He was afraid I'd talk. Trouble was, I didn't have any proof of anything. Hell, I didn't even know what was going on. What was on this ordinary looking land that was worth killing over? Why did the trolls have to be gotten rid of? Was it just so the land could be sold? Or was there a darker purpose? Someone had called a demon to try to make it look like a troll kill. I knew why they'd done it, but not who. I even knew why it was Betty. She'd compromised herself, put herself at risk for that kind of ceremony.

Movies try to give us shit about needing virgins and purity for sacrifice, but true evil doesn't want to kill and send purity to heaven. True evil wants to corrupt good, and once the good are dead, they are beyond the devil's reach. But the impure, to sacrifice them, to kill them -- well, the devil gets his due.

Wilkes took my arm as if to help me.

"Don't touch me, Wilkes. Don't ever touch me again."

He let his hand fall. Henderson was watching us like he was seeing more than we were telling. Cops are good about that. Give them anything suspicious, and they'll put two and two together and make ten to twenty-five to life.

Wilkes looked at me. "Could it be werewolves?" His voice was quiet.

I couldn't keep the shock off my face. I fought to regain my nice, blank face, but it was enough. Wilkes knew what Richard was -- somehow he knew -- and he'd try to blame Betty's death on Richard. Werewolves were a good scapegoat, and a lot more fun to believe in than demons.

He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He punched up a number. "She's right here." He handed the phone to me.

Henderson was watching us like we were entertaining. I took the phone. The voice on the other end was a man, and I didn't know him.

"I am Franklin Niley, Ms. Blake. I think it is time we meet face-to-face."

"I don't think so," I said.

"Wilkes told me that you have spoiled our little plan about blaming those pesky trolls for the death. But it is not too late to blame your lover. How many people will believe his innocence once they find out he is a werewolf?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

I had to turn my back on Henderson's alert eyes. His attention was a little too intense. Wilkes wasn't watching me. He was watching Henderson. Unfortunately, turning around put me back to staring at the corpse. I turned to the side and stared off through the trees.

The voice on the phone was cultured, almost too well-mannered for comfort. "Come, Ms. Blake, let us not play games, the two of us. I know what Mr. Zeeman is, and once he's accused, a simple blood test in the jail will prove me right. He'd lose his job, his career, and perhaps be executed. You have hired an excellent attorney; my congratulations. But if he is convicted, then it is an automatic death sentence. Juries have a strong tendency to convict monsters."

"I'm listening."

"Meet me at the diner in town. A public place, so you'll feel safe."

"Why do you want to meet?" My voice was growing progressively lower, whispering.

"To beg you one last time to leave town, Ms. Blake. I have no wish to come against you. The spirits say that to come against you is death."

"Spirits?" I whispered.

"Meet me, Ms. Blake. You and Mr. Zeeman. Meet me, and I promise you it will all be over. You will leave town and all will be well."

"I don't trust you."

"Nor should you," Niley said. He laughed, deep and rich. "But meet me at the diner, Ms. Blake. I'll answer your questions. I'll tell you why I want the land. Once my people have made sure you're not wearing a wire, I'll answer any direct question you have. Surely that tempts you."

"You sound like a man who knows a lot about temptation, Mr. Niley."

He laughed again. "Money tempts many people, Ms. Blake, and I have a great deal of it."

I'd been walking slowly away from Henderson. "You going to offer me money?"

"No, Ms. Blake, that is what won a certain officer of the law to my camp -- and his men. I do not think money is the key to your soul."

I didn't like the way he said that. "What do you want, Niley?"

"To talk, that is all. I would swear to you or promise you your safety, but I do not think you would believe me."

"You got that right."

"Come to me, Ms. Blake. Let us talk. After I have answered your questions, then you can decide whether to leave or stay. Now, would you be so kind as to put the sheriff back on the phone?"

I turned back to the waiting men and held up the phone. "He wants to talk to you again."

Wilkes came for the phone. It was just the two of us by the body when he tried to take the phone. I held onto it. I leaned in close to him and said, "Money doesn't spend in hell, Wilkes. The devil deals in a different coin."

He jerked the phone from my hand and walked away into the trees, listening to the voice in his ear. The voice that had offered him money to sell out everything he was or might have been. The motive I understood least of all for murder or betrayal was greed. But damned if it wasn't a popular motive for both.

 

 

 

34

 

Richard hadn't said a word since we started the drive to the diner. He'd pulled the rubber band out of his hair and played with it, stretching it wide, letting it relax, open, close, open, close. He didn't usually have nervous habits. It wasn't a good sign. I pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine. Richard was sitting in the middle with his long legs drawn up. He'd wanted me to drive. Something about being more easily distracted this close to the full moon. Shang-Da sat on the other side, his face calm. Every time I looked at him, the horrible claw marks seemed to be smoothing out. By nightfall tomorrow, he'd be clean. It was impressive, and it would mark him in everyone's eyes who saw him as what he was: a shapeshifter.

We sat there a moment, listening to the engine tick. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" I asked Richard.

The rubber band broke with a snap, jumping for the floorboard. "Whatever makes you think that?"

I touched his arm. He looked at me. His eyes were perfect chocolate brown, human, but there was something in the depths of those human eyes that was other. His beast crawled just behind those true, brown orbs.

"Can you sit through this without losing it?" I asked.

"I can."

"Will you?" I asked.

He gave me a tight smile, and I didn't like the look on his face. "If I let this much anger out in public with the moon overhead, I might shift. Don't worry, Anita. I know how to deal with my rage." He seemed very self-contained, as if he'd pulled back into himself, behind walls of careful construction. But behind those walls was a vibrating, menacing thing. If Niley's sorcerer were inside, he or she would recognize something was wrong. Of course, they knew what Richard was, so it was all right, I guess.

Shang-Da handed Richard a pair of black wraparound shades. He took them and slipped them on, running his hands through his hair, fluffing it around his shoulders. Another nervous gesture.

"I've never seen you wear sunglasses," I said.

"It's in case my eyes change," Richard said.

I glanced at Shang-Da and his naked eyes. "What about you?"

"I didn't date the girl. I didn't even like her."

Ah. "Great, let's go."

The men walked at my back like bodyguards. Their energy swirled behind me like some kind of psychic wall. It made the skin along my back tight and itchy. I pushed through the glass doors of the diner and stood there for a moment, searching for Niley.

The diner was a 1950s throwback, long and narrow in front, with a wider area to one side that looked like a later addition. There was a long counter with little, round stools. The place was full of locals and families that matched the out-of-state license plates in the parking lot.

The waitresses wore pink uniforms and small, useless aprons. A blond waitress came up to us, smiling. "Richard, Shang-Da, haven't seen you in here all week. Knew you couldn't stay away from Albert's hash browns."

Richard flashed her that smile of his that has been known to melt women into little quivering puddles. The fact that he's unaware of the effect makes it all the more devastating.

Shang-Da nodded at her, which for him was a rousing hello.

"Hi, Aggie," Richard said. "We're meeting someone. Frank Niley."

She frowned, then nodded. "They're over there at the big table around the corner. You know the way. I'll bring water and menus in just a sec."

Richard led the way through the crowded tables. We went around the L-shape, and at the end of it, against a bank of windows that overlooked a very pretty mountain view, was our party.

The African American bodyguard, Milo, was one of three men at the table. He stood when he saw us. He was still tall, leanly muscled, with square-cut hair, handsome in a cold sort of way. He had a long coat on, and it was too hot for long coats.

I grabbed Richard's arm, slowed him. "Please," I said.

Richard stared down at me from behind black lenses, his eyes lost. I'd never realized how much of his expression was in his eyes. I couldn't read what he was thinking. With some effort, I might have found out, but the last thing I wanted to do was activate the marks in front of Niley's people.

Richard let me walk a little ahead of him. Shang-Da had put a sport jacket on over the white shirt and black slacks. He'd surprised me by having a snub-nosed thirty-eight, chrome-plated. It had a paddle holster and fit at the small of his back without breaking the line of his jacket. When I'd questioned the gun, he'd said, "These are not policemen."

The logic was sound, and he'd checked the gun automatically to see it was loaded. He handled the gun like it was habit. He was the first lycanthrope I'd ever met who carried and seemed comfy with it.

It was actually nice to not be the only person on our side with a gun.

There were two men still sitting. One was under twenty-five, with curly brown hair cut short and a wide, almost surprised face. Not Niley. The other one was well over six feet and must have weighed close to three hundred pounds. He gave the impression of size without being exactly fat. His hair was black and receeding sharply in front. He'd done nothing to hide this fact. Rather, the rest of his hair had been buzzed very close to his head, making it all the more obvious. The lack of hair made his face seem too small for his broad shoulders.

The dark pin-striped suit sat over his white shirt, smooth and costly. He wore a vest but no tie. The wide, white collar showed a curl of greying chest hair. He smiled as he watched us move through the tables of tourists and their screaming children.

His eyes were pleasant and empty like an amused snake. He waved large blunt-fingered hands. Gold rings glittered from every finger. "Ms. Blake, so good of you to come." He didn't stand for me, which made me wonder what was in his lap. A sawed-off shotgun, maybe. Or maybe his overly mannered speech was an affectation, and he didn't know the actions that went with it. Or maybe he didn't consider me a lady. Maybe.

Shang-Da had moved to one side so that he and Milo were facing each other. I narrowed my focus to Niley and the younger man. He looked benign, like he should have been sitting at one of the other tables, surrounded by normal people doing normal things.

Niley offered me his hand. I took it. His handshake was too quick, barely touching. "This is Howard."

Howard didn't offer me his hand, which made me offer my hand to him. His big brown eyes got even bigger. And I realized that Howard was afraid of me. Interesting.

"Howard doesn't shake hands," Niley said. "He's a rather powerful clairvoyant. I'm sure you understand."

I nodded. "I've never met a strong clairvoyant that would willingly touch a stranger. Too much crap to pick up."

Niley nodded, small head bobbing on his wide shoulders. "Exactly, Ms. Blake, exactly."

I sat down. Richard slid into the chair beside me.

Niley's eyes moved from me to Richard. "Well, Mr. Zeeman, we meet at last."

Richard stared at him from behind dark glasses. "Why did you kill her?"

The abruptness of it made even me wince.

I must have made some movement, because Richard said, "I didn't come here to play games."

"Nor did I," Niley said. "If you will accompany me to the men's room, I will check you for listening devices. Milo will check your bodyguard."

"Shang-Da," Richard said. "His name's Shang-Da."

