'You know, I almost went back for Pumpkin Bear,' said Cherie. 'I just knew that Mum would throw him away. But Dad rescued him. And he looked for me everywhere. But I wasn't on the street so he didn't find me there. He did try very hard. Poor Dad.'

'Are you going to keep working at the dress shop?'

'For a week,' she replied. 'Donna gave me a job when I turned up and said I couldn't go on the books. I owe her. But Dad says he'll spot me to do a catch-up school course next year and then I want to get into RMIT. Do fas.h.i.+on design. Donna's been letting me design Goth stuff for her. From next Thursday, Dad and I are going to have a holiday.'

'A good idea,' I said. 'Where are you going?'

'Here,' said Cherie. 'He's going to take me to the zoo and the movies and teach me to cook. He's a good cook. You wouldn't know it from his fridge, though. We're going to do all the stuff we would have done if ... it hadn't all gone wrong. I'm going to help him get off the bottle. We've got a lot of catching up to do. And I never dared take any time off, because I never had enough money and I didn't know if Donna could hold the job for me. I haven't had a day off since I left home, except that one time when I caught the flu. I need a rest.'

It struck me that Donna had got rather a good deal. I suspected that Cherie might be just the person to design clothes for today's well-dressed Goth. Then again, I had just extorted a week's free work out of an ex-junkie who slept in Flagstaff Gardens.

While she was talking, Cherie had been making up my face with effortless efficiency. She piled my hair up on top of my head and pinned it there with two black lacquered chopsticks and a few invisible hairpins. She buckled the spiked collar around my throat. The spiked armlets closed around my wrists.

I looked into the mirror. My face was bleached white. My lips were red as blood. Dark shadows rimmed my eyes, which looked much brighter in contrast.

I stood up, shedding my dressing gown, and Cherie dropped the red dress over my head without stirring a hair. I put on the corset and laced it as tightly as I could while retaining any lung function at all.

And there was the transformation. I was stunning. I rustled lusciously as I moved. My b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose as though I was floating in water. Cherie picked up my handbag.

'What are you going to need? You shouldn't carry anything in your hands but your whip,' she instructed. 'There're pockets in the dress.'

So there were. Deep ones. I dropped my wallet, lipstick, keys, a handkerchief and a mobile phone into the left one and they vanished without a trace into the depths of the dress. I felt for them and they were all there, hanging at about knee level.

'Make sure the phone is off,' warned Cherie. 'If it rings you are history.'

'It's hardly ever on,' I said. 'Anything else I need to know?'

'Keep your head up and take no s.h.i.+t from anyone,' said Cherie. 'Have a good time. I gotta go. I'm watching The Princess Bride with Dad. He bought the video.'

I thanked her and saw her out and indulged myself in a few twirls. I had never worn anything like that red dress. I loved it. I practised walking in it, like a lady, with the front held up in both hands. Then I practised stalking like a dominatrix and found that it swished agreeably as I strode.

Then the door buzzer went and I gathered my black cloak, threw it around me, and went down, almost hoping to meet Mrs Pemberthy in the lift.

A black stretch limo with darkened windows was waiting. A uniformed chauffeur opened the door. I got in. There was Daniel, swathed in black like myself. He leaned forward and kissed me. Mistress Dread was in the opposite seat. The car pulled silently away from the kerb.

'Have a drink, dear,' said the Lady of Phantoms, opening a drinks cabinet and taking out a c.o.c.ktail shaker. It was a White Lady, very strong.

'Nothing but red wine in the club,' she said. 'I always have one drink to soothe my nerves.'

'I don't believe you have any nerves,' I said admiringly.

'I have a little drink to soothe the nerves which I'd have if I was another sort of person,' she elaborated.

That made sense to me and we all drank. The limo pulled up outside a large warehouse at the top of the city. A small bra.s.s plate, like the ones on a doctor's office, intimated to anyone close enough to read it that this was the home of Blood Lines, members only.

Mistress Dread stalked up the steps as though she was coming to accept the surrender of a small city, and the doors opened before her advance. She did not slow at all as she pa.s.sed a person of indeterminate s.e.x who was lurking inside the door. The person was wearing peasant clothes circa 1500, including a hood and liripipe. Its face was covered in st.i.tches. I had seen the film. Films. This was the one who was always sent out for fresh brains at three am. I had read Terry Pratchett.

'May I drink your blood?' it asked me hopefully.

'No,' I said.

'Then may I take your cloak?'

'Thank you, Igor.'

'Lucky guess about the name, Mistress,' said Igor.

I shed the black cloak and shook myself into order. Daniel did the same.

And there he was. He was naked to the waist. The rest of him was clad in leather trousers and boots. A design had been painted on his chest. There was a studded dog collar around his neck and he dropped to his knees and offered me the loop of his leash.

