Turpin had waited until he was certain that he wouldn't meet anyone in the corridors before he made for the room he had claimed as his own. Rosalind was likely to know which room had been his in the time when the original Tremont had been alive, and he was still wary of doing anything which might make her see beyond the shadows of what had been. He was fairly sure that Statton would have claimed the master bedroom for his own, and while it would have been in character for a lord such as Tremont to throw him out, Dick didn't want to stir up the enemy too much. Vampire aside, he was still outnumbered four to one, and he couldn't be absolutely certain which way Swiftnick would jump if it came down to a fight.

The weak morning light had difficulty penetrating the thick, dusty panes of the small windows and Turpin felt his instincts twitch as shadows pressed in all around him. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword and he was quick to draw it when one of the shadows took on extra substantiality and lunged at him from out of a curtained alcove. Dick caught the pallid gleam of light on metal as the gun was raised and he instinctively lunged to one side as he drew his sword, cursing the acting role which meant that he had left his own guns well-hidden in his room.

The shot sounded louder than usual in the silent confines of the corridor, but the pellet went mercifully wide. Turpin had his sword unsheathed by then and he used the flat of the blade to strike the gun from the other man's hand. The lunge he made missed as the thug threw himself back, shaking his hand to free it from the sting of having been hit by Turpin's sword. He could tell from the cold-eyed look Turpin gave him that he wasn't going to be able to turn tail and run. The briefest flicker in his eyes as he looked past him was all the warning Dick got and he barely missed being run through by the second man who came up behind him. The soft scrape of steel had him glancing back to see the first man drawing his sword. At least they had decided to try and finish him off with steel. He gave a wolfish smile as he shifted position to face them both. They just might live to regret that decision.

Not that he expected it to be easy. He was a better swordsman than most. The lessons of his youth had been honed and expanded during his years of military service and his life as a highwayman meant he hadn't fallen out of practice. He regularly duelled with Glenrae when the Scot came a-visiting, and Glenrae was no slouch in the blade-wielding stakes. Unfortunately, the other two turned out to be experts, as well, and Dick very nearly got himself skewered at one point when he fell for a feint. He managed to recover, but he was pressed back against the wainscoting as his attackers came at him from opposite directions, making it difficult for him to launch an attack of his own.

He was beginning to tire. He had been on the road back from London and hadn't really had a decent night's rest since he had realised that Swiftnick was in danger. Now he realised that his reflexes were slower than usual as he found himself having to extend himself more and more to prevent himself from being run through. The worst of it was that the men had fought together as a team and were able to cover for one another and press him at the same time. His initial calculation of the odds against him started to slide in favour of the others.

And then Swiftnick was there, clad in a loose shirt and his hose, but with a sword in his hand and an angry light in his eyes. He threw himself at one of the attackers, forcing the man to back-pedal frantically to evade the blade which stabbed out towards his face. Grabbing the opportunity which had been so unexpectedly presented to him, Turpin swung his full attention to his other assailant. Before the man realised how much trouble he was in, Dick had batted aside his defence and run him through. He spun around to go to Swiftnick's aid immediately. His apprentice had scarcely picked up a blade before he had come under Turpin's wing, and while Dick had taught him a little, there was no way he was up to the challenge which the second of the thugs represented.

He was in time to see Swiftnick perform as sweet a double-time feint as he had ever seen and plunge his sword into the second man's chest. The thug seemed to give Turpin an astonished stare, as if he couldn't quite believe that he had been bested, before his eyes closed and he fell to the ground. The motion almost wrenched the sword out of Swiftnick's hand as he stood, frozen, a blank expression on his face. He lifted his head to turn and stare at Turpin and Dick started forward at the look in his young apprentice's eyes. It was how he imagined a drowning man would look as he breathed in the water which would kill him.

It was there for only an instant before Swiftnick blinked and then seemed to come back into himself. Or rather into the persona which Rosalind had created for him. Dick cursed the remoteness which bloomed in the eyes he was more used to seeing sparkling with mischief. He could feel his skin crawling as he cleaned his own sword on the clothes of the man he had downed and sheathed it again. He knew exactly what level of duelling proficiency Swiftnick possessed and that feint would have been beyond him. There was no way Rosalind could have hypnotised Swiftnick into becoming an expert swordsman. For one horrible moment, Dick found himself wondering if the spirit of Oliver Granville had indeed possessed his young friend, then he pushed the idea away. He was already in enough trouble without making things worse for himself. He had to believe that his Swiftnick was still somewhere under the new personality Rosalind had given him, otherwise he might as well kill the lad now and give him a merciful death.

Swiftnick had drawn closer to him, his expression wary but curious. "There are Statton's men," he said, indicating the two corpses. "Why did they attack you?"

Turpin smiled grimly. "I have no idea, but I'll be interested to hear his explanation."

Swiftnick still looked troubled. "I wish Rosalind would send him away. I hate the way he looks at her, like a hungry wolf that would like to gobble her up."

Turpin snorted before he could stop himself. "Rosalind can look after herself," he growled. He held up a placating hand when Swiftnick turned towards him, bristling visibly. "You know that's true, Sw- Oliver," he corrected himself hastily. "It would take someone with far more courage than Statton to attack her."

As quickly as it had risen, Swiftnick's anger faded and he looked away, his inner conflict obvious on his expressive face. "She is incomparable. There is no other like her."

I hope to God that's true! Turpin thought to himself. "Every rose has its thorns," he said blandly. "An innocent can reach out to pluck it and find himself bleeding."

He watched Swiftnick start, his eyes darkening as he lifted his hand to touch the place at his throat where the skin was still red and angry around the two tiny puncture-wounds. Turpin kept a death-grip on the fury which boiled up inside him, even though he felt like he was going to choke on it. Damn her! he swore to himself. Damn her to the deepest, foulest hell there is! I want her dead before this is over. Either she dies, or I do.

"What's going on here?" Statton's well-feigned surprise as he turned the corner and came towards them turned to an expression of genuine consternation when he realised that both his men were lying dead on the floor and Turpin was still very much alive. "What- what happened?"

Turpin didn't have to adopt the air of cold anger he projected as he paced forward and made Statton a curt bow. "It would seem that your servants felt that my life should be put to an end, sir. I was forced to defend myself. Have you any idea why your servants should suddenly turn murderers?"

With a jerk, Statton tore his gaze away from the nearest dead body and gave Turpin a look of pure dislike, which stayed on his face as he took in Swiftnick hovering behind Dick. "I mislike your tone, sir," he snapped.

"And I mislike being attacked in my own home, sir," Turpin purred. He lifted his hand to caress the hilt of his sword. "I will be willing to give you satisfaction, if you feel that there was any insult within my justifiable question." He hoped like hell that Statton decided against doing that since he knew he had very little energy for another fight. It was a calculated risk which he knew he had to take in order to stay in character.

Statton swallowed and backed down hastily. "I meant no insult, Sir Alan. I was simply surprised and confounded to discover that men whom I hired in good faith should turn out to be worthless thieves and cutpurses. I am glad to see that you were unhurt."

You're spitting blood over the fact! Turpin snorted to himself. He bowed again. "I am also gratified that things turned out the way they did. Now, if you will excuse me, I have had a trying day and I feel the call of my bed." He turned with deliberate casualness to Swiftnick. "Will you walk with me, Oliver?"

Swiftnick blinked, then gave him a shy smile and a quick bow. "I would be pleased to," he replied, falling into step as Turpin strode past Statton. "I don't think you should trust him," he observed when they had gone a little distance.

Turpin had unconsciously relaxed with Swiftnick walking beside him, but the words made him tense up again. The wording of the sentences was bad enough, with Swiftnick coming out with phrases which he would ordinarily have considered peculiar, but even worse was the timbre of his voice. The exuberance and cheerful mischief which was so characteristic was gone and in its place was… well, Dick wasn't sure how to describe it. Not quite lifeless, but it was as if something had taken a pillow and smothered all the youth and bright life out of him. Something - or someone.

"I have no intention of trusting him," he said carefully, "but sometimes it's better to keep an enemy where you can see him, rather than chasing him away and then not knowing where he is."

"Yes, I remember you saying that before," Swiftnick said impatiently. The he checked and his eyes widened. "That is… I remember you saying it but I can't remember when you said it." His distress increased and Dick heard his breath start to catch in his throat as panic closed his chest.

