Kitty and the Silver Bullet

Chapter 9

I drove south. I'd done this before. Run away, abandoning my family, KNOB, everything. I had to ask myself: What was so important, what was so traumatic, that it was worth giving up all that?

Nothing, came the obvious answer, clear as a bell. Nothing was worth giving up all that. In those terms, facing Carl was a small price to pay to keep my life. Either way, I risked losing everything.

Maybe that was why I found myself turning off the interstate at Highway 50, going west toward Canon City. I went to the prison, went through their security routine, and waited in that stark, stinking room for Cormac to emerge. I didn't bother trying to be cheerful, not this time.

I didn't have anyone else to talk to.

Clad in his orange jumpsuit, his expression neutral, he sat and picked up the intercom phone. Belatedly, I did the same. Even then, we only stared at each other for a long moment. He was clean, healthy-looking, his hair and mustache freshly trimmed. He looked rested, even. This was what keeping out of trouble did for him.

"Hi," I said.

"I wasn't expecting you," he said. "What's wrong?"

I almost laughed. My first impulse was to deny that anything was wrong, but that would have been a raging lie. I glanced away, wondering how bad I really looked.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Every time we come to visit, Ben makes a big deal about being upbeat. We have to be cheerful, to help keep your spirits up. But I really need to talk."

"Don't worry about me. Talk, if you need to."

"I don't know where to start."

"Ben told me about the miscarriage. I'm sorry."

For a flash, I was angry at Ben for saying anything. But I guess he had to tell someone, and Cormac was his friend. Truth be told, Cormac's statement had startled me. That a remorseless killer like him was capable of that kind of sensitivity, to even register what something like that might do to me. I knew I'd done the right thing, coming here to talk to him. He was my friend, too, even considering the killer part.

"Thanks. But that isn't the worst of it," I said. "My mom is really sick. And the situation in Denver just exploded. I tried to stay out of it, honest I did—"

Cormac ducked his face to hide a grin.

"Hey, don't laugh."

"Kitty, when have you ever been able to stay out of anything?"

I glared. "You should have met me back when I was quiet and unassuming. I used to be a nice girl."

Cormac had the good grace not to respond to that. "Tell me the situation."

I did, my voice hushed, not sure who might be listening in, not sure if what I was saying would even make sense to someone listening in. The description sounded like a war, a nasty guerrilla war where both sides occupied the same territory and no clear lines of engagement existed. Attacks came at any moment, treachery was the norm, and both sides fought with their own sense of righteousness.

"I wish you could come to the rescue this time," I said, smiling weakly. "I don't know what to do."

"You have two choices: You leave Denver. Or you fight to win."

"We can't win, they're too strong. I've already left—"

"And how long before you go back the next time? You won't stay away. That's why you need to win. So you don't have to keep running. And Ben won't leave, so you need to go back and cover his ass."

I leaned my head on my hand. He wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. I just had to hear it. And it wasn't anything Ben hadn't already said. But I expected to hear it from Cormac. Cormac was the one who talked like that. I still had this attitude that I was supposed to be protecting Ben. Maybe I should have listened to him.

"Right, fine, okay. But I don't know how to fight a war."

"Then don't fight one. Not straight out, not like this Rick guy's been doing. You're going to have to do this down and dirty. Draw them out. Split them up. Get them looking over their shoulders at every little shadow, then move in to clean up. I could do the whole thing myself with enough planning."

"I don't think I have a lot of time for this."

"Then you'll have to move fast."

Carl was only as strong as the whole pack. And the pack was weak, at least according to Rick. I couldn't gauge Arturo's relationship with his followers as easily. Rick had tried to catch Arturo off guard. But he'd also wanted to go after them in a straight fight, army to army. We couldn't do that. We had to use our strengths as outsiders. Not dependent on the system. Not invested in the system. We couldn't go in and replace Carl and Arturo. We had to bust up the whole deal and start from scratch.

Assuming Rick was dead, I'd have to go after Arturo myself. Or convince him that Denver was better off with me in charge of the werewolves. Compromise with Arturo? Maybe I could do it.

Cormac continued. "Remember, you're hunting predators. With them, it's all about territory. You take their territory, you take their power. When you draw them out, you can't leave them standing. Are you ready to do that?"

