“Cal!” I yelled. “What the hell?”

Mr. Marchand smiled cordially as John stood near Gigi, playing with the dark strands of her hair. Although he spoke with the same genteel tone, all of the amiable manners of the Council official I’d known were gone. This Mr. Marchand was cold, nearly reptilian in his movements, as his gaze bounced back and forth between his new guests and Cal. “Your friend, Mr. Calix, has been most unhelpful in resolving a little administrative matter. It might have something to do with injecting debilitating poison into his gift blood. Some people hold grudges.”

Dark with hate, Cal’s eyes were narrowed on Mr. Marchand, tracking his every movement. His lips curled back into a snarl as he struggled against the cuffs. Each movement of his wrist made his skin blacken and burn as he came into contact with the cuffs. Silver cuffs. Mr. Marchand had been torturing him with silver.

Bastard!

My own lip curled back into a snarl. If I lived through this, Mr. Marchand was going to be in a lot of pain. And you’d better believe I was going to cancel his contract.

“You have been a very naughty girl, Miss Iris,” Mr. Marchand chided. “I never would have guessed you were such a talented little liar. I believed you when you said you’d never met Mr. Calix in person. I defended you to the other members of the Council, did you know that? Mr. Crown and Sophie wanted to drag you into the detention center for questioning, and I said, ‘Oh, no, not Iris Scanlon. She’s as trustworthy as the day is long.’ How did you ever manage to fool Sophie’s filter system? She would be so upset if she knew. She considers herself to be foolproof.”

I stayed quiet but eyed the pots of geraniums hanging from hooks on the porch railing.

“I have to admit it was foolish on my part to hope that Mr. Calix had simply scurried off like a sick animal. After taking the trouble to volunteer for Crown’s delivery duties and replace Mr. Calix’s gift with my own special blend of bottled blood, not knowing whether it worked was so frustrating.”

He laid a hand on my shoulder, a sort of friendly pat from your neighborhood undead sociopath, as he added, “John was able to find all of Mr. Calix’s files at your home, and his backup drives. But, industrious little squirrel that he is, your vampire backed up every document and note onto an online storage service. Can you imagine the liability of all of those documents just floating out there in the ether? We can’t allow that. But we can’t seem to get him to share the password with us so we can delete the account. I thought perhaps the presence of you and your sister might persuade him to be more accommodating.”

He slipped behind me, squeezing my shoulder affectionately. His lips were at my ear, the bristles of his mustache tickling the skin. “You see, if he doesn’t hand over the password and delete every single file, I’m going to rip out your little sister’s throat. And I’m going to make you watch. Imagine how much it will hurt him to see you suffer that. And then, as much as it pains me, I’m going to let John do every depraved, twisted little thing he’s talked about nonstop since meeting you. And your Mr. Calix will have a front-row seat for it all.”

Despite the fact that every word turned my insides to water, I kept a still, serene expression in place. I kept my voice friendly, sweet, as if we were all sitting around in this garden scene waiting for mint juleps and petit fours to be served. “I think there’s been some misunderstanding, Mr. Marchand. Hurting me isn’t going to bother Mr. Calix. I’m just his employee.”

“I think you’re a bit more than that, dear. Your Gigi gave John a lovely picture of the domestic life you’ve built together. It was charming, really, to hear it from her perspective. Imagine, an ancient like Calix falling in love with a little human girl from the Hollow.”

Cal wouldn’t look at me—couldn’t, I supposed, if he didn’t want to see my face as Mr. Marchand gave his secrets away.

I cleared my throat, pushing past the hot, tight sensation of it closing. “Fine. If you think I mean so much to him, it’s not necessary for Gigi to be here. Let her go.”

“I don’t think you understand how negotiations work,” he told me.

“You’re not the first to say so. Look, I will be a very cooperative hostage if you let my sister go.”

“You’ll be a more cooperative hostage if the imminent threat of your sister’s death is hanging over your head.”

“Damn, that’s a good point,” I admitted.

He chuckled, patting me on the head. “Now, Mr. Calix, have you reconsidered your stance? Surely the well-being of two innocents outweighs the considerations of such a minor administrative matter.”

“It’s hardly a problem with ordering office supplies,” I said. “People are dead. Vampires driven mad. You did all that, for what?”

He shrugged amiably. “I wish I could claim some great philosophical motivation. But honestly, I’m in it for the money. I devised the Blue Moon compound knowing how it would affect vampires and knowing that I was the only person who could provide a preventive treatment. I arranged for the ‘accidental’ release of the altered synthetic blood to the market, took care of the loose ends at Nocturne, and waited for reports of attacks. I was just as shocked and appalled as any vampire when I heard about the violent killings. Imagine the chaos if the poison was distributed on a larger scale, I told the other Council members. And when the time was right, the manufacturers of Vee Balm made contact with the Council offices.”

“You made Vee Balm?”

A shrewd look seeped into his icy gray eyes. “Technically, a company in South Bend, Indiana, makes Vee Balm. I just happen to own that company. Well, the subsidiary that owns that company. And another company that supplies the botanical ingredient necessary to make Vee Balm. The same company that just struck a rather lucrative deal to provide Vee Balm to Council chapters in each state. Overall, those contracts will add up to a tidy little nest egg to keep me flush through the next millennium.

“Now, Mr. Calix, have we come to a decision? This is a time-sensitive offer. Your password in exchange for guaranteed safe passage for the Scanlon sisters. The clock is ticking.”

