Description: Chapter 1 The string quartet in the corner of the ballroom slipped from a sleepy minuet into a sleepy waltz. Rosalia lifted her champagne flute to her lips to cover her sigh. Thank God for the demons. If not for their conspiring, boredom would have killed her by now. The small circle of humans she''d joined burst into laughter. Rosalia smiled vacuously in response. She hadn''t heard the joke, but no one at the gala would expect a reply, anyway. She''d changed her dark hair to a wispy, baby blond, donned a vapid expression over soft features, and paired them with an insubstantial pink dress for that very reason: She wouldn''t be expected to talk. She only needed to stand and look pretty. So she stood with humans she didn''t know in the center of a chateau ballroom, watching three of Belial''s demons solidify an alliance. Others watched them, too. Some humans glanced in their direction; some stared. Rosalia could not blame them. Like every demon she''d known, they''d disguised themselves in sinfully handsome human forms--sensual lips and blade-straight noses, black hair glinting under the crystal chandeliers, as if they''d each used an advertisement in a men''s fashion magazine as a template. With a backdrop of priceless paintings mounted on gold-painted walls, they formed a would-be triumvirate with Bernard and Gavel as the base and Pierre Theriault at the top. Of the three, Theriault ranked the highest in both Belial''s army and Legion Laboratories, the corporation that both concealed and supported their activities on Earth. Two years ago, when the Gates to Hell had closed, preventing Belial from overseeing the demons that remained on Earth, Legion began to serve as a communication network. Through it, one of Belial''s lieutenants issued orders and received reports--until he''d been slain by the Guardians. Now, with no clear successor to the lieutenant and no contact from Hell, Belial''s demons were maneuvering for his position, and all of them were arrogant enough to imagine themselves in the spot. But if Bernard and Gavel thought they''d ride the wake of Theriault''s ascent, they were as foolish as he was. Theriault''s particular brand of arrogance bordered on stupidity. No, Rosalia amended. Not bordering stupidity. He''d flung himself over that line the second he''d begun discussing the alliance in a public room, and using English instead of the demonic language. Good Lord, the idiocy. Though the chateau was just north of Paris, perhaps fifteen people out of the hundreds in the ballroom didn''t understand at least rudimentary English. Even if Theriault imagined that the string music floating over the room and the crowd''s chatter would conceal their voices from humans, he hadn''t made sure there weren''t any Guardians or other demons in the vicinity. Though strong enough for Rosalia to feel, Theriault''s psychic sweep hadn''t penetrated her mental shields. At that shallow depth, her mind would seem no different from a human''s. Careless. Stupid. Rosalia had many reasons to slay the demons, but at this moment, making the consequences of that carelessness the last thing they ever saw was the most tempting reason to shove her swords through their eyes. But she wouldn''t slay them. Not tonight. She''d come to the gala to observe Theriault, and to judge how much of a threat he''d be if he led Belial''s demons. Not much. But it hadn''t been a wasted trip. She''d overheard repeated mention of one demon standing in Theriault''s way, one he''d considered too powerful to take on alone: Malkvial. She hadn''t yet learned who Malkvial was. Rosalia didn''t know many demons by their true name, only by the human identities they used. She needed to find this one out, soon, either by listening in on Theriault or by other means. A soft crackle sounded in her ear, and her attention shifted. The noise indicated that Gemma had opened the microphone connecting the tiny receiver bud in Rosalia''s ear to the surveillance van outside the chateau. Rosalia couldn''t perform a psychic sweep without revealing herself to the demons, but she hadn''t gone in blind. Rosalia possessed her share of arrogance. But unlike some demons, she was neither careless nor stupid. At least, not most of the time. "Mother, infrared is picking up either Davanzati or Murnau approaching the chateau. He''s moving south across the grounds. On foot." Davanzati or Murnau. Code words for vampires and nosferatu. Though the receiver''s volume was probably too low for a demon to hear unless he was standing next to her, Rosalia wouldn''t risk drawing the demons'' attention. Both demons and Guardians could hear everything said in the ballroom, but they couldn''t listen to everything. Even if whispered, however, certain words and names pierced background noise like a candle lit at midnight. To cover her reply, Rosalia turned as if searching the