Family to oppose them.
“Is there a local pack in San Francisco? What are they like?” he said.
“Word has it the pack there is centered in Oakland and tends to stay out of San Francisco proper. Roman probably knows that.”
Rick glanced away, chuckling.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s the same old story. Both Roman and Anastasia bringing werewolves as hired muscle. Vampires as nobility and werewolves as peasant foot soldiers. The patterns are ingrained among the oldest of us and we keep falling into them.”
That kind of thing made me angry. Made me mouth off when I ought to stay quiet. It almost made me look forward to the upcoming conflict.
“That just means I have to stand up for myself, don’t I?”
“I don’t see you having any trouble with that.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Any other advice?”
“If you see Roman, get out,” he said.
“That’s already on the agenda.” I figured if I actually saw Roman, it would already be too late.
“Keep in mind that Anastasia is not the most powerful thing you might meet out there. If she and Roman are both after this artifact, that means it’s more powerful than both of them. Be careful.”
“I’m not really all that interested in power,” I said.
“That’s why those in power find you so interesting. They really don’t like rogue elements getting in the way of their plans.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Do you know I was probably the only vampire in North America for about a century?”
“Alette might have mentioned something along those lines. How the hell did that happen?”
“It…” He paused, looking off to some distant time—some very distant time. “It’s a long story. But when the second wave of vampire immigrants arrived, they were a little surprised to find me.”
To be a fly on that wall. I could see it now, some kind of crazy Monty Python–like sketch with vampires going back and forth: “What are you doing here?” “I live here.” “But how can you?
“Maybe I’ll tell you the whole story sometime.”
“Rick, you have
“How about this: We’ll trade stories when you get back from San Francisco. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I just had to be sure I came back with a lot of stories.
Chapter 4
TWO DAYS OF driving later, we checked into a lower-rent, unassuming motel in the middle of the city, off the tourist tracks. That was Cormac’s idea. He said we could come and go without drawing as much attention. I thought maybe he was just self-conscious about staying someplace with room service.
I stood at the window of our room. It didn’t have much of a view, which was frustrating, because less than a mile away was water, San Francisco Bay, its famous bridges, and so on. All I saw were buildings and a busy street. The sky was bright but hazy. The temperature was surprisingly cool. So much for a California summer.
We’d been sure to arrive during daylight hours so we could get our bearings before we had to face Anastasia after nightfall.
“You ever been to San Francisco?” Ben asked. He drew close behind me, resting a hand on my hip, his cheek against my hair.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m fighting an urge to run off and take the boat tour to Alcatraz.”
“Let’s do that after we’ve figured out that Roman isn’t really here and we’re not in trouble.”
“Roman can’t come out in daylight,” I argued, but the sense of foreboding lingered.
“Yeah, but Roman has minions. I thought that’s why we’re here.”
I drew his arms around me and hugged him close. “We’ll be careful.”
A knock came at the door. We were expecting it, but Ben checked the peephole anyway before undoing the dead bolt, then the chain, and opening the door for Cormac, who was staying in the room next door.
He stepped inside. “Ready to go hunting?” He had his leather jacket and sunglasses in place, ready for action. He’d taken possession of the stake we’d found back in Kansas and had that hidden somewhere, and probably a few more stakes besides.
Ben carried the semiautomatic pistol that normally lived in the glove box of the car in a shoulder holster under his blazer. It was loaded with silver bullets. Guns made me nervous, and I wasn’t sure if that was because I didn’t like guns, or I didn’t like how often we seemed to need them. I reassured myself that he probably wouldn’t have to use it.
In addition, Cormac gave us all crosses on chains to wear. Just in case.
I’d guessed that Roman had werewolf minions in town; we were going to try to flush them out. Not necessarily confront them—just see how many there were and what they were up to. Maybe follow them to Roman. If we found them first, they couldn’t jump us.
The chances of finding anything in this huge, packed city were slim. So I kept telling myself.
We planned to meet Anastasia a couple of hours after sunset at an address in Chinatown. That gave us some time to drive into the heart of the city, check out the area, watch for anything that seemed wrong. We decided to start in Fisherman’s Wharf and work our way south. After parking, Ben and I would go together; Cormac would follow separately. I didn’t like splitting up the pack. We needed to look out for each other. Safety in numbers.
As we left the parking lot, I looked all around, taking in the sights and sounds of one of the most touristy locations in the country, squinting against a wind blowing off the water, watching gulls dive and soar. We’d already discussed the plan. I still tried to argue. “I’d feel better if we stuck together.”
“Too obvious,” Cormac answered. “You two look fine as a couple. I don’t look like I belong with you.”
“But—”
“He’s right,” Ben said.
I wore jeans and a light blue blouse; Ben wore khaki slacks and a button-up shirt and blazer. Give us sunglasses and a couple of cameras and we’d look like yuppie tourists. On the other hand, Cormac looked like he ought to be riding a Harley on some dusty back road.
“I’ll keep you in sight, but don’t go looking for me. Got it?” Cormac patted a couple of pockets, as if checking for something. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and walked off in the opposite direction from us.
In ten minutes, Ben and I reached the waterfront around Fisherman’s Wharf. The place was crowded, chaotic, lots of traffic, cars crammed together in makeshift parking lots, a mix of buildings from every decade for the last century, restaurants and junk shops, hotels and offices. Piers crammed with boats: sailboats, fishing boats, tour boats. And people. This late in the day, there seemed to be a ton of screaming children who were too tired and hungry to be interested in cotton candy anymore. I stuck close to Ben, our arms touching as we walked.
“No werewolf in his right mind is going to be stalking us here,” Ben said. “This place is a zoo.”
“Well, we know that
I had a vague sense of Cormac walking about a block behind us. I had to resist an urge to glance over my shoulder, to check my hunch. My senses were going haywire with all the sensory input. Cars, trucks, buses all made different sounds, had slightly different-smelling exhausts. Music from distant radios clashed. Streetlights, traffic lights, signal lights. Dozens of buildings, and every one had a different set of signs, and rows of windows looked down on us. And the people. Hundreds of people, who all looked and smelled different, who spoke a half dozen different languages. It felt like getting trapped in the middle of a herd of cows.
