Merz, Jon F. - Lawson 01 - The Fixer [htm].htm

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First Printing: May

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For my father,

George Frederick Merz,

Dreams never end. . . .

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to some very important people who were instrumental in the creation and publication of this novel.

First, thanks to my agents, Irene Kraas and Lisa Fitzgerald, for their passion and determination to help new authors break into both print and celluloid, respectively. To my editor, John Scognamiglio, for lighting the path with his friendship, patience, and wisdom.

Thanks to Mark Davis, Ken Savage, and Paul Eth-erington at the best martial arts school in the world—the Boston Martial Arts Center—for their friendship, knowledge, and guidance. Things I've been fortunate to learn from them have saved my life on more than one occasion, and that's not something I'll ever forget. And special thanks to Masaaki Hatsumi, Soke of the Bujinkan Dojo, for his amazing ability to teach the essence of real martial arts—humbling and inspiring simultaneously.

Thanks to Chris Holy, Steve Frederick, Leslie Irish Evans, Lori Heiberg, Bren O'Connor, Dolores D'Annolfo, and Gigi Dane—incredible writers from the Zoetrope Web site—for their cheers and twisted humor in the trenches. To my good friend Ken Hodgdon, fellow "Corporate America" survivor, and my self-described biggest fan. Thanks to my family for all their love and support—especially

Kat, the best first reader any author could ever hope to have.

But most especially thanks to my incredible wife Joyce. Without her unswerving belief in me, her wonderful smile, and musical laughter when the road looked bleak, this book would never have been written and my life would be far different from the great adventure it has become with her by my side. My love and thanks to you forever.

One

I sat like I always did: my back to the wall, keeping a good field of fire. That kind of instinctual discipline has kept me alive a long time. Usually, it's the only thing that does.

Neither of us spoke while our polyester-clad waiter slid bowls of steaming soup and a plate of appetizers onto our table. A quick bow and he was gone. Finally, McKinley cleared his throat, coughed up some phlegm, and dropped three words.

"Cosgrove's in town."

Jack Dempsey might as well have shot his trademark uppercut into my solar plexus. Keeping the mouthful of hot and sour soup where it belonged took a lot of effort. I chased it down with a gulp of ice water and a healthy intake of O2 - "Well . . . That's just about the worst goddamned news you could spring on me."

McKinley's yellow-toothed grin slithered across his face. He always saved it for particularly nasty stuff. I'd swear he enjoyed seeing me suffer. "It's the little things that give me the most pleasure, Lawson. I knew your reaction would be worth coming out in this miserable rain for."

I wiped my mouth. "You really know how to ruin a good meal."

"Yeah, it's a gift." He waved his chopsticks. "We think he touched down yesterday."

"So why tell me? You want me to be his fucking tour guide or something?"

"Not exactly."

I sucked down another piece of slippery tofu. "Glad to hear it. Only trip I'd ever give that bastard would be a one-way ticket to hell."

"You don't have to be so sarcastic."

"This isn't sarcasm. This is me pissed off."

"You're overreacting. It's just Cosgrove."

I frowned. "What are you guys—poker buddies now?"

McKinley speared a pan-fried dumpling with one of his plastic chopsticks, the kind with the faded characters running down the side, and shrugged. "Maybe my viewpoint's a bit more objective. After all, he's not gunning for me."

"You know, you're a lot of things, but guardian angel ain't one of them."

Soy sauce dribbled down five miles of his chin. "Hey, I'm just a middleman. 'Life preserver' wasn't in the job description."

"Be like clutching a cinder block in an ocean if it was." I shook my head. "You're off the diet again, aren't you?"

He stopped chewing. "Give me a break, will you? We can't all look like we were built by the local bricklayers union."

"Taking care of myself goes with the job. You know that."

"Yeah, I know that. So what. I like to eat. Fuck

off, will ya? At least I'm not obsessing over some two-bit psycho job."

I leaned closer to him. "I don't appreciate being dragged out on a crappy night like this. And I don't like being told I'm overreacting by an out-of-shape has-been who hasn't seen the business end of a field assignment in a decade."

He pulled away, gulped, and reached for another victim. "Yeah, well, maybe I just don't consider Cos-grove to be all that dangerous. Maybe I just think he's a pushover. A 'has-been,' to use your phrase."

"Maybe you weren't on the receiving end of his last little killing spree here in town. Cosgrove is a dangerous bastard. For you to tell me otherwise is just plain stupid."

McKinley nodded. "I suppose I should bow to your extensive, if not obsessive, knowledge of the subject."

"Call it what you want. I know him. You don't." I looked around the darkened interior of the restaurant. Located a quarter mile outside of Ken-more Square, they served the best Chinese food in Boston here. As usual, the place was packed, but McKinley and I had privacy, courtesy of the hostess who always gets an extra twenty bucks to keep a table for me at the back of the restaurant. Our only neighbors were stoic characters painted on the walls depicting scenes from the Ming Dynasty. Outside, the percolating drizzle we'd arrived with thirty minutes ago exploded into a cold November downpour.

I faced him again. "So where's he holing up?"

McKinley yawned. "Guy like Cosgrove has more rocks to crawl under than a miner."

"Jesus, I could have stayed home and played this

twenty-questions bullshit over the phone. Are you going to tell me where he is or do I have to walk out on a good dinner? I'm not in the mood for games."

"He's here."

I jumped out of my chair, instantly feeling a surge of adrenaline flood my bloodstream. I searched for Cosgrove's face in the crowd. McKin-ley laughed.

"Whoa, cowboy. I mean he's in town. In Boston."

I sucked in a lungful of air; waning adrenaline always left me queasy. It'd be a shame to puke a good meal. "How do you know?"

McKinley eyed me as he reached into the inside pocket of his muted plaid sport coat and withdrew a long manila envelope folded in half. "Everything OK? You seem a little jumpy."

"Now who's being sarcastic?" I frowned and took the envelope from him. "I'm fine." But I wasn't. I cursed Cosgrove silently for making me act like some goddamned amateur.

A single photograph spilled out of the envelope and landed next to the tarnished silver teapot. Even in the shadows I could easily make out the corpse on the gurney.

"Looks like the Boston City Hospital morgue."

"You should know; you've been there enough."

"Enough to know how easy it is to slip a body into the incinerator. Real convenient way to head off some uncomfortable questions."

McKinley's voice wafted over the scent of sizzling rice soup being served a few tables away. "ME made the time of death around two in the morning."

"Right after last call." I frowned. "That's his MO, all right." I looked up. "What else?"

He pointed at the picture. "They took that upon receipt of the corpse. Look at the skin color."

I looked closer at the corpse. White: like somebody had used a correcting pen on every inch of flesh.

"No fluids," said McKinley. "Absolutely drained. The sick bastard bled him dry."

I looked up. " 'Bastard'? Christ, a minute ago you were telling me what a pushover Cosgrove is. Now he's a bad boy? Damn, you flip-flop like a cheap whore." I passed the photo back to him.

McKinley looked at the picture. "Well, yes, but obviously I—we—can't condone this kind of behavior, Lawson."

"You seem surprised. Admit it, you know the guy's a certifiable maniac. He's a freak. And he's never been content with just killing his victims. He's gotta make a statement. Stand out like some damned insane artist. One of these days he'll probably mail me an ear."

I scooped some white rice onto my plate and quickly hid it under a pile of beef, brown sauce, and red peppers. "That makes him easy to track, thanks to the trail of dead bodies. But it also makes him more dangerous."

McKinley used one of his chopsticks to pick a piece of pork out of his teeth. "Well, Christmas comes early for you this year, whether I agree with your assessment or not." He replaced the envelope in his jacket. "Carte blanche on how you want to do it; they passed the termination order down this afternoon."

"All right. First things first: I'll need a fresh mug

shot. Chances are good he doesn't look a thing like he used to."

"A hundred percent good, in fact," said McKin-ley. "Rumor is he vacationed in Switzerland, got himself a new face. Problem is we don't have a photo."

I put my chopsticks down. "You're sending me out blind?"

"So it's not an easy mark, you'll improvise."

"Cosgrove and easy aren't even distant cousins. You're handing me a grenade with no pin."

"You've handled worse assignments before," said McKinley. "Remember Tokyo last year?"

"The only thing I remember about that operation is how much miso soup I ate. Stuff was like intestinal drain cleaner."

McKinley grinned. "Well, there's no miso soup on this assignment. Your orders are simple and clear. The Council wants him gone. Get rid of him. This time for good."

"There wouldn't be a this time if the Council had seen things my way before; if they'd listened, instead of dismissing me like some naive agent fresh out of training."

McKinley frowned. "What do you want me to say? They fucked up? Well, they probably did. But then again, hindsight's twenty-twenty. I'm sure you've got a lot of decisions you regret making."

"Only one stands out right now: having dinner with you tonight."

"You'd rather find out by having him show up at your house? I'm doing you a favor here."

"By giving me a sanction with no picture?" I shook my head. "That's some favor."

"Look, you want to stop your bitching and start

doing something about it or what? Honestly, I'd have bet good money you'd be all over this assignment."

I hated it. But I didn't have to like it. Or McKin-ley for that matter. A job was a job. And Cosgrove just happened to be another one. I wondered how long I'd be able to convince myself that's all it was.

The odds weren't good.

I looked at McKinley. "Guess I'll have to 'beat the grass and surprise the snake.' "

He stopped chewing. "That another one of your infamous Japanese philosophies?" He shook his head. "Don't know why you bother remembering that mumbo jumbo kung fu stuff."

"Maybe if you had some appreciation for things other than what you can stuff down your gullet, you'd learn something. It happens to be a Zen saying and a sword fighting strategy. I'll use it to find Cosgrove. Hopefully."

"Yeah? Enlighten me, o mighty Zen master. How you gonna use that to get your boy?"

"Cosgrove loves nightclubs. They're his hunting grounds. I hate nightclubs. Cosgrove knows that. But I'll do what he doesn't expect: I'll make them my hunting grounds too."

"Whatever," said McKinley. "Just so long as you get him."

"I don't really have a choice, do I? Sooner or later he's going to finish his business here in town and, according to you, come looking for me." I sighed and reached for another piece of beef. "You're right. With our past he can't afford to leave me alone. He's got to assume we know he's here. And that I'll be hunting him."

"You want backup?"

"You don't have any backup to give."

"I could pull some strings. Get someone transferred over temporarily if you think you can't handle him alone. If he's too much for you."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." I frowned. "I don't want a partner. I work better alone." I took a sip of tea. "Besides, I know Cos-grove better than anyone else. I'll handle it. My way. Just make damned sure the Council doesn't jerk me back in. If I get a bead on him this time, he goes down. Like it or not."

"Trust me, Lawson. You can stuff him and mount him on a wall for all we care," said McKinley, harpooning the final dumpling.

"If only it was that easy," I mumbled. "Killing him will be hard enough."

Midnight found me skirting puddles from the earlier downpour as I crossed the bridge at Brook-line Avenue, over the traffic surging along the Massachusetts Turnpike. The night had blossomed into a crisp, clear sky with tendrils of rain clouds slinking to the north. My heated breath stained the air in front of my face as I dodged another pool of grimy water.

I love the darkness.

Most people are afraid of what they can't see. To me, the shadows hold the excitement, the risk, and even the danger I need in my life. I suppose I'd have to feel that way, given my occupation.

Cosgrove.

The last time he came to my theater of operations, he killed fifty people. Of course, the cops had no clue. They never did. And the Feds? Well,

if you knew how they operated, it was no mystery why they were as clueless as the local doughnut jockeys.

Back then, I told the Council Cosgrove needed to be eliminated. He brought too much attention on an area of this world most people don't realize exists. An area most people think is reserved for old books and Stephen King novels. An area most people don't want to believe in because it tosses their reality the proverbial bird in a bad way.

The Council didn't believe me. Not enough evidence, they said, dismissing the dozens of bodies Cosgrove littered the streets and alleys with. They told me to leave Cosgrove alone.

I disobeyed the order.

Not a smart move on my part. The Council acts as a government of sorts for us. They hand down the laws of our society. I work for them with McKin-ley operating as my Control. Albeit a crappy one. But even the respect I had for the Council didn't stop me from defying them.

I tried to take Cosgrove out. I almost succeeded.

And I almost died.

Almost.

In this game, "almost" means about as much as two minus two.

Cosgrove vanished without a trace. I got a verbal warning for failure to follow orders.

That's called getting off lucky. On both counts.

Ahead of me, Landsdowne Street—Boston's nightclub Mecca—beckoned. And on a Friday night, it was packed with all sorts of people out to enjoy a night on the town. Most of them didn't realize how much danger was passing them by. Like the sharks that swam all around people at the

beach. Just because you couldn't see them didn't mean they weren't there. It didn't mean they weren't just as deadly.

Especially when they were hungry.

Cosgrove may as well have been a poster child for Ethiopian famine.

His hunger for death was rivaled only by his lust for blood. In the time I'd spent trying to track him down and waste his ass on a permanent basis, I'd learned a little something about him.

What made him different was an infusion of bad blood into his family line. His grandfather, lazy bastard that he was, chose targets of convenience rather than maintaining the dignity of the hunt. He lounged around insane asylums and morgues, anyplace where the dregs of society congregated— where there were easy pickings.

Cosgrove's dad said Grandpop did it so no one would ever miss them. So they wouldn't know what had killed them. Cosgrove's father didn't want to believe the truth that Grandpop was just a miserable excuse for a hunter.

The mixture of blood he took in infected genes that were subsequently passed down to Cosgrove's father and Cosgrove himself. Cosgrove's father killed himself shortly after I paid him a visit to discuss his son's aberrant behavior.

Odd thing, that.

But the infectious mix of lunacy swirling about Cosgrove's bloodstream mutated and caused Cosgrove to kill with the same kind of zest a fourteen-year-old boy has when he discovers how to jerk off. I'd seen Cosgrove's death lust firsthand. His behavior, at least according to McKinley and the Council, could no longer be tolerated.

God knew I'd been tolerating longer than most.

I made my way past the sausage vendors peddling thick pieces of bloated meat by-products, sizzling over the blue flame of Sterno, to drunken night-clubbers. I walked past the homeless veteran with the old Campbell's soup can held outstretched in front of him looking for salvation in the guise of another quarter. And eventually past the lines of limousines double- and triple-parked in front of velvet cordons corralling long lines of supposedly beautiful people before herding them into the clubs.

I saw Simbik before he noticed me sidling through the five college girls attempting to bullshit him with fake IDs. The son of a wealthy Turkish importer, who lived on a huge estate outside of Istanbul, Simbik didn't have to work for anyone. He could have spent his life mooching off dear ol' dad. He didn't. I respected that. Rumor was the big lug had a soft spot for animals and was putting himself through veterinary school.

"Simbik."

He smiled immediately. "Who you pestering tonight, Lawson?"

I moved past the girls, who frowned and walked farther down the street to try conning another doorman. I scanned the area again. "Just out for a walk."

Simbik smiled. "Sure, and I'm just standing here farting for my health." He shook his head. "I got a better chance of seeing Istanbul and Athens become sister cities, fuhgeddaboutit." He glanced up the street as more patrons arrived. "Who you looking for?"

For a recent immigrant to the States, Simbik's ac-

cent was thoroughly Brooklyn. He once told me he'd worked in a pizza joint in Bensonhurst before moving up to Boston. He learned part of his English drowning in tomato sauce, cheese, and dough. He learned the other half wading through guys named Guido, Vinny, and Sal with his fists and an occasional head butt. At six feet two inches and a shade under two hundred and a quarter, the few foes Simbik couldn't handle could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

I watched him examine some more IDs and wave through another group of clubgoers before responding. Simbik knew very little about me. But he knew some.

"Man named Cosgrove."

"Friend of yours?"

I looked at him, and he broke into a toothy grin. Simbik knew if I was looking for someone, they definitely weren't a candidate for sainthood.

"So what's your boy look like?"

I looked farther down the street. "Don't know."

Simbik cocked one of his bushy eyebrows. "Great job you got, Lawson. If I wasn't so happy being a doorman here, rejecting little kids with bogus IDs and all, I might threaten to come aboard."

"What can I tell you—cosmetic surgery makes my life a bitch. No one's got a recent photo of him."

He nodded. "Figures." He adjusted the radio earpiece he wore. "So how you gonna do it?"

"He's got a certain style. I'll watch for it."

"Hey, man, Landsdowne's a short street, but it's got eight clubs, thousands of people, and only four hours to check them all out. You ain't got that many eyes, my friend."

"Simbik, I'm a professional. I use cunning, experience, and a lot of good detailed information."

His left eyebrow arched higher on his forehead.

I shrugged. "All right, so you're the only friend I've got down here. Your place is as good as any to start with, y'know?"

"Yeah." Simbik lit an unfiltered cigarette and took a long drag, expelling a thin stream of smoke into the night air. "Always knew my number would come up someday."

"Mind if I check it out?"

"Hey, bana gore hava hos."

"Thanks." I started inside, but Simbik stopped me.

"Lawson."

I looked at him.

He blew more smoke into the night air. "You sure he'll be inside?"

"Not really."

"You find him in there, what happens?"

"I kill him."

He regarded me for a moment. "Can you whack him quietly? I got a job here and all."

"Simbik, if I find this guy in your club, I'll kill him any damned way I can. You'll thank me for it a million times and then buy me all the Bombay Sapphire I can drink."

"He's that bad, huh?"

"No." I shook my head. "He's even worse." I ducked under the blue velvet curtain and vanished into the shadowy recesses of the club.

Into the unknown.

Two

Inside, I felt the pulsing rhythm of amplified dance music rocket into my eardrums. Blue lasers and flashing lights pierced the darkness before being swallowed up again by the shadows. The dark kept me safe. If Cosgrove caught sight of me, he'd either try to escape or kill me.

Not knowing what Cosgrove looked like put me at a real disadvantage. Spend the kind of money Cosgrove had and you could put a new face on an elephant, call it a mouse, and no one would know any better.

Christ, he could look like anybody now.

Fortunately, the only thing more demanding than his blood lust was Cosgrove's vanity. Any changes to his appearance would have to make him look more attractive. He'd be a good-looking guy, probably with a couple of women around him. Cosgrove loved flaunting himself.

He hadn't always been like that. Time was, Cos-grove's looks ranked right down there with the kind of road rash you'd find at a motorcycle-accident scene. But a huge trust fund and family money enabled him to get the wrongs righted and come

out looking like some GQ model, albeit a deranged one.

By comparison, my short, bristly, permanently graying hair poked straight out of my scalp at odd angles, accentuating my large forehead and reasonably strong jawline, which hadn't yet succumbed to age. McKinley once called me a walking military recruitment poster.

Maybe I could use some time in Switzerland.

I stopped at the first bar, leaned into the Nauga-hyde padding, and ordered a Bombay Sapphire with tonic from a guy with far too much metal lancing his skin. I slid a $ bill on the counter, then turned to sip the drink and watch the crowd.

In Simbik's club there was only one VIP area. It overlooked the dance floor from an upper balcony wrapped in padded maroon couches. I felt sure Cosgrove would be sitting up there, surveying potential victims like he was on some kind of sick shopping spree.

"Is that a gin and tonic?"

Brunette. Too much makeup. In my peripheral vision I could see her holding her drink up next to mine in some kind of vain attempt at playing match game. "Good choice," she said.

I took another sip and continued watching the floor. "What kind of gin did you order?"

The look on her face told me she had no idea. "Try Bombay Sapphire next time," I said, and moved into the crowd.

That would count as my contribution to human society tonight. A little education for the masses on what constituted a damned fine drink. And if I took Cosgrove out, that'd be my angel's wings for sure. I might just make this a banner night

I took the steps to the upper balcony slowly, using the black metal rail to cover my approach. Cos-grove would be sitting near an exit. A pompous bastard maybe, but he wasn't entirely stupid.

Unfortunately, he knew I always worked alone. The price of being the best at what I do.

Sometimes being good really sucked.

A club security guard barred my way; apparently, I wasn't wearing this season's appropriate Gucci fashion apparel. I smiled. "Simbik sent me."

He nodded and let me pass.

At the top of the stairs, I paused, scanning the recessed shadows for any signs Cosgrove might be there. Even with the onslaught of the steady musical rampage, I could hear the juicy sounds of several people swapping spit and Southern Hemisphere body fluids. So much for safe sex. It was only a matter of time before humans wiped themselves out. Even with AIDS killing thousands of people, they still wouldn't listen. I wouldn't even care, but continued epidemic levels of a killer disease threatened the food chain. And that meant my existence might even come into question.

I zeroed in on the recessed circular couch to my right. A man being wooed by two women—a possible threesome—reclined against the back wall. Lucky bastard.

I walked over and stood in front of him. He was about six-one and weighed maybe two hundred pounds. That was about right for Cosgrove. And it gave him about a twenty-pound advantage over yours truly.

I'm usually much more subtle. I wouldn't normally dream of making an approach this way. Unfortunately, McKinley having sent me out without

even a vague idea of what Cosgrove looked like complicated things to the point where subtlety lost out to a frontal attack.

I cleared my throat.

Whoever he was, he wasn't happy with my sudden appearance.

"What the fuck do you want?"

I took a sip of my drink, felt the delicate flavoring of juniper and licorice as it coursed down my throat. I smiled.

"Mav kola an gurok."

It was the only greeting I knew in the old language. I wasn't quite sure what I hoped to gain by saying it. Maybe lull Cosgrove into replying, which would have been a dead giveaway.

I didn't get my wish.

"Fucking immigrants," said the man in front of me. He stood and tried to shove me away. I pivoted and, using his momentum, sent him sprawling down the stairs with me close on his heels.

I caught up with him just as he came to rest at the base of the steps. I tugged down the collar on his shirt and examined the base of his clavicle for the birthmark that would identify him as Cosgrove. The birthmark was the one guarantee I had that Cosgrove could never erase. Even with all the Swiss doctors working on it. It branded us all, the mark of my race. A tattoo of sorts that was as much a means of identification as it was a stigma.

Nothing.

Shit.

I looked up in time to see three bouncers closing in on me. One of them grabbed me around the upper right arm and another went for the same grip on my left. But they hadn't moved in unison, giving

me valuable seconds to elbow the one on my right and drive him off. He floundered but came right back. This time I drove my elbow into his diaphragm and he backed off. But there were two more.

The second one flew in for a tackle around my waist and I dropped both elbows onto the top of his back, driving him down into my bent knees. He slid off, out cold.

The third one hesitated, having seen me deal with his two much bigger coworkers with apparent ease. Instead of trying to deal with me alone, he reached for his radio.

Time to go.

I sprinted for the fire exit near the back of the club on the ground floor. As I ran, one of the patrons raised his champagne flute in my direction. A shock of brown hair topping a set of piercing blue eyes. Prominent cheekbones narrowing to a fine nib at the chin. He smiled in the darkness, catching one of the blue lasers across his gleaming perfectly capped teeth. And four elongated incisors.

Cosgrove.

I stopped short—already reaching for my pistol— but at that moment I caught another flying tackle around the waist that sent both me and my attacker into the alleyway behind the club, toppling over trash cans, beer bottles, and garbage. Amid the smell of dank urine and week-old garbage, I knew instantly who had rushed me out of the club.

"Simbik!"

He got to his feet. "Allah karetsin, Lawson! You trying to get me fired? People saw us talking, man. You can't pull this kind of shit here. Even for you, I gotta draw the line."

I brushed myself off. "I would have handled it much quieter if the big lug upstairs hadn't tried to prove himself."

"Your mistake, your problem," said Simbik. "Aren't you supposed to be a professional, man? Shit, I know fourteen-year-olds who woulda pulled a hit cleaner than that."

"I told you I didn't know what my mark looked like. I had to be sure."

"So you go hassling everyone else? Forget about it, man. You can do better than that."

I started for the door. "All right, all right, it won't happen again—"

Simbik's hand on my chest stopped me. "Hold it, paesano."

"What's the problem?" I pulled his hand off me.

"You know I can't let you back in there."

"You have to. Cosgrove's in there."

"You mean the guy you're after?"

"Yeah."

Simbik frowned. "If he's in there, why'd you go after the other guy?"

"I didn't know he was in there at that point. I just saw him as you graciously escorted me out."

"It's dark in there, man. Maybe you just thought it was him. The shadows and lighting can really mess with your vision. Trust me. I go home with a headache at least twice a week."

"I saw him. You have to believe me."

Simbik sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I do." He frowned. "But I can't let you back in. I'm sorry."

I knew it was no good arguing. If history taught me anything, it was that Turks stuck to their decisions. Especially Turks named Simbik. I wasn't getting back inside.

"OK, but watch that guy. He's the one by the door at the exit here. He's dangerous."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time." Simbik turned back to the club door. "Be good, Lawson."

I watched him knock on the door and then disappear into the club. Back into the pulsating darkness. And the danger within.

Three

I'm not crazy about setbacks. They disrupt the flow of things and I'm a big fan of flow. So when Simbik put his foot down and forbade me reen-trance to the club, I hoofed it around to the front and flagged a cab down. I slid into the backseat and handed the driver a $ bill through the supposedly bullet-resistant Plexiglas.

"Where to?"

"Nowhere. How much wait time does a fifty buy me?"

"Make it a C note and you get 'bout an hour. 'Less of course a hot blonde offers me sex. That case, you're history."

"Fair enough." I slid another bill through.

He took the two fifties, turned the meter off, and picked up the paper next to him on the seat.

I leaned back against the vinyl and sighed. Always did hate surveillance. It was mind-numbing boredom, plain and simple. Let me tell you, it wasn't like Hollywood out here in reality. Joe Blow Detective did not roll up on a stakeout, have a burger and a cola, and only wait five minutes before his mark came out.

What a laugh. Even for me, caffeine ran through

my system like water through an open hand. And the wait was always, repeat, always long.

My watch read : A.M. An hour would just cover the mass exodus from the clubs. When Cosgrove would make his move.

Pangs of hunger gnawed at my insides. Despite the meal McKinley and I shared earlier. Despite the candy bar I'd had on the way down here . . .

I was hungry.

But business came first. I could always eat later. In this town, if you knew where to look, you could always find something to eat. Even if you had to hit an all-night convenience store.

I could see myself in the cabbie's rearview mirror. What a sight. The years were really starting to take their toll. Oh, not that you could tell, but I could. Stay around this damnable planet long enough and things began to take root on your face. The small crow's-feet clawed at my eyes. Even a second chin was trying to gain a beachhead. I might actually start looking middle-aged soon.

Youth was always a prize for me. For us. We all needed it We all desired it. Those born into the society craved it like some young teenager on a first-time heroin high. Second only to the life force a mother could give, the need for youth was paramount.

It wasn't all about vanity. Never had been, despite what'd been written. Youth held the keys to our power. Our magnetism. Our success as a people.

It didn't come easily, though, especially nowadays. Everyone was into liposuction, plastic surgery, and whatever else they could do to try to keep the unstoppable assault of time from happening.

It made it real hard to find someone genuine.

Someone you could borrow from.

Well, that's what I called it. It was a lot more politically correct to say "borrow" as opposed to "suck the blood of."

We were, after all, scarcely noticed by human society. We blinked in and out of your lives as easily as you drew a breath. We were the darkness on the edge of your peripheral vision, the flash of light speeding past you. We were apex predators; we were invisible.

Except when nut jobs like Cosgrove came into town and threatened our anonymity by draining their victims of every ounce of precious fluid.

We didn't require all that much to sustain ourselves. And we didn't always go for the neck. A bad hangnail would do in a pinch. It was a lot less romantic to be sure, but it got the job done with little notice. It was a lot harder trying to explain bite marks on the neck; although with the S/M crowd, it was easier than it once was. But easier only if you were into the kink of that whole scene.

I'm not.

Maybe I was old-fashioned sexually, but the things that turned me on were beautiful women in nice lingerie. Especially thigh-highs. And two were always better than one. But that was it. I was not into seeing how much metal I could spear through my body or how much candle wax I could scald my skin with. And don't even mention animals. Christ.

So for a supposed prude like me, the hunting could get scarce sometimes. But I always made do.

Even if I didn't particularly care for it. Yeah, you heard me right. I wasn't really into the whole process. I didn't have a choice, of course. But it was

like when you were a little kid and had to eat your vegetables. You didn't want to, but you did anyway. Had to grow up big and strong after all.

It's funny how time flies when you're thinking about something else. My hundred bucks ran out just as the first wave of drunken clubgoers tumbled out the doors, spilling onto the damp asphalt like so much candy from a pinata.

I gave the cab up to two guys who would probably need a crowbar to pry themselves apart within an hour and headed across the street, wading into the frenzied, albeit sluggish, mass.

The sirens interrupted my concentration. Two cop cars and an ambulance were trying to part the sea of limousines and taxis clogging Landsdowne Street They eventually succeeded, and as they drew near, I knew Cosgrove'd already struck. I was too late.

I whirled around, frantically scanning the crowd for him. I knew he'd stay around. Cosgrove was a huge fan of his work. And if he'd spotted me, in fact, he'd do it just for spite. But he was nowhere that I could see.

The ambulance stopped and the paramedics dragged a gurney into the club. No defibrillator unit It was like they already knew it was no use trying to revive what couldn't be brought back. Five minutes later they reemerged with a sheet-covered body.

It was then that I caught a snippet of conversation among the security crew of the club. And what I heard made me approach the paramedics and stop them.

I drew the sheet back.

Simbik's vacant eyes stared at me from beyond the curtain of death.

Then . . . laughter.

I turned. Across the street. Cosgrove. He laughed so softly no one else heard him. No one but me. He smiled and waved me on.

Then he ran.

I chased him down the rain-slicked, darkened streets. We ran past the office-supply store. Past one side of Fenway Park, where the Red Sox played baseball, sometimes badly. Our feet made no noise as we skirted broken beer bottles, used condoms, and an odd syringe. Cosgrove seemed to skip away from me with ease, but he always stayed just close enough to tease me. I hated him all the more for that. After all, he'd just fed and the vital energy coursing through his system made him stronger than me at the time.

But he'd killed a friend of mine and I was hoping my wrath would sustain me even when the last drop of Simbik's vitality was burned in the furnace of Cosgrove's dementia.

We spilled onto Brookline Avenue, down near the old Sears building that was vacant pending renovation and some new construction. They wanted to turn it into another useless shopping mall.

Cosgrove turned and smiled at me through the darkness; then he streaked toward the battered hulk of the building, leaped, and crashed through a window two stories up.

I didn't follow.

One of Cosgrove's specialties was ambushes. He was a downright sneaky bastard, and before I'd known any better, I had had the pleasure of first-

hand experience. I don't like repeating mistakes; I made my entrance on the ground level.

It was dark outside.

Inside the building was an absolute abyss, a dank black hole void of light, and, thanks to Cosgrove, it was absolutely awash in unspeakable evil.

And sound.

Primarily high-pitched squeaks.

I've never liked rats. And at that moment I was in the giant Port Authority of ratdom.

They squealed and squeaked as I waded through their numbers. Sweat ran down every inch of my body as they searched for exposed bits of skin to nibble. Their coarse skin brushed against me as they swirled in undulating waves of mammalian pestilence against my jeans. One of them got caught in the cuff of my jeans and tried to run up my leg but failed and tumbled back out into his brethren.

It was all I could do not to retch and pass out

I finally made it to the stairs, shaking and kicking off the last of my furry passengers. It took me a minute of solid heaving to catch my breath. Finally, I climbed the steps. Slowly.

A voice dripped down from high above.

"If memory serves me correctly, Lawson, you hate rats. You must be in agony right now."

The bastard wasn't far off the mark, but I shoved on. I was determined to finish that business there, that night. If not to spare any more innocent lives, then only to avenge Simbik. He may not have ever realized what I was, or maybe he did, but he was a friend all the same. Now he was dead. Murdered at the hands of a man I should have killed a long time ago. If I hadn't failed back then, Simbik would still be alive.

I stopped on the fifth floor. The stairs went no higher. In the darkness my vision let me see as clearly as a cat, but nothing stirred amid the old pipes and exposed girders. Paper littered the ground, covering mounds of dead roaches. A stale pile of human excrement still tickled the air, testimony to the vagabonds who used this building.

But no Cosgrove.

I scoured the entire floor and only on my second go-round did I notice the door that read ROOF. Without hesitating, I opened it and went up.

At the top an open door creaked as the night breezes caused it to sway back and forth. I timed my arrival to when the door was at its greatest aperture and stepped onto the roof.

Boston's skyline sparkled all around me and the neon CITGO sign in Kenmore Square burned like a sun in the darkness, casting shadows even in the blackness of night.

Cosgrove was there.

And he chose not to hide.

"Age is slowing you down, Lawson."

He stood at the edge of the roof, draped in expensive black silks that rippled like muscles in the breezes swirling around us. I felt like a peasant in my jeans and turtleneck compared to the luxury of the finery Cosgrove bathed his body in.

He turned, facing the city. "Time was, you would have followed me through that second-floor window without a moment's hesitation. Now you amble up steps like a man with no more spirit."

"Time was, I believed in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus too. Look where those got me." I looked around. "Last time I followed you head-on, I almost lost my life."

He laughed. "You speak like a human, always have. You're a vampire. Seems to me you've always had a problem accepting that. You even have human friends."

" 'Had' might be a better word for it, thanks to you."

He turned then, and he seemed somewhat surprised by that last remark. Then it dawned on him. "My, my, he was your friend. . . . How utterly delicious! You must be awfully sore with me right now, eh?"

"Actually, I'm just here because I enjoy the profound pleasure of your company."

He let that pass and smiled, teeth gleaming in the night air. "Admit it, Lawson, you want to kill me so bad every ounce of your being is obsessed by it."

"You're just another job, Cosgrove."

"Rubbish! I've never been just a job to you. You might be able to carry that cavalier attitude off with some of your other sanctions. But this is me." He smiled again. "And we do go so far back. Our delicious history still inspires me to this day."

"You're wrong. You're just another termination handed down by the Council."

"To hell with the Council! Nothing but a pathetic group of weaklings. They've kept our people hidden like rats, always in the shadows, feeding off the scraps of this world. We are a noble race. We're entitled to more. If they were strong, we would rule this world on our terms instead of merely existing in the background! We would own the planet!"

"And there'd be no Balance and chaos would erupt." I sighed. "We'd be destroyed."

"Not if it were handled properly. By the right man."

"And, of course, that'd be you, right?"

He nodded, casting his arms out as though about to hug the world. "Yes. I am the chosen one. It's true. I know exactly what to do." He cocked his head to one side. "Do you know what it's like to be born a messiah but have no way of realizing your potential? It's like you can see everything that needs to be done, but these silly laws—these pathetic anachronisms—keep you from accomplishing anything. And your dreams, your hopes for the people you've been chosen to lead, they shrivel up and crumple like so much dust in the wind."

"Sounds tragic."

"It's gut-wrenching. Believe me. I know." He shook his head. "And you know what the worst part is?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

"The worst part is knowing that you're right. That your cause is like a holy crusade to right the wrongs, to reverse the injustices wrought by so much arrogance. And yet, everywhere you turn, you're accused of being insane, off your rocker, a nut job. You're persecuted for your ambition." He looked at me. "Even hunted."

"You're right." It was time to end this. "Of course I am. You know, Lawson, I could use a man like you in my organization. Old times aside, seriously. You're strong. Hardened. A pretty decent fighter. Not as good as me of course, but decent all the same. You'd be a big help. What do you say? Join the cause. Help me lead our people into the light. Take them to their rightful rule."

"Never been a real big fan of Megalomania Incorporated, Cosgrove."

He frowned. "Such a bloody snob, you are. Do you remember how you and the rest of those sorry sods at school used to tease me, Lawson? Do you remember those days? Did it feel good to feel so powerful?"

"We were just kids, Cosgrove. Besides, you eventually got your revenge."

"And so sweet it was." He smiled. "Sure you won't join me?"

I reached behind my right hip. "I've already got a job."

Simbik must have been good stock because his life force gave Cosgrove some amazing energy. He moved so fast even I didn't see it.

But I felt it.

Especially when he landed on me from above, driving his feet down into my stomach as he crashed down. My wind rushed out of me, knocking me senseless.

Cosgrove rolled off and laughed. "Now, what is this little toy you were going to use on me?"

I reached behind, but it was gone. He'd fleeced my weapon off me and now he was standing two meters away fiddling with it.

"A gun, is it? An ordinary gun?" He shook his head and he reminded me of one of my old grammar-school teachers. "Really, Lawson, as if this trifling piece of human machinery could dispatch me."

"It's been modified." I looked around, searching the roof for cover but there was little except for some old pipes, lumber, and a mass of old newspapers.

"Really? How so?" He turned the gun over in his hands until it pointed at me. "Explain it to me."

"The rounds are different." If I could get him to examine the magazine, it might just buy me enough time.

Cosgrove was enjoying himself. He thumbed the hammer back on the gun. "And what makes this ammunition so special?"

I tried to stand, but he merely kicked me in the solar plexus, knocking me across the roof like I'd been some pesky mosquito. I crashed into a pile of damp newspapers and splintering lumber and lay there, trying hard to catch my wind. I gasped and retched.

"What kind of loads does it take?" he said again.

I grimaced, feeling some measure of control come back over my breathing. "The bullet tips aren't metal. They're wooden."

"Ah, the twenty-first-century adaptation on the old stake-through-the-heart bit." He fondled the gun some more. "So this is the infamous Fixer gun I've always heard about Interesting. Does it usually just take one bullet?"

"Depends on the individual."

He sighted down the barrel and I knew he had the damned thing locked onto my heart. "And just how many shots do you think it would take to kill you right now?"

"Way I'm feeling? You could probably do the job with a damned toothpick."

Cosgrove laughed and lowered the gun. "Ah, Lawson, you always were a card. You haven't fed in a while, have you?"

"Nope."

Cosgrove straightened and tilted his head back, licking his lips, tasting the night air as if it were some sweet nectar of the gods. "He was delicious, you know. Your friend, I mean. Absolutely exquisite. Did you know he must have had some Carpathian in his blood?"

"Turkish. He was Turkish."

Cosgrove nodded. "Close enough." He leaned closer, drawing down the distance between us so subtly I could barely even sense it. His voice became a mere whisper, or was he inside my head?

"Would you like a taste?"

"What?"

He pierced his forefinger. Crimson flowed from it, beading first on the pad, then dribbling down the length of his finger. "Taste him, taste your friend. It's customary, of course, your last meal and all."

Watching the blood made my mouth drown in saliva. I was starving for it. My energy was shot. Cosgrove knew this. Enjoyed this.

Slowly, I reached for his hand.

He held it aloft, watching and allowing the precious blood to pool before gravity began to exert itself on the first drop.

And in that instant I lashed out with a kick to his other hand, sending the pistol clattering off the edge of the roof. I followed by tackling Cosgrove and kneeing him sharply in the groin. We might have been vampires, but we weren't undead. We still felt pain. And Cosgrove grunted audibly as I slammed my knee into him a second and third time.

But he recovered fast and was on his feet even as I mounted another attack. He sidestepped my

punch and used my momentum to send me hurtling against the rooftop again. I crashed and came to a stop. Totally spent.

Cosgrove licked his finger. "You ungrateful bastard. I would have let you the honorably."

"Get it over with Cosgrove. I'm not in the mood for your damned orations."

"Death is such an easy release, Lawson. Trust me; I've sent enough people there. It's quick. Too quick. And far too painless for the likes of you." He shook his head. "But now . . . Now I think I'll leave you alive for a little while more. I imagine it will annoy you to no end to have me hunting in your neighborhood."

"You annoy me just being alive."

"I'm sure." Cosgrove smiled. "Tell me, are you a sporting soul?"

My wind was coming back. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Well, let's make it interesting, shall we? Let's see how good a Fixer you truly are. Let's see if you can catch me. And, dare I say it, kill me?"

Laughing, he stood over me and looked down at his finger. "So nice," he murmured as he squeezed his finger, causing the blood to pool once again.

I watched him turn his finger slowly, and in the darkness I saw a single drop of blood fall, cross the infinity of night, then hit my lips like salvation from a god. My tongue shot out instinctively, licking the globule off my lips. Even as the first coppery taste crossed my tongue, my whole body trembled with desire. Saliva flooded my mouth. I needed more. So much more.

"I'll enjoy this immensely, Lawson. Good night."

Then he was gone.

The challenge had been issued. The gauntlet dropped.

And, even as I lay starving. Famished. Ravenous. I knew I had no choice but to accept.

Four

McKinley's mood was as low as the limbo pole at a midget fiesta. "What do you mean, you missed?"

I cradled the telephone with my shoulder while I took another sip of juice from my private reserve. Well, I preferred to call it juice. You can call it blood if you're that kind of sick bastard who likes to imagine how wonderful it is to find nourishment in the life force of human beings. Me, it was difficult enough just keeping it down. After close to years, I was still wrestling with this whole thing.

My energy was waxing again, which was good. Damned good, in fact. God knows I was a spent unit on that roof. I took another sip and cleared my throat. "Just what I said." I took a long drag. "I almost died up there, you know."

There was a pause and I knew McKinley would be doing his usual rip-a-tuft-of-hair-out-of-his-head-whenever-the-news-was-bad routine. I gave him the moment.

"Did he say anything?"

That brought me up short. So much for my Control being concerned about my health. "Yeah, we talked about the price of pork-belly futures. What the hell do you mean, did he say anything?"

"It's just that with Cosgrove, you know it's always something. He's always on the soapbox."

"Soapbox? When'd you get to be such an expert on his behavioral patterns?"

"I've been listening to you for the past six years, haven't I?"

"I been bitching that much?"

"Like a sorority house on a communal rag."

I sighed. "The only thing I got out of him was that he was going to enjoy pissing me off to no end while he leaves a trail of shriveled bodies around town. That and his usual take-over-the-world routine. Same old Cosgrove. Same old psychopathic bastard." I put the bottle down. "Damn it, McKinley, I warned the Council this would happen."

"Yeah, you did. But you also missed when they gave you the OK to hit him."

"Sue me. It won't happen again."

McKinley sighed. "I assume you'll be hunting him full-time?"

Jesus Christ. "Of course I am. What do you think I'm gonna kick back and forget I nearly died on some shitty rooftop?" I sighed. "I won't miss again."

"Good, keep me informed."

The phone went dead before I could throw another witty insult down the line. That was fine with me. I needed some sleep.

I recorked the wine bottle. Just looking at it, you'd never guess the contents. If anyone asked, I told them I preferred my red wine chilled. I slid it back into my fridge and washed the glass so it wouldn't dry with the stains in it. You never knew when company might come over. Besides, dried

bloodstains on glassware is a bitch to get clean. And paper cups are out. Bloody cups draw all sorts of four-legged nocturnal scavengers. If my trash gets strewn across the street courtesy of a ravenous raccoon family, I'll have a lot of explaining to do to the neighbors.

Bedtime.

Now, I should explain that as far as being what I am, I am required to get an inordinate amount of sleep. You can, however, forget that sunlight stuff. It just isn't so. Might have been once, I never checked. But you show me one species that absolutely has to remain hidden from the sun, and I'll show you that same species extinct within two generations. Unless they happen to live five miles under the ocean.

We've adapted, you see. Sunlight, while not the most comfortable thing (you could liken it to the experience a lot of albinos have), can nevertheless be tolerated.

Personally, I work better at night.

Luckily for me, so did Cosgrove.

Christ, if he was a nine-to-fiver, I sure as hell wouldn't be getting to him today.

I crawled into bed and clucked twice for my cats. Like attracts like. Both of my girls were hunters. Pure and true. I got them at the local shelter since I could never bring myself to pay for a pet when there were lots of great animals out there that needed a home before they got euthanatized.

Mimi arrived first. She looked like Chewbacca on a bad hair day, and I was sure she had some coon cat a short way back up the family line. She was big, but she carried it well. And best of all, she was silent.

Phoebe came second, announcing herself with her characteristic chirp. A silver tabby with two pounds of extra weight swaying beneath her every time she walked, she was smaller than Mimi, but a helluva lot noisier. It was like no one had ever taught her how to land quietly. Listening to Phoebe jump down from something was like listening to a bag of bricks fall off a building.

Mimi tried in vain to claim my pillow, gave up after five minutes of using her head to ram into my skull, and settled down by my feet whereupon she engaged in aerobic-style self-cleansing. Phoebe, the tunnel rat, immediately dove under the covers, where she would remain for most of the day until I woke up.

One hundred and thirty-five years isn't old for a vampire. Compared to some of the others in Boston, I was just getting my feet under me. To me, it felt like I was approaching middle age. You think you've got it tough when you start noticing those good looks you had in college deserting you like rats on the Titanid Try being a vampire sometime. It sucks.

Simply put, we've always been around. like I said earlier about the whole shark thing: just because you can't see 'em doesn't mean they aren't there. Same thing goes for us. And especially since we'd adapted to the sunlight thing, you noticed us even less than before.

Oh, sure, there were the luminaries. We had that Vlad the Impaler guy. Man, what a freak. I mean, I needed juice to survive on, but let's do it in moderation, shall we? Old Vlad there was reminiscent of a Roman orgy the way he drank it down. You know the way some of you look at really obese peo-

ple and shake your heads? That's the way I looked at folks like Vlad.

So we've always been a part of your society inasmuch as we're here. But we're separate from you. You could liken it to Orthodox Jews. Together but separate.

It's a homogenous society. It has to be. Our survival depends absolutely upon it No interbreeding with humans. Too many things go awry and you get weird offspring that usually have to be exterminated. Besides, for the most part vampire semen and mortal female eggs don't get along and vice versa.

Sex is OK, just not impregnation. Sex is allowed because it helps us secure sustenance.

Love, though—that's strictly forbidden. Taboo. The ultimate sin in the vampire community. Needless to say, I've never had a problem adhering to that one.

So my folks were both vampires as well.

It was a strange thing for a kid to grow up with.

Different schools and everything.

Don't even get me started on my prom. Good God. It was like Carrie meets the bar mitzvah boys. One part bloodbath, one part coming of age, ten parts shit awful.

Somewhere down the line, between when you first start teething—that was when we hit puberty and the fangs come on out—and graduation, you visit with the Council. They're a group of older vampires who govern our society. Locally and internationally. Most of us as kids considered them a bunch of old fogies. No one had really ever paid much mind to them before our initial meeting.

They determined what part we'd play in the so-

ciety. Some of us hold down ordinary jobs, some school the children, some are historians and monastics, and a few . . . very few, in fact . . . end up like yours truly.

At my meeting with the Council, I was led down a long hallway, then was brought in to face them, put through a weird set of tests that judged my reaction time, probed my responses to various stimuli, and was asked a bizarre set of questions. Mostly, they were about the history of the vampiric world and what the old values meant to me. I answered them honestly, saying that while I felt they were important, they sometimes seemed a little trivial.

When they were done with the questions, they brought out a series of objects and asked me to pick the one that I liked the best. On a simple tray with a bright crimson cloth were placed a small statue of a bull, a tiny silver dagger, a gold necklace, and a set of scales. I thought the scales looked kind of cool, so I chose them.

It brought a smile to their faces. It also garnered me my profession. The scales were the symbol of my new role.

We're called Fixers. Mainly because it's our job to make sure the Balance, the delicate, tenuous coexistence between the vampires and the humans, remains unbroken. Undetected. And if it gets thrown out of whack, we make it right.

Or we try to make it right. Having a royal ass like Cosgrove around tends to make things a little difficult.

Regardless, I'm a Fixer. Guess it sounds a little more humane than vampire hit man.

I've been working for thirty-five years now. Ever since I hit my centennial, which might be equiva-

lent to your college graduation. That's when we go out into the real world and make something of ourselves. As subtly as possible, of course.

Thirty-five years is enough time, in my humble opinion, to suggest that humans have a helluva lot of problems, not including the Cosgrove situation. Between the constant murders, road rage, terrorism, and even the apocalyptic repercussions disco music will eventually cause, it amazes me sometimes.

Suffice it to say, and in case you haven't guessed by now, I'm a bit of a cynic.

Most folks think I'm a cop.

Except I don't have a weight problem from eating too many doughnuts. Yeah, I know it's a stereotype. But come with me over to the Dunkin' Donuts outside of Porter Square, and I'll show you exactly how stereotypes get started. Christ, it's got to be the safest place in America, what with all those cop cruisers and ambulances parked outside.

Mimi finished her calisthenics and began snoring. It seemed like a good idea, so I followed suit. After all, if I was going to kill Cosgrove, I'd need all the strength I could get.

Five

Monday morning dawned gray. The sky looked bloated with puffy clouds filled with the kind of cold spitting rain that makes November notorious. I watched the rain streak my bedroom windows in lazy downward rivulets and sighed. Definitely not the kind of morning I like to get out of bed.

But I had to.

Because before I resumed my hunt for Cosgrove, I had some other business to tend to. Personal business.

Showered and shaved, I went to my closet and took a long glance at the shirts and suits hanging there. Myself, I don't like the garb of corporate America. Suits are too confining for my taste and fighting in them is a royal pain in the ass. Still, there are times when I need them to blend in and do my work. And because of that, I chose my outfit with conservative care. Twenty minutes later found me dressed in a charcoal gray suit, white shirt, and navy tie with small polka dots maneuvering my way down South Huntington Avenue and onto Hunt-ington Avenue proper.

The Eastern Orthodox church sat down near the bottom of Mission Hill, close to Northeastern Uni-

versity and the Wentworth Institute of Technology. Its architecture stood out from the sleek modern and decidedly American lines of the buildings nearby. A domed roof hinted vaguely toward Islamic influences and the heavy wooden doors seemed carved from giant redwoods. The sheer weight of its appearance was reinforced by the manicured green playing field nearby, almost as if city planners hadn't wanted to build anything else too close for fear of causing a sinkhole.

I was surprised the service was being held in this church instead of a mosque. I supposed Simbik's family was one of the few holdovers from the Eastern Orthodox influence of Turkey.

Inside the darkened church, the scent of myrrh and frankincense cloaked the air like a mist. I breathed in, feeling a little light-headed, and at the same time, the spiritual significance of this holy place washed over me.

Conservative thinkers tend to argue that as vampires we are at opposite ends of the religious spectrum from humans. As such, we can be dispatched with crosses, holy water, and the like.

That's not really the case.

Sure, some of the really twisted folks in the past may have fallen under those weapons, but by and large, vampires tend toward a very spiritual belief system. And it's not one focused on Satanism either. We're very much into leading a community-centered existence that benefits everyone, including the humans we coexist with. But we have our legends. We have our ancient superstitions. I'm not really big on them, but others, like an old friend of mine, make a hobby out of studying them, learning the old ways, and passing them down to the

young kids. Me? I flunked ancient vampire history in school.

That said, crosses and churches don't really bother me at all. And I can gargle or chug as much holy water as I want to without any ill effects. To kill me, you've got to stake my heart and then cut my head off. That's it.

