She'd progressed beyond fledgling-that was something. "Anywhere in particular?"

"The police station," Christopher replied.

Their old strength flowed through her. Stretching her neck, she looked up at the moon between the trees. "Focus your mind.

Think with us." Whether Christopher spoke, or Justin, or both, she never quite figured out. One minute she had two feet squarely on the crunching gravel and the next...

She felt wind in her hair, air under her feet and the cool of night rus.h.i.+ng past her as she shot through the darkness toward Leatherhead. They'd dropped hands. She sliced the air like a missile, just dimly aware of a dark shape on each side of her.

They pa.s.sed the church steeple below them to the left and dark shapes of village buildings on the ground. Open fields, lanes of houses, and the watercress beds by the river. Pa.s.sing over the train station, Justin and Christopher descended and she followed just a beat behind them. The tiled roof of the police station came towards them as they slowed, circled and alit on the ridge.

She still had hands. And legs. And a face. Her hair had to be a mess. No point in looking in a mirror to see what it looked like.

Come to that, how was she going to get her hair done?

"Dixie!" Christopher's call brought her back to the present. Just in time to see Justin disappearing headfirst off the roof.

Toes on the gutter, Dixie crouched beside Christopher as Justin climbed down the building and hoped she wasn't expected to follow. Playing around in the middle of the moors was one thing, but courting detection on the side of a police station was another. Justin crawled sideways, then disappeared around the corner of the building to reappear ten minutes later on the other side. He was stopping at each window. Listening.He climbed back up and perched beside them on the edge of the roof. "Not here yet, but expected. Jones called in from his car a little while ago." He glanced at Dixie. "Get her safe. I'll let you know what happens."

"I'm not going anywhere. I want to be in on the kill. I got him to confess." She folded her arms on her chest and glared.

She might have broken the will of a venal solicitor. She couldn't intimidate a seventeen-hundred-year-old vampire. He just curled one side of his mouth. "Dawn comes in less than an hour."

"So what? How long did it take us to fly here? Five minutes? Ten?"

Christopher's arm eased around her shoulders. "You can't risk staying there. What if the police get a search warrant because of your aunts? You can't have them finding you resting."

She wanted to push the pair of them off the roof for being so darn right. "I can't get back to Yorks.h.i.+re. Not in an hour, even if I fly."

"We'll stay at Tom's."

"How come I get the feeling you cooked this up between you?"

"Why not?" Justin said. "We had to do something to take our minds off things will you were threatening to emasculate Caughleigh with a desk lamp. I'll listen to every word that's said. If he prevaricates, Tom and I have enough will to redirect him."

Christopher stood up and took her hand. "Come on, Dixie."

They launched together, streaking through the night sky. The countryside gave way to suburbs with straight lines of street lamps, then closely packed houses and thousands of car lights that crawled into central London. The night air burned her cheeks and hands, and the wind against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s made her thankful she wore blue jeans and not a dress. On they flew, over the slow, sluggish river, skimming the fairy-tale lights of Albert Bridge and along the Embankment.

Now they flew lower, just above the rooftops. Her shoulders ached from the air pressure and her eyes stung. She dropped lower, barely missing chimney pots and TV antennas. Christopher grabbed her arm. "Aim for the park."

The dark, unlit ma.s.s of Hyde Park loomed ahead like a ma.s.sive black island in the sea of light. She dipped and sank, fighting to stay aloft as her body shook and her legs dropped below her waist. Treetops rushed up to meet her, she smelled some night perfume from the flowerbeds, then swished by a painted bench as the mown gra.s.s came up to meet her. Christopher landed a split second before her and caught her before she smashed into the ground.

She felt his vampire arms around her. "What happened?" She could barely think through her dizziness. "It's not light yet."

"You're used up. That session with Caughleigh took more than we realized. I'll carry you the rest of the way."

She sank against this broad chest and rested her head on his shoulder. Lost in the comfort of his arms, she heard engine noise and smelled traffic fumes as if on the fringes of a dream as he ran with her, jumping over locked gates and leaping over the six lanes of Park Lane. On Christopher ran, up a few steps, and then they were inside Tom's house, away from the noise and the bustle. A gray fog enveloped her. "Hang on love. We'll get you upstairs and you can rest until night."

She joggled against him as he climbed the stairs to the softness of a cool pillow under her head, the crackle of earth in plastic, and freshly ironed sheets drawn up to her chin. Cool lips pressed her forehead as sleep closed over her.

Chapter Nineteen.

Dixie woke to night, the hum of traffic, cool air wafting through the open window, and the sure knowledge that Christopher waited downstairs. A rustle got her attention as she swung her legs to the floor and she picked up the evening paper. "New Developments in Surrey Arson Death." Some headline! But as she scanned the page, her excitement plummeted in seconds.

Apart from the coy statement that a man was "helping the police with their enquiries," the story just rehashed the old details, except for mentioning possible "further victims."

"You're disappointed," Christopher said a little while later as she walked into Tom's study to find the three of them seated by the open French windows.

