"I don't know," I said. "Are you? What do Rhoda Swann's Rules of Life say this week?"

Sunny's mouth curled down on one side. "You're never going to get over Grandma Rhoda letting me move back in, are you?"

I slammed the drawer shut and said, "Letting "Letting you? That's a great twist. She you? That's a great twist. She let let me bargain you back when I needed her help most. Actually, no. That makes perfect sense in her bizzaro version of the world." me bargain you back when I needed her help most. Actually, no. That makes perfect sense in her bizzaro version of the world."

"Luna." Sunny sighed. "This may come as a shock, but I'm a person, and I do occasionally make my own decisions." She went into the kitchen and I heard the water start. I followed out of habit. Sunny set the clean mug in the rack and faced me. "It's easier for you to believe that Grandma manipulated me away than to admit this was partially your fault."

"Wow, are you and Dr. Merriman sharing the same Psychobabble Bulls.h.i.t handbook?" I asked with my eyes wide.

Sunny flipped a hand at me. "Don't start. Displace your anger onto a punching bag or something."

I burned. I'd forgotten how immune she was to my inherent b.i.t.c.hiness. Still, it felt good so I kept it up. "And how is is life in Grandma's gingerbread cottage?" life in Grandma's gingerbread cottage?"

"No one's broken in and tried to kill me yet," said Sunny quietly.

That one, I didn't have a snotty comeback for. I sat down and examined my hands so Sunny wouldn't notice she'd scored a point.

"You've kept the cottage in good shape," Sunny said. "No new damage. How's your moonphase?"

"Fine," I said. It was pleasantries now, and I hated the way Sunny swept things under the rug by reverting to small talk, but I was too tired to poke at her anymore. "I'm fine. The restraints have been enough for the past few months."

Sunny nodded. "Glad to hear it. You know you can call me if you ever need anything."

"Not on the warpath to cure me anymore?" I asked with a thin smile. Sunny shook her head.

"You made that choice when you killed Duncan. I saw how trying to control the phase was killing you. I'm sorry I pushed so hard."

Well, I'm sorry you ran out on me was the first thing that came to mind. "Forget it." I stood up. "I need to get some sleep. Me and my new partner are going to some fetish place tonight, and I'm exhausted." was the first thing that came to mind. "Forget it." I stood up. "I need to get some sleep. Me and my new partner are going to some fetish place tonight, and I'm exhausted."

"Partner?" said Sunny. "That's new. Who is he?"

"She," I said. "Shelby O'Halloran, the little witch that couldn't."

"O'Halloran?" Sunny's eyes lit up. "Of the the O'Hallorans? Luna, that's amazing!" O'Hallorans? Luna, that's amazing!"

"Not the adjective I would have chosen, but yeah. She's something."

"Can I meet her?" Sunny demanded. "I'd like that so much. The O'Hallorans are the Kennedys of magick."

"Complete with booze and wh.o.r.es?" I asked. She rolled her eyes at me.

"You just don't like her because you have that thing about magick."

"It's not a 'thing,'" I said. "It's a well-honed instinct to avoid something that tries to kill me every time I get close to it." And the fact that magick was like G.o.ds-d.a.m.ned Kryptonite when it came to me. I couldn't use it, didn't like it, and it made me nauseous. This was the first in a long line of disappointments for my mother and grandmother, right up there with the time I'd done that admittedly ill-advised home nose piercing.

"What's an O'Halloran doing as a cop?" Sunny wondered. "Does she use magick on the job?"

"She's a dud, magickally speaking," I said. "Didn't get the blood. Doesn't have much of a gift for police work either."

"I'd still like to meet her," said Sunny. "It would be nice to hear her insights on workings."

"Come by the Twenty-fourth some night and follow the screaming," I said. "She's pretty obnoxious."

"Well, you can be too," said Sunny with her d.a.m.ned logic, "so you two must be very alike." She checked her watch. "I have to go. Grandma needs my help with a sun ceremony."

"Wouldn't do to keep Grandma waiting," I said with a saccharine smile.

"Before I leave..." Sunny hesitated and then offered, "If you're going into a rough place tonight at work, I could give you a protection rune. I'm still learning but my technique on basics is good."

I started to brush her off and then realized that once she was gone, I'd be alone in the silent house again. I got a marker from the junk drawer and offered her my right wrist. "Scribble away." Never mind that I didn't believe anything, including cold hard bullets, protected you from something really evil.

"I noticed a new toothbrush and shampoo in the bathroom," Sunny said casually as she started to draw something that looked like either a Celtic knot or snakes in a mosh pit. "Has Trevor been staying here?"

"Sometimes," I said, fighting not to jerk my wrist. The marker tickled the thin skin and I felt it spread as the magick came to bear on the rune Sunny was working.

