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Modern LA, April 10th, 11:00 AM

Beth's day had been sucking big time. Not only had BuzzWire stuck her with a fluff piece to end all fluff pieces, she'd hit nothing but dead ends on researching Sara's condition. The only time new vampires didn't come out of the transition is when the change had been forced on them, and even then, death comas were rare. Vamps usually weren't willing to talk to a human, so only Ryder, Josef's whiz kid who just got back from his 'vacation' in South America, and Guillermo from the morgue were willing to tell her anything and neither of them had been a vampire longer than 20 years. Wonderful.

Mick had already told her all he knew, and that wasn't much. Then again, he wasn't that old by vampire standards, either. She remembered what Josef had told her, about all the hours he'd spent digging for answers, and how he'd come up empty. If a billionaire with 400 hundred years behind him struck out, she had her work cut out for her, especially since all she kept getting was doors slammed in her face. If only Mick was around to work with her, she'd at least have more sources; more people would be willing to talk.

Frustrated, Beth dialed his cell again, and got only his voice mail. Instead of leaving a fifth message, she tried his home phone…again, but had nada in the way of luck. Where was he? He couldn't be out of town. Oh, sure, he'd taken a couple of business trips since their friendship started, but he always said goodbye and left a number where she could reach him, over her answering machine if nothing else. Dammit, was he avoiding her again?

No, that couldn't be it. The last time Mick pulled a disappearing act, there was definite motivation. The last she'd talked with Mick, everything had been normal, comfortable, and relaxed. There was another reason for Mick not returning her calls; she'd bet a month's salary on it.

Was he hurt…or worse!? Panic leaped up and grabbed Beth by the throat. For some reason, it just hadn't occurred to her, probably because she'd seen Mick overcome pretty uneven odds, but he was far from invincible. Just a few days ago, Josef said something had come up, but had no answers to offer.

Shaking, she hastily dialed one of Josef's many cell phone numbers, trying not to completely jump to conclusions. Josef must have recognized her number, because he didn't bother with greetings of any kind. "Do you have some kind of news, Turner?"

"Uh, hi Josef. No, I-"

"Dear, dear Beth, when I e-mailed this number to you, I could have sworn I recall adding the instructions 'Only to be used in case of Sara or an emergency.' Is my memory failing me?" His voice was smooth, friendly even, a little too much so to be genuine.

Fighting the impulse to mouth off, she took a calming breath before trusting herself to speak. "Your memory works fine. I'm working on getting your answers, honest."

"I won't hold my breath," he dismissed, letting edges of his irritation be heard. "Since you haven't gotten to any real point, I'm assuming your life isn't in jeopardy, and if you want to borrow money, I'd advise against it. You couldn't afford my terms."

Oh, brother. "I'd just as soon hit up a loan shark," she snapped before she could stop herself. "Look, before you interrupt me, I'm calling about Mick. I don't know if it's an emergency or not, but…he's not answering my calls."

"Maybe he's just tired of your circle game," Josef speculated innocently. "What point are you two at now, hand holding or is it still at longing glances?"

Beth gritted her teeth, her blue eyes flashing with anger. "This isn't funny, okay? Josef, Mick would, and has, risked his life for you. If you were his friend-"

"Don't lecture me, human, on my friendship with Mick," Josef warned her with deadly calm. She knew she'd overstepped, it didn't take a rocket scientist. "It's not your business, and something you could never grasp. To shut you up, however, I'm happy to tell you Mick is just fine. I spoke to him not ten minutes ago."

"You spoke to him? Where?" The awful tension in her stomach was starting to drain away.

"I was at his apartment. I didn't stay long, but long enough to see there's nothing for you to worry about."

His phrasing worried her. "Is he okay, Josef?"

"Do you think I would have left him if he needed me?" She knew he was coming close to getting his boxers in a twist again. "He's sleeping, I presume, that's probably why he hasn't called you back."

"Probably," Beth agreed, feeling better. "Thanks, Josef."