How could she stay angry with her love standing beside her and the scent of night stocks filling the room? "I wanted him hung, drawn and quartered, or at the very least an hour or so on the rack."

"Don't wish that on anyone," Tom said.

Who could ignore the spasm of pain that twisted his face as he looked out into the dark and the past? "Sorry, Tom. I suppose what I want is swift, precise justice."

"I think we have it," Justin said. "It's just a matter of waiting."

She had to adjust her notions of time. No point in giving into impatience when one faced eternity. She sat down in the empty seat when she realized they were all standing, and would as long as she did. "I'll wait for the mills of justice to grind him down."

The ten o'clock news lifted her spirits, with news of Sebastian's arrest. "Let's celebrate," Christopher said. "I promised you we'd climb the dome of St. Paul's."

They soared over the stuccoed mansions of Mayfair, the crowded West End and the silent streets of the city to alight on the rim at the bottom of the dome.

Dixie's throat tightened as she stared up at the vast curve of the dome. "We should have brought ropes and climbing gear."

"No need."

"This isn't Boggles' Roost."

"And you are no longer a fledgling." True! She'd bested James and broken Sebastian, and drunk blood from a mortal, and the man she loved offered her a climb of St. Paul's dome as entertainment after a rough twenty-four hours. "Use your knees and elbows for purchase. Press into the curve and hold on. Take your time and if you slip, fly."

Following his lead, she spread her arms and legs, pressed her hips into the lead casing and scaled the dome. It wasn't climbing stairs. If flying yesterday hadn't impressed on her the extent of her newfound strength, this did. The vast size of the dome surpa.s.sed her imagination. The quiet so high above the streets with nothing but sky overhead seemed uncanny, like a strange, small planet in a lonely universe. Up she went, just paces behind Christopher, until they stood on the peak beside the great gilded cross that crowned the lantern atop the cupola. She looked up at the crosspiece way above their heads.

"Want to climb up there?" Christopher asked.

"Why not?"

He let her lead until they sat on either side of the great crosspiece, three hundred and sixty plus feet above the ground.

Previous TopBalanced up here against the stars, the air clear and free from the traffic fumes below and her love beside her, Dixie was halfway to heaven. When they got home, she knew he'd take her the rest of the way.

"Soon," he promised. "First you need to feed."

She never imagined a vampire's mouth went dry with fear. "I thought you said only every week or two." She figured on at least a week to get used to the idea. She hadn't made her initial decision in the calm reasoned way she'd envisioned. She needed time to accustom herself to the idea, let alone the actual doing.

"Normally, yes."

"Normally?" What in heaven's name was normal for a vampire?

"You need to learn the right way. You can't go around overpowering mortals by force. That sort of thing gives us a bad name."

That rebuke stung, even if his eye gleamed softer than his words.

"Look here, I didn't ask to be a vampire. It happened. It's something I'm trying to get used to."

"I'm still getting used to it. Maybe together it'll be easier." He mind-touched her cheek and lips a second before he reached over and kissed her. Anger, irritation, peevishness all evaporated under the caress of his lips and the soft touch of his tongue.

"You've been here lots of times." She wanted to ask whom else he'd taken up Wren's dome.

He nodded, his faced turned away towards the s.h.i.+ny black river. "I was here the night after they set this cross. I've come here often, but always alone. There's peace up here above the crowds and the chaos. That's why I brought you here."

"To find peace?"

"To help you realize what you are."

If her heart still beat, his quiet words would have caused cardiac arrest. What she was. The who and the what jangled together.

Dixie LePage, school librarian, media specialist, daughter of the late Mr. and Mrs. Robert LePage, and vampire. How would that look in her high school reunion credits? As if it mattered! She'd just climbed the dome of St. Paul's, she could fly, and she was loved by Christopher Marlowe.

She'd skip the reunion.

"I've got eternity to figure that out, and if I get messed up, I'm sure you or Tom and Justin will straighten me out."

Christopher's eyes glowed translucent. His mind touched her throat, a soft, feathery caress that drifted over her shoulders and down her arms. "Come." This time when he spoke, his voice was husky with need. "You need to feed."

"Show me how." She'd said it. Agreed. Committed herself to him and his life forever.

He looked back over the river. "See there?" She nodded. "We'll fly to the top walk of Tower Bridge and then across the river."

They hit ground just beyond Blackfriars Bridge and his mind met hers. "No talking. Come with me and watch."

She walked beside him, holding hands, down a couple of side streets-narrow streets that resembled the set of a World War II movie. Christopher's presence rea.s.sured, until it struck her that she could handle anyone who lurked in the dark alleyways.

Anything more removed from Tom's elegant house, she couldn't imagine, and they were just a bus ride away. Christopher stopped, dropped her hand and then took a couple of steps forward, his arm held stiff and his hand palm down.

Dixie waited. He didn't need to signal, speak or think to her. Two huddled shapes filled a dark doorway. She swallowed hard, fighting the tangle of emotions at the misery of homelessness and the prospect of her part in the next few minutes.

Christopher stood over the two unmoving sleepers, reached over each human heap for a second and beckoned her over. She stepped off the curb and was halfway across the street before she realized she hadn't looked either right or left.

