Chapter 15

Ninety minutes later, scrubbed clean, wearing clean clothes, and having eaten—hamburgers and fries for Lucy and me, and a hunk of raw deer meat for Daisy—we stowed our bags in a locked storage closet and came back downstairs to find the bar nearly full.

I paused on the stairs to scan the room. About half the patrons appeared to be human. I spotted a couple of trolls, several men and women with pointy ears and teeth, and a couple of dwarves. Others were less familiar: several four-legged human spiders like the woman I'd seen in the city earlier today, fae-like beings with pointed ears, and a number of half-human, half-animal creatures at tables or standing. The bar was loud, full of human and non-human voices talking and laughing. My senses were overwhelmed by the chaos and unfamiliar magic. At the far end of the room, the band was setting up on the stage.

Beside me, Malcolm chuckled. "You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."

"Let's hope we don't run into any bounty hunters," I muttered.

"If we do, just be sure to shoot first," he advised. "Like Han did."

A large bat-like creature hanging from the ceiling near the foot of the stairs turned slowly and peered at me upside down. "Hello," it said.

"Hi," I said after a beat. "How are you?"

"Oh, getting by." It stretched its leathery wings languidly and folded them again. "Long bit of travel today. Headed south to Mexico, you know. Where are you headed?"

"Not sure yet," I said, imagining myself describing this conversation to Sean when I got back. "Just wandering through the area."

"Safe travels to ya, then," the bat said. It turned back toward the wall, humming quietly along with the unfamiliar song currently playing on the jukebox.

That song ended. After a pause, the jukebox played the next song.

"Bon Jovi?" I blinked. "Is that Bon Jovi?"

"Yes indeed," a spider-man leaning against the wall on the other side of the bat told me. He held a bottle of beer in one clawed hand. "Great damn song."

I rubbed my face. "I need a drink."

"Good idea," Lucy said. She wore jeans, boots, a tank top that showed off her toned arms, and something on a long chain around her neck that was hidden inside her top. "If you're done gawking at everything, let's go get one."

She led the way through the crowd to an empty booth with a RESERVED sign, located halfway between the stairs and the front door. We sat, with Lucy and Malcolm on one side and Daisy and I on the other.

Before we had a chance to flag down a server, one appeared carrying an unlabeled bottle and two glasses. She plunked them on the table and disappeared back into the crowd.

"So, what's this stuff?" I asked as Lucy unstoppered the bottle and poured some for each of us.

"A local specialty." She set the bottle back on the table. "Almost as smooth as what Trev makes. I don't know where Charles gets it; he won't tell me."

More moonshine, apparently. I would have preferred Scotch, but when in Rome…

I took a sniff and my eyes watered. Yup, definitely moonshine. I sipped cautiously. It tasted fine, though; much better than any homemade liquor I'd tried before, other than what Lucy had in her flask. I might develop a liking for it.

"So, what's your story?" Lucy asked after we'd both enjoyed some of our much-needed drinks. "How'd you end up tracking people down for a living?"

"Just fell into it, I guess," I told her. "I wanted to do something that helped people. With my skill set, the options were somewhat limited. I got the chance to apprentice with a pro who taught me the ropes. He showed me how important it was to get justice for people who have nowhere else to turn." I took a drink. "He was a good man."

"You lost him?" Lucy asked.

I nodded. "Earlier this year. He was murdered while investigating a case we were working on together. I got the person who did it."

"Good for you. What was your mentor's name?"

"Mark."

She raised her glass. "To Mark, then."

We clinked glasses and drank.

"It feels good to help people when they have nowhere else to turn." Lucy toyed with her glass. "That's the part of my job I like."

"The name Guardian does imply you take care of people when they need you," Malcolm said.

Her mouth twisted. "But you know the history of the Guardians—where we came from, or supposedly came from. We're different from the Spartoi because we've chosen to change our ways, but it's still in our blood. Some lose the battle against those instincts." She tapped her glass absently on the table. "Some like to kill."

The term Spartoi rang a distant bell, but I couldn't recall who they were. Greek mythology, maybe? Then again, she'd made it sound like the Spartoi were real—and still around.

"So, what about you?" Malcolm asked. "How did you end up becoming a Guardian?"

She frowned and didn't say anything for a long time. "Well, it's a long story," she said finally. "The short version is someone very close to me who was a Guardian was murdered. I wanted nothing to do with them because they'd made my life a living hell prior to that, but I needed to find out who did it and why. The Guardians made me an offer I couldn't refuse, I guess you could say. I joined up, found the killers, got my revenge, and damn near destroyed the League in the process." She smiled, but without humor. "It's not like the Guardians have recruitment posters, but if they did, I sure as hell wouldn't be on them."

