camera that monitored the area.  He had expected an alarm to be raised by
now.  They had all assumed that they would have to fight their way to the
reactor vessel.  He wondered why they didn't.

   As they penetrated deeper into the building, he got his answer.  The man
who was supposed to be watching the monitors was asleep at his post. 
Normally, this would be an Article 15 offense.  Tonight it was capital.

   The man's dereliction of duty made their task far easier.  Time and
again, they happened across trainees, instructors and guards, alone or in
small groups.  All died before the surprise had faded from their faces.

   As they approached the reactor itself, they could hear the whirring of
the massive seven stage centrifugal pumps and the whine of the steam
turbines.  The Navy used high pressure water reactors.  The highly
radioactive water that surrounded the fuel was kept at such extreme
pressure that it remained a liquid at temperatures far surpassing those
that would cause it to flash to steam under normal conditions.  Their plan
was to cause the reactor to generate so much heat that even the extreme
pressures of the core could no longer hold the water in its fluid state.

   Finally, they stood outside the chamber itself.  After efficiently
dispatching the nuclear electronic technicians who were monitoring the
core, they studied the instrument panel.  Jack moved forward and made the
necessary adjustments.  There was a slight hum as electric motors on top of
the reactor pressure vessel head pulled the hafnium control rod assemblies
from the fuel.

   Red lights began to flash and the hum abruptly ceased.  They looked at
each other in consternation.  They hadn't taken into account that this was
a training reactor.  Safety overrides had been put in place to keep raw
trainees from inadvertently causing the disaster that they were trying to
create.  As one, their eyes turned toward the large hand wheel positioned
above the uncooperative electric motors.  The Navy never left anything to
chance.  The wheel allowed the control rods to be moved manually to shut
down the core in the event of a catastrophe.  Of course, a mechanism that
could be used to lower the rods could also be used to raise them.  The
Navy's attention to detail would ironically be the undoing of this place.

   As Jack disabled the electronics that could be used to shut down the
reaction, Brad and Gary jumped up onto the vessel head.  Even with their
greatly increased strength, they had to strain to turn the wheel.

   After a few turns, Gary asked, "Think that's enough?"



   "Hell if I know," Brad replied.  "It's not like it comes with a meltdown
timer.  Let's give it a few more turns and jam it."

   They put action to Brad's words and hopped back down to rejoin Jack. 
Before they left, they turned their automatic weapons on one of the seven
stage pumps so that the power generating portion of the facility would not
siphon off any heat from the core.  The lights flickered and dimmed as the
turbines and the generators they drove failed.  The lights then brightened
again as a relay switched over to draw power from the civilian grid.  They
then did the same to the pumps and valves of the emergency cooling system.
On the way out, they disabled as many of the massive doors that were
designed to help contain the products of any accident as they could.

   When they exited the building, the surrounding area was still deserted,
but they could hear sirens and see flashing red and blue lights in the
distance.  The damage they had done must have caused an alarm to go off at
the fort's primary security building.  Not that it really mattered.  For
the moment, at least, Fort Dix was primarily an Army Reserve training base,
where weekend warriors came to do their two week annual training.  For this
reason, the base's response team wasn't exactly impressive by their
standards.

   They jogged effortlessly back to the above ground portion of the
laboratory.  Most of the others were already gathered outside.  A quick
head count revealed that there were a total of thirty four, not counting
themselves.  Through the windows of the mess hall, the team could see that
Arthur and Nolan's assistant were doing something with fire hoses.  Some
quick math revealed that five had not risen.  Arthur had warned them that
this might happen, but it was still sobering.

   A moment later, Arthur came out to join them.  Susan crawled behind him
on all fours.  Brad briefly felt sorry for the woman, but he had heard
rumors of what had taken place in the forbidden sections of the facility.
If he were Arthur, he would be pissed, too.

   Arthur smiled slightly when he saw them, "Excellent.  You've returned. I
trust that all went well?" When they had nodded in response, Arthur
continued, "While you were gone, we clogged all the drains, turned on the
sprinklers, and ran fire hoses to the stair wells.  By the time anyone
thinks to look here, the below ground portions should be submerged."

   He then turned his attention to the Commander and XO.  "General
Huffhamner, Colonel Woodard, could you come here please?"

   When the men he addressed, men who had not been present for his speech
and whom he had not yet twisted to see things his way, had resentfully
approached, Arthur stated, "I am indeed flattered that the military
considered me worthy of the attentions of a one star General and full bird
Colonel.  Tell me, gentlemen, do either of you have the power to authorize
a flight from McGuire Air Force Base to Europe, Italy to be precise, or the
Middle East, specifically Saudi Arabia or Israel?"

   His eyes staring daggers, the General grudgingly replied, "Not to Italy
or Israel, but I could put cargo on a plane already scheduled to go to
Ramstein Air Base in Germany.  I could do the same for a flight to
Baghdad."

   "Good.  Please make the arrangements now.  Your office should still be
above flood level.  Oh, and General?  Don't do or say anything that would
betray me or draw attention to the cargos."

   Arthur turned to address the entire group, "Do any of you have your
passports readily available?"

   One of the men spoke up, "We're active duty military.  We don't
generally need passports."

   "I realize that," Arthur replied, "but you aren't going to be traveling
as military personnel.  I repeat, do any of you have passports here?"

   As it turned out, seven did.  Arthur called them forward and studied
each carefully.  Three lacked the necessary characteristics for what he had
in mind.  He dismissed them with orders to locate two crates, each large
enough to hold four men.  He had the four he found acceptable stand to the
side.

   He again addressed the entire group, "Each pair of you will be sent to a
different city.  You are to remain covert at all times.  I cannot stress
enough how important it is that you not draw attention to yourselves.  Once
at your assigned city, you are each to make ten fledglings.  All that is
necessary to do so is to feed a person your blood as you drain him
completely.

   "You will send the first two pairs that you create to your secondary and
tertiary targets.  You will give them orders identical to the ones I am
giving you now.  Once they are established in their target cities, contact
me for further targets.  The other eight that you create will each make ten
fledglings of their own.  I leave it to your discretion on whether to have
that last group continue the trend.  You have more knowledge than I
concerning the number of men needed to control a city.

   "Do not forget to command your fledglings not to reveal what they have
become or otherwise warn any mortal agency.  Have your fledglings pass this
command down to theirs, and so forth.  Make absolutely certain that all
fledglings are commanded by their creators not to attack any others of our
kind except in self defense.  Issue whatever other commands you feel are
necessary to ensure that your force will get the job done.

   "In all cases, choose fledglings from the ranks of the police, or, in
cities that contain or are near military bases, combat trained soldiers. 
Focus especially upon ranking officers, but do not take any who are old
enough that restored youth would be blatantly obvious.  Do your best to
select those who work on the night shift and are unmarried.  Those
fledglings who are able are to continue to go about their normal routine,
including going to work, to the fullest extent that is possible.  For those
of you assigned to state capitals, create a few fledglings from among the
ranks of those who have access to the legislative buildings and governor's
residence.  For the first two pairs you create, select individuals who are
likely to join our cause willingly and are resourceful enough to initially
work on their own.

   "While you are building your force, learn the addresses of day shift
police officers, legislators, judicial officers, members of the local media
and local government officials.  Finally, once we go overt, we will need
daytime guardians.  Every city has its disaffected, its malcontents: gang
members; street criminals; militants.  Recruit from among them.  You will
also need to do your best to secure supplies of explosives and weaponry.

   "It is now November 15th.  I expect all of you to be ready by December
20th.  Incidentally, many of you will be assigned to cities that you will
not be able to reach by morning.  Take back roads and spend the day in the
trunk of your vehicle.  If your vehicle has no trunk, procure a tarp before
sun rise."

   Arthur pulled out a cell phone he had pilfered from one of the garrison
members.  He asked, "Do all of you have one of these?" When most nodded
that they did, Arthur said, "Good, when you come up for your assignment,
enter your name, assigned city, and number into this phone's contact list,
and add its number to your own.  Keep in contact with those you dispatch to
other cities.  Call me if there is a problem.  Even if there are no
problems, call me once each week to keep me apprised of your progress and
the progress in your secondary target cities.  As soon as you are able,
obtain a satellite phone.  Notify me when you have a new number.  I will do
the same."

   Arthur had the the Seals, the Commander and XO, and another pair he had
chosen at random stand aside with the four men with passports that he had
selected earlier.  Taking a bag of car keys from Susan that had been
collected from members of the garrison and laboratory staff, he had the
remaining thirteen pairs come up for their assignments.  The primary
targets were New York, Richmond, Philadelphia, Harrisburg, Sacramento,
Tallahassee, Austin, Phoenix, Nashville, Atlanta, Springfield, Salt Lake
City and Baton Rouge.  Secondary and tertiary targets included Chicago,
Toronto, Ottawa, Miami, Albany, Pittsburgh, Houston, San Antonio, and a
plethora of state capitals.

   When the thirteen pairs had found the cars that went with the keys they
had been given and departed, Arthur turned to the ones that had been
directed to stand aside.

   "General Huffhamner, Colonel Woodard, Susan and the pair I selected at
random will be coming with me to Washington, D.C.  The rest of you will
have very special assignments.  You were chosen for such because you are
all atheists or agnostics, and won't have to betray any religious ideals to
complete your tasks."

   Turning to the four who had passports, he said, "The four of you will be
transported to Baghdad in a crate.  The flight will not be comfortable,
but, since you have fed recently, you should be able to endure it without
problem." Indicating one of the pairs, he continued, "The two of you will
make your way to Mecca." He gestured toward the other pair, "And you will
go to Jerusalem.  Otherwise follow the same orders as the others.  The only
exceptions being that you will not be sending fledglings off to other
targets, and you have no need to recruit daytime guardians for reasons that
I will reveal when the time comes."

   Under Arthur's direction, the four got into one of the crates that had
been produced earlier and were sealed inside.  Arthur then had the General
attach paperwork that directed that the crate be warehoused upon arrival at
its destination and instructions that it was not to be opened without the
General's express consent.  As a final safeguard, the crate was marked with
"Top Secret" designations.

   Arthur turned at last to the Seals.  "Your work tonight impressed me. 
You accomplished the mission despite having minimal equipment and no
intelligence on your target.  For that reason, I have selected you for the
hardest assignment of all.  Upon your arrival at Ramstein, you are to make
your way to Rome.  When making fledglings, concentrate on the Swiss Guard
and Gendarmerie.  Your secondary and tertiary targets are Berlin and Paris.
The fledglings you send to those cities are to send their own pairs to
Prague, London, Madrid, and, if a way can be found, Moscow.  Have them
contact me for more specific orders once they are in place.

   "The reason that this assignment will be difficult is that Rome is the
home of one of the most ancient of our kind.  If he detects your presence,
he will destroy you.  You must be very careful.  Like the other four, you
have no need to recruit mortals for daytime protection, and that should
make staying hidden easier."

   With a nod, Brad asked, "What of those we send to Berlin and such?  Will
they need to recruit?"

   Arthur replied, "No, our object in Europe is to keep those powers from
interfering here."

   "If I may ask, sir," Brad continued hesitantly, "why so much emphasis on
the U.S.  and so little on Europe or Asia?"

   "One of the drawbacks of living on a globe is that it is never dark
everywhere at the same time.  Once we make a full attack on one region, the
remainder of the world will be warned.  As the United States is the only
nation that has the wherewithal to move enough troops and materials quickly
enough to effectively oppose us, we will strike it first.  Once the U.S. 
military is neutralized, or better yet, joins with us, the rest of the
world will fall easily enough."

   Once the Seals had been crated, Arthur and his team carried both crates
to a deuce and a half that sat outside the lab's cargo dock.  Arthur and
the two officers rode in the front of the truck; the rest in the rear.  As
they made their way to McGuire, Arthur smiled coldly.  Yes, he thought, to
kill a nation you have to crush its mind and its heart.  The thirteen teams
that he had dispatched earlier would take care of this country's mind.  The
seven in the boxes would tear out the hearts of the western world.

