15
   My one o'clock appointment was with Elvira Drew. She sipped her coffee, elegant fingernails curled around the mug. Her nail polish was clear, making her fingertips glint like abalone shell; colorless until the light hit it. The rest of her was just as tasteful. Her dress was that interesting color that looked blue one minute and green the next. Blue-green they called it, but it wasn't accurate. The dress was almost green. For cloth to have that shimmer, almost a life of its own like fur, it had to be expensive. The dress was probably worth more than my entire wardrobe.
   Her long yellow hair spilled down her back in an elegant line. It was the only thing that didn't match. That dress, the manicure, the dyed-to-match shoes, the nearly invisible makeup should have gone with a tasteful but complicated hairdo. I liked her better for the hair being free and nearly untouched.
   When she raised her eyes to meet mine, I knew why she'd spent so much on the dress. Her eyes were the same startling blue-green. The combination was breathtaking.
   I sat across from her, sipping my coffee, happy I'd dressed up. Most days she'd have made me feel like a country cousin. Today I could hold my own.
   "What can I do for you today, Ms. Drew?"
   She smiled, and the smile was all it should have been. She smiled like she knew the effect it had on most people. I was almost afraid to see her near a man. If she lit up this much for me, the thought of what she'd do around Jamison or Manny was kind of frightening.
   "I'm a writer. I'm working on a book about shapeshifters."
   My smile wilted around the edges. "Really. And what brings you to the offices of Animators, Inc.?"
   "The book is set up with each chapter being a different animal form. I give history, any well-known shapeshifters of that form from history, then a personal profile of a present-day shapeshifter."
   My face was beginning to hurt, and I knew my smile was more a baring of teeth than anything else. "Sounds like an interesting book. Now, how can I help you?"
   She blinked gorgeous eyes at me and looked puzzled. She was good at looking puzzled. I'd seen the intelligence in her eyes a moment ago. The dumb-blonde routine was an act. Would it have worked if I were a man? I hoped not.
   "I'm missing one interview. I need to find a wererat. The interview can be strictly confidential." The dumb blonde was gone as quickly as it had come. She'd seen I wasn't buying it.
   The interview can be—not would—be confidential. I sighed and gave up on the smile. "What made you think I could find you a wererat?"
   "Mr. Vaughn assured me that if anyone in this area could help me, it would be you."
   "Did he really?"
   She smiled, eyes glittering. "He seemed very sure you could help me."
   "My boss promises a lot of things, Ms. Drew. Most of which he doesn't have to deliver." I stood. "If you could wait here for just a moment, I want to confer with Mr. Vaughn."
   "I'll wait right here for you." Her smile was just as sweet, but something in her eyes let me know she knew exactly what kind of conferring I had in mind.
   The outer office was done in pale greens, from the wallpaper, with its thin Oriental designs, to the foamy carpet. Plants flourished in every unoccupied niche. Bert thought the plants gave the office a homey touch. I thought it looked like a cheap jungle set.
   Mary, our daytime secretary, glanced up from her computer keyboard with a smile. Mary was over fifty, with blond hair that was a little too yellow to be natural. "You need something, Anita?" Her smile was pleasant. I'd almost never seen her in a bad mood. It was a good personality trait for a receptionist.
   "Yeah, to see the boss."
   She cocked her head to one side, eyes suddenly wary. "Why?"
   "I should have an appointment to see Bert today, anyway. I told Craig to schedule it."
   She glanced through the appointment book. "Craig did, and Bert canceled it." The smile was gone. "He really is very busy today."
   That was it. I went for Bert's door.
   "He's with a client right now," Mary said.
   "Peachy," I said. I knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for permission.
   Bert's desk took up most of the pale blue office. It was the smallest of the three offices, but it was permanently his. The rest of us had to rotate. He'd played football in college and it still showed. Broad shoulders, strong hands, six feet four inches tall and aware of every inch. His boater's tan had washed away with the winter weather. His white crew cut seemed a little less dramatic against the paler skin.
   His eyes are the color of dirty window glass, sort of grey. Those eyes glared at me now. "I'm with a client, Anita."
   I spared a glance for the man sitting across from him. It was Kaspar Gunderson. He was dressed all in white today, and it emphasized everything. How I could have ever looked at him and thought him human was beyond me. He smiled. "Ms. Blake, I presume." He put out a hand.
   I shook it. "If you could wait outside for just a few moments, Mr . . ."
   "Gunderson," he said.
   "Mr. Gunderson, I need to speak with Mr. Vaughn."
   "I think it can wait, Anita," Bert said.
   "No," I said, "it can't."
   "Yes," he said, "it can."
   "Do you want to have this particular talk in front of a client, Bert?"
   He stared at me, his small grey eyes looking even smaller as he squinted at me. It was his mean look. It had never worked on me. He gave a tight smile. "Are you insisting?"
   "You got it."
   He took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly, as if he were counting to ten. His flashed his best professional smile on Kaspar. "If you will excuse us for a few minutes, Mr. Gunderson. This won't take long."
   Kaspar stood, nodded at me, and left. I closed the door behind him.
   "What the hell are you doing coming in here while I'm talking to a client?" He stood up, and his broad shoulders nearly touched from wall to wall.
   He should have known better than to try and intimidate me with size. I've been the smallest kid on the block for as long as I can remember. Size hadn't been impressive for a very long time.
   "I told you no more clients that are outside my job description."
   "Your job description is anything I say it is. I'm your boss, remember?" He leaned over his desk, palms flat.
   I leaned into the desk on the other side. "You sent me a missing person's case last night. What the fuck do I know about missing persons?"
   "His wife's a lycanthrope."
   "And that means we should take his money?"
   "If you can help him, yes."
   "Well, I gave it to Ronnie."
   Bert leaned back. "See, you did help him. He would never have found Ms. Sims without your help."
   He was looking all reasonable again. I didn't want him reasonable. "I've got Elvira Drew in my office right now. What the hell am I supposed to do with her?"
   "Do you know any wererats?" He had sat down, hands crossed over his slightly bulging middle.
   "That's beside the point."
   "You do, don't you?"
   "And if I say yes?"
   "Set up an interview. Surely one of them wants to be famous."
   "Most lycanthropes go to a lot of trouble to hide what they are. Being outed endangers their jobs, marriages. There was that case in Indiana last year where a father lost his kids to his ex-wife after five years, because she found out he was a shapeshifter. No one wants to risk that kind of exposure."
   "I've seen shifters interviewed on live television," he said.
   "They're the exceptions, Bert, not the rule."
   "So you won't help Ms. Drew?"
   "No, I won't."
   "I won't try and appeal to your sense of greed, though she has offered us a lot of money. But think what a positive book on lycanthropy would do to help your shapeshifting friends. Good press is always welcome. Before you turn her down, talk to your friends. See what they say."
   "You don't give a damn about good exposure for the lycanthrope community. You're just excited about the money."
   "True."
   Bert was an unscrupulous bastard and didn't care who knew it. It was hard to win a fight when you couldn't insult someone. I sat down across from him. He looked pleased with himself, like he knew he'd won. He should have known better.
   "I don't like sitting down across from clients and not knowing what the hell they want. No more surprises. You clear clients with me first."
   "Anything you say."
   "You're being reasonable. What's wrong?"
   His smile widened, setting his little eyes sparkling. "Mr. Gunderson has offered us a lot of money for your services. Twice the normal fee."
   "That's a lot of money. What does he want me to do?"
   "Raise an ancestor from the dead. He's under a family curse. A witch told him if he could talk to the ancestor that the curse originated with, she might be able to lift it."
   "Why double the fee?"
   "The curse started with one of two brothers. He doesn't know which one."
   "So I have to raise them both."
   "If we're lucky, only one."
   "But you keep the second fee anyway," I said.
   Bert nodded vigorously, happy as a greedy clam. "It's even your job description, and besides, even you wouldn't let a fellow go through his life with feathers on his head if you could help him, now would you?"
   "You smug bastard," I said, but my voice sounded tired even to me.
   Bert just smiled. He knew he'd won.
   "You'll clear clients with me that aren't zombie raisings or vampire slayings?" I said.
   "If you have the time to read up on every client I see, then I certainly have time to write up a report."
   "I don't need to read about every client, just the ones you're sending my way."
   "But, Anita, you know it's just luck of the draw which of you is on duty on any given day."
   "Damn you, Bert."
   "You've kept Ms. Drew waiting long enough, don't you think?"
   I stood up. It was no use. I was outmaneuvered. He knew it. I knew it. The only thing left was a graceful retreat.
   "Your two o'clock canceled. I'll have Mary send Gunderson in."
   "Is there anything you wouldn't schedule in as a client, Bert?"
   He seemed to think about that for a minute, then shook his head. "If they could pay the fee, no."
   "You are a greedy son of a bitch."
   "I know."
   It was no use. I wasn't winning this one. I went for the door.
   "You're wearing a gun." He sounded outraged.
   "Yeah, what of it?"
   "I think you can meet clients in broad daylight at our offices without being armed."
   "I don't think so."
   "Just put the gun in the desk drawer like you used to."
   "Nope." I opened the door.
   "I don't want you meeting clients armed, Anita."
   "Your problem, not mine."
   "I could make it yours," he said. His face was flushed, voice tight with anger. Maybe we were going to get to fight after all.
   I closed the door. "You mean fire me?"
   "I am your boss."
   "We can argue about clients, but the gun is not negotiable."
   "The gun frightens clients."
   "Send the squeamish ones to Jamison," I said.
   "Anita"—he stood up like an angry storm—"I don't want you wearing the gun in the office."
   I smiled sweetly. "Fuck you, Bert." So much for a graceful exit.
   

16
   I closed the door and realized I had accomplished nothing but pissing Bert off. Not a bad hour's work, but not a great accomplishment. I was going to tell Ms. Drew that I might be able to help her. Bert was right about good press. I nodded at Gunderson as I passed him. He smiled back. Somehow I didn't think he really wanted me to raise the dead. I'd find out soon enough.
   Ms. Drew was sitting legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. The picture of elegant patience.
   "I may be able to help you, Ms. Drew. I'm not sure, but I may know someone who can help you."
   She stood up, offering me a manicured hand. "That would be wonderful, Ms. Blake. I certainly appreciate your help."
   "Does Mary have a number where I can reach you?"
   "Yes." She smiled.
   I smiled. I opened the door, and she walked past me in a cloud of expensive perfume. "Mr. Gunderson, I can see you now."
   He stood, laying the magazine he'd been leafing through on the small table beside the Ficus benjium. He didn't move with that dancelike grace that the other shapeshifters had. But then swans weren't particularly graceful on land.
   "Have a seat, Mr. Gunderson."
   "Please, Kaspar."
   I leaned on the edge of the desk, staring down at him. "What are you doing here, Kaspar?"
   He smiled. "Marcus wants to apologize for last night."
   "Then he should have come in person."
   His smiled widened. "He thought that offering a sizable monetary reward might make up for our lack of hospitality last night."
   "He was wrong."
   "You aren't going to give an inch, are you?"
   "Nope."
   "Are you not going to help us?"
   I sighed. "I'm working on it. But I'm not sure what I can do. What or who could take out eight shapeshifters without a struggle?"
   "I have no idea. None of us do. That is why we have come to you."
   Great. They knew less than I did. Not comforting. "Marcus gave me a list of people to question." I handed it to him. "Any thoughts, or additions?"
   He frowned, eyebrows arching together. The white eyebrows were not hair. I blinked, trying to concentrate. The fact that he was feathery seemed to bother me a lot more than it should have.
   "These are all rivals for Marcus's power. You met most of them at the cafe."
   "Do you really think he suspects them, or is he just making trouble for his rivals?" I asked.
   "I don't know."
   "Marcus said you could answer my questions. Do you actually know anything that I don't?"
   "I would say that I know a great deal more about the shapeshifting community than you do," he said. He sounded a trifle offended.
   "Sorry, I think it's just wishful thinking on Marcus's part that his rivals are the bad guys. Not your fault he's playing games."
   "Marcus often tries to manage things. You saw that last night."
   "His management skills haven't impressed me so far."
   "He believes that if there were one ruler for all shapeshifters, we would be a force to rival the vampires."
   He might be right on that. "He wants to be that ruler," I said.
   "Of course."
   The intercom buzzed. "Excuse me a minute." I hit the button. "What is it, Mary?"
   "Richard Zeeman on line two. He says he's returning your message."
   I hesitated, then said, "I'll take it." I picked up the phone, very aware that Kaspar was sitting there listening. I could have asked him to step outside, but I was getting tired of playing musical clients.
   "Hi, Richard."
   "I got your message on my answering machine," he said. His voice was very careful, as if he were balancing a glass of water filled to the very brim.
   "I think we need to talk," I said.
   "I agree."
   My, weren't we being cautious this afternoon. "I'm supposed to be the one that's mad. Why does your voice sound so funny?"
   "I heard about last night."
   I waited for him to say more, but the silence just stretched to infinity. I filled it. "Look, I have a client with me right now. You want to meet and talk?"
   "Very much." He said it as though he weren't really looking forward to it.
   "I have a dinner break around six. You want to meet at the Chinese place on Olive?"
   "Doesn't sound very private."
   "What did you have in mind?"
   "My place."
   "I only get an hour, Richard, I don't have time to drive that far."
   "Your place, then."
   "No."
   "Why not?"
   "Just no."
   "What we need to say to each other isn't going to go over well in public. You know that."
   I did. Dammit. "All right, we'll meet at my place a little after six. Do you want me to pick up something?"
   "You're at work. It'll be easier for me to pick up something. You want mooshu pork and crab ragoon?"
   "Yeah." We'd dated enough that he could order food for me without asking. But he asked anyway. Brownie point for him.
   "I'll see you at about six-fifteen then," he said.
   "See you."
   "Bye, Anita."
   "Bye." We hung up. My stomach was one hard knot of dread. If we were going to have "the" fight, the breakup fight, I didn't want to have it at my apartment, but Richard was right. We didn't want to be screaming about lycanthropes and killing people in a public restaurant. Still, it was not going to be a good time.
   "Is Richard angry about last night?" Kaspar asked.
   "Yeah."
   "Is there anything I can do to help?"
   "I need the complete stories about the disappearances: struggles, who last saw them, that sort of thing."
   "Marcus said all questions directly about the disappearances should be answered only by him."
   "You always do what he says?"
   "Not always, but he's quite adamant about this, Anita. I am not a predator. I cannot defend myself against Marcus at his worst."
   "Would he really kill you for going against his wishes?"
   "Perhaps not kill me, but I would be hurting for a very, very long time."
   I shook my head. "He doesn't sound any better than most master vampires I know."
   "I don't personally know any master vampires. I am forced to take your word for that."
   I had to smile. I knew more monsters than the monsters did. "Would Richard know?"
   "Perhaps, and if not, he could help you find out."
   I wanted to ask him if Richard was as bad as Marcus. I wanted to know if my sweetie was really a beast at heart. I didn't ask. If I wanted to know about Richard, I should ask Richard.
   "Unless you have more information, Kaspar, I have work to do." It sounded grumpy even to me. I smiled to try to soften it but didn't take it back. I wanted this whole mess to go away, and he was a reminder of it.
   He stood. "If you need any assistance, please call."
   "You'll only be able to give me the assistance Marcus okays, right?"
   A slight flush colored his pale skin, a pink glow like colored sugar. "I am afraid so."
   "I don't think I'll be calling," I said.
   "You don't trust Marcus?"
   I laughed, but it was harsh, not amused. "Do you?"
   He smiled, and gave a slight nod of his head. "I suppose not." He moved for the door.
   I had my hand on the doorknob when I turned and asked, "Is it really a family curse?"
   "My affliction?"
   "Yeah."
   "Not a family one, but a curse, yes."
   "Like in the fairy tale?" I said.
   "Fairy tale sounds like such a gentle thing. The original stories are often quite gruesome."
   "I've read some of them."
   "Have you read The Swan Princessin its original Norse?"
   "Can't say I have."
   "It's even worse in the original language."
   "Sorry to hear that," I said.
   "So am I." He stepped closer to the door, and I had to open it to let him go. I dearly wanted to hear the story from his own lips, but there was a pain in his eyes that was raw enough to cut skin. I couldn't press against that much pain.
   He stepped past me. I let him go. I was really going to have to find my textbook on fairy tales as truth from that comparative literature class. It had been a long time since I'd read The Swan Princess.
   
   

17
   It was more like six-thirty by the time I walked down the hallway to my apartment. I had half expected to see Richard sitting in the hall, but it was empty. The tightness in my stomach eased just a bit. A reprieve, even of a few minutes, was still a reprieve.
   I had my keys in the door when the door behind me opened. I dropped the keys, leaving them dangling. My right hand went for the Browning. It was instinct, not something I thought about. My hand was on the butt, but I hadn't drawn it when Mrs. Pringle appeared in the door. I eased my hand away from the gun and smiled. I don't think she realized what I was doing because her smile never faltered.
   She was tall and thin with age. Her white hair was wrapped in a bun at the nape of her neck. Mrs. Pringle never wore makeup and never apologized for being over sixty. She seemed to enjoy being old.
   "Anita, you're running a little late tonight," she said. Custard, her Pomeranian, yapped in the background like a stuck record.
   I frowned at her. Six-thirty was early for me to get home. Before I could say anything, Richard appeared behind her in the doorway. His hair fell around his face in a mass of rich brown waves. He was wearing one of my favorite sweaters. It was solid forest green and squishy soft to the touch. Custard was barking at him, inches away from his leg, as if working up courage for a quick nip.
   "Custard, stop that," Mrs. Pringle said. She looked up at Richard. "I've never seen him behave like this around anyone. Anita can tell you that he likes almost everyone." She looked to me for support, embarrassed about her dog being rude to a guest.