I nodded quickly, not wanting to think about that part just yet. "Rick tried it and failed. They got him at his base. He didn't have a chance to bring the fight to them."

"Then he's got a leak," Cormac said. "Someone fed the bad guys his plans, and they knew exactly where and when to find him."

That was so simple I almost cried. But all Rick's people were handpicked, Rick wouldn't have brought them in if he couldn't trust them. Maybe there was a spy on the outside. Someone who could move freely, collect information without anyone realizing she was doing it. Mercedes Cook?

In spite of myself, I was starting to make a plan.

Cormac spoke softly, adding to the clandestine feel of the conversation. "You'll have to keep this quiet. Avoid the cops. They just mess everything up." Cormac would know all about that. He'd saved me and five others by shooting dead the creature that threatened us. But when it was all over, the police only saw a dead woman and Cormac standing over her with a smoking rifle.

I winced. "The cops are already involved. You remember Detective Hardin?"

"Shit." Make that a yes.

"But still…" The wheels were turning. I had to think about what advantages I had and how I could use them. "She wants to treat this as a gang war. She wants these guys as badly as I do. If I can use her to do some of the dirty work"—like, shooting people—"that'll leave me in the clear."

"That's a tricky gamble to make."

"Yeah." But I could make it work. I started to think I could make it work.

"Do you still have the Jeep?" Cormac said. "Does Ben have it?"

"Yeah, it's at his mom's place."

"Go get it. Pop the hood. On the inside edge, on the left, there's one of those magnetic boxes for spare keys. The key in it is for a storage unit at a place on 287, south of Longmont. Ben knows where."

"Storage unit—storing what?"

"Stuff you might be able to use."

"Cormac—"

"I'd go in and clean up the town myself if I could. But I can't, so I want to make sure you have the tools for it."

Cormac had his own personal armory in a rented storage locker. He never ceased to amaze me.

"Ben took me to a range. Taught me to shoot."

"Good," he said.

"I don't want to be a part of this kind of life," I said.

"Sometimes you don't have a choice," he said. "When you're the only one around who can make a stand, you don't have a choice. Not if you want to be able to sleep at night."

I wasn't thinking of doing this because I wanted to, or because I thought it'd be fun. I was doing this for Jenny, for Ben, for myself, to keep those of us left alive safe. I was doing this for T. J. It was what he'd have done.

Cormac was much better suited for a world where wars happened.

"Can you sleep at night, Cormac?"

"Most of the time. When I'm not thinking about you." He grimaced. "I shouldn't have said that. Sorry."

"No," I said softly. "I'm sorry."

His voice was low, drawn from a dark place. "Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I'd shot him. After he was bitten. If I'd killed him like he wanted me to. And then, what if I came to see you. To tell you what happened. You'd be all sympathetic. You'd tell me how sorry you were, you'd start crying, I'd hold you, and then—"

"Cormac, stop. Stop it. You don't actually wish…" I couldn't even say it. Cormac and Ben were like brothers, he couldn't wish Ben dead.

"No," he said. "Only sometimes."

"That's psychotic."

"'Sociopathic' is what the prison psychologist wrote down."

"Geez, Cormac—"

"No, never mind. It's all just thinking." He glanced away, hiding his expression. "I don't think it would have worked out. At the end of the day…it just wouldn't."

That little mischievous bit of my brain reared her catty head. I narrowed my gaze and said, "But it might have been fun finding out."

"Yeah," he said, smiling.

For this moment at least, and maybe for a few future ones, things were all right between us. I'd come to him for help, and he'd given it, and we'd made a few confessions and cracked a few jokes in the meantime. Just like friends are supposed to.

He said, "You look after yourself. Look after Ben. Remember, you're hunting predators. It's different from deer and rabbits. Predators get angry, not scared. You know that."

Then the visit was over. The guard led him away, and I fled the prison.

Back on the road, I hit the interstate and headed north, back to Denver.

As I drove, the first thing I did was call Detective Hardin. She owed me a favor, and if this worked right, she wouldn't even know she was paying me back.

"It's me," I said when she answered her phone.

"Please tell me you've got something for me."

"I do, but you're not going to like it." Or even believe it, for that matter. But Hardin had demonstrated a great capacity for believing the unbelievable.

"I rarely do," she said.

