Prologue

O nce upon a time...

And not so long ago, Gervais LaBlanc thought ruefully, he would not have been alone staring at the body of the deceased.

"Inspector?"

He was not going to be so alone now in the autopsy room.

The one-word question was voiced in English, and he turned, ready to greet the young woman he was expecting, Jeannette LaFarge. Special Agent Jeannette LaFarge, he reminded himself, here with him because Gervais had called on his good friend, Jackson Crow.

Jackson managed a special unit in the United States that had recently created a European division to work with the inspectors and detectives of other countries when asked. Gervais couldn't recall the official title of Jackson's unit—he just knew that Jackson Crow and his people could often get answers when cases were...bizarre, perpetuated by those intent on recreating horrific events from history or adding their own terrifying spin to them.

They were known as the Krewe of Hunters.

This woman, the first to arrive of the team he'd been promised, barely seemed old enough to have entered the FBI, much less the mysterious and successful Krewe of Hunters. She was an attractive young woman with richly colored reddish-brown hair swept into a braided ponytail at her nape, large eyes and impressive cheekbones. For all her youth and beauty, she was an experienced professional; Gervais had read up on her. She had graduated with a degree in criminology at the age of twenty-one, spent three years as a police officer before gaining entrance to the FBI Academy, and been recruited by Jackson Crow three years later. And since he knew Jackson so well, he knew that his old friend would not have sent anyone who couldn't keep up with an investigation—and perhaps even lead the way.

"Special Agent LaFarge, welcome, and thank you for coming so quickly," he said.

She smiled at him. "Thank you. And I'm grateful you're so well-versed in English. I can say please , thank you , and buy croissants and coffee with my French. Maybe it's a little bit better than that, but not much, I'm afraid," she told him.

"You're the first of your team to arrive. And again, I am grateful." He pointed to the glass window; he had the right to be inside during the autopsy, but he had opted to remain here, watching and waiting for Agent LaFarge. There were no deep, grave secrets that would be fathomed from the work that had been done on the corpse.

The woman had died from exsanguination.

He managed a smile for his American counterpart. "Two years studying with the FBI, which is where I met your field director, Jackson Crow," he told her. "But LaFarge—a French name?"

She smiled. "Indeed, but from many years ago. Apparently, and to my dad's great pride, his great-great-great whatever came to the States with the Marquis de Lafayette during the American Revolution and stayed on. I'm afraid our gift with the language faded through the years."

"Linguistics is not the talent we seek from your team," Gervais murmured, turning back to the corpse. He let out a long breath and told her, "I'm afraid that the newspapers will sensationalize these killings. One reporter has already created a headline reading, Vampire at work in Paris !" He inhaled and let out a deep sigh. "I am a reader, and I pay attention to events happening in Europe. So I'm well-versed on the investigation that started the Blackbird international twist on your unit, or whatever it might be, when a so-called vampire struck, bringing your specialized unit first to Norway."

The woman nodded. "But apparently, no one is pretending to be a vampire in these cases—no fang marks in the neck or elsewhere."

Gervais shook his head.

"And still," he said, "people—the world over—sensationalize what is tragic." He grimaced, remembering his previous thoughts. "Once upon a time, years ago but then again not all that many in the great scheme of things, the morgue was one of the biggest attractions in the city. In 1864, the morgue was rebuilt right behind Notre Dame, with the police and officials hoping it would help speed up the identification of bodies found in the Seine and other surrounding areas. Even guidebooks for Paris included the morgue—the famed Thomas Cook guidebooks among them. People came by the tens of thousands to view the latest bodies through the glass. Parents lifted their children high to look over the crowds so that they might understand the dangers in the world. Before electricity and any kind of cooling abilities, the bodies would bloat and become horrible and still people came as if the dead were a major attraction. The morgue was open from dawn to dusk, and it was free. Nothing like a free attraction. Thousands upon thousands of people came..." He gave himself a mental shake. He was an inspector; he needed to find the truth behind the recent homicides, not wax on about a history that seemed as disturbing as the murders he was seeking to solve. "My pardon, Special Agent. It's just—"

She nodded in understanding, and then continued with, "They closed the morgue to the viewing public in 1907, when a great majority of people along with those in the government determined that gawking at the dead was not a good thing."

He smiled, nodded and gave himself another mental shake. "You know our history," he told her.

"I love history," she assured him. "American and world history. We are all, in essence as human beings, subject to the same desires, fears, failures and triumphs. And we all have our share of heroes and beasts. Not vampires—human beasts. There are those who call themselves vampires these days, those who have meetings in which they share their own blood with one another, and those who consider themselves to be spiritual vampires who indulge in sucking energy from others rather than blood."

"Well, this..."

He pointed toward the glass and the young woman lying on the slab right behind it.

"She has been drained of blood—completely. But as you said, there are no bite marks on her, she was not attacked by anything with fangs. Our medical examiner believes whoever has been doing this has medical knowledge. Perhaps it's not a doctor, but a phlebotomist maybe, or someone with nursing training, or..."

"A butcher?" Jeannette murmured.

"Possibly, but...butchers are better at dismembering corpses, taking organs. These bodies haven't been molested in any way. None of the victims were raped. They were simply—and completely—drained of their blood. And so...we have the media crying vampire . And that is the last thing we need in such an investigation."

The woman behind the glass had been young, lovely, and Gervais assumed that until her death, she had been filled with vitality and a longing for adventure and all that life had to offer.

Now...her blond hair appeared to be an eerie halo around the whiteness of her face.

Just like the other two.

Virginia Bond of Chicago and Patricia Gutterman of Berlin. Visitors to Paris, young women who had come to see the glory of Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Champs-élysées and so much more that this city, his beautiful city, had to offer.

And now...

They were waiting for an identity for this third girl discovered just outside the city in another incredibly popular destination, the vineyards of Reims. Because of the severity of the crimes, he was handling the investigation with a base in Paris.

After all...

It was where the victims had been staying, where they had last been seen alive...

"Not a vampire," Jeannette LaFarge murmured at his side. "But..."

"Pardon?"

"Perhaps something out of legend, but a vastly different legend. One that might well have been an incredible conspiracy to seize hold of property and power and one which may have held some truth. At this stage of history, it's doubtful we'll ever know the truth."

"S'il vous pla?t," Gervais murmured, frowning.

"Once upon a time," she said, turning to meet his gaze, "there lived a woman named Elizabeth Báthory, born into one of the most noble families of Hungary and its environs—country lines were different in her day."

" Mais oui , I know this story, yes!" Gervais said. "She married into another family that held great lands, titles and positions. Her husband died in battle, and she was left to manage great estates, but...she had very powerful relations trying to wrest them from her."

Jeannette smiled grimly and nodded. "We both know our history. But history is, as we all know, told by the victors. In this case, the legend may be far different from the truth, but the legend created around her calls her the Blood Countess. She was tried for killing over six hundred young women, bathing in their blood to restore her youth. She was locked away in a castle for her crimes while those considered to be her associates were burned at the stake. Whether she was set up or truly responsible or evil, it's possible that someone is taking a page from the book of her legend."