Ambitious in its scope and provocative in its content, the saga of Count Saint-Germain is a monumental feat of the imagination. Chelsea Quinn Yarbro's powerful and evocative novels have captured Saint-Germain throughout his long existence, from the temples of ancient Eygpt to our present century. Now the count's endless travels bring him to seventeenth-century Peru, where he finds solace for his loneliness in the arms of an Incan priestess. But mighty Spain has conquered the Incan people--and brought the dreaded attention of the Holy Inquisition to the New World. “Yarbro's creation, Count Saint-Germain, has evolved into quite an intriguing character as her novels have followed his adventures through the centuries. He's far more introspective and ethical than Anne Rice's more famous and flamboyant vampire, Lestat.” ― Amarillo Globe-News “Take the time to read one of the Saint-Germain stories and you'll be grateful. You'll also be hooked for life.” ― Scripps Howard News Service CHELSEA QUINN YARBRO has been nominated for the Edgar, the World Fantasy, and the Bram Stoker Awards.  She has been named a Grand Master of the World Horror Convention and a Living Legend by the International Horror Guild.  In 2014, she was named Lifetime Achievement Winner of the World Fantasy Award.  Author of many novels of horror, dark fantasy, mystery and more, including the St. Germain series, Yarbro lives in Berkeley, California. Mansions of Darkness By Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn Tor Books Copyright © 1997 Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn All right reserved. ISBN: 9780312863821 1   It was a splendid afternoon for early September; spring was finally taking hold of the mountains, and flowers were everywhere, turning the slopes from green to a brightly mottled pattern of red and orange and sunset pink. From the market square to the mud-and-stone houses of the poor, to the new buildings of the Spanish, all of Cuzco was filled with color and perfume, and the promise of the ripening year. Don Ezequias Pannefrio y Modestez tore his eyes away from the fragrant display on his balcony and gave his attention to his visitor. His servant, pausing to listen in the doorway, attracted no real attention from either man. “Yes, Conde, what may I do to be of service?” He was a mature man, of imposing stature and impeccable manners, with regular features, clever golden-brown eyes and an unexpected, quirky smile that turned his thin-lipped mouth from severe to wry in an instant; his hair was streaked with silver and cut somewhat shorter than current fashion so that it only brushed his soft, wide collar. Seated be-hind his writing table, he was not quite so impressive as when he was standing, but the breadth of his shoulder was still remarkable. Francisco Ragoczy, el Conde de San Germanno, bowed slightly to the regional magistrate and said, “I regret I must impose upon the introduction of your cousin once again, but I fear it is necessary, Presi-dencia. I have been told I must apply to you for permission to employ natives as servants. I believe the license is called an encomienda, though I do not wish to be allotted any territory.” “As a foreigner, you would need the permission of the Corregidor in any case. For employing servants in the household, I have the authority to grant the encomienda.” Don Ezequias hinted a bow. “That is my understanding. Therefore, behold me and my petition.” His quick, ironic look belied the formality of his words. Like Don Ezequias, he wore black, but unlike Don Ezequias, it suited him, as did the Italian cut of his clothes and the ruby fixed in his white silk lace-edged collar bands. A pectoral in the form of a winged disk depended from the ruby-studded silver chain around his neck. “Ah, yes,” said Don Ezequias. “Of course. I had not realized you would want to do that, or I should have issued the license before now. Your house must be almost ready to receive visitors, and servants are always required to serve one’s guests.” He drew a sheet of vellum toward him, then selected one of the sharpened quills and dipped it into his standish; the fragile plume seemed too small for his large hand, as did the moderate ruffles at his wrist. “These servants—how many do you think you will need?” “Eight at first. To establish the household. If more are necessary, I will ask for them when the need arises, if that is acceptable to you,” said San Germanno, his left hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword in the same manner as most of the Spaniards affected. “Suppose I authorize ten?” offered Don Ezequias. “That should be sufficient to your needs, Conde, don’t you think?” “You are very understanding,” said San Germanno. He watched while Don Ezequias completed the brief document and sanded the ink. “If there is some appropriate way I might show my thanks for this?” Don Ezequias was about to say no, but then his expression changed. “Yes. I think there may be something you can do for me.” He tapped his big hand twice at