I sat in one of the back pews and watched the service. An Eastern Orthodox priest spoke in deep, resonating tones, his voice finding every niche within the confines of the church. The focus of his sermon, a brown mahogany coffin draped in a beautiful tapestry woven rich with burgundy and yellow silken hues, sat nearby.

Inside, Simbik's deflated body rested eternally more.

As I said before, I don't have many friends.

And even fewer are humans.

Simbik was an exception.

We understood each other on levels you can't easily fathom. He may never have known I was a vampire. He may never have cared what I was. But he always seemed to know there was something different about me. Just as I knew he was different himself.

Perhaps that's what drew us together.

I'd only ever seen Simbik's parents once before when they flew into Boston to surprise Simbik at work. I think they respected Simbik as much as I did for trying to forge his own path in life without relying on their wealth to sustain him. Their pride was obvious.

They must have flown in yesterday.

Simbik's father knelt with his head down. Every ounce of bodily control seemed exerted on not

showing any emotion. At his left side Simbik's mother wept in controlled sobs that would not dishonor her son. Turks are an extremely proud peo-pie.

But there was someone else here too. To the left of Simbik's mother.

A woman.

I never recalled Simbik telling me he'd had a sister. So who was she? It was tough to see much about her beyond the confines of the lightweight black lace veil she wore on her head, draped slightly to conceal her eyes.

But even from this distance, I could sense her presence.

Japanese call it "hara," the physical point about two inches below your navel. But on a much higher level, it refers to the presence of your being—physically, mentally, and spiritually—the total of them combined to make you what you are. People with a strong hara could walk into a room and everyone would feel the presence. Westerners try to brush it off as just having a strong personality, but as usual, they fall far short of its full ramifications.

This woman's hara was more than strong. It was almost tangible.

It was at that precise moment she straightened slightly and turned her head back in my direction.

Have you ever been caught looking at someone and when they pick it up and catch you, you feel as sheepish as a schoolboy looking at his first girl?

Well, that's precisely how I felt at that moment.

But I didn't look away. Instead, I inclined my head vaguely out of respect. When I brought it back up, she was still staring.

It was, no doubt, her eyes that made the impact

Dark and luminous, they looked like the polished chestnuts I used to collect as a kid. She'd been crying too. I could tell even from my distance. But it was something else within her eyes that piqued my interest. An inner strength seemed to radiate out from her. Almost a predatorial presence.

She was a hunter.

And a good one at that.

But human.

She held my gaze, which isn't easy to do. It goes back to that whole magnetism thing that helps me secure my sustenance. I can pretty much talk a nun out of her underwear if I want to.

This woman, whoever she was, didn't flinch at all.

And all the while she held my gaze, I could feel her probing and searching me out. Was I friend or foe? Was I responsible for Simbik's death? Was I a threat to the sanctity of this funeral?

All of this rolled through my head in the space of a few seconds and then stopped just as fast as she resumed her position by turning around toward the front of the church once again.

It was only then I noticed I'd stopped breathing.

With the service concluded, I moved out of the pew toward the front of the church and stood in front of Simbik's casket. I placed a hand solemnly on the polished mahogany and closed my eyes, wishing him a final farewell.

"You're Lawson."

The words interrupted my silent homage and quickened my pulse. I opened my eyes and turned to see her standing before me. She didn't look Turkish at all.

Asian.

I must have frowned, because she smiled slightly. "Simbik told me about you. He didn't mention many people. You must have been good friends."

I paused, still looking at her. "We . . . understood each other, I think."

She nodded. "Simbik didn't have many friends to speak of."

"Good ones are harder to find than most people realize."

"Indeed." She was searching with her eyes again.

I looked down at the casket and shook my head. "I'll miss him."

"As will I."

I looked up. "Forgive me, miss, but what gives you that right?"

She began walking away from the casket toward the exit. "Let's leave this to the attendants now, shall we?"

I followed, and only after we'd exited the church, standing under the overhang still sheltered from the rain, did she turn around, take a deep breath, and offer me her hand.

"Talya."

"Sister or cousin?" I shook her hand, surprised at the flexible strength it seemed to contain.

She smiled and it was radiant despite her obvious grief. "Neither. His fiancee."

Fiancee? I'd never known Simbik to even have a girlfriend. Aside from an occasional warm body in his bed, he led a solitary existence. "I'm sorry; I had no idea."

She shrugged. "It wasn't really something he would have publicized." She sighed. "Honestly, it wasn't exactly a mad love affair."

I decided not to ask. "But you're not Turkish."

"No."

"Asian," I said. "But not from the Far East." I looked at her cheekbones. "Mongolian, possibly from the Kirgiz Steppes—"

"Not bad."

"I'm close," I said. "But not entirely."

"Not entirely. My mother was from Oskemen. In Kazakhstan. My father was Chinese."

"Kazakhstan, at the end of the old Silk Road. You grew up among some incredible mountain vistas, eh?"

She seemed surprised. "The Altai Mountains, yes. Not many people are familiar with that part of the world."

"It's remote," I said. "Some would say desolate. Lonely." I shrugged. "I prefer raw."

"Yes. Raw describes the land well. You've been?"

"My life has provided me with plenty of opportunities to travel. I was there once. A long time ago."

"We might have met."

"Possibly. But I'm afraid my business kept me from enjoying the region's hospitality for long." "There's always tomorrow, then. Another day."

I smiled. "Your English is superb. No discernible trace of an accent—any accent, for that matter."

"I was . . . well schooled."

I nodded. "And you sure got here quickly. Kazakhstan is quite a ways away. Probably take you at least twenty-four hours of travel time to get here."

She turned, facing toward Huntington Avenue. "I was nearby. New York, actually. I caught the shuttle up this morning."

Something in the tone of her voice made me wonder exactly what she'd been doing in New

York. Hunting? It was possible, given the way she carried herself. It wasn't too obvious, but more subtle than anything else. And it was that subtlety that made me think she might be a professional. I just couldn't prove it.

Yet.

The rain increased as the pallbearers filed past us, ushering Simbik's coffin into the black hearse at the foot of the steps. In a few minutes it would be laid to rest in a nearby cemetery.

"Are you going to the burial site?"

I shook my head. "Cemeteries depress me. I've said too many good-byes before. Simbik's memory is strong with me. I'll grieve in my own way."

It was then she narrowed her eyes and focused another laser-intense gaze on me. It took her a few seconds of standing there, one foot on a higher step than the other. Rain pelted her gray coat, sliding south before slipping off to the cement below. Then she took a small breath and expelled it all at once.

"You know who killed him."

Her intuition must have been incredible—judging by the way she seemed to trust it. I was shocked, to say the least. And that takes a lot.

For some reason, unknown even to me, I answered.

"Yes."

She came closer. And suddenly seemed a lot more dangerous. Gone was the fact that she was Simbik's grieving betrothed. Gone was the proper and attractive woman I'd noticed in the front pew of the church.

In its place stood someone who operated on a

much more primal level. Talya had switched modes and become the predator I knew she truly was.

A wiser man would have been scared.

But wisdom's never been one of my strengths.

I was intrigued.

"Who did this?" It was more of a hiss than a question. She reminded me of a panther.

Trust me when I tell you that for her to have this kind of effect on a vampire—on a Fixer of all things—she must have been something unlike I'd ever known before.

I broke her stare and took a breath, tasted the rain and frowned. November rain never tasted like the freshness of a summer shower. November rain was a placeholder before the snows settled in. November rain held all the death that winter ushered in with it.

"Cosgrove," I said after a moment of introspection. "His name is Cosgrove."

She looked at me. Hell, she hadn't stopped looking at me. Her gaze seemed unshakable.

"Why Simbik?"

I looked at her. "There's no particular reason. He chose Simbik the way you or I choose the air we breathe. Maybe with even less thought than that."

"Killed for no reason?" She shook her head. "Makes no sense."

"Sense doesn't figure into Cosgrove's way of thinking. He kills for his own selfish reasons alone."

"Dead men kill no longer." She turned and hurried down the steps to the black limousine behind the hearse.

"Wait!" I called after her. She stopped, turned, and frowned. Waiting.

"It's not that easy."

"Why?"

I bit down on my inner lip. "He's not exactly an easy mark."

She smiled, but it looked like an empty, vacant smile with no joy in it. "I've heard that before."

"Not like this you haven't. Cosgrove is dangerous. Trust me."

"Why?"

I once knew a girl named Mary who asked "Why?" until she sounded like a broken record. But she was just plain dumb. Talya asked "Why?" with the kind of steadfast confidence usually reserved for people who don't let too many things get in their way.

"Because of Simbik. Because I know Cosgrove." I looked again at the sky. It seemed a lot darker all of a sudden. I looked back at her, weighing the options and deciding in a second. "Because I'm hunting him too."

She nodded. "So we'll hunt him down together."

I shook my head. "Not a chance." "She smiled. "You think maybe I couldn't hold up my end?"

Not against a vampire she couldn't. "It's not that simple."

She frowned again. "Nothing is as difficult as it seems. Why should this be any different?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

She hesitated. Then another smile. This one curious. "Try me."

So I did.

Six

If surprise was an almost forgotten aspect in my life, I was making up for lost time today. Contrary to what I expected, Talya wasn't the least bit shocked when I told her about Cosgrove's true vocation. In retrospect, I guess I hadn't really expected her to be shocked. She seemed too switched on to allow that to happen.

Still, I would have thought telling a human about the existence of vampires wouldn't normally be received with such nonchalance. Talya was rapidly retooling my definition of "normal." Especially when she skipped the burial to talk to me further.

I revealed it while she drank a cup of black coffee at the Beanery while I sipped some tea. I kept my own history out of it, of course.

She stayed quiet while I hit the highlights of Cos-grove's illustrious and decidedly bloody career, seemingly absorbing everything that came out of my mouth. When I'd finished, she took another sip of her coffee, put the mug down, wiped her mouth on the coarse brown napkin, and looked at me.

"How did you find out?"

"I've been hunting him for a while. I know his style. His preferences." I shrugged. "You can al-

most crawl inside the mind of the killer, isn't that what they say?"

She nodded, but seemed detached momentarily. "I've heard that, yes."

"Well, as much as it disgusts me to crawl around such filth, I've done it. I know him. Well. I wish to hell I didn't."

"You do what you have to, apparently. Makes sense if you are hunting him."

"I am."

"Information is the most valuable of all commodities, Lawson. With the right knowledge, governments can be toppled. A man can be reduced to a mere shell of his former stature. Even driven to suicide." She nodded. "Your information about this Cosgrove is valuable as well. We will use it to kill him."

Something about the way she said it sent a small shiver up my spine. I'd never met someone who could remain so detached about killing, except my fellow Fixers. I cleared my throat. Suddenly, I needed some verbal space to breathe. "Talya's an interesting name. Is it Kazakh?"

"Short for Natalya, actually," she said. "It's fairly common in Russia."

"Gotcha." I watched her stare into the ebony coffee and cleared my throat. "So. Want to tell me exactly what you do for work?"

She looked up, squinting. "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? Hell, back on the church steps, you told me you'd kill Cosgrove. There was no indecision there. And it wasn't simple revenge naivete." I took another sip of tea and looked out the window at Huntington Avenue. A bus zoomed by, vomiting dirty sludge out of puddles onto the

rain-slicked sidewalk. I watched the water drift back toward the street. "The signs are too obvious."

"Signs?"

I nodded. "Maybe not to anyone else. Maybe not to the people you pass every day on the street. But to me ..." I let it go and fixed her with a solid stare. "You're a pro."

She said nothing, but just looked at me. Piercing eyes that drew me in.

I broke the stare again. "Who do you work for?"

"No one."

I shook my head. "That's bullshit and you know it."

"I owe allegiance only to myself."

I took another sip of tea, realizing it finally. "A freelancer."

She inclined her head. I sat back, marveling at the woman before me. Like I said before, I've been around for a while. Long enough to learn all about the world of human covert operations. I've read it all, seen a lot of stuff firsthand, heard even more through the grapevine. But never had I ever come into contact with an actual human freelance assassin. Let alone as good a one as I presumed Talya would turn out to be.

Damned if I wasn't having my world tilted on its fucking side today. The revelation that Talya was what she was threw me for a loop. As a general rule of thumb, I don't have much respect for humans. Like I said, she was rapidly becoming an exception to that rule.

"How long have you been solo?"

"Long enough to know my way around."

"You wouldn't have survived without proper

schooling. You must have had formal training somewhere."

She shrugged. "I was employed once, by the Russians."

"KGB?"

"Yes. I was an illegal."

I nodded. The KGB had run illegals—their deep undercover agents—and penetrated them into the West. Some of them had gathered intelligence; others had orchestrated whole networks; a few select illegals had engaged in wet work.

Assassination.

I had no doubts what line of work Talya had been in and said as much. She nodded.

"I aspired to it."

"You wanted to kill?"

Talya smiled. "There was a sense of prestige associated with it. I don't know if you have read about the Soviet intelligence apparatus?"

"Some."

"Then you'd know that the two primary gathering organs were the KGB and the GRU."

"Soviet Military Intelligence." The Glavnoe Raz-vedovatel'noe Upravlenie.

"Yes." She took a sip of coffee. "The GRU prided itself on never having killed anyone. Their tactics were designed to keep them forever hidden. With the KGB, it was the exact opposite end of the spectrum. We used whatever tactics we could to get what we needed. We tortured, blackmailed, bought and stole our way into the biggest secrets of the West. And when all else failed ... if someone crossed us ... we killed."

"You operated alone?"

She shrugged. "Depended on the assignment.

But the pride of killing for your country helps take the sting out of what you actually do. I saw it as doing my national duty."

Something about that sounded vaguely familiar. I smiled. The irony of life could kill you if it didn't make you laugh first.

She smiled with me. "I saw a movie over here once back in the early 1980s. One of the characters said to another that 'professional assassination is the highest form of public service.' I took that to heart in my work."

"Interesting quote. What about after the Berlin Wall came down?"

"I went freelance after glasnost. I worked globally."

"Forgive me for asking, but what did Simbik think of your profession?"

She smiled. "He never knew. As I said, my mother was from Kazakhstan and my father was Chinese. If you know the region, you understand the borders are quite close."

"Yes."

"My father was the local Chinese commander for troops based at Karamay. Every so often, they would stage a lightning raid across the border."

"Chinese incursions into the Soviet Union?"

She nodded. "Don't seem so shocked. It happened on both sides with a degree of regularity." She took a sip of coffee. "My father was a Chinese platoon leader. He raped my mother." She shrugged. "I was the result."

I was speechless. Being the child of a rape victim isn't the kind of thing most folks would share with you. Talya didn't seem fazed by it.

"I've made peace with the feet that I was a bastard child, Lawson. If that's what you're thinking."

"It was."

She smiled. "You're honest That's good." She took another sip of her coffee. "I could have handled it the way people nowadays do. I could wail and moan about being a victim. I could cry myself to sleep every night of my life. Doesn't change a damned thing. You can't change the past no matter how hard you try, you know?"

My tea tasted cold and my stomach ached. "Yeah, I know something about that."

"So it came down to either living in the pain or forging ahead with my life. I chose the latter. And I've almost never looked back."

"Almost never?"

"I looked back once. Let's leave it at that."

"So how did you meet Simbik?"

She smiled as if granting me the right to change the subject. "I met him once when I was fifteen, on a state-sponsored school trip to Istanbul. He saved my life."

"He did?"

She tilted her head, remembering. "One of those crazy bus drivers, you know? I was lagging behind in my school group, distracted by the sights, and never saw the silly thing bearing down on me."

"And Simbik did."

She nodded. "Yanked me out of the way. When my mother found out, she wrote to Simbik's family and promised me to him as his wife."

"Pretty old-fashioned, wouldn't you say?" I motioned for the waitress to refill my tea.

She smiled. "My mother was like that. She so wanted her only daughter to have a proper mar-

riage and a decent family. I think she felt like she'd somehow gypped me of that by not having a father."

"Wasn't her fault."

"Of course not," she said. "But a lot of rape victims somehow get convinced it is their fault. It's not, but something happens during the trauma."

"And you went along with the arrangement?"

"When I was younger, I thought it was cool to have a potential husband already. Took a lot of stress out of puberty, you know? Simbik was a charming young man. He sent me pictures and letters regularly. In later life, once I started working for the government, it became a convenient cover for me. I used it."

I took another sip of tea, found it a little bitter and added two more sugar packets. "Did you love him?"

She smiled, almost remembering. "Once, I think I did. But I think we both knew somehow that it wouldn't work. It couldn't work. People nowadays don't follow through on arranged marriages unless they're part of some religious cult. As I said, I saw him once when I was fifteen, a few times after that." She paused. "Then today at the funeral."

"That's a long span of time."

She shrugged. "Today gave me a chance to talk things over with Simbik's family. As soon as I find Simbik's killer, I can concentrate on my job again."

"Interesting line of work you've got for yourself."

"You're one to talk." She gestured to the waitress for another cup of coffee. "Seems to me that we're cut from the same stone."

Not bloody likely. If she knew what stone I'd

been cut from, she probably would have run. No, check that. She'd probably try to waste me.

Instead, I just smiled. She smiled too. And we sat there smiling at each other like a couple of fools until a fresh cup of steaming blend arrived, breaking our toothpaste commercial.

She took a sip, seemed totally unfazed by the obvious hot contents, and licked her lips slightly. I found it vaguely appealing.

Talya looked at me. "So what do we do about this man Cosgrove?"

" 'We'?" I shook my head. "There's no 'we' in this equation, Talya. This isn't the sort of thing you just pick up like some secondhand recipe out of a magazine. Leave it to me. I'll kill him."

Her eyes crinkled at the edges. "Should I be naive and suggest we contact a priest?"

I smiled again. "Not much good in that. Things are a helluva lot different than the legends you grew up with."

"What makes you such an expert?"

"I've been tracking Cosgrove a long time. I know what will kill him. And it won't be silly superstitions. He can wear crosses with ease, drinks holy water like it's a fine wine, and he eats garlic like a wetback Dago fresh off the boat from Sicily." I sipped my tea. "Make no mistake: Cosgrove is a vicious bastard who can only be killed by ramming a stake into his heart and then hacking his head off. That's it."

She said nothing for a long time. Then she nodded. Slowly.

"Then that's exactly what we'll do."

"Anyone ever tell you you're stubborn?"

"No."

"No?"

"Usually, they just call me a bitch and be done with it. An ambitious, powerful woman is assumed to be menstruating. Silly, isn't it? Equating drive and discipline with an unavoidable monthly biological function. Men are movers and shakers; women are bitches."

"Listen, I don't want to break up this feminist bent you seem to be on, but I don't work with partners. It's no slight on your abilities. I'm sure you can hold your own. But hunting Cosgrove is different from anything you've ever done before."

"Lawson," she said, "I have killed a great many people in my years. Diplomats, spies, assassins, drug kingpins, terrorists, and others. I have seen my life flash before my eyes more times than I care to remember. And I have come across a great many foes who were far stronger than I have ever been. But I beat them all. And I will beat Cosgrove as well. He will pay for killing Simbik."

I finished my tea and set the cup down on the stained napkin. "If you say so, Talya." I fished a tenner out of my pocket and laid it across the bill. "But believe me when I tell you this is a whole new world you are stepping into. Your world of conventions does not apply in it. And if you go in thinking it does and that you're the exception, you will the. It's that simple."

"Then if I the, I will at least take him with me."

I stood up, but she grabbed my hand. "See you on the hunt, Lawson."

"We'll see."

"I'm at the Four Seasons." She cocked one of her eyebrows. "When you change your mind ..."

Her tone told me she was finished listening to

any reason I might have been able to dredge up. Whether Cosgrove was a vampire or not, Talya was going to kill him. And in her mind, that was enough.

I only hoped it was enough for me too.

Seven

I left Talya sitting at the table and wound my way back to my car parked in the underground garage. I checked my watch— : P.M. About eight o'clock would be a perfect time to go hunting. That's when Cosgrove would emerge on his nocturnal foray again. He was, after all, something of a traditionalist. While he might be able to stand the sun, he liked the night much more. As we all did.

I found myself amused and intrigued simultaneously with the thought of having a partner in the unlikely guise of a human assassin. Even if I'd wanted her along for the ride, there was no way I could justify it. I work alone.

I kill alone.

Part of me wanted to call McKinley and tell him. Hell, it'd be good for a laugh. But I couldn't do that. Interacting with Talya, let alone telling her about the existence of vampires, was verboten.

Made me wonder why I'd even done it.

I'd always loved women. I enjoyed impressing them. I needed to impress them. Part of me felt crushed when they weren't interested in me. Jealousy was something I should have conquered a

long time ago. But we all have our faults. And right now, mine was that I wanted to impress Talya.

Somehow I knew that it would take a helluva lot to impress a woman like her. She'd probably seen a ton of stuff I hadn't. And that was saying something.

So maybe if I killed Cosgrove first, that would impress her. Especially since I'd just built the freak up. Or had I? I adjusted the rearview mirror and checked my reflection.

I grinned. Lawson, you are one desperately lonely dude.

It was a standing joke with myself. I'd get the hots for some woman and then find ways to get under her skin. I'd think about her nonstop. Total infatuation. Then, of course, I'd never follow through because of who I was and what I was.

In the end it didn't seem like such a joke after all.

I sighed. Monday night. Things would be a little different tonight with the nightclub scene around Boston. Clubs usually perked between Wednesday and Saturday nights. Sunday nights were when most clubs marketed themselves to the gay community. Mondays and Tuesdays were therefore the slim nights. Most of the clubs were closed. Cosgrove would have his field of prospects narrowed down to the bars and pubs. Cosgrove would hunt, but he wouldn't necessarily like it the way he did when he was in a nightclub.

Truth was, even though I'd denied it back on that godforsaken rooftop, Cosgrove would never be just another assignment. Like he said, we went way back. Back before either of us knew what we'd be doing at this point in our lives.

Hell, he'd grown up down the street from me.

If I'd ever had the kind of foresight my parents used to suggest I develop, I would have known back then things would eventually come to this point.

I met Cosgrove on a clear, sunny summer day when his family moved in, freshly transplanted from London. Resettled into a new community of vampires. Sounds like Suburbia meets Bloodbath Avenue, doesn't it? Still happens that way too.

I was eight. Pretty tall for my age, with a mop of shock black hair that was forever too long. I had been watching the movers unloading horse-drawn carriages all day long, heaving heavy travel trunks into the house with bangs and scrapes that produced a lot of yelling from Cosgrove's mother.

He had emerged after the movers finished. As he came out onto the front porch, I watched him. He stopped and simply stared at me. Neither of us had said anything. Finally, I'd wandered over, and stuck out a grimy hand and introduced myself.

His handshake was like holding a wriggling ball of earthworms. His voice dripped like sap in the fall. Needless to say, I wasn't too keen on him.

The remainder of the summer consisted of me trying to avoid contact with him. It wasn't difficult. Cosgrove gave new meaning to the term "loner." He never went down to the swimming hole, never made friends with any of the other children, kept to himself, and seemed to spend an eternity on his front porch reading big books with black leather covers and spines in an assortment of foreign languages.

The other kids dismissed him as weird.

I suspected something else.

When school started, things came to a head early

on. Cosgrove had established himself fairly easily as the self-appointed leader of the outcasts in class. He thought that gave him rule over everyone. My friends and I didn't agree, and since Cosgrove lived on my street, it was decided that I would teach him a lesson.

School fights in the 1870s were pretty basic tackle-and-punch affairs. I gave Cosgrove a fairly decent working over and then left him bleeding on the field near school.

I wish that was the whole story.

It never is, though. Cosgrove stopped trying to overtly assert himself, but he was always up to something. In class small spitballs would find their way into my hair. Tiny tacks on my chair after recess. A dead bug in my lunch sack. I could never pin it on him, but I knew.

As we grew older, my thoughts were less of him and more of girls. There was one in particular. Her name was Robin. An unusual name for that time, but she was an unusual girl.

I loved her.

A blaring honk jerked me back to reality and cut the memory of Robin short. I hauled my black VW Jetta to the right down Newbury Street and then turned right onto Massachusetts Avenue and drove another block before wheeling the car onto Beacon Street for a quick trip into Kenmore Square and beyond into Allston.

The Jetta handled well. I could have easily afforded a Mercedes or other finely tuned car, but that would have made me more conspicuous. I chose the Jetta because it was German and handled as well as some other cars at twice the price. Plus, I'd been seeing the damned things everywhere

lately. That made it a lot easier to blend in. And I'm real big on blending in.

When I went through Fixer training, my instructors had hammered home the importance of not sticking out. It's just another fact of our society. We've got a whole fifth column of sorts to make sure things flow smoothly for us. Vampires work in every arm of the government, able to obtain Social Security cards and picture identifications; hell, we even pay taxes. I imagine that would really make old Bram Stoker jump into an epileptic seizure if he knew how easily we melded with human society.

After all, it's our survival at stake, so why wouldn't we?

One of the other things that I learned during training was the importance of continued discipline in training myself. I had to maintain a degree of readiness and strength that would aid me in my job. If I failed to ever be able to carry out my responsibilities, it would most likely result in my own death.

Therefore, I kept myself in superb condition.

That meant a lot of exercise. And martial arts.

You probably think it's hysterically funny for a vampire to need martial arts. Well, let me tell you something: when you're trying to take out a nut job like Cosgrove, you'll want all the advantage you can get Especially since the nut jobs frequently are as adept as Fixers.

So, in this case, I chose to borrow from the humans and study martial arts. No, not those pitiful sport-oriented arts where you see folks sweeping the floor with their hair as they do insanely stupid high kicks that expose their groin to attack. No, I needed something developed for combat. Some-

thing designed to impart as much damage on an opponent with minimal effort. Something natural.

So I chose ninjutsu.

Again you're probably shaking your head at the thought of a vampire cloaked out like a Hollywood ninja in a black mask and sword strapped across my back.

Not so.

This was the real deal. The ninjutsu I studied was authentic stuff handed down for almost a thousand years. Hell, it was older than I was. It actually comforted me in some small way to know I was dwarfed by it in terms of age.

I'd been studying for eleven years now and had a second-degree black belt. The school I attended was owned by a man whom I respected infinitely. He put his heart and soul into learning the art as well as he could. He passed everything on to his students and made sure we all knew how to protect ourselves. He was definitely not into churning out black belts like a copy machine. People in this school knew how to protect themselves.

Still, I always enjoyed the thought of what they'd do if they knew what I truly was.

When I got to the dojo in Allston, the class was already in session. I spent the next hour working on a dizzying array of knife-defense techniques and it felt great to be able to lose myself so totally in the exercises.

But it was all over far too quickly. And outside, the afternoon had slowly drawn down the shades of night Once again ushering in Cosgrove's hunt.

I drove back to Jamaica Plain and the old white Victorian I owned near Jamaica Pond. Ditching the gray charcoal suit into a pile in the corner of my

bedroom, I showered quickly, soaping off the sheen of sweat I'd accumulated during the martial arts class. Back in my bedroom, I stood in front of my closet again. The choice was simple this time. I dressed in a black turtleneck, dark slacks, and a dark blazer, definitely more my flavor of clothing. I strapped my piece just behind my right hip where its outline would be hardest to discern.

Another facet of my training.

Constant discipline and attention to the smallest details ensured success.

I left a fresh bowl of water for Mimi and Phoebe. I'd feed them later. One quick motion to grab my keys, wallet, and pistol and to flatten the tuft of hair that kept sticking out of the back of my head; then I headed back out into the darkness.

Boston's a gorgeous city at night. Sure, New York has a great skyline that speaks volumes about the millions of people clustered there, but Boston's skyline has a pride all its own. I crested Mission Hill and paused to look at the sweeping expanse of lights that jousted with the darkness. Twinkling yellows and whites looked like a star field superimposed on the city.

Down past Northeastern University, I passed Symphony Hall and made a mental note to get concert tickets for the upcoming season. They'd be playing a lot of Vivaldi. I'm a big fan. Well, next to Gustav Hoist. But they'd done his series last year.

I turned left onto Dartmouth and then right onto Boylston, following it past the giant teddy bear sitting outside the FAO Schwarz. A block farther down Boylston and I slid the car to a stop in front of the Four Seasons. It's a damned nice hotel.

Newer than the Ritz-Carlton, but they both suck in a lot of money.

Damn.

I rested my hands on the steering wheel and took a deep breath. I was doing it again.

I sighed. Women cause my otherwise airtight discipline to slip like a shoddy knot tied by a lazy Boy Scout.

I left the keys with the valet and wandered inside to the piano bar. To the left side there was a deep velvet couch with a small table in front of it. It gave me a clear view of the entrance to the bar and also the street outside.

I was nursing a Bombay Sapphire and tonic when Talya came in. I hadn't realized until then that I wasn't even sure I wanted her to see me. I'd just kind of planned on having a drink, maybe shadowing her once she went to hunt Cosgrove. You know, keep an eye on her. And all of a sudden, here she was, looking like my being there was the most natural thing in the world.

I don't know what disturbed me more, my lack of discipline or the fact that she seemed undisturbed by it.

The girl knew how to dress, that's for sure. Dark slacks that outlined muscular legs, a white blouse that showed an ample amount of bosom, and a blazer under which I was certain she packed a certain high degree of heat.

She stopped by the bar and ordered a vodka, straight, in an iced glass. I watched the bartender take a bottle out of the freezer and pour some out. She must have tipped him special for that.

Talya hefted the drink, winked at me, and wandered over. We were just casual acquaintances

meeting in a bar, not a pair of top-notch killers waiting to stake an evil vampire.

She slid herself onto the couch next to me, took a sip of the vodka, and exhaled. "Nice to see you again, Lawson."

"Christ, if I hadn't know you worked for the Russians before ..."

She smiled. "What, you've never known a woman who knew the proper way to drink vodka?"

"Maybe." I shrugged. "We going to swap love stories of old now?"

"Not a chance. I could go through mine in five minutes. We've got work to do and I don't want to bore you to sleep."

"That ever happen to you before?"

Talya smiled. "What do you think?"

Hell no. But I didn't say anything. I just sat and watched her.

She took a long sip, then put her drink down on the glass tabletop. "Before we get started, I need some information from you."

"Just because I'm here doesn't mean we're working together, you know."

"Doesn't it?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

I took a long haul on my drink and rested it back on the table, scanning the room. "Checking up on you, I guess."

She smirked. "I'm touched. You needn't worry about me."

"So you say."

"Well, even if you still claim that we're not working together, I still need some more information."

"About what?"

"Cosgrove."

"What about him?"

"You have a photograph?"

"No. The last photo we had went obsolete courtesy of some plastic surgeons in Geneva."

She nodded. "Describe him to me, then."

I did. She sat there and absorbed it all; when I finished, she polished off her drink. "I need to get going."

I nodded. "Fair enough. Say, you know the club scene in Boston is fairly limited on Mondays and Tuesdays."

"I know."

"You know?"

She ran her fingers along the rim of her glass and sighed. "Lawson, I did some homework today. I do have some experience in this type of thing, you know."

"Sorry." I finished the drink and set it back down. "I'm not even used to the prospect of working with anyone. I always operate alone."

"Speaking of which," she said, "who exactly do you work for?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know all about my past—"

"Not all."

"Enough," she continued. "I don't know a damned thing about you. Aside from the fact that we're similar. But different."

"That's probably enough."

"Not for me."

I studied her. Strange bedfellows doth destiny make. Who'd have thought when I rolled out of bed this morning that I'd be sharing a drink and God knows what else with a human woman who

had all the appearances of a true professional and was a damned sight better-looking than I could have imagined ever finding in an assassin? Sure as hell not me.

"I work for a group called the Council."

"Private or government?"

I smiled. "Yes."

She frowned. "Lawson, you're as much of an enigma as the man we're hunting. Maybe sometime soon you'll share some more of your secrets with me."

"I don't know about that. You already know far too much."

She laughed. "So you say." She checked her watch. "It's time I got started. Any later and I might miss him, no? I want to finish this tonight if possible."

"That may not fit in with Cosgrove's plan."

"The hell with his plan. After tonight it won't even matter anymore."

I hoped she was right Check that, I prayed to every god I'd ever heard of that she was right.

Eight

History was something I never did particularly well in during my school years. Actually, I never did well in any of my subjects since I spent my time more interested in girls than anything else. But I managed to absorb a few facts along the way.

My race evolved out of the same line as modern humans. I know it's strange for the traditionalists to accept the idea that vampires aren't the undead but rather a living, evolving race just like yours. Seems weird, doesn't it? It weirds me out too, and I'm one of them.

Most of the elder historians believe we began a separate evolutionary trail from Homo sapiens between twenty-five thousand and fourteen thousand years ago, during the height of the last ice age. But we were so much alike at first that for a while we probably coexisted.

Humans at that time were the first hunter-gatherers, often preferring to attack feared predators as a means of acquiring the powers they believed the animals possessed. A hunter back then might eat the predator, drink its blood, and wear the pelts as a way of trying to gain its power.

We did much the same thing.

But we hunted humans.

We were nomadic by nature. We left no paintings on cave walls for anyone to speculate on thousands of years later. And our skeletons have largely confounded most of modern science. Sure, archaeologists find similarly sized skulls as humans, but with elongated incisors; they fail to conclude a separate evolving race. They chalk it up as an oddity that this "tribe" might have all shared this tooth abnormality.

But it was us.

Gradually, as time moved on, we grew into a larger body of people. We chose remote areas to settle. Usually in mountainous regions. Places like the Himalayas, the Andes, the Carpathians, and even the Canadian Rockies became home to our kind. Small villages grew out of the first settlements. Later we began to spread. Wherever we could settle in reasonable anonymity without attracting suspicion.

It was tough. We were hunted to extinction in several countries.

Elsewhere we flourished.

In the Himalayas, they called us the yidam. We weren't seen as evil. In fact, some of the monks even thought of us as enlightened.

With the onset of the industrial revolution and a rapidly shrinking world, communities of vampires reached out and established loose networks with each other. We became ingrained in every human city and town around the world. But our population growth is much slower than humans'. We might have two children to every ten humans. It's nature's way of keeping things in check. Like

sharks that have one pup at a time. Too many predators ruin the food chain.

And we were predators.

Sure, you could romanticize it, but the fact remained that we needed human blood to survive. The ingestion of the life force is what sustains us. We can eat human food, but our metabolic process demands human blood. It's within the blood that the human life-force energy rests. Oxygenated blood crackles with electric energy. The Chinese call it chi; the Japanese call it ki.

We call it food.

It's not pretty, but it is necessary.

The result of borrowing life-force energy evolved us into a much stronger race. We're pretty much invulnerable to the usual causes of death. Fully nourished, we'd be a pain to put down.

But puncturing the heart with wood upsets our ability to keep blood and the vital life force flowing. Doesn't sound logical, I know, but for some basic elemental reason, wood can kill us once it pierces our heart. It's a theory I heard was based on the Five Elemental theory of Asian philosophy. Expanding energy characteristics of wood break up the concentrated stability of life-force energy. And as long as we're decapitated immediately afterward, regeneration is impossible.

We age as well and, yes, even the from it. Our typical life span can be hundreds of years. Think it sounds cool? It's probably the most boring existence imaginable.

Unless you're a Fixer.

In that case life can be pretty exciting. That is, if you like tracking down scumbags, getting shot

at, and leading one of the loneliest lifestyles you never had the displeasure of living.

Talya left the Four Seasons and walked farther up Boylston Street, making no attempts to move discreetly. I shadowed her from a block back, knowing she knew I was there. Watching her move reminded me more of one of my own than a human. She was as much a predator this night as I was.

I kind of liked it.

The Alley, as it's known, was packed with bars that attracted postcollege kids who were now entering the corporate upward river swim. Like so many salmon unsure of why they do what they do— but they do it nonetheless—these young office kids packed the bars and pubs surrounding the financial district with mindless devotion. It's a kind of useless existence that has always baffled me. Humans seem curiously attached to doing what society thinks they should do, even if it's something they don't want to do in the first place.

Strange.

Most everyone else in the world on a Monday night was home trying to forget about their least favorite day of the week. But the young professionals were out in force. The former frat boys, still trying to pull off their glory-days appearances when they had full heads of hair, were mostly stocky. Their previously proud muscles had quickly accumulated fat when forced to reside inside tightly quartered cubicles for up to twelve hours every day.

The girls were much the same, finally realizing that precious youth, while still a resident in their life, was nevertheless anxiously looking to move to a better neighborhood. This realization and the omnipresent biological societal clock were stomp-

ing loud enough that even on a Monday night there'd be a lot of balding, paunchy guys heading home with a lot of marriage-seeking gals.

Except one.

She'd be dead before the night was over.

Another victim of Cosgrove's hell-bent streak.

Unless Talya and I had any say in the matter. Well, more so Talya. I had to be honest with myself. I wasn't exactly crazy about taking Cosgrove on again so soon after my last fiasco on Saturday night. I'm not a big fan of repeating mistakes over and over again.

I'm much more into successes.

But I didn't really have much of a choice. It's what I do, you know? I guess I was as locked into my job as these youngsters swirling around me were. So much for my enlightened existence.

Whatever tonight brought my way, I was going to be ready for it even if facing Cosgrove made my stomach hurt and my sphincter pucker like a nervous virgin in prison. After all, I'd fed before I met Talya and that would keep me going at least until I could get home and have another swig of juice.

Talya disappeared inside the club without so much as a lingering glance from the bouncer. I waited five minutes and then headed for the door. I had my piece on my hip, but the overzealous bouncer didn't notice it. Either he was too lazy to spot it, or he was too interested in frisking my crotch. I think I'd prefer option number one. But that's just me.

Inside, Talya slipped as easily as I did through the masses of people. She moved like a shark, but I suspected had she wanted to, she could have easily attracted anyone in the room. The ability to

turn a magnetic personality on and off again at a whim is a pretty potent weapon. And I had no doubt it was one of many tools in Talya's arsenal.

She grabbed a seat by the main bar and gestured the bartender over. I saw him put a vodka in front of her and what looked like a gin and tonic in front of the empty seat next to her. I sighed and wandered over. I couldn't refuse the drink. That would be rude.

"It's Bombay Sapphire," she said without turning around. "Unless my sense of smell is off, that was what you were drinking at the Four Seasons, right?"

"Yeah." I tasted the drink. "Thanks."

"Ready to work together yet?"

"No."

She shook her head. "Why is it that women are called 'stubborn' and men are called 'determined'? If you ask me, they're two sides of the same coin."

I ignored that comment. "So what's your plan?"

She looked at me like I had two heads. "Didn't we discuss this already?"

"Did we?"

"We're going to kill him." She smiled. "Sorry, I forgot. I'm going to kill him."

I shook my head. "Yeah, I got that part. How are you planning to do it?"

She smiled at me. "How do you usually do it?"

OK, so she knew I was a professional as well. Damned if she didn't seem to know more about me than I was comfortable with. "I'd just walk around and look for him."

"You're hunting him too."

"Yes."

"So why don't you go ahead and do that."

It wasn't even vaguely a question, which disturbed me to no end. Like I said before, I am not used to attractive and highly capable women being a part of the equation that is my life.

You might think this whole thing ridiculous, but you've got to appreciate what I go through. Sexually speaking, I can get it whenever I want to, but sex is usually just a part of securing my sustenance. Sure, I can enjoy it and I can make it absolutely spectacular for any woman I want. Multiple orgasms, the whole bit And we're not talking about those pathetic triples that so many women seem to think are so awesome after six hours of sweaty grinding. No, I'm talking about you have three before my pants even come off. I'm talking about long oral devotion. Hell, I bring a thermos and sandwiches and camp out. I enjoy pleasing women. Makes them a lot more eager to please me. And that means I get a lot more energy from whatever precious juice I can get out of them, whether it's a playful love bite or what have you. So I'm good. I have to be good.

But Talya was something else again.

So instead of questioning it, I stood there looking silly for a moment.

Talya waved the bartender over and ordered another drink without looking at me. "I'll be fine. Go hunt him down, Lawson."

Sometimes I think this whole vampire thing is really overrated. With Talya around, I wasn't even feeling like I still had control.

Now that was weird.

She was right, though. I was supposed to be hunting him.

I left her at the bar and started to make my way

around the place. Get a feel for it. I hadn't been here before since I usually try to avoid these joints altogether.

It was large for a bar. One main polished mahogany bar ran down the left side for about a hundred feet, stocked with simple wooden stools. On the opposite side there were the kind of high-backed booths the beautiful people liked to lounge in as they ordered their Cristal champagne in crystal flutes. They were packed.

I moved upstairs to the second floor where a small dance floor had been erected surrounded by more tables and more chairs and many more people. Guys watched girls dance from the safety of the seating area, not willing to venture onto the floor and risk exposing their inability to move in time to the beat.

Lights flickered in time to the music and spinning globes of crystal and light strobed the atmosphere into a dizzying array of light and sound.

It was entirely too chaotic and cramped to have made hunting easy for Cosgrove.

An arm reached out from the crowd and grabbed my hand. It was attached to a young woman sporting a black miniskirt and a buzz that would have made a homeless drunk proud.

"Dance with me!"

I maneuvered away, freeing myself from her tenuous grasp and headed back downstairs. If Cosgrove was here, it wouldn't be on this floor.

Back downstairs was even more crowded than when I'd left it five minutes earlier. So much for the fire code. They seemed intent on stocking as many people in here as they could. And to think

this wasn't even the busiest night of the week. Amazing.

I took another sip of my drink as I meandered past the booths again. The other night Cosgrove had been sitting in one with his back to the wall while watching everything in the club happen around him.

Watching the many people he could reach out, stroke, and then pluck from life, raping them for their precious fluids. Just the thought of it brought back a fresh image of Simbik on the gurney.

That was quickly replaced by a need, an unquenchable thirst, for revenge. I wanted the man who had killed my friend.

And we are a vengeful people, let me tell you.

Even I, as a professional Fixer, fell victim to the desire for revenge. Especially when the victim had been one of my friends.

So even though facing Cosgrove made my stomach ache, I knew I'd do whatever it took to gain justice.

I moved around a gaggle of giggling girls putting far too much effort into flirting with a paunchy Euro-type and headed back to the bar.

I could just make out Talya over the tops of about twenty heads. Even from this distance she was a good-looking woman. Check that, she was gorgeous.

And currently laughing.

Talking.

Nodding.

She sat next to a man at the bar. Apparently, the idea of saving my seat hadn't occurred to her.

Frustrated that the immense crowd made it dif-

ficult to move, I frowned and then got a better look at Talya and her companion.

I stopped breathing at roughly the same second my sphincter shriveled up and my testicles headed north to my throat.

Cosgrove.

Nine

There is a technical term for what I experienced when I saw Cosgrove chatting Talya up. Well, it's technical in my book. It's called the "jaw-drop-mouth-holy-shit" reaction. Because that's exactly what I did.

Cosgrove had his back to me and Talya obviously hadn't caught sight of me trying to push my way through the crowd. That gave me a moment to clear my head and try to put sense to what I was seeing.

Several theories popped into my head at once: The first was that Talya had no idea she was talking to Cosgrove and was using him as a convenient shield while she scanned the room for any suspicious goings-on. The second theory was that she knew exactly who she was talking to and was baiting him along until I got back so we could take him out together, thus enjoying a better chance of success. And the third was that she knew it was Cosgrove and wasn't the least bit concerned about it.

And that concerned me.

As I said before, I've danced in the covert-operations circles a few times before. Conspiracies are nothing new to me. Hell, if I was honest with

myself, and I tend to be unless I'm looking in a mirror, my whole role in life was based upon maintaining a very successful conspiracy. As a Fixer, I preserved the Balance, never letting humans know there was such a race as vampires among them. Never letting that fact become exposed.

But if Talya was in league with Cosgrove, that meant something extremely bad was afoot. And just like failures, I'm not a big fan of "afoot."

I grabbed a seat close to the end of the bar and flashed a little magnetic energy at a short-haired blonde who immediately launched into how she worked in human resources (didn't they all?) at some huge mutual-fund conglomerate down the street That's all it took. While she played "let me fascinate you with my pitiful existence," I feigned enough interest to keep her tongue moving and used her to study Talya and Cosgrove at the other end of the bar.

Have I mentioned anything about my Fixer training? Probably wasn't enough time before, but let me digress here and spend a moment describing a few things I went through in order to become that I am today.

The instructors harped on the ability to be able to communicate in as many ways as possible. Then they reversed it and told us the more ways we knew how to communicate, the more methods of surveillance we'd have at our disposal. And one of the most effective means of eavesdropping on someone else's conversation was to practice the art of lipreading.

We practiced for months. It was not an easy discipline. Sure, there were the textbook cases we started with. Perfectly articulated speakers who made the right shapes at the right times with their

lips and tongues. We practiced with them until we got every word being said from across the room. Then we were sent out to practice in the big wide world.

Talk about a reality check.

Nobody spoke as carefully as our test subjects did. We found that out quick. And when you added in the sprinkling of idiomatic speech, accents, second languages, and a myriad of other verbal booby traps, it got pretty difficult.

But we mastered it.

We had to.

So while Marijane, the pixie personnel recruiter with mosquito bites for breasts, chewed my ear off about loving a man with a strong chest, I watched Talya's lips move for ten minutes.

The prognosis was not good.

I speak roughly fifty languages, and maybe twelve other very esoteric dialects. And I speak them well.

Talya was speaking a language I didn't recognize.

Is there such a language as Kazakhstani? I didn't know. But whatever language it was, it was fairly obvious that Cosgrove spoke it too. Fluendy.

That fact alone did not warm my heart.

And I was faced with more possibilities. Maybe Talya had somehow been planted on me by Cos-grove. Why? Perhaps to watch my movements. Perhaps to try to turn me to Cosgrove's side. Whatever mumbo jumbo he'd been spewing on the rooftop, it was obvious I hadn't put much faith in it. After all, it was Cosgrove, and that freak had always been a hell-bound, glory-seeking bastard. And besides, I was pretty well near dead at that point anyway. All in all, I think I could forgive myself. But this new revelation put a different spin on things.

And it raised new questions about Talya.

Number one might be what the hell she was doing communicating with a vampire? Was she one herself? I didn't think so, but there was the unnerving fact that she emanated a hunter's presence. Her background was an acceptable explanation for that. Or at least it had been.

If she was a vampire, how the hell could she have gotten that close to Simbik's family? And if she wasn't, how could she reconcile being in league with the killer of her fiance?

My head swam with confusion. This was definitely getting out of hand and I was truly worried. Even without confirming my suspicions about Talya being in league with Cosgrove, things looked pretty dim.

I watched them talk for another ten minutes, still unable to decipher any of what Talya said. She seemed to grow anxious and began waving her hands around. Then Cosgrove eased himself out of the seat and disappeared out the front door of the bar, leaving Talya alone with her drink.

And me confused as hell.

I took the pixie's number and slid it into my pocket. I'd file her under the "divorced, easy lay" section of my phone book. Women with no self-esteem come in handy sometimes, and as ruthless as that sounds, when you're in my line of work, you need all the assets you can get.

Talya looked up as I approached. I hadn't quite decided on a course of action, but I did want to take a wait-and-see approach and watch what developed.

She smiled at me. "Any luck?"

"No. I didn't see him. You?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes just enough that I couldn't make out any fluctuation of her pupils that might have indicated lying. Not that I really needed to see that at this point.

"Nothing happened down here, that's for sure."

I said nothing. I just watched her. It was an old trick I'd learned in an interrogation course I took once. Don't say anything and people will feel compelled to fill in the void of silence. Often they give away some valuable information.

Apparently, Talya had taken the same course because she just kept looking at me. After about two minutes of this, she smiled. "So are we partners now?"

Too many doubts about what I was wading into filled my head. Partnering with Talya might not have been kosher from an objective viewpoint, but I needed to keep an eye on her. And this recent turn of events mandated a close watch even more.

If I'd been feeling particularly sure of myself, I might have put a gun to her head and demanded she tell me what the hell was going on. But I wanted some background on her first before I confronted her. I could be making a big deal out of nothing.

I usually do when there's a woman involved.

So I shrugged. "I suppose it makes better sense to stick together than go it alone. At least this way we can watch each other's backs."

She smiled again. "Exactly."

I checked my watch. It was already climbing toward : A.M.

Whatever had transpired, it seemed fairly certain that Cosgrove wasn't going to be killing anyone around here tonight. There was a chance he was

still full from his meal of Simbik the other night. Or he'd killed before he'd come to see Talya.

"Doesn't look like much is happening."

"I wouldn't say that," said Talya.

"No?"

"You just made a wise decision about us becoming partners. I'd say that was important."

I mustered a small grin, but I had more questions than answers, a gnawing headache, and a feeling that before I figured out what the hell was going on, it was going to get a helluva lot worse.

And to think, people used to call me an optimist.

Ten

Outside the bar, Talya leaned in close to me. "So what now?"

I eased back off her. "It's late." She smiled. "It's never too late, Lawson." I should mention that vampires have an acute sense of smell. Our olfactory sense is one of the most heightened tilings we possess. So it was fairly easy to discern that Talya was horny. Pheromones leaped off of her like a lemming convention being held at high tide.

And she did little to hide it. "Why don't you take me home?"

Yeah, right. Not while I was still trying to figure out whose side she was playing on. Seeing her with Cosgrove had really fucked me up, not to put too fine a point on it. I needed some background on Talya, and to get it, I'd have to let McKinley know what was going on.

"Not tonight, sweetheart. I've got work to do."

"But you said yourself it was late. What more can

you do tonight?" She snuggled herself against me

and I was instantly aware of her curves and the

warmth they contained. I wish I could say I wasn't

tempted. I wish I could say that she wasn't extremely attractive. I wish I could.

But I couldn't.

However, given that I have an extremely ingrained sense of duty, and given that she happened to be my now-dead friend's fiancee (or was it ex-fiancee?), I did manage to find the self-discipline to pull myself away from her.

"Your hotel's as far as I go. That's where we say our good-nights."

She pouted the entire two blocks back down Boyl-ston Street, but it wouldn't do any good. If Talya was dirty, her attempts to bed me could just be an ambush. I didn't feel like walking into one.

It also didn't help matters that the entire way back to the hotel, my other senses screamed at me. We were being watched. I presumed it was Cos-grove. But, in truth, it could have been anyone. Whoever they were, they knew their business. I couldn't pick anyone up, and since the streets were nearly deserted, it meant they were a lot better at their trade craft than I was comfortable with.

Across the street from us, the Boston Public Gardens stretched out; jagged tree trunks devoid of leaves yawned their shadowy limbs, expanding the realm of ebony that occupied the park. An entire surveillance team could set up shop behind the tree trunks and I'd never see it.

