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35
   There was a uniformed officer standing outside the naga's room. Edward had stayed in the car. After all, he was wanted by the police. One of the bad things about working with Edward and the cops is that you can't necessarily work with them at the same time.
   The cop at the door was a small woman with a blond ponytail. There was a chair beside the door, but she was standing, one hand on her gun butt. Her pale eyes squinted suspiciously at me.
   She gave a curt nod. "You Anita Blake?"
   "Yeah."
   "See some ID?" she said, real tough, no nonsense. Had to be a rookie. Only a rookie had that hard-on attitude. Older cops would have asked for ID, but they wouldn't have tried to make their voices lower.
   I showed her my plastic ID badge. The one I clipped to my shirt when I had to cross a police line. It wasn't a police badge, but it was the best I had.
   She took it in her hand and looked at it for a long time. I fought the urge to ask if she was going to be tested later. It never helps to piss the police off. Especially over trivialities.
   She finally gave the badge back to me. Her eyes were blue and cold as a winter sky. Very tough. Probably practiced that look in the mirror every morning. "No one can question the man without police being present. When you called up to ask to speak with him, I contacted Sergeant Storr. He's on his way."
   "How long will I have to wait?"
   "I don't know."
   "Look, a man's missing, any delay could cost him his life."
   I had her attention now. "Sergeant Storr didn't mention a missing person."
   Shit. I'd forgotten that the cops didn't know about the missing shapeshifters. "I don't suppose that you'd buy time is of the essence. How about lives are at stake?"
   Her eyes went from hard to bored. She was impressed. "Sergeant Storr was very specific. He wants to be present when you question the man."
   "Are you sure you spoke with Sergeant Storr, and not Detective Zerbrowski?" It would be like Zerbrowski to screw this up for me, just to irritate.
   "I know who I spoke with, Ms. Blake."
   "I didn't mean to imply that you didn't, Officer. I just meant that Zerbrowski could have gotten confused about how much access I'm allowed to the . . . ah, witness."
   "I talked to the sergeant, and I know what he told me. You're not going in until he gets here. Those are my orders."
   I started to say something unpleasant and stopped. Officer Kirlin was right. She had her orders, and she wasn't going to budge from them.
   I glanced at her nameplate. "Fine, Officer Kirlin. I'll just wait around the corner in the patient waiting room." I turned and walked away before I said something not so nice. I wanted to push my way into the room, pull rank. But I didn't have any rank. It was one of those times when I was forcibly reminded that I was a civilian. I didn't like being reminded.
   I sat down on a multicolored couch that backed a raised area of real plants. The chest-high planting area gave the illusion of walls, dividing the waiting room into three pseudo rooms. The illusion of privacy if you needed it. A television set was mounted high on one wall. No one had bothered to turn it on yet. It was hospital quiet. The only noise was the heater coming through the wall registers.
   I hated waiting. Jason was missing. Was he dead? If he were alive, how much longer would he be alive? How long would Dolph keep me waiting?
   Dolph came around the corner. Bless his little heart, he hadn't kept me waiting long at all.
   I stood. "Officer Kirlin says you mentioned a missing person to her. Are you holding out on me?"
   "Yeah, but not by choice. I've got a client that won't go to the police. I've tried to persuade them . . ." I shrugged. "Just because I'm right and they're wrong doesn't mean I can spill their secrets without clearing it with them first."
   "There's no client-animator privilege, Anita. If I asked for the information you're legally obligated to give it to me."
   I hadn't had enough sleep to deal with this. "Or what?"
   He frowned. "Or you go to jail for obstruction of justice."
   "Fine, let's go," I said.
   "Don't push me, Anita."
   "Look, Dolph, I'll tell you everything I know when they give me the okay. I may tell you anyway because they're being stupid, but I won't tell you shit because you bullied me."
   He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slow. "Fine, let's go talk to our witness."
   I appreciated the naga still being "our" witness. "Yeah, let's go." Dolph motioned me out of the waiting room. We walked down the hallway together in silence. But the silence was companionable. No need to fill it with idle chitchat or accusations.
   A doctor in a white coat with a stethoscope draped over his shoulders like a feather boa opened the door. Officer Kirlin was still at her post, ever vigilant. She gave me her best flinty steel look. It needed work. But when you're small, blond, female, and a cop, you have to at least try to look tough.
   "He can talk for a very short time, It's a miracle that he's alive, let alone talking. I'll monitor the questioning. If he gets upset, I'll stop the interview."
   "That's fine with me, Dr. Wilburn. He's a victim and a witness, not a suspect. We don't mean him any harm."
   The doctor didn't look completely convinced but he stepped back into the room, and held the door for us.
   Dolph loomed up behind me. He was like an immovable force at my back. I could see why the doctor thought we might browbeat the witness. Dolph couldn't look harmless if he tried, so he just didn't try.
   The naga lay in the bed, thick with tubes and wires. His skin was growing back. You could see it spreading in raw, painful patches, but it was growing back. He still looked as though he'd been boiled alive, but it was an improvement.
   He turned his eyes to look at us. He moved his head very slowly, the better to see us. "Mr. Javad, you remember Sergeant Storr. He's brought some people to talk with you."
   "The woman . . ." he said. His voice was low and sounded painful. He swallowed carefully and tried again. "The woman at the river."
   I walked forward. "Yes, I was at the river."
   "Helped me."
   "I tried."
   Dolph stepped forward. "Mr. Javad, can you tell us who did this to you?"
   "Witches," he said.
   "Did you say 'witches'?" Dolph asked.
   "Yes."
   Dolph looked at me. He didn't have to ask. This was my area. "Javad, did you recognize the witches? Names?"
   He swallowed again and it sounded dry. "No."
   "Where did they do this to you?"
   He closed his eyes.
   "Do you know where you were when they . . . skinned you?"
   "Drugged me."
   "Who drugged you?"
   "Woman . . . eyes."
   "What about her eyes?"
   "Ocean." I had to lean forward to hear that last. His voice was fading.
   He opened his eyes suddenly, wide. "Eyes, ocean." He let out a low guttural sound, as if he were swallowing screams.
   The doctor came up. He checked his vitals, touching the ruined flesh as gently as he could. Even that touch made him writhe with pain.
   The doctor pressed a button on the bedside. "It's time for Mr. Javad's medication. Bring it now."
   "No," Javad said. He grabbed my arm. He gasped, but held on. His skin felt like warm raw meat. "Not first."
   "Not first? I don't understand."
   "Others."
   "They did this to others?"
   "Yes. Stop them."
   "I will. I promise."
   He slumped back against the bed but couldn't hold still. It hurt too much for that. Every movement hurt, but he couldn't hold still against the pain.
   A nurse in a pink jacket came in with a shot. She put the needle into his IV. Moments later he began to ease. His eyes fluttered shut. Sleep came and something in my chest loosened. That much pain was hard to endure, even if you were only just watching.
   "He'll wake up and we'll have to sedate him again. I've never seen anyone that could heal like this. But just because he can heal the damage doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
   Dolph took me to one side. "What was all that about eyes and others?"
   "I don't know." Half-true. I didn't know what the eye comment meant, but I suspected the others were the missing shapeshifters.
   Zerbrowski came in. He motioned to Dolph. They walked out into the hall. The nurse and doctor were fussing with the naga. No one had invited me out into the hall, but it was only fair. I wasn't sharing with them, why should they share with me?
   The door opened, and Dolph motioned me out into the hall. We went. Officer Kirlin wasn't at her post. Probably told to leave for a little while.
   "Can't find any missing-person case that has your name associated with it," Dolph said.
   "You had Zerbrowski check me out?"
   Dolph just looked at me. His eyes had gone all cool and distant-cop eyes.
   "Except for Dominga Salvador," Zerbrowski said.
   "Anita said she didn't know what happened to Mrs. Salvador," Dolph said. He was still giving me his hard look. It was a hell of a lot better than Officer Kirlin's.
   I fought the urge to squirm. Dominga Salvador was dead. I knew that because I'd seen it happen. I'd pulled the trigger, metaphorically speaking. Dolph suspected I had something to do with her disappearance but he couldn't prove it, and she had been a very evil woman. If she'd been convicted of everything she was suspected of doing, it would have been an automatic death penalty. The law doesn't like witches much better than it likes vampires. I'd used a zombie to kill her. It was enough to earn me my own trip to the electric chair.
   My beeper sounded. Saved by the bell. I checked the number. I didn't recognize the number, but no need sharing that. "An emergency, I've got to find a phone." I walked off before Dolph could say anything else. Seemed safer that way.
   They let me use the phone at the nurses' station. Kind of them. Richard picked up the phone on the first ring. "Anita?"
   "Yeah, what's up?"
   "I'm at school. Louie never showed up for his morning classes." He lowered his voice until I had to plug one ear just to hear him. "Tonight is full moon. He wouldn't miss classes. It raises suspicions."
   "Why call me?"
   He said he was going to meet your writer friend, Elvira something."
   "Elvira Drew?" As I said her name, I could picture her face. Her green-blue eyes the color of ocean water. Shit.
   "I think so."
   "When was he supposed to meet her?"
   "This morning."
   "Did he make the meeting?"
   "I don't know. I'm at work. I haven't been by his place yet."
   "You're afraid something happened to him, aren't you?"
   "Yes."
   "I didn't set up the meeting. I'll call work and find out who did. Will you be at this number?"
   "I've got to get back to class. But I'll check back with you as soon as I can."
   "Okay. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."
   "I've got to go," he said.
   "Wait, I think I know what happened to the missing shapeshifters."
   "What!"
   "This is an ongoing police investigation. I can't talk about it, but if I could tell the police about the missing shapeshifters, we might find Louie and Jason faster."
   "Marcus said not to tell?"
   "Yeah."
   He was quiet for a minute. "Tell them. I'll take the responsibility."
   "Great. I'll get back with you." I hung up. It wasn't until I heard the dial tone that I realized I hadn't said, I love you. Oh, well.
   I dialed work. Mary answered. I didn't wait for her to get through her greeting. "Put me through to Bert."
   "Are you all right?"
   "Just do it."
   She didn't argue. Good woman. "Anita, this better be important. I've got a client with me."
   "Did you speak with someone about finding a wererat today?"
   "As a matter of fact, I did."
   My stomach hurt. "When and where was the appointment set up?"
   "This morning, about six. Mr. Fane wanted to get it in before he had to go to work."
   "Where?"
   "Her house."
   "Give me the address."
   "What's wrong?"
   "I think Elvira Drew may have set him up to be killed."
   "You are kidding me, right?"
   "Address, Bert."
   He gave it to me.
   "I may not be in for work tonight."
   "Anita . . ."
   "Save it, Bert. If he gets killed, we set him up."
   "Fine, fine. Do what you have to."
   I hung up. It was a first, Bert giving in. If I hadn't known that visions of lawsuits were dancing in his head, I'd have been more impressed.
   I went back to our little group. No one was talking to anyone. "There have been seven shapeshifters taken in this area."
   "What are you talking about?" Dolph asked.
   I shook my head. "Just listen." I told him everything about the disappearances. Ending with, "Two more shifters have gone missing. I think whoever skinned the naga thought he was a lycanthrope. It is possible by magic to take a shifter's skin and use it to shapeshift yourself. You get all of the advantages, greater strength, speed, etc . . . and you are not tied to the moon."
   "Why didn't it work with the naga?" Zerbrowski asked.
   "He's immortal. The shifter has to die at the end of the spell."
   "We know why. Now, where the hell are they?" Dolph asked.
   "I've got an address," I said.
   "How?"
   "I'll explain on the way. The spell doesn't work until dark, but we can't take the chance they'll keep them alive. They have to be worried that the naga healed enough to talk."
   "After seeing him last night, I wouldn't be," Zerbrowski said.
   "You're not a witch," I said.
   We left. I would have liked Edward at my back. If we did find renegade witches and a few shapeshifters on the night of the full moon, Edward at my back was not a bad idea. But I couldn't figure out how to manage it. Dolph and Zerbrowski were no slouches, but they were cops. They aren't allowed to shoot people without giving them every opportunity to give up. Elvira Drew had skinned a naga. I wasn't sure I wanted to give her an opportunity. I wasn't sure we'd survive it.
   
   
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Zodijak Taurus
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36
   Elvira Drew's house was a narrow two-story set off from the road by a thick line of bushes and trees. You couldn't even see the yard before you turned into the driveway. Woods stretched out all around the small yard, as if someone had put the house here and forgotten to tell anybody.
   A patrol car followed us down the gravel driveway. Dolph parked behind a vivid green Grand Am. The car matched her eyes.
   There was a For Rent sign in the yard. Another lay beside it, waiting to be stuck in the ground. It would probably go out by the road.
   Two clothes bags hung inside the car. The backseat was packed with boxes. A quick getaway was in the offing.
   "If she's a murderer, why'd she give you her actual address?" Zerbrowski asked.
   "We check out clients. They have to have a place of residence or some way of proving who they are. We demand more ID than most banks."
   "Why?"
   "Because every once in a while we get a crazy. Or a tabloid reporter. We have to know who we're dealing with. I bet she tried to pay cash with no ID and when asked for three forms of it, she wasn't prepared."
   Dolph led the way to the door. We followed behind like good soldiers. Officer Kirlin was one of the uniforms. Her partner was an older guy with greying hair and a round little belly. I bet it didn't shake like a bowlful of jelly. He had a sour expression on his face that said he'd seen it all and didn't like any of it.
   Dolph knocked on the door. Silence. He knocked harder. The door trembled. Elvira opened the door. She was wearing a brilliant green robe, tied at the waist. Her makeup was still perfect. The polish on her fingernails matched the robe. Her long blond hair was combed straight back, held from her face with a scarf that was just a touch bluer green than the robe. Her eyes blazed with the color.
   Dolph muttered, "Eyes like the ocean."
   "Excuse me, what's all this about?"
   "May we come in, Ms. Drew?"
