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Lexus, so nice it might almost have belonged to a vampire.
"Someone's doing well out of the hate business," Hugo observed.
"Who's the head of this place?"
"Guy named Steve Newlin."
"Bet this is his car."
"That would account for the bumper sticker."
I nodded. It read TAKE THEUN OUT OFUNDEAD . Dangling from the mirror inside was a
replica well, maybe a replica of a stake.
This was a busy place, for a Saturday afternoon. There were children using the swing set and jungle gym
in a fenced yard to the side of the building. The kids were being watched by a bored teenager, who
looked up every now and then from picking at his nails. Today was not as hot as the day
before summer was losing its doomed last stand, and thank God for that and the door of the building
was propped open to take advantage of the beautiful day and moderate temperature.
Hugo took my hand, which made me jump until I realized he was trying to make us look loverlike. He
had zero interest in me personally, which was fine with me. After a second's adjustment we managed to
look fairly natural. The contact made Hugo's mind just that more open to me, and I could tell that he was
anxious but resolute. He found touching me distasteful, which was a little bit too strong a feeling for me to
feel comfortable about; lack of attraction was peachy, but this actual distaste made me uneasy. There
was something behind that feeling, some basic attitude . . . but there were people ahead of us, and I
pulled my mind back to my job. I could feel my lips pull into their smile.
Bill had been careful to leave my neck alone last night, so I didn't have to worry about concealing any
fang marks, and in my new outfit and on this lovely day it was easier to look carefree as we nodded at a
middle-aged couple who were on their way out.
We passed into the dimness of the building, into what must have been the Sunday school wing of the
church. There were fresh signs outside the rooms up and down the corridor, signs that read
BUDGETING AND FINANCE, ADVERTISING, and most ominously, MEDIA RELATIONS.
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A woman in her forties came out of a door farther down the hall, and turned to face us. She looked
pleasant, even sweet, with lovely skin and short brown hair. Her definitely pink lipstick matched her
definitely pink fingernails, and her lower lip was slightly pouty, which gave her an unexpectedly sensuous
air; it sat with odd provocation on her pleasantly round body. A denim skirt and a knit shirt, neatly
tucked in, were the echo of my own outfit, and I patted myself on the back mentally.
"Can I help you?" she asked, looking hopeful.
"We want to find out more about the Fellowship," Hugo said, and he seemed every bit as nice and
sincere as our new friend. She had on a nametag, I noticed, which read S. NEWLIN.
"We're glad you're here," she said. "I'm the wife of the director, Steve Newlin? I'm Sarah?" She shook
hands with Hugo, but not with me. Some women don't believe in shaking hands with another woman, so
I didn't worry about it.
We exchanged pleasedtomeetyou's, and she waved a manicured hand toward the double doors at the
end of the hall. "If you'll just come with me, I'll show you where we get things done." She laughed a little,
as if the idea of meeting goals was a touch ludicrous.
All of the doors in the hall were open, and within the rooms there was evidence of perfectly open
activity. If the Newlins' organization was keeping prisoners or conducting covert ops, it was
accomplishing its goals in some other part of the building. I looked at everything as hard as I could,
determined to fill myself with information. But so far the interior of the Fellowship of the Sun was as
blindingly clean as the outside, and the people hardly seemed sinister or devious.
Sarah covered ground ahead of us with an easy walk. She clutched a bundle of file folders to her chest
and chattered over her shoulder as she moved at a pace that seemed relaxed, but actually was a bit
challenging. Hugo and I, abandoning the handholding, had to step out to keep up.
This building was proving to be far larger than I'd estimated. We'd entered at the far end of one wing.
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