   As they were loading the crates into the cargo bays of C-130 transport
planes, the wailing of sirens rose from the direction of Fort Dix.  Miles
away the reactor core groaned in protest as the internal heat and pressure
exceeded all tolerances.  The response team's efforts to shut it down had
failed.  A small crack appeared, and steam shot out under enough pressure
to cut a man in half.  With a series of pops and groans the crack grew ever
larger until the containment vessel burst open wide.

   From the tarmac, Arthur watched the dense cloud of vapor bubble upwards
and then spread out in the calm night air.  He was vaguely disappointed. 
There was no ominous glow or wildly vibrant colors.  In fact, there was
nothing at all to indicate the slow, lingering, painful death that it was
spreading across the countryside.

   At the base of that deadly cloud, the fuel rods, no longer cooled or
shielded, pumped their radioactive emissions into the surrounding area as
the temperature continued to rise.  The base of the containment vessel
glowed red before gradually switching to white.  The fuel rod assembly
tilted and collapsed as the floor became molten.  This close to the Pine
Barrens, the Kirkwood-Cohansey aquifer, which supplied millions of people
with fresh water, was not far below the surface.

   Arthur watched the cloud spread outwards for a time before climbing back
into the passenger seat of the trunk.

   "We're going to Washington?" Colonel Woodard asked angrily as he started
the big truck.

   "Eventually," Arthur answered, "but first we have a small errand in New
Orleans."

   As they drove out of the airbase, they passed a number of emergency
vehicles.  Several times, they were stopped by Military Police who were
checking every vehicle in a desperate bid to find those responsible for
what was beginning to look like one of the most heinous acts of terrorism
ever conducted on American soil.  Each time, Arthur concentrated briefly,
and the police waved them on with a smile.

   Following a fuel stop on Interstate 81, Arthur had all four of the
military men climb into the cab and led Susan into the canvas covered back.
As the truck started to bounce and shimmy its way back to the highway,
Arthur smiled maliciously at the fledgling who stood naked and trembling in
front of him.

   "We're going to be spending a great deal of time together from now on,
my dear," he said amiably.  "It's only proper that we should become better
acquainted."

   Turning her around so that her back was toward him, he pushed her down
onto her hands and knees.

   Mockingly, he told her, "I cannot begin to tell you how hurt I am by the
anger, resentment, and - dare I say?  - hatred that I feel coming from you.
Fortunately, we English are well versed in the art of adjusting the
attitudes of young women."

   Reaching into a cargo pocket of his camouflage pants, he pulled out a
wide leather belt that he had taken from one of the members of the garrison
who would never again have a need for it.  With a sharp claw, he cut off a
piece that was a little over two feet in length.  Then, beginning at the
center, he split one end into a number of strips.

   Inspecting his work, he commented, "Not the best tawse that I've ever
used, but it will suffice."

   Reaching down, he ran his thumb through the lewdly displayed lips of her
sex.

   "You really should try to show some enthusiasm, my dear," he said
mildly. "As dry as you are, this will be quite painful." He paused for a
moment's contemplation.  "As a good Master, I suppose that it is my duty to
assist you."

   He knelt behind her and leaned over her back.  She stiffened as he bit
into her shoulder, and then they both began to quiver in pleasure. 
Straightening back up, he returned his hand to her cunt and pushed a finger
inside.

   "There.  Much better," he said as he pulled the glistening digit free.

   He pressed the finger up against her tightly closed mouth.  "Suck it
clean," he directed gently.

   As she did so, he undid the front of his pants and pulled out his
rampant cock.  With a sigh of pleasure, he sank it deep inside her,
stretching her channel wide.  His hips moved in a blur as he demonstrated
the speed that only an elder vampire was capable of attaining.  As fast as
his hips moved, his arm moved even faster, bringing the crudely fabricated
tawse down hard on her back and buttocks with every inward thrust of his
cock.  Each crack of leather on skin sounded before the previous strike had
finished echoing in the close confines of the truck bed.  Raised red
stripes formed faster than her regenerative abilities could heal them.

   Initially, she tried to flinch away, but he held her steady with his
free hand and commanded her to keep her body motionless.  She threw her
head back and her mouth gaped open only to discover that the prohibition
against speaking applied to screaming as well.  Every muscle in her body
shivered with the effort of remaining motionless in the face of his
assault.

   To Susan, it seemed that the torment went on forever, although it could
not have lasted more than a half hour.  With relief, she felt his rhythm
become erratic, and then she felt him erupting inside of her.  The blows
raining down on her slowed and then came to a stop.  As the tawse came to
rest draped over her shoulder, she winced at the sight of the red droplets
that adhered to the thin strips of leather.

   Still embedded to the hilt in her depths, Arthur studied the woman as he
ran his hands over the abused cheeks of her ass.

   "I'm sorry, my dear," he said with a menacing chuckle.  "I can see that
you didn't enjoy that nearly as much as I did.  I am ashamed to think what
a horrible lover you must think that I am.  I think I know what the problem
must be, though: a slut like you is probably accustomed to men who are much
larger.  Let's see what I can do to redeem myself."

   To her horror, instead of softening inside of her, his cock swelled,
rapidly growing harder, thicker and longer.  Around its circumference, it
molded itself to her channel, stretching her wider than she ever would have
believed was possible.  The tip pressed hard against her cervix before
forcing the tiny orifice open and growing into her womb.

   Still it continued to expand.  The pain became so intense that her head
dropped down to rest between her elbows.  Peering between her legs with
eyes squeezed nearly shut, she saw his thighs rippling and shrinking as he
redistributed his flesh.  She could feel the muscles that lined her vagina
stretching well past their limits.  Suddenly, they parted with an audible
pop.  A wave of nausea passed through her, and she vomited out what little
remained of Nolan's blood.

   Shortly thereafter, his cock mercifully stopped growing.  Constricted as
it was by the aperture of her cervix, it was impossible for him to thrust
that massive pillar of flesh in and out of her.  Instead, she felt it pulse
within her, ripples passing up and down its length like the movement of a
monstrous maggot.  Again she was sick, but there was nothing left to expel.

   "I imagine that you can feel me now," Arthur said with a laugh,
carefully avoiding asking a question that would allow her to vent some of
her pain with a scream.

   Still looking back beneath her body, Susan saw that blood was now
trickling down the front of his shrunken thighs and the backs of hers.  Her
eyes shied away from the impossibly thick mass of pale flesh that protruded
from her body.  He grunted, and she guessed that he was again filling her
with his seed, but there were no nerve endings deep enough inside of her to
allow her to feel it.

   The ordeal ended as abruptly as it had begun.  Like a pricked balloon,
his member rapidly deflated and withdrew from her body.  As she slumped in
relief, the tawse came down hard on her torn and gaping sex, flooding her
body with fresh agony.

   "This is no time to be lazy, girl," Arthur said after the cruel blow. 
"Turn around and clean off the mess you left on me with your tongue."

   After she had complied, nearly retching again at the taste of the
mixture of blood, semen and her own secretions, he released her.  She
collapsed to the floor of the truck bed, writhing silently on her stomach
as her torn body knitted itself back together.

   Arthur paid her no further mind.  Drawing the edge of the canvas that
covered the rear of the vehicle to the side, he watched the miles roll away
behind them.

   Chapter 9

   November Sixteenth

   Patrol officer Maria Ramirez slumped over the steering wheel of her
cruiser.  Only four hours into her shift and she was already exhausted. 
Taking care of her newborn and working full time left her precious few
opportunities for sleep.  At least the Philadelphia PD had been
understanding, allowing her to work from eight at night until four in the
morning so that she could be with her child during the day.  The price of
their accommodation had been a transfer to the fourth district, and an
assignment that consisted mainly of checking and rechecking the warehouses
in the district for break-ins.  She pulled the car to a stop along the side
of South Delaware Avenue next to the Penn Warehouse.  Yawning widely, she
grabbed her flashlight and exited the car to do her duty.

   Just down the street, there were two men arguing in front of a physical
therapy office.  She paid them little mind.  They were conservatively
dressed and clean cut, almost certainly military.  Not the sort that caused
trouble.  She thought nothing of it when one of them began walking behind
her with the other following reluctantly a moment later.

   They were still behind her after she walked down Jackson and turned to
patrol along the side of the warehouse that fronted the river.  There was
usually a truck or two being loaded, even this late, but tonight there were
none.  She and the men behind her were the only people in sight.  Despite
herself, her breathing quickened as she hurried along, rapidly playing her
flashlight over the loading docks.  The massive warehouse blocked most of
the noise from the city with the result that she could clearly hear their
footfalls behind her.

   She cringed when one of the men called out, "Looking good there, babe in
blue.  Got a boyfriend?"

   "No," she yelled back over her shoulder, struggling to maintain a calm
she didn't feel.  "I'm not looking for one either, so how about the two of
you just move along?"

   She heard one set of footsteps quicken and approach her rapidly. 
Fighting hard against the instinctive urge to run, she spun around, her
hand dropping to her Taser.

   "Stop where you are, gentlemen," she said authoritatively.  "Turn around
and go about your business, or there will be trouble.  You don't want to
spend the night in lockup."

   The man that was closest to her grinned at her impishly and kept on
coming.

   "What if you are our business, baby?" he asked.

   She drew her Taser smoothly and leveled it at his chest.  "Stop now, or
I will tase you," she warned.

   He kept coming.  She squeezed the trigger and the electrodes shot out
with a puff of carbon dioxide.  When he continued to stand, she held the
trigger down to deliver a shock for far longer than the standard five
seconds.  They both stared with dismay at the wires trailing from his chest
until he looked up and gave her a broad smile.

   "Huh, how about that?" he said as he reached up to pull the electrodes
free, "What else you got, honey?"

   She reached for her sidearm.  He rushed forward, closing the distance
before she could clear her holster.  Grabbing hold of her wrist, he bent it
backward until she dropped her weapon with a cry of pain.  Clamping a hand
over her mouth, he twisted her arm behind her back and forced her face down
onto the pavement.  She struggled fiercely until he ended her resistance by
raining punches down on her shoulders and the back of her head.  The last
of his blows forced her face into the pavement hard enough that her nose
broke with a wet crunch.

   The first man caught up to the struggling pair.  "What the fuck do you
think you're doing, Private Harris?" he hissed.

   "Well, Sergeant Walker," Harris replied, heaping derision upon the
other's rank, "I got tired of walking around this city with my thumb up my
ass.  We've been here all night and haven't done jack shit.  It's time to
get this party started."

   "Arthur was very specific about who we should turn first," Walker said
angrily.  "She doesn't fit the bill."

   "I don't know about that.  She's a cop.  That means she knows how to
handle a weapon and conduct surveillance.  She also said she doesn't have a
boyfriend.  Besides, neither of us has ever been here before.  We don't
know who's who or what's what.  She does.  She's worth changing just for
the information we can get from her.  Also, in case you didn't notice,
Sarge, I'm not screaming like a stuck pig like you did after suggesting
that we just keep driving and sit out the revolution.  So, I must be doing
something right."

   "I don't like it..."

   "I don't give a shit what you like.  I'll tell you what.  I'll call our
supreme frickin' commander, and tell him what's going on.  Let's see what
he has to say about it.  Hold this bitch down for a second while I make the
call."

   Maria tried to scream when they switched places, but Walker's hand
replaced Harris' far too quickly.  Walker held her somewhat more gently,
but, struggle as she might, she could not break free.

   Harris moved off to the side, and Maria heard him speak respectfully to
someone on the phone.  The conversation, conducted quietly enough that she
couldn't make out the words, was over in little more than a minute.

   "The boss agrees with me," Harris said smugly when he returned.  "In
fact, he's calling all the other teams to tell them to get someone who
knows their way around before worrying about his earlier orders.  Now, get
off my bitch."

   Walker grudgingly relinquished his spot on top of her.  Again there was
no chance to scream or escape.  Tears rolled down Maria's face as Harris
stretched his body over hers, grinding his crotch into her ample bottom.

   "Mmmm, I like a bitch who's got some junk in the trunk," he whispered in
her ear.

