Hexed

ONE

“I’VE GOT HIM.”

I’m off like a bullet across the dark parking lot. The guy I’m chasing, a skip wanted in L.A. for drug trafficking, runs like he’s used to it. Head up, long strides, hands pumping. And he’s fast.

Trouble is, he doesn’t know what’s chasing him.

I hear my partners, David and Tracey, fall behind. Good. I can kick in with the vampire speed and—

A car door opens right in front of me. Smacks me square in the chest and I go down like I’ve been shot.

Shit.

I jump up and shake my head clear. David and Tracey pound past me.

“You okay?” David says over his shoulder.

I’m looking at the guy who coldcocked me. “Yeah. Get Smith.”

That guy is looking at the guy still running. “I’ll call the cops,” he yells, brandishing a cell phone.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’ve grabbed his wrist, yanking the phone out of his hand. A car door can’t kill a vampire, but getting whacked by one can sure as hell cause pain. Right now my ribs are screaming like a son of a bitch.

“Stopping a mugging,” he says, trying to free himself from my grip.

He can’t. For the first time, a glimmer of uncertainty shadows his face. “You’re strong.”

“Yeah, I know.” I release him, toss the phone into the lot. When I turn back, he’s eyeing me and I return the favor. Late thirties, good suit, good shoes, good haircut. Looks like he might be a salesman at Men’s Wearhouse.

“We weren’t mugging that guy. We were trying to arrest him.”

His eyes narrow. “You guys are cops?”

“Not exactly.”

He takes a step backward. “Not exactly? You’re either cops or you’re not.”

I’m looking for David and Tracey. As a vampire, I have excellent night vision. But I can’t see through buildings, and from the echo of running feet they’re around the corner of a building in the far end of the lot.

“Shit. I’ve got to go.”

“I don’t think so.”

I turn and find myself staring into the barrel of a nice little .22. The guy has it pointed at my chest. I release a breath of exasperation. “Look. I told you I’m not a mugger. I’m a fugitive apprehension officer. A bounty hunter. And my partners may be in trouble. Now point that gun somewhere else, or I’ll take it from you and stick it up your ass so far, you’ll be shitting bullets.”

“Big talk,” he says. But I notice his hand is not quite so steady. “No, you and I are going to—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish. I have the gun out of his hand so fast his brain can’t process what happened. He’s still staring at where the gun used to be. His eyes flick back and forth from his empty hand to mine—and the gun now pointing at his chest.

“How’d you do that?”

“Just get in your car and get out of here.”

He doesn’t wait for me to say it twice. He slips behind the wheel and cranks over the engine. I step away and slam the door.

But like most pain-in-the-ass bystanders, he has to get the last word. “I’m still going to call the police,” he yells back, gunning the car out of the parking lot with a squeal of rubber.

I see David and Tracey at the far end of the lot walking back toward me. Just the two of them.

“You do that,” I say quietly to the departing car.

Fucking-A.

The skip got away.

I stick the gun I took from the now-fleeing driver into the pocket of my jacket.

Over my shoulder, a sound.

A laugh? Or a growl?

I whirl around.

Vampire senses spring to alert. Nothing. Nothing moving, nothing breathing. No supernatural blips on my internal radar screen. Was it my imagination?

But the echo hangs in the air before the sound fades away like fog in the sun.

TRACEY AND DAVID beat me into the office the next day. The mood is glum. I walk straight over to our gun safe in the corner of the office and work the combination. Stick the .22 inside and twirl the lock.

“Where’d that come from?” David asks.

“Took it off our good Samaritan last night. So, what’s up?”

David slaps the flat of his hand on a folded newspaper. “The cops picked Smith up. Fucking civilian cost us a bounty.”

“And I’m fine, by the way,” I say with mild amusement. “Thanks for asking.”

David blows out a breath. “You’re tough. The minute I saw you on your feet, I knew you were okay.”

He’s a big guy, a former pro–football player who has some experience with on-the-job accidents. His philosophy is if you can get up on your own after being hit, you’re still in the game.

Tracey isn’t so sure.

“Did you get yourself checked out?” she asks. “That door clocked you pretty good.”

She’s a tough one, too. An ex-cop who’s tall and willowy as a whippet but with the staying power of a pit bull. She signed on as a partner a little over three months ago. Her concern makes me smile. Neither of them knows that I’m a vampire. Nothing short of a stake in the heart or a well-aimed ax to the head can put me down permanently.

“I’m fine. Really.” I pick up a pile of flyers hot off the fax and fan them. “Anything promising here?”

“Maybe one.” David takes the flyers from me and pulls out a single sheet. “Not as big a payday as the one we lost last night but better than nothing.”

He hands it over. An arson suspect skipped bond and was last seen in Phoenix. He’s got a ten-thousand-dollar bounty on his head. I look up. “Phoenix? In August?”

“Yeah.” David frowns. “I know. That’s why I think we should flip to see which one of us accompanies Tracey—”

“Accompanies Tracey?” Her voice croaks a protest. “Why don’t I get a shot at that coin toss?”

“Because you’re the rookie.” David fishes a coin out of his pocket, flips it with one hand, slaps it down on the back of his other. He looks at me. “Call it.”

“Heads.”

He peeks. “Shit. Okay, Tracey. Go pack an overnight case. We leave in thirty minutes.”

TWO

AN HOUR LATER, DAVID AND TRACEY ARE ON the road, and I’m alone enjoying my little victory. I pick up the newspaper and take it out to the deck that spans the back length of our office. It’s Saturday so most of the other offices on our block are closed. We’re situated on Pacific Highway a stone’s throw from Seaport Village. Traffic noise and the chatter of tourists mingle with the shrill, sharp squawk of scavenging seagulls. The deck hangs over San Diego Bay. It’s noon and the sun is high in the sky, bouncing off bobbing sailboats and turning speedboat wakes into bright silver froth. The kind of day San Diego is famous for. Mild. Sunny. Beautiful to behold.

A thousand times better than the desert hell David and Tracey are headed for.

I plop into a chair, congratulating myself on my good luck. All I have to do is mind the office for an hour or two and then I’ll take the afternoon off. I shake open the newspaper. Read the article about the one that got away. Smith was picked up two hours after we lost him, in a bar, recognized by someone who saw his picture on the news. No mention of our run-in with him or of any indignant citizen complaining that three “muggers” had assaulted him in a parking lot.

The chase replays in my head. I rub at my ribs—reflex really, now there’s not even a mark left to show that I got whacked by that car door. Wonder what the guy in the car was doing there at 2 A.M.? The mall stores had been closed for hours, no bars or restaurants in the area. He took a chance insinuating himself in a situation he knew nothing about. There’s no way he could have missed the fact that there were three of us.

And he had a gun.

Curiouser and curiouser.

And what about that creepy sound I heard? Or thought I heard. It could have been the wind. Or . . . what?

I’ve been a vampire for a little over a year and I’ve come across so many strange things I’ve lost count. I’m no longer surprised or startled by anything that I see or hear. I can’t explain most things, I don’t try anymore. But the guy in the parking lot was no supernatural being. I could get some answers from him. At least I can find out why he was hanging around in a deserted parking lot and why he had a gun.

I go back inside, open the safe, examine the .22. The serial number is easily distinguishable. A call to a friend at SDPD and he agrees to check the gun registry and get back to me.

Nothing to do now but wait.

THE CALL COMES in a long hour and a half later. I jot the information down on a notepad, thank my buddy, and ring off with the promise that I owe him one. Then I sit back in my chair and look at the name.

Alex Hampton.

I power up my laptop and do a directory search—of both legal and illegal sites. In the bounty-hunting business you cultivate certain talents. Knowing how to get information is one of them. In less than ten minutes, I have an address and phone number. Should I call first? No. Alex surprised me last night. It’s my turn to return the favor. I eject each bullet out of the cylinder on his .22 and drop them into a desk drawer. The gun itself I stick in my jacket.

Hampton’s address is on Hilltop Drive in Chula Vista, a manicured street of upper-middle-class houses. Hampton has one of the nicer ones. He lives on the west side of the street with a view in back that stretches along the coastline. There are children’s toys in front, a trike, a two-wheeler with training wheels. He has at least two young kids.

I ring the bell. The door opens a crack, the length allowed by the chain at the top. One round, blue eye peeks out. A cacophony of sound from a Saturday morning cartoon show spills out, too. I kneel down so I’m eye level.

“Hey. Is your daddy home?”

The door slams shut. I hear the thud of little feet and the yell of “Daddy” as the kid runs to find his father.

When the door opens next, I’m greeted by a disheveled, pajama-clad man who rubs the sleep from his eyes as he asks, “Yes?”

This guy is about forty, overweight, balding.

Not the man I met last night.

“Sorry. I must have the wrong address. I’m looking for Alex Hampton.”

“You found him, lady. What do you want?”

I have two choices now. Retreat or barge ahead. I pull the gun from my jacket. If he acts frightened and slams the door in my face, I know I have the wrong guy and I’d better get the hell out of here.

He doesn’t.

He steps outside, closing the door behind him. “Where did you find it?”

He’s reaching to take it, but I pull it back. “Where did you lose it?”

He tilts his head, studying me. “Are you from the police?”

“No.”

He looks back at the door, as if to assure himself it’s still closed, but lowers his voice anyway. “I lent it to somebody. He called early this morning and said he lost it.”

“Who did you lend it to?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Did he tell you how he lost it?”

A shake of the head.

“Look, I’m not a cop,” I say. “But I am an officer of the court.” Sort of, anyway. “If you don’t tell me who had the gun last, any crime committed with it will be laid on your doorstep.”

I have no idea whether or not a crime has been committed, but a pint of bluff is worth a pound of fact.

His face reveals the inner battle. Should he rat out the friend or risk his own well-being? A no-brainer, in my experience. The only question is how long will he take to decide to give up his “friend.”

Not very long.

His expression clears. He breathes out a shaky breath. “Stephen Powers.” Then he waits, as if I should recognize the name.

It does sound familiar. But no face pops to mind. “Did he say why he needed a gun?”

“No. And I didn’t ask.”

“Okay. I’m going to keep the gun for a while. You’ll get it back when we’ve had a chance to check out your story.”

“‘We’?” The cloud descends once more. “I thought you said you weren’t a cop.”

I smile and hold out my hand. He takes it. We shake. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Hampton. Best to keep all this to yourself for now.”

I leave him before he can think about it too long or hard. I figure I have at least a day before he contacts the real cops. Time enough to locate Stephen Powers and find out why he needed a gun.

THREE

I DRIVE BACK TO THE OFFICE ACTUALLY EXCITED at the prospect of doing a little sleuthing. Too much of my life this last year has been taken up with fighting supernatural battles. I like the idea of tackling a human puzzle. Though there may be no puzzle at all. For all I know, this Stephen Powers may have a perfectly logical reason for sitting alone in a car in a deserted parking lot at 2 A.M. with a gun.

Maybe I can help this guy. Maybe he’s been threatened in some way. Maybe someone in his family is in trouble.

Right.

My inner cynic raises her ugly head—more likely Stephen Powers is an addict and he was there waiting for his dealer.

I’ve been dealing with scumbags too long.

No. I prefer to think positively. When I pull into the parking lot, I’ve convinced myself once more that I’m going to find this Stephen Powers and solve his earthly problem for him. Even if it means using unearthly methods.

I’m already ticking off ways to track him down as I unlock the door and step inside. The telephone is ringing. In the spirit of my new, optimistic brain set, I answer, “Angel Investigations. We help the helpless.”

There’s a moment of silence. Followed by a click.

Doesn’t even faze me. As I suspected it would, the phone rings again. This time, I use my professional voice. “Anna Strong.”

A pause, but much shorter this time. “Anna?”

I don’t recognize the voice. “Yes?”

“This is Susan. I need to talk to you. Can we come to your office?”

Recognition floods back. Susan is one of the witches from the Watcher Organization. The “we” can only be her sister witches, Min Liu and Ariela Acosta. “What’s this about?”

“I’d prefer to talk to you in person. Do you mind if we come over now?”

It takes only a second to decide. “No. Do you need directions?”

