chapter twenty-six

That was when the curtain I had hung over the back door flew aside, and a rush of air passed between Jeff and myself. Jeff staggered back, and a young man in a black trench coat seemed to materialize out of nothingness, perched on the edge of the kitchen counter like a gargoyle with a predilection for goth fashion. He held Jeff's gun in one hand, the Bowie knife in the other.

Jeff's upper lip curled back, and he snarled, an incongruously deep-throated sound for a man his apparent age. Lena pulled both of her bokken and started forward.

"You must be Moon," I said hastily, trying to defuse things before they wrecked my place and each other.

"Sorry, man. I heard you two talking, and I couldn't resist." Moon twirled the knife and grinned, black-lined lips pulling back to reveal perfect teeth.

"He's the other part of my arrangement with the vampires," I explained. "He's Sanguinarius Meyerii. A sparkler. He'll be guarding the house while we're away."

"Moon?" Jeff's voice remained an octave lower than usual.

Moon laughed. "Weird name, I know. My parents were old-fashioned Ann Arbor hippies. You should have met my sister, Starshine."

"The weapons?" I said.

"Right." He handed the knife and gun back to Jeff, then brushed off his coat. He wore a black kilt and a heavy metal T-shirt underneath. "No hard feelings, old man?"

"This is who they sent? A child half stoned out of his mind?" Jeff sniffed derisively. "I can smell the pot on his breath."

"Only because I need ten times as much as I used to," he complained. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to prep that stuff? First I've got to brew it into blood tea just so I can metabolize it, and by then you've boiled off half its potency. Not to mention the work I had to do to find an anticoagulant that didn't

taste like filtered diarrhea. And then the stuff barely gives me a buzz. I just drink it to take the edge off the day, you know?" He winked at Jeff. "You look like you could use a hit yourself, gramps."

"Not today," I said, cutting in before they could go any further. "Moon, I'm not sure how much they told you downstate, but the people we're hunting killed a werewolf last night and sent another to the hospital."

"Shit." Moon sobered at once. "Sorry, man. I didn't know." "Just keep an eye on the place. Call me if anything happens." Moon gave me a two-fingered salute. "Cub Scout's honor."

Having spent six years in scouting as a kid, somehow that didn't make me feel better.

I spent much of the drive asleep in the back of Nidhi's car. I awoke with my mouth dry and my shoulder damp from drool. Wind swirled through Jeff's open window, and a Hindi pop song was playing softly on the satellite radio.

I rubbed my eyes, then wiped my face on my sleeve. It was strange not being able to understand the words of the song. Normally, the telepathic fish in my head, courtesy of Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, translated other languages automatically. But there was no mind in this case, no thoughts for the fish to latch onto. Just cold, dead electronics.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"We'll be leaving Michigan in about fifteen minutes," said Nidhi.

According to the dashboard clock, I had slept well into the afternoon. On the bright side, I had missed crossing the Mackinac Bridge. Strange how that bridge—particularly the fear of plummeting off of that bridge—disturbed me more than the idea of meeting up with vampires to talk to a dead man.

I checked the back window and spotted Lena following on her motorcycle. She could have joined us in the car, but had chosen to let me sprawl out and nap in the back seat. Or maybe she just wanted an excuse to ride the bike. Though the idea of taking that thing over the Bridge would have given me nightmares.

Nidhi turned down the volume. "We picked up lunch for you."

Wordlessly, Jeff passed a paper sack into the back seat. Neither cold fries nor the greasy burger smelled the least bit appealing, but I managed to force them down without puking, which was a good sign. Between the food and the sleep, by the time we reached Columbus, I felt almost human.

We made our way around the edge of the city to a street with a row of brown townhouses on one side and a public park on the other. The houses looked

identical to me, but Nidhi didn't hesitate. As far as I knew, she had been here only once before, when she was called down to help the Porters examine the scene of Victor's death.

A blue minivan with a dented door sat in the driveway, and a sedan with dark-tinted windows was parked across the street. We pulled in behind the sedan. I heard the growling of Lena's bike as she parked behind us. For one very tense moment, I thought the sound had come from Jeff.

I grabbed Smudge's traveling cage, slipped on my jacket, and waited for Nidhi to pop the trunk so I could fetch my book bag as well. I didn't need a fire- spider to know what was in that sedan. My gut churned with the instinctive need to flee. The smell of death and rot fouled the air as we approached.

Deb DeGeorge was first out of the car. While not a true vampire, she was no longer human, either. She was Muscavore Wallacea, a so-called child of Renfield. Like the character from Stoker's novel, she consumed the lives of smaller creatures, which made her stronger. Faster. Better. A magical six-million- dollar, bug-eating woman.

She looked like hell.

Deb had lost at least twenty pounds since the last time I saw her, accentuating the bones of her skull and face. Her skin was pale, and her short hair was noticeably thinner. Her bloodshot eyes flitted toward Smudge.