...I couldn't let that happen.

9.

Immobility shattered. My eyes flicked open. I drew in a deep breath spiced with hellbreed corruption, the copper stink of blood, and a sudden colorless fume of rage.

I moved.

The door slammed open, hitting a wide-load Trader-chunky-thick, plaid shirt, bare feet misshapen and horned with calluses-with a sound like an axe sinking into good, dry cordwood. I twisted in midair, gun roaring, and the second Trader-slim, dark, head exploding in a mess of bone and brain-folded down. A head shot, and a good one, but how I was going to deal with Perry was a whole 'nother ball of wax. I landed, whirling as Perry made a sound like a frozen mountainside calving, chunks of overstressed icy stone groaning and tearing free.

The room was small, a brass drain hole glinting in the middle of the shallow-sloped concrete floor. Soaked in the neon glow, my foot flicked out, catching the third Trader-blonde, female, modded out with claws and blood-glowing compound eyes-just under the chin with a jolt and a sound of bone breaking, like glass hammers shattering in a burlap bag. Should really have boots for this sort of work. The thought was there and gone in a flash, because I dropped, instinct taking over as a pale smear bulleted past me. It was Perry, snarling, his hands outstretched, and if I hadn't shed momentum and hit the ground he would've crashed right into me. As it was, he hit the wall with a crack that might've been funny if he hadn't still been making that huge rock-crushing noise.

The man they'd been holding up slumped, his body heading shapelessly for the floor. I grabbed him and flung us both backward toward the door as Perry slid down the wall. Spiderweb cracks radiated out from the crater he'd put in the dark-smeared wood paneling, and a pair of chains hanging on the opposite wall jangled musically, little spots of white gleaming on their thin surfaces.

Orichalc-tainted titanium chains. I had no time to think about what they would do to whatever they would chain down in here.

Time to go to work, Jillybean.

The glass tangles lighting the room swayed, shadows dipping crazily. My sneakers slipped, and I felt, of all things, a brief burst of silver-sharp irritation. Would never happen in boots, why couldn't they bury me with my boots on? The gem on my right wrist turned scorching, a tide of wine-red strength flooding up the bones and veins, jolting in my shoulder and roaring through the rest of me.

I was hoping it wasn't Perry's force I was drawing off. Whose else could it be? It didn't matter. Deal with the devil and dance another day.

Nice to know some things hadn't changed.

Neon tubing smashed with a tinkle as I ran right into the wall across the hall, the man's bulk surprisingly heavy. I had one hand wrapped in his skein of dark hair, the other tangled in the shredded remains of his T-shirt, and he was bleeding. The blood was red, no trace of black at its fringes, and I hauled him up. My back burned, glass slivers digging in, and warmth trickled down from broken skin.

His head tipped back, a lean dark face horribly bruised and swelling, and a heatless shock of recognition went through me.

Wait. Not Saul. "Theron!" I yelled, and pitched aside. We went down in a heap, rolling, and another part of my aching head lit up under klieg-light memory. Theron. Werepanther. Works at Mickey's out on Mayfair. Good backup. "Get up! Let's move!"

Which brought up a problem: I had no weapons except the gun, not even any silver-coated ammo, and another consideration surfaced, one I had no time to indulge because a massive sound rose from the room we'd just vacated.

Perry was not going to be happy. Just guess how I knew that.

What would've happened if I'd eaten something? A chill walked down my bloody back, but Theron was up. He shook his head, stared up at me like he didn't quite credit what he was seeing.

"Move!" I yelled, and shoved him toward the end of the hall that gave out into the Monde's interior. No exit the other way, and legions of the damned between us and the outside.

Fun times, Jill! Never a boring moment! Get your ass moving!

Theron took off, a graceful unerring lope much faster than I thought he'd be able to move. I skip-shuffled back just as the Trader I'd hit with the door was propelled out into the hall, wide shoulders slumped and his face a mask of black-tinged blood from his mashed nose. Somehow it had splattered everywhere, and a fresh gout stained his flapping Hawaiian shirt as he saw me and snarled, hunching like a demonic football player. His modified feet twisted so the toes splayed and great horny toenail-claws dug into the flooring.