   Maria could have coped with the situation if she had been able to
believe that they were only going to rape her.  It would be disgusting and
demeaning, but she would eventually have been able to put it behind her. 
But they obviously wanted something from her other than her ass.  They had
called each other by name and showed their faces without any concern.  They
had apparently chosen her because she was a cop, rather than despite it. 
Not knowing what that something might be stripped her of her last vestiges
of control.

   She trembled in fear as Harris licked her from the nape of her neck to
her jaw line, his tongue oddly cold against her skin.

   "Damn you smell good," Harris said lustfully.  "You're making me horny,
baby."

   "Dammit Harris," Walker complained.  "There are cars driving by not a
hundred yards away.  Anyone could see you.  Stop fucking around and change
her."

   "Fuck you, Sarge," Harris replied.  "Why don't you go get the car.  I'll
be done by the time you get back."

   Grumbling to himself, Walker set off to do as Harris suggested.  Maria
watched him go from the corners of her eyes, wondering if she was watching
her last hope of salvation walk away.  She also couldn't help but wonder
just how they wanted to change her.

   Shortly thereafter she got her answer.  Harris twisted her head to the
side, and she felt the sharp points of his teeth against her throat.  They
traced back and forth across her skin, seeking her pulse.  Finding it, they
sank into her skin.

   She screamed into the palm of his hand, and then gasped as pleasure
spread out from the point of injury.  She felt him humping himself hard
against her ass, pushing her hips painfully into the pavement.  She
whimpered with shame as her pleasure suffused body betrayed her by raising
her bottom upward to increase the pressure of his loins against her.  He
abruptly disengaged.  She felt blood flow freely down her neck before
slowing to a trickle.

   "You're so hot, baby," he said in a guttural whisper.  "I gotta have
you."

   Keeping his hand over her mouth, he pulled her head back until she was
certain her neck would snap.  Lifting himself from her back, he used his
free hand to roughly tear at her pants and the long johns she wore to keep
the cold at bay while on patrol.  Stifling her struggles by applying more
pressure to her already strained neck, he pulled the obstructing clothing
down to her knees.

   She heard a wet slurp as he moistened a finger in his mouth, and then
squealed as that digit was shoved into her pussy until his palm slapped
against her taint.  He pulled the finger free and straddled her upper
thighs.  Her tears began to flow anew as he thrust his dick brutally into
her until his pelvis smacked violently against her buttocks.

   "God damn, that might be the loosest pussy I've ever dipped my dick in,"
he said disdainfully.  "We're going to have to try something else."

   Pulling himself from her cunt, he took his cock in hand and raised it
upwards until the head pressed against her anus.  In desperation, she bit
into the hand that was clamped over her mouth, hoping that he would let her
loose long enough to scream.  Instead of pulling away, he laughed.

   "Nice try," he said, "But I was going to have to do that anyway."

   Prying her jaw open with his free hand, he twisted his bleeding hand
sideways and forced it into her mouth.  His cold fluids dripped onto her
tongue and down her throat.  He then forced the head of his cock past her
clenched sphincter, prompting her to bite down hard.  She had the
satisfaction of hearing him grunt in pain, but he kept the hand in place.
Her mouth soon filled with his coppery tasting blood.

   Pushing forward until his balls rested against the lips of her sex, he
grunted, "Oh yeah, baby.  Much fucking better.  You've got one hell of a
tight little pooper." Noticing her tears for the first time, he then
hissed, "You'd better get used to this, bitch.  You're going to be getting
it every night for...well, forever I guess."

   Lowering himself until he was again laying on top of her, he began to
saw his cock in and out of her asshole.  Just when she thought that the
pain would surely kill her, he returned his teeth to her throat.  She
sobbed with humiliation as her body exploded in orgasm.  His thrusts became
erratic, and she knew that his seed was draining deep down into her bowels.
He kept his still hard organ lodged within her as he continued to suck
greedily at her flowing blood.

   Her sight grew dim, and she felt the cold from the pavement beneath her
flow into her very core.  The last thing she saw before her vision went
dark was a car tire coming to a stop by her head.

   Walker exited the vehicle as Harris stood.

   "What did you do?" Walker demanded angrily.  "You were just supposed to
change her not rape her."

   Harris regarded his partner calmly, wishing, not for the first time,
that the friend he had originally paired off with had not been selected for
some special mission.  "You just don't get it, do you?" he asked at last.

   "What is there to get?" Walker replied.  "You just violated that woman.
There's no excuse for that."

   Harris sneered at his partner.  "The old rules don't apply to us
anymore. For now we're above the law.  Soon, we'll be the law.  We can do
what we want without any need for an excuse.  Brave new world and all
that."

   "From what Arthur said, in the 'brave new world' we're supposed to bring
justice, not use our positions as a license to commit whatever crime we
please."

   The men glared at each other for a long moment before Harris said, "I
don't like you.  You don't like me.  We can't kill one another.  So, we'll
have to play nice, at least for now.  Instead of standing here over a dead
cop, let's get moving."

   "What do you propose we do now?" Walker asked without breaking his
glare.

   "Let's throw her in the trunk.  While we're waiting for her to wake up,
we'll drive around and find some homeless fucker or a drunk to feed to her.
After that, we question her and send her back to work."

   Shrugging his acceptance, Walker popped the trunk.

   Shortly before 4 a.m., Maria walked into the Fourth District station
house.  After punching her time card, she went to the OIC desk.

   She smiled sadly at the young man who sat there with his feet propped on
the desk.  His name was Adam Culp and his collateral duties included being
a member of the department's SWAT team.  Ever since her transfer to the
district, he had hit on her shamelessly.

   "Hey there, beautiful," he said in blatant disregard of the department's
sexual harassment policy.

   "Hi, Adam," she replied wanly.

   Noticing her smeared mascara and mussed hair, he jumped to his feet. 
"Is everything alright?" he asked with concern.

   "Yeah, it was just a rough night," she answered.  Not meeting his gaze,
she said softly, "I know that I've been a little rough on you, and I wanted
to say I'm sorry."

   A wide grin spread across his face.  "Does that mean you'll go out with
me?"

   "Yes.  How does dinner tonight sound?"

   "Sounds good to me.  Pick you up around five?"

   "I have a few commitments.  How about we make it six, and I'll pick you
up on my way back."

   "Fantastic."

   "I need to get home, but I'll see you tonight."

   "See you then."

   The joy in his voice almost made her burst into tears.  She surely would
have had she not been commanded not to.

   Before dawn, she made one last call.  Keeping her voice carefully
neutral, as she had been directed, she began, "Hi mom.  I've been thinking
that maybe you were right about putting Juan up for adoption.  I don't
think I'm ready to be a mother yet."

   When the call finally ended, and her mother had agreed to make the
arrangements, Maria curled into a ball and wept until her pain was engulfed
by the void of dormancy.



   Chapter 10

   November Seventeenth

   Jean Boissieu sauntered down Bourbon Street, deep within the heart of
New Orleans' French Quarter.  He smiled and nodded amiably to everyone he
passed.  Here, as in most urban settings, such friendly overtures would
normally be met with a suspicious look and averted eyes.  Something about
his manner and Gallic good looks, though, inspired the recipients to return
the gesture, often to their obvious surprise.

   The area had been virtually untouched by Katrina, and still displayed
all of the charm and casual decadence that had led him to make the place
his home so many years before.  At this time of year, so far from Mardi
Gras and the infamous Fat Tuesday celebration, the crowds were sparse, more
so recently than in years past.  Following the hurricane and its aftermath,
tourism had waned substantially.  The crowds were slowly returning, but
they had not yet come close to reaching their previous level.

   The signs of the downturn were everywhere.  Many of the strip clubs were
only open on Fridays and Saturdays.  The numerous sidewalk cafes were
closed even though it was well before midnight.  The myriad balconies that
looked down upon the street were mostly empty, and the windows behind them
were closed with drawn curtains hiding the darkened interiors from view.

   Nevertheless, there were still a fair number of revelers staggering
along the sidewalks with drinks clutched carefully in their hands.  Music,
both from jukeboxes and live bands, seeped out through the open fronts of a
number of bars, joining together in joyous cacophony.

   A happy squeal rose above the din.  His eyes searched among the
pedestrians for the source before locating her leaning drunkenly against
one of the sidewalk service bars.  She was perfect: a petite, well formed
blond with a lopsided smile that spoke volumes about the number of drinks
she had already consumed that night.

   From the shadows of an alley, he watched her, pretending to sip at a
hand grenade, one of several signature drinks of the area, which he had
purchased from a nearby bar.  He again searched among the merry makers. 
Making a selection, he focused his will briefly to give a small mental
nudge.  A collegian Adonis approached the girl and leaned down to speak in
her ear.  A light blush suffused her cheeks as she gazed up at him through
partially lowered lashes.

   Another nudge, and the girl's friend, her knees pressed tightly together
to keep control of a suddenly rebellious bladder, tugged at her arm.  Not
taking her eyes from her admirer's face, the blond waved her friend off. 
Yet another nudge, and the young man recalled pressing business elsewhere.
She frowned in confusion at his back as he vanished down the street.

   Jean permitted himself a satisfied smile as he strode quickly across the
street to her side; it had been so easy to get the fawn alone, vulnerable
and helpless.

   "Bonjour, mademoiselle," he said in a voice just loud enough to be heard
over the surrounding din, "Please permit me to apologize on behalf of my
gender.  I witnessed that young man's loutish behavior.  A woman of such
beauty as you deserves much better."

   "Yeah, tell me about it," she muttered as she continued to glare after
the boy who had so rudely abandoned her.  Her eyes widened as his words
finally registered fully, and she spun to face him.  "Are you from France?"
she asked.

   "Oui, mademoiselle," he replied.  He winced as her mouth pursed into a
happy "o," and she emitted another of the squeals that had first drawn his
attention to her.

   "Could you say something in Francese?" she asked excitedly.

   "For you, my lovely one, I would be happy to speak in 'Francese,'" he
replied, proud of himself for keeping the contempt from his voice.  With a
small smile, he said, "Je respire l'odeur de ton corps.  Vous sentez
d,licieux."

   Before she could ask for a translation, he switched back to English, and
asked, "Is this your first time in the Big Easy?".

   "Uh huh," she slurred, "my friend Janis and I decided to sneak away for
the weekend to take a break before finals.  So far it's been a blast! 
Hasn't it Jan?" She peered around in confusion as she realized her friend
was no longer present.  Somehow she was unable to recall where the other
girl had gone.

   "I have lived in this wonderful city for quite some time.  Perhaps I
could show you around to some of the local hot spots?"

   Her face clouded.  "I dunno," she said slowly, "I should really wait for
Jan..."

   "Your friend could not have strayed far.  I'm sure we'll find her," he
replied as he offered her a crooked elbow.  To his surprise, she twined her
hand through it without any need for compulsion.  He patted her hand and
beamed a smile.  She truly was as foolish as she was beautiful.  Just the
way he liked them.

   True to his word, Jean took the young woman, whose name he never
bothered to learn, to a number of jazz clubs and out-of-the-way drinking
establishments.  As the hours passed, her inhibitions faded even further.
Their dancing grew ever more erotic, and, time and again, she flowed
willingly into his arms for kisses that turned increasingly passionate. 
Jean thoroughly enjoyed himself; as he always did when playing the game of
seduction.

   With only a few hours left until dawn, he led her back to his small
apartment.  His landlady, a Haitian known as Mama Marie, had witnessed him
feeding when he had first come to the city more than thirty years earlier.
Before he could kill her - his ability to alter memories was useless at the
time - she had pronounced him to be a "Loa" and led him here.  He had lived
here ever since, prospering under her protective eye.  As the years passed,
he developed a great deal of affection for Marie.  Now that she was in her
eighties, he often did her grocery shopping and house cleaning, and
performed the small repairs that were needed in the several buildings she
owned.  He had even offered her the Gift.  She had refused, asking instead
that he merely put in a good word for her with Bondye.  He had sadly
promised that he would do his best, wishing all the while that her request
was truly within his power.

