Prologue

January 13, 2000

"Blood, Father," the tinny voice of his son piped up from the other end of the room and Simon Baldevar looked up from his easel in annoyance.

Putting his paintbrush aside, Simon stood up and swiftly crossed the vast chamber but he did not move quickly enough to appease the baby that began weeping inconsolably. The child's shrill, inhuman cries would puncture mortal eardrums, but they had no effect on the vampire father, except the mild irritation any parent felt toward wailing, howling offspring.

"Hush," Simon said to his one-year-old son and the boy's silver eyes with their inhuman slits for pupils focused on his father with an expression of intense longing and furious need. It was merely the blood lust all vampires suffered when they needed to feed, but it was decidedly odd to see those savage emotions reflected in the eyes of such a small creature.

"Blood," the baby repeated and Simon had to suppress a turn of disgust at his son's appearance. When the boy grew hungry and wasn't immediately appeased, his skin took on the translucent quality of a deformed vampire, knotted red and blue veins marring the surface of his milky white skin and his eyes started to lose their pigment.

Mikal flinched, perhaps sensing his father's revulsion, and his cries escalated into a strident howl that put a crack in one of the tower windows.

"Enough," Simon said over the din, but the child paid no attention. "I shall bring you food, now be silent."

As he left the room to secure prey, Simon reflected he should feel some pride that Mikal already spoke and understood language with such a precocious grasp. So far the boy was developing with amazing speed—his first words were spoken a scant eight weeks after he was born. When he wasn't consumed by blood lust and able to think clearly, the child was already learning how to read and write.

Mikal's physical growth also far exceeded that of mortal children. He was now the size of a three year old, though he remained underweight, as he had been from birth. No doubt that stemmed from the child's inability to digest any substances but blood and water. Simon worried at first that an all- blood diet wouldn't contain all the nutrients a child needed to grow properly, but Mikal's only deformity was his thinness.

Disdaining the spiraling stone staircase at the base of the tower, Simon used astral projection to enter the common room downstairs and found his servants idling about, though they made an immediate effort to look busy when their master appeared. They showed no surprise at his materialization from thin air for they had learned the hard way of their employer's supernatural abilities.

Simon's requirements for servants were strict. They must be destitute, have no family or friends to inquire at their disappearance, and no command whatsoever of the English language. He found them in a variety of places—Calcutta, Romania, the former Soviet

Union, really any country with a thriving homeless population.

Simon had procured the wretched mass before him by inquiring in the native tongue of each sordid hellhole he visited whether the young (youths always supplied better blood than aging humans) homeless would be interested in employment in a foreign land. Once it was ascertained that no one would inquire at their disappearance, a group of five to ten was gathered up and shipped to the remote Scottish island on which Simon had chosen to rear his son. He'd owned the property since the eighteenth century when he ruthlessly displaced the residents so he'd have the island to himself.

Once his servants arrived, they had no choice but to watch helplessly as one by one of their number were dragged away, giving their final duty to their master by supplying blood to the vampire child, his father, and Mikal's nursemaid.

Once they got some inkling of their predicament, a few attempted escape, only to be electrocuted by the fence surrounding the property or blown to pieces by the various land mines scattered around the moors. Even if they did manage to flee the island, they had to brave choppy, icy waters and swim to the mainland. If they survived that near impossible obstacle, the nearest village was ten miles away, ten miles of freezing, mountainous terrain impossible to cross without supplies. And if the escaped captive should manage to cross paths with a passerby before Simon caught up to them, they had no words to convey their predicament because they did not speak English.

Simon was careful to speak no English before his prisoners; he did not want some bright soul piecing together even a few words that could aid in their escape. That was why he beckoned to one dusky- skinned female and said in curt, perfect Hindi, "Come with me."

The girl paled to a dull beige color but could not disobey the vampiric order. Sobbing, because Simon made no effort to dull her terror with a psychic command that would have turned her into little more than a catatonic, she slowly crossed the room, piteously begging, "Please not me, please. I clean well, I am good servant, please..

Simon ignored the entreaty, though her anguish and terror were making his own blood lust rise. The girl was quite right in her argument, she was a good servant—they all Were. The human spirit and capacity for hope never failed to astonish him. All his prisoners maintained perfect order in the castle. They seemed to believe that if they behaved, if they proved their worth, Simon would not harm them as he'd done to their less fortunate counterparts. Of course, such hope was utterly foolish—the world economy being what it was, Simon would never run out of food for Mikal or free help to run his home.

The girl broke out into uncontrollable tremors as they climbed the stone staircase and Mikal's cries became audible to her mortal ears. Her knees gave out and Simon had to yank her off her feet, carrying her the last few steps. The increased closeness, throwing her neck against his mouth, proved too much temptation and Simon's blood teeth punctured her young, tender neck to drink of the warm nectar pouring down his throat.

How pleasant it would be to drain her utterly but his son needed the blood far more than he did. Reluctantly, Simon pulled away from the girl after only a few swallows, enough to take the edge off his hunger momentarily. After Mikal fed, Simon would secure his own meal.

At least now the girl was more docile. She'd been drained of any fight, though there was still more than enough blood in her to sate Mikal. Throwing open the thick wooden door to the chamber, Simon heard his son's screams increase when his sharp nose picked up the human's scent.

Simon dropped the girl, semi-conscious and no longer aware of her surroundings on the floor, and plucked Mikal from his playpen. He set the boy down and watched him toddle toward the girl with the lightning fast determination of a hunting cat.

No longer did Simon have to hold his son up to a human while the boy fastened his small, pointy fangs to their neck or wrists. Now Mikal was capable, if the prey was prone and unable to defend itself, of feeding by himself.

Simon watched in fascination as Mikal's head, with its sleek cap of thick, dark hair, bent toward her neck and he began to feed. A few minutes later, Mikal's deformities vanished; his skin and eyes regained their normal tones.

While Mikal fed, Simon reflected on the child's vampiric progress. As of yet, the child had no ability to travel the astral plane like his father, but his teleki- netic ability was growing quickly. Even better, he was learning to control it—no longer did Simon have to keep the child in a room with no moveable objects for fear he might harm himself.

Mikal's other major improvement from infancy was his eyesight. When Mikal was newborn, his eyes had been extremely sensitive to light...even a candle made him flinch and cry. But over the past six months, his pupils and retinas had strengthened. Now Mikal tolerated artificial light and Simon was sure the child, product of the first successful mating between two vampires, would one day be able to walk in sunlight.

"All dead," Mikal sighed and raised his blood- stained mouth from the girl. At first, Mikal hadn't understood death, had wailed and screamed when the blood supply ended, banging his feet and fists against the floor like any ordinary child in the midst of a temper tantrum. But a few slaps from his annoyed father and his own instinct had led him to abandon corpses quietly once he had all he could of them.

Simon nodded and picked the child up, using a damp cloth to clean his face and dressed him in fresh garments. Mikal made no effort to resist his father's ministrations but neither did he seem to welcome them.

As Simon held the indifferent boy, he remembered Mikal's mortal twin, Elizabeth, and his heart contracted painfully. How different the little girl was from her brother, so appealing in her innocence and helplessness. Elizabeth ... how he missed her, longed to rear his mortal girl with her mother.

Simon glanced over at the painting he'd been working on of Meghann nursing Elizabeth. He'd worked on the piece for more than six months now and still wasn't satisfied. It was a fair rendering of a pretty young mother feeding her baby, but Simon was frustrated by his failure to capture the maternal radiance he'd seen shining in Meghann's eyes. Meghann had never looked as beautiful to him as she had that night she first held their mortal daughter in her arms, the night Simon had had to leave her and take Mikal far from prying eyes.

Simon knew these thoughts of his consort and Elizabeth were dangerous, that his yearning for them made him resent Mikal. Simon had to remind himself that it wasn't the boy's fault Meghann had borne twin children, one a vampire that must be sheltered from all that would try to destroy him and the other a mor- tal that must be sheltered from the brother who would surely grow to despise Elizabeth for not needing to be hidden from the world as he was.

While Mikal was raised in obscurity and Elizabeth was safe with Meghann, Simon's responsibility was to foster in his son the strength and cunning that would ensure his safety and someday allow him to leave this wretched highland backwater.

With that thought in mind, Simon began Mikal's lessons for the evening. "You must begin learning to capture the humans on your own, young one. I cannot always bring them to you."

Mikal listened carefully, his fully restored silver eyes concentrating on Simon with an attention span that belied his chronological age. "How do you get them, Father?"

Simon laughed, resisting an urge to swing Mikal into his lap, and stretched out beside him on the gray stone floor. From past experience, he knew the child would resist any gesture of affection. "We have many ways of luring the mortals to our side and making them bend to our will. But you are too young to learn the arts of mesmerism just yet. Until you are old enough to hold them with your mind, you must deceive the humans, play on the pity and adoration they will feel for any small, helpless child. Remember what I told you about weeping?"

Mikal nodded and immediately began a false sobbing of great piteousness.

"Not yet," Simon said and held up his hand, pleased when the child shut off his cries with the ease of flicking off a light switch. "I will go now and secure another human. Wait until you pick up the scent outside the door and then begin to cry."

Simon flew back downstairs and saw the appalled glances of his servants. The false sense of relief they'd felt when Simon took the Hindi girl vanished now that he'd come back for another of their kind. Would there be still more deaths before he chained them up for the day? Of course, they dared not protest for fear Simon might dispose of the whole miserable pack. He grabbed a pretty blond Romanian, thinking she would be a most delectable meal; Simon intended to feed off the lion's share of her blood.

Outside the great, thick door, a perfectly normal child's crying began and Simon saw the young woman's terror subside at the thought of a child more helpless than she needing her.

Simon opened the door and leaned against the doorframe, watching the girl run to Mikal, exclaiming in her Eastern European dialect, "Oh, poor little child, poor boy! What does this dreadful man do to you?"

Careful, Simon thought at Mikal, sobbing and holding his arms out to the girl in an appealing manner. Don't show your blood teeth; keep your lips over them. Don't strike, too soon, let her kneel down before you lunge. ..

Mikal followed his father's commands perfectly; only when the girl knelt by his side and her movement to scoop him up brought her neck within range of his mouth did Mikal bite her.

The girl let out a stunned scream and tried to pull away from Mikal but the boy had a firm purchase on her neck and began drinking greedily, quickly draining the girl's strength to resist. Shocked and in great physical pain, the girl slumped next to Mikal, her skin rapidly losing color as he fed.

"Well done," Simon complimented Mikal before he wrenched the child from the mortal girl and began feeding from a vein in her breast.

"Mine!" Mikal howled in outrage and actually yanked on his father's hair to try and pull him away from the prey.

Annoyed at being interrupted while he fed, Simon dropped the unconscious girl to the floor and pulled Mikal over his knee, administering a swift spanking. "Never raise your hand to me, boy. Next time my repri mand will not be so light."

Simon deposited the screeching child, now sobbing in earnest, in his playpen and returned to the mortal girl, deciding to finish her off by feeding from the femoral artery in her left thigh.

"Mine! Mine! Mine!" Mikal continued to howl, but Simon paid him no mind as he drank the girl's youthful, vigorous blood. Though Mikal was smart enough to climb out of the enclosure, Simon had enchanted the playpen with a magical barrier Mikal could not exit unless his father allowed it.

"What in the world is this racket?" a female voice demanded and Simon smiled up at Adelaide, his nursemaid during his mortal lifetime and now immortal nanny to his son. She'd been in her early fifties when Simon transformed her, still a handsome woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a buxom figure, her age betrayed only by a small webbing of crows feet around her eyes and a slight hint of sag under her jaw.

"Good evening, Adelaide," Simon said and pulled a steaming washcloth out of a brazier to clean his face. "I trust you've fed this evening."

"I fed a few nights ago and I have not your insatiable appetites," Adelaide retorted, the strong Scottish burr Simon remembered in her mortal voice reduced by four centuries spent in various continents to a mere hint of accent. "Now tell me what you've done to that poor child to make him carry on so."

"The boy interfered with my meal," Simon explained and Adelaide raced over to the playpen to remove the weeping child.

"Hush now, lovey," Adelaide crooned, holding the child with an expert air borne of vast experience. Simon noted with amusement that Mikal merely looked bored at the soothing.

"She was mine," Mikal said accusingly to Simon, impatiently brushing Adelaide's hands away from his face.

"My son," Simon said and grasped the boy's chin between his thumb and forefinger, "until you stand before me as a man with the means to support yourself, nothing belongs to you. Everything you have is a result of my largess and I may give it or take it away as I deem fit"

"You great, dumb lummox!" Adelaide blazed and Mikal's odd eyes showed appraising interest at her fury. "You cannot speak to a child like that!"

"I may speak to my child however I wish," Simon said evenly and pulled Mikal from her, returning the boy to his playpen. Simon handed the child some picture books and raised his eyebrows at the speculative glance his son shot him. This was no sulky pout but the measuring look of an adult, saying plainly he would neither forget nor forgive this incident

"Excellent," Simon praised and rewarded Mikal with the rare treat of a bottle filled with blood from several different victims. "You have seen you must bow down to my will for now, but some part of you looks to gaining revenge in the future. You learn quickly, son."

Something that might have been a smile crossed the child's face before he began suckling noisily at the rubber nipple on his bottle while he scanned The Three Little Pigs.

"Have you not a brain in your head?" Adelaide demanded with the same loving exasperation Simon had heard in her voice over four hundred years. Normally Simon would not entertain anyone upbraiding him but Adelaide had a special place in his heart. As his birth mother had died when he was three, Adelaide was the only mother Simon had ever known. He'd never forget how she'd sheltered him from his cruel father and two elder brothers, demanding her young charge be educated in a manner befitting a peer of the realm. If not for Adelaide, Simon could only speculate on how different, and most likely worse, his life would have been.

"A rather well-functioning one," Simon answered her question and invited her to join him at the polished oak table he'd set up in an alcove by the stained-glass, diamond-shaped windows.

"I have reason to doubt that," Adelaide muttered and accepted the proffered glass of single malt scotch. "What do you think you are doing with your son? Do you mean to rear him to despise you as you loathed your father? I do not think I need to remind you how that father-son relationship ended."

Simon smiled, remembering that his first success with the Black Arts came the night he had a daemon dispose of his father. "Mikal will not make an attempt on my life simply because I discipline him."

"What you are doing is not discipline! You are bullying that boy and I can already see the resentment building in him."

Simon slammed his drink down with a thud that reverberated through the spacious chamber and glared at his former nurse. "Bullying? Have you forgotten what that child is? Adelaide, Mikal is the only vampire to be born, not made. You know the power he'll have one day. When Mikal grows to manhood, he'll be able to walk in sunlight, and we may have that gift as well by drinking his blood. But that's only if he survives long enough to achieve his destiny. Do I need to remind you of the fools that will try to destroy him for no better reason than that he is my son, let alone that his own might will make them weak as mortals compared with him? Once Mikal leaves this isle, there is no corner of the world that will be safe for him. He must be bred to have the heart and mind of a warrior. Yes, I push him, and there is little room for coddling in his upbringing. Mikal must grow up fierce and hard if he is to meet the challenges his fate will set before him. I'll not have the boy turning into a timid milksop like the pathetic nothings'mortals are churning out these days."

"What would you turn the boy into?" Adelaide demanded. "If you smash any softness within him, that means the child will have no love in his heart for anyone—including you. Have you thought on why he'd bother to keep you alive then, if the day comes when Mikal's more powerful than you and he feels nothing for you but resentment? Or do you truly think you're so omniscient no one can destroy you?"

"Why should Mikal resent me? Because I shelter him until he's old enough to fight for himself? Because I will teach him all I know, make him my apprentice as I've done with no other before him? You talk of the child needing sentiment and petting— open your eyes, Adelaide. The boy spurns any affectionate gesture of yours, does he not?"

"That is why you must tread a careful line with him," Adelaide replied, undaunted. "Mikal is cold and withdrawn by nature. Love does not come easily to him. Meghann felt the darkness within Mikal before you took him from her ... she writes to me that she fears what it might metamorphose into. Meghann felt all that when the child was an infant; her feelings have grown stronger in the past year. Why are you blinding yourself, Simon? Can you not feel that unfathomable need for destruction and harm inside your son? Instill some kind of affection in that boy or he may well develop into what the mortals term a sociopath."

Simon laughed heartily and poured himself a fresh shot, shrugging when Adelaide refused a refill. "Now l know you've been corresponding with Meghann— sociopath is a word only my little psychologist would use. Do you know she threw that term in my face to describe me when she tried to leave me? She recanted her views on my behavior, just as she'll get over these baseless fears about Mikal."

"Meghann left you because you refused to let go of your old-fashioned blather about masters and tried to dominate her," Adelaide said, referring to the forty years when Simon and Meghann were separated and she sought shelter with Simon's deadliest enemy, the vampire priest Alcuin. It wasn't until Simon managed to slay Alcuin two years ago that he was able to reclaim Meghann. "I warned you that no modern girl, especially one as vivacious and spirited as the woman you described to me, would accept being nothing more than your chattel. I was right then and I'm right now when I tell you to honor your vow to Meghann and raise him as she would if she was here."

"But Meghann is not here," Simon said calmly. "And that foolishness of what she wants for Mikal is the reason why. Meghann has a soft heart—wonderful for the raising of our daughter, but she'd damage our son with those idiotic notions of good and evil she picked up from Alcuin."

"Meghann is not a soft fool to be dismissed simply because she lacks your ruthlessness!" Adelaide snapped. "She was canny enough to get a stake through your heart and evade you for forty years. You love the girl, I'll grant you that, but you show her no respect and that will lead to the demise of your relationship. Simon, don't you understand Meghann will leave you for good when she learns that you deliberately raised her son in contradiction of all her directives?"

Adelaide did not even have time to register the white-hot fury in Simon's eyes before he lunged over the table and grabbed her throat, placing a Bowie knife to her heart. Any sudden movement on her part and the knife would impale her.

