absolutely hordes of slaves and we can do anything we want with the meat sacks.'
'Sounds like fun.'
'Totally toga party! I'd like to kill a couple, just to see if it's as big a spiff in the quiff as everyone says it is, and have them grovel and beg and cry and everything. I mean, I could see the Shadowspawn really got off on that when I was doing it. And we won't have to stay in town all the time or watch what we say in front of meat sacks, and I can go to concerts and raves and all that like the people on TV and the Web. Or maybe spring break in Puerto Vallarta.'
'It's certainly got the Masters completely focused,' Salvador said. 'Hardly any of them left in the bay area. Usually there are a couple of dozen, at least.'
Tiffany nodded. 'There aren't any Masters left in town here at all, well, there are Dona Adrienne's kids, I suppose. I've seen them a couple of times. Just kids, if you don't know better. Sometimes the servants bring them down into town, or they have playdates and things.'
Bingo, third confirmation and that's the charm, he thought, disguising a hunter's satisfaction with a bite of muffin. Definitely out of town, kids still definitely here. Plenty of nannies and such, I should think, and the security detail, but the living…well, active…monsters gone.
'Didn't your Dona Adrienne have another lucy? I think I heard someone mention that.'
'Oh, Jose. No, he's retired…well, you know, retired from being a lucy. Out of town now, his aunt's got this business he helps with. The Villegas are sort of stuck up cause they've been here forever, but he's nice.'
A sigh from the girl, as she propped her chin on a fist. 'I'd like to travel. What's San Francisco like? There's this great place for clothes my mom got to go to once and she's still talking about it.'
It struck Eric suddenly that quite possibly this Tiffany Meachum had never been more than a few miles from the town where she'd been born.
Man, I'm never going to read 'Salems Lot' again, he thought as he did riffs on the backstory of his supposed identity; the Brotherhood had a good system for producing them and he'd studied hard. Isolated small towns with horrible secrets just aren't going to be any fun even to imagine. I wonder what's in the cellars and attics here?
'So,' she said a little later. 'I get off at six. My place or yours?'
Salvador choked slightly. 'Ah…'
'Well, you do want to fuck me, don't you?'
He answered with a wordless grunt, and she gave him a winning smile.
'I can probably get Jilly in on it too if you'd like that. Bet you've never had sisters at the same time! Rough stuffs fine, either way, I like pitching and catching. Your hotel might be better, 'cause my folks are, like, ancient and yell and pound on the door if I get too loud, and I really like to do that. Or you could gag me.'
'Ah, sorry. Can't.'
For a moment he felt a horrible temptation; it had been a long time since his dates had included anyone but Ms. Rosy Palm. Then he mentally recoiled at his mind's prompting vision of what he'd feel like afterwards.
You are too old to be thinking with the little head, Salvador. Also you have to look at yourself every day in the mirror.
'Oh, don't be all unfun!' she said, sensing his recoil. 'I could get Don, my boyfriend, too,' she added, with a considering glance. 'If that's your thing.'
'No offense, but I'm really busy. Another time.'
'Oh, well, it was fun talking, Miguel. Have a nice day. Hail to the, ah, the Black Eternal Dawn…Eternal Black Dawn, and, uh, and whatever!'
'Jesus,' he whispered softly to himself.
Lucy Lane was extremely quiet, a curving row of neo-Spanish houses deeply embowered in big trees, with lovely gardens out front and even better behind, from the glimpses he got. The narrow street made it almost drenched in sweet, heavy flower scent; the roundabout at the end gave onto the hills behind the town, and to the left was the high stucco-and-tile wall around the casa grande. Its roofs showed over the top, and the tips of trees. The brooding presence was never really gone anywhere in town, but here it was overwhelming.
Right, peones down here, hacendados up there. Ms. Cortines must feel right at home, not. I was right about this place being un-American, unless you count maybe Alabama.
From what he'd heard-the briefings had been brief, limited to the essentials-the Brezes had been aristos back in the old country, as well as satanists and magicians using powers they didn't understand until the nineteenth century. The sort who, back when, had hunted peasants for sport with horses and dogs, before what Adrian had called Madame la Guillotine taught them a few limits. Only, the Brezes hadn't wanted any limits. They'd apparently brought their conception of how things should be organized along when they came here, as well. This wasn't exactly a castle on a crag somewhere in the Auvergne with a village huddled at its feet, but it wasn't exactly not like that either.
Right, Salvador said to himself. According to Ellen, the one called Jabar got killed before she left, Peter Boase escaped, Monica's not here, and it doesn't look like there's anyone home anywhere but Cheba. Good news about this Jose guy being off the lane, that'll simplify things.
He felt hideously conspicuous, even though it was getting dark; California weather could make you forget what season it was, but the sun went down at the right time, anyway. The streetlights were picturesque, frosted globes on wrought-iron stands, but not the most efficient outdoor lighting he'd ever seen. Of course, the people who controlled the process could see in the dark anyway.
He didn't like to think what would happen if the local cops caught him loitering with intent on the street that was, essentially, the local Breze drive-by buffet. He'd also been warned that his cover story wouldn't hold up if someone actually contacted the Tokairin for a background check. Not even normal Shadowspawn sloppiness got that bad, and even a large clan didn't have so many close servants that they had to rely entirely on computerized lists.
Plus I don't think the local police are much into the Miranda rights thing, somehow.
The outside light came on at number five, and four people came out.
Right, Monica's kids. Boy eleven, girl ten. Older woman – probably their grandmother. And Eusebia Conines, formerly of Coetzala and Tlacotalpan.
His professional instincts stuttered a little when she hit his eye. She was about seventeen, and not your typical girl from a little ejido village. For one thing she looked to have a strong dash of African in there with the predominant india and some Spaniard, to judge from the cinnamon-coffee color of her skin and the way her blue- black hair was loosely curled, as well as her full lips. Slim, straight figure, but a high, full bust-also not typical, peasant girls tended to stocky builds and breasts at best of the perky persuasion.
Okay, stop snorting and pawing the ground, let's hope she's not as mentally fucked-up as the last pretty girl you saw.
She hadn't been, from what the others said, but she'd also been here a year as a lucy. A pretty traumatic situation to begin with, and Shadowspawn could do things to your head. He'd experienced a little of that with Adrian putting in the blocks and wards; his cover identity would account for that, if he'd been a Tokairin soldato once. They used their renfield mercenaries against one another in their squabbles and didn't want them to be too utterly vulnerable. But that had been clinical, not whatever the local monsters had been doing with her on a whim in this theme park for demons.
These village girls are tough, though. He'd had enough experience with wetbacks to know that. And Adrian said she looked mentally resilient to him. Now for the risky part.
If she yelled for the cops he was dead, or much much worse. Shadowspawn had ways of torturing you that didn't have to end with death. Just plain didn't have to end.
He waited until the older woman and the kids had driven off, then walked through the gate and up the brick pathway. The risers of the steps leading to the arched front door were mosaic tile, and there was a colorful surround in the arch above. It was a nice house, carefully maintained but Lived-in; number one was the only other that did, and it had a couple of bicycles out front in racks, kids' models.
It wasn't the first time he'd knocked on a door that might have someone unhappy to see him behind it. Policemen saw a lot of that. He drew a breath and rapped; it was more personal than ringing the bell.
'Yes?' she said, when the door opened; Salvador had been pretty sure that she spent an instant looking at him through the peephole.
'My name is Eric Salvador, Senorita Cortines. I come from a certain man you met, who was not as he
