"The demon who originally attacked me. I imagine that someone's contracted this Vailoid mob family to do their dirty work."

"So you think maybe the vampire got in their way somehow? "

I pulled my jacket tighter, shivering from the cold of the autopsy chamber. "I haven't figured that part out yet."

"Well, someone's going to have to check out his domicile. " Tasha looked at me meaningfully. "Might be some clues there. I doubt that Marcus has gotten around to dusting the place for prints."

I smiled carefully. "That seems like it would be pushing it. Marcus is already watching me closely. I shouldn't even be here-I should be sitting at home, drinking cheap sherry and watching cartoons, while my career disintegrates."

"Well, Marcus isn't always right. And we can't always follow rules to the letter, now can we?" She shrugged. "Sometimes the only way to crack a case wide open is to bend the rules a bit. If we'd stayed with tradition, we'd never have DNA testing, or even fingerprinting."

"Things change," I said.

"Yeah. And we've got to change with them. You can't let Marcus hold you back. I know I wouldn't."

"And if it means losing my job?"

Tasha smiled. "I guess," she said coyly, "it all depends on how close you're willing to get to the fire."

"How close would you be willing to get?"

Her eyes shone. "You know the answer to that."

20.

Ben Foster controlled the DNA lab. He was a young, acerbic, blond-haired guy whose natural baby face made it impossible to guess his age. I could see him through the window now, delicately inserting a vial of clear fluid into a long glass tube-the injector port of the gas chromatograph. The GC was a device used for breaking materials into their separate chemical compounds. A rush of inert gas pushes the substance along the glass tube, and then a sensitive detector picks out the chemical compounds by seeing which ones emerge first. As each chemical "crosses the finish line," so to speak, it gets analyzed and included within a detailed material breakdown sheet.

Across the hall was the fiber analysis lab, which was where I needed to be. Cindee (don't call her Cindy) was the queen of that domain. Unlike Ben, who might just grunt and point to the scanning electron microscope when he wanted you to look at something, Cindee would talk your ear off. She had curly red hair that was always tied back with something to keep it from shedding, and her outfits had become the stuff of legend within the crime lab. Currently, she was wearing a white lab coat, but underneath that I could see a diaphanous red top, a black skirt, and knee-high boots. I was instantly jealous of her footwear.

"Tess!" Her smile lit up the room as she saw me come in. "Girl, I haven't seen you in ages! My God, I heard about your run-in with those Vailoid demons. Nasty little SOBs, aren't they?

Hope you're okay? Are you okay? You look good."

This was how Cindee usually communicated-at a speed slightly more manic and informative than most human beings.

"Well, nothing's tried to kill me in the past couple of hours. So that's definitely an improvement."

"You field agents-you always get to see all the action. Poor me, I'm always stuck in this hermetically sealed laboratory, staring at pubic hairs and pieces of frayed nylon rope all day."

"That would be a bizarre combination," I said, struggling to smile.

"Oh, but you should have seen-earlier today-Sarah Cooper, you know, the OSI-2 that Selena had put on disciplinary leave because she screwed up the chain of custody on that Spanish warlock case? Well, she brought in this piece of rope-wanted me to look at the cordage characteristics, maybe crosscheck it with our knots database and see who might have tied it. Well, turns out, the damn thing was enchanted. It strangled this poor man all by itself."

Her eyes went wide. "Damn near strangled me, too, until I had it neutralized and sent to the contraband lockup. But really, that's the most excitement I've had all day. Until now, that is."

"Why? Because I'm here?"

"Well, I'm assuming you want to hear about those yellow fibers-you know, the ones we found embedded in the left jugular vein of that Vailoid demon?"

I swallowed. "Are you-looking at those right now?"

Cindee gave me a mischievous look. "Come on now, Tess. Just because you've been removed from the case doesn't mean that you're not curious as hell. I can see it in your eyes. Isn't that why you're paying me this little visit?"