"Mercedes Cook. You heard about her, right?"

"The singer. You had her on your show a week or so ago, announced that she was a vampire."

"She's in the middle of it. She's not the Master or the challenger, but she's been egging them both on. You might not want to confront her directly. Vampires can be kind of manipulative."

"I'll keep that in mind. Is she still in town? Do you know where she's staying?"

"She was staying at the Brown Palace. I don't know if she's still there. She's in the middle of a concert tour, so she should be pretty easy to find wherever she is."

"Thanks. I knew if I gave you a day to think about it, you'd come around."

"Yeah," I said. "That's exactly what happened."

It was suppertime when I got back to Ben's place. I hadn't looked at my watch in hours. I'd spent the whole drive back thinking. Planning.

No police cars waited in the parking lot, no crime scene tape wrapped the building. If Carl and Arturo had moved against us—or rather moved against Ben since I'd abandoned him—it hadn't been here.

Maybe, I hoped, they hadn't known where to find Ben. And if I was really lucky, Ben hadn't gone looking for them. I went in, almost expecting the place to be trashed, with signs of a massive struggle, and Ben dead, torn to bits all over the living room. If I had found that, I would have taken the gun with its silver bullets and gone after Carl myself. It wouldn't have mattered if Meg and the rest of the pack slaughtered me after, as long as I was able to shoot him first. I braced myself for what I would have to do if I found Ben dead.

But the condo was fine. Ben was at the dining-room table, eating some sort of carryout food straight from the carton. He didn't seem particularly surprised to see me.

In fact, he glanced at his watch. Humorlessly, he said, "Back already? It hasn't even been twelve hours. I figured it'd take at least twenty-four to grow your spine back."

Ben was perfectly all right. Why had I even worried? But there was a semiautomatic pistol sitting on the table next to him.

I didn't look, didn't say a word. Didn't even stop. I did not need that kind of crap right now.

I went straight back to the bedroom and looked for the pair of jeans I'd been wearing the last time I saw Rick, when he gave me that phone number that I'd shoved in my pocket. If I was lucky, it hadn't gone through the wash yet.

As it happened, I'd put the jeans in the duffel bag I'd taken on my short-lived retreat I should have done this first thing, right after Hardin's visit, before ever leaving town. Rick was probably dead, but I had to try. Maybe he'd escaped.

It was twilight; the sun had set. I dialed, and the phone rang, and rang. The certainty that Rick had been one of those piles of vampiric remains that Hardin had found settled on me, the weight of doom clenching in my gut. I wasn't surprised, but I was sad.

Then, the phone clicked on. "Yes?"

It was Rick.

"Oh my God, you're alive!"

"So to speak. Kitty—are you all right?"

I didn't know. I didn't want to talk about me. "Detective Hardin came to see me this morning. She had pictures from the warehouse. Arturo and Carl hit your place, didn't they? What happened?"

“They surprised us," he said simply. I could imagine him shrugging. "It was a slaughter. A few of us were able to escape—Dack dragged me out of there himself. Charlie and Violet made it out. Impeccable survival instincts in those two. But…that's all. All I've been able to contact."

"Hardin has ten dead lycanthropes and three dead vampires."

"Damn," he whispered. "That's everyone. And some of theirs."

"Rick, have you considered that someone gave Arturo your location and the timing of your attack?"

"Of course I have," he said. "Mercedes maybe. Or one of Arturo's people followed us. I wasn't careful enough. Obviously." He sounded anguished.

"We have to talk. Where can we meet?"

After a pause, he said, "It's too late for that, Kitty. It's over. I made my move and lost."

I wasn't going to let him get away with that. "And what now? You run away? Like I did? I thought you were doing this out of a sense of righteousness, not for power. You don't want Arturo running this town."

"The cost has already been too high."

"Rick. Please. Just talk to me, face-to-face."

"What made you change your mind?"

"Hardin has ten dead lycanthropes. Only seven of them were yours. Two were Carl's. The tenth was mine."

"Oh, no. Ben—"

"Ben's fine. This was someone else. I'll explain later. Tell me where and when."

He gave me the name of a bar on Colfax. The time: midnight.

As I ended the call, I looked up to find Ben standing in the doorway. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"Only if you want to," I said. I wouldn't look at him.

"I want to."

