Max disliked all forms of motorized transport, and the theater was within a few blocks of the park, so we walked there. I felt anxious about encountering the vamparazzi on foot; but today I was accompanied by a dog the size of a minivan, as well as a talented mage who had survived fighting real vampires. So, hah!—let the Janes just try to attack me now! Apart from sleeping with men like Daemon, it would prove to be the biggest mistake of their scantily clad lives.

However, though reckless, I wasn’t stupid. I put on a pair of dark glasses and borrowed Max’s fedora, hoping not to be recognized.

When we got within a block of the theater, though, I was flabbergasted by the size of the crowd, as well as alarmed by how unruly they were today.

The NYPD seemed to share my reaction. Even as Max and I approached the first barricade, a police van pulled up to the curb and additional patrolmen started pouring out of the back of the vehicle, obviously summoned to assist with crowd control. A cop who looked as if he was considering changing professions was speaking into a megaphone, warning people to stay behind the police barricades, to refrain from pushing and shoving, and to keep all their clothes on—adding to someone in the seething throng, “Yes, that does include you, miss.”

“Good heavens!” Max said. “This is extraordinary!”

“Yeah,” I said. “You would think it’s just too chilly for partial nudity.”

Nelli was looking around with mingled interest and anxiety, panting a little with nervous excitement. Her long tail wagged in an uncertain rhythm, evincing her indecision about whether she found the noisy, swarming, strangely dressed crowds here friendly or menacing.

“Ow !” A woman behind us yelped when Nelli’s lethal tail whipped against her. She wore the requisite black leather, goth makeup, elaborate hairstyle, and impractical heels.

“I do apologize!” Max said to her, unfazed by her appearance. Well, he’d seen the bloodthirsty undead, after all. “Nelli, please be more cautious.”

“Is that a dog?” The woman’s nasal voice and New Jersey accent rather spoiled the exotic effect of her outfit. “That’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen!”

Forcing my way through the dense crowd, I pulled Max along behind me, who in turn pulled Nelli. I kept going until my stomach was pressing against a police barricade. With some difficulty, I waved down a police officer and convinced him to get close enough for me to speak to him. Then I showed him my ID.

Pitching my voice for his hearing only, I said, “I’m in the cast. I need to get to the theater. I don’t want to attract any atten—”

“Sergeant!” The cop lifted his head and shouted down the street, loudly enough for the nearest hundred vamparazzi to hear, “This is Esther Diamond! She’s in the cast! What do I do now?”

I sighed, removed Max’s fedora (which was too big for my head, anyhow), and gave it back to him as people in the crowd started screaming, “Jane! It’s Jane! Jane!”

“Thank you, officer,” I said wearily. “You’re very helpful.”

“That’s what we’re here for, miss.”

People in the crowd immediately started pressing in on me, pushing and shoving to get closer to me, grabbing at my clothes and arms. My sunglasses fell off, hit the ground, and were trampled. I cried out when I felt my hair being pulled. Nelli barked sharply, prancing around me in agitation as bodies smooshed up against both of us. She had obviously made up her mind about these people, now that they were shouting, shoving, and pawing at me. Whether or not Max’s mystical familiar could identify a living vampire remained to be seen, but she certainly knew an unruly mob when she saw one.

I was clutching Max for balance now. He had a look of fierce concentration on his face and was muttering something in what sounded like Latin. A moment later, at least a dozen people around us suddenly flailed and flew backward, as if pushed by a large, unseen hand. Some of them staggered into the people behind them. Others fell on their butts. All of them looked utterly astonished.

Max looked around, clearly pleased with the results of his effort to protect me. “Oh, that was rather good. I wasn’t sure it would work.”

The stunned vamparazzi were jabbering in confusion, shrieking, or trying to catch their breath after being winded by that sudden fall. Cops nearby were rushing toward this area and blowing their whistles.

A thin, sallow Jane who was lying on the ground pointed at me. “She assaulted me. She pushed me! I want to press charges!”

