Drake flicked a hand at D.B. as though brushing away a fly. "But not you. I want to hear it from my friend Paul."

His mottled pink face swung back and the vampire smiled for the first time that evening. Smiled in a way that made Paul appreciate the coffee table between them.

"Paul and I have a special bond," the vampire explained. "I exposed my soul to him, so he knows more about me than my various wives through the ages. He's stood over me while I've slept. That's how close we are. So speak your mind, Paul. Please, be as brave and frank as you were while addressing me earlier today through your sly camera lens."

Playing with him like that.

Paul had so much to say, so much on his mind, but where were his words now? He could feel the others watching. Waiting. Wondering if he'd save them or trigger their destruction.

"We have you," he finally said, struggling to keep it simple.

Three brief words, but Paul's audacity gave him strength. He found, and this time held, the vampire's gaze. Held it long enough to watch the cruel smile fade. Paul rose to his feet, made himself step around the coffee table and stand directly over the incredibly old man who sat alone, spread out comfortably while others stood.

Chief Sandy moved as though to intervene, but a flap of the vampire's hand held him back.

"All Darby and I did was let you talk, something you were eager to do." Paul bent slightly as though unafraid to draw closer. "We let you ramble on all you wanted about murder and mutilation. You tried so hard to frighten us that you gave a full and explicit confession. You're so much smarter than we mere mortals that you never saw a need for caution."

Paul drew even nearer. The vampire could have ripped open his throat if he wanted-and Paul was sure that he wanted.

He said, "You underestimated us, Drake. Now you have to deal with us."

He could hear the vampire breathing, the air whistling from his nostrils. Could see the fine nose hairs bristling with every expulsion. Feeling the hidden reservoirs of hatred emanating from the vampire like heat, Paul backed away, returning at feigned leisure to his own seat.

And waited.

Breaking a dreadful silence, the vampire said, "Don't gloat, Paul. It tends to rally the other team."

"If I wanted to gloat I'd think about Purcell getting a copy of the audio and video files we produced."

The vampire's face darkened.

He was going too far, but picturing the Dunbars alone in the dark, trying to save something of their relationship, spurred him on. "I can imagine Purcell playing our files to townspeople still on the fence, then asking them how they feel about continuing to follow an old man who's obviously lost it. A man so senile that he could be tricked into sharing his story-their story-with the world."

A silence like death, until Olan Buck scuffed his feet on the carpet for attention. "See here, young man. It's counterproductive to be throwing threats and insults around. Let's coolly and rationally discuss the situation at hand."

A big change in demeanor for the surly mayor. Paul didn't mind the reference to "young man," either.

Voices carried in the open window on a breeze that smelled like rain. Ponytail Pete called up a greeting to Jermaine on the balcony overhead-sounded like he was bored-and got a grunt in return. D.B. quietly left the room, hopefully to chase Pete back into the yard.

Paul said, "We could be attacked any moment by Purcell and his followers. But as you can see, we're ready."

That got a roar of laughter from Drake, and even Buck gave up an appreciative smirk.

"You're ready, huh," said the master vampire.

"You could stop them," Paul said.

"Stop them," Bill Sandy snorted.

His derision drew glances from the vampires that withered the head cop. He was a beaten man.

Drake returned his attention to Paul and shook his head. "You take me too lightly, yet at the same time overestimate my strength."

A burst of radio squawk caused Drake to whip his attention once more to the two-way on the table.

It was Carl, reporting in. "Nothing so far. Over."

Mona snatched the radio and murmured into it while disappearing into the kitchen for privacy.

Now Paul and Freddie alone shared the room with the two vampires, the town's ineffective but armed police chief and the ashamedly human Tabitha Drake.

"You should have left quickly and quietly, as commanded," Drake said. "We meant you no harm. We wished only to carry on in peace with our century-old way of life."

"Meant no harm?" Paul shot back. "How do you explain having the Sundown attacked while smoking the peace pipe with me?"

The vampire glared. "You mean the night your wife secretly recorded my every confidential word?"

Paul sat back. Touche. "So neither of us trusts the other."

"Oh, I trust you, Paul," said the vampire with a soft smile. "I trust you because you and your kind have no heart for intrigue as we know it. Of course, we've had more than a hundred years to hone that skill."

"I'd be careful," said D.B., strolling in from the lobby, obviously having overheard at least some of the conversation. "Your friend Chaplin thought we'd be a cakewalk, too. Don't take us lightly, Drake."