A short burst of nervous laughter. “Witches, remember? We’ll use a locator spell. See you in twenty minutes.” She disconnects.

My brain buzzes with possible reasons—mostly negative—the three witches would want to see me. I’m so busy guessing, it takes ten minutes for something else to percolate through the bog.

Susan’s last name is Powers.

Coincidence?

Spidey senses start to tingle.

No need to start a search when my gut tells me Stephen Powers will soon be a puzzle no longer.

I’m at the door to wave them in the minute I hear footsteps approaching from the sidewalk.

Susan says, “Anna, we need your help.”

They file in silently: a petite Chinese woman of indeterminate age with black eyes and waist-length raven hair; a middle-aged soccer mom with a neat highlighted bob that curls at her chin and frames her face; a twenty-something Latina with long, straight hair drawn back in a ponytail from a pretty, even-featured face. I motion them to take seats across the desk from me.

They are uneasy. I didn’t need vampire senses to pick that up. The glances they exchange as they perch themselves on the edges of the chairs, the restless way their eyes dart around the office lighting on everything but me, the foot tapping and finger drumming—all dead giveaways.

Since they came to me, I decide to wait them out, even though my curiosity is quickly nearing the boiling point.

I’ve reached the impatient finger tapping on the desktop when Ariela clears her throat. She glances at her sister witches and begins to speak.

“Anna, we come to you for help.”

“You already said that.”

Breaking the silence loosens the tongues of the others.

“We wouldn’t if it weren’t so important.” This from Min Liu.

“It’s a matter of life and death.” From Susan Powers.

No longer avoiding me, their attention becomes focused with the intense fierceness of cats watching a moth on a windowsill. An internal alarm buzzes and flutters. “What can I do for you?”

Ariela seems to be the spokesperson. She draws a shallow, shaky breath and folds her hands in her lap, her fingers clenched so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“It’s a friend of ours. He’s been kidnapped. We need you to find him for us. We need you to bring him back.”

Something in the way she says “bring him back” raises that alarm from buzz to scream and makes the question that springs to my lips rhetorical. “Kidnapped? Shouldn’t you be going to the police?”

A brisk shake of her head sends the ponytail dancing. “No. The police can’t help.”

Why does that not surprise me? The three sitting in front of me are part of the supernatural force called the Watchers. They maintain order among the otherworldly members of the local population. They are powerful witches who have powerful friends. Much more powerful than the mortal police force. I ask the obvious. “Why are you coming to me? I am not a Watcher anymore. There must be many among you who could help.”

Another exchange of glances. More anxious frowns. I’m not aware that witches can communicate telepathically, but at this moment I wouldn’t have bet on it. Something passed between them.

“No one else can help,” Ariela says.

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re the reason he’s been taken,” she replies. “And only you can get him back.”

“I’m the reason?”

A collective nod.

A spurt of anxiety quickens my blood. I take mental inventory. I know where David and Tracey are. I spoke to my parents early this morning. As dismal as it sounds, the only other friends I have are shapeshifters and they can take care of themselves. I can’t think of anyone else who is close enough to me to warrant kidnapping. Or a reason why anyone would be. I haven’t been vampire long enough for the miracle of compound interest to make me financially independent. I still have a day job.

Skepticism replaces concern.

“It’s someone I know?”

“We didn’t say that.”

I lean forward. I’m getting impatient. Again. “No more riddles. How can I be responsible for the kidnapping of someone I don’t know?”

“Because you committed a crime and you must answer for it.” Ariela holds up a hand, whether to stop me from interrupting or to stem the torrent of words that spill out of her mouth, I can’t tell. “You didn’t know you had committed a crime. We didn’t know, either. But we helped you and, in doing so, are being held responsible. Our friend—Susan’s brother—has been taken hostage. If you don’t agree to go back, he will be killed. A life for a life.”

Tears spill down Susan’s cheeks, tears she either doesn’t notice or is too preoccupied to wipe away.

I reach into a desk drawer for a tissue. I’ve done my share of killing—I can justify every life I’ve taken. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t committed any crime. I haven’t killed anyone who didn’t try to kill me first. I think—”

“It’s Belinda Burke’s life you have to atone for.” Ariela says it quietly.

Her words stay my hand and stir the hair at the back of my neck.

She leans toward me. “You killed her and you killed her in a sacred place. Now you have to go back.”

FOUR

ASTONISHMENT DOESN’T BEGIN TO DESCRIBE the reaction evoked in hearing Belinda Burke’s name in the same sentence as “life you have to atone for.” Belinda Burke was a powerful black-magic witch who almost caused the death of two close friends of mine and threatened to kill me and her own sister for helping rescue them. She was an evil bitch who among other things bled young female vampires to death to use their blood in an anti-aging cream. A cosmetic, for fuck’s sake.

“Atone for what?” I’m speaking through clenched teeth, fighting to keep my tone civil. “She was evil. You know that. You all know that. It’s why you helped me.”

Sadness pulls at the corners of Susan’s mouth. “We know,” she replies softly. “What we didn’t know was that Belinda Burke had gone to a place of sanctuary to recover from her wounds. She was under the protection of a powerful tribunal and we never should have allowed you to penetrate their defenses. We shouldn’t have been able to penetrate their defenses. It’s part of what’s made them so angry.”

“Them?” I repeat. “Who are you talking about?”

“The powers that rule the astral universe,” Min Liu replies. “Who or what they are is not entirely clear. They contacted each of us in a dream last night. The message was the same. They would hold Stephen until you appear for judgment. Sanctuary has been violated and that cannot go unpunished.”

“Unpunished?” The vampire stirs and bares her teeth. “They plan to punish me for killing a monster like Belinda Burke? If they offer sanctuary to creatures like that, they need to rethink the concept.”

Susan wipes at her eyes, takes a breath. “I know. It’s not fair. But Stephen is an innocent and shouldn’t have to suffer for our”—she makes a sweeping motion to encompass us all—“mistake.”

She digs into a purse she’d tucked in the chair beside her when she sat down and pulls out a picture. She thrusts it toward me. “This is Stephen.”

I take it from her outstretched hands, but do I even have to look at it? Stephen Powers. Last night. I drop my eyes and look at the picture.

It’s a studio shot. Professionally lit, professionally staged. The man is handsome, square-jawed, blue-eyed, looks to be in his thirties. He’s facing the camera, gaze clear and direct, a blue button-down deepening the color of his eyes. His hair is a golden blond, touched at the temples with silver. His demeanor projects confidence. And a comfortable familiarity with the spotlight.

Different from last night, when he wasn’t in his element.

But definitely the same man.

Seeing the picture, I finally connect name and face.

I glance up at Susan. “Is he a reporter?”

She nods. “For the local CBS affiliate.”

So he might have been in that parking lot to meet a source? Smith, maybe?

I must have taken too long, or been staring too hard at the picture because Susan says, “What is it, Anna? Do you know Stephen?”

Know him? Not yet, anyway. I shake my head. “I’ve seen him. Recently.”

Susan skewers me with her gaze. “You’ve seen him? Where? On television.”

Thank you. No sense adding to her concern by mentioning her brother was in a deserted parking lot last night waving a gun. “Yes.” I’m sure I have seen him on television at one time or another. I start to hand the picture back to her but she waves toward me. “Keep it.”

I laid it on the desk. “When did you say he went missing?”

“I’m not sure. Must have been late last night or early this morning. He was supposed to meet me for breakfast. He never showed.”

“Why do you think they took him?”

Ariela answers. “Because he is well known. And he knows about our community. I think they realize his absence would be missed and should we not cooperate, his death will cause ripples in both the mortal and otherworldly planes. A warning to others not to make the same mistake we did.”

Suspecting that Stephen, a reporter, was in that lot to meet somebody he didn’t trust explains the gun. What isn’t so clear is why whoever is after us didn’t take us both when he had the chance. I see no point is sharing this with the witches. These questions will be better answered once I get wherever it is I’m going.

“You said he knows about our community. Is he a witch, too?”

Susan shakes her head. “No. He inherited no supernatural powers. But he grew up in the household of a powerful witch, our mother. He watched as my abilities grew. He knows that there are other supernatural creatures sharing this world and he pledged to keep that secret always. To this day, he has.”

Min takes Susan’s trembling hand in her own. “Anna, none of us is to blame for what happened. No. That’s not quite right.” She looks at her sister witches. “We take responsibility for not knowing enough about what we did for you that day. But our excitement at penetrating the astral plane and our belief that you were doing the right thing in following Belinda Burke there blinded us to everything else. It’s up to us to make things right and get Stephen back.”

I look from one anxious face to another. I can’t bring myself to tell them that I’ll never regret killing Belinda Burke, sanctuary or no. But I won’t let an innocent take the rap for something I did.

What did Ariela say? The powers are demanding a life for a life?

Do they expect me to give up my life for a stranger? Not fucking likely. Not without a fight.

I made it back from that “place of sanctuary” once before. I figure I can do it again.

“What do we do now?”

Susan’s shoulders drop in relief. “You’ll help Stephen?”

I nod.

She stands up. “We have to go to the park.”

I stand up, too, and step from around the desk. “Let’s go.”

FIVE

THE PARK IS BALBOA PARK AND IT’S ALIVE with people this clear, sunny summer afternoon. But still the magic works. As if invisible, the four of us separate from the crowd heading into the Natural History Museum and melt into the bushes across the way. We pass through a magical barrier, a touch of damp against our skin, and without drawing a glance from people on the sidewalk, we are at a door hidden behind a mystical waterfall. Min Liu pulls a big brass key from her purse. The door opens at her touch and we step inside.

This is the entryway into the hub of San Diego’s supernatural community and yet it looks like a nondescript reception room—a desk with a computer, a rack of magazines, a couple of chairs. Min Liu punches a few keys into the computer and with a whir of machinery, the entire room descends. On the ride into the bowels of the building, I think of the many times I’ve taken this trip and how different it feels now.

It’s been months since I’ve been here. Months since my enemy turned mentor turned tormentor, Warren Williams, was killed and my link with the Watcher community was broken. The emotions I feel when the door slides open and I step into the room tumble over themselves like pebbles in a stream. It’s at once familiar and threatening, foreign and natural. This should be where I belong.

But it’s not anymore. I believe now it never was.

Everything looks the same. The central core of the large square room is filled with cubicles—this is the financial heart of the Watcher organization. Psychics—real psychics—man a bank of telephones to dispense advice to fee-paying clients. But the clients here are not looking for hints about their love life or seeking contact with newly departed love ones. These clients are world leaders seeking advice on matters that affect us all.

I let my gaze sweep the room, irony burning like acid at the back of my throat. From the state of the world, I’m not sure how much good they’re doing—or whose side they’re really on.

Susan’s hand on my arm yanks me from the bitter reverie.

“This way, Anna.”

I follow the three toward the back of the room. My presence causes a ripple among the psychics. Most know who I am, recognize me from previous visits. The ones who don’t catch the hostile vibrations emanating from their comrades. Almost all hold me responsible for the death of Warren Williams. They know I didn’t kill him myself, but a deluded vampire who thought I was a reincarnated goddess killed him because of me. His soul mate destined to rule the world by his side.

My lips tilt up reflexively in a tight smile. That monster is dead. I did kill him.

No consolation to those here who are still in search of a leader to replace Williams. I’ve kept away from this place and haven’t a clue who heads things now. Neither do I want to know. I don’t belong here anymore. The feeling that I never did floods back stronger than ever.

I try to shake off the gloom settling over my shoulders like a shroud. All the negative energy being directed my way brings the vampire inside close to the surface. I’m relieved when Susan opens a door and we’re shut off from the hostility.

Another familiar room. This one where the witches sent me, at my bidding, to the astral plane to deal with an enemy. I don’t see any of the trappings they used then—no candles or goblets or amulets to speed me on my way. The room is empty except for a circle drawn in the center.

I remember something else.

“I needed blood to make the spell work last time. An innocent’s blood.” The blood of someone who is no longer my friend. Another repercussion of that fateful trip.

Susan casts an uneasy glance at her sister witches. “This time will be different,” she says.

I don’t like her tone. It rings with apprehension and uncertainty.

