She nodded, rising up on one elbow. "I...I have to get to the hospital," she told him, fingering the cross around her neck. "Will this protect me?"

"To an extent. Stephan has ways of seeing that they're removed, but...don't go anywhere without a water pistol."

She started to laugh, and there were tears in her eyes. He sat up, sweeping his arms around her, holding her very tightly, cradling her."Hey," he murmured awkwardly.

"I'm sorry...it's just...a water pistol. It's holy water, right?"

"Yes."

She pulled away, staring at him. "If...the holy water kills so easily, how is that Stephan is still...not dead?"

He let out a sigh. "So far, the second he's been injured, he's managed to disappear before my weapons can do their work.

Because he has so many of his lackeys with him, they've kept me busy while he makes his escape." There was so much he still had to explain. And considering everything she'd had to accept so far, she was doing very well. He had to be careful, though, just how much information to impart and how fast.

She needed enough to keep herself safe, but not too much. Information overload could be a very dangerous thing.

"Young vampires are rash, impetuous, and not very powerful. They think they're invincible, and they're not. But they are killers, and they kill easily, because most people are unaware of their existence. Because people tend to be trusting. Because vampires can...seduce."

She frowned. "Deanna kept telling me there were two men. She insisted that Jonas was good and that there was someone else.

Someone who was evil."

"She might have been right."

"But you said Jonas was a vampire."

He hesitated. "Yes," he finally said.

"So he's evil."

"I don't know."

"I don't understand."

He lowered his head, wincing. How much could he expect her to believe?

"You know, of course, that terrible things have happened throughout history. The Spanish Inquisition was one of the worst instances of man's inhumanity to man, but it didn't make all churchmen evil. Stalin carried out a blood bath, but all Russians weren't evil. Hitler was a maniac, but that didn't make all Germans bad. Terrorists kill in the name of Allah, but most Muslims are kind and compa.s.sionate and humane, as Mohammed taught."

She was once again staring at him as if he had lost his mind.

"What the h.e.l.l are you saying?" she asked.

He lifted his hands. "That there are good vampires."

"Good vampires?"

He answered very slowly and carefully. "Vampires who want to coexist with humans in peace, who have retained the essence of humanity themselves. The woman who owns this house is actually a very wise..." He paused. "And good vampire."

She leapt out of bed, staring at him. He'd gone too far. Her eyes accused him of the absolute depths of madness.

"You-you know all this?" she said, her tone skeptical, her eyes enormous. And yet...he almost smiled at his own unconscious response to her. She was naked, staring at him, hair wild and beautiful, and his heart was pounding again. Of course, given what he'd just told her, she was undoubtedly thinking that she would never let him anywhere near her again.

"Lauren, there's so much..."

"I have to get to the hospital," she said curtly.

"I'll take you. I have a car," he told her.

Her features were tense. But she nodded, grabbing her dress, throwing it over her head. "Ten minutes. I need to shower and change. For the night."

He wasn't sure what that meant, but she was gone. He winced, then rose and headed back for the shower himself. He quickly rinsed off and dressed.

At least she was here, at Montresse House. At least she had agreed to let him drive her to the hospital. At least...

He had touched her. Made love to her.

At least now she had an idea of the mortal danger she was facing.

He wanted to think they could have a future.

He didn't dare.

There were a number of tourists wandering the Square. That was good, Susan thought. It was almost like old times. There was a caricaturist just a few feet away, sketching a young couple who were obviously in love. A young woman in a gypsy skirt and turban had set up on the other side of the artist.

She sat quietly at her own table for a moment, closing her eyes, her hands lying on the tarot card before her. She didn't turn over the cards; she just closed her eyes and listened.

She could hear the rumble of the mule drawn carriages.

A sax playing to her left.

There was chatter.

Someone who was already a few sheets to the wind stumbled on the sidewalk and was helped by a more sober companion.

She concentrated harder.

Her full name was Susan Beauvais, and her family had been in the area for centuries. One ancestor had fled the b.l.o.o.d.y revolution that erupted in Haiti in 1791. Over the hundreds of years since, she'd acc.u.mulated all sorts different ancestors. Someone had been white. At least one had been an Indian. But it had been her mother, a Creole, who had told her about the magic that went untapped by most people throughout their lives. Reading tarot cards, palms and the crystal ball made for a decent living, but there was so much more a person could learn.

