"Not until you tell me why." In the last twelve hours, I'd been taken from my friends, my job, my home. I'd been stalked by imps, a griffin and a demon. Now I was stuck at a Red Hats biker bar five hundred miles from home where a seventy-year-old-plus woman named Ant Eater sat stuffing peanuts up her nose in a disturbingly successful attempt to impress a woman named Betty Two Sticks. I didn't need to be playing games with Dimitri.

The crowd jostled us as Grandma hugged some friends and thumped others on the arm. I did my fair share of handshaking and smiling as I tried to ignore Dimitri and at the same time, hear something, anything these people said above the roar of the music.

Dimitri's warm hand seized mine and pulled me away from the crowd, toward the pinball machines. His dark eyes studied me. "I'm serious. I need to talk to you." His fingers rubbed at the sensitive spot between my thumb and my forefinger. "Leave your bedroom window open."

Well, when he put it that way..."No."

"Do it," he said under his breath as Grandma hurried toward us, her posse in pursuit.

I stared up at the massive hunk of man in front of me. "I'll open my window when you come clean about who you are and why you think you're my protector." In the meantime, he could stay outside with the troll hitmen, the demons and maybe a few regular old criminals.

"Thank you, Dimitri," Grandma said, attempting to sidle between us. "But I think your services are no long er needed."

He refused to budge.

"Good-bye, Dimitri," Grandma said, irritation tingeing her voice.

The corners of his mouth tugged into a devilish grin.

He reached down and kissed me, a brief brush of the lips. But still, I felt him shudder, or maybe that was me.

It was over before I knew it. Heck, it was enough, with everyone watching. But he didn't stop there. I went rigid with astonishment as he came back for more. He ran his thumb along my chin, tilting my head back for a kiss that sent molten heat coursing through my body. Claimed. In front of everyone. A wicked heat wound through my body, along with a little hum of pleasure. My first touch of goodness in a horrid night. That jarred me back to reality and I broke away.

What a presumptuous, forward, ungentlemanly- "Jerk," I whispered.

His eyes burned. "You win," he said, his lips inches from mine. "I'll tell you everything. Tonight."

I touched my hand to my mouth as he pulled away. His mouth curved into a predatory smile.

Dimitri ignored the gaping crowd of bikers, except for one. He nodded to a tall, bald fellow with a Ride Ride Like You Stole It Like You Stole It tattoo before he turned his broad back and strode out into the night. tattoo before he turned his broad back and strode out into the night.

Chapter Five

"I declare," Crazy Frieda checked out my bloodied arms. "Lizzie Brown, you look like you picked a fight with a briar patch."

At least she was kind enough not to mention Dimitri's kiss. I didn't know what to think, much less how to explain it to anyone else. He'd been gone ten minutes and I still found myself stealing glances at the door.

Don't trust Dimitri, I warned myself. Don't trust Don't trust Dimitri Dimitri. Maybe I should write it on my hand so I wouldn't forget.

"You okay?" Frieda cocked her head. Geez, it was like she was the biker reincarnation of Flo from Mel's Diner. Or maybe I'd watched too much Alice Alice as a kid. "You don't look so good." as a kid. "You don't look so good."

Said the woman whose fashion choices included a paisley dog collar and a canary blonde bouffant. The rhinestones on her lashes sparkled in the glow of a neon tribute to Milwaukee's Best. I did feel rotten, though. The few hours of sleep in the car had been a tease. Even then, I'd slept with one ear open, waiting to hear if Grandma confronted Dimitri. I still didn't know why he wanted to help us. I didn't trust him, even if his kiss made my toes curl.

"I need to talk to my grandmother," I said to Frieda.

"You will, sweetie," Frieda's white plastic hoop earrings dangled practically to her shoulders. "But first I'm gonna help you out."

Well, what would it hurt? Ant Eater had Grandma in a headlock and didn't look like she'd be letting go anytime soon. Pirate was perched on the bar, sharing a basket of popcorn with Betty Two Sticks. I followed Frieda to the back.

It irked me to admit it, but Dimitri was right about one thing. I needed to learn more about Grandma's past. There hadn't been time before. Now that I was officially hiding out with the Red Skulls, I deserved to know if Grandma had killed someone, and exactly what the members of her coven had done that kept them on the run for thirty years.

Frieda led me to a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY EMPLOYEES ONLY. "How long have you known my grandma?" I asked. And is she a murderer? And is she a murderer? I wanted to add. I wanted to add.