   "Whatever for?"
   There hadn't been time to get a warrant. Dolph wasn't even sure we could have gotten one with what we had. The color of someone's eyes wasn't exactly proof.
   I sort of peeked around Dolph, and said, "Hello, Ms. Drew, we need to ask you a few questions about Louis Fane."
   "Ms. Blake, I didn't know you were with the police."
   She smiled, I smiled. Was Louie here? Was she stalling while someone killed him? Dammit. If the police hadn't been here, I'd have pulled the gun and gone in. There are disadvantages to being law abiding.
   "We're checking into the disappearance of Mr. Fane. You were the last one to see him."
   "Oh, dear." She didn't back away from the door.
   "May we come in and ask you a few questions?" Dolph asked.
   "Well, I don't know what I can tell you. Mr. Fane never made our meeting. I didn't see him at all."
   She stood there like a pretty smiling wall.
   "We need to come in and look around, Ms. Drew, just in case."
   "Do you have a warrant?"
   Dolph looked at her. "No, Ms. Drew, we do not."
   Her smile was dazzling. "Then I'm sorry, but I can't let you in."
   I grabbed the front of her robe, yanking it tight enough to know she wasn't wearing a bra. "We either go past you or through you."
   Dolph's hand descended on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ms. Drew. Ms. Blake gets a little overzealous." The words were squeezed out between his teeth, but he said them.
   "Dolph . . ."
   "Let her go, Anita, right now."
   I looked up into her strange eyes. She was still smiling but there was something else there now. Fear. "If he dies, you die."
   "They don't put you to death for suspicions," she said.
   "I wasn't talking about a legal execution."
   Her eyes widened. Dolph jerked back on my shoulder. He pushed me down the steps. Zerbrowski was already apologizing for my faux pas.
   "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dolph asked.
   "He's in there, I know it."
   "You don't know it. I've called in for a warrant. Until we get it, unless she lets us in or he comes to a window and yells for help, we can't go in. That's the law."
   "Well, it sucks."
   "Maybe, but we're the police. If we don't obey the law, then who else will?"
   I hugged myself, fingers digging into my elbows. It was either that or run up and smash Elvira Drew's perfect face in. Louie was in there, and it was my fault.
   "Take a walk, Anita, cool off."
   I looked up at him. He could have told me to sit in the car, but he hadn't. I tried to read his face, but it had gone cop blank. "A walk, good idea."
   I walked towards the trees. No one stopped me. Dolph didn't call me back. He had to know what I'd do. I walked into the winter-bare trees. Melt fell in droplets onto my head and face. I walked out until I couldn't see them clearly anymore. In winter you can catch glimpses of things for yards, but it was far enough for our little game of pretend.
   I angled back for the back of the house. The melting snow soaked into my Nikes. The leaves were a soggy mat underfoot. I had both guns and two knives. I'd replaced the one that Gretchen never returned. They were a set of four that I'd had made for me. Hard to find a knife with a high enough silver content to kill monsters and still take a hard edge.
   But I couldn't kill anyone. My job was to get inside, find Louie, and yell for help. If someone in the house yelled for help, the police could come in. Those were the rules. If Dolph hadn't been scared they'd kill Louie, he wouldn't have let me do this. But law or no law, sitting outside while your suspect kills her next victim was hard to swallow.
   I hunkered down at the tree line looking at the back of the house. A back door led onto an enclosed porch. There was a door with glass in it that led into the house, and a second door off to one side. Most houses in St. Louis have basements. Some of the older houses originally had only outside access to them. Add a little porch, add a little door. If I was hiding somebody, a basement sounded like a good place. If it was a broom closet, I just wouldn't go in.
   I checked the upper-story windows. The drapes were closed. If there were people up there watching, I couldn't see them. Here was hoping they couldn't see me.
   I crossed the open ground without getting out a gun. They were witches. Witches didn't shoot you, as a general rule. In fact, witches, real witches, didn't practice a lot of violence. A Wiccan wouldn't have had anything to do with human sacrifice. But the word witch means a lot of different things. Some of them can get pretty scary, but they seldom shoot you.
   I knelt by the screen door that led onto the porch. I held my hand as close to the door handle as I could without touching it. No heat, no . . . hell there's no word for it. But there was no spell on the handle. Even good witches will sometimes bespell their outer doors so they're either alerted to a burglar's presence or some attachment occurs. Say, you break in and don't take a thing. The spell will stick to you and let the witch and friends find you. Bad witches can put worse things on their doors. We'd already established what sort of witches were inside, so caution seemed best.
   I slipped the tip of my knife through the edge of the door. A little jiggling and the door opened. No breaking yet, but I had definitely entered. Would Dolph arrest me for it? Probably not. If Elvira forced me to shoot her out of sight of witnesses, he might.
   I went to the second door. The one I hoped led to the basement. I ran my hand over it, and there it was. A spell. I'm not a witch. I don't know how to decipher spells. Sensing them is about my limit. Oh, one other thing. I can break them. But it's a raw burst of power directed at the spell. I just call up whatever it is that allows me to raise the dead and grab the doorknob. It's worked up to this point, but it's like kicking in a door without knowing what's on the other side. Eventually, you're going to get a shotgun blast in your face.
   The real problem was even if I got past it safely, whoever laid the spell would know it. Hell, a good witch would feel the buildup of power before I touched it. If Louie was behind this door, great. I'd go in and keep him safe until my screams brought the cavalry. If he wasn't behind this door, they might panic and kill him.
   Most witches, good or bad, are nature worshipers to a certain extent. If it had been Wiccans, their ceremonial area would have been outside somewhere. But for this, darkness and an enclosed space might suffice.
   If I had a human sacrifice lying about, I'd want him stored as close to the ceremonial area as possible. It was a gamble. If I was wrong and they killed Louie . . . No. No dwelling on worst-case scenarios.
   It was still daylight. It was afternoon. The winter sunlight was grey and soft, but it wasn't dark. My abilities don't come out until after dark. I can sense the dead and certain other things in daylight, but I'm limited. The last time I did this, it had been dark. I approached magic the same way I did everything else. Straight ahead, brute force. What I was really gambling on was that my powers were greater than whoever laid the spell. Sort of the theory that I could take a better beating than she or he could dish out.
   Was that true in daylight? We'd find out. Question, was the spell just on the doorknob? Maybe. I'd have locked the door, spell or no spell. Why not just cut out the middle man?
   I drew the Browning and backed up. I centered myself, concentrating on a point near the lock but not on it. I waited until that piece of wood was all there was. There was a quality of silence in my ears. I kicked it with everything I had. The door shuddered but did not open. Two more kicks and the wood splintered. The lock gave.
   It wasn't a burst of light. If someone had been watching, they wouldn't have seen a damn thing but me falling backwards. My whole body tingled as if I'd put my finger in an electric socket.
   I heard running footsteps in the house. I crawled to the open door. I dragged myself to my feet using the banister. A wash of cool air swept against my face. I started down the steps before I was sure I could walk. I had to find Louie before Elvira caught me. If I didn't find proof, she could have me arrested for breaking and entering and we'd be worse off than we were before.
   I stumbled down the stairs, one hand in a death grip on the banister, gun in the other. The darkness was velvet black. I couldn't see a damn thing beyond the finger of daylight. Even my night vision needs some light. I heard footsteps behind me.
   "Louie, are you down here?"
   Something moved in the darkness below me. It sounded big. "Louie?"
   Elvira was standing at the head of the stairs. She was framed by the light, as if standing in a body-sized halo. "Ms. Blake, I must insist you get off my property this moment."
   My skin was still twitching with whatever had been on the lock. Only my hand on the banister kept me standing. "You do the spell on the door?"
   "Yes."
   "You're good."
   "Not good enough apparently. Now, really I must insist you come up the stairs and get off my property."
   A low growl came up from the darkness. It didn't sound much like a rat, and it certainly didn't sound human.
   "Come out, come out, wherever you are," I said.
   The growling got louder, closer. Something large and furry darted across the pale band of light. The glimpse was enough. I could always say I thought it was Louie. I leaned against the banister and screamed. I screamed for help with every ounce of sound I could make.
   Elvira darted a took behind her. I heard the distant yells of police coming in the front door.
   "Curse you."
   "Words are cheap," I said.
   "It will be more than words when I have the time."
   "Knock yourself out."
   She ran into the house, not away. Was I wrong? Had Louie been inside all along, and I was down here with a different fur ball? Was it Jason?
   "Jason?"
   Something came to the stairs and peered up into the dim light. It was a dog. A big, furry mutt dog, the size of a pony, but it wasn't a shapeshifter.
   "Damn."
   It growled at me again. I got up and started to back up the stairs. I didn't want to hurt it if I didn't have to. Where was Dolph? He should have been back here by now.
   The dog let me ease back up the steps. Apparently it was only supposed to protect the basement. Fine with me.
   "Nice doggy."
   I eased up until I could touch the broken door. I slammed it shut, holding the doorknob. The dog hit it with a roaring crash. Its own weight kept the door closed.
   I opened the back door, slowly. The kitchen was long, narrow, and mostly white. Voices came from farther in the house. A low growl filled the house, reverberating. The sound raised the hair on my neck.
   "No one has to get hurt here," Dolph said.
   "That's right," Elvira said. "Leave now, and no one gets hurt."
   "We can't do that."
   A hallway made up of one wall and the stairs led out of the kitchen towards the living room and the voices. I checked the stairs, empty. I kept going, easing towards the voices. The growl came again, closer.
   Dolph yelled, "Anita, get your butt up here!"
   It made me jump. He couldn't have seen me yet. The entrance to the living room was an open doorway. I went to one knee and peered around the wall. Elvira stood facing them. A wolf the size of a pony was at her side. If you just glanced at them, you might mistake it for the big dog. It was a good cover. Neighbors see it and think the wolf is a dog.
   The other one was a leopard. A black leopard that put every Halloween kitty-cat to shame. It had backed Zerbrowski into a corner. Its slick, furred back came to his waist. Big as a hellcat. Jesus.
   Why hadn't they shot? Police were allowed to shoot for self-protection.
   "Are you Louie Fane or Jason?" Dolph asked. I realized he was asking the shapeshifters. I hadn't told him what kind of shifter Louie was, and Jason was a wolf. The wolf could be Jason. Though why he'd be helping Elvira I did not know. Maybe I didn't have to know.
   I stood up and came around the corner. Maybe the movement was too sudden. Maybe the cat had just grown impatient. The leopard leaped at Zerbrowski. His gun fired.
   The wolf turned on me. It all slowed down. I had forever to look down the barrel and pull the trigger. Every gun in the room fired. The wolf went down with a bullet in its brain from me. I wasn't sure who else had gotten a piece of it.
   Zerbrowski's screams filled the echoing silence. The leopard was on him, slashing at him.
   Dolph fired one more time, then threw the gun to the floor and waded in. He grabbed for the cat and it turned on him, slashing with daggerlike claws. He screamed but didn't back off.
   "Dolph, down, and I'll nail it." He tried to get out of the way but the cat leaped on him, carrying them both to the floor. I walked forward, gun extended. They were a rolling mass. If I shot Dolph, he'd be just as dead as the leopard would make him.
   I knelt by them and shoved the gun into that warm, furred body. Claws slashed my arm, but I pulled the trigger twice. The thing slumped, twitched, and died.
   Dolph blinked up at me. There was a bloody slash on his cheek. But he was alive. I got to my feet. My left arm was numb, which meant it was really hurt. When the numbness wore off, I'd want to be somewhere with doctors.
   Zerbrowski lay on his back. There was a lot of blood. I fell to my knees beside him. I laid the Browning on the ground and searched for the big pulse in his neck. It was there, thready, but there. I wanted to cry with relief, but there was no time. There was a black stain of blood near the lower center of his body. I pulled his coat back and nearly threw up on him. Wouldn't he laugh at that? The cat had damn near eviscerated him. His intestines bulged out at the tear.
   I tried to pull my jacket off to hold over the wound, but my left arm didn't want to work. "Someone help me." No one did.
   Officer Kirlin had Ms. Drew handcuffed. Her green robe was gaping open and it was clear she had nothing on under it. She was crying, crying for her fallen comrades.
   Dolph said, "He alive?"
   "Yeah."
   "I've called for an ambulance," the male uniform said.
   "Get over here and help me stop the bleeding."
   He just looked at me, sort of shamefaced but neither he nor Kirlin moved to help.
   "What the fuck is the matter with you two? Help them."
   "We don't want to get it."
   "It?"
   "The disease," he said.
   I crawled back to the leopard. It looked big, even dead. Nearly three times the size of a natural cat. I fumbled at its belly, and found the catch. Not a button, not a belt, but a catch where the fur peeled away. Inside was a naked human body. I pulled the skin back so they could see. "They're shapeshifters but not lycanthropes. It's a spell. It's not contagious, you chicken-shit son of a bitch."
   "Anita, don't pick on him," Dolph said. His voice sounded so strange, so distant that I minded him.
   The man pulled off his own jacket and sort of laid it on top of Zerbrowski. He pressed down, but gingerly, as if he still didn't trust the blood.
   "Get away from him." I leaned on the coat, using my body weight to hold his intestines inside. They moved under my hand like something alive, squishy and so warm they were hot.
   "When the hell are you going to get some silver bullets for your squad?" I asked.
   Dolph almost laughed. "Soon, I hope."
   Maybe I could buy them a few boxes for Christmas. Please, dear God, let there be a Christmas for all of us. I stared at Zerbrowski's pale face. His glasses had fallen off in the struggle. I looked around and couldn't see them. It seemed important to find his glasses. I knelt there in his blood and cried because I couldn't find his damn glasses.
   
   
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Zodijak Taurus
Pol Žena
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37
   Zerbrowski was being sewn back together. None of the doctors were telling us anything. Guarded. His condition was guarded. Dolph was also in the hospital. Not as bad off but enough to stay for a day or so. Zerbrowski hadn't regained consciousness before they took him away. I waited. Katie, his wife, arrived sometime in the middle of all that waiting.
