CHAPTER TWO

July 1, 1998

New York City

Lord Baldevar selected a lightweight navy blazer from his walk-in closet, thinking wryly that even a vampire was not immune to a New York City heat wave. The oppressive July humidity and mugginess made his usual suit and tie impossible, he thought as he plucked a pair of gold and onyx cufflinks off his dresser.

He was fastening the cufflinks to his cream silk shirt when a brutal pain ripped through his side, making him gasp and clutch the dresser for support.

It hurts! It hurts! Make it stop…

Abruptly, the high-pitched, whimpering voice left his mind and the pain vanished as Simon said aloud, "Meghann?"

There was no reply—not that he'd expected one. The brief visitation was far too quick and unexpected for him to hold the presence long enough to identify it. Still, it had to be Meghann. He'd transformed many vampires over the centuries, but his link to them had diminished over time. Meghann (not counting the thing in the basement) was the only one young enough for him to still feel her pain and distress.

For a moment, Simon was tempted to abandon his plans for the evening and concentrate on his missing consort's whereabouts but it was not the right time.

For one thing, it was only twilight—the sun had not yet completely set. Although he was old enough to be awake and functioning during dusk, there was no way to employ his occult powers without a serious drain on his energy. Too, he hadn't fed last night. Better to go outside and feed, get his strength up before he attempted to find Meghann.

Leaving the protection of his shuttered town house, Lord Baldevar slipped a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses over eyes that needed protection even from the weak light of the slowly setting sun. It was a quarter to eight now—had he attempted to leave his home even fifteen minutes earlier, the wretched sun might have blinded him.

But why complain? Perhaps in a few years he'd be able to go outdoors at noon if he desired. That pain-wracked distress call—if it indeed belonged to Meghann—was a very good sign that his Beltane experiment had been successful.

Simon smiled, startling two young female tourists who gawked at him as they passed each other on Fifth Avenue. Briefly, he considered offering the young women a drink and making them his evening meal but he decided to get a bit more air before settling on a victim. After all, his company was not due until ten—he had plenty of time.

He kept smiling, finally admitting to himself how uneasy he'd been at Meghann's silence. He'd fully expected her to (willingly or unwillingly like the scream that had invaded his mind) contact him long before tonight. Beltane was two months ago… he'd started wondering if her silence meant he'd failed to impregnate her.

But he should have remembered how obstinate the girl could be, Simon thought, stopping to admire a stunning cabochon bracelet in the Cartier display window. Should he buy the hopefully expectant mother this pretty bauble studded with emeralds that matched her eyes?

No, no… he had a far better gift for her. As soon as he found out where she was hiding, Simon planned to present her with Jimmy Delacroix. Surely her lover's demise would teach Meghann a badly needed lesson in obeying her master.

Simon's mood darkened as he reflected on his last meeting with Meghann and he walked rapidly, the sights and sounds of the bustling city around him no longer registering on his senses.

That she'd been frightened and defensive when she first found out he was still alive, Simon fully understood. After leaving her master to die, she most certainly should have feared for her life. But after he'd told the girl he was willing to forgive her and make her his consort again, what did she do? Weep and whine because he'd slaughtered Alcuin, flaunt her mortal in front of him, and plot with her sodomite friend to kill him.

Ah, well, what was the point in brooding over Meghann's loathsome behavior like a jilted lover? He'd punished her severely for her transgressions. Good mood restored by the thought of how devastated Meghann would be when she saw what her defiance cost her no longer mortal lover, Lord Baldevar turned his attention to feeding.

He was glad to be in Manhattan; the city had always provided remarkable sustenance. Perhaps it was because the people who lived here inevitably took on the characteristics of the city they inhabited—brash, occasionally crude, brimming with an energy and intensity that people who occupied older, more sedate cities lacked. It had been years since he'd had time to fully savor the attractions of Manhattan. Over the past decade, he'd merely come for a few nights at a time to apprise himself of Meghann's activities. It did not surprise Simon at all that after her apprenticeship with Alcuin she would choose to return to the city where she'd grown up, where they had met and fallen in love.

Feeling a bit sentimental, Simon decided to head downtown, toward the Time Square area. That was where he'd taken Meghann for her first hunt. He laughed aloud as he remembered Meghann, freshly transformed and indignant when he told her to dress like a streetwalker. It was only after he'd explained that being perceived as a hooker was the easiest ruse a female vampire could employ to lure prey that Meghann acquiesced, her eyes wide with apprehension and glee at all her new powers.

She'd learned so quickly, Simon mused. The girl had taken to vampirism with a speed that delighted him. Every new lesson she absorbed rapidly, showing her gratitude toward her teacher in lovemaking so passionate it nearly took his breath away.

What happened, Meghann? Simon asked his absent lover. You had more promise and natural ability than any other fledgling. What happened to make you hate yourself… and me for transforming you?

Simon shrugged and waved his hand, making a cab swerve abruptly when it came a bit too close to him. Meghann was young, and making mistakes was a privilege of youth. No doubt her Catholic upbringing made her vulnerable to Alcuin's mealymouthed view of immortality, and caused the guilt that made her reject her master. At any rate, that was all in the past. It was the present that mattered and Meghann was no longer in a position to reject him.

