"Same here," I said, jamming his pistol into my waistband. Will rotated his gaze a fraction toward me.

"Luna, don't do it."

Really, all of it happened inside five seconds. The creature reared back to tear out Petra's throat, I dropped my firing stance and launched myself at him, catching him high in the chest like a football tackle, tearing him off Petra with my weight, sending the both of us backward.

The big picture window over the Duboises' front porch came up too fast and we fell through it. I felt glass tug at my skin, and the creature and I hit the porch roof with a bone-shaking thud.

He was on top of me, howling, snapping, and I jammed both feet into his gut and heaved with all of my strength. The creature went over my head, scrabbling for purchase, and fell from the roof with a yelp.

I rolled over in time to see him pick himself up from the Duboises' lawn and take off running.

"Hex it," I muttered, looking at the twelve-foot drop. "Well, you've had worse," I said, before I launched myself after him. If he got away, the only evidence of Grigorii Belikov's bioengineering program went with him. So not not happening on my watch. happening on my watch.

Tires squealed and I saw a flash of green metal and chrome before the creature went airborne and crashed down in the street, one leg twisted at an improbable angle.

He struggled up almost immediately, the bone knitting and twisting under the skin before my eyes, like his body was alive, possessed of its own primitive need to hunt and kill.

The driver of the car that hit him jumped out, sweaty, his baby blue tie askew. "Don't you move, asshole!" the driver shouted ineffectually, leveling a Glock.

"Bryson!" I shouted, recognizing my stocky detective and his green Taurus.

"Wilder? " he cried. " " he cried. "Shit. What the fuck fuck is going on here?" is going on here?"

The creature was up now, and he rotated toward Bryson like an alcoholic hones in on an open bar.

"David! " I screamed, drawing my own gun. "Get down!" " I screamed, drawing my own gun. "Get down!"

Bryson ducked behind his car door as the thing started for him at a dead run, and I raised my pistol.

The were grabbed the car door, yanking it half off its hinges, one hand reaching for Bryson through the shattered window and leaving a long line of claw marks in David's blocky forearm.

I squeezed the trigger. One-two-three, pop-pop-pop pop-pop-pop. No hesitation, no wavering, three shots into the center mass, just like they teach you at the academy. I'm not too modest to say that I dropped the creature like a sack of cement.

He fell in the street, boneless, the exit wounds in his back echoes of the flowers on the Duboises' porch.

Bryson shakily pulled himself upright. "Jesus Christ in a motorboat, Wilder," he said. "Jesus Christ Christ. "

"I know," I said. "I know, but he's dead now. We'll get your arm looked at."

"No, not that that, " Bryson said. "Who the fuck is going to pay for my gods-damned car? car? " "

"David..." I said, and then shook my head. "Put in a reimbursement request to the department. You did did total it in the line of duty." total it in the line of duty."

Will came out of the house leading Petra, who was wrapped in his suit jacket. She was sobbing, clinging to Will like he was the life preserver and she was Kate Winslet in Titanic Titanic.

"David, secure the scene," I said. "I need to take care of this."

"You got it, Wilder," he said, moving to get his camera from the Taurus. "And hey, Wilder?"

I turned back to him. "Yeah, David?"

"It's good to have you back," he said.

"Luna," Will said, "I think we should call a bus for Mrs. Dubois here. She's in a bad way."

"Go ahead," I said. "I'll sit with her."

Will lowered Petra to the front steps and stepped away, using his radio to call for an ambulance.

"This is unreal," Petra said. "First ... first my Lily and now my husband."

I bit my lip, wondering if now was the time to tell her that Nate had been the financial backer of a homicidal, magick-using mob boss who sold girls like Amway.

She started to sob again. Probably not the time. "Things are going to be all right," I said. "We're going to catch the people responsible."

"What I wouldn't give for five minutes alone with Nikolai Rostov," she snarled. "He's the one who started this poison, who lured my little girl to that awful place, and I'm sure he ratted out my husband."

A finger of cold whispered its way across my neck, raising all of the hairs. "How did you know about Nikolai Rostov?" I said.

She sniffed. "You must have told me."

"No," I said slowly. "I never told anyone except Will and Natalie Lane about going to see Rostov, because I was afraid the FBI would Hex up my case." I faced her. "But you knew."

