Free Twilight Illusions by MAGGIE SHAYNE

clearly in the darkness, her red, swollen eyes, the track of each and every tear she’d shed, burned into her pale ivory flesh. “You’d be safer at my house, I think.”
    She shook her head so hard her hair flew. “I can take care of myself. Take me to my place or I’ll go somewhere and call a cab. It’s up to you.” She sniffed loudly.
    He helped her to her feet, encircled her shoulders with his arm and walked with her around the building to the sidewalk, toward where he’d parked his car. The chilly October breeze whisked over them, and he hoped it cooled her burning cheeks.
    â€œIf you insist, I’ll take you to your apartment. But you still might be in danger, Shannon. I’ll just have to park myself outside the building and try to watch over you from there.”
    â€œSure you will. And pigs will fly, too.” She went to the passenger door of his gleaming black car. One of his indulgences. A Jaguar. He liked it, liked driving it fast, liked the new smell of it. When that smell wore off, he’d immediately buy another. He had few enough pleasures in this life.
    She opened the door and stood there, staring over the car at him. “So are you gonna drive me, or not?”
    â€œI’m gonna drive you.”

Chapter 5
    D amien sat in the car near the front of her apartment building. It wasn’t much of a building. Tall, narrow. Too few windows, and fire escapes with huge sections missing. The ugly red bricks looked ready to crumble. The security was nonexistent. It wasn’t a slum, but he didn’t like the idea of her living here.
    She came onto the balcony twice, glancing down at his black car. He shivered a little when she leaned on the iron rail. The damned thing probably wasn’t in any better shape than the rest of the place. After that he saw her part the curtains a few times, and he knew she was looking, checking to see if he was still there. Almost as if she expected him to leave.
    Maybe she’d be better off if he did.
    Damien couldn’t bring himself to believe he’d killed those other women, but he couldn’t ignore the possibility, either. He didn’t know whether this change in his hunger was normal, something every immortal felt with age. He didn’t know if others had killed without even being aware of it. Was something like that possible?
    He thumped his fist on the steering wheel as the questions tormented him. Traffic and people passed by. Lights in buildings blinked off one by one as this less-than-elite section of Arista went to sleep.
    He wished now that he hadn’t avoided all contact with others of his kind, wished there were someone he could ask about these things, and about this DPI, whatever it was, and the murder of Tawny Keller. Damien ought to know. As far as he was aware, he was the oldest of any of them. He ought to have the answers, but dammit he didn’t.
    He thought of the letters he’d received from the one who called himself a scientist, Eric Marquand. If anyone could shed some light on all of this it might very well be that young, curious man. Damien grimaced at the idea of asking for help. The very thought of contacting Marquand made him squirm with unease. He’d existed alone, in a vacuum for so long now. His only emotional ties were the safe ones he felt with his crowds of fans. When they stood and cheered for him it was almost as if time melted away, almost as if he were an adored ruler again, a beloved king, basking in the unconditional love and loyalty of his people. It was the adoration of those crowds that had driven him to perform all these years. A man could only do without love, connections, for so long. The audiences gave him enough to sustain him. It was the only love allowed into his solitary life, and it was enough. It had to be enough.
    He shook his head slowly. No, he’d try to solve this thing on his own. He’d only use Eric Marquand and his studies of the undead