Garreth thought fast. "We need a source for it, then." His stomach lurched. There was only one logical source. s.h.i.t. He hated knives. "Lien . . . throw me a knife." Looking around, he noticed the tankard lying by the dining room door. "Get rid of the tankards!"

"Mrs. Takananda!" The uniformed officers pounded on the door.

Grandma Doyle scooped up both tankards and threw them in the dishwasher.

Catching the kitchen knife Lien tossed him, Garreth set his jaw and before he could chicken out, quickly drew the blade across his forearm. Blood spurted through the slash in his sleeve. He clenched his teeth against the pain. G.o.d he hated knives. "Let them in," he gasped. "Irina, you might as well stay out of it."

"Yes."While Lien ran for the door, he wrapped Fowler's fingers around the knife, then pulled it loose again and tossed it across the room to where the tankard had lain. Irina retreated through the dining room.

Lien jerked the front door open. "Thank G.o.d! He's crazy!" She raced back toward the kitchen. "He came storming in here accusing us of hiding that Barber woman and when Garreth tried to make him leave, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up a knife I had on the counter and attacked."

The uniforms stopped short in the doorway. "Christ!"

Garreth looked up from making a tourniquet of his bathrobe belt. "Who'd have thought the old man had so much blood in him.'

Hi, Hingle, Rahal."

"Mikaelian?" They glanced at Fowler, then obviously deciding he would keep for a bit, came over to peer at Garreth's arm.

"How bad did he get you?"

"It hurts like h.e.l.l." He rolled up the sleeve for a look. And grimaced. He had not intended to cut quite so deep.

Rahal whistled. "That's going to take a few st.i.tches. Better get a bandage on it."

He had barely finished saying so when Grandma Doyle pressed a folded dishtowel over the wound.

Fowler groaned.

The officers whipped around toward him. They pounced, handcuffing his hands behind his back. "Who is this turkey anyway?"

"You won't believe it. Graham Fowler."

Their jaws dropped. "The writer? Why the h.e.l.l-"

Fowler screamed. It sounded even more animal than the last time. Hingle and Rahal's expressions suddenly became those of men discovering they held a bomb.

"They've killed me! Kill them!" Fowler lunged to his feet and at Grandma Doyle. The officers hung on grimly. "Kill the vampires before they turn you into one, too!"

"Jesus," Rahal muttered. "You should have warned us to bring a b.u.t.terfly net."

Fowler twisted to stare at him. "You think I'm mad, but I can prove they're vampires. The old looking one bit me last night while Sergeant Takananda's wife helped her. See the mark-"

"Sergeant Takananda's wife is a vampire?" Hingle said in a flat voice. "Right."

"She is, you b.l.o.o.d.y fool. Have a look in the fridge. There has to be some container of blood in there. They were drinking mugs full of it when I came into the kitchen. They tried to make me drink it, too. I threw it back in their faces. That's what all this blood is.

Now will you look at the bite mark on my neck?"

Hingle rolled his eyes. "All I see is a hicky."

Fowler hissed. "It's a hematoma, you a.s.s. That's how they hide the bite. There are punctures in the middle of it. There's more, too. I stabbed Mikaelian in the neck and hip with a wooden stake. Check him for marks. Even though it was only last night, he'll be practically healed." It would not do to let them see his neck. "Why, Mr. Fowler, everyone knows the stake is supposed to go through the heart while the vampire is sleeping in his coffin. Shall we check the bedrooms upstairs for coffins?"

The officers snickered, then shook Fowler's arms. "Let's go."

"No!" He jerked back against them. "Listen to me! They know where Lane Barber is. They're protecting her, though, because she's one of them. You have to make them tell where she is. Then we can destroy her and the rest of them. I'll help. I know how to kill them."

"Like you killed Richard Maruska and his roommate, and Leonard Holle?" Garreth said.

Fowler's mouth thinned. "You know b.l.o.o.d.y well only Maruska was a vampire. The others were just-"

The front door banged open. "Lien!" Harry came pounding down the hall with Girimonte right behind him. "I heard the call on the radio. What's wrong? Whose car is that on the lawn?" They stopped short in the doorway just as the uniforms had. Harry sucked in a sharp breath. "Good G.o.d. Garreth, what happened?"

Holding onto his arm, Garreth shrugged. "It's crazy. Fowler came in here accusing Grandma and Lien of knowing where Lane is but protecting her because they're all vampires."

"You're one, too," Fowler spat. "That's why you don't eat."

Garreth raised a brow at Girimonte. "And you've been accusing me of being anorexic. See how wrong you are?"

She shrugged. A corner of her mouth twitched. "Ignorant me."

"He's also suggested he's responsible for our murder binge."

Her eyes narrowed. "Really. Can you give us enough to make probable cause so we can get a warrant to search his hotel room and check his clothes?"

He nodded.

Fowler shrieked and exploded into struggling violence, flinging himself back and forth, aiming kicks at the uniformed officers.

"You b.l.o.o.d.y stupid d.a.m.nfools !Listen to me!"

The officers wrestled him against the counter. Rahal said, "Takananda, will you or Girimonte ride along with us? I'm not having my partner alone in the back seat with this looney tune.""Van, you go," Harry said. "I'd like to tend to things here."

Girimonte nodded. "Sure."