Don't worry about him. Worry about Perry, who's due out any sec- The doorway evaporated. A wash of crackling-blue hellfire burst out, unholy flames blooming with a hiss I could hear even over the pounding throb of music through the walls. The glare swallowed the crouching Trader whole, and he went up like a fatty candle.

I drove backward, legs pumping, hoping I wouldn't tangle with the Were as we both flung ourselves for the door that would lead out into the Monde. Trigger-finger cramping, lungs burning, had to remember to breathe, steps jolting up through my hips and shoulders as my sneaker-clad feet stamped hard, I threw myself back just as Perry rounded the corner, wreathed in pale-blue livid hellfire and his bland face suddenly sharply starving-handsome again.

I didn't hit the door because Theron had, busting it clear off its hinges with a short bark of effort, a cat's coughing cry. So I sailed back, crashing into a knot of dance-writhing Traders, scrabbling to get up get up get UP just as the flames belled out again, little tiny fingers sinking into the wall on either side of the hole. Perry was suddenly there, filling up the space.

And he looked pissed.

10.

I was up again in a hot second, my heel grinding into something soft and my elbow whapping a female Trader a good one in the face. The music was still going, and I hoped like hell Theron had already made it past the bar. He'd have only the Traders at the door to worry about then, and he could be out in the night in a moment, vanished with a Were's speed and agility.

What was he doing here in the first place? What's going on?

That wasn't my problem right now. My problem was the hellbreed who stepped mincingly out of the blurring, grasping fingers of blue flame and twitched his shoulders, the air peaking in high points of disturbance behind and above him. His eyes were the same color as the hellfire, indigo spreading around the edges of the burning irises and threading down over his cheeks in a veinmap tattoo. Everything turned over inside me. I remembered something else-yellow flame dripping from my hand as I pulled on the mark on my right wrist, etheric force jolting up my shoulder, sick fury and rage twining together to fuel the fire as I burned the whole hellish mess to the ground- I gained my balance with a huge lunging effort, raising the gun. Keep moving. More skip-shuffling back, covering ground as fast as physics would let me, the noise was massive and confusion just starting to spread out in ripples.

Two shots popped off, both of them good solid hits. Perry's head snapped back, a gush of thin black ichor hanging in the air as time slowed down and details stood out sharp and clear. Still moving back, flicker of motion in the corner of my eye, I threw myself aside as a stick-thin male Trader in a black T-shirt and jeans leapt for me.

A dark blur hit the Trader from the side, a coughing roar cutting the sonic wall of music. Spatters of leprous light flicked as the ball overhead swung, and the mood of the crowd tipped crazily.

Theron had the Trader down, blurring through panther form into humanoid, claws tearing. The shape-between isn't anyplace Weres linger, but even there they are beautiful, and he'd just saved my bacon.

Except I'd been planning for that hit, and now I was scrambling to recover as Perry's head tipped back down, the ichor closing over the hurt and sealing it away. Without silver, bullets would barely slow him down.

Great.

Perry twitched his shoulders again, grinned murderously, and launched himself for me with the eerie stuttering speed of hellbreed. The crowd exploded away, the grace of confusion vanishing as awareness of the fight raced through them like ink dropped in water.

"Jill! " Theron yelled, and I had at least the satisfaction of him knowing who I was. If we got out of here, I could ask him some questions, too.

Like how I'd ended up dead. Who had buried me. And what the bloody blue fuck was going on.

"Get out!" I screamed. "Theron! Get the fuck ou-"

Perry arrived, blinking through space, and my right wrist sent a spike of clear, hot pain all the way up my arm, detonating in my shoulder, tearing across my ribs, and jerking down my legs in one swift lunge. I spun, hip twitching out to provide momentum, my foot coming up as the gem in my flesh let out a high, crystal-stroked sound. My sneaker crashed into Perry's jaw, force transferred and the jolt snapping something low in my right leg; red pain bolting up to my hip. Knees pulled in, the world turning over as I pushed off, deflecting him by critical degrees, and at least I was light without weapons or anything else hanging on me.

