1

A jumble of emotions and thoughts jostled each other in Garreth's head: Admiration . . .That's a really convincing make-up job.

Relief . . .I don't have to go to Acapulco after all.

Anxiety . . .Oh, lord, we're in the middle of her mother's living room; 1 can't arrest her here.

Concern . . .This is going to make the department short for the weekend.

Dismay . . .So soon? I thought I wouldn't be dealing with her until after Christmas. I don't want to leave here yet.

Apprehension . . .What will happen to me now, when she's in custody and my reason for living is gone?

From somewhere beyond the mindstorm, Mrs. Bieber's delighted voice reached him. "Isn't this nice? Mada got tired of Acapulco and decided to come home. We picked her up at the airport in Hays this morning."

"Not tired, Mama," Lane said. "I was there with a friend who had a terrible accident and I just couldn't enjoy it any longer." The middle-aged mask smiled at Garreth. "Mama says you're from San Francisco. Are you the same Garreth Mikaelian the papers were calling Lazarus?"

"Accident? You didn't say anything about that before," Mrs. Bieber said.

"I didn't want to spoil Thanksgiving, Mama. My mother has been telling me something about you, Mr. Mikaelian," Lane said lightly. "It's a very interesting story, but also a little puzzling. Baumen is a long way from San Francisco. How did you happen to come here?"

He took off his gla.s.ses and met her eyes. "Good police work."

"What kind of accident?" Mrs. Bieber asked.

Lane shrugged. "He was found at the bottom of the cliff with his neck broken and throat torn out. The police said he must have been attacked by some dogs and fell over the cliff trying to escape from them."

Garreth reached automatically for his own throat, for the now almost-indistinguishable lines of scarring.

"He?" Mrs. Bieber's forehead furrowed in distress. "You were there with a-I'm sorry," she said as Lane started to frown. "I just can't imagine you as part of this modern morality. I'm so sorry about your friend. Are you all right?"

Satiated,Garreth thought angrily.Replete. She had come home to wait for Acapulco to cool.

"I'm fine, Mama. He wasn't a close friend, and there was nothing improprietous." She smiled at her mother without taking her eyes from Garreth. "Men don't have wild affairs with women my age. I shared a room with his teenage grandaughter in order to help him chaperon her. So you've decided to settle here because it's a pleasant change from the city, my mother tells me. But you're still a policeman."

The mockery underlying the pleasant tone irritated Garreth. He said evenly, "It's what I know how to do best, enforce the law."

See what she made of that.

Her eyes flared red.

Mrs. Bieber glanced from him to her daughter, her forehead furrowed, obviously sensing the tension between them but unable to understand the reason for it. In a determinedly cheerful tone, she said, "Why don't you two sit down and get acquainted while I go make tea. Garreth doesn't drink coffee, either."

She left the room.

Garreth took off his jacket but continued to stand, eyeing Lane.

She broke the silence first, raising her brows and laughing. With the sound of it he seemed to see through the mask to the ever- young face beneath. "You amaze and delight me, Inspector. I've been looking forward to our next meeting, but I confess I never expected it to be here. Tell me, howdid you find your way?"

He blinked, nonplussed. She looked forward to their next meeting? What made her think there would be one? "I'll tell you all about it on the way back to San Francisco."

Lane turned away, walking in a wide arc toward a widow, where she peered out into the night, toying with the jaw-high collar of her turtleneck. "Ah. So that's the reason for your remark just now about enforcing the law. You came to arrest me."

The arc took her well around a crucifix on the wall, Garreth noticed. "Hunting killers is my job and you killed Mossman and Adair. You tried to kill me."

She whirled. "No, Inspector; I didnot try to kill you. If I'd wanted you dead, rest a.s.sured you would have been found with your neck broken.

So it had not been a mere oversight. "Why didn't-" he began.

"Tell me, how do you propose to take me back?"

He frowned. How did she think? "There's a warrant for your arrest. Extradition will be arranged and you'll-"

She hissed, interrupting him. "Are you really so dense? I mean, how will you take me back? By what means do you propose to force me to accompany you and remain confined: rosestem handcuffs? A cell with garlic on the bars? May I remind you that anything used against me hurts you equally, if you can even convince your law enforcement colleagues to agree to such nonsense."

The words echoed uncomfortably through his head. It had not even occurred to him there would be problems with taking her back and jailing her. Even given his concentration on finding her, how could he have been so blind, so unforesighted.Dumb, tunnel- visioned flatfoot. There must be a way to handle her, though. He could not just let her walk away.

The crucifix caught his eyes. "Maybe I can drape a rosary around your wrists."

Lane's pupils dilated. "Superst.i.tion," she said smoothly.

But Garreth watched her breathing quicken and pupils dilate. Superst.i.tion, yes, since crosses and holy water did not bother him, but superst.i.tion still affected those who believed in it . . .and the look of this house told him she had been brought up in the bosom of the Roman Catholic church. "Then why did you tear the Christian fish symbol off Mossman's neck?"

