He gulped, his sides heaving, and shuddered. His breathing evened out, and he closed his eyes. "You have...no weapons. How...are-"

"I've got a weapon, I'll think of something." I checked the gun, my fingers moving with ease. The ammo clipped to my new belt, worse than useless, was still comforting. "More than one way to skin a hellbreed, Theron."

"What do you remember?" He was perking up. This was a good hiding place. I almost didn't want to leave it, but sooner or later they would find us. When they did, it would be ugly. He needed food, and rest, and the cold machine of calculation inside my head piped up with the thought that maybe he could tell someone who would care that I was walking around...alive? Kind of alive? Undead? Not-dead-anymore?

Did I have any friends?

"I sort of remember Galina telling me hellbreed took Saul. Not much after that. Or before, for that matter." I sounded flip and casual, unconcerned. Don't let him know you're worried, too. Scanned the rooftop, crouched in a well of shadow, my ears perked for any faint hint of the things I'd spent the years since Mikhail's death hunting. I remembered now, murderous nights and adrenaline-soaked cases, the world skating close to the edge of apocalypse with distressing regularity, and the Traders and 'breed working, busy as beavers, to send it careening over that edge.

I couldn't kill them all. For one thing, more would replace the ones I put down, just like pimps and dealers moving into suddenly vacated territory. Always more where those come from, and hungry, too.

But I managed to kill enough to keep them slinking in the shadows, instead of swaggering. No wonder they'd all snarled at me.

And Perry, what had he been planning to do with me?

Don't worry about that right now. Keep your attention on the roof.

To give the Were credit, he didn't look very surprised. "Saul's...alive. Last I saw."

Relief exploded inside my chest, so hard I almost sagged. "Oh. Okay. Good." But something bothered me. "Last you saw?"

"He's in the barrio."

Well, that wasn't bad. Weres ran herd on the barrio's seethe, since a girl with my skin tone could catch too much flak there. "And?"

"It's complex, hunter. Listen-"

"Hold that thought." I tensed, prickling silence closing over me. The first thing any apprentice learns, I heard Mikhail murmur, way back in the soup my head was threatening to become. To be quiet little snake under rock.

Apprentice. Gilberto. Lank hair, acne-pitted skin, dead eyes. My apprentice. The chain of memory pulled taut, the curtain in my head rippling, but I had no time to follow that chain into the cold deep and see what it dredged up.

Because there, at the edge of the rooftop, a shadow slunk. Lifted its wax-bald head, sweat gleaming over its naked hairless chest.

It crouched. The snuffling sounds carried clearly, and Theron had become a statue next to me, the way a cat will pause with a paw in the air when something catches its attention.

Are there more? My eyes moved, silently, the blue one hot and dry as it looked beneath the visible. The strings under the surface of the world resonated, each quivering individually as the tension in its neighbors communicated itself. Can't see them. Doesn't mean they're not there.

The Trader hunched, and sniffed again. It was on all fours, its haunches higher than its head and encased in a ripped pair of faded jeans. Its face was damn near buried in the floor of the roof, and those snuffling sounds were wetly suggestive.

I couldn't even tell if it had originally been male or female, and at this distance only a suggestion of the body modifications it had Traded for could be picked out, even with my vision on overdrive and my left eye suddenly feeding way more information than I needed directly into my brain.

"Theron," I whispered, barely mouthing the words. "When I move, run for the barrio. Don't argue."

He said nothing. My right wrist hummed, a subaudible warning.

The thing snaked its head, muscle rippling oddly up its bare back. A flat shine reflected from its eyeballs, like a drift of pollen on stagnant water under a strong light. Dusted. Trader, not 'breed.

Hellbreed eyes actually glow. If you can call that diseased shine a form of "light." There aren't proper words for it.

Thank God.

I was barely aware of moving, streaking across the rooftop, sneakered feet slapping. The Trader's malformed head flung up, and I saw the dustshine runneling over eyeballs dried and useless as raisins. The nose was a ruined cavity, double sinus-dishes like sinkholes, the mouth wet and open to take in more air. That mouth was slit on either side, cheeks gashed so it could open even wider. A spiked collar strapped around its skinny throat, leather and brassy metal both glowing with unholy foxfire.