"Okay. I have another errand to run before then. I'll come back to pick you up." I was already headed for the door. I had to keep moving, letting the adrenaline push me forward. Otherwise, I'd melt.

But I managed to turn to him before I left and said, "Thanks."

Next, I wanted to find out what happened to Jenny. Why had she left the airport when she was just an hour away from being free forever? Then how had Carl found her, and why had he seen her as enough of an enemy to tear her throat out?

I used to be part of that pack. I expected that I still knew most of its members, and that I still knew how to find a few of them. But I couldn't be sure of trusting any of them. That approaching any of them wouldn't get Carl on my tail.

Before I left, I checked the glove box. Yes, Ben's gun with its silver bullets was still there. Ben was so utterly practical, and I was still mad at him. I slammed closed the glove box and hoped I wouldn't need the gun, thereby proving him right again.

I knew Shaun from my days in the pack. He kept to himself mostly, and that was why I looked for him first. Like most werewolves, he was part of a pack for safety, for the protection of numbers, the reassurance of a regular territory to run in on full moon nights. He didn't make trouble, he paid proper respect to the alphas, and thereby maintained an equilibrium. He wasn't one of the ones so blindingly loyal to Carl that he'd fight and die for him. I was counting on that—and counting that I could run fast enough if I'd judged wrong.

Conversely, I had to hope that even though he was a loner, he knew enough about the pack to tell me what had happened to Jenny.

Back in the old days—only a year ago, I had to remind myself that I'd left the pack less than a year ago—Shaun had worked at a trendy bar and cafй in Lodo, near the baseball stadium, as a cook, usually during the late shift. Funny, how many lycanthropes liked working late. First, I called to ask if he was still working there. He was, and in fact had been promoted to the head of his shift. The guy had some ambition, it seemed. I showed up at the place a little after the evening rush and made my way to the back entrance. An open doorway in the back alley led to a clean, white work area and kitchen. A busboy dropped a bag of trash in a nearby dumpster, and voices, rattling dishes, and the sound of spraying water drifted out, a counterpoint to the sounds of traffic nearby. The smell of rich food and wonderful spices overpowered the city smells entirely, wafting out on the hot air spilling from the kitchen. The comforting scent made me smile.

"Hey," I called to the kid as he turned to go back inside.

"Yeah?" He was surly, wary, bent on his task, and probably not used to seeing blond chicks wandering out back.

"Can you tell Shaun someone's out here to talk to him?"

"He know you?"

"Tell him it's Kitty." I decided to be honest. If Shaun didn't want to come talk to me, I'd march inside and talk to him instead.

The busboy nodded and went back in, leaving me to scuff my sneakers on the asphalt for several minutes. I didn't want to go in there. I'd prefer doing this outside, in the open. Neutral territory—plenty of escape routes.

I shouldn't be doing this. Leaving town was a perfectly viable option.

A young man of average height and solid build appeared in the doorway, leaning on the jamb, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. The watchful, defensive posture suggested he wasn't going to start a fight—but he wasn't going to give ground, either. He had short, dark hair, and coffee-and-cream skin, wore a chef's white smock over his shirt and jeans, and had the wild, fur-under-the-skin scent of a lycanthrope. Someone who didn't know what to look for would never see it in him.

"Hi, Shaun," I said, hoping I sounded friendly and non-threatening. "How are you?"

"What are you doing here?" he said by way of greeting. Didn't bother trying to sound friendly, and I couldn't blame him.

"Tell me about Jenny."

Shaking his head, Shaun looked away. "I can't talk to you. Carl is pissed off. I've never seen him as pissed off as he is at you." And that was saying something. A lot of things pissed Carl off.

"Not as pissed off as he's going to be," I said, donning a terrible sweet smile.

Shaun had pulled himself from the doorway and started to walk back inside, but my words stopped him. Slowly, he looked back over his shoulder. His body was taut with fear, uncertainty—the stiff shoulders, the clenched fists. Ready to run, ready to fight if cornered. I recognized the stance because I'd felt it myself so many times. He studied me, his dark eyes shining.

"You're going to do it," he said. "You're going to take him down."

Not "you're going to challenge him," or "you're going to try to take him." He said "you are." Like he believed I could. That sent a charge through me, a brush of static that made my hair rise. He thought I was stronger—maybe I could get him to side with me. Maybe.

