"Did you miss?"

"We're going to look around first," Ann said.

They were on a commercial street, with many shops, both large and small. All the shops ahead of Martin were closed. He checked across the street, then turned and looked back. One shop was lit, with the steel shutters still up.

The sign said:

The shop was in the middle of the block, with closed businesses on both sides. The windows to the left of the door were hung with beveled and stained glass windows and panels, while the windows on the right showed the backs of bookcases.

"A filthy, dimly lit, place for books?" Martin said.

Ann Grove laughed softly. "Exactly. The coffee and the pastries will be excellent, the antiques fake or stolen and the books…"

"Yes?"

"Are not for children."

"How so?"

"They offer power without mentioning consequences. Reprehensible idea. Let's slip around the back."

"OK."

Around the end of the block, toward the entrance to the alley, they found Jan's motorcycle. Ann held out one finger. A small clear sphere appeared on the tip. Ann considered the bike then touched the tank. The ball disappeared into the metal.

Right, Martin thought. I'll bet money she's just put a tracer on Jan's bike. Clearly this is a violation of the boy's civil rights. He decided not to mention it. Not to Jan or even to Edward, for that matter. Maybe when the kid turned twenty-one he would change his mind.

"I wish now I'd waylaid the boy on Russian Hill," Ann said. "I probably could find him if I'd ever touched him, even through these privacy spells."

"Privacy spells?"
"Commercial grade." She glanced around again. "I would have been interested in this place even if your friend wasn't here. I wonder…"

"Yes?"

"Let's go in. I'm getting blurred impressions of three people."

"Is one of them Jan?"

"I can't tell. Of course, there could be forty vampires waiting in ambush in there, and I couldn't tell that, either."

"Why not?"

"The magic that keeps you alive and the magic I use aren't very compatible," Ann said. "I can see and hear you, but I have problems sensing you otherwise."

Interesting, Martin thought. She's just full of surprises. "I haven't heard anything about this place, I'd guess it isn't a vampire gathering place."

"Just the same," Ann said, "put this in your pocket." She handed him a glass sphere, like a clear marble.

"This what you put in Jan's bike?"

"Yes. It's a tag, I can find it anywhere on Earth. At this distance, I can keep track of you in a pitched battle in the dark. Come on." She headed down the alley.

"We're just going to burst in the back door?" Martin asked softly.

"Yes."

"Won't that annoy them?"

"Probably," Ann agreed. "And then they may try to kill us." She looked over at the vampire. "It's the company you keep."

"Nothing personal?"

"That's right."

"I just wanted to know," Martin said.

Ann grinned at him, and knocked on the back door.

The being who opened the door appeared to be composed of layers of crumbling adobe brick. Its face, from where the hair line would be on a human down to prominent ridges above the narrow slits that Martin assumed were eyes, was deeply furrowed. Its mouth was wide and straight, over a square chin. Clearly, a demon, Martin thought. There were horizontal creases in its neck, visible until it disappeared into the crew neck of a startlingly normal white cotton, short sleeved, T-shirt, a size too small. Its massive chest pulled horizontal wrinkles in the fabric.

The sides and top of the demon's head were smooth and hairless, while from the crown to the nape grew long shaggy, thick coarse hair, of an oily burnt sienna color. Martin didn't know if the rest of the head was naturally bald or if the door-opener kept it shaved, but the effect was of a mullet taken to really ugly extremes.

Ann stopped abruptly, Martin barged into her. Moving to avoid the vampire crowding her, Ann's hip hit the door, slamming it completely open against the rear wall.

Ann glanced back at the door and stepped ahead and to Martin's right as she did so. They had the door-opener between them.

A single low-watt bulb on a cord directly above the door-opener cast the only light. From the door, there was an open space off to the right and ahead. To the left, Martin saw two five-drawer dressers stacked one on top of the other. About 18 inches in front of the two dressers were two pedestal tables, also stacked. Between the splayed feet of the upper table were Victorian glass domes, nearly a foot and a half high, covering a variety of displays and arrangements. Beside the tables, to Martin's left, there was a breakfront facing the back door and over it Martin saw the back of what was a dresser either in the very tall shaker style or the top dresser of yet another stack.

The open space around the door was actually quite small, about six foot square, but it was uncluttered and appeared spacious by comparison.

"We've come about the motorcycle," Ann said.

"Is sold."

"Then we'll see the proprietor," Ann said.

"Is busy."

"Fetch her."

"You go. Now."

A silent movement in the dark behind Ann caught Martin's eye. "Behind you," he said.

Ann was already turning, a sword appearing in her hand as a twin of the door-opener stepped out of the darkness with a sword of its own.

Martin lost track of what Ann was doing because he focused on the door-opener as it drew a 9 millimeter automatic.

Right, Martin thought. He grabbed the weapon and the hand and twisted hard. The twist was easier than he expected. He dodged the door-opener's fist which was coming at his face and hit its chin with his elbow.

