Holidays are Hell

Chapter 1

It was an accident that the Foreign Minister's wife was found—her body had been hidden quite carefully, in several different locations—but the fortuitous combination of the harsh Beijing winter and several hungry dogs made her discovery quite immediate, without time for decay, and once the forsaid. "But we found ensic team had finished analyzing the woman's remains it was only a matter of time before the military became involved.

Which explained how, on the eve of Spring Festival, with the thunder of fireworks shaking the streets, Six found herself in a murky massage parlor in the heart of Shanghai, her hands covered in oil as she pounded the brown filthy feet of a man in a wrinkled black suit.

The air reeked. Cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, a multitude of unwashed bodies that had circulated through the room for hours upon hours, for days on end. The scents made Six's nose run, her eyes itch, and though she had held her job for only 360 minutes—by her watch, anyway, which was atomic in nature and government issued—her brief tenure here was more than enough. As far as she was concerned, the other girls who worked in this place—legitimately, without pretense—deserved medals.

Not that Six had met any of them. As per the agreement with the massage parlor's owner—who, according to his file, had long ago given up his Chinese name for the ridiculous foreign moniker of "Lucky John" — Six had remained virtually locked inside this small room, forced to massage the feet and bodies of one man after another. If any of those paying guests asked for a different girl, Lucky John was to insist all the others were busy. And if he did not do exactly that—or if any one of the men discovered Six's true identity—the repercussions had been made quite clear.

Police clear. Prison clear. End of life, clear.

Six rolled her shoulders, glancing at the man reclining in front of her on the wide red chair. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even. Not asleep, but certainly relaxed. His face was broad and flat; a large mole, replete with long black hair, made a target of his chin. A toothpick jutted from between his lips.

Six slid her thumbs along the arch of his foot, pushing between his toes. She pinched hard on the bone. He jerked, grunting, and she applied more pressure. The man opened his eyes and kicked at her. Six allowed his big toe to connect with her chin, though she angled her head just enough to make it a glancing blow.

"Bitch," he growled, slapping the padded arm of his chair with one hard palm. "Careful."

As Six was supposed to be deaf—like all the other girls of Lucky John's massage parlor—she did not respond. Merely ducked her head, allowing her straight black hair to fall loose past her face, hiding the grim flat smile that passed fleetingly across her mouth.

Just outside the room's painted bamboo door, Six heard footsteps. Quick, then slow, accompanied by Lucky John's shrill voice. The man beneath her hands tensed. So did Six.

The door opened. Six glimpsed Lucky John's distraught expression, his eyes large and focused entirely on her—stupid of him, a sure giveaway if these men were in any way observant and paranoid—but her view of the old pimp's quick retreat was obscured by a broad chest and skinny tie, and then there was another man in the room and the door closed with a quiet click.

Six glanced up and met a flat gaze, cold as the thick black ice covering the old concrete of her first training installation, a gymnasium near the People's Hall in Beijing, where she had studied alongside the country's Olympic hopefuls before being culled young, no older than five. She still remembered. She remembered training on that ice, out in the blast of arctic wind. Toughening herself. Knowing she had to be stronger than the others, and for a different reason entirely.

The newcomer stared at her. Six dropped her gaze, but not before observing other oddities, such as the man's utter foreignness, a purely physical difference that nonetheless revealed some kind of Asian ancestor through nothing more than the turn of his dark eyes and the prominence of his cheekbones. There was a hint of red in his hair, though; white man enough, running through his veins. Six could still feel him watching her when he shifted slightly, turned to the man reclining on the chair, and said, "I told you not to call me, Chenglei."

His Mandarin was spoken perfectly, without accent. Smooth tones, full of the North and its soft curves, an elegant voice. More cultured than criminal, certainly educated.

Six continued massaging the foot in her hands. It jerked once, then stilled. "But you came."

"I came because you're trouble," said the foreigner. "I came because I keep my eyes on trouble."

"Trouble." Chenglei's foot twitched again. "Look to yourself, then. Look, and regret."

"I have no regrets."

"All you had to do—"

"I told you no."

"You did," Chenglei said. "But we found another. And he did not say no."

The menace in those words was unmistakable, though Six did not understand their meaning. Nor did she need to. She was not an interpreter. Just muscle, a soldier, though at the moment even that did not give her pride. Too much distraction. She could feel the listening wire taped between her breasts. It had been warm, part of her, but now the thin casing was cold—she was cold—the whole room like ice, all the heat sucked away in one breathtaking punch that made her shudder with more than a chill.

Six could see her breath. Her breath, clear and white as a ghost puffing from her mouth inside a room where the thermostat was set for sweat.

Her hands stilled around Chenglei's foot. She stood up. Neither man looked at her. She backed away, just enough, and took a slow, deep breath so cold her throat hurt.

The newcomer's gaze flicked in her direction, then settled again on the old man. "There are no others."

Chenglei's smile was strained. He resembled a fat slab of pork, sprawled on his reclining chair. Six watched his hands, his white knuckles, his fingers twitching toward his sides. She recalled his file, old surveillance videos. She knew the signs.

Six moved fast. She grabbed Chenglei's creeping hand and yanked him off his chair, using his momentum to slam two fingers into his throat. He started choking. Spit flecked her cheek. She wiped it away, reached beneath his suit jacket, and removed one gun, silencer already screwed on. Very illegal. Life imprisonment, just on that alone. But for everything else on his file, she could shoot him now and no one would complain.

The room was still cold. Six quickly checked Chenglei for more weapons, then dumped the wheezing man back on his chair. She looked over her shoulder, and met a dark hard gaze. Blown cover, but better than shots fired. Chenglei had been intending to kill this man. And she needed answers.

"Do not try to run," she said quietly.

"I don't run," said the man.

"Over there." Six pointed. "On your knees, hands above your head, palms and forehead flat against the wall."

"No," he said, gaze flicking to Chenglei, whose gasps were quieting. "This isn't over."

"I am with Squad Twelve," Six said in a hard voice. "It could be over with a bullet, if you do not obey me."

"No," he said again, but this time she knew he was not talking to her. She stepped sideways, cautious, and turned to look at Chenglei.

His skin was blue. Cold blue, corpse blue, the flesh around his mouth cracking and flaking. His eyes were wide open, unblinking, and his chest was very still. Not breathing. Six stared. She had not hit him hard enough for that. She had not done anything to cause the rapid physical reaction she was witnessing, which suddenly reminded her of forensics class, time spent in the military's morgue, learning how to understand death, to create death, on an endless supply of corpses. Cold air, cold bodies. Decaying on a schedule. Only Chenglei's schedule appeared to be accelerating in a most unfortunate manner. His eyes were caving into his skull. As was his mouth, lips shrinking inward, shriveling.

"You need to leave," said the man. "Right now. Run."

"I do not run," growled Six, echoing his words. "What is this? A disease of some kind?" SARS had created enough difficulties; it still did, despite government attempts to suppress the disease and keep it out of the media. But that was nothing more than some advanced flu—easy to comprehend. What she was seeing now was something else entirely.

Biological weapons, she thought. That is what this is all about.

The wire taped to her chest transmitted a live feed. Just one word, and this place would be overrun by military. Her team was in place. Ready. Quarantine was not an option they had discussed, but it would be just as easily delivered: brutal, swift, the cleanup efficient. No questions asked.

Six opened her mouth to give the order. The man held up his hand—as if he knew what she about to do—and though she did not trust him, there was something in the urgency of that movement that made her hesitate. That, and the look in his eyes. He stared at her as though he could see right into her heart, and as such, could speak to her heart, and what she heard in his eyes was Wait, please, wait.

So she did, feeling a momentary hush that fled with the cold. The air warmed, a flush of heat that curled over her skin and made her nose run. She ignored it. Stared at the man. Tried to watch Chenglei at the same time, which was why she saw his body twitch. Just once. In a manner as subtle as flexing three muscles: in his eyelid, his finger, his naked toe.

"He's alive," Six whispered, horrified. From man to cadaver to a ghost in a shell: she tried to imagine a similar fate, and it terrified her. "He's sick. Poisoned."

"Wrong," said the man, and it occurred to Six that he should really be facedown on the ground, unconscious and drooling. One tap against his head would do it. She had strong bones, good technique.

Except she could not move against him. Choice, instinct: she wanted him able to talk. She needed information. Right now. More than she wanted to be safe. More than she wanted to prevent any attempt to escape.

No chance to ask questions, though. Chenglei moved again. This time, fast. So fast, that it was not until much later that Six found herself able to recall any details of what happened—not the flash of his teeth, not the darkness of that shriveled mouth—because in that heartbeat when Chenglei moved, all Six had was training, instinct, and it saved her life.

She ducked. Pivoted low on her right foot, spinning, then launched herself sideways so hard she was able to kick off the wall into the air. Gymnastics, martial arts, a body hardened by years of repetition and exercise; no expense had been spared to turn her into something that could move fast, with accuracy. She saw a blur pass close, gray as dirty ice, and found her feet again, ready to fight.

She did not have to. Chenglei was in the corner, backed against the wall. The young man stood in front of him, hands outstretched, lips moving in a low rambling chant that made the hairs rise on the back of Six's neck—as did the sight of Chenglei. Only minutes before he had reminded her of a greased wrinkled pig—but the fat was gone, sucked dry, clothes hanging from his frame like rags tied to a line, flapping, flapping, stiff and cold. All bone now, sinew, less even—only a hint of his eyes remained, only a taste of a mouth, only a grinning skull, hissing like the sizzling lines of fireworks burning so effortlessly on the street.

Six forced herself to step close. The young man did not stop chanting. She glanced at him, wary, and had to bite down hard on her tongue. Despite the warming air of the room, his breath still puffed white. Six stared. She did not rub her eyes. She did not call herself crazy. She knew her mind, her training. Her lack of imagination.

The young man looked at her, and though his chanting did not falter, she heard his voice inside her head, clear and strong.

Go, he said. Please.

She almost did. Instinct, primal. But she stayed still, swallowing hard, and touched her blouse to feel the wire running beneath. One connection. Lifeline. She wondered how much the others had heard, what they made of it. She wondered why she did not call them in.

She looked again at the man beside her. She could see his eyes past the white ghost mask. Black eyes, with a hint of red, like his hair, standing stark and hot. An intense gaze, rocking down to her heart.

Too much. Six turned her focus on Chenglei. Looked hard, deep, and found nothing human. Nothing comparable, not even to an animal. There was too much hunger in that face. Too much violence.

"Tell me," she whispered to the man at her side. He ignored her, still chanting. She touched his arm. Flinched as her fingers burned with electric shock. Little lightning—in her head, as well. She saw a memory. Not her own. A pit of bones and flesh.

The man's voice faltered. Chenglei lunged. Six knocked the young man out of the way and took the blow, dropping and rolling backward, kicking up. She caught Chenglei in the chest, but not before his head snapped close, his gaping, cracking mouth sucking the air around her face. Terror cut, as did disgust; she felt a tug inside her mind, a violent yank like her soul had strings, and then Chenglei was kicked off, slammed into the wall. Not before his hands flung out, though. His nails were long. They scraped her cheek. Six snarled and rolled on her stomach, grabbing the gun she had taken from him. She fired.

It was a good shot. She caught him in the forehead. He went down. But only on one knee. Six fired again. Struck what was left of his right eye. The bullet passed through his head into the wall. She heard screaming outside the room; apparently, she was not the only girl in the massage parlor who still had her hearing.

Chenglei hissed. She glimpsed a tongue inside his mouth. A hand touched her shoulders and she rolled again, bringing up the gun. It was the other man, eyes dark, face white.

He crouched over her. One hand was outstretched against Chenglei. The other hovered above her face. She saw writing on his palm, a circle.

"Back away," Six rasped.

"No," he murmured. "It's too late for that."

He touched her. She tried to shoot him in the shoulder but her finger refused to pull the trigger, and she could not kick him off before his hand grazed her hand. The effect of his touch was immediate, terrifying. Her body stopped working. As did her voice. Muscles locked, trapped. Buried alive in her own body. All she could do was stare into the man's eyes, fighting with all her heart, all her mind.

You are dead, she told herself. Everything, for nothing.

"Not yet," whispered the man, leaning close enough to kiss. And then he did kiss her, softly, on the lips.

His mouth was unfamiliar, but hot, like raw ginger. Six found she could close her eyes. She did not want to, but she could not keep them open. She could not see at all. She could not hear.

And when, some time later, her body was lifted and carried by two strong arms, all she could do was wait, and imagine, and plan.

You are dead, she told herself again. But until then, fight.

Fight to kill. Fight to win.

Chapter 2

Joseph Besud was a quiet man of middling youth—barely out of his twenties, hardly worth being called thirty—and while he had been educated in some of the finest schools in Europe and America, the most enlightening aspects of his life had come from moments such as the one, quite literally, at hand. There was nothing, after all, like carrying the dead weight of an elite counter-terrorist officer to make one appreciate the finer things in life. Like having a car.

He was rather less appreciative of the vampires hunting him, but he knew better than to complain about those parts of his life that could not be changed. And really, given that it was the holidays, he thought he could muster a little good cheer. He was still alive, after all. Whether he lasted long enough to make it home to his family's Spring Festival dinner was another matter entirely.

The woman was small, but heavy. All muscle. Joseph could still taste her lips. Kissing her had been unnecessary, but no one had to know that but him. Frankly, given that she was probably going to attempt murder or arrest after he released her, it was best that he take his chance while he still could. She was cute and tough. He liked that.