My hormones did that thud at the base of the spine thing. I was about to protest when his shook his head very slightly and said, 'Please, Lady Medusa?'

'Very well.' I took the leash and tightened it so that I drew him almost to my hem. 'If you are good.'

'I'll be good,' he said, with an undercurrent which went straight through the corset into the breast underneath.

'If you will sign in, Mistress Dread,' said Igor, cringing. 'And you, Mistress,' he added to me. He did not address Daniel. Clearly pets did not have to register. I signed 'Lady Medusa' and paid over my fee. Igor led the way to the curtained door.

'You are very decorative,' I whispered to Daniel as we went towards the inner door, covered by a heavy red velvet curtain.

'Celtic design. Meroe drew it. It's your mark. It means that I am yours and anyone who wants to borrow me has to ask you first.'

'I have no intention of lending you,' I said. I meant it. I wondered what Meroe had felt, so close to this admirable body, this smooth skin, this scent of spices, using his skin as her canvas. I hoped she had also given us a spell for success.

I joined Mistress Dread at the curtain, which was drawn back to reveal someone in the last stages of decomposition, dripping with what I hoped was very good fake green slime. Huge screens showed the Hammer horror movie Brides of Dracula. Christopher Lee's mouth, fanged and three metres high, approached a vulnerable, proffered neck. I had no need to speak. I would not have been heard if I had. The loudness of the music was almost beyond bearing. Not techno, however. Not Eversun. This was death thrash metal and they were singing about ...

'Andre Norton?' I asked.

'It's Bloodhag,' yelled Mistress Dread. 'They combine education with heavy metal. In concert they throw cheap editions of the books at the audience. Their motto is "the faster you go deaf, the more time you have to read". Good, aren't they?'

'Terrific,' I yelled back as the three nerds on the big screen segued into 'HP Lovecraft'. I followed Mistress Dread to the bar. Funnily enough, on the approach of a six-foot woman in a black corset and carrying a whip, the crowd melted away. The bar person was a wolf. I delved for my wallet and the wolf man pointed to a sign. It read 'Blood type O, two gold. Type Rh negative, four gold.' I produced four gold and Daniel leaned up against my thigh, begging. 'Lady?'

The wolf seemed to understand. He gave me some Rh negative in a plastic winegla.s.s and poured more into a bowl marked 'Dog'. I placed it on the floor. I knew I shouldn't be enjoying this. But I was. Oh, I was.

Mistress Dread put one stilettoed foot on the bra.s.s rail and we surveyed the crowd. The elaborately framed mirror behind the bar produced no reflection. Clever. The room pulsed to the thrash metal beat. There were a lot of vampires, I noticed. Dead white complexions, discreet fangs parting blood-red lips, ruffled s.h.i.+rts for the men, artfully draped shrouds for the ladies. One girl danced past me wearing Ophelia's shroud from the Millais painting, long draperies speckled with flowers from her last bouquet: pansies, rue, rosemary. No violets. 'For they wither'd all when my father died.' Her hair was long and somehow pre-lanked, looking wet and clinging to her pale, greenish, drowned face.

Then three leather Goths strutted past; a knee-length dress made of leather with studs on every available surface and two boys dressed mostly in an a.s.sortment of straps. High boots were universal except for the girls in filmy white damsel in distress costumes, who had pale bare feet. I had never seen such a fascinating crowd in my life. Costume parties, yes, I had been to them. People wearing hired clothes and looking uncomfortable, mostly. Whoever had painted the henna designs on that almost entirely naked girl had spent hours wors.h.i.+pping her body. The same went for the guy who had spent a whole weekend armouring himself in a sh.e.l.l of studded leather. There was real conviction in these dancers. They lived their dream.

Admittedly it was a dream of darkness and death. Their only chance of immortal life was to be bitten by someone with the right sort of teeth. But it was a dream and, as Daniel said, they had a mission. I drank the wine, which was surprisingly good. Daniel nudged my knee.

'Will the Lady dance?' he asked.

'Can I dance with you?' I whispered back. He read my lips. It was silly to whisper in a place where Bloodhag was belting out some comments on the literary skill of Frank Herbert with a backing track that sounded like a 747 landing.

'Order me to stand. Flick the whip. Then we can dance,' he mouthed.

I put down the empty gla.s.s and tugged at his chain. 'Up!' I ordered. I gave the whip a twiddle and it flicked his shoulder. I stopped myself from saying sorry. We were doing this for a purpose. Daniel stood up, head hanging submissively. I put the handle of the whip under his chin and forced his head up.

'Dance!' I ordered.

At once I was whirled into the centre of the crowd and Daniel was holding me tight to keep us in one place. My previous kiss had reddened his lips. I kissed him again. Something had happened to me which wasn't entirely a product of the costume and the company. I felt powerful. I saw Mistress Dread drinking another gla.s.s of Rh negative and smiling at me. I could not feel Daniel's body through the corset and the taffeta but I could slide my hands down his bare skin, relish the muscles, the ordered propriety which was his back. He was mine.

