 
#####

##### BLOOD

##### WORK

### Night Call Book One

#### L.J. Hayward

## ***

#### Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 L.J. Hayward

New Version January 2018

## ***

#### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

#### Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

#### ISBN 978-0-9925026-1-4

Night Call Series

Blood Work

Demon Dei

Here Be Dragons – A Night Call Story

Rock Paper Sorcery

Death and the Devil

(M/M Romantic Suspense)

Where Death Meets the Devil

Available from Riptide Publishing February 26 2018

# Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Afterword

About the Author

# Chapter 1

My name's Matt Hawkins and I kill monsters for a living. Slay and pay.

Werewolves, trolls, the occasional ghoul that gets a bit too big for its grave; but basically, whatever nasty critter crosses my path. Mostly, I kill vampires. While I'd made something of a living out of it, I don't even need the promise of cash to take down a vampire. Sure, it's a nice bonus, but vampires are my personal crusade.

So when I get a call about a mob of silent, violence-inclined teenagers harassing a place of business, I know it's not just a bunch of emo kids acting out.

"They're back," Barry all but shouted as I answered my mobile.

A sting of excitement mingled with a touch of fear stabbed through my guts. Perfect timing. Though I did have to wonder why Mercy hadn't contacted me first.

"What are they doing?" I asked, splitting my attention between the call and the doors of the main entrance to Jupiter's Hotel and Casino.

"What are they doing?" Barry repeated, his voice rising several octaves. "They're ruining my business, Hawkins! That's what they're doing. Third time in the last week they've come around and terrorised my customers."

"Ruining is a bit extreme, isn't it?" I snuck another glance at the doors.

The front wall was glass from floor to high ceiling. Bright lights flooded the area both inside and out, dazzling the punters before they even set eyes on the rows of pokies and clusters of green velvet-lined tables. Cars, taxis and limos came and went, ferrying people to and from. There were those coming to visit the bars and buffet or the casino, and hotel guests leaving to explore the Gold Coast nightlife.

Then there was me. Neither coming nor going, not dressed for either a night on the sleaze in a bar or losing my cash at the tables. I just... lingered. Loitered. Hung around. Of course the security guys were going to think I was up to No Good.

Damn Roberts. If only he would appear so I could grab my stuff and get the hell out of here.

The bouncers of Jupiter's had a bit of a reputation, but what bouncers don't? Sure, they take their Zero Tolerance policy very seriously, and sure, they've been known to come down hard on folks who take their fun just a little bit too far, but I couldn't really blame them for eyeing me with suspicion. I knew I was out of place, but in my defence, it was a place I didn't exactly want to be in. I don't do well in crowds, especially in crowds like those at the casino. A lot of people don't. At least, that's what my therapist keeps telling me. No matter how Doc Campbell justified it, my dislike of rowdy, close groups was what kept me outside and waiting, instead of going in and hunting.

"No, it's not," Barry snapped in my ear. "These mongrels have already scared off half my customers tonight, and they've only been here two minutes. You promised me you'd take care of this the next time they showed up."

The security guys were busy watching two girls in tight minis and absurdly high heels totter past, so I took a chance and emerged from my half-concealed position behind a palm tree across the driveway. I tried for a casual saunter along the side of the drive, attempting to look like I was waiting impatiently for someone, which I was, but conveying an impression of honesty is hard when you know someone is looking at you with doubt.

One of the bouncers looked in my direction. I laughed and turned, making sure he saw the phone against my ear.

"It's not a laughing matter, Hawkins!" Barry was getting frantic. "I'm paying you good money to clean these freaks out of my place."

"Look, don't worry. My partner's at your place already." The bouncer narrowed his eyes at me, hand reaching for the earpiece of his radio. My time was up. "I gotta go, Barry. I promise I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Wait, wait! You have a partner? Where is he?"

I smiled grimly. "Yes, I do and _she's_ there, don't worry. She'll keep them under surveillance."

"Surveillance isn't what I'm paying you for." There was the distinct sound of Barry's teeth grinding. "Where are you? Why aren't you here? You said you would deal with this!"

Closing my eyes, I counted silently to ten. When I took the job with Barry I knew he'd be a pain. Whiny little arse—

I cut off that train of thought. It wasn't Barry's fault. He was the innocent bystander in this mess and it was my job to make sure he—and his customers—didn't get hurt.

"I will be there very shortly. I'm just picking up some equipment. Don't—"

Panic. But I was too late. Barry's squeak of surprise and terror cut me off.

"Now they've gone upstairs! Oh my God, oh my God. I'm going to get sued and lose everything. All because of—"

"Barry! Stop it. Listen to me, Barry!"

My sharp, commanding words caught the other bouncer's attention as well. The two big, fit men exchanged meaningful looks, then started across the drive toward me.

"Wh... what?" Barry stammered in shock.

"Let them go up there. Trust me. It'll keep them contained until I get there. See you soon." I hung up before he could splutter more objections. Slipping the phone into the back pocket of my cargo pants, I turned to meet the bouncers, mind furiously going through all sorts of excuses I could come up with for my behaviour. Yeah, none exactly sprang out at me.

"Matt! So sorry to keep you waiting."

The loud greeting stopped the bouncers half way across the drive. They turned and saw a guy hurrying toward us.

In my black cargo pants, T-shirt and camo jacket, I didn't look the part of Jupiter's preferred custom, but thankfully Roberts did. He was the perfect image of upwardly mobile, successful business-ness—meticulously styled dark hair that suited both the boardroom and a nightclub, smart grey suit, silk shirt, a tie that looked nothing special to me but apparently was and a black briefcase that probably had a snazzy name like _attaché case_ or something.

"I was about to _leave_ ," I said pointedly.

Passing the bouncers, Roberts ignored them as if they were beneath his notice. "Yeah, thanks for waiting. I got caught up with some clients. Come on, let's blow this snake pit, hit somewhere classy, eh?"

Lips curling in displeasure, the bouncers glared at Roberts, suddenly not liking the look of him at all. I hid a smirk and fell into step beside my friend. We headed down the drive toward the bridge that linked the casino island with the rest of Broadbeach.

"Do you have it?" I asked when we were out of earshot.

Dodging a group of young guys heading up to the casino, Roberts patted his briefcase. "Right here. What's the rush, anyway?"

"Barry called," I said in my deadly serious voice.

"Ooh. I understand. A bit on the dramatic side, was he?"

"With good reason. They're back. I really need to sort this out tonight. If I leave them much longer, they'll only get harder to track and kill."

We hit the bridge and just on the far side, parked highly illegally, was my black, late model Holden Monaro. I let out a little sigh of relief that it hadn't been towed.

"Great," Roberts said as we reached my car. "I'll stay in the car while you clean up Bazza's mess."

I stopped and stared at him. "What?"

Flashing the cheeky grin that got him so much female interest, Roberts said, "Didn't I tell you? My car's in having a new stereo installed. I need a lift home."

Sighing, I opened the boot. Hand out for the briefcase, I said, "A lift will cost you. You're not waiting in the car. You can come in and deal with Barry for me."

Roberts didn't let the case go. "Really? Don't I already do enough for you? It's your business, mate, shouldn't you be in charge of client care?"

"Do enough for me?" I tugged on the case. "Come on, man. You, what? Hand out a few cards for me."

"Okay, yeah, I hand out your business cards, but when that's the entirety of your advertising plan, it's a pretty big favour I'm doing you." He didn't let go.

"If you had it your way, I'd have a full page ad in the Yellow Pages. How great would that look? Having troll trouble? Is Granddad's corpse being desecrated by a ghoul? Had your blood sucked? Night Call, for things that go bump in the dark. Yeah, that won't get me laughed out of the city. Now, let go. Barry's waiting." And because I knew it would spur Roberts into some sort of action, I added, "Mercy's already there, waiting for me."

Roberts let the case go as if it were a snake. "She's there alone?"

"Not alone," I said, heartlessly. "I'm sure the place is jumping. All those kids having a great time, she'll love it."

While Roberts gaped at me in silent horror, I laid the case in the boot and popped it open. Lying on a rumpled mess of papers and loose pens advertising Roberts Technical Solutions, was my Desert Eagle. I picked it up and felt much better with the gun's familiar, reassuring shape in my hand. Turning it over, I checked the slide and the laser-sight attached to the underside of the barrel and ejected the magazine. Tossing the spent mag into a corner of the boot, I then pulled over my box of spares. Filled with customised ammunition, I slapped one home, chambered the first round, ejected the mag, replaced the round and put it all back together with a satisfying clack. Weapon ready, I tucked it into the back of my pants, under my jacket. Then I filled the pockets of my pants with spare mags.

Roberts finally found his voice. "You let her go there on her own?" There was a tight, strangled quality to his voice I'd become familiar with during our friendship. I heard it quite a lot. As cocky as he could be at times, Roberts wasn't really cut out for my sort of business.

"It's okay," I said. "She's ready for it."

Backing up, Roberts shook his head. "If you say so. It might not be your funeral, but it'll be someone's..." With that comment, he went around to the passenger door and got in.

I closed the boot and stood for a moment, contemplating his words. He was just being overly reactive. Sure, it was Mercy's first outing without me constantly looking over her shoulder, and she was being awfully silent, but she was ready for it. It was beyond time, honestly. I'd coddled her long enough. If my plan was ever going to work, I needed to step back, let Mercy have her space and see if she could fly on her own.

If she couldn't, then the consequences just didn't bear thinking about. I'd burn that bridge when I crossed it. Time permitting I would have contacted her then and there, but it was probably best I just double-timed it to Barry's at this stage.

Slinging myself in behind the wheel the big Desert Eagle jammed into the small of my back, but I wouldn't have to put up with it for long. Barry's establishment was only a couple of minutes away. Pulling out onto the road, I swung the car around the round-about and slipped into the thick traffic on the Gold Coast highway, heading north.

"Thanks for the loan of the Eagle," Roberts said as we left Broadbeach and moved into Surfers Paradise.

I used the tall, green spire of the Q1 building as my guide and turned off the highway and into the network of side streets. "No problem. How did it go?"

Roberts laughed. "Killed 'em. The looks of pure fright on their faces was brilliant."

"And that is why I will never understand business."

"It's not that hard, really. Just gotta know your market and tailor your pitch." He mimed holding a gun and aimed through the windscreen. "Works every time."

"So you got the contract?"

"Of course I did."

"Won't this interfere with your real job?" The base of the Q1 went by my open window. A burst of laughter from an Indian restaurant on the opposite corner reminded me not everyone drove around with a big gun stuffed down the back of their pants.

"Shouldn't do. I can work the contract during the day and still party at night." He jabbed me in the ribs. "Your pitiful needs aren't enough to keep me in the lifestyle I want to get accustomed to, you know."

I snorted a laugh. "If only we all had your problems, my friend."

While Roberts was something of a technical wunderkind, he didn't want to set up security systems or network computers for a living. No, he much preferred his _real_ job, but sadly, being a professional barfly didn't pay enough to cover the costs of his personal needs—technical, social and grooming-wise. While he got to go out just about every night and had free entry into nearly every club, bar and hotspot in the greater Brisbane area, repping for booze companies just didn't earn the big bucks, so he had to supplement.

A couple of blocks up from the Q1 was Barry's place. It was an old office building he'd converted into a games arcade. The front was decorated in a garish display of laser images and fluorescent paint work that jarred my senses but was probably considered tame by the mid-teen crowd Barry catered to. It probably barely registered on minds more attuned to the glare of smart phones and tablets and whatever gadgetry they all couldn't possibly live without these days. Usually, even on school nights, there was a steady stream of kids pouring across the footpath and a tangle of cars battling for the few parking spaces out front, but tonight, I had no trouble. Driving right into a park, I studied the mostly vacant entrance.

"This isn't good," I muttered.

"Isn't it to be expected? I mean, this mob's been making trouble for a while now."

"Yeah, but this is Surfers, remember. A bit of trouble never keeps anyone away for long." Checking my spare mags, I opened the door. About to get out, I stopped. "You can stay here, if you want. I won't mind."

Roberts stared at the few kids loitering outside Barry's. They were all in their mid-teens, boys, dressed in T-shirts and baggy, long shorts, skateboards under their arms as they slouched in attempted coolness against the wall. Two of them eyed my car appreciatively. A few girls came out of the building, tanned legs shown off by short shorts. They pranced by the boys, not slowing, but making sure they were watched all the same.

"Nah," Roberts said, opening his door. "I'll come in. Gotta make sure you don't completely arse this up."

It was a big move and I appreciated the effort it cost him. "Thanks." I laid the sarcasm on thick. "You'll be perfect bait."

He gave me a pained smirk and we went into the building.

The front room was filled with ranks of games, none of which I recognised. Not one Pac Man, Donkey Kong or Street Fighter, but despite the names I didn't recognise, the noise and glaring lights were the same, as was the smell of spilled soft-drinks, popcorn and chocolate, with an undertone of sweaty body and a hint of salt and sand. The last time I'd been here, to scope out the place for when I had to come back and deal with the trouble-makers, it had been packed with young people. Now, barely half the games were occupied and there wasn't a line up for the laser-tag on the second floor.

"Thank God you're here!"

Barry, owner/operator of Surf Wars, hurried over from the back of the room. He was average height with a large gut that was more flabby muscle than fat hanging over the top of his faded jeans. A light sheen of worried sweat glistened on his bald head. He stopped short of running us over and stared at Roberts.

"Is this your partner? I thought you said she was a woman!"

He was close to panicking, about to flip out at the mere sight of Roberts.

"My partner is a girl," I assured him calmly. "This is Roberts, a business associate of mine. He's going to be our liaison." Having dealt out the one and only business-like term I knew, I backed off. "Now, you said they were upstairs?"

Barry nodded vaguely, the thought he was in over his head clear in his glazed eyes. "There's a session in progress. With, with normal people in there. Do you... Do you want me to stop it?"

Air froze in my lungs. What if my delay at the casino had cost lives? I shook away the thought. I couldn't afford it at the moment. My only consolation was this mob hadn't done more than toss a few people about so far, break an arm or two. Nothing life threatening. But I knew they wouldn't stay tame for much longer. It was only a matter of time before someone died. I just hoped that time hadn't come and gone.

"No. It'll just let them know we're on to them." I leaned in close to Roberts and whispered, "Don't let him call the cops. And see if you can get these kids out of here."

"Anything else I can do for you? Maybe go confront the baddies as well?"

"Don't be silly. You couldn't hit the broadside of a barn from the inside." Before he could thump me, I was off and jogging for the stairs leading up.

The stairwell was narrow but well lit, and empty. I hurried up them two at a time, reaching for the Desert Eagle as I neared the top. The red rope that barred the entrance to the landing was slung across the opening, the attendant that counted off players missing. Back pressed to the wall, I peered into the room at the top of the stairs.

It was dark, lit only by a spill of light from the stairwell, and a flickering montage of fluorescent streaks coming in through a window on the front of the building. Shadows danced across the floor and walls, making focusing difficult. I'd done a walk through previously, though, and knew roughly where everything was. To the left, in front of the window, was the register, where you signed up for teams and hired equipment. Opposite was the outfitting area, where you donned your vest and guards and picked up your weapon. Ranks of laser guns and rifles lined one wall. In the shifting light, I saw six empty places.

Eagle at the ready, I stepped over the rope, left knee twinging a little as I bent it back. Hoping the blasted leg would hold up, I sidled over to the desk, taking a quick look behind it. No nasties waiting to ambush me there. They were all in the main room. With a bunch of victims. Awesome.

The doors to the main room were closed, a push-bar shining dully in the dimness. I eased up to it, leaned my ear against the door. It vibrated to the beat-heavy music playing inside. A small fringe of smoke curled around the gap at the base of the doors, flashes of different coloured lasers lighting it up sporadically.

Desert Eagle in my right hand, the left on the push-bar, I took a deep breath and calmed my racing pulse. The stray thought I should have asked Barry how many there were crossed my mind, but I ignored it and pushed down.

The door swung in, letting out a rush of purple tinged smoke, a blast of ear-busting music designed to wake Satan himself and a high-pitched scream.

Doubts forgotten in a surge of adrenaline, I rushed in, stopping only long enough to kick the door closed behind me. It was designed to only open from the outside. I'd effectively trapped myself in a locked room with an unknown number of vampires.

It wasn't the stupidest thing I'd ever done, but it was, you know, up there.

Taking a deep breath, I faced the room and in my best John McClane, muttered, "Yippie-kai-yay."

# Chapter 2

If I thought the reflected light of the outside lasers was bad in the previous room, I clearly didn't know the meaning of the word.

The game room spanned the entire floor of the building, broken up into a maze of dead ends, killing grounds and narrow passages. Only a few of the walls were permanent, most of them were moveable, shorter than the fixed ones so that there was an empty space below the ceiling. Grey clouds produced by smoke machines drifted about up there, tinged different colours by the flashing lights.

There were several paths through to the exit and the aim of the game was to be the first team to get there, while 'killing' as many of the opposing team as you could. This already difficult task was further hindered by loud music, flashing lights and sporadic bursts of lasers. Shadows moved as if they were alive, drawing the eye and quickening the pulse in a surge of adrenaline.

I honestly couldn't understand why people did this for fun. But like Roberts kept reminding me, they needed a bit of danger—even the utterly bland sort of laser-tag—in their otherwise normal lives. Some people pretended to shoot each other, others jumped out of planes or swam with sharks. Nothing so tame for me. No. I got my kicks hunting supernatural monsters.

There were three options in front of me. Right, left and straight ahead. When I'd done my walk through, there had only been two, right and left. In his panic, Barry had forgotten to tell me he'd changed the layout, and to give me directions to the only exit.

Making a decision was taken out of my hands, though.

A scream, high, scared and definitely female, cut through the loud music. I spun to the left, Eagle at the ready. All I saw was a smoky, narrow corridor, fluorescent shapes painted on the walls glowing in the intermittent light. Another scream, not as loud or forceful. She was weakening, or being dragged further away from me.

The door crashed open behind me. Whirling, I pointed the gun, finger tightening on the trigger even as I recognised Roberts barrelling into the room. It was too late. The trigger depressed and the gun bucked in my hand.

Roberts staggered backwards, dark fluid spraying across his chest. He hit the door, slammed it shut, and slumped down in surprise as he stared at me, mouth agape, reaching blindly for the sticky mess on his shirt.

"You shot me," he moaned, the whites of his eyes flaring for a moment as a blue light flashed around us.

I barely heard him over the music, but I got enough to understand. "I wasted a shot, yes," I shouted back.

He looked at his hand, at the smear of liquid. "You shot me!" A faint whiff of garlic rose from him.

I waggled the gun in front of his face. "Just be thankful it's the replica Desert Eagle paintball gun and not my Barretta. What are you doing in here anyway?"

"I came to tell you we got all the kids out downstairs. Told them there was a gas leak." He got back to his feet, holding his jacket out to display the mess of green paint on his silk shirt. "I didn't come up here to get a three hundred dollar shirt ruined!"

