"I'm not two years old, you know!"

Jenny smiled. "If you were, none of the guys would try to lure you to your doom."

"What a way to put it. As if a little petting is doom." "Who said it was? But you get in one of those bedrooms with some guy who's been guzzling hooch until he's ossified and, believe me, it's doom."

Lily shot her an angry look. "You mean Rolfe, don't you? Why do you always pick on him? Are you jealous because he pays attention to me?"

Jenny sighed. "I didn't mean Rolfe in particular."

But Lily knew she was lying. She nursed her anger until Jenny parked their yellow roadster in back of the frat house and they heard, from the open windows, a banjo and voices singing "You'd Be Surprised." The lively music coaxed Lily into a party mood and she was smiling by the time they walked through the door into the smoky, jack-o-lantern-lit room.

It seemed as though half the college was at the party--already the room was too crowded to dance. When Lily tasted the punch she could tell it was spiked and she hesitated. As Jenny kept reminding her, you had to be careful what you drank--some of the home-made booze was lethal. After a moment she shrugged and finished the glass. A girl had to take a few chances and she needed the light-headed, nothing-mattered feeling alcohol brought.

To hell with those old men in Washington who passed laws like prohibition, trying to keep people from having fun. She drank a second glass of punch.

When she was half-finished with the third, a Roman gladiator offered her a Pall Mall and Lily, not wanting anyone to suspect who she was, took the cigarette, turning quickly away before he could offer to light it. Try as she might to get over her fear, fire anywhere near her--even a match--could panic her. She didn't, couldn't smoke for that reason and unobtrusively disposed of the cigarette.

She'd already identified Rolfe as the pirate with a patch over his eye but since he had an arm around a girl dressed as a Theda Bara vamp, she didn't go near him until the spiked punch gave her the courage.

"Why dally with commoners," she asked him haughtily, disguising her voice as best she could, "when a princess stands before you?"

Rolfe gave a whoop of laughter, let go of the dark-haired vamp and caught Lily around the waist. "And what's your name, Princess?" he demanded.

"My royal heritage forbids me to tell."

"Just how royal are you?"

"That's for you to find out," she said, greatly daring. He laughed again, squeezed her waist and led her into a corner. "Do princesses drink?" he asked, pulling out a silver flask, unscrewing the top and offering the flask to her.

"Do birds fly?" she replied pertly and put the flask to her lips, thankful the mask hid her involuntary grimace as the fiery liquor scalded her throat. Rolfe took back the flask and took several healthy swigs.

"Hey, hey," he said. "This bird is damn close to flying right now." Handing her the flask again, he urged, "Come on, Princess, catch up so we can fly together."

Her head already whirling from her previous drinks, she made a pretense of swallowing.

"Atta girl." He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.

It wasn't at all what she imagined a lover's kiss would be, his mouth was open and he shoved his tongue between her lips, invading her mouth. He tasted of the liquor in the flask, making her stomach churn unpleasantly. She struggled away from him and fled, desperately seeking fresh air.

The room spun dizzily, the crowd hemmed her in, trapping her. Grinning malevolently, the jack-o-lanterns stared at her from smoky yellow eyes. Her tiara was knocked askew by a Viking's hand and she swayed, whimpering, feeling more and more nauseated. Where was Jenny, why didn't she come to her rescue?

Suddenly a black-gloved hand grasped hers, a man's strong arm supported her. She leaned against his black-clad shoulder gratefully, not looking at him, not caring for the moment who her rescuer was.

"I'm going to be sick," she moaned.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her through the crowd, up a stairs and eased her onto a bed. When she tried to look at him-was he actually wearing a cape?--everything blurred so she closed her eyes, gratefully descending into a spinning darkness.

Something kept pulling up her skirt, forcing her from the dark refuge. "Don't," she begged, opening her eyes reluctantly.

Terror stopped her breath as, in the dim light from a window, she stared into the fanged face of a man dressed all in black. He sat on the bed beside her, his hand under her dress.

"No," she moaned.

"Too late, pretty lady," he said in a sepulcheral voice, his words slurred. "You're the vampire's victim." He laughed hollowly. "Vampires drink blood."

He must be wearing a mask. Lily tried to force herself to reach up, grab the mask from his face and push him away. But fear paralyzed her. What if she touched him and it really was his face?

She couldn't move or speak. When the ghastly face lowered to hers, she tried to scream but the sound died in her throat.

Jenny turned from the group she'd been talking to and scanned the room. Where was Lily? With that glittering tiara she'd been easy to spot but now there was no sign of her. The last Jenny had seen her was in a corner with Rolfe the pirate. Now she couldn't find him, either.