Niley smiled even more broadly. If his smile kept getting wider, soon his face would just split open.

"Of course."

"Who gets to search me?" I said. "Howard?"

Niley shook his head. "My other associate is running a little late today." He stood and there was nothing in his lap. Paranoia. "Shall we, Mr. Zeeman? May I call you Richard?"

"No," Richard said, voice deep and low, as if he wanted to say more.

I touched his arm as he moved past me. I looked up into his face, trying to tell him with a look not to do anything stupid.

Niley took Richard's other arm, slipping it through his like you'd walk arm and arm with your lover. He patted Richard's arm. "My, aren't you a handsome fellow."

Richard gave me a look as Niley led him away. I'd have given a great deal to see his eyes at that moment. Usually the bad guys make moves on me.

Shang-Da moved back so Milo could come out from behind the table. They moved off together, not touching, the tension between them thick enough to swing on.

I was left with Howard and my back to the door. I changed chairs, sitting where Milo had been, so I could see the entrance. It put me closer to Howard, and he didn't like that much. I smelled a weak link.

"How good are you?" I asked.

"Good enough to be scared of you," he said.

I frowned at him. "I'm not one of the bad guys, Howard."

"I can see your aura," he said in a voice that I could barely hear above the murmur of voices and silverware.

The waitress came with glasses of water and menus. I assured her the others were coming back to the table, but I wasn't sure if all of us were ordering. She left with a smile.

I turned back to Howard. "So you can see my aura. So what?"

"I know how powerful you are, Anita. I can feel it."

"I can't see your aura, Howard. I can feel a little of your power, but not much. Dazzle me. Show me what you can do."

"Why?"

"Maybe I'm bored."

He licked his lips. "Give me something benign. No weapons, nothing magic."

That sort of cut down on my options. I finally took the cross around my neck off and handed it to him. I pooled the chain into his hand. "Don't touch my skin with your hand," he said.

I let the last of the chain spill into his hand and was careful not to touch him. He closed his hand over the cross. He didn't close his eyes, but he wasn't seeing the restaurant. He looked past it all, and I felt his power ripple over me like a tiny electric current.

"I see a woman, older, your grandmother." He blinked and looked at me. "She gave you this when you graduated high school."

I nodded. "Impressive." I'd started wearing this particuliar cross just recently. I valued it, and I'd had a lot of crosses taken from me over the years. But lately, I'd felt the need of something special. Grandmother Blake had given it to me with a note that said, "May your faith be as strong as this chain and as pure as this silver." Lately, I needed all the purity I could get.

Howard's eyes went past me, staring at something at the end of the room. His breathing had stopped for just a second, like an inaudible gasp.

I turned to see what had captured his attention so thoroughly. The man was close to seven feet tall and had to weigh over five hundred pounds. His face was totally hairless, not just clean shaven. He had no eyelashes, nothing; smooth and unreal. His eyes were a nearly colorless grey too small for his large face. He wore a black shirt untucked over black slacks, black shoes. The skin of his arms and face were unbelievably white as if the sun never touched him.

The man didn't make my skin creep with power. In fact, he was too empty, walking towards us, as if he were shielding himself.

I stood up. Partly it was his size. Partly it was the lack of anything from him, like he wasn't there. I didn't like it when someone worked that hard to shield themselves. It usually meant they had something to hide. If this was the sorcerer that had killed Betty, I knew exactly what he was hiding.

The man stopped in front of us. Howard hugged himself and made introductions. "Linus, this is Anita Blake. Anita, this is Linus Beck." Howard's voice was higher than it should have been, like he was scared. He seemed to be afraid of a lot of people.

Linus Beck smiled down at me. His voice, when it came, was shocking, a delicate soprano of a voice. "So happy to meet you, Anita. So seldom do I meet a fellow practitioner of the arts."

"We don't practice the same brand, Linus."

"Are you so sure?" he asked.

"Positive." Even standing, I had to crane my neck upward to see his face. "Why does Niley need a first-rate clairvoyant and a sorcerer?"

Linus Beck smiled, and it looked genuine. "You know the correct term. I am pleased."

"Glad to hear it. Now, answer the question."

"When I have checked you for wires, then all will be answered."

I looked at those large, white hands and didn't want him to touch me. There was almost no hair, even on his arms. It was like a golden down, like the arm of small child. Something clicked in my head, and I stared up at him. Maybe it showed on my face. Maybe he read my mind, though I don't think so.

"My manhood was sacrificed many years ago so I could better serve my master."

I blinked at him. "You're a eunuch."

He gave a small nod.

I wanted to ask why but didn't. There was no answer that would make sense, so why bother? "What flavor are you, sociopath, psychopath, or schizophrenic?"

He blinked small eyes, the smile fading. "Misguided people have told me I was crazy, Anita. But I did hear voices, my master's voice."

"Yeah, but were the first voices your master or just bad brain chemistry?"

His frown deepened. "I don't know what you mean."

I sighed. He probably didn't. Sorcerers were people who got their magic through demonic -- or worse -- power. They bargained for what they got and bartered their souls for money, comfort, lust, power. But some were a version of possession. People weakened by some flaw: mental illness or even a flaw of character. The right kind of flaws can attract evil.

Niley led the other men back around the corner. He and Richard were not holding hands anymore. Richard's face was tight and angry. Shang-Da and Milo's faces gave nothing away as if nothing had happened. Niley looked happy, pleased with himself. He clapped Linus Beck on the back, and the eunuch raised the other man's hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Maybe I didn't know as much about eunuchs as I thought I did. I thought it meant sexless. Maybe I was wrong.

"Linus will search you for wires, then we can talk."

"I don't want him touching me. Nothing personal, Linus."

"You fear my master," he said.

I nodded. "You bet."

"I must insist it be Linus, in case you have some magic or other about your person that would disturb us."

I frowned at him. "Like what? The holy hand grenade?"

Niley waved the comment away. "Linus must search you, but if you like, you can have one of your men accompany you."

I didn't like it, but it was probably the best offer we were going to get. The waitress came to take our order, and I realized I was hungry. You learn to be able to eat in the midst of disaster and gore, or you get another line of work. They served breakfast all day. I ordered pancakes and maple-cured bacon.

Richard looked shocked. "How can you eat?"

"You either learn to eat in the middle of disaster and gore, or you get another day job, Richard."

"Very practical, Ms. Blake," Niley said.

I looked at him and felt a small, unpleasant smile curve my lips. "Just of late, Mr. Niley, I've become very, very practical."

"Good," he said, "very good. Then we understand each other."

I shook my head. "No, Mr. Niley, I don't understand you. I know what you are, and what you'll do, but I don't understand why."

"And what am I, Ms. Blake?"

The smile grew. "A bad guy, Mr. Niley; you're a bad guy."

He nodded. "Yes, I am, Ms. Blake. I am a very, very bad guy."

"Guess that makes us the good guys," I said.

Niley smiled. "I know what I am, Ms. Blake, and I am content with it. Are you content?"

We looked at each other for a long moment. "My state of mind isn't really any of your business."

"Answer enough," he said.

"Let's order," I said.

Everyone ordered, finally even Richard. When the waitress walked away, Linus, Richard, and I headed for the rest room so he could search me for listening devices and magical booby traps.

I only had one question. "Which bathroom are we going to use?"

 

 

 

35

 

We used the men's room. Linus's hands felt strangely soft as if there were no muscles under his skin, just bones and flesh. Maybe he'd given up other things to serve his master. He was creepy, but he was thorough. He even ran his fingers through my hair, which most people forget to do. He behaved himself, even when his hands were on delicate areas. He didn't give Richard any reason to grump at him. Me, either.

We all trooped back out to the table. The food hadn't arrived yet, but my coffee had. Everything goes down better with coffee.

We were again in the chairs with our backs to the door. If we'd gotten there first, they'd have had these chairs, so it was hard to bitch. Linus sat on Niley's right. I realized why we weren't in a booth. Linus wouldn't have fit.

"You wanted to talk, Niley. Talk." I sipped coffee. It was bitter and had been on the burner too long, but there's no such thing as undrinkable coffee. I did hope the food was better.

"I want you to leave town, Anita."

"Wilkes and his men already covered that. We told them we were leaving by sundown," I said.

"I know what you told the good sheriff," Niley said. He wasn't smiling now. His eyes were cool, the humor dying from his face like the sun sinking away, leaving the world to darkness.

"I don't think he believes we're leaving, Richard," I said.

"I don't care what he believes," Richard said.

I glanced at Richard. He was sitting with his arms crossed, staring at Niley. It would have been more unnerving without the manatee T-shirt, but he got the point across. So much for Richard playing clever repartee with me. I left him to his quiet anger and plowed ahead alone.

"Why is it so important that we get out of town, Niley?"

"I told you. The spirits say to come against you is death."

I shook my head. "What spirits?"

"Howard uses the Ouija board as well as his other gifts. The spirits warned of a Lady Death. A woman that would be my undoing. We were warned of this in connection to this purchase. When I heard your name mentioned, I suddenly knew who Lady Death was. The spirits say that if I come against you directly, you will slay me."

"So you sent Wilkes and his bully boys around to scare me off."

"Yes, and I hired two locals to kill you. Are they dead?"

I smiled. "I didn't search you guys for wires, now did I?"

He seemed to find that amusing. "I suppose not. But I assume the two men will not be coming back for the second half of their payment."

"You can assume that," I said.

The waitress came with our food. We were all utterly quiet as she set the plates down. She put syrup in front of me and asked if we wanted anything else. We all shook our heads, and off she went.

I stared down at my pancakes and bacon and wished I hadn't ordered them. I wasn't in the mood to spar anymore. I just wanted this over.

"If you're not supposed to confront me directly, then why the change of plans? Why this meeting?"

He smiled and cut a piece of his country omelet. "Anita, do not be coy. I think we both know that Wilkes does not have the stomach for this work. He may work himself up to shooting you, but he is not up to truly scaring you away. His threat, shall we say, lacks a certain fright factor." He took his bite of omelet and chewed.

"Is the threat next?" I said, pouring syrup on my pancakes.

He smiled, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and shook his head. "Let us save that for last. Now, ask your questions."

"Why do you want this piece of land?"

Richard shifted in his chair, leaning forward. He'd been wondering about that particular question longer than I had.

"There is a relic on that land somewhere. I need to own the land so I can tear it up and search for the relic."

"What relic?" I asked.

He smiled. "The lance that pierced Christ's side."

I stared at him. I stared at him longer. He didn't seem to be kidding. "That is a myth, Niley."

"You don't believe in Christ?"

