24
   I was staring up into a face I didn't know. The face was holding a bloody handkerchief to its forehead. Short hair, pale eyes, freckles. "Hi, Larry," I said. My voice sounded distant and strange. I couldn't remember why.
   It was still dark. Larry's face had been cleaned up a little, but the wound was still bleeding. I couldn't have been out that long. Out? Where had I been out to? All I could remember was eyes, black eyes. I sat up too fast. Larry caught my arm or I would have fallen.
   "Where are the . . ."
   "Vampires," he finished for me.
   I leaned into his arm and whispered, "Yeah."
   There were people all around us in the dark, huddled in little whispering groups. The lights of a police car strobed the darkness. Two uniforms were standing quietly next to the car, talking with a man whose name wouldn't come to me.
   "Karl," I said.
   "What?" Larry asked.
   "Karl Inger, the tall man talking to the police."
   Larry nodded. "That's right."
   A small, dark man knelt beside us. Jeremy Ruebens of Humans First, who last I knew had been shooting at us. What the hell was going on?
   Jeremy smiled at me. It looked genuine.
   "What makes you my friend all of a sudden?"
   His smile broadened. "We saved you."
   I pushed away from Larry to sit on my own. A moment of dizziness and I was fine. Yeah, right. "Talk to me, Larry."
   He glanced at Jeremy Ruebens, then back to me. "They saved us."
   "How?"
   "They threw holy water on the one who bit me." He touched his throat with his free hand, an unconscious gesture, but he noticed me watching. "Is she going to have control over me?"
   "Did she enter your mind at the same time as she bit you?"
   "I don't know," he said. "How can you tell?"
   I opened my mouth to explain, then closed it. How to explain the unexplainable? "If Alejandro, the master vampire, had bitten me at the same time he rolled my mind, I'd be under his power now."
   "Alejandro?"
   "That's what the other vampires called the master."
   I shook my head, but the world swam in black waves and I had to swallow hard not to vomit. What had he done to me? I'd had mind games played on me before, but I'd never had a reaction like this.
   "There's an ambulance coming," Larry said.
   "I don't need one."
   "You've been unconscious for over an hour, Ms. Blake," Ruebens said. "We had the police call an ambulance when we couldn't wake you."
   Ruebens was close enough for me to reach out and touch him. He looked friendly, positively radiant, like a bride on her big day. Why was I suddenly his favorite person? "So they threw holy water on the vamp that bit you; what then?" I asked Larry.
   "They drove the rest of them off with crosses and charms."
   "Charms?"
   Ruebens pulled out a chain with two miniature metal-faced books hanging on it. Both books would have fit in the palm of my hand with room to spare. "They aren't charms, Larry. They're tiny Jewish Holy Books."
   "I thought a Star of David."
   "The star doesn't work, because it's a racial symbol, not really a religious symbol."
   "So it's like miniature Bibles?"
   I raised my eyebrows. "The Torah contains the Old Testament, so yeah, it's like miniature Bibles."
   "Would the Bible work for us Christians?"
   "I don't know. Probably, I've just never been attacked by vampires while carrying a Bible." That was probably my fault. In fact, when was the last time I'd read the Bible? Was I becoming a Sunday Christian? I'd worry about my soul later, after my body felt a little better.
   "Cancel the ambulance; I'm fine."
   "You are not fine," Ruebens said. He reached out as if to touch me. I looked at him. He stopped in mid-motion. "Let us help you, Ms. Blake. We share common enemies."
   The police were walking towards us over the dark grass. Karl Inger was coming, too, talking softly to the police as they moved.
   "Do the police know you were shooting at us first?"
   Something passed over Ruebens's face.
   "They don't know, do they?"
   "We saved you, Ms. Blake, from a fate worse than death. I was wrong to try and hurt you. You raise the dead, but if you are truly enemies with the vampires, then we are allies."
   "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, huh?"
   He nodded.
   The police were almost here, almost within earshot. "All right, but you ever point a gun at me again and I'll forget you saved me."
   "It will never happen again, Ms. Blake; you have my word."
   I wanted to say something disparaging, but the police were there. They'd hear. I wasn't going to tell on Ruebens and Humans First, so I had to save my smart alec comebacks for later use. Knowing Ruebens, I'd get another chance.
   I lied to the police about what Humans First had done, and I lied about what Alejandro had wanted from me. It was just another of those mindless attacks that had happened twice already. Later, to Dolph and Zerbrowski, I'd tell the truth, but right now I just didn't feel like explaining the entire mess to strangers. I wasn't even sure Dolph would get the whole story. Like the fact that I was almost assuredly Jean-Claude's human servant.
   Nope, no need to mention that.
   
   

25
   Larry's car was a late-model Mazda. The vampires had kept Humans First so busy they hadn't had time to trash the car. Lucky for us, since my car was totaled. Oh, I'd have to go through the insurance company and let them tell me the car was totaled, but there was something large broken underneath the car; fluids darker than blood were leaking out. The front end looked like we'd hit an elephant. I knew totaled when I saw it.
   We'd spent the last several hours at the emergency room. The ambulance attendants insisted I see a doctor, and Larry needed three small stitches in his forehead. His orangey hair fell forward and hid the wound. His first scar. The first of many if he stayed in this business and hung around me.
   "You've been on the job, what, fourteen hours? What do you think so far?" I asked.
   He glanced at me sideways, then back to the road. He smiled, but it didn't look funny. "I don't know."
   "Do you want to be an animator when you graduate?"
   "I thought I did," he said.
   Honesty; a rare talent. "Not sure now?"
   "Not really."
   I let it rest there. My instinct was to talk him out of it. To tell him to go into some sane, normal business. But I knew that raising the dead wasn't just a job choice. If your "talent" was strong enough, you had to raise the dead or risk the power coming out at odd moments. Does the term roadkill mean anything to you? It meant something to my stepmother Judith. Of course, she wasn't pleased with my job. She thought it was gruesome. What could I say? She was right.
   "There are other job choices for a preternatural biology degree."
   "What? A zoo, exterminator?"
   "Teacher," I said, "park ranger, naturalist, field biologist, researcher."
   "And which of those jobs can make you this kind of money?" he asked.
   "Is money the only reason you want to be an animator?" I was disappointed.
   "I want to do something to help people. What better than using my specialized skills to rid the world of dangerous undead?"
   I stared at him. All I could see was his profile in the darkened car, face underlit from the dashboard. "You want to be a vampire executioner, not an animator." I didn't try to keep the surprise out of my voice.
   "My ultimate goal, yes."
   "Why?"
   "Why do you do it?"
   I shook my head. "Answer the question, Larry."
   "I want to help people."
   "Then be a policeman; they need people on the force who know preternatural creatures."
   "I thought I did pretty good tonight."
   "You did."
   "Then what's wrong?"
   I tried to think how to phrase it in fifty convincing words or less. "What happened tonight was awful, but it gets worse."
   "Olive's coming up; which way do I turn?"
   "Left."
   The car took the exit and slid into the turning lane. We sat at the light with the turn signal blinking in the dark.
   "You don't know what you're getting into," I said.
   "Then tell me," he said.
   "I'll do better than that. I'll show you."
   "What's that supposed to mean?"
   "Turn right at the third light."
   We rolled into the parking lot. "First building on the right."
   Larry slid into the only open space he could find. My parking space. My poor little Nova wouldn't be coming back to it.
   I took off my jacket in the darkness of the car. "Hit the overhead light," I said.
   He did as he was told. He was better at following orders than I was. Which, since he'd be following my orders, was fine.
   I showed him the scars on my arms. "The cross-shaped burn is from human servants who thought it was funny. The mound of scar tissue at the bend of my arm is where a vampire tore my arm to pieces. Physical therapist says it's a miracle that I got full use of my arm back. Fourteen stitches from a human servant, and that's just my arms."
   "There's more?" His face looked pale and strange in the dome light.
   "A vampire shoved the broken end of a stake in my back."
   He winced.
   "And my collarbone was broken at the same time my arm got chewed up."
   "You're trying to scare me."
   "You bet," I said.
   "I won't be scared off."
   Tonight should have scared him off without my showing him my scars. But it hadn't. Dammit, he'd stick, if he didn't get killed first. "All right, you're staying for the rest of the semester, great, but promise me you won't go hunting vampires without me."
   "But Mr. Burke . . ."
   "He helps execute vampires, but he doesn't hunt them alone."
   "What's the difference between an execution and a hunt?"
   "An execution just means a body that needs staking, or a vampire that's all nice and chained up waiting for the final stroke."
   "Then what's a hunt?" he asked.
   "When I go back out after the vampires that nearly killed us tonight, that's a hunt."
   "And you don't trust Mr. Burke to teach me to hunt?"
   "I don't trust Mr. Burke to keep you alive."
   Larry's eyes widened.
   "I don't mean he'd deliberately hurt you. I mean I don't trust anybody but me with your life."
   "You think it'll come down to that?"
   "It damn near did."
   He was quiet for a handful of minutes. He stared down at his hands that were smoothing back and forth over the steering wheel. "I promise not to go vampire hunting with anybody but you." He stared at me, blue, blue eyes studying my face. "Not even Mr. Rodriguez? Mr. Vaughn said he taught you."
   "Manny did teach me, but he doesn't hunt vampires anymore."
   "Why not?"
   I met his true-blue eyes and said, "His wife's too afraid, and he's got four kids."
   "You and Mr. Burke aren't married and don't have kids."
   "That's right."
   "Neither do I," he said.
   I had to smile. Had I ever been this eager? Naw. "No one likes a smart alec, Larry."
   He grinned, and it made him look about thirteen. Jesus, why wasn't he running for cover after tonight? Why wasn't I? No answers, at least none that made sense. Why did I do it? Because I was good at it, came the answer. Maybe Larry could be good at it, too. Maybe, or maybe he'd just get dead.
   I got out of the car and leaned back in the open door. "Go straight home, and if you don't have an extra cross, buy one tomorrow."
   "Okay," he said.
   I shut the door on his solemn, earnest face. I walked up the stairs and didn't look back. I didn't watch him drive away, still alive, still eager after his first brush with the monsters. I was only four years older than he was. Four years. It felt like centuries. I had never been that green. My mother's death when I was eight saw to that. It takes the edge off the shiny brightness to lose a parent early.
   I was still going to try to talk Larry out of being a vampire executioner, but if all else failed, I'd work with him. There are only two kinds of vampire hunters: good ones and dead ones. Maybe I could make Larry one of the good ones. It beat the hell out of the alternative.
   