“How?”

Her eyes flutter closed for an instant, but then she squares her shoulders and looks directly at me. “They are sending an escort for you.”

“An escort?”

A bob of the head. “Yes.” She touches my hand. “But some things will remain the same. You will not be vampire on the ghostly plane. You will be human. You will have no power except mortal strength and cunning.”

Ah, yes. I remember that, too. “I suppose taking a weapon with me is out of the question.” I let a sigh escape my lips as three pairs of troubled eyes flash in reply. “When is this escort supposed to arrive?”

“Before he does,” Susan says, “there’s something—”

Her words are choked off by a blaze of white light, brilliant, blinding. A sound like the furious beating of wings. Instinct says I should close my eyes. Curiosity keeps them wide open. At first, it’s like looking into sun reflected on snow. Disorienting and too bright. Then gradually a shadow forms—like a negative film image. Dark is light, light, dark. Finally, my vision clears. Wings. Outstretched. There one second, gone the next. All that’s left then is the figure of man. He looks up at me and my breath catches in my throat.

He’s the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

An angel.

SIX

I’M NOT EASILY IMPRESSED BY HANDSOME men—my last boyfriend was a model who looked like Adonis but had the soul of Judas. Nevertheless, this creature is striking. With his blue-green eyes and close-cropped head of tight curls, he looks like another Greek god—marble turned flesh and blood. I know the witches beside me are thinking the same thing. I heard their gasps when he materialized out of the light. Now we all stand here with our mouths hanging open in astonishment, too stunned by his beauty to do more than stare.

But he’s looking just at me, and he has an expression on his face that seems to reflect surprise. Did he think I wouldn’t be here, that I’d refuse to cooperate? Did he think me a coward? Then he’s smiling, his gaze taking us all in.

His smile is benevolent, but there’s something darker lurking under the surface. I recognize it even if the others don’t.

And they obviously don’t. They are spellbound by his beauty.

He’s dressed in jeans. Tight jeans. And a form-hugging T-shirt of white cotton. His clothes suggest he’s comfortable with modern attire while the vibe he’s sending off is ageless and old. He drinks in the appreciation and wonder with the casual acceptance of one who is used to this reaction. Who welcomes it.

Who expects nothing less.

Which brings the vampire to her senses even if, like the witches, the human Anna wants nothing more than to run her fingers along those bulging biceps.

It takes effort, but I douse the flame of carnal desire and focus on the reason he’s here.

“What kind of creature are you?” I ask.

“What kind of creature do you think I am?”

“An angel?” Ariela’s voice is a whisper beside me.

He laughs, a sound as pure as the ring of silver on crystal.

“A deity?” From Min Liu, breathless.

“A cupid?” Susan takes a step forward.

I put out a hand and hold her back though I understand the impulse to want to touch him. “Why don’t you tell us what you are?”

His smile sends off dizzying waves of pleasure, warm, like the effects of the sun bursting through clouds on a cold day. I fight the urge to close my eyes and bask in it.

He’s gauging my restraint. A little of the warmth seeps away.

“You are a tough one,” he says with a sigh that could be of disappointment or chagrin. “I am your escort to the tribunal.”

“That I guessed. What I’m asking is what kind of creature are you?”

His eyes narrow a little and in that instant, he doesn’t seem as harmless as he’s pretending. But the impression is gone just as quickly. The beatific smile is back. He spreads his arms. “I am Samual, a simple messenger of the powers that be. I mean no harm. I am here to ensure your safe passage to the tribunal. What happens there is of no concern to me.” He looks around. “I do the same thing you do, Anna Strong. I return those who have fled justice to face their accusers. Nothing more.”

He does the same thing I do? So he knows I’m a bounty hunter. It’s the last part, though, that gets my attention.

Fled justice, huh? I’m tempted to wipe that smile from his face with a scalding reply. But he’s right. As a bounty hunter, his mission is the same as mine. The guilt or innocence of a fugitive has never been my concern.

“A supernatural bounty hunter, huh? That I understand. Shall we get on with it?”

I feel the three witches behind me stir uneasily. I turn to face them. “Don’t worry. I will bring Stephen back to you.”

Susan steps forward. I think she’s going to hug me, but instead she holds out her hand. “Go with the goddess,” she says.

I press my palm into hers. At first, I feel just her hand. Then a small charm materializes. It’s round and warm and wet, as if conjured from flesh and blood. Her eyes hold mine with an intensity that burns. She wants to speak, but her eyes dart to the creature behind me.

I acknowledge her gift with a small nod and close my fingers around it. It moves through the skin of my palm with a tingle and when I glance down, there’s nothing left to show for its passing but a faint flush.

When I turn back to the creature, he’s studying me. Did he see what passed between Susan and me? Did he sense the magic?

SEVEN

SAMUAL HAS AN ODD EXPRESSION ON HIS face. A mixture of humor and pity. I think he knew Susan passed something to me in that handshake, but he’s not about to let on that he knows. Not about to acknowledge a simple human trick.

Condescending bastard. His attitude infuriates me. Well, I can be infuriating, too.

I get right in his face. “Okay, Sammy, let’s get this show on the road. The sooner I clear myself of these ridiculous charges, the sooner Stephen and I can come home.”

I think he actually winced at “Sammy.” His eyes certainly narrowed.

Then the spark of irritation is gone. He’s smiling again, opening his arms. I take it to mean I’m supposed to step close to him. Reluctantly, I do. He folds his arms around me. The heat and scent of his body envelopes me in a cocoon that’s unnervingly arousing. Testosterone exudes from his pores, making me press myself against him as if drawn by a magnet. I feel my body respond to his masculinity just as I feel his body respond to me.

I experience no sensation of movement. What I feel I think at first is my imagination. My body hums with sexual tension. Then it’s being touched by a hundred fingers—skilled fingers that roam, probe, manipulate. I am powerless to do anything. I can’t move. Can’t escape.

I am powerless to do anything but surrender. Truth is, I’m not sure I’d stop it if I could. I’m trapped inside a pleasure cocoon being transported to what might be my doom. I should be outraged.

Instead, I’m loving it.

If this is teleporting, no wonder Captain Kirk always had a smile on his face. The climax, when it comes, is purely a physical reaction. The release is there, but that’s all.

Makes “flying United” take on a whole new meaning.

When my feet touch ground, I have no idea if the encounter took two minutes or two days. I draw a head-clearing breath. I look up at Samual, see the smirk, and all illusion of pleasantness evaporates. He has the self-satisfied leer of a man showing a woman that he is the one in control.

I begin to wonder if he’s an incubus. If he is, I’d better be on my guard. We know what those bastards intend.

I square my shoulders. “Is that how you get your jollies, Sammy? Was it as good for you as it was for me? Can I expect to be entertained the same on the way back?”

His eyes darken, smoldering with suppressed anger. “Do not speak my name with such disrespect. You are out of your element here, Anna Strong. You will be wise to remember that.”

I look around. The room is stark, bare, blindingly white. “So, what happens now?”

He takes a step back from me, folds his arms in front of his chest. “Now you wait.”

He fades away like a whisper, leaving only a wisp of smoke and a faint odor that tickles my nose. It smells like sex.

How could I have ever thought him an angel?

This was not exactly the way I imagined my reentry to the astral plane would take place. I suppose arriving on the wings of an orgasm is better than arriving in shackles. Should I feel embarrassed or ashamed? I feel neither.

What I feel is confusion.

I let my gaze sweep over the flat, unbroken surfaces all around. I can’t tell how big the room is. Or even if it is a room. It encircles me, front and back, above and below. An unbroken sweep of colorless, formless—what?

I squat down to touch the floor under my feet. My hand touches . . . nothing. Yet whatever I’m surrounded by supports my weight. At least I think it does. Maybe I’m actually in a state of suspended animation.

I don’t like it.

“Hey, Sammy. Where is everybody?”

My voice bounces and echoes and comes right back at me.

This isn’t at all like the first time when I arrived to be instantly guided to my objective.

Which, in hindsight, was a mistake on someone’s part, now, wasn’t it?

I hunker down to wait.

I FEEL THEIR eyes on me.

Someone or something watching. For what? For me to make a break for it?

Christ. I don’t know where I am. I don’t even know if there’s a break to make for. As far as I can see, I’m surrounded by a great barren sea of nothingness.

I straighten, stretch, release a deep, impatient breath. The waiting is getting old.

When I glance at my watch, I see it has stopped. Since it’s a Rolex and works on the principle of perpetual motion, something in this universe must affect time. At least, time as we know it on earth. Stop it or slow it down.

Interesting.

My right palm begins to itch. I glance down, not wanting to be obvious to prying eyes. Susan’s charm glows softly just below the surface of the skin. I wish she could have told me what it does.

I rub both hands against my thighs, the rough denim fabric of my jeans offering a little relief.

A sound. I straighten with a jerk. Look around, though I have no idea where the sound originated or what exactly it was. I strain to listen. The silence is deafening. This is like being in a sensory deprivation chamber.

“Anna Strong?”

At the sound of the voice so close behind me, I swing around, fists clenched, every muscle taut as an arrow in a bow, ready to spring. I square off, actually draw back a fist before I realize who I’m looking at.

“You’re Stephen.”

He clearly hasn’t recognized me yet. He nods, standing his ground, not flinching or cringing away from my offensive reaction to his appearance.

Earns him a few points.

My shoulders drop about six inches. I let my hands fall, my muscles relax, my fists unclench. I blow out a breath and look him over.

He’s as handsome as his picture—more so, really, without the stage makeup and carefully coiffed hair. He’s tall, over six feet, looks well muscled under a loose-fitting polo shirt and not-so-loose-fitting khakis. He has a strong face, straight nose, wide-set eyes, full mouth. Details I didn’t notice last night. His hair is longer than in the picture, too, brushed back, touching the collar of his shirt.

“You look all right. Are you?”

He smiles. It’s a good smile.

“If you can call being kidnapped and brought to”—he waves a hand—“wherever the hell this is and told I’m being held until some murderer shows up to face justice, and if he doesn’t, my life is forfeit—” He pauses to catch his breath. “Well, if that’s what you mean by all right, I guess I am.”

He stops, narrows his eyes. “Wait a minute.”

It’s about time. “Yeah. It’s me. Last night in the parking lot.”

“You’re Anna Strong? The one Susan said would come to take me back?”

“One and the same.”

“Shit. You cost me a story. A guy named Smith said he had some information for me that would blow the ring off a local drug gang.”

“You cost me a payday, so I guess we’re even.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a bounty hunter. Your source skipped on a hefty bail.”

He pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. “So we were both in that parking lot at the same time, and now we’re both here. Huge cosmic coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“Coincidence? I doubt it.” I wave a hand to take in our surroundings. “But right now, don’t you think we have bigger problems?”

He still looks chagrined, like a kid who had his favorite toy yanked away. I want to shake him but instead I glom on to something he said. “You talked to Susan? When?”

“Right after I arrived . . . Where are we, anyway? Do you know? Can we get out of here now? If you’re here, whoever they’ve been waiting for must be, too.”

No way I can answer that without bursting his optimistic bubble. Besides, I’m more interested in his communication with his sister than answering his questions. My palm is itching again. If he’s in contact with her, she can explain how this charm works. “How did you get in touch with her?”

He takes a step closer, lowers his voice. “You’ll think this sounds crazy, but we can communicate telepathically sometimes.”

I have to choke back a laugh. Sound crazy? Vampires do it all the time. But clearly Stephen doesn’t know that. Or he doesn’t know I’m a vampire. I think I’ll keep that information private. “Can you reach her now?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I haven’t been able to reach her since that first time. She must be frantic. But obviously if you’re here, everything has been resolved. They must have caught who they were looking for.”

“I wish it were that easy. We can’t leave quite yet.”

“Why not?” A flash of anger sparks behind those blue-green eyes. “This is beginning to piss me off. I have no clue why I’ve been drawn into this. I’m not part of the magical world. I have no business being here. You were sent to bring me back. Well, do it.”

“I will. But not yet.”

“Are you messing with me? I want to leave. Now.”

