Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"In a month," I sighed, wedging the receiver between my shoulder and ear, checking my online calendar. I had a meeting with police detectives in fifteen minutes, which meant I could plausibly cut the call short. Thank you corporate America.

Judith's sigh rattled over the speaker. I could picture her leaning over the kitchen counter in a similar pose to my own, furiously chopping vegetables or deboning chicken for her soup. Dad had caught a nasty cold from his patient. 'Twas the season. There were two animators out this week due to flu. We'd tiptoed into February, so cases would start tapering off in a month or so. Still, the end couldn't come soon enough for most of my coworkers.

Honestly, I was looking forward to it too. I was tired of getting the stink eye from the other animators. Yes, the marks I'd received from my vampire Master kept me safe from most viruses, but they had also come with a lot of baggage. I'd take sniffles over being the MVP in the plot to destroy the planet. If I'd stayed in Stillwater and kept my head down, it was likely Mommy Darkest would have found a different necromancer to play with.

The nightmares were getting worse. My live-in fuck buddy London had to wake me a few times a night just to keep me from screaming myself hoarse. It was a good thing vampires were nocturnal. If we had an overlapping sleep schedule, I was pretty sure she'd have smothered me with one of our fluffy down pillows.

"Anita..."

"I promised that I'd be home in a month. Don't rush me."

My voice was soft but firm. I hadn't snapped, which would have been unheard of this time last year. It was astonishing just how cordial we'd become in the six months since the...incident in Stillwater. I hadn't tucked my head into her bosom and poured my heart out, but we talked regularly and on increasingly serious topics.

Judith was the only one I discussed my mother with, though it was probably a roundabout way to talk with my Dad. He hadn't spoken to me much since my mother's true identity had come to light. I was pretty sure he resented me for tearing off his rose-colored nostalgia glasses and forcing him to see the ugly truth. He wanted to keep Julieta's image pristine for his own peace of mind. I wished I could do the same. That Judith of all people had become my go-to person when I needed to vent...well, it just went to show how strange my life had become.

"It's less than a month, actually," Judith sighed again, this time with gusto. "Twenty-four days, to be exact. And I wasn't calling to guilt you into moving back to St. Louis. I was letting you know that your sister is being induced tonight. Preeclampsia. I wasn't sure if you'd want to fly out."

She tried to keep the hope out of her voice. It was a lost cause. Andria's kid was her first grandbaby, so it was natural she'd want the whole family in one place to celebrate. The only problem? Andria was carrying Richard's baby. The fallen corpse of our relationship had still been warm when he fucked my step-sister. And while it was technically not my business who he fucked at that point, I couldn't help but feel it had been an act of spite. I was disgusted with her and furious with him. Did it make me petty to miss out on the birth of the spite baby? Probably. But I'd scraped the bottom of my barrel, and there was nary a fuck to be found.

At least I hadn't snapped that Andria wasn't my sister. I'd trained myself out of that one since there was a chance Josh wasn't related to me either. Family was more than just blood, which meant he was my pain-in-the-ass kid brother no matter who had donated DNA to make him. Andria was Josh's sister. If I accepted him as a brother, logic dictated she was my sister. My shitty, ex-boyfriend seducing sister. I'd accept her. It didn't mean I had to be happy for her.

"I can't," I said. I hoped I sounded apologetic, instead of agitated. "I have a consult with some detectives from Albuquerque tonight and it sounds serious since they're willing to travel to a different city for psychic help. If it was just a routine raising I'd try to book a flight but..."

I let my voice trail off, unable to complete the lie. It made me a selfish bitch, but I wouldn't have gone to see Andria and Richard even if my schedule was wide open. I'd have begged Edward for a brief out-of-state job, some weapons training, or the tear-inducing boredom of surveillance. There were too many hurt feelings, and I wasn't willing to salve anyone's but my own.

"I understand," Judith said. Something told me she also disapproved, but she didn't push. "Do you want pictures at least? Jeanette called to say she'd be at Mercy Branson in a few hours. Richard apparently offered an olive branch. It's a girl, and they've decided to name her Honoria. Honoria Charlotte Blake."

I blinked, and my vision blurred for a second. The name hit me like a kick to the solar plexus, leaving me struggling to breathe. Honoria. A variation on Honnorée. Jeanette's first and only daughter. Marmee wasn't all I dreamed about, though she'd crowded out more of the routine nightmares. On the nights when the dark wasn't trying to erode my sanity, the dead came to haunt me. Through Jeanette, I now knew what it felt like to hold her babies, alive and beautiful, and vital. I also knew what it was like to find them cold and still, lividity marks discoloring their tiny bodies. I'd woken with tears running down my face, crying for children that had died centuries before I was even born.

How she and Richard had gotten to the point where he was willing to name his daughter after her late child I'd never know. It seemed like a lot had happened in my absence.

"Yes," I whispered. My voice cracked. Damn it. "I'd like that. Will you send one of Jeanette with the b...with Honoria?"

"Of course," Judith said gently.

An awkward silence stretched between us. I checked the clock. Eight minutes. I considered bidding her a hasty farewell and hanging up when she cleared her throat and said, "So, how'd the date go on Friday? You said you were um..."

My lips twitched. Judith hadn't blinked when I'd come out as bisexual. Everyone seemed to know it long before I did. It was the polyamory and/or swinging that seemed to confuse her. She was trying so hard, so I could forgive her for the missteps and her evident discomfort. She was doing a damn sight more than Dad.

"Swinging," I supplied.

"How is that different than the...poly...stuff?"

"Polyamory usually involves a romantic component. Not always, but generally. Swinging is casual. It's a single person or a couple looking to hook up with someone outside of their relationship. All parties agree on it, so it's not cheating. I tend to find couples looking for a third. Sometimes London comes with me and it's a foursome."

"I see," she said. Poor Judith. She sounded flustered and was probably regretting she'd changed the subject. I wasn't. It was a lot easier to talk about sex than my complicated web of current and ex relationships. "So, um...how'd that go?"

"It was a disaster," I said brightly. If I didn't I'd start hurling obscenities. It would be bad for business. "Dinner went great, they seemed nice enough and we kept to our agreement of keeping our personal lives out of it. We'd even given each other false names for privacy's sake. But when we got undressed, they took one look at the scars and all but sprinted in the other direction. At least I was the one who booked the hotel room. The jacuzzi and mini-bar did help the sting a little bit."

That was what I got for forgetting that not everyone could overlook the toll my profession took on my body. Jeanette had seen worse than my scars in the six centuries she'd been alive. So had most of the vampires I'd slept with. The social therian groups saw them as a sign of dominance. I'd killed anyone who'd harmed me or mine.

But Juan and Maria were human. The first vanilla humans I'd ever had sex with since Curtis. Humans were socialized to avoid anything out of the ordinary. The imperfect were shunted off to the margins of society. Anyone considered abnormal was forced to endure mockery and made to feel shame for things they generally couldn't help. It shouldn't have shocked me that they'd leave. But it still hurt.

"I'm so sorry, Anita," Judith crooned. Or would have. With the clack-clack of her knife on the cutting board, it lost some of its syrupy tone.

I checked the clock. Four minutes, and I could hear voices in the hall.

"I've got to let you go," I said quickly. "Tell Andria I wished her luck and to give me ideas for what Honoria needs. I missed the baby shower."

I hung up before she could reply. The voices were definitely coming closer to my door. This must be Detectives Hernando and Maya Ramirez. I sat up a little straighter and folded my hands on top of the desk, fixing a professional smile in place. Drake Garza might have been a bundle of neuroses dressed in a suit, and armed with a very shiny combover, but he was a decent boss. I could behave myself when someone wasn't constantly pushing my contrary button.

The smile dropped off my face when I spied the plainclothes officers stepping through my door. They looked different in business casual, and they hadn't been carrying concealed when we first met. To be fair, neither had I. Verity had been waiting in the wings, just in case, so I'd felt safe enough to only pack knives and a small Baby Browning in a clutch. Guns got in the way of what we were there to do.

Hernando was taller than me, which wasn't a difficult hurdle to clear. He was nearly the same height as Edward, which meant he was around average height for a Hispanic man. He had a strong jaw lined with stubble, a generous mouth, and some of the most piercing brown eyes I'd ever seen. His wife, Maya, was a little shorter than me, but just as striking as her husband. She'd swept her long, satiny black hair into an updo so it would be harder to grab.

Both detectives froze when they caught sight of me. Hernando's eyes widened. Maya made some inarticulate sound of panic in her throat. I just smiled at both of them until the door clicked shut behind them and Drake puttered away. I was betting they were wishing they'd used real names now. Consults were less awkward when you hadn't tried to screw the expert.

"So," I said, leaning back in my chair. "What can I do you for, Detectives? Or rather, not do you. We didn't get that far did we?"

They exchanged an uneasy glance. I almost expected them to turn around and walk out. Again.

Finally, Hernando said, "We were informed you solved a serial flaying case in St. Louis."

I frowned. "Several, actually. The city was lousy with skinwalkers for a while. In the first case we had eighteen victims in total, and thirteen fatalities. The rest lived when their skins were returned. We only lost one therian in the second wave. Are you saying that Albuquerque has a skinwalker on the loose?"

"We don't know," Maya admitted. "And none of the Native tribes want to consult on the case. You may not know everything, but a layman is better than nothing at all. We have thirty-five victims total, and we're finding new bodies every day. They're all human, they aren't responding to treatment. If we don't get them help soon, they are all going to die."

I swallowed thickly. Only last week they'd been trying to hook up with a stranger. Cops didn't do that during cases like this. Which meant they'd found an average of five bodies per day since we'd last met. Jesus fucking Christ.

I rubbed my temples and let out a slow breath.

"Show me the pictures."

Chapter Text

"Do you need polish?" I asked pleasantly.

I'd been certain I'd curse them out if I ever saw them again, but honestly? Now that the shoe was on the other, mortified foot, I found it funny and satisfying as hell. Schadenfreude was a sweet treat, and I wasn't going to sour it by ripping them a new asshole. Let them choke on a little crow.

Hernando's eyes flicked up to meet mine. Things low in my body tightened when I met those eyes, and I mentally cursed myself for it. The last man I'd responded this viscerally to was Ulfric of our local pack, and now my wolf to call. I'd been heading toward acceptance of casual relationships at a general mosey. The complex nature of my metaphysical relationships had left me leaning that way. If the ardeur hadn't forced my hand, I would have arrived there on my own, free of any resentment.

But the ardeur had forced my hand, and I'd never been the type to accept coercion. Swinging had been something of a landmark move on my part and now...this. I'd put myself in a vulnerable position, only to have these chuckleheads sucker punch me. Hernando and Maya had no business turning me on after what they'd done, but here we were. I was still lusting after these sons of bitches. Damn it.

Small lines appeared between his brows when he frowned. "Polish?"

"For your shoes," I said with a tight smile. "You haven't looked anywhere else since coming in, so I assumed you were very concerned about them."

Hernando didn't blush, but he at least had the decency to look embarrassed. I counted it as a win. It's hard to make veteran cops admit to any wrongdoing, even tacitly.

Maya was on the other end of the spectrum, unable to keep her eyes from making the circuit. I'd grown very familiar with the circuit in the years since becoming a vampire hunter. I added new stops along the unsightly tour every year and was only half-joking when I told Jeanette I'd eventually have more scars than clear skin. I'd worn a red sleeveless blouse to the office this evening, which meant most of them were on display. If I'd been at a raising, I might have pulled on a cardigan for the client's comfort. Right now I was content to let her stew in it.

She wouldn't meet my eyes directly either, focusing on the forced scarification on both arms. The cross and eagle feather were the most aesthetically pleasing of the bunch. Both had healed to a smooth ivory sheen. The feather could have even looked intentional, if not framed by the more graphic mounds of tissue at my collarbone and elbow. It had been etched onto me with care by an Ancient Aztec vampire named Tonatiuh in the final seconds of his unlife. At the time I thought it had been an act of spite. Now I knew better. It had been a mark of his favor. In those last moments, I was convinced he saw my mother's face, not mine.

But I didn't owe them that story. My body and the marks on it had ceased to be their problem the moment they ran from the hotel room. If one of the scars was relevant to their case, maybe I'd elaborate, but until then, they could keep their hands, eyes, and theories to themselves.

"So," I began, pulling a file from the top of the pile. Even with the limited amount of information they had, the stack was still formidable. "What are you doing here?"

Hernando frowned. "We already told you, Ms. Blake. We're here for a consult."

I waved the file at them reprovingly. "That's not what I mean and you know it. What are you doing here, together? I don't know what it's like here, but where I'm from, married or dating officers don't get to stay in the same unit. They certainly aren't each other's partner."

They exchanged another uneasy glance. It seemed like I was full of surprises. How much had they been told about my expertise? If they knew about the skinwalker cases, they had to know I had some experience in police work. Though I supposed not all consultants worked as closely with police as I had. You had to be made of sterner stuff to be on the ground with RPIT.

"You're right," Maya said. Her small, pink tongue flicked out to wet her lips nervously. "While we both work Robbery-Homicide, we're on opposite ends of the department and we rarely overlap on cases. In this case, there weren't many options. This case is stretching the department thin. There are only so many officers to go around and so..."

"So, you put your all-stars onto a task force that can find the sick son of a bitch while you leave the rookie cops to field routine homicides and any breaking and entering cases that crop up," I said, leaning back in my chair with a sigh. "Yeah, I get that. It's actually why St. Louis created the Regional Preternatural Investigation Taskforce. Too much preternatural crime, and too few officers willing to tackle it. You might think about establishing one when this clusterfuck is over."

Hernando's lips turned up at the corners. "Something like that. We're actually hoping that it will be unnecessary after we find the 'sick son of a bitch.'"

I flipped the first file open with a snort. "Oh trust me, there's always something creepy-crawly lurking around the corner. Now, which came first, the homicide or the robbery?"

Hernando's brow arched. "Pardon?"

"You heard me. I'll make an educated guess and say that you're here for convenience's sake. Maya said you're at opposite ends of the department, which means that one of you is in homicide while the other works robbery cases. If it's necessary for your both to be here, then these deaths have an element of both. I was taught not to make assumptions until I've taken in all the facts of a case, but I'd say that's already a strike against the skinwalker theory."

Hernando and Maya's hands disappeared into their coats in an almost synchronized move, each emerging with a small notepad. Hernando actually began to scrawl notes while Maya gave me an expectant look.

"What do you mean by that? Are you saying that skinwalkers wouldn't be inclined to steal?"

I shrugged. "No, not necessarily, but the theft wouldn't be the point. I'll admit that four skinwalkers is a small sample size, but most people don't survive meeting even one. The skinwalkers I've encountered enjoy inflicting pain not only on the people they skin, but on anyone they come into contact with. They have a sixth sense about what will hurt a person physically, psychically, or emotionally. Sometimes all three. They'll kill if they have to but their main goal is torment. If they were breaking in to steal something, it would be something that would cause the owner mental anguish if lost. If these people are dying, they have bigger things to feel anguished about."

Hernando continued to scribble while Maya regarded me warily. I couldn't tell if I'd earned points in her mental ledger or made her even more grateful that she'd decided to pass on further dates with me. You had to be a special kind of dangerous to walk away from an encounter with a skinwalker largely unscathed.

Her eyes were a deep-red brown that flashed maroon in the right light. I'd know. They looked incredible by (the very illicit) candlelight. There wasn't an inch of her that didn't look good under that soft, wavering light.

"So," I repeated. "Which came first, the homicide or the robbery?"

Maya nibbled the top of her pen thoughtfully before saying, "I'd like your opinion on the bodies before we discuss further details. Just give me your first impressions."

Well, damn it. I'd been hoping to put it off for another minute or two. Crime scenes were never scenic locales, but I was dreading these in particular. In police work, it wasn't uncommon to see someone's insides on their outsides. Gray matter and loose intestines didn't faze me anymore. A completely flayed corpse? Yeah, that still had some ick factor. There was something so viscerally wrong about pulling back the curtain all the way, exposing slabs of glistening red muscle, yellowing fat, and white bone.

But I'd done this before. I knew what Nathaniel looked like minus his skin. Strangers should be a cakewalk. I'd keep telling myself that until I believed it.

Hamburger. That was the first word that sprang to mind when I looked down at the photo. It looked like someone had inexpertly butchered a deer and dumped the remains onto the floor after getting fed up with the exercise. The blue eyes were huge and almost cartoonish in this stripped-down version of a face. The mouth was caught in a silent scream, and I could just make out the nub of a severed tongue.

The next few pictures were the same, with only variations in hair or eye color to differentiate their faces. Some were taller or had more body fat, but the scenes were depressingly uniform. Inexpertly flayed skin, eyelids removed, and tongues severed. Some were found in clothes, but most were naked. Even then, the genitals were so mangled it was hard to make a definitive call on the person's sex.

"It's not a skinwalker," I said finally.

"How can you be sure?" Hernando asked. "You can't tell at a glance."

"You're right, I can't be a hundred percent sure. I'd need to see the victims in person but I'd say it's unlikely."

"Why?" Maya asked leaning closer. She'd even stopped ogling my scars. Goodie.

I tapped the top picture. It was possibly the worst of the bunch. I suspected that this was the first victim, though I hadn't rifled through the paperwork to check. Everyone got better with practice, even serial killers.

"There are a lot of reasons. You say all the victims are human. Even though skinwalkers can take human skins, they prefer not to. A skin only lasts as long as the creature they take it from. Human beings tend to have an average life expectancy of seventy years. Therian life spans are double or triple that. It's more economical to target something long-lived. And then there's the manner in which they were flayed. It's a hack job. Skinwalkers wear the pelts of the predators they skin. These 'pelts' wouldn't be useable, so their removal was symbolic, not practical."

"Couldn't it be a young, inexperienced skinwalker?" Hernando asked. "Wouldn't that account for the 'hack job?'"

"It could account for one badly mutilated body, not the following thirty-four. The victims in St. Louis did have their tongues removed, but it was to keep them quiet. And more often than not, one skinwalker teaches another how to perform the magic that turns them into what they are. It's that magic that lets them skin a person thoroughly and cleanly. They have spells that can cause severe edema, which makes the skin easier to remove. Skinwalkers also don't tend to leave corpses lying around. They store what remains of the victim for later use. This is performative. Someone wanted these people found."

Maya's eyes narrowed. "You seem to know an awful lot about the process, Ms. Blake."

The police didn't trust me. It must be a day ending in Y. A smile crept onto my face but didn't push up into my eyes. Anyone who knew me would recognize the expression for what it was and retreat to a safe distance. Jamil called it my 'going-to-cut-a-bitch' smile and I'd yet to find a more fitting descriptor.

"I should hope so. When I faced down the last skinwalker, she explained the process to me. In vivid detail. She told me that after she killed me, she'd fuck my then-boyfriend while wearing my face. It's not the sort of thing you forget."

Technically, I'd learned a lot of what skinwalkers did through Bernardo, but I didn't want to put him in the sights of these detectives. If he caught wind of my catastrophic almost-threesome, I'd never live it down. And since he partnered with Otto half the time, there was a chance the misogynistic German profiler turned mercenary could learn about my escapades as well. I'll take 'no thank you' for five hundred, Alex.

Maya flinched. "Ah."

I shut the manila folder and pushed the stack across the desk toward them. "I'd like to take a closer look at the bodies to confirm but at the moment I'd say that the odds are less than ten percent. Whatever or whoever is doing this isn't a skinwalker. That doesn't preclude the use of magic during the murders, but again, I'd need to be on the scene to make that determination."

"That won't be necessary," Hernando said, stuffing the files back into a case. "I think we can find a reputable psychic closer to home. You were only contacted because of your background with skinwalkers. Now that you've eliminated that as a possibility, I don't see this partnership moving forward."

I stared at him, trying to read any trace of bluff in his face. Nothing. It was as blank and pretty as a landscape portrait. I could stare at it all day long and only become more frustrated by its generic lack of substance. God, he was serious.

"You know I have experience with law enforcement and an excellent track record when it comes to catching supernatural nasties. I can help you with this. Don't shut me out because you're embarrassed. You didn't like how I looked naked. It was bound to happen to me sooner or later. I'm a big girl and I can move past that."

"That's not why-" Maya began, but her eyes betrayed her. They dipped back to the scars on my arms, settling on the brands on either side. So much prettier to look at than the mounded tissue on my collarbone and elbow. "I mean...you're attractive enough but..."

I held up a hand. "Save it. Say that I'm not your cup of hot cocoa, and leave it at that. Let me into the investigation. I can help."

They exchanged another look. It was that unmistakable look long-term partners mastered, where an entire conversation was had with no words spoken aloud.

"No," Hernando said slowly. "I don't think that's wise. Thank you for your help, Ms. Blake, but we have work to do."

I stood, hands braced against my desk, ready to lay into them both. It was a wasted gesture. They were on their feet and out the door before I had a chance to say anything more. Quick exits seemed to be their specialty. I just stood there for a moment carving crescents into my desk blotter. That was it? They came in, took one look at what I had to offer, and then booked it in the other direction? Twice? No. This wasn't over.

If I couldn't get invited into the case, I'd have to go over their heads. And I knew just the man to call.

I sank into my chair, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed one of a handful of numbers I'd memorized during my time with Van Cleef's organization. My nails continued to bite into the blotter as I waited. Someone picked up, but it wasn't Edward.

A pleasant female voice, tinged with the faintest of southern drawls answered, "This is Donna Forrester, may I ask who's calling?"

My breath caught in my throat and I choked on the angry tirade I'd been about to deliver. This couldn't be happening. It was too damn surreal.

I was speaking to Edward's wife.

Chapter Text

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Fuck. Did I answer her? What would I say if I did? What, if anything, did Edward's wife know about his profession? He'd probably kill me if I outed him to his little suburban family. He valued me in his own way, but not over his family. He'd demonstrated that in Branson during the Aleveris Pharmaceutical case. I should probably hang up or pretend I had the wrong number.

But even so, it would cause trouble. Edward and I communicated through burner phones, not his real phone number. If she'd found it randomly, it looked suspicious as hell. A strange woman called on a phone she hadn't known about, then hung up on her without warning. In my haste, I hadn't even bothered to call from my burner phone, which meant she could probably trace my mobile to the Sante Fe Animators Inc. directory with a little digging. Any sleuthing wife worth her salt would be at my door sometime soon demanding to know if I'd slept with her husband. Even if she was turned away by office security she'd still cause a scene, which was bad for business.

Which meant...oh hell. I had to answer her. I scrambled to remember just what badge 'Ted' held even as I answered with a cheery, customer service, "Hello, is Ted available?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Donna replied, "No, I'm sorry he's not home right now. Can I take a message?"

The words were innocuous, but I heard suspicion couched in every syllable. Damn it. I was so going to punch Edward for this. Never in my life had I been forced into the position of the other woman.

"Sure," I said, sitting slowly. My knees were a little wobbly after this sudden revelation. "Though I'm not sure how much he'll want me to reveal. It does pertain to an ongoing police investigation. If you could have him call me back at this number or drop by Santa Fe's Animators Inc location I'd be very grateful."

"Oh! Why didn't you say so? That's only about fifteen minutes from the house. Why don't you meet us for supper and you can discuss it afterward?"

I stared blankly at the far wall, processing the wealth of information in those three sentences. I'd already guessed that Edward lived near the west coast, but I'd never dreamed we'd be living in the same state, let alone a stone's throw away from each other. It was something of a miracle we hadn't already run into each other at a gas station or grocery store. I'd probably passed one of the Mission-style homes that lined the roads near my work. Hell, I might live on the opposite side of suburbia from him. I'd sprung for my own digs this time around, rather than rely on Van Cleef's largesse.

I was starting to think Rafael had a point. No matter how many times I donated my cut of the profits to charities or friends in need, it didn't erase the guilt. I was an assassin with an array of shiny fake badges to choose from, and a bone to pick with the universe that screwed me. How was this any different than what I'd done in the years before meeting Jeanette? It was actually worse, in some ways. When I'd been backed up by Dolph and Zerbrowski, I'd been able to convince myself I was in the right. It was harder to stomach when you worked for an organization so shady that the right hand couldn't see what the left was up to. I was one of the Four Horsemen and I still wasn't sure what kind of deep state fuckery went on behind the scenes. I wouldn't be able to manage the Menagerie until I'd been with the organization for a while.

"I'm not sure that's wise," I hedged. "The details aren't meant for civilian ears."

Technically I was a civilian at the moment, but Doucette was hopeful that my badge would be reinstated later in the month. My blood work had come back as non-infectious, as predicted. My ability to shapeshift was an amalgamation of skinwalker magic and my connection to my animal to call, not the result of a therian virus. Inconclusive or negative test results were normal in around a third of panwere cases. Granted, there were only thirty worldwide, but it lent credence to my lies. Sometimes results showed strains, and sometimes they read as close to human normal. Thanks to Jeanette's marks I was presumed the only non-transmittable case. My role might be limited, but I'd work up to having full status and a normal case load...eventually.

"Which is why I'll take the kids home after dinner," she said primly. "Ted is coming back from a job in Albuquerque, so we're taking separate cars. It won't be a bother, I promise. You just let me show you a little southern hospitality Miss..."

There was a pause as if she couldn't believe she'd forgotten to ask my name. If Donna was as traditional as I suspected, she'd had Miss Manners drilled into her head from the moment she could talk. In her haste to figure out the 'why' of the call, she'd forgotten the 'who.' I considered giving her a fake name, but ultimately decided against it. She could still snoop, and my real name was on the Animators Inc directory. Best not to raise her suspicions any more than necessary.

"Blake. Anita Blake. And I'm still not sure it's wise. Ted seems like a private person. I'm not sure he'd want me butting in."

"He's a gentleman, Miss Blake, I'm sure he'll handle the situation with grace. Come to dinner, I insist."

There was an 'or else' hidden in the invitation, but I couldn't tell whether or not it was directed at me or Edward. I hoped it was me. I could handle a round of alpha female posturing over dinner. That had been my life from middle school on. But if it was directed at Edward...well, he wasn't the sort of man who responded well to threats or ultimatums. It would be stupid to go. It was also a bad idea to throw a wrench into his personal life by snubbing his wife. Damned if I did, damned if I didn't.

And I had to admit, I was curious to see who could have captured Edward's attention this thoroughly. I'm nosy. Sue me.

"Alright, Donna. Where and what time?"

Chapter Text

I let the car idle outside Los Cuates for a while before finally twisting the keys out of the ignition. My hands had started shaking sometime during the short drive over and hadn't stopped. The low-key anxiety that had gripped me after stepping out of the office was irrational. Edward was deadly, and I believed that, at one time, he would have killed me if the price was right. The threats facing me now were so much larger than any petty squabble I could have with my fellow Horseman, but my fingers weren't convinced. Small tremors still ran through them, rattling my keys.

"Get a grip," I muttered. "This is not the time."

But I couldn't shake the certainty that this was a bad idea. There was no way Edward could kill me in the parking lot and make it look like an accident, but that didn't preclude an assassination attempt later. Edward had long speculated which of us was more deadly. If things went badly, we'd find out the hard way.

Warm air wrapped around me when I stepped out of my Jeep. New Mexican air felt balmy after the nippy winters I'd spent in Missouri. The moon hid behind a bank of fluffy cumulus clouds, lining them in silver. I wanted to take that as a positive sign, but the cynic in me won out. There was no way this ended well for anyone. If by some miracle I got out of this unscathed, things would be strained between us. I was crossing a line and I knew it. I should turn back. But I wouldn't. Donna knew. It was out of my hands now.

I leaned against the car, scanning the lot every few seconds waiting for his arrival. It was possible that he'd beaten me here and was already inside, but I doubted it. Donna had my number now, so she'd have texted if he arrived early. My patience ultimately paid off. Only a few minutes later a Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUV pulled into the lot, parking alongside a blue Audi R8. I'd been eyeing it with a certain amount of admiration, wondering if it belonged to Edward's mystery wife. The G-Class SUV just confirmed what I'd already suspected. The SUV was all-terrain, just like my Jeep, a necessity in a job like ours. You never knew when a vamp or therian was going to take off into the brush, so it was best to be prepared. And, like a lot of men I knew, he couldn't resist flaunting the evidence of his wealth, even if it was only in the vehicles he drove. For out-of-state jobs, a rental would do just fine. At home? Well, he had people to impress.

I pushed away from the Jeep and began walking for the doors, keeping my hands loose at my side. Even in his Ted disguise, Edward would be hypervigilant. He'd see me reaching for a weapon and respond accordingly. So I held my head high and tried to keep loose. You didn't show fear to a predator. Still, I couldn't help but tense a little as I approached. His eyes swiveled toward me on reflex, assessing a potential threat. Nothing could have prepared me for his reaction.

Edward performed one jerky little spasm before going completely still. His eyes bulged, just a little, and his lips parted in surprise. He blinked a few times as if hoping I'd disappear if he just tried hard enough. He almost looked...frightened. It was just...wrong. Death didn't spook easily. A day ago I would have said he didn't spook at all.

He took one deliberate step toward me, then another, his shock shifting to an arctic fury. Every line of his face was thrown into sharp relief as the moon crept out from behind the clouds. The trick of the light made him look almost cadaverous in a way I'd only seen once before. I'd been the cause then too when I'd insinuated that Otto would target his family if he ever became aware of their existence. I couldn't say why, but Edward cared about these people in the limited way he could.

When he opened his mouth I expected a shout, but the cool, clipped tone was worse than any bellow.

"Anita."

How did he manage to pack that much menace into three syllables? His rage was palpable under his stony exterior, a furious heat that threatened to melt his composure.

"Edward," I said. My voice didn't shake. Good for me. "Or is it Ted? I get your aliases mixed up. It would be easier to keep track if you didn't have so many of them. At this point, I think I need a flowchart."

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a low, deadly voice. A muscle under his eye twitched. I was getting to him. Shit.

"I need to talk to you."

"Whatever you came to talk about can wait until midnight. You can't be here."

I folded my arms over my chest in an effort not to go for the Browning in its shoulder holster. My lizard brain was more logical than the rest of me, screaming at me to fight or run.

"It's too late for that," I said. "Your wife is expecting me. You need to hide your burner phone better, by the way. I'm here to do damage control. I don't know what, if anything, you've told her, so I figured it was the best course of action. If she's in the dark, she's going to think you're having an affair. A secret phone and correspondence with a strange woman looks pretty damning."

Edward spat a low oath. It sounded more obscene in his good-ol'-boy Ted accent than in the more neutral tone he used in private. Had I bought into the polite southern charm despite knowing the truth? Maybe.

"So you flew out here to stick your nose in my business?" he demanded. "You should have just hung up, Anita. This isn't something you're allowed to fuck with. They're my family, do you hear me? Do you have any idea what you've done? Otto has been obsessed with you since Lockridge. If he's not in town watching you already, he will be. You're leading him to them."

Fuck. I hadn't even considered that. He'd been something of a non-issue since Jade and I had started a relationship. Otto was well-connected and smart, but he wasn't in the major leagues. The Harlequin were the elite, the best that the supernatural world had to offer. She couldn't prevent him from stalking me twenty-four seven, but she'd made it a chore to do so. I knew from our most recent communication that she was out of the country this month, so her assistance would be limited.

"I hate to take a pin to your overinflated ego, but I'm not here for you. I'm renting my own place in the suburbs and working shifts at the local branch of Animators Inc. I'm technically on a break. I called to talk to you about the case I'm consulting on hoping you could get me on in a more permanent capacity. I had no idea you lived this close until your wife told me."

His mouth turned down in a frown. "I don't believe in coincidence."

I shrugged and jabbed a finger at the sky. "Blame him then."

His frown only deepened. "I don't believe in God, either."

I'd always suspected he was an atheist but it was nice to have it confirmed. Unfortunately, it left me up shit creek when facing vampires. My holy objects were about as useful as rocks these days. I could technically use objects blessed by clergy, but it could get dicey. Blessings could wear away from an object when confronted by too many evils and there was no telling when it could fail you. I'd take my chances with my Browning. At least I knew how to respond when a gun jammed.

"I do."

Or did. I just wasn't sure which God or Gods I should be praying to. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I still believed that some hand guided the formation of life on Earth, even if the origin story wasn't the one I'd grown up with. That was one belief I wasn't willing to part with, agnostic or not. I'd been dabbling with other religions, trying to see if any of them felt right. I'd even considered the pantheon my mother had worshiped. Tezcatlipoca, Quetzalcoatl, Huitzilopochtli, Xipe Totec, and Mictlantecuhtli, among others. But most importantly her master, Tonatiuh. It was the last that ultimately turned me off from the pantheon. Even if I could somehow get over the potentially bloody rituals I'd undergo, I just couldn't stomach worshiping the man who'd tried to force me into servitude.

"Just go home," he urged. "If we're lucky, Otto will think I'm meeting a client, not my wife. I'll deal with her questions and we'll talk about what to do with him later."

"How to kill him, you mean," I said. "You're not going to let him live if he's this close."

He remained silent, but I could read his answer in the steely set of his jaw. Otto's days were numbered. Good.

He shook his head after a moment and said, "It might not come to that. There's a chance I could have him extradited. Agent Daniels was onto something during the Aleveris Pharmaceutical case. I'm almost certain he was in Traeger's Cult Formation Experiment, but I haven't pinned down his birth name yet. It was probably changed by the government for his protection. A lot of the kids were harassed afterward and he was probably a preteen or teen when the cult was founded. Several went on to either kill themselves or continue the cycle of abuse. We both know which Otto chose."

Did we ever. And the problem was, I was sure he was doomed almost from the start. His level of sadism didn't spring up out of nowhere. Add trauma to a person with a leaning toward anti-social personality disorder and you had a home-cooked sociopath.

"Why were they harassed?"

Edward's shoulders twitched, his version of a shrug. "It was religious groups mostly but they were pretty vocal. Leviticus has a lot to say about incest, and most of the kids were raped by the older members of the cult. Some of the perpetrators were foster parents but enough of them were biologically related to the victims that it stirred up controversy."

"But the kids had nothing to do with it."

Edward shrugged again. "You think that zealots are rational?"

"Point taken," I said with a frown. "God, I never thought I'd say this but...Poor Otto."

"Don't feel too badly for him. He came to the States to escape the law, most likely. He's killed at least one person in Germany and I want to nail him for it. He won't be bothering anyone if he's rotting in a supermax prison."

I snorted. "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black? You're a prolific serial killer, complete with a fancy moniker. All you lack is a ritual and publicity. You belong in jail too. Hell, I belong in jail for some of the stuff we've done. I'm a morally suspect executioner and you are a morally bankrupt sociopath."

Edward was silent for a long moment, gaze fixed in the middle distance. Finally, he said, "I wasn't always, you know."

I raised a brow. "Wasn't what?"

"A sociopath," he continued quietly. "I wasn't born with any personality disorders. I was a pretty normal kid. Angry, sure, but that's most kids in the system. Harley was the one with mental problems, not me."

I leaned forward in spite of myself. This was the most he'd let slip about his childhood since Lockridge. I wasn't sure what possessed him to share now, but I wasn't going to discourage him. I'd been trying to unravel the mystery that was Edward for years. It was technically true that sociopathy could be a learned behavior but it usually had some genetic factors as well.

"Was it abuse?" I asked after a long pause. "Were you conditioned to be like...this?"

Edward sighed. "No. Foster care was shitty, but we suffered neglect most of the time, not abuse. There's another cause for sociopathy and psychopathy, Anita. Think about it. It'll come to you."

It only took a moment to come up with an answer, and it made my mouth go dry. If I was right, it punctured my picture of the infallible, nigh immortal Death.

"Traumatic brain injury," I whispered. "You said that Harley recognized you when he had that homicidal fit, and that's why he didn't kill you. That was a lie to preserve his reputation, wasn't it?"

Edward let out a short, bitter laugh. "He shot me in the fucking head. It was long odds that I'd survive, let alone come out with the level of brain function I have. The doctors had to cut up my anterior insular cortex to get the bullet."

"Stunting your ability to feel empathy," I said slowly. "Or removing it entirely."

Edward wouldn't look at me. His eyes took on an almost silver sheen as he stared up at the moon, face curiously blank.

"Theodore Forrester died on that operating table. I was born. His life is in here. It's like peeking into a relative's photo album. I recognize people and places but...it's not me. I can't feel exactly the same way I did before." He hesitated for a moment. "But sometimes I try."

I was too stunned to say anything for a moment. When I located my voice I asked, "Are you saying you love this family?"

He was silent for so long that I was sure he'd refused to answer the question. When the answer came it was a grudging, "No. Not exactly."

"Then what?"

He scowled. "They're mine. I protect what's mine. Possession isn't love but it's what I have. Donna understands that."

Ah, so she had to have at least some idea of what was going on. At the very least, she knew his medical history. That was more than he'd shared with me.

Edward turned on his heel, striding briskly toward Los Cuates' double doors. I fell into step behind him, half-expecting him to snap at me to get back in my car. The order never came.

"Am I coming inside?" I asked.

"Yes," he said tersely. "He's probably going to investigate this place regardless. I'll invite him into the case I'm working on to keep him close. And when it's over, we'll deal with him. For now, you are going to go inside, kiss my wife's ass, and bail me out of the doghouse. Understood?"

I snapped a salute off. "Yes, sir."

That made him smile faintly. He paused with his hand on the door handle and gave me a look I couldn't interpret.

"What?" I asked defensively.

"You're one of mine too, you know," he said.

Then he disappeared inside, leaving me reeling in the doorway. I belonged to Death, if only in his twisted imagination. Scary that.

Chapter Text

"I need names," I said, pulling Edward into the alcove near the door. Halls branched off to each side, labeled 'hombres' and 'damas' respectively. I tugged him into the one in the center marked 'familia.'

Edward's brow climbed. "A bathroom is a strange place for an interrogation, don't you think? The hostess is going to think we're fucking. She'll give us about five minutes before reporting us to the manager. After that, we'll be asked to leave."

"Would you rather risk them overhearing our conversation? I have a feeling that this falls under the category of 'if I tell you, I'll have to kill you.' Van Cleef doesn't strike me as the merciful type. I just need a little background information before we make nice with your family."

Edward sighed and leaned his weight on the opposite wall, hemmed in on either side by the paper towel dispenser and the changing station. I knew he had a little girl and an older boy, but the sight of the station brought me up short. Was there a baby in the picture as well? A tiny, chubby-cheeked bundle of noise with his eyes or nose? I wasn't sure how to handle the information if he did. It was already bizarre without adding a baby to the mix.

"Why is this relevant?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the door, mimicking his pose. It wasn't like I wanted to be running this social gauntlet either. The least he could do was cooperate.

"You want me to kiss your wife's ass, right? I can't do that if I don't have at least a cliff notes version of who these people are so I don't step in it. If I'm your colleague, I should at least know a little bit about your wife, at the very least. Knowing your kids' names couldn't hurt, either. When did you get married? When were your kids born?"

He smiled faintly, a few lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. It was a warm, open expression that didn't belong on Death's face. His laugh was equally as off-putting. There was always a note of insincerity in his smiles and laughter when he was playacting Ted, Bobby, or any of his myriad identities. It had taken me a while to recognize it for what it was, but I could always identify it when we worked together. Until now. This sounded...real.

"You're fishing, Anita. Just admit that you've been craving my life story since day one."

"Not day one," I said defensively, then thought about it. "Day three, maybe."

He let out a dry snort. "I bet you're just loving this, aren't you? You're not leaving me a lot of choices. If I boot your ass out of here Donna will just track you down on her own."

Exactly my thinking, but I didn't say it aloud. Edward had already bared a sensitive part of his history to me already. Demanding an autobiography was probably going too far.

When I didn't speak he sighed again. "Peter is fourteen and sullen. Becca is six and a handful. They're not my biological kids. Like I said, I came off the table a different person. I didn't want anything tying me down at that point, so I had a vasectomy. I didn't regret that at first. Kids would only have gotten in my way in the early days."

"So what changed?"

Edward's gaze was far away, fixed on some distant memory I wasn't privy to. "Sentimentality, maybe. Peter and Donna witnessed a hit on one of Vicente Varela's enforcers. Donna was doing archeological work for her boss near the Yucatan. The Obsidian Foundation is serious about the preservation of Native Cultures, Mayan and Aztec in particular. Valera has a vested interest in digging up the artifacts first. They can make bank selling them to private collectors."

It was my turn to look surprised. "Your wife is an archeologist?"

"In training. She hasn't finished her Masters. Frank's death derailed her plans." Edward's gaze flicked to me, and he must have read the question on my face because he scowled. "No, I didn't kill him, Anita. It was Valera's man. Frank wounded the werewolf, but Peter had to finish the job. I finished off the rest of the fuckers and got them to safety. By all rights, I should have killed them too, since they were witnesses, but I..."

He trailed off, another severe frown creasing his face. The arbitrary act of mercy seemed to confound him as much as it did me.

"So...they all know who you are?"

He shook his head. "Not quite. Becca was too young to remember anything at all. As far as Peter knows I was acting in my capacity as a U.S. Marshal. Donna has a don't ask, don't tell policy about my work. She knows I make unsanctioned kills, but she doesn't want to know the particulars. She has nightmares enough as it is."

And yet she'd married him. Either she was dependent enough to take any protection that came along, or she was more resilient than he was giving her credit for. I'd have to dig for that answer myself.

"You sound concerned," I noted. "A first for you."

"Rare," he muttered, pushing away from the wall. The sleeve of his coat brushed me as he crossed to the door. "But not a first. The first was Harley. The second was Donna."

And the third was me.

Edward opened the door and flashed me an 'I told you so' look when he spied the hostess trying to sidle casually to the family bathroom. Someone was trying to avoid a scene.

"Fine," I whispered. "You were right about the hostess. I'll slip you a fifty later."

"Stuff it in my waistband and she'll think I'm a stripper. I hear you're into those."

"Oh fuck off. Jeanette hasn't done that in a long time."

"Once a stripper always a stripper," Edward said. "I think I read that on a fortune cookie once."

"Did it say your lucky number was seven? Because that's the size of the boot I'm going to wedge up your ass if you keep talking."

Edward laughed. Honest to God laughed in a way I'd never heard before.

"Never change, Padawan. Never change."

Chapter Text

Our waitress didn't say anything as she led us further into Los Cuates' spacious dining room. The stucco walls had been painted a bright, cheerful yellow, and soared up to a high tin ceiling. It had been painted to resemble Mexican silver, but a closer look ruined the impression. After actually living and working in Mexico, I'd become very familiar with the architecture. This place was trying just a little too hard to be authentic, and it showed. Or maybe that was just the elitist in me talking.

The building was only at half-capacity, even during the dinner rush. It was a weekday, so I didn't count it as a mark against the restaurant's quality. Yet. I'd reserve judgment until after we'd completed the meal. A few people glanced up at us as we passed, and just as quickly dropped their eyes. It was the scars. It was always the scars. I hadn't had time to change out of my work clothes, which meant they were on full display. Social niceties demanded they mind their own damn business, so no one commented. For once I was grateful.

Our booth was located near the back, near a wide window. That alone made me nervous. A motivated gunman would have a clear line of sight and could take potshots at us through the glass. Unlikely, but still possible. In my line of work you never underestimated people's willingness to kill you. With Death at my side, it would be a two-for-one special. I sent up a quick and likely fruitless prayer to God that it wouldn't happen with the kids present.

Edward's little family was already present, and I took a moment to study them before they looked up. Donna and I were shockingly similar in build and appearance. Her hair was ruler-straight, not curly, and was brown instead of black. She had at least a decade on me and all the lines that came with that. It was difficult to judge while sitting, but she looked around my height and was clearly in shape. I had to wonder if my initial draw had been appearance-based. Did I remind Edward of a younger version of Donna? Was I his type?

The little girl, Becca, was dressed in a sunshine yellow dress and had her hair pulled into loose pigtails. She had ribbons in them, for Pete's sake. The only way to make her more stereotypically cute would be to give her blue eyes and a gap-toothed smile. She was doodling on the kid's menu with a blue crayon while chatting happily with her mother. Her brother was the opposite. He was hunched, sullen and silent, over his phone and didn't bother looking up when we approached the table.

Becca glanced up from her menu and her entire face brightened. She clambered out of the booth and threw herself at Edward with a joyful cry of, "Ted!"

Edward scooped her out of the air with a laugh. "It's good to see you too, pumpkin. Have you been looking after your mom while I'm gone?"

Becca nodded seriously. "She's upset but won't tell me why. I think it's because I didn't get the lead in the recital."

Donna glanced up at her words and zeroed in on my position at Edward's side. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she plastered on a phony smile for Becca's sake. "That's not it, sweetie. Mommy's just a little stressed out, that's all. It has nothing to do with either of you. Now Ted, why don't you introduce us to your friend?"

That last was said in a tone so pointed it could put an eye out. Edward smiled, pretending not to notice. He gestured to me with a free hand and said, "I was just getting to that, actually. This is Anita Blake. She's an animator, a consultant for the police, and a federal agent. We've worked together several times now. Anita, this is my family. Donna is my wife, and these are my step-kids, Becca and Peter Parnell."

Peter's head snapped up at the sound of his name. Or perhaps the sound of mine, because his eyes flicked past Edward to me, going a little round as he took me in. Edward claimed he was fourteen, but if I hadn't known, I would have guessed younger. Baby fat still clung to his cheeks, and he had that awkward, gangly look that gripped boys just before they hit their growth spurt. Spots of colors appeared high on his cheeks and he sheepishly averted his gaze when he caught me looking.

"Hi!" Becca chirped, waving enthusiastically. She smiled widely and, sure enough, was missing a tooth.

"Hello, Anita, it's a pleasure to meet you," Donna said, though it seemed to cost her something to remain civil. She frowned at her son when he didn't add in an affirmative. "Peter, don't be rude. Say hello to Miss Blake."

Peter twitched a little and muttered a shaky, "H-hi Miss...erm...Blake."

I smirked. "You've seen New Orleans Undead, haven't you? Or was it the paparazzi photos of Jeanette and I that has you flustered?"

Peter ducked his head, but it couldn't disguise the flush creeping up his neck. I was right. He did recognize me, even if he wouldn't say how. Donna's eyes narrowed to slits. She didn't like being out of the loop.

"What's that movie got to do with anything? And who is Jeanette?"

I gave her a bright, shiny smile. It didn't reach my eyes. "In order? I starred in New Orleans Undead last year. It was a supporting role so I could animate Glen Vale. Jeanette Davenay is the Master of Saint Louis and my girlfriend. She's a minor celebrity, so she gets hounded by the press. We've been together for over a year."

Tension eased out of Donna's shoulders at the word 'girlfriend.' In that one admission, I'd shifted from a potential romantic rival to a harmless co-worker. She thought I was a lesbian and I'd let her go on thinking it. No need to muddy the waters with my bisexuality. I'd had more female partners than male since contracting the ardeur anyway. It seemed nonsensical since I'd been raped by both a man and a woman during my time in Stillwater, but I found sex with women less triggering. Probably because my only sexual encounter with Jade was shrouded in first-time-ardeur-induced amnesia. Jade and I hadn't meant to inflict harm on each other. Lamar had relished every second of what he'd done to me.

"Oh," she said, fiddling with a napkin. "I had no idea. That's good, I suppose. Did you see Miss Blake's movie, Peter?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "I saw the movie with friends."

I didn't buy it though. New Orleans Undead was rated R, which meant Peter was a few years shy of being able to get a ticket when the movie first came out. An older friend could have bought the DVD or streamed it online, but I thought it was more likely he'd come across Jeanette's photos and didn't want to admit it to his mom. I'd cut him some slack. Jeanette was hot. He was allowed to have his fantasies.

"What's an animator?" Becca asked.

Well, shit. How did I go about explaining that to a six-year-old? I'd gotten an early education in death, but Becca's world was still bright and blissfully ignorant. I didn't want to be the one who introduced her to the concept that all things were born to die. That existential spiral should wait until her early twenties at the earliest.

"It's just a job," I said. "Don't worry about it."

"But what do you do at work?" she pressed. "Daddy catches bad guys. What do you do?"

"She raises zombies, Becca," Peter said, giving his sister a dirty look. "Like that dumb Halloween cartoon you like."

"Oh," Becca said, eyes going round. She paused thoughtfully and then asked, "Can dogs be zombies? Cause Snowdrop went to Heaven last week and I miss her. She got hit by a car and I didn't get to say goodbye to her. Could you bring her back so I can say goodbye?"

A tightness in my chest eased. Crisis averted. Thank God for childish naivete. I didn't have to fake a smile when I slid in next to Peter. I took Becca's hand and gave it a light squeeze.

"I'd love to."

Chapter Text

Awkward didn't begin to cover the atmosphere at the table. Donna smiled and tried to make small talk, but almost every topic fell flat at some point. What was there that we could actually talk about? Work? Even the dry overview of what I was up against would give her children nightmares. She got cagey when I tried to turn the attention toward her job, giving short, clipped answers in reply.

Edward didn't help, barely chiming in, and doing his best trying to look appropriately sheepish. He wasn't out of the doghouse just yet, but my perceived lesbianism had gone a long way in exonerating him. I'd remind him of that when I tried to con my way onto the case. He played a game of tic-tac-toe on the children's menu, letting Becca win two out of every three games. She squealed in delight at every victory, declaring herself the champion after the tenth. Donna watched the interaction with the ghost of a smile.

Peter refused to look at anyone, burying his nose in the middle of The House of M Issue #1, pretending he didn't give a damn about the conversation going on around him. And while he might fool his mom, I recognized the posture for what it was. He gave a fuck. He gave a bucketful of fat, juicy fucks, even if he was too proud to show it. He'd angled his body unconsciously toward Edward, and the tendons in his neck strained taut as he bit back whatever sour thing he wanted to say. I sympathized. I'd been the same way at his age, seething with resentment at the interloper who'd stolen my dad's attention. Every scrap of affection he showed her felt like a slap in the face, and a dark, foul-smelling stain on my mother's memory. It hadn't helped that Judith was just so damn perfect at being a happy homemaker. At least I knew her saccharine exchanges with my father were genuine. Edward's love was utilitarian and cold.

But watching him with her, I wanted to believe he felt something more. The little girl deserved something precious in her life.

I'd finished two Cokes before our food arrived. I tucked into the Chicken Mole, in part to keep my mouth shut, and because I was legitimately hungry. It'd been a while since I'd had anything substantial, in part because of my animating schedule. The Santa Fe office rarely overbooked me, as Bert was prone to do, but I was still in high demand. If I didn't eat, I'd get an earful from London later. She'd taken Jeanette's warning not to spoil me with feedings to heart and pushed food onto me almost the second I stepped through the front door. She ordered in, as the only time I'd allowed her to cook had resulted in utterly tasteless cuisine. I'd never understand the British. Colonize for spices, then use none of them.

"Do you want something else? You just keep picking at your quesadilla, sweetie," Donna said, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. She flinched a little when Peter glanced up sharply from his plate. "Do you want to order something else?"

"No," he muttered. "I wanted Olive Garden. You know I hate Mexican food. You just picked it because Ted likes it. He does this on purpose."

Donna's face fell, her shoulders curling forward under the weight of his antagonism. It was so reminiscent of Judith's defeated posture that I winced. Until recently, I'd been the sullen, angry child, lashing out because life hadn't gone exactly the way I'd expected. At least he had the excuse of being young. My grudge had endured for a decade longer than necessary.

Before Donna could reply I leaped in with a cheerful, "It's my fault, actually. Ted told me about this place last time we worked together. I told him there was no chance that this place made better mole than my Abuela's." I gave Edward a pointed look. "And I was right. It's good, but not Chavela-tier. You owe me five bucks."

Donna gave me a grateful smile. She'd been the one to invite me, not the other way around. And I couldn't have said whether or not the mole was better than Grandma Flores'. Trying to recreate her recipes made my chest ache. She'd hated me, and with good reason. It was hard to wash the bitter aftertaste of regret from my mouth when I ate her food.

Peter turned to me, some of his resentment slipping away. I'd passed some sort of teenage test, earning me a modicum of civility where he was concerned. Yippee for me. I could see him trying to do the racial math in his head. I looked white, sounded white, and had a very non-ethnic name. Most people didn't believe me when I told them the truth.

"You're Mexican?" he asked and couldn't hide the note of skepticism in his voice.

"A fourth Nahua, actually. It's the largest indigenous tribe in Mexico and Central America."

"Aztec, you mean. Like mom's boss?"

I blinked and couldn't stop myself from blurting, "What?"

"Itzp...Its..." His face scrunched with effort. "Obsidian Butterfly. She's the Master of Albuquerque. Mom works at her museum."

"Itzpapalotl," Donna corrected. "And it's a cultural center, not a museum."

I was impressed she'd managed the name correctly. Even I had trouble with some of the longer ones. I'd made a point of learning most of the pantheon after discovering Mom's link to their sun god.

Peter rolled his eyes. "It's got mummies, rotating exhibits, and she sends you out on digs every summer. It's a museum, she just doesn't want to sound like a crusty old fart by calling it that."

"It's also a theater, a refuge, and a center for budding psychics. It's more than a crusty old museum," she said sternly.

"Whatever," he muttered, disappearing behind his comic book a moment later.

Well, at least now I understood why she'd been reluctant to share details about her work. Master vampires weren't exactly known for their loquaciousness. Information exchange with the vanilla public was strictly on a need-to-know basis, and they rarely needed to know much. Her boss would probably like me even less, given my status as the servant of another Master. A Missouri Master was unlikely to challenge for the leadership of a New Mexican city, but one could never be too careful.

"Peter, you need to eat," Donna insisted. "You can't just-"

Whatever she'd been about to say died on her tongue when she glanced past us toward the door. The color drained from her face, her eyes flaring open wide. I swiveled in the direction she was looking just in time to see three men turn past the hostess' podium and make their way purposefully toward our booth. The leading man was short, with a scar that had most of mine beat. It bisected half his face, a diagonal slash from eyebrow to chin, that had taken a chunk of his nose, and twisted his mouth into a permanent grimace. His companions were broad, one white and one Native American, though I couldn't pin down a tribe. In this area, it was probably Navajo, Pueblo, or Apache. But that was assuming he'd grown up in-state, and you know what they say about assuming...

"Harold," Edward said under his breath. "That's just perfect."

"Someone you know?" I asked. My hand had instinctively wandered to my Browning in its small of the back holster. Call it a hunch, but these guys didn't look like the friendly sort.

"Yes. Don't ask how. Just be ready."

Cold fear spiked through me. The cold calculation in Edward's eyes told me everything I needed to know. Everyday thugs didn't register as a threat to someone like Death. If these bastards gave him pause, they were from the shady side of the tracks. I kept my eyes forward and one hand on the grip of the Browning praying this wasn't about to turn into a shootout. There were too many civilians in the way.

"Should I take the kids out the back?" Donna whispered.

Edward shook his head. "There will be someone waiting. Riker's men don't take half-measures. Stay put. Anita and I will handle this."

Becca had gone silent, curling into her mother as if she could somehow disappear into her side. Even Peter looked shaken.

"What are you going to do?" he whispered.

"Whatever we have to," I replied. "Now shut up, stay down, and follow orders. If I hide, you hide. If I say run, you haul ass to your mom's car and don't look back. Get your mom and sister out, do you hear me? No hero stuff."

Peter nodded, mouth set in determination. Brave kid. I could only hope he wouldn't die because of it.

Chapter Text

Harold and his cronies came to a stop a few feet from our table, standing a little too straight to pass for a group of friends here to chat. A casual observer might overlook it, but anyone with even a sliver of situational awareness would pick up on the subtle wrongness of the situation. A tall, beefy man seated at a table across the room was staring at their backs intently, one hand clenched into a fist on his thigh, inching up as if to touch a weapon that wasn't there. My senses said cop or military. Don't ask me how I knew. Something in the eyes or face, maybe. But it was there if you knew what to look for.

The leader's face split into a smile that made his already lopsided features cant into a new and disturbing shape. Becca made a small sound of fright and cringed even closer to her mom. Donna's arms wound around her reflexively, though she never took her eyes off Harold. They were wide with fright and already sheened with tears. Her breathing had picked up, and she looked only a few seconds away from a panic attack.

"Harold," Edward said with faux cheer. I couldn't help but notice that some of the honey had slid from his drawl, leaving him closer to the middle-American assassin I'd met all those years ago. It wasn't a good sign. "Russell and..." He frowned at the Native man. "The new guy. You got a name partner?"

"Newt Red Fox," the man said. "And I'm not your partner."

Humorless and huge. It wasn't a combination I liked in a man. Not that Newt was looking to get chummy with any of us, so my assessment was probably pointless. His expression didn't flicker when Edward fixed him with a charming smile.

"Don't be so sure, Mr. Red Fox. I'm a good friend to have."

The flip side of that went unsaid, but the new guy seemed to get it. Edward was a great friend to have, and a nightmare to go up against. I might have some compunction opening fire in this crowded restaurant, but he wouldn't. As long as Donna, the kids, and I pulled through, everyone else was collateral damage. Unnecessary and a pain in the ass to deal with when the cops arrived, but it only mattered insomuch as it would affect his cover. I'd lose sleep over every life lost. There were kids in the restaurant. If there was a way to avoid a shootout, I'd take it.

"Ignore all the talk, Newt," Harold said in an undertone. "He'll run his mouth to distract you, and then he'll plant a slug in your knee or groin. See where his hands are? He's got a piece under the table, I'm sure of it."

I didn't want to take my eyes off the bad guys, but a quick glance confirmed what Harold had said. Edward's hands were out of sight, most likely clutching a semi-automatic under the table. It made me wary of Harold. He was smarter than he looked. Definitely smarter than Newt, who hadn't considered that the man they'd come to menace might be willing to do it back.

Edward's smile never wavered, but lines around his eyes tightened as he thought. He'd noticed too. Russell hadn't spoken yet, so it was hard to tell how smart he was, but there was probably a reason Harold was in charge. Newt was the rookie, the weak link, and the one to go for if things went south. I liked two against one a hell of a lot better than three.

Harold's eyes shifted to me and his smile ticked up a notch. "Looks like you brought in backup of your own, Ted."

I didn't like the emphasis on Edward's alias and the threat it implied. Harold knew more than he should, which only reinforced my suspicion he was bad news. He ran in Edward's deadliest circle. Harold and his buddies were mercenaries, which meant we were probably marks. Shit.

I could have fed the men a sugary sweet lie in an attempt to get them to back off, and ultimately decided against it. Sugar had never really been my style. I was a vinegar woman through and through.

"I think you're misjudging who's backing whom," I said calmly. "I asked for Ted's help, not the other way around. If you want to keep all your teeth, I suggest you turn and march your asses back the way you came."

Harold's smile slipped. Russell and Newt exchanged glances as if they couldn't quite believe what had just come out of my mouth. I got that reaction a lot. Most guys weren't used to a woman who was brusque and was willing to follow through on threats. Sad to say, I understood why. Whether we consciously realized it or not, women tended to make themselves smaller to accommodate men. We shrank, we acquiesced, we pandered, or we were beaten down. Not everyone could take the kind of pummeling that forged someone like me, and it didn't make them lesser. It probably made them smarter than I was in some respects. I wasn't something to aspire to. I'd carved off parts of myself to become what I was. Some of it would never come back, no matter how much therapy I paid for, and that was depressing as hell.

"What the hell did you just say to us, girlie?" Russel said, speaking up for the first time.

I slid out of the booth, hands loose at my sides, ready to swing or block if the occasion called for it. My full height was an unimpressive five feet and three inches, but I was all lean muscle backed by the strength and speed granted to me as a human servant. If Russell wanted to make good on his threatening posture, he'd regret it. None of these guys reeked of therian or psychic power, which was a good sign. There were only the usual dangers to deal with if things got out of hand.

"I said to turn your big, dumb asses around and leave. If you want to settle this, we can do it later, when there aren't cops present. I spot at least two eating here. Who's side do you think they'll throw in on, huh?"

It was a lie. I'd only spotted one, but it did even the odds. Edward, an unknown police officer, and I versus Howard and the goon squad. But it did seem to give them pause. Howard's eyes flicked around the room warily, trying to spot watching police.

"You're lying."

I kept my face very neutral, aside from one raised brow. "Am I?"

Some of his confidence dimmed. "It doesn't matter. Ryker sent us in here for a friendly chat, that's all."

Friendly. Right. In the same way that a recently woken bear was friendly.

"Say what you came to say and get lost," I said quietly. "Or you and I will have a problem."

Howard gave me a searching look and his eyes seemed to stutter over the Browning in its holster. It was like his brain just couldn't accept the semi-automatic as part and parcel of the Anita Blake package. It was kind of insulting. Didn't he know that, until recently, the hunter with the second highest kill count in the world had been a woman? A woman who was just as short and bitchy as me?