   

26
   It was 3:34, Friday morning. It had been a long week. Of course, when hadn't it been a long week this year? I had told Bert to hire more help. He hired Larry. Why didn't that make me happy? Because Larry was just another victim waiting for the right monster. Please keep him safe, God, please. I'd had about as many innocents die on me as I thought I could handle.
   The hallway had that middle-of-the-night feel to it. The only sounds were the hush of the heating vents, the muffled sound of my Nike Airs on the carpeting. It was too late for my day-living neighbors to stay up, and too early for them to get up. Two hours before dawn, you get privacy.
   I opened my brand-new burglarproof lock and stepped into the darkness of my apartment. I hit the lights and flooded the white walls, carpet, couch, and chair with bright light. No matter how good your night vision is, everyone likes light. We're creatures of the daylight, no matter what we do for a living.
   I threw my jacket on the kitchen counter. It was too dirty to toss on the white couch. I had mud and bits of weed plastered all over me. But very little blood; the night had turned out all right.
   I was slipping out of the shoulder holster when I felt it. The air currents had moved, as if something had moved through them. Just like that I knew I wasn't alone.
   My hand was on the gun butt when Edward's voice came out of the darkness of my bedroom. "Don't, Anita."
   I hesitated, fingers touching the gun. "And if I do?"
   "I'll shoot you. You know I'll do it." His voice was that soft, sure predatory sound. I'd seen him use flamethrowers when his voice sounded like that. Smooth and calm as the road to Hell.
   I eased away from my gun. Edward would shoot me if I forced him to. Better not to force it, not yet. Not yet.
   I clasped my hands on top of my head without waiting for him to tell me. Maybe I'd get brownie points for being a cooperative prisoner. Naw.
   Edward stepped out of the darkness like a blond ghost. He was dressed all in black except for his short hair and pale face. His black-gloved hands held a Beretta 9mm pointed very steadily at my chest.
   "New gun?" I asked.
   The ghost of a smile curled his lips. "Yes, like it?"
   "Beretta's a nice gun, but you know me."
   "A Browning fan," he said.
   I smiled at him. Just two ol' buddies talking shop.
   He pressed the gun barrel against my body while he took the Browning from me. "Lean and spread it."
   I leaned on the back of the couch while he patted me down. There was nothing to find, but Edward didn't know that. He was never careless. That was one of the reasons he was still alive. That, and the fact that he was very, very good.
   "You said you couldn't pick my lock," I said.
   "I brought better tools," he said.
   "So it's not burglarproof."
   "It would be to most people."
   "But not to you."
   He stared at me, his eyes as empty and dead as winter's sky. "I am not most people."
   I had to smile. "You can say that again."
   He frowned at me. "Give me the master's name, and we don't have to do this." The gun never wavered. My Browning stuck out of the front of his belt. I hoped he'd remembered the safety. Or maybe I didn't.
   I opened my mouth, closed it, and just looked at him. I couldn't give Jean-Claude over to Edward. I was the Executioner, but the vampires called Edward Death. He'd earned the name.
   "I thought you'd be following me tonight."
   "I went home after watching you raise the zombie. Guess I should have stayed around. Who bloodied your mouth?"
   "I'm not going to tell you a bloody thing. You know that."
   "Everyone breaks, Anita, everyone."
   "Even you?"
   That ghost of a smile was back again. "Even me."
   "Someone got the better of Death? Tell, tell."
   The smile widened. "Some other time."
   "Nice to know there'll be another time," I said.
   "I'm not here to kill you."
   "Just to frighten or torture me into revealing the master's name, right?"
   "Right," he said, voice soft and low.
   "I was hoping you'd say wrong."
   He almost shrugged. "Give me the Master of the City, Anita, and I'll go away."
   "You know I can't do that."
   "I know you have to, or it's going to be a very long night."
   "Then it's going to be a long night, because I'm not going to give you shit."
   "You won't be bullied," he said.
   "Nope."
   He shook his head. "Turn around, lean your waist up against the couch, and put your hands behind your back."
   "Why?"
   "Just do it."
   "So you can tie my hands?"
   "Do it, now."
   "I don't think so."
   The frown was back. "Do you want me to shoot you?"
   "No, but I'm not going to just stand here while you tie me up, either."
   "The tying up doesn't hurt."
   "It's what comes after that I'm worried about."
   "You knew what I'd do if you didn't help me."
   "Then do it," I said.
   "You're not cooperating."
   "So sorry."
   "Anita."
   "I just don't believe in helping people who are going to torture me. Though I don't see any bamboo slivers. How can you possibly torture someone without bamboo slivers?"
   "Stop it." He sounded angry.
   "Stop what?" I widened my eyes and tried to look innocent and harmless, me and Kermit the Frog.
   Edward laughed, a soft chuckle that rolled and expanded until he squatted on the floor, gun loose in his hands, staring up at me. His eyes were shiny.
   "How can I torture you when you keep making me laugh?"
   "You can't; that was the plan."
   He shook his head. "No, it wasn't. You were just being a smartass. You're always a smartass."
   "Nice of you to notice."
   He held up his hand. "No more, please."
   "I'll make you laugh until you beg for mercy."
   "Just tell me the damn name. Please, Anita. Help me." The laughter drained from his eyes like the sun slipping out of the sky. I watched the humor, the humanity, slip away, until his eyes were as cold and empty as a doll's. "Don't make me hurt you," he said.
   I think I was Edward's only friend, but that wouldn't stop him from hurting me. Edward had one rule: do whatever it takes to get the job done. If I forced him to torture me, he would, but he didn't want to.
   "Now that you've asked nicely, try the first question again," I said.
   His eyes narrowed, then he said, "Who hit you in the mouth?"
   "A master vampire," I said softly.
   "Tell me what happened." It was too much like an order for my taste, but he did have both the guns.
   I told him everything that had happened. All about Alejandro. Alejandro who felt so old inside my head, it made my bones ache. I added one tiny lie, lost in all that truth. I told him Alejandro was Master of the City. One of my better ideas, heh?
   "You really don't know where his daytime resting place is, do you?"
   I shook my head. "I'd give it to you if I had it."
   "Why this change of heart?"
   "He tried to kill me tonight. All bets are off."
   "I don't believe that."
   It was too good a lie to waste, so I tried salvaging it. "He's also gone rogue. It's him and his flunkies that have been killing innocent citizens.''
   Edward smirked at the innocent, but he let it go. "An altruistic motive, that I believe. If you weren't such a damn bleeding heart, you'd be dangerous."
   "I kill my share, Edward."
   His empty, blue eyes stared at me; then he nodded, slowly. "True."
   He handed me back my gun, butt first. A tight, clenched ball in my stomach unrolled. I could breathe deep, long sighs of relief.
   "If I find out where this Alejandro stays, you want in on it?"
   I thought about that for a minute. Did I want to go after five rogue vampires, two of them over five hundred years old? I did not. Did I want to send even Edward after them alone? No, I did not. Which meant . . .
   "Yeah, I want a piece of them."
   Edward smiled, broad and shining. "I love my work."
   I smiled back. "Me, too."
   
