After the medical tech got Midnight prepped and sta-bilized, he told me her vital signs were incredibly good for someone who'd almost been drained.

I don't know why he spared the time to talk to me again and be so encouraging. Maybe he saw something in my eyes. Anyway, he said her outlook was great. Except for some missing hair and scalp, Ronald was com-pletely fine.A nasty souvenir of his first ever Vampires' Ball. I was morbidly drawn to the edge of the circle, which no longer held together, where I obsessively stared at the red vel-vet duster filled with ash.

The sword still rested nearby, clear evidence of some-thing I knew logically but resisted emotionally. Isat down, trying to feel bad.Trying to feel ashamed.Trying to feel anything. But I was numb.

Alan had finally gotten across to Lieutenant Bullock that it was a vampire body rotting on the floor in the Dark Magic circle. So, no forensics team would be arriving to collect evidence.

He reminded her that if she told anyone she'd spent the last couple of hours with vampires, she'd be taken away in one of those delightful coats with long arms that lock in the back.

Luna still prowled the area, mumbling under her breath about the stupid humans and what she wanted to do to Lieu-tenant Bullock. We each deal with pain in our own way.

I wasn't sure how I was going to deal with mine. I rested my forehead on my bent knees. Another river of tears poured down my face. It wasn't fair. I'd just accepted that Devereux was a vam-pire and that I had strong feelings for him,then he was gone. Weren't vampires supposed to live forever?

I knew that after the shock receded, I'd have to deal with all the stages of grief. Was I supposed to move into an office in Devereux's building, seeing constant reminders of him every day? I'd have to be a glutton for punishment to do that.

Maybe I'd take a sabbatical from my practice. Hide away. Take some time. Go toParis to visit friends.

I don't know how long I'd been sitting there in front of Bryce's remains, but for some reason I had an urge to raise my head. The ghost in the mirror was once again working hard to get my attention.

Nobody else has the ability to see this ghost but me?

He was beside himself with joy. He smiled very wide, danced in circles and thrust his bow vigorously in a pointing motion toward the far end of the room. Since he'd been a reliable resource, I rose and shifted my eyes in the general direction the bow indicated. There was something on the floor, half underneath one of the grand pianos.

My heart pounded and I gasped. My body knew before the rest of me did. I ran full out across the room, skidding to a stop a foot away from flowing platinum hair. Devereux looked like he'd been hit by a truck.Or ex-posed to the vampire equivalent of kryptonite.

I screamed again, this time with pure joy, which was quickly followed by the sound of running footsteps and ex-cited voices. He was sprawled on his back, his hair partially covering his face. I dropped to my knees, held his face in my hands and kissed his parched lips. His skin felt icy cold to the touch. I was suddenly terrified that Lucifer had sent Devereux's dead body back as a sadistic parting shot. I checked for a heartbeat on his pulse points and didn't de-tect anything. But, if he was already dead, did it matter that he didn't have a heartbeat? I didn't understand enough about vampire mortality to even know what signs to watch for.

Luna, who'd dropped down next to Devereux across from me, closed her eyes, cocked her head and pressed one hand against his forehead and the other to his chest. I watched her, not sure what she was doing, but hop-ing she knew some kind of vampire trick that would bring Devereux back to consciousness. I couldn't help myself. I started crying again.

She slanted a glance at me. "I can feel him. He's in there."

"What does that mean?" I choked out between sobs.

"Stupid human," she said gruffly, and then cleared her throat and spoke softly. "Take his hand and find out for yourself."

I picked up his hand and held it in both of mine, waiting. I didn't know what I was supposed to be listening for, but touching him felt wonderful.Even if his skin was as cold as marble. I closed my eyes and clearly heard him say my name. His finger twitched almost imperceptibly. I burst out laughing, still crying, and a joyful roar rose up from the bystanders.

My vampire was alive.Or whatever.

Epilogue.

Luna transported Devereux back to his underground room at The Crypt. He didn't really regain full conscious-ness for six weeks. I spent as much time sitting with him as I could. Lunahumored me. She assured me that he was aware of my presence, even though he couldn't communicate beyond an occasional telepathic whisper of my name or a tremble of a finger.

I read the entire Harry Potter book series to him. Not only because I thought he'd enjoy it, but the books were the written equivalent of a teddy bear for me. It turned out that the magic Bryce and Lucifer used was ancient, powerful, and had been stolen from the same line of wizards Devereux claimed as his ancestors. Maybe that was why it worked so well.

