Welcome once again gentle reader. It is I, Thor, with yet another of my ever multiplyng tales of Detroit. This story is a bit of a departure for me, I for some reason got a few ideas that were not within my usual style. For starters this tale contains less action and more talking. (Yes, it is apparently possible for me to write a story without killing someone every page!) In fact this story is rather closer to Bram Stoker then I have ever dared to go before. Also (and please forgive me) I touch on some big themes here (i.e. world shattering items. I pray you can bear with me on this one as I usually don't like to press the upper limits of any power scale.) Third and finally, the main characters are human. I know I've never done that before, but I think I did an acceptable job of it. As this story is such a leap for me please offer your opinions on it, I'd love to get some feedback on what I'm doing. In any case, please read on and discover the.......

Blood on Antiques: A Tale of Detroit

Part the First: The Coming of Night

The sign above the door announced the building as 'Tintegal Family Antique Dealers'. It was an older building, comprised of carved stones as opposed to poured cement. The single window displayed only a single piece of jewelry, a small broach, surrounded by an arrangement of blue flowers and silver ribbons. The broach was a simple oval, and featured a small ivory silhouette of a stately elderly man.

Inside the building was a massive display room. Dozens of gleaming cases showcased pieces of art and culture from across the world. In one lay an intricate jeweled egg, along with a golden scarab necklace. Pieces obtained from the excavation of the Egyptian city of Hamanaptra. Nearby was a tall case containing a worn and battered sword, a gladius of a Roman soldier. Further back was a tall cabinet, the dark wood polished to a lustrous sheen. A perfectly restored Victorian dresser from the summer palace of Louis VI. Along the walls were rows of paintings and tapestries, each with a small plaque describing their history.

A gleaming wooden staircase spiraled up to allow access to the upper floor. Home to the offices of the owners and their staff. Behind the stairs was a small doorway that opened into a large work area. The room is filled with crates, some opened, some not. Dozens of dusty and worn pieces of furniture lay around the room. A large metal table sits in the center, littered with a swarm of small and dusty items. Each sitting on a small cushion, and apparently awaiting inspection. A smaller table and section is devoted to finished works. The dusty and worn, restored to their full beauty and former glory.

The lone occupant of the room muttered as she looked down at one of the pieces sitting before her. Large almond colored eyes squinted as she carefully moved the small pair of clippers in her hand. Her soft lips smiled suddenly as another section of the rotting case peeled away from the parchment within. The document case had been stored in a damp and musty cellar, it had been a small miracle that the vellum inside hadn't begun to rot. However, it was still fragile, and encased in the rotting remains of its case. She breathed out carefully as she gingerly maneuvered the tweezers held in her other hand over to a new bit of the case. The clippers were carefully positioned, and checked no less then eight times, before she made another small cut.

Her eyes danced with joy as she slowly peeled up some more of the case. Revealing below the soft golden sheen of the rolled up documents within. Another careful snip, and she finished. Mia leaned back to admire her work. The case had been peeled back, and cut away enough, that now it was hopefully possible to draw the vellum sheets out from inside without hurting them. She ran a hand through the short shock of dark hair on her head as she eyed the piece. Grinning with excitement she slid on a pair of plastic gloves as she carefully looked over the papers. Assured of how to move them she gently placed one hand on them, and another on the remains of the case. Proceeding at a rate that would bore a snail, Mia ever so carefully drew the papers forth from their rotting prison.

She frowned at the obvious rotting damage done to the other end of the papers, apparently it had been wet enough to damage them. But the remainder of the documents were unharmed. She gingerly placed them within a special oil bath, allowing their natural supple nature time to return. Mia gently began to unfold and separate the pages from one another. There were three, all still maintaining their original inking and dyes. Some running had occurred near the bottom of each page, but Mia suspected she could restore at least half of the damaged text. She placed the papers on a special porous stone to allow them to dry. Mia sighed and arced her stiff neck. She glanced up at the clock on the wall, it was almost midnight.

"Time to close up I guess."

She reached down and pushed her wheelchair gently away from her work table. She turned and rolled it over to the doors to her workspace. Mrs. Tintagel had been very accommodating in transforming the old storage area into a place for Mia to perform her work on restoring and researching antiques. After all, Mia wouldn't have been comfortable with gutting part of the historic house in order to put in an elevator to the upper offices. Not that she was sure Mrs. Tintagel would have been interested in footing that bill, no matter how talented here new employee. She wheeled out into the display area and began to flip off the individual displays lights.

