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    Deep Midnight
    Deep Midnight
    Deep Midnight
    Ebook444 pages6 hours

    Deep Midnight

    By Heather Graham

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    An opulent Carnivale ball in Venice takes a terrifying turn for book critic Jordan Riley. As festivity turns into frenzy, she is rescued by a powerful man disguised as a wolf. But was what she winessed really just the evening's entertainment---or something far more sinister?

    From a deconsecrated church in Venice to a secret society in New Orleans, Jordan is led on a nightmare jorney to the razor's edge of reality. Her mysterious savior is always a shadow behind her. A man whose closeness will both torment and tantalize her as darkness falls--and an eternal hunger threatens to consume her.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHeather Graham
    Release dateJun 21, 2011
    ISBN9781458065162
    Author

    Heather Graham

    New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She's a winner of the RWA's Lifetime Achievement Award and the Thriller Writers' Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her website, theoriginalheathergraham.com. You can also find Heather on Facebook and on Twitter, @heathergraham.

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    Reviews for Deep Midnight

    3.5/5

    51 ratings6 reviews

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    • 4/5
      The book was really entertaining. If you read her previous books you will know what you are getting.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed the action in Venice and New Orleans. Because the view of Islam was set during the Crusades, I can forgive the character's assumption that Allah is a different god rather than God the Father (Yahweh or Jehovah). I'm docking a star because I kept wanting to slap some sense into heroine Jordan. The big battle in the de-consecrated church was particularly good.
    • 3/5
      This book cribs from The Highlander in the way that the last volume of the series pulled from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. At least the rules of vampirism didn't change again. Actually, this third book is quite a bit better than the last, but not as good as the first. It started a little slow and I didn't like the heroine at all. In fact, all the characters seemed very changeable and as though they were acting only in ways that advanced the plot, not ways that would be motivated by their intrinsic natures. Also, one of the chapters seemed as though it was split in the middle and switched around. Other than that, though, the story was pretty entertaining, most of it set in Venice during Carnevale. Drake was able to really bring the celebration to life, and even teach a little Italian.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 3/5
      I was unaware that this was in a series of three until after I read it. I was a bit bored through some of it, but overall I was entertained. I'm sure I would enjoy it a lot more if I read the other two!

      1 person found this helpful

    • 2/5
      The 3rd in a series of romantic vampire books. The first two are really good, but this is a disappointment. It drags on. Very boring.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 3/5
      This is the third in Shannon Drake's Vampire series. I had the same problem with this book that I had with the last one. It is way too long. The author could have shaved 150 pages off and made the book much less boring. There were times when I found myself completely absorbed in the story. Then there were times I had to really fight the urge to skim pages. Jordon lost her fiance' in the line of duty less than a year ago. She is still dealing with that, but doing alright. She goes to Venice with her cousin, Jared, and his wife, Cindy.They arrive during the Carnivale celebrations. Lots of parties and costumes. Jared had gotten invitations for them to a costume ball given by a powerful Contessa. But, the Contessa has some strange party ideas. Jordon believes she has witnessed a murder, but is told it was all a performance. After involving the police, and embarrassing her cousin, Jordon finds herself the laughing stock of Venice. She even makes the local papers. Jordon tries very hard to enjoy her stay in Venice despite her stong feeling that something is very wrong.The author spends entirely too much time describing Venice, Carnivale, and shops, costumes, performances etc. These descriptions go on for pages at a time. Then there are too many secondary characters that have little or no impact on the story. Finally, toward the end of the book, characters from the previous novel show up and the two stories link together. Jordon's relationship with the Vampire is lukewarm. I think I had the same feeling in the last book. In fact, the story ends with a question mark about their relationship. Same thing with the last novel. No chemistry. I don't need overly explicit sex to feel some kind of chemistry, but they didn't really even kiss. They didn't have any real adult conversations. Jordon remained suspicious of him all the way until the bitter end. I have two more books left in my possession in this series, so I will most likely attempt to get them read. But, from I have learned from the reviews of those books, the feelings are mixed.I think Heather Graham has given up on the Shannon Drake vampire series, and that's probably a good thing.