"We go back a long way, nurse," Simon said in a low, menacing whisper as his knife tore through her clothes and nipped her skin. "I respect you deeply and I care for you. But I will not hesitate to slay you if you breathe a word of any discontent you feel to Meghann. What "Meghann does not know about Mikal's upbringing cannot harm her. She has Elizabeth to keep her content until we reunite. I don't mind your correspondence with Meghann; continue to write her if that is your desire. But there will be no details in your letters; you tell her Mikal is healthy and safe and that is all you write. I don't want Meghann spending the next eighteen years pining for a child she cannot have ... it might distract her from caring for Elizabeth properly. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Adelaide said immediately, knowing the only thing that placated Simon in one of his fits was immediate compliance. She wasn't displeased or hurt at Simon's behavior—it would take a great deal more than some little knife and hot words to turn her against him. Adelaide knew Simon Baldevar far better than he knew himself. She'd known him since he was a wee, screaming babe in her arms and then the ambitious young man that made his own fortune before he found immortality. He hadn't done either of those things by allowing anyone to perceive weakness in him. No, Adelaide wasn't hurt but she was disturbed at how thickheaded and stubborn he was being regarding Mikal.

"Then we shall consider this unpleasantness disposed of for good." After he licked a drop of her blood off the knife, Simon helped Adelaide out of her chair and escorted her to the door. "I must take a

business trip. After all, I have spent a year in this miserable, cold hovel and neglected my interests. The

computer has assisted me greatly, but the time has

come to inspect my holdings personally. Besides, Mikal will need more food soon. Go and pack my bags and inform the pilot I wish him to be at Heathrow tomorrow evening at nine o'clock sharp."

"How long will you be gone?" Adelaide questioned

calmly and saw Simon's eyes gleam with respect at her nonchalant attitude. The others he transformed always either knuckled under his harshness or made

fruitless plans to destroy him for his humiliation of them. They never understood that Simon was a hard but fair master. After a punishment or reprimand, his rage was forgotten and he treated the disciplined person as he had before whatever they'd done to displease him.

"Several weeks... a month at most. I leave Mikal in your most capable hands," Simon said with a cool grin t hat showed he respected Adelaide enough to believe she would honor her word while he was gone and not take advantage of his absence to contact Meghann.

"Simon, wait," Adelaide said before he could close the tower door. "I am writing to Meghann this night and I wish to enclose this for Elizabeth. She must know of her father if she is to love you."

"Adelaide," Simon said softly at the antique miniature painting she pulled out of her pocket. It had been painted in 1590, when Simon was almost thirty years old, three years before he transformed. "Good nurse, I know your intentions toward me and mine are beyond reproach, that any action on your part stems from love. Send the miniature to Meghann that she may show it to Elizabeth."

Adelaide smiled and left the tower to carry out Simon's bidding, knowing the praise was as close as Simon would come to apologizing for his behavior.

She also knew Simon had only written to Meghann once since he left her, despite the many letters Meghann sent him concerning their daughter's progress. Some might view Simon's behavior as cold but Adelaide knew he simply couldn't bear a correspondence with Meghann knowing he couldn't see her. A clandestine visit to Meghann and Elizabeth was out of the question—part of Mikal's present security stemmed from the other vampires of the world believing that Elizabeth was Simon and Meghann's only child. The immortals felt nothing but contempt for the mortal baby and left her and Meghann alone, believing Lord Baldevar's seeming abandonment of them showed they were no threat.

Adelaide sighed; she knew what it had cost Simon to leave Meghann just when he'd finally gotten her to accept him again. She also knew Simon's intentions for Mikal were good, wanting the child to grow tough and capable, but couldn't he see that he was going to turn Mikal into a monster?

Adelaide was not scared of the death Simon had promised her if she went to Meghann with her fears. She would go ahead and inform Meghann anyway if she thought it would benefit Mikal, but she knew Meghann didn't have the same sway over Simon's mind as she had over his heart. Simon might not listen to her any more than he did to Adelaide.

Right now, Adelaide could see only one path available to her. Simon had to spend a great deal of time away from this island to protect his wealth and make sure his enemies did not forget his power over them.

When he was away, Adelaide would attempt to instill in Mikal the love and sensitivity Meghann wished her son to have. She would also work on easing Simon away from his current position that any softness would spoil the child.

If that didn't work, then God help them all for Adelaide knew very well who Mikal's first victim would be if she didn't find a way to stem the remorseless evil she sensed in the child—the vampire that made him what he was. And if Mikal was successful in slaughtering his father, then there would be no one in the world to check him or keep him from destroying everything in his path ... no one at all.

One

Sixteen years later

Ellie Winslow slammed the glass door behind her and stalked down the mirrored hallway, muttering to herself in ominous tones while she waited for an elevator. She continued her one-sided conversation when the elevator arrived at her floor then made a swift descent to the lobby. One might expect sidelong looks from the other passengers, but this was New York and if a well-dressed young woman carrying a black leather portfolio wanted to talk to herself, that was her business.

Ellie had just finished a job interview for a position as an intern-architect with results as disappointing and frustrating as those of the other five interviews she'd had this past week. Each one was an identical, galling experience—the senior architect who deigned to interview her would praise her portfolio, compliment her excellent grades at Cooper Union, smile approvingly at the enthusiastic letters of recommendation she'd received from her summer internship position last year and her thesis advisor, ask a few halfhearted questions about her goals and what she thought she could bring to the firm, then smile and send her on her far from merry way—never to be heard from again.

Ellie whirled through the revolving doors, thinking whoever designed this copycat chrome monstrosity should be beaten to death with his or her own drawing board. She knew the reason she wasn't getting hired anywhere, though none of the companies had dared say it aloud—they were holding her age against her. No matter how talented she was (and Ellie had no false modesty about her work), how many design competitions she'd won, no one seemed to want to hire a seventeen-year-old... even one who'd been accepted to Cooper Union on a full scholarship as their youngest student

Was it her fault she'd been born with a 175 IQ? Ellie thought wrathfully, feeling some calm return to her when she breathed in the crisp, cool air more suited to early fall than June. She decided that rather than return home with her tail between her legs and endure yet another chin-up pep talk from Uncle Lee, she'd head over to Central Park for a while.

Scowling at the horse drawn carriages Ellie felt exploited animals, she headed toward the lake, purchased a nicely salted pretzel from a passing vendor and then slumped on a park bench, disdaining I he grass because it would ruin the cream silk blazer and culottes-style skirt she'd chosen to wear for the interview.

Ellie chomped on her pretzel furiously, ruminating that this whole miserable job situation was based on nothing more than bad luck—something Ellie hadn't experienced much of in her seventeen years. She'd managed to find a position at a small residential architectural firm back in October, on the strength of her senior design thesis. But then in February, the CEO suffered a fatal heart attack and his widow promptly sold the firm to a large monolith that had no interest in hiring such a young architect

Ellie's cell phone shrilled in her purse and she briefly considered not picking it up. But there was always the remote chance the caller could be offering her a job so Ellie fished the phone out of her bag. "Hello?"

"Ellie, this is Professor Barrett. I have wonderful news, my dear. I think I may have found a buyer for your design thesis. So tell all those uninspired fools that refuse to hire you that you've just netted a commission that easily equals the annual salary for an intern-architect."

"Omigod!" Ellie yelped, a radiant, delighted smile dissolving her sullen expression. "When? How? Who?"

"I was at a party last night," her thesis advisor explained. "I met a delightful man who told me he wished to build a beach house but he hadn't been able to find an architect who understood what he wanted—something eclectic and dramatic that jumped out at passers-by, something full of imagination and daring. Naturally, I thought of your house immediately and I told him a bit about it and you. I've set up a meeting for eight this evening at the studio. He simply couldn't break any of his business engagements to meet you earlier. I do hope that's all right with you, dear."

If Ellie had a one hundred five degree fever and two shattered legs, she would have said the night meeting was fine and she'd be sure to make it. "I'll be there. What's this man like? What's his name?"

"A charming British fellow ... rather odd for one of that race to appreciate organic architecture. By the way, you have my permission to shoot the Earl if he tries to impose Chesterfields and floral chintz on your house. That's right, dear—you might have a genuine aristocrat living in your beach house if he chooses to buy the design. He's an earl. .. Lord Simon Baldevar."

"Lord Simon Baldevar?" A queer kind of stillness settled over Ellie, followed by a searing rush of feeling tearing into her with the impact of a nuclear explosion. Had her professor really uttered her vampire father's name so casually? No, it was not possible that after seventeen years of unsatisfied curiosity and waiting, Simon Baldevar was simply going to wander into her life as a prospective client. He'd left Ellie and her mother when she was only six weeks old, taking her vampire twin brother with him. Her mother and father had decided to raise their children separately so Ellie, their mortal baby, could have a normal childhood.

A normal childhood—what kind of starry-eyed optimism made her parents believe she, the child of vampire parents, could have anything resembling a normal childhood? Oh, it had been a happy enough childhood, interesting and diverting, but never normal.

How can you be normal when you grow up accepting as fact things most people consider mere fantasy? One of Ellie's earliest memories was holding her arms up and crying, "Do your magic, Mommy!" as her mother used telekinesis to lift Ellie up off the ground and spin her round and round their twelve-foot Christmas tree. How could a child be normal when she grew up counting the hours until darkness fell and her mother would rise from her daytime slumber? Worse, Ellie could never even acknowledge her mother to any of her mortal acquaintances and she had to be so cautious as to what she was allowed to discuss that Ellie eventually decided it would be easier not to discuss her home life at all. The one relative Ellie could speak of safely was her homosexual, adoptive father, Lee Winslow.

Even putting aside her vampire progeny, Ellie herself had never been an average child. She was considered precocious and ahead of the curve even in her exclusive school for gifted children, being placed in the third grade at the age of five and completing high school before she turned twelve. Being so much younger than her classmates assured Ellie's ostracism at school. She was only able to make friends with the rich children that made their summer homes in Southampton, careful to disguise her intelligence as they engaged in noncerebral activities like swimming, sailing, and horseback riding.

The lack of friends hadn't disturbed Ellie overmuch. She was a solitary person by nature, preferring the company of her sketches and erector sets to other children. Besides, Ellie would always consider her mother her best friend. How could she ever feel lonely when Meghann lavished so much attention on her? Nighttime had always been devoted to her mother and their excursions together.

Still, Ellie had always thought that the one person who might understand her feelings of exclusion from the mortal world, the world of normalcy and tradition, was Mikal. Only he knew what it was like to be almost a new species, the only living children of vampire parents. Had their parents ever thought she and Mikal might have needed each other and shouldn't have been separated?

Ellie had confided these thoughts to her mother and Meghann replied that she'd never have allowed Ellie to grow up in the kind of isolation that was necessary for Mikal's safety. It would have been lonely and dull to a degree Ellie couldn't even imagine, Mom told her. There would have been no art classes, no interaction whatsoever with anyone but her parents and her twin. Mom said she'd be damned before her daughter lived the life of a virtual shut-in. Such an existence might be necessary for poor Mikal, disfigured, as he'd been when he was an infant; mortals

and other vampires alike would try their best to kill him if they found him and Daddy. "Ellie!"

"I'm sorry, Professor Barrett," Ellie said, her advisor's impatient shout cutting through the chaos in her mind. "What did you say?"

"No need to apologize; I know you're a bit bemused," the professor said indulgently. "I just asked whether you know Lord Baldevar ... you seemed so surprised when I said his name."

"No," Ellie said slowly, her hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone. "I don't know him." I only know of him. I know what my mother and Uncle Lee and Uncle Charles tell me about him. What I don't know is how he feels toward me. This absentee father had sent her lavish presents on Christmas and her birthday every year she could remember, and cards arrived on those occasions, too, cards that were informative and indicated some interest in Ellie's activities but nevertheless impersonal—not one of the letters mentioned love. Ellie wanted to believe the gifts demonstrated her father's love for her, but they could just as easily be a desultory gesture of obligation on the part of a creature that had no use for his mortal offspring. That was Ellie's deepest fear, that she'd managed to disappoint Simon Baldevar simply by being born human. Meghann had always done her best to assuage these fears, telling Ellie her father loved her dearly but he wasn't overly demonstrative, the way Mom and Lee and Charles were.

"Well, you're about to know him very well," Professor Barrett said cheerfully. "See you at eight."

Eight! Ellie thought with sudden dismay. That was five whole hours away—what on earth was she supposed to do until then? Briefly, Ellie thought of calling Lee and telling him about this shocking development.

Lee . . . was her longing to meet Simon Baldevar somehow disloyal to Lee Winslow, her much loved adopted father who'd selflessly forgone transformation so Ellie could have a daytime parent and protector?

Ellie didn't think her eagerness to meet Simon detracted from the special bond she. shared with Uncle Lee. How could she feel anything but profound love and respect for a man who'd not only given up his chance at immortality for her but also his medical career? Lee Winslow had retired from active practice when Ellie was born and conducted private research in a lab at the house until Ellie was twelve just so she'd always have someone available to take her to school and a thousand other daytime affairs because it was out of the question for Meghann to allow some mortal babysitter with sharp eyes and sharper curiosity into the house. Once Ellie was a little older, Lee opted to teach at the Columbia College of Physicians and Surgeons, still not going back to practicing gynecology for fear he wouldn't be available if Ellie had an emergency during the day and needed her parent.

Ellie treasured her daytime with Lee and the stop they always made at Carvel before heading home. Over a sundae, Ellie would chatter about her day to Lee, who always listened eagerly and cheered her accomplishments while providing consolation when she told him of her distance from the other children. Lee was the only mortal Ellie could be honest with, the only who understood her confusion at living in a house of vampires and then trying to fit into the mortal world.

But terrific as Lee was, Ellie had never been able to think of him as Daddy. That word and all the senti-

Mi< iii behind it belonged to the shadowy presence she mum nines felt in her dreams, that of warm, strong 11.11 >< Iholding her while a soothing, deep voice ii i .< Hied lullabies. Mom said she didn't think it likely I IIM remembered her infancy and Daddy caring for li< i. Inn in their family nothing was impossible. When- i vi i Kllie had that dream, she always woke up with a Ii I Img of complete security and peace and a cry of

1.

><itltly on her lips.

l o her, that unseen man and the tenderness he I ,II liated was Daddy and no one could take his place. In

1.

ii >i her five hours, Ellie would find out if Simon Balde- V.II was the daddy she sometimes woke up crying out 11 > i or if that dream figure was simply a fantasy her sub- 11 mscious had produced from her longing and need.

"Good afternoon, Miss Scarlett."

"Mickey, you startled me! What a coincidence, meeting here. I didn't even know you were back in New York." Ellie smiled up at her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Mickey Hollingsworth, whom she hadn't seen in a few weeks.

"I only got in a few days ago," Mickey said and sprawled his long, lanky form next to her on the bench. "Why don't you tell me why you're sitting in Central Park looking as forlorn and abandoned as Oliver Twist?"

Ellie laughed and told Mickey the unhappy story of her job hunt, relieved to have a friend to talk to and take her mind off the impending meeting with her father. She and Mickey had met through friends at Cooper Union about six months ago and hit it off immediately.

Mickey, with his long black hair that always looked like he'd just tumbled out of bed, infectious booming laugh and self-deprecating sense of humor had fascinated Ellie when they met. Though he was only nineteen, Mickey seemed so much more mature and interesting than the boys Ellie mingled with at home who were only interested in drinking, sun tanning, fighting, and getting laid—in that order. As for tthe boys at Cooper Union, most of them were a lot older than Ellie and if they weren't fiercely competitive and jealous of her talent, they tended to treat her like an adored little sister—hardly surprising considering the flat-chested twelve year old she'd been freshman year. So Mickey, son of minor British gentry and another child prodigy who'd finished Oxford at the age of eighteen and was now "a lazy layabout leeching off my trust fund" was a godsend to Ellie.

For his part, Mickey told Ellie he was fascinated with her "Scarlett O'Hara eyes" and "your impossible American devotion to work." After their first meeting, their relationship took on a comfortable pattern of long talks and other activities in whatever hotel or friend's borrowed flat Mickey happened to be staying in when he visited New York.

At first, Ellie had thought she might be in love with Mickey and his quicksilver charm but a few months of now-you-see-me-now-you-don't romancing quickly disabused her of that notion. It would be fatal to fall for someone who refused to take anything, including himself, very seriously. But Ellie did enjoy his company so she continued seeing him when he came to town. She'd confided to her mother that she was seeing him just for fun and Meghann told her that was fine as long her heart was as divorced from the situation as she claimed.

"Sod it!" Mickey exclaimed indignantly when Ellie finished her story. "If those bloody fools can't appreciate you, they don't deserve you. Besides, you can start your own business with this rich buyer your teacher found for you. You never said his name."

That's right, I didn't. . . Michael," Ellie retorted, using his real and loathed first name to pay him back for not telling her the last time he'd abandoned New York in favor of whatever city (and girls) took his fancy for two weeks.

"Cheeky today, are we?" Mickey returned. "What is it a bleedin' state secret, then? Who's your buyer— the King of England, the President, the Shah of Iran?"

"No one important," Ellie demurred, remembering her mother's admonitions that she never reveal her father's true identity to anyone.

"Your father has enemies," Meghann had said over and over. "Vicious, brutal creatures that would think nothing of harming you to get at him. And don't think you're safe because you say his name to someone during the day. You think vampires can't employ humans to spy for them? Never, never tell anyone the name Baldevar and tell me or Charles immediately if anyone says the name to you."

Ellie hardly thought Mickey a vampire spy but her mother's warnings weren't something she took lightly. And Ellie was far too wound up about their impending meeting to say her father's name aloud without all kinds of embarrassing blushes and stammers that would alert Mickey or anyone else to how special this particular client was to her.

"You're right," Mickey agreed cheerfully. "Your old client's name isn't important. What is important is whether you'll have lunch with me and then maybe come see my room at the Sherry Nether- land."

Ellie shrugged nonchalantly though she privately thought Mickey might have just offered her her only chance at relaxation. "I'm not hungry."

"No?" Mickey questioned, playing along with her.

"No," Ellie said firmly and then favored him with a cool smile. "I'd rather see your hotel room and skip lunch ... if that's all right with you."

"No complaints here," Mickey smirked and triumphantly plucked up her portfolio. "None at all."

"How's that ravishing sister of yours?" Mickey asked as they crossed Fifth Avenue.

"Maggie's fine. You know, she really liked you." In public, Ellie used her mother's mortal nickname because it was close to the Mommy she'd been used to saying as a child. Ellie hated having to tell the world that her mother was her sister but what else could you do when your ninety-year-old vampire mother was never going to lo6k a day over eighteen?