"Am I to take it that I'm late?"

Mia jerked her head up in surprise at the voice. She twisted around to look at a tall figure standing in the shadows of the entryway.

"Who are you," she asked timidly.

"A customer, Mrs. Tintagel mentioned that I might be interested in a certain chalice."

"The Stromheim?"

"Yes, would you mind?"

Mia felt as though each of his words washed over her like warm waves. She could feel a strange fluttering in her chest, as if her heart was beating three times faster then normal. Mia could feel the heat of a blush forming on her pale face as she realized she hadn't answered the man yet.

"Not at all, come in."

The man who stepped from the shadows perfectly fitted the urbane and cultured voice that Mia had heard. He was dressed in an elegant dark blue designer suit. His finely trimmed black beard and slicked back hair framed his refined and gentle face. He smiled as his dark eyes seemed to flash with hidden mysteries. He walked into the room, lightly tapping his gleaming black walking stick on the polished wooden floor.

"Mrs. Tintagel hadn't mentioned a buyer might come for the piece tonight," said Mia as she wheeled back to the sellers desk. She easily maneuvered her chair around behind it. The man shrugged slightly and let out a small flash of smile.

"My schedule is difficult, I come when I can." The stranger elegantly slid into the leather chair on the other side of the desk. Mia quickly began to pull out the authentication forms and other information on the chalice.

"As I'm sure Mrs. Tintagel mentioned to you, the chalice was uncovered in an unknown room of the Stromheim family house in Germany. It has been authenticated as being of the early 1400's, and has been well treated by the years."

Mia pulled out the box and began to open it. She pulled apart the velvet cloth that covered the silver chalice and drew it forth. She held it in front of the stranger as he carefully eyed the piece.

"If I were you, I'm not sure I'd bother without renegotiating the price," said Mia."

"Indeed," said the man as he cocked an eyebrow, "why not?"

"Well," Mia realized she had once again gone and overstepped her bounds as appraiser and restorer. Mrs. Tintagel would not be pleased. "I'm not sure how authentic it is."

"But the papers do not seem fraudulent."

"Yes, but I think this is the work of Drevari."

"The con-artist?"

Mia grinned at the stranger, "I see you are well versed in your 15th century antiques."

"One does try, what makes you think it is a Drevari?"

"Well, he was famous for destroying some lesser items in order to create a more effective forgery, that would explain the dating. But, if you look here on the flourish under the sapphire, you'll spot that it curves inward as opposed to upward. That was a design not employed until almost 1490."

"Indeed, I also can't help but spot the lack of ribbing on the fluting."

Mia blinked her eyes in surprise, she had been about to mention the obvious superiority of tools needed to avoid the ribbing on the stem of the chalice. But for him to spot it across the table, in the dark, was impressive.

"You have an amazing eye."

"Thank you, I think I shall still buy it, but after a lowering of the price."

"Good idea, a Drevari would still be worth adding to a collection."

The man stood, Mia couldn't help but notice how smooth and graceful he moved. She suspected he was one of those people who was never caught in an embarrassing situation. He smiled a graceful and flawless grin as his hand smoothly extended towards her.

"I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance."

"Oh," Mia extended her hand, he raised it gently to his lips and kissed it, "I'm Mia Chasten. Mrs. Tintagel hired me about three months ago."

"So, Mia, what is it you do for Mrs. Tintagel?"

"I was hired to do restoration and identification work." Mia couldn't help but notice that he had not yet let go of her hand. His grip was firm, yet gentle, and she felt as though there was a great strength possible in those perfectly groomed hands.

"Now that you know me," she said, "may I have your name?"

"I am Steven Kleist," he gently lowered her hand and let it go. "Tell me, what piece would you suggest for me?"

"I have no idea where your interests lie."

"Make a suggestion in any case." Mia smiled at the odd request. She didn't even have to glance around the room to know exactly what was on display for sale. However all she knew of the buyer was he was educated and interested in a Germanic chalice. She supposed she could just offer him one of the other German pieces, or perhaps another chalice. Instead she grinned as she backed her wheelchair away from the desk.

"Come with me." She wheeled around and returned to her work area, he followed behind her. She wheeled over to the shelf that contained some of their newest pieces. She carefully moved the ancient Roman pottery away in order to pull a small piece of jewelry off the shelf. "I'd suggest this, it's a platinum and silver pendant from England circa 1025. It was actually worn by Olav der Hellige during his time as king of the Normans."