      1 person found this helpful

    Book preview

    Deep Midnight - Heather Graham

    AFTER THE BALL .

    ... He asked her if she needed a walk back to her hotel. She told him no. That Venice was a safe city.

    Yet she was glad that he was there . . .

    The last of the vaporettos had departed. See, there's no one left, he said.

    She inclined her head toward the Swiss Guard on the dock

    He's a stranger, Ragnor said.

    I don't think anyone is stranger than you, she replied.

    He shrugged. That may be true.

    She sighed. We never get anywhere.

    We would, if you'd let us. He spoke very softly. Yet even as she felt a growing excitement at his touch, she heard a hissing sound. Looking back toward the palazzo, it seemed that shadows swooped and fell around the entry. She looked up at the sky, wondering if the moon had been covered. A sense of fear swept through her. Inadvertently, she took a step closer to him.

    He slipped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned her head against him. Fingers smoothed her hair beneath the fantasy headdress.

    What time is it? she asked him.

    Almost three, he murmured.

    Deep Midnight

    By Shannon Drake

    Published by Heather Graham

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright 2011 Heather Graham

    Dedicated, with deep thanks to the folks at Max Art Shop, a wonderful stop in Venice.

    To Antonia Sautter, Marie Lo Cueto, Nicole De Leo, Chi- ara Scomazzon, Tomaso Satta, Francesco Cavaliere, Teresa Lucente, Isabella Pachera, Clivia Muechler, Stefano Dardi, Franca Krippner, Katia Del Neri, Simonetta Peni, and especially to Sandra Poletto, who tries so hard and so patiently to help me with my Italian.

    Also, to the Danieli, truly one of the most beautiful hotels in the world, and to the staff there, who are wonderful

    And, with love and appreciation to the incredible friends we met in Venice—Robin and Michelle Archer, David and Janet G.-W., Natacha Marro, Beatrix Ost, and Ludwig Kuttner.

    PROLOGUE

    The moon was full. Huge in the sky, a brilliant, iridescent orb that seemed to stare down mockingly at the earth.

    Though his night vision was excellent, it helped him to see.

    From the Campanile, he had chosen to survey the city. He looked out at the dazzle of the evening; at the people milling about, at the clear beauty of the dark sky far above, and he felt his tension and aware¬ness increase.

    Carnevale.

    Venice.

    The first true night of celebration. The first night of the grand balls ...

    Fat Tuesday.

    The delirium of it all.

    Tonight. They would strike tonight.

    For far below, crowding the streets, alleyways, and canals, were all manner of masqueraders. Musicians, entertainers, stilt-walkers, rich and poor, all were out for a night of pretense, playacting, charades. The world here now was shadow, despite the lights that spilled forth in the city, despite the lanterns so many of the players carried.

    Fat Tuesday . ..

    The feast before Lent

    Yes, they would seek to feast tonight And they would do so. Glut themselves ...

    Unless ...

    Silently, with the grace and skill of the natural born predator, he left his perch.

    And entered the city.

    Jordan Riley threw open the shutters at the window in her room at the Hotel Danieli, looking out at the loud and festive world around her. From her vantage point, she could see the waters of the Canale di San Marco, and down toward the Grand Canal; she could see the vaporettos, gondolas, and streams of people coming and going from the docks. Across the water was the magnificent dome of the church of Santa Maria della Salute. And, stretching her body out the open window, she could see, to her right, the beginnings of St Mark's Square, the site of unbelievable revelry. The night was wild with the sounds of laugher and music, and everywhere there was camaraderie, joviality. The pre-Lent celebration might be well known and loved in other great cities as well, but Jordan didn't think that anyone else, anywhere, knew

    how to celebrate Carnevale quite the way the Venetians did.

    No matter how strange, they were elegant as well.

    Jordan, ready?