   Once inside, he led the inebriated girl to his bed.  Sitting her on the
edge of the mattress, he lit a candle to shed dim, flickering light in the
dark and windowless room.  Turning, he kissed her deeply, and lowered her
to the silk sheets.  As he rained kisses over her lips, face and throat,
his hands roamed over her body, undoing a button here and a snap there.

   Once he had bared her firm and perky breasts, he bent to take a nipple
in his mouth.  As he sucked, she ran her fingers through his hair.  He
laved both of her breasts gently with his tongue, and then moved downwards.


   "I've never done it with a foreigner before," she murmured.

   With a laugh he replied, "I think you will find that there is not much
difference where it counts." As an afterthought, he added smugly, "Although
we French are much better at using it."

   Her giggle turned into a gasp of pleasure as he reached his target.  He
lightly licked around the edges of her thong, paying particular attention
to the creases where her inner thighs became her sex.  Stripping her of the
tiny garment, he delved between the thick, wet labial lips, lengthening his
tongue slightly to reach far into her depths.  She responded with another
of the earsplitting squeals.

   In his nearly ninety years of existence, he had perfected the art of
cunnilingus, and he applied that knowledge now.  Her body quivered
endlessly in orgasm as his lips and tongue caressed her clit, labia,
perineum and anus.  Finally, he drew himself to his knees and stripped off
his own clothing.

   The girl lay panting and sweaty before him.  With a happy sigh she gazed
into his eyes.  "Wow, that was intense," she whispered.  Her eyes traced
down his body, and widened when they came to his member.  "Oh my god," she
said timidly, "There's no way that thing will fit inside me."

   He smiled down at her indulgently, stroking himself a few time so that
the foreskin alternately covered and revealed the bulbous, plum sized head
of his organ.  Moving to cover her body with his own, he said, "I think you
will find that it will fit quite nicely, mademoiselle."

   As the head of his massive cock split her labia, she put a hand on his
hips to stop him.  "Do you have a rubber?" she asked.

   "Shhh," he whispered, "Do not concern yourself with such trifles.  I
assure you that I am sterile and disease free."

   Any further protest she might have made died on her lips as he lunged
forward, burying at least six inches of his length inside her.  She cried
out in pain as she was stretched wider than she had ever thought possible.
He paused only briefly to allow her to adjust to his presence before
thrusting even deeper.  She grunted in pain as the head of his cock
collided forcefully against her cervix.  Apparently, she was not one of the
few women who enjoyed the sensation.

   Backing off slightly, he started to fuck her steadily, careful not to
push more than seven inches into her.  At first, tears rolled from her eyes
from the pain of her channel being forced so widely open, but then she
began to adjust.  When she began to wail in pleasure, Jean grinned widely
and leaned down to give her a kiss.

   He used her like a fucktoy, twisting her around to screw her in every
possible position and from every conceivable angle.  She was like a rag
doll in his hands, hanging limply in his grasp as her tight pussy
contracted continuously around his throbbing cock.

   He was slamming into her from behind when he felt his own climax begin
to rise.  No longer concerning himself with her comfort, he thrust into her
as deeply as he could.  The spongy head of his cock was pressed firmly
against the tiny entrance of her womb when he erupted.  He threw back his
head with a roar of lust as he emptied himself into the deepest parts of
her.  When he was finished, he released her hips, and she fell bonelessly
to the bed.

   "Oww, that really hurt," she complained even as the aftershocks of her
orgasms continued to wrack her body.

   "My apologies, ma cherie," Jean replied softly, "My actions were brutish
and inexcusable.  Please allow me to make amends."

   Rolling her over onto her back, he again lowered his face to her center.
As his tongue teased the angry, swollen nubbin of her clit, she responded
with a sharp intake of breath.

   "Uh, aren't you afraid of getting a little of your own?" she asked
uncertainly.

   "Real men do not worry about such things," he replied with a wide grin
as he nibbled gently on the soft smooth skin of her inner thigh.

   He stopped when his heightened senses detected the pulse of her femoral
artery.  He pulled back slightly as his fangs descended.  He then lunged
forward.  The girl cried out in pain as his teeth tore deeply into her
flesh and the major blood vessel beneath it.  Her hands beat on the top of
his head, trying to push him away until pleasure began to course through
her.  She clutched him tightly to her then, running her fingers through his
hair as her body began to spasm in orgasm.

   His own pleasure peaking, he fed until her hands fell limply to her
sides, and she drew a last shuddering breath.

   "Adieu, ma cherie," he whispered as he gave her thigh an affectionate
pat.  "Merci beaucoup."

   As he traced his hand over her still warm thigh, he thought that it was
a pity that he had met her on a night on which he needed to feed.  Most of
the women he brought to his apartment left very much alive, and, if he did
say so himself, quite satisfied.

   He lifted her gently from the bed and carried her to the bathroom where
he deposited her in the tub.  Tomorrow night, he would dismember her and
deposit her remains deep within one of the nearby bayous.  Any
investigation into her disappearance would be minor, at best.  The
officials here had an overblown estimation of the romantic value of their
city, and generally assumed that missing persons had simply been overcome
with amore and run off with a new lover.  It was one of the things he loved
about this place.

   As he walked back toward the bedroom to get ready for the coming dawn,
he detected motion outside the French doors that led to his balcony.  With
a smirk, he turned to face the entrance as his fingers sprouted razor sharp
claws.  The would be intruder was about to have a rude surprise.

   He heard the click of the lock disengaging, and the doors swung silently
open.  As a shadowy figure strode confidently into his living room, he ran
forward, his hand held low so as to disembowel the burglar.  The figure
shifted rapidly to the side.  As Jean's hand harmlessly cut through the
air, the man spun around and caught Jean's wrist.  Before Jean could
counter the move, his arm was twisted behind his back, and he was hurled
across the room.

   "That is hardly any way to treat a guest, Jean," the intruder said
contemptuously, "What ever happened to the famed Gallic hospitality?"

   Jean had pulled himself into a crouch, in preparation for another
charge, when the intruder turned on one of the lamps.

   "You!" Jean hissed in surprise, "You're supposed to be dead."

   "No, I was merely in New Jersey," Arthur replied sardonically, "although
I understand how the two could be confused."

   "What do you want with me?"

   "I have come to offer you a choice.  There is a storm coming, Jean.  One
of such magnitude that there will be no sitting idly to the side waiting
for it to pass.  You are either with me or you are against me."

   Jean sidled slowly away from the older vampire.  Arthur was certainly a
great deal faster, but Jean knew the city much better.  If he could make it
to the door, he might have a chance of escaping.

   Arthur sighed in disgust, "Running away is not one of the choices I gave
you.  Extend your senses.  I think you will find that all possible escape
routes have been cut off by my fledglings.  You could probably overcome
them, but doing so would slow you down enough for me to catch up.  You and
I both know the inevitable outcome of such a confrontation."

   His body relaxing slightly as he realized the futility of resistance,
Jean asked, "What is it you're planning on doing?"

   Jean listened with growing incredulity as Arthur outlined his design to
throw the world into anarchy.

   "Les boules!  That's utterly ridiculous," he stated flatly when Arthur
had finished, "I knew you were insane after that nonsense in Pittsburgh,
but I didn't know you were stupid.  Do you really believe that you can
overthrow a modern nation with what?  Four thousand fledglings give or
take? Why would you think that I would be willing to assist you with such
insanity?"

   "Treachery is in your nature, Jean.  You did, after all, conspire with
the Nazi's against your own countrymen during the last Great War, and did
so so well that you were rewarded with the Gift.  Why should you care any
more for the people of this nation?"

   Jean opened his mouth to retort angrily, but closed it just as quickly.
What had occurred in Paris seventy years ago was none of Arthur's business.
Instead he asked resignedly, "What do you want of me?"

   "Not much," Arthur responded, "Despite your assessment of our chances, I
believe that the only thing that can truly stop me is resistance from our
kind.  As your are the only other vampire that I know of who has made North
America his home, it seemed wise to make certain that you were under my
thumb from the outset.  I will likely find some use for you from time to
time, but your primary job will be staying out of my way."

   "And if I refuse?"

   Arthur's hand moved in a blur to retrieve a wooden stake from the pocket
of his overcoat.  He dangled it loosely from his fingers.

   Jean again probed the area with his senses, trying to find any avenue
for escape that Arthur had overlooked.  There were none.

   Holding up his hands in surrender, he said, "C'est la vie.  As you give
me no choice, I suppose that I am your man."

   Arthur smoothly tucked the stake back into his pocket.  "Do you know of
any others who are in the States at the moment?"

   "Non.  Many came to put you down like the rabid dog you are, but I know
of none who remain.  We are not a very social group."

   "Who told you that I had been killed?"

   "Ferdinand."

   "The sour Spaniard?" Arthur asked with a derisive laugh.  "I am truly
amazed that he still lives.  He finds so little joy in life that I would
have expected him to greet the sun decades ago.  Perhaps, when matters are
settled here, I shall have to take time to see to it that he does."

   "Que sera, sera," Jean replied with an indifferent shrug.

   "Indeed," Arthur replied.  "Now collect what you need.  Washington
awaits."

   Jean threw some clothes into a laundry bag, and gestured that he was
ready.  Arthur led him out the front door where they met up with several
men who had the undeniable look of soldiers.  They bracketed Jean and
escorted him down the stairs.  At the bottom, Mama Marie stood in the
doorway to her apartment, glaring silently at the procession.

   As Jean passed her, she called out, "Be careful, Loa Jean.  Put your
trust in Bondye and he will see you through this."

   With a sad smile, Jean blew the old woman a kiss.  "Farewell, Mama.  I
left something for you in the box under the bed, and I'm sorry about the
bath tub."

   There were a few thousand dollars in the box.  Perhaps it would help see
her through the chaos that was sure to come.



   Chapter 11

   November Twentieth

   Balathu walked slowly down the crowded sidewalk near the Mellon Arena.
Despite his ambling pace, he bumped into and jostled a number of people,
not even making a token effort to avoid them.  He ignored both the impacts
and the disgruntled expressions that were aimed at his back.  In truth, he
was barely aware of either; it was taking all of his concentration to
maintain the flows of zi that surrounded him.

   He had considered waiting until he was at his destination to perform the
incantations that had formed the flows, but the casting of the spell took
more than an hour.  Such prolonged chanting in the street in front of a
police station would certainly draw unwanted attention, and might even lead
to arrest.

   The lengthy and laborious incantation was well worth the effort.  As
long as he was able to maintain the flows, it would allay any suspicion
directed at him by those in his vicinity.  Everyone affected would accept
his presence as proper and natural.  There were limitations, of course.  If
he spoke to anyone or engaged in any acts of aggression, the spell would
fade to nothing in an instant.

   For the barest second, he wished that he possessed the ability of elder
abominations to alter thoughts and memories; it would make his task so much
easier.  He immediately winced inwardly for even considering such
blasphemy. One of the earliest lessons that had been hammered into him had
been, "Covet not the powers of the abominations for they are an affront to
all that lives."

   It was unfortunate that he had been forced to resort to such drastic
measures, but Kimmel and his associates seemed to avoid any mention of the
catastrophe that had befallen the city, and no one ever seemed to review
the records of those dark days.  While he understood the desire they must
have to forget that the incident ever occurred, their obstinacy was proving
to be a troubling impediment to his mission.

   Without knowing what had gone on behind the scenes, he could not advance
his own investigation any further.  Not that there seemed much of a point
in pursuing it; he was beginning to believe that his mission was
unnecessary.  He had spent most of his evenings walking or jogging through
the various districts of the city, and he had found no recent signs of the
presence of his enemies.  Maybe he had underestimated the Americans. 
Perhaps they had managed to destroy all of the unnatural creatures after
all.

   He finally reached the police station located in the maze of streets to
the northeast of the arena.  Without hesitation, he marched past the large,
circular, gold on blue sign that proclaimed the building to be station
number 2, and entered.  After so many out of body forays to the place, he
was as familiar with its layout as he was with the tunnels and galleries of
New Sippar.

   Nodding and giving friendly smiles to those he passed, he strode
unerringly across the large, desk cluttered room that housed the Homicide
division to Chief Jacobs' office.  The Chief had held to his usual pattern
and practice; he had left for the night, and the door to the darkened
office, while closed, was unlocked.