Petra's eyes darted from me to Will to Bryson, to the two cars that had pulled up behind his and disgorged Batista and Lane. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. The start of a migraine was growling behind my skull. "Nate wasn't the one in charge. It was you."

Petra's nostrils flared. "You have no proof of that."

"Your financials are proof," I said. "I'm sure when we check the bogus account you made Felix Natchez open, your name will be a signatory, and not your husband's. The Russians needed someone to keep the were packs of Nocturne in line while they raped their daughters, and they needed someone with money. You were in bed with Rostov here, and Belikov overseas." Gods, I hoped not literally.

"This is a very outlandish and amusing story," Petra said coldly. "But I've just lost my husband, so I'm going to go to Agent Fagin and hope he can at least sit with me in silence until my ambulance comes."

I flicked my hand out and grabbed her by the wrist. "Sit down," I said, low. "Don't make me tell you again."

"Why would I kill my own daughter, Lieutenant?" She let out a frantic, braying laugh. "That's utterly ridiculous!"

I lifted one shoulder. "I'm guessing Lily got her fake ID from Ivan Salazko, and when he knew her by sight, she tweaked to what her mommy dearest was involved in. She threatened you, like a good rebellious teen will do, and you had her killed and tried to pin it on her hophead boyfriend."

Petra's face was pale now, a ring of white around her nostrils, and her breath was coming rapidly. I squeezed harder on her wrist, and she let out a small sound. "Funny thing about the Russian mob," I said. "They don't just kill the snitch. They take care of whole families-parents, grandparents, and especially kids. You must know why."

Petra finally dropped her eyes from mine. "So the children won't grow up and begin a vendetta against their parents' killers."

"Right in one," I said. "But you didn't have the stomach to tear out your own daughter's heart, so you had Rostov and Anton, your favorite test subject, do the hands-on work. Am I getting it so far?"

Petra shook her head. "You're just telling stories and I'm listening, Lieutenant."

"I'm guessing this isn't something you fell into," I said. "It takes a long time to develop this kind of stone-cold willingness to kill. What's your maiden name, Petra?"

"Ivanovich," she said numbly. "I guess you'll find that out, anyway." A smile curled around her lips, and her eyes went hard, like beads. There was an utter lack of feeling to the expression, and I knew that she felt nothing about her daughter, or her husband-she'd survived, and that was all that mattered. Animal. Uncomplicated.

"Stand up," I said, hauling her with me. "Petra Ivanovich Dubois, you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder-since you didn't have the guts to do it yourself-and I'm sure the U.S. attorney can think of a host of other charges once Interpol catches Ekaterina Belikov."

"Lies, from one criminal turned on another," Petra spat. "You'll never get a conviction, Miss Wilder. I'll be free before the month is out."

"Will," I said. "Mind lending me your cuffs?"

He passed them to me, a frown turning the space between his brows into a valley. "What's going on, Luna?"

"A crusade," said Petra. "A pointless crusade that won't end in anything except humiliation for you, Miss Wilder, and freedom for me."

"Maybe," I said. "But they don't give bail to murder suspects in Las Rojas County, Petra."

"Jail in this country doesn't frighten me," she said. "I saw much worse growing up in Moscow."

"Fair enough," I said. "But like you said yourself, Belikov turned on you. I wonder how long you'll last before someone decides to tie up your loose end. The Russians aren't known for being forgiving, Petra. And then there's your pack, and all the other packs that have lost sisters and mothers and wives to your little smuggling operation. I'd say it'd be a hell of a good betting pool on who gets to you first."

A single shiver passed through her, and she looked at the ground. "They'll give me protection in the jail. You have to protect me."

"Me?" I said, shoving her at Lane, who took her arm firmly. "I don't have to do a damn thing."

"I'll take her to central booking," Lane said. "And SVU will have some questions about her daughter."

"I'd make peace with whatever gods I had," I told Petra. "As of now, you're living on borrowed time."

CHAPTER 26.

The crime scene at the Dubois household took an afternoon to clear, and it was dinnertime when Will and I were finally released to clock out of our respective jobs and get something to eat.