That's so it doesn't swallow the prey, like a cormorant. I had enough time to think that before I hit with a crunch, tumbling it off the roof. It shrieked, a high panicked cry, and I shot it four times while we were still in midair. Bleed it out, rip its throat out if you can, brace yourself, Jillybean, this is gonna hurt.

I hoped Theron was running.

Hit hard, spilling to the side in a tangling roll to shed momentum, bones snapping, and the Trader's cry cut off midway. Made enough noise. My right leg crunched with agony, my tender shoulder gave a high, sustained soprano note of overstress, my head hit concrete with a stunning crack, and I yanked on all the etheric force I could reach.

It jolted up my arm, hot and pure, a completely different sensation from the hot twisted flood of Perry's mark. Add that to the list of things I didn't have any goddamn time to figure out-I jackrabbited to my feet, the shattered edges of my right femur grating together, and the pain was a spur as the gem on my wrist lit up like a Christmas ornament and etheric force tied the bone back together. The sea-urchin spines of my aura, hardened by countless exorcisms, lit up, too. The points of light swirled around me in a perfect sphere, and brakes squealed. Tires shredded as the 'breed closed in, traffic snarling around me.

I'd landed right in the middle of the goddamn road. An ungodly screech, and the first hellbreed jagged toward me from the right, leaving the ground in a leap that violated physics and sanity all at once. It was a female, long golden hair in dreadlock snarls and her too-white teeth bared as they lengthened, her eyes full of low red hellfire dripping, riding the updraft of her rage and crackling out of existence. She wore fluttering orange silk, a loose shirt and pajama pants. Her claws were bony scythes.

Think fast, Jill. I threw myself aside, a nail of red pain in my thigh, my feet thudding onto the hood of a big red SUV oddly slewed in the road. A teenage boy in the driver's seat gawped at me, and I leapt again, straining, the gem on my wrist feeding a burst of controlled fire through me. Blue light flashed-another spark from the ring-and I was still gawdawful fast, almost hellbreed-fast, especially when I wasn't weighed down by weapons and a long black coat.

Though I'd like my coat now. And some ammo. And for my birthday I'd really like a pony. Ignored the thought, my foot flicked out, and I kicked the dreadlocked 'breed in the face. The impact jolted up to my hip, taking a break in my still-healing femur, and I screamed as she did, two cries of female effort.

No, three. I couldn't worry about the third one. I dropped back down onto the SUV's roof, and the 'breed twisted. For one eternal moment she hung in the air over me, time slowing down and I braced myself because her claws were still out and this was going to hurt when she landed. I had nothing but the gun and it was rising but the ammo wouldn't help.

The third voice was a stream of obscenities cutting across the 'breed's desperate howl and my own. Gunfire crackled and the dreadlocked 'breed tumbled aside, half her head evaporating in a mess of black ichor and zombie oatmeal.

What the fuck? That wasn't me!

The newcomer uncoiled over me with a bound that was pure poetry, long leather duster flapping once like wet laundry shaken with an authoritative crack! Silver sparked and popped in her hair, beads tied to tiny braids in the straight shoulder-length mass, and her blue eyes were alight with hard joy. The ruby above and between her eyebrows was a point of living flame, and she turned in midair, firing at another hellbreed streaking out of the shadows.

Holy shit, I know her!

But I could not for the life of me come up with her name. An angry swarm of buzzing scraped the inside of my temples as I strained, frozen for a few critical moments.

The Trader who landed on the hood of a small black sports car, legs swelling with muscle and his entire body lengthening as he exploded out of the crouch and for her back probably didn't know her name either. He'd never learn it, either, because I shot him four times in midflight, the recoil jolting up my arm controlled almost as an afterthought. The hollow points tore up his head and chest bad enough to put him down on the road with a thud.

