There was a man waiting for her on the landing outside her apartment when she got home from work the next night. At first, she thought it was Grigori, but then the man stepped out of the shadows and she realized the only thing the two men had in common was that they were both tall.
"May I help you?" Marisa asked.
"I hope so." He had short blond hair, ice blue eyes, and looked to be in his mid-forties. A thin scar ran along his right cheek. A large silver crucifix hung from a thick chain around his neck. "You are Marisa Richards, are you not?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Forgive me. My name is Edward Ramsey."
Marisa shook her head. The name meant nothing to her. "What do you want?"
"To save your life."
Marisa stared at him in astonishment. Save her life? "I'm sorry, I think you must be looking for someone else."
"I'm looking for two - " A dark shadow appeared in the man's eyes. "Two men. I think you may have seen them."
"Are you a police officer?"
"No."
"You must have me confused with someone else."
"I don't think so." His clear blue eyes met hers with a directness that was disconcerting. "You were at the Roskovich Carnival on Friday last, were you not?"
"Yes, but how did you know?"
His thin lips curved in the slightest of smiles. "I have my ways."
Marisa crossed her arms over her chest. The man had done nothing to frighten her, yet she was frightened just the same. "I think you'd better go now."
Ramsey held up his hands, as if to put her at ease, and she noticed there was a cross tattooed on the palm of the right one.
"Miss Richards, I don't want to worry you, but I fear your life is in danger. Grave danger."
"Maybe you should stop all this cloak-and-dagger stuff and just cut to the chase," Marisa said.
"Very well. If what I suspect is true, Alexi Kristov is following you."
Marisa frowned. "Who?" she asked, wondering why the name sounded so familiar.
"Alexi Kristov. Count Alexi Kristov."
Marisa blinked at Ramsey, and then started to laugh. "Who put you up to this?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"This is a joke, right? Did Grigori send you here?"
"Grigori? Grigori Chiavari?"
"I don't know his last name."
"Is he here?" Ramsey's gaze darted past her to the front door. "Now?"
"No." She took a step backward, wondering if it was safe to open the door, or if he would try to force himself inside.
She glanced over the landing, hoping to see Mr. Abbott watering the front lawn, as was his wont in the evening, but there was no one in sight.
"What's all this nonsense about Alexi Kristov, anyway?" she asked, feeling irritable after a long, hard day at work. "He's dead."
Ramsey nodded. "Indeed, he is."
"You want me to believe that a dead vampire is following me?"
The faintest of grins curved Ramsey's lips. Tiny lines crinkled near his eyes. "I'm afraid there are no other kind."
Marisa stared at him. "What? Oh, right, I guess vampires are dead, aren't they?" She let out a sigh of exasperation. "Listen, you're too late for Halloween and too early for April Fool's, so, if you'll just excuse me - "
"Miss Richards - "
"I don't believe in vampires."
"That does not make them less real, nor does it make the danger to you less great."
"Listen, I don't know what you're up to, or what you're selling, but I find it to be in incredibly bad taste. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've had a long day."
"Miss Richards, please, you must listen to me!"
"I've heard enough." Not willing to turn her back on him, she took a step backward, her hand tightening on her key ring. "If you don't get out of here, I'll scream bloody murder."
Ramsey stared at her a moment, then sighed in resignation. "As you wish." Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a business card. "If you need help, you can reach me at this number. I only hope you call me before it's too late."
He turned and started down the stairs. "If I were you," he called over his shoulder, "I would not leave the shelter of my house after sunset, nor would I go walking in the dark with Grigori Chiavari again."
"What? Wait a minute!"
Ramsey paused on the steps, and then turned to face her.
"What do you mean? Why shouldn't I see Grigori again?"
"He's one of them."
"One of them? You mean a vampire?"
Ramsey nodded. "Good evening, Miss Richards. I hope I see you again."
She was fixing dinner when the phone rang. She knew, even before she picked up the receiver, that it was Grigori. Ramsey's warning flashed through her mind, and for just an instant, she was tempted to hang up. And then she shook her head. Vampires, indeed. The whole idea was ludicrous.
"Marisa?"
"Yes, hello."
"I was wondering if I could interest you in a movie."
