Utana walked beside Nashmun through the sterile, colorless halls of the building he had been watching. There were people in every room, ordinary-looking people, none of whom seemed to be in overt pain, although he still felt their fear and growing uncertainty, their questions.

"Many of the people here didn't even know of their potential connection to the Undead," Nashmun was saying, strolling at a casual pace, nodding and smiling at staffers and wary-eyed patients alike as they passed. "Until we told them, of course. Bringing them here allows us to protect them."

"And why do they need protecting?"

"Well, vampires have a bond with these people. They can sense something in their blood from miles away, pinpoint it, home in on them. They tend to act like guardian angels. But only at first, of course. Their goal is to keep them safe until they reach the prime age for transformation."

"Trans-formation?"

"Yes. That is the ultimate goal, after all. Vampires can't reproduce-well, with a few obvious exceptions, some of whom you've met already. But aside from Brigit Poe and her twin brother, James, and their mother, Amber Lily, who's half and half, we don't know of any offspring born of the Undead. The only way they can propagate the species is by changing innocent, unsuspecting humans into vampires. And humans with the right blood antigen-a rare one known as the Belladonna Antigen-are the only ones who can be changed successfully." He shrugged. "Those who aren't changed are...well, to put it bluntly, eaten. The antigen makes their blood extremely potent. They're the vampires' favorite meal."

Utana suppressed a shudder and strove to keep his face impassive. Nashmun was watching him closely, seeking his reactions, as they walked along the corridors, passing closed door after closed door. "And this is what you've told these Chosens?" Utana asked.

"Not initially, no. Our goal was to protect them, not to frighten them. But they were beginning to be afraid of us, to ask questions, to want to leave the safety of this place. So this morning we assembled them all in the big conference room downstairs and explained it to them. Just as I've now explained it to you."

"I see." This must be why he'd felt the surge of painful fear, he thought.

"Do you? Do you understand what I've told you, Utana? These innocent people would have been transformed into...into bloodsucking night-walkers-against their will-by those monsters. If they objected, they would have been devoured. That's why your gods commanded you to destroy the vampires."

Utana nodded as if in understanding, even while his mind raced with questions. He was no longer so certain that his gods had commanded him to annihilate the vahmpeers. He'd read that they had in the book he'd stolen from James's mate, Lucy, when they'd been on the boat together. But the book had been written by a man, not by the gods. It was man's interpretation of what had been recorded on a stone tablet from Utana's own time. And yet, he realized, that stone tablet, too, had been written by a man.

Just a man.

And men were flawed, their understanding of the Anunaki and their ways limited and often incomplete. So it had been in his own time, and so, he had seen, it remained today.

"What becomes of these Chosens," he asked, "should they not be...made into vahmpeers, nor imbibed by them?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have been told that they weaken, grow sick, die before their time."

"It's bull. Something the vamps spread around to try to justify their crimes against humanity. But it's not true."

Utana studied the people wandering the halls, apparently without restraint. He paused to peer through the glass in one of the many closed doors they had passed and into the room beyond.

"No need to do that, my friend. We can go inside." Nash reached past him, tapped twice on the door and waited for a friendly "Come in" to push it open and lead the way in.

"Hello, Jane," he said, with a nod at the pretty blonde mother who sat in a rocking chair, gazing out the window. And then he nodded at the little girl who sat on the floor surrounded by open books with pictures in them and colored sticks she was using to scribble on the pages. "Hello, Melinda. What are you coloring today?"

Melinda looked up, wide-eyed. Utana focused on the child intently, his mind probing hers, listening to her thoughts, which flowed unguarded and innocent.

I don't like this man. The little girl's thoughts clearly referred to Nashmun. He's ugly and scary, and his smiles are only pretend.

But even while thinking those things, the little girl obediently held up the book to show a picture of a raven, which she had filled with orange, yellow and purple shades.

The coloring sticks were amazing, and Utana found himself wanting to sit down beside the child, take them up and join her in her artistic endeavors.

