open

and there was a storm outside. She shivered, goose bumps standing out all

over

her, and she tried to regain her composure, to take control of the situation,

but she could not tear her gaze away form those burning eyes that seemed to

see

right down to the depths of her very soul. She tried to speak but couldn't.

He came toward her, but he did not seem to be walking. Incredibly, he seemed

to

be floating toward her, gliding across the floor until he was at the foot of

her

bed. His intense gaze never left her for an instant. She was cold. The breeze

that eddied around her was freezing, and she was shivering violently, both

with

cold and fear. He's a sorcerer, she thought, suddenly afraid that she had made

a

bad miscalculation.

She had always steered clear of adepts before, because she felt they were too

dangerous, to unpredictable, but he was still a man, she told herself—not

knowing just how wrong she was—and she had yet to meet a man she couldn't

handle. Besides, she thought, she had never yet experienced magic used in

foreplay. The thought excited her. She moistened her lips and moved on the

bed

invitingly, her bosom heaving as she breathed heavily, her lips slightly

parted,

her eyelids lowered... and then he suddenly stretched out one hand toward her

and the bed burst into flame.

She cried out as the flames rose up all around her. She could feel the

searing

heat, but though the entire bed was burning, the spot on which she lay

remained

untouched. She was unable to move, paralyzed with terror, surrounded by a

wall

of fire. Through the crackling flames she saw him, naked, crouching on the

footboard like a cat, the dancing flames reflected in his eyes. For a moment

it

seemed to her that she saw something else, something dark and terrifying,

inhuman. As he leapt, she screamed.

Chief Inspector Michael Blood was not having a good day. Spread out on the

desk

before him were the daily papers. The headlines were sensational, as usual,

only

this time he figured in them prominently. WHITECHAPEL MURDERER RETURNS?

RIPPER

ON THE LOOSE! and, the worst of the lot, RIPPER SEEKS BLOOD! BLOOD SEEKS

RIPPER!

And that one from the Times, no less. Constable Shavers knocked on the door

and

stuck his head in.

"Sir? It's the superintendent on line one."

"Yes, of course it would be," Blood said with a sigh, putting down his coffee

cup. "Very well, thank you, Danny." He picked up the phone. "Good morning,

Superintendent."