"Why do you suggest it," asked Steven from the doorway.

"Because, not only is it a beautifully worked piece, and not only is it old. But their is a definite and traceable history associated with it." Mia's eyes lit up as she held the pendant before her. "We know that King Olav actually wore this, it's our connection with him. A link to the past." Steven smiled at her enthusiasm.

"Very well then, I am sold. You will prepare that piece and have it ready for sale along with the Stromheim. I shall come back in two days."

"Uh, we haven't actually slated the pendant for sale yet..."

"Don't worry, simply tell Mrs. Tintagel I wish to purchase it." Steven bowed slightly to her and turned away. Mia quickly wheeled up to the door, she peered into the display room, but Steven was already gone.

"Mr. Kleist was here?"

"Yes," replied Mia as she slowly re-inked another small point on the parchment in front of her.

"Why did I have to hear it from his secretary and not you?"

Mia looked up at the glaring visage of Mrs. Emily Tintagel, sole owner of the Tintagel Antique empire. Emily Tintagel ran one of the most prestigious and profitable antique trading businesses in America. She had not done so by playing nice, and thus she was renowned for her temper. A temper that was now directed at her youngest employee.

"I...I'm sorry, I got distracted by the vellum restoration."

"Inexcusable, how could you have allowed him to come and then not tell me."

"But when other clients..."

"Mr. Kleist is not 'other clients'," Mrs. Tintagel stormed up till she loomed over Mia, "and what is this I hear about Drevari?" Mia swallowed nervously as she looked up at the aged and vicious woman who glared down at her.

"He, uh, I, talked about..."

"Silly girl, you should not have confused him with nonsense about your own pet theories."

"But I really think that..."

"Well I think that you are still an employee here." Mia fell instantly silent, Mrs. Tintagel had invoked the dreaded 'I think' and when she had done so there was no point in continuing to argue. "And as an employee," continued Mrs. Tintagel, "you are obligated to do what is best for my company. That does not include filling a buyers head with pointless doubts. Especially when that buyer is Mr. Kleist."

"I'm very sorry Mrs. Tintagel, it won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't, you wouldn't like the consequences. Luckily for you he seemed interested in still buying the chalice. As well as some other piece you showed him."

"Yes, the pendant of Olav..."

"It doesn't matter, prepare it for sale as well. It is to be your top priority!"

"But the other pieces..."

"Are of lesser concern, and see that you are more appropriately attired next time you greet a customer. Wandering about in torn jeans and a dirty undershirt may be allowed in America, but it is not up to the standards of my business."

"Of course, very...."

But she had already turned and stormed out. Mia sighed as the palpable tension in the room seemed to drop back to more manageable levels. Mia was always secretly pleased that Mrs. Tintagel couldn't just order a meeting in her office. At least down here it was somewhat still Mia's territory. As she wheeled over to the cabinet to fetch the pendant the door opened again. Mia glanced up as Fiona Tintagel walked in. Fiona was Emily's younger sister, and was the summer day to Emily's wintery chill.

"That went well," said Fiona cheerily.

"It did?"

"Yes, since that pendant hasn't been priced Emily can easily make up for any losses on the chalice by upping its price."

"Is he really going to buy it, just like that?"

"Oh yes," Fiona came and sat down at the work desk, she cast a careful eye over the papers that lay upon it. "These are looking great, are you re-inking them?"

"Yes."

"There's another reason Emily can't fire you, she knows how hard finding a replacement would be." Mia shook her head as she wheeled back over to the table. She set the pendant upon it and pulled out some tools to begin to remove the tarnish and grime.

"So, just who is this Mr. Kleist that makes him so important. Usually when I forget to mention an odd buyer or two all I get is a lecture on how a young lady shouldn't even be meeting alone with men."

"That's Emily all right," said Fiona with a chuckle. "But Mr. Kleist, well, he's an important customer."

"How important?"

"There are exactly five customers that my sister will do anything for. One is a king, another is an emir, two are major corporations, the last is Steven Kleist."

"Is he that rich?"

"I'm not sure, but he is very big on buying antiques. He always pays up front, and he has an amazing network of contacts and influential friends. As a matter of fact, he helped us get that shipment out of Sudan last month."

"Impressive."