Harold's gaze shifted over my shoulder to Edward, and then to Donna. He smiled unpleasantly at the latter. "We don't care what the official record says, Ms. Parnell. We know your boss has what Ryker is looking for. You hand it over by the end of the month, or we come in after it. We were thinking sometime around the twenty-seventh. We hear there's a field trip for the local kindergarten class at the museum that day."

My heart was hammering so hard I could taste it at the back of my throat, and a sluice of white-hot anger dropped into my stomach. The words were weasely enough he could argue out of them in court, but the threat was clear. Turn it over, or we shoot up a kindergarten class, starting with your kid.

"Mrs. Forester," Donna corrected, though it was barely audible. She couldn't seem to draw in enough breath. "And you won't touch them. Ted won't let you."

Harold and his buddies laughed, loud and long as if she'd said something hilarious. Then Harold leaned in and extended a dirt-smudged finger toward Becca. He stroked a lock of hair out of her face with a leer.

"Pretty girl," he said. "Sweet little face. It'd be a shame if you had to bury her without it."

Becca let out a little squeak of fright, turned her head, and then bit the offending finger. Harold jerked the finger back, staring at the beads of blood on the digit with disbelief that quickly morphed into anger. His hand swept back, ready to deal a stinging backhand to Becca's face. Edward was on his feet in an instant, ready to catch the blow before it fell. He was fast. I was faster.

I hit Harold with an uppercut that snapped his head back. There was an alarming crack when my fist made contact, and I had a moment to wonder if I'd snapped his neck instead of his jaw. I was getting used to my superior strength, but it didn't mean I had a handle on it. When I was scared or reactionary, I used more force than strictly necessary.

Harold came off his feet and flew, flopping bonelessly through the air as he went, landing in a crumpled heap on a nearby table. Thankfully, this one had been vacated a few minutes before. Harold came down on a table full of plates and plastic tumblers, the former crunching beneath his bulk while the latter went rolling across the floor. The force of the landing toppled the whole mess, spilling him onto the floor in a wave of refried beans and broken glass.

Newt and Russell just stared for a second, as if they couldn't quite believe what they'd just seen. Then Newt rounded on me, hand disappearing inside the light jacket he wore. I hit him with a quick jab to the throat, trying to moderate my strength this time. It knocked Newt back a step, clutching his neck with a series of wheezing sounds. Russell had to catch his teammate before he could fall into another table. He gave me wide eyes, reassessing me. I had a feeling I'd graduated from 'harmless girlie' to 'that bitch' in his mental ledger. It was okay. I liked that spot better anyway.

"Try it," I said quietly when Russel's hand twitched toward his belt. "See what happens."

Russell paused, thinking. Ultimately, it was a bark of, "SFPD, hands where I can see them!" that clinched it for him. A glance over his shoulder revealed the officer across the room prowling toward us, moving in the rolling stance that would keep his gun steady even as he advanced. He had it pointed at the ground at the moment, which was a good sign.

"Now," the officer growled. "Let go of him and put your hands behind your head. Don't make me repeat myself, asshole."

Russell's glare could have melted a steel partition, but he did what he was asked. He let go of Newt who listed sideways, catching himself on the edge of a table. The occupants shied away from him at once. I grinned and said, "You too, motherfucker."

"Bitch," he wheezed. "You're going to pay for this."

"We'll see," I said sweetly. "Now assume the position, Newt."

The cop, who I learned was named Gregory Fenton, got Russell and Newt in cuffs and called an ambulance for Harold. He had a pulse, which was a relief, but it didn't mean I hadn't broken his neck. A nurse who'd been eating somewhere near the back helped to stabilize his neck and spine while they waited for the paramedics to arrive. Officer Fenton reminded us we'd need to give statements and not to go anywhere.

That was apparently too much for Donna. She let out a low sob and wriggled out of the booth, past Edward, a gently crying Becca clutched to her chest. She dashed toward the front, and I followed, just in case Edward was right about one of the men waiting outside.

"Anita-" Edward said, catching my arm. "If..."

"I know," I said, nodding. I understood what he meant perfectly. "I won't let anyone touch them."

Even if I had to kill to make that happen. I'd want him to do the same if Jeanette, Jamil, or any of my other sweeties were in danger. Edward had people he cared about now, and I'd be damned if I let someone take them away from him.

He nodded, pale eyes troubled, and released my arm. I took off, dodging a stunned waitress, falling into step behind Donna as she reached the wide double doors and burst into the night air beyond.

Chapter Text

It took me a few minutes to be sure the parking lot was clear of Howard's men. I didn't find anyone suspicious lurking on the property, and the distant wail of sirens pretty much confirmed what I'd suspected. Howard's backup had cleared out as soon as the police got involved. Criminals didn't like facing law enforcement unless they had numbers on their side. Smart criminals wouldn't do it at all. It was always better to cut your losses than risk a shootout with the boys in blue. Even if you won, you lost. The moment you were labeled a cop killer, your ass was grass. They would catch you and make you pay for it, by putting your battered body in a cell or six feet under the ground.

I followed the sound of hiccupping sobs and found Donna, Peter, and Becca huddled near the blue Audi. Peter must have wandered out while Ted talked to the nice police officer inside, and he'd been too busy or too mindful of his cover to keep Peter by his side. He had the reflexes and strength to put the kid on his ass and keep him there, but that sort of thing didn't fly with police. Peter also struck me as the type to make a scene if he thought it would get his step-father in trouble. I'd have done the same to Judith at that age if I hadn't known my father would blister my backside for it.

Donna was on the ground, clutching Becca to her chest, rocking back and forth slowly. I wasn't sure who she was trying to soothe, her daughter or herself. She'd buried one half of her face in Becca's hair, and the half I could see was red and blotchy. Tears continued to pour down her cheeks, gathering in the collar of her blouse. She was making half-hearted shushing sounds as Becca wailed, her arms locked around her mother's neck in a stranglehold. I doubted I could pry them apart if I tried.

"Donna," I began, sinking down on my haunches so I could get on her level. "Donna, can you hear me?"

No response. I hadn't really expected one, but it was worth a shot. I'd had enough panic attacks in my life to know one when I saw one. I'd be shocked if she could hear anything over Becca's shrill cries and the pounding pulse in her ears. She was stroking her daughter's hair, eyes fixed on a memory I couldn't see. She might have been here physically, but her mind was a million miles away, reliving the horror. I could relate to that too. I hated the feeling of dirt or sand grinding against my back. It took me back to the worst ten minutes of my life, and I'd give damn near anything not to live through it ever again. Triggers could be a real bitch.

"Don't even bother," Peter said, slouching against the side of the Audi. He was giving his mom a look of mixed disgust and embarrassment. "Mom doesn't really talk when she's like this. The doctor says it's normal, but I think it's a load of bullshit. She just likes the attention she gets from Ted when she cries. It's happened a lot since he came to live with us."

Which could mean that something Edward was doing triggered Donna. Not totally out of the realm of possibility when you paired a sociopathic hitman with a deeply traumatized widow. He'd been present on that fateful day, after all. But I thought it was more likely that Donna finally felt safe enough to let herself work through the messy psychological shit now that she had a partner.

"Can I ask you a question, Peter?"

Peter frowned. "I guess."

"Do you get panic attacks?"

He somehow managed to look even more scornful than he had a second ago. "No. One of us has to be the adult."

I smiled sweetly up at him and said, "If you don't know what you're talking about, you should shut the fuck up."

Donna let out a choked gasp, raising her face from Becca's hair, eyes wide. Her mouth formed words, but no sound came out. I felt a twinge of guilt when I realized that I'd just dropped an F-bomb in front of her daughter. Donna didn't strike me as the cursing type. It might have been the first time the little girl had ever heard the word. I just hoped she didn't repeat it.

Peter pushed away from the Audi, hands clenched into fists. He loomed over me, trying to look imposing. It wouldn't have worked, even if I hadn't had dozens of bigger and better men try the same thing. Height didn't impress me, and Peter was scrawny. I could have kicked his ass when I'd been a slightly overweight teenager myself.

"What did you just say?" he asked, glowering at me.

"I said shut up. Your mother is having a panic attack, and you're making it worse. If you can't help me, at least do me a favor and get out of the way. The last thing she needs is you acting like a condescending little shit while she works through this."

"You can't just-" he protested.

"I can and I am," I said. "You're pissed at your mom for remarrying. Trust me, Peter, I get that. My mom died when I was even younger than you are now and my dad moved in his shiny new wife by the end of the year. I hated her guts for years. It poisoned my relationship with my dad and step-sister when I was growing up. Because that's the thing. You think you're just hurting the person who deserves it, but you aren't. You keep this up, and you're going to draw up boundary lines in your own house. It's not worth it. I missed out on so much because I couldn't pull my head out. Don't make the same mistake. And to your previous comment? You're not the adult. Not even close."

"She couldn't pull the trigger," he said hotly. "She brought Ted into our house because he was there and she was scared. He's not a husband, he's a security blanket."

That part could very well be true, but I wasn't going to give him the inch. He'd tune out anything I said after conceding that very small point.

"The ability to fire a gun doesn't make you a man," I said quietly. "I'm sorry as hell you had to be the one to do it, but it doesn't mean you're an adult. It doesn't give you the right to verbally abuse the woman who seems to take very good care of you. Show me what bills you pay, what food you cook, and what job you do day in and day out, and I'll call you the man of the house. Until then, march your sulky ass back inside and talk to the nice officer about what you saw." I thought about it for a second and then added, "And take your sister with you."

For a second I thought he'd swing at me. Then he muttered a very soft 'bitch' under his breath before leaning down to peel his flailing sister away from his mom. He had to fight for every inch. Becca clung to Donna frantically, calling her name with increasing volume as her brother slung her over one shoulder and jogged back the way they'd come. Each wail felt like a knife flaying my insides, but it had to be done. Mother and daughter seemed to be feeding on each other's panic, prolonging the attack.

I sank down onto the ground and leaned my head against one of the Audi's tires, one hand loose on the pavement. She could take it if she wanted to but I wouldn't force the issue. I wasn't the touchy-feely type at the best of times, and God help you if you tried it when I was this emotional. It took a while, but her sobs petered off into soft whimpers and eventually to occasional hiccups. She looked like she needed a Kleenex and a hug, but didn't ask for either.

"You shouldn't have talked to him like that," she said eventually. "It's going to make it worse."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know. It wasn't my place. Sorry about that."

Her lips twitched. I couldn't tell if it was a smile or a precursor to a fresh round of sobs. I inched my hand a little closer, just in case.

"Is it true?" she asked. "That stuff about your stepmother? Or were you just saying that to make Peter stop?"

"It's true," I said, thumping my head lightly against the wheel. "Judith and I didn't get along until last year. There were a lot of things I didn't know about her, and learning the truth was...eye-opening. I actually get along better with my stepmom than my dad these days. I meant what I said to him. He's going to start burning bridges, and it will bite him in the ass as an adult. I wish I could have learned the lesson a lot sooner. It might have saved me a lot of heartache. I am sorry about the way I handled it. He needs therapy, not a lecture."

Donna's lips curled into what was unmistakably a smile and she let out a watery chuckle. "I didn't say it wasn't cathartic. If I'd known tough love would do the trick, I would have tried it a long time ago. I just figured that it would..."

"Hurt him?" I guessed, then shrugged. "Maybe a little, but kids are resilient and Peter's tougher than most. Take it from me. Soft won't work. Judith tried that for a long time, and all she got was the cold shoulder. Things only got better when she stood up to me and spelled out exactly why she deserved my respect."

Donna took my hand and gave it a light squeeze. She cringed a little closer to me when a police car and ambulance pulled into the lot, sirens wailing and lights strobing. I put an arm across her shoulders and pulled her in tight.

"We should probably go in," she whispered. "They'll want to talk to us."

"They have an entire restaurant to interview," I said. "We've got a little time."

"Thank you," she breathed, leaning her head on my shoulder. "For everything. I can see why Ted likes you."

"He's a good man in a fight," I agreed. "I'm lucky to have him as backup."

I couldn't bring myself to leave it at 'good man.' He wasn't, and that was the problem. He'd dragged his shit into these people's lives, and we'd be talking about that tonight. Somewhere far away from his family. Somewhere where I could punch him and get away with it. But it could wait a few hours. There were statements to falsify and a shell-shocked family to settle.

But when I had Edward alone? There was going to be a reckoning for this. Count on it.

Chapter Text

"We need to put Snowdrop back in the ground soon. I do good work, but she's going to rot eventually, and Becca doesn't need to see that."

Edward had gone to retrieve the shoebox that Snowdrop had been buried in rather than lead me back to his house. I might have been offended, if I weren't worried we'd been followed by a stalker of some flavor or the other. Howard's men could be out on bail by now and working to sniff out our location. Though I'd prefer that to Otto following Donna and her kids home. I didn't want that son of a bitch anywhere near Edward's family. Granted, I didn't want Edward near them either, but he was at least the devil I knew.

We'd taken a circuitous route to a safe house, trying to shake anyone who might have been tailing us. It took a few hours before he was satisfied, and pulled into a modest two-story home in the country. I'd raised the fluffy Maltese from the grave, and Becca had tuckered herself out chasing it, all memory of the bad man who'd threatened her flying out of her head. Even Peter looked a little less sullen than usual. Ah, the resilience of youth.

We'd settled in my suburban home at half-past two after Edward was assured there was a man he could trust watching his family. He was leaning heavily against my patio railing, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. The only times I'd ever seen him smoke, he'd been posing as one of his alter egos. It was a little creepy how neatly he delineated each character he played. Bobby Brogan of the FBI didn't smoke, but Preston Grimes of the CIA did. His ATF agent persona was an avid golfer, while his CIA cover detested sports in general. It was one of the more disconcerting things about Edward. For a long time, I had no idea who he was or what made him tick. Even now I only had a rough outline of who he was and what he actually valued.

"It can't wait? You're a powerhouse necromancer. The dog should stick around for a while, right?"

I shrugged. "Maybe, but she's only going to be lifelike for a few days at most. Soon she'll stop responding to stimuli and wander aimlessly. Then the rot sets in. It's best to just put Snowdrop back tomorrow before she has a chance to get too attached to the idea of keeping her. And no, this isn't a ploy to see your house. I legitimately think it's not worth the risk."

Edward's expression was cynical. "Just admit you want to see it, Anita."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious, but I didn't come here to wreck your happy home life. I needed a favor. I still need a favor. I stomped out two fires for you tonight. I think I've earned a little help in return."

"Answer me one question first."

"Fine. What's the question?"

Edward leaned back in his chair, staring up at the night sky, brow creased in thought. The light pollution was thick enough that there were no stars to be seen. Part of me wished that we'd stayed with Donna and the kids, just so we'd have an excuse to stargaze. I loved the city, but the night sky away from civilization was pretty.

"Why is it that you can't just put a soul back in there? I mean, you've done it with a human being, which is one of the hardest things to animate. Surely it'd be simpler."

I bit the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to smile with all my might. We were still on the dog. I couldn't tell if he was actually curious, or just trying to find a way to keep his step-daughter from losing her pet again. It was sweet, which wasn't a label I'd ever thought I'd slap onto Edward.

"That's not the way it works."

"But why?" he pressed. "It doesn't make a lot of sense from where I'm sitting. Give me the For Dummies version."

I sighed and sipped my Coke, trying to figure out how to word it correctly. "It really depends on who you ask. Houngans and mambos have debated it for centuries, and now there is plenty of speculation in university-level courses on theoretical metaphysics. There was even a whole article on the topic in an issue of The Animator. Only three people on earth have any practical knowledge on the topic. Well, two, now that Dominga is dead. It usually shakes out to two basic theories."

"And those are?" he said, blowing a smoke ring idly.

I wanted to tell him to snub the cigarette out but knew it was a lost cause. He was smoking because he was agitated, which was a first. He was volatile. I'd risk cancer. It would take a lot longer to kill me.

"One theory is that as we evolved our...life energy I guess, gained a certain amount of metaphysical mass, which is what most major world religions term the soul. The impressions ghosts leave and the records of more concrete spiritual energy lingering near the places where people died hint that we're different than most animals. Special. Some animators believe that a creature has to cross a threshold from sentience into sapience before they have souls. Which would mean that we're the only known species that have them. Dominga certainly thought that was the case. Her journals show that she tried ensouling both animals and therianthropes with no luck."

He gave me an oblique look. "But that's not what you think, is it?"

I smiled tightly. "No, I think it's arrogant to think we're the only species on earth that have souls. Georgia and I have had hours-long conversations about this. She's quick to point out that a lot of polytheistic religions usually have gods with animal forms or deified animals as their gods. Take the Aztecs for example. Quetzalcoatl was a feathered serpent. Most likely a species of dragon that has since gone extinct. Hell, Animism is one of the oldest known religions, and its whole schtick is attributing spiritual essence to everything in the material world. We're inclined to think that humans aren't the only beings with souls, they're just the only beings that necromancers have access to. Animals probably run on a different wavelength, metaphysically speaking, and we can't channel whatever passes as their souls."

"Which is why Dominga couldn't raise a therianthrope?" Edward asked. "Its soul is tangled up with the beast half. It couldn't come back as a whole person, so the raising would go awry."

I took another swig of Coke to disguise my smile. Edward was a smart cookie. It was one of the many things I appreciated about my fellow Horseman.

"Exactly. Georgia thinks I might be able to bring a wereanimal back with its soul intact, given my unique circumstances, but it would be wildly unethical to try to raise a therian corpse knowing what could happen if we're wrong. It's going to stay in the realm of speculation for a long, long time. Now quit deflecting. Are you going to help me or not?"

Edward flicked his cigarette off the edge of the porch with a sigh. "It depends on the favor. I'm on a case right now, so I don't know how much help I can offer. Not to mention this shit with Ryker's men."

I crossed my arms over my chest, glowering at him. "About that."

"Christ. Are we really going to go rounders on this, Anita? Because I don't care what you do or say, I'm not leaving them."

"Why not?" I hissed. "You're a goddamn sociopath. There's no way you can be the kind of husband and father they need. Donna needs a quiet life in academia, but now she's in deep shit. That's your fault."

He scowled. "She was in deep shit long before I arrived on the scene. Peter told you who she works for."

"Itzpapalotl. The Master of Albuquerque and an alleged goddess. You said she runs a foundation that works to preserve native cultures, but that doesn't explain why Donna would be in danger. Well, more in more danger than interacting with a vampire would normally entail."

Edward toyed with the carton of cigarettes in his pocket, contemplating lighting up again. Jesus, this really was bothering him.

"Donna found something that Valera wanted. I torched the place after taking care of his men. Fire is hard to beat as a forensic countermeasure. It took them a while to sift through the wreckage of the archeologist's base camp and figure out that what they were looking for was gone. It's taken several years, but they tracked the artifact back to the Foundation. It has to be damn near priceless for them to be this relentless. Ryker and his crew aren't cheap."

"Van Cleef's people?" I asked. The crazy bastard had made it a policy that vampires and wereanimals had to kill off at least five of his elite to be considered worth conscripting. It wasn't out of the possibility for him to allow someone to make a bid for Death.

He shook his head. "His rejects. A lot of people wash out in the first several years as prospective trainees. Ryker is good enough to be a nuisance, but he isn't a big fish as far as the Order is concerned. I wouldn't worry about facing him if he were coming for me alone. But he's not. He's after Donna, and he'll use the kids to get to her and the Master of the City. So you've got it backwards, Anita. I didn't drag Donna into my shit. She dragged me into her shit, and now I have to find a delicate way of handling it."

I stewed in silence for a while, trying to figure out another avenue of attack. I didn't care who put whom in danger this time. The fact of the matter was, Edward was the more dangerous of the pair, and his job had earned him enemies. Enemies who would jump at the chance to get to him through his wife and kids. The longer he stayed with them and the more involved he became, the juicier the target they presented.

But in the end, I didn't say a word. The harder I pushed, the less likely he was to help me. So I shelved the topic for another night and said, "What case are you working on? It's not FBSA. Ted Forester is a Marshal, and the Marshal Service tracks down fugitives and operates witness protection."

He inclined his head. "I'm here as a precaution. There's a high-profile case going on in Albuquerque, and one of the likely suspects is a flight risk. He's an animator and ex-con by the name of Nicky Baco. He likes to claim he's a necromancer. Our sources clock him under that threshold, but he's still strong enough to be dangerous. He runs with the local werewolf pack and ordinary police have been ordered not to go in under any circumstances. This is SWAT or Marshal work only. I probably would have called you in if you hadn't shown up on your own. I need your expertise."

"And I'll give it to you if you help me get on another case. I got completely shut out by both the detectives who showed up to talk to me this evening, and I know I could provide more insights into their case. They were originally trying to figure out whether or not to blame a skinwalker for the serial flayings, but-"

"The bodies were too mangled," he finished. "I know. I've seen the pictures. I tried to tell the head of the task force, but no one listens to me. He wanted an expert opinion. "

I raised an eyebrow. "You're involved in that case too?"

Edward gave me an incredulous look. "Oh come on Anita, it's simpler than that."

It took me a second to figure it out, and when I had, I felt a little slow. I thunked my head lightly against the railing. "It's the same case, isn't it?"

"Bingo."

"Well shit. If they don't want me on the case..."

"They do," he said. "I guarantee you they do. The head of the task force will take any help he can get at this point. This case is a public relations nightmare and he wants it solved before it can devolve into mass panic. I'd say the problem is with the detectives who contacted you, not with the head of their department. Did you piss them off somehow?"

I bit back a groan. No, I hadn't pissed anyone off, but I had embarrassed the hell out of them. Hernando and Maya weren't shutting me out because they thought I was incompetent, they just didn't want to risk me airing their dirty laundry. Of all the petty reasons to exclude me from a case, this had to rank near the top.

Edward slid another cigarette from the pack, but passed it through his fingers thoughtfully, rather than lighting up. "I think I could get you on the case if you're willing to swim through some bureaucratic bullshit. I'll argue the diplomacy angle. You have connections to the primary suspects that no one else can boast. You could approach Baco as a peer, and the Master of the City as the servant of a fellow Master. She'll have to give you an audience, at least, which is more than they've managed in the last week. At the current killing rate, we'd have dozens more bodies on the ground before any of us can speak with her. I think they'll go for it."

"Sounds like a plan," I said slowly. "But you don't seem all that happy about it."

Edward blew out a breath. "No, I'm not. Because you're not the only one trying to butt in on the case. Agent Bradley Bradford of the FBSA is due to arrive around six this morning, and he's bringing two agents with him. Bernardo Spotted-Horse and Otto Jeffries."

"Fuck!"

He laughed, though the sound was forced. "You always know exactly the right thing to say, Anita."

"We can't have Otto here. If he finds out about Donna..."

"If he even twitches toward her, he's a dead man," Edward said quietly. "I've had to abandon identities before and I'll do it again. He's not laying a finger on my family."

It wasn't the words, but the inflection that made me shiver. Edward meant it. He'd completely upend his life for Donna, and I couldn't understand why. I'd upend my life to save Donna and her kids, but I had a conscience to square with if I failed. He didn't. So why did he care so damn much?

"I'll keep him busy," I said at last. "Otto has a weird fixation on me and I'll play into it while he's here."

"That's dangerous," he said. But I noticed it wasn't a no.

"I know that. I can handle him. Donna can't."

"I'm not sure you can. If I'm right about his origins, he's a rapist, even if he was coerced into it. It was probably his first sexual experience, which can inform a lot about how you view sex. You've met him, Anita. Do you think he's lost his taste for it?"

Goosebumps rioted down my arms. I knew what Edward was getting at, and why he had a right to be worried. Otto was obsessed with me and had even expressed an interest in fucking me. We'd never been alone together for any length of time. There was no guarantee that I could stop him if he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"It doesn't matter," I said at last. "I'll...I'll figure it out. I have a snowball's chance in hell against him. Your family doesn't."

"If something happens, I'll kill him for you."

I smiled, but there wasn't any joy in it. "No. If something happens, I'll kill him. Non-negotiable."

Edward flicked his lighter to life. It cast flickering shadows on his face and glinted off his very white teeth. His smile was shark-like.

"We're partners, Anita. It's only fair that we share. But I will give you the first crack at him."

That sounded like a plan to me.

Chapter Text

I fed the ardeur on London shortly after Edward left, and then collapsed into bed, determined to get a little sleep before facing the unpleasant task that lay ahead. It was unlikely to be restful, given my propensity to dream about a certain primordial horror and her shadowy retinue, but I had to try.

So it was surprising that I found myself lying on my back on a warm, soft bed staring up at a stone ceiling. Light came in at an angle, warming my face with the rays of a new dawn. The door and window were open, letting the cool morning air swirl through. In the distance, I heard birdsong, the murmur of female voices, and the clucking of chickens. A quick glance around the room showed spare furniture, a few colorful rugs, and a small shrine in the corner. I didn't recognize this place, and I felt certain Jeanette hadn't set foot here either.

"Where the hell am I?"

"My home."

The voice came from just beside me and startled me so badly that I acted without thinking. I rolled, straddling the stranger next to me, hooking one leg around her knee to hinder her ability to rise, already reaching toward my waist, where the Browning should have been holstered. It wasn't there. I was wearing something loose and thin that fluttered around my knees as I moved.

The person beneath me was wearing something similar and, as I examined her face, I realized she wasn't a stranger. Her face was a delicate oval, framed by a long fall of silky black hair. It was loose and would have fallen to her mid-back if she hadn't been laying beneath me. Her eyes were slightly tilted and gleamed like backlit fire opals in the morning light. It was one of the few reliable ways to identify clan tigers. They kept their tiger eyes, even in human form.

"Jade," I said, voice breathy with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

She laughed and the sound was as sweet and carefree as the birdsong outside. "I think that's my line, Anita. This is my dream, not yours. I'm not entirely sure how you managed to intrude. Even Amir rarely comes here, and he is my Master."

Well, that answered one question. Unfortunately, it spawned a host of new ones, each more anxiety-inducing than the last. Why was this happening? How had I managed to do something that Jade's master didn't regularly attempt? Did this mean that I'd managed a metaphysical accident in my fucking sleep? Was something like that even possible? I didn't know, and that scared the hell out of me.

I tried to slide off of Jade, embarrassed by my hasty reaction, but her hands flew up, gripping me around the waist, holding me in place. A smirk tugged up the edges of her small mouth.

"Don't. I like having you on top of me."

Heat burned in my cheeks. Of course she liked this. Jade had been trapped in an unwilling heterosexual monogamous relationship with her Master for over a thousand years. I was the first female lover she'd had since being bound to him, and she wasn't shy about letting me know how much she wanted to do it again.

"I'm not here to have sex with you. Hell, I'm not sure why I'm here in the first place. If your Master can't get in here, how can I?"

She sighed. "It's not so much that he can't but that he does not want to. This is the last place I truly considered home. Lin and I stole away from our clan to be together. It was a more humble abode than we were used to, but it was worth it, just to live together in peace. If we'd stayed, we would have been married off. It's the way clans operate. Duty before love or desire. He shies away from my dreams because they are a reminder that I do not love him. That I will never love him, no matter how many times he tries to fuck me into compliance. I've mastered the art of lucid dreaming, and steer my dreams here as often as I can. It's the only time I have a measure of peace."

"And now I'm here," I said. "Any theories as to why?"

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Perhaps I have thought of you so often that I simply willed you into my bed."

Her hips shifted beneath mine for emphasis, a delicious bit of friction that made my spine arch, just a little. Things low in my body clenched tight in anticipation. It seemed wrong that I should feel this much desire post-ardeur feeding. London had supplied me with enough energy to last the rest of the week. Which had to mean this was real, honest-to-God lust. The first inkling I'd had for anyone since Stillwater, sans supernatural influence. I wanted Jade and she wanted me. That sort of honest connection was almost refreshing.

Jade's breath caught in her throat when I slid my hands teasingly beneath the thin material of her sleep clothes. I ran my fingers over the taut skin of her stomach. She and I had similar muscle tone, though she was shorter and slimmer. It was rare that I had a woman in my bed who wasn't a waif. I could touch Jade without feeling like I was about to snap her in half.

"Do you dream of me often, then?"

"Every night I can," she said, still breathless. "Anita...please..."

"I will," I said. "Soon. But I need to know how this is happening. I want to be sure it isn't all in your head. Or mine. It wouldn't be fair. If you have any theories, now would be a great time to put them forward."

Jade's lips curled into an adorable pout. It was so damn endearing that I leaned forward, brushing a light kiss across her mouth. I had to pull away a moment later when she tried to deepen the chaste contact into something more.

"You've felt my tiger more strongly over the past few months, haven't you?"

I paused, trying to think about it. The last time I'd been in contact with weretigers I'd been passing through Vegas and stopped at Trixie's, a strip club owned by the Master of the City. Most of the employees were therianthropes or vampires, an idea he'd directly ripped off from Jeanette. Paris had been working that night, and we'd caught up. She was dating a male stripper named Crispin and seemed happy. But I had noticed the shadow beast Jade had given me reacted strongly to his scent. She hadn't liked it and had even growled softly. It had startled me enough I'd beat a hasty retreat back to my hotel room.

"Yes," I said slowly. "Though I don't know why."

Jade chewed her lower lip and averted her eyes, clearly guilty about something. I scowled down at her when she didn't provide an explanation.

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, per se. I just wanted to test a theory. I stayed nearby to chase away the Horseman that plagued you, yes, but I wanted to see if prolonged exposure would draw me closer to you. The rumors say you can sometimes draw upon powers you shouldn't possess. Amir tried to attack you and your Master with his abilities before the ardeur drowned us all. He was trying to pull us both free of it, but it was too late for me, at least. I was hoping that perhaps I wasn't the only one who imprinted power onto you."

My stomach rolled at the reminder of that night. I'd unwittingly drawn all four of us into a gang rape, with Jeanette taking the brunt of Amir's lust. He'd come on my face and hair but hadn't been inside me, which was a relief. Jeanette wasn't willing to share more details, and I hadn't pressed for them. I didn't want to know. The mere concept was horrific enough. Amir had raped my girlfriend. She'd raped him in return. Jade and I had raped each other. And ultimately I was the one who'd forced us all into it in the first place. If I'd called Jeanette and tried to understand what the hunger was before it had become so overwhelming, it could have been avoided.

"And what's the verdict?" I whispered.

"Repeat exposure makes it stronger. I think...I think you could take me from him. I could be your tiger to call. If you killed him-"

"If I kill him, I risk killing you," I said, cutting across her. It hurt to do it. She looked so damn hopeful. "I don't know how this therian servant stuff works. Every time I've bound someone to me, it was in the midst of a metaphysical disaster. I won't stake Amir without knowing damn well you're going to survive it. Jeanette's the one who knows what she's doing, not me. I'd have to call her to get an explanation, and you said she's being watched. Someone might guess."

"Then call her here," Jade said breathlessly. "Open your connection to your Master."

"You said you didn't want her to know."

Jade leaned up so we were pressed chest to chest, her eyes fever bright as she stared imploringly up at me. "I know what I said, but that was before I thought there was a chance. Your master enacts cruelty only when it is politically necessary, not for its own sake. She wouldn't beat me. She wouldn't rape me. I don't care if she made me sit at her feet like a housecat. I would do it, just to be free of him. Please call her, Anita."

I wanted to say no. I hadn't let Jeanette enter my dreams in person for months, afraid of what I'd do when I saw her. She still snuck in every now and then, when my subconscious decided it was time to torture me with memories of nights past. But this wasn't about me, was it? I wasn't the one trapped by a tyrant. Jeanette had let me leave, let me deal with the ardeur in my own way, instead of forcing me to remain by her side. We had a relationship of equals. Who was I to deny Jade the same thing?

"She might not answer," I warned. "Our relationship has been on the rocks since Stillwater."

Though most of that had been my doing. She'd been unbelievably kind in the aftermath, which only made me feel worse. I rolled off Jade, facing away from her so she wouldn't see the thoughts flit across my face.

"I understand," Jade said, smoothing a small hand over my shoulder. "Will you try?"

Of course I'd fucking try. I owed her that much, after what we'd done in Stillwater. It had been my fault. She didn't hold it against me, and even seemed excited by the possibilities it presented, but I couldn't escape the thought it had been rape. I resented that it had happened like that.

I closed my eyes, reaching for the tie that bound us together. It was one of a handful I possessed now, but still the strongest tether. She was my Master, but more than that, she was the love of my goddamned life. I loved Asher and Julian. I was falling for Jade. I could maybe see myself falling for Jamil and some of the others in time, but they weren't her. She'd wound her way into my heart, digging her roots in deep. If she was ever plucked from my life, it would leave a gaping hole in my chest.

I barely skimmed my fingers over the surface of her mind, and she was suddenly there, blazing like a miniature sun in my awareness. A bass beat pounded into my bones, and I felt her body move in time to the music. It came to a crescendo, then ended in a flourish. Jeanette completed a graceful spin on the pole, landing on the balls of her feet before flashing a smile at a crowd of waiting girls. They looked college-aged, and all of them were wearing workout clothes and pairs of clear stiletto heels. They must be dancers in training that Nathaniel had mentioned during one of his phone calls. Smolder had been burnt down last August and was due to reopen soon with a new batch of talent.

"And that's the first set. Maddison, you go first," she said, crooking a finger at the woman nearest the stage. "I have to step out. Jason will rate your performance."

When she was safely away she spoke, even her mental voice squeezed tight with grief and barely suppressed hope. "Mon amour?"

My heart clenched. God, I'd missed the sound of her voice. "I'm here, amorcita."

The endearment fell easily into the space between us. I'd been speaking exclusively in Spanish for months with the cartels, and one of the men I'd pretended to date had called me that in private moments. It seemed too sweet to describe what we'd had. I wasn't his little love. But I was hers. And she was mine.

Jeanette paused, and I felt an echo of the warmth that suffused her chest. "A new nickname?"

"You don't like it?" I asked. "I mean it could come off a little Addams family-ish."

She laughed quietly to herself. "No, I like it. And any woman able to compare herself to the icon that is Morticia Addams is lucky indeed. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? I assume this isn't a social call."

"Not exactly."

"I suspected as much. What do you require?"

I tugged at her awareness in lieu of an answer. She didn't fight me, just slid a metaphorical hand into mine and allowed herself to be eased into the dream world I currently occupied. She took a slow look around the room, frowning.

"I was under the impression you were in New Mexico, ma petite," she said. "This is a loess-carved home. The last time I saw one, I was living with Meng-Die in the northern half of the Shaanxi Province in China. She inherited her family's home there."

"Observant," Jade remarked. "Most Western vampires don't take note of that sort of thing, and it has been over a century. I would have thought you'd forget the details."

Jeanette spun around so fast that she was just a blur of ivory skin and ebony hair. Her eyes were wide and a little wild when they settled on Jade.

"What is she doing here?" she demanded.

Jade rolled her eyes. "This is my dream, not Anita's. The question is how she meandered into my head, not the other way around. We're certain it's due to the connection the ardeur forged between us months ago."

Jeanette's stare shifted to me, eyes going flat. "You knew of this connection, and kept it from me?"

I couldn't meet her eyes for long. This was the sort of thing I'd been worried about when I agreed to date Jade in the first place. Jeanette and I weren't exclusive. We couldn't be, with the burden of our shared ardeur, but the key to being polyamorous was honesty. I'd been flirting with the idea of taking Jade to my bed for months and I hadn't consulted any of my long-term partners to okay it first.

"I forced Anita's hand," Jade lied, saving me from answering her. "I'm told you did the same at the beginning of your courtship, and for many of the same reasons I have. We exchange information where we can. She's doing this to keep your Kiss safe. There are members of our order among your ranks. I can give her advance warning if they are planning to strike."

"I see," Jeanette said, tone clipped and unhappy. A little of the tension had eased out of her shoulders at Jade's words. She didn't like it, but she wasn't as angry as she'd been moments before. "And what do you get out of this exchange?"

Jade's hand slid into mine. "A chance at a life free of terror. I was not bound by choice. My Master rapes me at every opportunity, certain he can somehow cure my 'perversions' with his cock. I'm sure you, of all people, know what it is like to suffer the attentions of a monster and have no recourse. Anita may have enough of Amir's essence to free me, but she wants your guidance, lest his death take me as well. I could be her tiger to call. Or yours. I don't care which. If you could call more than one animal, you would be a power that few would cross."

I had to hand it to Jade. She was fluent in the language that Jeanette knew best: Power. If Jeanette could call and bind new therian servants on top of the triumvirate she already had, it would be a jump in power that could put her close to the level of a lesser Council member. She tried to keep her mask firmly in place, but I caught the slip. A look of naked hunger crossed her face, sharpening her features into something that was near feral. No matter how far she rose in the ranks, how many victories she won, and how many allies she gathered, there was the need for more. Jeanette would never feel totally safe until all her enemies were dead.

"What do you propose?" she asked, expression guarded.

"I can bring Amir into Anita's orbit. Be ready to help her if the time comes. Then we'll see. Maybe I die, or maybe I'm yours. It's worth the risk, don't you think?'

Jeanette sat, the bed sinking under her weight. She was too poised to look frazzled, but I got the sense she was rubbing her temples somewhere back in reality. This entire thing was a bit of a mind fuck for me too.

"And if you die?" she asked.

"It will be over, one way or the other. Will you help us or not?"

Jeanette's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and lines appeared between her perfectly arched brows. "I suppose I must. For Anita's sake, if nothing else. She has a tender heart, and she'd take it as a moral failing if she didn't try."

Jeanette knew me too well, damn it. That was exactly my train of thought. She was smiling faintly, amused by my petulant silence, probably guessing that her perceptiveness made me uncomfortable. Which only made it worse. Embarrasception.

"Very well. The first step is..."

Chapter Text

I woke to a sharp rapping at the door.

My first instinct was to roll over and bury my face in the pillow and will myself back into unconsciousness. I hadn't fallen asleep until a quarter after two, and the sleep I had gotten was less than restful. I was convinced I didn't reach full REM sleep when I had lucid dreams, which made the fatigue that much worse. We'd spent what felt like hours going over the metaphysics of what we were about to attempt, along with the potential political ramifications if it somehow worked. Jade would have to go into hiding after faking her own death. There was no way the Harlequin could let us live if we proved dangerous enough to wrest one of their therian servants away without apparent effort. It was a little disappointing for Jeanette, who wouldn't be able to show off a new tiger to call, but if she could call a second animal, no matter the flavor, it would still be damned impressive. Impressive enough to make her enemies think twice before trying anything.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, reaching automatically for the Browning in its holster. It was my preferred weapon in a fight, so I kept it hanging from the headboard in easy reach. Was it the smartest decision? Hell no. But when you went up against the kind of monsters I did, seconds were crucial. If something with fangs and claws burst through the door with the intent to eat my face, it would be too late to go for the Glock on the nightstand. At least the headboard was safer than keeping the damn thing under my pillow.

I padded to the bedroom door, my overlarge sleep shirt flapping above my knees, Browning held parallel with my thigh. I'd borrowed this one from Jamil the last time he'd been over and he hadn't bothered to ask for it back. The scent of him still clung to the fabric, even after repeated washings, and it was comforting. The thing about having an animal to call was an instinctive need to touch them, especially in times of stress. It was usually why vampires picked friends or lovers to stand by their side for eternity. Awkward to be felt up by someone who you loathed for all eternity.

I opened the door just a crack and straightened a fraction of an inch when I saw who was waiting on the other side. It had been an involuntary reaction from almost the moment we met. He was physically imposing, though that wouldn't have been enough to set my alarm bells off all by itself. Almost every man that had come to my bed had about a foot on me, so height only factored in if I needed to fight. If I had to guess, it was something about his eyes. They were the color of smoky quartz and set deep in his face, usually shadowed by his prominent brows. He'd let his hair grow in a little since the last time I'd seen him, so it was roughly the length of a military-style buzzcut and evened out the Van Dyke beard he sported. His mouth twitched just a little in amusement when he spotted the wariness that crossed my face.

"Otto," I managed after a moment. "What an unpleasant surprise. Why the hell are you knocking at my door at the ass end of morning?"

"Breakfast is ready," he said mildly. "Edward said someone should wake you."

"I'm pretty sure he tried to send Bernardo," I said, mirroring his tone. I did not want to let him think he'd spooked me. "He's here right? Or did you somehow con him into staying with Agent Bradford?"

The hint of a smirk graduated into the genuine article, and his eyes glinted with suppressed laughter. Or maybe just a maniacal chuckle. I doubted Otto did anything as innocuous as laugh.

"The local police are more familiar with Bernardo, so he is fielding the negotiations with their task force."

Of course they were. It was just my luck that it left me in the same house as the raging psychopath who wanted me as his personal pin-up girl. A thought which brought back my unpleasant promise I'd made to Edward. I had to keep Otto occupied for the duration of the case, which meant I had to play nice.

"Are you going to shoot me?" Otto said, smiling down at me as though the thought was cute. "I smell the primer. Sloppy of you not to take therians into account during your preparations. I'm sure Edward gave you something to cause nose blindness."

I forced a smile, though every cell in my body wanted to snap his nose to the side and then make a break for it. If Edward was right about Otto's predilections, I was about to play chicken with a tiger, and I didn't like my odds. I could end up where I'd been last August, trapped with a monster and no one to hear me scream. But if I let myself think that way, I wouldn't be able to leave this room, let alone do what I'd promised. So I centered myself, calmed my frantically beating heart, and nodded at him.

"You're right," I said, stepping away from the door. "I've been off for a few months, so I haven't needed to think about it. I'll treat it before we leave for the station."

It took everything I had to leave the door cracked, instead of slamming it in his face as I gathered my clothes for the day. A black-on-black ensemble was my go-to for meetings with the police. Somber, professional, and hard to spot a gun against unless you were looking closely. I moved to the side of the door, shimmying into the outfit as quickly as I could, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.

When I dared a peek at him, he was examining my legs with interest. It was more professional curiosity than lust, which only lessened the anxiety by a fraction. He was still looking at me, still edging his way into the room, which left only one avenue of escape. The windows were made out of bulletproof glass, and were difficult to break. The question was, could I open one and kick out the screen before Otto caught me? Could I scream before he choked off my air and did something unspeakable to me?

"Burns," he remarked. "From the firebug you faced?"

I shook my head. "Boiling water. I was captured and viciously tortured by one of the first vampires I hunted. I don't know if I should count myself lucky he was a pedophile. He offered to let another vampire rape me while I was 'still pretty' to add insult to injury, instead of doing it himself."
"Did he?" Otto asked.

"Did he what?"

"Have his proxy rape you before the torture?"

He tried to keep his voice light and conversational but failed. There was something in the tone of his voice that set my teeth on edge. The sort of tone that people with niche interests got when discussing their hobbies. It wasn't a peer asking if I was okay. My stomach rolled at the only other option. He wanted to know the details of the possible rape. I didn't want to talk about this. But I'd been the one to let him in, had answered his questions, though I knew better.

"No," I said shortly. "I staked Valentine, and Edward killed Aubrey."

"Not the vampire then, but someone did it," Otto said after a moment. "I smelled it in Stillwater. There's a unique scent afterward. Blood and pain and..." He leaned toward me, scenting the air near me before the chilly little smirk returned. "Shame. Always shame. I expected you'd be different. It was a little disappointing, honestly, but I supposed I shouldn't have expected any different from a woman."

I paused as I holstered the Browning inner pants holster, goosebumps rioting up my arms. My fingers flexed so hard around what I could touch that the casing creaked. I tasted bile and blood at the back of my throat, and belatedly realized I'd bitten the inside of my cheek to keep myself from screaming at him. He'd been close enough to a woman to know what she smelled like in the aftermath of rape. No, women, plural. Yes, he had been an agent before turning into a weretiger and could have encountered assault victims that way but...my gut told me the experience had been pleasure for Otto, not business.

My voice came out strangled with effort when I said, "What the fuck did you just say to me?"

So much for being pleasant. If I wasn't going to be a flirt, I could be an antagonist. That suited me just fine. Better, actually. I wasn't sure I could look into his vile face and simper for the duration of the case.

The mirthless gleam in his eyes hadn't dimmed. "Did you orgasm? Almost half of women do."

This hadn't gone the way I'd expected or hoped. I had to get out of here, or I was going to shoot him. It wasn't the time or place to whack Otto. Not with a federal agent in town, already on guard for mysterious deaths and disappearances.

I hadn't orgasmed when Lamar raped me, and I'd be eternally grateful for it. There'd been too much pain, physical and metaphysical, to allow for it. Adding an orgasm would have added another layer of bewilderment and betrayal to the already confusing mess, but like hell was I telling Otto that.

"That's none of your damn business," I whispered.

"That's a yes, then. I'll never understand why women whine and cry about rape when they enjoy themselves."

"Did you enjoy it when you were raped?" I shot back. "I'm sure that you came. Ninety to ninety-five percent of male victims do. And since you were in Traeger's Cult Formation Experiment, it was probably with someone unfortunate. Was it your foster mom? You hate her guts, so I assume she was involved. Did your foster father get involved too, or just beat off in the corner while it happened?"

I was horrified seconds after the words left my mouth. They'd felt good, like purging the venom from my system, but once they were in the air between us, I knew I'd fucked up. Otto hadn't known how close we were to his true identity, which had given us an edge. Now he knew that we knew, which meant he'd be on guard.

For a moment, we just stared at each other. Power poured off him, filling the room like the heat of a blast furnace. His fear and fury raked at my aura like claws, digging in deep, drawing a thin sound of pain from my throat. He was so damn powerful, and I'd forgotten just how deadly he could be in one white-hot flash of anger. His eyes were wide and a little feral. I expected him to shift, to go for my throat. What he actually did was so much worse.

Otto kissed me.

One second he was standing near the door and the next he was pressed against me, one large hand coming up to cage my neck in a bone-crushing grip. I couldn't twist out of his hold without fracturing my own spine. The tip of sharp claws dug furrows into my skin when he pressed his mouth to mine, hard and demanding. I tried to bite his lip but only succeeded in giving him the opening he needed to shove his tongue into my mouth. I bit that too, tearing at it until the tang of blood filled my mouth, but he didn't release me. He just pulled me closer, swallowing my sound of panic when I felt his length hard and ready just beneath my navel.

No, no, no, no!

I lashed out in blind panic, unaware I'd managed to shift a hand until inches-long leopard's claws dug into the meat of his flank. That did draw his mouth off mine for a second. Then he laughed, sending a fresh sluice of fear down my spine. I smelled blood on his breath when he spoke in a soft, intimate whisper.

"I am going to kill you, Anita Blake, and I will enjoy it. Not even Death can keep you from me now."

Then, with an abruptness that made my head spin, he released me. He was out the door and stalking down the hall in seconds. My knees gave out, and I slumped to the floor, shaking, one hand pressed to my bleeding mouth.

Oh fuck. What the hell had I just done?

Chapter Text

"Long sleeves?" Edward asked, eyeing my ensemble skeptically. "In this weather? You're going to suffer heat stroke before lunch."

I pulled the lightweight suit jacket around my shoulders, on the pretext of trying to conceal my weapons. If I were being honest, I just didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing he was right. The morning was already warm and the heat would only rise as the day went on. Though, if all went well, I'd be in air-conditioned offices or my own car all day, so the only times I'd have to suffer the heat were the journeys to and from those places.

I'd worn the coat mostly for the other cops' benefit. By going through Edward, I'd managed to circumvent Hernando and Maya's attempts to keep me off the case, and I didn't imagine they'd take that well. Worse, not all of their fellow cops would take the scars well either. Misogyny was deeply entrenched in most law enforcement agencies, so even gaining entry to those spaces was difficult for the average woman. When said women had a higher kill count and more impressive scars than they did, the reaction was even worse. It wasn't a consideration I normally had to make, since the FBSA had to be invited into any given case, and my authority as an agent meant I was negotiating from a position of strength. But ever since I'd had my badge suspended, I had to approach as a civilian contractor which meant my involvement could be terminated at any time. I had to take a different tack.

Did I like making myself smaller and more palatable to salve men's egos? Hell no. Would I do it for this case? Yes. There were too many bodies on the ground already to walk away. If I had to kiss a little ass to get on the task force, so be it. I'd bought a new lipstick especially for the occasion. Well, honestly it was to cover up the last of the damage Otto had done to my mouth, but it would work just as well for my current mission.

"I thought you were Ted Forrester, Federal Marshal, not an undercover agent for the Fashion Police," I shot back. "Keep your nose out of my closet. Jesus."

Edward chuckled, but there wasn't much life behind it. We'd already started the day off on a rough note, and I couldn't imagine things would look up from here. Otto was nowhere to be found, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. On the one hand, it was a relief not to stand next to the man who'd assaulted me two hours before and pretend everything was hunky dory. On the other, it was unnerving not to know where he was or what he was doing. Bernardo hadn't heard from him either, which meant he could be lying in wait to carry out his threat. I wasn't going to be able to rest easy until he was six feet underground or dissolving slowly in a vat of lye.

Edward beat me to the set of double doors and held it open for me with a mocking smile. Good ol' boy Ted would never let a lady open her own doors. On an ordinary day, the gesture would probably have pissed me off. Now I was just grateful for a bit of normalcy. Funny how one little hiccup in your day could alter your perspective.

Edward doffed his head in greeting, flashing the receptionist manning the desk a charming Ted smile. She returned it with a smile and wink of her own, placing her hand over the receiver so she could whisper, "They're in the conference room. Watch out for Marks. He's been on the warpath since Lowell called in the FBI."

"I will," he said, settling his hat back on his head. "Thanks a million, Sherry. I'll owe you a coffee."

Her eyes twinkled with good humor. "You know how I like it."

She removed her hand, apologized to the person on the other end, and began taking notes as if the exchange hadn't occurred. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as we passed. That had been...odd. Was Ted a frequent contact with the city's law enforcement? It was the only reason I could think that Sherry would be so familiar with Ted. Familiar enough that he'd know her coffee order by heart. Huh. The more you knew.

"Making friends?" I asked.

He smirked. "Always. You can never have enough. And speaking of, try not to do the two-step on either Detective Ramirez' toes. I've only met Hernando, but he's an up-and-comer. His opinion might hold weight."

Of course it would, because nothing in my life could ever be simple. Just once I wanted an open and shut case with a team who was willing to play nice. But if wishes were horses, I'd be in a different business, and probably a lot happier as a result.

"Got it," I muttered. "Though I don't know how much good it'll do me. They'll probably want me off the case no matter what."

Edward paused with his hand on the conference room door, a frown creasing his face. "What exactly did you do to these people? You're abrasive but you don't usually make enemies this quickly."

I ducked my head a little, trying to hide my blush. I'd inherited Dad's complexion, which meant I flushed bright, blotchy red. Edward knew me too well not to put the pieces together. There were very few topics that embarrassed me these days and sex was one of them.

"I don't think it's a good idea to share that," I said, proud when I managed to keep my voice neutral. Point for me.

Edward made a non-committal noise and rapped sharply on the door. It took a moment, but a man finally appeared on the other side, opening the door just a crack to peer out at us. I almost groaned when Hernando's face appeared in the gap. Of course it had to be him. Things could never be easy. Maybe I'd smashed a mirror at some point because bad luck seemed to gravitate toward me as a matter of course.

Hernando seemed pleased to see Ted, but when his eyes found mine, all the warmth seeped out of his face. I could see the wheels turning in his head. Could he close the door quickly enough to pretend it had been a false alarm or someone with an inconsequential message? And what sort of consequences would he face if his superiors didn't buy it?

Edward must have spotted the reaction too because he very casually wedged his foot into the gap. Hernando would have to break a couple of toes if he wanted to keep us out.

"Nice to see you again, Hernando," Edward said. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn his accent was thicker. He was leaning into Ted's persona hard. "I'm here to check in with Detective Lowell. I have a few leads he'll want to know about."

"Is that so?" Hernando said stonily, never taking his eyes off me.

"If you could be so kind as to step back, I'd be much obliged," Ted said, stroking the brim of his hat. It looked like a gesture born of long habit, but I could never tell what was real or affectation with Edward. He was the consummate actor.

"Who's your friend?" Hernando asked.

I blinked. Was he really going to act like we'd never met? It wasn't a strategy I expected, but I could roll with it if it meant getting through the door. So I wiped the surprise off my face and offered him my for-clients smile, extending a hand.

"Anita Blake. I'm a consultant. I think we spoke the other day."

"Ah, right, the animator."

"Yes, the animator. Ted thinks that skill set could come in handy for part of your investigation. Something about a man named Nicky Baco?"

Some of the tension eased out of Hernando's shoulders at the mention of Baco's name. He must be assigned to a different portion of the case. After a moment he nodded and held the door open for us. "Come in then. Watch your head. I think Marks might start throwing things. He's pissed about the Feds, and bringing her in here will make things worse. He was against the consult in the first place."

Someone else who'd dislike me on sight. Goodie. I just loved being popular.

The conference room beyond was dimly lit, with most of the detectives facing front to watch a slideshow being put on for Bradley Bradford's benefit. Some of the images were familiar, a rerun of the photos the Detectives had shown me in the office. Some were new to me. There were a few autopsy photos and a close-up of some broken shards of black stone that the medical examiner had pulled from the bodies. I had a sneaking suspicion I knew what they were before the presenter (presumably Lowell, the head of the task force) announced the findings.

"Obsidian was found in almost every body we retrieved," he said, pacing a little as he spoke. "Which might point to a ritual aspect of the killing. Though we can't rule out a weapon of convenience. Several of the victims collected Native artifacts, including the first, John Henao. It could have gained significance to the perp after that first homicide. We won't know for sure without more context."

I leaned against the wall, rather than taking a seat at the table, and Edward followed suit. I could feel his eyes on me, scrutinizing every facial tic. He knew what Lowell knew, and he wasn't going to share. He'd always been a fan of letting me come to conclusions on my own.

"So far our most promising suspects are the Master of the City and a self-proclaimed necromancer named Nicky Baco, but both are currently out of reach. Obsidian Butterfly has a shitload of lawyers and every single one of them is stonewalling us. Baco is surrounded by members of the Los Lobos, a shapeshifting gang who run a bar on the edge of town. They're known to be violent, and the results of a frontal assault could be disastrous for the humans in the area. He also says he's some sort of religious figure for them and is trying to claim a religious exemption. Says that he's their vargamor and is entrusted with a duty to keep the pack's secrets. It's like the seal of the confessional or something."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. The idea that the position of vargamor was comparable to a Catholic priest's duties was just ridiculous. It drew several eyes in my direction, including Lowell's. It was hard to tell in the dimness of the room, but I thought he raised an incredulous brow.

"Is something funny, Ms..."

"Blake," I said, straightening a little. "Anita Blake. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your presentation, but yes, it was a little funny. Baco's 'religious exemption' is a pile of horse shit. He's banking on the idea that you won't know what the position entails. It's an old practice that's fallen out of favor, so there won't be a lot of recent literature on it."

I had their full attention now, whether I liked it or not. Lowell's expression was open, and a little curious, which was a good start. At least he was taking the upstaging well.

"And what exactly is a vargamor, Ms. Blake, and how do you know about them?"

"A vargamor is a witch or some other flavor of psychic that mediates disputes among members of an animal group. They also oversee any rituals that take place, if said group adheres to any pagan traditions. Most U.S. therianthropes don't, so it's become a little old-fashioned to have one. And even if he performs rituals for the Los Lobos Clan, he's only forbidden to disclose those practices. Anything else is fair game. I was offered the position in our local pack since St. Louis has enough wolves to make a mediator necessary sometimes. I turned it down because I already have enough work to deal with as it is."

Georgia had been offered the position in my place but turned it down as well. She had the time, but not the temperament. The first wolf who got in her face or tried to manhandle her would probably send her into hysterics. Therian politics weren't the place for my well-mannered and oversensitive friend. She was strong in her own way, but conflict would never be her strong suit. As far as I knew, Jamil was still interviewing prospective psychics for the job.

A man near Lowell's elbow let out a derisive snort. The light hit him at an angle, giving me a more complete picture of his face. It had washed to a light silvery sheen, bleached by the bright projector screen, which made me think it was some shade of blonde under natural light. It was cropped close to his strong, squarish face. His expression had twisted with barely disguised contempt.

"Detective Marks I presume," I said.

The man sat up a little straighter, eyes narrowing to slits. "Did you use your witchy powers to figure that out, Blake?"

Oh brother. I could tell just from the tone and word choice that Marks was going to be a royal pain in the ass. I smiled at him, though my eyes remained as cool as his. People who knew me well would be backpedaling and trying to find the nearest exit when they spotted my expression. But Marks didn't know me. He stared back, thoroughly unimpressed.

"No, sir," I said sweetly. "I was warned someone was unhappy with the Fed's arrival, and you were the first sourpuss I saw."

That drew a few laughs from the assembled detectives. Even Lowell had turned his head away, concealing a smile. Marks' face twisted with rage, hands balling into fists on the conference room table.

"No one asked you to be here, Blake. Why don't you turn around and find a school bus of children to sacrifice?"

I snorted a laugh. God, he was ignorant and proud of it. How had this man become the second-in-command of this task force? I might have been prone to shooting my mouth off, but even I wouldn't parrot something that stupid.

"First off, I'm not a witch. That's a religious practice that some psychics choose to follow, not something you intrinsically are. And before you follow that up with 'devil worshiper' or 'voodoo queen' I'm not a proponent of Vodu or a member of the Satanic Temple. Who are really just atheists if you really break down what they stand for. If you really think either group sacrifices babies, you'd have fit right in during the Satanic Panic of the 80s."

It was impossible to be sure in the dark, but I thought he'd flushed an uneven red. He looked seconds away from launching himself across the table toward me. Jesus. Did this man have a hair trigger, or was I just that good at getting under people's skin?

"You raise the dead," he hissed. "That's not natural. Only God can bring the dead to life."

I raised my hands in a push-away gesture, trying to pacify him. "I never claimed to be Jesus, Detective Marks. I do good work, but I can't bring the dead back permanently. As far as I know, true resurrection is impossible by purely human practitioners."

Which was technically a lie. Georgia and I had been able to fish Julian's soul from the ether and stuff it back into his body. Some people would classify that as resurrection, though I was inclined to disagree. Julian's existence depended on Georgia and I's continued survival. If he was cut off from those lifelines, he'd crumble back into a pile of yellowing bones. To me, it implied an extremely complex form of necromancy, not God-like power, but I was sure Marks would disagree, so I kept it to myself.

"You use human sacrifices," he said, jabbing a finger at me.

"I use goats, actually," I said coolly. This shit was getting tired, and fast. "Or cows. But I reserve those for old zombies. Chickens or my own blood will usually suffice for anything under a decade or two. Human sacrifice is illegal and you won't catch anyone from Animators Inc even thinking of practicing it."

"It's blood," Marks said, pushing to his feet. "Using blood in rituals is evil. Savage, just like the Aztec bitch who probably butchered these people."

The laugh that escaped me was so caustic it hurt my throat. It made Marks' expression waver, wariness taking place of his rage for just a moment. It was my turn to lean forward. I managed to keep myself from hissing a few unsavory names at him, but that was all the restraint I could manage.

"I assume you're Christian, Marks. What flavor?"

Marks crossed his arms over his chest, his chin setting defiantly. "Catholic."

"Do you take communion?"

His brow creased. He didn't seem to know where I was going with this.

"Of course I do."

"So by your own admission, you believe in transubstantiation. That you take in the body and blood of Christ at communion. You believe that one man became the perfect sacrifice to cleanse the world of its sin. But before that, people were under the law. Priests had to make continual blood sacrifice for the good of the Israelite people. How is that any different than what the Aztecs practiced? Their belief was that Huitzilopochtli was waging a constant war against darkness, and if he lost, the world would end. Blood sacrifice was necessary to keep the world spinning. It's hard to find a major religion that doesn't center around blood in some way, and Christianity isn't immune. We've always known it's important, though we didn't always have the science to know why."

Marks mouthed silently for a few moments before exploding. "The Old Testament priests didn't practice human sacrifice!"

I shrugged. "Maybe not, but God did require Abraham to be willing to sacrifice his own son. And he allowed the devil to destroy everything Job had ever built or cared about."

"Marks," Lowell began, sounding tired. "Just sit down. We'll talk about this later."

"Exodus 22: 18. 'Though shalt not suffer a witch to live!'" Marks spat.

"Well, that's more accurately translated as 'suffer not a poisoner to live' which means God endorses capital punishment. But if you want to quote scripture try Proverbs 18:6 on for size. 'By talking, a fool gets into an argument and his mouth invites a beating.' Do you want to keep going? Cause I can do this all day."

More laughter. I was pretty sure Marks would have launched himself across the table at me if Lowell hadn't shoved him back into his chair. "That's enough out of both of you."

"As entertaining as this is," a man said from the front. "Do you mind telling me what you're here for, Ms. Blake? I was under the impression that the FBSA was only in reserve for this case."