When Simon finally approached Broadway, the area turned out to be a disappointment, so changed he barely recognized it. When he'd first come to New York, in the forties, the Great White Way had offered stunning productions written by geniuses like Noel Coward and Cole Porter. Now he saw there was such a dearth of mortal imagination that many of those same shows had been revived but he doubted they could match the vigor and style of the originals. The few new plays offered did not interest him either—they seemed gaudy and dull.

Even worse than the tepid entertainment promised by glittering marquees, Simon missed the air of danger that used to pervade these streets. Decades, even a few years before, patrons of the theater district made sure to stay in well-lit areas for fear some derelict might rob their valuables or assault their person. Now Times Square was so sanitized and antiseptic he actually saw a Disney store doing a thriving business, and tourists walked the streets with impunity. What had happened to the shifty-eyed hustlers that lurked in dark alleys? Where were the dope fiends, the streetwalkers, the pickpockets? Where did a vampire go if he wanted a bit of depravity with his evening meal? It seemed the cops patrolling these streets had chased those unfortunates to darker corners of the city, and Simon did not have time to seek them out. What did that leave him with? Perhaps he could surprise some wholesome tourist or theater patron… show them there were still things to fear on the New York City streets after dark.

A booming, shrill voice interrupted his thoughts. "Repent!" a woman yelled at the passersby who ignored her existence. "Repent or be roasted over the fires of hell for eternity! You must repent now to be saved!"

Lord Baldevar smiled—so all the crazy characters had not been driven away after all. He walked toward the screeching howl, planning the charade he'd played out many times before with fanatics—the sober, earnest look he'd put on his face as he listened to the woman's spiel and allowed her to hand him some poorly spelled, cheaply made pamphlet that told him salvation hinged on turning over a considerable portion of his wealth to whatever organization she was affiliated with. Then, when he convinced his victim of his sincere desire to be saved, it would be a simple matter to lure her home with him to pray for his soul.

Unfortunately, Simon found his target was a fiftyish crone with permed gray hair, granny glasses, widely spaced teeth, and soft, wattled flesh. He'd sink his teeth into the garbage pail next to her before drinking from that age-diluted stream.

Resigning himself to a walk to the notorious meatpacking district and the debauched mortals that could be found there, Lord Baldevar found his spirits raised when a teenage couple approached the zealot and began haranguing her. He assumed the couple was a boy and girl, though it was difficult to tell at first since the deep-voiced one had long, greasy blond locks that trickled over a cheap black T-shirt. No, Simon decided, this was definitely a boy—no girl would appear in public with her hair in such unwashed disarray. Not that the girl with him was any prize. Unlike her skinny, small companion, the girl was tall but her obesity made her appear shorter than she was. She had frizzy, badly combed brown hair and a slight overbite.

These two weren't beauties, but they would serve his purpose. Besides, it was growing late. He wanted to feed and wash before his company arrived. It would be the height of rudeness to appear before guests in bloodstained, soiled clothing.

From the loud argument that drew amused stares from passersby and cheap silver-plated inverted pentagrams around their necks, Simon gathered that the youngsters were neo-pagans, which gave him the perfect opening gambit to win their trust. Interrupting the raving old fanatic with a slight clearing of his throat, Simon turned to his intended meal and said, "Why bother this lunatic? Let her worship as she pleases. After all, do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law."

Of course, the zealot turned her abuse on him but Simon barely heard her… he was too busy clamping his lips together to refrain from laughing at the eager, shining expressions on the faces of his prey.

"You know of the Great Beast?" the boy questioned.

"I knew him," Simon answered gravely, refraining from rolling his eyes at the alias for Aleister Crowley—a drug addict and charlatan who'd tried to pass himself off as an esteemed practioner of practical magick.

Simon had encountered the fake in Egypt around the turn of the century, having gone there to supervise Howard Carter's excavation of the Egyptian tombs, a project he'd funded very generously in the hopes he might discover a clue to the origins of vampirism. Contrary to popular fiction, he'd learned nothing of vampire history from the pyramids but he had been able to amuse himself with Aleister Crowley.

He'd learned the pompous junkie used to belong to the Order of the Golden Dawn, a mortal organization that the damned prelate Alcuin had chosen to reveal the secrets of the cabala to.

Annoyed by Alcuin's attempt to spread his theology to mortals and hand them divine knowledge they should never have been privy to, Lord Baldevar had attached himself to Aleister Crowley—expelled from the order for his sadism and debauchery. For an amusement, he'd appeared to Crowley and told him he was Aiwass, an ancient Egyptian deity. The gullible magician wrote down everything he told him, and Lord Baldevar's words became the mainstay of Ordo Templis Orelius, the religious order the egotistical Crowley proclaimed himself head of.

Now Simon felt a malicious pleasure, seeing that the nonsensical rituals he'd set down over seventy years ago were still being slavishly adhered to by foolish mortals.

"You couldn't have known Mr. Crowley," the girl said doubtfully, taking in Lord Baldevar's deceitfully young appearance. Then her face cleared and she smiled at him. "Of course! You mean you knew him in a past life."