The wire taped between her breasts was no longer functional. It had been like that from the moment he stepped into the room. One look into her eyes and he had known what she was, why she was there. It complicated matters, though if Chenglei and his cronies had found someone else to do their dirty work—someone like him—then his life had surged beyond complicated into pure, unadulterated chaos.

No one paid Joseph or the woman in his arms any attention. He made sure of it. A simple mind trick, easy to accomplish given the festivities. No one wanted to pay attention to anything but themselves—or the small bombs in their hands. Firecrackers were technically illegal inside Shanghai, but as with most of China's regulations, the laws were merely guidelines unless someone said otherwise. And given the deafening blasts rocking the streets and sidewalks, no one was saying a word. Not one that could be heard, anyway.

He made it to the car—a tiny red Mini Cooper—beeped it open, and tucked the woman inside the passenger seat. Again, he tried to search her mind to find a name, but all he came up with was a number. Six. Nothing else. No memories of early childhood, unless images of some cold concrete dorm counted. To Joseph, they did not. He wanted warmth, love, some sign of normalcy. Anything to humanize this woman. All he found was solitude, duty, and an unbending sense of honor. Which meant one thing only.

She was going to be very difficult to deal with.

He got in the car, started the engine, and putted out of the alley beside Lucky John's massage parlor. Inside his head he sensed the edge of an inquisition: Six's team, growing restless with her silence. It was a sign of their faith in her that they had waited so long to check on her status. He could feel it. The men trusted her. Had learned to trust all the women in her unit.

Squad Twelve. China's first all-female counter-terrorist team. Twelve women, hand-picked, trained by the very best. Little had been spoken of them in the media, which made sense, but there was enough government pride in their formation that some publicity had been generated. Enough to instill fear. The women were dangerous. They meant business. Good to know he was skilled enough to take one of them down, though he suspected her distraction was the cause of that. A distraction that concerned him, in more ways than one. He was not comforted that a vampire had almost managed to get the best of Six. Not at all.

Not when the creatures were working with terrorists now.

Joseph drove fast, but traffic was terrible. Too much activity in the streets. The world was red—red lanterns, red lights, red banners etched in gold. New Year's Eve, the edge of Spring Festival. Time for a new start, time to chase the monsters back with sound and fury. Fireworks, making violence and beauty.

Joseph glanced at Six. Her face was more delicate than her body. High cheeks, large eyes, shining hair. A scratch on her cheek. Broken skin. Which was, to use the American colloquial, a real bummer.

He opened himself for a moment, checking the surrounding area for anyone following them, and when he found nothing, snapped his fingers. Six's eyes flew open. Her mouth moved. She could not turn her head, but her gaze flicked sideways to his face, and stayed there.

"Stop the car," she said hoarsely.

"Sorry," Joseph said. "It's not safe."

He felt her consider an impressive list of threats. "Where is Chenglei?"

"Dead. Really dead." Joseph gripped the wheel a bit harder. "I finished killing him."

"Alive would have been better." Six licked cracked lips. "He is a terrorist. He could have answered questions. I suppose you will have to do."

"I'm no terrorist."

"You were meeting one."

"That's not the same thing. I refused to work for them. You might have noticed that part, if you were listening to our conversation."

"I was." Her eyes narrowed. Joseph tried not to be intimidated. "What did he want with you? Bombs? Plans? Biological weapons?"

Joseph bit back a bitter laugh. "No, though I suppose that last one comes closest."

"Indeed," Six said, with such menace Joseph thought briefly of paralyzing her vocal cords again. "And what I saw… what Chenglei became… Is that a new weapon? Something that will be used on the Chinese people?"

Joseph said nothing. He was talking too much. Dumping her on some sidewalk suddenly seemed like a good idea. Followed by running like hell. Mongolia was always a good place to hide. As was Russia.

On the other hand, he was in deep now. Deeper than before. So was Six. Even if she did not realize it yet.

"Everyone is in danger," Joseph finally said. "Not just the Chinese."

"The Chinese are all I care about," she said flatly.

He shrugged. "Fine, then. The Chinese are in danger. Happy? Beijing and Shanghai go boom."

Six Stared at him. She was very good at it. "You think this is funny?"

"Of course not," he snapped, wondering how one look could make him feel like an asshole.

Six pressed her lips into a hard line. "Who are you?"

"Joseph." He reached over and shook her limp hand. "And you?"

"I do not answer the questions of criminals."

He raised his eyebrows. "Compliment me again. I love it."

Six growled. Joseph bit back a smile. He had never heard a woman growl. Not really. It was kind of sexy, even if it was an indication of how much she wanted to rip out his throat.

A car cut in front of him. Joseph slammed on the brakes and horn. A boom rattled the car; he heard screams of laughter somewhere near, and glimpsed sparks rising into the sky. He opened his mind again, searching for threats. Felt a tickle. Something inhuman, on the move.

"You're in danger," he told Six.

"Really," she said dryly. "What a remarkable surprise."

"Not from me," Joseph replied gruffly. "From men and women like Chenglei. His associates."

He noted a subtle shift in her eyes. Interest. "I am always in danger from such individuals. There is no difference now."

"You're wrong." Joseph reached out, and very gently touched the scratch on her cheek. "You've been poisoned. That makes all the difference in the world."

Her eyelid twitched. "Explain."

Joseph had to look away. Her reaction did not surprise him, not entirely, though its effect was powerful. Tough woman. Real tough. He hoped it would be enough.

The tickle in his brain intensified. Incoming. Close and fast. Not something he was used to, but this whole situation was out of hand. Unexpected rivals were terrible for carrying out long, uneventful lives. Joseph bit the inside of his cheek and glanced at Six. She still watched him, her expression inscrutable.

"I'm not your enemy," he said.

"Your word is not enough," she replied.

"My word and my actions? It'll have to be enough." Joseph held her gaze for one brief moment. "We are going to help each other, Six. You and me."

"You know my name."

"Not your real name," Joseph said quietly. "But then I'm not even sure you know that."

Again, her eyelid twitched. "Where are you taking me?"

"Someplace safe."

"No such thing exists," Six told him. "No place, ever."

She was right, of course. Joseph sighed. "Pessimist?"

"Realist."

"Trust me," Joseph said. "Or don't. But listen. That's all I ask."

"You are not saying anything I want to hear."

Story of my life, he thought, and pulled off the main road, away from the gutter and digital advertisements of several large shopping complexes. He smelled grease, exhaust; his stomach rumbled. They were near the French District; the street rolled into a tree-lined avenue where the architecture was full of quiet clean lines. There were some bars, all lit up, but the fireworks remained, howling and cackling with each ignition. A ball of fire shot into the sky, exploding too low. Sparks rained down the crowd of men and women huddled just outside an iron gate. Joseph saw bottles of liquor. He heard screams. The sensation of being hunted overwhelmed.

"I may have to free you," Joseph said. "Are you going to hurt me if I do?"

"Yes," Six said.

He blew out his breath. "Any way I can convince you not to?"

"No," Six said. "Absolutely, no."

He was close to home. No parking, though. Joseph had to settle for a spot some distance away. Not terribly ideal. He got out, walked to the passenger side, and opened the door. Six could not turn her head to look at him. Not for lack of trying, though. He could feel the force of her will pushing and pushing against the compulsion. If he let her sit long enough, it was possible she might be able to break it. Joseph had never met anyone quite so strong. Or stubborn.

"If you scream," he told the back of her head, "you know I can make you stop."

"And if I simply talk?"

"Talking is good." Joseph unbuckled Six's seatbelt and hefted her up into his arms. His back hurt. He needed to lift weights. "Ask me anything you want."

"How long have you been a terrorist?"

Joseph stopped and gave her a look. Six sighed. "Fine, so you are not a terrorist. Perhaps I can believe that. I am not convinced anyone else will, though."

"No one else is going to get close enough to need convincing." Joseph walked fast. His apartment building was a block away. "Besides, I'm going to help you catch the people you're looking for. Once I do that, you'll hopefully be so distracted—and appreciative—you won't ever think of hunting down poor me."

"Unlikely." Six narrowed her eyes. "And how will you help? If you know something—anything—it merely substantiates your guilt."

Joseph ignored her. The tickling in his brain was worse. He turned, searching. This was a residential neighborhood, not close to any major shopping center, though the tourist trap of Xin Tian Di was certainly within walking distance. Still, there were quite a few people on the street. Young women, mostly, dressed in skinny jeans and narrow jackets, tall boots stacked with sharp heels. Bodies backlit by bursts of sparks, firecrackers spitting and hissing into the road, dancing beneath the tires of cars, bicycles, scooters dripping exhaust—

"What is wrong?" Six asked.

"Quiet," he murmured, listening hard. He hugged Six close, not even thinking of it until the scent of her hair drifted into his nose. He became aware of roses, warmth. It disconcerted him for a moment, distracted his mind, which suddenly wanted more of Six, less of everything else.

Bad timing. He felt the rush before he saw it and ducked low dropping Six on the ground, releasing the compulsion that bound her. He expected her to be ready and she was, rolling the moment her muscles were free, and she got on her feet so fast he almost got knocked out before he could explain. No need, though. A black Audi screeched to a full stop on the road beside them. Doors slammed open. Vampires emerged.

There were three of the creatures, making the air cold as ice around their bodies. No way to know for certain how they looked when fully human, but like Chenglei, the flesh had sucked away until all that remained were skeletons racked by skin, hissing as though a great black wind lived inside their mouths. Ugly bastards.

Unfortunately, they also had guns. Guns pointed directly at him.

Joseph never saw Six move. One moment she stood beside him—and in the next she vaulted off the hood of a car, managing a one-two blow with nothing but her feet—practically walking on heads—catching the last creature in the face with her fists as she came down, whirling through the air like a dancer. She was beautiful, a blur, almost as fast as the vampires themselves—and Joseph wondered if it was just their surprise that was letting her go so far, or if she was truly that good.

He flung out his hands and a low rumble rose from his throat, splitting tones like the deep hum of a long mountain horn. The vampires went still. Six grabbed their guns and backed away. She did something with her hands; two of the guns fell into sundry parts, the third she tucked into the back of her pants alongside Chenglei's weapon. Six glanced at him, a question in her eyes, her breath puffing white in the cold air.

Joseph did not answer. Not with his voice, not with his mind. He edged forward, staring at the vampires, matching gazes as his voice coiled hard around them, channeling his will. The vampires were empty on the inside, but with enough spark left that it was hard to bind three at a time. So hard, Joseph did not notice the tickle at the back of his skull until it was almost too late.

Six saved him. He felt her move against his back, heard flesh smack, something crack—a hiss—and then she danced into sight with a vampire hopping and lunging, skin white as ice, hollow and brazen. Joseph's voice remained strong, but it was an effort—nor did he try to extend his control to the fourth vampire. He did not dare. He reached over his shoulder, beneath the neck of his shirt. Touched steel. Listened to the hiss of a sharp edge as he pulled the long dagger free. He felt like his heart was going to fly out of his chest. He had never been attacked like this. No one in his family had, not for years.

Joseph cut off heads, chanting as he killed. The vampires could not fight him, but he felt no remorse. Cold blood, in this case, made no difference. Not when he knew the alternative. Their flesh was brittle, crumbling into clumps of thick ash. No bulky evidence. The remaining sparks of their souls fled.

Six still fought. She did not shoot the guns in her possession; she merely used her fists and feet, never staying in one place long enough to be touched. But her opponent was a vampire—fast—and she was only human. Joseph saw her make a mistake—one pause, a second too long—and he changed the chant, trying to save her life.

Too late. The vampire grabbed her. But Joseph felt no pull, no internal strike to Six's life. Instead, the creature stared at the scratch on her cheek, and touched it with its tongue, delicate, savoring the taste. She struggled, face twisted with disgust.

Joseph pressed harder with his words and the vampire holding her finally froze. Six wriggled free, slamming her fist so hard into the creature's chest, its sternum snapped The vampire, paralyzed, could not even flinch.

Six backed off. Joseph did not try to touch her. He glanced up and down the street. There were people on the sidewalk, staring. Cars had stopped in the road. Beyond them all, a rain of sparks and fire flooded the night, a series of hard bangs rocking the air. Joseph could feel the explosions in his chest. The sensation felt right at home with his pounding heart.

Joseph did his best. He altered the chant once again, isolating everyone he could see, turning his will on them, spreading a compulsion to leave, forget, to remember only as a dream. He glanced at Six and found her watching him, then the people, who obeyed without questions, turning and walking away. Cars started moving again.

He still held the long dagger in his hand. Six glanced from it to the vampire, frowning. She touched her cheek. Her eyelid twitched.

"I need answers," she said, and Joseph sensed she was not entirely speaking of her old investigation.

We both need answers, he told her silently, and Six gave him such a sharp look he wondered if she heard his mental voice. He had wondered earlier, too, at the massage parlor. He had never been able to speak inside another person's mind—not outside the family, at any rate. It required a strong connection.

But even if he did agree with Six, this was not the place to ask questions. Nor did he have the skill to force the vampire back into its human body. That could only be done by choice. Joseph cut off its head. Six was not fast enough to stop him, though he cheated just a little by slowing her down. He thought she might have tackled him, otherwise. Instead, Six watched that wiry body collapse on itself and blow away in the wind. The ashes mixed with street trash. She turned on him, furious. "Why did you do that? I told you I needed answers. I could have questioned it."

