Dottie had cut off the spel , I remained trapped in the memory. In my mind I saw a dark-haired vampire
raise his head from my upper thigh, my blood smeared across his face, dripping from the sil y little soul
patch on his chin as he began chanting in a language I didn’t know. Magic rose in a wave. I couldn’t
breathe, and I felt myself weakening as blood pumped from my wounds.
A female form rose in a liquid movement from where she’d been feasting on Johnson. “Are you
insane? You’l get us al kil ed. She’s supposed to
She started to move forward, to interfere, but a melodic voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Real y? How very interesting.”
Every vamp in the al ey turned at the sound of that voice. The chant above me stopped in midsyl able. Soft as a sigh, three forms dropped to opposite ends of the al ey from the rooftops. Only
three, but even in miniature you could see the fear in the eyes of the bats who’d been feasting on me. I
assumed the new bat was Edgar. He and two companions glided slowly forward. In the distance I heard
the screech of tires and the slam of car doors fol owed by running feet. Edgar swore softly and
gestured to his companions.
Edgar and the two vampires with him vanished, without so much as a puff of smoke, leaving the other
bats to deal with the pair of snarling werewolves who tore through the mouth of the al ey.
A harsh slap rocked my head back, and I blinked, trying to focus, as I found myself abruptly back in
Dottie’s sunny living room. My throat ached from screaming and the carpet was wet from where the
crystal bowl had been knocked off the table.
I shivered, my teeth chattering, cold from physical and psychic shock.
I remembered.
Furious pounding at the front door made Dottie jump to her feet abruptly enough to stumble. Gibson
managed to grab her before she could fal , then hurried over to deal with whoever. An alarmed neighbor
probably. Not that I cared. I didn’t. I couldn’t even
adrenaline-laced blood through my body.
As if from a great distance I heard a worried male voice cal ing out, “Dottie, are you al right?”
“I’m fine, Robert.” The old woman’s voice was surprisingly unperturbed. She gave me a meaningful
look before continuing. “Celia here just saw a mouse. It startled her.”
I wasn’t going to argue. I was too busy hyperventilating. Memory suppression is a psychological
defense mechanism. The subconscious mind tries its damnedest to protect us from the things we’re
not equipped to deal with, and the vampire’s spel had helped. It had been too soon to tear the lid off of
these particular memories. Any time in the next mil ennium would have been too soon. “Trauma” is
such a nice, sterile word for what was ripping through my brain and chest.
An elderly man shoved roughly past Gibson to stand in front of Dot, his eyes narrowing with
suspicion. He turned to me, his mouth dropping open.
“I’m phobic.” I managed to gasp out the lie, and saw real relief chase across my hostess’s features.
“Real y, Robert, we need to get an exterminator in here! What I wouldn’t give for my dear Minnie. She
was quite the mouser.” Minnie the Mouser. That was just sick. But I liked it. I found myself choking on a
hysterical laugh.
“Are you al right?” Gibson’s eyes were on mine and were dark with concern.
“I’l be fine.” It was a lie. Fine had gone for a long vacation somewhere along with my sanity. But I was
alive, and here, and I damned wel needed to get my shit together if I was going to survive this. And I
intended to.
Dottie stepped over my foot, splayed across her nice carpet. “Be a dear, Robert, there’s a pitcher of
lemonade in the refrigerator—”
“No.” I shook my head and tried to col ect myself. “Thank you, but no. I’m fine now, and we need to get
going.”
“Are you sure, dear?” Dottie might not want Robert to know what had happened, but she was
obviously concerned about me.
I shook my head again. My brain was gathering the fabric of reality around itself again and I was
happy to report the truth. “I’m okay. Just let me clean up the mess and we’l be out of your hair.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” But she wasn’t hurrying to do it herself, either.
“Real y. I insist. Are there paper towels in the kitchen?”
“Yes, dear. On a holder attached to the wal by the refrigerator. You can’t miss them.”
I got my feet under me and hurried out of the room. Yes, I’d clean up the mess. But more than that, I
wanted a couple of minutes alone.
The prince was a fake. There hadn’t been a raid. There had been no cops at either end of that al ey.
The entire job, from start to finish, had been a setup. I’d been supposed to die and have the whole thing
be blamed on the vampire named Edgar. Why? Damn it …
whole thing was being set up by someone with enough resources and money to make it al happen and
have access to demons or half demons capable and wil ing to work spel s that were anathema.
I’d come here for answers, and wound up with more, and scarier, questions.
8
Gibson slid his cel phone back into the pocket of his jacket. He’d cal ed in and left a voice mail for his
superiors as soon as we’d gotten into the privacy of his car. Now that the cal was over, he glanced at
me from the driver’s seat. “You look like shit.”
I didn’t doubt him, but that didn’t mean I liked hearing it said out loud. “Gee, thanks.” I made the words
as dry and sarcastic as I could, and it brought a tight smile to his face. “You try remembering your own
murder sometime, see how you like it.”
“Nah, I think I’l pass.” He turned his ful attention back to the road.
“Quick thinking, by the way—tel ing the neighbor I’d seen a mouse.”
“Wel , she had to say something. You were screaming bloody murder. And Dottie doesn’t want
anyone to know about her talent. The last time people found out, they hounded her constantly, wanting
her to ‘find out things.’ She didn’t get a minute’s peace.”
I shook my head. The lie had made me look like an idiot, but I’d played along. “Did she real y have a
cat named Minnie the Mouser?”
“Right up until the landlord made her get rid of Minnie.”
“Bastard.”
He chuckled. “I take it you like animals?”
“Love ’em. But my schedule’s weird.”
He let out a heaving sigh as he took a left turn. “Too bad. I was hoping you might want a cat. She
real y is one hel of a mouser.”
I started to laugh. It was a little bit hysterical, but I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes either you laugh or
you cry, and crying wouldn’t do any good.
Unfortunately, I laughed hard enough that tears started.
reached over when we hit a red light and popped open the glove box. Inside was a box of tissues.
I used a few to wipe my eyes and blow my nose. He pretended not to notice. It was a relief, real y. I
don’t like crying. It makes me feel weak and out of control. I’m not weak, but out of control … today that
was something of an understatement. Besides, Bob Johnson was a friend, and judging from what I’d
seen in that vision, he was dead and gone. How the hel was I going to break the news to Vanessa?
I cried hard, but not for long. Stil , even that smal release was good for me. I was feeling a little bit