"It was probably the last time we met," he said hastily. Although he wanted Swiftnick to break free of the spell Rosalind had cast over him, he didn't want to shatter the lad's mind in the process.

"Yes, that must be it," Swiftnick said gratefully. "Rosalind said that you've always watched over her."

Turpin smiled at that, guessing that Rosalind had meant it in an entirely different way to that which his innocent apprentice had taken it. "I like to keep an eye on her," he agreed. "And I think you warrant my attention, as well."

"Me?" Was it his imagination, or did Swiftnick look pleased at that. "Why?"

"You showed quite a flair for swordplay back there. I would consider it an honour if you were to fence with me."

Swiftnick shot him a startled look, before smiling shyly again. "I would like that, although I have no memory of who taught me to fence." He looked momentarily troubled again, wincing slightly as if he had a headache.

Turpin wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disquieted by that admission, so he decided to ignore it. He parted company with the youngster at the door to the bedroom he had laid claim to and went inside, closing with door and leaning back against it with a weary sigh. This was a lot more bizarre than any of the other adventures he had shared with Swiftnick, and the worst of it was that his partner wasn't really here to share the burden with him. Dick felt totally exhausted, so after checking that he could bolt the door, he fastened it and made for the bed. He wrinkled his nose at the dusty covers, but he'd slept in worse places and the mattress was still fairly soft. After beating off the worst of the surface dust, he backed off and waited until it settled and then took off his surface finery before sliding under the covers and put his gun under the pillow. It might not stop Rosalind, but he was more concerned with Statton at the moment.

Thanks to his military service, he had learned to sleep anywhere and whenever he had the opportunity, a trick which had come in handy when he had turned to the High Toby. Swiftnick had had more trouble, driving him mad in the early days with his fidgeting. With the wry observation that he would give anything to have Swiftnick driving him crazy like that right now, Dick fell swiftly asleep.

He was awoken in the morning with a discreet knock at the door. Wide awake in an instant, Dick reached under the pillow to grab his gun. "Who is it?" he demanded.

"Myers, sir. I've brought you some water to wash up."

Turpin blinked in confusion. He wasn't used to being waited on (unless you counted Swiftnick's reluctant compliance with his insistence on putting the kettle on and cleaning his boots), but he realised that someone like Tremont would be used to having people around at his beck and call. Getting out of bed, he shook the last of sleep out of his head and padded over to unlock the door, hiding his pistol on the folds of his long shirt.

Myers slid in, giving him a nervous look as he went by. Turpin smiled thinly, realising that the man knew that he had killed Statton's other two henchmen. Wanting a little revenge for all the worry he had been feeling over the past few days, he took great pleasure in stalking after the man in silence, grinning at the increasingly jerky movements of the man as he set down the jug of hot water next to the ewer and took the towels from his arm and settled them on the table. Any compassion he felt for the man could easily be quashed when he remembered that Myers had been happily part of many of the murders which had taken place in the Manor. The fact that his courage deserted him when the odds were no longer in his favour simply meant he was the worst kind of coward.

"Will… will that be all, sir?" he inquired.

Turpin gave him a narrow-eyed look, then abruptly felt disgusted with himself. Myers was a servant and a weak character. There was no merit in frightening him. In fact, it made Turpin feel a little diminished. He'd always been the one to stand up to the bullies, even when it had landed him in trouble. He wasn't about to change just because the bully he was up against was an immortal blood-sucking woman who had his apprentice in some kind of thrall.

"That will be all, thank you, Myers," he said gravely. "When will the meal be ready?"

"It… it will be a little while yet, sir. With the other servants… gone, Sir Statton has had to send to the village for help, and that has led to, um, complications."

"I can see how it would," Dick agreed gravely.

The average village lass would be perfectly willing to hire herself out as a servant, but village lasses usually came from village families and unless she was returned, unwelcome questions might be asked. Statton would have to make sure that any servant would have to be out of the house before Rosalind stirred. And with his thugs dead, how was Statton going to obtain the victims needed to keep her satiated?

That was the kind of thought calculated to make the blood run cold and Turpin shooed Myers out and turned to get ready as quickly as possible. If Rosalind became hungry, there was a distinct possibility that she might turn her attention to Swiftnick. That he might also be in danger occurred, only to be dismissed. Rosalind was obsessed with Swiftnick - or Oliver - and she was more likely to feed off him as it would hasten his changing into a similar monster to herself.

He turned to drag out his other borrowed garment from the saddlebags, then paused as he realised that the satchel was empty. A quick look around and he saw that the clothes he had shucked off the previous night had also vanished, along with the modern outfit he had been wearing when he arrived. He looked around himself warily, then noticed that there was a lot less dust than there had been this morning, and he wasn't sure if it was his imagination which made him think that the bedclothes and tapestries were looking a little less tired. The hairs on the back of his scalp prickled and he had to give himself a determined shake before he padded across the room towards the armoire. He'd been tired and stressed when he'd arrived; he hadn't been in the mood to accurately gauge his surroundings and he was letting his imagination run away with him.

All right, either it's galloping or there's something damn strange happening around here, he decided as he opened the doors to the armoire and studied the dozen or so outfits which were hung there in pristine neatness. A quick poke revealed his own clothes at the bottom, also neatly folded and looking cleaner than they had in a long while. He was almost sure he heard a soft male chuckle from somewhere behind him, but a quick look over his shoulder revealed that the room was still totally empty. Taking a deep breath, he quickly pulled out a dull red outfit, with slashes of gold satin in the sleeves and a small pouch attached which he found contained matching jewellery of gold and garnets. The most obvious and ornate of them all was a complex cross set with rough, polished rubies. Shaking his head, he refused to let his hackles rise any more and quickly dressed.

Leaving his room, he went in search of Swiftnick, only to find him coming along the corridor towards him. There was a nice mixture of uncertainty and eagerness in his expression and Dick was quick with a reassuring smile. "Well met. I was just going down to the meal. Will you accompany me?"

"I'd be happy to," Swiftnick agreed. He fell into step beside Turpin and walked along easily with him. Dick glanced out of the tall narrow window as they turned on to the corridor which led to the Long Gallery and sighed as he saw the darkness outside.

"You miss the day?"

Dick shot the younger man a startled look before giving a rueful smile and nodding. "Aye, that I do," he admitted easily. "It's one thing to seek the night out of choice, but quite another to have to live in it at another's whim." A sideways look caught the way Swiftnick flinched and looked momentarily haunted. "You don't have to follow the path she demands of you," he said abruptly.

Swiftnick jerked to a halt and gave him a wild-eyed look, one hand drifting up to rest on the hilt of his sword before he backed up a couple of steps. "You… have no right to question what I choose to do," he managed to get out.

"No, I don't," Turpin agreed, "but I have every right to dispute another making you do something you don't want to do."

"I… I… Rosalind isn't making me do anything I don't want to do!" Swiftnick said in defiance.

Turpin raised an eyebrow. "Did I mention her name?" he asked quietly.

"N-no, but I-I assumed-" Swiftnick stammered in confusion, then reared up in surprise as Dick advanced to stand nose to nose with him.

"Look me in the eye, lad, and tell me truly that you want what she is offering. Tell me in a way that will make me believe you and I'll say no more."

Swiftnick's mouth opened, but no words emerged, even though it was obvious that he wanted to say something. Turpin's heart tightened with empathy, but he didn't dare back down. He was seeing a chink in the armour Rosalind had clothed Swiftnick's soul in and he had to seize the chance and see if he could break him free of it. He gave a heartfelt curse when he suddenly heard loud voices from the Long Gallery; voices which distracted Swiftnick and made him break eye contact with Dick.

"That's Rosalind," he said, a faint slur to his voice. "She's upset."

"My heart bleeds for her," Turpin muttered savagely as he hurried after the galvanised blond. The other voice he could hear was Statton and the last thing he wanted was for Swiftnick to charge into a major confrontation between the insanely ambitious human and a vampire who evidently had lost whatever patience she had originally had.

They entered the Long Gallery a little more precipitously than Turpin might have liked, but for all the notice the occupants took of them, they might as well not have bothered to come at all. Rosalind and Statton were squared off, their faces aflame with fury.

"You dare to tell me when I can feed?" Rosalind was hissing.

