"David, the body was bone-dry. Not a drop of blood."

David nodded, looking toward the band. "They're good, don't you think?"

"Yes, very good. Your taste in music is legendary. Listen, right now the investigation is wide-open. Obviously no one but me suspects anything...out of the ordinary. But we've got a serious problem, because it certainly looks to be the work of a vampire. And pretty soon it's not going to be just me hanging around here and questioning people." David groaned.

"The Keeper?" he said quietly. "Oh, Lordy."

"She found me right after I made it to the crime scene."

"That one has some attitude, too," David said with a sigh, then shrugged. "Oh well, comes with the territory, I guess. She had a hell of a lot to contend with at a very young age, and so far, we've all kept the peace. She hasn't had the time--or the need--to acquire the wisdom of her parents. And she's got that strict code of ethics thing going on, too. Guess it comes with being the oldest." David grinned suddenly. "Beautiful little thing, though, huh? If we were back in the old days...yum. And I wouldn't have let anyone interfere with her birth into a new existence, either. Hell, she's the kind who might have made me monogamous. For a century or so, anyway."

Jagger wasn't at all sure why he immediately felt protective. Fiona MacDonald certainly wouldn't expect or even want him to defend her.

Maybe David's words irritated him because they had touched a little too close to home.

"Well, she is nice eye candy," David continued. "And everyone is welcome at my club. She has to do her job, right, Jagger?"

"No, I have to do my job. I have to find a murderer. I hope that it doesn't prove to be a vampire, but if it does...well, we have to handle it as a community."

David looked away. "It's against nature," he said softly.

"Our lives are against nature. We drink blood that's inferior to what our ancestors craved, but we've evolved, we've adapted to it. Louisiana has the death penalty. And since we don't have any vampire prisons, we have no choice. Rogues die, and it's a community affair."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Call a meeting."

"All right. And I'll make it known that everyone's presence is required, though I can't guarantee that we'll get everyone."

"I think most of our kind will be extremely concerned, since they know the other races will be breathing down our necks. This is frightening, David. Frightening for everyone. A young woman was killed, drained of blood. The whole city will be up in arms. And you can guarantee our friends in the underworld of New Orleans society will all be staring at us."

"I'll call the meeting," David assured him. "You'll be presiding?"

"You bet."

"I think I can manage it by late--late--tomorrow--the following morning, really. Make it 3:00 a.m. Those who are still hanging out here will probably be three sheets to the wind, not likely to interrupt. The rectory, 3:00 a.m."

"That will work. Thanks, David."

"So, will you have some lunch? As my guest, of course."

"I appreciate the offer, but it's going to be a long day."

"Where are you off to now?"

"The morgue," Jagger told him.

Fiona arrived at Underworld while lunch was still being served. She walked up to the hostess stand, and the woman standing there looked up at her with patronizing patience. She looked Fiona up and down, and would have sniffed audibly if it weren't against all sense of Southern courtesy. She was dressed in black, and had long black hair, black eyes and enormous breasts.

"Yes? A table for...one? I'm afraid there's a wait," the woman said.

Shapeshifter, Fiona thought.

And she probably knew damned well who she was, and what she wanted.

"I'm sorry, I'm not here for lunch at all. I need to see Mr. Du Lac," Fiona said.

"Ah," the woman said, just looking at her.

Fiona wasn't in the mood for a staring contest.

"If you would be so kind, I would deeply appreciate it if you would tell Mr. Du Lac that I'm here."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm quite certain that he's expecting me," Fiona said.

"He's a very busy man. Perhaps you could leave your card."

"Perhaps you could inform him that Fiona MacDonald is here. In fact, I strongly suggest that you do so right now."

The woman lifted her chin. Fiona could tell that she was about to stall again. Fiona hated changing. She seldom had to do so, but she was adept at the art that was her birthright. She could do so in an instant, and change back so quickly that anyone seeing her who didn't know would assume it had been a trick of the light. So...

She changed. She gave something that was a warning growl, fangs dripping and bared.

And then she changed back instantly.

"You don't need to get huffy," the woman told her. "Right this way."