The music faltered. The dancers stopped. Werewolf, hag and leather boy began to bow or curtsy according to taste. Someone was parting the dancers like Moses parted the Red Sea.

He came towards me and I gave at the knees in a proper curtsy, learned in a very respectable school dancing cla.s.s a very long time ago. Daniel dropped to his knees and grovelled. Mistress Dread stalked to our side and put a hand on my shoulder and she bowed. Just a little. Mistress Dread was not the subservient kind. But everyone bowed to Lestat.

A slight figure, dressed in an eighteenth century suit with embroidered waistcoat, ruffled s.h.i.+rt and stock, carrying a long black cane with gold decorations. His golden hair was clubbed and tied with a black ribbon. He walked slowly, returning the courtesies with the occasional nod. Behind him, stooping, came a figure in peasant clothes. Lestat had his own Igor. When the Master of Vampires came to Mistress Dread he stopped and bowed, a little, in turn. Two monarchs saluting each other.

'Mistress,' he said.

'Master,' said Mistress Dread. 'May I present the Lady Medusa?'

Oh, those strange eyes. I could not see any pupils or any white. The whole eye was velvety black. He was looking at me and I could not guess what he was thinking. The eyes are the window of the soul and this person, quite possibly, didn't have one. He extended a white hand loaded with rings. I sank and rose. He raised my hand and kissed it. His mouth was as dry as a lizard's.

'I am Lestat. My gift is death,' he said. 'Will you honour me with your company? You and your enchanting ... pet?'

I pulled the leash and Daniel grovelled forwards. Lestat pushed him aside with the gleaming toe of his boot. Then I laid the tips of my fingers on Lestat's arm and we went through the dancers. A door opened at Lestat's approach. He said 'Faust'. A Woman in White straight out of Wilkie Collins let us through. Bloodhag started up again as the door closed. It must have been padded because the noise level immediately fell to almost nothing.

We came into a chamber hung with red plush like an old cinema. There were lots of chairs and sofas set around the walls and, I suspected, alcoves behind the drapes for more private meetings. There was a large cleared s.p.a.ce in the middle where twenty couples had formed up to dance. All vampires, here, except for two Masters with female slaves and one other Mistress, also with a female slave. Daniel was prettier than all of them. Lestat gestured to his Igor to take Daniel's leash and led me into the dance.

This was going to be ugly. Not only had I solely learned boring dances, I had two left feet. I was about to be humiliated but I couldn't see a way out.

Music began to play. Not death thrash metal but chamber music. In fact, I knew it. It was 'Bella, qui tiens ma vie'. With any luck, we were going to dance a pavane, and anyone- I repeat, anyone-can dance a pavane. One could teach a moderately dim orang-utan to dance a pavane. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Originally, pavanes were danced to allow everyone in the room to see what everyone else was wearing and who they were dancing with. This was still their function in this room. We moved. One, two, three paces forward. One, two three paces back. Forward again. Gentleman down on one knee as lady circles him. Lady stands as gentleman circles her. Then forward again. When the whole room has had ample time to look and gossip, it finishes with a curtsy. Very nice. An ideal dance, which allows one to observe and converse.

I observed as Lestat did not wish to converse. From the exaggerated veneration paid the Vampire Master, I a.s.sumed that one did not offer any comment unasked. Strong Buffy influence. Two Spikes with bleached hair. A Harmony. A Glory in a red dress patterned with anatomically correct hearts. An a.s.sortment of s...o...b..es: two Willows, a Tara in a long green gown. Several people in demon masks and a very good werecat; a woman in tight fur with a very convincing tail.

Not a lot of differences from a science fiction convention except there were fewer Klingons. No aliens. No blue-skinned maidens. No lycra. I liked it already.

We paced on through the pavane. I could see the Igor holding Daniel's chain tight, so that he had to sit up on his heels. So far, this gathering might be a little eccentric as to dress and speech but its behaviour would not have been out of place at a Baptist convention. Mistress Dread had not joined us. I a.s.sumed that her domain was underground, in the dungeon.

'An interesting pet, Lady,' Lestat said to me. 'Have you had him long?'

'A few weeks,' I answered, and added, 'Lord. A fascinating club, Master. Have you ruled it long?'

'A few centuries,' he replied. 'The city grew up around it, of course. When the s.h.i.+p with my coffin in the hold went off course, driven by the trade winds, there was nothing here at all except marsh and river.'

'You must have been hungry, Master,' I said, carrying on the fantasy.

'I fed,' he said, licking his lips. 'Things have improved lately, of course. But I shall be here when the city is gone again,' he said. 'When the towers fall and the river creeps out of its bed and makes all this marsh again.'

