We traveled up two more flights to the top floor of the building, which had been half-gutted to create a series of larger rooms.

The doorman left us in a parlor furnished with threadbare Persians and ravaged leather chairs that spat stuffing at me when I tried to sit in them. He mumbled that Mr. Blackburn would be with us shortly and shuffled out.

Along one wall, the building's mailboxes had been installed minus their doors, showcasing a variety of bottles, knives, and even a caster or two. Shelby picked up one of the flat oval discs caster witches used to channel magick, made of a mellow blood-colored wood. "This is purpleheart. Got to be at least a hundred years old. And the tree it comes from is extinct."

"Put that down," someone rumbled from the doorway. I jumped reflexively and found myself face-to-face with a short man with iridescent white hair, a black open-collar shirt, and a mightily p.i.s.sed-off look on his face.

"Mr. Blackburn, I'm sorry," I said, s.n.a.t.c.hing the caster out of Shelby's hands and placing it back in its spot. It p.r.i.c.kled my palms where I touched it and I brushed them together. Getting too close to magick always has a bad effect on me. "I and Detective O'Halloran apologize for her rudeness."

Blackburn grunted. "Never mind." He stared at both of us for a long minute. His eyes were almost all black with only the barest rim of lighter color, and he scented of char. Blackburn had been touching darkness for a long time, and it was stripping his humanity away as surely as acid strips skin. "Neither of you could put it to use," he said. His wrinkled mouth puckered into a smile. "Might as well be red water beating in your veins," he told Shelby. "It's sad, all the inbreeding the O'Hallorans do and they can't even produce magickal children. Or maybe it's because because of the inbreeding." of the inbreeding."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Shelby hissed, taking a step toward him. I put out my arm like a turnstile bar and caught her.

"Mr. Blackburn," I said, "we need to talk to you about Vincent."

His lips puckered in annoyance, a grimace that slid into a rueful smile. "What has my worthless son done now? He's in trouble?"

"I'm afraid so," I said. "Mr. Blackburn-"

"Victor," he corrected me, still smiling.

"Victor," I amended. "Your son is dead."

Nothing was apparent in his face immediately, but then the smile dropped and Blackburn swayed like someone had smacked him with a brick. His sallow cheeks grew spots of color and he reached out a ragged-nailed hand to grip the edge of the postboxes.

"Victor?" I said, reaching out to catch him if he pa.s.sed out. His body didn't look like it could take much more than a light breeze.

"How?" he whispered, knuckles white.

"We don't have a cause of death ..." I started, but he cut me off with a slashing gesture.

"Was he murdered?"

"Mr. Blackburn, I really can't-"

"Was he murdered?" Victor bellowed. He grabbed the nearest jar and flung it across the room. Sticky liquid dripped down the wall where it shattered. Victor bellowed. He grabbed the nearest jar and flung it across the room. Sticky liquid dripped down the wall where it shattered.

Footsteps clattered and a pet.i.te, teenage, and female version of Vincent Blackburn stuck her head in the door. "Daddy? Is everything okay?" She caught sight of us and drew back, eyes wide.

At the sight of her, Blackburn drew himself up and pressed his lips together, the picture of contained fury. "Detectives, this is my daughter, Valerie. Valerie, these are Detectives O'Halloran and ...?"

"Wilder," I said quietly, holding out my hand. "How do you do?"

Valerie didn't take it, just flicked her gaze between the three of us. "Daddy, what's wrong?" she demanded.

Blackburn buried his head in his hands, sitting heavily in one of the armchairs.

"Ms. Blackburn, I'm sorry to have to tell you this," I said, "but your brother Vincent was found dead earlier this evening of an apparent drug overdose." It wouldn't matter to these people how Vincent had died, just that he was gone.

"No!" she wailed, running to her father and putting her arms around him. "That's not possible."

"I'm afraid that's how it happened," Shelby said, speaking up for the first time. She pulled out her notebook and pen and scratched a date at the top of the page. "Now we need some information. How long had your brother been using illegal drugs?"

Victor's head snapped up and he fixated on Shelby like an angry predator. "What? What in seven h.e.l.ls is that supposed to mean?"

I grabbed Shelby by the arm and led her to the corner of the room, our backs to the Blackburns. "What the Hex are you doing?"

"Getting statements from the victim's a.s.sociates," she said, shrugging me off.

"Shelby, this is his family. family. They just found out their son and brother is dead. Give them a G.o.ds-d.a.m.ned break." They just found out their son and brother is dead. Give them a G.o.ds-d.a.m.ned break."

