“What did she say?”

“She sends her love and wants to know if you can come over to the compound a week from tonight. She’s taking the next day off so you two can spend the entire night together.” Camille’s eyes were twinkling.

I grinned like an idiot. Nerissa never took a day off, and that she’d do so just to spend the entire night with me gave me a warm fuzzy feeling. Disconcerted—I didn’t do warm fuzzy—I tried to brush it away, but I couldn’t.

“She’s a special woman,” I said quietly.

“To take you on? I should say so.” Camille rattled her paper and folded it into a square. “Andy Gambit is at it again.”

“Shit, what’s he written now?” I asked as I shimmied into a pair of jeans and a loose, long-sleeved, rose-colored blouse.

The Seattle Tattler was a rag, yellow journalism at its best, but since they often printed stories that included the Fae and Supes as primary targets, we subscribed and read it on a regular basis. Andy Gambit was, by far, the worst reporter on the staff. He was always taking potshots, at us in particular. His goal in life seemed to be focused on becoming one of the big-time paparazzi, but somehow he never quite crossed over to the level of the brightest and best busybodies of the world.

Camille gave me a long look. “You really want to know? It isn’t pretty. In fact, it’s a slam against all vampires. Hell, Weres, too.”

“Oh wonderful. What has that prick got stuck in his craw now?” Knowing Andy, it could be anything.

Camille twisted her mouth in that peculiar way she had whenever something had set sour with her. She handed the paper to me. “Read it and weep.”

I glanced at the headline. “Freedom’s Angels Spread the Word: The Sordid Sex Secrets of Supes and Vamps.” Uh-oh. I settled down to read as Camille made my bed and picked up my dirty clothes, tossing them in the hamper.

In a shocking revelation the Freedom’s Angels, the premier moral compass group, have revealed new and sordid secrets about the creatures of the night. Dr. Shawn Little, a psychologist who volunteers his spare time to helping the group, has this to say about the Earthborn who might contemplate entering into an intimate relationship with one of the demonic beings:

“Before ever letting one of the unnaturals touch you, bear in mind that if you enter into intimate relations with a vampire, you are—in essence—committing an act of necrophilia. We realize that the law doesn’t see it our way, but morally, you are doing nothing more than having sex with a dead body that’s been demonically reanimated.

“And should you decide to strike up a relationship with a Were creature, you are committing an act of bestiality. We urge all of the true Earthborn to resist any such temptations, to keep themselves pure, and not defile the temple of their body by cavorting with these unnatural creatures.”

In related news, the Freedom’s Angels have applied for recognition as an official nonprofit religious organization. They plan on erecting a temple that can hold ten thousand worshippers in Nevada. The church will be called the Brotherhood of the Earthborn and construction is expected to be finished before the year is out, regardless of the government conspiracy to cover up the truths revealed by the founders of the organization.

“Holy shit.” I stared at the paper. “Why am I not surprised? They actually think they can attract enough people to fill that place?”

“Of course they can,” Camille said, shaking her head. “We’re fairly safe here, but there are plenty of people out there who think we all rode in on the train straight from Hel’s domain. And they’d like nothing more than to drive us out again. Either that or stick us on top of a pyre and light the match.”

“Hmm . . . wonder if they’ll try to set up halfway houses for the blood whores. I wouldn’t object if it were some other religion. Some sane religion.”

While the ultra-right-wing Christians thought we were straight from the devil’s lair, most of the mainstream denominations had found ways to coexist with us in a quiet truce.

Vampires had it harder than the Supes and Fae, definitely. The church’s stance on the Fae and Supes had grown to encompass them as beings of the universe . . . a phrase now used by a number of religions as a catchall term instead of humanity. Vampires, though, they were still nebulous about. But mostly, as long as we didn’t stir up too much trouble, the mainstream churches were content to live and let us live.

“So you and Roz sure had yourself a party this morning,” Camille said as I tossed the paper on my desk and headed for the stairs. I stopped, turning around. She had a telltale smirk on her face.