"I am trying to keep you from drawing down a pack of overzealous, would-be vampire hunters on your ungrateful head!" Statton yelled back. "You cannot just go out and grab the first person you see, suck them dry and not expect someone to notice."

"Then bring me someone to consume," Rosalind snapped back, her voice dropping down to the level of a growl. "I hunger."

Statton backed up several steps, something close to fear touching his face. Then he caught sight of Turpin and Swiftnick and his expression changed again. "Why not eat one of them!" he spat out. "Everything was working out fine until they came along."

Rosalind looked around to see who he was talking about. Her gaze rested on Swiftnick and a slightly feral expression touched her face. She took one gliding step forward. Without thinking about it, Turpin grabbed Swiftnick and dragged him behind him as he stepped forward. Dick felt his hand lift of its own volition and touched the heavy cross on his chest. The movement attracted Rosalind's attention and as she focused on the cross, she visibly flinched.

"Don't reach for what isn't yours."

The words were spoken before he'd realised that his mouth had opened. He felt an odd shiver pass through him which he did his best to ignore. Rosalind gave a soft snarl but she did back up again. Her frustration was palpable and Dick was starting to think that they were going to have to fight their way out. The sound of the door to their right opening had them all, apart from Rosalind, jerking to face Myers as he entered with a loaded tray in his hands.

"I have the meal ready-"

He didn't have time to finish the sentence, or the scream which started when Rosalind flashed across the room, knocked the tray from his hands and grabbed him. She buried her fangs in his throat and all but tore it open, gulping down the blood which attempted to spurt. Myers' struggles ended almost at once, but Rosalind held him close in a parody of an embrace until she had drained him dry. Once she had finished, she dropped him and walked away, licking her lips in obvious satisfaction.

Statton stared down at Myers' body, his own face pale and beaded with sweat. Turpin wondered if this was the first time the man had actually realised the potential danger he was in. If so, it would make him doubly dangerous because he would now be fighting for his life. A quick glance at Swiftnick and Turpin felt a faint stir of hope at the expression on his young apprentice's face. The almost constant air of unfocused complaisance which had been setting Dick's teeth on edge had been replaced by one of unease. When Rosalind snarled at Statton, he jerked back and moved closer to Turpin. That small, involuntary action brought a small smile to Dick's face, despite the danger they were in. It looked as if Swiftnick's natural survival instincts were finally beginning to win him free from Rosalind's spell.

"Why do you smile, dearest Uncle?"

Rosalind's normally dulcet tones were cold, velvet draped over winter-hardened ground. Turpin gave her a wary look. Jacob had told him some hair-raising tales about the strength and fighting abilities of vampires. As well as having the physical strength of two or even three full-grown men, a vampire was also able to survive wounds which would kill an ordinary mortal almost immediately. About the only way to kill a vampire stone-dead quickly enough to save your own life was to chop the head off or stab it directly through the heart with a blade or stake thick enough to open the heart. The slender blade of a rapier such as Dick was carrying would only work if the vampire was unable to pull it out immediately.

She was stalking towards him, now, and her eyes were as cold as the sapphires she was wearing. The deference she had showed towards him was being replaced by a kind of anger. It was almost as if she was blaming him for the hunger which still seemed to be with her. Perhaps Myers had been as bloodless in a physical sense as he had seemed in a spiritual one. Maybe that was why vampires always seemed to prefer to prey upon the innocent and the good. Turpin wasn't so foolish as to classify himself with the saints, but he had no doubt where Swiftnick would be placed and he was determined that the only way Rosalind was going to get him was over his dead body.

"You're in my way, Uncle," she growled.

"I always was." As before, the words came before Turpin had even considered answering her, and there was the same dislocating impression that they weren't his. They obviously struck home, judging from the way she tossed back her head and glared at him.

"Stand away from Oliver. He is mine."

This time Dick found his own answer falling into line with the words which continued to come from nowhere. "He's not yours. He was never yours. He isn't Oliver."

"You lie! You took Oliver away from me before but I won't let you do it again!" She surged forward, her hands lifting to become claws as her face twisted into pure predator.

"Dick!" Swiftnick cried, doing his best to push forward to shield Turpin with his own body.

Turpin reacted without thinking, dodging Swiftnick's attempt to protect him and lifting his own hands to trace odd symbols in the air between him and Rosalind. At the same time he heard strange words tumble from his mouth in a rhythmic chant. He knew enough to recognise the words as being some kind of Greek, and although he didn't know the language, he seemed to know that there was a command and an appeal for protection somewhere in that torrent of syllables.

The effect on Rosalind was incredible. She stopped as abruptly as if she had run head first into a brick wall and then staggered back. The claws became hands again which she lifted up to shield her face. It was almost as if the words had become daggers or bullets which threatened her with physical harm. Turpin didn't bother to wait and see what she did next. He made another, far less mystic but equally heartfelt gesture of his own with one hand before grabbing Swiftnick by the arm with the other and dragging him in the direction of the door. He and Swiftnick had to get out of here. There was still a while to go before the sun rose and they wouldn't be safe until it had cleared the horizon and its rays had acquired some strength. He slammed the door to behind them and was staggered to see a large key in the lock. Scarcely able to believe his luck, he turned it before pulling out the key and tossing it as far down the corridor as he could. Then he grabbed Swiftnick again and ran like hell.

"I liked that last gesture," Swiftnick said a little breathlessly when Turpin paused and tried to orientate himself. "Very magical."

If the giggle he gave had a slightly brittle edge to it, Turpin was willing to overlook it. If Swiftnick had been under Rosalind's influence and was now winning free of it, he probably felt as disorientated as he would have waking up from a nightmare. He managed a quick grin and felt it widen when he saw the gradually quickening intelligence in the blue eyes which met his own. "I thought it appropriate, given the circumstances."

"Where do you think we should go now?" Swiftnick asked nervously.

Dick hesitated, not wanting to admit that he was a little at a loss. He felt something tug at his sleeve when he faced a particular corridor and after a moment's hesitation, he decided to give in and follow its lead. Something very peculiar was happening, but whatever it was had saved Swiftnick and himself back in the Long Room and he could only hope that it had equally beneficent reasons for wanting to come down this section of the house.

Marescott Manor had once been a beautiful house, but the years of neglect had taken their toll. The part of the house which Turpin felt himself being guided to was much more dilapidated than the part they had been staying in, the dust lying thickly everywhere and muffling their steps as they moved quickly down corridors scarcely lit by the fitful light of the moon. Luckily there was very little in the way of furniture to get in their way. Turpin was more worried about one of them putting their foot through rotten floorboards.

Swiftnick stumbled and Dick automatically turned to catch him and pull him back up. He had no idea how long the locked door would hold Rosalind, but he was willing to bet that it wouldn't be long. They needed to get as big a lead as possible in what time they had. He could hear Swiftnick's breath catching in his throat and the arm he held was trembling as Swiftnick pushed himself back on his feet.

"I- I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm slowing you down-"

"The next words out of your mouth had better not be some variation on 'go on and leave me', Swiftnick, or I'm going to have to hurt you," Turpin said with grim humour. That won him a shaky laugh and he shifted his grip to give the lad a quick hug. "Don't fret, Swiftnick. I'll get you away from her and we'll both be safe."

Swiftnick stiffened underneath him. "I… I…" He paused and drew in another shaky breath which caught on something dangerously close to a sob. "I don't know what to think," he admitted with a shaking voice. "I'm all mixed up inside."

"So what's new?" Dick said in an attempt to make him feel a little better. He lay the back of his hand against Swiftnick's forehead and was disquieted to find the skin cold and slightly clammy. "I think you're coming down with something, brat, so the quicker I can get you back to any one of your lady friends, the quicker you'll get cosseted to within an inch of your life."

Swiftnick didn't answer and Turpin was distracted by the distant sound of something crashing to the ground behind them. In the total silence of an old house at night, sound carried a long way, but he had a nasty idea what he had just heard. Either Rosalind had just smashed down the door he had locked, or she had overturned something in a fit of temper. Either way, their brief safety margin had just expired.

"Come on, we have to keep going," he said.