   Seating himself at the Chief's desk, Balathu turned on the computer.  On
the prior morning, he had watched over the Chief's shoulder as the man
logged in.  He entered the carefully memorized password, and punched in the
dates of the incident.  His eyes widened in shock at the sheer number of
entries for that period.

   For the next hour, he read through the reports and the private notes
that the Chief had appended to them.  Many of the entries contained
information that had never been made public: the failed raid on the
abomination's lair, the ambush at the old county jail; the raid on a
residence in Penn Hills; the full extent of the losses on the night after
martial law had been imposed; and, most shockingly of all, the source of
their information concerning the abominations.

   The last shook him to his core.  McNelly, with the knowledge and
implicit consent of his superiors and coworkers, had conspired and
consorted with an abomination.  Balathu had, of course, seen the twisted
black lines that marked the one time presence of one or more of his enemies
in his apartment.  He had assumed that they had been left when the seeds of
the Outsider had killed McNelly.  It had been a reasonable assumption: no
details of the manner or location of McNelly's death had ever been made
public.  The thought that a human and an abomination had cohabited in the
place that he now lived made him so sick to his stomach that he lost his
concentration.  The careful construct of zi that surrounded him collapsed
in ruin.

   He quickly went to the last entries for the time period.  He noted that
all of the information concerning the demise of McNelly and the
abominations had come from Kimmel and Smith, who had allegedly arrived on
the scene after the battle had ended and the fire started.  They had
reported that McNelly and three vampires, including his consort, had
perished before their arrival.  The report was extremely vague as to where
all of this had occurred.

   Examining the related documents, he discovered that there was no record
of any recovery effort or investigation at the site of the battle; not a
single entry concerning bodies being removed from the site.  Nevertheless,
there was a form indicating that McNelly had been buried with all honors.

   He exited the incident report database and opened the personnel records.
Punching in Smith's name, he learned that she was currently on prolonged
maternity leave.  The only address available for her in the system was a
post office box in Spartansburg.  He next entered McNelly's name.  While
the personnel records confirmed that he had died, Balathu found it
interesting that his group life insurance policy from the department had
been altered two days before his death to make Smith his beneficiary. 
Looking at some of Chief Jacob's notes and memos, he learned that this
change had not actually been requested until the day after death.

   The new information was overwhelming, and Balathu suddenly felt
inadequate for the mission that he had been given.  His Order had expected
the Americans to lack the will to hunt down all of the abominations, but
they had never suspected that the police force would actually be in
collusion with the monsters.  He desperately tried to think of a plan of
action that would allow him to cope with the changes.  The best he could
come up with was increasing his surveillance of Kimmel and attempting to
track down Smith.

   A sudden uproar arose in the room outside the office.  Although there
were still a few things that Balathu would have liked to look up, he
realized that this might be his best, possibly only, chance to escape the
station unnoticed.

   Moving to the door, he eased it open and peeked through the crack into
the room beyond.  From the youngest rookie to the most grizzled veteran,
the policemen in the large room were whooping and cheering, exchanging a
flurry of high fives and handshakes.  He glanced at the television around
which the celebration seemed to be centered, and the reason for it became
apparent.  The reactor meltdown in New Jersey had been contained.  The
aquifer, thousands of acres of wetland, and untold numbers of lives, had
been saved.  The event was still a disaster of unprecedented magnitude: the
area around Fort Dix would be uninhabitable for years to come, and
thousands had been exposed to dangerous, possibly lethal, levels of
radiation.  It could, however, have been much worse.

   Balathu walked through the chaos, clasping hands and exchanging cheers
as he went.  His relief and joy at the news was unfeigned.  While he had no
real love for the Americans, he also bore them no ill will.  He had no
desire to see them suffer.



   He gradually worked his way across the room and into the hallway that
led to the exit.  As he approached the large glass doors, a uniformed
police officer coming toward him from outside set off alarms inside his
head.  At first he couldn't pinpoint what it was about the man that had
caught his attention, but then he realized that, unlike everyone else who
was out in the cold night air, the cop's breath was not emerging in thick
white clouds.

   Squeezing his eyes shut, Balathu performed the mental exercise that
would give him the Sight.  When he again looked at the cop, the black aura
that surrounded him and the twisted black line that trailed behind him
confirmed Balathu's suspicions: the man was an abomination.

   His hands shaking, Balathu exited the station and squeezed by the
monster.  Without care for his meager remaining funds, he took a cab back
to his apartment.  He only stayed there long enough to strap the sword
beneath his trench coat.

   Walking, it took a great deal longer to make the return trip to the
station.  He followed the black trail of the abomination to where it
abruptly ended at a bus stop.  He would need to track it directly.

   Returning to the building across the street from the station, Balathu
hunkered down to wait next to a mural of BB King.  He performed a weaker
version of the spell he had used earlier to keep from drawing unwanted
attention.  This one would collapse if he moved more than a few inches.

   He spent the next several hours uncomfortable, cold and cramped.  He saw
the abomination come and go to the station a number of times as it
performed the duties of its position.  Although he kept the Sight active,
the single abomination was the only one he detected.

   Finally came the moment he was waiting for: shift change.  He joined the
flood of people exiting the station.  Catching sight of his quarry, he
followed it to the bus stop.  Taking a deep breath, he mingled with the
small crowd of now off-duty cops, certain that the monster would be able to
hear his racing heart and kill him before he could draw Sun's Anger.  After
a fearful ten minutes, he filed onto a bus with it and several other
officers.

   The abomination and another police officer exited the bus on the fringes
of the residential area known as Squirrel Hill.  Balathu watched them
walking and talking together as they turned toward a tidy, one story house.

   Balathu got out at the next stop and ran back to the tiny residence.  He
had jogged by here not a week before, and there had been no sign of
vampiric presence.  Now, to his Sight, the area was polluted with the
overlapping black lines that marked the presence of several monsters, at
the least.

   Memorizing the address, Balathu prepared to depart the area to wait for
his greatest ally: dawn.  He had only made it a few steps when he saw a
flash of light around the edges of the drawn curtains on the front window.
An instant later, he heard the loud report of a handgun.

   Instinctively, he ran up the sidewalk, freeing his sword as he went.  He
tried the door, and discovered that, by some miracle, it had carelessly
been left unlocked.  The door opened into a small living room in which
three abominations were present.  One was standing with his back toward
Balathu holding the living police officer in a full nelson.  The cop's
service revolver, no doubt the source of the flash Balathu had seen, was on
the floor at his feet.  Another of the monsters had his head pressed
against the man's throat, feeding greedily.  The third, the one Balathu had
followed here, stood as far from the others as he could, his eyes averted
and his head held low.

   Years of training took over.  The sword flashed in a short arc.  The
vampire holding the policeman let loose an inhuman scream as the blade
sliced effortlessly through his ribs and spine.  The blade made a hissing
sound as it cut through the unnatural flesh, and a thin stream of acrid
smoke rose in its wake.  The vampire fell to the side, pulling the living
cop from the grasp and teeth of the other.

   The abomination that had been feeding assumed a combat stance and
attacked.  He was far faster and stronger than Balathu, but, with the Sight
active, Balathu could see the monster's muscles tense and relax, even
through his clothing.  This allowed him to anticipate the creature's moves.
Balathu bobbed and weaved, barely dodging a flurry of punches and kicks. 
The vampire suddenly jumped in close, his fist rising in an upper cut.

   Rather than avoid the blow, Balathu stepped into it, leading with the
sword.  He heard the crack of at least one of his ribs breaking at the same
time that he heard the hiss of the sword striking home.  Gritting his teeth
in pain, he staggered backwards, pulling his blade free from the chest of
his foe.

   Turning awkwardly, he saw that the third vampire was still in the same
spot.  The final abomination gaped with astonishment at the three bodies on
the floor and the man with the sword who was now coming at him.

   The abomination's hands rose, palm out, and he cried out, "Wai..." His
head shot upwards, and then fell to roll across the floor; his lips still
struggling to form his last word.

   As the headless body crumpled to the floor, Balathu clutched at his
chest.  His breath came out in short, painful gasps, and his limbs shook
violently from adrenalin overload.  Falling to his knees, he crawled over
to the abominations' victim.  When the man had been pulled from the vampire
who was feeding on him, the fangs had torn through his throat.  Although he
knew it was futile, Balathu checked for a pulse.  There was none.

   Pushing himself against a wall, Balathu muttered an incantation.  With
the Sight, he watched as flows of zi converged on his chest.  He sighed
with relief as the pain and pressure eased.  It would still take time for
his broken ribs to heal fully, but the process was well under way.

   His injuries tended to the best of his abilities, he turned his
attention to his current dilemma.  The evidence from the police reports
indicated that the upper ranks were in league with the seeds of the
Outsider.  Yet here, it seemed like the monsters were trying to secretly
infiltrate the police.  If the former were true and he reported this
incident, it would likely be covered up, and he would be arrested for
murder.  If he was somehow mistaken and did not report this incident, the
police might not learn of the danger until it was too late.  He sighed
despairingly: the decision was too important to make on his own.  He needed
help.
More than anything, he would have liked to speak with one of his former

instructors, but it was all too likely that calls to that region would be
monitored.  He pulled out his cell phone and went to the contact list.  The
local agent had left his number in case of an emergency.  Looking around
the gore spattered room, Balathu figured that this qualified.

   When he called, the phone rang five times before going to voicemail.  He
left his name, number, the address, and stated that he was in dire need of
assistance.  He then sent a text message with the same information.  A few
minutes later, he received a text message reply, telling him that his
message had been received and the agent was on the way.

   A few minutes later, there was a tentative knock on the door.  When he
answered, he found himself staring into the annoyed dark eyes of an
attractive woman just a few years older than him.  He had expected the
agent to be of his people, but only her dark hair and eyes gave any hint
that they might share a common ancestry.  Although her skin was a deep tan,
it was the kind that came from a salon rather than from genetics.

   "Sam Mason?" she asked.  When he nodded, she let her annoyance show, "Do
you realize that it's after four in the fucking morning?  What could
possibly..." Her voice trailed off as she finally took note of the room
behind him.

   Pushing past him, she entered and went from body to body, checking each
for a pulse.  "What the fuck?" she cried out as she went.  "What were you
thinking when you called me to a murder scene?  What kind of freak are you?
And at least two of them are cops.  You're going to fry." She pulled a cell
phone from her pocket, and Balathu could see her thumb heading toward the
9.

   Balathu darted across the room to stop her.  "Wait!" he demanded
fiercely.  "You do not understand.  All of these men but one was an
abomination, and it was the abominations that killed him, not me."

   "You're crazy!" she replied angrily, attempting to free her phone from
his grasp.  "What the hell are you talking about with that 'abomination'
bullshit?  Are you some kind of religious freak?"

   He was so surprised by her words that he nearly lost control of the cell
phone.  "I thought you were an agent of the Order?" he asked in
bewilderment.

   "I have no idea what you're talking about.  Before my grandfather died,
he made me promise to keep his number and assist anyone who called it.  In
fact, he made it a condition of receiving his house as my inheritance.  He
told me that the people he helped investigated certain kinds of murder.  He
didn't tell me that you committed it too."

   Desperately, Balathu pulled the cell phone from her and turned to the
closest body.  "Look," he commanded as he pulled back the upper lip.

   She glanced down briefly, "What?"

   "Keep watching," he said as he took hold of one of the canines and
pulled until the fang was fully extended.

   "What the hell?" she asked as she leaned in for a closer look.  Reaching
out, she hesitantly touched it as if she expected it to be some kind of
plastic Halloween novelty.  "That's real!" she cried out as she clutched
her hand back to her chest.

   "Of course they're real," Balathu replied.  "What did you think happened
back in April?"

   "These people are infected?" she asked fearfully, shying away from the
body.

   "In a manner of speaking, I suppose," Balathu replied with a hint of
exasperation.  "They're what you would call vampires.  I don't know if any
of these particular ones were involved in the attack on this city, but
they're all the same."

