Miriam could crush a human skull. She pressed harder. "Are you certain?"

Sarah nodded again. Mucus began dribbling from her nose. Her feet stomped and scuffled, her hands came up and fluttered along Miriam's arms.

Miriam let her go. Sarah gagged, sucked air, pitched forward out of her chair. Then she came to her feet. Her cheeks were flaming.

"No jealousy," Miriam said.

Tears pouring from her eyes, Sarah threw herself against Miriam. "Please don't abandon me!"

Miriam had heard that cry from every one of them, and it went straight to her heart. They were tragic beings, her humans. She was ashamed of them. But she enjoyed them a great deal, and that, ultimately, was what mattered to her. Keepers caused human suffering. That was simply the nature of nature.

She kissed Sarah. "Better?"

"I'm sorry, Miri. It's just that you're so precious to me. I can't live without you."

"My love, I have a task of great importance that I need you to do." She held out a bra.s.s key. "This is the key to his hotel room." She tossed it onto the desk, told Sarah the address. "Go up there, take Bill or somebody with you. Go through the room, take every trace of him out with you. And especially, if you find a small, black book, very old - "

"He has a Book of Names?"

"If we're lucky."

Sarah was shocked. "What use would it be to him?"

"They can read Prime. Some of it."

Sarah was truly amazed. She had counted a hundred and eighty different symbols in a single glyph. It was the most complex written language by a factor of a thousand. Who could possibly manage to crack a code like that?

"You're sure of this?"

"I imagine they used National Security Agency cryptographers."

Sarah felt a coldness within her, as if her heart had been pierced with a knife of ice. "Your name is there. Your holdings. Oh, Miri!"

The Keepers were in terrible trouble if these people were able to read such records. "Where would he get a Book of Names? How?"

"When you get the book - if you do - bring it straight here."

"And if I don't?"

"Then we'll just have to get him to tell us where it is, won't we, dear?"

Sarah managed a smile. Sometimes Miri made them scream, which Sarah normally hated. She would not hate it if this man screamed.

"We'll make him tell us," she said. She put her arms around Miri. "Thank you for trusting me again."

"Now go, child. Go like the wind."

Paul pulled on the pants, got them sort of closed. "This guy must be thin as a rail," he said. He managed to get into the shoes, too, which were of leather so soft it made his skin crawl. Could these people have somehow gotten something from a vampire? From what he'd seen in Paris, the vampires were much more capable of mixing with humans than he'd believed. His sense of it was that the Asians were more ancient than the Europeans and far less able to be seen on the streets. Maybe the Americans were younger and more humanlike still. h.e.l.l, maybe they would even fit into a hip crowd like this.

He looked more carefully at the shoe. Gucci sure as h.e.l.l didn't make them out of human skin, so that theory was out.

The clothes actually fit pretty well, although they seemed decades out of date. The jacket had a wide collar, and the trousers were subtly flared. They belonged to a man with big shoulders like Paul's, a tall man and a strong man. But a slimmer one.

He regarded himself in the mirror. "Jesus," he said, "I look like a million bucks."

Leo decided that she utterly loathed him. "You look just fabulous," she lied.

"Whose clothes are these, anyway?"

"A friend of ours. Listen, I've got an idea. The next set doesn't come up until after dinner. Want to see the rest of the club?"

A guided tour from this babe? "You better believe it."

She walked through another wall. Expecting to be blasted by music again, he followed her. But he was not blasted. In fact, he wasn't in a room at all. He was in a j.a.panese garden, outside - at least it seemed like outside. The sky was velvet swarming with stars, a sickle moon just turning yellow as it slid toward the horizon. Bamboo chimes made restful sounds; water hurried over stones. Crickets chirped; a bat whispered past his face. Here and there in the dark, he could see pale bodies. There were at least a dozen people here, all covered by black cloaks, lounging on benches or on the gra.s.s. A guy with gla.s.ses and an old-fashioned doctor's kit went among them like a waiter, discussing in quiet tones, then ministering to them out of his case.

