"He really is one of us," Tessa said, hooking her hand against Brandon's arm to draw his gaze. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed excitedly. "The Brethren have always married clans into clans-no outsiders. So the only way Rene's great-grandfather could have married a Davenant is if he'd been in the Brethren, one of the clans."

But his name is Morin, Brandon said, finger-spelling it. "I know," Tessa replied, nodding. "There must have been another clan once-one we don't know about now, that the Elders don't tell us about. Maybe more than one. Maybe a lot more. Something must have happened to make them leave, and now the Elders don't want any of the rest of us to know about or remember them. No one but the Elders are allowed to see the Tomes-the recorded histories for each of the clans. How do we know there aren't more like Rene out there in the world?

Whole clans out there, missing all of these years?"

We don't, Brandon thought, looking again toward Rene.

"I wish we could get into the records at the great house somehow," Tessa murmured. "The Elders keep all the clan Tomes stored in the Grandfather's library, I know it. I'd love the chance to see-" She jumped, startled, her eyes flying wide. Rene turned around simultaneously in surprise. "My cell phone's ringing," Tessa said with a laugh, as Brandon held up his hands, waggling them slightly: What?

She reached across the table for her purse, a small, leather clutch. "It's probably Martin," she said with a frown, fishing the phone out. "He keeps calling and leaving me messages. I meant to turn it off last night..." Her voice faded and her frown deepened at the number displayed on the phone.

Brandon leaned over the table again, studying the chart that Rene's grandmother had made. What did your family do that was so horrible, Rene? he thought. Why would the Brethren try to wipe out any evidence or memory of your clan's existence?

Curiously, the reference to Marguerite Davenant was the only such tie to the Brethren clans-and the last entry made for the paternal side of Rene's family. Rene's maternal history, however, was tracked in far more detail, and for far more generations.

Something about it seemed odd. Brandon couldn't put his finger on it at first. When Tessa rose, abandoning the table, he slid into her chair, looking down at the family tree, puzzled.

When it hit him, he blinked as if he'd been slapped. Rene's maternal family tree traced back more generations, but not necessarily more years. His father's side was doc.u.mented back to the early 1600s, when Remy Morin was born in France. That only accounted for four generations, however-Rene, his father, his grandfather, and Remy. His mother's side went at least twice again that many generations back to reach the same time period, as if the people there had lived only a fraction of the time as Rene's paternal kin.

They lived human lifespans, Brandon realized, his eyes widening. Jesus Christ, Rene's family is half-human!

Tessa, he signed, closing his hand into a fist and folding his index finger over his thumb in the letter T. Tessa, you're not going to- His hands faltered as he looked up. Tessa stood, holding her cell phone to her ear, her eyes wide and stricken. All of the eager color in her cheeks that had bloomed so brightly only moments before had drained in full, and she blinked at him, ashen and shaking.

Rene had noticed only seconds before Brandon, and crossed the kitchen toward her. "Who is that on the phone, pischouette?"

he asked, his brows narrowed, crimped over the bridge of his nose, his mouth turned down in a frown. He held out his hand.

"Give it to me."

Tessa? Brandon thought, rising to his feet in alarm, opening his mind to her. Tessa, what is it? What's wrong?

Rene reached her first, s.n.a.t.c.hing the phone out of her hand. Brandon watched the furrow cleaving his brows deepen as he shoved it to his ear. "Who the h.e.l.l is this? h.e.l.lo?"

Tessa, Brandon said, taking her by the arms. She looked like she was about to faint, that at any moment, even a slight nudge would topple her. He helped her to a chair and eased her into a seated posture. Tessa, what happened? Who was that on the phone?

She blinked at him, her eyes glossed with tears. "It... it was Caine," she whispered, and he drew back, startled. "He knows I'm with you. He... he wanted me to tell you..." Her voice faltered, and she looked down at her lap, shuddering.

What? he signed, grasping her by the arm to draw her gaze. What, Tessa? he finger-spelled, and then her tears fell.

"He said he has Lina," she said. "Oh, Brandon, he said he'd kill her if you don't come!"

"I'm going with you," Rene said, slamming a loaded clip home into the b.u.t.t of a pistol. He'd produced the gun from a drawer in his nightstand and tucked it now in the waistband of his jeans as he turned.