Swiftnick nodded and followed after him obediently. Dick began to wish that he had thought to grab one of the candelabra when he had made his break. The light might betray them but it would make it easier to find his way down the seemingly endless maze of corridors. He was relying almost entirely on that tiny invisible pull and he was getting more and more nervous about doing so. The moonlight was a fitful thing, coming and going as the clouds passed across the sky. It took a while for him to realise that the corridor they were now travelling along was different from all the others. There were no more doors on either side and the wood panelling had given way to large stone slabs. The windows had become tall and narrow, letting in even less light than before and when the end of the corridor loomed up in front of them, he thought for one hideous moment that it was a dead end. He had to wait for a ray of moonlight to see the dark wooden door set a little off-centre in the wall.

"Where are we?" Swiftnick wondered out loud.

"I'm not sure," Turpin admitted. A sound from behind him had him glancing over his shoulder to see a pale shimmer of movement from the other end of the corridor. He knew it was Rosalind coming after them, the moonlight catching the gems which adorned her. "But we're going inside," he decided firmly. There didn't seem to be any other door in sight, so if he could find a way of barricading this one after them, he could buy them additional precious minutes.

The door seemed locked at first, but when Dick leaned all his weight on it, it suddenly swung open and the two of them almost fell in. Turpin let Swiftnick stumble past him and turned to push the door closed again and then looked for a key. To his despair, there wasn't one but there was a large bolt and after he had shot that to, he grabbed at a nearby bench and lodged it under the handle of the door, bracing it against the door in an additional attempt to keep it closed.

He turned back and felt another stab of panic when the first thing which registered was the fact that they seemed to be in a room which was a cul-de-sac, with no door leading back out. After a couple of seconds, his mind started working again and he realised that they were in the small chapel which the Manor had. There was two large windows which was probably filled with stained glass at the far end, with two smaller, narrower windows apiece on the walls on either side. The room had been cleared out of valuables when the Tremont family had moved out, but the basic furniture was still here. A plain altar stood directly beneath the windows, while a large cross was still in place in the space between them. Swiftnick had moved closer to the altar and was now crouched down in front of it. Dick wasn't completely sure if he was praying or not, but their immediate situation was too urgent to allow them that luxury. He was a little surprised that Rosalind hadn't already smashed down the door.

"Swiftnick?"

The younger man didn't move and Turpin's uneasiness increased. He'd thought that Swiftnick had been winning free of Rosalind's influence, but now he wasn't so sure. If Swiftnick was still thinking that he was Oliver, then it would make sense for Dick to find out for certain. With a sigh, he went over to join him. As he approached, he was relieved to see the stump of a candle and a tinderbox lying on the altar. He lit the candle and turned back to face Swiftnick, still worried about his uncharacteristic quiet. The youngster was sitting huddled on the ground, his face lifted, not to the cross, as Dick had half-expected, but to the fitful moonlight which came and went through the windows. He didn't seem to have heard Turpin's call. Pulling in a deep breath, Dick mentally crossed his fingers and breathed a brief but fervent prayer.

"Oliver?"

To his relief, there was still no response, but he was beginning to get seriously concerned by now. This was totally out of character for Swiftnick. He had seemed to be getting better and to have him acting as if he had drunk drugged wine was far too unsettling for Turpin's peace of mind. He reached out to tilt Swiftnick's head up, lifting the candle so he could get a good look at his eyes. If he was drugged, his eyes would give away the fact. As he did so, he caught sight of Swiftnick's throat and his mind froze in dread as he saw the dark stain which patterned the pale skin there. He shifted the candle and saw that the slowly healing wound he had previously seen had been broken open, the skin all around it freshly discoloured with bruises and some dried blood.

"The bitch!" Turpin hissed with horrified venom.

"She… she came into my room," Swiftnick whispered. "I thought I was dreaming at first, because she was kissing me and telling me that she had decided that we were going to be together. But then she pinned me down in bed and bit into me and it hurt. It hurt and I felt like there was a kind of weight on my chest and I was afraid that I was going to die, that she was going to kill me the way she had killed all the others, and I knew that I didn't want to die."

"Swiftnick, I'm sorry, I had no idea she had come to you again," Turpin groaned. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I was going to. When I saw you this morning, I stopped feeling afraid and alone. It felt like I knew you better than I knew Rosalind, that I could trust you more than I could her. I remembered what you told me and I made up my mind that I would ask you to help me escape from her, but then we… we…" His voice trailed away and it was a frightened and pale face which looked up at Dick. "She'll kill you now, because she thinks you've taken me away from her. I can feel her anger in the air, like it is before a storm breaks."

Dick would have scoffed at that, except that Swiftnick was right. There was a sense of tension in the air that was very similar to that you could feel just before a violent thunderstorm broke. A kind of itchy prickle against the skin and a tightening of the temples which almost but not quite felt like a headache. The fact that Rosalind had managed to bite Swiftnick again while Turpin had slept in blissful ignorance made his rage beat against his self-control until he really wanted to do nothing more than open the door and go hunting for her. He quashed the impulse ruthlessly, too experienced a soldier to do anything so tactically suicidal.

"Answer me one question," he demanded. "Who are you?"

Swiftnick met his eyes squarely, the look in his eyes tearing at Turpin's heart. "When I'm with you, I'm Swiftnick. When I'm with her, I'm Oliver."

Turpin snorted. "In that case, you're never going to be with her again," he decided.

He rose to his feet and started to prowl around the small chapel, desperately looking for another way out which didn't necessitate their retracing their steps. He heaved a sigh of relief when he discovered that the smaller windows had latches and opened. They were extremely narrow and he was pretty sure that he'd leave behind some skin when he squeezed through but it was a way out and that was all he cared out. He was on his way back to Swiftnick when he felt that ripple of coldness pass over him again.

"What is it now?" he demanded with exasperation.

There was no reply, of course, which wasn't a bad thing when he considered it, but Dick felt himself being gently pushed in the direction of the altar. He glanced down at it in bewilderment, wondering what he was expected to do, then realised that he was being pushed even further. Torn between the desperate urgency to get Swiftnick away from this place and his reluctant inclination to trust the strange guidance, Turpin found himself standing beneath the carved wooden cross which hung on the floor. Looking up at it, he remembered the way Rosalind had flinched away from the ornate cross he was wearing, Turpin suddenly realised what the influence was trying to suggest.

"Swiftnick, give me a hand!" he ordered as he leaned forward to see how the cross was fixed to the wall.

Fortunately the entire thing was held up by a couple of simple hooks and the two of them were able to lift it down and carry it over to the door. Turpin also pulled a couple of benches across to make the kind of barricade a person could trip over and then positioned the cross on the floor where he estimated a falling person would land. He eyed the trap with bleak satisfaction, then almost leapt out of his skin when he heard a crash against the door and saw it shudder under some impact.

"Time to go, lad!" he instructed briskly as he strode over to the window. Opening it as wide as he could make it go, he used another bench to stand up and peer over the edge. The drop was bigger than he liked, but it was no higher than some trees they had used as ambush points in the past. Turning back, he pulled Swiftnick forward. "You first, and I'll follow. Step lively!"

To his relief, Swiftnick obeyed him without question. He had some trouble actually scrambling up to the window, but Turpin gave him a ruthless boost up and then he was gone. Behind them the door was vibrating against increasingly powerful blows and when he gave one last look back before following after his apprentice, Dick could see that the bolt had already buckled away from the wall and the bench he had used as an additional brace was starting to splinter. It wouldn't be long before Rosalind was through.

His fears about the narrowness of the window were vindicated and he had to struggle to get through before dropping down into the cold outside where Swiftnick was waiting for him. Dick gave the youngster a quick once-over to make sure he was all right and then urged him away from the house. They still had a few hours to go before the sun rose high enough to keep them completely safe from pursuit by Rosalind and he wanted to gain as big a lead as possible.

Back at the Manor, Rosalind was attacking the door with a single-minded ferocity. She could sense that Tremont was close by and that he was bent of ruining her plans to reclaim Oliver. He had always ruined her plans. Ever since she could remember, he had been there in the background, advising her parents and overseeing her life. It was he who had suggested that she be betrothed to that boring young courtier and if it hadn't been for the advent of Oliver Granville into her life, she would probably have spent the rest of her life as the dutiful wife of James Chatwell and later on the mother of his children.