"I detest tacky jewelry." She came back to him, again swinging wide around the crucifix. "Open your eyes, Inspector. It's useless to arrest or try me. Our kind are beyond the reach of mere human laws."

"No." He shook his head. No one could be beyond the law. Without law there was only chaos. "I don't believe-"

He broke off as Mrs. Bieber came in with tea and slices of pumpkin pie. "Mada, you didn't eat a bite at Kathryn's. You must be starved by now. Have some pie. You, too, Garreth."

Garreth and Lane exchanged quick glances. He laughed wryly inside at the irony of finding himself on the same side of a problem as his quarry.

"If you don't think I ate, you didn't see me snacking out in the kitchen while we were cooking," Lane said. "You know I don't have a big appet.i.te anyway, and I never eat dessert."

Garreth smiled but shook his head, patting his belt. "Sweets have been my downfall for years. Now that I've finally gotten the weight off, I don't dare relapse. Thank you for the tea, though."

Shaking her head, Mrs. Bieber poured the tea. "In my day, a good appet.i.te was considered healthy. These days it seems everyone wants to starve to death. Well, have you two been getting acquainted?"

"Yes," they both lied, and sitting down, accepted tea from her.

"I'm so glad. And I'm glad you came home after all, Mada. Will you be able to stay through Christmas?"

Lane glanced at Garreth. "I plan to stay until I take you back to Acapulco."

Daring him to make her a liar? Garreth sucked in his lower lip. Whatcould he do about her? Sipping his tea, he listened to Lane tell anecdotes about people in Acapulco. Opposing feelings warred in him . . . his belief in due process and justice against the obvious impossibility of following proper established procedure. He must violate the latter to accomplish the former, and that itself violated what his badge said he stood for.I Ching insisted that one must act with proper authority or end up in mistake and failure.

The delicate blood smell drifting from Mrs. Bieber set hunger gnawing at him. Before he did anything, he would eat and think the problem over. If he appeared to be retreating, Lane might not feel it necessary to bolt. Garreth stood and reached for his jacket. "I'd better go. Thank you for asking me over, Mrs. Bieber. And it's nice to meet you, Miss Bieber." He pulled on the jacket.

"I hope we'll see each other again."

Lane raised a brow. "The night isn't over yet. Mama, I'm going to impose on this nice young man of yours to drive me around for some fresh air. I'll be back before too long."

He stared at her.

She kissed her mother on the cheek and smiled at Garreth. "Shall we go, Mr. Mikaelian?" She led the way into the hall, where she picked a coat off the huge mirrored coat-and-umbrella rack, then fairly pushed Garreth out the front door before surprise gave him time to think or react. "We got sidetracked from our conversation about the nature of reality and I'd really like to finish it."

2

The door closed behind them. Garreth said, "There's nothing more to say except to read you your rights."

"Oh, I think there's a great deal to say yet. That ZX is your car? Of course it is; I saw it outside my apartment." She took his arm. "Let's go for a drive."

I Chinghad also said:The maiden is powerful. Beware of that which seems weak and innocent. "I don't think so."

She scowled. "How paranoid cops are. What can I do to you? Anyway, do you really think I'd be careless enough to try something in my hometown, where everyone sees everything? Where my mother would see it? I won't foul her nest. I don't even hunt here, one reason I never stay too long."

Somehow he found himself propelled toward the car. "How do you eat?"

"Even during the holidays there are young men around the college campus in Hays. They're always willing to pick up an attractive young woman and demonstrate what superstuds they are. I hunt in disguise, of course . . . in my own face." She slid into the pa.s.senger side of the car and closed her door. "When I was a girl the most popular spots for couples to park were behind the Coop elevators across 282, around the fairgrounds and sale barn, and in Pioneer Park. I think these days you police hang out behind the elevators waiting for speeders so let's go to the park."

Thinking about it, whatcould she do to him? Garreth wondered. He was strong enough to resist a physical attack and in the reverse of what she had said to him, anything she could use that would hurt him must also hurt her. He walked around the car, climbed in, and started it.

Lane leaned back in the seat. "I have always loved beautiful cars, though I've never dared own one. They're too conspicuous.

Though I was once seriously tempted by the Bugatti Royale a friend of mine in Europe had years ago, and lately I've thought about Porsches. My favorite lovers have always been men with fine taste in cars. Yours is pa.s.sable. Is this stock, Inspector?"

Now why did he feel ashamed to admit it was? "You didn't come to talk about cars." Hunger gnawed at him. His stomach twinged in the threat of a cramp.d.a.m.n! If only he had taken time to eat before going over to Mrs. Bieber's. "We're here to talk about law."

Lane sighed. "I told you, human law doesn't apply to us, but . . . I don't intend to talk about anything more just yet, except maybe the weather." She leaned her head out her open window and blew. Like steam from a locomotive, her breath blew back past her in clouds of billowing white. "Fairy wreaths. I hope it it snows. I love snow now. I didn't used to because I hated being cold. Isn't it a relief not having to care whether it's hot or cold out anymore?"