Brandon shook his head, standing just within the perimeter of velvet curtains marking Rene's bedroom boundaries. No, Rene, he wrote. It's too dangerous. You don't- Rene caught him firmly by the hand, startling him. "I'm going," Rene said again, his brows furrowed so deeply, his eyes were draped in heavy, menacing shadows. "Lina was my partner, and I owe her my G.o.dd.a.m.n life. I'm not going to sit here sidelined, like some pimple-faced, fat girl at the high school dance while you-"

There was more, but he stormed past Brandon, ducking past the drapes, and Brandon could no longer read his lips. Brandon frowned, turning and following. Rene, listen to me, he thought, reaching out and grabbing the older man by the sleeve.

Get out of my head, pet.i.t, Rene warned, his frown deepening.

You can't go, Brandon said. Caine will kill you. Even if the Elders aren't with him yet, he'll kill you.

"I'm not planning on giving him that chance, pet.i.t,"

Rene said, jerking the gun from his pants and wiggling it demonstratively under Brandon's nose.

You don't understand, Brandon thought, and he shoved the gun out of his face. Will you listen to me? You're different-I've sensed that from the start, and so has Tessa. Caine will, too, and he- "You think I give a s.h.i.t if he figures out I'm not part of your little G.o.dd.a.m.n family tree?" Rene said. "I'm not planning on giving him that chance, either."

He started to turn, but again, Brandon grabbed him, staying him. It's not just that.

Let go of my arm, pet.i.t, Rene thought, glancing at Brandon.

Brandon hadn't wanted to bring this up. He couldn't be sure if Rene was aware of his heritage. All Brandon knew was that if Caine or the Elders caught wind of Rene, they would realize the human blood in his veins and kill him for it. They'd consider him an even greater disgrace to their species than Brandon. They'll think he's an abomination.

Rene, it's not just that you're not of a recognized Brethren clan, he thought. It's more than that. The Elders can sense things-easier than I can, or Tessa, or even Caine. And if they're with him, if they've got Lina, then they'll...

He hesitated, and Rene's expression shifted with bewilderment. "What?" he said. "They'll what, pet.i.t?"

Brandon glanced at Tessa, who was sitting on a nearby sofa, still trembling and stricken. She didn't know about Rene's heritage, either; Brandon hadn't told her, and she'd been so excited about the discovery of a Davenant ancestor on Rene's family tree that she hadn't yet realized on her own. He didn't want to take a chance on her overhearing his thoughts, so he reached for the notebook hanging around his neck. Rene, your mother was human, he wrote, underlining the word human for emphasis. I saw it in your family tree.

Rene blinked at him, seeming all the more puzzled for having read this. "Et alors?" he asked. "So what, pet.i.t?"Brandon blinked in surprise. Rene knew, then, but still didn't understand the danger into which this birthright placed him. He didn't comprehend, and Brandon didn't have time to explain it to him. He abandoned the argument and wrote again, the point of his pen flying against the page. I need you to stay with Tessa, he said. If something happens to me, I need to know I can count on you to take care of her. They know she's with me-that she's helped me. She can't go back to the Brethren.

They'll kill her. They'll kill her baby.

He thought that might work-had hoped for it-and saw in the immediate softening of Rene's face that it had. For whatever reason, the baby was a point of tremendous concern for Rene; his entire demeanor toward Tessa had changed since Brandon had told him about her pregnancy.

Promise me you'll look after her, Brandon wrote. That you'll keep her safe, Rene.

Rene glanced toward Tessa, and the hardness in his brows, the line of his mouth faded. He looked torn. I'll get Lina back, Brandon thought to him, drawing his gaze. Whatever it takes, whatever they want from me, I'll give it to see her free and unharmed.

Even if that means they kill you, pet.i.t? Rene thought in reply.

Brandon looked away, closing his mind abruptly so that Rene couldn't sense his fear and trepidation. Yes, he wrote instead. I'll die before I let anything happen to Lina.

He blinked down at his toes for a moment, and then Rene tapped his shoulder, drawing his gaze. Here, then, he thought, offering the pistol b.u.t.t-first to Brandon. This is a Sig Sauer P228 double-action nine-millimeter with aluminum frame and steel slide. Her trigger's tight, but she's got a light recoil and a thirteen-shot clip up her a.s.s. You might need the company.