"What were you before you became a Guardian?" Malcolm wanted to know.

She chuckled. "A florist."

He blinked.

"A florist with a vampire sister, ghoul cousin, clairvoyant aunt, and poltergeist grandparents. And a mom who's a ghost, but only part of the time." She drained the last of her drink and poured herself more. "Like I said, our family has always been weird about death."

She hadn't mentioned her father. I wondered if he was who had been murdered, and why getting revenge for his death had almost destroyed the Guardians. And if she'd only reluctantly joined them, why was she still among their ranks?

She checked her watch. "My source is due to arrive soon. Sunset, he said. You're welcome to stay and listen to his story."

"I'd like to hear about these creatures that killed his pack, in case we run into any. I prefer to know what I'm up against."

She saluted me with her glass. "Fair enough."

Up on stage, the band was almost finished setting up. A rock or metal band of some sort, I guessed, based on their instruments and attire. The band seemed to consist of a lead singer, two guitarists, a bass player, and a drummer, all young and male. The shirtless drummer in particular drew my attention, with his long, blond hair and broad shoulders. He caught my eye as he picked up a speaker and carried it to the side of the stage. He set it down, flexed a bit, and winked at me.

As I scanned the room, I spotted a large, very muscular man with shoulder-length dark hair held in a silver clasp at the nape of his neck and several days' worth of beard, sitting alone at a table against the opposite wall. He wore a black leather jacket, jeans, and steel-toed boots. A half-empty bottle of tequila and a glass sat on the table in front of him.

A young woman with small delicate wings, wearing a tiny skirt, tank top, and tall boots, sauntered up to him and struck up conversation. She handed him a key. He put it on the table next to the bottle of tequila and passed her some cash. Deal made, she sashayed away, brushing his shoulder with her wing as she passed.

Lucy turned to follow my gaze. "Well, hello there," she purred. "Don't be discouraged by the key. He's just using it to keep the others from bothering him. He's not going to use it."

That confirmed my suspicions about who the girl was—or her trade, anyway. "How can you tell?" I asked.

She shrugged. "A vibe. He just wants to drink in peace until someone interesting comes along. Someone like yourself, maybe."

I smiled. "I have a partner back home, so I won't be accepting any invitations tonight, or offering any."

"And I suppose I'll be heading out once I get what I need from my source. No time for play. Pity." She sighed. "The sacrifices I have to make for this job."

A shadow fell over our table. Daisy let out a low growl.

A young African American man stood beside our booth, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. His eyes had a telltale golden sheen. "Stone?" he asked, glancing first at me, then at Lucy.

"That's me," Lucy said. "You're Isaiah?"

"Yeah." He stared at Daisy, his brow furrowed. Probably trying to figure out what she was. She curled her lip to show him a couple of teeth.

"Pull up a chair," Lucy told him.

He grabbed an unused chair from another table, put a battered rucksack on the floor, and sat at the end of our booth. "What are you?" he asked me, a growly edge in his voice. "Human, but with shifter magic."

"Don't worry about her," Lucy told him. "I want to hear what happened to your pack."

Isaiah growled. His attitude and body language reminded me of Caleb, the young werewolf who'd tried to kill me out of a misguided sense of loyalty to Sean's pack.

"She asked you a question," I said. My tone sounded like Sean's when he was setting one of his wolves straight. Maybe I was picking up some of Sean's habits, or maybe I was instinctively acting like someone near the top of a pack hierarchy.

Isaiah's eyes dropped immediately, but his anger remained. "They're dead—all of them," he snarled. "Nothing left but scraps. I buried them, fifteen miles outside Oakdale. I can take you to the spot, or I can draw you a map."

"What killed them?" Lucy demanded.

"I didn't see it." His rage made his eyes glow. "I wasn't there when they were attacked. I was at a motel with a woman. When I felt them dying, I got there as fast as I could, but it was already over." He stared at his hands. "My alpha was torn to pieces. They all were, even the females. Torn to pieces and chewed on. Organs missing. Eaten." He looked at Lucy, eyes golden. "They smelled foul, Guardian. Whatever killed them, it came from somewhere dark and filthy—some deep pit full of death."

"And you've never smelled anything like that before?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not in my life."

"If I go to this spot near Oakdale, I'll find evidence of the attack?" Lucy's voice was skeptical.

