Night had fallen, and the moon rode high. Crimson.

Bleeding.

A strange instinct made Jessica hurry for her own home, certain she should have been there already. She had to get there, and quickly-and be on her way out again even more quickly.

Night had come.The night. And she rued the fact she hadn't realized before that it would happen so quickly. She should have known. She should have believed the sky, known that a bad moon was rising.

Hurry, hurry, hurry,her senses warned her.

Hurry where?

The question throbbed in her mind. Why wasn't instinct giving her an answer? Logic told her it might be a cemetery, but which one?

She glanced at the sky as she drove. Bad moon, yes, and yet not quite the Demon Moon. Not quite that full moon that rode the sky in pure, brilliant red, bathing the entire night with blood. She would have thought that when it came, it would be under the Demon Moon, but it was bad enough even without that.

As she pulled into the driveway, she felt a shock, like an electrical jolt. Just as she had known that her office had been invaded, she knew that the sanctity of her home had been breached, as well.

She exited the car, staring at the house, then closed her eyes and felt the chill of warning.

She burst through the front door. Stacey was there, staunch and prepared. She was dripping wet, and Jessica knew she had doused herself with holy water. She held a gun, and Jessica knew the bullets were specially crafted with wood mixed into the silver.

She cried out when she saw Jessica. "I could have shot you!"

"But you didn't," Jessica said. "I taught you, and I trust you."

"Honestly, Jess, I've never been so afraid. I keep thinking someone's here."

"Someoneis here," Jessica said, then added instantly, "Where's Jeremy?"

"Upstairs in his room. It's completely protected. I checked."

Jessica was already bounding up the stairs. "Yeah, protected against everything-but Jeremy himself."

She tore down the hall past Bryan's room and her own. She threw open the first guest room. Nancy, half asleep, began to rise. "What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," Jessica told her.

She burst through the door of the next room.

And there they were. Jeremy and Mary. Embracing on the balcony.

In a fury, Jessica rushed forward. She seemed to glide like an avenging mist across the floor. Before she could reach Mary, Jeremy thrust the vampire behind him.

"No! She didn't do anything to me, I swear! And I didn't let her in. If you're going to kill her, you'll have to kill me first."

From behind him, Mary said, "Please. He's telling the truth. I didn't hurt him."

"Look." Jeremy bared his throat, tipped his head from side to side. His skin was unmarked.

Jessica knew she shouldn't be hesitating. There was no time.

Stacey burst into the room behind her and let out a horrified gasp. Hand shaking, she raised her gun.

Jessica set a hand on her arm, stopping her from shooting.

"Your veins, Jeremy. Show me your arms."

He rolled up his sleeves and did so.

There were still ways, she reminded herself. But she knew Jeremy wasn't lying, that he would die for the girl. And maybe, just maybe, they could use her, even-somehow-save her.

"Stacey, get her something," Jessica said.

"What?"

"You heard me," she said softly.

"How can you trust-"

"Because I have to believe in something," Jessica said. "Please...hurry."

With that, Stacey disappeared, racing down the stairs.

"You're not going to stake her, are you?" Jeremy said, his voice a whispered prayer.

"I haven't killed anyone, I swear," Mary said. "Almost, but...I was stopped. And then...well, then I stumbled on a cat...and there were a few birds. I tried for a Rottweiler, but it was too ferocious. I'm...I'm really hungry, but I didn't hurt Jeremy, and I won't hurt Jeremy. I swear I only came so he could stop me," she said in a whisper.

"Stop you from what?"

Mary hesitated, pale, beautiful and wide-eyed.

"From what?" Jessica repeated with harsh authority.

"The feast. The feast that's supposed to take place tonight. I've been called to be there, but I'm afraid," Mary said.

"Where?"

"The cemetery," Mary whispered.

"Which cemetery?"

"We are called there first," Mary said, as if distracted, trying to put thoughts together in her own mind. She set her hands to her skull, pressing it. "It will be my first, the Master says. He says I'm his, and once I'm there, I'll know...the truth of what I am, the truth of what I can have and the truth of his law. From the cemetery, we'll be taken to a haven on the river."

"Which cemetery?" Jessica demanded again.

Stacey burst back into the room, a plastic soda bottle in her hands. Jessica took it, holding it out to Mary. The girl's face puckered into a frown, and at last she dared to step out from behind Jeremy.

"What...what is it?" she asked.

"O-positive," Jessica snapped. "Now, which cemetery?"