   "Vampires?  That's ludicrous.  Everyone said it was just some weird
disease."

   "And you believed them?  Look with your own eyes.  Do these people look
like they were sick to you?  Didn't you see anything last April?"

   "I was at a pharmaceutical conference in Miami when that happened.  I
extended my stay and didn't come back to Pennsylvania until the quarantine
was lifted."

   With a frustrated grunt, Balathu drew his sword from beneath his coat.
"This blade was forged more than four thousand years ago for the sole
purpose of slaying vampires.  Watch."

   As the woman gaped at him with astonishment, he drew the edge of the
blade along his forearm, opening a shallow cut that bled freely.

   "Now watch what it does to them," he said as he dragged the point over
the face of one of the downed abominations.  There was the now familiar
hiss of burning flesh, and the blade left a nasty, blackened gash in its
wake.

   She had been inching away from him during the demonstration.  He didn't
realize her intent until he heard the click of the dead cop's service
revolver being cocked.  She leveled the gun at him.

   "Sorry, but I'm not going to start believing in vampires based on your
word and some magic sword," she said, emphasizing the last two words with
derision.  "I've seen better tricks at a carnival sideshow.  Now, drop the
sword, and give me my phone back.  I'm calling the cops."

   For a long moment, Balathu stared at her contemplatively.  It was
obvious that she possessed the aversion that most people had to killing
another human being.  He could disarm her without much difficulty or risk,
but, sad as it was, she was the closest thing he had to a ally in this
country.  He needed her help, and he wouldn't get it by attacking her. 
Giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, Balathu did as instructed,
and then, at her prompting, backed away with arms upraised.

   Balathu focused his attention on a browning spider plant that hung
limply within a frayed macrame plant hanger.  After muttering an
incantation of growth and nurturing, he asked quietly, "Could any of your
sideshow magicians do this?"

   She paused in dialing the phone.  "What?" she asked, a dismissive sneer
curling her lip.

   She did, nevertheless, follow his gaze.  Before her eyes, the spider
plant became green and healthy, and was visibly growing larger. 
Brandishing the gun, she twisted her gaze back and forth between the plant
and Balathu.  She sidestepped closer to the plant and reached out to touch
one of the long, thin leaves.  Breaking it off, she crumpled it between two
fingers and then smelled it.

   "How are you doing that?" she asked in a voice muted by wonder.

   "Magic," he replied.  "Of a sort, anyway."

   "That's not possible."

   "Obviously, it is.  You've seen it, touched it, even smelled it.  Please
ask yourself: if magic is real, isn't it possible that vampires are, too?
Enough of a possibility, at least, to hear me out?  Keep in mind, that I
asked you to come here.  That would be irrational if I had committed murder
without just cause."

   Her eyes never leaving the still growing plant, she said, "I'm
listening."

   Conscious of the fact that there were four bodies at their feet, Balathu
gave her the abridged version of what he had learned, and the dilemma that
had led him to contact her.  When he was finished, she slumped against a
wall.

   She started to speak several times only to fall silent.  Finally, she
said, "So, a magic wielding hero rides into town with an ancient magical
weapon, slays some immortal monsters, and calls me for help.  I have to be
dreaming.  I shouldn't have taken that Vicodin before going to bed."

   "This isn't a dream."

   "But what could I possibly do?" she asked frantically.  "I'm a rep for a
pharmaceutical consortium.  I wiggle my ass and show a little cleavage to
doctors so that they buy from my companies.  I don't know anything about
any of this." Her hands flailed about in a gesture that encompassed the
room.

   "No extensive knowledge is required.  I would just ask that you think
about what I told you, and tell me whether you think it would be a good
idea to tell the local authorities what happened here."

   Taking a deep breath, she ventured, "Is it possible that the vampire who
was working with the police back in April was just trying to help?"

   "No," Balathu answered shortly.  "When a human is turned into a vampire,
he or she becomes irredeemably evil.  They are, by nature, completely
incapable of benevolence."

   "How do you know?"

   "It's what I have been taught since I was a child.  My Order has studied
and hunted vampires for thousands of years.  I would say that we know the
subject well."

   "Why would she have helped at all, then?"

   "There are factions among the abominations.  No doubt, the ones who did
all the damage were part of an opposing one, and she was acting to counter
them rather than to help the city."

   She pondered this for a minute, before asking, "Do you know which
faction these vampires were with?"

   "No."

   "I think that the first thing you need to do is to find out for a
certainty whether the police are actually working with vampires, and, if
so, whether it's with the group that are turning police officers.  If the
answer to either is no, then you have to tell them.  In the meantime, you
can't really risk telling the authorities about this.  If the answer to
both questions is yes, you'll be locked up, and the city will be
defenseless."

   "That's what I was thinking, too.  It's good to hear my judgment
confirmed."

   Warming to her role, she asserted strongly, "We still have to decide
what to do with the bodies.  If we leave them here, and they were working
with the police, the police will know that someone in the city knows what
they are and is capable of killing them.  You'll be hunted."

   Slightly amused by her newfound enthusiasm, Balathu asked, "What do you
propose?"

   "We'll have to dispose of them somewhere where they won't be found for a
while.  At least long enough for you to learn whether the police are
involved."

   "Where would you suggest?"

   "How should I know?" she replied scathingly.  "Do I look like I go
around disposing of bodies as a hobby?"

   "Point taken.  By the way, if we're going to be working together, we
should probably at least know each other's names.  My real name is
Balathu."

   "Iltana."

   Balathu nodded approvingly, "That's a traditional name of our people."

   "I was named after my grandmother.  Balathu, huh?  Mind if I just keep
calling you Sam?"

   With a chuckle, Balathu replied, "Not at all."

   "Good.  Well, Sam, how about you go take a look in the basement, and see
if you can find some boxes or something to put the bodies in."

   "Okay.  What are you going to do?"

   "I'm going to find a bathroom and throw up."

   Like most basements, this one had a stack of cardboard boxes, and even a
fifty gallon cooler.  Balathu emptied the contents onto the basement floor
and carried the containers back to the living room.  He had just finished
carrying up the last one when Iltana returned from the bathroom.

   "They're never going to fit in any of those," she observed doubtfully.

   Drawing Sun's Anger, he replied, "Sure they will."

   As they packed the pieces, Balathu wryly watched Iltana tuck the
policeman's pistol in the back of her pants when she thought he wasn't
looking.  Once the remains were loaded, they added personal effects:
wallets, several cell phones, a satellite phone, and another gun.  They
then placed the boxes in trash bags and carried them out to her car, a Kia
Sentra5.  With the back seat down, their gruesome cargo fit easily.

   While Iltana waited in the car, Balathu went back inside to wipe off any
areas that they might have touched.  Neither of their prints were in any
database, but it never hurt to be careful.

   "Where to?" she asked when he rejoined her.

   "Hmm, how about we just drive near the river until we find a secluded
spot?"

   "Which river?  There are three of them."

   "Your pick."

   They followed the Allegheny as closely as they could for almost an hour
before finding a spot that Balathu declared to be suitable.  Just past a
place called Clinton, they carried the boxes out onto a weather beaten dock
and, after adding a few rocks, hurled them into the water.  They stood
watching in silence as the boxes floated a few dozen yards downstream
before slowly sinking below the still, green water.

   As they began the trip back to the city, Iltana asked, "How is it that
no one knows that real magic exists?"

   "Well, first of all, what I do is not truly magic as you would likely
define that word.  There is an energy that flows through every living
thing, from the smallest bacteria to the largest whale.  Most people can't
see it or feel it, but it is just as essential to you as any of your
organs. We call it the zi.  What we do is manipulate that energy by force
of will, though we use incantations to focus our thoughts in ways that
don't come naturally to the human mind.

   "So, I can't shoot lightning bolts from my fingers, or make a rabbit
appear from a hat.  The easiest things to do with the zi involve
influencing the natural life processes: to make things grow, accelerate
healing, restore health, and the like.  It's slightly harder to directly
connect the zi of another to your own, but doing so can allow you to see
through the eyes of the other or share strength when the one is failing. 
The most difficult, and most limited, use of the zi is to influence the
mind.

   "Now..."

   Iltana interrupted, "What about that astral projection thingy you were
talking about earlier?  Where does that fit in?"

   "It is the separation of most of the zi that flows through me from my
body and infusing it with my consciousness.  It is one of the most
difficult things to learn, mostly because one's sense of identity is so
tied to the flesh.  However, once learned, it is one of the easier tasks to
perform."

   "Is this 'zi' the soul?" Iltana asked next.

   Balathu hesitated a long time before answering, "That question has been
debated for thousands of years.  I tend to think that it is.  Others
disagree.  The short answer is that no one really knows.  Part of the zi
lingers in its former vessel well after death.  What happens to the rest
isn't known with certainty.  Maybe it simply dissipates, but none of us
believe that.  Maybe it flows to another living vessel.  Maybe it moves on
to a higher plane of existence.  One of the reasons that we call vampires
abominations is that they consume the zi of their victim entirely, leaving
nothing.  If the zi is the soul...well, I'm sure that you can see the
ramifications."

   Iltana shot him a horrified look, and the car swerved across the road
before being brought back under control.  "That's horrible," she exclaimed.

   "Indeed.  Now you understand why we have hunted them for millennia. 
Anyway, back to your earlier question, there are probably more people who
know of the zi than you imagine.  Many of the eastern religions and
monastic orders acknowledge it, though generally by a different name, and
some even tap into it to a degree.  Many of the holistic healers, psychics,
and mystics also use it, even if they don't realize it.

   "One reason that it isn't common knowledge everywhere is that there are
very few who are capable of seeing it, and seeing it is essential if one is
to guide the flows in any significant way.  Even when that ability is
present, it takes years of training before it can be used.  The children of
my Order start that training at the age of three.  I was six before I saw
the zi for the first time.  Of the eighty-four children of my generation, I
was the only one to ever see it.  Keep in mind that everyone in my Order is
descended from the zi masters who founded it.  In the general population,
probably only one in a million has the ability, and they lack access to
training.

   "Another reason that it's not widely known is that, when the first
abomination created herself by fusing with something not of this world, she
changed or killed most of those who were considered masters of the zi.  The
followers of Utu and Pabilsag had the wisdom to flee Sumer before they
could also fall victim to the monster, but, thereafter, they had to
practice the art in secret, lest the First track them down.  With the zi
masters dead or in hiding, the use of 'magic' became all but nonexistent.
Within a few generations that which had once been commonplace had become a
thing of legend.  After the passage of a few more, it became myth.  Keep in
mind too that the First scattered the masters several thousand years before
there was writing, so there was never any written record made of those
times."

   Iltana considered this in silence for a few miles before asking, "Do you
believe in Yoohoo?"

   "Utu," he corrected.  "Not as a divine being.  Modern astronomy has been
pretty hard on sun gods.  However, the Sun is the ultimate giver of life. I
tend to think of Utu as a metaphor for the gentle, nurturing aspects of the
zi."

   "If you don't believe in the god that your order is named after, what do
you believe?"

   "The Order is based around three tenets.  I don't know if I would
consider them a 'belief,' though.  They are truths so fundamental, that
they do not require faith."

   "Uh huh," Iltana replied, doing her best to keep the skepticism from her
voice.  "Gonna tell me what they are?"

   "First, the zi flows through us all and unites us as one.  Because we
are one, to harm another is to harm myself.  Second, through chance,
humanity has attained sentience.  With sentience comes the responsibility
and the duty to protect and nurture all life, however humble.  The zi can
be eternal, but can reach that potential only through careful guardianship.
Third, there are those that feed upon the zi, destroying it for all time.
Such an abomination against life itself cannot be tolerated."

   Iltana pondered this for a moment before offering, "So, your entire
belief system is based around protecting everything from the vampires? 
That's pretty noble."

   Unaccustomed to compliments, Balathu did not know how to respond. 
Thereafter, the conversation moved on to the casual chitchat of two people
getting to know one another, and continued until she brought the car to a
stop in front of his apartment.  To his surprise, she shut off the vehicle
and got out.

   "You're coming in?" he asked.

