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Grabbing his keys, he left the theater by the back door, quickly blending into the shadows He sensed the wo for hi the wiser

In the old days, he had looked forward to talking with his fans He had answered their questions, signed autographs, and posed for pictures that, when developed, would show only a white haze where his likeness should have been Oddly enough, in this age of digital cae appeared on the screen, but once the camera or cell phone was turned off, his photo disappeared He had found a way to turn that peculiarity to his advantage by letting it be known that he was superstitious about having his picture taken At the beginning of each show, he asked that no photographs be taken, adding that any pictures captured without his permission would vanish from cell phones and cameras People had been skeptical at first, but when they discovered it was true, the fact that he apparently raphs disappear only added to his raphed any more than he could explain why he cast no reflection in a mirror It was just a fact of life, one he had learned to accept long ago, as he had learned to accept so s that were part of his bizarre lifestyle, not the least of which was his eternal thirst for blood He had tried to ignore the craving, tried to satisfy it with the blood of beasts, or with blood stolen from hospitals and blood banks, but to no avail The blood of beasts could sustain his existence but, like blood in bags, offered no satisfaction Sooner or later, the need for fresh blood drawn fro

It had always been so easy for his brother, Rafe Rane remembered their first hunt, remembered the woman their father had chosen, the way she had felt in his ar scent of her blood He had wanted to drink and drink until there was nothing left

“We’re not going to kill her,” their father had said, and Rafe had dutifully obeyed Rane had complied, as well What other choice had he had with his father standing there, watching?

But later, when Rafe and his parents were occupied elsewhere, Rane had left the house He had found a young wo her trade on a dark street where nice people didn’t go, and he had taken her Oh, he had given her pleasure first—she had deserved that much—but in the end, he had taken what he so desperately craved He had taken her blood, her

And in so doing, had damned himself for all eternity

Savanah huddled deeper into her jacket, wondering if Santoro the Magnificent had so a ician, she supposed he could have just turned into a bird and floay She had lost track of the number of times she had seen his act Each ti, more spectacular, than the last Each tirown He was no ordinary ician Of that she was certain But if his tricks weren’t tricks, ere they, and how on Earth did he do them? She didn’t believe for a minute that he had sold his soul to Satan, and yet…itspeculation She had read countless stories oftheir souls for youth or longevity, for power or wealth But they were just fables At least, she had always thought so, until now

She waited another half an hour before giving up He wouldn’t elude her toht One way or another, she was deterer to satisfy her own curiosity about the man, but she was slated to write an article about him for the local paper In addition to that, she hoped to include hiicians, past and present, el

Turning up the collar of her coat, she returned to the parking lot for her car and drove ho roo in his favorite easy chair watching a high-stakes poker game on the satellite screen

“Hi, sweetie,” he said “Hoas the show?”

“A it in the hall closet, then kissed her dad on the cheek before dropping down on the sofa and kicking off her shoes

“Did you get to interview him?” William Gentry asked

“No, I didn’t see him” She hated to adiven her the assignment If necessary, she would just write the article without the interview