   I nodded. "You're right. I've never seen him act like this before." I was looking at Richard. His face was as closed and careful as I'd ever seen it.
   "He acts like this around other dogs sometimes, tries to boss them," she said. "Do you have a dog, Mr. Zeeman? Maybe Custard smells him on you."
   "No," Richard said, "I don't have a dog."
   "I found your beau sitting in the hall with his sack of food. I thought he might like to wait inside. I'm sorry that Custard has made the visit so unpleasant."
   "I always enjoy talking shop with another teacher," he said.
   "So polite," she said. Her face had broken into a wonderful smile. She'd only met Richard once or twice in the hall, but she liked him. Even before she found out he was a teacher. Snap judgment.
   Richard stepped around her into the hall. Custard followed him, yipping furiously. The dog looked like an overly ambitious dandelion. But it was a pissed dandelion. The dog bounced forward on tiny feet, giving a little hop with each bark.
   "Custard, get back in here."
   I held the door open for Richard. He had a white take-out sack and a coat in his arms. The dog gave a running bound, darting in to nip his ankle. Richard looked down at the dog. Custard stopped a nose away from his pants leg. He rolled eyes upward, a look in his doggy eyes that I'd never seen before. A considering look as if he wondered if Richard really would eat him.
   Richard slipped through the door. Custard just stood there in the hallway, as subdued as I'd ever seen him. "Thanks for looking after Richard, Mrs. Pringle."
   "My pleasure. He's a nice young man," she said. Her tone of voice said more than the words. "Nice young man" meant marry him. My stepmother, Judith, would agree with her. Except that Judith would have said it out loud, no hinting.
   I smiled and closed the door. Custard started yapping at the door. I locked the door out of habit and turned to face the music.
   Richard had draped his leather coat across the back of the couch. The take-out sack was sitting on the small kitchenette table. He lifted out cartons of food. I put my coat on the back of the couch by his and slipped off the high heels. I lost about two inches of height and felt much better.
   "Nice jacket," he said. His voice was still neutral.
   "Thanks." I had been going to take the jacket off, but he liked it, so I kept it on. Silly, but true. We were both being so careful. The tension in the room was choking.
   I got plates out of the cabinet. I got a cold Coke from the fridge for me and poured a glass of water for Richard. He didn't like carbonated beverages. I'd taken to keeping a jug of cold water in the fridge just for him. My throat felt tight as I set the drinks on the table.
   He set out silverware. We moved around my minuscule kitchen like dancers, knowing where each would be, never bumping unless it was on purpose. Tonight there was no touching. We left the lights off. The only light was from the living room, leaving the kitchen in semidarkness like a cave. It was almost as if neither one of us wanted to see clearly.
   We sat down at last. We stared at each other over the food on the plates: mooshu pork for me, cashew chicken for Richard. The smell of hot Chinese food filled the apartment. Warm and comforting on most occasions. Tonight it nauseated me. A double order of crab ragoon sat on a plate between us. He had filled a saucer with sweet-and-sour sauce. It was the way we always ate Chinese, sharing a bowl of sauce.
   Damn.
   His chocolate brown eyes stared at me. I was the one who looked away first. I didn't want to do this. "So, do all dogs react like that to you?"
   "No, just the dominant ones."
   I looked up at that. "Custard is dominant to you?"
   "He thinks so."
   "Unhealthy," I said.
   He smiled. "I don't eat dogs."
   "I didn't mean . . . oh, shit." If we were going to do this, might as well do it right. "Why didn't you tell me about Marcus?"
   "I didn't want to involve you."
   "Why not?"
   "Jean-Claude involved you with Nikolaos. You told me how much you hated that. Resented it. If I brought you in to help me with Marcus, what would be the difference?"
   "It's not the same," I said.
   "How? I won't use you like Jean-Claude did. I won't do it."
   "If I volunteer, you're not using me."
   "What are you going to do? Kill him?" There was a bitterness in his voice, anger.
   "What's that supposed to mean?"
   "You might as well take your jacket off. I saw the gun."
   I opened my mouth to protest and closed it. Explaining in the middle of a fight that I wanted to look good for him sounded silly. I stood up and took the jacket off. I draped it carefully over the back of the chair, taking a lot of time with it. "There. Happy?"
   "Is that gun your answer to everything?"
   "Why do you suddenly have a problem with me carrying a gun?"
   "Alfred was my friend."
   That stopped me. It hadn't even occurred to me that Richard might like Alfred. "I didn't know he was your friend."
   "Would it have made a difference?"
   I thought about that. "Maybe."
   "You didn't have to kill him."
   "I had this conversation with Marcus last night. They left me no choice, Richard. I warned him, more than once."
   "I heard all about it. The pack's buzzing with it. How you wouldn't back down. You rejected Marcus's protection. You shot another one of us." He shook his head. "Oh, everyone's real impressed."
   "I didn't do it to impress them."
   He took a deep breath. "I know, that's what scares me."
   "You're scared of me?"
   "For you," he said. The anger was seeping out of his eyes, what was replacing it was fear.
   "I can handle myself, Richard."
   "You don't understand what you did last night."
   "I am sorry if Alfred was your friend. Frankly, he didn't strike me as someone you'd hang out with."
   "I know he was a bully, and Marcus's dog to call, but he was mine to protect."
   "Marcus wasn't doing a lot of protecting last night, Richard. He was more interested in his little power struggle than in keeping Alfred safe."
   "I stopped by Irving's place this morning." He let the statement hang there in the air between us.
   It was my turn to get angry. "Did you hurt him?"
   "If I did, it was my right as beta male."
   I stood up, hands pressed on the tabletop. "If you hurt him, we are going to have more than just words."
   "Are you going to shoot me, too?"
   I looked at him, with his wonderful hair, looking scrumptious in his sweater, and nodded. "If I had to."
   "You could kill me, just like that."
   "No, not kill, but wound, yeah."
   "To keep Irving safe, you'd pull a gun on me." He was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed on his chest. His expression was amazed and angry.
   "Irving asked for my protection. I gave it."
   "So he told me this morning."
   "Did you hurt him?"
   He stared at me for a long time, then finally said, "No, I didn't hurt him."
   I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding and eased back into my chair.
   "You'd really pit yourself against me to protect him. You really would."
   "Don't sound so amazed. Irving was caught in the middle of the two of you. Marcus would have hurt him if he didn't contact me, and you said you'd hurt him if he did. Didn't seem very fair."
   "A lot of things in the pack aren't fair, Anita."
   "So is life, Richard. What of it?"
   "When Irving told me that he was under your protection, I didn't hurt him, but I didn't really believe you'd hurt me."
   "I've known Irving a lot longer than I've known you."
   He leaned forward, hands on the tabletop. "But he's not dating you."
   I shrugged. I didn't know what else to say. Nothing seemed like a safe bet.
   "Am I still your sweetie or did your baptism by fire last night make you not want to date me anymore?"
   "You're in a life-or-death struggle and you didn't tell me. If you hide things like that from me, how can we have a relationship?"
   "Marcus won't kill me," he said.
   I just stared at him. He seemed sincere. Shit. "You really believe that, don't you?"
   "Yes."
   I wanted to call him a fool, but I closed my mouth and tried to think of something else to say. Nothing came to mind. "I've met Marcus. I've met Raina." I shook my head. "If you really believe that Marcus doesn't want you dead, you're wrong."
   "One night and you're an expert," he said.
   "Yeah, on this I am."
   "That's why I didn't tell you. You'd kill him, wouldn't you? You'd just kill him."
   "If he was trying to kill me, yeah."
   "I have to handle this myself, Anita."
   "Then handle it, Richard. Kill his ass."
   "Or you'll do it for me."
   I sat back in my chair. "Shit, Richard, what do you want from me?"
   "I want to know if you think I'm a monster."
   The conversation was moving too fast for me. "You're accusing me of being a murderer. Shouldn't that be my question?"
   "I knew what you were when we first met. You thought I was human. Do you still think I'm human?"
   I stared at him. He looked so uncertain. In my head I knew he wasn't human. But I'd still never seen him do any of the otherworldly stuff. Looking at him here in my kitchen, brown eyes brimming with sincerity, he just didn't seem very dangerous. He believed that Marcus wouldn't kill him. It was too naive for words. I wanted to protect him. To keep him safe somehow.
   "You're not a monster, Richard."
   "Then why haven't you touched me tonight, not even a hello kiss."
   "I thought we were mad at each other," I said. "I don't kiss people that I'm mad at."
   "Are we mad at each other?" His voice was soft, hesitant.
   "I don't know. Promise me something."
   "What?"
   "No more hiding. No more lying, not even by omission. You tell me the truth, and I'll tell you the truth."
   "Agreed, if you promise not to kill Marcus."
   I stared across at him. How could anybody be a master werewolf and be so goody-two-shoes? It was both charming and liable to get him killed. "I can't promise that."
   "Anita . . ."
   I held up a hand. "I can promise not to kill him unless he attacks me, or you, or a civilian."
   It was Richard's turn to stare at me. "You could kill him, just like that?"
   "Just like that."
   He shook his head. "I don't understand that."
   "How can you be a lycanthrope and never have killed anybody?"
   "I'm careful."
   "And I'm not?"
   "You're almost casual about it. You killed Alfred last night, and you don't seem sorry."
   "Should I be?"
   "I would be."
   I shrugged. Truth was, it did bother me a little. There might have been a way out without Alfred ending up in a body bag. Or in the stomachs of his friends. But I'd killed him. There it was. No going back. No changing it. No apologizing.
   "It's the way I am, Richard. Live with it or get out. I'm not going to change."
   "One of the reasons I wanted to date you to begin with was I thought you could take care of yourself. You've seen them now. I think I can get out of it alive, but a regular person—an ordinary human being—what chance would they have?"
   I just looked at him. I flashed on him with his throat torn out. Dead. But he hadn't been dead. He'd healed. He'd lived. There'd been another man. Another human being that hadn't healed. I never wanted to love anyone and lose them like that. Ever.
   "So you got what was advertised. What's the problem?"
   "I still want you. I still want to hold you. Touch you. Can you stand to touch me after what you saw last night?" He wouldn't meet my eyes. His hair fell forward, hiding his face.
   I stood up and took the step that left me looking down at him. He raised his face to me, his eyes glittered with unshed tears. The fear in his face was raw. I had thought that what I saw last night would make a difference between us. I flashed on Jason's unnatural strength, the sweat on Marcus's face, Gabriel with his blood-coated mouth. But staring into Richard's face, with him close enough to touch, none of that was real. I trusted Richard. Besides, I was armed.
   I leaned over him, bending down to kiss his lips. The first kiss was gentle, chaste. He made no move to touch me, hands in his lap. I kissed his forehead, hands combing through his long hair, so I could feel the warmth of him against my fingers. I kissed his eyebrows, the tip of his nose, each cheek, finally his lips again. He sighed, the breath pouring into my mouth, and I pressed my lips against his like I'd eat him from the mouth down.
   His arms wrapped around my back, hands hesitating at my waist, fingers slightly lower. His hands jumped to my thighs, skipping all those questionable areas. I put one leg on either side of his knees, and found the short skirt did have its uses. I straddled his lap, didn't have to raise the skirt an inch. Richard made a small sound of surprise. He stared at me, and his eyes were drowning deep.
   I raised his sweater off his stomach, running hands against his bare flesh. "Off," I said.
   He raised the sweater over his head in one movement, dropping it to the floor. I sat in his lap, staring at his bare chest. I should have stopped right there, but I didn't want to.
   I pressed my face in the bend of his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin, his hair covering my face like a veil. I ran just the tip of my tongue in a thin line of wetness down his neck, across his collarbone.
   His hands kneaded the small of my back, sliding downward. His fingers danced over my buttocks, then up to my back. Point for him. He hadn't groped me.
   "The gun, can you take it off?" He asked with his face buried in my hair.
   I nodded, slipping out of the shoulder straps. I couldn't get the rest off without removing the skirt's belt. My hands didn't seem to want to work.
   Richard took my hands and placed them gently to either side. He undid the buckle and began to slide the belt out a loop at a time. Each pull made me move just a little. I held the holstered gun while he drew the belt free. He let the belt drop to the floor. I folded the shoulder holster carefully and laid it on the table behind us.
   I turned back to him. His face was startlingly close. His lips were soft, full. I licked the edges of his mouth. The kiss was quick and messy. I wanted to run my mouth over other things. Down his chest. We'd never let it go this far. Not even close.
   He pulled my blouse out of the skirt, running hands over my bare back. The feel of his naked skin on places he'd never touched before made me shudder.
   "We have to stop now." I whispered it into his neck, so it wasn't completely convincing.
   "What?"
   "Stop." I pushed a little back from him, enough to see his face. Enough to breathe just a little. My hands were still playing with his hair, touching his shoulders. I dropped my hands. Made myself stop. He was so warm. I raised my hands to my face, and could smell him on my skin. I did not want to stop. From the look on his face, the feel of his body, neither did he. "We should stop now."
   "Why?" His voice was almost a whisper.
   "Because if we don't stop now, we might not stop at all."
   "Would that be such a bad thing?"
   Staring into his lovely eyes from inches away, I almost said, no. "Maybe, yes."
   "Why?"
   "Because one night is never enough. You either have a regular diet of it or you go cold turkey."
   "You can have this every night," he said.
   "Is that a proposal?" I asked.
   He blinked at me, trying to draw himself back up. To think. I watched the effort and struggled with it myself. It was hard to think sitting in his lap. I stood up. His hands were still under my shirt, on my bare back.
   "Anita, what's wrong?"
   I stood looking down at him, hands on his shoulders for balance, still too close for clear thinking. I backed away, and he let me go. I leaned my hands against the kitchen counter, trying to think enough to make sense.
   I tried to think how to say a couple of years' worth of pain in one mouthful. "I was always a good girl. I didn't sleep around. In college I met someone, we got engaged, we set a date, we made love. He dumped me."
   "He'd done all that just to get you in bed?"
   I shook my head and turned to look at him. He was still sitting there with his shirt off, looking scrumptious. "His family disapproved of me."
   "Why?"
   "His mother didn't like my mother being Mexican." I leaned my back against the cabinets, arms crossed, hugging myself. "He didn't love me enough to go against his family. I missed him in a lot of ways, but my body missed him, too. I promised myself I'd never let that happen again."
   "So you're waiting for marriage," he said.
   I nodded. "I want you, Richard, badly, but I can't. I promised I'd never let myself get hurt like that again."
   He stood up and came to stand in front of me. He stood close but didn't try to touch me. "Then marry me."
   I looked up at him. "Yeah, right."
   "No, I mean it." He put his hands on my shoulders, gently. "I've thought about asking before, but I was afraid. You hadn't seen what a lycanthrope could do, what we could be. I knew you needed to see that before I could ask, but I was afraid for you to see it."
   "I still haven't seen you change," I said.
   "Do you need to?"
   "Standing here like this, I say no, but realistically, if we're serious, probably."
   "Now?"
   I stared up at him in the near dark and hugged him. I folded against him and shook my head, cheek sliding along his naked chest. "No, not now."
   He kissed the top of my head. "Is that a yes?"
   I raised my head to look at him. "I should say no."
   "Why?"
   "Because life is too complicated for this."
   "Life is always complicated, Anita. Say yes."
   "Yes." The minute I said it, I wanted it back. I lusted after him a lot. I even loved him maybe more than a little. Did I suspect him of eating Little Red Riding Hood? Hell, he couldn't even bring himself to kill the Big Bad Wolf. Of the two of us, I was the more likely to slaughter people.
   He kissed me, his hands pressing against my back. I drew back enough to breathe, and said, "No sex tonight. The rule still stands."
   He lowered his mouth and spoke with our lips almost touching. "I know."
   
   

18
   I was late to my first zombie appointment. Surprise, surprise. Being late to the first meeting made me late to the other two. It was 2:03 by the time I got to Edward's room.
   I knocked. He opened the door and stepped to one side. "You're late."
   "Yeah," I said. The room was nice but standard. A single king-sized bed, nightstand, two lamps, a desk against the far wall. The drapes were closed over the nearly wall-to-wall windows. The bathroom light was on, door open. The closet door was half-open, showing that he'd hung up his clothes. He planned to stay for a while.
   The television was on, sound turned off. I was surprised. Edward didn't watch television. A VCR sat on top of the TV. That was not standard hotel issue.
   "You want something from room service before we get started?"
   "A Coke would be great."
   He smiled. "You always did have champagne tastes, Anita." He went to the phone and ordered. He asked for a steak, rare, with a bottle of burgundy.
   I took off my coat and laid it on the desk chair. "I don't drink," I said.
   "I know," he said. "You want to freshen up while we wait for the food?"
   I glanced up and caught a distant look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Chicken blood had dried to a sticky, brick color on my face. "I see your point."
   I shut the bathroom door and looked at myself in the mirror. The lighting was that harsh, glaring white that so many hotel bathrooms seem to have. It's so unflattering that even Ms. America wouldn't look good in it.
   The blood stood out like reddish chalk against my pale skin. I was wearing a white Christmas sweatshirt that had Maxine from the Shoebox Hallmark commercials on it. She was drinking coffee with a candy cane in hand, saying, "This is as jolly as I get." Bert had asked us to wear Christmasy-type things for the month. Maybe the sweatshirt wasn't exactly what he had in mind, but hey, it was better than some of the ones I had at home. There was blood on the white cloth. Figures.
   I took the sweatshirt off, draping it on the bathtub. There was blood smeared over my heart. I'd even gotten a little on my silver cross. I'd put the blood there along with the stuff on my face and hands. I'd killed three chickens tonight. Raising zombies was a messy job.
