I had to laugh. "No, the dark lords haven't come for us. Not yet anyway."

"Reedrek didn't bust loose?"

"Lord, I hope not."

Werm visibly relaxed. "Okay, good. Then whatever it is can't be that bad. I mean, because I figure something must be up or you wouldn't have even mentioned it, right? But like I said, it can't be all that bad."

"Nah. It's just a little werewolf trouble, that's all."

"A little werewolf trouble?" Werm's voice squeaked at the word werewolf.

It had only been in the last couple of weeks that I had introduced him to the concept of werewolves and other kinds of shape- shifters besides Reyha and Deylaud. He'd come into the garage and run smack into Jerry and Rufus, and could tell right away-in that way that all us vampires have of telling-that these guys weren't your average joes. He'd about p.i.s.sed his leather pants right there when I pointed out to him that us vampires weren't the only things running around with sharp, pointy teeth. I think he was still getting used to the idea.

Werm had figured out that vampires existed all on his own, through observation and research. You have to give him snaps for that. But he had no idea about the other monsters. Maybe vampires were easier for him because he had romanticized them in his mind and wanted so desperately for them to exist. But the other parts of the nonhuman world had poleaxed him as much as they would have any human who'd had the bad fortune to stumble into their paths.

I often wondered if Werm would still have wanted to become a vampire if he could turn back time and choose, knowing what he knew now. I'd never find out unless I asked, but I didn't plan to raise the question right then.

"Remember the other night when Ginger told us that the Thrasher clan was cooking the crystal meth that Sally's on?"

Werm looked over to where Ginger was trying to get Sally to help her screw in a wall sconce for the light fixture. It was easy to see that Sally couldn't focus on what she was doing. "I remember," he said.

"The Thrashers are werewolves. I'm going to take them on because of what they're doing to Sally and other folks in these parts. And you're going to help me."

He looked up at me and blinked. "Uh, Jack...who all else is going to help us?"

I thought to tell him it would be just him and me so I could enjoy his reaction, but I didn 't want to see the little guy faint, so I gave him the truth. "Only the toughest werewolf sumb.i.t.c.h this side of the Mississippi. And maybe we can get Jerry to throw in with us, too." "How many of the bad wolves are there?"

"Oh, not more than eight or ten."

Werm held up all five fingers of his left hand and started to count them off, but his fingers were shaking so bad, he put his hand down again. "That's four against ten. Jack, if ten guys are going to go all Lon Chaney Junior on my a.s.s, I'd like better odds than that."

I squeezed his shoulder in what I hoped was a rea.s.suring gesture. "Don't worry, man. We're vampires, remember? We're badder than any of those mongrels."

"If you say so. Hey, can we shoot them with silver bullets?" he asked hopefully.

"That's not considered sporting. Neither is them coming at us with wooden stakes. It's one of those unwritten rules of etiquette for supernatural dudes. You don't get to use whatever a guy's Kryptonite is on him unless he's one of your own. It pretty much has to be a fair, fang-to-fang fight."

"You mean you or me can put a wooden stake through a vampire's heart, but we can't use silver bullets on a werewolf even though anybody else could?" Werm was incredulous.

"I admit it sounds illogical," I said. "But it's just one of those things. You won't die or anything if you break that rule, not like you would if you killed your sire, for example. It's just that you'd get a bad reputation in the unhuman community."

"What do I care about my rep when a werewolf is chewing off my leg?"

I sighed. "Remember how you felt when all those bullies were beating up on you? It got you a reputation as being a weakling, and you didn't like it, did you?"

Werm shook his head. "No," he muttered.

"It's the same kind of thing. You want to have the reputation as a guy who fights fair and doesn't resort to another supernatural breed's Achilles' heel. But when it comes to fighting amongst us vamps, there's no holds barred, so you can go for it with a stake or fire or whatever."

Werm paused a minute for this to sink in. "It sounds like if you get yourself a reputation as a guy who doesn't fight fair with other species of supernaturals, it can come back to bite you."

"Literally," I said.

Werm moaned. "Maybe when you and this other tough guy show up and tell the Thrashers to quit selling dope, they'll just...

quit," he suggested hopefully.

"Not likely." I was sorry to have to bring him down when he was so happy about his club opening, but I told myself it was for his own good. Besides, if he survived the big fight, and I planned to make sure he did, it would do wonders for his self -esteem.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: A vampire with self-esteem issues, now that's just sad.

"So when are we going to confront them?" Werm asked.

"I'm meeting with Seth tonight. He's the one I was telling you about. We'll decide and then I'll let you know."

"Is it going to be on the bad guys' turf?"

"Yeah. We can't exactly have a skirmish between the evil dead and their furry friends right here in front of Savannah's humans, can we?" "I-I guess not," Werm agreed.