"A movie? Tonight?" She hadn't believed a thing Ramsey had told her, yet she was suddenly reluctant to see Grigori again.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing. I'm, ah, just surprised to hear from you."
There was a moment of silence, and she had the eerie feeling that he was reading her mind, that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and why. But that was ridiculous.
She stared at the receiver. "Are you still there?"
"Yes. I should very much like to see you tonight." His voice was warm and thick and sinfully rich, like hot fudge poured over chocolate ice cream.
"I'm really not in the mood for a movie."
"I see."
There was a long silence. Before she quite realized what she was doing, she found herself inviting him to dinner.
"Thank you, I've already eaten, but I'd love to come by and share a glass of wine with you, say, in an hour."
"Okay, see you then."
She replaced the receiver in the cradle, very gently, then stood there, shaking her head. She'd had no intention of inviting him over. Why had she agreed to see him?
She ate quickly, dumped the dishes in the dishwasher, wiped off the sink, then hurriedly straightened up the front room. When that was done, she changed out of her worn jeans and sweatshirt into a pair of white slacks and a short-sleeved blue sweater.
She had just finished putting on her lipstick when she heard a knock at the door.
Smoothing a hand over her hair, she took a deep breath and went to the door. She looked through the peephole to make sure it was Grigori before unlocking the door.
"Hi, come on in."
She stepped back, acutely aware of him as he stepped into the room.
He was wearing black, and she thought she had never seen a man who wore the color so well. But then, all vampires wore black, didn't they? His hair fell past his shoulders. Long and dark, it seemed to emphasize the planes and angles of his face. All he needed was a long black cape, she mused, then shook the thought aside.
With a smile and a flourish, he offered her a bottle of merlot.
"Thank you. Would you care for a glass now?"
"Please."
We're so formal, she mused. Going into the kitchen, she took two glasses from the cupboard. He stood in the doorway, watching her pour the wine. She handed him one of the goblets, wondering if her smile looked as forced as it felt.
"What shall we drink to?" he asked.
"I don't know. Is a toast necessary?"
He shrugged. "Perhaps not." With a slight nod in her direction, he took a drink. "An excellent vintage," he mused.
Marisa took a sip. It was good, far better than she was accustomed to. "Shall we sit down?"
She went into the living room, aware of him behind her, following her. His nearness sent a shiver down her spine.
She sat down on the sofa and sipped her drink.
He sat beside her, close, but not too close, yet she was aware of every line of his body, every breath he took. Never before had she been so aware of another person. Even sitting down, he seemed to tower over her.
Grigori drank his wine slowly, savoring the taste as he savored the woman's nearness. She was lovely. And nervous. He could sense the tension radiating from her. He sat back on the sofa, one arm draped along the top edge, as he glanced around the room. His gaze flickered over the newspaper on the coffee table.
VAMPIRE KILLER STALKS CITY. BODY FOUND IN DUMPSTER.
Grigori frowned as he quickly scanned the story, which was very short and filled with speculation. This was the eighth body that had been found drained of blood. The press, with its usual flair for the overly dramatic, had labeled the murderer "the vampire killer" because it made good headlines, Grigori mused. If they only knew...
"What do you make of that?" Marisa asked, gesturing at the newspaper with her wineglass.
Grigori shrugged. "The noble press," he said with an easy smile. "Surely you don't believe all that nonsense about a bloodthirsty vampire terrorizing the city?"
"No, but..."
"But what?"
"Well, it's kind of scary. I mean, the body of the supposed vampire disappeared from the carnival, and then the owner was found dead. And now someone's going around killing people and draining their blood."
She thought of Silvano. She had met him only once, but it was the first time someone she had known had been brutally killed. It made it seem personal somehow.
"I know it's probably another serial killer, but - " She shivered. "It gives me the creeps."
"You'll be safe enough if you stay inside after dark."
"You're the second one who's told me that today."
"Oh?" He looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing.
"Would you like some more wine?"
Grigori nodded.
Marisa took his glass and stood up, and he followed her into the kitchen.
Resting one shoulder against the doorjamb, Grigori watched her move around the small room. The walls were white, the cabinets of light oak. A small round table and two chairs sat in one corner. There was a green plant in a red clay pot in the center of the table. Cheerful yellow curtains hung at the single window.