   I got one of the white washrags from the little towel rack. I wondered how Edward would explain the bloodstains to the maid. Not my problem, but sort of amusing anyway.
   I ran water into the sink and started scrubbing. I caught a glimpse of myself with blood running down my face in watery rivulets. I stood up and stared. My face looked fresh scrubbed and sort of surprised.
   Had Richard really proposed? Had I really said yes? Surely not. I had said yes. Shit. I wiped at the blood on my chest. I played with monsters all the time. So I was engaged to one. That stopped me. I sat down on the closed lid of the stool, bloody washrag gripped in my hands. I was engaged. Again.
   The first time he'd been so white bread that even Judith had liked him. He'd been Mr. All-American, and I hadn't been good enough for him, according to his family. What had hurt most was that he hadn't loved me enough. Not nearly as much as I'd loved him. I'd have given up everything for him. Not a mistake to make twice.
   Richard wasn't like that. I knew that. Yet there was that worm of doubt. Fear that he'd blow it. Fear he wouldn't blow it. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
   I looked down and realized I was dripping bloody water on the linoleum. I knelt and wiped it up. I was scrubbed as clean as I was going to get until I showered at home. If I'd brought clean clothes, I might have done it here, but I hadn't thought of it.
   Edward knocked on the door. "Food's here."
   I got dressed, put the rag in the sink, and ran cold water over it. I made sure the cloth wasn't blocking the drain and opened the door. The smell of steak hit me. It smelled wonderful. I hadn't eaten for more than eight hours, and truthfully I hadn't eaten all that much then. Richard had distracted me.
   "Do you think room service would shoot us if we asked for another order?"
   He made a small hand motion at the room-service cart. There were two orders on the cart.
   "How did you know I'd be hungry?"
   "You always forget to eat," he said.
   "My, aren't we being mother of the year."
   "The least I can do is feed you."
   I looked at him. "What's up, Edward? You're being awfully considerate."
   "I know you well enough to know you won't like this. Call the meal a peace offering."
   "Won't like what?"
   "Let's eat, watch the movie, and all will be revealed."
   He was being cagey. It wasn't like him. He'd shoot you, but he wouldn't be cute about it. "What are you up to, Edward?"
   "No questions until after the movie."
   "Why not?"
   "Because you'll have better questions." With that inscrutable answer he sat down on the edge of the bed and poured a glass of red wine. He cut his meat, which was raw enough to bleed in the center.
   "Please tell me my steak isn't bloody."
   "It isn't bloody. You like your meat well dead."
   "Ha, ha." But I sat down. It seemed odd sharing a meal in Edward's hotel room, like we were two business people traveling together, just a working dinner. The steak was well done. Thick house fries suitably spiced took up almost as much room as the steak. There was a side order of broccoli, which could be slid to one side and ignored.
   The Coke came in a chilled wineglass, which seemed a little excessive, but it looked nice.
   "The movie's going to start near the end. I don't think you'll have any trouble picking up the plot." He hit the remote control, and the TV screen flickered, jumping from a game show to a bedroom.
   A woman with long brown hair lay on her back in a round bed. She was nude, or at least what I could see of her was nude. Below the waist she was hidden behind the furiously pumping buttocks of a dark-haired man.
   "This is pornography." I didn't even try to keep the disbelief from my voice.
   "It certainly is."
   I glanced at Edward. He was cutting his steak with neat, precise hand movements. He chewed a bite of steak, sipped his wine, and watched the screen.
   I glanced back at the "movie." A second man had joined the couple on the bed. He was taller than the first man, with shorter hair, but beyond that it was a little hard to tell, mainly because I was trying not to look.
   I sat on the edge of Edward's bed with our nice steak dinners, and for the first time felt awkward around Edward. There had never been any sexual tension between us. We might kill each other someday, but we'd never kiss. But I was still in a man's hotel room watching a porno movie, and good girls just didn't do that.
   "Edward, what the hell is going on?"
   He hit the remote control. "Here, a face shot."
   I turned back to the screen. The frozen image stared out at me. It was the second man. It was Alfred.
   "Oh, my, God," I said.
   "You know him?" Edward asked.
   "Yeah." No sense denying it. Alfred was dead. Edward couldn't hurt him anymore.
   "Name?"
   "Alfred. I don't know the last name."
   He hit fast forward. The images on the screen moved at a furious pace, doing intimate things that would have been obscene at any speed. At fast forward it seemed sadder. Ridiculous as well as degrading.
   He hit the pause again. The woman was full face to the camera, mouth open, eyes heavy lidded with sexual languor. Her hair was spread artfully over the silken pillow. It should have been provocative. It managed not to be.
   "Do you know her?"
   I shook my head. "No."
   He hit the button again. "We're near the end."
   "What about the other man?"
   "He wears a face mask throughout."
   The masked man had mounted the woman from behind. His hips cupped her butt, the line of his thigh matching hers. He leaned his upper body over her nude torso, hands massaging the flesh of her upper arms. He seemed to be draping himself on top of her more than anything else. There seemed to be very little sex going on.
   She was supporting his full weight on her hands and knees. Her breath came in pants. A low growl trickled through the room. The camera did a close-up of the man's back. The skin was rippled, as if a hand had rubbed the under surface of his skin, then vanished. More ripples, as if something small were trying to punch its way out.
   A wider-angle shot showed him still draped over the woman. The ripples on his back were growing. You could see things pushing against his skin, movements large enough you could have seen them even if he'd been dressed. Like those I had seen on Jason last night.
   I had to admit this part was fascinating. I'd seen people shapeshift, but never like this. Not in minute detail, not with the loving eye of a camera on it.
   The skin split along his back, and he reared upward, hands hugging her waist, screaming. Clear liquid flowed down his back in a wash that soaked the bed and the woman underneath him.
   The woman gave a little encouragement, moving her buttocks against him, thrusting against him, head bowed to the bed.
   Black fur flowed outward from his back. His hands shot to his sides, spasming. He leaned over her again, hands digging into the bed. The hands were just hands, then those human fingers sliced into the bed, ripping white stuffing from great clawed furrows.
   The man seemed to shrink. The fur flowed faster and faster, almost liquid in its speed. The mask dropped away. The face was the wrong shape for it now. The camera did a close shot of the fallen mask. A bit of art in all this . . . oh, hell. I didn't have a word for it.
   The man was gone. A black leopard mounted the woman and seemed very happy with the arrangement. The leopard bent over the woman, lips spread to reveal glistening teeth. The leopard nipped her back, drawing a small amount of blood. She gave a low moan, a shudder sweeping her body.
   Alfred came back into view. He was still in human form. He crawled up to the bed and kissed the woman. It was a long, complete kiss, full of probing tongues. He rose on his knees, still kissing her, rocking his body with the movements. He seemed very excited to see her.
   His back rippled, and he tore away from her, hands clutching the sheets. The change seemed to go a lot faster for him. The camera did a close-up of one of his hands. Bones slid out of the skin with wet, sucking noises. Muscles and ligaments crawled and rearranged. The skin tore and that same clear liquid poured out. The hand changed into a naked claw before the dark fur flowed over it.
   He stood on bent legs, half wolf, half man, but all male. He threw back his head and howled. The sound had a deep, resonating quality that filled the room.
   The woman looked up at him, eyes wide. The leopard jumped off her, rolling on the bed, for all the world like a big kitten. It rolled itself in the silken sheet, until only its black-furred face peeked out.
   The woman lay on her back, legs spread-eagled. She held out her hands to the wolfman, tongue flicking out along her lips as if she were really enjoying herself. Maybe she was.
   The werewolf thrust into her, and it wasn't gentle. She gave a gasping moan, as if it were the best thing she'd ever felt.
   The woman was making noises. Either she was a very good actor or she was coming close to climax. I wasn't sure which I preferred. Good acting, I think.
   She came with a sound between a scream and a shout of joy. She lay back gasping on the bed, body liquid. The werewolf gave one last shuddering thrust and drew claws down the length of her naked body.
   She screamed then, no acting required. Blood poured down her body in scarlet rivulets. The leopard gave a startled scream and jumped off the bed. The woman put her hands up in front of her face, and the claws smashed her arms to one side. Blood poured, and there was a glimpse of bone in one arm where the claws had torn all the flesh away.
   Her screams were high and continuous, one loud ragged shriek after another, as fast as she could draw air. The werewolf's pointed muzzle lowered towards her face. I had an image of the murder victim's crushed jaw. But he went for her throat. He bit her throat out, spraying a great gout of blood.
   Her eyes stared sightless at the camera, wide and shiny, dull with death. The blood had somehow left her face untouched. The werewolf reared back, blood dripping from its jaws. A gob of blood fell on her staring face, running between her eyes.
   The leopard leaped back onto the bed. It licked her face clean with long, sure strokes of its tongue. The werewolf licked its way down her body, stopping over her stomach. It hesitated, one yellow eye staring at the camera. It began to feed. The leopard joined the feast.
   I closed my eyes, but the sounds were enough. Heavy, wet, tearing sounds filled the room. I heard myself say, "Turn it off." The sounds stopped, and I assumed that Edward had turned the tape off, but I didn't look up to see. I didn't look up until I heard the whir of the tape rewinding.
   Edward cut a bite of steak.
   "If you eat that right now, I will throw up on you."
   He smiled, but he put down his silverware. He looked at me. His expression was neutral, as it was most of the time. I couldn't tell if he'd enjoyed the film or been disgusted by it. "Now you can ask me questions," he said. His voice was like it always was, pleasant, unaffected by external stimuli.
   "Jesus, where did you get that thing?"
   "A client."
   "Why give it to you?"
   "The woman was his daughter."
   "Oh, God, please, tell me he didn't watch this."
   "You know he saw it. You know he watched it to the end or why hire me? Most men don't hire people to kill their daughter's lovers."
   "He hired you to kill the two men?"
   Edward nodded.
   "Why did you show this to me?"
   "Because I knew you'd help me."
   "I'm not an assassin, Edward."
   "Just help me identify them. I'll do the rest. Is it all right if I drink some wine?"
   I nodded.
   He sipped his wine. The dark liquid rolled around the glass, looking a lot redder than it had before the movie. I swallowed hard and looked away. I would not throw up. I would not throw up.
   "Where can I find Alfred?"
   "Nowhere," I said.
   He set his wineglass carefully on the tray. "Anita, you disappoint me. I thought you'd help me after seeing what they did to the girl."
   "I'm not being uncooperative. That film is one of the worst things I've ever seen, and I've seen a hell of a lot. You're too late to find Alfred."
   "How too late?"
   "I killed him last night."
   A smile spread across his face, beautiful to behold. "You always make my job easier."
   "Not on purpose."
   He shrugged. "Do you want half the fee? You did do half the work."
   I shook my head. "I didn't do it for money."
   "Tell me what happened."
   "No."
   "Why not?"
   I looked at him. "Because you hunt lycanthropes and I don't want to give someone to you by accident."
   "The wereleopard deserves to die, Anita."
   "I'm not arguing that. Though, technically, he didn't kill the girl."
   "The father wants them both. Do you blame him?"
   "No, I guess I don't."
   "Then you'll help me identify the other man?"
   "Maybe." I stood up. "I need to call someone. I need for someone else to see this film. He might be able to help you more than I could."
   "Who?"
   I shook my head. "Let me see if he'll come first."
   Edward gave a long nod, almost a bow with just his neck. "As you like."
   I dialed Richard's number by heart. I got his machine. "This is Anita, pick up if you're there. Richard, pick up. This is important." No one picked up the phone.
   "Damn," I said.
   "Not home?" Edward asked.
   "Do you have the number for the Lunatic Cafe?"
   "Yes."
   "Give it to me."
   He repeated the number slowly, and I dialed it. A woman picked up the phone. It wasn't Raina. I was thankful for that. "Lunatic Cafe, Polly here, how may I help you."
   "I need to speak with Richard."
   "I'm sorry we don't have any waiters by that name."
   "Look, I was a guest of Marcus's last night. I need to speak with Richard. It's an emergency."
   "I don't know. I mean, like, they're all busy in the back room."
   "Look, get Richard on the phone now."
   "Marcus doesn't like to be disturbed."
   "Polly, is it? I have been on my feet for over thirteen hours. If you do not put Richard on the phone right now, I am going to come down there personally and bust your ass. Am I making myself clear?"
   "Who is this?" She sounded a little miffed, and not in the least afraid.
   "Anita Blake."
   "Oh," she said. "I'll get Richard for you, right away, Anita, right away." There was an edge of panic to her voice that hadn't been there before. She put me on hold. Someone with a sick sense of humor had compiled the Muzak. "Moonlight and Roses," "Blue Moon," "Moonlight Sonata." Every song was a moon theme. We were halfway through "Moon over Miami" when the phone clicked back to life.
   "Anita, it's me. What's wrong?"
   "I'm all right, but I've got something you need to see."
   "Can you tell me what it is?"
   "I know this sounds corny, but not over the phone."
   "You sure you're not just looking for an excuse to see me again?" There was a note of teasing in his voice.
   It had been too long a night. "Can you meet me?"
   "Of course. What's wrong? Your voice sounds awful."
   "I need a hug and to erase the last hour of my life. The first you can take care of when you get here, the second I'll just have to live with."
   "Are you home?"
   "No." I glanced at Edward, putting my hand over the mouthpiece. "Can I give him the hotel room?"
   He nodded.
   I gave Richard the hotel room, and directions. "I'll be there as soon as I can." He hesitated, then said, "What did you say to Polly? She's nearly hysterical."
   "She wouldn't put you on the phone."
   "You threatened her," he said.
   "Yeah."
   "Was it an idle threat?"
   "Pretty much."
   "Dominant pack members don't make idle threats to subordinates."
   "I'm not a pack member."
   "After last night you're a dominant. They're treating you like a rogue dominant lycanthrope."
   "What does that mean?"
   "It means when you say you're going to bust someone's ass, they believe you."
   "Oh, sorry."
   "Don't apologize to me, apologize to Polly. I'll be there before you get her calmed down."
   "Don't put her on, Richard."
   "That's what you get for being trigger happy. People get scared of you."
   "Richard . . ." A sobbing female voice came on the line. I spent the next fifteen minutes convincing a crying werewolf that I wasn't going to hurt her. My life was getting too strange, even for me.
   
   

19
   Richard was wrong. He didn't knock on the door while I was on the phone calming Polly down. She was so grateful that I had forgiven her for her rudeness, that it was embarrassing. Waves of submissiveness poured out of the phone. I hung up.
   Edward was grinning at me. He had moved to one of the soft chairs. "Did you just spend nearly twenty minutes convincing a werewolf that you weren't going hurt her?"
   "Yes."
   He laughed, a wide, abrupt sound. The smile vanished, leaving a sort of shimmering glow to his face. His eyes glittered with something darker than humor. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but it wasn't pleasant.
   He slid down in the chair, base of his skull resting on the back, hands clasped over his stomach, ankles crossed. He looked utterly comfortable. "How did you come to be the terror of good little werewolves everywhere?"
   "I don't think they're used to people shooting and killing them. At least not on first acquaintance."
   His eyes simmered with some dark joke. "You went in there and killed someone your first night? Hell, Anita, I've been down three times and haven't killed anyone yet."
   "How long have you been in town?"
   He looked at me for a long moment. "Is that an idle question or do you need to know?"
   It had occurred to me that Edward could take out eight lycanthropes and leave no trace. If any human could do it, it was him.
   "I need to know," I said.
   "A week, tomorrow." His eyes had gone empty. They were as cool and distant as any of the shapeshifters' last night. There's more than one way to become a predator. "Of course, you'll have to take my word for it. You can check with registration, but I could have changed hotels."
   "Why would you lie to me?"
   "Because I enjoy it," he said.
   "It's not the lie you enjoy."
   "What do I enjoy?"
   "Knowing something I don't."
   He gave a small shrug, not easy for him, slid down in the chair as he was. He made it look graceful. "Egotistical of you."
   "It's not just from me. You like keeping secrets for the pure hell of it."
   He smiled then, a slow, lazy smile. "You do know me well."
   I started to say, we're friends, but the look in his eyes stopped me. His stare was a little too intense. He seemed to be studying me as if he'd never really seen me before.
   "What are you thinking, Edward?"
   "That you might be able to give me a run for my money."
   "What's that supposed to mean?"
   "You know how I like a challenge."
   I stared at him. "You're talking about coming against me, seeing who's better?" I made it a question. He didn't give me the answer I wanted.
   "Yes."
   "Why?"
   "I won't do it. You know me—no money, no killing—but it would be . . . interesting."
   "Don't go all spooky on me, Edward."
   "It's just for the very first time I'm wondering if you would win?"
   He was scaring me. I was armed, and he didn't seem to be, but Edward was always armed. "Don't do this, Edward."
   He sat up in one liquid movement. My hand jumped to my gun. The gun was halfway out of its holster when I realized he hadn't done anything but sit up. I let out a shaky breath and eased the gun back into the holster. "Don't play with me, Edward. One of us will get hurt if you do."
   He spread his hands wide. "No more games. I would like to know which of us was best, Anita, but not enough to kill you."
   I let my hand relax. If Edward said he would kill me tonight, he meant it. If we ever did do this for real, he'd tell me first. Edward liked to be sporting about these things. Surprising your victim made things too easy.
   There was a knock on the door. I jumped. Nervous—who, me? Edward sat there as though he hadn't heard, still staring at me with his spooky eyes. I went to the door. It was Richard. He put his arms around me, and I let him. I folded against his chest and was very aware that I couldn't pull a gun very fast clasped to Richard's body.
   I drew back first and pulled him into the room. He looked questioningly at me. I shook my head. "You remember Edward?"