"Why, so they can get their stories straight?" she asked. My jaw-dropped expression obviously didn't telegraph that this was a bad idea, because she went back to Vincent and Valerie and asked, "Was Mr. Blackburn's lifestyle one that would put him at high risk for this sort of incident?"

"You've got some nerve, you b.i.t.c.h," Valerie said, twin tears working down her face. "Just because we don't use shiny little circles like you, you think you're better than us? Or is it that you're afraid?" She left her father and came close to Shelby, jabbing her finger into Shelby's chest. "Afraid of what the big, bad blood witches might do to you? By your reasoning, my brother deserved to die. Am I right so far, circle-scribbler?"

"Back off me, Ms. Blackburn," said Shelby, her hand dropping to her gun.

"Burn yourself!" Valerie shot back. Shelby drew.

I crossed the fifteen feet of s.p.a.ce in under a second, using my were speed without even thinking. I grabbed the barrel of Shelby's department-issue Glock and twisted it sideways, bending her wrist and trigger finger along with it. I disarmed her with a quick shake and pinned one arm behind her back while she thrashed, body heaving with rage.

"Settle the h.e.l.l down!" I snarled, and felt my eyes phase and my teeth fang out when she didn't obey.

"Hex me," Victor murmured, staring. "I'd do as she says, Ms. O'Halloran."

Shelby twisted to look at me and immediately went limp. "Oh, s.h.i.t."

Oh, s.h.i.t, indeed. The were raked its claws at the back of my mind, demanding release and reign of my body for the fight it had not started, but ached to finish.

"Luna, let me go," said Shelby.

"Do us both a favor and don't move," I growled, heart pounding. I could feel my fingers tensing and the claws stabbing just beneath the surface. It was still two weeks to the phase, but some of the were's less lovely traits came out whenever they felt like it.

"Luna.. ." Shelby said again. The were snarled and I released her, stepping back with my hands raised as she stumbled away from me. She didn't cower, like prey, just stood on the opposite side of the room disheveled and angry.

I breathed in, out, and finally felt my hands relax and my eyes phase to their normal color.

"Well, that's something different," said Valerie Blackburn finally. "Never seen two cops go at it before."

Victor stood and pointed toward the door. "Get out, both of you."

I picked up Shelby's gun and put it in my waistband. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Blackburn."

"I believe you are." you are." He nodded to me. "You are an honorable creature. However, if you don't get that thin-blooded little b.i.t.c.h out of my home ..." He flicked a curved silver knife from somewhere hidden and held it loosely at his side. He nodded to me. "You are an honorable creature. However, if you don't get that thin-blooded little b.i.t.c.h out of my home ..." He flicked a curved silver knife from somewhere hidden and held it loosely at his side.

"We're leaving," I promised, dragging Shelby by the wrist when she started to open her mouth. Blackburn and Valerie watched us go, and the doorman glowered as he followed us to the entrance to make sure we were really gone.

CHAPTER 8.

"What the Hex were you doing in there?" I exploded at Shelby as soon as we were on the sidewalk. "You do not not draw your weapon on unarmed suspects!" draw your weapon on unarmed suspects!"

"Her blood blood is her weapon!" Shelby screamed. "Those people would have bled me dry without a second thought, Luna! And you too! Do you have any idea how much were blood goes for on the black-magick market?" is her weapon!" Shelby screamed. "Those people would have bled me dry without a second thought, Luna! And you too! Do you have any idea how much were blood goes for on the black-magick market?"

"The Blackburns are not enemies in your holy war!" I shouted at her, hitting the side of the Fairlane for emphasis. "I don't have time to keep a handle on your issues, Shelby! Either get a grip or get out of my way!"

"Get a grip?" she said incredulously. "Coming from the woman who almost snapped me in half, that's really ironic."

I growled, and this time it had nothing to do with the were. Shelby O'Halloran pushed my b.u.t.tons, plain and simple.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. That was unfair."

"Bet your a.s.s it was," I muttered. "Rude too."

Valerie Blackburn broke our discomfited silence, finally. She slipped out the front door of the apartment building and waved us down. "Not you," she said when Shelby followed me. "I'll only talk to Detective Wilder."

In what may have been the first smart decision of her young life, Shelby backed away and let us have our privacy. Valerie favored her back with a glare. "Sanctimonious witch. How do you put up with that?"

"Heavy drinking seems to work pretty well," I said, and earned a tiny smile. Valerie had the same black hair as her brother, but hers curled past her shoulders and her eyes were a molten brown. In another few years, she'd be stunningly beautiful, but right now her round cheeks lent her an air of cherubic mischief.