"Right now, I just want to know what happened to Jenny. I put her on a plane. She was supposed to be on a plane and away from Carl. How did he get to her?"

His stance changed. Some of the caution slipped, replaced by…something. I couldn't read the new tension that creased his features. Could it be grief? I waited for him to collect himself.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and hesitant.

"She called him from the waiting area. I think she chickened out. She talked a lot about getting away, when he wasn't around. But it was like talking about winning the lottery. Nobody believes it, you don't believe it yourself. Then she'd turn around in the same breath and say how much she loved him. How she wouldn't want to hurt him. Like it didn't matter how much he hurt her." His expression turned bitter. "When she disappeared, I was happy. I thought she'd really done it, gotten away from him, left town. I didn't care how, I didn't care where, just that she was away. But she called him, and Carl talked her out of it. Pulled out all that 'we're a pack, we're family, I need you' shit. He still had a hold on her. I can't really blame her—it's hard walking away. You know that."

I shook my head. "It isn't hard. The hard part is knowing that if I'd done it sooner, T. J. might still be alive."

"Yeah."

"She called him. He picked her up at the airport. He took her—where? To their house?" Meg and Carl had a house west of town, against the foothills, with easy access to wilderness for running on full moon nights.

"They didn't get that far," Shaun said. Quickly he added, "I wasn't there. I heard about it later. I'd have tried to stop him if I'd been there. But I've been staying away from him. He's wrapped up in some of Arturo's shit right now, and I don't want to have anything to do with that."

"There were some other lycanthropes in town," I said. "Strangers. Carl sent the pack after them. He left Jenny with the rest of the bodies. He must have picked her up at the airport knowing he was going to kill her."

"You know him as well as I do. You tell me."

"You knew what he'd do, and you didn't even try to stop him."

"What did you expect me to do?" he shouted.

I didn't flinch, because his anger wasn't directed at me. Not that it mattered, because I was angry enough at myself. I'd been so close. She'd been so close. How could she have waited by the curb, how could she have gotten into his car, knowing him the way she must have known him? Knowing that he wouldn't not hurt her, at the very least? Knowing that he was capable of killing her.

I blamed it on the stupid security rules that meant I couldn't walk her to the airplane without buying a ticket myself. I should have known that it wasn't enough to see her walk through that metal detector. I shouldn't have breathed that sigh of relief until I'd gotten Alette's call that she'd arrived safely. Why was I so goddamned trusting! I could imagine what Carl had said to her: You need me, I can take care of you, you're just a pup, you're too weak to be on your own, let me come get you, I'll save you from yourself. He'd have worn her down until there was nothing left. No confidence, no purpose—no self.

And part of her loved him despite everything. Of course she'd call him. Of course she'd start to doubt, without someone telling her everything she had to gain by leaving him. I leaned against the soot-stained brick wall of the alley, wiped my eyes, and sniffed back tears. It didn't help. I felt battered and exhausted.

"At least you tried," Shaun said. "It's more than anyone else did." He glanced away—bearing his own part of the shame.

"You couldn't stand up to Carl any more than she could," I said. "T. J. was the only one."

"I liked T. J." He gave a little shrug and a sad smile. "Everybody liked T.J. He was the best of us. After he…you know. There didn't seem to be much point in standing up to Carl."

There had to be a way to do this with brains instead of brawn. I hadn't gotten this far on my less-than-brute strength.

I looked at Shaun—then tried to look into him. Looked at him like I could see everything: his mind, his soul, his fears. A wolfs stare. "If I need you. If I call on you—will you come? When I put together a plan, will you stand with me?"

His indecision was plain. He shuffled his feet, looked skyward, and winced, squinting into the streetlight. Didn't want to answer. Didn't look at me. I didn't want to push him—I was asking a lot of him: to break ranks, to possibly put his life on the line. But I didn't have time to wait.

"Shaun?" I spoke with an edge. I had to mean it. I had to sound like I knew what I was doing.

He took a deep breath, then he looked at me. "If it's a good plan," he said. "Yes."

I felt a little bit stronger.

"Thank you," I said. "I'll let you know when."

I walked away without looking back. Turning my back on him was a sign of trust, and a sign of power. Wolf's sign.