The sudden shift from world-wise woman to child left Garreth groping in mental confusion. Like a child, too, she leaped from the car at the park and raced from the parking lot up a path toward the swinging bridge. The bridge connected to an artificial island made by digging a channel looping from the Saline River around a large oval of land and back.

She danced across the bridge in a rapid tap of boot heels, pausing only to laugh over her shoulder at him. "In case you haven't already discovered it, yes, vampires can cross running water. It's amazing the superst.i.tions humans have dreamed up to convince themselves they're protected from their nightmares."

In the center of the island lay an open stone pavilion with a raised bandstand. Garreth caught up with her there, and found her peeling off the middle-aged face she wore, so that he truely faced Lane Barber again, youthful face shining pale in the twilight of his nightsight. She raised her brows. "No lights and yet not a misstep anywhwere. Isn't it wonderful being able to see in the dark?"

What was she trying to do? "It has its uses, yes."

She stuffed the latex bits of her mask in a pocket, grimacing. "How solemn you are. Too bad I couldn't have brought you here in the spring, with tulips and crocus and daffodils everywhere, and peonies later in the summer. They used to have a band on Friday and Sat.u.r.day nights. Lights lit up the pavilion so you could see it from miles away. Everyone in town came. Mama and Papa would polka and waltz until they were almost too tired to walk home."

The ghosts of those dancers haunted the pavilion. He could see them in the leaves the wind whirled across the paving. The ghosts and the sudden wistfulness on the girl-woman face sent a pang through him. Maybe there were things she could do to him that had nothing to do with physical a.s.sault. He regretted having come. "Whenever you're ready to talk, let me know."

She sat down on the steps of the bandstand. "All right; let's talk." It was the woman's voice again. "You can't beat me, so why try? It isn't worth it for a couple of arrogant, self-centered humans. There's no reason for you to care about them. There's no reason for you to care what happens to any humans any longer."

He sat down at the other end of the steps from her. "The way you don't care about your family?"

She flung up her head, eyes flashing, and in the motion he saw another ghost . . . of the girl in the photo alb.u.m, and the singer who attacked Claudia Darling in 1941. Then she laughed. "Touche. But . . . family is one thing, the rest of humanity another."

"Not to me. I'm sworn to protect them, and all my friends are human, of course."

Lane snorted. "Friends are people you can do things with and bare your soul to. Do you have anyone who fits that description, anyone you can sit and talk with as openly as we're talking? Is there a someone you'd trust to tell what you are without being afraid that the next time you saw him he'd be carrying a sharp wooden stake?"

That stung. He remembered the morning he woke up to find Lien above him and had wondered about that very thing.

She leaned toward him. "Reality, Inspector . . . humans are only one thing to us: a source of food."

He sat up straight. "Not to me. I've never drunk a drop of human blood."

Her eyes narrowed. "You drink only animal blood?" She shook her head mockingly. "No wonder you're so thin. You really ought to eat properly, Inspector."

His jaw tightened. "I refuse to prey on people!"

"Oh, really." Her lip curled. "How righteous. But I notice you have no scruples against using my mother as an informer and tricking her into thinking you're a friend to get to me."

That stung even harder. He felt faint heat crawling up his neck and face. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't like doing it. I like your mother."

Her voice flattened to a hiss. "I could kill you for that. It almost makes me sorry I didn't break your neck when I had the chance."

"I keep wondering why you didn't."

For a minute he wondered if she were going to answer. She leaned back against the steps and looked away. But after a bit, she said, "I intended to, but . . . you bit me."

He blinked. She sounded as though she expected that to explain everything. "So?"

Lane sighed. "The drawback to immortality is that while we go on, nothing else does. I hold on to my possessions because I lose the people. They die or are left behind when I take a new ident.i.ty. I'm enjoying my family while I can because when they're dead, I won't have anyone left in the world I give a d.a.m.n about. Everything I know best, the world I was born into, will be gone forever. It'll happen to you, too."

Without wanting to, Garreth saw it . . . his parents dying, even his son pa.s.sing him in age. Eventually, he could become the contemporary of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, except they would be alien to him, looking at the world through different eyes and even speaking a different language. Look at how the little slang Lane permitted herself-like calling him a mick- dated her.

"Immortality and vampirism are very lonely, Garreth."

The words echoed through him. Almost desperately, he thought of Helen Schoning. "It doesn't have to be. There's nothing wrong with serial relationships. Every time period ought to offer at least several people who can meet some of our emotional needs."

"And what if you could find someone like that, someone just right, like your late wife, say?"

That hit like a knife in the ribs. Garreth shot to his feet with the pain. "How do you know about Marti?"

Lane smiled. "I asked around about you. Your neighbors were only too happy to talk to a reporter about the Man Who Came Back From The Dead. They told me you and Marti had a very special relationship. Her death must have been extremely hard for you."

His throat closed tight, trapping the pain suddenly filling his chest. "Leave my wife out of this."

"But that's just the point." Lane leaned toward him. "What if you found someone else like that. You'd know from the beginning that you were going to lose her eventually. And what if you found another soulmate, then another, always to lose her. How long could you endure that kind of pain?"