My injuries were all superficial, but Lopez insisted I let a paramedic examine me. This turned out to be a good idea, since the guy had very nice painkillers and was generous with them. He also insisted on giving me a shot of antibiotics, since I’d been wandering around in filthy water with cuts and scrapes. This was less fun than the painkillers, but nonetheless appreciated.

Mad Rachel was resilient, if nothing else. She got someone to loan her a cell phone barely ten minutes after we emerged into the chilly November night; and a mere ten minutes after that, she was screaming into the borrowed phone, “Goddamn you, Eric, you fucking bastard!” So all was well there. Lopez predicted wedding bells.

I was worried about Leischneudel, Bill, Victor, and even Daemon, as well as Thack and Max—who were each on their way to the Hamburg, at my request, when the riot broke out. So Lopez agreed to take me back to the theater—where, according to the information he was receiving now, order had been restored.

The crowds around the Hamburg were still being dispersed, but the atmosphere was subdued now. The cops who drove us to the stage door told me and Lopez that a lot of people had been arrested, but very few were injured—and none seriously. There was some property damage, but the immediate post-riot estimate was that it wasn’t serious, either. The theater would reopen within a few days, and The Vampyre would complete its run.

The cop riding shotgun said, “Seems like the whole thing was more like a block party for nerds that got out of control for about an hour rather than a riot.”

But I, for one, would not readily forget the sight of lust-crazed Janes and lunatic vamparazzi stampeding directly toward me while Dr. Hal screamed, “No prisoners!” and the Caped Crusaders provided their own captions while battling the wannabe undead. All of it accompanied by Lithuanian vampire hunters shooting crossbow bolts at me.

“I guess you had to be there,” I said wanly to the cops.

Lopez squeezed my hand.

While our squad car rolled slowly through the crowded but no longer chaotically crazy streets, he explained to me that he’d entered the tunnels knowing—or, at least, feeling convinced—that Tarr was the killer.

“I started with the name you gave me last night, Benas Novicki. I tracked his movements. He was in LA for a few months before he came to New York. So I checked with LAPD, and they had an open case file.” He paused. “Several murders with one unusual feature in common. A detail that was never released to the public.”

“Exsanguination,” I said, wishing I could see his facial expression, but the car was too dark.

He nodded. “The last one was in July. None since then. Then your friend Novicki, who thinks he’s chasing a vampire—”

“He wasn’t my friend,” I said. “I never met him.”

“—leaves LA and winds up dead here sometime in August. After which, several murders occur here, similar to the LA file.” He shrugged. “So I started looking for a match between someone who’d been in LA until this summer, and someone Adele Olson had contact with on her final night.”

I gasped. “‘When I was out in Hollywood . . .’”

“Huh?”

“All of Tarr’s anecdotes began that way. He talked all the time about his glory days in Hollywood. I didn’t know him or his work, and I vaguely assumed it was a few years ago. But I guess it was recent?”

“Yep. He resigned from his job in LA in June and got hired by the Exposé when he came here in July—the rag was glad to get him. I gather he had what passed for a great résumé in that line of work.” Lopez added, “He’s another one who wasn’t using his real name, like the Vampire Ravel and—don’t tell me I’m wrong on this one?—Sir Shackleton.”

“What was his real name?”

“Algis Taurus.”

“That sounds Lithuanian.” Of course. He said he’d been born a vampire.

Lopez mused. “I don’t understand why he didn’t use it. It’s more interesting than ‘Al Tarr,’ don’t you think?”

“I guess this clears Daemon of the murder?” I asked.

“Yeah. And it closes my case, too. Thank God. I was starting to feel like a troll in a bad fairy tale, living underground and lurking in damp, murky places.”

“Speaking of which, what exactly happened in the damp murky place that caught fire?” I asked. “That cop’s account was ... a little confusing.”

“I get the impression he might decide police work isn’t for him,” Lopez said tactfully.

“Well?” I said. “What happened?”

“I think it was a methane gas explosion.”

“Seriously?”

“You smelled the sewage, right?”

“Thank you for reminding me.”

“It builds up methane gas, which is volatile stuff. If it isn’t safely released, it can go boom.”

“Which just happened to take out a lunatic killer while leaving the three of you alive?” I said. “A murderer who was, at that moment, about to kill a young cop in your care?”