“I never touched you,” I snapped. “And that dress doesn’t suit you at all.”

Max was trying to soothe Nelli, who was still barking in alarm.

“Miss Diamond?” One of the cops from the blockedoff portion of the street called, “If you’ll move to the end of the barricade, we can let you through.”

I doubtfully eyed the horde of vamparazzi whom I would have to push past to get to the spot he had indicated.

Then I heard another shrill whistle—made by an unaided human mouth this time—pierce through the sea of bodies that surrounded the people who were still picking themselves up off the sidewalk.

A deep male voice bellowed, “Coming through! Please make way! Miss, do not make me move you. Thank you! Coming through!”

Four tall men, moving together like a military unit, shoved their way through the crowd, then stepped over the people who were still sitting on the sidewalk with dazed expressions. The foursome stopped directly in front of me and Max.

The one whose voice I’d heard said, “Miss Diamond, how do you do? I’m Flame.” He gestured to his three black-clad companions. “That’s Treat, he’s Casper, and this is Silent. We’re your vampire posse.”

“My what?”

“Your vampire posse, ma’am.” He was a tall, burly man with long blond hair, a beard, and tattooed forearms. He wore no makeup, but he was in the usual black leather clothing, and he had a profusion of silver jewelry—chains, pins, earrings, and rings, all in the shapes of skulls, dragons, and daggers. “We will escort you safely to the stage door.” He eyed Nelli, who was bristling at him. “And we’ll protect you from this dog.”

“She’s with me. So is this gentleman.” I was clinging to Max’s arm. “Who sent you?”

“No one,” said Flame. “We are strictly a voluntary force, ma’am.”

“I see.” I suspected that four total strangers offering to take charge of my safety was implicitly included in the things Lopez had instructed me to avoid. “I’m not sure . . .”

“The vampire community has decided we need to protect the cast members of this show from people who are conducting themselves in a way that reflects badly on vampires.”

“Lithuanians, loose cannons, or the undead?”

“Even the undead aren’t this unruly,” Max said seriously.

Flame continued, “Your protection was deemed a matter of particular urgency, Miss Diamond, because you were assaulted last night.”

“And also the night before,” I added.

“Nothing like that will happen to you again. Not on my watch.” Flame looked over my shoulder and raised his hand in friendly salute to the cops on the other side of the barricade. “Thank you for your vigilance, officers. We’ve got this covered now.”

“Miss Diamond?” a cop called behind me.

I noticed that the vamparazzi were gradually backing off and calming down. Perhaps because Flame and his pals were their own kind, so to speak.

“My vampire posse, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay.” I made my decision. “Please get me and my companions to the stage door without further incident.”

“Absolutely. Right this way, ma’am.”

I waved to the cops and, still holding onto Max’s arm, proceeded through the crowd, surrounded by my bodyguards and followed so closely by Nelli that her paws kept scraping my heels. Her nails needed cutting.

My vampire posse moved through the crowd like a hot knife through butter, maintaining a steady pace, keeping people away from me, and sternly advising the vamparazzi to show courtesy and respect.

Several young women dressed like Jane were trying to get my autograph, which was certainly an improvement over punching and kicking me; but I was disinclined to risk stopping long enough to sign anything.

My protectors (except for Silent, who said nothing) tersely warned the Janes away, uttering phrases like, “Move out of Miss Diamond’s perimeter immediately or you will be deemed a clear and present threat.”

We also passed a long line of black-clad people carrying banners from Vampire Recovery (whose membership appeared to have tripled overnight). When they realized whom the posse was escorting, they all started screaming at me, “Run, Esther! Run! Don’t do the show! He’s too dangerous! Look what happened to Angeline! Don’t go anywhere near him!”

“Well, that’s certainly helped settle my distracted nerves right before a performance,” I said. “Much appreciated, folks.”

They were too busy shouting to notice that I had spoken.

Max leaned close to me. “Attempting to identify a vampire in this milieu will be more challenging than I anticipated.”