The sensation of being observed only made me want to drop Talya off as soon as possible and get home. I needed to know who she was, what she was doing, and who might be connected to her.

If she'd just hopped in from New York and hadn't been careful enough, she could have a kill team following her, just waiting for the right mo-

ment to waste her. Talented pros like Talya accumulated enemies the way a politician accumulates scandal and corruption. The kill team might be entirely unconnected to what I was working on right now, but I wasn't naive enough to think they'd spare me. Guilt by association meant they'd try to kill me just the same.

And that was the good news.

The bad news was if she was dirty, and Cosgrove was waiting for me, there was no telling how well I'd fare against the two of them. And if Cosgrove had more troops to call upon, odds weren't good on my getting home to feed Mimi and Phoebe. They'd be pissed.

We got back to the Four Seasons and went through the revolving door past the sleepy doorman in the long overcoat. Talya turned to me in the lobby.

"You sure you won't come up?"

I tried to smile, but I don't think it came out too well. "I don't think so."

"Don't you like me?"

Now there was a question I didn't have an answer to. At least, not yet. I grinned. "I like you just fine. I'm tired and need to get home. My cats get jealous if I stay out too late."

She smiled. "You don't strike me as being a slave to pussy."

"Think of it more as a healthy respect."

"You sure you won't come up?"

"Positive."

Her shoulders drooped, but she seemed to accept my excuse. "Tomorrow?"

"I'll call you in the morning. We'll strategize then. All right?"

She leaned in, lips already puckering. "Russians customarily kiss when they say good-bye."

I left her standing there. "Sleep well, Talya."

As I left, the doorman, who had come awake during our brief exchange, winked at me. "Nice."

Guess he'd seen his share of whipped guys come through and I was the exception. If only he knew how much of an exception I really was.

I picked up my car from the valet and drove home to Jamaica Plain via Somerville. Which, if you know Boston, makes absolutely no sense at all.

Unless, of course, you know all about taking people to the cleaners. That's how you lose a surveillance team.

Even if Cosgrove was following me, by the time I got through my circuitous drive home, he wouldn't have been behind me. When I went through Fixer training, losing tails was something we practiced in Moscow. Probably the toughest place during the height of the Cold War to practice trying to lose people. During those years, the KGB routinely assigned an average of six rookie gumshoes to every tourist who came through the city. Most of the time, the tourist merely smiled and accepted it.

For us, it was different.

We used to have to get them to notice us, most usually achieved by snapping pictures of the KGB building on Dzherzhinsky Square and then losing them across the city. Without getting caught.

I favored the old GUM department store for its huge selection of big coats and fur hats. You could duck into old stairwells or back storage rooms and easily lose the surveillance team. It was tough,

though. Getting caught would have exposed us all, so the pressure was really on. But we all passed.

So this drive home was really no chore at all. Just added an extra forty-five minutes on my commute time.

I rolled up to my house at half past three and was greeted by incessant chirping coming from Mimi and Phoebe, who hadn't been fed since last night. I fixed them dinner and then sat down in the study to phone McKinley.

He answered on the sixth ring.

"Yeah?"

Asleep too. McKinley liked to keep daytime hours. "It's Lawson."

He yawned into the phone. "Yeah, I figured there'd only be one wretched bastard who'd forsake common courtesy and interrupt a decent sleep. Did you get him?"

"Not yet."

"Lawson, what the hell are you calling me for then?"

Some people. "Your sparkling personality. I need information."

"About?"

"I don't have many details. Female, I think she's human—"

"You think?"

"Christ, McKinley, I didn't get a chance to verify it."

"All right. What else?"

"Name's Talya."

"Talya what?"

"I only got Talya."

"Anything else?"

I could hear him writing this down, which was a

good sign. McKinley kept great notes. "She's a pro."

"You want information on a hooker?"

"A pro. A hitter. For crying out loud, McKinley, wake up!"

"Sorry. OK, Talya, possibly human, assassin. Anything else?"

"I need to know where she's been recently. Said she came in from New York this morning on the shuttle. Can you trace it?"

"See what I can do." He paused. "Lawson."

"Yeah?"

"What's so special about this broad?"

I frowned. "I don't know yet."

"She connected to this thing?"

"You know the guy Cosgrove took out on Saturday, Simbik?"

"Friend of yours, yeah, what about him?"

"Talya says she was his fiancee."

"You don't believe her?"

"I'm not sure. I've got reason to believe she might be holding back on me. That's where you come in."

"Gotcha. Twelve hours."

"I'll call you tonight."

I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and promptly burned my tongue trying to drink it too fast. Outside the night was starting to bleed reds and oranges. Dawn was coming. A new day approached and I was no closer to getting Cosgrove than I had been before. Add to that mix the whole Talya thing and I was gearing up for some decidedly bad shit.

I flipped the television on in time to see some

washed-up actress hawking new careers in computer repair, gunsmithing, and accounting.

Crunching numbers all day suddenly didn't seem so bad.

Eleven

It took McKinley just over his estimated twelve hours to gather all the necessary information. I'd just finished another grueling workout when the phone rang. Sweat dribbled off me as I grabbed for the receiver.

"Yeah?"

"It's me. Where the hell'd you find this chick?"

"A chat room on the Internet, McKinley. Where do you think? She was at Simbik's funeral." I mopped my brow. "Why? What'd you find out?"

There was a pause and I could hear McKinley shuffling what sounded like fax papers. "Lots. First, and most importantly, she's not one of us."

Was that good news or not? I had no answer for it myself. The fact that Talya wasn't a vampire could be good news, but it could also signal some kind of alliance between humans and vampires. An alliance Cosgrove could be trying to forge. And that was bad. Definitely bad.

"What else?"

"Definitely a professional. Top-notch murdering madam. History includes time with the KGB. She tell you that?"

"She drinks iced vodka."

"Just because she drank vodka you thought she was former KGB?"

"You ever known a woman who could put down three iced vodkas with no adverse effects?"

"No."

"Trust me, then, will you?" I paused. "So what'd you find out?"

"Did a number of 'black bag' ops for them in the early and mideighties. All successful. Had one of the best records for any international operative. She went freelance after communism flunked out. Had assignments all over the world. She's been employed by everyone from the Mossad to the Cali Cartel."

"Not very discriminating about her work, is she?"

"Doesn't seem to be," said McKinley. "But she's top-drawer stuff. Her KGB file came via a friend of mine down in Virginia. She did training with Spetznaz Alpha Groups. Did some time in Afghanistan and Lebanon. She's good. Hell, she's excellent."

"Top percentile?"

"And then some. Here check this out," he offered. "OK, Kabul in , the local brigade commander is having trouble with a sect of very badass mujahideen fighters."

"So?"

"So the brigade commander keeps losing men and vehicles to these lightning raids. He's straight-out trying to find them and kill them. Can't do it. So he calls Moscow and asks for help. They send this Talya chick."

"And?"

"She disappears into the countryside alone for two weeks. You ever been to Afghanistan?"

"No."

"Place makes Newark, New Jersey, look like a goddamned rest home for the rich and famous. It sucks. Dry and inhospitable shit, Lawson. Anyway, your girl goes out there for two weeks, tracks this band of freedom fighters down, and eliminates every one of them."

"How many?"

"Fourteen. Including two sixteen-year-old boys."

"Damn."

"Damn? Shit, Lawson, this kind of info rates more on the fuck-me-very-much scale. This is one nasty woman."

"I assumed as much from the way she carries herself."

"She a player in this?"

I frowned and took a sip of juice. "Seems to be. But I'm not sure how the hell she fits into it. She claimed to want to kill Cosgrove. I took her out hunting last night—"

"You did what?"

"McKinley, she's got no clue about me. Relax."

"It's your funeral if she does, Lawson. Might be your funeral anyway, given her history. What happened?"

"We split up at one point. Basic recon of the place. I came back downstairs and saw her getting awfully friendly with Cosgrove."

"Shit. She see you?"

"Of course not."

"How friendly was she getting?"

"Laughing and carrying on like old-budthes-friendly. It didn't leave a very warm spot in my stomach."

"I'll bet. Did she know it was Cosgrove?"

"I think so."

"That's not good."

"No shit."

Another pause. McKinley shuffled more papers. "How do you want to play it?"

"I'm not sure yet." And I wasn't. Too many things seemed to be hurling themselves at me. Too much, too quick. "Any fresh kills?"

"Police reports only got down some gangland stuff. Nothing attributable to our boy."

"He'll strike again soon. He has to." I paused. "Say, McKinley, you have anything on Talya's birthplace?"

"Yeah, right here. File says she was born in what is now Kazakhstan. Central steppes-type area, couple of mountain ranges. Area borders China to the east."

"What language do they speak there?"

"Language? I don't know. Why?"

"Well, last night when I was watching her talk to Cosgrove, they were speaking a language I didn't recognize."

He laughed. "Hell, Lawson, you only speak fifty languages. Could be one you don't know."

"This was different. Even if I can't speak it, I can at least recognize most of them. This one was new to me."

"Maybe some type of regional dialect?"

"I was thinking, yeah."

McKinley sighed. "I can check. That will definitely take some time. But I'll look into it. In the meantime, got any theories about this?"

"Not really. I'm wishing I paid more attention to Cosgrove the other night on the roof."

"Can't be helped now. But you think this Talya woman is mixed up with it? Whatever it is?"

"She's either in it all the way or Cosgrove is using her for some reason."

"Not out of character for him to do that, is it?"

"No, it's not. But she's different. He's only ever used fools before. Talya is different."

"So you keep saying, Lawson. What about if neither of them knows who the other one is?"

"You mean they just happened to be talking in a strange, obscure language by sheer coincidence?"

"You never know."

"You know as well as I do, McKinley, that we can't afford the luxury of believing in coincidences. There's something going on; I know it. I'm just not sure about Talya."

There was a pause on the line. "Lawson . . . You're not too close to this broad, are you?"

I smiled. McKinley could be a dope, but he could be a good guy too. "Like you've got anyone else who can handle this?"

He chuckled. "No, but you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean. I'll stay cool."

"You do that. I'll check out that information for you and call you back later." The phone went dead again and I sat there taking small sips of juice, pondering. After five minutes of getting absolutely nothing worthwhile, I gave up and took a steaming shower.

Basically, what it came down to was simple: until I could figure out exactly how Talya fit into this whole mess, I had to make sure she suspected nod-ing was amiss. That was the only way I'd be able

to observe things as they needed to be. And then maybe I'd be able to get some more out of this. Maybe.

I called her after my shower.

"Where have you been? I was worried."

I'll bet she was. "Asleep. It was a late night. I needed some rest. Time to think."

"About blowing off what could have been an amazing night of passion?"

"Not really. Look, Talya, don't take this the wrong way, but if we're going to work together on this thing, I can't be sleeping with you. You're Sim-bik's fiancee, for crying out loud!"

"Ex-fiancee, Lawson. He's dead now."

"Whatever. Fact remains, you were still a part of my friend's life and I'm certainly not ready to discount that so quickly."

"You don't find me attractive?"

"That's not it and you know it. You're a professional. I'm a professional. We have to stay objective about this."

"If you say so."

"I do." I just wished I meant it.

"Fine." She may have agreed, but her tonality told me she was pissed. Well, she didn't have to like me. I just needed to keep her around for now. Until I figured this all out.

"Are we on for tonight?"

"Yes. Same time, OK?"

"All right."

I hung up the phone and leaned back into the couch as Mimi jumped up, looking for some affection. I stroked her fur and she responded by kneading her claws into my jeans.

The first time I'd hunted Cosgrove it had been

because he'd left fifty bodies littering the streets of Boston. This was my town, after all. That's how it worked. Fixers were assigned a Control and a city to watch. We were the enforcers. We maintained the Balance. We made sure the locals obeyed the laws of the hunt.

What laws?

Well, there were a couple of minor ones that were so ingrained in us all we usually never had any infractions. We were only allowed to hunt at night. That one, I suppose, was a carryover from that superstitious crap about us being deathly afraid of sunlight. In truth, as I mentioned before, we could exist easily in sunlight. But we were only to hunt at night. It helped maintain the Balance, I suppose. No one really understood all of the rules—we just obeyed them. They'd been handed down from the Council, and everyone obeyed the Council.

Well, everyone except Cosgrove.

By far, the absolute cardinal sin was to borrow more juice than could be replenished by the lender. In short, if you killed a human, and exposed the community, you were in deep doo-doo.

It meant a termination order got passed down.

And yours truly would get a phone call from McKinley.

Then the offender would get a visit from me.

Simple.

Effective.

It worked.

Until Cosgrove came calling.

His first act of infamy, which really should have resulted in a global hunt for the bastard, was when he was observed killing a human in Amsterdam by

a Fixer stationed there. He tried to take Cosgrove out, and was entirely justified in doing so, given that he'd witnessed the crime.

Unfortunately, he wasn't successful.

Cosgrove left him impaled on a church steeple. It took a frantic cleanup crew and the local Control two hours to get him off unnoticed before the locals started freaking out. And in Amsterdam, you knew it had to be bad to freak out the locals.

But that was Cosgrove.

I warned the Council upon his arrival that he would do the same things he'd been doing across the globe. They told me to leave him alone. Like I said earlier, family counts a sickening amount in this community.

Fifty dead humans later, I took it upon myself to hunt him down. Truthfully, I wanted it finished. After the history Cosgrove and I had, it would be a far better world if he was dead and gone. We covered the outcome of my first endeavor earlier.

Mimi chirped some form of appreciation and went wandering off to beat Phoebe up. I stared out the windows and watched the sun begin its lazy descent in the west. Nighttime was right around the corner.

Time to go to work.

Twelve

I entered Fixer training on a warm spring day in . The camp, as the twenty of us called it, was a five-hundred-acre facility located in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. If you're not familiar with the territory, it's remote to say the least. Towns are few and far between, and back in the early 1960s, even more so. People up there kept to themselves and no one ever bothered us. Plus, the surrounding towns were primarily other vampire villages. They acted as a buffer zone.

Just past our centennials, the twenty of us were all brimming with unbridled enthusiasm and also feeling like a bunch of wild, young studs. On the ride up to Vermont from my home, I'd talked to several recruits who felt that being a Fixer was a prestigious career. They were proud of their destiny.

I was confused.

I didn't know what to expect. In everyday vampire society, Fixers aren't normally even discussed. I'd heard about them only in passing. And while it had always been in high regard, there had also been a degree of fear attributed to them as well. After all, they were the guardians of our society. A

sort of police force with absolute jurisdiction and the ability to punish if the situation demanded it.

Off the rickety old yellow school bus, we were met by a small-framed man named Garza. He stood all of five feet tall and about the same width. But his voice boomed out a welcome I'd never forget.

"Welcome, lathes. You are all now officially my bitches and I will bend you over and fuck you anytime I damn well please."

Any murmurings vanished as soon as the words echoed across the camp.

If we'd had any women in the group, they might have been offended. But back then, the only Fixers were men. Even today, the profession is largely male. There are exceptions, however. And most of them are damned good exceptions.

But being men, instead of being offended, we were terrified.

Garza looked like he could do it too, if only on sheer confidence. He wasn't the kind of guy you dicked around with.

But by and large, it was all talk. Garza was our equivalent of a drill instructor. For six weeks he ran us ragged through a battery of physical endurance and strength tests. We started out with five-mile runs, added forty-pound rucksacks packed with sharp-edged rocks, and then drew out the runs to ten and fifteen miles.

I hated the running with a passion that survives to this day. It's so damned boring. Of course, that didn't mean a thing. I didn't have to like it. I just had to do it.

And do it, I did.

The obstacle courses followed and beefed up the stakes. For the first time we competed against each

other. Natural rivalries developed, crested, and waned under the duress of the training.

And when it became apparent that we were forming a more cohesive unit, Garza introduced us to hand-to-hand combat.

Designed to be quick, dirty, and ultimately practical for our roles, the system was drawn from ancient styles of wrestling and bare-knuckle fighting. Brutal stuff that we practiced with little padding. Garza's philosophy was that we'd never appreciate its effectiveness unless we experienced it firsthand.

We did.

The sand ring, as Garza called it, was an eight-foot-diameter circle bounded by a bluff of densely packed sand. Inside the ring the sand was loose, soft to some extent, but unforgiving. A sudden misstep could mean broken bones. And even if we weren't working on the beach, our footwork had to be absolutely certain at all times. The sand would teach us.

The first time I stepped into the ring was against a taller, heavier recruit named Samuelson. Flush with Scandinavian blood, his blond hair and rugged physique gave him the look of a Norse god.

Garza had smiled, blown his whistle, and then stepped back.

Samuelson was on me so fast I hadn't even had time to lower my hips to improve my balance the way Garza had taught us. Samuelson knocked me off my feet and landed on top of me.

I blocked his punches and jabbed him in the floating ribs, rolled him off me, and scrambled to my feet again.

He lashed out with a kick that caught me square in the pit of my stomach. I fell, retching.

Garza called a halt and then leaned down by my face.

"You gonna give up that easy, boy? A man in this ring means to kill you dead and you're gonna let a little kick take you out of the fight? Better work through that shit and keep your damned self going. This ain't no Sunday-school picnic we're talking about here. It's life and death, and not just yours at that. You fuck up and fail, it could mean the lives of everyone in our society. You hear me?"

I nodded. And God knows I heard him. I worked harder than ever before to master the techniques he'd shown us. The next time I met Samuelson in the ring, things were different. I took him down in three seconds.

But if Garza had been happy with my results, he didn't let it show. It wasn't his way. He was there to mold us into the rawest of materials suitable for further training.

Six weeks after we started, Garza disappeared.

James replaced him.

About the same size as Garza, James looked like a miniature Jack Nicholson, complete with the sneer. He didn't yell. He didn't have to. The sight of him scared us all so much we were absolutely silent whenever he was around, which was all the time.

James's attitude toward our training was different from Garza's. Garza had been in charge of getting us into excellent physical condition. James was in charge of pushing us past the limits we thought we couldn't surpass.

Our first immersion into this new training came in the form of two weeks where we had a total of four hours of sleep and very limited quantities of

juice. Energy levels absolutely sapped, we ran the obstacle courses again, fought each other in the sand ring, marched infinite hikes, and recited old nursery rhymes until we were blabbering fools.

But we survived.

We had to.

James forged a new spirit within us. We wouldn't quit. No matter how tired we were, no matter how hungry, no matter our state, we wouldn't give up.

"Give in to the littlest desire and the rest of your discipline will come crumbling down all around you. Then you won't be Fixers anymore. You'll be dead. Preservation of the Balance is the one thing you must at all times keep in your head. Protect it until you the. Never give up."

We didn't.

And after another six weeks of physical and mental torture at the hands of James, he disappeared too.

In his place stood "the Buffalo."

We never knew his real name. But he was our first glimpse of a real Fixer. Drawn from active service from wherever he'd been stationed out in the real world, the Buffalo would serve as our primary trainer for the remainder of our stay at the camp.

He would introduce us to the real arts of being a Fixer.

Compared to Garza and James, the Buffalo was soft-spoken and almost unobtrusive. You wouldn't look twice at him if you walked past him on the street.

Which is exactly what made him so utterly effective.

"You've all proven yourselves as capable, strong men. Naturally, you feel good about that, as well you should." He smiled. "Now I want you to forget it."

He continued. "Drawing attention to yourself will get you killed. It will expose the nature of our society. It is the antithesis of your role as a Fixer.

"You will be the living definition of low profile. Discreet, mild mannered, completely gray. Everything you do must not stand out. You must pass through the ranks of humans and vampires alike as if a ghost. Your success as Fixers depends on it."

Only when the situation demanded it were we permitted to display the skills and prowess we'd worked so hard to gain. Only then could we set the scales of justice right, to protect the Balance and ensure the continued success of our people. But then it was right back to our low profile.

The Buffalo taught us how to dress and walk so we never aroused interest. We worked at blending in until we could disappear in the midst of a crowd.

We went on international field trips to practice. Exotic cities like Moscow, Madrid, London, Paris, Rome, and Berlin became our playgrounds. The stakes were always high on these outings, as high as they'd be once we graduated. Any mistakes meant exposure. And exposure couldn't happen since it would mean the end of our society.

We started out with small exercises designed to allow us to improve our skill with a controllable amount of risk. Gradually, we got better. The exercises continued. The risk mounted.

And we got better.

The training progressed.

It was after dusk when I parked the Jetta in the Transportation Building just past Stuart Street. I figured if Cosgrove was still keeping tabs on me,

the last thing I wanted to do was stick to the routine of having the valets at the Four Seasons always parking my car.

I walked over past the Park Plaza Building and along the rear of the hotel. This part of the city, despite attempts to prove otherwise, could still be dangerous at night. A cool breeze blew and in a few weeks the first snows of the winter would loom over Boston. This would be a bad winter.

I passed a couple hurrying along toward the theater district, mumbling about being late. I smiled.

That was when they hit me.

There were two of them and they came out of the shadows easily, as if they belonged in them. Their movements were practiced, flowing. They'd done this before.

If it was supposed to look like a mugging, it lost every flavor of it as soon as I watched their attack unfold. Whoever they were, their goal was obvious: to put me away. These were killers.

Unfortunately, I wasn't subscribing to the idea of going without a fight.

The first one moved fast, and I barely had time to glimpse the blade he'd concealed in the palm of his right hand before it was out and lunging straight in at my chest. A killing thrust by the look of it. Plunge the blade into the subaortic cavity and wrench it back and forth a couple of times. Bloody and dead within twenty seconds.

Even if it wouldn't have killed me, it still would have caused a loss of blood. I'm not real happy about losing any blood.

As he came in, his energy committed, I pivoted back on my front heel, allowing his attack to go

past me. I got a feel on his knife hand and then found his wrist. I pivoted again, bringing the wrist back into a painful lock, and at the height of the takedown, I kicked his throat, making him gag uncontrollably as I sent him flying sans knife into the shrub-lined brick wall.

Thug number two took a look at number one's inert form and decided running was a more pressing engagement. I stooped over thug number one and rifled his wallet, looking for identification, but I didn't find any.

I did find a neat roll of $ bills, though.

And a picture of me.

Friends, there are times when life suddenly looks real gloomy. This was definitely one of those times.

I'd been set up for a hit.

And while these clowns had had no clue that they'd never be able to successfully complete it, someone had set me up regardless.

The bills were fresh. They still smelled like ink and the serial numbers were all in order.

The picture drew my attention more, though. Since I don't photograph all that well, and since I had no idea where they would have gotten it, it became priority number one.

I know some of you out there who are still feverishly clinging to the old stereotypes will no doubt be cursing silently about vampires not being able to be photographed. Sorry to spoil your fun, but that's another myth. Sure, you could pass it off in the olden days, but try having a driver's license, passport, or any other form of identification with no picture on it. Hell, try going out without being able to see if the part in your hair was straight or not

Of course we can be photographed. And yes, we cast reflections and shadows.

The presence of this photograph made my stomach hurt, however. As with any covert operative, I tended to shy away from having too many pictures available. The less I existed on film, the better.

But this was a recent photograph. Grainy. In black and white. And when I examined it under the glow of a streetlight, it became apparent where it was from. It was a video still from a security camera.

I had another hunch that when I walked the remaining block to visit Miss Talya, the background in the picture would match the background in the front lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel.

Have I mentioned how I don't believe in coincidences?

And have I mentioned my sudden pressing need to have a long-overdue sit-down talk with my new best buddy, Talya?

Well, consider them both mentioned.

As far as I was concerned, it was time to stop observing and trying to be Mr. Subtle. I wanted answers.

I picked up the knife from the ground, intending to drop it down the nearest sewer drain. Instead, my breathing stopped.

The blade wasn't steel. In fact, the entire knife was carved from a single piece of wood and painted to look like a real blade. If they'd stabbed me, I would have died.

Staked.

I don't scare that easily. Sure, Cosgrove freaks me out. But by and large, I'm not that given to the willies.

This, however, scared the piss out of me. A kill team had been set loose on me. And what bugged me the most was that it didn't feel at all like Cos-grove's style.

I used the remainder of the walk to Talya's hotel to slow down my heart rate. The doorman gave me a wink and I stopped long enough at the front desk to find out what room Talya was in before I made my way up in the elevators.

Out of professional habit, I stopped one floor below hers and took the stairs up. The fire door opened with a small squeak, but my footsteps were hushed by the thick carpeting on the hallway floor.

A single camera monitored the hallway, so I tried to walk as casually as possible. Outside her room I paused for a minute, listening.

Nothing.

I would have preferred to kick the door in, but you never knew who could be on the other side.

I stood just off the door and knocked, half expecting a blast of buckshot to splinter the door. But none came. In fact, no one answered the door.

I knocked again.

Still nothing.

The door was locked from inside and the door had an electronic card reader on it. The kind where you slip the card in and the little light goes from red to green and then grants you access.

Not too easy to jimmy.

But above the door was a key lock.

And those are easy to pick. Even for someone like myself who's not too skilled in picking locks.

It took me thirty seconds to get in, and I was sure if anyone was awake downstairs at the security

console, it would be maybe two minutes before I had an unwelcome welcoming party.

Inside the room there was light from a table lamp in the corner. A magazine had been left open on the table. A small carryall in black nylon sat in the corner of the otherwise empty room. The bed was neatly arranged. It hadn't been slept in by the look of it.

I moved to the bureau and opened the drawers. There were only a few articles of clothing, mostly composed of the variety of bikini panties that I like so much. I like a woman who knows how to dress in her underwear.

I came up with an envelope of money in the nightstand. More hundreds. And guess what? The numbers continued the sequence I'd gotten off the thug downstairs.

"Looking for something?"

I wheeled around and found myself staring at Talya's naked body. Water dripped off all the right protrusions and found its way to the floor. Her hair was slicked back, eyes bright but narrowed. She glistened like a lithe predator and seemed totally comfortable with the fact that she was completely nude. I watched rivulets of water work their way south, converging at the thin Mohawk of pubic hair running ever farther into her deepest regions.

If she hadn't been leveling a mm pistol on me, I might actually have enjoyed the sight.

"You don't need that," I said.

"No?" She gestured toward the bed. "Move back slow. This thing's been modified and the trigger has a hair pull on it."

I made a show of holding my hands up. "Put it away, Talya."

"Not yet, Mr. Lawson. Not until we have a chance to talk."

That was rich. "Well, what should we talk about? The weather?"

"How about my almost getting offed by two thugs a few minutes ago in the Public Gardens?"

"What?"

"You heard me. They even had a picture of me. A security photo by the looks of it. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Why the hell would I have someone kill you, Talya? It makes no sense."

"Might be exactly the reason why you would."

I smiled. "Mind if I show you something?"

She frowned. "Nothing funny, Lawson. I'll shoot you if I think I have to."

I reached into my pocket and brought out the photo of myself. "I just found that on some of my own would-be attackers downstairs." I tossed the picture onto her bed. "They tried to hit me as I came in."

She glanced down at it. "So what?"

I took out the roll of $ bills. "Something else." I tossed the roll onto the photograph. "Seems someone paid for their services out of the envelope full of hundreds you keep in your night-stand."

Her face showed distress and the gun wavered. "What?" She turned to the nightstand, still keeping the gun on me with one hand as she rifled through the envelope. I leaned back and admired her rear assets.

She stood up. "I had five thousand dollars in here. A thousand's gone."

I pointed at the bed. "That would be it."

She frowned again and lowered the gun. "What the hell is going on?"

I shrugged. "Seems fairly obvious. We're being set up to be killed."

"But—"

"But nothing, Talya. That's it. Someone got access to the security cameras downstairs, to your room, and then went about hiring some young guns to waste us."

"But they were so untalented. I mean streetwise, yeah, but not professionals." She suddenly seemed aware of the fact that she had no clothes on and began dressing. I watched her bra encompass the fullness of her breasts, watched as she slid on the high-cut bikini panties. She pulled a turtleneck on first and then black stretch pants. I cleared my throat.

"Well, they knew where to stab with a knife, which is a cut above most. They might easily have succeeded against people with less training than us."

"But what was the point?"

I made a calculated decision, which in my books means I took a wild guess. I hoped it would prove to be the right one. Sometimes you just had to jump blind.

"Talya, when we were in the bar last night—"

"What about it?"

"Remember I went to look upstairs for Cos-grove."

"I remember. I stayed down at the bar."

I nodded. "I came back down and saw you talking to someone. A man. He was sitting next to you."

She shifted then and looked away. "Oh, yeah . . . What about him?"

I started to say it; started to explain that it had been Cosgrove sitting with her, talking to her; started to want to ask her all about their conversation and the language they were speaking. I started to.

But I didn't complete it.

Because at that moment the entire room shook, rumbled, and exploded, shattering my reality into a million pieces of combustible hell.

Thirteen

There's nothing quite like being in the middle of an explosion to make you appreciate the sensation of pain. There's that real special moment when you feel the concussion wave smack you every which way, followed by the intense flash of heat and fire. If you're really lucky, you'll have the added bonus of some fragmentation. You could liken it to acupuncture done at Mach and come away with a rough idea of what it feels like to be pierced through with a million shards of burning metal.

Fun stuff.

Really.

I got it all and more, it seemed. And when I woke up in the hospital bed, McKinley was looming over me, frowning.

"Jesus."

I tried to smile. "It's Lawson, you prick. How soon you forget."

"I see your sense of humor survived the explosion. That's always a good sign."

I took a deep inhale of air and grimaced. There's always been something about hospitals that makes me edgy. I don't know whether it's the sterile smell

of antiseptic, the white and pale green color scheme most of them employ to calm down patients, or just the overall environment. If nurses still dressed in short little uniforms, I might like them a lot more. But they don't, so hospitals never make my list of cool places to hang out.

"Get me out of here."

McKinley shook his head. "No can do."

I tried lifting myself out of the bed. "McKinley, get me out of here. You know what could happen—"

He held up his hand. "Relax, Lawson, you're all set in that regard. Your doctor's one of us."

Thank God for that. All I needed was some eager young intern discovering I didn't exactly function like your everyday living human being. Hell, I'd have to off myself if that happened.

I slumped back against the pillows. "What the hell happened?"

"You mean besides the obvious? Someone had packed that little hotel room you were in with enough explosives to send you to the damned moon, Lawson. What the hell were you doing there?"

"What about the girl?"

McKinley frowned. "What girl?"

"Talya."

"Talya? You mean the one you wanted me to check out for you?" He shrugged. "When we got to the room, you were the only one in the rubble."

That wasn't possible. She'd been right near me. I tried getting out of bed again. McKinley held me back down. "Lawson, you're not going anywhere yet."

I slid back down, suddenly aware of the waves of

pain rippling through my body. "Ugh. What's my diagnosis?"

"Severe fragmentary damage. Doc's already pulled about fifty little metal souvenirs out of your body. You lost a lot of blood, which is actually good news for you since you get a couple of pints to chow down on. Don't binge now, you hear?"

I smiled. "When can I get the hell out of here?"

"They just took another set of X rays a short time ago. Once they figure out if you're clean, you can go. The doc will get you out hopefully tonight." He sighed.

"What else, McKinley?"

He looked away. "Cosgrove struck again last night."

I looked at the clock on the nightstand. I'd been out for over twelve hours. That was a long time for a human. For a vampire, given our increased ability to handle damage, it was a bad sign. If I'd been a mortal, that blast would have finished me.

It would have finished Talya, I realized.

"Talya was in there with me."

McKinley nodded. "We know it was her room, but believe me when I tell you, Lawson, there was no one else in that room but for you. There would have been remains, burned clothing, bones—hell, anything. Instead, all they found was your busted-up body."

"All right. Did Cosgrove hit another nightclub?"

McKinley frowned. "No."

"What's the matter?"

"Lawson." He sighed. "Cosgrove got one of our own."

"What? One of us? Who? And why? That doesn't make any sense."

"We'll talk later. You need to rest."

"The hell. Tell me what happened."

McKinley looked at the door and then back at me. "It was an Elder, Lawson. He got an Elder. We don't know why. We don't have any clues whatsoever. But he got him good. They found him inside his apartment when he didn't report for work today. Cosgrove left his guts draped all over the house and his head on a bedpost."

"Jesus."

McKinley leaned closer. "I want you at the apartment where he got wasted. Try to find out why Cosgrove would have bothered with an Elder."

"OK." I gestured to my bed. "You wanna wheel me over there?"

He grinned. "When you're released, Lawson. You can't do anything for the poor bastard now anyway. We'll talk tomorrow. Let me know what you find out."

I grabbed his arm. "I want a guard."

He pulled back and frowned. "What?"

"You heard me. Put someone on the door. Someone good. There's some serious shit going on, McKinley. There's no way I'm going to lay here like some clay pigeon waiting for whoever put me here to show up and finish the damned job."

"What kind of serious shit?"

I clued him in on the failed attack with the wooden blade.

McKinley frowned. "C'mon, Lawson, that could have just been for show. For the robbery."

"I know what a goddamned robbery looks like and I know a hit team when I see it." I took a breath. "And now Cosgrove hits an Elder? There's more going on than his simple psychotic episodes."

"More?"

"I'm not sure how it all comes together yet."

He flattened the wrinkles in his shirt. "You're serious."

I nodded. "Damn straight."

He sighed. "OK, OK, I'll call up a reserve. Got anybody in mind—?"

"No goddamned reserves, McKinley. Get me someone active."

"Active? Lawson, you know what kind of waves that's gonna cause?"

"I don't care. You get me someone I can trust my life with."

"Hey, buddy, you forget you aren't exactly due to win any popularity contests in the service? You don't have many friends out there. And even if you did, trust is an almost obsolete commodity nowadays. You got anybody in mind?"

I thought for a second. "Get me Zero."

"Zero? You kidding? He hasn't seen any action in years. He's a Control like me. You said you wanted an active agent."

"Zero's the best. And he's a former active agent. I want him here. ASAP."

McKinley sighed again. "OK, I'll ring him up. Jesus, this is getting to be a royal pain in my ass. Just try not to the in the meantime, OK? Try to get some sleep."

Easier said than done. How the hell could I sleep when somewhere out there Cosgrove was stalking another victim, and God knew what else. And then there was the whole matter about Talya. How the hell did she survive that blast? McKinley said she wasn't one of us. She was human. I didn't know too many humans who could survive being on

ground zero with a huge packet of plastic explosive suddenly detonating close by. No way.

Too many questions. No answers.

And, man, did my body hurt.

It took Zero two hours to get there. I spent the entire time jumping at every creak and squeak in my immediate area. But when he hauled his six-two 220-pound frame through the door, I suddenly felt a lot better.

He stopped short when he saw the bandages. "Anyone tell the museum their Egyptian mummy had a run-in with a ketchup truck?"

"Nice to see you too, Zero."

He came over to the bed and grabbed my hand and shook it. "Been a long time, Lawson."

"Too long, Zero. Too long. Where you been?"

"Came as soon as I got the call from McKinley. Traffic was a bitch. They're doing construction outside of Hartford. It was stop and go the entire way."

"They're always doing construction in Connecticut."

"Tell me something I don't know. It's the official state hobby, I think."

"Ought to put a requisition in for a chopper."

Zero grinned. "Sure, we could paint it black and call it Fang One or something else original."

It was good to have him here with me. Zero oversaw Fixer operations in Connecticut. He was based in Hartford, and while McKinley had been right when he'd said Zero hadn't seen any action in a long time, there was still nobody else I would have

wanted guarding my back during my temporary disability.

Zero and I went way back. He was my first partner when I graduated from Fixer training. Back then, they paired rookies with veterans. Zero'd been a Fixer longer than most.

He met me at Heathrow Airport where I'd just finished a transatlantic flight from Boston. I'd had no idea who to look out for, but my orders were simple enough: go to the concession stand, order a coffee, and wait.

Have I mentioned how much I hate coffee?

Well, this being my first real assignment, I wasn't about to let a simple dislike of ground beans stop me. I ordered the coffee black and then waited by a table with two chairs.

Zero waited a half-hour before approaching me.

He came up on me so quickly and quietly that it scared the hell out of me. He dropped into the chair opposite me and grinned.

"You're Lawson."

"Yes."

He nodded. "You were told to order coffee."

"I did."

He nodded. "But you didn't drink it, did you?"

I had attempted two or three halfhearted sips and told Zero as much. He chuckled.

"There will be times, my young friend, when you must drink down the worst concoctions you can imagine, all in the name of the Balance. And you know what? You'll drink them as if they were the sweetest-tasting nectar ever to grace your lips, and you'll do it because by the time I'm through with

you, you'll be more of a professional than whatever walked out of the camp." He sat back. "After all, we're tied to the hip, you and I. My survival is now as much in your hands as yours is in mine." He smiled. "So don't fuck it up."

I'd mumbled an apology which he dismissed. He gestured over to the other side of the food area. "Do you see those two men in hats? With the dark suits?"

I looked and saw them. "Yes."

"The one on the right is Yuri Vasilev, a local KGB bloodhound. The man he is with is Hans Junger of the East German Stasi. They are both very skilled."

"What do they have to do with us?"

Zero took a sip of my coffee and then replaced it on the table. "Everything, Lawson. They have everything to do with us. We are alike in many, many ways. And even if they are human and we are vampires, there are similarities that go beyond mere flesh and blood."

"So I'm supposed to learn from them as well?"

Zero shrugged. "Perhaps. They are, after all, professionals. And you are an untested, green Fixer."

"But what can they teach me?"

Zero smiled, finished my coffee in a gulp, and gestured for me to follow him as we rose from the table. "For one thing, my young friend, they can teach you how to blend in better. They've been watching you since you arrived."

"Watching me?"

"Heathrow is a major way-point for intelligence agents from all over the world. You've just deplaned from an American carrier, ordered a cof-

fee, and not taken many sips from it. To top it off, you've been sitting in the middle of a concession area for thirty minutes without a book or a newspaper, looking around the terminal like a lost puppy. Being the professionals that they are, although in truth it didn't take much, they picked you out as a potential newly active intelligence agent in the area."

I felt sick.

Zero kept talking. "Right now our pictures are being taken by the man next to the flower kiosk wearing the muted plaid sport coat. Within two hours those pictures will be developed and on their way back to Berlin or Moscow where they will be compared to a huge database of all known Western operatives."

"But we won't match anyone."

"No, we won't." Zero laughed again. "Which means, in all probability, they'll believe we are new agents and thus open a new file for us."

"God, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Lawson. It happens to everyone." He sat back, watching me. "A lot different from the camp and those field exercises, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

And it was. But Zero took me under his wing until I wasn't a greenhorn any longer. We saw a lot of shit in Europe and in the Middle East where there had been some attempts to split from the Council and establish another organization independent of Council control.

Naturally, that hadn't sat too well with the powers that be. Zero and I were dispatched to put the leader down. We walked straight into an ambush and almost died in the process. If it hadn't been

for Zero, I would have never lasted a second. But he brought me through it in spades.

He'd retired from fieldwork a long while back, choosing to run ops the way McKinley did in Boston. He'd had a long service record, so the Council granted his request. And while he may have been out of action, he still looked exactly the same way I remembered him: in great shape and able to kick mucho ass.

And that was what I wanted.

With Zero watching over me, I could at least get some sleep.

He looked me over again and prodded one of my bandaged legs. "For crying out loud, Lawson, didn't I teach you anything about hotel rooms?"

"You said they were nifty places to get laid in."

"I also said they were prime ambush sites, you knucklehead."

I smiled. "Must have missed that lesson."

"No shit." He picked up my chart and spent five minutes examining it "Doctor one of ours?"

I nodded. "So says McKinley."

"Good. At least I won't have to bother with curious doctors and nurses." He pulled a chair up to the bed. "You want to tell me what the hell happened?"

I filled him in as best as I was able, which, in truth, wasn't much. He said nothing for a while, just frowned. Then he walked to the window.

"Get some sleep, Lawson. We'll talk when you wake up."

So I did.

Fourteen

I woke up in the back of Zero's black Chevy Ta-hoe as we cruised down Beacon Street toward Ken-more Square. I sat up and rubbed my head. It still ached like the bastard child of a whiskey, vodka, sake, and beer orgy.

"Welcome back, friend."

He smiled in the darkness and I clapped him on the shoulder. "Everything OK?"

He nodded. "Doc says they got most of that crap out of you. Most of it. He couldn't be completely certain, "You're in no danger, of course, but you'll probably be able to tell when it's gonna rain in the future. That and metal detectors might be a problem for you."

"Damn, I was hoping for X-ray vision."

"Ingrate. He said everything else checked out. He also advised that you stay away from hotels for a while."

"Everybody's a goddamn comedian."

Zero chuckled. "That's it, shoot the messenger."

I watched Commonwealth Avenue zip past us. "Where we going?"

"Buddy of mine runs a bar in Allston. We need to have a drink and a long talk."

I checked myself over while he drove. My clothes had been replaced, thank God, courtesy of McKin-ley, who knew my sizes. Aside from my pounding head, I felt pretty achy, but all things considered, things seemed to be working all right. Probably wouldn't be back up to full operational capacity for a day or two. But it was better being out of that hospital than in it.

Zero parked just off Harvard Avenue and we threaded our way through the Wednesday-night crowds until he pulled me into a little recessed bar, just off the main thoroughfare.

"He keeps the joint understated. Doesn't really like catering to the college crowds."

"Make a fortune if he did."

Zero shrugged. "Never been real interested in making money." He yanked open the heavy wooden door and we went inside.

It was a dark, musty, old-world bar that brought you tight back to a different time. A faint smell of peat hung in the air, and off in the corner I could see bright flames jumping inside a stone hearth. Smoke hung heavy in the room from a hundred cigars, pipes, and cigarettes. As we entered, heads turned, checking us over. The noise level dropped momentarily, but picked up as soon as we passed the nonverbal inspection.

Zero led the way to the bar, a thick plank of oaken timber polished to a bright sheen by the arms of thousands of patrons over the years. From out of the gloom, a short, squat man appeared. Judging by the girth of his forearms, the thickness of his neck, and the barrel-shaped chest, I knew his past included time in the navy, most likely in the SEALs.

He chuckled as he came up to us. "Well, well, well."

Zero grinned. "How are you, my friend?"

He leaned in toward Zero and grasped his hand, pumping it three times before letting him go. "I'm well, you ungrateful son of a bitch." His eyes narrowed. "I haven't seen or heard from you in years. You coulda been dead, man."

"You know the work, You know the hours."

The man nodded. "Got three divorces to prove it too." He leaned in closer. "What brings you back?"

Zero inclined his head. "Business, always the business."

The man tossed his thumb over his shoulder. "Gotcha. Grab a table in back. I'll bring some drinks."

We wove our way through the crowd and found our way to the rear of the bar. Several roughly hewn wooden tables stood on massive legs. Zero pulled a chair out and eased himself into it. I slid into the chair opposite.

The bartender appeared and with him came two bowls of what looked like beef stew and two ceramic steins of a dark, frothy German beer. I took a sip and found it was Dortmunder.

"Difficult beer to get here in the States."

Zero took a long haul on his and smiled. "Difficult, yes. But not impossible." He pointed at the bowl. "Eat some food, Lawson."

It smelled delicious and I could see the huge chunks of potatoes and carrots floating amid the sea of thick sauce and beef. I took a small spoonful, but could manage very little. My head hurt too much.

We sat there for another five minutes, drinking and allowing our eyes to become accustomed to the darkness of the bar. When Zero had something to say, it was best to just let him get to it when he felt the time was right. Prodding him never accomplished anything. He was always careful. Calculating.

It took ten minutes before he cleared his throat and got a fresh stein of beer, then turned to me.

"You're after Cosgrove."

I nodded. "Got the termination order this time. It's official."

He nodded. "You think so, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He frowned and took another drag. "Lawson, if I asked you what the most important aspect of our job is, what would you say?"

"The Balance. Maintaining the Balance. Any new recruit would tell you that."

"Exactly. Our whole reason for being Fixers, our sole purpose if you will, is to ensure the preservation of the Balance. If we fail, if the world of humans discovers our existence, if the secret leaks out . . . then we'll be destroyed. Despite all our power, despite our advantages, we would be destroyed. We have our limitations after all."

"Agreed."

He took another long drag on his beer and belched. "What if I told you that some of the members of our community felt that maintaining our secrecy was no longer necessary?"

"I'd say you needed to get out of Connecticut more often."

"Even still," said Zero, "there are some who feel

just that way. In fact, there are some who want to form a partnership with humans."

"A partnership? This isn't a corporate merger. Don't be ridiculous."

"I wish I was. But I'm not." He leaned closer to me. "I have heard rumors, only rumors, but persistent rumors from all corners of our community. An alliance is being formed. Slowly, cautiously, to be sure, but an alliance nonetheless. And Cosgrove is the man forging the path."

"Well, I can see Cosgrove being that insane, sure, but why? What does he get out of it?"

"What he's always wanted, I would guess," said Zero. "Rule over the vampires. A virtual dictatorship. The good scenario is this: in exchange for the supposed safety of the vampire community, he would most likely allow experimentation on us. Study. The humans would be beside themselves with curiosity to study us, find out what makes us tick. How we exist After all, we represent another branch in human evolution. One of the proverbial missing links, as it were. We'd be potential guinea pigs."

"Jesus."

"Not only that, but the humans would allow access to some of the blood supply. It would ensure our cessation of the hunt; it would enamor the vampires to Cosgrove. He'd be seen as a savior."

"What about the hunt? What about the old ways?"

Zero sighed. "There are some who see them as an anachronism, Lawson. Some want the hunt to stop altogether. Given the pace of technology, many feel having to hunt for blood is more an insult than a necessary skill. They see humans able to buy

whatever they need at a grocery store and want the same. The hunt represents a time many want to forget. They're in favor of a more peaceful existence. A coexistence, as it were."

"But our very nature demands the hunt," I said. "You can't just stop thousands of years of heritage and tradition."

"You can if you're Cosgrove. Believe me, Lawson, he means to do it The signs are all there." He paused again.

"What's the bad scenario?"

"If what I think is happening truly is, the humans Cosgrove is allying himself with aren't the leaders of the free world."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I would expect Cosgrove to form alliances with others like him. Psychotics, terrorists, criminals. They would understand each other. And the benefits they'd reap from each other would aid their own causes proportionally. With the aid of the vampires, criminals could become even more ferocious in their ways. Can you imagine a new brand of global vampiric terrorism? And again, in exchange for the aid of the vampires, we'd get access to untold amounts of blood. Just what we need to survive. And Cosgrove would emerge victorious. The Council would be disbanded. The old guardians of the ways would be unceremoniously killed. And as for us Fixers, well, we'd be seen as public enemy number one. Cosgrove would waste no time hunting us down. If he had access to the files, he could unleash his human allies on our heels. We'd have no safety anywhere and go from saviors to the refuse of our society."

Jan F. Men.

My mouth was dry, and even several gulps of good German beer did little to restore its moisture.

"But humans could only frustrate us. We'd be more than a match for them if they chose to engage us in combat."

Zero looked away and then back at me. "Cos-grove would use the humans to herd us into a trap. Then he'd use other Fixers, Lawson. Some of the disenchanted Fixers who don't work anymore. There are plenty. Plenty who feel a kinship with Cosgrove's demented ways. Plenty enough to be a very viable threat. Especially if Cosgrove grants them invulnerability to the crackdown."

"What about the Council? Have you gone to them?"

Zero shook his head. "No, for several reasons. First, while the Council is vital to our society, they are slow to see the dangers we see. You've had firsthand experience with that when you tried to kill Cosgrove before."

I nodded.

"And second," said Zero, "I don't know how far up this conspiracy goes. And if we're to move to stop it, to maintain the Balance and do our job, we must do so in absolute secrecy. I have doubts as to who can be trusted and who may be under Cosgrove's spell. Every step we make must be cautious, and yet we cannot afford to wait any longer."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Your job has been to hunt down Cosgrove. That's what you will do. Find him. Kill him. It's essential."

"There was a woman with me in the hotel room yesterday."

"Who?"

"Name's Talya."

Zero squinted in the darkness. "Still using the present tense. I take it she's alive?"

I shrugged. "Don't know. According to McKinley, they never recovered another body. Just me."

"So she's alive."

"Damned if I know how," I said. "I barely escaped with my life. But she's human. She should have died in that room."

"She got a background?"

"Professional. Freelance assassin. Cosgrove killed her fiancee. She's sworn vengeance. I thought if I offered to help I could keep better tabs on her. Hell, she might even come in handy. Now she's gone."

Zero frowned. "Give me some time. I'll see if I can locate her. I still have some pretty decent contacts around here."

"There's something else."

He watched me and I had trouble even saying it "Last night—while I was out of commission— Cosgrove took out an Elder."

Zero frowned. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know. According to McKinley, they found his intestines strewn across his apartment and his head on a bedpost. That mean anything to you?"

"Just that Cosgrove's got a pretty strange sense of interior decorating. Can you get some details about this?"

""Yeah, McKinley wants me to check it out anyway. I'm going over tomorrow. You want me to look for anything in particular?"

"The Elder's name and age. But on your own,

see if you can dig up exactly what he was charged with safeguarding."

"On my own? What's that supposed to mean?"

Zero frowned again. "It means involve outside sources as little as possible. Even your Control. Like I said before, we don't know how far up this thing might go. We don't want to alert anyone we don't need to."

"All right. I'll see what I can do."

He stood up. "Finish your beer and wait fifteen minutes before you leave. I'll be in touch soon."

I watched him disappear in the gloomy darkness as easily as a shadow. There was a strong gust of cool air as the door opened and Zero exited. But the cold air died quickly under the curtain of smoke still hanging in the bar.

And there in the subdued interior, I stared into my beer stein and felt very much alone in a very dangerous world.

Fifteen

I left the bar after twenty minutes of beer swilling and found a pay phone a block farther down, close to the Dunkin' Donuts. On a vague whim I phoned the Four Seasons and asked for Talya's room. There was a minute of silence on the phone before the operator told me the room number no longer existed. I asked for Talya. The operator told me there was nobody registered under that name.

If Talya had gone to ground and effectively disappeared, it didn't really surprise me. I guess a part of me had actually hoped against hope that she wasn't bad. That she was really a player on the right side of the fence. But because she had gone under, because she'd vanished, I was left with no choice but to accept the fact that she was probably in league with Cosgrove.

That meant I technically no longer had just one target to eliminate. Talya had become a liability and a potential threat to the Balance. After all, she knew Cosgrove was a vampire. Hell, I'd told her as much. Not that she probably hadn't already known. She could have been playing me for a while, who knew?

What I did know was that she was now a threat

case and had to be eliminated as soon as possible, preferably after I had eliminated my primary objective, Cosgrove. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, and if Talya showed herself as a target of opportunity, I'd waste her and then track down Cosgrove. Really made no difference to me. It was just part of the job.

Or at least that was the idea I was trying hard to sell myself on. It would have been nice to honestly believe Talya hadn't affected me at all during our brief interaction. It would have been.

