Ravenous

And waited. Then she took off her shoes and picked up a magazine. Holly flicked the pages impatiently while she waited some more. How long does it take to make coffee?

She got up and went to the kitchen, expecting to hear more running water, maybe the clatter of silverware, but it was quiet. And empty. Dishes were piled in the sink; the dishwasher door was ajar. The coffeemaker carafe sat on the counter, full of water. It looked like Mac had set it down, interrupted in the middle of making coffee, and never come back.

Holly put her hands on her hips. Perhaps he had passed out somewhere, overwhelmed by her womanly charms. She checked the bathroom. It was white and chrome and empty of sprawled bodies.

Next Holly tried the study. It was a small, spare room with a desk, computer, and filing cabinet. On the wafer-thin monitor, a string-art screen saver did slow cartwheels in the darkness. She wiggled the mouse, but no Help, I've been abducted by aliens message flashed onto the screen. She was getting irritated and a bit scared.

Onward to the bedroom. Images of furry handcuffs and stethoscopes danced in her mind, giving life to all the bad-date urban legends that lurked in her imagination. By now in no mood to find Macmillan reclining on a fur rug, she flipped on the overhead light.

Mac was sprawled face-down on the bed, one arm dangling off the side. Then she smelled sickness— psychic sickness, a faint, desiccated, dusty smell, as if death had been dried and ground into a powder.

Omigod, how did I miss this? Alessandro said Mac didn't smell right!

Holly ran to the bed, grabbing his shoulder. The sweater was soaked through with perspiration, his hair trailing in sodden waves. 'Mac?'

His only reply was a gurgling haul of breath.

Panic lanced through her. Sweet Hecate, this happened so fast! There must have been something there, festering, but something so foreign she didn't recognize it. Something hiding.

She dug her fingers into Mac's shoulder muscle, hoping for a flutter of consciousness that didn't come. She bent close. 'Mac, can you hear me?'

The foul energy rolling off him nearly made her gag. As she recoiled, he made a noise between a grunt and a moan. At least it was something. Holly grabbed the phone from the bedside table, dialing 911.

'Ambulance, please!' Holly pleaded.

The plastic receiver slipped from her sweating palm, forcing her to give it a white-knuckled grip. The dispatcher was saying something. Holly stared at Mac's prone form, chewing her lip.

'What is your address, please?' the voice on the phone repeated, the woman's tone sharp.

Holly gave directions, stammering when she tried to recall the apartment number. No, she didn't know what was wrong. Yes, she would be there to answer the door.

She was panicking. It was the horrible, cloying energy, black like tar, thick in her throat. Rot. Decay. Despair. Not a smell so much as an aura of horror. A gray tide sloshed across her vision.

She dropped the phone. I'm going to be sick.

Window. Hard to open. Lock sliding through her fingers.

The dispatcher's voice came in tinny mumbles from the dropped handset.

A blast of cold air rushed into the room. Holly braced herself against the wall, her mouth nearly touching the wire mesh of the screen. The wind seemed impossibly sweet, the room unspeakably foul.

'Oh, God.'

She turned at the sound of the wet, rasping voice. The fresh air must have revived Macmillan, too. He was trying to sit up, but every limb shook until the bed itself rattled. He angled his face to her, the whites of his eyes wide with terror. 'What's happening to me?'

Holly shook her head. 'I don't know.' The confession brought a sting to her eyes. I failed him. I should be able to help, but how? Tears slipped out, hot with guilt.

'You said I was okay.' The words came out like a cry from the heart.

'I couldn't find anything. Honestly. I've never seen this before.'

'No.' He was on his side now, his legs curling into his chest. His breath was coming in jerks, as if each would gag him with the effort. 'No, it can't be. OK God, it hurts.'

He stopped speaking, his eyes squeezed tight. His mouth opened in a soundless scream as fresh rivulets of sweat ran down his cheeks, soaking the pillowcase. Warped power rolled off him in waves, as if his very soul were vibrating out of phase.

Holly's gorge rose, but she fought it back, steeling herself for his sake. She fell to her knees beside the bed. 'The ambulance is coming. They'll help. They'll make it right.' They

won't have a clue what to do, but they may keep him alive long enough for me to find an answer.

'Don't leave me,' he said, gripping her hand so hard that it cramped.

'I won't,' she said.

'Holly, I'm losing myself.'

Chapter 15

'Damn you, Pierce, you killed it!' Alessandro folded his arms and looked down at the changeling, disgust welling. Disgust at Pierce's clumsy job of questioning. Disgust at the sight of the grease spot where the creature's body had melted into the carpet.

'It was an accident,' Pierce protested.

Omara stood a few feet away, her expression that of an irritated schoolteacher. She was still dressed in the pantsuit she had worn earlier, reminding Alessandro of a carnivorous Emma Peel. They were in one of the hotel's plush conference rooms, the mahogany furniture pushed against the wall. Two of Omara's security vamps stood either side of the double doors, arms folded.

'You could have waited for me,' Alessandro growled at Pierce. 'Interrogation is my job. I know how to do it properly.'

'You always get to question the prisoners.'

'Apparently I'm better at it.'

Omara cut in. 'Boys, I'm glad you're both in touch with your respective inner children, but skip the tantrums.'

Her jibe did nothing to improve the atmosphere. Why did she let Pierce screw this up? When I left, she was angry with

him for feeding from the human woman in public. Now she is letting him serve her? Letting him do my job?

Alessandro rounded on Pierce. 'The changeling was the best lead we had, and now it's gone. Did you kill it to cover your tracks?'

'What?' Pierce gave him a what-the-hell look. 'You think I'm in league with changelings? Why?'

Omara inspected her rings, tilting her hand so the gems glittered in the light from the overhead chandeliers. Their divisive squabble seemed to please her. It certainly gave her the position of power. 'Alessandro is determined to think the worst of you. It's the sad effect of centuries of bad behavior, darling. People start to judge.' Omara snapped her fingers, bringing the security vamps to attention. 'We're done here. Tell the concierge to clean up.'

Alessandro swore in lusty, antique Italian. He had left Holly for nothing. Right now she was enjoying a meal with Macmillan, having a pleasurable bonding experience he could never offer her. In so many ways the detective outmatched him.

He wrenched his thoughts back to the mess in front of him.

'Where did you find the changeling?' he asked.

Pierce replied. 'University Laundromat. One of the local werewolves phoned in the sighting as a courtesy.'