Simon. Something frightful has happened to Jamie. Please come . . . When James Asher is found unconscious in the cemetery of the Church of St. Clare Pieds-Nus with multiple puncture-wounds in his throat and arms, his wife, Lydia, knows of only one person to call: the vampire Don Simon Ysidro. Old friend and old adversary, he is the only one who can help Lydia protect her unconscious, fevered husband from the vampires of Paris. Why James has been attacked – and why he was called to Paris in the first place – Lydia has no idea. But she knows that she must find out, and quickly. For with James wavering between life and death, and war descending on the world, their slim chance of saving themselves from the vampires grows slimmer with each passing day . . . "Hambly continues to mix vampire fiction and historical mystery in a way that will delight her fans” ― Booklist "Put it this way: given a choice between reading 99% of anything else out there and Barbara Hambly, I will, given free will, always opt for Ms. Hambly. Always." -- T Stewart, reviewer "This book is a solid continuation of a strong series" ― Publishers Weekly Barbara Hambly holds a degree in medieval history from the University of California and has written novels in many genres, from mysteries to science fiction and fantasy. Married to science fiction writer George Alec Effinger, she lives in Los Angeles and teaches at a local college. Darkness on His Bones A James Asher Vampire Novel By Barbara Hambly Severn House Publishers Limited Copyright © 2015 Barbara Hambly All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-84751-623-7 CHAPTER 1 From: W.W. Streatham, Secretary for Information, British Embassy, 39 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, Paris To: Mrs James Asher, 16 Holywell Street, Oxford, England 28 July, 1914 James Asher met with accident last night critical condition Hôpital Saint-Antoine stop come immediately stop contact me on arrival stop yours etc * * * Mrs James Asher c/o Lady Louise Mountjoy 48c Avenue Kléber 16ème Arrondissement Paris Don Simon Ysidro c/o Barclay and Company Rome Central Office Rome 30 July, 1914 Simon, Something frightful has happened to Jamie. In the middle of last month he crossed to Paris, ostensibly to attend a conference on Magyar verb forms, but in truth, I think, at the behest of some of his former colleagues in the Department. He arrived there (here?) on the 23rd. On the 28th of July I received a cable from someone in the Paris embassy. James had been found unconscious in the cemetery of the church of Sainte-Clare-Pieds-Nus, with a fractured skull, multiple puncture wounds in his throat and arms, and severe loss of blood, though no blood was found at the scene. He has not yet recovered consciousness. I have no idea where you are living to be found these days, but I beg of you, if you are in Europe and able to come to me, I am in desperate need of counsel and help. I am staying with my Aunt Louise in the Avenue Kléber, but mostly I can be found at the Hôpital Saint-Antoine. Please come. Ever, L. Asher CHAPTER 2 'Don Simon said you were a man of courage.' The glow of the candles James Asher had lit all around the small salon – for the old hôtel particulier on the Rue des Trois Anges had never even been equipped for gas, let alone electricity – seemed to outline in gold the woman in the doorway, and caught twin mirrors in her eyes, like a cat's, when she moved her head. If he concentrated he could see her fangs. But he had to concentrate. There was a sort of dreamy inattention that stole over one's thoughts when one dealt with vampires, the forgetfulness that usually comes with being overtired or preoccupied with other matters ... Asher had encountered it before. He guessed there were others somewhere beyond the dark doorways that led into the rest of the building and he'd placed his chair with some care, his back to a corner and the long windows that opened to the courtyard barely a yard from his left hand. It was a drop of about fifteen feet but that risk was nothing compared to the danger he was in at the moment. He also knew that there was no other way to do this. 'Lady Montadour.' He rose and bowed deeply to her without stepping out of the circle of candelabra that ringed his chair. 'I hope you'll forgive my rudeness. I had no idea what your arrangements here were, and I feared that a note requesting an interview would result in either your retreat or my entrapment before I have a chance to explain to you the danger you're in.' (Sunk deep in darkness his dreaming self shouted to him, Run, you idiot! They're behind you, around you ... His mind groped for the recollection, like trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded. Cold hands gripping his arms, the razor pain of claws tearing open his throat. Colder lips against his skin as the blood welled forth. It slipped away.) ' I ?' Elysée de Montadour crossed the salon and, dreaming, he both saw her and couldn't see her: the languourous g