"Oh, don't thank me yet. I was in the middle of a meeting, a very important one. For your sake, I hope this doesn't cost me." Then the line was dead, causing Beth to roll her eyes. A smile tugged at her lips. Josef might have talked a mean game, but when all was said and done, he did come through, and he hadn't hung up on her until she felt better.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. She didn't recognize the number, and curiosity pumped, she was quick to answer. "Beth Turner."

"Beth Turner, Buzz wire, no?" An unfamiliar feminine voice was on the other line, drowning in a French accent. "I hear you are looking for a set of answers. I might be able to provide them."

"Mind narrowing it down?"

"Certainly. You are looking into the matter of certain transitions that go, shall we say, terribly wrong?" Beth sucked in her breath, trying not to get her hopes up. This lady might not know anymore than her previous sources had.

Beth's interest was hooked. "Actually, yes. Would you be interested in meeting me with at Bu-"

"No!" The woman gasped, and for a second Beth thought she might hang up. "I cannot meet with you, Miss Turner, my life would be in jeopardy from the one who calls himself Josef Kostan. We will conduct any interviews this way."

"All right," Beth agreed quickly. This might be a dead-end, but it was the most promising lead she had so far.

"I cannot talk any longer, this phone is not safe. I will call you tonight, at eight o'clock. I assume you will clear your schedule." For the second time that day, the line went dead in Beth's ear without any warning.

1950's LA

It was time for the cat to play, Coraline thought, but without her usual zeal. She didn't really have any taste for the hunt tonight, didn't want to hurt this one. That's why you have to, her instincts screamed. If she didn't hurt him, then she'd lose a piece of her power, and her power is what kept her alive. She'd be gentle with her prey, teach him a lesson, but also give him something to remember. And for the rest of his life, when he lay beside his dutiful, domestic little wifey, their three kids sleeping in their beds across the hall, he'd think of the lady in red, and he'd wonder if it all been a dream.

His mediocre band mates were packing up. Underneath this Mick St. John's composed surface, she sensed exhilaration, passion. The music is what makes him feel alive, she realized with a pang, sad for him in a way she was rarely sad for anyone. After he got married, and had his first child, bills and responsibility would sink their hooks into him, and he'd put aside his guitar and sell his soul to some company that'd give him a good salary and benefits. He'd die in that rut, just another bolt in a machine that robbed him of so much.

Oh, don't descend into melodrama, she told herself. He was just another toy for her amusement, who played with him next after she tired of him wasn't her concern, and if the world broke him, so be it. The world had certainly broken her, and no one had cried for her.

Swaying her hips at their must enticing angle, she strolled forward, bottle of champagne in her hand, a little vintage she'd been saving for the last ten years. She leaned against a pillar, sized him up. "Want to get wet?"

For a second, he froze, caught in her spell. He whipped his head around; far more obvious about making sure she was speaking to him this time. She wondered if his earlier confidence had been a farce. No, no, he couldn't have fooled her; not someone with her years. No, perhaps he'd been self-assured because they were surrounded by people, and she'd seemed unattainable, a safe temptation.

He jammed his hands in his pockets, a habit of his. His posture straightened, and when he tried to adopt a sophisticated guise, she felt herself grin. He was so cute; it was too bad the rules were already set. She felt his burst of happiness, felt it echo in herself, and tried to squelch it. In the words of a great queen: "There will be one mistress here, and no master." She led him out to the pool and out of his familiar world.

"You don't even know my name," he pointed out. Oh, didn't she? Did he think she just picked a band with a blindfold on?

It didn't matter, she decided. "Do I need to?" Names were insignificant when flesh was on flesh, lips had better uses then.

He stepped forward, and his body heat seeped into her. "Maybe you should come to one of my real gigs."

Oh, honey, she thought, mentally shaking her head. Don't try to play tough, you'll just hurt yourself. "This was one of your real gigs," she told him bluntly, reminding him who was leading this dance. She expected rage or humiliation, since crushing a man's ego was the quickest way to wound him. She only picked up on mild irritation and confusion, however. He wasn't sure of the steps yet, and she didn't plan on letting him learn. "Will give me a hand?"

