As he sat there, shaking, he became aware that someone was standing before him. Someone tall. He shaded his eyes against the sun, and looked up, far up.

The man standing above him squatted down to his level and said, “Paul? I’m a friend. I mean to help you. And I need your help as well. We both want to find Yvette, right?” He nodded, staring at the stranger.

“Come with me, Paul,” the man said.

And Paul rose, amazed that he found new strength to do so.

He had seen the man before.

He was desperate to find Yvette.

There was nowhere else to turn, and ...

There was something about the man.

He had a power.

And Paul believed.

CHAPTER 15

Tara had assumed that Brent would still be there, that he had just stepped outside to have a few minutes alone, that he wouldn’t have left the house.

But he had.

Something else was incredibly disturbing. When she had first decided that he probably needed those moments alone, she had determined that showering and dressing and being prepared for the day were important things to do, and she had made a truly odd discovery.

Her feet were dirty. The bottoms looked as if she had been walking barefoot through dirt. There was a blade of grass stuck between her third and fourth toes on the left foot. An unease crept over her that felt like the wash of a tidal wave. She fought it down, assuring herself that there was a logical explanation somewhere. Perhaps there had been dirt on the balcony, blades of grass and dirt tossed high by the night breeze. She knew for a fact that she hadn’t actually left the house, so that was the only possible explanation.

She was still trying to deal with logic, trying so hard that she refused to accept the fact that the dream had been a continuation. The nightmare had begun before she arrived here. Just as real. But she hadn’t known then what she had been searching for, or what she had feared.

She still wasn’t sure what she was looking for in the forest.

She knew why she was afraid.

She knew whose help she had been calling for ...

And he hadn’t been there, as he wasn’t here now.

She bit her lip. So much for her feelings. .. for falling in love with a stranger she had met in a crypt. For believing, even now, that she had been waiting. For this point in her life, and ...

For Brent.

Back downstairs, she went into the kitchen expecting to find him there. She drank the coffee Katia had prepared, but Katia hadn’t seen Brent since she had spoken with him on the stairs; she assumed that he had left. Tara decided to look for him outside.

Eleanora had taken up a stance at the front door to the chateau. Tara wasn’t certain that she still trusted the dog, but Eleanora was affectionate and sweet, though vigilant, licking Tara’s hands, whining for attention. She didn’t follow Tara to the door, but stayed where she was, sentinel at the door.

Tara looked for Brent outside, but couldn’t find him. There were no extra cars in the drive. The newspaper lay where he had thrown it in the entryway. She picked it up and began reading about the police discovery of the headless body. Scanning to the bottom of the page, she was startled to see that the police were “looking for” Brent Malone for questioning in regard to the murder in the ruins, and their latest discovery.

“Brent, where the hell are you?” she muttered aloud. Determined, she walked to the stables, anxious to see if he had gone there. But there was no sign of him.

Old Daniel was out in the pasture. She called to him and he trotted slowly over to her. Again, she thought that the horse seemed agitated, eager for the soft, crooned words of assurance she gave to him.

“I feel it, too, old boy,” she told the horse.

And she was suddenly angry. Now that she had given her trust to Brent Malone—careful trust, but trust at that—he had gone. She felt amazingly vulnerable, even by the light of day.

Giving Daniel a last pat, she went back into the house and looked in first on Jacques, and then Ann.

Both were sleeping soundly and peacefully.

She came back downstairs for more coffee, wondering what she should do, deciding that she must do something, and then making a firm decision. She wasn’t sure at all about “vampire rules,” and she still couldn’t quite force her logical mind to believe that any of it was true. If the myths and stories were at all true, vampires either had to sleep by day, or were at the very least much weaker then. They couldn’t enter a house unless they were invited in. Garlic, holy water, and crosses were deterrents.

Katia seemed as willing to take care against uninvited supernatural guests as she was to make sure that their high-tech alarm system worked. Tara could safely leave the house. It was important that she find Brent The police were saying that they wanted him for questioning.

She didn’t believe it. They wanted him so that they could arrest him.