The door-opener tried to knee him and Martin turned, blocking the knee and again twisting its hand. He kneed it in its stomach and hit its chin with his elbow again, finally taking the automatic and hitting it on the naked top of its head with the weapon. It began to sink to the floor. As Martin watched the first demon, the second demon fell past him to land on top of it. He scarcely noticed because he was watching the door-opener's right hand untwist a full turn and a half. Huh.

He looked over at Ann, who was watching him with a small smile of approval. Beside her feet was the second demon's arm, still holding its sword. From the second demon came a cry:

"Aaaaagh."

"Oh, be quiet," Ann said. "You're a sputthe, you regenerate. Now, I want the proprietor, and I want her now."

"Eto starik!"

"English!"

"Is not a her, is a him."

"Fine. Who is he?"

"Dmitri Romanov."

"Really? Dmitri Romanov! I want to talk to you!"

From the darkness behind her came the sound of a door opening. Keeping one eye on the pile of demons, Martin looked beyond Ann.

A large man, both tall and fat and totally hairless, came forward. He was wearing an 16th century boyar's costume in figured purple velvet with cloth of gold and fur trim, which, Martin realized, looked very strange without the customary long beard and furry hat.

"Vasha?"

"Ofon'ka?"

One surprise after another. Apparently they knew each other. Since Ann seemed to be dealing with events in a satisfactory manner, Martin kept quiet and in the background.

Ofon'ka started off in Russian and Ann again insisted on English, saying: "In English, please, Ofon'ka."

She was, Martin realized, insuring that he understood everything that was said. At some point he really ought to tell her he spoke Russian. Not now, though.

"As you say, Varvara Denisovna. This is quite like old times. No one calls me Ofon'ka anymore."

Varvara Denisovna? Martin thought.

"Dmitri Romanov?"

"The customers like it, and I use it with the help because otherwise they get confused. Why didn't you use the front door? It's more polite and it saves wear and tear on my stock and there is this tiny spell which announces who you are."

"Next time I will. At the moment, I've come looking for a young man."

"We haven't opened the bidding on that item yet," Dmitri said.

"Dmitri," Ann said, slowly and consideringly.

"But there is no reason why we cannot arrange a private sale."

"You misunderstand. The boy is a friend of a friend, and I mean to return him."

"Vasha!"

"And you can't keep the motorcycle, either."

"A man must live, Varvara Denisovna!"

"I shall point out the obvious and remind you that you are not a man."

"Still."

"Where is the boy?"

"In my office," Dmitri sighed.

"Show me."

Martin cleared his throat. Ann glanced back at him and the two sputthes on the floor beyond him. "Dmitri, do something about your help."

"Short of killing them, what do you suggest?"

"Whatever will keep them out of our way," Ann said.

"Begone. Go to your basement. Don't come back until you are presentable."

Ann nodded and waited while the two sputthes disappeared down one of the narrow aisles. Martin watched them go, then turned to Ann, who followed Dmitri as he returned to his office. Martin followed her; after a moment's consideration, he still carried the automatic. Ann had kept her sword, after all.

Half of Dmitri's office was as old boyar as his clothes: rugs on the tables and the chairs, candles everywhere one could be put and a large fireplace, with Jan standing frozen to one side. Other than that strange immobility, the boy seemed unharmed.

Dmitri watched Ann looking at the rug on what was either a wide backless bench or a low table. "Do you still have the Ardabil?"

"Of course," Ann said, sitting down on the bench and resting her sword across her knees. Martin stood behind the bench.

"Ah."

Martin looked around. The other half of Dmitri's office was full of display cases, glass cabinets, and a large glass counter with stacks of velvet trays on the top and on all the inside shelves. On the wall behind the counter was a large semi-circular fan rack of display panels, with jewelry pinned on every available space. Behind the open panels on one side, Martin saw a door in the interior wall.

"Your friend is very silent."

"Perhaps he has nothing to say," Ann said. She turned to meet Martin's eyes and he saw one corner of her mouth softly pleat, as if she were controlling a smile.

"He is a vampire."

"I am aware of this." Ann turned back to Dmitri.

"And has he a name, this silent watcher?"

Ann considered for a moment, then: "Molchan Grigor, then."

Martin played that over in his head. "Malcom, Malcom Gregory," he said. Ann glanced up at him. "More euphonious to American ears," he told her. She gave a soft laugh and turned back to Dmitri:

"Malcom Gregory."

Dmitri shrugged and changed the subject: "I am already out of pocket over this affair, you know, Vasha, what with the advertisements, the pastries, the additional security... The least you could do…"

"Is buy something at an outrageous price?" Ann asked. "Very well."

"Ah," Dmitri said again, but in a totally different tone. "I have a very nice icon…"

"No, I don't think so, Dmitri. Not today," Ann looked around, then rose and went to the counter. Martin stayed where he was. Dmitri followed her.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something for a friend, in rubies."