   "Anita, you didn't tell me you were still dating Richard." Edward's voice was pleasant, normal, as if he hadn't been wondering what it would be like to kill me. His face was open, friendly. He walked across the room with his hand outstretched. He was a superb actor.
   Richard shook his hand, looking a little puzzled. He glanced at me. "What's happening, Anita?"
   "Can you set up the movie?"
   "If you'll let me eat during it. My steak is getting ice cold," Edward said.
   I swallowed hard. "You've seen the movie before, and you still ordered steaks. Why?"
   "Maybe to see if you could eat after watching it."
   "You competitive bastard."
   He just smiled.
   "What movie?" Richard asked.
   "Eat your steak, Edward. We'll watch after you're done."
   "It bothered you that much?"
   "Shut up and eat."
   He sat down on the edge of the bed and started cutting meat. The meat was red. Blood oozed out of it. I walked towards the bathroom. I wasn't going to be sick, but if I watched him eat that piece of meat I would be.
   "I'm going to hide in the bathroom. You want an explanation, come join me," I said.
   Richard glanced at Edward, then back to me. "What is going on?"
   I pulled him into the bathroom and shut the door behind us. I ran cold water in the sink and splashed it on my face.
   He gripped my shoulders, massaging. "Are you all right?"
   I shook my head, water dripping down my face. I fumbled a towel and pressed it to my face, holding it there a minute. Edward hadn't warned me because he liked to shock people. And a warning would have lessened the impact. How much impact did I want Richard to endure?
   I turned to him, towel still clutched in my hands. He looked worried, all tender concern. I didn't want him to look like that. Had I really said yes, just eight hours ago? It seemed less and less real.
   "The movie is a porno flick," I said.
   He looked startled. Good. "Porno? Are you serious?"
   "Deadly," I said.
   "Why do I need to see it?" A thought seemed to occur to him. "Why did you watch it with him?" There was the tiniest bit of anger in his voice.
   I laughed then. I laughed until tears ran down my face, and I was too breathless to speak.
   "What's so funny?" He sounded a little indignant.
   When I could speak without gasping, I said, "Be afraid of Edward, but never be jealous of him."
   The laughter had helped. I felt better, less dirty, less embarrassed, even a little less horrified. I stared up at him. He was still wearing the green sweater that had ended up on my kitchen floor earlier. He looked wonderful. I realized I didn't. In my oversize sweatshirt, complete with bloodstain, jeans, and sneakers, I had lost several notches in the cuteness game. I shook my head. Did it matter? No, I was delaying. I didn't want to go back out there. I didn't want to watch the movie again. I certainly didn't want to sit in the same room with the man I might marry and watch him watch a porno film. Should I spoil the ending?
   Would it excite him before it went wrong? I looked at his very human face, and wondered.
   "It's lycanthropes and a human in the film."
   "They're already for sale?" he said.
   It was my turn to look surprised. "You know about the film? You said 'they.' There are more of them?"
   "Unfortunately," he said. He leaned against the door, sliding down to sit Indian fashion on the floor. If he'd stretched his legs out, there wouldn't have been room for both of us.
   "Explain this, Richard."
   "It was Raina's idea," he said. "She convinced Marcus to order some of us to participate."
   "Did you . . ." I couldn't even say it.
   He shook his head. Something tight in my chest eased. "Raina tried to get me in front of the cameras. For those that need to hide their identity they use masks. I wouldn't do it."
   "Did Marcus order you to?"
   "Yes. These damn films are one of the main reasons I started rising in the pack. Everyone higher in the structure could order me around. If Marcus okays it, they can order you to do almost anything, as long as it's not illegal."
   "Wait. The films aren't illegal?"
   "Bestiality is against the law in some states, but we sort of slip through the cracks on the law."
   "Nothing else illegal goes on in these films?" I asked.
   He stared up at me. "What's on that film that makes you look so scared?"
   "It's a snuff film."
   He just stared at me, no change of expression, as if waiting for me to say more. When I didn't, he said, "You cannot be serious."
   "I wish I wasn't."
   He shook his head. "Even Raina wouldn't do that."
   "Raina wasn't in the film as far as I saw."
   "But Marcus wouldn't approve of that, not that." He stood up, using only his legs and the wall. He paced to the edge of the bathtub and back. He brushed past me, slamming his hand into the wall. It gave a resounding thunk.
   He turned, and I'd never seen him so angry. "There are other packs around the country. It doesn't have to be us."
   "Alfred was in it."
   He leaned his back against the far wall, and slammed his palms into the wall again. "I can't believe it."
   Edward knocked on the door. "The film's ready."
   Richard yanked the door open and poured into the other room like a crackling storm. For the first time I felt some of that otherworldly energy radiating from him.
   Edward's eyes widened. "You gave him a preview?"
   I nodded.
   The room was in darkness except for the television. "I'll give you two love birds the bed. I'll sit over here." He sat down in the chair again, upright, watching us. "Don't mind me if the mood strikes you."
   "Shut up and start the movie," I said.
   Richard had sat down on the edge of the bed. The room-service cart was gone, along with its offending meat. Great, one less reason to upchuck. Richard seemed to have calmed down. He seemed normal enough sitting there. That wash of energy was gone so cleanly that I wondered if I'd imagined it. I glanced at Edward's face. He was watching Richard as if he had done something interesting. I hadn't imagined it.
   I thought about turning on the lights but didn't. Darkness seemed better for this.
   "Edward."
   "Showtime," he said. He hit the button, and it began again.
   Richard stiffened at the first image. Did he recognize the other man? I didn't ask, not yet. Let him see it, then questions.
   I didn't want to sit on the bed with my sweetie while this filth played. Maybe I hadn't really thought about what sex might mean to Richard. Did it mean shapeshifting? Bestiality? I hoped not, and wasn't sure how to find out without asking, and I didn't want to ask. If the answer was yes to the bestiality, the wedding was off.
   I finally walked across the screen and sat down in the other chair, beside Edward. I didn't want to see the film again. Apparently neither did Edward. We both watched Richard watch the film. I wasn't sure what I expected to see, or even what I wanted to see. Edward's face gave nothing away. His eyes closed about halfway through. He'd slid down in the chair again. He looked asleep, but I knew better. He was aware of everything in the room. I wasn't sure Edward ever really slept.
   Richard watched alone. He sat on the very edge of the bed, hands clasped together, shoulders hunched. His eyes were bright, reflecting the light of the television set. I could almost watch the action playing over his face. Sweat glistened on his upper lip. He wiped it away, catching me looking at him. He looked embarrassed, then angry.
   "Don't watch me, Anita." His voice was choked tight with something more than emotion, or less.
   I couldn't pretend sleep like Edward. What the hell was I supposed to do? I got up and walked towards the bathroom. I studiously did not look at the screen, but I had to cross in front of it. I felt Richard track me as I moved. His eyes on my back made my skin itch. I wiped suddenly sweating palms on my jeans. I turned, slowly, to look at him.
   He was looking at me, not the movie. There was rage on his face—anger was too mild a word—and hatred. I didn't think it was me he was angry with. That left who? Raina, Marcus . . . himself?
   The woman's scream jerked his head around to the film. I watched his face while his friend killed her. The rage blossomed on his face, spilling out his mouth in an inarticulate cry. He slid off the bed to his knees, covering his face with his hands.
   Edward was standing. I caught the movement on the edge of my vision and found him holding a gun that had magically appeared. I was holding the Browning. We stared at each other over Richard's kneeling body.
   Richard had rolled into an almost fetal position, rocking slowly back and forth on his knees. The sounds of tearing flesh came from the screen. He raised a shocked face, caught one glimpse of the screen, and scrambled towards me. I stepped out of the way and he let me. He was going for the bathroom.
   The door slammed shut, and a few seconds later the sound of his retching came through the door.
   Edward and I stood out in the room, looking at each other. We still had our guns out. "You go for your gun as quickly as I do. That wasn't true two years ago."
   "It's been a rough two years," I said.
   He smiled. "Most people wouldn't have seen me move in the dark."
   "My night vision is excellent," I said.
   "I'll remember that."
   "Let's call a truce tonight, Edward. I'm too tired to screw with it tonight."
   He gave one nod, and tucked the gun at the small of his back. "That wasn't where the gun started out," I said.
   "No," he said, "it wasn't."
   I holstered the Browning and knocked on the bathroom door. Admittedly, I didn't turn completely around. I just wasn't easy with Edward at my back right that moment.
   "Richard, are you all right?"
   "No." His voice sounded deeper, hoarse.
   "Can I come in?"
   There was a long pause, then, "Maybe you better."
   I pushed the door open carefully, didn't want to smack him with it. He was still kneeling over the toilet, head down, long hair hiding his face. He had a bunch of toilet paper crumbled in one hand. The sharp, sweet smell of vomit hung in the air.
   I closed the door and leaned against it. "Can I help?"
   He shook his head.
   I smoothed his hair back on one side. He jerked away from me as if I'd burned him. He ended up huddled in the corner, trapped between the wall and the bathtub. The look on his face was wild, panicked.
   I knelt in front of him.
   "Don't touch me, please!"
   "Okay, I won't touch you. Now what's wrong?"
   He wouldn't look at me. His eyes wandered the room, not settling on anything, but definitely avoiding me.
   "Talk to me, Richard."
   "I can't believe Marcus knows. He can't know. He wouldn't allow it."
   "Could Raina do it without his knowing?"
   He nodded. "She's a real bitch."
   "I noticed."
   "I have to tell Marcus. He won't believe it. He might need to see the film." His words were almost normal, but his voice was still breathy, thin, panicked. If he kept this up, he was going to hyperventilate.
   "Take a slow, deep breath, Richard. It's all right."
   He shook his head. "But it isn't. I thought you'd seen us at our worst." He gave a loud, spitting laugh. "Oh, God, now you really have."
   I reached for him, to comfort, to do something. "Don't touch me!" He screamed it at me. I backed up and ended sitting with my back pressed against the far wall. It was as far away as I could get without leaving the room.
   "What the hell is wrong with you?"
   "I want you, right now, here, after seeing that."
   "It excited you?" I made it a question.
   "God help me," he said.
   "Is that what sex means to you, not the killing but before?"
   "It can, but it isn't safe. In animal form we're contagious. You know that."
   "But it's a temptation," I said.
   "Yes." He crawled towards me, and I felt myself recoil. He sat back on his knees and just looked at me. "I am not just a man, Anita. I am what I am. I don't ask you to literally embrace the other half, but you have to look at it. You have to know what it is or it's not going to work between us." He studied my face. "Or have you changed your mind?"
   I didn't know what to say. His eyes didn't look wild anymore. They had gone dark and deep. There was a heat to his gaze, to his face, that had nothing to do with horror. He rose on all fours, the movement was enough to bring him close to me. I stared at his face from inches away. He gave a long, shuddering sigh, and energy prickled along my skin. I was left gasping. His otherness beat against my skin like a crashing wave. The wash of it pressed me against the wall like an invisible hand.
   He leaned into me, lips almost touching, then moved past. His breath was hot against the side of my face. "Think how it could be. Making love like this, feeling the power crawl over your skin while I was inside you."
   I wanted to touch him, and I was afraid to touch him. He drew back enough to look me in the face, close enough to kiss. "It would be so good." His lips brushed mine. He whispered the next words into my mouth like a secret. "And all this lust comes from me seeing blood and death and imagining her fear."
   He was standing, as if someone had pulled him upright with strings. It was magically quick. It made Alfred last night look slow. "This is what I am, Anita. I can pretend to be human. I'm better at it than Marcus, but it's just a game."
   "No." But my voice was just a whisper.
   He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it. "I've got to go." He offered me his hand. I realized he couldn't open the door with me sitting there, not without banging me with it.
   I knew if I refused his hand that that would be it. He would never ask again, and I would never say yes. I took his hand. He let out a long breath. His skin was hot to the touch, almost burning hot. His skin sent little shock waves through my arm. Touching him with all his power loose in the room was too amazing for words.
   He raised my hand to his mouth. He didn't so much kiss my hand as nuzzle it, rub it along his cheek, trace his tongue over my wrist. He dropped it so abruptly, I stumbled back. "I have to get out of here, now." There was sweat on his face again.
   He stepped out into the room. The lights were on this time. Edward was sitting in the chair, hands loose in his lap. No weapon in sight. I stood in the bathroom door, feeling Richard's power swirl out and fill the outer room like water too long imprisoned. Edward showed great restraint, not going for a gun.
   Richard stalked to the door and you could almost feel the waves of his passing in the air. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "I'll tell Marcus if I can get him alone. If Raina interferes, we'll have to think of something else." He gave one last glance at me, then he was gone. I almost expected him to run down the hallway, but he didn't. Self-restraint at its best.
   Edward and I stood in the doorway and watched him vanish around the corner. He turned to me. "You're dating that."
   Minutes ago I would have been insulted, but my skin was vibrating with the backwash of Richard's power. I couldn't pretend anymore. He'd asked me to marry him, and I'd said yes. But I hadn't understood, not really. He wasn't human. He really, truly wasn't.
   The question was, how big a difference did that make? Answer: I hadn't the foggiest.
   

20
   I slept Sunday morning and missed church. I hadn't gotten home until nearly seven o'clock in the morning. There was no way to make a ten o'clock service. Surely God understood the need for sleep, even if he didn't have to do it himself.
   Late afternoon found me at Washington University. I was in the office of Dr. Louis Fane, Louie to his friends. The early-winter evening was filling the sky with soft purple clouds. Strips of sky like a lighted backdrop for the clouds showed through his single office window. He rated a window. Most doctorates didn't. Doctorates are cheap on a college campus.
   Louie sat with his back to the window. He had turned on the desk lamp. It made a pool of golden warmth against the coming night. We sat in that last pool of light, and it seemed more private than it should have. A last stand against the dark. God, I was melancholy today.
   Louie's office was suitably cluttered. One wall was ceiling-to-floor bookshelves, filled with biology textbooks, nature essays, and a complete set of James Herriot books. The skeleton of a Little Brown Bat was laid behind glass and hung on his wall by his diploma. There was a bat identification poster on his door like the ones you buy for bird feeders. You know, "Common Birds of Eastern Missouri." Louie's doctoral thesis had been on the adaptation of the Little Brown Bat to human habitation.
   His shelves were lined with souvenirs; seashells, a piece of petrified wood, pinecones, bark with dried lichen on it. All the bits and pieces that biology majors are always picking up.
   Louie was about five foot six, with eyes as black as my own. His hair was straight and fine, growing a little below his shoulders. It wasn't a fashion statement as it was with Richard. It sort of looked as though Louie had just not gotten around to cutting his hair in a while. He had a square face, a slender build, and looked sort of inoffensive. But muscles worked in his forearms as he tented his fingers and looked at me. Even if he hadn't been a wererat, I might not have offered to arm-wrestle him.
   He had come in specially to talk to me on a Sunday. It was my day off, too.
   It was the first Sunday that Richard and I hadn't at least talked to each other in months. Richard had called and canceled, saying it was pack business. I hadn't been able to ask questions because you can't argue with your answering machine. I didn't call him back. I wasn't ready to talk to him, not after last night.
   I felt like a fool this morning. I'd said yes to a proposal from someone I didn't know. I knew what Richard had shown me, his outward face, but inside was a whole new world that I had just begun to visit.
   "What did you and the rest of the professors think of the footprints the police sent over?"
   "We think it's a wolf."
   "A wolf? Why?"
   "It's certainly a big canine. It isn't a dog, and other than wolves that's about it."
   "Even allowing for the fact that the canine foot is mixed with human?"
   "Even allowing."
   "Could it be Peggy Smitz?"
   "Peggy could control herself really well. Why would she kill someone?"
   "I don't know. Why wouldn't she kill someone?"
   He leaned back in his chair. It squeaked under his weight. "Fair question. Peggy was as much a pacifist as the pack would let her be."
   "She didn't fight?"
   "Not unless forced into it."
   "Was she high in the pack structure?"
   "Shouldn't you be asking Richard these questions? He is next in line to the throne, so to speak."
   I just looked at him. I wouldn't look away as if I were guilty of something.
   "I smell trouble in paradise," he said.
   I ignored the hint. Business, we had business to discuss. "Peggy's husband came to see me. He wanted me to look for her. He didn't know about the other missing lycanthropes. Why wouldn't Peggy have told him?"
   "A lot of us survive in relationships by pretending as hard as we can that we aren't what we are. I bet Peggy didn't talk pack business with her husband."
   "How hard is it to pretend?"
   "The better you control, the easier it is to pretend."
   "So it can be done."
   "Would you want to go through your life pretending you didn't raise zombies? Never talking about it? Never sharing it? Having your husband embarrassed by it, or sickened by it?"
   I felt my face burn. I wanted to deny it. I wasn't embarrassed by Richard, or sickened, but I wasn't comfortable, either. Not comfortable enough to protest. "It doesn't sound like a very good way to live," I said.
   "It isn't."
   There was a very heavy silence in the room. If he thought I was going to spill the beans, he was wrong. When all else goes to hell, concentrate on business. "The police were all over the area where the body was found today. Sergeant Storr said they didn't find anything but a few more footprints, a little blood." Truth was, they had found some fresh rifle slugs in the trees near the kill area, but I wasn't sure I was free to share that with the lycanthrope community. It was police business. I was lying to both sides. It didn't seem like a good way to run a murder investigation, or a missing-person case.
   "If the police and the pack would share information, we might be able to solve this case."
   He shrugged. "It's not my call, Anita. I'm just an Indian, not a chief."
   "Richard's a chief," I said.
   "Not as long as Marcus and Raina are alive."