"Of course he isn't totally perfect, he is fond of running very strange hours, and is about the only customer we have who can keep Emily's profit margin down."

"I'd imagine haggling between the pair could get intense."

"You said it. So how'd you get him to want that pendant, usually he only buys what he picks out."

"I don't know, I just showed it to him."

"Well," Fiona stood up, "if you figure out how you did it let me know, Mr. Kleist isn't an easy one to sell on something." The door swung inward as Antonio walked in.

"Hello Ms. Tintagel, hello Mia," the young man said as he bobbed his head at both of them. Fiona nodded back, Mia happily waved.

"Hey Antonio, how'd the birth go?"

"Ah, I have another baby brother. He is already almost ten pounds!"

"Hmm," said Fiona, "big, must run in the family." Antonio blushed and bobbed his head again.

"I was just wondering where you wanted me to put the new stuff in the display room," Antonio added, nervous of the attention from any Tintagel. Fiona shook her head and glanced over at Mia.

"You know we do supposedly have someone on staff in charge of ordering and creating the displays."

"I believe it's you as a matter of fact," shot back Mia in the same deadpan tone, "but if you keep putting the Scottish and Irish items in the same cases you have to expect me to perform a little revolt of my own." Fiona shook her head with a smile and waved it towards Antonio.

"Lead forth Spartacus, just don't let Emily catch you at it. Since I'm the one who'd get in trouble." Fiona turned and headed for the door, she glanced back over her shoulder, "and I know you're a workaholic, but don't forget to get that pendant cleaned up!"

Richard Wallace walked down the winding staircase to the basement level of his massive mansion. He paused to glance at himself in the reflection of the steel doors that stood at the base of the stairway. He was a large man, and heavy set. His dark eyes stared out menacingly from under his sloped brow, his bald head added a semblance of a vicious gorilla to him. His large nose sat at a slightly off angle, broken in a fist fight many years ago. He ran one callused hand along the scar that ran across the side of his face. A wound inflicted in a knife fight for control of a street gang. Wallace grinned at that long ago battle, that had been the day he had vowed to no longer follow, but to lead men. He had done quite well with that attitude, he straightened the collar on his white silk jacket and smoothed the material of his black slacks.

He quickly typed a code into a small keypad, there was a beep and the gleaming metal door slid open. Inside were some of his most loyal and trusted aides. Scientists and researchers, all on the payroll of The Syndicate. The Syndicate was a conglomeration of powerful crime interests, Richard Wallace was the man at the helm, master of the criminal empire. He had fought his way up to his position the hard way, nothing had ever been given to him. What he had, he had taken. Boss Wallace had been the shark that had swum amongst the minnows of humanity. Or so he had thought.

Nine months ago he had been attacked in his office by a creature, a being best described as a vampire. It had only been luck and his many guards that had saved him from the onslaught. The creature had proved to be incredibly fast and powerful, but in the end it had been brought down. Since then Wallace had made it his business to learn all he could of vampires, for he had discovered that there were many more in his city.

It had taken many months, but now Wallace had become one of the top experts on the field of vamparism. His constant torture and interrogation of the handful of the blood suckers he had captured had made his efforts much easier. Soon he felt that he would be able to deal with the creatures on a more even footing. Yes, deal with them, for Wallace wasn't the type to throw away a business opportunity. He had learned that many businesses, both legitimate and criminal, were secretly controlled by these immortal leeches of blood.

Wallace didn't intend to become their slave, thus he would need much help to guard his mind and body from their powers. Of course, that was what had brought him down here today. He motioned over Nick Durango, one of his top men. The thin and oily figure quickly slipped over to Wallace's side.

"Yes?"

"I understand a breakthrough has come about."

"Yeah, come over and see."

Durango led him over to a observation location, it looked into a large and unfurnished room. Inside the room one of the vampires howled and tore against a wall, his features twisted in pain and fear. The source of his anguish, was a small trinket laying on the floor. Wallace cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

"What is it?"

"That," said Durango with a snicker, "is a Brahman prayer circlet from India."

"A holy item, like a cross."

"Yep."

"But, the creatures were unaffected by crosses, why does this vex him so?"

"Well, even other prayer circlets don't, but this one was blessed by one of their greatest holy men many years ago. We also have a cross blessed by the pope that does the same."

"Interesting, blessed and holy relics can affect them?"

"Apparently, though it has to be a impressively blessed item, the less holy it is..."