"I said it when you hooked up with him-you can do better." Sunny finished the design and began to trace over it again, adding flourishes around the perimeter. My entire arm felt like it had fallen asleep, rife with pinp.r.i.c.ks.

"Well, I don't care, because right now I like him," I growled. "And since when are you my social director?"

Sunny jabbed me with the marker and I flinched. "He's a broke musician who calls you 'babe' constantly, wears clothes that make him look like a reject from a Nine Inch Nails video, and his songs are ridiculous," she said.

"Gee, Sunny, tell the audience how you really feel."

She finished and I whipped my arm back to my side, glaring. "I'm not ditching Trevor just because you've got some sort of artistic sn.o.bbery going on. You hate all of my boyfriends. You didn't like Dmitri either."

"I liked Dmitri very much," said Sunny, picking up her bag and finding her car keys. "At least he was honest."

The pain from Ghosttown magnified until it threatened to break my chest. "So honest that he ran off and never spoke to me again," I whispered. "A real winner."

"I'm sorry," said Sunny. "It's not my business anymore. Be careful tonight, Luna."

She opened the back door and stepped out. A moment later I heard the convertible crunch out of the driveway. I stayed at the kitchen table for a long time, watching the sun come up to start another bleak day.

CHAPTER 10.

Bete Noire occupied a bas.e.m.e.nt level beneath a used-clothing store in downtown Nocturne City, one of those little pockets of grunge on an otherwise spotless facade. A small pink neon sign was the only indication there was anything going on behind the black steel security door.

I spotted Shelby's Nissan and pulled in behind her, flashing my headlights once. She got out and we both looked at the club's entrance, imagining what must be occurring within. "Have you ever been here before?" I asked.

"Not to this one," said Shelby. "I did an underage sting at Top Hat, and that was enough to last me a very, very long time."

"Top Hat?" I was only half sure I wanted to know.

"Dom/sub specialty," said Shelby. "Along with the kiddie p.o.r.n being filmed in the back room, of course."

I adjusted the straps of my lace tank, skin p.r.i.c.kling at the thought. I'd worn a black and pink bustier underneath my biker jacket and black jeans that had fit me properly sometime during a past presidential administration. Still, tight was tight, and who needed to sit down, anyway? I'd swapped my usual motorcycle boots for the patent leather stiletto version with steel heels and a liquid shine, three inches and counting, putting me over six feet. I felt a bit like a s.l.u.tty G.o.dzilla next to Shelby's pet.i.te frame.

She'd managed to find an all-black outfit, but it still screamed upper-tax-bracket soccer mom. Maybe the patrons of Bete Noire would think she was part of the fantasy show. Her one nod was a pair of do-me red spike-heeled Manolos.

"Nice shoes," I said.

"Thanks. Are we going in or shall we move on to complimenting each other's hair and makeup?"

I snarled inwardly and stomped across the sidewalk and down the short flight of stairs to the club door, raising my fist to knock. Shelby stood behind me fidgeting.

"How many stings did you do in Vice?" I asked to make conversation.

"I don't know or care," said Shelby. "The slime like my look. That's all that mattered."

When I c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at her defensiveness, she spread her hands. "What? Do you know exactly how many dead bodies you've found?"

"Actually found myself, or been called in on? Because those are two different numbers."

"It doesn't really matter," said Shelby. "Just stop talking shop and turn off your copdar. If I can feel it, the people inside will eat you alive. People in our profession aren't welcome unless we're up on stage, being spanked in our dress uniforms, so chill unless you want to experience it firsthand."

The door swung open before I could muster a reply, and an innocuous bouncer in a black T-shirt and jeans asked for our IDs. I gave him my driver's license, which he swiped under a black light, and then he stepped aside, motioning us into the club.

"Could I have my license back?" I asked, holding out my hand. He shook his head, a gray ponytail wagging.

"You get it back when you leave. Have a good time, ladies."

Shelby pushed me from behind and I moved inside, washing myself in the throbbing noise and light and smell of Bete Noire.

Nothing-not mutilated bodies, living, bleeding victims or my own attack by Joshua, the were who bit and turned me fifteen years earlier-could have prepared me for the inside of Bete Noire.

An octagonal cage was the central focus of the room, and raised platforms rested at each of the four corners. The rest of the tiny s.p.a.ce was painted matte black and crammed with tables, a deejay, and a bar that was of the nailed-together-plywood variety.

Pink light saturated everything, along with throbbing house music and the beehive chatter of close to a hundred people shoehorned into a s.p.a.ce that would comfortably hold forty.

"Hex me," Shelby swore as a man in a torn mesh shirt and a conspicuous lack of pants jostled her. Her face was stark white under the lights and her expression was one of realizing that the bright light at the end of the tunnel was a freight train.