Hopefully the bleeding out would do the rest, but if it didn't I'd figure something else out.

Horns screeched. A rending crash, a blue minivan rear-ending another SUV down the line. Someone was screaming from the sidewalk, I hoped it wasn't collateral damage. Fucking civilians, we're doing this out in the middle of the road, what the fuck?

The woman landed, her right-hand gun blurring into its holster and her fingers jerking at something attached to her belt. "Status! " she yelled, and wonder of wonders, I understood exactly what she meant.

She was asking if I could fight. I could, I'd be more than happy to, it would make me ecstatic, I just needed some goddamn ammo that would put these fuckers down.

"No ammo!" I rolled off the SUV's roof and landed with a jolt on the road. My legs burned, bone messily healing, crackling as etheric force jerked at them to set the breaks correctly. It was the gem on my wrist doing it, and I didn't care. Traffic was at a complete standstill. "Civilians all over! Werepanther up on the rooftop, hope he's headed for the barrio! Fucking hellbreed chasing us! Perry! "

"Figures." She half-turned, eyes roving. Every piece of silver on her ran with blue sparks under the surface, and the ring on my third left finger responded with crackling of its own. "What you packing?"

".45. One. Nothing else. Regular ammo." Frustration turned the words into hard little bullets, but I sounded tight-mouth amused.

There was another impact. We both turned, guns coming up, and the thing in her right hand was a bullwhip, sharpsilver spines jingling at its end. She twitched it a little, assuring free play, and my fingers suddenly itched. I wanted one, too, in the worst way.

Theron rose from a crouch. "Devi." He tipped his head. "Look who's back."

Her name lit up inside my head, another klieg light of memory and meaning. Devi. Anya Devi. I let out a sigh of relief. If she was here, things had just gotten exponentially better.

So why did my heart suddenly pound in my wrists and throat for a moment, before training clamped down again? Why did I feel suddenly guilty?

Her face twisted a little, smoothed out. "Barrio?"

He shrugged, eyes lambent. "Was trying."

"Galina's." She glanced at me like I would protest, but I didn't have a damn thing to say. I scanned the perimeter, kept my fool mouth shut.

Theron looked relieved and stubborn all at once. "Can't make it. Too many of them, wait for daylight."

I lowered my gun, did another half turn. Traffic was hell-to-breakfast higgledy-piggledy, and people were actually starting to get out of their cars to get a closer gander at the trouble. Idiot lookie-lous.

But then, they didn't know hellbreed were on the loose. We kept it a secret, we hunters.

Monty's going to have kittens over this. Was I in the middle of a case? Were the cops betting on when I'd show up again, was Vice running the pool on sightings of me, nervous because I'd been out of action for a little bit?

We had to vanish soon, or the crowd would get hurt. As it was, the cops were going to have trouble with this one.

The woman sighed. "Goddamn stubborn Weres. Jill? You with me?"

Do you even need to ask, Devi? But I probably would've asked me, too. "Yeah."

"Are you safe?"

I looked over my shoulder, shaking aside my tangled hair. The scar down her right cheek was flushed, and she didn't look happy. Her gaze was disconcertingly direct, and for a moment I thought I could see all the way into the back of her brain. I didn't look away. "Safe?" I sounded honestly puzzled. I was a hunter. What was she really asking?

"Never mind. Here." Her left hand flicked, tossing something; I plucked it out of the air.

It was an extended clip, and I caught a glint of silver from the top bullet peeking out. Silverjacket rounds, just the thing to pierce a 'breed's tough shell and poison them, weaken them enough so you could tear them to itty-bitty pieces and make the night a fractionally safer place.

For the umpteenth time that long, long night, relief swamped me. The waves of feeling under my skin were like caffeine jolts, or like some drug that hadn't been invented yet.

Thank you, God. My fingers flew, drawing the old clip out, clearing the chamber, racking the new clip, chambering a round. The relief turned into a calm steadiness.

Now we can do some shit. Oh yeah.