"I never would have seen that," Will admitted, when we'd settled into my favorite window booth at the Devere Diner. "Even with my vast experience in the treachery of the fairer sex."

"Oh, is that so?" I said, taking a pull on my chocolate shake. I'd lost weight overseas and I could see all the bones in my hips and elbows and ribs. The skeletal look wasn't real sexy as far as I was concerned, so I was trying to make up for lost time and keep my pants from falling off my ass. "Women are all treacherous bitches, are we?"

"I didn't say it that way, but in certain cases, yes," said Will. "The female is definitely the deadlier of the species. But I never pegged Petra Dubois as a gang leader."

"Belikov is Russian," I said. "She knew him, and they must have started their operation before she moved to the States and met up with her pack-leader husband slash cover story."

Will drained half of his cherry Coke in one gulp. "I kinda feel sorry for the guy. But then again, how blind do you have to be to not notice your wife is a mob boss and a slave trader?"

"Pretty blind," I agreed, playing with my bendy straw. "Or hopelessly in love."

Will rolled his eyes. "You can't expect me to believe that blinded-by-the-light story. I love you, and I've got my eyes wide open."

Our waitress came and left our cheeseburgers-with generous sides of fries-in front of us, but suddenly I'd lost my appetite.

Will was blind, whether he admitted it or not. He couldn't see the change in me, the cold spot in my heart where all of my remorse and desire to keep the monster at bay had vanished. I felt the were in me all the time now, the act of killing under its influence powerful and narcotic.

"You went quiet, doll," Will said. "Something on your mind?"

"Nothing," I said. "I need to pee." I slid out of the booth and booked it to the ladies room at record speed.

Alone in the small space, the smell of mildew, bleach and old tile grout drove any romantic notions I might have had out of my head.

I couldn't marry Will. He didn't know what I was. He would be shocked, horrified, repulsed. He'd leave me.

I ran water into the stained basin and splashed it on my face in an attempt to get a hold on myself. I didn't whine and pout and angst endlessly over men. That wasn't me. But then again, up until a few weeks ago, snapping someone's neck in cold blood and letting my monster rule me wasn't me, either. Hadn't been for fifteen years.

"Gods," I muttered, massaging my temples. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"Stop whining, for starters."

Lily was in the mirror again, and when I spun around she was standing there, her legs trailing off into nothingness, her face pale and misty, shimmering.

"You've got some nerve," I said. "You're the cause of half of this angst and you tell me to quit being emo?"

"When your life is cut short at fourteen, chica chica, you learn to prioritize." Lily sniffed.

"I don't even know if I can stay with Will, or my job, never mind marry him and have a white-picket fucking fence," I muttered. "And Hex it, why why am I telling someone who isn't even here these things?" am I telling someone who isn't even here these things?"

"'Cause I'm listening?" Lily suggested. She sighed, and drifted over to the mirror, running fingers through her hair, licking her pinkie finger and fixing her smeared eyeliner.

"Your mom is in jail," I said. "For what she did to you."

Lily nodded. "I know. Never figured she'd order my death, but there you go. Guess that's why I couldn't shake a leg to the afterlife."

"You can go now. Why are you still here?"

"I'm not staying long," Lily said. "I came to tell you that I wasn't going to, like, haunt your dreams and stuff anymore, and there you are, moaning over some guy who totally won't even care what screwed-up things you did."

"Thanks," I said. "But when you're my age, it's not that simple. I'm not the person Will thinks I am."

"Then be be that person starting now," said Lily. "The guy wants to marry you, right? He's got to have accepted that you're weird." that person starting now," said Lily. "The guy wants to marry you, right? He's got to have accepted that you're weird."

"Again," I said with a growl, "thanks. Your dead sarcasm does wonders for my self-esteem."

Lily shrugged and turned away from the mirror. "Whatever. I have to go. It's been real, Lieutenant Wilder."

"Yeah," I said. "Although I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't glad to see the back of you. If I never meet another spirit again, it will be too soon."

"Oh," Lily said, as she faded to little more than a pair of eyes, a pair of hands and a ghostly smile, "I'm not the last you'll meet. Not by a long shot. Not at all."

She was gone before I could ask her what the hell she meant by that statement, and she probably would have just given me attitude, anyway.

Fucking ghosts.