“The kid wasn’t in my care, Esther,” Lopez said. “I just recruited him to . . .” He cleared his throat. “Well, as it turned out, to chase a dangerous serial killer into an exploding sewage chamber.”

I decided not to press further. I had my own suspicions about what had happened. My theory about this was still as murky as those dark, dank tunnels; but I thought it significant—and I felt certain Max would, too—that at a moment when Tarr was about to kill a young cop for whom Lopez felt responsible, fire had consumed him.

If Lopez did have some sort of unusual gift he wasn’t even aware of, then I silently thanked all the mystical powers that he’d gone into that dead-end tunnel with a weapon, however unwitting, that was a match for the murderous rogue vampire that lurked in wait there.

“By the way,” Lopez said as the squad car halted near the stage door. “The cop you assaulted has decided to let bygones be bygones.”

“I didn’t assault him, I—”

“You poked him in the eye and stole his flashlight in the dark.”

One of the cops in the front seat blurted, “You did what?”

Lopez added, “And, Esther, when I tell you to go to safety and let me handle something—”

“Look! We’re at the stage door,” I said brightly. “Are you coming in?”

“No, I have to go write my reports,” he said. “And talk to Branson. And explain the death of a cornered felon to my superiors.”

Nonetheless, he got out of the car and came around to my side to open the door and help me out of my seat. Which I appreciated, since I was stiff, bruised, and still in some pain, and my filthy, smelly, tattered gown was still damp and heavy.

“You and Rachel will need to give formal statements,” he said. “Branson will call you about that.”

There was an awkward pause.

Then he said, “So you and me . . . We haven’t changed our minds about dumping each other?”

He was filthy and looked exhausted. He needed a shave again, and he smelled of gases, pollutants, and biowaste. And I wanted to take him in my arms and kiss him until the sun rose.

But I was haunted by nightmares I couldn’t bear to live with if they came to pass for real next time.

So I said, “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside ? There are probably three genuine Lithuanian vampires backstage right now, as well as a made vampire—which is a pretty rare phenomenon. He was made without a permit from the Council of Gediminas, so I think we’re going to have some controversy before the night is over. Max could explain it to you, if you’re interested, since he battled the undead in the Serbian vampire epidemic, alongside vampire hunters who demanded, in exchange for their help, that he sign a treaty which—”

“Okay,” Lopez said loudly. “Leaving now.”

“You’re sure? I can probably find a bottle of Nocturne we could share.”

“Good night, Esther.” He started to get back in the squad car, then turned to look at me. I could see his expression in the glow of the streetlights—a mingling of wry amusement, exasperation, and something that I suspected was affection. “When you give your statement to Branson, don’t mention any of that.”

“Of course not.”

“And try to get along with him?”

“Well, we’ll see. Good night, Lopez.”

Our eyes held for a minute after he got into the car, and then it pulled away and he was gone.

I gave a little sigh and hugged myself as I watched the car go down the street and disappear around the corner.

Then I recalled that my other suitor lately was a tabloid sleaze and—oh, incidentally—a maniacal rogue vampire.

Yes, I should definitely put romance on the shelf for a while. Or perhaps lock it away in an armored vault.

Four tall men quietly approached me and surrounded me, their attitudes protective, their clothing torn and disheveled, their faces bruised and a little bloodied.

“Guys!” I exclaimed, turning in a circle to review the condition of my vampire posse. “Are you okay? The last time I saw you, you were fighting off the invading horde.”

Flame sighed. “It was a great night, Miss Diamond.”

“A great night,” Treat agreed, grinning.

Silent nodded.

“How are you, Miss Diamond? You look like you had a rough trip out of the theater. One of your friends was kind enough to come outside a little while ago and let us know that you were safe and under police protection. He said something about you . . . being pulled out of the sewers?”

“Yes,” I said. “Hence the aroma you may have noticed.”

“Shall we escort you to the door, ma’am?” Flame suggested.

“Thank you.” At the stage door, I turned to them before going inside and said, “I appreciate your courage in the face of daunting odds tonight, gentlemen.”

Flame shrugged. “It’s our way, Miss Diamond. We’re vampires.”

“Of course.” I thanked them again and went inside.