She didn't always feel comfortable with her power. Sometimes people were better off when they didn't know what lay ahead.

But there were other times when it was necessary for people to know what they were about to face. And this was such a time.

She'd sensed troubles like these before, but never so strong, so frightening. She concentrated more fully, and at last it came to her.

A soft sound, a rustling on the wind.

Yes...she could hear it. The flapping of wings.

She looked up at the sky. Bats. There were often bats here. They rested high up in the eaves of the taller buildings.

She removed her hands from her cards, asked the artist to watch her table, then stood and hurried over to the church, looking around nervously as she went.

The great doors remained open, though they would be closed very soon.

Inside, she knelt down in the aisle and pulled the huge cross she always wore from beneath the cotton fabric of her shirt, then she held it tightly as she murmured her prayer.

Though she didn't look up, she sensed it when someone slid into the pew beside her. She shook her head. "You should not be here."

"It's my home," he said.

"There is a very fine line between good and evil," she said, turning to looked up at the handsome young man in the pew. "You may get caught in the crossfire."

"There are very bad times coming," he said.

Susan bowed her head again. "Yes, I know."

"I have to be here."

"I will pray for you," Susan said.

"You must help," he said.

"And how can I do that?"

"You see things."

She turned and stared at him. "It's not as if there's a movie playing in my head. I see what comes to me. If I could choose, if I could see see how to fight evil at every turn, there wouldn't be any evil. But you-you should go elsewhere."

"I can't."

"Many here don't trust you."

"I intend to prove myself."

She stared at him again. "You don't know what you're up against-on either side."

"Then I'll learn," he said grimly.

Susan watched him carefully as he rose to leave the church. When he had been gone for several minutes, she rose herself and found the holy water vessel. She dampened her fingers and drew the sign of the cross not just on her forehead, but on her arms, across her chest above her heart, and in several places around her throat.Belatedly, she noticed that there was a young priest at the back of the church, and he was staring at her in perplexed silence.

"Evening, Father," she said.

He nodded to her. Tongue-tied, maybe.

As she left, she smiled.

She returned to her table and again put her fingertips on her cards and closed her eyes. She could still hear the sound of wings beneath the laughter, beneath the carriage wheels and the clip-clop of the mules' hooves.

Should she keep her peace? Or try to contact the young woman? There was much she needed to know.

"I'd love a reading," someone said.

She looked up.

And her blood turned cold.

It was him.

Heidi seemed annoyed to see Lauren and Mark when they got to the hospital.

Lauren was distressed to see that her friend was no longer wearing her engagement ring. But with Mark in the room, she didn't want to have a showdown with Heidi. She couldn't begin to imagine what had possessed her to forget how much she loved Barry.

They'd been together since they had left college and moved to California. They'd been living together for two years. They wanted the same things, two children, another Norwegian Elkhound, one cat, and vacations spent hiking through the Redwoods.

"I'm fine here by myself, you know," Heidi said.

Mark, not really paying attention, had walked over to Deanna's side. He touched her brow and seemed relieved, then reached into the pocket of his jeans and produced another cross on a chain.

"What are you doing?" Heidi said sharply.

"Just saying a prayer," Mark replied, carefully slipping the chain around Deanna's neck and fumbling just a bit with the tiny clasp.

Deanna shifted restlessly in her deep sleep, then settled again.

"She doesn't want that!" Heidi snapped.

"It's okay, Heidi," Lauren told her. "I-I bought it for her," she lied.

"Well, that was stupid," Heidi said crossly.

"It won't hurt anything," Lauren said, disturbed by the strange way Heidi was acting. "

You should take that thing off her," Heidi said.

"Why on earth?" Lauren demanded.

Heidi didn't have an answer at first. "I think her mom is part Jewish," she said at last. "Then we'll get her a star of David, too," Mark said.

Heidi opened her mouth, apparently puzzled, then closed it again when she couldn't come up with anything to say.

"I think you need to get out of here for a while," Lauren said firmly.

"I...I'm needed here," Heidi said.