Joseph kicked at the clothes left behind on the sidewalk. "Too much time involved. We need to leave. This place is too exposed."

"Not your decision. I am calling in my team." Six reached for the wire beneath her shirt, then hesitated, looking at him. "You disabled it, didn't you? There was also a tracking device. They would have already been here by now if it was working."

Joseph shrugged, sheathed the dagger, and walked to the abandoned car, which was blocking traffic and generating some very loud honks. Joseph wondered how much the drivers had seen, if any of them had taken pictures with mobile phones. Not that it mattered. Cameras never did well with him.

The car doors were still open. He hesitated, thinking about his apartment with its nice safety features—like walls and doors—and then strode around the sleek hood and slid into the driver's seat. Six leaned into the passenger side and gestured.

"Get out," she ordered. "You are ruining evidence."

"Just a little," he admitted. The keys were still in the ignition. Joseph started the car.

Six stared. "What are you doing?"

"Parking this thing. If I leave it here, the police will come."

"In case you have forgotten," she said coldly, "I am the police. In fact, I have far more authority than the police, and I am better trained."

"So arrest me," Joseph said. "Take me in. Try to explain everything you've seen. Accuse me of terrible crimes. That won't help you catch your terrorists." Nor would it save her life. He stared at the scratch on her cheek. The skin was flushed, slightly swollen.

Six slid into the car. She sat for a moment, staring at him, dark eyes sharp. "You just killed people."

"I suppose," Joseph said warily, recalling the feel of steel cutting through flesh, the crackle of papery skin. "It's complicated, though. I'd hoped you would know that by now."

Six's jaw tightened. No other warning. She grabbed his throat before he could blink, and squeezed so hard he choked. He grappled with her hands, but her fingers were like iron. He struck at her face; she grabbed his wrist and pinched. Fire ran up his arm; he would have cried out if he had a voice.

Her expression never changed. "You need your vocal cords to control me. I could just rip them out. With my fingers. I could do some other things to your body. Nothing pleasant."

Joseph had no doubt of that. Six was stronger than he had imagined.

I understand, he said, using his mind to speak to her. He was not entirely certain the message would go through—he still thought those earlier moments might be flukes—but a furrow formed between Six's eyes and she licked her lips. Joseph remembered kissing her. Felt like a lifetime past. He wondered if he would ever get another chance.

"I heard you," she said softly. "How?"

It's a skill like any other, he told her, feeling inside his chest an unfamiliar sense of panic and warmth. You know how to do things I don't. I know how to do things you don't.

Six leaned back. She did not let go of his throat, though her ringers loosened just a fraction, making it easier for him to breathe. "And those… things? What Chenglei became?"

The Jiangshi. Hopping ghosts. Vampires.

"No such thing," she said immediately. "Tales of old stupid men who do not know better."

Then call them a virus, if that makes you happy. Think of them as your biological weapon. Your terrorists. Either way, you know they're dangerous. You can't ignore that.

Six's jaw tightened. Joseph did not look away. He studied her eyes as closely as she studied his, and felt her thoughts press against his mind. He tried not to listen. He did not want to. Still, he knew a moment before she acted that her fingers were going to loosen once again, and he fought the urge to rub his throat as her hand slid down to press hard against his chest.

"Drive," she said. "If you try to paralyze me, I will rip out your throat."

"What about destroying evidence?"

"The car is still evidence."

"I'm not turning myself in," he said, keeping his hands in his lap.

Six narrowed her eyes. "All I want are answers. You will drive. I will talk. You will speak only when spoken to."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, and put the car in gear. He tapped the accelerator and drove down the street. He took a right at the first intersection, weaving around pedestrians and motorcycles and other cars running the red light. Paper lanterns had been strung across the road; he saw, in front of the shops, men and women sweeping furiously with their brooms. Cleaning out the bad luck, making way for good. He wished it were that easy.

Six said, "What are you? How do you control people?"

"I use my mind," he said.

"Who taught you? Were you part of a government program?"

Joseph almost laughed. "My family taught me."

"So what you do is… genetic."

"Somewhat."

Six remained silent. The surrounding buildings became larger, newer, opulent in their modernity, glittering shopping centers and sidewalks crammed with young people. Shanghai—the largest mall in the world, a city devoted to business and commercialism. Shallow, but pretty. Joseph had a weakness for bright lights, especially now, when most of them were red for the New Year holiday. There were fireworks here, too, set off by kids, laughing and screaming in front of monstrous hanging billboards decorated with foreign celebrities hawking watches and designers.

Six's fingers tapped her thigh. "You called them Jiangshi. Hopping ghosts. Like in the stories."

"Not quite like the stories," Joseph replied. "Those creatures are not lost souls. You can't stop them with a block of six-inch wood at the threshold of a home—they are not scared of sunlight—and you can't hide from them by holding your breath. That is fantasy."

"All of it is fantasy," she muttered. "But if I were to pretend it is not, then what of the rest?"

"That they're dangerous? That they kill by stealing a person's life essence?" Joseph gritted this teeth. "That, unfortunately, would be true. It's why I call them vampires."

"Western folklore. Vampires steal blood."

"World folklore," Joseph corrected her. "And blood is the same as life, no different from energy."

Six studied him. Her hand was still on his chest. Her palm felt warm. "How do you know all this? Did your family teach you?"

Joseph glanced at her. "Yes."

"And these… creatures? What do they want with you? And what do they have to do with the terrorists? Chenglei—"

"Was unexpected," he interrupted. "That man was not always a vampire. In fact, the last time I saw him, he was very human. He worked in conjunction with a terrorist organization run by members fresh out of Central Asia, Indonesia, and Xin Jiang. Business matters. A. money man. No ethical qualms, either. Chenglei himself was not a native Chinese. He was born in Jakarta. His uncle could be considered one of most radical clerics in Southeast Asia."

"I know most of this," Six said. "We had Chenglei under surveillance for quite some time. We wanted his contacts."

"You didn't get them, I assume."

"Some. Not enough. Tonight, after seeing who he was meeting with, I planned on bringing him in. Permanently."

"Ah," Joseph said. "Too late now. Not that you need to worry. I suspect everyone you're looking for will be easy enough to find."

"And why is that?"

Joseph sighed. "Because the man the vampires recruited wants me dead. And you're becoming one of them."

Chapter 3

When Six was only five years old, she remembered quite clearly being led into a small office that was extraordinary in its luxury. Two wooden chairs with patched cushions on the seat; a dark wide desk covered in pens and paper, one lamp; a small ink painting of a tea pot; and best of anything, a window with a view beyond the gray concrete walls of the gymnasium training center. She remembered caring more about that view than the people she had been brought to see.

There were three adults in the office. Two men. One woman. All wearing dark pants and dark jackets, buttoned just so with their short collars straight and pressed flat against their throats. The men wore caps. The woman had black hair shot with silver, cut to her chin. Six had never seen any of them before.

"That's the one," said the woman. "Her family?"

"None."

"Her name?"

"None. Our recruiter found her in Shandong Province a year ago. The village was feeding her. She wandered there from the hills. They called her Six, because that was the date they found her."

"Skills?"

"Some. No artistry. But she's fast."

The woman knelt in front of Six. She poked the girl's forehead with one hard finger. It hurt. She began to do it again. Six knocked her hand away. The woman tried once more time, faster. Six stepped out of reach, her hand raised again. The woman smiled.

"Good," she said. "We'll take her."

Six remembered the woman. She remembered that the woman never had a name. She was simply Aunt. The Aunt who ran a small school for girls, where, in addition to being taught reading, math, and science, they were also educated in a variety of physical activities, many of which involved hurting people. Or at least, people wrapped in layers of protective padding. The real fighting came later. When she was thirteen.

But what struck Six, as she sat in the passenger seat of a strange car, beside a strange man with her hand pressed against a strange chest, was that for the first time in twenty years, she remembered what it felt like to be herself again. The self she had been as a child, hungering for more, knowing her place and dissatisfied with it, looking and looking for that high view of something beyond her life.

She had lost that. She had forgotten that. But now she remembered, and it was the only reason she did not subdue the man at her side. It would have been easy, despite his skills. She had a sense of him now. Somewhat ruthless, but not hard. Not toward her.

But she wanted more. More than answers. What she had stumbled upon was a mystery beyond that which she had set out to solve, and the outcome mattered. She had a chance to see over the wall. She had a view. But the view now was not enough.

Six studied the man. His face was full of planes and angles, shadows dancing over his skin as the lights of the shopping district flickered, burned. His expression was mildly stressed, his mouth set in a hard line. Six remembered the taste of his lips.

"You said earlier that I had been poisoned." Six touched her cheek. It hurt. The skin felt hot. She recalled the wet tip of a tongue, and suppressed a shudder. "Poisoned by a scratch?"

"That's all it takes," Joseph said.

"So you believe I will become… like them?" Six could not say the word. Not Jiangshi, not vampire.

Joseph looked at her. It was the compassion in his eyes, more than his words, which convinced her. She barely heard him as he said, "I can stop it. I can help your body stop it."

Six tried to see past the surface of his eyes, to something deeper, more full of truth. She imagined she caught a glimmer of something honest, but she did not know if she could trust it. "What are you?"

Joseph grimaced. She pressed her palm harder on his chest, warning him, but he surprised her. He took his hand off the wheel and covered her fingers, her wrist. He had a large hand. It felt strong. He did not try to pry away her fingers, and she did not move. Too much was at stake.

You could make him stop touching you.

But she did not. Other men had touched her hand, in a far more intimate manner, but this was different. This felt like he was offering comfort, and that was new.

"What I am is complicated," Joseph said quietly. "But the most accurate name is… necromancer."

Six stared. "You raise the dead?"

Joseph's hand tightened. "It's not so much a resurrection of the physical, but of the spiritual, the imprint of the soul. Which is not the soul, but just the memory of it. It's almost as good as the real thing, though. Especially if you want information."

"And you are being hunted because of this?"

"I'm being hunted because I refused to do this. For money. For terrorists. How the vampires got involved is another matter entirely. That makes no sense to me."

It made no sense to Six, either. None of it did. She pulled her hand away from his chest. Joseph's expression turned puzzled. "You don't think I'll try to paralyze you again?"

Six wondered the same thing. "I can still disable your voice before you begin to chant. I know what to look for now."

"You're overestimating yourself."

She pointed to a side street. "Park the car."

"Is the military waiting?" There was some humor in his voice. Six merely looked at him, trying to remain unaffected. Joseph held her gaze a moment longer than she was comfortable with, and then pulled down the street she had indicated, away from the lights and press of cars and people. Fireworks spat; peach blossoms made of paper fluttered from lines over the road. Six saw red, everywhere. Made her heart hurt, for a moment. She had few friends, but those she knew had still managed to take time off to return home for the New Year. One rare week spent with family.

Six had never done that. She had never celebrated. New Year, Spring Festival—it was always on her own, or around men and women who had somewhere to be, but could not go. Never much happiness, there.

"Where is your family?" Six asked.

"Are you going to hurt them?"

"No. I was just… curious."

He parked the car at the side of the road. The street attendant, an old man in a blue uniform, wandered close. Joseph pulled out his wallet. "They live all over. Mongolia, Beijing, London. Right now, my parents are in Xian. I was going to fly there to visit. My mother is cooking her dumplings for the holidays. Maybe some red bean cakes."

"Can she also summon the dead?"

"No," Joseph said. "That's my father's skill. And his family."

They got out of the car. The old man had his pad of receipts ready. Before Joseph could pay, Six dragged out her identification card, hidden in a narrow pouch inside her pants. The old man took one look at it, nodded his head like there were swinging weights attached, and backed off fast.

"Ah, power," Joseph said, sardonically. "It's heady, isn't it?"

"You would know better than I," Six replied. She felt her two stolen guns press against her lower back, hidden beneath her blouse. Their weight was a comfort.

The corner of his mouth curled. "What are we doing here, really? It's not safe, you know. There are people hunting me. Hunting you, maybe. And I can't imagine your superiors would appreciate you running off like this, without checking in, and with a suspicious character such as myself."

"You are testing me," Six said, concerned by those very issues, but unable to step back, to lay down her desire to know more, to hold on to the old lost feeling of hunger. "We are here because I said so."

Joseph shrugged, and turned around. He started walking. Six matched his pace, watching his throat, his mouth, any sign that he might turn on her. She also watched the people around them, remembering Chenglei—so human, so warm, shriveling into a monster before her eyes. If it could happen to him, no one was safe. Not even her. Not now.

That is what you will become, a voice whispered inside her head. Monster.

Joseph's pace faltered. Six took a deep breath. "Assuming, for a moment, that I believe you—which is debatable—what possible use could terrorists have for the spirits of those who are already dead? How in any way does that support their cause?"

Joseph shoved his hands in his pockets. "Here's one example. You want some information from a top-level official, but you don't have the time or opportunity to get it? Order an assassination. Murder the man or woman you want, then question the dead. You don't have to be close to the corpse. And souls, even the memories of souls, don't lie. Not ever."

Six thought of the Foreign Minister's wife. "You said that was just one example."

Joseph glanced at her, his eyes dark, serious. "A necromancer, despite the title, can also control the living. I think you've seen some convincing demonstrations of that."

