Chapter 1

Chapter

1

"The authorities cleared me of intentional death," the woman said, Brice's dramatic come-hither lilt and low-cut blouse making my eye twitch as she indolently lounged on the couch across the low coffee table from me. She'd arrived first and was being careful, moving with an exaggerated slowness to hide her vampire-quick reflexes and threatening fangs, but it was that very wariness that had me on edge.

"I assumed I was asked to come to extend my apology in person," she finished mockingly, and the mousy man at the head of the table bristled.

"You can take your apology and cram it up your filthy, decaying hole of a—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I interrupted, lifting a hand before it got out of control. Again, I thought, stretching my arm to rub out the dull throb gained while separating them the first time. "Victor, the I.S. doesn't have the last word. Sit. Everyone take a breath. Have a drink."

Lip rising to show a spit-shiny fang, the onetime professor at Cincy's university pushed back into his chair, a glass of orange juice in his tight, undead grip. As the city's subrosa, mediating the minor power struggles of Cincy's vamps was occasionally part of my job—especially between the dead ones. Pike had wanted to bring them together with the hope of finding restitution, and when two vampires disagreed, it was best to bring the biggest guns you had. That would be me.

I eased deeper into the indulgent leather chair, eyeing them both in a wary annoyance as my old vampire scar began to tingle, the virus-laced bite responding to the pheromones both undead vampires were kicking out. Victor and Brice went silent, the former in frustration, the latter in calculation. If I was feeling it, the living vampires downstairs were, too, and I glanced across the room at Pike. Nodding, the living vampire unfolded his length to go turn the air exchanger to high. Below us, the rhythmic thump of a too-enthusiastic live band drifted up the wide, open stairway along with the intoxicating scent of pizza and too many vampires.

Piscary's on a Friday night, I thought as I glanced over the large room. By rights, the band should be up here with the more exuberant crowd to leave the sedate members to enjoy the calm, sipping on wine and the subliminal boost from the party, but Pike had recently begun to use the second floor as a semi-public space to mediate arguments. Kisten had done the same thing with a pool table and dance floor instead of a wet bar and a ring of chairs and couches around a low table. That Kisten's pool table was now in my sanctuary serving as a secondary spelling space would probably please him—even if the felt was burned and the slate cracked.

"Sasha's death was not accidental," Victor muttered, his eyes a dark pupil black, and I checked my phone for the time. Ivy was bringing in Constance, and they were late. "Brice lured Sasha into a situation where she had no control, and then she killed her knowing full well I didn't have a second scion who possessed enough stamina to sustain my needs."

It was a problem, and whereas an accidental death was not a punishable offense in the unwritten law of the undead, an outright culling of another's support system was. "That is what we are here to determine," I said, sneaking a glance at my phone again.

"Let me call down for another round of drinks," Pike said, and I winced. Yeah, let's add more alcohol to the mix, I thought, even as I acknowledged the logic behind it. Alcohol wouldn't slow them down or mellow them out, but it would remind them of what it was like to be living, and that might shift them into a more amenable frame of mind.

He really does know what he's doing, I mused as the heavily scarred man in his early thirties moved gracefully to the stairway to beckon a bartender halfway up. His black hair was wavy and short about his ears, and his summer tan was already beginning to fade. No beard, but a midnight stubble gave him an attractive, bad-boy cast. He was officially Constance's scion now that the undead vampire was no longer a mouse. I knew the arrangement was tasteless to both of them, for though the undead could survive on any living blood, they craved that of their living kin, and if it was taken from someone who loved them, it was almost enough to fill the hole the lack of a soul left. Hence the tradition of cultivating living vampiric scions to support their undead brethren.

And whereas it was obvious that Pike didn't love Constance, he did enjoy the boost of power that sipping on undead vampire left in his veins. Though powerful in their own right, living vampires had only a portion of their undead kin's strength and pull. After almost a month of sharing blood with the undead, Pike had again regained the sexual lure and charisma he'd had when I'd first met him.

I stifled a shudder, enjoying watching Pike move about the room as Victor prattled on.

Living vampires were my Achilles' heel. All the benefits of the undead, and only half the risk. Pike was clearly off-limits, not because he was out of my league but because I knew better. And yet as my gaze drifted back to him, I smiled, pleased to be able to call him my friend.