Of course it wasn't.

On a purely physical level, Talya had aroused a desire in me I hadn't experienced for a human woman before. Sure, I could bed down with them whenever I wanted. I just had to turn the charm on and that was it. But I hadn't turned any charm on with Talya and she'd responded regardless. Of course, she could have been playing me, but maybe there was something more to it.

Or maybe I just hoped there was.

Truth be told, I never exactly felt as though I'd ever had much of a handle on women. Whether they were vampires or humans. Hell, they confused me.

On the professional level I respected her immensely. Usually, I want the chance to see somebody in action before I pass judgment on their skill level. I want to see how they react under pressure before they get any ounce of respect from me.

Are they a shooter? Or do they just talk a big game?

It's a common sentiment among professionals like myself. Doesn't matter whether you're vampire or not. Seasoned combat veterans are the same way.

They keep quiet about what they can do, because talking will get you killed. And it's always the blabbermouths who turn out to be the worst under fire.

But for some reason I hadn't needed to see Talya under duress to know that she'd respond accordingly, with grace and ease that only comes from years of being in the field.

Even knowing about her background hadn't affected my evaluation. Sure, the dossier McKinley had dug up on her dovetailed nicely with what I sensed, but there was something more.

Experience can't be bought, no matter how badly you want to believe it. And Talya had experience written all over her face. It was in her walk, that calculated, even flow as she glided over the sidewalk. It was instinctive. It wasn't something she tried to put on. She just had it naturally.

You don't find that very often these days.

And frankly, it pissed me off to no end she was in league with a psycho like Cosgrove. Now, I know the rules as well as the next guy, but it would have been nice, even if just for a moment, to think of her as something more than just a convenient fuck.

Well, it would have been.

Reality sucked sometimes.

My reality sucked pretty bad right now. It would have been nice to crawl home, feed my cats, and get about eighty hours of sleep to cure my headache. It would have been.

Instead, I took a mud-slicked yellow cab back downtown. Wednesday nights meant a lot more people out cruising the bar scene and nightclubs. Landsdowne came alive on Friday and Saturdays, but Wednesdays belonged to the theater district's clubs. Smaller and more intimate than Landsdowne

Street's, they nevertheless sucked in their share of eager sexual conquistadors and the maidens they sought

I got out of the cab by the Wang Center and took a quarter from my pocket, tossed it in the air, checked the result, and set off for the club.

What, you think it's odd I chose to use a coin to make a decision? Maybe you thought I had some kind of superhoming sense I'd be able to detect Cosgrove with, eh? I wish. Doesn't work that way, though. And sometimes, just like any good detective will tell you, you just make a guess, close your eyes, and pray it's right.

I usually did everything but pray, since I was under no illusions that the gods didn't have any more important things to tend to than a silly vampire hit man.

The Roxy sat across the street from the Wang Center and I skirted three shiny white limousines and a red cab to get to the door. The doorman at this establishment took one look at my jeans and frowned.

"Got a dress code here, buddy."

I smiled. It was apparently time for what I affectionately refer to as the "Jedi mind trick."

"Yeah, I didn't have time to change your mind that's not really important with me."

The bouncer got a thousand-yard stare on his face, his skin color blushed slightly, and his pupils dilated. Then he nodded, moved aside, and mumbled something incoherent.

No, it wasn't some kind of cool vampire mind control. It was a science known as design human engineering that we'd been required to study as Fixers. Back when I took the course, it had been

categorized as neurolinguistic programming. Whatever you wanted to call it, the damned stuff worked like a charm.

Inside, it was romping. A trio of well-proportioned women hung back by the door and checked me over as I threaded my way past them. I smiled at the ugliest one and that set them all chattering and giggling.

The darkness of the club made it easy to move around unnoticed. I swung back by the dance floor, checking out the red velour seating area that bordered it more than the gyrating and twisting bodies occupying the cramped parquet dance floor.

It must have been Euro night here. I saw more kids with OPEC written on their faces than anything even faintly resembling WASP. And if the number of yellow BMWs parked out front had anything to do with the current population of this club, I was definitely on the mark.

Cosgrove would stand out easily in a crowd like this, but he'd be watching as he always did, from an advantageous position. I didn't know the Roxy that well, which put me in a bad situation. The only way to figure out the best area would be to move around the entire club and spot from various angles.

Which, naturally, would expose me.

My choices were limited, though, so I did just that. I started at the closest bar and wound counterclockwise. If Zero had been with me, we could have cut the pie and covered the distance a lot sooner.

"Cutting the pie" is a term used by special operations when they take a room down. They divide it up into sections just like a pie. Each man on the

team has an assigned section and that's it Everything in that field of fire is his. It allows a hostage-rescue team to take control of a room in an extremely short amount of time. In my case it would allow Zero and I to comb the room for Cos-grove, simultaneously knowing we had each other's backs.

But Zero wasn't with me on this.

And so I did it the old-fashioned and much more dangerous way. It meant a lot more risk because if Talya was working with Cosgrove, I felt sure she'd be poking around somewhere. Maybe they were even waiting for me.

It'd be simple enough to take me out then.

Even in the darkened confines of this club.

A perfect ambush.

Cosgrove would prefer a big show, being the egomaniac, but Talya would be inclined to keep it subtle. She'd stay true to her professionalism.

I wondered if Cosgrove had told her what I was. Maybe she'd known from the start of this whole thing.

I felt behind my right hip and felt a surge of reassurance as my hand brushed against the pistol. The wooden-tipped bullets it held could kill a human just as easily as Cosgrove. The loads were designed to blossom on impact, spraying and splintering the wooden heads all across a tremendous cavity caused by the impact

Worked well for all types of enemies.

Hadn't used it on any werewolves yet, though.

The swirling lights of the dance floor forced me. to move slower than I would have liked. I didn't want to stay fixed in any position long enough for Cosgrove or Talya to see me. If I kept moving, slow

and with a lot of flow, chances were good I could get close without them seeing me.

But the strobe effects of the dance-floor lights made pinpointing anyone difficult, so I had to move slowly, edging my way around the perimeter—checking, moving, checking, moving.

It was when I was three-quarters of the way around the club that I heard the voice tickling my right ear. The low, husky drawl startling, but unmistakable—even over the roar of the throbbing dance music.

Talya's voice.

Sixteen

"Nice to see you again, Lawson"

I started to turn around, but the sharp prod in my back, unmistakably a gun barrel, stopped me.

"Uh-uh-uh, not so fast, lover. I wouldn't want to have to kill you before we get a chance to talk this out"

I felt her fleece my gun off me and then she steered me over to the left. "Back of the club, head for that empty booth. Move and keep very, very still."

I knew any number of techniques that technically would have allowed me to disarm Talya and kill her, but I chose not to employ them for several reasons.

First, while I knew I could get out of the way, I wanted to make sure I could get far enough so that Talya wouldn't be able to fill me full of holes. I didn't want to lose any more blood, and since we were in cramped quarters, maneuvering would have been problematical.

Second, she was a pro and would have anticipated my strategies. Therefore, by my doing something, I would be playing right into her countermoves. Who

knew what kind of contingency plans she'd arranged for? Not good.

And most important, I had questions of my own I wanted to ask. Maybe I'd even get some answers. Maybe Cosgrove was waiting for me at the back of the club. Even though on my first pass, I hadn't seen him.

So curiosity kept me from trying anything. And we reached the booth uneventfully.

No one joined us. No one sat nearby.

No Cosgrove.

Talya gestured. "Take a seat, Lawson."

I did. "Why is it lately every time I run into you, you seem to feel leveling a gun on me is necessary?"

She frowned. "Given what's happened, recent events seem to dictate it out of necessity."

"Necessity?"

"My survival."

I watched another couple collapse into a booth ten feet away and proceed to engage in fully clothed sex. I turned my attention back to Talya. "Last time I saw you, your hotel room exploded. I don't suppose you'd care to tell me how the hell you survived when everything else, including me, got blown to shit?"

She sniffed. "I might ask you the same question. Unless, of course, I'm talking to a dead man right now."

"No, I'm alive. No idea how I came through it, but I did." I shrugged. "Just lucky."

It was as feeble as a fifteen-year-old's claim that he reads Playboy for the articles, but it was all I had.

She didn't buy it

"Give me a break, Lawson. You're a professional just like me and you know damned well there's no such thing as luck." She leaned closer. "You should have died in that room."

"Maybe I've got a guardian angel."

"Maybe you're lying to me."

I shifted slowly. "Well, what about you? How'd you come through it without a scratch?"

"I have the gun, Lawson. You first."

I cleared my throat. "Why don't I finish what I was going to talk to you about before the explosion interrupted us?"

She scanned the area. "All right."

I shifted again. "I believe we were discussing your companion whom I saw you speaking with when I came back downstairs the other night."

"What about him?"

"Do you know who you were talking to?"

She shrugged. "Said his name was Robert. Why?"

"And the language you were speaking?"

She frowned and I could almost hear the gears grinding in her head. She'd remember to ask, I was sure, how the hell I could have overheard their conversation. "He guessed my nationality."

"He spoke Russian?" That was bullshit. They hadn't been speaking Russian and I knew it.

She shook her head. "No. He used a Kazakh dialect that my mother taught me to speak. It's very rare."

"Imagine the chances of someone knowing that, huh?"

She nodded. "Almost nonexistent."

"Unless you've had a lot of time to travel and learn languages," I said.

"What are you driving at, Lawson?"

"The man you were speaking to. Robert. Whatever he told you was a lie. Whatever you discussed. All of it was nothing but a lie."

"How can you be so sure? How did you overhear us?"

I ignored the second question and concentrated on the first. "I can be so sure because the man you were having such a great conversation with was the man we are hunting. Cosgrove."

She looked like she'd been hit with a tractor trailer and that was the moment I'd been waiting for. While her attention was focused inside, I grabbed the pistol and pointed it at her under the table.

"Now we play things my way, Talya."

I'd taken her weapon away so quickly it had clearly startled her. She obviously wasn't used to dealing with someone like me. And that was just fine.

I reached over and took my pistol back from the waistband of her slacks.

She recovered quickly, and I gave her credit for that. "How was I supposed to know it was Cos-grove? He didn't exactly ask to suck my blood and I didn't see any fangs."

"You wouldn't. They're retractable. And the only way to tell would be the birthmark at the base of his neck."

"He's got a birthmark?"

"All vampires do. It's a symbol of the race."

"What's it look like?"

"Just a blob of discolored skin. Down by the clavicle."

She nodded—absorbing, it seemed. "So now what?"

"Now you tell me how you got out of that hotel room without being blown to hell."

She looked down. "It was a shaped charge."

That got my attention. "Say what? Are you telling me you rigged the room to explode?"

She nodded. "I had to—"

"Are you fucking crazy? You could have killed me!" Well, not really, but it was important to make her still think I was as human as she was.

"Like I said, Lawson, it was shaped. I rigged it so the explosion would only impair you, not kill you."

"Really. All those delightful little pieces of fragmentation were designed to just impair me? You know how many splinters they dug out of me?"

"It wasn't supposed to be a frag explosion. My contact here in town made a mistake."

"No shit. Maybe I'll pay your contact a visit and give him a sample of his own medicine."

"That's not necessary."

"You weren't on the receiving end, Talya."

She looked at me. "It's not necessary because I already killed him. I do not tolerate mistakes like that."

That brought me up short. Talya didn't dick around. "Well, I still can't believe you blew up your hotel room."

She shrugged. "You think it makes no sense, and truthfully, if I was in your shoes, I'd agree with you. But you don't know the whole picture."

"Really. Well, suppose you goddamn well en-lighten me."

Talya sighed. "I was scared."

"Bullshit, Talya. Don't try that feminine crap

with me. You don't strike me as the easily intimidated type."

"I was scared, Lawson, because of the attempted hit. You were the only person who could have known where I was staying. You were the only one who could have arranged a hit like that."

"So you rigged the room. Throw me off the scent, make me think you were dead?" I smiled. "You caused a loss of balance."

"What?"

"It's from an old book by Musashi on swordsmanship. When you can start by making the enemy think you are slow, or in this case—dead, then you can attack strongly, thus keeping them off balance."

"I guess that's what I wanted."

"But it wasn't me, Talya!"

She nodded. "I realized that too late. As soon as you came into the room, I triggered the timer. I couldn't have stopped it in time."

"So kill me; then your problems would have been over."

"I told you, it wasn't supposed to kill you."

"Impair me? I find it hard to believe you'd spare me but not the guy who made the bomb."

She smiled. "Maybe I like you, Lawson."

"Wonderful. So you get me out of the picture, one way or another—"

"And I would have been able to kill Cosgrove on my own."

I shook my head. "Not likely."

" could do it, Lawson."

I really had to laugh. I mean, I had a lot of respect for this woman, but she was off her fucking

rocker. "Are you nuts? You wanted to take Cosgrove out by yourself?"

"Yes."

"And that small fact that he happens to be, well, you know, a goddamned vampire, that doesn't really make you think twice about confronting him?"

"No." She looked up at me and even in the darkness I could see the moisture in her eyes. It was the first time I'd seen her express emotion, I realized. The first time she'd shown remorse over Sim-bik's death. "I mean to kill him, Lawson. For what he did to my fiance. I have to. Even if I was no longer in love with him, he was one of the few people I cherished in my life. And now it's my obligation." She looked away. "Mine alone."

I leaned back in the booth and watched the couple furiously grinding into each other. Judging by the extremely quick up-and-down motion, the guy couldn't have been hung much larger than my big toe.

I looked back at Talya and saw her vulnerability. A single tear had wound its way down her cheek and I understood just how much incredible self-control she must have been using to keep herself in check this entire time. The tear was testament to that fact.

"Talya," I said, sliding over closer to her.

She looked at me again, trying to will the moisture out of her eyes, draw it back in, suck back the visible turmoil. Just when I thought she'd succeeded, it came out in a torrent and she slumped into me, her chest heaving, my jacket muffling her sobs.

I held her close, feeling her warmth, smelling

her vague perfume, inhaling her essence, and tasting her delicious aroma. My mouth watered.

"Talya," I said again.

She sniffed and brought herself under control. She sat up, wiping away her face. "I'm sorry. I don't usually do that."

"I can tell."

She tried to smile. "Guess I needed that."

"I'd say so."

"Thank you, Lawson. You don't have to be so understanding."

"Yeah, I know. Women who try to blow me up, they're a real weakness of mine."

She laughed again, stronger this time. "You're a good man."

I shook my head. "You only say that because you don't know me. You'd change your mind in a hurry if you knew."

She moved closer to me. "I don't think so."

I cleared my throat. "There's still that business of the hit teams who tried to take us out just before the explosion. They'd been paid off from that wad of cash in your room. Got any explanations for that?"

"None at all, except to say someone must have broken into my room earlier. Maybe while I showered. Perhaps the night before when we were out."

"Well, I had an easy enough time getting in there myself, so I suppose that's possible."

"No place is ever secure," she said. "That fact has always unnerved me."

"I guess we can't go searching for evidence now anyway."

"Why no—" She stopped short, realizing her room had been reduced to splinters. "Sorry."

"Forget it. We've got more important things to think about."

She moved closer again. "I agree."

"Easy there. What makes you so sure I wouldn't blow you up in a heartbeat? I've got quite a vengeful streak in me."

"Is that so?"

"You have no idea. Trust me."

She smiled and moved even closer. "I do."

"Yeah?"

She grinned. "Uh-huh." Her lips came even closer. Full, pouty, expanding, widening; opening her mouth—

Metal jammed under my chin.

A gun barrel.

Her pistol.

Too late I realized she'd fleeced that damned thing back off me when she was crying on my shoulder.

She laughed and brought it down, then returned it to its holster under her armpit. "Now we're even." She grinned.

I had to smile too. She was quite a woman.

"Talya."

"Yes?"

"We're going to kill Cosgrove."

"I know."

"Together. You can't handle it alone."

She looked at me.

Then nodded.

Seventeen

I put a call in to McKinley the next morning. He sounded frazzled as usual. I asked what was going on and he sighed.

"Place is in a fucking uproar over the death of that Elder. I've got the Council screaming at me for results. I just got off the phone with them and I've got a pounding headache that feels like someone's ripping my brains apart."

"Who was the Elder, by the way? You promised me a better rundown on that whole thing. I'd like some info before I head over."

"Yeah, yeah, I did." I heard some papers being rummaged through. "Lessee . . . His name was Nyudar. He was a thousand years old."

"Jesus." That was a long time even for us. "How'd he manage that?"

"Elders, Lawson. You know how it is."

"Actually, I don't. Explain it to me."

"Elders are born into their professions just like Fixers. But they age even slower than the rest of

us.

"How the hell do they do that?" 'Shit, I dunno. Magic, maybe." 'Magic? Give me a break."

"Hey, you can't tell me you haven't seen some stuff that defies description, pal. I know you too well for that. Our race is an old one. Who knows what these old fogies have locked in their skulls."

"Well, one thing's for sure. All the magic in the world didn't stop Cosgrove from ripping that poor guy apart"

"Can't imagine why. Nyudar was just a librarian, for crying out loud. Kept some old journals and stuff nobody's interested in nowadays."

"What kind of journals?"

"Dunno. I heard it was something to do with ancient customs. The old language. Stuff like that."

"Yeah, that is weird."

McKinley cleared his throat. "So what's the news, Lawson? You back in play or what? Please tell me you are. God knows I can't take much more badgering from the Council."

"Well, hang in there, McKinley. I'm back on the job. I'll be heading over in a few. I'll let you know if I find anything."

"You do that."

"What's the address?"

"South End. Down behind Copley Place." He gave me the address and sighed. "I'll be popping pills, trying to get this headache under control. Don't wait too long to call in."

"You getting worried about me?"

"Hell no. Just want to be able to give the Council some news is all."

"And here I thought you were getting all sentimental on me."

Zero called as soon as I hung up the phone. He wanted a meeting.

"Take the long way," he said before ringing off.

That told me to take extra precautions and ensure I didn't have anyone following me. I always took precautions anyway, especially after the other night.

But today I took extra care.

I'd left Talya last night at the Charles Hotel in Harvard Square. The concierge is an acquaintance of mine who understands the word "discreet." He got Talya squared away with a nice room on the third floor with a window overlooking an interior courtyard.

Talya had looked at it and smiled. "It's perfect, Lawson."

And it was.

Three floors off the ground, it was high enough that breaking in by climbing was tough, but not so high that she couldn't jump out and live if she had no other choice.

You might think it a little crazy to live life this way, but this is how professionals the world over think when it comes to their safety. It's a serious business we're in.

And while I may not have to focus on that aspect as much as my human contemporaries, I could still appreciate the idea of adhering to such principles.

I triple-backed on myself to make sure I was clean. I still had no idea how Cosgrove was getting around the city or even where he might be holing up. I had to assume he knew where I lived, even if he hadn't yet attacked me there. If I didn't assume the worst, he'd get me when I least suspected it. So I suspected everything.

Zero arranged to meet me at a small diner just outside of Kendall Square in Cambridge, close to

the old candy factory situated by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. According to Zero, they made the best turkey clubs in the city.

After biting into the sandwich, I had to agree with him. Plenty of mayonnaise, bacon not too crisp, ample lettuce, and plenty of cheese. I hated tomatoes, so I got mine without, which caused Zero to frown.

"Still can't eat 'em, huh?"

"You know I can't. "

He smiled. "They're good for you, Lawson."

"I did my time when I was a kid. Couldn't get enough of them. Then suddenly it disappeared. Now I like cucumbers."

He shrugged and bit into his sandwich again. We waited until the lunchtime crowd had thinned out. The cramped little joint only had so many tables. Inside, the paint flicked off the walls in places, and pies and cakes still sat under the glass trays like you always see in old films. A real mom-and-pop-and-all-our-sons team from Greece ran the place and they gave you a lot of food for your buck. It was the kind of place I liked to eat in. Everyone was welcome.

And they didn't take shit from the Yuppies who came in pretending to be important. That was refreshing. If there was one thing that annoyed the holy bejesus out of me, it was young executives who thought the world started and stopped with them. They'd grown up cloistered and groomed in colleges designed to churn out corporate-business types who really contributed nothing to society. And somewhere along the line, someone had inserted a huge ego and a lot of attitude into an

otherwise insecure shell. The result was a rude aberration with no sense of decency.

Ah, well, that was the twenty-first century for you.

Personally, I had been looking forward to the new millennium. I think I had some notion that there would be this huge overnight change. And yet somehow I doubted myself simultaneously.

Maybe just a small apocalypse, then. You know, take out some of those awful drivers who stay locked in second gear afraid to put a little gas into the engine. I clung to a belief that more traffic accidents were caused by timid drivers than those who knew how to drive well. Now if I could just get funding for the study . . .

We munched chocolate chip cookies for dessert and polished off our sodas before lapsing into conversation. Zero kept a full mug of coffee in front of him as incentive for the staff to leave us alone.

"Any luck so far?"

"McKinley says the Elder who was killed was named Nyudar. Some sort of librarian in charge of keeping journals."

"What kind of journals?"

"McKinley didn't know too much, just said they had old customs in them. Stuff to do with the old language."

"You asked McKinley?"

"Calm down. He volunteered the information."

Zero sighed. "Why kill an Elder? It doesn't make much sense. If he's trying to forge an alliance with the humans, why would he need the aid of an Elder? It doesn't make sense."

"Nothing Cosgrove does makes sense."

"That may seem true on the surface, Lawson, but there's always a pattern that flows out of even the

darkest pools. There's something there we're not seeing. There has to be." He reached for his coffee. "What about the man himself? Any luck?"

I shook my head. "None. I have no idea where Cosgrove is shacking up. He's limited himself so far to nocturnal forays, but he can still skip around during the day. I can't find the bastard anywhere. Luckily, he didn't kill last night."

Zero nodded. "I know." He reached inside his leather jacket and brought out a manila folder. "Here's the dossier on your friend Talya. She's definitely not one of us, at least as far as the DIA is concerned."

"You took the DIA's assessment over Langley?"

Zero smiled. "You know as well as I do that the CIA hasn't had credible human intelligence since they went overly dependent on their satellites. The DIA still runs HUMINT networks keyed to the former Soviet Union." He pointed to the folder. "Give it a read."

I did. It seemed that McKinley may have had access to the same information Zero had just given me. Talya had been a KGB illegal in charge of wet work before she went freelance after the fall of communism. There were recent photos—well, recent in intelligence terms, which meant anything taken this decade—a list of her previous employers, and some biographical information. Seemed she'd been telling me the truth about being Simbik's fiancee. He was listed in her file.

I closed it and handed it back to Zero. "I see you're still maintaining your networks as well."

He took a sip of coffee. "A good thing I do too, Lawson."

"Why's that?"

"Because this thing, this conspiracy, goes deeper than I originally thought. Remember the other night when I told you I didn't want to go to the Council just yet?"

"Yeah." Personally, I felt we should. I didn't mention it to Zero, though.

"Good thing I didn't. I would have been killed trying to get there."

"By whom?"

"The old Fixers we talked about. Cosgrove's enforcers. His private termination squad."

I frowned. "So they exist."

"Yes, but I was wrong about something important."

"What's that?"

"When I mentioned the possibility that Cosgrove would use old Fixers, I thought he would use those of our kind who had retired from active service. That he'd use the old vets." He leaned forward. "I was wrong."

It dawned on me. "Jesus, he's using active Fixers."

Zero nodded. "It's one reason he's here in Boston. We still have to figure out the Elder connection."

That made sense. "Well, he did try to recruit me—"

"No, Lawson, not you, although I'm sure he'd love to have you come aboard and help him raise hell. But it's not you he's interested in getting to."

"Who, then?"

"McKinley."

"McKinley?" I shook my head. "Can't be, Zero. He's my Control; he wouldn't go over to Cosgrove. Hell, he gave me the termination order himself."

"Exactly," said Zero. "What better way to conceal the fact that he's becoming Cosgrove's chief operations man than by maintaining his role of your Control. Even if we went to the Council now with this, they'd never believe it. McKinley's got a great service record. He passed the termination order to you without incident and told you to go get your man. Hell, he even went so far as to call me up to protect your ass while you were in the hospital. He didn't have to do that. He could have killed you himself while you were out."

My stomach plunged toward my bowels; it felt like a kick in the balls. "Good God."

"You see the logic now?"

"I guess. It's a little tough picturing McKinley as a traitor, though."

Zero took a sip of coffee. "Even if it doesn't seem like the kind of thing you'd do if you were switching sides, Lawson, it's damned sound. It works. And it works well. It's no wonder you haven't gotten close to Cosgrove since that first night. McKinley's been keeping him abreast of your progress every step of the way. He's always just out of reach for you."

"But I saw him talking with Talya that night in the bar."

"A calculated move on his part."

"Calculated? What for?"

Zero shrugged. "Probably designed to make you mistrust her. If you figured she was part of his game plan, you might have killed her yourself."

"Get her out of the way in other words."

"Why not?" said Zero. "Did you tell McKinley about Talya?"

"After our first meeting."

"Makes perfect sense then. McKinley tells Cos-grove about Talya, about what an obvious professional she is. Cosgrove's no fool. He understands revenge better than most and would figure Talya to be another threat to his plans. If he can make you waste her, thinking she's with him, not only would it remove the threat, but it would also solidify McKinley's position. There'd be no way you'd think he was dirty."

It disgusted me to have fallen for Cosgrove's deceit so easily. And to think that McKinley was involved in it as well left me sick. But it vanished quickly enough. Rage filled the void.

"Who else?"

Zero looked up from his mug. "Who else?"

"Who else is involved?"

Zero shrugged. "Not sure yet. I only just got confirmation about McKinley from one of my sources. I double-checked the information on my own and it's legit."

"Who's your source?"

Zero looked at me like I'd just asked him to translate the Rosetta stone into Chinese. "What kind of question is that, Lawson? You know damned well I can't tell you. You know networks are never disclosed. Makes compromising them too easy."

"Like I'd tell."

Zero frowned again. "I'm not questioning your loyalty, Lawson. Hell, you know that's never been an issue. But even if you think you could hold out under duress, there's no telling what kind of shit they'd put you through if they thought you had information they needed. And everyone has a breaking point. Everyone."

"Fair enough."

"All right, so let's look at Cosgrove's other possible recruits." Zero glanced around the diner. "You and McKinley head operations here in Boston. There's no one else here to really figure into the plans. You've got Xavier in Portland, who controls the Maine and New Hampshire communities. And Dieter runs Vermont. I've got Connecticut and Rhode Island. There's always Gustafson and O'Reilly in New York, but I think Cosgrove is after the Northeast first; then he'll expand. After all, the Council is here."

It was true. The seat of power for the vampire community was the Council and they held court here in Boston. The Council liked to reside in old cities. And Boston was one of the oldest in the country.

"So you think he'll try to get the others into his scheme?"

"Probably use McKinley as his go-to man. Everyone knows what a nut Cosgrove is. It might make better sense to use McKinley as the initial contact. Once Cosgrove has solidified his alliances with the various Controls, he'll move against the Council. Kill them, usurp their power, and take over the rest of the country. From there it would only be a matter of time before he had the rule of the international vampire communities. You know they take their cues from us here."

I sighed. "You're sure about McKinley?"

"Absolutely."

"It's just that if he's mixed up in this, why would he feed me information about the Elder? He honestly sounded as confused as I was."

"He might well be. I'm sure Cosgrove wouldn't

reveal all the aspects of his plan, even to his cohorts. McKinley might honestly have no clue why Cosgrove is doing it. It helps make him look even less suspect."

Damn. I'd worked with McKinley for a long time. But I'd worked with Zero even longer and I trusted Zero with my life. I had to make a decision; right or wrong, I had to make one.

I shrugged my coat on. Zero looked up. "Got an idea?"

"Yeah. If McKinley's been keeping Cosgrove aware of my movements, maybe it's time to throw some disinformation out there and see if we can't trip them up."

Zero slid some cash on the tabletop. "Not too much, Lawson. Remember, I'm not ready to move yet. I need to call in some additional resources to make sure we can take them down if we need to. Wait for my signal."

"You've got additional resources?"

Zero smiled. "I hope so, Lawson. We're going to need them."

"So what do I do in the meantime? Sit tight?"

Zero smiled. "Hell no. If you can get Cosgrove, by all means do so. But be careful with McKinley. If he gets wind that you're onto the scheme, he may decide to kill you himself. And right now you're the only active Fixer I've got. I need you alive."

"Good to know. I'm heading over to that Elder's apartment. You want to tag along?"

"You don't need me."

"Actually, I could use your insight. This old-school stuff is much more up your alley than it is mine."

He grinned. "Yeah. OK."

I looked at him and wondered if he was enjoying the bit of adrenaline the situation had pumped into his blood. "Nice to be back walking that thin line again, Zero?"

"The hell," said Zero. "I'd rather prop my feet up after a long day and read a good book. This stuff is for you young pups. I'm far too old to be traipsing about like some greenhorn on his first time out."

"Luxury of choice isn't something we've ever had, though."

Zero smiled. "Well, we could always just walk away."

Fat chance of that. "If it was only that easy." Being a Fixer made you respect the Balance even more than most of your average everyday vampires. To us, the Balance represented the sanctity of our lives. It became our reason for existing. It was our Bushido. Protecting it became instinctive. Zero and I would rather the than walk away. He knew it. I knew it.

And unfortunately, Cosgrove and McKinley knew it too.

Eighteen

The South End is home to the kind of brown-stones young professionals dream of owning one day. Old and stately, in as diverse a neighborhood as you can find in Boston. Zero and I wound our way down behind Copley Place and searched the streets for parking.

"Every sign says 'Resident Permit Parking Only,' " said Zero. "Don't they believe in meters?"

"Not in this part of town. Everyone here is keen on keeping outsiders away. You should see the double- and triple-parking that goes on down here on weekends."

I steered the Jetta into a squeeze between a Ford Explorer and a Lexus. Zero got out and looked around.

"This OK?"

"No signs anywhere. Maybe we got lucky."

Zero coughed. "Luck. Indeed."

Number looked like someone had spent some serious bucks trying to turn back time. Fresh mortar had been spooned into cracks between the reddish bricks and a fresh coat of black paint had been slapped on the heavy wooden door. The wrought iron fence bordering the brownstone

hadn't yet been repainted, and by the look of it, the house was a good hundred years old.

I pushed into the front hall and got hit with a whiff of musty mothballs.

Zero sniffed. "Could be sawdust too. After all, the cleanup crew would have had to use something for the blood."

The front-door key was under the mat and we let ourselves in. The inside looked like an abattoir, although the blood was much darker now, having dried since Cosgrove's visit.

Zero exhaled. "Jesus, what a mess."

The inside of the apartment had been completely trashed. Bookshelves were turned over, books with" ancient scripts running down the spines had been tossed about, and pieces of parchment littered the hardwood floors.

"Looks like someone was looking for something pretty damned hard."

Zero nodded. "Yes. And by the look of it, I don't know if they were successful."

"That good news or bad news?"

"First we have to figure out what they were looking for, then we'll know the answer to that question."

He stooped down and picked up one of the books. "Do you know what this is?"

"Looks like the ancient script of our people."

"Taluk," said Zero. "Very rare."

"What's it a book of?"

"I think this one is a book of ancient recipes. There are numbers and measurements here."

"Y'know, you never told me you could read the old language."

He shrugged. "I read some of it. It's a hobby of

mine. Call me a cultural idealist; I cling to some of the old ways. I don't think they should be abandoned in favor of a more leisurely existence."

"Can you figure out what all these books are?"

"Maybe. Might take a while."

I checked my watch and saw I had some time before I had to meet with Talya again. "So let's get to work."

It was easier said than done, of course. Even with Zero's modest expertise, it took us the better part of the afternoon to sort through the various tomes and journals littering the floors and try to come up with a theory.

A bad one.

"It makes sense," said Zero. "I should have known the alliance was only part of it."

"So tell me already."

Zero pointed to a stack of black leather-bound books. "The Kavnora is missing."

Even to a low-watt history buff like me, that meant something. The Kavnora was an ancient text reputed to hold the secrets to vampire mysticism. The instructions for performing ancient ceremonies and even alleged magic were contained within its pages.

"So what's he doing with it, then?"

Zero shrugged. "I don't know. We'd need another copy of the book to try to narrow it down. There are all sorts of nasty things someone like Cosgrove would love to try out written inside."

"So where do we get one?" There were very few copies of the Kavnora available since the knowledge contained within was so powerful. Ordinary vampires were never permitted to read an unabridged copy, just carefully edited ones.

"Another Elder," said Zero. "They'd have a copy."

"I don't know of anyone else in the area, do you?"

Zero grinned. "Well, yeah, actually I do."

Zero and I split up.

"I'll call you within twenty-four hours," he said, and then hopped into a taxi and slid back into the stream of traffic. In seconds he vanished. I stood there for another minute, looking at nothing in particular, before getting into the Jetta.

It had been a long time since I'd been out in the cold. And without Zero around, I truly was operating alone. No safety nets. No one I could call who could cover my six.

In the human intelligence game, they call such operatives NOCs, which stands for nonofficial cover. They are the deep-cover agents chiefly responsible for producing grade A, top-of-the-line human intelligence. If they get caught doing their job, they are in a world of hurt. Imprisonment, torture, even death.

The reality of my current predicament seemed much the same way for me.

First, my Control was a traitor, and that meant he'd hang me out to dry without a moment's concern if he thought I was a threat. Therefore, the goal was to make him think that I was not, while simultaneously trying to see if I couldn't track Cos-grove down and kill him.

Second, I still had to rationalize this situation with Talya. As much as I felt we'd arrived at some understanding, a part of me still refused to com-

pletely trust her. At this point, I had no way of knowing whether paranoia or instinct was responsible for the lack of trust.

That said, there was no one else I could place any degree of trust in—minute as it might be-—except Talya. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.

So while Zero headed off to locate the other Elder whom he knew lived close by, I headed back to Talya.

I drove to Harvard Square under assault of one of the windiest November rains I had seen in a long time. Seemed to me that each year the rains came earlier and windier. October was such a beautiful month. The trees exploded with the vivid red and orange hues of autumn, the days still mild and the nights cool. Usually, the night skies crackled crisp and airy, filled with stars. And since I had been born in October, I happened to place a little extra admiration upon it.

But God, did I hate November.

Even the radio did little to buoy my drooping spirit. I flipped the channel over to my favorite station, . WFNX, and listened as the DJ cranked tunes from the 1980s. In comparison to today's gloom-and-doom total-lack-of-any-discernible-melody songs, music from the 1980s really had it going on. At least in my opinion.

Massachusetts Avenue slowed to a crawl by Central Square, but what else was new? Heading toward Harvard Square, the road went from three lanes down to two, down to one and a half. What a damned mess. Some poor excuse for a civil engineer was probably laughing all the way to the bank.

And me? I had conspiracy problems to deal with.

In the crapshoot of life, I seemed to have gotten some loaded dice.

I banked left and continued farther down Massachusetts Avenue, past the Out of Town Newsstand and then circled around and down JFK Street. At the end I swung around and into the Charles Hotel's garage, finding a spot on the second level down.

I took the stairs to the courtyard, walked into the lobby and into the bar, checking to see if anyone followed me in.

No one did.

I used the phone at the concierge station to ring Talya's room. She answered on the first ring.

"It's me."

"You want to come up?"

That was a loaded question. I'd found myself thinking back to the hotel room when she'd leveled the gun on me while standing there completely nude. She had a terrific body. Sculpted but wonderfully curved. She hadn't succumbed to the ridiculous notion that being beautiful meant you had to weigh less than the lettuce leaf most models ate for breakfast. She had some extra meat on her around the hips and thighs, sturdy muscle that made her more voluptuous.

So yeah, I wanted to go up to her room. And yeah, I wanted to ravage the hell out of her. Maybe even have some juice. Just a little. Strangely enough, I think I wanted the sex more.

That's why I said no.

She sounded disappointed. "I'll be right down."

I went back into the bar, ordered some orange juice, and sat down to wait. She slipped into the bar a few minutes later, wearing her trademark out-

fit of a turtleneck and stretch pants. If all women knew how to dress like Talya, my world would be a happier place. Just seeing her in a turtleneck really carbonated my hormones. And then, of course, I thought of her in the turtleneck and just a pair of string-bikini panties.

I took a long sip of orange juice.

She looked at me funny. "You OK?"

"Fine," I said, setting my juice back down on the glass tabletop. I watched a little condensation bleed through the paper napkin and soak onto the glass. "Sleep well?"

"Could have been better." She shrugged. "But someone didn't want to turn down my sheets."

It wasn't that I didn't want to. I just wouldn't. But instead of making a snappy comeback, I simply nodded.

She frowned. "Any news today?"

Plenty. But I couldn't tell her any of it. "Not really."

She leaned back in her seat. "You know, there's something that's been bothering me about this whole hunting thing."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah. You never explained exactly why it is that you're hunting him."

"Just a job."

"I've heard that line before, Lawson. Usually, it means about as much as nothing."

I smiled. "Well, it really is my job."

"Really. And what made him one of your targets?"

"You know the kind of killer he is. I told you the last time he came to town he left a trail of

•'

bodies behind. My employers do not wish a repeat of the past."

"So who are your employers?"

I finished my juice and wished I had another. "A group that calls themselves the Council."

Talya grinned. "Sounds like you work for La Cosa Nostra."

"Not really, although there might be some vague similarities."

She glanced around the bar. I'd noticed she did it very nonchalantly, but all the while she was keeping track of who'd entered, where they'd sat, and who'd left. Extremely professional.

"And at what point did you realize that Cosgrove was a vampire?"

"Friend of mine was the medical examiner last time Cosgrove came through. I got a look at the bodies before anyone else."

"So what's the body look like? I mean, they're undead, right?"

I shook my head. "No, they're living. Like I said before, this isn't the stuff of legends and yet it is. But things are different. Vampires evolved parallel to humans. The ingestion of blood affected their metabolic process and enabled them to live longer and have heightened senses and abilities. Their physical makeup is more able to endure extreme punishment, but wooden splinters in the heart kill them easily."

"I take it that revelation didn't make the papers."

I looked at her. "Talya, what do you think would have happened if word had leaked to the media about a vampire killing fifty people?"

She laughed, which was good. "We probably wouldn't be sitting here talking right now."

"No shit. But you could always visit me in my padded cell."

"Mmm, yes, I could."

I'd meant it as a joke. Talya read some sexual innuendo into it. She seemed distracted for a moment and then refocused on me.

"Was it difficult selling your employers on the concept that Cosgrove was a vampire?"

I shifted in my seat, listening to the leather squeak and whine underneath me. "Not really. It's a very old organization; my employers, they're rather used to some oddities in life."

"Sounds interesting. Sounds a helluva lot more fascinating than any of the dreary assignments I've had lately."

I didn't know about that. One of her most recent assignments had been to assassinate the leader of a drug cartel operating out of Mexico. According to the dossier Zero had shown me, she must have lain in wait for four days in order to get close enough to take him out. Gee, what a boring life she had led.

"It has its ups and downs."

She leaned forward. "Have you ever killed any other vampires?"

I was becoming uncomfortable with this line of questioning. And discussing killing others of my kind doesn't really thrill me. When I told her it was a job I did, I meant it. It was a job. I didn't particularly relish the thought of killing one of my own. But the Balance had to be maintained at all cost. And if that meant I had to put down someone, then so be it. But I wasn't about to sit here

in a bar in Harvard Square and recall any glory stories, acting like I was proud of them. I did my job and I did it well. And the community stayed safer because of it. That was it.

"Cosgrove will be the first," I lied.

She sat back. "And yet ... You don't seem particularly fazed by it It's almost as if you're accustomed to the idea that there are vampires."

"Look who's talking! When I told you about Cos-grove, you didn't even flinch—"

"But I'm from an area of the world where superstition and reality overlap. My region is known for its wild legends. We've got it all: vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and goblins. I'm immune to being shocked by any of it."

"I highly doubt you grew up accustomed to the idea of vampires being around you."

She shrugged. "You'd be surprised, Lawson. We're talking about a very remote area of the world. Old parts of the world. I grew up on the land bridge that joins Asia and Europe. Growing up, I heard some amazing stories. Who's to say where myth stops and reality begins? It's a blurred line, believe me." She twisted a lock of her hair around a finger. "And when I got out into the big wide world, the more I worked, the more I saw things ordinary people would deem as bizarre. For me, they became commonplace."

"Like what?"

"Well, of course, not vampires or ghouls. But enough times I encountered strange things, like precognition, heightened awareness, and so on. Spiritual residue from kills. Even bizarre dreams." She leaned forward again. "I'm not one of those skeptical types who tries to discount everything only

because I'm too scared to accept the possibility that something might be real."

"You're a believer."

She smiled. "Call it whatever you want. Doesn't matter to me."

"You're proud of your convictions, apparently."

She smiled even more. "Lawson, you seem disturbed by all this. Is everything all right?"

"Fine," I said, but I didn't mean it. Even if Talya thought she was immune to her reality being forever skewed, I strongly doubted she'd come through our mission without being affected.

Cosgrove seemed to almost be more of a novelty to her right now rather than the vicious bastard I knew him to be. If she took that attitude when it came down to the wire, Cosgrove would kill her without a second thought. And that meant she might not be entirely reliable for backup duty. After all, it would be my ass on the line if she couldn't back me properly.

But I had little choice. With Zero temporarily out of sight, I had to place my safety into Talya's hands.

And, for better or for worse, we were about to step into the line of fire.

Nineteen

Talya stayed silent as we drove back toward Boston. In truth, we didn't have much to discuss, and besides, I've always liked the quiet. I hated being around people who always felt the need to stuff useless conversation into otherwise beautiful periods of silence.

Quiet introspection can have a profound effect on the problems of life. I bet myself five bucks that Talya's thoughts centered on Cosgrove and how to best play the coming battle. I hoped she'd be able to come up with some better ideas than I'd had recently.

She seemed strangely content to keep right on staring out the window as we drove. In some ways she almost reminded me of myself.

And that scared the hell out of me.

We broke out of traffic just in time to hit the bridge spanning the Charles River at Massachusetts Avenue. We cruised down past Marlborough Street and turned right onto Beacon Street. I timed the light perfectly and we sailed easily down toward Kenmore Square.

Throngs of college students clogged crosswalks like too much cholesterol in your arteries, filling

the square to its capacity. Lights from nearby stores cast their shadows across the sidewalks and streets. I tried to remember the last time I'd felt as carefree as most of the students milling around us. I couldn't. But part of me doubted I ever had been.

"Where are we heading?"

She'd broken her silence, apparently finished strategizing for the time being. I wondered if her failure to kill Cosgrove thus far discouraged her.

Professionals tend to be patient people. They have to be. Their survival depends on them not making any stupid mistakes due to being overzeal-ous. They're cautious.

But they're also driven.

And when time begins crawling by and results still have yet to surface, it becomes frustrating. I suspected our lack of progress frustrated Talya to no end. It certainly frustrated me. But then again, frustration and I are old pals. I'm used to it.

I rolled the window down a crack to let some air in. "Club farther up Commonwealth Avenue. Calls itself M Eighty. Home to the Euro crowd on Thursday nights."

"What's a Euro crowd?" she asked half interested, but I decided to humor her by giving her a lot of detail.

"You know, the foreign nationals who come over to Boston to go to school. Mom and Dad give 'em a huge expense account, buy them garish-colored luxury cars, and tell them to sow their oats before they come back and assume their roles as heirs to the family fortune."

Talya smiled. "I've never known anyone who used the word 'garish' in a sentence before, Lawson."

"Stick around, you might learn something." "I'll bet." She looked out the window again. "You joking about the expense-account thing?"

"Not at all. I read an article about some Joe on Newbury Street who handles the kids' accounts for their moms and dads, you know, to give them peace of mind. After all, if Junior blows through a hundred Gs in a month, that's not good."

"A hundred thousand dollars? In one month?" I shrugged. "Well, that may be overstating it slightly, but the truth is they have a lot of money. These kids buy bottles of Cristal champagne for their friends at these clubs. I remember Simbik—" I stopped short. Damn. "Talya, I'm sorry—" Her face fell slightly, but she composed herself. "No, don't stop. Go on. It makes me happy to know you shared some good times together." I cleared my throat. "It doesn't really matter." She touched my arm. "Yes, it does." I looked at her long enough to see she was serious, and then continued. "Well, Simbik used to say the most popular drink at his club wasn't beer, it was champagne. He said the volume they had to buy just to keep the kids wet was absurd. There's tons of money to be made in the nightclub business, take my word for it. It's just a matter of knowing how to attract the rich kids and keep them coming back."

"Is that why Boston has such a limited nightlife?" I shook my head. "No. Boston has a shitty nightlife because we've got Puritanical laws still on the books. Damned things date back to the 1600s and no one's bothered to change 'em." I chuckled. "Cambridge is even worse. Everything over there

has to shut by one in the morning. You get an extra hour in Boston."

"Amazing," said Talya. "And yet everywhere else is open twenty-four hours a day."

"Price we pay for having a beautiful city."

She went back to staring out the window.

I eased the Jetta into a spot close to the McDonald's farther up Commonwealth Avenue. I turned in the seat.

"Give me your gun."

Talya's eyebrows shot off her forehead. "Excuse me?"

"What kind of loads are you using?"

"Standard nine millimeter. I think the brand is Federal."

"Planning on shooting Cosgrove with those?"

The look on her face softened as she realized the bullets wouldn't harm him. "All right, but you still aren't getting my piece." She smiled. "Give me the ammunition."

I sighed and dropped the bullets into her outstretched hand. She fingered them and examined the tips.

"Wood?"

"Yeah. They splinter on impact causing massive damage."

"I thought the old legends didn't apply. Now you're giving me a stake to put in his heart."

"Something about the physiological makeup makes them vulnerable to wood. Don't ask me to explain. I can't. All I know is it works."

She kept her eyes on me, ejected the magazine from her gun, and thumbed the old rounds out into her lap. Faster than I would have thought possible, she reloaded the magazine with the wood-

tipped bullets and slid the magazine back into the pistol butt.

"You're quick," I said.

She jacked the slide, chambering a round. "And now I'm deadly to vampires. Shall we get going?"

I nodded and suggested we walk. Talya eased herself out of the car.

"What time do you have Lawson?"

I checked the dashboard of the Jetta. I never carry a watch because the damned things jump off my wrist with alarming frequency. I'd swear they were committing suicide rather than sit still on me.

"Going on ten o'clock."

She frowned. "Aren't we a bit early?"

"Yep, and that's exactly the reason why I think we'll find him tonight. We get here early enough, get a good vantage point, and try to beat him to the punch."

"You mean bite."

I looked back at her in the darkness and her smile radiated an almost tangible warmth. A breeze swept up her hair and tossed it around before she reached up with her hand and regained control over it.

"Yeah," I said thickly. "That too."

She nodded. "We'd better get inside then."

"Hold on a second." I pulled out my cell phone and dialed McKinley's number. He answered on the second ring.

"Lawson? That you?"

"You always answer the phone that professionally? I could have been important. I could have been a Council member."

"Up yours, you bastard. Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you all day."

I'll bet. "Out and about, of course. Remember, I'm supposed to be doing my job."

"Yeah, but you're also supposed to be checking in with me. What if Cosgrove got to you first and I had no idea of where you were, I couldn't send any help."

As if he would have. "Yeah, well, I'm checking in now. Got any fresh news for me?"

"None. What'd you find out at the Elder's place? Anything that'd give us a clue as to why he hit him?"

"Place was a mess. Guy had a ton of books in the old language, but it's all scribble to me. Did me no good being there."

He grunted on the other end of the line. "Where are you?"

"In the Alley, by Tremont."

"Weren't you there the other night?"

"Monday, yeah. But you know how deserted the bars are on a Monday night. We figured we'd have a better shot at him if we checked them out again."

"What's this 'we' shit, Lawson?"

"Got Talya with me."

McKinley paused. "Jesus, Lawson, you think that's a good idea? What if you have to take Cos-grove out in front of her? How the hell you going to explain that one?"

"I'm not worried about it."

"I am."

"Worry about your Elders. This is not an issue."

"It could well be if the Council got wind of it. They'd shit themselves silly knowing you let a human work with you on a termination."

"The Council doesn't care about how I get re-

suits, McKinley. As long as I get them. So they don't have to know how I do my job, right?"

Another grunt "I'm trusting you on this, Law-son."

"Yeah. Sometimes all we have is trust."

He paused. "Keep me informed."

"Will do." I hung up the phone and caught Ta-lya giving me a curious look. "What?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't trust your Control?"

I shrugged, remembering Zero's words from earlier. "Let's just say I don't believe in showing my cards all the time."

"From what I've seen, you never really do anyway."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

She didn't answer. "Come on, let's go find Cos-grove."

I followed after her. Damned if I'd ever be able to figure out women, human or vampire.

The place was thick with Europeans, just like I'd told Talya. I caught snippets of at least a half-dozen different languages ranging from Farsi, spoken only by Iranian aristocrats, to a Cairo dialect of Arabic, to gutter Russian straight out Georgia laced with enough Mafia references to make anyone with more than a first-grade education steer clear. An interesting and eclectic mix of folks, to be sure. All of them young, and all of them rich.

Talya and I threaded our way through the crowds, not even garnering so much as a disapproving glance from the Gucci- and Prada-conscious club denizens. If you didn't wear your money, you didn't even exist.

That worked in our favor and gave us a degree of anonymity. If they didn't see us, they couldn't remember us later.

Despite the early hour by club standards, the dance-floor divas jammed the parquet floor while the music pulsed. I'd assumed finding a good vantage point would not be a problem due to the time. I quickly reminded myself why assuming things usually lands me in a world of pain.

Talya came through, though. She'd been on point and led me toward the rear of the club about twenty feet from the emergency exit. A VIP area closed off with velvet ropes barred our path, but she simply smiled at the security man standing guard and he let us through. She slumped into the booth and I followed.

"Well?"

I grinned. "Looks good. We should be able to see him if he comes in here tonight."

"You think he will?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? There's only so many places he can go." Plus, I was hoping if McKinley tipped him off as to our whereabouts, he'd come down to the opposite end of the city and do his hunting here. But I wasn't ready to tell Talya that. "You know it's always a crapshoot."

She nodded. "The luxury of having good intelligence."

"Right." I laughed in spite of my growing apprehension. "When was the last time you had good intel prior to a hit?"

"Right around the last time I won the lottery," she said. "Never."

"You've got as much luck as I do."

She nodded. "Yeah, but you make do. I was

sprawled in a muddy field in the middle of Northern Ireland—County Armagh I think it was—covered in leaves, dirt, manure, and lots of rain, for almost a week one time before my target showed up. And I still had to pull myself together to take him out." She looked at me. "Ever done that?"

