After they zipped up and called a truce, I recounted every-thing I could remember about Brother Luther's telephone calls,then forwarded copies of the toxic harangues to Lieu-tenant Bullock's voice mailbox.

The lab report came back verifying that the blood in my office didn't belong to Eric. As before, it couldn't be identified.

We argued for and against various theories and hy-potheses, going nowhere fast, until it was obvious that we'd exhausted the productive possibilities for the day, and we were all tired and hungry.

Lieutenant Bullock waved us out, said she'd be in touch and Alan walked me to my car.

"Well, you've had a crappy couple of weeks, wouldn't you say?"

I shrugged, not sure if he was kidding or attempting to be supportive. "I'd guess the dead people have had a crappier time than me."He nodded and grunted some version of "huh" or "hmmm."

I fished my keys out of my purse and toyed with them, checking out the asphalt near my right foot. So, can I come home with you?"

What?" I was sure my face clearly indicated I hadn't seen that coming. "Why do you want to come home with me?"

He smiled, and stepped closer. "I think we have stuff to talk about.Things to clarify.Questions to be answered. Youknow, the usual. Maybe you'd like to have your back scrubbed in the shower.Or maybe your front."

I barked out a laugh, then smiled and answered.

"I can't really blame you for running hot then cold, be-cause you probably think that's what I did. And I can't say I don't find you attractive, in an obsessive-compulsive sort of way, because I do. But I spent four years with a man who kept me very low on his priority list, and something about you reminds me of him. Been there, done that."

His sapphire eyes darkened, he wrapped his arms around me and planted very soft, warm lips on mine.

I kept my arms at my sides, but felt my lips opening for his tongue as my mouth welcomed the pressure of his.

My body responded to the unexpected move by putting out the chemical welcome mat. I moaned softly.

After a few seconds, he released me and stepped back, leaning against the car next to mine.

"I've known lots of women in my life. I seem to be the kind of guy women make up stories about. They attribute my loner tendencies to some kind of yearning that only they can heal. They think if they have sex with me I'll suddenly be different. Not as work-obsessed. Not as crazy. But they all find out quickly that what you see is what you get.

"So, I've managed to have lots of experience with women, but zero experience with relationships. I just don't know how to do them. I'm not even from Mars.'1 He laughed, re-ferring to the trendy book.

"There's no name for the planet I'm from."

He studied me as if he was waiting for something, and I found myself doing the "therapist nod," the gentle, slow, up and down head motion, not unlike one of those dolls in the back window of a car, that most counsellors unconsciously perform while listening to someone's story.

I shrugged. "I'm not sure why you're telling me this."

He sighed. "'You confuse me. Sometimes I think I've blown it, and that you're already emotionally committed to Devereux, so I back off. Then other times I get the idea that our attraction is mutual, like the way you just responded to my kiss, so I take a chance. Now, I'm just asking, flat out. Do I have a chance with you?"

I decided to be as honest as I could.

"I don't know. You're right about my being emotionally connected to Devereux. I'm not sure if that's because I really care about him, or if he's zapping me with vampire juju and I'm a puppet on his string.

"'The truth is that I met Devereux before I ran into you at the hospital. I don't know why I didn't tell you.

Maybe it was because I thought the whole vampire thing was bullshit and Devereux and you and all my wannabe clients were deluded and confused. It wasn't until Devereux put you to sleep and snatched me out of my living room that I actually forced my-self to accept what my eyes were telling me."

"I was already a little bit in love with him before I met you. But, it's also true that I'm very attracted to you. So, I guess I can't tell you anything helpful. I simply don't know."

He pulled me into his arms again and whispered into my hair above my ear. "I'll play my hunch, then." He kissed my cheek, smiled and said, "Cover your back, Dr. Knight."

By the time I backed my car out of the space and turned to wave goodbye, he was already gone.

I tuned into the local evening news on TV for the company, poured a glass of wine and sat at my desk.

It was time to make a new plan.

Even if the building manager didn't evict me, it would be quite a while before the police would let me back inside my office, and even longer for the space to be repaired. I'd have to check online for cleaning companies that specialized in bloodstains. Was there such a thing?

In the meantime, I needed to find a place to meet with my clients. Having a home office wasn't appealing at the best of times, and I certainly wasn't going to give a blanket invita-tion to every vampire inDenver .

Even if Devereux said the needing-to-be-invited-in thing was a myth, I wasn't taking any chances. From what I'd learned so far, just because Devereux could come and go as he pleased didn't mean that other vampires could. He seemed to be the GrandPoobah in more ways than one.