The vampire's eyes flashed. "I'd never do that. I haven't much confidence in the intelligence of my friends, but I do respect the cunning of my enemies. Now stay out of this, daylighter. I was talking with Paul."

Miles Drake brushed at his nose with a long finger and thumb, seemingly lost in reflection before rallying.

"Since it keeps coming up in conversation, I'll explain the reasoning behind my attack that night. I felt, Paul, that you were being held back by your misguided loyalty to the riffraff here." The vampire took in his surroundings with another wave of his hand. "I knew that you found it impossible to leave as long as they needed saving."

"So you were going to slaughter us just to make the Highsmiths' decision to leave easier?" D.B.'s voice was filled with disgust.

Paul could see shards of white forming and breaking in the vampire's irises.

"Again. I was speaking to Paul."

Mona, having returned from the kitchen with the two-way no longer squawking, laughed abruptly. "Expect only cold-blooded logic from these things."

Drake twisted to confront her, his face already clogged with fury. "That's right, Mona. We live by a coldly logical code that says you don't consort with outsiders and you certainly don't share the community's secrets with them."

"All the more reason my video and audio files could be eye-openers," Paul contributed.

Drake's face changed, his mouth and cheeks seeming to momentarily sag. "Yes," he said. "If they're ever seen."

Paul said, "I'm going to assume that's not a threat. I'll interpret it as a statement of your willingness to work with us to see that there's no reason for them to be released."

The vampire carefully examined a finger held close to his face. He found a yellow nail to nibble. "I suppose that if your wife doesn't hear from you on a predetermined basis, your illegally obtained tapes-or files, as I guess they're now called-will be turned over to specific sources in a pre-specified manner."

"You got my message," Paul replied. "Those sources include media outlets that aren't going to care how they were obtained. Your little town will be all over the Internet, which means all over the world. Then the police show up." Paul glanced briefly at Chief Sandy. "I mean the real police."

The chief winced, but Drake showed no reaction.

Paul risked a glance at his watch. It was a quarter to eleven. "You don't have much time to think about it," he said. "Yesterday afternoon, we broke into Purcell's safe house and killed one of his most trusted friends."

"We know," said Mayor Buck.

"That evening," Paul continued, "one of ours broadsided and probably killed a cop, one of Purcell's daylighters who was trailing them."

"Barry Cook and his cronies," Chief Sandy muttered. "Good riddance."

"Earlier today," Paul said, "some of ours took on the town like the James Gang. I think Purcell's had enough. Their little skirmishes haven't accomplished anything, and patience isn't a virtue. I think they'll soon hit us with everything they've got. Probably tonight."

"Haven't accomplished anything," D.B. said, "except killing Tonya Whittock and converting Todd Dunbar."

Tabitha Drake gasped, her first visible reaction to a word spoken all evening. Her father's mouth fell open to expose his stubs of yellowing teeth.

They hadn't known. Dunbar's conversion was an advantage they should have kept in their hip pockets. Now Paul had to make the best of it. "That's right. We've got one of your own kind with us."

"You're lying," Tabitha hissed.

Paul ignored her. He eyed her father for a reaction.

"That's not possible," Miles Drake rumbled. "Who'd convert one of them?"

"It was an accident," Mona said. "Chaplin bit him before he died."

"Impossible. The process only occurs following careful placement of the teeth along a major artery," Drake snarled, suddenly the Miss Manners of bloodsuckers. "James would have been trying to tear his fucking head off, not convert him."

"I once heard about this guy," D.B. said conversationally. "True story. He's despondent, suicidal. He takes a gun, points it at his own head, pulls the trigger. End of story, right? Oh, and the gun's loaded. Only instead of painting the walls with brain matter, the bullet takes off something, a tumor or dead patch, whatever it was making him crazy. He wakes up in the hospital, hell of a headache, I'm sure, but otherwise fine. No more depression. Moral of the story?" D.B. leaned against the wall, spread his arms and grinned. "Shit happens."

The room met the story with blank faces or obvious annoyance.

"However it happened doesn't matter," Paul said, trying to get them back on track. "Dunbar doesn't want to be in his condition any more than you want him there. So how do we do it? How do we cure him?"

The vampire stared him down before relaxing into a yellow-toothed grin. "Paul, I just get to thinking you have all the answers, and then something comes up that reminds me you're a blind man stumbling in the dark. You represent all the other blind people, though, and you carry out your responsibilities so professionally, so smoothly that I tend to forget."

