She walked through the others like a princess among her subjects. Her see-through plastic micro that clearly showed the hot-pink g-string underneath, her azure blouse that left nothing to the imagination, showing perfect little breasts that swayed naturally-no augmentation there. These things were not Josephine. No, Josephine would never have worn those clothes even in the privacy of their home, let alone out on the Street. Also, this girl was muscular where Josephine had been frail.

Still, the tilt of her head, her grace as she dodged the press of foot traffic, these things were Josephine through and through.

He watched her strut, the tips of her stiletto heels dragging sparks from the concrete, her open sexuality taunting those she encountered to do anything other than look, then cast their gaze back down to the filthy pavement.

De Vries knew that this section of downtown was controlled by the yakuza, and considered “safe.” Patrols of yak kumi-in kept the streets free of gangs and organized violence, but that wouldn’t stop sex-starved, drunk corporate slots from attacking a barely clad stripper on her way home.

De Vries knew where she was going, knew it as he knew that she was aroused. The scent of her came to him, strong enough to overcome even the stench of the streets, and he knew she was headed toward Warren’s doss. It was only five blocks over, though a dangerous five blocks. Still, she walked without fear, almost as if daring anyone to accost her.

De Vries knew what she would find when she got to Warren’s, however. He thought about the night he returned home to find Josephine gone, to find that she had been taken by a dark one. He remembered the sense of void and loss as he searched for her.

As he watched Rachel swagger down the Street, he decided to spare her that pain, even if it meant revealing things she might not want to know.

Silent as a wraith, he crept along the building tops, trailing her, gliding from rooftop to rooftop as she crossed the streets. Finally she turned down the one leading to Warren’s doss. Here the shadows would make her more cautious, but would give him the cover he needed before revealing himself.

Still, he found himself hesitating.

Then he smiled to himself in the darkness. He was the vampire, and a caster of spells, yet this mortal creature had captured him with a spell far more powerful than any magic at his own disposal.

He took a deep breath, pulled a pack of Platinum Selects from his pocket and gently swooped to the ground, almost half a block in front of her, just meters from Warren’s front door.

De Vries watched her approach, only remembering his cigarette when she was close enough for him to catch her scent. The scent of roses.

She flinched a little when he touched flame to his smoke, but didn’t pause in her stride.

“Miss Harlan, a moment of your time?”

She kept on walking, and only someone whose eyes were bred to the dark, as his were, would have caught the slight lengthening of her stride, the defensive swing of her arms.

“Rachel?”

“Frag off.” Her tone was a quiet rasp, no fear, no anger, just the words. spoken with enough edge to give a normal human pause.

He smiled to himself again, knowing that Josephine would never use that kind of language but then again, Josephine had been sheltered from the dark, dangerous world this beautiful creature took for granted.

“He’s not home.”

She passed him by. the subtle shift of her stride the only indication that she was attempting to place herself outside the edge of his grasp. If he had been a normal human, she would have succeeded nicely.

He made no move. “Miss Harlan, please. You won’t find him there, and we need to talk. There is much you don’t know, and if Warren is to survive what’s going to happen, there’s not a moment to waste.”

Without warning, she spun on him, a heavy Seco LD-120 pistol emerging from her purse.

Her aggressive stance caught de Vries off guard. “Back off,” she said.

Her hand was going for something else in her purse, and de Vries recognized the shape of a screamer alarm.

If she sets that thing off the yaks will be here any minute. He needed more time than that.

He stepped to the side, too fast for her to track. She didn’t shoot, though she shifted her stance, trying to keep her aim.

De Vries pulled the electronic screamer from her hand before her finger could touch the button.

Rachel spun around again, trying to find her elusive assailant. When she found him again, her eyes locked onto his face. Whatever went through her mind, it only lasted an instant. The next moment her decision was made.

She raced toward Warren’s doss.

De Vries’ smile turned into a full-fledged grin of admiration, watching the line of her back, that rapid undulation of her buttocks, the way she managed to get up so much speed. wearing heels. That was the part that made him smile.

De Vries let her make it to the stairs, then up to the door, which she was trying, vainly, to unlock. Then he spoke a word. The birthplace of that word had died thousands of years before, in a tiny little village just north of what would one day be Pompeii, but he spoke it now, and felt the cool fire build in his back and in his arms.

Time dilated, and Rachel seemed to slow until she looked more like a waxen figure than a human, and the sounds of traffic faded to a dull wash of lazy noise. De Vries moved.

When he was a step or so behind her, he let his body slow down, and Rachel resumed her pounding on the door.

“Miss Harlan, I told you, he’s not here and his father has changed the locks on the door. Your key won’t work, and if you keep pounding you’ll only attract the wrong kind of attention.”

Rachel turned quickly, pressing her back to the door. Her eyes moved quickly to the left and the right, judging her options.

De Vries saw the look of quiet acceptance as she realized she had no options, not even the ghost of an option.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Her voice was breathy, but the note of resignation it carried made de Vries sad. Such a beautiful creature, such strength, but with an air of fatality that made her seem tragic at the same time.

De Vries took a step back. “Miss Harlan, my name is Martin de Vries, and I know what has happened to Warren. You and I need to talk.”

A look of deep suspicion took its place on her fine-boned features. “What have you done to Warren?”

De Vries smiled. “I have done nothing to him. But I know what will happen to him if I don’t help him. All I’m asking for is a moment of your time.”

Rachel shook her head. “Why would anyone want to harm Warren? He hasn’t done anything.”

De Vries laughed. “Of course he hasn’t. People want to do things to him because of who he is, not because of what he does.”

Again, her eyes shifted from the left to the right. “You’re crazy. Warren is a good guy who spends all his time trying to be an artist. Why would anyone want to hurt him for that?”

Suddenly it dawned on de Vries. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

De Vries let a slow, tired laugh escape his lips. “I should have guessed. You have no clue who Warren D’imato really is.”

Rachel began to slowly edge to the left, and her intentions were clear to de Vries. If she could vault the low railing, she could hit the street running, maybe get away. “Now I know you’re crazy. Warren’s last name is Storey, not D’imato.”

De Vries shook his head. “Miss Harlan. First off, let me clear up something for you. Even if you could jump over the rail without breaking an ankle in those shoes, it would be a simple task for me to catch you before you took more than a step. I suggest we go inside before others take too much of an interest in this meeting.”

Rachel laughed, and it was a rasping, ugly sound. “Yeah, right. Even if I could open the door, you think I’m insane? You get me in there, and I’m never coming out alive.”