could handle.

I charged. Her hands flew up again. I chopped them down, disrupting her spell. She started to cast again, this time not using her hands. A witch spell. A roundhouse kick knocked her off her feet and cut that one short.

Marguerite leapt between us. She grabbed the woman and dragged her into the alcove. Inside, the man lay on his back, out cold from her bite.

As Marguerite took the woman into the shadows for the same treatment, I looked down the street. A chubby guy in a business suit stood twenty feet away. Just stood there, travel mug raised halfway to his lips, like he’d been frozen there the whole time, watching the fight.

“Morning,” I said.

He skittered across the road and took off the other way.

“Looks like he didn’t want to play Good Samaritan today,” I said as Marguerite joined me on the sidewalk. “But he probably has a cell, so he might call …” I stopped, seeing her holding what looked like a phone. “Did they manage to call someone?”

“A radio with a GPS.” She lifted the box. “They sent our coordinates.”

She dropped it over the side of a trash bin, and we took off. As we turned the corner, we saw the woman from the bus station rounding the next one down the block. I wheeled. Two unfamiliar men were approaching from the rear. I hesitated, telling myself they were just humans, bystanders, heading off to work. Then one reached into his coat and pulled out a gun.

Marguerite grabbed my shoulder, steering me to the nearest exit: a service lane just ahead. At the mouth, she caught my arm and peered down the lane, making sure it wasn’t a dead end. There was a wall thirty feet down, but the lane continued, turning left.

We raced to the end, veered around the corner … and found a single parking space, enclosed on all other sides by soaring walls.

“No, no, no,” Marguerite whispered.

I pointed. “A door.”

As we ran to it, Marguerite pulled out her lock picks. I tried the handle, just in case, but of course it was locked. She pushed a pick into the keyhole.

Footfalls pounded down the service lane. She stopped and turned.

“Just open—” I began.

“No time.”

She looked around, then her chin shot up. I followed her gaze to a fire escape. I ran for it. She boosted me, and I grabbed the bottom rung. I scrambled up, hand over hand, as fast as I could. At a shout, I looked down to see the woman skidding to a halt at the end of the alley … and Marguerite, still on the ground.

“Marguerite!”

“Go!” When I didn’t budge, she glowered up at me, fangs extended as she snarled, “Go!”

She ran at the woman. I climbed, slower now, fingers trembling, forcing myself to take each step, my gut screaming for me to stop, to go back for her. But I knew she was right. I had no defenses against a gun. She did. I had to get away and trust she’d follow.

When I reached the top, I turned. The first thing I saw was the woman, unconscious on the ground. Then the two men, one holding Marguerite in a head-lock, the other with his gun trained on me. I hesitated. He fired.

The bullet hit the brick below my foot. He lifted the barrel higher. I lunged onto the rooftop, heart thudding. The metal fire escape groaned as someone began to climb it. I scrambled to my feet and took off across the roof.

* * *

I got away. As soon as I did, I realized I had to go back.

They’d already tried to kill Marguerite. She was just an obstacle to getting me and, now, a way to get to me, to lure me in. She’d survived being shot, but now that they knew what she was, they’d know how to kill her. I shivered just thinking about what they might do to try to convince her to give me up. And when they couldn’t, they’d kill her. No question.

I shivered, gulping icy air as I stood pressed against a wall, catching my breath. Then I closed my eyes and listened. No one was coming. I kept listening, trying to hear the roar of the dam to orient myself. It was close by, just to my right. I turned the other way and started walking.

* * *

I found them in the same service lane we’d run into. They’d backed a van in and had the rear doors open as one of the men dragged Marguerite, hands behind her back, gagged and struggling, toward it.

As I strode into the alley, the driver leapt out, raising his gun.

“I come in peace,” I said, lifting my fingers in a V.

He paused, half out of the van, his broad face screwing up in confusion.

I raised my hands. “See? No pistol. No switchblade. Not even a ray gun.”

The witch I’d taken out earlier came around the other side of the van, approaching slowly. I watched her lips, ready for the first sign of a spellcast.

“I want to make a deal,” I said.

She didn’t answer, just stopped, her gaze traveling over me like she was looking for a hidden weapon. The driver eased back into the van, door still open, radio going to his lips.

“You can stop looking for her,” he said. “She’s right here.” Pause. “Yeah, it’s the O’Sullivan kid. Says she wants to make a deal.” His voice dropped. “Better hurry.”

The other man resumed dragging Marguerite to the van.

“Uh-uh,” I said. “Put her in there and I’m gone. This deal is a trade. You take me and you let her go.”

Marguerite shook her head wildly, her eyes blazing. I looked away and focused on the witch.

“You do want me, right?” I said.

“We do.”

“And you aren’t interested in her.”

Her lips twisted with undisguised distaste. Marguerite told me that’s how other supernaturals see vampires —unnatural and inhuman, worthy only of fear and disgust. They would kill her as soon as they could. I was sure of it now.

I continued, “So you take the prodigal science experiment home to the lab, and the vampire goes free. Fair enough?”

The witch hesitated, then nodded. “Come along then, Kathy.”

“It’s Kat.”

A flicker of annoyance, quickly hidden. “All right then. Kat. Come—”

“I’m not coming anywhere until you release her. She’ll walk this way. I’ll walk that way. Crisscross. Everyone’s happy.” Except me, going back to that horrible place, those awful experiments. I pushed the thought away. I was valuable, so I’d survive, which was more than I could say for Marguerite if I didn’t do this. She’d given up her freedom to look after me. Now it was time for me to do the same for her.

When the witch didn’t move, I said, “I’m not going anywhere. You guys have guns, spells, demonic powers, whatever. I have zip. Just let her go, so I’m sure you’re holding up your end of the bargain.”

Another brief pause, then the witch signaled to the man holding Marguerite. He released her. As she walked toward me, I headed for the witch, my gaze still fixed on her. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Marguerite pull down the gag, mouthing to me, trying to get my attention, trying to tell me to wait for her signal, then run. I ignored her. I had to go through with this.

I was about five feet from Marguerite when a truck backfired behind me, the sound cracking like gunfire. I jumped and spun. That’s all I did. I didn’t lunge. I didn’t run. I didn’t even back up. It didn’t matter. I’d moved, and when I did, I heard the pfft of a silenced shot.

Marguerite screamed. I felt her hit me in the back, the blow so hard it knocked me off my feet, and as I fell, I twisted, and saw her running toward me, still three feet away, too far to have hit me. A spell, it had to be a—

I hit the pavement, flat on my back, blood spraying up from my chest.

Blood. Spraying up. From me. From my chest.

I lifted my head, looking down at myself, and saw—and saw—and saw—

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