But Oliver had come into her life and had turned her head with his soft words of flattery and his carefully worded promises of the pleasures he could show her. It had taken very little to find his way into her bed, where she had learned of the delights of sex, but it was when he had bitten her that she had found herself in an entirely new world of bliss. It wasn't long before she had craved his touch as badly as any addict and she had agreed willingly to his suggestion that she become a vampire like him.

Tremont had tried to stop her from achieving her aim and Rosalind still remembered the triumph she had experienced when she had used the besotted James to spirit her away from the careful guard Sir Alan had organised. James had thought she was willing to elope with him but he had been captured by Oliver and had later been Rosalind's first victim as a true vampire. She could still remember how sweet his blood had tasted. Oliver's blood had never tasted so sweet, not until she had found him again. She wouldn't allow Tremont to take the sweet taste away from her again.

She could feel the door beginning to give way and she summoned up all her strength for one final strike. She still wasn't up to her full strength. Statton's insistence on one or at most two victims a night had been enough to keep her in health but she had been asleep for a long time and she needed more blood than usual to replace everything she had lost. She was certain that Tremont would never have been able to lure Oliver away from her if she had been as vibrant and beautiful as she had been when he had seen her last.

She felt the door burst in under her assault and with a hiss of triumph she surged forward. She knew this was the old chapel and there was only the one door, so she fully expected to find Tremont and Oliver waiting for her. She was taken completely by surprise by the tangled barricade of furniture she found on the other side of the door and even though she tried to leap over it, her skirts got in the way and she went sprawling. She felt wood under her hands, then cold fire shot up and her arms and through her body.

Rosalind gave a disbelieving shriek of pain and terror when she realised that she was lying prone across an elaborately carved wooden cross. She struggled to push herself away but the dreaded weakness was spreading through her body as swiftly as the icy godflame. Oliver had warned her to stay away from all sacred objects, regardless of the religion which had spawned them. If they had been created or handled by someone who truly believed, they had become conduits for the sacred energies which permeated the universe and such energies were lethal towards vampires. There were legends of vampires so mad they could touch such things and remain unharmed, but Oliver had considered them to be nothing more than tales. Not every sacred object held power, but since the only way to find out which were the dangerous ones was to hold them, the wise vampire steered clear of them all.

She could feel herself beginning to lose consciousness, her strength bleeding out of her the way blood flowed from her victims. Her rage and hatred towards Tremont - for she guessed that it was he who had set this trap - was of no use against this terrible leaching and she felt herself begin to die. Just as her vision had darkened to the point of oblivion, she felt herself being snatched up and flung away from the cross. She landed on the floor with enough force to bring stars to her eyes, but the agonising pain had vanished and she was still alive.

Rosalind lay where she was for several minutes, simply savouring the fact that she had cheated death once again. Her death seeped back but she was still desperately weak. It took a while before she finally realised that the sounds she had been hearing on the periphery of her hearing was actually Statton shouting. She let her head roll to one side and watched him with detached curiosity as he paced to and fro, his rage destroying all pretence towards respect and self-control.

"-you let them go! I told you that you should have ripped that Tremont's throat out as soon as you saw him, but no, you thought you knew best and you decided that he was your uncle! Your uncle. Alan Tremont's been dead for over a hundred years, you stupid fool. He came here to grab that peasant brat you decided was your long-lost love and now he's gone - and so is your precious Oliver!" He stopped pacing and looked down at her with contempt. "Things are going to change from now on. I've had enough of this nonsense."

Rosalind caught the note in his voice and recognised it. He was finished with obeying her and would be the one in command from now on. She had heard that note in men's voices for as long as she could remember. She rose to her feet, moving slowly and carefully as her body ached with remembered pain, and looked him in the eyes.

"Do you understand me?" Statton said coldly.

"I understand you," she said.

Before he could do more than smile in satisfaction, she reached out with both hands and pulled him to her. He was a big man and she was still weak, so there was a considerable battle before she finally managed to fasten her teeth in his throat and began to gulp down the blood she so desperately needed to regenerate herself. His initial angry shouts rapidly became pleas as he realised that she was still stronger than him, even in her depleted state, but she ignored them as easily as she had ignored his commands. He was a big man and it was a while before he hung limp in her grasp and she finished draining him. She tossed him to one side and switched her attention to the open window on the far side of the chapel.

"Don't worry, Oliver. I am coming to rescue you."

Running across unfamiliar territory in the dead of night when the terrain was lit only by the uncertain light of the moon wasn't high on Turpin's list of favourite things. Doing so when he had a homicidally inclined vampiress on his tail and an apprentice who was weak from loss of blood dropped it even lower in the ranks of 'things I simply have to do'. He hoped against hope that the cross would slow Rosalind down, but there were so many things that could go wrong that he had to assume the worst and drive Swiftnick across the overgrown parkland which surrounded the Manor, making for the small farm he had left the horses at.

Swiftnick was doing his best to keep up with the punishing pace which Turpin was setting, but after the initial dash across the open field which had once been immaculate lawns, he had started to slow down. What had once been a carefully manicured maze had become a thick mass of impassable growth which they had had to skirt around, and after that the ground had become increasingly uneven, riddled with mole hills and rabbit holes that an unwary foot could trip over or fall through. After the second time he had gone flying and the third time he had had to help Swiftnick stagger back up, Dick realised that he had to abandon his plan to get to that farm before morning. There was simply too big a risk that they might wind up with a broken leg between them.

He called a halt and absently pulled Swiftnick close enough for the lad to lean on him as he considered their options. He frowned as he heard the way Swiftnick's breathing came in great, irregular whooping gasps. Under more normal circumstances, the lad could outrun him any day of the week. He suddenly wondered how much food Swiftnick had been eating over the past few days. With Rosalind filling his ears with talk of becoming a vampire and his possibly witnessing who knew how many murders, it was highly likely that he would have been picking at his food. Add that to the loss of blood when Rosalind fed on him and it was a miracle he had been able to follow Turpin this far.

"She's… she's coming," Swiftnick suddenly gasped out.

Turpin shot an involuntary look over his shoulder, but he could see nothing but darkness behind them. There had never been all that many lights within the Manor and the abandoned part of the building was now facing them. "She'll probably follow after us," he agreed.

"No, you don't understand," Swiftnick said desperately. "She's coming. I can feel her, like a cold wind on my skin."

Turpin cursed under his breath. A few days ago and he would have scoffed at such a statement from Swiftnick, or anyone else for that matter. He still wanted to scoff at it, with all his heart, but he could find it in himself to belief it. He'd seen Rosalind completely overwhelm Swiftnick's mind - and he knew just how stubborn the youngster could be when it came to changing his opinions. He cast around a little desperately for another option and remembered something Jacob had said in passing. If the man had been telling the truth - and so far he had been on the nose - then there was a possible safe haven not too far away.

"Up you get, Swiftnick," Dick ordered briskly. He heard Swiftnick's soft whimper of complaint and felt a surge of sympathy. "I know, lad, I know, but if I'm right, you can soon rest as much as you like. Come on, now."

He led the way, moving a little more cautiously as they left the grounds of the Manor and entered the forest which had always bordered this side of the property. As soon as they reached the cover of the trees, the darkness grew even more impenetrable, but Dick looked for and found the rough path he had followed when he had first arrived and after that they made better time. It wasn't long before they arrived at the place he had been thinking of. He had no idea what the tumbledown structure had been during the Manor's heyday. A cottage for the estate manager, or the head gardener, or maybe even a pretend cottage for the titled people to play at being peasants. The style it was built in suggested that it had been built a little after the reign of Elizabeth, although it was difficult to tell, but it was set a little way back from the sweep of the main road leading up to the Manor and it would probably have been the first place visitors saw when they arrived.

Whatever it had originally meant to be, it was now nothing more than a tumbledown ruin. Three of the walls were still standing more or less intact, with the fourth a lot more battered. The roof had completely collapsed, with only a few rafters still crossing the open expanse through which you could see the sky. The doors and windows had all gone, leaving only yawning gaps in the structure, but the stone chimney was still intact. Leaving Swiftnick to collapse inside the ruin, Turpin quickly scoured the immediate area and hauled back several armfuls of branches. Scooping up some loose leaves and dried grass from where they had piled up inside, he built up a fire and lit it.

The sight and sound of a fire was always a comfort and Swiftnick swiftly gravitated towards it, settling down beside Dick. "Won't the fire give our location away?" he whispered after a moment.