His slacks were black, and his matching lightweight shirt was classy and sharp. Soft-soled shoes made his steps silent and his limp hardly noticeable. The scars about his neck and arms, though, were mottled and obvious. They weren't the bedroom-fun kind, rather the kill-you variety, and he took no pains to hide them. In short, Pike had had a very hard life evading his older brothers' lethal intentions. Which made the fact that one of them, the worst, was currently sitting in a beanbag chair in the corner all the more incredible, the older man focused on a handheld game with the intensity of a ten-year-old. But then again, Brad was down to about a ten-year-old's level of intellect, despite the man's temples beginning to gray and the first lines showing about his eyes.

My smile faltered at the flash of guilt. I needed an Atlantean mirror to break the curse I'd put on him. That I'd thought it was a white curse at the time was the only thing keeping me out of Alcatraz's high-security wing. Now even that excuse was running thin, and the coven of moral and ethical standards was on my case. Again.

"Orange juice and a Bloody Mary," Pike said as he set the two drinks down, a soft shudder making his hands shake when he breathed in their mix of anger and smug satisfaction.

"That bitch of a woman stalked and lured my scion away." The rim of brown around Victor's pupils narrowed further as his eyes went entirely black. "I demand restitution. As the city master, Constance has a responsibility to see that I get restitution."

Pike eased to halt behind my chair, not in protection but to watch the open stairway.

"You poor, deluded excuse of an undead," Brice mocked. "I didn't lure Sasha away from you. She came to me. You are a disgrace. No wonder you can't maintain a family."

"Don't you dare talk about my family!" Victor held his orange juice with a white-knuckled grip.

Brice shook her head, but it was exactly her seemingly reasonable attitude that rubbed me wrong. Still, I smiled at her, stifling my unease at her too-long canines and her unreal grace. She was faster than me, too. "Poor Sasha," the undead woman said. "Victor had been neglecting her. She wanted more aggressive bedroom play and he couldn't provide."

"That's not true!" Victor's face went bloodless, tension pulling him to a dangerous stiffness. "I loved Sasha. Her virus levels weren't sufficient for what she wanted to give me. We were slowly increasing them. She knew that. I didn't want to hurt her. I loved her." Eyes narrowed, he focused on Brice stretching languorously in the chair like a lioness. "And you killed her twice. Before her time."

"Easy," I said, glancing at my phone again. Where the Turn are you, Ivy? Victor had undoubtably loved his scion—before he had died. Now all he remembered was having loved her. The undead clung to that memory as if it was their last vestige of humanity—which it was. Victor was right to be upset. It usually took half a lifetime to gain the skill to convince someone that they were loved, luring a new victim into risking death as their scion to keep an undead in their semi-alive state. With Sasha gone, Victor would likely perish before he figured it out. It was the undead's tricky forty-year ceiling come early. Most didn't survive it. Those who did were truly manipulative.

Like Brice, I thought when the woman set her Bloody Mary down and leaned forward to show her scar-decorated cleavage as Victor continued his derisive tirade. Brice had died in the sixties during the Turn, and now that Constance was again out in the open demonstrating her ineffectiveness, it seemed likely that Brice's slow plotting to make a bid for the city had shifted into overdrive.

Put simply, Constance wasn't a good city master vampire—even as a front. It was why the DC vamps had sent her here in the hope I'd off her in a fit of annoyance. It would have landed me in jail and out of their hair—and Constance in a permanent grave. I'd promised to protect the outclassed undead vampire from her kin if she'd be the front to my control of Cincinnati, but the diminutive Black vampire was erratic at the best of times.

Which was why Ivy and Pike were handling her enforcement duties. As much as Victor was in trouble, I was starting to suspect that we were the ones in danger. Brice obviously had her eye on taking over the city. Perhaps the DC vampires had put her up to it. They'd love to see me gone. I was doing a better job of overseeing their people than they could, probably because Ivy, Pike, and I didn't put the capricious demands on a vampire population that a master vampire did.

"Where is Constance?" Brice said, her curt voice cutting into Victor's latest accusation, and my attention snapped to her. "This needs to be settled."

"She's on her way." I forced my fist to ease even as I tensed. This entire fiasco was Brice's plan to get her and Constance in the same room. Maybe breaking the spell that had turned her into a mouse had been a mistake. The hidden threat was always more convincing than the visible one.

