Kitty and the Silver Bullet

Chapter 15

During the drive, I flipped through the file folder containing the information about Mercedes Cook. The police had managed to cull a handful of photos from the hotel's security cameras—digital images printed out on plain paper. They showed her in the hotel, mostly, interacting with the staff, entertaining visitors, many of them recognizable local celebrities. Some of the pictures were blurry—like the closed-circuit footage from the convenience store robberies. Vampires, not wanting to be seen. Maybe Arturo.

One of them stopped me cold. In it, I recognized the hallway outside Mercedes's suite at the Brown Palace. A man was entering the room, his head up, his face clear. He held himself with a confidence that showed he belonged there. He knew what he was doing, and he had a plan. The man was deeply tanned, with sun-burnished blond hair and rugged, windblown skin.

It was Dack. I remembered now what he'd said: It's a good thing, having a vampire owe you a favor. You want to be with the strongest. And he hadn't answered when I asked if that was Rick. Evidently, he didn't think so. With a sinking feeling, I realized that we'd found the spy in Rick's camp. And I had no way to reach Rick to tell him, not if he wasn't answering his phone. Dack was there, with him now, no doubt preparing to stab him in the back. And Ben was there, too.

The whole thing had fallen apart. I wondered if it was too late to grab Ben and run away.

"You recognize that guy," Hardin said, glancing over.

"Yeah. I think we're all screwed."

"We'll see about that. He a vampire, too?"

"No. He's a lycanthrope."

"Everyone's got silver bullets this time. I checked."

"Great. I'll make sure I'm standing behind you all."

"Probably a good idea."

This was insane.

I called Rick again, to tell him about Dack, but he still didn't answer. Then I called Ben. Who didn't answer.

Obsidian was in a nicer part of downtown, a street filled with chic restaurants and funky boutiques, halfway between artsy and gentrified. The art gallery was a front; the interesting bit was the basement. Stairs around back led to the heart of Arturo's empire.

I checked where Rick had told us to park, and Ben's car wasn't there. Ben wasn't there. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was all already over. Maybe they were okay.

Hardin distributed equipment from the trunk of her car to her people: crosses, stakes, hand crossbows with wooden bolts, spray bottles of what I assumed was holy water. I took a handful of stakes and a cross, steel, the size of my hand. I decided that if all else failed, I would depend on my ability to run like hell. I slung my backpack over my shoulders.

Thus armed and prepared, we approached the building. I couldn't imagine what this must look like from the outside. Five cops, stalking purposefully toward a dark building, carrying crossbows and crosses—they could only be hunting vampires.

The place was an isolated box surrounded by parking lots. I hesitated, hoping to smell something, sense something. But the street was silent, and the building looked dead.

Hardin pointed at her officers. "You two, watch the front. Don't let anyone leave."

The rest of us headed for the stairs in back.

She said, "You're a civilian. I'm not going to ask you to do this if you don't want to. But if you think you can help—"

"Maybe I can, maybe I can't. But I'll go." I'd started this thing, I had to see it through.

Rick's Beamer was parked in back. He was here, somewhere, fighting for his life or already dead. A couple of other cars were here. Not Ben's.

Hardin repeated instructions to the remaining officers. "Don't let anyone down those stairs, don't let anyone leave."

The last two cops—our rear guard as well as our backup—stayed behind, while Hardin and I made our way into the pit.

"You've been here before, right?" For all her efforts with the anti-vampire gear, she'd reverted to habit and held her gun at the ready. Shocking myself, I recognized the type—a nine-millimeter semiautomatic.

"Yeah," I said. "But it's been a while."

"Tell me what to expect."

"There's a metal door at the bottom of the stairs. It opens on a hallway. There's a closed door on each side. I don't know what's behind them. There's another door at the end of the hall. It leads to what I guess you'd call his living room."

Actually, it was more like a throne room, or a receiving hall—a holdover from an age of palaces and courts. There wasn't a modern equivalent. This was where Arturo held court, and where Carl would come to pay his respects, negotiate a dispute, or do what he needed to do to keep peace between our kinds. Usually, Carl would bring his own retinue, enough of his pack to make a show of strength, to balance the dozen or so vampires Arturo displayed on his side. Sometimes, he'd bring me, when he needed a pretty young thing at his side to boost his own ego. An alpha could increase his standing by showing off how many helpless cubs he could protect. That was what I'd been to him—a helpless child. I'd hated those outings. I'd hated being put out for show.

One of those times, I'd met Rick. I'd been young—both agewise and wolfwise. I'd only been a werewolf for a year. Rick had been standing watch at the basement door, and I'd sneaked out when Carl wasn't paying attention. I couldn't leave without Carl entirely, so I stuck around, sitting on the concrete steps, and chatted with Rick. He was the first vampire who ever deigned to speak to me at all. He could tell I was new to it all, and he was kind to me. After that, the whole place had seemed a little more real. More believable. Vampires became a little less scary.

If Arturo had returned from the hospital before us, I'd expect to find him in that room, surrounded by his minions. I had no idea where Rick might be. Almost, I expected him to still be standing guard at the door at the bottom of the steps. I'd sit down again and have a nice chat. He'd tell stories about Denver during the gold rush: The displacement in time, the sense of dйjа vu, was visceral.

Hardin led the way down the stairs. I followed, continually looking over my shoulder.

At the base of the stairs, the metal door stood open.

Behind us, in the alley we'd just left, a man screamed.

Then another voice: "Officer down!"