"Covered myself in cow dung? Nope. I'm a pro at getting myself into all sorts of other shit, though." I paused and checked the surroundings. "But I can understand the incredible discipline you must have had to summon to keep your wits about you while you waited." I inclined my head. "Damned admirable."

"I stayed in the shower for two hours when I came out. Sure makes you appreciate the little things everyone else takes for granted."

"Like a loofah?"

She chuckled. "Especially the loofah." She looked around the club and smiled again.

"What's so funny?"

She shrugged. "Just this. Could you imagine the reactions of every other person on this planet if they listened to our conversations? Here we are discussing the merits of discipline when it comes to assassinating people. Good Lord, what kind of times are we living in?"

"Strange times, Talya. Trust me."

"Exactly. And here we are hunting a vampire in the middle of a cosmopolitan town like Boston. You'd think vampires would be the last thing to exist here."

"Yet they do."

"Indeed. I wonder how."

I watched the front door of the club. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you wonder about it, Lawson? Aren't you curious? How do they exist? Do they grow old and the like everyone else? Now that I know they really exist, I'm bursting with questions."

And I didn't want to answer any of them. "Remember what you said a few days back? It's just a job I do. I'm not really interested in Cosgrove's life story. I just want to put him down with minimal fuss and no muss."

She narrowed her eyes. "Almost as if you didn't want to discuss the subject, Lawson."

"Cosgrove killed your fiance. My friend. And roughly fifty other people. I want him dead. That's it, end of story."

"If only it was as simple as that."

I looked at her. "It's not?"

"Of course not. We're dealing with a vampire. It's an extraordinary thing, don't you see that?"

"This from the woman who told me she'd grown up with these legends surrounding her all her life. And now all of a sudden you're awestruck by the whole damned thing? That's strange."

She frowned. "Well, fine. Be that way. Maybe I'll just save my questions for Cosgrove when he shows up."

"Don't imagine he'll much feel like answering them by the time I plug his heart full of wood," I said.

"Maybe you could just wound him first."

I looked at her incredulously, but she only smiled.

"I'm kidding, Lawson. Just kidding."

Was she? Hell, I didn't even know anymore. I couldn't be mad with her for being curious. Anyone in her position, even with her background,

would have felt the same way. After all, it's not every day you find out that vampires really do exist It's akin to discovering that Roswell really did happen or that the CIA really wasted JFK. Kind of a reality-shattering event.

Maybe in some weird way, I was partially jealous. After all, she knew Cosgrove was a vampire and as much as she wanted revenge for his killing Simbik, she also wanted to understand the creature he was. And here I was sitting next to her in some vacuous club with people swirling all around us, her perfume teasing my nostrils, intimately aware of her body heat and desirous of her. And she was more into Cosgrove.

Damn, so much for being some kind of enlightened guru. Hell, I was still a prisoner to the kind of jealousy you could find in any junior high school.

I watched her watch the crowd. Everything she did had a degree of artfulness to it. Not that your ordinary run-of-the-mill Joe Blow could tell, but I could. One of the benefits of working in the same field.

Talya scanned the crowd with an amazing degree of detachment, never focusing on one thing, but simultaneously absorbing, processing, and sifting everything and everyone in the room. Each time she passed her eyes over the room, she did so in a different manner. You'd never guess she was so actively surveying the club searching for her— our—target.

Her skill mesmerized me. Her beauty haunted me. Her very presence made me feel like a fourteen-year-old boy.

And in that realization I knew I was in a lot of trouble.

I explained before about the rules governing interaction between my kind and humans. Sex was OK; love was not.

Was I falling in love with her? I didn't know. I wasn't exactly an expert on the emotion. I could count the times I'd fallen in love with one finger.

Sure, I'd had sex a lot of times.

But love? Me? You had to be joking. I was, after all, a vampire.

Oh, sure, it was possible. I mean, vampires hook up all the time with each other. It's how we keep producing our species. But I'd never met a vampire who did it for me.

After all, the prospects of sex were kind of bleak. You did the deed and shared each other's blood as a symbolic gesture of what had transpired. It was a really disturbing vision the first time I'd learned about the ritual of vampiric procreation.

Swore me off kids forever.

Never thought I'd have a problem either. I was a Fixer. Not the kind of job that allows for intimate relationships. Hell, the first few years I was active in the field I didn't even have so much as a home, I was on the road all the time.

I wondered if Talya had ever been in love.

And immediately realized things were worse than I thought.

"Lawson?"

I snapped back to reality. Talya grinned.

"Everything OK?"

I nodded. "Yeah, sure. Fine. Just doing some thinking is all."

She nodded. "Seemed to be deep in thought there. You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah." I scanned the club. "See anything?"

She nodded. "Yes. Judging by what I've seen, approximately sixty-five percent of the club will be getting some sex tonight."

"That it?"

She flashed me a healthy smile. "Well, Lawson, the night's not over yet." She leaned closer to me. "The percentage could increase . . . even by two."

I snapped my eyes away, aware of the pounding in my chest and the rising heat in my face. So much for professional demeanor. I cleared my throat and looked back at her.

'You're something else, Talya."

But she'd ceased looking at me. Her eyes focused beyond me, staring, narrowing, becoming acutely attuned to her environment. Even her body had shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly. She'd become more animalistic in the space of less than three seconds. I'd seen the look before.

On myself.

Talya had shifted to her combat mode, and as I turned in my seat, I saw why.

Cosgrove was in the club.

Twenty

I'd seen shadows disturb more things in their path than Cosgrove did as he entered. He didn't so much walk as ooze his way through the crowds. It felt eerie just watching him move inside and begin his stalk. I thought about sharks I'd seen, and the resemblance to their movements seemed uncanny.

Talya didn't take her eyes off him. "How do you want to play this?"

I brought my piece out, feeling the cold metal on one side and the warmth of the side that had lain next to my body. It felt good knowing I had a magazine full of death-dealing Cosgrove rounds.

Talya seemed as primed as I was to take this thing head-on and get it over with.

"Straight up," I said. "Give me two minutes to get into position. Then we'll hit him. Fast and hard. Got it?"

She nodded, scarcely moving her lips. "Go."

I slid out of the booth and back into the shadows. I had to make sure I stayed in his blind spot as much as possible. It would be OK if he spotted Talya. He might chalk it up to coincidence and maybe even try to take her out.

But he couldn't see me. If he did, the game would be over and I'd be left holding a heaving bag of shit. Cosgrove would run if he sensed anything remotely like an ambush.

I stayed in the dark recesses of the club, watching the lights dance off Cosgrove as he cut across the floor. His head seemed fixed in place, and he never swiveled it from one side to the other. His peripheral vision seemed to just absorb everything.

He drew abreast of me, and for just a second I thought he might actually turn and stare at me through the darkness, but he only just kept moving.

And a minute later I was safely in his blind spot.

Now it was my turn to go on the offensive.

I could see Talya sitting in the booth. She was smiling, but I thought it was just to draw Cosgrove in like a beacon in the night. If he wanted what he thought was an easy target, he'd move on her straightaway. After all, in his mind he'd already laid the groundwork the other night at the bar. And here was Talya, all alone, and already smiling at him.

A tempting target, to be sure.

I resisted the urge to just draw my gun and start pumping rounds into him from across the club. It was so tempting, the thought of going off half-cocked with no fire discipline, like some heroin-laced-gang-banger. Tempting because I suddenly realized how damned scared I was of another encounter with him. I wanted this finished as quickly as possible.

But to kill him I had to get close. The wooden rounds weren't much good beyond a dozen meters. That meant I had to close on him, get the muzzle up near his heart and then plug him.

Not exactly an easy thing to do to someone like Cosgrove.

Adrenaline poured into my bloodstream. My stomach ached. If I didn't kill Cosgrove soon, I'd become permanently constipated.

I took a deep breath and kept threading my way through the crowd. Closer to Cosgrove.

He noticed Talya, and although his back was mostly to me, I thought I saw a slight change in his body language. It almost took on a jaunty air. His confidence must have jumped when he'd seen her.

Sure enough, he moved over to the booth. She stood and shook his hand like an old friend and gestured for him to sit. Wisely, her position demanded he have his back to the outside when he sat down. I saw him hesitate as if recognizing the area of vulnerability he had moved into, but after a second he simply sat down and leaned forward speaking with her.

I physically had to move a couple out of my way, which didn't go over too well with the boy, who had far too much gel in his hair and far too much cologne on. It must have given him an extra dose of attitude as well, but I simply fixed a look on him and he thought better of it. Probably the smartest kid in Boston at that moment

Talya smiled and laughed right along with Cosgrove. She kept her eyes on him all the time, never once betraying my position with a quick glance that Cosgrove surely would have picked up.

I kept moving.

At a dozen feet I slid the pistol out of my jacket pocket and thumbed the safety to the off position. I had a round in the chamber already, set to fire.

Two more seconds.

"What the fuck—"

A voice to my right.

I felt the hands—club security showed up.

They saw my gun.

I pivoted, sliding out of the security man's grasp, but the commotion and screams had already started.

Someone yelled, "Gun!"

Cosgrove whirled around, saw me heading for him—I was trying to level the pistol on him, aware that Talya was trying to hold him down.

He jerked out of her grasp.

I fired twice . . .

. . . bad shots that ricocheted off the ceiling and hit some lights, sending a shower of glass toward the floor.

Cosgrove leaped across two booths and made for the door.

By now, the security staff was in full crisis mode and converging on me at full speed. Talya was scrambling, trying to get after Cosgrove. She pulled her gun out as she went.

"Don't go after him!"

Another security guard tried to tackle me, but I moved and he slid into another couple entangled on the floor. I ran for Talya, chasing her as much as Cosgrove. If she went after him alone, he'd kill her.

I burst through the side emergency door and had two options. Right would bring me down behind the club into the dark shadows. Left would bring me onto Commonwealth Avenue.

Two shots exploding to my right made my decision for me and I eased down the alley.

My skin prickled.

I dived ahead.

Tucked.

Rolled.

Came up in a defensive stance with the gun in front of me.

I caught a silhouette against the night sky. Cos-grove was on the roof.

"Lawson!" he hissed.

I shot two more rounds at him, but he ducked back and away.

At the end of the alley, a pile of overflowing garbage cans sat neatly stacked by the roof. I used them, scrambling to get to the top, and finally managing to do so.

I didn't like what I saw.

Talya's body lay in a crumpled heap near the middle. She wasn't moving. Her gun lay ten feet away, useless.

And Cosgrove stood perched on the lip of the roof some thirty feet away like a predatory hawk waiting for his prey.

Simply smiling.

I leveled the gun on him. She wasn't moving. Why wasn't Talya moving?

Then I saw the blood.

It made a small droplet trail across the roof. I could smell the copper. But it smelled slightly different from human blood.

Cosgrove's blood.

I'd winged him with one of my rounds. Too bad it wasn't his heart or he'd be dead now. Still, he'd be smarting from the wound and it would need some medical attention, especially if one of the splinters had lodged under the skin or internally.

I kept the pistol on him and moved closer, but he didn't seem particularly concerned.

In fact, he began chuckling. "Two choices, Lawson. Save her or kill me. What will it be?"

Save her? What had he done—but it came to me before I'd even finished the thought. Cosgrove had taken a lot of her blood. Almost too much. And right now she'd be hovering right near the brink of death. She needed an infusion. More to the point, she needed another vampire's blood to survive. The antibodies in my blood would help her system fight off what Cosgrove had done to her.

But it had to be done quickly.

Unless I chose to just kill Cosgrove and be done with it.

But I knew, just as that son of a bitch knew, that I wouldn't do that. There was no way I was going to allow him to kill Simbik's fiancee as well. I'd injured him and he needed an escape. Threatening Talya's life would grant him that reprieve.

I lowered the pistol. "Another time, Cosgrove."

"Sooner than you think, Lawson." Then he leaped from the roof, vanishing from sight.

I knelt in front of Talya and felt for her pulse. Thin and waning. Definitely bad. I felt a vague heartbeat, but her entire circulatory system was in limbo.

I didn't hesitate. I stripped my jacket off and rolled up my sleeves. One fingernail on a vampire is always longer than the others for just this very instance. I slit the veins on my left wrist with it and held the bleeding over Talya's mouth. I watched as it dripped steadily into her mouth, staining her lips, her tongue.

It hurt like hell.

flowing into her would prove her salvation, and fluttered against the open wounds of my wrist, seeking and suckling more of my essence.

I had to be careful. If I gave too much, it would hurt me. If I gave too little, she'd still the.

Her eyes opened slightly. She looked up at me, kneeling there on the dark roof. And a realization seemed to be in her eyes. Did she know what I was—did she know a vampire was saving her life?

Maybe she'd have decided that she really had been outclassed. Unlike every other person she might have killed, Cosgrove simply didn't register on the normal scale. Look what he'd done in the space of just a few short minutes. He'd evaded our ambush, escaped from the club, brought her down with no discernible effort, and drained her of a ton of blood.

Not the kind of evening most people would recall fondly. And Talya, least of all. But professionals are like that. They spend so much time training for what they have to do, that when they come up against someone or something better than they are, it hurts their pride.

Hell, Cosgrove outclassed me and I was a goddamned vampire. Pride—hell, mine was shot

Time to stop the infusion. I could tell from my own pulse that if she took in too much more, I'd either pass out and the or else need to find a blood bank with a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" withdrawal policy.

I withdrew my arm. Talya whimpered slightly, licking her lips to get the last bits of my blood.

"Lawson."

Her voice croaked out in a hoarse whisper. I'd

expected it to sound like that; after all, she'd just drunk blood. It coats the vocal cords like velvet.

I leaned close. "I'm here."

"Did you—did we—"

I shook my head. "No, he got away."

She frowned. "My fault."

"No."

"Shouldn't have gone after him."

I tried to quiet her down. "You need to rest now."

"—tried to shoot him."

I noticed the shell casings. She'd missed. And Cosgrove had disarmed her easily.

"Yeah, I think you wounded him."

She smiled. "No. You ... did that."

"It doesn't matter."

"Should have listened to you."

"It can't be helped, Talya. Now, be quiet. Let your strength come back." I held my arm up to my lips and coated the wound with a hefty dose of my saliva, which has enormous coagulating qualities. The wound's bleeding would slow first and then stop.

Talya tried to lift herself off the roof, but I pushed her back down. "Not yet. You're still too weak. Wait a few more minutes."

"Where—"

"Roof of the club."

"What happened?"

"Cosgrove took you down and then he took a lot of your blood."

I thought she was going to puke then, but she fought it back, choking down the sour bile that must have risen in her throat. "God."

"You'll be OK now."

"You . . . saved me?"

"Well, it was either that or lose another friend."

"How?"

"A little trick I picked up a few years ago."

She smiled. "My hero."

Despite the evening's events, I smiled too. "You bet." I bent close to her ear and whispered a hypnotic command I hoped would erase the memory of the transfusion.

She spaced out for a moment, then sighed. "What about Cosgrove?"

I shrugged. "He'll be around. We'll get him another time."

And looking out into the night, I wished I felt more confident about it than it sounded. I had two strikes against me, and if Zero's theory about the depth of the conspiracy panned out, there were already two outs in this ninth inning.

Twenty-one

I smuggled Talya back to the hotel and got her into bed. She'd be out for a good twelve hours. Having your body ravaged by a nut job like Cos-grove meant a lot of rest. He'd damn near killed her.

And in the process I wondered what he'd done to me.

From the cushiony armchair in the corner of the room, I watched her sleep under the simple pale blue covers of the bed. A single floor lamp sat beside me, casting vague yellow hues across the room, illuminating one side of her face.

Only just managing to jaundice the deathly white pallor.

But that came with the territory.

In the movies, if you get bitten by a vampire you become one. Sometimes it takes three bites, but usually it's one. As usual, Hollywood hasn't got a clue.

The process of vampirical metamorphosis, as we call it, takes a great deal of time and effort. It's messy. It's invasive. It's a pain in the ass. The paperwork alone would drive anyone nuts.

Granted, what Cosgrove had done to Talya con-

stituted the first step, that of bleeding the intended vampire of most of their human blood. The next step involved a commingling of human and vampire blood to see if they accepted each other. Kind of like a marriage blood test, except we didn't test for rubella.

If the blood types could coexist, the next step involved an apprenticeship of sorts where the petitioner attended history courses, severed all contact with former human friends and family, adopted the vampire lifestyle, and got fed a steady diet of blood. At first the blood would be percent vampire and percent human; then gradually the percentages would change. Until finally, the apprentice would consume percent vampire blood for a period of seven days. Thereafter the percentages reversed until it was percent human blood.

I'm not a scientific type, so don't ask me to get into the exact chemical compositions, white and red cell counts, and all that jazz. I'm just telling you what I read.

It happens, needless to say, about as often as an Independent gets elected as president of the United States.

Talya made no noise as she rested. And even in her depleted state, she maintained a quiet discipline while she slept. Almost as if she could spring up at any time and go immediately on a job. I wondered how many times she'd done just that

Her history books would need rewriting after tonight. She'd had an encounter with one of the most highly developed killing machines on the planet. And she'd survived.

OK, so I'd helped. But it would be her constitu-

tion that bore out her survival, not mine. In the morning she'd feel like the victim of a hit-and-run accident with twelve tractor trailers. Sick but alive. And that's what counted.

The radio station whispered soft music into the room while I watched her. Vivaldi's the Four Seasons. Winter. Non allegro molto.

Haunting stuff.

With each pull on the strings, I watched Talya more intently than before. What was it about her that drew me in so much? What was it about her that made my mind generate excuses for a forbidden relationship between a human and a vampire?

Vivaldi must have known about love. His music spoke of it in every movement With every note of music that drifted out of the speakers and fell into my ears, passion preceded it.

Talya.

She tugged on my heart with an unconscious effort that both excited and scared me.

My stomach ached.

Desire seemed to well up from deep inside and overflow almost at once, causing incredible fluctuations between my pulse and the adrenaline rising like the tide in my blood.

I'd been in love once before.

Only once.

Seem strange? You try being a Fixer. You try being all over the world, out to maintain the Balance, out to make sure no one causes ripples that can't be explained. Try doing all that and still have enough time to figure out the wacky ebbs and swells of your own heart.

Right.

There's no way you could.

No way I could either, for that matter. And yet, strangely, now I wanted to.

Robin. My mind drew her image up as easily as if I'd seen her twenty minutes ago. Her radiant smile, voluptuous breasts, and extraordinary curves had possessed my mind from the moment I'd laid eyes on her.

High school. A breezy September morning in my freshman year. The sun had danced through the yawning branches of the linden trees as she walked toward all of us in the schoolyard. My heart jumped into my mouth, my breath stopped, and my stomach hurt like no other pain I'd ever felt before.

She'd had that effect on a lot of people.

Including Cosgrove.

We'd pretty much been enemies for a few years now. Stronger and bigger, I could beat him up with no discernible effort.

But Cosgrove's cunning made him a formidable enemy. Never content to battle me in the open, he'd planned his battles with meticulous care, always ensuring the environment right before launching an attack.

Back then, they'd been the kind of schoolyard stunts that kids pulled all the time on one another. I'd be framed for cheating, passing notes, or calling someone names. I hadn't, of course, but Cosgrove had made it look so perfectly convincing that I ended up taking the blame.

I usually settled it by beating the snot out of him.

Robin's appearance at school changed every-thing.

In the space of a few weeks, Cosgrove and I had a new focus: we both fell in love with Robin.

And again, while I had the good looks, Cosgrove had the brains and finesse. The result was that Robin dated us both for a time. But gradually, she began enjoying her time with me more. I couldn't have been more pleased. More happy. We made plans, the kind of young naive plans kids make when they think the world will stop for them, provided they only have the courage to love each other.

We'd be married.

Children.

Everything . . . perfect.

Cosgrove made sure it never happened.

That night.

That cold, windy, rain-soaked November night during my senior year, I returned home after visiting relatives out of state. Robin and I had plans to meet at midnight by the brook that cut across the town line. A small cabin sat concealed in the forest by the brook that served as our rendezvous point. I'd lost count of how many times we'd passed hours locked in passionate embraces, feeling the warmth of each other's skin grow hotter with each nuzzle, with each tender kiss. That night it would be especially nice, making love and listening to the rain's pitter-patter on the rooftop.

Soaked to the bone and freezing, I arrived at the cabin. No light came from within, so I suspected I'd gotten there first. Anxious to start a small fire so she wouldn't be cold, and to get out of my own frigid clothes, I opened the door.

Inside the cabin the smell knocked me back off my feet.

Blood.

A fucking slaughterhouse.

Desperate, I found a small dry stick just inside and lit it with a match. Adrenaline already pumping, I lifted my makeshift torch and saw what Cos-grove had left me.

Robin.

The inside walls oozed with coagulating blood. Her body—her beautiful, nubile body—hung suspended from the timber rafters, dripping the remnants of her fluids to the damp floor.

In the center of our tiny oasis, staked to the floor, was her heart

I heaved, slumped to the floor, slipped in my own vomit, and wailed—sputtering, sobbing, and gasping as my world, my love, my life, disintegrated into infinite grief.

By the time I returned home with Robin's corpse, Cosgrove had vanished.

And the Council, the very same Council who had sworn to uphold the laws of the Balance, the laws of our society, had written it off as a juvenile bout of temporary insanity.

Maybe my destiny as a Fixer had been set long before my birth. I believed for a long time, and maybe even to this day, that it fully realized itself that night in the woods.

The rage—the sheer rage, the erupting emotions, the insanity of my thoughts—and the notions and desires I wanted to wreak upon the world, upon everyone, absorbed every ounce of my being. I wanted them to feel my loss, my pain, my agonizing dismay over a lost love.

My emotional apocalypse.

It took almost a full year to even come to terms with it.

It took even longer to hide it away, deep inside where it couldn't be seen by anyone else.

But it was there.

And I still intended to make Cosgrove pay for what he'd stolen from me.

Talya shifted in the yellow light, snapping me out of the memories. I realized I was sucking in gulps of air and calmed down. And while I watched her in the yellow twilight of the room, while shadows played long across the expanse of my heart's longing, Robin's face danced across hers. Morphing, intermingling, changing, vanishing, and reappearing again and again while my eyes struggled to keep time with the changes.

Robin's death happened a long time ago. And yet it felt as recent as yesterday. When I let it.

Talya.

Tonight I'd made a choice to save her life.

I could have let her the.

I could have taken Cosgrove out.

Perfect range. I'd made longer shots.

One shot, two at the most. It would have been over.

But Talya would have been over too.

Any other Fixer wouldn't have given it another thought They would have wasted Cosgrove. They would have let Talya the there, alone, depleted. Written off as just another casualty in the struggle to maintain the all-important Balance. It's a sacred duty after all; the Balance must come first That's

what they hammered into us constantly at the academy. Always, the Balance.

But something happened up there.

I think it scared me so much, the thought of losing her on that black pitch roof, the thought of losing another Robin, that I responded without even giving it any consideration.

I'd played it off as her being another one of Cos-grove's victims. As her being Simbik's fiancee. As her being someone I respected. An ally I needed. A resource I could trust.

That's how I'd comforted myself with my decision.

That's how I'd excused letting Cosgrove flee into the night, free for the time being to take another life from the city, while his plans for domination continued.

Lies.

All lies.

Funny what you'll tell yourself when the truth's too frightening to admit.

But I was beginning to think maybe something else made me do what I did.

Robin's face swam past me again and settled over Talya's. But only for an instant.

Then it was Talya again.

All Talya.

And in that moment, there in the hotel room, while she slept, I realized my world had just become a lot more complicated than it had ever been before.

And I felt powerless to stop it

Twenty-two

Talya felt like shit the next morning. Having most of your blood drained and then receiving a vampiric infusion isn't the kind of thing your system can rebound from easily. So she hurt. Bad. Fever, dry heaves, chills, the works. Her body struggled to regain control over something that resembled a detox done at Mach .

With the worst over by midday, I made an excuse and headed home. With promises to call her soon, I left her recuperating in a hot bath.

At home Mimi greeted me at the top of the steps. Her stern look seemed to ask: Where the hell have you been? And didn't you know it was long past dinnertime? Phoebe led the way to the food dish, muttering the entire time. But they both clammed up once I'd gotten some food into the ceramic bowls. I changed their water and then put a call into McKinley. He answered immediately.

"Lawson, where in God's name have you been?"

"What's the problem?"

"Problem? There's no problem. Why should there be a problem? I mean, it's not like I'm your Control. It's not like I even have a vested interest in your safety and well-being." He paused. "The

problem is I haven't been able to find you, Lawson. I didn't even know if you were still alive."

Interesting. "Why wouldn't I be alive?"

McKinley paused. "Well, you are hunting Cos-grove—"

"And?"

Another pause. "Police report came over the wire about a disturbance last night at a club called M Eighty. Thought it might be you."

"I told you I was down at the Alley last night."

"Yeah, but—"

"But you think I was at M Eighty." I sighed audibly into the phone. "You think I'm lying."

"What? No, it's not that at all—"

I smiled. "Well, you're right."

"I am?"

"I was."

"Was what?"

"At M Eighty. The disturbance, the ruckus, that was me. Cosgrove showed up. I almost got him too."

"Almost?"

"Obviously, I didn't."

"Oh. You'll be trying again tonight, I assume."

Funny how he didn't seem too disappointed. "Not tonight."

"Why not?"

"Tonight's my seafood-cooking class over in Brookline."

"Seafood cooking?"

"I'd sure hate to miss it."

This time McKinley paused a while longer. "Lawson, you hate seafood."

"Yeah. I also hate stupid questions. Of course I'm going to try again tonight. It's my job, damn it."

"Well, keep me informed, would you?"

"You sound like a fucking broken record."

I hung up the phone. Of course McKinley knew I'd been at M Eighty because Cosgrove probably gave him a boatload of shit for letting him walk into an almost perfect ambush.

What a shame.

I wanted to talk to Zero, but I couldn't take the risk of using my home phone. It pays to assume the absolute worst and I always did. If McKinley thought I had a clue about the conspiracy, he probably had my phone tapped.

That meant no direct telephoning to Zero. I had to use a pay phone somewhere across town to be sure it was reasonably secure. Of course, that meant Zero also had to get to a pay phone because his phone could have also been tapped. I could have called his cell phone, but I had no idea of knowing if he'd receive it or be out of range. I'd have to wait for him to contact me.

I checked my watch and saw that nearly two hours had passed since I'd left Talya. I already missed her. I shook my head. Since when had I become some damned silly old romantic fool? I found the whole situation utterly unsettling.

Mimi finished her meal and came wandering over, licking her chops. She sat down, looked up at me, and chirped once to be picked up. Phoebe began trying to dig up the tile floor and bury the food dish under it. She never succeeded, but it never stopped her from trying. I respected her tenacity.

Mimi snuggled close and I caught a whiff of the fish dinner and promptly put her back down. Her breath stunk.

I called Talya. She picked up on the fourth ring.

"Everything OK?"

"It was. I was resting."

"Sorry, I didn't—"

"Don't worry about it, Lawson. I understand you're concerned about me. Thank you."

"We don't have to go out tonight, Talya. You could take a night off."

"That's not an option, Lawson. You know that."

"Yeah, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway."

"Pick me up at eleven o'clock. I'm going to get some sleep now."

The phone went dead and I replaced the receiver. I wasn't really tired yet, despite not having slept much last night. I went downstairs to the cellar and started working combinations on the heavy bag.

My small dark cellar had low ceilings and walls made from the old granite blocks the foundation had been built on. Old coal dust still littered the corners, a souvenir from when they'd burned coal instead of oil for heat. I'd positioned a small workout room toward the front of the house, a woodworking shop near the back, and my old worn leather heavy bag centered in between.

The duct tape wrapped around the middle was starting to wear thin, with strands of silvery string coming off like gossamer threads. Knuckle indentations pockmarked the bag from the repeated beatings I'd inflicted upon it

I started slow on the bag, feeling it give and creak on the supporting chains as I threw jabs into it I switched to a jab-cross combination and got into a rhythm. I did high-low-low-high-middle-middle and back again. Every time I sent one of my hands thud-

ding into the bag, I saw Cosgrove's face teasing and taunting me. I punched the bag a lot harder.

Thirty minutes passed in a breath and left me covered with sweat. Good warm-up. I walked to the weight bench and threw up three hundred pounds for two reps after I'd pyramided up from one hundred. My pecs felt stretched taut by the time I finished doing three sets of flyes.

I switched to biceps and cranked out some alternating dumbbell curls while thinking about how to get McKinley and Cosgrove in one room and finish them both off. I couldn't figure it, so I leaned back and did some lying-down triceps extensions; then when my arms felt ready to cave in and let the weight crash down on the bridge of my nose, I thought about Talya again.

I dropped the bar and walked back upstairs. I took a sixteen-ounce glass out of the cabinet and filled it up with some chilled juice. I sucked it down in three gulps. It hit fast and I felt great, restored, and refreshed. But a nap would make things even better, so I wandered upstairs with Mimi and Phoebe swirling around my feet as we went.

My bedroom faces out onto the street and I drew the blinds shut to close out as much light as possible. I crawled into bed and waited for Mimi to join me on my aching chest and Phoebe to nudge herself under the covers.

It took me twenty seconds to fall asleep.

My phone rang at exactly three o'clock. Once. It rang again two minutes later. Twice. I sat up in bed, dislodging Mimi and Phoebe simultaneously from either side of my pillow. Back

in the early 1980s, Zero and I worked a couple of tough track-down cases for the Council over in London. The local Control had developed an unnatural taste for the blood of young blond boys. When Zero and I touched down, he'd already killed three.

Unfortunately, word of our imminent arrival reached him before our plane and he went to ground. Disappeared. And while he played ghost, he dispatched several hit teams to try to kill Zero and me. That meant we'd had to watch our backs constantly. Communications became compromised.

So we developed a code.

And eventually, we killed the Control.

I sat still in bed. If it was Zero attempting to contact me, he'd call again in two minutes and let it ring once again.

He did.

I showered, dressed quickly, and drove down Centre Street to the Dunkin' Donuts. The corner pay phone sloped at an odd angle, its sidewalk dented and covered in multicolored graffiti. Even the receiver looked like combat-zone surplus. Jutting out of the tar and cement sidewalk, it looked close to death. That's exactly why I felt reasonably safe about using it. I slid some coins into the slot, heard the telltale beeps, and dialed Zero's cell phone number.

"Bring back some memories, did I?"

I smiled. "You bet."

"Where are you?"

"Pay phone. Seems safe. You?"

"Mobile. But close. I need to see you. Visited your dad lately?"

"No."

"Might be a good time to."

Message received, I hung up, got back into the Jetta, and drove down South Street toward Forest Hills. Under the bridge I turned left and shot up parallel to the overpass, then stayed right just after the rotary turning into Forest Hills Cemetery.

Vampires are buried alongside mortals. We change the birth and death dates, though, to make it look normal.

I'd forgotten the inherent natural beauty of this park. Linden and maple trees reflected the expanse of autumn's color palette, frosted in red, yellow, and orange hues. By the main building I threaded through the old iron portcullis and wound my way down to Rosedale Path. On my right, scores of Canadian geese paused on the smooth pond waters before continuing south for the winter.

I rolled past the innumerable Chinese grave sites found in this section of the cemetery and found my way to the solitary headstone bearing my family name, just under the small Japanese red maple tree at the curve in the road.

It always felt good to come here and visit. It was something I hadn't done in a long time.

Humans might find it bizarre that a vampire visits his dead father. Well, no one lives forever; even vampires the. My dad lived to the ripe young age of . That's not a long time for a vampire. And I always felt cheated by his death, that he hadn't seen me graduate from Fixer training, that he hadn't seen some of my personal triumphs in life.

It was the standard kind of hang-up anyone would feel about a deceased parent. We always want them to be proud of us, to love us for our successes

a nd our failures with equanimity. I often wondered

if my father was proud of me. I wasn't the easiest kid to raise when I was younger. And some of the things I'd developed an interest in no doubt made him wonder who the hell his son was turning into.

But in that desire to seek his love and approval, I realized a long time ago he was aware of what I did now. That even if he was technically dead, he was still with me. Around me. And I gave thanks for that on many occasions when things got pretty hairy for me.

Nowadays I looked forward to visiting his grave site. It was more of a homecoming or a visit for me. I sat with him, talked to him, and generally felt good about being there.

After all, I was proud of the man I'd become.

And most of the credit belonged to him.

As his only son, I felt he'd poured a lot of himself into me. He taught me what it meant to be a man. To strive. To succeed. And even accept failure, but only as something to learn from and a means to excel even more.

But most of all, he taught me to live my life with no regrets. To seize what I had been presented with and run with it as far as I possibly could. To learn.

And so much more.

I didn't know it back then. Hell, it always seemed so much like punishment for not being able to live up to his ideals. He told me what he showed me was stuff I needed to know, stuff that would help me later in life. I did it, learned it—all grudgingly—longing more times than not to be off playing with my friends whose own fathers cared less about them and never spent the time that my father did making certain I grew into a man.

It wasn't a sudden stark revelation that brought

me to this understanding, but more of a gentle, nudging realization. By the time I graduated Fixer training and spent a few years abroad, often under the gun and in some bad situations, I instinctively realized that I was who I was, due to his direct influence throughout my life. It felt good.

For a long time growing up, I'd wanted to be someone else. I'd wanted a different life, imagining, fantasizing about some heroic ideal that belonged more in fairy-tale books than on the pages of my real life. But with the realization came a sense of pride about who I really was, about the man I'd grown into. It felt really good.

I knelt in front of the headstone, tracing the outline my father's name in the carved granite face. I had no sadness left in me for his passing. Only happy memories and an undying sense of gratitude.

I heard Zero's car slow to a stop and corkscrewed around to face him. He came walking over without saying a word, placed a small bouquet of carnations on top of the headstone, and stood with his head bent forward for a moment. Zero's respect for the dead knew no limits.

He looked up. "Let's walk."

We moved away from the plot and crunched leaves underfoot that the grounds crew hadn't swept up yet.

"It's worse than I thought."

Exactly what I didn't want to hear. "What'd the Elder say?"

"I'll get to that in a second. McKinley's already buttoned up New Hampshire, Maine, and Vermont."

"Jesus." I stopped. "We're all that's left?"

Zero nodded. "I knew it wasn't good, but by God I didn't think they'd move so damned fast."

"But what's he sold them on? The idea that if the humans know about us it'll be a better world?"

We walked farther along the path as a breeze swept over us, rustling more leaves and twigs.

Zero shook his head. "I don't think it's that grand. Cosgrove doesn't try to appeal to anyone's philosophical outlook. He sticks with what works: greed, ego, power."

I nodded. "In other words, a share in the new government."

"I think so."

"Who can we count on?"

Zero stopped. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"You know anyone out of the service who'd come back?"

"There's a problem if we try. If Cosgrove has passed word that he's looking for help, if we try to recruit, it might send back alarms to McKinley and Cosgrove."

"But we can't take them out alone."

"Well, we could, but it'll be tough."

"Nothing's ever easy."

"It's going to get a whole lot worse too, according to my friend."

"So what's the deal with the missing Kavnora?"

"Apparently," said Zero, snapping a twig underfoot, "along with a lot of other old ceremonies, the book also outlines the proper method for the resurrection of the Sargoth."

"The what?"

"You never paid attention in history class, did you?"

"Girls occupied my time during school."

Zero sighed. "The Sargoth and the Jarog are the two polar extremes of vampire deities. They were brothers, like the human Cain and Abel. One guess what the Sargoth is like."

"Not the Avon lady, huh?"

"Not even close. And according to the Elder, a successful resurrection of the Sargoth would enable the summoner to reap untold power. That sound like something Cosgrove might be interested in?"

I nodded. "What now, then? He summons this Sargoth and we all the?"

"Not that easy, thankfully. The Kavnora only lists the necessary items for the ceremony, not the ceremony itself. That has to be pieced together once all the items are assembled."

"So Cosgrove's on a scavenger hunt."

"That's one way of putting it, yes."

"Where does he find these items?"

"They're safeguarded by a small cadre of vampires Loyalists."

"Loyalists?"

Zero paused. "Humans."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Calm down, Lawson. It makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Give the items to humans who are loyal to us. No one would ever suspect it."

"But that means the Balance has been compromised. Humans knowing about us endangers our society."

"We're talking about five people, not a community."

"Still, the temptation to talk, to whisper about us, must be overwhelming."

"Who'd believe them? Five people insisting vam-

pires exist? I don't think that would get much air-time on the national news, do you?"

"It's still risky. How are they going to protect themselves if Cosgrove shows up?"

"About as well as that other Elder did, I guess," said Zero. "Look, the system isn't perfect; I certainly didn't have a hand in creating it. But we've got to work with what we've got. And right now we've got a desperate Cosgrove out hunting for the pieces of this puzzle. If he finds out about the human Loyalists, he'll kill them, get the keys, and unlock a very, very bad Pandora's box."

"Wonderful. So now not only do we have to hunt down Cosgrove, but we've also got to protect these Loyalists."

"Looks that way."

"Do you at least have the addresses of these people?"

Zero frowned. "That's going to be tough."

"Jesus, you don't even know where they are?"

"It's a cutout system, Lawson. The address of one Loyalist is stored at the Council here in town. That Loyalist has the contact information for the other Loyalist in line and so on."

"Nifty."

"I'm just letting you know what we're up against here."

"Yeah, I know it. I'm just sick of chasing this bastard all over the city. I had another damned run in with him last night."

"What happened?"

I filled him in. He looked at me funny. I frowned. "What?"

"You like this girl?"

"Talya? She's a real pro. She's got my respect, I

mean, for a human." I started walking again. Zero fell in beside me.

"You know you can't."

"Can't what?"

He grabbed my arm. "Come on, Lawson, we've known each other too damned long for this. You know as well as I do that you're nuts about her. Jesus, I can smell it on you."

I sighed. "Yeah. Damn it, I know. I wish to hell I didn't."

"Hey, I'm not passing judgment on you, Lawson. Take her to bed. Do what you've got to do to get her out of your system. I know it's not easy, but it's also forbidden."

"Yeah." What the hell could I say to him? We passed the next few moments in silence. Zero watched a red-tailed hawk swoop low over an undeveloped field and pluck a mouse out of it for lunch, then cleared his throat.

"I've been there, pal. I know what it's like."

I looked at him. "When?"

He smiled. "Remember Cairo?"

"How could I forget? Two weeks of hunting that damned fool Nadi down. It seemed like I had sand in my crap for weeks."

"Remember the hotel we stayed at?"

"Yeah." It suddenly dawned on me. "Wait a minute; you mean the waitress in the cafe downstairs? What was her name?"

"Wajiah."

I chuckled. "Sure enough." I looked at him. "Really?"

He shrugged. "I've always had a thing for Middle Eastern women."

"You and my father both." I shook my head. "I've never seen it."

"Once again I will say your father was obviously a man of refined taste. My respect for him has grown by leaps and bounds."

"I'll bet. Finish the story, Romeo."

"Well, we were done in Cairo; you flew back to the States for some rest. I stayed behind to clean things up."

"Right, I remember you saying something about making sure everything was buttoned up."

"Yeah, well, I lied."

"Yeah?"

"I married her, Lawson."

My jaw dropped. "What?"

"It's true. I was smitten; I couldn't live without her. I asked her to marry me and she agreed. We did it in secret. She lived with me in Bonn for the two years I was stationed there."

I didn't want to ask, but I had to. "What happened?"

He turned away. "It's not like I could go on with it forever, Lawson. We're a small community, after all; word spreads."

"But you could have written her off as a maid or a servant or something right?"

Zero shook his head. "No. They knew." He shrugged. "But more important, she knew."

"Knew what?"

"What I was, Lawson. I hadn't told her I was a vampire."

"Damn."

"She left me. Broke my heart, but she left me. The Council placed me on administrative leave pending an investigation. Luckily, she'd left prior

to the hearing. It saved my life. That and my record. They suspended me for a time and then brought me back to the States where I could be watched closer. I haven't strayed since."

"But—"

"No buts, Lawson. It won't work. Forget whatever you're trying to come up with; it can't happen. And we've got more important things to concentrate on, like killing Cosgrove and making sure this conspiracy doesn't come to pass. That's where your head has to be. You read me?"

I didn't like it, but I had to accept it. At least for right now. We'd see what the future held when the future came to pass.

"Yeah, I read you."

He nodded. "Good, now let's see what we can do to make sure Cosgrove's dreams never become a reality."

Twenty-three

Disrupting Cosgrove's plans meant that we had to get the addresses of the Loyalists and safeguard them before Cosgrove could use his unique and permanent charm on them.

Unfortunately, the fact that the address for the first Loyalist was stored at the Council's chambers on Beacon Hill did nothing to make me feel confident. After all, we couldn't just go waltzing in and ask for it. We had no way of knowing who was on our side. And technically, we probably weren't even supposed to know about the whole cutout system. I wondered aloud about the Elder Zero had gotten the information from.

"Interesting case, that one," he said as I drove us down Boylston Street, passing the FAO Schwarz toy store's giant bronze teddy bear out front. "Been around for a long time."

"His age make him special?"

"No, the fact that he's a soaked-through sponge of a drunk and still manages to help preserve our heritage."

I swerved to miss a bicycle messenger. "A drunk? You sure about his information—couldn't he just be feeding us anything for the price of a drink?"

"Not likely. He and I go way back."

"How far back?"

Zero smiled. "Let's just say I could have easily ended up exactly like him."

"Drunk or an Elder?"

"Yes."

Zero wasn't the only person in my life who answered questions like that and I have enough sense now to let it lie. I steered around Boston Common and headed for the garage. Zero checked his watch.

"Almost five. They ought to be leaving soon. That will leave the butler."

"Have you ever been inside this place?"

"Once. A long time ago. It's not that difficult."

Somehow the thought of breaking into the most respected institution of vampire society did not impress me as being easy. And given that Zero and I were about to break a few of the very laws we protected didn't make me feel any better. Sure, maybe it was old hat for Zero—hell, he'd married a human. But I was still a lawful citizen. Or at least for another ten minutes.

We mounted the steps leading upstairs from the Boston Common garage and hoofed across the buzz-cut lawns toward the nearest entrance. Beacon Street sloped up toward the State House's gold dome, but our destination rested a few doors south of it. Darkness peppered the Common with pockets of shadows not compromised by the antimugger sodium lights that sprouted like metallic trees. We stayed close to the darker patches.

Zero checked his watch again. "Ready?"

"You sure they won't be there?"

He paused. "No. But we don't really have a choice."

"And we can't just ask for it?"

"Let me put it this way: If Cosgrove knows the address is here, he'll be coming for it very soon. If he doesn't know it's here, and we tip our hand by showing up and asking for it, someone on the inside will let him know, we lose our surprise, and we'll probably be dead by morning."

"Great options. I can't decide which I hate more."

Zero led the way around to the back of the stately brownstone bordered by a high wrought iron fence that looked like six-foot spears jutting out of the ground. Away from the traffic on Beacon Street, silence blanketed the rear of the building, amplifying the noises of the stray animals working the night.

Zero pointed to the second-floor window and I nodded. We'd go up to get in. The principle of penetrating the building was one based on the simple fact that people usually never secured what they thought would be too much trouble to break into. Who would climb up to the second floor using the drainpipe Zero had located to access what looked like a small bathroom window?

Obviously, only two fools like us.

But the principle held sound as Zero checked the window for alarms. He shook his head and eased it open, gesturing me inside.

The window was a tight fit for me, and as I finally got myself in, I saw Zero struggling to haul his huge frame through it. He finally succeeded, but his face was damp with sweat and strain by the time he finished.

I cupped my hand over his ear and whispered to him. "Where to?"

He pointed down. That made me nervous. The Council chambers were located in the bowels of the building, far away from sunlight, which many of them still did not embrace.

I pushed the bathroom door open and peeked outside. A long, dimly lit corridor stretched on either side, bathed in deep navy carpet which fortunately looked plush. At least it would muffle any noise we might make.

Zero crept ahead of me, pausing at intervals to listen and try to feel the air ahead of us.

Finally, after ten minutes of creeping, we'd reached the ground floor, which was dark, and a new corridor with maroon carpet. We headed down it and toward a doorway at the end.

A small liquid-crystal display blinked as we approached and I swore silently. The entrance to the chamber was obviously alarmed.

Zero peered close to the display and examined the box from all angles without touching it. Finally, while my heart hammered in my chest and I watched for the Council's butler, he reached into his jacket and brought out a small box that looked similar to the one on the doorway.

He flipped it open and held it close to the alarm system. He glanced back over his shoulder, smiled through the darkness, and shrugged. Then he flipped the switch.

The effect was instantaneous. The alarm shut off and the door clicked open. Zero's shoulders slumped as he exhaled in a rush; caught himself and quietly opened the door.

A rush of cool air enveloped us as we stole down-

stairs. Despite the darkness, we could make out the details of the spiraling staircase and the room it led down to. I detest breaking my neck walking down dark staircases.

At the bottom we paused, listened, and then looked around the room. Six high-backed leather chairs sat like a crescent moon before a fireplace with small glowing embers almost out of life.

Zero moved immediately to the mantel and motioned me over, pointing at the carved wooden outline of a symbol I'd seen only a few times before. It was a letter in the old language and was in the exact center of the mantel.

"This is it." Zero pressed inward and a small doorway instantly opened to one side of the room. We walked over and entered.

Inside, it looked more like an office, with a large mahogany desk and several chairs. Zero walked behind the desk and began rifling through the drawers. Two minutes later he held up his hand and showed me a slip of paper.

"Thank God. Can we go now?"

He nodded and we backtracked through the rooms and up the stairs. At the top we paused and listened again. It seemed safe, so I went ahead and beckoned to Zero once I reached the corner.

That's when the lights came on.

Twenty-four

"Going somewhere, lads?"

The butler. Withered and tired-looking, he was nevertheless holding a shotgun in his hands. I couldn't tell what kind of loads it might have taken. But he answered my questions soon enough.

"You boys managed to get past that alarm system with no dramas, so I'm assuming you're part of the family. That said, you ought to know this lady's got enough wood in her to put you both into a world of hurt."

Zero came up behind me. "Slow down, Arthur."

"Who's that, then?" He squinted into the light. "That you Zero?"

"Who else would be able to smell that horrible breath a mile away?"

Arthur, the butler, chuckled. "It's me rotten gums." He lowered the shotgun just a bit, still ready to bring it to bear, though. "What are ya doing here?"

"It's an urgent matter, Arthur."

"It'd have to be, sneaking around here, wouldn't it? But ya'd better explain yourselves all the same." He stepped back and waved us into the main foyer.

Zero led the way and I trailed behind him. De-

spite appearances, Arthur seemed well capable of bringing that shotgun back up in a hurry, and Zero shot me a look that told me not to try to disarm him.

"So what gives, Zero? What's so urgent ya can't ring up an old chum and ask for his help?"

"Didn't want to get you into trouble, Arthur. Better that way, believe me."

"Yeah? Since when did we care about a spot of bother anyway? This is me, remember?"

Zero smiled as if remembering an old movie. "I remember, Arthur. I would have loved to involve you. But I couldn't."

"Well, ya have now." He frowned. "It'd be 'bout that Cosgrove character, wouldn't it?"

"How'd you hear about that?" I asked.

Arthur fixed me with a quick stare and shot a look at Zero. "That dumb question just an act or are we really training the stupid ones these days?"

"Hey . . ."

Arthur looked back at me. "You listen to me, sonny. I'm the butler around here and I do a bleeding good job of it, no complaints from the Council at all. And more important than serving as best I know how, I also keep these gummed-up, miserable pieces of cauliflower open for tidbits and whatnot. I hear stuff. And I'm not so far gone I can't piece it together, understand?"

"Yeah."

"Right." He nodded at Zero. "Spill it, you old cracker."

"It's about the Balance, Arthur. We initially thought Cosgrove was trying to form an alliance with the humans, and he may well still be doing that."

"But?"

"But there's something else."

Arthur nodded. "The Elder."

'Yeah. He's trying an ancient ritual it looks like. And to do that, he needs the pieces of the ceremony puzzle. He'll be looking to figure out where they're all kept."

"He won't be able to, though, will he? It's not . . ." He glanced in my direction. "General knowledge."

"It's OK, Arthur. He knows about the Loyalists."

"But Cosgrove—he can't have figured it out, can he?"

"He can," I said.

"What makes you such an expert, then?" asked Arthur.

"I've been tracking him for years. We go way back. And he's damned smart. He'll figure it out eventually. He might even come calling here."

"You've been on him for years, have you? And you haven't gotten him yet? I'm not impressed, Fixer."

"It's not for a lack of trying, Arthur," said Zero. "Lawson here was kept in check by the Council."

Arthur sighed. "I'm too old for this, Zero. I told you I was so happy doing next to nothing except waiting for these bones to rot away into the night."

"Like I said, Arthur, I didn't want to involve you."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know it all."

"You're not going to tell them, are you? We're not sure how far up the conspiracy goes yet."

"You're not implying—"

"Yes. Yes, we are," I said.

"Bollocks." Arthur sighed again. "All right. It's

against my judgment, but then I've never really been a decent sort at that anyhow. Get yourselves out of here the way ya came in. Just make sure you shut that damned window when ya leave."

Zero shook his hand. "Thanks, Arthur."

"Sod off, you old wanker. But take care just the same."

"And you too, old friend."

Zero pulled me toward the staircase and I followed him upstairs. When we were in the bathroom, I nudged him.

"What was that all about? Who was that guy?"

"Can't you figure it out? He was a Fixer. But he got tired of the killing. Some say he lost his cool. But I've known him a long time. He just got tired is all. He needed a break from it. Hell, he needed to get out of it. So the Council hired him as their butler and caretaker of this place. It's crap work, but it suits him fine. We're lucky it was him we ran into and not someone else."

I nodded. "Now what?"

Zero patted his pocket. "We've got the information. Let's go check it out."

Weston lies west of Boston by about ten miles. Not far on a good day, but traffic along Route can tie things up trying to get to Route . Especially during rush hour. And since rush hour has now become rush-three-hour due to corporate America insisting people give up normal lives in favor of their employers, Zero and I got bogged down.

Finally exiting north, he directed me to a small side road that wound down through Weston's

outskirts. We passed the Case Estates, a tract of land belonging to Harvard University, and Zero asked me to slow down.

"We're almost there."

The clock on my dashboard read : P.M. Darkness had long since bled all over this suburb, masking shadows with infinite hidden possibilities. Streetlights seemed a forgotten concern out here.

"Kill your lights."

Normally, this would have been impossible since Jettas don't allow their lights to ever turn off. But I'd tinkered with my electrical system, so Zero's request was no problem.