I flew.

Landed hard, breath driven out of me in a howl as my abused right leg gave way, and Theron was suddenly there. Skidding to a stop, fingers tented on the floor, bruised face a mask of effort as he snarled. I almost overbalanced, but he uncoiled with sweet grace, legs driving him up as his hand closed around my left arm and Perry tumbled through the crowd, knocking over Traders and other 'breed like ninepins. He hit them hard, too, the crunching of bones breaking and screams of the wounded drowned out the feedback squealing of the music.

Theron left the ground in a leap of such effortless natural authority I half-expected it to be easy for me too. I pushed gracelessly with both legs, trying to help, ignoring the bones grinding together in my right shin, a red firework of agony.

His grip popped my shoulder out of its socket with a high, hard burst of pain, my head snapping aside and tendons screaming, the rest of me a boneless flag flopping in the wind. We tore through the moth-eaten red velvet curtain and burst out into the cool darkness outside just as the music juddered to a halt behind us and Perry's cheated howl shattered several chickenwire-laced, painted-black windows.

The parking lot reeled drunkenly as Theron yanked me again. A submachine gun opened up in a burst of deafening chatter, glass shattering and metal pop-pinging as bullets dug a sewing-machine trail behind us. My stretched shoulder gave another flare of deep-purple pain, a symphony of damage playing colors behind my eyelids as I tried to return fire.

This ammo won't do any good. Been lucky so far, but luck won't hold. Goddammit.

We hit yet again, Theron compressing like a spring, and plunged into the scrub brush at the edges of the lot. He cursed, the whisper-screaming of obscenities over a deep rumbling groan. Nobody knows where a feline Were's purr comes from, but this was a warning growl, shaking my bones and sending a deep pulse of heat through torn muscle and abused flesh.

Behind us, screams and cries lifted into the chill night air.

Now they were hunting us.

Being carried along by a cat Were is an exotic experience, even if you can understand what's happening to you. Being dragged by a cursing, slowly healing, very angry Werepanther was a new one even for me.

Or at least, it felt new. I hoped it was.

He skidded aside, and the dark of an alley swallowed us. I hung, almost limp, in his grasp. My entire body twitched, the meat senselessly protesting a brush with its own mortality. Stupid body, getting all worked up because I could have died.

I guess even if you've done it once, it's not something you want to do again.

"Jesus," he kept saying. "It's you. It's you." Like he couldn't believe it. Like he was relieved.

I seconded that emotion. Except I was tired, and hungry, and nothing about tonight was going in a way that could remotely be considered well.

But I knew who I was. I knew who he was, I knew what we both were, and I knew enough about Perry to guess we should keep running.

I just couldn't figure out how I'd ended up dead.

Theron propped me against the alley wall, long sensitive fingers feeling for my shoulder. "This is gonna hurt," he announced, and I nodded.

"Do i-" I began, but he popped the balltop of the humerus back into the socket before I could finish. I swallowed a half-scream, my teeth driving hard into my lower lip and bursts of color exploding behind my closed eyelids again.

"Sorry." He sounded genuinely sorry, too. His breath touched my cheek, I found out my head was lolling. "Jesus Christ, Jill. It's you."

"So they tell me." I tilted my head, straining my ears. They're going to be after us. Everything on me hurt savagely, muscles twitch-screaming and bruises rising for the surface of my skin. My right wrist burned, a live coal pressed into the flesh-but the heat was strangely soothing. It didn't feel normal. Yeah. Normal. We've missed that train by a mile. "We can't stay here."

"Where have you been?" He still had my arm, as if I might disappear if he let go. "You tell me that. Where have you been? Saul..."

I perked up at the sound of that name. "Saul? Is he all right?"

His eyes flashed gold-green for a moment, rods and cones reacting differently than a human's at night. Then a brief sheen of orange-when Weres and 'breed get excited, the eyes get all glowy. The knowledge slid into place like I'd always known. Maybe I had.