Two shots fired. Hardin charged back up the stairs. I charged after her. I didn't even get a chance to look through the door to see what might follow us.

At the top of the stairs, Hardin shouted, "Freeze! Freeze right there!" Then, "Dammit!"

She'd pressed herself to the wall and looked out at the alley. I crouched beside her, using the stairwell for shelter.

One of the two cops—I recognized Sawyer—turned back and forth, as if searching for quarry that was no longer visible. He held a gun in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. His arms were trembling. Nearby, the other cop lay still, facedown on the ground. I didn't see any blood on him, no wounds. That didn't mean anything. I looked up, back and forth, all around. Vampires could fall on us from above.

"Sawyer, where'd he go?"

"I don't know, he just…just disappeared. Vanished."

I closed my eyes and took a deep, steady breath. The air was still tonight, all the summer heat leached away leaving a calm, damp chill. Good. Without a breeze, the assailant couldn't stay downwind.

Vampires smelled dead, but only partly. They were dead without the decay, the rot. They lacked heartbeats; they were cold. Any blood and warmth they had was stolen from a living body. They smelled out of place in the world, like they'd stepped out of it somehow.

I searched for that now, tasting the air, letting that little bit of the Wolf into my conscious mind so I could use those senses. I only needed a location, a direction where I could point Hardin and Sawyer.

I smelled vampires everywhere.

My heart racing, I pushed myself against the side of the concrete stairwell. Until something moved, until we spotted one of them, we couldn't do anything. We'd be wasting what pathetic ammunition we brought by shooting at shadows. Firing blasts of holy water at nothing.

Sawyer knelt by his partner and touched his neck. He had to set down one of his weapons to do it, and to my dismay he set down the spray bottle. Not that I had faith in the spray bottles, notwithstanding the holy water in them. But the gun probably wouldn't do any good.

"He's alive," Sawyer called to us. "Just knocked out, I think."

"Can vampires do that?" Hardin whispered to me. "Just knock someone out?"

I didn't answer because I saw a flicker of something dodging from one shadow to the next. "Sawyer, behind you!"

He whirled, saw the figure who had appeared instantly and silently behind him. The assailant, a pale man dressed simply in dark slacks and a shirt, raised his arm in preparation of delivering a blow. Sawyer reacted instinctively, driven by panic, bringing his gun to bear and firing. Trigger-happy bugger, wasn't he?

Caught in the chest by the shot, the vampire staggered back a step. But he didn't fall. I didn't smell blood. He didn't react again, except to square his shoulders and focus his gaze on Sawyer. He closed the distance between them in a second. He was a flash of movement.

"Shit," Sawyer murmured as the vampire drew back his fist and finished the interrupted strike. He backhanded Sawyer with little effort. The vampire barely moved. I wouldn't have guessed the force of it would be enough to bruise him, but Sawyer left the ground entirely and crunched on the asphalt a few feet away.

After a heart-wrenching moment, Sawyer moved. Not quickly, but he moved. He started to push himself up with his arms, but only managed to roll himself onto his back. He lay there, gasping.

"You are under arrest!" Hardin screamed at the vampire. She aimed her gun at him, no matter how little good it would do.

"Hardin, use your crossbow," I muttered. In response, she fumbled between the weapons. I approached the vampire cautiously, cross raised, like I could coax him away from the fallen man.

The vampire looked at us and smiled. Then, he ignored us and continued after Sawyer.

Hardin's belt radio cackled to life, but the voice speaking through it was muffled. It sounded like one of the other cops who'd come with Hardin. Shots fired at the front of the building. She muttered an expletive, but didn't otherwise respond. We couldn't do anything about it right now.

Two more vampires ran at us from the side of the building. Both youngish, one dark-haired, one tall and blond. With a gasp and an unhealthy dose of fatalism, I cut to intercept them, holding the cross like a shield.

Sawyer was moving, trying to sit up. He didn't see the threat behind him. Hardin fired her crossbow. The vampire flinched, brushing at his arm. The bolt fell; it hadn't stuck.

Hardin cursed and grabbed at her belt for the pouch that held more bolts.

I put myself between the newcomers and Hardin, misting the air around me with holy water. That slowed them. It kept them from doing that thing where they moved too quickly to track. But it wouldn't last. I fumbled for the stakes Ben had stashed in the backpack.

When the blond one swatted at me, I let loose another volley from the spray bottle. Water squirted out and caught his hand. He rubbed it absently, not at all incapacitated. It might as well have been a swarm of gnats. Then he backhanded me out of the way. I didn't even see him coming. I was sure I'd been out of range. I was standing, then the next moment I was facedown on the asphalt, spitting out grit. The stakes spilled out of the backpack.

In front of me, the first vampire stepped on Sawyer's chest, shoving him to the ground, then twisted his head. It was an inhuman move, requiring inhuman strength. And inhuman sensibilities. I heard the crack. Saw Sawyer's head flop back down, unsupported. Heard the beat of his heart go out. The vampire dropped Sawyer to the pavement.

"No! " Hardin screamed, then fired her crossbow again. And again. A bolt struck the vampire's shoulder, another his thigh.

She didn't see the vampire standing behind her.

The blond one was standing over me.

I grabbed a stake and slammed it into his foot. Sharpened hardwood, it went right through that shiny leather shoe. Snarling, he pulled his foot away and kicked, but I had a little superhuman speed of my own, and I was ready for him. I rolled, another stake in hand. Angry now, he rushed me. I let him. I ducked. Bracing my arms, I held the stake up and prayed.