Ah, this must have been Agent Bradley Bradford. He didn't sound particularly pleased to hear from me either, which made sense. The FBI and the FBSA had a somewhat adversarial relationship. Our department had started out a shitshow when it began a year ago, and it had only improved marginally since then. The bar for entry was exceptionally low, which meant any bigot who could pass a physical and firearms test could get a shiny new badge and all the authority that came with it. The FBI was understandably pissed that they had to essentially babysit a bunch of lunatics with minimal training and who hadn't put in the years of effort to acquire federal status.

"I'm just here as a consult. Marshal Forrester and I have worked a few cases together, and he thinks my expertise could give you inroads to your top suspects."

"Of course she can," Marks muttered.

"Shut up," Lowell said in an undertone. Then, louder, "What do you mean, Ms. Blake?"

"I can approach Nicky Baco as a peer. If he really is a necromancer with ties to a wolf pack, he and I have enough in common that he might want to speak with me. And as for Itzpapalotl, I can approach her as the servant of a fellow Master of the City. Refusing to see me would be a big faux pas, and could potentially get her into some political hot water. Think of me as an ambassador. And as such, I'm allowed to bring a few guards to ensure my safety. Normally Jeanette would provide them, but in this case, I can get away with bringing some of your officers."

"And you think that she'll just take that lying down?" Lowell asked.

"No, not lying down. She'll try to exclude them as much as she can, but I can make it stick if I press hard enough. I've been doing this for a few years now. I know how the game is played. They'll be able to get in a few questions if I do it right."

Lowell tilted his head, considering it. Eventually, he nodded. "It's not a bad idea. I'll have you ride over with Hernando, Maya, and James. I can't let you take Forrester. Baco is a flight risk, and if he makes a run for it rather than meet with you, we have to be prepared."

I winced internally. Of course I'd be stuck with them. Cruel fate wouldn't allow for anything less. Still, it was more cooperation than I'd been expecting. Edward had been right. Albuquerque PD needed a resolution to this, even if it meant working with someone as objectionable as me.

"I understand, sir."

"When can you meet with her?"

"If I send word through the official channels right away? Sunset."

"Do it," Bradford said. "If our killer keeps to their pattern, there will be new victims in a day or two. We need answers as quickly as you can get them."

"Yes, sir."

Lowell pointed at a few officers and then at me. "Go with her. Update me as soon as you have anything relevant."

I thought I heard Hernando mutter something under his breath, but a moment later he was on his feet and moving toward me. He reached past me to grasp the knob, and the skin of his arm grazed my hand, just for a moment. Electricity zinged along my skin like I'd just touched an exposed wire. I jerked back on instinct, staring at his profile with wide eyes.

Hernando was a practitioner, and a damn powerful one if he'd been able to hide it from me upon our first meeting. In that one unguarded moment, I'd gotten a taste of it. Maybe my scars weren't the only thing keeping Hernando and Maya from wanting to associate with me. As Marks had demonstrated, there was a general distaste for magic in the south. He probably thought I'd out him to his boss and hurt his career prospects. And unfortunately, he was probably right. They'd see it as a weakness, not an asset.

The door opened. Our eyes met for just a moment, and I leaned in to whisper, "I won't tell anyone."

"You'd better not," he muttered under his breath. Then he jerked his head toward the hall outside. "Follow me. If you're going to be a pain in my ass, I'm going to keep you where I can see you."

Which sounded vaguely ominous, but I didn't call him on it. The feeling was mutual. There was more to Hernando's animosity than I'd originally thought, and I wanted to keep him close until I knew exactly what he was hiding from me.

I winked, enjoying the subtle flinching around his eyes. "After you, sir."

Chapter Text

"So, which one of them did you fuck?" Edward asked as we descended the stairs toward the parking lot. I missed a step and had to make a wild lunge toward the handrail to keep myself from hurtling toward the pavement.

"What did you just say?"

Edward gave me an oblique look, unimpressed by the edge in my voice. "I asked which one of them you fucked. You're embarrassed about whatever happened, and I can only think of one reason that would make you this squeamish. You fucked one of them, possibly before you knew they were married, and now it's awkward for everyone involved. So which one was it, the husband or the wife?"

Heat rose up the nape of my neck, a silent confession of my guilt. With my hair up, Edward wouldn't fail to notice it. I could try to deny it, but there was no way in hell he'd swallow the lie. We'd known each other for too long, been through too much together for him not to smell bullshit. Besides, he'd let me further into his personal life than I had any right to expect. It seemed fair to let him in on my shameful little secret.

"I didn't fuck either of them," I began, giving him a dirty look when he snorted in disbelief. "It didn't get that far, unfortunately. They were looking for a third for casual sex, and we met up for dinner last week. We got back to the hotel, got partially undressed, and then they took off before anything could happen. I thought the scars turned them off, but I'm beginning to think there's more to it. I felt Hernando's power when we touched back there. He's a psychic of some flavor, though I couldn't tell you what he is from just the brief contact. I'd need more of a connection to puzzle that out."

Edward's lips pursed and his brow furrowed in thought. "You think he backed out when he sensed your power. He probably couldn't tell at a glance what you are either, but it spooked him. Being a psychic can put a damper on your career, especially if you work under a zealot like Marks."

"Exactly. You can't repeat what I told you to anyone. I got onto the case by playing dirty. They're already going to be pissed. If I bandy that information about, they're going to go for my throat. Play nice, unless you have a good reason not to."

"Sure," he said easily. "Blackmail is a better motivator in any case."

I groaned. Of course Edward would turn the embarrassing situation into his own, duplicitous silver lining. "I'm not blackmailing them, Edward."

"Yet," he said blithely. "But don't discount it as a possibility. I know you want to stay on this case, and Marks will do his damnedest to kick you to the curb, especially after you gave him a verbal smackdown in front of his peers. Having a pair of detectives vouch for you will go a long way."

He was probably right, but like hell I'd admit it. I fished around for something to say and was ultimately spared the effort when Hernando's voice rang out, sharp and unhappy.

"Blake!"

I craned my neck and found him walking in our direction, his long stride eating up the ground. Maya wasn't far behind, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. I had a moment to decide whether to acknowledge it or turn around, pretending I hadn't heard. The latter seemed cowardly, though it was probably the smarter course of action. There was no way that this was going to be a friendly conversation.

"Want me to stall for you?" Edward said, picking up on the direction of my thoughts. It was almost eerie how well he could read me these days.

"No," I sighed. "It's better to let them get it out before we visit the Master of the City. Our best bet is to go in as a united front. If we bicker in front of her, she'll use it to sew suspicion and resentment in our ranks. Go meet up with your team. And if you can, track down Otto. I want to know where that creep skulked off to."

Edward let out a dry snort and turned away just as Hernando wandered into earshot. I faced him, crossing my arms over my chest, meeting his glower with one of my own.

"What do you want, Detective Ramirez?" I asked. "Because if you're going to try to scare me away from this case, you're shit out of luck. You need me, whether you like it or not."

"That remains to be seen," he muttered. "But that's not why I wanted to talk to you. If you're going to do something as idiotic as leverage vampire politics against Itzpapalotl, you should at least know what you're getting yourself into."

I stared at him, unsure of what surprised me more. That he somehow managed to pronounce the name correctly (which even I struggled with) or that he'd just called me an idiot to my face. I was beginning to think that I'd dodged a bullet where these two were concerned. They were turning out to be real pieces of work. If I were being charitable, I'd have chalked that up to stress. God knew I was no peach under pressure, but even I didn't call someone names unless they deserved it.

"And what exactly do you know that I don't?"

Maya cast a nervous glance around the parking lot. Detectives were pouring out the front doors, making beelines for their cars. They had places to be and people to lean on for answers.

"Not here," she said quietly. "We'll do brunch. I know a place with a private room where we won't be overheard."

"Fine, but you're paying," I said with a shrug. "It seems only fair since you stiffed me after our last date. A word of advice? Just tell someone you don't like their scars. Running away can really bruise a girl's ego."

"It wasn't about the scars," Maya said quietly. "Not really. And if you think we don't still want you, you're wrong."

I glanced from one of them to the other, trying to read a lie on either of their faces. There wasn't one. Which, oddly enough, made me feel more self-conscious around them, not less. If they still wanted me, their sudden flight had to be about Hernando's abilities. And it was apparently strange or dangerous enough that they didn't want to get intimate. His walls could come down, exposing me to whatever he was hiding. The possibilities were a little chilling. He could be a sorcerer, drawing his energy from somewhere or something else.

"What does Hernando do?" I asked in an undertone.

Hernando's eyes darkened, and his face set in hard, stubborn lines. He glanced sideways at his wife before shaking his head and turning his back on me.

"I hope, for your sake, that you never have to find out."

Chapter Text

Bobby's Diner was a little mom-and-pop shop shoved like an afterthought between a pawn shop and a military surplus store. The building's neighbors felt like big, slack-jawed bodyguards sheltering the third and smallest of their number. The bell above the door chimed as we entered, and the woman leaning against the cash wrap straightened, digging her nose out of a copy of Guns and Ammo as quickly as she could manage. Her relaxed posture returned when she saw who'd come knocking.

She flipped the magazine closed and flashes us all a pageant-winning smile. She didn't look much older than sixteen but had to be at least two years older to be minding the register at this time of day. A recent high school graduate, then. With her sleek, dark hair, bronzed complexion, and full, pouty lips she must have been a shoo-in for prom queen.

"Oh, Maya, it's so good to see you again," she said, putting real enthusiasm behind the words. Her gaze roved over to Hernando, and her grin widened. It paused thoughtfully but didn't drop when she spotted me. "I see you brought a friend. Mind introducing us? Abuelo will want to know."

"Selena, this is my associate, Anita Blake. She's consulting on a case for Hernando's department. Anita, this is Selena Garcia. Her grandfather bought this establishment a few years ago after retiring from the force."

Some of the cheer drained from Selena's face. Her eyes roved from one face to the other, searching and speculative. She darted a quick glance around the diner and seemed to find it suitably empty, because she asked, "Is it the serial flaying case?"

Hernando's lips pursed in displeasure, a sight altogether more appealing when it wasn't aimed at me. I couldn't believe that I still felt a keen sense of interest where these two were concerned. They hadn't earned this reaction from me. We'd gone on one date, hadn't even fucked, and they'd been nothing but rude ever since. And yet, I still liked looking at Hernando, scowl and all.

"How do you know about that?" he asked.

She shrugged and gathered up a handful of menus, stuffing them under one arm as she rounded the cash wrap. "Abuelo has friends in the department and sometimes they come over to talk. No one ever thinks to stop while I'm in earshot. It's one of the perks of being a service worker. People tend to forget you exist."

I hid a smile. Selena was observant and self-aware, traits I liked in a person, especially someone this young. I hadn't been as canny as she was at this age, and it boded well for her future. She should really be in a profession where she could put that talent to good use. And she was right about what she'd said. People tended not to treat blue-collar workers like people, which meant you could sneak a lot past them if you were careful. I'd done my fair share of that when I'd been working to put myself through college. I was an animator now, making the big bucks, but I doubted I'd ever lose the lessons being at the bottom had taught me. Maybe that, more than anything, made me as good as I was. I knew how people thought on both sides of the divide, and could parse their motives accordingly.

"We need the back room," Hernando said, still frowning at her. "I don't want anyone trying to listen in."

I scanned Bobby's Diner and found a dearth of people. We'd wandered in as the breakfast crowd dwindled and it was still too early for most people to pop in for lunch. We could have gotten away with a window seat near the back, but I didn't argue with them. If they wanted the back room we'd go to the back room. I wanted answers more than I wanted witnesses.

"Sure thing," Selena said. "Do you both want the usual? We have a special on the steak and medallions today if you want to try it."

"The usual," Maya said with a wry smile.

Selena rolled her eyes. "Creatures of habit both of you. I'll be back with that soon. What do you want to drink, Miss Blake?"

I didn't have to check the menu. I knew exactly what I wanted because it would always be my go-to during times of stress. You couldn't go wrong with something hot, bitter, and chock full of life-affirming caffeine.

"Coffee."

She nodded. "Cream?"

"Only if it's liquid creamer. I've been in one too many hospital waiting rooms to want to futz around with powder."

She laughed at that and handed me the menu as we passed through the wood archway into the private room. It was small and made even more so by the darkly paneled walls and its distressing scarcity of windows. There were only two, high up on the walls, and only cast a few rays of sunlight onto the hardwood floor.

"Black coffee it is, then. I'll be back with that in a jiffy."

She bustled out the door with a little more pep in her step than was strictly necessary. I was guessing someone had a little crush on Hernando. Not that I could blame her. He was the dark and handsome type, and the badge added a dangerous edge a barely-legal girl would find appealing. I chanced a glance at his face but found him staring after her, face pinched with paternal concern, rather than speculation.

"She shouldn't be listening in on conversations like that," he muttered. "It could put her in danger."

"She's smart," Maya said, running her fingers soothingly over the bare skin of his wrist. "She won't go telling every stranger she meets."

"Maybe," he said, but didn't sound convinced.

The door clicked shut behind Selena, leaving us alone in the stifling confines of the room. That alone was anxiety-inducing, but paired with the unknown nature of Hernando's power and their demands for secrecy, I was more on edge than usual. I had the insistent urge to check the position of the Browning in its holster, even though stroking a gun in the presence of two cops was one of the most brainless things I could do. It was a bad habit I'd learned over the years, and it was hard to shake, even when I knew doing so would land me in hot water.

"So," I said, fiddling with my silverware instead. "What's so secret that you had to drag me into a back room halfway across town to discuss it?"

They exchanged a look. It was one of those couple glances, when a pair of people were able to communicate everything in that brief eye contact. I hadn't had anyone I connected to that deeply with until Jeanette. I'd almost mastered it with my fiance, Curtis, and hadn't come anywhere close with Richard. He was too conflicted to sort out what was going on in his own head, let alone what was rattling around in mine. Jeanette knew me, inside and out. A product of our bond yes, but also the power of observation. She'd been able to predict me long before I'd become her human servant. Part of me resented that, but I had to admit that the shorthand made things easier, most of the time.

"Forcing Itzpapalotl's hand is a bad idea," Hernando said. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into where she's concerned."

"And you do?" I said, tapping the forks' tines against the table.

"Yes," he said. Short, clipped, and utterly unhelpful.

I turned my gaze to Maya. Maybe she'd be more forthcoming. "And how do you know her?"

"I've worked alongside her a few times," Maya said. "You were right about us in your office. I work robbery cases for the department, and I can tell you that there more attempts are made on her collection than anywhere else in the city. A lot of the pieces are rare and would sell well on the black market. She's powerful. You shouldn't drag your master into this. He'll be killed."

"She."

Maya blinked. "Pardon?"

"She. My master is a woman."

"Oh," she said quietly. "That's...when I saw...well, I assumed..."

"Yeah," I said, tapping the fork a little more forcefully than I meant to. "You assumed, just like everyone else. I don't know why people always think that because I love my master, I have to be tied to a man. It's heteronormativity at its finest. I thought you guys might be a little better about that, given what we were set to do the other night."

"It's not that. I thought..." She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a shaky breath. "Never mind. It doesn't matter now. The point is that you're risking a lot by drawing attention to yourself this way. She doesn't take insults lightly."

"I understand, but I don't see how it changes things. We need to talk to her, and this is the only way to cut through the red tape."

"No, you don't understand," Hernando insisted. "You haven't met her. The scope of her power is incredible, even as she is. If the rumors are true, she was more powerful before being turned and she's been offered a seat with the vampire governing body. It's an open secret that she runs most of the state, and I'm sure it's not a coincidence that anyone who's tried to unseat her has gone missing. We like you, Anita, whether you believe that or not, and we don't want to see you killed."

It wasn't altogether surprising that Itzpapalotl was a council-level power or that she'd turned down a seat among them. Tonatiuh hadn't been a slouch in the power department either, and I had the sense that he could have been in the running himself if he hadn't been subdued by Mr. Oliver. Age meant something in vampire society. Most vampires hit their stride around the century mark and continued to grow in power as they aged. Being worshiped could boost that threshold a lot. I didn't think that it was a coincidence that most of the current council had been regarded as deities or demons at some point.

"She's a warrior goddess with a penchant for bloodshed that was pretty legendary even among her own pantheon. She's one of the Tzitzimimeh. Attacker of the sun and devourer of men. And the protector of women and the souls of those who died young. Which seems like an odd scope of duties to me, but hey, it's not my religion."

"And what is your religion, exactly?" Hernando asked. "Christian, perhaps?"

I shrugged. "I used to be. Honestly, I'm not sure anymore, what with the question of suffering and the problem of evil that the Christian God has to grapple with. Let's call me agnostic for the moment."

"And yet you call her a goddess," he said dryly. "Interesting."

I bristled. "It doesn't mean that the two are mutually exclusive. It's a fact that psychic abilities increase in correlation with fame. I don't have to look further than my girlfriend for proof of that. She's a minor celebrity and has seen a significant increase in power during that time. More so than she had in the centuries preceding the media exposure. I can acknowledge there is a point at which something crosses a metaphysical threshold and becomes more than purely psychic. Itzpapalotl was worshipped in some form or another for thousands of years. The Obsidian Butterfly is just the most recent incarnation. Other members of the pantheon go even further back than that, possibly to the Olmecs. Some variation of Quetzalcoatl shows up in almost any Mesoamerican culture you care to name. I'm not Detective Marks. I won't bitch about the term goddess. Call it whatever you want. Goddess. Higher power. Elevated consciousness. It's just a semantics game at that point."

"So you understand what you could be walking into," Maya said. "Whatever she is, it's beyond the realm of what most vampires can achieve. She's dangerous."

"Gods can die. I've seen proof of that with my own eyes. The man who gave me this-" I jabbed a finger at the feathery scar tissue on my arm. "Paid for trying to force me into psychic slavery. They call me the Executioner for a reason. If she's behind this, I'll find a way to kill her. For now, let her be angry with me. I'd rather face a goddess' wrath than let another person suffer what has been done to our victims."

Selena arrived with Maya and Hernando's meals and my coffee. I ordered a fruit cup in lieu of a more substantial breakfast. I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep anything heavier down. I sipped the coffee while I waited for her to return with my sad assortment of grapes, pineapple, and cantaloupe.

"That's a noble sentiment, Blake," Hernando said, taking a sip of his own drink. He'd gone for hot cocoa. "And idiotic. The law can't prove it, but she's likely killed before. She'll do it again if she thinks you're a problem. Don't go in there with the intent of pissing her off."

I smiled innocently at him over the rim of my mug. "Now, would I do something like that?"

"I believe you'll spit in the eye of anyone who tries to tell you what to do, god, goddess, demon, or otherwise."

"It's always hot when a man knows just how I tick," I said, plucking a grape from my fruit bowl when Selena set it on the table. "It's a shame we didn't get to have sex. The bad cop thing is kind of doing it for me."

Hernando's eyes smoldered, and he took more time clearing food from his fork than was strictly necessary. There was something to him that went beyond his psychic abilities. A natural pull. Charisma, maybe. Some men had authority baked into them, a force that drew the eye and encouraged devotion. Marks might believe he was calling the shots, but Hernando was a real leader.

"When this case is over, you and I are going to talk," he said quietly.

"About what?"

His gaze darkened. Something in my chest tightened, a yearning so sudden and fierce it drew a gasp from my throat. I wanted to touch him, wanted to be the focus of his desire. It wasn't the stirrings of the ardeur. It was deeper. More primal. And it probably had something to do with the unknown nature of his power. If we came out the other side of this, I'd want that talk too, just to get to the bottom of what he could do.

"Possibilities," he murmured. "But until then, we have work to do."

Chapter Text

The Obsidian Foundation's Cultural Center was downtown, only a few blocks off Route 66. It was 6:30 pm on a weekday, the parking lot was only half full, and most of the spaces in the back were being taken up by four buses from a local tourist company. Hernando parked as close to the Center as he could without crossing the unofficial line of police vehicles surrounding the place.

It was massive, soaring above the neighboring buildings. The stone building was built similarly to an Aztec temple, rising in rows until it reached a squarish top. I counted nine floors from this vantage point, though there could have easily been more. The designs that dominated the base floor were full of sweeping lines and bright colors, depicting different scenes from the Mexica's mythos. It was as if someone had carved out a piece of the past and settled it into modern-day Albuquerque. It was a stark contrast to the steel and glass buildings that surrounded it.

I followed Hernando and Maya up the flight of stairs that led to the doors, inspecting the art more closely. It really was gorgeous, once you got used to the style. A clever artist had drawn shapes out of the stone. Soaring eagles, lithe jaguars, winding, sometimes winged, serpents. Then there were the more nightmarish shapes. An enormous, stone crocodilian form rose from beneath, threatening to swallow the entrance whole.

Another detective was waiting at the top of the stairs. She was average height, which meant she was only a little taller than I was. She'd drawn her dark, wavy hair into a tail at the base of her neck, turning her lightweight jacket's collar up to keep the breeze off her neck. She followed my gaze when I reached the summit. She smirked, jerking her thumb at the facade.

"Gruesome looking, isn't it?"

"I should hope so. Cipactli was a primeval sea monster. Part crocodile, part fish, and part toad. She had mouths on pretty much every appendage. If you believe the stories, she had to be subdued so that life could exist at all. Funny that most major religions have some kind of evil or amoral reptile in their mythos. Snakes or dragons, mostly. Apep in Eygpt, Tiamat in Mesopatamia. Vritra is an asura in Hinduism. Leviathan in the Bible. It makes sense, given our interactions with sea snakes at the beginning of recorded history. We were usually food."

The woman shuddered. "I'm glad most supernatural variants of them are gone or endangered. Big snakes give me the creeps."

Me too, but for entirely different reasons. I'd actually squared off with a primeval snake before. Apep had been a real piece of work. The worst part? He was still alive, curled safe and warm in the Menagerie. He was too damn powerful to ever be completely defeated. He could only be subdued, kept away from humanity, and under the careful watch of the Order of Lyonesse. For all I knew, they had Cipactli stuffed into a saltwater habitat. There was no guarantee that she'd been sucked into the seal with the rest of her pantheon. A lot of the really old and powerful entities hadn't.

"You some kind of anthropology expert?" she asked, offering me a hand. I took it, giving it a firm shake.

"Nope, just friends with one. I try to brush up on world mythology and monsters now and then. It comes in handy. You never know when you might run into the real thing. I'm Anita Blake, by the way."

"Detective Julie O'Brien, homicide. I hear you knocked Marks down a peg. Good for you. Someone needed to. He's insufferable on the best of days. I don't know how his wife puts up with him."

I decided then and there that I liked Julie. Too often female cops got defensive around each other. Police work was a sausage fest, which meant you had to work twice as hard to get even a fraction of the respect your male colleagues got. It was easier to compete for the handful of seats at the table, instead of trying to build more. Julie hadn't crushed my hand or tried to push back against what I'd done. It made her an ally in my book.

"Earplugs and a good vibrator probably," I said, smiling a little when she laughed. It was nice to have a temporary co-worker who didn't want to oust me from the case.

She sobered a moment later, glancing at the double doors that led inside. "Obsidian Butterfly is overseeing a show in the theater wing right now, but she says you're welcome to take a look around any of the exhibits. Stay out of the administrative floors on the top levels unless you have a warrant though. She'll find you if you're still wandering when she's through. Or you could just sit in the back of the show and wait. I'm astonished she's willing to meet at all."

Maya's eyes slid sideways to me, full mouth turning down in a frown. "Blame Ms. Blake. She has connections we don't."

And that was clearly a problem. No police person I'd met thus far liked my ties to the vampire bureaucracy. It might have gotten her in the door, but that didn't mean she approved. Sometimes people could be just plain ungrateful.

"Whatever gives us an opening," Julie said. "Go on in. I'm supposed to trade off with Lowell soon, and then I'm heading home. I cannot wait to shower and crawl into bed. This case has been brutal."

Hernando nodded. "Drive safe."

She flashed him a tired smile. "Will do."

Then she faced forward again, face impassive, waiting to spy Lowell's car. I was a little disappointed we wouldn't be working together this morning. It would have helped offset some of the awkwardness I felt around the Detectives Ramirez. Maybe I'd get the chance tomorrow.

"Theater or exhibits?" Hernando asked, holding the door open for Maya and I.

"Exhibits," I said. "Violent deaths leave psychic signatures. If she was arrogant enough to do something that bloody on the premises, I'll feel it."

"You heard her," Maya said with a faint smile. "Let's go exploring."

Chapter Text

I sucked in a breath the moment we cleared the door. It was involuntary. There was just so much power in this place. It hung in the air, the metaphysical equivalent to humidity. It settled on my skin and seemed to seep into my lungs. The last time I'd felt something like this, I'd come face to face with Belle Morte. It didn't have the same cutting edge as her power, but it made me tense up all the same. She wasn't just powerful. Hernando had been right. For Itzpopalatl to project this much power outward without conscious thought, she was Council material. I'd have to be very careful when we met. Which, unfortunately, wasn't one of my best things. Jeanette was the queen of tact and I...was not.

The inside of the cultural center was a reflection of the outside. Colorful and filled with sweeping designs. soaring all the way up to the intricate stone ceiling. For just a moment I felt a sense of...kinship, maybe, with this place. This was the sort of culture my mother had been denied, thanks to colonization. The loss of it was what had driven her into the arms of a fallen sun god, and made her pledge her allegiance to one of the evilest creatures I'd had the misfortune to meet. This was the sort of place my grandmother had lived in while she served the god Mictlantecuhtli. It was humbling. This could have been mine, once upon a time. But the arrival of the Conquistadors had changed all that.

The main hall eventually split into two corridors, and I found myself gravitating to the left. A helpful sign informed me it led to one of the permanent and popular exhibits—a collection of Aztec mummies. It briefly occurred to me that I could raise them with a large enough sacrifice, and an assist from Georgia. We'd managed to pull Julian back from the grave, and he was over six hundred years old. I doubted these were much older than five hundred. Dragging mummies back from the dead. Now wouldn't that be a sight to see?

Hernando, Maya, and I rounded a corner, entering a spacious room full of glass cases that displayed various artifacts. Carved mirrors hewn from obsidian. Calendar stones, featherwork, clothing, and codices. I was tempted to stop and read the placard under each but didn't have much time. The secondary source of power was the priority. It didn't have the cold, stomach-turning feeling of murder, but something about it was still off. And familiar, in a way I couldn't quite place.

When we finally rounded the corner into the mummy room, I stopped dead, my mouth popping open as things slid into place. The bodies were arranged in a sitting position and bundled in cloth, as was traditional. It was difficult to tell with their taut, leathery skin, but I could have sworn every face was twisted in an expression of horror. Their empty eye sockets seemed somehow wider than normal, their mouths open in an eternal scream, and I had a very good idea what had caused it.

"Oh my God," I whispered. "Oh fuck no. This can't be happening. Not again."

A woman who'd been examining one of the corpses with a half smile twitched at the sound of my voice but didn't turn. I knew, without asking, that she was a Master vampire. Five hundred and twenty, give or take a few years. My sixth sense about that sort of thing had sharpened in recent months as the needs of my ardeur were consistently met.

"What is it?" Maya asked, leaning in, hanging on my every word. "What's happening? What do you mean, again?"

I couldn't speak for a few moments as I grappled with the implications. I knew this power because I'd seen it. I'd reversed it before, undoing the power of a vampire's human servant almost thirty years after the fact. When I finally found my voice, it shook.

"They're alive in there," I whispered. "They're not mummies, they've just been drained almost to the point of death. They're completely aware. They can hear and feel but they can't move. It's torture. I can reverse it. I have to."

The woman whirled toward us at that, silky black hair fanning out behind her. Her skin, once a golden brown, had become a little lighter due to pallor mortis. Her face grew thinner as we watched, the skin stretching tight over her cheekbones. She grew more cadaverous by the second, her rich brown eyes bleeding to twin flames in her face, but I'd seen their true color for just a moment, and it made my breath catch in my throat. I knew those eyes. I'd seen them set in another beloved face. Saw them every morning when I looked in the mirror.

She advanced on me, moving so quickly that the motion was hard to track. She was standing an arm's length away from me in seconds. Before I could react, she drew her hand back and slapped me. My head snapped to one side and blood burst in my mouth. I stared at her in shock for a moment.

"Don't you dare," she hissed. Her voice was so distorted by hate that it barely sounded human. "They earned every second of this."

Hernando took a step forward, moving half in front of me in case she struck again. I stepped out from behind him. I didn't want to put him in her path. If she struck him with that much force, she could seriously hurt him. I was a human servant, built of tougher stuff than a human detective. Maya tried to move to protect me as well, but I waved her off.

"Don't."

"That was assault, Anita," she argued.

"I'm very aware of that," I said dryly. "But I know why she did it."

"What the hell could that have possibly been for?" Hernando demanded.

I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "Because I'm pretty sure she's my grandmother."

Chapter Text

Blood dribbled out the side of my mouth, and I dabbed it away with the corner of my shirt. Thank God I'd gone with a black-on-black ensemble. Blood wouldn't show against the dark fabric, and only therians and vampires could scent it. I probed my lip and was grateful when I found it intact. The strike had cut my cheek against my teeth. A split lip would have been a lot harder to hide. By some miracle, I managed to keep my expression blank. If anyone else had slapped me, I'd have had them on the ground by now, my Browning jabbed into their back or ribs.

"Grandmother?" Maya echoed. "What do you mean?"

I dabbed away more blood. She could put some real power behind a blow. I admired that in a woman, even if she aimed the violence at me. At least she'd used her hand, instead of one of the tools from a neighboring exhibit. I'd had a demon-possessed woman hit me in the face with a shovel before, and I wasn't eager to relive the experience. I'd lost a molar over that one.

I didn't take my eyes off the furious vampire standing less than a foot away from me. She might have been family, but a slap was all I was willing to tolerate from her. If she went for my throat, I'd shoot her, which would be a damn shame. I'd never thought I'd meet my real maternal grandmother. I'd always assumed she'd died of smallpox or, failing that, lived a life far away from her home before dying of old age. That she was standing here, in front of me, felt like a miracle.

A very painful miracle.

My maybe-grandmother didn't give me time to formulate a response, let alone voice one.

"I told her not to let you visit," she hissed. "I told her I didn't want anything to do with the child, and I don't want anything to do with you. Leave."

The venom in her voice was hard to listen to. I wouldn't have expected a warm welcome even if I'd imagined she'd be here. Her rage was justified. Her civilization was gone, reduced to a handful of scattered myths and relics. When the Mexica were remembered, people painted them as savages and regarded them with fear and disgust. That would be enough to make anyone angry. And here I was, a reminder of what else the Spanish had forced on her, more salt in an open wound.

"I will," I said quietly. "I just need to talk to Itzpapalotl and then you'll never have to see my face again."

One of the detectives that had been loitering around the front rounded the corner into the exhibit, gun drawn and pointed at the ground. I stepped into his line of fire. I knew from experience how twitchy cops could be when faced with a blatant display of vampire powers. Just the glimmer of it in my eyes had been enough to get Dolph killed.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

"Family squabble," I said, waving him off. "Just go, please. See if you can get Itzpapalotl to meet us a little early."

"Blake-" the detective began.

"If you get an itchy trigger finger I swear to God that I will shove that Glock so far up your ass that you'll need a surgeon to remove it. This isn't any of your business. If I thought she was a threat I'd have drawn down by now. Now go."

The detective looked vaguely mutinous, but at a nod from Hernando, he eased down and slouched back the way he'd come, probably cursing my name under his breath. The spat would get back to Detective Marks eventually, and I'd deal with the fallout later. I shifted my gaze to Hernando and Maya and jerked a thumb back the way we'd come.

"You too. I'll explain later."

"Not a chance," Hernando said. "I'm not risking you, Anita."

"You'll get answers. She's not stupid enough to kill me in public with police in the next room. She'd be staked and burned before you could say 'warrant of execution.' This is a private matter. Just let me talk with her, or I'm going to walk out the door and miss the meeting with Obsidian Butterfly."

Hernando looked like he might strangle me for the threat but he eventually took his wife by the hand and stalked after the detective. I was just making tons of friends during this investigation.

When I turned my attention back to my grandmother, she looked human. It was worse, honestly. Vampires I could handle. Family always sucker-punched me. Other than the eyes and something in the shape of my chin, we didn't look alike. The curls had come in with the Spaniards, but it wasn't the only thing I'd inherited. The full lips, high cheekbones, and small nose had to come from his side. It was proof that my mother and I shared more features with a rapist than this woman.

The realization made me queasy. If Lamar had somehow managed to impregnate me, would the child have looked like him? How could I have ever loved it if it had? And that was assuming I'd let it come to term at all. This woman hadn't had the luxury of choice.

She watched me impassively. I'd earned a point in her book, which elevated me from pond scum to a mildly interesting bug.

"You didn't let them kill me."

"You don't deserve to die. I understand why you hate me. I didn't come here to hurt you, I just need answers from your goddess. I'll wait in the lobby if that would make you more comfortable."

"I don't want your pity or your platitudes. I wish that I could go back and bash your mother's head in the moment she left my womb. She caused me nothing but pain. But I was weak and let our goddess take her to Tonatiuh. I hoped he'd kill her, but he fell in love with her as she grew. Then the fool fell to darkness and soiled her as well. Now you. I can smell the taint in your blood."

I shivered, realizing just how close I'd come to never existing. And she wasn't the only one to reference the taint of Marmee Noir's power. Jasmine, rain, power, blood, and old death. I tasted and smelled like her. I'd been bred to be the perfect vessel. In some ways, it might have been better if I hadn't been born. One less gateway for the ultimate evil to enter the world.

"But I'm here, and there's nothing either of us can do about it. Are you going to kill me or do you want me to leave...Ms...?"

"Tlazohtzin., and I want you to forget any notion of freeing them," she hissed. "They deserve this."

"No one deserves to be tortured for all eternity. Kill them if you want, but this is just..." I shook my head and lowered my voice. "I killed the man who raped me. I understand your fury, I really do. He died screaming. If I could do it over again, I would, but I wouldn't keep him like this. Reverse it. Let me kill them. But please just..." My throat closed up. "Please. If I listen I can hear them scream."

Her lips curled into a chilly smile and she sidled over to the mummy she'd been admiring, inputting a code into a keypad at the base of the display case. A moment later, the glass door popped open. She lifted the bundle of cloth and dried bones from the display case and set him on the ground. Then she seized it by the few curls that remained on its head. Her fingers dug into the skull so hard it creaked and bits of leathery flesh flaked off.

Power gathered around her like a dark cloud, choking in its intensity. It smelled like ozone and the moldering interior of a tomb. Something very like my own necromancy slid over my skin, a cold, slithering sensation that made my stomach clench tight with fear. I belatedly recalled what Tonitah told me about my lineage. My grandmother was a priestess, a follower of the god Mictlantecuhtli, which meant she had to be an animator or something close to it.

I watched in horror as fat and tissue ran over his bones in a fleshy wave. His body filled out like a sponge laid in water, breath and vitality returning to what had been a dried husk. Rich brown curls flowed over his skull, and her grip only tightened on his hair. She yanked his face up when he shook himself free of the burial cloth. His hazel eyes shone with tears, and he heaved in great lungfuls of air, too shocked to even scream. I was breathless too. He looked familiar. Too familiar.

"Very well then, Anita. Why don't you start with your grandfather?"

Chapter Text

I just stared. And stared. And stared some more, eyes roving over his face. It was almost an exact copy of my face. If I'd been born a son instead of a daughter, we would be almost mirror images of each other. He was taller, broader, had a summer tan, and a day's worth of stubble. My nose was the same, small and upturned. I had the same untamable curls, full mouth, and eye shape, if not the same color. We had the same ears for God's sake.

He remained on all fours, struggling to draw in breath. His eyes were wheeling around the room settling on Tlazohtzin for seconds at a time before quickly darting away. I knew the signs of a panic attack when I saw them. It was probably the most justified one in history, given what he'd suffered. From what Jade told me, the victims of this magic remained semi-conscious the entire time, and only the mental discipline she'd learned with the Harlequin kept her somewhat sane. I doubted the Conquistadors had been trained to withstand psychological torture on this scale.

Tlazohtzin got a better grip on his hair and wrenched his neck up, forcing him to look at her. He cringed away from her with a sound of fright, reminding me unpleasantly of a kicked dog. I didn't want to feel bad for this son of a bitch. He'd raped Tlazohtzin. The proof was etched into my DNA, reflected in my face.

"Hello again, Diego," she purred.

Diego. My grandfather's name was Diego. It was an unwelcome answer to a question I'd never wanted to ask. The truth of my origins had been bad enough without trying to unearth the dirty details of what had happened to bring my mother into the world. I'd tried not to think about the monster who'd forced himself on my grandmother. He didn't look monstrous now. He looked pathetic, hunching as far forward as her grip would allow, tears spilling down his cheeks. He was muttering something under his breath in Spanish. Linguistic drift muddled it a little, but I recognized the tempo just fine. He was saying a Hail Mary before launching into another prayer I couldn't decipher.

"Your God hasn't listened to you for centuries," Tlazohtzin said, the words dripping from her lips like poisoned honey. "This is your hell. Wallow in it."

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and her smirk ticked up a notch. She's enjoying herself. I wasn't sure whose horror amused her the most, Diego's or mine. There was a sadistic sparkle in those dark depths when she gave me a once-over.

"Are you going to be his angel, Anita?" she continued in a dangerous, silken tone. "Deliver him unto death? I won't give you long to do it. Hesitate and he goes back in the case."

I tried to bully myself into motion, but I couldn't force myself to move toward him. A more clinical part of me did the calculations, realizing that I made a crucial error when striking our bargain. There were cops, staff, and innocent bystanders waiting in the wings. I couldn't draw my Browning and blow him away. Drawing a knife and opening the arteries in his neck would be quieter, but it wouldn't be instantaneous and would leave a mess. Hernando and Maya would be back soon, and I didn't have an explanation for murder handy. Tlazohtzin had never intended to let me kill Diego. She wanted me to see him, to know the horrible truth.

"Not here," I whispered. "I'll do it as soon as we're somewhere private."

"That will take too long. Tick, tock, Anita," she sing-songed. "Tick tock."

Frustrated tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. She was going to force me to watch him wither to nothing again, knowing that he was screaming internally. It would feel like my fault. He'd have gotten a taste of freedom, and just as abruptly had it yanked away. It would have been better if he hadn't had it at all. I was making him suffer.

"Just give him to me," I said, hating the edge of panic in my voice. "If you don't want to take him, I will. It will end, I promise."

"Annnd time is up," she said, yanking Diego's curls so hard that a few locks fell to the floor. "Time to go back in the case."

I stalked forward, hand on the grip of my Browning. I wasn't sure what I meant to do. Shoot him. just to end it and damn the consequences? Or shoot her, and risk being charged with murder? I didn't have a warrant of execution, which made it a felony. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to end her. She'd earned a certain level of sadism after everything the Spaniards had done to her people. I just couldn't stand watching it.

"Tlazohtzin."

The voice wasn't loud or particularly frightening, but the note of command in it was unmistakable. The one word stopped Tlazohtzin mid-motion, and she stood to her full height, adopting a stiff, almost military posture. Lines around her eyes tightened and she looked almost...embarrassed. She glanced to the entrance to the next exhibit, and I followed her gaze.

There was a woman standing in the gap. She wasn't much taller than me and had the sort of lithe body that only the very young or exceptionally lucky possessed. She looked poised somewhere in her mid-twenties, though the merest brush of her aura told me she was older. A lot older. Thousands of years old, at least. Whoever or whatever she'd been prior to being turned had predated the Aztecs. Like Quetzoquatl, she probably went all the way back to the Olmecs. Her hair was straight and dark, like Tlazohtzin's, though she had swept it behind her slim shoulders, revealing delicate ears laden with jewelry fashioned of gold and pieces of jade. The rest of her was swallowed by a colorful cloak fringed with bright feathers, obscuring whatever she wore beneath.

"My goddess," Tlazohtzin said, bowing her head.

A shiver rattled down my spine, dread slipping like a weight into my stomach. There was only one person I could think of that fit that descriptor. I turned to face her fully, giving her blank cop face. I did not want this woman to get a whiff of my fear. Fear meant you were prey. Prey gets eaten. I inclined my head to her as if my grandfather wasn't squirming like a fish on a line, trying to get away from all three of us.

"Itzpapalotl," I said, proud when my voice came out neutral. I'd been fairly certain I'd scream if I opened my mouth. "Master of the city of Albuquerque. Thank you for seeing me on short notice."

Her lips curled a fraction. I couldn't tell if it was a smirk or a sneer. She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

"Anita Blake, servant of the Master of Saint Louis," she said, and there was definitely a hint of mockery in her tone. "A pleasure, I'm sure. Tlazohtzin, hand that thing over to the guards and wash your hands. I'm sure you'll catch something from touching it. When you're through, join Teyacapan in the theater for the next showing."

Tlazohtzin bowed more deeply and couldn't hide a smile. "Yes, my goddess."

She dragged a protesting Diego away, lodging a knee into his gut to cut off the scream he seemed to be building to. Itzpapalotl didn't watch her go. Her eyes were only for me. I couldn't meet them for long. They were a sucking black dotted with the faint pinprick of stars. Nothing human resided in that void. I doubted she'd ever been one of us to begin with.

"Go find your friends, Ms. Blake," she said in a cutting whisper. "I want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

Chapter Text

Tlazohtzin trailed dutifully in her goddess' wake, careful not to tread on her long, intricately embroidered cloak. It flared out behind her like a curtain, giving me brief glimpses of the outfit beneath. The top was loose and dyed scarlet, patterned at the neckline with yet more of the traditional embroidery in blacks and yellows. The flat expanse of her stomach was bare and sported the same kind of scarification and piercings I'd seen on Tonatiuh. Some were decidedly less intentional, like the claw marks that swept up one thigh, white with age but etched permanently in her skin.

She caught me looking and gave me a chilly smile. As we passed several more exhibits and emerged back where we'd started. Hernando and Maya fell into step behind us as Itzpapalotl lengthened her stride.

"Would you like to know what made that scar?"

"Not particularly. I've heard about you."

"From textbooks written by our enemies? They hardly do us justice."

"From one of your own. Tonatiuh mentioned you."

She slowed for a fraction of a second, raising a brow at me. Some of her antagonism softened, if only by a degree.

"Interesting. And just what did the fool have to say?"

Ah, so no love lost between these two then. At least she wouldn't be going Mola Ram on my chest right away.

"He was explaining why he wouldn't hand me over to Mr. Oliver. It was a coup of sorts, a way to beat the old bastard at his own game. He was trying to convince me to become his human servant. I think the exact words were, 'You think I want to aid the very Council that oppressed my people? The Council that spread their virus to subdue any creature they could not kill? The ones who financed the men who brought disease to our lands, who slaughtered our warriors, raped our women, and ransacked our holy places? The Council who banished Quetzalcoatl? Who bound me, Itzpapalotl, and others?'"

I sensed rather than saw Maya and Hernando lean forward at that. It wasn't every day someone accused the Vampire Council of genocide. Right now it was all hearsay, but if it could be proven...well, there was no statute of limitations on crimes against humanity. I wished them luck trying to find proof. Belle and the others had gotten very good at cleaning up after themselves over the years. And even if they couldn't prove it, this was still a juicy piece of gossip. I couldn't blame them for being interested.

Her chilly smile ticked up a notch. "I see. But you were not bound by my compatriot, were you?"

"No," I said shortly. It had been self-defense, but I still didn't want to get into the details of the murder. There was no statute of limitations on murder either. "According to a source I trust, he's not truly dead, though. Just freed from an infected body and drawn back to a seal."

Itzpapalotl glanced at me sharply. I felt her keen interest like a swarm of fire ants on my skin. It was almost physically painful to be the center of her attention. Her aura was downright discomfiting. A shadow lurked behind the petite facade, a trailing reflection of what she'd once been. Tonatiuh was right. Oliver had dragged them both low, cutting them off from enormous power. The last time I'd felt anything like this, I'd been in the presence of the Dragon, a fallen goddess in her own right.

"Interesting," she murmured so low only I could hear. Then, louder, "This way and be quick about it. My time is precious."

A few seconds later, the five of us filed into a dimly lit, half-packed theater. Itzpapalotl scaled the stairs, leading us to a private balcony high above the crowd. She settled in an antique chair and gestured for me to sit at her right hand. Tlazohtzin filed out, brushing past the pair of officers as she went. lIt left Maya and Hernando leaning against the balcony railing facing us.

Hernando reached for the badge at his waist. "My name is Hernando Rameriez and this is-"

"I know who you are," Itzapalotl said coolly. "Don't waste my time with pleasantries. What do you want?"

Maya and Hernando exchanged another of those couple glances that conveyed a world of information without words. Eventually, Hernando settled himself, letting the badge fall back into place, half-obscured by his jacket.

"Fine. We're here about the recent spate of flayings."

"And you'll have your answers," she said. "Under one condition. Anita stays after our business is concluded. I need to speak with her. Alone. Business, you understand."

Hernando looked like he might argue, but I shook my head once. "No, it's alright. I expected this. It's one of those things. I'm a guest in her territory, which sort of makes me an emissary for my Master. It's going to be dry, bureaucratic stuff. Trust me."

They didn't look convinced. I wasn't either. The goddess looked a hell of a lot more interested in me than Jeanette. Whatever she wanted to say off the record wasn't going to be a matter of interstate etiquette.

The lights dimmed further as the next act started. I couldn't help but look as illusion rode out over the crowd, drawing startled gasps from a few. What was an ordinary stage now resembled a desert stretching out to a distant horizon. The dimensions were impossible for the space, which was only a little larger than your average high school theatre stage. I had to admit, it was impressive and only one of the few acceptable uses of mass rolling, in my book.

I could feel Tlazohtzin's will sucking at my thoughts, trying to draw me further into the illusion. I could only imagine what she was feeding the vanilla humans. Scorching heat? The feeling of coarse sand sinking beneath their feet? A weight of exhaustion on their shoulders? I wouldn't know unless I opened myself to it. I appreciated the skill but didn't trust the castor. I'd stay safe in my own mind, thanks.

The temperature dropped by a few degrees as a translucent shape shuffled into view, struggling against the wind of Tlazohtzin's power as it continued forward. It was an elderly man, stooped over with age, clothes ragged and bloodied. He squinted at a dark cloud far in the distance. My lips parted in surprise.

"That's a ghost," I said. "You're using actual ghosts in these performances?"

That bothered me for reasons I couldn't quite put my finger on. I roundly disapproved of raising the dead for entertainment purposes. The dead were human once, and parading their bodies around to do menial labor or to be gawked at like a sideshow was needlessly cruel to the deceased and their families. But ghosts weren't bodies. They were just impressions left on the fabric of reality. They sounded like us, and they looked like us, but they weren't us. Not really. Souls went wherever they were going after a few days. Ghosts were just a footprint they left as they departed.

"Of course. It's appropriate, given the setting. Do you know what you're watching, Anita?"

"A soul's journey through Mictlan," I said after a moment. "I'm guessing that dark cloud on the horizon isn't really rain, is it? He's about to enter the desert of obsidian winds. He'll be shredded on contact. Seems kind of unfair that you have to suffer so much in Mictlan. All he did was live an ordinary life. You have to die horribly to get into any one of the thirteen heavens."

My hands balled into fists at my sides. Zombies and ghosts weren't actually capable of being physically tortured, but their minds could still break under intense strain. Psychosomatic suffering was still suffering. If I tried to wrestle the shade out of Tlazohtzin's control, could I banish it? I didn't give a damn about the show. This was purely for shock value, giving the audience something to talk about when they left. It was sick and wrong.

But when I reached for Tlazohtzin, I didn't sense her calling forth the dead. She was actively practicing magic, but not leaning into her animating ability. The tether was connected to a much smaller woman, all but swallowed by Tlazohtzin's shadow. I had to squint to make her out. She was at least a foot shorter than me. Four feet tall, with the proportions of an adult. A dwarf, then. Her fine-boned face was set in a grimace of concentration.

Itzpapalotl was smiling fondly down at the woman when I risked a glance back at her.

"Who is she?"

"Teyacapan. The first to be born and raised in our traditions. One of our priests fathered her. A happy accident, of course. He should have been too old to father children. She was blessed, you know. I was pleased he was able to meet her before he was ultimately killed. Your police can be quite reactionary at times."

"Blessed?"

"We are not like you," she said, a bite of anger in her tone. "We do not gawk at hunchbacks and dwarves and call them malformed. We never forced them to perform for our amusement. They are gifts from the gods, a link between mortals and the divine. Tlazohtzin raised her as a daughter."

Unreasoning jealousy twinged in my gut. Stupid to expect a warm welcome from my grandmother. I was a living embodiment of her suffering, a reminder of that long-ago violation and the resulting child. She hadn't wanted my mother. She resented me. It was my own abandonment issues that made it sting. A mother who'd raised me for slaughter. Andria, who'd made and continued to make my life hell. Dad, who was too cowardly to open his eyes and see the truth right in front of him. And finally, Judith, who I'd assumed was completely apathetic toward me. I'd at least been proven wrong on that one. It was cold comfort. I still wasn't sure how much of my life I could trust her with.

I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the knot that had formed there. I kept my face neutral when I turned to face her. Behind me, the ghost began to scream in helpless agony.

"I want answers," I whispered. "Now."

Chapter Text

The performance grew more elaborate after the desert of obsidian winds. The ghost's wails and the audience's reaction to them were stomach-turning, but I kept my disquiet off my face. Showing any hint of weakness to Itzpapalotl was like chumming the water in front of a very old, very powerful shark. It was just begging her to take a bite. I couldn't escape the idea that the show had been put on for my benefit to illicit just that reaction.

By the time we sat down in the comparatively quiet private display room, I'd smoothed my expression into something neutral. Hernando and Maya hadn't bothered, regarding our host with open wariness. That might have pissed me off on an ordinary day. Supernatural bigotry was rampant in police forces across the U.S. In this case, though, I was pretty sure it stemmed from a very reasonable fear of what she was capable of. You didn't live as long as Obsidian Butterfly without being a cutthroat politician.

Guards seemed to melt out of the shadows as we walked from the theater, falling into step beside and behind us. The buzzing energy I could sense around them hinted that they were therians, but I couldn't pin down a flavor with power alone. I took my cues from the formal dress they wore instead.

"Jaguar Warriors?" I guessed, eying the pelts slung around their shoulders.

One of the warriors, a short, musclebound man retrieved chairs from the nearby educational film room and assembled them in a semi-circle facing Itzpapalotl. It didn't escape my notice that hers was quite a bit nicer than ours, decorated with intricate carvings and what I suspected were bone inlays. She smoothed her skirts as she sat, facing me with a smile.

"And Eagle Warriors behind you. Well-spotted."

"Not really, it just makes sense for you. How many did you rescue from Tenochtitlan before things really went to hell?"

That chilly smile appeared again. I was amusing her and I wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. She didn't answer, just kept giving me a curiously serpentine look until a man came to stand at her elbow and just a little behind her ornate chair. His clothing was a mirror to hers, cut for the male body, but nonetheless giving the impression of a matched set. He was short and boxy, with long, smooth hair pulled into a tail at the base of his neck. His eyes were large, dark, and intense, and only for his goddess. He took her hand reverently when she offered it.

"This is Pinotl, my high priest and human servant. Pinotl, this is Anita Blake, necromancer, and servant to Jeanette Davenay of St. Louis. They are here to ask questions of us. Are you willing to answer?"

He inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment but still wasn't looking at me. "Of course, my goddess. I live to carry out your wishes."

Which could have meant any number of things. Yes, he could answer our questions, but he might not be honest if they would cast doubt on Obsidian Butterfly's character. She could be ordering him to be honest. Or maybe it was just a signal to follow her lead, amending their stories as necessary. I just couldn't tell.

"There you have it," Itzpapalotl said with a sharp smile. "Now, let's speak plainly officers. What exactly is it that you're accusing me of?"

Like she didn't know. If Itzpapalotl ran her city anything like Jeanette, she'd learned the details of the crimes long before the cops released them to the public. She'd had more than enough time to get her story straight.

"Involvement in an ongoing serial murder case," Maya said, reaching into her bag. She withdrew the same folder she'd presented me in Animators Inc, flipping the cover to reveal the gruesome contents. "So far there have been thirty-five bodies and at the rate this killer is going, we're expecting several more to turn up in the next few days."

Itzpapalotl didn't immediately look down at the pictures. Her mouth thinned into an unhappy line. "And you're accusing me of this crime? I have to wonder if this isn't profiling, officers. We were not the only culture that practiced flaying and human sacrifice."

"True," Hernando said, rifling through the stack until he found what he was looking for. "But the analysis of particulates left in the wounds tells us that our killer is specifically using obsidian blades to flay their victims. It implies a ritualistic bent to the crimes. Anita has eliminated the possibility that a skinwalker is to blame, which only leaves us with a few possible theories. Even if you aren't responsible, your insights could help us find who's doing this."

Izpapalotl held her hand out for the folder wordlessly. Maya handed it to her, watching her face intently as she examined the contents. Her expression didn't flicker as she shuffled through the glossy crime scene photos. She did pause when she reached pictures of shelves, with markers denoting where an item should have been.

I leaned forward to examine them as well. Lowell had said many of the victims had owned Native artifacts and that the obsidian knife used in the killing could have been a weapon of convenience. He hadn't mentioned that other things had been stolen from the collections. It made sense, given Maya's participation in the case, but I hadn't considered what had been taken until now.

"They left the Navajo, Apache, and Pueblo artifacts on the shelves," I said, more to myself than anyone else. "Only a few things were swiped from the collection, which doesn't make a lot of sense. A lot of those could be sold on the black market for a premium. So why leave them alone?"

"We suspect, it had to do with the tribe, not the value of the items," Hernando said. "As far as we can tell, every single missing artifact originated from the Mexica."

"And I collect such things," Itzpapalotl said dryly. "Have you brought a warrant to search the premises for the missing items?"

"Not yet," Hernando said. "Though Marks is pushing for it. There's another commonality between the victims that we discovered just this afternoon. One of the junior detectives noticed that all of our victims had recently taken ancestry tests through various agencies. Their results were still in their homes or emails. Care to hazard a guess what made up a good portion of their DNA, Anita?"

"Iberian?"

"Yes. Most of them are of Spanish descent, which means we have a pretty vast pool of victims in the city alone, not to mention the state."

"I'd fit the criteria," I said. "Thirty-five percent Iberian, twenty percent Northern European. Comes from Dad's German roots. Then there's fifty-five percent broadly Native American."

Something I hadn't even thought to look into until Grandma Flores' horrifying revelations last year. I'd had it done privately by someone I trusted not to use the information against me. I hadn't realized just how much Native blood I had. It somehow made me feel more alien, instead of less. The traditions I hadn't been privy to haunted me.

"You think I'm targeting collectors of Spanish descent?" Itzpapalotl asked.

"You have to admit it looks suspicious," I said.

She turned a look on me. It wasn't a friendly look. It was an 'I wonder how warm it would be to wear your skin' look. It took effort not to shy away from the drowning dark of her eyes.

"I've had my vengeance," she said quietly. "Those responsible are either dead or suffered greatly for what they did. If I wanted to take out the sins of their grandfathers on every descendant, the streets would be dyed red with blood. It's not feasible, even if I wished it so. I think it is disgusting that our valuables are plundered to this day, but I have enough money to buy such artifacts from even the staunchest collectors. I am no colonizer. I do not slaughter to get what I want. Those days are long gone. I certainly wouldn't have done..." She gave the folder a dirty look. "This. There is sacrifice to the gods and then there is barbarism. This is not how things were done."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Xipe Totec required the skins of slaves or prisoners for renewal," Pinotl said. "Sarafices were not flayed until after the heart had been cut out, and their skins would be worn for twenty days. It was done with great care. This is not the work of one of his priests. It would be a sign of disrespect to the gods and the sacrifices both to wear something this mangled. Your killer is a butcher attempting to frame my goddess."

"But could there still be ritual significance?" I pressed. "I don't think this is being done just for kicks. Why take the eyelids, the tongues, and mutilate the genitals? You have to have a theory."

Pinotl thought about it and glanced down at his goddess after a moment. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod of approval. Then he took a deep breath and spoke.

"Without their tongues, they cannot speak their killer's name. Done with rituals, it could even prevent them from speaking with an animator such as yourself in the afterlife. Their eyelids were taken so they were forced to keep their eyes open to the truth they so willfully ignored. The genitals could have been savaged as punishment or to keep them from carrying on their family lines. Perhaps both. The killer does seem to hate Spaniards in particular, possibly for what they've done to our people."

"A misguided vigilante?"

"It is a possibility," Itzpapalotl said. "But it was not me or any of my people. We have been busy overseeing the removal of an artifact from a dig site in Mexico City. We have been met with resistance at every turn. The cartels are eager to get their hands on what we've found in order to sell it on the black market."

"Let me guess, it's Vicente Valera's men in particular?" I asked.

Itzpapalotl gave me a searching look before nodding. "Yes, he is the largest problem at the moment. How do you know of him?"

"The Aleveris Pharmaceutical case. Sixteen of his best weregator mercenaries were guarding a group of gorgons and ladonites in the Everglades. We lost a lot of people rescuing them. The investigation led back to a corrupt company that had been using a pair of immortal gorgons to pump out babies against their will for decades. The snakes were made into medicines after they were harvested, and the properties could keep someone young and vital for a long time. Stheno and Eureyle are safe in St. Louis now, and everyone involved was either jailed or executed for their part in it. So yeah, attacking dig sites seems like small potatoes afterward. Definitely something I'd see a morally bankrupt man like Valera doing."

"Do you have anyone who can corroborate your story?" Maya asked, pen poised over a page in her notebook. I hadn't even seen her whip it out.

"Several," Itzpapalotl said. "Tlazohtzin, Teyacapan, Pinotl, several of the guards in this room, and my curator, Donna Forrester."

My heart thumped unevenly at the mention of Donna's name. I so didn't want her involved in this, even peripherally. If Otto caught wind of who she was and what she meant to Edward, she'd be a target. I couldn't let that happen. I'd have to strike her name from the official record somehow. Maybe I'd be forced to blackmail Maya and Hernando after all.

Maya scribbled the names in her notebook before closing it and lifting the file from Itzpapalotl's lap. She stuffed it back into her bag, never quite taking her eyes off the vampire.

"I think that will be all for now. Thank you for your cooperation. Anita, why don't you-"

"She's staying," Itzpapalotl said, cutting across Maya. "We had a deal. I need a word in private with Ms. Blake. Your report to your superiors can wait another ten minutes. Go. Now."

It was an order, not a suggestion. Both of them turned to me, identical looks of reluctance on their faces. They didn't want me to be alone with this woman. Their concern made me like them a little more. I waved them off after a moment. I had promised after all.

"Go. I'll catch up soon."

They waffled a few minutes more before finally exiting the room. The warriors around us stepped in silently, removing their chairs before filing out, leaving only a pair of werejaguars and Pinotl in the room with us. She waited until they'd all moved out of earshot before leaning toward me, eyes bright.

"Alone at last."

"Yep," I said, popping the 'p' just to be contrary. "Now, what did you need to speak to me about?"

"A favor," Itzpapalotl said. "I have a project I need assistance on. You want to free the Spaniards I hold captive. I propose a trade. Do what I ask, and you may put them out of their misery. Be as merciful or as cruel as you like. I don't care."

I found that hard to believe. She wouldn't have kept them in stasis that long if her anger weren't a white-hot coal in her chest. She might not hold a grudge against their descendants, but she sure as hell wanted to make them suffer for an eternity for what they'd done.

"What's the project?" I asked.

She smiled then. A real smile that touched star-spangled eyes. I could actually see them glittering like tiny gems in the night sky. When I blinked, they were gone, but the smile remained. It wasn't a cheerful expression. It was the sort of look I associated with zealots and cult leaders. A fierce, feral joy lit her from within, and this time I did back away, just a little.

"I found it at last. I found where those damn Spaniards put it."

"Put what?"

"The seal," she said in a hushed voice. "The seal they used to trap us. I found it. You're going to help me crack it. Free the gods of my people and I will give you what you want."

Chapter Text

"Something the matter, ducky?" London said, brushing a sweaty curl from my forehead. "You haven't been sleeping well."

I smiled faintly. London had an ever-rotating list of nicknames she used. Pet. Love. Ducky. Dearie. Babes. Sometimes she'd get creative and switch to another language. I never allowed her to use French. It hurt too much to hear another woman call me a pet name in that accented voice. The endearments were nice. She was nice. London had kept her promise not to get attached, and it was refreshing to have something simple in my life. I needed that after everything I'd gone through in the past few days.

There'd been radio silence from Lowell and the task force for a day and a half as they tried to sort out Itzpapalotl's alibi. So far things seemed to be checking out, much to Marks' displeasure. He was just itching to find a reason to put the Master of the City behind bars. She probably deserved to be there, given what I knew about vampire politics. It wasn't a clean business, and she'd probably killed before. Still, she didn't appear to be this killer.