“Cal, don’t let them get away with this,” I told him. “He’s bluffing. John’s got some disturbing agreement to keep us as his pet blood donors after this is over. I think I can safely say that a quick death would be preferable.”

Cal’s lip curled back into a snarl. Perhaps my being used as a human bargaining chip was not the best point to bring up. I really did suck at negotiating.

“Tick-tock, Mr. Calix.” Mr. Marchand purred, leaning close to Gigi, fangs bared.

My lungs seemed frozen. I couldn’t do anything to stop him. He was going to hurt Gigi. I’d failed. I’d failed to keep her safe. Failed to see her grow up. I’d brought this on us with this stupid, pointless business.

“She’s so lovely,” Mr. Marchand murmured, pulling Gigi’s dark hair away from her neck. She closed her eyes and whimpered as he wound it around his hand. He pulled her head back to bare her throat. “I do so enjoy the young ones. They’re so … unspoiled. John here assures me that our Gigi is a very good girl. Pure as the driven snow. So even if you don’t cooperate, I am anticipating a very nice meal and a show. I win either way.”

“This isn’t the way it’s supposed to play out,” John protested.

“Gigi,” I whispered, whimpering when Mr. Marchand’s fingers tightened around the back of Gigi’s neck with crushing pressure. “I’m so sorry.”

“Screw them sideways.” Gigi had gone from sniffling softly at my side to glaring at Mr. Marchand and John with more heat than I thought possible. “They’re going to kill us anyway. If John’s going to do something creepy and awful to us, I’d rather go sooner than later.”

I gritted my teeth, barely able to move my head enough to look Cal in the eye. “Do the smart thing, Cal.”

Mr. Marchand moved to strike. I clenched my eyes shut, tucking my head into my shoulder.

“Petal!” Cal shouted. “The password is Petal.”

Cal’s password was Paul’s booty-call nickname for me.

Mr. Marchand’s grip relaxed. I sighed. “Not funny, Cal.”

“It’s a little funny,” Gigi muttered, wincing when I elbowed her.

Gigi slumped against me, shrinking away from John’s coos and assurances that she would be just fine now.

Mr. Marchand swaggered over to the laptop and tapped the keys. A little bell tone indicated success. He grinned widely. “Excellent.”

A few more taps and clicks, and Mr. Marchand was even more pleased with himself.

“Thank you very much.” He chuckled. “You have been very helpful. But I am afraid that you’re about to meet with an unfortunate accident.”

“Well, I, for one, am shocked,” John said smarmily.

Mr. Marchand pulled a packet of donor blood from a little red Coleman cooler by the table. He chose one of several carefully labeled syringes arranged on a white cotton pad, then jabbed it into the packet and shook it thoroughly. “I made a special purchase of AB negative for you. I wouldn’t want your last meal to consist of synthetic blood.” Mr. Marchand shot a sympathetic look at Gigi and me. “Well, I suppose it won’t be your last meal.”

“No.” Cal growled, shrinking away as Mr. Marchand held the packet to his lips. Mr. Marchand gripped his hair and shoved the bag into Cal’s mouth. He struggled, trying to spit the blood out, to wrench his mouth away, but Mr. Marchand was pouring it down his throat, forcing it down.

“Oh, this is bad,” I murmured as Cal spat and coughed.

“What? What’s bad?” Gigi asked.

“What are you doing?” John demanded shrilly. “You promised I could keep the Scanlon girls.”

“The Scanlon girls are about to fall victim to the unfortunate poisoning-related attacks,” Mr. Marchand said blithely, as if describing our lunch plans for the next day. “I stumbled upon him attacking these poor young ladies on the side of the road after Ms. Scanlon’s van broke down. I had no choice but to stake him. No loose ends, John.”

“No! I will not allow it!”

Mr. Marchand sniffed. “Don’t you talk back to me, boy. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

John shot back, “Don’t forget that I’m four hundred years older than you.”

“And yet you act like a petulant child denied a treat.”

“Don’t call me a child!” John yelled, stamping his foot.

While they argued, I felt a gentle tug at the tape behind my back. There were warm, steady hands quietly cutting through the tape and peeling it away.

I looked over my shoulder. Ben Overby held a finger to his lips and shushed me.

“What?” I shrieked as Gigi clapped a hand over my mouth. We all glanced over at the arguing vampires, who hadn’t noticed my surprised squawk.

Gigi’s tape was already removed. She was subtly rubbing the circulation back into her wrists. When my hands were free, I slowly sat up, watching Mr. Marchand and John arguing.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered as Ben freed my hands. “How did you find us?”

“Not important right now,” he whispered, eyeing the vampires warily.

Pushing Gigi behind him, Ben helped me to my feet. Moving faster than I should have on wobbly, cramped legs, I grabbed handfuls of geranium leaves and crushed them, rubbing the oil over my hands and face.

“Here,” I said, pulling more leaves loose and rubbing them over Ben’s and Gigi’s perplexed faces. “Ben, I want you to take Gigi and get to an area with a lot of people. Take my phone out of my bag and dial the number marked ‘Ophelia.’ Tell her to get to Waco Marchand’s place as soon as possible. If that John prick tries to talk to you, I want you to think of anything but what he’s saying. Think of geometry formulas, lines from Avatar, anything but the bullshit that’s coming out of his mouth.”