She led Fiona past the scattered tables in the courtyard. Beneath one of the lovely umbrellas with its fleur-de-lis in black and gold, she saw David Du Lac comfortably seated.

He had been leaning back, eyes shaded by his dark glasses, hands folded, toes tapping to the sounds of the jazz band.

His pose was casual, but he had seen her coming. He rose, extending his hands to her, a broad smile stretching out across his features.

"Fiona, my dear, welcome, welcome to my club."

She accepted his hands, along with the kiss he gave her on each cheek. "Valentina, be a dear and see that Miss MacDonald receives a libation right away. What will it be, my dear? A Bloody Mary is always a lovely concoction for lunchtime."

"I'm fine, really."

"You must accept my hospitality," David insisted.

"Iced tea, please," Fiona said.

She noticed that Valentina, the bitchy shapeshifter, as she would always think of the woman from this moment forth, did sniff audibly then.

"Certainly, David," the woman crooned.

"David, you know why I'm here," Fiona said, watching the bitchy shapeshifter swish away.

"Don't mind her. She's a jealous vixen if ever I've seen one."

"She's a triple D with feet," Fiona said. "Hardly likely to be jealous of me."

"Ah, my sweet child, what you don't know about your own sex!" David said, then grew serious. "But never mind. I do know why you're here."

"David, this wasn't just someone who went insane and attacked a woman, then tried to hide her body. It wasn't someone trying to create his eternal love. This was an act of...war, really. She was left where some city guide with tourists in tow would find her. She was put on display, stretched out...David, this is extremely serious."

"I do know that, my child," he said.

"I'm not a child, David," she reminded him quietly.

"I'm the Keeper."

"Fiona, no offense meant. But you're supposed to step in when we can't police our own."

"This was the action of a rogue, David."

"Yes, yes, of course. And I promise you, if we'd known he--or she--was out there, we would never have let it happen. But have some faith, Fiona. Please. Jagger DeFarge is working the case and--"

"He's a vampire, David. He doesn't want to believe that he's hunting down one of his own."

David leaned back, stretching his arms out as if to encompass not only his club but the entire city. "Fiona, I love my life. Or death. Or afterlife. However one chooses to refer to this existence, I'm a good man."

"David, I wasn't accusing you of anything."

"My point is that I don't want anyone taking this away from me. I enjoy the money, frankly, not to mention the beautiful creatures of all kinds who cross my threshold. I revel in the music. Would I risk losing this? If I knew who had done this, I promise you, I would see to it that Jagger DeFarge knew, and that our own council handled the matter immediately. You must believe me."

A friendly ash blond waiter with a broad smile delivered her ice tea and asked if she wanted anything else.

"The crawfish etouffee is to die for today," David told her.

"Thank you, but--"

"Please," David said. She was hungry, and she had to have lunch somewhere. "Fine, thank you," she said.

David grinned broadly, delighted, as the waiter moved on to place her order.

"David, you know that I will follow this all the way through, that I'll be in everyone's face everywhere," Fiona said.

"It will be charming to have you here," he assured her. "Fiona, I swear, I will do my utmost to help you in any way that I can. But I am asking you something, too. Give Jagger DeFarge a chance."

"I have to give him a chance, don't I? He's with the police--he'll be front and center in the investigation," she said dryly. "But here's what I won't get from Jagger, David. I don't believe he'll tell me when he's suspicious of someone. He'll protect his own until the very end--and he may cause more deaths by his unwillingness to believe the killer is a vampire."

"That's not true," David said.

A throat was cleared behind them. "Crawfish etouffee," the young waiter announced, giving Fiona a fascinated smile. She thanked him as he refilled her tea and handed David another Bloody Mary.

"Who do you suspect?" she demanded, when the waiter had left them at last.

"No one," David said.

"You're a liar. But if you point me in a certain direction, I will be discreet as I investigate," Fiona said.

"No one, really...."

"Liar. Who is the most belligerent? Who wants to go back to the old ways?"

David looked away.

She followed his line of vision toward a tall man across the courtyard, just on the other side of the small stage reserved for the jazz band. He was flirting with a woman seated at his table. She was middle-aged, slim and elegant, with fingers that dripped jewels. She was laughing delightedly at something the man was saying.