His “me Tarzan” act has him all but beating his chest. Still, I understand his frustration. Whatever Susan communicated with him, she either didn’t have time or didn’t want to burden him with all the facts.

“There’s one problem. I have to do something first, before we can leave.”

“Oh Jesus. What is it?”

“I have to defend myself. Defend you, too, really.”

“Defend yourself against what?”

“Against those murder charges you mentioned before. I’m the reason you’re here.”

EIGHT

STEPHEN’S EXPRESSION SHIFTS, SIZING ME UP. There’s a little skepticism mingled with a great big blob of uncertainty. He did see me in action last night.

“Who’d you kill?” he asks at last. “And what does it have to do with this place?”

I meet his eyes squarely. “I killed a black-magic witch. I did it here where she’d come to recover from the effects of a spell turned bad. I didn’t know this was a place of sanctuary. It wouldn’t have made a difference if I had.”

“At least you’re honest. I still don’t understand what it has to do with me, though. Why am I here?”

I don’t get a chance to answer. The room shifts under our feet, knocking us off balance. I feel Stephen take a step closer to me and we stand back to back as forms materialize around us. Two spectral desks separated by a podium. A ghostly ring of chairs—thrones, really—suspended above us.

A voice from everywhere and nowhere. “All your questions will be answered,” it says. “Let the trial begin.”

Stephen’s back is pressed against mine. His touch is somehow reassuring. We lean against each other for comfort as well as support as form becomes substance. It’s like watching a cartoon where lines are first drawn, then filled in with color to bring realism from the abstract. The wood grain of the desks shimmers and hardens. Two high-back chairs appear behind one, one chair appears behind the other.

“You may sit.” That same eerie voice that told Stephen his questions would be answered echoes again from above. When I look up, the ring of thrones still looks to be empty. Yet there’s something alive, a sentient consciousness permeates the room.

“Show yourselves,” I call out.

“You do not address the tribunal.” Samual’s voice roars out the command. “You are not worthy. You address only me.”

He’s materialized next to the second desk, standing ramrod straight behind it. Now he’s dressed in a white robe with a scarlet rope around his neck. A gold filigree charm hangs from the rope.

So much for having no interest in what happens with the tribunal. “You’re my prosecutor?”

“Among other things,” he replies, smug-voiced and selfassured. He may as well be twirling the ends of a black mustache. “And you will speak only when spoken to—and you will speak only to me.”

“Fuck you. I will talk to whomever the hell I please. I am here to defend my life. I have a right to face my accusers.”

“I am your accuser.”

“No. You are a liar. You said you were a supernatural bounty hunter. A simple messenger.”

Samual remains silent. He may be playing a bigger part than he said, and yet instinctively I know where the power lies.

I wave a hand upward. “They are my accusers. They are the power. I demand they face me.”

Stephen leans hard into me. “Maybe you should tone it down a little,” he whispers.

His words are all but drowned out by Samual’s howl of outrage. “How dare you! I could smite you where you stand. Flay the skin from your bones inch by inch. Make you beg for death.”

“Enough!”

Stephen whirls around, clapping his hands over his ears. “What the fuck was that?”

If I thought Samual’s bellowing was loud, it’s a sigh compared to the earsplitting thunderclap that shocks all three of us into stunned silence.

Something stirs above us. Samual spreads his hands, face turned upward. “You see what I mean about these mortals, Elder? They have no respect. No reverence for their betters. It’s a travesty to have admitted them into your presence. Let us be done with this. Let me have them.”

Silence greets his request. Too much silence. I start to think maybe whoever is up there is actually considering turning us over to him. I glance at Stephen. I could probably put up a pretty good fight against Samual, but what about Stephen?

“Wait,” I hear myself saying. “I’m sorry. If I offended you, I apologize. But I thought this was to be a trial. A trial signifies you have some kind of judicial system, which in turn means you have laws. Evidently I broke one of those laws. I think I can justify my actions.” I wave a hand toward Stephen. “What can’t be justified is holding this man. It’s me you want. Send him back.”

Stephen shifts beside me, grabs my left hand. “I won’t go without you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t—”

“How noble,” Samual interrupts, baring his teeth. “But he stays.”

“Why? He had nothing to do with what happened.”

“Maybe. But you took two lives that day. Remember?”

God. Burke’s bodyguard. “You can’t be serious. He attacked me. I had no choice—”

Samual turns on that thousand-watt angelic smile. “No matter. Two lives were lost. Two lives must be accounted for.”

A terrible awareness stirs the hair on the back of my neck. “You had no intention of sending this man back, did you? You are a liar.”

Before Samual can reply, the rustling voice from above speaks. “If you are found guilty, both your lives are forfeit. It is the law.”

Samual looms over us. “And you will be found guilty.”

I look at Stephen. “I’m sorry.”

He grimaces and says through a tight-lipped smile, “I knew it was too easy. Just don’t be found guilty, okay?”

Suddenly the Elder interrupts. “I understand your outrage. Evidently, you were brought here under false pretenses.”

Is it my imagination or does Samual cringe a little at that? But I don’t have time to gloat. The Elder continues speaking.

“Our laws are based on concepts of justice tempered with mercy. One must be cognizant of all the facts if one is to make a just decision. You will be heard. As to facing your accusers, we have hidden our physical form from you because we are not like you and thought you might be disturbed by the difference. However, if you insist on facing us, as is your right, we will comply with your request.”

I’m not sure if I should be relieved or nervous that I’ve won this first little skirmish. One look at Samual, though, and the uneasiness fades. He’s furious. I must be doing something right.

“Please be seated,” the disembodied voice says. This time the tone is conversational, polite.

Stephen and I take seats behind the desk nearest us and look up to watch.

The thrones sparkle as if made of diamonds. First they appear empty, then gradually robes of gossamer, shaped like the human body, fill the spaces. Ghostly hands materialize from the sleeves, bare feet from the hems. Just when I begin to wonder what could be “disturbing” about their forms, the apparitions solidify and the differences become apparent.

Where the head should be, faceless skulls peer down at us through eyeless sockets. Jaws open and close continually as if of their own will. No sound emanates except a rasp, like rusted locks on a broken gate.

Explains the wind-in-the-willows sound of the voices we heard.

The seven appear identical, though the throne in the center is a bit larger than the rest and set a little above the others.

Stephen prods me with his elbow, jerking a thumb in Samual’s direction. “Think he looks like that, too, without the glamour?”

Samual casts us a poisonous glare, obviously having heard Stephen’s remark. His expression changes, though, when he addresses the tribunal. “Shall we proceed, Elder?” he asks. His tone loses its sarcastic bite.

I flinch, thinking of the joy ride that brought me here. Yikes. But as the one in the middle is nodding, his constantly moving jaw snapping closed for an instant at the motion, I put that disgusting thought out of my mind. Better concentrate on the one who seems to be in charge.

Is this Elder Samual shows so much deference to the chief justice in this astral Supreme Court?

Samual takes his place at the podium. He addresses himself to the hovering beings above us, but his eyes are on me.

“If it please your honors,” he begins. “We are here to right a terrible wrong. Our universe has always been a place of sanctuary. A place where all otherworldly creatures can come to seek shelter from whatever demons or angels hunt them. The only such place in all the dimensions, established by the ancients and sanctified by succeeding generations because it is important to create balance. Good and evil alike know they can seek refuge here. It is not our duty to judge. It is our duty to protect.”

He points a finger at me. “This woman—this vampire—violated that sacred duty. She allowed herself to be transported here with the aid of three ignorant witches, and with malice, struck down a woman recovering from life-threatening wounds. Wounds inflicted by the vampire herself. This violation was compounded when she killed the woman’s human bodyguard—an innocent not here of his own volition.

“But we can make things right. Here. Now. Restore faith in this sacred place. The man, a mortal, seated beside the murderess is the brother of one of the offending witches. Find them guilty and both will be punished according to the law. A life for a life.”

I feel Stephen’s startled reaction to Samual’s words. Up until this moment, if he had any doubt his fate was entwined with my own, he does no longer. I touch his arm in an effort to offer consolation.

He’s looking at me, eyebrows raised. “You’re a vampire?”

That’s what got his attention? I raise an eyebrow of my own.

He shakes his head. “Interesting. Well, remember what I said before? Don’t be found guilty? Goes double now.”

I nod and since Samual has taken his seat and is staring at me, I assume it’s my turn to offer opening arguments. With a final pat on Stephen’s arm, I take my place behind the podium.

Okay, time to channel my inner Jack McCoy. I just don’t know where to begin. Should I fill in the backstory? Do they already know it? Will they care?

Since who Belinda Burke was has everything to do with what happened, I take the plunge.

“It’s true. I killed the black-magic witch Belinda Burke. We had a long history. I met her first when she was raising a demon to do her bidding on Earth. Her offerings to the demon were to have been a young girl and my friend Culebra. I stopped her. But not before the innocent was sacrificed. In retribution, she turned me over to a Mexican drug lord who tried to kill me. I escaped.”

Samual rises to his feet. “Is this really necessary?” he asks the tribunal. “Does it matter what brought her here? Do we intend to temper our decision with emotion or look at the facts? And the only fact we need to consider is whether or not she killed someone under our protection. Since she admitted it, what else do we need to know?”

“It’s important you understand,” I argue. “Your laws are based on justice tempered with mercy. Isn’t that what you said? How can you determine what is right if you do not have all the facts?”

There is a rustling from above; faceless forms lean in toward one another as the tribunal confers. No sound reaches us except the continual rasping of the jaws. I tap my foot nervously awaiting their decision. If they refuse to allow me to continue, this will be the shortest trial in history. I look around for an escape route. A stupid thing to do since I have no fucking clue where we are.

Finally, the Elder raises his hand as if signaling the end of the discussion, the others resume their positions, and the grating voice issues his edict. “Speak. Whether or not we will take what you say into consideration at the time of judgment is undecided. But you have the right to proceed.”

A subtle but irritated sigh escapes Samual’s lips as he sits back down.

I refocus. “I next met Belinda Burke when she set up a cosmetics firm offering an anti-aging cream that promised miraculous results. The miracle was attributed to a key ingredient—vampire blood. Harvested from young, newly turned vampires bled like slaughtered cattle. When she found out that I was on to her, she cast a spell that once more put my friend Culebra in mortal danger. To save him, I enlisted the help of her sister. We managed to reverse the spell and send the curse back into her. That the curse was powerful was proven by the extent of her injuries. She sought refuge here to recover.”

I draw a breath. Now comes the tricky part. “I followed her to this place. When I confronted her, she vowed to come after me, my family, her sister, all who had worked against her. I couldn’t let that happen. It was then I did what I knew I had to. I killed her.”

NINE

SAMUAL IS ON HIS FEET THE MOMENT MY voice runs down.

“You admit it. You killed both Belinda Burke and her bodyguard.”

“I had to.”

“But there’s more, isn’t there?” he asks. “How did you determine how to find Belinda Burke?”

I turn to face him. “Her sister told me.”

“What else did her sister tell you?”

“Not that this place offered sanctuary, if that’s what you’re asking. I knew nothing of that.”

“But she did tell you that her sister’s wounds were serious, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, didn’t she tell you her sister was no threat to you? That it would be months, maybe years, before she would be well enough to return to your dimension?” He raises his face to the Elder. “Belinda Burke spoke to me when she first arrived. Warned me to be on the lookout for a vampire out for revenge—a vampire who was in league with her own sister.”

I’m tempted to ask why he didn’t take her warning seriously. The only reason I don’t is my reluctance to focus any more attention on the witches who got me here the first time. I have a feeling Samual will want to pursue that after he rids himself of me—or tries to.

Instead, I look to see how this is affecting Stephen. He face reflects a little surprise, a little confusion. He’s been hit with a lot. The fact I’m a vampire, the fact I killed a grievously wounded witch. I can only hope he knows the damage a black-magic witch can inflict and why I felt I had to do it.

But Samual isn’t through with me yet. My skin crawls at the smug look on his face. How could he know that Sophie had told me how serious Burke’s injuries were? Does he also know that she had begged me not to go after her sister?

Samual barks out the question again. “Did she or did she not tell you it would be months, maybe years, before Burke would be strong enough to be a threat to you or anyone?”

