"Right about the time you wanted sex."

Her lips thinned. "There are plenty of men who'd be willing to help me out with that."

"Not many who love you."

She opened her mouth, closed it again. Rafael went on. "Don't close me out, Sasha. I love you. Human, vampire, whatever combination, I want to be with you."

"Rafael-"

"I'm talking, Sasha." His forced harshness made her smile. "Whatever time we have together, I want to spend it with you. Ten years, fifty years, six months. It doesn't matter. I love you."

"I love you, too, Rafael."

"Good. Then you're done with this nonsense about me being mortal and blah blah blah?"

"Considering I'm the one who almost died, I think I'll have to eat at least a few of those words."

"So I can kiss you, and we can call this whole argument over?"

"Yes."

He rose from the chair, leaned forward, and kissed her. She pressed into him, ignoring the pain of her burned face, savoring the flavor of his mouth. Hot, beating with the rhythm of his heartbeat. He tasted better than he smelled.

After a moment, he drew back and looked into her eyes. "Until death do us part," he murmured.

"Amen," she said, and kissed him again.

Julian's Journal So it can be done. Rafael is mortal now, transformed by the catalysts of blood. This means the other Children-the ones Turned before puberty-can also be made mortal again.

I want it done as soon as possible. If Ialdaboth comes, and there are still little ones among us, he'll slaughter them.

We need a backup plan, though. A way to hide them if he comes before we're ready. Because I feel he will come soon, and their transformation will take time.

The pieces have begun to fall together. Rafael's contribution added weight to some elements, took my attention away from others I had previously thought were important. There's an answer here somewhere.

I can feel him. His power. Did I take something from him when I defeated him the last time, or did he mark me in some way? Or both?

Maybe I am capable of killing him outright-I don't know. I don't know what power I have, what it means, what it can truly do. Sometimes I think if I unleash it, it will kill me. Not exactly what we're after.

Lorelei worries, I can tell, but she won't talk to me about it. She can feel the babies inside her, she says. Moving, stirring. Dancing, perhaps. I have to save all of us in order to save them.

So the Children come first. Tara has agreed to help. I found her in the Senior's memory-didn't even know she existed until my concern over the Children made her face float up out of the morass I inher- ited-that I was forced to take-from my predecessor.

Tara has been important to the Children, helping to keep them safe, ever since her relationship with Dominic and his subsequent death-a shame; he was a decent vamp-led her to the Underground.

She can handle what needs to be done. I'll send her to DeAngelo- after what Nick told me about him, and from what I've seen myself, he seems the most logical choice.

It's all about choices. The Children can have the choice now- the doctor and I can give them that. And from there we go . . . I don't know where.

Nowhere, if I don't find the secret to Ialdaboth's destruction. We're closer to it, with Lucien's litany and now Ialdaboth's, supplied by Rafael.

Aanu's healing progresses well-it shouldn't be long, now, before we can find out what he knows, assuming he brings that knowledge back with him from the dark place he has been these past four thousand years.

But the enemy has come closer, as well. Jasmine died in Perth Amboy last night, and the two who hunted with her don't know what killed her. I had never even heard of her until she died. We've given up on Brendan and Vince ever returning from Atlantic City-so much for their little "vacation." Other reports have come in, as well, of vampires missing or being killed by "strangers."

I can offer no further protection for those who have chosen to live outside the Underground. I can't take the risk they might be agents of Ialdaboth. If they die, perhaps that is on my head. So be it.

Ialdaboth himself is dormant. I'm not sure how I know that.

No, I do know. I dreamed it. I dreamed he was sleeping, and there was a sort of dark curtain over his body. I think Lucien hurt him more than he knew, when they tangled in Romania. It will take time for the bastard to recover.

Time I must be certain to use wisely.

Tara I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh . . .

Song of Songs, 5:2 It's like I'm watching right through his eyes-though Liam's eyes- and he's looking at Felicity. "He's a vampire," I'm saying to her.

"There's no question but that he must die."

Gray DeAngelo, past-life regression journal The past must always be considered, but often ignored. It can mutate and distort, until no one is certain at all of what may or may not have happened. Beware of this, O my too-certain children.

The Book of Changing Blood

One.

The sign on the office door read GRAY DEANGELO, CERTIFIED HYPNOTHERAPIST. Tara looked at the ad she'd torn from the Yellow Pages. There, in addition to hypnotherapy, Dr. DeAngelo had listed, "Stop smoking, lose weight, recover lost memories, past life regression." This appeared to be the place. She opened the door and went in.

Not long ago, she would have considered Dr. DeAngelo to be a quack and all his patients at least gullible, but more likely stupid. Since then, she'd dated a vampire, watched him die, and taken a lucrative job as part-time teacher, babysitter, and mentor to a group of pre-pubescent vampire children. As a result, past life regression seemed less weird than most of what she saw every day, and Dr. Gray DeAngelo was the most likely solution to a complicated problem.

The receptionist seemed friendly enough, but Tara felt unaccountably on edge. The whole situation was so precarious. She felt as though she could breathe wrong, look at someone the wrong way, and blow everything.

"I trust your judgment," Julian had told her. "You've spent more time with the Children than any of the rest of us. If anyone is qualified to monitor Daniel's progress, it's you."

It hadn't seemed prudent to argue with him. Not because he frightened her-though he did, still, just a little-but because, technically, he was right.

Sitting in Dr. DeAngelo's waiting room, she crossed her legs, folded her arms over her chest, and generally tried to make herself as small as possible. As if it would keep them from noticing her even though she'd already talked to the receptionist and signed in.

This was crazy. She had no reason to be so nervous. It wasn't as if Dr. DeAngelo could take one look at her and instantly know her innermost secrets. She picked a spot on the opposite wall and stared at it, easing herself into a semblance of calm.