All of Devereux's inter-dimensional caregivers told me he'd recover completely. Whatever "recover"

means for a dead guy.

My private practice is busier than ever. Moving into the new office in Devereux's building was the best thing I ever did. All my old clients returned, plus a full evening caseload of vampires. My waiting list, for both humans and the un-dead, is long.

Tom really did run off with the gorgeous woman . . .er , vampire. He left me a cryptic voice mail message sayingZoe had accompanied him back toCalifornia , but that they'd be returning soon. He said he needed to speak with Devereux about living forever.

Lieutenant Bullock held a press conference about the "vampire murders," which got the media off my tail. She said the City ofDenver was still actively following leads, but that there had been new deaths in other cities, taking the focus away from me. I'm a blissful nobody again.

The Lieutenant started visiting me for "professional consul-tations" about all things vampire. She said she'd made mistakes because of her lack of knowledge and wanted to rectify that situ-ation. She asked me to call her by her first name, which turned out to be Amy. I never would've guessed. It's been nice having another human around who knows the truth.Midnight spent less than a week in the hospital and was released to her parents. She's still seeing Ronald, but is con-tent to live at home for now. Our sessions are more about her and less about vampires.

Brother Luther/Lucifer hasn't contacted me.Yet. Dis-covering a vampire withDissociative Identity Disorder, formerly Multiple PersonalityDisorder, has piqued my inter-est in the diagnosis, and I've been doing research. It's clear we haven't heard the last of the demented bloodsucker, so I want to be armed with as much information as possible when he circles back this way. According to the reports of blood-drained bodies, he's moved on to another one of those pockets of escalating good and evil:Sedona,Arizona .

So has Alan.

He stopped by my townhouse to say goodbye one after-noon about a week after the insanity at the haunted castle. After a couple of awkward, silent moments, we practical-ly leaped into each other's arms. I don't think either of us expected that. His lips were as soft, warm, and inviting asalways, and I don't know what to do with the feelings I have for him.

I can't be in love-or lust, or whatever it is-with two men, can I?

I don't know. Stranger things have happened. But, I do know that vampires exist. Vampires and ghosts and who knows what else.

What does that mean for me? Hell if I know.

But I'm actually excited to find out.

Don't miss LyndaHilburn's next exciting novel: Dark Harvest Lynda Hilburn ISBN#9781933836614.

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www.lyndahilburn.com A special presentation of The Dream Thief HELEN A. ROSBURG.

PROROGUE.

Venicelay beneath the velvet pall of a moonless night. Though the city's mood throughout both day and evening was car-nival-like, no sound of revel disturbed the midnight hour. What boats remained on the canals glided silently through the dark water. Even the lap of tiny wavelets against the wooden hulls and stone steps seemed muted.

Within the VillaSantonini , only the plaintive cries of the doge's daughter could be heard. Valeria cried out in her sleep, but did not wake. She lay soaked with sweat, her thin, silken shift sodden. Her tongue flicked in and out of parched lips, and her hands kneaded her breasts. Her back arched, lifting her body from the bed, and she tossed her head from side to side.

HELEN A. ROSBURG.

He was back again, in her dreams. There, at the foot of her bed. He wore a ruffled white shirt, its tiesundone so she could see a tantalizing bit of his well-defined chest. Thick, wavy, sun-streaked brown hair kissed the tops of broad, muscular shoulders. Knee-high black boots of the softest leather embraced his calves. Skin tight leggings caressed his heavily muscled thighs. Her eyes moved to the V of his groin.

He followed her gaze. His hand moved lazily downward; he touched himself.

Valeria watched him harden. The sight inflamed her, sending rivers of molten blood through her veins.

He reached out to touch her where he had touched himself and she arched to meet him, pulling up her night shift. Then, suddenly, he was gone.

Groaning with the pain of loss, Valeria pulled herself upright. Where had he gone? She looked desperately about her bedroom, but he had vanished. Just like every night before. But this night was different. This night she had to have him.Had to. She could not wait any longer.

The tapers in the silver candelabrum had long since guttered, and no light came through the tall, gold-draped windows. But she would have known her way through her father's palace had she been blind-folded. Valeria tip-toed to her door and opened it.

"You," she gasped. "You're here. You're really here."

By way of reply, he raised a finger to his lips. He reached for her hand.

