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Cyrus laughed from the front seat. “Yeah. Some of my best friends are mortal, too. The mortal, the merrier, I say.”

Patrick had already begun to snore. I envied him. We weren’t even across the bridge yet, and already I felt like the conversation was sinking.

“You’re correct, though,” Modred said. “Most of us choose to avoid body modification, due to the nature of the collagen in our skin. The same elasticity that gives us regenerative powers makes us intolerant to piercings.”

“Skin snaps back,” Cyrus clarified, “and the piercing pops out. Quickest way to lose fifty bucks.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.” I frowned. “So how does yours stay in?”

He lightly touched the ring in his lip. “It’s made of pure silver, with a very high concentration of ar-gentite.”

“But you’re allergic—” My eyes widened. “Geez. Doesn’t it burn?”

“A little.”

“All the time?”

He turned the ring gently. “That’s why I like it.”

I wasn’t sure where to go from there. All I could think about was how useful the power of astral projection would be at this moment.

“So . . . what does CORE stand for again?” Cyrus asked.

“I always forget.”

“Central Occult Regulation Enterprise.”

“Wow. So you guys basically manage every occult thing in the city limits. That sounds stressful.”

“It can be.”

“How does that work, exactly?” We were stopped at a red light, and Cyrus tapped his fingers against the wheel.

“I mean, you must have an enormous staff. Are they invisible or something? Why haven’t the normates figured it out?”

I shrugged. “The same reason they haven’t discovered your daegred. They only see what they want to. Plus, we spend a lot of money on veiling technology.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard about that. Like Klingons, right?”

“Yes. Exactly like Klingons.”

Modred turned to me. “But surely they must notice. Some of them have to suspect something. You can’t hide your activities from two million people.”

“You seem to pull it off.”

“We’ve had a lot of practice. And we’re fewer. We move quietly.”

“Not always.”

Something flashed for the first time in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Great. Let’s piss off the elder vampire in a confined space, shall we?

I tried to keep my tone politely neutral. “All I’m saying is that some of your kin tend to bite outside the lines. They leave messes for us to clean up. It’s not an enormous inconvenience, but it does create extra work.”

“Some of your ‘kin’ do the same thing. I remember an OSI named Marcus Tremblay who butchered a young vampire. A defenseless thrall.” His eyes held mine, and I felt a cold heaviness. “That mess was never adequately cleaned up. At least not to my satisfaction.”

Marcus Tremblay was a stain that would never fully vanish from my life. Two years ago, he’d nearly killed both Mia and me. He’d always just seemed like a pencil-pushing asshole. I didn’t realize that he might actually be a killer until it was nearly too late. The memory of being tied to a chair, drugged and taunted, while Mia looked on in horror, made the bile rise in my throat. I swallowed it down.

“Marcus was sick,” I said. “And his accomplice was one of your own kin. Sabine Delacroix. A former monitor, unless I’m mistaken.”

“Sabine had her own agenda. We always suspected her of treason.”

“Well, now she’s exiled. And Marcus is dust. Case closed.”

But it wasn’t really. Last year, two vampires had come close to killing me at a skytrain station in the downtown core. Sabine had sent them. Obviously, she still had a powerful reach. And Marcus’s last will and testament had brought the Iblis to power by giving it a corrupt artifact to play with—Tremblay’s own athame. Both of them haunted my life, one dead, the other undead.

“She was exiled by Caitlin,” Modred said. “When Caitlin died, her influence died with her. That includes everyone that she ever banished.”

I stared at him. “You’re saying that Sabine is free?”

“Not precisely. But she has far greater mobility than she did a year ago. Unless the current magnate”—he gestured to Patrick, who was snoring peacefully, his face pressed against the window

—“reinforces the ban. And that would require mastery that he doesn’t yet possess.”

I closed my eyes. “So I’m fucked is what you’re saying.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite so succinctly. But there is cause for concern.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cyrus said. He smiled at me through the rearview. “We’ve got your back.”

“No. We do not have anyone’s back.” Modred smoothed his pants, looking irritated. It was an oddly human gesture, making me think that he really was a teenager, all dressed up and on his way to some fancy dinner.