"Tara Summers?"

It was a testimony to the success of her calming techniques that Tara merely blinked at the sound of her name, instead of jumping out of her skin. She smiled gently, came to her feet, and looked at the man who had spoken.

Gray DeAngelo was tall, broad, and very pretty. An irrelevant thought drifted across her mind-that she was glad she wasn't here to discuss some kind of sexual dysfunction.

"Ms. Summers," he said, holding out a hand. "I'm Dr. DeAngelo."

She took his hand, liking the way it enveloped hers snugly. "Nice to meet you."

His smile seemed a little cautious, genuine but not entirely open.

"My office is this way."

She followed him down the short hallway. He opened a door and gestured for her to precede him into the room.

The office was different than she'd expected. Though she wasn't certain what she had expected-big, intimidating furniture and musty books, perhaps, but not this light, airy room. The furniture was upholstered in pale blues and greens, and the sleek, modern desk was of a pale wood with white lacquered trim. A window let in a great deal of light, as well as a view of Manhattan. Tara felt instantly comfortable.

Which, she assumed, was the point.

"Have a seat." The doctor gestured toward a chair. He looked at the date book on his desk. "You're here for a consultation?"

"That's correct. I need someone to treat my son."

Dr. DeAngelo settled on a corner of the desk. "How old is he?"

"He's ten. He's adopted." She added the last perhaps a bit too hastily, aware that she was, and looked, a bit too young to be the mother of a ten-year-old. That Daniel was, in fact, nearly five hundred was, at the moment, irrelevant. "He's been having some problems lately, and we believe it may have to do with something he experienced as a very young child."

"Something he's repressed." "Yes. Some kind of abuse, most likely."

"That sounds like something I could handle. Have you spoken to any other therapists?"

"No. You were recommended."

"By whom?"

"A friend of mine. Nicholas Carrington. He saw you in connection with an illness. He had cancer." Plus, Julian had agreed with the recommendation-Tara wasn't sure why.

"Ah, yes. I remember. I taught him self-hypnosis to handle the pain. How is he?"

"Unfortunately he passed away a few months ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Tara lowered her gaze to her lap, hoping she looked appropriately distraught. Nick had asked her to tell the doctor that he'd died. "He spoke very highly of you, so when this situation came up with Daniel, I thought of you."

"I appreciate that. Have you seen any other doctors? Besides therapists?"

Tara grimaced. "They all wanted to medicate him. I didn't realize until recently that Ritalin and Prozac were such cure-alls."

Distaste rose in his eyes as he spoke. "They have their place, of course. I believe in being very cautious with drugs, though. Particularly with children."

Tara nodded. "It might have been a quick fix, but I wanted to get to the root of the problem."

"Good for you." He leaned backward from his perch on the edge of the desk to pick up a notebook from the opposite side. "I'd like to get some information, for starters."

"Of course."

"You said your son's name is Daniel?"

"Yes."

"And your husband's?"

"I'm not married."

His gaze flicked from his notes to her.

"Divorced," she clarified. "My ex-husband is very involved and will be helping me with the financial aspects of Daniel's treatment."

Dr. DeAngelo made no comment. "I'd suggest we get started as soon as possible. Make an appointment with my receptionist on the way out. Of course, you're more than welcome to attend all Daniel's therapy sessions. In fact, I encourage it."

"There was one more thing I wanted to mention. I'll have to make my appointments for the evening. Daniel has a very rare skin condition.

He's extremely sensitive to sunlight."

Dr. DeAngelo's eyebrow twitched oddly. Tara had no idea what that meant.

"Of course," he said. "Just explain the situation to my receptionist.

She'll make an appropriate appointment for you. But before that, I'd like to talk to you a bit about the exact nature of Daniel's behavior problems."

She told him the story she'd concocted with the aid of Dr. Greene.

They'd spent hours on the Internet researching behavior problems to put together a logical scenario.

It had seemed to Tara at the time that Julian's input in the process had been based on some knowledge of Dr. DeAngelo, but then he'd told her to quote Nick as a reference. She wasn't quite comfortable enough with Julian to question him about it, though. And the plan they'd put together seemed rock-solid. If the doctor figured out what was really going on, he had a better imagination than any doctor Tara had ever met.

Still, if he did, they would deal with the situation. She just hoped Dr. DeAngelo made it through alive.

She'd intended to get home before dark, but she didn't quite make it. As she'd expected, but also feared, Daniel wasn't in his small, sun- tight bedroom. Looking at the empty bed, she sighed. It didn't matter that he'd gotten along fine without her for nearly five centuries. He was in her care now, and she felt responsible.

Julian and Dr. Greene had both warned her to expect Daniel to disappear during the night, but she couldn't help worrying. He was a vampire; but he was also a little boy, and she had developed a relationship with the little boy. So it was hard for her to think of him out, on his own. Harder still to think of him procuring a dinner of fresh blood.

Hardest of all to imagine him being overpowered by one of Ialdaboth's evil followers. Never mind Julian's reassurances that Manhattan was safe; she didn't want Daniel's death to be the first indication that it wasn't.

She forced herself to make her own dinner, sit down, and eat, instead of pacing and worrying and wringing her hands, which was what she really felt compelled to do.

When she'd scraped the last bit of pasta from her plate, she looked fruitlessly out the window for a minute or two, then turned on the TV.

The evening news was half over when a deceptively small voice said, "Hey, Tara."

She turned around. Daniel stood behind her, a skinny little boy with disheveled curly black hair, his front teeth too big for him. He wore faded jeans and a bright orange Pokemon T-shirt. A smear of red next to his mouth might have been Spaghetti-O's, but it wasn't.