"It was a different time," Simon agreed. "But why bother with this old hag? You don't think you're going to convert her? Surely you have better things to do with your time? As you may have guessed, I'm foreign to this city and a bit lonely for the company of adepts (he mentally recoiled from calling these simpletons adepts) like yourselves. Perhaps you could accompany me home and tell me how to set up a coven here?"

The couple agreed instantly, sparing Simon from having to use any form of persuasion on them.

"Don't follow the devil!" the fanatic he'd forgotten about screamed at the young couple after he'd flagged down a cab to take them back to the town house. "He's an abomination! Let God into your hearts and He shall save you from this unholy…"

The young couple simply got into the cab, although the girl did make a rude gesture with her middle finger at the woman.

Before getting into the cab, Simon placed his arm around the missionary's shoulder and whispered so only she could hear, "Madam, I shall leave you to a far worse fate than me… a long, long existence in your virginal twin bed and a painful death from the cancer that has once again lodged in your breast." He watched the woman's face cave in and gave her a mocking bow. "Good night."

Once home, Simon directed the young couple to what used to be his study when he lived in the town house with Meghann but nowadays had to be pressed into service as a magick temple.

The couple was, of course, enthralled with the room and the elaborate wooden and steel sigils that decorated the walls, the floor-to-ceiling bookcases teeming with ancient, well-preserved grimoires, and various magickal implements he'd collected over the centuries.

"Wow," the boy (who'd introduced himself as Osiris in the cab) breathed reverently, picking up a Spanish steel sword Lord Baldevar had owned since the seventeenth century. "Is this your athame?"

Simon refrained from wincing at Osiris's hideous pronunciation and merely said, "I use it to open the circle."

He felt another flush of irritation at Meghann when he thought of the past forty years and all the trials he'd been through—trafficking with daemons and currying their favor so he could gain the power he'd need to wrest Meghann away from that smarmy cleric, Alcuin. If the little witch had stayed by her master's side as she promised to, he wouldn't have to devote so much time to sorcery… it was as bad as when he'd been a novice vampire and had to build his defenses to guard against Alcuin's constant attacks.

But as long as he was practicing, he'd have some fun. Simon grabbed a rowan wand he'd had since he was a mortal and pointed it at Osiris. "Demonstrate your powers."

"Huh?" The boy blinked.

"I've given you a room filled with objects imbued with power it took centuries to develop. Show me what you can do."

The girl, who'd given Simon the rather pretentious name of Lady Cerridwen when she introduced herself, told Lord Baldevar haughtily, "We can summon demons at will to do our bidding."

Since there was no way they could escape his house now, Simon threw his head back and howled, laughing harder at the identical angry flushes on the young couple's faces. "Dear child, you have no power but the capacity to delude yourselves. You've never summoned anything… nor will you. But, if you are fortunate, perhaps I will treat you to a display of real power and raise a daemon or two."

He was talking like a madman and it should have occurred to his young guests to leave his house but the couple stood their ground. Osiris raised his chin and said, "You're full of shit. Why should we believe you can do anything? Just because you've got a room filled with some old books?"

"They are called grimoires," Simon said calmly. "And you are quite right. I've given you no reason to believe my boasts are any more grounded in truth than yours. What say you to a wager?"

"Okay," Lady Cerridwen agreed before her boyfriend could speak. "What's the bet?"

Simon reached over her head, removing a wooden sigil to reveal a wall safe. Rapidly, he undid the combination (the date of his transformation) and removed several thick stacks of money.

He laid them on the black-clothed altar and turned to his gaping guests. "That is twelve thousand dollars. Raise a daemon and the money is yours. Fail and you walk out of here with nothing. However, if I summon, you will pay me with your souls."

Simon liked these modern times. In his day, someone would have protested mightily at the thought of handing over his immortal soul, but in this century mortals seemed to have little regard for it. No doubt because so few of them (no matter what they pretended) actually believed in an afterlife.

"You'll give us the money if we win?" Osiris asked, and Simon did not even need to read the boy's thoughts—all he had to do was look at the greedy eagerness in his eyes to see the boy thought him a rich lunatic. Simon noticed Osiris eyeing him, seeming to assess what kind of struggle he'd put up when Osiris and Lady Cerridwen tried to separate him from the money neither of the mortals could stop staring at.

"Of course I'll give you the money if you win," Simon responded truthfully. If these mortal nothings could raise the rug from the floor, let alone a monster, he'd go greet the sunrise. "And if I am successful, you agree to give the forfeit I demand?"

The couple looked at each other and then Osiris said, "Okay."

"Begin," Simon said, and leaned against the paneled wall of his study.

Lady Cerridwen grasped his sword, and spun around counterclockwise to form the magick circle that would protect her and her boyfriend from attack by any monster they summoned.

They made proper obeisance to the four elements of the circle—north, south, east, and west—though their flowery language must have come from one of those dreadful Hollywood movies.

Simon could see that the children were quite involved with their ritual, and seemed to sincerely believe they'd erected a magick circle since they were careful not to disturb its barrier. How crushed they would be when they discovered he was the only supernatural force in this room.

After the preliminary rituals were complete and all instruments had been blessed by being passed over a brazier filled with myrrh, Lady Cerridwen reached into her canvas backpack and fished out a worn, dog-eared paperback entitled The Necronomicon.