That only struck one name off our list of names. There was still Nicky Baco to consider. I'd put out feelers, implying I wanted to meet with him and the Ulfric of the Los Lobos clan, but so far I hadn't made much progress on that front either. No new bodies had cropped up in the days since, which only made Marks insist that one or the other was the killer and that I'd scared them straight for the time being. I didn't buy that. The culprit technically fit the criteria for a spree killer, so they should be escalating. It wasn't a matter of if the killer struck again, but when and where. They wouldn't be able to sublimate their desire for long. It felt like the entire department was holding its breath waiting for that call.

"It's the case," I said, rolling to face her.

The action made my breath catch briefly in my throat. London was beautiful. All of Belle's favorites were stunning in one way or another, the forms and figures falling and coming back into fashion every few centuries. Even when they weren't the century's ideal, they were still compelling, touched by just a hint of Belle's succubus nature, though it almost never manifested in any actual talent. London was a rare exception. She gave instead of taking, acting as the perfect battery for someone with my affliction. The price was an increase in her personal power. She was a step above where she'd been when we'd met months ago. After a year of this, she'd depose the Master of Key West and take his territory, finally rising high enough in the ranks to have her boyfriend Sampson at her side.

London smirked when I ran a hand over her side, tracing the softness of her curves. The dim light of the candles cast flickering shadows over her. Backlit like that, she was even more beautiful than usual.

"You're always naked when I'm home," I said with a soft laugh. "You strut around the house in underwear if I'm lucky. I swear you're trying to tease me into bed every night."

She shrugged, which did interesting things to her breasts. "Of course. I am an addict, pet. I'd stay in this bed for weeks without a break if I could. But indulging like that won't do either of us any good. I'll have to wean off the ardeur eventually and you've almost mastered it well enough to feed consistently from a distance and supplement when necessary."

That sobered me right up. It was a harsh reminder that I was stringing a junkie along with her drug of choice. We both had our reasons for doing it, but it still made me feel dirty when I really thought about it. I'd trashed her recovery with one spectacular fuck and gotten her hooked on this shit again. I hadn't known then, but it didn't stop the guilt. According to Jeanette, I hadn't met the real London. Not really. Sober London was a moody, scholarly woman with an obsession with swords. I'd probably never meet her. She didn't dare tempt herself by staying near me or Jeanette after this was over.

London sighed, smoothing the lines between my brows with a finger. "I've made you unhappy. I shouldn't have said it."

"It's the truth," I said. "Even if it's ugly, I'd rather hear the truth than a comforting lie."

"If that's the case, why don't you tell me the truth about what's bothering you? It's not just the case. I've seen you on cases before, even bad ones. There's more to it."

I scowled. She was too perceptive. Was it just a superpower that came with Belle's other gifts, or something you picked up after living so long? I hoped it was the former because I wasn't fond of the thought that any observant vampire over a few centuries old could read me like an open book.

"Come on," she coaxed, leaning in to brush her lips over mine. "I won't ask for details on the case. I know you can't share without getting in trouble. Just share what you can."

London pried the answer out of me the way she usually did--plying me with drugging kisses and maddeningly light touches elsewhere until I relented, just so she'd stop the torment and get to the good stuff. I'd never divulge secrets about my job as a Horseman or police work, but she could get almost everything. A bad day at work, the bad dreams and intrusive thoughts that plagued me. Deals I'd struck with piss-your-pants scary entities.

I told her about the devil's bargain I'd struck. She was quiet after that, too shocked by the information to continue where she'd left off. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, as though Itzpapalotl might be listening in from a shadowy corner.

"You're unleashing a pantheon of lost gods back into this world," she said faintly.

"So you get why I'm moody now, huh? It's the sort of thing that keeps a girl up at night."

"Oh, I imagine so. And there's no way around it?"

"I could stand back and not help. She'll find a way to destroy the seal eventually, I'm sure. If I say no, I make an enemy of the Master of the City, cutting off one of the best resources we have to find out who's doing all of this. If she's not our killer, she's still got enough insight to help us predict what motivates him or her. She might even be able to scare another suspect into helping us. And I can put all those suffering souls in the museum to rest. There's just the part where..."

"Where the Aztec gods enter the world again," London finished. "Even if they owe you a solid, it doesn't change their lore. Do you really want human sacrifices going on again?"

"No," I whispered. "I don't. Itzpapalotl says she'll make sure it doesn't come to that. There are parts of the world where enough blood is shed to sate the requirements of their rituals without actively killing people. Places with constant warfare. They'll relocate there for the foreseeable future."

But even if they kept Itzpapalotl's word, I couldn't help but think they'd make the situation worse. If you were living next door to Belle Morte, you were horny, period. If you lived in the same neighborhood as a war god, you were probably more agitated than usual. I just couldn't see a way around it. I wasn't even sure if it was right to keep them locked up, despite my misgivings. They'd been stuffed in a box by the same people who'd destroyed their empire. It wasn't fair. Gorgons had returned to the world through a break in the Greek seal. Why shouldn't the Aztec gods return after the destruction of theirs?

The ring of my phone sounded incredibly loud after our whispered conversation. The Scorpions' Tease Me, Please Me filled the room and I lunged half off the bed to reach it before the call could go to voicemail. It was the ringtone I'd set for Hernando. Childish, yes, but satisfying. Anything to fill up the time wasted by bureaucracy. If he was calling, there'd been a break in the case. That, or there were fresh bodies on the ground. I hoped it was the former, but expected the latter.

"What's happening?" I asked, skipping past hello. Pleasantries would only waste time. "Is there another victim?"

"We're not sure," he said. His voice was tight, strained with an emotion I couldn't name. "There is a body, but we're not sure if it's connected yet. I'm on the way over now, and I'll want you there. The Feds are going to beat us to it and you have an in with them. I want in too. This is personal."

My skin prickled with unease. Personal. Shit.

"Who is it?"

"Detective Julie O'Brien. She's one of mine. You met her the day we interviewed the Master of the City."

It took me a second to place the name with the face and then my stomach was plummeting to my toes. I'd only met her once, but she'd made a good impression on me. Now she was dead, possibly at the hands of the killer.

"Give me the address," I said, swinging my legs over the bed, bending over so I could grope for my discarded clothes. "I'll be there in under an hour."

Chapter Text

I arrived ten minutes later than I planned. Traffic snarled just outside Edgewood, slowing my Jeep to a crawl. Detective O'Brien lived in a modest two-story brick house at the end of a narrow side street. Cars of every shape and size clogged the blocks leading up to it like plaque in congested arteries. Most were first responders of some flavor, but there were enough ordinary citizens craning to get a look at Julie's house to piss me off. People gravitated toward disasters like bugs to a zapper, getting as close as possible to the danger to get a thrill. I wondered if they'd find it half as fascinating if it was their family at the center of a tragedy.

I elbowed my way through the crowd, flashing my now useless badge at any gawkers. I'd been suspended for the foreseeable future, so I was perilously close to committing a crime. At the moment, I didn't really care. It made people move and I was able to pocket it before any of the local cops, feds, paramedics, or firefighters could spot me doing it. There was one set of eyes on me, but I wasn't worried that he was going to turn me over for it.

Edward tracked me as I approached, eyes as empty as I'd ever seen them. He wasn't bothering to keep up Ted's good-ol'-boy persona at the moment, though I doubted anyone else noticed the slip. Everyone on site was grim, so his flat affect barely stood out. It was only a red flag to me. Whatever was in the house was bad if Edward wasn't straining at his leash, eager to find clues that would let him kill whatever big, bad thing was doing this.

"When?" I asked.

Edward didn't have to ask what I meant. "Bradford and his people made it to the scene just after the first responders and dragged the local M.E. with them. Judging by the liver temp and the rate of decay, they're thinking she's been dead for a few days."

"It had to have happened after she got home from her last shift," I said, stomach sinking at the realization that I might have been one of the last people to see her alive. "She was tired and it probably slowed her down. I bet whatever attacked her knew that too."

"I don't think it's a what," Edward said. "I think it's a who. I almost had to body block Bradford to do it, but I managed to get a look at the body. The attack was brutal, but it's not consistent with our flaying case. Bradford is just leaping on the idea that there's a new serial killer in town. Two of them in this close proximity to each other? It's like candy to the Feds. If he can solve both, it'll make his career. Fucking politicians, all of them..."

I gave him wide eyes. "You mean there's more than one victim that fits the profile? When did that happen? Why didn't it make the news before now?"

"Because the murders happened in Belgium, Denmark, the Czech Republic, Ukraine, Belarus, and Mexico over the course of thirty years. The most recent victim was found in Nuevo Laredo five years ago. There are forty-two known victims and about a dozen more missing person cases that are probably linked to this guy. Interpol was on the details the second they crossed their screens. They're sending in the leading expert, Elise Damitz as soon as possible. In the meantime, Bradford is pouring over the files she sent via e-mail."

"Great, just what we need. Another psychopath loose in New Mexico."

"They call him the Ostend Ripper. It's where he started and has the greatest concentration of victims."

Forty-two confirmed victims. Jesus. That was more than Ted Bundy had managed to rack up when he'd been active. It broke down about two victims a year, depending on how old he'd been when he'd started.

"They're sure it's this Ripper guy? Or is Bradford tilting at windmills, trying to turn this into something it's not to divert press attention?"

Edward shrugged, striding forward with me trailing behind. "It remains to be seen, but Damitz is pretty sure. The victim was definitely his type."

"Julie," I said quietly.

"What?"

"Her name was Julie."

Edward's lips pursed but he didn't fight me on it. "Fine. Julie was his type. All of the women have been five foot five or under, slender for their build, brunette with wavy or curly hair, and they were usually Caucasian or at the very least white-passing."

"How'd you get all this? I know the Feds just love inter-departmental cooperation. Bradford wouldn't have just told you all this."

"I observed and then I stepped out to listen. First responders talk too much. Some of it is speculation but I'm confident at least a portion is concrete fact, because of the gossiping M.E., and paramedics. The attack also followed the classic hallmarks of an Ostend Ripper case. Binding, repeated rapes, half-strangulation between each, a period of intense torture, and then finally death. There were overlapping ligature marks where he choked her unconscious and then revived her, which can tell us exactly how often she was assaulted. Her nails were removed post-mortem, like all of the other Ripper victims. The theory is that he keeps them as trophies."

I shuddered. God, he'd done that to over forty women. And now Julie was most likely one of them, just another statistic or sad story for true crime junkies to rattle off. I didn't want to ask for more details. I wanted to turn around and sprint for my car. I wanted to barricade myself in my house until my skin stopped crawling. I wanted the word 'rape' to stop rattling around my skull, dredging up memories from last August.

"How many ligature marks were there?" I asked.

"Six," Edward said, lowering his voice as we approached the police tape strung across the front porch. A huddle of officers gave us suspicious looks as we came closer, barely relaxing when Edward flashed his badge and I produced my consultant credentials.

I actually gagged. He'd raped her six times before finally killing her. How hadn't anyone noticed she was gone? Could someone have stopped this? Saved her? Or had she already been marked for death in the days and weeks before we'd even met? Had he been watching her, just waiting for the right moment to strike?

"You can leave," Edward said. "I won't mock you for it. This isn't what you signed on to solve."

It was an easy out and I hated myself for not snatching it while I could. The fact was, I couldn't leave and still look at myself in the mirror. Hernando had asked for my help for once, and I'd liked Julie. I couldn't leave if there was even the slimmest chance I'd catch a detail that Bradford and the others wouldn't. This bastard deserved to be behind bars.

"No. I'm with you on this. Besides, we both know what happens next. Killers that go dormant for a while are even more vicious when they get back into the swing of things. Some stressor set him off, so he might be trolling for prospective victims as we speak. It won't be the last time he strikes. If not in New Mexico, then somewhere else in the continental U.S."

Edward nodded. "I thought you'd say that."

"You don't look happy about it."

He ducked beneath the police tape and sighed. "I'm not. I need your head in the game. I don't think you're ready for what you're about to see."

He was right. I wasn't. I wanted to keep the image of Julie, alive and unviolated, in my head. But this wasn't about me.

"Show me anyway."

Chapter Text

Bernardo was waiting for us on the other side of the police tape, standing at the base of the stairs, pretending to scan the crowd. The truth was probably that he didn't want to meet our eyes. He was doing his best to keep the mask of a taciturn agent in place, but I'd known him long enough now to notice it slip. There was a flinching around his eyes that I'd never seen before. In a way, that was more chilling than Edward's bare-bones description of what I was walking into. Bernardo had witnessed the aftermath of skinwalker magic, so whatever was waiting inside had to be bad.

"I thought you were overseeing surveillance on Nicky Baco," Edward said. He sounded unruffled as if he was asking about the weather, not walking into a grisly crime scene. "I put you in charge while I came here. The locals wanted people they could trust, or I'd have stayed."

Bernardo shrugged. "Bradford needed another supervisory agent, and Otto volunteered to monitor Baco for the time being. He's still in a holding pattern for now, but the bugs we managed to place on the outside are picking up on some trouble in paradise. His wife isn't happy about something."

"Anita, probably," Edward said, frowning. "I hear she's the jealous type. She's assaulted some of the females in the Los Lobos clan when she thought they were making a move on her man, but they've always dropped the charges. They're too frightened of Baco to try to take her to court for it."

Which made me wonder just what Baco was doing to strike fear into the hearts of a violent therian gang. Whatever it was, it couldn't be legal. It was shaky grounds for a warrant, but there was at least a chance we could get a judge to sign off. And, I thought with a grimace, I was dwelling on this for one simple reason. I didn't want to go in. I didn't want to see what the Ripper had done to the nice detective. So, I sucked in a deep breath, steeled my nerves, suited up for a crime scene, and stepped inside.

The smell hit me first. If you haven't come across a dead body before, it's difficult to encapsulate with words. I'd heard a lot of comparisons over the years. Expired meat. Rotten eggs. Fermented garbage. Sewage. You got that a lot if a body purged after death or was ripped into, leaving its intestines open to the air. It's tangible, somehow thicker than you'd think, and clung stubbornly to every surface it touched. Julie's estate would have to hire a specialized cleanup company to scrub it out entirely before selling it. Because after what had happened here, I couldn't imagine any family would want to claim this place.

A line of shoes had been arranged neatly by the door. A pair of work boots, sneakers, sandals, dress shoes, and sensible flats for work. All of them were size seven. Hers.

"She lived alone?" I checked.

Edward nodded. "Julie O'Brien was a thirty-two-year-old divorcee. No bio kids, but she apparently keeps in contact with her ex's teenagers. He was at least twice her age when they married and already had kids, so the family came pre-packaged. His oldest, Heather, found the body."

I winced. I'd stumbled over dead bodies a time or two, and it was always a unique and horrifying experience. At least I had the training and experience to compartmentalize what I'd seen. That poor girl would be having nightmares about this for a while.

"Has she given a statement?"

"She's heading downtown now. She'll tell them what she found and they'll take her prints to exclude her from the potential suspect pool. I don't think she had anything to do with it. According to the descriptions I heard, she's a petite brunette, and a hundred pounds soaking wet. She's more likely to be a victim than our killer."

Julie's home reminded me unpleasantly of my old apartment, and it took me a minute to figure out why. It definitely wasn't the decor. My apartment had the same, cookie-cutter blandness as every other home in the complex, with high-pile carpet that was decades out of date and a neutral color painted on every wall. Julie's home had well-cared-for hardwood floors, crown molding, and a sunny paint job. The kitchen countertops were granite. She had a centerpiece on the table, for God's sake. Her home could have been on a magazine spread.

But the walls were mostly blank. There weren't many photos hanging in her halls or set on end tables. The baubles were there for aesthetics only, not to be played with or enjoyed. The centerpiece was probably a repurposed leftover from a relative's wedding. She didn't own pets. Like me, she'd lived in a showroom, not a home, and she'd done it for the same reason I had. She knew on some level, that she might leave one day and never return. Filling up your space with sentimental junk just made it harder for the person who came after you. It had taken a vampire girlfriend and a whole pard of wereleopards to break me of that kind of nihilism. And now Julie would never get the chance.

Agents, crime scene investigators, and plainclothes officers who'd arrived earlier to the scene than I had were ringed around the living room, talking in low voices. A few were staring glassy-eyed at the prone figure at the center, but for the most part, everyone seemed unwilling to look at the detective for long. The mind could be funny like that. If it's too horrible, your mind will refuse to make sense of what it's seeing, just to spare your psyche. No one was immune, even cops. And when my brain finally stopped fighting the inevitable, I understood exactly why everyone was staring at absolutely anything else.

If not for the hair, the Detective's body would have been almost unrecognizable. She was in the early stages of bloat, her stomach bulging like an overfull balloon. The buildup of gasses had her tongue lolling out of her mouth and her eyes bulging from their sockets. Another day and the pressure would have pushed them out entirely. Crimson had across the sclera, blood vessels in the eyes bursting as she was repeatedly strangled. Her skin was mottled with lividity marks and was turning colors in places as she slid ever closer to active decay. The neck was a ring of deep purple bruises, rough lines marring what used to be the smooth column of her throat.

Her fingers were like plump sausages at her sides and, if I looked, I could see the ruined beds where her nails should have been. One courageous tech was actually documenting the state of the body. A thick, rust-colored stain had formed on the Navajo rug beneath her.

"Most of the torture took place on the other side of the body," Edward said.

"Knife?"

"No. It looks like some kind of handmade cat-o-nine-tails. Metal links tipped with something sharp. Only the genital mutilation was done with a blade. The M.E. wants her moved as soon as the scene has been documented so he can take measurements and mold the wounds. It should give us a better idea of what we're looking for. But if the Ripper is true to form, the knife was taken from the house and discarded somewhere else."

I swallowed thickly. This was hitting me harder than I'd expected, and I couldn't say why. Was it our physical similarities? That she'd had some of the same habits as me, born of a lifetime of police work? I couldn't be sure, so I focused on what I knew.

"Genital mutilation hints at a rage against women that goes beyond the usual misogyny of a male serial killer. I'm just surprised he takes the nails post-mortem. Denailing is a pretty nasty form of torture, which should be right up this guy's alley."

"That's something the Belgian authorities have been trying to figure out for years," an unfamiliar voice said. "But as far as we can tell, it's always post-mortem. Makes you wonder."

The words were so unexpected that I jumped, turning a little too quickly to face the speaker. He was around Edward's height, which meant he was short for a man. The dark suit made him look boxier than he probably was, and I recognized the federal-issue Glock peeking out from a shoulder holster beneath it. Federal agent. His dark hair was slightly mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it.

"Agent Bradford, I assume," I said, automatically extending my hand for a shake. "I'm Anita Blake. Sorry to intrude on your crime scene, but I've been working with the locals on the flaying cases. Detective Rameriez was slightly miffed you horned in on this case. It is one of his officers on the ground after all."

Bradford straightened his tie before giving my hand a perfunctory shake. The smile he offered me went with the suit, professional and utterly insincere.

"We are sorry about that, of course. We're here to help on that case as well. The FBSA has resources the locals don't, so we thought it prudent to offer what we could. no one wants to see this go unpunished."

Yeah, prudent my ass. Edward was right. This was politics, pure and simple. It would be a feather in his cap if he could bring one of Europe's most prolific serial killers to justice before the locals could even touch it. Julie didn't matter to him in the end. She was a number, just a statistic they'd put on the Ostend Ripper's Wikipedia page as soon as he was caught. He was barely looking at what remained of a good detective, too busy trying to pander to the people who could muck up his big score.

"Be that as it may, I'd still like assurances that the local PD won't be cut out of this investigation. Detective Rameriez would be happy to divert his attention from our current case to catch this son of a bitch."

Bradford's smile ticked up a notch but still didn't reach his eyes. "That seems unwise. Lowell's detectives should focus on what they're doing. With a case this...personal, I think it's wise that impartial observers take charge."

My teeth clacked together, caging the words I wanted to say. I'd heard a little about Bradford from Edward and Bernardo. He might have been career FBI at one point, but he was nothing like the only other agent I'd met who'd also made the switch. Doucette was an ass, but he'd changed departments to whip the unqualified but well-meaning into shape and weed out the crazies who were in it for the chance to terrorize preternatural citizens. Bradford was a glory hound, in it for the notoriety. Supernatural cases almost always grabbed headlines. I couldn't call him the names he deserved, so I'd settle on the next best thing.

"Fine. Then why don't I act as a liaison between the FBSA and the locals so they're up to speed? I've acted in that capacity before."

Bradford's expression shifted, a little smug now. "I've heard that about you. I've also heard other things. You've had your badge suspended for suspected therianthropy. That you're insubordinate and have a kill count high enough to raise eyebrows. I'm sorry, Blake, but I'm not looking for a consultant. Doucette might be content to keep you on as his pet witch for difficult cases, but some of us can manage police work without you. You're out of your jurisdiction and I didn't invite you into this case. Be grateful I didn't have you thrown out the moment you stepped onto my crime scene. I really think you should leave now."

"Your. Crime. Scene." a man said, voice biting off every word as if he'd chew them into paste in his rage. "Where do you get off calling this yours, Bradford?"

We turned to face the newcomer, though I knew who was standing behind me. His power proceeded him, a scalding, choking wave that wound around my chest and pulled tight like the coils of a constrictor. Hernando stood in the hall, glowering at the agent hovering near the cold body of one of his detectives. In that moment, he seemed a lot taller than he really was, his gift looming over all of us like a giant's shadow. He'd been shielding like a motherfucker to keep this in check. He might be one of the most powerful practitioners I'd ever met in the southwest. Those defenses were beginning to crack. Bad. Very bad. Edward was already sizing him up and he was only mildly sensitive to the energy of others. If there were any other closeted psychics in the room, they'd feel him for sure.

"Don't worry, Bradford," I said coolly. "I was just leaving."

I strode to Hernando, hand out to seize his elbow, intending to lead him out by the elbow. He needed to get clear before he gave the whole game away. But he stepped out of range before I could touch him, and I was left clutching empty air. He was shaking, a fiercely territorial gleam in his dark eyes. I had to wonder if there'd been something more than professional going on between Maya, Hernando, and Julie. Possessiveness like that wasn't something you saw between co-workers.

"I think you should drive me home," I said, voice low and urgent. "I feel a little lightheaded. There's a pretty nasty energy to this place. I think I should leave before it gets worse."

That succeeded in drawing his attention back to my face. He still looked minutes away from tearing Bradley a new asshole, but he'd calmed enough to draw his shields back into place so the power was oppressive but not choking. He turned, moving toward the door in sharp, jerky motions as if he were fighting strings. He wanted to snap back into place and take a swing at Bradford. I knew the feeling.

"Come on, Blake," he all but growled.

"Yes, sir."

I waited until we were clear of the crowds before I spoke. I kept my voice low, just in case. You never knew who or what might be listening in. Hernando had parked his Ford Interceptor behind my Jeep. I paused at my driver's side door and gave him very serious eye contact.

"It's not over. I've got friends in high places. I'll pull strings." Even if some of them weren't strictly legal. Jeanette knew people who'd slip me the information I needed whether Bradford liked it or not. "We'll get this guy. And we'll find whoever is flaying people in your town."

I expected a terse, "You'd better" or a grunt to signal he'd heard me. Instead, he surged forward, pinning me to the side of my Jeep so quickly that it knocked the breath out of me. The lines of his body caged me as effectively as any hold. His hand came up to cup the nape of my neck, the other winding around my waist hard enough to bruise. Then his mouth was on mine, hard, hot, and demanding. An answering heat kindled to life inside me, and I pressed myself closer, hands tangling in his hair. It was soft to the touch. I'd gotten so used to being with vampires that he felt almost feverish against me, a fire that would consume me if I let it.

I let out a soft moan when the hand on my waist strayed, mapping my stomach, tracing scalding lines up my chest. His other hand shoved into my hair, pulling almost to the point of pain. If we'd had a little more privacy, I'd have pulled him into the back of the Jeep and let this play out. But there were people not far away, and it only took one police officer to see this to get us both tossed off the task force. I gave his chest a light shove.

"No," I panted. "Not here. Not now. I know you're pissed and in pain, but this isn't fair to either of us. It's not fair to Maya either. She has a say in what you do. More than that, the victims matter more than any of us."

"I know that," he said, voice as ragged as mine. "Damn it, I know that but..."

"But Julie was yours," I said. "I know the feeling. I mean it. I'm going to help you get this guy."

There was an unspoken agreement lurking behind the words. When we caught this guy, Bradford wouldn't have him. He was a dead man.

And right now, that was okay with me.

Chapter Text

The news could be fickle. By noon the following day, every journalist in the state had abandoned sensationalized headlines about the flayings in favor of speculation about the Ostend Ripper. Nothing captured the public's attention quite as thoroughly as a new serial killer. And as far as journalists were concerned this was a new serial killer. It didn't matter that he'd been active for three decades, he hadn't been real to anyone but avid true crime fans until he'd struck on American soil. It was an exciting deviation from his pattern that had the nation buzzing. Without any new flaying victims to splash red across the headlines, our case was old news.

The silence from our murderer bothered me. I wasn't an FBI profiler, but I knew enough to know this lull was a bad sign. Yes, some killers felt law enforcement closing in and took a hiatus, but none of them had racked up this many victims in a little over a week. Our perp made the Ostend Ripper look conservative. We were dealing with a spree killer and if history had taught me anything, they didn't stop unless they were forced to, either by being thrown in jail for an unrelated charge or were killed, usually by the cops. Hernando and Marks were checking out every jail in the surrounding counties but so far no one matched the sketchy profile we had. He or she was still out there and plotting more murders.

Unless, of course, there was some significance to the number we already had. Did thirty-five mean something? Was there a ritual aspect to this that we'd overlooked? Had our mystery killer already done what he set out to do and we were too late to catch them? Part of me hoped so, even if that meant justice for the families was further away than ever. If this was a spree killer and he was set to start again, the kills would be even more brutal than before. I didn't want to add more harrowing images to my abundant collection. Julie's bloated body had played a central role in the snippets of dreams I'd finally managed before dawn.

I sat at the kitchen table nursing a coffee, glowering at nothing in particular. Edward was doing the same to my right. He'd been almost as pissed at Bradford as I was when he learned we'd both be blocked from participating in the Ripper case. I hadn't wanted to inflict his sour mood on Donna or the kids, so I'd invited him back to the safe house with me. I'd probably catch hell for that later. Cops were some of the worst gossips of all and if they thought Ted Forester was cheating on his wife with the Executioner, it would be the talk of the water cooler by tomorrow morning.

"Nepotism sucks," I muttered, adding a spoonful of sugar to my cup. "Of course Otto gets to participate."

"He'd still be FBI if he hadn't caught therianthropy," Edward said, blowing steam from the rim of his cup. He'd manfully taken his coffee black. "And as much as I hate it, he's probably the most qualified to deal with the Ripper. He worked with the Behavioral Analysis Unit for nearly a decade before being ousted. Nothing but glowing reviews from his co-workers. Sometimes unwilling to play with others and occasionally sexist in workplace settings, but always on point. He knows serial killers better than almost anyone else who works there."

"Because he's a high-functioning sociopath, just like you," I said with a snort. "Easy to look past the horror to see patterns when your empathy was cut out or never existed at all."

I glanced sideways to gauge his reaction, half-expecting a sharp look or hostile body language. He just inclined his head, acknowledging the point.

"True but it's all the more reason to listen when he has a theory."

I slurped my coffee to drown another grumbled retort. Edward was probably right, but it didn't mean I liked it. "I left a message for Doucette. I want his take on all of this."

This time Edward did fix me with a look. "You're not endearing yourself to Bradford."

"Like I give a damn," I said. My phone rang a second later and I grinned, recognizing the ringtone. I waggled the screen at Edward, displaying Doucette's name and picture. "Speak of the devil. I've got to take this."

"Fine," he said with a scowl. "I have to get going anyway. Baco isn't going to surveil himself."

Edward took one more sip and then dumped the remainder of his coffee in my kitchen sink. I thought mildly murderous thoughts as it swirled down the drain. Wasting perfectly good coffee was a misdemeanor in my book. I ground the beans myself. If you were going to drink coffee, you ought to do it the right way and savor it when you had the chance to sit down and enjoy a cup. Some people had no taste at all.

I picked up on the third ring, just as my front door clicked shut behind Edward. The house felt empty without him in it, even though London was tucked safely into her coffin in the master bedroom. Why did you always feel lonelier when there was someone completely inaccessible in the house?

"Blake," I said.

"You called me at six in the morning," Doucette said, forgoing the pleasantries. I liked that in a person. It saved time.

And yes I'd called him early. That had been hours ago. I'd been sort of pissed it had taken this long for him to call back.

"If it makes you feel better, it was five o'clock for me, sir. I called you just before I went to bed."

"Jesus, Anita, do you ever keep regular hours?"

I smiled faintly. "Not if I can help it. Did you get my message?"

"I did," he said, and he didn't sound happy about it. "It wasn't illuminating, but given what happened last night, I think I know what it's about. Before you ask me to pull strings and get you in, know that I really can't. Not my jurisdiction."

"It's not Bradford's jurisdiction either," I countered. "He's FBSA and as far as I can tell, there's no preternatural element to this. You could argue that there's something magical going on in the serial flaying case. The victims shouldn't have lived as long as they did with most of their skin removed. The first victims are only now starting to die off, and it's been a week. The last time I saw something like that, skinwalker magic was involved. The Ostend Ripper case is just your run-of-the-mill serial killer. It's a case for local law enforcement and the FBI."

Doucette sighed. He sounded tired. "I agree, but it's going to take at least a few days to get agents out there and the Bureau will let it stand for now. Some agents are better than none."

"Is there anything you can do to expedite the process?"

"No, but there is one thing I can do for you. Bradford isn't the only one who has friends at the Bureau. I overheard that Elise Damitz and her team are going to be arriving a little earlier than expected. They'll be getting in at seven instead of nine, which was their original ETA. It'd be a shame if there wasn't a welcome party there to meet them."

Doucette's voice sounded innocent enough, but I could almost see the self-satisfied grin that was curling his lips. Another person who disliked Bradford. I was beginning to feel vindicated.

"Is saying I could kiss you sexual harassment?" I asked.

Doucette laughed. "No, it's sexual harassment if I said I'd be into that. Just remember, you didn't hear any of this from me."

"Still, I owe you for this."

"More than you know," he said. There was a creak on the other end of the line like he'd sat down in an office chair. "I've gotten the results back from the lab. You were right. As far as the guys in genetic testing can tell, your strain is almost impossible to detect, which means the transmission rate is next to zero. You're a non-infectious carrier. I've put in for your reinstatement. You still won't be able to make Bradford bring you in since he is higher in the chain of command, but you're an agent again. I'll have someone get the badge to you later in the week."

"Okay, now I really do need to kiss you. Or take you out or something. This is huge."

"Be a pain in Bradford's smug, politicking ass. That's good enough for me."

I smiled. Ah, at last, something I was truly adept at.

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

Chapter Text

Have you ever had to stand next to the wife of the man you'd cheated with in an airport terminal? Let me tell you, awkward doesn't even begin to cover it.

And yes, it was cheating. I wasn't used to feeling this way after being polyamorous for so long. Having multiple partners didn't matter as long as everyone was tested and knew what the rest of us were up to. Except, Hernando hadn't okayed that illicit kiss with his wife, which meant I was the mistress that he'd stepped out on her with. It was a new sensation. I'd never been the other woman, to my knowledge. The closest I'd come was the short interlude I had with Jade, and I was the dirty, dirty cheater in that scenario. Mistress just felt...demeaning.

Maya was standing a little apart from me, holding a sign with Elise Damitz's name on it in a white-knuckled grip. She kept scanning the terminal windows as if it would make Interpol move faster.

"Will a sorry cut it or should I let you slap me and get it over with? I don't do well with passive-aggressive people and we don't have time for the usual posturing. Tell me what I need to do to fix things."

Maya glanced my way once before facing forward again. "Do you really want to talk about this now?"

I shrugged. "Why not now? Their plane just landed. It'll take at least a half hour for them to disembark and track down whatever luggage they brought. We have a little time."

Maya sighed. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm going to. What we did wasn't right."

"You put a stop to it before it progressed and you're trying to talk to me about it. If you're feeling guilty, don't. I never begrudge Hernando his extracurriculars. It isn't like that between us."

I frowned, thinking that over. Even in couples with open marriages, I expected a little more...emotion than Maya was displaying. I got irrationally defensive when Jeanette started seeing someone new, even though it was necessary. You couldn't feed the ardeur on the same person more than twice without causing serious harm. She usually fed from a distance but she'd taken others to her bed to supplement my ardeur in a misguided attempt at helping me. She had my permission to do it but still. This was odd.

"Then what is it like?" I asked.

Maya's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered it. After a moment, she shrugged. "I suppose you could call it a marriage of convenience. We both lost our families years ago and it left us in a bad spot. We started living together just to get by. We only made it legal because there would have been more talk if we didn't. We date together and separately. We find what we need in our partners. I'm not surprised he still wants you. For a man so intelligent, he can have surprisingly little sense."

I bristled. "Are you saying that he's stupid for trying to date me?"

"Not stupid, just senseless. We're supposed to be discreet. You are a complication. I don't want him upending everything we've built because he's intrigued by you. There's a certain kind of man that's always attracted to a dangerous woman."

"Makes sense. He married you, after all."

That earned me a smile. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Damn. I was kind of hoping to get into your pants."

I tried for teasing, but it wasn't exactly lying. Maya was gorgeous. More than that, there was something compelling about her that went beyond skin-deep beauty. It was more subtle than Hernando's overwhelming charisma, but there was definitely something to her. Psychics sometimes gravitated toward each other without intending to. Just one more reason they'd stuck together. The world wasn't kind to people who were different.

Her smile broadened, showing perfectly white teeth. Her real smile actually made my stomach do a small flip. The grins she'd given me on our date were coy and seductive. It was like watching a flower blossom. Beautiful in an understated sort of way.

"Too complicated. I don't do complicated. I get what I need and I leave. It's best that way."

"But Hernando doesn't just hit it and quit it. I saw how he reacted to Julie's death."

The smile evaporated. The look in her eyes was distant and a little haunted. She bowed her head, not looking at me.

"He shouldn't get attached," she said quietly. "It always ends badly. I thought we'd learned our lesson about that. It would have hurt less if he'd just left things the way they were in the beginning."

"I don't think anything could have cushioned that blow. I barely knew her and it was a special kind of hell to be at that crime scene. And what you're doing isn't going to work forever. Pain is the price we pay to exist. If you cut yourself off from feeling it you don't just amputate one emotion. You stop being able to feel altogether. It's no way to live. I've learned that the hard way."

London's presence in my life had started to thaw the layer of ice I'd retreated into since August. With her, I only needed one consistent lover. I chose who came to my bed after that, instead of having dozens of strangers shoved into my life. I was far from well, but I'd regained a little equilibrium and started sorting through my shit. It'd take years to unpack it completely but I was feeling more like myself than I had in months.

"A wise woman on top of everything else," she said with the ghost of a smile. "He's in trouble. And so are you. Be careful or he'll steal you away."

"I'm spoken for."

We lapsed into a more comfortable silence. I still wasn't comfortable with what Hernando had done but knowing they were essentially friends with benefits lessened the guilt. I wasn't stealing the love of her life, just screwing around with her roommate. It was a little disappointing to learn she didn't want to join but I thought I understood her. I used to be her. So closed off and hurt that I ran at the first sign of something real. Jeanette had dragged me into vulnerability kicking and screaming and I was better off. It still stung like a bitch sometimes, though.

A group of men and women in uniform wove through the crowd toward us. Maya and I stood a little straighter. Armchair psychology would have to wait for another day. The experts had arrived.

They stopped just shy of us and I got my first good look at the foremost expert on the Ostend Ripper. She was...not what I expected. She was average height for a woman, 5'4" or 5'5" with a fading summer tan and a wavy bob that curled under a sharp chin. Her eyes were deep-set, so it was difficult to tell their color. She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties and from the way her uniform fell, I could tell she kept in shape. Probably a runner. She hadn't bulked the way I tended to. Then again, she dealt with human bad guys and I didn't. You trained for the job you had.

Maya extended a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Damitz. We're grateful you flew in so quickly. I'm Maya Ramirez. And this is my consultant, Anita Blake."

I offered her my hand after she'd given Maya's a squeeze."Agent Blake, actually, from the FBSA. My badge was recently reinstated after a therianthropy scare. The tests came back negative."

"A relief, I'm sure," Elise said. She probably meant the words to sound pleasant, but the accent made her sound brusque. It was muddled and hard to pin down. I was betting she'd lived in a border city where languages and accents mingled on a regular basis.

"It was," I said, slapping on my professional customer service smile.

"I was under the impression I was going to be met by Agent Bradley and his associates."

"His team is tied up at the moment, but I'm sure they'll be along soon enough. Why don't we get a table at Comida Buena while we wait, hm? You must be starved, and there's a lot to talk about."

Elise nodded. "Yes, let's."

Chapter Text

Discussing the details of the Ripper's murderous past had my green chili chicken soup performing a mariachi routine in my gut. If I wasn't careful, I'd be seeing my supper again. So I tried to approach it clinically, filing what I knew into neat categories.

Some of the work had already been done for me. Observations, questions, and theories abounded online. I'd been forced to do my own research into the Ripper case after Bradford refused to share Elise's profile, which had led me to a staggering number of true crime sites discussing the man. The earliest case files had been leaked to the public after the first lull in his kills and online archives had dutifully filed them away for mass consumption. It didn't matter how often they were removed or their websites were shut down, the hardcore sleuths would buy new domains and continue business as usual.

Normally the fetishization of killers and their work annoyed me, but in this case, it had been my only way to understand what I was walking into. I took everything I'd learned with a grain of salt. It was the internet after all, but I'd been able to confirm the basics. The Ostend Ripper killed girls between the ages of thirteen and twenty. Like many serial killers, he'd started with prostitutes and runaways, branching out when he'd gotten a feel for his ritual.

"Did you hear me, Agent Blake?" Elise asked.

My head snapped up in surprise and I found her staring at me expectantly. The wait staff had pushed two tables together so we could sit comfortably in the corner closest to the exit. I'd already forgotten the names of the Interpol officers that had accompanied her here, too absorbed in my own thoughts to memorize the agents who I wouldn't be working closely with.

"I'm sorry, Agent Damitz, I didn't catch that."

She frowned and shuffled her specialty salad around the mostly full bowl. I didn't blame her for not having an appetite, given what she was here to discuss.

"I asked if you noticed anything inconsistent about the latest scene. I know you're not a profiler, but I wanted your first impressions."

Shit. I didn't have any real impressions because I didn't have much to compare it to. I only had the forum posts written by serial killer enthusiasts to draw from, and I couldn't take them as gospel. I crossed my fingers beneath the table for luck and gave her one of the few things I'd been able to parse.

"He struck in a private residence in the middle of suburbia, not in a secondary location. The was no evidence of a body dump at any of the Ostend murder scenes, so the victims were almost always found where they were killed. Breaking into a victim's home is a big escalation."

Damitz's lips twitched but she didn't actually smile. I thought I saw something like approval in her eyes. Under the soft lighting of the restaurant, I could see them more clearly and I was struck by an odd sense of deja vu. I'd never met Elise Damitz, but she seemed somehow familiar in a way I couldn't quite place. I thought it was the eyes. They were a brown that remained somehow flat and cool no matter how animated she seemed.

"Yes, and it was one of the reasons I was cautious about calling it a Ripper case in the beginning. Aspects of his victimology changed drastically. A secondary location allowed him to isolate his victims and control any outside variables. A home poses more risks. Detective O'Brien would have the upper hand if she escaped his grip and there is proof she did for a short time. If she'd made it out the front door, there was a chance someone would have come to her aid. But she was dragged back, just like the others. That's been a constant in almost every scene I can't account for. Every woman, no matter her fitness level, has broken free and gotten as far as the door. It didn't mesh with our original profile."

"Meaning?" I prompted, praying she wasn't going to call me on my bullshit.

Elise's expression was distant and troubled. "In the beginning, we profiled him as a psychopath with poor social skills, between twenty and thirty years of age, an ephebophile with a poor physique, and not criminally sophisticated. We assumed all victims were given a fast-acting and easily metabolized sedative such as GHB to make them more pliant, which would explain how he got them to a secondary location and why he could be lax enough that they'd attempted escape but be unable to make it far. From what we can tell, he keeps his victims alive anywhere between five and ten hours on average, which would be enough time for it to wash out of their systems."

"Why poor physique?" I asked. "I mean the hypothetical use of drugs doesn't rule out that he could be fit."

"The victims ranged from ninety pounds to a hundred and twenty at the heaviest. Some of them were addicts, which made them even more vulnerable, but none of them were prime examples of athleticism. He never broke that pattern. They were always young, always waifish. Some of them were almost painfully thin. The overkill came after they tried to escape, which tells me he's not capable of controlling impulsive rage. We were sure it came from a sense of inadequacy. That was the second reason I wasn't sure it was truly the Ripper. Detective O'Brien was thirty-two, a hundred and forty pounds of muscle, and was a kickboxer in her off hours. It was the unmistakable details of his ritual that gave it away. If he can take down a trained police detective it implies he's a lot bigger and stronger than I anticipated, which is a troubling thought. But if that's the case, why do his victims break free every time?"

Which meant his trigger had changed. He wasn't looking to punish a scrawny kid anymore. Had he pulled a Gary Ridgeway and gotten married and had a few kids? Had that been the stressor that finally drove him to kill after a five-year lull? Was Detective O'Brien just a stand-in for the wife he wanted to murder?

I closed my eyes, really thinking about Elise's question. The answer came from a cold, slick, opalescent shape inside of me. I'd tried to ignore the nixe Lamar had raped into me last August, with moderate success. It only really came in handy in cases like this, where I needed to think like a cruel and patient predator. It was the only member of my menagerie that was semi-sentient and could think past the compulsory needs of a beast. It observed, it plotted, and it recognized something like itself in the Ripper. Bile crept up my throat when it clicked into place. Because if it was true, it made this son of a bitch a thousand times worse than even my bleakest of imaginings.

"Because that's part of the ritual too," I whispered. "The most important part. He's not poorly socialized and he doesn't need to use drugs. He's like Bundy. Charming enough to trick someone into his car. He probably strangles them when he has them in the vehicle and rapes them the first time after he's taken them to a secondary location. Then he binds them badly and pretends to leave. He lets them think it's over. That they lived through something terrible, but they can escape with their lives. And then he crushes that hope. It's what he gets off on. Watching the despair when they realize it's not over. That it won't be over until he finally kills them. You were wrong. It's not overkill, it's sexual sadism."

When I risked a glance up I found her staring at me. I could see the speculation turning behind her eyes. One of her fellow agents was jotting the thought down in a pocket notebook.

"Interesting theory," she said finally. "And something worth looking into. If you ever tire of working for your division, you should think about training to be a profiler. I believe you'd have a talent for it."

I wasn't sure what I'd have said to that and was saved the trouble of coming up with a response by the very noisy arrival of Bradford. I could catch the muttered swear words at fifteen paces and smiled to myself. If I'd already gotten under his skin, my job was already half-done. I'd catch hell for it later, but it had been worth it for the insights we'd gained.

When I turned in my seat I found Bradford stalking through the entrance, flanked by Otto and an agent I didn't know. He was African American, a little shorter than Otto, with a buzz cut that made me think he'd served at least one tour in the Army. To my surprise, Otto stopped suddenly in the entryway, coming to stiff attention when he spied us. For a second, I was sure the strained expression was aimed at me. But when I really looked, I realized he was staring past me, and his reaction was aimed at the woman across the table.

Elise glanced up at almost the same instant, gaze darting from one man to the other before settling on Otto. Her eyes went wide, lips parting in surprise. Emotion flickered across her face in bursts. Confusion. Recognition. Hope. Cautious joy. She seemed a little shaky when she stood to get a better look at him.

"Olaf?" she whispered. Her accent grew thicker, leaning toward German when she said the name.

And with that, I suddenly realized exactly why she'd seemed familiar. Side by side, it was hard not to see the similarities in face shape, the dark, deep-set eyes. If he grew his hair out, it would probably be wavy, just like Elise's.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I breathed. "There are two of them."

Otto...Olaf had a sister.

Chapter Text

"I will have you up on charges, Blake," Bradford hissed. "You're a civilian sticking your nose into police business after being expressly told you were not welcome on this case. That's obstruction of justice and I can have you fined and thrown in jail."

He leaned so close to me that I could smell the pickle and onions from his dinner on his breath. He wasn't a giant like Otto, but he was trying to use every inch he had on me as an intimidation factor. It wasn't going to work. Height hadn't fazed me since middle school, and some of the scariest things I'd seen hadn't been much taller than I was. Mr. Oliver had barely cleared five feet tall, which was short even for a homo erectus. Nikolaos had physically been a child. Nasty things could come in small packages. I was living proof.

I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning one hip against the nearest table. It was empty. Funny how the arrival of federal agents could clear out a room. I wasn't really looking at Bradford, too absorbed in the drama unfolding behind him. Otto...no, Olaf had exchanged a few words with Elise before seizing her by the arm, dragging her out of human earshot. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but from their expressions, the conversation looked heated.

"You could if I were actually a civilian. My supervisory agent called this morning with good news. My tests came back from the lab, and therianthropy is barely detectable in my bloodstream. I'm a non-infectious carrier of a panwere strain, which means I meet every requirement for reinstatement. The physical badge will take a little time, but I am an FBSA agent with the same clearance you have. If you want to discuss my conduct in this case, take it up with Agent Doucette."

Spots of color formed high on Bradford's cheeks, and a muscle in his jaw strained so tight I feared it would snap. All the repressed rage he was toting around was going to give him a coronary one of these days. I at least had the tact not to say as much to his face. See? I could practice diplomacy when it suited me.

Bradford finally jabbed a finger at the table we'd vacated and snarled, "Sit. I'll be giving him a call. Don't count on holding onto your badge for long, Blake. You won't be seeing the inside of a federal case for the rest of your goddamn life if I have anything to say about it."

"I actually need to use the restroom, sir," I said, blinking up at him innocently. I even shook my empty water glass for emphasis. "Unless you want me to do my business in this chair?"

Furious red flushed across his face and down his neck. For a second, I was sure he'd take a swing at me. Then he shoved one meaty hand toward me, barking, "Phone. Now. I won't have you running to Doucette with a fucking sob story."

Normally, I'd have told him where he could shove that order. It was my property and I didn't owe him a damn thing. In this case, though, I could relent. Even if, by some technical feat, he managed to break into my phone, he wouldn't find anything incriminating. I had a handful of burner phones hidden in my bag, on my person, and in convenient locations nearby. I shrugged, produced my work phone, and placed it in his big, callused mitt. There was a second where I was certain he'd crush it into so much plastic and microchips. Then it passed, and he shoved it into one of his suit pockets, waving me off with an impatient grunt.

It took a while to find somewhere I felt safe enough to call Edward. Airports aren't exactly known for their seclusion. I eventually ducked under a line of caution tape and bunkered down in the midst of a renovation project. I estimated I had about fifteen minutes before the workers came back from their meal break and found me crouching like a stone gargoyle in the midst of their tools. I dialed Edward's number without even glancing at the screen and waited.

"Kicked out already?" he asked, amusement coloring his tone. "I think this is a record, even for you."

"I haven't been kicked out. Yet. I think I just learned something huge and I need you to confirm something for me. Are you in mixed company?"

"I'm heading back home. Another Marshal came to relieve me of my post until morning and, no, Donna and the kids aren't with me. I insisted she take paid time off and lay low until this is all over. She's pissed about it, but she knows not to argue with me on this. Besides, the stuff with Ryker's men shook her more than she was willing to admit. I think she'll behave herself for now. I wish I could say the same about you. What fresh hell have you found yourself in?"

"It's the same hell. This is about Otto. Or should I say, Olaf? He looked petrified when he saw me sitting with Agent Damitz. Side-by-side, their resemblance is uncanny. I'm pretty sure they're related. Is there any record of an Olaf or Elise in the after-action reports when Traeger's Cult Formation Experiment was broken up?"

Edward swore under his breath. "Give me a second, Anita. I can't exactly look through my files on the road."

I pressed my back against the wall, biting the inside of my cheek to contain the urge to hurry him along. It wasn't his fault that I was short on time, and nagging wouldn't make the information come faster. It felt like a small eternity passed before he came back on the line.

"There's no record of Elise Damitz in the German government's records, but there is an Olaf and Emery Assauer, fourteen and twelve respectively at the time of their rescue. Their parents Karl and Irma died in a car accident when Olaf was five and their aunt refused to take them in. They were bounced from home to home over the years until they came into the custody of Stefan and Mila Bathelt, two of Traeger's disciples. Stefan was killed in 1985 while resisting arrest and Mila died in prison under suspicious circumstances in 1998."

"Suspicious circumstances?" I asked.

"They found her dead in her cell. Hanging. Officials eventually ruled it a suicide, but she was kept under close watch. No one knew how she got the rope."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer lady, I'm sure," I said dryly. "But what about the kids? What happened to them?"

"Like most of the others, they showed evidence of horrific abuse. Olaf had seventeen broken bones at the time of his rescue, and x-rays showed at least six more had been broken in the past and re-fused incorrectly. He had deep scarring on his back, arms, and chest. Doctors think a blade or flail was used. There was no evidence of sodomy, but officials still suspected female-on-male rape and/or coerced sexual activity. It was confirmed a few weeks later."

I clenched my jaw tight and swallowed back the urge to be sick. He hadn't been raped by his step-father as I'd insinuated, but it didn't make this any less wrong. But I wasn't sure how to apologize for my outburst without making things worse.

"Mila confessed to raping him?"

"Yes, and she wasn't shy about it. But that wasn't the worst of it."

"God, there's worse than torture and rape?"

"Yes. Emery Assauer was five weeks pregnant at the time of the rescue and had the pregnancy confirmed at eight weeks. She lost it not long after that. She claims to have had a miscarriage, but authorities strongly suspect someone helped her get an abortion pill. It's impossible to tell the difference between a spontaneous and induced abortion, so we'll never know. Neither confirmed it, but the prevailing theory is that Olaf was the baby daddy and that the pregnancy was conceived during one of Traeger's 'rituals.'"

I held the phone away from my mouth, gagging quietly into my collar. God, they weren't only raped, it was incestuous rape in front of witnesses. How many times had Olaf been beaten and tortured before he'd done what he was told? I didn't blame Elise for terminating her pregnancy. I'd have done the same in her position. But Olaf had to have feelings about the decision. From the looks of things, I doubted he'd ever forgiven her for it.

"Anita?"

I sucked in a shaking breath and brought the phone back to my ear. "I'm here. Sorry. I thought I heard someone coming. I have to keep this call short. What happened to Olaf after that?"

"They were hounded by religious groups and the government had their names changed. If what you're saying is true, they were probably allowed to leave the country and start a new life. There has to be an identity between Olaf Assauer and Otto Jeffries, but hell if I know what it is."

"Start with Elise Damtiz's history and work outward from there. He has to be in her orbit somewhere. I have to go now, but let me know if you find something promising."

"Got it. Good luck, Anita."

"Ditto."

We hung up without saying goodbye. I took another minute to slide my revulsion behind my practiced blank cop facade and then crawled out of my hiding place and returned to Comida Buena before the workers came back from break. Bradford eyed me suspiciously when I returned.

"That took a while."

"Well, you know how ladies are in the bathroom. Talk, talk, talk."

"Sure, that sounds right," Maya said, eyeing me as well. She'd settled a few tables behind Bradford, watching the argument between Olaf and Elise in her periphery. "Talkative is your middle name, Blake."

"I'm a regular Chatty Cathy," I agreed.

Maya gave me a once-over and frowned. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

"I think I'll take a ride home if you don't mind. Something I ate didn't agree with me."

"This isn't over," Bradford warned, handing over my phone. "Your supervisory agent will be calling you this evening. Take the call if you know what's good for you."

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it, sir."

Chapter Text

I didn't lie to Maya. I lost my supper and the water I'd sipped on the way over after stepping across my threshold. The bathroom was too far away, so I ended up hunched over the sink, retching over the garbage disposal like a sorority girl who'd overindulged. My stomach wasn't satisfied, even when I was just bringing up bile. Any thoughts of what I'd learned had me heaving again. Cool hands swept my hair away from my neck, holding it away from the worst of the sick. It was too little, too late. I'd still have to shower to get the stuff off the ends.

When I could finally lift my head, I turned, ready to thank London for looking after me. But it wasn't London at my back. I'd been too preoccupied to notice the subtle difference in height, the calloused fingers, and the thrum of power that poured off her skin, even at rest. She had dark hair, just like London, but that was where the resemblance ended. She had a slight widow's peak and a scar bisected her full lower lip and another marred the pale skin of her throat. She'd told me the story of that scar one night over drinks. A Roman soldier tried to slash her throat during the Iceni rebellion. He hadn't lived long enough to regret it.

"Verity?" I croaked.

Her eyes were the color of quicksilver, swirling with complex emotion. One brow quirked the barest fraction as she stared down at me. "You seem surprised to see me. We were only a state away, and you know how quickly we can move when pressed."

I did. The Shankland sisters were some of the fastest undead I'd ever met. Only the mother's guards had them beat, and even then, only by the slimmest of margins. I'd never face either as an enemy, thanks to an unfortunate metaphysical accident almost two years ago. Verity was bound to me, a vampire servant to my necromancer. She couldn't leave my side for long, and her sister Malicia was along for the ride.

I tore a paper towel off a nearby roll and used it to wipe my mouth and any chunks caught in my hair. "I know that, but I'm not sure why you're back so soon. Things have been fairly quiet on the home front until recently, and Van Cleef said your mission would take a while. Was he lying?"

Verity's brows furrowed. "I don't understand."

"Was he lying about the difficulty? And if you're done, where's Malicia? She doesn't have to stay outside guarding the perimeter. I'd rather have her inside if it's all the same to you."

Verity's expression shifted from intense scrutiny to one of bafflement. "You texted an SOS. It was an express order to return as quickly as possible."

I turned to face her, pressing my back against the sink. My stomach was a little tender, but the worst of the nausea had passed. Hard to keep Olaf's checkered past in mind when my vampire servant turned up weeks earlier than anticipated.

"Verity, I didn't text you. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind, actually. I'm consulting on two serial cases at the moment, and it's been pretty much nonstop pandemonium. I haven't thought past tomorrow, let alone planned for backup."

"But it was your number," she insisted. "I could have sworn..."

We seemed to come to a conclusion at the same time. Verity's lips twisted when the truth registered, and she rubbed her temples, seeming torn between frustration and a grudging sort of respect.

"Your number was cloned," she muttered. "Of course. It's easy to do if you have the tech and know-how. It didn't even occur to me that you would send out a mental call if you were in dire need of assistance."

"You saw a cry for help and rushed in. Someone knows how we're linked and used it against you," I said.

She nodded. "But it wasn't an ambush, or they'd have tracked me and taken their best shot en route. Someone wants me at your side."

And I had a sneaking suspicion I knew who'd arranged for a near-Harlequin-level talent to back my plays. There was only one person who knew the risks I was facing during this mission and did not have a direct avenue to Verity. If Jeanette was concerned, she'd have called Verity to act in her capacity as a vassal to St. Louis Kiss. My theory was confirmed a few seconds later when my second burner phone began to ring. I retrieved it from my bag and accepted the call.

"Jade," I said tightly, not bothering with a hello. "Mind telling me when you cloned my number?"

"Not important," she said, tone low and urgent. "I would never use it in a way that would put you in danger, and it accomplished what I wanted. You wouldn't have contacted her in time, if you thought to do so at all. You'll need a show of strength. I tried to convince Harlequin to send only Amir and I, but he insists on dispatching Mescolino and his servant as well."

My mouth felt suddenly dry, and it hurt to swallow. I wasn't facing one hostile member of the guard, I was facing three. Jade hadn't just done me a favor, she'd probably saved my life. Even with Edward and Bernardo watching my six, it would be a close fight. Verity tipped the scales back in our favor, but even that didn't guarantee an easy victory.

"Well, shit," I breathed. "What time are you guys arriving?"

"We've already arrived, but infiltrating Nicandro Baco's organization will take time. I have convinced my comrades that Baco is exactly what he claims to be—a necromancer. They will kill him and when that's accomplished, they will depart. You have until midnight to stop us."

Fuck. That meant I only had a handful of hours to get my team together, somehow evade police scrutiny, and convince Baco to let us in the front door. He was still stonewalling me, so arriving at Los Duendos Bar unannounced was tantamount to a declaration of war.

"I can't just burst in. The local pack will do Amir's work for him and rip us apart before we can lay a finger on Baco. You've got my balls in a vise here, Jade."

She let out a dry little snort at that. "Contact the Master of the City and request an ambassador to accompany you. He fears her, and won't refuse one of her servants entry. It's better to owe a favor than lose this opportunity."

That was a matter of opinion. I didn't relish the idea of being in Itzpapalotl's debt. It would be the second most dangerous deal I'd ever struck, just behind the bargain I'd inadvertently forged with Andias, Queen of Air and Darkness, the crafty and terrifying ruler of the Unseelie fae. At least I'd made my first deal in ignorance, and our account was almost settled. But what choice did I really have? I'd promised Jade I'd try, and this was the most straightforward chance I'd ever get.

"Fine, we'll be there by midnight. I need to have a word with Baco anyway. If he's the killer the police are after, this is a win-win. Just don't wring his neck before I get there, okay? That's my job."

"No promises," she said.

The line clicked before I had the chance to say more. No goodbyes. Maybe she was afraid to say it. The words made it real. If our plan didn't work, I was about to sign her death warrant. If it did...that was almost scarier. I'd never bound someone to me on purpose, let alone someone who was as desperately infatuated with me as Jade.

I sighed and ran my hair under the faucet, combing out the worst of the mess. No time for a shower. I had a Master vampire to proposition. Again.

"Cant things ever be simple?" I muttered. "Just fucking once?"

"Doubtful," Verity said. "Shall we go? Time seems to be of the essence."

"Yeah. Let's get this show on the road. I've got a damsel to rescue."

A dangerous damsel, but still my damsel. Just call me Prince Charming, complete with body armor. Now if only I had a horse.

Chapter Text

I dialed the Obsidian Foundation's public number and couldn't reach the receptionist. The stock answering machine reply informed me I could leave a message and a callback number, but I didn't bother. I hadn't had a lot of faith that any note I left with a vanilla worker would get to Itzpapalotl in time to do me much good. I couldn't leave a message urgent enough to demand immediate attention without a well-meaning personal assistant calling the cops. Something I desperately needed to avoid at the moment.

I hesitated before trying Pinotl's phone. Itzpapalotl had given me the private number with explicit instructions not to call unless it was an emergency. She would call me when the seal was found and delivered safely to a secondary site, far away from city limits. And while I considered this an emergency, she might not. I had no idea how to tell her that members of the Harlequin were in her city without tipping off Jade's double-cross. Obsidian Butterfly was a council-level power, which meant there was probably a spy in her ranks. Possibly several.

But it turned out to be a moot point. Pinotl's number went straight to voicemail, just like the public number. My heart began to beat a little faster, thudding against my ribs hard enough to hurt. Pinotl should have answered if only to tell me to leave his mistress alone. One avenue of communication closed was possible. But to have both out of commission? That was suspicious.

My fears were all but confirmed when the Obsidian Foundation came into sight, its massive walls towering over nearby buildings. Swirling red and blue light danced off the stone surface, reflecting back at us. Traffic slowed to a crawl a block away as people rubbernecked, trying to get a better look at the scene, or were forced to take a detour around the staging area the police had set up in and around the building. I didn't even bother trying to try to negotiate my way into the parking lot. I parked in the half-full lot of a Verizon store and let Verity scoop me into her arms, airlifting me past the line of grunts guarding the entrance. Thankfully, no one looked up, and even if they had, the black-on-black ensembles we'd chosen would have made it hard to spot us against the night sky.

"Wait for me," I ordered, straightening my jacket to cover the Browning in its holster. I was about to scare the pants off the police by showing up without warning. Best not to spook them by flashing the gun. "Keep a look out from the roof and don't interfere unless things get violent. Marks is already jumpy around me, and I'm human. I'd hate to think what he'd do if a vampire materialized at his elbow."

"As if he'd be fast enough to hit me," Verity said, arching one imperious brow.

If anyone else had said it, I'd have told them to stop being a cocky bastard. No one was bulletproof. But it wasn't exactly arrogance on Verity's part. I'd seen her move. If she said she could dodge bullets Matrix-style, I believed her. Still, she did as I asked, melting into the shadows a moment later. A soft rustle of fabric was the only indication she'd parted ways with the ground.