'Eternal Master,' I murmured. Lestat looked at me, possibly with favour. Where was Anita Blake, Vampire Killer, when I needed her?

'It is time for communion,' he said. 'You will join us?'

'Honoured,' I said. I had to talk to Daniel. What sort of communion was he talking about? Lestat led me back to a sofa and reclaimed his Igor. I dragged the leash so that Daniel's ear was close to my mouth.

'Communion?' I whispered. He shrugged.

'I don't know,' he mouthed. 'I've never got this far before. But there's an inner chamber. This is just the public face. You have to convince him to let you closer. Stick with it, Lady,' he said, and slipped down off the sofa to bury his face in my skirts. Igor was bowing. He was so heavily made up and masked that I couldn't tell if he was young or old. The voice sounded like a boy's. I wondered how many Igors there were. This was the third I had seen tonight. A good disguise for an interchangeable servant. I suspected the Igors might be staff.

'Lady Succuba is wondering if the new Mistress would care to share wine with her,' he said, omitting the customary lisp. 'Your pets may like to play together, my lady says.'

I stood and tugged Daniel to follow. He was keeping behind me, I noticed. Surely no one was going to recognise Daniel as a partly naked slave on a leash? Lady Succuba was wearing a half-mask. Lady Succuba was also wearing a full leather bodysuit, knife point stilettos fully eight inches high and more spikes than a cactus. Embracing her would be like an hour in the Iron Maiden. Which was her point (sorry), perhaps. Her slave was dressed in part of a bikini and a few bandages. Her whole body was painted or tattooed in Celtic designs. She was lovely. But her hair hung down like a curtain and she would not show her face.

Daniel went into an immediate huddle with the tattooed girl. I curtsied to Lady Succuba and she bowed to me.

'First time here?' she asked.

'As my lady says,' I agreed.

'My lady will not find better,' she said, slipping into third person formal. 'The Master keeps perfect order, even in the more ... arcane rituals. If it would please the lady, I'm sure that we could show her ... things which she has not seen before. If the lady is a true Domina.'

'Indeed?' This called for one raised eyebrow and was a cue to behave like a true Domina. I flicked my whip. 'Dog!' I said severely. 'Behave!'

Daniel whined and let go of the slave girl, curling up with his back to me.

'You have marked him,' Succuba approved. I hadn't. Daniel must have done it to himself. There were two long red weals across his back. I fought down an urge to kiss them. I was sicker than I thought. But now was no time to remember my strict C of E upbringing. Now was the time to remember as many horror stories as I could and to call on my dark side.

Like Meroe, I might easily prove to be better at the dark than the light.

The lights dimmed. An Igor lit candles. Not many candles, either. In the darkness Daniel crawled up beside me, back to the curtains, and leaned his elbows on a convenient thigh. A large table was set up in the middle of the room. Eerie music began to play-Erik Satie, I think. With a flash of light, Lestat appeared and poured red fluid into a huge silver bowl from a silver ewer. It looked like wine. We all got up and moved towards the centre of the room. Somewhere, chanting had begun. A sound like a wind on cold mountains filled the room. Daniel got up to a crouch and stayed close to me. Beside me, Lady Succuba wet her lips.

'Drink,' said Lestat. The quiet, dry voice had great authority. Igors handed out little silver cups. The devil's punchbowl. We dipped and held the silver cups aloft.

'To death,' he said, And we drank to death.

There was another taste in the wine. A rusty, salty, foody taste. I realised that it was blood and managed not to retch. We circled the table, mistress and slave and demon and vampire, and dipped and drank again. 'To life!' Daniel chuckled very softly by my skirts and I suppressed him firmly. Then a third time, and we drank 'to blood!'

Lestat took my hand. 'Come,' he said, and led me into the inner chamber.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Here it was wholly dark. I stood still, gripping my whip, conscious that Daniel had come in with me, mostly hidden under my dress. His hand was on my knee. Lestat waited until the small bead of a candle bloomed and I could see the room.

It was all couches, thick mattresses as soft as beds, all covered and draped in deepest black. On an altar at the end of the room, near a small, closed, iron door, lay a languid, naked girl. Her arms were scarred. Her eyes were closed.

'Blood,' said Lestat. 'Blood is life. Let your pet play with you, Mistress, and at your crisis, you will taste blood in your mouth, and that will give you pleasure such as you have never known.'

Blood games. So this was what Suze had been doing. How should I react? I felt Daniel's hand on my knee, urging me towards the couch. I went and lay down, my head near the dirty bare feet of the sacrifice. She was still breathing. As Daniel pushed aside my skirts to kiss my boots, she cracked a wary eyelid. 'Don't sweat it,' she whispered. 'This is a good gig for me.'