"Oh, sweetie, I've known Gertie since before you were born." She held the door open for me, and I snuck one last look at Grandma. I could barely see her flowing gray hair behind a crowd of bikers. I'd never had that many friends in my life, much less in one room. And the kicker was, Grandma had to be feeling as bad-or worse-than me. My back throbbed, my legs ached. I plucked at my muddied khakis. They were starting to dry stiff and smelly.

"Now, stop that," Frieda said, patting at my arms. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. Come along and we'll get you cleaned up."

We passed through a small industrial kitchen and up a narrow, back staircase. Sticky booze residue clung to the concrete floor. The place smelled like pork rinds and beer.

"Too bad you missed dinner," Frieda said, the heels of her boots echoing on the hollow stairs. She stopped abruptly and I nearly ran into her. "Skunk surprise." She rubbed a manicured hand over her almost flat tummy. "We don't hardly get it, but when we bag one or two, it's certainly a surprise. Phew! You hungry?"

"No," I snapped. "I mean, no thanks. My stomach is still pretty shaken from the ride over here."

Frieda lit a cigarette and the smoky fumes poured into the claustrophobic space between us. The rhinestones on her cotton candy pink nails flickered along with the bare bulb dangling above our heads. "At any rate, we set fire to the Beast Feast as soon as we heard you were coming. Like I could eat another thing. But you're gonna love it."

The smoke burned my lungs. "Beast Feast?" I choked. My mind raced back to the etiquette classes Hillary had forced me to take. I scrambled for a polite-or heck, less than utterly offensive-way to decline. But in no way, no how, no universe was I ready for a heaping helping of roadkill surprise.

Frieda took a long drag off her cigarette and blew the smoke out her nose. "Don't fret if anybody nods off," she said, a few smoke curls lingering above her pink-glossed lips. "We're used to turning in by ten o'clock or so."

"Why tonight? You don't need to be staying up for my sake." I'd never be able to have a real discussion with Grandma in the middle of a party, even if I could talk my way out of a plate full of skunk flambe. Besides, my head hurt. It was after midnight. I needed to get some answers and get my aching butt into bed.

Frieda's eyebrows shot up and practically collided with her poofy bangs. "Oh, honey, it has to be tonight. We can't offer you our protection until we complete the Covenant Rite. Besides, you don't want to miss the Beast Feast reception after the ceremony. Possum pate, rotisserie raccoon..." she said, like she was rattling off the courses at a four-star restaurant. "We've got a squirrel cacciatore that'll make your head spin. Now chop chop." She clapped her hands together as best she could with a cigarette dangling between two fingers.

Frieda led me down a narrow hallway. Well-traveled photos lined the bare plywood walls, jammed into place with silver thumbtacks. Most had been folded at one time. Two, often four creases marred the images.

Frieda kissed her hand and plastered it over a gnarled photo of a bald man with a thick, braided beard. Humor sparked from his heavy lidded eyes and he had the look about him, like he was getting ready to tell a whopper of a story. Frieda didn't say who he was. She sashayed down the hall, her silver bracelets clinking, all the while humming "Love in an Elevator."

She knocked twice on the wall outside a doorway draped with a yellow, flowered sheet. "Bathroom's clear." She pulled the makeshift door aside to reveal an industrial shower. It didn't have a curtain, no real floor even. The water drained into a metal pipe that pushed up about an inch out of the concrete floor. "Don't dawdle." She treated me to a conspiratorial smile. "I was supposed to take you straight into the hole."

"Hole?" My voice caught in my throat.

She gave me the same look she probably used to comfort animals and small children. "It's nice." Her voice trailed off. "For a hole."

Did I want to know? Probably not. It couldn't be any worse than what I'd already been through. Could it?

I ducked under the wonderfully strong shower and let the hot water pound my aching muscles. What I'd give for a steaming hot chocolate followed by a soft, warm bed. Or a nice, warm man. I groaned. Where had that come from?

Oh, who was I kidding? I grew melty just thinking of Dimitri's kiss.

He'd given me the kiss of my life right in front of an entire bar full of people, and I'd enjoyed it. I didn't know what was wrong with me. It's not like I was into public displays of affection. But I couldn't get around how heady it felt. I liked a man who knew what he wanted.