"Of course I do, but a Roman lance doesn't last for thousands of years. It was lost long ago."

"Do you believe in the Grail?" he asked.

"The Grail is a historical fact. It's been found and lost twice in recorded history. The spear has never been authenticated. It's passed around like the bones of some saint, but it's just bait for the gullible."

"Do I look gullible, Anita?"

"No," I said. "How did it get to the mountains of Tennessee?"

"The spear was given as a private gift to President James Madison."

I frowned at him. "I don't remember that from history class."

"It is listed among the gifts from a certain Mideastern principality. One spear. Roman. Unfortunately, it was one of the items that went missing after the British burned and sacked Washington, D.C., in 1815."

"I remember reading about the burning of the White House during the War of 1812. Valuables went missing. So, say you're right. How did it end up here?" I asked.

"Howard has chased it here through his psychic gifts. The spirits have led us to this place. We hired a diviner, and he traced off the boundaries of our search area. That area lies within Greene's land."

"Search the land," Richard said. "You don't have to buy it to do that. You don't have to disturb the trolls to search for a spear."

"It could be buried anywhere on the land, Richard. I don't think Greene would appreciate us tearing up his property unless we owned it."

"I'm amazed that Greene is still alive," I said.

"We looked into his father's will. Did you know that if the man's son dies, the land becomes an animal preserve? He was enamored of your trolls, Mr. Zeeman, was the late Farmer Greene."

"I didn't know that," Richard said.

"Why should you? John Greene, the man's son, is trying to sell to us. He told us all the provisions of his father's estate. He was complaining about them, but it saved his life. So we must buy the land, and the trolls must be gone for that -- unless you will simply stop fighting the sale in court." Niley smiled at Richard. "Would you do that for me, Richard? Would you just let us buy the land? I promise we will disturb your trolls as little as possible."

Richard leaned over to me and whispered, "Are you running your foot up and down my leg?"

I looked at him. "No."

Richard scooted his chair back with a loud scrape. He moved closer to me, one arm going around the back of my chair. "Once you own the land, Niley, you can bulldoze it, and we can't stop you. The only thing we can do is stop your purchase."

"Richard, you disappoint me. After our little tête-à-tête in the bathroom, I thought we were friends."

Richard blushed almost purple from his neck to the roots of his hair. "Why did you kill Betty?"

"Why, to frame the trolls for the death of a person. I thought you would have figured that out by now."

"Why Betty?"

Linus answered in his high, musical voice. "She was a liar, a traitoress, and a wanton thing. She opened herself to evil."

Power breathed off of Richard from the arm against my back. An almost visible aura of heat rose around him. It clicked with something deep inside of me. I put a hand on his thigh. He jumped until he realized it was me, then settled back. I thought soothing thoughts at him. But what he was thinking of was Betty, and the thought was strong enough that he made me flash on her body. I had one quick visual of her torn breasts, and he stood so abruptly his chair fell to the floor. His hands were on the table, and he swayed softly. I thought he might faint.

I started to touch him, but was afraid to, afraid he'd see more. Shang-Da came to take his arm.

The voices around us had quieted, hushed. Everyone was looking. "Please, Richard, sit down," I whispered.

Shang-Da helped him sit. We all waited quietly, watching each other until the voices around us rose and everyone went back to eating. Howard whispered, "Your auras converged for a moment. They became one piece and flared. What are you to each other?"

Richard's voice squeezed out, "Betty wasn't perfect, but she didn't deserve to die like that." He leaned his face down toward the table, and I realized he was crying.

I touched his back, tentatively, rubbing it in small circles. "Your plan to blame her death on the trolls is a bust. Now what?"

"It doesn't matter what we're going to do next, Anita. You will be out of town."

"We told Wilkes we were leaving," I said.

Richard took off the sunglasses and wiped at his eyes with his palms.

"Look at me, please, Richard," Niley said.

Maybe it was the please; for just an instant, Richard looked across the table. For an instant, Niley saw his eyes. "Such pretty brown eyes. You are a lucky woman, Anita."

Richard started to push to his feet. I laid a hand on his arm. His muscles were hard and so tense they thrummed with, I think, a desire to jump across the table and hurt Niley.

"I want to make sure that you are gone. Lately, the spirits have told Howard of a beast that will aid the lady. I think I am looking at the beast."

"How did you find out?" I asked.

Richard slid the glasses back in place and slid his chair back into the table. His shoulders were hunched so hard, the T-shirt was straining at the seams.

"The local vampires don't like you much," Niley said. "I approached them, trying to gather information about the spear. Some of them have been in this area for long enough to have witnessed the event. Sadly, they had not, but they told me interesting things about you and Richard and the Master of the City in Saint Louis. They said you were a ménage à trois, though Richard seems reluctant to admit an interest in men."

"Don't believe everything that you're told, Niley, especially from people who don't like us. Your enemies always make up better rumors than your friends."

Niley pouted. "Oh, dear. Then my advances have been very unwanted indeed." He laughed. The smile faded. "I think it is time for the threat."

"Knock yourself out," I said.

"I think a tranquillizer dart from a distance for Richard. When he wakes, he will be bound by silver chains and on his stomach, naked. I will rape him, and I will enjoy it. Then I will let Linus slit his throat, and Linus will enjoy that." He turned cold eyes to me. "You, Anita, I will give to Linus for his master."

Linus turned to me. He looked the same, but the skin on my back tried to detach itself and crawl away and hide. Every hair on my arm stood up in nervous rows. Evil whispered through that bright diner.

Howard gasped, hugging himself.

I stared at Linus and didn't try to hide it. I was scared of him and what lay inside him.

Niley laughed, deep and pleasant. "I think we understand each other at last, Anita."

Richard turned and looked at Linus. The hair on his arms was standing at attention, too. He spoke, looking directly at the sorcerer. "How you are fallen from Heaven, O Day Star, son of Dawn!"

At the first line, that awful power receded, the skin creeping a little less. Linus's face was no longer pleasant.

Richard said, "How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low! You said in your heart, 'I will ascend to Heaven; Above the stars of God I will set my throne on high.' Isaiah." With the last line, the scent of evil retreated. It lingered like perfume in an empty room, but it was closed down for now.

"Impressive, Richard," Niley said. "So you are a true believer."

Richard rose slowly from his chair. He put a hand flat on the table and leaned across it. I felt the prickling rush of energy like a hot thread pulled across my skin. He lowered his sunglasses just enough for Niley to see his eyes, and I knew what he was doing. I knew that Niley was watching those brown eyes change to wolf amber.

Richard spoke low and carefully. " 'And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.' " He slid his glasses back over his eyes, stood, and stepped away from the table. He held his hand out for me. I took it. I let him lead me out of the restaurant. Shang-Da followed at our backs.

I risked a glance back. I didn't turn to a pillar of salt, but I saw Niley's face. And I knew, knew without doubt, that he would see us dead.

 

 

 

36

 

I didn't even ask Richard if we were leaving town for real. I knew the answer, and frankly, I was with him. On the off chance that Niley was right and the spear was here, we couldn't let him have it. But it was more than that. Richard had drawn a line in the sand; good versus evil. Good can't tuck tail and run. It's against the rules.

It took about three hours for us to pack and pretend to leave town. We put Jamil in the back of the van with a coffin on either side of him to keep the stretcher from sliding around. Nathaniel had managed to get his lower back sliced up defending my honor. Though he admitted that he hadn't been fighting so much as getting in the way of an eager werewolf. However it happened, he got to ride in the back with the injured, probably stretching on top of a coffin, for all I knew. Cherry rode in back with them -- I think to act as a peace officer. Jamil didn't seem to like Nathaniel much. I drove the van. Richard followed in his four-by-four with Shang-Da, and all the equipment he'd brought for an entire summer of camping and studying large primates. Everybody else rode with me.

Sheriff Wilkes sent Maiden and Thompson to escort us out of town in a black and white, or in this case, a blue and white, but the effect was the same. Thompson waved merrily as we drove past them out of the city limits. It would have been childish to give him the finger, so I didn't do it. Zane did it for me. Jason blew them a kiss.

We drove for over an hour to a prearranged rendezvous with Verne. We couldn't all stay at one house. Too many new people might raise suspicions, so we divided up. I didn't like it, but I had to agree that all together we made too good a show.

I ended up driving to Marianne's house. I rode in the back of her truck with Zane, Cherry, and the coffins. Nathaniel got to ride in the truck cab because of his claw wound. Zane's gunshot wound seemed to be healing a lot faster than the claw marks. I wasn't sure if it was because Nathaniel was a slow healer or if bullet wounds just healed faster than claws.

The open bed of the truck was a very rough ride. I wedged myself in the corner near the cab, with Damian's coffin pressed against my ribs. If I pressed my head back against the truck to brace my neck, my teeth rattled. If I sat up more, my neck snapped with every pothole. It was like an endless beating, until my bones thrummed with it and I had a headache the size of Idaho in the middle of my forehead. The sun was like a smear of yellow fire in the sky. It beat down unblinking, unrelenting, until sweat ran down my face and arms.

Zane was in the corner opposite me, shoved against Asher's coffin. His black T-shirt had molded to him like a sweaty second skin. Cherry had chosen a white T-shirt today. The reddish dust of the road clung to the white material and mingled with the sweat until it was like dried blood.

My hair had turned into a mass of sweaty ringlets. Not those cute Shirley Temple ringlets. Nothing that neat, just a curled mess. Zane and Cherry's hair just lay slick and flat against their heads.

The three of us made no effort to talk. We settled into the heat and bone-jarring ride like it was a kind of coma, something to be endured rather than shared.

The road spilled onto a paved road, and the sudden smoothness was almost startling. I could hear again.

"Thank God," Cherry said.

Marianne yelled back to us, "Car coming, hide."

We all wiggled under the top layer of the tarp covering the coffins. There was a second tarp and ropes underneath me. The tarp smelled musty and dry. It was a toss-up whether it was cooler because of the shade or hotter because of the lack of air. I thought I heard a car go by in a spill of gravel, but Marianne didn't tell us to get up, so I didn't. I could see Zane through the hot dimness. We looked at each other with dull eyes; then I smiled. He smiled. It all started to be funny. You just reach a level of discomfort where you either scream or laugh.

The truck lurched to a rattling stop. In the sudden silence I could hear Zane laughing. Cherry's voice came clearly, "What in hell is so funny?"

"We're home, boys and girls," Marianne said. "You can come out now."

Zane and I crawled out into the open air, still giggling. Cherry frowned at both of us. "What is so funny?"