Turning back to the left corridor, I shouted, "Could have texted. You realise you can't leave the way you came in, don't you?"

There was a moment of silence behind me, then furious rattling of the door.

"Damn you, Hawkins. I only came up because Barry was annoying the living crap out of me, and now I'm trapped in here with you and a bunch of blood sucking losers. And I don't know who I'm more worried about, them or you!"

"I'd suggest them." I closed my eyes, listening for more screaming.

"Yeah? _They_ haven't cost me three hundred bucks."

I ignored his griping and concentrated.

Successful monster slaying isn't accomplished through cool replica guns and sweet cars. Sure, it helps to look hard-arse and committed, but the majority of supernatural freaks aren't just packing fangs and or claws. Most come equipped with honest to God mental powers. Bend a spoon, pick a card, any card, cluck like a duck type psychic abilities. The only defence against such things is fire. As in, fighting fire with fire.

I focused on the music. On the heavy base beat, the chaotic rhythm, the undecipherable lyrics. It filled my head, suffused my body until it was the only thing I knew. Then I blocked it out. Everything went quiet. Without the pounding distraction of the music I could now hear and feel everything else.

Behind me, Roberts was a heartbeat and soft breaths. I felt it as he rubbed at the wet patch of paint on his chest, sensed his nose wrinkling as the garlic I mixed with the water-paint made itself known. He didn't want to be here, but he was, for me and he knew that I wouldn't let him get hurt.

I pushed past him, widening my reach. As I'd thought, there was a girl just around the corner. Fast, panicked gasps; heart beating a frantic, terrified race. She was bleeding, puncture wounds in her wrist, which was also broken from the strong grip of the vampire towering over her. It was male, tall, lean, powerful. His heart was also racing, but in excitement, lust, desire... _hunger_.

Shit. The mob had finally realised what they were, what they needed to satisfy them.

They were young. That much I had worked out from Barry's descriptions of their attacks. Turned less than a month, I guessed. I didn't have a lot of experience with vampires that young. They're mostly kept within the clan, hidden away until they'd finished the transformation from human to monster. In those first few weeks, they're incredibly vulnerable. Physically weak and mentally compromised as they try to reconcile their past as normal people with normal wants and needs, with the creature they're becoming. At about the same time the blood lust became overpowering, their memories of being human faded and their psychic abilities kicked in, leaving nothing but the predator, the insatiable hunter. Everyone around them becomes food. That's when they're let out of hiding and set upon an unsuspecting world.

This mob, however. According to Barry they couldn't mesmerize their prey, were strong but not pull-limbs-from-sockets-strong, were fast but couldn't blur out of sight and, most importantly, hadn't tried to suck the blood from any of Barry's patrons.

Until now.

While I was in the zone, I reached further still. Feeling my way through the maze I found six more humans—the players plus the attendant—and eleven more vampires. An even dozen.

I came back to myself, the music slamming in around me with an almost concussive weight. I'd never gone up against so many vampires before. Even young ones like these.

I needed my partner, and I needed her now.

The girl screamed again, her cries were twisted by pain, mixed with pleas and promises. Yup. These vampires had finally figured out what food would ease the ache in their bodies. Just as clearly, they hadn't yet mastered the art of psychically subduing said food so it didn't struggle, or feel pain.

I raced down the narrow corridor, Eagle at the ready. Roberts pounded along behind me. I didn't slow at the corner, just barrelled around it and snapped the gun out. Thanks to my psychic recon, I knew exactly where the bastard would be and I snapped off a shot before he even realised I was there.

The paintball missed his left shoulder by a tiny margin, exploding in a splatter of green against the wall. The vampire jerked back, probably more in surprise than anything else. He dropped the girl he'd pinned to the wall and she hit the floor, falling to the side with a soft moan. Ignoring her for the moment, I trained my laser-sight on the vampire.

In the shifting gloom and flashing neon, I couldn't get a good look at him, but at a very rough guess, I figured he was no more than eighteen years old, a surfer by the broad shoulders, trim waist, dreads of sun-bleached hair and rock-hard abs. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but had on board-shorts and, I kid not, flip-flops.

His only other adornments were a blood-splattered chin and neck, and two very long fangs jutting down from his top jaw, adequately displayed as he hissed at me.

I took aim and put the next paintball in his mouth.

Smoke poured out from between the vampire's green smeared lips. His eyes rolled wildly as he tried to scream but the paint had already eaten through his tongue and throat and all that came out was a wet gurgling. He clawed at his face, only helping the process as great clumps of steaming flesh peeled off in his hands. Within seconds, he hit the ground, limbs jerking in spastic motions, then he was still.

A flash of white light blossomed around us and I saw the remains of his face.

I'd been working on my garlic-Holy water mixture. Adding it to paint had been a fun, yet trying, experience. But seeing the gaping cavern in the front of that vampire's head, looking right into the gooey remains of his brains—there wasn't much, which said something about either the strength of my mixture or the state of the youth of today—made the frustration worth it.

The vampire twitched once, then with a stinky little sigh of air, deflated and degraded into his constituent parts, oozing over the black floor.

Neat.

Now he was the cleaner's problem.

And the remaining eleven vampires were mine. Well, mine and Mercy's. If she ever deigned to show up.

Of course, not everyone was as pleased with the results of my paintball as I was. Behind me, Roberts made gagging noises and beside the puddle of vampire-remains, the girl stared at the mess for a moment, then took a deep breath, and screamed.

"It's okay," I shouted, crouching next to her. "Look at me. Hey, look up here. Not there, at me."

My words got through to her slowly and she eventually pried her shocked gaze off the stinking ooze and met my eyes.

"You're all right, now." It's hard to sound soothing while shouting, but I did my best and it seemed to work. "It's dead. Come on, get up. I have to keep going, get your friends."

She stared at me for a moment longer. Like the vampire, she was a teenager, probably around fifteen or sixteen. As well as her T-shirt, shorts and sneakers, she had on the laser-tag vest and elbow and knee guards. At least she had more substantial shoes on her feet than flip-flops. Then she nodded and reached for me.

One hand under her arm, I helped her up, unwilling to put the Eagle away. I still had my senses extended and was vaguely aware of where the other vampires and kids were, but I didn't want to take a chance that I wasn't all-knowing and all-seeing.

"Roberts!"

He was there instantly, taking the girl from me. She curled into his side, sobbing and shaking. I rummaged in my many pockets until I found my small first-aid kit. Passing it back, I left Roberts to bind her wrist while I scouted ahead.

Corridors branched off at irregular intervals. I glanced down them, seeing not much more than shifting smoke, spurts of laser-light and glowing neon. The next closest vampire was a couple more turns away.

"What now?" Roberts asked as he caught up.

I glanced back, saw the girl behind him, clinging to the back of his jacket. She was trembling and wide-eyed. Roberts had roughly bound the bite wound on her wrist, though there was a faint smudge of blood creeping through the layers of white bandage.

"There's six more humans in here. Eleven vampires."

Roberts could do the math as well as I could. He swallowed hard, but nodded grimly. I pulled out a spare mag and handed it over.

"Use the paintballs if you have to. Protect the girl, and the others when I bring them to you."

"Where do you want me?"

I pointed to one of the off-shoot corridors. "It dead ends. Keep your backs to the wall."

"What about Mercy?" There was a touch of doubt in his words. Roberts liked Mercy but he didn't exactly trust her.

"I'll call her right now."

"You know you shouldn't have to. She should have been here already!"

I glared at him. "Keep an eye out."

Of all my psychic tricks, contacting Mercy was easiest. The bond between us was the first thing to develop when she crashed head-long into my life, and it let us speak in that cool mind to mind way. It was strong and snapped into line with little effort.

" _Matt!"_

Ever had a little girl squeal excitedly in your ear? Yeah? Well, make her a little girl with the ability to scream supersonically, with a trained singing voice that could move from the low, sultry tones of a classy blues crooner to the powerful resonance of some uber-opera type, and then transplant her scream from outside your head to inside it.

See if your legs don't give out from under you.

"Matt! You hit?" Roberts stared at me, sprawled on the floor at his feet.

I fumbled about, looking for my gun, my balance and my eardrums. I managed to haul myself upright, weapon and legs only shaking a bit. Two out of three ain't bad.

"Fine," I shouted back. "Just on the metaphysical phone." Then to Mercy, I thought, _"Where the freak are you?"_

Her thought came back with a slight timidity. _"Across the street, where you told me to watch Barry's from."_

Gah! Of course. I _had_ told her to do exactly that. I _hadn't_ told her to follow the mob of vampires into the building. Just to watch for them. I hadn't even told her to tell me when they arrived.

It was my fault. No doubt about it.

" _Good girl,"_ I sent. _"Could you now come over here and help me with these vampires, please?"_

Her mind did a little shiver against mine, as if she was deciding whether or not to do as I asked. The hesitation made me think of Roberts' earlier comments regarding her trust-worthiness, but I pushed those thoughts aside before they reached her. She didn't need his—or my—doubts confusing her.

" _Okay,"_ she replied and then her touch blurred and faded.

She was on the move.

Reeling my thoughts back in, I took a moment to nod to Roberts and motion him into the corridor I'd chosen for him. Then I was off.

# Chapter 3

I had vague ideas as to where the remaining humans were in the maze, so I forwent stealth for speed. The vampires would know I was there now, anyway. They wouldn't have missed the death of one of their own. So as I moved, the vampires moved as well.

Hurtling around a corner, blinded by a flare of irritatingly pink laser, I sensed three vampires converging on me rapidly. Two shadows leaped out of side corridors, moving with the lithe, powerful grace of all vampires. Very weak tendrils of psychic whammy proceeded them, easily brushed aside as I threw myself into a skid, leaning back and firing a wide spray of paintballs.

I won't lie and say it was like a scene from _Tour of Duty_ , but that's because I was firing paintballs, not bullets, and unlike bullets, paintballs _can_ be foiled by cotton clothing. Still, enough of the paint hit exposed vampire flesh for there to be a sudden gush of smoke and howling loud enough to drown out the music for a moment.

Taking the second of distraction it got me, I scrambled to my feet and staggered backwards, firing with the added benefit of at least pretending to aim this time. I'd been lucky with the first vampire. Seemed contact with the soft tissues of the mouth let the paint work faster, because it took more than one ball to stop this pair. They chased me like feral panthers, eyes gleaming burnished-silver in the strange lighting, predator bright and enraged. One male, one female, their skin sizzling in places from the paint but it didn't seem to be slowing them down at all.

I made sure to take new turns, so I wouldn't lead them right back to Roberts and the girl. I gained a little lead, so I spun, fired, spun and ran. As I went, I ejected the empty mag, letting it fall to the floor, grabbed a new one and slammed it home. Sensing an attack, I hit the floor in a clumsy roll. A dark shape sliced through the air I'd just vacated. I fired and fired into it as it went over, rewarding me with a pained squeal and a burst of flames on the vampire's body as it crashed into the wall.

Shoving out with a boot, I stopped myself before I rolled right into the flaming heap. Twisting, I brought the Eagle up and fired the last ball in the mag right into the bared midriff of the female as she launched herself at me. Green paint glowed in a burst of black-light, then it vanished as the Holy water worked like acid on the pale skin. Howling, the vampire performed one of those freaky, midair turns they were so good at and, rebounding off the walls, fled.

On my belly, I changed mags, wished for a moment I had a gun with a greater capacity, then fired after her. One hit the back of her right knee. She wore tiny Daisy Dukes, leaving her legs naked. The paint ate through skin, muscle and ligaments, effectively hobbling her. The vampire hit the deck like the proverbial.

Once again hauling myself to my feet, I ran to where she was trying to stand. Calmly, methodically, I painted her until she imploded. There wasn't even enough left to ignite like the last bastard.

Thinking of him let my mind comprehend the growing heat behind me. I spun, wondering that the body was still on fire. The moment the vampire died, it should have turned to primordial sludge, extinguishing the flames. But no. The fire was growing, eating at the material of the wall.

Fuck me.

Even dead, vampires were a pain.

Orange flames, sparking with shades of purple, blue and red from the lights, grabbed at the flimsy wall. They crawled upward with startling speed, spewing dark-grey smoke, clouding the already cloudy atmosphere of the room. The acrid taste of it reached me, burning in my mouth and nose, stinging my eyes.

I had nothing to fight a fire with. Absolutely nothing. Well, not quite.

Half out of my jacket, thinking I could beat at the flames with the thick material, two things happened in very quick succession.

Firstly, and thankfully, the games session cut out. The music died, the laser show stopped and a mass of fluorescent tubes turned on, bathing the area in clean, clear light. Sprinklers on the ceiling spurted once, twice, then gushed, spraying water everywhere.

Eyes blinded by the sudden brightness, I nearly missed the second, and worse thing. Even as I caught a glimpse of it flying at me from the top of the burning wall, I remembered the third vampire I'd sensed.

Left arm tangled up in my jacket, I tried to twist out of the vampire's way. I wasn't fast enough, catching the ballistic creature on my right side. Impact lifted me off the ground, threw me into a wall. It was a movable one, fastened in place with only a couple of bolts. My weight and that of the vampire broke the base of it and we all went arse over tit into the next corridor.

I came up wet, sore, bleeding and incredibly angry.

A veil of red dropped across my vision and everything suddenly felt hot. My skin burned and the air in my lungs churned. The gun had been knocked out of my hand, but I didn't much care at that stage. Bellowing what I would later hope was a decent, sphincter-weakening war-cry, I lunged for the vampire.

He was fast, faster than me, but berserk rage fuelled my limbs and I was on him before I could think. There was a roaring in my head, a pressure that needed to be vented and the only way I knew how to do that was to hurt something. Lucky me. I had _something_ right in front of me.

It degenerated into a blur of fists and fangs and spraying blood, some of it watery—the vampire's—some of it not—mine. I'm pretty sure the slow-mo replay would reveal nothing elegant or even stylised about it. It was dirty, mean and primitive; two savage animals in a fight to the death. The water from the sprinklers hindered both of us, made us slippery and hard to hold. Mixing in smears of blood didn't help. I had him at one point, one arm locked around his shoulders, my other fist pounding relentlessly into his already pulpy face. My knuckles were bleeding freely, smashed raw on his hard jaw, ripped open by his sharp teeth. Then the bastard managed to wriggle out of my hold.

He shoved me into a wall, again. This one wasn't temporary. It was hard. Brick under a coating of thin plywood. The back of my head hit with a dull thud and for a moment, the red haze burned bright white. Then he was on me, pinning my arms to my sides. His head reared back, ready to slam his forehead into my face. I pulled to the side, caught his blow on my shoulder. It flared with an intense pain I was going to feel later, if I even had a later, that was.

I was trapped, held tight to the wall, and now that he had a hold on me, his superior strength became a benefit. Didn't mean I had to give in. I kicked and thrashed and howled, the berserker inside me let completely loose. But then I felt something that froze me for a split second.

Two sharp points against my neck.

He was trying to bite me. No fucking way.

I'd been trapped like this before. The vampire had fed on me that time, and I'd vowed never again.

Just what I could have done is beyond me. Thankfully, my lack of coherent thinking didn't kill me.

A dark blur flashed in from my right and the vampire was gone. Vanished.

Released from the pressure of the vampire's hold, I hit the floor, still trying to catch up to current events. The only possibility that came to my anger-addled head was that the vampire had been carried away by something faster than it. And there was only one thing faster than an immature vampire in my experience—a mature one.

I spun around, looking for the vampires, but they were long gone. With the immediate threat over, the rage inside cooled somewhat. Not completely, but enough to let a few higher brain functions through to the front. I had to keep hunting, protect the humans, and to do that, I needed my weapon.

The Eagle was under a pile of broken wall, undamaged as far as my quick inspection went. I fired it to make sure the water hadn't buggered it up. A splot of green paint hit the wall and dribbled down rapidly in the wet.

By feel I ejected the mag and inserted a new one even as I closed my eyes and _reached_ for Mercy. She was fighting a couple of the vampires, not far away. The remains of the berserker rage still bubbling through my blood, I headed toward her.

The maze wasn't as daunting in the steady, white light and after a half minute or so, the sprinklers switched off. I turned a corner and found a pool of post-vampire slaying gloop. Mercy had bagged one. Around another bend, a bigger splattering of ooze. Two, or maybe three small ones. Six or seven down. Go team.

Mercy was on the move, ahead of me and accelerating. The need to hurt something was lingering in my body like an overdose but there was nothing for me to take it out on. My partner was obliterating the young vampires without pause. I raced past three more execution sites in quick succession, then a familiar sound hauled me up so quick I nearly got whiplash.

"Help!"

These vampires weren't old enough to have mastered much more than crude vocalisations, certainly no words. It was human.

Twisting about, I headed down a side-corridor, around another corner and into a dead end.

Five people were crowded into the narrow space, pushing back into what had to be a solid wall because with their weight and desperation, a movable one would have been kindling by now. They were mostly kids, like the first girl, dressed for a game of laser-tag. In front, protecting them, was a part Aboriginal man probably around my age, narrow across the shoulders, slightly saggy around the waist. He wore a shirt with a rudely fluorescent logo, 'Surf Wars!'. The game attendant.

Between him and me, a vampire.

She was lean, with the broad shoulders, narrow hips and long, long legs of a swimmer. Sun-bleached hair kept short was a shaggy mess around her face. A couple of weeks ago, when she was still human, she would have been tanned. Now, she was a sickly shade of brownish-yellow, heading for the white of a creature of the night. She, too, had learned tonight just what she was now. There was blood smeared around her mouth, streaking her hands and splattered across a T-shirt proclaiming 'In case of emergency, Break Dance!'.

The vampire hesitated. This was probably the first time in her new life she'd been faced with a decision. I could see her trying to do a threat assessment on the situation. Five bags of food versus one with a really angry expression. Which to choose.

I was hyped up on just enough couldn't-give-a-fuck to throw caution to the wind. In the split second it took her to pick me, I was on her. One arm wrapped around her shoulders, I pushed the barrel of the Eagle right into her ear and squeezed the trigger.

Let me say this and then we'll leave it alone.

It wasn't pretty.

Covered in vampire remains, I picked myself up off the slippery floor and faced five very stunned people.

"Gas leak," I said. "You're all hallucinating."

They kept staring, and the attendant guy gathered the kids behind him more securely.

With a clatter, the empty mag hit the floor and I fished the last full one out of my pocket. "You know the way through the maze?" I asked Attendant Guy.

He nodded, fast and worried.

"Go back to the start. You'll find a guy in a suit and one of the other kids there. Stay with him."

Another nod, but no movement. Apparently, I was as scary as a vampire. Yay me.

I backed out of the dead-end, giving them room to ease past me.

Ushering the kids back the way I'd come, Attendant Guy paused. "There's another kid in here somewhere."