    She turned around. Her cousin Jared was standing in her doorway, though, if she hadn't known it was Jared, she wouldn't have had the least idea that it was he. He'd come as the dottore, a popular costume here. Plagues had once consumed Venice, so the dottore wore a mask with a huge nose, usually beaked; reminiscent of the covering doctors had worn to combat the fetid vapors. The masks were elaborate, frightening. Jared wore a voluminous, hooded cloak as well; he hadn't been inclined to dress in anything as foppish as a Renaissance costume. The cloak and mask were easily donned; maybe that was why the costume was so popular.

    Ready? Yes! I can't wait It's incredible out there! She'd been to Venice several times before, but never for Carnevale. This year Jared and his wife, Cindy, had talked her into accompanying them to the festival. She felt a little awkward, being with the two of them but on her own at tonight's costume ball—unescorted. She felt just a bit like a fifth wheel. She spoke enough Italian to order room service and find her way around, but though it was true that many Venetians spoke English, she was afraid she'd find herself seated next to strangers with whom she couldn't begin to converse. Still, the excitement of the trip had outweighed the fear.

    Thank God! I thought you were going to try to weasel out tonight! he told her.

    Me? Weasel out? Not on your life! Of course, she was lying. She'd been thinking of doing exactly that

    until darkness had fallen, the music had begun, and the sheer vibrance of the evening had awakened a spirit of total devil-may-care adventure in her. Surely, there would be someone with whom she could talk, dance, and while away the hours.

    You're smashing, by the way, he told her.

    She walked from the window and dipped a curtsy to him. Thanks.

    She'd rented her costume at the last minute, but it was spectacular. Renaissance—a popular era here— and festooned with sequins, faux jewels, and an overlay of lace. The gown had been available because Jordan happened to be petite—five three, standing very straight—and an even hundred pounds. The dress had been made for a young woman who'd had to cancel about a month ago, and no one the right size had arrived since.

    Smashing—and you look taller.

    It's the shoes, she told him, showing him the period shoes she wore. She wondered, however, if they'd really worn such wretched heels in times gone by. Surely, this kind of heel was a modem nod to women's vanity.

    Let's hope you don't shrink like Granny Jay. You'll be down to nothing.

    Go ahead. Be cruel because you got all the 'tall' genes, she told him. Strange. He was so tall; she was so petite. But they had both inherited very deep green eyes from their Granny Jay. That, and her penchant for new places, people, and cities such as Venice, with its truly unique character.

    Down to nothing, he repeated with a teasing sigh. She thought that he was grinning behind his mask. Can you walk in those?

    Um. I practice in heels a lot, she assured him. It's the only way to see over counters, and manage to climb up on a bar stool, when necessary.

    Hey! You two, let's get going—it's late!

    Cindy, dressed in black Victorian mourning, came to the doorway. Like Jared, she was tall.

    Jordan! Great shoes. Maybe people won't think you're my child tonight!

    Jordan groaned. Cindy! You're going to torture me, too?

    Torture you. I'm only five years older—and people ask me if I'm the mother! She shuddered.

    'You're both smashing! Jared said. Two of the greatest beauties... there. That's said and done. Now, shall we go?"

    Afew minutes later, they passed through the centuries- old lobby of the gracious hotel. Even the bellmen carried masks, and everyone greeted everyone. It was a night for compliments, fun, and eternal smiles.

    They left the hotel and came out on the walk before the canal. The pavement was thronged. People jostled people, and apologies were given in dozens of different languages. Jared, tall as he was, craned his neck to see over the people. Water taxis, vaporettos and gondolas all used the docks in front of the Danieli, and the place was simply packed.

    Girls, wait here just a minute. Our launch might be around the other side, Jared told them.

    With a sweep of his cape, he walked away.

    Jordan and Cindy moved toward the canal, away from the stream of pedestrian traffic, and waited while Jared went off to find the private launch which was to bring them to the ball. An annual event, the ball was always held in an historical palazzo, and was always one of the most prestigious events of the night Jared's surname was Riley, just as Jordan's, but his mother had been a Genovese. Loving all things Italian, he had become the Venetian rep for a major American travel firm. He spent almost as much time in Italy now as he did in the States. His Italian was excellent

    Jordan wished hers was better. A man jostled her, paused, tipped his hat and went into a long apology. Having no idea what he was saying, she smiled and nodded and told him, Prego, prego! Literally I pray you in English, it was, in Italian, a catchall for almost anything. He smiled, tipped his hat again, and went on.