When Mary finally offered the information, Jessica gave a few orders-the most important being that Mary was to be confined to one area.

Then, she was gone.

Bryan made it a point not to make an appearance, not at first.

He stayed at a distance after arriving. Oaks dripping Spanish moss lined the sidewalks along the streets that bordered the cemetery. The city always made an attempt to illuminate the places where danger might skulk, where the dregs of society too often sought to prey upon the unwary. But even as he stood across the street, just watching, one of the streetlights burned for a moment of brightness, sputtered, then died.

He waited, very still, eyes adjusting to the shadows. He could already sense movement inside the cemetery. Shadows moved furtively. Grew large, faded.

He heard the sound of laughter, quickly suppressed, and he shook his head, damning the foolishness of those who were so easily seduced by the raw edge of a little sex or a little danger. Frustration filled him. Time and again, he'd been so close.

And time and again, he had lost the battle in the attempt to salvage the innocent.

Or, he thought wryly, those who were innocent of that particular brand of evil.

The gates loomed tall, wrought iron with Victorian arches and the sense of elegant and faded decay so common in the area, both beautiful and sad. The wall was stone, crumbling in too many places.

With a deft leap, he scaled the wall. He was instantly struck by the miasma in the place, something unusual even for a city of the dead, where the elegant above-ground mausoleums housed their burden of humanity long gone. He followed a narrow, overgrown trail past the grandiose memorials, slipping from the shadows of one to the next, deep into the growing darkness. It was one of the largest cemeteries in the area, filled with dark alleys between tombs forgotten over time and trees that had all but grown through stone and slab as their roots crushed and cracked it. Here, broken angels seemed to weep.

Against one of the tombs, he saw a shadow, already lurking, waiting.

It was a girl. She had dressed to look like the infamous dominatrix; her boots were high, her skirt short. There was something a little off about her clothing, though. It was a good imitation of the contemporary but held traces of a not so distant past. Her hair was dyed many colors, cut short and styled in the fashion of the heavy-duty punk era.

"Hey," she whispered from the darkness. She grinned, stepping from the shadows to accost him. "I like that outfit. It suits you. You're here for the gathering, huh? You'll have fun. It will be the wildest thing you've ever done." As she spoke, she glided closer and closer to him. He smiled in welcome. She came close, reaching out a hand, sidling up to him.

"Want to get started right away?" she whispered huskily. "Here, now...no waiting? I'm ready. I've been waiting for someone like you. Hey. What's the matter?" She giggled. "I can make you want me in a matter of seconds. In fact, believe me, I'm the wildest dream of men-and women, for that matter." Her giggle rang out again. "I've made them all die for me. Come on, just give me a chance, one little kiss...."

"Not in this lifetime or any other," he assured her.

"Trust me," she whispered, and this time, there was a sibilance in her words that hadn't been there before. Her tongue flicked out and she rose on her toes.

He knew her intent. He had seen it time and time again. He smiled, watching her move closer.

She nuzzled against him, then opened her mouth.

A shred of the red moonlight touched her fangs. They dripped with anticipation.

As she leaned in for his throat, he drew the stake from beneath his coat. He had thrust it deep into her chest before she even knew what had happened.

She let out a little cry and stared at him in fury, then disintegrated right before his eyes. Pieces of bone and ash lay at his feet. "Sure. The wildest dream. Or nightmare." he murmured softly. He wondered how many more were here, and decided it was going to be a bad night. He had a sixth sense that warned him when vampires were near, and it told him that there would be plenty here tonight, emboldened by the Master, many drawn from their lives deep in hiding. There were so many kinds. Those who had adapted well to the modern world of instant communication and technology, those who dined on the blood of beasts, as most men dined on their meat. Those who wanted nothing more than to survive, pretend to lead normal lives...

But tonight all were here, heeding the call of the Master. He was a ruler reminding them of what they were, convincing them of their power, that the word was there, that human beings were their cattle.

There was no such thing as a good vampire.

He lowered the brim of his hat, ready to move on.

Jessica strode among them, bold, her cape and leather cowl making her one with the shadows to any outside observer. She eavesdropped as she went.

A young group of literary fanatics who had taken the tales of New Orleans far too seriously were dressed as if they had returned to the 1700s. There was a little group of tittering girls, pierced and tattooed, all in black, some with sweeping skirts and others with little more than kerchiefs covering their butts. There were a few drunks, growing too loud, giggling.