Six looked away, toward the road, staring at the cars and people. Ten years ago, Shanghai had been an ordinary city, not terribly large or advanced. Still some farms, still some quiet. Now, though, it was all light and flash and thunder—and not just because of the New Year celebrations. Money had been poured into this city. Vast amounts of money and pride and hard work. It had been a beautiful effort, and still was.

Six tried to imagine all of it gone. Blown away. Laid to waste and rubble. It was a possibility. Part of the message recently received. Intelligence reports confirmed that certain extremist cells had begun to focus, not just on the West, but on any example of capitalist success. And China, despite all words to the contrary, was very much a capitalist nation. The iron rice bowl had become a fleeting memory, hardly worth contemplating. Certainly, there were enough people out shopping to indicate that times were, indeed, better. And those better times had to be protected.

"You could make someone carry a bomb," she said quietly.

"I could," he said, just as quiet.

"And you did not have to paralyze me earlier. You could have just forced me to follow you."

"True." Joseph stepped close, forcing her to crane her neck. "But feeling captured is one thing. Violated, another. I took a guess at what you would prefer."

"Neither." Six placed her hand on his chest to push him away. "I prefer my freedom."

He caught her hand, holding it to him. The warmth of his skin traveled through her. She tried to remember the cold he had created, but it was a distant, fleeting memory. She did not pull away.

"I'm going to help you," he said gently. "We're going to help each other, Six."

"No," she replied, unable to look away from his eyes. "You were right. I should not be here with you."

"I don't see you kicking my ass."

"No kicking. Men like you should not be allowed to live."

"Really." Joseph's mouth curved into a slow smile. Six remembered the hot taste of ginger, the spice of his lips. "I can think of better uses for me than killing."

She pulled her hand away from his chest. "Do you have any idea who your rival might be? Who would want you dead?"

"No," Joseph said. "Don't know where to find him, either. Unlike some people I know, we don't run around with tracking devices taped to our chests."

Six narrowed her eyes. "And are you certain you know nothing else about the organization that tried to hire you? You seemed knowledgeable enough about Chenglei's circumstances. You could have told the police."

"Who would have believed me? Besides, I had no names, no proof, no locations. No desire to get involved. I didn't think, ever, that they would find someone to take my place. I can't even imagine how they managed it the first time. Discovering what I could do was supposedly an accident."

"I don't believe in accidents," Six said. "Especially those that happen twice in a row. They knew how to find you."

"I agree," Joseph said. "I can only think that the vampires told them."

"And how would they know?"

"They know. I get around. That must be why they infected Chenglei. Because they knew I would answer his request for a meeting. Easy target."

"So you hunt these creatures."

"The ones who aren't careful. You would be amazed at how many of them work in hospitals, around the dying. It's easy for them to siphon off energy there. Patients are already weak. Problem is, with a vampire around, there's no chance of getting stronger."

"And no one notices? No one sees them for what they are?"

"Why would they? They usually look exactly like you and me. Shifting as they have, in front of us and in public, is extremely rare."

"They did it for a reason, then. To make a point."

"That they're not afraid of being caught?"

"No," she said softly, clarity becoming instinct, fear. "Because they are not afraid of people knowing they exist."

Joseph sucked in a quick breath. "They have a reason not to care anymore."

Six imagined the temperature dropped. It was a good reflection of the way she felt—cold, so cold—and she found herself speaking secrets, things she should not say, because in her gut she knew Joseph was the man who would understand.

She leaned close. "We were warned something was going to happen. The government intercepted a message, a death, but it made no sense. Only we knew it was related to terrorist activity in the region, a new cell that we have been unable to track except through remote contacts, like Chenglei."

"It's the holiday," Joseph said urgently, voice dropping into a hush. "There's no better time."

"But what do those creatures receive from the bargain? Freedom? People to feed upon? And where do you come in? Why pass on your name, if that is what happened? Why ally themselves with a group that would hire someone who hunts and murders their own kind?"

"I don't know," Joseph said grimly. "But we don't have much time to find out. A day at the most."

"Why a day?"

Joseph hesitated. "Because after that, you'll start changing."

Six forgot how to breathe. "You said you could help me."

"Yes, but—" Joseph's voice was cut off by the loud wail of a siren. They turned, but Six already knew what she would see. She recognized the sound. And for the first time in a long while, she was not happy to hear it.

A black Audi with military plates pulled to a quick stop beside them. There were two women in the front seat. Familiar faces.

Joseph murmured, "How?"

Six looked at him. "I did not."

The women got out of the car. Slow and easy, as graceful as wolves. Taller than Six, though just as lean. Hard eyes, thin mouths, street clothes that were plain and cheap.

"Ying," Six said to the woman on the left, who had a thin scar tracing the edge of her lip. She glanced right, to her companion, the prettier of the two. "Xiu."

"Six," they said in unison, and she could not help but feel a thread of unease pass through her heart. It startled her, that emotion; she could not understand it, not when she had known these women almost her entire life.

Six found herself edging in front of Joseph. "How did you find me?"

Xiu stopped. "Luck."

"Accident," Ying added.

"Of course, now that we've found you—" Xiu said.

"— we have some questions," Ying finished.

No, Six protested silently. Not yet. Time is running out.

But she said nothing, and listened to Joseph sigh.

Chapter 4

Joseph had never thought much about what it would mean to spend time in a Chinese prison, but now that he was actually in one, he really did not know what all the fuss was about. The cell might not be all that clean, but there was a toilet and a bed—albeit, without a mattress—and while the naked springs were rather tough on his spine, at least he was there alone and not in any danger of becoming a poor man's version of some Brokeback bitch. Although a drink would be nice.

He also wanted to see Six. He worried about her. It surprised him, just how much he worried. Out on the street, at the moment of their separation, he had felt inside her a terrible uncertainty. A lack of faith—not in him, but in the people she worked with. She was afraid of losing something, something no one else would understand, and that uneasiness had filled him, as well—though for a different reason entirely. He had, after all, been the one associating with a known terrorist flunky. That, and they had confiscated a very long dagger which no doubt carried the trace DNA of quite a few individuals. Which, frankly, meant that he might as well assume the firing squad position and start thinking about all the people his vital organs were going to save.

The lights had been turned off in his cell. There were no bars, just walls and a door inlaid with a narrow strip of wire-encased glass. Joseph did not mind the darkness. He lay on his springs with his hands behind his head, eyes closed, and searched the surrounding area with his mind. He found very little of interest. Mostly a keen desire to be home, with family; the occasional bout of despair; lust; in the other prisoners, ungodly fear and resignation.

He looked for Six. He thought about her eyes as he searched, the darkness of them, the hard warmth that had finally, at the end, begun to soften when she looked at him. He thought a smile might be next. Just one smile. He wanted to see that very badly.

This is not the time to be thinking about a woman you can never have. Six is not for you. Even if you want her to be.

But Joseph found her. He caught a hint of her spirit and pulled himself along the line of her heart. He tried to see through her eyes, but could not. Her mind was strong. He settled for listening to the edge of her thoughts, and sensed a defensive posture, anger and worry.

He could not help himself; he whispered her name. He did not expect her to notice his presence, but once again, her ability to perceive his mental voice surprised him. He felt her stillness, and then, quietly: I hear you.

Relief filled him. Are you okay?

I will be fine. You?

Still alive. No one has come to question me.

Soon, she said. I am being… reprimanded… for not bringing you in more quickly. They think it is suspicious.

What have you told them?

Only what I think they will believe. Which is very little. I have tried not to implicate you in anything. Nor do they know who you are. Your lack of identification, or fingerprints in any file, has disconcerted them.

You know my name.

I pretended not to know.

That surprised him. Thank you. Can I ask why?

Six did not answer, but he picked up the tendril of a thought; one word: Believe.

Joseph heard footsteps clicking down the hall, and he split his focus, trying to identify who was coming and why. He discovered Xiu on the end of his thoughts, though it was hard to get a read on her mind. Like Six, her thoughts were slippery, hard to listen to for anything more than the most basic emotional impressions. In this case, determination, satisfaction, a hint of eagerness.

Great. He was about to get his ass handed to him.

Xiu is coming, he told Six. Any advice?

Xiu? She sounded genuinely surprised. She never handles prisoner questioning. She does not have the temper for it.

What do you mean, she doesn't have the temper for it? Six—

His cell door opened. Xiu stepped inside. She appeared unarmed, but Joseph was not fooled. He stood, holding his ground, watching her face, studying her mind. He found nothing helpful. All he knew for certain was that she was not a vampire, but that was little comfort.

Xiu was pretty. Her face, however, lacked Six's blunt honesty—and bet eyes held a sly light that he disliked immediately. Not straight or true; he felt her cruel streak the moment he looked at her.

Joseph? Six's tentative voice filled his head, surprising him. What is happening?

Hold on, he said, wary. I don't know yet.

I am coming, she said immediately.

Xiu stepped deeper into the cell. It was small; her movements brought her quite close. Again, Joseph refused to back away. Small defiance. He knew it was not worth much.

"Hello, stranger," murmured the woman. "That is your name, yes?"

"If you like," he said, pouring power into his voice, hoping to hook her. He did not. His power slid over her mind, washing off so easily that for a moment he wondered if he had any kind of gift at all.

"Stranger, stranger," said the woman again. "How interesting that you are here."

"Very interesting," he replied carefully, even more wary now. "I don't quite understand the reason why."

"Treason," she said easily. "Aiding and abetting men who wish to destroy this country and take precious lives."

"I've done nothing of the sort."

"You are calling me a liar, then?" Xiu smiled. "No need to waste your energy on denials. I know what you are. I know who you are."

Joseph said nothing. This was not a fight he could win. Not like this. He pushed harder with his mind, skin puckering with the sudden chill, a side effect. He drew more energy from the room—energy that was heat—and continued searching for a way into Xiu's thoughts.

A process interrupted when she cold-cocked him in the face. Her fist moved fast—his only warning was her blatant emotion, and he was able to twitch backward, a flinch. The movement saved his teeth, but his nose flashed pain. He tasted blood, felt the hot dripping rush from his nostrils.

Xiu hit him again. He tried to fight back, but the odds were so uneven he might as well have been trying to take a swing with his arms and legs cut off. He could not even entertain the idea of biting her ankles. She was simply too fast, too strong; like Six, training so long and hard that fighting was the same as breathing.

So he took the risk. He had to. He opened his mouth and began to chant. Low soft tones, a rumbling roar as soft as distant thunder. The language of his grandparents, of the steppes and endless skies. Vocalizing was unnecessary when using his powers—language was not the same as will—but it made a difference to his strength, his focus.

Except nothing happened. Joseph could not reach inside her heart. A barrier stood around her spirit, with not even a tendril free to control. She might as well have been made of stone.

Xiu stood back from him, smiling. "Now this is quite interesting. A puzzle."

Joseph stopped chanting. His throat hurt. "Who are you?"

"Just a girl," Xiu said, but there was something in her forced giggle that was so not girlish, so much a parody, that Joseph took another hard look at the edges of her mind, and found something so startling—and so obvious—he wanted to slip his head underneath her boot for an added stamp of stupidity.

"You are not Xiu," Joseph said, slowly standing, swaying.

"Not Xiu," said the woman, pursing her lips. "But Xiu enough, I think. Enough to get close to you, Joseph Besud. And to certain information I need."

Joseph shut his eyes. He could feel the possession, now that he knew what to look for. Another mind, layered over the woman's. A natural barrier, made by virtue of there being one too many people inside a single body.

"So you're the new hire," Joseph said. "All of this, to help terrorists murder people."

"All of this," said the possessed woman, "to help myself. You aren't much of a necromancer, are you?"

"Enough of one that you want me dead."

"That was part of the bargain struck with the vampires. Nothing more."

Liar, Joseph thought. Xiu smiled. "Professional secrets, Mr. Besud. You cannot blame me for wanting to be the only man of my kind. To be honest, I never thought about what that would mean until I was introduced to this latest opportunity."

Joseph shook his head. "Who the hell are you?"

"No one," Xiu said, her voice taking on an odd multitonal quality inside his mind. "No one you need to be concerned about any longer." She leaned forward, her smile turning sly. "Nor do you need to be worried about Six and her imminent transformation. I have plans for that one."

Joseph threw himself at Xiu. He was no match for her strength, but he did not expect to fight—just to touch, to get his hand on her bare skin. That was all he needed. Physical contact always made him stronger.

She let him get close, though the smile on her face turned into a scream as Joseph's fingers grazed her cheek and he shoved a mental spike against the other necromancer's barrier, stabbing it again and again with his mind. He felt a crack, caught the edge of another heart, and tried to latch on, to track, to hunt.

Xiu slammed her fist into his groin. Joseph staggered, throbbing waves of pain spinning lights in his eyes. He tried to straighten, to fight, but another blow caught him in the chest and the impact was so fierce he went down like a rag doll, limp. He crawled, struggling to stand. His body made fun of him.

Xiu knelt, just out of reach. Her eyes were dark, furious. "A poor trick, Mr. Besud."

"Go to hell," Joseph muttered. All he could taste was blood.

"Perhaps," Xiu whispered, leaning close. "Or perhaps I will bring hell here, to you."

Joseph heard running. He felt a familiar heart. The cell door slammed open.

Six entered. Joseph met her gaze. He could not read her expression-smooth, cold—but he felt the edge of her mind and her emotions were neither.

Xiu rose slowly. "Six. Good of you to join me."