We both shook our heads. You either got the joke, or you didn't. It could not be explained, not even to ourselves.

Marianne came to stand near me. "I'm glad to see you're in a better mood."

I ran my hands through my hair and could almost squeeze the sweat out of it. "Might as well be in a good mood. The day's not going to improve."

Marianne frowned. "Pessimism is unbecoming in one so young."

She stood there, looking cool and collected, wearing a sleeveless white shirt tied off at the waist. It wasn't a midriff but gave the illusion of one. A pair of pale blue shorts and flat, white tennis shoes completed the outfit. Her pale hair was in a bun. The hair was all streaks: silvery grey, pale blond, and white. Fine lines showed at her eyes and mouth that hadn't been visible last night. Over fifty, but like Verne, her body was still thin and firm. She looked cool, comfortable, and far too clean.

"I need a shower," I said.

"I second the motion," Cherry said.

Zane just nodded.

"Welcome to my home," Marianne said.

The truck was parked in a gravel driveway of a two story white house. The house had yellow shutters and a pink climbing rose up one side of the front porch. There were two tubs of white and pink geraniums at the bottom of the wide porch steps. The flowers were lush and well watered. The yard was brown and dying in the summer heat. Actually, I approved. I didn't believe in watering grass. A small flock of speckled hens pecked in the dry dirt of the yard.

"Nice," I said.

She smiled. "Thank you. The barn is over that way, hidden by the trees. I've got some dairy cows and horses. The garden's behind the house. You'll be able to see it from your bedroom."

"Great, thanks."

She smiled. "Why do I think you don't care about my tomato crop?"

"Let me take a shower, and I'll care," I said.

"We can unload the coffins, then your two wereleopards can take a bath. I hope there's enough hot water for three baths. If two of you could double up, it would conserve water."

"I'm not sharing," I said. I looked at Cherry.

She shrugged, "Zane and I can share."

It must have shown on my face, because she added, "We aren't lovers, Anita. Though we have been. It will be ... a comfort to touch each other. It's not sexual. It's ... " She looked at Marianne, as if for help.

Marianne smiled. "One of the things that binds a pack or a pard into a unit is touch. They touch each other constantly. They groom each other. They care for each other."

I shook my head. "I'm not sharing a bathtub."

"No one is asking you to," Marianne said. "There are many ways to forge a pack bond, Anita."

"I'm not part of the pack," I said.

"There are many ways to be part of the pack, Anita. I have found my place among them, and I am not lukoi." She left Zane, Cherry, and me to unload the coffins while she took Nathaniel off to lie down. Cherry and Zane helped stow the coffins in the basement, then went off to take their communal bath.

The entrance to the basement was outside, like an old-fashioned storm cellar. The back door was all screen and wood. It clanged loudly as the wereleopards went inside. Marianne met me at that door, stepped through that door, and blocked my way.

She was smiling and calm and seemed at peace in the center of her universe. Just seeing that content look on her face made me itchy and uncomfortable. Made me want to scream and lash out until her universe was as messy as my own. How dare she be content when I was so confused?

"What is so very wrong, child? I can hear your confusion like bees buzzing in the walls."

There was a stand of pine trees near the back of the house like a line of soldiers. The air smelled like a perpetual Christmas. I usually like the smell of pine, but not today. I just wasn't in a Christmas mood. I leaned against the weathered boards of the house, while she stayed on the small back porch looking down at me.

The Firestar dug into my back. I pulled it out and shoved it down the front of my jeans. Fuck it if somebody saw.

"You saw Verne," I said.

She looked at me, grey eyes calm, unreadable. "I saw what you did to his neck, if that is what you mean."

"Yeah, that's what I mean."

"Your mark on his neck proves two things to all of us. That you consider yourself his equal -- no small boast -- and that you are not happy with his hospitality to date. Are either of these untrue?"

I thought about that for a moment, then said, "I don't acknowledge anyone as dominant to me. Maybe they can beat the shit out of me or kill me, but they're not better than I am. Stronger doesn't mean better or more dominant."

"There are those who would argue with you, Anita, but I am not one of them."

"And no, I'm not happy with the hospitality to date. I destroyed most of Colin's vampires for you guys. Verne was pleased as punch, but he still didn't let me have my guns last night. If I'd had my guns last night, then the bad guys wouldn't have nearly killed Jamil and Jason and Zane -- hell -- and me."

"Verne regretted last night or he would not have offered himself to you."

"Great, fine, but I didn't mean to mark him. I didn't mean to do it. Do you understand, Marianne? I didn't do it on purpose. Just like last night with the munin, this morning I wasn't in control. I was seduced by the scent of blood and warm flesh. It was ... creepy."

She laughed. "Creepy? Is that the best word you can come up with, Anita? Creepy. You are the Executioner and a force to be feared, but you are still so ... young."

I looked up at her. "You mean naive."

"You are not naive in the sense that it is usually meant. I am sure you have seen more blood and death than I have. It stains your power, this violence. You both attract it and pursue it. But there is something about you that stays fresh and somehow perpetually childlike. No matter how jaded you grow, there will always be a part of you that would be more comfortable saying 'golly' than 'goddamn.' "

I wanted to wiggle under the intensity of her gaze, or run. "I am losing control of my life, Marianne, and control is very important to me."

"I would say that control is one of the most important things to you."

I nodded, my hair catching on the peeling paint of the house. I pushed away from the boards to stand in front of her in the dusty yard. "How can I get back control, Marianne? You seem to have all the answers."

She laughed again, that wholesome-bedroom sound. "Not all the answers, but the answers you seek, perhaps. I know that the munin will come for you again. It may be when you least expect it or when you need your precious control the most. It may overwhelm you and cost the lives of people you hold dear as it could have last night. All that saved Richard from having to kill to get to you was Verne's intercession."

"Raina would love that, to drag one of us down to the grave."

"I felt the munin's pleasure in destruction. You are attracted to violence, but only as it serves a greater purpose. It is a tool that you use well. Your old lupa was attracted to violence for its own sake, as a destructive thing. Destroying was what she was about. It is nicely ironic that someone so dedicated to negativity was also a healer."

"Life is just full of little ironies," I said. I didn't try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"You have a chance to make her munin, her essence, into something positive. In a way, you might help her spirit work through some of its karma."

I frowned at her.

She waved her hands. "My apologies. I'll keep the philosophy to a minimum. I believe I can help you call and tame the munin. I believe that together we can begin to harness all the different kinds of power you are being offered now. I can teach you to ride not just the munin but this master vampire of yours, and even your Ulfric. You are their key to each other, Anita. Their bridge. Their feelings for you are part of the binding that has been wrought between the three. I can make you the rider and not the horse."

There was a fierceness in her face, a force that made my skin react. She meant what she said; she believed it. And strangely, so did I.

"I want to control it, Marianne, all of it. I want that more than almost anything right now. If I can't stop it, I want to control it."

She smiled, and it made her eyes sparkle. "Good; then let's begin with our first lesson."

I frowned at her. "What lesson?"

"Come into the house, Anita. The first lesson is waiting for you if your heart and mind are open to it." She went back inside without waiting for me.

I stood there for a moment in the summer heat. If my heart and mind were open to it. What the hell did that mean? Well, as the cliché goes, only one way to find out. I opened the screen door and walked inside. Lesson number one was waiting for me.

 

 

 

37

 

Marianne led me to the room where she'd settled Nathaniel. It was a large bedroom downstairs. Hours earlier, the room would have been filled with morning light, but now, at nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, the room was dim, almost dark. The window was open, and a breeze had finally found us, spilling the white lacy curtains into the room. A small oscillating fan sat on a kitchen chair so the fan could cool the bed. The wallpaper was off-white with a fine line of pink flowers. There was a large brown water stain in the corner of the ceiling like a giant Rorschach ink blot.

The bed was a brass four-poster that had been painted white. The bedspread was quilted and looked homemade with a lot of purple- and pink-flowered fabric. Marianne had folded the bedspread and placed it on top of a large cedar chest that was under the window. "Too hot for quilts," she'd said.

Nathaniel lay naked on the pink sheets. Marianne tucked the sheets to the tops of his thighs, patting his shoulder in a motherly sort of way. I would have protested his state of undress, but I could see the wounds clearly for the first time.

Something with claws had swiped him wide and deep, starting about the middle of his back and slashing downward across the right side of his buttocks. The wound was deep and ragged on his back, growing more shallow as it worked down his body. It must have hurt to have clothes over it, hurt a lot.

I was surprised that Nathaniel hadn't flashed me his wounds earlier. He usually went to great lengths to show me his body. What had changed?

Marianne pointed to the phone beside the bed. "In case your police friend calls you. I've got a cordless phone for normal calls, but I use the bedside phone for pack business."

"So no one can accidentally monitor the cordless phone," I said.

Marianne nodded. She walked to the vanity, which had a heavy oval mirror and marble knobs on the drawers. "When I was a little girl and I was hurt or lonely, especially when it was so hot, my mother would unbraid my hair and brush it. She'd brush it until it lay like silk down my back." She turned with a brush in her hands. "Even now, when I am low, one of my greatest pleasures is for some friend to brush my hair."

I looked at her. "Are you suggesting I brush your hair?"

She smiled, and it was bright and charming, and I didn't trust it. "No, I am suggesting you brush Nathaniel's hair."

I kept staring at her. "Come again?"

She walked towards me, offering me the brush, that too-cheery smile on her face. "Part of what makes you vulnerable to Raina is your own squeamishness."

"I'm not squeamish."

"Prudishness, then," she said.

I frowned at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that every time one of the lycanthropes disrobes, you get embarrassed. Every time one of them touches you, you take it sexually. That isn't always what they mean. A healthy pack or pard is built up of a thousand gentle touches. A million small comforts. It's like building a relationship with a boyfriend. Every touch builds and strengthens it."

My frown deepened. "I thought you said it wasn't sexual."

It was her turn to frown. "A different metaphor then. It is like building your relationship with a newborn baby. Every touch, every time you feed him when he's hungry, change him when he's wet, comfort him when he's frightened -- the everyday intimacies forge a bond between you. True parenthood is built over years of interdependency. The bond between the pack is built much the same way."

I glanced back at the bed. Nathaniel was still lying there naked except for the sheets on his legs. I turned back to Marianne. "If he was a newborn baby, I'd be fine with him being naked. I might be afraid I'd drop him, but I wouldn't be embarrassed."

"And that is precisely my point," she said. She held the brush out to me. "If you could control the munin, you could heal his wounds. You could take his pain."