She stood close enough to feel Christopher's thigh against her calf. He glanced up, and signaled for her to kneel beside him.

"Watch." The message came clear, just as she realized these were old women.

"Christopher." She felt the panic rise as she thought her doubts to him.

"Trust me, Dixie, we won't harm them. I've put a glamour on them. They won't wake for several minutes." With a strange tenderness, he slipped his arm under the old shoulders, lifting her just enough to let her head fall back, exposing her neck. As he bit and drank, the tired mouth smiled. He set the woman back down after drinking only a minute or so, then looked over his shoulder. "You see? Just a little. No gorging."

Seeing the contented smile on the lined face and remembering the panic-stricken, wide-open eyes on James, Dixie understood.

Following Christopher's example, she reached for the second woman.

Dixie counted sixty seconds, the thrill came swift and wild, and she drew away, satisfied and content. How right he'd been. She felt every bit as nourished as from her hideous gluttony over James. She settled the old woman back as comfortably as could be on cracked cement.

"Here, wipe your mouth." She took the linen handkerchief he offered. When she handed it back, he pushed a roll of bills in her hand. "Tuck it in a pocket somewhere. It'll feed her for a week or two." The notes rustled as Dixie tucked them into the pocket of the shapeless coat.

They took the tube back to Bond Street Station at Dixie's insistence. "I've been here two months and never ridden it. It's something I've dreamed about." It was also a vain attempt to feel mortal for a short time. It didn't work. An invisible barrier separated her from the theatergoers and teenagers out on the town.

The walk down Duke Street and across the Square brought her back to the familiar world of South Audley Street and the black front door flanked by bay trees and sporting a polished lion doorknocker. She hadn't expected the reception in the living room with the dark velvet curtains and the long windows overlooking the street.

Tom poured four gla.s.ses from his last bottle of pre-phylloxera. With one arm on her shoulders, Christopher raised the Bohemian crystal gla.s.s that had toasted the success of Wellington's army, and proposed her health before leading her to the bedroom overlooking the garden.

Later, as they lay in a tangle of warm limbs and crumpled sheets, Dixie sensed the coming dawn. She nestled in the crook of Christopher's arm, her cheek pressed against the four-hundred-year-old muscles of his chest, and let the stillness of rest overtake her. She was safe with her man, her vampire lover and her future, a very long future, lay ahead like a great adventure.

Four weeks later her nice, safe future cracked apart.

Back at Tom's after three weeks in Yorks.h.i.+re, Dixie woke one evening and pulled on the black jeans she'd started to wear despite Christopher's teasing. Okay, so he liked linen pants and silk s.h.i.+rts; she'd been raised on comfort and blue jeans. Now that she wasn't getting up each morning for school she'd make the most of life without panty hose.

She ran her fingers through the short haircut Toni had given her one evening. She'd been right, it was easy to wear, could be kept neat without a mirror, would never now need tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, and wouldn't mess up while flying. Not that Dixie had flown since her ascent of St. Paul's. "Now you know you can, you don't need to," Christopher had said, "unless there's urgency." So she'd settled for riding beside him in his black Mercedes.But tonight she'd barely zipped her jeans when the door opened. Even before she turned to smile at Christopher, her shoulders and spine stiffened as she sensed the anxiety that hung over him like a fog. "What's wrong?"

"We've got a bit of a problem."

She'd been in England long enough to know that probably meant the terrorists had bombed Grosvenor Square. "What happened?" He crossed the room in a moment. He held her hands, then grabbed her tight, holding her against him as his lips brushed her hair, her forehead and her eyes before meeting hers in a kiss that both thrilled and scared her. Scared her because she'd never sensed such desperation or panic seething in his mind. "What is it?"

He ignored her question, looking down at her with his eye so brilliant and a face so taut that his panic became hers. "Whatever happens, I want you with me. Know that. If you can't face it, I'll understand. I love you, Dixie. You're mine."

Talk about mixed a.s.surances. "How about speaking English so I can understand?"

"Come downstairs."

Downstairs, Tom and Justin waited. With Gwyltha. That was a surprise. Not five days ago, she'd told Dixie she seldom left the North. A miasma of worry hung over the room. A sea of spread newspapers covered the table and half the floor, and Tom and Justin looked as worn and hungover as a pair of fraternity brothers on Sunday morning.

Gwyltha looked up as Dixie entered, her eyes as hard as dark marble in her drawn, ancient face.

"You didn't tell her!" she said and then hissed, "Coward! You made her; you're responsible for her. You're no longer a rake- h.e.l.l youth."

Justin intervened. "Let him be, Gwyltha. He..."

"I will tell her. And take care of her. Give her a chance to wake up," Christopher interrupted.

"Would someone please tell me what in the h.e.l.l is going on?" That stopped the bickering. It could have been the "h.e.l.l" or her stop-the-eighth-grade-dead tone but all four of them gaped. It takes something to awe four vampires at once. She doubted she'd get the opportunity very often.

"Sit down and I'll tell you."