"Who else told you to stay inside?"
"I don't know who he was. Some nut named Ramsey."
"What, exactly, did he say?"
"What difference does it make? I told you, he was just some nut."
She handed him one of the goblets, then went into the living room and sat down on the sofa again.
"Tell me, Marisa."
His voice was soft, powerful, compelling.
"He was waiting for me when I got home from work. He said Alexi Kristov was following me and that I shouldn't go out after dark." She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound, and none in her eyes. "Is that the craziest thing you ever heard?"
She looked up at Grigori, hoping he would laugh and tell her she was right, it was just nonsense. But he wasn't laughing.
"What else did he tell you?"
"He said - " Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. "He said I shouldn't go walking in the dark with you anymore."
Grigori went very still. She had the impression that he'd even stopped breathing. "Did he say why?"
"No." It was a lie, but she couldn't bring herself to repeat what Ramsey had said. She didn't believe in vampires, but she did believe in evil. Carefully, she put her glass on the coffee table. "I want to know what's going on."
"I'm sure I can't say."
"Can't, or won't?"
Grigori shrugged. "Can't. Won't. What's the difference?"
"Ramsey said he knows you. What else does he know? Why did he tell me not to see you again?"
"You have nothing to fear from me, Marisa."
"That's no answer." She stood up and moved to the other side of the room. "I think you should go."
"As you wish."
Placing his goblet on the table, he turned and walked toward the door. She had never seen anyone who moved the way he did. He moved effortlessly, as if gravity had no control over him, as if there were a cushion of air between his feet and the floor.
He stopped at the door and turned to face her. "Good night, Marisa. Lock the door after me."
"Stop it! Just stop it." She wrapped her arms around her body in an age-old gesture of self-protection. "I want a straight answer, and I want it now. Who are you? Who's Edward Ramsey? How did he know we went walking in the park? Is he a friend of yours? Why did he say I shouldn't see you again? Dammit, I want to know what's going on!"
He looked at her speculatively. "Do you?"
Not trusting herself to speak, afraid she might change her mind if she reconsidered, Marisa nodded.
"My name is Grigori Chiavari. That much is true."
"And the rest?"
"I'm not here on vacation. I'm hunting the vampyre."
She wanted desperately to laugh but she had a terrible, sinking feeling she might never laugh again. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Quite. I've been hunting Alexi for a long while."
"But he's... he's..."
"He's a vampyre, Marisa. A very old, very dangerous vampyre."
She made her way to the sofa and sat down hard. "It's impossible. There's no such thing - "
"I'm afraid there is."
"Are you working with Ramsey?"
"Not exactly. But we both want Alexi dead."
"Why?"
"I have my reasons. You'll have to ask Ramsey about his."
"Ramsey said the vampire was after me. Why? He doesn't even know who I am."
"You cut yourself at the carnival, did you not?"
"Yes, I scratched myself. How did you know?"
He shook his head, his thick black hair swirling around his shoulders like a cloud of dark silk. "It doesn't matter. It was most likely the scent of your blood that awakened him."
"But how?"
"Old vampyres often sleep for a century or two. Perhaps it wasn't your blood that awakened him at all. Perhaps he'd simply rested long enough. I don't know."
"But the man at the carnival... Silvano... said the vampire was helpless, that he couldn't escape the chains, or the crosses." She looked up at Grigori, desperate for some small measure of reassurance.
"Silvano was right, as far as he knew," Grigori replied thoughtfully. "But Alexi is far older than Silvano knew. I'm not sure anything can defeat Kristov. As for the chains, I'm guessing that Alexi mesmerized Silvano, then ordered the man to free him."
"He could do that?"
"That and more."
Grigori looked past the woman, gazing into the distance, his thoughts turned inward. Even without feeding for a century or two, it would have been a simple thing for Alexi to bend Silvano's will to his own, to compel him to remove the crosses and the chains that imprisoned him. And while Silvano was still enthralled, Alexi would have drunk from him, drunk until nothing remained of the man but a dry husk.