And then there were those moving among them. Those who seemed to be calculating, choosing their positions. Those who were not from New Orleans...those who had come only for this night, for the easily led, the misled, those looking for something in their lives...those upon whom they could feast. She could feel the leashed hunger in them and knew they were savoring the anticipation, grateful to the power of the Master that allowed them that pleasure.

"He will come," someone said, stopping Jessica. It was a tall, slender, dark-haired man. He wasn't old, but his eyes held both knowledge and weariness.

And sweet licentious patience.

"But then, you know that. You are his beloved servant. The world knows about the dominatrix." He bowed, as if she were royalty.

She had done well, starting rumors in Transylvania, she thought dryly. In Transylvania, the Master had not known he had a dominatrix, but everyone else had. When she arrived at the castle in the woods, she had been easily accepted. Those who had heard, who had felt the summons, had heard about the dominatrix, as well. They had welcomed her; they had looked up to her. Of course. She was what she was. And she knew how to play a part.

Now the Master knew, too. He would be waiting. Before, perhaps hehad been baiting her. Tonight...

She should have recruited help. She should at least have told Sean what she was doing.

No, she couldn't have risked his life.

In Transylvania, she'd had faith in herself. She'd had the element of surprise. But she had failed; she'd miscalculated. She'd thought herself so powerful, had waited, planned on perfect timing, but even so, she'd failed.

Her timing had only been off by seconds, but those seconds had cost Mary her life. She couldn't have brought others along tonight, not when she had failed so badly last time. After all, tonight, he was expecting her. Waiting for her.

She gritted her teeth. Win or lose, she had to believe in her own power, had to believe, perhaps even more important, in the rightness of what she was doing.

She smiled. "It won't really begin here," she said matter-of-factly, desperately groping, since she had no idea what the Master had planned. Certainly, if he had arranged a place, as he had done in Transylvania, it would be much farther from the city lights than this. But she didn't know where, and she needed to get this man to talk. "The Master doesn't like things...messy."

"No, I know. I've heard there will a dozen coaches waiting. He can command those around him to blindness, march down the street in daylight and not be noticed. Tonight he will take us to a place where we can savor all that we thirst for.... but then, you know that."

There would be no coaches, she thought dryly. Not here. The Master was too smart to be that obvious. There would be a few limousines, probably, but theywould move in darkness and shadows. As her companion had said, somehow they would not be noticed.

"You are the dominatrix, are you not? In Transylvania, we had word that she would be there, would welcome us, then finally give us permission to strike." He paused then moved closer. "Beware. Someone impersonated the dominatrix that night. She killed many. There was a warrior who appeared, as well." He shuddered, as if at the memory.

"But we will be safe tonight," she said, feeling the muscles in her jaw grow tight at the word "warrior." She still didn't know where the event was scheduled to take place, and she was growing frustrated, but she had to play this carefully. "Where have you traveled from?" she asked. He had the hint of an accent, but it wasn't one she could place.

He waved a hand. "France. Immediately after the battle in Transylvania, we knew the Master would plan a grand event right away. We all seek revenge," he said. "Sadly, many an ancient vampire fell, but even against deceit and treachery, the Master survived. He will not be defeated." He moved closer to her. "We've not had the pleasure of meeting." He bowed, a breath away from her, his smile sensual as he rose and faced her again. "I am Henri, Comte de Vallier. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance." He came closer still, whispering against her ear, "I have been around a long time. I have so much experience."

"Do you?" she asked.

"Indeed. I have sucked many a beauty dry, yet she has died whimpering my name in sheer ecstasy."

She touched his face. "You have taken the lives of innocents? Relished the cries of the dying?"

He smiled slowly, as if they had become best friends, conspirators. "They say that it is different today. That we have to think of the greater good. That we do not have to be monsters. But I say we are what we are. Still, I have found ways.... I often prey upon those who are not long for this world, anyway. Still, I do admit, I have a weakness for women. Beautiful young women. But what I can do for them in turn..."

He drew a finger along her arm with tremendous insinuation. "I know that you are beloved of the Master," he whispered. "Everyone says so."

"Do they?" she asked coyly.

"But you are free, are you not? I've heard that you are more than pleased to...entertain your own kind, as well as dine upon the blood of our prey. The Master knows what we are, what we need, how we must live. Our so-called king is an idiot. He believes humans will accept our kind if we learn to live in their world. What is their world but a vast feeding ground for us? The Master understands this, and so I worship him. Though I am tempted beyond sin by you, I would not trespass upon what the Master considers his."