Ellie sighed, cursing the blasted sunlight that took her mother away from her. Ellie might be enjoying Mickey's company, but the person she needed to talk to was Mom. She was the only one who'd be able to understand Elbe's conflicting feelings about meeting her father.

When she first heard Professor Barrett's shocking news, Ellie felt a brief pique that her mother hadn't warned her of Simon Baldevar's impending visit but quickly realized Mom would never keep something like her father's homecoming a secret from Ellie. Most likely, this visit was going to stun Meghann just as much as it had Ellie.

"I'm glad I met with Maggie's approval," Mickey smiled and wrapped his hand around Ellie's waist, using the cover of her blazer to start a stealthy, insidious climb toward her breasts. "You know, I have a fine mate back home she might be interested in. We could double up together one night."

Ellie playfully slapped Mickey's hand away. "Maggie doesn't date much." Actually, Mom didn't date at all; she'd never made any attempt to see other men while Ellie was growing up. Ellie knew Mom used to date Jimmy Delacroix, another vampire and good friend of

the family, but that had been over before Ellie was born.

Ellie sighed, remembering that Jimmy Delacroix was

proof there was a darker side to her father's nature, a

side Mom had only lately even hinted at. Simon, Meghann had told her, could be quite ruthless when it

came to dealing with anyone he considered an enemy

or simply beneath him .. . like mortals. Ellie and Lee Winslow being the sole exceptions to that rule.

Mcghann had never approved of this behavior. In

fact, she'd been so disgusted by it that she left Simon

for over forty years before they finally reunited, Ellie and M ikal being the result of their reconciliation.

"Why did you go back with him?" Ellie had asked her.

"Your father's a complex man," was Meghann's response. "You have to understand he was born in different times, Ellie. Not that that's any sort of excuse but he doesn't have the same belief system we do. He grew up thinking his nobility made him superior to anyone born with a lesser rank than he had. In his time, a man of his stature could brutalize his servants or his woman and no one would think less of him for it Becoming a vampire simply exacerbated that inborn elitism. Forget about making him treat mortals fairly; you don't know what I went through to get him to treat me as an equal. It took a great deal of argument and that separation for him to understand that if he wanted me to be his wife, he'd have to treat me the way I or any other woman deserves to be treated, as a treasured partner and not some cowering subordinate."

"And when he got that through his head, you went back with him."

Meghann had smiled at Ellie's astuteness. "Yes and because, though I don't think he'll admit it, you changed him, Ellie. Raising our children separately Ml I you'd have as normal and happy a childhood as we could give you . . . Honey, that was the first truly unselfish thing I'd ever known your father to do. If anything can melt the stone around his heart and make Simon see that some of his . . . ways . . . are wrong, it's you."

Meghann would never say exactly what 'ways' so distressed her but Ellie knew they were at the root of Jimmy Delacroix's transformation.

From earliest childhood, one of her mother's strictest rules was that Ellie never mention Simon's name to Jimmy? All Mom would tell her was that while she and Simon were separated, Jimmy had been Mom's mortal boyfriend. Mom had never planned to transform Jimmy, saying a vampire's life wasn't for him. But Daddy got so jealous over Mom having someone else in her life, that he hurt Jimmy terribly and it was either transformation or death so Jimmy became a vampire.

Ellie knew there were considerable holes in her mother's careful explanation that everything worked out well enough in the end, with Jimmy adapting to his new existence. Mom would never tell Ellie exacdy how Daddy hurt Jimmy, just that Ellie should never mention Simon so Jimmy wouldn't get upset. Ellie had often wondered if maybe Meghann didn't want her to talk to Jimmy about Simon, not so much out of consideration for Jimmy's feelings, but because Mom was afraid of what Jimmy would tell her about her father.

"Get your head out of the clouds," Mickey said and tapped her forehead lightly. "We're here."

Ellie followed him into the small suite, acknowledging that the spectacular view of the park was worth whatever astronomical fees Mickey was paying for the room. Mickey handed her a scotch and soda and they soon found themselves rolling around on the king-sized bed.

N.aked and doing her best to match Mickey's frenetic rhythm, Ellie wondered if there was something the matter with her ... if she might be frigid. Or was Mickey a bad partner? Ellie had kissed and done a little more than that before she met Mickey and always thought sex would simply incorporate all that fondling with a few more intimacies. But when she went to bed with Mickey, the only thing she'd ever felt aside from the unexpectedly sharp pain of losing her virginity, was irritation at the unlubricated condom chaffing her.

Why did Mickey treat foreplay in such a perfunctory manner, giving her a brief kiss and cursory grope before he started pounding away on top of her, Ellie wondered. Mickey didn't seem at all interested in her satisfaction. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten her entirely as he charged after his own release.

But maybe Ellie was being unfair, blaming her disillusionment with sex on Mickey. As evidenced by the awkward way he behaved once they got their clothes off, most likely he didn't have much sexual experience either. Maybe they could experiment together.

With a final grunt and harsh thrust, Mickey came, immediately rolling off her with a good-natured ruffling of her hair more suitable to a golden retriever than a lover.

"Got a cigarette?" Ellie asked, moving the white sheet over her body while Mickey removed the condom.

Mickey reached into his trouser pocket and tossed Ellie a pack of Galois and his silver lighter. "I bet that doctor father of yours doesn't know you smoke."

"I think he'd be more upset at this," Ellie gestured to their naked bodies, "than a little smoke." Actually, that wasn't true. Lee was appalled at her occasional cigarette and so was Mom, though she felt it would be hypocritical to chasten Ellie when she was a longtime smoker herself. As for sex, Ellie had gone to Meghann and Lee when she decided to sleep with Mickey; Lee wrote out a prescription for the pill after a long talk about responsibility and caution. Of course Ellie insisted Mickey use the condom as well to protect against disease.

Ellie inhaled deeply and exhaled the smoke through her nose, watching Mickey wrap a thick cotton towel around his narrow hips. "Want some company?" In some of the lurid romance novels Ellie kept hidden in a milk carton under her bed, there were many erotic adventures to be had in the shower.

"No time, love. I've got a meeting with a band promoter in an hour—that's right, I forgot to tell you! Your Mickey isn't going to be completely useless Eu- rotrash any longer. The old father gave me a few dollars and I'm building my nightclub."

"That's fantastic!" A few months ago, Mickey had confided that he had no use for the Oxford education his parents had forced on him, that his ambition lay in establishing the biggest, scariest, sexiest Goth club the world had ever seen.

Complimenting Ellie's talent, Mickey informed her he was a huge Clive Barker fan and asked if she could design an interior for his club that would resemble the underground labyrinth in the movie Nightbreed. Ellie, familiar with the book and movie, had given Mickey a few preliminary sketches of a structure that would resemble a large haunted mansion with a maze of careening rooms and dead ends to amuse his patrons.

"Fantastic for us both," Mickey smiled and took a few drags from her cigarette. "That beach house isn't going to be your only commission. I found a big old mansion falling apart on Long Island I can have for a song. Say, why don't you come with me tomorrow and take a tour of the site? You can tailor our original ideas to the house's structure, maybe draw up some blueprints."

Two commissions in one day—Ellie was on her way to her own business! "I'd be delighted."

"Shall we say noon tomorrow, then? I'll meet you at your house. Now I've got to hurry but you feel free to lie around, maybe order up some of that lunch I didn't have a chance to give you. Just shut the door on your way out." Mickey ruffled her hair again and bounded into the bathroom.

Ellie thought of ordering a sandwich from room service but the adrenaline excitement of the day suddenly wore off and she felt as weak and wrung out as a used up washcloth. Ellie glanced at the clock on the white and gold gilt nightstand—4:30. She had time for a nice, refreshing nap before she showered and changed to meet her father.

Ellie, coming out of a dreamless sleep, turned on her side and bolted upright with a panic stricken yelp when she saw the time illuminated on the small digital clock by the beside. Seven thirty—she hadn't meant to sleep so late! Now she was going to be late for her first meeting with her father.

Ellie grabbed her purse and hurried into the shower, shampooing and bathing in a matter of minutes. At the large marble countertop, Ellie appropriated Mickey's toothbrush and searched the medicine cabinet for aspirin with no luck. Apparently Mickey didn't suffer from headaches like the one swiftly closing in on Ellie's temples.

Ellie brushed her thick brown hair quickly, knowing she had no time to blow dry her shoulder-length, multi- layered pageboy properly. Ellie finger-combed the waves as best she could and pulled her hair off her face with a white headband she found at the bottom of her purse. A pair of gold studs gave the simple style a litde pizzazz.

Thank God she'd never needed much makeup. Ellie simply applied a bit of powder to her shiny nose, some coral toned lip-gloss, and matching eye shadow. After she dressed, Ellie gave herself a cool appraisal. The cream silk suit and burnt ochre sleeveless shirt looked good against her suntan. Her hair and makeup were neat if uninspired. Ellie sighed for the daydreams where she met her father wearing her most stylish clothes and her too thick, wavy hair was on its best behavior ... no time for all that now.

7:50—Ellie liberated her car from the parking garage at Sixtieth and Second, then sped down to the Village, racing through yellow lights, cutting other drivers off and illegally cruising through bus lanes, all the while keeping her eye out for police cars. All she needed now was to get pulled over and ticketed. Forget her mother's annoyance at a fifth ticket in as many weeks, who knew what time she'd get to the studio if a cop wrote her up?

Ellie made it to Cooper Union without incident and actually found a parking space across the street from the school on Astor Place, a minor miracle that Ellie considered a good omen. Though she'd broken her neck to get down here, Ellie had missed the eight o'clock deadline . . . her wristwatch informed her it was now a quarter after.

Not willing to wait on the ancient elevator, Ellie sped up the stairs to the studio, flushed and out of breath by the time she reached the cavernous, seemingly empty studio.

"Hello?" Ellie called into the room abandoned for summer vacation. Quick tears stung her eyelids—had her father decided to leave rather than wait on a daughter that couldn't even be bothered to meet him on time? Or worse, had he never showed up at all?

Ellie started to turn and walk out the door when a whispery voice with a hint of a British accent said softly, "Elizabeth."

Ellie spun around and watched a tall, broad- shouldered figure step out from the shadows, careful to walk near the walls and avoid the dying sunlight pouring into the room from the broad bank of windows. Of course, Ellie should have realized he'd remain in the dark. Ellie knew a vampire wasn't truly comfortable being up and around in the summer until nearly nine o'clock.

Ellie felt rooted to her spot by the door; she couldn't make her legs move and take her to the man crossing the room in graceful strides. As he stepped closer, Ellie was able to make out his features better, see the brown tinted sunglasses he wore with an elegant dark blazer.

Mom had always claimed Simon Baldevar was the handsomest man she'd ever seen and now Ellie found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with that assessment Of course, Ellie had known what her father looked like, thanks to her mother's treasured Elizabethan miniature. It showed a solemn-faced man dressed in a black doublet liberally decorated with diamonds and rubies. Of course, there were some changes in the intervening four hundred years since the miniature was painted. The Van Dyke beard had vanished, replaced by a clean-shaven countenance that emphasized the same sharp cheekbones that greeted Ellie whenever she looked in a mirror. His chestnut hair had also changed from a Prince Valiant cut to a style

Ellie privately thought more suited to him, close cropped at the sides with an abundance of wavy curls on top.

But it wasn't her father's handsome appearance that struck Ellie mute. Rather, it was the dynamic energy radiating from him. Though accustomed to vampires and their mesmerizing auras, Ellie had never felt anything like her father's power. It was like he sucked all the energy from the people and things surrounding him so he became larger than life while everything around him grew dim and pallid.

Simon paused 3 few inches from Ellie, pulling off his sunglasses to reveal slanted eyes of a soft, gold color unlike anything Ellie had ever seen before. They dominated his face and burned with an intensity that held Ellie in their thrall.

"I. . . I'm sorry I'm late," Ellie finally managed to say to the formidable man who simply stared but didn't speak. What was he thinking? Did she please him? Did he like her?

Ellie immediately regretted her banal words. In her countless daydreams of meeting her father, Ellie had imagined a thousand greetings and never once was a feeble apology one of them. Simon must think his mortal daughter was a flaky, inconsiderate, tongue- tied idiot.

But Simon smiled at her, his warm, open grin shattering the wide gulf of absence and awkwardness between them forever.

"It is I that must apologize to you, daughter, for missing your whole childhood. Can you ever forgive me?" Simon held open his arms and Ellie ran into them.

"Daddy," she cried, not caring if the term was immature for someone her age. Simon Baldevar had always been Daddy to her, the secret nighttime daddy she could never admit to, the provider of exquisite gifts and the dashing charmer of the stories Mom told about the man that swept her off her feet and transformed her so they'd be together for all eternity. "Daddy, you're finally here!"

"Finally here indeed, my daughter, never to leave again," Simon said, still hugging her tightly and Ellie finally felt the blissful security of her dreams engulf her in reality.

"You mean it?" Ellie said and looked up into his shining eyes. "You're here to stay? Is Mikal here too? Mom doesn't know you're here, does she?" Was she going to meet not only her father but also her twin brother, whom she knew almost nothing about? Ellie, like Meghann, was hurt and dismayed that Simon and the woman who called herself Ellie's Auntie Adelaide provided them with such scant, bare bones information about Mikal... and that Mikal had never chosen to communicate with them at all.

For a brief second, it seemed like a pall was thrown over Simon's gleaming eyes and he said tersely, "Your brother isn't with me. And no, Meghann doesn't know I've returned—I wanted to surprise her."

"You sure will," Ellie said, and Simon laughed as he released her. "I mean she's going to be so happy to see you! She's missed you so much." Ellie knew better than anyone how much her mother had missed Simon. How many times had she come upon Meghann, sitting alone with Daddy's miniature and faint tearstains marring her cheeks?

'Just as I've missed her," Simon said softly and Ellie suddenly wondered if maybe he'd shed his own tears during their seventeen-year separation. Then his expression cleared again and he extended his arm out to Ellie. "Now, I believe I've been promised a design by a very promising young architect?"

"You meant all that?" Ellie said and happily led her father to her board. 'You really want me to design a beach house for you?"

"Marvelous," Simon said, inspecting the watercolor sketch and model on Ellie's board. Ellie didn't think it was conceit to consider the design her very best work to date. She loved the organic-style villa that seemed to grow out of the jagged cliff it perched upon. The copper and bleached wood cantilevered structure resembled a hawk poised for flight with its outstretched glass wing soaring over the cliff edge so it hung suspended over the rocky, churning sea below.

"You have an immense gift, Elizabeth. I have no doubt about the impact you'll make upon your generation once you establish your own firm."

"What firm?" Ellie asked blankly and her father grinned broadly, revealing a dimple in his left cheek Ellie had inherited.

"The firm I intend to help you set up," Simon said. "Perhaps you could partner up with that Vietnamese boy you wrote about."

Ellie smiled at this indication her father had read all her letters and remembered her speaking of Huang Truong, a phenomenally talented young architect who shared Ellie's passion for private residences and prairie-style architecture. Huang, who'd graduated a year before her, was currently serving a sentence at Mead Mckim and complained bitterly of being chained to his desk with the tedium of drafting environmental impact reports or if he was blessed beyond belief, actually being allowed to assist on drawing a window or hallway. Ellie knew Huang would jump at the chance to form a partnership with her but...

"Am I such an unsuitable investor?" Simon questioned at her unenthusiastic silence.

"No, Daddy, it's just..."

"Just what?"

"I want to achieve my own success," Ellie explained just as she had when Mom offered her start-up money for her own firm. How could she make them understand how important it was to receive a paycheck that had nothing to do with them, to find a job where she was valued for her talent and not merely being their daughter? Ellie needed to prove she could stand on her own two feet with no assistance from her parents.

"Nonsense!" Simon exclaimed and gestured to her model. "Your firm will succeed because of your talent, not my money. Do not think I made this offer out of nepotism—go ask your mother if I've ever invested in a foolish venture. Besides, in our family, we do not work for others. I never called any man my superior; when your mother practices her psychology, she works alone. Why slave on behalf of someone else, Elizabeth? Why allow them to profit from your designs while you receive a mere pittance for your labors? Now if you want a businesslike proposition, I shall give you one. My money shall not be a gift, but a loan you pay back in a set amount of time, with the proper interest. Do we have a deal?"

Ellie smiled and remembered something else Meghann had told her about Simon. When he chose to be, he was the most charming man in the world and it was absolutely impossible to say no to him. "Okay."

"Wonderful," Simon said and embraced her lightly. "Shall we go home now, daughter?"

"I'd love to, Daddy."

"Daddy... I have adored that title since you first bestowed it upon me." Simon smiled and withdrew from his wallet a yellowed sheet of paper filled with

a looping, childish handwriting Ellie immediately recognized. Blinking back sentimental tears, she reread her very first letter to her father.

Dear Daddy,

Thank you for all my birthday presents. The carousel is my favorite, it is very big and really pretty especially when you put on the lights. Mommy said it is a Rococo antique, that means it is very old and expensive so I must be careful when I play with it and not break it. Mommy says it's not just a toy and I can keep it my whole life and enjoy it. I will, I really really like it, Daddy.

The painted horses are so pretty, Lee says there is a place called Martha's Vineyard where they have a real life carousel that looks just like this one and he will take me there in summer. Mommy can come to because they are open at night and there are bright lights and music just like my antique toy.

I like real horses too. I have a pony. He is chestnut brown just like my hair so I call him Chestnut Chestnut takes lessons just like me so we can learn how to ride and lives at East End Stables. I already know how to run and we are learning to jump.

Lee has a movie called Dark Victory. It has a very pretty lady who lives in a big house just like this one and she rides horses, too. I would like to grow up like that but I don't want to die of being cross-eyed like Mommy said happened to her at the end of the movie so now I am careful not to make faces or I might die but I think that is very silly and you can't really die of that Mommy was just being funny because Uncle Charles laughed really loud when she told me that. Do you think that is funny? Do you have a horse? Mommy says you like horses a lot and taught her how to ride after you got married. She says she didn't have a horse when she was a little girl like me because she lived in the city and there would be no place to put him, poor Mommy. But she said when you were growing up, your house was much bigger than ours and you had lots of land too. Is that true? When can I see your big house Daddy?