"You're not suggesting that I purposely try to call Raina?"

"No, Anita. This is the first lesson, not the graduation exercise. Today, I simply want you to begin to try and be more comfortable around their nudity. I believe that if you can desensitize yourself to the more casual sexual situations, that Raina will have less hold on you. You draw away from situations like this, and that leaves a void, a place where you will not go willingly. So Raina spills into that void and forces you to go much farther than you would have gone on your own."

"And what good will brushing Nathaniel's hair do?"

She held the brush inches from me, arms folded. "It is a small thing, Anita. A thing to give him comfort while we wait for Dr. Patrick to come. Patrick will give him a local for the pain, but sometime before he is finished stitching him up, the painkiller will wear off. Their metabolism is too fast for a local, and giving more than that can be tricky. It can be deadly in one with such a low aura of power as Nathaniel."

I stared up at her, meeting those calm, serious grey eyes. "You're saying that he'll be stitched up without a painkiller."

She just looked at me.

"And that's my fault because I could heal him if I could control the munin."

Marianne shook her head. "It is not your fault, Anita, not yet. But the munin is a tool like your guns or your necromancy. Once you learn how to control it, it can do wonderful things. You must look at the ability to call the munin not as a curse but as a gift."

I shook my head. "I think you've exceeded the lesson for the day, Marianne."

She smiled. "Perhaps. But take the brush, do this one small thing. Not for me. Not for Nathaniel, but for yourself. Take back that piece of you that looks away from his body. Give Raina less ground in your heart."

"And if I can't help being embarrassed or thinking sexual thoughts and Raina comes up and tries to eat me, what then?"

Marianne's smile widened. "Then I will help you, child. We will all help you. That is what a pack is for."

"Nathaniel isn't lukoi any more than I am," I said.

"Lukoi or pard, it makes no difference to you, Anita. You are queen of both castles. Growing comfortable with one will help with the other."

She actually took my hand and pried it out from under my elbow. She put the hairbrush in my hand and closed my fingers over it. "Be with him, child. Wait for your phone call. Answer only the bedside phone. Only pack will call that number. You can't possibly answer my other phone because you are in another state. Do not answer the door, either."

"You sound like you're going somewhere," I said.

"You must learn to be comfortable around your people, Anita. That means without me looking over your shoulder."

She pulled me towards the bed by the arm. She tried to make me sit on the bed, but I just didn't bend with it. Short of pushing me onto the bed, she had to leave me standing.

She tsked at me. "Stand here and do nothing. It is your choice, child, but at least stand here." She left.

I was left standing in the middle of the room where I'd followed her, like a child not wanting to be left alone on the first day of school. The brush was still in my hand. The brush looked as antique as the rest of the room. It was wooden but painted white with a shine of varnish. The varnish had a webbing of cracks but held. I ran the pale bristles over the back of my other hand. They were as soft as they looked, silken like a baby's brush. I had no idea what the bristles were made out of.

I glanced back at Nathaniel. He was watching me out of those eyes of his. His face was neutral as if it didn't matter, but his eyes weren't neutral. They were tight, waiting for the rejection, waiting for me to leave him alone in the strange room, naked and waiting for a doctor to come and stitch him up. He was nineteen, and lying there with that raw look in his eyes, he looked it. Hell, he looked younger. The body was great. When you're a stripper, you've got to take care of yourself. But the face ... the face was young and in the same gaze old. Nathaniel still had the most jaded eyes of anyone I'd ever met under the age of twenty. No, not jaded, lost.

I walked around to the far side of the bed. I laid the hairbrush on the pillow on the empty side of the bed.

Nathaniel moved just his head, turning to look at me. No, to watch me. He watched me like every movement was important. It was a level of scrutiny that made me want to squirm or blush or run. It wasn't exactly sexual, but it wasn't exactly not sexual, either.

No matter what metaphors Marianne used, this was not the same thing as caring for an infant. Nathaniel was young, but he was definitely not a child. At least not childlike in the way that would have made this comfortable.

I slipped off the short-sleeved shirt. There was no one to see the shoulder holster, and it would be cooler. Of course, it would really be cooler if I took off all the guns and the spine sheath, but I wasn't that hot. I did lay the Firestar under the pillow. It had a short enough barrel to sit or lie down with it, but there is no such thing as a truly comfortable gun to wear if you're lounging around. Guns aren't designed for comfort. It's one of the few things that are worn, mostly by men, that are as uncomfortable as a pair of high heels.

I crawled onto the bed, kneeling, still not within touching distance. He was so easily hurt that I had to say it out loud. "I'm not upset with you, Nathaniel. I just don't like playing student."

"You like Marianne, but you resent her," he said.

That made me blink a couple of times and stare at him. He was right, and it was more perceptive than I'd ever expected from Nathaniel. Hearing him say something that smart made me feel better. If there was a brain in that body, then he wasn't just a submissive mess. And maybe, just maybe, he was salvageable, saveable. It was the most positive thought I'd had all day.

I crawled to Nathaniel's side, brush in hand. I stared down at him stretched across the bed, eyes watching me. The look in his eyes stopped me. It was too intense.

Maybe he sensed it, because he turned his head back so that I couldn't see his face. All I could see was all that long, auburn hair. Even in the dim light, it was an incredibly rich color. The darkest auburn I'd ever seen that was still truly auburn and not brown.

I smoothed my hand through his hair. It was like heavy silk, warm to the touch. Of course, that could have just been the room. The fan swept over the bed, ruffling the sheets, passing like a cool hand over my back. Nathaniel's long hair stirred in the fan's caress, the sheet over his thighs blowing like a hand had moved them. He shifted as the fan passed over his bare body. Then stillness. His hair, the sheet, everything utterly still while the fan made its circuit. It swept back, spilling over everything in reverse; the pink sheets, Nathaniel's hair, my chest this time, blowing my own hair back from my face, then past us, and the heat wrapped around us like a suffocating hand.

The breeze from the window had died. The white curtains lay like a painting until the small fan spilled over them. I knelt in the hot room with the only sound the whir of the fan and the small tick it made every time it came to the end of its cycle.

I stroked the hairbrush through his hair, and the stroke ended long before I got to the end of the hair. I'd had hair down to my butt once upon a time when I was about fourteen. But Nathaniel's hair was knee length. If he'd been a woman, I'd have said his hair fell like a dress around him. The hair lay in a soft, silken pile beside his body so it wouldn't brush the wound. I lifted the hair in my arms, and it was like holding something alive. The hair poured through my hands with a sound like dry water, a rushing noise.

I had enough trouble taking care of shoulder-length hair. I couldn't imagine the amount of effort that just washing it must take. I was either going to have to divide the hair to either side and actually get up and move from side to side, or sweep the hair back behind his head so it spilled across the bed. I voted for that.

I pulled his hair behind his back and spilled it behind his head. He moved his head as if snuggling into the pillow, but other than that made no movement and said nothing.

"How you doing?" I asked.

"I'm fine," he said. His voice was soft, neutral, almost empty.

"Talk to me, Nathaniel," I said.

"You don't like it when I talk to you."

I leaned over him, smoothing the hair back so I had a clear view of his face. "That's not true."

He turned his face enough to look up at me. "Isn't it?"

I leaned back from that direct gaze. "It's not you talking I mind, Nathaniel. It's your choice of topics."

"Tell me what you want me to say, and I'll say it."

"I can tell you what not to say," I said.

"What?" he asked.

"Don't talk about pornographic movies, sadomasochism, sex in general." I thought about it for a second or two. "That hits the usual things you say to piss me off."

He laughed. "I don't know what else to talk about."

I started combing his hair across the bed. The stroke was firm and flowing, then I actually had to pick the hair up to finish the stroke. The fan hit me with an armful of hair, and the hair spilled around my face in a vanilla-scented cloud that tickled my face and neck.

"Talk about anything, Nathaniel. Talk about yourself."

"I don't like to talk about myself."

"Why not?" I asked.

He raised up enough to look at me. "You talk about yourself."

"Okay." Then I didn't know what to say. I just suddenly couldn't think of where to start. I smiled. "Good point, forget I said it."

The phone rang, and I gave a little yip. Nervous? Who me? It was Dolph. "Anita?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Franklin Niley, unless it's a different guy with the same name, is an art dealer. He specializes in mystical artifacts. He's not picky about how he gets them, either."

"How not picky?" I asked.

"He's based out of Miami. The cops there would like to tie him to at least half a dozen homicides but don't have enough proof. Every town he visits on business, people disappear or turn up dead. Chicago P.D. nearly got him on the death of a wiccan high priestess last year, but the witness went into a mysterious coma and hasn't come out yet."

"Mysterious coma?" I made it a question.

"The doctors think it was magic of some kind, but you know how hard that is to prove."

"What do you have on his associates?"

"One hasn't been with him long, a psychic named Howard Grant, young, no criminal record. There's a black bodyguard, Milo Hart. He's got a second-degree black belt in karate and has been in the pen once for attempted murder. He's been beating people up for Niley since he got out of prison five years ago. The third is Linus Beck. He's been in twice. Once for assault with a deadly, second time for murder."

"Lovely," I said.

"It gets better," Dolph said.

"Better?" I asked. "How much better can it get?"

"Beck's murder conviction was a human sacrifice."

I let that sink in for a second or two. "How was the victim killed?"

"Knife wound," Dolph said.

I told him about the body I'd just finished seeing.

"Direct attack by demons went out with the middle ages, Anita."

"They wanted to make it look like a troll attack."

"You've talked to them," he said.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"They wanted to threaten me," I said.

I heard papers rustling on the other end. "Why did they want to threaten you?"

I told Dolph almost everything. I also told him I couldn't prove a damn thing.

"I talked to a cop in Miami. He said that Niley admitted two murders to him, told him details, but not under Miranda and not useable in court. He likes to taunt."

"He thinks he's untouchable," I said.

"But the spirits say you're going to kill him."

"So his pet psychic says."

"When I put out the name and asked for info, police all over the country and out of it are willing to give me anything they got, if we can just nail this guy," Dolph said.

"A bad guy's, bad guy," I said.

"He's not above doing his own killing, Anita. At least two of the dead men down in Miami, they think were Frank's personal kills. You watch your ass like a son of a bitch. If you have anything that even looks like proof of a crime, call me."

"You don't have any jurisdiction here," I said.

"Trust me on this, Anita. You come up with some proof, and I can get you somebody down there with jurisdiction, ready and willing to put this guy away."

"He on the blue hit parade?"

