Julian welcomed the fog. It provided an effective cover from the deadly sunshine. From long years of experience with living in the Bay Area, he could tell that he would be able to walk outside freely without needing the cloak, at least for the next couple of hours, and the fog might actually linger until nightfall.

During his trip to LAX, and the subsequent flight, he had received several calls and texts. None of them were from Yolanthe or Xavier, the two people he would have actually chosen to talk to, in case they had discovered any leads on Justine’s whereabouts, so he ignored all the messages and let the phone calls roll over to voicemail. Maybe if enough people took note of his prolonged silence, they would start talking to each other and figure out that something had gone wrong.

Once the airstair had been put into place, he exited the plane, strode through the massive, overcrowded airport to the area allotted for pickups, and approached the first parked police car he saw.

Putting a hand on the edge of the roof, he leaned close to the window to look inside. No key in the ignition.

“I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the car, sir,” a male said severely from behind him.

Straightening, Julian turned to face a young human, one eyebrow raised.

The cop’s expression changed drastically. “S-sir,” he stammered. “I mean, your majesty. No wait, that’s English royalty. You’re a–a–‘your grace,’ right? Or are you a ‘my lord’?”

There was no way Julian could maintain silence after that. On the plus side, the cop would definitely remember every detail of their meeting. He said dryly, “ ‘Sir’ or ‘sire’ will do just fine. I need your keys.”

“Certainly, sir. Sire.”

He was too preoccupied to be amused. “One or the other. I don’t need both at once.” He held out his hand peremptorily, and the cop dropped his keys into the palm of his hand.

“Where shall I go to pick up the vehicle, sire?” the cop asked.

Without replying, Julian climbed into the police car and, switching on the vehicle’s siren, he drove off. He had very little time now to get to the Golden Gate Park, and the museum.

Cutting sharply across the highway, he settled into the fast lane and shot the car’s speed to over a hundred miles an hour. In the heavy fog, it was a suicidal pace. What saved him were his preternatural reflexes.

The other vehicles on the road moved out of his way as drivers responded to the siren, but still there were times he had to slow as he waited for the traffic to shift to the right.

When he turned onto John F. Kennedy Drive, he had five minutes left.

Then four minutes, three.

Two.

He could tell by the line of red lights glowing up ahead that traffic was heavy at the intersection. He wasn’t going to make it if he continued to the intersection to turn onto Hagiwara Tea Garden Drive, the road upon which the museum was located.

He had no doubt Justine would kill Melly without a moment’s hesitation if he were late. None at all.

Yanking hard on the steering wheel, he drove the car over the shoulder and onto the grounds of the park. He could feel the wheels of the car digging into the dirt, and he gunned the engine to compensate.

When the distinctive shape of the museum building loomed out of the fog, he opened the car door and leaped out while it was still running, leaving it to slow to a stop on its own. Blurring into his fastest sprint, he raced around the corner of the building just as the stopwatch on his phone started to chime.

He snatched the phone out of his pocket and texted, I’m at the front of the museum. Where are you?

Justine replied, Stop. Wait.

Coming to a standstill, he did as she ordered, studying his immediate surroundings with a soldier’s sharp eye. Palm trees dotted the area, and despite the heavy fog, there were several people walking along the sidewalk. He focused on their conversations. All of them sounded innocuous enough.

A young girl came running toward him. Perhaps twelve years old, she wore a school uniform and she carried a laptop. He had dismissed her as harmless while she was standing in a crowd of schoolchildren several yards away, but as she came closer she caught his attention again.

Several dangerous creatures could masquerade as an innocuous school-age girl, and he tensed.

“Hi!” she called out as she ran up to him. “The lady from the museum said you left your laptop. She asked me to bring it to you.”

Catching a hint of the girl’s human scent, he relaxed somewhat. “Did she?” he asked, glancing behind her at the museum’s entrance. “What did she look like?”

The girl gave him a bright smile. “Oh, she’s very beautiful, and she has red hair. Is this yours?”

“I guess it is.” He took it from her. “Thanks.”

“Have a nice day!” She raced off again, heading for a yellow school bus where several other children in the same uniform were climbing aboard.

His phone vibrated. Did you get my present?

Tucking the laptop under one arm, he texted, Yes. Quit texting, dammit. Pick up your phone and call.

Oh, we’ll talk, she sent back. Just not by phone. Open the laptop and click on the Skype window. It’s logged into the museum’s Wi-Fi. Don’t move away from the building, or you’ll lose your connection.

Furiously, he yanked open the laptop and clicked on the Skype window.

Even though he braced himself for what might come next, the image that appeared made him go more than a little insane.

The scene was the same as the photo Justine had sent him. The background looked like rough rock, as if it might be a cave, or perhaps an unfinished basement. There were no windows or other potentially identifying characteristics. The lighting was odd and inadequate, and very slanted, as if it came from a lamp set on the floor.

This time there was no sign of the unknown male. Justine stood with Melly in front of the camera. They were both near the same height and size, but Melly was no match for Justine’s far superior strength and speed. Melly had a bunched cloth stuffed into her mouth in a simple, brutal gag. The Vampyre held the younger woman in a tight clench, and in one hand, she held a knife.

Julian ran his gaze compulsively over Melly. By some trick of nature, she was ridiculously photogenic. Even in such a horrible setting, with bad lighting, no makeup and a great deal of stress and danger, the camera loved her features and figure.

She looked disheveled, furious and scared. Her bare arms showed a few smudges that might be either dirt or bruises, but other than that, she didn’t appear to be seriously injured or abused.