I looked around guiltily. "I could have just been dropping by to say hello. I mean, we haven't seen each other-"

"Cut the theatrics, Madame Butterfly, okay?" She smiled sweetly. "I know you don't give a camel's hump about how I'm doing, or how long it's been since we've seen each other-which is almost two weeks, to be exact, since I switched from day shift. I was having scheduling conflicts with my Bikram yoga class, and thanks for asking." Her smile never wavered. "I know you, Tess. You're all about the evidence. But that's why I like you. There's no pretending, no bullshitting-you're just here to get the job done, and you don't get caught up in the petty politics of this lab. In that way, sweetie, we're a lot alike."

I nodded. "You're right, and I'm sorry. I do need your help. I need to know if you've identified those fibers."

"Oh, I haven't just identified them, sugar. I've pinpointed them down to the polymer-I've got an exact, irrefutable match."

I stared at her. "Really?"

"You bet your ass I do. You see"-she walked over and adjusted the SEM-"these are the Holy Grail as far as fibers are concerned. Hardly anything's natural anymore, and even organic fibers like wool and cotton are usually full of dyes, delustrant particles, and all sorts of other chemical additives that make pinpointing their exact source nearly impossible."

"But you said that these fibers are different," I pressed. "They're unique?"

"No fiber is totally unique, Tess. You know that." Her smile was pure honey.

I knew that Cindee was enjoying this, and I really needed to hear what she was about to tell me next-that's the only reason I didn't scream at her. I just kept smiling, and said, "Uh-huh?"

"Certain fibers," she continued, like an unstoppable train, "have handy little characteristics that make them more recognizable-but even then, only within a larger group. Natural cotton fibers, for instance, have a small cavity inside the core-called a lumen-that we can see with microscopy. Most synthetic polymers have spherulites, which are these teeny-tiny little globes filled with needles that all line up perpendicular to the outer surface. And then"-her smile was triumphant-"there's silk."

My eyes widened. "Is that what the fibers are? Silk?"

"Have a look-see yourself." She gestured to the microscope.

What I saw through the lens resembled a thick yellow rod filled with small, shimmering triangles.

"Those little triangles that you see," Cindee supplied, "are highly reflective molecules. They're what give silk and satin that characteristic shimmer. Often, you'll see delustrant particles that the manufacturer has added-they dull the fabric slightly, so that it doesn't look so radioactive. But this sample doesn't have any delustrant."

"So it's supposed to be this shiny?"

"Or it was made before delustering fabric was common practice."

"Huh." I looked at her. "You think it's old?"

"Oh yeah. Old and rare."

"Silk?"

She grinned. "Not just any silk, Tess."

I rolled my eyes. "I was waiting for this."

"Are you familiar with the Antheraeaassama-the Muga silkworm?"

I sighed. "Do I look like I'm familiar with it?"

Cindee's smile widened. "Let me explain, then."

"Of course. I can see you're just dying to."

"Most silk worms are domesticated. They're fed a steady diet of mulberry leaves, and the cocoons that they produce are harvested into silk. They're not actually worms, you see, but caterpillars. It takes about five hundred silkworms to produce less than one kilogram of raw silk."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure the process is very barbaric." I saw the warning look in her eyes, and exhaled. "And . . . you're going to tell me more about it."

"No-I promise to get to the point." She adjusted the microscope again. "Some of the rarest and most-sought-after types of silk come from the undomesticated silk worms-it's called wild silk, and it's usually produced only in very small geographic areas, within tiny villages."

"And this is wild silk."

She smiled. "Only the rarest kind. It's Muga silk- imperial yellow. Because it isn't treated with any synthetic dyes, the silk retains the natural color of the moth's cocoon. Muga means brown or amber in the dialect of Assam, India, which is where one hundred percent of the Muga silk is produced-specifically, in an area called the BrahmapautraValley. You won't find it anywhere else. According to legend, this yellow silk was the kind that could only be worn by the Chinese emperor-it was a symbol of royalty."

I shook my head. "So you're telling me that whoever killed these Vailoid demons-he, or she, just happened to be wearing something made of an exotic silk that can only be found in some tiny part of India?"

"In Assam-yes."

"Jesus."

"You're telling me. Normally, silk doesn't transfer well- unlike wool, it isn't prone to shedding. But over time, worn areas of fabric can shed, even if the weave is relatively tight. And Muga silk is especially resistant. An article of clothing made from it might last fifty, maybe even seventy-five years, before it began to disintegrate."