Turpin shrugged. "I have a suspicion that she'd be able to find us, no matter how hard we tried to hide." Especially if she's got some kind of metaphysical hook into you, he thought to himself.

"But this place isn't exactly easy to defend," Swiftnick continued to object.

Dick was actually pleased to find that Swiftnick still had the wit to reason out what he saw as flaws in Turpin's cunning plan. "I have the advantage on knowing something that you don't," he said in amusement.

That amusement hardened into something a lot harder and more lethal when he caught a glimpse of movement through one of the window-gaps. He rose to his feet and moved to stand in front of where the door had been and was in time to see Rosalind appear in it. She was still beautiful but she no longer looked human. Her humanity had been overwhelmed by the predator in her and now her beauty was that of the she-wolf or the lioness. She was hunger incarnate as she glared at him.

"You have something which belongs to me," she hissed.

Turpin gave her a mirthless smile. "You had something which didn't belong to you, but he's free, now, and it's going to stay that way."

She hissed again at him and he flinched in spite of himself when he saw her fangs flash and gleam in the moonlight. "Yes, you should be afraid," she said venomously. "You are standing in my way again. You have always stood in my way! I am tired of it. I think I will kill you this time."

Turpin cocked his head to one side. "Do you think you can?" he asked softly. "I'm a lot more difficult to kill than you would think. A lot of people have been trying to do it for quite a while and I'm still here."

She lunged towards him and it took every ounce of courage and conviction for him not to step back. To his relief, she had barely taken two steps before she stopped short, an expression of acute amazement flitting across her face. She put out her hands and pushed at the seemingly open space between the door lintels, but she failed to take another step and after a while she moved back, her frustration palpable.

"This wasn't here when you were alive, was it?" Turpin said mockingly. "You were never invited to walk through the door. The four walls still stand, no matter how shakily, and a fire burns in the hearth. It's a dwelling place and unless someone invites you to do so, you can't cross the threshold."

She howled her rage and frustration and threw herself to one side, running around the perimeter of the house as if in search for something to gainsay his claim. Turpin kept a wary ear cocked but judging from the continuing hisses of frustration, his original supposition had been correct and she couldn't get in. It seemed incongruous that a fallen down wreck of a building that wouldn't keep out the most inept of human adversaries could keep at bay something as strong and lethal as Rosalind Tremont, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He went back to rejoin Swiftnick and found him hunched down and trembling.

"What's wrong?" he asked in concern. He knew how brave Swiftnick was; had depended on the lad's courage on more than one occasion.

Swiftnick turned a miserable face towards him and Dick gave a small gasp at how white and pinched his young apprentice looked. "I can feel her inside me," he whispered. "It's like her voice is inside my head and she's calling to me."

"Ignore her," Turpin snapped.

"I can't," Swiftnick moaned. "It's not like a voice from outside. I can block that by putting my hands over my ears. This is inside my head, Dick. It's like… like…" He floundered to a halt and gave Turpin a helpless look. "There isn't any way to describe it, but I can't just ignore it. She wants me to go to her."

Even as he spoke, Swiftnick started to get to his feet, only to get his feet knocked out from underneath him by Turpin, who then reached out to grab him and hold him close to his side. "She's not getting you, lad, even if I have to tie you down and watch over you for the rest of the night."

That reminded him that they only needed to hang on until a little way past dawn when Rosalind would have to find shelter or burn. He pulled out the watch he had secreted inside one of his pockets and checked the time. Another hour before sunrise and then maybe another hour before the sun rose high enough to drive Rosalind away from them. They could do this.

He had reckoned without Rosalind's frantic desire to reclaim the man she thought was Oliver….

When she appeared in the doorway again, Turpin obeyed her imperious gesture for him to come to her without having any intention of giving in to her demands. Stopping at the doorway, he gave her a cool look and waited to see what she had to say. He was hoping that she couldn't influence Swiftnick and talk to him at the same time. Either way, talking would buy them some time.

"You would appear to have an advantage over me," she purred, her fury apparently spent.

Turpin gave her a wary look, not fooled for a moment. "We're at a stalemate," he agreed. "I'd prefer to be able to escape you completely, but keeping Swiftnick safe from your clutches is my main objective, so I'm satisfied."

"You seem to consider me an enemy," she said in amusement.

Turpin gave her a hard-eyed look. "Once Swiftnick is safely out of reach, I intend to hunt you down and destroy you like the rabid animal that you are," he stated flatly.

She stepped back a few paces and one of her hands went to her throat in apparently genuine fear. Dick hoped she was afraid. He wanted her to be afraid. Actually he wanted to feel her slender throat under his hands just before he snapped it. He couldn't ever remember hating anyone as much as he did this creature. Not even Glutton had the power to move him as much as she did.

"You never wanted to kill me before," she complained, sounding oddly bereft. "You always talked of a cure, of turning me back into a human woman."

Realising she still thought he was Alan Tremont, Turpin felt the smallest pang of sympathy. He knew that, if the worst came to the worst and Swiftnick was somehow turned into a vampire, he would move heaven and earth to find some way of saving him. What must it have been like for Alan, to lose a cousin he obviously loved to an ancient evil, and know that all his powers couldn't save her? That he hadn't killed her but placed her under some kind of spell argued that he had thought he could save her, if he had the time. Only time had run out for him before he could do so. Turpin could only hope that wasn't an omen for himself.

"What happened before is in the past," he finally said. "It's over with. Before you were the victim, now you've become an emotionless killer. Such creatures are better off dead."

"And you think to be the one to kill me?" she smiled. "You never could before."

Turpin smiled back. "I've been practising."

She looked so disconcerted that Dick felt a surge of confidence. He met her eyes in open challenge and realised just a second too late that that was the wrong thing to do. Her eyes seemed to expand and darken, becoming huge pools he felt himself plunging into. Great bottomless lakes which pulled him down and down. For the first time he felt her mind inside his own, her silent 'voice' whispering to him of the ecstasy which would be his the moment he was in her arms.

The call was irresistible and Turpin felt himself sway forward. The siren call continued, Rosalind's mind sinking deeper and deeper inside him. Then it was as if she struck something hard and unyielding, deep within him. Something which rang like fine crystal when it was struck lightly, sending out a clear tone which shattered the hold she had on him. Turpin, blinked, shook his head free of the fog which seemed to have enveloped it and registered how dangerously close he had come to her just as she reached out and grasped him by the throat and started to pull him across the threshold.

Dick slapped his hands against the door jambs and braced himself as best he could, but her hand was squeezing his throat closed and he couldn't breathe. He had to let go of the door in order to try and pry her hand free and the second he did so, she had yanked him over the threshold. There were red speckles shimmering before his eyes and there was a roaring in his head, like the sound of a river at full flood. She spun him around and let him fall to the ground, looming over him like some kind of terrible avenging angel from Hell.

"I am hungry," she growled, "and that is your fault. It seems only right that you should be the one to feed me."

She started to reach for him again and Turpin realised that he didn't have the strength to scrabble away. He couldn't even get to his feet! He flinched away as she approached, then stared up in confusion when she suddenly jerked and then arched up away from him, a yowling cry tearing out of her as she did so. She staggered past him, half-twisting her body as she tried to reach up behind her. Staring up, Turpin blinked in disbelief as he saw the sharp shard of wood that was sticking out of her back. Movement from out of the corner of his eye warned him as Swiftnick suddenly appeared by his side and urged him to his feet.

"Come on, I don't think that's going to hold her for long."

Turpin was just as certain. For a moment he toyed with the idea of using this opportunity to finish her for good, then he saw her rip the stake free from her flesh and she turned to give them a look filled with inhuman rage. "Move!" he ordered urgently, pushing Swiftnick before him.

Swiftnick obeyed him but still kept a hand on Turpin's arm as they ran for the safety of the doorway. They passed over it scant seconds before Rosalind arrived and slammed into the invisible barrier which still held her from the prey she desired so ardently. She shrieked, a high shrill sound which made Turpin wince and Swiftnick clap his hands over his own ears in acute discomfort. Then she backed up again and glared at them. Dick gazed back at her, then lifted his head as a familiar sound became audible.

"You're running out of time, Rosalind," he said softly. "Do you hear that? It's the dawn chorus. The birds know that the sun is coming."