This was even more amusing than he'd expected! He knew of the cheap modern grimoire that claimed to be a faithful reproduction of ancient Sumerian spells. Of course, the writings were no more grounded in real magick than a stage magician's black hat, Simon thought as he watched the girl read carefully from the book.

"Don't you feel the monster's presence?" Osiris demanded, startling Simon from his mocking thoughts at Lady Cerridwen's fool words.

"Of course I don't." Simon yawned, not bothering to mask his boredom. "There's nothing in this room."

"You lie and stand outside the protection of the magick circle," Lady Cerridwen screamed, relishing her role as sorceress. "Apologize or we will destroy you!"

"Do it," Simon challenged and moved toward the fake circle.

"Don't break the circle!" Osiris ordered.

Simon put his foot over the imaginary circle and easily lifted Osiris off his feet with one hand under his chin. "You have failed to summon. There is nothing in this room and I will not indulge your silly fantasy one moment longer."

"Put him down!" Lady Cerridwen screeched.

Simon turned to her and said mildly, "Young lady, didn't your parents teach you what happens to undisciplined children who speak to their elders in such a way? Now, you and your paramour, with that inane ritual, have lost your wager. Let us see if I can do better."

Instead of the sword, Simon used Osiris to cast the circle though he didn't really need such protection. Immediately, a line of whitish blue light appeared, drawing gasps from Lady Cerridwen and Osiris.

Simon flung the boy against his girlfriend and watched the couple clutch each other, unable to take their eyes from the sphere of light. "That, children, is only the beginning." Filled with a sense of mischief, Simon threw back his head and screamed out one of his favorite conjurations from the Key of Solomon, speaking in Latin for added effect on his impressionable audience. "I conjure ye and most urgently command ye, Marduk, officer of hell, by the most mighty and powerful name of God El that ye in no way delay, but that ye come immediately hither before us!"

As he spoke, the temperature in the room dropped until his breath came out in frosty white puffs and the mortals cowering beside him shivered uncontrollably, their lips turning blue. Since Simon hadn't told the daemon to appear without noise or hideousness, it made a great production of appearing, the repugnant smell of sulfur and decay overpowering the small room as a vicious being came before him, awaiting his commands.

Simon heard the girl murmuring incoherently and saw his guests were both in shock. "What is this?" he asked, careful not to take his eyes off his infernal visitor. "I thought you adepts… this devil here is but a minor soldier in hell."

"No," Osiris choked. "No, no…"

"So now, children, you discover you had no true ability after all… your 'religion' was merely an outlet to defy your parents, an elaborate fantasy game. Perhaps you're also discovering you have no real faith? I can see from your bulging eyes and the pulses hammering in your necks that this is your first encounter with something otherworldly. You are like so many other mortals I've encountered… you give great lip service to the idea of being dedicated practioners of the black arts but the first time you are brought into the presence of evil, you want to run and hide."

Impatient because he was ignoring it, the daemon reached out one specter claw to scratch Simon's cheek and received a sharp reprimand. It bowed its head uneasily, understanding it could not intimidate him.

Simon had only called the monster to frighten his guests, and since that had succeeded wonderfully, he had no more need of it. He began the License to Depart and it sulked. Since nothing had been asked of it, Simon wasn't beholden to it.

It tried again to frighten him, making objects fly all about the room and howling with a great voice Simon had no doubt was going to temporarily deafen his mortal guests. But Simon had dealt with far worse imps than this and stood his ground, knowing the only way one could lose to a daemon was by showing or feeling any kind of fear.

"Be ye accursed, damned, and eternally reproved if ye do not immediately obey my command to depart!" Simon thundered, and the thing whined, but still refused to leave. Only after Simon tormented it by calling upon the power of devils greater than it did it finally.

The magick circle disappeared and Simon waved his hand to make the overhead lights come on, shaking his head at the shambles the room was in.

Simon put his hand to his cheek and winced at the sharp pain and blood on his fingertips. No matter… the wound would heal once he fed. That in mind, he yanked Osiris away from his girlfriend and gave the boy a menacing smile.

"Please," Osiris whimpered, saying words Simon had heard a thousand times before. "Don't hurt me."

"Would you like to be like me?" Simon asked softly. "Have the power I just displayed?"

"Ye… ye… yes…"

Simon's grin broadened and he allowed his blood teeth to emerge.

"Vampire…" the boy choked when he saw the ivory fangs. "Undead…"

Simon didn't bother telling his victim that he was as alive as Osiris was. "Yes, a vampire… immortal and filled with powers you just witnessed. Do you want my power?"

"Yes," the boy said and his fear appeared to be subsiding.

"What would you do for it?"

"Anything!"

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Would you indeed?"

"Yes!" Osiris yelled, all his terror vanished. The boy threw himself at Simon's feet, kissing his black wing tip shoes frenziedly. "Please, please, please!"

"Would you kill?"

"I'll kill every night for the Dark Gift!"

Dark Gift… Simon rolled his eyes but continued with the charade. He reached into a small wooden cupboard and withdrew a scimitar blade that Meghann, of all people, had given him for their first anniversary.

As he brought the weapon to Osiris, Simon remembered how touched he'd been by the gift, an antique Meghann had obviously spent a great deal of the allowance he gave her on and devoted much thought to finding something he'd enjoy.

