Jonathon was all alone. The Pineys and Red Paints disappeared into the Jersey woods. wilkravitz went with them. But the honorable Andalusian could sense him and knew he wanted to come back to the city. He wanted to help. So did Edith. Yet this wan't the time. Papa was a new type of vampire, at least for Philadelphia. For the last three hundred years, local vampires had been moral, ' guardian angel ' type creatures. You remember - Cull the wicked. Help those meant to live.....The little blood gifts to sick people in hospitals and all that? Well, now it was different. Papa was a hedonist and a bitter, angry hedonist. Death (other people's) was a special treat to him. It tasted good. It made him powerful. It healed all wounds, especially the one cut into him by his thousand year imprisonment. Oh, do not think that secret forces sent out by that supposedly 'Vatican' faction weren't trying to recapture him. They were. But his current location was still a mystery to them, And so they busied themselves sneaking up on deluded, powerless Wiccans in such places as Brussels and Edinburgh. Maybe they would one day uncover his trail. And then again maybe not. The refuge in the park was soon abandoned. Papa lacked the cadre of loyal 'familiars' needed to keep it going. So he and little Annie were vagabonds of the night, just like everyone else. Oh, Baylah still had her snug berth with the human honey bunch. But she knew the score. She was smart. So she and that stock exchange fellow quickly shuffled off to cheerier climes at his beachfront house on the South Jersey shore. And the toffee beauty soon became quite the fixture at Texas Hold'em tables throughout Atlantic City. None guessed her secret, for she was discreet.......All had to live by their wits. Jonathon reconnected with the mole people. He liked their tunnels deep under the subways. He enjoyed playing little games with the wide-eyed mole children. And when he was depressed and unable to hunt, they always surprised with a plump, juicy, human n'er-do-well or two..... One night, when he could not sense the presence of Papa in the vicinity, he snuck back to the redout in the park and sublimated in through a wall. But the interior was completely empty. Each and every immortal 'carving' had been carefully chipped from every surface. And the place had fallen back to its old use as a municipal, park service storage facility. Where had he taken Sarah? Where had he taken Jonathon's beloved? Where were the enchanted 'elves and cherubs'? He'd find out...some night, but not that night. And so he wandered through the city, a dark haired, Spanish princeling. His cunning, leather bootkins tapping out a rhythm and occasionally tossing sparks along the way.