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  I couldn't restrain a nervous laugh of my own. "I couldn't be that cliched, could I?"

  The old vampire smiled again. "I am afraid, my friend, that we are all too often the cliches of our times. I am only unusual because I have outlived all those who would recognize me. Yet, in your own fiction, I have found myself being stereotyped once more." He finished the glass of blood and set it down. "Was there anything else, Jason? Though I will admit that ridicule followed by friendship troubles is quite enough to make a bad day, I suspect something worse would be needed to make you come here."

  I nodded. "You could say that." In a few sentences I outlined the horror in the clearing. "So you see I had to come here."

  He raised an eyebrow as he finished his glass. "I don't quite see that you had to come here."

  "Reisman may be thinking psycho right now, but that's because your little hypnotism job, or whatever you call it, keeps her from remembering that there's a local vampire who could do that to someone a heckuva lot easier than an ordinary nut. And since the guy was a Fed . . . I had to find out from you if you did have him killed."

  His lips tightened. "You offend me, Jason. Once before you suspected me of being a murderer, but then I had been well framed for the part. Now you know me, and yet you would think I would kill someone in such a grotesque way?"

  "Look, I'm sorry, Verne. But it's a question I have to ask because Reisman can't ask it. I don't believe it. But Elias knew you were a drug-runner, and though we conveniently made that disappear when we did the great vampire coverup, Renee Reisman could easily find it out again, and then she would be up here grilling you. Even though you've changed your profession since, the fact that you were ever involved in that kind of thing won't look good." He sat back slowly, and I relaxed a bit. Pissing a vampire off isn't the way to ensure a long life—what he'd done to Carmichael's estate had shown that all too well. "I did have another couple of reasons. I thought you might know something, maybe about another vampire that for some ungodly reason decided to move here."

  He shook his head, hesitated a moment, then spoke. "As you know, vampires are one of the few sorts of beings that I cannot sense automatically. Unless your hypothetical newcomer were to introduce himself, I'm afraid that I would have no better idea than you of his presence. Besides that, it stretches the bounds of reason to suppose that three vampires would be found in such close proximity." He chuckled slightly. "We are a rare race; were the environmentalists aware of us, I would not be surprised to find us on an endangered species list. I am still somewhat puzzled by Klein's presence; he obviously became a vampire relatively recently, yet his maker seemed unconcerned with either Klein's behavior or survival."

  I raised an eyebrow. "You mean his maker might have objected to what he did?"

  Verne nodded. "As a general rule, they try not to make waves, so to speak, for other beings that live in the twilight world between your civilization's 'reality' and the lands of myth. And, not to sound overly egotistical, I am an extremely well-known member of that group. I would have expected his maker to be extremely concerned about annoying me by involving me in the manner Klein did. And, indeed, if I discover who was responsible for making him and leaving him uncontrolled, I will . . . have a talk with that person."

  "We never did find out how or why Klein became a vampire; couldn't this killing be due to whoever Klein's maker was?"

  Verne rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It is possible, of course. But a vampire who had decided on such a bizarre method of killing . . . I find it difficult to believe such a nosferatu would waste so much blood. But you said 'a couple' of other reasons. What was the other?"

  "The murderer apparently phoned headquarters . . . and he gave his name as Vlad Dracul."

  I would never have believed it was possible, but the blood drained straight out of Verne's face, leaving him literally white as paper. "Vlad Dracul . . . that is not possible. It must not be possible." His voice was a whisper. I felt gooseflesh rising on my arms; Verne sounded afraid.

  I didn't even want to imagine what could scare him. "Of course it's impossible. Vlad Tepes, the Dracula of legend, died a long, long time ago." Another thought occurred to me. "Unless . . . given the initials . . . you were him."

  He made a cutting gesture with his hand, his ruby ring flashing like a warning. He stepped to the window; for several minutes he stared out at the moonlit landscape. "I'd rather not discuss this now, Jason. I must make some inquiries." He turned back to me. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but you'll have to leave now."