Even as he considered it, Grigori knew that was how it had happened. He could picture it all in his mind, the vampyre's eyes opening, his hypnotic gaze meeting Silvano's, his mind bending the mortal's will to his own, compelling Silvano to remove the holy relics, to release him from the chains that bound him. He would have climbed out of the coffin, his skeletal fingers clamping over Silvano's shoulders, tilting the man's head to the side, burying his fangs in the soft flesh of Silvano's throat as he fed a hunger that would have been growing for a hundred years....
"You're really serious about this, aren't you?"
Marisa's voice brought him back to the present. "Quite."
Marisa glanced around the room. The dead bolt on her front door seemed woefully inadequate; the windows made her feel exposed, vulnerable.
"Be sure to lock your door after I'm gone."
"Wait!" She didn't believe him, couldn't believe him. It was completely impossible. Yet she was loath to spend the night alone. "Please stay."
"You should be safe, so long as you don't invite him inside."
"Why? What's to keep him out? If all those chains couldn't keep him locked up, I'm sure the puny locks on my door won't give him any trouble."
"There are a great many beliefs about vampyres, about what they can and cannot do. Most of them are fables told to frighten children; a few are true. Alexi cannot enter your house unless you invite him inside. He must seek shelter from the sun, although, as old as he is now, he may no longer succumb to the dark sleep. A cross will offer only as much protection as the wearer's faith in it. Silver will burn his flesh, but he will heal quickly. He must have blood to survive, although he can go without it for long periods of time." He paused, as though considering what else to tell her. "Some vampyres have the power to change shape; others have the power to fly."
"What about crossing running water and not casting a reflection in a mirror?"
"Nothing but fables, as is the ridiculous notion that if you wrap a vampyre in a net or fill his coffin with seeds, he will be forced to untie all the knots or collect all the seeds at the rate of one a year before he can leave his grave."
"What about garlic repelling vampires?"
He shook his head. "It bothers them no more than you."
She looked at him suspiciously. "How do you know all this?"
He glided across the floor toward her. Standing there, he looked tall and dangerous and invulnerable. "I told you, I've been hunting him a very long time."
"Ramsey said - " She took a deep breath, wondering if she was making a fatal mistake. "He said you're one of them, a vampire."
"Indeed?"
She waited for him to deny it, her heart pounding fiercely. "Is it true?"
He considered the truth and opted for a lie. "No."
She laughed, tension flowing out of her. Of course he wasn't a vampire.
"Why don't you join up with Ramsey?"
Grigori's expression softened to one of wry amusement. "In a way, we are working together. He hunts the days, and I hunt the nights."
"Would you mind spending the night here? I really don't want to be alone."
Grigori looked at her for a long moment. She was a pretty woman, soft and curvy, beautiful in a quiet way that he found most appealing. "If you're sure."
She looked up at him, aware that he was little more than a stranger, and wondered if she'd done the right thing.
He sat down in the big, overstuffed chair next to the sofa and stretched out his legs.
His presence dwarfed the room, made it suddenly difficult to draw breath. Discomfited, she reached for the remote and switched on the TV.
"... bodies found earlier this evening in a ravine in La Habra Heights. Police are holding identification of the two women pending notification of next of kin. In other news..."
Marisa stared at the television screen. "No," she whispered. "Not again." She looked at Grigori. "It's all my fault."
"No."
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "It is," she said emphatically. "I know it is."
She waited for him to say something, hoping he could ease her guilt, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the front door, his whole body tense, as if poised for flight.
And then she felt it, that same sense of evil she had experienced once before. "What is it? What's wrong?"
He rose to his feet in a single, fluid movement. "Lock the door behind me."
"Where are you going?"
"Just do as I say," he said brusquely, and then he was gone.
Heart pounding, Marisa locked the door, and then slid the safety chain in place. Too nervous to sit down and wait, she went from room to room, checking to make sure all the windows were closed and locked. She closed the curtains in the bedrooms and kitchen, drew the drapes in the living room, checked the lock on the front door again. And then, at a loss for something to do, she sat on the sofa, pulled a furry Mickey Mouse blanket up to her chin, and stared at the door.
She had convinced herself that the evil she had sensed in the laundry room the other night had been nothing more than the product of her imagination, but she knew now that it had been real. And that it had a name.
Alexi Kristov.