   "I didn't think Richard had to fight her for pack dominance. I thought it was Marcus's fight."
   Louie laughed. "If you think Raina would let Marcus lose without helping him, you haven't met the woman."
   "I have met her. I just thought her helping Marcus was against pack law."
   He shrugged again. "I don't know about pack law, but I know Raina. If Richard would play footsie with her, she might even help him defeat Marcus, but he's made it very clear that he doesn't like her."
   "Richard said she had this idea about lycanthrope porno movies?"
   Louie's eyes widened. "Richard told you about that?"
   I nodded.
   "I'm surprised. He was embarrassed about the whole idea. Raina was hot and heavy to have him be her costar. I think she was trying to seduce him, but she misjudged her boy. Richard is too private to ever have sex for a camera."
   "Raina's starred in some of the movies?"
   "So I'm told."
   "Have any of the wererats appeared in the flicks?"
   He shook his head. "Rafael forbid it. We're one of the few groups that refused it flat."
   "Rafael's a good man."
   "And a good rat," Louie said.
   I smiled. "Yeah."
   "What's up with you and Richard?"
   "What do you mean?"
   "He left a message on my answering machine. Said he had big news concerning you. When I saw him in person, he said it was nothing. What happened?"
   I didn't know what to say. Not a new event lately. "I think it has to be Richard's news."
   "He said something about it being your choice and he couldn't talk about it. You say it's his business and you can't talk about it. I wish one of you would talk to me."
   I opened my mouth, closed it, and sighed. I had questions that I needed answers to, but Louie was Richard's friend before he was mine. Loyalty and all that. But who the hell else could I ask? Irving? He was in enough trouble with Richard.
   "I've heard Richard and Rafael talk about controlling their beasts. Does that mean the change?"
   He nodded. "Yes." He looked at me, eyes narrowing. "If you've heard Richard talk about his beast, you must have seen him close to changing. What happened last night?"
   "If Richard didn't tell you, Louie, I don't think I can."
   "The grapevine says you killed Alfred. Is that true?"
   "Yes."
   He looked at me as if waiting for more, then shrugged. "Raina won't like that."
   "Marcus didn't seem too pleased, either."
   "But he won't jump you in a dark alley. She will."
   "Why didn't Richard tell me that?"
   "Richard is one of the best friends I have. He's loyal, honest, caring, sort of the world's furriest boy scout. If he has a flaw, it's that he expects other people to be loyal, honest, and caring."
   "Surely after what he's seen from Marcus and Raina, he doesn't still think they're nice people?"
   "He knows they aren't nice, but he has trouble seeing them as evil. When all is said and done, Anita, Marcus is his alpha male. Richard respects authority. He's been trying to work out some sort of compromise with Marcus for months. He doesn't want to kill him. Marcus doesn't have the same qualms about Richard."
   "Irving told me Richard defeated Marcus, could have killed him, and didn't. Is that true?"
   " 'Fraid so."
   "Shit."
   "Yeah, I told Richard he should have done it, but he's never killed anyone. He believes all life is precious."
   "All life is precious," I said.
   "Some life is just more precious than others," Louie said.
   I nodded. "Yeah."
   "Did Richard change for you last night?"
   "God, you are relentless."
   "You said it was one of my better qualities."
   "It is normally." It was like being picked at by Ronnie. She never gave up, either.
   "Did he change for you?"
   "Sort of," I said.
   "And you couldn't handle it." It was a flat statement.
   "I'm not sure, Louie. I'm just not sure."
   "Better to find out now," he said.
   "I guess so."
   "Do you love him?"
   "None of your damn business."
   "I love Richard like a brother. If you're going to slice his heart up and serve it on a platter, I'd like to know now. If you leave, I'll be the one helping him pick up the pieces."
   "I don't want to hurt Richard," I said.
   "I believe you." He just looked at me. There was a great peacefulness to his expression, as if he could wait all night for me to answer the question. Louie had more patience than I would ever have.
   "Yes, I love him. Happy?"
   "Do you love him enough to embrace his furry side?" His eyes were staring at me as if they'd burn a hole through my heart.
   "I don't know. If he were human . . . Shit."
   "If he were human, you'd marry him maybe?" He was kind enough to make it a question.
   "Maybe," I said. But it wasn't a maybe. If Richard had been human, I'd be a very happily engaged woman right now. Of course, there was another male that wasn't human that had been trying to get me to date him for a while. Jean-Claude had said that Richard wasn't any more human than he was. I hadn't believed him. I was beginning to. It looked like I owed Jean-Claude an apology. Not that I would ever admit it to him.
   "A writer came to my office yesterday, Elvira Drew. She's doing a book on shapeshifters. It sounds legit and could be good press." I explained the format of the book.
   "Sounds good, actually," he said. "Where do I come in?"
   "Guess."
   "She's missing a wererat interview."
   "Bingo."
   "I can't afford to be exposed, Anita. You know that."
   "It doesn't have to be you. Is there anyone among you that would be willing to meet with her?"
   "I'll ask around," he said.
   "Thanks, Louie." I stood.
   He stood and offered me his hand. His grip was firm but not too strong, just right. I wondered how fast he really was, and how easy it would be for him to crush my hand into pulp. It must have shown on my face, because he said, "You might want to stop dating Richard. Until you get this sorted out."
   I nodded. "Yeah, maybe."
   We stood there in silence for a moment. There didn't seem to be anything left to say, so I left. I was all out of clever repartee, or even a good joke. It was barely dark, and I was tired. Tired enough to go home and crawl into bed and hide. Instead, I was on my way to the Lunatic Cafe. I was going to try and convince Marcus to let me talk to the police. Eight missing, one dead human. It didn't have to be connected. But if it was a werewolf, then Marcus would know who did the killing, or Raina would know. Would they tell me? Maybe, maybe not, but I had to ask. They'd come closer to telling me the truth than they would to the police. Funny how all the monsters talked to me and not to the police. You had to begin to wonder why the monsters were so damn comfortable around me.
   I raised zombies and slew vampires. Who was I to throw stones?
   
   

21
   I walked along the campus sidewalk towards my car. I walked from one pool of light to the next. My breath fogged in the glow of the streetlights. It was my night off so I was dressed all in black. Bert wouldn't let me wear black to work. Said it gave the wrong impression—too harsh—associated with evil magic. If he'd done any research, he'd have found that red, white, and a host of other colors are used in evil rituals. It depends on the religion. It was very Anglo-Saxon of him to outlaw only black.
   Black jeans, black Nike Airs with a blue swoosh, a black sweater, and a black trench coat. Even my guns and holsters were black. I was just monochrome as hell tonight. I was wearing silver, but it was hidden under the sweater; a cross, and a knife on each forearm. I was headed for the Lunatic Cafe. I was going to try to persuade Marcus to let me share information with the police. The missing lycanthropes, even the ones like Peggy Smitz who didn't want their secret known, were safe from bad publicity now. They were dead. They had to be. There is no way to hold eight shapeshifters against their will for this long. Not alive.
   It couldn't hurt them to tell the cops, and it might save any other shapeshifters from going missing. I had to talk to the people who had last seen the missing ones. Why had none of them put up a fight? That had to be a clue. Ronnie was better at this sort of thing than I was. Maybe we could go out detecting tomorrow.
   Would Richard be there? If so, what was I supposed to say to him? It made me stop walking. I stood in the cold dark, trapped between streetlights. I wasn't ready to see Richard again. But we had a dead body, maybe more. I couldn't chicken out just because I didn't want to see Richard. It would be pure cowardice.
   Truth was, I would rather have faced down a herd of vampires than one would-be fiance.
   The wind whistled at my back as if a blizzard were moving up behind me. My hair streamed around my face. The trees were icy still, no wind. I whirled, Browning in my hand. Something slammed into my back, sending me smashing into the sidewalk. I tried to save myself, arms slamming into the concrete first. My arms went numb and tingling. I couldn't feel my hands. My head snapped downward.
   There is that moment after a really good head blow that you can't react. A frozen moment when you wonder if you'll ever be able to move again.
   Someone was sitting on my back. Hands jerked my coat on the left side. I heard the cloth rip. The feeling was coming back in my arms. I'd lost the Browning. I tried to roll over on my side to go for the Firestar. A hand slammed my head into the sidewalk again. Light exploded inside my head. My vision went dark, and when I could see again, I caught Gretchen's face rearing above me.
   She had a handful of my hair, pulled painfully to one side. My sweater was ripped away from my shoulder. Gretchen's mouth was stretched wide, fangs shimmering in the dark. I screamed. The Firestar was trapped under my body. I went for one of the knives, but it was under the sleeve of my coat, the sleeve of my sweater. I wasn't going to get there in time.
   There was a high scream, and it wasn't me. A woman was standing at the end of the sidewalk screaming. Gretchen raised her head and hissed at them. The man with her grabbed her shoulders and pushed her off the path. They ran. Wise.
   I plunged the knife into her throat. It wasn't a killing blow and I knew it, but I thought she'd rear. Give me a chance at the Firestar. She didn't. I shoved the knife in to its hilt; blood poured down my hand, splattered my face. She darted downward, going for my throat. The knife had done as much damage as it could. There was no time to go for the second blade. I was still pinned over the gun. I had forever to watch her mouth coming for me, to know I was going to die.
   Something dark smashed into her, rolling her off me with the impact. I was left gasping on the sidewalk, blinking. I had the Firestar in my hand. I didn't remember getting it out. Practice, practice, practice.
   There was a wererat on top of Gretchen. The dark muzzle darted downward, teeth glimmering. Gretchen grabbed his muzzle, holding those snapping teeth from her throat. A furred claw slashed her pale face. Blood flowed. She screamed, punching one hand into his stomach. It raised him in the air, just enough for her to get her legs under him. She lifted with her legs and shoved him into the air. The wererat went tumbling like a thrown ball.
   Gretchen was on her feet like magic. I sighted down the barrel of the gun, still on the ground. But she was gone into the bushes, after the wererat. I'd missed my chance.
   Snarls and snapping branches came from the darkness. It had to be Louie. I didn't know that many wererats that would come to my rescue.
   I stood up and the world swam. I stumbled, and it took everything I had to stay standing. For the first time I wondered how badly I was hurt. I knew I was scraped up some because I could feel that sharp, stinging pain that taking off the first layer of skin will get you. I raised a hand to my head and it came away with blood. Some of it was mine.
   I tried another step, and I could do it. Maybe I'd just tried to stand too fast. I hoped so. I didn't know if a wererat could take a vampire or not. But I wasn't standing out here in the clear and waiting to find out.
   I was at the edge of the trees when they rolled out of the darkness and over me. I lay on the pavement for the second time, but there was no time to get my wind back. I rolled onto my right side, sighting down my arm towards the noise.
   The movement was too sudden, my vision swam. When I could focus again, Gretchen had sunk fangs into Louie's neck. He gave a high, wild squeal. I couldn't shoot her lying down, all I could see from here was the rat's body, her arms and legs riding him, but the only shot I had that might kill her was a line of her blond head. I didn't dare try it. I might kill Louie, too. Even clear-headed, it would have been an iffy shot.
   I got to my knees. The world shifted, and nausea rolled at the back of my throat. When the world was still again, there was still nothing to shoot at. Some trick of a distant streetlight flashed on the blood pouring from his throat. If she'd had the teeth Louie had, he'd be dead.
   I fired into the ground near them, hoping it would scare her off. It didn't. I aimed at a tree just above her head. It was as close to Louie as I dared get. The bullet exploded in the tree. One blue eye looked at me while she fed off of him. She was going to kill him while I watched.
   "Shoot her," it was Louie's voice twisted around furry jaws, but his voice. His eyes glazed and closed, while I watched. Last words.
   I took a deep, steadying breath and aimed two-handed, one hand cupping the other in a teacup grip. I sighted on that one pale eye. Darkness swam over my vision. I waited on my knees, blind, for my vision to clear and me to pull that trigger. If my vision went while I was firing, I'd hit Louie. I was out of options.
   Or maybe not. "Richard asked me to marry him and I said yes. You can smell a lie. I said yes to marrying someone else. We don't have to do this."
   She hesitated. I stared into her eye. My vision was clear. Arm steady, I pressed on the trigger. She released his throat, sliding her head into his neck fur, hiding. Her voice came muffled but clear enough: "Put down your little gun, and I will let him go."
   I took a breath and raised the gun skyward. "Let him go."
   "The gun first," she said.
   I didn't want to give up my only gun. That seemed like a really bad idea. But what choice did I have? If I were Gretchen, I wouldn't want me armed. I did still have the second knife, but from this distance it was useless. Even if I could throw well enough to put it through her heart, it would have to be a very solid blow. She was too old for a glancing blow to do much good. I'd shoved a knife hilt-deep into her throat and it hadn't slowed her down. It had impressed me.
   I laid the Firestar on the sidewalk and raised my hands to show myself unarmed. Gretchen rose slowly from behind Louie's limp body. Without her propping him up, his body rolled onto its back. There was a looseness to the movement that unnerved me. Was it too late? Could a vampire's bite kill like silver?
   The vampire and I stared at each other. My knife was sticking out of her throat like an exclamation mark. She hadn't even bothered to take it out. Jesus. I must have missed the voice box or she wouldn't have been able to talk. Even vampirism has its limits. I was meeting her eyes. Nothing was happening. It was like looking into anyone's eyes. That shouldn't have been. Maybe she was holding her power in check? Naw.
   "Is he still alive?"
   "Come closer and see for yourself."
   "No, thanks." If Louie was dead, my being dead wouldn't help that.
   She smiled. "Tell me again, this news of yours."
   "Richard asked me to marry him, and I said yes."
   "You love this Richard?"
   "Yes." This was no time for hesitation. She accepted it with a nod. I guess it was true, surprise, surprise.
   "Tell Jean-Claude and I will be content."
   "I plan on telling him."
   "Tonight."
   "Fine, tonight."
   "Lie. When I leave you will tend your wounds, and his, and not tell Jean-Claude."
   I couldn't even get away with a little white lie, shit. "What do you want?"
   "He is at Guilty Pleasures tonight. Go there and tell him. I will be waiting for you."
   "I have to tend to his wounds before I do anything," I said.
   "Tend his wounds, but come to Guilty Pleasures before dawn, or our truce is over."
   "Why not tell Jean-Claude yourself?"
   "He would not believe me."
   "He could tell you were telling the truth," I said.
   "Just because I believed it was truth would not make it so. But he will smell the truth on you. If I am not there, wait for me. I want to be there when you tell him you love another. I want to see his face fall."
   "Fine, I'll be there before dawn."
   She stepped over Louie's body. She had the Browning in her right hand, held palm over the barrel and grip, not to fire but to keep me from it. She stalked to me and picked up the Firestar, eyes never leaving me.
   Blood dripped down the knife hilt in her throat. The blood fell in a heavy, wet splat. She smiled as my eyes widened. I knew it didn't kill them, but I'd thought it hurt. Maybe they only took the blades out from habit. It certainly didn't seem to bother Gretchen.
   "You can have these back after you tell him," she said.
   "You're hoping he kills me," I said.
   "I would shed no tears."
   Great. Gretchen took a step backwards, then another. She stopped at the edge of the trees, a pale form in the dark. "I await you, Anita Blake. Do not disappoint me this night."
   "I'll be there," I said.
   She smiled, flashing bloody teeth, stepped back again, and was gone. I thought it was a mind trick, but there was a backwash of air. The trees shook as if a storm were passing. I looked up and caught a glimpse of something. Not wings, not a bat, but . . . something. Something my eyes couldn't or wouldn't make sense of.
   The wind died, and the winter dark was as still and quiet as a tomb. Sirens wailed in the distance. I guess the coeds had called the cops. Couldn't say I blamed them.

22
   I stood, carefully. The world didn't spin. Great. I walked to Louie. His rat-man form lay very still and dark on the grass. I knelt, and another wave of dizziness took me. I waited on all fours for it to pass. When the world was steady once more, I put my hand on his fur-covered chest. I let out a sigh when his chest rose and fell under my palm. Alive, breathing. Fantastic.
   If he'd been in human form, I'd have checked his neck wound. I was pretty sure that just touching his blood in animal form wouldn't give me lycanthropy, but I wasn't one hundred percent. I had enough problems without turning furry once a month. Besides, if I had to pick an animal, a rat wouldn't be it.
   The sirens were getting closer. I wasn't sure what to do. He was badly hurt, but I'd seen Richard worse off and he had healed. But had he needed some medical attention to get healed? I didn't know. I could hide Louie in the bushes, but would I be leaving him to die? If the cops saw him like this, his secret was out. His life would be in a shambles around him, just because he'd helped me. It didn't seem fair.
   A long sigh rose from his pointed muzzle. A shudder ran through his body. The fur began to recede like the tide pulling back. The awkward, ratlike limbs began to straighten. His bent legs straightened. I watched his human form rise from the fur like a shape caught in ice.
   Louie lay there on the dark grass, pale and naked and very human. I'd never seen the process in reverse before. It was just as spectacular as the change to animal form, but it wasn't as frightening, maybe because of the end product.
   The wound on his neck was more like an animal bite than a vampire, skin torn, but two of the marks were deeper, fangs. There was no blood on the wound now. As I watched, blood started to flow. I couldn't tell for sure in the dark, but it looked like the wound was already beginning to heal. I checked his pulse. It was steady, strong, but what did I know? I wasn't a doctor.
   The siren was silent, but lights strobed the darkness just over the trees like colored lightning. The cops were coming, and I had to decide what to do. My head was feeling better. My vision was clear. The dizziness seemed to be gone. Of course, I hadn't tried to stand again. I could carry him in a fireman's carry; not too fast and not too far, but I could do it. The bite marks were shrinking. Hell, he'd be healed by morning. I couldn't let the cops see him, and I couldn't leave him here. I didn't know if lycanthropes could freeze to death, but I didn't feel lucky tonight.