   

27
   Jean-Claude lay in the middle of a white canopied bed. His skin was only slightly less white than the sheets. He was dressed in a nightshirt. Lace fell down the low collar, forming a lace window around his chest. Lace flowed from the sleeves, nearly hiding his hands. It should have looked feminine, but Jean-Claude made it utterly masculine. How could any man wear a white lace gown and not look silly? Of course, he wasn't a man. That must be it. His black hair curled in the lace collar. Touchable. I shook my head. Not even in my dreams. I was dressed in something long and silky. It was a shade of blue almost as dark as his eyes. My arms looked very white against it. Jean-Claude got to his knees and reached his hand out to me. An invitation.
   I shook my head.
   "It is only a dream, ma petite. Will you not come to me even here?"
   "It's never just a dream with you. It always means more."
   His hand fell to the sheets, fingertips caressing the cloth.
   "What are you trying to do to me, Jean-Claude?"
   He looked very steadily at me. "Seduce you, of course."
   Of course. Silly me.
   The phone beside the bed rang. It was one of those white princess phones with lots of gold on it. There hadn't been a telephone a second before. It rang again, and the dream fell to shreds. I came awake grabbing for the phone.
   "Hello."
   "Hey, did I wake you?" Irving Griswold asked.
   I blinked at the phone. "Yeah, what time is it?"
   "It's ten o'clock. I know better than to call early."
   "What do you want, Irving?"
   "Grouchy."
   "I got in late. Can we skip the sarcasm?"
   "I, your true-blue reporter friend, will forgive you that grumpy hello, if you answer a few questions."
   "Questions?" I sat up, hugging the phone to me. "What are you talking about?"
   "Is it true that Humans First saved you last night, as they're claiming?"
   "Claiming? Can you talk in complete sentences, Irving?"
   "The morning news had Jeremy Ruebens on it. Channel five. He claimed that he and Humans First saved your life last night. Saved you from the Master Vampire of the City."
   "Oh, he did not."
   "May I quote you?"
   I thought about that for a minute. "No."
   "I need a quote for the paper. I'm trying to give a chance for a rebuttal."
   "A rebuttal?"
   "Hey, I was an English major."
   "That explains so much."
   "Can you give me your side of the story, or not?"
   I thought about that for a minute. Irving was a friend and a good reporter. If Ruebens was already on the morning news with the story, I needed to get my side out. "Can you give me fifteen minutes to make coffee and get dressed?"
   "For an exclusive, you bet."
   "Talk to you then." I hung up and went straight for the coffeemaker. I was wearing jogging socks, jeans, and the oversized t-shirt I'd slept in when Irving called back. I had a steaming cup of coffee on the bedside table beside the phone. Cinnamon hazelnut coffee from V. J.'s Tea and Spice Shop over on Olive. Mornings didn't get much better than this.
   "Okay, spill it," he said.
   "Gee, Irving, no foreplay?"
   "Get to it, Blake, I've got a deadline."
   I told him everything. I had to admit that Humans First had saved my cookies. Darn. "I can't confirm that the vampire they ran off was the Master of the City."
   "Hey, I know Jean-Claude is the master. I interviewed him, remember?"
   "I remember."
   "I know this Indian guy was not Jean-Claude."
   "But Humans First doesn't know that."
   "A double exclusive, wowee."
   "No, don't say that Alejandro isn't the master."
   "Why not?"
   "I'd clear it with Jean-Claude first, if I were you."
   He cleared his throat. "Yeah, not a bad idea." He sounded nervous.
   "Is Jean-Claude giving you trouble?"
   "No, why do you ask?"
   "For a reporter you lie badly."
   "Jean-Claude and I got business just between us. It doesn't concern The Executioner."
   "Fine; just watch your back, okay?"
   "I'm flattered that you're worried about me, Anita, but trust me, I can handle it."
   I didn't argue with that. I must have been in a good mood. "Anything you say, Irving."
   He let it go, so I did, too. No one could handle Jean-Claude, but it wasn't my business. Irving had been the one hot for the interview. So there were strings attached; not a big surprise, and not my business. Really.
   "This'll be on the front page of the morning paper. I'll check with Jean-Claude about whether to mention this new vamp isn't the master."
   "I'd really appreciate it if you could hold off on that."
   "Why?" He sounded suspicious.
   "Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea for Humans First to believe Alejandro is the master."
   "Why?"
   "So they don't kill Jean-Claude," I said.
   "Oh," he said.
   "Yeah," I said.
   "I'll bear that in mind," he said.
   "You do that."
   "Gotta go; deadline calls."
   "Okay, Irving, talk to you later."
   "Bye, Anita, thanks." He hung up.
   I sipped the still-steaming coffee, slowly. The first cup of the day should never be rushed. If I could get Humans First to believe the same lie Edward bought, then no one would be hunting Jean-Claude. They'd be hunting Alejandro. The master that was slaughtering humans. Put the police on the case, and we had the rogue vamps outnumbered. Yeah, I liked it.
   The trick was, would everyone buy it? Never know until you try.
   