Perhaps he would send his servant to Carrier's, after all. For now, Simon put the knife in Osiris's slack hand and said, "Kill her."

"Huh?" The boy blinked and turned his horror-struck gaze to Lady Cerridwen, a silent witness until now.

"Show me you are willing to pay the price I exact for immortality. Sever your ties to humanity and kill this girl you claim to love."

"No!" Lady Cerridwen screamed and made a frantic run for the door. Lightning quick, Simon's arm lashed out and he caught the girl, throwing her toward Osiris.

He thought the boy might protest… maybe even try to turn the blade on Simon to save his girlfriend. But the boy, tantalized by immortality, raised the blade over his head and tried to stab Lady Cerridwen in the heart.

The girl, despite her weight, was quick and rolled out of harm's way. Simon moved against the door of the study and wished Meghann were here with him. Would she dare lecture him on mortals' innate goodness if she could see these two who claimed such love for each other fight like the baited bears he used to watch as a mortal?

"Hold still, you bitch!" Osiris panted and tried to pin his victim to the ground.

"Fuck you!" the foul-mouthed girl snarled and put her hands up to wrestle the scimitar from her puny boyfriend.

With a small cry, Osiris dropped the knife and Lady Cerridwen smothered his body with her bulk. Emitting a warrior's cry, she picked up the blade and stabbed Osiris repeatedly.

"Enough—he's quite dead." Simon moved toward her and snatched the scimitar from her, licking the unfortunate boy's blood off the blade.

"I killed him!" Lady Cerridwen panted, insanity shining in her eyes. "I earned your Dark Gift!"

"That is what you crave… eternal life?"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"So be it," Simon said and drew the unresisting girl close to him. "But you really should ask questions when you strike a bargain with the devil. I shall give you eternal life… by draining your blood and allowing your soul to flee your dead body."

"No," Lady Cerridwen whimpered as Simon's fangs moved toward her jugular. "Please… my dad is rich… I can give you…"

Simon raised his eyes to the doomed girl. "Look around you, child. Do you think I have any need of more money? I only offer transformation when I receive something in return. Your plump body is of no interest to me and your banal intellect bores me. The only one way you can serve me is as food," he said over her hysterical sobs.

Simon glanced at the scimitar, and considered giving the girl a lesson in the proper way to use it. But his gold and ruby Rolex informed him that it was already nine o'clock… he simply didn't have the time for a long, drawn-out death. So he bent his head to her jugular and drank rapidly.

Youthful, he thought, tasting the blood like a connoisseur of fine wine. But not quite as potent as he'd hoped. Still, his cheek was healed and he now had the energy he needed to find Meghann and deal with the guests he expected in another hour.

Freshly showered and groomed, Simon peered at his reflection in the full-length mirror in his dressing room. See-through though it was, a vampire could make out enough of his features to ascertain that his tie was properly knotted, hair neatly in place.

Simon smoothed an unruly chestnut cowlick back into place, and reflected on the guests he was expecting momentarily. When he'd gone into hiding, he'd been forced to leave all his holdings vulnerable (minus the lockboxes stuffed with cash that he'd hidden all over the world) to maintain the illusion he was truly dead. Eager young vampires had seized his property, glorying in the thought that their master was dead.

Now that he'd emerged from hiding, prudent vampires had already returned his wealth to him; some had even doubled it. But others, perhaps thinking he was finally showing weakness by allowing Meghann to live, had not rendered onto Caesar what was Caesar's. The evening ahead should solve that problem.

Simon's sharp ears detected sounds downstairs—his human servant opening the front door and admitting two vampires to the drawing room. Simon decided to greet his guests with a small display of his new power. He narrowed his energy field down to the smallest pinprick, allowing no hint of his presence to escape the thick blackness he wrapped around himself. Thus disguised, he entered the drawing room of his town house, and observed his guests.

"Why has he summoned us here, do you know?" The question came from Isaac Spears, a male vampire. He was a pretty young man with carefully tousled blond curls and a full, pouting mouth. Simon had transformed the boy in the eighteenth century after he'd been useful in helping him obtain some ancient manuscripts from Alcuin.

"Lord Baldevar no longer shares his thoughts with me," the female vampire said shortly, and Simon grinned at the open jealousy in her voice. Gabrielle De Moire, an exquisite beauty he'd transformed during the French Revolution. She'd been one of his favorites… until Meghann, that is. So Gabrielle still regretted losing his affections?

"Perhaps he wishes our aid in destroying that jade he's so besotted with," Gabrielle continued, and Simon's grin widened. She was indeed jealous. "I would love to help our master tear that drab to shreds. She has humiliated Lord Baldevar by leaving him, and then taking mortal lovers like a common harlot. Do you suppose our master knows of his consort's promiscuous ways?"

"I do know I consider it the height of hypocrisy for you to criticize my consort when you made your fortune as a mortal by selling your favors to the highest bidder." Lord Baldevar grasped Gabrielle's chin and smiled gently at her shock. "Come now. I transformed you nearly three centuries ago. Surely you have better things to do with your immortality than gossip like an old woman?"

"I merely consider your interests, master," Gabrielle said hastily and knelt before him, Isaac following suit.