Goodbye Daddy, I love you very much and thank you for my presents.

Love and kisses, Lady Elizabeth Baldevar

P.S. Mommy says that is my real name, that I am a Lady because you are a Lord but most of the time my last name is Winslow for Uncle Lee because he can't have a litde girl of his own so I am your girl and his, too. Mommy says it is good to share. More kisses, Ellie. That is my nickname that everybody calls me and you can, too.

"Pretty miserable chicken scrawl and abominable structure," Ellie said about her first attempts at script, smiling ruefully at the rambling tone.

"You were only five—most mortal children have not even mastered their alphabet at that age," Simon replied. "But I was most touched by your greeting ... Daddy. No one had ever called me that before."

"What does Mikal call you?" Ellie asked curiously.

"Father," Simon said flatly and his lips tightened into a grim line.

"Is there something wrong between you and him, Daddy?" Ellie could almost see a dark cloud form around her father when Mikal's name came up.

"I cannot discuss Mikal until your mother joins us."

Ellie nodded her acquiescence, thinking whenever

the discussion took place it was not likely to be a pleasant one, judging by the clipped, brusque tone her father developed when speaking of Mikal.

As they walked out of the quiet school and onto the busy street, Simon turned to her and broke the uncomfortable silence that had developed between them. 'Would you mind terribly waiting until fall to establish your firm, Elizabeth? I was rather hoping I could take you and your mother on what we used to call a Grand Tour of Europe. If I say so myself, you could not have a better tour guide than someone who's had almost five hundred years to seek out the best sights."

"Daddy," Ellie glowed, momentarily forgetting Mikal, and a few pedestrians raised curious eyebrows at this teenager calling a man who could only be in his early thirties Daddy. "I'd love to!"

"I rather thought so. What architect could possibly consider their education complete without a tour of the grandeur of Europe? Tell me where you'd like to start... Florence, perhaps?"

'York," Ellie said promptly. "I've been dying to see the Gothic cathedrals."

"But if you die, you won't get to go anywhere," Simon teased and she smiled at him, liking this warm, funny father of hers.

"My college instructor said some people actually believe the Gothic cathedrals came from alien intelligence because the work is so advanced and beyond the capabilities of the time. But Mom says maybe the Gothic style was the result of a vampire architect. Do you know anything about that?"

Simon laughed and shook his head. "I'm afraid those cathedrals were erected nearly two hundred years before my birth. Contrary to your mother's view, I have not existed from the beginning of time. But

Meghann's theory is certainly a valid one. Shall we go home and continue this discussion with her?"

"Yes," Ellie smiled and accepted his proffered arm. "Let's go home, Daddy."

Two

"Mom taught me how to drive," Elizabeth remarked as she narrowly mjissed a collision with a taxi that attempted to cut ahead of the sleekly restored navy-blue 1965 Mustang convertible Meghann had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

"I strongly suspected she did," Simon smiled as his daughter attacked the thick Manhattan traffic with the controlled aggression and high speed that were hallmarks of her mother's driving style. "And who do you think taught your mother to drive?"

"You?" Elizabeth smiled back, relaxing in Simon's easy approval of her daredevil driving.

"Indeed," Simon said, pushing his seat back and stretching his long legs as far as possible in the car's small cabin. He smiled again, remembering the battered old jalopy and dark, deserted roads he'd taken Meghann on for her first driving lessons. There'd been none of the normal timidity and heavy-footed awkwardness of a new driver in Meghann; she'd taken to maneuvering the car about with nimble self-confidence from her first time behind the wheel.

How well Simon remembered those early nights in their relationship, roaring through the night at dizzying, exhilarating speeds, stopping only to pick up some transient mortal hitchhiker. Then there would be the exquisite pleasure of indulging their blood lust together and making love, filled with all the wild, antic glee feeding and driving brought to the surface.

Simon missed those nights and he missed Meghann—his bright-eyed, high-spirited consort who made the night so much more alive and interesting for him. But soon enough, as long as Elizabeth continued to gun the little car far past the posted speed limit, he would see Meghann again.

Elizabeth—Simon turned to his daughter, marveling on how much she reminded him of Meghann, chattering away at him as she guided the Mustang along the highway road reeking of exhaust fumes and banally conversing mortals. A great many of Elizabeth's mannerisms were her mother all over again—the quick, perfunctory glance at the traffic in front of her before she turned to meet Simon's eyes, her flashing, sunny grin... even the way she turned her radio to some dull baseball game, following the announcer's spiel with the same avid attention Meghann always displayed for the inexplicable sport of grown men chasing some ball around a large park.

But Elizabeth, though she'd inherited her mother's vivacious sparkle, was no mere carbon copy of Meghann. Simon could tell that simply by listening as his daughter described her consuming interest in architecture, talking of her early facility for drawing and the construction sets that were the only toys to truly engage her interest. When she spoke of her work, Simon could see Elizabeth applied her talents with a careful, focused attention and cool logic quite foreign to Meghann's intelligent but tempestuous nature.

Elizabeth's analytic mind and artistic hands were a reflection of his own talents, Simon realized, smiling at this first sign of himself in his daughter. What a marvelous young woman his daughter had grown into—combining Meghann's charming, infectious enthusiasm with his keenly logical mind.

Elizabeth's looks were also an almost poetic blend of his and Meghann's best features. From infancy, Elizabeth had sported a full head of his bright chestnut hair; she even had the russet streaks Simon used to develop during the summer months. Judging by her suntan, she'd also inherited the ruddy complexion of Simon's mortal years instead of Meghann's porcelain skin that had to be protected from the sun even before she transformed.

But she had Meghann's almond-shaped, chameleon green eyes that went from apple green to darkest emerald depending on her mood, though the heavy fringe of dark brown lashes came from her father. And there was Meghann's full, bow-shaped lips and daintiness of form softening the chiseled, high-planed cheekbones and long, thin nose that bespoke Elizabeth's paternity.

All in all, a very attractive young woman, Simon thought and then realized he could hardly be the only man to form such an opinion. "Have you many beaux, Elizabeth?"

"Bows?" Elizabeth repeated, at first puzzled and then turning a charming shade of pink. "Oh, you mean beaux—boyfriends. Uh, nothing serious."

There was an outright falsehood, Simon decided swiftly. He did not need to intrude on his daughter's thoughts when that starded flush (so very much like Meghann's!) and her averted eyes told Simon there must be at least one serious beau.

He was not surprised that his daughter was reluctant to discuss romance with him; matters of the heart she'd rightfully take to her mother. Simon's only concern in the matter was that his daughter not be like the lascivious young women of her age—distributing her favors freely and without thought to her reputation.

Like any father, Simon wouldn't even speculate that Elizabeth might not be . . . pure . . . but it was plain the girl had reached marriageable age. She must be married before some unsavory character came along and took advantage of her innocence.

Of course, times had changed. Simon wasn't going to force his daughter into an arranged marriage. The girl would pick her own spouse from the young men Simon had chosen among his mortal colleagues. All the bachelors on his list were well educated, handsome, impeccably mannered and heirs to vast fortunes, for Simon well expected any young man marrying into the family to bring a suitable dowry in exchange for the extraordinary bride and immortality he'd receive.

"Dipshit!" Elizabeth shouted in annoyance at the radio and then colored profoundly at her father's censuring glare. "Sorry, Daddy. It's just this godda... I mean, idiot of a relief pitcher gave up a grand slam and the Mets lost the game."

Elizabeth might as well have been speaking in tongues for all the meaning Simon could derive from her explanation for the foul mouth she must have inherited from Meghann, who had no end to the sordid phrases she employed to express rage. Was it too much too hope for that Meghann would have curbed her tongue around their impressionable child? Elizabeth wasn't the only one Simon planned to reprimand this evening.

"Your language is not becoming to a young lady," Simon said sternly and saw the same irritated submission and stung dignity that always bloomed on Meghann's face when he rebuked her. "You are far too intelligent and I hope well-bred to employ the vocabulary of gutter people."

A brief, indecipherable darkening of Meghann's cat eyes was Elizabeth's only response before she shut the radio off and selected a CD that restored good humor to the car.

"You enjoy this music?" Simon questioned as Count Basie pounded out a frenetic swing tune, thankful Elizabeth didn't torture his eardrums with any of that ghastly rock music.

"Mom plays Big Band all the time," Ellie said. "She said that on your first date, you went to the Stork Club and danced to swing ... and you were the best dancer she ever met in her life."

"Is that what caught her interest?" Simon laughed, remembering the girl who'd moved over the dance floor with the poise and tiny, perfectly molded body of a prima ballerina. "So this music has captivated you from childhood? Do young people still dance nowadays?"

"Not really," Ellie said, her tone expressing mild indignation at her own graceless generation. "But there are a few swing clubs I like to go to sometimes. Uncle Charles and Mom like to go sometimes and I tag along. You should see them together . . . they've won prizes for their dancing!"

As Uncle Charles was Meghann's beloved but homosexual friend Charles Tarleton, Simon shared Elizabeth's warm adulation for their combined skill. "And who do you dance with, Elizabeth?"

"Uncle Charles, of course," Elizabeth said. "Uncle Lee comes, too, but he hates dancing. And you know . . . some other boys there . . .Jimmy if he's staying with us . . ." Elizabeth broke off abruptly, giving her father an apprehensive glance at her unthinking, flippant mention of Meghann's former lover.

"Jimmy Delacroix?" Simon said in a carefully neutral tone, not wanting to alarm his daughter, particularly while she was driving. "He visits your mother?"

"Well, all of us," Elizabeth clarified, giving her father a beseeching glance. "You know, he and Mom are just friends. There's never been any..."

"Elizabeth," Simon broke in. "I have complete faith in your mother and her desire to honor our wedding vows." Simon meant what he said—he believed in Meghann's integrity, knew her interest in the annoying Delacroix creature was no more than pity for a fumbling, morose dolt that couldn't survive without some strong willed woman (Meghann, for instance) propping him up.

Besides, as long as Meghann held the man at arm's length, Simon would not only forgive but applaud her for keeping her former lover close by . . . even she probably did not realize how thoroughly she'd deflected any suspicion on their foes' part by her seeming alliance with Jimmy Delacroix.

"Daddy?"

"You must excuse me, Elizabeth," Simon said apologetically. "I was wool-gathering. What did you say?"

"I was asking if you think Mom was right," Elizabeth said, her tone of voice implying only a fool or a long- absent father not bent on remaining in his daughter's good graces would take Meghann's side against hers. "Surely once I'm earning my own living next fall, I should be allowed to have an apartment of my own and not live at home like some baby."

Simon smothered a laugh at the indignant little wrinkle in his daughter's nose and arched eyebrows meeting in a ferocious scowl—Meghann's classic expression in a temper. "Artistic achievement and superior intellect does not change the fact that you are far too young to live away from home. Your mother is quite right."

"Besides," he continued in a mollifying tone, "You told me Meghann and Dr. Winslow have given you a home of your own in the guest cottage. You can entertain, and set your own hours—within reason, of course. What more could you want?"

A sulky shrug was Elizabeth's response—plainly she'd wanted an ally in her quest for independence but Simon had no intention of contradicting Meghann's directives, particularly when he was in accord with them.

Soon, Elizabeth pulled off the Sunrise Highway and they became silent, breathing in the fresh salt air from the sea as they traveled down the sedate North Sea Road leading to Southampton Village. Simon wished they might have arrived during twilight, when the vast red sky striped with lavender streaks and the first stars of the evening offered an enchanting backdrop to the majestic dunes and endless vista of azure blue shore. But he took equal pleasure in the quarter moon peaking out from wispy stretches of clouds and poignant cries of seagulls all around them.

As Elizabeth guided the car onto their private sand road flanked on either side by well-trimmed hedges, Simon experienced an oddly painful gladness when he glimpsed the weathered gray shingle house with its turrets, secret porches and myriad windows looming ahead, a flag on top of the old-fashioned weather vane snapping smartly in the wind.

"We're home," Elizabeth said softly and Simon smiled in agreement. Yes, that's what he was experiencing ... a feeling of homecoming. Whether it was his deep-seated love of the ocean or because this was the home he'd made with Meghann for the happy but brief months of her pregnancy, Simon felt attached to this land.

They climbed up to the main rotunda on the winding front steps made of wooden slats eroded by time and exposure from fresh pine to deep silver. Elizabeth put her key in the front door just as it flew open and an enraged Lee Winslow lit into Elizabeth, so intent on her he didn't even notice Simon standing to the side of the door.

"Elizabeth Baldevar Winslow, where in the hell have you been?!" Lee screamed and Elizabeth attempted to step back but Lee imprisoned her with a strong grip on her wrist. Simon's eyes narrowed at this treatment of his daughter, but he decided to first see what was so disturbing the mortal doctor. This fury, which Simon could immediately see was a response to a driving fear, was quite unlike the even-tempered, amiable man Simon remembered.

"Have you any idea what time it is?" Lee roared and answered his own question before Elizabeth could reply. 'Ten o'clock . .. ten o'clock at night! Your interview was at two! I expected you home by six or seven at the latest, even with traffic. Wherever you were, you could have at least called me. I don't care how busy you were ... it only takes five seconds to call and tell me you'll be late so I don't sit here tearing my hair out, wondering what the hell happened to you!"

"Lee ..." Elizabeth began timidly.

"Don't you try and excuse yourself, young lady! You know the rules very well . . . the rules you, your mother and I worked out! Any time you're going to be late, you call! What are you going to tell me ... you got caught in traffic? So what? What do you think Meghann got you that car phone for? Have you forgotten there are reasons we have to know where you are? That there are ... things . . . that might hurt or even kill you once the sun goes down? When you didn't turn up, when I couldn't reach you... I didn't know what to think. I was so worried. For all I know, some ... some vampire could have had you, be doing God knows what to you!"

"You're quite right, Dr. Winslow," Simon said and moved in front of the mortal doctor who staggered back and took a sharp intake of breath at this unexpected visitor. "Some vampire did have Elizabeth and he hopes you'll accept his deepest apologies for any anxiety you've suffered through this evening."

"Simon?" Lee sputtered incredulously and Simon saw him grab the doorframe to support himself. "You ... you're ... you're back." ♦

"That's what I was trying to tell you," Elizabeth said. "Daddy met me at school..." Elizabeth stopped cold, a deep blush suffusing her face when her shamed eyes met those of her mortal guardian, a man who had as much right if not more than Simon to consider himself her father.

"It's okay," Lee said to her and smiled reassuringly, though Simon saw a glimmer of pain in his eyes. 'Your whole life we've told you I'm not your biological father."

"That doesn't mean I don't love you like one," Elizabeth said and hugged him fiercely. "It's just..."

"Hey," Lee said gently and returned Elizabeth's hug. "You don't owe me any apology. I owe you one—screaming like that. But you've always been so good about calling. Then your friend Meryl showed up and I thought to myself, 'Ellie would never blow off a friend. Something terrible must have happened if she didn't call.' I understand now. Once you saw your ... um, Simon—it's only natural you got preoccupied."

"Meryl!" Elizabeth squeaked in guilty surprise. "I completely forgot. It's her birthday and we were supposed to go out tonight..."

"It's okay," Lee said comfortingly. "Meryl asked me to tell you to call her when you got home. Go call her and make your plans ..."

"I can't go out with her tonight," Elizabeth protested and glanced at Simon.

"You think I expect you to entertain a dull, aged parent all night?" he said teasingly and kissed her forehead. "Go and meet your friend ... as long as Dr. Winslow considers her a suitable companion."

"Meryl's a fine girl," Lee assured him and gestured for him to come into the house while Elizabeth dashed down the steps, heading for the guest house and a change of clothes after she kissed both men goodbye.

Lee led him into his former favorite room, a circular shaped atrium with walls made entirely of glass that faced the ocean. Settling down on a wrought-iron bench made comfortable with overstuffed cushions, Simon leaned back and accepted the straight bourbon Lee held out to him.

"I've got to apologize again," Lee said and sat opposite Simon on a white wicker chair decorated in a cheerful pastel fabric. "You must think you left your daughter with the male version of Mommy Dearest the way I carried on."

"It's my fault entirely. I startled Elizabeth so completely she forgot to call home. I'm glad you and Meghann take such stringent measures with her at night. And who is this?" Simon inquired, patting the head of a very friendly mixed-breed dog that came over to lick his hand.

"That's Patches," Lee smiled, gesturing to the dog's multi-colored brown, white, and tan coat. "You remember Meghann's setter, Max? He passed away of old age when Ellie was about eight. . . poor thing, she was so devastated. Meghann took her to North Shore and they wound up adopting Patches, along with a golden retriever named Sunshine because Ellie couldn't make up her mind which dog she wanted... and she said she felt one dog might be lonely without company. I think she'd have adopted the whole shelter if Meghann let her."

"Elizabeth likes animals?" Simon inquired, comparing this sweet daughter to the abominable disgrace of a son he'd disowned.

"Loves them," Lee answered. "Besides the dogs, we have three utterly useless cats lying somewhere around the house and five other part-timers Ellie leaves food out for each morning. She's amazing with animals ... the wildest, most mistrustful animals will walk right up and lick her hand."

"She gets that from Meghann," Simon said, remembering her tender treatment of any stray she came across ... be it a wounded cat or a pathetic drunk like that Delacroix creature she was so fond of.

"Now where is Meghann?" Simon inquired in a tone that hid how perturbed he'd been to enter the house and not have the slightest sense of his consort's presence.

"She's doing a summer seminar on Domestic Abuse over at Southampton College," Lee explained. "Eight to ten, once a week. She never went back to seeing patients after Ellie was born. She says she has more free time to devote to her daughter by teaching and writing articles. I expect her back any minute now."

"And where is Dr. Tarleton?" Simon inquired of the man's vampire lover and Meghann's dearest friend for more than fifty years. Before the children's birth, Simon could have cheerfully slaughtered the young vampire for it had been his meddling interference on behalf of Alcuin that led to Meghann leaving him for forty years. But the two enemies found themselves drawn together after the dreadful time Meghann had delivering the twins. Six weeks she'd hovered between life and death and Simon and Charles pushed all their petty grievances to the side in their efforts, along with those of Lee Winslow, to save her.

