"People think the goth lifestyle is just clothes and hair and silly shit," Chris said as she finished combing the dark rinse through Sam's hair.

Sam's bathroom mirror hadn't survived the night with Lucan, so they were using Ken's. "It's not?"

"The world judges you by your appearance, you know. Right now you look like a cop, so people respect you. Maybe you've earned it; maybe you haven't-but you still get the respect no matter what."

Sam rubbed the scar on her palm. Seeing Lucan's life through his blood had confused her more than anything. "So how do people treat goths?"

"How do you treat them?"

"I don't," Sam admitted. "You're the first one I've met."

Chris nodded. "And that's only because I moved across the hall from you, made coffee for you, and rescued your ass from your mean boyfriend, who I still think you should dump immediately. If you saw me on the street, or in a store, or hanging out downstairs, would you have even said hello? Be honest."

"Probably not." She eyed Chris's head. "The blue hair is a little scary."

"Exactly. I don't look like other girls. I'm way different. An outsider." She took a hair dryer from the bathroom cabinet and plugged it into a wall outlet. "So you treat me like one."

Sam sighed. "That doesn't make sense. Why dress like you do if you don't want people to treat you like an outsider?"

"Well, one, because I like it. Two, because I don't like your phony society with all its uptight rules." Chris switched on the hair dryer and went to work on Sam's damp head.

Sam didn't look in Keri's mirrors-she'd stopped looking after the kid had gotten out makeup that looked like different shades of heavy-duty shoe polish-and rewound the silent movie of Lucan's life that had been playing in her mind since he'd left her.

He'd lived longer than she could fathom, and traveled to places that no longer existed. He'd been a priest, of all things, and had fought in wars all over the Middle East. That was when it had happened-he'd come back from the Crusades with some kind of sickness, and died from it. Sam almost threw up as she relived Lucan's memories of clawing his way out of the mass grave outside London where he'd been buried.

She also thought that might be why she could read his blood: He had died, and he had been buried.

With a cop's methodical patience, she sifted through and examined each memory she had been able to retain. Lucan was definitely a killer; he had killed more people than she could count. The problem was, he had never wanted to-he had been sent to kill them.

She could understand that, too. From the memories she'd taken from Lucan's blood, the Kyn he had killed had been insanely dangerous, like the countess who had been deliberately trying to infect the crown heads of Europe with Kyn blood so she could become queen, or changelings like Faryl Paviere who had lost their humanity and went on rampages, killing humans until they were stopped by Lucan. A few others had been traitors, preserving their own lives by passing information or handing over Kyn to the Brethren.

No law, cop, or prison in the world could hold the Darkyn. The only thing to stop them had been Lucan.

The Brethren were the hardest thing for Sam to wrap her head around. According to Lucan's memories, they had begun, as the Kyn had, as Catholic priests. The Brethren had instigated the Crusades, but they had never fought the holy wars themselves.

They had sent Lucan and the Templars instead. They knew about the sickness that caused the Kyn to rise from their graves, but instead of helping them, they demonized them and began hunting them.

Throughout his human and inhuman lives, Lucan had never let anyone get close to him. Frances had been the only one to get past his walls, and she had been in love with another man. It made Sam angry to see how callously Frances had used Lucan to pay for her lover's debts and care for him as he died. All he had wanted in return was a little kindness from her, and she'd thrown him out like garbage.

As for the killing, Lucan had never used it for his own profit. He served as the only final authority among the Kyn. He was, in essence, their only cop.

The hair dryer clicked off. "You better not cry," Chris told her. "You'll ruin your mascara."

Sam blinked and glanced at the window. The sky outside was a rich dark purple; the regal color of twilight. She stood up. "Are we done yet?"

"Clothes." Chris shoved her toward the bedroom.

The outfit the kid had picked for her had more straps and rigging than a circus act, but Sam dutifully pulled and buckled and strapped everything until Chris stepped back and nodded.

"You're done." She gestured toward the full-length mirror behind Sam. "Behold, Officer Goth."

Sam turned and yelped. In the mirror stood a raven-haired witch in gleaming black leather and red spandex. "That's me?" She peered at her face, which might have been a beautiful mask. "Why did you glue sequins on my face?"

"They're crystal bindi, from India, and they're very hot right now. Don't mess with them. Lean down." When she did, Chris lowered a tangle of silver and black necklaces over her head. "Don't smile, and try to look a little more haunted."

"Haunted."

"Goth is about the dark side of life. Death, sorrow, pain, unrequited love, passions of the heart and blood. Watch this." Chris put the back of her hand against her forehead and dropped into the nearest chair, sighing, her eyes half-closed. "Goths are all about accepting and celebrating the dark things that scare people like you. We drink absinthe, write beautiful poetry about loss and pain and angst, and make ourselves living, breathing art."

"I don't scare that easy." Sam studied her. "And I'm not drinking absinthe."

