The teacher in Frey takes over. He stands up and assumes an at-a-podium kind of wide-legged stance, papers in one hand.

"You can't do this sitting down?" I grumble.

Culebra makes a shushing sound.

"Okay. Here's the deal. I've divided my research into two categories: the ceremony itself, what to expect after." He pauses, waiting, I suppose, for me to interrupt again.

What's the use? I'm going to hear this whether I want to or not. "Enlighten us."

"Okay." Another shuffling of paper. "From what I've been able to decipher, the ceremony will take place at midnight on Monday. It will be attended by a representative from each of the thirteen tribes."

Okay, my self-control doesn't last very long. Now I have to interrupt. "Tribes? What tribes?"

Frey doesn't look aggravated by the question. Instead he looks pleased. As if, for once, I asked the right one.

"The vampire community is divided into tribes-each representing a geographic area. They are North America; South America; Central America including Mexico and the West Indies; Australia and Oceania; Northern Africa; Central and South Africa; the Near East; the Middle East; Central Asia; Indonesia and the Philippines; China; Japan and Korea; Russia."

"So, I'm about to become the head honcho of the North American tribe?"

"No. You are about to become head honcho of the whole shebang."

No. Not going to happen. The impulse to run screaming from this ridiculous scenario is tempered only by the realization that Frey would track me down. He knows where I live. May as well let him finish spinning his fairy tale. I carefully modulate my expression and voice to reflect only curiosity when in reality what I'm feeling is panic. I think Frey is close to jumping off the sanity cliff, and Culebra is right there teetering on the brink with him.

"Why haven't I heard of these thirteen tribes before?" I congratulate myself for asking an intelligent question on an absurd subject.

Frey fixes me with the same kind of look that I used to get from Williams. I didn't like it then, I don't like it now. Still, I hold my tongue and wait for the answer.

"Williams would have gladly told you anything you wanted to know about your vampire heritage. You wouldn't give him a chance. Now you have no choice but to learn. Vampire society is somewhat decentralized. Each tribe governs itself. The thirteen only gather for a watershed event-like the coming of a Chosen One. It will mark your-" He hesitates, obviously suspecting how I'm going to react when he finishes the sentence. "Well, for lack of a better word, your coronation."

He suspects right. I'm on my feet before the last syllable of the word "coronation" has left his lips.

"This is beyond ridiculous. Frey, you and I have become good friends in a very short time. You've never let me down when I've come to you with a problem. I admire and respect you. But you have to know how crazy this sounds. I don't know how many ways I can say it. I don't want any part of this. There must be an escape clause. For argument's sake, tell me, what would happen if I don't show up?"

He counters with a quiet, "What about David?"

"We don't even know for sure if Judith Williams has him. You and I will check that out tonight. If what I suspect is true, and he's at Avery's, we'll get him out. In any case, there has to be a way I can refuse to go through with this. I'm not the one they want. I spend most of my time trying to forget what I've become. Surely, the leader of the world's vampires would be someone who doesn't spend the greater part of her life trying to be human. There has got to be a better candidate."

Frey lets me finish. He releases a breath, places both hands on the table, leans over it. "I wish I could tell you what you want to hear. Everything I read, though, is very specific. There is one chosen, he or she is marked, at the anniversary of that vampire's becoming, a change occurs. The Chosen One becomes the leader and the path for the next two hundred years is determined."

"Well, there you have it." I slam my fist on the table again for emphasis. "I have no mark."

Culebra has been silent during this exchange between Frey and me. "Are you sure?" he asks now. "When was the last time you looked at yourself in a mirror?"

The look I throw him is scathing. "Hello. Vampire. You know the answer to that. But I don't need a mirror to know whether or not I have some kind of magical mark."

Frey's expression turns introspective, as if searching his memory. "Maybe we're being too literal," he says then. "Or maybe I misinterpreted the meaning of the word 'mark.'"

He drops into his chair and shuffles through the beer-soaked pages. Then he dips into the briefcase and retrieves the book. He reads first from the book, then consults his papers, until he finds what he's looking for.

"I'll be damned," he says. "I think I was wrong. The word I translated as 'mark' may not be a physical characteristic at all. It could just as easily be interpreted as powers not ordinarily attributed to a vampire."

He grins at me, which is not at all comforting considering what follows. "Remember what happened in Palm Springs, Anna? You went into a burning garage to save Lance. And what about your evolving instinct to sense evil? Williams didn't know about that one, did he? How you reacted the first time you met Underwood?"

"I wish I'd told him. Maybe he'd still be alive."

Culebra turns a startled face my way. "What does Frey mean? What happened in Palm Springs?"

I give him a quick rundown, realizing by watching his reaction that he's now fully committed to the crazy idea that I am indeed who Frey believes me to be.

When I stop talking, he turns to Frey. "Why didn't I know any of this? Why didn't you tell me when you brought Judith Williams here?"

His harsh tone borders on accusatory, as if Frey betrayed his trust by not telling him what was happening with me.

Frey bristles, and I cut in.

"I didn't tell you, either, Culebra, because it had nothing to do with Mrs. Williams. As for the Underwood thing, I thought I'd taken care of it. Stupid assumption."

I switch my focus to Frey. He's staring at Culebra in tense silence, a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. I divert his attention with a hand on his arm. "Which proves my point. I wouldn't put much store in that so-called ability to sniff out evil. Lance fooled me completely. He turned out to be as much a bastard as Underwood."

Culebra says softly, "Lance's betrayal was a sign of weakness, not of evil."

I stare at him. Did he pick the details of Lance's letter out of my head?