"Chicago," Lee said and gestured to a small flight bag on the floor. "He was presenting a paper on enzyme synthesis at Northwestern this week. I have a flight leaving at eleven-thirty to join him. We're uh . .. you see, he's going to transform me. We all discussed it together and decided Ellie's old enough to function on her own during the day.

"How wonderful!" Simon said sincerely. No one deserved transformation more than Lee Winslow. Simon studied the mortal critically, knowing the man was in his early sixties, and wondered if his elderly body could survive the rigors of transformation. But Lee didn't seem much different physically from the last time Simon had seen him seventeen years ago. True, the once ash-blond hair was now silver but he'd developed few wrinkles and his body appeared as firm through exercise and diet as it had been in his late forties. Simon focused his senses on the mortal's inner organs and found a firm heartbeat and no sign of any dark, foul disease running through his bloodstream.

"I'm ship-shape," Lee grinned at Simon's silent scrutiny. "Charles did a thorough examination about a month ago. I hate to rush out on you but it's past ten and I have to get out to the airport. Simon, is everything all right? I ask because you seem ... sad. Is something bothering you?"

A great deal was disturbing Simon, but if he disclosed the truth, he knew there was no way Lee Winslow would board a plane and leave his foster daughter's side. It was a godsend that the mortal and his vampire lover were going away; now Simon could persuade Meghann with a minimum of argument to heed his wishes without her two friends around to encourage opposition to his plans.

"I merely find my hopes temporarily dashed by Meghann's absence," Simon replied with some sincerity, disturbed that his ill humor was so poorly concealed even a mere mortal could perceive it— he'd have to tread quite carefully around Meghann's far more acute senses. "After all, I come home to fulfill my promise to Meghann and return now that Mikal no longer needs to be hidden from the world and the wench isn't even here to greet me."

"Mikal!" Lee cried, his face filling with avid curiosity. "His face is no longer . . . deformed? Does he tolerate daylight?"*

"Your plane, doctor," Simon reminded him. "As to my son, surely you understand that I wish to discuss him with Meghann before anyone else. That is her right as his mother."

"Damn!" Lee said, glancing at his wristwatch and hurriedly grabbing up his flight bag. "I've got to run. Of course I understand that you want to tell Meghann about Mikal first. I can get a full report when we come back on Friday. Charles thinks it will be . . . done ... by then."

"Good luck, doctor," Simon said softly and clasped the mortal's hand firmly. Lee Winslow would need more than mere luck . . . transformation was a dangerous undertaking. Simon would decide after he'd spoken with Meghann if they should head to Chicago so Simon could assist with Lee's transformation. Charles Tarleton had never performed transformation and Simon was, even to his enemies, the acknowledged expert on the matter.

Sad, Simon thought reflectively as he left the atrium and headed for the living room with its deep bay windows and covered porch offering a view of the towering white sand dunes. Sad did not even begin to describe what he felt when he thought of the seventeen years he'd lost with Meghann and his wonderful daughter, sacrificed in the name of a despicable ingrate.

Simon shrugged off the troublesome thoughts. Only fools dwelled on that which could not be changed. It wasn't like he was some mortal father now limited to only a few brief years with Elizabeth, years in which he'd be a superfluous figure, competing for his daughter's attention with the husband and children she'd invariably have until he was eventually pensioned off to some home where he wouldn't be underfoot.

As a vampire, Simon had all the time in the world to make up for those unfortunately lost years. Soon he'd transform Elizabeth; guiding her through those first uncertain years of a vampire's existence would more than compensate for all he'd been forced to miss as she grew up.

Yes, he could make up for his absence in Elizabeth's life, as well as Meghann's. Ah, Meghann . .. his little firebrand that made life so much more diverting; Simon could hardly wait to see her. Anticipating a passionate reunion, Simon smiled at the living room with its parquet floors, simple tables of glass and chrome, and plush sofas and ottomans in various shades of sea green and the foamy gray color of the storm clouds that occasionally visited Southampton.

The room had changed little since Meghann first decorated it during those last happy months of her pregnancy when Simon presented her with the house as a bridal gift after they reconciled. The soft peach paint with green trim looked new but overall this room still reflected the elegant but comfortable taste he and Meghann had always had in common.

Even when they first met, when Meghann was merely the child of a working class background, she still had an instinctive flair for style that drew Simon to her.

Simon smiled at the one major change Meghann had made to the decor—photos of Elizabeth now decorated almost every inch of available wall space. Simon recognized many for Meghann had sent him and Adelaide duplicate prints. In his wallet was the twin to an enchanting composition of a gap-toothed Elizabeth, adorable chestnut curls pulled back with a pink ribbon, grinning over a vast chocolate cake lit with dozens of glowing little candles. He liked the picture very much, just as he enjoyed one of Elizabeth proudly showing off a menacing jack-o- lantern and various daytime shots Lee must have taken. But Simon's favorite picture had Meghann in the shot as well.

It was, Simon acknowledged, a masterful photograph, showing Meghann in profile, her face lit with the dazzling vitality he remembered so well. She held out her arms for Elizabeth, captured in midair by the camera, to leap into. Simon grinned at the achingly small ice skates on Elizabeth's feet, the steel blades reflecting the bright lights surrounding mother and daughter while the giant Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center provided a diverting background.

Fifty years ago, this portrait of Meghann couldn't be done but advances in darkroom technology and computer enhancement made it possible to take the blurry, ethereal image of a vampire and redefine it to resemble any photographed mortal.

The photo wasn't a masterpiece simply because it included Meghann. This black and white shot was no amateur work with its balanced composition, excellent lighting and deliberately underexposed print, giving the photo a surreal quality that made it seem more memory than picture.

Unfortunately, Simon knew all too well who'd preserved this slice of time for Meghann so she'd never forget what she felt in the moment her litde daughter flew into her arms. Scowling, he slipped the photo out of its antique silver frame and glared at the inscription on the back: For the prettiest girls in New York Merry Christmas, Maggie. Love, Jimmy.

Simon's lips thinned with anger when he reflected on the place that worthless Delacroix had carved in Elizabeth and Meghann's hearts while he was off raising Mikal. In her loneliness, could Meghann have weakened and given Jimmy Delacroix more than a roof over his head? Why else would the fool continue to sniff around her all this time?

With long, impatient strides, Simon crossed the living room and mounted the staircase, heading for the bedroom he used to share with Meghann. That one room above all others would tell Simon just how intimate Meghann's relationship with Jimmy Delacroix was.

Immediately Simon saw his brief suspicions were unfounded for Meghann had all but turned these rooms into a shrine of their life together. In place of the photographs that graced the walls downstairs, here Meghann hung the paintings Simon gave her— her nursing Elizabeth, a portrait he'd done of Meghann in a floppy Edwardian hat decades before, and one of Meghann seated on the porch swing outside, her full, rosy cheeks and rounded figure just starting to hint at her burgeoning pregnancy.

Even more than the sentimental gesture of keeping his paintings in her most private sanctuary, Simon was reassured by the barren feeling he received when he stood over the large, wrought-iron bed, its dusky rose curtains pulled back to reveal the bed piled high with crimson pillows and gold silk sheets. The room, a sensual fantasy with cherry damask silk covering the walls, plush rugs of the same color, and myriad votive candles might as well be a nunnery for all the erotic impression Simon picked up.

Meghann had used this room for nothing but sleep in years, and she'd spent as little time here as possible. This room told Simon his consort,had been faithful to him for nothing else could explain the sterile feeling that assaulted him as he looked around. Had Meghann a lover, even if she did not take him here, some hint of satisfaction would fill these walls where she slept instead of the bitter mix of sorrow and aching dissatisfaction that pervaded the room.

Simon's head snapped up like an animal sensing prey—Meghann was home. He knew it long before he heard the car motor purring along the sand road, knew it by the sudden electric presence growing stronger and closer to him.

Now Simon employed the astral plane to hurry down to the porch, arriving just as Meghann's 1958 Cadillac convertible pulled up in front of the house. Once it had been black with flames embossed on the rocket fins, now it was candy apple red with curling wisps of silver smoke gracing the fins. Simon grinned, remembering that Meghann had once told him she intended to make the classic automobile she'd owned for more than twenty years as immortal as she was.

Lounging against one of the Corinthian columns that graced the porch, Simon wrapped an impenetrable shield around his presence. He did not want his consort to see him just yet. First, he wanted a few moments to observe her while she was unaware of him, just as he'd done the first time they met.

Simon remembered every detail of their first meeting at a dreadfully boring party in 1944. He'd arrived in New York only a few days earlier and while the city pleased him immensely, Simon found no amusement in New York's high society, composed of dull nouveau riche and duller society people that had the laughable nerve to be proud of a lineage that was comprised of righteous prudes and low convicts that managed to carve fortunes out of the American wilderness. Simon could not even find diversion with the young women at the party for they thought to charm him by affecting a weary sophistication decades too old for them. Simon was prepared to leave and search the more sordid parts of the city for entertainment when he'd had his first glimpse of Meghann through the still strata of foul-smelling cigarette smoke pervading the rooms.

For one endless moment, it felt like time had stopped as Simon observed the young woman with her bone-white skin, vivid red hair and bright green eyes brimming over with a zestful, lusty quality that enthralled him. He knew immediately this was the woman destined to be his soul mate for he'd never before felt such tempestuous passion in another living being and he meant to sample it—and her—immediately.

Now, almost eighty years later, Simon felt that same burning urge to possess the beautiful creature before him, take her and drown himself in the warm vitality she radiated so unknowingly. He looked at her, calmly turning off the car engine and yanking off her head a mousy brown wig Simon suspected she wore in an attempt to look older than the eighteen she'd been when he transformed her. Even performing those mundane tasks, Meghann exuded an unstudied sensuality that brought him to an almost painful hardness.

Simon crept stealthily closer to Meghann, leaning against her car while she glanced appreciatively at the ocean. What a delicious torture this was, standing near enough to breathe in the delightful, fresh scent of Meghann's skin, feel delicate wisps of red hair brush his face while she remained unaware of him—but to not touch her ... not yet He wanted to play with her a bit longer, draw out the pleasure he took in simply staring at her—maybe make her obey her master without even knowing of her compliance to his wishes.

Take your hair down, Simon thought, using his power to insinuate the suggestion deep in Meghann's consciousness and sound like no more than her own inner voice giving her a harmless, little impulse. Grinning broadly, he observed Meghann's small, shapely white hands reaching up to obey his command, grasping a few hairpins and shaking her hair free of the casual knot on top of her head.

Glorious, he thought, watching the lustrous curtain of waist-length red hair fall past her shoulders and automatically settle into perfect little waves down her back. How he'd missed that fiery hair, all paprika and cinnamon with small bits of pure copper highlights. Simon smiled broadly, remembering the first time his hands stroked Meghann's hair, how it almost looked like he'd caught a bit of fire in his hands but felt so soft and smooth against his skin.

In his preoccupation, some small bit of his aura escaped the tight sheath of invisibility, alerting Meghann to the presence a bare inch from her. Abrupdy, she whirled around, green eyes wide with apprehension that turned to outright astonishment when she saw him smiling down at her. Meghann uttered a wordless litde cry, bringing her hand to her mouth while her eyes blinked rapidly, as though she were trying to convince herself Simon wasn't a hallucination.

"Simon ..." Meghann finally whispered in a parched, stunned voice when she lowered her shivering hand.

Uttering his name was all Simon would allow her to say before he drew her into his arms and molded his lips to hers. At first, the mouth beneath his was stiff with surprise and hesitation but when he moved the tip of his tongue against her tender, full lips Meghann began responding to him.

That's right, he thought when her arms went around his neck and her lips parted to accept him. Simon bent her body back and plunged into Meghann's well remembered sweetness, breaking away from her only when he felt a dewy wetness against his face and hot, salty tears spilled onto his lips.

"No," he said gently and kissed away the crystalline tears spilling out of her bemused eyes. Meghann's tears still had the power to pull at a corner of his heart he'd almost forgotten existed, Simon reflected, remembering the minx who'd occasionally used those tears to wriggle out of a deserved punishment when he first transformed her. "Don't cry, sweet. There's no reason to weep now. We'll never be parted again."

Never be parted again, Meghann thought with savage happiness and impatiently blinked at the wretched tears that were blurring her vision of the man she'd waited so long for, the man she'd almost started to fear was never going to fulfill his promise and return to her.

Until she saw Simon's hawk eyes blazing down at her, Meghann hadn't realized how his absence had lacerated her heart Long ago, she'd forced her mind and heart into a repressed state, feeling her sorrow for her missing husband and son would negatively affect her daughter. Instead, she'd immersed herself in raising Ellie and never allowed herself to acknowledge the burning need at her core that pulled at her even more viciously than blood lust for Meghann could feed her desire for blood but she could do nothing to assuage her body's violent longings. A few fumbled attempts at lovemaking with Jimmy Delacroix taught Meghann another lover would provide no succor. It wasn't Jimmy's fault but his hands on her body and caressing lips evoked no passion within her—she'd lain as if dead until Jimmy finally left her bedroom in a disgusted rage. There was no way Meghann could tell him she was utterly spoiled for other men after her passionate reunion with Simon.

Thoughts of the past seventeen arid, celibate years went through her mind fleetingly for there was no time to think now that Simon was real, solid flesh simultaneously soothing and invading her.

Meghann put aside her uncertainty and the simmering anger she felt at the long separation, lunging hungrily at Simon's crisp shirt, alligator belt, fine cotton trousers, and any other obstacle between her and the satisfaction that was finally within her grasp.

Simon smiled at her wild, impatient gestures and attacked her clothes with equal fervor, scowling darkly at the impediment of her blue jeans.

"Never wear this damned modern chastity belt again," Simon growled and wrenched her free of the denim with one swift tear that split her jeans in two. Then he brutally thrust his tongue inside her mouth while warm, roving hands explored flesh that screamed for his touch.

Wrenching away from his mouth, Meghann brought her lips to the tan nipples on his broad chest, favoring them with light, feathery little nips that transformed them into rigid peaks while she ran her long nails against the length of his hard-planed back. She'd almost forgotten the feel of a man's rough-hewn body and bulging muscles beneath her hands. To simply touch Simon excited her almost as much as the sharp teeth teasing her own nipples, the long fingers making swift work of the slippery cleft between her legs.

Simon hadn't forgotten any of her secrets. Rapidly, he found her center and an orgasm rushed through her. She collapsed against the shiny surface of the car, mewling her pleasure while Simon brought her legs around his waist and drove into her.

Meghann climaxed again when he penetrated her, emitting a short, sharp cry of delight when she felt her body throb around the hard, swollen flesh encased within her.

"My Meghann," Simon husked and put his mouth back on hers before she could reply, tell him yes, she was always and forever his Meghann, belonging only to him.

Meghann writhed eagerly beneath Simon, unmindful of the hard, aluminum surface she slammed against with each thrust. Nothing mattered but the pleasure consuming her, making the years of frustration fall from her like a bad habit. Each thrust, each burning imprint of Simon's hands and mouth renewed her, brought her back to eager, hot-blooded life.

An endless time later, when Simon was sure of her satisfaction, Meghann felt him move toward his own release and encouraged him with a clenching of her pelvic muscles. He gave her a quick grin and she watched his blood teeth emerge to slide deep within her neck.

Meghann squirmed in ecstasy as Simon fed from her and she brought her own fangs to his wrist, feeling another climax rock through her when his dark, delicious blood filled her mouth. How she'd missed this naughty game of being predator and prey, drinking and being drunk from while that greedy, iron-hard flesh rammed into her, bringing her to a final, cresting peak that made her scream in abandonment, scream so loud and long she was surprised she didn't blow out all the glass in the car.

Simon collapsed against her panting, slick form and then rose, pulling Meghann up with him. Lucky for Simon she'd saved some of his clothes, Meghann thought when she saw his shredded silk shirt lying beside one of the front tires.

"I've never made love on a car," Meghann said impishly and bit Simon's earlobe when he settled her on top of him. "Inside a car, yes, but never on a car."

Simon gave her a rakish grin and returned her playful bite with his own.

Meghann rested her head against his softly beating heart, luxuriating in the heat emanating from his body to warm her while the sharp ocean breeze blew her hair around and tickled her bare legs.

It seemed like forever since she'd felt this kind of wide-eyed exhilaration, since she looked up and felt awed by the beauty of the black velvet night and glowing white stars. How long since the night had performed these tricks for her?

Not since Simon left, Meghann realized, thinking not for the first time that the world had dimmed somehow when he left.

Not that she had any intention of feeding his immense ego and telling him that. Instead, Meghann let her fingers draw aimless little paths on his chest while she inquired, "Why didn't you write and tell me you were coming? Why didn't you or Adelaide write me at all in the past eight months?" Even their usual scant letters that never told Meghann all she longed to know about her son had been absent.

"I wanted to surprise you, little one," Simon told her and she felt his fingers entwine in her hair while his other hand reached out to pet and fondle in the soothing manner he'd always used after they made love.

"Why did you stay away so long?" Meghann raised her head, now ready to attack Simon with the angry barrage of questions she'd had almost two decades to form, an interminable length of years in which she'd waited night after night, year after year for Simon to materialize and then felt constant, bitter disappointment when he never did.

"Leaving you when I took Mikal was the hardest thing I've ever done. It took all the determination and will I possess to walk away from you and Elizabeth. But there are limits to my strength, Meghann. How many times could I come back only to tear myself away after some brief interlude? It was keep away or keep you forever, so until the time came when I'd never have to leave you again, I had to stay far away and allow you to dwell only in my memory."

Meghann narrowed her eyes, thinking Simon's words sounded hollow to her ears, almost insincere. Not that Meghann thought he was lying for Simon, while amoral, sometimes cruel and occasionally verging on true evil in his behavior, was hardly ever dishonest He'd hide things, omit important facts, but never did he out and out lie. So Meghann thought it more likely she'd just received a half-truth—yes, Simon might have found brief visits that had to end more painful than their protracted separation but that wasn't his only reason for staying away.

Meghann squared her shoulders, about to try and wrest from Simon whatever important and very likely unpleasant facts he was keeping from her, when his words and their meaning registered on her. "Never leave again—you mean you're back for good?"

"For good and ever," he promised, giving her a deep, lingering kiss that made her nerves tingle pleasantly.