She tried to watch over Lily despite her sister's resentment because Lily was so naive. Surely Lily, after she'd been warned, had enough sense not to let Rolfe take her upstairs. Or did she? Jenny began tunneling through the crowd toward the door.

When she reached it, to her surprise she found Rolfe sitting on the floor with a dark-haired girl in his lap. "Where's Lily?" she asked. "The princess."

He looked up, his eyes glazed, and shrugged.

Jenny went into the foyer and paused, wondering where to look next--the powder room?

From upstairs, faint and muted, came a scream. Without stopping to wonder if it was her sister, Jenny hiked up her witch's skirt and hurriedly climbed the stairs, calling Lily's name.

There was no answer. On the second floor some doors were open, some closed. The rooms with open doors were empty. The first closed door she tried was locked.

"Lily?" she called, rattling the knob.

"Not in here," a man's voice said.

About to turn away, Jenny held, an image forming in her mind of long white fangs. Fear that was not her own spiked through her, convincing Jenny that her sister was in that room, helpless and afraid.

Heat burned below her throat--the salamander she always wore around her neck on a gold chain warning her not to lose control. She grasped the charm in one hand, easing it from under the witch's dress. The salamander was hot to the touch.

She'd never fire-started since Grandmother Liisi fastened the charm around her neck and taught her the control words. First because she couldn't and then because she wouldn't. She'd learned not to be tempted to fire-start. In the past few years she couldn't recall the salamander ever growing warm.

Damn it, she had to get inside that room. Jenny closed her eyes and broke through her control, letting the image of fire build in her mind. Fire burning through the lock of the door, a flame hot enough to melt the metal.

Inside the room a man yelled in pain. The smell of charred wood filled the air. As she opened her eyes, the door swung open. Inside a man, his clothes in flames, rolled on the floor, screaming. Lily lay sprawled across the bed. Jenny bypassed the burning man, rushed to Lily, yanked her from the bed, pulled her bodily across the room and thrust her into the hall. Then she plunged back into the smoke and grabbed a blanket from the bed, throwing it over the thrashing man, wrapping him in the blanket to kill the flames. From the top of a dresser, an unlit jack-o-lantern grinned evilly at her. Flames licked up the legs of the dresser.

Choking from the smoke and the sickening stench of burned flesh, Jenny struggled to drag the blanketed man from the room. Someone, alerted by the noise, arrived to help her. As soon as the burned man was safely into the hall with others to see to him, Jenny hurried to her sister and, with an arm around her waist, guided Lily down the stairs and out of the house.

Lily didn't say a word until they got in the car. "You burned him," she whispered, staring at her sister. "You burned him just like you did me."

Guilt twisted in Jenny's gut. She'd meant the fire to melt the lock and not touch anything else. Certainly not a human, not again. She listened to the wail of a fire siren and shuddered.

"I don't care!" Lily cried. "He wasn't human, he was a vampire, he deserved to be burned."

Jenny's hands tightened on the wheel. "He was a man. Vampires don't exist."

"He was one!" Lily's voice rose hysterically.

"We were at a costume party. The man wore a vampire mask."

"But he said he was going to drink my blood!"

"He had something quite different in mind. Something a damn sight more human." Exasperation mixed with Jenny's guilt.

"Did you see a mask?" Lily demanded.

"For heaven's sake! There are no vampires. And if there were I doubt very much if I could set one on fire.He was a man and I burned him. Damn it, Lily, I shouldn't have fire-started. Ishouldn't have broken my word to Grandmother."

"Don't worry," Lily said. "Why, with all those jack-o-lanterns burning it's a wonder a fire didn't start sooner. No one will ever suspect you."

Tears rolled down Jenny's cheeks, blurring her vision until she pulled the car to the curb. Even her twin didn't understand how she felt. Weeping, pounding on the wheel, she cried, "I know what I did. And I swear I'll never do it again. I'll never fire-start, no matter what. Never!"

Chapter 21.

In the new home her mother and step-father had bought in Pacific Heights, Melanie stared down at her half-sister, doubting if she'd been even one-tenth as cute as a baby. She couldn't blame Samara for doting on little Beth--she was so sweet with her dark curls and big yellow-green eyes. And, of course, Beth was Ivan's first child.

I was Samara's, Melanie thought. I was her first child but I was unwanted. Unlike Beth.

Melanie had never fathomed the mystery of her father. Samara refused to speak of him at all. She'd learned from a reluctant Druse that her mother hadn't been married to him and he'd died before Melanie was born. But Druse claimed she didn't know his name or anything else about him.

Maybe, if he'd lived, her father would have loved her. It was clear no one else did or ever would. She'd tried college and hated it because she didn't fit in. But then, she never had. No one would ever miss her if she didn't exist.