“I should have known you’d find out,” I said. “Yes, we had sex, and yes, it was good, and yes, he’s all that incubi are cracked up to be. More so.” And then, because I couldn’t help it—and I knew she’d understand—I whispered, “He’s got stamina, that’s for sure.”

She giggled. “So, you prefer Nerissa or him?”

“Apples and oranges. Or should I say, type O and type A. Can’t really compare the two. And I’m not planning on giving up one for the other, nor am I planning on making a playdate with both of them at the same time, Ms. Harem Keeper.” I sat down on the stairs. If she knew, the whole house probably knew. “Did Roz tell you?”

“Not at first.” Camille shook her head. “I could smell sex in the parlor the minute I walked in there. His pheromones are extremely potent, and when Smoky came in, he was positive that Roz had just put the make on me and that I was trying to protect him. It took a lot to convince my hothead that Rozurial had not overstepped his boundaries with me. I finally made him fess up for his own safety.”

Oh good gods. That overgrown lizard jumped to conclusions a lot, as did Chase. Only Smoky was a lot more dangerous than Chase. “Great. I suppose everybody knows by now?”

“Um . . . yeah. The arguing was pretty loud until I convinced Rozurial that to avoid a major pounding, he’d better come clean. He’s very discreet, by the way. I was surprised. But by then, everybody was in the parlor trying to calm Smoky down. Sometimes I think he needs a good dose of elephant tranqs.” But she was laughing as she said it.

“I guess he was just looking out for you,” I said, even though I knew better. Smoky owned Camille. Granted, he’d accepted that he was on a time-share with Morio and Trillian, but that was the extent of his generosity. In Smoky’s eyes, Camille was his, no two ways about it. “Okay, everybody knows we slept together. So nobody should be surprised when I don’t talk about it, right? I’m just not comfortable spouting off about my love life to anybody but you and Kitten. And Iris.”

She was about to answer when there was a commotion from above. We rushed upstairs, pausing to make sure the kitchen was empty before slipping through the entrance to my lair. From the sounds of things, something was going on in the living room.

Vanzir, Roz, Delilah, and Morio were scurrying around, and it looked like they were grabbing weapons. Iris was holding Maggie, and Smoky was nowhere to be seen. As Roz plastered a warm kiss on my forehead, nobody said a word, much to my relief. I gave him a quick kiss in return.

“What’s going on?”

“A group of ghouls is tearing up the Wedgewood Cemetery.” Morio slipped the strap of his bag over his head. “Chase called. He needs our help. Get moving!”

The Wedgewood Cemetery was next to the Salish Ranch Park, where we’d routed two dubba-trolls earlier in the year. It seemed to be a magnet for beasties. There was a gorgeous glassed-in arboretum in the park that was a sitting duck target for destruction.

“Ghouls?” I thought about Wilbur and his ghoul, Martin. “Think our new neighbor has anything to do with this?”

“I dunno,” Delilah said, “but we’d better get moving, because there are picnickers still in the park, and you can just imagine what kind of field day those creatures will have. Not quite like having ants heading toward the basket. Picnic, my ass—a gory, bloody picnic!”

I glanced outside. The sun had set, but it was still light enough for strollers and skateboarders and teenagers to be hanging out. “Well, hell. Let’s get a move on. Where’s Smoky?”

“He took off for his barrow. He’s trying to keep peace with the Triple Threat. Come on, we’ll take your car and mine.” Camille grabbed her keys. “Kitten, you and Roz ride with Menolly and fill her in on what we learned today. Vanzir, you and Morio ride with me.”

“Wait a minute! What about your burns?”

“They’re fine—no open sores, so I’m going.” She gave me that look that told me it was useless to argue.

And so we were off, after I planted a quick kiss on Maggie’s head.

On the way there, Roz sat in back, politely silent to the point of making me want to smack him, while Delilah detailed what they’d found out while I slept.

“Vanzir has Carter checking on other demonic activity. Carter told him to drop by with us tonight. We’ll stop there after we take care of these ghouls.”