"My father would never tell you any of this," she said. "He's been shamed."

"I promise he won't find out any information came from you," I said. Valerie bit her lip.

"I hope Henri isn't watching us."

"If you mean the scarecrow dressed for a Cure concert, he's not," I a.s.sured her. "I'd smell him."

"That's cool. I've never met a were." Valerie appraised me up and down. "You look pretty normal."

"Twenty-eight days of the month, I am," I said. "Or twenty-seven, if it's one of the short ones."

"Vincent's shacked up with a guy he met at his club," Valerie blurted. "Was, I mean. Sorry." She looked at her feet and I knew from experience she was hiding tears.

"Your brother was gay?" Somehow, on the list of offenses that would embarra.s.s the head of the Blackburn clan, a fondness for the un-fair s.e.x seemed relatively minor. Still, maybe Vincent the elder was one of those traditional, family-values sort of black magicians- America, apple pie, and blood rituals.

"He's-was-bis.e.xual," said Valerie. "He had girlfriends before, but then him and my dad started fighting and he moved out."

"What did they fight about?" I asked.

Valerie blushed. "My brother wasn't very good at magick, Detective. He wanted to leave and go do a show, like a band gig, or work on his art. He painted and did these really cool ink drawings. Daddy freaked out and said that he might as well slash his wrists and transfuse himself with plain human blood."

"That sounds like something your father would say," I agreed. "So Vincent felt the pressure and got a boyfriend as a Hex-you to Senior?"

"Yeah," said Valerie. "Except the guy is total sleaze. Vincent used to be really sweet. He was good, with the painting. After he got the job at Bete Noire he totally changed. Last time I came to the club looking for him he yelled at me and called the bouncers. I know I'm underage, but talk about Jekyll and Hyde."

I'd be willing to bet my entire shoe rack that the job at the club coincided with Vincent's drug use. All I said out loud was, "What's his boyfriend's name?"

"Samael," said Valerie, rolling her eyes. "Like Samuel, only goth and pretentious? Star tweaker freak of Bete Noire. You can't miss him."

I touched Valerie's shoulder lightly and she flinched. "I'm going to do the best I can to make sure your brother doesn't slip away without someone answering for his death." There I went again, making crazy promises to dead people. I really needed a new hobby.

"Thank you," Valerie said. "That's nice, but I guarantee you're the only one who cares."

"If someone killed Vincent, it's my job to care," I said. "Have a little faith in me."

She didn't; I could tell from the hard expression in her eyes. Valerie was probably the same age I'd been when I'd gotten the bite and had to leave my admittedly s.h.i.tty life behind. You never get over a loss like that. The least I could do was bring in the person who'd caused it.

"Thanks for your help," I said finally. "We'll be in touch."

Valerie turned without speaking and went back inside, a small sad shadow against the dark face of Ghosttown.

"What did she want?" asked Shelby when we were moving.

"We have the name of the club and the name of Vincent's unsavory boyfriend," I said, omitting the rest. If Shelby handed out any more sarcasm and sn.o.bbery tonight I'd lose it.

"Good," she said. "We'll hit it first thing tomorrow."

I turned a corner and caught sight of the Crown Theater, an old movie house. A row of road bikes sat at the curb, just like the last time I'd come.

The Fairlane's tires squealed as I gunned the engine and sped back toward the expressway, suspension be d.a.m.ned. The Redbacks were still in their old pack house, minus Dmitri. For a second I thought about turning around, but what would I say? Would anyone there even know me? Most of the Redbacks close to Dmitri had been killed by Duncan's cronies when he got involved with me.

G.o.ds be d.a.m.ned, why did the wound have to keep opening? I needed to shut him out of my mind. Dmitri Sandovsky was not coming back. He wasn't my white knight.

He was just gone.

CHAPTER 9.

You feel like gla.s.s on the tail end of a long shift, rigid and breakable. When I finally got back to the cottage, all I wanted was to make it to bed without allowing myself to have a psychotic break.

A small red convertible was parked in my driveway and my throat closed up a little. I left the Fairlane crooked on the crushed sh.e.l.ls and ran to the door, finding it unlocked.

Sunny was curled on the sofa with a teacup and yesterday's paper. She looked up when I entered and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "You're late."

The wall clock said six a.m. No wonder I felt shattered. "What are you doing here?" I said in a carefully neutral tone as I stowed my gun, conspicuously not locking the desk.

"Am I not allowed to visit my cousin anymore?" Sunny said, setting the paper aside.