He reached into his bag.

Lucy tensed. "Slowly," she warned him.

He pulled a bloody scrap of a T-shirt from his bag and threw it on the table. "You want evidence? Here."

I recoiled. Daisy snarled. Malcolm flitted in place. Lucy stared.

Blood magic surged within me. Blood magic, and something else: Mira?'s black magic. Like a tide under the moon, it responded to the bloody cloth, filling me with the sensation of rotting things—and a strong desire. Mesmerized by the sensation of dark magic pulsing under my skin, I reached for the cloth.

Malcolm smacked my hand. "Don't touch it!"

My temper flared, along with the dark magic. "Back off!" I snapped.

Isaiah snarled in Malcolm's direction. "What the hell is going on?"

Daisy growled and shoved her head under my hand. Her golden magic seared me, cutting through the dark power unleashed by the bloody cloth. The desire to pick it up faded.

I blinked and shook my head to clear it. Something about the blood called to the black magic I carried, and that was more disconcerting and worrisome than almost anything I'd encountered here.

Malcolm's agitation prickled on my skin. "I'm sorry," I said to him. "I don't know what just happened."

"You good?" Lucy asked, her gaze locked on mine. Her question was part concern for me and part Guardian unease that I might act violently or unleash bad magic.

"Yeah, I'm good." I rubbed Daisy's head and studied the cloth. "What is this?"

Isaiah growled, his anger sizzling on my skin. His shifter magic felt distinctly different from what I was used to. This magic was darker and tinged with something unsettling. It reminded me of a shifter who'd gone mad. I'd encountered a few over the years. Sometimes madness was the result of mental illness; more often, it happened because the wolf took over, even in human form. Isaiah might be going mad. Because his pack was slaughtered? Or was there some other reason?

"From my alpha's shirt," he said, his hands balling into fists. "He wounded the thing that killed him. I tried to track it, but it didn't leave the scene. The others must have eaten it."

"They ate one of their own because it was wounded?" I kept my hand on Daisy's head, drawing on her strength to keep the desire for the bloody cloth at bay. "Or so they couldn't be tracked?"

"Could be either." Lucy studied the cloth. "Nasty dead things."

Up on stage, the band started their first song. I was right: hard rock. Not a song I recognized, but the bar's patrons shouted and whistled their approval. The drummer was excellent.

Lucy produced a plastic bag from her pocket and held it open for Isaiah to drop the cloth inside. She sealed the bag and put it on the seat beside her, out of my sight. "What have you heard about these things?"

He shook his head. "The rumors are crazy. They never leave any survivors when they attack. They eat the heart and the liver. They drain the bodies of blood. Then they vanish into the night. No one has seen them—no one who lived. Some Seers have said they're gravelings. You've probably heard that rumor yourself."

"I have," Lucy said. "Anything else to add? Anything that might help me find these things?"

"All the attacks I know about have happened at night, near cemeteries," he said. "They seem to like death. The ones that killed my pack came from the south, but there are others."

Lucy took out a cell phone and pulled up a map of the area. "Show me where the attacks have taken place that you've heard about."

He pointed to several places, spread throughout a large area of several hundred miles. She noted those locations and frowned at the map.

"Thanks for your help," she said finally. "I'll do my damnedest to kill these things. I hope that's worth something."

Isaiah's chair scraped on the floor as he rose. "I survived the attack and the journey here to meet you. I figure I lived this long so I could tell you what happened to my pack and bring you that scrap of Nate's shirt. That's about all the favors I expect to get out of God." He glanced over his shoulder. I wasn't sure if he was looking at anyone in particular, or just at the crowd in general. "I'm probably not going to make it out of the parking lot."

Malcolm's look of puzzlement mirrored mine.

"That's mostly up to you," Lucy told him. "You could stay here tonight, leave after things clear out. You don't have to walk out there now."

"Or maybe I do." He bared his teeth at her. "Maybe I got something waiting for me—something I dodged back in Oakdale because of a tall girl with real nice legs. Maybe that's fate out there waiting for me."

"I don't believe in fate," Lucy said, her voice flat. "I believe you make choices, like whether you stay in here and have a drink and a raw steak and listen to the band, or you go outside looking for trouble. And if you choose to leave now, don't say it's fate if you die out there."

Avoiding my gaze, he asked, "What about you? Do you believe in fate?"

I shook my head. "Nope, I'm with Lucy. You've got survivor's guilt because you lived and the rest of your pack died. That doesn't mean your life is forfeit, unless you choose that path. You can make a new path."

