"What shall be done about his sister, my Lord? And the children?"

"That depends on what his actions are likely to be. You were correct when you said he would react favourably when we threatened them. In truth he reacted more strongly to the threat against them than the threat against himself.

Do you think he will attempt to contact them?"

"As soon as he can, my Lord."

"Then we will have to establish our presence. He cannot be allowed to think that we have no actual power over them. What do you suggest?"

"Methods he would understand, my Lord. An audible phone tap to begin with, so he will know all his communication with them is monitored. I also suggest some familiars place themselves in a position of watching. He must often communicate over unsecured lines. He works extensively with subtle codes. Quite likely he might have some way of alerting her."

"And afterward?"

"If she does not try to elude us and we do not have to contact her directly, she is nothing to us."

"Still, from what you have told us of him, he is unusual for a human. Are the children related to him by blood?"

"They are, my Lord." "And what are their ages?"

"Steven is twelve. Campbell is ten," said King. His research had been extensive.

"Very good. When both Adrienne and the assassin have been given their respective deaths, kill the sister and bring the children to me. A decade or two as familiars and if they share any of their uncle's attributes, they will make worthy additions. Yes?"

"As you wish, Lord Diego."

"Delightful." Diego waved his hand at the unconscious form of Helman, his claws flickering through the air like scythes. "Take him away. Start him on his journey."

King picked up Helman as if the unconscious form were only the weight of its empty clothes and carried him through the doors at the end of the meeting room. The doors were closed behind him by two young men, their eyes dark and sunken, with black cloth wrapped around their necks: Diego's familiars.

"And now we shall deal with the Jesuit who dared come too close and spy on our place of meeting," Diego announced.

The ten others at the table agreed. They had removed their own masks and hand cloths as Diego and King had decided Helman's fate. All, like Diego, bore delicate, needle-sharp fangs and white, polished claws. It was a full gathering of the Eastern Meeting. The last had been fourteen years ago to plan a foray into the politics of humans which had ended disastrously five years after it had begun in an unprecedented scandal at the highest levels. The reasons for this gathering were even more urgent.

The first reason was Adrienne St. Clair, but Diego was satisfied with King's arrangements, and felt the matter was settled. The threat had been neutralised and the Conclave was safe from within. But from without, danger grew stronger each passing night. Something had happened within the Jesuits of the Seventh Grade. The equilibrium of centuries was being threatened and, ironically, it had taken the heretic woman to bring it to the Conclave's attention.

The fiasco at Heathrow was, without question, the work of the Jesuits. By itself, it was meaningless. Such attacks occurred from time to time, from both sides. But what was chilling in its implication was that for the first time in over four hundred years of conflict, the Jesuits had involved outsiders, and those outsiders had been told what to expect.

The British soldiers had carried crossbows: weapons of the Final Death.

For the past two hundred years, the conflict had been contained. Both the Jesuits and the Conclave had skirmished incessantly, but each had kept their battles secret, for each held awesome weapons against the other. The Jesuits of the Seventh Grade knew the true nature of the Conclave and through the world-wide missions of their brothers of the first six grades, that truth could be told to the world of humans. Some of these humans would believe and the Conclave would be crushed, not by the strength or intellect of humans, but by their numbers.

But before the Conclave would let that happen, the catacombs of Rome would also be exposed to the world: the sordid truths of actions taken by the hypocrites who for two thousand years had existed in the Jesuits' Holy Church, were catalogued and ready. The yber had also moved within that same church for generations. Documents existed concerning certain saints, certain phenomena, and, more damning in these times, certain political expediencies. One of those expediencies was known to the world by a special name. And if the Conclave were threatened by any revelations by the Jesuits of the Seventh Grade, then those documents would find their way into the hands of those who would not hide them.

Madmen, removed from the seat of the Church's power, but acting for it nonetheless, had drafted those documents so they might survive the storm that threatened Europe. Those documents engineered the insanity that followed. The insanity that the world called the Holocaust.

The Conclave might not survive, but the Jesuits' beloved Church would be swept into oblivion with it.

Thus each had battled, constrained from using their ultimate secrets against each other. Until Heathrow. Until Adrienne St. Clair. Lord Diego would learn why the enemy had involved humans in their conflict or the bound and captive Jesuit his familiars now brought before him would pray for eternal damnation for release from what Diego would do to him.

The Jesuit's arms were tied behind his back and he was firmly held on each side by the familiars. He was old. The hair that was left to him was sparse and white. Though he appeared frail, he stood proudly before the massive table.

But his eyes were closed and his mouth moved silently in the words of prayer.

Diego walked around the table and stood in front of the Jesuit. He held his claws lightly against the face of the praying man. Slowly he pressed into the flesh, depressing it, deeper, until tiny wellings of red formed at each claw's tip.

"Open your eyes, Father Benedict," he hissed. "Look into the eyes of Hell." The last word was screamed. The startled Jesuit jerked backward, eyes opened on the hideous fanged monster before him. His face was shredded by the knife- sharp talons.