I felt his chest give out on top of me. Then, his weight shoved me to the ground, pinning me. He was a newer vampire—mere decades old. He didn't turn to ash, a hundred years of decomposition catching up to him. When I shoved him away and looked, he was desiccated—gray flesh, sunken cheeks, hollow body. His clothes hung on him in tatters, and the stake remained poking out between ribs. His clouded eyes stared at me.

Swallowing back a scream, I looked away.

The second vampire had closed Hardin in an embrace from behind and touched her neck with his lips. A wicked smile on his lips, the first one launched himself into a run toward her. Even restrained, she still held the crossbow and managed to get one more shot off. This one landed true and buried itself in his chest, in his heart.

He halted sharply and touched his shirt, picking at it, like he was trying to pull it out. Snarling, he looked at Hardin, stepped forward like he might attack. Then he started disintegrating, before he even fell over. Bit by bit, he turned to the ash of the grave. He fell to his knees, then his knees weren't there anymore. He never took his rabid gaze off Hardin, until he was lying flat on the pavement, and his face itself disappeared into dust. Nothing left but ash.

Giving a shout, Hardin struggled, trying to twist out of the second vampire's grip, but his hold was too strong. Blood trickled from his mouth, down her neck.

I moved as fast as I could, which turned out to be pretty fast, and grabbed two stakes, just to be sure. Putting all my speed behind the blow, I crunched both stakes into his back.

He dropped Hardin, who stumbled away. Arcing his back, he fell to his knees. Didn't make a sound. Like the blond one, he was new. He didn't turn to ash, instead becoming a corpse before our eyes. Flesh and clothing dissolved, hanging on bleached bones. He smelled like mold.

"Jesus Christ!" Hardin pressed a hand to her neck and stared at her attacker. "Am I—Oh, God, am I going to turn into one of those?" She looked at the blood on her hands.

"No," I said, panting. "They have to drain you. If they only take a little you're okay."

She didn't look okay. Panic burned in her eyes and she was almost hyperventilating.

"Detective," I said, catching her attention. "Breathe."

She nodded quickly and took a deep breath. That slowed her down. She found a handkerchief in a pocket and held it to the wound on her neck.

I knew, but I had to do it anyway. I touched Sawyer's neck, feeling for a pulse that wasn't there. His neck was twisted at a strange angle, and his eyes were open, staring. He didn't deserve this.

"Sawyer?" Hardin called. I shook my head.

I looked for the others I knew must be out there. And there she was: a pale, svelte woman at the top of the stairs, blocking our way down. She had white hair and an icy expression.

"Stella," I murmured. "What's the deal? Where's Rick? Where's Ben? They're supposed to be here."

"None of you are supposed to be here." She stalked toward me.

"Detective?" I murmured.

"Out of ammo," she said as she went to retrieve the bolts she'd already fired.

Great. I'd dropped the cross to do the stake thing. I didn't think I could stake her by surprise—she was ready for me. I quickly retrieved what I could, shoving everything back in the pack. The spray bottle still had some holy water in it.

I met Stella face-to-face. Or as face-to-face as possible, considering how tall she was.

"Just a hint," I said, letting my mouth do what it did best—run away with me. "Did you get Rick? At least tell me whether or not you killed him. I'm sure you'd love to tell me how completely we screwed up." But she didn't tell me that we screwed up. She didn't tell me where Rick was. Maybe because she didn't know.

I hadn't noticed any other evidence of dead vampires apart from what we'd just made. I was willing to hope Arturo's gang hadn't killed Rick before he got inside. He'd evaded them. This wasn't over. I let her come closer. Let her think she didn't have to work for this one.

"Come on, you can tell me. I'll beg for it, will that make you happy? What's going on? Is Arturo here? Is Rick?" And Ben, where was Ben, goddammit?

"Oh, you haven't completely screwed up," she said, wearing a pained smile. "You're in the process of completely screwing up."

She was within arm's reach and still talking when I let loose with the spray bottle.

The mist caught her in her pretty marble face. She hesitated, blinking, confused, like she didn't know what had just happened. A rash broke out, red spots appearing on her mouth and cheeks and radiating outward. Then, she sneezed, then started coughing. Her eyes widened in shock, and she clutched her throat.

Vampires only draw air in order to speak. I'd certainly never heard one sneeze. But she'd been opening her mouth to say something, had just happened to draw a breath, and thereby inhaled a fine mist of holy water, which had gotten into her nose, sinuses, and throat. From what I'd observed, holy water had a similar effect on vampires that silver had on lycanthropes—it produced an allergic reaction on the skin, rashes, hives, that sort of thing.

I tried to imagine breaking out in hives in my sinuses and down my throat. And I thought, Oh, yuck.

She didn't stop coughing. She dropped to her knees, and the rash erupting over her face turned fiery.

By that time, Hardin had returned, her newly loaded crossbow trained on the incapacitated vampire.

"She out of commission?" Hardin asked. I nodded quickly. Stella didn't seem concerned with much of anything at the moment but her own discomfort.

The radio at Hardin's belt was calling again. She ran for the front of the building, and I chased after her.

"Lopez, talk to me!" Hardin called.

Sneaking a look around the corner, I could see the two officers, back to back, weapons out—one had a gun, the other a crossbow. Both of them looked wild-eyed and on the verge of panic, waiting for an imminent attack.

"I don't know!" Lopez, the one with the gun, called back. "There were three—"

"—four," the other cop said. "Four of them."

"I don't know, three or four of them, I thought we were finished. But they just disappeared."