  One look was enough to convince me not to argue. "Okay, Verne. Can you just tell me one thing?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Is it another vampire? Is that what you think?"

  A very faint, eerie smile crossed his face. My skin prickled anew. "A vampire? Oh, no, not a vampire."

  That smile stayed with me all the way home.

  17

  The door opened. "Jason!" Sylvie said, looking surprised.

  "Hi, Syl. Can I come in?"

  "Sure. Watch out for the books on the floor, I'm rearranging the library."

  I stepped in. I noticed again the odd, warm smell of her house; the dusty, comfortable scent of old books blended with a faint tinge of kitchen spices and old-fashioned perfume, a smell that didn't fit someone as young and gorgeous as Syl—except that, somehow, it did fit, because it was Sylvie's house. Sylvie stepped ahead of me and carefully lifted a stack of books off a large chair.

  "I suppose I should apologize, Jason. I was pretty hard on you."

  "No, Syl, you were right." I sat down; she took the arm of the couch right next to me. "I've been trying to have it both ways and it doesn't work. I can't flirt with you half the time and then expect you to act just like a friend the other half. You can't just switch your behavior to match whatever my mood is, and even if you could it's wrong for me to expect you to."

  "I know, Jason," she said gently. She put her hand on my shoulder. "I'm the person you've practically told your life story to, remember? I'm only a little surprised that you've understood yourself so quickly."

  "It wasn't me, really. Someone who has better perception than I do held a mirror up to my face."

  She shuddered slightly. "It was Domingo, wasn't it? You'd have named anyone else."

  "Yeah. Syl, why are you so bothered by him?"

  She stared at me, wide-eyed. "Why am I bothered by him? He's a vampire! The question should be why you have anything to do with him! I'm gone for a week or so, and when I get back I find you've gone from turning up your nose at the drug-runner to being his best buddy! For that matter," she frowned, "why does he have anything to do with you? I still don't understand why he let us remember. It sure would have been simpler for him to make all of us forget."

  "I've gotten to know him since. He's lonely, Syl! Just think about it for a minute. Here you are, immortal, for most purposes invulnerable, with all these superhuman powers, and at the same time you don't dare mention it to anyone! I think he got to the point that, when he realized that I wasn't all that scared of him, he just couldn't make himself do it. He needs someone he can talk to, someone who knows what he is and still will treat him like a person.

  "Also, that's smuggled drugs, not smuggles. Those stories aren't just for show—he really has become an art and artifact expert." I hadn't gone over the entire story before with Syl, and didn't want to muddy the waters right now.

  Syl's face was serious now. She's very empathic; I could see that she understood. "But why did he leave me with my memory?"

  I grinned wryly. "Because I told him that if he even thought about messing with your mind I would hammer a spruce through him! He knew I meant it, too. I could barely accept him mind-twisting acquaintances like the coroner; no way would I let him mess with my friends."

  "You let him do it to Reisman."

  "Nope. Renee told him to do it. She said that she would be better off not knowing, and it would help her carry conviction in the story we cooked up."

  Sy
l shook her head. "It won't work, Jason. You're telling me you threatened him off? He could have had you dumped in a river anytime."

  "I know. He respected my loyalty, I think. Besides, I still have the original evidence against him, plus Elias' old files. Then, later on, well, we became friends." I looked at her. "I also think he hoped you would visit him. He speaks very highly of you."

  She looked surprised at that, then thoughtful. "Jason, why were you there yesterday evening? I know it wasn't just to talk about your love life."

  "You're right." I gave her the whole story along with everything Verne had said. Just as I finished, the phone rang. It was Lieutenant Reisman. She was calling from a pay phone, so I took the number and called her back. "What's up, Renee?"

  "Remember our Federal friend? Well, his business associates showed up. We've been told to butt out; national security and all that."