Valeria shuddered with desire when she felt his fingers twine about her own. His cool flesh surprised her.

She had thought his touch would burn her.

Together they moved silently down the long, window-lined gallery. Valeria felt as if she moved in a dream. And as if it were, indeed, a dream, she did not pause, did not question. What hap-pened went beyond her control.

The night air was cold against her skin when they left the pal-ace. She smelled the canal, and let him lead her down the steps to her father's dock. A strange boat swayed gently atop the water.

2.

THE DREAM THIEF.

She noticed it was not secured, yet waited like a patient horse for its rider. It was painted black, one with the water on which it rested. Gilt paint decorated its sides in whorls and flourishes. Its small cabin was completely enclosed and windowless. The man at her side gestured and she stepped down into the vessel. It barely rocked. It moved not at all when he followed her.

Silken pillows lined the floor. She could not see them in the darkness, but she felt them. When he placed his hand on the small of her back, passion surged through her entire body and her knees turned to liquid.

She sank down into the pillows.

He did not have to court her body. She came to him. Ready. Her thighs glistened with moisture when she opened them to him.

Suddenly he was naked before her. He knelt between her knees, his flesh gleaming palely in the dark, as if he were illumined by a magical light within. And he was ready, as ready for her as she was for him. He was hard and very large, within her delicate hand. Small animal sounds came from the back of Valeria's throat.

Beautiful.He was so beautiful. And he had seemed to be-come more so each night. Gaunt and pale when she had first seen him, he had come each night to tempt and torment her, growing more and more beautiful each time, irresistible. She had thought him a dream, only a dream. But here he was.Entering her.

Valeria screamed. He filled her, ignited her. When he moved against her she screamed again. The pleasure grew too intense, too overwhelming. Her entire body became composed of strings, all being pulled down at once, down and down to the secret place between her legs. Tighter and tighter they wound as they rocked together until the cords suddenly snapped, and she was released in a spasm of pleasure, an explosion of sensation. Heat poured from his body into hers.

And then, suddenly, the warmth began leaving her. Even as she floated, she felt herself growing cold, colder. She tried to move, but her body had no strength, no power. And she had no sight. Everythingwas black, black. . . .

He pulled down her shift, covering her naked legs. Her arms

3.

HELEN A. ROSBURG.

hearranged over her still breast. Carefully, almost lovingly, he pulled her long, brown tresses artfully about her shoulders.

He left her, a single passenger. The black boat drifted along through the night and into the dawn.

T.

hestreets of the GhettoNuovo teemed with life.Pina picked her way around market carts stalled in the throng of hu-manity, piles of offal left by numerous equine drudges, and lean, opportunistic dogs and cats staying alive on fat waterfront rats. Uncountable bodies pushed past her: Jews with the circle of yellow sewn onto their outer garments; well dressed merchants visiting the money lenders; dandified young men taking in the sights.Pina glanced back to make sure her servant, Andrea, still followed, and quickened her pace.

It was still cool so early in the spring.Early in the morning as well. It had been barely two hours since the beadle, theShomerim la-Boker, Watcher for the Morning, had been round from house to house knocking on doors to wake the ghetto denizens. The street was shady, too, as the Jewish population had nowhere to build but up, and haphazardly constructed buildings towered over the busy streets.Pina clutched her shawl more tightly to her breast.

The poorly built housing was the reason she hurried. Another building had collapsed recently, killing scores and injuring more. Her skills, and coin, were sorely needed.Pinaturned a last corner and found herself in front of the unimposing facade of TheScola GrandeTedesca . Externally, the Venetian synagogue did not present features of particular merit

5.

THE DREAM THIEF.

HELEN A. ROSBURG.

orinterest. It was not prudent to attract the attention of the Rul-ers of the Republic, who had explicitly forbidden the construction of synagogues. She looked up at its five windows and hesitantly pulled open the massive door.

The synagogue's benign exterior belied the sumptuous, gilded interior. She glanced up at the women's gallery,then heard the sharp click of footsteps on the beautifully inlaid floor.

"RabbiLevan ?"Pina called tentatively.

"Oh, good.You're here, child. I am grateful.As many others will be." The traditionally garbed Ashkenazi teacher tookPina's hands in his own and squeezed them gently. He tilted his head in acknowledgement of her servant. "We should leave at once."

"Of course."Pina'seyes drifted to the large basket Andrea cradled. "I brought as much as I could. I know it's not enough. It's never enough. But. . ."