No matter.

The thought of what went on in the cave at Biarritz produces a backlash of weariness that swamps my senses. "I don't want to talk anymore. I'm going back to the cottage."

That pushes Frey's resentment toward Culebra out of his head. He rounds on me. "I haven't finished. I have much more to tell you. You have preparations to make. There is protocol to learn. You can't pretend it isn't going to happen, Anna. And you must be prepared."

He is so earnest in his pleading, so accepting that what he found in that little book is the truth, that I haven't the will or strength to fight it anymore. I put a hand on his arm, sincerity in my voice. "You can tell me more tonight. When we go to Avery's."

He relaxes at that, gathers his papers and that stupid book and rustles them back into the briefcase. "I'll come over early," he says. "Well before dark so we have time."

Culebra is not so easily fooled. He is eyeing me the way a spider eyes a fly buzzing around a web. He sees the subtlety in my gesture, reads the intention behind the words. He guesses once we leave, the probability that Frey is going to get the chance to finish his tutorial is about as good as a fly's chance to escape if it touches that web.

I let him. I let him know he's right.

He cloaks his thoughts so Frey doesn't intercept. Be careful, Anna. You are venturing into deep water. Don't make the mistake of thinking because you want something to be so, it will be. There are some things in this world over which you have no control.

I meet his gaze, say nothing. So far as I can tell, since becoming vampire, I haven't had control over anything that's been done to me.

That stops.

Now.

* * * *

I push every single word of this afternoon's conversation out of my head on the drive home. I concentrate only on the mechanics of driving, on my weariness, on the bed I'm going to fall into the moment I get to the cottage. I've been up eighteen hours. A few hours' sleep and I'll be ready to face the only obstacle I intend to tonight. Judith Williams.

The cottage is cool and quiet, a haven from the bright, sand-reflected beach sun. I make sure the doors are locked, the drapes pulled, and let my head sink gratefully onto the pillow.

His smell hits me like a physical blow. It's in the bedclothes. Floats on the air. Floods my thoughts like a rising tide.

Damn you, Lance.

I toss the pillow across the room, snatch sheets and blankets and tear them off the bed.

I won't let him do this to me.

But the bare mattress still retains the scent of us. Of sex and blood and passion.

My hands curl into fists. I'll haul it down to the Dumpster tomorrow. After I have David back.

Right before I track the bastard down.

* * * *

It's only six when I awaken from a nap that did little to remedy a bad case of sleep deprivation. Vivid dreams of the cave in Biarritz were interspersed with equally vivid dreams of Lance-sexual images that my body responded to even as I slept.

When I open my eyes, my face is wet with tears and my body aching with loneliness.

I stumble into the bathroom, strip and force myself to step into a cold shower. The shock of the water is reviving. Sluggishness gives way to a sense of purpose, gloominess to renewed energy. I can't let despair make me forget what tonight is all about. Finding David.

I dress for a night operation. Black jeans, black long-sleeved T-shirt, black tennis shoes. As I prepare, my mind circles around one thought like a buzzard around a carcass. I'm assuming an awful lot. I'm assuming Mrs. Williams took David. I'm assuming she's taken him to Avery's. I'm assuming that she'll be expecting me. Valid assumptions from my perspective. She and her husband were friends with Avery. She knows our history as well as anyone.

If I'm wrong, then what?

I start over.

Once dressed, I'm antsy to get going. I wish now I hadn't asked Frey along. My thought that he'd have a better chance to prowl the ground unnoticed as a panther made sense at the time I suggested it. Now all I can think of is the baggage that goes along with his participation.

I'll have to listen to more of his bullshit about what he read in that stupid book.

It's just before seven when the doorbell rings. I grab keys and my handbag, and run down the stairs to the front door.

I'm expecting Frey.

I'm not expecting the frowning, angry woman who pushes her way into my home the minute I open the door.

Tracey Banker projects her fury like a bullet seeking a target. And right now, I'm the bull's-eye. She doesn't give me a chance to say anything before firing the shot.

"I know you weren't happy when David brought me on board. I don't expect us to become best buddies. But you have no right to lie to me. David is in trouble, and you better damn well let me help or I swear I'll go to the cops and tell them you knew about it all along."

She's yelling and waving a piece of paper in my face. I pry it out of her hands. The first thing I notice is that it's a copy of an email. An email addressed to me.

To me.

The second thing I notice is who it's from: Judith Williams.

What the hell?

I turn it around and shove it toward her. "You always read other people's mail?"

"Fucking good thing that I did." She's still yelling. "You had some guy call and tell me that you and David had gone out of town on a job. Wouldn't be back until Tuesday. That's not what this says. If I hadn't opened it, by Tuesday it would be all over. David would be dead."

There's no way I can explain that I wanted her out of harm's way. Or, more important, that this is none of her business. She's in no mood to listen. Instead, I turn my back on her and concentrate on the paper in my hand.

Anna. You and I have a date with destiny. David is along for the ride. Whether or not he survives is entirely up to you. I know if he hasn't already, your friend Daniel Frey will tell you what is expected of you. I also know your first impulse will be to find a way out. It's why I took David. I suggest you spend less energy trying to avoid what will happen on Tuesday and more on learning from the Grimoire. Who knows? You may yet find an escape clause in the teachings. It's the reason I arranged for Mr. Frey to find the book. I have no desire to hurt your partner. He seems like a good man. A little confused right now. I had no idea he was unaware of your true nature. Trust me when I say he is being well cared for. That can change, though. It's up to you. Until Tuesday morning then-

Judith Williams