Angling it so I could examine my nether regions, I touched a finger gingerly along the tender skin, but still couldn't make out anything in particular.

Maybe we'd just rubbed the poor little thing raw with our callisthenics.

When I pulled back the lip on one side, clearly visible were two not-so-tiny holes, floating in a sea of angry, red skin.

"What the hell?"

I reached over, opened the medicine cabinet above the sink, and retrieved the tube of antiseptic salve that I'd used for my last bite wound.

Dotting it carefully on the sore spots, I struggled to re-member any time during the night when Devereux had bitten anything but my neck.

I instinctively lifted my hand up to my throat, check-ing for evidence of what I clearly remembered, and felt only smooth skin. I raised the mirror, shifting around to display all sides,then shook my head.

Nothing.No sign of the sensuous neck nibble. Not even a red spot.

Either I'd blacked out and missed a very erotic chapter in our book of carnal knowledge, or something altogether dif-ferent had happened.

Then, as if someone turned on a movie, I remembered the last scene of the mountain dream.The labial feast.

"It was not a dream" floated through my mind in a familiar voice.

I jumped up and ran into my bedroom. "Devereux?"

"'We were in another dimension and I was careless. My heartfelt apologies, my love.I will heal your wound tonight."

"Dever-" I almost got his name out before I realized the voice was coming from inside my head. Or, at least I was pretty sure that no one else could hear it.

At least, not anyone I could see.

I'll never get used to this.

I paused for a moment, waiting for any remaining astral proclamations, but the voice was silent.

Well that's great. Now even my dreams leave scars.

I didn't know whether I was being open-minded or stu-pid, but one thing was certain.

Nothing surprised me anymore.

Well, almost nothing.

As soon as I stepped off the elevator at my office later that morning, I knew something was wrong. Not only did my intuitive radar system shoot off a warning, but my regular senses shifted into overdrive. I'd learned from experience not to ignore those kinds of signals.

I walked slowly down the short hallway between the ele-vators and my waiting room, steeling myself for what I'd find. That usually closed door was now open and there was a hor-rendous stench coming from my inner office.

I set my purse and briefcase against the wall opposite the entryway, gingerly pushed the waiting room door open with one finger, and discovered the main door was not only open, it was off its hinges, lying on the floor in front of my desk.All the chairs and tables in the waiting area had been overturned, some were broken and everything was coated in a dark reddish-brown substance. On the wall someone had scrawled, in childish print in that same horriblecolor , "iwill not suffer a witch to live," and "you will be washed in the blood."

As bad as that was, I knew it had only been the prelude to the main concerto.

Holding my breath, I stepped to the doorway of my office and surveyed the scene.

Compared to the condition of this larger room, the mess in the waiting area had been child's play.

Perhaps that wasn't an inaccurate diagnosis of the perpetrator's developmental level.

I shuddered out the breath I'd been holding.

Someone had taken a knife-clearly a honking huge knife-to all the couches and chairs, slashing wide gashes through every cushion. Then, just to make sure the destruc-tion was complete, the furniture was tumbled and drizzled with more of that reddish-brown stain.

All the files in my locked file cabinet had been shredded and strewn around the room. Some appeared to have been partially burned, which explained one small portion of the odour. The metal file cabinet itself was oddly twisted, as if hands had pulled it apart.

The drawers in my desk had been opened and they, along with the top of the desk and my computer, were saturated with what could only be pools of blood.

The stunted artist hadn't spared the walls in this room either. On all four sides were scribbled various obscenities, threats, and a few things I vaguely noted as coming from religious sources.

Actually, I recognized everything that was written on the wall because I'd heard it all before.

Brother Luther had screamed every word of it at me in one of the enraged messages I'd saved in my voice mail system.

As astounding as the damage was in both rooms, I still couldn't figure out what the ghastly smell was.

Had Brother Luther broken into my office and left a dead animal?Excrement? If it had been him, he must be a very large, strong man. Or maybe he brought somebody with him. In any case, the destruction was violent, thorough, and personal. I wasn't sure how much good it would have done, but I should've told the police, or at least Alan, about the telephone threats right after they started. Maybe Brother Luther-if he really was responsible-had done something similar before. He might even have a police record.

Hind-sight is always crystal clear.

I scanned the room again for the source of the smell and noticed that the door, which had been torn off its hinges, was lying strangely on the floor. Not flat, but at an angle, as if something was underneath.

My solar plexus tightened and my heart pounded. My brain treated me to a high-speed presentation of all the worst-case scenarios I could imagine.

I moved slowly and carefully through the debris, not wanting to disturb any more of the evidence than necessary, and knelt down near the dislodged door. A wave of nausea hit me. I lifted up one corner, which was all it took for me to discover the source of the smell.

A slender, young male was underneath. He was deathly white, clearly no longer alive, and drenched in blood.

I guessed he'd been there for several hours.

Startled, I pushed the door off of him and jumped when it bumped into a still upright end table, sending the lamp that had miraculously survived the onslaught crashing to the floor.

I was still staring at the unidentified young man when I heard someone gasp.

"Dr. Knight! What happened? Are you okay? Oh, mygawd ! That's Eric!"

I turned so quickly I lost my balance and went down hard on my butt in a puddle of thick blood.

Midnight and Ronald had scheduled another joint ap-pointment and they were right ontime .

We all stared at each other for a few endless seconds, and then Ronald stepped forward, offering his hand.

"Let me help you up, Dr. Knight."