“Come on. Don’t be so uptight.” Cyrus took a sharp turn, and I found myself pressed against Modred. “Sure, we’re not allied with the CORE, but she’s also a friend of the magnate. That makes her a friend of ours.”

Modred inched away from me. Touching me seemed to pain him, as if I had some kind of exposed ulcerous sore. “We are not obligated to protect her. The CORE has seldom acted in the interests of our community, and I see no need to do them any favors, friendly or otherwise.”

“Are you kidding?” I glared at him. “We clean up after you all the time. You let wild, newly sired vamps roam the city, biting whomever they please. I wouldn’t be surprised if a quarter of the most violent, bloody home invasions couldn’t be chalked up to hungry vampires. And you call that cooperation?”

His eyes narrowed. “The vast majority of rapists, murderers, and thieves in this city are human, Miss Corday. When we discover a rogue kin who’s been feeding ‘outside the lines,’ as you call it, our discipline is swift and just.”

“Right. I wonder if that system ever caught up with the vampires who killed my teacher. Snapped her neck with a choke chain, while I watched.”

To my surprise, he looked away. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Well, I was fifteen at the time. You could call it a formative moment in my life. I learned that some demons never get what they deserve.”

“Is it so easy to make those separations? Demon and mortal?” His eyes lingered on me. “You’re part-demon yourself, are you not?”

“Sure. Not practicing, though.”

Modred didn’t smile. “You have a virus in your blood. Not the same as the one that all three of us share, but still, a virus. Is it true that most humans contract the M+ virus as a result of interspecies sexual assault?”

I’d never heard my power so efficiently described as a pathogen before. The M+ virus. It sounded like something from a B-grade horror movie.

“Cool it, Modred,” Cyrus snapped. “You’re being a dick. I’m sorry, Tess. He’s prejudiced against mages because—”

“You’ll shut up now, Cyrus,” Modred hissed, “or I’ll rip out your tongue. I have no desire to discuss family matters with a member of the CORE.”

Cyrus shrugged. “Fine. But you don’t have to be so offensive. She practically saved the magnate’s life tonight.”

Modred folded his arms. “Her role in the battle was peripheral at best. If I hadn’t arrived when I did, they both might have been piles of ash.”

His posture reminded me of something. I looked at Patrick, then back at Modred again. I smiled. I’d seen Mia strike the exact same pose when she was losing an argument. The all of you can just go to hell gesture of crossed arms, narrowed eyes, and scrunched-up face.

I realized that, no matter how old Modred really was, he’d still never completely left adolescence.

He may have had the bearing of a centuries-old vampire, but not too far underneath that primeval aura of experience was the soul of a teenager.

Suddenly, I felt bad for him. I wanted to say how sorry I was that his childhood had been stolen. But maybe he didn’t even remember it anymore. Maybe all he knew was the inhuman coldness of all those years, pushing down on him. The ineffable sadness of watching every loved thing die, while you persisted.

He was looking at me curiously now. Maybe he sensed my pity. I cleared my throat and changed tactics.

“You’re right. You arrived just in time. And I’m grateful for that.”

This disarmed him slightly. He blinked. “No thanks are necessary. The magnate called, and I answered. I was merely fulfilling my duty as monitor.”

“I was stuck in traffic,” Cyrus said. “Otherwise, I’d have been there like a shot.”

“You got there just in time,” I continued. “I’ve never seen anything like that strange glove. It had serious magic.”

“A Vorpal gauntlet.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

Modred nodded. “A catalyst that necromancers use to amplify their powers. The gauntlet increases their body’s sensitivity to necroid materia. But it comes at a price. Using it can cause permanent physical damage.”

“We don’t have anything that cool.”

“What about your dagger? I find its power impressive.”

“Really?” I wasn’t sure why that made me feel better.

He almost smiled. “A sophisticated weapon. Much more beautiful than the guns we’ve been forced to carry lately.”

“Modred has lightsaber envy,” Cyrus said.

“I do not. I simply hate guns.”

“I’m not a big fan of them either,” I said. “But sometimes they can be useful as a last resort. Patrick managed to clip the necromancer a few times with my Glock. I was amazed that he held the gun steady.”

He looked at me strangely. “The magnate fired a weapon? Successfully?”

“He sure did.”