Tara prepared to go out to find Brent Malone. Calling last minute instructions to Katia to make absolutely certain that she didn’t let anyone—anyone in at all—she threw open the front door.

To her amazement, she found Inspector Javet standing at the entrance to the house.

“Miss Adair, bonjour,” Javet said.

Her heart sank.

“Good morning, monsieur.” She stood firmly in the doorway, though she felt there was little she could do. He was the head of the police. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m afraid you can. I’d like to see your grandfather.”

“You can’t see him now, he’s sleeping, and he had a very rough night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Why was his night so rough?” Javet inquired.

“Because he’s old, and has been ill, and he sometimes has a bad time, Inspector. That should be fairly simple to acknowledge.”

Javet nodded slowly, and told her very softly. “You know, Miss Adair, it’s ridiculous for you to stand there so defensively. I only wish to question Jacques.”

“You should be questioning Professor Dubois.”

“Yes, I’d like to have seen more of the man. However, he seems to have disappeared.”

“Dubois has disappeared?”

“Yes, Miss Adair, that’s what I just said.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you think we’ll be finding the good professor— minus his head, Miss Adair?”

“I have no idea, Inspector.”

“All right, Miss Adair. Perhaps if I were to come in, you could offer me some coffee, and in a bit, your grandfather might be awake.”

Tara stood there staring at Javet, feeling wary. Far too wary to let anyone in, not when she could help it.

“I’m sorry. I was on my way out.”

“There are legal steps I can take to speak with Jacques, you know,” he reminded her.

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to take them. I have to go out, and I’m not letting anyone to see my grandfather while I’m gone.”

“All right, Miss Adair,” Javet said, and turning, he started to his car. But then he turned back. “You should trust me. I don’t intend to hurt Jacques.”

“I don’t trust anyone, Inspector.”

“I hope that’s true. I hope that you’re not leaving the house hoping to find your new friend, Mr.

Malone.”

“Inspector Javet, I’m leaving because I have errands to run.”

“You know, Miss Adair, I wanted very badly to trust Brent Malone as well. Such an intelligent man, well-read, such a fine face—and even his French is excellent.” He hesitated on that, as if considering the fact that a man who had been taught English as his first language managed to speak such excellent French. “But no matter what techniques we have used, no matter how we have tried, we can find no proof that anyone else was in that tomb at the time of Jean-Luc’s death. And now ... so many young people disappearing, and another corpse found—minus the head once again— I’m afraid that it’s difficult to clear Mr. Malone.”

“I barely know Mr. Malone,” she said evenly, meeting his eyes without blinking.

“You should bring me in on everything that’s going on here, and trust in me, Miss Adair,” Javet said softly. He looked at her a long moment, then shrugged. “I will be back, you know, with the legal papers necessary. It may all be much more difficult for Jacques then.”

“You haven’t a thing on my grandfather, Inspector Javet,” she said firmly. “He has done nothing, nothing at all.”

He was still watching her. She turned and locked the door to the house, facing him.

“I really won’t let you in to see my grandfather,” she told him firmly, but she realized that there was a note in her voice that begged him to understand.

“All I want to do is help you,” Javet said.

“Find the real killer.”

“I can’t find the killer if I can’t get closer.”

“I’m sorry.” Looking past Javet, as she spoke Tara was certain that she had seen the area around the house change. If it weren’t for the fantastic theories plaguing her, she would have thought that the sun had just gone behind a cloud, that the light had faded just a bit.

But as she stood on the steps with Javet, she found herself beginning to believe everything that had been said to her, that there were supernatural forces in the world, and they were coming down upon Chateau DeVant, like a flock of black-winged crows.

“Excuse me, will you?” she murmured. She stepped past Javet, walking toward the stables. She entered, and looked around and saw that nothing was unusual. Javet had followed her, she realized.

“What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just shadows on the sun.”

She still felt the unease. But look as she might, there was nothing in the stables.

She walked back out into the muted sunlight, again followed by Javet.

“I’m here to help you,” he repeated again.

She stretched out a hand to him, smiled, and said, “Thank you, really. But there’s nothing that I can tell you, nothing I can help you with right now. And I have errands to run.”