thought she could hear the creatures through the thick and otherwise inviolable glass, but their voices had no power to awaken her.
When Angie did wake up she felt rested, and more herself than she had for a long time. It was almost as if she had slept for many hours, though the time was only a little after noon. The day was cloudy as before, but the light was still comfortingly full. Angie, now starting to feel hungry, stretched, wondered if she should take a shower, and instead went first into the kitchen where the men were seated at the table with coffee mugs in front of them. Abstractedly she gathered materials and made herself a cheese sandwich. There was mustard in the refrigerator. She poured herself coffee, and prepared to make a second pot.
Then, chewing her first bite of sandwich, she turned to the men. Her voice was deadly serious. 'I've had some sleep and I think I'm in my right mind. And now, you are going to tell me what it's all about. Starting from the beginning. The truth and the whole truth. Or else, I swear to both of you, I am going to run out into the hall and scream and scream until the cops come.'
Joe was not impressed. He shook his head. 'I wouldn't bet it'll be the cops who reach you first if you do that,' he said. 'Anyway, John told you right. We don't want the cops in here. Not now. They'll come in and see the old man and call an ambulance—'
Angie interrupted. 'I know! I know. And we can't afford to let him be taken out of his dwelling place. I just hate to believe I don't have running out and screaming to fall back on as a last resort.'
'I think among the three of us we can come up with some better ideas than that.'
She pulled up a chair to the table and said to Joe: 'Let's hear yours.'
'All right. First of all, the people who are trying to force their way in here are vampires, or at least their leader is.' He looked at her searchingly. 'It's important that you believe that.'
'If you and John both—yes. I can believe it.'
'Good. Next, there's something they want from'— Joe jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom—'him. From what you tell me they did last night, and what they said, all too probably it's his life. Most likely it's a matter of revenge. But John and I both owe him our lives, or the equivalent. So, we're standing by him.'
Angie tossed her hair back. 'I wouldn't want you to do anything else. So if I'm going to be a part of this crazy family I stand by him too.'
'Good.' Joe's expression relaxed a trifle. 'But you're in a somewhat different position, Angie. You had no idea what you were getting into here. I'd like to be able to offer you a way out, but that's not possible. It's too late. You're in it now, hell or high water, and all we can do is fight it out together.'
In the silence that followed all three people at the table distinctly heard a faint groan from the direction of the bedrooms. After exchanging startled glances they were pushing back chairs, bumping into one another, rushing to get a look at their host
The one they called the old man had raised himself on one elbow in the bed. He groaned again as the three breathing folk rushed into his room, and he seemed to be trying to speak. Angie, with a rush of relief, thought that he looked much more human than he had for many hours.
The three clustered around him, all talking at once, then all falling silent as they concentrated on trying to understand what he was trying to say. Their efforts were still in vain.
Then Uncle Matthew collapsed, groaning, flat on his back once more. He gave up trying to talk. Still, he looked better, more alive, than he had for many hours.
Joe went to the bedroom windows, making sure that the special curtains were tightly drawn. The old man now looked as if he were sleeping peacefully. Except that there was no sign of breathing. But Angie noted a faint pulse visible in his temple; when she put her fingers on the wiry arm she could feel it in his wrist as well.
Joe, leading the others back to the living room, looked almost elated 'He's starting to come out of it, and that's great. Especially in daytime. His vitality's usually down once the sun's up. I'd say if he makes it through the day there's a good chance he'll really snap out of this tonight.'
John expressed agreement. 'Then he can tell us what happened.'
'God, I hope so. He just doesn't get sick, in my experience. Actually he looks like he's been drugged. But I never heard of any drug that would take effect on one of them… tell me again about this woman who was with him last night.'
Angie and John obliged. Shortly after Joe had heard that episode in greater detail, he put on his topcoat and got ready to depart. On the verge of leaving, he delivered a few hearty comments obviously meant to boost their morale, capped by his firm promise to return. He also advised against their leaving the apartment for any reason.
'But right now I'd better move along. There're things I can do better from outside, and I'm going to start doing 'em.' He looked at Angie. 'I'm not going to offer to escort you away from here. I honestly don't know if you'd be safer staying here or coming with me, but I suspect that staying here is best.'
'If John's staying here, I'm staying too. What would I do, go home and wait alone for them to catch up with me there?'
Joe, looking gloomy, thought about it and shrugged. 'I don't know if they'd try to do that or not. I just don't know.'
'What're you going to do?' John asked him.
'Try to contact Mina, for one thing.' He looked at Angie, groping for some quick way to explain. 'An old friend of an old friend. She might be a big help.' John nodded.
In another moment Joe was gone, out the front door. The viewing screen gave no sign that anyone had observed his departure.
'I feel a lot better with Joe on the job,' said John after the door was bolted up securely after him.
'I do too. At least I certainly did when he was here. Johnny, I wish you'd tell me more about this mess we're in.'
John led the way back into the kitchen, where he started to make himself a sandwich. 'I'll tell you what I can,' he said. Then he nodded in the direction of the bedrooms. 'He could tell his own story much better than I can. I guess he thought that listening to the tape would break it to you gradually—I don't know. I've been trying to figure out how to tell you about him for about a month now, and I'm still trying.'
'Go ahead.' Now her voice was subdued; John had his sandwich made, and she was starting mechanically to clean up the coffee cups, the paper towels, the knife with cheese on it.
John sat at the table, munching between sentences. 'All right. He's not really my uncle, and his name isn't really Matthew Maule. At least that's only one of a number of names he uses. When I was kidnapped, at the age of sixteen, he was calling himself Dr. Emile Corday. Just an old friend of the family, visiting from London. The Chicago cops are probably still looking for Dr. Corday. Not that he did anything to be ashamed of then. The people he hurt were all kidnappers.'
'Oh.'
'So I'll tell you what I can. But I can't tell it the way he would. I can't even find the right place to begin.'
Chapter 6
Out in the corridor, heading directly for the elevators, Joe Keogh got as far as the door of the next apartment down the hall before his brisk passage was interrupted.
She came out into the hallway smiling in his direction, making eye contact as if she was determined to intercept him and was not going to be too subtle about it. She might easily have seen him coming, for the door that she emerged from was strategically placed at a bend in the passage, so anyone looking through a wide-angle viewer from inside would command the stretch of hallway in front of the Maule apartment. She was a fortyish lady, average height, overweight but trying to carry it well, with skillfully if showily dyed hair, rich black streaked with silver. Subtle things about her face suggested that battles had been and were still being fought across that territory, again with skill, to prevent or wipe out jowls as well as wrinkles. What he could deduce about her body, swathed in a kind of robe or housecoat—Joe could never remember all the exact classifications for the things that women wore—suggested that it was well maintained, if not exactly shapely.
She opened her door quickly and came out, light on her feet despite her heft, bumping into Joe as he moved to step around her.
'Excuse me, I'm sorry!' Her voice was soft and pleasant, her smile a real charmer. 'Were you by any chance