   It was only the second time we'd ever met. She was a small woman with a mane of dark hair tied in a loose ponytail. Without a spot of makeup she was lovely. How Zerbrowski had managed to snag her I'd never figured out.
   She walked towards me, dark eyes wide. She was clutching her purse like a shield, fingers digging into the leather. "Where is he?" Her voice was high and breathy, like a little girl's. It always sounded like that.
   Before I could say anything, the doctor came out of the swinging doors at the end of the hall. Katie stared at him. All the blood had drained from her face.
   I stood up and moved to stand beside her. She stared at the approaching doctor like he was some monster in her worst nightmare. Probably more accurate than I wanted it to be.
   "Are you Mrs. Zerbrowski?" the doctor asked.
   She nodded. Her hands where they gripped the purse were mottled, trembling with tension.
   "Your husband is stable. It looks good. He's going to make it."
   Christmas was coming after all.
   Katie gave a small sigh and her knees buckled. I caught her and stood there supporting her dead weight. She couldn't have weighed ninety pounds.
   "We've got a lounge in here if you can . . ." He looked at me, then shrugged.
   I lifted Katie Zerbrowski in my arms, got the balance of it, and said, "Lead on."
   I left Katie sitting by Zerbrowski's bedside. His hand wrapped around hers, like he knew she was there. Maybe he did. Lucille, Dolph's wife, was there now to hold her hand just in case. Staring down at Zerbrowski's pale face, I prayed that there was no "just in case."
   I wanted to wait until Zerbrowski woke up, but the doctor told me it would probably be tomorrow. I couldn't go without sleep that long. My new stitches made the cross-shaped burn scar on my left arm crooked. The claw marks twisted to one side, missing the mound of scar tissue at the bend of my arm.
   Carrying Katie had broken some of my stitches, and they bled through the bandage. The doctor who had operated on Zerbrowski resewed it personally. He looked at the scars a lot.
   My arm hurt and was bandaged from wrist to elbow. But we were all alive. Yea.
   The taxi dropped me off at my apartment building at what would have been a decent hour. Louie had been drugged and tied in the basement. Elvira had admitted to taking the skins of a werewolf, a wereleopard, and trying for the naga. Jason hadn't been in the house. She denied ever having seen him. What did she need with another werewolf skin? The wererat skin would have been for her, she said. When asked who the snakeskin would have been for, she said her. There was at least one other person involved that she wasn't willing to give up.
   She was a witch and had used magic to kill. It was an automatic death sentence. Once convicted, the sentence would be carried out within forty-eight hours. No appeals. No pardons. Dead. The lawyers were trying to get her to admit to the other disappearances. If she'd admit to it they might commute her sentence. Might. A killer witch. I didn't believe they'd lighten her sentence, but maybe they would.
   Richard was sitting outside my apartment door. I hadn't expected to see him, night of the full moon and all. I'd left a message on his answering machine about finding Louie and him being all right.
   The police were trying to keep it all quiet, especially Louie's secret identity. I hoped they could manage it. But at least he was alive. Animal control had the dog.
   "I got your message," he said. "Thanks for saving Louie."
   I put my key in the lock. "You're welcome."
   "We haven't found Jason. Do you really think the witches took him?"
   I opened the door. He followed me in and closed the door. "I don't know. That's been bothering me, too. If she'd taken Jason. He should have been there." The wolf, once out of its skin, had been a woman that I didn't know.
   I walked into the bedroom as if I'd been alone. Richard followed me. I felt light and distant and faintly unreal. They'd cut off the sleeve of my jacket and sweater. I'd tried to save the jacket but I guess it had been ruined anyway. They'd also cut through the left arm sheath. I had it and the knife shoved in my jacket pocket. Why do they always cut everything off in the emergency room?
   He came up behind me, not touching, hands hovering over my arm. "You didn't tell me you were hurt."
   The phone rang. I picked it up without thinking.
   A man's voice said, "Anita Blake?"
   "Yes."
   "This is Williams, the naturalist at the Audubon Center. I played back some of my owl tapes that I'd recorded at night. One of them has what I'd swear was hyenas on it. I told the police, but they didn't seem to understand the significance. Do you understand what it might mean to have hyena sounds out here?"
   "A werehyena," I said.
   "Yes, I thought so, too."
   No one had told him the killer was probably a werewolf. But one of the missing shifters was a hyena. Maybe Elvira really didn't know what happened to all the missing lycanthropes.
   "Did you say you told the police?"
   "Yes, I did."
   "Who'd you tell?"
   "I called Sheriff Titus's office."
   "Who'd you speak to?"
   "Aikensen."
   "Do you know if he told Titus?"
   "No, but why wouldn't he?"
   Why indeed.
   "Someone's at the door. Can you hold on a minute?"
   "I don't think . . ."
   "I'll be right back."
   "Williams, Williams, don't answer the door." But I was talking to empty air. I heard him walk across the floor. The door opened. He made a surprised sound. Heavier footsteps came back across the floor.
   Someone picked up the phone. I could hear them breathing. They didn't say anything.
   "Talk to me, you son of a bitch."
   The breathing got heavy.
   "If you hurt him, Aikensen, I will feed you your dick on knife point."
   He laughed and hung up. And I'd never be able to testify in court who was on the other end of that phone.
   "Dammit, damn it, damn it."
   "What's wrong?"
   I called information to get the number for the Willoton Police Department. I pressed the button that dialed it automatically for a small fee.
   "Anita, what is it?"
   I held up a hand, telling him to wait. A woman answered. "Is this Deputy Holmes?"
   It wasn't. I got Chief Garroway after impressing on the dispatcher that this was a matter of life and death. I did not scream at her. I deserved mucho brownie points for that.
   I gave Garroway the Reader's Digestversion. "I can't believe even Aikensen would be involved in something like this, but I'll send a car."
   "Thanks."
   "Why didn't you just call 911?" Richard asked.
   "They'd call the county police. Aikensen might even be assigned the call."
   I was struggling out of my butchered jacket. Richard eased it off my left shoulder or I might never have gotten it off. When it was off, I realized I was out of coats. I'd ruined two in as many days. I grabbed the only coat I had left. It was crimson, long and full. I'd worn it twice. The last time was Christmas. The red coat would show up even at night. If I needed to sneak up on anybody, I could take it off.
   Richard had to help me get my left arm in the sleeve. It still hurt.
   "Let's go get Jason," he said.
   I looked at him. "You're not going anywhere but wherever lycanthropes go when there's a full moon."
   "You can't even put your own coat on. How are you going to drive?"
   He had a point.
   "This may put you in danger."
   "I'm a full-grown werewolf and tonight is the full moon. I think I can handle it." He had a faraway look in his eyes as if he were hearing voices I would never know.
   "All right. Let's go, but we're going to save Williams. I think the weres are close to his place, but I don't know exactly where."
   He was standing there with his long duster coat on. He was wearing a white T-shirt, a pair of jeans with one knee gone, and a pair of less than reputable shoes.
   "Why the scuffy clothes?"
   "If I shift in my clothes, they're always torn apart. Precaution. You ready?"
   "Yeah."
   "Let's go," he said. There was something about him that was different. A waiting tension like water just before it spills over the edge. When I looked into his brown eyes, something slid behind them. Some furred shape was inside there, waiting to get out.
   I realized what I was sensing from him. Eagerness. Richard's beast was looking out of his true brown eyes, and it was eager to be about its business.
   What could I say? We went.
   
   
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Zodijak Taurus
Pol Žena
Poruke 18761
Zastava Srbija
38
   Edward was leaning against my Jeep, arms crossed, breath fogging in the air. The temperature had dropped by twenty degrees with the dark. The freeze was back on. All the meltwater had turned to ice. The snow crunched underfoot.
   "What are you doing here, Edward?"
   "I was about to come up to your apartment when I saw you coming down."
   "What do you want?"
   "I want to play," he said.
   I stared at him. "Just like that. You don't know what I'm involved in, but you want a piece of it."
   "Following you around lets me kill a lot of people."
   Sad, but true. "I don't have time to argue. Get in."
   He slid in the backseat. "Who exactly are we going to kill tonight?"
   Richard started the engine. I buckled up. "Let's see. There's a renegade policeman, and whoever's kidnapped seven shapeshifters."
   "The witches didn't do it?"
   "Not all of it."
   "You think I'll get to kill any lycanthropes tonight?" He was teasing Richard, I think.
   Richard wasn't offended. "I've been thinking about who could have taken them all without a struggle. It had to be someone they trusted."
   "Who would they trust?" I asked.
   "One of us," he said.
   "Oh, boy," Edward said, "lycanthrope on the menu for tonight."
   Richard didn't correct him. If it was all right with him, it was all right with me.
   
   
39
   Williams lay crumpled on his side. He'd been shot at close range through the heart. Two shots. So much for the doctorate.
   One hand was wrapped around a .357 Magnum. I was even betting that there would be powder on his skin, as though he'd really fired the gun.
   Deputy Holmes and her partner, whose name I couldn't remember, were lying in the snow dead. The Magnum had taken most of her chest. Her pixielike features were slack and not half so pretty. With her eyes staring straight up she didn't look asleep. She just looked dead.
   Her partner was missing most of his face. He was collapsed in the snow, blood and brains melting through the frozen snow. His gun was still gripped in his hand.
   Holmes had gotten her gun out, too. For what good it did her. I doubted either one of them had shot Williams, but I'd have bet a month's pay that one of their guns had.
   I knelt in the snow and said, "Shit."
   Richard stood by Williams. He was staring at him as if he'd memorize him. "Samuel didn't own a gun. He didn't even believe in hunting."
   "You knew him?"
   "I'm in Audubon, remember."
   I nodded. None of it seemed real. It looked staged. Would he get away with it? No. "He's dead," I said, softly.
   Edward came to stand beside me. "Who's dead?"
   "Aikensen. He's still walking and talking but he's dead. He just doesn't know it yet."
   "Where do we find him?" Edward asked.
   Good question. I didn't have a good answer. My beeper went off, and I screamed. One of those little yip screams that are always so embarrassing. I checked the number with my heart thundering in my chest.
   I didn't recognize the number. Who could it be, and could it possibly be important enough to call back tonight? I'd left my beeper number with the hospital. I didn't know their number, either. I had to answer it. Hell, I needed to call Chief Garroway and tell him his people had walked into an ambush. I could make both calls from Williams's house.
   I trudged towards the house. Edward followed. We were on the porch before I realized that Richard wasn't with us. I turned back. He had knelt down beside Williams. I thought at first he was praying, then realized he was touching the bloody snow. Did I really want to know? Yeah.
   I walked back over. Edward stayed on the porch without being asked. Point for him. "Richard, are you all right?" It was a stupid question with a man he knew dead at his feet. But what else was I supposed to ask?
   His hand closed over the bloody snow, crushing it. He shook his head. I thought he was just angry, or grief stricken, until I saw the sweat on his face.
   He turned his face upward, eyes closed. The moon rode full and bright, heavy and silver white. The light was almost daylight bright this far away from the city. Wisps of cloud rode the sky, made luminous with moonshine.
   "Richard?"
   "I knew him, Anita. We've gone birding together. We talked about his doctorate thesis. I knew him, and now all I can think of is the smell of blood and how warm he still is."
   He opened his eyes and looked at me. There was sorrow in his eyes, but mostly there was darkness. His beast was looking out through his eyes.
   I turned away. I couldn't hold his gaze. "I've got to make this phone call. Don't eat any of the evidence." I walked away across the snow. It had been too long a night.
   I called from the phone in Williams's kitchen. I called Garroway first, told him what we'd found. Once he could breathe, he cursed a bit and said he'd come himself. Probably wondering if things would have turned out differently if he'd come in the first place. Command decisions are always hard.
   I hung up and dialed the number on my beeper. "Hello."
   "This is Anita Blake. This number was left on my beeper."
   "Anita, this is Kaspar Gunderson."
   The swan man. "Yes, Kaspar, what is it?"
   "You sound awful. Has something happened?"
   "Lots, but why did you beep me?"
   "I found Jason."
   I stood a little straighter. "You're kidding."
   "No, I found him. I've got him at my house now. I've been trying to contact Richard. Do you know where he is?"
   "With me."
   "Perfect," he said. "Can he come take charge of Jason before he changes?"
   "Well, yeah, I guess so, why?"
   "I'm just a bird, Anita. I'm not a predator. I can't control an inexperienced werewolf."
   "Okay, I'll tell him. Where's your house?"
   "Richard knows where it is. I've got to get back to Jason, keep him calm. If he loses it before Richard arrives, I'm running for cover. So if I don't answer the doorbell, you'll know what happened."
   "Are you in danger from him?"
   "Just hurry." He hung up.
   Richard had come inside. He was standing in the doorway looking bemused, as if listening to music only he could hear.
   "Richard?"
   His head moved slowly towards the sound of my voice like a video running on slow speed. His eyes were pale golden yellow, the color of amber.
   "Jesus," I said.
   He didn't look away. He blinked his new eyes at me. "What is it?"
   "Kaspar called. He found Jason. He's been trying to get you. Says he can't control him once he changes."
   "Jason's all right," he said. He gave it that questioning lilt.
   "Yes, are you all right?"
   "No, I have to change soon or the moon will pick the time for me."
   I didn't exactly understand that statement, but he could explain in the car. "Edward can drive, in case the moon picks going down Highway Forty-four as the perfect time."
   "Good idea, but Kaspar's house is just up the mountain."
   "What do you mean?"
   "Kaspar lives just up the road."
   "Great, let's go."
   "You'll have to leave Jason and me up there," he said.
   "Why?"
   "I can make sure he doesn't hurt anybody, but he has to hunt. I'll take him out here. There are deer in the woods."
   I stared at him. He was still Richard. Still my sweetie, but . . . His eyes were the color of pale amber, startling in his dark face.