"Yeah, I know. You just get those ones out. And thanks for coming in after them."

He turned to leave, then stopped again. "Thanks for coming in after me." Then he was gone, herding his frightened, bloodied charges toward safety.

Once more alone, I took a moment to get a sense on the last kid. And, as it turned out, the last vampire. There was one more still alive, very close to the human. Further afield, Mercy was coming in at speed. I was closer, but she was faster.

When I came around the last corner, the first thing I saw was the boy. Maybe fourteen if he was a day, lying face down on the floor. Leaning over him was a vampire.

Petite, sweet bodied and adorable with curls of black hair that reached her shoulders and surrounded a heart-shaped face. Her skin was flawless, moonlight cast in soft, silky textures. Blood-red lips peeled back from perfect white teeth, two of which were terrifyingly long, pointed canines. Her eyes were the reflective silver of a hunting predator.

About to take a gigantic bite out of the boy, the dark-haired huntress sensed my presence. Her head snapped up and her alien gaze pinned me. The wash of her psychic powers rolled over me in a great, swamping rush. It snapped into my limbs whip-crack fast, trying to paralyse me.

This was no immature vampire; not some half-arsed monster who didn't know what to do with all its strength and skills. She was everything the mob of fledgling vampires had wanted to be but never would be now. Everything about her spoke of power and dominance and deadliness. Her psychic whammy was perfectly aimed to take me out.

And you know, I would have been toast if I didn't have a psychic link to her.

I jerked that link like a dog trainer on the business end of a choker chain. It broke Mercy's concentration, pulled the power she directed at me back through her and along the link. Reversed, the psychic whammy slammed into her.

The sudden backwash of power knocked her off her feet. She slammed against a wall. Being a temporary one, it broke and she disappeared into the next corridor in a shower of dust and splinters.

Score one to me.

With a bit of breathing room, I looked around and found a puddle of vampire goo. Mercy had finished it off before I even got here.

Kneeling by the kid, I checked his pulse. Strong and steady, just dazed. I lifted him into my arms and turned to find Mercy picking her way out of the rubble with delicate steps, brushing down her black T-shirt and jeans as she went. Her eyes were their normal dark-brown colour.

She looked up at me with a serious pout. "You tore my shirt."

I swear the rip was tiny and a few seconds with a needle and thread, good as new, but to look at her devastated expression, you'd think I'd drawn a goatee on the Mona Lisa.

"Really? That's what you're leading with? How about sorry for trying to whammy me?"

A flash of silver across her eyes, then just plain brown as she ducked her head. "Sorry."

I could've almost felt sorry for her, but didn't. As enticingly woman-shaped as she was, she wasn't human. She did a bang up job at pretending but that was as far as it went. Her words sounded repentant, yet they weren't. It was a learned response, like everything else she did.

Still, it was the response I expected, so I relented. "Good job, kiddo. You cleaned this mob up like a pro."

Face still downcast, I barely saw the smile quirk her lips up. "It was easy."

Adjusting the boy, who was starting to squirm, I said, "Let's go find Roberts. Then we have to think of how much we're going to charge Barry for trashing his joint."

Mercy nodded and trooped alongside me, tiny and cute and just moments away from having been a mindless, raging killer. I'd be lying if I said the image of her leaning over this kid sat easy with me. Again, Roberts' words about trusting her came back to me, but I pushed them away forcefully. All in all, for her first time out on her own, she'd done really well, and maybe she'd just been going to check the boy's pulse...

With those sobering thoughts, the last of the berserker rage left me. I came down off the violence-high and all the injuries I'd suffered crashed in all at once. My shoulder throbbed, my jaw ached, lightning shot through my left knee—never fully recovered from being shattered several years before—and my hands, raw from smashing that vampire's face, spasmed and went numb.

Uh oh.

Vampire blood was a nasty cocktail of toxins and sedatives, as was their saliva. In large enough amounts, either was enough to knock out a human cold. Along with their psychic blow, it's how they keep their food compliant. The open cuts and abrasions on my fists weren't too bad, but now that the adrenaline was fading, the toxins were having their carefree way with my body.

"Mercy," I managed as my legs began to buckle. "Take the..."

And I was gone, falling into darkness and painless oblivion.

# Chapter 4

Erin put the disk into her computer and hit play. The screen flickered into life, a grainy, dark picture swimming into partial focus. Static lines creased the image and Erin squinted, trying to make out details.

It was a nightclub, bar to the left of the screen and dance floor in the upper right corner. She could just make out bodies twisting and gyrating to music she couldn't hear. The rest of the room was crowded with young people in groups or pairs, drinks in hand while they laughed and yelled over the general noise. The girls wore a wild range of small clothes and big shoes while the boys were, for the most part, various shades of the same T-shirt and jeans uniform. Altogether, they were just a silent pantomime about the excesses of youth.

They all looked incredibly young. Or perhaps that was just how it seemed from Erin's perspective. How long would it be before these kids were slapped in the face by life? Before the fun of a night out clubbing became nothing more than a wistful memory while the reality of surviving in a world that didn't really care tried to drag you down...

Erin shook herself and glanced at the other woman in her office.

Heather Veilchen stood by the door, back partly turned to Erin as she looked through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall at the front of the office. Vertical blinds on a slight angle gave them modest privacy from Ivan, Erin's assistant. Mrs Veilchen wore coal-black slacks, a pearlescent silk blouse and a pair of Jimmy Choo's that would have cost most of one of Erin's pay cheques. Her hair was a lustrous, white-blonde, curling around her shoulders. Long, slender fingers tipped in black-polished nails twined through its ends. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes despite the night pressing in at the window behind them.

Accepting an appointment after work hours was nothing unusual. A lot of people seemed to think coming to a private investigator deserved the added drama of a late night appointment. But actually wearing sunglasses? Erin supposed she should have just been grateful Mrs Veilchen hadn't worn a trench-coat as well. Though if she had, it would have been some high-end designer construction suitable for wear over selected items of French lingerie.

"What am I looking for?" Erin asked.

Mrs Veilchen didn't move. "You'll know when you see it."

Dear God. More unnecessary drama. Someone really needed to give the collective populace a wake call regarding the correct handling and use of a P.I.

Erin turned back to the computer. The action had progressed very little. Group dynamics may have altered but the overall image was the same. Resigning herself to 'knowing it when she saw it', Erin waited.

A bare minute later, she knew what it was.

A girl tottered off the dance floor, a hulking young man dragged along behind. They worked their way to the bar and while the girl winced and motioned to her feet, the young man scanned the area for a free stool. There were none. Still, the young man was determined to find somewhere for his girl to sit. He picked a man sitting on his own, slouched over the bar, glass of something held negligently in one hand. The young man leaned in to shout something. Not very surprisingly, the loner ignored him, taking a slow pull on his drink. With a tug on her boyfriend's sleeve, the girl urged him away, but the young man shook her off. This time, he grabbed the loner's shoulder.

The loner finally released the glass, but only long enough to knock the hand from his shoulder. That done, he returned to his drink, downing the last of it before pushing it toward the harried bartender in a silent command for a refill.

Undaunted, the young man curled his large hand around the loner's upper arm. He was a big man, bigger than the loner, who had a taut, wiry leanness Erin associated with someone recovering from recent illness or addiction.

Whether the loner didn't notice the size difference, or didn't care, Erin had no idea. Either way, the loner looked down at the hand around his arm with slow deliberation that screamed 'now you've gone and pushed the wrong button'. The young man missed it, but he didn't miss the cane that suddenly appeared in the loner's other hand. And, swinging around with the pull of the young man's hold, the loner didn't miss his arm with the heavy head of the cane.

Erin sucked in a startled breath, almost feeling the blow on her own limb.

The young man jumped backwards, mouth gaping in some exclamation of pain, arm drawn in close to his chest. His girlfriend lunged past him, tiny breasts thrust out at the loner, arms flailing as she yelled at him. The crowd around them peeled away, giving the combatants room to move and themselves room to watch. A bouncer began to bulldoze his way across the floor from the door.

As calm as you please, the loner simply slipped off his stool, righted his hold on the cane and leaned on it. His left leg was stiff as he shifted weight off it, jeans bulging around his knee like they were covering something extra – an orthopaedic support, Erin guessed. Hence the cane. The jeans themselves were ripped and faded, T-shirt grungy and may have once advertised a tour for the Divinyls; something vaguely resembling Chrissy Amphlett in her school girl outfit bent provocatively over a microphone stand on the front. His hair, in serious need of a shampoo and cut, hung over his eyes and shoulders.

At first glance, this half-dead apparition seemed harmless. He hunched over the cane, head lowered, hair hiding his face, too thin to be an apparent threat to the bulky young man. But Erin knew better than to rely on initial impressions. The loner had moved fast and accurately. There was no doubt he'd hit the precise spot he'd intended—cause pain and shock but no real lasting injury. Despite his handicap, if it came to a fight between these two, Erin wouldn't bet against the loner.

But, just as the bouncer reached the cleared fight zone, the loner turned away from the young man and his feisty girlfriend. He limped past the bouncer, cane pressed to his left leg, taking the weight of each step in his upper body. Behind him, the girlfriend jumped up and down, gesturing as if she alone had sent him running.

The loner's retreat brought him toward the camera, toward the exit of the club. A path opened up for him; his painful and solitary march watched by dozens of people. Some winced with each hitch in his stride, some calling out obvious insults, while others slumped in disappointment, probably wondering if something else exciting would happen so they could report back to their friends. And the loner just walked through it as if they didn't exist.

If only he would lift his head. Erin could make out very little of his face under the shock of hair, a hint of jaw and straight lipped mouth. His limping stride made it difficult to judge his age from his gait, as did the gaunt quality of his body. If Erin was right about the Divinyls on his T-shirt, that might put him closer to her age than that of the majority of clubbers around him. It was a shaky assumption and one that was probably wrong, but at the moment, it was all Erin had to go on. Hopefully Mrs Veilchen would shed more light on this man.

About to turn to the woman, new movement in the video caught Erin's eye.

A gaggle of girls came into view from the entrance to the club. There were four of them, young and laughing, clinging to each other as they tripped over their own feet. This was not the first club they'd visited this night, already well on their way to unstable intoxication. Preoccupied with each other, they slipped into the path opened up for the loner with all the innocence of a fly crashing into a spider's net. The girl in the lead walked backwards so she could face her friends, head tossed back in the throes of an outrageous giggle. She stepped right into the loner.

He flinched from the impact, turning his right shoulder toward her to protect his injured side. The girl bounced off with a startled laugh and turned, supposedly to apologise.

Whatever her intent had been, it didn't eventuate. Instead, she took one look at him and all the fun drained from her face. Her friends piled up at her back, urging her forward, but she was planted to the spot, staring at the loner in awful recognition. He returned her gaze, his expression hidden from Erin.

Did he know her? What was their history together?

On the screen, the stunned girl tried to back away from him, head shaking, mouth opening and closing. Erin wished the picture was clear enough for her to lip read. The girl, trapped by her seemingly ignorant friends behind and immobile loner in front, spun on a shaky heel, ready to fight her way through the crowd.

She wasn't fast enough.

The loner dropped his cane and grabbed her sequined top. Pulled back toward him, she staggered, almost toppled them both over. He kept them upright. She clung to his arm, a reflexive action to keep from falling.

So it was, that when his right fist smashed into her face, she couldn't roll with it. Her head snapped back at a painful angle. Black blood sprayed from her nose, her legs gave out and she let go of his arm, disappearing from view as she crumpled to the floor.

Choking back a repulsed cry, Erin hit the pause button. The picture froze on the image of the loner's fist poised for more violence. From the moment the girls walked into the club to the moment Erin paused the tape, not even a minute had passed. It had happened so quickly, so unexpectedly.

Hands curling into fists, Erin stared at the man in the film. It didn't matter now that he'd walked away from one potential fight. She had no sympathy for an arsehole who would assault someone half his size. Swallowing against the rising anger, she turned away from the image before she could put her own fist through the ghost of his face.

"Who is he?" she asked Mrs Veilchen.

"I don't know," Mrs Veilchen said, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass wall, beyond the outer office space. Perhaps she looked at her own private viewing of the tape.

"Who's the girl, then?"

Mrs Veilchen shrugged her narrow shoulders. "She's not important. It's only him I need to find."

Erin looked at the image captured on the security tape. Not important? Hardly. She was very important to the loner and therefore important to Erin. There was a clear shot of her face, but it was hard to make out specifics with blood covering half of her features. Stepping back through the footage revealed no helpful pictures of his face, though. Even if he had shown his face to the camera, Erin doubted she would have been able to use it. The picture quality really was crappy.

"Surely in this day and age a nightclub could afford a digital system," Erin muttered.

"This was from six years ago." Mrs Veilchen faced Erin, her too-thin face dwarfed by the glasses.

Erin ejected the disk. "You don't have anything more recent to go on? A bad tape image from six years ago is going to be a hard place to start from."

"I only know that he still lives in Brisbane."

Erin sat down and put the disk back in the case. "I'm impressed you found out even that much."

"My resources are not insubstantial, Ms McRea." She sat as well, slender legs crossed, hands resting demurely on her knee. "But I am not a professional investigator. I feel I have exhausted my knowledge. I don't know how to proceed from this point."

"I understand. But before I can decide whether or not to take your case, I need to know more. You don't know who this man is, yet you wish to find him. You say you don't know the victim from the tape, so she is not the reason. So why?"

Mrs Veilchen didn't move but Erin got the distinct feeling that the woman was not looking at her anymore.

"He has stolen something from me. I want it back."

"Have you gone to the police?"

A little snort escaped Mrs Veilchen, a human sound at odds with her detached persona. "They won't be able to help. The item in question is not something I want... acknowledged."

Yet more pointless drama. "I'm sorry, Mrs Veilchen, but I won't consider your case if you want to hide things from me. The more information you can give me, the better my chances are of resolving this. Either you tell me what he stole or you leave this office now." Erin pushed the disk across the desk toward the silent woman.

"The item he stole is not important." There was a touch of pleading in Mrs Veilchen's voice now, but none of it touched her face. "I only wish you to find him for me. That is all. I will take care of everything after that."

Nothing in the speech reassured Erin. She didn't like the cold distance in this woman. The man she was after was violent yet Erin didn't want to be a part of this woman's revenge. No good could come of it.

She pushed the disk the rest of the way across the desk. "Thank you for considering Sol Investigations, Mrs Veilchen. Perhaps I could refer you to someone more suitable to your case."

Mrs Veilchen opened her purse that was only marginally larger than the disk she put in it. "That won't be necessary. Thank you for seeing me."

She stood and left Erin's office with a stiff spine, not pausing in the outer office as Ivan asked if he could help her. He stared after her then turned to peer at Erin through the thin gaps in the vertical blinds. He quirked an eyebrow in question. Erin grimaced in response. Ivan grinned and turned back to his work.

Letting out a long sigh, releasing tension she hadn't realised she'd held, Erin tidied up her desk. Late appointments weren't so bad when they resulted in a case that would earn money, but when they amounted to little more than wasted time and a terrible image she wouldn't be able to shake for weeks, Erin could do without them. She just wanted to go home, forget about other peoples' problems for the rest of the night and deal with her own.

Standing, she turned to close the blinds on the window. Beyond her twelfth storey office, Brisbane's night time cityscape stretched away. Tall buildings studded with lights; streets streaked with white headlights and red taillights; the dark river twisting back and forth, its shores sparkling like chains of phosphorescent pearls.

In many ways, Brisbane was not a big city. It was considered 'sleepy' by those who lived in Sydney and Melbourne, and it certainly wasn't as crowded and condensed as those other, more metropolitan cities. But it was large and sprawling. It was a lot of room for one man to lose himself in.

Even if Mrs Veilchen had been a bit more forthcoming, Erin wouldn't have wanted the case. There was too little to go on, and way too much ground to cover.

The phone beeped and Ivan's voice came through.

"You have a call, Erin."

She felt like telling him to take a message. It was too late to be dealing with anything else. Before she could say anything, Ivan continued.

"It's Sol."

"Shit." Erin turned and hit the intercom button. "What does he want?"

"Ah, to talk to you. You know I don't bother him with silly little questions about the details." There was a blend of sarcasm and real trepidation in Ivan's tone. "Line one."

Suppressing several more grumbles, Erin picked up the phone, hit the flashing line and said, "Hello, Sol. How nice to hear from you."

"McRea." His thick Mediterranean accent moulded her name with new inflections, none of them pleasant. "You didn't take Heather Veilchen's case."

Erin resisted the urge to smack her head against the desk. "I don't think the case would be something Sol Investigations should become involved with. She wasn't willing to tell me everything, and won't go to the police, so it's most likely not above board. Taking this case might harm our professional integrity."

There was a heavy pause. Erin's heart beat frantically, the usual response to talking to her boss. It wasn't often he called, less often he visited. Despite the fact she'd worked for him for three years, Erin was still nervous about dealing with Sol. She did her work and she was good at it. He paid her wage, dispensed bonuses and kept out of her way. Most of the time.

"And?"

And he somehow always knew when she was holding something back.

"And I didn't like her attitude."

Sol's chuckle was smooth, deep and chilling. "McRea, you know we don't let personal opinions get in the way of our client's needs. Mrs Veilchen has utilised Sol Investigations in the past, never with any difficulty. I don't see why she should be turned away this time."

A lump of objection and fear lodged somewhere in Erin's larynx, making it impossible to produce further objections.

"You're an able investigator, McRea. I don't think Mrs Veilchen's missing person case will take you too long."

And that was it. The case was on board.

"Yes, sir. I'll start first thing tomorrow morning."

"No. Now."

The door to the outer office opened and a courier walked in. He handed Ivan a package the size of a DVD disk. Ivan signed and the courier left. Erin closed her eyes. It had been a while since she'd had the urge to quit, but it was back with a vengeance. She liked her job but when Sol got involved and made things like this happen, she wanted nothing to do with it.

"How is William?"

The question would have sounded innocent coming from anyone else. From Sol, it just sounded loaded.

"He's fine, for now."

"Good to hear. If you resolve this case successfully, there will be your usual bonus at the end."

And he hung up.

Her strings sufficiently pulled and tangled, Erin waved Ivan into her office. He brought the package, already half unwrapped.

"Isn't this the same disk that left with Mrs Snow Queen not five minutes ago?" Ivan frowned at it.

"It would appear so." Erin took the disk and shoved it a little harder than necessary into her computer. "Open a file, Ivan. Mrs Veilchen is now a client."

# Chapter 5

I came to in the back seat of my car. Somehow I'd been accordioned in with little regard to my comfort. Mercy then. Roberts would have at least made sure I had a clear airway. All the abuse my body had taken in the fight was making itself known and I really wanted to just go back to sleep, but I slowly realised being awake wasn't so bad, either. Waking up to the sounds of tyres hissing over a rain-slicked road, the gentle patter of said rain on the car and soft, hypnotic singing has a lot going for it. They should bottle it.

