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Hungary 1810

Jared Lantos was in a hurry. He had promised his father he would attend that evening's meeting of the Elders, and he was late, or was going to be late if the damned carriage driver didn't get a move on. Truth be told, he hated the meetings, and only attended out of familial duty, added to the fact if he didn't show up, his father would rant on for hours about dereliction of duty and insubordination, ad nauseum. If only to spare his mother those tantrums, Jared attended the meetings as often as he could.

Jared was a lawyer, and a busy one, something his father had yet to understand. Janos Lantos had never quite grasped the idea his son had important clients who just might need his services more urgently than an Elder meeting.

Elders, he thought grimly. An arcane society that had no place in modern Hungary. A group of men who dabbled in the black arts, who gave all their time and money to the furtherance of communing with the dead, and as far as Jared knew had not once conjured one spirit. He shook his head in frustration. Another wasted evening lay ahead, listening to nonsense, watching the old codgers nod sagely as if they understood every silly word spoken. Surely they did not believe every worthless spell and incantation cast by the Head Elder, whom Jared considered no better than a street hawker of tawdry baubles, would actually bring forth good fortune for all present, arming them with magical shields to ward off those who would do them harm. Yet, sadly, Jared knew that was exactly what they did believe, his father included.

Ah well, tonight would be the last time he would attend one of these asinine affairs. It was his intention to inform his father that, as of next month, he would be moving to Budapest to take up a position as a partner in a larger law office. A far more prestigious company than the one in which he was presently employed.

He stretched his long legs out in front of him and gazed at the passing scene from the carriage window. The open window brought in a warm breeze that ruffled his long golden hair. He glanced at his fob and sighed. Yes, he was late, and there was little he could do about it. The carriage shuddered, throwing him to one side as it came to an abrupt halt.

"What is it, cabbie?" he yelled, straining to see what had caused the sudden stop.

"Body in the street, sir"

A body? He climbed down from the carriage and walked towards the small crowd gathered around a prone figure on the ground. The victim looked to be young, a young man, his clothes of a decent cut and material. Not a vagrant then?

"Is he dead?" he heard someone ask.

"Looks like it," came a reply. "Just waiting for the militia."

"Stabbed, he was"

"No one's safe these days."

"Robbers and murderers everywhere."

Jared suddenly felt as though he were being watched. He looked around the assembled crowd and caught the eye of a tall, handsome man who smiled at him and raised a hand to the brim of his hat in salute.

Do I know you? Jared wondered, returning the man's smile. Perhaps they'd met at one of the many business soirées he'd attended recently, but surely he would remember one as comely as this. The man moved towards him and touched him gently on the arm. A visceral thrill coursed through Jared's body at the man's touch.

"We're not needed here," the man said, steering Jared away from the crowd and into a darkened alleyway. A door opened, and they stepped inside. A long hallway stretched before them, dimly lit with a faint pinkish glow, and lined with several doors. "Here" The man pushed open a door and stepped aside to let Jared enter. Jared did so without thought, without fear, even though he found all this to be very strange. A tiny prickle of excitement, of anticipation, coiled on the nape of his neck.

The man removed his hat and cloak, signalling that Jared should do the same. As if in a blur, he was suddenly standing so close Jared could taste the man's sweet-scented breath on his lips.

"I have need of you, my beauty"

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Los Angeles. Ca.

Alex Brady flipped through the pages of the travel magazine he'd picked up in the dentist's waiting room and gazed at one of the colourful photographs with a desultory sigh of frustration. Man, but he would love to just get on a plane and fly to some faraway places with strange sounding names like Antigua, or Trinidad, or Pago Pago, or...shit...he'd even go for Jacksonville, Florida, at this juncture of his life. He just needed to get the fuck away from all the dreariness that seemed to be closing in on him with each and every passing day.

What the hell is wrong with me? he pondered as he threw the magazine back on the table in front of him with an involuntary snort of disgust. He looked around him with a guilty start, aware that he'd caused a few patients beside him in the waiting room to raise eyebrows and lower magazines, probably wary of the young man with the scowling expression, hoping he wasn't about to go ape-shit right in front of them.

He smiled an apology at the elderly woman opposite him and slunk a little lower in his chair. After a brief disapproving appraisal of Alex, the dowager resumed reading her out-“of-date copy of Time. Alex sighed again, this time more quietly, then jumped to his feet as the dentist's assistant called his name.

"Hi, Mr. Brady..."

Della-”yes, that was her name-”gave him a big white-toothed smile. "How are you today?"

"Just fine," he mumbled, knowing the other patients were glad to see him go. "How are you?"

"Wonderful." Della led the way to Dr. Henderson's surgery. "Just a cleaning today?" "That's right."

"Just lie down, and Dr. Henderson will be with you in a minute or two."

"Thanks."

Alex stretched out on the dentist's chair and stared up at the TV monitor over his head. He smiled as he recognised the episode of Mr Bean at the dentist he'd seen the last time he'd had his teeth cleaned.

They must have it on a revolving loop, he thought, chuckling as the actor playing the dentist accidentally stabbed himself in the leg with the novocaine-loaded syringe.

"Like this one?" Dr. Henderson's deep voice from behind him had Alex craning his neck.

"Every time I come here."

Dr. Barry Henderson was hot. One of the reasons Alex looked forward to having his teeth cleaned more regularly than he used to, even though the young dentist was a bit on the suck-up-the-pain side.

Henderson gave him a lopsided smile, a lock of his dark brown hair falling over his forehead as he leaned over Alex.

"Let's take a look..."

Alex resisted the temptation to push the lock of hair gently back, and instead opened his mouth to the dentist's questing gaze.