    I'm going to have to keep a good eye on you all night! Cindy told her. That rat was trying to pick you up!

    Cindy, that was mean. How do you know he was a rat?

    Cindy laughed, shaking back her long blond hair— very different tonight from its usual sleek cascade down her back, since she was wearing it in tight little ringlets. He was dressed as a rat Jordan, weren't you paying attention?

    Oh! Jordan murmured. No, I saw the tail and the gray felt on his shoulders, but...

    Rat Cindy warned. Renaissance rat but a rat just the same. We'd best be careful. I imagine that there are a lot of rats out tonight And wolves. And you look like prime bait

    Girls! Jared said, hurrying back over to them. We've got to move down by St Mark's Square—our fellow is way in back in the launch line, and he thinks he can get us easier ahead.

    Urn, we need to move. The rats and wolves and basic slime-buckets are after little Red, here.

    Little Red? Jared demanded. This time, Jordan thought that he was frowning with confusion as he looked at her, but he was still wearing his mask, so she really couldn't tell. Her hair is as black as pitch, what's little 'red' about her?

    Never mind—he's no sense at all for fantasy, Cindy told Jordan, shaking her head with rueful affection. We simply need to take care of your cousin, dear. She's far too delectable looking this evening.

    I guess, Jared murmured, and she knew he was staring at her. Maybe you're right Jordan, are those boobs all yours?

    Jared, how rude! Cindy protested.

    Jordan laughed, her hands on her hips. Yes, Jared, they are. How about you? What's behind that codpiece?

    Thank God we're in Italy and everyone on the street isn't understanding the two of you! Cindy exclaimed. Can we get going?

    They made their way through the crowd. Jordan was glad that Jared had such a firm hold on her arm; she could look around, stare, enjoy the sights and sounds.

    The weather was crisp and cool, the city was wonderfully alive. Lights dazzled on the water, and each reflection caught in the shimmering canal was more beautiful, more colorful, and more fantastic.

    Even the absurd was stunningly beautiful. The costumes ranged from elaborate period outfits, to fantasy, to animal. Birds strutted incredible plumage, cats were sleek and bejeweled. Newscasters from around the world interviewed people here and there; cameras whirred, music blared from the Square, voices and laughter rose above it all. They might celebrate in other places, Jordan thought again, but Venice was unique in its love of the sheer sophistication of dress- up; natives and visitors alike vied to be gorgeous.

    Jared led them to the landings directly in front of St Mark's Square. Jordan turned, feeling as if someone were watching her. She looked up. The Lion of Venice sat atop his high marble pillar, staring down at her. She looked around, at St. Mark's Basilica and the Doge's Palace. By night, shadows seemed to dance, as if they were real entities, hiding behind gargoyles, proud equine statues, and other fantasy creatures set upon splendid architecture by some of the greatest artists who had ever lived.

    A church bell tolled in the evening.

    A dozen church bells tolled. Jared gripped her arm, leading her over the dock to their vaporetto, and soon they were shooting through waters as heavily laden with revelers as the streets of the city.

    Ah, there, ahead—our palace!"

    She tried to remember everything she had heard about the event tonight The ball was given by Nari Contessa della Trieste, a woman with a heredity as rich as that of the city itself. She was very wealthy, having married well—several times. Her first love, however, was the arts, and the Palazzo Trieste, for more of a palace than a castle, featuring the archways, architecture, stone and marble work of a building planned as a residence rather than a fortress from the very beginning. Beautiful, wrought iron gates allowed entry from the canals; there were elaborate, semicircular steps at the entry, where costumed footmen came to help the ladies and gentlemen from their conveyances.