I laid still, trying to work out the song Mercy was singing. It was smooth and gentle, lyrical and touching. One of Mercy's favourites. One of mine too. I hummed along.

Prying open my eyes and letting them take their sweet time in focusing showed me the passing sign for Ikea. I hadn't been out for long. Cool.

Mercy stopped singing and turned in her seat to look at me. She smiled. "Hi."

I grumbled something.

"Got your money," Roberts said. "I'm thinking, for a cut of the take, that I should be a proper partner. I could handle the money side of things, and the client care, of course, and Merce could do all the fighting and you could do all the fainting like a girl bits."

I grumbled something else. Mercy checked my pulse.

"Sorry, but you're alive."

"Want to hit a drive-thru on the way home?" Roberts asked.

No grumbling this time. Too busy keeping my stomach on the inside.

"Fine. I'll eat at your place then. Just hope you've got something other than blood."

Nausea settling down, I drifted off again. Not completely, though. Passing street lights streaked overhead and I numbly counted the number of cars that passed us on the freeway. There weren't too many. Roberts believed speed limits were a personal challenge. Mercy reached back and put a steadying hand on my chest when Roberts spun us off the freeway and onto the Gateway Motorway. There was more traffic here and he actually slowed a fraction, but still, we beeped through the bridge toll in short order.

After that, it wasn't long before we were cruising across the Hornibrook Bridge to the 'Cliffe. Redcliffe peninsula, that is. A nice, quiet little extreme outer northern suburb of Brisbane. There are folk who live in Redcliffe that think a trip into the city requires a passport. For me, charging between the 'Cliffe and the Gold Coast, some hundred clicks down the highway, is nothing. All part of the job.

By sheer luck or divine intervention, I'd managed to swing myself a pad in the swanky 'burb of Newport. 'Course, the sales brochures don't tell you canal living not only gives you unlimited and easy access to the water, but that it comes part and parcel with seasonal swarms of mosquitoes and sandflies. And while my neighbours all had speed boats and the like in their back yards, I just had a dock with folding chairs and stained spot where the esky of beer always sat. Still, my house matched theirs for size and compensation tendencies, even if I only used the ground floor. I hadn't been upstairs in a while. It's quite possible there were dust bunnies the size of velociraptors up there.

Why had I bought it? Well, let's just say that at the time, I'd had a lot of cash to spare and a few inadequacy issues. Same deal with the car, but that I don't regret at all.

Roberts eased into the drive and opened the garage remotely. He pulled in beside my Moto Guzzi 1200 Sport (yeah, okay, big issues) and stopped the car. Mercy got me out of the back seat without too many whimpers (mine, not hers) and we headed inside.

I was, somewhat negligently I felt, plopped on my bed, fed several little pills and left alone. After lying there for a while, I struggled up and wrestled with my boots.

What happened?

I nearly jumped off the bed. Roberts' sounded like he was sitting beside me, but I was alone in the room.

_I killed the bad vampires,_ Mercy replied.

Ah. That freaking link. Open and channelling.

No, to Matt. I know he went berserk, but he's never crashed like that before.

Mercy took her time to respond. There was a faint pop of a beer being opened, followed by thirsty guzzling. Mmm, beer. Could I get Merce to bring me one?

I... I tried to whammy him.

This time it was Roberts who took his time. From the sounds of it, he pulled down the last of the beer in one go.

_Shit,_ he muttered.

I didn't mean to.

You never do.

There was a rustle and the fridge opened and closed.

_What are you doing?_ Roberts asked, a tremor in his voice.

Matt wants a beer.

Roberts muttered something under his breath. _Well, he doesn't need one. Come on, time to get you to bed._

Things dwindled into white noise after that. I let it put me to sleep. When I woke up, I had an absolute mother of a headache, a back that felt about a hundred years old and a distinct odour of stale sweat about me. The time between falling out of bed and leaning against the cold tiles of the shower of the en suite with scalding water beating about my shoulders is best left in the depths of denial. Very little of it was worthy of a vampire killer.

When I was more alive than dead, I wandered from my bedroom and found Roberts on the couch. The TV was on and some morning news announcer mentioned a gas leak had caused the evacuation of Surf Wars on the Gold Coast the night before. All of the kids playing laser tag—where the leak had been centred—had recovered but a couple remained in hospital due to a few minor injuries. Thankfully, there was no mention of fang-wielding, melting bullies, or the crazy-eyed man chasing them down. Either the kids had been convinced it was a hallucination, or the media didn't believe them. I'd be more inclined to go with the latter.

"Fucking luck," Roberts muttered as I dropped into a recliner. "By all rights your little rampage should have made headlines, but no. Somehow no one ever remembers seeing the vampires or trolls or whatever freak you manage to bag in full view."

"It's simple. No one ever wants to acknowledge the weird. If you do, chances are no one will believe you anyway."

"Nah, that's not it. Must be dumb luck. Yeah, just dumb fucking luck."

"Nice towel," was my entire response.

Roberts had obviously made use of the upstairs bathroom. I kept towels there in case I ever had guests. In the ongoing battle to see me 'settle down', my mum had given them to me with the hopes they would be used by a female guest with more class than to use any towel I might have actually bought for myself. They were yellow with pink flowers embroidered on them. And they weren't made to go around a man's waist with room to spare.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't touching those rags you have in your en suite. You do have a laundry in this white elephant, don't you?"

I shrugged.

The tickertape thing at the bottom of the screen announced it was nearly nine a.m. If I'd had any energy I would have panicked. As it was, all I could manage was a half-hearted grunt.

Roberts, it's sad to say, knew me pretty well. "What's up?" he asked.

"I'm going to miss a meeting with my therapist."

"Aren't you done with the head shrinking yet?"

"The first lot, yeah. This is the second. Court ordered. For some reason, I just keep losing my temper in public places. It usually ends in all sorts of trouble, like destruction of public property, threatening behaviour, indecent exposure. Cops and judges like to attribute that sort of thing to a lack of control and think it can be fixed with learned talk."

Roberts laughed so hard he nearly lost his towel. "Indecent exposure. I didn't hear that story. I hope it's a good one."

"Female ghoul. Thought I was coming on to her."

Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, Roberts settled himself down. "Where was Merce while you were romancing the ghoul?"

I glared at him. "In about the same position you are now. Picking herself up from an amusement induced fit."

Roberts got up, modestly clutching the towel to his groin. He patted me on the shoulder as he went past. "And you say she's not human. I'm going to find something in your closet I would be seen dead in, then you're driving me home." His chortling echoed around the room after he left.

There was nothing much else of interest on the TV. I turned it off before the inhumanly wide and bright smiles of the breakfast crew could blind me. Stomach rumbling, I went to the kitchen and began the great quest for nutrition. Even Indiana Jones would have found it tough going. In my dozy state, I opened the cupboard that hid the blood fridge instead of the one that upon occasion had cereal.

Crap. Roberts put Mercy to bed, but I bet he didn't think to feed her first. I grabbed out a couple of bags, one O positive and one A positive. Both were just over their expiry date, but that didn't bother Mercy and it was the easiest way to keep her supplied with food. The Red Cross didn't take back stock from the laboratories that performed blood banking and I had a couple of contacts still in the game who smuggled me out the stock about to expire.

Bags of blood in hand, I went to see Mercy.

Her room was in the middle of the house. On the original plans, the room was supposed to be a home cinema. I'd opted out of that and turned it into a haven from sunlight for the vampire.

I'd reinforced the walls with steel bars as thick as my wrist and partitioned off the front of the room with more bars. Yeah, I kept her in a cage, but it was the best-outfitted cage you've ever seen. A double bed, a La-Z-Boy, a little plasma screen and DVD player, bookshelf with all sorts of books (mostly unread), a shower and a closet for the scraps of material she and various names-on-labels generously called clothes. She lived better than me. I didn't have a plasma.

Mercy wasn't snuggled up in bed like all good and not-so-good vampires should have been. She was pacing back and forth, dragging in heaps of air like a pearl diver getting ready for a long descent. Her shoulders rolled and her hands opened and clenched spasmodically. In the dim light cast from the open door behind me, her eyes flashed silver. Her pink tongue flicked over her fangs.

Behold the hungry vampire. A tiger caged and repressed. My nasty kitten.

It was after dawn and she was awake and very alert. Not a good sign. She should have been flaked out, unable to be roused with anything smaller than an A-bomb. But she was awake and prowling. My guts clenched and I felt like puking.

She spun toward me, hurling herself at the bars between us. Practice kept me from flinching. I just waited out her attack, hating the way she snarled at me, the way she thrust her arms through the bars, fingers curled into claws driving for my throat. Her psychic power hit me full on. Unlike last night, I didn't have an open connection to her to force it back on herself. But while I felt it, and winced as it battered at my already sore head, it didn't do much more than make my ears ring.

The attack was a long one, and I suffered through watching every moment of it. She threw herself at the bars, tore at them till her hands bled, till she ripped nails right out of her fingers. Bones broke on the unyielding barrier, her throat tore to ribbons with her vicious growls and snarls. She pulled hunks of hair from her head, knocked over the bookcase and tossed the bed against the wall. And I just sank down the wall to the floor, watching it all, hating myself and wondering for the millionth time if I should just put her down.

It was worse than watching her fight. Fighting was what she was built for. It was the point of the altering mechanism that made one a vampire. A weak human rebuilt into this—a manic monster consumed by its hunger, insane with the need to destroy. They were a very real threat to the stability of the world. A creature no one believed in, that preyed solely on humans, that had the evolutionary benefits equivalent to that of a great white shark, damn near perfect and completely alien in terms of wants and needs.

Vampires were animals. Worse than that. They were the unquantified mystery science knew nothing about. The silent, unseen predator lurking in the shadows. There were no institutions begging for funding so they could find a cure for vampirism. There were no vaccination programs. There were no anti-vampire forces ready to go into the night to do battle. No one knew about them, no one understood them. No one could defeat them.

I did my darnedest, with Mercy and Roberts, but it wasn't enough. Because I'm such a believer in statistics, I did think there were others out there fighting as well, but I hadn't seen or met any of them. And I doubted any of those hypothetical folk did it with something like Mercy at their side.

She rammed the bars one last time and crumpled to the floor, seemingly beaten, exhausted. Little mewling noises came from her, between pants for air. She was faking. Even broken bones wouldn't stop her from fighting when she got this hungry.

I grabbed the broom handle I kept for just these times and used it to push the bag of A positive blood into the cage beside her, nudged her hand with it. She moved lightning fast, snatched up the bag and, recognising it for what it was, shoved it to her mouth. Her razor-sharp fangs punctured the plastic and she fed. Her natural blood group was O pos. The A group would react adversely with her natural blood type, they would tear each other apart and she would weaken. It was sort of an induced coma. She'd survive the reaction, and would heal, eventually, but she'd sleep through it.

I took the other bag—the one that would have restored her to full strength—and left.

# Chapter 6

Erin stopped outside Kirby's. From her research, Kirby's had started life as a pub and graduated to nightclub status when the owner installed a high tech music system and began hiring halfway decent DJs. And now it was a boarded-up store front with Lord knew how many years worth of grime coating the windows. She leaned against the old glass-fronted sign advertising some band with four girls in outfits approximating private school uniforms.

If it hadn't been for Ivan's over-socialised life, she would never have learned the club from the video footage was Kirby's. It was still listed in the phone book so she'd tried calling, with no answer. And here she was. Her first lead and a dead end. Not a particularly startling occurrence, but it hit her hard.

She and Ivan had stayed back late at the office the night before, nutting out a plan of attack on this case. It had netted them the identification of Kirby's, a message left with one of Erin's contacts in the local police and no hits on Google. The incident in the club hadn't warranted news coverage, apparently. Finally getting home hadn't been a blessing. William was having a bad night and the neighbours were having a loud party. Between nursing William through the pain and trying to call the neighbours to ask them politely to turn the music down, she hadn't slept much.

And now here she was, stalled before she'd even started.

Maybe Ivan had discovered the owner by now. She was about to call him when the phone rang.

"Sol Investigations, Erin McRea speaking."

"Hey, Sergeant, long time no talk. How's tricks?"

"Gavin, it's been a while hasn't it." She couldn't stop the happy smile his voice induced. "Did you pass your sergeant's exam yet?"

Gavin laughed. "Still trying. Don't have wonder woman around to coach me anymore. How's the private dick stuff going anyway?"

"Some days I wonder what my reason was for taking this job. Most days, I just look at the pay cheque and I'm happy."

"Really? It's that good? Need an assistant?"

"Sorry, got one. If he leaves to pursue his acting career I'll give you a call."

"You better. I got your message. You need something?"

Erin walked back to her car. It was only ten o'clock and there were very few people on the streets. In a couple of hours, the footpaths would be packed with people going on lunch. "I'm working a missing persons case. All I've got is some footage from a security tape from a club called Kirby's."

"That place shut years ago."

"So I've discovered. Listen, the footage is from about six years ago, and shows an incident between a man and a young woman. He's got a pretty bad limp and walks with a cane. Know anything about it?"

There was a rustle as Gavin moved around. "Not off the top of my head. Let me do a search and get back to you. This number good?"

"Yeah, this number's great. Let me give you my fax as well." She rattled off the number. "Thanks, Gav. You're really saving me a lot of frustration with this."

"If I find anything, sure. So, Kate's been at me to call you. How's Bill doing?"

Taking a couple of deep breaths to steel her resolve, Erin said, "He's doing really well. I'll tell him you and Kate asked after him."

"Hey, you guys should come over for dinner one night. Kate's been practicing this Vietnamese cooking and I don't think I should be the only person to suffer."

Reaching her car, Erin leaned against it. "Ah, I don't think that would be a good idea. William's still a bit touchy with what he eats. Chemo and all."

"No problem. We don't have to do the Asian. I do a mean charcoal grill. Nothing blander than my cooking."

She began to make negative noises again.

"Come on, Erin. It's been so long since Kate's seen you. Since we've had a real chance to talk. You can't tell me you're getting out much, what with this job and Bill being the way he is."

"No, Gavin." Her fingers tightened around the phone so hard the case creaked. "It's not a good time, okay. William's fine, I'm fine, just leave it at that."

There was a pause long enough that Erin considered hanging up, but eventually she heard Gavin sigh.

"Hey, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to push. We're just worried about you, that's all."

Some of the tension left Erin's shoulders. "I'm sorry too. Truthfully, William had a bad night and I didn't get much sleep."

"I understand. Is there anything me or Kate can do?"

"No. Not really. Thanks for the offer, though. If I need anything in future, I'll ask. So, you'll see what you can find about that night at Kirby's?"

"Of course. I'll try to get back to you this arvie, okay?"

"That's great. Thank you."

They exchanged slightly awkward goodbyes and hung up. Erin got into her car and was about pull out when she got a text message. It was from Ivan, giving her the address of the owner of Kirby's. It was in New Farm, not far from Fortitude Valley, were she currently was. Erin plugged the address into her nav system and set out.

Not long later, Erin pulled up outside an old Queenslander behind a tall, wooden fence. She got out, straightened her skirt and went to the gate. Loud barking greeted her, soon followed by an even louder, "Shut the hell up, Godzilla."

A screen door banged and the dog growled some more.

"If you're selling something, go away. If you're pushing God, piss off!"

Erin cocked an eyebrow. "Um, I'm not selling or pushing anything. I'm looking for Carl Leuwenoski."

"What for?"

Peering through the slats of the fence revealed an untamed garden, a pair of hairy legs halfway down a set of stairs and a slobbering German Shepherd poised just opposite her. The dog's lips peeled back from yellow teeth and it rumbled threateningly.

"I'm with a private investigation company. I need to talk to you about an incident in your club. Can we talk?"

Grumbling all the way, Carl trundled down the stairs. "Back off, ya mongrel." He opened the gate enough to put his gut through and glare at her. "What incident?"

"It was about six years ago. A man, with a limp and cane, attacked a young woman, seemingly without provocation. Do you remember it?"

Carl scratched his three day growth and frowned in thought. He was somewhere between fifty and eighty, with a face red from a lack of blood-pressure medication. Steel-wool hair covered his head and sprouted from his nose and ears. There was a faint scent of wood smoke about him. By his knee, Godzilla stuck his nose out of the gate and sniffed in Erin's direction. After a moment, the dog's mouth opened and his tongue lolled out in a happy grin.

"Yeah, I remember. Not an easy thing to forget."

"Can you describe what happened?"

"Not much more to it than what you said. Fella gets up and starts pummelling the girl. Really messed her up before the bouncers stopped him. I hear the girl pressed charges and he was put away for a while. Not long though. There were circumstances, 'parently."

"Circumstances? What could warrant that sort of assault?"

Massive shoulders rolling in a shrug, Carl nudged Godzilla back behind the fence. "Dunno. I didn't really follow it. The incident didn't do much good for the popularity of the pub. Business went real bad and I had to do some fix up work pretty fast." He scratched his gut. "Didn't work. Went under about eighteen months later. Had to shut up shop. Can't even get anyone to buy the place off me." Eyeing her up and down, he asked, "Wanna buy a pub?"

"Thank you, but no. You don't remember the man's name? Or the girl's?"

"Nah. The fella was a regular for a bit before though. Had issues, I guess. Used to come in every afternoon round five and stayed until it got too crowded."

Erin frowned. "He was a regular and you didn't know his name?"

"Paid in cash, kept to himself. Drank scotch straight up, didn't chat."

"I thought bartenders were the poor man's therapists. If he had issues, wouldn't he have talked about them?"

"I didn't run Cheers, darl. If someone wanted to talk, fine. If they didn't, even better. I only say he had issues cause few people could do that sort of drinking day after day if they weren't trying to fill some sort of hole."

He made sense. "Remember anything that might help me ID him?"

"Not really. Good lookin' fella, I suppose. Nothing special about him, 'cept that limp. And his temper."

Erin thanked him and said goodbye to Carl and Godzilla, who insisted on shoving his nose in her skirt before she got out of range.

Ivan was on the phone when she walked into the office and he waved her toward the fax. There were several pages on the machine which she snatched up and took into her office, leaving the door open so Ivan knew to come in when he was done with the call.

The top page was a hand-written note from Gavin. He apologised again for upsetting her, apologised for the lack of information he'd found and asked her and William around for dinner again. She set it aside and settled down to read.

Gavin had found the arresting officer's report. It listed the loner as Matthew Hawkins, aged twenty-six at the time of the incident. He was arrested for assault and the victim, Jessica Harrington, indicated she would press charges. The next page was a court summary. Hawkins was found guilty of provoked assault and sentenced to a stint in a low security facility for two years with parole in ten months.

"Good news?" Ivan asked, coming in. He sat opposite her. Today his dark hair was gelled up into frost-tipped spikes, his jeans were respectable and his T-shirt showed a piñata and the slogan 'I'd hit that'. Pretty tame by his usual standards.