Simon did not give them permission to rise, preferring to make them address him from their knees. "My thanks for your concern," he said wryly. "However, what is between me and my lady does not concern you."

"Master," Isaac said reverently, trying to control his fear. He had not been in the same room with his master in over forty years. The power Lord Baldevar always held loosely in check was now a thousand times stronger… you could almost see a dark light surrounding him. Lord Baldevar seemed nearly invincible, but then Isaac smiled to himself. He remembered there was one thing that made his master vulnerable… a pretty young vampire with bright red hair and green eyes.

Lord Baldevar raised an eyebrow at his still kneeling protégé, and Isaac paled. It was impossible; Lord Baldevar could not have heard his thoughts. Vampires could read mortals; sometimes they could read the thoughts of vampires in their own bloodline, but Isaac was too strong for his master to penetrate his shields… he hoped.

"You cannot imagine my thoughts when I found out you were alive, master," Isaac finally blurted out, unable to take his master's piercing stare.

Actually, Simon thought he could imagine his feelings quite well—shock, resentment, and then dawning horror. He did not blame Isaac for trying to usurp his power; Simon would have done the same thing in Isaac's place. The difference was that he had had the strength to seize power from his enemies when he was a young vampire carving a place for himself, but Isaac was no match for him. He would crush the boy like a bug.

"Enlighten me, Isaac. But first, stand up… both of you. May I offer you a drink?" Simon held up a crystal decanter filled with a ruby liquid. "Perhaps the blood of a saint?"

"Master!" Gabrielle breathed. "That is Alcuin's blood?"

"All that remains of him on this earth," Simon said with a vicious smile and offered his guests one port glass each of the dead prelate's blood.

Isaac raised his glass high and offered a toast. "To your well-deserved victory, master."

"Did you ever doubt I'd triumph, Isaac?" Simon said softly before clinking his glass against Isaac's.

Isaac said nothing, and he and Gabrielle perched awkwardly on Charles VI chairs while Simon made himself comfortable on a green damask sofa. After a long silence, Isaac began to speak again.

"Master, I will not pry into matters that concern your… your lady." By Simon's referring to her that way, both vampires knew Meghann had not lost their master's favor. Now they had to see if they had. "But let me assure you right now that we came here tonight to offer you any aid we can provide."

Simon raised an eyebrow, pleased that Isaac managed to set a trap for himself. "Did you?"

"Oh, yes," Isaac said hurriedly. "We are, in all matters, your devoted servants."

"You will swear to that?" Simon asked, giving the boy one last chance to save himself. "That you are loyal to me and have never entertained notions of challenging my rightful position?"

Isaac knelt before him once more. "I greeted the news that you had not been destroyed with gladness, master."

"Is that why you hastened to return all my holdings?"

Isaac paled. "What holdings, master?"

Lord Baldevar opened a Chippendale desk in the corner of the room, holding several thick documents. "The minor matter of this town house. You cannot manage your property any better than a mortal, boy. You lost this exquisite house several years ago in a bad investment. I was the dummy corporation that picked it up at auction. Then, there was the IBM stock I bought in 1955, my pharmaceutical company, several Swiss accounts… in other words, Isaac, the lion's share of my wealth that vultures like yourself seized upon my 'death.' Understand, I am not angered by your actions of forty years ago; you saw an opportunity to profit from my misfortune. However, I am quite dismayed that you have not made any attempt to repay me. Were you hoping Alcuin would slay me before I got around to demanding my wealth be returned to me?"

"Of… of course not, master." The vampire was all but shaking on his knees.

In a pretense of boredom with the conversation, Simon inspected a solid-gold letter opener on the desk while Isaac continued to babble anything he thought might save his worthless hide. "Master, I was busy making plans to… to… to trap Meghann for you! I thought to find her and offer my aid in destroying you, then disable her and bring her to you…"

"If I want Meghann by my side, I do not require your assistance. Is this half-truth the best you can come up with?" Simon spun around and hurled the letter opener at Isaac. It spun through the air before landing in the center of his forehead. Isaac screamed in agony, trying to dislodge the thing from his brain.

Simon was at his side instantly, hand firm on the letter opener, watching blood and brain matter seep from the wound.

"Do you think it's possible to lobotomize a vampire?" Simon queried Gabrielle, who was staring at the vampire on the floor in mute horror, no doubt wondering what Lord Baldevar had in mind for her.

He held her eyes. "Are you loyal to your master?"

She nodded silently.

"Wonderful. But Isaac does not seem to recall the first tenet of transformation. Won't you help him remember?"

"Obedience, master." Gabrielle quavered.

"Good girl," he said, giving her an icy smile. "All my children are required to give me unconditional obedience. Perhaps you simply forgot how to obey, Isaac? You need what mortals now call a refresher course." Simon yanked the gold letter opener from Isaac's head and plunged it into his stomach, making a neat incision all the way up to his heart.

Gabrielle clamped down on her lips to keep from screaming when Simon pulled Isaac's entrails from his body, a small wrinkling of his nose at the gore piling at his expensive shoes the only change in his glacial expression.

"Good dog," Simon said, wrapping Isaac's large intestines around his neck like a leash. "Come on, little doggie, sit up for your master or I'll make your next few hours a living hell you cannot begin to imagine."