   "In the past few hours, I've learned that vampires and magic are real,
and that vampires might just be devourers of souls.  Not to mention the
fact that I've also helped dismember and dump four bodies.  There's no way
I'm going back to my apartment alone.  I'm close to freaking out as it is."

   Balathu nodded his acceptance and led the way up the stairs to his
apartment.  Once inside, he offered to prepare her a breakfast of falafel
and hummus.

   As she slowly chewed a mouthful, she asked, "Do you really like this
stuff?"

   Grinning around a mouthful of his own, he replied, "I suppose it's an
acquired taste.  I have to admit, though, that I'm surprised that you
haven't acquired it.  Didn't your grandparents ever make this for you when
you were growing up?"

   "I spent most of my childhood in Arizona.  We only came to Pittsburgh
for the occasional holiday.  My mother was mostly German, so the tastes I
acquired were for things like braunschweiger, schnitzel, blutwurst,
marzipan, and more kinds of stinky cheese than you can imagine."

   "Yuck.  Mostly German?"

   "One of her grandparents was English.  Fortunately, I was spared that
cuisine."

   They shared a chuckle at the expense of British food as they finished
their repast.  When only crumbs remained, Iltana yawned widely.  "So, where
are we sleeping?" she asked with a grin.

   Embarrassed, Balathu replied, "I'm afraid that the only furniture I have
is the futon that you supplied."

   Moving toward the living room, Iltana laughed, "And it's even in the
same spot I left it.  Not much of a homemaker are you?"

   Balathu wiped up the crumbs and put the leftovers in the fridge before
following.  When he entered the living room, he found that she had folded
the futon down and occupied half of it.  The thick blanket that she had
provided was pulled up to her neck.

   "I'll sleep on the floor in the other room to give you some privacy," he
said awkwardly.

   "Don't be silly," she replied patting the unoccupied half of the futon.

   "It wouldn't be proper," he protested.

   An eyebrow arching upwards in amusement, she said, "We chopped up undead
policemen together, and you're going to cringe from this?  C'mon, I promise
I'll stay on my side.  Please don't leave me alone."

   Unable to think of any reason to refuse, and not really wanting one,
Balathu climbed onto the futon next to her, where he laid stiffly on his
back.  He felt the cushion beneath him vibrate for a moment, as if from
barely suppressed laughter.  Only a few minutes later, he heard her
breathing deepen into soft snores.

   Sleep didn't come nearly as easily for Balathu.  The titillating warmth
of Iltana's body and the subtle scent of her perfume made certain of that.
With a soft murmur, she rolled over in her sleep.  The length of her body
pressed against his as one of her arms fell lightly across his chest. 
Feeling himself become aroused, he desperately tried to calm himself with a
succession of meditative techniques.  His mind, however, was in too much
turmoil.  For the first time in more than a decade, he failed to reach the
calm center that he sought.

   The attraction he felt was not right, he told himself repeatedly.  Not
only were they not bound in marriage, but he had only known her for a few
hours.  Unfortunately, his treasonous libido refused to be quelled.  Even
when he finally fell into restless slumber, he continued to be plagued by
dreams in which her arm moved slowly downward as her lips pressed to his.



   Chapter 12

   November Twenty-first

   Shortly after Balathu and Iltana left the small house with their grisly
cargo, another figure approached the door.  He was short, barely three
inches over five feet in height, and thin almost to the point of
emaciation. The severe lines of his face were complemented by a large,
aquiline nose.  His name was Marcus.

   Although Balathu had locked the door behind him, it fell open at
Marcus's touch.  Stepping inside, he shut the door behind him.  His eyes
closed as he thoroughly searched the house in an instant with expanded
senses.  It was as he feared, nothing remained to reveal the fledglings'
purpose or the identity of their master.

   He had felt two of them enter the city the night before, an ability he
had gained in the past few centuries.  The Great Mother had explained it as
like calling to like; the alien cells that made up an ever greater part of
him recognizing their kin.  So far, he could only feel the presence of
others of his kind from a range of a few miles.  Mother had once told him
that she could sense every last vampire in the world.  He had no reason to
doubt her.

   When he had risen this evening, there had been a third fledgling, no
doubt the former owner of this house and a policeman, if the pictures on
the shelf above the television were any indication.  Dusk had still not
turned to night when they had dispersed throughout the city.  He had waited
patiently for them to converge yet again.  They had done so only a few
hours before.

   Not realizing that there was any reason for urgency, Marcus had dawdled
on his way to confront them.  He had even paused to watch two drunken men
in expensive business suits fight artlessly outside a high end drinking
establishment, cheered on by a crowd of onlookers.  It always amused him to
see just how thinly the veneer of civilization covered the savage beasts
within.

   He had been greatly surprised to discover that the only one still
standing at the house was one of Utu's vampire hunters, one wielding Buzur
Ud Ug no less.  He had not encountered either a hunter or the ancient
weapon since the fourteenth century in Venice during the height of the
plague.  At the time, he had been less than four hundred years old and
still bonded to Mother.  She had opened the hunter's gut with the holy
weapon and made him eat his own liver.  Afterwards she had contemptuously
cast Sun's Anger into one of the canals.  He had assumed that the sect and
the sword, like so much else that he had known, were no longer anything
more than memory and dust.

   While apparently not extinct, his casual exploration of the boy's memory
had revealed the Order to be on its last legs.  Mother had pronounced his
mastery of the zi as barely adequate, but he could do things beyond the
imagining of any of the so called Masters the boy had known.  The boy was a
prime example: he had been sent out into the world with their most
treasured artifact and yet he could not even make a plant grow without an
incantation.

   He wondered how the ancient religious order had formed such ridiculous
notions concerning his kind.  The thought of factions among his kin nearly
made him laugh.  While a few maintained distant friendships, he had never
known any to work together without the presence of the bond.



   He found the idea that the Gift made one evil offensive.  Yes, the
hunger required that he feed on life, but, other than the human element,
that was no more evil than eating the flesh of animals.  Even the human
element didn't trouble him much.  More people had died in single skirmishes
over wealth, land or fine points of religious doctrine than his kind had
killed throughout all of history.  In his experience, any evil that existed
after the Gift was received had already been present in life.  While Mother
did select children who were arrogant and had a self centered view of the
world, she had, with a few notable exceptions, managed to avoid true
psychopaths.

   One subject on which he did agree with the hunter was that it would be a
mistake to let the city's authorities know that there were again vampires
among them.  Balathu's efforts in that regard had been meager at best.  The
living room carpet was sodden with blood and gore, and several items had
been broken during the brief fight.  Marcus gestured, and the mostly
congealed blood streamed up from the floor to form a globe that floated in
the air at close to eye level.  He stepped close to it and inhaled deeply
before dipping a finger into the surface and bringing it to his mouth.  The
smell and taste revealed that none of the fledglings had been more than a
few weeks old, though he had already guessed that from the ease with which
they had been dispatched.

   He walked the orb to the bathroom and caused it to descend into the
toilet bowl.  He flushed several times until the bowl was clean.  Returning
to the living room, he ran his hands along the broken leg of a coffee table
and a cracked picture frame.  When he was finished, there was no evidence
that the damage had ever existed.

   Satisfied, he stepped back out into the night.  His mind skimmed across
the neighboring houses.  Only one elderly woman had witnessed the hunter
and his helper loading their vehicle, but she had thought nothing of it. 
Nevertheless, he focused his will and took the memory from her.  Briefly,
he considered chasing after the pair, but there was really no point.  The
boy was not a threat to him, but his death could draw others of his sect to
the city.  In numbers, their presence could prove troublesome.  Besides,
watching the child conduct his fumbling investigation could prove to be an
entertaining diversion while he waited for Mother.

   He began to walk toward Shenley Park, the place where he had been
spending his days since the time of his arrival.  A wave of homesickness
passed through him.  He missed his beloved Rome, and not only for the clean
vault of his villa.  He found comfort in being surrounded by monuments and
buildings that had been ancient when he was still suckling at his mother's
teat.  He could not find that here.  He had existed for more than five
hundred years when the Europeans had stumbled across this continent by
accident.  He had undergarments that were older than anything the brash and
prudish people that inhabited this country considered historic.

   He had left his city to enforce the one and only law.  He had stayed on
because Mother had asked him to.  At the thought of his creator, a flash of
worry crossed his mind.  Even after she had released him from his bond, an
action she had taken over his vehement protests, they had kept in touch. 
At first their missives had been made with quill pen and parchment.  For
the past few years, encrypted email had been the mode of choice.  Lately,
they had begun to use Twitter.

   It troubled him that Mother had not responded to his emails or tweets in
more than a month.  In the last message he had received from her, she had
been excited, as close to giddy as he had ever known her to be.  She had
refused to comment on what had caused that state, but had told him that she
would meet him in Pittsburgh soon.  The problem was that "soon" was an
ambiguous and relative term.  To a being that had lived for more than seven
thousand years, it could mean anything from tomorrow to a century from now.

   Could the fledglings have been hers?  If so, she tread perilously close
to violating her own law.  If not hers, then whose?  He pushed the idle
speculation from his mind.  The answers would reveal themselves in time. 
If the march of centuries had taught him anything, it was patience.

   He strode down a concrete path that led to the wooded valley at the
center of the park.  Near the bottom, he came across a drunken frat boy
from one of the nearby universities.  The boy stumbled along the path,
grabbing at the trees for support.  At the sight of Marcus, the boy's face
split into a wide grin.

   "Wassup?" he hiccupped, enveloping Marcus in a cloud that reeked of
cheap beer and tequila.

   Marcus summoned the Sight.  The boy was healthy and strong, and glowed
brightly with flows of zi.  Focusing his mind with a brief incantation,
Marcus watched as the zi pulled free of the boy's flesh, forming a
translucent, glowing double superimposed over the physical body. 
Concentrating, Marcus inhaled, and the zi flowed from the boy into him. 
Without making another sound, the college student crumpled to the ground.
Although his heart and lungs would continue to work for several more
minutes, he was already dead in every way that mattered.

   Sated, Marcus walked on.  He greatly preferred his method of feeding to
the sucking of blood.  It was far less messy, left no evidence of vampiric
presence, and there was no chance of the Gift being passed on by accident.
It didn't incite the intense pleasure that feeding on vital fluids did, but
Marcus had put such vulgar, hedonistic pursuits behind him centuries
before.

   He walked to the center of an area of dense vegetation, twisting
sinuously to avoid breaking branches or leaving any other sign of his
passage.  Once at the center, he performed a ritual of cleansing.  In his
Sight, the dark lines that formed behind him like a psychic shadow broke
apart and dissipated.  He had habitually performed the ritual every morning
for as long as he could remember.  With a hunter in the city, he was
suddenly grateful that Mother had instilled the habit.

   He next extended his hand toward the ground.  Earth spewed upwards,
leaving a narrow but deep hole.  He jumped down to the bottom and gestured
again.  The dirt poured in around him until the hole was filled.  The cap
of sod flipped back into place, and the earth he had displaced spread out
evenly throughout the dense foliage.  When the Sun rose a brief time later,
there was nothing to distinguish his resting spot from any other part of
the park.



   Chapter 13

   November Twenty-first

   Mark leaned back from the computer keyboard with a grimace.  In general,
he liked being a Lieutenant.  The extra padding in his paycheck was
certainly nice.  All of the additional administrative work, however, was a
serious pain in the ass.  He stretched his cramped fingers and cracked his
knuckles.  Back during his rookie days, he had taken a couple of bullets
during a traffic stop gone bad.  He had been injured twice fighting
vampires.  Now it was looking like the next job related injury on his
record would be carpal tunnel syndrome.

   "Fuck it," he announced sourly to no one in particular, "I'm getting a
cuppa before I type so much as one more friggin' word."

   A limp still evident in his stride, he ambled slowly over to the shiny
new coffee maker that was enshrined on its own table against one of the
walls,.  The machine had arrived as an anonymous gift a few months earlier,
sending the bomb squad into a right tizzy.  Once it had been declared
explosive free, he and the other desk jockeys in Homicide had lovingly
reassembled it and placed it here, where they jealously guarded it from the
avaricious hands of the other departments.