"I'll tell you what. Maybe you and me can get in some training time before the big fight."

"Uh-okay."

A crash drew our attention back to Ginger and Sally. The light fixture had fallen to the floor and the gla.s.s globe had shattered into a thousand shards. Sally stared at the mess with wild eyes.

"You were supposed to hold that still while I screwed the base in the wall, " Ginger scolded the younger woman. "Get the broom over there and help me clean this up."

Instead, Sally bolted from the room and into the darkness as the others stared after her. "I'll talk to her," I said, and followed.

When I went outside in the moonlight, I could see Sally running toward a car. It was fifty yards away, parked against the curb. I called after her, but she ignored me, opened the pa.s.senger door of the Mustang, and got in. "d.a.m.n," I muttered.

Even with my outstanding night vision I couldn 't tell who was at the wheel. But I did see the vanity license plate that read HUFNPUF.

Five.

William The fortified bas.e.m.e.nt of Olivia's town house held a dozen or more coffins, all in a tidy row. It reminded me of the row of beds ill.u.s.trated in the book "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" I used to read to Renee when she was a toddler. A twinge of pain shot through me like a stake when I thought of my darling stolen child.

I was to sleep in the coffin that had been recently vacated by the young woman whom Hugo had tortured and bled to death.

The sun was a couple of hours away and Donovan had still not returned. "We'll form a search party as soon as the sun sets,"

Olivia said. "Until then we have to get our daytime sleep and hope Donovan survived and found someplace safe to do the same.

When we search tonight, I think we should stick together for safety."

"Do you usually go about in a pack?" I asked, already knowing the answer. I had showered and changed into a cream-colored Irish fisherman's sweater and a pair of gray woolen slacks.

"No," admitted Bree. We sat at a long library table with the other vampires awaiting instructions, standing back, as if trying to blend into the woodwork.

"I'll go out first," I said. "If I'm unsuccessful, then we'll section off the city and fan out."

"Why don't you want us out there with you, William?" Olivia asked.

"One of the last things Donovan said to me before we parted was that he could feel an approaching evil. The dark lords are coming. Maybe in their own form or maybe in another. We don't know. I think you should stay close to one another for now, until I can determine what we're dealing with."

Olivia ran an elegant, long-fingered hand through her platinum hair. I rose from the table and motioned for my topcoat. One of the vampires held it for me.

"You're going out now rather than wait for the next sunset? You can't find Donovan all by yourself. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack," Olivia said. You have only a short time to find him before sunrise and make it back."

"You should know better than to tell me what I can and cannot do. You forget, Olivia. Savannah may be my city now, but long before that, my city was London."

I prowled the streets adjacent to Hugo's rented house until I found a manhole in a secluded and shadowed area. I lifted its cover and lowered myself down, sliding the cover back into place behind me. I dropped into the sewer below, landing on my feet with a squelching sound. The noises of the street-lorry drivers making night deliveries-disappeared as suddenly and completely as did the horizon's first harsh glow from the approaching sun.

A new set of sounds replaced those produced by surface-dwellers: the gentle sluice of a distant subterranean waterfall, the faraway vibrating murmur of the nearest Underground train. And the skittering of the rats who called this place home.

I decided to explore the sewer tunnels beneath the area of Hugo's residence. If Hugo's gang had disposed of Donovan, the sewers would be the best and easiest place to discard the remains, where a body could linger indefinitely.

If a corpse ever were to be found by a human, it would most likely be discovered by a city water technician, or a flusher, as they were known. They only came to any given section of tunnel if a blockage impeded the flow of sewage. These hardy and fearless workers carried supplemental oxygen devices because of the noxious gases underground. Of course, we vampires had no such air quality concerns-except that the overwhelming stench offended my supernatural sense of smell to the point of madness.

My vampiric senses could be a curse as well as a blessing.

I reached into my pocket for the flashlight I'd brought. Not even my eyesight could work in this pitch-blackness. Like a cat's, my eyes could amplify the smallest shard of light. But with no light whatsoever, I was as blind as the c.o.c.kroaches that crept around my feet.

I rounded a bend in the tunnel and saw a crumpled human form. I trained the beam of the torch on the figure, relieved to see that it did not wear the clothing Donovan had earlier. I bent to examine the body, first checking the neck, naturally. There were no fang marks on the side that faced upward.

I turned the body onto its back so I could see the other side of the neck. The corpse of the unfortunate man emitted a sound that decomposing remains sometimes will-one last sigh from the lonely sh.e.l.l, left behind by its soul gone on to eternal reward or d.a.m.nation.