Somehow, going to meet our indentured demon’s buddy didn’t sound all that comforting, but I let it pass. Carter was probably no worse than Vanzir, and he was providing us with information.

“What about you? Did you find anything out about Harold’s house?”

She nodded. “The house is well over a hundred years old. It belonged to a Dr. Grout at first, who was a widower. He had a daughter, Lily, and the girl married Trent Young, a moneyed young man fresh over from England. Trent bought the house from the old man, who vanished somewhere. I couldn’t find out anything else about him. As it so happens, Trent belonged to a rather scary lodge while back in England—the Eighth Circle.”

“Eighth Circle,” I said. “Let me guess—the eighth circle as in Dante’s nine circles of hell?”

Delilah nodded. “One and the same. The lodge was said to be steeped in sorcery. Even more interesting, immediately upon settling in the U.S., Trent established a private club that he named Dante’s Hellions.”

“The same Dante’s Hellions that Harold belongs to?”

“It looks that way.”

So Dante’s Hellions was a lot older than we thought. “I take it Trent Young is related to Harold Young?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Trent is Harold’s great-grandfather. Lily and Trent had two sons. One of them—Rutger—took over the house when the couple moved into a smaller place in the early forties. He was in his early twenties.”

“What was going on with the club?”

“I think they were running it as a secret society. Rutger took over as president of the order shortly after he married a woman named Amanda. They had four children. Two daughters and two sons—Jackson and Orrin.”

“Let me guess. One of their boys is Harold’s father.”

“Right. Jackson. By the time Harold hit middle school, his grandmother died, and his grandfather—Rutger—followed shortly after. Rutger left the house to Harold’s uncle Orrin. Interestingly enough, the old man declined to leave Jackson and his sisters any inheritance.”

“I wonder why.”

“Don’t know, but Rutger left the bulk of his estate to Orrin, except for a large trust fund he’d set up for Harold. Jackson ended up inheriting his money from his maternal grandmother. Orrin lived in the house until Harold started college. Then he moved into a condo and signed the deed over to Harold, who turned the mansion into the frat house you see today.”

Delilah gave me a satisfied smirk.

“You were a busy bee today. So tell me, what else did you find out about Dante’s Hellions through the years?”

I glanced out the window. We were about ten minutes away from the Salish Ranch Park, which straddled the boundary line that divided the Belles-Faire District from the central Seattle urban area. The park was adjacent to the Wedgewood Cemetery where, apparently, our ghouls were having a rousing good time.

“I can’t find any mention of it after Orrin took over the house. Either it went underground or just fell off the radar until Harold decided to revive it.”

She sighed. “Harold has been a severe disappointment to his parents, failing not only to get into Yale, Princeton, or any other Ivy League college because of his personality, not his grades. He also managed to get himself in trouble a number of times.”

“And Chase—did he do the background checks on the boys living there?”

“Yeah, I was talking to him when dispatch interrupted with the news about the ghouls. He’ll fill us in on what he found after we take out the undead crew.”

She pointed to the parking lot that served for both the cemetery and the park. “There—there’s a spot near the gates.”

I swung in, my Jag smoothly rolling to a stop as Camille pulled in on my left in her Lexus. We headed across the lawn. The cemetery’s labyrinth of cobblestone paths was lit by a string of gas-lantern replicas, but in reality they were as up-to-date as Delilah’s laptop. The lamps added a serene, peaceful sense to the somber environment.

The cemetery was still open, but it looked like most of the patrons—those still with breath in their lungs—had fled. The dead inhabitants remained dead, or at least I hoped so. If there was a necromancer somewhere around dabbling in resurrection, then we were all in trouble.

Chase strode over to meet us. He’d brought backup, and most of the officers were Fae or elfin.

“What have you got for us?” I asked.

“Ghouls. Apparently one of the picnickers was a house sprite and recognized them. He’s the one who called in. He said there were quite a few.” Chase motioned to the officers. “What do they need? What kills ghouls? And what’s the difference between a wight and a ghoul? None of my men seem to know much about the undead.”