I still hated when vampires did that. Reflexively, I looked behind, up, all around, waiting for another shadow to move and strike.

"They won't have gone far," Hardin said. "Keep watching."

Again, I turned my nose to the air. I had other ways of watching. They were here. I could smell them, even differentiate individuals. They had different flavors to their scents, but I couldn't quite identify them. Part of it was the nature of the place—it all belonged to vampires. We could get rid of them all, bulldoze the building and plant a garden, and some of that undeadness would still linger.

We stayed like that, stalled in place, waiting for shadows to strike.

Finally, Hardin said, "Well? We scare them off or what?" She smelled of nervous sweat, but her manner was calm. Lopez and his partner didn't believe it—they remained back-to-back, tense and ready.

I wasn't willing to make any guesses. The street was quiet. Nothing could possibly happen on a street this quiet.

"I'm going to go back to check on Kramer," Hardin said. "Call me—"

Lopez fired another shot.

"Would you stop doing that!" And there was Charlie, yelling at the officer and rubbing at a smoking bullet hole in his T-shirt. He came around the corner and dropped a body—vampiric, male, built like a fighter—in front of us. He looked me up and down. "What are you doing here?"

Hardin's cops trailed after him, still tense to the point of quivering.

"Where's Rick?" I shot back. "Where's Ben? Ben was coming to help but I don't see his car—"

"Rick's downstairs. I need your help, Violet's hurt."

"Wait a minute, is this another vampire or what?" Hardin said.

"He's one of the good guys." I think. "Charlie, Detective Hardin, Detective, Charlie. So is that guy dead or what?" A dead vampire decomposed. This one hadn't, so what was he, knocked out?

How do you knock out a vampire?

But Charlie didn't answer. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me around the opposite corner.

Lopez pleaded with Hardin, "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know. Follow Kitty's lead, keep your eyes open."

Propped against the wall, safe in a shadow, lay Violet. A glistening trail streaked the front of her black shirt—blood, streaming from a gash in her neck. Something had ripped half her throat out—vertebrae were visible. The shredded wound wasn't bleeding anymore—all the blood had drained out. Lopez turned away, a hand covering his mouth.

Her eyes were closed; she didn't move. I couldn't tell if she was dead. More dead. All vampires smelled dead. It looked like all the blood she'd borrowed—that was why vampires drank, to replace the blood they'd lost when they were turned—had spilled out, and maybe she was gone forever this time.

Charlie knelt by her and tenderly cradled her in his lap. "Violet, Violet baby, I brought help. Stay with me now, okay?" He stroked her cheeks, her hair, clutched her hand, and she didn't respond. "Kitty's going to help, okay? Hang on for me, baby."

"What can I do?" I murmured, my heart breaking over the scene.

Charlie looked at me. "She needs blood so she can heal. Strong blood."

Of course she did. She didn't even need much, a mouthful or so. I'd seen how this worked.

"Do I have to?" I said, wincing.

"Please. Just a little." I'd never seen such a look of pleading on anyone's face, much less a vampire's.

I nodded. "Detective Hardin, do you have a jackknife or something?"

She stared. "You can't be serious."

"Yes, please," I said softly. "And you might want to pay attention. This gets pretty interesting."

She didn't have one, but Lopez did, a thin penknife on a keychain. It would have to do.

I knelt by Violet, pulled open the blade, and before I could flinch or change my mind, I drew it across my left forearm. It cut deep. I didn't look at it. Almost, it didn't hurt—until my blood hit the air. Then it stung viciously. I gritted my teeth and held my arm over her lips.

Charlie tilted Violet's head back, holding her jaw in order to ease open her mouth. The first drops that fell from the wound hit her cheek, drizzling a scarlet line to her jaw. But by the time the dripping blood became a steady stream, it fell straight into her mouth. Like giving water to someone dying of thirst.

Because of my rapid healing, the stream of blood didn't last long before clotting, and the cut scabbed over as we watched. But Violet didn't need much. After the first few drops, she closed her mouth by herself. Her throat moved, swallowing. We could see the exposed muscles and tendons of her neck working. Then, her throat started healing. I healed quickly, but this was faster, skin creeping, stretching to cover flesh and blood that now glowed with life. Hardin murmured an expletive.

Violet licked her lips, catching the stray drops, straining forward for more. She winced in pain, then leaned back, settling into Charlie's lap.

"Charlie?" Her voice was small, childlike.

"Yeah, baby?"

"It hurts."

"It won't, in a minute."

Her skin flushed, gaining some color as my blood took effect. Her fingers moved, then her hands, then she stretched her arms to grip Charlie.

He helped her sit up, and all at once she seemed like she'd only been sick, maybe hungover, not drained of blood and near death—or what meant death to vampires.

"Shit," she muttered. She picked at the blood on her clothing and grimaced. "All this good stuff gone to waste."

"Feeling better?" Charlie said.

Her answer sounded tired. "Yeah."

"You're welcome," I said, rubbing the newly healed cuton my arm. it had already turned to a closed, pink scab.

I noticed two stretched-out piles of ash on the concrete nearby. The ones who got Violet, I was guessing. Charlie hadn't let them survive.

So. Had we gotten them all?

"How many more are there?" I said.

"I don't know," Charlie said. "Three, maybe four. Maybe more downstairs. Rick wanted them all alive. He wanted everyone alive."

"Kitty, are these good guys or what?" Hardin demanded.

Violet purred, "Ooh, I wouldn't say good guys."

