life against nature. A life against God."
"I always wondered why drinking blood would make you a vampire. It doesn't go in your veins when you drink it, it just goes in your stomach. I'd think it would just, you know, just go out again."
"I often wondered that myself," Ramsey admitted. "As near as I can figure, once a vampire drinks, the blood isn't digested, like food. Instead, it's absorbed into the whole body."
"It's so bizarre, so hard to believe. How many vampires have you killed, Edward?"
"Thirteen."
"How can you do it?"
"Because it has to be done, and there's no one else to do it. There's no one else who knows, no one else who believes."
"What happened to your friend, to Katherine?"
"She fell in love with a rock musician. He was a vampire, newly made. I didn't realize what he was at first. The young ones can sometimes pass for human. He dressed sort of weird and she only saw him at night, but that didn't seem strange for a guy in a rock band. By the time I realized what he was, it was too late."
"And you killed him."
"I staked him through the heart and cut off his head." Ramsey's eyes blazed with fervor. "He won't lure any more young girls to their deaths."
Marisa swallowed hard. Edward's zeal left her feeling suddenly sick to her stomach. "Are you ready to go?"
"Yes." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Marisa. I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's all right." She took the hand he offered her and they left the cafe.
For a time, they walked in silence. The touch of the sun on her back and the beauty of the countryside soothed her. For a moment, she pretended that everything was all right, that she was in Tuscany on vacation, that she knew how to get home again.
She delved into her memory, trying to recall what she knew about Italy. Famous names immediately sprang to mind: Dante and the Medicis, Michelangelo's David, the Pitti Palace set in the Boboli Gardens, the canals of Venice, the cities of Rome and Naples and Florence, Firenze, which was known as the city of flowers. There was the Ponte Vecchio, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Italy was the home of so many historic sites and works of art she had always yearned to see.
But not like this.
They turned a bend in the road and Grigori's house rose up before them. It looked picturesque in the early morning light. Set amid fallow fields, with a narrow stream running behind it and a sky filled with puffy clouds overhead, it reminded her of something out of a Disney cartoon. She almost expected to see Snow White standing in the doorway kissing Dopey on the head as she sent the Seven Dwarfs off to work.
It was quiet and dim inside. Where was Grigori? Had Alexi killed him? Wouldn't she feel it if he was dead?
She went into the kitchen and rummaged around until she found a towel and some soap.
Sitting at the wooden table, she began to sponge the blood out of her dress.
"Have you looked in the bedroom? You might be able to find something to wear in there."
"Oh, good idea." Rising, Marisa went into the bedroom. She found three dresses hanging on hooks behind the door. She selected one, lavender cotton with long sleeves and a round neck.
Slipping out of her blue jersey, she drew Antoinette's dress over her head. It was a little too long and a trifle snug on top, but other than that, it was a pretty good fit. And it was clean.
She changed quickly, thinking she would feel better once she was out of her ruined dress. She didn't. Wearing Antoinette's clothing made her edgy and uncomfortable.
"And with good reason," Marisa muttered. "You're in her house. You're falling in love with her husband - " She shook the thought aside. She would not fall in love with Grigori. When this was over, she would never see him again.
Returning to the living room, she found Ramsey sitting on the bench, his head cradled in his hands. He glanced up when she entered the room.
"I think I'm going to try to take a nap," she said.
Ramsey nodded. "Good idea. Maybe I will, too."
"Okay." She toyed with a fold of her skirt. "Do you think he's all right?"
"I don't know, but if he isn't, we'd better start learning to speak the language."
It took longer than usual to drag himself from the darkness. He sent