His breathing was an uneven and irregular series of ever deepening inhalations, for the first five hundred yards of his run. Soon enough though, his body orchestrated the concerted effort of his limbs, heart and lungs and the natural and unconscious rhythm of his gait began to emerge. By the time he was passing by the Rowing Club just inside the park's entrance, his feet had found their stride and he could feel his pulse settle to its working rate.

God! He had to admit this was a beautiful city, and at half past six in the evening the sun was still high enough to paint the landscape in vibrant shades of green, and shimmer off the crumpled surface of the Burrard Inlet.

The guy at the hotel front desk had told him that the seawall around Stanley Park was 8.8 kilometers in length. "You can't get lost," he said, "Just keep to the wall and the water on your right." He had told Mike that when he got to Second Beach he could choose to go into English Bay and come back to the hotel along Denman and hit a Starbucks or a juice bar, or he could continue along a footpath around Lost Lagoon and end up back at the park entrance at Georgia. Mike hadn't decided yet; right now he was just enjoying the feel of working the stress of a long day of briefings from his body.

He was rounding the turn into Brockton Point and the whole of the North Shore of the city was laid out before him across the water. The angled golden light of the sun painted the populated slopes of the mountains in a high relief pattern of light and shadow.

I'm glad I spent that time reviewing the case file Lee gave me last night. If I hadn't I would have been completely lost in those briefings today. My head feels like it is stuffed with so much random information that it should be trickling out my ears. I need some time to just let it process all on its own. It's like Vic always says…if you toss all the pieces in the air, when they settle again some sort of a pattern always emerges. He tried to ignore the sudden pain under his ribs at the thought of Vicki. I am going to have to call her and bring her up to speed when I get back to the hotel.

For a few moments he gazed downwards watching his feet striking the pavement as he ran and then glancing up caught the eye of one of two trim twenty-something women jogging towards him.

One nodded and murmured, "Hello" as they came up alongside and the other smiled and said, "Great night for a run." He had time to say a quick, "Yeah" before they were past. Coreen was right he thought, people are friendlier here on the West Coast.

Five executions that we have identified so far, he thought, at least five that we know of. The guys in organized crimes here had at first thought it was some turf war among the criminal organizations in town, some hostile takeover, but the executions cut across the various organized crime groups and families, and now across at least two provinces. The thought was now that there was some sort of vigilante extremist group or environmental terrorist group behind the executions. There were many legitimate groups operating in efforts to protect and preserve the environment and protect endangered or exploited species, sometimes small cells of extremists took matters too far.

"Behind you!" a voice chimed out and two cyclists sped by on the one way bike lane a second after warning of their presence. Startled from his thoughts Mike looked up to see the bulk of the Lion's Gate Bridge looming before him, the beams and girders of the bridge's undercarriage and structure revealed high above his head. He could hear the rumble of the cars passing far overhead as traffic headed to the North Shore.

The pedestrian path narrowed to a series of switchbacks under the bridge proper and for a few moments he had to pay close attention to his footing. He realized that he had been running in shadow for the last few minutes as the sun was blocked by the trees topping the cliffs above him. As he cleared Prospect Point and began to run towards Siwash Rock he was heading almost due south and the westering sun hung as a brilliant orange globe a hand span over the horizon to his right. The surface of the water was painted brilliant white gold, mossy rocks glimpsed just below the shining surface. His own shadow ran black from his feet and bent to pass along on his left, following him, drawn stark in silhouette on the shale cliff wall that butted up against the foot path.

I can't shake the idea that we only have one half of the picture here, he thought. I guess it was the info on Orion Gaelan that Vicki gave me provided kind of a key. He is missing, and a preliminary search has turned up two other missing persons whose names are connected to either Gaelan or through three or four organizations. No one but no one attacks organized crime with impunity; these missing persons were not random. Lee was assigned to check out the Vancouver Aquarium and two other groups —one in Vancouver and the other in Deep Cove. Both were associated with the rescue and protection of marine mammals. Of course, as new man out, I get assigned the Victoria connection. Well I suppose it makes a certain sort of sense; Lee would be just as much a stranger in Victoria as I am.

As the Siwash Rock loomed up on his right he passed through a bar of deep shadow where the path ran between the Rock and the cliff. Siwash Rock standing just off shore was topped by a huge wind bent tree, a black cutout against the brilliant sun that now dipped its lower edge in the ocean. As he headed towards Ferguson Point he passed by Third Beach and he had to slow his pace briefly to weave in and out among the pedestrian traffic. He could hear snatches of conversation as he watched the picnickers and families packing up their bags and blankets as the night drew closer. Once past the beach he picked up the pace again and was aware that the trees crowded in tall and dense close alongside the path. The shadows between the trunks of these old growth giants lengthened and deepened as the sun inched lower on the horizon, slowly extinguishing itself in the water.