“Indeed.” Considering the insanity out here, as well as Nelli’s agitation, I said, “You’d both better come inside with me.”

I also saw Dr. Hal from the Society for the Scientific Study of Vampires. He was hopping up and down on the edge of my, er, perimeter. Today his picket sign said: VAMPIRE—OR JUST MURDERER?

I began to wonder how many people besides the cops thought Daemon was guilty.

Dr. Hal caught my eye and shouted, “Esther! We need to talk! Help us prove he’s not a vampire!”

“Who is that?” Max asked curiously as Hal waved at me.

“Don’t encourage him,” I said.

My vampire posse escorted us to our destination without anyone laying a finger on me. Then, at my insistence, the police allowed them to pass through the barricade and go right up to the stage door with me. As I pointed out to the cops, I had been attacked on this very spot two nights in a row, while police were on duty there; so now I chose to bring my own security. I gave instructions that my vampire posse, who had done a better job of protecting me today than any of the police had done to date, were to be allowed to wait for me right outside the stage door after the show.

Once inside the theater, with the stage door closed firmly behind us, Max, Nelli, and I all let out identical sighs of relief.

“The Council of Gediminas,” Max said, “will be more than a little vexed by how much negative attention this whole matter is attracting to vampirism.”

I shrugged and led the way to my dressing room. “Who are they going to complain to?”

“Complaining is not their way,” Max said ominously as he followed me. “Swift, decisive, comprehensive action—and, if they deem it necessary, ruthless action—is more in keeping with their methods.”

“Oh. Good point.”

“You fucking bastard, Eric!” Mad Rachel screeched. “Go to hell, you SHITTY FUCKFACE!”

Nelli flinched.

Max winced. “Good heavens! What is that?”

“My roommate.” I sighed and pushed open the door to my dressing room.

Already in costume and makeup (she was punctual, if nothing else), Rachel was pacing the room with her cell phone pressed to her ear. As we entered, she emitted another volley of vicious obscenities at full volume. Despite living through 350 eventful years of confronting Evil, Max seemed shocked by her language.

Rachel looked annoyed by our intrusion. Then her gaze fixed on Nelli. An unfamiliar expression contorted her pretty face. It dawned on me that she might be afraid of dogs. Or allergic to them. Or just not like animals. And Nelli, in addition to her intimidating size, was neither the best behaved nor the most hygienic animal in the world—or, indeed, within any random two hundredyard radius.

Perhaps it had been thoughtless of me to bring Nelli into this dressing room without asking.

I certainly hoped so.

“Rachel, this is my friend Max. And that’s his canine companion, Nelli.” Driven by a level of malice I would have said was beyond me, prior to sharing this space with Mad Rachel for the past six weeks, I added, “Max has come to see the show. Nelli will stay here in our room.”

The contortion of Rachel’s face grew more pronounced. She said into her phone, “I have to go now. Love you. Bye.” She disconnected the call. “Nelli?”

Hearing her name, Nelli, whose nerves were recovering now, crossed the room to greet Rachel.

Eagerly anticipating Rachel’s horrified reaction as Nelli approached her, I finally recognized the unfamiliar expression distorting her face. Pleasure.

I had never seen Mad Rachel look pleased before.

She reached out to pet and pat Nelli enthusiastically, then gave the canine familiar a big hug. “Ohhhh, who’s a pwiddy widdle dog? Who’s got the pwiddiest face in the whole wide world? Is it you, Nelli? Is it you? Oh, yes, who’s a good girl? Who’s a good gurrrrl?”

Nelli, the traitorous baggage, lapped it up. She wagged her lethal tail furiously, whined with delight, bounced around playfully (knocking over a chair), licked Rachel’s face, and gently butted the actress in the stomach with her massive head.

I looked at Max in bemusement.

He beamed at me. “Nelli has such a way with people.”

“Oh, there you are!” Leischneudel said from the doorway, still clean-faced and in his street clothes. He was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. I recalled that he’d scarcely slept for the past two nights. “I was kind of worried. Those crowds out there . . .”