   "You're not going to change in the car, are you?" I asked.
   "No. I would never endanger you. I have complete control over my beast. It's what being an alpha wolf means."
   "I wasn't worried about being eaten," I said. "I just didn't want you to get that clear junk all over my new seats."
   He flashed a smile. It would have been more comforting if his teeth hadn't been just a little pointier than usual.
   Jesus H. Christ.
   
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Zodijak Taurus
Pol Žena
Poruke 18761
Zastava Srbija
40
   Kaspar Gunderson's house was made of stone, or at least sided with it. Pale chunks of granite formed the walls. The trim was white, the roof shingles pale grey. The door was white as well. It was clean, neat, and still managed to be rustic. It sat in a clearing at the top of the mountain. The road stopped at his house. There was a turnaround but the road didn't go past.
   Richard rang the bell. Kaspar opened it. He looked very relieved to see us. "Richard, thank God. He's managed to hold on to human form so far, but I don't think he can last much longer." He held the door for us.
   We walked in and found two strange men sitting in his living room. The man to the left was short, dark, and had wire-framed glasses on. The other man was taller, blond, with a reddish beard. They were the only things that didn't match the decor. The entire living room was white—carpet, couch, two chairs, walls. It was like standing in the middle of a vanilla ice-cream cone. He had the same couch that I did. I needed new furniture.
   "Who are they?" Richard asked. "They aren't one of us."
   "You could say that." It was Titus. He stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen, a gun in his hand. "Don't anybody move," he said. His southern accent was thick as corn pone.
   Aikensen stepped out of the door leading to the rest of the house. He had another big Magnum in his hand.
   "You buy those by the caseload?" I asked.
   "I liked your threat on the phone. It got me hot."
   I took a step forward, hadn't meant to. "Please," Aikensen said. He was pointing the big gun at my chest. Titus was pointing at Richard. The two men in the chairs had guns out now, too. One big happy party.
   Edward was very still at my back. I could almost feel him weighing the odds. A bolt action on a rifle shot back behind us. We all jumped, even Edward. Another man was behind us in the door. His solid grey hair was balding. The grey man had a rifle in his hands, pointed at Edward's head. There wouldn't be enough left to pick up in a baggie.
   "Hands up, y'all."
   We put our hands up. What else could we do?
   "Lace your fingers atop your head,'' Titus said.
   Edward and I did it like we'd done it before. Richard was slower.
   "Now, wolfman, or I will drop you where you stand, and your little girlfriend might get all shot up in the bargain."
   Richard laced his fingers. "Kaspar, what's going on?"
   Kaspar was sitting on the couch, no, reclining was the word. He looked comfortable, happy as a well-fed cat . . . er, swan.
   "These gentlemen here have paid a small fortune to hunt lycanthropes. I supply them prey and a place to hunt."
   "Titus and Aikensen make sure that no one finds out, right?"
   "I told you I did a little hunting, Ms. Blake," Titus said.
   "The dead man one of your hunters?"
   His eyes flicked, not exactly looking away but flinching. "Yes, Ms. Blake, he was."
   I looked at the two men with their guns out. I didn't turn around to see Grey Hair at the door. "You three think that hurting shapeshifters is worth dying over?"
   The dark-haired one looked at me from behind his round glasses. His eyes were distant, calm. If it bothered him to be pointing a gun at fellow human beings, it didn't show.
   The bearded man's eyes flicked around the room, never settling on anything. He wasn't having a good time.
   "Why didn't you and Aikensen clean up the mess before Holmes and her partner saw the body?"
   "We were out hunting werewolf," Aikensen said.
   "Kaspar, we're your people," Richard said.
   "No," Kaspar said. He stood. "You aren't. I am not a lycanthrope. I'm not even an inherited condition. I was cursed by a witch so long ago that I don't care to remember how long."
   "Is that supposed to make us feel sorry for you?" I asked.
   "No. In fact, I don't suppose I have to explain myself. You have both been decent to me. I suppose I feel guilty about that." He shrugged. "This will be our last hunt. One big gala event."
   "If you had slaughtered Raina and Gabriel, I could almost understand it," I said. "But what did the lycanthropes you helped murder ever do to you?"
   "When the witch told me what she had done, I remember thinking that being a great ravening beast would be a fine thing. I could still hunt. I could even slay my enemies. Instead she made . . ." He spread his hands wide.
   "You kill them because they are what you want to be," I said.
   He gave a small smile. "Jealousy, Anita, envy. They are very bitter emotions."
   I thought about calling him a bastard, but it wouldn't help. Seven people had died because this son of a bitch didn't like being a bird. "The witch should have killed you, slowly."
   "She wanted me to learn my lesson and repent."
   "I'm not real big on repentance," I said. "I like revenge better."
   "If I wasn't confident you would die tonight, that might worry me."
   "Worry," I said.
   "Where's Jason?" Richard asked.
   "We'll take you to him, won't we, boys," Titus said.
   Edward hadn't said a word. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but I hoped he didn't go for a gun. If he did, most of the people in this room were dead. Three of them would be us.
   "Pat 'em down, Aikensen."
   Aikensen grinned. He holstered his big gun. That left one revolver, two automatics, and a high-powered rifle. It was enough. Dream team that we are, Edward and I had our limits.
   He patted Richard down, a quick search. He was having a good time until he got up to where he could see Richard's eyes. He paled just a little looking into those wolf eyes. Nervous was good.
   He kicked my legs farther apart. I glared at him. His hands hovered over my breasts, not where you start a search. "If he does anything but search me for weapons, I am going to draw a gun and take my chances."
   "Aikensen, you treat Ms. Blake here like a lady. No hanky-panky."
   Aikensen dropped to his knees in front of me. He ran just the palm of his hand over my breast, lightly just over the nipples. I smashed my right elbow into his nose. Blood sprayed outward. He rolled around on the ground, hands to his busted nose.
   The dark-haired man was standing. He was pointing his gun very steadily at me. His glasses reflected the light hiding his eyes.
   "Everybody calm down, now," Titus said. "Aikensen deserved that, I guess."
   Aikensen came up off the floor, blood covering the lower half of his face. He fumbled for his gun.
   "If that gun clears your holster, I will shoot you myself," Titus said.
   Aikensen was breathing fast and heavy through his mouth. Little bubbles of blood showed at his nose when he tried to breathe through it. It was definitely broken. It wasn't as good as eviscerating him, but it was a start. He kept his hands on his gun, but he didn't pull it. He stayed on his knees for a long time. You could see the struggle in his eyes. He wanted to shoot me almost enough to try for it. Great. The feeling was mutual.
   "Aikensen," Titus said softly. His voice was very serious, as if he were just realizing that Aikensen might go for it. "I mean what I say, boy. Don't you be toying with me."
   He got to his feet, spitting blood, trying to get it away from his mouth. "You're going to die tonight."
   "Maybe, but it won't be you."
   "Ms. Blake, if you could refrain from teasing Aikensen long enough for me to get him away from you, I'd appreciate it."
   "Always glad to cooperate with the police," I said.
   Titus laughed. The bastard. "Well, now the criminals pay better, Ms. Blake."
   "Fuck you."
   "No need to get abusive." He tucked his own gun into his side holster. "Now, I'm not going to do a thing but search you for weapons. Any more of this nonsense and we're going to have to shoot one of you to prove we're serious. You don't want to lose your sweetheart here. Or your friend here." He smiled. Just good ol' Sheriff Titus. Friendly. Jesus.
   He found both guns, then patted me down a second time. I must have winced, because he said, "How'd you hurt your arm, Ms. Blake?"
   "I was helping the police on another case."
   "They let a civvie get hurt?"
   "Sergeant Storr and Detective Zerbrowski are in the hospital. They were injured in the line of duty."
   Something passed over his chubby face. It might have been regret. "Heroes don't get anything but dead, Ms. Blake. You best remember that."
   "Bad guys die, too, Titus."
   He pushed the sleeve of the red coat up and took the knife. He hefted it, testing its balance. "Custom made?"
   I nodded.
   "I do admire good equipment."
   "Keep it. I'll get it later."
   He chuckled. "You have guts, girl, I'll give you that."
   "And you're a fucking coward."
   The smile vanished. "Always needing to have the last word is a bad trait, Ms. Blake. Pisses people off."
   "That's the idea."
   He moved to Edward. I'd give Titus one thing, he was thorough. He took two automatics, a derringer, and a knife big enough to pass for a short sword from Edward. I had no idea where he'd been hiding the knife.
   "Who do the two of you think you are? The freaking cavalry?"
   Edward didn't say a thing. If he could be quiet, so could I. There were too many guns to make one of them angry and try to jump the rest. We were outnumbered and outgunned. It was not a good way to start the week.
   "Now we are all going to go downstairs," Titus said. "We want you all to join us in the hunt. You will be let out into the woods. If you can get away from us, then you are free. You can run to the nearest police and turn us in. You try anything funny before we let you go, and we will just kill you. You all understand that?"
   We just looked at him.
   "I can't hear you."
   "I heard what you said," I said.
   "How 'bout you, blondie?"
   "I heard you, too," Edward said.
   "Wolfman, you hear me?"
   "Don't call me that," Richard said. He didn't sound particularly scared, either. Good.
   If you're going to die, at least die brave. It pisses your enemies off.
   "Can we put our hands down now?" I asked.
   "No," Titus said.
   My left arm was beginning to throb. If that was the most painful thing that happened to me tonight, I'd be ahead of the game.
   Aikensen went first. Richard next with the dark-haired man and his calm eyes at his back. The bearded man. Then me. Titus. Edward. Grey Hair and his rifle next. Kaspar brought up the rear. It was a parade.
   The stairs led into a natural cavern below the house. It was about sixty by thirty feet, with a ceiling that wasn't higher than twelve feet. A tunnel led out the far wall. Electric lights gave a harsh yellow glow to everything. Two cages were set into the granite walls. In the far cage Jason was huddled into a fetal ball. He didn't move as we all trooped in.
   "What have you done to him?" Richard said.
   "Tried to get him to change for us," Titus said. "Birdie here said he'd be an easy mark."
   Kaspar looked uncomfortable. Whether it was the Birdie remark or Jason's stubbornness, it was hard to tell. "He will change for us."
   "So you say," Grey Hair said.
   Kaspar frowned at him.
   Aikensen opened the empty cage. His nose was still bleeding. He had a wad of Kleenex held to it, but it wasn't helping much. The Kleenexes were crimson.
   "In ya go, Wolfie," Titus said.
   Richard hesitated.
   "Mr. Carmichael, the boy, if you please."
   Dark Hair put up his 9mm, and got out a .22 from his waistband. He pointed it at Jason's huddled form.
   "We'd been discussing putting a bullet in him anyway. See if it would help persuade him to change for us. Now get in the cage."
   Richard stood there.
   Carmichael pointed the gun through the bars, sighting down his arm.
   "Don't," Richard said. "I'll do it." He walked into the cage.
   "Now you, Blondie."
   Edward didn't argue. He just walked in. He was taking this a lot better than I thought he would.
   Aikensen shut the door. He locked the door, then walked across to the second cage. He didn't unlock it. He waited with the soggy Kleenex pressed to his nose. A drop of blood fell to the floor.
   "You get to share accommodations with our young friend."
   Richard gripped the bars of his cage. "You can't put her in there. When he changes, he'll need to feed."
   "Two things help the change happen," Kaspar said, "sex and blood. I saw how much Jason likes your lady friend."
   "Don't do this, Kaspar."
   "Too late," he said.
   If I went in the cage, I was going to end up eaten alive. That was actually one of my top five ways not to die. I wasn't going in the cage. I'd make them shoot me first.
   "Aikensen is going to open the cage, then you step inside, Ms. Blake."
   "No," I said.
   Titus looked at me. "Ms. Blake, Mr. Fienstien here will shoot you, won't you Mr. Fienstien?"
   The bearded man, uncertain eyes and all, pointed a 9mm Beretta at me. A nice gun, if you didn't insist on buying American. The barrel looked very big, and solid from the wrong end.
   "Fine, shoot me."
   "Ms. Blake, we are not joking."
   "Neither am I. My choices are being eaten alive or being shot. So shoot me."
   "Mr. Carmichael, if you will point your .22 over here." Carmichael did. "We can wound you, Ms. Blake. Put a bullet in your leg and then shove you in that cage."
   I looked into his beady little eyes and knew he would do it. I didn't want to go into the cage, but I really didn't want to go in wounded.
   "I'm going to count to five, Ms. Blake, then Carmichael here is going to wound you and we will drag you into that cage. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . ."
   "All right, all right, damn you. Unlock the damn door."
   Aikensen did. I walked in. The door clanged shut behind me. I stood there near the door. Jason was shivering as if he had a fever, but he never moved otherwise.
   The men outside seemed disappointed. "We paid good money to hunt a werewolf," Grey Hair said. "We are not getting our money's worth."
   "We've got all night, gentlemen. He won't resist this luscious tidbit forever," Kaspar said.
   I didn't like being called a tidbit. Luscious or otherwise. "I called Garroway before we drove up here. I told him about his deputies getting ambushed. I told him it was Aikensen."
   "Liar."
   I looked straight at Titus. "You think I'm lying."
   "Maybe we'll just shoot all of you now, and flee, Ms. Blake."
   "You going to give these gentlemen their money back?"
   "We want a hunt, Titus." The three armed men didn't look like leaving before the fun was an option. "The police don't know about the birdman's involvement," Carmichael of the .22 said. "He can stay upstairs. If they come asking questions, he can answer them."
   Titus wiped his palms against his pants. Sweating palms, nerves? I hoped so.
   "She didn't call. She's just bluffing," Aikensen said.
   "Make him change," Carmichael said.
   "He's not paying any attention to her," Grey Hair said.
   "Give it time, gentlemen."
   "You said we don't have time."
   "You're the expert, Kaspar. Thinka something."