I gathered myself to rise and find a quiet corner to call Ivy…and then I blinked as Brice exhaled and every last thought I had seemed to melt.

Pike's knees buckled. He caught himself against my chair, his breath going shallow as he fought off the undead woman's sudden pull. All my exposed skin was tingling with a delicious sizzing sensation, and I froze as the memory of teeth sliding cleanly into me surfaced, a pang of desire going right to my groin. I forced my hand from my neck, embarrassed that I had put it there, one lone finger tracing a delicious path to my clavicle as if I was a vampire junky. Jenks would laugh his wings off if he were here.

"See?" Victor pointed at Brice as the undead woman stared, her gaze black in a hungry passion. "She's doing it again! What scion can resist that? I swear I'm going to pull your fangs out and give them to my niece for her sweet sixteen."

"I'm going downstairs," Brad said suddenly, his eyes pupil black as he tossed his handheld game aside and stood. The pheromones were hitting him hard. He was getting randy. The restaurant, too, was getting loud. Between Brice and Victor, there were too many vamp pheromones in here. The air system could not keep up.

My hands trembled, and I didn't dare take anything more than a shallow breath until I forced the memory of Ivy, and Kisten, and every undead vampire I'd ever run into from my thoughts. Pike, too, had gotten control of himself, and I felt a small flicker of victory even as Brad started for the stairs. Brice was good, but I'd fought better. She couldn't maintain her pheromone level, and the air was clearing already.

"You good here?" Pike said stiffly as he went after Brad. Having him up here hadn't been the best idea; leaving him downstairs was a worse one. The living vampire had no restraint, no memory—because of me.

I have to fix this, I thought, using my guilt to pull me out from the edge of Brice's ecstasy. "Nice try, Brice. Maybe in another fifty years," I said as I dropped my gaze to my phone, and the undead woman's expression became livid.

"Where are you?" I texted Ivy, one hand on my phone, the other touching the butt of my cherry-red splat gun. It fired spells, not bullets: a witch's ancient weapon made modern. Brice was clearly upset that she'd given me her best shot and that both Pike and I had brushed it away like the annoyance it was.

"She made me put on jewelry," came back immediately. "Be there soon."

Thank the Turn, I thought in relief as I set my phone on the table with a little click. Constance equated jewelry with being civilized. The vampire wore enough to bring down a camel. Quantity, not quality, was her motto.

But Pike had used Brad as an excuse to get behind Brice, and the woman's eyes narrowed as she drummed her fingers once in a tight, bloodred-nail staccato.

"Relax." I set my weapon beside my phone in an unspoken threat. "Both of you. I will not tolerate Constance walking in here with you at each other's throats." Because a blood exchange between two undead vampires would kill them both, as the two slightly different viruses that animated them battled with each other. It was how I had lost Kisten, and a flicker of heartache took me. Damn you, Elyse, for dangling the spell before me to bring him back. It was a lie. It had to be a coven trick. Even Al didn't know the magic to recover the undead, even as a ghost.

"Constance is a puppet." Brice's expression held a mocking sureness. "Any justice you get from her will be at a witch's grace, Victor. How sad. Going to a witch for justice?"

Behind her, Pike tried to coax Brad into sitting down again, but the older man was having none of it, wanting to fulfill the promise the undead pheromones had instilled in him.

"Constance will give me restitution," Victor said, his pupils shrinking as his fear took over. "And if she doesn't, you'll wake up with a stake in your heart."

Brice laughed, throwing her head back to show her long, scarred neck.

"Hey!" I shouted, and even Brad stopped arguing with Pike. "Bring it down a notch." I reached a thought out to the nearest ley line, laying a sliver of my awareness in the ancient energy source and making me part of its loop. Power flowed through me, waiting for direction. It lifted through my curly hair, snarling it even through the straightener charm.

Victor seemed to rally as Brice settled deeper into her chair, my show of power giving her pause. "I don't have anyone to take Sasha's place," the slim man protested. "That mid-century whore has sent me into a downward spiral I can't escape."

I sighed, knowing how that felt: frustrated, angry, out of control.

Brice mockingly sipped her drink. "If you can't survive, you don't deserve to."

Victor's eyes flashed to black.

"Pike!" I called as the mousy undead man lunged at Brice.