Chris flipped her hand over to cover her eyes. "Don't talk, okay? It destroys the facade. Just look mildly pissed off-yeah, like that. Perfect." She got up and grabbed her purse, a square of beaded ebony satin hanging from a braided leather strap spiked with pointed studs, and handed Sam a college student's ID that stated her name was Shane Meredith and she was twenty-one years old. "I made you up to look like her. Remember to answer to Shane." She picked up a black dress and headed for the bathroom. "Give me a second and I'll be ready to go."

"You're not going. It's too dangerous."

Chris turned. "Excuse me? I believe I have saved your ass twice now, Officer. Plus if you leave me behind I'll just follow you.

You know. Like Lassie to the rescue." She barked a few times.

Sam didn't have time to argue. "When this thing goes down, I want you out of there. I'm counting on you to be safe.""As long as you stay away from handcuffs, blondes, and anything made of glass," Chris replied. "You don't have too much luck with them."

When they walked out into the night, Sam looked around the nearly full parking lot before going to her car. No one stopped them, and as she got in behind the wheel, she focused on what she was going to say when she saw Lucan at the club.

The blue sedan didn't pull out immediately after Sam's car. The driver was in no hurry. He already knew where she was going.

Byrne came out of the shadows, the hem of his greatcoat swirling in the faint mist. He pulled back the scarf covering his head, revealing bloodred hair that fell over his shoulders in waves, some of which had been woven into thin, tight braids.

Byrne's garnet mane contrasted sharply with the enigmatic swirls and lines of the dark blue tattoos on his face. He moved with the quick, easy power of a man accustomed to climbing mountains on foot.

"Seigneur." He sketched a quick bow and gestured to the slim girl beside him. "My seneschal, Jayr."

As Jayr duplicated her master's bow, Michael took a moment to study her. He had never met the only female seneschal among the Darkyn, but he had known of her lethal reputation for centuries. Like Thierry Durand's son Jamys, she had been young when she had risen to walk the night, and retained her youthful appearance. She kept her hair cut very short and dressed as a modern adolescent boy, and carried more daggers than he could count.

Michael inclined his head. "I thank you for answering my call."

"My men are in position, and Locksley waits with his lot to the south." The soft brogue of his homeland still colored Byrne's voice, but he spoke in the same archaic French Michael and Phillipe had been using. "You have but to give word."

Michael sheathed his battle sword and covered it, as Byrne had, with a coat. He went to the map spread out on the table in the kitchen. "Phillipe and I will go in with our men through the crowd at the front. We have to separate Lucan from the humans if possible, so we will attempt to force him outside, here." He pointed to the alley behind the building. "When I signal you, block off all sides and keep the alley clear."

Byrne gave the map a skeptical look. "Close quarters for such a battle, my lord. Jayr?"

The girl took a look. "Too many windows." Her voice was clear as a bell, with no accent whatsoever. "Suzerain Lucan's talent can cause them to shatter and fall down."

"I don't intend to let him live that long," Michael told her. He offered his hand to Byrne. "Your loyalty is appreciated."

Byrne's mouth twisted. "May it not be piss in the wind."

Phillipe drove Michael to within a block of the nightclub, but from there they walked. With every step, Michael felt the coiling fury inside him tighten. Was she alive? Had Lucan tortured her, the way he had the servants after Michael left France? When this was over, he would never again permit Alex to leave Louisiana. He would capture and bring her as many changelings as she wished.

As they came closer, Michael noted Lucan's guards in position. "He is expecting us."

"Of course he is."

Michael turned to see a figure in a black cloak approaching them. "My lord." He was too astonished to bow. "How do you come to be here?""My princes are about to test their swords against each other without my permission," Richard said, his beautiful voice as compelling as the waves rolling up to the sands. "How was I to stay away?"

Michael stiffened. "There was not time to contact you. Lucan attacked my men. He took Alexandra."

"I know, my dear boy." Richard rested a gloved hand on his shoulder, tilting his head back to better look at Michael through the slits in his mask. "Come. I draw too much attention out here, and I wish to find a good seat for the festivities."

"The guards," Phillipe said, glancing at them.

"They will not molest you," Richard said. "Not when they see that I am your escort."

Michael was not above using the high lord to get to Alexandra. "Let us go inside."

Only one of the guards stepped forward to challenge them, but Richard uttered a few low, melodic-sounding words and sent him shuffling back to his place.

"Special charge for the concert." The bouncer didn't even glance at Richard's mask. "Forty bucks each."

Phillipe paid him in cash, and the human stamped the back of his glove with the number 714. He did the same to Cyprien, but the dimensions of Richard's inhuman hand in its custom-fitted glove gave him pause. He handed Phillipe ten dollars back.

"What is this for?" Michael's seneschal asked.

"Discount for the handicapped dude. Move along." He waved them toward the door to the club.

"I am a 'handicapped dude,'" Richard murmured as they went into the crowded club. "Imagine that."

The decor had been altered slightly from what it had been during Michael's meeting with Lucan. Gold had been added to the red-and-black theme, in the form of medieval crosses, chalices, and banners bearing Richard's standard, the lion rampant.