His lip curled. "You make it sound simple."

"Of course it's not simple—but to me, the choice is." I knocked back the rest of my drink and enjoyed the burn of the moonshine. "I choose to live because I want to, and out of spite. A lot of people have tried to kill me, or told me I had no choice. Screw that. There is always a choice. There is always another way. When all the doors are closed, that's when you kick through the wall."

Carly had said something like that to me at Brew a Cup. Had it only been yesterday? That conversation felt like a hundred years ago.

"Whatever you are, I imagine you've kicked through plenty of walls." Isaiah picked up his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder. "The Guardians have never done shit for any shifter I knew except kill them. How do I know you'll even go after these things that slaughtered my pack?"

"Because I said I would." Lucy's voice was flat. "And because your pack deserves justice."

I caught a hint of a strange scent. My senses were overwhelmed by the noise and competing odors of bodies, magic, food, and beer, but I could have sworn I smelled incense and iron. Daisy's nostrils flared; she smelled it too. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the scent was gone.

Isaiah gave Lucy a nod. "Send 'em back to hell, then."

He turned to go and bumped into a man who was walking past. Isaiah snarled at the man, his eyes bright gold.

The man stared at Isaiah. It was the guy I'd noticed earlier, sitting by himself with the bottle of tequila. Isaiah was big, but this guy was massive—several inches taller and with about twenty or thirty pounds more muscle. His eyes were the color of glacier ice. I recognized the way he studied Isaiah, assessing his threat potential and deciding whether to let him live. My earlier appreciation for his looks and physique gave way to wariness. My gut said professional killer. Judging by Lucy's expression, she'd come to the same conclusion.

"Shifter," the man said, his tone thoughtful. "A loner."

I had no idea how the man could tell Isaiah had no pack, or why his lone-wolf status mattered. Isaiah held his ground, but his uneasiness prickled on my skin.

When Lucy spoke, her voice had that hard military edge I'd heard at the market. "This man came here to speak with me." She lifted the item hanging around her neck and showed the man a Guardian seal. She tucked it back out of sight. "And there's no violence permitted within the roadhouse, as you know."

That explained a lot—including her recommendation that Isaiah stay inside until the crowd cleared out. I wondered if that was a house rule, or some kind of law. The no-violence rule apparently didn't apply to the parking lot, though. Good to know.

The man turned his cold assessment on the rest of us. "Guardian, you keep poor company."

Daisy showed him her teeth.

"Rude," Malcolm muttered. "I'm damn fine company."

The man glanced at my ghost. "Maybe you are, but you shouldn't associate with shifters and mages. Someone like me might assume the worst of you."

Malcolm's expression was priceless. If the tension hadn't been thick enough to cut, I might have chuckled. He wasn't used to anyone but me seeing and hearing him, and this place was apparently chock-full of people who could do both.

Meanwhile, the man had just identified me as a mage when I hadn't wanted anyone to have that information, which pissed me off. Not many people could sense my magic when it was hidden behind my shields, so he had to have powers of his own. I tried to identify what he was, but my spidey sense told me nothing. He was a null space to my senses. That meant he had extremely strong shields and probably big magic. Fantastic.

Lucy returned the man's cold stare. "I'm not particularly concerned about your opinions—just that you adhere to the house rules if you're here on business. And if you're not, I suggest you go back to enjoying the band and that bottle of cheap tequila."

I caught a hint of silver shimmering in his eyes. That could mean a lot of things, most of them dangerous. Lucy raised an eyebrow, daring him to make a move.

Isaiah had disappeared into the crowd. I hoped he would take Lucy's advice and stay inside Hawthorne's rather than go looking for trouble.

The man glanced at our bottle of moonshine. "I'll leave you all to your drinks, then. If you decide you want to keep better company, Guardian, come see me later." He turned and shouldered his way through the crowd toward his table.

"Damn," Lucy said, watching him leave. "I'm not sure if I want to bed him or kill him."

"Same," Malcolm said. "Doesn't have to be an either-or decision, though."

Daisy nudged my arm. "Not you too," I told her, exasperated. She stared pointedly in the direction the man had gone.

Lucy chuckled. "Your wolf would make a good wing-woman. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was trying to get one of us laid." She slid her phone over to me. "Tell me what you see."

I picked up the phone and studied the map she'd made of the attacks Isaiah knew about, and some she'd added. "It's almost a circle," I said. "The things are coming out of somewhere and spreading in all directions. The Oakdale attack is the farthest north so far. The open door—if there is one—must be somewhere in the middle of that circle."