"Of a sort." She handed him the report. "Run down numbers for both of them, if you can. Leuwanoski said that there was provocation and the court summary mentions it as well. I want to know what could inspire that sort of rage. I don't feel like going face to face with this guy without knowing what sparks his temper. I'd like to talk to Harrington first, if we can't track down the court records."

"Right."

"Have you had lunch?"

Ivan shook his head. "Brad wouldn't make me a sandwich this morning."

"Are you that useless you can't make your own lunch?"

"Brad would think so." Ivan sighed. "Take out from the Chinese place?"

"Yeah. And get extra prawn chips this time. I do like them as well."

Ivan went off to get lunch and Erin tried to call her friend in the court system. She found out he was on holiday and resigned herself to an afternoon digging through the public records herself. By the time Ivan returned she'd exhausted her in-office options, so she took the bag of prawn chips and headed over the court house.

An hour later, with a growing headache from arguing, she was back in the elevator heading up to the office. When she stepped through the door, she was greeted with a stiff-faced Ivan and Mrs Veilchen. Ivan visibly relaxed at the sight of Erin.

"Here she is, Mrs Veilchen." Wild eyed, Ivan stood and left quickly. "Toilet break," he muttered on his way past.

"Mrs Veilchen, I didn't know you were dropping by." Erin nodded to her office and followed the woman in.

"I came to see if you had found my man."

Erin glared at her back. "I've only been on the job one day. These things generally take a bit longer than that."

"Mr Sol assured me you were one of the best."

"Whatever Mr Sol thinks, it's just not possible to move as quick as you seem to believe. Especially when I had so little to start with."

Mrs Veilchen went to the window and looked out at the city. She was in another rich outfit, with another pair of dark glasses on. Her hair was pulled back today, accentuating the hollow cheeks and thin neck. "Have you found anything out at all?"

Erin sat down at her desk. She studied Heather Veilchen. There was something... wrong about her. It wasn't the cool attitude, the stiff formality or the reluctance to take off her glasses. Or maybe it was. Who didn't at least take off their sunglasses to greet someone, even if they put them straight back on? But it was more than that.

She just didn't know what.

Unsettled, Erin wondered what this woman would do when she learned Matthew Hawkins' name. There was a strong possibility she would drop the professional investigation and go it alone again. There was just that sense of cold-bloodedness about her.

If there was provocation for the assault Erin wanted to find out what it was before letting this woman loose.

"I don't have much yet. I just spoke with the owner of the club. He didn't know any names. I did learn, though, that the assault wasn't unprovoked." She watched Mrs Veilchen closely for a reaction.

Mrs Veilchen turned from the window and presumably looked at her. "And that makes a difference?"

A chill ran down Erin's spine. "It might."

"Will it help you find him any quicker?"

"It's really too early in the investigation to say whether or not anything is important. I can only trace down any lead I get and see where it takes me. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to get back to your case. I will call you when I have something to report."

Mrs Veilchen regarded her for a moment longer, then nodded once. She left without further word. Ivan scurried back in a couple of minutes later.

"That was the longest toilet break ever."

"That woman freaks me out. She's the whole reason I'm gay and I only met her yesterday."

Erin smiled.

"Did you find anything out at the court house?"

Smile vanishing as if it had never been, Erin shook her head. "Apparently Jessica Harrington was underage at the time of the incident. The records have been sealed."

"Wow."

"Yeah, so we need to start looking for those phone numbers."

Ivan got up to leave.

"Oh, and Ivan."

"Yeah?"

"If you see Mrs Veilchen on the security camera coming up here, turn the sign over to closed and hide."

He grinned. "We don't have a sign."

"Get one."

# Chapter 7

I dropped Roberts at his apartment building and then dithered about in Myer for a while, ending up paying an average mortgage payment for a new watch. It was a Rolex, though, and had a compass, light-up display and the highest quality shock resistant technology you can get. A must for any vampire hunter. Then I spent the rest of my money paying for the parking. On my way out of town, I had second thoughts and turned around and went back to see Jacob.

Jacob Whyte owns a bookshop on Edward Street, down at the Botanical Gardens end. Vogon Books is squeezed in between a boutique bar and a beautician. It specialises in 'genre' and 'illustrated' novels. Science fiction and comics for those who aren't up with the parlance. Its usual customer is someone who's pasty but isn't a vampire, wears clothes ten years out of fashion but isn't a ghoul, knows loads of useless trivia but isn't a troll, and knows immediately the origin of the name 'Vogon'. Sometimes, seriously cool people go in there too. I'm one of the latter. Jacob had to tell me about the Vogons.

It's a long, narrow place and kept rather gloomy, you know, to enhance the atmosphere. There were two guys loitering in between the shelves, near a bunch of books with fur-bikini clad, buff warrior-women on the covers. I grinned at them on the way past. They eyed me with wary suspicion usually reserved to inbred hillbillies watching a douche and his impossibly perky girlfriend roll up to their ramshackle hut in a car with a flat tyre.

"Hey, Matt," Jacob greeted me. He was a narrow man. Narrow of body, narrow of face, but thankfully, not narrow of mind. You could tell because he had no hair to cover it. At my best guess, he was pushing forty and might still live with his parents. He didn't look up from reading the comic... eh, illustrated novel, on his counter. "Your book hasn't come in yet. I'll call when it does."

"Yeah, I know. I was just wondering if you had any word of..." I paused and checked on the two guys in the store. They were standing together, heads close as they whispered furiously. "Any new players in town. I took down a mob on the Goldie last night, at Surf Wars."

That got his attention. He shoved his glasses up his nose and also made sure we weren't going to be overheard. "Not heard a thing. What clan were they?"

"They weren't displaying any flavours. Too young. Not a psychic compulsion amongst them."

"Whoa, that makes them, what, younger than a month? Fresh meat."

I leaned on the counter and looked at his comic. Some new superhero type character I had no hope of recognising. Ooh, half-naked girl. No. Don't get distracted, Matt.

"Very fresh. Whoever turned them left them out on the street. Barry at Surf Wars told me that they had been terrorising his joint for a couple of nights. They nearly went postal on a bunch of kids last night. Me and Merce took them out."

"Any collateral damage?" Jacob reached under the counter and brought out a black leather-bound book. He flipped it open and began scanning the entries rapidly.

"Nothing an industrial-sized mop couldn't handle. Barry might not sleep easy for a couple of weeks, but he'll recover."

Jacob nodded absently, poring over pages of his neat handwriting. The few people in Brisbane who were savvy to the world of the supernatural had a touchstone in Jacob. He was kind of our score keeper.

"Hmm, there have been reports of Blues, Reds and Yellows. A possible sighting of a Green, but that's under suspicion."

"Why?"

Shoving his glasses up his nose, Jacob said, "I made that sighting. I was pissed at the time."

"Ah. Star Trek marathon?"

Jacob smirked. "Zena. I got so lucky."

I laughed. "Good for you. But we have no real way of determining what clan they were. If no one has reported any new activity there, maybe it was a one-off."

"Maybe."

Yeah, and there was more chance of me getting lucky before Jacob again.

I walked away. "Call me if you hear anything."

"Sure, sure."

I was almost at the door when Jacob called out.

"Matt! Nearly forgot. There was a guy in here looking for you yesterday."

The two customers perked up, looking between me and Jacob. I walked back past them with the urge to play Whack A Mole. I resisted. My therapist would have been pleased.

"Not a regular?" I asked.

"No. Some bloke I've never seen before. He knew about you though. Didn't come out and say anything definite, but, I could tell. He's in the know. An older gentleman. Bit odd, but you're no sparkling gem of normalcy, either."

"We're talking Alec Guinness Kenobi, then?"

"No. Very British though. Old world air about him."

"Maybe Van Helsing."

"You wish. He just came in, asked if I knew you and where to find you. Very reluctant to answer any of my questions."

"But the thing is, did you answer any of his?"

"Of course not. What do you take me for?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" I waved at the shop around me then escaped before he could reply.

Some gung-ho parking officer had ticketed me. I shoved the fine in the glove compartment and pulled out. Who would be asking for me by name that Jacob didn't know? My social life had gone the way of the dodo years ago and the sum total of my human interaction these days was Roberts, the occasional client, Jacob and once a month, my therapist. Not a healthy circle of friends on anyone's measuring stick.

I swung onto the Riverside Express and headed for the Inner City Bypass, wondering who Mystery Man might be. I didn't have any English relatives, hadn't entered any sweepstakes and certainly hadn't left behind any Van Helsing wannabes thirsting for vengeance.

The phone rang. When I say rang, I mean it played a snippet of someone singing a dirty Christmas Carol. Damn Roberts! He was always messing with my stuff like this, knowing I didn't have the tech-savvy to fix it.

I answered. "You've reached Night Call Incorporated. We're sorry to inform you that the office is currently doing a little better than the speed limit so you're gonna hafta make it quick. Go."

"Mr Hawkins."

Ah, fuck it. "Hey, Dr Campbell, how's things?"

"Oh, you know how it is. Some client doesn't show up for his appointment, doesn't call, so I'm actually running ahead of schedule today." My court-appointed therapist could be a droll fellow.

"On the bright side, it's a win for your other patients, isn't it?"

"I like your glass half-full attitude, Mr Hawkins. But I doubt Judge Miklovich would. This is the second appointment you've missed."

I winced. "Um, I meant to call and rearrange, honestly. I had a tough night last night and got a little distracted by..." By watching my vampire break herself against the bars of the cage I imprisoned her in. Boy oh boy, wouldn't Campbell have a ball with that one. "Stuff."

"A tough night? Anything I should know about?"

"Oh, you'd be pleased. I found a safe and controlled way of letting off some steam."

"Hmm?"

"Paintball. Had a ripping good time."

"But tough."

The man didn't miss a beat. He was probably recording this to analyse in our next session.

"Teenagers. I swear they're breeding them with a X-Box control in one hand and a water balloon in the other these days."

There was a speculative pause. "And who won the game?"

Now there was a loaded question if ever there was one.

"It's not about who wins the game, good doctor, but who had the most fun."

Campbell vented a small, weary sigh. "Of course, Mr Hawkins. I have an appointment free on Monday. It's yours. Show up and I'll mark it down as a rescheduling and Judge Miklovich need never know."

Wow. I wouldn't have picked Campbell for a rule bender. "Appreciate that, doc. And I did mean to call you."

"Yes, I know you did. I'll see you on Monday, eleven a.m."

He hung up before I could say anything.

I was just hitting Kingsford Smith Drive when the phone rang again. What can I say? I'm popular. I answered and gave the same spiel as before.

"Mr Hawkins?"

The voice was male and probably not at an age where he could look back on puberty with a fond smile and manic gleam in his eye.

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"My name's Tony Rollins. I got your card off a guy at the Fringe Bar."

In one sense, Roberts was the front man of my business, Night Call. When you have an unconventional business, it pays to be a bit unconventional in advertising, too. I'd given Roberts a wad of business cards so when he's out at his real job—hanging off bars, giving out freebie drinks, chatting up the chicks—and he hears any talk about weird shit, he hands out a card. It works pretty darn well. I mean, I'm not on the streets and, with a bit of a stretch, got a new whiz-bang watch. He was pretty good now at picking the genuine deals, but sometimes he let a few doozies through. I have no doubt he does it on purpose, and hearing the nervous tremor in this kid's voice, I got the feeling that this was one of those times.

"How can I help you?" I asked, wondering what sort of impossible terror he had imagined up.

"Well, it's my dog," he began.

When nothing immediately followed, I prompted him with, "What about it?"

"I think... I think he's a werewolf."

Okay. I eased the car to a stop at a red light, taking a moment to think that one through. "Your dog is a werewolf?"

"Yeah."

I had a fleeting and slightly disturbing image of some pimply faced kid waking up in the middle of the night to find a naked man curled up on the end of his bed instead of his faithful, drooling dog.

"How long have you had this dog?"

"Four years, since he was a pup. He's a ridgeback cross Irish wolfhound and usually a very good dog, very gentle."

Ridgeback cross Irish wolfhound. That would be more than enough dog for anyone, even without throwing in a hefty dose of manic werewolf. But, thankfully, this was an open and closed case.

"You've had this dog from when it was a puppy," I said gently, accelerating as the light turned green. "And when you say you suspect werewolf, I take it you don't mean he's a human who turns into a wolf once a month?"

"No. He's a dog, yes, but around the full moon, he starts to act weirdly. He gets aggressive and snappy, and if he even smells another dog, he goes fucking ballistic. It only started about six months back. We'd been having this barbeque and Bubba –"

My surprised laugh cut him off. "Bubba?"

"Don't blame me, my sister named him. He's giant black dog. He should be called Terminator or Diablo or something, but no. She liked Bubba."

Poor kid. "My condolences. Please continue."

"So, this night, Bub got out of the yard and the next thing we know, he's in this big barny with another dog. No one saw it, but we heard it. I thought the other dog was killing him, but Bub came back all cut and beat up." Tony laid down a bit of significance silence, then continued in a low, portentous tone. "It was on the full moon. Since then, around the full moon, he's been different. Jumpy, upset, stressed. And yeah, he goes after other dogs."

My initial thoughts confirmed, I said, "I don't think your dog is a werewolf. That's not how weres of any sort work. There are a heap of different mechanisms that can bring about the change; curses, infection, genetics, psychosis. But it always shifts a human to animal form. Never an animal to animal. 'Cause what's the point in that?"

"But if it's an infection –"

"Junior, there's very few infectious agents that can jump species."

"A curse."

"Bubba got any mortal enemies? That sort of curse takes some effort. It's not usually employed as a practical joke."

Tony made some noncommittal noises. I could almost see him blushing and scuffing the toe of a shoe against the ground.

"My best advice is for you to take him to a vet. Get him checked out for every behaviour-altering disease there is. Chances are, that's all that's happened."

"But we did! We took him ages ago and it all came back negative. He's perfectly healthy."

"Physically, maybe. But perhaps the attack by the other dog has left some sort of post-traumatic stress syndrome deal on your dog."

There was a short length of sceptical silence. "Isn't that a human condition?"

"So's becoming a werewolf," I replied dryly.

More silence, more sad than anything else. "Okay, I guess you're right. You're the professional, right?"

"Damn straight." But I was already regretting the defeated tone in his voice. "Look, I'll do a bit of research, okay. Maybe I've missed something."

The kid muttered a relieved sound. "Thank you so much. I can't pay you much, but I have some money saved up for a car. It's yours."

Ah crap. I ground my teeth against the impulse, lost the battle in a spectacular explosion of pity and compassion and said, "Don't worry. We'll make it pro bono. How does that sound?"

"Really? That's great."

"No problem." It wasn't. I'd seen the cheque Barry had written out last night. Roberts was a royal pain, no doubt, but he could bullshit with the best of them. And because I wanted to cover my arse, I added, "But keep a close eye on the flea factory. Keep him restrained, don't let him out of the yard and don't give him any raw meat. If, and I'm stressing the if, your mutt is infected with the were virus, blood will instigate a full-on change."

"Full-on change? But he's been acting weird already."

"No, what you've described so far is a dog acting peculiar around the full moon, not real werewolf behaviour. You'd know if he went fully wolf on you. So, no raw meat, and if he so much as twitches in the wrong direction, you get your family out of there."

"You think he might...?" There was an audible gulp.

"Better to be safe than sorry, kid."

"Okay, yeah. Sure. Thanks again."

I checked the phone to make sure I had a number. "I can get you on this number?"

"Yeah."

"I'll call you when I've Yoda'd this one out."

He laughed and I cut him off.

Poor kid. A dog turning into a werewolf? De-lu-sion-al. Of course, I would be going through the lore on were-creatures tonight. After all, I had said I would.

I flew up onto the Gateway and pointed the nose of the Monaro for home and cursed Roberts.

# Chapter 8

I think I was having some issues about going home. Watch shopping, dropping by to see Jacob when a call would have sufficed, roaring right past the turn off for the 'Cliffe and heading for the Sunshine Coast or Gympie or heck, the glorious tropical far north reaches of Cooktown. Roberts isn't the only one who thinks speed limits are a suggestion. I was nearly at Maroochydore before I took my foot off the pedal and slowed down.

I like driving. It's soothing. Not in peak hour traffic, though. Then it's just homicidal-maniac making. But on the highway, in the fast lane, cruising along with some good music, it was sweet. Let my brain go white out, let my subconscious work on the issues and hopefully come up with some answers.

Don't think it worked, because when I turned around and really headed home this time, I once more bypassed Newport and hit the Scarborough pub. I don't go out much, to social places that is. I like the movies. Something about the dark and the anonymity, I guess. Whatever. But pubs and clubs and me haven't had much truck with each other for a while now. Still, I like the Scarborough. It's on the beach, it's not too busy and it's got this deck out the front where you can take your beer and sit, put your feet up and just zone out watching the ocean.

But I'd obviously pissed off some cosmic fish or something, because the moment I sat down with my beer and local rag to catch up on things, this old fart came and sat at my table.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Can I help you?"

Maybe irritation added slight exaggeration to my description. He wasn't that old. Around fifty, with what I believe is called a 'distinguished' amount of grey in his dark hair, a close cropped beard just a little too wide to be called a goatee and, I freakin' kid you not, a tweed suit. He was still a fart, though. A fart in expensive sunglasses.

"Actually, I believe it is I who can help you."

Fantastic. British. This would be Mystery Man then.

I put down the paper and took a long pull of beer, wishing I'd gone with a scotch. "Well, if that ain't a cliché then I don't know what is. You here to teach me about the Force, Kenobi?"

He actually smiled. "I probably deserved that." Reaching across the table, he said, "My name's Theodore Aurum."

Eyeing his hand, I said, "Matt Hawkins, but you already knew that."

He lowered his hand and nodded once in agreement. "You've made something of a name for yourself in, ah hem, our particular circle of people. I've been looking forward to meeting you for a while now."

"Neat. I didn't know there was a, ah hem, particular circle of our people. Do we have leather jackets with a flaming skull on it?"

Another indulgent smile. I wondered how long he could keep it up.

"No, and it is a loose circle at best. Just various practitioners, psychics and warriors, such as yourself, around the world who pool their information together to help each other out. We've been watching you these last couple of years, wondering if you had the tenacity to keep going. I think you do."

The flood of responses that came barrelling forth at those words was just too much. I couldn't pick. It was like trying to chose which child you loved the most. They all had their special traits. I settled for a snort and drank some more.

Aurum sat back in his chair and looked out over the water. "I have come here to offer you support, Mr Hawkins. You've acquitted yourself rather well against the local supernatural element, but there are a lot of things you don't know. Things that could get you killed, and your tame vampire with you."

My eye twitched and the cold beer bottle slipped a little in my tightening hold. "What do you know about her?"

"I know her name is Mercy Belique. I know she was turned two years ago and I know that if it hadn't been for you, she would have either died with the first sunrise or turned into a particularly vicious killer."