Now, about that plan…

As Ben and I drove to meet Rick, Hardin called back. I hadn't expected her to have anything so soon. She quickly dashed my hopes for progress.

"Cook checked out of the Brown Palace on Monday," she said. "By all accounts, she's left town."

On the one hand, I was relieved. She wouldn't be around to mess things up anymore. On the other hand, we couldn't learn anything more from her.

Hardin continued. "Funny thing, though. All her concerts for the week have been postponed."

"She could be anywhere, then."

"I've got someone going over the hotel's security tapes from the last week. Maybe we can track down a few of her associates. See if anything links her to the warehouse or this Master vampire of yours."

It seemed like little enough to go on, but I wasn't going to complain. "Thanks, Detective."

"Something I can't figure out," she said. I braced for a difficult question until I realized a laugh hid behind her voice. "Am I doing you a favor with all this or are you doing me one?"

"Maybe we'll just call this one a wash," I said. She clicked off.

Rick had picked what must have been the seediest dive available on East Colfax. When I told Ben the address, he'd done a double take.

"You are not going there," he said.

"How do you even know about this place?"

"If I told you how many assault cases come out of that bar, you'd faint."

"And how many of those have you defended?"

"Enough to know we have no business being there." Ben might have been a few steps up the moral and social ladder from Cormac, but that still left him a few steps down from normal. Many steps down from normal.

"Rick’ll look after us."

"Like he looked after the rest of his people?"

"You don't have to come if you feel that way."

"You're not going there alone."

His vehemence gave me a warm feeling, even in the midst of the argument. He likes me… We hadn't stopped the catty back-and-forth for days, it seemed like. We were learning each other's sore spots, and we were both the kind of people who would pry at those spots. I didn't know how to stop.

The place was in an old brick storefront, and it didn't have a sign. If you didn't know it was here, you didn't belong. That kind of place. I felt like I'd stepped into a gangster movie, and that didn't comfort me at all. Bars covered the windows. The entrance even had a set of bars on a storm door. A weedy lot next door served as a parking lot, which was full of a mix of old model beaters and shiny new pickups. A few Harleys occupied the sidewalk in front. No sign of Rick's BMW. But Rick was too smart to bring that car. Or maybe it had already been stolen.

This wasn't a setting I'd ever imagine finding Rick in. This wasn't the kind of place I'd expect to find any vampire in. They tended to prefer sophisticated, elegant. They didn't spend centuries practicing their charm and accumulating their power so they could hang out in places like this.

Ben insisted on entering first, pulling me in behind him while he scanned inside. My eyesight adjusted to the gloom, while my nose worked. The place reeked. Alcohol, mostly stale beer. Working-class sweat. Tobacco and harder drugs. Meth, maybe, not because I recognized it but because it was a smell I didn't recognize, and that was one I hadn't encountered. And more—the vomit may have been scraped off the floor, but the smell was still there. I didn't imagine health inspectors ventured near here too often. I tried to breathe through my mouth.

A loud TV over the bar to the left showed a baseball game. Rickety tables and chairs filled the rest of the tiny space. The floor was concrete. Most of the tables were occupied, and a crowd lined the bar, chatting, laughing, and watching the game. A group sat in a corner, watching the TV and sharing a couple pitchers of beer. Another group was playing darts in the back. The bartender was stealing a glance at the game while he wiped down the counter. Maybe this place wasn't so bad, even if it did seem like rock-bottom. Even gangsters needed to chill out sometimes.

One of the hunched figures at the bar was Rick, transformed. The Rick I knew wouldn't have fit in here. He'd have gotten hostile, sideways looks from everybody here, and he probably would have been mugged on his way out. But Rick was smart, and he knew this.

This Rick hadn't washed his hair in a couple of days, and it hung limp and slightly greasy. He wore a worn-out flannel shirt over a plain black T, frayed jeans, and work boots. He looked like someone who'd spent all day working at an unpleasant construction site, the kind where workers got paid under the table. Listlessly, he watched the game and gripped a mug of beer in both hands.

If I hadn't scented the undead chill of vampire, I'd never have spotted him.

I approached, and Ben followed a step behind—taking my back. He was close enough for me to elbow his ribs the minute he said something snide. Rick glanced over his shoulder as I reached him.

"See," he said, "I knew if you met me here, you'd be serious."