"That's very nice," Nashmun said.

You didn't even look at it, you big old liar, the little girl thought.

Utana smiled at her insight, her honesty, and crouched down low. "You might be a great artist one day," he told her.

She met his eyes. "Gosh, you're big."

He could not restrain a smile. "And you're little."

His smile is real. I think he's a good guy. I wonder if he's...the one.

Nashmun was speaking to the mother. Jane. "This is my friend Utana. He's concerned, wants to be sure everyone here is comfortable and feels safe."

The mother's eyes shifted toward Utana, but he only afforded her a brief nod before returning his focus to the daughter, though he kept listening.

"We have everything we need. But frankly, Mr. Gravenham-Bail, we'd like to know when it will be safe for us to leave here."

Utana tried very hard to direct his thoughts toward the child, but he wasn't sure she would be able to hear them, even while Nashmun made conversation with the mother. Are they being good to you here? Utana asked the child.

They won't let us go home, the little girl thought. I want to go home. I want my room and my dolls and my closet full of pretty clothes, and my own bed. That's what I want.

"As you can see, Utana, we've converted all the rooms into miniature apartments for our guests. They have televisions," Nashmun said, waving toward the box mounted to a pole in a corner, "and window seats. There's a little table for private meals, although we also serve meals in the cafeteria. It's everyone's choice whether to eat with the group there, or bring their meals back to their rooms to enjoy them in privacy."

"And are they allowed outside?" Utana asked, standing upright once more. "The grounds in the back are quite...enchanting."

We never get to go outside! Melinda mentally huffed.

"We're working on that. As soon as we are sure it's secure for them to-"

"Surely it would be secure by day, Nashmun. Those from whom you claim to be protecting them cannot walk in sunlight."

"That's what I've been saying," Jane said.

"If this woman wished to leave this place, right now, with me, would you allow it, Nashmun?"

"Of course," Nash said softly.

The woman's face lit with hope, and the little girl could barely contain her excitement. "Does that mean we're going home, Mommy? Right now? With the nice one?"

"You are absolutely free to go, Jane. If you want to put yourself at risk of being torn from your child forever and put her at risk of being made into a forever-seven-year-old blood drinker. Never to grow up. Never to see sunlight-"

The little girl's face was twisting into a more horrified grimace with every word Nash spoke, until Utana shot his hand out, gripped the man's forearm and squeezed hard enough to silence him.

"Do not be afraid, little one," Utana said, crouching low again, reaching out a hand to smooth her beautiful blond curls. Gods, she reminded him of Brigit with that hair. "I will not let harm befall you, I promise. Nothing bad will happen to you," he told her softly.

Yes, it will. But it won't be any boogie monster that gets us, it will be him. Just like he did that nice lady senator. He killed her. I know it.

"I'm the head of the government agency in charge of overseeing your safety," Nashmun said and put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Jane, do you really think the U.S. government would have funded this place, this project, if they didn't honestly feel that those of you with the Belladonna Antigen were in need of protection?"

Jane looked from one man to the other. Utana could see her struggling to hold back the words she wanted to say. In the end she simply nodded, no doubt pretending to believe Nashmun's transparent lies.

"It won't be for much longer," Nashmun told her. "I promise you."

"How much longer?" Jane asked softly.

"Another week, at the most. All right?"

She nodded, but her daughter stomped a foot. "No! I wanna go home now!"

"A week isn't long at all, sweetie," her mother said, kneeling down to wrap the little girl in her arms, as the child's eyes welled up with tears.

Utana nodded. "I have seen enough."

"All right. I'll escort you back downstairs, then," Nashmun said.

Looking at the little girl, who was resting her head on her mother's shoulder, Utana thought, Do not worry, little one. I will return you to your home very soon now.

Melinda lifted her head and turned it, wide blue eyes blinking up at him, trusting him, as Utana reluctantly followed Nashmun out of the room.