“Yes. She told me.”

“And you came after her anyway. Why? Because you knew in her weakened state she would be an easy target? Do you always prey on the weak, Anna Strong? Oh. Wait. You are a vampire. Of course you do.”

Anger ignites in my blood like flame in dry tinder. “I protect the weak. On Earth, I am called the Chosen One. If you have any knowledge at all of what that means, you know I’ve made it my mission to defend the mortal world from evil.”

“So this was an anomaly? Just this once you plunged a blade into a defenseless old woman’s chest and held it there until the last beat of her heart?”

I swallow down a quick, heated retort, knowing what I say next may make the difference in the outcome of this “trial.” When my blood has cooled a little, I reply.

“Belinda Burke was capable of unimaginable evil. She killed indiscriminately. Even her sister feared her power. I knew when she recovered she would wreak her vengeance on all who crossed her. I have a family to protect and friends. She had already proven she could get to anyone close to me. I couldn’t take the chance she’d slip back without my knowing. I couldn’t risk losing anyone I loved.”

I pause, sucking in a breath. “When I first arrived at this place, I battled her bodyguard. You know I have no vampiric powers here. I fought him mortal to mortal and won. Even then, Burke showed no remorse. Neither did she ask for mercy. Instead, she vowed to come after me and all I knew, including her sister, and to kill every one of us. She used the fact that she was bedridden to taunt me. She believed I wouldn’t harm her because I was weak and incapable of doing what I needed to. She was wrong.”

I press fingers against my eyes. “I took no joy in killing her. But there was a greater good to consider. There is always a greater good. I think you may have forgotten that. Some creatures do not deserve sanctuary.”

Samual is on his feet again, outraged. “And you are the one to make that determination? You, who have been on Earth a mere thirty years? What do you know of good and evil? Are the lines so clearly drawn in your world?”

“Of course not.” I drop my hands and face him. “My existence is an example of how blurred the lines can get. I am vampire. I should be a predator, existing merely to feed on the mortals beneath me. And yet, I have been given the gift of choice. I choose to live as a mortal. To be a friend. But I see evil everyday. I battle it as I can. I have a duty to perform and I take it seriously.”

“As do we,” the Elder interrupts, motioning with a robed hand. “We will adjourn for the present. There is much we need to consider before proceeding. We will summon you when we are ready to reconvene. The prisoners may take their rest.”

And so fast it roils my stomach, Stephen and I find ourselves in a space that looks like the dining room in a wellappointed hotel suite. There is a table set with a meal that has to be for Stephen and a wineglass filled with what looks suspiciously like blood.

Stephen picks up the wineglass gingerly and hands it to me. “This has got to be yours,” he says dryly.

TEN

STEPHEN AND I TAKE SEATS AT THE TABLE. IT’S set with china and silver and a bowl of flowers as a centerpiece.

Nice touch, that. Very civilized.

I watch Stephen dig into his meal—steak, a baked potato, a green salad. He eats with gusto. “Glad to see our little predicament hasn’t affected your appetite.”

He grins. “Isn’t a condemned man always given a last meal?” He motions to the wineglass, sitting untouched on the table. “What about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

I nudge it away. “No. I ate before I left.” A lie. But the idea of downing a glass of blood in front of him makes me uneasy. It can’t be a pleasant sight for the uninitiated. And who knows what kind of blood is in that glass? Or where it came from.

Stephen pauses, his knife and fork suspended. “What do you think they’re considering up there?”

Besides whether we live or die? I shrug. “Maybe they’re checking my story.”

Stephen continues to chew, cutting the steak into bite-sized pieces with a butter knife. Must be tender. Even after a year, the sight of real food can kick-start my salivary glands. The temptation to reach over and grab a piece of that steak is strong but while I have no vampiric powers on this plain, I feel no different. I can’t trust my physiology is changed. Something the Elders must know or they wouldn’t have left the blood.

To distract myself, I stand up and take a walk around the room. Is this real? Or something fabricated from the human collective memory? Unlike the room I found myself in when I first arrived with Samual, the floors and walls in this one are solid, the furniture physically exists. I run a finger along the back of a chair.

When I turn around, Stephen is watching. “What are you thinking?” he asks.

“I’m wondering how they conjured this up. If any of it is real.”

“You think it may be a figment of our imaginations?” He takes another bite. “Who cares? The steak is delicious.”

I return to my place at the table. “You’re taking this very well.”

“Is that a problem? Should I be curled up in a corner bemoaning my fate? I’m a realist, Anna. I was in Manhattan on 9/11. I’ve been a war correspondent in Afghanistan, spent time with the troops in Iraq. I’m a survivor. I have a feeling you are, too.” He scoops a forkful of potato. “Besides, who knows when we’ll eat again.”

He turns his attention back to his meal while I watch him. I’ve only known this man for what—I can’t even tell since time has all but stopped for us. I like him. He’s strong and brave. Self-sufficient. Practical. Maybe when we get back home. . .

“What’s it like being a vampire?”

This time it’s my pleasant little fantasy that gets popped like a pricked balloon. We’re both mortals here, but once we get home . . . I shake my head. “Like being anything else—good days and bad.”

“That can’t be true,” he argues. “You said you were ‘the Chosen One.’ What does that mean?”

I close my eyes for the length of a heartbeat. It’s hard enough to explain it to other supernaturals, how can I make a mortal understand? When I open my eyes again, Stephen is studying my reaction.

“You think I won’t understand, don’t you? Try me.”

“It’s not an easy story to tell.”

“The best ones never are. Give it a shot.”

I rest my elbows on the table, eyes downcast. Who knows what lies ahead for us? For this moment and in this place, we are merely two humans. I have no more power than he does over our fate. I look up at him. His expression is quiet, contemplative. His interest seems genuine enough. “Okay. Where would you like me to start?”

I expect him to say with my turning, but he surprises me. “Tell me about yourself. Before you became vampire. Has it been a long time?”

“No. I’ve only been a vampire for a year. And yes. It’s been a lifetime.”

He smiles at me again, waving his knife. “See? I knew it would be a good story.”

I can’t help but return the smile. “You sure you want to spend what may be your last moments hearing the story of my life?”

The smile becomes a grin, eyes twinkling. He places his knife and fork down on his plate and takes my hand. “You have a better idea?”

Wow. He works faster than I do. His expression makes my blood quicken.

“Maybe. But I’d rather save that until you hear the story. You may not feel the same way after.”

“Okay.” He takes up the utensils and resumes eating. “You have my full attention. Tell me your story, Anna Strong.”

ELEVEN

I FEEL STEPHEN’S EYES ON ME AS I COLLECT myself to begin. I’m wondering if I should back off, laugh the offer away as a joke. I’ve never done this before—spill my guts to a complete stranger. Is it because he’s a reporter? Does he work some kind of mojo to get subjects to open up? To want to open up?

Or is it because if something happens to me and he survives, there will be someone who can bear witness to my existence?

God. This place is making me sappy.

Stephen reaches out, touching my hand. “Tell me.”

His hand is warm. His interest seems genuine enough. What do I have to lose?

I tell the story simply, unfold it in the order that makes the most sense. Start at the beginning.

Typical childhood. Raised in a loving family—two parents, both working professionals, an older brother. I was a tomboy, preferring my brother’s friends and their games of flag football and basketball to more girly pursuits.

Stephen smiles at that.

“What?”

“I can see it. You racing across a field with a football tucked under your arm or on the court in a game of horse. I bet you won more than you lost, too.”

“Damn straight.”

But I feel the smile fade from my face. I know what comes next.

Stephen sees it, too. He says, “Go on,” in a quiet voice.

“Everything changed when I was seventeen. My brother was killed in a hit-and-run accident.”

Stephen pushes his plate aside and leans toward me. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

I believe he means it. I acknowledge his words with a nod and go on.

“My parents never fully recovered. I doubt any parent ever does. They became overprotective of me, and because I understood what they were going through, I put aside my own career aspirations, to become a cop, maybe, or a private detective, and chose a safe career—teaching—to please them.

“It was a safe choice, not the right one. It only took a couple of tedious years in a classroom for me to realize it.”

“You didn’t like teaching?”

“It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. Teaching is not a career for one who has no interest in her students. When I realized I was probably doing them more harm than good, I took a hard look at my life—and my brother’s death. He played it safe and a drunken driver killed him. Something completely out of his control. I thought again about becoming a cop. But when my brother’s killer was finally caught and arrested, he spent only a year in prison. I couldn’t see myself part of a system that served more to protect the rights of the criminals than secure justice for the victims.”

I realize how bitter I sound. “You sure you want me to continue ? You probably never expected the rant.”

“But I think you’re getting to the good part, right? How you became a bounty hunter?”

I nod. “That’s when I met David.”

“The big guy? He’s your partner?”

“Yes. We met in a kickboxing class. He was a former football player and one day, he mentioned what he did. I’d never met a bounty hunter before. I suppose at first I was attracted to the romantic idea—bringing lawbreakers back to face their day in court. I invited him to coffee and peppered him with questions. When he said that business was so good he needed to take on a partner, I pestered him until he agreed to give me a shot. I proved I could handle myself. I loved the action. It was a perfect fit.”

“The action. Yeah. I saw you in action last night.” There’s just the briefest of pauses. “Are you more than business partners?”

“Why would you ask that?”

He looks down and away and then back at me. “Something in your voice when you talk about him.”

I can’t help it. A snicker escapes my lips. “Does it matter if we are?”

His expression shifts, smoothes. “No. Sorry. It’s the nosy reporter side of my personality rearing its ugly head. Ignore me.”

Is it? Or do I feel his spark of jealousy? Do I like it?

“David and I are just friends. Good friends, but nothing more. He’s a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy.”

Stephen shows no reaction to the reply.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

Again, no reaction. Then he asks, “Were you a vampire then? Does David know what you are?”

A nice change of subject. “I wasn’t, and no, he doesn’t know. No human I’m close to does.”

Finally a change in his expression, a look that says he gets why I’d keep that secret. Since I know he was raised in a magical household himself, it makes sense. He motions for me to continue.

“David and I are good at what we do. I’ve never regretted taking that leap—except for one thing. It changed my relationship with my parents. There was nothing I could say to make them understand let alone accept the choice. To them it was foolhardy and irresponsible. I was taking unnecessary risks to satisfy some deluded need for adventure. Worse, I was selfish for disregarding their fears.”

I stop, suddenly overcome with the memories of how we fought. The two people who were my only family. The two people I loved most.

This time, Stephen doesn’t press for me to go on. He lets me take my time, recompose myself. Are my emotions really this close to the surface or is it this place? I shrug away the sadness, concentrate on what happened next.

“I’ve distanced myself from them since then,” I say.

“Because you know you’ll eventually have to disappear when they realize you’re not aging?”

His grasp of the situation startles me. “Are you an empath?”

He laughs. “Hardly. I just know a little about vampires. Eternal life has its drawbacks. Watching living relatives grow old and die would be a big one.”

My insides grow still. Stephen understands so much. I meet his eyes. Will he understand the rest?

“I was turned against my will. Raped and beaten by a monster who thought he’d killed me. He hadn’t. During the fight, I bit him. That was the exchange of blood. When I woke in the hospital, a doctor, a vampire, took me under his wing, explained what had happened. It took time, but eventually I came to accept it, to learn to control the hunger, to make loyal friends.”

“But you are not just a vampire, are you? What does it mean to be the Chosen One?”

I expected the question, but it’s not an easy one to answer. It took me a year to discover the ramifications of a title I neither sought nor wanted. How do I explain it in one hundred words or less? I guess without bullshit. And quickly.

“My fate is to lead the vampire world, to determine what the relationship between mortals and vampires is to be. I don’t know why I’m the one. I don’t know how it’s determined, and so far no one can tell me who’s behind the decision. I just know there is a faction in the vampire world that wants vampires to assume what they see as their rightful place in the world—masters of the human race. For now, I have the power to stop them. That could all change, though, if my leadership is challenged.”

“Or if you and I are not freed to return to Earth.” Stephen says it softly.