"You're a bastard for bringing her here," Ben said.

Rick quirked a smile at me. "I think he likes you."

This was impossible. They were impossible. "Are we going to talk or just bitch at each other?"

"There's a table." Rick nodded and made to get up.

"Ah, since you're not going to be using that, I'll take it." I took charge of his beer. Rick didn't argue, and Ben rolled his eyes.

The table was already occupied by a tall blond man, burly and scowling. Both his skin and his hair looked sunbaked. He leaned back against the wall and had a view of the whole place. Rick was standing next to him before he looked up and smiled. It was a hard-edged, cold smile. I didn't think he could smile any other way.

"I think you've met Dack," Rick said.

He did, in fact, have the same scent as the creature in the warehouse. I could almost see the spindly, big-eared dog-thing behind his eyes. Both his incarnations had a watchful air.

"Hi," I said, trying not to sound nervous. "Nice to see, ah, the rest of you."

He smirked. "’Ullo." Even in the single word, an unidentifiable accent came through.

"You want to keep an eye out?" Rick said, taking his own seat.

"Can do." Dack pushed off from the wall and stood, his movements slow and deliberate. Like he had a powerful body and used it sparingly. Without another word he picked up his beer and moved to take Rick's seat at the bar. He was also dressed in denim and flannel. Unless they'd been watching, people might not notice the two had switched places.

Rick gestured for me and Ben to join him.

"Can you trust him?" I asked Rick. The lycanthrope seemed to be watching the game, unconcerned. I wondered if he could hear us from here.

"I do," Rick said. "Though I suppose I have reasons not to. He's saved my life a couple of times now. I've saved his. That has to count for something."

I understood those kinds of calculations. "Where's he from?"

"South Africa. I've known him for fifteen years, Kitty. Longer than I've known you."

"That's not the only criteria for trusting someone."

"But it's a good one for knowing someone."

"Somebody had to have sold you out, Rick. Can you trust Charlie and Violet?"

"Can I trust you? You knew where we were. It's a very short list of people who did."

"But why would I tell anyone?" I said, almost shrilly. "What reason would I have?"

"For protection. Maybe you made a deal with Arturo or Mercedes. I don't know, you tell me."

Great. We were all paranoid now. And I couldn't even blame him for questioning me. I took a deep breath and tried to sound reasonable and not like a traitor. "I didn't know when you were planning on moving. I didn't know enough to be able to sell you out. You're the one who came to me. Don't go putting me on the spot now."

He glanced away.

I sighed. "Rick, if you don't think I can help you, if you don't trust me, tell me now so I can get the hell out of here."

He studied me—and I met his gaze square on, vampire mojo or no. If it would give him some kind of reassurance, it was worth the risk.

And if I didn't trust him not to pull one over on me, I had no business being here in the first place. The logic of it was simple.

He looked away first. "Let's move on."

Ben had brought along today's paper. A story on the front page related the gruesome discovery of ten mauled bodies in an industrial warehouse. The first paragraph of the story included mention of the involvement of Hardin's Paranatural Unit in the investigation, and the following conclusion that vampires, or werewolves, or some combination of the above were involved. The rest of the article didn't reveal too many details. Hardin had given me more information at her briefing this morning. Hard to believe it was only this morning. The editorial pages contained a long rant about the danger paranormal elements obviously presented to the public, bringing up the spate of alleged vampire assaults at downtown nightclubs last month, and demanding to know when the authorities were going to do something about containing the menace. Never mind that all the victims had also been paranormal, and the paranormal hadn't presented such an obvious menace before this slaughter.

Before this, no one outside the paranormal community ever heard about slaughters like this. People went missing, that was it.

"Why didn't Arturo clean up the mess?" I asked Rick. "He's Denver's Master. I'd have thought he'd want this covered up. He wouldn't want the attention."

"You're right, but Dack called 911 just before we escaped," he said. That solved that mystery. "Arturo's people didn't have time to do anything before the police showed up."

"That must have driven him crazy," I said.

"Not that it does us any good. Whether he got rid of the bodies or not, my people are still dead." He rubbed a hand over his face.

"Oh, but it does do us some good," I said. "Because now we have Detective Hardin on our side."

"You look like someone who has a plan," he said.

"I do."

