Adrienne paused in front of the backlit directory showing a man and a woman seated at a table surrounded by smiling waiters bearing overloaded plates. Most of the restaurants seemed to be located on the floor above the lobby level. She rode the escalators up. She noticed a few humans staring at her when they thought she would not be aware of them. Some of them thought she had just had a terrible shock. Adrienne didn't care. She just hoped that none of the watchers were employees of the hotel who might think she needed help. Or who thought she was not the type of person they wanted here. It could be dangerous.

The floor above the lobby was milling with men and women in dress suits and gowns. Some type of gathering was taking place, perhaps a convention dinner. Adrienne made her way to the woman's washroom. A washroom in an expensive restaurant would have been better, but it was difficult to get by the staff. Hotels were far easier to get into.

The washroom was without an attendant. Adrienne busied herself by a sink. She had washed her hands five times before the conditions were right.

The washroom was empty. Then one woman walked in. Her coat had been checked earlier and she wore only a sleeveless dress. She looked at Adrienne, a bit apprehensive at her strange, pale appearance, but then moved straight for the nearest toilet stall.

Then, before anyone else came in, Adrienne was on her instantly. Her hand flew to the base of the woman's skull, thumb and forefinger digging savagely into the pressure points of either side of the spine. The woman stiffened, throwing her head back and gasping in surprise. Adrienne's knuckles descended crushingly on the side of her head.

The woman went limp.

Adrienne lifted her effortlessly and put her into the stall. She lifted the woman's purse from where it had fallen on the floor. It was a silver lame evening bag, Adrienne couldn't be seen walking out with it. It didn't suit her stolen coat and it was too big to slip into her pocket.

She heard the outer door swing open. She dropped the purse on the unconscious woman's lap and backed out of the stall, shutting the door. The inner door opened and another woman walked in. Adrienne ducked her head and went back to the sink. The unconscious woman's stall door swung open, unlocked. The other woman walked over to another stall, deliberately not looking through the open door. When Adrienne heard the other woman's door lock she rushed back to the open stall, opened the bag and jammed the change purse and a wad of papers into her coat pocket.

She ripped some toilet paper out of the dispenser, folded it into a small square and held it against the doorframe as she jammed the door shut. This time it held.

She was out of the hotel within a minute. There had been no cries of alarm.

She flagged a cab and asked to be taken to the Eaton Centre: a downtown shopping complex where the stores remained open evenings. Sitting in the back seat of the cab, she pulled out the change purse and checked its contents. If there had been no money inside, the cab driver would not wake up until tomorrow. But there was a twenty dollar bill and some smaller ones inside. Plus a card case with four charge cards and a driver's license. More than enough to get the items she required.

Her first purchase was a pen. Then she sat in another washroom for half an hour, practising the signatures on the back of the charge cards.

An hour later, she had new clothes, a new coat, and her face looked like any human's. It was time to contact Helman.

Helman sat against the far wall in a dark corner of the bar off the lobby of his hotel. He tried not to think about what was going on in his hotel room. He had told his story to Mr. Rice, just as Adrienne had told him. Rice's voice was so peculiar that Helman was not able to determine by its tone if Rice believed him or not. Finally Rice had told Helman to leave his room so it could be 'cleaned'. Helman was free to go for now: But he must be prepared for immediate contact at any time in the future. Helman had the feeling that Rice was going to try to kill him that evening, but he had no choice but to wait for Adrienne to contact him. At least the bar was an open, public area. He should he safe from a direct attack as long as he stayed in it. And for afterward, he had already equipped himself. The gift shop in the corner of the lobby had had a selection of religious items. Helman had a cross in each pocket of his coat, one with a figure of Jesus on it, the other unadorned. He wore a small crucifix around his neck. He felt like a fool for doing it, and he still felt afraid. Despite what the woman had told him, he had no real conception of the power of the Conclave. The image that he did have was rooted in the knowledge of such things that had come from the depths of his childhood. Part of him felt he was living out a nightmare. But the reality of his fear was that each time he had gone to the pay phone by the bar counter this night, his sister's number in New Hampshire had rung and had not been answered. He hoped it was Weston who had reached her first. He didn't want to consider the other possibility. He hoped his story had restrained them.

Rice had wanted the head of Adrienne St. Clair.

Helman had shut his eyes, and said he didn't have it. "I saw the lab, assassin. Was she not in it?"

"I think so. I saw her go in. But after I went in, after the explosion, I think she got away."

"Did you see her? Did she see you?"

"I didn't see anything. Except for her clothes, I think they were hers."

"Her clothes, assassin?" Rice's breathing had picked up at that. For the first time in the conversation, Helman had felt he had a chance of getting away with it "Yes, her clothes. I don't understand it. They were lying in a spread-out heap by a desk that was smashed in the explosion."