"All vampires are vicious."

"Yes, but there are degrees to their intelligence, ruthlessness and power. You are aware of the different castes of vampires?"

I glanced at him. He was still looking at the ocean, hands folded over his crossed legs. His skin was that typical Pommy white and he held himself proper-like, stiff and formal. A genuine British gentleman. If he'd said he lectured at Cambridge or something I wouldn't have been surprised.

"They have different psychic flavours, yeah. We call them clans."

"Interesting. Psychic flavour. I like that. Do you mind if I use it?"

"Go for it."

"Flavour is a very apt description. You must have a strong psychic touch if you can feel the difference between the castes."

I grunted noncommittally. Can you see any authority issues in my behaviour? I can't.

"When did you come into your abilities?"

Okay, even I know when I'm getting childish. I faced him, leaning on the table, beer cradled between my hands.

"The first thing was a mental link to Mercy. Before she'd even developed her own psychic whammy."

"Psychic whammy?"

"Yeah, you know the blast of paralysing power they discharge when they're about to jump you. Their stun gun."

He nodded and smiled. "Yes, the feeding compulsion. You formed a link to the vampire within the first month of her condition? That is fascinating. Of course, your whole case is fascinating. I don't believe it's ever occurred to anyone to attempt to tame a vampire. You and your pet are quite unique."

I spent a moment picking at the label on the beer bottle. Pet? Who did this guy think he was? Kenobi would never have been even unintentionally insulting. Certainly wouldn't have opened his big fat trap on something he didn't know dick about.

"I didn't set out to tame Mercy," I said when I could speak without growling. "I thought I was saving her."

"You didn't know about vampires before she was turned?"

"Not a freaking drop. Well, I'd seen that Dracula movie with whatshisname, Oldman. Had a girlfriend once who watched that Interview with Brad Pitt one over and over." I shuddered in horror. "Learning about Mercy was an eye opener."

"She was something special to you before the change?"

"Yeah. No. It's complicated." I shoved aside the painful memories before they could damage my calm. "She was just special," I muttered.

"I understand. It is a hard thing to witness the transformation. Usually, when a person is turned, they're kept within the clan where they can be protected and nurtured. They're rather like birds in that regard. The new vampires tend to attach themselves to the first thing they see when they awake."

My spine did a little shimmy. "Yeah. I worked that one out for myself. Mercy was in hospital. I was with her when she woke up."

"How did she come to be in hospital?"

"She was found in a park by a woman walking her dog late at night. Beat up, scratched, puncture wounds. They thought rape at first, but it was all negative. They topped up her blood tank and she slept for about three days. It was... difficult when she woke up."

"I can well imagine." Aurum looked over the ocean again. "So she was turned and abandoned. Very strange."

My guts twisted around the sloshing beer. "Strange, but maybe not the only occurrence."

"Indeed? Care to elaborate?"

"Last night we took out a dozen young vampires. Couple weeks old at most. Not a mature one among them. They'd been marauding a beach strip on the Gold Coast for about a week."

Air hissed in between Aurum's teeth. "That is disturbing. A dozen of them? Loose after only a week? I've not heard of such a thing. What clans do you encounter here?"

"Well, I don't know how you classify them, but we use colours that kind of relate to how they taste."

"Yes, colours. That is how we look at them as well. Red, blue, yellow, orange, violet and green."

"Nice. So we have yellows, reds, blues and a possible green. Orange has passed through once or twice. Didn't know about violets. Kinda sound like the pansies of the vampire camp."

"Oh no. The Violets are very dangerous. They have the strongest psychic powers of the lot of them. Major whammy capability, you would probably call it."

I laughed. Maybe he wasn't such a fart after all.

"I'll talk to some of the others and see if they've noticed a trend to abandon the young too soon." He stared at the water, composed but disturbed. After a moment, he shook his shoulders elegantly. "But, we were talking about you and Mercy. As I said, your situation is unique. I was wondering if you would allow me to observe you and her together."

Vampire voyeurism? Ugh. "Nah. I don't want to be part of an experiment. I have enough issues as it is."

Aurum studied me steadily. I tried not to fidget. If he was trying to change my mind, boy was he going up the wrong one-way street.

"As you wish, but I wonder if you fully understand your situation. The danger you've put both yourself and Mercy in. Don't you worry about the peculiarities of it?"

"Merce and I are doing just fine." I threw back the last of my beer and refused to look at him. "Being peculiar is something we're both used to."

The old man made a noise in the back of his throat which could only have been described as disappointment. It made me think I was back in school, completely missing the point of a lecture and feeling like shit for it. It made me want to beg his forgiveness.

And I hate that.

"You're a smart young man, Mr Hawkins. Have you truly not discovered it yet?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to discover it with you dropping worse hints than a cryptic crossword. What was the point of this entire conversation, Mr Aurum? Because it sure as hell hasn't been a welcome speech into the Society for the Kicking of Supernatural Arse."

He sighed, another jab at my inner school boy. "Then I shall spell it out for you. Each clan of vampires are the descendents of a particular being. These beings are not, in the sense applied to the term today, vampires. They're something else, something older, bigger. On a scale you've never even contemplated. We refer to them as the Primals. These beings have never got on well with each other. You might say there are long-standing family feuds between them. Each member of a particular clan is a soldier in this continual war, and it is also a source of strength for the Primal of the clan. Strength is channelled through the psychic link between parent and child vampire. All the way back to the Primal. Do you follow this?"

I ground my teeth together. Now he was just patronising me. Not to mention that I wasn't particularly liking the way he was going with it. Ultimate beings? Wars? Fucking hell.

He took my scared silence for understanding. "Good. Then you should be able to add that to what you've already mentioned about vampires to me now."

I took a moment to line up all my ducks. They were tricksy little bastards and didn't cooperate. I managed to grab a few and squeeze them till they quacked.

"It doesn't make much sense for them to be abandoning new recruits then, if they're in the middle of a war."

"No, it doesn't. But think deeper."

"But how I can see with the blast shield down?" I mumbled. Smacking a fist on the table, I said the thing I didn't want to admit. "They all have a psychic link back to this ultimate vampire poobah. You're trying to draw comparisons between these Primals and their children and me and Mercy."

He smiled, and it wasn't nice. "I knew you would understand. Do you see now why you're so fascinating?"

"It's not the same. I didn't make Mercy what she is."

"Didn't you? You were there when she woke up. You guided her through her first steps in the dark. You established a link to her. You feed her. You tell her where and when to fight. Where is the difference?"

I resisted, but the need to vent was strong. One kick and the chair opposite me smacked backward into the railing surrounding the deck. There was a sharp, satisfying clang of metal on metal and few startled gasps from the other patrons, but it didn't entirely ease the tension building inside. Which I guess was apparent from the way Aurum stood and straightened his coat, readying to leave.

"I can see that this conversation is at an end. I'm sorry to have upset you, Matthew, but I felt you needed to know. This is a number where you can reach me. I'll be in town for a while. I'll let you know when I'm returning to England."

He laid a white card on the table and pushed it in my direction. I wanted to shove it right back, tell him what he could do with it, but something stopped me. It sounded suspiciously like Dr Campbell telling me that pride and anger went hand in hand, and that both went before the fall. Still, I couldn't let him think he'd won.

"I don't believe it," I said as he began to walk away.

He paused and faced me again. "Then I'll leave you with this question. What flavour is Mercy?"

And he left.

# Chapter 9

We all have moments in our lives where everything changes. Something big happens, you flap about crazily for a time, the score gets reset to zero, you find the starting post and it all begins again. Learning that Santa Clause isn't real—or if you have a sadistic older brother like I do, you're told that Santa is really Satan—is one of the first for most. Losing your virginity. That's a major one. Then there's the potentially fatal ones. Drugs. Guns. Losing your temper in the wrong place at the wrong time. Learning that vampires are real. Learning that vampires are real because the girl you lusted after for so long tries to tear your throat out.

I've had my fair share of those moments. More than most, less than some. Didn't I get a break?

I apologised for the broken bottle and fled. My hands shook on the steering wheel all the way home. The mental blank I'd been trying for on the drive earlier came in full force now, just when I didn't want it. I needed to think. I needed to collate and analyse and get it all straight. I needed to find a reason why Aurum was lying to me. Instead I have no memory of getting home, parking, going inside and taking a bag of O pos from the blood fridge.

The first clear image I had was of the cage. It was dark in the room. The light switch was on my side of the cage. Mercy had no need of it. I flicked it on. A little noise of pain rose from the bundle of material in the chair. In the corner by the door, was a medium sized case I'd stolen from my last job. Inside was all my blood collection gear. I took it into the cage with me.

When my world gets reset to zero, my starting post is blood. Specifically, the elements of it, the working compounds that make it what it is. Red cells, white cells, DNA, plasma full of proteins, enzymes, antibodies, minerals, electrolytes—all the things that when poked and prodded right tell you just about everything you want to know about a person. Fascinating stuff, and a little freaky, when you think about it. Blood was where I returned to after the accident that smashed my knee. It was where I went when I got out of prison. It was where I was when Mercy fell into my lap. Now it seemed, blood was my whole reason for being.

Mercy had recovered enough to crawl into the chair and haul a blanket over her shivering body. It was about eight hours since I'd given her the wrong blood group. She was nearing the end of the reaction. It spoke volumes about how hyped she'd been she wasn't comatose on the floor. After Aurum's little speech today, seeing Mercy in the chair, cognitive enough to notice the light coming on, made my guts shake.

"Matt," she whispered as I knelt in front of the chair. "I'm sorry for trying to stun you."

"I know. It's okay. No damage done. Give me your arm."

She laid it out for me, knowing what I was after. I put the tourniquet on her upper arm and took several tubes of blood, careful not to get even a small splash on my skin. The flow was weak and slow, its colour pale. Only what I'd expected. I wrapped a bandage around Mercy's arm.

"Why are you taking my blood?" There was a touch of accusation behind the weariness.

"It's not a lot. I just need to do some more blood work."

"Why? You keep saying nothing changes."

It never did change. I rolled the bag of O pos between my hands, warming it up and mixing it. "Maybe I've been looking for the wrong things."

She mumbled something and snuggled under her blanket. I tucked it in around her.

"Mercy, blood." I put the bag on the arm of the chair. "Eat up. Get strong."

A little white hand slipped out from under the blanket and pulled the bag back under. Her head disappeared under it as well. I retreated before she began to feed.

Once dead, vampires degrade very fast. Outside of their body, their blood does the same thing. It's very volatile, which makes it hard to do any sort of testing on it. Over the years, I've found ways to work around that. I immediately put the tubes in the freezer, set a timer for ten minutes and then went rummaging in my library.

I felt a little guilty passing over the texts concerning weres but one kid's overreaction to his dog's weird behaviour wasn't that vital as far as I could see. It seemed far more likely there was a perfectly normal explanation. Like a bioengineered, behaviour-altering super-bacteria created in some deeply buried government lab where a disgruntled employee has shown 'the man' who's the boss by stealing a vial of their top secret work and then clumsily dropping the dainty glass object when the 'men in black' closed in on him. Perfectly normal and therefore not within my jurisdiction.

The vampire section of my collected works far outstripped any other subject. Which means I had about a dozen useless texts written by folks who'd never even seen a vampire, let alone ever believed in them. There were three books, though, that I took as gospel. They related to everything I'd had experience with and a lot of stuff I hadn't. From memory though, they never said anything about these so called Primal vampires. So I read them again.

It didn't take long. They weren't massive tomes. The best of them was about thirty pages long, the brittle, yellowed pages crowded with immaculately neat but small writing. The language was thick and grossly formal, but the information it held was gold. I stopped long enough to transfer the blood from the freezer to the fridge and search through all the kitchen cupboards again for food. I found a packet of jelly crystals—jelly crystals?—and praise be, a bag of cheese and bacon balls. Heaven.

Around one a.m. I finished ploughing through my books and had to admit they held nothing to discredit Aurum. I had, in fact, found a few hints that supported his theory of ultimate ancestors. Not really making my night.

I checked on Mercy before leaving. She was lying on her bed, on her belly, legs waving wildly while Will Smith and Martin Lawrence blew things up indiscriminately on the telly. She said the lines seconds before they did, giggling at herself. The room was completely righted. It was always the first thing she did after regaining her strength. When she came out of a hunger induced rage, her reaction to the destruction she caused was a mixture of shock, disgust and fear, as if she didn't remember what had happened. Sometimes I believed she didn't.

I slung on my camo jacket, reloaded the Eagle with fresh paintballs and tucked it in my pocket, then with my little Styrofoam esky banging against my leg, I got in the car and went to work. Well, it used to be work. I hadn't worked in a 'real' job for two years, not since taking care of Mercy became a priority and waging war against the creatures of the Old World began to turn a tiny profit. Or that profit could have come from my lack of grocery shopping.

I parked in a dim corner of the hospital car park, away from all the other cars, which clustered around the lights of the building like children afraid of the dark. It was a bit of a hike to get to the Emergency Department, but it was either that or risk someone taking interest in my car. I hadn't left on very good terms and there had been some mention of me never, ever coming back on pain of death, or something along those lines. So I hiked.

Redcliffe wasn't too accident prone. The ED of the hospital wasn't like the ones you see on TV, most nights at least, and this was one of those nights. I slipped in, trying to be unobtrusive, which is easy enough to do when you know the tricks of the trade. Basically, carry an esky. A few nurses looked me over, which probably had more to do with my stunning good looks than anything else, but they made no move to tackle me to the floor and rip my clothes off. The security guard was another matter altogether. A discreet C note passed along with a handshake solved that problem and I was on my way up to the lab.

Don't get me wrong. I don't like breaking laws, but outsourcing blood work on a supernatural myth isn't something you can just do. If I wanted to have any chance of helping Mercy control this condition, any chance of maybe doing something to help other people in the future, I had to do what I could.

I didn't want to take too long, so I worked fast, spinning and separating and processing. In under an hour I had a wad of printouts and the sinking feeling that Mercy was right. Nothing had changed. Her chemistries were vampire normal, her red cells were brutalised little fragments, also vampire normal, and her blood group, thanks to my intentional incorrect matching, was screwy. I spent a while sitting at the microscope, staring at the disturbing picture of her blood cells, slowly coming to the realisation that this wasn't the answer.

The physicality of Mercy's state of being wasn't changing. She'd survived the violent transformation, things were as stable as they were going to get. I'd worked out how she reacted to different blood groups and how to use that to get what I needed from her.

Vampires reacted to blood group incompatibility in the same way humans did. When red blood cells of a different type were introduced into a body, the native antibodies in the recipient's plasma react hostilely to the new cells. In short, it's one hell of a gang war, and ends with massive causalities. In a human, that's a major bummer. It can kill. In a vampire, same mechanism, different outcome. I mean, it wouldn't make sense if it did, would it? Unless a vampire and their victim have compared blood groups, the chances of a vampire sucking down litres of compatible blood is pretty slim. If miss-matched blood groups affected vampires the way it does humans, I'd be out of a job. All it does is take the strength from them, puts them in a coma like state. Ever wonder why, when a vampire drains a victim, they're out the next night guzzling more? A symptom of today's binge-drinking society? No. It's because the stolen blood keeps getting smashed to smithereens by the vampire's natural antibodies. Mix in several doses of all types of blood groups and it's no wonder they're a cranky, depressive mob.

What I'd done with Mercy, ensuring she got plenty of her own blood group, had a made difference. She could spaz out, no joke, but she wasn't constantly bug-eyed crazy like your average vampire. It was a series of trained tricks, sure, but she could act human. That she could remember those tricks, could intuit when to use them and which ones, was a fairly good testimony to my theory. Of course, I'm working with a test group of one. That's never going to pass muster with the scientific community, but I'm betting it could in the supernatural crowd.

And maybe that was part of why Aurum came to have his chat. I plucked the card he'd left me from a pocket and stared at it. A mobile, probably one he'd picked up in-country, to be abandoned when he went home.

And maybe that wasn't the whole reason.

I didn't want to admit it. I mean, what did it mean if it were true? I had some measure of control over Mercy because of the blood I fed her. Because of the choker chain I kept around her neck. Not because I was her version of the ultimate vampire.

Which brought me crashing head long into Aurum's parting question.

What flavour was Mercy?

Whenever you get in the way of a psychic compulsion from a vampire, if you're sensitive to such things, you get to touch their... well, I guess it would be their aura. Now, I'm getting way clued into to this psychic deal, but I don't go around seeing auras and whatnot. I'm not about to do a laying-on of hands and heal the whole congregation. But aura is the word that best suits the whole shebang. So, you touch the aura and I don't know how it is with other folks, but my brain relays the sensation to me as a flavour.

Some are a hot, spicy cabernet sauvignon. Some are the smooth, rich earthiness of honey. Some are tangy enough to make me pull a face. Some are like saltwater. But in all fairness to my dignity, I'm not about to go around referring to vampires as a bunch of condiments. So you call them the reds, the yellows, the oranges and the blues. Kudos to me for picking names the rest of the world uses as well.

Mercy's flavour? Well, she didn't have one. Not that I could detect, anyway. She was just... Mercy. Maybe I was too close to her.

The flavour doesn't develop as soon as a person is turned. It takes a while. Same with the psychic skills. I guess it's like the probationary period or something. Got to learn the ropes, be shown where the coffee machine is and swear to uphold the clan honour on a stack of Devil's Dictionaries or something.

At least, that was my take on it. Aurum's revelations added a different view.

I suppose it made sense that all members of a clan are linked together psychically. Links between parent and child, all the way back to the top of the pecking order. A demonic pyramid selling scheme.

I gathered up my stuff, made sure nothing remained that would give away my midnight presence, and left.

I couldn't get the image out of my head. A great, sweeping pyramid of vampires, and perched at the very peak, a shadowy shape growing bigger and bigger with each poor soul added to the ever widening base. And there beside it, was me ridding piggy back on Mercy, waving a tiny flag and tinier sword. Multiply the big pyramid by six—Reds, Blues, Greens, Yellows, Oranges and let's not forget the late comers, the Violets—and that's just not fair to the poor guy in the middle.

Subterfuge was pretty far from my mind as I left the hospital. Everything was pretty much far from my mind except a gut numbing, scared shitlessness. It was okay when it was just me and Mercy going up against a couple of vampires. Hell, we'd redecorated Surf Wars with a dozen of them. As they say, ignorance is bliss. They also say ignorance is evil, but I was just going to ignore that.

Jogging back to my car I decided the next time I tried to be inconspicuous I would beat myself about the head and just damn well park under a spotlight. What sort of maniac goes around asking for trouble like this?

Cab sav flooded my mouth.

"The sort we like."

I staggered to a stop. Again, pretty dumb thing to do, but it's hard to think of alternatives when the night around you suddenly comes alive with vampires.

They emerged from dark shadows and dropped from trees with nary a noise from any of them. Well, no. They were Reds and in order to be a good little Red, you had to think that long black coats were a mandatory fashion requirement. And the bastards knew how to make it work too.