Nelli sneezed violently. Right on Rachel’s dress.

I tensed, expecting a sudden (and noisy) shift in the prevailing wind. Rachel was so fastidious that she threw a tantrum if I happened to leave a used tissue lying on my side of our makeup counter.

But the actress just brushed casually at her gown and warbled, “Oh, somebody sneezed! Did Nelli sneeze? Was that you sneezing, Nelli?”

As if sensing her cue, Nelli sneezed again. And yet again.

“Oh, poor baby! Someone’s got a widdle cold!”

Leischneudel was staring at Rachel as if she had grown a second head.

I said to him, “I guess she likes dogs.”

He continued gaping at Rachel for a long moment, then gave himself a little shake. “I suppose, sooner or later, she was bound to like something.”

I introduced Leischneudel to Max. They exchanged cordial greetings, then the actor’s gaze shifted again to Rachel. She was cooing solicitously as she poured a drink of water for Nelli into an empty cookie tin that previous denizens of this room had left behind.

“I have a four-man vampire posse now,” I told Leischneudel. “Do you have one, too?”

“I have the Caped Crusaders,” he said. “Two guys in ... capes. I was, oh, a little startled when they suddenly flanked me outside the theater today.”

“I know the feeling.”

“I guess they mean well, but they make me nervous.”

“Go figure.”

“Esther, something’s up. There’s a . . .” He glanced hesitantly at Max.

“Max is a trusted friend,” I said. “You can speak freely in front of him.”

And there were no worries about speaking in front of Rachel, who was still yakking chirpily to Nelli.

Leischneudel nodded and said, “Well, Daemon came to work early today. Trying to beat the crowd, I think.”

“That’s not like him,” I noted.

Nelli sneezed. Rachel coddled her.

Leischneudel continued, “I got the impression from what Victor said—Victor’s really in a state—that Daemon was worried about a negative reception from some of the fans. So he wanted to arrive well before he was expected and get inside quickly.” He explained, “You see, Tarr filed a story about the murder that was released in the Exposé’s online edition a few hours ago. And it doesn’t make Daemon look good.”

“Well, what did Daemon expect?” I said dismissively. “Tarr’s in this for himself, not for Daemon.”

“Apparently that didn’t really occur to Daemon until he saw today’s story,” said Leischneudel. “Anyhow, Tarr got here a few minutes after I did. As soon as they met, Daemon started shouting.”

“I kind of regret missing that.” I asked hopefully, “Is there any chance Daemon threw him out of the theater and told him never to darken our doorway again?”

“I think he might have been working up to that. He was really angry. But then they were interrupted. Detective Branson showed up and wanted to speak to Daemon right away.”

“Who is Detective Branson?” Max asked.

I explained, then wondered, “Doesn’t Branson ever sleep?”

“I guess Tarr got kicked out of the room then, because he . . .” Leischneudel stopped speaking and turned his head to look through the open door.

“What?” I prodded.

“Someone’s coming,” he said, obviously interested in seeing who it was.

I heard footsteps a moment later. Then I saw Detective Branson walking past my door. He noticed that it was open—and that Max, Leischneudel, and I were all looking at him. So he stopped to say hello.

“How are you today, Miss Diamond?”

“A little worse for the wear.” I hadn’t intended my voice to be quite so chilly, but I was recalling that he’d told Lopez he considered me a viable murder suspect. “And you, detective?”

He took in my appearance—the black eye, the welt on my neck, the abrasions on my cheek. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“I’m an actress. I can’t afford a doctor,” I said. “How is the investigation coming?”

“Well, it would be better for everyone if the tabloids would leave it alone, that’s for sure.”

“Fat chance,” I said glumly.

“Yep.” Branson left.

Keeping his voice low as the sound of Branson’s footsteps faded away, Max asked Leischneudel, “Do you know why the detective came to see Mr. Ravel?”

Leischneudel shook his head and was about to say something, but we suddenly heard shouting coming from Daemon’s dressing room. Without hesitation or delay, the three of us scurried into the hallway and stood there eavesdropping. Unfortunately, though, Daemon lacked Rachel’s industrial-strength volume, so I couldn’t tell what he was saying.