    Within the grand foyer, with its white marble staircase, they were greeted by their hostess. Of medium height and surely, a medium age, she was stunningly beautiful, dressed all in white, with huge white feathers sweeping the hem of her gown, an elaborate and very regal collar made of the same, and a mask of even longer feathers. She wielded her mask with experience, comfort and composure, nodding to the guests at her side, smiling, turning to greet the new arrivals. Jared, benvenutol Cindy, ciao, bellal"

    She drifted across the floor, greeting them with kisses on both cheeks. Then she took both of Jordan's hands, stretching away to survey her. Oh, la, the cousin, Jared! Bella, bella, bella, cara mia You speak Italian, a little? Poco, eh? Grazie, grazie, bella, for coming to my little soiree, eh? Grazie.

    Grazieanche ei Jordan told her. Mille grazie.

    You do speak Italian!

    No, Jordan replied. A very, very little, I'm afraid.

    ''Ah, still, dance, be merry. Most here speak English, but then, sometimes it's much, much better when a man cannot be understood, eh?" She grinned, expressive dark eyes sliding over Cindy and Jared. Jordan felt the strangest sensation of unease, wondering if their hostess weren't more familiar with her cousin than he had ever suggested. She quickly dismissed the thought; Jared and Cindy were very much in love, the perfect couple.

    The buffet is upstairs, the champagne is here! the Contessa said, reaching out for glasses from a passing waiter. And the dancing, the dancing is everywhere.

    As they moved on, Jared excused himself to her. Jordan, I won't leave you alone for dinner, I promise. There are a few business associates I have to see ...

    He doesn't mind deserting me—just you, Cindy teased.

    You know people here.

    ' 'Does anyone really know people here?'' Cindy queried, as they walked to the buffet table, looking around. The costumes here were even more brilliant than on the street—elegant and extravagant, costing thousands to tens of thousands of dollars, Jordan imagined. She began to feel underdressed in her sequins, faux jewels, and velvet Too many women were wearing real gems. On one medieval gown, Jordan was certain she could see the sparkle of dozens of real emeralds.

    Jordan, sorry, that peacock with the chubby butt and big fan is Mrs. Meroni. I must say hi to her quickly. Come with me—

    I'll wander, Jordan assured her. Go talk.

    But—

    I'll be fine.

    Watch out for the rats.

    If I go for any wolves, I'll make sure they're very wealthy, Jordan assured her.

    And young, Cindy advised. Or else, old enough to keel off immediately and leave you filthy rich in your own right

    I'll keep that in mind.

    Cindy walked away from her.

    He saw her walking idly to the buffet table.

    She was small and perfect A petite woman with dark, wavy hair curling over her shoulders, and drawn back from her forehead with a pair of slender braids in concession to the Renaissance style of the deep crimson gown she wore. Others might be more richly dressed; none wore a costume with such natural elegance.

    As many here, she carried her mask, a silver and gold creation, on a wand. She pulled it away from her eyes, sipped her champagne, and studied a certain problem in regard to the buffet table—how to hold the drink, the mask and a tiny shrimp.

    He left the balcony, and came down the stairs, studying her all the while. He joined her at the table, addressing her in Italian at first but when her eyes immediately hit his with a certain confusion, he switched to English. Good evening. Excuse me for being so impertinent— he paused, lowering his voice—I believe one is supposed to have an introduction here, but as you seemed to be in some difficulty, I thought I would be of assistance. He reached out a hand, offering to rescue the champagne glass, the mask, or both.

    She looked up at him, green eyes that rivaled any gem here, alight with a sparkle, a slow smile of rueful amusement cm-ling her lips.

    She spoke softly, too. I'm not so sure I can accept your assistance. I've just assured my cousin-in-law that I will watch out for rats and wolves and all predators of the night, I believe.

    Ah, unless they should be filthy rich, he murmured.

    She laughed, the sound a bit guilty as she looked around, the slightest touch of a frown furrowing her brow.

    Well, she murmured, looking him up and down once again. You are a wolf.

    A wolf? he said with mock distress.

