"If you'd-what? Dammit !" Margrit glowered at the silent phone, then got to her feet and stomped around the apartment as she finished getting ready for the day.

A Town Car idled on the street, its driver leaning on the hood so he could watch her building's front door. As Margrit exited, he snapped to attention, calling, "Ms. Knight? I'm your transportation."

Margrit looked both ways along the street, as if someone else might appear and answer to her name. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes, ma'am." He was a few years her elder, far too young to call her ma'am.

Margrit glanced up the street again, a terse smile forming. "I'm sorry. There must be a mistake. Excuse me." She turned and managed a few steps before the driver moved in front of her.

"I'm supposed to give you this if there's a problem, ma'am." He offered a sleek cell phone, so small that his palm dwarfed it. "The number you want is programmed in."

"The number I want," Margrit echoed disbelievingly, and took the phone with dismay curdling her stomach. A glass of orange juice had seemed like a good idea minutes earlier. Now it felt like a bottle of acid had been poured into her belly and left to churn. She pressed the dial button and raised the phone to her ear, wincing preemptively.

"You have a problem, Miss Knight." Eliseo Daisani sounded distressingly pleased to make such an announcement.

Margrit, prediction fulfilled, bit her tongue and waited until her impulse to respond with sarcasm faded. "Good morning, Mr. Daisani. Coming from you, that's an alarming statement."Coming from Eliseo Daisani, almost anything could be alarming. The appalling quickness with which he moved came back to Margrit as forcefully as the taste of his blood had the night before.

"Good morning," he said, undeterred by her stiffness. "I think you'll want to come to my office to discuss your problem, rather than stand there on the street."

"It's a quarter to eight, Mr. Daisani. I'm on my way to work."It was an obligatory line of defense that allowed Daisani to chortle indulgently.

"Of course you are. I've already spoken with Mr. Lomax," he assured her. Margrit bit her tongue again, this time on an exclamation of understanding. Daisani had gotten to her boss first, forcing Janx into the situation he called otherwise. "He can spare you for an hour or two," Daisani went on. "Obviously, your ride is there, or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Cliched protests leapt to Margrit's lips. "You can't do this, Mr. Daisani" was first and most obvious of them, though it was abundantly clear that he could, in fact, arrange her schedule to his liking. "I've asked you not to call me at work,"ran a close second, foiled by Margrit neither being at work yet nor having had the foresight to make that request. She said neither, clenching the phone and staring at the Town Car as people rushed by. Getting in constituted Daisani winning a round. Margrit ran her thumb over the phone's number pad with a half-formed thought of calling her boss and asking if the business mogul had indeed arranged for her to come in late. She had no doubt, though, that he had, and that Russell would tell her not to be absurd by refusing the vehicle Daisani had sent for her. She'd end up going regardless, and only arrive at Daisani's stunning corporate headquarters breathless from walking. Margrit flipped the phone shut and let the driver open the car door for her.

Minutes later, the security guard at Daisani's headquarters waved her in without asking for identification. Though it told her there was no chance she'd have turned Daisani down, not having to sign in made her feel better. She pushed the elevator button hard enough to hurt her finger, making a face at her own inconsistency.

Polished brass walls inside the lift reflected her sour-faced image back at her. Margrit drew herself up, shaking off the countenance of ill temper. There was no point in facing Daisani already on-edge and sulky. When the doors whisked open, she stepped out with at least a semblance of good nature in place.

On the surface, the front lobby of Daisani's suites hadn't changed since the last time she'd been there. It was opulent, with an enormous curved desk of pale wood dominating the room. No one sat behind the desk, and an embossed brown leather appointment book lay at a careful angle on its otherwise empty surface. The rest of the room was equally ostentatious, all the chairs antiques, many of them covered in rich red velvet that Margrit knew was as soft as it looked. Hardwood floors reflected inset lights from the ceiling, but not harshly; the whole room glowed with a warm, winning ambience.

Because she knew where to look for it, a slightly paler patch on the wood-paneled walls revealed where a portrait had once hung. Margrit walked around the desk and touched the spot gently, unexpected regret rising to clog her throat.

"Miss Knight."

Margrit flinched, yanking her hand away and twisting it behind her back as she faced Eliseo Daisani. "Mr. Daisani. I didn't hear you come in.

The doors behind him, nearly twice the height of normal doors, were open just enough to let him step through. Their size emphasized his: Eliseo Daisani was not a big man, barely taller than Margrit herself. Framed by the doorway, he appeared almost delicate.

"You look well behind that desk, Miss Knight."

Margrit managed a faint smile and stepped out from behind the desk. "You haven't replaced Ms. Gray yet?"

"Ms. Gray was irreplaceable. I believe I've mentioned that." His glance skittered to the pale spot on the wall and he inclined his head slightly. "Perhaps I'm sentimental. The photograph is in my office now."

"I think even a vampire is allowed to be sentimental when somebody who was with him twelve decades dies, Mr. Daisani."

"When someone has been murdered." Daisani's words were gentle, but his expression contorted, barely holding back rage before a fresh facade of good nature rose to replace the darker emotion. "You've become bold since the last time I saw you. You wouldn't have thrown that word around so lightly, before."

"I'm feeling reckless,"Margrit admitted. "What do you want from me, Mr. Daisani?"

He came forward, offering both his hands to her, a gesture that could be equally welcoming or condescending. She put one out in return and he clasped it, his touch disconcertingly hot as he all but bowed over her fingers. "The first time we met I offered you a job. I'd like to say that offer still stands, but circumstances have changed."

"Mr. Daisani." Margrit withdrew her fingers from his grasp as politely as she could. "I told you. I'm happy with my job. I'm not interested in coming to work for your law branch."

"No." The word was clipped, Daisani's pleasant front slipping again to reveal anger. "As I said, the circumstances have changed. I find myself in a unique situation, and, to your dismay, you're the person best suited to helping me with it."

Caution chilled Margrit's hands and she forced herself not to take a step back, though Daisani's phrasing brought an unwilling smile to her face. "To my dismay. You're probably right about that. Mr. Daisani, I don't owe you anything. I did what you asked in helping to find Vanessa's murderer. We're even."

"I require a personal assistant." Daisani went on as if she hadn't spoken. "Thus far, a suitable candidate has not yet accepted the position." His eyebrows quirked upward and he confessed, "Nor applied. Miss Knight Margrit, if I may-you've proven yourself to be delightfully discreet and levelheaded regarding extraordinary matters."

Margrit wished abruptly that she had remained on the far side of Vanessa's desk, so she might use it as a prop and lean on it for emphasis. On the other hand, remaining there, where Daisani wanted her to be, would only enforce his argument. "You mean in the face of learning about the Old Races, and finding out that half the power in this city isn't even human?"