   I covered him with my coat, wrapping it around him as I lifted. Wouldn't do for him to get frostbite on certain delicate places. You lose a toe and there you are.
   I took a deep breath and stood with him across my shoulders. My knees didn't like lifting him. But I got to my feet, and my vision wavered. I stood there, bracing against a suddenly moving world. I fell to my knees. The extra weight made it hurt.
   The police were coming. If I didn't get out of here right now, I might as well give it up. Giving up wasn't one of my better things. I got to one knee and gave that last push. My knees screamed at me, but I was standing. Black waves passed over my eyes. I just stood there letting it sway over me. The dizziness wasn't as bad this time. The nausea was worse. I'd throw up later.
   I stayed on the sidewalk. I didn't trust myself in the snow. Besides, even city cops could follow prints in the snow. A planting of trees hid me from the direction of the flashing lights. The sidewalk led around a building. Once around that I could backtrack to my car. The thought of driving while my vision kept sweeping in and out was a bad idea, but if I didn't get some distance between me and the cops, all this effort would be wasted. I had to get to the car. I had to get Louie out of sight.
   I didn't look back to see if there were flashlights sweeping the area. Looking back wouldn't help, and with Louie on my shoulders it was a lot of effort to turn. I put one foot in front of the other, and the edge of the building curved around us. We were out of sight, even if they cleared the trees. Progress. Great.
   The side of the building stretched like some dark monolith to my left. The distance around the building seemed to be growing. I put one foot in front of the other. If I just concentrated on walking, I could do this. Louie seemed to be getting lighter. That wasn't right. Was I about to pass out and just didn't know it yet?
   I looked up and found the edge of the building right beside me. I'd lost some time there. It was a bad sign. I was betting I had a concussion. It couldn't be too bad or I'd pass out, right? Why didn't I believe that?
   I peered around the corner, concentrating on not whacking Louie's legs into the building. It took a lot more concentration than it should have.
   The police lights strobed the darkness. The car was parked on the edge of the lot with one door open. The radio filled the night with garbled squawking. The car looked empty. Squinting at something that far away brought a wave of blackness across my eyes. How the hell was I going to drive? One problem at a time. Right now, just get Louie to the Jeep, out of sight.
   I stepped away from the sheltering building. It was my last refuge. If the cops came now with me walking across the parking lot, it was over.
   On a Sunday night there weren't a lot of cars in the visitors' parking lot. My Jeep sat under one of the streetlights. I always parked under a light if I could. Safety rule number one for women traveling alone after dark. The Jeep looked like it was in a spotlight. The light was probably not that bright. It just looked that way because I was trying to be sneaky.
   Somewhere about halfway to the Jeep, I realized that the head injury wasn't the only problem. Sure I could lift this much weight, even walk with it, but not forever. My knees were trembling. Every step was getting slower and took more effort. If I fell down again, I wasn't going to be able to pick Louie back up. I wasn't even sure I'd be able to get me back up.
   One foot in front of the other, just one foot in front of the other. I concentrated on my feet until the Jeep's tires came into view. There, that wasn't so hard.
   The car keys were, of course, in the coat pocket. I hit the button on the key chain that unlocked the doors. The high-pitched beeping noise that signaled them open only sounded loud enough to wake the dead. I opened the middle doors, balancing Louie one handed. I let him fall into the backseat. The coat fell open, revealing a naked line of body. I must have been feeling better than I thought because I took the time to fling the coat over his groin and lower chest. It left one arm flung outward, limp and awkward, but that was all right. My sense of propriety could live with a naked arm.
   I closed the door and caught a glimpse of myself in the sideview mirror. One side of my face was a bloody mask, the clean parts had bloody scrapes. I slid into the Jeep, and got a box of aloe and lanolin baby wipes from the floorboard. I'd started carrying the wipes to help with the blood from zombie raisings. It worked better than the plain soap and water that I had been carrying. I wiped enough blood off that I wouldn't get stopped by the first cop that drove by, then slid behind the wheel.
   I glanced in the rearview mirror. The police car still stood there alone, like a dog waiting for its master. The motor kicked. I put the car in gear and hit the gas. The Jeep weaved towards a streetlight as if it were a magnet. I slammed the brakes on and was glad I'd worn my seat belt.
   Okay, so I was just a bit disoriented. I hit the light on my sunshade that's supposed to let you check your makeup, and checked my eyes instead. The pupils were even. If one pupil had been blown, that might have meant I was bleeding inside my head. People died from things like that. I'd have turned us in to the cops and gotten a ride to the hospital. But it wasn't that bad. I hoped.
   I clicked the light off and eased the Jeep forward. If I drove very slowly, the car wouldn't want to kiss the streetlight. Great. I inched out of the parking lot, expecting to hear shouts behind me. Nothing. The street was dark and lined with cars on either side. I crawled down the street at about ten miles per hour, afraid to go faster. It looked like I was driving through cars on one side. Illusion but unnerving as hell.
   A bigger street and headlights stabbed at my eyes. I put my hand up to shield my eyes and nearly ran into a parked car. Shit. I had to pull over before I hit something. Four more blocks before I found a gas station with pay phones outside. I wasn't sure how rough I looked. I didn't want some overzealous clerk to call the police after I'd gone to all the trouble of getting away undetected.
   I eased the Jeep into the parking lot. If I overcorrected and took out the gas pumps, they might call the cops anyway. I pulled the Jeep in front of the phone bank. I put it in park and was very relieved to be standing still.
   I fumbled a quarter out of the ashtray. It had never held anything but change. When I left the car, for the first time I was aware of how cold it was without my coat. There was a line of cold going down my back where the sweater had been ripped away. I dialed Richard's number without thinking about it. Who else could I call?
   The answering machine kicked in. "Dammit, be home, Richard, be home."
   The beep sounded. "Richard, this is Anita. Louie's hurt. Pick up if you're there. Richard, Richard, dammit, Richard, pick up." I leaned my forehead against the cool metal of the phone booth. "Pick up, pick up, pick up. Richard. Dammit."
   He picked up, sounding out of breath. "Anita, it's me. What's wrong?"
   "Louie got hurt. His wound's healing. How do you explain that to a hospital emergency room?"
   "You don't," he said. "We have doctors that can tend him. I'll give you an address to go to."
   "I can't drive."
   "Are you hurt?"
   "Yeah."
   "How bad?"
   "Bad enough that I don't want to drive."
   "What happened to the two of you?"
   I gave him a very abbreviated version of the night's events. Just a vampire attack, no specific motive. I wasn't ready to tell him I had to tell Jean-Claude about our engagement, because I wasn't sure we still had one. He'd asked, I said yes, but now I wasn't sure. I wasn't even sure Richard was sure anymore.
   "Give me the address." I did. "I know the gas station you're talking about. I stop there when I visit Louie sometimes."
   "Great. When can you be here?"
   "Are you going to be all right until I can get there?"
   "Sure."
   "Because if you're not, call the police. Don't risk your life just to keep Louie's secret. He wouldn't want that."
   "I'll keep that in mind."
   "Don't get macho on me, Anita. I don't want anything to happen to you."
   I smiled with my forehead pressed against the phone. "Macho's the only way I got this far. Just get here, Richard. I'll be waiting." I hung up before he could get mushy on me. I was feeling too pitiful to withstand much sympathy.
   I got back into the Jeep. It was cold inside the car. I'd forgotten to turn on the heater. I turned the heater on full blast. I knelt on the seat and checked on Louie. He hadn't moved. I touched the skin of his wrist, checking for the pulse. It was strong and steady. For the heck of it, I lifted his hand and let it flop back. No reaction. I hadn't really expected one.
   Usually, a lycanthrope stayed in animal form for eight or ten hours. Changing back early took a lot of energy. Even if he hadn't been hurt, Louie would be asleep for the rest of the night. Though sleep was too mild a word for it. You couldn't wake them from it. It wasn't a great survival method. Just like sleeping during the day didn't help vampires much. Evolution's way of helping us puny humans out.
   I slid down in my seat. I wasn't sure how long it would take for Richard to get here. I glanced at the station building. The man behind the counter was reading a magazine. He wasn't taking any notice of us at the moment. If he'd been watching, I would have moved out of the lights. Didn't want him wondering why I was sitting here, but if he wasn't paying attention, we'd just sit here.
   I leaned back, putting my head against the headrest. I wanted to close my eyes, but didn't. I was pretty sure I had a concussion. Going to sleep wasn't a good idea. I'd had one head injury worse than this, but Jean-Claude had cured it. But a vampire mark was a little harsh for a mild concussion.
   This was the first time I'd been badly hurt since I lost Jean-Claude's marks. They had made me harder to hurt, faster to heal. Not a bad side effect. One of the other effects had been an ability to meet a vampire's eyes without them being able to bespell me. Like I had met Gretchen's eyes.
   How had I met her eyes with impunity? Had Jean-Claude lied to me? Was there some lingering mark? Another question to ask him when I saw him. Of course, after I told him the news bulletin, all hell would break loose and there would be no more questions. Well, maybe one question. Would Jean-Claude try to kill Richard? Probably.
   I sighed, closing my eyes. I was suddenly tired, so tired I didn't want to open my eyes. Sleep sucked at me. I opened my eyes and slid up in the seat. Maybe it was just tension, adrenaline draining away, or maybe it was a concussion. I clicked on the overhead light and checked on Louie again. Breathing and pulse were steady. His head was to one side, neck stretched in a long line that showed the wound. The bite marks were healing. I couldn't see it happening, but every time I looked it was better. Like trying to watch a flower bloom. You see the effect, but you never actually see it happening.
   Louie was going to be all right. Would Richard be all right? I'd said yes because in the heat of the moment I meant it. I could see spending my life with him. Before Bert found me and showed me how to use my talent for money, I'd had a life. I'd gone hiking, camping. I'd been a biology major and thought I'd go on for my master's and doctorate and study preternatural creatures for the rest of my life. Sort of the preternatural Jane Goodall. Richard had reminded me of all that, of what I'd originally thought my life would be like. I hadn't planned on spending my life ass deep in blood and death. Really.
   If I gave in to Jean-Claude, it would be admitting that there was nothing but death, nothing but violence. Sexy, attractive, but death all the same. I'd thought with Richard I had a chance at life. Something better. After last night I wasn't even sure of that.
   Was it too much to ask for someone who was human? Hell, I knew a lot of women in my age bracket that couldn't get a date at all. I'd been one of them until Richard. All right, Jean-Claude would have taken me out, but I was avoiding him. I couldn't imagine dating Jean-Claude as if he were an ordinary guy. I could imagine having sex with him, but not dating. The thought of him picking me up at eight, dropping me off, and being satisfied with a good-night kiss seemed ridiculous.
   I stayed kneeling in the seat, staring down at Louie. I was afraid to turn around and get comfortable, afraid I'd fall asleep and not wake up. I wasn't really afraid, but I was worried. A trip to the hospital might not be a bad idea, but first I had to tell Jean-Claude about Richard. And keep him from killing him.
   I laid my face on my arms, and a deep, throbbing pain started behind my forehead. Good. My head should hurt after the beating it had taken. The fact that it hadn't been hurting had worried me. A good headache I could live with.
   How was I going to keep Richard alive? I smiled. Richard was an alpha wolf. What made me think he couldn't take care of himself? I'd seen what Jean-Claude could do. I'd seen him when he wasn't human at all. Maybe after I saw Richard change I'd feel differently about him. Maybe I wouldn't feel so protective. Maybe hell would freeze over.
   I did love Richard. I really did. I'd meant that yes. I'd meant it before last night. Before I felt his power creep over my skin. Jean-Claude had been right about one thing. Richard wasn't human. The snuff film had excited him. Was Jean-Claude's idea of sex any stranger than that? I'd never let myself find out.
   Someone knocked on the window. I jumped and whirled. My vision swam in black streamers. When I could see again, Richard's face was outside the window.
   I unlocked the doors, and Richard opened one. He started to reach for me and stopped. The hesitation on his face was painful. He wasn't sure I'd let him touch me. I turned away from the hurt on his face. I loved him, but love isn't enough. All the fairy tales, the romance novels, the soap operas; they're all lies. Love does not conquer all.
   He was very careful not to touch me. His voice was neutral. "Anita, are you all right? You look awful."
   "Nice to know I look like I feel," I said.
   He touched my cheek, fingers sliding just over the skin, a ghost of a touch that made me shiver. He traced the edge of the scrape. It hurt and I jerked away. A spot of blood decorated his fingertips, gleaming in the dome light. I watched his eyes stare at the blood. I saw the thought trail behind his true brown eyes. He almost licked his fingers clean, as Rafael had done. He wiped his fingers on his coat, but I'd seen the hesitation. He knew I'd seen it.
   "Anita . . ."
   The back door opened, and I whirled, going for the last knife I had on me. The world swam in waves of blackness and nausea. The movement had been too abrupt. Stephen the Werewolf stood in the half-open door staring at me. He was sort of frozen there, blue eyes wide. He was looking at the silver knife in my hand. The fact that I'd been blind and too sick to use it seemed to have escaped him. It might have been that I was kneeling, moving towards him. I'd been willing to strike blind as a bat, not considering that whoever it was had a right to be there.
   "You didn't tell me you brought someone with you," I said.
   "I should have mentioned that," Richard said.
   I relaxed, easing back to kneel in the seat. "Yeah, you should have mentioned that." The knife gleamed in the dome light. It looked razor sharp and well tended. It was.
   "I was just going to check on Louie," Stephen said. He sounded a little shaky. He had a black leather jacket with silver studding snapped tight around his throat. His long, curling blond hair fell forward over the jacket. He looked like an effeminate biker.
   "Fine," I said.
   Stephen looked past me to Richard. I felt more than saw Richard nod. "It's okay, Stephen." There was something in his voice that made me turn slowly to look at him.
   He had a strange look on his face. "Maybe you are as dangerous as you pretend to be."
   "I don't pretend, Richard."
   He nodded. "Maybe you don't."
   "Is that a problem?"
   "As long as you don't shoot me, or my pack members, I guess not."
   "I can't promise about your pack."
   "They're mine to protect," he said.
   "Then make sure they leave me the hell alone."
   "Would you fight me over that?" he asked.
   "Would you fight me?"
   He smiled, but it wasn't happy. "I couldn't fight you, Anita. I could never hurt you."
   "That's where we're different, Richard."
   He leaned in as if to kiss me. Something on my face stopped him. "I believe you."
   "Good," I said. I slipped the knife back in its sheath. I stared at his face while I did it. I didn't need to look to put the knife away. "Never underestimate me, Richard, and what I'm willing to do to stay alive. To keep others alive. I never want us to fight, not like that, but if you don't control your pack, then I will."
   He moved away from me. His face looked almost angry. "Is that a threat?"
   "It's out of control, and you know it. I can't promise not to hurt them unless you can guarantee that they'll behave. And you can't do that."
   "No, I can't guarantee that." He didn't like saying it.
   "Then don't ask me to promise not to hurt them."
   "Can you at least try not to kill them, as a first option?"
   I thought about that. "I don't know. Maybe."
   "You can't just say, 'Yes, Richard, I won't kill your friends'?"
   "It would be a lie."
   He nodded. "I suppose so."
   I heard the rustle of leather from the backseat as Stephen moved around. "Louie's out of it, but he'll be okay."
   "How did you get him into the Jeep?" Richard asked.
   I just stared at him.
   He had the grace to look embarrassed. "You carried him. I knew that." He touched the cut on my forehead, gently. It still hurt. "Even with this, you carried him."
   "It was either that or let the cops have him. What would have happened if they'd piled him into an ambulance and he'd started healing like that?"
   "They'd have known what he was," Richard said.
   Stephen was leaning on the back of the seat, chin resting on his forearms. He seemed to have forgotten that I'd nearly stabbed him, or maybe he was used to being threatened. Maybe. Up close his eyes were the startled blue of cornflowers. With his blond hair spitting around his face he looked like one of those china dolls that you buy in exclusive shops, that you never let children play with.
   "I can take Louie to my place," he said.
   "No," I said.
   They both looked at me, surprised. I wasn't sure what to say, but I knew that Richard could not come with me to Guilty Pleasures. If I had any hope of keeping us all alive, Richard could not be on the spot when I broke the news.
   "I thought I'd drive you home," Richard said, "or to the nearest hospital, whichever you need."
   It would have been my preference to, but not tonight. "Louie's your best friend. I thought you might want to take care of him."
   He was staring at me, lovely brown eyes narrowed into suspicious squints. "You're trying to get rid of me. Why?"
   My head hurt. I couldn't think of a good lie. I didn't think he'd buy a bad one. "How much do you trust Stephen?"
   The question seemed to throw him off balance. "I trust him."
   His first reaction was to say yes, I trust him, but he hadn't thought about it first. "No, Richard, I mean do you trust him not to talk to Jean-Claude or Marcus ?"
   "I wouldn't tell Marcus anything you didn't want me to," Stephen said.
   "And Jean-Claude?" I asked.
   Stephen looked uncomfortable, but said, "If he asked a direct question, I'd have to give a direct answer."
   "How can you owe more allegiance to the Master of the City than to your own pack leader?"
   "I follow Richard, not Marcus."
   I glanced at Richard. "A little palace revolt?"
   "Raina wanted him in the movies. I stepped in and stopped it."
   "Marcus must really hate you," I said.
   "He fears me," Richard said.
   "Even worse," I said.
   Richard didn't say anything. He knew the situation better than I did, even if he wasn't willing to do the ultimate deeds.
   "Fine, I'd planned to tell Jean-Claude that you proposed."