    She indicated his costume. His mask was leather, with carved nose and teeth. He wore a black cape, but beneath it were worn strips of fur.

    But perhaps I'm a young, very wealthy—filthy rich—wolf. Take a chance. Dance with me. Well, he amended thoughtfully, have a shrimp, finish your champagne, and then dance with me.

    Ah, but—

    Live recklessly. This is Venice. Carnevale.

    Her smile deepened. She handed him her mask, quickly finished a shrimp, swallowed her champagne, and nodded. I will do my best

    In a minute, they were out on the dance floor in the rear, a terrace that looked over another section of a canal. The moonlight captured on the water reflected the dancers. They played a waltz; she had warned him she was an American and frightfully behind in the etiquette of dance, but she seemed to waltz as if she had been following his lead for years. She glided, she laughed, she stumbled, and grimaced. You're a bit too tall, she told him.

    You're a bit too small. But we shall manage.

    You're not Italian? she told him.

    A wolf—and not even Italian, he admitted.

    But you're not American.

    A citizen of the world, he told her. But you are, of course, American.

    I might have been English, she told him.

    Not in the least

    Ah, but perhaps I'm Canadian.

    You've the clear mark of an American, he assured her.

    Oh, do I? It was true; everyone always seemed to recognize Americans immediately. Before they spoke. It was as if they wore the word American tattooed on their foreheads. From Charleston, South Carolina, she admitted. And you?

    Italy is my home away from home. At the moment There are few in the world as warm and welcoming as the Italians.

    But you were born ... where? she inquired, curious green eyes bright on his.

    He smiled, deciding not to tell her. There was little reason to do so. After tonight...

    He shouldn't have danced with her. He shouldn't have spoken with her. The mayhem was coming. But she had caught his eye; she had awakened his senses, perhaps his instincts. Then, it seemed, she was capable as well of charming the mind.

    And the soul?

    Sir? Excuse me—Sir Wolf? Where are you from?"

    Far, far away, he said lightly, sweeping her in a circle. Then he paused at a tap on his shoulder. Signore, per piacere ...

    A Victorian gentleman, clearly English, broke in on him.

    He acquiesced, bowing low. Care Americana, he told her. Ciao, bella. Ciao, bella.

    She smiled at him, regret in her eyes, he thought Or was it only that he could not help but hope?

    He watched her dance away.

    Her feet hurt—she had practiced in heels, but these were high. And the night was far from boring. First— the wolf. The enigmatic, very tall, oh-so-charming wolf. She hadn't the faintest idea of what he really looked like. He wore his mask. And yet, his height was hard to hide. Would she recognize him again? She would know his scent, she thought Certainly. Very nice. An aftershave that was clean and woodsy but... with a very sensual, musky undertone.

    After the wolf—the Englishman.

    Then a harlequin, or joker.

    He complimented her gown, then her eyes and her hair. Then the length of her neck.

    She laughed, kept her distance. 'You are too effusive, sir."

    Ah, never. Such lovely white flesh. The way your pulse ... beats.

    Just when she was beginning to feel uncomfortable, a Grim Reaper in brown leather and silk broke in on her. He was a Spaniard, tall, attractive. He commented on her wonderful energy, the ray of light that seemed to flow from her.

    She thanked him. His features were colored with gray makeup, but his eyes were very dark and intense. Sexy, she thought

    Cindy, you 're right, there are wolves everywhere. Tempting wolves. . .

    As they spoke, a mummer in crimson tights and jacket came up on the terrace, ringing a bell, followed by a midget clapping paddles together.

    He spoke in Italian, at first but translated for himself as well, to benefit all the guests at the ball. Hear ye, hear ye, the masque begins! In days long, long gone, Odo, Conte of the Castello, had no son, but brought forth to the earth a daughter so glorious that the greatest of the nobility thought him rich. But Odo decried his lack of an heir, seizing his wife—

    He grabbed a middle-aged woman in a twelfth-century headdress, inquiring softly if she would play. She nodded, laughing, all for the game.

