answer my questions and I won’t bother you any more.”

“But I find you so nice to look at.” The dark eyes gave him the once over, rosebud mouth parting slightly in a smile. “You don’t like when I compliment you?”

A little stab started behind his eyes. “Just call me Joe. If we’re going to work together, we should be on a first name basis. Don’t you think so, Mia?”

The doll’s mask became an evil pixie’s. “You’re right, Youssef. That is your real name?”

“Yes, Maria— that’s your real name?”

“Demons in our past we’d rather forget. Yours hail from Teheran, apparently.”

“I was born there. How did you know?”

She settled in the armchair, drawing her legs under her in a little girl pose, like some centerfold. If this wasn’t a demon from hell what was? All innocence, the prim little flower mouth, and eyes kind of lost and bewildered— it was an illusion. This thing was malignant.

“Dr. Youssef Ansari, creator of The Enigma, a revolutionary new kind of PET scan, the man who holds the key to the soul, so they say. I do my homework. Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me.”

“I’d like to start with a few simple questions I jotted down in regard to what I read in your notebook.” He removed the notes from his pocket. “You were very badly beaten that night?”

“You would ask.”

“Not personal details— just curious about the healing process of your body. Wounds heal fast?”

She shrugged. “Depends on how severe.”

“What was the most severe injury you’ve sustained?”

“Physically or spiritually?”

“Physically, of course.”

“Took a bullet in the shoulder. Took about a week to heal completely. Blood vessels closed off right away, but the hole was there awhile.”

“Did it hurt?”

She looked at him. “Of course. I feel pain.”

“I see.” He wrote this fact down then looked up again. “So after a severe beating you were able to regain consciousness in a very short time, but it left you struggling and in need of… uh… nourishment?”

“Blood?” She sneered. “Go on, you’re dying to ask. Who was he?”

“I’m not trying to dissect your personal experiences but I did wonder. It wasn’t Kurt?”

“Kurt? No. My master.”

“Master? He changed you?”

“That’s a whole other story.”

Joe abruptly changed subject. “Do you normally feel cold that intensely?”

“Not like mortals— but it was below zero and I’d lost a lot of blood. When he dumped me into that alley he sucked back a lot of what he’d given thirty-six years before. If he’d taken more I wouldn’t have regained consciousness— just lain there until morning and hasta la vista baby. He wanted me to suffer before fate took care of me.”

Joe leaned forward. “Fate?”

“Survival is tricky. Consider the practicalities doctor. It’s vital I have a roof over my head at sunrise. I require clothes on my back. I need real food too— not just blood. So, I need money. Manhattan isn’t cheap. Ever tried to rent an apartment without identification or a bank account? No birth certificate, no driver’s license or social security card. Legally speaking, I didn’t exist. But that’s just the easy stuff. I also require additional nourishment every week to ten days. That’s a lot of corpses to get rid of. I have to dig shallow graves, dump them into rivers or cut them up into little pieces, all without being seen. Wouldn’t do to have New York’s finest snooping around. Still— that’s not the worst of it. Imagine a lone woman in the ancient world, no man to protect her— I’m fair game. I had to deal with my own kind and that’s always a delicate situation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A girl on her own among that band of perverts and miscreants? Think about it. They follow whatever custom was fashionable in their time, or in the case of my contemporaries reject enlightened ways in favor of older ones. I’m mere chattel. I don’t have the benefit of laws to protect my rights. Technically, I’m discarded property. But I’m sure our quaint, old-fashioned customs are of no interest?”

“Behavior is often driven by biological predisposition.”

Her mouth twisted up. “Yeah, they’re human and they still act like it. Strip away the mantle of civilization and what’s there?”

“This pimp— is he typical of the sort of victims you seek out?”

“It’s easier to take down sleazoids. No one likes them or will miss them much. Besides, pimps are a favorite flavor of mine.”

Joe winced. “Flavor? We, that is to say, human beings have different flavors?”

“It’s vampire-speak, certain victims give a certain psychological release. Revenge is sweet Joe—