Leischneudel came running down the corridor. “Esther! Oh, thank God! I was so worried!”

“Leischneudel! Are you okay?”

We embraced, then looked each other over. Both of us looked like the survivors of an all-out apocalyptic battle. But survivors was the key word. Thrilled to be alive, we hugged again, laughing now.

He had stopped running, upon hearing the rumbling implosion and crash of the cave-in, and had come back and tried to dig through the rubble, frantic to find out whether I was alive. The vampire hunters were there and had insisted he stop in his fruitless task—especially given that moving any of the rubble might cause additional collapse.

The hunters decided to abandon their quarry—Daemon—whom they could certainly find again, given what a disgusting spectacle he made of himself. The thing to do now, obviously, was to go back upstairs, break through the rioting vamparazzi, and request help from emergency services in case I was indeed trapped under rubble.

“But it turns out that getting help is pretty complicated in the middle of a riot,” Leischneudel said as he followed me into my dressing room. “So it’s just as well you didn’t need rescuing.”

“I did,” I said. “Just not that kind of rescuing.”

Leischneudel was shocked and horrified as I told him everything that had happened.

“I never suspected Tarr,” Leischneudel said in amazement. “He was so openly awful, it never occurred to me he was hiding even more awfulness.”

“Indeed.” I asked, “Where is everyone?”

“Bill’s here,” Leischneudel said. “He’s got his hands full getting things back in order.”

Bill, Daemon, and Victor had proceeded some way down the tunnel before realizing that Tarr and Rachel weren’t with them. It didn’t take them long to find an exit—by which time they also realized that Leischneudel and I wouldn’t be joining them. Once they were above ground and safe, Bill decided he had to return to the theater to be ready to take charge backstage once the police got things under control and to try to find out what had happened to the rest of us.

Running ever true to form, Daemon had gone home to look after himself; and Victor had gone with him to help with that crucial task.

It almost made me sorry that Tarr’s article about Danny Ravinsky would never be finished, filed, or published.

I realized then that Daemon would get a reprieve on all fronts now. He was not only cleared of Angeline’s murder, but he would instantly become the object of guilt and sympathy, since the actual killer had used the power of the press (so to speak) to smear and discredit him, and more than a few people had fallen for it. I thought there was no way Nocturne would risk firing him now, and his movie deal would probably come through, too.

Not for the first time, I reflected on what an intrinsically unfair and unjust place the world was.

Leischneudel told me, “After the police got the vamparazzi under control—more or less—Max and Thack turned up. None of us could really think about anything but you, until we finally found out you were all right. After that . . .”

“Yes?”

“Thack and Max went into my dressing room with Uncle Peter and Edvardas Froese to . . . discuss things.”

I gasped. “Are they talking about you?”

Leischneudel said, “I asked Thack and Max to see what they could do. After tonight, I’ve realized that I can’t live in fear of the council or vampire hunters. I don’t want Mary Ann to wind up as a widow with fatherless children because I didn’t sort out this problem before I took on those responsibilities.” He squared his shoulders as he added, “I didn’t ask to become a vampire, but now that I am one—I’m glad to be a vampire, and I think I’m a very responsible one. There’s no reason the council can’t give me some sort of . . . certificate or something. And I’m willing to work to prove that I deserve it!”

“Good for you!” I said. “Excellent decision. I support this completely.”

And I dearly hoped that Edvardas and Uncle Peter weren’t about to come barreling down the hall, crossbows blazing, now that they knew Leischneudel was an unauthorized made vampire.

He may have had the same thought, since he said anxiously, “Will you come with me to see how it’s going?”

“Of course.” I really wanted to get out of my filthy, shredded, stinking gown but that could wait.

We went down the hall, knocked on Leischneudel’s door, and entered when invited to do so.

“Ah, here are the young people now,” Uncle Peter said, smiling jovially at us.

“Oh, here you are! Thank God!”

Thack embraced me, Max embraced me, and Nelli sneezed on me. Uncle Peter assured me there were no hard feelings about the fact that I had tied him up and held him hostage after he passed out. The Dirty D’Artagnanator, via his interpreter, apologized for trying to kill me and assured me it was business, not personal.