    Seizing his wife, he shook the poor wretched creature! He pretended to shake her. And gave her the kiss of death!

    It appeared that he whispered to the woman; she went limp, he set her down.

    So! the crimson-clad mummer went on. He married anew! But this wife, also, foiled to give him a son! From the growing crowd around him, he found another matron who eagerly nodded her assent to act out the part of the Conte's wife. He whispered to her; she went limp. He carefully let her fall to the floor.

    And again, he took a wife!

    He seized another woman, who was giggling and nodding before he could ask. She went the way of the first two women.

    Alas, he went through more wives than Bluebeard! The mummer waltzed about the room, taking woman after woman.

    Then he paused, dramatically shaking his head.

    But still, no woman gave him a son! So! He offered up his glorious, glorious daughter!

    The mummer came walking through the crowd. He, too, was tall and powerful, Jordan thought, muscles straining the form-hugging clothing.

    He was walking toward her, she realized. She backed away. American! she said softly.

    No matter! he told her. He reached out a hand to her. She started shaking her head, but he had her already. She was a guest; she didn't want to be rude.

    So he offered his soul to the very devil to find the man who would be his daughter's husband, and take on the family name! Ah! And where was the devil?

    As the mummer walked around the room, looking for the devil, guests laughed and moved about

    And then Jordan saw the crimson spill coming from beneath the head of the first woman who had fallen to the floor.

    Blood.

    She gasped, drawing a hand to her mouth, and began to scream.

    The mummer saw her reaction, and snatched her up. She shrieked, trying to fight him off. He was stronger than she had imagined. And then, to her horror, she saw that the room suddenly seemed to be full of...

    Beasts. Demons. She was seeing things. Surely. Men clad in furs, capes, coats .. . women suddenly let out shrieking cries, displaying ... fangs.

    Let go!

    She fought wildly, kicking, screaming. She found herself dragged to the far end of the terrace by the mummer.

    His crimson coloring as dark as the blood that had spilled ...

    Suddenly, the mummer was wrenched away from her, and she looked into the eyes of the wolf.

    The mummer snarled, hurling out vindictive words in a language she didn't know. The wolf responded. The mummer struck at the wolf; the wolf ducked and fought back.

    Jordan began to scream again and again as the force of the blow sent the mummer's head dangling to the side of his body, his neck broken.

    All hell seemed to be breaking loose within the elegant palazzo.

    Jordan stepped back, dazed.

    Beasts were spilling from the house. Beasts! Creatures in all manner of costume! Animals, with huge long teeth now, with blood dripping from those ... fangs.

    Then she started to scream again because the wolf reached for her. She ducked low, but he was incredibly powerful.

    He bounded from the terrace ...

    Into fog! Sheer fog. A mist that had formed in the night, so rich, so thick, they seemed to jump into a black hole, into eternity ...

    His feet thumped down hard upon something. A launch. It rocked wildly with the impact of their weight Jordan screamed with delayed terror, she could have fallen upon stone, upon marble, she could have broken her neck ...

    She could have just fallen forever and ever, into the mist, into hell

    He set her down in the small launch, then looked up at the startled oarsman.

    Row! he thundered. Row, row, now!

    The fellow sprang to life.

    Then the wolf sprang from the launch to the pavement

    And turned.

    And was swallowed into the mist

    CHAPTER 1

    Morning.

    Bright light

    No swirl of fog, no whisper of evil. Only the clear blue of an amazingly beautiful winter's day and the clink of cutlery, the chatter of many tongues, and the universal sound of laughter.

    I think, Jared said, his tone very soft, that this is all because of Steven. I am so sorry to bring this up, and I have tried very hard not to, but Jordan, you are going on and on, after everything that has been explained. No matter how kind and patient people have been, you will not understand that it was all part of the party, a good taunting jest and no morel

    Jordan stiffened at her cousin's tone. She looked down at her hands, counting to ten. Steven had been dead for over a year. She had accepted the fact She was not psychotic. At his death, she had been devastated, and she had grieved, and she had been angry, but she had never been paranoid.