"The less the effect."

"Yeah, also if you hold one of these items, then you seem to gain some form of immunity from their other powers."

"A sort of holy shielding?"

"Yeah, the more potent, the better the shield."

"Hmmm, I suppose then we must find a very powerful item indeed."

"Hmph, is that the best you could do?"

Mrs. Tintagel circled Mia, casting a dour look at her as she eyed Mia's clothes. Mia had dressed in a button up blouse along with a pleated skirt and black stockings. She had even made sure to actually polish her shoes.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Tintagel, I don't own many formal outfits."

"At least you didn't sully your face with too much makeup, only trollops wear excessive amounts of paint on their faces. And I suppose that the skirt comes down far enough over the knees to be barely acceptable. Though make sure you keep your ankles crossed and your posture straight!"

"Yes Mrs. Tintagel, but, why is it that I have to be here?"

"What?"

"Usually I don't handle closings."

"I am well aware of that child. However Mr. Kleist insisted that you be here to assist in the sale."

Mia paused to consider the odd request. What had she done to so intrigue the mysterious Mr. Kleist? She sighed and wheeled over to her work table.

"What are you doing," demanded Mrs. Tintagel.

"I thought I might work some more on restoring the parchments."

"You will not mess around with any ink or chemicals. If you insist on working, do so with a small item, and keep a smock draped across your lap."

"Yes Mrs. Tintagel," Mia grabbed a work apron and draped it over her. After a moment of consideration she picked up the piece of ancient Roman pottery. She could clean and translate it while waiting. Mrs. Tintagel strode back into the display room, Mia wheeled after her. Mia went and set her wheelchair in a small corner, the better to work while staying out of the way. Mrs. Tintagel was busy pacing around the room, adjusting and triple checking every detail.

The pendant and the chalice sat upon the sellers desk. They were surrounded by the trademark blue flowers and silver ribbon of Tintagel Antiques. Papers emblazoned with the image of Emily's great grandfather sat before Mr. Kleist's seat. A gleaming silver pen sat perfectly positioned within a dark blue inkwell. Dr. Hibbert, the elderly researcher who also served as an authenticator of items sat near the table. Mrs. Tintagel had insisted he be present, probably to help disprove Mia's opinion about the Drevari.

"Would you stop dancing around like a chicken without it's head," said Hibbert as Mrs. Tintagel paced past him yet again. She frowned as she spun about sharply to face him. Dr. Hibbert simply smiled and waggled his eyebrows at her. Mia was always amazed at how Hibbert alone seemed immune to fear of Emily Tintagel.

"I would thank you to keep to your own affairs," said Mrs. Tintagel in a huff.

"Very well, but I still think you should calm down."

"And why is that?"

Hibbert pointed behind her, Mrs. Tintagel turned, and immediately stood as straight as a rail. A long black limousine had pulled up outside. Immediately the doors were swung open as a fearsome looking man in black hopped from the car. A second man jumped out and rushed to open the door to Tintagel's. Steven Kleist stepped smoothly from the limousine and nodded to his men. He walked smartly into the shop, pausing to neatly brush his shining black shoes upon the doormat. He smiled rakishly as he stepped inside.

"Greetings Mrs. Tintagel, how does the evening find you?"

"Quite well, and ready, as always, to do business with my favorite client."

"Of course," Steven pulled off his overcoat and handed it to the single dark figure that had trailed him inside. "I can see that you have already arranged the pieces. Hello Dr. Hibbert."

"Hello Mr. Kleist," Hibbert stood and shook Steven's hand firmly.

"How was Sudan?"

"Much nicer thanks to you."

"Excellent, when shall I be seeing the pieces?"

"As soon as we have had time to prepare them," chuckled Hibbert.

"I suppose that will depend on the speed of Miss Chasten." Despite the fact she had remained silent and was in a secluded back corner, Steven turned to look at her and smiled widely. "How do you do my dear?"

Steven walked forward, Mia felt again the odd flutter in her chest as he approached, suddenly his grin disappeared. The smooth and dashing man staggered, and then dropped to his knees. Mia's eyes widened in fear as Steven seemed to howl in pain as he collapsed back. She quickly moved the pot and apron onto a table and wheeled towards him.

"Mr. Kleist are you all right," asked Mrs. Tintagel as she rushed forward.

