Demon Angel

and vest were perfectly pressed, but his blond hair was disheveled as if he'd just risen from his bed. Never before had he seen Colin with a strand out of place. Tall, slender—but paler than their last meeting, and his skin tautly drawn. "Have you had trouble feeding?"
    "No. The London vampire community is… difficult, but there are war widows and shell-shocked soldiers enough, and I shall soon return to San Francisco." With an elegant wave of his hand that included both Lilith and Hugh, Colin gestured for them to follow. "Since you are come, I may as well take this opportunity to hunt. I am drained," he said as he entered a room. "I prefer not to pass the day in hunger, but I do not like to leave him alone."
    Unlike the rest of the house, these quarters had not been stripped of their furnishings—or the suite had been redecorated. An old man lay sleeping fitfully on the bed; his breath rattled in his lungs.
    Lilith strode to the window, threw open the shutters, and leaned against the sill. Fresh air flooded the room, and daylight fell across the occupant of the bed and the vampire. Colin slanted her an amused glance before stepping out of the sun's path.
    "Tuberculosis?" Hugh frowned; bloodstained metal bowls and yellow tubing cluttered the top of a nightstand. "You have been providing him with transfusions?"
    "Yes. He'd not have survived the journey from California without it. His family is in Hartington; I hope to travel with him to Derbyshire tonight. They asked that he be with them when it took him."
    Hugh nodded. A human could be transformed into a vampire if he was drained of blood, and then drank vampire or nosferatu blood; transfusions offered strength, and if applied to an injury, could speed healing—but the effects were not permanent. "Who is he?"
    "My valet," Colin said. "The fourth Winters. Unfortunately, his niece has no desire to take his place. I'll have to learn to comb my hair, I suppose."
    "In San Francisco?" No surprise then that he'd not been able to locate the vampire for more than four decades.
    "Yes, but I shall not give you my direction." The vampire grinned. "Protecting me should be a challenge."
    "I found you easily enough merely passing through London," Hugh said.
    "Yes." Colin retrieved a black umbrella from a stand near the door and propped it casually against his shoulder. "But you knew very well that my family has owned this property for generations. It shall not be so easy in the future, for I've every intention of discarding it. Shiftless ruffians have scrambled through it from kitchens to attic, and the house is hardly livable with their boiled-wool stench about." With a shudder, he left the room.
    "He does not use the shade," Lilith murmured. She looked out over the square; Hugh joined her at the window and watched as Colin strolled across the street. He glanced up at them, his golden hair brilliant in the sunlight. "He should be afire by now—and he should be in the daysleep."
    "Yes," Hugh said. "He should." The vampire disappeared; if they hadn't been Guardian and demon, they'd not have seen him move.
    "A vampire cannot run so quickly." She pushed away from the window, began a circle of the room. "Not even one who is nosferatu-born. And despite his vanity, there is not a mirror to be found."
    "There is not."
    Her lips curved. "Has he taken Stoker's tale deeply to heart, and convinced himself he has no reflection?"
    "I believe," Hugh said, "Stoker met Colin, and added that detail to his tale. Or perhaps he merely heard rumors; Colin did not abandon Society until the turn of the century."
    "How extraordinary. And how pitiable—a creature as beautiful as he, unable to see it." The hard crimson shine of her eyes told Hugh she did not pity Colin at all. "He is entertaining; I rather like him. And I am pleased by his cruelty; it alleviates the dissatisfaction my promise brings me now."
    "His cruelty?"
    "What else can it be, when one prolongs the suffering of another?"
    His jaw hardened. "You twist it, Lilith. Colin is quite capable of cruelty, but he is not in this."
    Her head tilted as she studied him; she slid her forked tongue over her teeth. "And is it not selfish of the family to extend it so that they may say their farewells? It is not to give this dying man comfort, but to gratify their grief and weakness. If they cared for him more than of themselves, they would let him die. No," she amended sharply, holding up her hand when Hugh took a step toward her, "they would kill