    She stared at Jared icily. This has nothing to do with Steven. Nothing at all. It has to do with last night Historically, there have been monsters, human monsters, Jordan said. And many of them very rich and exceedingly well positioned.

    Jared let out a snort of aggravation. He leaned toward her.

    Jordan, get it straight You were tricked, fooled. I understood at first; you were scared, worried sick, but you've been told that the whole thing was a masquerade, an entertainment If you persist with this, you're going to destroy my relationship with the Contessa, and ruin my entire livelihood, he said, his words beginning with a tone of impatience, and finishing with a ring bordering on anger. Trust me—the Contessa is an important worldly and responsible woman. She gives huge sums of money to charities, and she enjoys entertainment even scary entertainment She is not any kind of a cultist

    The last word stung like a slap, as did the edge in his voice. Jordan chose to ignore his tone.

    To herself, she admitted that this morning, seated in the rooftop restaurant of the Danieli, with their attentive waiters polite and cheerful and very normal in their uniforms, she should have been able to let it go, It had all been explained to her.

    Yet she had kept on trying to explain what she had seen the night before!

    Even the police had been angry with her at the end of last night Still, as a book reviewer lucky enough to have earned a large syndicated audience, she'd brought work with her on this vacation. In the pile of advanced reading copies and galleys to be reviewed— including volumes of fiction and non fiction—she'd happened to have a new book written by a Hollywood producer. The writer had been responsible for some of the most popular horror fiction seen at the movies in the past decade. It was a good book, and it went way beyond the movies, tracing the facts beyond the legends and myths that had sprung up through time throughout the world.

    Jordan had listened to the explanations, the patience, the laughter, the anger. She'd witnessed a show they told her. A show! A. damned perverse show, and if that had been the Contessa's idea of entertainment, she hadn't been in the least amused. Jared, so convinced that his relationship with the Contessa was his key to the movers and shakers of Venice, wouldn't even consider the possibility that something evil might have occurred at the palazzo, even without the Contessa's knowledge or cooperation. Nor would he support Jordan in her anger that the Contessa should never have hired such sick entertainment

    Jared, you're wrong. Very wrong. I am not letting my imagination get the best of me, I do not believe in ghosts, goblins or spirits, but I do know that bad things happen. And beyond just the bad, there are people out there who believe that they themselves are something supernatural. Listen to this, pay attention, and remember, this is just one of dozens of documented cases involving real people. Antoine Leger, a French mass murderer, was a cannibal—and he drank blood, she informed him evenly, her finger on the page as she stared at her cousin. He went to the guillotine in , a truly horrible man who deserved his fate. His crime? He hid out in the woods, waiting for his prey like a viper. Then he would strike out at young girls, rape them, kill them, drink their blood, and dine on their hearts.

    Cindy, who had been sitting quietly with them at the table, looked at Jordan with dismay. With an infinite patience now lacking in her husband, she reached over and gently touched Jordan's hand. You're reading a book. It's just stories.

    This is not fiction! Jordan protested. I explained that this man was real…

    Jared set his cup of coffee down with an impatience that threatened to break crockery. It's a book of stories, fiction, a work on vampires in film and legend, Jared said with exasperation.

    It's a book about vampires in films, books and history, Jordan corrected, trying not to raise her voice.

    She and Jared were both only children. They had been raised together, and usually, they were as close as if they had been born brother and sister. She understood that he loved this city, and that it was important for him to befriend people such as the Contessa, yet it was still very hard for her to accept what she had seen as entertainment.

    Jordan—

    Jared, I just can't believe you won't even consider the possibility that something did happen last night!

    She knew that she was pushing it, but despite all the assurances that been given to her after the ball, and despite the beautiful, cool, sunlit Venetian morning, and her cousin's current discomfort, she couldn't let it go.

    Near her, people drank their espresso and cafe con latte, laughed, chatted, and read their papers with utter normalcy. The world was light now, bright with sunshine, filled with talk, a multitude of languages, even the very down-to-earth cry of a baby.

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