Meghann threw her arms around him in a near chokehold and babbled in the happy, rushed way Simon always brought out in her. "That's wonderful ... you and Mikal, home for good! Ellie's going to be thrilled—have you met her yet? Simon, you'll be so proud . .. oh, you did meet her? You introduced her to Mikal, didn't you? Have they gone out together? No? Well, why not? Isn't Mikal here? Simon, how could you come home without my son? Where is he? He isn't angry with me, is he? Simon, you did explain to him why we haven't met. . . that it wasn't because I wasn't interested or didn't love him but you and I decided..."

Meghann trailed off, thinking whatever Simon wasn't telling her, it better tie in to why he'd shut her out of their son's life, why that son still wasn't here to meet his mother. To her, Mikal was like a child she'd given up for adoption. Meghann had only seen the boy once when he was an infant and knew nothing about him save for the precious little Adelaide wrote—Mikal's well and safe, how's Elizabeth? Simon's letters rarely referred to Mikal; he only commented on things she'd written him regarding Ellie. Meghann knew nothing about her son, not his favorite book or color, what he looked like or even if he was able to tolerate sunlight, though the events of a month ago made Meghann and Charles strongly suspect Mikal had fulfilled Simon's theory that their vampire child would be able to walk in daylight once he matured to adulthood.

Meghann started to tell Simon what she and Charles had discovered in Ireland a month ago, ask him if Mikal was connected to the mysteriously slaughtered vampire colony, but Simon smiled into her uneasy, apprehensive eyes before she could speak and put a finger to her kiss-swollen lips.

"I don't wish to talk now," Simon said lightly and Meghann had a brief sensation of being in a dark, dank place with a keening wind howling all around her before she found herself sprawled on her bed.

"I don't care if you wish to talk or not—you better answer my questions," Meghann said and slapped his roving hands away, sitting up indignantly when she looked at the glowing candles she hadn't lit since Simon left. Sure of himself, wasn't he, that he'd prepare the bedroom for a seduction he never thought she might resist. "You can't drag me along the astral plane and pin me to the bed without so much as a by your leave! You're going to tell me why my son isn't here and you're going to do it before ... Simon!"

"Hush up, girl," Simon whispered before bending his head to continue tonguing the oversensitive red peaks of her nipples.

"Simon," Meghann protested weakly, feeling her will to resist fade as Simon divided his attention equally between both breasts, his hands and tongue waging a sensuous assault that filled her with a dull, heavy ache that made her moan in capitulation.

At her strangled whimper, Simon immediately withdrew his attention, capturing with one hand the hands that tried unsuccessfully to guide his head back into place.

"Lie still," Simon ordered and Meghann obeyed immediately, willing as always to do anything Simon ordered in bed, anything to receive the pleasure it was within his power to give or deny, depending on how much she pleased him.

Simon rewarded her submission by reopening the punctures in her neck, drinking from her until she lay weak and panting with desire beneath him, then securely tied her hands and feet to the four corners of the bed with black silk scarves. Drained of blood as she was, Meghann couldn't break the bonds. This was one of Simon's favorite games, for Meghann to lie open and helpless before her master.

Simon gave her a smirk of victory before rubbing the head of his long, thick penis against the blood still pouring from her neck.

'Please me," he ordered, putting the blood-covered organ to her mouth. Meghann suckled and licked with all the skill at her disposal, eager to prove herself worthy of satisfaction. A part of her, as always, was outraged by her compliance in this degrading game. Meghann had no idea why she gave in to Simon so easily for she'd rfever allowed any of her other lovers to dominate her mind and body as he did. Maybe she gave in to Simon because he'd never asked her permission, simply took and then gave back in such an abundance Meghann felt only a brief distress at her meek behavior.

You were made for this, Simon thought at her as he grew larger and harder within her mouth, one hand straying down to play with the overstimulated flesh between her legs.

Meghann felt the hidden bud of her sex grow dense and swollen beneath his knowing fingers and thrashed about as much as the restraints would allow, delighting in the pleasure Simon gave her while the small bit of blood on his penis restored some of her strength.

"No," Meghann cried when Simon withdrew completely, glaring down at her supine form as he stood by the bed. "Don't stop."

"Order me again, Meghann ... tell me what I must do." Simon smiled cruelly at her dismay.

Meghann bit back a harsh retort and instead smiled invitingly, saying, "I want to do whatever you want to do ... Master."

"You always were quick to understand," Simon said and plunged deep within her spread-eagled, waiting body.

That's right, Meghann thought, take me. She'd find a way to get even with Simon for his high-handed, controlling, but oh so pleasurable behavior later... much, much later. Later, she'd make him tell her why he became so upset whenever Mikal's name came up. For now, she only wanted to take from him all the satisfaction she could as they made love in the house by the sea where they'd spent some of their best times together.

Three

"Face it, Ellie. Mickey's a dud. Cut him loose and find someone who knows what he's doing."

Meryl Greenblauei*, Ellie's girlfriend, spoke these words of wisdom as they chased their margaritas with shots of Cuervo Gold at Jet East. Though neither girl was twenty-one, getting into the trendy nightclub and buying drinks wasn't a problem—Meryl was going out with one of the bouncers.

"What if I'm the one that doesn't know what to do?" Maybe she shouldn't have done that shot—Ellie was starting to feel awfully lightheaded.

Meryl rolled her eyes and lit a cigarette. "Ellie, you can only go so far in technique when you've got a lousy teacher. It's time to try other guys. You weren't planning to marry Mickey, were you?"

"Of course not But I can't start sleeping around.. Ellie hesitated, not wanting to offend Meryl, who was already on her seventh lover even though she and Ellie were the same age. But Ellie just couldn't see sleeping with men she hardly knew . .. not after her upbringing.

It wasn't like her mother raised her to be a prude or fed her any of that good girls wait till their wedding garbage the Christian Right was trying to push. No, Meghann had been honest with Ellie, telling her she'd been promiscuous and wanted Ellie to learn from her mistakes that sex without love was cheap and for the most part, unsatisfactory. Then there was Uncle Lee harping on diseases and unplanned pregnancy, reminding Ellie that even the best-made condoms had been known to break from time to time. With all that in her head, Ellie just couldn't see herself in a one-night stand.

"Who said anything about sleeping around?" Meryl protested. "But you need to get off this monogamy thing. You don't think Mickey sleeps with your pictures under his pillow when he leaves New York, do you? Come on, let's pick up some guys tonight."

What about Carl?" Carl was Meryl's bouncer flame.

"He's not on tonight." Out of sight was apparently out of mind for Meryl.

"I can't tonight." Ellie had to touch base with her mother before sunrise and she certainly wanted to spend more time with her father. She'd only come out with Meryl to wish her a happy birthday, have a few drinks, and give her parents some time alone together. That reminded her—she had to swallow some coffee and buy gum before she went home. Ellie didn't know if the subterfuge would work against her parent's keen senses but it was worth a shot.

"Why not? How about the ones at the end of the bar?" Meryl sent a coy smile of thanks down to the two men at the other end of the bar who had sent over fresh margaritas.

"Boring," Ellie pronounced at the blond, bland, preppy clones flashing identical WASPy smiles. Nothing turned her off more than the drip-dry, permanent press monotony of the Ivy League with their button- downs, carefully pressed chinos and pastel sweaters worn over the shoulders. To Ellie, they all looked like they were conceived on the golf course, reared in prep schools and finished out their lives in one investment bank/law firm or another.

"God, Ellie, what is with you and those scruffy rejects you're so into?" Meryl complained. "If they don't have long hair and look like they need a bath, you're not interested."

"Tha's not true," Ellie heard herself slur and pushed her margarita away. Damn, she hadn't meant to get drunk—she couldn't go home like this! Mom didn't mind her having a drink or two, but coming home tipsy ... Mom would kill her, wouldn't even trust her enough to leave the house to walk the dogs!

"It is true," Meryl replied, oblivious to her friend's predicament as she continued flirting with the WASPs. Pink Sweater and Green Sweater (the only differences Ellie could perceive in their appearances) caught her signals and started walking over. "Why don't you hit on that one over there—he looks like Peter Fonda in those old biker movies."

Ellie followed Meryl's finger and felt her heart do a minor flip-flop at the tall man with dark-brown hair styled in a wild duck's-ass that made him look like a deranged porcupine or Elvis Presley on speed. He had his back to Ellie so she couldn't make out his features but she was already deeply impressed with his lean, sinewy arms, sleeveless black leather vest and skintight jeans. This guy could definitely get her mind off Mickey if he was interested.

With an aggressive confidence borne of tequila, Ellie fished a twenty out of her purse and motioned to the bartender. "Buy that guy in the vest whatever he's drinking and tell him it's from me."

"Ellie!" Meryl hissed. She'd already claimed Pink Sweater and now Green Sweater watched uncertainly as his designated date tried to pick up another man.

"I was just kidding. You can't come on to that! He looks ... sleazy!"

"Lighten up, Meryl." If anyone's a sleaze, it's you— playing musical beds. Did Meryl think her behavior was somehow elevated from the average bimbo because of the bank accounts and clothes of the guys she favored? Ellie had to make new friends.

Ellie watched the waitress bring the man a beer. He accepted the drink, then turned around to thank his buyer, and in the next second all hell broke loose as his scandalized eyes met Elbe's panic-stricken ones.

"Oh, no!" Ellie moaned, burying her flaming face in her hands.

"What's wrong with you?" Meryl asked.

"I'm such an idiot," Ellie cried as Jimmy Delacroix stalked over to her. Only an idiot would attempt to pick up one of her mother's best friends in a bar she wasn't even supposed to be in. Jimmy wouldn't tell Mom, would he?

"What the hell are you doing here, Ellie?" Jimmy demanded.

"What are you doing here?" Ellie countered, though as an adult (albeit a vampire one) Jimmy had far more right to be here than she did. 'Tour last letter said you'd be home next week."

"Got done earlier than I expected. I'm here for exactly what this WASP asshole sniffing around you is here for . . . and he'd better back away before I kick his Chiclets teeth down his throat." Green Sweater tried to look unaffected by Jimmy's threat but a definite trepidation settled over his face.

Jimmy leaned in closer to Ellie, sniffing suspiciously, and then his gray-blue eyes glared down at her like the wrath of God. "Have you been drinking?"

"A little," Ellie said weakly, shocked into sobriety. "You, urn, cut your hair."

It was all the hair's fault, Ellie thought in an agony of humiliation. All her life Jimmy Delacroix had worn his hair in a ponytail. If he hadn't cut it, Ellie would have recognized him immediately and never felt that inexplicable rush of lust that was bothering her more than whatever consequences she might face at home if Jimmy told her mother about this.

"Come on, "Jimmy said brusquely and dragged her off the barstool. "This is no place for you."

"Now, wait a minute ..." Green Sweater put a restraining hand on Jimmy's shoulder and Jimmy grabbed the offending appendage in a grip that made the preppie blanch and clench the perfect teeth Jimmy had threatened to part him from.

"Can't you see she's jailbait, you asshole?"Jimmy snapped, not even looking at Meryl or her date. "Get the flick out of my way."

The preppie hastened to please, stepping well out of Jimmy's path.

Jimmy muttered not a word to Ellie as they cut through the thick crowd in the bar and stepped into the relative quiet of the parking lot

"Put this on, "Jimmy barked when they reached his 1947 Indian Chief and handed her a helmet.

Ellie nodded meekly and buckled the riding helmet beneath her chin before climbing behind Jimmy.

Jimmy took off in a cloud of gravel and dust, shifting into first as they left the parking lot. Ellie felt some of her anxiety and mortification dissipate as the bike roared through Conscience Point and Shinnecock, leaving a trail of envious drivers stuck in the thick town traffic. Ellie had ridden on this bike since she was seven, clutching Jimmy's waist and laughing at the exhilarating speed. It felt like she was flying, that was the only way Ellie could describe the dull roar in her ears and scenery whizzing past her almost before it registered on her senses.

Unfortunately, the ride was over all too quickly as Jimmy pulled up at the guesthouse and cut the engine.

"What the hell are you wearing?"Jimmy snapped when she hopped off the bike and he took his first good look at her.

"Don't you like the color?" Ellie knew very well what Jimmy didn't like about her pink tank dress— she'd deliberately shrunk it two sizes too small.

"What I like about the dress isn't the problem," Jimmy growled and hauled her inside the house. "It's what those two creeps at the bar were going to like that's the problem. Ellie, if you wear a dress like that and accept free drinks, you're sending out a very clear message. Do I need to spell out what that is?"

"No," Ellie muttered, thankful that Jimmy at least wasn't saying anything about her attempt to pick him up. Ellie felt her cheeks flame and a curious tension rush through her body when she remembered the perfect line of his lean, rangy shoulders and arms as she stared unknowingly at one of her childhood uncles.

"Is that message what you want to send out?" Jimmy demanded. "That all a guy has to do to get under your too-tight skirt is buy you a drink?"

"It wasn't supposed to be like that," Ellie explained, though now that Jimmy had put it so baldly, Ellie wondered how she could have thought it would have been anything else. "Meryl and I were just going to have a few drinks..."

"You're only seventeen!"

"And I suppose at seventeen you were just drinking ice cream sodas?" Ellie questioned sarcastically, seizing the offensive. If Jimmy dared give her that what-I-did-isn't-the-issue-drivel. . .

'That's different," Jimmy said instead. "I'm a man."

"Don't get all huffy on me for saying the truth," Jimmy said at her narrow eyes and indignant glare. "Look, a guy can go to a bar and drink till he's shit- faced because he doesn't have to worry about some dirty sonofabitch trying to take advantage of him ... which is what would have happened-to you tonight. Is that what you wanted, Ellie—to wind up in that asshole's Jag or Porsche with your dress around your face?" . , .

"I just wanted to have fun. You know, a few drinks, dance maybe ..."

"If you want fun, do it someplace else .. . and with someone else. I don't like that girl you were with.. .just another rich, spoiled nympho. She's a bad influence."

"Meryl's okay," Ellie asserted, though she had been tiring of her friend. Meryl did like to drink too much and lately she'd started snorting coke, something Ellie was definitely not into. All she'd have to do is come home with cocaine whirling around her bloodstream—Mom would have her head on a platter. "You know it's hard for me to make friends."

"Friends like that you don't need," Jimmy responded with finality. "Look, here's the deal—you promise me you won't hang out with that girl anymore and I won't tell Maggie what happened tonight. Agreed?"

Ellie nodded, trying to look put out but secretly relieved she had a valid reason to brush Meryl off. "So who am I supposed to hang out with?"

"Hang out with me,"Jimmy said, giving Ellie a light- hearted grin that changed to concern when Ellie sagged against the couch. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Ellie managed to say though she felt anything but fine—more like deeply embarrassed and horrified because Jimmy's easy smile brought every pang of interest and desire she'd felt in the bar rushing back to the fore. What was the matter with her? How could she be lusting after Jimmy Delacroix—her mother's former lover?

In a daze, Ellie got up off the couch, not sure where she was going except she wanted to get away from Jimmy before he guessed the preposterous thoughts whirling through her mind that she thought couldn't be more obvious if she tattooed them on her forehead.

"Whoa," Jimmy said in concern when Ellie stumbled and tripped on a lamp wire, nearly bringing the lamp and herself down to the floor.

"Easy, kid," Jimmy said and put his arms around her waist to steady her. "How much did you have to drink?"

"Only one margarita and a shot of tequila," Ellie managed to say, feeling a strange tightening in her chest at Jimmy's warm hands on her. Thank God he was blaming her weird behavior on the tequila and not this sudden, bizarre attraction stronger than anything she'd felt for anyone—including Mickey. Even when they'd had sex, Ellie hadn't felt her bones turning to jelly the way they did when Jimmy simply smiled at her, let alone touched her.

"That's plenty," Jimmy sniffed disapprovingly and released Ellie. "When's the last time you ate?"

Ellie scrunched her face up, trying to remember. "I had a bran muffin around ten this morning ..."

"Jesus," Jimmy muttered in amused disgust. "No wonder you're drunk, dopey. You can't go out drinking unless you have some food in your stomach. I'm gonna start cooking before you faint. While I rusde up some food, why don't you change into something that doesn't look painted on?"

"Sure." Ellie made it to the bedroom without further incident, shutting the door behind her and examining the hectic flush in her face that could have been booze or sunburn instead of the rising passion Ellie knew it for.

What was the matter with her? She absolutely could not have a crush on Jimmy Delacroix. This was the stuff sleazy talk shows were made of. . . Men Passed From Generation to Generation .. von the Next Jerry Springer.

This wasn't simply depraved; it was impossible. No way would anything ever come of this. Even if Ellie was fool enough to tell Jimmy her feelings, he wouldn't go near her with a ten-foot pole. In his mind, she was Meghann's little girl; Ellie could tell that from his friendly palling around with her that had nothing in it of a man's attraction for a desirable woman. If Ellie tried to flirt with Jimmy, he'd simply laugh at her. No, that wasn't right—Jimmy would never be cruel like that. He wouldn't laugh but neither would he consider her as anything but sweet little Ellie, the child he'd known from infancy.

Unless she did something to make him see her in a different light—oh, God, what was she thinking? Ellie must be out of her mind to contemplate seducing Jimmy Delacroix. Ellie couldn't even imagine what her mother or Uncle Charles or Uncle Lee would think of her ... or of Jimmy if he responded to her.

"Dinner's ready,"Jimmy called.

"Coming," Ellie called back and frantically inspected her clothes. At first, her eyes strayed toward the leather mini's, stretch pants, and low-cut tops but that was too obvious. And anyway, she wasn't trying to interest Jimmy, was she?

"Smells good," Ellie said, entering the kitchen in an ancient pair of jeans that showed off her long, slender legs and a red cotton shirt with scalloped sleeves and a scooped neck ... an attractive look but nothing so over the top Jimmy would know in an instant what her intentions were.

But she wasn't going to have intentions, Ellie told herself firmly, miserably picking at Jimmy's sole culinary achievement, a Denver omelet.

"Something wrong with the food?" Jimmy inquired at her child-sized nibbles.

"No," Ellie said and forced herself to swallow a whole mouthful of eggs. "I'm just a little queasy."

Okay, Ellie thought and continued to shovel food into her mouth mechanically, I have a crush on Jimmy—it's not that surprising. After all, Jimmy was very attractive in his irreverent, wild way. He'd been around thirty when he transformed, young enough to retain all his dark brown hair, lean body, and the feature that most riveted Elbe's attention—his wide- spaced, probing gray eyes lined in cobalt blue.

