Sunday morning, Marisa rose early and went to church. Though her faith in God had always been strong, she rarely went to Sunday services. But now, when her life seemed to be spinning out of her control, she felt a sudden need for the peace and tranquillity the church provided.

Listening to the soothing words of familiar hymns, hearing the minister's fervent prayers on behalf of the congregation, she felt a sense of peace, of renewal, and wondered why she had stayed away so long.

She gazed up at the stained-glass window over the altar. It was a beautiful piece of art, depicting the Savior of the world holding a tiny white lamb in His arms. In the background, a handful of sheep grazed on a hillside.

Sitting there, it was hard to believe the events of the past week, hard to believe that vampires and vampire hunters could possibly exist.

She felt refreshed in mind and spirit when she left the church.

At home, she spent a good hour on the phone, chatting with her parents. They were well, happily involved in bridge games and tennis tournaments.

Her mother wanted to know if she had found anyone special yet; her father wanted to know how things were going at work. She promised to come for a visit over Christmas and hung up, then called her brother in Colorado.

Mike answered the phone, and they talked for a few minutes, catching up on each other's lives. Marisa talked to her nieces and nephews, asked Mike's wife, Barbara, what Nikki wanted for her birthday; then she went into the kitchen to fix lunch.

Humming softly, she mixed mayonnaise with a can of tuna.

She fixed a sandwich, then went into the front room and sat on the floor to read the paper.

VAMPIRE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN, DEATH TOLL RISES TO 13

That quickly, her sense of well-being was destroyed.

She read what was becoming a familiar story. The body of a young woman had been found in the foothills behind Griffith Park, her body drained of blood. There had been no sign of a struggle, no evidence of foul play save for two tiny wounds in her neck.

Her appetite gone, Marisa put her sandwich aside, hating herself for wondering if Grigori was responsible for any of the deaths.

She didn't like to think of the dark side of Grigori, didn't like to admit she was physically attracted to a man who wasn't even alive in the normal sense of the word. And yet he seemed so alive, so vital. And she cared for him far more than seemed wise.

She had held him in her arms last night, felt his grief and his pain as she comforted him.

She wondered where he slept during the day, if his sleep was interspersed with dreams, or if he was shrouded in the silent darkness of death.

She wondered what her parents would say if she told them she had met a vampire. Kissed a vampire...

She glanced at the clock. Almost two. She wondered why Ramsey hadn't called, and then shrugged. Even vampire hunters needed a day off.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Miss Richards?"

"Hi, Edward. Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine." She heard him yawn. "I was out rather late last night."

"Did you find anything?"

"No. I guess you've heard the news?"

She glanced at the newspaper and shuddered. "Yes. It's awful."

He grunted softly. "I'll be over before dark."

"All right. Bye."

Edward showed up just before sunset. They shared a thick-crust pepperoni pizza; then Edward produced a deck of cards and they played canasta. Marisa kept glancing at the clock, wondering where Grigori was.

At ten, Marisa went into the kitchen and made a bowl of popcorn.

Sitting on the sofa, with the bowl between them, they watched the news. It seemed that the stories were always the same: trouble in the Middle East, increasing unemployment, politicians making promises they couldn't keep.

"And in local news, the bodies of two teenage boys were found in an oil field near Huntington Beach just moments ago, bringing the number of killings attributed to the vampire killer to fifteen. Police are asking for anyone who might have information relating to any of these killings to get in touch with them immediately by calling the number on your screen.

"Chief Harrison has issued a statement asking everyone to stay as close to home as possible between the hours of six p.m. and dawn until further notice. When asked if he believed the killings were the work of a vampire, the chief stated an unequivocal No, but said the department was working on the assumption that the person or persons perpetrating these crimes was quite possibly operating under that delusion. In other news..."

"This is all my fault!" Marisa exclaimed. Rising to her feet, she went to the window and drew back the curtains. He was out there somewhere, and it was her fault. Somehow, her blood had revived him, and now he was prowling the city, killing innocent people, and it was her fault, her fault....

A flicker of movement caught her eye. At the same time, she felt again that sense of evil that she had felt twice before, and with it the sense that someone was trying to reach inside her mind.

Marisa... open to me...

"No!"

"Miss Richards, what's wrong?" Edward bolted to his feet, and then he went suddenly still, his senses attuned to the knowledge that a vampire was near.

"He's out there!" She yanked the curtains closed, and quickly moved away from the window.

Ramsey went to the window and peered out, his gaze darting up and down the dark street. Was it Alexi, or Grigori, or perhaps another of the undead?

"I... I heard his voice in my mind. Alexi's voice. Where are you going?"

"To see if I can find him."

"Are you crazy? You can't go out there."

Ramsey sighed. "No need. He's gone."

She couldn't believe he was really gone; the feeling of evil still felt so strong. But Edward had more experience than she did. "You're sure?"

Edward nodded, then resumed his seat. "Any vampire hunters in your family, Miss Richards?"

"Not that I know of."

"Has he tried to speak to you before?"

"No, but I've felt his presence." She crossed her arms, suddenly cold. "It's so creepy. It reminds me of those old science-fiction movies where aliens come to earth and take over people's minds."

"Except Kristov isn't science fiction," Edward muttered.

Grigori arrived a short time later.

"He was here," Edward said. "Just a few minutes ago."

"I know."

"You saw him?"

"Yes. I chased him for several miles, and then I lost him."

Ramsey shook his head. "I've hunted vampires before. I've never had this much trouble tracking one."

Grigori nodded, his attention on Marisa. She seemed distracted. "Are you all right?"

"He spoke to me."

"You saw him?"

"No, no, but I heard him. In my mind."

"What did he say?"

"He wanted me to let him in." She looked up at him, her eyes dark with fear. "It was awful. I feel as if I've been violated somehow."

Grigori didn't say anything, but it seemed as if he backed away from her, over an invisible chasm she couldn't see, couldn't cross.

"It doesn't feel that way when you read my mind," she said softly. "It feels, I don't know, right somehow, when you do it." She looked up at him, silently entreating him to hold her, to shield her weakness with his strength. "I'm afraid."

"I know." He crossed the bridge her words had built between them and took her in his arms. "I won't let him hurt you, Marisa, I swear it."

Ramsey cleared his throat. "I think I'll, uh, go home."

"Good night, Edward," Marisa said. "Thank you for coming over."

"My pleasure." Ramsey looked at Grigori, his eyes filled with reproach. "Call me if you need me."

Grigori nodded, keenly aware that Ramsey's blatant disapproval barely masked the man's jealousy. And yet Ramsey had no reason to be jealous. As much as he, Grigori, might wish it, nothing could come of his growing affection for Marisa. There was no way they could have a life together, no reason to think she would want to spend any more time with him than she had to. He could never be a part of her world; she would not want to share his.

And yet, gazing down at her now, seeing himself reflected in the emerald depths of her eyes, he wished, fleetingly, that he were a mortal man again, capable of giving her a home, a family. But there was no hope of that, and he had no right to think there might be, not now, when Antoinette hovered in the netherworld between life and death.

"It's late," Marisa said, disturbed by his silence, by the tension she felt in the arms that held her. "I think I'd better go to bed, too. I've got to get up early for work tomorrow."

With a nod, Grigori let her go. "Sleep well, Marisa."

He watched her walk away, and though he knew it was only a trick of his mind, it seemed as though she took all the warmth of the world with her.

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