Well, this looked promising; a nice way to end an otherwise dull patrol. A woman was being attacked by two vampires who were either from out-of-town or really ignorant. He staked the nearest.

"Don't be afraid," he said.

"I'll work on it," said the woman he was saving.

He faced her last attacker and thought about what she had said. Shaking the dust off his stake he turned back to her. Yes, lovely, definitely worth bedding-tall, slender, dark hair in braids wound around her head; calf length white silk trench coat, longer green scarf, dark pants and boots-but strange-she was standing calmly, her hands in her coat pockets, watching him as he staked the second vampire. Most women who had just been rescued from a pair of vampires would have said and done something very different.

"Do you need to sit down?" He attempted to take her arm, ready to support her to a nearby crate, but she failed to cooperate, keeping her hands in her pockets and shifting her posture away from him slightly. He began to feel the evening would not live up to its promise.

"No, thank you." Her voice was deep for a woman, rich and full, very beautiful and totally unmoved.

"Did you notice what happened just now? Or are you in deep shock? Are you sure you wouldn't like to sit down?"

"No, I am not in deep shock and I'm perfectly capable of standing, thank you. If you mean, did I notice my attackers were vampires, yes, I did. I rather wish you had waited a while longer."

"You get off on being attacked?" He took a step back. Right. The evening was going to be a disappointment. The last thing he wanted was a rich and playful tourist. Slumming victim wannabes almost always led to trouble and could stick like foxtails. "That's not only really perverse, that's potentially fatal." He was debating telling her to visit Oakland, where the action seemed to be this year, when she spoke again:

"It seemed like an excellent opportunity to be bitten. I did warn them, biting me is dangerous. You should heed that, too."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My blood may be poison to vampires."

Interesting. The light here wasn't good enough for a human to be able to notice his pallor, and he hadn't been excited enough to display in front of a stranger. "It shows?"

"Yes. Why did you save me? Do you have a calling, a mission? Are you hoping for redemption? Are you under a curse? Have you been subjected to behavior modification? Do you hate all other vampires because of what was done to you or someone you love? What motivates you?"

He was sufficiently surprised to be explicit: "I was hoping to get laid."

Apparently he had succeeded in startling her in return, because there was a pause before she answered: "I don't immediately perceive the connection between your hopes and your actions."

"I was after a little horizontal gratitude, and maybe a quick drink before I left."

"This works?" the woman demanded.

"More often than not. I think it's the adrenaline surge."

She laughed. "It's not working this time, and while I won't fall into bed with a sexual opportunist, I will buy you a drink." She turned north, towards the No Mirrors Bar.

He didn't know what to make of her. She didn't seem like a random whacko, and he found that he wanted to know more about her. He shook himself out of his bemusement and walked with her.

"Call me Ann."

"Ah," he couldn't remember for a moment what he was calling himself. "Ah, Martin Stevenson."

"Very euphonious," she approved.

As they approached the large concrete and sheet metal building, he fell back a half a pace, watching which way she would go. She passed the entrance on 12th Street-which was to the White Elephant, the gay bar that shared the first floor of the building-and turned onto Sorkin Alley, where she also passed the entrance to the No Mirrors Bar proper and went around the back of the building and mounted the outside stairs. She knew her way around the area, he thought.

Inside, she greeted the check room attendant by name as Martin took her coat. Karelle glanced quickly up at Martin, who managed to shake his head calmly, as if all he meant was that he would keep his coat.

Under her coat, the woman-Ann-was wearing a dark green pant suit, with a collarless open jacket over a silvery gray top, both of thin silk. Her skin was pale, although not as pale as his, and she was only a very little shorter than he was, even in her flat-heeled boots. Her hands were well proportioned and graceful, the nails square cut and short, without polish, and she wore no rings.

"You seem to have made what a friend of mine would call a healthy adjustment to vampirism," Ann said, as they waited.

"Your friend sounds like a shrink."

"She's a healer; some jargon is inevitable. How is it you handle becoming a `curséd fiend' so well? You don't even seem to be in agony over the loss of your soul."

"Please," Martin said. "I know sensationalist writers and the people who contribute to the store of urban legends use those words, but I come from a long line of atheists."

She chuckled. "My apologies. I meant no insult. I try to use a common vocabulary with whomever I am speaking and recently most of those with whom this topic has arisen have been traditionalists. How did you and your disbelieving kin deal with your return to life?"

"That was complicated. My mother and her sister were both physicians and my aunt had trained with Adler. They ignored a lot of awkward facts and treated the symptoms."

"What will you have?" she asked Martin, as the waiter arrived.

"Cambells and vodka, double Tabasco," Martin said, before Galley could say anything. Galley's eyes flicked at him, then he nodded.

"And a brandy for me, please, Galley," Ann said to the waiter. "Why let theory interfere with reality?" she said as Galley departed.

"Exactly. For a human, you're very calm about all this."

"I'm not human," Ann said. "But don't worry about it."

"And not a fearless vampire killer on crusade, for all that you seem to know more about us than most outsiders. May I know the rest of your name?"

"Ann Grove."

Go to Part 1b

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