Before any of them reached him the dark aide who had come with him was by his side. Steven croaked something to him, and the man quickly helped Steven to stand.

"We must be going," said the man as he carried Steven to the door.

Two other men in black suits burst in and aided the first in supporting Steven. In moments they had him in the car and were roaring off into the night.

"What happened," muttered Hibbert in shock.

"What did you see," demanded Mrs. Tintagel as she turned to Mia.

"I...I...don't know, he just collapsed."

"I shall make sure to call his secretary in the morning. I hope he is well."

"So do I," whispered Mia.

As Steven's limo pulled away a shadowy figure hopped into his own car and followed it. As he drove the man quickly dialed a number on his cell phone. He didn't have to wait long for someone to pick up. "Hey, this is Frank, I'm tailing our pal Mr. Kleist, he just left the Tintagel Antique store. I'm calling because something inside the shop made him collapse, thought the boss would want to know...

Mia gently traced along the outer edge of the letter. In her hand was an old fashioned goose quill pen. An inkwell sat nearby. She squinted as she recreated the gentle arc of the 'Y'. She smiled as she set the pen down and stretched. Back in the main showroom a bell was rung. Mia glanced up, it was Sunday, the store wasn't open on Sundays. Curious she wheeled over to her door. She peered from it into the room, two men were standing inside and looking at the various cases. One was a thin oily man, the second was a massive heavyset man. Both wore thick black wool coats over their suits.

"Can I help you," asked Mia as she rolled out into the main room.

"Hey, are you the owner," asked the dark oily man.

"No," smiled Mia, "I'm just in charge of restoration."

"Is the owner here?"

"No, Mrs. Tintagel will be out until nine Monday morning, you do realize we're closed." Mia tilted her head to glance over at the front door, she could have sworn she'd locked it after letting herself in.

"Don't worry about that, we won't be long. Were you here when Mr. Kleist came in last night?"

"What's this all about?"

"Just answer the question," the oily man walked closer to her.

"Who are you, how did you get in?" Mia began to back her chair away, the small dark man snarled as he advanced on her.

"Johnson!" The dark figure froze as the large man turned from one of the cases to look at Mia. "We are part of an investigation into Mr. Kleist's activities," he reached into his coat and flashed a badge at her. "We wish to know what he was interested in purchasing." Mia wheeled up to look closer at the badge, she then looked up into the dark eyes of the large man.

"I guess I could show you, wait here." She turned and wheeled back into her workroom, even as the door closed she grabbed the phone off the wall and quickly dialed the police. "Hello, I'd like to verify a badge number please." After the officer on the other end finally assured her that Detectives Johnson and Harmon had indeed been sent over to Tintagel's Antiques did Mia relax. She quickly retrieved the case with the pendant and chalice and wheeled back out to the officers.

"This is all he was looking at," asked Harmon as he looked down at the two items.

"That is all he was here to buy."

"Do either of these pieces have any historically religious significance?"

"What does that have to do with..."

"Just answer the damn question," snarled Johnson.

"No, they don't."

"Did Mr. Kleist look at anything else?"

"Only what's in the cases."

"Thank you, you've been very helpful. Please don't mention our visit to anyone," Harmon handed her back the case and turned to leave.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about," called Mia to their backs, however they didn't even pause as they walked from the store. Mia shook her head in confusion. She wheeled over and made sure to lock the door this time. Her head swam with possibilities as to exactly why the police would be interested in antiques that Mr. Kleist would plan on buying. Sighing in frustration she lightly massaged her temples. Finally she recalled the waiting vellum in the back, she smiled wistfully as she turned to resume her work.

"Blast, she must have been hiding something," muttered Boss Wallace as he and Durango climbed into the limousine.

"Want me to maybe go rough her up?"

"I think that should be saved for a last resort."

"Hey boss," said the driver as he turned to look at him, "I got a call from Charlie, looks like the girl went and checked on your badge."

"Really," chuckled Wallace, "she is more intelligent then I had given her credit for."

"But what about finding what made Steven fall down?"

"Hmmm, get some of the boys to go over the records for everything in that shop. I want to know what was powerful enough to send the prince of the vampires to his knees."

"Yes sir."

