"Precisely." On that single word, Trond grabbed JAM by the upper arms and, despite their similar heights and weights, teletransported them both to a small lounge for maintenance workers in the BQ's basement. It contained only two straight-backed chairs, a torn leather sofa, a card table, and on the counter a portable TV and a microwave oven.

Karl, his fangs out but his color fairly good, thanks to his feeding on Trond hours ago, had been sitting on the sofa watching Sly squirm on the one chair, now joined by JAM on the other chair. Although neither SEAL was restrained, they could not stand up, for the moment. But their mouths could move, and they did.

"You fucking idiots! Who the hell are you?" Sly demanded to know.

"Are you tangos? Oh God, has Al-Qaeda infiltrated SEALs?" JAM added. He and Sly exchanged worried glances.

"We're not tangos. We're here to help you," Trond told them. To no avail, of course.

"Easy and Mortensen both have fangs," Sly remarked to JAM. "Like frickin' vampires."

"And wings," JAM remarked back to Sly. "Like frickin' angels."

Actually only Trond had the wings, but he and Karl did both have visible fangs now.

The SEALs turned back to him and Karl, eyebrows arched in question.

"We're vampire angels. Viking vampire angels, to be precise. Some calls us vangels," Trond told them.

"What the fuck? Am I sleeping? Is this a nightmare?" JAM wanted to know.

"Pfff! Can we both be having the same nightmare?" This from Sly.

"Let me explain," Trond said. "Are you willing to listen?"

Both men hesitated, then nodded.

"Thousands of years ago, Satan became impatient with the usual method for obtaining new souls for Hell. That would be humans dying while in the state of sin. To speed up the process, he created demon vampires called Lucipires."

"Blah, blah, blah," Sly jeered.

Trond ignored the man's skepticism; he would be skeptical, too.

Karl picked up the ball for Trond by continuing the explanation. "When the Lucies . . . that's our nickname for Lucipires . . . sense a weak human being, one on the verge of sin, they sink their fangs into them, infecting them with a sin taint. Usually, the process is completed in one feeding, but sometimes they are interrupted, and must come back to complete the process. Then, when the human commits that contemplated mortal sin, or many others by then, the Lucies swoop in and drain them dry. Their human bodies dissolve, but their souls are taken to Lucipire hell, a place you do not ever want to visit."

"Some story!" Sly spat out at Karl. "What's up, Salt? You turnin' into some kind of Stephen King?" Salt was Karl's SEAL nickname, as in Morton salt.

"What has any of this crap to do with us?" JAM demanded, as well.

"You've both been infected," Trond replied. "Not once, but twice, I suspect. Maybe even three times. First time on San Clemente Island. Second time in the parking lot of the Wet and Wild on Friday night."

"Are we being punked or something? Is Ashton Kutcher gonna come jumping in here with a TV crew?" Sly laughed, but it was a fearful sound, unsure.

"Ashton Kutcher doesn't do that show anymore," JAM told Sly, even though it was obviously irrelevant to their situation.

"This is no joke," Karl said. "I was a Marine in 'Nam when I got saved."

Sly and JAM looked at Karl as if he were an alien.

Then Sly asked Trond, "And you, when did you get changed into whatever the hell you are now? In Viking times?"

Sly had not been serious, but Trond was when he said, "Actually, yes. In the year 850. My six brothers and I died and entered the realm of vangeldom."

"You've met God?" JAM asked, interested, despite himself.

Trond shook his head. "We work with a different heavenly being." He hesitated but then revealed, "St. Michael the Archangel."

JAM and Sly burst out laughing.

"Are you going to force us to become . . . whatever it is you are?" Sly wanted to know.

"Not at all. We're going to give you a choice. Good or evil." Time to cut to the chase, Trond decided. "Do you wish to continue on the course you are following now?"

"If this is about the incident today with my weapon going off, that was an accident," JAM proclaimed.

"Do you really believe that?" Trond asked, staring him in the eye and holding his gaze "Do you sense nothing different about yourself? A man who once contemplated the priesthood now talks about bombing an entire country, women and children be damned?"

JAM ducked his head, perhaps realizing at last that something had happened to him. "Lots of SEALs burn out after they get too good at killing."

"There's a difference in killing for a just cause but not enjoying it. When a man starts to enjoy killing, he has crossed a line." Trond knew that only too well. He and the other vangels had to restrain their killing instincts all the time. "And that goes for you as well, Sly. The powers above have noted your sinful slide as well, and not just in your lustful perversions."

Both men were released from their invisible bonds now. They could rise and leave the room, if they chose.

"What happens if we don't want to change? Maybe we like the way we are?" Sly's belligerence was telling.