"I am not his, I am my own," she said, strangely torn. Henri had killed and killed again-would continue to kill. She was heartsick, thinking of the beautiful women who had died because of his depredations.

Women like Mary.

No, not like Mary. The Master had allowed Mary to rise again to serve his purpose. Henri, she was certain, seldom, if ever, left a victim with the capacity to come back to life-no, not life, existence. Was that better? She would never know. She had meant to send Mary back to the grave, yet in the end, she had been unable to carry out that plan.

Yet there were things he said that echoed painfully in her heart. In what world would they ever be accepted? In what world could they ever be regarded without fear?

They heard a giggle from the shadows down a dark path lined by ornate mausoleums. He smiled, licked his lips. In the strange moonlight, a fang glowed with the bloody color of the night.

"Tempting," he murmured. "And Iam hungry. Perhaps just a taste, before it all begins."

"Careful," Jessica warned. "We can't leave bodies strewn about, just waiting to be discovered."

His smile deepened. He slipped an arm around her. "There is nothing like the feel of a beating young heart, the beauty of youthful, living flesh. I can all but taste the blood now. In fact, I believe I must, but, my dear dominatrix, I will allow you the first taste."

She pretended to consider his words; then she reached beneath her cape.

She struck before he knew what happened. The stake was small but very sharp, carved from strong oak. She slipped it straight between his ribs.

He stared at her, not comprehending at first.

Then, for a fleeting second, a look of rage, of incredulous disbelief, swept through his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak. His lips curled back, fangs glistening.

Then, without a sound, he crumbled.

Dust...to dust.

The last things to go were the shimmering red teeth and the fire of fury in his eyes.

It was as if she had been alone all along. The dust that had been the vampire lay at her feet, mingling with the dirt, as she stood in the shadow of the silent, shimmering, houses of the dead. An angel with broken wings held her silent vigil atop a mausoleum, seeming to weep in silence. All was still.

She looked around the cemetery, her dark-adapted eyes picking out deeper shadows in the night.

Some eager for a feast.

Some the innocents, lambs for slaughter.

Sleight of hand, tricks of the eye. The forte of the Master.

The limos began to arrive. Dozens of them. Bryan kept his distance, watching from the cover of a society tomb created in the form of a pyramid.

It began with the mist, a damp fog the color of blood. It didn't settle over the cemetery; it came as if it had a life of its own, swirling, rising, creating a fantasy of mystery, a sense of the unreal and the spectacular. It spread to the streets, hiding the arrival of the long black, vehicles. There were hushed whispers, some of wicked amusement, some of sheer excitement.

The sheep and the wolves. Together.

He watched. They wore all manner of dress, making it difficult to tell the hunters from the hunted. There were the Goths in black, their long, sweeping cloaks brushing the ground. There were beautiful women in fitted dresses with regal purple velvet and lace. There were those in simple street wear, clothing for a night on the town, for barhopping and listening to the best jazz New Orleans had to offer. Some were surely in costume, Casanova-style, colonial, medieval. Street toughs, lovely waifs, all entered the limos, some giggling at the delicious daring of what they were doing, others in calculating silence. Strangers flirted with one another. Old friends linked arms, eager and wide-eyed. All disappearing into the blood-red mist.

He waited, watched. The last of the cars was filled. He bided his time, took a long and agile leap, and lay spread-eagled atop the last of the cars.

Like wraiths, the limos traveled the streets, following the path of the mighty Mississippi.

He looked back, and it looked as if the moon had brought the statues to life. Winged angels seemed to struggle to move. To cry out.

And in the end, to weep.

Their destination was a plantation, old and abandoned. Jessica was surprised that some enterprising corporation hadn't rehabbed the place and turned it into an inn or a restaurant.

The drive that led to the house was rough, once a grand path, now an overgrown trail of tree roots and leaves. Jessica was sure it couldn't even be seen from the road, so far had nature encroached.

The red mist had followed them. When the limos came to a stop, it seemed as if they had reached the end of the world, a fifth dimension, a place of crimson fantasy.

People began to pour out of the cars.

Even the trail to the decaying porch was covered with vines and overgrowth. From within the plantation house itself, a red light created a glow of invitation. The partygoers hurried on, anxious for the unique and elite festivities to begin.