Steven walked up to the entrance of Tintagel Antiques and opened the door. Behind him two of his personal bodyguards stopped to stand guard at the entry way. Steven stepped into the shop, now that he was paying attention he could feel the slight tingle at the base of his spine. He knew that if he was foolish enough to come near its source, the tingle would become unimaginable pain. He cast his unnaturally acute senses about the building. It sounded like Dr. Hibbert and Mrs. Tintagel were upstairs arguing over some matter. He could also hear the quiet humming of Mia as she worked in her private restoration area. From that same room he could feel the buzzing of the item.

It had struck him when he had gone near her, yet during the visit before it had not. Now it was in the workroom. Obviously it had been moved about. It was something not too noticeable, since it had not been apparent to him when he had approached Mia. He recalled her fumbling with a apron and some tools when he had approached her, she had been working on something. He suspected that something had been what had so hurt him. He softly moved across the display area to look into the workroom.

Mia sat bent over a piece of paper. She was humming a tune to herself as she carefully worked on restoring the vellum parchment. Steven eyed the smooth curve of her neck, the gentle flush of red beneath her pale skin. He felt the rumble of the beast within him. He desired her, wished to drag her soft helpless form from her chair and feast on her rich warm blood. He wished to see the fear in her intelligent shining eyes as he towered over her. Instead he smiled and cleared his throat. Mia jumped as she was startled by the noise. She turned to look at him and smiled brightly.

"Mr. Kleist!"

"Hello Miss Chasten, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Oh, don't worry, everyone frightens me when I'm working on a project. I just get so caught up in it that I never hear them coming," she smiled nervously as she tried to straighten her ink stained T-shirt.

"I offer my apologies in any case, I was just coming by to speak with Mrs. Tintagel, is she in?"

"Oh yes, she's upstairs. She's been very worried about you. We all have." As she felt that familiar pounding begin in her chest she shifted nervously. She seemed to recall using a rubber band to hold her hair back. She almost blushed at the though he would see it there and think her too common. What if...but no, there was the band, she had pulled it off to hold together some quills. She smiled again and idly ran a hand through her hair, trying, unsuccessfully, to straighten its wild waves.

"A minor attack of stress, I'm afraid I appear to work too hard."

"You should try to relax then, you seemed to be in a lot of pain."

"It was nothing. By the way, before I collapsed I noticed you'd been working on something while waiting for me." Mia's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You mean to tell me that as you collapsed you happened to notice what I was doing?"

"I do pride myself on noticing fine details."

"Well, you get my award for paying attention," Mia turned and reached up onto the shelf next to her. "I had begun to work on this piece of pottery, it's from Jerusalem and is very very old."

Steven felt the humming at the base of his spine increase slightly as Mia held the pot out towards him. It was a simple thing, fitting easily within the palm of her hand. Its outer surface was unremarkable save for a few words in Hebrew carved into the clay before baking.

"An interesting piece, very interesting," he said as he looked at it.

"Come in, I'll give you a closer look."

Steven shook his head sharply, "no thank you, I believe I have taken up enough of your time. If you'll excuse me." Mia watched as he turned and headed up the stairs to the offices. She sighed in disappointment as she set the pot down.

"Forget it girl," she said quietly to herself, "don't go getting too excited over some mysterious stranger." She shook her head and smiled at her own silliness. With a sigh she returned to the vellum, and the inking.

"This has to be the single strangest request you have ever made of me Mr. Kleist."

"I know," he smiled at Emily as he looked up from perusing her bookshelf, "but I would take it as a great personal favor." Emily leaned back in her chair, she had never denied Mr. Kleist a thing before, but this request? Most strange. Dr. Hibbert looked over at her from where he stood in the corner. Emily could tell that he thought the offer even stranger then she did.

"I'm afraid that this is an antique house, not a temp agency," Mrs. Tintagel began.

"I would of course reimburse you for the time you are denied her talents," cut in Mr. Kleist.

"What," stammered Emily, her composure totally lost now.

"I will pay you for the profits you'd lose were she still here. Name the price."

"If I may," cut in Hibbert, "this is most improper."

Mr. Kleist turned to look at Hibbert, the elderly man fell almost instantly silent. Steven Kleist's gaze seemed to have that effect on almost anyone. Emily sat in thought, rent out Mia? The idea was absurd, but Mr. Kleist said he wanted her services in identifying some pieces of his. Also he seemed quite willing to pay for his time with her....

"How, how much would you offer?"

"Emily," hissed Hibbert.

This time Hibbert found both Mrs. Tintagel and Mr. Kleist staring at him, he nervously fell silent. Mr. Kleist reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope, he handed it to Mrs. Tintagel.