And it wasn't like Ellie had grown up with him as a surrogate father in the same way Charles and Lee were. Ellie had vague memories of Jimmy living with them when she was a little girl but he'd been traveling steady for more than ten years now. Jimmy still called the beach house home, but he only stayed for two or three weeks at a time before seeking out new locales. But Ellie knew his work wasn't the only reason Jimmy stayed away. She remembered those muffled, predawn arguments between him and Mom when they thought Ellie was asleep.

"Damn it, Maggie," Ellie remembered Jimmy pleading. "Why can't you get Baldevar out of your head? What is it with you and that piece of..."

At that point, Meghann would always furiously remind him Ellie was sleeping and the rest of the fight would take place outside, away from Ellie's ears. But

Ellie could surmise the outcome by Jimmy's itchy feet—Mom refused him, so Jimmy took himself away from her and painful memories. Now, when Jimmy visited, he and Mom were friendly enough but there was always an underlying tension. Usually Jimmy spent most of his time with Ellie, taking her to movies and rock clubs when she got older, teaching her how to use a camera and letting her ride the Indian.

Sometimes Ellie had pretended Jimmy was her boyfriend on those excursions, not that he'd ever done anything remotely inappropriate, simply treating her with the same wry courtesy he used on everyone else. Those fantasies had been kid stuff, she knew. What she felt now was something different altogether—something dangerous that she had to suppress.

"How was your trip? Where did you go?" There, that wasn't bad at all. Her voice sounded interested and intelligent. . . not at all like some horny seven- teen-year-old girl with depraved fantasies of seducing her mother's ex-boyfriend.

"L.A.,"Jimmy said, wolfing down his omelet and home fries. "You were my inspiration this time, Ellie. I fell in love with those wonderful old houses in the Hollywood Hills."

Fall in love with me, Ellie wanted to shout and had to remind herself again that what she wanted simply wasn't going to happen. But she could at least be friends with Jimmy. "Can I see the pictures?"

After they ate and the dishes were stacked in the dishwasher, Jimmy and Ellie settled down on the couch. Ellie fidgeted impatiently while Jimmy rummaged around in his leather traveling bag; she could hardly wait to see his new shots. Over the past five years, Jimmy had established quite a reputation in the art world with his surreal, moody, compositions—a corsage, crumpled and abandoned beneath a harsh street light, a lonely little glow pouring from the window of an abandoned tenement, an electrical storm over an empty stadium. One of Ellie's favorite exhibits was his collection of Art Deco fringe work on buildings all but demolished by time, drugs, and crime. The brave, fanciful artwork of another time contrasting to the urban war zone surrounding it had created quite a stir when it appeared in the New Yorker a few years ago. Part of the sharp interest in Jimmy's photo essay was the way he'd used Meghann in the shot. Jimmy posed her leaning on the sagging windowsill, dressed to resemble the young girl she'd been in the forties. What made the photo so dramatic wasn't Meghann's clothes but her blurred, half visible, vampiric image. As she stared down wistfully at the crime torn street, Meghann seemed a ghost from another time gazing unhappily at the devastation of the neighborhood she'd once known. Ellie was sure Jimmy would have won a Pulitzer for the powerful, evocative composition if he hadn't refused the nomination to avoid the publicity that was anathema for a vampire.

"Here," Jimmy said and gave Ellie a contact sheet, along with the magnifying loupe.

"This one," Ellie said and tapped the loupe against what she considered the best of the lot "It's perfect. Call it Cul-de-Sac." The picture was angled to show a twisting, winding road leading to a spectacular white house that reigned upon a high hill in lone splendor. The slant Jimmy shot on made the house seem to tower over the viewer, the black sky and silhouettes of trees on the edge of the composition serving to emphasize the graceful charm of the 1920s style European villa. The photo, like all of Jimmy's pictures, called up immediate, powerful emotions—a yearning to possess the beautiful house, to step into that photo that seemed to capture another, more glamorous way of life.

"Cul-de-Sac?"Jimmy said and ruffled Ellie's hair playfully, oblivious to the wave of feeling coursing through her that nearly made her feel ill. "What a coincidence—that's exactly the tide I thought of when I saw the negative."

"Great minds think alike." Ellie tried to make the remark light but to her ears there .was something almost bruised about her voice. Casting about for a new topic of conversation, she asked, "When did you get your hair cut?"

Jimmy smiled and patted the wild pompadour. "Like it? I was going through a vintage music store and I happened on an autographed copy of the Stray Cat's first album. I took one look at Brian Setzer and said to myself, 'Jimmy, you're getting stale. You've had long hair for almost thirty years. It's time for a change.' So I went to the nearest hair salon and showed the girl the album cover."

"A hair salon?" Ellie repeated, dumbfounded. "But Jimmy, what about the mirrors?" There were few mirrors in their house because Mom said she despised the partial image that greeted vampires—it was one of the only things that still had the power to make her feel freakish and unnatural.

Jimmy gave her a shy smile of pride and accomplishment. "Well, I remembered this trick Maggie and Charles taught me. The whole time the girl was washing and styling, I kept staring into the mirror and projecting the mirror image she expected to see. I had to look into her mind to see how her hands and scissors were moving over my head, the hair falling to the floor, and then I had to project her thoughts into the mirror. The haircut took about forty minutes and by the end I was exhausted. But I did a good job—no one there thought there was anything out of the ordinary about me."

'Jimmy, that's fantastic!" Ellie watched him beam at her compliment and thought here was something on her side .. . not that she intended to make a case for her wild desire but still. No way Jimmy could have just told that story to anyone in the world but her or another vampire. Ellie was one of the few people in the world Jimmy could be himself around—surely that gave her an edge over any mortal girl he might pick up for a night or two—and stop thinking such things, Elizabeth Winslow! "And it looks wonderful."

"You know what, though?" Ellie continued and dug into his bag. "I bet it looks even better when you put on sunglasses. Here." Ellie found his black aviator shades and slipped them over his eyes.

'You look great, Jimmy," Ellie said, no longer feeling quite in control of herself as her hands trailed lightly down his shoulders. What in the hell was she doing? Why did she remove her hands but keep her eyes glued to his mouth? Why was she sitting here imagining what it would be like to run her fingers over that generous mouth with its lower lip that always seemed ready to curve into a smile?

"Ellie .. ."Jimmy pulled off the sunglasses and Ellie saw his eyes were wide and uncertain as he stared at Ellie like she was someone he'd never seen before.

Ellie couldn't bring herself to say anything, but she moved her face an imperceptible inch closer to Jimmy's, close enough now that she picked up his scent—redolent of soap and something else, something ruggedly male that made her heart start pounding while her hands suddenly turned clammy and wet.

Ellie drew closer, entranced by Jimmy's alert, ready stare. The boys she'd dated never looked at her like this, solemn but filled with a restless, prowling energy. This was . . . this was the way a man looked when he wanted a woman!

Yes, Jimmy did want her! Ellie felt it, felt his desire as strong as her own. Her heart leapt up inside her and she felt exhilarated and nervous and giddily triumphant when she felt his hand wrap around the back of her neck and draw her so close Ellie felt her breasts brush the cool surface of his leather vest and instinctively she parted her lips....

Then in the next moment, Jimmy leaped off the couch and stuffed his contact sheet back into his bag with unseemly haste, staring at Ellie like she was a witch he feared might steal his soul.

"Look, Ellie, dinner was great but I've gotta go," Jimmy said, hurriedly grabbing up his tote and heading for the door. "I'm just gonna go up to the house, got a lot of film I want to develop ..."

The house?" Ellie had seen her mother's car when they came home. She knew Mom must have seen Daddy by now and Ellie didn't think anyone should interrupt them, especially Jimmy Delacroix.

"No, Jimmy!" Ellie said and made a wild grab at his hand but Jimmy seemed determined to keep distance between himself and Ellie.

"You can't go up to the house!" Ellie shouted as he walked through the front door and the near panic in her voice made him turn and stare in bafflement. "I mean, Mom's busy."

"Well, it's a big house, Ellie. Besides, I'll be in the dark room. She has no use for that."

"No, Jimmy, you don't understand. I mean, Mom's .... well, you see she has ... company."

Ellie watched Jimmy's expression intently; she wanted to see if he got jealous. But Jimmy merely looked taken aback for a moment, then his eyes cleared and he laughed.

"Well, good for Maggie," Jimmy said and shrugged. "It's about time she got her feet wet again. Don't worry about me. I won't get in the way of your mom and her 'company.' Now what's the matter?"

"You just shouldn't go up to the house," Ellie temporized and now Jimmy came back over to her, his expression darkening and a look of suspicion entering his eyes.

"Why not?"

"Mom's privacy?" Ellie suggested.

"What do you think—I'm going to barge in on her? Look, you know how sharp our hearing is. Wherever your mom and her boyfriend are, I'll stay well away from them."

'Jimmy, no, don't go to the house!" Ellie screamed when he headed for the door again.

"Ellie, what is the matter with you?" Jimmy demanded. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't go up there."

Ellie sighed. She hadn't wanted to be the one to tell Jimmy this, but she couldn't see any way short of a physical force she didn't have to keep Jimmy from going up to the house. "You shouldn't go up there because . . . because you won't like Mom's company."

"How would you know?" Jimmy asked and then his eyes narrowed with grim, nervous apprehension. "Ellie, who does Maggie have in the house?"

"My father," Ellie shrugged helplessly.

"Your father!" Jimmy exploded and then uttered a vile obscenity under his breath. "Jesus Christ—Simon Baldevar is back?! Fuck! Did you see him? Has he tried to hurt you? You mean to tell me your mother's alone with that monster while you've had me here? What's the matter with you?"

"Don't you call my father a monster!" Ellie screamed back, insulted by the slur on Simon, as well as Jimmy's accusatory tone with her. "Mom's alone with him because she wants to be alone with him. She's waited all my life for him to come back."

"No, she hasn't,"Jimmy argued, his expression one of disbelief battling with a kind of furious certainty. "How do you know Maggie's waited for him? Did she tell you that?"

"Of course she did ..Ellie began but Jimmy, with a roar of fury that made her ears ring, stalked out of the house.

"Sonofabitch . . . that lying little ..." Ellie heard Jimmy muttering to himself as she screamed at him to wait and struggled to catch up to him.

"Jimmy! Jimmy, wait! Please don't go up there. Let's talk about it..."

Jimmy turned around and said in a low, hate-filled growl unlike anything Ellie had ever heard from him before, "This has nothing to do with you. Get back in your house and stay there until I come back. Don't try to follow me. I need to speak to your mother and I don't want you there when I do it. Understand?" Jimmy didn't even wait for a reply but turned on his heel and headed for the main house.

Ellie watched him go uncertainly. She wasn't going to try and stop him again but she didn't know if maybe she should call Mom and tell her about the storm front about to hit the house.

What was Jimmy going to do? Tell Mom off, get in a fight with Daddy? No, Mom would stop them before they came to blows.

Ellie shrugged and took Jimmy's advice, going into the guesthouse and shutting the door. By the time she reached Mom, Jimmy would be up there anyway. There was nothing Ellie could do now but wait for Jimmy to come back.

Besides, Jimmy was right—this did have nothing to do with her. Ellie might not know exactly what Jimmy's rage was about but she did know it concerned events that happened before she was born.

Not wanting to dwell on what might be going on at the main house, Ellie instead thought Jimmy had definitely tried to kiss her. Now all she had to do was think of a way to get him to try again, only this time she wouldn't let him pull away.

Four

As always, the name Simon Baldevar had a near magical effect on Jimmy, transforming him from a man into an unthinking lunatic who had only one objective—kill the sick sonofabitch that had ruined his life.

Transforming me was the biggest mistake you ever made, motherfucker, Jimmy thought at his unseen enemy as he cut through the dunes to reach the house quicker. I'm not some puny mortal you can push around anymore. I'm a vampire and that means I'm finally strong enough to put you in the ground where you belong now that you've crawled out from whatever rock you've been hiding under for seventeen years.

Why did he come back, Jimmy?a still functioning part of his mind asked. Can't you see that none of this makes any sense? Maggie's supposed to hate him for abandoning her and Ellie. What brought him back?

Something was very wrong. First, Ellie didn't seem to hate him at all, like you'd expect someone to hate a deadbeat father. Instead, she defended the prick. And Maggie ... what about Maggie, for Christ's sake? Why would she jump into bed with someone she's supposed to despise?

Well, Ellie had to be wrong about that, that's all there was to it. Jimmy absolutely refused to believe Maggie still had any interest in that monster. She must have lied to Ellie so the poor kid wouldn't grow up knowing what kind of evil degenerate her father was. Yes, that was it. Maggie didn't miss or love Simon Baldevar, no matter what she told Ellie. No doubt Maggie was fighting Baldevar right now, telling him to get lost. Jimmy had better hurry up so he could give Maggie whatever help she needed to get rid of him.

"What the hell?" Jimmy said aloud as the torn remains of a pair of blue jeans rolled past his feet. Jimmy picked them up and was immediately assaulted by an obscene psychic residue that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt Ellie was not wrong about Maggie and Simon Baldevar.

Jimmy balled up the torn jeans and strode toward Maggie's car, his expression that of an angry housewife clutching her husband's lipstick-smeared shirt. Here was the scene of the crime ... for Maggie letting that dirty bastard touch her was nothing but a crime in Jimmy's mind. Jimmy focused his eyes on the hood of the car and saw a slight imprint that would have been invisible to mortal eyes ... that of the very fine, very rounded ass his hands used to know well.

So after all these years of treating Jimmy like some sexless neuter, Simon Baldevar had only to show up at the door and Maggie got so hot she couldn't even wait to get in the house but did him right on her fucking car! Goddamn that lying, two-faced slut and her prim- mouthed rejections to hell!

This had nothing to do with jealousy, Jimmy told himself. He'd long ago put Maggie and her inexplicable denials behind him. What else could he do—spend eternity weeping and whining after her? No way! Fall off the horse, you get right back on and that's just what Jimmy had done. It was nothing short of amazing what the Nikon did for his sex life.

So Jimmy had made a new life for himself, though he never fell in love again, and was convinced he'd have no trouble with Maggie doing the same. As far as Jimmy was concerned, she could lay the New York Mets from the manager down to the batboy and he wouldn't blink an eye. But take up with Simon Balde- var?! Was Maggie out of her mind?

She must be, always had been when it came to Baldevar. Maggie O'Neill, the smart, sharp, ballsy woman he knew and loved got her brains turned to jelly by that asshole. It was nothing short of amazing the way the creep brainwashed her. Whatever mind- trip Baldevar did on Maggie, he made Jim Jones and Charles Manson look like bush leaguers.

Well, no more, Jimmy vowed and kicked open the front door, but he pulled back immediately in a combination of fright and confusion at how different the house felt. Usually the first thing Jimmy felt when he walked into the foyer was a cheerful openness embracing him, almost like a spiritual welcome mat. But that had been obliterated by a noxious, malevolent presence that made Jimmy feel insignificant and small, almost like he was standing in the presence of a god—a god that despised him and wanted to destroy him. Jimmy gulped nervously, wondering how he could have forgotten Simon Baldevar's aura—that dark, choking vibration he emitted and the way it always made Jimmy want to turn tail and run.

No! No, Goddammit . . . not this time! Jimmy meant to finish what that bastard had started with him eighteen years ago. Jimmy moved away from the stairs and that foul presence, but this was a strategic retreat; he had to get a weapon before he attacked Baldevar.

Jimmy hurried into the kitchen, gritting his teeth against the breathy little moans he could hear from upstairs. As he selected the longest, sharpest meat cleaver from the knife rack, Jimmy told himself Maggie's submission would work to his advantage. While

Baldevar was busy screwing Maggie, Jimmy would sneak up on the couple and cut Baldevar's head off.

Jimmy brought the cleaver down on the marble countertop with all his strength, watching with grim satisfaction as it sliced through the solid block with one swift blow. Compared with marble, a little flesh and bone would present no challenge to this wickedly sharp blade.

Taking a deep breath, Jimmy ran up the stairs on tiptoes, trying to make as little noise as possible and reviewing Maggie's lessons on concealing your presence. Jimmy had little experience in camouflaging himself from another vampire but he figured his target was too engrossed in sex to notice him anyway.

Jimmy glanced at the double doors leading to Maggie's suite and called on his telekinetic power to make them swing open silently. Rushing through the sitting room, he saw that her bedroom door was open and ran past it soundlessly, the cleaver poised high over his head.

Jimmy stopped short, unable to take his eyes off Maggie sprawled in the center of the immense bed next to Simon Baldevar, their naked bodies illuminated by a roomful of scented candles and moonlight filtering in from the large dormer windows.

I forgot how beautiful she is, was Jimmy's first thought at the sight of Maggie lying on her side, her red lips parted to reveal a darting pink tongue while her auburn eyelashes fluttered wildly against cloudy green eyes. It had been so long since Jimmy had seen Maggie like this, so dreamily relaxed and luscious, that his first reaction wasn't rage but a brief stab of desire until he got a clearer look at what the couple was doing.

Sickened but unable to look away, Jimmy watched Maggie grant Baldevar liberties he'd never even thought to ask for. Look at the way she let the depraved fiend tear into her neck while he rammed into her from behind. Was this why she'd rejected Jimmy? Good, clean sex didn't satisfy her—only sick shit like this turned her on?

Disgusted, Jimmy watched a thin scarlet line dribble down Maggie's neck, falling on the long, elegantly manicured hand fondling her left breast as Baldevar's other hand sank into the tight red curls between her legs. Jimmy couldn't be sure whether it was Baldevar's hand or fangs that made the masochistic bitch scream out, "Yes, yes ... oh God, yes, Simon!"

At her ecstatic gasp, Jimmy screamed, "Whore!" at the top of his lungs and rushed toward the bed, brandishing the cleaver like a maniac but now it wasn't just Simon Baldevar he meant to kill.

Maggie's eyes flew open, revealing dismay and a surprised hurt that almost made Jimmy want to take back the vicious word reverberating around them.

