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the blood have been murdered in this same manner in Europe, and all three were
intelligent, experienced, alert people who survived times when people actively
believed in and hunted us. Dominic escaped the arena in Rome, the Spanish
Inquisition, and innumerable witch hunts. Yet this hunter managed to destroy
him. Now do you see why I want you away from here? You're too . . . naive to
fight him. And what if you should succeed in capturing him? Punishing him
through your legal system will only make public why and what he kills, and you
will have helped him destroy us all. Garreth, leave hunter to me."
Cold ran through him and sat in icy lumps in his gut. "I can't. The law you
don't believe in won't let me leave. So you might as well use my help. Who
knows? My training might even come in handy. Tell me about the killings. Is
there clue at all to who's doing them?"
She glanced around. "Let's walk. We've stood in one place too long."
They walked, following the paths winding through the garden. Irina said
nothing more for nearly five minutes, then with a sigh: "I talked to people
who knew my friends. They could tell me little, but they did say that shortly
before each death, my friend had talked to a tall, fairhaired man. One had
mentioned to a companion that man asked for a red-haired woman who traveled
with Irina Rodek in years just before Second World War. It was obviously Mada,
or Lane, as she calls herself here. That is why I came to San Francisco, to
warn her, and to warn our friends against talking to anyone asking for Mada."
Garreth felt as though a fist sunk in his stomach. "Was the man an
Englishman?"
She whirled to stare up at him. "I don't know. No one I talked to had
spoken with him personally." Her eyes narrowed. "There is an Englishman
Leonard said is working with your police friends, the one who came with you to
Foundation offices yesterday afternoon."
"Julian Fowler." Quickly, he told her everything about the writer. "But . .
. I don't know that any of it means anything. There's no obvious motive for
him killing anyone, and certainly no proof against him."
Irina pursed her lips. "If he were a hunter, hatred of us would be
sufficient motive, but this man has a specific quarry."
"Madelaine Bieber," Garreth said. "He's very open about it. Would he be if
he wanted her for more than the book he claims to be researching?"
Irina smiled thinly. "If he's clever. Hunter who killed my friends has
shown himself very clever." She paused. "I think we need to know something
about this Englishman."
Garreth nodded. "The library should have entries on him in books like
Contemporary Authors."
Irina pursed her lips. "I know better source which will not raise our
killer's suspicions if he manages to follow us. Come. My car is parked by Stow
Lake."
7
Irina headed her little Honda north.
"Do you have much trouble renting cars and hotel rooms?" Garreth asked.
She snorted. "Of course not. I refuse to suffer inconveniences of being a
minor. My papers identify me as twenty-one and when necessary I can make up to
look the age or older. I suppose I should be thankful that devil Viktor did
not see me at thirteen or fourteen. Ah, here we are." She pulled over to the
curb.
Garreth blinked dubiously at the building before them. "How do we find
biographical information on Fowler at the Philos Foundation?"
"Is simple. Watch."
Irina swung out of the car, climbed the steps to the porch, and rang the
bell.
"May I help you?" a voice asked.
Irina looked up. "I would like to come in."
Now Garreth noticed the small, round eye of a camera winking at them from
the roof of the porch.
"Does your mother know you run around at this hour of the night?" the voice
asked chidingly.
"Natalya Rudenko knows everything I do. Open door, please."
The door buzzed. Irina pushed it open. Yelling a greeting to a face that
appeared at the top of the stairs, she led the way to Holle's office and
unlocked the door. "That is to make us look normal. This, too." She switched
on the light.
For the first time he saw her in color. She had violet eyes indeed . . .
deeply, richly purple as pansies. Except when they reflected ruby red.
She switched on the computer to one side of the desk and sat down at it.
Her fingers raced across the keyboard . . . calling up a communications
program, Garreth realized, reading the screen prompts.
He eyed her in surprise. "You know computers?"
Without looking up, Irina replied, "Is a matter of necessity, as is
learning to drive an automobile and fly an airplane. Altering electronic
records is becoming only way to change identities. Hasn't Mada taught you-"
She glanced up then, and sighed. "No, of course not. Is like her to bring you
into this life and abandon you without bothering to teach basic survival
skills." She turned back to the keyboard and typed rapidly. "Mada avoids use
of advanced technology anyway, an attitude which will undo her eventually. One
cannot cling to era of one's birth. When this problem of vampire hunter is
solved, we must see that you're given proper-ah, there's what I want . . . a
literary database." She typed some more, then turned away. "Searching out and
transmitting data will take a while. Several fresh units of whole blood have
been 'discarded' in shelter refrigerator. Shall I go after one?"
He stiffened. "I don't drink human blood."
She eyed him. "So I see." Irina paused, then added, "One can survive on
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