Hardin opened her mouth for a retort, but then narrowed her eyes. "Do I know you two? Have I seen you before?"

Charlie and Violet glanced at each other, then back at her.

"I don't think so," Charlie said. Violet giggled. Right, so Bonnie and Clyde were back to normal.

I wanted to grab them both by their necks and shake them. "Is Rick downstairs?"

"Yeah."

"What about Ben? And Dack, we have to find Dack, he's working for Mercedes."

Charlie's smile fell. "Shit."

"We have to tell Rick."

Hardin pointed at Lopez. "You two, call for backup, check on Kramer out back."

"Where's Sawyer?" Lopez asked. Hardin just shook her head.

"There's another one of those things down out back, keep an eye on her." She fired off the patter of instructions.

"Things?" Charlie said. "She calls us things?"

Then Violet jumped to her feet and braced, preparing for a fight. "They're still out there."

I didn't see anything but shadows, and they were everywhere.

Charlie grabbed my arm. "Go downstairs. Tell Rick what's happening. Go!" He shoved me on my way.

Hardin and I ran to the back, passing Lopez, who was talking into his radio. Calling for backup. Lopez's partner had a crossbow trained on Stella, but she was doubled over and croaking. Hardin led with the crossbow, moving cautiously along the wall. The basement door still stood open. I couldn't hear anything from inside. Slowly, Hardin leaned around the doorway for a look, then slipped into the hallway. I followed.

The hall was carpeted with a dark-colored berber. The lighting was muted, atmospheric even.

Two figures lay shoved up against the wall, appearing dead. The two side doors stood open; the rooms inside were dark.

"More vampires?" Hardin said. I nodded. An unconscious vampire might as well have been a body—pale, waxen, not breathing.

And once again, how the hell did you knock a vampire unconscious? I'd have to talk to Rick about that later.

We hurried down the hallway. Hardin kept the weapon trained on the bodies the whole time.

I said, "Remember, don't look—"

"At their eyes, I know."

The door at the end of the hall was already open, into a room that looked like it came from another world. We inched forward and peered in.

The place was marvelous, with low ceilings and brocade fabric draping the walls. Bronze lamps gave out soft light, and the carpet was thick and lush under our feet The colors were luscious to the eyes, the furnishing opulent, and at one end stood an actual dais, a raised platform decked with Persian rugs and antique furniture. The central piece was a throne, upholstered in red plush with gilt carving on all surfaces.

Rick sat on the throne, gripping the scrolled edges of the armrests, and leaning forward. Arturo stood before him, a look of fury twisting his face. Rick had done exactly what he said he'd do: come here to wait for Arturo.

Rick said he only needed a few minutes alone with him. He should be leaping, attacking. Why was he hesitating? The longer he gave Arturo, the more chances Arturo had to speak, to act, the better chance he had of winning.

"It takes more than sitting in that chair to take my place," Arturo said.

Rick looked to the doorway, where we were standing. Hardin had her crossbow ready, but moved it back and forth between them, like she didn't know whom to shoot first.

"Stand down, Detective," he said. "I'm going to do this right, and that means not staking him."

Hardin shook her head. "You—" she spoke to Arturo, "are under arrest for assault."

Arturo spared a quick glance over his shoulder. "Katherine, have you changed your mind? My offer still stands."

I couldn't answer, not even to shake my head. Hardin and I needed to get out of here. This was more of a window into vampire politics in action than most people outside their world ever got. I was strangely fascinated. At the same time, I wanted to be anywhere but here. This was going to get very, very messy.

Rick spoke, his voice even. "The fact that I'm here, that you haven't been able to stop me, shows that you're weak. It's time for you to step aside."

"Are you giving me a chance to concede?" Arturo said, laughing.

"Yes."

Still smiling as if deeply amused, Arturo shook his head. "You are too soft for this, Ricardo. You're too weak to sit in that chair."

"Actually, I plan on replacing this chair with something a little more practical."

"Why is everyone ignoring me?" Hardin said.

"Because they think we're bugs," I reminded her. Rather than being frustrated, though, I wanted a bucket of popcorn.

Arturo said to Rick, "You don't have the years to do that. You don't have the time stretching behind you, supporting you. You need age to take my place."

"Oh, that's the game, is it? You have no idea how old I am." He was calm. Relentlessly calm.

Arturo's expression fell, and he said, angrily, "How old, then?"

I had pegged them both at about two or three hundred years old, by inference and rumor. Rick had controlled those rumors, evidently. With age came strength and power. He'd kept his hidden.

Rick—Ricardo, I suddenly saw the difference—studied his rival, as if he could peel back the skin, yank out the secrets he wanted simply by looking. When Arturo took a step back, his hand touching his cheek, rubbing it almost like it hurt, I missed what had happened, if anything had actually happened. Then I smelled it: blood in the air. Arturo looked at his hand, which was covered by a sheen of red. A film also covered his cheek, his jaw—all his exposed skin. He was sweating blood.

Teeth bared, fangs showing, Arturo stared at Rick in a panic. Was Rick doing this? Making Arturo sweat blood? Drawing the substance out of his body?

When Arturo glared back at Rick, attempting to stun him, or hypnotize him, or knock him unconscious like those vampires in the hallway, or draw blood through his pores—he couldn't. It didn't work. He didn't have the years, the power.

"I followed Coronado into this country, Arturo. I have age," Rick said.

Five hundred years old. He was over five hundred fucking years old. Arturo gaped at him. Arturo, who was only two or three hundred years old. Only.

