You could see perhaps fifty feet. Beyond that was the haze of a darkness so deep not even the goggles could gather enough light to be of use.

“Do you wish to go to infrared,” Bocage asked his men, his voice, in its softness, sounding curiously as if he’d meant to utter words of love.

“Let’s do it,” Raynard said. He and Des Roches clicked on the infrared floods.

A hand grabbed Paul’s shoulder, the fingers digging in. Becky was staring down the long, sloping corridor.

There had been something there, most certainly. “Vampire,” Bocage murmured.

Paul had seen what might have passed for a tall, elegant man, tall and very quick of step. The moment the infrared flood had turned on, it had gone.

The Keepers were calling to one another that human beings had penetrated the barrier. Their voices were calm, which made her throat turn sour and her mind race—don’t you understand, don’t you realize even yet?

She had the map of the ossuary, but there was no map of the labyrinth beyond. She had to go by scent and hearing and what little sight was available.

She had not moved ten steps before the darkness completely enclosed her. Now she had to walk blind, on faith only, trusting in her nose and ears for direction.

Behind her, she could hear the breathing of tourists in the ossuary and their occasional murmured conversations. There was something about the place that kept them quiet, as if the spirits of the dead demanded it.

Along a low side tunnel that angled sharply down came a faint reddish-purple glow. For a moment she did not know what it was. But then she saw a Keeper, dressed all in black, standing not fifty feet away from her. His back was to her. He was watching the glow, which was bouncing, waxing and waning, as it slid along a far tunnel.

When his odor touched her nostrils—powerful, richly masculine—a thrill trembled through her. He stood tall. His absolute stillness made him seem so very noble.

She murmured low, in Prime, “I, Miriam out of Lamia, greet you.” His back did not move. Then, very suddenly, he turned round.

He faced her now, the glow waxing and waning behind him. “I, Uriel from Enoch, now called Henri, greet you.” He inclined his head.

She bowed deep at the waist, as was the formality for a Keeper entering from outside a given Keep. He came close to her and laid his long fin-gers under her chin and raised her.

“I come to present myself before the conclave,” she added, still speaking in the measured, formal cadences of Prime.

He switched to French. “You want a kid, Miriam? Or a husband?”

“Both,” she replied.

He smiled, then. “You still live in that house, I presume, with your wonderful little pets.”