I drew startled looks from a few cops as I passed, and I flashed my consultant's badge, jogging ahead before someone could get the bright idea to stop me. Most of the detectives formed a knot at the base of the steps, talking in low, terse voices. Hernando and Maya were toe-to-toe with Marks, wearing almost identical looks of frustration. There was color high in Maya's cheeks, and she looked only seconds away from decking him.

"This is outrageous!" she hissed, stepping into him, close enough that their chests brushed together.

It forced him back a step, and only brought on another, deeper flush. He was red in the face, the muscles in his jaw twitching spasmodically as he glared down at her. "No, your actions were outrageous. If you'd just followed the plan, we'd have that bloodsucker in custody. Now I have to bench three of my best officers until they can see a priest to have those bites cleansed."

It's amazing how much you can learn from only a handful of sentences. I was sure Hernando and Maya would give me the full story when Marks inevitably stalked away to bitch about this to Lowell, but I thought I had the gist of it. Marks wanted to burst into the Obsidian Foundation without a warrant, and would probably use probable cause to justify it after the fact. Hernando and Maya had gone by the book, and somehow, despite the overwhelming firepower the department had brought to bear, Itzpapalotl had gotten away in one piece. No wonder Pinotl wasn't answering his phone. If the police had any record of it, they could subpoena its location from the cell servicer. It was either turned off or destroyed, just to be safe.

"If we'd arrived without warning, it would have been a bloodbath," Hernando argued. His hands were flexing slowly, as though he was imagining them around Marks' neck. "You have no idea how powerful she is, Marks. You're lucky she didn't tear their throats out. They'll recover from enthrallment. The ones she casually rolled are already in their right minds. It was downright merciful, considering the person we were dealing with. This could have been so much worse. She just left, despite the insult you offered her. Those are not the actions of a guilty woman."

Hernando kept impressing me with his insight. I had a half-second to wonder if his abilities were somehow tied to intuition. I knew several psychics like that. Jessica Arnet, formerly a member of RPIT, was an indexer, someone who could remember things they'd seen, relate it to what they wanted to know next, and where to locate the information. It had made her a kickass detective. Zerbrowski had something similar, though to a lesser degree. He had leaps of logic that sounded crazy but usually turned out to be correct.

And in this case, Hernando was right. As a former Aztec goddess, she had the ability and inclination to enact some truly hideous things on the human body, mummification the least among them. She was a warrior goddess, well-versed in the art of suffering and death. Her personal mythology claimed that she transformed into a beautiful woman to seduce men, and devoured their hearts when she finished with them. If they only had a few bites to deal with, Itzpapalotl had handled Albuquerque PD with kid's gloves.

"Merciful?" Marks half-shouted, spittle flying in every direction. Hernando's face hardened when several specks landed on his face. "You call that monster merciful? There are five more victims. She's responsible and all of you are too damn concerned with political correctness to accuse her, even though she's guilty!"

So, our killer had finally struck again, bringing the total number of victims up to forty. My theory that they were waiting for public interest to wane had been dead wrong. Or maybe they just didn't like being one-upped by the trendy new serial killer. Either way, they were active again, leaving more mangled bodies in their wake. The only thing I was sure of? Itzpapalotl wasn't involved. Even if she had been the culprit, something I wasn't convinced of, she wouldn't have risked my ire by killing again. She needed me too badly to lay the future of her pantheon on the line like this.

Hernando looked ready to shout back, but Marks' gaze shifted past the detectives, landing on me instead. His face twisted into a ferocious scowl and he elbowed his way past both, stalking toward me.

"You're here a little late, Blake," he seethed. "If you wanted to help the Master of the City, you should have gotten here an hour ago. I know you have certain sympathies for vampires. Looked you up online. Turns out you're an abomination in more ways than one."

I resisted the urge to reach up and slap him. I knew exactly what he was implying. It wasn't the first time someone had implicitly or explicitly referenced Leviticus around me. Normally I shrugged it off. I'd dealt with enough zealots in my life to not let the rhetoric get under my skin. This time it was putting lives on the line. Nicky Baco's life, the lives of the local pack, and most importantly, Jade's. Amir wasn't going to get the opportunity to take her out of the city if I could help it.

"If you're talking about my girlfriend, you can shut your ignorant mouth before I shove my fist in it. And for your information, my badge was reinstated, so I'm allowed in on any case with a preternatural element, as per FBSA regulations. Since you think the Master of the City is involved, it qualifies. I heard something was happening and I came to see if I could help Hernando since he's the only one of you who has a lick of common sense."

It was a lie. I had no fucking clue that this was going down, or I'd have been here hours ago. Meeting Elise had been enlightening, possibly even life-saving down the road, given what it revealed about Olaf, but I'd have been more useful on this case. Thankfully, Hernando backed my play, nodding stiffly.

"She has a right to be here," Hernando said. "And you're not my superior, Marks, my opinion holds as much weight as yours. Take it up with Lowell if you don't like it."

Marks' face flushed an impressive shade of puce before he got a hold of his temper. He turned on his heel and marched away, back stiff with fury. I had ten to twenty minutes before Marks could drag his boss back to give me the boot.

"So what are you really here for?" Maya asked when he was out of earshot. "We didn't call you. Do you have a scanner in your car or something?"

I had one at home, but I'd turned it off shortly after Julie's death, unwilling to put myself through the constant reminders. This case was depressing enough without adding those gruesome visuals to my nightly horror show. I shook my head and gestured at the crowd of police and first responders.

"I saw the lights and assumed something big was happening. I was actually coming to talk with Obsidian Butterfly about borrowing her star animator. I have a lead on Nicky Baco and she'd be handy to have at my back. If he really is a necromancer, I don't want to go against him alone. What happened?"

Hernando sighed. "Bad timing happened. Her departure from and return to the Foundation could have allowed enough time for her to flay a family of five, but it's only circumstantial. Marks knows a judge and got a warrant. They stormed the building and it was a disaster. Almost every officer was rolled and a few with resistance to thrall were bitten to keep them in line. No one died, thankfully, or I'd have handled Marks personally."

There was an undercurrent of menace to his words that made the hairs on my arm stand on end. The air around him seemed to bunch with the weight of his hostility, winding around me with enough power to choke the words in my throat. I couldn't help but notice that they didn't appear dazed, nor had they bitten. Which had to mean that they'd watched her leave without raising a hand to Izpapalotl or her people. Corruption or simple self-preservation? It wasn't as if two officers, psychic or not, could tackle a vampire of her caliber.

"Tone it down," I said quietly. "Your power is all over me. This isn't the place to lose it. We have more important things to worry about, like catching the actual culprit. I have a good feeling about Baco, but I need to see Teyacapan as soon as possible. Can you keep Marks off my back while I talk to her?"

"Only if we're coming to Los Duendos as your backup," he said.

I smiled tightly. "Deal."

Chapter Text

Something hit me broadside only seconds after I'd cleared the front doors. My arms flew up to pry my attacker off, and I shifted my weight, ready to throw them across the lobby when I had enough space. It took me a second to realize that the shape wasn't a vampire or an aggressive beat cop. The person clinging to my front was around the same size I was and significantly thinner. She wasn't soft, exactly, but she felt like a runner, not a lifter. Her hair smelled like marjoram and rosemary and tickled my memory before I could launch her into the air.

I pried her loose with as much gentleness as I could, but she clung like a vine. I had to seize her shoulders in a bruising grip to finally put space between our bodies, and when I had, my stomach dropped. Donna was still grasping desperately at any part of me she could reach, tears streaming down her face. Her hair was mussed and her hands and face were smudged with blood.

"Oh Anita," she said, breath hitching on my name. "I'm so glad you're here. They're acting like monsters. That horrid man Marks smashed everything in Obsidian Butterfly's office. Priceless artifacts, all gone. He said he wanted to check for false bottoms and hollow insides as if she was some kind of drug runner!"

My hands fisted in the sleeves of her blouse. If he'd been searching for drugs or the missing artifacts, he'd have looked in the basement or attic spaces. This had been retaliation. Hell, it was probably even religiously motivated. There were just some sects of organized religion that couldn't stand the existence of other gods, especially those that had pre-dated theirs. Itzpapalotl was older than Jesus if she dated back to the time of the Olmecs.

"Donna, I need you to take a deep breath and tell us what happened."

Donna jerked a little in surprise when she saw the officers lurking at my back. She shrank into my side, withering under their stares. The tears came faster, and small tremors ran through her hands. She was terrified. And why the hell not? This was the second time in a week that armed men had barged into her peaceful life and started making threats. It didn't matter that they were the cops. This was her refuge, the workers here were her friends, and the police forced their way into her sanctuary, guns drawn.

"Back up a little, please. If you keep hovering, she'll have a panic attack." I directed the words over my shoulder, speaking as clearly and quietly as I could manage, so as not to spook Donna. "In fact, would one of you get a first aid kit, please? These cuts look nasty. I'll take her to the restroom to wash them out."

I shifted Donna's weight, getting an arm around her lower back. Her arm slid easily around my shoulders, and together we hobbled forward. Donna had to direct me through the maze of exhibits to find the public restrooms, and she'd stopped shaking by the time we arrived. She didn't argue with me when I wet a paper towel and ordered her to stay still.

"What happened to your hands? Did Marks do this?" I asked, dabbing at the largest cut. It probably needed stitches, but I had a snowball's chance in hell of forcing her past the line of officers outside. If I was lucky, I could swipe adhesive from a paramedic and keep it closed long enough for Edward to arrive.

"No, not exactly," she said, sucking in a breath when I scrubbed the dirt off the ragged edge of the cut. "It's silly, but I just couldn't stand to see her office in shambles. All that history in pieces on the floor...it wasn't right. I swept it up and hid the pieces so that they couldn't take it as evidence and destroy it. I know it's illegal but-"

"Breathe," I cut in. "I'm not going to report you. Can you tell me what happened? Why are you here? Edward said you requested paid time off."

Donna's gaze dropped to her shoes. "I did. I mean, I was going to. But she needed me here, just for one night. She trusts me with this collection. I couldn't let her down."

"Why did she leave? Did she tell you?"

Donna nodded. "There was a problem with a shipment and she left to sort it out. She seemed happy and she returned early, so I figured I was free to go. I was grabbing my coat from my office when the police arrived. I wasn't in the middle of it, so I can't tell you exactly what happened but-"

"When the smoke cleared, she was gone and you had a lot of angry police officers in your lobby," I finished for her. "Sound about right?"

She shuddered. "Yes, exactly. And that ass Marks kept shouting at me, telling me to show him where the artifacts were. He kept shoving his warrant in my face, saying he had the right, but I can read the fine print. He had a right to arrest Itzpapalotl, and that was it. I didn't dare let him in the private collections for a search. Those discoveries are priceless."

I gave her wrist a comforting squeeze. "You were right. He doesn't have a right to look at them yet and after the fit he threw in Obsidian Butterfly's office, you can request someone else to conduct the search."

Donna sucked in sharp breaths as I scrubbed her hands free of dirt, but she didn't cry or complain. She was holding up better than I would have ever dreamed. I wished Peter could see his mom right now. Donna just went to show you that not all strength came from muscle or marksmanship.

"Are there any of the items he wanted to see in Itzpapalotl's inventory?" I asked.

"No. That's my area and I know every item we have in storage. I'm very careful not to buy items that have a questionable origin. The pieces have to be insured before they're displayed and any reputable firm won't insure a stolen item or black market purchase."

"I thought so, but I had to check."

Donna looked unhappy, but nodded again, accepting that. I was almost ninety percent sure that her master was on the level, but I'd been wrong about people before. And, speaking of people I didn't fully trust, I had only a few seconds warning before Detective Maya Rameriez rounded the corner, clutching a first aid kit in one hand.

"It's from the trunk of our car," Maya explained, offering it to me. "The paramedics are too busy with the wounded officers at the moment. I didn't realize having bites cleansed was such a dramatic process. I've never heard grown men scream like that before, and I've seen some shit you wouldn't believe."

"Think of it as a vampire transition on the micro-level. Some of the virus is active and enters the tissues with every bite. It takes several back-to-back feedings to transform a human into a vampire, but even small doses of the pathogen still affect the body. The site of the wound will react to holy water or other faith-based forms of cleansing the same way a vampire would. It's like an acid or heated brand. I've only had it done once, but the pain was bad enough to make me puke."

I'd only experienced one thing worse, and it was in a similar vein. White ash literally disintegrated the flesh of skinwalkers. I didn't technically fit the criteria because I hadn't killed a relative to complete the ritual, but there was enough magic on me to make contact with the stuff agonizing.

A thought hit me, and I paused with the lid of the first aid kit only half-open. I hadn't sacrificed a family member—yet. But if I killed my grandfather, even for the kindest of reasons, I would meet the requirements of the ritual. I'd become a skinwalker. Shit.

"Is something wrong?" Maya asked.

"No," I said, digging Neosporin and a roll of gauze from the kit. "I'm just thinking too hard. I wish we had a little lidocaine to numb the area."

"I'll be fine," Donna said, wincing as I wrapped her hands. "I've had worse."

"Do you have any idea where the Master of the City might have gone?" Maya asked.

Donna shook her head. I was pretty sure she was lying, but I wouldn't call her on it. If Itzpapatl had been happy before the cops arrived, she was probably close to obtaining the seal. At this point, it was best to let Marks chase his tail and let the rest of us do real police work. Maya seemed to think so too because she didn't press Donna for details.

"So you think Baco is behind this?" Maya said, turning to face me.

"He is," a voice answered.

All of us jumped in surprise when the rear stall door swung open and Teyacapan stepped out to meet us. She stood, straight-backed, head high, making up for her lack of height with palpable attitude. She was wearing loose-knit pants and a Foundation t-shirt. Somehow, it looked wrong on her, as if she'd been born to wear the ritual clothing she used on stage. Sometimes people had a power about them that paired well with a uniform.

Her gaze lingered a little overlong on Maya, a knowing look in her eyes. I wondered if they'd met before, or if Teyacapan just had a perceptiveness that I lacked. I could usually feel out people's powers, but Hernando and Maya were opaque, as if they ran on a slightly different frequency than I did. She gave Maya a slow, almost respectful nod after a moment.

"Ma'am," she said and she sounded...almost deferential. It was the most respect I'd seen anyone show the Detective since I'd started consulting on this case.

"It's good to see you Teyacapan," Maya said, mirroring her tone. "We were actually hoping to find you. Have you been eavesdropping this whole time?"

"Yes," she said and didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed.

"And what exactly did you mean? How can you be sure he's guilty?"

Teyacapan's eyes hardened. "Because I sense things. Things that even my goddess cannot. As much as I revere her, she and any remaining gods are old. Jaded. I am a new offshoot of an ancient tree. She tells me to meditate, to pray, to keep evil from my dreams, but there are powers greater than her and far, far greater than me. I've been receiving prophecy from the moment I could raise the dead."

"Prophecy?" Donna said softly. "You've never told me that before."

Teyacapan shifted her weight, awkward at last. For some reason I couldn't fathom, quiet, unassuming Donna had worked her way into the hearts of monsters, sociopaths, fallen gods, and their servants.

"I'm sorry. She asked me to keep it quiet. There are those who would see me killed for who I am and what I know. I have seen a fledgling god, born of my people's pain, too weak to take the vengeance we cried out for. He festered in silence for many years until she woke. I don't know why the eternal night empowers his rage, but she has given this god the strength necessary to act. I don't know his name, his face, or his plans, but I know that Baco channels his power. He was a priest without a god. Now he has someone to worship and draw power from. Obsidian Butterfly does not believe it because she cannot feel it. And even if she believes, she is arrogant enough to think she can defeat the upstart."

Cold sweat ran down my spine, pooling in the small of my back. Because I knew exactly what Teyacapan was implying, though she hadn't said the name aloud. Marmee Noir. Teyacapan's dreams may not have been duplicates of mine, but I knew what they meant. Only necromancers could draw from primordial darkness. We were tied to it. Dr. Hale had seen more of Marmee's inner circle than I had. She said that Ari screamed herself awake from nightmares as her powers grew. Teyacapan probably had more insight than any of us, given that she'd grown up steeped in a level of religious ritual that the rest of us could only dream of.

I expected Maya to dismiss Teyacapan's warning as superstition, but when I turned to gauge her reaction, she just looked...pale. Worried. I doubted she understood exactly how fucked we were, but she was willing to keep an open mind. It was more than I could say for Marks.

"What do we do?"

"Kill or incapacitate him," Teyacapan said grimly. "He has already met the blood requirements. Twenty is one of our sacred numbers, and Baco has provided twofold sacrifice. We have to stop him before he can complete the rituals that would bring this god into his full power."

"Why didn't you tell the police, Teya?" Donna whispered.

"Would they have believed me?" she asked, fixing Maya with a hard stare.

"No," she said with a sigh. "They wouldn't. They still won't. If you're right, we can't bring anyone else with us. Are you willing to help us get in the door?"

Teyacapan smiled then, a fierce baring of teeth. "Of course. Baco and I are overdue for a chat."

Something told me that talk would be carried out at knifepoint, but I kept my opinion to myself.

"Be vewy, vewy quwiet," I said under my breath. "We're hunting god."

No one laughed. Everyone is a critic.

Chapter Text

"This is a bad idea," Verity said through clenched teeth. "We should wait for Malicia. Walking in there with so few is suicide, even with me at your back."

A police light supplied by Hernando meant we'd been able to bypass traffic easily, but we'd flicked the lights and sirens off when we were a few blocks away. The last thing I wanted to do was spook members of the Harlequin. With my luck, they'd vacate the bar before I ever had a chance to step foot inside, and Amir would slip through my fingers, taking Jade with him. We approached slowly, circling the block a few times before slotting the Jeep into a faded space in the Los Duendos parking lot.

"It can't be helped. It's half past eleven. We don't have time to wait for Malicia, Edward, Bernardo, or Otto."

I wasn't weeping salty tears about the latter. I didn't trust Olaf at my back these days. He'd probably take the opportunity to stick a knife in it the second a fight broke out and point the finger at the enemy. And he'd probably get away with it too, the bastard. My death would end most of the people who'd be inclined to avenge me. Edward might track Olaf down eventually, but vengeance wouldn't be swift or even certain.

Yes, I was disappointed that my fellow Horsemen were tied up in their respective cases, but at this point, it couldn't be helped. We were here, Baco was here, and most importantly the Harlequin were here. I couldn't let them kill Baco now that I knew the bigger picture. At least, not until he'd led us back to his god's hidey hole.

"You could die," she insisted. "I can't let that happen."

"Then don't. I trust you. I also trust Teyacapan. We're necromancers. If we can control the vampires, even for a short time, we also have a leash on their therian servants. You, Hernando, and Maya can step in and do your thing."

"And if they don't respond to your power?" she asked, glowering at me. "What then? They are, or at least were, a part of her guard. It's entirely possible your abilities won't work."

I'd been trying really hard not to consider that possibility. If I didn't hold sway over Amir or the other Harlequin vampire, it was going to be close. Even with Jade ready and willing to turn her coat and join us, I wasn't sure we could win. Verity's advice was sound. It would cause less mess in the long run, the murderer would be taken care of, and I wouldn't risk my life for a long shot.

All I had to do was allow a woman to remain psychically chained to her rapist for the rest of eternity.

"I'll burn that vampire when I come to it," I said with a shrug, watching Hernando's unmarked car pull into a space opposite mine. "I'm going in. You can stay in the Jeep if you're too nervous."

Verity's glare could have melted my door into slag. She undid her seatbelt in jerky motions and exited the car without any of her usual grace. She was pissed, but I knew she'd stand by my side. She didn't have a choice, in this case. I'd done everything I could to give her a measure of free will, but at the end of the day, she was my servant and had a vested interest in keeping me alive. She'd follow me into the fire, cursing my name the whole way.

I checked and double-checked the weapons on my person before following her out. I had the Browning tucked into an inner-pants holster, my FBSA standard issue Glock 22 in a shoulder rig, and a short-range tranquilizer gun strapped to my ankle. I'd have put the Firestar in a flashbang holster if I thought the outline wouldn't be too visible. When you're going against elite vampire assassins, there's no such thing as overkill. A lightweight jacket covered the silver knives in their wrist sheaths.

I even had a few vials of holy water tucked into the pockets of my tac pants, just in case. I hadn't carried crosses or holy water in months, so their weight felt alien. My faith had taken a beating, and I wasn't sure if I'd ever get it back. Thankfully, I didn't have to rely on my faith this time around. Teyacapan had blessed every vial before we'd loaded into our vehicles. It was a darker flavor of faith than I was used to, but if it got the job done, I wouldn't bitch. At least one of us had enough conviction to keep the undead at bay.

Hernando and Maya were sizing up the building when I fell in beside them. It didn't look like much from the outside. The brick facade had faded to pale orange, its edges rounded by time, the elements, and a lack of care. Gang signs and street art had been spraypainted on the side of the building and the dumpster tucked into the back corner of the parking lot. Cigarette butts and less savory paraphernalia littered the cracked pavement a few feet from the doors. Heavy bars covered the tinted windows, blocking the inside from view.

"Homey," I drawled. "I can see why people flock to the place."

"It's more than that," Teyacapan said, brows knitting together. "And you can all feel the compulsion he's woven into the ground here."

Now that she mentioned it, I could pluck the amorphous sense of dread from the air and make sense of it. Charms had been scattered around the bar and the surrounding blocks, subtle spells that instilled passersby with a sense of unease. If you weren't on guard for it, you'd find yourself walking the other way without understanding why. Even now, the press of Baco's magic was trying to chivvy me back to my car, and it wouldn't stop until I was a safe distance away.

"Isn't that illegal?" Verity asked.

"Very," Hernando said. "And it's something we can bring him in on. It's not quite malfeasance, but it is definitely a case of undue preternatural influence."

Hernando's hand flexed around his belt, reaching for a badge that was no longer clipped there. He and Maya had changed into street clothes at some point. Her outfit was...eye-grabbing. The pants looked like leather but would be a stretchier artificial material that would allow for a full range of movement. She even had a jacket to match. The top was lacey and showed off a tantalizing amount of smooth, golden-brown skin. Enough to distract from a service pistol holstered at her back. It would cost her a few seconds to draw from that position, but it was probably better for concealment.

The black t-shirt and jeans didn't help Hernando. Nothing could make him look like your average joe. He had a presence to him that screamed 'leadership potential.' Even if he hadn't been a policeman, he'd have been in some kind of position of authority. He was built for it. And that would raise every red flag Baco had.

"You need to stay here," I said, catching his arm before he could move toward the door.

"I'm not staying in here while you face Baco."

"It's safer for all of us if you do," I said.

He looked skeptical. If I'd been in his position, I'd have been incredulous too. The problem was, I didn't have an answer he'd accept. I cast around for any excuse and found a pretty damn compelling one a moment later. I'd let my necromancy ease off its leash as we approached the bar, the metaphysical equivalent of a knock on the door to let Baco know we were nearby. Teyacapan followed my example, doing the same. And those trailing tendrils of power found the dead. A lot of dead.

"There are human bodies buried under Los Duendos. If I had to place a bet, I'd say they're hidden under the floorboards, just in case he ever faced a police raid. Hell of a surprise when a corpse grabs you from below and starts trying to gnaw your foot off. They're probably murder victims, which means they'll go after whoever killed them, but they won't hesitate to hurt or kill anyone in their way. Baco is smart enough not to do the deed himself, so the hitter is probably a werewolf from the Los Lobos Clan. I need you to stay here just in case. One of us has to be free to radio for backup, right?"

"Maya can stay."

"Which of you looks non-threatening?" I countered. "Baco's people are Grade-A sexists. They're going to see a gorgeous human woman and not much else."

"And if zombies start swarming the place? What then?"

"We'll get out and set the place on fire. It's the only thing that every flavor of undead is vulnerable to."

"Preventative arson," he muttered. "I can't wait to write that in my after-action report."

But he didn't argue with me after that. He stood watch beside his car, his gaze heavy on our backs as we approached the door. It was painted black, its knob almost indistinguishable from the wood. I took point and my friends formed a loose v-formation behind me. I rapped on the front door of Nicky Baco's lair and leaned back to wait, my stomach churning, and my heart beating like a trapped thing in my throat. I could feel Jeanette's tension like a weight on my neck. I'd warned her. She knew what was coming. Jade was about to be ours or she'd be lost forever.

Footsteps approached the door, and I straightened, ready to go for the Browning if I came face to face with Amir.

"Showtime, motherfucker," I whispered. "Come get some."

Chapter Text

It wasn't Amir on the other side of the door, and a small part of me snarled in frustration. Shooting the first person to come to the door wouldn't earn me any favors with the police or Baco, but if it was Amir it would be satisfying and strategically sound. If he'd been standing in the gap, I could have blown him away before he had a chance to register what had happened.

"No guns, ma petite," Jeanette said, her voice like a cool, quiet breeze sweeping through my thoughts. "At least, not at first."

"Why the hell not?" I asked. "You know that we have to hit them hard and fast. You and I barely survived a confrontation last time, and there were only two of them."

"Because a bullet can be instantaneously fatal. I need enough time to bind Jade. A minute, minimum. Longer, if it can be managed. I can't be certain how tightly they are linked and prying her away will not be a simple matter."

I knew that. Being stolen from your master took time and it usually hurt. Tonatiuh had tried to tear me away from Jeanette two years ago, and it had felt like being left out to bake in the midday sun. Knowing what I did now, I knew it was a holdover from whatever he'd been before. Firebug or god, it didn't matter; he'd been a being of immense power and he'd come dangerously close to enslaving me for eternity. I doubted Jeanette's power burned, but she would have to be forceful. Amir wouldn't surrender Jade without a fight. Depending on his strength, it could take a while.

A man poked his head around the door, giving us all a narrow-eyed look. He had a scraggly silver beard, bushy brows, and the coldest blue eyes I'd ever seen. He was trying to hide his bald patch with a bandana, but I wasn't fooled. I'd met his type. He was broader than he was tall, and only his therian metabolism saved him from having a beer gut. He wore a cutoff tee, showing off a pair of impressive sleeve tattoos. He had to be more of a masochist than I was because he also sported a row of silver piercings on each bicep. The tattoos were bad enough, in my opinion. Therians had to have their tats inked and re-inked if they wanted to keep them.

I'd known only one man with the patience to do it for long. Irving Griswold had been an investigative journalist for the Post-Dispatch, and he'd maintained his college tattoo as a reminder to report with integrity. It had also been the only thing that helped me identify his killer after she'd murdered him and paraded around town in his skin.

"Who are you and what the fuck do you want?" he asked, punctuating the question with a bass growl. I bet that usually scared off the normals. It just made me smirk. I'd heard better.

"You know damn well who we are and who we represent. Open the door now, or we'll come back with our boss in tow. Trust me, Baco won't like it if we have to bring Itzpapalotl to meet in person. She's a busy woman and you know just how friendly vampires can be when they're annoyed."

It was damn close to a lie. I was sure Itzpapalotl would come if we could get in contact with her. Something told me the goddess was looking forward to an old-fashioned bloodbath after her damn near pacifistic approach at the Foundation.

His expression flickered briefly before creasing down into a scowl. I guessed he wasn't used to being talked back to, especially from a woman he could easily bench press. Teyacapan's stony expression seemed to bother him even more. Nothing stung the pride quite like having a woman who was four-foot-nothing inspect you like you were an ant. I doubted Verity was giving him the reaction he wanted either. He barely acknowledged Maya.

"Baco isn't available. Come back another time."

He moved to slam the door in our faces. I jammed a foot into the gap before he could force it closed and the steel toe of my work shoes kept the motion from crushing my foot. I still felt the impact vibrate up my leg. I leaned a shoulder into the door, forcing him back a step. He looked incredulous, giving me another, warier once-over. Maybe he didn't know who I was. Either way, this guy should never play poker. He'd be bankrupt by the end of the night.

"I know he's in there," I said, pressing my weight into the wood. He was bracing most of his strength against the opposing side. If I pushed much harder, it would splinter like a matchstick between us. It would make for a handy stake if I could get within arm's reach of Amir, but I had to pass the threshold first. "I'm a necromancer and I can sense someone powerful inside. It's got to be Baco unless you're hiding another world-class animator in your back room."

"Let 'em in Clink," a raspy, female voice said.

Clink? As in, the pokey, the big house, the state pen? I prayed it was a terrible nickname, not something his parents had bestowed at birth. Elementary school had to be hell if you went around introducing yourself as 'Clink.'

Clink grunted once, shoving at the door one more time before stepping back, probably hoping I'd overbalance and fall flat on my face. I leaned away in time, keeping my footing, much to his displeasure. I used my foot to nudge the door the rest of the way open and peered around cautiously. A long bar dominated most of the room, with a few well-polished wooden tables dotted the rest of the space. Neon beer signs flashed at us from the walls, casting long shadows over the room's occupants. Someone had painted a mural on the wall nearest to us, a rough rendering of a few Aztec gods and dwarves. The caricature of Quetzalcoatl looked almost obscene, robbing the god of dignity. Maya cast it a disgusted glance as we passed.

There were at least fifty people in the room, all with a similar look. Most were wearing leather. The genuine article, not the more maneuverable alternative that Maya had chosen. The men generally matched Clink's aesthetic, with cutoff shirts, studs, and tattoos. Some of them wore jackets, but most didn't. Too warm for a werewolf. Therians ran hot. The women wore less. Crop tops and leather bralettes. Mini-skirts and platform heels, or leather pants that appeared painted on. I lost count of the number of silver navel rings I saw. The platform heels and high-heeled boots didn't look safe to walk on, much less practical.

The sleek black tiger inside me stirred, lifting its head to scent the air, intrigued by something it sensed. At least, that was the image my head conjured. Apparently, most therians had their own version of an inner landscape. Our primate brains needed to find some way to cope with the predator lurking within. Mine had chosen National Geographic. Go figure.

I turned, orienting casually on the feeling without ever quite facing the source. Jade was standing somewhere off to my left, near one of the barred windows and a beat-up stereo system. I dared a peek in my periphery and didn't immediately spot her. It was the things that weren't there that finally let me pick her out of the crowd. There were only two women I could spy in the crowd missing navel piercings, though they'd grudgingly pierced other places. They'd gone for silver studs, instead of hoops, and for exactly the same reason they'd skipped the belly button charms. Too easy to rip out during a fight. They'd heal quickly, but it's never a good idea to give your enemy a handhold or to bleed in a room full of therians.

Some kind of cosmetic sorcery had transformed Jade's recognizably Asian features into something ethnically ambiguous. She didn't quite favor the Hispanic members of the gang, but standing in their midst, you wouldn't pick her out of the crowd. She appeared to have a pixie cut with violet highlights, and the dainty rose tattoos that wound down her arms and across her flanks were...well, hot. She looked good. Though honestly, she almost always looked good. She was like Jeanette that way, unfairly attractive in utterly inappropriate settings.

A pang of envy twisted in my gut, and I fought not to wince. I didn't keep the marks open, too paranoid to let Jeanette literally live rent-free in my head. But tonight, we didn't have much of a choice. And I'd just broadcast a very blatant appraisal of another woman into my girlfriend's head. It probably wouldn't have hurt so much if she and I had been on good terms. We were poly and we'd never agreed to be exclusive, especially after the ardeur, but after so many months apart, it had to sting like a bitch.

"Sorry."

She didn't reply. What was there to say? It's okay? It wasn't. She hadn't gotten a say in any of this and was being an incredibly good sport about it all. The least I could do was have a little shame.

I couldn't spot Amir, but that didn't mean he wasn't here, mingling with the crowd or hiding in a shadowy alcove, lying in wait for Baco. Jade flicked her eyes to one side in an almost imperceptible motion when she felt the weight of my consideration. Once again, my inner black tiger shifted her weight, orienting on another, more imposing therian woman. I'd spotted her before when I'd checked for piercings and wasn't happy to be right in my assessment. She looked just shy of six feet tall, helped along by the low heels of her combat boots. Even without them, she was at least half a foot taller than I was, which would mean trouble if she got within grappling distance.

The old adage was true. A good big man beat a good little man in a fight. Size is usually the deciding factor when two warriors are equally matched in terms of skill. Hell, I might be outclassed in that arena as well. It was impossible to pin her age down exactly, but I knew she was at least five centuries old. Probably older. She'd swept her pale blonde hair into a braid, out of reach of an attacker. Her features were strongly Slavic. High cheekbones, almond-shaped blue-gray eyes, a slim nose with a slightly snubbed tip, and a full mouth.

There was an alien kind of yearning when I stared at her, and it made no damn sense. I hadn't met this woman in my life and she wasn't my usual type. Sure, I'd had one-night stands with a few blonde bombshells, but most of my serious partners had been brunettes. I didn't want to feel this way, especially with Jeanette eavesdropping on every reaction. But, to my surprise, she seemed amused, rather than angry.

"You make no sense, you know that, right?" I thought waspishly. "First you get mad at me about Jade and now you're laughing at me. Make up your mind."

"You don't yearn for her, ma petite. Jade does."

Oh. I hadn't even considered that. Jade told me that Amir had never allowed her another female lover. That didn't mean she didn't want one. With freedom this close, she couldn't help feeling this way. And I had no fucking clue how to react to that. I liked Jade. She seemed to like me. But when it came down to it, I was mostly a means to an end, a way to get away from Amir.

"Indulge your hurt feelings another day, ma petite," Jeanette said. "We don't have time for it now."

She was right. Again. I couldn't see or sense Amir or blondie's master, but they had to be somewhere nearby. I had to get my head in the game. I strode toward the bar, searching for the voice who'd spoken earlier. It belonged to another little person. Her hair was thick and dark, shot through with strands of white at the temples. Her dark, unfriendly eyes tracked our every move forward, slipping beneath the bar when we were only a few feet away. If I had to bet on it, I'd have said she had a shotgun wired beneath the counter, just in case someone was stupid enough to rush her.

"I need to see Nicky Baco," I repeated. "It's urgent."

"Not urgent enough to draw him away from his business," the woman said. This had to be Paulina, Baco's wife. "Clink ain't lying. He's busy."

"With what, exactly?" I asked, settling my hand on the grip of my Browning.

"Ritual," Teyacapan said. "There's power building, can't you feel it?"

Yes, now that she'd pointed it out, I could. Subtle, cold power that crept along the ground like fog, building in intensity the longer I stood in one place. Above the smell of sweat, cologne, and spilled beer, was something sweeter and altogether too familiar. A sweet blend of herbs, undercut by the stale, stagnant scent of graveyard mold. I hadn't used that blend in years, but one that many animators needed to perform ritual magic. Rosemary for memory, cinnamon and cloves for preservation, sage for wisdom, and thyme to bind it together. It always turned my stomach, reminding me viscerally of my days at Grandma Flores' home, learning to control my abilities.

"Oh shit," I breathed.

Several things seemed to happen at once. Paulina let out a viscous swear word and lunged forward. I had only a split second to push Teyacapan to the ground before buckshot exploded out of the front of the bar. Clink and a handful of his buddies drew weapons from only God knew where. One of them lost a hand for his trouble. And the ritual reached its peak, the magic streaking like an electric current through every cell in my body. I felt the bodies beneath our feet begin to stir, and my stomach dropped to my toes.

Baco was trying to raise an army of the dead, not realizing what he was about to unleash. Dominga had warned me that necromancers shouldn't raise legions of the undead, even though we could physically do it. It had taken a year to realize what she meant. Animators put their power into a body, allowing it to move and talk for a short period of time. Necromancers didn't just put themselves into the dead, there was a small part of her in them as well. One body wasn't capable of holding her, but dozens? Hundreds? She could spread herself out in increments, even if it wouldn't last. I am legion, for we are many.

Marmee Noir had been empowering this new god, who'd been fueling Baco in turn. And he'd used Paulina to distract us long enough to raise every corpse under the building, not knowing what hell he was about to unleash on the rest of us. I hadn't thought he'd be stupid enough to try, knowing that he was up against a genuine goddess' priestess and the Executioner. I'd been wrong.

"Run!" I shouted, just as a mottled gray hand punched through the floorboards, making a grab for my ankle.

Chapter Text

I crushed the zombie's hand under the heel of one boot, putting every ounce of strength I possessed behind the blow. The bloated fingertips squelched, joints cracking like dried out sticks under the force of the blow. Zombies weren't exactly the brightest undead in the bunch, but they had basic self-preservation instinct when it wasn't being contravened by the animator that raised them. Given the choice, zombies want to go on with their unlives for as long as possible, just like the human beings they'd once been. The corpse below withdrew its hand hastily, though I could still sense its movement from below. It wasn't done fighting, it was just hoping for an easier mark.

The hardwood floors splintered all around us, crumbling like soft cheese under the onslaught of so many dead, scrabbling hands. Rotting heads and torsos began emerging from the gaps, pulled along by deceptively strong limbs. The withered muscles shouldn't have been able to lift a child, let alone its own body weight, but magic scoffed at things like biology and physics. The prevailing theory was that with the body's inhibitors as dead as everything else, a zombie had access to the body's full potential, instead of what it was capable of in life. It was why a zombie could tear a limb off a body with ease, when the heaviest thing it had hefted in life was a flat screen television.

Case in point, one of the female zombies was doggedly trying to yank Clink through the floor by her grip on his calf. Clink's eyes were wide, mouth parted in a horrified scream as the woman began to gnaw the flesh from his shins, crunching enthusiastically through bone when she encountered it. She was nude, and not all the discoloration on the body was due to rot. There was a particularly nasty bruise in the shape of a large hand, where someone had strangled her. The blood that had burst in her eyes had turned the color of mud after so long under the floorboards. The clouded irises were fixed on Clink, even as he tried to kick her off, screaming obscenities in her face. Black was beginning to slide over the sclera, slow but definitely there.

A more giving soul might have told him that he needed gasoline and a match if he wanted to escape the clutches of that zombie. She'd keep coming until her body crumbled to dust, or until Marmee Noir overrode that instinct. Murder victims go after their murderers, always. How many of the bodies beneath the floorboards had been victims of the pack? That was probably the angle. Force us to adhere to the law, saving the wolves while he scampered out the back door, hand-in-hand with his wife. A glance at the bar revealed she was glaringly absent. She'd bolted when the first zombie breached the floor.

I felt rather than saw Verity moving nearby, facing down her own zombie. Air whooshed across my my face, feather-light and cool as she moved past me, planting a foot solidly into the chest of a zombie who'd breached the floorboards behind me. The staccato beat of gunfire filled the bar, deafening in the small space. Even through the ringing in my ears, I could make out the difference between Maya's measured pace and the panic fire from the wolves of the Los Lobos clan. Some of them were packing, though most had shifted in an effort to protect themselves.

From my vantage point, I could already see one pony-sized wolf on the ground, gushing blood from a wound in its side. White rib bone gleamed in the flickering lights of the neon beer signs. It was trying to shake off the zombie chewing through its chest wall, to no avail. another wolf was very still, blocking the door with its bulk. Screams came from every side of the room. I'd lost track of Teyacapan completely.

If it had just been a matter of my safety, I'd have backed away and let the wolves go down under a wave of undead bodies. Callous, maybe, but true. No one in this room was an innocent. I'd caught glimpses of the rap sheets of the Los Lobos Clan in Edward's files. Most of them were murderers, if not worse, and there was no dissuading a flesh-eater when it's been raised. Better to bar the doors and set the whole place on fire than let the zombies wander into the streets to find anyone who hadn't attended this meeting. Doubly so, with Marmee's power riding over them like a dark wind, turning them to mindless automatons guided by her will alone. It was a sentiment I'd have spurned a few years ago, but the only one that made sense to me now.

But it wasn't just my safety at stake. I had friends in the fray and, more than that, a damsel to save from her captor. I needed to find Amir before he and the others fled the bar and disappeared into the night. This was the only clean shot I'd get at the son of a bitch. I upholstered the Browning, putting a bullet into the jaw of a nearby zombie, and two more in each of its hands. Movies got zombies all wrong, thanks to the misinformation of early Hammer Horror flicks. A headshot didn't instantly down a zombie. You had to obliterate the brain stem, something very few marksman were capable of without long hours of practice. In this chaos? It was even less likely. Your best bet was always to take out the zombie's weapons of choice, the mouth and hands.

"I need to focus on this. Can you find Jade or Amir in this mess?"

"Oui, ma petite. I trust you'll keep yourself alive while I do?"

She kept her tension carefully leashed, but I could still feel it like a crackle of electricity at the base of my spine. It wasn't painful, exactly, but it was distracting. I'd only felt her fear like this once before, when members of the Council had invaded St. Louis and put her on trial on trumped up charges. It made sense she'd be just as or more wary of the Harlequin, who didn't have to worry about the optics of their actions. At least Belle had to justify herself in and out of her court. Amir would slit my throat, pin it on another vampire, and disappear into the night without a backward glance.

"I'll do my best," I thought back wryly.

Jeanette settled herself, and a moment later my power unfurled. I had kept my necromancy clenched tight like a fist for years, until it was automatic and unthinking. Death magic was intrinsic to me, not something I'd had to work hard or practice to get good at. If I wasn't careful, I'd trail roadkill behind my car every evening on my commute to work like a macabre Pied Piper. I still jerked a little in surprise when it came loose without my permission. No matter how often we'd done this, I never got used to the sensation of Jeanette rummaging around inside me, using my body as a conduit to work magic. She'd never used this particular ability either. It felt too unnatural. The dead didn't raise the dead. Or in this case, seek out the dead.

The zombies registered almost immediately, cold and somewhat muted. One or two blipped from my awareness entirely as the choking miasma of Marmee Noir's power took possession of their bodies. Shit. That had taken what? A minute? Maybe two? If we didn't finish this face and immolate the whole place the army of undead would have a new focus--me. Teyacapan, too, I supposed, but she'd done less to piss Marmee off. It seemed like the spiteful sort of logic she'd use.

Therians were searing in my awareness, with one in particular calling to me most. I backed toward it, reloading the clip to my Browning as I went. The zombies had cleared the floorboards now and were staggering like drunks toward the nearest available prey, knocking over tables, bar stools, and anything else in their way. I had to sidestep a broken chunk of the bar top as I went, putting two into the back of the neck of the zombie that had plowed through it. It thrashed for a few seconds before going still, blipping out of my awareness as well. One down, and twenty to go, if I had my headcount right.

"Jade? I checked.

"Jade," she confirmed. "Behind us, dispatching a pair of zombies, if I am reading it right. Laisse-moi du temps, ma petite. This will be difficult."

I was too busy skirting the body of another dead wolf to understand exactly what she meant by that. It became obvious a few moments later when a tugging sensation began around my navel, and the phantom shape of the black tiger began to pace in agitation. It didn't hurt, exactly. Or at least, it wasn't hurting me. A pang of nausea that wasn't my own rippled up my throat and forced a gag from me. Jade was tamping down hard on whatever she was feeling, but it was painful enough to cause bleedover. The shadow became more substantial in time with the nausea. It was working...I was pretty sure.

I felt the vampire coming a second before he landed. I dove sideways, vaulting a table to avoid the sweep of his arm and rolled, coming to my feet in time to block the pointed tip of a Bedouin dagger. The blade bit in deep, sliding an inch-long furrow into my forearm instead of gashing my throat, as intended. It stung like a son of a bitch, adding a fresh layer of pain and nausea to the mix, but it beat having my neck opened. He hadn't hit anything vital. Yet.

By the time I had the Glock in my free hand, Amir had already moved, dodging the bullet aimed for his sternum. It impacted the mirror behind the bar instead, and cracks spiderwebbed out from the point of impact, half the pane tinkling to the ground. He was on me in under a second and the next blow numbed my off-hand, the shock of the hit threatening to shatter the fine bones in my hand and wrist. I dropped the Glock, unable to keep hold of it.

"Have the grace to die here, Blake," he hissed into my face. His breath smelled like blood. "You know what will happen if she captures you."

A presence slid through me, and I almost snapped at Jeanette to stop channeling through me. I didn't need the distraction with Amir this close, this determined to kill me. But it wasn't the cool, light touch I was used to. It was fever-hot, with the edge of teeth and claws, an animal made flesh walking through me, as if I were just the path it needed to reach its destination. My bad hand snapped up to capture Amir's wrist, twisting it in exactly the wrong direction, despite my brain insisting the hand was numb. He let out a hoarse cry of pain when the bones in his wrists cracked.

I spied my reflection in the mirror behind him, and would have frozen if I'd been in command of my body. The body was mine, the hair was mine, the clothes were mine. The eyes were not. They glowed like backlit fire opals, alien and inhuman in the pale oval of my face. Amir stared for a long moment, unable to believe his eyes.

"Jade?" he breathed.

"The only one dying here today is you, Master," she said.

And then my leg swept up without my permission, landing a kick under Amir's jaw that sent him sprawling.

Chapter Text

It was too much to hope that Amir would land in the midst of the splintered remains of a table and stake himself, saving us all some trouble. He was one of the Harlequin, after all. He had over a thousand years to learn how to take a fall. He hit the floor on his shoulder, grunting in discomfort when the glass of a broken window bit into his back, shredding part of his shirt. He'd gone for a simple black t-shirt and jeans combination, a more conservative approach than any of his fellows. Like Jade, he'd been contoured into ethnic ambiguity but was still recognizable to my necromancy. You didn't forget the aura of a man you'd de-mummified.

But more than that, I could feel him through Jade's awareness. Their link was stretched like a brittle rubber band, almost at its breaking point, and it hurt like hell. Jade had shredded the inside of her cheek to contain a scream as the pressure continued to build. It felt like her torso had been cleaved in two and a pair of fiery hands were playing tug of war with her insides. Jeanette's power had always been a gentle thing when she dealt with me. It was anything but gentle now, as she pried loose the marks that anchored Jade to her master. He was fighting her, holding onto Jade with white-knuckled stubbornness, determined to keep her, even if it left her permanently damaged.

Fury reigned in his head, and beneath that, an edge of fear. This shouldn't have been possible. Jeanette called wolves, not tigers. Until now. Padma had inadvertently given me a gift when he'd sent his lackey to torment Paris and me months ago. I had a fraction of that power, I had access to Jade's tiger, and now, so did Jeanette. And she was winning, dragging Jade out of his reach, inch by hard-won inch.

It was costing Jade mightily. I could feel sweat beading on the brow of her real body, and taste the bile and blood thick in her throat. Honestly, it was nothing short of a miracle that she was able to puppet my body when all she wanted to do was bend double and vomit. Even more impressive? She was splitting her attention between two battles, dismembering black-eyed zombies as they came for her throat. I was having trouble tracking what my allies were doing in other parts of the bar. I knew that Verity was still alive, so to speak, through our connection. If I focused on her I could feel the innards of a wolf spilling over her hands before she casually tossed a therian away. There was a group of them nearby, whipped into a panicked frenzy and attacking whatever they thought would impede their escape. Most of the windows had been shattered as the hardened werewolf bikers bailed on their hideout.

What Jade was doing was a cut above what I could manage. She was carrying on two simultaneous battles successfully while going through a metaphysical equivalent of being drawn and quartered. It was impressive as hell. If we survived all this, I needed to get some pointers. This level of skill and focus was incredible.

Amir came to his feet in a move I could barely track, but hesitated for a crucial second before he struck with the dagger. I could almost hear the thoughts churning behind his dark eyes. If he killed me, would that also kill Jade's consciousness? If she was still attached to him by his vampire marks, would that kill him as well? And if Jeanette did control Jade, what then? Was he really willing to kill her? Somehow that rapey son of a bitch had convinced himself that he truly loved the woman he'd been abusing for over a thousand years. The blade came down with less surety than it otherwise might have, and it was the only opening Jade needed.

In a move so fast I wouldn't have believed myself capable of it, she'd ducked the strike. My foot lashed out again, impacting Amir's left knee with bone-crushing force. The knee came out of its socket with a meaty pop and he went down, gasping in pain. One of my hands disappeared into the pocket of my tac pants and came out with a vial of Teyacapan's holy water. Jade smashed the vial against Amir's face with enough strength that both glass and Amir's bones crunched with the impact. The glass tore furrows in his cheek, and the holy water did the rest, eating through flesh like battery acid. I caught a glimpse of Amir's teeth and tongue as the skin dissolved before he turned his face away.

Amir was screaming, though the sound was misshapen, gurgling off to a moan when the holy water ate his tongue. One of his eyes was rolling freely in its socket as the flesh supporting it dissolved, effectively blinding him. Jade stepped calmly into the blind spot as Amir scuttled backward on his hands and knees, dragging the useless leg behind him. He didn't look confident now. He was lashing out blindly with the dagger, trying to orient on us. The hand holding my Browning came up without my permission, sighting on a point between Amir's eyes.

The first shot went in cleanly, spraying gray matter and a red mist onto the floor behind Amir's head. He went down, flailing, eyes wide and unfocused. He was still alive. Jesus. How the hell had he survived a headshot like that? How fucking durable were the Harlequin anyway? Jade calmly threw a boot into Amir's side, caving in his rib cage. He wheezed, blood bubbling over his lips. She stepped over him, and the gun barked again. And again, and again, until Amir's head resembled the remains of a smashed pie. Her rage sizzled through me when the gun clicked empty.

And then her awareness was gone, the rubber band snapping back into its original shape with a painful twang. I caught one last glimpse through her eyes before she collapsed. The blonde Harlequin woman was nearby, casually crushing the skull of an advancing zombie. Horror spasmed across her face as Jade hit the floor, eyes sliding out of focus.

"Yiyú!" she screamed. Or at least, I thought she screamed it. Her voice was a distant thing.

"Magda..." Jade thought wistfully.

I swayed when Jade's consciousness disappeared. It was disorienting to have control of my limbs again. There was a reason I hated playing Pinocchio to any of the supernatural factions trying to control me. It was inherently wrong to be an observer in one's own body.

"Is Jade...?" I began, but couldn't finish the sentence. I didn't want to contemplate the possibility.

"Alive," Jeanette said. She sounded weary. "Not well, but alive. She should regain consciousness in an hour or less."

Thank God. I'd been sure we were signing her death warrant.

I scanned the room, blinking in shock at what I saw. The scene had changed drastically during our little melodrama. The wolves were gone or dead on the ground. Zombie parts were scattered like grisly party favors on the ground. My allies and enemies alike had the same thought process I had, disabling the zombies by tearing off their limbs and dismantling their jaws. Most of them were still moving, dragging themselves toward the door by the ruined shards of their knees and elbows, digging them in like pitons to propel themselves forward. Every single zombie was filled with that sucking darkness, and though they couldn't speak, black fury burned in every set of eyes.

Verity, Maya, and Teyacapan were facing the other side of the room, where only a pair of combatants remained. The blonde therian stood elbow-to-elbow with a vampire I'd never seen before. He was well over six feet tall and built like an old-school refrigerator, all blocky angles, and dependable bulk. He looked strong enough to snap me like a toothpick between his meaty hands. He'd pulled his straight black hair into a tail at the back of his head. One of his eyes was dark and narrowed on us, while the other pulled downward, milky pale and blind. A scar ran from one eyebrow down to his cheekbone. He had a composite bow aimed just to one side of my head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said, reloading the clip of my Browning. I wasn't convinced I could shoot before he skewered me, but hey, bravado could carry you a long way. He wasn't sure if I could shoot before he loosed the arrow either. His eyes darted from my face to Amir's body once before he answered.

"And why shouldn't I?"

I pointed at the crawling zombies. They didn't look like much at the moment, but it didn't mean they weren't still dangerous as hell. For all I knew, they could stick their parts back on and shamble into suburbia, making new bodies as they went.

"Because it's a waste of both our time. You came here to kill Baco, just in case he was a necromancer and could let Marmee Noir into our world. Well, guess what? He has. She's fueling a god somewhere out there, and these aren't the only bodies she can hop into. He left forty corpses in the hospital morgue. Do you want to stop her from overrunning six floors, feeding off the death of thousands of people as she goes? Or do you want to risk her growing more powerful while you enact a little petty revenge?"

"We could do both. Kill you first, and then deal with her afterward."

"You could try," I countered. "But it took all of us to put down this many zombies. There will be more at the hospital. Do you want to take the chance you'll be outflanked?"

The vampire's expression didn't flicker. The blonde therian--Magda--was staring at me, pain etched into every line of her face. Her expression promised murder. She tensed, the set of her shoulders unhappy when her Master lowered his weapon.

"What do you suggest?"

"A truce. We work together until she's taken care of. After that, all bets are off."

"After that, you're dead," Magda said, voice squeezed tight with grief. "I will kill you myself, Executioner."

I gave her a chilly smile. "Like I said, honey. You can try."

Chapter Text

I dragged Jade's limp body out of Los Duendos after Magda and her Master had gotten clear, hiding her behind a dumpster in a nearby lot. It wasn't dignified, but it kept her out of the reach of the flames. She'd understand when she regained consciousness. Then we set the whole damn place on fire, trapping Marmee's puppets inside the crumbling building. I'd feel bad about the families those bodies had belonged to later. At the moment, I had bigger concerns. Like the state of the hospital after a small zombie horde was through with it.

My worst fears were confirmed when we reached a blockade three blocks from the hospital. Police cars and barricades formed a solid line around the place, with grim-faced officers turning people away. I sat in the back of Hernando and Maya's unmarked police car, wedged between Teyacapan and Verity. We could have taken my Jeep, but the lights and sirens would get us where we needed to go faster, without risking getting lost in the traffic snarl surrounding the hospital. When we came to a standstill, Hernando actually slammed on the gas, swerved around a Toyota, and jumped the curb, mowing through a carefully cultivated garden of magnolias. The car jounced, its undercarriage groaning in protest until we landed on the opposite side, coming to a screeching halt in the hospital parking lot.

A pair of officers was stalking toward us when Hernando and Maya jumped out, flashing their badges at the oncoming uniforms. They came to a stop, expressions dark but somewhat mollified. Maya rounded the car, letting the rest of us pile out the back while Hernando exchanged questions with the pair. One was a balding middle-aged man, the other a lean black woman. Both of them were trying to keep a lid on it, but I knew spooked officers when I saw them.

"When did the attack start?" Hernando asked. "We were downtown dealing with a situation when the call came over the radio. Do we have any idea how bad it is in there?"

"The 911 calls started flooding in a half hour ago, but only a few units responded at first. The hospital administration was certain their facilities were enough to keep the threat contained. They had concrete-filled blast doors over the entrance to the morgue, for Christ's sake. They had to after that vampire incident a few years back. We don't know how they got out."

A half hour ago. So the bodies in the morgue had risen at the same time as the zombies in the bar. Under normal circumstances, I would have said that was a coincidence. Even I would have had difficulty calling to a group of corpses from the grave at that distance, and Baco wasn't half as gifted as I was. He might compare to Animators Inc's newest trainee, Ari Snyder, but she was still a baby necromancer, barely scratching the surface of what she could do. Ari had natural talent, while Baco had to filter his magic through a fledgling god to produce the same results.

But in this case, I knew Baco's power source was the problem. Distance didn't matter if he'd primed the bodies during ritual murder. It was holding a door open for Marmee Noir. All she needed was an invitation inside. And the dumbass had rolled out the welcoming mat for her. Just peachy.

"They opened the door, I expect," I said. "These zombies will be intelligent due to the manner in which they died and were raised. They'll be just as strong, fast, and canny as a vampire without any of their usual weaknesses. Fire is the only thing they respect, so your best bet is to destroy the head and hands before incinerating the rest of the body. Are those first units responding to any calls?"

The uniforms exchanged an uneasy glance. The woman's face was drawn, and there was a subtle flinching around her eyes. It was answer enough. They hadn't heard from the first units, which meant those officers were dead or wishing they were. It was the man who faced me, drawing himself up to his full height as he glowered down at me.

"What the hell is it to you? Civilians aren't meant to cross the line. I should toss you back over that median."

"She's FBSA, Riggs, but more importantly, she's an animator. She and her co-worker are here to help us."

He gestured to Teyacapan, who'd remained silent the whole ride over. She looked a bit shell-shocked, and it wasn't a good sign. Her first brush with the Mother of All Darkness had left her shaken. I'd have thought she'd have a stronger stomach in light of the crew she ran with. Then again, how did someone prepare themselves to come face-to-face with the embodiment of the living night, knowing that it intended to swallow you whole if it got the chance? Itzpapalotl had been shielding her from the reality of the situation for years, hoping that if she kept Teyacapn out of sight the big, bad thing wouldn't find her.

No, I couldn't fault her for the reaction, but the timing was abysmal. The big bad thing really was out there, and it had gotten an eyeful of her. Teyacapan had a target painted on her back now, and no amount of denial would change that fact. Our best bet was to find this god and his priest and kill them before they could do...whatever this ritual was meant to accomplish.

The female officer eyed Teyacapan skeptically. She stood a head shorter than any of us and looked like a stiff breeze would take her off her feet. Like the rest of us, she was cut up and bruised from the first zombie tussle we'd been in.

"This woman is...FBSA?" she asked.

"Just an animator," Teyacapan lied smoothly. "But I can help. If Anita and I can't control them outright, we can at least slow them enough to make them easier to put down."

"I don't know if..." the woman began, voice trailing off when Hernando began to walk past.

"I'll deal with the higher-ups if this hits the fan," he muttered. "It'll be my ass, not yours. Get back into position and don't let anyone else cross the line. The fewer civilians in the line of fire, the better."

Hernando swept by, with us trailing close behind. Both officers protested, but neither was stupid enough to follow. Given the choice, I'd have rather stayed back too. But I'd spooked Baco. Whatever was happening here was partially my fault. Any lives lost that I could have saved would be on my conscience, not theirs. So I kept pace with Hernando and Maya, half-jogging to reach the sliding glass doors of the emergency department.

"Your...ah...friends from the bar don't appear to have followed us," Maya said as we stepped through into the air-conditioned hush of the ER waiting room. It was empty, probably one of the first places to evacuate.

"They're here, trust me," I said. "No one saw them come in, but they're definitely here."

I wasn't sure of a lot these days, but I knew for damn sure the Harlequin would keep up their end of the bargain for as long as it suited their agenda. Marmee was here and she was gaining power incrementally with every death. They'd come to resolve that alone. After that, Magda would try to kill me. In her mind, I'd just offed her girlfriend and she had a score to settle. There was no way she was going to abandon this mission now.

Screams sounded up ahead, echoing off the walls until they reached our ears. I couldn't tell how many people were shrieking or how far away the danger might be. I could sense the dead and dying in the hospital, but the corpses Baco had raised were a blank nothing in my awareness, completely beyond my control. I knew they had to be there, but it was like trying to focus on my nose. I knew, logically, it was there in the middle of my face, but my brain tuned its presence out automatically. The bodies Marmee inhabited were settled in my metaphysical blind spot. I couldn't remember if she'd been able to do that in Stillwater, or if her association with this new god had already made her stronger.

We reached the end of the path and were faced with a little alcove of elevators and three halls that branched off in opposite directions. There was a crumpled figure half inside the elevator, blocking the doors from closing. The body was male, but beyond that, I couldn't tell you much about him. He looked like a bag of raw hamburger that had dropped to the floor and split at the seams. There wasn't an inch of visible skin that wasn't chewed open. Blood pooled around the head and chest, spreading slowly outward.

"Jesus," Verity breathed. "What the bloody hell did they do to him?"

"Chewed him up and spat him out, it looks like," I said. "I don't think Marmee liked the taste of that one."

It was entirely possible that Marmee might be gunning for psychics to eat, which meant her zombies would be more discerning, attacking only the gifted and the cops that tried to stop her. About a third of the population was at least mildly psychic, which still gave her a wide menu. A study showed that nursing was among the most common professions for empaths, healers, and charismatics to gravitate toward. That meant dozens of potential victims on every floor.

"I can't tell which way the noise is coming from," Maya muttered.

"It's coming from all sides," Verity said.

"She's right," I said. "We'll have to split up. Hernando, take the right hall with Teyacapan. I'll take the left hall with Maya. Verity, go straight. See if you can find any living officers on this floor."

Verity shot me a sharp, warning look. "I'm not leaving you."

"I'm not asking. There's not enough of us to split evenly, and of all of us, I think you can handle yourself best. I'm trusting you to neutralize any threat from that direction."

The intensity of her stare was almost painful, but I met it anyway. We needed an animator on either side to protect the detectives. She knew damn well that she was more durable than our companions. Hell, she'd been considered by the fucking Harlequin for recruitment. She could handle the zombies ahead, possessed or not. She came to the same conclusion a moment later, a soft snarl escaping her.

"You'd better be alive when I get back," she said, jabbing an accusing finger at me.

"I'll do my best," I said with a grim smile. "Be careful."

Verity didn't dignify that with a response. She turned away from us and disappeared from sight, moving too quickly for any of us to track her progress. Her anxiety and irritation lingered in the air for a moment after she was gone, raising the hairs on my arms. I shook it off and started sprinting down the left-hand hall, moving toward the sound of screams. Was it just me, or were there fewer than there had been a few minutes ago?

