There was no answer. He fought a mild struggle with the billowing drapes, and entered.

The television was on. Loud.

And there was Doug. He was collapsed beside the bed.

"Sweet Lord!" Drew cried out, reaching down quickly to feel for a pulse. His friend was cold, as cold as ice. For a moment Drew recoiled, terrified that Doug was dead. He forced himself to reach out again. At his throat, he found a pulse.

Staggering to his feet, he hurried to the phone.

It might be a small town, but the emergency response was swift. Within minutes, he heard the sound of sirens.

Arturo came to translate for him as the men asked him questions. He couldn't tell them much, just that Doug had complained of feeling weak, that he hadn't looked great that afternoon, and that he'd found him on the floor.

The girls rushed up in a panic, and Drew tried to calm them. In the end, they all-including Arturo-drove to the hospital behind the ambulance bearing Doug.

They drove for at least ten minutes in tense and painful silence before Grant spoke at last. His steely gaze caught Stephanie's in the rearview mirror. "I apologize," he said rigidly.

He didn't actually ask for forgiveness, so she didn't offer it.

"All right."

"You were in a really dangerous place!" he reminded her.

"They need more light out there. All those workers... they could wander at night, too," Liz said. "It's just... a dangerous place.

Once it gets dark."

"It's an archeological dig!" Clay said. "Not an Italian theme park."

They all fell silent again.

The drive back was interminable.

And then, at last, they saw the resort ahead of them, and Grant found his parking place to the far left of the entry.

"Ah, a shower, a drink, and dinner!" Liz said. "Everything will look better then. Grant, thanks for driving. It was a fantastic place to see, and thanks to you, of course, we were given really special treatment by Carlo Ponti."

"Carlo is a nice guy. He would have given you special treatment anyway, I'm certain, but I'm glad you enjoyed seeing the excavations," Grant told her.

Clay was already out of the car. When Stephanie exited, she saw that he was standing rigidly. He certainly didn't have a forked tongue he injected into the air or anything of the like, and yet Stephanie had the notion that he was feeling it.

"There's something wrong," he murmured.

Grant slammed the driver's side door. "There's definitely something wrong," he muttered.

Clay ignored him, striding into the resort. He walked straight up to the receptionist's desk and began speaking to the clerk on duty in rapid Italian. The clerk spoke back excitedly. Stephanie caught Doug's name, and the word mal or bad, but the rest of it, she could only surmise.

"The hospital!" Grant, slightly behind her, said.

Clay turned at the same time, nodding at Grant.

Whatever hostility was still simmering between the two men, they capped it for the moment. The four of them returned to the car, and started off once again.

"What happened?" Stephanie demanded, looking back at Clay.

Clay now seemed to be as tense as Grant. "He collapsed."

"Where?"

"In his room. Alone. He was supposed to have met the others. Drew went to find him, and he'd collapsed."

"It sounds like what Lena had... except worse," Stephanie murmured. "Yes, that's how it sounds," Clay said flatly.

They reached the small hospital. The one good thing about such a small town was that they had no problem parking. And when they burst into the waiting room, they immediately saw Lena, Suzette, Drew, and Arturo.

"How is he?" Stephanie asked anxiously.

"Dr. Antinella says that we got to him in the nick of time," Drew a.s.sured her. He was holding his arm at an angle, and there was a bandage on it. He saw her staring at it and quickly added, "I'm not hurt. Their blood bank is low, and they're pretty desperate.

No time for the usual tests, and I'm O positive. Any of the rest of you O positive?"

"I'm AB," Stephanie said with a wince.

"I'm O positive," Grant said.

As he spoke, a harried-looking Dr. Antinella came out of the white doors that led to the ER.

"Here, here!" Drew said, indicating Grant. Antinella spoke English fluently. "O positive-you're certain?" he said to Grant.

"Yes."

"No diseases?"

"None."

"Please, come in quickly, then."

Grant disappeared with the doctor. Stephanie sat down, or rather collapsed, next to Suzette, who was shaky.

"It's all right. They'll take care of him," Stephanie said, setting her hand on Suzette's.

Suzette shook her head. "You-you should have seen him, Stephanie. He was white. Not just ashen, but white."

"They'll take care of him. He'll be fine."