Brice had been expecting it, and she flung an arm out, beating Victor's reaching grasp away. The man ran right into her raised knee, and his breath—which he didn't really need—rushed from him in a whoosh.

I stood, splat gun pointed. I didn't shoot since Brad had launched himself at Victor, the memory-challenged vampire oblivious to the danger as he grabbed the undead vampire's arm and flung him away from Brice, the greater threat.

"You dare attack me!" Brice shrilled, rising to meet Victor if he should manage to get out from behind Brad and Pike—who had worked him into a corner. The music had gotten louder, thumps vibrating the floor as I stood before Brice, gun pointed and confidently shaking my head.

I knew she'd dodge the charm—she was an undead after all—but having the spell pistol in my hand gave me a feeling of strength. If she touched me, I would fry her with a jolt of ley line energy.

"Sit your ass down!" I demanded when Brice turned to the stairway, a flicker of fear marring her certainty. Constance was here. I could hear the calls downstairs welcoming her.

"I will not be governed by a witch." Brice's lip rose to show a glint of fang.

That was all the warning I got.

She lunged for me. I fired three shots off before she grabbed my wrist and squeezed.

Pain lanced through me. Images of Ivy flickered through my brain, and then I yanked on the ley line, funneling enough raw energy through Brice to fry an entire henhouse of chickens.

Brice shrieked and let go. A fisted hand swung, liquidly fast. I hardly saw it before it smashed into the side of my head and sent me reeling.

"Brad, help Rachel!" Pike shouted, and then Brice swore as Brad rammed into her, headfirst. The two of them hit the chair and flipped it over, arms and legs askew. I couldn't see straight yet, and I got to my feet.

"A witch can't rule a city!" Brice snarled, and with a quick lunge, she grabbed Brad and dragged him to her mouth.

"Pike!" I shouted as Brad went slack, utterly overwhelmed. The monster of a woman had him, mouth fixed to his neck as she dragged him to a corner.

Brice couldn't hold him and fend us off at the same time, and as Pike abandoned Victor to help his brother, I imagined a circle around the mousy undead vampire to pin him down. No one liked being downed by witch magic. Too bad.

"Rhombus!" I shouted, more to tell Pike what I was doing than to trigger the spell. Energy flowed, and a smut-tinted, gold and red barrier of pure energy rose up, encircling Victor. The circle wasn't drawn, so it wasn't foolproof, but it would be enough.

Pike exhaled, a thankful slant to his brow as he ran for his older brother. I was right behind. A single bite from a master vampire had the potential to bind the victim, turn him or her into their shadow—a brainwashed-and-abused blood whore as opposed to a lovingly maintained scion. But I'd seen a flicker of fear in her. Brice didn't have the chops to be a master vampire. If we could get her off Brad in time, he'd be okay. That is, if she didn't just snap his neck.

Please let him be okay, I thought, remembering the ecstasy of a vampire bite, the pain, the need for it to continue. I had taken away Brad's ability to protect himself. If I couldn't keep him safe until I could return it, then I had failed. Twice.

Hunched and ugly, Brice took her bloody mouth from Brad. "Stay back," she practically hissed. "I will drain his last blood from him, and then I will take both of yours," she added, dragging the slack man in her grip to the stairs. "I will not be ruled over by a witch and an incompetent, chip-fanged half-bite who was sent to die at your hands. I will not!"

"Let Brad go," I said as Pike inched closer, eyes on his brother. I had the power to stop this, but he had the best chance of matching Brice's supernaturally fast reactions. I'd wanted to see how Constance was going to handle this. Too bad the erratic woman was late.

"Fine," I muttered.

Pike glanced at me at the single word. I might as well have said "go."

Silent, Pike lashed out a fist at the woman's head.

Brice predictably jerked away. I was already moving, going in low since I'd probably end up on the floor anyway. Dropping, I swung my foot to knock her feet right out from under her. Brice blocked Pike's first punch, but his follow-up hit the same instant as my leg swipe and together we knocked the woman down. She shrieked as she fell, arms swinging.

Pike was right there, pulling his brother from the undead vampire's grip. A smile found me when the woman landed hard. Her mouth was red from Brad's blood, and her eyes were black from anger and an old hate—hate that I was living and she was not.

"You will both die for that," she intoned.