"You'll die. Maybe not today or tomorrow or even next week. But soon," Trond replied. "And your destination will be horrific beyond human comprehension, but the greatest pain will come from the knowledge that you will never see your Heavenly Maker. I know, that sounds like a cliche, like something one of those Sunday morning evangelists would spout, but it is what it is. Still, you get to choose."

JAM suddenly dropped to his knees and made the sign of the cross. "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry, oh my God, I am heartily sorry," he kept murmuring over and over. Tears streamed down his face. "I want to change. I do."

Sly gave JAM a look of disgust. "What a crock! I don't give a rat's ass about God or being saved or leading the good life. I'm outta here."

"No one will believe you if you tell what you have seen and heard here tonight," Karl pointed out.

"Wanna bet, Salt?"

Karl just shrugged.

"One more thing . . ." Trond suddenly recalled an important fact. "Your brother Raymond who died in the Twin Towers . . . he is in a better place now, and he prays for your salvation."

Sly's hand was on the doorknob, already turning it, but he stopped. "That was a low blow, asshole, and total bullshit. Everyone here knows about my brother Raymond." And then he was gone.

"In Sly's defense," JAM said, "I am more inclined to accept your outrageous story because of my background in seminary and an innate belief in miracles, which I have apparently not yet lost completely. Plus, I've been involved in some pretty way-out woo-woo experiences with the other Vikings here. I refer to the time travel, which I assume you are aware of by now. I'm rambling, aren't I?" JAM sighed deeply. "Okay, do your work, whatever it is."

"I must suck blood from your body," Trond said.

JAM cringed but didn't bolt from the room. In fact, he was still on his knees.

Trond sank down to his knees in front of him. "Ordinarily, my taking the sin taint from your body by feeding on you would be enough, but you will be weakened and might not be able to engage in the strenuous SEAL exercises required of you tomorrow."

"So?" Jam asked hesitantly.

"After I feed on you, you will take blood from Karl. Mine will be tainted by then."

"How will I take blood? I don't have fangs. Do I?" JAM ran his tongue over his upper teeth and his relief was obvious.

Hey, Vikings weren't too fond of the long incisors, either. He understood JAM's revulsion perfectly. "Are you ready?" Trond asked. When JAM nodded, Trond made the sign of the cross, murmured a short prayer, and put his hand to JAM's chin, tilting his head to the side. With no further warning, he sank his fangs into the man's throat and drank greedily.

To a vangel, the blood of a sinner in the process of being saved was pure ambrosia. Sweet sustenance. He had to stop himself from taking too much. One time, in the early days, he had inadvertently drained a man to death. When he was done, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth.

JAM looked like he might keel over with shock. Quickly, Trond went behind JAM to brace his shoulders, and Karl put his already lacerated wrist up to the man's mouth. At first, JAM balked, but then he, too, drank greedily from the open wound in Karl's wrist.

When they were done, all of them felt depleted, but in a good way. JAM was back to normal, the way he would have presumably been before his first Lucie fanging. JAM's blood in Trond's veins would sustain Trond for weeks. His skin color would improve. And he would not need to drink Fake-O as often. Karl would feed later from the blood ceorl, although he was not in as dire a need as he had been earlier when Trond had forced him to feed on him.

Which caused Trond to remember Nicole then, and the expression on her face when she'd seen Karl, seemingly in his embrace. What would she think of what had just transpired in this room? Could she, like his sister-by-marriage, Alex, ever accept him for the freak that he was?

Never! he answered his own question.

"Now what?" JAM asked, standing with effort, looking a little wobbly.

By now, Trond and Karl were standing, too. Karl handed JAM his own clean handkerchief, and JAM appeared stunned to see bloodstains when he wiped his mouth.

"Now, you go in peace and try to lead a good life," Trond advised.

"Am I going to be like a . . . I don't know . . . a saint?"

"Hardly," Trond said with a laugh. "We just stopped you from becoming demon fodder. That's a far cry from sainthood."

"Do I have to quit SEALs?" JAM inquired, clearly concerned that he might have to give up his longtime career. It was touching that he would apparently be willing to do so if it was deemed a necessity.

Trond shook his head. "Strong and good are not incompatible. A man can be a soldier for just causes, without sinning. The Bible is riddled with such men. Joshua, for one, comes to mind."

"I personally think there's a special place in Heaven for those brave warriors who fight to protect the innocent. They do the dirty work so the rest of the country can be safe and free, even the tongue-flapping hate mongers. I'd like to be at one of those cemeteries where lunatic fringes are picketing a dead soldier's funeral. I'd show them who earned them the right to rant and rave. I'd show them where they could put those pickets." Karl ducked his head with embarrassment at having spoken so passionately. Karl had been one of those brave ones, even if he'd been mired in evil at the end.

"You guys go on ahead. I need some time alone to . . . think," JAM told them. What he probably meant was pray.