   Kaspar smiled, staring at something behind me. "I don't think we'll have to wait much longer."
   I turned around slowly, looking behind me. Jason was still huddled on the ground but his face was turned to me. He rolled onto all fours in one easy motion.
   His eyes flicked to me, then stared at the men on the outside of the cage. "I won't do it. I won't change for you." His voice was strained but normal. Human sounding.
   "You've held out a long time, Jason," Kaspar said, "but the moon is rising. Smell her fear, Jason. Smell her body. You know you want her."
   "No!" He bowed his head to the ground, hands and arms flat to the floor, knees drawn up. He shook his head, face pressed into the rock. "No." He raised his face up. "I won't do it like some sideshow freak."
   "Do you think giving Jason and Ms. Blake here a little privacy would help matters along?" Titus asked.
   "It might," Kaspar said. "He doesn't seem to like an audience."
   "We'll just give you a little breathin' space, Ms. Blake. If you aren't alive when we get back, well, it's been nice meetin' ya."
   "I can't say the same, Titus," I said.
   "Well, now that is the God's honest truth. Good-bye, Ms. Blake."
   "Rot in hell, bitch," was Aikensen's parting shot.
   "You'll remember me every time you look in a mirror, Aikensen."
   His hand went to his nose. Even that touch hurt. He scowled at me, but it's hard to look tough with Kleenex sticking out of your nose. "I hope you die slow."
   "Same to you," I said.
   "Kaspar, please," Richard said. "Don't do this. I'll change for you. I'll let you hunt me. Just get Anita out of there."
   The men stopped and looked at him.
   "Don't help me, Richard."
   "I'll give you the best hunt you've ever had." He was pressed against the bars, hands wrapped around them. "You know I can do it, Kaspar. Tell them."
   Kaspar looked at him for a long moment. He shook his head. "I think you'd kill them all."
   "I'd promise not to."
   "Richard, what are you saying?"
   He ignored me. "Please, Kaspar."
   "You must love her a great deal."
   Richard just stared at him.
   "No matter what you do, Richard, they're not going to let me go."
   He wasn't listening to me.
   "Richard!"
   "I'm sorry," Kaspar said. "I trust you, Richard, but your beast . . . I think your beast isn't so trustworthy."
   "Come on, we're wasting time. Garroway doesn't know where to look but he might come up here. Let's give 'em some privacy," Titus said.
   They all trooped out after the chubby sheriff. Kaspar was last up the stairs. "I wish it were Gabriel and Raina in the cages. I am sorry about that." The swan man disappeared into the rock tunnel.
   "Kaspar, don't leave us like this. Kaspar!" Richard's yells echoed in the cavern. But nothing answered the echoes. We were alone. Scuffling sounds made me whirl. Jason was on his knees again. Something moved behind his pale blue eyes, something monstrous and not friendly at all. I wasn't half as alone as I wanted to be.
   
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41
   Jason took one crawling step towards me and stopped. "No, no, no." Each word was a low moan. His head fell forward. His yellow hair swept forward not long enough to touch the ground, but thick. He was wearing an oversize blue dress shirt and jeans. Clothes you wouldn't mind ruining if you happened to shapeshift in them.
   "Anita," Richard said.
   I moved so I could see the other cage, without losing sight of Jason.
   Richard was reaching through the bars. One hand stretching out towards me as if he could bridge the space and somehow drag me to him.
   Edward crawled to the door and began running hands over the lock. He couldn't really see the lock from inside the cage. He pressed his cheek to the bars and closed his eyes. When you can't use your eyes they become a distraction.
   He leaned back and drew a slender leather case from his pocket. He unzipped it to reveal tiny tools. From this distance I couldn't really see them clearly but I knew what they were. Edward was going to pick the lock. We could be out in the woods before they knew we were missing. The night was looking up.
   Edward settled back against the bars, one arm on either side of the lock, a pick in each hand. His eyes were closed, his face blank, all concentration to his hands.
   Jason made a small sound low in his chest. He crawled towards me, two slow, dragging steps. His head flung upward. His eyes were still the innocent blue of spring skies but there was nobody home now. He looked at me as though he could see inside my body, watch my heart thudding in my chest, smell the blood in my veins. It was not a human look.
   "Jason," Richard said, "hold on. We'll be free in a few minutes. Just hold on."
   Jason didn't react. I don't think he heard.
   I thought the few minutes was being overly optimistic, but hey, I was willing to believe it if Jason would.
   Jason crawled towards me. I plastered my back against the cage bars. "Edward, how are you coming with that lock?"
   "These are not the tools I would have chosen for this particular lock, but I'll get it."
   There was something in the way Jason crawled towards me, as if he had muscles in places that he shouldn't have. "Make it soon, Edward."
   He didn't answer me. I didn't have to look to know that he was working at the lock. I had every faith that he'd unlock the door. I backed down the bars, trying to keep an even distance between me and the werewolf. Edward would get the door open, but would it be in time? That was the $64,000 question.
   A sound at the entrance caused me to glance back. Carmichael stepped into the cavern. He had the 9mm in his hand. He smiled. It was the happiest I'd seen him.
   Edward ignored him, working at the lock as if an armed man hadn't stepped into the room.
   Carmichael raised the gun and pointed it at Edward. "Get away from the lock, now." He cocked the hammer back, not necessary, but always dramatic. "We don't need you alive. Stop . . . working . . . on . . . the . . . lock." He stepped closer with each word.
   Edward looked up at him. His face was still blank, as if his concentration were still in his hands, not quite focused on the gun being pointed at him.
   "Throw the tools away from you. Right now."
   Edward stared at him. His expression never changed but he tossed the two small tools away.
   "Take the complete kit out of your pocket and toss it out of the cage. Don't even try to say you don't have one. If you've got those two pieces, you've got the rest."
   I wondered what Carmichael did in the real world. Something not nice. Something where he knew what tools would be in a professional lock-picking kit.
   "I won't warn you again," Carmichael said. "Throw it out or I pull the trigger. I am tired of screwing with this mess."
   Edward threw out the slim leather pouch. It made a small slapping sound on the rock. Carmichael made no move to pick up the lock picks. They were out of our reach. That was what counted. He walked backwards, keeping us all in sight. He directed some of his attention to Jason and me. Oh, joy.
   "Our little werewolf's awake. I was hoping he would be."
   A low, ragged growl crawled up Jason's throat.
   Carmichael gave a delighted bark of laughter. "I wanted to see him change. Good thing I checked back in."
   "I'm thrilled that you're here," I said.
   He came to stand just out of reach of our cage bars. He was staring at Jason. "I've never seen one of them change."
   "Let me out and we'll watch him together."
   "Now, why would I do that? I paid to see the whole show."
   His eyes were sparkling with anticipation. Bright and shiny as a kid on Christmas morning. Shit.
   A growl brought my attention completely back to Jason. He was crouched on the rock floor, hands and legs bunched under him. Watching that growl trickle from between his human lips raised the hair on the back of my neck.
   He wasn't looking at me. "I think he's growling at you, Carmichael."
   "But I'm not in the cage," he said. He had a point.
   "Jason, don't get angry at him," Richard said. "Anger will feed the beast. You can't afford to get angry." Richard's voice was amazingly calm, even soothing. He was trying to talk Jason down, or out, or in, or whatever word you used for keeping a werewolf from shifting.
   "No," Carmichael said, "get angry, wolf. I'm going to cut your head off and mount it on my wall."
   "He'll revert back to human form after he's dead," I said.
   "I know," Carmichael said.
   Jesus. "Police find you with a human head in your possession, they may get a little suspicious."
   "I've got a lot of trophies that I wouldn't want the police to find," he said.
   "What do you do in the real world?"
   "This is as real as it gets."
   I shook my head. It was hard to argue with him, but I wanted to.
   Jason crawled towards the bars, in a sort of monkey crouch. It wasn't as graceful but it had an energy to it, as if he were about to launch himself into the air. As if when he jumped he could fly.
   "Calm, Jason, easy," Richard said.
   "Come on, boy, try it. Rush the bars and I'll pull the trigger."
   I watched him bunch every muscle and launch himself at the bars. He clung to the bars, hands clawing between them. Arms stretched as far as they would go. He wedged a shoulder between the bars as if he'd slip through. For one moment Carmichael looked uncertain, then he laughed.
   "Shoot me," Jason said. His voice was more growl than words. "Shoot me."
   "I don't think so," Carmichael said.
   Jason gripped the bars with his hands and slid down to his knees, forehead pressed to the bars. His breathing was fast, panting, as if he'd run a mile in a minute flat. If he'd been human he'd have hyperventilated and passed out. His head turned slowly towards me, painfully slow, as if he didn't want to do it. He'd tried to force Carmichael to shoot him. Risked being killed to keep from turning on me. He didn't know me well enough to risk his life. It got him a lot of points in my book.
   He looked at me, and his face was naked, raw with need. Not sex, not hunger, both, neither, I didn't understand the look in his eyes, and didn't want to.
   He scrambled towards me. I backed away, almost running backwards.
   "Don't run," Richard called. "It excites him."
   Staring into Jason's alien expression, it took everything I had to stand still. My hands gripped the bars behind me hard enough to hurt, but I stopped running. Running was bad.
   Jason stopped when I did. He crouched just out of reach. He put one hand on the ground and crawled towards me. It was slow, as if he didn't want to, but he kept coming.
   "Any more bright ideas?" I asked.
   "Don't run. Don't struggle. It's exciting. Try to be calm. Try not to be afraid. Fear is very exciting."
   "Speaking from personal experience?" I asked.
   "Yes," he said.
   I wanted to turn, see his face, but I couldn't. I had eyes only for the werewolf that was crawling towards me. The werewolf in the other cage could take care of himself.
   Jason knelt on all fours by my legs, like a dog awaiting a command. He raised his head and looked at me. A spot of pale green color spilled into his eyes. The blue of his irises drowned in a swirl of new color. When it was done his eyes were the color of new spring grass, pale, pale green, and not human at all.
   I gasped. I couldn't help it. He moved closer, sniffing the air around me. His fingertips brushed my leg. I jerked. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his cheek against my leg. He'd done more than this at the Lunatic Cafe, but his eyes had still been mostly human. And I had been armed. I'd have given nearly anything for a gun right now.
   Jason grabbed the hem of my coat, balling his hands into fists, tugging at the cloth. He was going to pull me to the ground. No way. I shrugged the coat off my shoulders. Jason pulled it off me. I stepped out of the circle of cloth. He bundled the coat to his face with both arms. He rolled on the ground with it pressed to his body like a dog with a piece of carrion. Wallowing in the scent.
   He came to his knees. He stalked towards me, moving with a liquid grace that was unnerving as hell. Human beings did not crawl gracefully.
   I backed up, slowly, no running. But I didn't want him to touch me again. He moved faster, each movement precise. Pale green eyes locked on me as if I were all that existed in the world.
   I started backing up faster. He moved with me.
   "Don't run, Anita, please," Richard said.
   My back thunked into the corner of the cage. I gave a little yelp.
   Jason covered the distance between us in two smooth movements. His hands touched my legs. I swallowed a scream. My pulse was threatening to choke me.
   "Anita, control your fear. Calm, think calm."
   "You think fucking calm." My voice sounded strident, panicked.
   Jason had his fingertips hooked in my belt. He pressed his body into my legs, pinning me to the bars. I made a small gasp and hated it. If this was going to be it, then dammit, I wasn't going to go out whimpering.
   I listened to my heart pounding in my ears, and took slow, even breaths. I stared into those spring green eyes and relearned how to breathe.
   Jason pressed his cheek against my hip, hands sliding around my waist. My heart gave a little pitty-pat and I swallowed it. I concentrated on my own heart until my pulse slowed. It was the kind of concentration that let you do that new throw in judo. The concentration that fed a zombie raising.
   When Jason lifted his head and looked at me again, I gave him calm eyes. I felt my face blank, neutral, calm. I wasn't sure how long it would last but it was the best I could do.
   His fingers slid under my sweater, up my back. I swallowed and my heartbeat sped up. I tried to slow it down, tried to concentrate, but his hands slid around my waist over my skin. His fingers traced my ribs moving upward. I grabbed his wrists, stopping his hands short of my breasts.
   As he rose, my hands stayed on his arms. Standing with his hands still under my sweater raised the cloth, baring my stomach. Jason seemed to like the sight of bare skin. He knelt again, letting me keep hold of his arms. I felt his breath almost burning warm on my bare stomach. His tongue flicked out, a quick touch to one side of my belly button. His lips brushed my skin, soft, caressing.
   I felt him take a deep, shaking breath. He pressed his face into the soft flesh of my belly. His tongue lapped my stomach, mouth pressing hard. His teeth grazed my waist. It made me squirm, and not with pain. His hands balled into fists under my sweater, hands convulsing. I didn't really want to let go of his wrists but I wanted him away from me.
   "Is he going to eat me or . . ."
   "Fuck you," Carmichael added. I'd almost forgotten him. Careless forgetting the man with the gun. Maybe it was the realization that he wasn't a danger to me. The danger was kneeling at my feet.
   "Jason's only been one of us for a few months. If he can channel the energy into sex instead of violence I'd take it. I'd try to keep him away from killing zones."
   "What's that supposed to mean?"
   "Keep him away from your throat and your stomach."
   I stared down at Jason. He looked up at me, rolling his eyes. There was a darkness in those pale eyes, a darkness deep enough to drown in.
   I drew Jason's hands out from under my sweater. He slid his hands into mine, fingers interlocking. He nuzzled my stomach, trying to bury his face where the sweater had slid over my skin. I raised him up with our hands still locked together.
   He raised our hands upward, pressing my arms backwards against the bars. I fought the urge to struggle, to jerk away. Struggling was exciting, and that was a bad thing.
   We were almost the same height. His eyes were too startling from an inch away. His lips parted and I caught a glimpse of fangs. Jesus.