Lord Baldevar raised his eyes a fraction though his fangs remained firmly lodged in Maggie's neck and glared at Jimmy, looking like a lion poised over the carcass of a felled zebra, his eyes sending an unmistakable message of deadly menace and cold desire to finish his meal.

Then the yellow eyes flashed and Jimmy felt something like an invisible hand seize the cleaver from his hand and make it calmly sail to a nightstand by the side of the bed.

Confused by the swift turn of events, Jimmy then felt that same unseen force slam into his gut like a monstrous sucker punch. He doubled over in pain and gasped for breath, the wind knocked out of him by the vicious attack.

I might allow you a painless death if you leave this room at once and cause no further delay to my pleasure, Balde- var's voice hissed in Jimmy's mind and on the heels of that unwelcome message came another, this one urgent but annoyed—-Just get out of here, Jimmy!

With pleasure, you lying slut, Jimmy threw back meanly at Maggie and screamed at the blinding pain that filled his head. He clutched his temples and lurched out of the bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief when the pain vanished—obviously Baldevar was more interested in getting his rocks off than giving Jimmy an aneurysm or whatever he'd just done to him.

Careful not think anything else derogatory about Maggie while in Baldevar's immediate vicinity, Jimmy staggered down the stairs and threw open the front door, his only thought that he had to get as far away from that bedroom and its hideous secret as possible.

There was no need to ever go back inside that whore's house; he'd ask Lee to pack up his belongings and send them wherever. Jimmy had no idea where he was going, knew only that he intended to leave and never return. He didn't think he could ever look at Maggie again without remembering her moaning and thrashing while that bastard rutted behind her. Jesus Christ! Jimmy was no prude but what Maggie allowed Baldevar to do to her made S&M look as innocent and wholesome as a picnic in Central Park. Who in their right mind would want to feed and fuck at the same time? In Jimmy's mind, blood was blood and sex was sex and never, never the two should meet.

Jimmy kicked up the cold, dark sand, trying without success to reconcile the wanton creature that apparendy craved the kind of sick, repulsive games Simon Baldevar liked to play in bed with the woman who had been his mainstay the past twenty-five years, his friend and teacher.

Fuck! Jimmy scooped up a few seashells and hurled them at the water. What was Maggie doing with that sonofabitch? Even putting aside all Baldevar had done to her, didn't Maggie have enough respect for her friendship with Jimmy to turn the despicable creep away and not jump into bed with him? Jimmy knew damned well if anyone ever hurt Charles or Lee like Simon had hurt Jimmy, Maggie would use every resource at her disposal to destroy them, not fuck them.

There was the explanation right there. Maggie could screw Simon Baldevar because she didn't value Jimmy's friendship. She'd let Jimmy live with her out of some sense of pity and obligation, just like that bastard Baldevar hadonce.told him.

Jimmy swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and brushed his eyes impatiently. He had to be strong now and not cry when he thought of how alone he was now that he no longer had Maggie's friendship to rely on, not think of the lonely, miserable future playing itself out before him.

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy whirled around at the sweet, concerned voice and saw Ellie standing behind him, clutching a steaming mug she held outstretched toward him.

"I felt how upset you were," Ellie said and gestured to the mug. "I brought you some tea."

"Tea," Jimmy muttered and gave her a half-smile. Ellie's ability to ferret out his distress was hardly surprising, though he wondered if she took her extraordinary abilities for granted, growing up as she had in this house of vampires where such talent was the rule, not the exception. Ellie might not be a vampire, but Jimmy had never been convinced she was simply mortal either—not with that extrasensory power that seemed to grow stronger with each passing year. "You're Irish through and through, kid. Tea— the great cure-all to everything from a broken heart to a gunshot wound."

"Is your heart broken?" Ellie asked gravely and Jimmy saw some disturbing emotion flicker briefly in her eyes but it passed so quickly Jimmy wasn't certain of what he'd seen.

Jimmy shrugged. He'd never involve Ellie in his problems with Maggie, make her choose between him and the mother she loved so well—the mother that Jimmy, even in his hurt and fury, had to admit deserved her daughter's love.

Clucking over Jimmy like a mother hen with a hurt chick, Ellie led him the brief distance to her cottage and setded him in a comfortable deck chair facing the beach before she continued her interrogation. "What's the matter, Jimmy? Why did you get so mad when I told you Daddy was here and storm away? You didn't have a fight with him, did you?"

"Don't you ever call him that! "Jimmy snapped, almost spilling the scalding liquid all over himself. "That sick, lowlife dirtbag is not your father. Where the hell has he been for seventeen years? Lee's the one that hung your pictures on the refrigerator and helped you with your math and patched your knees up when you fell while the Earl of Assholes was off doing God knows what."

"Daddy had to take care of Mikal," Ellie said, sounding puzzled and a little uncertain of Jimmy's intelligence. "Otherwise, he would have raised me with Mom. Why are you making it sound like he went off gallivanting without a care in the world when you know the responsibility he had to Mikal?"

"Mikal?" Jimmy frowned, wondering if this new name explained Lord Baldevar's seventeen-year disappearance. "Who the hell is Mikal?"

It was Ellie's turn to look confused. "Didn't Mom tell you?"

"Tell me what? "Jimmy demanded, wondering with a sinking feeling just what Maggie had been keeping from him besides her apparently undiminished attraction to Simon Baldevar.

That Mikal is my ..." Ellie grabbed the cordless phone shrilling by her side. "Hello?"

"Mom!" Ellie glowed and Jimmy nearly chewed through the ceramic mug in an attempt to keep his mean-spirited thoughts on Maggie to himself. "What? Oh, yeah, sure. See you in a few minutes."

Ellie hung up and turned to Jimmy. "Mom wants me to come up to the house. She says she and Daddy have to talk to me.". . ,

"Oh, no!" Jimmy exclaimed and grabbed Ellie. "You're not going anywhere near that sonofabitch!"

What kind of self-pitying asshole was Jimmy, thinking he'd lost everyone that mattered to him? He still had this bright, beautiful girl he'd given his heart to the first time she'd put her chubby little arms around his neck. Hadn't Jimmy vowed that he'd never let anyone—especially Simon Baldevar—harm her?

No, Jimmy wouldn't leave after all. . . not by himself, at any rate. He'd stay right here, stick to Elbe's side like glue. If he left, the only things standing between whatever sick plans Baldevar had for his only child were a mortal doctor, Charles Tarleton, and her weak-willed mother.

"Stop it!" Ellie twisted out of his arms, her face a mask of indignant fury. "You stop running my father down! He's a good man ... Mom told me so!"

"A good man?" Jimmy roared and let out a withering laugh. "Your mother's got one warped view of goodness if she thinks there's anything good about that piece of shit! Let me tell you about your good father, Ellie. Your mom ever tell you how he turned her into a vampire? He starved her for blood and then made her feed off her mortal fiance . . . that's your good father! Here's another example of sainthood ... when your mother first tried to leave him, Balde-var's reaction was to beat her to within an inch of her life, drain her of blood so she was defenseless and then nail her to a fucking roof so she'd be destroyed by the sunrise unless she begged his forgivenessl You want more goodness? Your mom lived forty years thinking that garbage was dead and out of her life so she found another man—me! And when Baldevar came back for her and saw us together, he put me on a rack to pay me back for touching his woman and ripped my fingernails out with a hot pincer! Does that sound like a good man to you?"

Ellie sank down into the deck chair, her face devoid of color and eyes so wide and blank Jimmy thought she might have gone into shock. Remorse stabbed at him ... what the hell was he doing, all but clubbing the poor kid with his venomous words? Sure, Ellie couldn't go on with the sugarcoated view of Simon Baldevar Maggie had given her but Jimmy should never have blurted out the truth like that, hit Ellie with it so hard and fast.

"He changed," Ellie finally said and glared up at Jimmy, no longer a bemused child but an avenging angel. "I know my mother; she'd have nothing to do with someone like you described. She said Daddy changed after I was born."

Sure he changed, Jimmy snorted to himself. He changed so much he just tried to kill me—again— when I came on him and Maggie fucking.

"You don't like him," Ellie said and gave Jimmy a level stare that nearly made him suck in his breath with surprise. When the hell had Ellie grown up on him?

There was no way around it; the litde girl he knew and loved was gone, replaced by a young woman with an exquisite, beautiful face that combined all her parents' best features.

But the change went deeper than her looks— though God knows Jimmy and just about every man in that bar had responded to her looks. What made Ellie an adult was the poise she carried herself with now, an assurance in herself that the awkward, gangling teenager Jimmy had seen a year ago lacked.

"I can accept that," Ellie continued, speaking with a calm determination that was also new. "I know Mom went out with you while she and Daddy were separated so it's naturaLyou and Daddy would never like each other. And she did tell me that she left Daddy because he was too dominating ..."

"But then she and Daddy made up," Ellie's tactful but inaccurate version of the truth continued. "Now he's back and they want to see me and I'm going, Jimmy. You can't stop me anymore than I could stop you before. I don't care what you think of Daddy. All I know is he's been very good to me since I met him tonight and Lee likes him and Mom loves him. I'm going to see him now, Jimmy, and I plan to see a lot more of him and you can't stop me."

Jimmy stared into the clear green eyes filled with unwavering resolve and saw the only way to detain Ellie was to tie her down or keep her in check with his power and he'd never do that to her.

"Fine," Jimmy nodded and felt a small spurt of satisfaction at the surprise in Ellie's expression. "But I'm going with you."

"No arguing with Daddy," Ellie countered, her sweet looks clashing with the grim prison matron expression on her face as she glared up at him.

At hearing Ellie call that vicious cocksucker "Daddy, "Jimmy had to silently count to ten before he could even trust himself to reply. "Look, Ellie, I'm not going up there to start anything with him. I just want to look out for you, okay?"

"Okay," Ellie smiled softly and shyly held out her hand for Jimmy to take as they started toward the main house.

Jimmy stared down at the long, slender hand, remembering that odd moment of contact between them after dinner. What the hell had that been about? One minute he and Ellie were talking and laughing like always and the next he was staring down at full pink lips and limpid green eyes beckoning him to come closer . ..

Jimmy mentally shook off the unwanted thoughts, telling himself he'd felt no more attraction to her than any man would feel at seeing a beautiful woman. He hadn't wanted to kiss Ellie back in the kitchen. No way he'd have such thoughts about a girl he'd known all her life, whose diapers he'd changed, for God's sake!

And Ellie hadn't felt anything toward him, Jimmy thought as he took her hand, ignoring the quivering tension in her grip. She was nervous about seeing Baldevar; she hadn't felt any kind of charge at the contact of her palm against his anymore than Jimmy had.

Mind out of the gutter, Delacroix, Jimmy told himself and firmly squelched the uncomfortable, downright wrong thoughts spinning around his brain. Jimmy was just upset about Maggie and he'd been without a woman for more than six months now. His reaction to Ellie was reflex, nothing more, and it would never happen again. What Jimmy had to concentrate on now was facing down Simon Baldevar for the second time in one night.

Jimmy inhaled and readied himself for battle though he didn't think even Baldevar was depraved enough to kill someone in front of his daughter. From what Ellie had told him, Baldevar obviously wanted her to have a good impression of him so he'd pretend to be whatever he thought Ellie wanted in a father. Decent, honest, loving . . . qualities as foreign to Baldevar as they'd be to Lucifer.

But Jimmy had no intention of letting him dupe Ellie. When they got up to the house, Jimmy was going to provoke Baldevar until the-fiend ripped off his false mask of geniality and showed his daughter his true face. Once Ellie saw Simon Baldevar for what he really was, he'd Lose whatever tenuous hold he had on Ellie's heart. Then Simon Baldevar would be out of Ellie's—and Jimmy's—life for good.

"Simon, stop that," Jimmy heard Maggie giggle as he and Ellie approached the house. "Ellie will be here any minute now. What would she think if she saw us on top of each other?"

"She'd think her parents love each other very much," Baldevar replied in an infuriatingly self-satisfied tone. "And what is this Ellie business? I gave our daughter the fine queen's name of Elizabeth."

Baldevar had named Ellie? Why would someone disgusted with his mortal offspring name her? Face it, Jimmy, a voice told him contemptuously. Maggie lied to you. Baldevar loves Ellie, at least as much a sicko like that is capable of loving anyone. But if that were so, why had he disappeared after she was born?

"You know—at least you know if you read the letters I sent to Adelaide—that Ellie started talking at six months," Maggie was saying to Baldevar with her usual pride at Ellie's many accomplishments. "But no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't say Elizabeth. Her name came out sounding like Ellie Bed—it was the cutest thing. So we started calling her Ellie Bed and then Ellie for short."

"You should be proud, Meghann. You've raised our daughter to be an extraordinary young woman."

"What kind of young man have you raised Mikal to be?" Maggie replied and Jimmy's ears prickled. There was that name again. Was Mikal some fledging vampire of Baldevar's? Even so, why should Maggie care about him and what did this Mikal have to do with Baldevar leaving Ellie and Maggie?

Ellie started for the French doors leading to the study but Jimmy pulled her back and made a shushing gesture—he wanted to find out who Mikal was.

Ellie scowled at the eavesdropping but Jimmy implored her with his eyes and she acquiesced, though she looked reluctant and uneasy. Now Jimmy guarded their auras as Maggie and Charles taught him, pretending a thick, black blanket covered him and Ellie from head to toe.

"Elizabeth's mind seems impenetrable," Baldevar said in reply, completely ignoring Maggie's question about the unknown Mikal, to Jimmy's disappointment.

"Simon Baldevar, how dare you pry into your own daughter's thoughts!" Maggie rebuked and Jimmy felt a slight measure of approval at her disapproving tone. So Maggie wasn't completely won over by Baldevar after all.

"I did not pry," the vampire replied, apparently unruffled by her criticism. "I am merely intrigued by that wall that seems to protect her mind. Has it always been that way?"

"I can see Ellie's thoughts to a certain degree," Maggie explained. "But it is difficult—nearly impossible if she makes attempts to block me like she did in the experiments Charles and I used to conduct."

"What kind of experiments?" Jimmy heard Baldevar ask with intense interest.

"Simple things, really. Ellie holding a playing card while we tried to identify it by reading her mind. But Charles and Jimmy never saw anything. I was able to identify the card roughly thirty percent of the time. And I always know Ellie's moods, but I've often thought that had more to do with a mother-daughter bond than vampirism. What Charles, Lee, and I always wanted to know is whether Mikal has the same gift for concealment."

"Meghann! What is this?" Baldevar asked in annoyance but something in his tone made Jimmy think his pique was just an attempt to change the subject. Whoever this Mikal was, Baldevar obviously didn't want to talk about him.

"Nighttime World,"Maggie said calmly. "It's one of Jimmy's collections. He's an excellent photographer—people are calling him another Ansel Adams."

Jimmy smiled at the praise, feeling much more benevolent toward Maggie, as Baldevar ripped into her.

"Indeed?" Baldevar queried acidly. "What people has that fool of a vampire exposed himself to? At the very least, any book involves a publisher, editor . . . perhaps an agent. Does the imbecile tour this book, promote himself so we must all stand on the precipice of discovery? And you! Have you forgotten everything I taught you of the discretion necessary to our existence? A coffee-table book accessible to millions is hardly discreet. How could you allow him to seek publication? Why didn't you guide him to a more circumspect diversion?"

Now Jimmy was ready to stamp into the study, but Ellie grabbed his forearm, her eyes sending an eloquent message to calm down before he went inside.

"I encouraged Jimmy because he has a brilliant talent," Maggie said heatedly. "And because he deserved something positive in his life after all you put him through. As for discretion, neither Jimmy nor I are the fools you think we are. Jimmy does no promotion whatsoever—no signings or speaking engagements, radio interviews, nothing. He won't even do gallery shows though people beg him to do them all the time. Even so, his books do well. Do you know he's rich now in his own right?" v

"As opposed to leeching off your assets?" Baldevar replied sarcastically, appearing unimpressed by Jimmy's achievements. "Still, that you have developed Mr. Delacroix at all is a minor miracle. I truly did not think you would be able to make any kind of vampire out of such poor material."

"Do you have any idea how insecure you sound?" Maggie retorted before Jimmy could kick the glass out of the French doors and use a shard to impale Baldevar. "An intelligent, artistic, sensitive man is not poor material. But I must say, I'm surprised you're even taking it this well that Charles and I decided to mentor Jimmy, that I let him come back here after you left."

So was Jimmy—why wasn't the vampire lighting into Maggie for taking Jimmy back?

The answer came immediately. "I would have been angered had you broken our wedding vows and allowed the dolt back into your bed. But I knew I could trust your honor, Meghann. Taking Jimmy Delacroix under your wing was inspired. As long as our enemies saw you with that fool, that would be the final assurance they needed that our relationship was no more. All the time of my unfortunate absence, Mr. Delacroix has served quite ably in his role of decoy but now we may rid ourselves of him once and for all."

"Go straight to hell, you overbearing, arrogant motherfucker!" Jimmy screamed and stormed into the study, Ellie making a feeble effort to hold him back. "I'm not your fucking decoy and if you want to get rid of me, you'll have to kill me! Why don't you try, and show Ellie what you really are?"

"Whatever I am, I have never been called a snoop," Lord Baldevar said and gave Jimmy a cool, mocking grin. "I was wondering when you would decide to step inside and cease lurking at the door like a beggar appealing for alms." ,

Dismissing Jimmy with an arrogant turn of his back, Baldevar turned to Ellie and gave her a warm grin. "Good evening, again."

"Hi, Daddy," Ellie said uncertainly and ran to Maggie. "Mom!"

"Sweetie," Maggie breathed, letting her tall daughter grab her and spin her around before they sat down together on the couch.

Look at her, Jimmy thought sourly, glaring as Maggie pushed a strand of hair off Ellie's face. No longer was Maggie the stuff porn movies were made of; now she wore a demure brown sweater, floral silk skirt and her wet hair was neatly held back with a tortoiseshell hair comb. From wanton whore to wholesome schoolgirl looking younger than her daughter in the space of an hour—Maggie wasn't a vampire at all, she was a witch.

The witch fixed Jimmy with an icy green stare before her expression softened and she said, I'm sorry you had to see us like that, Jimmy. I meant to explain to you ...

How could you possibly explain spreading your legs for that .. .Jimmy groped in his mind for a suitable pejorative before a foul voice intruded into his consciousness.