Six said nothing. She stared only at Joseph, her gaze traveling from his face and body, to the blood on the floor. Her jaw flexed. Her eyelid twitched.

No, Joseph thought, grim. Not good at all.

At thirteen years of age, faith had become something of a cornerstone in Six's life, though she rarely thought of it as such. Simply, her existence ran on routine, the steady ticking of a clock that parsed out chores and exercises and studies like some endless heartbeat running concurrent to the one inside her chest, and which could not be stopped or slowed, not at risk of ending her existence.

And then, one day, her faith changed. The clock began ticking to a different beat.

It began early. She rose for breakfast with the other girls, and Aunt was there, waiting. She picked three. Six, Xiu, and Shu. Led them beyond the school walls to a white windowless van. They got in. Aunt sat up front beside the driver, another of their instructors. The van drove for thirty minutes, and when it stopped Six emerged, blinking in the sun, staring at a tall brick structure the size of a warehouse. No windows. Only one door. Aunt made them go in. She said, "I will return later to let you out," and then the darkness closed around the three girls and they heard the lock turn.

They realized, soon after, that they were not alone. They realized, too, that they had been brought there to die.

Six remembered. She remembered men three times her size, moving in the darkness, hunting her. She remembered fighting them. She remembered killing them. She remembered the taste of that first death, how happy she was for it, how proud, because she was still alive, unharmed. Fierce; the need to survive was stronger than anything she could name.

She remembered, too, the screams. Shu. Broken leg. Cornered. Six had found her, saved her. She found Xiu, too, but later. Very close. Xiu could have gotten there first. Saved Shu some pain. But she had not. She had left the girl, used her as a distraction so she could run and hide.

There were nine men, total. Nine bodies at the end of the day, when Aunt came to unlock the door. She looked at each one, examining the way they died, the killing blows. She said not a single word. No praise, no apology.

She took the girls home. Shu healed, returning to the old routine. Xiu and Six did not. Aunt moved them on.

And here we are, Six thought, staring across the small cell at the other woman, who watched her with a stranger's eyes—eyes that Six knew almost as well as her own—eyes that had betrayed her down in the debriefing room, when Xiu had implied to the station commander that Six might be capable of inappropriate behavior. That she might give up her duty for a man.

Words to kill a career. Words enough to ostracize, blacken, send away—or worse, to put her in prison. A woman with her skills, after all, could not be allowed to run free if there was not the utmost faith in her honor and integrity. A woman like her, after all, would make a dangerous enemy.

Walk away, walk away, said a tiny voice inside her mind. It is not too late. Walk away and save yourself. Do this and your life will be over. You will lose everything.

Six gazed down at Joseph's body, covered in blood, beaten. His eyes were still strong, though, cold and dark and hard, and he looked at her as if he could see straight into her heart, as though he could see and did not mind to see, and it struck her how much that meant, how vitally important it was that someone, someone, know her. Know her for more than some badge. Know her for more than a weapon.

I know who you are, Joseph said inside her mind, his eyes shifting darker, softer. I know you, Six.

I do not know you, she replied.

You'll learn, he said. We both will.

Six tore away her gaze and looked at Xiu. "You had no authority to question this man."

"I have all the authority in the world," Xiu said smoothly. "As do you, though I am surprised to see you here. Ying said—"

"— the truth," Six interrupted. "That the wire went dead and I disappeared, that she did not know what happened. You, on the other hand, embellished."

"Also the truth," Xiu replied. "Or do you deny it?"

That you might give up your duty for a man? For Joseph?

Six said nothing. The other woman smiled. Joseph tried to stand. Six did not look at him. Part of her wondered how he had let Xiu hurt him so badly. His throat appeared unharmed. The air was cold.

Inside her mind she heard his voice again, quick and urgent.

Careful, Six. Xiu is not the woman you know. Her mind has been taken over by another. My rival. He is here to gather information for his employers. And kill me.

Sick heat flushed through Six's body. Is there a way to drive it out of her?

I'm sorry, Joseph said. All you can do is make Xiu's body uncomfortable for him.

Six steeled herself. Uncomfortable. She could do that. No use wasting time, either.

She lunged, fists striking fast, hard. Xiu dodged and whirled, kicking off the wall, coming back at Six with enough speed to break bone. Six cut sharp to the right and jammed two fingers into Xiu's kidneys. The woman grunted, but did not go down. She spun again, her knee catching Six in the gut, her elbow connecting with her jaw. Six dropped, kicking out. Xiu blocked her heel, but Six twisted fast, feinted, and managed to catch her other knee. Bone cracked. Her leg bent backward. Xiu screamed.

Six knocked her down with a hard fist. Pounced, landing on her chest, pressing her elbow against Xiu's throat. She tasted blood, and spat it out on the possessed woman's face.

"Let her go," she muttered. "Now."

"Go where?" rasped Xiu, and her eyes were indeed strange, unfamiliar. "Into you? There will be room enough before long. Your soul is going to run away from your body, girl. In a day, you'll be nothing but a shell."

"No," Joseph said, staggering close. "No, I won't let you have her."

Six gritted her teeth. "And you cannot have Xiu, either. Not alive, anyway." And she pressed even harder on the woman's throat, cutting off her air. Xiu's eyes bulged, her face turning purple as she grappled and writhed. Six refused to let go. She was careful not to crush her windpipe, but her strength was inexorable, and Xiu finally went limp.

Six, very cautiously, eased off. Her heart pounded. There was a ringing in her ears. "Did it work? Is Xiu alone in there?"

"Yes," he whispered, staring at her. "Are you okay?"

"No," she said, looking at him. "No, I am not."

Six leaned close to check on Xiu. She was still breathing, though the next time she looked in the mirror it would be an ugly sight. There was also a very good chance that Six had just ended her colleague's career in Squad Twelve. A broken knee was not an injury someone like Xiu could fully recover from. It would be easier for the military to replace her with a younger, newer, woman.

Two women, she thought. You just ruined yourself, as well.

Fear crushed down on her heart; she could hardly breathe with it. Six had just ended her own life. Twenty years of knowing nothing else, and now—now—

Joseph touched her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and tugged her close until her back pressed against his chest and the rise and fall of his breathing mirrored her own. He felt strong, solid. And it was a comfort, no matter how unfamiliar, or small. His mouth pressed against her hair. "Everything will be fine," he murmured.

Six turned to face him, searching his eyes. "How can you say that? How can you believe?"

A grim smile touched his mouth. "Because I just do."

Because I just do. Another kind of faith. A new clock. Six touched his lips with her fingertips. His blood was still wet. She stood on her toes and kissed him, tasting the hot metallic burn, the spice of ginger. His mouth was hard, as were his arms as he crushed her close and tight.

Six broke away, breathing hard. She glanced down at Xiu, then bent close, rummaging through her pockets. She found keys and took them.

"Come," she said to Joseph. "We have to leave. Now."

She went to the cell door and peered out. There were no guards in the hall. No one had heard Xiu scream—or if they had, no one wanted to investigate. The members of Squad Twelve were not known for needing help. It was a reputation they encouraged.

Six stepped into the hall, and took Joseph's arm. "Head down, look weak, beaten."

"Oh, yeah. Difficult," he muttered.

They walked down the long, tiled corridor past gray metal doors marked with numbers. Six heard groans coming from inside some of the cells. She thought about Joseph being beaten and clenched her jaw. Kept her gaze straight and narrow. One turn in the corridor, and the cellblock gate appeared. Two guards in full military uniform stood on either side of the heavy metal door. Another man sat at a desk that held only one phone and a sheaf of papers. All of them stared at Joseph.

"I am moving the prisoner," Six said. "Agent Xiu will be along when she is finished… cleaning up. Do not disturb her until then."

"Shall I call ahead for a transport vehicle?" asked the man at the desk, who very carefully maintained no eye contact.

"That will not be necessary," Six said. A request for transportation would go through the main switchboard, and be automatically routed to the other members of her squad. "In fact, I would ask that you not call anyone about this prisoner. It is a very sensitive matter."

"Of course," he said, and reached behind him to dial in the combination of the electric lock. He hit a red button and the door clicked open. One of the guards held it for her. Six stopped and took his sidearm. She did not ask. He did not protest. Simply stared into the air above her head. He was very young. Eager to please. Six hoped none of them would be punished too severely for letting her escape with Joseph.

They passed through the cellblock door and entered another corridor that split into three directions. Security cameras hung from every corner, but Six knew they were manned by low-level guards who would know only her face and nothing else. Her face would be enough to grant free passage until Xiu was discovered. Or until Six and Joseph ran into any other members of the team.

They took the stairs. Joseph gave her a questioning look when they started walking up.

"This building is only three stories tall," Six explained quietly. "But there are six sublevels beneath it. We are on number three."

His mouth twitched. "I don't rate a six? How disappointing."

"Not really." She let herself smile. "That level is the morgue."

They reached the main floor without incident. Six heard a great deal of activity beyond the corridor, but where they stood was the hall used only by the janitorial staff. Six and Joseph were able to exit through the back door without incident.

Sloppy security, Six thought. She had never paid much attention to just how sloppy, until now, and it embarrassed her. She had taken too much for granted. Twenty years, training to be the best, riding on the laurels of elitism—and now, all of it gone, with the realization that she had still be vulnerable, in other ways. It was a taste of humility that she really did not need.

The night air was cool and damp. The military offices sat in the center of a walled compound. Most of it was parking lot, filled with military vehicles and the occasional bus. On the other side was a small training ground. Six heard men laughing, followed by the hiss of a burning fuse. Three seconds later, a ball of sparkling flame shot into the air, rushing high above the trees lining the wall. Six heard a whine, followed by a sharp explosion. She could have shot her gun and no one would have noticed.

Six hit the electric lock on the key chain. An Audi beeped back. She and Joseph ran for the car. She put him in the backseat.

They drove out without being stopped. The guards at the gate took one look at her face and waved her on. Six pulled into traffic, hit the accelerator, and there—gone.

"We have only an hour," she said to Joseph, and was stunned to hear her voice shake. She gripped the wheel harder. "Maybe less. Xiu will wake up eventually. I do not know if anyone will hear her shouts, but I would prefer to assume the worst."

"I know someplace we can go," Joseph said. "It's in Suzhou. No one will be able to find a connection to me there."

"You forget, no one knows who you are."

"You think."

"Fine," she said, and then, "We need a plan."

"We," Joseph said. "I like the sound of that."

"You should not," she snapped. "All it means is trouble. I have just ruined my life for you."

Joseph was silent for a long time. The car engine hummed; fireworks crackled against the road. Six had to swerve to avoid hitting some children playing with sparklers.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, softly. "I am, truly. And I am grateful. But Six…" He stopped, and sighed. "Was it a life you really wanted?"

"It was the life I had," she replied flatly. "What more is there?"

A strong hand reached from the shadows to touch her shoulder. "You know the answer to that. I can feel it in your heart."

Her eyes burned. "People forget how to choose."

"Not you," he murmured. "Not you."

Maybe not, she thought. But choosing right was another matter entirely.

Chapter 5

At four o'clock in the morning the road to Suzhou was mostly empty, and Six gunned the Audi's A6 engine into a high-speed chase of nothing but ghosts. Just outside the city, though, she took an exit to a rest area and parked the car. Cabs idled on the other end of the lot. She could see the drivers playing mahjong on a makeshift table.

"There are some bottles of water back there," she said to Joseph. "You should wash off the worst of the blood. Maybe take off that shirt you're wearing, too."

"Why do I get the feeling that we're dumping this fine piece of machinery?"

"Because we are," she replied, and got out of the car. Inside the trunk she found some spare clothes, money, and a tool kit. All standard issue. She dug around for a screwdriver, and, after making certain no one was watching, removed the car's plates. She tucked them inside a plastic sack that had very recently contained maps, and then went around to take Joseph's bloody shirt. She tossed him a new one and stuffed the old inside the sack with the plates. There was a garbage can nearby. Six dumped everything inside. It would not stay there long. Someone would dig through eventually for scrap and find the contents of the bag, but hopefully the discoverer would keep his or her mouth shut—and if not—then she and Joseph would be long gone. Or as gone as finding that terrorist cell would take her.

She and Joseph. Six shuddered. She really was thinking of them as a team. And him, still a stranger. She knew nothing about Joseph. Nothing but what her instincts were telling her. It should not have been enough. And yet, here she was, breaking the law.

Not just for him, she reminded herself. There is a lot at stake here. Too much. Sometimes you must do the wrong thing in order to make right.

Six thought of her debriefing. The commander had not listened to her warnings about the terrorist cell. Not truly. Intelligence officers had already said that an attack might be imminent. And Six was saying nothing new. Nothing they could use. Nothing she thought she could share. Not without sounding crazy—or ruining Joseph's life.

So she had ruined her own instead.

Joseph approached. His hair was scruffy, his eyes hooded, but the blood was gone and the shirt strained quite nicely over his shoulders. The rough voices of the cab drivers and the rumble of engines drifted close.

"I was thinking," he said slowly. "Xiu only could have been possessed during a moment of close contact. Touching, even. Not only that, but her possessor wouldn't have been able to stay in her body for more than a day. Any longer would be dangerous. Lingering increases the possibilities of becoming… stuck."

"Xiu has been in Shanghai all this time. Her… possessor might be there, as well." Six's cheek hurt. She touched it, lightly, and felt dizzy. Joseph touched her arm.

