They parked in front of the main entrance, a wide, deeply shadowed porch lined with hissing gas lamps. The two-story main house was bracketed by enormous overhanging oaks. Jules got out of the car and stared up at the shimmering beveled-glass windows. “Hey-wouldn’t this make a perfect setting for a movie of one of Agatha Longrain’s vampire potboilers?”

Doodlebug retrieved his purse from the backseat. “Actually, it already has been. Three or four years ago, this block was crawling with Hollywood types. That’s how I first heard of the guest house. After the shoot, it quickly became a favorite of film industry muckety-mucks. The owners specialize in that sort of exclusive California visitor now. Which is wonderful for me, because they’ve learned to not bat an eyelash at the most bizarre eccentricities under the sun. Or moon, in my case.”

Doodlebug checked in, and then the two of them walked through the manicured grounds to the Governor Claiborne Cottage, the largest of the outbuildings, which sat a good hundred feet from any of the other cabins. It even had its own goldfish pond. Jules knelt down and stuck his fingers in the water. Half a dozen plump orange fish darted to their hiding places beneath bright green lily fronds.

“Hey, if you get hungry in the middle of the night, you could always have yourself a fish fry.”

Doodlebug smiled and unlocked the door. “Oh, I can domuch better thanthat. Come inside and see.”

Jules followed his visitor into the cottage. In the middle of the bedroom sat a stunning four-poster bed, and in the middle of the bed sat Doodlebug’s gleaming mahogany coffin. The smaller vampire gestured for Jules to follow him into the kitchen. He opened the full-sized refrigerator. The bottom two shelves were lined with bottles of rich red blood.

“All the comforts of home, my friend.”

Jules’s eyes widened. “Whoa-ho! And I thoughtMaureen’s fridge was well stocked! Where’d all this come from?”

Doodlebug shut the refrigerator door and sat at the breakfast nook’s table. “One of the nicest fringe benefits of being the spiritual director of my Institute for Heightened Alpha-Consciousness is that my disciples pay in blood. Literally! That’s not all they give to the center, of course; I couldn’t afford to keep it running on blood alone. But each member voluntarily contributes a pint every six weeks, which meets my needs quite admirably. It’s part of the center’s recommended physical cleansing cycle, you see. And during their stays, all my disciples eat a strictly vegetarian, macrobiotic diet, which goes a long way toward helping me maintain my ‘girlish figure.’ While I’m here, I’ll have fresh pints shipped to me every other day. Feel free to imbibe-it’s quite good for you.”

Jules shook his head, stunned. “Jeezus H. Christ!Everybody’s got a racket! You, those rich dickheads on Bamboo Road-you’ve all figured out a perfect scam! Rivers of blood comin‘ out your peckers like cheap beer, and you don’t hafta work for it one bit!” He slumped into the chair across from his friend. “Nothin’ in this world is fair anymore. Hard work don’t count fernothin‘. Tradition don’t count fershit. Maybe that jerk Besthoff was onto somethin’… maybe the days of us ‘free-range vampires’are numbered, after all.”

There was a knock at the door. A porter identified himself and said he’d brought the pot of coffee Doodlebug had requested. After accepting the platter, Doodlebug selected the biggest mug from the kitchen’s charming selection and poured Jules a cup of steaming java. “Now, Jules, you aren’t being entirely fair, are you? Don’t I remember a certain someone who worked in a coroner’s office and happily drank the blood of the recently deceased for years?”

“Don’t remind me,” Jules grumbled. “That was the best gig I ever had.”

“You know, you’re more than welcome to join me at my institute in California. I’ve told you that before.”

Jules scowled. “Ohyeah — couldn’t you just picture me dancin‘ around with them pajama-wearin’ weirdos you got out there? Hah! I’d go so fuckin‘ crazy, before you know it,I’d be dressin’ up like a girl.” He slurped a swig of coffee. “You and that Doc Landrieu-you both want to get me the hell outta here. How do I know you’re not both in cahoots with that goddamn Malice X? Well, let me tell you somethin‘, and let me tell you somethin’right now — ain’tnobody gonna shove me outta New Orleans! Notyou, not Maureen, not my ex-boss, and forsure not some wet-behind-the-ears Negro vampire asshole!” He pounded the table, spilling hot coffee onto the floor.

Doodlebug rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Look, Jules, I want to help you achieve whatyou want. Okay? Obviously, moving you somewhere else isnot what you want. So let’s spend tonight trying to figure out how to get you what youdo want, which is living here in New Orleans in some semblance of peace. How about we begin with your telling me everything that’s happened to you in the past four weeks.”

Jules grunted his assent. Doodlebug threw some paper towels on the spilled coffee, then poured his friend another cup and sat down to listen. Jules told him almost everything, starting with the night he’d picked up Bessie and ended up playing reluctant host to Malice X. Being particularly proud of his infiltration of the Moss Avenue police station, Jules blew that part of the story way out of proportion. He was also very liberal in describing his heroic attempts to rescue his irreplaceable collectibles from the fire. Conversely, he said exceedingly little about his five-day exile in Baton Rouge. About his encounter with the gorgeous (but possibly deadly) plus-sized model, Veronika, Jules said nothing at all.

Doodlebug rubbed his powdered chin for several long moments. “There are some things about your story that don’t make any sense to me,” he said at last.

“Such as-?”

“If Malice X really wants to kill you, he’s failed to take advantage of some ideal opportunities.”

“Maybe he’s just sloppy. Or maybe I been lucky so far.”

“Maybe. But aside from your altercation with the three would-be assassins, he’s been content at each encounter to either warn you or try to push you out of what he sees as his territory. And he’s certainly known for the last three nights that you’re back in New Orleans, but with the exception of that one attack, you’ve remained unmolested. Wouldn’t you think he’d have the entire Quarter crawling with his spies and killers by now, if he truly wanted to do you in?”

Jules fished a few stray coffee grounds out of the bottom of his cup with a sterling-silver spoon. “Well, yeah, I guess. But I been real careful these last few nights. You shoulda seen the outfit I put together last night, fer instance-I mean, I wasreally incognito-“

“I’m sure it was a good disguise, Jules, but I still get the feeling you’re being let off lightly. It’s almost as if your opponent wants to drag this out. As if he’s taking pleasure in humiliating and harassing you.“

“Huh.” Jules raised an eyebrow. “Well, I sure wouldn’t put it past the bum.”

Doodlebug sat back down and leaned across the table, staring intently into his friend’s face. “And here’s another question for you. Why do you suppose this Malice X hatesyou so much?“

Jules grunted. “Ain’t no big mystery aboutthat. Black guys have been gettin‘ the short end of the stick for a long time, since way before I was around. You and me both remember the Jim Crow days here in

New Orleans, so those days weren’t so far back. I’m a white guy. He’s a black guy. He resents me for it. That’s the Song of the South, pal-oldest story around these parts. Case closed.“

“Is it?”

“Why the hell not?”

“You aren’t theonly white vampire in New Orleans. Why hasn’t Malice X gone after the others?”

Jules rolled his eyes. “That’s easy. Besthoff and Katz and them are holed up in their compound on

Bamboo Road, where Malice X can’t get at ‘em. That place of theirs is like a damn fortress.“