   

28
   I had finished a pot of coffee and managed to get dressed when the phone rang again. One of those mornings.
   "Yeah," I said.
   "Ms. Blake?" the voice sounded very uncertain.
   "Speaking."
   "This is Karl Inger."
   "Sorry if I sounded abrupt. What's up, Mr. Inger?"
   "You said you'd speak to me again if we had a better plan. I have a better plan," he said.
   "For killing the Master of the City?" I made it a question.
   "Yes."
   I took a deep breath and let it out slow, away from the phone. Didn't want him to think I was heavy breathing at him. "Mr. Inger . . ."
   "Please, hear me out. We saved your life last night. That must be worth something."
   He had me there. "What's your plan, Mr. Inger?"
   "I'd rather tell you in person."
   "I'm not going to my office for some hours yet."
   "Could I come to your home?"
   "No." It was automatic.
   "You don't bring business home?"
   "Not when I can help it," I said.
   "Suspicious of you."
   "Always," I said.
   "Can we meet somewhere else? There's someone I want you to meet."
   "Who, and why?"
   "The name won't mean anything to you."
   "Try me."
   "Mr. Oliver."
   "First name?"
   "I don't know it."
   "Okay, then why should I meet him?"
   "He has a good plan for killing the Master of the City."
   "What?"
   "No, I think it will be better if Mr. Oliver explains it in person. He's much more persuasive than I am."
   "You're doing okay," I said.
   "Then you'll meet me?"
   "Sure, why not?"
   "That's wonderful. Do you know where Arnold is?"
   "Yes."
   "There's a pay fishing lake just outside of Arnold on Tesson Ferry Road. Do you know it?"
   I had an impression that I had driven by it on the way to two murders. All roads led to Arnold. "I can find it."
   "How soon can you meet me there?" he asked.
   "An hour."
   "Great; I'll be waiting."
   "Is this Mr. Oliver going to be at the lake?"
   "No, I'll drive you from there."
   "Why all the secrecy?"
   "Not secrecy," he said, his voice dropped, embarrassed. "I'm just not very good at giving directions. It'll be easier if I just take you."
   "I can follow you in my car."
   "Why, Ms. Blake, I don't think you entirely trust me."
   "I don't entirely trust anybody, Mr. Inger, nothing personal."
   "Not even people who save your life?"
   "Not even."
   He let that drop, probably for the best, and said, "I'll meet you at the lake in an hour."
   "Sure."
   "Thank you for coming, Ms. Blake."
   "I owe you. You've made sure I'm aware of that."
   "You sound defensive, Ms. Blake. I did not mean to offend you."
   I sighed. "I'm not offended, Mr. Inger. I just don't like owing people."
   "Visiting Mr. Oliver today will clear the slate between us. I promise that."
   "I'll hold you to that, Inger."
   "I'll meet you in an hour," he said.
   "I'll be there," I said. We hung up. "Damn." I'd forgotten I hadn't gotten to eat yet today. If I'd remembered, I'd have said two hours. Now I'd have to literally grab something on the way. I hated eating in the car. But, heh, what's a little mess between friends? Or even between people who've saved your life? Why did it bother me so much that I owed Inger?
   Because he was a right-wing fruitcake. A zealot. I didn't like doing business with zealots. And I certainly didn't like owing my life to one.
   Ah, well; I'd meet him, then we'd be square. He had said so. Why didn't I believe it?
   
   

29
   Chip-Away Lake was about half an acre of man-made water and thin, raised man-made bank. There was a little shed that sold bait and food. It was surrounded by a flat gravel parking lot. A late-model car sat near the road with a sign that read, "For Sale." A pay fishing lake and a used car lot combined; how clever.
   An expanse of grass spread out to the right of the parking lot. A small, ramshackle shed and what looked like the remains of some large industrial barbecue. A fringe of woods edged the grass, rising higher into a wooded hill. The Meramec River edged the left side of the lake. It seemed funny to have free-flowing water so close to the man-made lake.
   There were only three cars in the parking lot this cool autumn afternoon. Beside a shiny burgundy Chrysler Le Baron stood Inger. A handful of fishermen had bundled up and put poles in the water. Fishing must be good to get people out in the cold.
   I parked beside Inger's car. He strode towards me smiling, hand out like a real estate salesman who was happy I'd come to see the property. Whatever he was selling, I didn't want. I was almost sure of that.
   "Ms. Blake, so glad you came." He clasped my hand with both of his, hearty, good-natured, insincere.
   "What do you want, Mr. Inger?"
   His smile faded around the edges. "I don't know what you mean, Ms. Blake."
   "Yes, you do."
   "No, I really don't."
   I stared into his puzzled face. Maybe I spent too much time with slimeballs. After a while you forget that not everyone in the world is a slimeball. It just saves so much time to assume the worst.
   "I'm sorry, Mr. Inger. I . . . I've been spending too much time looking for criminals. It makes you cynical."
   He still looked puzzled.
   "Never mind, Mr. Inger; just take me to see this Oliver."
   "Mr. Oliver," he said.
   "Sure."
   "Shall we take my car?" He motioned towards his car.
   "I'll follow you in mine."
   "You don't trust me." He looked hurt. I guess most people aren't used to being suspected of wrongdoing before they've done anything wrong. The law says innocent until proven guilty, but the truth is, if you see enough pain and death, it's guilty until proven innocent.
   "All right, you drive."
   He looked very pleased. Heartwarming.
   Besides I was carrying two knives, three crosses, and a gun. Innocent or guilty, I was prepared. I didn't expect to need the weaponry with Mr. Oliver, but later, I might need it later. It was time to go armed to the teeth, ready for bear, or dragon, or vampire.
   
   