"We need to take care of that," he said.

"The rest first," she replied.

"It can't wait," Joseph told her.

Six pulled away. "Xiu would not have logged her movements, though I can tell you that she was supposed to question some bankers who work with Chenglei. Their office is near the Bund."

"It's a start," he said. "But it can wait until morning. Right now, all that matters is taking care of you. Unless you want to end up like those creatures."

"No," she said, trying to ignore the pure fear that accompanied that thought. Talking helped. "I still do not understand what they are or what they do. It resembles magic, but I know it must be science."

Joseph looked at her as though he knew exactly what she was feeling. But all he said was, "Magic and science are not mutually exclusive. One looks much like the other, if you don't know the difference. In this case, vampirism is similar to a disease. It affects the appearance, although that can be maintained by choice. It gives strength, speed… but it also makes the victims… hungry."

Six looked away. "Are they evil? Would I… become evil?"

Joseph hesitated. "All your emotions, your empathy and compassion, your capacity to love, would be… suppressed. If there is a place in the human brain where those things live, it gets shut off. All that remains is something hollow."

"But you can stop it?" She hated the sound of her voice, the thread of fear that crept into it, but Joseph did not seem to mind, nor did he look at her with pity. All he did was squeeze her shoulder and drag her close to press his lips upon her forehead. She let him. Other men had kissed her, but it felt different with Joseph. More alive.

They left the Audi and walked to the cab drivers. The men did not want to break up their game, but Six offered a one-hundred-dollar note, apart from the fare, to the first person up and ready.

Joseph gave directions, and after a while their cab left the freeway for the industrial zone, a modern area of wide tree-lined roads, modern sculptures, and vast corporate headquarters—some of which seemed to have been designed in some architect's odd dream. Closer to the city core, the scenery changed; water became the influence, canals and bridges splitting roads. The buildings, too, retained a classic charm. Unlike Shanghai, the Suzhou city planners had attempted to maintain the feel of old China in its appearance.

The New Year's celebration was in full swing here, as well. Even in the wee hours of morning, men were still setting off fireworks—albeit half-heartedly. Red lanterns swung gently over the roads, and all the shop doors were plastered with red banners covered in wishes for good luck in the coming year.

Joseph had the cab driver drop them off in the middle of a tiny shopping district. No one else was out. Except for the occasional pop and bang, the air was quiet. Joseph led Six down a side street. They had to cross a bridge over one of the canals—water lapping gently against the stones—and then he guided them left into a well-worn neighborhood where the walls felt high and the streets narrow, and the air grew more still and hushed the deeper they traveled. A good place for a trap, Six thought, but she could do nothing but keep her senses open, ready, alert. It was second nature, but she paid special attention, not wanting to take anything for granted. It was odd, though; the more she concentrated, the more that came into focus. Where there had been silence, now there was noise—so much noise—building into a crescendo of men talking, pans banging, children crying, farts and coughs and pissing in a can. She heard sex. She heard heartbeats. She heard Joseph breathe.

"Something's wrong," she murmured, and her voice sounded like a roar inside her ears. She stopped walking, and held her head. Joseph moved close. He covered her hands with his, and the warm pressure of his fingers moving across her skin, threading into her hair, felt good enough to ease the discomfort bearing down on her eardrums. When he pulled her against him, she did not resist. She pressed her forehead against his chest and closed her eyes. His heartbeat was a roar of thunder.

"It is starting," she whispered. "Whatever it is, I can feel it."

"Your cheek has healed," Joseph said.

Her hand flew up, fingers running over skin. The scratch was gone. No pain, no flush.

"I am afraid," she said, and it was like hearing herself speak another language. She had never said those words, not out loud, but the crush of her fear was so full and thick, she had to express it. She had to tell someone or scream.

I'm here, Joseph told her, speaking into her mind. Six, I'm here. You're not alone.

I am always alone, she told him, unable to stop the words that sprang so easily into her mind. I have always been alone.

"Not anymore," he promised, tugging up her chin. He kissed her, gently, lips brushing against her mouth with such sweetness, she held on to the feeling with all her strength, fighting for it, suddenly terrified it might be the last time she ever felt that way about another human being. She remembered Chenglei, those other creatures she had faced on the street. Hollow and shriveled, brittle with their hunger for another person's life. Not the men and women they had been born to be.

"Do not let me forget how to feel," she said to Joseph, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "I have never asked for anything from anyone, but please, make me feel."

A tremor ran through his body. "Six—"

"Promise me."

Joseph kissed her. He dragged Six off her feet and pressed his mouth hard against her mouth, dragging from her a groan of pleasure as he kissed the fear out of her body, replacing it with a liquid heat that made her writhe and twist against him. Her leg curled around his hip, her arms snaking around his shoulders, binding him tight, and when he backed off for just a moment, she traveled with him, kissing him again, dragging his bottom lip between her teeth. Joseph shuddered. One hand trailed up her waist, sliding beneath her blouse. Her breath caught as he touched her ribs, and then the swell of her breast. A fingernail grazed her nipple. She gasped.

Joseph set her down. She felt his hard heat press through his pants against her belly, which only made it more difficult to let go when he stepped back, breathing hard. "We should move," he said roughly. "It's not safe here."

Which should have been her line. Six swallowed a deep breath. She was losing her head. She had to be careful, or she just might lose more. She had been a survivor too long to toss it all away now.

She followed Joseph a short distance to a small gate covered in red banners. On either side were two pots full of water and tall bamboo. A peach blossom lantern hung from the iron knob. Joseph pulled a small key from his pocket and fit it into the gate. It swung open with a tiny rasp that was met with an answering creak from inside the house. They hardly had time to walk through the gate when the door beyond the small courtyard opened. An old woman poked out her head. She peered at them both, but it was Joseph she smiled at.

"Finally!" she said. "You're home. But what a surprise. I thought you would be going north for Spring Festival."

"Change of plans," Joseph said, pulling Six behind him. "Wenxia, this is Six. Six, my very good friend, Wenxia. She looks after this place for me when I'm away."

"Which is all the time," said the old woman. She moved back into the house with a pronounced hobble. Six looked down and had to take a moment to reconcile her vision. Wenxia's feet were terribly small, hardly the size of a fist.

"Your feet," she said without thinking. "They were bound?"

Wenxia paused, and glanced over her shoulder. "I came from a traditional family. They thought it would help me find a rich husband. And it did. But not much else."

"I'm sorry if we woke you," Joseph said.

Wenxia waved him away. "I was cooking. And a good thing, too! We will eat well today, my boy. Dumplings and candy!"

Joseph kissed the top of the old woman's head. "Six and I have been traveling all night. We need to rest."

"You know where your room is." Wenxia hesitated, her gaze flickering to Six. Joseph raised his brow, and a smile touched the old woman's mouth. She turned around, humming, and left the room.

Six watched her go, then looked at Joseph. "She is your family."

"There are many different kinds of family," he said, leading her up the rickety stairs. "But yes, she's mine and I'm hers, and it's all good. I met her a long time ago through my father. She really was rich, but everything was taken from her during the Cultural Revolution. A mob killed her husband right in front of her, strung him up from a tree. Then she and her son were sent north for re-education on one of the state farms."

"Where is her child now?"

"Dead. He cut his hand on something rusty. It happened early on. She's been alone for a long time."

Joseph pushed open a door at the end of the hall. He stood in the entrance, unmoving, looking at his hands. "You know, if you're not comfortable, there's another room."

Six hid her smile and pushed him gently aside. The room was small and dark, filled with richly carved antiques that gleamed and smelled of lemon oil. A large window looked down over the canal they had passed over. She could see more of it now. The sun was rising.

Joseph did not turn on any lights. He moved behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and tugging her close. He kissed the back of her neck.

"First, we make you well," he murmured. "Then, we see about everything else. Sound good?"

"Yes," she said, and allowed herself to be drawn to the bed. They sat together on the mattress. Joseph made her lie down, and then leaned over her body, his eyes dark, his mouth set in a hard line. Six did nothing but study his face. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to be in a position so vulnerable. To even be alone with a man for such an extended period of time, let alone rely on one, in any capacity outside her work.

It was not as uncomfortable as she thought it might be. Or maybe she had been around the wrong men. Either way, Joseph made her feel safe. And that was rare, indeed.

"This could be easy, or it could be difficult," he told her softly. "You've been infected, Six. A body can reject that poison, but sometimes it doesn't want to."

She struggled with her fear. "I cannot imagine that."

"It happens." Joseph trailed his finger down her cheek. "But not this time."

"You are very confident."

Joseph gathered up her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Are you ready?"

"What do I do?"

"Just be yourself," he said quietly. "Be yourself, Six, and do not let go of that."

Six closed her eyes. She felt Joseph enter her mind, like a hand dipping beneath still water. It was an odd sensation; she knew he must have done it before, but this was the first time she was aware, and it was profoundly intimate. A part of her feared the contact, wanted to censor herself, but she remembered his voice—be yourself—and she took that to heart and let herself, simply, be. And for a moment she felt the world open up inside her mind, her life spreading before her in all its infinite moments. No sadness. Just wonderment.

But then the pain began, and Six forgot serenity.

Joseph's mother had always impressed upon her son the importance of telling the truth, but of course, his mother had never been able to keep any friends past the shelf life of an honest answer, and so Joseph had learned through example that the occasional white lie was sometimes appropriate—and indeed, necessary—to keeping the people he cared about happy.

In Six's case, it involved a particular omission on the subject of pain. As in, vast unending quantities of pain, most definitely (as he had been told) on the level of giving birth to a baby the size of a large watermelon. And then discovering that you were having twins.

Joseph saw no need to add to Six's burdens.

Unfortunately, he forgot to take into account the fact that she was an incredibly strong woman prone to committing violent acts, and that as the person she would blame for causing her pain, he might just be be in for a little of it himself.

"What are you doing to me?" she gasped.

"This is part of the process," he said. "Now, try to relax."

Six glared at him and grabbed his hand. She was not a screamer. She was a squeezer. And she refused to let go.

It was difficult for Joseph to focus past the pain. He was quite certain she was crushing bones. He managed, however, by sinking deep enough into Six's mind that the discomfort became a distant thing, less nagging than a mosquito bite.

And there, held in the darkness, he began to heal her.

The process was different for everyone, or so he had been told. In his experience, he had brought back only two from the brink—another omission he did not think Six needed to know about—and on both those occasions the trigger had been unique. For one woman, it was the remembrance of her child's birth that made her fight the hardest—and for the man, it was nothing more than a random sunset recalled from memory. Visceral reactions—reactions beyond mere fear or desire—infusing bodies with the mental strength necessary to fight off the infection caused by vampire contact.

The mind was more important than the body. It was always more important. Especially when dealing with vampires, whose only weakness was the mind, a lack of spirit. Bolster that, strengthen the roots of the soul, and nothing could take hold.

But Joseph immediately ran into a problem; specifically, with himself. He could not hide from her. His thoughts were open. His memories, fair game. And though she did not search his mind, as he sank deeper he felt her presence on the periphery of his most private mental spaces, and it was an unexpected intimacy that he could not shut off.

You are afraid, Six whispered. You are afraid of me.

No, he told her. I'm afraid of myself. What you see, I see. And there are things I have done that I don't want to relive.

Like the bones, she murmured, and Joseph remembered that hot flash of her touch in the massage parlor, the memory it had called—a fluke, he thought—but now it happened again, a strike of deep connection, and he felt her gaze once more upon the worst of his memories, years past, twenty-five and on the go, this time to Africa. The Red Cross, because he wanted to help and they needed people. Sierra Leone, because that was where the need was the greatest.

But all I found was death and rape and atrocity, he told Six. There was no end to it. And one day, when we were taken to a mass grave to bear witness, I started talking to the dead. I asked them, who. I asked them, where. And when I knew these things I found the men responsible, and I made them—

Joseph stopped. He tried to suppress the memory, but Six would not let him. He felt her warmth surround his thoughts, unrelenting, and after a moment he yielded to her. He let her see. Allowed her to watch how he had possessed the bodies of murderers and torturers and brought them to the graves of their victims, forcing the men to rest amongst the decay and filth of the dead. And when they were truly buried, he showed Six how he had summoned the memories of the dead, spirits who still wanted vengeance—and shown them what lay in their midst, and that it was their chance to take a pound of flesh.

And they did, Joseph told her. Not literally, but enough. Those men died. Died of fright, maybe. Or suffocation from the bodies I made them rest under. Either way, I was the one who killed them.

Are you sorry? Six's question was a gesture of politeness; he knew she was already aware of how he felt. But he said it anyway, because she asked, and it was something he had wanted to speak of for a long time.

No, he said, grim. I am not sorry at all.

He sensed her satisfaction with his response. Six was a practical woman. Why would you try to suppress that memory, then? It bothers you. I see that much.

Joseph felt a hard cold knot inside his heart; the place where the bones and the death resided. But it was also a place of bitter satisfaction, and there was power in that feeling. Too much power.

Ah, Six said.

It's easy to become a monster, Joseph replied. Easier for some than others. You can get a taste for it. Righteousness makes it simple. But it's a thin line.

Much like the one I am walking.

Yes, he said. Let's take care of that. How's the pain?

Better, now that I have gone deeper. I apologize for your hand.

Do I still have one?

I hope you like surprises.