   "You proposed," Stephen said. His voice held a lilt of surprise. "Did she say yes?"
   Richard nodded.
   A took of delight swept over Stephen's face. "Way to go," His face fell into sadness. It was like watching wind over a grassy field, everything visible on the surface. "Jean-Claude is going to go ape-shit."
   "I couldn't have said it better myself."
   "Then why tell him tonight?" Richard asked. "Why not wait? You're not sure about marrying me anymore. Are you?"
   "No," I said. I hated saying it, but it was the truth. I loved him already, but if it went much further it would be too late. If I had any doubts I needed to work them out now. Staring into his face, smelling the warm scent of his aftershave, I wished I could have thrown caution to the wind. Falling into his arms. But I couldn't. I just couldn't, not unless I was sure.
   "Then why tell him at all? Unless you're planning to elope and didn't tell me, we have some time."
   I sighed. I told him why it had to be tonight. "You can't go with me."
   "I won't let you go alone," he said.
   "Richard, if you are Johnny-on-the-spot when he finds out, he'll try to kill you, and I'll try to kill him to protect you." I shook my head. "If the shit hits the fan, this could end up like Hamlet."
   "How like Hamlet?" Stephen asked.
   "Everybody dead," I said.
   "Oh," he said.
   "You'd kill Jean-Claude to protect me, even after what you saw last night?"
   I stared at him. I tried to read behind his eyeballs to know if there was anybody home I could really talk to. He was still Richard. With his love of the outdoors, any activity that would get you messy, and a smile that warmed me to my toes. I wasn't sure I could marry him, but I was positive I couldn't let anybody kill him.
   "Yes."
   "You won't marry me, but you'll kill for me. I don't understand that."
   "Ask me if I still love you, Richard. That answer's still yes."
   "How can I let you face him alone?"
   "I've been doing just fine without you."
   He touched my forehead, and I winced. "You don't took fine."
   "Jean-Claude won't hurt me."
   "You don't know that for sure," he said.
   He had a point there. "You can't protect me, Richard. Your being there will get us both killed."
   "I can't let you go alone."
   "Don't go all manly on me, Richard. It's a luxury that we can't afford. If saying yes to marriage is going to make you behave like an idiot, it can be changed."
   "You took back your yes."
   "It's not a definite no, either," I said.
   "Just trying to protect you would make you say no?"
   "I don't need your protection, Richard. I don't even want it."
   He leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. "If I play the white knight, you'll leave me."
   "If you think you need to play the white knight, then you don't know me at all."
   He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me. "Maybe I want to be your white knight."
   "That's your problem."
   He smiled. "I guess so."
   "If you can drive the Jeep back to my apartment, I'll take a cab."
   "Stephen can drive you," he said. He volunteered him without even wondering what Stephen would say about it. It was arrogant.
   "No, I'll take a cab."
   "I don't mind," Stephen said. "I'm due back at Guilty Pleasures tonight anyway."
   I glanced at him. "What do you do for a living, Stephen?"
   He laid his cheek on his forearm and smiled at me. He managed to look winsome and sexy at the same time. "I'm a stripper," he said.
   Of course he was. I wanted to point out that he'd refused to be in a pornographic movie, but he still stripped. But taking your clothes off down to tasteful undies was not the same thing as having sex on screen. Not even close.
   

23
   Lillian was a small woman in her mid-fifties. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut short and neat in a no-nonsense style. Her fingers were as quick and sure as the rest of her. The last time she'd treated my wounds, she'd had claws and greying fur.
   I was sitting on an examining table in the basement of an apartment building. A building that housed lycanthropes and was owned by a shapeshifter. The basement was the makeshift clinic for the lycanthropes in the area. I was the first human they'd ever allowed to see the place. I should have been flattered, but managed not to be.
   "Well, according to X rays you don't have a skull fracture."
   "Glad to hear it," I said.
   "You may have a mild concussion, but a mild one won't show up on tests, at least nothing we have the equipment for here."
   "So I can go?" I started to hop down.
   She stopped me with a hand on my arm. "I didn't say that."
   I eased back on the table. "I'm listening."
   "Grudgingly," she said, smiling.
   "If you want grace under pressure, Lillian, I'm not your girl."
   "Oh, I don't know about that," she said. "I've cleaned the scrapes and taped up your forehead. You were very lucky not to need stitches."
   I didn't like stitches, so I agreed with her.
   "I want you to wake up every hour for twenty-four hours." I must not have looked happy, because she said, "I know it's awkward, and probably unnecessary, but humor me. If you go to sleep and are injured more severely than I think you are, you might not wake up. So humor an old rat lady. Set the alarm or have someone wake you every hour for twenty-four hours."
   "Twenty-four hours from the injury?" I asked hopefully.
   She laughed. "Normally I'd say from now, but you can do it from the time of the injury. We're just being cautious."
   "I like being cautious." Richard pushed away from the wall. He came to stand with us under the lights. "I volunteer to wake you every hour."
   "You can't go with me," I said.
   "I'll wait for you at your apartment."
   "Oh, no driving for the night," Lillian said. "Just as a precaution."
   Richard's fingertips touched the back of my hand. He didn't try to hold my hand, just that touch. Comforting. I didn't know what to do. If I was going to say no, eventually, it didn't seem fair to flirt. Just the weight of his fingers was a line of warmth all the way up my arm. Lust, just lust. Don't I wish.
   "I'll drive your Jeep to your apartment, if you agree. Stephen can drive you to Guilty Pleasures."
   "I can take a cab."
   "I'd feel better if Stephen took you. Please," he said.
   The "please" made me smile. "All right, Stephen can drive me."
   "Thank you," Richard said.
   "You're welcome."
   "I would recommend you go straight home and rest," Lillian said.
   "I can't," I said.
   She frowned at me. "Very well, but rest as soon as you can. If this is a mild concussion and you abuse yourself, it could worsen. And even if it isn't a concussion, rest will do you more good than gallivanting around."
   I smiled. "Yes, Doctor."
   She made a small umph sound. "I know how much attention you're going to pay to my orders. But go along with you, both of you. If you won't listen to good sense, then be gone."
   I slid off the table, and Richard did not offer to help me. There were reasons why we had been dating this long. A moment of dizziness and I was fine.
   Lillian didn't look happy. "You promise me that this dizziness is less than it was."
   "Scout's honor."
   She nodded. "I'll take your word for it." She didn't look really pleased about it, but she patted my shoulder and walked out. She had made no notes. There was no chart to check. Nothing to prove I'd ever been here, except for some bloody cotton swabs. It was a nice setup.
   I had gotten to lie back and relax in the car on the way here. Just not having to tote around naked men or drive helped a lot. I really was feeling better, which was great since I had to see Jean-Claude tonight regardless of how I felt. I wondered whether Gretchen would have given me a night of grace if she had put me in the hospital. Probably not.
   I couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to go. "I've got to go, Richard."
   He put his hands on my shoulders. I didn't pull away. He turned me to look at him, and I let him. His face was very solemn. "I wish I could go with you."
   "We've been over this," I said.
   He looked away from my eyes. "I know."
   I touched his chin and raised his eyes to mine. "No heroics, Richard, promise me."
   His eyes were too innocent. "I don't know what you mean."
   "Bullshit. You can't be waiting outside. You have to stay here. Promise me that."
   He dropped his arms and stalked away from me. He leaned against the other examining table, palms flat, all his weight on his arms. "I hate you doing this alone."
   "Promise me you will wait here, or wait at my apartment. Those are the only choices, Richard."
   He wouldn't look at me. I walked over to him, and touched his arm. Tension sang through it. There was none of that otherworldly energy, yet, but it was there below the surface, waiting.
   "Richard, look at me."
   He stayed with his head bent, hair falling like a curtain between us. I ran my hand through that wavy hair, grabbing a handful close to the warmth of his skull. I used the hair like a handle and turned his face to me. His eyes were dark with more than just their color. Something was home in his eyes that I'd seen only last night. The beast was rising through his eyes like a sea monster swimming upward through dark water.
   I tightened my grip on his hair, not to hurt, but to get his attention. A small sound escaped his throat. "If you fuck this up through some misguided male ego thing, you're going to get me killed." I drew his face towards me, hand tangled in his hair. When his face was only inches from mine, almost close enough to kiss, I said, "If you interfere, you will get me killed. Do you understand?"
   The darkness in his eyes wanted to say no. I watched the struggle on his face. Finally he said, "I understand."
   "You'll be waiting for me at home?"
   He nodded, pulling his hair against my grip. I wanted to pull his face to me. To kiss him. We stood there frozen, hesitating. He moved to me. Our lips touched. It was a soft, gentle brush of lips. We stared at each other from an inch away. His eyes were drowning deep, and I could suddenly feel his body like an electric shock through my gut.
   I jerked away from him. "No, not yet. I don't know how I feel about you anymore."
   "Your body knows," he said.
   "If lust was everything, I'd be with Jean-Claude."
   His face crumbled as if I'd slapped him. "If you really aren't going to date me anymore, then don't tell Jean-Claude. It's not worth it."
   He looked so hurt. That was one thing I'd never meant to do. I laid my hand on his arm. The skin was smooth, warm, real. "If I can get out of telling him, I will, but I don't think Gretchen will make that one of my choices. Besides, Jean-Claude can smell a lie. You did propose, and I said yes."
   "Tell him you changed your mind, Anita. Tell him why. He'll love it. That I'm not human enough for you." He pulled away from my hand. "Jean-Claude will just eat that up." His voice was bitter, angry. The bitterness was strong enough to walk on. I'd never heard him like that.
   I couldn't stand it. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I buried my face in the line of his spine. Cheek cradled between the swell of his shoulders. He started to turn, but I held tighter. He stood very still in my arms. His hands touched my arms tentatively at first, then he hugged them to him. A shudder ran through his back. His breath came in a long gasp.
   I turned him around to face me. Tears glistened on his cheeks. Jesus. I'd never been good around tears. My first instinct was to promise them anything if they would only stop crying.
   "Don't," I said. I touched a fingertip to one tear. It clung to my skin, trembling. "Don't let this tear you up, Richard. Please."
   "I can't be human again, Anita." His voice sounded very normal. If I hadn't seen the tears, I wouldn't have known he was crying. "I'd be human for you if I could."
   "Maybe human isn't what I want, Richard. I don't know. Give me a little time. If I can't handle you being furry, better to find out now." I felt awful, mean and petty. He was gorgeous. I loved him. He wanted to marry me. He taught junior high science. He loved hiking, camping, caving. He collected sound tracks of musicals, for God's sake. And he was next in line to rule the pack. An alpha werewolf. Shit.
   "I need time, Richard. I am so sorry, but I do." I sounded like a chump. I'd never sounded so indecisive in my life.
   He nodded, but didn't look convinced. "You may end up turning me down but you're going to risk your life confronting Jean-Claude. It doesn't make sense."
   I had to agree. "I have to talk to him tonight, Richard. I don't want another run-in with Gretchen. Not if I can avoid it."
   Richard wiped the palms of his hands over his face. He ran his hands through his hair. "Don't get yourself killed."
   "I won't," I said.
   "Promise," he said.
   I wanted to say, "Promise," but I didn't. "I don't make promises I can't keep."
   "Couldn't you be comforting and lie to me?"
   I shook my head. "No."
   He sighed. "Talk about painful honesty."
   "I've got to go." I walked away before he could distract me again. I was beginning to think he was doing it on purpose to delay me. Of course, I was letting him do it.
   "Anita." I was almost to the door. I turned back. He stood there under the harsh lights, hands at his sides, looking . . . helpless.
   "We've kissed good-bye. You've told me to be careful. I've warned you not to play hero. That's it, Richard. There is no more."
   He said, "I love you."
   Okay, so there was more. "I love you, too." It was the truth, damn it. If I could just get over his being furry, I would marry him. How would Jean-Claude take the news? As the old saying goes, only one way to find out.
   
   

24
   Guilty Pleasures is in the heart of the vampire district. Its glowing neon sign bled into the night sky, giving the blackness a crimson tint like a distant house fire. I hadn't come to the district unarmed after dark for a very long time. Okay, I had the knife, and it was better than arm wrestling, but against a vampire, not much better.
   Stephen was beside me. A werewolf wasn't a bad bodyguard, but somehow Stephen didn't look scary enough. He was only an inch or two taller than me, slender as a willow with just enough shoulder definition to make him look masculine. To say his pants were tight wasn't enough. They were leather and looked painted on like a second skin. It was hard not to notice that his derriere was tight and firm. The leather jacket cut him off at the waist, so the view was unobstructed.
   I was wearing my black trench coat again. It had a little bit of blood on it, but if I cleaned it, it would be wet. Wet would not keep me warm. My sweater, one of my favorite sweaters, was torn off one shoulder down to the line of my bra. Too cold without a coat. Gretchen owed me a sweater. Maybe after I got my guns back, we'd talk about that.
   Three broad steps led up to closed doors. Buzz the Vampire was guarding them. It was the worst vampire name I'd ever heard. It wasn't great if you were human, but Buzz seemed all wrong for a vampire. It was a great name for a bouncer. He was tall and muscle-bound with a black crew cut. He seemed to be wearing the same black T-shirt he'd worn in July.
   I knew vampires couldn't freeze to death, but I hadn't known they didn't get cold. Most vampires tried to play human. They wore coats in the winter. Maybe they didn't need them the same way Gretchen hadn't needed to take the knife from her throat. Maybe it was all pretend.
   He smiled, flashing fangs. My reaction seemed to disappoint him. "You missed a set, Stephen. The boss is pissed."
   Stephen sort of shrank in on himself. Buzz seemed to get larger, pleased with himself. "Stephen was helping me. I don't think Jean-Claude will mind."
   Buzz squinted at me, really seeing my face for the first time. "Shit, what happened to you?"
   "If Jean-Claude wants you to know, he'll tell you," I said. I walked past him. There was a large sign on the door: No Crosses, Crucifixes, or Other Holy Items Allowed Inside. I pushed the doors open and kept walking, my cross securely around my neck. They could pry it from my cold dead hands if they wanted it tonight.
   Stephen stayed at my heels, almost as if he were afraid of Buzz. Buzz wasn't that old a vampire, less than twenty years. He still had a sense of "aliveness" to him. That utter stillness that the old ones have hadn't touched the bouncer yet. So why was a werewolf afraid of a new vampire? Good question.
   It was Sunday night and the place was packed. Didn't anyone have work tomorrow? The noise washed over us like a wave of nearly solid sound. That rich murmurous sound of many people in a small space determined to have a good time. The lights were as bright as they ever got. The small stage empty. We were between shows.
   A blond woman greeted us at the door. "Do you have any holy items to declare?" She smiled when she said it. The holy-item check girl.
   I smiled when I said, "Nope."
   She didn't question me, just smiled and walked away. A male voice said, "Just a moment, Shelia." The tall vampire that strode towards us was lovely to look at. He had high, sculpted cheekbones, and short blond hair styled to perfection. He was too masculine to be beautiful, and too perfect to be real. Robert had been a stripper last time I was here. It looked as though he'd moved up into management.
   Shelia waited, looking from Robert to me. "She lied to me?"
   Robert nodded. "Hello, Anita."
   "Hello. Are you the manager here now?"
   He nodded.
   I didn't like it, him being manager. He'd failed me once, or rather failed Jean-Claude's orders. Failed to keep someone safe. That someone had died. Robert hadn't even gotten bloody trying to stop the monsters. He should at least have gotten hurt trying. I didn't insist he die to keep people safe, but he should have tried harder. I'd never completely trust him or forgive him.
   "You are wearing a holy item, Anita. Unless on police business, you must give it to Shelia."
   I glanced up at him. His eyes were blue. I glanced down, then up, and realized I could meet his eyes. He was over a hundred years old, not nearly as powerful as Gretchen, but I shouldn't have been able to meet his eyes.
   His eyes widened. "You have to give it up. Those are the rules."
   Maybe being able to look him in the eyes had given me courage, or maybe I had had enough for one night. "Is Gretchen here?"
   He looked surprised. "Yes, she's in the back room with Jean-Claude."
   "Then you can't have the cross."
   "I can't let you in then. Jean-Claude is very clear on that." There was a hint of unease in his voice, almost fear. Good.
   "Take a good look at my face, Bobby-boy. Gretchen did it. If she's here, I keep the cross."
   Frown lines formed between his perfect brows. "Jean-Claude said no exceptions." He stepped closer, and I let him. He lowered his voice as much as he could and be heard above the noise. "He said if I ever fail him again in anything large or small, he'll punish me."
   Normally, I thought statements like that were pitiful or cruel. I agreed with this one.
   "Go ask Jean-Claude," I said.
   He shook his head. "I cannot trust you to stay here. If you get past me with the cross, I will have failed."
   This was getting tiresome. "Can Stephen go ask?"
   Robert nodded.
   Stephen sort of hung by me. He hadn't recovered from Buzz's remarks. "Is Jean-Claude mad at me for missing my set?"
   "You should have called if you couldn't make your set," Robert said. "I had to go on in your place."
   "Good to be useful," I said.
   Robert frowned at me. "Stephen should have called."
   "He was taking me to a doctor. You got a problem with that?"
   "Jean-Claude may."
   "Then bring the great man out and let's ask him. I'm tired of standing in the door."
   "Anita, how good of you to grace us with your presence." Gretchen was practically purring with anticipation.
   "Robert won't let me pass."
   She turned her eyes to the vampire. He took a step back. She hadn't even unleashed any of that impressive magic yet. Robert scared easy for a century-old corpse.
   "We have been awaiting her, Robert. Jean-Claude is most anxious to see her."