Brandon slipped the gun into his hand, feeling the heft of it settle against his palm.

You ever shoot one before, pet.i.t?

Brandon looked up at Rene, shaking his head. Rene smiled thinly, and with little humor. "Safety's here," he said, pointing.

"Thumb it off. Point her and squeeze the trigger. Don't worry-she'll take care of the rest."

Chapter Twenty-three.

Lina came to slowly, the same heavy, pounding beat of dance music that had refused her the respite of deep unconsciousness all along at last stirring her fully from a semi-lucid doze. Her head ached; her shoulders felt strained and sore. She lay on her belly, her arms drawn together behind her back. It took her a dazed moment before she remembered. I went to Apathy, down to the Catacombs looking for Caine n.o.ble...

Caine!

Her eyes flew wide, her momentarily forgotten terror returning in full. She found herself on a leather couch in the lounge area of the Catacombs where she'd found Caine earlier. She didn't see any sign of him, but as her eyes adjusted to the murky gloom, the staccato flashes of strobe lights and the dim haze of dry-ice fog, she could see the nightclub and dance floor were still packed to capacity. She heard people talking and laughing, their voices overlapping.

Lina snapped her eyes shut again. There were people immediately around her, sitting near her, standing behind and around the couch; she'd heard them. No one had seemed to notice her rousing. Maybe I can run for it, then, she thought. Catch them, by surprise, at least for a few moments, cut and run for the stairs.

That would be easier said than done, judging by the pain in her body. Her hands were bound against the small of her back with handcuffs undoubtedly taken from her own uniform belt She'd been pinioned like this long enough for the sockets of her shoulders to feel strained and sore, and her legs felt stiff, leaden from where she'd been p.r.o.ne. What other choice do I have, though? she thought. Jesus Christ, I have to try. I can't just lie here and wait for that son of a b.i.t.c.h to kill me-and Brandon!

She held her breath, her brows furrowing. Alright, then, she thought. On three, I'm doing this. Swing my legs around, get my feet on the floor, sit up straight, and take off running. On three. One.. .

She flexed her legs, stretching the long muscles in her calves and thighs, poised to move.

Two...

She pursed her lips and let her breath out slowly.

"Three," she whispered, and then she was in motion. She drew her knees beneath her, kicking her feet around and to the floor, sitting upright as she did. Using the strength of her legs to leverage herself, she scrambled to her feet. She bolted away from the couch, charging headlong for the crowd, amid a scattered chorus of startled yelps and surprised shouts from behind her.

She ducked her head and plowed into the throng. Her broad, frantic stride immediately slowed, but she shoved and shouldered her way forward. The cohesiveness of the crowd that had so worked against her upon her arrival was gone; they'd expected her then, and had been able to herd and hinder her. No one had realized she was even conscious again, much less antic.i.p.ated that she'd run, and she had that element of surprise to her advantage. It took the clubgoers in the crowd a moment or two to realize that she wasn't one of their fellows knocking past them, and by then it was too late; she was already out of their reach. She heard voices behind her shouting out to catch her, stop her, but they were dim, nearly drowned out by the pelting backbeat from the dance floor.

G.o.d, just let me make it, she thought. She could see the staircase ahead of her through the sea of shoulders and heads; the bright glow of the large, neon exit sign. Let me get out of here, please, oh, Christ, please, just let me- She felt a large, strong hand clamp against her arm, jerking her backward in mid-stride, and she screamed. "No! No, G.o.dd.a.m.n it, no!"

Another hand clapped over her mouth, cutting off her cries to m.u.f.fled mewls. She thrashed and kicked, shaking her head furiously, pinwheeling her feet in the air as she was dragged back toward the lounge. Here, she was shoved unceremoniously to her knees on the floor.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h!" she shouted, her voice hoa.r.s.e and shrill. She tried to scramble to her feet again, but the man who'd caught her forcefully shoved her back down.

"Now, Officer Jones, that's hardly any way to behave," she heard Caine say. She turned, looking toward a group of men and women gathered closely around one of the couches, all standing hunkered, with their backs to her. Caine turned, breaking away from the group to walk toward her, his handsome face softened deceptively with a smile. There was something dark smeared all over his mouth and chin.

"It's too early to leave," he told her gently. "The night's still young, and I'm only just now getting my second wind."