Joseph laughed, and it took him off guard. He had never felt so comfortable with another woman; he had never felt so at ease revealing himself, as though her eyes were the same as his, without fear or judgment. He tried to imagine losing that. He could not. It did not bear thinking of.

You lied, Six said, suddenly. You have only helped two?

You will be three, he said, and dove into her heart, searching for a memory to save her life. He felt Six try to follow, and he held out a mental hand, tugging her alongside him as he sped through her life, tasting her spirit. No two souls were ever alike—a handful of snowflakes might have more in comparison—but Six was utterly unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Her memories of life were stark and cold, with moments of fierceness interwoven like charms.

But he did not find anything to save her life. Nothing that created a visceral reaction. Not enough to burn out the poison hunting her spirit. He could taste the first tendrils of it, snaking from the darkness beyond her thoughts. Moving faster than he had imagined. If he waited much longer, there would be hooks involved, tearing her apart. Stealing her heart. Making her empty.

No, Six said. No, Joseph. There must be something.

You have to fight, he told her desperately. You're a fighter, Six. You can do this. Find something inside of yourself that's worth living for. Hold on to it.

He felt, inside her mind, the memory of a window. A window with a view of a wall, and beyond that, rooftops and trees and sky. Freedom, he heard inside his mind. And then, beside that window, he felt another memory, this time, of him. Six's first memory, their first meeting, seeing him walk into the room at the massage parlor. He tasted her appraisal of his eyes, his face, and though it was a thrill to know she had noticed him even then, what made his heart ache was that in her deepest unconscious, she equated him with her symbol of freedom.

Is that what you are? Six asked him. My freedom?

You tell me.

No, she said. No person is freedom. But maybe you are a path.

Then use that path. He wrapped himself around her spirit, holding her. Fight.

But instead of fighting, he felt Six grow more solid in his mental arms, and he matched her transformation until he could pretend he was searching her mind in the flesh. Like walking in a dream and feeling the ground beneath his feet; only, he suddenly found himself in that office with the window, standing beside Six as she stared through the glass. They were both naked.

Six, he said, and she turned just enough to kiss him. A hard kiss, hungry, melting right through his soul, scorching his heart. He pressed her against the window, cradling her head in his hands, and he could feel her skin ride against his own, smooth and hot. He grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted her up, swinging them both around to the desk until he could lay her flat, pushing apart her thighs, moving between them. Six did not hesitate. She reached down and slid him into her body, raising her legs so that her knees practically touched her chin and her calves rested on his shoulders. Joseph gripped her hips and began thrusting hard.

And then, quite suddenly, they were no longer in each other's minds but on the bed in his room, and instead of being naked they were both in clothes, wrapped around each other, thrusting and grinding. Joseph did not stop. He began tearing off his clothes, as did Six, buttons popping, pants shoved off and caught around ankles. Joseph pulled down the front of Six's bra at the same time he entered her, and the sight of her breasts and the sensation of that first slick stroke almost sent him over the edge. She strained against him, crying out, and all he could do was marvel at the fine, strong lines of her body, the feel of her moving beneath him as he obeyed her urgings and thrust faster, harder, pounding into her as she wrapped her legs around his back, fingernails clawing into his skin.

Joseph had no warning before she turned them, but suddenly he was on his back and she was on top, and that was fine because she lost the bra, and the sight of her bouncing breasts made him so hot that when he touched them he almost lost it for a second time.

Six leaned forward on her palms, thrusting hard. Then she stopped, abruptly, and slid all the way off him. Held herself there as they both panted, Joseph grappling with her hips, and then came down so hard—like that first thrust all over again—that he shouted and sat up, wild, grabbing her around the waist and hips, lifting and squeezing as she moved against him, faster and faster.

He felt her come—rode the wave as her muscles clenched around him—and then took her over the edge a second time with only a few more quick strokes. He came with that second orgasm, emptying himself into her body, and the feeling of being in her arms, spent, was so lush that he wanted nothing more than to plant some roots around them both and never move again.

But as he lay in her arms, he remembered—and slowly, carefully, slipped back into her mind, searching her spirit for the virus that had infected her.

It was still there. Its progression had stopped, the tendrils hard and frozen, but the threat remained. Nor did it appear that it would be disappearing anytime soon.

Permanent and dangerous. Part vampire. Waiting to become whole.

And no way to know what would set it off.

Chapter 6

After the age of thirteen, it became quite easy for Six to reconcile herself with the idea of death. She had, after all, taken lives to save her own, and that was utterly justifiable. As was taking the lives of those who were going to hurt others, however remotely. Indeed, she felt very little remorse about her actions. There was no point. Dead was dead. And she would have to kill again, sooner or later. That was the way of it. That was what she had been trained to do. Her life, no choice.

But now, resting in the darkness of an unfamiliar room, she wondered if this new turn in her life was some kind of karma. A killer without remorse, transforming into the physical manifestation of another kind of killer, also without remorse. Justice, or perhaps a divine joke. Maybe even destiny.

Like meeting Joseph? Six glanced at him. He was finally asleep, though lines of distress still cut into his forehead. He was a beautiful man. Six enjoyed nothing more than staring at his face, analyzing lines and angles and curves. Wanting to touch him again, to feel him inside her. She thought about waking him up, but turned aside that thought. He needed to rest. As did she, though that was unlikely to happen.

Six dressed quietly and went downstairs. She found Wenxia in the kitchen, seated at a fine table with flour scattered, small coins of dough rolled into flat circles. A large bowl of ground pork filled with chopped cabbage, ginger, and shrimp sat by her elbow. It smelled good.

"I'll make you tea," Wenxia said, scooting back her chair.

"I will do it," Six offered, and with some direction, found the leaves. A hot water dispenser leaned against the wall; she let the water flow into a little ceramic pot, and breathed in the steam. She let it steep for a moment, then poured Wenxia a cup. The old woman nodded her thanks.

Six sat opposite the old woman, and sipped her own cup of tea. It tasted good, and she felt herself relax as she watched Wenxia work. Her hands were gnarled and brown, but she made the dumplings efficiently, without sign of pain.

"Can I help?" Six asked.

"Oh, no," Wenxia replied, but she said it with a smile, and Six reached over for a dough skin. It had been a long time since she had tried her hand at making dumplings—there was an art to it—but she wanted to feel the sensation of cooking, of preparing, of putting herself into something other than fighting. She thought of Joseph, and smiled.

"Ah," murmured Wenxia. "You do care about him."

"Are you a mind reader?" she asked, startled.

"No need. I saw your smile. Only a man makes a woman smile like that. You care."

Six saw no use denying the truth. Still, she hesitated. "Yes, I do."

The old woman's mouth quirked. "You have to think about it?"

"No," Six replied. "But speaking of such things is… difficult for me."

"You are a product of the state," Wenxia said. "I can see it in your face."

"Does that bother you?"

"No." A dumpling thumped onto a plate. "But it makes you react differently to things some people take for granted. Like making dumplings, for example. You have never spent a holiday with family, have you?"

"No," Six said. "Never."

"Life is isolating enough, but when forced to live under the cold standard of a government machine…" Wenxia stopped. "Well, times are changing. One day, you and your kind will be as antiquated as my own generation. Relics. And no one will remember what was suffered."

"No one ever does," Six said, struggling to press the dough around the meat in the center. "And no one will ever care as much as you do about your own life."

Wenxia put down her spoon. "Joseph would care that much. About you. And if you had any heart in you, you would care that much about him."

Six set aside her dumpling. "He doesn't know me."

The old woman's eyes narrowed. "If anyone knows you, it's him. It's what he does. Something I think you're well aware of."

Six said nothing. Wenxia sighed. "Do you know what he does for work? Many things, you know. He makes big money being a therapist to rich men. Giving them advice. Guiding them in their lives. He does that several times a year. Makes enough, and then he leaves. Runs away to places where the people are hurting, dying. And there—there—he uses his real power. He makes people whole. He gives them hope. Helps them move on."

"Did he help you?" Six asked, and instantly regretted it.

Wenxia looked down, shoulders hunching. "His father did. He… dulled my pain. Made it bearable."

Six did not know how to answer. Wenxia saved her from trying. She leaned on the table, her bright eyes glittering.

"You know the story of the Spring Festival, yes? How a monster would descend from a mountain to terrorize a village year after year, eating people, stealing children. Until finally, someone said enough. And they attacked that monster with nothing but a firework. Boom! And the monster fled! Back to its mountain."

The old woman started making dumplings again. "The New Year holiday is a time of faith, child. Symbols, colors, flashes of light and sound—all of it, faith. Faith in a new beginning, in the power of hope. Faith in the ability of people to be more than what they dream. And it is a good dream, yes?"

"Yes," Six said softly. "Precious, even."

Wenxia smiled. "People become so discouraged. There are monsters everywhere, beating them down, stealing their dreams. Except the monsters are such cowards! A loud noise, a sharp light, that is all it takes to drive them away. Face them and be strong, and they will not be able to stand against you."

"And what if the people themselves become monsters? What if I am the monster?"

Wenxia gave her a knowing smile, and patted her hand. "Shine a light inside you, child. Make a loud noise."

Six, Joseph, and Wenxia shared a lovely dinner of dumplings, the finest Six had ever had—and the first that she remembered sitting down to, with people other than orphans or military. She asked Joseph if it would be possible for him to learn of her life before she had been taken in by the government, if those memories were still there, buried. He thought it likely. But Six did not ask him to try. Not then. She was not ready to remember.

She and Joseph did not stay long after the dinner. There was too much on the line, and the sense of urgency that pressed upon them was sharp enough to taste. A ruining effect, on an otherwise wonderful meal, though Six felt worse about leaving Wenxia.

They took a cab back to the Shanghai. It was difficult to find one, on New Year's day. They directed their driver to take them to the Bund.

"Nothing will be open," Joseph said, holding her hand, cradling it in his lap. He looked handsome, rested, his eyes moving over her face, out the window, searching.

"Maybe not," Six said. "But at least we will make good targets. Perhaps attract the attention of someone who will lead us back to his master." Anger curled through her. "I have been thinking about the terrorists, Joseph. Trying to imagine what they would want with someone like you."

He grunted. "I have been thinking about the same thing, ever since Chenglei first contacted me. Trying to understand what Jihadists would want with someone who most definitely falls outside their religion. Not that I need to understand too much. Hate is hate. Hypocrisy rules. And there is precedent."

"What do you mean?"

"How much do you know about World War Two and the Nazis?"

"I have studied the history," Six said. "But I admit to focusing more on the problems this country faced. I have spoken to many elderly, and they have told me the stories."

"Yes. There are a lot of stories," Joseph said grimly. "But one thing I learned long ago, from the European side of the war, is that the Nazis—and more specifically, Hitler—were so consumed by their desire to win, that they began seeking… alternative methods. Inexplicable methods, of an… unnatural origin."

"You mean," she said slowly. "Something like you."

"Something like that," he admitted. "Thankfully they never tapped into anything real, though they came close enough to make some individuals nervous. And not just those with powers like mine, but competing governments who in turn began developing their own programs to explore alternative weaponry within the paranormal. The Russians were the most serious, second only to the Germans. My grandfather was part of that program. He managed to leave it after the war. Illegally, of course. He escaped into Mongolia and never left. He took the daughter of a shaman as his wife, and they had a son."

"A family legacy, then."

"But it doesn't answer any questions."

Shanghai traffic was lighter than usual, but the Bund surprised them by being quite crowded. It seemed to Six that every family had taken the afternoon to travel down to the heart of the city and see the sights. Days off were rare for most; the New Year festivals guaranteed at least one.

"We must stay away from the waterfront," Six told Joseph, after being dropped off by the cab. "There will be undercover military there for sure, and they will know my face. Xiu must have been discovered by now."

As she spoke, her eyes seemed to blur, vision worsening almost to blindness until suddenly, without warning, everything snapped back into focus. Six gasped. She could see… everything. The individual pores on a woman's face—who was standing more than fifty feet away. The brand name on the buttons of a man's jacket, far across the street. Her vision swooped and burned like she was an eagle flying, and it was dizzying, frightening.

"Check," she said. "Is the poison—"

"No," Joseph said grimly. "It hasn't progressed. But you're still suffering the side effects."

"Just as long as I do not suffer anything else. I am still me, correct? I still… feel."

"You have your heart," he said quietly. "I won't let you lose it, Six."

"You will not have a choice, if the poison spreads."

Joseph said nothing. The street they were on was the main artery running parallel to the Bund. The architecture was European in origin, neo-classical designs from the twenties up to the forties. Immense monoliths that had stood the test of time far better than most modern Chinese buildings constructed in only the last few years.

Six and Joseph did not take a walking tour of those massive buildings. Instead, they walked into the Peace Hotel and found a bench in a little nook off the main foyer, crowded with tourists, most of them from America and Europe.

They sat, holding hands. Joseph began a search with his mind. After a moment, he invited Six to join him, and she found herself swept into his thoughts, carried alongside him as he traveled another world, seeking danger.

He found it, almost immediately. Right on top of them. A sickening lurch of knowledge that made them both reel.

There is a bomb in this hotel, said Joseph, horror leaking from his thoughts. My God. It's a person. A person—

Six was already running, the location in her mind, the face of the man. She barreled through the crowd, ruthless, battling her own feelings of shock. She had expected this in theory—the Peace hotel had always been on a list of possible targets to be wary of—but thinking and knowing were two separate things, and there was a part of Six that could not believe it was happening here, now. Not now.