After a minute of hesitation, then he was carefully pulling the zipper down, inch by tantalizing inch. Her eyes closed on a sensory rush, the silken air kissing her back, his gaze caressing her newly exposed skin, centering on her tattoo. His reverence, his fascination was surrounding her, filling her. She was catching him in the same trap she'd used a million times before, and she wasn't even trying. Of course, seduction was an art she'd been studying since she was fifteen years of age. She'd long since perfected it.

The dress pooled at her ankles, and she gracefully lifted her feet out of it, leaving it in a ruby puddle, her body naked, free to accept the moonlight's silver mantle. She stepped silently out of her heels, diving into the pool, could feel every individual drop of water as it welcomed her flesh into its depths. Mick had stood, transfixed, caught between instinct and a lifetime of conditioning.

Coraline surfaced, giving her conflicted companion a sly smile. "Join me, darling. The water's fine."

"That's awful tempting, Coraline, but-"

"My name sounds so nice on your lips," she observed, licking her own. Her eyes were bold as they raked down his body, noting his hands were tight fists against his side. "You're not scared of me, are you…Mick?"

"So, you do know my name." He crouched down by the pool, reaching out, smoothing a wet strand of hair away from her cheek. A wicked gleam danced in her dark eyes, and before he could even blink, she was pulling him into the pool with one, strong yank. He came up sputtering, her rich laugh resonating along the sound. "Guess you don't take no for an answer, do you?" he managed once he could almost breathe again.

"Everyone likes getting their way; I just have what it takes to get it." She felt it was fair warning. "Take off your clothes, I'll have them laundered them for you later."

"Uh…" he stared at her blankly as if she started blathering in Greek.

"Why don't we start with your shirt, mmm?" She seared him with her eyes, made sure her voice poured over him like hot honey. Her hands drifted to the buttons on the sappy Hawaiian shirt, her fingers deft, the shirt falling away easily. He was paralyzed, and when she started stroking his chest, his breathing was suddenly harsh. She felt a stab of idiotic disappointment. So, he was this easy of a mark, was he? Just another typical male who would rut with any female that crooked her finger.

When she started working on his belt, he jerked away. "I-I can make do," he announced, taking deep breaths.

"You seem tense," she teased.

"Do you always drag strangers into your pool?" His met her eyes, pulling himself up to sit on the side as he pried off his soggy shoes and socks, then his clothes. Mmmm, lovely muscles in those arms.

"When I'm not chained to my needlework or the stove," she retorted sarcastically.

"You don't exactly strike me as the domestic type." There was nothing judgmental in the comment, and again, he surprised her.

"And what do I strike you as?" Not that she gave a damn what anyone, especially a man, thought about her, but this conversation was somewhat amusing, so why not pursue it?

"A tornado," he admitted honestly. She burst into laughter again, which faded as soon as the last garment was peeled away, his body exposed in the moonlight. She'd seen thousands of naked men since that fateful summer she'd turned fifteen, and was too jaded to be impressed by any specimen, but she had to admit, he was very nicely put together, and she felt a stab of eagerness cut through her. This was going to even more fun than she thought.

He slid back in, cutting through the water with clean, broad strokes. She admired the view, enjoying nature's handiwork in motion. He politely ignored her blatant examination, pretending her own nudity didn't affect him, that it didn't make him burn.

Playing along, she swam with him, their movements falling into unison. With her vampiric speed and agility, she could have outraced him easily, but was enjoying the brisk pace, this dance between them too much. If she was going to be honest with herself, she'd admit she enjoyed his company more than anything, but that was too dangerous of a confession, even to herself.

After a half hour or so later, she slowed, purposely giving the impression of mild fatigue even though she was humming with energy. "Now, aren't you glad I persuaded you to join me?"

"Well, I can't say as I'm complaining." A boyish smile overtook his lips, his eyes so sincere it cut her. "You've got one swell set-up here."

"It'll do," she said with a careless shrug. Opulence and all that went with it had long ceased to impress her. She preferred it, naturally, but wasn't dependent on it, like her good friend Charles. "How about a drink? Do you care for champagne?" Since her taste buds only registered blood, the most expensive champagne might as well have been moonshine to her, but humans tended to be a little more discriminating.