30
   Inger drove down Old Highway 21 to East Rock Creek. Rock Creek was a narrow, winding road barely wide enough for two cars to pass. Inger drove slow enough for the curves, but fast enough so you didn't get bored.
   There were farmhouses that had stood for years and new houses in subdivisions where the earth was raw and red as a wound. Inger turned into one of those new subdivisions. It was full of large, expensive-looking houses, very modern. Thin, spindly trees were tied to stakes along the gravel road.
   The pitiful trees trembled in the autumn wind, a few surprised leaves still clinging to the spider-thin limbs. This area had been a forest before they bulldozed it. Why do developers destroy all the mature trees, then plant new trees that won't look good for decades?
   We pulled up in front of a fake log cabin that was bigger than any real cabin had ever been. Too much glass, the yard naked dirt the color of rust. The white gravel that made up the driveway had to have been brought in from miles away. All the native gravel was as red as the dirt.
   Inger started to go around the car, to open my door I think. I opened my own door. Inger seemed a little lost, but he'd get over it. I'd never seen the sense in perfectly healthy people not opening their own doors. Especially car doors where the man had to walk all the way around the car, and the woman just waited like a . . . a lump.
   Inger led the way up the porch steps. It was a nice porch, wide enough to sit on come summer evenings. Right now it was all bare wood and a huge picture window with closed drapes in a barn-red design with wagon wheels drawn all over it. Very rustic.
   He knocked on the carved wooden door. A pane of leaded glass decorated the center of the door, high up and sparkling, more for decoration than for seeing through. He didn't wait for the door to be opened, but used a key and walked in. He didn't seem to expect an answer, so why knock?
   The house was in a thick twilight of really nice drapes, all closed against the syrup-heavy sunlight. The polished wood floors were utterly bare. The mantel of the heavy fireplace was naked, the fireplace cold. The place smelled new and unused, like new toys on Christmas. Inger never hesitated. I followed his broad back into the wooden hallway. He didn't look behind to see if I was keeping up. Apparently when I'd decided not to let him open my door for me, he seemed to have decided that no further courtesy was necessary.
   Fine with me.
   There were doors at widely spaced intervals along the hallway. Inger knocked at the third door on the left. A voice said, "Enter."
   Inger opened the door and went inside. He held the door for me, standing very straight by the door. It wasn't courtesy. He stood like a soldier at attention. Who was in the room to make Inger toe the line? One way to find out.
   I went into the room.
   There was a bank of windows to the north with heavy drapes pulled across them. A thin line of sunlight cut across the room, bisecting a large, clean desk. A man sat in a large chair behind the desk.
   He was a small man, almost a midget or a dwarf. I wanted to say dwarf, but he didn't have the jaw or the shortened arms. He looked well formed under his tailored suit. He had almost no chin and a sloping forehead, which drew attention to the wide nose and the prominent eyebrow ridge. There was something familiar about his face, as if I'd seen it somewhere else before. Yet I knew I'd never met a person who looked just like him. It was a very singular face.
   I was staring at him. I was embarrassed and didn't like it. I met his eyes; they were perfectly brown and smiling. His dark hair was cut one hair at a time, expensive and blow-dried. He sat in his chair behind the clean polished desk and smiled at me.
   "Mr. Oliver, this is Anita Blake," Inger said, still standing stiffly by the door.
   He got out of his chair and came around the desk to offer me his small well-formed hand. He was four feet tall, not an inch more. His handshake was firm and much stronger than he looked. A brief squeeze, and I could feel the strength in his small frame. He didn't look musclebound, but that easy strength was there, in his face, hand, stance.
   He was small, but he didn't think it was a defect. I liked that. I felt the same way.
   He gave a close-lipped smile and sat back down in his big chair. Inger brought a chair from the corner and put it facing the desk. I took the chair. Inger remained standing by the now-closed door. He was definitely at attention. He respected the man in the chair. I was willing to like him. That was a first for me. I'm more likely to instantly mistrust than like someone.
   I realized that I was smiling. I felt warm and comfortable facing him, like he was a favorite and trusted uncle. I frowned at him; what the hell was happening to me?
   "What's going on?" I said.
   He smiled, his eyes sparkling warmly at me. "Whatever do you mean, Ms. Blake?"
   His voice was soft, low, rich, like cream in coffee. You could almost taste it. A comforting warmth to your ears. I only knew one other voice that could do similar things.
   I stared at the thin band of sunlight only inches from Oliver's arm. It was broad daylight. He couldn't be. Could he?
   I stared at his very alive face. There was no trace of that otherness that vampires gave off. And yet, his voice, this warm cosy feeling, none of it was natural. I'd never liked and trusted anyone instantly. I wasn't about to start now.
   "You're good," I said. "Very good."
   "Whatever do you mean, Ms. Blake?" You could have cuddled into the warm fuzziness of his voice like a favorite blanket.
   "Stop it."
   He looked quizzically at me, as if confused. The act was perfect, and I realized why; it wasn't an act. I'd been around ancient vampires, but never one that had been able to pass for human, not like this. You could have taken him anywhere and no one would have known. Well, almost no one.
   "Believe me, Ms. Blake, I'm not trying to do anything."
   I swallowed hard. Was that true? Was he so damn powerful that the mind tricks and the voice were automatic? No; if Jean-Claude could control it, this thing could, too.
   "Cut the mind tricks, and curb the voice, okay? If you want to talk business, talk, but cut the games."
   His smile widened, still not enough to show fangs. After a few hundred years, you must get really good at smiling like that.
   He laughed then; it was wonderful, like warm water falling from a great height. You could have jumped into it and bathed, and felt good.
   "Stop it, stop it!"
   Fangs flashed as he finished chuckling at me. "It isn't the vampire marks that allowed you to see through my, as you call them, games. It is natural talent, isn't it?"
   I nodded. "Most animators have it."
   "But not to the degree you do, Ms. Blake. You have power, too. It crawls along my skin. You are a necromancer."
   I started to deny it, but stopped. Lying to something like this was useless. He was older than anything I'd ever dreamed of, older than any nightmare I'd ever had. But he didn't make my bones ache; he felt good, better than Jean-Claude, better than anything.
   "I could be a necromancer. I choose not to be."
   "No, Ms. Blake, the dead respond to you, all the dead. Even I feel the pull."
   "You mean I have a sort of power over vampires, too?"
   "If you could learn to harness your talents, Ms. Blake, yes, you have a certain power over all the dead, in their many guises."
   I wanted to ask how to do that, but stopped myself. A master vampire wasn't likely to help me gain power over his followers. "You're taunting me."
   "I assure you, Ms. Blake, that I am very serious. It is your potential power that has drawn the Master of the City to you. He wants to control that emerging power, for fear it will be turned against him."
   "How do you know that?"
   "I can taste him through the marks he has laid upon you."
   I just stared at him. He could taste Jean-Claude. Shit.
   "What do you want from me?"
   "Very direct; I like that. Human lives are too short to waste in trivialities."
   Was that a threat? Staring into his smiling face, I couldn't tell. His eyes were still sparkling, and I was still feeling very warm and fuzzy towards him. Eye contact. I knew better than that. I stared at the top of his desk and felt better, or worse. I could be scared now.
   "Inger said you had a plan for taking out the Master of the City. What is it?" I spoke staring at his desk. My skin crawled with the desire to look up. To meet his eyes, to let the warmth and comfort wash over me. Make all the decisions easy.
   I shook my head. "Stay out of my mind or this interview is over."
   He laughed again, warm and real. It raised goose bumps on my arms. "You really are good. I haven't met a human in centuries that rivaled you. A necromancer; do you realize how rare that talent is?"
   Really I didn't, but I said, "Yes."
   "Lies, Ms. Blake, to me, please don't bother."
   "We're not here to talk about me. Either state your plan or I'm leaving."
   "I am the plan, Ms. Blake. You can feel my powers, the ebb and flow of more centuries than your little master has ever dreamed of. I am older than time itself."
   That I didn't believe, but I let it go. He was old enough; I wasn't going to argue with him, not if I could help it.
   "Give me your master and I will free you of his marks."
   I glanced up, then quickly down. He was still smiling at me, but the smile didn't look real anymore. It was an act like everything else. It was just a very good act.
   "If you can taste my master in the marks, can't you just find him yourself?"
   "I can taste his power, judge how worthy a foe he would be, but not his name and not where he lies; that is hidden." His voice was very serious now, not trying to trick me. Or at least I didn't think it was; maybe that was a trick, too.
   "What do you want from me?"