"He's made a career out of breaking the law and has never seen the inside of a jail cell for more than twenty-four hours. A lot of people in a lot of states would like to see him gone."

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

"I don't mean dead, Anita. I mean arrested."

"I knew what you meant, Dolph."

He was quiet for a second. "I know you knew what I meant, but I thought I should say it, anyway. Don't kill anyone."

"Would I do something so illegal?"

"Don't start, Anita."

"Sorry. Thanks for all the info. It's more than I'd hoped for. After meeting him, I'm not exactly surprised by any of it. He is a very creepy guy."

"Creepy -- Anita, he's a hell of a lot more than creepy."

"You sound worried, Dolph."

"You're down there without a safety net, Anita. The cops are not your friends."

"That's an understatement," I said. "But the state cops are down here on the murder now."

"I can't come down there," Dolph said.

"I would never ask you to."

He was quiet so long that I said, "Dolph, you still there?"

"I'm here." He didn't sound happy. "You know how I told you not to kill anyone?"

"Yeah," I said.

"I'll deny this in court, but don't hesitate, Anita. If it comes down to him or you, make the right choice."

My mouth was hanging open. "Dolph, are you telling me to murder him if I get the chance?"

Dolph was quiet again. Finally, he said, "No, not murder, but I am saying don't let him get the drop on you. You do not want to be at this man's mercy, Anita. Some of the bodies they've found have been tortured. He's real creative about it."

"What's in that file that you haven't told me about, Dolph?"

"They found one man's head floating in his pool. There were no marks of a weapon, like the head had been pulled off. They never found the body. It all reads like that, Anita. Not just violent but weird shit."

"You going to post bail if I nail him and get caught?"

"You get caught, we never had this conversation."

"Mum's the word," I said.

"Watch your back, Anita. Niley doesn't have any limits. That's what all this paperwork means. He's a total fucking sociopath, Anita, and Beck and Hart are the same thing."

"I'll be careful, Dolph. I promise."

"Don't be careful, be ruthless. I don't want to be identifying what's left of your body after he gets through with it."

"You trying to scare me, Dolph?"

"Yeah," he said, then he hung up.

I hung the phone up and sat on the bed in the hot, hot room, and I was afraid. I was suddenly more afraid than I had been since we got here. Dolph didn't spook easily. I'd never heard him like that, not about anything or anybody.

Nathaniel touched my leg. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head. I couldn't shake the bad feeling. Dolph, Mr. Law and Order, had encouraged me to kill someone. Unprecedented. The police were telling me to break the law. Too weird. But underneath the wonderment of it was the fear, a fine, trembling sense of unease. Demons. I didn't like demons. They didn't give a shit about silver bullets or much of anything else. Richard felt strong in his faith. I envied him that. I was having a crisis of faith right now. I mean, I was sleeping with the undead and had cheated on one lover with another. I also had a few more kills to my credit than the last time I'd been touched by the demonic. I wasn't feeling particularly pure and holy right now. You needed that against demons. You needed surety.

Nathaniel laid his head on my thigh. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I stared down at the naked man with his head in my lap. No, if I ran up against a demon now, my house was made of glass, and nothing throws stones like the demonic. They know just where to hit so that the whole damn thing comes crashing down around your ears. I was really not in the mood to find out how far from grace I'd actually fallen.

 

 

 

38

 

Cherry came into the room. She'd slipped into a pair of jean shorts, and a white midriff tank top. Her small breasts were pressed against the thin material. I was a little too well-endowed to ever dream of going without a bra, but small or not, in that top she needed a bra. I was a prude.

Her short yellow hair was still damp. She stalked into the room on those long legs, managing to look both slutty casual and unnaturally graceful.

Just watching her walk into the room made me want to move Nathaniel's head out of my lap. Force of will alone kept me from scooting away from him. We weren't doing anything wrong. But it bothered me.

"Your turn," Cherry said. "I'll wait with Nathaniel."

"Is Zane out yet?"

I caught movement in the hall, and it was Zane. He was wearing jean shorts, too, and nothing else. The ever-present nipple ring was the only thing on his pale, thin chest.

"Don't you ever take that thing out of your chest?" I asked.

He smiled. "If I take the ring out, the hole will close up and I'll have to get it pierced all over again. I might get the other nipple pierced, but I don't want to have to redo the first one."

"I thought you liked pain," I said.

He shrugged. "In some situations with naked women, yeah." He touched the ring, pulling on it until the nipple stretched just a little. "The actual piercing hurt like a son of a bitch."

I looked at the slender, too-thin chest, especially the part right next to his right arm. There was a dark area where the shoulder attached to the chest, but that was all.

"Is that all that's left of the bullet wound?" I asked.

Zane nodded and sat down at the foot of the bed, crawling onto the covers so he was beside Nathaniel and far too close to me. "You can touch the wound if you want."

I frowned. "No, thanks." I started to back off the bed on all fours, spilling Nathaniel's head gently to the covers. I stopped myself. Marianne said that Raina fed on my embarrassment, my prudishness, that if I could be more comfortable around small stuff, Raina would lose some of her power over me. Was it true?

I wasn't attracted to Zane. That moment last night had been pure Raina. She seemed to have been attracted to anything that had a pulse and some things that didn't. I gritted my teeth and reached out towards Zane.

He went very still, face suddenly serious, as if he had some clue how much it cost me to reach out to him. I ran my fingertips over the wound. The skin was smooth, shiny like a scar but softer and more pliable. I found myself running my hand over the wound, exploring it. It felt strangely plastic, and at the same time soft, like baby's skin.

"This feels ... cool."

Zane grinned. It reminded me of Jason and that one thought relaxed a tension in my shoulders that I hadn't even known was there.

Cherry came up behind him to slide her hands over his shoulders, massaging them. "I never get over being amazed at how we heal."

I wanted to take my hand back, just because Cherry had touched him, too. I forced myself to keep my hand on the wound, but I'd stopped exploring it, just touching it was all I could manage.

"The muscles can get tight when it's healing," Cherry said. "You get spasms around it, like the body heals too fast for the muscles to keep up."

I took my hand away slowly. I sat on the bed watching Cherry massage Zane's shoulders. Nathaniel nuzzled my leg, rolling his eyes up to me. I didn't move away from him, and he seemed to take that as permission to roll his head onto my thigh. He nestled against me with a contented sigh.

Zane rolled onto his back on the other side of me, not touching me, but watching me. His eyes were very careful.

Cherry stayed kneeling on the foot of the bed, watching my face. They all watched me like I was the center of their world. I'd seen dogs in obedience trials watch their owners that way. In dogs it was a good thing. In people it was unnerving. I didn't have a dog because I didn't feel responsible enough to take care of one. Now I suddenly had three wereleopards, and I knew I wasn't responsible enough for them.

I laid my hand on Nathaniel's warm hair. Zane stretched his full six-foot frame, fingers and toes straining, spine bowing like a big cat.

I laughed. "What am I supposed to do, rub your tummy?"

Everyone laughed, even Nathaniel. I realized with a shock that it was the first time I'd ever heard him laugh. The laughter was young, high-schoolish. Lying naked in my lap with claw marks on his butt, and he was laughing, a full-throated, happy sound.

I was happy to hear it, and nervous. They were trying to make me their home. Because that was what an Ulfric was supposed to be, and a Nimir-ra, or Nimir-raj, for a guy, was the equivalent. Strangely, there didn't seem to be a werewolf equivalent of a queen wolf. Sexism? Or some arcane shit I didn't understand yet? I'd ask Richard later.

"I've got to go take my bath, guys."

"We could help," Zane said. He licked my arm, grimaced. "I like the taste of sweat, but the gravel dust ... "

Nathaniel raised his face enough to lick my other arm. His tongue ran down my arm in a long slow glide. "I don't mind the dust," he said, voice low and soft.

I slid off the bed, calmly, slowly. I did not go yuck, or scream. I was very calm and very relieved to be standing on the floor. The bed had suddenly become crowded. "Thanks, but the bath will be fine. Don't answer any phone but the one by the bed, and don't open the door to anyone but Dr. Patrick."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Zane said.

I slid the Firestar down the front of my jeans and picked up my suitcase from against the wall. I glanced back at the three of them from the doorway. Zane had lain down on the other side of Nathaniel, only propped on his elbow, one hand touching Nathaniel's back. Cherry had curled at the foot of the bed. She was running her hand up and down his thigh. Either the sheet had slid off or she'd moved it so she could touch him. There was nothing sexual on their faces, nothing overt.

They looked like the opening scene for a porno movie to me, but I was sure that when I left the room, nothing would happen. There was no anticipation between them, no eagerness to have me gone so they could be alone. Their eyes still followed me. They touched each other for comfort, not for sex. The discomfort was mine, not theirs.

"I'm sorry I went with Mira," Nathaniel said suddenly.

That stopped me in the doorway. "You're a big boy, Nathaniel. You had every right to find someone. It was just your choice of partners that was bad."

Zane began to rub his hand up and down Nathaniel's back, like you'd pet a dog. Nathaniel lowered his head so his hair slid around him like a veil, hiding his face. "I thought you were going to be my mistress, my top. I thought for a long time that you understood the game. That you were telling me not to have sex with anyone. I was so good. I didn't even touch myself."

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it, and didn't have a damn thing to say.

"When you finally gave me permission to have sex with you, it could have been straight vanilla. It was the waiting, the build-up, the teasing that would have made it enough."

I found my voice. "I don't know what vanilla means, Nathaniel."

"Straight sex," Zane said, "normal stuff."

I shook my head. "Whatever, I am not playing with you, Nathaniel. I would never do that."

He looked at me sort of sideways as if afraid to look me full in the face. "I know that now. It was this trip that I realized you didn't even know we were playing a game. You aren't teasing me. You don't think about me at all."

That last sounded sort of pitiful, but I couldn't help that. "I keep having to apologize to you, Nathaniel. Half the time I don't even know what I'm apologizing for."

"I don't understand how you can be my Nimir-ra and not be my top, but I know now that you see it as two separate things. Gabriel didn't."

"What is a top?" I asked.

Zane answered for him again. "A dominant to Nathaniel's submissive. A submissive is called a bottom."

Ah. "I am not Gabriel," I said.

Nathaniel laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Would you get mad if I said sometimes I wish you were?"

I just blinked at him. "I'm not mad, Nathaniel, you just puzzle the hell out of me. I know I'm supposed to be taking care of you, but I don't know how to do it." He was like some exotic pet that I'd been given as a gift, but the instructions didn't come in the box.

