“Mmm… maybe later.”

“It beats living the usual life of quiet, desperate mimesis.”

“Uhhh…”

“Imitation. Doing what everyone else does, just because they do it. Never doing anything to please yourself.”

“Which is what these folks are planning to do, right? Tonight. What’s the Ceremony? Some big orgy?”

She glared at him. “Don’t be absurd. The Circle is not about sex. Sex is nothing. Anyone can do that. Animals do it. The Circle is about true blood intimacy.”

“Blood intimacy?”

“When you offer your own life energy, you give a part of your self, your essence. You need your blood to live. Nonetheless, you share it with someone else to give them pleasure. It’s a beautiful thing. Sex-that’s just selfishness. Two people gratifying their carnal desires. Blood intimacy is exactly the opposite.”

“And this doesn’t seem a little… whacked?”

“Who’s to say what’s whacked? I don’t smoke. I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink… wine.” She giggled at her little joke. “Most of the people you see in here are perfectly normal citizens who work during the day at perfectly normal jobs. No different from anyone else.”

Whatever. Time to get back to the reason he was here. “Do you know a woman named Beatrice? I think she may be a member of the Circle.”

“No. But we rarely use our real names here. In fact, we rarely use names. What does she look like?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t really know. I believe she may have been blond. She’s been described as mousy-not by me-and as being, um, somewhat large around the hips.”

“Last name?”

“Don’t know that, either.”

“Then how did you expect to find her?”

Good question. He thought for a moment. “Any other places the Circle Thirteen crowd frequents?”

“Well, many of us are members of the Playground. But if you couldn’t handle that little spanking episode, I wouldn’t recommend it to you.”

“Anyone disappeared from the Circle recently?”

“Disappeared? No. Sometimes the minions select recruits for the Inner Circle, but-”

“Where do they go?”

“I don’t know. I’m not in the Inner Circle.”

“Who are these… minions?”

“The minions of the Sire, of course.”

“And these people-what? Take women against their will? Kidnap them for human sacrifices?”

“Don’t be absurd. I told you-we’re perfectly normal citizens who happen to share a common interest. We’re not even unique. There are vampire clubs across the nation. Take my word for it-I’ve traveled. There’s a network of them; the insiders know where they are and how to find them. My girlfriend runs vampire workshops-”

“Workshops?”

“Yeah, at science fiction and bondage conventions all over the country. Did you realize there are at least three hundred and fifty thousand bona fide blood drinkers in this country? Some people believe that we have a genetic quirk that makes us crave satisfaction in a manner… different from other people. ’Course, that’s the same thing they started saying about gay people a few years ago, right? ‘They’re not mentally abnormal-they’re just different.’ The Circle network is not unlike the gay bar world twenty years ago. We’re a minority, so we have to keep a low profile. The middle-class majority always fears anything that’s different. But that will change. Gay bars, gay men and women, gay marriages-they’ve come out of the closet. I think we’re next.”

“So you’re tellin’ me that you folks-every one of you think-” He wasn’t sure he could make himself say it. “You think you’re vampires?”

“Not necessarily. Some of these folks are just batting.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pretending. Playing dress-up. Plastic fangs, white makeup, scary contact lenses. It’s like a big role-playing game for them. We let them hang out here, but they aren’t actually members of the Circle. Some girls I know do it just so they can cruise the clubs. You know-Looking for Mr. Goodvampire. They’re in love with the undead mythology but aren’t actually-how to say it?-drinking from the well.”

“And that’s battin’?”

“Right. You know-like in the movies. Where the vamps turn into bats.” She paused. “Of course, real vampires don’t turn into bats.”

“And that’s what everyone else is? A real vampire?”

“No. Many are wannabes-they’re into vampires, they act like vampires. But they aren’t. Some are here for the S-and-M stuff. Some are casual blood sippers-like, from a cup. Only a relatively small fraction of the Circle are actual bloodsuckers who-you know, drink it in the traditional manner. They call themselves classicals or, worse, vampyrs.” She pronounced the last syllable as if it were piers. “So pretentious. True vampires are immortal and dead, or undead, if you prefer. They’ve been made a vampire by another vampire. They have inverted circadian rhythms-in other words, they’re genetically ‘night people.’ They are usually photosensitive-meaning they don’t like sunlight. In addition to those made vampires by another vampire, there are also Inheritors-people born into it, who are either immortal or exceedingly long-lived. They tend to be the bad boys-the ones who earned our community its negative reputation. Nighttimers are regular people who have been altered to become vampires. Like me. Not immortal. Not undead. But we don’t turn to ashes if we go out in the noonday sun, either.”

She stopped, licked her lips. “Enough with the lecture. All this talk and no action is making me hungry. You ready to go yet?”

Loving looked at her blank-faced. “Go where?”

“You know what I mean. You must be curious. What do you say?” She leaned forward and brushed her lips against the side of his neck. “Ready for a little suck?”

“You mentioned the Alaskan wilderness bill, Mr. Melanfield,” Ben said. “Could you explain to the jury exactly what that is?”

Melanfield took in a deep breath, starting a spiel Ben knew he had delivered countless times before. “It’s a bipartisan bill designed to increase our domestic production of oil and thus reduce our reliance on foreign oil.”

“And how does this bill propose to do that?”

“By stimulating production in undeveloped fields.”

“Undeveloped-why?”

A tiny crease spread across Melanfield’s forehead. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Those oil fields you’re talking about haven’t been tapped in the past because they’re located in the federally protected Alaskan wilderness, correct?”

“That would, uh, technically be correct. The purpose of the bill, of course, would be to alleviate the federal protection.”

“And thus allow developers to destroy the last untouched wilderness area in the entire United States.”

Melanfield blew out his cheeks. “Look, Mr. Kincaid, I didn’t expect a rational response from you. I know about your past work for the eco-terrorist group.”

“Move to strike!” Ben rang out.

Judge Herndon gave the witness a stern look. “The lawyers are advocates, not defendants, sir. I will not permit any aspersions on counsel in my courtroom.” Especially, Ben thought, since it’s almost certain grounds for a mistrial or an appeal.

“Yes, your honor. I’m sorry. But as I said, I’ve worked with this company for a long time, and this is an issue I feel strongly about. I care about the environment as much as the next fellow. But I also care about this nation. And we need more oil. Our dependence on foreign oil has been disastrous. Fifty years of meddling in the Middle East have made us worldwide pariahs. How many governments have we propped up or torn down? How many times have we sent our troops into combat? And why? It isn’t about Israel, it isn’t about stabilizing the region, and it isn’t about weapons of mass destruction. It’s about oil.”

“That’s a lovely speech,” Ben said, “but you’re not answering my question.”

“I think I am.” Ben knew he was doing a lousy job of controlling the witness-the most important principle of cross-examination. But that was a difficult task when you were dealing with a man who talked persuasively for a living. “Studies have shown that if we could just reduce our energy consumption-or increase our production-by ten percent, we could eliminate our need for foreign oil. Problem is, we can’t. Good grief-Jimmy Carter asked us to drive slower and wear sweaters in the winter and we practically impeached him for it. No politician has had the guts to advocate conservation ever since-it’s considered political suicide. Americans think it’s their constitutional right to drive gas-guzzling SUVs and leave their lights on when no one is in the room. So we must increase domestic production. And the only way we can economically do that is by passing this bill. I regret the inevitable damage to the Alaskan wilderness, too. But I prefer that to sending more troops to die in the Middle East. Or God forbid, seeing a repeat of 9/11.”