Rick carried his five centuries well. He didn't let on that the weight of those years pressed on him. The old ones tended to get smug, becoming bored and arrogant as they grew powerful and isolated. Not him. He acted like he still had discoveries to make. Like the world was still fresh to him. He'd misled us all.

"You don't," Arturo said in a breathless tone that betrayed his belief—and his fear. He wiped his cheeks, rubbed his hands, smearing red over his skin, but he couldn't wipe it off.

When Rick stood and stepped toward the younger vampire, Arturo stumbled back, losing all his grace, almost falling. Rick pressed forward, grabbing hold of Arturo's collar, hoisting him upright, trapping him. He locked gazes with the other vampire, and Arturo froze. Like he was only mortal, a vulnerable human trapped in a vampire's stare.

Rick had intimidated him into submission. Holy cow.

"Ricardo. Step away from him, please."

A curve of color that had seemed just another part of a tapestry moved forward. Mercedes Cook, emerging from the shadows. Wearing a tailored jacket, long skirt, and heeled boots, she walked with confidence, head high, eyes half-lidded, like she was onstage, on show. And she left no doubt as to who was really in control here.

Of course she hadn't left Denver, not with the situation still unresolved.

"Mercedes," Rick said, grimacing. He didn't turn away from his quarry. "What's her price? How much are you paying for her to keep you in power?"

"Price? I'm not paying anything! She has no power here!" But he glanced at her, uncertain.

"Mercedes?" Rick said again, this time questioning the woman.

Her poise was deeply practiced, unflappable. The end of the world would not shake her. Humanity would destroy itself with nuclear bombs or rampant plagues, and vampires like her would stand among the ashes, imperious.

"Arturo and I haven't made a deal. Yet. Arturo? It's not too late."

Still dangling in Rick's grip, Arturo stared, his eyes widening. "It was you. All along, it was you."

And I saw it then myself: the nightclub attacks, the bodies left in the warehouse for the police to find, all of it giving the impression that Arturo was losing control. Indirectly, she'd inspired Rick to rebel. She'd made Arturo seem—and maybe even feel—weak. All so she could stroll in here and offer to rescue him.

"Kitty, what's going on?" Hardin whispered.

I shook my head. I'd have to explain it later.

Rick stared, like the same realization had just dawned on him as well. He said, "Why? Why back him?"

"The known quantity is always to be preferred," she said. "Always maintain status quo, when the status quo in question is sufficiently under control."

"Under control!" Arturo said. He kept looking around for followers who were all unconscious or dead. "Whose control? No one controls me!"

"The Long Game put you here, Arturo, and the Long Game will keep you here because you are weak."

Arturo's expression turned cold. Frozen and disbelieving.

For my part, I wished I could hit pause and rewind to play that bit over. The Long Game?

"What interest do they have in Denver?" Arturo said, his voice fallen to almost a whisper. "Denver is nothing to them."

"Even a pawn may threaten the king."

She glanced at me, then, and I almost squeaked. I had nothing to do with any of this, I was an innocent bystander, an accidental witness who wanted nothing more than to flee.

Her attention on me lasted less than a second, less than the blink of an eye. How had she put so much meaning in that short a space of time? Then she was regarding Arturo again.

"You've reveled in your power here for quite some time by local standards. As long as Denver's been a city, you've been here. You've grown comfortable, complacent. You've lost sight. You've forgotten that this isn't about you." She approached them step by step, like a lion. No, a jackal waiting to clean up the pieces.

"You—" he spoke to Rick, "you're fighting them. You've always been fighting them, haven't you? You'll keep this city out of their hands."

"I will."

Arturo's smile changed, thinned, turned sly. It became the familiar smug expression he usually wore. "Then I concede. Denver is yours. I'll leave here forever."

Rick said, "Mercedes, you're here as a witness. Is that enough? Do you accept that I am now Master of Denver?"

Mercedes's voice chimed with hidden laughter. "Where will you go, Arturo?"

"Back to Philadelphia. I have friends there."

"Friends like me?" she said. "Friends who are also playing the game? Will they want you back?" Arturo's expression turned stricken.

She was two strides away from Rick. She'd never said her age. I'd guessed that it was young, less than a hundred years. But she was an actress, and she had disguised herself. She carried herself with a confidence that exceeded even Rick's. Having seen what Rick could do to Arturo, I could almost imagine what she could do to Rick.

I was way out of my league here. I knew that, I accepted that. But I also knew that I absolutely did not want this woman poking her sticky undead fingers into my city.

I sprang forward, spray bottle in one hand, cross in the other, both stuck out in front of me, braced in my grip like they were Ben's gun. "Stop."

Mercedes arched a perfect, questioning brow at me. She almost seemed amused.

"It's holy water," I said.

"Oh my." She smiled, but she didn't move.

What the hell good was a spray bottle of holy water going to do? She could bat it out of my hand in a second.

Hardin stepped up beside me. "Stop! All of you, put your hands up!"

Mercedes smiled at Rick. "You have minions. That's so sweet."

Rick said, "Mercedes, yes or no: Do you accept that I am now Master of Denver?"

"What does it matter if she accepts it or not?" I said, losing patience. "She's not even from here!"

"Do not ignore me! I said hands up!" Hardin sounded flustered.

Something happened. Rick moved, then a shadow fell over Hardin, and her crossbow disappeared. He broke the weapon over his knee and tossed the pieces aside like they were nothing.

"Hey!" she said.

"Both of you stay out of this," Rick said roughly. "You have no idea what's happening here."

"Explain this to me, Kitty," Hardin said.

