THE STAIRCASE IS WOODEN, AND THE PASSAGE plunges straight down. It is clammy inside, dark, steep, and, at first glance, without end. It is so narrow, Tamara must walk behind me. She crowds close. I don't like having her behind me. My senses are on high alert, the vampire ready to spring forth if it detects anything but the strange emanation of fear she's giving off.

Fear of what? The dark?

But we're nearing the bottom, and the smell of dirt and decay chases the question out of my head. I'm plunged into the nightmare of finding David at the bottom of these stairs, bound and near death.

At last our feet touch soil. Ahead of us is a doorway and it yields to my touch. I find the light switch to the right of the door and stand aside for Tamara to experience what I did that first time six months ago.

The room is large, a storage area with wooden crates stacked along one wall, rugs rolled and stored on another, rows of shelving occupying the center. The overhead light catches and reflects off the hundreds of items displayed helter-skelter on the shelves like the chattel of a deranged collector: piles of gold and silver jewelry, vases of bronze and silver, bejeweled ceremonial daggers, gold-leaf dinnerware that might have served a king. Chinese porcelain, Egyptian antiquities, Mayan pottery. The source of Avery's wealth.

Tamara picks up a small golden chariot and hefts it in her hand. "I know how Howard Carter must have felt when he found King Tut's tomb," she says in a hushed voice.

I point to what she holds. "For all we know, that could be from the tomb. Avery may have been there, too."

She returns the chariot to the shelf and looks around. "Do you know what's in the crates?"

I shake my head.

"You aren't curious?"

"No. This place holds bad memories for me. Avery holds bad memories for me. When this is over, Sandra can have it all."

I let my eyes sweep the contents of the shelves. "What does the talisman look like?" I ask. "The book said it was a belt of fur. Does that mean literally a belt of fur? Or is it something symbolic?"

Tamara joins me in the search, taking one side of a shelf while I, the other. "It's both," she says. "It's a locket that contains a bit of fur. At one time, it actually was a belt fashioned from the fur of a totem animal. Wearing a belt of fur marked us, made us easy prey for human hunters. Now we wear something a bit more discreet. Like this."

She pulls a small gold locket from inside the collar of her jersey top and lets the chain drop between her breasts. "We always keep it with us. It's our lifeline. Our most prized possession."

I've finished my side of the shelf, finding nothing that resembles what Tamara described. I wonder if I've made a mistake thinking it would be here. Yet, this is the repository for Avery's treasure. Where else would he hide it?

Tamara finishes, too, and comes around to join me. She's looking toward the far wall, the place where I found David. "What's over there?" she asks.

From our vantage point, what we see are rugs, rolled up and piled against the wall.

"Should we check it out?" she asks.

I have no intention of reliving the horror. "Go ahead. I'll keep looking here. Maybe we missed something."

She moves off and I make another pass at the shelves. I'm aware that she's now standing on the rug that once held David's body. I think I can still smell his blood, and it sends a tremor of horror through me.

In a moment, she's back beside me. "Nothing. You don't think it's in one of those crates, do you? Jesus. There are a hundred of them. We don't have time to open them all to check."

She starts toward the jumble of wooden crates stacked nearly ceiling high. I follow her, letting my eyes scan the pile. "The dust on these crates is undisturbed. I don't think anyone has been down here-" I start to add since the last time I was. I don't want to have to explain the circumstances of that visit, though, so I drop it.

Tamara frowns. "So what do we do now? Finding that locket is the only way to free Sandra and rid ourselves of Avery once and for all."

There's a flash of movement from the doorway. It catches my eye like the glint of sun on a mirror. Sandra appears at the bottom of the stairs as if conjured up by Tamara's words.

Gone is the vague emptiness that blighted her face, the helpless look of a lost child. She looks at me with the calm detachment of a predator. The neckline of her nightgown has been pulled lower, the outline of her body glows as if light were shining through.

I can't look away. Instantly, my senses spin out of control. She dares me to resist and I know I can't. I'm shivering. She is not close enough to touch me, not physically, and yet I feel her fingers trace a path over my skin, slide down my belly, skim between my thighs. Her fingertips brush against my sex, and I'm shuddering with excitement. She's there, tormenting me with a butterfly's touch. I want more. I want her to finish it. A moan escapes my lips, a plea for release.

A laugh, cold, bitter, breaks the spell.

"Ah, Anna." Her voice. His voice. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

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