Keeping the details to a minimum, I explained that Al Tarr a.k.a. Algis Taurus was the rogue vampire whom Benas Novicki had pursued, and that the NYPD had dispatched him tonight, using fire. I gave Max a significant glance at that point, and he nodded, acknowledging that we’d discuss the details later, in private.

Leischneudel was by now practically vibrating with anxiety, so I boldly asked the men, “And now that we’ve wrapped up the business of the rogue vampire, gentlemen, I want to know what fair and reasonable measures the Council of Gediminas is prepared to take in support of my friend Leischneudel Drysdale, who is a good man and a discreet, responsible vampire. After all, I think if the case of Algis Taurus—who was a hereditary vampire—confirms anything, it’s that character matters more than birth.”

“And where is that sentiment more true, gentlemen,” Max added, “than here in the New World, where old rules are remade to suit a better vision of whom each of us can be?”

Uncle Peter said, “Edvardas has agreed to present Leischneudel’s request for legal recognition to the council, along with his personal recommendation that it be granted. I am recommending a trial period, which is fair, since none of us knows this young man.”

“Yes, that’s fair,” Leischneudel agreed.

“My nephew,” said Uncle Peter, eyeing Thack and declining to use his name, “will be in charge of monitoring Leischneudel during the trial period.”

“Oh!” Leischneudel looked eagerly at Thack. “Is that all right with you?”

“All things considered,” Thack said, “if it will get my family off my back for a while, then I am delighted to be of service.”

“Thank you!”

“And now, if you’ll excuse us . . .” Uncle Peter rose from his seat, as did Edvardas and Thack. “It’s late.” Edvardas added something which Uncle Peter translated as, “Especially for a man who’s on Vilnius time.”

“Ah, speaking of which . . .” Max rose, too.

Beside him, Nelli sneezed violently. Twice.

Max reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a simple wooden cross, elegant and sturdy, about five inches long.

He asked Uncle Peter to translate for him, then said, “Would you be so kind, when you return to Vilnius, to leave this on the grave of someone whose memory I should like to honor with this simple token of my esteem? He, too, was a vampire hunter. Jurgis Radvila. I was told he died in 1744.”

Edvardas graciously agreed to carry out this deed for Max, and he accepted the cross from him. Then he bade us all farewell and headed out of the room.

Uncle Peter paused to pat Leischneudel on the cheek. “Don’t worry, my boy. We Lithuanians are not nearly so rigid as you have been led to believe.”

“Oh, what ‘we’? You’re second-generation American, Uncle Peter. Give it a rest.” Thack kissed me on the cheek. “Since those two are staying at my place, God help me, I guess this means I’m leaving, too. Leischneudel, I’ll see you at my office later this week. Good night, all!”

When they were gone, Leischneudel let out his breath in a big gust and sank into a chair. “Thank you, Max!”

The old mage beamed at him. “Don’t mention it. They really were much more reasonable than I had anticipated.” He added to me, “I suppose times have changed.”

“Indeed.” I sank into a chair, too. “I’m just glad it worked out. And really glad that the rogue vampire has been slain.” My gaze met Max’s again. I could tell he was curious to hear the details, at a more appropriate time.

Nelli sneezed and gave a little groan.

“Oh, dear,” Max said. “We should probably be leaving, too.”

He shook hands with Leischneudel, then embraced me and once again expressed his relief at seeing me safe and sound.

After he and Nelli left, I said to Leischneudel, “I’m starving. Want to get a pizza on the way home?”

“Absolutely.”

Bill stuck his head in the door. “Leischneudel, is Esther back ye—Oh, Esther! There you are.” Like the others, he expressed his relief and pleasure at seeing me. Then he said, “Your mother’s left four messages at the box office today. She says she’s seen the tabloids, you haven’t answered your cell, and she’s worried.”

I thanked Bill, said good night to him, then gave an anxious sigh. “I might as well get this over with.”

“Are you okay?” Leischneudel asked.

“Yes. Viewed in its proper perspective, after all, talking with my mother isn’t nearly as daunting as battling the undead in a Serbian vampire epidemic.”

“Pardon?”

I shook my head with a wry smile. “Long story.”

And one which, based on the mist which had clouded Max’s eyes as he placed the cross in Edvardas’ hands, I was proud that he had chosen to share with me.