I coasted the last few feet before pulling over to the gravel roadside. Stones crunched beneath the treads, popping and shearing against one another.

Zero pointed. "There."

It looked like a fairly nice house. Two floors, easy. Probably four or five bedrooms, two baths, maybe a sun roof over the back porch. Real estate ran expensive in Weston, but if this was the Loyalist house, they were probably receiving a fairly decent allowance from the Council. A little money always helps ensure trust.

Shrubs ran along the front walk, at about waist height. They'd help mask our approach.

Beside me, Zero was automatically checking his piece while never taking his eyes off the house. He was theorizing how it would probably look inside. If we'd had time, we might have even scared up the house plans filed at Weston's city hall.

But there was no more time.

"How you wanna do it?"

Zero placed his gun back in its holster tempo-

rarily. "We have to hit it hard. If he's in there, you can bet they won't be alive much longer."

"And if he's not?"

"Have them send the bill to the Council," said Zero. He nodded up. "Interior?"

"Never goes on when the doors open."

"All right. I'll take the front You can have the back."

I pulled my door release and we oozed into the sea of inky darkness.

Cold night air immediately tried to nip at every exposed piece of skin. I felt my pores slam shut; stinging sensations ran along my jawline.

Zero crept along the hedge farther ahead of me. Our area of vulnerability right now was being along the roadside. I didn't think Weston's finest would take very well to two armed and very proficient vampire hit men sneaking along a shrubbery. We needed to get inside the house.

I found a small cut-through in the bushes, tapped Zero on the heel, and gestured. He nodded, held up his hand showing five fingers.

Five minutes.

Light poured from a few windows on the first floor, but I kept my eyes averted. I had to be careful not to trip over the several dozen toys littering the yard. So they had children.

That would complicate things.

Taking a house down is fairly manageable if you can control everyone in the shortest possible time. Two adults faced with guns will usually accept their situation. Children panic. That makes the adults nervous and unpredictable.

Naturally, we had no intention of hurting anyone but Cosgrove, but we still had to use shock to get

inside and make sure the house was under control as fast as possible.

At the back of the house, wooden steps led up to the back door. A screen door before a heavy wooden door. Oak by the look and feel of it. Probably a dead bolt on the other side.

If I'd been Zero, I would have quietly picked it. But picking locks was one of those things I sucked at. Like fixing cars. Or bowling.

I'd have to take the door down. Or go in through a window.

The closest one was two feet to the left of the door, leading into the kitchen. It was dark inside, and as luck would have it, the window itself was unlocked. I eased the screen up and then got the window up just as smoothly. Modern windows don't make much noise, thankfully.

I'd been counting down since I'd left Zero and knew I had about thirty seconds before he went through the front door. I'd wait a second more and then move in from the rear.

The reasoning was simple. If we went in simultaneously, accurate though we were, we might mistake each other for an enemy. And I certainly didn't want a slug from Zero's piece embedding itself in my heart. Talk about ruining your day.

My heartbeat began accelerating, and it was during these times I always worried the most. Vampires have acute hearing. And a hammering heart makes a sound many vampires can hear. It's an unfortunate by-product of adrenaline and fear.

But there wasn't much you could do about it either. I didn't know any Fixer who was able to go through hell and back without getting worried. No

matter how skilled, no matter how experienced, you still got the willies.

When it came, the bang jolted me. By the sound of it, Zero had kicked in the front door. I crashed through the swinging kitchen door and headed down a small hallway that led to the front of the house. I had my pistol in what experts refer to as a "low-ready" position, with the barrel dipped just below the horizon. It allowed a rapid target acquisition by bringing the rear sights up and then aligning the target on the front sights. Sight-acquire-fire. It worked and it was fast.

My breathing was short. Sporadic. It was always tough to keep from going tunnel-visioned in the tight confines of a home. Walls filled with framed photographs suddenly loomed closer. And you had to keep moving.

I got to a doorway and dropped to one knee, then poked my head around the corner. . . .

Nothing.

"Living room—clear!"

I could hear Zero shout the same thing from the room bordering the room I was in. We linked up and he frowned.

"Where the hell is everybody?"

"Upstairs?"

He nodded and we moved to the main staircase together.

Stairways are tough to move up without exposing yourself to unfriendly fire from above. The method we used was to go up the stairs backs to each other. Zero headed up facing front, his gun ready to take anything ahead of us; I went up backward, aiming high above us at any position where fire could rain down on us from above.

It's tough moving in concert unless you've practiced it. Zero and I had.

Still, by the time we finally cleared the stairs and rested a moment on the landing, we were out of breath. I sucked a gulp of oxygen down.

Then I stopped.

Zero had too.

The air up here was tinged with the smell of copper—the smell of blood. Death.

Zero was up and moving down the hall, but I could tell from his body language he wasn't expecting to find Cosgrove here. I wasn't expecting to find anyone alive here either.

They were in the master bedroom, which must have been quite nice only a few hours ago. But the walls were literally dripping with blood now. The bodies of the man, wife, and two small children were torn apart, utterly dismembered.

I knelt by what must have been one of the children. A small tuft of blond hair sat still, an oasis amid the sea of sticky, coagulating blood.

"Even the kids." I shook my head. "Jesus Christ, Zero. Even the goddamned kids."

Zero was searching the room for anything he could use to cover the bodies. "We'll have to call in a cleanup team. There's no way we can leave them like this."

He was right. There'd be too many questions. But I wasn't so sure that the Council would be the best resource right now. "They'd want to know how we found out. That could make things uncomfortable for Arthur."

Zero nodded. "What do you think?"

I surveyed the scene, grimacing, feeling the already painful ball in my throat grow larger. Words

didn't want to come out of my mouth. "Fire," I said finally.

"Yeah" was the best Zero could manage.

We did a rudimentary search for the address of the next Loyalist family, but we both knew there'd be nothing to find. Cosgrove was a thorough bastard and he certainly would have unearthed all the information he needed prior to killing the family.

Instead, we concentrated on preparing the house for the coming inferno. A liberal application of household cleaners and old newspapers situated at key points of the house would ensure a rapid acceleration of fire. We spent some time in the bedroom last, dousing the bodies with a small can of lighter fluid that Zero had found under the kitchen sink.

"This is no way for someone to the."

"Especially Loyalists," said Zero. "They knew the risks and did it anyway." He looked at me. "Lawson, when this is all over, gather the remains and see to it they're buried properly, yeah?"

"Where you going?"

"Nowhere, but if anything comes up, you know, take care of it, OK?"

I frowned, trying to remember if Zero had ever witnessed any of Cosgrove's handiwork before. I couldn't recall, so if this was the first time, it was a helluva shock, even for someone with Zero's experience.

Zero knelt down a few feet away from the bodies, struck a single match, and watched the flame lick its way to the bloodied bodies. In an instant the crackling of fire encased the four corpses. Zero and I ducked out of the room and back down to the kitchen. The fire would rage undetected for only

a few minutes. We had to get out of there before it was noticed.

We got back to the car without incident and headed back to Boston. In the dim green light cast by my dashboard, I turned to Zero.

"Now what?"

"You've got to kill him, Lawson."

"And you?"

"I've got to figure out how far this damned thing has gone. Try to find someone we can trust. Because after seeing what I saw tonight, it's pretty obvious we're going to need some help. A lot of help."

Twenty-five

I got back to the Charles Hotel at : P.M. and parked in the garage. Upstairs, I slumped into a high-backed chair by the front door of the bar, ordered a Bombay Sapphire, and tossed it down my gullet, feeling the warmth hit seconds later. Outside, the rapidly increasing November rain only added to my gloomy mood.

Gloomy because of Cosgrove's reappearance in my life with his damned conspiracy, his damned ceremonies, and his goddamned dementia.

And gloomy because of all the things missing from my risk-laden life, I wanted love the most. Talya's love. Angry because of everything I could have longed for, I wanted the most forbidden of all. And disgusted because obsessions like this were so typical of my personality, and as many times as I thought I'd learned my lesson, I never really changed.

Hell, I could trace it back to childhood. I'd become obsessed with wanting to fly. Not being able to change myself into a bat like the legends said really pissed me off. But I hadn't let reality intrude on my fantasy. The large oak tree that grew in back of my house had seemed a stable enough platform

from which to experiment with flight. So I climbed up. High. And once at the top, I simply spread my arms and jumped.

Reality came crashing back into my life about the same time my head made contact with the ground. But I never stopped obsessing about other things. Things like Robin. My career. And now Talya.

Of course, I'd never stopped obsessing about Cosgrove.

I drained my drink.

The waitress put another one in front of me.

I started to say thank you when a voice cut me off.

"Bad news?"

Talya. Behind me. She'd had the waitress bring me a refill. I hadn't even noticed. I turned in my seat and caught her smiling at me. Shit. Talk about a pro.

"No. Not bad news. Just wanted one before I called you." I checked my watch. "It's not eleven yet."

She nodded. "I figured you'd be down here. I wasn't doing anything, so I thought I'd join you." She cocked an eyebrow. "That OK?"

"Yeah, sure." I took another healthy drag on the fresh glass.

"Slow down, Lawson. It could be a long night."

"It's already been a long night," I muttered. "That's the problem."

She frowned. "Don't turn into a grumpy drunk on me. I hate men who can't handle their drinks."

I slid the drink back onto the table. "Won't affect me, anyway."

"Why? Did you take the same course on how to drink alcohol without getting drunk that I did?"

"Something like that." I wished I had. I wished I was just another ordinary human sitting at a bar, slowly getting drunk. Pickling my brain cells. I wasn't. Alcohol didn't affect our blood the same way it did humans. I'd have to drink three bottles of straight gin to even get a buzz.

She smiled. "A man of mystery." She leaned closer. "I like that."

"Really." I couldn't help myself. Despite the shit I'd seen tonight, Talya had a way of making me feel OK. She was so damned attractive. I drained the drink and looked at her. "How are you feel-ing?"

She shrugged. "Like someone shredded my in-sides with a chain saw."

I toasted her with another sip. "Colorful. You'll be a poet yet."

"Nothing I haven't experienced before. Granted, the method was a little different."

" 'Different'—that's a good term for it."

She rubbed her neck. "I couldn't find the puncture marks, Lawson. Why?"

"They heal very fast." I finished my drink and wanted another. "They have to. Vampires can't afford to have victims walking around in public with gaping holes in their necks, or anywhere else for that matter. It'd start a panic."

Talya frowned. " 'Anywhere else'?"

"Yeah." Where was that waitress? "They can draw from anywhere. Neck, arm, chest, back, wherever's convenient."

She sat back in her chair. "How do you know so much about them, Lawson?"

"My job. I did some research. The rest is field experience."

"But you said you've never killed a vampire before."

Damn her memory, Yeah, but I've chased them before."

"Cosgrove?"

"Yep."

"How many times?"

I looked out the window, remembering. In the darkness I saw scores of bodies float past in the blink of an eye. Then Robin. Then nothing but November night. "Once . . . twice . . . Hell, I've been chasing him my whole life."

"That long?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I suppose it might be if I knew why."

"Let's just say he and I have a lot more history than I'm comfortable sharing right now."

She paused. "And you never got him before. How come? You don't strike me as someone easily dissuaded from a goal."

"He almost got me." The waitress mercifully reappeared with another drink. I took another long drag and sighed. "I was out alone. Out in the cold. No backup. No support net. No Control." I shrugged. "You've been there."

"Yes, but not when I was chasing a vampire for heaven's sake."

I nodded. "Well, it all comes down to this. Everything has a beginning. It's time to write the ending. I'll get him this time. I have to."

She put her hand on top of mine. "We'll get him, Lawson. Together."

"Stealing my lines now, Talya?"

"They're good lines, Lawson. Spoken by a brave man."

"Spoken by a fool, more likely. If I had any sense at all, I'd run away from all of this shit."

"But you won't"

"I won't. I can't"

She leaned closer again. "Courage isn't the absence of fear, Lawson. It's acting in spite of the fear. You are brave."

That's what she thought. I finished my third drink and slid a $ 20 onto the table. I looked at Talya and then got to my feet "Ready?"

"For anything." She stood. "Where to?"

"Club outside of Central Square. I think Cos-grove may just feel like hitting it tonight."

"Why?"

"Because it's in Cambridge and he hasn't hunted this side of the river yet, as far as I know. Also, Friday is their 'Goth Night.' He'll blend in easily. Hell, he could kill on the damned dance floor and nobody would even notice."

"Goth? You mean those dreary-looking wanna-be corpses?"

I smiled. "Think black clothing, albino pale skin, and nocturnally obsessive."

She looked down at her clothes. "These OK?"

She wore another ribbed turtleneck, this one charcoal gray, and another pair of black spandex pants. The leather boots complimented her feet but I noticed the thick sole could take some abuse, not to mention give it out.

"Yeah, you'll have no problems."

She grabbed my hand. "Then let's go. I'm kind of anxious to see Cosgrove again. He and I have a score to settle."

"Still got the ammo I gave you?"

"Yes. Minus the two poor shots I made."

"Chalk it up to first-time jitters."

"Bullshit, Lawson. I—we—can't afford first-time jitters. I'm not some green rookie who needs to be let down easy. I missed. It's that simple. I don't miss often. And you can bet I won't miss again." That said, she turned and left the bar. I watched her walk for a moment and then trailed after her.

The drive to Manray took just under ten minutes due to the traffic on Massachusetts Avenue. I parked in a garage on a side street and we walked down together. Talya looped her arm through mine. I stopped short.

She cocked her head. "I figure we should look like a couple, Lawson. Good cover."

My ass. I smirked just the same, though. We continued down to the club entrance. Since it was still early, we got right in, past the doormen who showed a passing interest in me and a heavy interest in Talya. Hell, she was a knockout. A deadly knockout at that.

Inside, dim lights illuminated little pockets of space devoid of people. The clubgoers stayed in the darkness. Here the atmosphere wafted far different from any of the other clubs we'd staked out so far. This was the place to come if you hated the mainstream. And at least fifty people here were better poster children for vampires than me. I smirked at the irony and guided Talya to the left. We entered the main dance-floor room.

Larger than I would have expected from the outside, a square parquet dance floor sat bordered on all sides by long couches draped in red and purple velvets. Bars at both ends, staffed by pale-faced

denizens, served a lot of strangely colored drinks tonight.

Gridlocked, shadowy packets of gyrating couples, triples, and foursomes packed the dance floor. Manray catered to alternative lifestyles more than any other club in the area. Straights, homosexuals, transvestites, hermaphrodites, and everyone in between congregated here, unabashed in what they liked to do.

I respected the freedom they enjoyed. Hell, I was jealous. At least they could love who they wanted.

I couldn't

A wisp of a woman floated past me. She couldn't have weighed more than sixty pounds soaking wet. Talya looked at me and frowned.

"Do they eat?"

I shook my head. "Now, now, I believe the politically correct term is 'calorically challenged.' "

She laughed. "That's good."

I guided her to the left side of the room and sat her down next to a pair of purple lipsticked women locked in a passionate embrace. I've always loved two women kissing. It's a beautiful thing in my book.

Talya smiled. "See something you like, Lawson?"

They broke apart at that moment and I got a good look at them both. Ugh. Not exactly contestants for a beauty contest.

"Guess not," I said.

She looked and sat back. "You're right."

I looked at her, visualizing instantly, and tried to stop. But not before an image of Talya, myself, and another hot woman locked in a sweaty threesome floated through my mind and caused a surge of

blood flow to other extremities. Damn, now I couldn't get a drink.

"Aren't you going to get me a drink, Lawson?"

I cleared my throat and purged my mind. "Sure thing. What do you want?"

She looked me up and down in answer before finally smiling. "The usual, of course. Vodka, straight over ice. Stolichnaya if they have it."

"Done." I walked back to the bar and ordered our drinks. The total came out to just under eight bucks and I left a tenner on the bar. I always believed that if the help was good, you tipped well. After all, in my profession you never knew who you might need help from in the future. And if they knew you tipped well, they just might be willing to give some.

Talya's feet moved in time to the slow beat of the music when I got back, which vaguely concerned me. We were here to hunt for Cosgrove, not dance. But just as quickly as I was concerned, I also knew Talya wouldn't let her inclinations violate her professionalism. She'd been far too well trained for that.

She took her drink and fondled it for a second before taking a long sip. She brought it way from her lips and sighed. "It always reminds me of Russia when I drink vodka."

"Does it?"

She nodded. "When I was growing up, my mother would always let us have some on holidays. It was a special treat."

I took a drag of my own drink. "What got you into the KGB?"

She shrugged. "What didn't get me into the KGB might be a better question." She took another swig

and continued. "In Russia, in my youth, everywhere you went there were signs urging you to join. You could join anywhere. At the train station, the post office, everywhere. It seemed silly for me to consider anything else."

"That's it?"

She got a faraway look in her eyes. "My family was murdered when I was fifteen. I wanted vengeance."

"Who killed them?"

"Bandits that roamed the steppes. We weren't as modernized as other states were. Despite the KGB presence, despite the army base twenty miles from my home, despite being in the Soviet Union, we were still very much on our own."

"You were spared?"

"I was not at home when it happened. But it made my decision to enter the KGB an elementary one. I saw the KGB as the way to extract my revenge on them."

Jesus, she'd had a hard life. The bastard child of a rape victim and then the rest of her family murdered. I shook my head. "Did you get it?"

She shrugged. "In time. It took me a while to find them, in between the short spans of leave during my training and eventual work. But . . . yes."

I didn't doubt her. Why should I? She'd already shown her competence on several levels I couldn't even describe. Instead, I nodded.

"Sometimes revenge is the only thing that makes the hurt go away."

"Like now," she said.

I nodded and held up my drink. "For Simbik."

She clinked her glass against mine and we drank

long and deep. I finished my drink then and rested the empty glass on the table in front of me.

Talya rested hers there a moment later. "While we're on the subject, what made you do what you do?"

I shrugged. "I took a test. The results directed me into it."

"Destiny, huh?" She smiled. "No romantic notions of James Bond? No fantasy images of saving the world from dangerous hordes of your nation's enemies?" She smiled. "That seems strange to me."

It was. The Council had chosen me to become a Fixer, not the other way around. I hadn't aspired to anything after Robin's death, except becoming Cosgrove's executioner. Freedom of choice wasn't really an option for those of us born into the Profession. We were preordained somehow, sometime long before we saw the moment of our birth. Somewhere else, outside in the cosmos, our existence was decreed. The Council's responsibility lay with channeling us into the training and from there into our roles as saviors for the vampire community. No romance. No patriotism to speak of. Just an innate understanding of our purpose. An obsession for the Balance.

Simple, to be sure.

But also pure and total duty to a cause.

The closest thing it compared to was the feudal Japanese samurai commitment to Bushido, the way of the warrior. A code so strict, it demanded absolute loyalty to the warrior's lord. Just as we obeyed the laws of the Balance.

That's what I'd become, a vampire samurai.

It didn't help that I studied martial arts.

Talya looked at me funny.

"What?"

She shook her head. "You just got that weird look in your eyes again. Like you were a million miles away. Remembering something. Something you'd tucked away a long time ago."

She was far too perceptive for my comfort, and yet simultaneously, I think it drew me closer to her even more. "Just memories. Faraway memories."

"Do they comfort you as much as they haunt you?"

I sighed. "Yeah."

She nodded. "Me too, Lawson. Me too."

Above us, the music changed again, mixed into a slower beat that resonated heavy synth strings over a thudding bass line. It reminded me of a pulse. The pulse of life.

And of death.

The only absolute certainty in life.

A certainty I was a part of. Whether I liked it or not.

Twenty-six

Just after midnight my beeper went off. In the dim light the orange glow of the small screen seemed to cast an unnatural light over my hand. I read the number. Zero's.

"Gotta make a phone call," I said. "Be right back."

Talya nodded and kept watching the floor for Cosgrove. I had my doubts about whether he'd come in tonight. The clubs in Cambridge only stayed open until : A.M.

Downstairs by the coat check, I found the pay phone and punched in Zero's number. He answered on the first ring.

"Where are you?"

I told him. "What's up?"

"They're moving on you, Lawson."

"What?" I moved my hand to my right hip and rested it on my gun.

"McKinley contacted Cosgrove tonight and told him where you were."

"Impossible. I've watched my ass for days now. How?"

"Maybe they put a tracer on your car, maybe a surveillance team, I don't know."

"What about the Loyalists? What about the pieces of the ceremony?"

"Cosgrove must have already had the necessary information. He must have already killed the other Loyalists and gotten what he needed."

"Which means he can piece it all together."

"Yes. We've got nothing to go on except for the fact that you're now seen as a threat and they're going to take you out."

"But how?"

"I've been shadowing McKinley. He called Cosgrove from a parking lot in Chestnut Hill. I used a parabolic mike to pick up the conversation. You want to hear the tape?"

"Not necessary. Are you still with him?"

"Negative. He shook me. I don't know where the hell they are now, either of them. Are you alone?"

"No, Talya's with me. Upstairs."

"Stay put. I'm on my way."

I hung up the phone and watched the empty hallway. Shadows danced and flickered as I made my way down it. To my left, grunts and heavy breathing crowded the bathroom area. The dark steps drew me up faster than I'd descended. At the top the waves of intense music struck me as I emerged on the first floor again.

This late in the evening, the only illumination came from candles scattered about the club at strange positions. They flickered and made everything seem alive. Oozing. Mutating.

In the main room my hair stood on end and I got goose bumps. Something was wrong. I looked for Talya. She'd disappeared.

Then I heard the laughter invade my head.

"Lawson."

I pivoted and saw him. Decked out in all his splendor, complete with a damned collared cape, he looked like Bela Lugosi, for crying out loud. But even in the ridiculous attire, he was absolutely lethal.

And never more so, because he had Talya in his arms.

They had all the appearances of a bawdy couple slowly grinding in time to the music. But he was holding her hostage. I saw the one long nail of his pinkie finger resting over her carotid artery. If I moved on him, he'd slice her open and she'd the.

"Does she mean so much to you, Lawson? Does she mean so much that you'd not kill me for fear of losing her?"

His voice floated through even the loudest music. Our hearing gave us the ability to do that.

I said nothing.

He smiled. "I'll take your silence as a yes. Especially considering you saved her the other night rather than kill me. Which reminds me . . ." He tossed something at me with his left hand. It bounced on the floor and came to rest at my feet. "Have the souvenir you shot me with the other night. It took me two hours to dig the bloody thing out of my right leg."

I picked up the hunk of wood. It hadn't exploded on impact. Defective. I sighed and pocketed it.

"Let her go, Cosgrove. This doesn't concern her."

"Doesn't it? I did kill her fiance after all."

McKinley, that bastard, had told him all about her background. "She doesn't know what she's dealing with."

"Whether or not that's true, which I doubt considering she was shooting wooden bullets at me the other night, she still means to kill me, given the chance. I should save myself the effort and execute her anyway. Self-defense and all, you know."

"Don't."

He smiled and kept them moving in time to the music. The bastard was hypnotizing Talya. "Why not? You don't actually love her, do you, Lawson? Tsk, tsk, that's not allowed you know."

"Neither is plotting to overthrow the Council. Or whatever other crazy shit you have planned."

"Touche." He looked down at Talya. "She is pretty, Lawson. In a way she reminds me of Robin." He looked at me with that insufferable grin. "Does she remind you of Robin too?"

"Fuck you, Cosgrove. Leave her out of this. I'm the one you want."

"Maybe not. Maybe I'll just take this pretty thing."

"Leave her alone."

Cosgrove laughed. "Do you think about Robin anymore? Did I ever tell you what it felt like to cut her heart out, Lawson? How her warm blood sprayed and coated my hands while I worked. It was delicious. Absolutely delicious."

I needed to break his train of thought. Rage swelled inside me, and if he kept talking about Robin, I might make a huge mistake. "I know about McKinley."

That surprised him. He stopped moving for a second, and Talya murmured something. He recovered and started his hypnotic dance again. "So what?"

"The conspiracy, Cosgrove. I know about it all.

You're using McKinley and the others in New England to take down the Council. You'll assume the role of leader of the vampire nation and begin a relationship with the humans."

"Well, so you know. So what?"

"I know about the Elder you killed as well. About the ceremony you're trying to piece together."

"Pieced together, Lawson. I found out all about the Loyalists a long time ago. I've known where to look from the start. And the puzzle pieces are together quite nicely. I'm just tying up loose ends now."

"Loose ends like killing her?"

He winked. "Well, I haven't quite decided yet. Perhaps I'll just take her with me."

"I can't let you do that." I hoped I sounded a lot tougher than I felt.

He kept laughing. "You're hardly in a position to demand anything, Lawson. After all, I have your girlfriend's life in my hands. You won't do anything right now."

"Don't be too sure."

"But I am. You didn't kill me when you had the chance the other night. Instead, you saved her. You saved her with your own blood, Lawson. I'd say that's a pretty telling event, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe I've reconsidered."

"I don't think so. If you had, you would have pulled your little gun and blown me away already." He shook his head. "No, you won't try anything here. Not while I have her."

Something still wasn't right. If Zero was correct, why was Cosgrove baiting me like this? Why hadn't he simply ambushed me and killed me outright?

The answer hit me at the exact same time my

body took over and jerked me across the room by eight feet. I heard-saw-felt the presence behind me and responded.

Another vampire.

He was moving fast on me, already mounting a second attack by the time I had realized what was happening. Cosgrove had played the diversion. The obvious diversion. He'd focused me on Talya and I'd almost allowed myself to be sucked in. While I was dealing with him, the assassin had been getting in position.

Jesus, I'd almost bought it.

He swarmed over me, tossed me off my feet, and we landed in the recessed shadows, grunting and spilling into chairs. He tried to get his knee into my groin, but I checked it.

His hands concerned me. He was holding a pistol just like mine in his left, desperately trying to get a bead on my heart.

Just like mine? Christ, this guy is another Fixer!

Time was on my side. If I could keep him checked long enough for the club's security to come charging us, I'd be OK long enough to get us on equal terms again. I brought my right elbow into his solar plexus hard and heard him grunt audibly.

His left hand was still gripping the pistol, though. I needed to get control of it before he could shoot me.

He brought his head down sharply at mine and I moved just enough to take a grazing blow by my left eye. Damn, that hurt. My vision blurred from tears, and in that second he managed to get the barrel of the gun closer to my shoulder.

Too close.

I used another elbow to stun him and smother his left arm, hugging it into my body, muffling his chance of using the pistol.

His knee came up again, this time targeting my stomach. I couldn't cover it and he landed a hard strike that made me feel like I was going to lose control of my bowels and bladder. He'd struck a vital point. My head swam in pain and my arms felt weak.

He rammed another knee strike into me. This was not good. If I took another one, I wouldn't be able to hold on to his arm and he'd get the shot off that he needed.

The bouncers showed up then, just in time, yanking him off me, but then the traitor shot one of them.

Someone yelled, "Gun!" and they scattered, leaving me dazed on the floor while righted himself on his feet and then took aim at me. I watched as the pistol leveled off, giving him the bead he needed.

Another second and I wouldn't even matter anymore.

The shot, when it came, wasn't from his gun. It came from behind him. But the effect was instantaneous. The Fixer's chest blossomed bright red, cascading crimson down his shirt, and his arms dropped, taking the gun off my heart.

He dropped to the floor.

I scrambled over to him, grabbing him by the collar. "Who are you?" I got no response and shook him again. "Answer me!" No use. I took the gun off him and checked him over. Dead. I looked up in time to see Zero charging through the fleeing crowds.

"Is he dead?"

I nodded. "He used a goddamned Fixer, Zero. Who is he?"

Zero peered close. "Not a Fixer. A Control. Xavier. Runs New Hampshire."

"Not anymore he doesn't."

Zero helped me to my feet. "Lucky for you, I was nearby. He almost had you, Lawson. Where's Cosgrove?"

I turned. "Dance floor with—"

But I knew even as I turned. The dance floor was deserted. And even as I heard the first sirens over the relentless music, even as Zero pulled me along to the rear exit of the club, I realized Cos-grove had Talya.

And all the cards.

Twenty-seven

Zero rushed us out of the club and onto the side street, losing us in a crowd of panicked clubgoers. We bolted down the side street, finally pausing to catch our breath by the next intersection. Blue lights bounced off the buildings from the Cambridge cop cars rushing to the scene. In the distance even more sirens echoed through the night.

"Close," said Zero. "Too damned close."

"That's one I owe you, buddy."

He grinned in spite of our situation. "Yeah, I'll add it to your tab. At least we got one of the bastards."

"But Cosgrove—" I stopped. Paused.

Zero frowned. "I know, Lawson. He's got your girl. And as much as I can't condone it, I understand. We'll get her back. Even if you two never have the relationship you want . . . We'll get her back."

"How? We have no idea where he's hiding out."

Zero sighed. "It's time we went on the offensive, Lawson."

"How?"

"Could be time to pay your buddy McKinley a visit."

"Where, at home?"

"Yes."

"What if they're expecting us?"

Zero shrugged. "We're pretty much out of alternatives. If Cosgrove's pieced together the ceremony ritual and has everything he needs, time is scarce. We have to find out where he's holing up. And unless you've got another idea ..."

I didn't and Zero knew that. Neither of us was crazy about possibly walking into an ambush.

"We don't have a choice, Lawson."

I shrugged. Sometimes you had to play the hand you were dealt. And since I wasn't palming any aces, the choice seemed clear. "Let's go."

We took my car back into Boston. McKinley's office sat in the Back Bay in a brownstone on Marlborough Street. The rest of the neighborhood, tucked away for the night in their million-dollar homes, looked like a carbon copy of McKinley's office. Stately brownstones, each sinking a few inches every year into the soggy landfill that had been used to build up this section of the city so many years ago. Not that it ever seemed to stop young professionals from desiring one of the prized homes.

I parked the Jetta behind a silver Lexus, the chosen car of rich people who can't drive, and killed the lights, scanning the area. After two minutes Zero and I wandered across the street toward McKinley's office.

The wrought iron fence screeched, penetrating the night like an angry crow in the woods. Zero just kept moving toward the door, and I followed. The best thing to do was get inside as fast as possible and not worry about people peeking out. If

you acted like you had something to hide, they'd pick up on it. Act like you owned the place and no one would care.

Besides, I felt sure that McKinley had burned the midnight oil at this place a few times. Enough for his neighbors to conclude that it wasn't too unusual for people to be coming and going at strange hours.

Zero paused in front of the door and frowned.

I came up behind him. "What's the problem?"

He pointed inside the vestibule. "Alarm."

Shit. You know, there were times when I definitely wished that vampires had all the cool superhero abilities everyone always made us out to have. Sure would have come in handy here tonight. Hell, I could have transformed into a gaseous state and simply drifted through the keyhole.

Instead, two very real vampires were being held up by a security system costing $ .

Fortunately for me, Zero had an uncanny talent for disarming these things. It was one of his many specialties, one that he was always trying to impress on me, but I hadn't ever picked it up like he had. I came from the school of "just break the damned door down and get in and out fast" rather than the subtle school of burglary Zero had mastered.

He focused on the sensor just inside the door and I knew he would figure out its pattern. It might have been computerized and supposedly random, but Zero's mind could figure it out and then use it to disarm the system. Don't ask me how; I don't know. But while he did that, I busied myself with watching the street for signs that we'd aroused suspicions.

After five minutes of standing in the concealing

darkness, Zero tapped me on the shoulder and motioned to the open door. Like I said, the guy was amazing.

He shut the door behind us and we moved inside. Lucky for us, we didn't need flashlights, since we had better night vision than humans. More rods in our eyes, like cats. It came in handy.

Vampires developed their extraordinary night vision way back in our early years as a race. We had to hunt at night and take our prey by surprise if possible. That necessitated the ability to see in the dark, move quietly, and seem almost invisible. Legends sprang up about us having supernatural abilities. And while our regenerative capacity was indeed tremendous, the other skills simply evolved due to the needs of our race.

The office was three rooms and a study. It seemed more laid out like a small apartment and I wondered if perhaps McKinley hadn't been using this as a romp pad for some of his nocturnal prowling with the mistresses he always liked to keep.

We entered the red carpeted foyer and wandered into the study. Bookcases lined the walls filled with the kinds of self-substantiating tomes most supposedly enlightened people like to keep and point out to visitors as signs that they were really cultured. McKinley had crap on the Roman Empire, Norse mythology, and a wide assortment of self-help books. And since I knew for a fact that McKinley didn't have a damned clue about who Nero was, or whether Thor was anything more than an old comic book, I figured the self-help books must have been another part of his ruse. Maybe it helped him get laid. Maybe he played the part of a caring psychologist to all those lonely lathes.

I had to admit, though, that seeing Your Past Lives and You on the bookshelf of a vampire made me grin. McKinley was always good for a laugh, even if it was at his expense.

Zero focused on the rolltop desk in the corner of the room, an old mahogany number that had more than a few dents in the wood. There was a seventeen-inch computer monitor on it and he switched it on. The pale blue luminescence of the screen filled the room, sending several shadows scurrying to the corners in search of more ebon realms.

Windows came up on the screen. Figures that McKinley used a PC. I preferred Macintosh myself. But then again, I'd always been something of an antiestablishment guy.

Zero clicked his way through the files with appalling rapidity. He found a personal file and opened it. There were a lot of graphics files, most in the form of JPEGs and GIFs, meaning McKinley liked to surf the Internet and download pictures. I was guessing they weren't business related.

Zero looked at me. "Shall we?"

I nodded. He clicked one of them.

Jesus.

McKinley was apparently into a lot more than I'd ever given him credit for.

"This might just help explain how Cosgrove got to him," said Zero.

"Blackmail?"

"Yeah, maybe that. And, of course, the promise of a lot more of this kind of sick deranged crap if they were successful."

The picture on the screen said it all. McKinley was a pedophile. I'm not about to describe the gar-

bage filling the screen, simply because I categorize pedophiles under the same category I reserve for terrorists and that is "absolute scum." If I had my way and I wasn't in the role I'd been given, I'd probably be out hunting these sick fucks and exterminating them just on basis of belief alone. You might think it extreme, but both terrorist and child molesters prey on innocence.

I don't dig that.

Period. End of statement.

Zero clicked the picture away and we kept searching files.

It was buried under a subfile titled "research." God knows what McKinley was researching aside from a cheaper way to get to Bangkok so he could fulfill his sick thrills.

Zero opened the file. Text splashed across the screen. A lot of it. Lists of names and locations. I looked at Zero.

"Any of these make any sense to you?"

He nodded. "See there," he said, pointing. "Xavier's name. Location. And this is interesting." He paused.

"What?"

He drew a finger down the front of the screen. "Look at this. It looks like a numbered account."

I looked at Zero. "Money?"

He shook his head. "No, that doesn't make any sense at all."

Of course it didn't. Vampires don't really care all that much about money. All of us could have as much or as little as we wanted by virtue of our contacts within the government. Most of us chose to live comfortably. We knew the more flamboyant

you were, the greater risk of exposure. Besides, we never really wanted for anything material.

So what was the deal with the numbered accounts? "If they're not transferring money into those accounts, then maybe it's not a bank account."

Zero looked up. "What, then?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. Could be anything really."

"No," said Zero. "It really can't be anything per se. It's got to be something. And we need to find out exactly what it is."

"We also need to find Cosgrove before he kills Talya."

Zero nodded. "You're right. This'll have to wait." He slid a new diskette into the drive and copied the files. "We can examine these later."

"You think it's in another file maybe?"

"We can look, but the question we have to ask ourselves is whether or not McKinley would keep Cosgrove's location on his computer."

"He's got everything else here. Hell, the stuff wasn't even encrypted."

Zero smiled. "Not that that's anything unusual."

He was right of course. Once we'd bypassed the alarm system and broken into the apartment, it had been smooth sailing. It was typical of so many people who thought that security ended with some flimsy alarm system. Bring along a talented pro like Zero and myself and that gets shot to shit awful quickly. And McKinley had left his Pandora's box wide open.

That's when we heard the noise from somewhere around us.

Zero clicked off the screen, plunging the room

back into darkness. We stayed absolutely still, listening. Our eyes adjusted back to their night-vision ability in only thirty seconds.

We heard it again.

Rhythmic.

And mumbled voices.

Zero motioned me to follow him and we moved closer to the bookshelves. We made no noise as we crept closer. The volume of noise grew.

Zero leaned close to my ear. "Must be a secret room."

I nodded.

Zero ran his hands over the shelves, found nothing, and then began scanning the book spines. It took him thirty seconds. He pointed it out to me. A pictorial guide to Roman bathhouses. Figured.

I drew my pistol as Zero stood off to the side and prepared to pull the spine back. He looked at me.

I nodded.

He pulled.

That section of the bookcase slid away to reveal a twelve-by-twelve room with maroon walls. In the middle of the room was a bed.

And on the bed lay a rail-thin boy who couldn't have been much older than sixteen.

And lying on the boy was McKinley, apparently defying several laws of gravity by not crushing the poor kid trapped beneath him.

He grunted.

Funny, though, how he stopped when he saw me standing there holding a gun on him and Zero leaning against the doorway.

"Shit."

"Seems to me you already found some, McKin-ley," said Zero. "Get off him."

McKinley frowned. "As always, Zero, your timing is impeccable."

I shook my head. "What, are we interrupting you?"

"Just a bit."

He drew on a smoking jacket and gestured to the boy. "Get dressed. Go home."

Zero frowned. "You're a real sick bastard, McKinley."

"Being gay isn't sick, Zero."

"No, it's not. But being a pedophile is."

McKinley shook his head. "He's eighteen."

"Maybe he is. I doubt it, though," I said. "Besides, we just saw enough of your Internet downloads to know most of them weren't legal. I'm willing to bet if we search Sonny there, we won't find a registered voter card in his wallet."

McKinley sighed. "What is it that I can do for you two, exactly?"

Zero guided him out into the study and sat him down in one of the chairs. The boy exited without looking at us. Probably a pro. Boston's prostitution rings had migrated off the streets and into more discreet escort services nowadays. McKinley probably had the number on speed dial.

"What you can do for us," said Zero, "is tell us exactly where Cosgrove is."

"What makes you think I know that?"

"We don't have time for this, I'm afraid." Zero looked at me. "Shoot him."

I pulled the hammer back on my pistol and leveled it on McKinley.

McKinley's eyes bulged. "You wouldn't."

Zero smiled. "Five seconds and you'll find out."

"This is crazy."

"One."

McKinley looked at me. "Lawson, I saved your life—"

"Two."

"I could have killed you."

"Three."

"I told him not to involve you."

"Four."

I squinted through one eye for effect.

McKinley squirmed. "All right!"

I eased the hammer down. "Tell him."

"That won't be necessary."

Zero looked at me and I looked at him because neither of us had spoken. At once we whirled around.

Cosgrove stood in the doorway. He held a pistol identical to mine. A Fixer gun. Designed to kill vampires. And right now it was aimed at Zero and me.

"Thank you so very much for disabling McKin-ley's alarm system, Zero. And you were kind enough to leave it off so I could enter unannounced." He looked at me. "Put your gun down slowly, Lawson. I really don't want to have to shoot you just yet."

I slid the pistol onto the small table next to me.

Cosgrove smiled at McKinley. "I told you to expect them."

"I thought you said you and Xavier could handle him."

"Apparently, Xavier failed," said Cosgrove. "And while we were trying to deal with Lawson, you felt perfectly content to indulge in a tryst, is that it?"

McKinley said nothing.

"Charming little fellow you found yourself, McKinley." Cosgrove smiled. "Such a shame I had to break his neck."

McKinley blanched. "You didn't."

"I'd bloody well do the same to you if it wasn't for the fact that you're needed, you stupid fool. Get dressed. We're all going for a ride."

Zero looked at me and I looked at him.

Cosgrove just laughed as if reading our minds. "Soon, gentlemen, very soon. But first we'll have a bit of fun."

Twenty-eight

We waited for McKinley to pull some clothes on. Cosgrove smiled at me.

"Dying to know, aren't you?"

"Know what?"

"As if," said Cosgrove. "You want to know what I've done with your little lovely. What's her name? Talya, isn't it?"

"Yes."

He hefted the gun. "Personally, I've never really cared for firearms. I'd never even touched a gun before that night a week back on the roof with you and your little toy. I'm much more of a hands-on chap. You know, I'll use something I can really get a good grip on. Get right up to my elbows in the muck of death. No long-range killing for me. Removes you from the spiritual cleansing that goes along with it."

"Only cleansing that needs to be done around here is for you," said Zero.

Cosgrove turned around and placed the muzzle of the pistol against Zero's heart. Zero never blinked.

"I should shoot you right now and be done with it."

"Why don't you?" said Zero. "I've been ready to the for years."

Cosgrove wiggled his eyebrows. "My secret. You'll find out soon enough anyway, I expect."

I sighed.

Cosgrove turned back to face me. "Sorry, Law-son, am I boring you?"

"Absolutely."

He laughed. "I admire your blunt attitude. At least a bloke knows exactly where he stands with you." He fondled the gun again. "She's safe, Law-son."

"Pardon me if I don't embrace that statement as truth."

"Understandable." Cosgrove nodded. "And mind you, before this is over, she might not be safe."

"Why is that?"

"I suppose that depends on you, really. But again I can't say that much now or the surprise won't be effective. And I do love surprises."

McKinley reappeared in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a sweater under his jacket.

Cosgrove smiled again. "All freshened up, McKinley? Lathered enough hemorrhoid cream on your arse so it isn't smarting on the drive over?"

McKinley frowned. "Comments like that aren't necessary."

"Tsk. I've hurt your feelings, have I? Tough too-dles. We have work to do." Cosgrove tossed him the gun. "Right, you keep an eye on these two, then. You're a better shot than I am."

Cosgrove motioned for us to walk ahead of him. "Let's go."

Outside, Marlborough Street looked hopelessly

vacant. No chance of rescue from some silly fool out walking their black Labrador well after midnight. Not even someone sleepwalking. And not a chance of having a cop car roll past when you needed it. Zero and I were in the shit.

We could have tried to make a move, no doubt about it, but I figured Zero knew as I did that our best chance now was to go along and see what Cos-grove had planned for us. Then we could sort the mess out on the go.

Cosgrove's car was a black Lexus and it fit in perfectly with the surrounding neighborhood. It also probably meant he drove like hell.

"Zero drives," said Cosgrove, tossing him the keys. "And don't forget McKinley's got the gun on Lawson at all times."

Zero caught the keys.

A brief squelch in the night air as the alarm was deactivated and the doors unlocked. I slid in the backseat next to McKinley. Cosgrove rode up front with Zero.

Zero started the engine and turned the lights on. The interior was a cream leather that squealed absurdly when you moved against it. Cosgrove obviously enjoyed surrounding himself with luxury.

"Take us back into Kenmore Square, Zero. Then head out on Beacon Street."

Zero said nothing but wheeled the car in the appropriate direction. I knew he'd be trying to figure out a game plan so once we arrived, we'd have a chance to turn the tables. I was doing the same thing.

Unfortunately, there's not a lot of planning you can do in these situations. You have no idea where you're going, what the odds are, what the opposi-

tion has planned for you, and what kind of environment you'll be raising hell in. All of that lack of knowledge spells disaster for trying to plan an escape and counterattack. Usually, the best you can do is simply conserve your strength, try to stay aware and calm, and hope for the best. That way, when the opportunity to jump presents itself, you'll see it and be able to take full advantage of it.

After all, you only get one shot at this kind of stuff. There's no second place. Coming in second means you're dead. Or with Cosgrove—worse.

Cosgrove turned around to look at me. "So Lawson, come on and tell me all about your relationship with the scrumptious Talya. What's she like? Good in the sack or what?"

"We never slept together."

"No? Pity that. My advice to you would be to always take advantage of such an opportunity. After all, you never know when it might get snatched away from you, pardon the pun."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that." Cosgrove looked at McKinley. "I don't imagine the Council would be too pleased if they learned one of their prize Fixers was in love with a human."

McKinley shook his head. "No, they certainly wouldn't."

Cosgrove chuckled. "Mind you, they probably wouldn't be too thrilled with discovering one of their Controls was a raging pedophile as well, though, eh?"

McKinley said nothing. Cosgrove kept chuckling as he turned back around.

We followed Beacon Street out past Coolidge Corner and down toward Cleveland Circle. Even at

this hour there were tons of Boston College students cloistering around the small eateries and pizzerias that stayed open late. The cold of the night air only seemed to heighten the effects of whatever alcohol or narcotic haze they'd induced on themselves.

I wondered why Zero hadn't mentioned to Cos-grove that we knew about his plan to resurrect the Sargoth. But it might have been too risky. Cos-grove's ego might have been the only thing keeping us alive at that moment Spoiling his surprise might have lethal consequences.

"Around the reservoir, Zero. It's coming up on your left."

Left? There was nothing there but an old water-treatment plant for the reservoir across the way. It hadn't been used in a long time and I realized it would be a great place to hide out. Cosgrove wouldn't have risked purchasing a home in the area, even under a pseudonym.

I caught Zero's eye in the rearview mirror and I managed a brief nod. It was all we had to say to each other. We'd been in trouble enough times before to understand how we worked. If I'd had to pick anyone to go into battle with, it would be Zero. And he knew it.

"Turn here."

Zero wheeled the car into the gravel-lined circular driveway in front of the plant, crunching white stones together underneath the tires. Even from the closing distance, I could make out some lights on inside.

"I thought this place was deserted," I said.

Cosgrove nodded. "It was until the Brookline DPW decided to reconsider using it."

"What made them do that?"

"Well, I had some influence in that area. And if you're thinking the police will notice the lights and come knocking, you needn't. They know to expect it."

Zero sighed. "Well, as long as no one crashes the party."

Cosgrove laughed again. "No worries, Zero. We'll be left alone. We can have as much fun as we want and no one will tell us to hush up."

"That's good," said Zero. "Because when we kill you and McKinley, there won't be any nosy neighbors asking what the horrible racket was all about."

Cosgrove looked at him and his smile slipped for just a second. But he brought it back quickly. "I do so enjoy listening to your pathetic threats, Zero. You have such a sense of humor."

"You can bet I'll be laughing when I kill you," said Zero as he wheeled us up to the front of the plant.

Cosgrove nodded. "Park here."

Zero slid the car into park and waited.

Cosgrove led the way. "Out, gentlemen. We're here and I want to introduce you to the greatest project ever conceived by a vampirical genius such as myself."

Zero raised his hand.

Cosgrove stopped talking and looked at him. "What is it?"

"It's just that if you're going to keep spewing this bullshit, would you mind awfully if I went home and got my hip boots? I've got a feeling I'm going to need them."

Cosgrove brought his face closer to Zero's, which was difficult considering Zero stood four inches

taller than he did. "I shall enjoy watching you suffer, Zero. And believe me, you will suffer." He turned to McKinley. "Let me get things started properly. Bring them inside in five minutes."

Then he spun on one heel like some flamboyant Gestapo worshiper and vanished behind the heavy oaken door.

Zero looked at McKinley. "It's not too late, you know. Let us go and we'll put in a good word for you with the Council. Help us take him down."

McKinley smirked. "You have no idea how insignificant the Council is about to become, Zero."

I frowned. "So why not enlighten us?"

"And spoil Cosgrove's fun? Not a chance. He's already upset with me as it is. Considering what he's got planned for you two, there's no way I'm going to risk incurring his wrath any more than I have so far."

"It's that bad, is it?"

McKinley nodded. "Surprised the hell out of me, that's for sure."

"Really," said Zero. "Well, I can't wait to see it."

McKinley checked his watch. "You'll want to change your mind once we get inside." He looked up. "It's time, boys. Time to go see what this is all about."

He gestured with the gun. Zero and I walked toward the door. I was hoping this would work out, that we'd hatch some daring escape. But we couldn't. Not yet. Not until we got a chance to take them all down once and for all.

I only hoped it wouldn't be too late once we did.

Twenty-nine

The massive door slid open on oiled hinges like a giant gaping maw. We passed under the oaken door frame and felt it close, swallowing us whole as we moved inside the treatment plant.

Ahead, darkness loomed, pierced just vaguely by scattered forty-watt lightbulbs doing little to keep away the ravenous ebony interior. Shadows shifted as we walked across the old linoleum floor toward another large door at the end of the long corridor.

McKinley chuckled. "Won't be long now, boys."

From farther within the plant, I could make out clinks and clanks of old pipes and gears expanding and contracting in response to varying temperatures. It was easy to imagine this place as a bustling hive of activity in years past.

Now it was tangibly tainted with unspeakable evil.

Cosgrove's evil.

I've known folks who thought evil could be easily classified as one kind of attribute, simply the opposite of good. But that's just so much bullshit as far as I'm concerned. Evil has within it varying degrees of wretchedness that range from vaguely nasty to downright hellish. It's like any other kind of personality trait. It's as equally tough to try to classify

discipline solely as one type of aspect of the self. Some people have a narcissistic discipline that borders on the vain, while others possess an innate form of it that drives them to unparalleled heights of success within their lives.

But folks nowadays simply find it easier to lump all of these things into a simple definition that spans the length of a few words in the most recent edition of their favorite dictionary. So we have to come up with other words to describe vain discipline or slightly evil.

I could come up with some very interesting words to describe Cosgrove's evil. But I prefer to just let it stand that he was a sick fuck.

McKinley reached the metallic door first and opened it. Even from where I stood I could sense what was beyond it. I could hear the strange chanting, the old language being spoken in strange tongues. Cosgrove had obviously figured out the ceremonial procedures for raising the Sargoth. I just hoped he hadn't finished it yet.

God knew how deep Cosgrove must have had to dig to unearth the kind of evil emanating from within the bowels of the treatment facility, but it sounded positively awful.

Zero stopped moving. "What the hell is he do-ing?"

McKinley laughed again. "You'll find out soon enough."

"The hell," said Zero. "He's invoking the Sargoth. I'm not going in there."

McKinley stopped short. "How do you know?"

"I'm not as stupid as you are, McKinley. I know what that creature's capable of. Do you?"

McKinley frowned. "I know enough."

"You don't know shit," said Zero. "If you did, there's no way you would have signed on to be a part of this stupid plan."

"Cosgrove assures me there will be no problems controlling him."

"You can't control the Sargoth, McKinley. It won't bow to the desires of a mere vampire."

"You don't know that. Cosgrove has the ability to control him. He told me."

"You believe everything everyone tells you?"

"I believe Cosgrove."

"What did it cost?" I asked.

McKinley turned to me. "What's that?"

"What did it cost to get you to sell us out, to betray the entire basis of our society? How much did Cosgrove give you to become the bottom-dwelling scumbag traitor that you are right now?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"If it was, I wouldn't have wasted any breath asking it, you idiot."

McKinley grinned. "I get to kill the members of the Council."

"What kind of ax do you have to grind?"

McKinley turned away. "It's time for you two to see Cosgrove."