The three of us sat close, heads bent, in what seemed to me to be an obvious conspiracy. I told them what Cormac and I had discussed—paraphrasing, while talking about territories and predators, drawing them out, and making them panic.

I didn't mention the bounty hunter; nonetheless, Ben spotted me. "That sounds like one of Cormac's plans. You went to talk to Cormac."

"I hadn't planned on it," I said. "It just sort of happened."

"There's someone who could be very useful right now," Rick said.

"If you can postpone your revolution for another four years or so, he might be available," Ben said, cutting.

"Afraid not," Rick replied.

"We have to get Carl and Arturo at the same time," I said. "Whatever we do, we have to get to them both, so they can't help each other."

"That was my plan the last time. Now we have to do it with fewer people and them fully warned. I'm ready to give the whole thing up as lost."

"And where will you go? What Master is going to let you stay in their city knowing you tried to pull a coup in Denver and failed?"

He didn't answer, which was all the answer I needed. Vampires preferred cities because of the larger feeding pool, and for the greater anonymity. I couldn't picture Rick fending for himself in rural America.

"I've survived this long. I'll find a way."

"No. We'll draw them out. We don't strike at them—we strike near them. They'll have to respond, and that's when we get them."

Ben said, "They'll respond. Do you know what that means? They'll strike at what's visible. That's you, Kitty."

"Then we know right where they'll be." My smile felt maniacal.

"No. Because they won't go after you directly. They'll do exactly the same thing—they'll strike near you." He spoke with vehemence, his words pointed. Like I wasn't hearing him.

"I'm not very good at this strategy thing, Ben. What are you saying?"

"Your family," Rick said. "They'll strike at your family."

Ben added, "Your parents, your sister, her kids."

Stupidly, I blinked at him. "They wouldn't."

"Look what Carl did to Jenny. He would," Ben said. "Are you ready to play that game? Are you ready to use your family as bait?"

I rubbed my face, which had suddenly flushed hot, and tangled my ringers in my hair. Fighting for myself was one thing, even fighting for revenge was one thing. Ben put this in such stark terms, and he was right. Yes, Carl and Arturo would target my family. They were easy enough to find, in the phone book and everything. And yes, if I continued on, I'd be knowingly putting them in danger. Knowing that Carl and Arturo would go after them meant I was using them as bait. I was scum for even thinking of it.

But I did it anyway.

The words that came out of my mouth next didn't feel like mine. I couldn't feel myself speak anymore. "Then at least we'll know where they'll hit next. We know where Carl and Arturo will be, and we can be ready for them. We'll keep a watch on my folks, on Cheryl. We'll move them. We can protect them. If we can protect them, it'll work."

"It's a risk," Rick said.

My eyes weren't even focused anymore. "We have to get them before they can hurt anyone. We'll get to them before they get to me." My family. They wouldn't even know what was happening, I couldn't explain all this to them. I could just hear what Cheryl would say if she knew. How dare you even think of this! If anything happened to Nicky and Jeffy…And Mom would be in the hospital tomorrow. I should call her.

"I think we can do it," Ben said. "I think we can protect your family and take care of those two."

"You do?" I said hopefully. His gaze looked as maniacal as mine felt. We both knew that Carl really did need to go. Utterly and completely. We both believed it was worth the risk.

Rick said, "If I can get Arturo alone, without any of his minions, without the lycanthropes backing him, I can take care of him and the rest of the vampires."

"Then I'll have to take care of Carl—"

"Can you?" he said. "I saw you with him. He's still your alpha, on some level. You still believe he's stronger than you."

That made me mad. I didn't even want to consider that he might be right. I wanted to growl. Ben touched my hand.

"Rick. I can do it," I said. "Are you with us?"

Rick's hands, resting on the table, clenched into fists, and his glare turned inward, to thoughts I couldn't guess at. He had the look of a predator all right, one that was cornered and growing dangerous. "If you're willing to risk everything for this, how can I refuse?"

"We still need a plan," Ben said with a smile.

I was stronger than Carl. I had to believe that. What could I do that Carl couldn't? What did I have that Carl didn't? When I thought about it in those terms, the answer was easy. Simple, really. Been staring me in the face the whole time.

What did I have that Carl, and Arturo for that matter, didn't? The Midnight Hour.