   He swallowed hard. "I was told that no one came inside with a holy item other than the police. No exceptions were to be made."
   "Not even for the master's sweetheart." She put a lot of irony in that last part.
   Robert either didn't get it or ignored it. "Until Jean-Claude tells me differently, she doesn't go through with a cross."
   Gretchen stalked around us all. I wasn't sure who looked more worried. "Take off the little cross and let us get this over with."
   I shook my head. "Nope."
   "It didn't do you a lot of good earlier tonight," she said.
   She had a point. For the first time I realized I hadn't even thought of bringing out my cross earlier. I'd gone for my weapons, but not my faith. Pretty damn sad.
   I fingered the cool silver of the chain. "The cross stays."
   "You are both spoiling my fun," she said. The way she said it made that sound like a very bad thing. "I'll give you one of your weapons back."
   A moment before I'd have agreed, but not now. I was embarrassed that I had not gone for my cross earlier. It wouldn't have kept her from jumping me at the beginning. She was too powerful for that. But it might have chased her off Louie. I was going to have to stop skipping church even if I didn't get to sleep at all.
   "No."
   "Is this your way of getting out of our bargain?" Her voice was low and warm with the first stirrings of anger.
   "I keep my word," I said.
   "I will escort her through, Robert." She raised a hand to stop his complaining. "If Jean-Claude blames you, tell him I was going to tear your throat out." She stepped into him until only a breath separated their bodies. It was only standing that close that you realized that Robert was taller by a head and a half. Gretchen seemed bigger than that. "It isn't a lie, Robert. I think you're weak, a liability. I would kill you now if our master did not need us both. If you still fear Jean-Claude, remember that he wants you alive. I do not."
   Robert swallowed hard enough that it had to hurt. He didn't back up. Brownie point for him. She moved that fraction closer, and he jumped back as if he'd been shot. "Fine, fine, take her through."
   Gretchen's lip curled in disgust. One thing we agreed on: we didn't like Robert. If we had one thing in common, maybe there'd be more. Maybe we could be girlfriends. Yeah, right.
   The noise level had dropped to a background murmur. We had everybody's attention. Nothing like a floor show. "Is there supposed to be an act on stage right now?" I asked.
   Robert nodded. "Yes, I need to introduce him."
   "Go do your job, Robert." The words were thick with scorn. Gretchen gave good scorn.
   Robert left us, obviously relieved. "Wimp," I said softly.
   "Come, Anita, Jean-Claude is waiting for us." She stalked away, long pale coat swinging out behind her. Stephen and I exchanged glances. He shrugged. I followed her and he trailed behind as if he were afraid of losing me.
   Jean-Claude's office was like being inside a domino. Stark white walls, white carpet, black lacquer desk, black office chair, black leather couch against one wall, and two straight-backed chairs sat in front of the desk. The desk and chairs were Oriental, set with enamel pictures of cranes and Oriental women in flowing robes. I'd always liked the desk, not that I would admit it out loud.
   There was a black lacquer screen in one corner. I'd never seen it before. It was large, hiding one entire corner. A dragon curled across the screen in oranges and reds, with huge bulbous eyes. It was a nice addition to the room. It was not a comfortable room, but it was stylish. Like Jean-Claude.
   He sat on the leather couch dressed all in black. The shirt had a high, stiff collar that framed his face. It was hard to tell where his hair left off and the shirt began. The collar was pinned at his throat, with a thumb-size ruby pendant. The shirt was open down to his belt, leaving a triangle of pale, pale skin showing. Only the pendant kept the shirt from opening completely.
   The cuffs were as wide and stiff as the collar, nearly hiding his hands. He raised one hand and I could see the cuffs were open on one side so he could still use his hands. Black jeans and velvet black boots completed the outfit.
   I'd seen the pendant before, but the shirt was certainly new. "Spiffy," I said.
   He smiled. "Do you like it?" He straightened the cuffs, as if they needed it.
   "It's a nice change from white," I said.
   "Stephen, we were expecting you earlier." His voice was mild enough, but there was an undertaste of something dark and unpleasant.
   "Stephen took me to the doctor."
   His midnight blue eyes turned back to me. "Is your latest police investigation getting rough?"
   "No," I said. I glanced at Gretchen. She was looking at Jean-Claude.
   "Tell him," she said.
   I didn't think she was referring to my accusing her of trying to kill me. It was time for a little honesty, or at least a little drama. I was sure Jean-Claude wouldn't disappoint us.
   "Stephen needs to leave now," I said. I didn't want him getting killed trying to protect me. He wasn't up to being anything but cannon fodder. Not against Jean-Claude.
   "Why?" he asked. He sounded suspicious.
   "Get on with it," Gretchen said.
   I shook my head. "Stephen doesn't need to be here."
   "Get out, Stephen," Jean-Claude said. "I am not angry with you for missing your set. Anita is more important to me than your being on time to your job."
   That was nice to know.
   Stephen gave a sort of bob, almost a bow to Jean-Claude, flashed a look at me, and hesitated. "Go on, Stephen. I'll be all right."
   I didn't have to reassure him twice. He fled.
   "What have you been up to, ma petite?"
   I glanced at Gretchen. She had eyes only for him. Her face looked hungry, as if she'd waited for this a long time. I stared into his dark blue eyes and realized that I could without vampire marks; I could meet his eyes.
   Jean-Claude noticed it, too. His eyes widened just a bit. "Ma petite, you are full of surprises tonight."
   "You ain't seen nothing yet," I said.
   "By all means, continue. I do love a surprise."
   I doubted he'd like this one. I took a deep breath and said it fast, as if that would make it go down better, like a spoonful of sugar. "Richard asked me to marry him, and I said yes." I could have added, "But I'm not sure anymore," but I didn't. I was too confused to offer up anything but the bare facts. If he tried to kill me, maybe I'd add details. Until then . . . we'd wait it out.
   Jean-Claude just sat there. He didn't move at all. The heater clicked on, and I jumped. The vent was above the couch. The air played along his hair, the cloth of his shirt, but it was like watching a mannequin. The hair and clothes worked but the rest was stone.
   The silence stretched and filled the room. The heater died, and the quiet was so profound I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. It was like the stillness before creation. You knew something big was coming. You just didn't know quite what. I let the silence flow around me. I wouldn't be the one to break it, because I was afraid of what came next. This utter calmness was more unnerving than anger would have been. I didn't know what to do with it, so I did nothing. A course of action I seldom regret.
   It was Gretchen who broke first. "Did you hear her, Jean-Claude? She is to wed another. She loves another."
   He blinked once, a long, graceful sweep of lashes. "Ask her now if she loves me, Gretchen."
   Gretchen stepped in front of me, blocking Jean-Claude from view. "What does it matter? She's going to marry someone else."
   "Ask her." It was a command.
   Gretchen whirled to face me. The bones in her face stood out under the skin, lips thin with rage. "You don't love him."
   It wasn't exactly a question, so I didn't answer it. Jean-Claude's voice came lazy and full of some dark meaning that I didn't understand. "Do you love me, ma petite?"
   I stared into Gretchen's rage-filled face and said, "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said no?"
   "Can you not simply say yes?"
   "Yes, in some dark, twisted part of my soul, I love you. Happy?"
   He smiled. "How can you marry him if you love me?"
   "I love him, too, Jean-Claude."
   "In the same way?"
   "No," I said.
   "How do you love us differently?"
   The questions were getting trickier. "How am I supposed to explain something to you that I don't even understand myself?"
   "Try."
   "You're like great Shakespearean tragedy. If Romeo and Juliet hadn't committed suicide, they'd have hated each other in a year. Passion is a form of love, but it isn't real. It doesn't last."
   "And how do you feel about Richard?" His voice was full of some strong emotion. It should have been anger, but it felt different from that. Almost as if it were an emotion I didn't have a word for.
   "I don't just love Richard, I like him. I enjoy his company. I . . ." I hated explaining myself. "Oh, hell, Jean-Claude, I can't put it into words. I can see spending my life with Richard, and I can't see it with you."
   "Have you set a date?"
   "No," I said.
   He cocked his head to one side, studying me. "It is the truth but there is some bit of lie to it. What are you holding back, ma petite?"
   I frowned at him. "I've told you the truth."
   "But not all of it."
   I didn't want to tell him. He'd enjoy it too much. I felt vaguely disloyal to Richard. "I'm not completely sure about marrying Richard."
   "Why not?" There was something in his face that was almost hopeful. I couldn't let him get the wrong idea.
   "I saw him go all spooky. I felt his . . . power."
   "And?"
   "And now I'm not sure," I said.
   "He's not human enough for you, either." He threw back his head and laughed. A joyous outpouring of sound that coated me like chocolate. Heavy and sweet and annoying.
   "She loves another," Gretchen said. "Does it matter if she doubts him? She doubts you. She rejects you, Jean-Claude. Isn't that enough?"
   "Did you do all that to her face?"
   She stalked a tight circle like a tiger in a cage. "She does not love you as I do." She knelt in front of him, hands touching his legs, face staring up into his. "Please, I love you. I've always loved you. Kill her or let her marry this man. She doesn't deserve your adoration."
   He ignored her. "Are you all right, ma petite?"
   "I'm fine."
   Gretchen dug fingers into his jeans, grabbing at him. "Please, please!"
   I didn't like her, but the pain, the hopeless pain in her voice was horrible to hear. She'd tried to kill me and I still felt sorry for her.
   "Leave us, Gretchen."
   "No!" She clutched at him.
   "I forbade you to harm her. You disobeyed me. I should kill you."
   She just stayed kneeling, gazing up at him. I couldn't see her expression and was glad of it. I wasn't big on adoration. "Jean-Claude, please, please, I only did it for you. She doesn't love you."
   His hand was suddenly around her neck. I hadn't seen him move. It was magic. Whatever was letting me look him in the eyes, it didn't stop him playing with my mind. Or maybe he was just that fast. Naw.
   She tried to talk. His fingers closed, and the words came out as small, choked sounds. He stood, drawing her to her feet. Her hands wrapped around his wrist, trying to keep him from hanging her. He kept lifting until her feet dangled in the air. I knew she could fight him. I'd felt the strength in those delicate-seeming hands. Except for her hand on his wrist she didn't even struggle. Would she let him kill her? Would he do it? Could I stand here and just watch?
   He stood there in his wonderful black shirt, looking elegant and scrumptious, and holding Gretchen with one arm, straight up. He walked towards his desk still holding her. He kept his balance effortlessly. Even a lycanthrope couldn't have done it, not like that. I watched his slender body walk across the carpet and knew he could pretend all he wanted to, but it wasn't human. He wasn't human.
   He set her feet on the carpet on the far side of the desk. He relaxed his grip on her throat but didn't let her go.
   "Jean-Claude, please. Who is she that the Master of the City should beg for her attention?"
   He kept his hand resting on her throat, not squeezing now. He pushed the screen back with his free hand. It folded back to reveal a coffin. It sat up off the ground on a cloth-draped pedestal. The wood was nearly black and polished to a mirrorlike shine.
   Gretchen's eyes widened. "Jean-Claude, Jean-Claude, I'm sorry. I didn't kill her. I could have. Ask her. I could have killed her, but I didn't. Ask her. Ask her!" Her voice was pure panic.
   "Anita." That one word slithered across my skin, thick and full of forboding. I was very glad that that voice was not angry with me.
   "She could have killed me with the first rush," I said.
   "Why do you think she did not do it?"
   "I think she got distracted trying to draw it out. To enjoy it more."
   "No, no, I was just threatening her. Trying to frighten her away. I knew you wouldn't want me to kill her. I knew that, or she'd be dead."
   "You were always a bad liar, Gretel."
   Gretel?
   He raised the lid on the coffin with one hand, drawing her nearer to it.
   She jerked away from him. His fingernails drew bloody furrows on her throat. She stood behind the office chair, putting it between her and him, as if it would help. Blood trickled down her throat.
   "Do not make me force you, Gretel."
   "My name is Gretchen and has been for over a hundred years." It was the first real spirit I'd seen in her against Jean-Claude anyway. I fought the urge to applaud. It wasn't hard.
   "You were Gretel when I found you, and you are Gretel still. Do not force me to remind you of what you are, Gretel."
   "I will not go into that cursed box willingly. I won't do it."
   "Do you really want Anita to see you at your worst?"
   I thought I already had.
   "I will not go." Her voice was firm, not confident, but stubborn. She meant it.
   Jean-Claude stood very still. He raised one hand in a languid gesture. There was no other word for it. The movement was almost dancelike.
   Gretchen staggered, grabbing at the chair for support. Her face seemed to have shrunk. It wasn't the drawing down of power that I had seen on her earlier. Not the ethereal corpse that would tear your throat out and dance in the blood. The flesh squeezed down, wrapping tight on the bones. She was withering. Not aging, dying.
   She opened her mouth and screamed.
   "My God, what's happening to her?"
   Gretchen stood clutching bird-thin hands on the chair back. She looked like a mummified corpse. Her bright lipstick was a gruesome slash across her face. Even her yellow hair had thinned, dry and brittle as straw.
   Jean-Claude walked towards her, still graceful, still lovely, still monstrous. "I gave you eternal life and I can take it back, never forget that."
   She made a low mewling sound in her throat. She held out one feeble hand to him, beseeching.
   "Into the box," he said. His voice made that last word dark and terrible, as if he'd said "hell" and meant it.
   He had beaten the fight out of her, or maybe stolen was the word. I'd never seen anything like this. A new vampire power that I'd never even heard whispered in folklore. Shit.
   Gretchen took a trembling step towards the coffin. Two painful, dragging steps and she lost her grip on the chair. She fell, bone-thin arms catching her full weight, the way you're not supposed to. A good way to get your arm broken. Gretchen didn't seem to be worried about broken bones. Couldn't blame her.
   She knelt on the floor, head hanging as if she didn't have the strength to rise. Jean-Claude just stood there, staring at her. He made no move to help her. If it had been anyone but Gretchen, I might have helped her myself.
   I must have made some movement towards her because Jean-Claude made a back-away gesture to me. "If she fed on a human at this moment, all her strength would return. She is very frightened. I would not tempt her right now, ma petite."
   I stayed where I was. I hadn't planned on helping her, but I didn't like watching it.
   "Crawl," he said.
   She started to crawl.
   I'd had enough. "You've made your point, Jean-Claude. If you want her in the coffin, just pick her up and put her there."
   He looked at me. There was something almost amused in his face. "You feel pity for her, ma petite. She meant to kill you. You know that."
   "I'd have no problem shooting her, but this . . ." I didn't have a word for it. He wasn't just humiliating her. He was stripping her of herself. I shook my head. "You're tormenting her. If it's for my benefit, I've seen enough. If it's for your benefit, then stop it."
   "It is for her benefit, ma petite. She has forgotten who her master is. A month or two in a coffin will remind her of that."
   Gretchen had reached the foot of the pedestal. She had grabbed handfuls of the cloth but couldn't drag herself to her feet.
   "I think she's been reminded enough."
   "You are so harsh, ma petite, so pragmatic, yet suddenly something will move you to pity. And your pity is as strong as your hate."
   "But not nearly as fun," I said.
   He smiled and lifted the lid of the coffin. The inside was white silk, of course. He knelt and lifted Gretchen. Her limbs lay awkwardly in his arms as if they didn't quite work. As he lifted her over the lip of the coffin, her long coat dragged against the wood. Something in her pocket clunked, solid and heavy.
   I almost hated to ask—almost. "If that's my gun in her pocket, I need it back."
   He laid her almost gently in the silk lining, then rifled her pockets. He held the Browning in one hand and began to lower the lid. Her skeletal hands raised, trying to stop its descent.
   Watching those thin hands beat at the air, I almost let it go. "There should be another gun and a knife."
   He widened his eyes at me, but nodded. He held the Browning out to me. I walked forward and took it. I was standing close enough to see her eyes. They were pale and cloudy, like the eyes of the very old, but there was enough expression left for terror.
   Her eyes rolled wildly, staring at me. There was a mute appeal in that look. Desperation was too mild a word for it. She looked at me, not Jean-Claude, as if she knew that I was the only person in the room that gave a damn. If it bothered Jean-Claude, you couldn't tell it by his face.
   I tucked the Browning under my arm. It felt good to have it back. He held the Firestar out to me. "I cannot find the knife. If you want to search her yourself, feel free."
   I stared down at the dry, wrinkled skin, the lipless face. Her neck was as skinny as a chicken's. I shook my head. "I don't want it that bad."
   He laughed, and even now the sound curled along my skin like velvet. A joyous sociopath.
   He closed the lid, and she made horrible sounds, as though she were trying to scream and had no voice to do it with. Her thin hands beat against the lid.
   Jean-Claude snapped the locks in place and leaned over the closed coffin. He whispered, "Sleep." Almost immediately the sounds slowed. He repeated the word once more, and the sounds ceased.
   "How did you do that?"
   "Quiet her?"
   I shook my head. "All of it."
   "I am her master."
   "No, Nikolaos was your master, but she couldn't do that. She'd have done it to you if she could have."
   "Perceptive of you, and very true. I made Gretchen. Nikolaos did not make me. Being the master vampire that brings someone over gives you certain powers over them. As you saw."
   "Nikolaos had made most of the vampires in her little entourage, right?"
   He nodded.
   "If she could have done what you just did, I'd have seen it. She'd have shown it off."
   He gave a small smile. "Again perceptive. There are a variety of powers that a master vampire can possess. Calling an animal, levitation, resistance to silver."
   "Is that why my knife didn't seem to hurt Gretchen?"
   "Yes."
   "But each master has a different arsenal of gifts."
   "Arsenal, it is an appropriate word. Now, where were we, ma petite? Ah, yes, I could kill Richard."
   Here we go again.