Above all things, he hated confinement. But this was a place of pleasure. He was getting the ride of a lifetime for a poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d like him. He was not going to ruin it by freaking out.

So he wouldn't freak out, but the guy looking back at him out of all these mirrors, he looked like he would. Look at the eyes, look at all that pain. Then he thought he saw another face. He saw - Jesus G.o.d, he'd been a fool to come here! It was one of them, watching him through the d.a.m.n mirror. He went for the gun that wasn't there, then lashed out. His fist smashed into the mirror. The room shook, he felt a blast of pain up his hurt arm . . . but the mirror did not crack.

There was a voice then, very soft, "Turn right and walk toward me."

He turned right. There was n.o.body to walk toward but his own reflection.

"Come on."

He took a step, feeling ahead - and felt air. This mirror was another one of the veils.

Was he walking into whatever had swallowed Ellen Wunderling? Some kind of d.a.m.n superexclusive vampire lair? Oh, h.e.l.l, if he was, he'd at least take a few with him.

He stepped into the most palatial bedroom he had ever seen. On the bed sat Miriam. She was playing the flute, and doing it with exquisite skill. He gaped at her, at the tall bed she was in, at the phenomenal tapestries on the walls.

There was a window, and outside he could see smiling green fields with people working in them, men with brown tunics and caps. A horseman rode along a path, a man dressed in the fabulous clothes of the distant past.

She stopped playing long enough to say, "It's a TV screen."

But it was very well done. The image was so clear that it looked more like a window than a window.

There was a chair across from the bed, big, carved, almost a throne. He sat in it. He watched Miriam Blaylock play, watched and listened. This was one talented lady. What the Veils was about was limitless wealth and the power of human genius. If you had the cash, the Veils could rebuild your soul.

Or if you were a d.a.m.n dogface on a lucky streak, like yours truly.

Miriam was wearing a white nightgown cinched just under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with a pink ribbon. He thought, I have never been in such a wonderful place with such a wonderful person before, and I think I'm about to get laid. I have never been in such a wonderful place with such a wonderful person before, and I think I'm about to get laid.

Christ almighty. Now, he had to prepare himself. When she was finished with that sweet prelude, she was going to raise her eyes, and he was going to see once again her angelic and spectacularly s.e.xy face. He was already as hard as iron. The issue was, how did he do it, if indeed he was to be afforded that privilege, without wadding her on stroke two?

The music came to an end. She put down the flute.

When he applauded softly, she laughed. "I was just fooling around."

"You fooled around with the Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun better than anybody I've ever heard. Better than Galway." better than anybody I've ever heard. Better than Galway."

"I adore James."

"You know him?"

"We've played together."

"Okay."

Silence fell. He didn't know what to do next, what to say. He was way out of his cla.s.s; that was the truth of it. He looked up at the ceiling, which was painted with a night sky, dark blue with gold-leaf stars and a moon that looked more like it had a snake in it than a man. The constellations were strangely off, too.

"That's an antique ceiling. Do you like it?"

"Oh, yeah. How old is it?"

She got off the bed and came over and sat on the arm of the chair. "It's from Atlantis."

"Okay," he said again, and instantly felt like a total jerk. What was he, a stroke victim, here? Couldn't he come up with something a little funny at least, in response to a funny remark from her?

"Okay what?"

"Sorry, I'm just - well - I gotta be honest. I'm just totally overwhelmed, here. Your club - I mean, Jesus. I admit to feeling just a little outcla.s.sed."

She leaned down and grasped him through the silk pants. There was no underwear involved in this outfit, so it was a pretty intimate contact. The pleasure was intense.

"You need to cool down a little," she said.

"I need to cool down," he repeated.

She got up and went over to a big chest. It was made of dark wood, carved with writhing snakes. She opened it and he was amazed to see her bring out an opium rig with two of the most magnificent ivory pipes he'd ever seen. "You said you'd like a pipe. I think it'll help a lot." She stopped, though, then c.o.c.ked her head, as if considering something that was a little new to her. "We're not against drugs, are we, Mr. CIA man?"

"Nah, the Company's a big importer. Anyway, I been doin' s.h.i.t since 'Nam. I'm in an extreme business. You can't handle it without extreme relaxation. You gotta compensate."

She gave him a pipe, started to prepare it for him.

"There's that antique lighter again. Lady, you gotta ditch that thing; you're gonna burn up."

She glanced at him in a way that kind of shook him up. Was it a cold glance? Or hate? Jesus, if - But then she smiled, and it was just so sweet that he could not believe that she was anything except very charmed by him.

He took a long pull and in a second was rewarded with good vapor. It seeped through him like blood in a sponge. It was very good vapor.

She lit her own pipe, then went to the bed and lay back, cradling it. He did the same, lying face-to-face with her. As he smoked, he felt his erection calming down. That was good. The opium would make the evening last.

She kissed him on the neck, just a peck, then giggled. He kissed her back, right on the mouth, hard and long.