"I knew he wouldn't spill it," said Zero. "He's too much of a coward."

"I'm not a coward!" McKinley spun around, sending a gooey string of spittle flying into the air that Zero barely avoided. "You don't have the right to know what the Council did to me."

"Must have something to do with his posterior predilection," said Zero.

McKinley looked confused. I smirked.

"That word may not exist in his vocabulary."

Zero nodded. "Just goes to show you that they'll let anybody become a Control."

"Well, they let you, Zero. That probably means character doesn't count anymore."

"You can't call me into question, McKinley. My honor has never been suspect."

"If honor means marrying a human and hoping to get away with it, then I'd rather be a traitor."

If Zero was surprised by McKinley's revelation, he didn't let it show, although I suspected that he had just finalized plans to kill McKinley in his mind.

When Zero didn't say anything, McKinley smiled. "I thought that might make you a little less hostile. Didn't think anyone knew about your little indiscretion, did you? Well, I saw your file."

"Surprised you could read it," I said.

"Enough of this idle bullshit," said McKinley. "Boys, your time is at hand. Let's not keep Cos-grove waiting any longer."

We entered an inferno. Seriously, Cosgrove must have had the damned thermostat cranked to about a hundred degrees. Steam and condensation filled the room making it difficult to see, and I wondered whether this little soiree wasn't going to set off some temperature alarms at some meter somewhere out in Brookline.

And then his sick voice bled through the haze like a slimy snake oozing and coating everything like a viscous scum.

"Welcome, Lawson and Zero. Are you ready to witness my grand plan?"

Zero, who was never much on ceremony, cleared his throat. "It'll never work, Cosgrove."

"What's that, Zero?"

"Invoking the Sargoth. You won't be able to control him, no matter how much that twisted ego of yours insists otherwise. He's too powerful. You open that portal and he'll take over everything you've worked so hard to set up."

"Ridiculous."

The voice seemed closer, but it was still impossible to tell. I was sweating buckets in the damned heat. It was painfully oppressive.

"The Sargoth," Cosgrove continued, "is happy to help me bring his dreams to life."

"Did he tell you that? Or did you just dream it up to help convince Xavier, McKinley, and the other naive bastards that you were worth backing?"

Cosgrove's hand materialized and slapped Zero across the face. Zero reeled back, bringing his hand up and away from his face. I could make out a line of blood on the back of his hand.

"Fool," said Cosgrove. "You will see the glory of the Sargoth. Don't you understand? We are the true masters of this planet. Not the humans. Human beings have never been the rightful inheritors. It is we who were born into the night. It is we who should rule. And rule we shall. Once I finish invoking the Sargoth, once the possession has occurred, then the Council will fall, helped along to their graves by McKinley here. Then I will rule supreme."

Jesus, he was really baked this time. I wondered if the temperature had something to do with the increased tempo of Cosgrove's dementia.

"Lawson, you're being awfully quiet."

I tried taking a breath. "Me? I'm spellbound by your orations, Cosgrove. Besides, it's not polite to interrupt."

He paused, seeming to absorb this. "What do you think of my plans? Are you ready to join my team yet? I could use another team member now that Xavier seems to have met an untimely end."

"Oh, I'd say his demise was right on schedule, Cosgrove."

Cosgrove smiled. "Indeed."

"He died real nice," said Zero.

Cosgrove ignored him, still focused on me. "I'd imagine," he said, "that you're curious as to what I've done with your lovely partner, hmm?"

Of course I was. "Yes."

"Always so bloody honest." Cosgrove drew closer. "Really, Lawson, falling in love with a human. Not the sort of behavior fitting of Fixers, is it? You've disgraced your profession."

Like he was the poster boy for upstanding vampires everywhere. I said nothing.

"You know, if you work for me, it won't be a problem." He smiled. "You can fall in love with as many mortals as you wish."

Fat chance. "Cosgrove, if I work for you, there won't be any mortals left to fall in love with."

"Not true, Lawson. Not true at all. Of course, some of them will have to go, certainly. That's only natural. We'll have to thin the herd, so to speak, make sure they don't ever regain power. But not your beloved. You see, I have great plans for your Talya. Great plans indeed. She figures prominently into the destiny of this miserable little planet, in fact. Did you know that?"

My stomach knotted up. "How so?"

Cosgrove smiled and waved his hands. As if on cue, the steam and haze cleared. I looked up and saw Talya strapped to a large circular hunk of

wood. Engraved on the surface were symbols that I assumed were Taluk. I searched Talya's eyes for any sign of life, but she must have been in a trance still.

"You're a real bastard, Cosgrove."

"Names won't get you anywhere but dead."

"Let her go."

He grinned. "Ah, well, I cannot. You see, I'm about to go through rather a spot of bother invoking the Sargoth. And once invoked, it needs a host. A host body."

He didn't mean—

"And your Talya will be perfect."

Thirty

There wasn't really much left to say.

After all, Cosgrove had told me explicitly what he planned to do with Talya. That left me with the fact that Zero and I were fast becoming an expendable quantity.

And so, even as Cosgrove's words registered, I was already moving, already aware that Zero had initiated as well. There was that old bond between us, that old spirit that had kept us alive for so long.

I feinted left while Zero moved immediately on McKinley. It seemed like we were moving in slow motion, even though in reality we'd be moving as fast as our surging adrenaline allowed us.

Cosgrove seemed unfazed at first as Zero deflected McKinley's gun hand and went immediately into his disarm and takedown. I moved closer to Cosgrove, who stood ten feet from me.

He regarded me in the instant of a blink and then almost imperceptibly shrugged. It was as if our bid for freedom had merely accelerated his schedule. That disturbed me.

But he'd closed the distance down between us too fast for that concern to accumulate any dust. His hands shot out in front of him as he went for

double strikes to my rib cage, possibly seeking to use the ribs to impale my heart. It wouldn't kill me, but it would put me down for the count. And long enough for him to find a piece of wood to kill me with properly.

I sidestepped, letting the energy go past, and then punched the back of his arm hard behind the elbow, hearing a large snap. I'd fractured his bone, but Cosgrove simply ignored the pain and wheeled, jamming his leg into my solar plexus. I grunted, wind rushing out of me, and crashed into the ground.

In my periphery I could see Zero wrestling with McKinley. Damned if these old guys didn't get stronger with age.

I rolled and came up just as Cosgrove zoomed in again, launching another attack with his feet. I recognized the kicking style as belonging to savate, a French art that combined boxing and kicking techniques. By the way Cosgrove moved, he was quite good. And since I hadn't seen this before, it surprised me.

I circled to the inside, dropping and rolling with my shoulder into the knee of his supporting leg. He crashed down as I went over and brought my foot down hard onto his jaw as I rolled over.

He grunted and then tried catching my ankle in a lock. I twisted, broke his hold, and rolled free again, searching for purchase on the hard cement floor; finding it, I got back on my feet.

Cosgrove's face was bloody. He smiled through it. "This is a first; Lawson, you've actually drawn blood on me."

I said nothing, just kept circling. Zero and McKinley were grunting on the floor twenty feet

away. From the looks of it, Zero was gaining the upper hand.

I feinted to the left and then went right as Cos-grove reacted to the feint. I got in behind him, then entered and drove an elbow hard into his back by his spine. Cosgrove arched his back forward and grunted again, cursing me in the old language. That was a good sign. I'd hurt him bad.

He wheeled away and threw a back kick that caught me square in the chest, stopping my advance. My wind came in short spurts. It felt like an anvil was crushing my lungs. I heaved fire.

Retched.

Cosgrove closed again and flailed at my face with his fingernails, trying to gouge my eyes. I locked my arms over his, pulled them down fast. That brought Cosgrove's face in and I used my head to smash his face again. Another sickening crunch told me his nose would need a lot of work. I tasted copper and knew Cosgrove was losing a lot of blood. I shot my arms into his neck, trying to crush his larynx, but the blood made them slip off as Cosgrove sank down and punched at my groin.

I caught sight of it just in time to bring my knee up to ward it off, then dropped my elbows straight down on his head. He grunted again and vomited blood.

That's when the gun went off.

In the close confines of the plant, it echoed and made me wince from the explosive report. I wheeled around and saw Zero straddling McKin-ley's chest, the gun leveled point-blank at McKin-ley's heart, the barrel still smoking from the single gunshot.

McKinley was dead.

Zero looked at me.

I turned around.

Cosgrove was gone.

"Jesus."

Zero climbed off McKinley's inert form and motioned to Talya. "Get her down."

I found the rope and lowered the makeshift altar to the floor. "Where do you think he's gone?"

"Only place he can go, farther into the plant."

"Shit." I looked at Talya. "What's wrong with her?"

Zero frowned as we undid Talya's restraints. "Judging by the look in her eyes, Cosgrove has pumped her full of drugs or used more hypnosis."

"Great."

"Sounded like you hurt him pretty bad back there."

"I think so, yeah."

Zero nodded. "He's here somewhere. He can't have gotten far."

I pointed at the ground. "We can follow the blood."

"How bad do you think you hurt him?"

"Don't know. I'd guess fairly well. He's losing a lot of juice."

"In that case we don't have much time?""What do you mean?"

"He knows we'll free Talya. That means if he still wants to invoke the Sargoth, he's got to find another host body."

"He doesn't have time to find another host now. It's too late."

Zero shook his head. "Not so. Cosgrove's crazy enough to do the last thing we'd ever expect: he'll use himself as the host."

"We'd better find him then—"

Zero stopped me. "No way, get Talya out of here. We can't risk taking her along unless she can fight for herself. I'll handle him."

I shook my head. "Cosgrove's my fight, Zero."

"If you don't get Talya out of here, Cosgrove might find a way to get her again. Take her back to the hotel. I'll find Cosgrove and meet up with you later."

"But—"

"But nothing. According to my research, if we don't get Cosgrove now, he'll become even more powerful than before. We can't afford to have him unleash the Sargoth. Besides, you said it yourself, you hurt him bad. I'll finish it." He smiled. "You remember when I told you about my affair?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I neglected to mention one important thing."

"What's that?"

"I've always wished I chased Wajiah and tried to make it work." He shrugged. "But I didn't. I chose my path." He looked at me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "You understand what I'm saying, Lawson?"

My throat ached, but I managed to nod. "Yeah."

"Then go. I'll catch up with you later." He turned and hurried down the hallway, vanishing quickly into the deep shadows of beyond.

I watched him go. "Be careful, my friend."

But he was already too busy stealing down the hallway to respond.

Thirty-one

The ride back to the Charles Hotel in Harvard Square seemed to take forever, but I got us there within twenty minutes and managed to get Talya to her room unnoticed by the majority of the hotel's guests.

She still looked drugged, and I knew Cosgrove must have worked some powerful hypnotism on her. Our magnetism gives us incredible command over human psyches, even over hardened spirits like Talya.

I got some water from the bathroom sink and put it beside her bed, then laid her back against the pale blue plush pillows. Her breathing remained deep, her eyes partially closed, fluttering vaguely in the dim light of the room. Every few seconds her breasts would rise on the gentle intake of another breath.

She looked gorgeous.

I leaned over her and inhaled the scent of her perfume, feeling it tickle the heightened olfactory senses I'd been blessed with. Then I began a slow cycle of timing my inhalations and exhalations to hers, first pacing her breathing and then eventually

leading it back to the degree of normalcy I needed in order to bring her out of Cosgrove's spell.

After thirty minutes she began stirring a bit more.

After forty minutes she opened her eyes and asked for a drink.

I gave her the water and refilled the glass three times before she paused and shook the remaining vestiges off with a deep sigh.

"What the hell happened?"

I gave her the short version, stopping just prior to Zero's aid. The less she knew, the better.

She frowned. "Hypnotized?"

I nodded. "Another one of the abilities vampires have. Surely you remember the old movies where the count can manipulate his victims?"

She broke into a half smile. "Yes. I do."

"Well, that one happens to be true."

She ran a hand through her hair. "Nice to know." She stopped and looked at me half squinting. "How did you break it?"

I said nothing, then cleared my throat. "I saw some self-help guru a few weeks back on the tube. Either that or you must have just come out of it is all."

She shook her head. "And you knew I'd be thirsty when I came down."

"Seemed logical you might be thirsty."

She frowned, pointing. "What is that?"

I looked down and saw the collar of my shirt had come undone, exposing my mark. A small patch of skin darker than the surrounding area.

"Just a birthmark," I said, closing it with one hand.

"Would that be the same kind of birthmark that Cosgrove has?"

I tried to smile, but it was coming undone. I knew it. Talya knew it.

She kept the heat on. "You know, Lawson, we had a philosophy in the KGB: if it looks like a fox, talks like a fox, and walks like a fox, then it must be a fox."

"I didn't know that was peculiar to the KGB only."

"Everyone else borrowed it from us."

She leaned closer to me.

I cleared my throat. "So what's your point?"

She kissed me then, with her lips pressed fully into mine, enabling a perfect seal with our mouths. I tasted her tongue as it wrestled with mine, not seeking domination but only equal footing. Our juices swirled, rising in tidal fluctuations, urged on by an increasing insistence fueled by primal instinct.

Talya broke only long enough to say, "I don't care what you are, Lawson. I only know that I want you with every ounce of my soul."

And that was it.

A better Fixer might have been able to resist her, but I succumbed blissfully to the intimate desires swelling within me. We tore into each other, shedding clothes in a frenetic lust. I slid down between the juncture of her legs, allowing my mouth to engulf her mound entirely while my tongue probed, pushed, and lapped at her moistness, suckling her to her first raging orgasm. Her hips ground into my face while she rode my face, bucking in time to my tongue's eager quest. She came twice more before yanking me up, seeking my engorgement

and thrusting herself upward meeting my initial entrance.

She cried out, leaning back, uttering guttural grunts in her native tongue as she arched her back, giving me more depth to fill before bringing her body closer to mine, pressing her nipples into my chest, writhing in time to my upward assaults.

Sweat tumbled off our bodies like raging rivers after a winter thaw, filling muscular crevices and valleys, winding and slip-sliding all the way south to meet a surging ocean of our juices.

I felt her body tensing again, heard her breathing growing shallow, and knew she'd be coming again. Her groin was hot liquid fire that engulfed every inch of me, pleading for ultimate release.

Her muscles contracted and I felt like the trapped prey of a boa constrictor. She cried out, moaning, grunting, begging just as my own heat began rising, then suddenly erupting into her—tripping and falling—plunging over the edge of this very steep cliff, looking down and embracing absolute all-encompassing, ecstatic . . . death.

My heart ticked over with a jolt at the sound of the telephone by the bedside table. I pulled myself free of Talya's entangled body and reached for it

"Yeah?"

"You sound sleepy. I'm not disturbing anything naughty?"

If I'd been asleep when I reached for the phone, the voice on the other end brought me fully awake. "You never did have the common decency to the."

"Tsk, tsk, what kind of greeting is that for old friends like us?"

"We're not old friends, Cosgrove. I want you dead."

"Seems to be a prevailing sentiment lately. Although, unfortunately I have been disappointing people in that regard."

"Well, you can add me to your list. I'm disappointed as hell you're not dead yet."

"Yes, I gathered as much."

"And since it seems you're not calling me from beyond the grave—"

"Not yet, despite attempts to the contrary."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, for one thing, Lawson, that your old friend Zero did not succeed in tracking me down and killing me."

Shit. "Where is he?"

"I really don't know." There was a pause. "Well, that's actually not quite true. I do know where his body is. As for his mind and soul, I can't really say."

"What did you do to him, scumbag?"

"Goodness, it's not me, Lawson. After all, he did insist on trying to stop me and I had little choice but to use him the best way I knew how: as the Sargoth's host body." He chuckled. "I must say it's a tad better than the feminine form of your beloved. The Sargoth appreciated the degree of fitness Zero impressed on himself."

I didn't want to speak, but I forced the words from my mouth. "What ... do you want?"

"Want? I believe you know exactly what I want, Lawson. I want the Council abolished. I want all the Fixers dead. I want to rule the vampires. I want the world to be mine. And it will be too, now that I have successfully risen the Sargoth."

Anger loosened my tongue. "So basically what any other psychotic megalomaniac wants. How touching."

"Yes, isn't it?" He paused. "There is just one trifling matter to be resolved before my dreams become a reality, however."

"Me."

"Naturally, I don't imagine you'd still be interested in a job offer?"

"You know better than to ask that."

"Naturally. Of course you're not. You are a Fixer, after all. What is it they say about you all? Born to the cause? No real idea why you are what you are, but you are it nonetheless. Pitiful existence, really. I mean, the rest of us enjoy a certain degree of autonomy over ourselves, some of us more than others of course, but you and the rest of your antiquated brethren—well, I'd imagine it's a bit of a mind fuck and all, wouldn't you agree? You're a Fixer. Just because. How utterly inglorious."

"It's not about glory."

"Of course it's not. How silly of me to imply so. No, yours is the noblest of callings. Protectors of the masses. Beholders of the traditions. Saviors of the souls. A truly divine calling." He chuckled into the phone.

"Get on with it, Cosgrove."

"Very well. If you won't join me, you leave me no alternative. You'll have to be killed. The Sargoth will kill you."

"What's the matter, can't do it yourself?"

"Of course I could, Lawson. You've never given me much of a challenge. But the Sargoth needs to get used to his new body. And a little combat is just the ticket for success, I think."

"Glad I can help."

"I give you the option to choose the place and time. I know very well that you won't stop trying to kill me. Unfortunately, you're just troubling enough that I need you disposed of prior to wreaking my personal destiny upon this planet. Therefore, I propose we meet and settle our affairs once and for all."

As much as I didn't want to play into his hand, there wasn't much I could do. I had no one to call upon, save for Talya. I had no one I could trust. The Council would take too long to act. If I was going to finish this, it would be up to me, and me alone.

I gripped the phone. "Midnight."

"You cushy old romantic. Where?"

"Top of the old Sears Building in the Fenway."

"Weren't we just there the other night?"

"Yes."

"I like your sense of attempted irony, Lawson. In fact, I might just choose that as my fondest memory of you. You know, after you're dead and all. I'll see you at midnight."

The phone went dead before I could utter any tough-sounding one-liners. In truth, I didn't think I had any left to give.

Thirty-two

I left Talya asleep at the hotel and drove home to Jamaica Plain to prepare for my meeting with Cosgrove. In truth, there was nothing I would have preferred better than to have Talya with me, but she didn't need to be a part of this any longer. Cosgrove was my fight, not hers. I'd told that to Zero but hadn't backed it up by being there instead of him. Now in all likelihood he was probably dead.

Talya would disagree with my sentiment. But the truth was he hadn't only killed Simbik. He'd betrayed the cause and the Council, resurrected some unholy evil, and destroyed one of my oldest friends.

Plus, he still owed a back balance and a helluva lot of interest for killing Robin so many years ago.

For her alone, I was determined to see that he paid the ultimate price. Everything was extra. But it was a big extra.

There would be no quarter given tonight.

By the time we finished, one of us would be dead.

Death isn't something you can prepare for as much as people like to think they can. You can do all the fighting and mental conditioning you think

you can, but it still won't ready you for the first time you see someone dead at your own hands. When they slide from your grasp, their lifeless body slipping to the ground, the last vestiges of life force spilling out of them as fast as their blood.

Sure, you get over it, but the images stay with you forever.

And when you think about it later, your own mortality comes crashing back at you like some steroid-driven linebacker on the football field and knocks the hell out of your pleasant little picture of supposed reality.

It hurts.

It jars you awake.

Makes you think.

But even then, even when you know you can the as easily as anyone else, whether you're a vampire or not, even then there are times when you can't avoid the possibility.

I'd faced death many times before.

And you know what? It never got any easier.

Maybe you can convince yourself dying gloriously is a great way to go out. It's a different matter when all of sudden you look down and see a fatal wound, and then you know; you know in that split second that you're a goner.

Glorious, my ass.

In my business there's only one kind of death . . . and that's downright fucking scary.

But scary doesn't mean you can avoid it.

Sometimes you just had to run headfirst into it and hope to hell you came through it all right,

Life's a bitch, ain't she?

I set out a couple of cans of cat food for Mimi and Phoebe and then mailed a letter to one of my

neighbors. It was a worst-case-scenario-type thing that she'd receive in two days. I enclosed a key with it so she could get into the house. She'd expressed affection for my cats and I couldn't think of anyone else better suited to care for them if I was no longer around.

Mimi sensed it first; she was always more in tune with my mood. She ignored the food and brushed up against my leg, chirping for a hug. I stooped down and picked her up, bringing her close to my face. She butted her head against my face and began purring. I hugged her close and then did the same to Phoebe. I loved them dearly; for years they'd been my only companions.

Downstairs in the basement, I opened the heavy wooden trunk one of my ancestors had brought over from Germany when the family had first come over to the United States. It was handmade and had always been used to house personal effects and special items. Archaic symbols were etched in the wood, inlaid with black mahogany and rosewood. It was a beautiful piece, filled with the sweat and tears of excellent craftsmanship. I'd never been able to match the woodworking talent my ancestors had, but that didn't stop me from trying.

I removed the long coarse cloth from inside the trunk and slowly slid it off the curved length of wood it covered. Even in the darkness I could see the gleaming luster of the oiled lignum vitae, the hardest wood known to man.

It was a bokken, a wooden sword hand made by one of the most well-known weaponsmiths in Japan. Exquisitely carved, masterfully balanced, and perfectly honed, it was as dangerous a killing weapon

as if it had been hand forged out of folded, layered steel.

And to Cosgrove, it would be even deadlier.

The tip could easily stab through flesh. I looked forward to piercing his heart with it.

Next to the bokken, I removed a smaller package. This one contained a hand-braided tanto blade over ten inches in length. The tanto was another gift from the weaponsmith. He'd crafted them for me in exchange for helping him with some unresolved monetary issues concerning the local Yakuza gang. Normally, getting involved with the Japanese Mafia isn't a favorite pastime of mine and I certainly hadn't meant to intercede, but sometimes destiny has a way of injecting you into the flow of life for some reason. And so I'd intervened and saved his life. While he acknowledged his giri, or obligation, to me would never be repaid, he hoped these two gifts would at least help me in my work.

I don't know, perhaps he sensed something about me. Regardless, I'd never had cause to use them before, but I was damned glad I had them now.

I'd bring the gun of course, and plenty of ammunition. But this fight was going to get dirty. Cos-grove was nothing if not dirty. Anyone who killed unarmed children wasn't going to abide by any rules or battlefield honor. And for that, I wanted something special. The bokken and the tanto would help me equalize the playing field.

Upstairs, the phone rang.

Something told me it was probably Talya searching all over town for me. And while I'd never given her my phone number, I knew she could get it if necessary.

She'd be pissed and I couldn't blame her. But this was something else entirely. As a mortal she didn't belong in this game. This was my responsibility alone. The stakes were simply too high.

Especially since I loved her.

My watch beeped and I checked the time. It was going on : P.M. In a little over eight hours, the battle would be joined. Hopefully, in nine hours I'd still be alive.

I needed information.

Like I said before, ancient history wasn't my gig in school, so anything not directly related to my own here and now I generally ignored. Having to face and possible battle the preeminent face of evil in vampire tradition changed matters.

If I was going to win—hell, if I was going to survive—I needed information.

I found Zero's Chevy Tahoe back over in the parking garage by Manray. Sliding underneath the truck with my bag of tools I'd brought from home, I found the alarm wire and cut it before using a slim jim to open the door.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I felt weird. I inhaled and caught a whiff of Zero's deodorant and suddenly it almost felt like he was still there.

But he wasn't.

On the passenger-side I found a zipped small duffel bag. Inside, I found a lot of racing papers, testifying to Zero's love for the ponies, but no books about dealing with the Sargoth.

I sat still in the driver's seat, trying to drum up anything that could help me. That's when I noticed the tape sitting in the dashboard player.

It was a homemade tape labeled COUNTRY HIT. I smiled and pushed it into the player. Zero hated country music.

I waited for the first minute of twangy guitar playing to ride out and was rewarded when Zero's voice came over the speakers.

"If you're listening to this, odds aren't good that I survived. Hopefully, you were able to get into my truck without setting off the alarm.

"You'll have to take Cosgrove out yourself, Lawson. Don't go to the Council. At a time like this, they'd be more likely to try to negotiate rather than fight back. And we both know all too well that negotiation with Cosgrove, or anyone like him, will never work.

"We've spent the last week or so trying to figure out exactly how Cosgrove hopes to ally himself with the humans. That and his damned quest to resurrect the Sargoth. If he succeeds at that, the game may well be over—not only for our society as we know it, but also for the humans.

"There aren't many like us, Lawson. I think you know that by now. Fixers, by and large, care only about the vampires, but we know it goes beyond that sometimes. Our protection, our devotion to the Balance, impacts the humans as well. And they fall, whether anyone else has the guts to admit it or not, under our protection.

"I'm betting that if indeed Cosgrove is crazy enough to try to invoke the Sargoth, he'll need a host body. The Sargoth can't exist on this plane without a material body. It can be human or vampire, but if it's human, once the Sargoth takes possession, the body becomes vampire and can never be returned to human.

"He'd prefer a vampire host, though. The Sar-goth is much more powerful residing in a vampire body. That said, I am at a loss as to how you would go about destroying him. It may not even be possible, considering the awesome power inherent within the Sargoth.

"You'll have to find a way, Lawson. There must be one. The universe wouldn't allow the creation of such a power without a means to also destroy it.

"I told you I knew of another Elder here in the Boston area. I wasn't lying, but he's not what I'd call an active Elder. He has a bit of a checkered past.

"You must find the Elder known as Wirek. He lives on Beacon Hill, close to the Council chambers, above the store on the corner. He is perhaps the only trustworthy soul you can turn to now. Although he is a bit eccentric. And a drunk. But he is still the only person who has studied the ancient texts. Only he will know how to deal with the Sargoth.

"Whatever the outcome of your meeting with Wirek, take care when you go after Cosgrove. Do whatever you must do and never hesitate. There'll be time for sentiment later. Just get the job done.

"It's been a real honor working with you all these years. Now do me one last favor and finish what we started."

The tape clicked off, leaving me alone in the darkened interior. I removed the tape and sat there alone.

Barely breathing.

Thirty-three

Getting information from a drunken Elder didn't buoy my spirits any, but beggars can't be choosers, and right now I was looking like a skid row veteran.

I found the building easily enough. Just like Zero said, it sat above a small convenience store. I bought a few supplies before finding the small doorway around the corner. The name below the doorbell read WIREK. Evidently, he wasn't shy. Taking a quick breath, I pressed the buzzer.

It took him ten seconds to reply. "Yeah?"

"My name's Lawson. Zero sent me."

"Who the hell is Zero?"

Great. Amnesia too. I didn't have time to debate this. "Open the door and let me come up."

"No way. You might be one of those crazy teenagers down the block trying to get my Social Security check."

"I'm not here to rob you. I need your help." I paused. "I've got a gift for you."

"Yeah? What kind of gift?"

"A bottle of tequila."

There was a pause. "One worm or two?"

"Dos gusanos, amigo."

Another pause, and then the door latch clicked

open. I stepped inside, breathing in the heavy, musty air. Rickety wooden steps led up, winding as they went. I caught a whiff of dank urine, old mothballs, and a faint scent of alcohol. Wirek lived in a real palace.

A door opened somewhere above me. "You there?"

"Yeah, just dodging some trash down here."

"Hurry up with that tequila, damn it."

Wirek, when I finally crested the stairs, looked old. Check that, the guy looked ancient. Skin hung from his face like heavy drapes in a funeral parlor. His forehead was freckled and what little hair he had left poked out of his scalp at strange angles. He wore a stained, pockmarked gray sweatshirt emblazoned with RUNS WITH SCISSORS across the chest. He stretched out a bony hand and I went to shake it.

He frowned. "Gimme the damned bottle."

"Nice to meet you too." I handed him the tequila.

Wirek cradled it like he'd just spent twenty-four hours in labor delivering the silly thing. After a moment he looked at me. "You said Zero sent you?"

"Apparently, only as a last resort."

He chuckled. "Sonny, if you come to me, it is a last resort. Come inside."

He turned and wandered back into the apartment, already unscrewing the cap on the tequila.

I ducked inside the doorway and shuddered. Clutter filled every inch of space. Papers littered the floor and huge shelves of books lined the walls. A chandelier with burned-out bulbs hung over what must have once been a dining-room table but had

long since become something of a desk. Over in the corner sat an orange plaid recliner with the footrest up and a remote control on the armrest. I noticed a porn tape nearby. An overwhelming stench of bad booze hung in the air. Glancing about the room, I could see the empty glass-bottle remains of a recent drinking binge.

Wirek freed the tequila and took a long drag. He belched once and looked at me. "Want some?"

"No." I pointed at the porno. "Not interrupting something, am I?"

He chuckled. "Nah, I finished a few minutes ago." He leaned closer. "Ain't ya glad I didn't shake your hand now?" He took another sip.

"Thrilled. I need some information."

He sighed and wandered back to his chair, easing himself down bone by bone. "You young ones, always in a rush these days. No time for socializing." He took another swig and looked me over. "Fixer, huh?"

"How'd you know?"

He frowned again. "You know how old I am? Eight hundred years old. You know how much I've seen in my lifetime? Enough for fifty lifetimes. You know how many Fixers I've seen? Too many. I know a Fixer when I see one." He shrugged. "Besides, you've got the look."

"What look?"

"Oh, that look of impending doom and disaster so common to anyone in the profession." He grinned. "Seen it a million times."

"Well, I've got good cause to look this way."

He laughed again. "If only you knew how many times I've heard that."

I sighed. "Look, Wirek, I don't mean to be rude—"

"Too late."

"But there's some serious shit going on and I need your help. Obviously, if I could handle this on my own, I wouldn't be bothering you."

"But you can't. Yeah, yeah, I know." He helped himself to another swig and then wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. "So what is it this time?"

"A conspiracy."

Wirek frowned. "You don't need me to help with a conspiracy. If you're worth your salt, you oughta be able to handle a measly conspiracy."

"If it was just that, you're right—I could. But it's not. It's what the conspiracy hopes to accomplish."

Wirek looked up. "So what is it?"

"The resurrection of the Sargoth."

Wirek stopped smiling. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"The Sargoth?"

"That's what I said."

Wirek put the tequila down. "We don't have much time."

"I was saying."

He leaped out of the armchair and strode over to one of the bookcases. "Tell me what's going on."

"Someone is trying to invoke him. Bring him onto this plane."

"Has he already done so?"

I nodded. "I'm pretty sure he has."

Wirek hauled a huge book off the shelf and slapped it down on the table. Dust flew from the leather-encased tome. I saw lettering that resembled the symbols I'd seen on Cosgrove's altar.

"That's Taluk, right?"

"I don't give out gold stars, kid." But he nodded anyway. "This is the tome of the ancients. There are very few copies left. I translated this version myself sometime ago." He flipped open the pages and began rifling through them.

"Who is the host?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"Human or vampire?"

I heard Zero's voice again in my mind. Saw him disappearing after Cosgrove at the plant, and felt a pain in my chest. "At this point, most likely vampire."

"Damn." Wirek kept turning pages and then abruptly stopped. "Here." He paused for a minute, reading the ancient scribble, and finally looked up. "You can't kill the Sargoth."

"But Zero said—"

"He couldn't have known. Once the Sargoth is invoked and resides in a vampire host body, it cannot be killed. If it was in a human body, possibly it could. But not a vampire."

I leaned back into the wall. "Then it's over."

Wirek shook his head. "Hang on, don't give up so easily." He frowned. "You this easily thwarted when you're out Fixing?"

"It's been a long fucking week."

"Hmph. Youth. No staying power." He pointed into the book. "See this?"

"I can't read Taluk."

Wirek frowned. "Of course you can't. Someday you should learn. This is the history of your people, you know." He leaned back into the book. "According to this, the Sargoth can be banished from

this plane. You can send him back where he came from."

"Yeah? How so?"

Wirek chewed his lip. "You won't like it. I've known you for all of five minutes and I already know you won't like it."

"I don't have to like it. I just have to do it."

"Yeah." Wirek's teeth found a small piece of skin and tore it off his lip. Blood oozed out of the cut. "You'll have to destroy the host body."

My heart pounded. Zero. Wirek nodded.

"I take it you know the host."

"I think it's Zero."

Wirek sighed. "No one said the job would be easy all those years ago, did they, sonny?"

"No."

He put a hand on my shoulder. "You'll have to do it, you know? If the Sargoth is unleashed, there's no telling what kind of damage it would do to the society."

"It would be the end of our society. The man summoning him is bent on destroying the Council and assuming leadership himself."

"Figures." Wirek found the tequila bottle again and had himself another drag. "Powermongers always want more than they can handle. Bastards."

"There's no other way, is there?"

Wirek shook his head. "I wish there was. But there isn't."

By the time I got down to the Fenway and parked the Jetta, it was already creeping toward ten o'clock. I wanted to be in position first and be able to dominate the scene as opposed to walk into an

unknown variable. In Cosgrove's case, unknown variable meant one of his specialty ambushes. Not the best way to start things off.

The November winds blasted through the thick black cotton fatigues I wore over my lug-soled boots. I'd washed the fatigues enough so that the cotton was now soft and made no noise when I brushed against it. I'd strapped the pistol under my armpit in a shoulder holster while I carried the tanto in one of my pockets and kept the bokken close to my side. No one seemed to notice another guy dressed in black walking the streets by abandoned office buildings. And the police only cruised the residential areas, so they wouldn't bother me.

Of course, if anybody thought about messing around with me, I felt certain that notion would be a short-lived one. Given what must have been a look of fierce and grim determination on my face, danger would do well to avoid me tonight.

I rounded the corner by D'Angelo's, crossed Brookline Avenue, and ducked into the shadowy recesses of the building. A knot in my stomach tightened as the woozy deja vu swept over me, reminding me that I almost lost my life here a week ago.

Homecomings always thrilled me.

I once had a friend who insisted that everything in life was like a giant wheel. Stay around long enough and you'd see the same things come right back again. It made sense. Hell, even bell-bottom jeans had made an unfortunate attempt to reclaim their fifteen minutes of fame.

Maybe that's why I chose this place for what I hoped would be our final battle. Tonight was about waging war on my terms, not Cosgrove's. I had a

grocery list of vendettas and plenty of Karmic coupons.

I cut across part of the parking lot and made my way over to the side door. The lock was already broken and I crept inside within a minute. I sprinted to the stairs, avoiding the sea of rats as much as I could. I'd remembered to tuck my pants into my boots so I didn't have to relive the unique terror of having one of those furry bastards crawl up my leg.

At the top of the stairs, I paused, catching my breath. The door before me gave easily and I stepped onto the roof.

Howling winds whipped at my face, roared in my ears, and made goose bumps leap off my skin. I glanced around quickly.

Empty.

Relief, a temporary sensation lately, laid its hand across my shoulder. Part of me had expected Cos-grove to set up an ambush. Apparently, he was going to play this one straight. Or at least as straight as was possible for someone like him.

I'd play it straight too.

I'd do whatever it took to send that bastard straight to hell.

Wirek's words came back to my mind. I was heartbroken about having to possibly kill Zero. Even trying to rationalize it as just his physical body wasn't working too well. In all likelihood Zero was already dead. Having the Sargoth take over your body presumably killed you. Zero's soul had already departed for the other side.

I hoped to hell he'd be watching me, trying to help me sort this whole mess out.

I thought about Talya. I thought about last night,

about how wonderful it felt to be in her arms, to feel the pulse of her body as we made love. It was a tragically long-overdue sensation.

I was willing to bet she was mighty pissed off right now.

I checked the black army watch strapped to my wrist and saw the two hands growing closer together.

Eleven o'clock.

One hour to go.

Thirty-four

Where sixty minutes went in such a short time, I'll never know. But despite there being nothing apparently different, as subtly as the wind drew another long, cold breath across that rooftop, something changed.

Cosgrove.

I don't know which part of me sensed him first. And honestly, spending too much time trying to figure it out would have most likely meant my death.

Breezes tossed broken bottles, crushed bits of paper, and rusty nails around the roof, making sounds difficult to pinpoint. I eased back toward one edge, keeping the bokken down against my leg, hopefully out of sight. I needed every advantage I could get.

In the blink of an eye, he was there. On the roof with me. More wind scared up the billowy length of his black overcoat, flapping it and spreading it like giant ironic wings behind his dark form. In the darkness his smile flashed like a beacon of light.

"Lawson."

It was more of a hiss than a voice. Never had I

felt such evil, even from him. It oozed from every pore, bled outward from his tainted aura, and contaminated everything around him. He was obviously enjoying the moment.

"You haven't brought your lover tonight?"

"Better she's not involved any longer," I said.

Cosgrove grunted. "I'll hunt her down anyway. Just out of spite."

His callous regard for her angered me. I gripped the bokken a little more tightly, almost feeling the oiled wood conform to the shape of my hand. Something about it lent me strength, perhaps the aged wood itself had been imbued with some ancient Shinto spirit.

"I imagine she'll be as easy to put down as she was before."

"She might surprise you, Cosgrove. She's certainly surprised me."

He chuckled. "That doesn't take much, Lawson."

I noticed the flesh-colored bandage on his face, the vague nasal twang to his voice. "How's your nose, Cosgrove? Still hurt?"

He grinned. "My nose, Lawson, has been redone so many times it no longer even feels like a part of my flesh. You caused me some pain, true, but once I've dealt with you and your lady, I'll simply have it fixed again."

"How about I do it for you instead? My services are free."

He laughed. "A card to the end. I'll treasure the memory of your humor long after you're dead."

It had felt good to sling a barb or two across the roof at him. I did it more to work out the butterflies hopping around my intestines than anything else. But nothing lasts forever and I wanted to get

this over with as fast as possible. "Let's do this, Cosgrove."

He smiled again. "Of course." He shrugged. "Although, I would have thought you'd be curious to know what I've done with your old friend."

Zero. Damn. "Where is he?"

Cosgrove's smile grew even larger. "Why, Lawson, he's here of course."

He stepped away and Zero loomed behind him.

But it wasn't Zero any longer. His eyes stared at me across the expanse of the roof, empty and void. Where once his spirit had rested, now something else, the Sargoth, occupied it.

I'd mourn Zero's loss later. I couldn't afford to get emotional now. I needed to finish this.

"Naturally, Lawson, I'll be only too glad to fight with you, provided you're able to best the Sargoth, first."

There was no expression on Zero's face as he moved across the roof slowly. Each step seemed to make my apprehension grow even more. I'd never relished the idea of fighting Zero when he was Zero. Now that he was the embodiment of the most evil specter in vampire mythology, I was even less thrilled. I wondered briefly how the Sargoth would find operating in someone else's body.

But I'd learn soon enough.

Zero and I had never sparred before, so I had no idea what to expect from him. But anyway, it really wasn't Zero anymore. I felt certain the Sargoth had his own style of combat. One that would most likely be old and unforgiving.

When he launched the attack, I hardly had a chance to get out of the way. One second he was ambling over and the next he was rushing toward

me with his hands outstretched, seeking my head, neck, and who knew what else.

I jerked to the side, avoided his attack, and brought the bokken up sharply against his rib cage. I heard a satisfying crack as several ribs shattered. I moved again and followed up by bringing the bokken down on his head—hard. Another dull thwack told me I'd fractured his skull. He sank to the rooftop and slumped to one side.

I turned my attention to Cosgrove, who strangely seemed totally unfazed by my countering of the Sargoth's initial attack.

My mistake, letting my attention be diverted. I found out why a second later when the Sargoth attacked me from behind and knocked me flat. I lost hold of the bokken, which went skittering across the roof toward one edge. Wind rushed out of my lungs as Zero's body landed squarely on top of me.

I wriggled around, getting my back against the rooftop, and fought off the first of ten rapid-fire punches aimed at my head. Ground fighting was a bitch, but if I kept moving, I stood a better chance rather than just bunching up and hoping for the best. In my case it'd mean death.

Two punches got through and bounced off my ears, making them ring. I grabbed a handful of flesh around Zero's rib cage and twisted and yanked.

It should have produced some kind of effect.

It should have made the Sargoth leap a bit and allow me room to get out of the situation.

It should have.

It didn't.

Cosgrove's voice floated across the rooftop, laden with glee. "In case you haven't already surmised,

Lawson, when the Sargoth takes possession of a host body, it does not invade the host's neurology. It therefore feels no pain. Your martial skills will unfortunately prove very ineffective against him."

Great.

I shifted again, trying to get my hips out from where he straddled me. I punched up, and as he shifted to block it, I squiggled out a bit more.

That move cost me. Three punches crashed into my diaphragm. I sucked in liquid fire.

But I had managed to get some more room, so I did it again. It brought the same response, but I finally managed to get to my feet.

The Sargoth looked up, seemed vaguely amused, and slowly got to his feet.

I put a front stomp kick into the side of his right knee, hoping to shatter the knee joint. If it couldn't walk, I reasoned, it couldn't get me.

Fat chance.

The kick was good, and I cracked the knee joint, but the Sargoth obviously paid no heed to it since he continued walking toward me.

"Structural damage does little as well," called Cosgrove. He was obviously enjoying his role as commentator.

I backed up, abruptly aware that I was getting far too close to the edge. The Sargoth loomed closer, spreading his arms as if to engulf me. I was sure it would mean a helluva lot of pain, so I backed up even more until I could go no farther without toppling headlong off the roof.

It sensed this. The Sargoth smiled.

And came closer.

My foot rolled off a rusted nail, almost causing me to stumble. I righted myself just as the Sargoth

drew down the distance between us to almost nothing.

Then . . .

A single crack pierced the darkness, halting the Sargoth's approach. The front of his shirt blossomed bright crimson and the Sargoth looked down, amazed and confused, stumbling and falling. . . .

Dead.

Who?

A vortex of wind ripped the rooftop apart, sending papers, trash, and everything else into the air. It hurt to see, but Zero's body lifted off the roof ten feet, exploded into a bright rush of blue light, and then vanished, leaving intense silence. It looked like something out of the Highlander, a movie I'd seen a few years back.

But I'd caught a glimpse of someone in the flash of light. A lone figure silhouetted against a nearby rooftop with a long sniper rifle.

Talya?

"Well, it looks as though I may have underestimated your ability to take care of the Sargoth," said Cosgrove as he calmly removed his cape. "No bother. I'll simply invoke him again once I kill you. Shouldn't be too difficult to find another host body." He looked up, smiling. "My kudos to you on supplying your lover with the requisite wooden bullets needed to kill Zero's body."

I was still breathing hard. "Wasn't my doing."

"No?"

"No idea who that was."

Cosgrove smiled. "No matter. I'll find out soon enough."

He moved then, rushing at me almost as fast as

the Sargoth had. I tried sidestepping again, but my ribs ached badly and delayed my pivot just enough that Cosgrove caught me with a solid punch to my jaw.

Stars bounced around my skull. Damn, that hurt like hell.

He tried following up with a kick to my groin, but I deflected it by bringing my knee up. I used the moment to head butt him hard off the corner of his eyebrow. He grunted and fell back away, giving me a second.

If I'd been in better shape, I could have launched an attack, but I needed the space to catch my breath. Still, the blow to his eye must have stung him badly since he seemed a bit dizzy.

I faked a jab to his head, which he went to block, and then slammed a front kick to his left hip socket, knocking him back and down. I tried following up with another kick to his knee, but Cos-grove scrambled away, tossing a cloud of dirt at my face.

I ducked, catching just a bit in my left eye. Grit made blinking a bitch. Tears rolled down my face as I tried to clear my vision.

He came at me again, launching a kick into my stomach that propelled me back across the roof, falling and tumbling like a soda can toward the edge.

I scrambled, flailed, dragging myself to a stop, feeling bits of gravel bite into my palms.

He was on me then, kneeing, punching, grasping, spitting, trying his damnedest to wound me enough that he could then stake my heart with a sharpened piece of timber from the roof.

We rolled back toward the edge and then away

from it. I grunted loud when we rolled over something long and thin. I realized it was the bokken that the Sargoth had knocked away from me earlier. It hurt like hell when I rolled over it with my spine.

Cosgrove kept us moving and now I tried to use one of my hands to find the bokken, to try to get it in between us so I could slam it into him.

No good. Cosgrove kept the momentum moving away from the bokken, and his punches demanded my attention.

He spit in my face and nailed my left eye again. My vision blurred once more and I brought my knee into his groin hard, catching him full in the sac. He grunted, moaned, and rolled off me.

I wiped the sputum from my eye and went after him, catching him twice more with kicks to his thigh and midsection. He fell back to the rooftop and rolled backward into the shadows.

I turned slightly and was at last able to make out the outline of the bokken lying a short distance away.

If I could just get it—

The click made me stop.

"You've been practicing, I see."

I turned around, edging myself just a little bit closer to the bokken. Cosgrove was holding a pistol very much like the one I carried. I felt for my holster and frowned. In the grappling Cosgrove had fleeced the damned thing off me. If I made it through this alive, I was really going to have to improve my weapon-retention skills.

Now he was aiming my gun at me.

I sucked wind. "After all this you'll use that pussy gun on me, Cosgrove?"

He seemed to be breathing hard too. "Why not?

Dead is dead, Lawson. I must admit that I am getting very tired. Tired of your continued presence on this planet. Seems to me it's about time for you to join your recently departed friends. Leave me to my destined greatness."

"You've never been a warrior, Cosgrove. You've never been one to appreciate the rules of the hunt, the traditions of our community. The only thing you've ever obsessed about is your own personal gain."

"If you think talking to me is going to save your life, Lawson, I'm afraid you're wasting your time. I'm quite determined to pull this trigger and make all my Lawson problems go away forever." He smiled and I noticed his teeth were bloody. Good. That meant I'd hurt him. "Now stand still and let me make this nice and quick for you."

I shifted slightly. "Nice and quick? You're getting merciful now, Cosgrove?"

"Not merciful, Lawson. Just tired of you."

"I'll take drat as a compliment." I moved a little farther to the right.

"Take it as whatever you wish. Now stand still."

In the darkness I heard the hammer being pulled back, could almost see his finger tightening on the trigger, his tendons flexing to take up the slack, almost feel the spring inside the gun tightening, then beginning to release.

I vaulted sideways just as the first of two shots rang out. I hit the rooftop hard, real hard, but rolled over my right shoulder and let my hands search the darkness for the bokken. I grasped it, continued rolling, aware that Cosgrove had his attention focused on the rooftop where the sniper bullet had originated from earlier.

With no time to waste, I came up, moving and breathing hard and fast, covering the space between Cosgrove and me, tearing it down to nothing just as he started to realize I was behind him and coming fast.

He turned.

I dropped.

Roared with every ounce of intention.

Straightened,

And plunged the bokken deep into his chest beneath his xyphoid process, rammed it home—heard the cartilage crack-give-relinquish the bloated prize within his chest.

Cosgrove gagged violently, coughed, and slumped backward, taking the bokken with him. It jutted obscenely out of his chest.

He looked down, amazed, and then looked up, trying to bring my pistol up and shoot me again.

I dived toward him, rolled, and came out of the roll with my foot slamming the pommel of the bokken into him even deeper, feeling his spine give as the wood went through his back. Cosgrove fell back to the rooftop and lay still.

I squatted on the roof, breathing hard. Saliva flooded my mouth, dripped and drooled out of me while my heart hammered in my chest. I felt nauseous. Hell, I wanted to vomit my soul.

The bulge in my cargo pocket was still there and I took out the tanto. It wasn't even bent from the constant rolling. Damned if it wasn't one of the finest pieces I'd ever owned.

I limped over to Cosgrove's form. He was still breathing, but shallow. His pupils were dilating fully. He was close to death.

Even still, I took my pistol out of his hands and

tucked it back into my shoulder holster. He tried to grin.

"Lawson."

I frowned. "You're finished, Cosgrove."

He grunted and some red foam trickled out of his mouth. "You haven't won, Lawson. This isn't over."

"No?" I nodded toward the bokken still jutting out of his chest cavity. "You're an optimistic soul, Cosgrove. I'd say you're as good as dead."

". . . I'll be back."

I shook my head. "I don't think so, Cosgrove. Not this time. Not ever again."

"I've made a deal with the Devil, Lawson. You can't kill me."

I lifted him up from the rooftop and brought my face close to his, smelling his bloody breath. "Oh, yes, I can. For your crimes against the Council. For your crimes against the community. For your crimes against humanity. For everything you've done in the name of evil." My voice was a hiss now. My eyes felt hot. "But especially for what you did to Robin, for the pain you've caused this world, our people. For everything, Cosgrove, you are sentenced to death."

His eyes grew wide then when he saw the tanto blade catch a glint from a nearby light and reflect into his dilated eyes.

With my last ounce of strength, I let his head go and simultaneously swung the length of the blade down and through his neck, decapitating him with one stroke of the finely honed steel.

A column of blood heaved out of him, spraying off the side of the rooftop. His head rolled to the rooftop, eyes open, and now entirely vacant. A final

gasp of air escaped his lips, like a last sighing breath.

And it was over.

I wiped the tanto off on his cloak and replaced it in its sheath. It took me a few minutes to gather my breath, to calm the adrenaline that had been flooding my system, to come back down from the combat mode I'd been in.

I grabbed Cosgrove's head by a scruff of hair and stood looking out at the city, I scanned the nearby rooftops but couldn't see anything.

Talya was gone. If she'd ever been there to begin with.

Looking out over the city, everything seemed still. The winds had died down. The chill had thawed. Even the night seemed a little lighter.

Those of us who belong to the profession believe in the Balance as being more than just the line between humans and vampires. It's the scheme of universal justice, the laws of totality ruling that every act of evil will someday answer to an act of good.

Maybe tonight, the Balance had been restored.

It sure seemed like it

Maybe.

Or maybe it was just that I was tired as hell.

I raised Cosgrove's head in silent salute. To Zero, Simbik, Robin, and to the last vestiges of my haunted, imperfect past. Beneath me, above me, and all around me, the city slept.

And suddenly, that seemed like a very good idea.

Epilogue

The next day dawned a lot brighter than I would have preferred, given the fact that I could easily have slept for another twelve hours. Unfortunately, cleaning up the mess of Cosgrove's insidious plot meant an unexpected trip to see the Council. Normally, Fixers never actually went before the Council since our respective Controls usually acted as intermediaries. But since McKinley had come to a rather sudden death and I was sans a handler, I went in person.

The brownstone on Beacon Hill seemed as old as the city itself. A heavy wrought iron fence barred outsiders, and a pair of gargoyles loomed over the main entrance, glaring at me as I paused to ring the bell.

It took three minutes for Arthur, who looked desperate for some plastic surgery in daylight, to answer the door and show me inside.

"I heard," he said by way of greeting.

I sighed. "Couldn't be helped. Believe me, I tried to find another way."

