The rig, the book, Kruach Aum himself-the Lovers’ plans were always, Bellis realized, bound to go ahead.

In the night outside the windows, the storm was still visible miles away, blooming briefly with lightning. Surrounded by representatives of powers she was only just beginning to understand, translating for a man of a race she had thought long-dead, Bellis felt bleak and alone.

She was one of the last to leave the room. As she reached the door, Bellis looked up at Uther Doul, who was blocking it, and realized that he was not looking at her at all. He was gazing across the room, his eyes and mouth as still as glass, meeting the eyes of the Brucolac.

The Lovers had gone. All the other representatives had gone. Only Uther Doul and the vampir were left, and between them Bellis.

She was desperate to leave, but Doul’s feet were planted as if he were about to fight. She could not push past him, and she was afraid to speak. The Brucolac stood with his unkempt hair wild and his moist lips parted, that ghastly snake tongue fluttering in the air. Bellis was trapped, motionless, between them. They ignored her completely.

"Still content, Uther?" the Brucolac said. His voice never rose above an unpleasant whisper.

Uther Doul did not respond. The Brucolac coldly mummed laughter.

"Don’t think this is ended, Uther," he said. "We both knew the outcome of this charade. This is not where things are decided."

"Deadman Brucolac," said Doul, "your concerns about this project have been noted. Noted, and disregarded. Now if you will excuse me, I have to escort Kruach Aum and his translator to their quarters." Doul did not take his eyes from the vampir’s pale face.

"Did you notice, Uther," said the Brucolac urbanely, "that the other little squabblers have finally realized that something is up?" He walked slowly toward Uther Doul. Bellis was frozen. She wanted very badly to leave this room now. For years she had wrapped herself in layers of focus and cold control. There were few emotions she could not master in herself.

It appalled her to realize that the Brucolac was terrifying her. It was as if his voice modulated exactly with her fear.

The room was dark, the gaslights out and the few candles guttering. She could see nothing but his tall figure, moving as easy as a dancer (as easy as Uther Doul), approaching.

Doul was silent. He did not move.

"You heard Vordakine ask what was to happen next. I told you she was the best of them. They’re finally working it out, Uther," the Brucolac whispered. "When will you tell them, Uther? When do they get to hear the plan?

"Do you really think," he continued with sudden still ferocity, "that you could face me? Do you think you can defeat me? Do you think your project can continue without my consent? Do you know… what I am?"