Wandering away from the sleeping Beth, Melanie drifted to the window. The November sun bathed the city in golden warmth for everyone to enjoy. Only inside her was it as heavy and chill and gray as tule fog.

I don't belong in this family, she told herself. Nor in this city or even Volek House. I don't belong anywhere.

If only her father were alive--but he wasn't. From something Druse had once said, Melanie believed Samara had met him in the mountains. Another time she'd accidentally overheard Chung telling Gei about someone who'd been buried in the mountains. From his words, she'd thought Chung meant her father but when she confronted him and pressed him to tell her more he pretended not to understand and started speaking Chinese.

The sun sparkling on the waters of the bay and the busy purpose of the boats and ships, all going somewhere, annoyed her. She had no purpose and nowhere to go.

Unless--was it possible she might find her father's grave? Surely no one would be buried without some kind of marker and a headstone would give his name, at least. She had no idea where to look but that didn't matter. She could go on searching for the rest of her days--they'd all be glad to be rid of her.

At last she had a purpose in life. For the first time in months, Melanie smiled.

Ivan stopped his new Packard in front of the gates at Volek house but made no attempt to get out and open them with his key. Going in meant facing Arno. He'd thought he was ready but when push came to shove....

Damn it, he had no choice. Wolf could have helped but Wolf wasn't home. Since Hawk had returned he'd been flying his father all over the country so that Wolf could meet the medicine men of various Indian tribes. They'd flown into the wilds of Mexico two weeks ago to talk to some Yaqui mystic and there was no way to contact them.

Arno was the only one left to ask for help. God, how he hated to. Taking a deep breath, Ivan opened the Packard door.

He took two steps toward the gate and held. Inside the gate, his brother strode down the drive toward him. For long moments they stared through the bars at one another.

"What do you think?" Arno asked at last. "Has Melanie turned stalker or not?" He swung the gate open as he spoke. From his words, Ivan realized Samara must have called Arno. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or annoyed.

"All the note said was she'd gone to find her father," Ivan replied.

Arno nodded. "So your wife said."

Your wife. Samara. As Griselda was Arno's. For an moment Ivan was back at the Ritz in Paris, reading another note. How could he ever forget their betrayal?

"Hasn't anyone ever told Melanie her father's dead?" Arno asked.

Ivan gritted his teeth, aware he had to swallow his rage. At least until Melanie was found. "Samara couldn't bring herself to ever speak of him to anyone, even Melanie, but she thinks Druse did."

"Then we'll ask Druse how much Melanie knows and start from there."

Arno was taking over like he'd always done in the past, Ivan realized, and was surprised at his lift of spirits.Damn it, did he want his brother in charge?

Without another word, he slid back into the Packard and drove through the gates, stopping to wait while Arno locked them again and got into the car. When a man comes asking for help like I am, Ivan told himself, he'd damn well better be polite.

Druse looked from Ivan to Arno. "All I said to Melanie when she asked about her father was that he hadn't been married to her mother and that he was dead. But from something Melanie said to me once, I think someone must have told her he was buried in the mountains."

Ivan exchanged a glance with his brother. The mountains!

"Wolf never told anyone where he buried the stalker," Druse went on. "Chung went with him to bring Grandfather and Stefan home but I don't believe even Chung knows."

Chung confirmed this. "My wife, she speak Mandarin, don't understand good when I talk Chinee. Better we talk English. Melanie, she hear when I say to Gei how hunter die and be buried in mountains. She ask me more. I no tell no more. Wolf, he never say what he do with evil hunter. I no want to know."

"I wish to hell the Miwoks hadn't up and decamped," Arno said as they walked back to the house. "They're the best mountain guides around."

Ivan was aware the Miwok village had moved far to the north after Quincy's first shifting, evidently preferring not to take any more chances of encountering spirit wolves. He couldn't blame them. Quincy frightened him in a way Arno, when shifted, never had even though both had turned into rapacious beasts.

"Having a tracker would help," Ivan said. "Winter's a bad time to tackle the mountains, even for an experienced hiker. Melanie--" His words trailed off. Arno knew as well as he that Melanie had never joined in the camping trips.

"A tracker," Arno echoed. He stopped and turned to face Ivan. "I could find her."

Ivan recoiled as Arno's meaning sunk in. The beast was a superb tracker.

"God, no! You'd kill her."

"Not if you were with me to prevent it."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

Arno smiled one-sidedly. "We'll take along Grandfather's old Colt. When he went through Liisi's tower room, Waino found silver bullets--some fit the Colt. Wound the beast with one of those and he'll shift back and be harmless."

Ivan stared at his brother. The way he felt about Arno, his brother was a fool to trust him with a gun loaded with silver bullets. "No," he said involuntarily. "I might kill you."

"That's the chance we have to take." Arno's golden gaze met his. "Don't we, brother?"