Honeysuckle soap sloshed down my body as I lathered my shoulders. It didn't make any sense. We barely knew each other. It was crazy even to think about him. He was a complete unknown, and besides, I knew he wasn't quite human. Dimitri had shown up right on the heels of the griffin who'd rescued us. Coincidence? I wouldn't bet on it. Besides, those eyes of his-I'd have been perfectly fine with green, but orange and yellow? No. I wished I could have remembered what color the griffin's eyes had been.

Add that to my list of questions for Grandma. I washed my hair twice with a half-full dish-soap bottle labeled Wild Ass Gertie's Homemade Sage Shampoo Wild Ass Gertie's Homemade Sage Shampoo. What would Dimitri do if I refused to meet him tonight? Or-my cheeks flushed-what would he do if I did did let him climb through my bedroom window? let him climb through my bedroom window?

Yow.

When my sore body had enough, I reached for the ancient towel Frieda had left on the peg next to the door. After being so utterly stinking, dirty, clean felt amazing.

"Hey, babe!"

I about leapt out of my skin as Frieda poked her head past the flowered sheet. "Gertie says you lost your luggage. We're about the same size, so I put a few of my things on your bed. Third door on the right."

A draft snuck past Frieda and chilled my damp skin. Oh wow, I hadn't even thought of my backpack since we threw it in one of the saddlebags on the side of the Harley. I clutched the towel around me. I'd lost everything. My wallet, my credit cards. Every stitch of clothing that wasn't in my demon-infested house. "I need to make a phone call. If anyone finds my Visa, they can go on the shopping trip of the century." I hardly used the thing.

"Don't worry. Gertie cancelled everything." Frieda took in the expression on my face and shrugged. "We researched your background as soon as we found you. Social security number, credit history, education, criminal background check, any phobias or complications that could endanger the mission. Standard practice."

How could these people do in-depth background research when they couldn't even buy a shower door?

Everyone had their priorities, I supposed. Doubt crept into the pit of my stomach. Good thing I trusted Grandma or else I would have been very, very afraid.

Frieda patted her bouffant. The steam from my shower wasn't doing anything for her hairdo. "I don't know what Gertie was nattering on about. You talk less than a witness taking the fifth." She tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. "But never you mind. Just get dressed. I'm going to go check on the ceremonial whosits and whatnots. We don't want Niblet to get away."

Niblet? My fingernails dug into the damp towel.

Focus on what you can control.

I checked to make sure there was no one in the hallway before I tiptoe-ran to my room. At least this one had a door. The space was the size of some people's walk-in closets, and mostly bare. Nevertheless, I managed to trip over a cardboard box poking into the entryway. I slid it to the side with my foot. A beat-up child's dresser painted white with gold trim stood by the window.

My new clothes were spread neatly on a mattress on the floor: a pair of tiger-striped black leather pants and an orange tank top with a diamond cutout between the boobs. Lovely. To make matters worse, there was no bra in sight. Instead, Frieda had draped a pair of black underwear across the tank top. The tiny wisp of fabric looked like it was designed to fit a munchkin. I clutched my towel and leaned closer. There was some kind of writing on the panties. I gingerly picked up the underwear by the black ribbons on the sides. Eek. My first thong. The front was embroidered with a dainty announcement in pink, scrolling letters: My vibrator has My vibrator has two wheels two wheels.

No way.

No how.

No.

Grandma burst through the door and frowned at my towel-clad body. "Aww! Frieda told me she let you shower. Dang it, Lizzie. We gotta get you to the hole. Now."

"Oh, I don't think so," I said, holding the panties as far away as I could. "Where are my old clothes?"

She threw up her arms like I was the crazy one. "Out in the trash heap, buried under deer guts and various other entrails."

"I don't care. Go get them."

"Fat chance," she said, meeting my glare head on. "Cripes, Lizzie, stop being dramatic. I know you had a tough day. Hell, I smashed my hog. But these people stayed up to wait for us and now they're staying up later to give you the mystical protection you need to survive the night. So move your keister."

Survive the night? Now who was being dramatic? Now who was being dramatic?

When I didn't budge, she sauntered over to inspect the clothes. "This ain't bad. Be glad she stayed away from the zebra pants. I've seen those in action."

I tossed Grandma the offensive panties that-let's face it-should have come with a warning label. I didn't want to know where any of these clothes had been, especially the underwear. This was not me. Of course, neither was going commando, so Grandma had better come up with a solution, or at least some underwear that wasn't sold with a brown paper wrapper. "There's not even a bra in here. I wear bras. Most normal women wear bras. And I'm not going to wear someone else's underwear."

