Kegel thought for a moment. He should start by going upstairs to check on Schütze Bingle, who was guarding Hitler's quarters. But first Kegel wanted to aggravate the Countess, if she happened to be awake. If she was asleep, he could contemplate her nice face and at least imagine the rest of her.

The Countess, in a white nightgown, wasn't sleepy. As Kegel walked in without knocking, he found her lying propped on an elbow in her coffin reading a dog-eared paperback called Hemophilia.

"Still here, I see," Kegel smiled.

"I'm escaping tomorrow." She boredly turned a page and kept reading.

Kegel chuckled. "Over my undead body," he said, as he strolled over to her Dracaena. She watched him from the corner of her eye.

Something on the plant's stem grabbed Kegel's attention. He looked closer. It was a small, drying trickle of red liquid, from what appeared to be, as he looked even closer, a very small hole in the stem.

"This plant is bleeding!"

"Call the doctor," she said dryly, pretending to read. She hadn't noticed any residue, and was trying to think what to say.

With a rub Kegel smeared some of the liquid onto his finger and looked at it. Then he looked at the Countess. Call the doctor my ass, Kegel thought. Müller was the closest thing at Neuanfang to a doctor. Vampires, they had found, have few ailments, none terminal. And this plant called for no doctor. It called for an explanation, and Kegel waited for the Countess to supply it.

She looked over at him, staring at her as he held the finger with the smear near his face.

"I confess," she said, tossing aside her book. "I've been doing D.P.E."

"Doing what?" He watched her climb out of the coffin.

"Dracaena palm extract. Why do you think I kept a Dracaena all those years in my castle?" She walked casually over to Kegel. "There's nothing like 'dope,' Obergruppenführer."

He looked at the red smear on his finger. She was afraid he was going to lick it. If Kegel died before all the others, it could ruin the timing of Hi's operation, if not give it away completely.

Kegel looked at her and smiled. He opened his mouth, put out his tongue, and raised his finger toward it.

"Don't lick it," she said. Kegel looked at her quizzically, the finger an inch from his mouth. "Some vampires," she said nervously, "have an allergic reaction."

"What happens?"

"They . . . explode."

Kegel looked at her, not knowing whether to believe her or not. "You're full of it."

"I see you've been talking to Dorsch."

Kegel looked again at the plant. "What do you get it out with? A syringe?"

"Yes." She began looking at Kegel seductively. "Don't tell anyone. It'll be our secret--our D.P.E."

Kegel liked how she said it. "Hickenlooper doesn't know?" he asked.

"That idiot? He thinks they're just pretty plants." She playfully ran a finger around on the Nazi's chest. "If just you and I share, you can . . . come and see me whenever you want it."

"The D.P.E.?"

She smiled coyly. "That too."

Kegel was already getting a hard-on. He knew she hated him, he knew she was playing up to him only to protect herself and her dope. But that was good enough for Kegel. He tried to embrace her, but she gently resisted. "What's your blood type?" she asked.

"My blood type? I don't know. What--"

"Type O's have allergic reaction," she explained. "Otherwise you're okay. Have Müller get your blood type. But don't tell him why." She smiled again, sweetly. "Then come back and see me tomorrow. And we'll do it."

"You mean--"

"That too." She stepped close to him, put her hand on the bulge in his breeches, and gently squeezed. "Bring this bugger back with you."