As he went, he heard her call after him, her mind as pure and honest as the wind, I don't want you to die, but you will if you help us. I saw it.

The warning brought him up short, even as the door swung closed behind him. He didn't fear death. He would welcome it, in fact, if it truly were death. But to be returned to the state from which James of the Vahmpeers had awakened him...? That prospect filled him with dread.

But his black-hearted vizier was moving on, and Utana forced himself into motion again, following.

It was not lost upon him that the little girl had warned him against helping her, even though she must believe he might be her only hope.

What a beautiful, honest child.

"This way," Nashmun said, leading him toward the box they called an "elevator," which Utana disliked. They'd ridden up in it, and he had felt sick to his stomach. But the journey had been brief, at least.

He stepped inside, and the thick doors slid magically closed.

"You see?" Nashmun said, smiling up at him. "They're being treated very, very well here. And as soon as they've served their purpose..."

Suddenly Utana felt a jab in his thigh. He looked down to see a needle there, and even as he realized what was happening, his head began to swim, his vision to dim, his knees to weaken.

"As soon as they've served their purpose," Nashmun said again, as Utana sank to the floor, "that purpose being to serve as bait for our trap-they'll be eliminated, just like the vampires who flock here to rescue them will have been. Every last one of them. And then we'll know exactly how to destroy them in every other nation where they exist, until the vampire scourge is wiped out of existence forever."

"The Plantation" had once been an extremely productive tobacco farm, bordered by a wide and placid river that kept any danger of frost at bay during all but the coldest of nights.

It had been owned by vampires for three generations and was one of the few such places that had not yet been destroyed by mortal vigilantes intent on burning every vampire alive. It helped that it was isolated. The nearest town was a tiny one, and people there minded their own business.

Oh, sooner or later, it would be discovered, but for now, it was safe. And the house was like something out of Gone with the Wind. Tall columns, a wide veranda, a broad curving staircase and a fireplace that took up half of a huge living room wall.

That was where her family awaited her that evening, just after dusk.

Brigit had never before feared her honorary aunt, Rhiannon. Then again, she'd never had reason. She'd been Rhiannon's protege, learning at her feet how to be strong, powerful, ruthless. How to appreciate, cherish and use her gift. How to call up and manage her inner vampire.

And she'd gone against everything Rhiannon had taught her where Utana was concerned.

Now, as she walked beside her brother through the sprawling living room of the plantation house in the wildest wilds of Virginia, she felt a shiver race up her spine and knew, as she had never known before, how Rhiannon's enemies, or even strangers, felt upon meeting the imposing bitch-queen for the first time.

At the bottom of the stairs she stopped, unable to convince her feet to go any farther.

Her brother's warm hand on the small of her back did nothing to bolster her courage. In fact, she braced herself against it, as if afraid he might push her, when all she wanted to do was turn and run away.

"She loves you, Brigit. That hasn't changed," J.W. said softly.

"I failed her." She tried to swallow away the constriction in her throat that made her voice emerge tight and raspy, but it didn't ease. "I failed all of you."

"It's not over yet, Bridge."

"It is for me." She sniffled and fought back tears. "I'm in love with him, J.W. I'm in love with the enemy."

Upstairs, a door flew open, and in a heartbeat Rhiannon flew down the staircase, a blur of motion, and stood there before Brigit, regal and beautiful as always, though Brigit could have sworn, as she dared to meet the vampiress's eyes, that she saw worry there.

"Are you going to say hello or just stand there staring all night?"

Brigit nodded, unable to hold Rhiannon's steady, probing stare. "Hello, Rhiannon. It's good to see you." And then another vampiress descended more slowly, stopped halfway and held out her arms.

Moving past her aunt, Brigit rushed up the stairs and straight into the arms of her mother.

She was vaguely aware of Lucy moving past the two of them, welcoming J.W. back into her passionate embrace, and of others gathering in the living room below. Roland. Eric and Tamara. Her own father, Edge. And more. She wondered if all the surviving vampires were gathered here, in this place.

