He doesn't answer.

I'm going to bet it's not many or I wouldn't have been able to do what I just did. I almost wish this mind thing worked with humans so I could get inside his head and tell him what a stupid asshole he really is. I'm going to enjoy springing myself on him, seeing the shocked look in those baby blues as I—

My thoughts are cut short as we take the turnoff to Torrey Pines State Park. The cop cruises by the gate with a two-finger salute to the ranger on duty. I almost yell out, knowing the dark tint of the windows in the back of the cruiser prevents the ranger from seeing that this cop is taking a civilian into the park. Not an everyday occurrence, I would think. But the cop doesn't slow down and the opportunity is gone before I can.

Just another thing I'll have to thank this idiot for when I get out of here. I wonder what a cop's blood tastes like—

Wait a minute. What am I doing? I'm just going to get away. I'm not going to linger for a midnight snack, even though he certainly deserves a little bite.

The car pulls deeper into the park. We're off the main road and through the campground, winding through the sparse forest of spectral shapes known as the Torrey Pines. These trees are frozen in perpetual static motion, bent as though buffeted by ghostly sea winds, even on a still night. It's a dark, creepy place and a feeling of foreboding settles in my bones. I've never been this far into the forest, but I hear the ocean pounding somewhere far below and know we must be coming to the end of the road. My recollection of a map of the park showed it dead ends at the cliffs. This would certainly be a private enough spot to perform whatever ghastly ritual this guy had in mind.

I sit up straighter in the seat, prepare myself for the get away. The best time to make a run for it will be the minute he opens the door, before he has time to register the fact that I have the use of my hands. I will throw my weight upon it as soon as I hear the lock release and push it hard enough to make him lose his balance. Then I'll beat it into the trees. I remember how fast Donaldson and Avery were. I can only hope that's a hereditary trait among vampires.

I compose myself. I'm immortal now, according to Avery. Kin to Lestat, and Count Dracula. Hell, maybe even a cousin of Spike—

my favorite vampire character. And he's cute, too, to boot. Buffy never treated him right. Maybe it's not an act with James Marsters. Look at those cheekbones. Maybe he really is—

You're not taking this very seriously.

The voice is so unexpected, I literally jump in the seat. “What?” I squeak before I realize that I've spoken out loud.

My eyes spring to the cop, but if he heard me, he isn't acting like it. His eyes are still on the road.

Avery?

No, not Avery. And I said, you're not taking this very seriously. What's the matter with you?

The tone is offensive. I have a short attention span , I shoot back. It's been a problem my whole life.

Well, if you don't pull yourself together, it won't be a problem much longer.

My head is reeling with this new intrusion into my thoughts. My eyes find the mirror. It's not the cop. He's staring straight ahead.

Besides, what sense would that make?

I try to probe, but nothing comes through. Who are you?

Not important. What is important is that you get your wits about you. This guy will not be alone. They never are.

Where are you? Are you here to help?

I'm not close enough to be of physical aid. You're going to have to do this on your own. Do you have a plan?

I tell him what I've come up with.

It might work. But you'll have to act quickly, and once you're free, run like hell. Don't look back. I'll be waiting for you on the road outside the park entrance.

How will I know who you are?

I'll be driving your car.

What? That's a ninety thousand dollar automobile. You'd better not—

But the car is slowing and I'm jerked out of my dimwitted retort. I must be crazy, worried about my car when there's a bunch of lunatics waiting to make sure I never drive the damned thing again.

He's right, I scold myself. Pull yourself together.

It's a good thing I do. The unfamiliar voice in my brain warned me that the cop would not be acting alone. He is right about that, too. There are three figures outlined in the car headlights as we approach. One is holding a burning torch.

Is that how they plan to kill me?

Adrenaline and rage turn my blood to fire. I watch the cop's face as he stops the car and turns in the seat to look at me. Surprise flashes, replaced by a smug contempt.

"Well, you've been busy, haven't you? But no matter. We're about to have a little bonfire. It's chilly out there, but I'm sure you'll be warm enough."

He's stalling while his pals advance on the car. Two on the left, one on the right. A little hint of fear replaces some of the anger churning my stomach. Can I take two of these guys at once? I hadn't planned on a welcoming party.

Your strength, the voice reassures me. Use your strength.

All at once, I know. Instead of waiting for them to get to the car, I turn. I brace myself against the front seat and kick at the back window as hard as I can.

Nothing.

I hear the cop yelling in my ear. He can't reach me through the wire partition. I kick out again, this time willing every ounce of strength into my legs. With a sharp crack, the window pops out. I see from the corner of my eye the two men on my left. One of them is shouting and fumbling at the door.

But I'm already vaulting out the back window, scooting over the trunk, scrambling toward the trees. I feel a rush of air and hear angry voices behind me.

Then I'm running, flying over and through the forest.

The voice said not to look back. That's no problem. I'm too afraid to look back.

Blood pounds in my ears. Adrenaline-laced fear propels me forward.

It's the most exhilarating thing I've ever experienced.

I've never been much of a runner, but I feel like a gazelle, sure-footed and nimble and headed in the direction of the highway with nothing but instinct to guide me. Suddenly, I'm not winded or afraid. After a moment, the yelling behind me fades. I've beaten all four of them. I've never felt so alive.

Ironic.

Somewhere along the way, I've broken the cuffs apart. I think it happens when I reach up to brush a low-hanging branch away from my face. One moment my wrists are bound together and the next, my hands are free. It happens with no conscious effort on my part.

All this time, I thought I needed the key when all I really needed was to pull hard enough.

I'm approaching the road now, so I allow myself to slow down. I'm not sure where Casper, my friendly voice, is going to be. I send out the question, but get no response.

The sound of traffic is louder now, and I veer away from the park entrance. I don't know how long it will take the four stooges to drive back this way, but I take no chances. I stay in the tree line and out of sight. It's a climb up to the highway from here, but like running, I bound up the steep incline with no effort.

I work my way through the thinning trees until I have a line of sight to the road. Cautiously scanning both directions, I spy my car about a quarter mile away, on this side of the highway, facing south. I wait only a heartbeat to see if there are headlights coming behind me, along the park road. When I'm sure there are none, I race across the open shoulder to the car.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, I sing as I pull open the car door.

There's no one inside.

The keys are in the ignition, the engine is running. But there is no one inside. I'm disappointed, but I don't waste any time indulging it. I slip into the driver's seat, put the Jag in gear and pull out. There'll be time later to track down my new guardian angel.