Father Benedict wailed in agony, blood streaming from ten deep slashes down his face. Diego lifted one blood spattered claw and slowly guided it to the Jesuit's left eye.

"Don't you like my face, Priest? Does your eye offend thee?"

The Jesuit strained backward against the solid grip of the familiars, his eyes transfixed by the closing tip of Diego's outstretched claw.

"What is it your bible says about your eye offending thee? What is it, Priest?"

Father Benedict mumbled prayers feverishly, not moving his eyes from the evil point inches from his face.

Diego's other hand shot out and slapped the Jesuit with a crack like lightning. Blood sprayed from the wounds of his face.

"What is it? What is it? What does your bible say?"

Father Benedict looked into the eyes of Hell, looked into the face of Diego. "Pluck it out," he whispered.

Diego's claw thrust out before the Jesuit could blink. It sliced through his eye, gouging savagely. The eyeball burst from its socket, collapsing as its inner fluid ran down the Jesuit's face, mixing with the still-dripping blood. Diego pulled back with a sudden twist. The upper eyelid hung grotesquely over the gaping socket like peeling paint. The Jesuit's screams were deafening at first, but changed quickly to deep sobs, obscured by the constant mouthing of prayers which still he continued.

"Perhaps if you thought of something to say to us other than your cursed pleas for help from your insipid god, I might do something about the pain. And you would still have at least one eye left by sunrise."

Father Benedict said nothing. He squinted through his right eye. It was impossible for him to open it wider because of the massive damage to the other.

"What are you to your god that he would let this happen to you, Priest? What can this be worth?"

The Jesuit, finally, spoke. "Salvation." The word was garbled. Blood and other liquids gathered in his mouth.

"I can give you that," said Diego, stepping away slightly, decreasing the threat.

"There is no salvation from the devil."

"No, Father Benedict. I am serious. If you wish 'salvation', as you call it, let me make a proposal."

"Never."

"Where is the famed logic of your order? Listen first, then answer. To begin, you must understand that tonight you will die. Your uncivilised behaviour before our Meeting makes your death a necessity. Do you understand?"

The Jesuit had no reaction.

"What we have left to deal with then, is the manner of your death. It could be easy and clean, and delayed long enough for you to complete whatever rites of contrition you think necessary. No doubt your god will greet you at the gates of heaven. Or else, I could give you to them." Diego gestured to the others seated behind the table. "And you would the in a manner that I'm sure you'd find repugnant. And then, Father Benedict, after you had died, I would chain you in a small cell below us. And each night I would stand by the door and listen to you rage and bellow against the thirst. And Priest, believe me, it is a terrible thirst. Then, when you could stand it no more, I would send in children.

Do you understand, Father Benedict? The blessed innocents would walk in to give themselves up to you, and you will rend them and consume them until you are sated and full of shame. Then I shall chain you again in the midst of the ruin of their bodies, and we shall all wait until the thirst returns and we do it again and again and again. Throughout eternity, Father Benedict. Eternity. Do you understand?"

The Jesuit's face was pale. "No," he whispered. "Please, no." The mumbled prayers had stopped.

"It's very simple to avoid. Tell us why you staged the attack at the English airport. Tell us why you involved the British soldiers. A few questions. A few simple answers. And the pain will stop. We'll give you a small injection. You'll last long enough for us to deliver you to another who can give you your last rites, if that's what concerns you. You can confess everything. Your god will understand. The flesh is weak. He knows. He forgives." Diego's voice was almost calm, almost reassuring, then he dropped it to a dry hissing whisper. "But he'll never forgive the children, Priest.

Never."

The Jesuit was silent, unmoving. He stood only because the familiars held him so tightly.

Diego held up a talon. "Madeline. My patience is gone. He is yours."

A woman rose from behind the table and came toward Father Benedict. Her mouth was wide. Her lips were moist and her mouth was gaping. The fangs within glistened.

"You already know why we're after St. Clair," the Jesuit said, looking at Diego in desperation.

"Of course we know already," Diego lied easily, convincingly. He motioned Madeline to stay back. "You won't be telling us anything new. You won't be betraying anyone. Confirm it for us, and you shall have peace."

"The final war is coming." The Jesuit's voice was weak.

"Armageddon?" Diego seemed amused. "Again?"

"The signs are there. It has been foretold."

"Forgive me, Priest, but you're babbling. Has there been a rapture? Has the anti-christ announced himself? Have there been more stars over Bethlehem?"

"You are all of you the Antichrist. The forces of darkness are combining. The threat grows. The End Days are here."

For an instant, Diego was chilled. Could the Jesuits have heard about the yber's Final Plan? Is that what drove them?

The Jesuits were superstitious fools. The Bible spoke of such a conflict and in each generation the wise among them decided theirs was the time in which it would come to pass. But still it worried him. Perhaps St. Clair knew. Perhaps she had already contacted the Jesuits.

"What forces of darkness do you see combining, Priest? Tell us who our allies are against you."

"This country rises from the Pit to join you. The beast rises from the west."

"What do you mean, 'this country'?"

"The United States. We know that Adrienne St. Clair is your contact with Washington. It can only mean you are to combine and the power of this nation will be subverted to destruction. To damnation."