Paul smelled opium . . . real good opium. He was already contact high and pa.s.sive-smoke high, and maybe high on something he'd ingested in the food or those d.a.m.n drinks he'd been given a million years ago. But he really loved opium, and it was one hard drug to come by these days. It took him back to quiet times in the Cambodian jungle, those magical times when they were more-or-less safe, and they could sweetly indulge.

They weren't outside, of course, not really. They were under a deep country "sky," and this was the middle of Manhattan. Leo took his hand, led him around the edge of the garden.

"Hey, wait, I could do some pipe."

"Um, if you stay in here, it's a thousand dollars an hour."

You could probably drop ten grand on this place in a single G.o.dd.a.m.n night. "Let's see the rest of it."

"This next room is rather unusual. But please remember, our credo is no limits and no restrictions."

"Sounds like fun." Paul followed her through another veil and into a completely mirrored foyer. There was a tunnel entrance. He hesitated. "Where does that go?"

"Just downstairs. And it only looks like a tunnel. There's a stairway when you get past the veil."

It was not easy to walk into what looked exactly like one of the Paris tunnels, but he followed her. He found himself in a stairway, dimly lit with recessed bulbs, its walls and ceiling black. The rubber treads on the steps gave it an inst.i.tutional feel. He thought that it must be like this in certain prisons.

There was a thick iron door here. "What is this place?"

"We call it Foggy Bottom," she said with a laugh. "It's full of politicians." She drew the door open.

The first thing he saw was a red b.u.t.t. Leonore went in, giving it a spank as she pa.s.sed. "Thank you," a male voice said.

Paul followed her. "Should I? A guy?"

"He doesn't care."

Paul gave him a whack, and not a light one.

"Thank you, sir!"

Paul looked down, trying to see the face of the guy who was trussed up there.

"No, honey, we don't pry. Not in here."

But he had seen, and he knew the face. "Um, are these people all from Washington?"

"Washington, the Kremlin, Downing Street, the Vatican. You name it."

Not all the whipees were men. There was a woman hanging naked from the ceiling, with what looked like heavy chains hooked to her nipples. "Ouch!" Paul said to Leonore, who kept walking. Another woman was encased in spectacular bondage, tied up like some kind of a ball, with what looked like a pair of underpants stuffed in her mouth.

"My G.o.d, who's that?"

"A publishing executive on a guilt trip."

There was a guy tied to a pole being whipped by two other guys with thick, black paddles.

"More publishers?"

"Two congressmen kissing a senator's a.s.s. They'll be taking their turns on the post later."

"You ever get a president in here?"

"What country?"

"U.S."

"Which one?"

"Well, how about Bush?"

"Which one?"

Okay, that question was answered. "How much for this room?"

"Oh, you can do this room on my nickel. I'll top you."

"In your dreams, sweetie. Not my schtick schtick."

She shrugged. "You'd be surprised what it's like, getting topped really well. Your ego is, like, imploded. This whole club is about blowing the ego away. Every room does it, but differently."

"The j.a.panese garden?"

"The right kind of high, and you'll feel very close to heaven there."

"High is high."

"No way. Our dealer is an MD who not only deals, he designs. He's given all our customers physicals, he knows exactly what makes them tick. He's doing blood tests, prescribing, adjusting, all during the course of the evening. They are being taken so high they're gonna forget even their d.a.m.n names."

"And then the music blows you wide open."

"You can get very close to G.o.d in here, mister. This place is sacred."

h.e.l.l called called sacred sacred - that was something he never thought he'd hear. "Can we go somewhere else?" This was not the part of the club for him. He wanted to do some pipe, or at least get another drink. There wasn't much second-hand smoke down here, and he was crashing. - that was something he never thought he'd hear. "Can we go somewhere else?" This was not the part of the club for him. He wanted to do some pipe, or at least get another drink. There wasn't much second-hand smoke down here, and he was crashing.

This time they went up in an elevator so small that they were touching. He sprang up instantly. When the doors opened, he stayed like that, because this was a ballroom full of beautiful beds, and there were people openly making love on them.