I found the fang marks on the other side of the neck. Multiple fang marks, in fact. It had been a family meal. Something glittered in the beam of light, and I saw that the poor fellow still grasped a gold chain in one fist. At least I knew his occupation. The bloke could only be a modern-day "tosher," that is, an individual who braved the frightening and oxygen-deprived subterranean world to search for anything of value.

Such persons began their careers as mudlarks even while they were still children, going to the banks of the Thames at low tide to see what they could scrounge among the flotsam and jetsam. There were much easier ways of making a living, in my opinion.

But who was I to judge? One of my many occupations was as a dealer in antiques. I could be said to trade in other people 's castoffs as well.

I dusted off my hands and continued my search. I wouldn't have been surprised to find several such bodies. Hugo's party had been in London for days before I arrived. The surrounding area was home to a number of backpacker hostels and cheap hotels converted from old family homes, creating a continuous transient population: it was the perfect hunting ground. The occasional person gone missing might not be noticed right away, especially in some areas north and east of King's Cross renowned for the vices of drugs and prost.i.tution.

I continued my walk, dodging the more disgusting items on the sewer floor as well as the sinuous tree roots growing down from the surface. I was fortunate indeed that I was in a section of tunnels that was high enough in which to stand upright. I would have hated to have to slog through the muck on my knees.

I paused at the sound of footsteps headed in my direction. There was something wrong with the gait of whoever approached; the footsteps were tentative, staggering as if the person were lame. A few feet and the individual would come into the range of my flashlight.

"I see torchlight. Who's there?"

"Donovan?"

"William! Thank the G.o.ds!"

When he came into view, he was doubled over. I could see that he held his arms tightly across his chest. When he reached me he collapsed into my arms. I leaned him against the cleanest section of wall I could locate and trained the beam of light on his chest.

There was a gaping hole directly over his heart. It was too deep and wide a wound not to have struck that organ. A piece of splintered wood adhered to his clothing, fastened there by the coagulating blood.

"Who did this to you?" I asked.

He tried to speak, but no words came out.

"How did you survive it?" I had never seen or heard of a vampire who could survive a wooden stake to the heart. I looked into Donovan's face and even by the dim illumination of the fading flashlight, I could see a fierce gleam in his blue eyes. By then he 'd found his voice.

"You may have the voodoo blood. But I've got a few tricks up my own sleeve, mate."

Then he fainted. Dead away. If you'll pardon the expression.

Jack Over beer and chicken wings at the little swamp bar I told Seth what I 'd just seen. Actually, he ate the chicken wings and I drank. You can try until the cows come home to order rare chicken in a dining establishment and they simply won 't serve it to you. Guess they're a mite worried about liability. I couldn't exactly explain to the proprietors why I was immune to salmonella.

"That Mustang belongs to Samson's oldest boy, Nate," Seth said. "According to my contacts hereabouts, his wife up and disappeared not too long ago. Maybe him and Sally are sweet on each other." Seth sucked some wing sauce off his thumb and forefinger. "Ah, opposable thumbs. That's one of the best parts about being a part-time human. Say, can you vamps shape-shift at all? Take the form of a bat or something?"

"No, I can't turn into a freakin' bat. Why would anybody want to turn into a bat? Those things are nasty. Have you ever seen one up close? They look like Chihuahuas with leather wings. Now that 's just wrong. You've been watching too many Bela Lugosi movies." Seth had a thing for old horror flicks, the cheesier the better.

"Seriously, man, can vampires do anything really interesting?"

Seth and I had a running debate over which was the most awesome variety of nonhuman-vampires or werewolves. "Well, I might not be able to turn into a bat..." I looked around to make sure n.o.body was close enough to overhear us. "...but I can fly."

Seth went wide-eyed. "You're s.h.i.tting me, right?"

"Nope."

"I gotta see this." Seth reached for his wallet and laid two twenties on the bar. "C'mon outside."

"Now, wait a minute. I don't want to oversell this. I can't fly like a bird or anything."

"Dude, you can either fly or you can't. It's like being pregnant."

"Well, that's the way I fly. A little bit. Really, it's more like I...hover."

Seth laughed so hard I thought he was going to choke on his beer. "Okay, so you can hover. I guess that's better than a poke in the eye with a wooden stake." He raised his beer bottle in salute.

"That's more than you can do, dog breath."

Seth lowered his bottle. "I should have taken a bite out of your hide the other night, but I don't like dead meat."

I started to counter with another of my witty rejoinders, but the words died on my lips when I realized who had just walked through the door. Samson Thrasher. With a platinum blond Connie Jones on his arm. Without thinking about it, I stood up. "What the-?"

Seth grabbed me by the arm. One glance at him told me he was as shocked as I was. "Chill out, Jack. She's gotta be working undercover. Don't blow it. You could put her life in danger."