The trail was just that now, a congealing trail of blood that soaked into the soil, and it led him onward and stoked his anger. Much of his fury was directed inward; he blamed himself for allowing this to happen, for not stopping the vampire when he could. But he reserved a special hatred for Sebastian Danner. He had lost hope of saving the three boys, not with that much blood gone. But their trail might lead him to the vampire. He might find it, whiling away the daylight in hiding, still draped in the gore of its feast and bloated like a fat tick. And then the boys would be avenged . . .

He slid to a halt as the trail suddenly veered to the left through a briar patch and led straight to the boundary wall itself. The blood, now little more than a trickle, went to the wall and up it, smearing the stone and discoloring the autumn brown of the ivy there. Stiles wiped a finger along the top of the wall. It came away red. They made it, he sighed. At least one of them. And Danner couldn’t have followed him over.

Now, if only he could find whoever got away.

Stiles picked his way through the stickers and vines and climbed to the top of the wall. He was almost a mile down Sykes Road from where he’d left the van, nearly halfway to the main gate of the Danner estate. The roadway on the other side was deserted. A shallow stream, nearly dried up, ran along the shoulder and beneath the road through a concrete culvert. There was no sign of the boys.

He dropped to his feet, shielding his eyes from the sudden rush of sunlight, and started looking for the blood trail. There was no sign of it . . . no, wait. There was a droplet, on a rock along the stream. Another, further along. A smear on the concrete. He looked at the culvert tube. There was no water coming through it.

If only he’d brought his flashlight. He patted himself down and thanked God he hadn’t thrown out his lighter with his cigarettes. He tested the flint, then, brandishing it in one hand and the bali-song in the other, he bent and peered into the culvert.

There was an obstruction in the cramped darkness of the concrete tube, an amorphous shape blacker than the rest of the blackness. Except for one spot. That stood out, even to his un­adjusted eyes. Almost glowing.