As I came around the rear of the car, a vampire shot out of the backseat and buried my favorite silver knife in my kidney. Blood spurted, and the vampire got distracted, falling to his knees so he could place his mouth beneath the flow. I hacked off his head with a backhanded swat, not even taking a very good look where I was swinging. Practice makes perfect.

I wiped off my b.l.o.o.d.y sword with an old towel before tossing it into the trunk along with the barely used bowie, then s.n.a.t.c.hed up some water and shut the door. A flash of movement in the gla.s.s had me dropping to a crouch. A silver sword sliced off a big sheet of the Impala's sky-blue paint.

I reacted instinctively, ramming my elbow into the guy's crotch, then s.n.a.t.c.hing the sword that had nearly cleaved my head and yanking it from his now lax grip. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

Recovering with admirable speed, he brought his remaining sword across in a smooth arc toward my neck. I tightened my grip and slammed the weapon in my hands against it. The shock reverberated all the way to my teeth.

"No human could stay on their feet after a knife wound like that, let alone keep fighting."

"d.a.m.n straight," I grunted, giving my sword a shove.

He fell, hitting the ground hard and nearly doing a reverse somersault before nimbly flipping to a crouch, eyes narrowed. I'd not only admitted my lack of humanity but proved it by sending him flying. He lifted his weapon again.

"I was killing them before you showed up," I shouted. "Don't I get points for that?"

"Just because you were killing them doesn't mean you aren't a different type of 'them.' You hate one another. You fight among yourselves." He frowned. "Though not so much lately."

Because lately we-I mean they-were too busy killing us.

"Don't you know who I am?" I asked.

"No, but I'll figure it out." He came at me swinging; I lost patience and s.n.a.t.c.hed the sword out of his hand with my super-speed then threw both weapons far, far away.

The guy grabbed his necklace and held it up. The sun glanced off a crucifix. Now that I was closer I could see that all the charms around his neck were some form of a cross, as was the earring dangling from one ear. Which explained the fire and the smoke when the vampire had touched it. Not that any old cross would do. The piece had to be blessed.

Reaching out, I pressed the tiny items flat against his chest. He flinched, obviously expecting to be burned by the flames that would soon incinerate me. Instead- Nothing happened.

CHAPTER 15.

"I'm not a vampire," I said.

Liar.

Okay, I wasn't a vampire right now. But he didn't need to know that.

The man stepped away, leaving my hand hanging in the air between us, but not before I saw a few flashes in his head.

A church. Candles. Crosses. Blood.

"What were those?" I asked.

"Vampires."

"That much I know."

His eyebrows lifted. "You believe me?"

"You think it's normal to carry a sword around in your trunk?"

"Normal for me," he muttered.

"Me too."

His gaze held mine. "You've seen things like them before."

"More than you can imagine."

"I've never met anyone else who had."

He wasn't one of us, didn't have a clue about the federation, perhaps not even a clue as to exactly what he was fighting. He just knew they needed killing.

In times past Sawyer had "recruited" new federation members, though as he told it no recruitment was required. Most, if not all, of those who fought for the light possessed a little something extra, and they'd been "seeing" monsters for years.

That they were still alive was usually thanks to a paranormal ability they didn't know they had-or pretended not to because they couldn't explain it. Sawyer had been able to sense those abilities in others. He'd told me once he could feel a vibration from seers and DKs along his skin.

I remembered the odd shimmy in the air when this man approached. Was that what Sawyer had meant?

Sawyer had also been able to bring forth supernatural powers and teach the refinement and control necessary to use them as a weapon. Obviously I had those talents now, too.

"Great," I muttered. Just what I needed, more to do. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

He was starting to get on my nerves.

"Elizabeth Phoenix." I held out my hand.

He put his behind his back. "Bram."

"Bram," I repeated. "You expect me to believe that a guy I find dusting vampires is really named Bram? Like Stoker?"

He lifted his chin, and the golden cross in his ear caught the sun, nearly blinding me. "My name's Abraham."

"First name or last?"

He just smiled. Guys with one name. Man, I hated that.

"Well, Abraham, there's gonna be trouble if you don't tell me what those things were." I held up a hand. "I know they were vampires. Be specific."

"Why would you cut off their heads if you didn't know what they were?"

"Beheading has always worked pretty well in the past."

"But-" Confusion spread over his face. "Not just anyone can behead a draugar and kill them."

Now we were getting somewhere.

"What's a draugar?"

"Norse vampire," Bram said, though he continued to stare into my face, searching my eyes, for what I wasn't sure. "They rest in the graves of Vikings and inhabit the bodies of the dead."

Vikings. Right again. Sometimes I was so d.a.m.n good at this I scared myself.

Although I'd prefer to hear Ruthie's voice instead of making psychic-boosted guesses, however spot-on they were. One of these days I was going to guess wrong, and then someone would die.

Not me. But someone.

"They rise as wisps of smoke," Bram continued, "and prey on the blood of the living. To die they must be beheaded." I nodded. "By a hero."

I stopped nodding. "Huh?"

"Only the strength of a true hero will kill them."

"Oookay. How exactly is a hero defined?"

"If they die when you behead them, hero."

"And if they don't, you're a dead loser."

He shrugged. "That's a chance I was willing to take."

"Why?"

Bram c.o.c.ked his head, and that earring twinkled. "I'm sorry?"

"Why would you take that chance?"

"Why would you?"

"It's my job."

"You get paid for . . ." He motioned at the ashes swirling around our feet.

"Not exactly."

"What exactly?"

"We need to have a talk."

I didn't like wasting time; I had to get to the top of Inyan Kara. But I couldn't just leave this guy to run around chopping off heads because he thought he was a hero. The federation had several purposes, and this was one of them-bringing like-talented individuals into the fold.

I moved the Impala off the road, then we sat on the dented hood sipping water.

"What do you know?" I began. "About the-" I paused, uncertain what to call them in case Bram was more clueless than I thought.

"Nephilim?" he asked.

I lifted my eyebrows, and his lips curved, though he didn't quite crack a smile. "The descendants of the fallen angels. Half demons masquerading as humans."

"How do you know this?"

"I was a priest."

I blinked. Hadn't seen that coming.

"You aren't anymore?"

"Do I look like a priest?"

"Appearances deceive."

"Touche," he murmured, and took a sip of water.

"What happened?"

"They didn't believe me."

"What, exactly, did you say?"

His lips quirked again. "I went into the priesthood in the first place because my dreams often came true."

I didn't comment. That happened to me all the time.

"I thought G.o.d was talking to me," he said.

"Maybe he was." Probably he was.

"But I also had nightmares of horrible creatures hiding behind the faces of humans."

"Join the club," I muttered.

He appeared intrigued, but he continued with his story. "My family was very religious. Psychics, magic, soothsayers-bad idea."

"Because?"

"Ever hear, Thou shall not suffer a witch to live?"

"Sounds like something you'd get in Salem. Over three hundred years ago."

"I've heard it more recently than that."