“What was it?” No wasted words or questions.

And now I had to find a way around the truth. “It tried to take the shape of a sabertooth cat of some kind. It tried to take Immanuel’s shape. And the shape of a black-haired human. I killed it before it could kill me. I’m guessing Immanuel has been dead for a very long time.” Which was a lot of information, but didn’t answer his question. I hoped he didn’t notice.

“Weeks? Months?” he demanded.

“Years,” I said softly, gently. Knowing I was dumping a lot of bad news on him all at once. “Maybe decades. It was dying, Bruiser.” I tried to find a way of explaining what it was without giving my own dual nature away. “I don’t know how it came to take Immanuel’s place, but I think the melding between vamp genetics and its own wasn’t working, hadn’t been working for a long time. That’s why it needed so much blood and protein. Only massive intakes of blood and tissue kept it looking and smelling like Immanuel.” That’s why it stank so often, I thought.

“In the last weeks it had started needing more, stronger blood. When the blood-master of Clan Arceneau came back to the States, the thing took him prisoner. He was draining him nearly dry. Forcing Grégoire to sign financial papers, using clan monies to buy land for . . . whatever it planned to do. Take over as blood-master of the city, at a guess.” So it could use the city’s vamps for feedings as it wanted? Maybe. . . .

When he said nothing to my observation, I went on. “It imprisoned the rest of Clan Arceneau in silver in their clan home.” I paused. “Tell Leo he needs to find Grégoire and send him to earth. And look for the blood-servants of Clan Arceneau. They’ll need rescuing, if they’re still alive.”

“Was it some kind of were?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. Not lying. Not telling the truth.

“It handled silver?”

I remembered the stench of burning meat when I tracked it at dawn on Aggie’s land. It had taken on some of the vamp characteristics, just as I had taken on some of Beast’s. Black magic. I had done magic as black and foul as the liver-eater. I took a breath and went on. “It could touch silver. It could drink blood. But, though it had a vamp’s reaction to sunlight, it wasn’t a vamp. It was only masquerading as a vamp.”

“I don’t . . . I can’t believe this,” Bruiser said.

“I think if you go into his room, you’ll find some . . . let’s call them fetishes. Leg bones, skulls, big stuff like that, as well as teeth and smaller mementoes, like trinkets from his kills, using the bones to take different forms.” I heard footsteps, sloshing, as if through the blood and goop in the hallway at Leo’s. The tone of the background noise changed, as he entered a smaller room. Then the sounds of things being moved, dropped, shoved. Bruiser was searching a room, with no regard to neatness or care.

“There’s a skull in his room. On the top shelf of the closet.”

“Human?” I asked.

“Yeah. And some . . . looks like femur bones. And other stuff. Not human.”

“The skull is probably Immanuel’s,” I said, even more gently. “Something for Leo to lay to rest.”

George swore, his voice breaking. In the background I heard Leo shout, his voice ringing, full of command and power. “I’ll get back to you if I live through the night,” Bruiser said, echoing my own worries.

“Call the vamp council,” I said. “I can report to them before dawn, before this gets around as something it isn’t. I have to call the cops in too. Tell them what happened.”

“Yeah. Sure.” The phone clicked, the display showing CALL DISCONNECTED.

The next call, to Jodi, went about the same, with a few variations, all of them along the lines of “Why didn’t you call me?” When she interrupted the third time, with the same question, I said, “Jodi, I don’t work for you. I didn’t call you. Get over it.”

She made a little choking sound. “I’m going out to his house,” she said stiffly when she could speak again.

“Leo’s?” I squeaked. “Are you out of your mind? You ever see a vamp lose it? A real honest-to-God vamp rage? As far as he can feel and tell, his son just died. He’s grieving, the way vamps grieve, the way vamps do everything. Think about it. If he’s out of control, and you show up, he’ll rip off your head and drink you dry. George is the only one who might be able to survive the experience. You show up and the balance changes. Stay. Away.”

After a moment, she grunted with agreement. “I don’t like you, Yellowrock.”

“It’s mutual,” I said with a smile in my voice. “I may have to address the vamp council before dawn. Want to come along?”

“Yeah?” She sounded marginally happier. I wondered how many cops had ever seen the members of the vamp council all in one place, let alone ever seen a council in action. “Let me know the details. I’ll be there.”

I closed the cell. I had me a new best pal cop. Oh, goody.