It didn't disturb me. Weres were safe.

I was sure of that much, at least.

"He's..." He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw working and the bruises crawling up his face livid even in the gloom. "You...don't remember?"

"I woke up last night in my own grave, Theron. I'm not sure what I remember. Or who." My knees felt suspiciously weak, I leaned back into the wall. Whatever was dumped in the trash piles here reeked to high heaven, but at least it might cover up our smell. Neither of us were too fresh right now. I reeked of gunfire, rotting Trader blood, and effort, Theron of musky, unhappy cat Were and fresh blood. We both carried the sweet whiff of hellbreed corruption.

It was a heady mix, but not a particularly nice one. My shoulder throbbed, but I took stock and discovered I could fight. If I had to. And he was moving okay for a Were who'd been taken in by hellbreed.

Lucky. We were both goddamn lucky. I holstered the gun. It was next to useless against 'breed without silver-coated ammo.

But I'd find a way to make it work.

I searched for a way to explain where I'd been. I didn't even know how to explain it to myself. "I remember some things. Others, not so much, and some things I only remember too late." Like hating Perry. He seemed so familiar. I was too tired to even shudder. "Glad I found you."

"Me too. They were about to...look, you don't know anything? Where have you been?"

My pulse dropped, breathing evening out. It wasn't relaxation-my jacked-up hearing caught the pitter-patter of hellbreed feet, too light or too heavy to be human, too fast or way too slow. Probably some Traders, too, and drawing close. "Dead, Theron. Weren't you listening? We've got to get out of here, they're looking for us."

"You even smell different," he muttered, but he grabbed my arm again. "I can run. You just hold on."

"I can run-" I began to protest, but he simply yanked at me while he turned, a graceful, complex movement ending up with my arms around his throat. He straightened, and my legs came up instinctively around his middle. Just like an uncle taking a kid piggyback riding, and I was breathing in his hair.

"We're running for the barrio," he said over his shoulder. "Relatively safe there, even with the war."

"War?" I took a deep breath. Cat Were, musk and wildness-familiar, but it wasn't him I was thinking of.

Saul. Where are you, catkin?

The last thing I remembered was Galina's face when she told me he'd been taken. By hellbreed. But there was a maddening blank spot after that, bruise-colored, aching, and blank as a dead TV monitor. I had no time to settle down and think and try to figure out what to do about it.

"War on Weres, Jill. You've been out a while. Things are...complex." He tilted his head and tensed.

The skittering footsteps drew closer. The night pulled itself taut, a drumskin over vibrating hatred. "I can fight." But I held on.

He burst into motion, bolting for the blind end of the alley. Up the wall in a breathless rush, and the city yawed underneath. Fur scraped my arms, he dropped halfway into catform, and I hugged him as tight as I could, my right wrist coming alive with sweet piercing pain. I hoped I wasn't throttling him-and I hoped he could run fast enough.

Because a choked cry rent the darkness behind us, and I knew they'd found our trail.

11.

We almost made it. The edge of the barrio was temptingly close, but there were just too many of them. They were between us and safety, and we crouched on a rooftop in the lee of a billboard for car insurance. Traffic crawled along Lluvia Avenue below, rubies one way and diamonds the other, civilians with no idea a running battle was going on above their heads.

I slid from Theron's back as he gasped, his sides heaving. Hauling my ass around probably hadn't done him any good.

"Catch your breath," I told him, and slid the gun free. Even if the ammo was no good, it would at least slow the Traders down, and if I could bleed them out badly enough the corruption of their bargains would finish them off.

Hellbreed were a different proposition. But I'd think of something. "Run for the barrio. I'll draw them off."

"You...and your...Lone Ranger...shit." He didn't look good-cheesy-pale, those bruises, and if my eyes weren't fooling me, thinner than when we'd started this whole barrel of fun. His metabolism was at scorch level to heal him and provide the speed he'd just used to cart me halfway across the city. "Never...ends...well."

Now that sounds familiar, too. I cast an eye out over the rooftop. "Quit talking. It's wasting breath, and I need you ready to run when I make a diversion."