Hingle and Rahal started Fowler toward the door. Garreth expected him to struggle, but he walked meekly. At the front door he stopped short, however, and looked back. "I'll be back. Don't forget, I have your powers now. I can just walk out of the cell when I please. Mada isn't dead, no matter what you say, Mikaelian. You can't fool me. She killed my father and I won't be deprived of my vengeance. I'll be back; I'll find her; and I . . . will . . . destroy her. Then it will be your turn."

He marched out of the house between the uniformed officers. Rolling her eyes, Girimonte followed.

Harry waited until the door had closed behind them, then, looking around the kitchen and at Garreth, said, "I think someone better tell me what the h.e.l.l's been going on."

As briefly as possibly, Garreth told him.

Harry listened with face going steadily grimmer. At the end of the recitation, he let his breath out in a hiss. "I could strangle each and every one of you, even you, honorable wife. Garreth, how could you let Lien and your grandmother-"

"Since when do I let me grandchildren tell me what I can and can't do?" Grandma Doyle snapped.

Harry retreated a step. "It's a wonder someone wasn't hurt. Seriously hurt," he amended, glancing at Garreth. "Christ. I don't want to even think about trying to sort out the case against him. It's either a frame or something we can't use. You are going to clean up that apartment before he talks someone into checking it, aren't you?" He sighed. "Let's hope we find enough physical evidence in his clothes and luggage at the hotel to tie him to Holle's murder."

"You shouldn't have to worry about going to court with a defendant who claims he's hunting the vampire who killed his father,"

Garreth said.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "That may be our salvation. If he's judged incompetent, he'll be locked up where he can't hurt anyone, without the risk of a trial and all its publicity."

"This is your humane alternative?" Irina said from the dining room doorway. "Madness?"

Garreth cradled his injured arm more tightly and sighed tiredly. Was there ever a good solution in conflicts between humans and vampires? In the end it always seemed to be a choice between evils. "At least he's alive."

"Unlike Mada."

Garreth sucked in his breath. He felt the violet eyes fixed on him behind her gla.s.ses. In accusation? Had she guessed?

"You mean Barber really is dead?" Harry said. "How do you know?"

"We know when our brothers and sisters die," Irina replied. She continued to face Garreth.

She did know! But instead of dismay, relief filled Garreth. Someone else knew. He was not alone with the guilt anymore. He nodded. "I-"

"We can not always tell how or where, of course," Irina interrupted. "Considering Mada's nature, her death was probably justifiable homicide, wouldn't you say, Garreth?"

He stared at her. The implication was clear; she felt sure of what he had done but wanted to dismiss the matter. He said slowly.

"Maybe even self-defense." At least she ought to know that he had not just killed in revenge.

Harry glanced from one to the other of them. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised." He put an arm around Garreth's shoulders. "That closes her case then, Mik-san."

Garreth caught his breath. Harry had put it together, too. So had Grandma Doyle and Lien, he saw in a quick glance. They looked back at him, nodding at Harry's words. Those nods, like Harry's arm, told him that they intended to say nothing more about it either.

Warmth flooded him, filling even places which had stood bleakly empty the past two years. Savoring it, he nodded back at them all. "I guess you're right. That's the end of it."

15

He dreamed of life. A bridge stretched before him, ma.s.sive and solid, its steel girders and cables glowing a pulsating blood red in the darkness. Strange. How had he failed to see before that this was what linked him to humanity, not that fragile wooden one with its combustible floor . . . ties of need and blood, blood shared and blood shed. Why, too, had he seen himself at one end and humans at the other when in fact they all milled together in the middle? Harry was there, and Lien and his grandmother as well as a ma.s.s of relatives and friends from Baumen and San Francisco, all shaking his hand or hugging him.

Irina circulated through the group, too, catching his eye from time to time, and smiling.

Serruto extended a hand. "It's good to have you back. Is it true you're leaving for Baumen soon?"

Garreth nodded. "I have a personal relationship to wrap up. Not everyone can be told what I am. I also need to tell Anna that we uncovered information indicating Mada was killed and her body dumped somewhere in the Rockies. I'll have some of her belongings with me and they can send for the rest. I'll also give Anna the name of Mada's bank and her account numbers, so they'll know where her money is after they're able to declare her dead."

"And after that?"

Garreth shrugged. "I've met a woman who would like me to travel with her. There's an estate outside Moscow she wants to show me, among other places. She says I have a lot to learn and she'd like to teach me."

Serruto's brows hopped. "She sounds like an older woman."

"I think you could call her an older woman, yes. She doesn't look her age, though."

Girimonte slid up beside him, puffing one of her long, elegant cigars. "You heard what we found in Fowler's hotel room, didn't you? Climbing rope, suction cups, and a gla.s.s cutter. Fibers from his shirt also match some found on Holle's window, and particles from the soles of his running shoes are like material from the shingles on the roofs of Holle's house and the one next door. His cable ties fit the marks on Holle's and the Count's wrists and ankles as well. Too bad he's so wacko he'll never stand trial."

"Too bad," Garreth lied.

Fowler had come to the party, too. He spotted the writer's tortured face beyond the edge of the crowd. With his wounds healing up, he felt sorry for the man . . . another victim of Lane's excesses.

Where was Lane? Surely she had come, too. He searched through the crowd. Yes, there she was, but not among the crowd.

She stood alone at the far end of the bridge, calling something.

The sound reached him only faintly through the voices around him. For several minutes he strained to hear, then realized that he really had no interest in anything she said. Garreth turned away, back to the party, and when he looked her direction again a while later, she had disappeared.