Maya and I passed a handful of bodies further down the hall. The ones Marmee liked had been hollowed out like holiday gourds, leaving only an empty cavity and glistening white spine behind. The ones she hadn't were like the first body we'd seen. Chewed up, but not emptied of their organs. We ended up skating on blood a few times before we emerged into another lobby and a few waiting rooms beyond. A nurse had been dragged over the desk and hung face-down, dripping what remained of her blood onto the floor.

The creature that had ripped her throat out was kneeling, lapping up the blood like a dog. It was a skinless corpse, so severely mangled in some places that it barely looked human. At the sound of our approach, it sprang to its feet, lunging for us. Maya's first shot went wide, but the second clipped its shoulder, sending the thing spinning. It would have gone down hard, hitting the floor with bone-rattling force if something hadn't snatched it out of the air. I oriented on the newcomer, ready to paint the wall with its gray matter before I realized what I was seeing.

Magda's master had transformed subtly, ditching the disguise he'd used to blend in Los Duendos. He looked Mongolian. Scratch that, he probably was a Mongol warrior, if I was clocking his age right. He'd ditched the biker getup for a uniform. It wasn't the right color for the hospital, but I doubted anyone would notice at a time like this. As I watched, he seized the thing by its neck and, with one savage twist of his bulging arms, tore the head free. He let it fall, then crushed the skull with a swift kick, and brain matter went everywhere. The body fell in the opposite direction, still writhing, digging its fingers into the floor with enough strength to crack the tile.

"Took you long enough," the man said curtly.

"Well, some of us can't fly over traffic. Where's your servant, by the way?"

"Nearby. The rest of the staff barricaded themselves in the OR using a gurney and assorted holy items. She's assisting in the evacuation."

"How generous of you," I drawled. "And here I thought you didn't give a damn about humanity."

The man shot me a dirty look over one shoulder. "The fewer victims available, the better. Don't mistake pragmatism for altruism, Executioner."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said. "Were you born without a sense of humor or was it amputated in some kind of ritual sacrifice before you joined the guard?"

His glower intensified, and I reminded myself that flippancy was a bad idea. The Harlequin didn't like me, just on principle, and would kill me if an opportunity presented itself. Worse, I'd just made it personal for some of them. He pointed down a side corridor.

"She's that way. Go."

I glanced back over my shoulder. Maya stood a little way back, gun in one hand, and a chain in the other. Light spilled out from between her clenched fingers as the holy object reacted to the power humming through the air. She let the chain swing free from her hand as she stepped closer. I couldn't make out what it was beyond the corona that surrounded it. The only thing I could say for certain was that the contours were wrong for a cross.

"We'll both go. It looks like you have things handled here."

His lips twitched once in amusement. "It sounds like you don't trust us."

"But you're such a trustworthy guy. Why would someone be suspicious of you?"

Something like laughter sparkled in his dark eyes for an instant, and then it was gone. He turned to face one of the waiting rooms, orienting on a sound too distant for me to hear. A blade appeared in his hand like magic. I definitely needed to ask Jade for some tips of the trade. I rarely saw anything like that outside of Bond movies. I crept past, Maya on my heels, straining my ears to hear the approach of more corpses.

It was the only reason I was able to dodge the first attack at all. Magda moved fast, with the grace only the big cats could manage. Your standard lioness is nine feet long and three hundred pounds of pure muscle. A werelioness was double that size and, mad skills or not, you can't deny physics. Hospitals just weren't built to withstand that kind of creature, let alone allow it to move both swiftly and silently. I flattened myself to the floor, pulling Maya down with me. She went down hard and her holy symbol skittered further down the hall and out of reach. The glow died instantly, leaving the afterimage seared into the back of my eyelids. It looked like some kind of rabbit or misshapen dog.

Magda went sailing over our heads, impacting the far wall so hard that the plaster cracked and half the wall sagged inward. The lights flickered once, and I rolled, moving on instinct. When the lights came back up, Magda had pounced on the section of floor that my head had occupied a moment before. I still had a hold of the Browning, but I wasn't sure what good it would do. I could unload every bullet from both guns and add in the darts from the tranquilizers strapped to my ankle, and it wouldn't do me a damn bit of good. There were only thirty feet of hall left before the OR doors. Doors that had no doubt locked when the hospital administration declared a state of emergency.

I climbed to my feet. If I was going to be mauled, I wouldn't lay like a limp fish on the ground while Magda savaged me. I'd run, drawing Madga's attention away from Maya's prone body. It would give her time to run. Maybe enough time to make her Master drop my body before it was unrecognizable.

"Here kitty, kitty," I murmured, before breaking into a run.

I made it fifteen feet before Magda's weight bore me to the ground, crushing the air from my lungs. My head hit the tile so hard that I saw stars. I didn't feel pain when she opened my stomach, just heard the wet slurping sounds of organs being exposed to the air, and the warm, sliding sensation as blood began pooling around me. I didn't see who eventually pulled her off me either. I just heard Maya's voice, distant and strained with the effort it took to remain calm.

"You're going to get through this, Blake," she said, pressing her shaking lips to my forehead. Her hands cupped either side of my face like she'd do more, but all I felt was her breath against my skin.

Rainbows burst behind my eyes, warmth seeping into my veins as I slowly drifted away.

Death didn't hurt as much as I expected. In fact, it didn't hurt at all.

Chapter Text

I woke with my face pressed into the wooden surface of a desk, and it hurt. I supposed having your head bounced off a tile floor was one of those lovely things you took with you into the afterlife. Post-mortem migraine. Great.

I groaned. The desk's surface was cool, numbing the worst of my headache. Pain still pounded in my temples, but at least it no longer felt like my skull was clamped in a vise. It would have been more comfortable to cradle my face in the crook of my elbow, but I didn't have the energy to move.

"Get up, Blake. You can't afford to fall asleep on the job."

At first, the voice barely registered. It sounded vaguely familiar, though I was sure I hadn't heard it in a while. Deep and male, with an impatient edge that used to routinely raise my hackles. My gut placed the speaker long before I did, twisting in an echo of grief and remorse. I'd failed him somehow, though I couldn't fish the memory out of my battered brain.

A large, calloused finger jabbed me in the ribs, and I groaned, lifting my head a fraction to glare at the speaker. I froze when his face came into focus, and I wouldn't have been shocked if some cartoon-level physics dropped my jaw to the floor. Because wherever I was, it couldn't be real. He'd been in the ground for over a year, slowly rotting inside a silk-lined casket. Everyone on the force had chipped in to help his wife afford the very best.

He looked exactly the way I remembered him. He was just shy of seven feet tall, incredibly broad-shouldered, and built like a pro wrestler. He had close-cropped dark hair and eyes the color of faded denim. They sparkled knowingly when he caught sight of the look on my face, and a reactionary part of me wanted to slug him for enjoying my shock.

"Dolph?" I whispered, not trusting myself to speak at normal volume. I might scream or cry and, imaginary or not, he'd still give me shit about that.

"Not in the flesh, but yeah, it's me."

Dolph circled the desk and settled into the swivel chair behind it. The same pictures, certificates, and marksmanship awards I remembered were hanging on the grayish walls of his office. Or at least, what used to be his office. It was Zerbrowski's office now. He'd redecorated, unable to sit daily in the reminder of exactly what he'd lost. Yet more proof that this couldn't be real.

But it felt real. I'd had experience separating nightmares from sendings, and this had the feel of something backed by magic. I had no clue how he was here or why, but it was Dolph.

"How?"

Dolph shrugged. "It's complicated. I'm not exactly authorized to talk about things on this side of the divide. It's not for the living to know, and I'd like you to stay on the mortal coil for a while."

"So I'm not dead? Cause usually when people start seeing lights and dead people, it's a bad sign."

Dolph laughed. It was sincere, full of the easy camaraderie we used to have. By the time he'd passed, we were both so twisted up with anger and resentment that we'd barely tolerated each other, let alone got along well enough to laugh at each other's jokes.

"If you were dead, you wouldn't look so miserable. Once you're pure spirit, pain doesn't mean much anymore. You're in the ICU, recovering from the beating you took. I hate that it took something that drastic to lower your shields, but at least I got through. I was beginning to think you'd never perceive me. I should have known your head would be harder to breach than Fort Knox."

The battle came back to me in spurts and starts, and I sank lower in my chair, wrapping my arms around myself. Magda. I'd known the betrayal was coming, but I'd still been too slow to stop her from attacking me. I knew anatomy well enough to know she'd eviscerated me, possibly even torn open my mesenteric artery. It should have been a lethal wound. But someone had hauled her off me and then Maya had done...something. Damned if I knew what, though.

"You should have asked Oddjob and Goldfinger for tips," I said.

Dolph didn't laugh, but I suspected he was hiding a smile. The lack of bitterness in the set of his mouth made him look younger. Dying had certainly improved his mood. He steepled his fingers on the desktop and stared at me expectantly.

I sighed. "Okay, fine, you win. I'm not dead and you're determined to be a cryptic bastard, as usual. If you can't answer the 'how' maybe you could explain the why. Assuming this isn't a fevered wish-fulfillment fantasy my brain cobbled together to ease my guilt."

He considered that for a moment. "I suppose you could call me...your guardian angel of sorts."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "If you're my guardian angel, I want my money back. That's some Grade-A bullshit."

That did make him laugh. "Oh, believe me, I thought the same thing when they came to me about it. But I can't deny the logic. You don't need someone in a toga imparting sage wisdom. You need someone who will kick your ass back onto the right-hand path. I volunteered to do the kicking. I'm good at it."

That made me smile, even though it hurt to do it. Dolph hadn't always been an overbearing ass, but he'd never exactly been cuddly either. He was a stern paternal type who threw his people in the deep in to teach them to swim. He saw something in me and he'd nurtured it. He'd helped me develop the most dangerous weapons in my arsenal—observation and intuition. It didn't matter how tough you were. If you didn't have the ability to read people and situations, you were going to have your ass handed to you. In a professional setting, that was embarrassing. In a battle, it could be a deadly failing.

"So this is what? An intervention?"

"Tell me you don't need one."

I dropped my gaze. He was right. Rafael had been right earlier in the year. This cloak-and-dagger assassin gig wasn't me. I had a talent for killing things, but I didn't like doing it. The numbness was already wearing off, and the potential ramifications were making me queasy. Worse, Dolph had been watching my fall from grace, shaking his head and cursing my idiocy the whole way. He hadn't breached my shields because I didn't want anyone in the shambles that was my head. I was only now beginning to realize I couldn't put my house back in order on my own.

"Is the part where you read a tearful note?"

Dolph wadded up a paper on his desk and launched the ball at my head. I dodged it, barely. He was faster than I remembered. Probably another perk of being dead. This was his world, after all. I wouldn't have chosen my office as my eternal destination but to each their own.

"Wiseass."

"Always."

He smiled and shook his head. "But to answer your question, no. I don't really get to pass judgment, no matter how much I may want to. If you want to talk about it, I can give you my two cents, but until then, I'm just here to bully you into using your brain. You've got your head too far up your own ass to see the bigger picture. You have all the clues you need to figure this out. Put them together and you'll know what to do moving forward. Tell me everything you know about the case, and we'll work outward from there."

"Which case? There are two going on right now."

"The flayings. I'm not authorized to say much, but this one has global importance. The Ripper case will have a more personal impact if things go the way I expect."

I gave him a narrow-eyed look. "You know who he is, and you're not going to tell me."

"I'm coming to you from the afterlife. All I have is time to watch. Of course I know who he is. I can't tell you, so drop it. I'm sure you'll figure it out on your own, anyway. You always were one of my best investigators."

"Which afterlife? The sunny, cloudy one or...?"

He scowled. "I wasn't in Hell."

"Just checking."

"Quit stalling. I only have so much time with you. When you wake up, you have work to do. Let's make this count."

He was right, of course. I was stalling. The ominous warning about the Ripper had my skin trying to slink off to another room. I hoped Dolph wasn't implying what I thought he was implying. I took a deep breath and began recounting the facts as I knew them.

"Two detectives contacted me about the case last week. They'd heard about RPIT's skinwalker cases and wanted my professional opinion about the latest victims. Because of..." I paused heat flushing into my cheeks. Dolph had probably spied on me long enough to know exactly what had happened between the three of us. "Personal reservations, they didn't invite me to consult further."

Dolph at least had the grace not to give me a ribbing. If it had been Zerbrowski sitting across the desk for me, we'd waste the entire dream on inappropriate jokes and unsolicited romantic advice. I cleared my throat when he motioned for me to continue.

"I used my...er...contacts to get onto the case anyway. It turns out someone is targeting collectors of Spanish descent, flaying them alive before taking any Aztec items from their collection."

As the images formed in my mind, glossy crime scene photos appeared on Dolph's desk. I leaned in closer, intrigued. They were exact duplicates of the ones I'd been shown. Even more impressive, there were images I knew for damn sure hadn't been recorded. There were no cameras in my office at Animators Inc, but I was still staring at photos of Hernando and Maya in all their abashed glory.

"That's neat," I said, picking up the 8x10. When I flipped it over, I found the date, location, and time stamped on the back. I flipped a few of the other photos to check and found names, dates of birth, death dates, locations, and time stamps on each. "Can I do this for anything I've seen or done in the last few days?"

Dolph shrugged. "You can do anything you want here. We're not constrained by the usual rules. Print it, project it, or play it like a video montage. Whatever works for you. Now, what do you notice about the photos?"

"That the filing system is crappy," I said, picking up prints of Maya and Hernando. "There's not a lot of biographical information on these two. I just have the location, time, and date. No names, no dates of birth, nothing."

A small smile tugged at Dolph's lips, but he said nothing.

"That's by design, isn't it?" I asked. "You're trying to tell me something about them."

"No, there are things that I can't tell you about them. That should tell you something all on its own."

I stood and began to pace, ignoring my aching body. If I stayed in one place, Dolph's riddles were going to make me tear my hair out. I thought better on my feet anyway.

"It might tell me something if I understood any of the rules you have to follow. Why can you tell me about these victims, but not Hernando and Maya? Is it because the victims are dead?"

Dolph waved a hand in a so-so gesture. "Sort of. Some of the victims' biographical data is stored in your conscious mind, so I can use it to fill in the blanks. These are also things you can reasonably find out through non-supernatural means. For example..."

Dolph waved his hand again, this time in a scooping motion, and produced a photo from thin air. It was Zerbrowski kneeling over a body, examining the bite marks on a young woman's forearm. He was unsmiling now, and there was more gray at his temples than the last time we met. Dolph flipped the photo. I recognized the street name, though the date and time surprised me. I'd been unconscious for a few days.

"Ashley Zerbrowski, age thirty-nine, married to Katie Zerbrowski, formerly Katie Green. Pictured investigating the murder of Heather Reems..."

"I've got it," I said, lifting a hand. "If I already know it or it's reasonable that I can find out the details by other means, it's fair game here. So you're saying that there's something about Hernando and Maya that I can't be reasonably expected to find out, and it's probably linked to their psychic abilities."

Dolph's lips twitched. "It has everything to do with their abilities. But they aren't psychics. At least, they're not just psychics. But put a pin in that for now. It's not the most important part of this."

If he vomited another cryptic remark I was going to reach across the desk and throttle him. This was getting old, fast. It figured I'd get a guardian angel that couldn't get straight to the point.

"Okay, what is the most important part?"

"You know the how of the crime. You even know the who. But you don't know the why."

"General mayhem?" I asked with a shrug. "Marmee Noir is behind this guy's rise to power. He was a fledgling god who never got powerful enough to seek vengeance. With her help, he contacted a priest, who stole artifacts and performed sacrifices on his behalf. I already know that deaths feed her power and the longer she can stay on this side of the divide, the wider the hole in her cage gets. She's almost powerful enough to wander. When that happens, she'll look for a vessel."

And she had four to choose from. If Papa Legba was right, there was just one more necromancer out there we didn't know about, and we had to find them before Marmee Noir escaped her cage.

Dolph leaned forward, eyes bright. "It's more than mayhem she's after, but you're on the right track. Keep following that train of thought. Deaths feed her power, but the sacrifices weren't to her. Not directly. What does she gain from pouring her power into the runt of the Aztec litter?"

I picked up my pace, thinking about it. I'd been an animator for long enough to understand the nature of ritual magic. No practitioner worth their salt killed for the hell of it. The reasons varied from era to era and culture to culture, but the general idea of sacrifice was to gain something from the loss. Sometimes you used the organs of a sacrifice to divine the future. The Aztecs believed it was necessary to keep the world turning. Animators used the energy of a kill to raise zombies. If necromancy came from the Mother of All Darkness, it stood to reason we had that in common.

"She's using him as a proxy to set up some kind of ritual," I said slowly. "She's promised him something that she doesn't plan to deliver."

"Exactly. What would this god want besides vengeance?"

I got it then, and the bottom of my stomach hit my toes. If Marmee tricked him into doing it, it was curtains for all of us.

"He'd want his pantheon back," I said, quiet horror in my voice. "Itzpapalotl isn't the only one after the seal. I bet you damn near anything that this new godling is the person bankrolling Ryker's crew. They were trying to bully Donna into telling them where the seal was, but it hadn't been located yet. All this has been preparation to break the seal and free the Aztec gods. He's basically a kid too naive to guess Marmee's motives behind wanting it cracked."

"And those are?" Dolph asked.

"She isn't going to let them escape into the real world. Dollars to donuts the ritual channels the power straight back to Marmee Noir. You can't raise something from the ground unless you have a sacrifice. The larger the task, the bigger the sacrifice required. She isn't going to free them. She's going to eat them."

Dolph's eyes gleamed with triumph. "See? I knew you could do it if you pulled your head out."

"Condesecending bastard."

"You still love me."

My vision hazed for a moment. "Yeah, I do. Will I see you again?"

"When you need me, yes. Now, go kick god's ass."

"Yes, sir."

Chapter Text

If I thought the ache in my dreams had been bad, it was nothing to what happened seconds after I opened my eyes. It felt like someone drove an icepick into the base of my skull, sending waves of agony through my face and down my spine. My body started reporting injuries on cue, only adding to the misery. The inside of my mouth tasted like copper. Had I coughed up blood at some point? Things had happened too fast. I couldn't remember.

"Ah, look at that," an unfamiliar male voice said. He had a mild accent that was hard to pin down. Bristol, maybe. Or Wales. "Her pulse picked up. I think she's coming around."

He might as well have shouted the words directly into my ear. The increased tempo of the monitor, the low buzz of activity outside my door, and the conversation going on beside my bedside were painful to listen to. The headache was unreal.

"Keep it down," I croaked. "Some of us are trying to sleep here."

"Oh, thank Christ," Edward said, low and fervent.

The man beside him let out a low, humorless chuckle. "It's not like you to indulge in praise, Edward. I'm surprised at you. Have you been swayed to my side at last?"

"It's a saying," Edward replied tersely. "You know I'm not on the faith train."

"Shhh," I stressed. "Not so loud."

"Anita, I'm whispering," Edward said.

I groped behind my head and tugged the flat hospital pillow from under my neck, plopping it over my face instead. It didn't stop the constant drone of noise, but it muffled it enough to keep me from screaming.

"Hold on," Edward said. His chair made a strident squeal when he pushed to his feet. "I'm going to find the doctor. He'll have something for the pain."

And whatever he had would probably knock me out again, which I couldn't afford. Every second I wasted in bed was another second Marmee Noir inched closer to devouring an entire pantheon. It was still daylight—I could feel that much at least—but for how much longer? How long would it take to sign an AMA discharge form and hunt down Hernando and Maya? I still had no fucking clue what she'd done to me, but they were clearly more powerful than they'd let on. I needed to know whose side they were on before I was willing to enlist their help.

There were other options to dull the pain if I was desperate enough to use them. I'd put the weight of my injuries on Jeanette before, using her strength to push through. But Jeanette wasn't the only lifeline I had these days. Richard was tied to us both in a triumvirate of power. Verity and Jamil were tied to me in a second, unintentional triumvirate. I had Jade, albeit distantly. She was Jeanette's tiger to call, but through the marks, we had at least a tangential connection. Yes, if I spread the pain out over every connection I had, it would be a minor inconvenience to everyone, instead of debilitating pain for only me. Yes. That was probably the best course of action at this point.

It took several minutes to separate the pain into neat little boxes and shove them onto other people's psychic doorsteps. I'd get angry phone calls about that later, but I had a hunch they'd forgive me when they knew what was at stake. I knew I'd managed it when the heart monitor beside my bed stopped sounding like a train whistle, and the murmur of voices outside was just background noise. My head still felt tender, but at least I wasn't curling in on myself like a pill bug.

When I dared a peek from under my pillow, I found a man staring at me. Like Edward, he was blond and not overly tall, but that was where the similarities ended. His hair had a slightly reddish tint to it. It was shorter than Edward usually kept his, and he had a goatee to match it. He was broader through the shoulders, built like a lineman, rather than a runner. He was covered in a layer of heavy, functional muscle, instead of the pretty, sculpted stuff you saw in gyms. He'd never be a cover model, but he could probably take a man apart without much effort.

The man caught me looking and smiled. It should have looked lovely. He was objectively attractive. He had chiseled features, a long, aquiline nose, and a smile that would charm the pants off most women. Unfortunately, I'd gotten used to reading people, and the affable grin didn't touch his baby blues.

"Feeling better?" he asked mildly.

"A bit," I said, sitting up straighter and letting the pillow flop into my lap. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but who the hell are you, and why are you lurking at my bedside?"

That actually earned me a real smile. Lines fanned out around his eyes, adding at least ten years to his appearance. I readjusted my estimate from mid-thirties to mid-forties. Normally, I could have read his age with my animating ability, but injury and daylight made it harder to parse. Not that it mattered much, anyway.

"Straightforward. I like that in a woman. You're particularly well known for not mincing your words."

"It can usually shave an hour or two off a business day if I cut through the bullshit," I said, leaning away from him. Oddly enough, the sincere expression wasn't any less unnerving than the flat calculation from the moment before. "And speaking of bullshit, you're avoiding the question. Who are you? You're not from our neck of the woods, so I'm guessing...Interpol? You do know I'm not on the Ripper case, right?"

The man chuckled. Without the screaming pain pressing in on my head, it was even more chilling. I couldn't put my finger on why but I did not like this man.

"A reasonable guess, but no. I'm not working with Agent Damitz or her people. This is a matter of internal protocol. My organization made an error, and unfortunately, I'm the one to deal with the mess left behind. I don't like cleaning up these problems personally, but in this case, it can't be helped. I was the one who made the call, so I suppose I should bear the brunt of the responsibility."

"Your organization?" I asked, sounding the words out slowly. For the life of me, I couldn't understand what he was talking about. He wasn't in uniform and his aura didn't scream cop, so he probably wasn't a plainclothes detective here to stand vigil at my bedside.

"Our organization, I suppose," he said with a small, chilly smile. "You do work for me now, after all. Edward has been keeping me apprised of the Ryker situation. Unpleasant business, all of it. I should have shot him and been done with it when he failed to live up to expectations. Not everyone has what it takes to make it in this line of work. I thought perhaps he could be a valuable subcontractor in the future, but he's proving to be more trouble than he's worth."

A cold, slithery feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I had an awful feeling I knew who was sitting at my bedside but couldn't force my lips to mouth the words. His lips twitched once in amusement when he spied the look on my face.

"Ah, the light dawns." He leaned across the bed, offering me his hand. "Arthur Van Cleef. It's a pleasure to meet you in person at last, Ms. Blake."

I didn't move to take his hand. Even being in his proximity had set off every alarm bell I possessed, and now they were shrieking at me to put at least an arm's length of space between us. A hallway's worth or more, if I could manage it. This man had hand selected a network of the most deadly assassins known to man. He commanded a shadow network potentially worth billions. The men and women he'd trained were so feared they lived in whispered infamy in criminal and supernatural circles. I was one of his lackeys, and I still didn't have a fucking clue what the organization was really about. Edward had a healthy dose of fear where this man was concerned.

Van Cleef let the hand fall to my mattress when I didn't move to take it. His expression was unreadable. I couldn't tell whether or not my rebuff had insulted him or not.

"Why are you here, really?" I asked. "In this hospital, I mean. If you wanted to check in with Edward, you could have done it over the phone. I know your type. If I lived, I was a worthwhile investment. If I died, good riddance."

"You have never met my type, Anita," he said quietly. The silken whisper scared me more than if he'd shouted. "And you will never see my like again. You have no idea what drives me."

"Enlighten me then."

Van Cleef leaned back in his chair with an enigmatic smile. "I'm afraid that isn't for you to know. Just know that you are mistaken. I have a vested interest in your life. I've never seen so much potential in all my years operating the Order. I'd invest a great deal into keeping you alive. But in this case, I didn't have to. It's the damnedest thing. You ought to have died. The doctors are baffled."

They weren't the only ones. I had no fucking clue what Maya had done to me. Because it had to have been her doing. She was the only one nearby and willing to help me. The psychic feedback was awful, but it beat the hell out of dying. I ached like I'd taken a beating, but I couldn't feel any stitches. My middle should have been on fire, but a cursory inspection revealed no marks. It should have been impossible. Magda's claws had opened me like trout. Van Cleef continued, oblivious to my silent musing.

"Every witch or psychic I've had examine you says the signature left on you is like nothing they've ever felt before. It was some kind of psychic transference. Their life force sacrificed for yours, not unlike what your Master can do for you. It's theoretically possible a witch could do it with time, preparation, and a death wish, but we didn't find a corpse with a matching signature near you."

Which meant that Maya had more than her own life force to draw from. What I'd felt made more sense if I interpreted it as whatever reserves Maya had used to heal me. But to be able to draw in or expel magic from herself meant...

"Psychic vampire," I said. "It was a psychic vampire."

"Pardon?" Van Cleef asked. "You're saying a vampire healed you?"

"No," I said, waving away the question impatiently. People always seemed to get this part wrong. "It's a misnomer. They're mortals that suck life essence out of people to extend their lives. It manifests differently for every...ah...vampire, for lack of a better term. Some take memories, others take vitality, and some really powerful ones can steal souls. I've never heard of one that gives energy back, but I suppose it's theoretically possible."

They were likely both vampires who'd gravitated toward each other out of convenience. It made a sick amount of sense when I really thought about it. It was a hell of a lot easier to hunt cooperatively, using superior numbers to keep your prey in check. They cruised for casual sex partners, so it stood to reason that they fed on some form of lust.

Hell, Maya had all but spelled it out for me at the airport. They sought out what they needed together or separately, and they had to be discreet. They were mortal practitioners using undue preternatural influence on unsuspecting victims. It was an automatic death penalty if they were caught. Positioning themselves as police detectives gave them the opportunity to make any reports about their behavior disappear. It was a genius setup.

But they'd gotten more than they bargained for with me. I had a pipeline to a dark, bottomless well of power, and they had no idea how reluctant I'd be to tap into it. Not to mention a hunger that was similar enough to theirs that I might recognize the feeding for what it was. No wonder they'd scampered.

Van Cleef raised an eyebrow. "So you recognized whoever or whatever did this to you?"

"No."

It didn't matter what her motives had been. Maya had saved my life. I wasn't going to sell her out to a man like Van Cleef without a fight. Van Cleef's eyebrows reached for his hairline when I swung my legs over the side of my bed and began tugging at the tape that attached the IV to my arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting out of here," I said. "I'm not hurt enough to hog a bed in the ICU."

"I don't think-" he began.

Edward stuck his head through the door, cutting him off. He didn't have a doctor in tow, and the look on his face was grim.

"We have a situation," he said in an undertone. "We need to be going now."

Van Cleef stood, brushing non-existent wrinkles from his shirt. The work shirt and jeans would have let him blend into most crowds. He nodded curtly to Edward.

"You can give me the details on the way out."

"You can give us the details," I said, removing my IV with a wince, stemming the stream of blood with my mottled green hospital gown. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Edward said.

"I'm coming," I insisted. "Do you really have time to argue with me?"

His eyes smoldered with anger for a moment before he turned on his heel and began walking the other way.

"Keep up," he called over his shoulder. "If you're not out in thirty minutes, I'm leaving your ass in the parking lot."

Chapter Text

"They're gone," I said, staring blankly down at myself.

I'd finally convinced Edward to loan me a spare set of clothes after a brief but heated argument. The black button-down and jeans almost swallowed me whole, and I'd been forced to cuff the legs and waist several times before they'd stay up. I'd been so preoccupied with the time that I hadn't immediately noticed the changes. Now I couldn't stop staring at them in the bathroom mirror, running my hands over the spaces where they should have been.

My scars were gone. The mounded flesh at the crook of my elbow and on my collarbone had disappeared, leaving only smooth, unblemished skin behind. The cross-shaped brand on my arm was no more, and the partial thickness burns on my leg and stomach had been replaced by healthy tissue. Only the eagle feather and the thin line of raised scales on my throat remained. Maya hadn't just saved my life. She'd almost returned me to factory settings. How much life had she managed to suck out of other people to manage something like that? Something told me that I didn't want to know.

A sharp knock on the door made me jump. My hands fell away from my body, reaching for weapons that weren't there. None of my usual gear would fit while I was wearing Edward's castoffs.

"We're leaving in five," Edward said.

I cast one last befuddled look at myself in the mirror before opening the door. Edward was waiting on the other side, arms folded across his chest. He wasn't quite looking at me, but I could sense his scrutiny. When you had jobs like ours, you mastered the art of covert observation. He was giving me a once-over as if he could spot something the doctors had missed.

"I'm ready," I said, shoving the sleeves of his shirt up around my elbows. "Drowning in cotton, but ready."

"It's your own damn fault," he said. "If you'd put an extra set of clothes in my car like I suggested-"

"You'd be served with divorce papers. Donna already found one of your burner phones with my contacts on speed dial. If she found my panties in a secret compartment in your car, she'd think we're fucking, and there's nothing in the world that would convince her otherwise."

Edward didn't reply, which I took as silent, grudging agreement. It struck me, yet again, just how bizarre this entire thing was. Ruthless, practical Edward, forgoing convenience to spare his wife's feelings. If you'd told me last year, I'd have laughed you out of town. What kind of spell did she have over Death? It wasn't that I disliked Donna—the opposite, really. I liked her enough to want her out of Edward's life, and far, far away from his many enemies. She seemed smart, kind, and personable and utterly...wrong for him. Yet, they somehow made it work.

Maybe there was hope for my complicated love life after all.

"Untwist your boxers," I said, brushing past him. "The doctors told me that Verity brought the Jeep here while I was unconscious. I have spares in the trunk and I can change on the way."

Verity was no doubt seething in her coffin, cursing herself for not following me as she'd suggested. I'd broken my promise to stay alive. Only some kind of miracle had kept me on this side of the divide. She was going to shake me hard enough to make my teeth clack together after the sun went down.

"And changing in my car is not going to peak Donna's ire?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, I'll come back inside and change in the bathroom if it makes you happy. It'll only add ten minutes to our total time, right?"

Edward sighed. "Change in the car. We don't have ten minutes to spare."

The skin at the back of my neck prickled. I'd never seen Edward's expression so pinched. He actually looked...worried. Talk about your firsts.

We left the room, and I pointedly ignored the unhappy looks from Dr. O'Connor. I deserved them but damned if I let him know it. It wasn't the first time I'd bullied hospital staff for an AMA, and I doubted it would be the last. You didn't work the job we did without pissing people off along the way. At least the doctor's anger stemmed from concern. But ultimately, there wasn't a medical reason to keep me. I was remarkably healthy for someone who'd turned up on his table mostly dead only days before.

I waited until the elevator doors had closed behind us before I spoke. The quivering line of tension in his body told me this wasn't a conversation for civilian ears.

"How many people died during the hospital attack?"

"Twenty killed, and almost that many wounded. Teycacapan and Detective Rameriez barricaded a group of them in an OR and set the place on fire. It took care of all the dead on that wing. Someone else took care of the ones on the opposite end of the hospital, but we're not sure who. All security cameras were disabled. Some people are saying you went Rambo and killed the remaining twenty on your lonesome."

"Sure, we'll go with that," I said.

I wasn't going to mention Magda or her Master. Not with Van Cleef nearby. The last thing I needed was the forbidding head of a clandestine organization declaring war on the Harlequin.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

"No," I said shortly. "There's nothing to talk about at the moment. Just tell me, how big is the clusterfuck we're walking into, exactly?"

"Big. A lot happened while you were down."

"Like?"

He didn't answer immediately. The elevator doors dinged open on the first floor, and we had to sidestep to avoid a nurse wheeling a half-conscious patient inside. Edward strode forward, dodging doctors and visitors, forcing me to jog a little to keep up. It usually amused him to push me like this, forcing me to compete with him, even in small things. The usual smirk was absent, and I rubbed at my arms absently, trying to banish the gooseflesh I could feel forming. If Death looks grim, things have gone to hell in a handbasket.

Curious eyes followed us across the parking lot, but no one stopped to ask where we were running to. I wasn't sure if Edward would have answered if they had. He watched me gather my spares from the trunk before motioning me to follow him. I wanted to argue that I could drive, but it was probably for the best we'd be using the SUV. If things were as hairy as I suspected, we could use more metal between us and whatever was coming than my Jeep could provide. I began stripping off layers the second he put the car in drive.

"Well?" I prompted. "What's going on?"

"On which case?" he asked.

I swallowed hard when his meaning clicked. "You mean the Ripper struck again?"

"A single mom and her roommate."

My stomach rolled, and I yanked a t-shirt over my head to mask my expression. "The baby?"

"Alive, but only because the dad had joint custody. It was lucky she agreed to swap with him the night before, or we'd have three bodies instead of two. The dad found them both in the living room. Almost identical to Detective O'Brien's murder, but the bodies were fresher. Liver temp put their time of death at just a few hours before the discovery."

"Two victims this time," I said quietly. "He's escalating, taking more risks. It could be turning into a spree."

Edward clenched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Whatever the Ripper was doing had gotten under his skin. Jesus. It had been bad enough seeing the days-old aftermath. How much worse was it when fresh?

"Damn right, and it's the last thing we need right now. Ryker's crew resurfaced in a big way. There was an armed standoff on a backroad toward the Sangre de Cristo mountains. They were tailing Obsidian Butterfly for days, and they managed to stay on her, even after her escape from the Foundation. She was meeting someone there, and they got the drop on her people. Whatever she was trading for is missing. And, at the same time, the cops got a lead on the location and went in full lights and sirens. They were caught in the crossfire. Eight local uniforms are dead and two of Bradford's men died on the way to the hospital. Three officers are in critical condition and another fourteen are wounded but stable."

"I bet Marks is having a field day with this one," I muttered. "Assuming he survived. From an outside perspective, it probably looks like Itzpapalotl planned an ambush for them. Forget inconvenient things like facts. Officers are dead and it has to come out of someone's hide."

Edward tapped his nose with a knowing look. "Right in one. The timeline will shake itself out eventually, but with Lowell in the ICU, Marks is in charge and the survivors are pissed enough to follow his lead. A judge approved a warrant of execution for the Master of the City a few hours ago."

"Shit," I hissed, and meant it.

It wasn't as if Itzpapalotl didn't deserve the death sentence. What she'd done and continued to do to the captive Conquistadors violated the Geneva Convention several times over. She'd probably done worse in the interim. I knew from experience that you didn't become Master of the City—let alone the de facto leader of the state—without a willingness to do some truly unethical shit. But for the moment, she was the devil I knew, and more importantly, the devil who knew the whereabouts of the seal. I needed to find her before Marks did, or Ryker's people were going to serve a pantheon of gods to Marmee Noir on a silver platter. And after that...God help us all.

"They've captured her human servant, but she's still in the wind. He's lawyered up, much to Marks' displeasure. Bernardo is trying to track down Baco. The little weasel scampered when Los Duendos burned. If Pinotl can't tell us where the culprit is, Baco can."

"And where's Olaf in all of this?" I asked.

Edward's hands flexed around the wheel again. "On the Ripper case. Damitz insisted and Bradford was only too willing to oblige. He would have traded his left nut to make sure you weren't meddling in a high-profile case. You do have a way of making a mess of them with convenient things like truth and justice."

Well, at least he wouldn't be in the way. I didn't relish the thought of having Olaf along while I tried to fight my way through a group of Van Cleef's castoffs. My back was a target and there were a handy number of mercenaries he could blame if a knife ended up in it.

Edward guided the SUV onto the highway, staring straight ahead with an unfathomable look. I wondered what was going on behind the pale eyes and just as quickly decided that I didn't want to know. This was the most keyed-up I'd seen him since Harley's death. And with the latest vampire snafu, Olaf roaming his home turf, and Van Cleef tailing us in a discreet silver car a mile or so back, who could blame him?

"He scares you, doesn't he?" I asked. "Van Cleef, I mean."

"Of course he does. If you have any sense, he'll scare you too. If we're Horsemen of the Apocalypse, he's the Lion of Judah. You've never seen him fight. It's unreal. I'm not even sure if he's human. He can't be any kind of vampire I've ever seen, since he's highly religious. I thought it was some kind of front at first, to keep up appearances, but he really means it."

"He's Christian?"

Edward shrugged. "Some flavor of it. It's nothing modern, I can tell you that. He's a descendant of the original founders of the Order. There were a hundred and fifty families involved at the beginning, but like I told your lamia, they either died out or abandoned the family business a long time ago. The few left have some whacky ideas about religion. He knows he can't conscript people just based on their faith, but it was a selling point in your favor. He doesn't get many true believers these days."

I reached for my collar out of habit, but there was no cross to stroke through the fabric. Jeanette's cross had been resting at the bottom of my vampire hunting kit for months now. I didn't trust holy objects to come through for me after they had winked out in the face of an oncoming vampire. I still wasn't sure where I stood on the God question these days. It was entirely possible he was out there, given everything I'd seen, but I wasn't sure I could count on him when it mattered.

"I'm not going to join the cult," I whispered. "I'm not even sure if I'm going to remain a Horseman. It's past time for me to go home."

"I'm not sure it's something you get to opt out of," he said. "He won't take no for an answer."

I cast one wary look through the rearview mirror. The silver car was still there, just a few miles back, keeping easy pace with us.

"Neither will I, Edward," I said. "Neither will I."

Chapter Text

The Sangre de Cristo Mountain range looked like a crisp postcard in the waning light of the day, pretty but too washed out not to look artificial. Pale reds, blues, and violets and the smudged outline of plant life. All it needed was a 'Welcome to Santa Fe' scrawled across the horizon in a loud, sans serif font. It looked downright cartoonish when it was juxtaposed with the wreckage left after a shootout. No one wants a bullet-riddled cop car or overturned Mac truck in the backdrop of their vacation photos.

"Where's the smoke coming from?" I asked as the SUV crawled to a stop.

We'd been forced to flash our badges and state our names several times before the officers on the scene would let us through to talk to Marks. Van Cleef had gotten through without incident, flowing through the crowd like a natural element. No one looked twice at him. Forged credentials and great acting, or something supernatural? I was too far away to tell and lost track of him after the third time we'd been stopped.

"Simon blew the gas tank on the semi," Edward said in an undertone as we stepped out. "He's Ryker's go-to demolitions expert. Not as good as Malicia and he has a history of pyromania. There were less destructive ways to cover their tracks, but it did the job. Three of the dead officers were caught in that blast. Everything inside is a jigsaw now. The police won't know what was taken for weeks."

Which meant someone had their hands on the seal. Damn it. I hoped it was Itzpapalotl, but if I was wrong...

"How big was the seal, exactly?" I asked. "Small enough one person could carry it?"

Edward shook his head. "The smallest I've seen was the size of a dining room table. The bigger the pantheon, the more surface area needed. The Aztecs believed in over two hundred deities."

"So it was massive. Too big for one vampire to move?"

The lines around his eyes tightened. "Most likely."

"Well, shit."

"That does seem to be the word of the day," he agreed. "And speaking of little shits, Marks is heading this way."

I couldn't make out much through the pall of smoke. It had thinned from a billowing black cloud to an unhealthy gray smog. The red and blue lights of many police cars were barely visible, punching through at odd intervals like lackluster concert lighting. Firefighters were still struggling to contain blazes further up the road, where the brush had caught. It was nothing short of a miracle that the wind had died down earlier, or the police would have had a wildfire to face on top of everything else. That had probably been Simon's aim, to watch people try and fail to escape a wall of flames. Destroying evidence was just a happy bonus when you got your rocks off watching people burn to death.

Marks stormed through the smoke a minute later, shirt tugged over his mouth and nose. Sweat formed yellowing stains on his white shirt and khaki pants, pooling in his collar, under his arms, and on the backs of his knees. I couldn't fault him for it. I was still feet away from the wreckage and sweat was already popping on my brow and upper lip. His face was blotchier than usual, flushed red from exertion and anger. His eyes narrowed when they finally landed on us.

"Blake!" he raged, advancing on us. It would have been more impressive if he could have moved in a straight line. He was moving with a distinct limp and, upon closer inspection, I noticed a rust-colored stain spreading from his calf downward. He'd been hit at some point.

"You bellowed, sir?" I asked, resisting the urge to flash him a 'who-me' smile. It would be slapped right off my face, and I'd probably deserve it.

Marks didn't stop until we were toe-to-toe, leaning his weight forward so he could lord every inch of his superior height over me. Big men always did that, as if I'd find their bulk somehow impressive. I did want to back away, but not for the reasons he'd guess. The smell of smoke and sweat clung to his skin like stale perfume. I didn't need to be a psychic to sense the anger boiling off of him. I could see the tension in the lines of his neck and the bulging veins in his forearms. He was a powder keg of violence, and he only needed a spark to go off. If he swung for me at this distance, my options were limited.

"This is your fault!"

"My, aren't I talented?" I drawled, taking in the scene. "I had no idea I was capable of orchestrating a fuck-up this big while unconscious in the ICU. Sometimes I amaze even myself."

I knew it was the wrong thing to say, even as the words left my mouth. Marks tensed, ready to swing. He probably would have done it if Edward hadn't been at his elbow, yanking him a few steps back. His glower was all for me, not for Marks.

"Damn it, Anita! There's no time for this."

I shoved a hand into my hair. It caught almost at once. I hadn't had time to shower and coax my curls back into a semblance of order after my near brush with death, and it had become a snarled mess since.

"I know, I know."

And I did. I knew antagonizing Marks was a bad idea, but when he'd come at me, I hadn't been able to keep my tongue from wagging. It was a knee-jerk response when something spooked me. Marks wasn't scary in the traditional sense. If push came to shove and he attacked me physically, I believed I could snap him over one knee. It was the bigotry that made him frightening. And now he had the might of a police department behind all that blind hate. Someone was going to get hurt. At this rate, it would probably be me.

I held up my hands, surrendering with poor grace. "Fine Marks, that was out of line. Could you at least tell me why exactly I'm to blame for all of this?"

Marks looked like he wanted to lunge for me again, but thought better of it with Edward standing so near. It took visible effort for him to swallow his anger and form a coherent sentence, but by God he did it. Maybe there was a reasonable man in there after all. Deep, deep down. He wouldn't have gotten so far in his job if he was a raging asshole a hundred percent of the time.

"You're a vampire's human servant and she's a master vampire. Ramirez and his wife both said you had a private audience with her after the interview and that you looked shaken after. It doesn't take a hell of a lot to do the math, Blake. She got to you somehow and you've been coordinating with her ever since. Why the hell else would you have been with one of her people? How the hell else would you have known where to go when the dead rose? The timing was awfully convenient, wasn't it? You had to do something big to draw away our resources. We've been sorting out the mess at the hospital for days."

Oh hell. I'd known he was ignorant, but I couldn't believe someone was legitimately this stupid. No outsider knew the real power struggles that dominated vampire politics, but I would have thought a police detective would have deigned to at least brush up on the pretty human front they presented to the public. In theory, vampire politics in the States were meant to reflect democracy at large. It rarely turned out that way, but they were willing to play out the farce to keep the media happy.

"It was a lot of political posturing, not a conspiracy to commit murder. Jesus, Marks, don't you know how their government works? It's like freaking Congress sometimes. I made a faux pas coming into her city on a work visa, only to turn around and invoke my status as a human servant to get you some damn answers. I got a dressing down for it. Her people had to talk to my people, yadda, yadda, and so on and so forth. And as for the timing, that was your doing, not mine. If you hadn't rammed your justification through the court, I wouldn't have met Teyacapan. She's the reason I was able to talk to Baco. He raised the army at the hospital, not me."

Which wasn't technically a lie. Baco was responsible for at least some of the murders and his god's power had opened up enough of a channel that Marmee had been able to raise the rest, even temporarily.

"So you say, but every source I consulted said one person shouldn't be able to raise that many corpses at once. Now if there were three witches on-site performing human sacrifices..."

"Oh for the love of...I'm a necromancer, Marks, not a witch. If you're going to insult me, do it properly. Your sources should have also told you that ritual magic takes time, preparation, and tools that I didn't have. I arrived after the dead began to rise. It almost got me killed. So shove the prejudice and let me help you, Marks. Baco is your killer. Or at least, one of them. I can find him if you'll let me."

Marks stared at me in mute fury. I expected him to order me out. If he shouted, I'd go. There was more than one way to skin a necromancer. I'd join up with Bernardo, wherever he was, and track down Baco or Itzpapalotl covertly. I'd been tempted to go that route anyway. Only morbid curiosity and the hope of meeting Maya had lured me to the scene of the crime. I couldn't spot her, but that didn't mean she wasn't nearby. It was hard to see anything through the haze of smoke.

The silence stretched and Marks' face got redder with every passing second. He was chewing the inside of his cheek, trying to contain whatever foul diatribe was building behind his teeth. I was betting whatever he had to say wasn't very Christian, and he had an image to maintain.

"You have to let me on this scene, don't you?" I asked. "Bradford is here and he's assigned us to your case, hasn't he?"

Anything to keep me away from the high-profile Ripper case. This was turning out to be a PR disaster, so it didn't matter if my name was on it. Bradford was an ass, but he wouldn't buy Marks' vague conspiracy theories about my so-called involvement. I'd been in the hospital when this went down. I was smart and capable, but 4-D chess wasn't my forte.

"I want a detective with you at all times," he hissed. So that was a yes, then. "You don't leave their side, do you hear me? I want someone keeping tabs on you every step of the way. And your boyfriend here doesn't count," he said, jerking a thumb at Edward. "Someone on the force."

"Fine with me."

I already knew exactly the detective I wanted to see.

Chapter Text

"Now, what the hell happened?" Edward asked.

"It looks like someone dropped a grenade in a china shop."

Every step crunched and I tried very hard not to think about how much priceless history we were trampling underfoot. Ryker's men had probably taken the choicest artifacts for themselves, but there was no way they'd managed to collect everything before the police arrived. Figurines, pottery, architecture, and jewelry, all reduced to gravel. It was damned depressing if you stopped long enough to really consider it.

"To you," he clarified. "I want to know what happened in the hospital. I've seen damn good men die from less grievous injuries than you had. No one could explain it. Believe me, doctors do not like throwing around words like 'impossible' or 'miracle.' So spill it. What actually happened in that hallway?"

I glanced around, weighing my words. Police swarmed over the scene like enterprising worker ants, cataloging the carnage. Curious eyes flicked up to watch us and just as quickly slid past. Too much to do to bother with just another pair of uniforms.

"I'm not sure," I said in an undertone. "It probably was a miracle and I don't throw that word around lightly either."

Edward was silent for a beat, mulling that over. More than any other we'd ever investigated, this case seemed to throw him. It would have been funny if it weren't so sad. It wasn't often you saw Death off his game.

"You really don't know?"

"I have theories, but they're just that. Theories. I've been wrong before."

"I'd rather have a straw to grasp at than nothing at all. What's the theory?"

So I told him, starting from our clandestine meeting with Teyacapan in the women's restroom. He looked briefly annoyed when I told him about Donna's presence, but the expression faded when I relayed the rest. The fight at Baco's. The realization that the fight wasn't over, even with Los Duendos in flames behind us. Our rush to the hospital and the fight that ensued. The attack that should have caused my death. Whatever the hell Maya had done to bring me back from the brink.

I skimmed over the bits with Magda. Edward wasn't completely in the dark about the Harlequin. Hard to keep him out of the loop after what had happened in Stillwater. It wasn't arrogance or a misguided sense of concern that kept my mouth shut. It was the years I'd known Edward. He was a thrill-seeker, a hitman who'd started taking supernatural contracts when killing humans, and the most dangerous wild game on earth had become too passé. The bigger and more dangerous the prey, the better.

He'd pit himself against some of the oldest and deadliest creatures in existence and damn the consequences. Strange as it was, I did consider him a friend. Friends didn't let friends make monumentally stupid decisions like chasing the toadies of a primordial being. And now that I knew about his family, I had triple the incentive to keep my mouth shut.

He listened in silence, expression never shifting. If he sensed the lie of omission, he didn't comment on it. I tried to describe exactly what Maya had done to me, but the words didn't encapsulate the experience. A light show bursting behind my eyes, a flood of something warm and incredible into every pore, and, finally, waking in agony from the psychic feedback of what she'd done.

"Rainbows?" he asked with a frown. "You're sure it was rainbows?"

"No, I'm not sure. The brain is just a soggy pile of fat in a bone cage. Most aren't complex enough to perceive the metaphysical, let alone make sense of whatever they're feeling. It could have been neurons misfiring or some kind of faux religious experience. I didn't see any dead relatives, so I know it wasn't heaven, but beyond that, I'm in the dark."

"But you did feel her life force. The psychics were right about that at least."

"It wasn't just her life force, or they would have found her body next to mine. It's rare, but people can trade their lives for someone else's if they have a strong enough gift. Most of the time it's limited energy transfer, like reiki or faith-based laying on of hands. If it isn't a total scam from the get-go. There are enough scumbags willing to fake it for a buck. This was the real deal."

Edward's brow scrunched. "So she gave you someone else's energy too?"

"Bingo. And she had a lot of it on hand. Years worth. If I had to guess, she's a psychic vampire and she's been feeding on emotions most of her life. Desire maybe, or the high that comes after sex. Hernando too. It's why they ran when they got close enough to sense my abilities. They knew I'd feel it if they tried to feed on me."

"Vampires," he muttered, shaking his head. "The bloodsucking ones are bad enough, but apparently they can look and sound human too. Just what we need."

We rounded the hunk of twisted, smoking metal that used to be a semi-truck, giving the clusters of firefighters and uniformed police officers a wide berth. Fires were still cropping up further along the dirt road, spreading a heat haze across the horizon. The peaks rippled, warm air twisting them into unrecognizability every few seconds. I swore I could see glyphs or figures in the air but when I blinked, the peaks were mundane rock again.

"If it's any consolation, I think they're on our side, at least for now. If I'm right, they're predators, and letting serial killers and rogue gods roam their territory is bad for business. Their feeding is less destructive than the alternative. Hell, it's less destructive than what I do. The ardeur is addictive by nature. Since they don't have a harem, I'm guessing their power doesn't work that way."

"The enemy you know, huh?"

"Something like that. Keep an eye out for them. I want to talk before Bradford or Marks get any ideas about bumping me off this case."

It took fifteen minutes to catch a glimpse of Maya. The scene was like a loud, dissonant maze with half a dozen organizations doing an ungainly bureaucratic dance, trying and failing not to step on each other's toes. When I finally spotted her, she was leaning heavily on Hernando, head in the crook of his neck, shuffling away from the scene at a speed of general mosey.

"Maya!" I called, raising my voice to be heard over a nearby argument.

Her spine went stiff at the sound of my voice, but she couldn't seem to help a backward glance. It was only one brief turn of the head and a fleeting glimpse of her profile, but it was enough. My steps stuttered as my mind struggled to make sense of what I was seeing.

Maya didn't just look exhausted, she looked older. The stunning thirty-something detective had aged at least a decade overnight, maybe more. She'd gone gray at the temples, with more silvery strands weaving through her hair when the light hit it just right. Lines spiderwebbed out from her mouth and the corners of her dark eyes. They looked sunken as if she hadn't slept in weeks. Her mouth seemed thinner too. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought I was meeting her mother.

Hernando turned as well, and though nothing had changed physically, I could sense a shift in his aura. He was stiff and pained, like a man who'd been bracing himself against hurricane-force winds. His arm curled around Maya's waist protectively as we approached, half lifting her from her feet as he picked up the pace. It wasn't fast enough.

I broke into a light jog, dodging cops and paramedics as I went. Edward trailed close behind, following my lead. There were definitely eyes on us now. Ask me if I gave a damn.

Hernando and Maya had almost crested a hill and disappeared out of sight by the time I caught up. A mile away from the wreck the air was cooler and thinner and my chest eased. The smoke hadn't been choking but breathing in the hot, acrid stuff that remained hadn't been comfortable either.

"Maya!" I called again. "Maya, wait!"

"Go away," she said. Even her voice sounded thin and tired. "You shouldn't be here."

"Right. I should be dead and I'm not. I'm out of the hospital and here to investigate the cause because of you."

Maya's eyes darted around, settling on Edward briefly before searching the hill behind us. She relaxed a little when she realized we were out of earshot of the others.

"Then take that and be grateful. I don't have time to deal with you at the moment. There are things going on that you don't understand. If you get involved, you'll end up dead."

"I understand more than you think. I know what you are and why you're so damn eager to solve this case. I haven't told anyone but Edward your secret. If you want to keep it that way, you'll talk to me."

For a moment, the heat of her anger was physically oppressive, like stepping into a sauna. Air caught in my throat, a gasp I couldn't quite voice as her power rose to choke me. And then, as quickly as it had come, the power waned, leaving her older and more exhausted than before. She shared a look with Hernando. It was one of those looks couples could manage after they'd been together for a while, a conversation without words. Hernando nodded slowly.

"Fine, we'll talk," he said. "But not here. Too many ears."

I nodded. It was fair. Outing them in front of the whole department would only make a bad situation worse.

"Lead the way."

Chapter Text

The sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon by the time Hernando was satisfied with the distance. The shadows stretched long, swallowing us in violet shade. I could feel the night approaching. It was normally just a shiver across my awareness, the subtle caress of the dark coaxing my abilities to the fore. Like most of the undead I dealt with, my powers came alive after the sunset. Tonight, it felt like the sigh of an impatient child. Marmee was out there, waiting, alert and anticipatory. If Baco rejoined his master, it would only be a matter of time before the seal cracked like an egg, and the Mother of All Darkness consumed whatever was inside.

Scary stuff, that. Maya wasn't the only one who had places to be and things to do. I needed to find Itzpapalotl and get gone.

Hernando finally stopped shy of a line of sagebrush that bordered a narrow dirt footpath that led off the main road. A reddish-brown ribbon wound into the brush, well-traveled enough to keep new plant life from growing, but obscure enough you'd need a native of the area to find it. There were no helpful signs directing the unwary traveler where to go. In Santa Fe's summer heat, wandering without a guide would get you killed. It was still risky now, in February when things were comparatively cooler.

Hernando came to a stop, standing with his back to us. Arrogance or apathy, I wasn't sure. He was a cop and possibly a decades or centuries-old psychic leech. Neither lent itself well to an easy-going personality. He knew who I was and what I could do. He was probably in the dark about Edward's identity, but someone as perceptive as Hernando would know he wasn't someone to underestimate either.

Edward stood just to my left, relaxed, hands at his sides, staring at no one in particular. It was a scary look if you knew dangerous people. He was gone to wherever he went when he killed. For me, it was a blank, staticky whiteness that roared in my ears and filled my head. Who knew where Death settled when he decided where the time was right? I didn't want to ask.

He had to have flashed back to Lockridge, at least once. I know I had when the answer had finally come to me. The culprit in that case had been a demon-possessed witch, not a vampire, but the details stuck with me. Audrey had buried me alive in a bomb-strapped coffin. It was one of the more hideous deaths that I'd ever considered. Edward had lost one of his oldest friends. It had left its mark on both of us.

Maya let go of Hernando's arm and sank gracelessly to the ground, almost lost from view behind an ocotillo. She pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her head across them. All the fight had gone out of her. She looked like she needed a hug and a week-long nap.

"Why did you heal me?" I asked. "You didn't have to do it and it looks like it cost you. How many years did you shave off to do it?"

"Twenty," she said, voice so quiet that it was almost drowned by a sigh of wind through the brush. "I thought one or two would do it originally, but you're hopelessly scarred. He preyed on that."

"He? What do you mean? The only thing that preyed on me was a fucking werelioness."

Maya shook her head. "No, there was a presence in that hospital. It tried to take you when you went under. It found purchase by clinging to your psychic wounds."

"Am I supposed to apologize for that? I didn't ask you to save me. Did you at least learn who was arm-wrestling you for my soul?"

"Ilhuicamina," she said. "I heard his name on the wind as he struggled to keep you. It wasn't just the gut wound. You took a psychic flogging. Even then, it wouldn't have demanded a price this high if you'd bothered to recover from any of the other beatings you've taken in the past. Do you know how rare it is to have adhesions on your soul?"

A name. We had a name. I'd focus on that, rather than the squirming sense of guilt trying to squeeze an apology through my lips. It wasn't as if I'd asked her to do it.

"Ilhuicamina," I repeated. "Not a god I've heard of. Teyacapan was right. He's new."

"It means 'he who shoots arrows at the sky,'" Hernando said, still not looking at us. He was watching the setting sun, and some trick of the light made the lines in his face appear deeper, his eyes even darker and more forbidding than I'd ever seen them. He didn't look like the Hernando I'd known for a week and a half. He looked older, more world-weary.

"You know Nahuatl?" I asked.

Hernando turned his head a fraction, and the shadows raked across his face. For just a second, the air around him wavered and seemed to come alive. And then he was himself again, somber and exhausted, staring unhappily at me. He exchanged a glance with Maya, raising an eyebrow.

"I told you," he said quietly. "I told you it was foolish to retreat the way we did. She doesn't know."

Maya scowled up at him from her crouched position. It was almost reminiscent of an expression Andria might have given me when we were in the midst of a fight. It was oddly...familial, which made no damn sense.

"You don't have to be smug about it," she muttered. "I thought an abundance of caution was necessary. You saw his mark and assumed the same thing I did. We couldn't have known it wasn't what it appeared, and neither of us wanted to fight him again."

"And when we learned the truth, we should have given her clues. She's smart and powerful enough to figure it out on her own. Now we have no time and no reserves. You can guess what Ilhuicamina is planning to do with Itzpapalotl when the moon is high."

This sounded like a well-tread argument, but I couldn't follow the back and forth. At least, until they mentioned Itzpapalotl. Maya had risen onto her knees, ready to reply in kind when I spoke. I held up a hand to each of them, as though I'd push them away from each other.

"Look, I don't know what's happening between you two, but you need to solve the issue for now. Are you saying that Ryker and his men took Itzpapalotl?"

"That's exactly what I'm getting at," Hernando said. "We arrived first and saw the whole thing. Pinotl was struck from behind and struck unconscious, so he wouldn't be able to channel power to his Master. If he were less powerful, the blow would have killed him. They have Itzpapalotl in silver chains and surrounded by holy items."

"Then why the hell haven't you told the cops?" I asked, stalking toward him. I wanted to seize him by the lapels of his jacket and shake him. Did he have any idea what the upstart Aztec god was going to do to the world using Obsidian Butterfly's power? "Or failing that, go after them! You could have at least gotten a location."

"We could have been captured," Maya said, climbing to her feet at last. "Which would have only made the situation worse. We don't have the power to defeat Ilhuicamina in his current state. When we were at our full strength, it would have been as simple as crushing a beetle. But we aren't what we were. Even less so, now that I loaned my power to you. Because Hernando is right, you are probably the best shot at defeating his new god, as depressing as that is."

"I feel like I should be insulted," I said. "But I get it. You're psychic vampires, not whatever this thing is. You can take energy in or out but you can't move it around the way I can. So let me in on whatever your secret is and we'll make the best of it."

Hernando and Maya exchanged another frustrated glance. She pursed her lips and shook her head, turning away from us. Hernando just sighed.

"So close, and yet so far," he said. "That's what we became out of necessity, but it's not what we are. Not truly."

"Then what the hell are you?"

"I can't tell you outright. We're bound by powerful magic not to speak of it. You have to figure it out. If we can be unbound, there's a chance."

I chewed my lip as I thought that one over. There was a wealth of information in that handful of sentences. Most people thought of binding as a purely physical concept. Ropes, chains, zip ties, duct tape, and the like. But when you're a practitioner of some sort, bindings take on a different and altogether more metaphysical meaning. You could bind a person's will in a compulsion ritual if you had parts of them for the spell, and it forced the victim to do whatever they were ordered. It was the next best thing to having a zombie on hand to follow orders. Bindings could also be used to stifle someone's power, silence them, or make them forget what they knew altogether. There was usually a ritual component to unlock the bindings if you could figure out exactly what had been done and why.