"What condition were they in?"

"Odd. There was a big rod of steel, from one of the equipment stands, stuck through them all, and they were all oily or greasy or something. Covered in something odd."

"Was it blood, assassin?"

"No, it wasn't blood. It was white. Sort of like a jelly. I don't know what happened. Maybe it was some type of flammable substance they kept around in the lab and the explosion sprayed it on her. There were a bunch of small fires.

Maybe she got out of her clothes because she was afraid it would ignite. But I don't know where she could have gone without clothes. It was cold last night."

"I'm sure it was, assassin. On such a cold night, why did you not immediately return to your hotel room?"

"I was being cautious. The police, or whoever they were, responded to the explosion a lot faster than the fire department was able to. Almost as if they had her under surveillance to begin with. Maybe connected with that fellow who came after me with a gun the other day." Helman now knew that the man had been Cook, an agent of Weston's.

"Quite possibly, assassin. Quite possibly. The woman is very resourceful. She may have had contingency arrangements. I suggest you return to your home, to New Hampshire. We shall contact you when we have located the woman again. Be prepared to act immediately or there will be the most serious repercussions. Do you understand, assassin?"

Helman understood. And he was quite sure he understood what was going through Rice's mind. Adrienne St. Clair had been impaled by the flying steel rod Helman had described sticking through her clothing. Her body had dissolved, just as the body of that long-ago yber had dissolved, when the tank shell had exploded against a wall of stone, sending wicked shards in all directions, including the direction of his heart.

Helman trembled slightly as he reviewed the conversation again. Perhaps he had gotten away with it. But if Rice and the Conclave believed he had completed the contract, what were they planning for him now? Death in Toronto?

Were they waiting for him to return to the States so they could get his sister and Steven and Camp-bell all at the same time? Adrienne would know. He agonised in the wait for her.

At eight o'clock, the time Rice had told him, he left the bar and returned to the room. The familiars, he supposed, had done their job. He was right. The room was spotless. Nothing lurked in the bathroom, nothing hid under any of the furniture. It struck Helman just as he had gotten out of the elevator on his floor that he might be stepping into a trap; Rice might have phoned the police and had them lie in wait for the brutal murderer who kept a headless body in his hotel room. But he reconsidered. That was too messy a way to deal with him. Whichever way the Conclave chose, it would just involve him and them. And there would be no chance to tell his story.

Helman was not sure what to do next. There were no messages for him at the desk or the switchboard. Had they captured her? Killed her already? Why hadn't she contacted him?

He jerked around when he heard the tapping on the glass. He pulled back on the closed curtains and the face of Adrienne St. Clair looked back through the window. His new room was on the eighteen floor. And there were no balconies, no ledges. Yet she was outside his window.

She motioned to him to open the window. It was an older hotel and the windows were the land that still slid. She poured through the window like a snake. The image disturbed him.

"I thought I'd let you save the window this time," she said. She brushed at white streaks of dust which lined the dark quilted jacket she wore.

"How did you get up here? Where have you been?" Helman had too many questions to ask all at once. She looked up from her brushing. "Yber muscles are very efficient. Anywhere there's a small crack or a space between bricks, we can support ourselves with just our fingers and toes. Now you tell me what's been going on in here. I watched them clean out a body. They looked to be familiars."

Helman told her about what he had found in the bathroom. He repeated the conversation he had had with Rice.

"And you feel sure he believed you?" she asked.

"Fairly sure. It's hard to tell. In any case he's given me permission to leave Toronto. It will be at least twenty-four hours before he misses me back where I'm supposed to be."

"Your sister's farm, you mean?"

"Yes. Now where do we have to go? You said be prepared to travel."

St. Clair looked worried. "You mean you don't want to go check on your sister?"

Helman saw the trap he had set for himself. He couldn't say so, but he was leaving his sister in the hands of Weston and his men. If he returned, it might compromise their position. And besides, he couldn't undertake any action that might deter Adrienne from her plans. Knowledge of her plans was what Weston was demanding as payment for protecting Miriam and the boys. He lied his way out of it as best he could.

"I talked with her this morning. She hasn't seen anything unusual. The boys are fine. What advantage would the Conclave have by killing them now that Rice has released me from my contract?"

Adrienne thought of Lord Diego. He led the hunt for her. It was undoubtedly he who headed the manipulation of Helman. He must succeed to restore his standing in the Conclave.

"I know the yber who is directing King and Rice and the group in New York. His name is Diego. Lord Eduardo Diego y Rey. It is a personal thing between us, and Diego is quite fanatical when it comes to dealing with his enemies.