She saw the crowd pull apart behind him, stepping aside to reveal what had been the center point of their attention. Oh, my G.o.d...! Lina thought, her stomach tightening.

Her ex-boyfriend, Jude Hannam, was there somehow, sprawled and lifeless against the sofa. He wore only his underpants, and his dark skin gleamed eerily in the light from the nearby dance floor. His head lolled to one side, his eyes wide open and unblinking, his mouth somewhat agape. His throat had been torn open. The front of his chest, the slight paunch of his belly glistened with blood. The people around him had been taking turns leaning over him, pressing their mouths to the ruin of his neck and sucking greedily, noisily at the blood.

As she watched a girl with platinum blond hair cut in a short-spiky style do exactly this, Lina's gut heaved and she buckled forward, vomiting. She retched until her stomach knotted, empty and aching, and then she blinked up at Caine in stricken horror.

"You... you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she whispered, shuddering. Oh, G.o.d, Jude, she thought. You poor, stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h... you forgot there's h.e.l.l to pay when you try to bargain with the devil...!

Caine wiped his mouth absently with his fingertips. "Funny how he had my brother's scent all over him," he said, and Lina realized. "Or at least, his clothes did."

The suit, she thought, aghast. Oh, G.o.d, I led Caine right to him!

"I figured he must know Brandon, could tell me where he is," Caine remarked, reaching out and brushing her cheek with his hand, smearing Jude's blood on her. She recoiled in frightened disgust. "Then I find out he has no f.u.c.king clue-but he did call my grandfather." He shook his head, clucking his tongue in mock scolding. "So you see, now I'm in a bit of a hurry. If the Grandfather knows where Brandon is, he and the Elders could be here at any moment, even as we speak. I can't afford to keep trailing Brandon all over a G.o.dd.a.m.n city of this size anymore. Because now I've run out of time."

He grabbed her by the hair, jerking her head back, making her cry out. "You've saved me a lot of trouble coming here tonight, officer," he said. "And for that, I thank you." His other hand darted for her throat, ripping loose the square of bandages taped over her wounds from Brandon's feeding. Caine met her gaze and smiled wickedly, any pretense of kindness or good humor gone. "I'll show Brandon what it really means to feed," he said.

Brandon gave the cab driver a pair of twenties when they arrived at the Fourth Street landing on the riverfront. He could see the floating Apathy nightclub complex to his right as he climbed out of the taxi. To his left, across the street and beyond a broad parking lot, he saw a thick, silhouetted line of trees framing the outermost perimeter of Water Tower Park, the place where he and Lina had visited only days earlier, where she said she'd gone as a kid to day camp, and had earned the nickname "Hoops."

That carefree afternoon felt like a million years ago to Brandon now, little more than some wondrous dream.

Brandon had Rene's nine-millimeter pistol tucked beneath the waistband of his jeans, but he didn't know the first thing about guns, and found it more disconcerting than soothing. It was almost two o'clock in the morning, and the scene at the club was apparently winding down for the night. There was no line waiting to cross the steel gangplank, only a bored-looking bouncer leaning heavily against a podium, a cigarette dangling from his hand.

"Hey," he said, nodding once in greeting as Brandon approached. "I need to see your ID, kid."

Only the Elders and older members of the Brethren had anything resembling what the Grandfather called "human frailties," like bank accounts, social security cards, birth certificates, driver's licenses-all fake, of course, but official looking just the same.

The younger members had no need for such frivolities, as he was apt to say. Brandon didn't have a driver's license. His father, Sebastian had taught him the basics, letting him practice driving his pick up truck around the narrow, winding lanes bisecting the horse farm, but that didn't make Brandon legal by any means.

He blinked at the bouncer for a puzzled moment. Why the h.e.l.l would Caine call me here if he knows I can't get in? he thought. He patted his hands against his T-shirt and jeans briefly, demonstratively, then shrugged.

"No ID?" the bouncer said. He pinched his cigarette between the pad of his thumb and the tip of his middle finger and flicked it across the landing. "What's the matter? You can't talk?"

Brandon shrugged again and the bouncer smiled. "How old are you, kid?"Brandon held up his hand, two fingers extended first, and then only his forefinger. Twenty-one.

The bouncer motioned toward the gangplank. "Go ahead," he said. "We close in two hours anyway. Knock yourself out."