"I still have time," she snapped. "I will have my way!"

"Still the spoiled brat, hmm?" Turpin said, forcing a chuckle and a confidence he wished he felt in reality. "We can afford to wait. Time and the sun is on our side."

He settled back near the fire, absently tossing a few more branches on it and made sure that Swiftnick was settled as well. He massaged his throat carefully, wincing at the tenderness he discovered there. He didn't think she had done any permanent damage but it had been a close thing.

"Thanks for saving my life, Swiftnick," he said softly.

Swiftnick blinked and gave him a vague look before seeming to come to himself and grinning a little. "You haven't finished teaching me everything you know, yet. Besides, I thought you'd want to be around to say 'I told you so' when all this is over." He paused for a moment and gazed into the flames before looking back at Turpin. "It will be over soon, won't it?" he asked plaintively.

Dick smiled in swift reassurance. "Yes, it will be over soon. She can't stand the full light of the sun and in another couple of hours, this clearing will be flooded with sunlight. Look up." Swiftnick did as he was told and gazed up through the shattered roof to where the stars were gradually fading before the steadily increasing light. "There are no clouds. Nothing to shield her from the light of the sun. If she wants to survive, she'll have to retreat back to the Manor."

"And then we can get away from here," Swiftnick sighed.

"That we can," Turpin agreed heartily. And as soon as I have you somewhere safe, I'm coming back to do some vampire hunting, he vowed to himself.

He was tired, he had to admit that. He was used to hard physical effort, but the last week or so the emotional pressure had been enormous and he'd been almost constantly keyed-up. In a couple of hours, the battle would be over and he would be able to rest. He wasn't going to fall for Rosalind's wiles again, so all they had to do was wait her out. And waiting was something he had learned to do long ago…

Swiftnick wasn't sure just when the sweet voice started up inside his head again. He hated the sound of the gentle whisper. It was sweet, yes, but every time he 'heard' it, he also remembered the honeyed scent of apples rotting. That was the impression he got from the voice; of something that had once been perfect but which had long since become rotten. But there was nothing unpleasant or terrifying about the voice. It hinted at wonderful things, at endless pleasures, and all he had to do was get up and come into the wood…

He shook his head and looked around for Turpin. He could still feel confused at times, seeing both Dick Turpin, his mentor, and another, far dimmer but equally forceful man. He had seen him most clearly while they had been in the Manor. He had overshadowed Turpin, like cloth draped over a statue, and when Rosalind had told him that the man was her uncle, Swiftnick had seen Sir Alan Tremont, a kind if slightly remote man. He had smiled reassuringly at Swiftnick, but it had been the warmth in Turpin's eyes which had drawn Swiftnick, who had begun to think that he would never be free of the cold which Rosalind's touch seemed to bring.

He had felt Tremont sweep over him during the fight in the corridor, when he had seen Dick being harried by Statton's two goons. It had been a completely different sensation to the way Rosalind had claimed his mind. There had been no usurping of his own individuality, rather it had been an odd kind of partnership; Tremont's skills and experience with a sword merging with Swiftnick's strength and speed. It had been exhilarating but the shock had been tremendous when he had realised that he had killed his enemy. Tremont had withdrawn almost immediately, but as he'd left, he'd also blurred the memory of the instant when Swiftnick had plunged his sword into the other man's body. Now, Swiftnick could remember that he had killed, but the recollection was oddly remote, as if it had happened to someone else.

The voice was terrifying but also irresistible. Whimpering softly, Swiftnick shot a desperate look in Turpin's direction and saw to his horror that the older man was asleep.

He realised that he had got to his feet and had turned towards the door. She was there, in all her terrible, inhuman glory. He couldn't deny her, no matter how hard he wanted to, no matter how hard he fought to block out her insidious voice. It was deep inside him, in his blood and in his bones. It vibrated through him like the sound of thunder when it was close by. It was overwhelming and he was too tired to fight any more. Maybe if he gave in, there would be no more fear and pain and confusion.

Turpin started awake with a strangled cry, certain he had heard something call out nearby. He glanced around wildly and felt the bottom of his world fall out from underneath him as he realised that Swiftnick was no longer sitting beside him. A single frantic sweep of the room was enough to tell him what he already knew; that the youngster was gone. And there was only one place he could have gone…

Lunging to his feet, Dick scrambled over to the door, then froze as he saw Rosalind reach out a welcoming embrace to Swiftnick. His eyes were staring blankly ahead of him and his face was set like a mask of marble. There was no way he was doing this of his own volition and Turpin cursed the fact that he had fallen asleep. Seeing Rosalind opening her mouth, an expression of open lust and hunger marring her perfect features, galvanised him into motion.

"Wait!" He half-expected her to ignore him, but she stopped her swoop towards Swiftnick's unprotected throat and gave him a half-triumphant, half-sulky look.

"What do you want? I have what I want. I have defeated you."

"You have Swift- Oliver, but you are weak and need to feed. If you take all you need from Oliver, then you will kill him and he will never join you in immortal life."

She gave him a doubtful look and glanced down at Swiftnick, who lay calm and relaxed in her arms, his throat exposed and showing the marks of her previous bites. "I will only take a little," she finally said.

Turpin caught the doubt in her voice. "Can you be certain of that? You are weak, Rosalind, and you need blood to fortify you. Can you be certain that you won't take too much from Oliver?"

She gave a low growl. "I suppose you have some cunning solution to the problem?"

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Take me in his stead."

She blinked and let go of Swiftnick, who staggered and then caught at himself, the mask fragmenting to reveal an extremely frightened young man who suddenly realised how much danger he was in. Turpin did his best to ignore him, frantically hoping that he would be able to convince Rosalind to do as he suggested.

"You offer yourself?" She sounded confused but intrigued and she took a tentative step towards him.

"Yes. You can drain me dry and restore your strength. You've already said you wanted to kill me, so I'm giving you what you want. All I ask is that you give your word that you'll let Oliver go."

"Oliver is mine," she hissed, bridling instantly.

"So you keep saying, but we've always differed on that point, haven't we?" Turpin said dryly. "Look at him, Rosalind, he's too young to be the Oliver you knew. He's still just a boy and the Oliver who claimed you and who you fell in love with was a man. Let him go and give him time to grow, then you can come after him again." And by that time, Jacob will have come to see what happened to me and will take him somewhere safe, as per our agreement. He'd refused to have anything to do with Jacob's crazy plan until he had won that promise out of the Jew.

"You have a point," Rosalind said doubtfully, "and I do hunger most profoundly." She turned back to him again, her eyes narrowing. "How can I trust you to keep your word?"

Turpin drew himself up. "I always keep my word!" he snapped. Which is why I rarely give it! Still, if it saved Swiftnick's life... "Do we have a deal?"

She hesitated for a few more minutes, then nodded. "Yes, we do."

"Swear," Turpin said flatly. "Swear by Oliver's life." He figured that was probably the only thing she would hold sacred.

She gave a small growling hiss before bowing her head. "I swear." She raised her eyes, a look of pure greed glowing in their depths. "Come to me, Uncle. I hunger for you."

It took more courage than Turpin had thought he possessed to release his grip on the door frame and step across into the outside. Seeing the way her eyes dropped to the cross he still wore against his chest, Dick carefully lifted the chain from around his neck and tossed it to one side. Rosalind was there in a heartbeat, her body pressed up against his as she embraced him in a parody of affection. He suppressed the urge to thrust her away and held still as she stroked his face.

"I have dreamed of this moment for so long," she crooned. "To have you in my embrace, completely in my power. To feel the blood beating under your skin, your mortal warmth heating my own cool flesh. I craved the taste of your blood," she whispered, her mouth nuzzling up against his throat, the words buzzing against his skin like phantom bees. "I wanted it more than I wanted anything else and now I shall-"

She convulsed against him, her shriek nearly deafening him. He had closed his eyes, unable to bear seeing his death so close. She lurched up against him, then pushed herself away, still squealing the hideous noise. He opened his eyes and stared at her in confusion, then realised that she was clawing at something at her throat while Swiftnick was hanging on to her. Turpin blinked, then realised that Swiftnick had somehow picked up the cross Turpin had dropped and had looped it down over her head before drawing it tight, the actual cross pulled up tight against her throat. He was drawing the chain as tight as he could, half-choking her, but it was the presence of the cross against her skin which was doing the damage.