"It's a lot of ground to cover, but I think you're right." She rested her chin on her hand. "How you feeling? Got a bit of a buzz going?"

I considered. "A little bit. Why?"

"Just wondering if I could get some more truth out of you, or if I need to pour you another drink." She poured more of Charles's finest into her glass and offered me the bottle.

I shook my head. "I shouldn't."

She poured me about an inch of moonshine and set the bottle down. "Which is a good reason to have more. I paid for the whole bottle, whether we drink it all or not. So, how about it?"

"I can't tell you anything more than what I've already said. I've got a confidentiality agreement with my client."

She smiled. "You know those don't apply if it's law enforcement asking, right?"

"Are you asking as law enforcement?"

"Not at the moment. More like…a concerned friend who wonders why you're so interested in finding these creatures and the open door they came out of." Her smile faded. "Do you suspect the person you're after has something to do with this?"

"I don't know, and that's the truth." I gestured at my wolf. "Like I told you this morning, Daisy's tracking this missing woman and I'm following her lead. She wanted us to come with you to this roadhouse, though I'm not sure why. I'm hoping she'll let me know soon so we can get back to tracking. My client is impatient for results."

I caught a glimpse of Leather Guy through the crowd. He'd returned to his table and his bottle of tequila. He watched the band with a deliberately casual air: low in his chair, legs straight out in front of him, nearly empty glass in his hand. To the untrained eye, he appeared to be a moderately intoxicated bar patron relaxing after a long day, but he wasn't. His gaze was sharply focused on the band—specifically, either the drummer or the bassist, if I wasn't mistaken. I recalled Lucy's reference to the man possibly being here on business. If he was, was someone in the band his target?

Lucy raised her glass and waggled it to draw my attention away from Leather Guy. "I'm going to sit here and drink a little longer, and then I'll be ready to head out. If you want to go south looking for gravelings, you and your crew can ride with me. If you prefer to stay and try to figure out why your wolf wanted you to come here and then find another ride later, that's up to you."

I was about to thank her for the offer when magic surged. The rush of power wasn't nearly as intense as this morning's colossal flare. With so many witnesses—and potential collateral damage—around, I couldn't afford to let any of my magic escape.

To my surprise, the other bar patrons barely reacted. A bird-like creature standing near our booth shook herself, settled her feathers, and resumed bobbing her head to the music.

I tried not to flinch or let on that the flare was affecting me, but the pain was too much. I doubled over with a groan, holding in the surge with sheer determination. Oh, God, it hurt —far more than the earlier flare had, though this one was much shorter and less intense.

My fingers tightened in Daisy's fur. She pushed her power into me, strengthening my shields and lessening the agony.

The flare lasted only about fifteen seconds, but it felt like an hour before the rush of power subsided. I took a shaky breath, let go of Daisy's fur, and raised my head.

"You okay?" Malcolm asked. For some reason, the flare hadn't affected him nearly as severely. He must be adjusting to the magic of this world faster than me.

I reached for my drink with a trembling hand. "I'm good."

Lucy watched me, her hands folded around her glass. "Does that happen every time there's a flare?"

I got the impression my reaction was abnormal, so I said, "No—that was strange. Something's different here and it's messing with me a little. I'll be fine."

Up on stage, the drummer launched into an extended solo that elicited appreciative shouts, applause, and a few squawks from fans in the crowd.

Lucy sighed and took a drink. "I appreciate his skill and enthusiasm, if nothing else," she said. "Drummers are a strange breed. I dated one once. It was fun, while it lasted. You know what you call a drummer without a girlfriend?"

"I've heard this one." I chuckled. "Homeless."

She clinked her glass against mine. "To the drummers."

"To the drummers," I echoed. We drank. "I dated a lead singer once," I confessed. I wasn't sure what made me volunteer the information. It might have been the moonshine.

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up. "No way. For how long?"

"A really, really good six weeks."

Lucy grinned. "If it was that good, why only six weeks?"

"He was leaving to go on tour and I couldn't go with him. It wasn't ever going to be a long-term thing anyway. I still have good memories, and some comfy old band T-shirts I'll wear until they fall apart."

"Is that where you got all those shirts for Death Kettle you wear around the house?" Malcolm asked. "I wondered about those."