"For Molchan Grigor? For your son?" Dmitri asked, taking a stack of velvet trays and lifting off the top two.

Her son? Yes, she's just full of surprises.

"How is the boy?" Dmitri continued

"He's away. For a woman. I missed her birthday."

"Ah, a somewhat wider selection. Men have become so drab, I quite understand why they don't bother dressing. For a lady I have rings, pendants…"

"This tray," Ann said, tapping the second from the bottom.

"What? Are you sure?" Dmitri lifted the other trays off the one Ann wanted to see.

Ann glanced down and laughed. "Yes. I want this." She held up a heavy gold chain supporting a ruby cross. The cross was made of four five-sided stones. Each stone was basically a narrow table cut rectangle with a mitered end that fit with the other three stones in the center. "Now, this is genuine."

Which made it stolen? Martin wondered.

"Of course. Eighteenth century court work, in the simple style, from Burmese rubies and Siberian alluvial gold. Commissioned by a dowager for her granddaughter on her wedding."

"Provenance?"

"Well…"

"How long have you had it, Dmitri?"

"Since the early twenties, last century. I bought it from the granddaughter's great-granddaughter. You weren't in Paris after the Revolution, were you? There were many such sales."

"Not that one, no. How much?" Ann smiled.

"Thirty-six thousand dollars."

"I'll take it." Ann put down her sword, and handed him a plastic card. "Unless you prefer gold?"

"VISA is acceptable."

Ann slipped the cross and the credit card into her pocket. Dmitri seemed much happier and offered them wine in painted glass goblets. Ann accepted with a smile. She took up her sword, and it vanished from her hand. She returned to her bench and sat.

Martin guessed peace, or at least a truce, had been declared, but he did not put down the pistol, merely putting the safety on, and letting his hand drop to his leg.

The wine was heavy and sweet, not to Martin's taste but he sipped again anyway, not wanting to offend Dmitri in any way since it seemed as if they were going to get away without any more fighting. Ann, however, settled more comfortably on her bench as if she had all the time in the world. Apparently, they weren't done yet.

"Dmitri," Ann began, "how does it happen that you acquired the boy?"

"A fit of pique, I admit. He lied to me, which annoyed me."

"Lied to you about what?"

"He said he was a friend of a very good customer of mine. He lied. I called my customer, who said he has never heard of him."

"Logan Powell Turner."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Did the boy also mention a woman called Ann Grove?"

"Oh, Vasha, no."

"My current use name." Ann sipped her wine. "One other thing I must mention, my current position involves official oversight."

"Oh. I didn't realize…"

"And Logan came to my attention via the misuse of certain magical tools, which might have resulted in death for many mortals and a certain amount of destruction. In public."

"Oh." Dmitri didn't quite glance at the door behind the counter.

"So you can see that I meant it when I forbade him this shop."

"I do see."

"My advice to you, Dmitri Romanov, is to avoid Logan for the next five years. That means no more phone calls, no mail orders and no Internet sales; in fact, no contact in any form or by any media."

"He is a very good customer, Varvara Denisovna."

"He lacks control," Ann said, "and, if adequately supplied, he could become a nuisance, which would annoy me considerably. If he is kept harmless, if I am not obliged to chase after him to halt massacres or to prevent noticeable disasters, I will have plenty of free time, time in which to shop, for example."

"Ah. Of course you would. Quarterly shopping?"

"Biannual. Don't press your luck."

She was quite free with both the stick and the carrot, Martin thought. Her technique seemed to be working well enough. Dmitri Romanov was smiling and looked much happier.

"I always enjoy your company, Vasha, and I look forward to seeing you in the fall."

"November, I think. Now, just remove the stasis spell from the boy, if you would, and give me the keys to the bike, and we all will be gone."

"Certainly, certainly. After rough beginnings, it is always a pleasure to do business with you, Varvara Denisovna." Dmitri handed her a set of keys, with a little bow.

"And with you, Dmitri Romanov." Ann inclined her head to him and turned to the boy.

Jan came to himself with a start, looking wildly from Martin to Ann and back. Before he could speak, Ann flicked one pale hand at him and, catching Martin's eye, walked out the door. Jan followed her, somewhat stiffly and jerkily, and Martin followed him.

Outside, Ann said, "Quickly." She took Jan's hand and ran lightly down the alley, Jan running along after her.

"I thought we had a sort of truce," Martin said very softly, easily keeping up with her.

"We do. However, the boy and his ride are still merchandise, and the problem is hijackers and disappointed shoppers, not Dmitri or his help. They won't interfere one way or the other." They had arrived back at the motorcycle. Ann offered Martin the keys, asking: "Can you ride this?"

"Sure."

"We'll meet you back where we started." She watched the streets as Martin slipped the gun into his waistband, put on the helmet, started the bike and headed away. Martin glanced back once; Ann and the boy were there, but as he watched, they vanished.

Go to Part 1f

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