At his affirmative answer, they climbed out of the pool, and she caught him admiring her gleaming flesh, though discreetly. She'd set the stage, it was time for the play to begin.

Modern LA, April 10th, 3:00 AM

Even Coraline could only hit her head against a brick wall so many times before her tenacity, her love, and her energy just reached their limits. Girl, take a hint, he's just not that into you, she told herself. She'd love Mick St. John until the day she died, but their chapter had closed. Let him chase after human girls with boyfriends, little blonde snoops that played around with stakes.

She slipped into her old party home, gazing through the window, her stare centered on the pool, her eyes misting as she remembered. Disgusted with herself, she shoved her heartache down. She breathed in to calm herself, and immediately, her senses starting clamoring. She wasn't alone.

"Honey, you're home." Mick stepped out of the shadows, voice set in stony sarcasm. Leisurely, she turned around to face him, adopting a bored expression.

"Come back for a stroll down memory lane?" She tilted her head ever so slightly, considering her ex-husband. He was conflicted, torn in a thousand directions. There was anger, guilt, uncertainty, love, and hate clashing in his eyes. He wasn't in a frame of mind to hurt her, just huff and puff, and bluff.

"I'd just as soon not re-live nightmares."

"Then why are you here, Mick?" Coraline asked, unfazed by his barb. He'd have to do better than that if he was ever going to dint her hide. "Chasing your pot of gold again?"

"Did you think that I'd just let you pull a vanishing act? Did you think I'd just let it go?" he demanded.

"I really didn't give you much thought," Coraline lied easily, a trick she'd mastered long ago.

Intentionally obvious, he inhaled, advancing on her. "What the hell are you, a snake, shedding species like they're skins?" He reached out to grab her, but she gracefully side-stepped him. "Just tell me how you did it."

"You're like a broken record," she gritted out from between clenched teeth, and then decided to put him out of his misery. "Look, there isn't any point to answers. It's nothing more than a temporary reversal, and trust me; you can't afford the treatments on your salary."

"There's got to be a permanent version of what you took," Mick insisted, not about to let go of his obsession.

"If there is, then I overlooked it in all my years of relentless research." She gave an airy shrug. "If you want to chase rainbows, be my guest. Good luck." She turned her back, heading for the stairs.

"Don't you walk away!" he growled, successfully gripping her arm, whirling her around. She twisted sharply, ramming her hips into him, shoving hard against his lower stomach at the same second. Unprepared, he stumbled back, enough for Coraline to slip out of his hold.

"You won't find me as manageable as you did in the cemetery," she warned him coldly. "No one, not even you, darling, lays their hands on me without permission. Don't do it again."

"What's it gonna take here, Coraline? Is this some kind of revenge? Dangle the carrot in front of my face, using it as leverage? What, I have to screw you before you'll help me?"

Brief laughter, harsh and dead, tore its free from her lips. "Don't flatter yourself, Mick. You think I'd go through all this trouble for a ride on your cock? Trust me, baby, there's plenty of that to go around, I don't need Beth Turner's leftovers."

"Don't you dare bring her into this," he snarled, his fist lashing out, overturning a sheet covered piece of furniture.

"Oh, don't bother with the dramatics. I have no plans for your precious Beth, or you, actually. The Beth and Mick Soap Opera is safe from my evil clutches, trust me. I'm just changing the channel." Her chest tightened to the point of physical pain, but he'd never know it. Coraline was the consummate survivalist, the consummate actress.

Thrown off balance, Mick lost some of his rage. "Excuse me?"

"It means I'm exiting the party," she explained blithely. "This has been fun, I guess, but greener pastures and all that. I would say it's been nice, but that'd be bullshit, so I won't bother. It's been…interesting, anyway."

Suspicion, the constant companion in their marriage, was written all over his face. "All right, what's your game, now?"

"No game, Mick, no tricks up my sleeve. I don't really give a rat's ass whether you believe me or not, so take it for what's it worth." Her train of thought went crashing when her senses picked up on a door opening from downstairs…the inhumanly slow heartbeat of an intruder. She'd know that scent anywhere…Mick's grandsire was here for a final reckoning.