Trond knew that JAM had many questions that he would be asking them over the next few days, but he was surprised by the comment he made now as Trond and Karl were about to leave. They were walking, not teletransporting this time.

"I wouldn't mind being what you guys are," JAM said.

"No!" he and Karl exclaimed at the same time.

At JAM's arched brow, Karl said, "Believe me, you would mind."

And Trond gave a two-word, succinct explanation: "Eternity sucks."

The only thing missing were the umbrella drinks . . .

"Bring me the girl."

Jasper's demand hit Zebulan while he was distracted, watching with morbid fascination as several of Jasper's hordlings turned the screws, literally, on one of the naked victims pinned to a butterfly-type display board down in the dungeon of Horror, Jasper's Arctic castle. They were sitting in soft chairs in Jasper's lounge, a revolving dais raised about ten feet above the stone floor. A sound system was blaring out that old Ricky Martin song "La Vida Loca." The demon master did like his material comforts.

While Zebulan nursed a cup of mead, Jasper sipped on a straw stuck in the neck of the shackled and gagged, kneeling Russian Spetsnaz that Zebulan had brought in this morning, along with a British SAS, both of whom had been already rotten to the core and very easy to turn. The Brit was in a killing jar in one of the anterooms, not yet accepting his fate.

All around them, down below, dead people who had been fanged by Lucipires were in various stages of torture, the ultimate goal being consent to join the ranks of the demon vampires. If they were smart, and they rarely were, they would agree from the start. But then the mungs, and hordlings, and imps would be deprived of their pleasures.

It's amazing how a demon like myself can become inured to the screams of tortured humans after all these years. At one time, I would have been cringing at the sounds of hundreds of cries for help, despite my black soul. And sympathy . . . hah! I lost the sympathy gene centuries ago.

He and Jasper were both in demon personas today. Red scaly skin, elongated fangs, burning eyes, and tails. Luckily, the chairs in Jasper's lounge were specially designed to accommodate their large tails. Once, these bodily changes would have been repugnant to Zebulan. He no longer cared.

But Jasper's demand finally registered with him. "What? What girl?" he asked, shaking his head to clear it.

"The one you said Trond was dancing with at that tavern."

"She's a woman. Not a girl. A female SEAL."

"Girl. Woman. Bitch. Harlot. Same difference."

"Why her? She isn't a candidate for Lucipire, not being evil or close to it. You can't turn her."

"Bait. If we have her, the VIK will follow. Plus I've kept a close eye on her. She has anger issues from her past. We might even be able to turn her."

"You're assuming that the VIK has affections for the woman."

"Doesn't he? I assumed . . ." Jasper waved a clawed hand dismissively. "The idiot is in one of those SEAL training programs, isn't he. Fidelity, loyalty, and all that crap. He'll want to protect the softer sex. But wait. This is even better. You said she was a female SEAL. Praise be to Satan! What a coup that will be for us! We can prolong her torture for years. It will drive Michael insane to know that we hold her."

Zebulan shrugged. Taking the woman wouldn't require that much more effort since he hoped to "capture" Trond and the two SEALS, as well.

"What is happening with the two SEALs anyhow? I expected more of you, Zebulan. I thought we would have them here by now."

"I brought you two special forces soldiers," he said in his defense.

"You did, and I appreciate them," Jasper said, patting the Russian on the head. The eyes of the man darted right and left, frantic, but he was unable to move. "Would you care for a taste?"

Zebulan shook his head. "I got enough from both of them when I drank them dry."

"My reputation is on the line here, as well as yours, Zebulan. There are some who did not want you to head the project," Jasper pointed out. He was referring to Heinrich, of course. The Nazi hated Jews, and it could be said that Zebulan was of that persuasion, having been a Hebrew or Israelite.

Zebulan's face couldn't get any redder with frustration. How he'd like to tell Jasper what he thought of him and his reputation! "I fanged both SEALs twice now, but the second time was in a public parking lot, and I couldn't complete the sin taint. They are getting closer to their tipping point by now, I am sure, but the SEAL command has locked them onto the base."

Jasper nodded in understanding. There was some kind of barrier that prevented demons from entering the military base, probably something they'd inadvertently done with their security system. Jasper and his minions would figure it out, eventually. "I suspect the extra barriers are in place in preparation for the mission to Afghanistan," Jasper remarked.

"That would be my guess," Zebulan said. One of the sin-tainted SEALs, the black man, had revealed to him information about an upcoming mission to Afghanistan. Zebulan figured it had something to do with their new "friend" Najid. "It's almost impossible for us Lucipires to get into the restricted area without being detected now."

"Then you will take all four of them once they leave the country?"

"I will."

"Keep in mind that in this interim, while the two sin-tainted humans might be committing mortal sins that would merit Hell, the vangels also have an opportunity to save them."