   He rubbed his cheek along mine. His lips moved down my jawline. I turned my head, trying to keep him away from the big pulse in my neck. He came up for air, and brushed his mouth against mine. He pressed his body against mine hard enough that I knew he was glad to be there. Or at least his body was. He buried his face in my hair and stood there pressed against me, our hands on the bars of the cage.
   I could feel the pulse in his neck thudding against the bone of my jaw. His breathing was too fast, his chest rising and falling as if he were doing a lot more than foreplay. Was I about to move from foreplay to appetizer?
   Power prickled along my skin but it wasn't Jason. I'd tasted this particular power before. Was the show exciting Richard? Would watching me die like this be a thrill like the woman on the film?
   "She's mine, Jason." It was Richard's voice but with a bass undertone. The change was coming.
   Jason whimpered. It was the only word for it.
   Richard's power rode the air like distant thunder, drawing close. "Get off her, Jason. Now!" That last word lunged out in something close to a scream. But it was the kind of scream that cougars gave; no fear, but warning.
   I felt Jason shake his head against my hair. His hands convulsed against mine. The strength of it made me gasp. It was the wrong thing to do.
   He let go of my hands so suddenly I would have stumbled, but the line of his body kept me upright. He jerked away from me and I did stumble. He grabbed me around the thighs and lifted me into the air, too fast for me to stop even if I could have. He smacked me back against the bars. I took most of the blow on my back. Bruised, but alive.
   He supported me with one arm and shoved my sweater upward with the other. I shoved the sweater back down. He made a sound low in his throat and slammed me into the floor. Hitting the rock took all the fight out of me for just a minute. He ripped the sweater as if it were paper, spreading it away from my stomach. He threw his head skyward and screamed, but the mouth he opened wasn't human anymore.
   If I'd had enough air I'd have screamed.
   "Jason, no!" The voice wasn't human anymore. Richard's power flooded the cage, thick enough to choke on. Jason struggled almost as if the power were thicker than air. He swiped at nothing that I could see with hands that had claws for fingers.
   "Back off," the words were a snarl, barely recognizable.
   Jason snarled back, teeth snapping the air, but not at me. He rolled off me, crawling along the rock, growling.
   I just lay there on my back, afraid to move. Afraid that any movement would tip the balance and make him finish what he'd started.
   "Shit," Carmichael said. "I'll be right back, folks, and the birdman better think of something to make one of you change." He marched off, leaving us to a silence that was replaced with a low, steady growl. I realized that it wasn't Jason anymore.
   I rose up slowly on my elbows. Jason didn't try to eat me. Richard was still standing by the bars of his cage, but his face had lengthened. He had a muzzle. His thick brown hair was longer. The hair seemed to have flowed down his back, as if attached to the spine. He was holding onto his humanity with a string. A weak, shiny string.
   Edward was standing very still near the door. He hadn't tried to run when Richard went all spooky. Edward always did have nerves of steel.
   
   
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Zodijak Taurus
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42
   Titus was the first one through the door. "I am mighty disappointed in you all. Carmichael here tells me you almost had it, and this one interfered."
   Kaspar stared at Richard as if he'd never seen him before. Maybe he'd never seen half-human, half-wolf before, but something about the way he was staring said that wasn't it. "Marcus couldn't have done what you did."
   "Jason didn't want to hurt her," Richard said. "He wanted to do the right thing."
   "Well, Birdman," Carmichael said, "what next?"
   I stayed sitting on the rock floor. Jason was huddled against the far wall on his hands and knees, rocking back and forth, back and forth. A low, moaning sound crawled out of his throat.
   "He's near the edge," Kaspar said. "Blood will push him over. Not even an alpha can hold him in the presence of fresh blood."
   I did not like the sound of that.
   "Ms. Blake, could you come over to the bars, please."
   I moved so I could keep an eye on the moaning werewolf and the armed camp outside. "Why?"
   "Either do it or Carmichael will shoot you. Don't make me start counting again, Ms. Blake."
   "I don't think I want to come over to the bars."
   Titus took out his .45 and walked over to the other cage. Edward was sitting down. He looked at me across the room, and I knew that if we ever got out, they were all dead. Richard was still standing at the bars, hands wrapped around them.
   Titus stared up at Richard's animalistic face and gave a low whistle. "Good lord." He pointed the gun at Richard's chest. "These are silver bullets, Ms. Blake. If you called Garroway, we don't have time for two hunts anyway. Garroway doesn't know you're here, so we have a little time, but we don't have all night. Besides, I think the wolfman here might be too dangerous. So if you keep pissing me off, I'll kill him."
   I met Richard's new eyes. "They're going to kill us anyway. Don't do it," he said. His voice was still a growl that was such a deep bass that it crawled down my spine.
   They were going to kill us. But I couldn't stand there and watch, not if I could prolong the inevitable. I walked to the bars nearest them. "Now what?"
   Titus stayed with the gun pointed at Richard. "Put your arms through the bars, please."
   I wanted to say no, but we'd already established that I wasn't willing to watch Richard die just yet. It made saying no sort of hollow. I slipped my arms through the bars, which put my back to the werewolf. Not good.
   "Grab her wrists, gentlemen."
   I balled my hands into fists but didn't pull back. I was going to do this, right.
   Carmichael grabbed my left wrist. The bearded Fienstien took my right. Fienstien wasn't holding on very hard. I could have pulled away, but Carmichael's hand was like warm steel. I stared into his eyes, and found no pity there. Fienstien was getting squeamish. Grey Hair, with his rifle, was in the middle of the room, distancing himself from it. Carmichael was here for the whole ride.
   Titus came over and started unwrapping the bandage on my arm. I fought the urge to ask what he was doing. I had an idea. I hoped I was wrong.
   "How many stitches did you get, Ms. Blake?"
   I wasn't wrong. "I don't know. I stopped counting at twenty." He let the bandages fall to the ground. He got out my own knife and held it up where it would catch the light. Nothing like a little showmanship.
   I pressed my forehead to the cage bars and took a deep breath.
   "I'm going to reopen some of this wound. Cut out your stitches."
   "I figured that out," I said.
   "No struggles?"
   "Get on with it."
   Aikensen came over. "Let me do it. I owe her a little blood."
   Titus looked at me, almost as if asking permission. I gave him my best blank look. He handed the knife to Aikensen.
   Aikensen held the point just over the first stitch near my wrist. I felt my eyes widen. I didn't know what to do. Looking seemed a bad idea. Not looking seemed worse. Begging them not to do it seemed futile and humiliating. Some nights there are no good choices.
   He cut the first stitch. I felt it snap, but surprisingly it didn't really hurt all that much. I looked away. The stitches went snip, snip, snip. I could do this.
   "We need blood," Carmichael said.
   I looked back in time to see Aikensen put the point of the knife against the wound. He was going to reopen the wound, slowly. That was going to hurt. I caught a glimpse of Edward in his cage. He was standing now. Looking at me. He was trying to tell me something. His eyes slid right.
   Grey Hair had walked away from the show. He was standing close to the other cage. Evidently, he could shoot you, but he didn't like torture.
   Edward looked at me. I thought I knew what he wanted. I hoped so.
   The knife bit into my skin. I gasped. The pain was sharp and immediate, like all shallow wounds, but this one was going to last a long time. Blood flowed in a heavy line down my skin. Aikensen pulled the point down a fraction of an inch. I pulled suddenly on my arms. Fienstien lost his grip. He grabbed for my flaying arm. Carmichael tightened his grip. I couldn't get free but I could drop to the floor and make my arm move too much to use a knife on it.
   I started to scream and fight in earnest. If Edward needed a diversion, I could give him one.
   "One woman in a cage and the three of you can't handle her." Titus waddled up. He grabbed my left arm while Carmichael had my wrist. My right hand was back in the cage with me.
   Fienstien was sort of hovering near the cage, not sure what to do. If you were going to pay money to hunt monsters, you should be better at violence than this. His holster was close to the bars.
   I screamed over and over, jerking at my left arm. Titus held my arm under his, pinned next to his body. Carmichael's grip on my wrist was bruising. They had me at last. Aikensen put the knife to the wound and started to cut.
   Fienstien bent down as if to help. I screamed and leaned into the bars. I didn't draw his gun. I grabbed the trigger and pushed it into his body. The shot took him in the stomach. He fell backwards.
   A second shot echoed in the cavern. Carmichael's head exploded all over Titus. His Smokey Bear hat was covered in blood and brains.
   Edward was standing with the rifle to his shoulder. Grey Hair was slumped against the cage bars. His neck was at an odd angle. Richard knelt by the body. Had he killed him?
   There was a sound behind me. A low guttural cry. Titus had his gun out. He still had my arm pinned. Fienstien was rolling around on the ground. His gun was out of reach.
   There was a low growl coming from behind me. I heard movement. Jason was coming back to play. Great.
   Titus jerked my arm forward, nearly wrenching it out of the socket. He shoved his .45 against my cheek. The barrel was cold.
   "Put down the rifle or I pull this trigger."
   My face was pressed into the bars and the gun. I couldn't look behind me, but I could hear something crawling closer.
   "Is he changing?"
   "Not yet," Richard said.
   Edward still had the rifle up, sighted on Titus. Aikensen seemed frozen, standing there with the bloody knife.
   "Put it down, blondie, right now, or she's dead."
   "Edward."
   "Anita," he said. His voice sounded like it always did. We both knew he could drop Titus, but if the man's finger twitched while he died, I died, too. Choices.
   "Do it," I said.
   He pulled the trigger. Titus jerked back against the bars. Blood splattered over my face. A glob of something thicker than blood slid down my cheek. I breathed in shallow gasps. Titus slumped along the bars, gun still gripped in his hands.
   "Open her cage," Edward said.
   Something touched my leg. I jerked and whirled. Jason grabbed my bleeding arm. The strength was incredible. He could have crushed my wrist. He lowered his face to the wound and lapped at the blood like a cat with cream.
   "Open her door now, or you're dead, too."
   Aikensen just stood there.
   Jason licked my arm. His tongue caressed the wound. It hurt, but I swallowed the gasp. No sounds. No struggles. He'd done damn good not to jump me while I fought the men outside. But a werewolf's patience isn't endless.
   "Now!" Edward said.
   Aikensen jumped, then went for the door. He dropped my knife by the door and fumbled at the lock.
   Jason bit into my arm, just a little. I did gasp. I couldn't help it. Richard screamed, wordless and thundering.
   Jason jerked away from me. "Run," he said. He buried his face in a puddle of blood on the floor, lapping at it. His voice was strangled, more growl than word. "Run."
   Aikensen opened the door. I crab-walked backwards.
   Jason threw his head skyward and shrieked, "Run!"
   I got to my feet and ran. Aikensen slammed the door shut behind me. Jason was writhing on the floor. He fell to the ground in convulsions. Foam ran from his mouth. His hands spasmed, reaching for nothing that I could see. I'd seen people shift before but never this violently. It looked like a bad grand malseizure or someone dying of strychnine.
   The wolf burst out of his skin in a nearly finished product, like a cicada pulling out of its old skin. The wolfman raced for the bars. Claws grabbed for us. We both backed up. Foam fell from the wolf jaws. Teeth snapped the air. And I knew that he'd kill me and eat me afterwards. It was what he did, what he was.
   Aikensen was staring at the werewolf. I knelt and picked up the dropped knife. "Aikensen?"
   He turned to me, still startled and pale.
   "Did you enjoy shooting Deputy Holmes in the chest?"
   He frowned at me. "I let you go. I did what he asked."
   I stepped up close to him. "Remember what I told you would happen if you hurt Williams?"
   He looked at me. "I remember."
   "Good." I drove the knife upward into his groin. I shoved it hilt deep. Blood poured over my hand. He stared at me, eyes going glassy.
   "A promise is a promise," I said.
   He fell and I let his own weight pull the knife up through his abdomen. His eyes closed and I pulled the knife out.
   I wiped the knife on his jacket and took the keys from his limp hand. Edward had the rifle slung over his shoulder by the strap. Richard was watching me as if he'd never seen me before. Even with his odd-shaped face and amber eyes I could tell he disapproved.
   I unlocked their door. Edward walked out. Richard followed but he was staring at me. "You didn't have to kill him," he said. The words were Richard's even if the voice wasn't.
   Edward and I stood there looking at the alpha werewolf. "Yes, I did."
   "We kill because we have to, not for pleasure and not for pride," Richard said.
   "Maybe you do," I said. "But the rest of the pack, the rest of the shifters, aren't so particular."
   "The police may be on their way," Edward said. "You don't want to be here."
   Richard glanced at the ravening beast in the other cage. "Give me the keys. I'll take Jason out through the tunnel. I can smell the outside."
   I handed him the keys. His fingertips brushed my hand. His hand convulsed around the keys. "I can't last much longer. Go."
   I looked into those strange amber eyes. Edward touched my arm. "We've got to go. I heard sirens. They must have heard the gunshots."
   "Be careful," I said.
   "I will be." I let Edward pull me up the stairs. Richard fell to the ground, face hidden in his hands. His face came up, and the bones were longer. They flowed out of his face as if it were clay.
   I tripped on the stairs. Only Edward's hand kept me from falling. I turned around and we ran up the stairs. When I glanced back, Richard wasn't in sight.
   Edward dropped the rifle on the stairs. The door burst open, and the police came through the door. It was only then that I realized Kaspar was gone.
   
   
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Zodijak Taurus
Pol Žena
Poruke 18761
Zastava Srbija
43
   Neither Edward nor I had to go to jail, even though the cops found the people we killed. Everyone pretty much thought it was a miracle that we had gotten away with our lives. People were impressed. Edward surprised me by showing ID for a Ted Forrester, bounty hunter. Slaughter of a bunch of illegal lycanthrope hunters enhanced the reputation of all bounty hunters, Ted Forrester's in particular. I got a lot of good press out of it, too. Bert was pleased.
   I asked Edward if Forrester was his real last name. He just smiled.