Victor was pacing anxiously right outside Daemon’s door, so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice us. However, I thought he probably would notice if, for example, I shoved him aside and pressed my ear directly to Daemon’s door.

Listening with a faint frown of concentration to the echoes of Daemon’s angry voice floating down the hall, Leischneudel said, “Something about the girl didn’t stay. She left after ten minutes . . . ‘You knew that. I told you that’ . . . He’s asking why Tarr didn’t write the truth.”

I snorted. “Can Daemon really be that naive?”

Victor finally noticed our presence. He gave a wan little wave, then went back to pacing.

Now we could hear Tarr’s voice. He was apparently trying to soothe Daemon.

“Tarr being soothing is peculiarly disturbing, isn’t it?” I said.

Daemon stopped shouting after one more short, sharp outburst.

A few moments later, Leischneudel shook his head. “I can’t make out anything else.”

“Daemon certainly sounded agitated. Not at all like his usual self.” I said to Max, “Reluctant though I am to subject myself to Tarr’s prose, I wonder if we should read that article?”

“You can find it easily. It’s all over the Internet,” Leischneudel said. “And tomorrow’s print edition of the Exposé will run an expanded and updated version on the front page.”

“Give me a summary.”

“Daemon lured the girl to his place and killed her in a fit of delusional bloodlust,” Leischneudel said.

“Wow,” I said. “No wonder he’s angry.”

“The article never actually says that, of course. It’s all insinuation and innuendo, written with the pretense that the author considers Daemon innocent. But by the time you finish reading it, you’re convinced he did it.”

Even for a D-list celebrity who believed that no matter what was said, being talked about was always better than not being talked about, this probably crossed the line.

Leischneudel glanced at his watch. “I’m going to go get ready for the show. Oh, by the way, is Thack still coming?”

“Yes, as far as I know.”

After Leischneudel left us, Max said to me, “Under the circumstances, perhaps our first step should be to attempt to determine whether Mr. Ravel is or is not what he claims to be.”

I nodded. “I’ll get Nelli.”

I still didn’t believe that the attention-seeking actor who secretly extracted his own blood in the course of conducting his elaborate charade was a vampire—either made or hereditary. But I agreed with Max that it made sense to try to find out for sure.

I went back into my dressing room, where I found Nelli still playing with Mad Rachel. I grabbed the dog’s pink leash and ignored Rachel’s whining objections as I led Nelli out of the room.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” I said to Nelli in the hallway. “You like her?”

She panted cheerfully as I handed her leash to Max. We three proceeded down the hall to Daemon’s dressing room, where I brushed off Victor’s anxious protests as I knocked on the door. Then I opened it and entered without waiting to be invited in. My disdain for both of the men inside the room ensured that I really didn’t care if I was interrupting a private conversation.

As it happened, though, Daemon looked relieved by the interruption, and Tarr was pleased to see me. I found the reporter’s welcoming grin and warm greeting so disturbing that I momentarily forgot why I was there.

Then Tarr said, “Who’s the old guy? And what is that—a hybrid dog-horse thing?”

Nelli sneezed again, quite forcefully.

I performed introductions.

“I’m allergic to dogs,” Daemon said. “Could you please take her out of the room?”

“A creature of the night with allergies?” I said dubiously.

Daemon put his hand over his eyes and gave a watery sigh. I stared at him in surprise.

Nelli sneezed.

“Hey, I think that dog’s allergic to you, Daemon!” Tarr guffawed at his own witticism.

“I think something in the theater is bothering her,” I said, noticing that Nelli’s eyes looked a bit irritated.

Dogs have very sensitive sinuses, and the backstage area of the Hamburg was redolent with dust, sawdust, industrial grime and commercial cleaning fluids, chemical residues and odors, and airborne particles from hairspray, starch, cosmetic powder, and the sweat of generations of actors. In addition to which, I realized, I was somewhat aromatic myself, having applied generous amounts of muscle liniment and antibiotic cream before leaving home today—though that hadn’t bothered Nelli before, so I probably wasn’t the cause of her irritated senses.