I followed her gaze to the cage. A corseted woman was shackled to one of the chain-link walls, ball-gagged and blindfolded as a steady stream of men and women entered the cage, some selecting a flogger or a toy from the card table near the woman, some using their bare hands. The line stretched nearly to the bathrooms.

Shelby was still staring with a goggling expression of disgust, and I gripped her upper arm. "Why don't you go get us some drinks?"

She nodded slowly and finally managed to tear her eyes away from the chained woman. I let out a breath as she disappeared into the roiling crowd. One more stareapalooza like that and she'd have us blown.

I manhandled a skinny girl in a body stocking out of the way and secured a tiny table with two chairs for when Shelby came back. It still held empty drink gla.s.ses from the last occupants, and I moved them aside. My fingers came away gritty. I sniffed and touched them to my tongue, which immediately lost feeling on the tip. A smell of bleach undercut with sweetness invaded my nose.

Nothing like a little high-grade cocaine to liven up your evening of bondage and humiliation. But I wasn't Narcotics, and no one in my sightline was putting anything up their nose. All I could do was watch and wait for Samael to show up. Samael. His real name was probably Herbert.

"May I clean your boots?"

I jerked my head up to see a normal-looking- good-looking, in fact-guy in a red b.u.t.ton-down and black slacks cut fashionably loose. He smiled and let his tongue flick out, revealing a silver bar through the flesh.

"Excuse me?"

He knelt down and grasped my left foot. "May I clean your boots?" His free hand proffered what looked like a whiskey and c.o.ke. "I'd be willing to buy you as many of these as it takes."

I've heard a lot of strange things from men, particularly in the days when I wasn't too concerned about their criminal records or level of sobriety. My first instinct was more a "What?" than outright disgust, but my potential boot-cleaner had an adorable anxious expression on his face, plus he'd already bought me a drink. And if I shrieked and flailed like a Christian coed, that would Hex the whole point of the night.

"These cost three hundred dollars," I warned boot guy. "And I'm very attached to them, so be careful."

"Thank you!" he exclaimed, dipping his head in a courtly gesture. "So many first-timers are afraid to experience."

"It was that obvious, huh?" I said as he raised my foot gently, gripping my ankle like Prince Charming laying the gla.s.s slipper on Cinderella. He was almost familiar when he smiled, a generic beauty like soap stars possess.

"No offense meant, miss. You're very beautiful."

"Thanks ..." I started, when he opened his mouth and started licking my foot, right over the instep. Only the fact that this was not not the weirdest thing I'd ever been a part of, sad as that was, kept me from jerking. To boot guy's credit, he didn't make any noises, just licked in an efficient manner until he'd covered every visible millimeter of my foot. the weirdest thing I'd ever been a part of, sad as that was, kept me from jerking. To boot guy's credit, he didn't make any noises, just licked in an efficient manner until he'd covered every visible millimeter of my foot.

"May I move your pant leg to finish?" he asked sweetly. It took me two heartbeats to muster anything other than a squeak.

"Um. Sure."

"What the h.e.l.l?" said a voice from behind me, loudly. I twisted, careful not to dislodge boot guy, to see Shelby holding two club sodas in gla.s.ses etched with naked pinup silhouettes.

"Shelby, this is..."

"Mark," said boot guy without missing a beat.

"Mark," I repeated. "And we were just engaging in a little friendly boot cleaning. Thanks for getting the drinks. Such as they are." I begged her with my eyes to be cool, because her posture was telegraphing that she wanted to run the h.e.l.l out of the club, get back in her Nissan, and keep driving until she hit Mexico.

"Well, that's ... that's great." Shelby sank into the other chair, defeated. I'd never seen anyone look as miserable, and I'd be a liar if I didn't admit I sort of enjoyed it.

Mark finished with both of my boots and sat back on his heels. "Thank you, miss. It was a pleasure. Would your friend care to partic.i.p.ate?"

"No, she would not!" Shelby shouted, drawing looks from nearby tables. I jabbed her on the arm.

"Mark, maybe you can help us."

He stood up and brushed off his pants. "Anything at all, miss."

"We're looking for Samael. He works here?"

A shadow flickered over Mark's face and then he blinked, smile back in full force. "You do like to live dangerously, for a first-timer." Whatever that that meant. "Samael only works private VIP appointments. He's booked months in advance. But if you ladies want personal attention, you can always choose from the wall." He pointed at the wall over the bar, which was lined with black-and-white photographs. meant. "Samael only works private VIP appointments. He's booked months in advance. But if you ladies want personal attention, you can always choose from the wall." He pointed at the wall over the bar, which was lined with black-and-white photographs.

"Thanks, Mark."