After that she didn't giggle again.

SEVENTEEN.

Blood Child Miriam was careful with his kiss. She was not sure how much Keeper anatomy he knew, and until she was, she would take no chances touching his tongue with her own. Afterward, he gazed at her with what she thought were the saddest eyes she had ever seen.

Now, they were smoking together. She was handling the pipes.

He was still devouring her with his eyes, and there was in the back of her mind the thought that he might have some level of recognition.

She gave him a smile calculated to seem shy, a little surprised. He sighed, smoked, closed his eyes.

She removed the pipes after a few more minutes. She wanted him calm, but not in a stupor. Two pipes of this opium would put a human being in one, no matter how strong he was.

"n.o.body's interested in opium anymore," he said, lounging back on the bed. "I mean, I picked up on it in the jungles of Cambodia. Primitive place."

"My opium is grown on a Crown estate in Myanmar, processed in a facility built for the CIA in 1952. Some say it's the very best pipe on earth. Did you know Maurice McClellan? He was in charge of that operation for CIA."

"I knew Maurice."

Then he was suddenly watching her with eyes as hard and cold as black diamonds. She was surprised - stunned, in fact - to realize that she'd just now made a mistake. If she were really in her early twenties, Maurice would have died when she was just a child.

"He was a friend of my father's," she said, rolling over on her back and putting her hands behind her head to telegraph how complete was her ease. "He introduced him to Prince Philip."

"Yeah, that'd be Maurice. He traveled in pretty rarefied circles."

"You know what we should do?" she said.

"What?"

"We should get you more comfortable."

"This is a boss suit. I like the way it feels."

"It's club wear. When somebody comes in - "

"Dressed like a b.u.m, like me."

"You were confusing my guests. They thought you were some kind of a cop."

"Do you get cops around here?"

"Sure. The precinct's just around the corner."

"I noticed."

"It's not a problem." Not when fifty thousand dollars a week was being sent over there and half the powerful people in the city were making sure that this particular block just plain was not patrolled.

She slid her hands under his shirt. He blinked his eyes. He got so hard so fast that there was a hissing sound as his organ slid against the silk of his trousers. As she unb.u.t.toned the shirt, she wondered how much blood he could lose without dying. He was very strong. He'd probably last and last.

Once he was well trussed up, her plan was to remove all her makeup, to let him know that he had been captured by a Keeper. Then she would p.r.i.c.k a tiny hole in his neck and use him as a teaching tool, letting Leo take him by small sips.

She ran her hands along his shoulders, pushed back the shirt. "You're so strong so strong," she breathed.

"I work out."

"What do you press?"

"Oh, two hundred. Two-twenty if I'm healthy."

"You're unhealthy?"

"I tend to get wasted." He nodded toward the pipes. "That, booze, girls. I've lived in Asia too long, done too much - too much work."

"What is your work?"

"Cla.s.sified."

She laid her head against his chest, drew herself, catlike, close to him. "That's exciting."

"What do you think I do? What's your guess?"

"You - let me see - you're very very strong. But you're also smart." She whispered. "You're a government a.s.sa.s.sin." strong. But you're also smart." She whispered. "You're a government a.s.sa.s.sin."

He chuckled. "You kept my gun."

"You can't bring a gun in here. It's against the law."

"I thought the law didn't apply to you."

"My law."

"How did you get so rich?"

"My great-great-great-great - let's see, five greats - one more - great-grandfather was Lord Baltimore. He owned Maryland."

"That'll do it. But I still want my gun back."

"When you leave."

For a moment, he looked, she thought, kind of like a wild animal. He was hair-trigger; she knew that. Up close like this, he seemed even more dangerous.

She stretched, lying half in his lap and half on the bed. When she stopped, the edge of her hand was lying against his erection. She said, "Uh-oh." Then, "Can I be a bad girl?"

"Be a bad girl."

Very lightly, she touched it. Then she s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away. "Oh, it's huge!" huge!"

He swallowed. He was trembling a little.

She felt more intimately. "It can't be as big as it feels." "Have a look," he whispered.

"Shall I?"

He was too big around the waist for the pants, so they were only three-quarters zipped. She opened them. He came out, bobbing, the glans gleaming in the soft light.

He was was huge. She pressed into the tender glans with a fingernail, then held the enormous thing in both of her hands. She drew off the pants. He shuffled out of the shirt. huge. She pressed into the tender glans with a fingernail, then held the enormous thing in both of her hands. She drew off the pants. He shuffled out of the shirt.

She had not seen a male so beautiful in years. His muscles were fabulous, his skin l.u.s.trous. His face was purest masculine poetry, chiseled and hard, but with the complex, haunted eyes of somebody who had led a dangerous and uncertain life.

Whatever, he was a lovely specimen and he was going to make a sumptuous meal. She was actually a little jealous of Leo. What a great first supper!

A few minutes before he was brought in, she had gone down and checked the furnace next door. All was in order. Under the bed was the black overnight case that she would carry his remnant in.