"What do you need to undo them?" I asked.

"Our names. Our real names."

Names had power in supernatural circles. To the fae, they were a method of controlling and tormenting mortals. For skinwalkers, they were the key to stripping their nigh immortality. It made sense that a name could be the key. There was just one problem. How the hell was I supposed to guess? I'd only just considered they might be someone other than a pair of grumpy police detectives. I didn't have time or the means to bargain with Papa Legba for a name like I had last time. Even if I was inclined to try, Marks would probably have me tossed in a cell if he watched me perform ritual magic so close to his crime scene.

"How am I supposed to know that?" I asked.

"Try," he pressed. "Feel me, Anita. You've been shying away from it for days, trying to respect my privacy and I've been doing my best to conceal it. I'm done hiding from you. You're remarkable for someone so young. I know you'll understand."

I hesitated. Did I really want to do that? I had to open myself to outside energies if I wanted to use metaphysics to feel him out. I still wasn't sure where we stood. He wasn't my enemy, but that didn't mean he was a friend. Maya hadn't saved me out of the goodness of her heart, she'd done it so I could serve a purpose. I hated being used, but...there weren't many options open to me. We needed to find Itzpapalotl before Marmee performed a ritual to bring herself into the corporeal world.

So I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and let my power off its leash, splaying my fingers like I wanted to snatch something from the air. I encountered a presence immediately.

The shape was huge, a well of thrumming, impatient energy stuffed behind a wall. It was too large to belong to the comparatively slight detective, and his aura had to hunch painfully, slithering along in the wake of its owner. Phantom wings curled over his shoulders, bent at odd angles to fit the shape. A riot of color flashed before my eyes. Scales the color of a hummingbird's wings. Golden eyes. Sharp white teeth. Feathered wings that should have been spread outward, as proud and strong as an eagle's.

My mouth popped open and I rocked back on my heels when the picture finally came together in my mind. Hernando seemed suddenly taller, more imposing, silhouetted as he was against the setting sun. His lips curled in a small, knowing smile as he watched the realization play across my face. My hand came up to stroke the only remaining scar on my arm, tracing the fine lines of the eagle feather Tonatiuh had etched into my skin. It twinged, unusually tender so near to a familiar source of power.

"He said you were banished," I breathed. "That Oliver and his people brought low and clipped the wings of dragons."

His smile widened, showing teeth now. "Yes, I was. We both were. The virus wasn't the only means they used to oust us."

I felt, rather than saw, Edward's approach. The hand he laid on my elbow made me jerk away from him in surprise. It was too much stimulus when I was this open. He dropped his hand quickly, leaning in close to hiss a question in my ear instead.

"What the hell is going on here, Anita? What are you sensing?"

"Tell him, Anita. Speak my name aloud."

I drew in a shaking breath. God, I could not believe I was sensing this, let alone about to say it aloud. It sounded insane.

"Your name is Quetzalcoatl."

Chapter Text

The backwash of power that resulted from the mere mention of his name was enough to throw my hair back over my shoulders. It created a literal wind as those phantom wings broke free of their bonds, flaring upward in exultation. The snake-like body curled protectively around Hernando's lean form, embracing him like a lover. Hernando's shoulders dropped, releasing the tension he'd held tight between his shoulders. A relieved breath gusted out of him and his lips curled into a satisfied smile.

"Finally," he breathed. "You have no idea how good that feels."

I couldn't answer. I was trying to breathe through the deluge, my pulse skittering like a trapped animal on a tile floor. The power was too much, like trying to breathe in a blistering heat wave. I swore it was making my eyes itch, as though that one word had sucked all the moisture out of the air around me. Edward performed a jerky little spasm at my side as the sensation rolled over him too. Edward wasn't a true blue psychic the way I was. His telesthesia barely rose above the norm for military personnel. He had a sixth sense about things and could pick up on very minor details in a case, but it was second nature, not something he could actively call on.

This? Well, I was pretty sure you'd have to be a complete null to ignore the metaphysical discharge Quetzoquatl's name had unleashed.

"What the hell was that?" Edward asked.

"Power. The name unleashed some of his potential." I narrowed my eyes and considered him critically. "But...not all of it, am I right? Even reduced to something so limited you should have packed more of a punch than that."

Some of Hernando's enthusiasm dimmed. "You're perceptive, Miss Blake."

"It's part of the job. Now explain."

His lips pursed. "Part of the curse is anchored to the seal. Neither of us can resume our true forms unless it's destroyed. Unbound we have more options, but we still won't be as formidable as we could be."

I glanced at Maya. She was on her feet again, but she looked like one swift breeze would knock her over. Formidable wasn't the word that came to mind while she swayed like a reed in the wind. Still, there had to be more to her than met the eye. After all, she'd tugged me back from the brink of certain death.

I turned that sixth sense on Maya, my pulse riding up into my throat again. There was really no telling what I'd find if I used my power to...see her, for lack of a better term. Quetzalcoatl was a dragon of some flavor and so powerful that a mere brush against his aura made my teeth buzz. If this was his energy while bound I couldn't imagine what he'd been like as a full-fledged god. It didn't matter what they'd been originally. They'd crossed some metaphysical threshold, becoming something more than pure mortal magic could comprehend. They might have been bent low by this curse, but it hadn't broken them. That warranted a healthy dose of wariness, in my book.

The shape that stretched like a lanky shadow behind Maya wasn't the huge, serpentine monster I feared and expected. It looked like a human woman, so stooped over with age that she was bent almost double. Thin skin bagged off her bony frame, so pitted with wrinkles and age spots that she resembled a shriveled jaguar. Her ears resembled a cat's and flattened to her skull in agitation. They pricked upright for a moment when she felt the gentle stroke of my aura before lying flat again. She was clutching an earthen jar to her chest so tightly I feared she'd crush her own ribs in an effort to protect it. Her knuckles stood out like pale marbles against her skin, threatening to tear the thin flesh away with one wrong movement. I flicked through my mental Rolodex, trying and failing to find a parallel for any of the gods I'd come across in my research.

"I'm sorry," I said after a minute of strained silence. "I don't know you."

I let my stranglehold on my power slip through my fingers. I didn't want to watch the elderly figure stoop further, weighed down by the burden of yet another defeat. The Maya I could see looked bad enough without adding the spectral sense of her to the mix.

"I didn't expect you would," she sighed. "I had to revert to a previous version of myself to escape being drawn into the seal. So did Quetzoquatl. It left me altered. The Aztecs perceived me differently."

I let that sink in and wanted to hit myself when it clicked into place. It wasn't particularly subtle if you had enough clues to puzzle out who and what they were. They'd been doing a piss-poor job of hiding it from the very start.

"They sealed you with false names," I said. "Hernando. After Hernán Cortez. They must have laughed themselves sick over that one."

Hernando's expression darkened. "Yes, they found the irony very amusing."

"Perhaps we should go with something different then. Q?"

He pulled a face. "Sounds too...Bond."

I poorly hid a smile. This was just too strange. I was standing in the middle of the New Mexican desert trading pop culture references with a freaking god. Just when I thought I'd seen and done it all. Then I turned to Maya. God, the sheer obviousness of that one made me cringe.

"Maya, as in the people group. You reverted to the Mayan version of yourself. For Quetzoquatl that's...ah...Kukulkan. He had a wife named Ixchel, the goddess of medicine and midwifery."

Maya's eyes fluttered closed at the sound of the name, lips parting in ecstasy. There was no audible snap as her bonds came loose, but the relief she exuded was immense. Power stirred in the air around us, rising from the ground where she stood like the vapors of the steambaths she'd once presided over. Beads of sweat popped on every inch of my bare skin, rolling in fine lines down my face, neck, and arms, pooling at my collarbones and wrists. Her face filled in by degrees, and her hair reverted back to its original shade, with only a few wisps of silver at her temples and the nape of her neck.

When her eyes opened, they fixed on me, dark and smoldering with something like desire. An answering spark kindled to life inside of me. Even knowing what she was, and what she could do, I still wanted her. Good old-fashioned lust, or something more? The gods had been worshipped for a reason. There was a pull, an innate human desire to be close to something greater than yourself, to shelter in its shadow for warmth and protection.

"Thank you," she said, and the timbre of her voice sent a shiver of pleasure through me, curling deliciously in my belly.

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to avert a crisis. More than that, we need to do it beneath Bradford and Marks' noses. Human police can't get involved with this. It's suicide."

"I might have the answer to that," Edward said.

I'd been so absorbed in my musing to notice what he was doing. When I glanced at him, I found him holding his cell phone up to the waning light. He tapped the screen with a grim smile.

"Bernardo hit paydirt. He has Baco."

"And Baco has the location of our wannabe god. He can lead us back to his hideout."

"Exactly. He found him near Santa Fe. It's an hour if we're cavalier about traffic laws."

"Less, if we use lights and sirens," Hernando said. "We'll take our car. Faster that way."

I nodded. "Let us grab our gear. We'll be ready to go in five."

He nodded, paused, and then offered me the ghost of a smile. "Ku."

"Pardon?" I asked.

"Call me Ku, from now on. I'm done wearing that brute's name."

I nodded. "Ku it is. Now, let's get going. It's not every day that you get to rescue a goddess in distress, is it?"

"It's certainly a day of firsts," Edward muttered.

"Gods, goddesses, and runaway priests, oh my," I agreed.

Chapter Text

The scenery flashed by in a rust-colored blur as Maya pressed the gas pedal flat to the floor, coaxing every ounce of speed she could from the Ford Police Interceptor. The sun was hovering on the horizon, perched on that final, shuddering precipice before true night. The light had all but disappeared, leaving the sky a forlorn shade of gray almost indistinguishable from the strip of pavement we were flying down. Stars were just beginning to peek out, and a full moon rose like a silvery disk in the sky.

"Shit," I muttered.

Hernando...or rather, Ku shifted in his seat so he could read my expression properly. Our only real light source was the strobing lights fixed to the front and top of their undercover vehicle. Maya had claimed dibs on the driver's seat, probably to feel like she was contributing something meaningful to the cause. She wouldn't be much help if we had to go toe-to-toe with Ilhuicamina's priests and mercenaries. If any of the tales about Ixchel or her Aztec counterpart--Quilaztli--were true, healing me hadn't just taxed her stores, it had come from a part of her that had been largely bound. She'd essentially contorted herself into a psychic pretzel to manage it, and the strain showed. She was hurting. If it got us through the night, I wouldn't bitch about having to pull her along behind me like an absurdly powerful paperweight.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

I swallowed the hysterical urge to giggle. I wasn't the giggling sort of girl, and it would echo eerily in the near-silence of the car. Was something wrong? Yes. Everything was wrong. This entire case had been one neck-snapping turn after the other, whipping me around a roller coaster from hell. Somehow I'd ended up embroiled in a conflict between gods that could ultimately hand the Mother of All Darkness a key to corporality. The Ripper case looked like small potatoes when I thought about it that way. New Mexico would have bigger problems if Marmee had her way.

He read the look on my face, sighed, and rephrased the question. "Stupid question. I suppose I meant to ask; Is it relevant to our mission?"

"Possibly. I haven't kept track of the lunar cycle since leaving home. It was crucial when I was dating a therian, but my only recent lover is a vampire. I didn't realize tonight was a full moon. If any of Ilhuicamina's mercenaries or servants are Therians, we could be facing down a bigger threat than I accounted for."

Edward shifted in the front seat, minutely adjusting his grip on the Uzi he'd retrieved from his gas-guzzling monster. He kept it flat on his lap, muzzle pointed toward the passenger's side door, where it was unlikely to hurt anyone. Still, the point was clear. The thirty-two-round extended magazine full of silver-alloy ammo might not kill every therian coming at us, but it would make them think twice about initiating round two. He was sure to have more magazines for the Uzi in the duffel at his feet or in the voluminous pockets of the jacket he wore. Nothing with a heartbeat was limping away from that barrage. Did our wannabe god qualify?

"Can he be killed?" I asked.

Ku seemed to know exactly who I was referring to without being told. His lips pursed as he considered it. "It depends on your definition of killed. When you become what we are, you still exist, even when your physical vessel is destroyed. Elevated consciousness, as you so eloquently put it in the diner. Your level of consciousness is debatable. Without worship, sacrifices, or predation on humans we fade, but never entirely disappear. There are gods with names lost to antiquity still out there, but largely unaware of the world and its problems. Their reason for being is gone. Ilhuicamina will still exist, even if you kill his body, but he should cease to be a threat."

"Especially if he gets eaten with the rest of them," I muttered.

The terse conversation we'd had before getting on the road had soured all our moods. They'd suspected the reasons behind Itzpapalotl's capture but had been vastly off while considering the scope of the problem. The idea that a petulant child god could command the rest of the pantheon, setting them on the unsuspecting populous was bad enough. The truth was so much worse. Complete annihilation of everyone they'd known and love, their power used to rouse a monster that would destroy all life on earth.

"There has to be a way to divert the energy of Baco's sacrifices away from the Dark Mother," he muttered under his breath, speaking to himself more than to me. "But it's been centuries since I've had priests. I'm not sure what configuration Baco is using, which could make dismantling the ritual tricky."

I shifted in my seat, reaching into the duffel bag at my side to locate the FBSA standard issue Glock 22. It wasn't my preferred weapon during combat, but knowing I had it, alongside the Browning, Firestar, sawed-off shotgun, and thermite grenades made me feel less anxious. Some people had worry stones, stress balls, or security blankets to quell their anxiety. I had an arsenal. The weight of a 9mm in my hand was more reassuring than words or actions could ever be. That probably said something unpleasant about me, but I didn't care. Not if my neuroses let me, and the rest of the planet, live to see another dawn.

But, instead of the grip of the Glock, my questing fingers found the fine metal links of a chain wedged between vials of holy water. I lifted it free of the bag, examining it in the flickering light diffusing through the window. It was a medium-sized crucifix with Florette tips, still in good condition, despite its age. A smitten French aristocrat had gifted it to his then-lover as a token of affection and as a way to protect his mistress from any predatory undead lurking in the court. She'd given it to me over six centuries later after I'd lost my own cross in a civil court case. I'd worn it religiously until last August when my faith had taken a thrashing so severe that holy symbols ceased to have any power for me at all.

"Pretty," Ku said in an utterly neutral tone, eyeing it with distaste out of the corner of one eye. "Is it yours?"

"It belonged to my girlfriend. She was a devout Catholic when she was alive. French, though, not Spanish. Not that it makes a lot of difference to you, most likely. The French government did its own share of colonizing in Africa, America, Asia, and the Caribbean. She was a peasant, so it wasn't like she would have had a lot of say in it, even if she was alive to make those decisions for the nation. The French monarchy treated their peasants almost as poorly as the countries they invaded. It's not a wonder they started lopping off heads in the 18th century."

"And she gave it to you as a gift."

"For my protection. She wanted to make sure I could defend against all vampires, even her if she ever became a threat to my safety."

"But you don't wear it," he observed.

I leaned back in my seat, clutching the crucifix in one hand. The sharp, Florette tips dug into my palm as I considered the ceiling of the car, rather than meet his gaze.

"No," I said. "I don't. It's hard to use a cross when you don't believe in the deity it represents. It's just a hunk of sentimental junk at that point and something someone could use as a garrote. That makes it a liability, not an asset."

The wail of our siren filled the silence that fell between us at that. Ku looked thoughtful, rather than put off by my attitude. Then, to my surprise, he took my hand, peeling the fingers back one by one until I could make out the outline of the cross pressed into my skin.

"And why don't you believe in your god? You used to. What changed?"

Everything. Everything had changed. I'd finally gotten a good look at the universe at large, at the cosmic chess game that a being of primordial darkness was playing with an unknown opponent. The knowledge had nearly driven me to my knees with the desire to weep. Existential despair whittled pieces of me away, and the ardeur had stolen the rest. There was nothing for me to give God if he existed at all.

"If what I've learned is true, then God is just a figment of our collective hopes and dreams. How am I supposed to put my faith in that, knowing what's out there? What I've been tasked with facing? Who in their right mind could praise God, knowing that? It's about as secure as wishing on a star. We made him up. Everything I was taught is a farce."

Ku shrugged. "So?"

I just stared at him. "So? What do you mean, so?"

"Does it really matter that you made him, instead of the other way around? My people made me. I was just a dragon, one of many. They made Maya and I what we are. It doesn't change the fact that we served them, healed them, and protected them from threats as best we could. We helped our small slice of humanity thrive. The innate desire for purpose and to serve something greater that exists in humans spawns gods. We exist in symbiosis with you. Humanity empowers us. We do what we can to help you in return."

Ku traced the Florette tips of the crucifix, expression indecipherable as he continued.

"Two thousand years ago your religion conceived of an all-loving god separate from the Old Testament counterpart. It elevated one subversive man to a status he would have never achieved on his own. He exists because you made him. Your heaven exists because you and many others made it. Why does it matter that there's something larger even than your god? It seems senseless to deprive yourself of love, protection, and acceptance because it didn't come in the package you were expecting."

I couldn't formulate a response to that. It was so unexpected that it stole my righteous indignation and left me floundering for something, anything to say. He was a god of a fallen pantheon, dragged into near oblivion by the machinations of people like the Order of Lyonesse, who claimed to worship Christ. I'd expected ill will. Trash talk, at the very least. Maybe a pitch to switch teams. But Ku just looked...tired.

"Your loving god is out there," he said quietly. "As real and present as I am. Quite possibly more powerful than me, given that he's rarely bound the way we were. You trust me, don't you?"

I nodded. "As fucking odd as it seems, I do. I know we're on the same side."

Ku faced forward again, a half-smile on his lips. "Your god is what you make him. He'll be on your side too, if you allow him to be. I suggest you try to find a little faith before midnight, Anita. It could be the thing that saves your life."

Chapter Text

"So...this is off the record then," I said, taking in our destination as we crunched to a stop.

Maya had followed Edward's directions with brusque efficiency, taking turns at a speed that made me white-knuckle my armrest. And she did it all in silence. I couldn't tell if she was trying to focus on the task at hand or only had the energy to execute one function at a time. I wasn't sure she'd even heard my conversation with Ku, but if she had, she didn't make her feelings known about it.

Edward had guided us off the main road and onto a winding dirt path that let off into a line of hills. Corbark firs lined the ridges like uneven stubble, covering some while leaving others bare to the elements. Time and rainfall had smoothed the barren peaks into little more than softly waving protrusions. A cabin had been built with its back against one of the hills, obscured by the long shadows of the firs above. It would be impossible to see from the road and was shielded from satellite imagery by the landscape. You either had to know exactly where you were going to reach it or stumble on it entirely by accident to realize it was here.

There were only two vehicles parked nearby, instead of the fleet of police cars that should have been present. I recognized Bernardo's Land Rover, which meant the Honda belonged to Bacco. The Civic was a smart choice if you were looking to get lost in traffic. Popular models were always harder to identify during a chase, while big, burly vehicles like Hummers could be spied a mile away.

A light flicked on in the cabin's interior, illuminating the washed-out driveway. Maya exited her side of the car without a word and began stalking forward with the leashed aggression of a jaguar. It left Edward to release Ku and me from the backseat. By the time we caught up with her, she had her gun in one hand and the other raised to knock. Bernardo beat her to the punch, swinging the door open seconds before her fist could land. He appeared in the doorway, rumpled and smudged in dirt, but otherwise no worse for wear.

"Detectives," he said, acknowledging them with a nod before stepping aside to let them pass.

Maya didn't say anything in reply. She disappeared inside, followed by Edward. I brought up the rear, giving our surroundings one final sweep before following them in. The cabin's interior was Spartan, just a handful of rugs and wooden chairs arranged on the floor and against one wall. Bernardo had posed Baco under the dim fluorescence of an antler chandelier, lashing him to one of the chairs with rope.

Baco was a head taller than his wife Paulina, with dark, waving hair and smooth, brown skin. He looked younger than she did. Thirty, at the most. He still looked comically small, bound as he was. Bernardo had stuffed a bandana into Baco's mouth and secured it with more rope, preventing Baco from calling whatever was handy. Blood trickled down his chin from his split lip, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. Bruises shadowed his jaw, and the fingers of one hand were bent at odd angles. I shot Bernardo a reproving look over Baco’s head.

“Did you have to beat the shit out of him?”

Bernardo shrugged. “He was aiming some kind of curse at me. I had to disable his hand at least. The rest happened in the resulting scuffle.”

A curse? Now that was interesting. It meant there was more to Baco than I’d been told. Witchcraft, like the ability to animate, could be an inherited gift. Unlike animating, witchcraft could also be learned if you had enough patience and willpower. Book learners would never end up as powerful as someone with inborn talent unless they sought help from an outside force. The question was, did Baco have a natural talent for witchcraft to go along with his other abilities, or was he channeling new abilities from his god?

“How’d you find this place?” Edward asked.

“I’ve tracked therianthropes through the area before,” Bernardo said. “I’ve made friends with the locals, and we keep in touch. A bounty hunter named Jake used to own this place before he sold it to Baco under the table. He was the suspicious sort and didn’t hold with record-keeping. Doomsday prepper, you know. There are non-perishables in about every nook and cranny of this place. Our friend here thought he could hide out until things blew over. Isn’t that right, Baco?”

Baco didn’t have enough wiggle room to turn a poisonous glare on Bernardo, so he aimed it at me instead. It didn’t have the effect he was hoping for. I’d seen a lot better than Baco’s glower over the years. Not that it would have impressed Bernardo much either. He was a Horseman, one of my three contemporaries, and had earned the name Famine over a long career of hunting down man-eating therianthropes. It shouldn't shock me that he'd be well-connected with hunters across the South. Statistically, the most rouge kills happen in wooded or mountainous areas. The Appalachians were a hot spot for all things supernatural and required a contingent of agents solely to police the area for mysterious deaths and missing hikers. I doubted there was an area Bernardo hadn't covered at some point or the other.

"Can someone take the gag off him?" I asked. "We're not going to get straight answers with a bandana stuffed in his mouth."

Bernardo shrugged and pulled a switchblade lazily from a pants pocket. Baco recoiled when the blade flashed in his periphery, making a muffled sound when the cool silver-alloy blade traced along one cheek. Bernardo let the tip linger for a second longer than necessary, teasing a shudder from the frightened necromancer before he slid the blade beneath the rope and began to saw at the rope, rather than undo the knot. I think he just enjoyed holding a knife to Baco, taunting him with the possibility that the blade could drive into his cheek or eye if the grip slipped from his fingers. It was cruel and psychologically savvy, a stark reminder of the company I'd fallen into. Bernardo may look yummy and have a sense of humor, but when you peeled the layers back, he was a killer first and everything else second.

Baco spat the bandana into his lap as soon as the rope came loose, sucking in deep lungfuls of air, cursing us in Spanish on each exhale. Bernardo rested the tip of his blade on the fleshy strip between Baco's index finger and thumb when he was through.

"Try to cast with your good hand, and I take the thumb," Bernardo said. Flat, unfriendly, and no trace of needling in the comment. He'd do it if Baco pushed him, and it would effectively put a kibosh on Baco's career as a budding sorcerer. There were certain spells and disciplines that needed specific fingerings to get the job done.

"You don't scare me, cabrón!" Baco hissed between his teeth.

A good show, but the sweat popping on his brow and the fine tremor running through his hands was a dead giveaway. He was scared of Bernardo. Of all of us. Maybe not enough to betray his god, but we did scare him. All it would take is a little push. I didn't think torture was the best way to go about it. Chop off people's body parts, and they aren't inclined to take you to their leader. But if Baco tried something, it might come to that.

"Tell us where Ilhuicamina is," Edward said.

Baco's body went very still at the sound of the name, while his eyes continued to dart around the room, trying to take in all of us at once. It reminded me comically of those portraits whose gaze followed cartoon characters down the halls as they passed.

"I don't know who you're talking about," he said at last. "I've never heard that name. Am I supposed to recognize it?"

Bernardo leaned forward infinitesimally, digging the point of his blade into Baco's hand, drawing a bead of blood. Baco hissed out another curse and thrashed in his restraints.

"I'd tell you not to play dumb," I drawled. "But I think the time for that is long past. You summoned a horde of zombies to attack police, a federal agent, and the representative of a genuine goddess. It's hard to top the idiocy of something like that."

"It worked, didn't it?" he asked.

"It killed dozens of hospital staff and patients," I shot back. "You used zombies as murder weapons. That's an automatic magical malfeasance charge."

Baco's lips curled into a sardonic smile at that. "True. So why would I tell you anything if I'm going to get the death penalty either way?"

The thought had occurred to me as well. A magical malfeasance charge wasn't something you could dodge with a plea deal. If you were found guilty, you didn't wait around on death row for decades. You were executed as soon as the paperwork was filed. A month or two was the national average. We didn't have that long, and he knew it. He was running out the clock, counting on his god to save him from the fallout.

Ku and Maya, who'd been standing silently, observing Baco stepped forward in eerie synchronization, splitting off when they reached Baco's chair. Maya circled Baco, coming to a stop behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders in an almost matronly fashion. Ku came to a stop in front, kneeling so that he could give Baco direct eye contact. Whatever he saw there made him rock back so hard that he almost upended his chair. If Maya hadn't been there to catch him, he'd have ended up flat on his ass, staring up at the antler chandelier. A piteous noise built in his throat, and he began wriggling desperately in his bonds.

Ku's power rose in a skin-prickling rush, rasping along my skin like the scales of a snake. There was strength in that phantom form, and just a brush against it told me that, while he and Maya were mere shadows of themselves, they could still crush a mere mortal with the power reserves they had left. Baco writhed until the ropes cut at his skin, blood soaking into the sleeves of his tailored dress shirt as he sensed those invisible coils settling around him. Maya's power was a bony grip around his throat, choking off his air.

But what seemed to scare him most was Ku's eyes. Even at an oblique angle, I could tell that they'd changed. They were inky wells, but unlike Marmee's sucking oblivion, there was a multitude of stars in his gaze. Ku's hands settled lightly on Baco's knees, and even the gentle touch made him scream out in abject terror.

"No!" he shouted, voice shrill enough to startle birds out of nearby trees. "No, you can't be!"

The corners of Ku's mouth turned up at the corners, taking some sadistic satisfaction at Baco's reaction to him. "So you know what you're up against, little priest. That's good. It saves time. Tell me where your master is."

"I c-can't!" Baco said, and it sounded like he was choking on the words. "H-he'll kill me!"

"There are worse things than Mictlan awaiting traitors like you," Maya said, rubbing her cheek lightly along Baco's hair. I wondered if he felt the smoothness of her mortal form or the sagging skin of Ixchel's true self. He was perceptive enough to pick up on who they really were, and this close, he might not be able to blot their auras out.

"I'll do worse than kill you, Baco," Ku said. The lack of menace in the tone made it scarier than if he'd shouted in Baco's face, spittle flying. It was a statement of fact, not a threat. "You know who I am. What I've done. What I'm still capable of. Your god is my brother, of sorts. I want to speak with him. Give me the location, now."

Baco mouthed wordlessly, trying and failing to form a coherent sentence. Sweat was pouring from his brow now, prompted by the feverish heat of Maya at his back. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears. He was stuck between a god and painful oblivion no matter how you sliced it, and he knew it.

Ku lifted a hand to cup Baco's cheek. He leaned into the touch, seemingly unable to help himself. Was it comforting to touch divinity, even after all this time? Or would any hand do in a time of crisis?

"Shh," Ku coaxed. "No words. Just show me, Baco. I'll take care of the rest. He won't torment you, I promise."

Baco trembled like a leaf, eyes fluttering closed in resignation. Ku nodded a second later and smiled.

"Thank you, Baco."

Then Ku gripped the other side of Baco's face, twisting his head up at an angle, calmly snapping the priest's neck.

Chapter Text

"You're angry with me," Ku said, breaking the tense silence in the car.

We'd left Baco's cabin almost as quickly as we'd arrived, piling into our respective cars after a terse set of instructions from Ku. Baco didn't know the ins and outs of security, but he could give us a good idea of what we'd be facing when we stormed the battlements. I'd been right. This wannabe god had recruited Van Cleef's castoffs to track down and retrieve the seal from Itzpapalotl--and the goddess herself, if they could manage it.

"What in God's name would I have to be angry with you about?" I asked, not bothering to hide the caustic note in my voice.

I didn't have fucks to spare for someone else's feelings at the moment. We were potentially walking into an ambush. Ilhuicamina would be expecting some sort of resistance. And even if he was too green to anticipate an attack from me and mine, Marmee Noir would. Had they felt Baco's death? How tightly were priests bound to their gods? If Itzpapalotl died, would Teyacapan feel it all the way back in Albuquerque? I just didn't know, and that pissed me off. I liked facts, liked certainly, liked plans that had more than a snowball's chance in hell of succeeding. If we managed to divert Marmee's ascension yet again, it would be nothing short of a miracle, and I wasn't sure the divinity in this car was up to that task.

"You know it had to be done," Ku said.

"It didn't," I said shortly. "We could have turned him over to the police. He deserved his day in court."

"He would have been found guilty of magical malfeasance and sentenced to death. In New Mexico, that's a gas chamber. It's better than immolation, but it's still not a pleasant way to go. He died cleanly. It was the only mercy I could afford to extend."

"You may be a god but you don't get to play god anymore," I said, giving him a cool, level look. "You don't get to decide who lives and who dies. Killing someone in battle is one thing. It's them or you. That back there? That was a choice. A shitty one."

The lecture was rich, coming from me. I was a hypocrite of the highest order. I'd spent almost six months killing for cash, funding a shadowy, deep-state combination cult and crime syndicate. It didn't make what I was doing right. Rafael had been trying to get that through my head the last time we'd spoken, and I'd been too guarded, too hurt to let the words penetrate. They were beginning to ooze through like mold, blighting the numb bubble I'd lived in since the shitstorm in Stillwater.

The meaty snap, crackle, pop of Baco's spine as it bent beyond its limits was going to come back to haunt my nightmares. Silly, maybe, given everything else I'd witnessed, but true, nonetheless. His head had flopped in an almost comical fashion, like the rubbery neck of one of the chickens I slaughtered in ritual sacrifice. He was my enemy. He'd done horrific things to innocent people. But at the end of the day, he was still a person, and I'd stood back and let something huge and inhuman kill him. This wasn't who I was. Or maybe, it just wasn't who I wanted to be. Not anymore.

Ku examined me critically before nodding once. "Okay."

I eyed him. "Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"What would you like me to say, Anita? I am what I am. Our ways are not your ways. But in this case, I will defer to you. You know what to expect from the men Ilhuicamina has surrounded himself with. You know how the Primeval Water sways. We can't afford to fight. When we get close, you'll rely on us. Until that point, we'll follow your lead."

I wished that sentiment comforted me more. It just left me with more questions and doubts than I'd had a moment before.

"Primeval Water?" I echoed. "What's that?"

Ku's shoulders twitched once. "The beginning. Your Bible had one thing right. The earth was formless and empty, and darkness was over the surface of the deep. She existed before us. Before Cipactli, the oldest and fiercest creature in our pantheon."

"You're talking about the Mother of All Darkness, aren't you?"

"In so many words, yes. Tezcatlipoca sacrificed a leg to the deep and its monsters. She doesn't get to swallow the rest of him while I still breathe. So, yes, I will follow you into battle. But I won't apologize for what I did to Baco. He deserved a worse death than he got."

I wasn't sure what I would have said to that and was saved the trouble when Maya slowed and pulled the undercover police car into a shallow cave, hiding it from sight. I didn't see Bernardo and Edward pull up in the Land Rover but I did hear the crunch of tires and assumed they'd hidden the oversized gas guzzler in the long shadows near the entrance. It wasn't a perfect hiding spot, but we were on a tight schedule. This would have to do for now. I seized my duffel and piled out of the car, followed by Ku and Maya not long after.

Suiting up was a grim, silent process. Holy water and stakes weren't going to help me beat a paramilitary group or a nascent god, so I loaded the tac pants with extra clips instead. I didn't feel comfortable until I was covered in a layer of body armor and had an AR in a sling across my chest, the familiar weight of it comforting in my hands. I stuffed Jeanette's cross into a spare pocket as an afterthought. Faith couldn't hurt, but I wasn't slinging it around my neck either.

Ku was smoothing his jacket when I turned to face him. I caught a brief glimpse of an obsidian blade sliding into a custom-made sheath before the jacket swung back into place, hiding it from sight. Maya had a similar blade poking from one boot. I raised an eyebrow at them.

"Going medieval, are we?"

He bared his teeth in what could only be generously called a smile. "Ritual problems call for ritual solutions."

"Do I want to know what that means?"

His eyes twinkled with good humor for a moment. "No."

I poorly concealed a shudder, visions of Mola Ram dancing unpleasantly in my head. I was at a formative age when I was first introduced to Indy. Sue me.

"I'll take your word for it."

Bernardo and Edward joined us without much fanfare. Bernardo was sporting a small armory, and I was beginning to wonder if I was underdressed for the dance party we were heading into when Ku spoke. He jerked a thumb toward the west.

"There's a network of caves honeycombing this area. Ilhuicamina and his circle will be at the very center, preparing to break the seal. Baco didn't know the particulars of the guard rotation, but it's a safe bet that there will be mercenaries guarding every way in."

"In groups of two or three," Edward confirmed. "It depends on the length and breadth of the tunnel, but expect at least two. They'll be well-armed and some are even technically savvy enough to set up charges. We need to split up. Bernardo and I will take one entrance, you and the Wonder Twins take another route."

A bark of surprised laughter escaped me. "You can't be serious. Horror movies the world over should tell you that's a bad idea."

Edward didn't actually roll his eyes, but I could hear the sentiment in his voice. "I don't base my battle strategy on slasher movies, Anita. And I'm not proposing this lightly. If we go in together and Simon or another demo man caves in the tunnel, it's over. Rocks fall, everyone dies. We maximize our chances of foiling this ritual if we split up. Van Cleef is on his way, but backup won't be coming for at least another hour and a half. We're on our own until then."

I wanted to argue with him. I really, really did. It would feel so much safer to drag Edward along behind me like a deadly security blanket. But I was a big girl, with a big job and he had a point. No one could do this but us.

Edward grunted in surprise when I threw myself at him, going up on tiptoe so that I could loop my arms around his neck. His hands fluttered in the air around my waist for a second, as if unsure where to touch. He finally settled on a small stretch of my back that wasn't covered in straps or a gun.

"Don't die, Edward. Do you hear me? You can't die. I am not ready to tell your family you're gone. Don't saddle me with that shit, okay?"

Edward grinned when I released him. I'd catch flack for 'being a girl' later. If we all came out alive I'd take it. He ruffled my hair in a brotherly fashion, smile broadening when I swatted his hand away.

"Same to you, Anita. Don't make me tell your...how many lovers are you up to now? Six? Don't make me break the news to them. It'll be exhausting to track all your partners down. Save me the trouble."

"You're such an ass," I said, discreetly rubbing my stinging eyes. I was not crying tonight, damn it.

"And you love me," he singsonged.

Sad to say, I did. Edward was probably the closest thing I had to a best friend these days, since Ronnie and I were on the outs. When the hell had that happened? And why the fuck didn't I mind more?

Chapter Text

The cave itself seemed to breathe. Maybe that was paranoia and my deep-seated claustrophobia talking, but I didn't think so. There was something warm and vital lurking inside, a power so vast that the very stones seemed to expand and contract in sympathetic rhythm. I couldn't focus on the sensation long if I wanted to remain sane. If I pictured our merry band climbing into the throat of a giant marching sedately to our deaths I'd run gibbering in the opposite direction.

Ku went first, followed closely by Maya. She was making her way forward slowly, using the wall for support. I brought up the rear. We'd arranged ourselves intuitively, wedging the weakest member of our party in the middle, just in case we were ambushed from the rear. I still wasn't completely clear on the metaphysics of what had been done to heal me, but it had clearly wiped out most of the power she kept on hand, leaving her little better than us mere mortals.

We made our way by feel mostly, unwilling to alert any guards to our presence by waving flashlights. Even taped with red cellophane to preserve our night vision the beam would stand out like a floodlight to anything more than human.

Ku was moved fluidly through the dark, anticipating turns sharp dropoffs, and branching passageways long before we reached them. I never sensed him drawing in power, only felt it gently lap at the edges of my consciousness like the wake of a boat recently passed. That, in itself, spoke to how impressive he must have been in his prime. Power wasn't just measured in how much energy you could sling around but also in how well you utilized and controlled what you had. I'd met a lot of immortals in the last few years and very few were subtle.

Belle Morte was like a petulant child, lashing out with her aura, smashing anything in her way. Warrick, while largely peaceful was still loud and obvious when provoked. It's hard to hide a firestorm. Only Melanie, the lamia, keep her strengths to herself striking only when and where it was necessary. She was quiet, patient, and she endured. They had that in common, that silent, granite strength that weathered adversity.

We'd been traveling in almost total silence but for Ku's muttered instructions for a half hour when he came to an abrupt halt. It was so sudden and unexpected that Maya's nose smashed into one of his shoulder blades before she could stop herself. I narrowly avoided the same fate, pressing myself into a shallow dip in the rock wall. If I'd knocked into Maya, we'd have all gone down like a row of fleshy dominos.
"What is it?" Maya asked, her voice muffled as she rubbed her smarting nose.

"Enemies," he said quietly. "Two humans and a wereanimal. It's a reptile of some sort."

"Shit," I whispered, putting real feeling into the word.

"You know what it is, I take it?" Ku asked. I didn't think he meant it to sound dryly amused, but it came across that way, all the same.

"Weregator. Valera's people must have teamed up with Ryker's men to get a cut of the artifacts that Itzpapalotl was expecting. They're huge and they're hard to kill. The last time I went toe-to-toe with one, it ripped the arm off a federal agent right in front of me. Another one felled a helicopter, killing everyone inside. Even Edward doesn't like going up against them if he can help them, and he's been in the monster-hunting business a lot longer than me."

"And it's a full moon tonight," Maya said, hissing a curse in a language I couldn't understand. "It will be shifted and more aggressive than usual."

A cool sluice of fear dipped into my stomach. If the debacle in the Florida Everglades hadn't been peak aggression, I was afraid to see what a truly pissed-off weregator could do. I tightened my grip on the AR. Some people had stuffed animals and safety blankets. I had guns. It didn't help as much as I hoped. Bullets were likely to ricochet off a fully shifted gator and pinball around the tunnels, chewing into rock and my allies alike.

"We need to move," I said. "I don't care which way, forward or back, but we can't just stand here. It can probably smell us even if we aren't quite in earshot yet. Regular gators have keen scenting abilities and a weregator's senses will be even better than average."

Ku paused, pressing a hand to the rock wall. If I hadn't been touching the stone surface, I wouldn't have felt the small shift it made in response to his power. For just a second it felt like a live, breathing thing beneath me, responding to the brush of his hand like a cat, arching up to meet his will. Then it settled. I resisted the urge to scrub my hands on my tac pants. Even momentary contact with his aura felt like touching a livewire. The tips of my fingers were numb and the rest of me buzzed with the aftershock.

"What was that?" I asked.

"A probe. None of the side tunnels are wide enough for all of us to pass through. You might be able to squeeze into one a mile back if you stripped down to your underthings, but you'd never be able to bring weapons along."

I blinked. "You...x-rayed the cave?"

He blew out a frustrated breath. "For simplicity's sake, I'll say yes. There's not enough time to explain the true scope of it."

Shame. That's one metaphysics lecture I wouldn't mind sitting in on. Ku didn't instill me with the same quiet awe I experienced in church, but he was undeniably something more than just a psychic or a dragonwere. He was a pagan god and part of him existed on a plane above my understanding. Puzzling out even a fraction of his power would shine a light on some of the existential questions that plagued me in the rare quiet moments I could eke out of the chaos.

"So you know where the ritual is taking place? Or can you sense things that far out?"

"Four miles ahead, in a cavern. The ground slopes down at a steep angle. There are more guardians waiting. Werejaguars and eagles."

The grip on my AR tightened as I processed that. I hoped that didn't mean what it sounded like.

"Werejaguars and regular eagles or...?"

"Wereeagles," he said. "A born therian species not unlike swanmanes. They were the inspiration for our Eagle Warriors."

Great. Just what we needed. Enemy soldiers with talons that were easily capable of ripping throats out, who could also fly. And I'd thought the gator mercenaries would be the most deadly threat we faced in these caves.

"Fucking fantastic," I muttered. "What's the plan? Advance or retreat?"

"Advance," he said after a moment of thought. "The quickest way to our goal is through and time is of the essence. The ritual has already started."

I hissed another curse. This was all happening faster than I'd anticipated. Usually, the bad guys had a sense of theatricality I could rely on to buy time. Ku had said the ritual was taking place at midnight. At the very least, he'd estimated they'd try when the moon was high. Now I wondered if it was just a poetic turn of phrase and my ally had just pulled a number out of his ass to make me feel better about what we were rushing into. Or maybe he was being honest and we'd made a miscalculation. Midnight might be the ideal time to perform the ritual, metaphysically speaking, and our adversary just didn't have the patience or incentive to wait. Any number of factors could impact the success of a ritual. Maybe his patron goddess was insisting he push his timetables up. It was the sort of thing I could imagine Marmee Noir doing.

"I'll take the gator," Ku said. "You handle the humans. Maya can give you directions from here."

Lights bobbed up ahead and I caught a glimpse of Maya's face. She looked sickly under the perpetual golden cast of her skin. I didn't think she was up for a stroll in the park, let alone a fire-fight and a dive into ritual sabotage, but Ku was right to send her forward. If she faced down the weregator coming for us, she'd end up in its stomach.

Ku gripped his gun in one hand and unsheathed his obsidian blade with the other, standing a little straighter as footsteps approached us at speed. My breath was coming hard and fast, night-mare visions of the Everglades dancing in my head as they came closer. I swore I could smell the reptilian musk of the gator as it made its way up the cave tunnel toward us. Something of its dimensions would barely fit in a tunnel this size, but that didn't matter much in the long run. Getting past its jaws would be hard enough for most people. My throat squeezed tight, strangling my pulse as claws scrabbled on the rock. God, I did not want to be caught in a tight spot with one of these bastards again.

At no signal I could spy, Ku ducked out of our hiding place, weapons at the ready. He moved quickly, twisting his body in a fashion so serpentine it made me shudder. Watching him move that way was even more alien than observing the therians I'd come to know and love. They moved like they had muscles in places no human should. Ku's body just seemed to twist in on itself like a snake's, contorting in an impossible shape to avoid the hail of bullets that immediately erupted all around us. The thunder of it was deafening, sparks flying up where slugs hit stone. I flattened my back against the wall, dragging Maya with me as Ku descended on the gator, both weapons raised.

Ku went full Steve Irwin on the weregator, throwing himself bodily onto it, using its broad scaly body as a shield to keep more bullets from impacting his comparatively slender form. Ryker's men were shouting, but I couldn't have told you what. The gator's bass roar drowned everything for a few seconds, even the furious rat-a-tat of machine gun fire and the frantic pounding of my heart in my ears. When I dared a peek, I found Ku drawing the gator's head up and to the side using the knife sticking from one of its ruined eye sockets. It gave us a narrow alleyway to squeeze through. I couldn't hear his voice above the din, but I did see him mouth the word, "Go!"

I took the lead, seizing Maya's hand in an effort to keep her upright as we pushed through. We had to duck low to avoid gunfire. With the gator's body between us and Ryker's people, most of it was hitting the gator and bouncing back. A few strays made it over the scaly barrier and pounded into the rocks above our heads, showering us with dust and debris. A warm slice of pain flashed across one of my arms, and I couldn't be sure if it was a falling stone or a bullet graze. Worse than the bullets was the gator's thrashing. I wasn't used to my cover moving or trying to turn enough to snap at my heels. Every time Ku lost his grip on the thing's head it began to writhe, slamming us both into the rock with enough force to bruise. Twenty-six feet of tunnel blocked in by a gator meant taking a lot of those hits. By the time we made it to the tail, I felt like a much-abused punching bag at the gym, pounded all to shit and still expected to take more beatings.

Maya looked even worse, half of her face scraped raw from too many encounters with the wall. I pushed her down when Ryker's men swiveled to face us, mini-Uzi's clutched tight in their hands. I recognized the pair from the restaurant. Harold and Russell, Ryker's messenger boys sent to menace a mom and her children. They looked worse than the last time I'd seen them. A deep purple-brown bruise shadowed Harold's jaw and he moved with the stiffness of someone who'd recently taken a beating. No wires holding his jaw shut, so I hadn't managed to crack the mandible. One of Russell's eyes was swollen shut and had adopted a more vivid shade of violet than Harold's injury. I hadn't given him the shiner. That must have been Ryker's doing after he'd failed to complete some task for the boss. Neither was as fast as they should have been, which suited me fine.

An AR doesn't require careful aim to hit things. Most people use the spray and pray method and don't have to be a particularly good shot to hit anything. They fire ammunition fast and do a lot of damage as the rounds punch through a target. I took careful aim anyway, pumping the nearest full of bullets before he could turn the full force of his automatic on me. The shots took him at an angle, finding a soft spot between his body armor and one hip. Harold jerked spasmodically as they sunk home, kept inside by his body armor. If a coroner opened him up, his insides would look like Swiss cheese. He'd be lucky to survive it if there was a hospital directly outside the cave. This far from civilization? It was a killing blow.

Maya surprised me by lunging out of her crouched position, taking Russell to the floor before he could recover from the shock of watching his partner die. She slammed her full weight into his knees and he went down with a cry, grip slackening on the Uzi. He still squeezed off a shot before his back hit the floor, but it went wide, hitting the ceiling instead of us. Maya's arm swept up in a movement that had more strength than I'd have credited her with and brought her own obsidian blade down. She must have drawn it while I was busy with Harold. I didn't see the strike, but I heard a wet gurgle and then a frantic sucking sound as Russell tried to drag air into his lungs through a ruined throat. Blood began to trickle across the stones, garishly red in the beam of one of the fallen flashlights.

I plucked the light from the ground, unwilling to watch Russell die gasping like a landed fish. I offered Maya a hand up without looking at her. She took it, and her grip was stronger than it had been a second before.

"Did you just feed on him?" I asked.

Maya's gaze was steely. She shrugged once. "I can feed on a great many things. I prefer less violent methods and I don't do it on the job, but I made an exception for this one. He has the smell of Baco's wife on his skin. He spilled her blood. All of it."

So Ryker had Baco's wife killed when he failed to show up to work? Jesus. And I thought working for Bert had been bad. Or maybe the wannabe god knew exactly what Baco had told Ku, and this was revenge. Either way, it was fucked up, and I was glad someone had paid for it. A little sociopathic of me, but still true. Paulina was a bad person but she hadn't deserved to die the way that Ryker's men had probably killed her.

"Can you run?" I asked.

"Yes."

I wasn't sure I believed her, but I took off anyway, adopting the toe-to-heel gait that SWAT and military used to keep their hands steady on the move. I kept the AR at chest height, ears straining for any sounds of movement as the gator's roars receded. Every shadow looked deeper and darker than it should have been, even with the flashlight clutched in my teeth. No one leaped out to attack us from any of the side passages. The way forward looked clear as we began to descend toward the cavern. Maya sounded breathless when she offered instructions, but she was still moving. Still alive. That counted for something.

The tunnel began to broaden three miles in, and we were finally able to jog abreast, moving with care toward the magic we could feel ahead. It expanded and contracted in time, chugging slowly through the stones at our feet like the steady pulse of blood through veins. The tempo was changing as we made our way closer, gaining speed with every few minutes that passed. I didn't want to know what happened when the ritual reached its peak.

I slowed a little as we approached. It wasn't just the sensation of blood moving that bothered me. It was the smell of it that hung heavy in the air. It was thick and meaty, like stepping into a butcher's shop, a scent that clung to the inside of your nose and mouth like a film, refusing to budge. I'd only smelled something like it a handful of times before when there was enough blood to dye a living room carpet scarlet. When I'd entered the back of a semi-truck to find a skinwalker's assembly line, with gore coating the floors and an operating table. You didn't get that smell without an unreal amount of carnage.

"Human sacrifice?" I checked, proud when I didn't sound as nauseated as I felt.

Maya sniffed the air delicately and shook her head. "Therian. Jaguars, I believe. That's what Ku was sensing. Captives were brought here for sacrifice. The potency of their blood will make up for the improper timing of the ritual."

"Shit," I hissed. "We have to get in there before Itzpapalotl goes next."

Maya nodded stiffly. It was all either of us had to do. I sensed the presence only a second before it struck. The searing heat of a therian's aura swept down from above. I had just enough time to bring the AR up before a golden eagle the size of a hang glider swooped down on us from above. Its claws seized the end of the AR, twisting the muzzle into uselessness before it lifted off, dragging me with it. One of the eagle's wings came down on the back of my neck with enough force to make me see stars.

I was out before the eagle could touch back down.

Chapter Text

The right side of my body felt like one throbbing contusion when I came to. Dizzying sensation washed over me before I could even pry my lids open. Insence in my nose, mingling unpleasantly with the smell of blood. I tasted blood too, a slickness coating my teeth and tongue. Someone hadn't handled me gently when they'd touched down, banging my head into the wall or floor before binding my hands behind my back. The tips of my fingers tingled, losing feeling the longer I remained slumped against the stones. I was sure it was the cavern floor without opening my eyes. The texture was cool and familiar, not the raised and intricate platform one used for ritual sacrifice. I wasn't on the chopping block--yet.

I cracked one eye cautiously. My vision swam alarmingly for several seconds before things came into focus, and even then, there was a gauzy quality at the edges I didn't like. I'd been hurt worse than I wanted to admit. My first instinct was to test my bonds, but I held myself immobile, maintaining the cramped position I'd been stuck in. Both Dolph and Edward had drilled the importance of observation into my head over the years. You can go into a situation loaded for bear and still end up dead because you neglected the details. I needed to see what I was up against before I acted.

The cavern was huge, easily able to swallow a high school football field with room to spare. I wondered how deep underground we were. I couldn't spy any moonlight seeping through cracks in the ceiling, so we weren't close to the surface. I had to calm my breathing at the thought that we were buried alive in an unusually roomy stone casket. At least I could see. Flickering torchlight let me measure the dimensions of our prison, which was enough to keep the panic from choking me.

The seal stood out against the reddish stones of the cavern. It looked like it had been fashioned out of granite and glinted innocently in the firelight. The Seal of Solomon had been carved in bass relief, standing out like a three-dimensional tattoo against the speckled white of the stone. It was large enough to scrape the ceiling and had to be laid at an angle in order to fit. The circular edges of the seal had been chipped away as Ryker's people struggled to maneuver it into position. It hadn't impacted the buzzing aura of the thing. If freeing the pantheon had been as easy as taking a jackhammer to the surface, Izpapalotl would have been able to crack it a long time ago. It was more like a mystical diamond. If you struck it the right way it would cleave along the weakest metaphysical plane, spilling its contents into the world.

The cavern sloped downward, forming a shallow, bowl-like impression in the earth. Another symbol had been carved there, an inverted version of the seal with an altar at the center. The furrows had filled with blood that rippled with every pulse of magic. Priests had moved the bodies to the lip of the impression, keeping them out of the way of the ritual in progress. Most were nude, though the smallest, Paulina, had been allowed to keep her clothes on. I wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. They were piled one on top of the other like a trash heap, vessels that had been used and forgotten. But there was one detail about every milling figure that intrigued me most.

Every single one of them was undead. Well-fed enough to look human to the casual observer, but they were still corpses nonetheless. My necromancy stirred fitfully at the back of my mind, responding to the reek of death and nearby vampires almost unconsciously. The bodies in the circle were too recently dead to animate, but the blood they'd provided was tantamount to gasoline in my hands. If I could just get to it, there was a chance I could turn this entire ritual on its head. But how? I couldn't crawl on my belly without being spotted and restrained by one of the guards. I could sense rather than see eagles circling above us, ready to dive down at any sign of resistance.

They weren't the only thing hovering above our heads. A quick peek at the ceiling showed a roiling cover of darkness, the amorphous form of Marmee Noir waiting to descend on the ritual when it reached its zenith. Her impatience was a cold buzzing along my skin, momentarily banishing the warm fug of the cavern from my mind. I had the unpleasant thought that it would catch the warm air and act like a hurricane when the ritual was complete, funneling that miasma down into me, pouring like stagnant water into my mouth. She had everything she needed to take me when she received one final push.

Ilhuicamina was only distinguishable from the priests by his clothes, which were the most ornate I'd seen to date. He was generic, with nothing to make him stand out from the crowd. I supposed that made sense. If we decided the fate and power of the gods, then they were ultimately fashioned from our conception of them. He was the avatar for his people's pain, a blending of every face and feature so that he looked like everyone and no one at once. Ku's face was distinguished and proud a reflection of who he'd once been. This man was smaller, more unsure of himself. He hadn't even had the longevity of his peers, forced to become immortal by taking the blood of a vampire to last into the 21st century. It made him lesser than both Maya and Ku without Marmee's help. Even as shadows of themselves, they would have been able to defeat him if not for her.

The priests were chanting, and every recitation grew in pitch and volume. A figure stirred next to me and I jumped, craning my neck to see who'd bumped my elbow. I found Maya propped against the wall to my left, one side of her face a bloody mask. One eye glittered out of the crimson paste drying on her skin. The other side was raw and oozing from impacts with the stones, not pouring the stuff from a cut on her forehead. She'd also been bound. Beyond her, I could spot Ku and Itzpapalotl both awake and staring grimly forward.

"They got you too, huh?" I asked. I aimed the question at Ku, who smiled briefly.

"There was another gator. It snuck up on me."

"Damn. Can't handle two little reptiles?"

"Little," he scoffed. "Cipactli's spawn, more like."

I glanced at the altar, already stained with blood. I had a feeling we were going to be next. We needed a plan.

"Any ideas?" I muttered. "I can use the blood sacrifice to boost my power and control the priests if I can get close enough to touch it. The problem is, you know, getting there."

Ku nodded, eyes solemn. "I have a plan and I think I have just enough in me to get it done. But you can't hesitate, Anita. It would spell the end for us all. I know how to break the seal. It needs to be attacked from an outside source of power. It should overload the circuitry, so to speak, and give our brethren time to escape the trap she's set."

I still wasn't sure I wanted the entire pantheon out in the real world, free to do mischief, but it was better at the alternative.

"Trust me, I'll do pretty much anything at this point."

Ku sucked in a fortifying breath. "You need to kill us. Cut out our hearts and burn them. It will unbalance the metaphysical scales. You have to do it quickly."

I was too stunned to speak. Kill them? Rip their still-beating hearts out of their chests? I'd taken hearts before, but always with a stake, knife, or a shotgun. This seemed so inhumane. No wonder he thought I'd balk. Ku's eyes fluttered closed and an almost unbearable amount of pressure clasped my hands. Wind sheared upward, a solid force against the ropes that held me immobile. It scraped my skin raw and snapped the bonds in two. I was free.

I didn't give myself time to think. If I really considered what I was going to do, I'd freeze. I wouldn't be able to look into the face of the man and woman I'd grown fond of and brutally murder them. I still wasn't sure I could do it, even with the world hanging in the balance. My knees ached as they scraped across the floor. Jagged rocks that had broken off from the seal were everywhere. I seized the largest and sharpest I could find. It was no obsidian blade, but it would have to be good enough.

Ku's eyes snapped open when I pressed my mouth to his. His lip had been split, and the brief kiss tasted of blood. He went rigid when the stone pierced his abdomen, just under the ribs. I caught a scream in my mouth, swallowing the sound before it could echo into the cavern. His blood splashed onto my hands when I thrust the stone upward, searching for his heart. It was feverishly hot, fresh from an artery. His hands flew up to cup my face, kissing me back as though he'd crawl inside me. He convulsed once when I reached into the hole and tore out his heart.

Power poured into me and I gagged on the sensation of something scaly sliding down my throat, coiling in my stomach like a snake. I was on my feet a second later, though I hadn't bullied my brain into doing it. A presence bloomed at the back of my mind, threatening to bury me in an avalanche of magic. Ku's voice had new dimensions when it spoke in my head, layered and lovely, the sort of voice you'd expect a god to have. My frantic heartbeat slowed, though nothing had changed. I was still clutching a heart, still preparing to kill my friends and a dubious ally. My fingers flexed around the stone in my hand without my permission.

"Let me take it from here, Anita," he said.

He slid me aside with infinite care. It felt like a distant dream when my hands hoisted Maya's body aloft, digging the stone through her soft skin to get to my goal. I wasn't the one who sliced into Izpapalotl and took her heart. It wasn't my will that batted eagles away like irksome insects. Not my shadow that was cast against the far wall. The shape of a feathered serpent loomed larger than all of us, wings stretched wide like it would descend on any who dared cross it. It wasn't my power that made fear spasm across Ilhuicamina's face as I approached. The priests couldn't seem to help themselves. They knelt, faces pressed to the ground as Quetzalcoatl reborn bore down on them.

"You can't," Ilhuicamina whispered. "You can't stop this. You must not."

"I can," Ku said in a voice that wasn't my own. "And I will."

Ilhuicamina's shriek was echoed by Marmee's when Ku thrust my hands and the hearts clutched in them into the fire of a nearby torch. My skin didn't blister or burn. The flames licked along the muscle of each heart eagerly, blackening them in seconds. The seismic shift in energies made the walls shake. The floor split beneath my feet and the ceiling threatened to buckle. I fell to my knees in the center of it all, helpless to do anything but watch as the seal cracked and every spirit inside poured forth, rising above me like a trans-tidal wave.

My vision went white when the wave crashed down on me. Images rioted behind my eyes, there and gone too fast for me to process. I tasted rain and sun-warmed earth. Blood and starlight oozed off my skin. Power seared through my veins, threatening to burn me from the inside out. Without Ku to cling to, I would have been washed away, tumbled like a sock in an industrial dryer as the gods of yesteryear entered the world through me. I momentarily felt Jeanette's alarm when it hit her, and then even that was gone, my mind too blinded by sensation to process anything more.

The ceiling caved in at some point, reducing the bodies around me to fleshy piles. Only I remained untouched, alone in the destruction my hands had wrought.

I caught one glimpse of the moon overhead before I passed out for good.

Chapter Text

Never chug a pantheon, even if it sounds fun. The hangover is unreal.

Pain slammed into me like a freight train the second my eyes opened, forcing all the air from my lungs. Sour bile scalded my throat as I turned my head, and I bent forward, disgorging my last meal. Someone shoved a plastic bowl beneath my chin, catching the vomit before it could spill onto the surface I was lying on. When I could focus on them long enough to make sense of what I was feeling, I realized I was fisting the familiar down comforter I'd had shipped to my Santa Fe safe house months ago. It smelled like the citrus shampoo London favored, which helped settle my stomach a little. I'd been afraid that the scent of blood and incense in the cavern would be the last thing I'd ever experience.

A calloused hand shoved my hair out of my face, and I was grateful. My hair was already slicked with sweat. I didn't want it smeared with sick as well. The voice that spoke was just as familiar as the comforter, and let me sink down a little further in relief.

"Shh. I've got you," Edward said. "Just breathe through your nose if you can. It'll take a few minutes to pass, but the psychics seem convinced it will eventually pass."

Bully for them. They hadn't tried to swallow the collective power of the deities of Mesoamerica. Every heartbeat felt like the reverberation of an enormous gong, shaking me down to my bones. I swore I could feel my intestines moving like a nest of agitated snakes trying to find a den to hide in. My skin felt like a film of cellophane under intense heat, pulling tight over my skeleton until it threatened to burst. I tried to moan, but the only thing that came from my mouth was another gout of vomit. I was one enormous wound, and the only thing that convinced me I still had a body was the feeling of Edward's hand cupping the nape of my neck, keeping my hair back. If I had a neck, it stood to reason I also had things attached to it, which meant I existed somewhere separate from the pain.

"Breathe," Edward repeated. "It's just feedback. Granted, it's like getting feedback from an entire concert venue instead of one measly microphone, but the principle is the same. You overdid it, that's all. You won't do yourself any good starving that big, gifted brain of yours of oxygen."

I knew in theory he was right. No one knew how magic was tied to the body, but it was scientifically observable that there was some link. MRIs could map which parts of the brain lit when someone was practicing their talents. Too much magic could actually negatively affect the brain, causing shortages of crucial neurotransmitters, resulting in mental health problems, sleep disturbances, and more. And I'd just channeled a nation's worth.

I breathed through my nose, retching when the sour smell registered. Edward braced me when I dry heaved, curling miserably over the plastic container he'd shoved in front of my face. It was worse than the time he'd put me through liquor boot camp, testing my limits until I knew what I could and couldn't handle. As a human servant, I had a higher tolerance than most, but in the end, I got a hangover just like anyone else. This felt like drinking the entire bar. I wasn't convinced my organs were in one piece after everything I'd gone through.