  "Well, we could have predicted that. SOP."

  Renee snorted. "Bullshit, Wood. Usually the Feds cooperate with the locals; they don't want to piss us off. When they go into a total stonewall like this, they're not kidding around."

  "So why call me?"

  "Because I know you, Wood. You dropped into the middle of it and you never give up on anything. I haven't told them you're in the picture. No one else on the site really saw you except the ME, and he's so close-mouthed he wouldn't say if he saw his own mother at her funeral. I'm just warning you about what kind of trouble you could be in if you keep poking into this."

  "What about you?"

  There was a pause, then an explosive, short laugh. "Yeah, you know me too."

  "Can you get me the ME report?"

  She thought for a moment. "I'll have to figure out some way to weasel it out of him without alerting the Feds, but yeah, I think I can. So what are you going to do for me?"

  "My job. Get you information." I smiled slowly. "Don't you think it might help if we can find out why they're so worried?"

  She hesitated. "It sure would. But I don't want to know how you get it."

  "Right. Look, why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow, if you're not too busy? I should have something by then, and hopefully they won't try to listen in. We can set up some way to talk safely then."

  "Okay. And, Jason," her tone shifted, "be careful. This is dangerous stuff we're playing with."

  "I know. Bye."

  I looked up at Syl. One glance froze me. She had that deep-eyed, deadly serious look again. Her "feeling" look. I trust those feelings with my life. "What is it, Syl?"

  "It's bad, Jason. Very bad." She shivered. "More people are going to die before this is over."

  18

  I got back to my house, opened the door, and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, sandwich and soda next to me, I booted up my terminal program. I needed to contact "Manuel Garcia O'Kelly Davis." Manuel was actually a fairly high-placed military intelligence analyst. I thought he was Air Force, but there was no way to be sure. I sent him a secured e-mail, asking for a conference. He agreed, and we set up the doubly secured relay, with me supplying a few bells and whistles that would make anyone trying to trace either one of us end up chasing their own tails through Ma Bell's systems. As per our long-established habits, neither of us used the other's real name; to him, I was "Mentor of Arisia," and he remained "Manuel."

  >Hello, Mentor. What's up?<<<br />
  >Got a problem. You have time?<<<br />
  >Two hours enough?<<<br />
  >Should be.<<<br />
  I filled him in on the situation, leaving out the gory details and concentrating on the NSA factors.

  >Can you find out what their angle is?<<<br />
  >Christ. You don't ask for much, do you. Look, I can check into it, but you'd do better to just drop out, you know?<<<br />
  >I can't. It'd nag at me forever.<<<br />
  >I know the feeling. :) Just remember, anything I tell you, I didn't tell you. Right?<<<br />
  >Right.<<<br />
  I signed off, then finally got on to one of the underground boards; one run by a pirate and hacker that I knew pretty well.

  >Hello, Demon? You there?<<<br />
  >Readin' you loud and clear, Mentor old buddy. You slumming?<<<br />
  >Looking for info, as usual. You still keep up on the doings of the rich and infamous?<<<br />
  >Best I can, you can bet on it.<<<br />
  The Demon was a damn good hacker and very well informed. He kept an eye on criminal doings not merely on the Net, but throughout the world. He viewed his piracy as a matter of free information distribution; since I make my living by distributing information and getting paid for that service, I found myself simultaneously agreeing and disagreeing with him. Nonetheless, we got along pretty well since the Demon absolutely hated the real Darksiders—people who destroyed other's work. To his mind, copying information was one thing. Destroying or corrupting it was another thing entirely.

  >Demon, what's going on now that might be bothering the Feds?<<<br />
  >You talking big or little?<<<br />
  >Big, but not like countries going to war; NSA stuff.<<<br />
  >Hold on. Lemme think.<<<br />
  I waited.