“Did you want something, Esther?” Daemon asked without enthusiasm.

Max and I both looked expectantly at Nelli. On previous occasions, she had become extremely agitated, even menacing, upon encountering dangerous mystical beings. Would that be her reaction to vampires?

Nelli sneezed again and gave a little groan.

I said her name with concern and stroked her head. She drooled a bit and gave a gentle wag of her tale.

Max and I looked at each other. Then we both looked at Daemon.

Noticing our intent expressions, the actor said, “Yes?”

Since our mystical familiar hadn’t clarified things by treating Daemon as a threat, Max evidently decided to cut to the chase. “As an ardent student of vampire lore, sir, I would be very interested in hearing the story of your transformation.”

Daemon made an inarticulate sound, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples.

Tarr folded his arms and said cheerfully, “I have a feeling our boy may be rethinking that part of his bio just now.”

“Don’t call me your ‘boy,’ ” Daemon snapped, still rubbing his temples.

Tarr shot back, “Who is Danny Ravinsky?”

Daemon opened his eyes at that. “Get out.”

Nelli sneezed.

Tarr said to us, “That cop—Branson—showed up a little while ago. When our b . . . When Daemon tried to brush him off, Branson said he wanted to talk about Danny Ravinsky. And, whoa, that certainly attracted our friend’s attention.” He paused, then prodded, “So who is he, Daemon?”

As the obvious answer hit me, I blurted, “Another murder victim?”

Tarr seemed grotesquely entertained by this question.

Daemon scowled at me. “No.”

There was a long, awkward silence.

Tarr broke it by saying, “You know, when I was in Hollywood, there was this huge star who—”

“Get out,” Daemon said again. “I have to get ready for the show. Leave.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be back tomorrow. We still have a lot to talk about.” Tarr looked at me. “You and me, too, toots.”

“We don’t have anything to discuss,” I said firmly. “And don’t call me ‘toots.’ ”

He grinned and said, with what he evidently imagined was flirtatious charm, “I’m an interesting guy, when you really get to know me.”

I was spared having to respond, since Daemon and Nelli both sneezed at the same time, startling everyone.

Daemon said, “Please take that dog out of here.”

“Of course! My apologies, sir.” Max said to me, “Nelli and I shall go, er, engage with the crowd. Now that all the actors are inside the theater, the situation may be less volatile outside.”

“But there are so many people out there, Max.”

Tarr said to Daemon, “What was I just saying? This thing is exposure for you.”

“Why are you still here?” Daemon asked him coldly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tarr was still grinning. “Going, going.”

“Our reconnaissance outside may turn out to be fruitless,” Max said to me, “but that possibility should never be a deterrent in any endeavor.”

“You’ll miss the show,” I pointed out.

“Lucky you,” Tarr muttered as he passed Max on his way out the door and left.

Nelli sneezed.

“She’s still here,” Daemon noted tersely.

“Never mind, Max, I’ll get you a ticket for another night,” I said quickly.

“Excellent!” He paused in the doorway. “I shall rendezvous with you in your dressing room after the performance.”

I nodded. Then I closed the door behind Max and Nelli, and I turned to face Daemon.

“And now you’re still here,” he grumbled.

I asked, “Who is Danny Ravinsky?”

“None of your business, Esther.”

“Oh, come on, Daemon,” I said. “Wise up! Whoever he is, do you honestly think it’s a secret you can keep now that Tarr has heard the name? Now that he’s heard a cop baiting you with it?”

To my surprise, Daemon suddenly looked like he was going to cry. “Oh, my God.” He buried his head in his hands and heaved a horrible, half-sobbing sigh. “Oh, God.”

“Who is Danny Ravinksy?” I asked again. “Why are the cops interested in him?”

Daemon lifted his head and said wearily, “He’s me.”