Both Suzette and Lena stared at her. Drew coughed. "Stephanie, Lena was sick first. Suzette began to feel the same symptoms.

And now... Doug almost died. They're scared. h.e.l.l! I'm scared. What the h.e.l.l is this?"

She didn't get to answer. Clay spun around, heading for the exit.

"Where are you going?" Suzette called after him.

"My blood is worthless to Doug," he said briefly. "I think I can be of more help back at the resort."

He left, distracted, not allowing them to say more.

"He speaks Italian," Liz said, as if that explained his behavior. "I'll go with him. Maybe we can find out if there's been a...

sickness like this before."

She followed Clay out.

There was silence in the waiting room. At last, Suzette said, "Antinella said there was no way he could take blood from Lena...

then he said that I couldn't give, either. Arturo gave... and one of the nurses, and both of the young fellows who came as the emergency unit.""He wasn't even... cut. Or hurt," Drew said dully.

Stephanie stood and started pacing. Doug had to be all right.

"Strange, isn't it?" Doug murmured suddenly. "It seems almost to have something to do with... dreams."

"Dreams?" Stephanie said, startled.

"Well, you were having some bizarre fantasies, right, Lena? When you got so sick?"

Lena flushed. "Well, I don't see how it relates."

"Neither do I, but it seems to," Drew said.

"What are you talking about?" Stephanie asked.

"Gema."

"What?"

"Gema-and, well, Lena's fantasy lover."

"I had a dream, too-then I woke up feeling as if I had no energy. I was really afraid that it was because... because I was...

well, you know, tossing and turning all night, by my lonesome," Suzette murmured, not looking at them.

Drew came to Stephanie, taking her hands. "I know this makes no sense, but both Doug and I had dreams about Gema the night before. I dreamt that she showed up at my place, and I threw her out. Doug dreamed that she had hot s.e.x with him."

Stephanie just stared at him.

"Remember, Steph, I told you that I thought I saw Gema in the audience," Suzette reminded her.

"But... I don't get it. How could dreams make someone ill?" Stephanie asked, shaking her head.

She'd had her own share of dreams and fantasies. But still...

"Maybe... maybe Gema is here. You think you saw her, Suzette. And both of you and Doug supposedly dreamed about her.

Maybe she... maybe she's ill. Wandering. And carrying some kind of terrible flu with her," Stephanie said.

"Yeah, maybe," Doug said dryly.

"And why not?" Stephanie asked.

"How would that explain Lena getting so ill first-before anyone saw or imagined Gema's having returned?"

Stephanie had no logical explanation.

Grant came out through the emergency room doors, a bandage around his arm. Antinella followed him, speaking in Italian. Grant seemed to understand him, because he shook his head, giving the doctor a rueful grimace. "I don't need to lie down-I'm fine. I swear, I'm fine." He looked around. "Where are Clay and Liz? They could use another pint for Doug."

"They left," Suzette said.

"He has bad blood, or the wrong blood," Lena added.Grant shook his head with disgust, looking annoyed again.

"He's welcome to a bunch of mine, but it won't do him any good," Stephanie said, hearing the rise in her voice.

Drew sighed. "They went back to the resort. He seemed to think he could find out something more about Doug's illness. By talking to people, I guess."

Grant let out a sound of irritation. "I'm going back-I think I'm going to try and find out a few things on my own as well."

He headed out the door. Stephanie suddenly chased after him. She caught him out in the parking lot, grabbed his arm, spinning him back around to face her.

She thought that she didn't know him. His features were taut, ferocious. She stepped back, feeling the wave of his heat and anger wash over her. She gritted her teeth, amazed that she still felt the urge to simply touch him. He was infuriating her, but he had never seemed more attractive or compelling.

"Grant, you've got to stop this," she told him.

"Stop what?"

"You're going after Clay."

"You're wrong. I'm not going after Clay."

"Well, you've got something against him that's ridiculous," she said. "And you're going to cause a terrible schism in everything, as if we're not having enough trouble with this disease, whatever this thing might be-"

"The disease is Clay."

"Grant!"

"Somehow, it is. I'm telling you."

She forced herself to step back, to shake her head. "Grant, I swear to you, I'm beginning to believe that you're the disease."

He was still, staring back at her. Shoulders broad and square, blue eyes nearly ebony and narrowed with tension.