I have a black Drizabone, one that reaches my ankles. Looks way swish, especially when you stride about all important like and it flares out behind you like some over produced Western scene. But the blasted thing is too hot. And I never did work out how to fight in it. Hence the camouflage jacket. Oh, and the cargo pants. Loads of nifty pockets to put things in, like weapons.

So, fashion versus combat lesson aside, the Reds arrived in a susurrus of flaring coats. They didn't crunch on the leaf and twig covered ground, like I did, and their big army surplus boots didn't thump noticeably, like mine did. Very quiet indeed.

They formed up around me in a loose circle, silver eyes sparkling prettily in the faint light from the hospital windows. There were half a dozen of them.

"Night Call," the one directly in front of me whispered.

That was pretty special. It's not often... okay, never, that a vampire initiates a fight with idle chit chat. Don't get me wrong. When we fight, there's heaps of yodelling and screaming, and the vampires make some noise as well. It's just that your average vampire isn't a big talker. Seemed this guy was. Add that thought up with the fact he had also read my mind and it equals 'nasty'.

He was a big bastard, too. André the Giant big. All right, no one's that big, except André, of course. But if this guy ate his Vegemite he might get there.

I'd just had the metaphorical teeth knocked out of my head by Aurum, and here I was confronting a mob of vampires without Mercy. I could either roll up in a ball and hope they'd left their dancing shoes at home, or I could do my best.

I straightened my shoulders, dropped the esky and looked him in the eye. Heck, I was still gonna hope they kept the fangs holstered, but that was more a backup plan.

"A man is more than his job," I snarled back. "I have a name. Learn it."

"Your name means nothing to us. What you do does. You are the Night Caller, the death of us."

I got a little less scared for a moment. It was pushed aside by a touch of pride. They had a pretty cool name for me. Neat. Then I went back to being scared.

"Then let's not beat about the philosophical bush. How about we see the Night Caller in action?"

"We did not come to fight."

"Heh." I tensed anyway. "That's a new one. Then why are you here? Is it the laid back lifestyle? Live in the 'burbs, work in the big smoke?"

The guy doing all the talking rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "We are here to negotiate a deal."

I stared at him. I stared at the other vampires standing around me. Their eyes had dulled from combat-ready to normal. When I faced the main guy again, his eyes had also lost the predator sheen.

"You're serious." I swallowed. "Well, fuck me."

# Chapter 10

What are the odds? My back up plan worked. And I didn't even have to fail at Plan A first. It's nights like this when I should go buy a lotto ticket. I just had to get through the negotiation first.

"A deal?" I spent a moment pretending to mull it over, but really cataloguing the weapons I carried. "Why?"

Big Red took a step toward me. By golly, he was good enough to get a sweeping flare from his coat with that simple a movement.

"You have something we desire."

I patted myself down. "Nope, no bags of spare blood tonight." And all my weapons just where I remembered putting them.

"You need not fear. We have all fed sufficiently."

"Phew, that's a relief. Now you can just beat me up for sport."

Aurum would have smiled tolerantly. Big Red just growled. A deep, throaty sound that should only ever be heard on the plains of the Serengeti while you're safely tucked away in a big old photo safari bus. Every nerve in my body screamed 'Fight or flight, preferably flight!' If that wasn't bad enough, it brought with it the sensation of cold electricity generated by the presence of huge supernatural badness. It crawled across my skin, prickled my hair and crept in through every—and I mean _every_ —orifice to sink into my guts and veins and muscles, steeling strength. There was such a rush of cab sav flavour through my head I could have got drunk off it. Big Red's eyes flashed silver.

"I have already stated we came to talk."

I was immune to Mercy's psychic compulsion and sort of immune to that of other vampires. This, however, was not a compulsion. It was a real, physical effect and no psychic ability could stop it. Even the dumb 'animals' of the supernatural world could produce this. It became a mind over matter issue.

I could lick this.

Pulling in a deep breath, I said, "Then stop the games and talk. You may have eaten tonight, but I've only had some Cheetos. Hardly nutritional enough to constitute a decent meal. If I hit a sugar low, I get cranky."

Big Red hissed, but pulled back on the special effects. "You have something we want. If you give it to us, we will not kill you."

The snort was out before I could think even once. "Dude, that's hardly an incentive. I'm not exactly defenceless here. Remember what you just called me? The Night Caller? The death of your kind? Hmm?"

"You do not have the crippled one with you. You are vulnerable."

Mercy? Crippled? Oookay.

"I've taken down your kind without her help before."

"Young ones, yes."

He had a point. Bastard. Once a vampire gets its maturity on, they get a lot tougher, more ammo in the psychic locker. Until they attack, you can't really tell how strong they are. Though right about now, I was thinking this ability to string together coherent sentences was another yardstick I could use. When she wasn't sulking, Mercy could be quite eloquent, but I'd already established she was far from normal.

Wigged out or not by Big Red's mad word skills, I wasn't about to let him know that. I lifted one eyebrow and regarded him blandly. "Still, not a very enticing offer. What else you got?"

"I have been instructed to offer you protection from the other castes as well as your life. We will ensure that no other vampire kills you."

"Let me guess. I won't be able to continue being the Night Caller, though."

"You may. Your targets would be the other castes, and you would fight alongside us."

"Alongside you. Brothers in arms. Right." The laugh came out with as much pre-thought as the snort had. "So, let me get this right. I give you this thing you want, and I can either retire from the field in all good faith and no one will come assassinate me. Or, I give you this thing and join the ranks of the fashion victim vampires."

"Or you don't give us what we desire, you die, and we take it anyway."

"Crap, man. This is so clichéd. You're bargaining with me even while boasting that you don't have to. You know, a fella could get to thinking that you don't really want to kill him at all."

Big Red opened his mouth to respond. I held up a hand to stop him.

"Not yet, Watson. Holmes is still deducing. And the answer is... There's two things I have that you want. One you can't get if I'm dead." I tapped my head. "Which means it's in here. Which means it's probably got something to do with the other thing you want."

Slowly, deliberately, I reached into the big pocket on my left hip and withdrew the Eagle.

"And you ain't getting either of those things."

I shot Big Red before any of us could think. He screamed as his face started to smoke. I spun and laid down a ring of paintballs, keeping the others back. It wouldn't last long, but long enough for me to get another weapon.

There's this little church tucked away between a couple of big high rises in the middle of the city. In that church, is a little Father who doesn't ask too many questions. He ladles out the Holy water for me, and he blessed my nightstick.

Three vampires closed on me.

I shot one and whacked the nightstick across another's face. Neither was enough to take them out of the fight, but it gave me room to get a clumsy hold on the third coming up from behind, toss him over my shoulder and land kneeling on his chest. I unloaded three paintballs into his mouth and rolled off him in time to miss a clawed hand slashed at neck height.

I ended up between Big Red's legs. Face sizzling, he glared down at me, eyes silver. He roared and reached for me. I had a split second to think 'gun or stick?' I rammed the nightstick into the bastard's balls. Yup. Vampire balls still work and that makes them vulnerable. Big Red doubled up. I thrust up with my hips, got my calves around his neck and dropped. He came over like a freaking freight train. What can I say? Life is all about balance. You don't got it, you gonna go down.

Sadly, he went down on my left knee. Something akin to lightning slashed my leg. I growled, the only sound I could manage. That was the level of the pain.

A vampire grabbed my jacket and ripped me out from under Big Red. I popped a paintball in Red's neck on my way past, though. Take that. I was tossed back to the ground. My sight whited out for a second, then it came back red.

Pain? What was that? Something I was going to dish out to these bastards.

I rolled and flipped to my feet. Gun and stick still in hand, I turned on the remaining creatures. Four left. No great numbers advantage. Pity for them.

We closed. I spun the stick through a three-sixty and brought it across the face of one of them. I shoved the Eagle in another's chest and tore a hole halfway to his spine. One of them bit down on my gun arm. She slashed her head from side to side, clawing at my belly and face with her hands. The gun flew out of my grip. I slammed the stick down on her head. Another one landed on my back. I went down under them.

The next thing I remember was standing in the middle of the stinking remains. My body was trying to haul in enough air to kick start my brain. I bled from I didn't want know how many wounds.

How many coats? One, two, three... My vision blurred out of focus. No. Don't fall over. Are they all down? That's the issue with going berserk. You don't often remember what happened. Did I get them all or not?

Pain lanced up my left leg. I collapsed on the spot, right into a steaming puddle. Didn't care. Everything went intensely bright with the pain. The edges of my vision hazed out. All I could see was a circle of night sky, stars twinkling, a few branches waving at me from on high. All I could feel was the fire eating me from the leg upwards. The sound of traffic boomed too loud, then faded.

A face came into my line of sight. A young woman, pale and concerned. She said something. Couldn't hear it. Could see her though. She tried to hide it, but I saw them. The fangs flashing between her lips. She saw the truth in me. Her eyes went silver and her lips peeled back, no subterfuge now. She lunged toward my neck.

Her teeth scored my throat, then stopped. She stiffened, back arched in pain. Predator eyes wide, she looked at her chest.

My SAS knife was suck to the hilt between her breasts.

Some of the legendary things really do work against vampires. Garlic. Holy anything. Ye olde stake through the heart, too. But it doesn't have to be wood. Pierce just about anything's heart with anything long enough to get in there and it kills them.

I kicked her off and suffered through her dying stench. The ground felt really nice. Just like a bed. So comfortable.

No. Get up. Get away.

Nah. Passing out always feels good. Let's do that.

What if there are more vampires?

Mate, you're _the_ Night Caller. You got them all. How could you not?

Because you're delusional and I'm in some freaking mind bending pain. Lord, it could even make me start talking to myself.

Somehow, I rolled over. My knee protested somewhat.

Go to your Zen place, go to your Zen place.

Right now, my Zen place was somewhere with a truck load of painkillers. And what do you know, I was right outside a hospital.

ED was around the back. I was closer to the front. No way was I getting that far, so I hauled my protesting leg to the front door and through a monumental amount of searing agony, hit the—oh so appropriately called—night call button.

I passed out before anyone came to the door. I woke up when they lifted me onto the stretcher though. I think I woke up the whole hospital, in fact. It alerted them pretty quick to the whole knee situation, which was helpful. I was once again thankful it was a slow night for the ED staff. I would have hated being passed over for some other poor sot.

An hour or two later, doped out of my head on some serious shit, I could sit up and chat.

"Man, you should bottle this stuff and sell it," I said to Dr Nolan, who was looking over my knee.

Given a choice, I wouldn't have accepted the morphine. It was the Devil in a liquid state. Nasty stuff. Heaven in a bag. Pure bliss in a jab. After getting out of hospital I'd sworn to never touch the stuff again. I'd become addicted while recovering, faking major pain when a codeine would have sufficed. Did such a brilliant job of it the doctors wanted to open my knee up again to see what was wrong. Guess I wasn't as far gone as some, because I didn't really want more pain in order to warrant the morphine. It was a miracle. The pain got less and less and after a while, I really had forgotten why I thought I needed it so much.

To this day, I think the canny bastard who'd worked on me knew it all along and threatened the surgery to scare me off. It kind of bites that it worked.

But here I was. Surfing the happy wave again. I wasn't so out of it I couldn't argue about why I didn't like the stuff, but I was far enough gone I just didn't care.

Nolan grinned at me. Young bloke, for a doctor. All doctors should look like that guy who played Dr Who, the one with the curly brown hair and dubious habit of offering strangers jelly babies. Nolan didn't look like that. He was tall, slender without being skinny, wore torn jeans and an Eskimo Joe T-shirt. I liked him.

"It's some good stuff, isn't it," Nolan said. "What happened to your knee?"

"Smashed it up couple of years ago. That's a genuine titanium artificial kneecap in there. What can we get for that on the market?"

"Not so much you would make a profit, I'm afraid. We'll wait for the X-rays to confirm it, but I don't think anything's broken. It'll be inflamed for a while though." He picked up a clipboard and jotted down a few things. "We'll get you started on some antibiotics then send you up to the ward. Anyone we can call?"

"Ward? I don't want to be admitted."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I can't see you walking out of here any time soon. You got beat up pretty well. Twelve stitches in your arm, four in the back of your head. Some pretty impressive gashes on your chest and back. Not to mention the damage done to your knee."

"You just said there was nothing broken."

"I _think_ there's nothing broken. But you've had muscular and tendon damage. That's going to keep you down for a week or two."

"But does it have be in here?"

"If you have the insurance, you can be transferred to the private hospital if you wish."

I grimaced. "And they're the only options you're giving me?"

"'Fraid so."

"Get me a phone then."

Nolan smiled and stuck his head out of the cubicle to ask a nurse for a phone. "So good of you to cooperate." He sat in a chair beside the bed, long legs stretched out. "Care to tell me what happened?"

"Told you. Smashed my knee a while back."

"Tonight. I think we need to call the police. You have bite marks, nail scratches and close to a dozen bruises that aren't going to fade any time soon. You're lucky you didn't come out with any broken ribs. Or a worse head injury. Who did this?"

"Would you believe me if I said vampires?"

I'm going to blame it on the drugs.

Nolan stared at me steadily. And here it comes. The exasperated sigh, the weary shake of the head, the subtle hint that maybe I should have a little chat with this nice lady from the mental health unit, now let me tighten those restraints, for your own protection, of course.

"Did you win?"

Whoa. Did I just hear that right? Yeah, and it wasn't sarcastic. It was quiet, grim, determined.

"I survived. I guess that means I won."

Nolan gave a single, sharp nod. "Good. Fucking bastards. I'm getting sick of seeing their leftovers."

No. This wasn't happening. He was jerking my numbed up leg. "Are you serious? I mean, you believe in vampires?"

"Hard not to. You see two or three people come through here with puncture marks in their necks or wrists or thighs, with low red cell and haemoglobin counts, you start to wonder." He shuddered. "The patients talk. They babble, all of it scared. After a while, you can't put it down to imagination or hallucination. Most people in the ED train themselves to forget about it, to ignore it."

"Defensive blindness. It's the only way some people can cope."

The doc rubbed a tired hand over his face. "Yeah. I guess. Sometimes, it feels like they're being gutless. But, I go along with it because I like my job."

I nodded. "Safe path to take."

"But it doesn't help you when you're walking through a dark car park at the end of a long, tiring shift." He waved toward the array of gear taken out of my pants pockets. "All this works?"

I surveyed the weapons. Nightstick (a lovely nurse had washed it for me), hip flasks of Holy water, a cross, garlic salt (get it in their eyes and hello) and sheathed SAS knife. No Desert Eagle. Probably lost for good.

"Yeah."

"I have a shopping list then."

Sheesh. I didn't want the poor guy to get all Van Helsing on any mugger that jumped out at him. "Listen, I don't think you have too much to worry about. The 'Cliffe is pretty quiet for these sorts of freaks."

He cut me a daring glance. "How many jumped you tonight?"

"That doesn't matter. They were after me specifically. Unless you've done something to piss them off, I think you're okay."

Nolan sighed and stood up. He was at the opening in the curtain around my cubicle when he said, "I saved your life. I think that might piss them off."

# Chapter 11

A nurse brought me a cordless phone and I waited pointedly for her to leave before dialling Roberts. He answered on the eighth ring, mumbling something that should never be repeated let alone have come from his mother-kissing lips in the first place.

"Hey, tis I."

Another comment much along the lines of the first one, a little bit rougher, if you can imagine.

"I'm sorry," I said as earnestly as I could with the drugs swirling around my brain. "But I'm in a spot of bother. Just wondering if you could be a good chap and come help me out of it."

"Spot this," he muttered, along with a presumed rude gesture.

That's the problem with only having one friend. The favours kind of all stack up in one place.

"I'll buy you two new suits."

"Matthew Hawkins, I don't think you get the idea. I'm not alone."

"Hey, bring her along. Make it a family affair."

There was a some rustling, a sleepy enquiry in a sweet female voice and a grunted reply. Roberts walked somewhere and shut a door.

"Are you insane? I'm not bringing her to a vampire toasting."

I laughed. "The vampires are all gone. Toasted them without help. I just need a lift home. Well, actually a lift out of here and into your car, then home."

"What's got you so chipper at God-doesn't-get-up-at-this-hour-of-the-freaking-morning o'clock?"

"I'm so whacked out on morphine it's a miracle this isn't a reverse call from the moon."

Roberts took the phone away from his mouth for a while. I vaguely heard some thumping and grumbling. Then he came back, voice all calm.

"Okay, where are you?"

I told him, asked him to hurry, pretended not understand what he called me and hung up. Nolan came back in carrying my X-rays.

"You're a lucky guy," he announced. "No breaks, just tissue damage."

"Mild enough to send me home with a couple of ibuprofen?"

"Not quite. I've ordered you a bed."

"To go?"

He gave me a smile that said 'this is getting old, get over it'. "It'll be ready in an hour or so. Is there anything we can get you?"

"Um, let me think. A wheelchair."

The smile turned into a frown that said all the same things, only harder.

"Okay, a drink would be nice, thank you."

"I'll get someone to bring it in."

An hour. Time enough for Roberts to get out here. I just had to wait it out.

So, Nolan turned into something of a tyrant. I got my drink. Ten minutes later I had to piss. He wouldn't let me zoom on into the toilet on my own. He handed me a bottle. A bottle. A man shouldn't have to piss in a bottle unless he's really, really drunk and there are no handy walls about. I held on as long as I could. The sum result being that I was letting loose in the bottle when Roberts and his lady friend arrived.

"Oh, man. Jeez." Roberts pushed his little blonde friend out of the cubicle, asked her to wait at the car, and then tore the curtains closed behind himself. "They need to put a sign up or something. You're disgusting, Hawkins."

"You're the one with the bad timing." I tapped off and made myself presentable. I wasn't even blushing. Score one for the morphine.

"You're just lucky I'm here at all. Did you see that girl? I could have stayed at home and got tangled up in that, not this." He looked me over. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you later." I held my arms up. "Just carry me out of here, you big lug."

Roberts swatted my hands away. "I'll get a wheelchair. And your clothes. Where are they?"

"Well, see, that's a problem."

He glared at me. "Why?"

"My doctor thinks I should stay here for a while. Upstairs, in a bed they're making up for me right now. He's a bit stern, young Nolan. I think he might like to handcuff me to the bed."

"I might do the same thing, in a purely platonic, you're insane kind of way. If you're that bad off, you probably should stay."

"Well, I don't want to."

"What you want is immaterial. You need to stay."

I think the drugs were starting to wear off. I wasn't so happy any more. "No, you don't get it. I'm not staying, no matter what you or Nolan thinks. I'll walk out of here on my own if you won't help me."

He waved at my knee, bound up in thick bandages. "Go ahead. I'd like to see you try."