He releases a breath, comes over to stand beside my chair. He kneels down, takes my hands. “I grew up in a household where consorting with supernaturals was the norm. I can’t believe how well you’ve adjusted to life as a vampire when you had no similar background. Before today, I’d never met a vampire, but I knew they existed, which was more than you knew before you were turned. We’ll get out of here. After all you’ve been through, there’s no way a bunch of walking skeletons can hold you.”

I feel color flood my cheeks. I have to force my words through a throat clogged up with embarrassment. “Did I just make a complete ass of myself?”

He shakes his head, pulls me to my feet. “Are you kidding? Wait until we get home and I tell you the story of my life. You think growing up with normal parents was a challenge? Try being the youngest in a family of witches. I can’t tell you the number of times I was turned into a frog.”

“You are so full of shit,” I say. “But thank you, anyway.”

We’re standing close—too close. I’m tempted to say the hell with it and wrap my arms around his neck and pull him even closer. His expression says he’d like to do the same thing.

Then I’m struck with a thought. I drop his hand and make myself step back. “Whoa. Stephen. I think Samual may be doing this.”

He looks around. “Samual is doing what?”

“This.” I waggle a finger between us. “Making us feel like—”

“Samual is making me want to kiss you? How exactly would he be doing that?”

“I think he’s an incubus.”

“An incubus.” His eyebrows ratchet upward. “An incubus? Why would you think that?”

No way I’m going to answer that. At least I don’t have to explain what an incubus is to Stephen. “Look at us. We’ve known each other, what? A few hours? And there’s this attraction. It’s unnatural.”

He smiles. “Unnatural? Why would two people being attracted to each other be unnatural?”

“You have to ask that? Look at where we are.”

The voice of reason takes this moment to thump me on the side of my head. Strategy, idiot. You need to talk strategy.

I take another step back. “We need to talk strategy,” mimicking the little voice that pulled me back from a delicious opportunity to taste those lips.

Stephen frowns. Now he looks confused. And disappointed. “Strategy?”

“They’re going to call us back soon and we need a plan. I can’t help feeling we’re missing something.”

I start to pace, as much to distance myself from Stephen as to jump-start the brain cells. Stephen still stands in the same place, his expression puzzled, his brow furrowed. I think he’s trying to process the last few minutes and having trouble sorting it out.

I don’t blame him. But I don’t know how much time we have before we’re pulled back, either.

“Listen, Samual is making what happened between Belinda Burke and me personal. Why would that be? She was an evil bitch. Even if there is some sort of sanctuary agreement, a system that has laws must recognize her threats constituted danger to innocents. Unless they’re completely without conscience, that can’t be acceptable.”

Stephen’s eyes focus again, narrow. He’s back with me. “You’re right. Maybe Samual has more at stake in the outcome of the trial than we know. The trick is finding what it is. Let’s start at the beginning. When you got here the first time.”

I feel a flush of excitement “No. Let’s start before that. How did I manage to slip undetected into what is supposed to be a protected environment? Who fucked up and let the barriers down?”

Stephen and I look at each other and smile.

It had to be.

Samual.

TWELVE

I CAN’T BELIEVE I DIDN’T THINK OF THIS before. Is Samual pursuing me with such vigor because he’s the one being held accountable for my breaching sanctuary?

Stephen is standing close again. My body likes it, though I’m still self-conscious. I can’t believe I just told him the story of my life.

I can’t believe how easy he is to talk to . . . and that he didn’t react to my story by shrieking in horror or laughing at the idiocy. I’ve been tempted to do both myself.

We’re standing face-to-face, grinning like idiots. I can tell if I moved just an inch closer, I’d be in his arms.

Damn it.

Get a grip. His presence makes my skin tingle and thinking more difficult than it should be. Is this more of Samual’s doing?

“It’s too early to be congratulating ourselves.” I make myself move away. Again. “I agree Samual is a little too eager to nail me but turning things around on him is not going to be easy.”

He follows me. “Might be easier than we think. I’m assuming you’ll get a chance to question him. Why not just ask him how he thinks you were able to get in, get close enough to kill Belinda Burke, and get out without anyone stopping you. See how he reacts.”

Stephen may be right. Samual is a slippery bugger, but he’s not the power. Those seven ghastly specters are the power. Especially the one Samual calls the Elder. If I can get them to. . .

Shit. One instant Stephen and I are considering our options, the next we’re back behind the desk in our astral courtroom. It happens in an eyeblink. If this keeps up, I’m going to ask for Dramamine.

Samual ignores us, no smirk, no snarky remark. He doesn’t even look our way. I’m not sure how to take his sudden ambivalence. Is he worried that we may have won a few points with his bosses or confident that his case is so strong it makes no difference?

I don’t like it either way. I much prefer the blustering asshole to the enigmatic demon.

The Elder waves a robed arm. “Proceed.”

Proceed? That’s it? I thought the whole idea of the break was for them to consider the things I said. I didn’t expect a resolution, but I was hoping for a hint, some indication that they might have understood why I felt justified killing Belinda Burke.

Samual rises. He spreads his hands, a frown of concern pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Your Honors, I am baffled. We have heard the accused admit to breaking sanctuary, admit to killing not one but two charges under our protection, admit to knowing the victim was powerless to defend herself. What more evidence do you need? I ask that you bring this proceeding to a close. Now. Return the rightful verdict of guilty and let us get this regrettable incident behind us. Make this once more a place of safe refuge for those seeking our protection.”

I rise, too. “I have explained what brought me here. Are there no provisions for considering extenuating circumstances in your rule of law? You speak of safe refuge. My family and friends would have had no safe refuge on Earth had Belinda Burke come after them.”

Samual scoffs. “You have a human police force. She broke human laws. They could have dealt with her.”

“Really? A witch as powerful as Belinda Burke, who could and did change her appearance at will? What human force could deal with that?”

“You have yourself. You could have handled her when she reappeared. You have the resources, to say nothing of your own strength and power. You proved it when you broke the spell that sent her here.”

“And would I have been given notice that she had returned? Or would I have found out when the bodies of my loved ones started showing up?”

“What takes place on Earth is of no concern to us.”

Stephen must feel the way my body tensed at that because he puts a restraining hand on my arm. He doesn’t know me. Screw restraint. And screw these arrogant assholes. I’m trembling with outrage and my voice shatters the silence like a rock through glass.

“Damn you. You speak of manipulating people’s lives with no regard for the consequences. You are despots. You are as evil as the witch you allowed refuge.”

Samual’s eyes flash fire. “Do you hear what she says? She calls us evil. We who seek only peace. She is the one who committed murder. Two murders. Killing with her bare hands. And we are the evil ones.”

No reaction from above. Not even the grinding of those gaunt jaws breaks the pall that settles over the room.

I glance at Stephen. His eyes are glued to the figures hovering over us like vultures on a tree branch. For the first time, his expression reflects a shadow of fear. I want to say I’m sorry. Not for what I said, but that it put him in danger. I should have thought of him before I started yelling. Meeting him was the only bright spot in this ridiculous situation. I think we could have been friends under different circumstances.

What the fuck am I thinking?

It sounds like bullshit even to me. How the hell did we get here?

How are we getting out?

Which leads to the question Stephen and I asked a few minutes ago. How did I get in the first time?

The gloom lifts from my thoughts. I have nothing to lose. May as well go on the offensive.

“If I’m to be found guilty in this kangaroo court, I have a question or two of my own.”

Samual glances upward, the Elder lifts a finger, Samual nods for me to go ahead.

“You speak of sanctuary. How is it granted?”

“There is protocol.”

Samual’s eyes are on the thrones, and he answers as if bored.

“Protocol? Like an application that has to be filled out? An admissions office?”

Now he shoots me a venomous look. “You are applying earthly concepts to an otherworldly universe.”

“Than explain it. Please.”

A sigh. “The supplicant or his advocate appears before the tribunal. The case is heard. A decision made.”

“Is anyone ever turned away?”

“Only if it is determined the supplicant’s presence here may be a danger to others. There are some creatures who cannot control their primitive urges. Even wounded or near death, they are predators capable of inflicting grievous harm to those around them. We cannot allow such creatures in.” He points at me. “Creatures like you. Who kill indiscriminately.”

“Indiscriminately? I thought I explained that. But it doesn’t matter. So how do you keep such creatures out?”

“There are spells and barriers. Set in place by the ancients.”

“And who works the spells? Erects the barriers? Do you have a team of witches? Is there an army of supernatural guards who patrol?”

“That is unnecessary.”

“Why?”

“Because no one has ever breached sanctuary.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Have you forgotten why I’m here?”

Looks like Samual’s composure is beginning to slip. A finger taps restlessly against the desktop. “You are not being charged with how you managed to get in,” he snaps. “But with what you did after you got here.”

I cast a glance upward. “I would think breaching security would be equally important. What’s to stop someone from doing it again?”

“You.” Samual’s voice is tight with rage. “It won’t happen again because your death will serve as an example to anyone who dares try.”

“Ah. So it’s not so much what I did but that I was able to do it.” I raise my voice to those above. “If that’s the case, maybe I’m not the only one who should be on trial.”

THIRTEEN

“YOU MAKE AN INTERESTING POINT, ANNA Strong.” The voice of the Elder interrupts the cheerful banter between Samual and me—as I hoped it would.

“Samual, just how did this vampire breach security? You have never given us a satisfactory explanation.”

Samual’s hand twitches on the podium, but he smoothes his contempt for me from his face when he looks upward.

“It was the work of the three witches. They accessed a forbidden power, the domain of the beast, to gain access. In truth, they should be made to pay for this transgression along with Anna Strong. Bringing forth the beast is a threat to all living creatures.”

The reaction of the tribunal to his remarks is immediate and disturbing. As one, they recoil, skulls bobbing at one another on bony necks like birds startled by a snake. Invoking this beast must be the most grievous of offenses.

Samual smiles at me. A smile that says, Get out of that one, bitch.

I stare at Samual. What the hell is the beast? There was no beast when the witches cast their spell.

He’s worked the tribunal into an apoplectic state. “Wait a minute.” I have to raise my voice again to be heard over the clacking and snapping of bone on bone. “What is the beast?”

The Elder quiets the others with a raised hand. “The beast controls the underworld. He is no longer allowed to rise above the crust of Earth because he is the carrier of plague and death. Invoking the help of the beast is an act forbidden in every quadrant of the universe. The arrival of the beast unleashes terrible evil. All know this and yet somehow you were able to convince the witches who helped you to disregard the consequences. Was pursuing your selfish ends worth such a price?”

“What price?” I shove my chair back out of the way to stride to the front. “There was no beast at the ritual that brought me here. It was a spell wrought with an amulet and chanting by three good witches who are protectors of the world, not destroyers. Samual is lying.”

Samual raises his hands, palms up. “And we are to believe this murderer? She speaks now to save her worthless life.”

“I speak now to tell the truth. If this beast unleashes such horror, what new catastrophe has been inflicted? As far as I can tell, it’s business as usual on Earth. No more war, famine, or plague than before my trip.”

This quiets the tribunal. For all I know they have an internal monitoring system and they’re scanning the Earth to see if what I’ve said is true. Let’s just hope man hasn’t inflicted any more than the typical quota of suffering on his fellow man in the last few days.

The Elder points at Samual. “She is speaking the truth. Earth is a troublesome place, its people always embroiled in conflict. Yet there are no new disturbances of the magnitude that would signify the beast’s influence. Therefore, you were either in error or lying. You will want to consider your response carefully.”

I glance at Stephen, and when our eyes meet he smiles.

Got him, he mouths.

Samual is drawing himself up, eyes hard, mouth pinched tight. “We should discuss this among ourselves,” he says. “If I was in error of the way the breach took place, I promise you I will investigate until I root out the problem. I must reiterate, though, that how she got here is not what you’re here to consider. It is her actions after that you are bound by law to judge.”

“We are well aware of our duty.”

The Elder’s voice is even more grating than usual, as if he’s forcing the words through those yellow rotted teeth. I’d say he’s displeased. Which pleases me. I shoot Samual a look.

I’m not the only one in trouble.