   Dolph was released in time for Christmas. Zerbrowski had to stay longer. I bought them both a case of silver bullets. It was only money. Besides, I never wanted to watch one of them drip their life away through tubes.
   I made one last visit to the Lunatic Cafe. Marcus told me that Alfred had killed the girl all on his own. Gabriel hadn't known it was going to happen, but once she was dead, waste not, want not. Lycanthropes are nothing if not practical. Raina had distributed the film for the same reason. I didn't really believe them. Awful damn convenient to blame a dead man. But I didn't tell Edward. I did tell Gabriel and Raina that if any other snuff films surfaced, they could kiss their furry asses good-bye. I'd sic Edward on them. Though I didn't tell them that.
   I got Richard a gold cross and made him promise to wear it. He got me a stuffed toy penguin that played "Winter Wonderland," a bag of black-and-white gummy penguins, and a small velvet box, like one for a ring. I thought I would swallow my heart. There was no ring in it, just a note that said, "Promises to keep."
   Jean-Claude got me a glass sculpture of penguins on an ice floe. It's beautiful and expensive. I'd have liked it better if Richard had gotten it.
   What do you get the Master of the City for Christmas? A pint of blood? I settled for an antique cameo. It'd look great at the neck of one of his lacy shirts.
   Sometime in February a box arrived from Edward. It was a swan skin. The note read, "I found a witch to lift his curse." I lifted the feathered skin from the box, and a second note fluttered to the ground. This one said, "Marcus paid me." I should have known he'd find a way to make a profit from a kill he'd have made for free.
   Richard doesn't understand why I killed Aikensen. I've tried to explain, but saying I killed a man because I said I'd do it does sound like pride. But it wasn't pride. It was for Williams, who would never finish his doctorate or see his owls again. For Holmes, who never got to be the first female chief of police. For all the people he killed who never got a second chance. If they couldn't have one, neither could he. I haven't lost any sleep over killing Aikensen. Maybe that should bother me more than the killing—the fact that it doesn't bother me at all. Naw.
   I had the swan skin mounted in a tasteful frame, behind glass. I hung it in the living room. It matched the couch. Richard doesn't like it.
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Zodijak Taurus
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Bloody Bones


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Zodijak Taurus
Pol Žena
Poruke 18761
Zastava Srbija
1
   It was St. Patrick's Day, and the only green I was wearing was a button that read, "Pinch me and you're dead meat." I'd started work last night with a green blouse on, but I'd gotten blood all over it from a beheaded chicken. Larry Kirkland, zombie-raiser in training, had dropped the decapitated bird. It did the little headless chicken dance and sprayed both of us with blood. I finally caught the damn thing, but the blouse was ruined.
   I had to run home and change. The only thing not ruined was the charcoal grey suit jacket that had been in the car. I put it back on over a black blouse, black skirt, dark hose, and black pumps. Bert, my boss, didn't like us wearing black to work, but if I had to be at the office at seven o'clock without any sleep at all, he would just have to live with it.
   I huddled over my coffee mug, drinking it as black as I could swallow it. It wasn't helping much. I stared at a series of 8-by-10 glossy blowups spread across my desktop. The first picture was of a hill that had been scraped open, probably by a bulldozer. A skeletal hand reached out of the raw earth. The next photo showed that someone had tried to carefully scrape away the dirt, showing the splintered coffin and bones to one side of the coffin. A new body. The bulldozer had been brought in again. It had plowed up the red earth and found a boneyard. Bones studded the earth like scattered flowers.
   One skull spread its unhinged jaws in a silent scream. A scraggle of pale hair still clung to the skull. The dark, stained cloth wrapped around the corpse was the remnants of a dress. I spotted at least three femurs next to the upper half of a skull. Unless the corpse had had three legs, we were looking at a real mess.
   The pictures were well done in a gruesome sort of way. The color made it easier to differentiate the corpses, but the high gloss was a little much. It looked like morgue photos done by a fashion photographer. There was probably an art gallery in New York that would hang the damn things and serve cheese and wine while people walked around saying, "Powerful, don't you think? Very powerful."
   They were powerful, and sad.
   There was nothing but the photos. No explanation. Bert had said to come to his office after I'd looked at them. He'd explain everything. Yeah, I believed that. The Easter Bunny is a friend of mine, too.
   I gathered the pictures up, slipped them into the envelope, picked my coffee mug up in the other hand, and went for the door.
   There was no one at the desk. Craig had gone home. Mary, our daytime secretary, didn't get in until eight. There was a two-hour space of time when the office was unmanned. That Bert had called me into the office when we were the only ones there bothered me a lot. Why the secrecy?
   Bert's office door was open. He sat behind his desk, drinking coffee, shuffling some papers around. He glanced up, smiled, and motioned me closer. The smile bothered me. Bert was never pleasant unless he wanted something.
   His thousand-dollar suit framed a white-on-white shirt and tie. His grey eyes sparkled with good cheer. His eyes are the color of dirty window glass, so sparkling is a real effort. His snow-blond hair had been freshly buzzed. The crewcut was so short I could see scalp.
   "Have a seat, Anita."
   I tossed the envelope on his desk and sat down. "What are you up to, Bert?" His smile widened. He usually didn't waste the smile on anybody but clients. He certainly didn't waste it on me. "You looked at the pictures?"
   "Yeah, what of it?"
   "Could you raise them from the dead?"
   I frowned at him and sipped my coffee. "How old are they?"
   "You couldn't tell from the pictures?"
   "In person I could tell you, but not just from pictures. Answer the question."
   "Around two hundred years."
   I just stared at him. "Most animators couldn't raise a zombie that old without a human sacrifice."
   "But you can," he said.
   "Yeah. I didn't see any headstones in the pictures. Do we have any names?"
   "Why?"
   I shook my head. He'd been the boss for five years, started the company when it was just him and Manny, and he didn't know shit about raising the dead. "How can you hang around a bunch of zombie-raisers for this many years and know so little about what we do?"
   The smile slipped a little, the glow beginning to fade from his eyes. "Why do you need names?"
   "You use names to call the zombie from the grave."
   "Without a name you can't raise them?"
   "Theoretically, no," I said.
   "But you can do it," he said. I didn't like how sure he was.
   "Yeah, I can do it. John can probably do it, too."
   He shook his head. "They don't want John."
   I finished the last of my coffee. "Who's they?"
   "Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein."
   "A law firm," I said.
   He nodded.
   "No more games, Bert. Just tell me what the hell's going on."
   "Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein have some clients building a very plush resort in the mountains near Branson. A very exclusive resort. A place where the wealthy country stars that don't own a house in the area can go to get away from the crowds. Millions of dollars are at stake."
   "What's the old cemetery have to do with it?"
   "The land they're building on was in dispute between two families. The courts decided the Kellys owned the land, and they were paid a great deal of money. The Bouvier family claimed it was their land and there was a family plot on it to prove it. No one could find the cemetery."
   Ah. "They found it," I said.
   "They found an old cemetery, but not necessarily the Bouvier family plot."
   "So they want to raise the dead and ask who they are?"
   "Exactly."
   I shrugged. "I can raise a couple of the corpses in the coffins. Ask who they are. What happens if their last name is Bouvier?"
   "They have to buy the land a second time. They think some of the corpses are Bouviers. That's why they want all the bodies raised."
   I raised my eyebrows. "You're joking."
   He shook his head, looking pleased. "Can you do it?"
   "I don't know. Give me the pictures again." I set my coffee mug on his desk and took the pictures back. "Bert, they've screwed this six ways to Sunday. It's a mass grave, thanks to the bulldozers. The bones are all mixed together. I've only read about one case of anyone raising a zombie from a mass grave. But they were calling a specific person. They had a name." I shook my head. "Without a name it may not be possible."
   "Would you be willing to try?"
   I spread the pictures over the desk, staring at them. The top half of a skull had turned upside down like a bowl. Two finger bones attached by something dry and desiccated that must once had been human tissue lay next to it. Bones, bones everywhere but not a name to speak.
   Could I do it? I honestly didn't know. Did I want to try? Yeah. I did.
   "I'd be willing to try."
   "Wonderful."
   "Raising them a few every night is going to take weeks, even if I can do it. With John's help it would be quicker."
   "It will cost them millions to delay that long," Bert said.
   "There's no other way to do it."
   "You raised the Davidsons' entire family plot, including Great-Grandpa. You weren't even supposed to raise him. You can raise more than one at a time."
   I shook my head. "That was an accident. I was showing off. They wanted to raise three family members. I thought I could save them money by doing it in one shot."
   "You raised ten family members, Anita. They only asked for three."
   "So?"
   "So can you raise the entire cemetery in one night?"
   "You're crazy," I said.
   "Can you do it?"
   I opened my mouth to say no, and closed it. I had raised an entire cemetery once. Not all of them had been two centuries old, but some of them had been older, nearly three hundred. And I raised them all. Of course, I had two human sacrifices to ride for power. It was a long story how I ended up with two people dying inside a circle of power. Self-defense, but the magic didn't care. Death is death.
   Could I do it? "I really don't know, Bert."
   "That's not a no," he said. He had an eager, anticipatory look on his face.
   "They must have offered you a bundle of money," I said.
   He smiled. "We're bidding on the project."
   "We're what?"
   "They sent this package to us, the Resurrection Company in California and the Essential Spark in New Orleans."
   "They prefer Elan Vital to the English translation," I said. Frankly, it sounded more like a beauty salon than an animating firm, but nobody had asked me. "So what? The lowest bid gets it?"
   "That was their plan," Bert said.
   He looked entirely too satisfied with himself. "What?" I asked.
   "Let me play it back to you," he said. "There are what, three animators in the entire country that could raise a zombie that old without a human sacrifice? You and John are two of them. I'm including Phillipa Freestone of Resurrection in this."
   "Probably," I said.
   He nodded. "Okay. Could Phillipa raise without a name?"
   "I don't have any way of knowing that. John could. Maybe she could."
   "Could either she or John raise from the mass bones, not the ones in the coffin?"
   That stopped me. "I don't know."
   "Would either of them stand a chance of raising the entire graveyard?" He was staring at me very steadily.
   "You're enjoying this too much," I said.
   "Just answer the question, Anita."
   "I know John couldn't do it. I don't think Phillipa is as good as John, so no, they couldn't do it."
   "I'm going to up the bid," Bert said.
   I laughed. "Up the bid?"
   "Nobody else can do it. Nobody but you. They tried treating this like any other construction problem. But there aren't going to be any other bids, now are there?"
   "Probably not," I said.
   "Then I'm going to take them to the cleaners," he said with a smile.
   I shook my head. "You greedy son of a bitch."
   "You get a share of the fee, you know."
   "I know." We looked at each other. "What if I try and can't raise them all in one night?"
   "You'll still be able to raise them all eventually, won't you?"
   "Probably." I stood, picking up my coffee mug. "But I wouldn't spend the check until after I've done it. I'm going to go get some sleep."
   "They want the bid this morning. If they accept our terms, they'll fly you up in a private helicopter."
   "Helicopter—you know I hate to fly."
   "For this much money you'll fly."
   "Great."
   "Be ready to go at a moment's notice."
   "Don't push it, Bert." I hesitated at the door. "Let me take Larry with me."
   "Why? If John can't do it, then Larry certainly can't."
   I shrugged. "Maybe not, but there are ways to combine power during a raising. If I can't do it alone, maybe I can get a boost from our trainee."
   He looked thoughtful. "Why not take John? Combined, you could do it."
   "Only if he'd give his power willingly to me. You think he'd do that?"
   Bert shook his head.
   "You going to tell him that the client didn't want him? That you offered him to the client and they asked for me by name?"
   "No," Bert said.
   "That's why you're doing it like this; no witnesses."
   "Time is of the essence, Anita."
   "Sure, Bert, but you didn't want to face Mr. John Burke with yet another client that wants me over him."
   Bert looked down at his blunt-fingered hands clasped on the desktop. He looked up, grey eyes serious. "John is almost as good as you are, Anita. I don't want to lose him."
   "You think he'll walk if one more client asks for me?"
   "His pride's hurt," Bert said.
   "And there's so much of it to hurt," I said.
   Bert smiled. "You needling him doesn't help."
   I shrugged. It sounded petty to say he'd started it, but he had. We'd tried dating, and John couldn't handle me being a female version of him. No; he couldn't handle me being a better version of him.
   "Try to behave yourself, Anita. Larry's not up to speed yet; we need John."
   "I always behave myself, Bert."
   He sighed. "If you didn't make me so much money, I wouldn't put up with your shit."
   "Ditto," I said.
   That about summed up our relationship. Commerce at its best. We didn't like each other, but we could do business together. Free enterprise at work.
   
   
2
   At noon Bert called and said we had it. "Be at the office packed and ready to go at two o'clock. Mr. Lionel Bayard will fly up with you and Larry."
   "Who's Lionel Bayard?"
   "A junior partner in the firm of Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein. He likes the sound of his own voice. Don't give him a rough time about it."
   "Who, me?"
   "Anita, don't tease the help. He may be wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit, but he's still the help."
   "I'll save it up for one of the partners. Surely Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, or Lowenstein will appear in person sometime this weekend."
   "Don't tease the bosses either," he said.
   "Anything you say." My voice was utterly mild.
   "You'll do whatever you want no matter what I say, won't you?"
   "Gee, Bert, who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?"
   "Just be here at two o'clock. I called Larry. He'll be here."
   "I'll be there, Bert. I've got one stop to make, so if I'm a few minutes late, don't worry."
   "Don't be late."
   "Be there as soon as I can." I hung up before he could argue with me.
   I had to shower, change, and go to Seckman Junior High School. Richard Zeeman taught science there. We had a date set up for tomorrow. At one point Richard had asked me to marry him. That was sort of on hold, but I did owe him more than a message on his answering machine, saying sorry, honey, can't make the date. I'm going to be out of town. A message would have been easier for me, but cowardly.