Diego sputtered on the word. "Washington? We are 'combining' with the Americans? What nonsense are you speaking?" He grabbed Father Benedict by his neck. The talons dug deep. "Who told you this? How?" Diego glanced frantically back over his shoulder to assess the others. All looked as confused as he.

"Contact has been observed. You cannot convince me otherwise. These are the End Days."

Diego squeezed harder. "They are the end days, Priest. For you. Now tell me how you know this or you shall be sucking the innocent blood of children before the moon changes.

The Jesuit was gasping, his face turning purple from the unrelenting pressure. "Word comes from Rome. St. Clair must be stopped. At all costs. Must be..."

Diego released his grip.

"From Rome? Rome wants St. Clair stopped at all costs? Because she is representing the Conclave to Washington?"

"Yes."

"Es increible." Diego turned away from him. "Madeline, take the poor fool from his misery."

Madeline moved in front of the Jesuit. Her slender, taloned fingers stroked gently across his blood-drenched face.

She brought the coated fingers to her mouth and slowly, deeply sucked on them. Her eyes held him. Father Benedict shouted, "The injection. You said I would be spared this. The Last Rites. You promised me."

Diego resumed his seat in the middle of the table. He bared his fangs in a smile. "Look into the eyes of Hell, Father Benedict. Look deeply, and you will see yourself."

Madeline pulled on the simple white shift she wore. It floated down around her feet. She stood naked before the Jesuit. Her body was the perfect form of just awakening womanhood, and had been for more than eighty years.

"Nous connaissons ce que vous revez," she whispered to him, and reached out her moistened hand to his groin. And the Jesuit, his body old and torn, facing the demons he had fought from afar for the fifty years he served the Holy Father, God have mercy, he responded to her touch. The power of the yber reached into him, shaming him. She squeezed at his hardness, pressed her body tightly against him, and forced his bloody mouth to her own. Her fangs cut deeply into his lips and he felt her suck upon him, felt the constrictions as she hungrily swallowed, the constrictions of her hand as she pulled upon him. Her lips trailed blood from his mouth as she moved across him.

"We know what you dream," she whispered into his ear, her breath hot, exciting him more. Her fangs sliced into the soft flesh of his ear lobe. She moved further down.

The Jesuit, his voice a feeble murmur, said, "Oh God, oh yes." And then she had entered his neck and he spurted into her as she sucked and swallowed and filled herself with him. And when she was sated the others took her place.

Father Benedict's body lay crumpled and empty on the floor of the meeting room. He was drained before he could share in their special Communion. He would not rise again. Ellen, the last of the creatures to fall upon him, stepped back from him, a red flush shining out from the pallor of her cheeks.

"So, Ellen, what do you make of his rantings?" Diego had not partaken. He had been deep in thought while the others attended the priest.

"Insane," said Ellen. "They are all insane." She wiped at a dribble of the Jesuit's blood at the corner of her mouth.

"Of course," agreed Diego. "But whatever their reasons, which in truth I cannot understand, they seem as determined to kill St. Clair as we are. It would be a shame to waste such holy dedication."

"What are you thinking?" asked Madeline. Still naked, she sprawled back in a chair, her body relaxed and languorous. She was gorged.

"I think a message to Rome is in order. We'll use this priest's name and tell them where St. Clair has landed. It should be a few nights, at least, before they miss him. And just in case Mr. King's human is not as capable as he appears to be, we shall even tell them that the human is one of her familiars." Diego smiled. Everything was falling into place perfectly. "Then we shall be saved the bother of eliminating him ourselves and with the Jesuits so inexperienced in these matters, it's bound to be a messy affair. It shall be amusing to see how they contrive to stay out of the humans'

newscasts."

The others joined in Diego's amusement. The Jesuits were such fools.

"And then," said Diego, "all that remains is to find out why they think there is a connection between St. Clair and Washington." And to find out if she knows about the Final Plan, he thought.

"Couldn't she have contacted them?" asked Ellen. "Wouldn't they have the facilities she was seeking?"

"No, she wouldn't trust them. She would be afraid of their military and the uses they might have for her. No, I'm certain of it. She would not contact them." Unless she knew what the Conclave planned.

"Would they have somehow contacted her?" The question was unthinkable but Diego was glad Madeline had asked it.

"For the sake of the Conclave, it cannot be true. But that is what we must find out." Or had the Americans, with all their industry and science, stumbled upon it for themselves? That could explain it. They knew the horrible future waiting for them. They saw St. Clair as an ally. And she would be. Alone among the yber and the humans of the world, she could destroy the Final Plan, preserve the humans' future.

Diego waved his hand to the larger of his two familiars. The youth began to unwrap the black cloth from his neck as he approached his mentor.

First Lord Diego would feed. And then he would arrange the message to Rome. It must be a message which could not be misunderstood. It must enrage them. The Conclave must stop St. Clair at all costs. Even if it meant somehow collaborating with their hated enemies the Jesuits.

She could destroy everything, Diego thought as his fangs slipped into the willing flesh of his familiar.