Jessica pushed her way forward, anxious to become oriented as quickly as possible herself.

It was a true plantation house, doorways built to allow the air to flow from porch to porch, upstairs and down. No doubt there were slaves' quarters, a smokehouse, barns and more somewhere on the property.

A large-screen TV played in the parlor off the main entry. Obviously a generator was running somewhere to provide power. A once grand and sweeping staircase led to the upper floor. In the great foyer, a bar had been created of old butcher-block tables and stocked in advance. A young man, the look in his eyes vague, was ready to serve drinks, including, of course, Bloody Marys.

Jessica made her way to the bar. The bartender greeted her. "Hello, you're the dominatrix, of course. I'd heard you were coming."

"Oh?" Her heart hammered. The Masterwas expecting her tonight.

The bartender stared at her and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

She leaned over the bar, very close to him, fixing him with her eyes. "You need to leave. Now."

"Leave..." He was ready to obey. "How?"

"Go out the back. Head to the river and walk along it until you find a boat. Just get out of here, and do it quickly, do you understand?"

He looked at her gravely and nodded, then began to make his way out through the crowd.

She assessed those milling near her. She waited a moment, judging each individual. She caught a man by the lapels of his Edwardian-style suit. She made a point of glaring as she drew him near. "You-tend the bar," she said.

He seemed about to protest.

She curved her lips into a smile. "Do you want to be whipped?" she demanded. "Or will you obey? You know who I am," she said. "And youwill do as you're told."

He bowed and almost fell to his knees. She tried not to shake her head in wonder at how easily he could be controlled.

"I beg to serve you," he said at last.

"Good. Get back there."

She left him scrambling behind the bar, ready to serve.

She stayed in character as she made her way through the crowd, her commands both sensual and demanding, separating the sheep from the wolves. The sheep had to remain below, where they could escape. The wolves...

"Attention, please," she announced. "We are all waiting for the Master, and, while we wait-" she lowered her voice to a husky growl "-I will see you all, of course, in turn. Those of you who are attending your first party will wait. Those of you who are...experienced will visit me first in my chamber upstairs. One by one or, if you prefer, in couples. But seniority will be respected."

With a sweep of her hand, she said, "The bar is open. Please, indulge yourselves, and then come see me. We will indulge one another."

She started back through the crowd again, counting and assessing. She needed to find the worst of the wolves. The oldest first, those who would select the sweetest, ripest, victims. She whispered invitations to them while she commanded the sheep to remain below, to wait their turns. Upstairs, she wondered how long it would be before the Master made his appearance. She waited in the darkness, and when her first guest arrived, she didn't bother with the least attempt at seduction unto death. She simply opened the door and staked him.

Like Henri, he disappeared into dust, mingling with the antique remnants of time already covering the floor.

She had chosen the room next to the one she was certain the Master would use. The set-up was the same as in Transylvania: the elaborate bed; the more elaborate dressing table. She listened carefully, aware that at any minute the trap might be set.

A giggling pair came to her next. Sheep. She ordered them below to wait their turn.

After the sheep...

More wolves. She heard the boasts of those who claimed they had killed again and again. And every time they spoke salaciously of the death and destruction they had sown, it became easier for her to wield her stake.

The dust on the floor grew thick.

She had to wonder at the stupidity, the ego, that kept sending them her way, one by one. And still...there were so many left. But at least she had tipped the odds more in her own favor. The trick now, however, to stophim and get the others out.

At last she opened the door and slipped down the hall. She had guessed correctly. A sense of darkness far beyond the black of night emanated from behind the door.

He was coming soon. Very soon. She could tell.

There was always a viewing room. It had to be just on the other side of the one in which the Master had chosen to enact his seduction scene. She hurried to it, stepping in.

Yes. There was the one-way window on the seduction chamber, the camera on the elegant set, the stage.His stage. The stage on which he performed his finest act: the death of an innocent, the demonstration of his own great power. He thrived on his performance, on the fear, and on the fact that he was watched, that those watching were enthralled and ready to bow down before him.

She wasn't too late. The scene was set but there was no innocent at that dressing table, decked out in white, brushing her hair, throat bared, waiting....

Had he come? Where was he?

There was a terrible scream from downstairs. She jumped. Had she miscalculated again? She bolted for the door. As she ran, she was jerked to a stop when a hand fell upon her shoulder.

A hand with fingers of steel, a vise of sheer power.

A heated whisper followed.

"Now you die."