Samual addresses the Elder. “I ask for a recess. To find out how such an error could have been made. My resources were obviously guessing when they put forth their theory that the beast had been invoked. I will get to the bottom of this, I vow.”

“We are confident that you will.”

Smooth. Oily. Even I hear the threat behind the words.

FOURTEEN

FOR THE FIRST TIME, I FEEL LIKE SMILING. Really smiling. Samual’s expression is downright anxious. Does my heart good.

Stephen and I are transported back to our holding cell without warning or explanation. Not that either is needed. It’s obvious the tribunal has had its focus shifted from me to Samual. It may be a temporary shift, but I’ll take it.

Stephen is grinning and shaking his head. “I was worried there for a minute. You don’t always think before speaking, do you?”

“You mean when I called the judges evil?”

“Not the best choice of words. Those things take themselves seriously.”

“So do I. But I don’t intend to let them walk all over me. They are arrogant bastards. I wonder if they’ve ever been challenged before?”

The dining room has been replaced with a sitting room—couch, chairs, coffee table. On the coffee table a fan of magazines invites perusing. I pick up the top one, the newest People magazine.

“Well, at least they’re current.” I toss it back on the pile.

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Stephen asks.

I plop myself down on the couch. “I have no idea. May as well make ourselves comfortable.”

He takes a chair across from me. I hope the flush of disappointment that he chose to sit there instead of beside me doesn’t show on my face.

Jesus. There it is again. What is happening to me?

I clear my throat. “So. I told you my story. Want to tell me yours?”

Stephen waves a hand. “Not after hearing your story. Mine is downright dull.”

“Manhattan on 9/11? War correspondent? I hardly call those things dull.”

“Anna, I won’t say the things I’ve experienced haven’t impacted me. But I’m still basically the same man I was before I became a reporter. You, on the other hand, had your entire reality altered. I’m amazed at your courage.”

“Courage? If you mean the courage to continue living, what choice do I have? I don’t want to die any more than the next person does.”

“It’s not just choosing to live—it’s choosing to live the way you do. With regard for the mortal world. On Earth, you could be the way these creatures are here—all-powerful.”

“And we see how that’s worked out for them, haven’t we?” I blow out a breath. “I’ve also seen what power does to vampires who feel they’re above the mortals they depend on for sustenance. The old ones forget what it’s like to be human. They see humans as merely a food source. They forget that it’s mortals who create and that we vampires merely consume. Destroy the human spirit and the world they love would fall into ruin.”

Stephen’s expression is so intent it makes me roll my eyes. “Shit. I really sound like a pretentious idiot, don’t I? The vampire philosopher. I can’t believe you’re not laughing your ass off.”

Stephen’s expression darkens. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide your feelings behind sarcasm. You spoke from your heart. That’s never wrong—or easy. I’m glad you feel you can open up with me.”

Open up? I wish these couch cushions would open up and swallow me. Being stripped of my vampiric powers must be affecting my brain. Subjecting me to human emotions I’ve kept buried the last year. Why is he so damned easy to talk to?

Am I that hungry for human contact? The part of my brain still working sounds the alarm. Relationships with mortals have not worked out so well for me in the past.

Stephen’s eyes bore into me like a laser. Not very subtle. He’s trying to assess what he sees on my face and hears in my voice. I don’t think he’s buying my theory that Samual may be behind how we’re feeling.

I’d better set him straight. “Stephen, I—”

It happens again. Stephen and I are back in “court.” I never get the chance to tell him that even if Samual isn’t manipulating us, it’s hopeless to think we might have a future.

No matter how I might want it.

FIFTEEN

SAMUAL DOESN’T LOOK TOO GOOD. HIS FACE is drawn, his shoulders slumped. Whatever happened during that recess, it doesn’t appear to have been to his advantage or liking.

As much as I’m tempted to gloat, I know I’d better reserve that reaction until I hear what my fate is to be. However it turns out, I’m going to make sure Stephen gets out of here safely.

Even if I have to take out Samual and one of those bone bags to do it.

The Elder rises, he appears to float in space, but there’s nothing ethereal in his expression. Even without facial features, his dark anger comes through. He points a finger at Samual.

“Our servant has betrayed us. He has been dealt with.” The finger sweeps in my direction. “You will be returned to Earth, vampire. Along with the man. Do not suppose you have won a victory here. If the circumstances of your actions had been different, you would have suffered the consequences. As it is, if your presence is detected here again, you will be executed without benefit of trial.”

And he is gone. Along with his skeletal sidekicks. Vanished into air without so much as a clatter of bone to mark their departure.

Stephen and I look at each other. And wait. Will we be transported back the way we’ve been moved from one place to the other? Should I ask Scotty to beam us up?

Suddenly we both become aware of another presence. Samual is still here, too. The look he skewers us with is no longer the cowed, unsettled expression he wore for the tribunal, but is instead malevolent and calculating. “Well, shall we get on with it?” he asks smugly.

“You’ve got to be kidding. You aren’t the one who’s supposed to take us back. You can’t be.”

He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Why not? It seems my punishment is banishment. To Earth. And if along the way, we should have an accident, if one or both of you should slip from my grasp, what can anyone do about it?”

He looks downright giddy. “I should have thought of it sooner. When I brought you meat puppets up here. I could have snatched you both in that night in the parking lot. Disposed of you along the way.”

Ah. That sound—the laugh. “You were there.”

“That I was. Too bad I was having such a good time watching the human dump the big bad vampire on her ass. I lost track of my purpose. Well, that won’t happen again.”

“Looks like nothing worked out the way you planned it, did it? Did you suppose it would be easy? That I’d cower, beg for my life? You underestimated me.”

He shrugs. “No matter. I can make you two disappear and no one will be the wiser. My sentence is indefinite. By the time I’m allowed back, this entire incident will have been forgotten. And while I’m on Earth, who knows what mischief I can get into? I needed a break. I should really thank you for the opportunity.”

I stare at him. He has to be stopped. Should I call out for the Elders? Tell them of Samual’s plan? Would they care? Judging from the cavalier way they had been willing to throw Earth to the wolves with Belinda Burke, I doubt it.

Stephen is beside me. “What should we do?”

I don’t know. If I attack Samual, what would happen? Would the Elders take that as an attack on them all? And even if I beat Samual and it went unnoticed, how would we get out of here? I can’t risk Stephen’s life.

My brain is buzzing, my palm itching again. I glance down at it. The skin is flushed. I turn to Stephen. “When you communicated with Susan, did she say anything more than I would be coming for you?”

He shakes his head. “Just to stay close to you. That you would bring me back.”

It couldn’t be that easy. Could it? “Take my hand.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You want to hold hands now?”

I grab his left hand in my right. “Don’t let go.”

At the touch of his palm, the charm embedded in my hand begins to grow hot. He feels it and his first instinct is to pull away. I don’t let him. The charm is working its way back through my flesh and materializes between our hands. “Hold on,” I whisper.

Stephen’s grip tightens. He’s beginning to understand. “Susan?”

But understanding blooms in Samual’s mind, too. “What are you doing?” He takes a lunge toward us.

The charm is hot and wet between us. Its purpose is clear now. Susan implanted a way to bring us back. Together.

There is a dizzying cyclone of air and we’re swept up. I glance down to see Samual, his hands clutching at air.

The last thing we hear is Samual’s howl of rage.

SIXTEEN

STEPHEN’S HAND GRIPS MINE LIKE A VISE. Then his free arm finds its away around my waist, pulling me closer. Wind whips at us, forcing us to keep our heads bowed, our backs bent. We’re clinging to each other with the desperation I imagine passengers on a plummeting aircraft must feel—helpless on a headlong plunge to Earth.

I only hope Susan is ready on the other end with a safety net.

It’s over in a matter of moments—moments that last an eternity. Stephen and I are tossed around but land on our feet, winded and confused.

I look around, Stephen’s hand still clutching mine.

At first I don’t recognize the barren landscape. Sand and scrub cactus. There’s a bright full moon that flings shadows like clawed hands out to touch us. We’re in the desert?

But there’s a sound in the distance—like the rumble of the ocean. I cock my head to listen—my powers are back. To the ears of the predator, the vampire, the rumble of the ocean becomes the hum of freeway traffic.

“Balboa Park,” I announce to a startled and skeptical Stephen. “We’re in the cactus garden.”

“Are you sure? I didn’t even know this existed.”

“Behind the rose garden.”

Stephen glances at his watch, which makes me glance at mine. The hands are spinning like the spokes of a wheel. When they stop, it’s 11:55 P.M. The date has not changed.

I’ve been gone less than twelve hours.

“Can you communicate with Susan now?” I ask Stephen.

“Tell her we landed.”

He nods and closes his eyes. After a moment, a slow, sweet smile touches his lips. When he opens his eyes again, the smile becomes a grin. “She’ll be waiting for us. By the fountain.”

Our fingers are still entwined. I don’t feel the charm anymore and when I start to draw my hand away to look, Stephen’s grip tightens. “Don’t,” he says.

A simple request. Why not go along with it? The cynical side of my nature knows full well I should let go. The adventure is over. We’re back on Earth, and for all I know Stephen has a wife and kids somewhere. Then there’s Samual.

“Stephen. We have to get out of here. Samual may be right behind us.”

“He’s not here now, though, is he?”

There’s something in his eyes. He startles me by bending close to brush his lips against mine. I can’t help myself. I lean into him. The feather touch becomes a kiss.

A good kiss. The kind of kiss that could lead to—

“Well, isn’t this something.”

Samual’s voice rumbles in the still night air like thunder heralding the threat of a storm.

Stephen and I jump apart. I whirl around. Samual is dressed the way he was when he first appeared—jeans and a T-shirt. Two things are different. He no longer hides his true nature. The dark anger spots his complexion, hardens the lines around his eyes and mouth. His hatred is palpable. His desire obvious.

And the second—a dagger he carries in a leather sling at his waist. He fondles it when he catches my gaze.

He’s here for revenge.

“Did you think you could get away from me so easily? Was that another parlor trick courtesy of those meddlesome witches? You can be sure I plan to pay them a visit, too. When I’m through with you.”

He’s actually rubbing his hands together. “Finding you two in an embrace was an unexpected pleasure. Obviously, in the time you spent together, a bond was forged. It will make killing you all the more delicious.” Then he peers at me. And at Stephen. “What? You think I’m working some kind of glamour on you? Stupid humans. You need no glamour to give in to lustful urges. I should have waited a moment longer. Probably could have caught you rutting like the animals you are. Killed you both in the act.”

He stops, tilts his head. I can see in his eyes what he’s considering.

“You’d better go after me first,” I say. “Because unless you kill me, you’ll never get a chance to hurt anyone else.”

I move in front of Stephen, shielding him.

Stephen nudges me out of the way, to stand beside me.

His eyes are hard. “We’re in this together. He’s threatening my sister, too.”

Nice sentiment. But when the attack comes, the vampire inside of me will do the fighting. She’ll have to. I don’t know what powers Samual has on Earth, but I know what powers she possesses. And she’s here. At the surface, raging to be set loose. I feel her spring forth.

Samual shifts, draws the dagger from its sheath. He stands feet wide apart, eyes bright as he studies me.

A glance at Stephen. “Stay behind me.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but when he looks at me, he’s not looking at Anna.

He’s looking at the vampire.

My heart turns leaden in my chest as his eyes widen. Even expecting it, the reaction hurts.

No matter. I snap my attention back to Samual. He doesn’t look startled or surprised. Why should he? He knew what I was.

The vampire springs with a snarl. Samual leaps to meet me. We fall in a tangle of teeth and fists.

Samual is strong. His instinct is that of most predators: Go for the throat. He clasps his hands around mine and squeezes.

But I have instincts, too. Samual is a man, after all. And I suspect an incubus. I bring a knee up and deliver a kick to the groin that forces Samual back with a groan and a sharp intake of air. He stumbles, howling.

Stephen rushes in before I can stop him. He pushes Samual, sending him sprawling on the ground.

But Samual is on his feet faster than Stephen’s human reflexes can register the movement.

I see the flash of the blade before Stephen. I fling him away just before the blade finds it mark. It slices into me instead. A white-hot eruption of blinding pain scorches flesh and scrapes bone just below my shoulder. I twist away as my arm goes numb, the blade still lodged deep.