My hip hurt where I had hit the old floorboards. We were both down, and I shook my head, uncowed. Oh, she was as scary as all shit and had the power to enforce her words. But I wasn't a witch. I was a witch-born demon. And I had had enough. "Stabils," I said as I drew a small wisp of energy from my chi and harnessed it with a curse.

Her pupils shrank in fear as I flicked the gold-and-red-hazed walnut-size curse at her.

It hit her square on the chest and she collapsed, unable to move but for her mouth and the smallest movements to keep herself alive. Or dead. Or undead. Whatever.

"You dare!" Brice shrieked as the spell soaked in and even her tremors stopped. "You dare use your magic on me?!"

I glanced at Pike gently tending his brother. "Yeah, I dare."

"I will kill you," she raved, and I got to my feet, slowly as everything began to hurt. When did I hit my elbow? I thought, flexing it. The stabils curse was not infallible, but there was no chance in two realities that Brice would figure it out. Until I broke it, she wouldn't be able to move apart from her mouth. I'd gotten the joke curse from Al, and the demon apparently liked to hear his victims beg for mercy. "You won't last the week!" she predicted.

"It's possible," I agreed, my gaze going to Ivy and Constance now making their dramatically slow saunter up the stairs. Ivy was svelte and competent in her working leathers, her long, enviably straight black hair pulled into a swaying ponytail. Her brow was furrowed in annoyance, and her very red lips pressed together. She moved like a dancer and looked like a model—and she was my friend. It wasn't an easy thing when she was a living vampire: most of the cravings, none of the drawbacks, all of the hang-ups.

Beside her, Constance's petite frame seemed almost childlike, her brown skin and chemically eased hair styled to the fashion of another century. A red scarf drew the eye to her neck, vampire-junky style, contrasting with her stark white business dress. She'd cut down on the jewelry, and only three strands of gold and one string of pearls draped around her neck, the latter a twin to the one that Ivy now sported. More gold hung from her ears like shimmering waterfalls, and every finger had at least one ring. Her grace was undeniable, her confidence beginning to appear real, not contrived and holding a hidden fear as when we had first met.

Constance was a long undead, and I still hadn't figured out how she had survived without the pretense of love most of them cultivated to convince people to sustain them. She loved no one, and no one alive loved her. That we had found a way to work together instead of killing each other had really put a crimp in the DC vamps' day.

My largest concern was that unlike Brice raving on the floor, Constance had more than enough ruthlessness to rule a city on her own, and the night she decided she didn't need me might be my last. Jenks maintained that she already had, but that she was lazy and liked me doing her dirty work.

And as I felt the coming bruise on my hip, I prayed he was right.

"You are a puppet!" Brice raved, her black eyes shifting until they found Constance's tiny white shoes. They had rhinestones on them, gauche and glittery. "You let a witch dictate what you can and can't have? You are a disgrace!"

"Mmmm." Constance used her toe to flip the woman over, frowning at the sheen of blood left behind on her small shoe.

Ivy edged close, her dark gaze placid. "You okay? I got here as fast as we could." Her lip twitched as Constance bent low to coo over Brice's earrings even as the downed vamp ranted.

"We managed." I stretched my arm to ease the pain in my elbow. "Pike, how much saliva did Brad take? He going to be all right?"

"Think so." Pike carefully probed his brother's torn skin, dabbing at it with a napkin. It was clotting already. "She doesn't look like a heavy hitter," he added when Brad shuddered, feeling it even out cold as he was. "Unfortunately he doesn't have the coping skills anymore. It's like seducing a twelve-year-old."

"I'm sorry," I said, and Pike's concern vanished.

"He knew what he was doing. It's not your fault."

But it was. I had to fix this. Trouble was, I wasn't sure how anymore.

"Brad." Pike gave his unresponsive brother a shake. "Brad? Snap out of it, man. How hard did she sting you?"

The man's eyes opened, and he blinked, surprised when his reaching hand found the napkin at his neck. "What happened?" His gaze went to Brice, her teeth stained red as she snarled at Constance. "Did I have fun?"

Pike grinned as he hauled his older brother up. "Yeah. You had fun. You need a shower, old man," he said, and Brad smiled, his worry that he had done something wrong vanishing.

"You finish here. I've got him," Ivy said, her annoyance at Constance shifting to one of fond, benevolent concern as she cuddled Brad close and took him to sit in one of the chairs.