Midnight had locked both hands over her mouth and stood rigid, eyes wide.

I accepted Ronald's help to stand, and moved away from the young man Midnight had identified as Eric.

The appren-tice who'd crafted the little knives for blood swapping.

After helping me up, Ronald went back to Midnight. He put his arm around her and stroked her hair, but she didn't respond.

I noticed a fine trembling in her body.One of the first signs of shock.

"Ronald, would you help Midnight out to the hallway, please? I need to go out there and make some phone calls."

I kept my voice as calm and normal as possible.

He understood what I hadn't said, nodded and pushed Midnight gently in the direction of the door, holding her by the shoulders to keep her from stumbling or tripping over the chaos on the floor.Once out of direct sight of her friend's body, Midnight lowered her hands away from her mouth and cried silently, her head on Ronald's shoulder.

I left them huddled together long enough to retrieve my purse and fetch my cell phone. The expression on their trau-matized, young faces was heart-wrenching, and I wished they'd been late for their appointment.That I'd been able to meet them out in the hall instead of involving them in more psychotic madness.

But, ruminating about what should have been didn't do any of us any good. I joined them and rested my hand on Midnight's arm.

"I'm sorry, Midnight. But the police are going to want to talk to you and Ronald since you knew Eric.

Why don't you sit down and relax until they arrive?"

They both nodded and lowered themselves to the floor.

I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, taking a moment to sort out my emotions.

Oddly though, instead of feeling frightened or upset, I felt calm. I'd been making the assumption that all of the ter-rible things that had happened-Emerald Addison's death, my kidnapping and everything else-had something to do with the vampire-wannabe community. I'd finally started to believe there were supernatural forces at work. And it was clear that somehow the vampire stuff was involved. But it was almost a relief to come to the realization I had a garden-variety psychopath on my hands. No doubt this serial killer had abusive childhood experiences, linked with religiously instigated guilt and shame. I'd hazard to guess he wasn't fond of women either.Classic.Textbook.A mentally defec-tive, wounded child acting out in the most hideous ways.

Now, that was something I knew how to deal with.

And how convenient that he seemed to have taken a per-sonal interest in me.

I walked down by the elevator anddialed 911 on my cell phone. I explained there5d been a death in my office and re-turned to the other end of the hallway where Midnight and Ronald sat, standing nearby to wait for the police to arrive.

The calm before the storm.

I glanced down and noticed my clothes were trashed.Again.

Having my cream-colored pantsuit covered in blood was a miserable reminder of the night I spent in the mausoleum. But since I didn't have any spare clothes to change into, I had little choice but to ignore the psychic flashbacks and distract myself by thinking about ways the police could use me as bait to catch the killer.

By the time they arrived, I'd concocted some creative and audacious scenarios, in which Super Psychologist would save the day.

I heard the dings of the elevators just before the doors opened, and I instinctively moved a few steps in that direction.

A dozen uniform officers swarmed out, followed by a forensics unit. From the tail end, preceded by heavy footsteps, came a familiar voice.

"Well, well. Dr. Knight. We meet again."

Lieutenant Bullock strolled over to me in the hallway, clasped her hands behind her and walked around me in a circle. The edges of her mouth were quirked in a grim sort of smile. She raised her eyebrows when she noticed the large, messy bloodstain on the back of my pants.

"Up to your ass in blood once more, eh? Or, should I say twice more, since I last saw you? I heard about the cemetery deal, and your influential friend making sure you didn't have to go through normal channels. Oh, yes. Why so surprised? I make a point of keeping track of 'interesting' people. And you, Dr. Knight, strike me as very . . . 'interesting'. Funny, how often death follows you around."She ran her fingers through her short,graying hair and shifted her attention to Midnight, then Ronald, then me.

She pointed at the couple huddled on the floor.

"I'll send some officers to begin their interviews and to get preliminary details from you. Then, after I do my job inside, I'll be back."

Her smile brightened. "I'm going to handle your state-ment.Personally."

She took a couple of steps toward my waiting room door,then partially turned, her face devoid of emotion.

"Don't go anywhere."

She pivoted and strode into my office, barking out orders to the officers already inside.

Surprise in his voice, Ronald said, "Wow, that police-woman doesn't like you, Dr. Knight. What did you do to piss her off?"

I almost responded by saying "What do you think I did to piss her off?" but caught myself before giving the automatic therapy reply.

Instead, I shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Something about me bothered her from the first moment she laid eyes on me. Maybe I remind her of someone else."

"Or maybe she knew you in a past life?"I turned to the voice and was grateful and relieved to see Alan approaching.

He covered the short distance quickly and put his arm around my shoulders.

"I couldn't believe my ears when I heard the address of the homicide on my radio. What happened? Did one of your clients go berserk?"

"No. Someone broke in, destroyed my office."

He tightened his grip on my shoulders. "Well, your trusty FBI agent is always here for you. Who died?"

The shoulder resting against him relaxed. "A friend of Midnight's.A boy.One of the other vampire apprentices."

"This is a vampire thing?" He unceremoniously dropped his arm, leaped away, sprinted off into my office and left me with my mouth hanging open.

Well.So much for being here for me.

I sighed and backed up against the wall to wait for what-ever Lieutenant Bullock had in store.

True to her word, she sent officers out to interview Midnight and Ronald and a detective to talk to me.

The detective politely asked questions that I only had one answer for: I don't know. With each similar response from me, his eyebrows inched closer to his hairline.