"Rick wants to be the new Master of Denver. Mercedes wants to stop him."

"I'm here to arrest that guy." She nodded at Arturo. "That's all I want."

Rick never took his eyes off the other vampires. "If anyone but me removes Arturo, my authority here will be suspect. Your answer, Mercedes."

"Why are you even asking her?" I said. "Just kick her butt!"

Rick said, cutting, "I can't do anything to her if I want the city."

"Diplomatic immunity," Mercedes said.

"But she isn't exactly being neutral here—"

"Kitty, be quiet, please," Rick said, ice cold. "Mercedes?"

"No," Mercedes said. "I will carry word that Denver is torn between two Masters and ripe for the taking." When she reached for him, Rick stepped back. If I didn't know better, I'd have said he looked afraid.

Enough. I shot her. Sprayed her. Whatever.

My hand was shaking, and she twisted out of the way. Somehow, she'd seen it coming, anticipated me in the protracted way vampires saw time. The arc of water only caught her arm.

She didn't make a sound, not so much as a hiss of pain or anger. Splotches of water marred the sleeve of her jacket. The water probably hadn't even soaked through.

Something hit me. The water bottle went flying in one direction, smacking against the wall behind me, and I couldn't breathe. A weight slammed into me, and I crashed to my knees. Mercedes grabbed my throat and squeezed, holding me still. I clutched her wrist, scratched at her arm, trying to free myself. I gasped for air. She could kill me with one hand.

She said, "And you have both let the wolves here become unruly. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves."

"Right," Hardin said. "That's it. I've heard enough. You're all under arrest!" She'd retrieved the spray bottle and held it trained firmly on Mercedes. Not that that had done me any good.

With her other hand, Mercedes batted the spray bottle out of Hardin's grip. The cop stumbled back.

"Mercedes, let her go," Rick said.

She didn't. My vision started to go splotchy, and a growl forced its way out of my throat. Inside, Wolf was thrashing. We could claw her, we could run—

Somehow I knew that I could turn Wolf, and Mercedes would keep her grip on my throat and still be able to strangle me.

"Mercedes!" Rick lunged at her.

"No!" Arturo grabbed his arm and stopped him. He took Rick's wrists, then placed Rick's hands back on his own collar. "Do it. You planned it this way all along, so get it over with." Then he became calm. Almost pulled himself into Rick's embrace. For a moment, he was still the Master.

"Arturo—"

"I am not their pawn. I've not lived for three hundred years to be their pawn. You'll stand against them."

"I didn't want this."

"Oh, yes you did. Ricardo, do not waste my blood."

Mercedes let me go. I collapsed, clutching my neck and coughing. I could feel bruises where she'd squeezed. Hardin touched my shoulder.

For the first time that evening, desperation touched the singer's voice. "Arturo. Three hundred years on this earth and you won't even fight for your life? I don't believe you."

Arturo let out a bitter chuckle. "Three hundred years on this earth and I was never once my own man. I see it so clearly now. And I thought I had nothing left to learn."

A look passed between him and Rick. Then, Rick struck.

I flinched at the speed of it. This wasn't happening. I kept telling myself this wasn't happening.

Rick struck at Arturo's neck, biting into his throat. Arturo's head whipped back. His teeth bared in pain, and his hands dug into Rick's arms, the tendons of his fingers taut against his skin. One of his legs kicked out, but Rick braced him to hold him in place, to keep him upright. Rick's mouth stayed pressed to his throat, lips working as they sucked, for what seemed a long time.

Mercedes looked away.

I noticed it in Arturo's shirt first—the fabric of the sleeves collapsed. The effect spread to his pants. The clothing wilted, withered, then the fabric itself blackened and crumbled, turning to ash. The body within decayed—three hundred years in a few minutes—shriveling, desiccating, turning black, turning to ash. It spread to his neck, his head, his golden hair turning white, then to powder. And still Rick pressed his face to it. He dropped to his knees, supporting Arturo—what remained of Arturo—as he disintegrated.

Finally, when nothing was left, Rick straightened, sifting gray ash through his fingers and wiping it from his face. The dust smudged the front of his clothing and streaked his sleeves, which also showed stains of blood.

Arturo wasn't an evil person. An ambiguous person, maybe, who'd done some pretty bad things. But I hadn't wanted to watch him die. It was him or Rick, I kept telling myself. Him or Rick.

Rick turned to Mercedes. "I have his blood. Blood is all, and all that was his is mine. His land, his people, his power. Mercedes, you go, you tell them that this city is mine, and that it is well defended."

"I should arrest you. For murder. Both of you," Hardin whispered. Her eyes had gone wide, shocky almost.

"He died three hundred years ago," I whispered. Was it still murder? Semantics, at this point.

"You have no jurisdiction here, Detective," Rick said.

Mercedes had to collect herself. Her expression froze in an indifferent mask, and she smoothed out her skirt and jacket.

Before she moved away, she said, "Kitty, you kept asking about my age. You should know, because I want you to, that I am older than them both." She indicated Rick, and the dust on the floor that had been Arturo. Then, she walked away, through the door, vanishing into shadow.

Hardin was staring at that dust. To Rick she said, her voice hushed, "Tell me you play by a different set of rules than he did. That I won't find warehouses filled with ripped-up bodies. Tell me I won't regret helping you."

"You won't," Rick said.

It couldn't be that simple. The Long Game, she'd said. I wondered who Rick would have to defend his place against, and what he would have to do against them.