The pain was excruciating, but Isaac knew it wouldn't kill him. He'd continue to live in pain unless Lord Baldevar beheaded him or he managed to escape. Blood poured from his mouth and ears as he slowly, painfully pulled himself into a sitting position.

"Good boy," Simon said, looking down at the destroyed vampire with cold delight. "Now beg."

"Please, master," Isaac managed to croak.

"Let's see if my dog can walk." Simon yanked on the entrails leash, dragging Isaac out of the room by his own intestines and gesturing for Gabrielle to follow.

Gabrielle followed them to the cellar, and became rigid when they approached an oak door. From the other side, she heard the unmistakable sounds of a vampire (no mortal could produce the horrible keen) screaming.

"Why doesn't it open the door?" she said faintly.

"It can't," Simon explained. "Alcuin was ever a thorn in my side but I learned one useful trick from him. You know how the vampire must beg admission to a house in those penny-dreadful books and movies? There actually is an obscure rite that can bar a vampire from entering any premises. Of course, it is not within a mortal's power to set the spell—another vampire must do it. My guest cannot cross the threshold of the room without my permission."

"Mon Dieu, "Gabrielle cried when Simon threw open the door and the filthy, mindless creature came running up to them. She took a step back in fear, but the thing approached the door and then put its hands to its face, whining as though someone had thrown battery acid in its eyes.

"Have you had the pleasure of meeting Jimmy Delacroix before tonight?"

Thunderstruck, Gabrielle stared at the howling, shrieking vampire. Pauvre enfant, she thought, the unfortunate man had not survived transformation. Now he was doomed to spend eternity mad, unable to think or reason or do anything but feed.

"He was Meghann's mortal lover," Gabrielle whispered.

Simon smiled at his youngest spawn; the boy had ventured back to the doorway, howling and frothing at the mouth. He smelled their blood, and wanted it. His rage came from not being able to get at them.

"Hungry?" Simon asked the uncomprehending vampire. The thing merely looked through him and continued to yowl.

"Step back," Simon commanded. It took a few moments but the new vampire finally obeyed his master and slunk into the farthest corner of the room.

Simon flung Isaac into the room. The wounded vampire couldn't defend himself when Jimmy Delacroix leaped on top of him. In minutes, Isaac was dead. Frustrated by death, the new vampire whined and tore the corpse apart in an attempt to find more blood. Soon however, the act of feeding forced him into an uneasy sleep.

"Why do you keep him alive, master?" Gabrielle asked. "Did you not say such creatures have no place in this world, that they could bring unwelcome attention from mortals since they do not have the wit to cover their crimes?"

"He will not be in the world long," Simon told her. "I keep him alive because he is a present for Meghann."

Gabrielle pouted at the mention of his consort and undid one hook in the back of her dress, standing before her master naked. "I loved you for hundreds of years before the wench was even born. She scorns you, and conspires with your enemies. Why not take a consort who will give you all you want?"

The kill excited her, Simon thought, observing her hard nipples and heavy breathing. It excited him too so he lifted the girl up and had her against the cement wall of the cellar.

"I am pleased to see Meghann no longer has a hold on your heart," Gabrielle said afterward, smiling.

Simon laughed, and tossed the vampire her dress. "Whether she does or not is no concern of yours." He laughed harder at the tears in Gabrielle's turquoise eyes. "You cannot be fool enough to think that quick, mundane coupling meant something?"

"What does Meghann have that I do not?" Gabrielle demanded angrily.

In response, Simon grabbed her long, silver-blond hair and pushed her into Jimmy Delacroix's prison.

"You do not use such a tone when you address me."

"I'm sorry!" Gabrielle yelled. "Please, master!"

Abruptly, he let her go. "I forgive you—it was your jealousy speaking. Have you lost your mind to think I would even contemplate making a baseborn whore my consort? All you offer me is well-used flesh but I can buy that from whores less vicious than you."

Gabrielle pursed her ruby-red lips but did not dare rebuke him. "I beg your pardon, master."

"Pay a forfeit and you shall be pardoned," Simon said and plunged his blood teeth into her neck.

At first, Gabrielle did not protest. But when he drained her to weakness, she tried vainly to push him off. Simon dropped her to the floor, where she glanced up. "Master, please…"

He smiled cruelly and kicked the prostrate vampire. "Do you wish to live?"

"Please don't kill me," she whimpered.

"Get up," Simon commanded, and Gabrielle pulled herself to her feet shakily. Being bled made her dizzy but she did not dare disobey.

When they were back in the drawing room, Lord Baldevar handed her a thick portfolio bound in black leather. "This lists all my seized holdings and the vampires who have them. Visit every one of them and tell them what you witnessed tonight. Inform your friends that if my wealth is not transferred into the hands of my mortal attorneys within a fortnight, what Isaac suffered shall be mild compared to what I do to them." Simon waved his hand. "Go… you are dismissed."

