Dudley DementedThe hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing -for the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four.He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacl　

And he put on the garments of vengeance for clothing,and was clad with zeal for a cloak.Isaiah 59:17Edmund Loris, once the Archbishop of Valoret and Primate of All Gwynedd, stared out to sea through the salt-smeared windowpanes of his tower prison and allowed himself a thin smile. The rare display of self-indulgence did nothing to diminish the fury of the wind shrilling at the ill-fitted glass, but the letter secreted in the breviary under his arm gave its own grim fort. The offer was princely, befitting even the exalted status he had enjoyed before his fall.Exhaling softly of his long-hoarded bitterness, Loris bowed his head and shifted the book to hold it in both hands, wary lest the gest　

　　There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers　　exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will　　instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more　　bizarre and inexplicable.　　　　There is another theory which states that this has already happened.　　　　Chapter 1　　　　The story so far:　　In the beginning the Universe was created.　　This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.　　Many races believe that it was created by some sort of God, though the Jatravartid people of Viltvodle VI believe that the entire Universe was in fact sneezed out of the nose of a being called the Great Green Arkleseizure....　

　　At midmorning of a broiling summer day the life of Three Counties Hospital ebbed and flowed like tide currents around an offshore island. Outside the hospital the citizens of Burlington, Pennsylvania, perspired under a ninety-degree shade temperature with 78 per cent humidity. Down by the steel mills and the rail yards, where there was little shade and no thermometers, the reading-if anyone had bothered to take it-would have been a good deal higher. Within the hospital it was cooler than outside, but not much. Among patients and staff only the fortunate or influential escaped the worst of the heat in air-conditioned rooms.　There was no air conditioning in the admitting department on the m　

　The red sun balances on the highest ramparts of the mountains, and in its waning light, the foothills appear to be ablaze. A cool breeze blows down out of the sun and fans through the tall dry grass, which streams like waves of golden fire along the slopes toward the rich and shadowed valley.　In the knee-high grass, he stands with his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket, studying the vineyards below. The vines were pruned during the winter. The new growing season has just begun. The colorful wild mustard that flourished between the rows during the colder months has been chopped back and the stubble plowed under. The earth is dark and fertile.　The vineyards encircle a barn, outbuilding　

　　I ignored the questions in the eyes of the groom as I lowered the grisly parcel and turned the horse in for care and maintenance. My cloak could not really conceal the nature of its contents as I slung the guts over my shoulder and stamped off toward the rear entrance to the palace. Hell would soon be demanding its paycheck.　I skirted the exercise area and made my way to the trail that led toward the southern end of the palace gardens. Fewer eyes along that route. I would still be spotted, but it would be a lot less awkward than going in the front way, where things are always busy. Damn.　And again, damn. Of troubles I considered myself amply possessed. But those who have do seem to get. S　

　　SABAT HAD smelled evil in the air for the past hour; a cloying cold mustiness that was stronger than the scent of the pine trees and belied the balmy late spring atmosphere. The silence, too, was noticeable. The absence of birdsong and the soughing of the mountain breeze seemed to have lapsed into a calm where not even a leaf rustled. As though the world held its breath and waited.　　　　The tall man in the dark, travel-stained and crumpled suit shrugged off the uneasiness he felt with a deliberate effort, paused on the long steep forest path to wipe the sweat from his high brow and aquiline features. A dry tongue flicked the fringes of his jet black moustache and his narrow, deep-sunken eye　

　This novel is dedicated to Stan, Christopher, Michele and Howard; to Rosario and Patrice; to Pamela and Elaine; and to Niccolo.　This novel is dedicated by Vittorio to the people of Florence, Italy.　　　1　WHO I AM, WHY I WRITE, WHAT IS TO E　　WHEN I was a small boy I had a terrible dream. I dreamt I held in my arms the severed heads of my younger brother I and sister. They were quick still, and mute, with big fluttering eyes, and reddened cheeks, and so horrified was I that I could make no more of a sound than they could. The dream came true.　But no one will weep for me or for them. They have been buried, nameless, beneath five centuries of time. I am a vampire.　My name is Vittorio, and I writ