   With great ceremony, they had carried its predecessor to the dumpster
behind the station, hurling it in to the accompaniment of a fanfare of
raspberries and cat calls.  The only regret that had been voiced was
speculation that many suspects had confessed rather than face another cup
of the vile substance it had produced.

   With a small grin, Mark mentally tipped his hat to the "anonymous"
benefactor.  At that moment his cell phone rang.  He checked caller id, and
answered, "Hey Tom, or should I say Howie, I was just thinking about you."

   "Hi Mark," Tom replied.  "Enjoying the coffee were you?"

   "You know it.  You're pretty damn generous for a dead guy."

   "Hey now, 'Howard Lipcowicz' is very much alive and well, and I have the
papers to prove it.  Thanks again for that.  I should warn you, though,
that my wife 'Bertha' is still more than a little annoyed with you.  You
should probably be careful next time you come visit.  Make sure to call her
'sugar plum' a lot.  She likes that."

   "I swear, those were the only identities my contact had that were ready
to use," Mark protested innocently.  He then ruined the perfectly good lie
by breaking down into laughter.  Taking another sip from his cup, he
remarked, "Mmmm, your little present does make a damn fine cup of joe."

   "A part of me can't help but wonder if you said that just to rub it in."

   Mark winced, "Sorry, I keep forgetting that you can't drink the stuff
anymore.  By the way, are you sure about that?  Have you tried?"

   With a despondent sigh, Tom replied, "Yeah.  It was...  unpleasant.  I
was sick as hell for almost an hour, and all I had was a sip."

   "Hmm, maybe you should try feeding your rodents nothing but coffee
beans; some of the flavor might soak through."

   "Heh.  I'm going to have to try something.  Living with an emotionally
unstable pregnant woman without coffee is nothing short of hell."

   Mark snickered as he heard a voice in Tom's background yell out, "I
heard that, lump!"

   "Lump?" Mark asked with a chuckle.

   "Something she picked up from Mia.  Don't ask," Tom replied disgustedly.


   "When's your little bundle of joy due again?"

   Tom perked up immediately.  "Middle of January," he replied
enthusiastically.  He then began to wax eloquently on the topics of name
choices, the possible color schemes for the baby's room, and the toys, crib
and clothes that they had found to fill it with.

   Mark listened for a moment before holding the phone away from his ear.
With a grin, he placed it on the desk and returned to his typing.  Quite a
few minutes later, when the drone from the earpiece abruptly ceased, he
picked it back up.  "What was that again?" he asked, "There was a burst of
static, and I missed the last part."

   "Huh?  Oh.  I asked if you would be free to come up for a visit tonight?
There's something I need to talk to you about."

   "Kinda short notice and, social butterfly that I am, I hate to give up a
Saturday night on the town, but yeah, I think I can do that."

   "Great!  We'll even cook you dinner if you want.  We have roast bunny,
bunny ala mode, bunny flambe, fried bunny, bunny on a stick..."

   Mark cut him off with a snort of laughter, "No thanks.  I'm never going
to eat one of your filthy rodents again.  Last time I did, I got a chubby
that lasted until the next day.  It was the same night that we were
babysitting my nieces.  Jenny looked at me weird for weeks." After brief
consideration, he amended, "Jenny and I did have a bit of fun with it later
that evening, though."

   After Tom got some control over his laughter, he sputtered, "Sorry about
that.  It happens sometimes when they're really fresh.  How about we order
in a pizza?"

   "Sounds good.  How are things going with Mia, by the way?"

   "Things are going well," Tom replied.  "I think we're past that bit of
friction we had concerning the 'absolute obedience' part of the bond.  She
has been very careful to phrase anything that could be interpreted as an
order in the form of a question.  It has to be frustrating as hell for her,
but she does it and I love her for it.  How about you?  Things going okay
in the Burg?"

   Mark sighed, "I wish like hell that you were back here working with us.
We could use you.  There's been some really weird stuff going on.  In the
past six months or so, we've had a baker's dozen of people just drop dead
for no apparent reason.  No marks on the bodies.  Toxicology is always
negative.  Coroner can't find any major health problems.  No connection
with age, race, or gender.  It's making a lot of people nervous."

   "You don't think..."

   "That it's one of your new relatives?  Nah.  All the blood is present
and accounted for.  Those vigilante killings on the other hand..."

   "What vigilante killings?" Tom asked innocently.

   "Oh, I think the media is calling him the Cain killer, because, like
Cain, all the victims have been branded with their crime.  Well, the crimes
have been carved into the victims' foreheads, actually, but same
difference, I suppose."

   "What makes you think it's a vampire?"

   "Well, all the blood's missing for one thing.  Plus, the killer knows
too much.  The Cleveland PD had been investigating those missing girls for
years and never had a clue that they had been killed or that Senator
whatshisname was involved.  I'm itching to call them up and tell them to
start using IR gear on patrols, but the President issued that classified
Executive Order that basically tells everyone who knows about vampires to
keep their damn traps shut." Mark sighed again.  "The world's a shitty
place when you can't even give other cops a heads up."

   "I hear you.  There's been some nastiness up this way, too.  Two hunters
were found dead not more than a couple of miles from our house.  There
wasn't much evidence left: animals, including their own dogs, had chewed
the bodies up pretty good, but they found one guy's truck almost on your
backdoor."



   The conversation continued for a few more minutes before they said their
goodbyes.  After Mark hung up, he spun around to look behind him.  For the
past few weeks, he had often been getting the oddest feeling that someone
was staring over his shoulder, but there was never anyone there.

   "Must be getting paranoid in my old age," he muttered to himself.

   He returned his attention to the computer screen, and stared at it
blankly for a few minutes.  He then checked his watch.  He was supposed to
have gone off duty half an hour before, but it would take him at least a
few more hours to finish off the reports he had backlogged.  The amount of
overtime required was another thing he didn't like about his new position.
With a grunt he decided to procrastinate, the reports would still be there
Monday morning.  Besides, going to visit Tom and his harem gave him a great
excuse to put off doing any more paper pushing tonight.  Whistling a merry
ditty, he punched out, and walked outside to catch the bus home.

   After the passage of seven months from the time that everything had gone
batshit crazy, the city was pretty much back to normal.  The streets
bustled with people, and the air once more reeked of car exhaust.  Other
than the William Penn Hotel, all of the property damage had been repaired
months before, and even the grand hotel was scheduled to reopen in time for
Christmas.  Mark silently wished them luck: people didn't easily forget
things like what had happened there.

   The future of the entire city had been touch and go for a while.  The
evacuation camps had been rough, especially for people who weren't used to
making do with only the bare necessities.  The already miserable conditions
had been made worse by dysentery outbreaks in several of them.  Even so,
the mayor and governor had refused to allow even a single person to return
home until the entire downtown area had been thoroughly searched several
times for any of the so called infected.  It had taken the decimated police
force well over a week to carry that order out.

   Once the evacuation order had been lifted, it had been discovered that a
number of former residents who didn't have strong ties to the city had
already found new jobs and homes elsewhere.  Even among homeowners and long
time residents, many people returned from the camps only to put their
houses on the market with plans to relocate as far away as possible.  Such
plans had been foiled by the fact that there were so few buyers.  Property
values had plummeted.  Rumors that the corporations and Universities that
called the city home were also looking to move had kept even the greediest
of speculators from taking advantage of the fire sale prices.

   Fear had been rampant during those first weeks.  The Pirates and
Penguins had played night games in empty stadiums.  In the cultural
district, plays, musicals and ballets were cancelled when, night after
night, the curtains had opened on rows of empty seats.  Bars and night
clubs had shut down left and right while State Store sales had sky
rocketed. Many small retail businesses, reeling after weeks with no sales
at all, failed entirely.  The convention center had been all but vacant,
and new construction projects across the city were put on hold.  Every
night, thousands of calls had been made to 911 to report suspicious noises,
shadows, and behavior.  The only time that people had been seen in the
streets after dark was as part of a large, tightly packed group.

   All across the world, the speculation had been that Pittsburgh was
destined to become the first modern city to be abandoned entirely, beating
out Detroit by at least a decade.

   Chief Jacobs had ordered a dramatic increase in the number of patrols by
foot, bike and patrol car in the hope that a highly visible police presence
would increase civilian confidence.  Mark had lost a good ten pounds
walking a beat that month, bad leg or no.

   Whether the Chief had been right, or it was simply a matter of time
healing all wounds, the city had rebounded.  It had started with people
venturing out after dark in smaller and smaller groups.  Often the members
of such groups could be heard loudly discussing the outbreak, as they
worked hard to convince themselves that the disaster was truly over. 
Starting with the large supermarkets, stores had again started to stay open
after night fall.  The few nightclubs that had remained open prospered,
prompting others to reopen their doors.  One by one, for sale signs
vanished from in front of the city's houses.  The comeback was made
complete when PPG, Heinz and a plethora of other companies had publicly
announced that they were staying put.

   Now, only subtle signs remained of the tragedy that had occurred.  When
people passed each other in the street after dark, they eyed each other
suspiciously, even fearfully.  On Sundays, the churches were packed, as the
survivors sought ways to understand why their city had been so cruelly
judged.

   Mark had been worried that the recent terrorist attack on the military
reactor would cause the city to descend into another downward spiral, but
there was no sign of it.  Even with the plummeting stock market and the
panic that gripped the rest of the nation, the city continued its slow
recovery.  It was as if what had occurred in April had immunized the city's
residents against further despair.

   Mark also found cause for hope in the fact that the current
administration in the White House was showing no signs of following the
precedent set by their predecessor.  Instead of eroding civil liberties,
ignoring Constitutional rights, and starting two wars, one just and one
not, the President was responding rationally and reasonably, turning all of
his attention to mitigating the damage that had been caused and finding the
people who were actually responsible.

   He spent most of the bus ride trying to think of something he could tell
Jenny to explain why he was vanishing for most of the night.  She was not
one of the privileged few who knew that Tom was still alive; in a manner of
speaking, anyway.  He never even thought about bringing her into that
circle.  He loved his wife dearly, but she was quite possibly the biggest
gossip in the city.

   He got off the bus a little over a block from his house.  He limped down
the street a short way before ducking around a corner.  When he heard
hurried footfalls approaching from the way he had come, he lashed out with
a fist.  He timed it perfectly, connecting with the man's jaw and sending
him to the pavement.

   Mark stood over the man with his hands still balled into fists.  "I've
been a cop for twenty years, punk.  Did you really think I wouldn't notice
when I picked up a tail?  Now, how about you start telling me why you were
following me."

   Mark was taken aback by the look of disgust and loathing that the
swarthy, dark haired man gave him.  He jumped backwards in surprise when
the man pulled a pistol from his pocket, already cocked and ready.  Mark
belatedly reached for his own pistol, cursing himself for not doing so the
moment the man went down.

   "Don't," the man commanded.  "Even though you're a traitor to our
species, I have no wish to hurt you, but I will if I have to.  To walk away
from this unharmed, all you have to do is take me with you to visit your
friend McNelly."

   When the man stood, Mark caught sight of what looked disturbingly like a
sword strapped to the inside of his trenchcoat.  As he tried to get a
closer look, he was blinded by the headlights of a car that started a short
way up the street.  His relief at the possibility of salvation from his
predicament faded as it accelerated rapidly toward him and his captor only
to slam to a stop next to them.  A sturdily built, dark haired woman, her
cheeks flushed red with excitement, exited the car and hurried to Mark's
side.  There, she took the handcuffs from his belt and bound his arms
behind his back.

   "Don't forget to take his weapon, Iltana," the man instructed.

   "Got it, Sam," she replied.

   Pushing Mark into the back seat of the car, Sam crawled in next to him.
Holding the gun pointed steadily at Mark's chest, Sam instructed, "Start by
heading to Spartansburg."

   The woman nodded in response and punched the town's name into the Tom
Tom on her dashboard.

   None of them noticed the short, thin man who had watched the abduction
with keen interest.

   To be continued.

   If you have any questions, comments or criticisms, please feel free to
contact me at dptom@live.com


   

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