Hearing my name mentioned on the news jarred me out of my thoughts. I picked up the remote control and turned up the volume. The station was airing a story about the body found in my office. They replayed a video clip from my last trip to the police station, while the voice-over specu-lated about my "alleged vampire clientele." At the end of the story, the reporter gave us his best stern expression and said, "This reporter wonders how it is that Dr. Knight always seems to be involved in these murders?

Maybe the police should be checking her alibi." His lips spread in a lopsided horse smile. "Wes Carter, live inDenver .Back to you in the studio, Bob."

"'Thanks, Wes.It sounds like there's more to Dr. Knight than meets the eye. We'll be following the story 24/7 until we get to the truth."

Doing my best imitation of Jack Nicholson, I bellowed, "You can't handle the truth!"

I jumped up and made sure all the doors and windows were locked and the blinds and curtains weretightly closed. Until that moment, I'd forgotten about the media. They hadn't been in front of my house when I came home, but an-other carnival could arrive at any moment.

My doorbell rang and I said, "Shit!" out loud, wishing my trusty intuition would've put in its two cents a bit earlier. I peered through the peephole and saw black hair and felt a tingling sensation in my midsection.

"Who is it?"

"Oh, get over yourself. Open the door."

The voice was familiar.

I cracked the door enough to see X-rated Luna standing on my front porch, unaccompanied by reporters, cameras, or microphones.

"Luna?" I swung the door open. "This is a surprise."

She was dressed in a low cut black top, tight black jeans, and black, pointy, high-heeled boots.Vampire dominatrix. The dramatic makeup artistry on her pale skin was even more striking than the first time I saw her. Her silver eyes were embellished with Cleopatra-like wings.Very exotic.

"Yeah, well don't count on it ever happening again. I think the sooner he tires of you, the better. But I told him I'd come to your house and that I'd ring the damn doorbell, so here I am. He can't give me any more grief about you."

Luna's distaste for humans, and me in particular, was well known.

I nodded. "And to what do I owe thishonor ?"

"You've got that right. I have a message from the Mas-ter. He has serious business he must attend to tonight and he won't be able to see you. But he said he'll visit your dreams and explain. He said I had to tell you that you're in danger and not to let anyone remove your protective necklace." What does he mean, I'm in danger?" Hey, I just deliver the messages. I don't explain them. But I will tellyou that something's up. Vampires areswarming intoDenver in droves. Some of them make even us tough vamps nervous. Something dark and heavy is in the air, so to speak."

"Where's Devereux?" I asked.

She glared at me. "Not that it's any of your miserable human business, but he's off on some kind of inter-dimen-sional rescue mission. He's always saving somebody." She pursed her lips and brought her face closer to mine. "He sim-ply can't resist a hard-luck case."

Her lips relaxed into a wicked smile, displaying fully de-scended fangs. "But who knows? You might get snatched away by the Dark One again and I won't have to hear about you anymore. Wouldn't that be great?"

She laughed and vanished.

I was never sure what to make of her attitude toward me. Clearly she didn't have much use for me, but I knew she'd follow Devereux's orders. I was sure she wouldn't hurt me.Probably.

Leave it to Devereux to choose a pissed off beauty queen for his personal assistant. No bug-eating, rotted-toothRenfield for him.

I was still standing in the entryway with my hand on the open door. I poked my head outside and was relieved to find nothing. No one screaming questions, no bright lights, no car tracks on my grass.

I locked the door and went back to my desk.

The next task on my list was to contact all my clients, cancel or reschedule any appointments set for the next couple of days and assure them I'd be functioning again as quickly as possible.I spoke with all but a handful and left general messages for the ones I hadn't reached, asking them to contact me.

Rubbing the back of my neck to ease the tight muscles, I shuffled over to my comfortable chair, found the remote con-trol and clicked through the channels, searching for mindless entertainment.

I landed on a well-known national discussion program. The show's host was an abrasive, politically dogmatic, ar-gumentative bully who only had guests to give him someone to shout over. I usually didn't have much time for television, and this show was particularly worth avoiding, but some-thing about the topic caught my attention.

A diverse panel was talking about the end of the world. Normally, discussions about that topic have a decidedly reli-giousflavor and don't appeal to me, but this group seemed to be comprised of all kinds of people: scientists, psychics, spiri-tual leaders, law enforcement officials, and politicians.Quite an unexpected amalgam of opinions.

An old, white-haired woman on the panel moved to the podium and spoke. "The world is being contaminated by a growing darkness.A cumulative negative energy so strong that it's eliciting the worst from all the earth's inhabitants. The idea that thoughts and emotions hold certain vibrations is no longer speculation. According to the Law of Attraction, like attracts like, and we are witnessing clear evidence of that all over the world today."