The ghost of a smile returned. “He hasn’t been trained in firearms yet. How curious that he would demonstrate an aptitude.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far. But he did manage to make contact.”

I could see the pride on his face. Maybe Patrick had been right. Modred really was a good teacher, despite his archaic attitudes.

“Where would a necromancer get one of these gauntlets?” I asked. “They don’t seem to be standard-issue equipment.”

“Certainly not. The one who attacked you was a baronet. A member of the Dark Parliament, and one of the elite.”

“Sort of like the imperial guard?”

“But without the creepy red robes,” Cyrus supplied from the front seat.

Modred shook his head. “I don’t know what that means. But the assassin came from Trinovantum, the hidden city. Most likely, he was one of the Ruling Nine.”

“You must have really pissed them off,” Cyrus said.

“They’re sending the big guns after you.”

“They’re supposed to be working with us, not trying to kill us.” I sighed. “Although, the two often overlap in this job.”

“Our sources tell us that there’s been dissent lately in the Dark Parliament,” Modred said. “The apostate is losing power. I wouldn’t be surprised if a rogue faction is trying to strike at you in order to disrupt your investigation.”

“Do they know as much about you as you know about them?”

Modred smiled slightly. “We hope not.”

I didn’t want to get in the middle of vampire power politics. I just wanted to crawl into bed and rub on some tiger balm. I massaged my aching head.

“Nobody ever cooperates. That’s the nature of every investigation.”

“True. But if you anticipate dissent, you stand the chance of avoiding it.”

“You sound like Sun Tzu.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Cyrus stopped the cab. We’d arrived in front of my house. I hadn’t even realized that we were in the same neighborhood.

“Wait.” I stared at him. “How did you know my address?”

“Don’t question small miracles, Tess. Just accept them.” Cyrus smiled. “It was nice to meet you.”

Derrick and Mia were both sitting on the steps outside. Derrick saw me, and the tension drained from his face. It was a nice feeling. Being worried about.

I nudged Patrick. “Wake up, magnate. We’re home.”

“Nnh. Yeah?” He blinked sleepily, looked out the window, and smiled. “Good.”

Modred opened the door, helping me out of the backseat. His hand was cold. We stood facing each other in the dark for a few seconds. Then I shrugged.

“Thanks again.”

“Of course,” he said simply.

“Good night, then.”

“Yes. Good night.” He placed a hand lightly on Patrick’s shoulder. “Be safe, magnate. Get your rest.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“And you as well, Tess.” Modred gave me an uncertain smile.

I followed Patrick to the front door. I could feel the vampires watching me, but I didn’t quicken my step.

If I’d learned anything from reading The Last Unicorn in high school, it was that you never ran from an immortal.

9

“You look tired, Tess.”

Dr. Hinzelmann peered at me from his desk. His small hands were folded politely on top of a green file folder, which, I assumed, held vital details about my life, preferences, neuroses, and failures.

I gently touched the bruise on my left cheek.

“Well, I did eat some pavement last night. I got roughly four hours of sleep, and my painkillers haven’t kicked in yet.”

“Would you like me to write you a prescription?”

I blinked. “You can do that?”

“Of course.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a prescription pad. “What are you currently taking for pain?”

“Motrin and ice cream.”

He smiled slightly, then scrawled something on the paper. “I’m giving you seven tablets of Vicodin.

Take one at night with food and water.” He handed me the paper. “And don’t self-medicate with anything else. It won’t mix well.”

I put the prescription in my pocket. “Wow. Thank you. Selena just told me to buy a heating blanket.”

Hinzelmann shrugged. “Sometimes you need a little something extra. And it’s a very small dose. If you come back tomorrow asking for more, I’ll know something’s wrong. For now, it’s mostly just to help you sleep.”

“I’d need a clone to help me sleep. There aren’t enough hours in the night.”

“Is the case taking up most of your time? Or is it something else?”

I settled back into the leather chair. It was almost more comfortable than my bed. I briefly wondered if Hinzelmann would let me have a small nap. I figured he got paid for the session no matter what.

“Things are a bit crazy at home, as usual,” I said. “Patrick seems to be accumulating new responsibilities as the vampire magnate. Mia is obsessing over colleges. Derrick is trying to push his psi-proficiency to some crazy new level. I think he feels like he isn’t contributing enough to the CORE