His face buried in a pillow, the Master affectionately stroked the Elite's hair back from his forehead. As the male Elite sucked greedily from the older vampire's wrist, the exhausted slump of the Master's body reflected boredom. Sorin panicked at the sight.

Or perhaps he was merely tired, Sorin thought. He had been working much harder lately, thank the day.

The glow of the television-Sorin thrilled to see that it was on-reflected the closed-circuit video images of the meeting in the theater. He had been watching.

Sorin's spirits lifted high above the room at this indication of the Master's renewed interest. In decades past, the head vampire had taken great exhilaration in games-hunting and being hunted. Was his old love of chaos resurrecting him?

"You were watching?" he asked, studiously keeping the joy from his voice.

The Master's words slurred together. "I was. You did everything perfectly, Sorin."

A stain of pride spread through his chest. Sad, that he still depended on the Master's approval. Sad, that Sorin suspected he would never be able to discard the need for it.

"Now, to deal with the PIs," Sorin said.

"Weare. From what's been gathered in intelligence, I think they might be useful to us. If there reallyisanother master directing them, they could lead us to the source itself."

The male Elite tilted his head back, gasping for air, blood on his chin as he opened his eyes and smiled."Ahhh," he said, wavering back and forth as if dizzy. "My very own Dr. Feelgood. Or...sorry...Dr. Eternity." He chuckled. "It's a little bit like calling out the wrong name after you come, huh?"

At the mention of the nickname that the Elites had invented for the Master, the head vampire patted the young creature's head, ending the infusion.

Balancing to his feet, the youngster stood by the television, wiping his mouth. One of the oldest of the elite cla.s.s, this one's humanity had died in an automobile crash a half century ago, and he was awaiting a second release. He was strung together with fine, slender bones, his hair a golden brown fluff that was punctuated with long sideburns. Lanky and s.e.xy-that is what the Groupies said about him.

"It is time for you to leave," Sorin said.

"Aw, h.e.l.l, you're going to see me around the emporium and whatnot." He strutted to the entrance. "I'm going to visit the baths tonight for a real, real long time. Get me somep.u.s.s.y, and then I'll be set to leave."

He laughed as he exited, and Sorin scowled. He could not deny the Elite. These vampires were allowed full use of the Underground because they paid enough to ensure the privilege.

The Master was still buried amongst the divan cushions, his wrist already having healed from the infusion.

"He is arrogant," Sorin noted.

"All of them are." He sounded weary now. "But that's part of their charm, now, isn't it. You weren't that different from them back when I found you."

Just as Sorin was becoming worried about his tone, the Master reached for his television remote control, flipping through channels. "Aliasreruns will be on in ten minutes. Sit."

Relieved beyond measure, Sorin laughed. The media-loving Master. "I must see to the meeting's close. Shall I report to you later for details regarding Tamsin Greene's welcome?"

The Master sat up, his red-outlined aura stronger than Sorin had seen it in years. "I'll be prepared."

As the television's screen revealed the faces of lovely young people, Sorin rethought his plan for the night. "Perhaps Iwillstay.

Only for a few moments though."

His aura beaming, the Master made room for his child on the divan.

But soon, after the news of the murder reached the spies of the Underground, the television was turned off.

And the vampires were forced into action, once again.

SEVENTEEN.

THEBODY.

CAUGHTin a limbo between reluctance and satisfaction, Dawn lay on the couch in Limpet's office somewhere around midnight.

Newsflash: she'd been with The Voice again. Yeah, it was true. Dawn wasn't about to admit to having a lot of restraint when it came to him or the way he made her feel with his talent for soothing her neuroses. He'd become something like a bed buddy, a comforting return to real life.

At least, sort of. If they'd actually been having flesh-to-flesh, wolf-howlings.e.xs.e.x, it would've been just like old times for her. But this kind of loving wasn't so normal.

Evensheknew that.

Still, there was one indisputable fact: instead of just entering her from the inside and working his way out tonight, The Voice had kept her overtime, switching from mysteryluv-ahto mentor without intermission. Even during the aftermath of the Big O, he began coaching her on mind blocking, seeing to the fine details of what he called her "greatest weapon."

It'd been a puzzling transition for Dawn, who couldn't make heads or tails-literally, in a locker room sense-of what the h.e.l.l was happening.

"Every time I'm with you," The Voice was saying, "I realize how much you've repressed. You've shoved many things to the back of your mind, as though they've been packed into boxes and rarely opened, if at all."

Kiko had obviously told him aboutthepicture.