"You good?" I asked Pike, and he touched his nose, twisted and lumpy from having been broken one too many times. He was fine, and together we turned to Constance and Brice. Victor was sullen and angry behind my circle, forgotten. It was probably the story of his life—which was why Brice had targeted him. I broke the spell with a small twist of thought, and the protection circle dropped.

Constance glanced at Victor in dismissal. "You were supposed to wait for me," she said to me, her high voice petulant.

"I didn't do anything permanent," I said. "You want me to let her go, too?"

Constance shrugged, then slammed her foot into Brice's gut. "Shut up!" she shouted as the woman grunted, meeting Brice's black stare with her own. "I see what you are doing," Constance added, her tone shifting to a hard knowing. "This isn't about you killing Victor's scion. This is about you. And me. And my city."

My eyebrows rose, impressed with Constance's assessment.

"Morgan was right to turn you into a mouse," Brice rasped from the floor. "You are weak and ineffectual. A witch? You let a witch do your killing?"

Constance's lips pulled from her teeth in an ugly smile. "Truly?" she said, and a chill dropped through me as the small, undead woman bent low, a tiny hand gathering Brice's blouse and lifting the woman up. Constance was so short that Brice hung with her knees touching the floor. But she didn't stay there long, and I gasped, shocked when the short vampire tossed Brice into the air with one hand…and cut her throat with a concealed knife on the way down.

"Constance…" I complained as Brice hit the floor, her life's blood pouring from her in a short gush. Shock registered in the vampire's black eyes, and then they silvered. She was dead, fully dead. "Damn it back to the Turn. I didn't ask you here to kill her."

Victor had gone still, properly cowed as he retreated to a corner, and I moved to stand between him and Constance.

"No?" The small woman took the napkin that Pike silently handed her and wiped Brice's blood from her skin, frowning when she realized her suit was spotted as well. "Why did you call me, then?"

Brice's muscle tone was going slack fast. She'd been dead for a long time, and she'd begin to decompose soon. Ten minutes, tops. The older they were, the faster it happened. "Seriously?" I said as I wondered if Ivy still kept the body bags tucked behind the big pasta pot downstairs. "I'm not taking the rap for this."

Constance tossed the bloody napkin onto the dead woman. "You must kill to control," she said, telling me exactly how she had survived this long with no one to love her. "The sooner you learn that, the sooner you won't have to do it anymore."

Have I underestimated her? I thought in worry as Constance's gaze rose to take in the rest of the room. Victor bowed his head, and Pike had moved to stand beside Ivy and Brad, wary and tense, that fallen chair between her and them.

"Is Brad injured?" Constance cooed suddenly. "Pike, I don't like the disregard you have for your brother's safety. He shouldn't have been here."

I inched closer to Ivy. "There are other ways of dealing with problems besides killing one of the feuding parties. You just orphaned an entire family and Victor is no better off."

"I'm fine," the frightened undead whispered, but it only made me angrier.

"You see so little, Rachel," Constance said, sounding like a poor version of my demon teacher, Al. "It's not your fault. You've lived only a fraction of years and all of them alive." Motions holding a sultry satisfaction, she went to sit in the largest chair, making it into a throne. Immediately Ivy stood. Brad alone remained seated before her, the childlike vampire getting away with it as he scratched his neck to stimulate his bite.

"Relax, Victor. You will not be killed by me," Constance said, and the undead vampire exhaled in relief. "Though Brice was right. If you can't handle a little competition, you won't survive."

"A little competition?" Victor barked, then bowed his head. "I was not in competition with Brice," he muttered. "She used me to get to you. But the result is the same. I have nothing."

There was a new, petulant lilt to Victor's voice. It was manipulative, and it worked.

"See, Rachel?" Constance played with her strand of pearls as Pike stood the fallen chair upright. "The ability to see into the future can be obtained even though one is young." She beamed a close-lipped smile. "Victor, because of your vision, I gift you with Brice's scion to take as your own. The blood will be tasteless, but it will sustain you. Treat him well, and perhaps you will learn how to convince another you love them and, in turn, prosper."

"Thank you, Constance," he said, clearly annoyed. "I would like the rest of her—"

"The rest of her children, I will take for myself because you didn't bring Brice's true intentions to my awareness," Constance said, her eyebrows high in a questioning threat. "Everyone is happy," she added, making it a demand, not an observation.