I braked my bike as I turned into the circular drive, moving slowly through the gathered limos, all black and sleek, some sitting heavily, an indication of armor. Each driver looked me over as I rode past, eyes following me the way professional muscle would, a look that was half assessment, half threat. If I hadn’t been so tired, I’d have reacted, but I just didn’t have the energy to care. Let ’em look.

At the front door, I pulled to the curb and cut the engine, lowered the kickstand, and unhelmeted, letting my hair fall in a single long black wave. I was wearing jeans and boots, a T-shirt, and the gold nugget necklace, my weapons at home on the kitchen table; I was carrying nothing to pose a threat to the council. To carry a weapon into the council chambers was tantamount to taking a weapon into a foreign embassy or a federal courtroom. A good way to get jumped on and locked away, if not killed. Of course that left me in danger if I did need to protect myself, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it except not show.Bruiser had called me at two a.m. with info, orders for me to talk to the council, directions and details. He sounded weak, but in control and alive, if not exactly healthy. He’d informed me that going before the council meant formal wear, but my only little black dress was more suited to cocktail parties than ambassadorial and embassy functions, and my other clothes were all wet. Boots and jeans were the best I could do on short notice.

Inside, they patted me down, very thoroughly, and sent me to a small waiting room with wood-paneled walls, two couches, a small refrigerator stocked with bottled water, a TV set high on the wall, and one table. No windows. A human blood-servant stood guard at the door.

Jodi, when she joined me in the small waiting room, was in cop dress blues. She looked pretty spiffy and she raised an eyebrow at my casual attire when they showed her in. I shrugged. There wasn’t much I could do about my wardrobe at four in the morning.

“The chief wanted to come in my place,” she said by way of greeting. Her eyes were sparkling, and there was an air of repressed excitement about her, maybe nervousness. “But George Dumas specified me when he called HQ with the invitation. Thanks.”

“Your boss ever been before a council?”

“Nope.” She smiled slightly. “I think he’s ticked off with me.”

“It’s good for a cop’s career to get an invitation?”

“Don’t know.” She smoothed down her skirt with anxious hands. “This is a first. The boss just gets a phone call with instructions.”

“Ah.” I hid my smile. Jodi would soon be moving up in the world. “Where’s Herbert?”

“Beats me.” She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “You like Jim? Want me to set you up on a date?”

It took a second to realize she was razzing me. “Cute. No way, no thanks.” I stretched out on the couch, feeling the hours, the constant shifts, and the burn in every muscle, nerve, and skin cell. I wanted to close my burning eyes but I was afraid I’d fall asleep, so instead I spent a half hour in small talk with Jodi, which wasn’t as painful as it might seem. She was okay when she was nervous, even invited me to go shooting with her, which made me wonder about the twins, if they were alive or dead. If they had survived the liver-eater, maybe they’d like to . . . not double date, exactly.

The thought was somehow unsettling, but before I could figure out why, Bruiser walked in, wearing a formal-looking black suit, black tie, and a white shirt—average business attire, if the average businessman spent four thousand bucks on a suit. His clothes had obviously been tailored specifically for him. The man himself was pale as paper and wore a bandage around his neck. When he sat down beside me, it was with a sigh that sounded like a cessation of pain. “Long night,” he said, looking at me. His flesh was unnaturally warm, feverish; I could feel it across the two inches that separated us. The heat made me want to move over, but I held my place. “Nice outfit,” he added.

I couldn’t think of an appropriate reply or welcome, so I said, “Looks like you lived.” What an inane comment. I wanted to slap myself, but he just smiled.

“Yeah. It was a near thing. Leo . . . Leo’s not doing so well.”

“Oh?” Jodi said, a cop tone in her voice.

“His son died tonight, Detective.” Bruiser touched his bandage with uncertain fingers. “He’s in mourning.”

“His son died a long time ago,” I said.

“Yeah. Well.” He studied me a moment. “You’re an interesting woman, Jane Yellowrock.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded like a compliment, sorta, so I smiled.

A woman stuck her head in the door. “Miss Yellowrock, Detective, they’re ready for you now.” We stood and I raised a hand in a casual wave at Bruiser, who watched us go, his face expressionless. Jodi followed me down the corridor, our footsteps silent. The human blood-servant opened a door at the end of the hallway and stepped inside. “New Orleans Police Department Detective Jodi Richoux and Jane Yellowrock.”