"I know it. We'll miss him, his old friends, we will."

"Yeah." But I felt like I'd miss him more than anyone else.

Arthur laid a hand on my shoulder. "You did your best, aye?"

"I did."

"Then that's as much an honor as he could have hoped for. You understand that, right, Lawson?"

Maybe I did. It still hurt like hell. I looked at him. "I need to see them."

He nodded at the bag I carried. "Can I take that for you?"

"No. Thanks. I'll hold on to it."

He gestured ahead of me down the corridor. "You know the way. I'll introduce you."

We walked down a mahogany-paneled hallway, passing painted portraits of former Council members who had since passed on. The thick red carpet underfoot muffled our footsteps as we continued on. I came to the conclusion that the interior of the house was a lot larger than it seemed from the outside.

Arthur paused outside of a heavy oak door and nodded. "Good luck."

I waited until he'd disappeared again down the hall and then grasped the doorknob, turned it, and swung it open.

A wall of heat from a crackling fireplace enveloped me as I stepped inside and let my eyes grow accustomed to the dimly lit interior.

There were six of them in total. All older than me by hundreds of years. Four men and two women sitting in the thick, worn high-backed leather chairs in a half circle. We stared at each other for a moment and finally one of them, older than the others, spoke.

"Lawson." He seemed unsure of my presence.

I nodded. "McKinley is dead."

"How?"

"Part of a conspiracy to destabilize the Council, to disrupt the fabric of our community, and threaten the Balance itself."

"What proof have you?"

Probably a lifetime of scars. "If you search his home on Marlborough Street, you'll find coded files on his computer showing distributions and account numbers."

"Money?" He laughed. "Absurd. McKinley would have no want of money."

"Children."

He stopped. "What did you say?"

"The distributions were sex slaves. McKinley's taste ran to the obscene. He was a pedophile, a predator, and took his bribe from Cosgrove in the form of children he could corrupt."

"How do you know this?"

"We interrupted one of his trysts."

"You mentioned Cosgrove. I take it he was involved."

I sighed. "Cosgrove was the instigator of this whole affair. I told you a long time ago that he was dangerous. You chose not to listen to me. Scores of humans have perished as a result."

"Humans do not interest us."

"Bullshit."

That got their attention. I continued. "You know as well as I do that we need humans. We'd be extinct without them in a generation. Cosgrove's flagrant disregard for the Balance, for the laws that govern us, almost resulted in our deaths."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps nothing. You were his first target. With you out of the way, he intended to set himself up as dictator. He'd recruited Controls from all over the Northeast to help him."

"Who?"

"Xavier. McKinley. Possibly others. I can't be sure." The heat made me sweat. "Both of them are dead. As is Zero."

"Zero was involved too?"

"Zero is the one you should all be thankful for. He discovered the conspiracy, confided in me, and together we defeated the traitors. Cosgrove, however, had more up his sleeve than just a simple conspiracy of betrayal. He invoked the Sargoth and used Zero's body as the host."

The were murmurs in the room. The old one shushed them and turned back to me. "The Sargoth? You're joking. That's nothing but a legend."

"Then I fought a legend last night."

One of the women spoke up. "If that's true, you'd be dead."

"The host body was destroyed. According to the ancient texts, it had to be that way. The Sargoth was banished back to wherever he came from. He couldn't exist on this plane without a live host body."

"Indeed. And what of Cosgrove?"

"I killed him."

The old one smiled. "So after all this time, you finally succeeded."

I frowned. "Seems to me you'd be happy for that fact."

He shrugged. "All of this matters little over time."

I shifted the bag at my side. "I've done my duty."

"So you have." He paused and looked at the others. "There are other matters to discuss, however. It has come to our attention that you have committed some crimes yourself."

"What the hell does that mean?"

He looked at me. "The human woman named Talya. You are in love with her. The laws, our laws, state that is forbidden."

"I don't think that's an issue anymore."

"No?"

"I left her before I killed Cosgrove. She's likely so upset she'll never want to see me again."

"That doesn't change the fact that you loved her."

"No," I said, "it doesn't. But like you said. All of this matters little over time."

"Some things matter more than others."

I took a deep breath. "Are you telling me that the massive conspiracy I helped crush, the evil I dispatched back to wherever it came from, the deaths of several associates I considered friends, and the very destiny of our community doesn't matter as much as me falling in love with a human?"

"We didn't say that."

"Sure sounds to me like you just did."

"May I remind you, Lawson, that you are before the Council?"

"Remind me all you want. Right now I'm the only goddamned Fixer you've got operational in this sector who wasn't ready to see you all killed. Do you understand that? The only one. Seems to me you can overlook my small transgression and focus instead on the bigger picture."

"We'll take that into consideration."

"You do that. In the meantime I need a new

Control. And try to make sure he's not a goddamned traitor this time. I also want a few weeks of leave."

"Why on earth for?"

"Recuperation. I need a rest. Fighting the Sar-goth and Cosgrove isn't exactly a prescription for healthy living. I'll be home if you need me. You know the number." I turned to leave.

"Lawson."

I turned back around. "What?"

"Your actions with a human woman won't be tolerated again."

No shit. But to be honest, the way I was feeling, I didn't even care. I hefted the bag at my side. "Here." I lobbed the sack and watched as it tumbled through the air, landed in front of them, and spilled Cosgrove's grayish-hued blood-encrusted head out onto the floor. Several of the Council members blanched and turned away.

I smirked. "You can do more with this than I can. Have fun cleaning up. I'm going home to sleep."

Outside, the typical November weariness had chased the sun away and replaced its warmth with wisps of gray indecision. I pulled the collar up on my leather jacket, turned left on Beacon Street, and continued down toward Charles, where the noontime lunch rush seemed in full swing.

At the Starbucks coffee shop, I caught a glimpse in the window, felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and eased off down Beacon toward the Hampshire House. I crossed over into the Public

Gardens and meandered through the winding asphalt pathways.

She caught up with me near the rose beds, long since wilted and hidden underground until the spring warmth woke them again.

I sat down on the bench as she approached.

I smiled.

She didn't.

She sat and kept a good six feet away from me. We were just two strangers on the bench. Even now, despite everything, she was professional to the end.

"You tried to fuck me, Lawson." It came out in a hiss. Spitting venom never sounded so hateful.

"I did fuck you, Talya."

"I'm not talking about the sex; I'm talking about screwing me out of my vengeance."

I kept looking straight ahead. "I did what I thought was necessary to protect your safety."

"You almost got yourself killed."

"Goes with the territory, hon."

"You make it sound so heroic. So noble." She snorted in derision. "Spare me that sentiment. I've heard it before."

"It's my job."

"It's more than a job to you, Lawson. I know that much about you."

"You know more about me than you're willing to admit, Talya. You said so yourself."

"Did I?"

"As I recall, you whispered that you didn't care what I was."

She fell silent for just a moment. "Would you have told me?"

I didn't know and told her as much. "But for

what it's worth, I knew you'd eventually realize it anyway."

"The man I killed on the roof. He was your friend Zero, wasn't he?"

I shook my head. "Not when you killed him. His body had been taken from him. Used as a conveyance for a powerful spirit entity. Zero was dead long before you killed his physical body."

"I wondered if you'd kill me for it. Do you know that?"

"For killing Zero? You did him a favor. Hell, you did me a favor." I shook my head. "Besides, I couldn't kill you, Talya. I love you too much for that."

Even without looking at her, I could feel her gaze on me, intense, probing.

"What did you say?"

"I said what you thought I said." I turned, looking at her for the first time. "I mean it."

She looked away. "I don't know what to say, Lawson."

"Say what you feel."

"I can't deny I feel love for you. It's more powerful than anything I've ever felt in my lifetime. It's so tangible that it makes my heart yearn for you completely." She shook her head. "But you left me, Lawson. You left me, knowing how badly I needed to kill Cosgrove. You betrayed me."

"I saved your life, Talya."

"I saved your life, Lawson."

I nodded. "Yes, you did. And I'm eternally grateful for that. But if you'd been on that rooftop with me, you would have perished. And you would have died without fulfilling your need for revenge. You'd have died empty. Alone."

"Maybe, but I would have tried—"

"You did try, and you did help kill Cosgrove. I certainly couldn't have done what needed to be done without your help. Your timing was superb. It gave me the opening I needed."

She searched the surrounding area with her eyes. "How long have you lived, Lawson?"

"Over a hundred years."

"And how much longer will you live?"

I smirked. "Don't know. In this line of work, you can never tell."

"Forget the goddamned line of work, Lawson. Tell me how long your kind lives."

"About four or five hundred years. On a good day."

"And how many other human women have you loved like me already in your lifetime, Lawson? How many other women have you watched grow old and die while you aged at a mere trifle in comparison?"

"None."

She seemed surprised. "None?"

"Love for a human is forbidden in our society. Sex is acceptable. Love is not. We're prohibited from entering into a courtship with humans."

"But you told me you loved me."

"I do."

"But it's forbidden."

"Yes, it is. And I don't care."

She looked at me again and I smiled at her. Emotions seemed to dance over her face with no regard to rhythm and order.

"What's the penalty for loving me, Lawson?"

I shrugged. "Depends, actually. It can range from a suspension to a termination order. With my re-

cord I could get a suspension and the relationship would have to end. But with my attitude they'd probably save themselves a lot of trouble and just order my death." I hesitated. "And yours."

She nodded. "I expected as much."

"But I don't care, Talya. They can hunt us to the ends of the earth. I—"

"Lawson. Stop." She shook her head. "Listen to yourself. You're talking like a naive fool. We're both too professional for this sentiment. You know as well as I do that if they want us badly enough, they'll find us no matter where we go. And I don't like running. I never have. I'd much rather meet them head-on and deal with it that way."

"They'd send more like me. Probably better. We'd die."

"Yes," she said, "we would."

I sighed.

Talya cleared her throat. "Which is why we can't go on with this."

I turned to her. "What do you mean?"

"Lawson, you know what I mean. This whole 'us' thing has to end. Here. Now. I can't have it on my conscience. I can't ask you to sacrifice your job, your life, your everything just for me." She grinned. "Hell, we haven't even really discussed the fact that you are a vampire, for God's sake. I can tell you that has messed me up something fierce."

"So what now?"

"Now nothing," said Talya. "Like I said, we end this. I want you out of my life. Forever."

"But—"

"But nothing, Lawson." She stood up and turned toward me. "Give me a hug and be done with it."

My heart ached. She looked so absolutely stun-

ning in her long overcoat, her hair swept back off her face and tied in a neat bun. Her eyes even seemed moist. I knew it was tearing her up. Hell, it was killing me.

But I hugged her anyway, felt her arms close around my waist, inhaled her perfume, tried to hold on to the scent forever, leaned in and kissed her cold moist cheeks.

"I love you."

She pulled out of my embrace, turned away, then walked off. I watched her exit the park by the wrought iron gateway leading toward Newbury Street. In seconds she'd been swallowed up by the crowds.

I wanted to chase after her so badly.

Wanted to catch her.

Wanted.

I stayed solidly locked to the sidewalk. Unable to move. My heart pounded in my chest so hard it hurt like hell. I wanted to heave my guts all over the sidewalk.

But I didn't.

After five minutes I began breathing again, aware of the moist heat I felt in my eyes.

Two minutes later I could walk again.

But I didn't follow her.

I walked back to the Boston Common garage and descended the stairs until I reached the lower level. It was just as cold down here as it was outside. And in my heart I felt the coldest of all.

The Jetta warmed up quickly enough and I eased out of the space, turned left, and wound my way up toward the cashier booth.

The kid inside looked almost nineteen. I tried to remember how I looked when I was nineteen,

and how the world had looked when I was that young. I decided it was far too long ago and rolled down the window.

I felt in my jacket for the parking stub and came out with a folded piece of paper instead. I opened it.

I'm assuming that whoever you work for has us under surveillance. The words I spoke were for their benefit alone. If you feel about me as I do you, I know we'll find a way to be together, regardless of the danger.

All my love—T.

Professional to the end. Somehow she'd known. I marveled at her skill.

"Sir?"

I snapped back to reality and looked at the parking attendant. "Yeah?"

"Your ticket?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry."

He eyed me as I reached into my wallet and pulled out a $ bill. "Everything OK, sir?"

I handed him the money, waved off the change, and slipped the Jetta into drive. "Everything is perfect, my friend. Absolutely perfect."

And for the first time in my life, it actually was.

Please turn the page for a sneak peek of Jon F. Merz's next novel

THE INVOKER Coming from Pinnacle Books in October 2002!

Killing is never easy.

Between the preparation time, tracking your target, and making sure things go like they're supposed to—it gets complicated.

In the end pulling the trigger is actually the easiest part.

For some.

Lying underneath the battered rusting hulk of an abandoned Buick sedan on crumbling cinder blocks wasn't the kind of activity I normally prefer for a Saturday night. Especially since the freezing rain made the ground underneath me soggy and home to all sorts of creepy crawlies that enjoyed the warmth bleeding out of my body and into the ground.

But a job's a job.

My name's Lawson.

I'm a Fixer by trade. I serve and protect the community. But mostly I help maintain the Balance. It's a noble profession and those of us born into it would never really feel at ease doing anything else. But there were days when I'd give anything to know the monotony of an accountant who stared at numbers all day long.

Right now was one of those times.

Lightning flashed overhead, briefly illuminating my surroundings. Damn. I could be seen if the lightning lit up the area at the wrong time.

And I definitely did not want to be seen.

Otherwise I wouldn't have been under that damned car.

But cover and concealment in this deserted auto-wreckage yard was scarce. I could either hide inside a compacted car or under one. And since trying to get out of a car is harder than rolling out from under it, I chose the latter.

But I didn't like it.

I shifted and instantly regretted the move. My crotch lay in a fresh pool of water that quickly soaked through the tough denim of my jeans. The cold helped shrink my balls farther into my tight scrotal sac, making me feel more like a castrato gunslinger than the professional killer I am. It would take a generous serving of Bombay Sapphire and tonic as well as a hot bath to help me relax after this escapade.

The air shifted, blowing in sideways from the east, and I caught a scent I hadn't detected before. Cologne. Cheap. Like the million department-store samples that flutter out of my credit card envelopes every month.

I heard the squishing sound of water and mud under shoes.

The footsteps sounded like rotten tomatoes being mashed together. But they seemed hesitant. They didn't sound purposeful.

But it didn't really matter how they sounded.

My job remained the same.

And it wouldn't be long before I finished it.

That was good. I didn't like soaking in the fetid rainwater and melting ice any longer than was absolutely necessary.

The footsteps approached as a thunderclap exploded in the night air. I held my breath and waited for another bolt of lightning.

But nothing happened.

I exhaled just as the shoes drew abreast of the car. I could see the soles and what looked like handmade leather uppers. Even in the dark I could see loose threads dangling from the cuffs on his suit pants. The hemline needed adjusting too.

Strange.

I wondered briefly if maybe this wasn't my target. But I shrugged that off. According to my information, there were only two people in this junkyard tonight: my target and his executioner.

The smell of the cheap cologne was killing me. I tried to mentally analyze it—to break down its individual components so it wouldn't bother me so much. I got as far as the ethyl alcohol before I realized I was going to sneeze.

There are a few techniques you can normally employ when sneezing isn't appropriate. The first involves sticking your tongue to the roof of your mouth right behind your front teeth. I did that.

It didn't work.

The next best option is to rub the spot under your nose and press in with a finger. It's an old pressure point a Japanese martial arts master once showed me.

I'm sure that would have worked fine, if both my hands had been free. They weren't. In one hand I held my modified pistol. In the other hand I had

my small black bag that contained some other items I might have needed tonight.

Hands unavailable, I steeled myself for the sudden explosion of air. I tried to stifle it and did a good job. But as the air rushed out, I tensed my body, which then caused me to jerk upward suddenly and hit the steel, aluminum, and plastic undercarriage of the Buick with the back of my head.

And since bone and metals do not make fond friends or even remote acquaintances, I saw stars.

Shit, that hurt.

My eyes closed briefly with tears before I realized the shoes had shifted.

Double shit.

I'd been heard.

Calmly, I thumbed the safety off the pistol and waited. Most folks don't think to look above or below their line of sight, so if I stayed cool, he might not see me.

The shoes moved around the car. I could visualize him checking the area, searching the heaps of rusted mufflers and hubcaps, looking for the source of the sound. I watched as the shoes started to take a few steps away. Seemingly satisfied, he turned and came walking back toward me and the car.

Which, of course, was the exact moment Mr. Lightning decided to put in his overdue appearance and illuminate the entire area—including the Buick, the cinder blocks, and yours truly.

The shoes stopped.

Past experience has taught me it's better to go on the offensive at times like this than to wait. I've debated that idea in the past and usually come away with some bad scars because of it.

Not tonight.

I rolled out and got a bead on him center mass even as the shocked expression began to register on his face and he started to back away.

I squeezed off a single round—watched as it caught him square in the chest, lifting him off his feet and pitching him back over. He crashed to the ground, kicking up mud, icy water, and sludge before rolling a short distance away.

I got up—my gun at low-ready position—and walked over, squishing all the way like I was slogging through chest-high mounds of wet pasta.

He was breathing, but just barely. Dark blood soaked his shirt, diluted by the icy rain pelting him from above, turning it a softer shade of frothy pink. The shocked expression still clouded his face, almost as if he couldn't believe what was happening.

I knelt down. "The Council sent me."

He tried to speak. It came out as a stutter of gurgling consonants. "F-f-fixer?"

I nodded. His eyes grew wider. I'd seen the look before. Technically, most of my kind don't think Fixers exist. They think we're just legends told by parents to kids to get them to behave.

But we're real enough. We work in the shadows. Our accomplishments go unnoticed by all but a select few.

Unfortunately for this guy, tonight was the time he found out we really did exist.

I frisked him, looking for his gun. I came up empty. "Narcotics trafficking is bad business for humans to be in. It's even worse for a vampire."

He grimaced, feeling the agony of the wooden splinters in his heart, which came courtesy of the wood-tipped rounds my pistol packed. In the night

air he drew his head back, trying to inhale a raspy breath. His canines lengthened, fully exposed. That happened only during feeding or when a vampire was close to death.

"You could have exposed the community. You threatened the Balance." I leaned closer. "You know the penalty for any of those violations is death."

He frowned, but it looked more like an upside-down grin. "They . . . They told you that?"

"The drugs? Yeah. I wouldn't be here otherwise." He only had a few minutes left.

"Lies ... all of it ... lies . . ."

I'd heard that before. Claims of innocence come with the job. Even when you've put them down, some of the most hardened criminals will deny they did anything wrong. They go off to the afterlife convinced of their own innocence.

"Whatever you say, pal." Time to end the repartee. I started to stand.

But he grabbed my hand, clutching it, and squeezed. Hard.

I started to pull away, started to break his grasp. He wouldn't let go. He still had some strength in him.

He pulled me closer, until his mouth was just a few inches away from my ear. I could hear the rasping of fluid in his lungs as he breathed in short gasps of dwindling air. And he managed to cough out two words.

"My son."

I frowned. "What about him?"

He closed his eyes, tears running out of them now dripping off his wet face to the ground beneath him where his blood ran crimson tinged with silt and grime. "You . . . must . . . protect him."

His head lolled back and to the side then as his hand went limp in mine. As it opened, a small photograph rolled out and fluttered toward the rain-slicked ground.

I scooped it up, wiping the bloody mud off it. Lightning flashed again and I peered closer. The picture showed a small boy. His son, no doubt.

But protection? What the hell was that about? The mission had been a simple termination order. Punishment for crimes committed. There had been no mention of protection.

None whatsoever.

And that's precisely what worried me even as the rain increased and pounded against my back. I looked up, feeling the cold pour down my face, coat my lips, and bleed into my mouth.

I swished around a mouthful and spat it back toward the ground.

Why was nothing ever as easy as I wanted it to be?



	For my father, George Frederick Merz, - Dreams never end. . . .



	ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to some very important people who were instrumental in the creation and publication of this novel. First, thanks to my agents, Irene Kraas and Lisa Fitzgerald, for their passion and determination to help new authors break into both print and celluloid, respectively. To my editor, John Scognamiglio, for lighting the path with his friendship, patience, and wisdom. Thanks to Mark Davis, Ken Savage, and Paul Eth-erington at the best martial arts school in the world—the Boston Martial Arts Center—for their friendship, knowledge, and guidance. Things I've been fortunate to learn from them have saved my life on more than one occasion, and that's not something I'll ever forget. And special thanks to Masaaki Hatsumi, Soke of the Bujinkan Dojo, for his amazing ability to teach the essence of real martial arts—humbling and inspiring simultaneously. Thanks to Chris Holy, Steve Frederick, Leslie Irish Evans, Lori Heiberg, Bren O'Connor, Dolores D'Annolfo, and Gigi Dane—incredible writers from the Zoetrope Web site—for their cheers and twisted humor in the trenches. To my good friend Ken Hodgdon, fellow "Corporate America" survivor, and my self-described biggest fan. Thanks to my family for all their love and support—especially



	"You don't have any backup to give." "I could pull some strings. Get someone transferred over temporarily if you think you can't handle him alone. If he's too much for you." "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." I frowned. "I don't want a partner. I work better alone." I took a sip of tea. "Besides, I know Cos-grove better than anyone else. I'll handle it. My way. Just make damned sure the Council doesn't jerk me back in. If I get a bead on him this time, he goes down. Like it or not." "Trust me, Lawson. You can stuff him and mount him on a wall for all we care," said McKinley, harpooning the final dumpling. "If only it was that easy," I mumbled. "Killing him will be hard enough."

	Midnight found me skirting puddles from the earlier downpour as I crossed the bridge at Brook-line Avenue, over the traffic surging along the Massachusetts Turnpike. The night had blossomed into a crisp, clear sky with tendrils of rain clouds slinking to the north. My heated breath stained the air in front of my face as I dodged another pool of grimy water. I love the darkness. Most people are afraid of what they can't see. To me, the shadows hold the excitement, the risk, and even the danger I need in my life. I suppose I'd have to feel that way, given my occupation. Cosgrove. The last time he came to my theater of operations, he killed fifty people. Of course, the cops had no clue. They never did. And the Feds? Well,



	. beach. Just because you couldn't see them didn't mean they weren't there. It didn't mean they weren't just as deadly. Especially when they were hungry. Cosgrove may as well have been a poster child for Ethiopian famine. His hunger for death was rivaled only by his lust for blood. In the time I'd spent trying to track him down and waste his ass on a permanent basis, I'd learned a little something about him. What made him different was an infusion of bad blood into his family line. His grandfather, lazy bastard that he was, chose targets of convenience rather than maintaining the dignity of the hunt. He lounged around insane asylums and morgues, anyplace where the dregs of society congregated— where there were easy pickings. Cosgrove's dad said Grandpop did it so no one would ever miss them. So they wouldn't know what had killed them. Cosgrove's father didn't want to believe the truth that Grandpop was just a miserable excuse for a hunter. The mixture of blood he took in infected genes that were subsequently passed down to Cosgrove's father and Cosgrove himself. Cosgrove's father killed himself shortly after I paid him a visit to discuss his son's aberrant behavior. Odd thing, that. But the infectious mix of lunacy swirling about Cosgrove's bloodstream mutated and caused Cosgrove to kill with the same kind of zest a fourteen-year-old boy has when he discovers how to jerk off. I'd seen Cosgrove's death lust firsthand. His behavior, at least according to McKinley and the Council, could no longer be tolerated.



	Someone you could borrow from. Well, that's what I called it. It was a lot more politically correct to say "borrow" as opposed to "suck the blood of." We were, after all, scarcely noticed by human society. We blinked in and out of your lives as easily as you drew a breath. We were the darkness on the edge of your peripheral vision, the flash of light speeding past you. We were apex predators; we were invisible. Except when nut jobs like Cosgrove came into town and threatened our anonymity by draining their victims of every ounce of precious fluid. We didn't require all that much to sustain ourselves. And we didn't always go for the neck. A bad hangnail would do in a pinch. It was a lot less romantic to be sure, but it got the job done with little notice. It was a lot harder trying to explain bite marks on the neck; although with the S/M crowd, it was easier than it once was. But easier only if you were into the kink of that whole scene. I'm not. Maybe I was old-fashioned sexually, but the things that turned me on were beautiful women in nice lingerie. Especially thigh-highs. And two were always better than one. But that was it. I was not into seeing how much metal I could spear through my body or how much candle wax I could scald my skin with. And don't even mention animals. Christ. So for a supposed prude like me, the hunting could get scarce sometimes. But I always made do. Even if I didn't particularly care for it. Yeah, you heard me right. I wasn't really into the whole process. I didn't have a choice, of course. But it was



	Then he was gone. The challenge had been issued. The gauntlet dropped. And, even as I lay starving. Famished. Ravenous. I knew I had no choice but to accept.



	"No." "Asian," I said. "But not from the Far East." I looked at her cheekbones. "Mongolian, possibly from the Kirgiz Steppes—" "Not bad." "I'm close," I said. "But not entirely." "Not entirely. My mother was from Oskemen. In Kazakhstan. My father was Chinese." "Kazakhstan, at the end of the old Silk Road. You grew up among some incredible mountain vistas, eh?" She seemed surprised. "The Altai Mountains, yes. Not many people are familiar with that part of the world." "It's remote," I said. "Some would say desolate. Lonely." I shrugged. "I prefer raw." "Yes. Raw describes the land well. You've been?" "My life has provided me with plenty of opportunities to travel. I was there once. A long time ago." "We might have met." "Possibly. But I'm afraid my business kept me from enjoying the region's hospitality for long." "There's always tomorrow, then. Another day." I smiled. "Your English is superb. No discernible trace of an accent—any accent, for that matter." "I was . . . well schooled." I nodded. "And you sure got here quickly. Kazakhstan is quite a ways away. Probably take you at least twenty-four hours of travel time to get here." She turned, facing toward Huntington Avenue. "I was nearby. New York, actually. I caught the shuttle up this morning." Something in the tone of her voice made me wonder exactly what she'd been doing in New



	"No?" "Usually, they just call me a bitch and be done with it. An ambitious, powerful woman is assumed to be menstruating. Silly, isn't it? Equating drive and discipline with an unavoidable monthly biological function. Men are movers and shakers; women are bitches." "Listen, I don't want to break up this feminist bent you seem to be on, but I don't work with partners. It's no slight on your abilities. I'm sure you can hold your own. But hunting Cosgrove is different from anything you've ever done before." "Lawson," she said, "I have killed a great many people in my years. Diplomats, spies, assassins, drug kingpins, terrorists, and others. I have seen my life flash before my eyes more times than I care to remember. And I have come across a great many foes who were far stronger than I have ever been. But I beat them all. And I will beat Cosgrove as well. He will pay for killing Simbik." I finished my tea and set the cup down on the stained napkin. "If you say so, Talya." I fished a tenner out of my pocket and laid it across the bill. "But believe me when I tell you this is a whole new world you are stepping into. Your world of conventions does not apply in it. And if you go in thinking it does and that you're the exception, you will the. It's that simple." "Then if I the, I will at least take him with me." I stood up, but she grabbed my hand. "See you on the hunt, Lawson." "We'll see." "I'm at the Four Seasons." She cocked one of her eyebrows. "When you change your mind ..." Her tone told me she was finished listening to



	. Hell, he'd grown up down the street from me. If I'd ever had the kind of foresight my parents used to suggest I develop, I would have known back then things would eventually come to this point. I met Cosgrove on a clear, sunny summer day when his family moved in, freshly transplanted from London. Resettled into a new community of vampires. Sounds like Suburbia meets Bloodbath Avenue, doesn't it? Still happens that way too. I was eight. Pretty tall for my age, with a mop of shock black hair that was forever too long. I had been watching the movers unloading horse-drawn carriages all day long, heaving heavy travel trunks into the house with bangs and scrapes that produced a lot of yelling from Cosgrove's mother. He had emerged after the movers finished. As he came out onto the front porch, I watched him. He stopped and simply stared at me. Neither of us had said anything. Finally, I'd wandered over, and stuck out a grimy hand and introduced myself. His handshake was like holding a wriggling ball of earthworms. His voice dripped like sap in the fall. Needless to say, I wasn't too keen on him. The remainder of the summer consisted of me trying to avoid contact with him. It wasn't difficult. Cosgrove gave new meaning to the term "loner." He never went down to the swimming hole, never made friends with any of the other children, kept to himself, and seemed to spend an eternity on his front porch reading big books with black leather covers and spines in an assortment of foreign languages. The other kids dismissed him as weird. I suspected something else. When school started, things came to a head early





	"Cosgrove." "What about him?" "You have a photograph?" "No. The last photo we had went obsolete courtesy of some plastic surgeons in Geneva." She nodded. "Describe him to me, then." I did. She sat there and absorbed it all; when I finished, she polished off her drink. "I need to get going." I nodded. "Fair enough. Say, you know the club scene in Boston is fairly limited on Mondays and Tuesdays." "I know." "You know?" She ran her fingers along the rim of her glass and sighed. "Lawson, I did some homework today. I do have some experience in this type of thing, you know." "Sorry." I finished the drink and set it back down. "I'm not even used to the prospect of working with anyone. I always operate alone." "Speaking of which," she said, "who exactly do you work for?" "What do you mean?" "Well, you know all about my past—" "Not all." "Enough," she continued. "I don't know a damned thing about you. Aside from the fact that we're similar. But different." "That's probably enough." "Not for me." I studied her. Strange bedfellows doth destiny make. Who'd have thought when I rolled out of bed this morning that I'd be sharing a drink and God knows what else with a human woman who



	But we hunted humans. We were nomadic by nature. We left no paintings on cave walls for anyone to speculate on thousands of years later. And our skeletons have largely confounded most of modern science. Sure, archaeologists find similarly sized skulls as humans, but with elongated incisors; they fail to conclude a separate evolving race. They chalk it up as an oddity that this "tribe" might have all shared this tooth abnormality. But it was us. Gradually, as time moved on, we grew into a larger body of people. We chose remote areas to settle. Usually in mountainous regions. Places like the Himalayas, the Andes, the Carpathians, and even the Canadian Rockies became home to our kind. Small villages grew out of the first settlements. Later we began to spread. Wherever we could settle in reasonable anonymity without attracting suspicion. It was tough. We were hunted to extinction in several countries. Elsewhere we flourished. In the Himalayas, they called us the yidam. We weren't seen as evil. In fact, some of the monks even thought of us as enlightened. With the onset of the industrial revolution and a rapidly shrinking world, communities of vampires reached out and established loose networks with each other. We became ingrained in every human city and town around the world. But our population growth is much slower than humans'. We might have two children to every ten humans. It's nature's way of keeping things in check. Like



	"No." "Place makes Newark, New Jersey, look like a goddamned rest home for the rich and famous. It sucks. Dry and inhospitable shit, Lawson. Anyway, your girl goes out there for two weeks, tracks this band of freedom fighters down, and eliminates every one of them." "How many?" "Fourteen. Including two sixteen-year-old boys." "Damn." "Damn? Shit, Lawson, this kind of info rates more on the fuck-me-very-much scale. This is one nasty woman." "I assumed as much from the way she carries herself." "She a player in this?" I frowned and took a sip of juice. "Seems to be. But I'm not sure how the hell she fits into it. She claimed to want to kill Cosgrove. I took her out hunting last night—" "You did what?" "McKinley, she's got no clue about me. Relax." "It's your funeral if she does, Lawson. Might be your funeral anyway, given her history. What happened?" "We split up at one point. Basic recon of the place. I came back downstairs and saw her getting awfully friendly with Cosgrove." "Shit. She see you?" "Of course not." "How friendly was she getting?" "Laughing and carrying on like old-budthes-friendly. It didn't leave a very warm spot in my stomach." "I'll bet. Did she know it was Cosgrove?"





	"I think so." "That's not good." "No shit." Another pause. McKinley shuffled more papers. "How do you want to play it?" "I'm not sure yet." And I wasn't. Too many things seemed to be hurling themselves at me. Too much, too quick. "Any fresh kills?" "Police reports only got down some gangland stuff. Nothing attributable to our boy." "He'll strike again soon. He has to." I paused. "Say, McKinley, you have anything on Talya's birthplace?" "Yeah, right here. File says she was born in what is now Kazakhstan. Central steppes-type area, couple of mountain ranges. Area borders China to the east." "What language do they speak there?" "Language? I don't know. Why?" "Well, last night when I was watching her talk to Cosgrove, they were speaking a language I didn't recognize." He laughed. "Hell, Lawson, you only speak fifty languages. Could be one you don't know." "This was different. Even if I can't speak it, I can at least recognize most of them. This one was new to me." "Maybe some type of regional dialect?" "I was thinking, yeah." McKinley sighed. "I can check. That will definitely take some time. But I'll look into it. In the meantime, got any theories about this?" "Not really. I'm wishing I paid more attention to Cosgrove the other night on the roof."





	"We'll talk later. You need to rest." "The hell. Tell me what happened." McKinley looked at the door and then back at me. "It was an Elder, Lawson. He got an Elder. We don't know why. We don't have any clues whatsoever. But he got him good. They found him inside his apartment when he didn't report for work today. Cosgrove left his guts draped all over the house and his head on a bedpost." "Jesus." McKinley leaned closer. "I want you at the apartment where he got wasted. Try to find out why Cosgrove would have bothered with an Elder." "OK." I gestured to my bed. "You wanna wheel me over there?" He grinned. "When you're released, Lawson. You can't do anything for the poor bastard now anyway. We'll talk tomorrow. Let me know what you find out." I grabbed his arm. "I want a guard." He pulled back and frowned. "What?" "You heard me. Put someone on the door. Someone good. There's some serious shit going on, McKinley. There's no way I'm going to lay here like some clay pigeon waiting for whoever put me here to show up and finish the damned job." "What kind of serious shit?" I clued him in on the failed attack with the wooden blade. McKinley frowned. "C'mon, Lawson, that could have just been for show. For the robbery." "I know what a goddamned robbery looks like and I know a hit team when I see it." I took a breath. "And now Cosgrove hits an Elder? There's more going on than his simple psychotic episodes."



	"More?" "I'm not sure how it all comes together yet." He flattened the wrinkles in his shirt. "You're serious." I nodded. "Damn straight." He sighed. "OK, OK, I'll call up a reserve. Got anybody in mind—?" "No goddamned reserves, McKinley. Get me someone active." "Active? Lawson, you know what kind of waves that's gonna cause?" "I don't care. You get me someone I can trust my life with." "Hey, buddy, you forget you aren't exactly due to win any popularity contests in the service? You don't have many friends out there. And even if you did, trust is an almost obsolete commodity nowadays. You got anybody in mind?" I thought for a second. "Get me Zero." "Zero? You kidding? He hasn't seen any action in years. He's a Control like me. You said you wanted an active agent." "Zero's the best. And he's a former active agent. I want him here. ASAP." McKinley sighed again. "OK, I'll ring him up. Jesus, this is getting to be a royal pain in my ass. Just try not to the in the meantime, OK? Try to get some sleep." Easier said than done. How the hell could I sleep when somewhere out there Cosgrove was stalking another victim, and God knew what else. And then there was the whole matter about Talya. How the hell did she survive that blast? McKinley said she wasn't one of us. She was human. I didn't know too many humans who could survive being on



	Jan F. Men. My mouth was dry, and even several gulps of good German beer did little to restore its moisture. "But humans could only frustrate us. We'd be more than a match for them if they chose to engage us in combat." Zero looked away and then back at me. "Cos-grove would use the humans to herd us into a trap. Then he'd use other Fixers, Lawson. Some of the disenchanted Fixers who don't work anymore. There are plenty. Plenty who feel a kinship with Cosgrove's demented ways. Plenty enough to be a very viable threat. Especially if Cosgrove grants them invulnerability to the crackdown." "What about the Council? Have you gone to them?" Zero shook his head. "No, for several reasons. First, while the Council is vital to our society, they are slow to see the dangers we see. You've had firsthand experience with that when you tried to kill Cosgrove before." I nodded. "And second," said Zero, "I don't know how far up this conspiracy goes. And if we're to move to stop it, to maintain the Balance and do our job, we must do so in absolute secrecy. I have doubts as to who can be trusted and who may be under Cosgrove's spell. Every step we make must be cautious, and yet we cannot afford to wait any longer." "What do you want me to do?" "Your job has been to hunt down Cosgrove. That's what you will do. Find him. Kill him. It's essential." "There was a woman with me in the hotel room yesterday." "Who?"





	"Name's Talya." Zero squinted in the darkness. "Still using the present tense. I take it she's alive?" I shrugged. "Don't know. According to McKinley, they never recovered another body. Just me." "So she's alive." "Damned if I know how," I said. "I barely escaped with my life. But she's human. She should have died in that room." "She got a background?" "Professional. Freelance assassin. Cosgrove killed her fiancee. She's sworn vengeance. I thought if I offered to help I could keep better tabs on her. Hell, she might even come in handy. Now she's gone." Zero frowned. "Give me some time. I'll see if I can locate her. I still have some pretty decent contacts around here." "There's something else." He watched me and I had trouble even saying it "Last night—while I was out of commission— Cosgrove took out an Elder." Zero frowned. "Why would he do that?" "I don't know. According to McKinley, they found his intestines strewn across his apartment and his head on a bedpost. That mean anything to you?" "Just that Cosgrove's got a pretty strange sense of interior decorating. Can you get some details about this?" ""Yeah, McKinley wants me to check it out anyway. I'm going over tomorrow. You want me to look for anything in particular?" "The Elder's name and age. But on your own,



	. Street's, they nevertheless sucked in their share of eager sexual conquistadors and the maidens they sought I got out of the cab by the Wang Center and took a quarter from my pocket, tossed it in the air, checked the result, and set off for the club. What, you think it's odd I chose to use a coin to make a decision? Maybe you thought I had some kind of superhoming sense I'd be able to detect Cosgrove with, eh? I wish. Doesn't work that way, though. And sometimes, just like any good detective will tell you, you just make a guess, close your eyes, and pray it's right. I usually did everything but pray, since I was under no illusions that the gods didn't have any more important things to tend to than a silly vampire hit man. The Roxy sat across the street from the Wang Center and I skirted three shiny white limousines and a red cab to get to the door. The doorman at this establishment took one look at my jeans and frowned. "Got a dress code here, buddy." I smiled. It was apparently time for what I affectionately refer to as the "Jedi mind trick." "Yeah, I didn't have time to change your mind that's not really important with me." The bouncer got a thousand-yard stare on his face, his skin color blushed slightly, and his pupils dilated. Then he nodded, moved aside, and mumbled something incoherent. No, it wasn't some kind of cool vampire mind control. It was a science known as design human engineering that we'd been required to study as Fixers. Back when I took the course, it had been





	Sixteen

	"Nice to see you again, Lawson" I started to turn around, but the sharp prod in my back, unmistakably a gun barrel, stopped me. "Uh-uh-uh, not so fast, lover. I wouldn't want to have to kill you before we get a chance to talk this out" I felt her fleece my gun off me and then she steered me over to the left. "Back of the club, head for that empty booth. Move and keep very, very still." I knew any number of techniques that technically would have allowed me to disarm Talya and kill her, but I chose not to employ them for several reasons. First, while I knew I could get out of the way, I wanted to make sure I could get far enough so that Talya wouldn't be able to fill me full of holes. I didn't want to lose any more blood, and since we were in cramped quarters, maneuvering would have been problematical. Second, she was a pro and would have anticipated my strategies. Therefore, by my doing something, I would be playing right into her countermoves. Who



	"Fair enough." "All right, so let's look at Cosgrove's other possible recruits." Zero glanced around the diner. "You and McKinley head operations here in Boston. There's no one else here to really figure into the plans. You've got Xavier in Portland, who controls the Maine and New Hampshire communities. And Dieter runs Vermont. I've got Connecticut and Rhode Island. There's always Gustafson and O'Reilly in New York, but I think Cosgrove is after the Northeast first; then he'll expand. After all, the Council is here." It was true. The seat of power for the vampire community was the Council and they held court here in Boston. The Council liked to reside in old cities. And Boston was one of the oldest in the country. "So you think he'll try to get the others into his scheme?" "Probably use McKinley as his go-to man. Everyone knows what a nut Cosgrove is. It might make better sense to use McKinley as the initial contact. Once Cosgrove has solidified his alliances with the various Controls, he'll move against the Council. Kill them, usurp their power, and take over the rest of the country. From there it would only be a matter of time before he had the rule of the international vampire communities. You know they take their cues from us here." I sighed. "You're sure about McKinley?" "Absolutely." "It's just that if he's mixed up in this, why would he feed me information about the Elder? He honestly sounded as confused as I was." "He might well be. I'm sure Cosgrove wouldn't



	He grinned. "Yeah. OK." I looked at him and wondered if he was enjoying the bit of adrenaline the situation had pumped into his blood. "Nice to be back walking that thin line again, Zero?" "The hell," said Zero. "I'd rather prop my feet up after a long day and read a good book. This stuff is for you young pups. I'm far too old to be traipsing about like some greenhorn on his first time out." "Luxury of choice isn't something we've ever had, though." Zero smiled. "Well, we could always just walk away." Fat chance of that. "If it was only that easy." Being a Fixer made you respect the Balance even more than most of your average everyday vampires. To us, the Balance represented the sanctity of our lives. It became our reason for existing. It was our Bushido. Protecting it became instinctive. Zero and I would rather the than walk away. He knew it. I knew it. And unfortunately, Cosgrove and McKinley knew it too.



	. hadn't yet been repainted, and by the look of it, the house was a good hundred years old. I pushed into the front hall and got hit with a whiff of musty mothballs. Zero sniffed. "Could be sawdust too. After all, the cleanup crew would have had to use something for the blood." The front-door key was under the mat and we let ourselves in. The inside looked like an abattoir, although the blood was much darker now, having dried since Cosgrove's visit. Zero exhaled. "Jesus, what a mess." The inside of the apartment had been completely trashed. Bookshelves were turned over, books with" ancient scripts running down the spines had been tossed about, and pieces of parchment littered the hardwood floors. "Looks like someone was looking for something pretty damned hard." Zero nodded. "Yes. And by the look of it, I don't know if they were successful." "That good news or bad news?" "First we have to figure out what they were looking for, then we'll know the answer to that question." He stooped down and picked up one of the books. "Do you know what this is?" "Looks like the ancient script of our people." "Taluk," said Zero. "Very rare." "What's it a book of?" "I think this one is a book of ancient recipes. There are numbers and measurements here." "Y'know, you never told me you could read the old language." He shrugged. "I read some of it. It's a hobby of



	"Another Elder," said Zero. "They'd have a copy." "I don't know of anyone else in the area, do you?" Zero grinned. "Well, yeah, actually I do."

	Zero and I split up. "I'll call you within twenty-four hours," he said, and then hopped into a taxi and slid back into the stream of traffic. In seconds he vanished. I stood there for another minute, looking at nothing in particular, before getting into the Jetta. It had been a long time since I'd been out in the cold. And without Zero around, I truly was operating alone. No safety nets. No one I could call who could cover my six. In the human intelligence game, they call such operatives NOCs, which stands for nonofficial cover. They are the deep-cover agents chiefly responsible for producing grade A, top-of-the-line human intelligence. If they get caught doing their job, they are in a world of hurt. Imprisonment, torture, even death. The reality of my current predicament seemed much the same way for me. First, my Control was a traitor, and that meant he'd hang me out to dry without a moment's concern if he thought I was a threat. Therefore, the goal was to make him think that I was not, while simultaneously trying to see if I couldn't track Cos-grove down and kill him. Second, I still had to rationalize this situation with Talya. As much as I felt we'd arrived at some understanding, a part of me still refused to com-



	•' bodies behind. My employers do not wish a repeat of the past." "So who are your employers?" I finished my juice and wished I had another. "A group that calls themselves the Council." Talya grinned. "Sounds like you work for La Cosa Nostra." "Not really, although there might be some vague similarities." She glanced around the bar. I'd noticed she did it very nonchalantly, but all the while she was keeping track of who'd entered, where they'd sat, and who'd left. Extremely professional. "And at what point did you realize that Cosgrove was a vampire?" "Friend of mine was the medical examiner last time Cosgrove came through. I got a look at the bodies before anyone else." "So what's the body look like? I mean, they're undead, right?" I shook my head. "No, they're living. Like I said before, this isn't the stuff of legends and yet it is. But things are different. Vampires evolved parallel to humans. The ingestion of blood affected their metabolic process and enabled them to live longer and have heightened senses and abilities. Their physical makeup is more able to endure extreme punishment, but wooden splinters in the heart kill them easily." "I take it that revelation didn't make the papers." I looked at her. "Talya, what do you think would have happened if word had leaked to the media about a vampire killing fifty people?"



	Two more seconds. "What the fuck—" A voice to my right. I felt the hands—club security showed up. They saw my gun. I pivoted, sliding out of the security man's grasp, but the commotion and screams had already started. Someone yelled, "Gun!" Cosgrove whirled around, saw me heading for him—I was trying to level the pistol on him, aware that Talya was trying to hold him down. He jerked out of her grasp. I fired twice . . . . . . bad shots that ricocheted off the ceiling and hit some lights, sending a shower of glass toward the floor. Cosgrove leaped across two booths and made for the door. By now, the security staff was in full crisis mode and converging on me at full speed. Talya was scrambling, trying to get after Cosgrove. She pulled her gun out as she went. "Don't go after him!" Another security guard tried to tackle me, but I moved and he slid into another couple entangled on the floor. I ran for Talya, chasing her as much as Cosgrove. If she went after him alone, he'd kill her. I burst through the side emergency door and had two options. Right would bring me down behind the club into the dark shadows. Left would bring me onto Commonwealth Avenue. Two shots exploding to my right made my decision for me and I eased down the alley.





	My skin prickled. I dived ahead. Tucked. Rolled. Came up in a defensive stance with the gun in front of me. I caught a silhouette against the night sky. Cos-grove was on the roof. "Lawson!" he hissed. I shot two more rounds at him, but he ducked back and away. At the end of the alley, a pile of overflowing garbage cans sat neatly stacked by the roof. I used them, scrambling to get to the top, and finally managing to do so. I didn't like what I saw. Talya's body lay in a crumpled heap near the middle. She wasn't moving. Her gun lay ten feet away, useless. And Cosgrove stood perched on the lip of the roof some thirty feet away like a predatory hawk waiting for his prey. Simply smiling. I leveled the gun on him. She wasn't moving. Why wasn't Talya moving? Then I saw the blood. It made a small droplet trail across the roof. I could smell the copper. But it smelled slightly different from human blood. Cosgrove's blood. I'd winged him with one of my rounds. Too bad it wasn't his heart or he'd be dead now. Still, he'd be smarting from the wound and it would need some medical attention, especially if one of the splinters had lodged under the skin or internally.



	. expected it to sound like that; after all, she'd just drunk blood. It coats the vocal cords like velvet. I leaned close. "I'm here." "Did you—did we—" I shook my head. "No, he got away." She frowned. "My fault." "No." "Shouldn't have gone after him." I tried to quiet her down. "You need to rest now." "—tried to shoot him." I noticed the shell casings. She'd missed. And Cosgrove had disarmed her easily. "Yeah, I think you wounded him." She smiled. "No. You ... did that." "It doesn't matter." "Should have listened to you." "It can't be helped, Talya. Now, be quiet. Let your strength come back." I held my arm up to my lips and coated the wound with a hefty dose of my saliva, which has enormous coagulating qualities. The wound's bleeding would slow first and then stop. Talya tried to lift herself off the roof, but I pushed her back down. "Not yet. You're still too weak. Wait a few more minutes." "Where—" "Roof of the club." "What happened?" "Cosgrove took you down and then he took a lot of your blood." I thought she was going to puke then, but she fought it back, choking down the sour bile that must have risen in her throat. "God." "You'll be OK now."





	"You . . . saved me?" "Well, it was either that or lose another friend." "How?" "A little trick I picked up a few years ago." She smiled. "My hero." Despite the evening's events, I smiled too. "You bet." I bent close to her ear and whispered a hypnotic command I hoped would erase the memory of the transfusion. She spaced out for a moment, then sighed. "What about Cosgrove?" I shrugged. "He'll be around. We'll get him another time." And looking out into the night, I wished I felt more confident about it than it sounded. I had two strikes against me, and if Zero's theory about the depth of the conspiracy panned out, there were already two outs in this ninth inning.





	Blood. A fucking slaughterhouse. Desperate, I found a small dry stick just inside and lit it with a match. Adrenaline already pumping, I lifted my makeshift torch and saw what Cos-grove had left me. Robin. The inside walls oozed with coagulating blood. Her body—her beautiful, nubile body—hung suspended from the timber rafters, dripping the remnants of her fluids to the damp floor. In the center of our tiny oasis, staked to the floor, was her heart I heaved, slumped to the floor, slipped in my own vomit, and wailed—sputtering, sobbing, and gasping as my world, my love, my life, disintegrated into infinite grief. By the time I returned home with Robin's corpse, Cosgrove had vanished. And the Council, the very same Council who had sworn to uphold the laws of the Balance, the laws of our society, had written it off as a juvenile bout of temporary insanity. Maybe my destiny as a Fixer had been set long before my birth. I believed for a long time, and maybe even to this day, that it fully realized itself that night in the woods. The rage—the sheer rage, the erupting emotions, the insanity of my thoughts—and the notions and desires I wanted to wreak upon the world, upon everyone, absorbed every ounce of my being. I wanted them to feel my loss, my pain, my agonizing dismay over a lost love. My emotional apocalypse.



	"Well, keep me informed, would you?" "You sound like a fucking broken record." I hung up the phone. Of course McKinley knew I'd been at M Eighty because Cosgrove probably gave him a boatload of shit for letting him walk into an almost perfect ambush. What a shame. I wanted to talk to Zero, but I couldn't take the risk of using my home phone. It pays to assume the absolute worst and I always did. If McKinley thought I had a clue about the conspiracy, he probably had my phone tapped. That meant no direct telephoning to Zero. I had to use a pay phone somewhere across town to be sure it was reasonably secure. Of course, that meant Zero also had to get to a pay phone because his phone could have also been tapped. I could have called his cell phone, but I had no idea of knowing if he'd receive it or be out of range. I'd have to wait for him to contact me. I checked my watch and saw that nearly two hours had passed since I'd left Talya. I already missed her. I shook my head. Since when had I become some damned silly old romantic fool? I found the whole situation utterly unsettling. Mimi finished her meal and came wandering over, licking her chops. She sat down, looked up at me, and chirped once to be picked up. Phoebe began trying to dig up the tile floor and bury the food dish under it. She never succeeded, but it never stopped her from trying. I respected her tenacity. Mimi snuggled close and I caught a whiff of the fish dinner and promptly put her back down. Her breath stunk.