Sniffling, Brigit lifted her head from her mother's shoulder at length. Those eyes she could hold. "I'm so sorry, Mom. I've messed up everything. I didn't kill him when I had the chance, and now he's taken my power from me, and I-"

"Shhhh. Let's take it one step at a time, shall we?" her mother asked softly. Turning her, keeping one arm around her shoulders, Amber Lily walked beside her down the stairs. "You're here and you're safe, that's the most important thing."

"And you're wrong. So woefully wrong," Rhiannon added. She'd poured thick red liquid into a wineglass, and now she swirled it thoughtfully.

Sniffling, Brigit turned to face her. "About what?"

"About being without power. You still have it." She wrinkled her nose. "I can smell it on you." She crossed the room, her long dress skimming just above the floor so it almost appeared that she floated when she moved. She made her way to a Victorian-style love seat and sank onto its burgundy brocade. Pandora, Rhiannon's black panther, trotted down from upstairs and settled at her feet, lifting her head briefly in greeting, only to close her eyes again as soon as her mistress's hand stroked her jet-black fur.

"He took my ability away, Aunt Rhi. The power you're sensing in me now is..." Lifting her eyes to meet her brother's she said, "It's yours, J.W. He gave me the power he took from you."

"Why would he do that?" J.W. asked, looking puzzled.

Brigit sighed, moving farther into the room, greeting the others with her eyes, accepting a hug from her father before settling into a comfortable chair near the darkened, cold fireplace. She rubbed her arms, shivering.

Rhiannon flung a hand toward the hearth, and the logs stacked there burst into flames. "I can tell you why," she said. "He must have needed healing. He's only concerned with his own well-being, after all. Isn't that the entire reason he wishes to annihilate us? To avoid what he thinks is the gods' punishment?"

"That's unfair, Aunt Rhi," J.W. said. He turned, keeping one arm around his beautiful Lucy's waist, and they walked to the sofa to sit together, every possible part of them touching. "Given what that punishment entailed..."

"Either he suffers or we die," Rhiannon snapped. "His choice to make, or so he believes. And the suffering was his to endure. No fault of ours."

"But, Rhiannon-" Lucy began.

"No, she's right." All eyes were on Brigit as she interrupted. "He gave me J.W.'s power because he was injured. Grabbed hold of an electrified fence at the DPI mansion where they were keeping him. Making him think he was an honored guest, when he was, in fact, a prisoner. And all the time reinforcing what he believed about having to destroy the race he created or return to a living death."

Rhiannon averted her eyes. "Hell."

"I thought I could convince him that it was a mistake. That the gods would never want him to wipe out an innocent race. I believed that his mind was damaged by all those years of living death."

"Well, that is likely true," Rhiannon said, staring thoughtfully into her wineglass.

"So I tried to heal it."

Every eye turned her way, and Brigit went on. "When he asked me to heal him from the electrocution, I also placed my hands on his head, and tried to direct that healing light into his mind. And I thought it had worked. He was beginning to believe me-to change his mind about hurting any of you, ever. I know he was. Or...I thought he was. Until..."

"Until?" Rhiannon asked.

Brigit closed her eyes, but the tears burning beneath her lids seeped out anyway.

"Until he ditched her," J.W. explained. "And we went after him and saw him with the scar-faced bastard we now know is DPI."

"Where?" Rhiannon demanded.

"At St. Dymphna-the former mental hospital where they're holding the Chosen," Brigit said, able to speak again at last. "But Aunt Rhi, it's a trap. The DPI has been rounding up the Chosen and taking them there for only one reason. To use them as bait to lure all of you there so they can wipe you all from existence in one final blow-an ambush attack."

Lifting her brows, Rhiannon said, "A blow to be dealt us by Utanapishtim, no doubt."

Brigit looked at the floor. "That was the plan." Blinking her eyes dry, squaring her shoulders, she lifted her head again. "But we were coming here to warn you. Utana wanted to help us rescue the Chosen. He gave me his word that he would not harm any of you."