crowd. "You don''t know which it is?" she murmured. Both vampires and nosferatu would register a lower temperature on infrared than a human or Guardian, but nosferatu were huge. Most towered at six and a half to seven feet in height. "He''s tall, but I don''t think he''s tall enough for Murnau. He''s not close enough for me to be sure, though." "When he is, let me know." A nosferatu posed a problem. People would notice it. Enormous, with pale and hairless skin, pointed ears, and fangs twice as long as a vampire''s, nosferatu were bloodthirsty, evil creatures. Even if it dressed to pass as human--difficult beneath the bright lights in the chateau--and even if people refused to believe what they saw, its presence would stir fear and revulsion. But Rosalia doubted a nosferatu would try to blend in. If one was coming, then it was coming to kill. To protect the people here, she''d have to slay it, revealing her presence to the demons. Then she''d have to slay the demons so they couldn''t report that a Guardian had been watching them. She didn''t want to give Belial''s demons any reason to unite against the Guardians, and she''d prefer not to kill Theriault yet. No matter how little his chances of leading his brethren were, the infighting over the lieutenant''s position benefited the Guardians. Even an incompetent demon might provide a distraction for Malkvial and prevent him from quickly uniting the others. If a vampire was coming, though... Rosalia glanced back at the demons. Bernard and Gavel were taking their leave of Theriault, agreeing to circle among the guests. Satisfaction emanated from each. Demon business finished, now they were conducting Legion business, building human contacts. Perhaps one of them intended to continue demon business, though. Six months ago, Belial''s lieutenant had ordered the slaughter of Prague''s vampire community; since then, fewer vampires willingly aligned themselves with the demons. But there were still some vampires who sought either power or protection from the demons--and the demons had their own uses for vampires who were willing to break the Rules in exchange. The Parisian vampire community had resisted Theriault''s attempts to make an alliance, but maybe a dissenter was in their ranks. A foolish dissenter, if he''d come alone. A human crowd provided some protection if the demons turned on him, but not much. The soft crackle came again. "Mother, I have visual confirmation. It''s Davanzati." A vampire. "Anyone I know?" "Yes." The hesitation told Rosalia that Gemma was thinking of a way to describe him without saying his name. "Six months ago, he stayed one day in your bedroom and left the same night." Deacon. Rosalia''s champagne flute tilted in nerveless fingers. Her breath corkscrewed painfully through her lungs. Her mind could hardly comprehend it-- Deacon, here --but the ache filling her chest said her heart had already taken it in. Deacon was here. And still alive. She hadn''t known if he was. Once the leader of the Prague vampire community, he''d betrayed the Guardians in a desperate gamble to save his people, and lost. Belial''s lieutenant and a second demon, Caym, had done everything to destroy Deacon without actually killing him. Caym had beaten Deacon bloody, crushed his bones and his pride, then held his community and lovers hostage in exchange for information about the Guardians. As a result of that information, a Guardian had been killed--a woman Rosalia hadn''t known well, but had liked very much. After learning of the Guardian''s death, Rosalia had watched Belial''s lieutenant use Deacon to transform a human murderer into a vampire, then finally break him by showing Deacon the ashen remains of his companions. Though Deacon had managed to slay Caym, Belial''s lieutenant had stopped the vampire by stabbing an iron spike through his forehead, and had left Deacon for the Guardians to find and kill. But Irena, a Guardian and the friend Deacon had betrayed, had stayed her hand, and Rosalia had taken him to her home in Rome. She hadn''t known what she was going to do with him. She only knew why she''d taken him. Deacon had rescued her. Once, ninety years ago, and again more recently, when she''d had an iron spike through her own head and three nosferatu feeding from her throat. And so she owed him. When they''d reached Rome, Deacon had still been unconscious, healing from the damage to his brain. She''d taken him to her room and had left him to his daysleep. When she''d returned, night had fallen and Deacon had already gone. Gemma had reported that he''d walked out the door without saying a word. Rosalia had thought he''d left to die. He''d been broken. She''d felt his despair when he''d realized all that he''d lost; he''d welcomed death when the demon had shoved the spike through his forehead. She''d

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