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vampire hunters didn t bite their nails. All right, I ll come with you to your
headquarters. But that s all I m promising. I haven t agreed to the job yet.
He relaxed slightly. Of course. He pulled a white kerchief from his pocket and
dabbed sweat from his broad forehead. Shall we go, then?
You mean right now?
No time like the present.
She was dealing with something serious. She could see that much.
* * * *
Headquarters was a flat, windowless gray building, surrounded by empty fields and
tall, chain-link fences topped with barbed wire. It looked like a prison. The metal gates
swung open as Dr. Abel s car approached.
He parked in a nearly empty lot. Then he and Ashley got out and walked together
across the cement-paved enclosure, to the main building. The steel doors slid open as
they approached. A blast of air-conditioning hit her as she entered the lobby. It felt like
walking into a giant refrigerator.
The room reeked of disinfectants. Its white walls and slate gray floor gave it a cold,
unfriendly appearance. Something beeped, and she gave a start. A man in a gray uniform
approached her with a metal detector wand and waved it over her. Another beep.
No need to be alarmed, said Dr. Abel. Standard procedure. You aren t carrying
any weapons, are you?
Of course I am. I m always armed.
Well, you won t need your gun here, and they aren t allowed in this facility. If you
would just place it in this bin, we will hold onto it for you until
No.
He blinked. Pardon?
I don t walk into a strange place unarmed.
Dr. Abel exchanged a glance with the man in uniform. So you always carry a
concealed weapon? I believe that s illegal in this state.
What did you expect? she snapped. Sorry, but the gun stays with me.
Dr. Abel frowned. Very well. He nodded to the man, who stepped back.
Ashley followed Dr. Abel down the narrow hallway.
Your lifestyle has made you paranoid, he said.
Sometimes paranoia is justified.
He glanced at her over one shoulder but didn t respond.
They walked to a set of automatic doors. He slid a key card into a slot, and the doors
parted, revealing a carpeted, windowless office with a mahogany desk. The automatic
doors slid shut behind them. He sat at the desk and nodded to the gray armchair facing
him. Sit.
She did. So, she said, swiveling her chair to one side, does this rogue telepath
have a name?
Nathan Blaine. Dr. Abel removed some large, glossy photographs from a desk-
drawer and handed them to her. They displayed the frontal view and profile of a young
man with blond hair, sharp cheekbones, and a narrow blade of a nose. His eyes were
striking, cool gray, with a sharp, focused look. Twenty-six years old.
She slid the end of a cigarette between her lips and pulled a lighter from her pocket.
So what can he do, exactly? What makes him so dangerous?
Ms. Hunt, please, don t smoke in this room. Or anywhere else in this facility, for
that matter.
She frowned, but removed the cigarette from her mouth.
To answer your question& He took a thick packet from the drawer and handed it
to her. Here s a list of the specs, everything we know about his abilities. In addition to
his thought-reading capabilities, he can influence and control emotions, create illusions in
people s minds, make them see what he wants them to see.
She flipped through the packet.
There s something else I think you should see, said Dr. Abel. He turned to a small
television sitting on his desk and switched it on.
The screen displayed grainy black-and-white footage, obviously taken from a
security camera. A man in a white coat writhed on the floor of a narrow hall. There was
no sound, but his mouth was open wide, as if he were screaming. He clawed at his own
face and neck, then tore off his coat and shirt and raked his nails down his chest. His
movements grew slower, then finally stopped. His eyes stared vacantly into space.
Dr. Abel switched off the television. Blaine s power in action. I don t know what he
caused Dr. Sheffield to see or feel, but he tortured him in this manner before causing a
fatal stroke. Blaine killed the others in a similar manner. He looked at Ashley. That was
five years ago. He vanished shortly afterwards.
But you think he s still alive?
Recently, I began receiving these in the mail, each from a different post-code. He
pulled an envelope from his desk drawer and slid it toward her. She opened it.
Inside were newspaper clippings. They were all recent. PROM QUEEN COMMITS
SUICIDE, read the first headline. Her eyes skimmed over the article. She shuffled
through the clippings. They all concerned suicides, all of them unexpected. The people
involved were all successful and apparently happy. One was a wealthy businessman,
another was a mother of three.
Ashley looked up. You think Blaine is responsible for these deaths?
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