Where had I heard that before? It seemed so familiar. Then I remembered.Cerridwyn the Tarot reader had said almost exactly the same thing.

I hadn't realized the end of the world had becomesucha hot topic.

I listened to the panel's discussion, waiting for the voices of ridicule and condescension that usually follow such procla-mations, but none came. Everyone on the panel had a unique aspect of this "growing darkness" to share.

My ears perked up when they mentionedDenver as one of the cities on the leading edge of the escalatingnegativity.

According to a dark-skinned man wearing a turban, un-explained deaths and all forms of violence had increased in these cities at a higher rate than the national average.

They devoted the next few minutes to comparing ideas about why those certain cities and areas of the country had be-come the focus of evil, and decided it had to do with a psychic build-up of toxic human emotions: hate, fear, blame, guilt, rage, shame-conditions that prepared the ground for increased vio-lence, manipulation, intolerance, control, and destruction.

The white-haired woman explained, "Peoples' focus on fear, hatred, and violence has caused a greater vibrational accumulation of those emotions in places across the country where powerful concentrations of hopeful, optimistic, and enlightening energy also exists. In other words, everything and its oppositeis increasing in these locations.

"We are called to make a choice between love, compas-sion, and tolerance and hate, fear, and war.A true archetypal Armageddon."

The discussion sounded so New Age, I was shocked by the host's uncharacteristic lack of reaction.

Strange. I'd never heard him be polite with anyone before. I guessed hisbehavior was as clear an indication of the impending end of the world as anything. Or maybe hell had frozen over.

I thought about the readingCerridwyn gave me and all the weird things that had happened since then. I was no lon-ger the same person who had concrete answers about what was and wasn't real. Maybe I should go and visit her again.

Wow. Did I just seriously consider going to a psychic on purpose?

The program went to commercial and a group of children in costumes screamed "Trick or Treat!" as an advertisement for Halloween candy filled the screen.

Halloween?Was it Halloween already? I didn't even know what day of the month it was, although I'd vaguely been aware it was October. Today was the 30th, so tomorrow was Halloween.I loved Halloween as a child. It didn't take a psychologist to figure out what metaphor I was acting out by dressing up as a princess every year. Damn those Disney fairy tales!

In graduate school, I studiedSamhain , the old pagan hol-iday that predated our current, consumer-driven observance.Samhain celebrated the time of year when the veil between the worlds was most transparent-when magic was afoot.

Unfortunately, our culture had become suspicious of true magic and had shrouded the holiday in fear, superstition, and nonsense. I'd attended aWiccan coven's ritual once and walked around hearing peoples'

thoughts again for a week afterward.Powerful stuff.

I read something in the newspaper recently about a big party or gathering on Halloween.A yearly event.

Not that I intended to go. My life was bizarre enough without adding more occult madness.

A sudden pain shot across my forehead and my solar plexus seized.

The light bulbs in both the overhead fixture and the table lamp simultaneously exploded, leaving the room illuminated by the eerie glow of the large TV screen.

"Harlot!Whore!"

The screeching voice from behind me startled me so badly I leaped out of the chair and landed on top of the cof-fee table, knocking over my glass of wine.

Creeping toward me, circling in front of the table I crouched on, was an emaciated-looking male.

The sunken cheeks of his white, cadaverous face ap-peared blue in the shadowy light, and his floor-length, black coat hung loosely on his tall, wiry frame.

His head was a luminous egg.Hairless with crisscross-ing veins.

His coal black eyes were rimmed with swollen red tissue, something foul and thick oozing from the corners.

He looked like an experiment gone wrong.A body in search of its grave.

He pointed a finger at me, the elongated fingernail ragged and stained. He clutched a huge, battered black book in his other arm.

He snarled, displaying yellow and brown teeth.And fangs. I recognized the southern drawl from the phone calls.

Is this Brother Luther? He's a vampire?

The degree to which I'd missed the boat blew me away.

He screeched, "Evil Jezebel! You will burn in eternal damnation!Consorting with Satan's minions!"

His breath was horrible, reeking like a sewer. It provided nau-seating contrast to the rancidodorwatting from his clothing.

I scanned the area, weighing my options and the distance to the nearest phone,then leapt off the table, landing as far away from him as possible.

There wasn't any way I was going to make eye contact with him, so I focused on his nose, which was a mass of bumps, missing skin and odd angles.

"Are you Brother Luther? What do you want?" I asked, using my least threatening therapy voice, my heart running a marathon.

As if he hadn't heard my question, he continued slinging vile epithets. He stared at me with his glassy dark eyes, tiny droplets of spit flying as he ranted.