I nodded. "And if those fibers were over fifty years old, that would explain the lack of delustrant particles. They wouldn't have been added back then. Especially not in some village in Assam."

"Whoever you're looking for, then," Cindee said, "is fond of old things and world travel. Someone who's been all over the globe-a collector, maybe?"

"And did you find these fibers on both of the Vailoid demons?"

Cindee shook her head. "No-just the second one, the one who took the swan dive out the fourteenth-story window."

Obviously. The demon that the killer dealt with personally. He must have been some kind of loose end. Or perhaps it was merely a crime of opportunity. The killer heard us, panicked, saw the window, and killed the second Vailoid demon so that there'd be no chance of us interrogating him. But Tasha had said that a psionic blast of that magnitude would have to depend on proximity. The killer would have been very close to the demon. Close enough for some fibers to rub off.

"Still," I said, "we should have found these fibers on the vampire's body, too. If this is the same killer, that is."

"Maybe he got sloppy," Cindee said. "Selena mentioned that the place where you found the vampire was swept clean-practically gleaming. The killer covered his, or her, tracks. But maybe, with this crime scene, there just wasn't time. Things got panicky, and some fibers were transferred by accident. Happens all the time."

"So we're lucky," I said. "We've got some evidence that we didn't have before. But we're still facing a veritable jigsaw puzzle that doesn't make any sense. Vailoid demons, vampires, a teenage girl, blood, DNA-and the only person who I really thought might be a suspect was killed last night."

"You mean the aunt? Cassandra Polanski?"

I nodded. "So where does that leave us?"

"It leaves you pretty much humped. And it leaves me with a huge backlog of work to get through. I'll be drowning in cuticles and medullas for the rest of the night, while you're out looking for our mystery killer."

I smiled. "You've helped me narrow it down, at least. I owe you a million, Cindee. Thanks for this."

"Aw, who's counting?" She shrugged. "You just take care of yourself. Don't go doing anything stupid."

As I ran back down the hallway, I heard her yell after me: "And watch out for Chinese emperors! They're suspect number one!"

21.

Mia stared out the window, not speaking, as Highway 1 rolled by. She seemed to be two different people. One person was angry and irritable, and the other was completely closed off, silent. I kept trying to encourage the first personality, since anger was better than nothing. But I knew that her grief wasn't something negotiable.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery was right when he wrote The Little Prince. "It is such a secret place-the land of tears."

"You know, Mia," I said, "maybe after we pick up the stuff from your aunt's house, we could all have a sleepover. You, Derrick, and I. The CORE has a nice little apartment picked out for you-someplace you'll be safe and protected. We could stay up and watch videos or something-"

"Oh, can we braid each other's hair and talk about boys?" I could feel her eyes burning into me from the backseat. "Maybe you're forgetting that someone murdered my guardian today. Or were you gonna get around to the whole therapy thing after we make s'mores?"

"We could invite Lucian," Derrick chimed in. "I'm sure he'd be up for a sleepover, since according to Tess, he's like an Aztec god."

My cheeks went red. "Derrick, I told you about that dream in confidence-"

Mia wasn't paying attention. I could have talked about my imaginary sexcapades for hours, and it wouldn't register with her. She was just-elsewhere.

"Everything's going to be okay-" I began.

"It's not."

"Yeah-it's going to be. You can stay with me for now. Derrick and I will take care of you until we can figure out something more permanent."

"I'm not a baby. I don't need someone to take care of me."

I turned around to look at her. "Mia, I'm not your babysitter. I'm your protector now. I'm the one who's going to look out for you."

"That was my aunt's job, and she's dead. I don't need another mom." She wouldn't meet my gaze. She just kept staring out the window.

"Leave it, Tess," Derrick said. "We've all got to process this. You can't just swoop in and fix everything."

"I wasn't swooping! I never said-"

He stared at me levelly.

I sighed. "Fine. This has been"-I breathed in deeply- "a very bad day. Let's just concentrate on picking up your stuff."

"We're too late," Mia said coldly. "My house is probably getting turned over by demons right now. They're stealing my Britney CDs and trying on all of my clothes."