Henderson probed Alex's mouth with his forefinger. "So, how've you been?"

"Jush fine..."

"Good. Had a vacation yet?"

"Nawyeh."

"The wife and I just got back from Italy."

"Nishe..."

"Yes, it was. Hmm..." Henderson peered closer at the back of Alex's mouth, then grabbed a metal tool and started scraping. "We went to Florence, Venice, Rome. Breathtaking really. Milan...the opera house there, La Scala...magnificent."

"Shounds fabulush."

"It was. I really recommend it if you haven't ever been."

"Haven't-”Ow!" Alex winced as the tool's sharp point dug a little too deep into his gum.

"Sorry 'bout that. Anyway, as I was saying, if you haven't had a vacation this year, maybe you should consider Italy."

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Sheriff Joel Harper was pissed, more than that really. He was madder than a hornet, and there was no one within a fifteen mile radius for him to vent his spleen on. Just as well his younger brother Toby wasn't with him right now. The kid would most likely hear language never intended for his young ears. Who was he kidding? Toby could most likely match him curse for curse.

He just couldn't believe it. He was being sued-”sued by a no good son-of-a-bitch who should be behind bars for his flagrant drug use, but who instead had got himself some city attorney and was suing Joel for kidnapping, assault and battery.

"That lyin' sack-o-shit," Joel muttered under his breath still seething after reading the details of the suit in which Daniel Francis Hutchins, the plaintiff, had filed a complaint to the effect that while leaving a local tavern, he was attacked by an assailant he later recognized as Sheriff Joel Harper, taken to the Denton Sheriff's Office where he had been summarily stripped naked, beaten, and handcuffed to the bars of his cell for several hours while being denied access to a toilet. Hutchins also claimed that the entire time he was subjected to this humiliation, Sheriff Joel Harper-”who was not in uniform, and therefore Hutchins surmised him to be off duty-”had taunted, slapped him around and generally debased him.

"Bullshit," Joel muttered again, gunning the engine of his Police Department issue SUV, and sliding back onto the road from the gravel shoulder where he'd pulled over to study what, in his mind, was the biggest pile of horse manure he'd ever read. As he sped down the road toward Denton, a small rural town about twenty miles outside Sacramento, he figured his next step would be to call the Attorney General's office and find out how they were going to handle this.

His main concern was that Danny Hutchins was the son of one of the wealthiest ranchers in the county, and no doubt his father, who had no love for the Denton Sheriff's office, would use every ounce of influence he had to get Joel fired. Old man Hutchins just couldn't let go of the fact that two years earlier, just after Joel had been elected Sheriff, Joel had arrested him for being drunk and disorderly and trying to beat up the manager of the Sizzlin' Steak, one of Denton's better restaurants. A night in the local jail cell to cool him off had only angered Hutchins more, swearing to 'get even' as he left the following day.

Joel hadn't listened to Hutchins' threats of reprisal then, nor would he let the deprecating letters Hutchins would demand the local paper publish on a regular basis, bother him. He didn't doubt that this latest attempt to get him fired was instigated by Hutchins Senior. Joel figured he wasn't above using his useless son as a means to an end.

It galled Joel that Danny had turned out to be such a shiftless individual. He and Danny had gone to school together, had been friends briefly until Danny had got himself mixed up with a bunch of riff-raff Joel couldn't stomach. He'd railed at Danny on several occasions that he was wasting his life, that with his talent for electronics and the fact he was a whiz with computers, he should be out there making a career for himself instead of getting wasted with a bunch of losers. But the last time they'd spoken, Danny had given him the finger and told him to go fuck himself.

Despite all that, Joel would never have imagined Danny would sink this low.

Patty Saunders, Joel's administrative assistant, gave him a bright smile as he entered the office. Patty could never quite resist giving Joel and what was, in her opinion, his sweet, sweet body the once-over, no matter that they'd worked together almost every day for the past five years, from the time Joel was a patrol officer.

"'Mornin' boss," she cooed, eyes raking over Joel's body, his wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs. If ever another man filled out a uniform more beautifully, she'd yet to see him, she'd told her girlfriends on many occasions. In addition, Joel's short cropped, curly black hair, green eyes and his dreamy mouth were always guaranteed to make her toes curl inside her sensible shoes. Never mind that her boss was openly gay-”she still harboured fantasies about getting him in the sack. Fantasies she kept to herself, especially the one where Joel joined her and her husband, Tom, for a torrid three-way.

"'Mornin' Patty." He looked over at his deputy's empty desk. "Bob been in yet?"

Patty pursed her lips in displeasure. "No, and he hasn't called in, or returned my call. He's an hour late, again."

Joel sighed. Bob Perkins, Deputy Sheriff, was one more problem Joel knew he was going to have to deal with before long. He'd been with the Denton Sheriff's Office longer than Joel, and made no bones about the fact that he thought he should now hold Joel's position.

It didn't help when people had pointed out to Bob he just hadn't run as convincing a campaign as Joel, who had won the election two years ago by a margin no one could argue with. That didn't stop Bob from being uncooperative to the point of insubordination at times. He was continually late, sometimes not showing up at all, especially for the late shifts. Joel had time and again tried to talk to him, reason with him, but the man's resentment toward Joel precluded any rational conversation. One of these days, Joel knew he would have to fire the man.

Denton's sheriff's office was small. Just Joel, Bob, Patty, and two patrol officers, Brent Elliot and Josh Palmer. Fortunately Joel felt he could rely on Josh and Brent to do their jobs well, and as for Patty, there was no one more loyal to him than her. He smiled at her plump face, her baby blues now gazing at him with expectation.

He waved the envelope he was carrying in front of her. "Danny Hutchins is suing me for assault and battery."