"So then why are you bitching about a bra?"

"Grandma!"

She hooked the edges of the black underwear under her thumbs and whistled when she held it up to the light. "Isn't she a beaut? Frieda bought this special in Lubbock. Been saving it for a special occasion." She pointed the thong at me like a finger. "She must have taken a shine to you or she'd never have gifted you with these jockeys. Don't you insult her by refusing."

Oh lord. "But this isn't me!"

"Newsflash, Lizzie. This isn't about you." She dug through the box next to the door. "Here." She tossed me a plain white sports bra. "Buck up. At least you got to shower."

That wasn't the point. "Grandma, listen to me. Before we do anything else, we need to talk."

"You want answers? You'll get them." Hands on her hips, she regarded me like an impatient mother. "This is an important ceremony for everybody. Be downstairs in two minutes or I'm sending the Ant Eater after your ass."

I struggled into the black leather pants while the thong gave me the wedgie of the century. "Oh yeah, Lizzie," I muttered to myself. "Leave your home, your job, your family-dysfunctional as it may be. So you can hop on a Harley and follow Grandma Thong to the freak show of the century." The too-tight sports bra mashed my boobs and showed through the diamond cutout in the orange tank top. Thank goodness. It was certainly better than showing more skin.

Because there was some luck left in the world, the witches had spared my oxfords, stained and smelly as they were. I ignored the wet squish as I slipped my feet into what was supposed to be a pretty comfortable pair of shoes.

I hurried downstairs to the bar and found Grandma next to a hole in the floor where the Pop-A-Shot Basketball game had been. I wished these witches didn't have to be so freakin' literal. The entrance to their ceremonial room was basically a brick-lined hole with a rust-flecked ladder leading down. Voices echoed from deep in the cavern below. I leaned closer, but had a hard time making out any actual words. Musty air tickled my nose. I paused, mustering my courage, when a seventy-something man in a tricked-out wheelchair came barreling toward me. Pirate rode in his lap, his tongue flapping out the side of his mouth.

Sidecar Bob had lost both legs in a biking accident, or so Grandma said. His silver goatee was immaculately trimmed. His hair was not. It stuck out in tufts from his ponytail and basically rebelled against the black hairnet he wore. Bob skidded to a stop and howled like a banshee when I had to jump backward to save my toes.

"You see that? That's what I'm talking about!" Pirate practically tap danced in Bob's lap. I was glad to see Pirate had left his bandages in place. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten about them completely.

"I feel the need..." Bob announced.

"The need for speed!" Pirate and Bob shouted together.

I swear Pirate could make friends with a doorknob. In this case, he had great taste. I liked Bob immediately. "You tell me if this mutt gets to be too much for you," I said. "Feel free to send him back."

"Hell no!" Pirate buried himself under Bob's arm. "We were in the kitchen cooking. And eating. That is some fine squirrel. That barbeque sauce isn't bad, either."

I resisted the urge to lecture Pirate about his eating habits. The little guy had been through a lot. He deserved a break. "So, Bob, are you heading down to the ceremony?"

He threw his head back and guffawed. "My old lady would have my head." His belly poked out of the navy gym shorts that seemed horribly at odds with his black leather vest. "Nah. I'm stoking the fires, keeping the Beast Feast warm for when you're done." He scratched his nose. "But I did want to give you something." He glanced at Grandma. "None of the gals will admit it, but you do need it."

"Well, thanks," I said, trying to sound casual, feeling anything but. I yanked at the skin-tight orange top creeping up my stomach.

Bob fished a rubber band from the fanny pack strapped to the side of his chair. "Here ya go. Put your hair back. It gets messy down there."

"Sure," I forced a smile.

"We'll keep the squirrel fires burning!" Pirate said as I clung to the cool, metal rungs of the ladder and made myself descend. A crowd had already gathered below, their whoops and hollers echoing off the subterranean walls.

"Welcome to the Rat's Den!" Ant Eater clapped me on the back, her gold tooth shining in the light of dozens upon dozens of candles. The ceiling hung so low I could have reached up and touched it. The smell of paraffin and candles burning assaulted my nose. Under it, I could smell old brick walls and mildew.

The place needed a serious cleaning. Boxes, discarded barware and old CB equipment cluttered the tiny room. On every surface candles of all shapes and colors crowded against each other. Not smart. I winced as Frieda brushed past a box stacked with candles and nearly sent it crashing into one of the old beer posters lining the walls.