He lay back down on the pillow, head turned so he could see me. "I went with Mira when I realized you weren't there for me."

"I am there for you, Nathaniel, but not in that way."

"Is this where you tell me we can still be friends?" He laughed, and it was harsh.

"You don't need a friend, Nathaniel, you need a keeper."

"I thought you were going to be my keeper."

I looked at Cherry and Zane. "How about you guys?"

"Nathaniel is the most ... " Cherry hesitated, "the most broken of us. Gabriel and Raina made sure we were all bottoms; it was all we were trained for. They were the tops, always, but ... but Nathaniel ... " She finally shrugged.

I knew what she meant. Nathaniel was the weakest of them. The one who needed the most care.

I set the suitcase down and went to kneel by the bed. I brushed his hair from his face so I could see his eyes. "We'll all be there for you, Nathaniel. We are your pard. Your people. We'll take care of you. I'll take care of you."

Tears filled his eyes. "But you won't fuck me."

I took a deep breath and stood. "No, Nathaniel, I won't fuck you." I shook my head and picked up my suitcase. I'd had all I could take for one afternoon. If Marianne wasn't happy with this little lesson, then screw her. Maybe it wasn't supposed to be sexual, but thanks to the way Gabriel and Raina had treated the wereleopards, sex did keep coming up. I was almost afraid to hear what Marianne's solution to that one would be.

 

 

 

39

 

I ran out of hot water before I filled the tub, and I didn't care. The small white-tiled room was hot enough that a truly hot bath seemed a bad idea. The single window was set high in the wall, so if I was careful, I wouldn't flash. So I kept the window open, even the drapes, hoping for a stray breeze. I sank down into the lukewarm water without a bubble in sight. There was nothing but Ivory soap and a partially burned white candle on the corner near the faucet. I put the Firestar on the small corner beside my head. I'd tried the Browning there, but it was too big and kept trying to slide into the water.

I was completely underwater, rinsing off my hair, when I heard the door crash open. I surfaced, sputtering, groping for the Firestar. I had the gun pointed before I even saw what was coming through the door. Even when I could see, it didn't make any sense.

There was a woman in the doorway. Physically, she was small, about my size, but she seemed to fill the room as if she took up more space than the eye could see. Her hair was long and brown. The bangs had been allowed to grow and were thinned until the hair covered her face past her nose like a veil. The hair was tinted ever so slightly blue. She wore a jean jacket with no sleeves. One bare, muscular, tatooed arm was holding the door so that the force of its being kicked in didn't send it flying back in her face. Under other circumstances, I'd have been sort of disdainful, except for the roil of power pouring from her. She looked like she'd gotten lost on her way to a punk biker bar. Psychically, she felt like a wind from the mouth of hell, hot and unfriendly.

There was so much power in the tiny room, I felt like the bathwater should start to boil. I kept the gun very steadily pointed at her chest. I think it was the only thing that kept her just inside the door. The look on her face was pure rage.

Water dripped down my face from my hair, tangling in my eyelashes. I blinked, resisting the urge to wipe the water away with my hands. "One step, just one, and I will pull this trigger," I said.

Roland appeared behind her in the doorway. This just got better and better. He was still tall, tanned, with his short, curly hair. His brown eyes swept the room and stayed on me, crouching naked in the tub. I kept the gun on the woman, but it was tempting.

He touched the woman's shoulders. He spoke in that low, rolling voice of his. "Roxanne, trust me, she will kill you."

It made me not want to shoot him after all.

A second man peeked into the room. He was taller than Roland, which made him over six feet. I had enough of a glimpse to know he was Native American and had long, black hair. Then he ducked back, eyes averted, a gentleman. He said, "Roxanne, this is not appropriate."

Roxanne shook off Roland's hands and started to walk farther into the room.

I fired the gun inches from her head. The sound was thunderous. The bullet took a bite out of the door and buried into the wall behind. It was a Glazer Safety Round, so the wall stopped it. I wasn't afraid of it going through the wall.

My ears rang with the shot in this tiny, tiled room. For a second, if someone spoke, I couldn't hear it. I kept my eyes on Roxanne. She had stopped moving. I had the barrel of the gun sighted in the middle of that pretty face. It took a second or two of staring to realize that under all the tattoos, the funky hair, and the power, she was pretty. It was a traditional, girl-next-door pretty. Maybe it was the reasons for the tattoo and the hair. When nature makes you look wholesome, there are ways to cheat.

"Come on, Roxanne," Roland said, "back away."

She just stood there. Her power breathed around me like a warm cloud. It was continuous and nearly suffocating. I'd never been around any shapeshifter that had this kind of raw power. Or never around one this powerful who didn't even try to pass for human. Roxanne didn't vibrate with power. She was power. And I was about two seconds away from snuffing it out.

"You would really kill me," she said.

"In a heartbeat," I said. I was getting tired of crouching in the water. Made it hard to be tough. Of course, being naked didn't help, either.

"Why didn't you kill me just now?"

"You're the lupa for Verne's pack. Killing you would rain all sorts of crap down. But I will do it, Roxanne. Now, back out of the room, close the door, and let me get dressed. If you still want to talk, fine, but don't ever, ever pull shit like this again."

"Without that little gun you wouldn't be so confident."

"Yeah, it's a real confidence booster. Now, get the fuck out of the room, or I will shoot you."

Marianne was suddenly in the doorway. "Roxanne, let's go have some tea and let Anita get dressed." I don't know what Marianne did, but even I felt calmer. It was like she projected calm and peace into the room.

Roxanne let Roland and Marianne drag her back through the door. Roxanne pointed a finger at me. "You insulted my Ulfric, and you will pay for that, with or without the gun."

"Fine," I said.

The door closed behind them. The lock had shattered in a pile of splinters. Cherry's voice came through the door. "I'll stay outside the door until you're out. I can give you a warning if any more bad guys come."

Bad guys. Was Roxanne a bad guy or just psycho? I was betting on the latter.

 

 

 

40

 

I got dressed in record time. Black jean shorts, red short-sleeved knit top, white jogging socks, black Nikes. Normally, I'd have left off the shoulder holster inside a house, but I threaded it through the belt and slipped it on. The black holster looked very stark against the red shirt. I put the Firestar down the front of the shorts in the Uncle Mike's Sidekick holster that it usually rode in. I left off the spine sheath. The leather was beginning to smell like sweat. I was going to have to let it dry out before I could wear it again.

I smeared hair goop on the hair and let it go. It'd dry on its own. Call it a hunch, but I didn't think Roxanne was the patient type. If I took the time for makeup or blow-drying my hair, she might come looking for me. I don't normally fuss, anyway. In truth, the only reason I'd planned on it was the fact that Richard was coming with Dr. Carrie Onslow, and I was feeling insecure. Me, insecure. How sad.

Richard had spent a great deal of the day with Dr. Carrie Onslow. I was jealous and hated it.

Of course, first I needed to go confront a pissed-off werewolf. I could figure out what the hell I was going to do with Richard after I talked to Roxanne. One thing I was pretty sure of, if I killed her, it would be war between the two packs. I did not want to bring that on our people, not if it could be avoided. Anita, the politician -- now, that was sad.

I opened the door. Cherry looked up at me from her seat on the floor. There was something on her face, a hesitation, that made me say, "What?"

She pushed to her feet, using the wall. "You just look ... aggressive."

"You mean the guns?"

"The guns, the red and black. It's all very stark and out there."

"You think I should be wearing pink and something frilly to cover the guns?"

Cherry smiled. "I think that Roxanne is almost psychotically dominant, and if you go down there dressed like that, she'll take it as a sign that she's got to be just as aggressive."

"You don't even know her," I said.

She said, very simply, "Do you think I'm wrong?"

Put that way ... "I don't have anything pink and frilly in my suitcase."

"How about something not black, not red?"

I frowned at her. "Will purple do?"

"It would be better," she said.

I went back in and changed into a top that was identical cotton knit, scoop necked, but royal purple. I had to admit that the purple was softer. I kept the shoulder holster on but transferred the Firestar to the small of my back. Theoretically, I could draw it from there, but it was not my favorite position. The only shirt I could find to match the purple and cover the shoulder holster was thin and black and nylon, which half defeated the point of wearing the cotton shirt to begin with, but I had to admit that it looked better. It was still black and not cheery, but it wasn't so aggressive. You couldn't see the guns. I could have walked into any mall in the country and not gotten a second glance. Of course, if I moved fast, the shirt would blow back and flash, but hey, I wasn't planning to go jogging.

I opened the door a second time and said, "Better?"

Cherry nodded, smiling. "Much better. Thank you for listening to me. I know it's not one of your best things."

"I am not going to drag Richard's pack into a war because I couldn't tone it down a little."

The smile widened into something gentle and almost heart-warming. "You are a good lupa, Anita, a good Nimir-ra. For a human, you're positively excellent."

"Yeah, but the human part is still true."

She touched my shoulder. "But we don't hold it against you."

I looked at her to see if she was kidding me, but I just couldn't tell. "I think Roxanne will hold it against me."

Cherry nodded. "Probably. They're all waiting in the kitchen."

The kitchen was tiled in black and white with some cracks starting in the high-traffic areas, but the floor was mopped within an inch of its existence. The tile gleamed softly in the indirect light that touched the windows. Like the bedroom Nathaniel was staying in, it would get morning light but not afternoon. Roxanne sat with her back to the door. The edges of the white tablecloth trailed in her lap. There was a stiffness to the way she held herself that said she knew I was there, but she didn't turn around.

Marianne sat across from her with a china teacup and saucer in front of her. She looked at me like she was trying to tell me something with her eyes, but I didn't know what that something was.

Roland stood in the corner next to a hutch that held the china that matched the cup. He had his arms crossed and looked very bodyguardish.

The other man I'd glimpsed stood in the opposite corner like a second bookend. His arms were crossed, and he looked very bodyguardish.

That was the only thing that was similar. Okay, one other: They both had great tans. But I suspected, like Richard, that the new guy wasn't just tanned. His skin was a rich brown, his brown eyes almost perfectly almond shaped. They were almost too small for the rest of that face. It was all angles, high cheekbones, broad forehead, hooked nose. Every feature he had was aggressively male and ethnic. His hair was long and black and moved like silky water as he looked at me. The hair was a solid blackness like my own, that black that has blue highlights in the sun.

He was also at least six foot two, maybe an inch taller, with shoulders to match. He leaned against the wall, exuding a sort of easy physical energy like someone who knew his potential and didn't sweat proving it.

"That's Ben. He's your replacement Sköll until Jamil is healed."