Or dead, I thought, trying not to breathe. Brice was beginning to smell like a dead chipmunk. I had to get her corpse out of here before she reached the dead-cat stage.

"It's a win-win!" the vampire said, relishing the chance to use the new-to-her phrase. "Victor won't starve. I get an influx of much-needed children." Constance stood and went to Brice. "And this won't become strong enough to irritate me," she added as she lifted Brice up by her neck. "You should have seen this and taken care of it yourself, Rachel. Learn to kill your own snakes. I'm not your mother."

I began to protest, words failing me when Constance threw Brice's body down the stairs. The sudden, horrified silence followed by the expected uproar made Pike wince, and he pinched the bridge of his nose at the obvious rush to the door. One of the serving staff looked up the stairs, then vanished to hopefully find a body bag. If not for her clothes, Brice would have left bits of herself behind on each step. She was decaying fast.

"Yeah, well, easy always seems to turn and bite me on my ass," I said.

Pike's gaze flicked from Brad to me. "I should probably take care of that," he said, drawing Brad to his feet.

This was not how I had expected my night to go. The issue was settled, though. Victor wouldn't starve and the word would go out that Constance was doing her job. Such as she saw it.

"Go, all of you," Constance said even as she smiled at Victor and patted the chair beside her. "Victor and I need to chat."

"Ah," I said as Victor's eyes went a frightened pupil black.

Pike skidded to a halt, Brad's elbow in his grip. "I'll stay," he offered, reminding me of Kisten—always trying to protect me from his more savage kin. "The morgue staff will need to be sweet-talked, and you're better at that than me."

"It's going to take two," Ivy said, her smile forced. "And a pizza would help. Hey, Brad? Let's get you downstairs. You want a pizza?"

"No," the petulant vampire said, but Ivy cooed and coddled him, drawing the resisting man downstairs with the promise of a drink. The body at the foot of the stairs shocked him—he had forgotten it already—and Ivy made light of it, asking him if he wanted to help wrap Brice up in a piece of plastic.

"You sure?" I asked Pike.

Pike nodded. "I'll tend to Brad with Irene. She's good with him." His brow furrowed with guilt. "I shouldn't have brought him tonight. He's getting worse."

I winced, head down. "I'm working on it."

"I know."

Constance pointedly cleared her throat, earning a dark look from me before I slid my phone off the table and headed downstairs, being careful where I stepped to avoid the ugly smears. Someone had already wrapped Brice, and the scent of decay was quickly being overpowered by the smell of pizza. Most everyone had fled the restaurant, leaving only a few knots of customers gathered around the now-silent band to gossip. Brad was already at a table with a small pizza someone had abandoned, holding a handheld game that he had played a hundred times but was still brand-new to him.

Pike was right. Last week, Brad would have been able to hold his own, react fast enough to keep Brice's teeth off him. He was declining, and I'd had no luck finding an Atlantean mirror. It was the only way to break the curse—the one that the coven was harassing me about.

"You brought your car, right?" Ivy asked as she easily hoisted the plastic-and-duct-tape-wrapped body over her shoulder.

"That is not going in my car," I protested, but her superhuman strength aside, three were not going to fit on her motorcycle.

Ivy grinned. "Why not? You've got a two-body trunk, easy. Besides, I can't manage a pizza, a body, and you on my bike."

Sighing, I filed in behind her as I took the extra-large with everything in hand and dug my keys out of my pocket. Perhaps me trying to do the job of a master vampire was not a good idea. It was still better than letting Constance have free rein. It had only been a few weeks since I had turned Constance back from a mouse, and the woman was already settling in, not into old patterns but entirely new ones that were likely going to keep me dragging her collateral damage to the morgue.

Kisten, I thought as I followed Ivy out the rear door, pausing to take a deep breath of air smelling of gas and oil as I looked across the river to Cincinnati glinting in the dark. Even Kisten would have made a better undead than her, and he was only a few years older than me when he had died twice. Using Piscary's as a place to mediate and air issues before they became problems had been his idea. Too bad Kisten was nothing more than ashes in Ivy's closet now.

And still the coven's offer to give me a way to bring him back burned. Even if he would only be a ghost, they would ask for too much in return. Like a demon.