It took me ten minutes of shallow breathing to tame my stomach, and another fifteen to blink spots out of my eyes and get a good look at my surroundings. I was in the master bedroom of the safe house, just like I'd thought. Edward had pulled the blackout curtains closed, and a pair of coffins were barely visible against the far wall. London and Verity, both safe inside for the day. That made me feel a little better. Verity was alive, despite the hell I'd put her through. I was going to get a tongue-lashing for leaving her out of the battle. As she kept reminding me, it was her job to protect me, not the other way around.

"Water," I finally croaked, lifting my head away from the plastic bowl. Edward pulled it away reluctantly, tensed as though he was ready to thrust it at me at the first sign of nausea.

Edward's gaze didn't leave mine even as he lifted a glass from the nightstand. I snatched it from his hand, gulping the contents down in seconds. It tasted stale and had the unpleasant aftertaste of bile, but it eased the burn in my throat. The rest of me still ached, but I didn't feel like I was about to shake apart at any second. It was definitely an improvement.

"What happened?" I asked, the words rasping on their way out.

"Which part are we talking about exactly?" Edward asked. "What happened to us while you were off breaking seals or after that?"

"After," I said. "I don't remember all of it."

Edward set the bowl gingerly on the floor, scooting it behind the nightstand and out of sight. Good. I felt better when the smell receded a bit. Edward's weight settled on the bed beside me a moment later.

"When I found you, I thought you were dead. Everyone else in the chamber was. If they weren't crushed beneath the seal or the ceiling, they'd been turned inside out by one of that freak's priests. We can't tell the extent of the damage because of the cave-in, but Ku and Maya got the worst of it. Obsidian Butterfly was already rotting when the crime scene techs arrived to sort through the mess, so we can't say what did her in."

I cringed away from the reminder. It had been so hideously intimate to sink elbow-deep into Ku's chest and rip out his still-beating heart. The last, shuddering exhale of his human body before it collapsed onto the stone. The tang of his blood on my lips. I had more distance from Maya's death, and Itzpapalotl's. It hadn't really been my hands guiding the knife, or shoving their hearts into the flame. It hadn't been my will guiding the ritual that had cleaved the seal in two, diverting the building ritual away from Marmee's shadowy avatar.

I could imagine the state Itzpapalotl was in when they'd found her, though. Vampire bodies remained untouched by time while they remained undead, but once that animating spark went out, nature collected its due with compound interest. The last vampire body I'd seen in that state was a century-old bookie named Robert, who'd only been dead half a day. He'd already passed rigor and entered bloat. A vampire five times his age had probably looked like roadkill that had been lying in the sun for a week.

"Me," I said quietly. "It was me, not the priests. I killed them. It was the only way."

Edward's eyebrows climbed. "Killing our allies was the only way?"

"I don't have the energy to get into the metaphysics of it. Can you accept that it had to play out that way?"

I wasn't sure if it was my expression or the tone, but he didn't immediately demand more answers. He studied me for a moment before nodding. "I'll need a full report at some point, but yeah, I can wait until you've had a night to sleep on it. Bradford will want a safe, reasonable explanation and Van Cleef will want the truth. He's cranky you cheated him out of most of his kills. The aftereffects of your ritual caved in a lot of tunnels, ending Ryker and most of his men."

A fine frisson of fear ran over my skin at the mention of the name. Having met the man, I was beginning to regret the choice to come to work for his organization. If there had been any doubts in my mind about heading home, they'd been settled by this case. I needed to get out. I scrubbed my arms trying to ease the gooseflesh and paused when my fingers found ridged impressions on my skin.

"What the hell?" I muttered.

The smooth, unmarred skin Maya had blessed me with hadn't stayed that way for long. Sometime in the hours or (God forbid) days that I'd been out, new scars had appeared, winding up my arms in spirals. I recognized several and could only guess at the meaning of the rest. Cipactli, the crocodile. Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent. Huitzilopochtli, the god of war. Xolotl, the god of lightning and fire. Maya's symbol probably had a place somewhere in here too. If I had to guess, I'd say that every single one of them had left their mark on me somewhere. They were light pink and tender to the touch as if I'd gone to a tattoo parlor and gotten intentional scarification.

"They were fresh when I got to you," Edward said. "But by the time I got you home, they'd started fading. At this rate, they'll be white scar tissue by the end of the month."

"Well, son of a bitch. How am I going to explain that to Bradford?"

"The same way you explained the eagle feather to Dolph," Edward said. "You were branded before the sons of bitches got what they deserved. That's what happened, right?"

"Something like that," I said, rubbing the raised serpent design. Tonatiuh had marked me with a feather as a sign of his favor. Had the rest of his pantheon done the same? "How long was I out?"

"It's hard to say for sure. I don't know how long you were unconscious before the ceiling collapsed, but it's safe to say you've been down for forty-eight hours. Maybe more. Bradford wanted you to be held at the hospital, but the only real injuries they could find were the scars, and they needed the bed you'd be using. Whatever caved in that cavern caused earthquakes that reached Santa Fe. There were crush injuries when people's houses started shaking apart. There were no fatalities before you decide to shoulder any guilt. So after the psychics gave you a thorough exam, they gave me the okay to send you home."

Two days. Jesus. That was on the longer end of the injury bell curve I'd drawn up for myself over the years. I usually didn't stay unconscious that long without serious physical injury. And this was with a network of metaphysical ties to draw from. If I'd fouled up this ritual without my master, my servant, or my animal to call would Edward have found me brain dead, fried by the amount of power I'd disrupted? I'd essentially stuck my finger in an enormous magical wall outlet. It was a miracle my mind was intact, let alone the rest of me.

"Shit," I breathed.

Edward shoved a hand through his hair. It was standing on end in places like he'd been running his hands through it for a while. Bruise-like shadows were beginning to form under his eyes, and I wondered when he'd last slept. Had Edward stayed by my side the entire two days I'd been down, forgoing sleep to make sure I didn't seize or stop breathing? That was...sweet, in a way. I guess Edward really did form attachments, dysfunctional as they were.

"Yeah," Edward said. "Bradford has checked in a few times. I think he's hoping you'll stay down."

"That concerned I'll weasel my way into his investigation, huh?" I asked, tone wry. "He must have a high opinion of me if he thinks I could ruin his mission while snoring."

Edward's expression darkened and he didn't immediately answer. The unhappy set of Edward's mouth was as telling as a stream of profanity. He didn't do tells, as a general rule, and this was a big one.

"Edward, what's going on?"

"They got the preliminary results back from Detective O'Brien's autopsy. He's not removing the nails as trophies. It's a forensic countermeasure, to make sure he never left DNA at the scene. There hasn't been a sample on record, because he has always used condoms or the pull-out method on his other victims. No sperm to put in a database. But Julie was clever. She got a chunk of him at some point. It was wedged in her molars and there was enough to get a viable sample."

I sat up straighter, leaning toward him. "Are you saying that it matched someone in an international database?"

Edward gave me an almost frustrated look. "DNA testing takes longer than that, and you know it. What did come up in the initial tests was interesting though, and it's worrying Bradford. The sample was positive for therianthropy. The Ripper is a wereanimal, which means the case is officially in your court. Refusing the help of one of the foremost experts on therianthropes is bad optics and he knows it."

My pulse sped until it throbbed painfully in my neck and at the back of my throat. If I was honest, I didn't want to be on the Ripper case. I didn't want the reminders, the nightmare-inducing visuals. But Edward was right. This was my area. If the Ripper was a wereanimal, there was only one person better at tracking them than I was, and he happened to be in town. The police would need our help to catch this guy.

"You don't have to go," Edward said, correctly interpreting my silence. "No one will blame you for taking a break after what you just went through."

"But I do," I sighed. "Let me shower and then I'll call Bradford. Where's my phone?"

"In your Jeep. I had it towed here. But before you go, I think someone wants to talk with you. Verity escorted her in last night. Says her name is Jade and to tell you that she's doing well."

I was on my feet before he'd finished the sentence, making a beeline for the guest room. Jade was here, but I wouldn't believe she was safe until I confirmed it with my own eyes.

"Could you give us a minute alone? I need to talk to my girlfriend."

Edward chuckled ruefully. "Another one?"

I aimed a sly smile over my shoulder, which only made him laugh again, more genuine this time.

"What can I say? The ladies love me."

Chapter Text

Jade was splayed out on top of the duvet, luxuriating like a cat when I entered the room. Verity had fished one of my nightgowns out of the closet when I was unawares, offering it to Jade in place of her biker gear. I had to admit, the lacey black number was just as good or better than the revealing leathers she'd been wearing when I'd seen her last. She raised her head when the door clicked shut, eyes fluttering open, shifting from sleepy to sharp and alert in an instant. Her body tensed, coiled like a spring to strike before she found me at the opposite end of the room, back pressed against the door.

"Anita," she breathed, coming up onto her knees in an instant. "You're awake!"

"So are you. When did you come around?"

"Six hours after the binding was complete. I stayed out of sight until I was sure Magda and Giacomo had gone before I sought you out."

"Giacomo," I said, sounding the name out thoughtfully. "Her Master, I take it? Is it really safe to be saying their names?"

Jade slid off the bed, stretching. "Their true names are the only thing safe to say aloud anymore. I'm no longer part of the Guard, so I'm included in the taboo, just like the rest of you. It's a habit I'll have to break. If you were hoping I could tell you what mask he wears, you're out of luck. Sorry."

In truth, I was a little disappointed, but it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. I knew their faces and names. Magda was going to be back at some point, I was sure of that. In her mind, I'd killed the woman she loved. It wasn't something you forgave easily.

I met Jade in the middle of the room, throwing my arms around her before drawing her into my side. She fit there easily, almost as small and compact as I was. I'd never been able to do this with Jeanette. Too tall, for one. I always ended up tucked into her arms, as if I was the delicate one in need of careful handling. Jade's tension melted away under my hands, and her breath came out in a shuddering gasp when I kissed the top of her head. She smelled like my shampoo, a little detail I liked. It was like having a tangible claim on her, something that tied her to me. In reality, she was Jeanette's, not mine, and part of me resented that fact.

"I'm glad you're safe," I said quietly.

"Likewise."

She felt so small, so fragile in my arms. I wanted to tell her she was safe now, that no one was ever going to touch her without permission ever again. I wanted to kiss her. No, I wanted more than that, and now we had time. Surely Bradford could wait for my excuses a few more hours? But just as I was considering tipping her face up so I could kiss her lovely, expressive mouth, Edward knocked, startling us both. I tugged away from Jade grudgingly and crossed to the door, leaning against it to hear Edward.

"What?" I asked. Well, snapped.

Grumpy, who me?

"We need to go. Now," he said, tone clipped.

"Right this second? I'm sort of in the middle of something, Edward. Bradford's questions can wait."

"My family can't," Edward insisted. "Peter just called. Donna was supposed to be off work three hours ago, which means she's two hours overdue to relieve the sitter. She can't get ahold of Donna on her cell or work phone. The extension won't pick up."

A leaden weight settled over me. I tried to shrug it off. There were plenty of reasons Donna might be running late and not picking up at work. Marks had left the office in shambles the last time I'd seen her. It was possible they weren't allowing any unmonitored calls. She could have forgotten to charge her phone, or gotten distracted by a conversation with a friend. Anything. There were lots of reasonable reasons.

But since when had anything reasonable ever happened to me?

"You're sure she's not out at the movies or something? She could have forgotten to call."

"It's not like Donna. She's fastidious. Calls if she even thinks she'll be late to something as inconsequential as a PTA meeting. She wouldn't forget to tell the sitter she'd be out after hours. And besides, I already thought of that. I tried tracking her phone. The apps I installed in her phone and car have been disabled."

My skin ran cold. Lateness, uncharacteristic or otherwise could be a coincidence. This wasn't. Someone with know-how had to have done it. Shit, shit shit!

"I'm coming. Give me a minute to get dressed." I gave Jade an apologetic smile and lowered my voice to mutter, "Sorry."

"Go," she said with a nod. "I'll wait for you."

I made a beeline for London's bathroom, sorting through the hamper until I found a pair of jeans and a shirt that were only a few days old. Oftentimes we'd shower in whichever room was closest after sex, which meant I had outfits in both rooms. This one might smell a little musty but I doubted Donna would mind if it got us out of the house faster.

I gave Jade a peck on the cheek before stepping out, meeting Edward in the hall. He looked paler than usual, his face set in rigid lines of stress. If he'd looked concerned for me, he looked almost frantic now that it was Donna in potential peril. I still didn't understand what they had, but the affection was definitely there. Whatever else she was to Edward, she was family. His family. And as he'd told me numerous times, he protected what was his.

"We'll take the Jeep," I said, snatching the keys from the rack at the front door. "Your gas guzzler is more conspicuous."

He didn't argue with me, just slipped something into his waistband too quickly for me to track. I couldn't have told you what weapon it was, just that the odds were good it was lethal. He smoothed his coat into place over it a second later and followed me out the front door, striding purposefully for the Jeep. He reached the passenger's side before I was halfway across the postage stamp yard, and had the door open the second it clicked unlocked. I expected him to slide into the Jeep and wait impatiently for me, but when he opened the door, he froze, eyes wide and intent, as if he'd found a rattlesnake waiting for him inside.

"What is it?" I asked, half-jogging to catch up to him.

Edward plucked something small and rectangular from the seat and held it up for my inspection. It was a smartphone with a glittery pink case that I would have rejected on principle. Pink wasn't my color and glitter was a surefire way to catch someone's eye in the dark. I didn't need that kind of liability in on a hunt. But I could guess who might enjoy a little pink and shiny in her life.

"It's Donna's phone," he whispered. "It was in the seat of your car, lying on top of a flash drive and a note."

"What does it say?" I asked, approaching cautiously. I didn't think Edward would lash out at me, but Death wasn't someone you wanted to spook when his emotions were high.

He lifted the note and offered it to me. It was small, written on a motel napkin. I recognized the chain as one I'd been to before while busting bad guys. It was a low-rent shithole with more bedbugs and roaches than actual tenants. The handwriting was unfamiliar, written in a scrawl I could barely read. I had to squint to make it out.

For Blake's eyes only.

"Shit," I breathed. "I think this just turned into a hostage situation."

"Inside," Edward said darkly. "Let's play this sucker. I want to see who's next on my list."

Chapter Text

I kept a small laptop tucked away safely in my room. Before I'd joined up with Van Cleef, it had rarely seen action, only coming out of its drawer when I'd been sick and needed to review my upcoming or rescheduled animating cases from home. After I'd been marked by Jeanette, it had barely been touched, except for movie nights and online video calls with Doucette when necessary. Most of what I needed could be done by a smartphone. But after I'd become a Horseman, computer use had become mandatory. So much of this job was done in internet backrooms on the dark web. Even communication was complicated, cloaked in layers of secrecy. I'd handled the computer so much recently that some of the keys were getting worn down.

I let the computer scan the flash drive's files for viruses. Silly, but the mundane ritual helped settle my nerves. One spot of normalcy in the heaving sea of shitty scenarios I was turning over in my head. In a private, clinical part of my mind, I was sifting through likely kidnappers. I thought we'd managed to take down all of Ryker and Valera's men, but they were only one cell in a greater network. It was possible one of them had managed to sneak into the Obsidian Foundation unseen and take Donna right under everyone's noses. The place was no doubt in shambles after the assassination of its figurehead. New management hadn't been installed. Things would be overlooked.

Edward had a legion of other enemies that I didn't know about. Any one of them could have taken his wife. But if so, why spare the kids? Why not leave one of Becca's pigtails and Peter's fingers behind alongside the phone? Was it possible our kidnapper didn't know about Donna's kids or had failed to find the safehouse where Edward had stashed them?

I was still weighing the possibilities when the contents of the drive flashed onscreen. Two files, one print, one video. I glanced up at Edward, asking without words which one he wanted me to pick.

"Video," he said. His eyes were flat and hard, and his voice was devoid of any feeling. Wherever he was in his head, it was a cold and barren place that had no comprehension of the word 'mercy.'

I clicked the video icon and held my breath as it queued up. I was braced for anything. A dingy basement room with only a bare bulb for illumination. A cemetery with an open grave, with our mysterious kidnapper threatening to bury Donna alive. A shaky cam that only showed her still, cold body splayed out on the floor. When you were in our line of business, you saw some truly fucked up shit on a daily basis, which gave your imagination ample fuel to spin gory scenarios about what could happen to your friends and loved ones.

It was a brief respite to see the inside of the hotel room that matched the napkin. The bedside lamps had been flicked on, illuminating the interior of the cramped room. The walls were an ugly piss yellow, the carpet brown. The full-size bed sported a paisley coverlet. There were suspicious stains on the pillows, but they looked like old vomit and sweat stains, not blood. The room was blessedly free of gore, which was an improvement over any of the nightmare images I'd managed to come up with while we waited.

Then the camera swiveled, focusing in on a figure perched on the edge of the bed. Petite, dark-haired, and white. It was hard to make out features in the poor lighting, but the state of undress was easy to spot. The figure had been stripped down to a blue sports bra and matching bikini-cut underwear. It was cute and practical, instead of going for sex appeal. A wad of clothing lay abandoned on one side of the bed. I tasted fresh bile at the back of my throat as those facts sank in. I had a bad feeling I knew exactly where this video was going. To my surprise, Edward relaxed a fraction.

"It's not Donna," he said.

"How can you be sure?"

Edward traced a finger over the grainy image, making a sweeping motion over the head. "The hair is too short. This woman has a bob. Her hair is wavy, not straight, and it's a little lighter than Donna's. The face shape is wrong too. Heeart-shaped, not an oval. I don't know who she is, but that isn't my wife."

The woman stirred fitfully on the bed as the person holding the camera stepped closer. The picture slid in and out of focus for a few seconds before coming into sharper relief. My breath caught in my throat, and I had to swallow back the desire to scream. The woman on the bed wasn't Donna, but she was familiar. We'd only met once, but her face, with its deep-set eyes and strong planes, was unmistakable.

"It's Elise Damitz," I breathed.

"Who?"

"The Interpol agent sent over to help Bradford with the Ripper case. Also known as Emery Assauer. Olaf's sister."

"Fuck," Edward muttered with real feeling. I seconded the motion.

It shouldn't have come as such a shock when the camera settled at an angle that overlooked the bed and a man walked into the frame, but it was. I'd seen Olaf bare-chested before, and his physique wasn't anything to sneeze at. I couldn't stare at him now, knowing what it implied. I didn't want to note that he was only wearing boxers or that he was obviously excited beneath the cloth, but my mind cataloged the facts anyway, storing them for later, when I could dissect them properly. Right now I was too busy choking on my own pulse, urging Elise to get up and run. But of course, she didn't. She couldn't. She was still recovering from the first time he'd laid his hands on her, squeezing tight with a garrote until her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped unconscious. The wound was a ruddy line across her throat, too recent to have bruised properly.

Olaf sat on the bed near her head, idly stroking her hair, though he never took his eyes off the camera for long. Though I knew he wasn't in the room and couldn't actually see me, I couldn't escape the idea that he was staring at me. The anger in his gaze was blistering, even from the other side of the camera.

"Hello, Anita," he said in a quiet, level tone that chilled me. It didn't fit with the gentle way he combed his fingers through Elise's hair. "If you're watching this, Emery is already dead. Don't attempt to storm the local motel chains. You won't find us there. What I will give you is a chance to save Death's whore. Follow my directions to the letter and she'll live."

I couldn't think, couldn't feel, could barely breathe. Numbness was creeping slowly over me, locking my limbs into place. I should have been keyed up, ready to bolt, but my ass was glued to the seat, my eyes fixed on the screen as though if I looked away, things would somehow get worse. Maybe it was a bluff. Maybe he didn't actually have Donna. It was bad enough that he had Elise...Emery...whatever name she wanted to go by. If he said that he was going to kill her, I believed him. He was a psychopath, and I'd seen him on the hunt. If he wanted something dead badly enough, it died. Period.

Olaf casually reached down, out of the frame, and grabbed onto something. A muffled yelp split the silence as he dragged a second figure into the frame. Edward went rigid beside me, hands curling into fists around the table's edge, gripping it so tightly the wood creaked. Donna was still dressed, as far as I could tell but twin streams of blood had crusted beneath her nose and on one shoulder, where claws had ripped a sleeve free. Distinctive slashes marred most of one arm. Her face was puffy from crying, and one of her eyes was swollen shut. It was hard to tell, but one side of the face looked sunken. Had he backhanded her and managed to cave in part of her face?

"I'm going to kill him," Edward muttered under his breath. "I'll snap every bone in his worthless body, make him wish he'd never been born..."

Olaf kept talking, lifting Donna off the ground by her hair. She arched, straining to keep him from pulling it out at the roots. She couldn't scream past the duct tape over her mouth. "I will take you in exchange for this woman, Blake. Come to me, and Death can have her back. Fail to meet me by the time I specify at the end of this recording, and Donna Forrester is next. Do not bring the police into this. Meet me alone and unarmed at the coordinates I provided and she lives."

I glanced at the progress bar at the bottom of the screen and my heart sank. The recording was an hour long and we were only at the three-minute mark. I swallowed thickly, tasting vomit. I'd thrown up in my mouth at some point, and we hadn't even gotten to the worst parts. I wanted to demand Edward fast forward through the clip until we reached the end, get the damn time, and formulate a plan with me. But if we did that, we'd miss clues.

"I understand why he took Donna, but why Agent Damitz?" Edward mused, speaking more to himself than to me. I answered him anyway.

"Because he's the Ostend Ripper," I said. "It all fits with the profile I gave her. Athletic, superficially charming, a sadist. And he's a therianthrope. The strain will come back as weretiger when they test it. One of Doucette's former co-workers mentioned he used to have scars on his back from the torture he underwent during Traeger's experiments. He was always off, but that's what turned him into a killer. The torture and the rape at a formative age. He's relieving the trauma, internalizing it, making it somehow his idea. It's about control. And this is the ultimate expression of that. This was the original rape, and he's in charge."

The shift in victimology had to be my fault. I was older and had a different body type than his usual victims. I'd gotten in his head and disrupted all his careful control by throwing the rape in his face. Elise's arrival in America had just been the cherry on top of this bloody sundae. She was older now too, so that we blurred into one incandescent target for his rage. He was going to kill Elise horribly. And I was next.

Olaf let go of Donna's hair abruptly and she tumbled out of frame, landing with a whimper on the ground next to the bed. Elise was stirring again, a piteous moan easing out from between her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, fixing on her brother with dawning horror as she put the pieces together far too late for it to matter. She tried to say his name and pleaded with him in German, but the protests fell on deaf ears. She squirmed, kicking out feebly as he raked her panties down her legs. The sound her ankle made when he snapped it casually to one side made me flinch. Olaf muffled the scream by stuffing the blue cotton undies into her mouth. She was breathless with shock, unable to move let alone protest when he yanked her to the edge of the bed, slung her legs around his waist, shoved his boxers down and-

I jerked my gaze away from the scene before it could sear itself behind my eyelids, but I still heard the muffled cry of despair from Elise and a satisfied grunt from Olaf. I could imagine what was going on well enough. I raised a shaking hand to my mouth. I couldn't heave the meager contents of my stomach onto the keyboard and ruin our only lead.

Edward tapped the spacebar, halting the film in the thick of things. The sound of Olaf's moans and Donna's broken weeping were going to haunt my nightmares for months to come. He could and would rape her if he hadn't done it already. I had to get that meeting time, but there was no guarantee he'd drop it at the end. He could do it part of the way through and rig this recording to degrade after one viewing, preventing us from getting the time right.

"You don't have to watch this, Anita," Edward said quietly. "I'll do it."

I wanted to take the easy out. We both knew what this was. A preview and a taunt. Look at what I may have done to your wife. Look at what I will do to your protege. What kind of friend and student was I if I let Olaf's mind games get the better of me and left Edward to watch this alone? I had to watch it. It was the only way I'd learn anything valuable.

"Push play," I whispered.

I forced myself to watch the screen, retreating to the calm, staticky whiteness of my kill room where things hurt less. There was no room for imagination in that headspace, no room to let myself project my experiences onto Elise. I wasn't under Olaf. I wasn't trying to buck him off with all my might. I wasn't Elise. Even so, watching was still difficult. Details bled through, whether I liked it or not. The desperate wheezing when he strangled her. The piercing sound of her shriek, even through the makeshift gag, when he broke out a homemade flail. The color of blood as it soaked into the paisley sheets. How a pelvis sounded when it crunched under the full force of a therian's strength. In the end, she barely looked human.

He came inside her toward the end, just to add insult to injury. Not that it mattered much to poor, dead Elise when she gasped her last. It was the look on his face that would cement the instant forever in my brain. It was triumph, amusement, and a palpable sense of satisfaction that went far past getting his rocks off at her expense. I finally looked away when he tucked himself into his boxers and gave us the time. I stood while Edward scribbled it onto the napkin.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To the bathroom," I said. "I think I'm going to lose it. Get the address from that text file."

I don't know how I managed to make it in time. I could barely feel my body. My mind was floating, detached, all my screaming emotions locked in a room where they couldn't choke me. Jade was waiting for me on the other side of the guest room door, and held my hair away from my face when I hunched over the toilet, vomiting the glass of water Edward had given me twenty minutes ago. She rubbed soothing circles into my back when I dissolved into desperate dry heaves.

"Did you hear all of it?" I rasped when I was finally spent.

"Yes," she said simply.

"Good. Then you know what I have to do."

"You don't have to do anything," she said fiercely. I could have sworn she actually growled it.

"I can't let Donna go through that, and you know it. Not if there's a way to stop it. I need a favor from you, Jade. I think you know what it is. Can I count on you to do it?"

I glanced up at her from my hunched position and found her staring back, her face pale, and her expression twisted in pain. She pressed her lips together until they turned white, blinking away the moisture that gathered at the corners of her eyes.

"Yes, you can."

"Good. We've only got two hours. We needed to be on the road five minutes ago."

Chapter Text

The world was tinged with blood. At least, that was my perception of the long stretch of abandoned road as we trundled down it, having near misses with potholes that could swallow my Jeep's tires whole. The landscape was rust red, the color you got when blood dried to a tacky paste. The highway was flanked on both sides by mesas that cast long shadows in the waning light. Olaf had captured his sister and Donna sometime after the latter's shift had started early this morning when I'd still been dead to the world. He'd had hours to dispose of the body, plot his course here, and secure it against possible police intervention. Olaf was brazen, not stupid and it didn't take me long to puzzle out what had caused him to lash out like this.

In one instant, I'd unknowingly stripped one of the most vicious serial killers in Europe of his careful control. Any motivation to maintain the cooling-off period he'd been in had evaporated when I'd revealed how close to the truth I'd actually come. In his mind, it was only a matter of time before I put the pieces together and came for him. This was all a ploy to catch my attention, a grisly warning and promise all wrapped up into one. Taking one of the few things Edward cared about had just been a bonus. I wondered when he'd discovered Donna existed. Had that been my fault too?

No matter what happened now, the four most recent victims were on me. I'd poked the sleeping homicidal giant. I was the one who'd inspired him to kill again. I'd drawn Elise to the States and it had gotten her killed. I would never forgive myself for that, no matter how long I lived. And that might be a very short time indeed if Olaf had his way. A matter of hours. Maybe a few days if I was lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how I looked at it. Even if I was technically still breathing, something inside me would die if Olaf enacted even the mildest of his fantasies on me.

"I don't like this," Edward said as we slowed. A dot stood out from the horizon, a dark blip against the mostly monochrome landscape. "It's too risky. He's good. Better than Bernardo, though not as good as me. That's still plenty good enough to kill you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I drawled. "It warms my heart to know how highly esteemed I am by my fellow Horsemen."

Edward's fingers flexed around the wheel. "You're good, Anita, but you're moral. You've bent some of your oh-so-careful rules lately but you still have them. Rules don't exist for men like Olaf. He raped and murdered his own sister on camera to make a point. If he can do that to his own flesh and blood, he can do it to anyone."

His voice was squeezed tight, compressed by the effort it took to breathe past his panic. We both knew exactly what visions were playing out behind his eyes. The video, but with Donna in Elise's place. In this remote location, he could be as brutal as he wanted and no one would hear her scream. We could pull up to find her with blood running down her thighs, unable to walk because her pelvis had been shattered.

"I'm not going to extend compassion to Olaf," I said. "He blew past the point of no return dozens of victims ago."

"It's not compassion for him I'm worried about. You'll do anything to get Donna out of his hands. Anything. That's what I'm scared of. What you're willing to do to save someone else. I told you that it's your biggest weakness. It's going to get you killed."

And dying this way probably outstripped any of his worst-case scenarios by a mile. Eaten alive by wereanimals? A mercy at this point. At least it would be quick. He was right about something else too. I'd sacrifice almost anything to make sure Donna never suffered anything more at Olaf's hands. She was an innocent and should never have gotten caught up in this power play in the first place.

I knew one thing for sure--Olaf wasn't getting me. Period. I had plans in place to make sure of it. Plans I couldn't tell Edward for his own good. He'd either try to stop me or he'd give the game away when we faced down Olaf. He was a powerful therianthrope and he'd be able to sense the shift in Edward's biological tells if he was in on the details. Your face could lie but the body was harder to master. Olaf wouldn't be able to read me as easily. I was already terrified, and that would skew any marks of lying, like an increased heartbeat or excess sweat. I could tell a half-truth with my body and get away with it.

"Yes, I'll bend over backward to save Donna. Are you saying you won't?"

Edward's brows scrunched into harsh lines over his eyes and his lips mashed together hard. "It's not the same thing. Donna is my responsibility. My job got her into this and it's only right that I get her out of it. But that doesn't mean I want you to die horribly so I can make a clean getaway. I'm willing to make a lot of sacrifices, but not that."

That made me smile. Edward cared in his own twisted way. I just hoped it didn't prompt him to do something stupid.

"If I die, I'm not doing it on his terms," I said as we slowed still further.

The dark blob had resolved itself into an innocuous black sedan parked on the washed-out shoulder. The ground sloped downward and a sharp angle, scarred by rainfall. The smattering of storms had carved little runnels in the earth. A few miles ahead I could spy a steel ribbed rail spanning over a dropoff, keeping unwary drivers from plunging into a gulf and a shallow river below.

Edward gave me one sidelong glance before we stopped. Only a few yards separated us from Olaf's back bumper now. I probably shouldn't have said anything. Edward would have his suspicions about what I was doing, but that's all they'd be. Suspicions. He wouldn't know anything for sure and he wouldn't give the game away by acting out of the ordinary. For all he knew, I'd wedged a cyanide pill between my back molars and planned to bite down on it as soon as we were a safe distance away. The thought had crossed my mind. I stared straight ahead, betraying nothing. He sighed and put the Jeep in park, leaving it to idle.

Olaf was leaning casually against the sedan, arms crossed over his broad chest, dark eyes tracking us when we exited the Jeep. I'd purposely gone for something without room for weapons. A blue camisole and skinny jeans. I felt naked without a holster at my waist or the small of my back. My wrists looked too slender without the knife sheaths. I hadn't even tried to conceal a blade in my boots. I wasn't leaving anything to chance. When Donna was safely away, things would change. But not now. Now I had to look as helpless as I felt. Still, I felt the urge to peel every inch of exposed skin off when his glittering gaze perused my body. Not that it would deter him. He'd be just as excited to see my insides. Maybe more excited.

Olaf came to his feet in one fluid motion, striding forward purposefully, one hand on the butt of his gun, ready to draw down if we made any sudden moves. I was sure Edward had a piece on him somewhere, and with the advancements Van Cleef's people had made, Olaf would never smell it. It made therians and vampires scent blind for a limited amount of time. But Olaf would know that already. It's why he'd brought a hostage. We were both banking on the theory that he was too attached to Donna to risk a shootout.

"We're here," I said unnecessarily when the silence stretched. "Show us Donna now, or there's no exchange. She has to be alive and in the same shape we saw her in last."

Olaf's lips twitched once and he withdrew a fob from his pants pocket, clicking a button twice. The trunk of the sedan popped open and I leaned forward to peer inside. Donna was curled into the fetal position, her hands and most of her legs bound with layers of duct tape. It wouldn't have held someone like me, but for a vanilla human like Donna, it was as good as being manacled. This close, the shoulder wound looked worse than it had on the film. The muscle had been split from shoulder to elbow, and bits of white bone showed through in places. It was a miracle he hadn't hit the brachial artery. Blood loss would have killed her long before Olaf could lay a finger on her. One side of her face was sunken, definitely broken. Possibly shattered. She'd need surgery to repair it. And from the way it was bulging, she might lose sight in one eye. The worst part? He hadn't even hit her with his full strength. He could have parted her head from her shoulders if he was trying.

Edward made a sound in the back of his throat that was torn between rage and revulsion. I could practically feel the hate vibrating off him when he turned his gaze onto Olaf.

"I will find you," he said in a level tone that was more chilling than if he'd screamed it. "And when I do, I will make what happened with Traeger's people look like a stroll on the beach."

Olaf's smile slipped, and a growl trickled through his teeth. He pulled a Glock from his pants holster, but instead of pointing it at Edward, he leveled it at Donna's head.

"Anita comes to me now or your woman dies."

"Counteroffer," I said, taking a step in front of Edward. It would foul any shot he tried to take. "Put Donna on the ground, and I come to you. We leave while Edward undoes the tape."

Olaf considered that before nodding. He made a jerking come hither movement with the gun with one hand while reaching into the trunk with the other. Donna let out a muffled shriek of pain when he seized her by the injured arm, almost yanking it from its socket as he lifted her over the lip of the trunk. She fell on her face in the dirt, legs numb and unable to support her weight when she was finally upright. She rolled a few times, coming to a stop face up with dirt tracks on her cheeks. She was still blotchy from crying.

Edward cursed and bent to lift her from the ground, infinitely more gentle than Olaf had been. It didn't stop her from letting out another cry when he jostled her bad arm. Actual concern spasmed across his face for an instant before he could school the expression. I stepped forward before Olaf could catch it. He lunged for me, wrenching me forward by one arm. It hurt. A lot. But I didn't give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream. He moved fast, putting the bulk of the sedan between himself and Edward before he could draw down. I didn't think he would, but the layers of steel and glass would probably keep the shots from being immediately fatal.

My stomach lurched when Olaf shoved me down onto the hood of the sedan, bending me double so that my ass was in the air, my face mashed into the uncomfortably hot metal. My heart rode up into my throat. Was he really going to do this now? Split my jeans and shove himself inside of me without prelude? I hadn't counted on that possibility. He'd need privacy for what came next if he was going to honor his ritual.
He didn't rip the jeans, but what he did might have arguably been worse. At least I would have a shock to cushion me for the first few minutes if he'd just decided to do it. Instead, he shoved one hand up my camisole, tracing the contours of my stomach before reaching the underside of my bra. He gave my chest a perfunctory grope on the pretext he was checking for a small caliber weapon in a flashbang holster. He was close enough that I could smell his skin. He hadn't bothered to shower after what he'd done to Elise. He smelled strongly of sex and copper pennies, the reek of freshly spilled blood. Underneath that was a subtler, sweeter note. Perfume. It was Elise's perfume.

I breathed in steadily through my mouth, trying to blot it out. His erection was pressing hard against my ass. It was hard to think past the panic and anticipate the next steps with him bent over me like this. It reminded me viscerally of the last time I'd laid helpless under the superior bulk of a violent man. He'd taken something from me. Tried to humiliate me by coming inside me, scent marking me so his people knew who I belonged to.

All my careful control went out the window when Olaf popped the button on my jeans and shoved his hands down my pants. I bucked in surprise, letting out a soft, almost breathless scream when he palmed my sex, sliding one finger inside my core before dragging the wetness through my folds. There wasn't a lot for him to work with, thank God, but it was enough. He used one damp finger to circle my clit. It sent a spike of stomach-churning sensation through me and I writhed, trying to get away from the pad of the finger. He pressed harder, laughing at my feeble escape attempt. It was a low, intimate sound usually reserved for bedrooms. Just the sound made me feel filthy. Defiled.

Olaf knew what he was doing. He feathered strokes over my clit, using almost the right amount of pressure every time. He'd practiced this before. Part of the sadism. If he could make me orgasm, he could claim I liked it. That I had the rape coming. It was the scent that helped me cling to sanity. I breathed in deep lungfuls of it. Blood, sex, perfume, and beneath it all, the neck-ruffling scent of a tiger's musk. It was nauseating, and enough to keep me from toppling over the edge into a full-blown climax.

He gave up eventually. It felt like a small eternity but the entire thing couldn't have lasted more than a minute or two. Maybe even less than that. Enough time for Edward to check Donna over and get behind the wheel of his car. To my relief, he pulled away in a squeal of tires, gunning it back toward Santa Fe. He either trusted me or Donna's injuries were too urgent to ignore.

Olaf seized a hank of my hair, lifting my head from the hood of the sedan, letting me watch my Jeep speed out of sight. He brought his lips to the shell of my ear and hissed poisonous words into my ear as if he was trying to thrust himself into my mind as well as my body.

"You're going to enjoy this, Blake," he said in a silken whisper. "I'm going to keep you for days, make you come every time. It's a shame Death is out of earshot. I would have liked him to hear you moan like the filthy whore you are. They always do."

"Elise didn't," I gritted out between my teeth, trying to ignore the hardness he rubbed against me.

His grip tightened on my hair, sending prickles of pain across my scalp. For an instant, I thought he'd yank it out by the roots. An animal snarl momentarily deafened me in one ear.

"Emery deserved what she got. I took beating after beating when I defied them and in the end, she begged me to fuck her. She sobbed while I was inside her, but she still came in the end. She always did, every time. Then she had the gall to whine and cry rape in the aftermath. She had the audacity to murder my child."

I shuddered, trying to imagine it from Elise's point of view. She'd been a foster kid in a hopeless situation. Abandoned by the only available caretaker and stranded in the middle of a cult with no way out. Olaf was all she had. The only choices she had were bad and worse. Let her brother be beaten to death by her foster parents or submit to what they wanted. To a twelve-year-old, losing a brother probably seemed like the worst option. But emotionally stunted, anti-social Olaf wouldn't understand the emotion that drove that decision. So from then on, women were liars and whores, period. I didn't think he wanted the kid. Not really. Just control of Elise, the fixation of his new pathology.

"Should I take you in the backseat?" he asked, voice dropping into a lower octave. "We are alone."

"Not for long," I said. "Edward will call the police. No reason not to, at this point. You can rape me in the backseat but it's all you'll get a chance to do. Then it's a fast track to death row. Edward will have a grand old time carrying out the order of execution."

Olaf let out another snarl and pulled me to my feet. He rounded the car, wrestling me into the passenger's seat before cuffing me to the oh-shit handle by the wrist. He was in the car a few seconds later, twisting the keys savagely in the ignition. The car came to life with a purr and we were off, speeding down the highway, the mesas blurring into rusty streaks behind us.

I wasn't sure what tipped him off. Some sixth sense. A tiger's instinct maybe. Or perhaps the fading light had glinted off the scope, betraying the location of an observer for one crucial instant. Whatever it was, it gave Olaf enough time to jerk the wheel sideways, sending the car into a jerky evasive maneuver. He was fast. But not fast enough.

The driver's side window transformed into a spiderweb of broken glass as a .308 caliber slug punched through, hitting Olaf squarely. It was an impressive shot, given how far the nearest mesa was from the road. It had probably been meant to be a headshot, but the fact it hit a target going highway speeds with any accuracy at all was damn impressive. But what else did you expect from a former member of the Harlequin?

The shot entered one side of Olaf's jugular and exploded out the other side, sailing past my face with only an inch to spare. It did graze my arm, a slice of quick, hot pain before it burst through my window as well and sailed into the fading twilight, lost to sight. The car fishtailed, impacting the steel ribbed rail at highway speeds. It held up for a moment and then, with a squeal of protesting metal, gave way under the sedan's weight.

I threw my elbow against the broken passenger's side window with all my enhanced strength. It came free in pieces, safety glass poking from the edges of the frame like broken teeth. In the same move, I tugged the oh-shit handle, exerting every ounce of muscle I could bring to bear. It came free in a shower of cracked plastic and roof stuffing. I didn't give myself time to think as the sedan tipped over the rail and toward the river below. I sucked in a deep breath and hurled myself through the gap.

Air whooshed out of my lungs when I hit the bank on my back. I began to slide almost immediately down the incline, my jeans snagging on every rock or root I found on the way down. Even when I had the presence of mind to flip onto my belly and claw the ground in an attempt to break my fall, it only tore my nails to the quick. The sound of squealing metal when the sedan hit the river bottom wasn't as comforting as it should have been.

I had just enough time to think, "I'm finally safe" before my temple hit something hard. Black spots swam alarmingly across my vision, the world spun, and my arms went slack.

I was unconscious before I could slide down toward the water.

Chapter Text

Someone was humming tunelessly when I swam back into consciousness. I groaned and turned away from the sound, wedging a pillow over my head to drown it out. The pillow was thin and didn't blot out the soft laughter that followed. Light, airy female laughter that I struggled to place. The voice sounded familiar, but the laugh was new. I dared a peek from beneath the pillow and found Jade perched on the side of the bed, a damp washcloth clutched in one hand. She smiled faintly when she caught me looking.

"I still can't carry a tune," she said, lifting my arm so she could swipe the cloth over a cut near my elbow. "It's the only skill I never really mastered. Thankfully, there hasn't been much call for it in the last hundred years."

"But there was before?" I asked. It mostly came out as a creaky protest, instead of intelligible words. Jade's smile grew, able to translate my garbled words into English somehow.

"Opera and public theater used to be more in demand than they are today. It was easy to sneak in as one of the chorus girls if you were dressed correctly. So many people coming and going. No one knew who killed a patron if they guessed it was a murder at all. We were very good at what we did."

She sounded a little...sad. I didn't have to be a psychiatrist to guess it wasn't about the killings. The Harlequin were police of a more supernatural flavor and, like your everyday cop, most of them felt pretty good about doing their jobs, whether they should or not. For the first time in her very long life, she wasn't one of the Harlequin. That duty had died with Amir. It raised unpleasant, existential questions above my paygrade. What was she? What did she do with her life, now that it wasn't tethered to her rapist's? What, if anything, was she expected to do now?

I cleared my throat, tasting blood and grit inside my mouth. I grimaced, and Jade shoved a glass of water into my hand a second later. I chugged the glass and set it on the bedside table, wishing I had more. The nightstand was familiar aged oak, and I belatedly realized I was back at my safe house in Santa Fe. Jade had even dragged out the coasters that London had bought for me. She was fussy about leaving rings, even on secondhand furniture.

"What happened?" I asked. My voice still rasped, but it was recognizably human. Progress.

Jade's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you remember?"

I frowned. "You know it's really fucking annoying when people answer a question with another question."

"I'm not being contrary. I just need to know if you've suffered any memory loss. You hit your head hard. It took Jeanette and I working together to get the bleeding under control. It could have been catastrophic if left unattended. Some fuzziness is to be expected. What do you remember last?"

The memories came without much prompting, heartless in their texture and clarity. My back slick with sweat, sticking to the passenger's side of the sedan. The bite of a steel cuff tightened too far, cutting off circulation to my wrist. The stale odor of dried blood and sex wafting off his skin, and beneath that, the neck-ruffling scent of the large cat he could so quickly become. Elise's subtle perfume was all but drowned by the rest. He hadn't bothered to wash off the evidence of what he'd done to her before baiting us into a confrontation.

"Olaf," I said slowly. "The way he smelled. He shoved his hand down my pants before we got going. Tried to make me enjoy it. The smell was what I clung to. I couldn't get off smelling him. It was disgusting, the scent of his sister all over him. Blood and sex and..."

Words failed me, the horror rising to choke off the rest of my explanation. I remembered what came next. A bullet struck Olaf in the neck. It had probably been aiming for his head but it was hard to track a target moving at highway speeds, even for one of the vaunted Harlequin. The bullet had still done its job. Olaf's frantic overcorrection had sent us toppling off a bridge toward a river bank far below. I'd managed to break the window, rolling down the bank while the sedan plunged into the water. I must have hit my head on a rock at some point.

"Is he dead?" I asked, and my voice sounded dull even to my own ears.

Jade set the washcloth aside and dried my skin before applying Neosporin and bandages. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"I can't be sure. The shot would have killed a human outright, even without the dip in the river. Divers are combing the area but so far no one has found a body. It doesn't mean that he isn't dead. The force of the fall could have jarred the body loose and swept it downstream."

That was an absurdly optimistic take, and we both knew it. If Olaf's body hadn't been found in the rental sedan he'd probably dragged himself to shore, limping away from the scene of the crime to strike another day. I wanted to keep hoping his corpse would turn up, but it just wasn't like me. My personal philosophy was to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised if it didn't come to pass. Olaf was alive out there somewhere, licking his wounds, just waiting for the day he could spring his ghoulish revenge on the rest of us.

"I retrieved you from the river bank," Jade continued when I said nothing. "The healing took several hours. Death has been smoothing things over with mortal authorities. Internal Affairs wants to have a talk with you about what happened."

I grimaced and sat up straighter, feeling stiff, but not unmanageably so. I'd come away worse during my many missions for Van Cleef. This reminded me of the day after a new exercise routine when the muscles weren't quite used to the abuse I was putting them through yet. The covers slipped, and I realized someone (probably Jade) had stripped me down, leaving me in only a pair of cotton panties beneath the bedclothes. My skin smelled like lavender soap and every other limb had been swabbed and bandaged before I'd even opened my eyes.

Jade watched the covers dip out of the corner of her eye, trying not to let on that she was interested. It was a doomed effort. We didn't have the same, visceral connection we'd had before, but I could still sense her emotions acutely. Though honestly, you didn't have to be a psychic to guess what she was feeling. Her body language said it all. She yearned toward me, the heat of her desire obvious. Her hands fluttered fitfully on the bedspread as she held herself in check.

"Internal Affairs will lecture me and give me a half-hearted slap on the wrist," I said, mounding the covers against my breasts. "Bradford is pissed that I still managed to wreck his investigation. Not only was the Ripper right under his nose the entire time, but his negligence also got a member of Interpol killed. He thinks that if I'd turned in the tape they could have pulled off some kind of sting, but he won't come out and condemn what I did. He can't, without looking like even more of an ass than he already is. He'll make my life uncomfortable for the next few days and then he'll send me on my way. Annoying, but true."

Jade's lip curled. "He would have been willing to sacrifice that woman. Risk her rape and torture, all for the accolades he'd reap from catching a serial killer."

I wanted to point out the hypocrisy in her outrage, but couldn't. It wasn't the same thing. Not really. Jade and the rest of the Harlequin were killers, yes. Some of them even took pleasure in what they did, but it wasn't like that for Jade. I felt what she did during a kill once. It was clean and utilitarian, something done for the greater good, and not her own personal satisfaction. We were alike in that. Most of the time, I didn't take any pleasure in death, I just knew that it was sometimes necessary to save lives--the trolley problem in action, I guess. There were rare occasions, like Gabriel, where the intensity of my emotions in response to killing gave me pause. But mostly, it was clean and dispassionate. In some ways, Bradford was worse than either of us. He was a coward willing to let others spill blood for him and callous enough to risk the lives of civilians just to seal the deal.

"Donna," I said. I didn't feel bad about giving Jade the name. She'd find out anyway if she was determined enough. "Her name is Donna. Do you know what happened to her after Olaf let her go?"

"She's at the hospital being treated for her injuries. The main concern is therianthropy. Her arm was badly mauled. It usually takes more for the strain to catch, but there are always rare cases. No evidence of rape, strangulation, or prolonged torture. It's why Death is staying by her side, rather than dragging the river to find the man who did it."

I winced. In theory, it was good news, but to Donna, the wait would be torture. I didn't have to know her well to guess that much. She'd lost her husband to a wereanimal years ago. The prospect of becoming one herself...that would upend her entire world. I was glad Edward had stuck by his wife, rather than indulging his more homicidal impulses.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Jade finally turned to look at me properly. She'd cleaned me up but hadn't really done herself the same favor. Her tight shirt and pants were complimentary shades of brown designed to blend perfectly with the New Mexico earth and the rocky outcroppings that littered the landscape. Her hair was mussed, probably tucked beneath a cap of the same color. Rust-colored dirt lay like a fine powder on most of her skin. Her skin was peachy in places, newly healed after an injury. She'd probably scratched her hands and knees all to hell while climbing down to get me.

"For what?"

"Going along with the plan. It was risky. If the shot veered off or the crash had killed me, that would have been the end of you too."

"I don't miss," Jade said. Then her face softened and she glanced down. "I couldn't let him do that to you. Death is better for all of us."

I wasn't sure that everyone I was metaphysically connected to would agree with that, but I didn't contradict her. She and I were in perfect synch on this topic. I'd have rather died than endure what Olaf had in store for me, and she understood that. It was why I'd chosen her to take the shot instead of Bernardo or Verity. They were capable, but neither of them could put themselves in my shoes and would choose what I would choose in the moment. It had to be Jade.

I took the cloth gently from her hand. She looked down, startled as if she'd forgotten she was holding it.

"Take off your shirt," I said.

Jade's eyes flicked up to meet mine cautiously. "Pardon?"

"You cleaned me up. Let me return the favor. I'm guessing you haven't done anything but fuss over me since you got here."

Jade reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth, rolling motion. Smears of dark earth were visible against the taut planes of her stomach where the sweaty cloth had clung to her skin. The sports bra beneath was simple beige, there for support, not seduction. She shuddered when I reached for the bra and tugged it off as well. Her breasts were on the small side, but still well-formed and lovely. Her lips parted when I brushed a thumb over one taut peak.

"Anita..."

"Shh," I soothed, letting my hand fall away.

I ran the cloth over her in wide swaths, clearing her skin of dirt. She removed the pants without prompting, climbing onto the bed, back slightly arched as I smoothed the cloth across her supple calves, the graceful arch of her feet, between her toes. She was actually trembling when I reached between her thighs, taking extra care to erase any evidence of filth. I knew from experience that just being physically clean had a profound mental impact, easing the fear and disgust that knotted behind your breastbone, making it hard or sometimes impossible to breathe. She'd removed Olaf's touch before I even opened my eyes. She deserved to have someone scrub Amir off her skin, erasing the last trace he'd ever been there. I knew, deep down, it wasn't as simple as that, but I could feel the tight harp strings of horror that held her immobile for so long loosening, turning her pliant in my hands.

At some point, the covers slipped. Cool air wafted over my shoulders, across my breasts, and stirred my hair. Jade's eyes burned, her expression almost painfully strained with the intensity of her desire.

"Anita," she began again her voice small and pleading. "Please..."

"Touch me," I whispered.

It was all the prompting Jade needed. She rose up on her knees, slinking toward me with the sinuous grace of a cat. I never understood how therianthropes could move like that as if they had muscles in places no human being should. She almost seemed to glow in the low light, sleek lines and subtle curves, so beautiful that it hurt to look at her. It wasn't the aristocratic beauty of London, the sultry sensuality of Jeanette, the fragile, porcelain beauty of Gretchen. It was the tenacious strength that shone out through her smoldering ember eyes, the ferocity of her spirit, the strength in her limbs, like a Valkyrie swooping low over the field of battle. She'd chosen me.

When her mouth closed over mine, it was sweet, lingering, and unerringly right. She shoved the covers out of the way, twining her legs with mine. The weight of her was unfamiliar but welcome. She was small and compact, and I wondered for just a moment if this was what it was like for Jeanette to hold me. It was like clinging to a contradiction. So petite, so lithe, so outwardly breakable to be so deadly. She mounted my thigh, rubbing herself catlike against me, the heat of her maddening. She let out a keening cry when I moved the cotton panties aside, feathering her clit with gentle strokes, until she went taut as a bowstring, her back forming a perfect arch as she came.

I didn't resist when she pushed me firmly to the mattress, peppering my face with kisses. Her mouth tasted like salt, her tears forming dewdrops on my skin as she showered me with bittersweet affection. Her hands roamed, reverent and cautious, a supplicant at an altar, afraid to touch divinity. I wasn't a god, wasn't any kind of savior, but I let her do it. It scoured away the blunt, calloused feeling of Olaf's hand wedged between my thighs, the revolting smell of him in my nostrils. Jade was a feather in that instant, not a knife.

Jade wasn't a master of seduction. When she slipped her fingers inside me, her tongue gliding through my slickness, it was fumbling, overeager, and almost heartbreakingly human. If I'd allowed myself to be honest in college, I could have had this. A partner who wasn't versed in everything I wanted. It made it easier to be less self-conscious, to guide her where I needed her most, and to coax her with breathy encouragement until she got the rhythm right. In many ways, she was just as green as I was. She hadn't had a female lover in over a thousand years.

Her face was still glistening with tears when I came and she curled exhausted in my arms. We bundled together under the covers until her shaking stopped. Her relief tasted like rain on my tongue.

"Thank you," she whispered.

What she was thanking me for, I didn't know. Killing Amir? Surviving the fall onto the riverbank? The sex? Holding her close? Taking a chance on her at all? It didn't really matter, in the end. There was only one response that mattered. I curled her closer, burying my face in her damp hair.

"You're welcome, Jade."

Chapter Text

Jade moved as silently as a cat through the snow, despite how tender she was. I felt like a lumbering elephant in comparison, crunching through calf-high drifts. The weather in Colorado was considerably colder than in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I'd gotten so used to the balmy February weather that the weight of my black puffer jacket felt foreign. If the cold bothered Jade, she didn't show it. She hadn't bothered with a jacket and had instead gone for inconspicuous camping clothes. The long-sleeve flannel, denim jeans, and hiking boots wouldn't stand out on the trail. She'd tucked her glossy hair under a trapper hat and obscured most of her face with the thick, woolen scarf I'd bought at a nearby department store. She probably had one packed in her bag, but she'd taken the offering with a smile, nonetheless.

"Are you sure you don't want to book a flight?" I asked. "It would be faster."

"And more traceable," she said, gliding through the snow toward the line of towering trees like a lithe shadow. "The Captian's therian servant devised a system to monitor flights departing most major airports. Any flight you're on will automatically be flagged as a high priority. I'm a Clan Tiger with no visible ties to any of the five families. That will raise eyebrows too. Slower is safer, at this point. And thanks to you, no one knows to look for me."

I shuddered at the mention of 'The Captain.' I knew instinctually who she meant, even if she'd only referred to him indirectly. Il Capitano, who worked closely with Pantelone, another of the Harlequin. Now that she was no longer an official member of the Harlequin, she was subject to the same taboos and restrictions as the rest of us. We'd have to work out a code if I wanted to sift answers about the Harlequin from her sometime. Of course, she could offload the entirety of her life to Jeanette if she really wanted anyone to know. She was her tiger to call now.

"Thanks to Jeanette, you mean. She was the one who did all the heavy lifting."

The slanting shadow of a Lodgepole pine obscured her expression, but I could feel her gaze on my face regardless. Every part of me was hyperaware of her in a way I'd never experienced outside of Belle's line. For London and Jeanette, their allure was simply a state of being. Jade's pull was harder to articulate. There was still something of her in me, a connection too intangible to quantify. We'd never speak mind to mind outside of dreams, but I could still feel her if I concentrated hard enough.

"She would never have bothered to try if you hadn't asked. I respect her principles, but she's still a politician. She doesn't take risks unless the personal gain outweighs the potential fallout."

I wanted to argue the point, but I couldn't. I knew the kind of person Jeanette was. Or rather, what circumstances had forced her to become over the course of several centuries. She tried to be as ethical as possible, deferring to my delicate sensibilities where she could. But if violence was expedient and got the job done with the least amount of damage to the people under her care, she'd do it. She'd lie, cheat, and steal to keep her territories afloat and her people safe. I was the one blind spot in her pragmatic worldview, the only thing she'd burn the whole thing to the ground for. She'd as much as admitted that she'd freed Jade for me and for the potential boost to her own power.

I knew all of that about her, and it didn't make me love her any less. Did that say something nasty about my character? Or was I finally coming to terms with the harsh reality that had popped my idealistic bubble?

"She still did it," I pointed out. "Can you imagine what would have happened to all three of us if she'd failed? I think it warrants a thank you, at least."

She came to a halt at the trailhead. There weren't many people willing to hike the Colorado Trail at this time of night or in this weather, so I was the only one who caught the flinching around her eyes. I took one of her small, slender hands in mine. Even through my thick gloves, I could tell she was shaking.

"And she reaped the rewards," Jade said quietly. "She has me. More to the point, she can call more like me. It's a nice feather in her cap."

I frowned. "Do you really hate her that much?"

"I don't hate her. I mistrust her. There's a difference."

"She's worth getting to know," I said.

"If you insist."

I didn't press the issue, though a small part of me wanted to defend Jeanette's honor. She could be good for Jade if they got to know each other well. They had more in common than she might think.

"So, where do you go from here?" I asked. "Or is that top secret?"

"I'm meeting a contact of mine in Durango as soon as possible."

"A member of the Guard?"

She shook her head. "Amir's personal contact for forgeries. He was a covetous bastard, never sharing his resources if he didn't have to. I should be able to establish new identities in a month or two, and then I'm going overseas."

"To do what, exactly?"

Jade began moving again, swift and silent, only pausing to accommodate my gimpy pace. My toes were beginning to go numb, despite my insulated snow boots. She wasn't the only one who was sore. I was still stiff from the battering I'd taken recently.

"To find help," she said slowly. "It might be a complete fool's errand, but I've heard rumors about relics that can ward off possession by the Mother. Things forged by her opposite, the Day Father. Our legends call him the Father of Tigers. If you believe the myths, he created us. If she's out there, it seems logical to assume he is too. Maybe he's trapped behind a seal. And if he is, I intend to break it."

I tugged her to a stop, turning her to face me. She arched into me when I leaned in to kiss her. When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard enough to fog the air between us.

"Be careful and keep in touch, okay?"

Her lips tugged into a small, secretive smile. "I'll do my best. Ancient tombs and remote mountain ranges don't always have reception."

"When you can," I pressed.

"When I can," she said. "I promise."

Then she turned away from me, loping into the darkness, almost immediately lost from sight, leaving the words we couldn't say hanging in the chill night air between us.

Chapter Text

The phone went to voicemail, which wasn't unusual at this time of day. The Burgess-Price building, the grand central station for all things vampire in St. Louis, had a limited daytime staff, and they'd all be on lunch break soon.

I'd allowed myself a rare break. After thwarting the plans of a primordial creature of darkness, freeing a pantheon, and possibly axing one of Europe's most notorious serial killers, I figured that I deserved that much. I slept in and checked my messages when I finally rolled out of bed.

One from Edward, giving me a status update on Donna's condition. Her tests had come back positive for therianthropy, which would speed the healing process, physically at least. Mentally? Well, that was another thing entirely. Accepting that you were going to transform into something huge and predatory every full moon was difficult for anyone. For someone with Donna...difficult was an understatement. Impossible might be closer to the mark. I didn't envy the therapy bills Edward would rack up for this one. At least she was alive. Where there's life, hope springs eternal.

The second message was from Jade, giving me cryptic clues about her location. I had a feeling I was going to be playing an ongoing game of 'Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?' with my new girlfriend. I'd puzzle the hints out in the airport while I waited.

My third message was from my grandmother, who’d taken over as Master of the City after Obsidian Butterfly’s demise. She’d informed me primly that the mummies had been ‘disposed of’ as per her Master’s last order. I didn’t trust it, so I asked Teyacapan to confirm. It was true. She hadn’t sounded happy about it.

Me? I didn’t know how to feel. My grandfather was dead. Part of me wondered if I should mourn, but my more rational half reminded me he’d been a genocidal rapist. I decided apathy was probably the best I could offer. At least I hadn’t been forced to risk my human status for him. I still wasn’t a skinwalker. Yet more things to celebrate.

The last message had been from Agent Clay, the FBSA liaison in Topeka, Kansas, asking for a consult on a recent spate of vampire killings in the area. I'd agreed to take a look.

"You've reached the voicemail of Jeanette Davenay's office," Cherry's recorded voice enthused, too chipper for my mood this morning. "We're out of the office at the moment, but if you leave your name, contact information, and reason for calling, we'll call you back at our earliest convenience."

A flat tone followed the stock message. I took a deep breath, adjusting the weight of the pack on my shoulder. All my bags save one were in the Jeep. London and Verity's coffins in the back of a covered pickup bed already on the way to the airport. Bernardo had agreed to drive them for me, given what I'd gone through recently. The Santa Fe house was clean enough to double as a show home for a realty company. I wasn't leaving anything of value behind here. I raised my face to the midday sun, soaking in the welcome heat. It was the only thing I'd miss about New Mexico.

"Hey, Cherry, this is Anita," I said. "I'm boarding a plane for Topeka at four. I have a brief stop to make. Let Jeanette know that I'm on my way home."