Orion Gaelan is a card carrying member of the Victoria Aquatic Mammal Protection Society, even though he was based out of Toronto. Astrid Evanston was another missing environmentalist based in Vancouver, who is also a member of the Victoria society. That is too big a coincidence to ignore. I just know that the more we expand our search the more connected missing persons we are going to encounter. Those offices will be the first place I think I will visit when I get to Victoria.

From the seawall he took a secondary footpath up to the cliff top to look out over the water. The sun was half drowned now and the landscape was beginning to lose its sharp focused detail to the shadows of the evening. The large ships at anchor out in the water were black silhouettes in the brilliance. When he looked towards the Park Drive he could see the Teahouse Restaurant. It was a twinkling yellow lit jewel nestled in the shadows of the second growth forest surrounding it. The aroma of the cedar plank seared salmon on the breeze from the open grill made Celluci's stomach suddenly rumble. However, the expensive cars in the lot and the white linen clad tables visible through the beveled glass windows dissuaded him from dining in his sweats. He took the steps three at a time back down to the seawall and headed towards Second Beach. He decided that he would head home via Denman Street and stop for a bite of dinner in English Bay.

***

Henry:

I'm sorry that we argued AGAIN. When I stopped to think about it, you're right Henry. I don't have any right to try to tell you who you can or cannot feed on in your own territory, so I'm sorry that I wrung that promise out of you.

BUT I can ask you not to make my life any more complicated than it already is. Please do not bother Mike while he's in Vancouver.

V

Henry shook his head in exasperation as he re-read Vicki's e-mail. Yesterday I allowed her to bully me into agreeing to something and now she tells me that she is sorry and that I don't have to do what I promised but then tells me would I mind doing it anyway as a favor. Whatever made her think that I want to feed on Celluci? Though it would be a marvelous challenge to get him to…?

Henry rubbed at the growing discomfort between his brows, which he strongly suspected was directly related to the tension in his shoulders.

I'll shower and change and then go out. I'll talk to Vicki later, he thought.

No more than half an hour later, Henry emerged from the elevator in the lobby of his building.

"Beautiful evening, Mr. Fitzroy," Tanya, the night guard, said.

Henry smiled beguilingly at her, pausing for a moment beside the desk. "Good evening, Tanya. Yes, it appears to be quite a lovely evening; I think perhaps I'll take a stroll down along Denman. I have been working away on some drawings all afternoon and evening and I want to rest my eyes a bit. I haven't dined as yet and I thought…"

"You should try the new Italian place on Denman, Gardeno something or other. Stevo says their red sauce is to die for." Tanya interrupted.

Henry turned away and as he made his way through the door said over his shoulder, "To die for? Hmmm…perhaps I'll try it. Thank you Tanya."

Henry walked along through the crowds on the street and enjoyed the warm night air and the thrumming of the life forces around him. He had not been in this territory long enough to feel it necessary to limit his feeding to a safer distance from his sanctuary. Eventually, he knew, the luxury of feeding so close to his resting place would have to be sacrificed to secrecy.

Though he nodded amiably to a couple of faces that he recognized, he had generally kept his distance from his prey. He had become far too entangled and exposed in Toronto and he did not intend to repeat that mistake here.

The vampire was in the earliest stage of his hunt; the hunger was definitely present, but not as yet pressing. It was the stage that Vicki had once described as "previewing the buffet." Crass, he thought with a slight smile playing about his lips, but essentially correct. There will be something, someone, some scent, that will bring the hunter.

When he concentrated, he could scent the food and drink in the air as he strolled past an outdoor bistro. Those were scents that he had long ago learned to filter from his consciousness as unimportant and extraneous information, his attention always drawn first and foremost to the scent of his prey. Concentrating, he brought into focus the hum of conversation and the clinking of china and silverware that was a distinctly human and charming counterpoint to the traffic rolling slowly by at the edge of the wide sidewalk. He considered that counterpoint as he willed his perception of the individual heart beats of the humans surrounding him to fade to a muted pulse. He manipulated his senses consciously and in this way he was able to close the gap between himself and the humans among whom he walked. It was a well rehearsed and necessary part of the masquerade.

Henry glanced at the sign over the bistro's open french doors, "Giardino di Notte," he read. The Night Garden…so this is the place with the red sauce to…

Henry stopped in his tracks, lifting his chin as the breeze shifted and a familiar scent registered.

His rival, he could scent him in close proximity, where?

***

Well that cannelloni just undid the last 8 K that I ran, Mike thought as he pushed the plate away across the table cloth and picked up his wine glass. Not as good as his grandma's but the red sauce definitely had something. Mike turned his head to search for the waiter. A dessert might not be a bad…what the fuck!

He felt the force of the vampire's personality surround him before he saw Fitzroy. Mike swung his face back around and pushed back from the table in one abrupt movement. The bloodsucker was sitting at ease smiling, arms across his chest, in the chair across from him. Mike watched him tilt his head to one side in a familiar gesture. Fitzroy's blue eyes were intent.

"Welcome to Vancouver, Constable," the vampire purred. "To what, do we owe the honor of your presence?"