The numbness lasts no more than an instant.

I shake off the pain. Flex my fingers to bring back feeling.

Samual’s eyes narrow. Does he finally realize I may not be so easy to kill?

“Vampire, remember?” I hear my voice rumble from a dark place, taunting him. “You can’t kill me with a knife. Shall I see if I can kill you with one?”

I reach up and pull the blade from my shoulder. It’s warm and wet with my blood. I fight the urge to lick it clean. Instead, I steady it on my palm. The heft is just right, the blade and handle a perfect counterbalance.

Samual steps back and away, circling. He’s moving toward Stephen. Does he think I will allow him to use the mortal as a shield?

Before he takes another step, I am on him. Faster than a rattlesnake strike, I have him on the ground, arms pinned to his sides with my thighs. The knife is between my teeth, then in my hand. His legs flail as he tries to buck me off. My eyes are on his throat. What does his blood taste of? Is it sweet or bitter?

I could throw away the knife. Tear out his throat.

I see Stephen from the corner of my eye. He’s coming closer, his face reflects shock. If I feed from Samual, will that shock turn to disgust?

Do I care?

The vampire is hungry. Samual is gaining strength beneath me. He’s reading my hesitation as weakness. He prepares to do battle once more.

“Burke was right,” he hisses in my ear. “Your human frailties will be your downfall. After I kill you, I kill the man, then the witches.”

Stephen hears. “No.” He meets my eyes, reads the question, turns unflinchingly toward Samual. “We kill him together.”

I glance at the human. His expression is no longer shocked. It’s determined. He’s at my side. Reaches to take the knife from my hand and nods.

I let him take it.

Samual stares in confusion. “No. You can’t.”

Stephen strikes the first blow. He plunges the knife into Samual’s chest. No hesitation. No faltering. A mortal blow. He pulls it out and steps back.

The blood spreads like a stain. I look up at Stephen. He dips his head. “Feed,” he says.

Teeth tear at the throat. Find the jugular. Drink.

And I have my answer.

Demon or no, Samual’s blood is sweet.

SEVENTEEN

SAMUAL’S HEARTBEAT FLUTTERS AND STILLS under my palm. I continue to drink until the taste of salt replaces the sweetness of blood.

I don’t know what to expect. Will he shrivel like a drained vampire? Or will his body remain intact? Is he really dead?

I sit back, the flush of feeding spreading warmth through my body, and wait.

Stephen is standing away.

I don’t blame him. I could tell him that it’s safe. That the vampire is satisfied and the human Anna once more in control.

Would he believe me? It won’t be easy to forget what he’s witnessed.

And yet he struck the first blow.

I steal a glance at him. His eyes are on Samual’s corpse, too.

He’s waiting as well. In a moment of clarity I realize why Samual didn’t take us both when he had the chance in that parking lot. Human weapons are effective against him on our plain and Stephen had a gun.

As to the both of us being in the parking lot at the same time? I guess there are cosmic coincidences, after all. Samual may have been as surprised to see us as Stephen and I are at the way things worked out.

After a moment, I push myself to my feet.

“Do you think he’s really dead?” Stephen asks when I join him.

He isn’t moving away from me. A good sign. “I don’t know. He’s not like any creature—”

The sky above us grows darker, a bank of clouds billowing up to obscure stars and moon.

“I think we’re going to get our answer.” I turn to Stephen. “If they try to pull us back, run. Find Susan. She’ll protect you.”

He answers by grabbing my hand. “We’ll both run or I’m staying. I won’t leave you.”

Stubborn. A trait I recognize. No chance to answer.

Samual’s body is rising.

A familiar voice. The Elder. “It is done. The trial by combat complete.”

Trial by combat?

Anger sparks when I realize what he’s saying. I raise my voice to the heavens. “You son of a bitch. You planned for this to happen?”

“A resolution had to be reached. Both you and Samual committed transgressions that could not go unpunished. Samual shirked his sworn duty and you violated sanctuary.”

“What if I had lost? You would have allowed this creature to walk the Earth unchecked?”

“He didn’t win. It is done.”

The body disappears into a turbulent bank of black clouds. The clouds disperse like smoke in the wind, leaving only wisps to mark their passing.

I watch the clouds dissipate, the bright moon once more claiming its spot in the sky.

A feeling of restlessness, of a task not yet completed, dims the satisfaction of whatever victory Stephen and I won here tonight. We sent one monster to his death. How many others have come back to Earth to wreak havoc from that place of “sanctuary”?

Stephen’s grip tightens, drawing me back. His eyes are on the sky, too. “Damn,” he says. “This is the best story I’ll never get to write.”

He doesn’t fully understand. No reason why he should. He hasn’t seen the things I have. He doesn’t carry the burden that I do.

I look into his face and a tremor passes through my body.

Why do I feel this is a story whose final act is yet to come?

EIGHTEEN

SUSAN IS WAITING FOR US AT THE FOUNTAIN. If she’s surprised to see her brother and me appear hand in hand, she doesn’t show it. She rushes up and only then does Stephen drop my hand to embrace his sister.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

Stephen nods. “Thanks to Anna.”

Susan touches a stain on his shirt. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“It’s not my blood,” he answers. “Anna and I had quite an adventure.”

I drag my eyes off Stephen long enough to smile my thanks at Susan. “That was a nice piece of magic, that charm.”

“I wish I could have told you how it worked,” she says. “I intended to, but Samual showed up too soon.” She casts an uneasy glance around. “Is it over? Will he come back?”

“No. He’s gone.” Stephen’s tone is grim and final.

Samual is gone. But—

Susan releases a breath. “Thank you, Anna. For bringing my brother back. I—we—owe you.”

Do they? Stephen’s warmth as he stands close makes me think I may be the one who owes a debt.

That is if what we seem to be feeling—Stephen and I—is more than a simple reaction to having survived a harrowing experience. Or the result of Samual’s influence. I still can’t shake the idea that watching Stephen and I dance around each other, feeling the attraction, fighting it, would have been his idea of a joke.

Still, when Stephen reaches again for my hand, I let him take it.

It may be the last time. When the adrenaline rush subsides, things may change. My skin feels human now, the result of feeding, but soon it will not. It will become cold. Only feeding and sex warm a vampire’s blood. And then only temporarily.

Stephen doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk back into the park. He gives Susan a brief recap of what happened both with the tribunal and back on Earth. It’s a good summary, told in the style of a three-minute sound bite. A reporter to the core.

When we reach headquarters, Susan asks if we want to come inside. Ariela and Min are anxious to hear details.

Stephen shakes his head. “You fill them in. I’d like to go home.”

She opens her purse. “You can take my car. Ariela can give me a lift.”

“I can give him a ride,” I hear myself blurting. Then, holding my breath to await his reaction, I add, “My car is in the parking lot.”

My heart is thudding against my ribs. What if he says no?

And yet his grip on my hand remains firm and he’s smiling.

“I was hoping you’d offer,” he says.

He scoops Susan into a hug. “See you tomorrow?”

Susan says yes. She looks happy when she leaves us on the sidewalk to disappear from sight through the magical doorway.

“My car is just at the end of the Prado,” I say.

We’re both quiet as we make our way down the shadowstrewn walkway toward the parking lot. Once, I glance at Stephen and he is grinning.

“What’s that all about?” I ask.

“Susan says we make a nice-looking couple,” he says.

I smile, too. “This psychic thing. Is the connection always open between you two?”

“Most of the time. Why?”

I pull him to a stop. If I don’t do this now, the opportunity may never come again. “Can she tell when you’re, um, not open to chat?”

He pulls me close. “You mean when I’m otherwise engaged?”

“Yes.”

I stand on tiptoe, the better to reach his lips with my own. “You know this is crazy, don’t you?”

His mouth is so close I feel the softness of his lips against mine. “Crazier than what just happened to us?”

“But you know what I am. You saw what I can do.”

“And I’m still here. And Samual isn’t, by the way. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Yes. Maybe. Oh hell. I let my reservations slip away. This time when he kisses me, I kiss him back.

This time when he kisses me, I let my passion match his own.

And this time when he kisses me, there are no interruptions. I lose myself in the kiss, blood races, skin becomes hot. Every cell in my body wants to throw Stephen down right here in the parking lot and satisfy what the kiss stirs up. It’s been too long since I’ve had sex. Too long since I’ve experienced wanting. I feel like I’m about to explode with desire.

A sound from behind us. Another couple approaching from the Prado. It snaps me back to reality. I give Stephen a gentle push. “Let’s go to my house. It’s not far from here.”

“It better not be.” His voice is hoarse. I feel his heart thudding against my palm.

I grab his hand. “Come on.”

NINETEEN

ONCE INSIDE, WE DON’T MAKE IT TO THE bedroom. As soon as the front door closes behind us, we’re in each other’s arms.

Stephen’s desire matches my own. He pushes me back onto the couch. His hands pull at my blouse, yank it free. I’m ripping at his shirt, too, tugging it over his head, hearing a rip of material as it comes free. Then I’m fumbling with his zipper as he fumbles with mine. After an interminable amount of time, we’re finally free of our clothes.

No foreplay. No whispered terms of endearment. We don’t need it. I’m so wet I want him inside me now. He’s hard and ready, too, more than ready. He leans over me.

Then pulls back abruptly.

“Anna,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I don’t have a—”

If I weren’t so aroused, I’d laugh. Instead I rasp, “Condom? Vampire, remember?” And raise my hips to meet him.

When he enters me, the same moan escapes both our lips. A moan of relief, of joy. He grinds into me, filling me, driving me. I respond with equal intensity, wrapping my legs around his hips to bring him closer, deeper. I don’t know this man, know nothing about him. Yet at this moment, I know everything I need to know. And more important, he knows me. What I am. What I’m capable of.

He didn’t flinch and he didn’t turn away.

I hear Stephen’s breath catch, feel the force of his thrusts intensify as he nears climax. He groans. “I don’t think I can—”

I place a finger over his lips. “Don’t hold back.”

I’m not there yet, but it doesn’t matter. I coax him on with the rhythm of my own body. Maybe being more interested in his pleasure than my own frees me to notice things I’ve never noticed before during sex. The way his muscles bunch and release, the touch of his hands holding me, the way his body presses urgently against mine. Sensations I’ve experienced only through the prism of my own needs.

His very smell is an aphrodisiac. Testosterone and aftershave. Shampoo and deodorant.

Suddenly he tenses and cries out.

I bury my head in his shoulder and hold him until the last tremor of release passes.

It’s a shock to me. That a man’s pleasure can be more satisfying to me than an orgasm.

Who would have thought?

I LIE STILL and unmoving under Stephen. His hands are tangled in my hair, his body rigid, his breath unsteady. It’s as if he’s reluctant to relax, to look at me.

“Stephen? Is something wrong?”

He raises himself on his elbows, traces my lips with his fingers. His expression is somber, concerned. “You didn’t . . . It wasn’t . . .” He takes a breath. “Can vampires . . . ?”

I realize what he’s asking. And it makes me smile. “Can we orgasm? Yes.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You did everything right. You were wonderful.”

“Because if you need to—I don’t know—bite me when we’re having sex, it’s all right. I trust you.”

I think that’s the nicest thing a human male has ever said to me. A male who wasn’t a blood host and thought sex should automatically be part of the package. “It’s not necessary, but I appreciate the offer.”

He moves off me and gathers me close. He still seems troubled. I roll toward him and rest my head on his shoulder. “Tonight was a new experience for me. Thinking more of your pleasure than my own. I liked it.”

He sighs. “I don’t believe that. You’re not a selfish person.”

“It’s nice you feel that way. I hope you always do.”

He hikes himself up on one elbow, scooping me up with him. “I want you to tell me what pleasures you. The next time we make love, I want it to be the best sex you’ve ever had.”

He doesn’t understand. Hell, I don’t understand. If I tell him what I’m thinking, that this was the best sex I’ve ever had, he won’t believe it.

So I just smile and reach my hand around his neck and pull his head closer. “Kiss me.”

I don’t have to say it twice.