Lucy almost spat out a mouthful of moonshine. " Death Kettle? "

I hadn't thought about Cam in a while—really, not since Sean and I had gotten serious. I had no idea how Lucy would react to the news, or how half-demons were regarded here, so I kept the fact that Cam was a half-demon to myself.

Before Sean, all my relationships were brief. Most of them had ended abruptly when the person I was seeing wanted more than just a physical relationship. Cam had asked me to come on the road with him, even offered to pay all my living expenses and promised we'd travel in relative luxury. Not because we were good in bed—or not just because we were good. He liked me, and just sex wasn't enough for him anymore. Back then, I feared letting anyone get too close. I was afraid they might suspect I wasn't who I claimed to be, or betray me to the feds or my grandfather. So I pulled the plug and sent Cam off on his tour.

That pattern of short physical relationships lasted until an alpha werewolf, whose eyes crinkled when he smiled, introduced himself to me late one night at Hawthorne's and found a way into not only my bed, but my heart. Tonight, I sat in this rowdy, smoke-filled, Mos Eisley cantina version of Hawthorne's, and missed Sean so much that it hurt. We'd only been separated a day, but the distance between us—and the hollow sensation where our nascent bond normally offered quiet reassurance—gnawed at me.

The song finished with a thunderous roll of drums and a screaming note from the lead guitar. When the applause and shouts died down, the singer announced the band would be taking a short break. One by one, the band members left the stage. The drummer headed to a back hallway I assumed led to bathrooms and the others to the bar, where Joey already had drinks poured and waiting.

I caught sight of Leather Guy rising from his chair and ambling toward the bathrooms. There could be many explanations for his casual stroll, but the little hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Daisy nudged me and stared in the direction of the back hallway.

"I need to use the ladies' room," I told Lucy. "Hold down the fort?"

"You got it." She raised her hand, attempting to get a server's attention. "I'll get us some water and road snacks. They'll pack us a travel bag. Let me know whether you're coming with me or not."

I rose from the booth. "Daisy? You coming?"

She settled into the seat and rested her head on her paws, her eyes half-lidded.

Lucy chuckled. "I guess she doesn't have to go."

So Daisy wanted me to follow Leather Guy by myself. "Okay, then. I'll be back." I headed for the hallway, weaving through a crush of bar patrons of various species and levels of inebriation. Several men tried to talk to me as I passed, but I kept my gaze locked on the hallway and ignored them. A few made rude comments—or squawks—when I didn't respond. Ah, the joys of being a woman in a bar full of drunken idiots.

I spotted Isaiah sitting at the main bar with a bottle of beer and a plate of meat, an empty seat on either side of him. All the other chairs at the bar were taken. Were shifters universally hated in this world, or lone wolves more so than pack wolves? As a member of a pack, who loved a shifter and my pack mates too, that made my heart ache.

At least Isaiah had taken our advice and decided to stay relatively safe inside the roadhouse instead of taking his chances outside. He couldn't stay here forever, though; he'd have to venture out eventually, either to find a new pack or try to survive on his own. I wanted to help him, but there was nothing I could do. Lucy had promised to get justice for his pack mates, and I believed she would keep her word.

When I reached the back hallway, it was deserted. I found four bathroom doors: two marked with silhouettes of a human man and human woman, and two others marked with symbols I didn't recognize.

One of the mystery doors opened and the spider-man who'd identified the Bon Jovi song to me earlier emerged. "Excuse me," he said as he scuttled past.

So maybe the other two bathrooms were for patrons with different anatomy. Curiosity made me want to look inside, just to see what a non-human toilet might look like.

A heavy thud against the door at the end of the hallway drew my attention. It was an exit, presumably leading to the parking area in the back where Lucy had left her jeep. I went to the door and listened.

Through the door, I heard the distinctive sounds of fighting: heavy thumps of fists against solid flesh, gravel crunching underfoot, and muffled curses. Carefully, I eased the door open and slipped outside, into the shadows along the building.

Leather Guy was fighting the band's drummer hand-to-hand. Neither appeared to have a weapon, but the drummer was bleeding heavily from a stab wound in his upper chest. They moved far too fast to be human.

Snarling, the drummer spun in Leather Guy's grip, trying to take the larger man to the ground. His eyes shone gold—a shifter. I wondered why he hadn't shifted to fight. He caught sight of me in the shadows and snarled.

In the split second the drummer was distracted, Leather Guy moved like lightning. He drew a sword from a spine sheath and took off the drummer's head.

Blood sprayed through the air, narrowly missing me as the drummer's head and body landed in the gravel at his killer's feet.