"Fuck Fitzroy, do you have to do that?" Mike said as he pulled his chair back towards the table, glancing from side to side, though the other patrons all seemed oblivious to the exchange.

The vampire inclined his head gracefully. "My apologies…I am sorry to have startled you," he said after a moment. Breaking his eye contact and glancing down he brushed momentarily at a nonexistent bit of something on his stylish jacket. He appeared to test the air and then wrinkled his nose slightly in an expression of distaste.

Mike, who always felt rather unkempt and grubby when in the vampire's presence, was suddenly acutely aware of his post run dishevelment. He fucking looks exactly the same, Mike thought grumpily, the perfect picture, not a hair out of place. But then, he never is going to change, a hundred years from now he will still look exactly the same. "Sorry if 'parfum de Celluci' offends your sensitive nose, your undead Highness," he ground out as he plucked at his damp sweatshirt. "Eight kilometer runs usually affect us humans that way."

Henry leaned on his forearms on the table. He looked intently into Celluci's face and said tersely, "Keep your voice down, Detective. I have to live here." There was no compulsion in his voice, no power beyond that of his own personality. "It is not the smell of human sweat that offends me, in fact as scents go it is rather stimulating. Glancing meaningfully at the sirloin steak dinner sitting on the table top across from them, he continued, his voice pitched low, "It is the scent of roasted dead animal flesh that is difficult to endure."

The waiter appeared at the table with the dessert menu. Mike watched as the vampire cocked an eyebrow, he knew that the bloodsucker was waiting to see what he would do. You're not running me off Fitzroy…if that is what you think, he thought petulantly.

"I'll have the tiramisu," he told the waiter, "and a cappuccino." Mike sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Your turn captain canine, he thought.

The waiter turned to Henry. "And for you sir…" he asked, his pen poised over his paper.

Henry's eyes never left Celluci's face as he responded smoothly. "I haven't as yet, dined this evening," he paused, his eyes crinkling in amusement as Celluci stiffened slightly, "but I am a little thirsty." He turned his face lazily towards the young man, "A Pellegrino please, room temperature, no ice and do not chill the glass…perhaps some lime?"

When the waiter had turned away Mike said to the vampire, "So, your Lordship, you don't seem particularly surprised to see me here in Lotus land."

"Actually, Victoria had mentioned to me that you had flown in yesterday evening." Henry responded smoothly, settling a little further back in his chair. I am not going to tell you that she made me promise not to do what I am doing right now, Henry thought.

He could sense the increase in Celluci's heart rate at the mention of Vicki and thought, Vicki may be telling HER truth when she says its over between you, but it does not seem that she is telling YOURS.

Henry continued, "She did say it was something to do with two homicides related to the missing person case that she is working on." He nodded to the waiter as the young man poured a portion of the sparkling water into his glass.

"Yeah, the Gaelan case," Mike paused and then said, "that was the one we were discussing over dinner the other night, when you called." Direct hit, he thought as he lifted a forkful of the sweet coffee-flavored confection to his lips and watched the vampire's jaw tighten.

"And that brings you to MY city because…?" Henry prompted. I hate how Celluci has the capacity to irritate me in this way. I hate how my eyes are continually drawn to that long tanned throat. I hate that honor prohibits me from climbing inside his head and simply taking what I want to know and I hate that he and Vicki…

Mike could feel the building desire to tell all he knew, to confide in Henry, to please him in any way he could…. Jesus, he doesn't even realize he's doing it, Mike thought suddenly. He just really wants to know and the vampire is showing. I know what the parasite prince's compulsion feels like and this isn't it. He isn't the same; he isn't the same at all. He is much less 'human,' much less connected. You poor fuck; this is what she's done to you, isn't it?

The air in the restaurant was charged, conversation had died, and heads were swiveling from side to side looking for the source of their sense of uneasiness. Human instincts, though dulled by civilization, were capable of perceiving the predator in their midst.

Mike pushed aside his plate and leaned forward. "I may not be the most sensitive to this shit Fitzroy," he said in a voice pitched so low that only Henry could hear him, "but even I can feel the spreading sense of strangeness you are broadcasting throughout the crowd, back it down, now! You do have to live here after all."

With a trembling hand, Mike raised his coffee to his lips and sipped through the foam. Forcing himself to remain leaning towards Fitzroy when every instinct was telling him to run. Then as suddenly as it had come, the sense of danger was gone.

Fitzroy raised his eyes from his glass to Mike's face. He looked…puzzled, as though his lack of control in such a public place was a complete surprise. Mike watched as the handsome and youthful face closed and the expressive eyes shuttered once more.

"My apologies again, detective," he said stiffly as he stood and withdrew a bill from his wallet, placing it on the table beside his drink. "I think perhaps I should look to my dinner, if you will excuse me."

"Fitzroy, for what it's worth," Mike heard himself say, "Vicki and me, it's over…hell it was over long before she ever met you."

The vampire nodded once, before he turned away.