   "His name and his daytime resting place."
   "I don't know the daytime resting place." I was glad it was the truth, because he would smell a lie.
   "Then his name, give me his name."
   "Why should I?"
   "Because I wish to be Master of the City, Ms. Blake."
   "Why?"
   "So many questions. Is it not enough that I would free you from his power?"
   I shook my head. "No."
   "Why should you care about what happens to the other vampires?"
   "I don't, but before I hand you the power to control every vampire in the immediate area, I'd like to know what you intend to do with all that power."
   He laughed again. This time it was just a laugh. He was trying.
   "You are the most stubborn human I have met in a very long time. I like stubborn people; they get things done."
   "Answer my question."
   "I think it is wrong to have vampires as legal citizens. I wish to put things back as they were."
   "Why should you want vampires to be hunted again?"
   "They are too powerful to be allowed to spread unchecked. They will take over the human race much quicker through legislation and voting rights than they ever could through violence."
   I remembered the Church of Eternal Life, the fastest-growing denomination in the country. "Say you're right; how would you stop it?"
   "By forbidding the vampires to vote, or take part in any legislation."
   "There are other master vampires in town."
   "You mean Malcolm, the head of the Church of Eternal Life."
   "Yes."
   "I have observed him. He will not be able to continue his one-man crusade to make vampires legitimate. I shall forbid it and dismantle his church. Surely you see the church as the larger danger, as I do."
   I did, but I hated agreeing with an ancient master vampire. It seemed wrong somehow.
   "St. Louis is a hotbed of political activity and entrepreneurial vampires. They must be stopped. We are predators, Ms. Blake; nothing we do can change that. We must go back to being hunted or the human race is doomed. Surely you see that."
   I did see that. I believed that. "Why would you care if the human race is doomed? You're not part of it anymore."
   "As the oldest living vampire, it is my duty to keep us in check, Ms. Blake. These new rights are getting out of hand and must be stopped. We are too powerful to be allowed such freedom. Humans have their right to be human. In the olden days only the strongest, smartest, or luckiest vampires survived. The human vampire hunters weeded out the stupid, the careless, the violent. Without that check-and-balance system, I fear what will happen in a few decades."
   I agreed, wholeheartedly; it was sorta scary. I agreed with the oldest living thing I'd ever met. He was right. Could I give him Jean-Claude? Should I give him Jean-Claude?
   "I agree with you, Mr. Oliver, but I can't just give him up, just like that. I don't know why really, but I can't."
   "Loyalty; I admire that. Think upon it, Ms. Blake, but do not take too long. I need to put my plan into action as soon as possible."
   I nodded. "I understand. I . . . I'll give you an answer within a couple of days. How do I reach you?"
   "Inger will give you a card with a number on it. You may safely speak to him as to me."
   I turned and looked at Inger, still standing at attention beside the door. "You're his human servant, aren't you?"
   "I have that honor."
   I shook my head. "I need to leave now."
   "Do not feel badly that you could not recognize Inger as my human servant. It is not a mark which shows; otherwise how could they be our human ears and eyes and hands, if everyone knew they were ours?"
   He had a point. He had a lot of points. I stood up. He stood up, too. He offered me his hand.
   "I'm sorry, but I know that touching makes the mind games easier."
   The hand dropped back to his side. "I do not need to touch you to play mind games, Ms. Blake." The voice was wonderful, shining and bright as Christmas morning. My throat was tight, and the warmth of tears filled my eyes. Shit, shit, shit, shit.
   I backed for the door, and Inger opened it for me. They were just going to let me leave. He wasn't going to mind-rape me and get the name. He was really going to let me walk away. That did more to prove him a good guy than anything else. Because he could have squeezed my mind dry. But he let me go.
   Inger closed the door behind us, slowly, reverently.
   "How old is he?" I asked.
   "You couldn't tell?"
   I shook my head. "How old?"
   Inger smiled. "I am over seven hundred years old. Mr. Oliver was ancient when I met him."
   "He's older than a thousand years."
   "Why do you say that?"
   "I've met a vampire that was a little over a thousand. She was scary, but she didn't have that kind of power."
   He smiled. "If you wish to know his true age, then you must ask him yourself."
   I stared up at Inger's smiling face for a minute. I remembered where I'd seen a face like Oliver's. I'd had one anthropology class in college. There'd been a drawing that looked just like Oliver. It had been a reconstruction of a Homo erectusskull. Which made Oliver about a million years old.
   "My God," I said.
   "What's wrong, Ms. Blake?"
   I shook my head. "He can't be that old."
   "How old is that?"
   I didn't want to say it out loud, as if that would make it real. A million years. How powerful would a vampire grow in a million years?
   A woman walked up the hallway towards us, coming from deeper in the house. She swayed on bare feet, toenails painted a bright scarlet that matched her fingernails. The belted dress she wore matched the nail polish. Her legs were long and pale, but it was that kind of paleness that promised to tan if it ever got enough sunlight. Her hair fell past her waist, thick and absolute black. Her makeup was perfect, her lips scarlet. She smiled at me; fangs showed below her lips.
   But she wasn't a vampire. I didn't know what the hell she was, but I knew what she wasn't. I glanced at Inger. He didn't look happy.
   "Shouldn't we be going?" I said.
   "Yes," he said. He backed towards the front door and I backed behind him. Neither of us took our eyes off the fanged beauty slinking down the hall towards us.
   She moved in a liquid run that was almost too fast to follow. Lycanthropes could move like that, but that wasn't what she was, either.
   She was around Inger and coming for me. I gave up being cool and sort of ran backwards towards the front door. But she was too fast for me, too fast for any human.
   She grabbed my right forearm. She looked puzzled. She could feel the knife sheath on my arm. She didn't seem to know what it was. Bully for me.
   "What are you?" My voice was steady. Not afraid. Heap big vampire slayer. Yeah, right.
   She opened her mouth wider, tongue caressing the fangs. The fangs were longer than a vampire's; she'd never be able to close her mouth around them.
   "Where do the fangs go when you close your mouth?" I said.
   She blinked at me, the smile slipping away from her face. She ran her tongue over them, then they folded back into the roof of her mouth.
   "Retractable fangs. Cool," I said.
   Her face was very solemn. "I'm glad you enjoyed the show, but there's so much more to see." The fangs unfolded again. She widened her jaws, almost a yawn, flashing the fangs nicely in the dim beams of sunlight that got around the drapes.
   "Mr. Oliver will not like you threatening her," Inger said.
   "He grows weak, sentimental." Her fingers dug into my arm stronger than she should have been.
   She was holding my right arm, so I couldn't go for the gun. The knives were out for similar reasons. Maybe I should wear more guns.
   She hissed at me, a violent explosion of air that no human throat ever made. The tongue that flicked out was forked.
   "Sweet Jesus, what are you?"
   She laughed, but it didn't sound right now; maybe the split tongue. Her pupils had narrowed to slits, her irises turned a golden yellow while I watched.
   I tugged on my arm but her fingers were like steel. I dropped to the floor. She lowered my arm but didn't let go.
   I leaned back on my left side, drew my legs up under me, and kicked her right kneecap with everything I had. The leg crumpled. She screamed and fell to the floor, but she let my arm go.
   Something was happening to her legs. They seemed to be growing together, the skin spreading. I'd never seen anything like it, and I didn't want to now.
   "Melanie, what are you doing?" The voice was behind us. Oliver stood in the hallway just short of the brighter light of the living room. His voice was the sound of rocks falling, trees breaking. A storm that was just words but seemed to cut and slash.
   The thing on the floor cringed from the voice. Her lower body was becoming serpentine. A snake of some kind. Jesus.
   "She's a lamia," I said softly. I backed away, putting the outside door to my back, hand on the door knob. "I thought they were extinct."
   "She is the last one," Oliver said. "I keep her with me because I fear what she would do if left to her own desires."
   "Your creature that you can call, what is it?" I asked.
   He sighed, and I felt the years of sadness in that one sound. A regret too deep for words. "Snakes, I can call snakes."
   I nodded my head. "Sure." I opened the door and backed out onto the sunny porch. No one tried to stop me.
   The door shut behind me and after a few minutes Inger came out. He was stiff with anger. "We most humbly apologize for her. She is an animal."
   "Oliver needs to keep her on a tighter leash."
   "He tries."
   I nodded. I knew about trying. Doing your best, but anything that could control a lamia could play mind games with me all day, and I might never know it. How much of my trust and good wishes was real and how much of it was manufactured by Oliver?
   "I'll drive you back."
   "Please."
   And away we went. I'd met my first lamia and perhaps the oldest living creature in the world. A red-fucking-letter day.
   