"And why can't it just stay packed?" she asked, her gaze stuck on the painting that had caught her attention last time: the Elizabethan woman. The ageless beauty watched Dawn right back, a perceptive smile on her pink, parted lips.

What was even more odd, though, were the other paintings in there-the ones Dawn thought had contained women also. All they showed now were landscapes, backgrounds, just like the one with the fire setting.

But The Voice wasn't exactly giving her much opportunity to gab about the difference in his decor.

"You cannot stay so tightly wound, because youwillimplode. A fine example of that was last night, at Bava, then again at the restaurant with that private investigator."

At the mention of Matt Lonigan, his tone sounded sc.r.a.ped, rough with something that could've been the jealousy she was always hoping for. She couldn't help being a little happy about that. Freaky girl.

"So I got nervous and threw a mind block at Lonigan." Dawn turned her gaze from the Elizabethan painting to the speakers where The Voice was coming from. "He didn't react to that, the garlic, or the crucifix. So, in effect, didn't my blocking overkill actually result in getting even more information about his responses? Shouldn't you be stoked about your growing dossier on him?"

"Perhaps. But you're misdirecting our discussion again."

"I sure am." She grinned, but it was more about defensive c.o.c.kiness than anything else.

As he sighed, she could almost see him tossing his hands up, done with her. "Dawn."

"Limpet."

There was a stretched pause. "At least there's this: in spite of your amazing ability to consistently sa.s.s back, I'm at least satisfied that you're now relaxed enough to go out there and function rationally."

He was teasing her about the s.e.x...or...whatever it was.

"Don't sound so proud of yourself. We've got a good, symbiotic deal going. You get to tour the dark closets of my mind, and I leave happy. It's not like you've become my personal savior because you're diddling my noggin or something. Besides, if you ask me, whatever's going on here is just one therapy session away from masturbation anyway."

She could almost feel him get angry; his silence was that eloquent.

What-did he think he was actually helping her by mind s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her? Dare to dream. Out of the corner of her eye, Dawn thought she saw movement in the Elizabethan painting, a twitch from the lady. But when Dawn rounded on it, she only found the woman's gaze to be locked on her again, unwavering and sympathetic.

When The Voice resumed speaking, it was with maddening calm. "I understand. So when another chance presents itself, we'll practice your mind tricks again-but without the masturbation, as you call it."

Dawn opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. She couldn't b.i.t.c.h at him for entering her and then flip right around and say that it was okay for him to do it again. That would make her a c.o.c.k-tease, and she'd always considered herself everything but. And hadn't there been a time when she'd been p.i.s.sed about him coming into her in the first place? Yeah, it'd lasted for about an hour, and then she'd gotten randy.

Man, she was confused.

"In the meantime, Dawn, practice what we went over tonight-how to relax, how tosensewhen you're in true danger. I don't want you wasting your precious energy on blocking everyone you meet. Also, try doing it in a mirror, so you can perfect your facade. During your attempts to block, we want to hide it. We don't want to give the impression that you're..."

He searched for a phrase.

"Giving birth to a bowling ball?" she finished.

"Earth-shatteringly poetic, but yes."

A knock on the door brought things to a close. Kiko poked his head inside. "Is it safe in here?"

Without waiting for an answer, he bounded into the room, giving Dawn a better look at him. His eyes were wide and his face was red, so her systems went on alert.

"Breisi just got a call from our cop source," he said. "She'd asked Sergeant Brighton to keep an eye out for anyone connected with this case and-"

"Kiko," The Voice said.

Uncharacteristically, the psychic huffed out a long breath, unable to talk. Was he nervous?

"Kik?" Dawn asked.

Finally, he chilled out. "Klara Monaghan's dead."

"What?" Dawn sprang off the couch.

"They got a call on her body a few minutes ago. She's already been identified."

"How?" The Voice quietly asked-quiet in a bad way.

"Looks like a big neck wound, a blood drain." Suddenly back in action, Kiko motioned for Dawn to leave with him. "We're on our way, Boss. She's just down Highland. Sergeant Brighton is making sure we'll at least get a peek, if we can get there before things go nuts."

"Be careful," The Voice said.

Having grabbed her weapons, Dawn was already halfway out of the room, strapping on her shoulder holster then a jacket as Kiko jogged to catch up with her long strides.

When they got downstairs, Breisi was just coming out of her dungeon. A dull blue light shone behind her, casting her in shadow. A grinding hum made Dawn wonder just exactly what the h.e.l.l Breisi was up to, what she was hiding behind that door.

But this wasn't the time for that.