   I packed one suitcase. It was enough for four days and then some. If you pack extra underwear and clothes that mix and match, you can live for a week out of a small suitcase.
   I did add a few extras. The Firestar 9mm and its inner pants holster. Enough extra ammo to sink a battleship and two knives plus wrist sheaths. I'd had four knives. All handcrafted for little ol' moi. Two of them had been lost beyond recovery. I was having them replaced, but hand forging takes time, especially when you insist on the highest silver content possible in the steel. Two knives, two guns should be enough for one weekend business trip. I'd wear the Browning Hi-Power.
   Packing wasn't a problem. What to wear today was the problem. They'd want me to raise them tonight if I could. Hell, the helicopter might fly directly to the construction site. Which meant I'd be walking over raw dirt, bones, shattered coffins. It didn't sound like high-heel territory. Yet, if a junior partner was wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit, the people who'd just hired me would expect me to look the part. I could either dress professionally or in feathers and blood. I'd actually had one client who was disappointed that I didn't show up nude smeared with blood. There could have been more than one reason for his disappointment. I don't think I've ever had a client that would have objected to some kind of ceremonial getup, but jeans and jogging shoes didn't seem to inspire confidence. Don't ask me why.
   I could pack my coverall and put it over whatever I wore. Yeah, I liked that. Veronica Sims—Ronnie, my very best friend—had talked me into buying a fashionably short navy skirt. It was short enough that I was a little embarrassed, but the skirt fit inside the coverall. The skirt didn't wrinkle or bunch up after I'd worn the outfit to vampire stakings or murder scenes. Take the coverall off, and I was set to go to the office or out for the evening. I was so pleased, I went out and bought two more in different colors.
   One was crimson, the other purple. I hadn't been able to find one in black yet. At least not one that wasn't so short that I refused to wear it. Admittedly, the short skirts made me look taller. They even made me look leggy. When you're five-foot-three, that's saying something. But the purple didn't match much that I owned, so crimson it was.
   I'd found a short-sleeved blouse that was the exact same shade of red. Red with violet undertones, a cold, hard color that looked great with my pale skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. The shoulder holster and 9mm Browning Hi-Power looked very dramatic against it. A black belt cinched tight at the waist held down the loops on the holster. A black jacket with rolled-back sleeves went over everything to hide the gun. I twirled in front of the mirror in my bedroom. The skirt wasn't much longer than the jacket, but you couldn't see the gun. At least not easily. Unless you're willing to have things tailor-made, it's hard to hide a gun, especially in women's dress-up clothes.
   I put on just enough makeup so the red didn't overwhelm me. I was also going to be saying good-bye to Richard for several days. A little makeup couldn't hurt. When I say makeup, I mean eye shadow, blush, lipstick, and that's it. Outside of a television interview that Bert talked me into, I don't wear base.
   Except for the hose and black high heels, which I would've had to wear no matter what skirt I wore, the outfit was comfortable. As long as I remembered not to bend directly at the waist, I was safe.
   The only jewelry I wore was the silver cross tucked into the blouse, and the watch on my wrist. My dress watch had broken and I just had never gotten around to getting it fixed. The present watch was a man's black diving watch that looked out of place on my small wrist. But hey, it glowed in the dark if you pressed a button. It showed me the date, what day it was, and could time a run. I hadn't found a woman's watch that could do all that.
   I didn't have to cancel running with Ronnie tomorrow morning. She was out of town on a case. A private detective's work is never done.
   I loaded the suitcase into my Jeep and was on the way to Richard's school by one o'clock. I was going to be late to the office. Oh, well. They'd wait for me or they wouldn't. It wouldn't break my heart to miss the helicopter ride. I hated planes, but a helicopter . . . scared the shit out of me.
   I hadn't been afraid of flying until I was on a plane that plunged several thousand feet in seconds. The stewardess ended up plastered against the ceiling, covered in coffee. People screamed and prayed. The elderly woman beside me recited the Lord's Prayer in German. She'd been so scared, tears had come down her face. I offered her my hand, and she gripped it. I knew I was going to die and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. But we would die holding on to human hands. Die covered in human tears, and human prayers. Then the plane straightened out and suddenly we were safe. I haven't trusted air transportation since.
   Normally in St. Louis there is no real spring. There's winter, two days of mild weather, and summer heat. This year spring had come early and stayed. The air was soft against your skin. The wind smelled of green growing things, and winter seemed to have been a bad dream. Redbuds bent from the trees on either side of the road. Tiny purple blossoms like a delicate lavender mist here and there through the naked trees. There were no leaves yet, but there was a hint of green. Like someone had taken a giant paintbrush and tinted everything. Look directly at them and the trees were bare and black, but look sideways, not at a particular tree but at all the trees, and there was a touch of green.
   270 South is about as pleasant as a highway can be; it gets you where you're going fairly fast, and it's over quickly. I exited at Tesson Ferry Road. The road is thick with strip malls, a hospital, and fast-food restaurants, and when you leave the commerce behind you hit new housing developments so thick they nearly touch. There are still stands of woods and open spaces, but they won't last.
   The turn to Old 21 is at the crest of a hill just past the Meramec River. It is mostly houses with a few gas stations, the area water district office, and a large gas field to the right. Where the hills march out and out.
   At the first stoplight I turned left past a little shopping area. The road is a curving narrow thing that snakes between houses and woods. There were glimpses of daffodils in the yards. The road dips down into a valley, and at the bottom of a steep hill is a stop sign. The road climbs quickly to the crest of a hill, to a T, turn left and you're almost there.
   The one-story school sits on the floor of a wide, flat valley surrounded by hills. Having been raised in Indiana farm country, I'd have called them mountains once. The elementary school sits separate, but close enough to share a playground. If you got recess in junior high. When I was too little to go to junior high, it seemed you did get recess. By the time I got there, you didn't. The way of the world.
   I parked as close to the building as I could. This was my second visit to Richard's school, and my first during the actual school day. We'd come once to get some papers he'd forgotten. No students then. I entered the main entrance and ran into a crowd. It must have been between classes when they moved the warm bodies from one room to another.
   I was instantly aware that I was about the same height as or shorter than everyone I saw. There was something claustrophobic about being jostled by the book-carrying, backpack-wearing crowd. There had to be a circle of Hell where you were eternally fourteen, eternally in junior high. One of the lower circles.
   I flowed with the crowd towards Richard's room. I admit I took comfort in the fact that I was better dressed than most of the girls. Petty as hell, but I had been chunky in junior high. There isn't a lot of difference between chunky and fat when it comes to teasing. I'd had my growth spurt and never been fat again. That's right; I'd been even tinier once. Shortest kid in school for years and years.
   I stood to one side of the doorway, letting the students come and go. Richard was showing something in a textbook to a young girl. She was blonde, wearing a flannel shirt over a black dress that was three sizes too big for her. She was wearing what looked like black combat boots with heavy white socks rolled over the tops of them. The outfit was very now. The look of adoration on her face was not. She was shiny and eager just because Mr. Zeeman was giving her some one-on-one help.
   I had to admit that Richard was worth a crush or two. His thick brown hair was tied back in a ponytail that gave the illusion that his hair was very short and close to his head. He has high, full cheekbones and a strong jaw, with a dimple that softens his face and makes him look almost too perfect. His eyes are a solid chocolate brown with those thick lashes that so many men have and women want. The bright yellow shirt made his permanently tanned skin seem even darker. His tie was a dark, rich green that matched the dress slacks he wore. His jacket was draped across the back of his desk chair. The muscles in his upper arms worked against the cloth of his shirt as he held the book.
   The class was mostly seated, the hallway nearly silent. He closed the book and handed it to the girl. She smiled and scrambled for the door, late to her next class. Her eyes flicked over me as she passed, wondering what I was doing there.
   She wasn't the only one. Several of the seated students were glancing my way. I stepped into the room.
   Richard smiled. It warmed me down to my toes. The smile saved him from being too handsome. It wasn't that it wasn't a great smile. He could have done toothpaste commercials. But the smile was a little boy's smile, open and welcoming. There was no guile to Richard, no deep, dark plan. He was the world's biggest Boy Scout. The smile showed that.
   I wanted to go to him, have him wrap his arms around me. I had a horrible urge to grab his tie and lead him out of the room. I wanted to touch his chest underneath the yellow shirt. The urge was so strong, I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket. Mustn't shock the students. Richard affects me like that sometimes. Okay, most of the time when he's not furry, or licking blood off his fingers. He's a werewolf. Did I mention that? No one at the school knows. If they did, he'd be out of a job. People don't like lycanthropes teaching their precious kiddies. It's illegal to discriminate against someone for a disease, but everyone does it. Why should the educational system be different?
   He touched my cheek, just his fingertips. I turned my face into his hand, brushing lips against his fingers. So much for being cool in front of the kiddies. There were a few oohs and nervous laughs.
   "I'll be right back, guys." More oohs, louder laughter, one "Way to go, Mr. Zeeman." Richard motioned me out the door and I went, hands still in my pockets. Normally, I'd have said I wasn't going to embarrass myself in front of a bunch of eighth-graders, but lately I wasn't entirely trustworthy.
   Richard led me a little ways from his classroom into the deserted hallway. He leaned up against the wall of lockers and looked down at me. The little-boy smile was gone. The look in his dark eyes made me shiver. I ran my hand down his tie, smoothing it against his chest.
   "Am I allowed to kiss you, or would that scandalize the kiddies?" I didn't look up at him as I asked. I didn't want him to see the raw need in my eyes. It was embarrassing enough that I knew he sensed it. You can't hide lust from a werewolf. They can smell it.
   "I'll risk it." His voice was soft, low, with a warm edge that made my stomach clench.
   I felt him bend over me. I raised my face to his. His lips were so soft. I leaned against his body, palms flat against his chest. I could feel his nipples harden under my skin. My hands slid to his waist, smoothing along the cloth of his shirt. I wanted to pull his shirt out of his pants and run my hands over bare skin. I stepped back from him feeling just a little breathless.
   It was my idea that we wouldn't have sex before marriage. My idea. But damn, it was hard. The more we dated, the harder it got.
   "Jesus, Richard." I shook my head. "It gets harder, doesn't it?"
   Richard's smile didn't look innocent or Boy Scoutish in the least. "Yes, it does."
   Heat rushed up my face. "I didn't mean that."
   "I know what you meant." His voice was gentle, taking the sting out of the teasing.
   My face was still hot with embarrassment, but my voice was steady. Point for me. "I've got to go out of town on business."
   "Zombie, vampire, or police?"
   "Zombie."
   "Good."
   I looked up at him. "Why good?"
   "I worry more when you go away on police business, or vampire stakings. You know that."
   I nodded. "Yeah, I know that." We stood there in the hallway, staring at each other. If things had been different, we'd be engaged, maybe planning a wedding. All this sexual tension would have been coming to some kind of conclusion. As it was . . .
   "I'm going to be late as it is. I've got to go."
   "Are you going to tell Jean-Claude bye in person?" His face was neutral when he asked, but his eyes weren't.
   "It's daylight. He's in his coffin."
   "Ah," Richard said.
   "I didn't have a date planned with him this weekend, so I don't owe him an explanation. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
   "Close enough," he said. He took a step away from the lockers, bringing our bodies very close together. He bent to kiss me good-bye. Giggles erupted down the hall.
   We turned to see most of his class huddled in the doorway gazing at us. Great.
   Richard smiled. He raised his voice enough so they'd hear him. "Back inside, you monsters."
   There were catcalls, and one small brunette girl gave me a very dirty look. I think there must have been a lot of girls that had a crush on Mr. Zeeman.
   "The natives are restless. I've got to get back."
   I nodded. "I'm hoping to be back by Monday."
   "We'll go hiking next weekend, then."
   "I put Jean-Claude off this weekend. I can't not see him two weeks in a row."
   Richard's face clouded up with the beginnings of anger. "Hike during the day, see the vampire at night. Only fair."
   "I don't like this any better than you do," I said.
   "I wish I believed that."
   "Richard."
   He gave a long sigh. The anger sort of leaked out of him. I never understood how he did that. He could be furious one minute and calm the next. Both emotions seemed genuine. Once I was angry, I was angry. Maybe it's a character flaw?
   "I'm sorry, Anita. It's not like you're dating him behind my back."
   "I would never do anything behind your back; you know that."
   He nodded. "I know that." He glanced back at his classroom. "I've got to go before they set the room on fire." He walked down the hallway without looking back.
   I almost called after him, but I let him go. The mood was sort of spoiled. Nothing like knowing your girlfriend is dating someone else to take the wind out of your sails. I wouldn't have put up with it if it was the other way around. A double standard that, but one we could all three live with. If living was the term for Jean-Claude.
   Oh, hell, my personal life was too confusing for words. I walked off down the hall, having to pass by his open classroom door. My high heels made loud, rackety echoes. I didn't try to catch a last glimpse of him. It would make me feel worse about leaving.
   It hadn't been my idea to date the Master of the City. Jean-Claude had given me two choices; either he could kill Richard, or I could date both of them. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Five weeks later I wasn't so sure.
   It had been my morals that had kept Richard and me from consummating our relationship. Consummating, nice euphemism. But Jean-Claude had made it clear that if I did something with Richard, I had to do it with him too. Jean-Claude was trying to woo me. If Richard could touch me but he couldn't, it wasn't fair. He had a point, I guess. But the thought of having to have sex with the vampire was more likely to keep me chaste than any high ideals.
   I couldn't date both of them indefinitely. The sexual tension alone was killing me. I could move. Richard might even let me do that. He wouldn't like it, but if I wanted free of him, he'd let me go. Jean-Claude, on the other hand . . . He'd never let me go. The question was, did I want him to let me go? Answer: hell, yes. The real trick was how to break free without anybody dying.
   Yeah, that was the $64,000 question. Trouble was, I didn't have an answer. We were going to need one sooner or later. And later was getting closer all the time.
   
   
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