The vampire fled, and Simon went upstairs to pour himself a cognac. While he drank, Simon reflected on Gabrielle's jealous interrogation—what does Meghann have that I do not? A bemusing combination of wide-eyed, exuberant innocence and smoldering sensuality that enthralled him completely was the answer Simon would never give anyone, including the object of his affections. Only an utter fool would make himself vulnerable by telling a woman he desired his heart's secrets…

Without warning, Simon was seized by a blinding pain that made him fall to the floor, the cognac snifter shattering as it fell from his hand. He gasped, but forced himself to seize the pain, to immerse himself in it so he could know where it came from.

Meghann ?

For a moment, her face floated before his eyes—the green eyes bright with pain and fear, hair soaked in sweat. Don't let me die!

Her image faded, along with the pain. Simon leaped to his feet, his heart pounding at the thought that Meghann was actually…

Discipline, he reminded himself sternly. This was no time to celebrate; he must confirm that brief psychic flash with Meghann.

Simon took a deep breath, and prepared himself for a session of astral spying. In his last communication with Meghann, he'd assured her that she would not see him unless she wanted to. However, he said nothing about keeping an eye on her from time to time without her knowledge.

He hurried to the study, pleased to note that his human servant had already removed the bodies and tidied up, and withdrew a small stone filter from the wall safe. It contained Meghann's blood… a small bit he'd saved the night she had allowed him to feed from her. He lit a brazier, and threw the blood on the flames. Simon concentrated his attention on the smoke rising from the brazier. The flames took hold, swirling together into one image—a mass of cherry-red hair. He held on to the image of Meghann, commanding himself to follow her.

Small white room, bright light, antiseptic smell of cleanliness. Not a hospital, but a room a doctor had transformed into a makeshift hospital for his new patient. Easily, Simon picked up on the mortal in the room—a middle-aged man with a bandaged nose and black eyes leaning anxiously over a body; he stood up and took a shaky breath …

No! Simon nearly lost the vision when his heart contracted at the sight of Meghann. His beautiful young girl, transformed by pain into a whimpering, emaciated skeleton, brow creased and eyes blazing from hollow sockets as unbearable agony made her scream.

"Don," the mortal pleaded, putting a hand over her mouth. "Honey, save your strength. Don't scream like that."

"Ch… Chart…" she tried to say, and Simon watched Charles Tarleton grab her hands.

"What is it, Meghann?"

"I called him, Charles," she cried. "Simon… I saw his face when… when I convulsed… he knows… help me…"

"Okay," Charles soothed. "Meghann, it's all right. Maybe it's for the best… maybe he can help you. …"

I'm the only one who can help her, nitwit.

Meghann bolted upright, grabbing Charles with a strength that surprised Simon.

"No," Meghann hissed. "You listen to me… don't let him near me."

"But if he can—"

"No!" she yelled and fell against the pillows, the adrenaline abandoning her. "Promise me… he can't know about the baby… if it's his help or my death, you let me die. Promise."

"Meghann, I—"

"Promise!" she screamed and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she started hemorrhaging from her nose.

"Jesus," the mortal murmured after he cauterized her. "How the hell is she still alive?"

"It takes a great deal to kill a vampire," Charles said shakily, staring down at his now unconscious friend.

The mortal frowned. "She needs blood."

"Of course she needs blood!" Charles screamed. "But anytime she drinks any, she vomits and now this! Now convulsions, seizures. My God, how can a vampire live if she can't drink blood?"

The mortal shrugged helplessly. "I don't understand… I was so sure that if she drank your blood, the enzyme would be back in her system and she'd, recover. Instead—"

"Instead, it made her sicker," Charles said tiredly and used a cloth to wipe the blood from Meghann's upper lip. "Lee, what are we going to do? If only you could abort the fetus… "

The mortal pointed to his bandaged nose. "I told you, all I did was put her legs in the stirrups and she woke up. She did this in the two seconds before she realized who I was. Jesus, I could be dead by now! Anyway, we can't perform an abortion with her in this condition. It will kill her."

"She's going to die anyway if we don't figure out what's making her reject blood. "

Simon felt an iron hand grab him and a cold voice intoned, "Leave my daughter alone, nephew."

He found himself back in the town house; Alcuin had used his spirit to forcibly remove Simon from the astral plane.

Goddamn that meddling preacher! Even dead, Alcuin was still a problem. He still had enough power to protect his young apprentices, but how long could that last?

Simon smiled grimly; he'd heard enough to find Meghann. But his smile faded when he thought of all he'd witnessed.

Pregnant! He had to find Meghann; she'd die if he didn't help her. He'd hoped, for her sake, she wouldn't have to suffer through the sickness. There was no question she was going to grow weaker; Simon doubted Meghann or that young wretch had any idea what was needed to keep a pregnant vampire well. No doubt they'd try medical science and some educated poking through Alcuin's archives. For all the good that would do, they might as well use leeches to heal Meghann.

Magic would not be necessary to locate Meghann. Charles Tarleton had called the physician Lee. Lord Baldevar had a complete dossier on Charles Tarleton and remembered the sodomite had carried on an affair with some mortal physician named Lee about ten years ago.

Little one, he thought while turning on his laptop so he could access the files concerning Charles Tarleton, I know I told you that you would not see me again unless you wanted to. But you did just beg me not to let you die, did you not? I say that counts as an invitation. His lips twitched when he thought of how indignant Meghann would be when she found out the only person who could save her now was her master.