   

31
   The phone was ringing as I unlocked the apartment door. I shoved the door open with my shoulder and ran for the phone. I got it on the fifth ring and nearly yelled, "Hello."
   "Anita?" Ronnie made it a question.
   "Yeah, it's me."
   "You sound out of breath."
   "I had to run for the phone. What's up?"
   "I remembered where I knew Cal Rupert from."
   It took me a minute to remember who she was talking about. The first vampire victim. I'd forgotten, just for a moment, that there was a murder investigation going on. I was a little ashamed of that. "Talk to me, Ronnie."
   "I was doing some work for a local law firm last year. One of the lawyers specialized in drawing up dying wills."
   "I know that Rupert had a dying will. That's how I could stake him without waiting for an order of execution."
   "But did you also know that Reba Baker had a dying will with the same lawyer?"
   "Who's Reba Baker?"
   "It may be the female victim."
   My stomach tightened. A clue, a real live clue. "What makes you think so?"
   "Reba Baker was young, blond, and missed an appointment. She doesn't answer her phone. They called her at work, and she hasn't been in for two days."
   "The length of time she'd have been dead," I said.
   "Exactly."
   "Call Sergeant Rudolf Storr. Tell him what you just told me. Use my name to get to him."
   "You don't want to check it out ourselves?"
   "Not on your life. This is police business. They're good at it. Let 'em earn their paychecks."
   "Shucks, you're no fun."
   "Ronnie, call Dolph. Give it to the police. I've met the vampires that are killing these people. We don't want to make ourselves targets."
   "You what!"
   I sighed. I'd forgotten that Ronnie didn't know. I told her the shortest version that would make any sense. "I'll fill you in on everything Saturday morning when we work out."
   "You going to be all right?"
   "So far, so good."
   "Watch your back, okay?"
   "Always; you too."
   "I never seem to have as many people after my back as you do."
   "Be thankful," I said.
   "I am." She hung up.
   We had a clue. Maybe a pattern, except for the attack on me. I didn't fit any pattern. They'd come after me to get Jean-Claude. Everybody wanted Jean-Claude's job. The trouble was, you couldn't abdicate; you could only die. I liked what Oliver had had to say. I agreed with him, but could I sacrifice Jean-Claude on the altar of good sense? Dammit.
   I just didn't know.
   

32
   Bert's office was small and painted pale blue. He thought it was soothing to the clients. I thought it was cold, but that fit Bert, too. He was six feet tall with the broad shoulders and build of an ex-college football player. His stomach was moving a little south with too much food and not enough exercise, but he carried it well in his seven-hundred-dollar suits. For that kind of money, the suits should have carried the Taj Mahal.
   He was tanned, grey-eyed, with a buzz haircut that was nearly white. Not age, his natural hair color.
   I was sitting across from his desk in work clothes. A red skirt, matching jacket, and a blouse that was so close to scarlet I'd had to put on a little makeup so that my face didn't seem ghostly. The jacket was tailored so that my shoulder holster didn't show.
   Larry sat in the chair beside me in a blue suit, white shirt, and blue-on-blue tie. The skin around his stitches had blossomed into a multicolored bruise across his forehead. His short red hair couldn't hide it. It looked like someone had hit him in the head with a baseball bat.
   "You could have gotten him killed, Bert," I said.
   "He wasn't in any danger until you showed up. The vampires wanted you, not him."
   He was right, and I didn't like it. "He tried to raise a third zombie."
   Bert's cold little eyes lit up. "You can do three in a night?"
   Larry had the grace to look embarrassed. "Almost."
   Bert frowned. "What's 'almost' mean?"
   "It means he raised it, but lost control of it. If I hadn't been there to fix things, we'd have had a rampaging zombie on our hands."
   He leaned forward, hands folded on his desk, small eyes very serious. "Is this true, Larry?"
   "I'm afraid so, Mr. Vaughn."
   "That could have been very serious, Larry. You understand that?"
   "Serious?" I said. "It would have been a bloody disaster. The zombie could have eaten one of our clients!"
   "Now, Anita, no reason to frighten the boy."
   I stood up. "Yes, there is."
   Bert frowned at me. "If you hadn't been late, he wouldn't have tried to raise the last zombie."
   "No, Bert. You are not making this all my fault. You sent him out on his first night alone. Alone, Bert."
   "And he handled himself well," Bert said.
   I fought the urge to scream, because it wouldn't help. "Bert, he's a twenty-year-old college student. This is a freaking seminar for him. If you get him killed, it's gonna look sorta bad."
   "May I say something?" Larry asked.
   I said, "No."
   Bert said, "Certainly."
   "I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."
   I wanted to argue that, but looking into his true-blue eyes I couldn't say it. He was twenty. I remembered twenty. I'd known everything at twenty. It took me another year to realize I knew nothing. I was still hoping to learn something before I hit thirty, but I wasn't holding my breath.
   "How old were you when you started working for me?" Bert said.
   "What?"
   "How old were you?"
   "Twenty-one; I'd just graduated college."
   "When will you turn twenty-one, Larry?" Bert asked.
   "March."
   "See, Anita, he's just a few months younger. He's the same age you were."
   "That was different."
   "Why?" Bert said.
   I couldn't put it into words. Larry still had all his grandparents. He'd never seen death and violence up close and personal. I had. He was an innocent, and I hadn't been innocent for years. But how to explain that to Bert without hurting Larry's feelings? No twenty-year-old man likes to hear that a woman knows more about the world than he does. Some cultural fables die hard.
   "You sent me out with Manny, not alone."
   "He was supposed to go out with you, but you had police business to handle."
   "That's not fair, Bert, and you know it."
   He shrugged. "If you'd been doing your job, he wouldn't have been alone."
   "There've been two murders. What am I supposed to do? Say sorry, folks, I've got to babysit a new animator. Sorry about the murders."
   "Nobody has to babysit me," Larry said.
   We both ignored him.
   "You have a full time job here with Animators, Inc."
   "We've had this argument before, Bert."
   "Too many times," he said.
   "You're my boss, Bert. Do what you think best."
   "Don't tempt me."
   "Hey, guys," Larry said, "I'm getting the feeling that you're using me for an excuse to fight. Don't get carried away, okay?"
   We both glared at him. He didn't back down, just stared at us. Point for him.
   "If you don't like the way I do my job, Bert, fire me, but stop yanking my chain."
   Bert stood up, slowly, like a leviathan rising from the waves. "Anita . . ."
   The phone rang. We all stared at it for a minute. Bert finally picked it up and growled, "Yeah, what is it?"
   He listened for a minute, then glared at me. "It's for you." His voice was incredibly mild as he said it. "Detective Sergeant Storr, police business."
   Bert's face was smiling, butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth.
   I held out my hand for the phone without another word. He handed me the receiver. He was still smiling, his tiny grey eyes warm and sparkling. It was a bad sign.
   "Hi, Dolph, what's up?"
   "We're at the lawyer's office that your friend Veronica Sims gave us. Nice that she called you first and not us."
   "She called you second, didn't she?"
   "Yeah."
   "What have you found out?" I didn't bother to keep my voice down. If you're careful, one side of a conversation isn't very enlightening.
   "Reba Baker is the dead woman. They identified her from morgue photos."
   "Pleasant way to end the work week," I said.
   Dolph ignored that. "Both victims were clients with dying wills. If they died by vampire bite, they wanted to be staked, then cremated."
   "Sounds like a pattern to me," I said.
   "But how did the vampires find out that they had dying wills?"
   "Is this a trick question, Dolph? Someone told them."
   "I know that," he said. He sounded disgusted.
   I was missing something. "What do you want from me, Dolph?"
   "I've questioned everyone, and I'd swear they were all telling the truth. Could someone have been giving the information and not remember?"
   "You mean could the vampire have played mind games, so that the traitor wouldn't know afterwards?"
   "Yeah," he said.
   "Sure," I said.
   "Could you tell which one the vampire got to if you were here?"
   I glanced at my boss's face. If I missed another night during our busiest season, he might fire me. There were days when I didn't think I'd care. This wasn't one of them. "Look for memory losses; hours, or even entire nights."
   "Anything else?"
   "If someone has been feeding info to the vampires, they may not remember it, but a good hypnotist will be able to raise the memory."
   "The lawyer is screaming about rights and warrants. We've only got a warrant for the files, not for their minds."
   "Ask him if he wants to be responsible for tonight's murder victim, one of his own clients?"
   "She; the lawyer's a woman," he said.
   How embarrassing and how sexist of me. "Ask her if she's willing to explain to her client's family why she obstructed your investigation."
   "The clients won't know unless we let it out," he said.
   "That's true," I said.
   "Why, that would be blackmail, Ms. Blake."
   "Isn't it, though?" I said.
   "You had to be a cop in a past life," he said. "You're too devious not to be."
   "Thanks for the compliment."
   "Any hypnotists you'd recommend?"
   "Alvin Thormund. Wait a sec and I'll get his number for you." I got out my thin business card holder. I tried to only keep cards I wanted to refer to from time to time. We'd used Alvin for several cases of vampire victims with amnesia. I gave Dolph the number.
   "Thanks, Anita."
   "Let me know what you find out. I might be able to identify the vampire involved."
   "You want to be there when we put them under?"
   I glanced at Bert. His face was still relaxed, pleasant. Bert at his most dangerous.
   "I don't think so. Just make a recording of the session. If I need to, I'll listen to it later."
   "Later may mean another body," he said. "Your boss giving you trouble again?"
   "Yeah," I said.
   "You want me to talk to him?" Dolph asked.
   "I don't think so."
   "He being a real bastard about it?"
   "The usual."
   "Okay, I'll call this Thormund and record the sessions. I'll let you know if we find out anything."
   "Beep me."
   "You got it." He hung up. I didn't bother to say good-bye. Dolph never did.
   I handed the phone back to Bert. He hung it up still staring at me with his pleasant, threatening eyes. "You have to go out for the police tonight?"
   "No."
   "How did we merit this honor?"
   "Cut the sarcasm, Bert." I turned to Larry. "You ready to go, kid?"
   "How old are you?" he asked.
   Bert grinned.
   "What difference does it make?" I asked.
   "Just answer the question, okay?"
   I shrugged. "Twenty-four."
   "You're only four years older than me. Don't call me kid."
   I had to smile. "Deal, but we better be going. We have dead to raise, money to make." I glanced at Bert.
   He was leaning back in his chair, blunt-fingered hands clasped over his belly. He was grinning.
   I wanted to wipe the grin off his face with a fist. I resisted the urge. Who says I have no self-control?
   