"Meaning what?"

"There's no 'cure,' as you call it. Which is a little insulting with its suggestion that your man's condition is so disagreeable that an antidote must be found. I guess I'm feeling a little like a puff hearing of a treatment for his sexual disorder. But to the point, there's no returning home. Think about that the next time you want to go nose to nose with us, Paul."

"That cuts both ways," he replied.

The thought occupying his attention now was how he was going to tell Joy Dunbar that she'd never get her husband back. He pounded the chair arm in sudden rage, making everyone but Miles Drake jump in alarm.

"Go ahead," Paul said. "Wipe us out, wipe this whole motel from the face of the earth."

"Um, Paul?" said Freddie.

Paul stood and moved in closer to the master vampire. Drake didn't move a muscle. "Come on, Miles. We ignorant humans are stupid and fragile. You have all the answers. So let's boogie. D.B. here," he said, pointing vaguely to the other man holding up one wall, "has a .38 under his shirt. I say the word, he plugs you right between the eyes. That keeps you down long enough for us to take off your head with a chainsaw...which we also have on hand."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Chief Sandy's hand drop slowly to his gun butt. Paul turned his fiery gaze on him.

"You're a daylighter, Chief, so it wouldn't even require that extra chainsaw step."

All movement stopped.

"But don't worry," Paul continued, softer now. "I'm not going to do that."

"I wasn't worrying," Drake said. He sat loose-limbed, his face mottled marble in the sickly white glow of a battery-powered lantern and a few flickering candles. "A gun battle in a small space like this, survival's a bad bet for everyone." He let a slight smile play on his bloodless lips. "You're a successful investment banker, Paul. I'm sure you don't take dangerous risks. Do you?"

Paul had to refocus, distracted as he was by the burn of embarrassment he felt rising up his cheeks. After a moment he said simply, "Deal with us or let's all destroy each other. Your call."

He was panting for breath by then, his fear and fury used up. He fell back into his chair and waited for his vision to clear.

The room fell deathly silent.

It was time to offer a more viable alternative to the blood and rage scenario he'd drawn. Paul brought both hands up in a vaguely supplicant gesture. "Look, Drake. Our fight's with Purcell, not you. Not that I trust you any more than him-I'm being honest here-but your faction's more rational and less bloodthirsty. If you want to put a purely cynical slant to what I'm saying, you're easier to blackmail because you're not bent on self-destruction like he is. You want to protect the town and continue your ways. He doesn't give a shit. So let's help each other."

It was all he had. It worked...or it didn't.

The vampire brushed his fingers together in a gesture Paul couldn't interpret. "As I told you before, Purcell and his followers don't even listen to me. He's young, I'm old."

Bill Sandy muttered, "Goddamn McConlon, but what can I do," a comment that drew a dark look from the master vampire.

Paul resisted the impulse to pace the room. Darby, Connie and Tuck were out there somewhere in the night. There might still be headlights following them, waiting for them to check in somewhere for the night. Or they were already sleeping behind flimsy motel locks...

No.

Calmly, he said, "That doesn't sound like the Miles Drake I met the other night. The man who escaped hostile crowds in Buffalo, Chicago, Louisiana. He wouldn't allow himself to be defeated this easily."

"Don't try your transparent head games on me. I was around long before pop psychology was invented."

Paul leaned forward, gripped the armrests so that his fingers whitened. "Drake, it's not us who are disturbing your way of life. They are. They think they're so clever, picking loners off the road for future 'harvesting.' But people are too connected these days. You can't even keep cell phones and the Internet out of here for much longer. Eventually someone will come looking for one of us. For all of us. Then what happens to your town?"

It was hard to tell from the vampire's granite expression whether he was getting through, but Paul's words had had an obvious effect on the others. He held a mesmerized audience of friend and foe.

He tracked periodic bursts of radio static. He heard the crunch of footsteps on the pavement outside the window and prayed it was Ponytail Pete. A finger of sweat tickled the back of his neck. He fought off another urge to peek at his watch and made himself forget all else.

Wait for the vampire to speak.

Drake slid both long arms to his sides and used them to hoist himself forward and off the couch with an old man's grimace. His daughter, Olan Buck and Bill Sandy instantly surrounded him.

Drake said, "There's much to think about."

Paul added, "And very little time."

"Nonetheless."

The ancient vampire walked steadily to the door, his small entourage at his heels.