Deadlocked

since Jannalynn might be around to intercept him.”

I thought that was a fair summary. “Yes, and I’ve passed that message along to Alcide,” I said. “Plus, what’s most important to Mustapha, his friend Warren is missing. I think someone abducted Warren, and they’re holding him in return for Mustapha’s good behavior.”

“Then finding Warren would be a good thing,” Bil said, and I winced when I heard his voice. I’d screwed up.

“I get that it was dumb for me not to have mentioned this first of al ,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Tel me about this Warren.”

“You haven’t ever seen him?”

Bil shrugged. “No. Why would I?”

“He’s a shooter. He was stationed outside Fangtasia the night we kil ed Victor.”

“So that was Warren. Skinny little guy, big eyes, long hair?”

“Sounds right.”

“What are he and Mustapha to each other?”

It was my turn to shrug. “I have no idea. They were in prison together, I think.”

“Mustapha was in prison?”

I nodded. “Yeah, his real name is KeShawn Johnson. I got that out of his head.”

Bil look puzzled. “But … do you remember the vampire who decapitated Wybert at the beginning of the brawl at Sophie-Anne’s monastery?”

“I’l never forget that. Thin, dreadlocks?”

“His name was Ra Shawn.”

We were just swapping expressions. It was my turn to do Puzzled. “No, I don’t recol ect that at al . Oh … wait, yeah. Andre told me his name.”

“You don’t think it’s an interesting coincidence? Ra Shawn and KeShawn? Both black? Both supernaturals?”

“But one’s a werewolf, and the other was a vampire. Ra Shawn could have been born hundreds of years ago. I guess they could be related.”

“I think that’s just possible.” Bil was giving me a long-suffering look.

“The database,” I suggested, and he pul ed a little bunch of keys from his pocket. There was a black rectangle attached to the key ring.

“I have it right here,” he said, and I was amazed al over again at Bil ’s plunge into the modern world.

“And that would be a what?” I asked.

“This is a jump drive.” Bil looked quizzical.

“Oh, sure.” I’d had enough of feeling dumb for the evening. We went inside so Bil could use my computer. Bil carried over a chair for me and then took his seat in the rol ing chair directly in front of the screen.

He inserted the little stick into a slot I hadn’t even realized was on the side of my computer. After a couple of minutes, he had The Vampire Directory on the screen.

“Wow.” I looked at the opening, some very dramatic graphics. A pair of Gothic gates hung closed, a giant lock on them. The background music was dark and atmospheric. I hadn’t paid any attention when I’d used a stolen copy of the database before, because I’d been so conscious of my guilt. Now I could appreciate the graveyard humor in Bil ’s presentation. A written introduction appeared superimposed on the gates in many different languages. After you selected the language you wanted, a solemn voice read the introduction out loud. Bil skipped through al that. He touched a few keys, and the Gothic gates creaked open to show al our options. As Bil explained, you could sort the vampires in different ways. You could look for vampires in Yugoslavia, for example, or you could look for female vampires in the St. Louis area. Or al vampires more than a thousand years old in Myanmar.

“I can’t believe you did al this,” I said admiringly. “It’s so cool.”

“It was a lot of work,” he said absently, “and I had a lot of help.”

“How many languages is it available in?”

“So far, thirty.”

“This must have made money hand over fist, Bil . I hope you got some of it yourself.” I hoped it wasn’t pouring into the bank account of Felipe de Castro. Who so didn’t deserve it.

“I’ve made some change from it,” Bil said, smiling.

That was a good expression to see on Bil ’s face. He didn’t wear it often enough.

In a jiffy, he’d cal ed up the entry for Ra Shawn. The vampire had been about thirty at the time of his human death, but he’d been a vampire for (maybe) a hundred years at the time of his second death. Ra Shawn’s background was hazy, but he’d first been noticed in Haiti, Bil ’s sources had told him. The dreadlocked Ra Shawn had long been a cult figure in the black supernatural community. He had been the cool and deadly black vampire, hired by kings, gangsters, and political figures as a fighter.

“Wel ,” I said, “Maybe Mustapha’s—KeShawn’s—parents were into supernatural African culture. After prison, maybe he became a Blade clone because he wanted a more current model.”

“Everybody needs a hero,” Bil agreed, and I opened my mouth to ask him who his had been. Robert E. Lee?