"Get inside the house!" Swiftnick yelled. Turpin hesitated and Swiftnick threw him a furious look, his eyes blazing. "Get inside the house!" he screamed. "Now!"

Dick obeyed without thinking, his heart in his mouth as he watched the struggle. Normally Rosalind would be able to toss Swiftnick to one side with no more effort than he would have in dislodging a child, but the cross was distracting and weakening her. She bucked and writhed, the screams bursting out of her like water from an overwhelmed dam. Swiftnick waited his moment, then used one of the bucks to give him the impetus to make for the door. He obviously expected her to follow after him, but she sank down to the ground, frantically clawing at the chain and pulling it over her head. When it fell to the ground, she shied away from it as if it was some kind of poisonous serpent.

Swiftnick came hurtling through the doorway, practically bowling Turpin over in his haste to hustle the older man along. When they got inside, Dick half-turned to see what Rosalind was doing, then gave a squawk of outraged surprise when Swiftnick grabbed him and shoved him up against the wall. His initial attempt at shaking himself free merely resulted in his being slammed up against the wall with enough vigour to make the structure tremble noticeably. A bemused Turpin finally focused enough to make out the furious words Swiftnick was directing at him.

"-you lost your mind?" he was demanding. "What kind of crazy thing to do was that?"

"Swiftnick-" Turpin began in a placating tone of voice, only to get himself shaken so hard he was almost certain that some of his teeth rattled.

"No! I'm not going to let you tell me that it was all part of some cunning plan. She could have k-killed you! She would have rip- ripped your throat out! How could you be so stupid?"

Turpin stared at his young apprentice, seeing the mingled fury and terror in the blue eyes blazing into his. With a huge grin, he broke free of Swiftnick's hold on him and swept the younger man into his arms, hugging him fiercely as his throat closed up with pure joy. This was pure Swiftnick, with no vestige of the shadow-creature Rosalind had tried to create. The indignant poke he got in his ribs and the muffled growl of outrage he heard was additional confirmation.

"Don't think that's going to get you off the hook," Swiftnick spluttered when he finally managed to wriggle free. "That had to be the stupidest thing you've ever done in all the time I've known you."

"Yes, Swiftnick," Turpin said obediently.

"I mean, what on earth did you think you were going to achieve? Did you have some kind of idea of how you were going to get away from her?"

"No, Swiftnick," Turpin said, fighting to hold down the grin which threatened to split his face in two.

Swiftnick opened his mouth, then paused and gave Dick a deeply suspicious look. "You're laughing at me," he decided accusingly.

"Never," Turpin said fervently. "Well, not now. I'm too relieved to have you back."

Swiftnick gave him a baffled look. "Have I been away?" A shadow passed across his face and he shivered, glancing back over his shoulder towards the door.

Rosalind had finally managed to tear the crucifix from her throat, but she was obviously badly hurt. She stayed on her hands and knees, shivering violently and whimpering softly to herself. An incautious observer would see a frightened, traumatised young woman, but then she lifted her head and looked directly at them and both Turpin and Swiftnick flinched at the wild, lost look in her eyes. She focused on them and the expression on her face changed, becoming one of pure, feral hunger. She staggered to her feet and lurched towards them.

Swiftnick shrank back and Turpin rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She still can't get in, lad, and the sun's been up for a while. Pretty soon it's going to clear the trees and then she'll burn." He lifted his head and gave her an implacable look. "Hear that, Rosalind? It's too late to get back to the Manor and there's nowhere else for you to go. You've lost."

She paused and cocked her head, an expression close to puzzlement crossing her face. She lifted her face to the greying sky and gradually fear replaced the blank hunger on it. She made a vaguely frightened sound, deep in the back of her throat, and started to back away. Turpin watched her in bleak satisfaction. Normally not given to revenge, he was a little unsettled over how much he wanted this woman to die.

"Oliver?"

Rosalind's voice was heartbreaking in its desolate beauty. Turpin shot Swiftnick a quick look, worried despite himself, but to his relief, there was no hint of the old compulsion on Swiftnick's face as he looked at her. Confusion and a kind of uneasy compassion, but that was simply Swiftnick. Feeling a wave of relief, Turpin turned his attention back on Rosalind, reluctant to take his eyes off her for too long for fear of what she might yet manage to do. All of them were taken by surprise by the sound of a carriage coming down the wide avenue leading up to the Manor.

"What the-?"

Turpin stared at the coach which came around the bend and pulled up opposite where they were. It was a completely covered vehicle, with wooden shutters taking the place of windows. The coachman jumped down from the box and opened the door and a slender figure stepped down, clad in a heavy cape and hat.

"Rosalind!"

Rosalind had sunk down onto the ground, raising her hands in useless defiance against the rising sun, but at the sound of the man's voice, she twisted around to gaze in his direction. She looked back in the direction of Turpin and Swiftnick, then towards the approaching man. "Oliver?" she asked wonderingly.

The approaching man swept off his hat, revealing a handsome face framed by a mane of dark-gold hair drawn back from his face. Dick stared. Add another ten years and a little hard-living and he was looking at Swiftnick's older brother. No wonder Rosalind had become confused when she had first seen Swiftnick. He realised that Jacob's blithe assertion that Oliver Granville had been killed had been a little premature. He cast a desperate look towards the sky, praying that the sun would break through the branches and scorch both vampires to dust and bone.

"Yes, you have the advantage on us on this occasion, sirrah, but you have made an enemy of me this day by threatening the life of my love, and I will not forget that in a hurry." Oliver stood in front of the doorway and addressed Turpin with cold courtesy. His gaze flicked to Swiftnick and for a moment he looked mildly puzzled, before returning his gaze to the older highwayman. Dick had learned his lesson, however, and refused to meet that gaze directly.

"I might say the same to you, sir," he snapped back. "I didn't ask for your beloved to come after me and mine, but I will protect my own. I would advise you to keep that in mind, yourself. I might not be one of the undead but I have been taught to kill by experts and I know people who understand your kind."

Granville gave him a narrow-eyed look. "We would seem to be enemies, then, but for now my concern lies with my fair Rosalind. We shall meet again."

Not if I have anything to say about it! Turpin thought to himself. He watched as Oliver helped Rosalind to her feet and across to the coach. They entered and the coachman set the horses in motion, turning it skilfully around to retrace its path. Turpin listened until the sound of the wheels died away into the distance, then lifted his face as the rays of the sun finally broke through and illuminated the interior of the battered cottage. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the weak rays on his skin, the light beating against his eyelids. Beside him, he heard Swiftnick sigh as he slid down to sit on the ground. After a moment, Dick joined him on the ground.

"I'm tired, Dick," Swiftnick murmured.

"Me too," Turpin agreed. He looked down and grinned as he felt Swiftnick slide sideways and settle against his side. "No you don't, brat. We have to get back to where I left the horse, go and collect Bess and Toby and then get back to our normal haunts. Glutton and Spiker are a lot easier to cope with!"

"Hmm," Swiftnick said sleepily.

"Swiftnick!" Turpin protested, but he confirmed his initial suspicion with a quick look down: Swiftnick had already fallen fast asleep. "Typical," he snorted, then grinned and settled back.

It was a nice, sunny morning and they were safe enough from any kind of supernatural nastiness for the time being. Of course, they now had two vampires running around loose, neither of which considered him with fondness. He had a feeling that Oliver was going to be a deadlier enemy than Rosalind was. He had certainly seemed to move with more confidence and seem more focused. Jacob was probably going to have a conniption fit and if he was sensible, Dick would go back to the Manor and make sure that Statton had been dealt with. He needed to do a whole bunch of things and he didn't even have the energy to get up. He would in a moment, but for now it was nice to just sit here and savour the simple fact that they were still alive. In a little while he would wake Swiftnick and they would go back home….

His head nodded forward and after a couple of minutes he was just as still as Swiftnick. A couple of blue tits studied the sleeping men for several suspicious minutes before deciding that they were harmless and flying down to investigate the insects hiding in the leaves piled up inside the house. They took fright when there was movement, but soon returned when they realised that the men had just been shifting in their sleep. After another hard look, they did the avian equivalent of shrugging and decided that they were in no danger.

Safe under the blazing rays of the sun, Turpin and Swiftnick slept in the healing light.