They all sprinted to the 4Runner, Breisi popping it into high gear, engaging the antiradar gadgets and a very illegal opticom that would manipulate the traffic lights so they could get to Klara's location ASAP. Breisi insisted that the boss would take care of matters if they were caught with the emergency vehicle equipment, so it was no skin off Dawn's back.

On the way, Kiko caught her up on what she'd missed during her tutorial with The Voice: he and Breisi had made a late-night visit to Marla Pennybaker, who was just as concerned about the missing Nathan as they were. Based on recordings from the bugs in Marla's house that The Voice and "Friends" had monitored, they now had evidence confirming the woman's innocence in not knowing where her husband was. Even though he'd called her a time or two to tell her he was safe, he never revealed his location.

Her veracity was further supported by The Voice's "Friends," who were watching over the Pennybaker home and had been ordered to remain there as protection against the red-eyes. G.o.d knew who these buddies were, but they'd seen Mr. P. leave the premises shortly after they'd been a.s.signed there. And he hadn't returned since.

Dawn groaned at the news. They were almost back to square one with Nathan Pennybaker. But, in the hopes of turning things around again, Breisi had planted more locators in the home, thinking that would pay off once more. In fact, she'd adjusted one of the tools to pick up on Robby's presence inside the house.

When Kiko started telling Dawn about how Breisi had again broached the red-eye vamp visit with Marla, Dawn could emphathize with Marla's continued reluctance to hear any of it.

Repression, right? It had its uses.

"And what about tonight?" Dawn asked. "How're we going to get into the murder scene?"

Kiko crossed his fingers. "Connections. Brighton is the patrol sergeant in charge, so he's got someone waiting there for us. I doubt we'll get beyond the crime-scene tape because of contamination issues and all that. But just a gander at Klara will help, and we've got pals in the coroner's office who can give us autopsy reports and photos."

"And a secret visit, if we're lucky," Breisi added.

Thanks to the traffic-cheating equipment, they arrived at Klara's apartment complex without much fuss. It was a stucco-tan bundle of buildings, unremarkable except for a couple of broken streetlights around a parking lot littered with neon-green flyers and fast-food wrappers.

They exited the 4Runner, pa.s.sed three lone cop cars, then approached the yellow crime-scene tape that established a perimeter near a carport. The tape circled around a Dumpster that blocked their view and ended on the opposite side of the roofed structure.

"You can't go any farther," a young officer near the Dumpster said. He had an accent tinted with Mexican flavor like Breisi's, a caterpillar mustache, sungla.s.ses, close-cropped black hair, and a chewing-gum habit.

"Hold up, Santos," said a female whose voice made her sound like she ate nails for breakfast. A patrolwoman came to stand next to him. "I'll take care of them."

She wore her long, curly blond hair back in a haphazard bun, her uniform clinging to an athletically slim body, her nametag telling them that she was Burks. Sungla.s.ses were perched on her head, and there was a beauty spot near her upper lip, adding some femininity.

Santos gave Kiko a curious you're-not-very-tall look while he wandered to another area of the tape, where some neighbors had gathered, craning their necks to get a better look.When he was out of earshot, Burks whispered, "Her roommate found her under here." She sent a subtle nod to the carport. "She says that Klara had been taking out some foul trash that couldn't wait until morning. When Klara didn't come back, the roommate checked by the Dumpster to see what was happening. No one was around, so we don't have a suspect description yet."

Walking toward the spot of the murder, Burks motioned them to follow. "Hurry up with your rubbernecking. Detectives are on their way, and I'll be watching to see that you don't go in. No matter who your boss knows on the force, I havesomepride in upholding my reputation."

They reached the morbid location to find one other uniform comforting a woman who was sitting on the sidewalk, hunched over, weeping. The roommate? Burks talked to the other cop for a moment, and he took her original position on the other side of the Dumpster. Then she signaled that it was clear, and Breisi took out a digital camera while Kiko opened up his phone.

For her part, Dawn watched the crying woman, noting that her face was purposely turned away from the sight of a body lying p.r.o.ne on the white pavement.

G.o.d.

Under the blinking lights of the carport, its arms were open, palms to the sky. One leg was bent back like the corpse was about to kick, its hair a cotton-candy mess melting in a pool of blood, its neck torn to shreds, its skin bled of color, its mouth open in a scream that would never be heard.

Itwas Klara Monaghan.

Breisi pressed a camera b.u.t.ton, extending its lens to close-range. A flash shed p.r.i.c.ks of white over the body.

Sn-a-nnnzzz.

Next to Dawn, Kiko was taking pictures with his phone.