She drew her left-hand gun again. A howl rose on the exhaust-laden wind, and sirens began baying in the distance. The ruby at her forehead gave a sharp glitter, and I saw old yellow-green bruising on the side of her neck. "Stay low. You hear me, Kismet? No heroics. Stay low, follow Theron, and I'll do the rest. And Jill?"

"Yeah?" My throat was full. The buzz inside my head crested, threatening to shake me. Her territory was over the mountains, why was she here?

I said goodbye to her once. And she promised to do...something. What? What was it?

"If you become a liability, I'll put you down myself." She was braced for action, I realized. As if I was the enemy.

Or as if I was a question mark.

That was new, and unwelcome. We were hunters, she and I. It's a bond deeper than blood, and there are no lies told or implied, no quarter asked or given. Why would she even say that?

My right wrist ached, and I had a sudden, very bad feeling about all this. But the first wave of hellbreed had massed and moved out into the streetlamp glow, civilians were screaming, and Theron arrived right next to me, his hand curling around my left arm again. Devi let out a short sharp breath, and every inch of silver on her ran with blue light.

"Time to go," Theron said, and the race was on.

II: Kyrie Eleison.

12.

Ramshackle frame houses slumped in a jam-packed neighborhood deep in the barrio's seethe. The street here was maybe paved once, but patches of dirt rose up through the ancient concrete-like mange. Chain-link fences enclosed haphazard, yellow-grassed, postage-stamp yards, and patches of sidewalk here and there were linked together with dusty boardwalks that looked ancient as the Mayflower. Everything looked deserted, but I would have bet my roll of stolen cash and my gun that there were eyes on us.

I leaned against Theron, my stomach empty and a hot weight of bile rising in my throat. "Fuuuuck," I whispered, drawing the single syllable out, and Anya Devi laughed, a sarcastic bark. Her coat was flayed by hellbreed claws, her hair was scorched, and her eyes were alight. Dried blood crusted her hair and her cheek, and thin blue lines of healing sorcery sank into her skin, pulsing through her aura.

I'd wanted to help apply the sorcery, since God knew I had enough etheric force humming through my right hand. But she'd shied away. Just like I'd twitched away from Perry.

I didn't know if I liked that.

She was braced against a graffiti-scarred storefront, leaning forward, elbows on her bent knees while her sides heaved. Her breathing evened out, and she shook her head, silver chiming. "They want you bad, sweetheart. That's a good sign." She checked the street. "We're clear. Theron?"

He ran his free hand back through wildly mussed dark hair. The bruises were getting better, but the circles under his eyes were so dark they looked painted on. His shirt flapped low on his right side, crusted with blood, but he was moving all right. "I could use a burrito. And a good stiff drink wouldn't go amiss either."

"In a few minutes. Jill?"

I wiggled my left toes. I'd somehow lost a sneaker, and my sock was torn up and filthy. I wasn't bleeding very badly. Everything on me ached, but the wounds just closed up on their own each time the gem sent another hard, high burst of singing rattles through me. It felt like a jet plane just before takeoff. "Food sounds good." Booze sounds better. And a chance to sit down and think about some shit wouldn't be bad either.

"Good fucking deal." Devi hauled herself up. "Wait a second, though."

Her hand came down and gripped my right wrist. I almost flinched, the motion controlling itself as she turned my hand palm up, the gun pointed off to the side. Theron had my other arm, and I was effectively trapped.

But I suffered it. For a bare half second I wanted to twitch away, but my control reasserted itself. She was a hunter.

I could trust her.

She studied the gem in the streetlamp glow, blue eyes unblinking. "Huh. Where'd you get that?"

"It was on me when I woke up." I weighed it as she glanced up at me, decided to drop the other shoe. "In...in a grave."

"Yeah?"

"Shallow. Out in the desert. Just off a railroad line. I caught a ride into town last night." I shuddered. There was a diner, and a blue-eyed man who gave me my gun back. And Martin Pores, nice guy who pulled a vanishing act. "Almost got mugged. Then I went to Walmart."