You are his enemy now, Granger. He won't just stop at destroying you. He'll destroy whatever you hold dearest, too.

He'll destroy your family. And Granger," this time she reached out her hand to touch him, "almost all of his familiars began with him as children. He loves children. He says their blood is far sweeter than adults'."

She felt the tenseness sweep through him like a roaring wave. His face paled. But he couldn't speak to her about Weston.

"I don't believe he'll consider me an enemy," Helman said. "They're going to have to check to see if you really did escape. You could have left your clothes with the steel rod as I described in an attempt to fool us all. If I were them, I'd check on that, I'd keep the human assassin in reserve in case we need him again." His head was pounding. Their blood is far sweeter. Dear God, he felt sick. "I can serve my family best, save them perhaps, by helping you. You said prepare to travel. I hope that means you have some sort of plan because I don't know what to do." Far sweeter, he thought, far sweeter.

Adrienne saw Helman was close to tears. She drew near to him, looking up at him. "They'll be fine, Granger.

You're right. Diego won't do a thing until he is certain I'm dead or alive. As long as I stay hidden, they'll all be fine."

She held him, feeling awkward. Not sure how hard she should squeeze a human. Not sure if it was the right thing to do to calm him. But he had been through so much. So much that was not part of the world he knew. She held him, but she could tell his mind was spinning. He didn't seem to know she was there.

"Granger, did you find out about the bodyguards? The men you said were fighting the Jesuits. Did you learn anything more about them?"

In his confusion, the desire to survive still struggled to remain clear. He must lie to her. He must not tell about Weston. He must lie.

"I caught up with one of them. I questioned him. Rice confirmed his answers. He seemed amused. The Conclave hired other assassins for you. He wouldn't tell me how many. I kept running into them wherever you went." He realised she had wrapped her arms around him. For a moment he accepted it, like closing his eyes for the last ten seconds before the alarm goes off, pretending it will never ring and disturb him. But then the situation won out and he pulled back from her; She released him immediately, embarrassed. She didn't know what thoughts were going through him. Or her. Images of Jeffery came to her.

"Why would they fight back at the Jesuits?"

Helman lied well. "The one I questioned today said he was worried the Jesuits would capture you. He said he had to keep that from happening so he would be able to get at you himself. Decapitate you." Something in his story, or his answer, didn't ring true to her. But for now she had to accept whatever he said. He was the only one who could get her to the ultimate sanctuary. Perhaps it was the pressure he was under, the tension she had felt in him as she had held him. That was it. Nothing more.

"You do have a plan, don't you?" he asked.

There was almost desperation in his voice. What human had had to face the Conclave before? And lasted this long?

She felt sorry for him. He was caught up in things he might never understand. But he was so important to their resolution, and willing to help her cause. At first, she was sure it was because she had put him under the pain of death.

But now, she felt, there was something else driving him. She couldn't express it.

"Yes, Granger, I do have a plan." A plan of desperation, she thought. Few other yber had achieved it.

"We shall go to the Father for help," she said.

"The Father?" asked Helman. "An yber father? Hell be able to help us? He's had experience with this type of thing before?"

Adrienne nodded. She felt tenseness inside in a different way from the way the humans felt it; the way she had felt it in her first life. But still she felt it now, crawling through her like a ravaging beast, digging into every part of her. yber had control over their bodies. They didn't tremble: But in her mind, she shook.

"He is the oldest living yber."

The question hung silent and unspoken between them.

"More than nine hundred years," she said. "He has experience in everything."

Eight.

The girl was dying. In minutes, the stress created by the shock of blood loss would strain her young heart beyond its capacity. On his bed, Lord Diego lay beside her, watching in fascination.

The girl was no more than twelve, her pale, naked body just beginning to show signs of maturity; a maturity that would never come. Diego had consumed her; drawing from her her childhood, her womanhood, and her blood. Now he watched as her life itself passed from her body.

New fork, January 18 Within Diego was the power to bring her back. By sharing the Communion of his blood she could be born again into the world of yber. He was the taker and the giver of life, and, using that power, he toyed with her.

Delicately he ran his razor-sharp talon across the vein of his wrist. White liquid, the blood of the yber welled out from the separated flesh. He gathered it on his outstretched finger like sap. In the time it took for his finger to be coated, the wound had healed without trace.

Diego dangled his finger over the face of the dying child. Her eyes had rolled back and the unseeing whites stared uselessly from her half-closed lids. Her mouth was open, parched from laboured breathing. Into it Diego dripped the blood of life. The girl's reaction was instantaneous.

Her eyes clenched shut as the first shock of the substance burned its way into her. Her mouth stretched open like a fish struggling out of water, desperate for more of what her body somehow knew was its only chance at survival.