Michael stared at the banners. "He knew that you would be here." He turned to Richard, but the high lord had vanished.

"Phillipe."

His seneschal scanned the crowd. "It appears Lucan's entire jardin is here as well. They are not armed."

So it was to be single combat under the banners of the high lord. All they needed were horses and lances. "Signal Locksley and Byrne. Tell them to cut off all access to this place, but to keep their men outside." His eyes narrowed as he saw a face he thought he recognized and worked his way through the crowd toward him.

John Keller had lost weight and grown a beard in the months since Michael had last seen him in Chicago. His skin was also much darker. If not for the regular photos of him sent weekly to Michael, he might not have recognized him at all.

Although Alex was unaware of it, Michael had kept her brother under surveillance since he had left Chicago. He knew exactly how John Keller had made his way across the country, and that he had had no contact with the Brethren. He had not expected to see him in Florida, but doubtless a report was waiting for Michael back in New Orleans detailing how John had come to be here.

Alex's brother recognized him from three feet away and closed the distance between them. "Cyprien. What are you doing in Florida? Is Alexandra..." He looked around. "Is my sister with you?"

"She was abducted by the Kyn who arranged all this." Michael doubted Lucan had recruited Keller; John avoided the Darkyn as much as he dodged the Brethren. "Why are you here?""The Brethren," he said simply. "They know about this place. Something is going to happen tonight. Something bad. I'm here to play mediator, I guess."

Michael clamped down on his irritation. He didn't have time for the Brethren to interfere in this; it was Kyn business. "This could easily become a full-scale melee," he told John, who had been witness to one such battle in New Orleans. "You cannot negotiate peace between us. If you are intelligent, you'll seek safety."

"My sister is involved, and a friend of mine killed himself because of this." John thrust his hands in his pockets. "I'm not going anywhere."

Burke escorted Alisa up to the penthouse suite. She had dressed exactly as Lucan had instructed her, in her black patent- leather dominatrix costume, and carried a coiled black whip and various instruments of torture.

"I've missed you," she said, hurrying up to him. "Do we have time for a quickie before the show? Who am I going to flog?"

"Sit down and be quiet," Lucan told her.

Surprised, Alisa did just that.

"I can dress you in your armor in a minute or less," Burke said. "Please, if you do not wear it... at least take this much advantage, master."

His tresora thought he was going to lose. They all did. Lucan didn't know whether to be annoyed or depressed.

"Thank you for your concern, Herbert, but armor will only weigh me down." He finished buttoning his full-sleeved white shirt and pulled his boots up over the calves of his dark, fitted trousers. "You have served me well, and I have written a letter to your family commending your service. You should be placed with another Kyn lord within the year." He smiled at the other man's dumbfounded expression. "I would suggest somewhere away from the various allergens that torment you here in Florida."

Burke's stammered response was lost, drowned out by the sounds of heavy footsteps, a woman shouting, and chains rattling.

"Put me down," Lucan heard Alex yell as Rafael carried her into the suite. "I mean it. The minute I can see you again, bright boy, I'm going to sink fangs in you."

Alisa perked up. "Who's that?" The moment Rafael came into view, she squealed and covered her eyes. "I can't see."

"Join the club," Alex snarled. "Lucan? I know you're here; I can smell you. Your insidious plot is safe; I'm not going to run away wrapped up in chains. So tell the lightbulb to turn off the high beams, will you?"

"Rafael," Lucan said.

"Forgive me, my lord"-he set Alex down with a grunt-"but she is very strong, and very determined." He wiped drying blood from his nose. "She did not wish to wear the gown you provided for her."

"You got that right." Alex's dazzled eyes cleared and she looked down in disgust at the cloud of white silk floating around her.

"I've been able to dress myself since I was two." She looked at Lucan. "Aren't you pretty tonight." Her gaze shifted to Alisa.

"Ick."

Alisa returned the sneer with interest. "Let me whip her, Lucan. I won't charge extra."

"I liked the cop better." Alex looked around the suite. "Is Michael here? You haven't started this circus act yet, have you?"

"The seigneur was just seen entering the club." Lucan had watched him by remote monitor, gauging Cyprien's emotional state.

With a final bit of prodding, his old enemy would descend into a blood rage."I'll talk to him for you," Alex said quickly. "I know he'll listen to me, and we can settle this thing without chopping off heads and arms and stuff."

Lucan gazed down at her. She was so young, so determined. "It's too late for that, Alexandra. Events have been set into motion now that must be resolved." He took her arm. "Rafael, alert the men downstairs. Come, Alisa. It's time to start the show."

Lucan had Burke take Alisa down the stairwell, while he and Alex rode alone in the elevator. The band playing onstage was so loud that the mirrored tiles above the musicians' heads vibrated in time with the music.

"I've been thinking about the changelings," Alex said unexpectedly on the way down to the club level. "You've been near Faryl when he was human and after he changed. Has his scent changed?"