"I have taken the liberty of drawing up some papers estimating her weekly value to your store. I have also included an embellishment to her salary to be added on to your own payments to her. I trust you find all to be fair and acceptable.

"Well," sighed Emily as she eyed the paperwork, "It all seems reasonably fair. However I believe you underestimated her worth insofar as her selling talents go..."

Hibbert slipped out of the room after quickly complaining of a uneasy stomach. He couldn't believe what he had heard, Emily Tintagel haggling the price of another human being. Hibbert swallowed and walked briskly down the hall and over to the gleaming balcony that looked down into the display room. Mia was talking with Antonio concerning the arrangement of the room.

"Since the Tutorio's purchased all of the impressionists it seems to have left the back wall weak, I was hoping you and some of the boys could bring in the Victorian settee and the two 14th century vases. You could set them on either side of the settee and place them right there, then switch the cabinet with the Francesco and it will really add to the look of the room." Antonio nodded as he jotted down a rough note on what she was saying.

"We'll get right on it Mia," he said as he nodded to her and trotted out the back door. Hibbert watched as Mia slowly wheeled over and admired a small worn bracelet in one of the cases. She was so innocent and helpless, he found he had started to worry about her. Hibbert shook his head and started down the steps, someone would have to talk to her, warn her.

"Dr. Hibbert," came Emily's cold voice, Hibbert glanced up, Emily and Mr. Kleist stood at the balcony rail. "Hibbert come up here, I wish to speak with you, now." Mr. Kleist smirked at him as he walked down the steps towards Mia, Hibbert cursed.

Mia looked up as Hibbert and Mrs. Tintagel walked back to her office. She felt the odd flutter as Mr. Kleist walked up to her, he bowed slightly and smiled. Every piece of hair was perfect, no speck of dust marred his suit. Mia blushed self consciously as she realized how plain she must appear.

"You are looking lovely this evening," said Steven.

"Thank you."

"I was curious, how interesting is it to work here?"

"What?"

"Well, I have found that my own collection has become somewhat cluttered and in need of cataloging and refinishing. I have just spoken with Mrs. Tintagel and she thinks it would be a excellent idea for you to be the one to do so. She highly regards your skills."

"She does," said Mia in surprise, the fluttering seemed to grow faster.

"Yes, it would only be for one week though I must ask that you stay at my house while working. And I would encourage you to perhaps bring one or two pieces from here to work on as well."

"I, this is very sudden," Mia could feel her heart thumping wildly, what was it about Mr. Kleist that did this to her?

"The choice is yours, though I do pray you'll say yes," he smiled, his eyes sparkled. Mia felt as if she was lost in a world of darkness, and that all that could be seen was Steven's face. She shook her head weakly, trying to shake the cobwebs from it. Her heart pounded within her chest, her face flushed hotly, she felt as though she were spinning.

"Well....Mr....Kleist...."

"My dear, are you well?"

"I......"

Dr. Hibbert stormed from Emily's office, he heard her shouting at him still. Fiona poked her head out of her office as he walked past. "What's going on," she said in concern as she hustled after him.

"Best to ask your sister, or maybe ask her what she doesn't think is wrong!"

Fiona stopped and then shook her head as she rushed after him.

"What's wrong? I've never seen you this upset?" Hibbert muttered as he stormed around the corner and started down the stairs. He gasped as he looked down into the lobby, two of Mr. Kleist's men were wheeling Mia out of the building and into the waiting limo outside. Another was coming out of her workroom, a box in his arms. Steven stood in the far other corner, and watched carefully as the box was carried out.

"What's going on here," demanded Hibbert as he started down the stairs, Fiona right behind him.

"Why nothing, Miss Chasten has simply accepted my offer."

"Did you bother to mention how much she had cost?" Mr. Kleist's smile faded from his face, his visage seemed to grow darker as he stepped closer. Fiona took a step back, Hibbert could feel a vague sense of dread come over him. Steven's face paused inches from Hibbert's.

"Stay down old man, she's mine now." Hibbert blinked, Steven was suddenly smiling again as he bowed his way happily out of the shop. Hibbert shook his head, had he just heard what he thought he had? He scowled as Steven climbed into his car and drove off. Following after came another car, apparently carrying the box. Hibbert walked up and looked out the window. He prayed that Mia would come back safely, there was something very wrong about Steven Kleist.