Brandon flipped him a wave in thanks and started across. The Catacombs. That's where Caine had told Tessa to have Brandon go. The Fourth Street Landing, down on the riverfront, a floating nightclub complex called Apathy. Go aboard and below deck, a bar called the Catacombs.

"He said he'd be waiting for you there," Tessa had whispered, looking ashen with fright.

Apathy's main lobby opened onto several doorways, all leading to different clubs. The lobby was relatively empty, with the exception of a few women-who on closer glance, turned out to be men in drag-sitting sprawl legged against the floor, leaning together, as lifeless as corpses, too drunk to stumble any farther. Brandon stepped over them, heading toward the doorway marked Catacombs, and jerked in surprise as one of them grabbed him by the leg of his jeans.

"Hey, beautiful," the young man said, blinking up at Brandon from beneath heavily applied, bright blue eyeshadow and at least three sets of fake eyelashes. He smiled dazedly up at Brandon, still slumped against his unconscious neighbor. "You got ten dollars? Everybody's gone home and we gotta get a cab. Come on, baby, please. I'll suck you for it, right here. For fifteen, I'll even swallow. I-"

Brandon danced back, jerking himself loose from the man's grasp. He turned so he didn't have to lip-read any more of the drunk man's disquieting proposition. He felt the man's fingertips pawing insistently at him again, and he hurried away, ducking down the staircase for the Catacombs.

The party might have been dwindling upstairs, but below deck, things were still apparently pretty lively. Brandon could feel the ba.s.s line of a dance music track thrumming in the steel steps beneath his feet, and through the iron piping handrail. It was dark, the shadows punctuated by the bright, fluttering flashes of strobe lights. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Brandon could see that the club was still very much packed. The air was stifling, hot and thick with humidity, stinking of sweat and musk, and something else, bittersweet and metallic that caused Brandon's gums to immediately ache. Blood, he thought with a frown. I smell blood.

He still had not begun to feel any of the aftereffects from his feeding, despite Rene's promises that he would. His shoulder still hurt like h.e.l.l. He still felt weak and somewhat unsteady. He knew that facing Caine in his current condition could d.a.m.n well be the most stupid decision he'd ever made in his life-but he had no choice. Lina is down here somewhere. I have to find her.

The only consolation Brandon could conceive of was that if he was still feeling this way from a single gunshot wound, then maybe Caine-who'd been shot twice by Lina and punched through with a sword to boot-might still be feeling like s.h.i.t too.

As he eased his way through the crowd, he noticed people glancing at him, peeking over their shoulders, stopping in mid- conversation, nudging one another, and pointing. They'd see him and step deliberately aside, allowing him to pa.s.s. They were all human, but their faced were painted ghastly white with makeup, their eyes ringed in black shadow, their lips tinted black. Some of them slipped Brandon little smiles that sent shivers across the nape of his neck; some had filed their teeth into jagged points at the tips, while others wore fake canine teeth in place of their own-exaggerated and elongated to look like a vampire's.

What the h.e.l.l is this place? Brandon thought. The paradox that he-a vampire who wished he could be human-was making his way through a crowd of humans who apparently wished they could be vampires, was not lost upon him.

He stepped out onto the dance floor without even realizing it until he was about halfway across. The music abruptly stopped, the air drawing still, and the crowd immediately shrank back from him on all sides, opening up a broad, empty circ.u.mference around him. Brandon froze, wide eyed, glancing around him as they moved. His hands closed reflexively into light, wary fists. Oh, s.h.i.t.

The dance floor was an old, disco-tech sort, and when it lit up beneath him, bright golden light spilling up from under his feet, he scrambled back in surprise.h.e.l.lo, Brandon. Caine's thoughts slid through his mind, cold and slithering, like a centipede through soft loam. Brandon pivoted and saw his brother come forward, moving out of the crowd as people obligingly moved aside to allow him pa.s.sage. Caine stepped onto the dance floor and into its bath of yellow light. I see Tessa was able to relay my message to you. Good. I'll be sure to thank her, because when I'm finished with you, I'll be going after her sorry a.s.s too.

Where's Lina? Brandon asked, stepping carefully back from Caine's approach, keeping a cautious distance between them.

Your n.i.g.g.e.r-cop girlfriend? Caine asked, the corner of his mouth hooking. She's here. She's just tied up at the moment.