  >Okay, there are about three things I can think of; but lemme ask, did something happen in your area?<<<br />
  >Yes, that's how I got interested.<<<br />
  >Got you. That only leaves one. NSA and the other agencies have been checking your general area trying to locate a real nasty Darksider who calls himself Gorthaur. He's a real sleaze. None of the respectable hackers will deal with him, but no one's really got the guts to tell him to kiss off. There are a lot of ugly rumors about him. Or her, no one's really sure either way. Gorthaur's been heavy into espionage and industrial spying and sabotage. A real prize.<<<br />
  >He ever sign on your board?<<<br />
  >He did until I found out who he was. Far as I know, I'm the only one to tell him what I thought of him. I told him that he'd better not log back on 'cause if I ever got anything on him I'd turn him over to the cops so fast it'd make his chips spin.<<<br />
  >Bet he didn't like that.<<<br />
  >He told me that it wasn't healthy to get in his way. I told him to save the threats for the kiddies.<<<br />
  I frowned at that.

  >Look, Demon, if it turns out this Gorthaur is part of what I'm involved in, you'd better take his warning seriously. There's already one corpse and the place is crawling with NSA.<<<br />
  >I'll be careful then.<<<br />
  I got off and sat back. Then I shut the system down and got up, turned around. A tall, angular, dark figure loomed over me, scarcely a foot away.

  "Holy SHIT!" I jumped back, tripped over the chair, dropped my glass, fell. My head smacked into the edge of the table and I flopped to the floor and just lay there as the red mist cleared.

  "My apologies, Jason. Let me help you up." Verne Domingo pulled me to my feet as though I were a doll.

  I pushed him away; he let go. "Christ! What in hell did you think you were doing? You scared me into next week!" I rubbed the already growing lump on my skull.

  "I have said I was sorry. I did not wish to call you via phone; the government has ears, after all. And coming obviously in person would call just as much attention. I had only just materialized when you turned, and I had no chance to warn you."

  "Okay, Okay. Sorry I yelled." I started for the kitchen, went towards the freezer.

  "Sit, Jason. I will take care of that." He took the handtowel from the countertop, rinsed it, dumped several ice cubes into it. Then he folded the towel into a bundle and squeezed. I heard splintering noises as the ice was crushed. "There. Put that on the swelling."

  I did. The cold helped, even when it started to ache. "What'd you have to see me for?"

  "To explain, my friend." He stood with his back to the refrigerator, stiff and somehow sad. "The story you told me last night . . . it had very disturbing elements in it, very disturbing indeed. I had to check them before I could believe what my heart knew was the truth. Now I must tell you what is happening here, and for you to understand, you must hear a little histo
ry.

  "Vampires are among the most powerful of what you would call the supernatural races, but we are not the only such; most have either long since died out or else found some way to leave this world that is no longer congenial to them, but a few, either through preference or necessity, still live on. My people are, on the whole, cautious not to arouse the awareness of you mortals, and this suits us. Bound as we are to the world in which we are born, we cannot leave, and so we live as best we can without doing that which could rouse you who now rule it to pursue us.

  "There was another race, however, which was not so circumspect. They did not reproduce as we do, by converting mortals; they reproduced themselves as do most races, and this is perhaps why they had less sympathy for your people. But more likely they lacked sympathy because it was not in their nature; for they preyed on us as well." He looked at me steadily. "Your people call them werewolves."

  I blinked. "Oh, no. Not again."

  "I am afraid so. You have stumbled into the realm of the paranormal once more."

  Vaguely I had the feeling that there was something missing—something Verne was avoiding telling me. But it wasn't central; the main points, I was sure, were the real thing. But something else wasn't quite . . . right. Well, maybe he'd clear that up later. I grimaced. "What was that line from Die Hard 2? 'How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice?' Look, how could werewolves prey on you? I mean, you guys are awfully hard to kill and once you die, well, you go to dust, at least the older ones. Klein took several days. Not much to eat there. Besides, couldn't you just turn around and eat them?"