A pair of singers, a lovely, tall girl and a young man who was even taller, stood together singing in voices so filled with gentleness that they might have been saints. He recognized "All Through the Night."

"O'er thy spirit gently stealing, Visions of delight revealing, Breathes a pure and holy feeling . . ."

There was a solemnity to this place that seemed at odds with what appeared to be an orgy in progress. Paul was a smart man, and he was well able to see the careful thought that had been put into all this. This room, for example, was about disconnecting s.e.x from sin. No more need to hide.

Once in a while, he'd hit a house in Vientiane or Phnom Penh with a bunch of guys, and it would develop into pretty much of an orgy. It was fun but it was ugly, and you felt dirty afterward. In this room the lack of shame brought with it a sense of purity. Thirty or forty human beings were enjoying one another in all kinds of intimate ways, doing everything you could imagine with each other. Their faces glowed with l.u.s.t, they sweated. But it was all so joyous.

Maybe Leo was right, maybe there was something kind of sacred here.

Seeing all these bodies entwined, he was starting to look at Leo real hard.

But she probably outcla.s.sed him like everybody else in this place . . . except for the morons in the dungeon. They were pols, and that was sorta his world. But he could not relate to getting whipped. He got punished plenty without any a.s.sistance. The knife wound was still healing good, for example, but he sure as h.e.l.l knew it was there if he tried to raise the arm too high.

Leo was terrific looking - clean as a whistle and s.e.xy as h.e.l.l. He could get into her in a second, way way into her. His equipment had been considered pretty sensational by some. Maybe she'd like a little taste. into her. His equipment had been considered pretty sensational by some. Maybe she'd like a little taste.

He decided to give it a try. "Look, I'd like - " She rested her eyes on him, which instantly shut him up. "Let's go downstairs," he said, his voice husky with embarra.s.sment. He couldn't proposition her in here, for Chrissakes. He was no d.a.m.n angel; he needed his privacy.

She strolled out into the foyer. He wasn't quite sure where she was coming from, and he didn't want to insult anybody. But he had to get it on somehow. He was human. He couldn't just be left to Sally Five himself in his hotel room, not after all he'd seen and felt here tonight. He wanted to be loved, too. But since that didn't seem likely to happen to him, maybe she'd just give him a break, here.

"I think you're really - I mean, I could sure as h.e.l.l give you a nice time. If you need a tip - if that's the drill - "

"I want to show you a very special s.p.a.ce now," she said. She took his hand.

How anything could possibly top what he had seen so far, he could not imagine. This wasn't just a place of pleasure. It was a whole new approach to pleasure, as something that did not need to be hidden and wasn't a sin. Even the ones in the dungeon were learning that lesson, in their own peculiar way.

The people who could come here were immensely privileged. All of his life, he had thought that the social barriers by which we live were a tragedy. Miriam Blaylock, whom he viewed now as something of a young genius, was challenging those barriers here, and he was beginning to decide that she was succeeding.

They went down a back stairway, steel stairs in a fluorescent-lit well. There were doors with Exit signs all over the place and a hose station on every landing. He'd also noticed that the place was sprinklered and smoke-alarmed. "I've never seen so much safety equipment."

"We're very careful. You don't want the least feeling of danger."

"I've never felt so safe in my life."

She squeezed his hand.

"Look," he said, "I'm sorry if I embarra.s.sed you. Or insulted. I just - I find you, you know, really, really attractive."

"I'm flattered."

They came to the bottom of the stairs, where there was a door with a breakaway bar that looked as if it must lead into an alley. A horrible thought crossed his mind. "I'm not getting the boot, here, I hope?"

She opened the door. There was a tiny chamber entirely made of mirrors. When he went in, there were Pauls staring at him from every direction, all of them disappearing into an infinity of repet.i.tions. It was a sort of visual echo. "Hey, this is - "

"Have a fabulous time." She slammed the door, and he found himself alone in the small s.p.a.ce. He turned around immediately, but saw only more mirrors and could not find the door.