Groans rose from her. Her body arched as though in passion. Diego moved his hand away from her, slowly twisting it back and forth to keep the white fluid from dripping off. He waited until the reaction diminished, the child once again slipping close to oblivion. Then he held his finger above her mouth again. The blood of the yber entered her. Her body convulsed, desperate for life.

She is so strong, he thought. The children were always the ones who would last the longest. He marvelled at it.

Once he had kept a boy child on the brink of extinction and rebirth for an entire evening. Eventually, he had relented and decided such hunger for life should be rewarded. He had bared his neck to the boy, to let him share in Communion. But it had been too late. The child had died his first and only death. Since then, Diego had never relented, all his children had but one destination once he had taken them to his bed. He held his finger back from the girl, wiping it clean on the blood-stained sheets. She shuddered once, and was still. Her destination had been reached.

Diego pushed her useless body from the bed. It lay upon the floor like a broken doll. In the daytime, his familiars would remove it. The human who had provided her for the honoured guest of the Eastern Meeting would demand more payment, no doubt. The girl would not be returned in usable condition. But the Conclave had more than enough wealth to reimburse him a billion times over, if they chose. Perhaps this close to the fruition of their Final Plan, they could simply dispose of him as well. Soon the order would be changed, and Diego could have whomever he wanted, whenever he chose. The feeling that thought gave him was good. Almost as good as the feeling of the child's blood in what now served as his belly.

He liked the feeling. He had spent his first two hundred years as an yber sleeping in rotting coffins and mausoleums.

Each dawn he had passed into dreamless unconsciousness fearing the stake and the axe. Too many times he had returned to his sanctuary to find the accursed priests and the burning garlic blocking his way. But he had survived.

Two hundred years of living like an animal, and he had survived.

The next two hundred years had been far better. He had met others. Not just others of his kind, but others like him.

yber who had not lost their sanity in nights of hunting and being hunted. Yber who had not totally turned themselves into the demons of Hell most believed they were. Some yber had maintained their intellect. With them he had formed the Conclave and struck back at the maddening Society of Jesus.

Soon there had been wealth and property. Dry, secure sanctuaries to spend the long days in safety. Travel and gatherings at night. And familiars. Always there, were familiars. Yber no longer had had to hunt for survival. There were always enough humans who would give themselves willingly-for a chance at Communion and the immortality it promised. And if the nights were too easy, the humans always had wars. The homelands, Korea, Vietnam. Today Africa and South America both offered the opportunity of the hunt, the drinking of fear-charged blood. The savaged bodies, drained of blood, were never questioned. The yber roamed free. And soon they would be freer still. The Final Plan was almost complete. Only Adrienne St. Clair had the power to alter its inevitable outcome. But she could not last long against him.

Diego stretched out on the bed like a cat. The girl's blood was being metabolised within him, restoring him. He felt at peace.

In a sense, he supposed he should be thankful to the woman. He had felt attracted to her when she had been presented to him for the first time in Geneva at the end of the last war in the homelands. At the time she had been with Jeffery, and Diego had kept his feelings to himself. He had lived for four hundred years and knew that nothing remained the same. Despite their love for each other, Diego could see that within a century at most, Jeffery and Adrienne would drive themselves apart. And then, Diego had thought, I will have her. Immortality tended to make the yber very patient.

To keep her near, he had vouched for her during the time of the slaying of the Unbidden. He had offered her and her mentor the use of his Spanish villa. He had supported their initial investigations into the nature of yber. Those investigations had made possible the Final Plan the Conclave was now embarked on. Those investigations had also threatened the Conclave's existence.

To himself only, Diego thought Adrienne was right. Whatever explanation there was for the existence of the yber, it lay in observable, understandable nature, not within the fire and brimstone of the Pit. But the Conclave ruled by fire and brimstone. The yber were content with their place within the supernatural realm the Conclave had created for them. The only disadvantage was dealing with the Jesuits, who also ruled themselves with knowledge of Hell. Some things of the human world Diego would miss when the order changed. But he would not miss the Jesuits. He would see to it that they were among the first to be consumed. He liked the feeling that thought gave him, too. He sprawled upon the bed for a long time, thinking thoughts about the coming destruction of the humans. The centuries of struggle would soon bear fruit. Beside him on the floor, the body of the girl was unmoving.

Eventually, Diego sensed the presence of another yber beyond the bedroom door. There was no knock. There didn't have to be.

"Come," he said aloud.

Mr. King entered, still in the make-up and clothing of his human disguise. His refined yber senses told him immediately that the child on the floor was dead; he completely ignored her. He did not feel jealous over this display of Diego's privileges. He preferred his prey older.

"We have received a message from Toronto," he said.