I wanted to turn down the offer of putting my life in a stranger's hands, but was almost sure it would be considered an insult. I nodded. "Hi."

He nodded back. "Hello."

Roxanne turned in the chair, sliding her legs so she was sitting sideways in the chair. "Verne meant our wolf to be an apology for allowing your people to be injured on our lands." She looked full at me and those brown eyes were not friendly. "I think it is you who owes us an apology."

"Apology for what?" I asked.

She stood, and that energy spilled through the room like water, swirling around the ankles, rising to the knees. Her power spilled outward, upward, as if she would fill the room with the breathing warmth of her presence.

She was so powerful, it made my throat tight just standing this close to her. "Shit," I whispered.

"You marked Verne as if he were the least of us and not the greatest."

"You mean the neck thing," I said.

She slammed the chair back into the floor. It fell with a loud crash.

I didn't go for a gun, but it was an effort.

Roxanne stood there breathing far too fast and far too shallow. Strong emotion makes the energy spill worse, and her anger made the power bite and dance over my skin in a tight, electric dance.

Cherry moved up a little behind me. Zane appeared in the doorway and flanked her. They stood to either side and a little back like bodyguards. They'd do their best, but I didn't want to test them against Roland and Ben. I was pretty sure who would win, and it wouldn't be us.

"I am sorry that I marked Verne," I said.

"Lies," Roxanne said.

"I truly didn't mean to do it."

She took a trembling step forward. I didn't step back, but maybe I should have. She was too damn close. At this range, I might get the Browning out, but if I did, I'd have to use it, because she'd be on top of me in seconds.

"Can someone please explain why she's so pissed, and what we can do about it that won't end with one of us dead?"

Marianne stood slowly. Roxanne's head pivoted, and the intensity in that gaze, even turned to another, made my skin jump. Marianne held her hands palm out and advanced slowly around the table towards her lupa.

"Roxanne sees the marking as an insult to Verne and the entire pack," Marianne said.

"I got that," I said. "I didn't mean it to be insulting. I didn't mean to do it at all."

Roxanne's head turned slowly until she was staring at me. Her eyes bled from brown to a rich, startling yellow while I watched.

I put my hand on the butt of the Browning. "Ease down, wolf-girl."

A low, rumbling growl crawled out of that slender throat.

Marianne said, "If you truly didn't mean to be insulting, then would you be willing to make amends?"

I kept my gaze on Roxanne but answered, "How would I make amends?"

"We could fight," Roxanne said.

I looked into her nearly glowing yellow eyes. "I don't think so."

Marianne was standing sort of between us without actually standing between us. "You could offer your neck to Roxanne in a public ceremony."

My eyes slid to Marianne, then back to the werewolf. "I am not letting her near my neck in public or private, not on purpose."

"You don't trust me," Roxanne said.

"Nope."

She took another painfully slow step forward. Marianne did step between us then. If Roxanne moved forward another inch, her shoulder would bump Marianne.

"There is another ceremony," Marianne said.

"I am not offering Roxanne my neck," I said.

"No neck offering, but you do exchange blows."

I felt my eyes widen. I stared at the nearly snarling woman across from me. "You must be joking. She'd kill me."

"I'll let you hit me first," Roxanne said.

"I've read this story. No thanks."

Roxanne frowned. "Story?"

"Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," I said. She still looked puzzled. "The Green Knight lets Sir Gawain have the first blow. Gawain cuts off his head. The Green Knight picks up his head under one arm and says, 'My turn, a year from now!' "

"Haven't read it," she said.

"It's not top twenty reading list, I guess. Anyway, the point is the same. I can hit you as hard as I can, and it won't hurt you. You can flick your fingers in my direction and break my neck."

"Then we fight," she said.

My hand was still resting on the Browning. "I'll kill you, Roxanne, but I won't fight you."

"Coward!"

"You bet," I said.

I felt Richard brush over me, through me, like wind. He'd recognized Roxanne's car and was letting me know he was about to bring a human into the mess. A human who didn't know who the monsters were.

I looked away to see his shape outside the kitchen door, and I shouldn't have. I didn't so much see Roxanne's fist as sense the movement. My hand was already on the Browning, only seconds to pull it, but that blur of movement caught me in the chin. I had the sensation of falling, but I didn't remember hitting the floor or didn't feel it.

I was on the floor looking up at the white ceiling. Marianne was beside me. Her lips were moving, but no sound came out. Sound finally came through with an almost audible pop like a small sonic boom.

Screaming. Everyone was screaming. I heard Richard's voice and Roxanne's and others. I tried to sit up and couldn't.

Marianne touched my shoulder. "Don't try to move."

I wanted to see what was happening, but I couldn't make my body move. I could feel it, but it was like a great weight along my body, as if what I really wanted to do was sleep.

I flexed my right hand, and it was empty. I'd dropped the Browning somewhere. Frankly, I was just happy to be able to move my hand. I wasn't joking when I'd told Roxanne she could break my neck without trying hard.

I kept flexing things, waiting to be able to stand up. I was finally able to move my head enough to see the rest of the room. Richard had Roxanne around the waist, feet completely off the ground. Roland and Ben were trying to pull Richard off of her. Shang-Da was trying to get Dr. Carrie Onslow to go back outside the kitchen door.

Roxanne squirmed out of Richard's arms. She strode over to me, and Zane and Cherry moved like a wall between us. She shoved between the two of them, screaming, "Your turn, bitch! Your turn!"

She was standing there, sideways, with the two wereleopards trying to hold her without hurting her. Her right leg was flexed forward. I think only Marianne heard me say, "My pleasure."

I kicked Roxanne just below the kneecap, aiming up. The kneecap popped out of its socket, and she went down shrieking. I kicked her twice in the face. Blood blossomed from her nose and mouth.

I got to my feet. No one tried to help me. The room had suddenly fallen so quiet, you could hear Roxanne's breathing, too loud, too fast. She spat blood on the floor. I walked around her and the wereleopards until I was close to the table. Ben and Roland still held Richard, but it was like they'd forgotten why they were doing it. Shang-Da picked Carrie Onslow up and carried her out the door with her yelling, "Richard!"

It was one of those moments when time seems to slow and stretch and happen too fast all at the same time. I heard Roxanne say, "I will kill you for that!" But I don't honestly remember whether I picked the chair up before or after she said it. I only remember having the chair and when she leaped at me, I smashed the chair into her like you'd use a baseball bat, taking the arms way back, throwing my shoulders and back muscles into it. The shock of the blow left my fingers and hands tingling, but I kept the grip on the chair.

Roxanne was on all fours on the floor, but she wasn't down. I raised the chair for another blow as her power flowed over me like a scalding wind. I smashed the chair down with everything I had. She caught it and tore it out of my hands.

I backed up and pulled the Firestar.

Roland yelled, "No guns!"

I glanced at Richard. He said, "No guns." The look on his face was enough. He was scared for me. So was I.

No guns. Were they kidding? Roxanne tried to get to her feet, but the knee wouldn't hold. She fell, and the chair thudded into the floor. She screamed and threw the chair at me. I had to dive for the floor to avoid it.

She came for me on hands and one leg in a movement almost too fast to follow. I had plenty of time to shoot her, but I wasn't supposed to shoot her. I crab walked backwards, trying to stay away. The Firestar was still in my hand. I yelled, "Richard!"

The marks suddenly opened between us like a floodgate. I was bathed in the scent of his skin and the distant musk of fur.

Roxanne hesitated in that maniac, skittering crawl. Her pretty face began to stretch outward as if a hand were pushing out from the inside. A muzzle bloomed in the middle of that human face, covered in human skin with a line of lipstick where lips used to be.

I reached down that line of power between Richard and myself. I wrapped the scent of him, the feel of him, the jittering play of energy. I could suddenly feel the moon in the daylight sky, and knew -- knew in every cell of my body -- that tomorrow night was it, tomorrow night I would be free. And for an instant, I wasn't sure whose thought that was, Richard's or his beast's.

I left the Firestar on the floor and got to my feet with the window behind me. I knew Richard wouldn't let her kill me, but I also knew she was going to hurt me. I'd thrown a werewolf through a window once upon a time. It had stopped the fight. It was all I could think of. Of course, Roxanne had to cooperate and run at me like a maniac to set herself up for the throw. If she came at me slower, it wouldn't work.

She came at me slower, in a limping run. I was out of ideas. One thing I knew: If she touched me with those claws or that mouth, I might be a lupa for real next month. Time was in that crystalline run, slow and fast, slow and glitteringly fast. I thought of several things to do and wouldn't be fast enough to do any of them. But I'd go down trying.

Richard was yelling, "No claws, Roxanne, no claws."

I don't think Roxanne heard him. She swiped at me with those monstrous claws, and I ducked under the swinging arm. I ducked blows that were too fast to see, avoided her like I knew where she'd be. It was Richard, the marks, but it was too confusing, too new for me to be able to fight with it. I could use it to avoid her, but only for so long.

I ended up on my back, on the floor, pointing the Firestar up at her. She was coming with claws and teeth, and I was out of options.

The door burst open, and Verne yelled, "Roxanne, no!" I felt his power crash through the room like the lid on a boiling pot, something thrown over the heat, to hold it, contain it, but it didn't stop it.

Ben and Roland were suddenly hanging onto Roxanne, dragging her back from me. If Verne had given an order to them, I hadn't heard it. Roxanne was cutting them up, slicing their arms open, and they were taking it.

Verne was still yelling, "I lied, Roxanne. I lied. She didn't proposition me."

Roxanne went very still in their arms. She spoke around that only partly human mouth, "What did you say?"

Lucy came in behind Verne, through the still-open door. She shut the door and leaned against it, smiling, enjoying the show.

"I said, I lied," Verne said. "I'm an old man, and you are beautiful and powerful and thirty years younger than I am. I told you when she marked my neck that she propositioned me. She didn't."

Roxanne relaxed in the grip of her bleeding bodyguards. You could feel the tension seep away, and with it her flesh. Her face, her hands, flowed until she stood human again. Her nose was bloody where I'd kicked her.

"You can let me go," she said. "I won't hurt her."

They didn't let her go. They looked at Verne.

"How about me, darling?" he said. "You going to hurt me?"

"When we get home, I'll kick the shit out of you, but not here, not now."

Verne smiled. Roxanne smiled. And both smiles were the same. It was more than lust, though that was mixed in with it. It was a look that couples have, like a secret language, a look that excludes everyone else and cannot be explained.

I looked at Richard. "They be crazier than we are."