The crowd thickened; she did not think. She jumped. Her body flew over the tops of heads. She heard gasps. She gasped. But there, ahead of her, she saw a stocky man in a heavy coat, and she forced herself to move faster than she ever had before. Faster than was humanly possible.

The suicide bomber never had a chance; he barely saw her coming before he hit the ground. Six did not kill him. She broke his wrists instead, cracked his knees by stomping hard—and then, as he lay on the ground screaming she flipped open his coat and looked at the bomb. It was not terribly sophisticated; she had trained on harder targets. Six pulled the necessary wires.

Joseph appeared behind her. He knelt, placed his hands on the man's temples, and began to chant. This time, Six stayed out of his head. She stood and pulled out her badge. Showed it to the hotel manager who came running, pale and frightened. Showed it to the crowd, and in her best English, told them to please exit the area in a careful manner. They did, without hesitation. She gave the hotel manager a number to call, just in case they had not already.

"Joseph," she said.

"Got it," he murmured. "There are seven other locations. We can't reach all of them in time."

Six grabbed a nearby man and stole the cell phone out of his hands. He began to protest—she showed him her badge. Dialed fast with one hand. Ying picked up on the second ring.

"The terrorists are planting a series of bombs around the city," she said quickly, and then had Joseph take the phone and rattle off the list of names and locations. Six took back the phone, listening as Ying shouted to someone in the background. She heard the call go up, loud and fierce. For a moment, a feeling of nostalgia, a sliver of regret that could have been grief struck her, but then she looked at Joseph standing beside her, and felt such freedom it stole her breath away. She was making her own path now. Walking her own road.

"Six," said Ying. "What happened between you and Xiu? She doesn't remember anything. You are in such trouble."

"I cannot explain," Six said. "But I am still on your side. Please, no matter what happens, remember that."

"What happened?" Ying asked. "This is not you, Six."

"Goodbye," she said. "Tell the others for me."

Six ended the call and tossed the phone back to its owner. She could hear sirens, and flagged down the hotel manager one more time.

"Guard this man," she said, pointing to the terrorist still writhing on the ground. "Step on his wrists or knees if he gives you any trouble. Do it anyway, for fun. The police will be here in a moment."

"Y-yes," stammered the man. Six and Joseph ran. A police cruiser careened around the corner just as they walked through the revolving doors. Six tugged on Joseph's hand and made him slow to a walk, which they did—very quickly—in the opposite direction. The flow of the crowd made it easy to get lost. A lot of people were leaving the hotel.

"You found something else," she said to him, jostled on all sides by strangers. Her sense of hearing threatened to overwhelm her. She tried to subdue the sounds crashing in her eardrum, and much to her surprise, they subsided to something resembling normal. She wished her heart rate would do the same.

"Him," Joseph said shortly. "I found him."

He stopped walking. Six bumped against his side. His hand tightened and she followed his gaze to a man and woman standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at them. Eye contact was startling; Six felt those two sharp gazes reverberate down to her gut, and she knew without being told that they were vampires. Human shells, hollow cores. Just like her, if she was not careful. If the poison began to move again.

"I wish I had my dagger," Joseph muttered. "I should have kept a spare at the house."

"We will get you a new one after this," Six replied, and that brought a brief smile to his face.

"You and I," he said softly. "What a team."

"Yes," she said. "I like it."

The vampires moved close. Six and Joseph waited. The crowd parted around them all like water.

"Hello, sister," said the woman. "Hello hello."

"We have a message," said the man. "You should come with us to hear it."

"Really, we're guides," added the woman.

"I think you know who sent us." The man pointed. "It's a short walk."

Joseph and Six did not look at each other. They were already inside each other's heads. And they both knew what they had to do.

They followed the vampires down the long, gently curving street, walking away from the Bund. Sirens filled the city, a wail occasionally interrupted by the shot and blast of firecrackers. The sound made her jumpy, though she tried to hide it. Joseph knew, though. He felt the same.

They were led to an office building that was still fairly new. All glass and steel. There was a security desk, but no one manning it. The woman keyed in a code, the elevator dinged, and the four of them crowded into the small space—vampires on one side, Joseph and Six on the other. She still had the gun she had taken from the guard. Its weight was comfortable beneath her shirt.

"We were sorry to hear that Chenglei passed on," said the man to Joseph. "He was a very good person."

"He had dirty feet," Six said. The vampires frowned. Joseph coughed, holding his hand over his mouth.

The woman gave Six a piercing look. "You are almost one of us now. I think you will like it, if you give it a chance."

Six. said nothing. Engaging in that debate would be a waste of time.

The elevators doors opened. The vampires stepped out first, Joseph and Six following behind. His voice rumbled into a low chant. The creatures froze—and then, movements jerky, stepped back into the elevator. The woman snarled, but she pushed a button. The door slid closed.

"That will not keep them away very long," said Six.

"Long enough," Joseph replied.

"A parlor trick, and quite useless," said another voice. Six and Joseph looked up. A blond man walked out of a nearby office. His Chinese had an English accent, and he was tall and clean-cut, clad in a navy suit with a lilac tie. He was followed by three individuals who were, quite clearly, vampires. One of them, however, also wore a suit. His skin was swarthy, his features more of the south, perhaps from Indonesia. He gave her a straight, hard look, and Six felt, from Joseph's mind, the realization that this individual was one of the terror cell's ringleaders. A planner.

"Ah," said the other man. "So you finally see your vampire connection."

"That still doesn't explain why they would want men like us," Joseph replied.

"Control and information," said the vampire. "There was a woman we needed to speak to, but she was too well guarded. She had very private information about how to access certain facilities where she was planning New Year parties. Simple, really. And I knew of your skills. If it makes you feel better, we were going to kill you afterwards."

"Thanks," Joseph said dryly, and looked at the blond man. "And you, Mr.?…"

"Doe," he said, with a slight smile. "John Doe, to you. And no, the little bastards won't kill me. I've never touched a single one of them. And if they do try, I've made it crystal clear what will happen in retaliation." He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Fear, Mr. Besud. You should really try utilizing it in a different manner than you have. You are far too much of a goody-two-shoes."

Six recalled Joseph's memories: the bones, the dead, the cold way he had dispatched the vampires during the previous night. Not so goody-goody, she thought. Not at all. The two of them were the same, that way.

"What do you get out of this?" she asked Doe. "Not just money. You would not want Joseph dead, if it was simply that."

Doe smiled, cracking his knuckles. "Do you know what happens when people die, Miss Six? It is quite remarkable, really. Their souls leave. Everything that ever made a person who they are simply… floats away. To Heaven or Hell, or perhaps just to live on a cloud. I do not know, nor do I care. What I find fascinating is not what happens after death, but what occurs during."

Joseph paled. "You're feeding off the deaths."

"Do you know how old I am?" Doe tapped his smooth cheek, running his finger down his strong jaw. "Ninety, young Mr. Besud. Ninety years old, and my body is still as young now as it was all those years ago. Back home in Russia." His smile changed, becoming darker, more feral. "I knew your grandfather, boy. I trained him."

Joseph's breath caught. "He spoke of a teacher. Never his name, though. He said that man was great."

"A compliment," Doe said. "I am still fond of him, you know. He was a stunning pupil. I was… disappointed… when he chose to run away. It took me years to find him again. I thought for sure that he would have used the trick I taught him to stay young, but instead I found an old brittle man with an old crone of a wife, their children aging by the minute. And you. You, with even more talent than my student."

"So you would kill me for that?" Joseph swayed forward. "Why?"

"Because there are no others like us," Doe whispered. "Not anywhere. We are alone, boy."

"And you do not want the competition," Six said, quiet.

Doe tipped his head. "When I was young, nothing excited me more than the idea of my brothers-in-arms, all of us living to use our gifts for pride and country. But it is a different world now, and I like my power being only my power."

"You like killing people for that strength," Joseph said flatly. "Only a violent death would give what you crave."

"A little bit of chaos never hurt," Doe said. "China will rebuild. It has people to spare. I'm sure the vampires agree."

Six gritted her teeth. "I would like to kill him now. May I?"

"By all means," Joseph said.

Doe sneered. He lifted his hands, chanting. Six felt a brief tug on her body, but it slid off her like water, and she smiled. Took one step forward, reaching behind for her gun. Doe faltered. The vampires all looked at each other.

"There is a curious thing called possession," Joseph said. "You might have heard of it. Thing is, you don't have to fully inhabit a person in order to keep someone else out. I'm surprised you didn't know that, Doe."

Doe paled. He said one word and the vampires jerked in front of him. Six knew what Joseph wanted before he asked; she tossed him the gun and then barreled into the vampires, clearing a path for him so that he could chase after Doe. He did, disappearing around a corner in the long office corridor.

Behind her, the elevator dinged. The two vampires who had escorted them up ran off, snarling. Their human faces had drained away; they stared at her with hollow eyes and black mouths, sharp tongues writhing deep within the maw. The air felt cold.

"Sister," hissed the woman. "I think, perhaps, we no longer want you to join us."

Six laughed. It was too funny. Five vampires against one. She liked those odds.

Doe ran fast, but Joseph did, too. He caught up with the older man. Before he could fire the gun, he heard a low voice fill the air: binding words, pushing against him. Joseph held up one hand and let his own voice fill the air. Double tones, loud and strong. His voice drowned out Doe, and he lifted the gun and took aim. His grandfather had always been good with a gun. So had his father. The steppe made men hardy, that way. Joseph fired.

The bullet caught Doe in the knee. He went down screaming and Joseph stood over him. Doe tried again to use his gift, but the power, while strong, slid away.

"What did you think it would do for you?" Joseph asked quietly, kneeling. "Really, what? Eternal youth? Perfect control over the people around you? And you thought you could beat me with that? You're no better than a vampire. Worse, even. You had a choice. Same choice as my grandfather. As me."

Doe's face contorted. "I should have killed you all when I found you the first time. Made it easy."

"Yes," Joseph said. "You should have."

He put the gun against Doe's forehead and pulled the trigger.

Joseph left Doe's body. He did not watch the man's soul leave. He ran back to help Six. There were four piles of ash on the ground. No doubt all of them had died with their heads ripped off. Vampire strength was obviously doing her some good.

The last vampire alive was the terror cell planner. Six had him pinned face down on the ground. She had somehow found time to locate a mini-recorder, which she held up to Joseph.

"How do you do that?" he asked admiringly, taking the device. Six smiled.

Joseph turned on the recorder and held it by the vampire's face. He watched as Six questioned him on tape, methodically breaking his fingers every time he refused to answer. And when he still refused, she commenced ripping those fingers off his hand, one by one. The dismembered digits turned to ash.

By the time she reached his pinky, the man had begun blabbering like an idiot. Helped along, of course, by Joseph's own coercion. He did not feel like wasting any more of their time. When Six was satisfied, he turned off the recorder and slipped it into his pocket. He did not want to preserve, for posterity, the sound of Six tearing off a man's head with her bare hands.

Which she did, quite easily. The vampire turned to ash "So," Joseph said. "That was… interesting."

"Very." Six wiped her hands together.

"I hope this doesn't mean we're breaking up," he said. "Now that the danger is over."

"There is always danger," Six said. "And no, I am not going anywhere. Not without you."

"Good," Joseph said, the adrenaline finally seeping away making him shaky. He wrapped his arm around Six's shoulders and pulled her near.

"Happy New Year," he muttered, and kissed her hard.

Epilogue

Three weeks later, Six found herself in Mongolia. It was a nice country. She could admit to herself that she loved it.

It was a beautiful day, cold and crisp. Furs lined her throat. Her leather jacket was heavy and warm. A gun pressed against her ribs, slung tight in a new shoulder holster.

Joseph sat beside her on a motorcycle. It was a Russian model, lightweight, but sturdy enough for two. Good for cross-country riding, unless they decided to buy horses. Unlikely. The animals did not seem to like Six. She blamed the poison still in her blood.

"Life is good," Joseph said.

"Yes," Six said. "Do you think Ying has been able to use the information that was on the recording?"

"I would think so." He hesitated. "Regrets about leaving your old life?"

"Not really," she said. "I am making a new one."

"In a spectacular way, I might add."

"For a vampire."

Joseph shrugged, but she could feel concern on the edge of his thoughts. "You're only part of those creatures."

"Enough, I think."

"Perfect, just the way you are." Joseph held out his hand. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. What a team we make, Six."

"Yes." Six trailed her fingers down his chest. "And what will we do next, as a team? I am a wanted woman. You are a wanted man. We cannot ever go back."

"China is a big country, but it's not as big as the world. We'll manage." He patted the back of his motorcycle. "Ready?"

Six hesitated for a moment, gazing down at the valley below her. The land could swallow the sky with its vastness: green and brown and full of lush curves that idled like the clouds.

No walls, anywhere in sight.

Six turned around. Joseph was watching her, a question in his eyes. She kissed him, long and slow, and slid behind him on the motorcycle.

"I want one of these," she said. "I want to fly on this land."

"We'll fly together," he said.

And they did.

About the Author

MARJORIE M. LIU is an attorney who has lived and worked throughout Asia. She hails from both coasts, but currently resides in the Midwest, where she writes full time. Her books include the New York Times bestselling Dirk & Steele series of paranormal romances for Leisure, and her forthcoming Hunter Kiss urban fantasies from Ace Books.

For more information, please visit her website at: www.marjoriemliu.com.