"And then he ran back to report to his friends at the DPI," Rhiannon said. She drew a deep breath, then blew it out again. "Nonetheless, all is not lost. Not yet, at least."

"How the hell is all not lost?" Brigit looked around the room at the rest of them. "They're going to do some bad-ass shit to those innocent people they've got locked up in that loony bin. Soon. Anytime now, maybe even tonight. They're gonna make them suffer enough so you'll hear their cries and go charging to the rescue. And they'll be waiting to wipe you out when you get there. How the hell is all not lost?"

Rhiannon met Brigit's eyes. "There is something you do not yet know. We have someone inside the hospital."

Brigit frowned, looking from one face to the next, and seeing surprise in most of them. "Who?" she asked, returning her gaze to Rhiannon.

"The oldest living member of the Chosen caste. Her name is Roxanne-Roxy. She was to have been rounded up with the rest, but unlike the others, she knows what she is, what we are. She's a trusted friend and confidante of Reaper, who is one of us. And smart-for a mortal. So she eluded them, forged some documents and managed to place herself on staff as a nurse there. She's been in touch with Reaper, but only twice. It's risky for her to try to communicate. She's being watched-they all are-her phones tapped. But we know more than we would have without her. So far, the Chosen are safe and well."

Blinking slowly as she digested that information, Brigit felt the first glimmer of hope in her chest. "Can we ask her if she knows where Utana is?"

"If we can safely contact her, yes. Though I do not know why you still doubt that he is our enemy."

"I know how much you want to believe in him, sis," J.W. said. "But come on, you can't keep denying the truth."

"Why do you want to believe in him?" Rhiannon asked. She looked at Brigit, narrowing her eyes.

At the same time Amber Lily came around the chair in which her daughter sat, crouched in front of her, looked into her eyes and searched her very soul. "Oh, no," she whispered at length. "Oh, my poor baby."

"It's fine. Mom, I'm fine. I just-"

"You love him," her mother whispered.

"You love him?" Rhiannon gasped.

Brigit lowered her head, her face burning. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen."

Rhiannon threw her hands in the air, then dropped her head back against the settee. "By the wings of Isis, child, haven't I taught you better?"

Then her head came up again, and she frowned, pressing her fingers to her temples. She seemed for a long moment, as if she were listening to something only she could hear. And when her eyes refocused on the here and now, she pursed her lips.

"Reaper has heard again from his mortal pet, Roxy. Very briefly. She reports seeing a very large, foreign-looking man, who was first being shown around the hospital as if he were some VIP by Gravenham-Bail, your friend Scarface. And later, being pushed through the lower floors on a gurney, unconscious."

Brigit shot to her feet. "I knew he wasn't on their side."

"Don't jump to conclusions, Brigit," J.W. warned, getting up as well, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It might be another trick."

"How?" Brigit demanded. "Unless Scarface knew somehow about our informant and expected her to pass this information to us?"

"If that's the case, Roxy's in danger," Lucy said softly.

"And if it's not, then Utana is," Brigit replied. She looked at her mother, her father. "I have to go back. I have to get him out of there."

"Brigit, I cannot allow it," Rhiannon decreed.

Brigit looked at her beloved aunt and found it difficult to believe the words she heard coming from her own lips. "You can't stop me, Aunt Rhi. I'm going. Believe me, I'm going."

There was a long, drawn-out silence as the two women stared each other down. Finally Rhiannon nodded. "You're far too much like me for your own good, Brigit. Fine. Do what you feel you must. But before you do, you need to restore your brother's power to him. We'll need you both armed with the healing power for the battle that lies ahead. I only wish you could have your destructive power back, as well."

Brigit blinked hard. "I...didn't even know that was possible. I can restore J.W.'s power to him? And not lose it myself?"

"I'm a high priestess of Isis, a daughter of Pharaoh," Rhiannon, formerly Rianikki, reminded her. "There is nothing that is not possible for me."