   

33
   It was an hour before dawn. When all the Whos down in Whoville were asnooze in their beds without care. Sorry, wrong book. If I get to stay awake until dawn, I get just a tad slaphappy. I'd been up all night teaching Larry how to be a good, law-abiding animator. I wasn't sure Bert would appreciate the last, but I knew I would.
   The cemetery was small. A family plot with pretensions. A narrow two-lane road rounded a hill, and suddenly there it was, a swathe of gravel beside the road. You had seconds to decide to turn in, that this was it. Tombstones climbed up the hill. The angle was so steep, it looked like the coffins should have slid downhill.
   We stood in the dark with a canopy of trees whispering overhead. The woods were thick on either side of the road. The little plot was just a narrow space beside the road, but it was well cared for. There were still-living family members to see to the upkeep. I didn't even want to imagine how they mowed the hillside. Maybe a rope-and-pulley system to make sure the mower didn't roll over and add another corpse.
   Our last clients of the night had just driven away back to civilization. I'd raised five zombies. Larry had raised one. Yeah, he could have raised two, but we just ran out of darkness. It doesn't take that long to raise a zombie, at least for me, but there's travel time included. In four years I'd only had two zombies in the same cemetery on the same night. Most of the time you were driving like a maniac to make all the appointments.
   My poor car had been towed to a service station, but the insurance people hadn't seen it yet. It would take days or weeks for them to tell me it was totaled. There hadn't been time to rent a car for the night, so Larry was driving. He'd have been with me even if I'd had the car. I was the one bitching about not having enough help, so I got to train him. It was only fair, I guessed.
   The wind rushed through the trees. Dry leaves scurried across the road. The night was full of small, hurried noises. Rushing, rushing, towards . . . what? All Hallows Eve. You could feel Halloween on the air.
   "I love nights like this," Larry said.
   I glanced over at him. We were both standing with our hands in our pockets staring out into the darkness. Enjoying the evening. We were also both covered in dried chicken blood. Just a nice, normal night.
   My beeper went off. The high-pitched beep sounded very wrong in the quiet, windswept night. I hit the button. Mercifully, the noise stopped. The little light flashed a phone number at me. I didn't recognize the number. I hoped it wasn't Dolph, because an unfamiliar number this late at night, or early in the morning, meant another murder. Another body.
   "Come on, we gotta get to a phone."
   "Who is it?"
   "I'm not sure." I started down the hill.
   He followed me and asked, "Who do you think it is?"
   "Maybe the police."
   "The murders you're working on?"
   I glanced back at him and rammed my knee into a tombstone. I stood there for a few seconds, holding my breath while the pain ran through me. "Shiiit!" I said softly and with feeling.
   "Are you all right?" Larry touched my arm.
   I drew away from his hand, and he let his hand drop. I wasn't much into casual touching. "I'm fine." Truth was, it still hurt, but what the hell? I needed to get to a phone, and the pain would get better the more I walked on it. Honest.
   I stared carefully ahead to avoid other hard objects. "What do you know about the murders?"
   "Just that you're helping the police on a preternatural crime, and that it's taking you away from your animating jobs."
   "Bert told you that."
   "Mr. Vaughn, yes."
   We were at the car. "Look, Larry, if you're going to work for Animators, Inc., you've got to drop all this Mr. and Ms. stuff. We aren't your professors. We're coworkers."
   He smiled, a flash of white in the dark. "All right, Ms . . . Anita."
   "That's better. Now let's go find a phone."
   We drove into Chesterfield on the theory that, as the closest town, it would have the closest phone. We ended up at a bank of pay phones in the parking lot of a closed service station. The station glowed softly in the dark, but a halogen streetlight beamed over the pay phones, turning night into day. Insects and moths danced around the light. The swift, flitting shapes of bats swam in and out of the light, eating the insects.
   I dialed the number while Larry waited in the car. Give him a point for discretion. The phone rang twice; then a voice said, "Anita, is that you?"
   It was Irving Griswold, reporter and friend. "Irving, what in blazes are you doing paging me at this hour?"
   "Jean-Claude wants to see you tonight, now." His voice sounded rushed and uncertain.
   "Why are you delivering the message?" I was afraid I wasn't going to like the answer.
   "I'm a werewolf," he said.
   "What's that got to do with anything?"
   "You didn't know." He sounded surprised.
   "Know what?" I was getting angry. I hate twenty questions.
   "Jean-Claude's animal is a wolf."
   That explained Stephen the Werewolf and the black woman. "Why weren't you there the other night, Irving? Did he let you off your leash?"
   "That's not fair."
   He was right. It wasn't. "I'm sorry, Irving. I'm just feeling guilty because I introduced the two of you."
   "I wanted to interview the Master of the City. I got my interview."
   "Was it worth the price?" I said.
   "No comment."
   "That's my line."
   He laughed. "Can you come to the Circus of the Damned? Jean-Claude has some information on the master vampire that jumped you."
   "Alejandro?"
   "That's the one."
   "We'll be there as soon as we can, but it's going to be damn close to dawn before we can get to the Riverfront."
   "Who's we?"
   "A new animator I'm breaking in. He's driving." I hesitated. "Tell Jean-Claude no rough stuff tonight."
   "Tell him yourself."
   "Coward."
   "Yes, ma'am. See you as soon as you can get here. Bye."
   "Bye, Irving." I held the buzzing receiver for a few seconds, then hung up. Irving was Jean-Claude's creature. Jean-Claude could call wolves the way Mr. Oliver called snakes. The way Nikolaos had called rats, and wererats. They were all monsters. It was just a choice of flavors.
   I slid back into the car. "You wanted more experience with vampires, right?" I buckled the seat belt.
   "Of course," Larry said.
   "Well, you're going to get it tonight."
   "What do you mean?"
   "I'll explain while you drive. We don't have much time before dawn." Larry threw the car in gear and peeled out of the parking lot. He looked eager in the dim glow of the dashboard. Eager and very, very young.