"This is so Twilight Zone. I need to go check on my guys," Hardin said, running a hand through her hair. "I'm going outside for a cigarette." She reached into her pocket and went out the door.

Rick slouched, like he was tired. "It's over."

"But she's still out there," I said. My voice cracked, still injured. "Mercedes. What if she comes back? You could have stopped her."

"No, I couldn't. Her status protects her. I'd forfeit everything I've won if I destroyed her."

Vampire politics. I didn't care anymore. I had work to do. "Rick, there's a problem. Detective Hardin's people have pictures of Dack at the Brown Palace—"

"What?" Rick said. He still had Arturo's ashes smudged all over him. My stomach turned, and I swallowed back bile.

I said, "They went over security footage from the hotel and found pictures of Dack going to see her. I think he's been telling her and Arturo everything. He's your spy. It makes total sense—she knew your people were at the warehouse and told Arturo, she told Dack to call 911 so when the police came breathing down Arturo's neck he'd need her help to get the situation back under control. He even saved you because she wanted you alive to put more pressure on Arturo."

Rick didn't react right away. His gaze turned to Arturo's chair. His expression was impassive. Then, all he did was whisper, "Not Dack. I don't believe it."

"You want me to go get the pictures? What else would he be doing there?"

He turned away, giving his head a shake, a harsh movement when I was used to seeing nothing but grace from him. "Damn," he murmured.

"Where is he?" I asked. "Is he here? How much does he know about what we planned? And Ben was supposed to come find you—"

He pursed his lips in a wry smile. "Dack's not here."

"Then where is he?"

"I sent him and Ben to go after Carl and Meg." His voice was bitter. He lowered his gaze.

I could only stare at him, frozen. More than numb. The words he'd spoken sent the world crumbling apart around me, and my blood hummed in my ears.

"You've killed him," I said starkly. "Dack's taking him into a trap. They'll tear him apart." Unless Shaun and Becky's friend Mick was out there, and if anyone else was out there who could save him, and if Carl and Meg hadn't already killed them all. Too many ifs. They might all be dead.

"I knew—I believed you wouldn't be able to face Carl and Meg. Part of you still sees them as dominant over you. There's too much history between you. Ben agreed with me. So he and Dack went after Carl and Meg without you. It seemed like the right thing to do. They were supposed to take care of it while I faced Arturo. We'd finish it all in a night." He'd become emotionless, his voice monotone. If I punched him now he'd probably stand there and take it.

He didn't have that right, to decide I couldn't face my old alphas. He didn't know me, didn't know what drove me. Neither he nor Ben had the right to make that decision. To take that away from me. The mess they'd created because of that might very well be irreparable. I didn't know which of them I was more angry at.

Time enough for getting pissed off later.

"Rick. We have to go after them. Now."

"It's almost dawn. I can't. Kitty, Ben's strong, he's resourceful. Maybe he's okay—"

"Like hell! One man against the three of them? When it's probably a trap?"

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding small, surprisingly young.

"Give me your keys." I held out my hand. "Your car, give me the keys now."

"It's too dangerous by yourself. Find someone to go with you—"

All I could think about was finding Ben. "Just give me the keys."

He did, pulling them out of his pocket and tossing them to me. I was on my way to the door as soon as I caught them. I still had my backpack, which had everything I needed.

"Kitty—"

I didn't turn around.

In the corridor, I nearly ran into Charlie and Violet. They were carrying inert vampires into the lair. Stella, unconscious, her face thick with hives, was among them. Charlie said Rick hadn't wanted any of the vampires killed. I understood now: they had been Arturo's. Rick had taken Arturo into himself, and now they were Rick's, and Charlie and Violet were bringing them underground before dawn. Rick hadn't wanted to waste any of his potential followers.

Right now, it would be easy to see him as conniving and selfish as the rest, ready to sacrifice anyone.

"Hey, Kitty, a little help here?" Charlie said. I walked right past him. "Hey!"

I ignored him. I could only think of the car, the road, the route to Meg and Carl's house, where Dack must have taken Ben. My Ben.

Outside, the sky was lightening—twilit blue on the edge of gray. Rick was right—dawn was close. I hadn't realized how much time had passed. How much time had passed since Dack and Ben went after Carl and Meg? How long ago had they killed him?

The alley behind Obsidian was broken by many sets of flashing red and blue lights. Ambulances, police cars. EMTs were checking out Kramer. A couple of cops were putting up yellow tape around the whole parking lot. A couple, wearing latex gloves and carrying crime scene equipment, crouched by Sawyer. Investigating. Hardin was near one of the ambulances, nursing a cigarette and talking on a phone.

I walked past them all.

"Kitty!" Hardin called. "Hey, Kitty—"

I jumped into Rick's car and drove. Had to drive fast, focused. I knew the route, I knew what waited for me.

The sports car was unlike anything I'd ever driven. Little seemed to separate me from the pavement; the car was low, the tires humming, and it responded to the tiniest touch. A hair-thin turn of the steering wheel had me zipping around corners. The barest press of the gas pedal made the car shoot ahead. I never even looked at the speedometer to see how fast I was going. The world scrolled past me. This time of night—of morning—I had no traffic to contend with. The feeling was close to running free, on four legs, over open, unbroken country, the wind drawing fingers through the fur on my body.

I am a hunter. I will stalk them and strike.

I shook my head and refocused, because for a moment my vision had wavered and gone gray. For a moment I'd seen the world in wolf tones. Had to stay human. Wolf couldn't drive the freaking car.

Or hold the gun.