Right. I unstuck the tape on the needle of the drip and pulled the needle out. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and gosh, it hurt. I nearly stopped being so pig-headed stubborn right then and there. But then I got a little angry. I wasn't going to be knocked on my arse like this. Those vampires didn't deserve to have even that victory over me. I stood up. Admittedly, I took all my weight on my right leg, and the blood rushing through my torn up knee was nearly crippling, but I did it.

"Fuck it, okay." Roberts grabbed my arm and helped hold me up. "You really should stay in hospital. Just so you know my opinion on the matter."

Some darling nurse had packed up all my gear in a plastic bag. Some of the sharper edges threatened to tear through, but Roberts picked it up gently, so it all stayed on the inside.

"Duly noted," I ground out between clenched teeth. "Besides, I can't leave Mercy alone for long."

"I'll take care of her."

"Like you took care of her last night?"

It was said casually, but it bit deep. Roberts flinched and nearly dropped me. He'd seen the look in my eyes when I'd come out of Mercy's room this morning. Neither of us had mentioned it and I shouldn't have said anything now. But it was said and now we had to deal with it.

"I said I was sorry. I didn't know she needed feeding."

"You were moaning about how hungry you were all the way home. And she did all the fighting."

He sighed. "Yeah, I should have thought about it, but I don't deal with her like that. You know that. I don't understand that side of her."

"And that's why I need to go home."

"Will you stay off your feet?"

"As much as possible."

Roberts pulled in a deep breath and took more of my weight. "Right, let's get this kidnapping on the road."

"Before we go, I have to ask you something."

He looked at me sceptically. "Yeah?"

"Does this hospital gown make my arse look bare?"

He laughed and we were all good.

Getting out proved easier than I had imagined. There had been a shift change and a convenient influx of folks suffering a particularly smelly type of food poisoning. No one noticed us leaving.

Roberts had parked a lot closer than I had, smart fellow, and his girl had the back door open for me by the time I got there. I was feeling a little light headed as I crawled into the back seat. Roberts drove a Prado—all the better to carry all the promo gear around in, my precious—and I could stretch my leg out along the seat.

"My God," the woman said. "What happened to him?"

"Jumped by Ice freaks."

She peered at me. Pretty with blonde curls, big brown eyes and luscious red lips. "I don't think he should be out of hospital."

Roberts handed me the bag of stuff and I dug around inside it. "Hey, toots. Got a licence?"

Jaw on her chest, she stared between me and Roberts. "Did he just call me toots?"

"Well, Roberts hasn't seen fit to make any introductions, so what else do I call you?"

"Shut up," Roberts snapped at me. He grabbed the car keys I'd found. "You don't deserve to know her name. She can drive your car home, and hopefully scratch the hell out of it." He turned to her, handed over the keys. "He's whacked out on painkillers. He's not usually this Clan of the Cave Bearish."

"I should hope so. You don't need friends like that. Where's the car?"

"Front car park, far corner," I announced.

Roberts' eyebrows almost crawled into his hairline. "You got jumped in a hospital car park?"

"Yeah."

"Fucking luck."

Roberts drove out to my car, let the woman out and then led her home. I kept peering over the back seat to make sure she didn't mess up the paintwork.

"She's nice. Are you really not going to tell me her name?"

"Yup."

"That's okay. I can guess. Mabel."

"No."

"Myrtle."

"No."

"Ulva."

Roberts snorted. "No and is that even a name?"

"Finnish, I think. Um... Gertrude."

And so went the drive home. Which wasn't long. I hadn't even exhausted my list of girl names.

Esme (so she was to me, at least) didn't do a spot of damage to my car and I couldn't get her name out of either of them. Roberts insisted on putting me to bed. He set Esme to making me a nice cup of tea while he checked on Mercy, who was fine but concerned. The bag of O pos had restored her to full capacity, so she was civil.

"Let her out."

He frowned. "With Gale in the house?"

"Hah! Gale. Thank you, and yes. It'll be fine. She was okay Tuesday night at Surf Wars."

Roberts umed and ahed and then went to let Mercy out. She came racing into the bedroom and threw herself half across me.

"Matt, are you okay? How badly did they hurt you?"

I patted her hair. "I'm all right. It's not too bad."

She lifted a tear streaked face to stare at me, black hair all tangled around her little face. "I can smell all the blood on you."

Roberts winced. I waved him back.

"It's okay," I said to them both.

"No, it's not. Six Reds and I wasn't there to help you. You could have died."

Mercy buried her head in my chest and shook. Over her head, I mouthed 'you told her?' to Roberts. He shook his head. She'd sensed the attack. I deliberately didn't think about what that meant.

Gale came in with the tea. "It's black because there's no milk. And why couldn't she go get him from the hospital?"

Mercy snapped around to face her, on her feet in a blur. Gale jerked back, tea sloshing over her hand. Roberts threw himself between them. And because I could do little else, I hit Mercy through the link. She flinched and backed down, sinking to the floor by the bed, blindly reaching for my hand, seeking reassurance. I took her hand and held it tightly. Her fingers curled through mine.

"Sorry," Mercy said before I could prompt her. "I got startled."

Gale shook out her hand, a little pale. "It's okay. I put some cold water in it because there wasn't any milk."

Roberts put an arm around her shoulders. "You sure you're okay?"

She nodded and smiled at him. Then she looked at Mercy. "Hi. I'm Gale."

"Mercy."

"Oh, you're French? You're welcome."

I grinned. "Mercy is her name."

"Oh. Sorry."

"I don't have a drivers licence," Mercy said softly.

Gale nodded and put the tea on the bedside table. "Do you want anything else?" she asked me.

"No. Thank you, Gale. I appreciate this."

She sighed. "It's not every day I help kidnap a guy from a hospital. It's been a pleasure, I suppose. Rob, I'll wait in the living room."

"Well," Roberts said when she'd gone, "that could have gone worse."

Mercy looked between us. "I did okay?"

"You were a champ, kiddo." Roberts patted her head. "Do you need us to stick around?" he asked me.

"Nah, we're all good here."

"What about your leg? Got any decent painkillers?"

I deliberately didn't look at Mercy, who was studying the tea with determined interest. "Yeah."

"Okay. Call if you need anything. Just not so early next time."

"Well, vampires don't get around during the day much, but I'll see what I can arrange."

"Speaking of which, sunrise in about half an hour, missy," he said to Mercy. "Get back in bed before then."

She gave him a pained look. "I know."

"Getting a smart mouth on her," he said to me. "Right. Be good, the pair of you."

I listened to him and Gale talking softly as they left. I couldn't hear everything but Mercy did.

"She didn't really like us." Mercy frowned. "And you called her toots."

"I'm a charmer."

Mercy sat cross legged on the bed by my legs. She looked over the bandages. "You're in great pain."

"I know. Can you help?"

She chewed her lower lip gently, a feat and a half considering she had a pair of great big fangs in there. "What if I hurt you more?"

We'd tried this in the past. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes, I ended up in more trouble than I started in. In truth, I shouldn't have been able to do half the things I did with my knee the way it was, but Mercy had this ability to do something to the pain that just made it go bye bye. Still, there was the chance it could go wrong and I'd be begging to go back to Nolan and his happy juice.

"I think we need to try."

She looked at me. "What's going on?"

I sighed. Keeping secrets from her was pointless. "I don't know yet, but I think we both have to be running on all cylinders. There's a chance it could get hairy."

Mercy didn't say anything. She just nodded and put her hands over my knee. After a moment, the air between us got very warm. Mercy began to sing as she worked. A full bodied Hey Jude. Sweet. I zoned out.

# Chapter 12

Erin was late to the office in the morning. She was still sipping her latte when she walked in. Ivan stood in front of his desk, arms crossed, foot tapping, lips pursed.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" he demanded.

"That you're more gay than usual this morning."

He tried to keep a stern face, but it crumpled into a big grin. "I have news. You're late and I had keep it to myself all this time."

She had to laugh. "Okay, I'll bite. What's the news?"

Ivan spent a moment composing himself. "I got a phone number for Jessica Harrington."

"And that's fantastic news?"

He deflated a bit. "Well, yes. I rang her this morning to set up an appointment for you and she said she couldn't get away from work, but that you could meet her there. And that your assistant could come as well." A hopeful smile struggled back onto his face.

Erin was careful to act serious. "And close the office while we're both out?" She wondered where Harrington could work that would get Ivan so excited.

Ivan produced an Open/Closed sign. "Just pretend Mrs Veilchen is coming."

Erin put down her coffee before she could spill it. She laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. When she could stop, she was out of breath. Ivan still held the sign hopefully.

"Where does she work?" she asked him on her way into her office.

"The Albert Tarrant Agency."

"Oh, I see." Tarrant was one of the biggest agents in Australia, representing some of the hottest faces on current TV shows. "So, you want me to take you somewhere that might lead to you quitting this job."

His face fell. "Erin, I'm sorry, but... This would mean the absolute world to me. I won't forget you when I'm famous."

She made him suffer for a couple of hours. The appointment was for eleven and in that time, Ivan offered to do so much for her, including but not limited to a foot rub, a back rub and roses and chocolate once a week for a whole year. She eventually said yes just to get him out of her office.

They made a ceremony about putting up the sign then walked over to Tarrant's building. He owned the whole thing, taking the top five floors for himself. The girl on the reception desk claimed to know nothing about their appointment and Ivan nearly ripped her headset off in frustration. Thankfully, the commotion brought Jessica Harrington to the desk.

"I'm so sorry about the mix up," she said, leading them down a long corridor to her workroom. "Belinda's new and still doesn't know everything."

Ivan's ears physically perked up. "Really?"

Erin smacked him discretely. He just shrugged.

Jessica was a makeup artist, jazzing up Tarrant's clients for photo shoots, TV appearances and red carpet events. Her workroom was very bright and white and reflective. Ivan loved it. He and Jessica chatted about all the bottles and pots lined up in front of the mirrors. Erin let them run for a while. A relaxed person was someone more willing to talk. Bringing Ivan had been a stroke of genius. Erin knew enough to slap on some mascara and lip gloss and that was it.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" Jessica asked as she rubbed moisturiser into Ivan's hand.

Erin studied her, trying to assimilate this young professional with the bubbly headed girl in the video. Jessica was very pretty, wide blue eyes, flawless skin, pale lips that had a very natural fullness and lovely shape. She either wore a lot of makeup so expertly applied it didn't show, or she was just very lucky. Erin thought the only thing keeping her from being on Tarrant's talent list instead of his employee list was the size fourteen figure.

"I don't want to upset you with this, but I've been employed to find Matthew Hawkins."

Jessica faltered in her attention to Ivan for a moment only. "What do you want to know about him?"

"Ultimately, where he is now. But I'm working my way up to that. He's a very reclusive guy. At the moment, I'm following any lead I can get."

The young woman nodded. "And I'm your best lead?"

"At the moment. Do you mind talking about what happened?"

"Of course I do." She let Ivan's hand go and went to a sink to wash the cream off her own. "But I will."

"Thank you."

Jessica sat in one of the tall, swizzle chairs in front of the mirrors. Erin sat beside her and Ivan perched on the bench, idly running his fingers over the tricks of Jessica's trade.

"I don't know where he is now. I don't care where he is, so long as he's not within a hundred meter radius of me."

"Restraining order?"

She nodded. "But I don't think it matters anymore. He was... different during the trial. It hurt him, what he did to me. I was too young to understand it back then, but I do now. He's not a violent man."

Erin licked her lips. "I saw the footage from Kirby's. I beg to differ."

"He had a reason."

"Really?" Ivan asked.

Jessica looked at her hands, twisted together in her lap. "Give me a moment and I'll tell you."

Erin and Ivan sat quietly while Jessica prepared herself. It took a couple of minutes, her eyes closed and breathing deeply. Then she began speaking.

"I was sixteen years old. Just got my learner's permit and I wanted to take my dad's car out. He wouldn't let me go without him and he didn't want to go anywhere. Too drunk, as usual. I took it when he fell asleep. I was heading down to the coast to see some friends, thinking I was being a very good driver by staying in the middle lane and doing the speed limit. But I had the stereo turned right up and I wasn't checking my mirrors at all. I didn't see or hear the ambulance coming up behind me."

Erin touched Jessica's hands. "There was an accident?"

Jessica nodded. "All the other cars got out of the lane. It was only when the red and blue lights began flashing around me that I realised what was going on. I saw the ambulance, realised it couldn't get past me and knew I had to get out of its way." She shivered. "I panicked. I went right, then for some reason thought I should be in the left lane. The ambulance clipped the back of my car. I spun into the soft barrier on the left side of the road. The ambulance went into the cement barrier in the middle of the road."

"Dear God." Ivan clutched his hands together.

"I came out of it with a few bruises and whiplash. I didn't know what happened in the ambulance until a week later. There was a mother and daughter in back. The little girl had a heart murmur or something. She'd stopped breathing and the paramedic had just got her breathing on her own again when the accident happened. He brought her back to life just so she could die."

Jessica sagged in her chair, shivering. Erin stood beside her, hugged her close.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's all right." But she wondered if it was.

"The driver of the ambulance died on impact. The mother died of a broken neck and the daughter had a heart attack and died. The other paramedic, the one who'd saved the girl's life, was thrown from the back and through the windscreen."

"But he survived."

"Yeah. Had a shattered knee and I don't know how many other broken bones."

"Matthew Hawkins."

The young woman sniffed loudly and grabbed up a handful of tissues. Erin let her go and sat down again. Jessica wiped her face and revealed that she wasn't hiding anything with makeup. Her nose and cheeks blazed with emotion, tears glinting on her lashes.

"So, that was his reason. I got a rap on the knuckles and he got six weeks in traction and a life time of pain."

Erin didn't want to excuse him for what he'd done, but as with most similar situations, it wasn't black and white. "That was how long before the incident at Kirby's?"

"About eighteen months. I was so sick because of what I'd done, I couldn't leave the house. I went to some psychiatrist about it and I can't remember what he called it."

"Agoraphobia," Ivan said. "Fear of open spaces."

Jessica nodded. "I'm over it now, obviously. I lost my licence but I don't care. I won't drive ever again."

"The night at Kirby's," Erin prompted.

"It was the first time my friends had convinced me to go out with them. I drank way too much. You know, to deal with it all. I suppose I was pretty spastic by the time we reached Kirby's." She absently touched her nose. "I didn't feel any pain when it happened. I could barely register what was happening."

"You recognised him, though."

"Yeah. My dad had taken me to see him in hospital. Said it was an object lesson. I'll never forget seeing him in that bed, strapped up like some violent animal or piece of art so precious it was too fragile to be moved. He was in an induced coma, never saw me. After that was when I decided I couldn't face the world anymore."

"But he recognised you at the club," Ivan said softly.

"At the trial when they asked him how he knew it was me, he said he just knew."

A shiver went down Erin's back.

Jessica stood up, fixed her hair and asked, "Is that all you needed?"

"Yes, thank you. I'm sorry we brought up so many bad memories. But you have helped us."

"What I said will help you find him?"

Erin smiled. "It helps me know him, and that helps me find him."

Ivan was quiet until they were back out into the hard sunlight and putting on their sunglasses.

"Wow, that was intense."

Erin sighed. "Glad you came?"

"I got the name of a new moisturiser at least."

"And I got one step closer to our mysterious Matthew Hawkins."

"Really? I don't see how."

"Think about it, Ivan. He had a reason for what he did. It doesn't excuse him, but at least it means he's got nothing to hide."

Ivan thought about that for a while. "But he must have something else to hide, because he's hiding."

"Yes."

"But you don't think that's a big problem."

"Big but not insurmountable. I know him a bit better now. And I know he used to be a paramedic." Her phone rang and she answered with her usual business voice.

"Erin, it's Gavin. How you doing? Did you get that fax?"

"I got it, thanks. You did fantastic."

"If you think that's fantastic, wait till you hear this. I found your man."

Erin nearly dropped the phone. "What? How? Where is he?"

Gavin chuckled. "One at a time. When I came on shift this morning, I got a call from the Redcliffe station, passing on a report that came in from a doctor at their local hospital. Seems this guy was beaten absolutely senseless by a gang of thugs and managed to drag himself to the hospital. His ID labelled him as Matthew Hawkins, the same name as in that arrest report I faxed over."

Erin grabbed Ivan's hand in excitement. "He's in the hospital?"

"Admitted at four a.m. this morning."

"I can't believe this. I expected a longer chase, and here he just drops into my lap. You're a saint, Gav."

She fended off more offers for dinner and felt shitty for it. He had, after all, just finished this case for her. After she hung up, she quickly told Ivan and they all but ran back to the office and piled into her car. Within an hour, they were standing in the lobby of the hospital, defeated once again and waiting while the admitting doctor was paged.

Dr Nolan was about her own age, tall and slender. He looked dead on his feet.

"Double shift in ED," he said by way of an apology for his appearance.

"We won't keep you long. I understand you treated Matthew Hawkins this morning."

"Yeah. Though I'm thinking I should have just left him where we found him." He waved to the front doors. "He passes out from pain on our front doorstep and then wonders why he should be admitted to hospital."

"How bad were his injuries if he could just get up and walk out?"

"Oh, he didn't walk on his own. He had help. Called in some friends and they carted him off. Through a fully staffed ED, mind you. Some people are going to get sent for eye tests." Nolan wandered over to a chair and all but fell into it. "He was in rough shape. Needed a load of stitches and suffered tissue damage to a reconstructed knee. The man shouldn't have been able to stand up without passing out, even considering the amount of morphine he was on. But somehow, he was vertical when his buddy hauled him out of here."

"You reported the attack to the police but didn't tell them he went AWOL?" Ivan asked.

"By the time anyone realised, it was several hours later, and we had a rush on. Gastro outbreak." He sniffed the front of his shirt. "God, I smell like puke."

Erin sighed. "Did you get an address for Mr Hawkins?"

"Yeah, it should be on his chart. Let me check." He hauled himself up and went to the front desk. In a moment, he was back with a piece of paper. "Here you go. Hope you have better luck keeping hold of him than I did." A strange look passed over his face. "For all that he's an annoying bastard, I liked him. Loads of guts. When you find him, tell him thanks for the shopping list."

Ivan pulled out a notepad and wrote that down.

"Dr Nolan, do you have security cameras in ED?" Maybe she could get a picture of this guy.

"Nope."

"In the car park?"

"Let me check." He went back to the desk and returned fairly quickly. "Just the one out the back, in the ED car park."

"Can we check the footage? Maybe his friend parked somewhere we can see a number plate."

Nolan sighed and trudged back to the desk.

"Seems very put on, doesn't he," Ivan muttered.

"He's just tired."

The doctor waved them over and led them to an elevator. "We have to go upstairs. The TVs for the cameras are in the admin section."

An hour later, Erin and Ivan left. They had a grainy black and white picture showing a light coloured Prado and three people. One was a woman, standing a bit back, while a man of average height and size supported a slightly taller, slender man. No faces could be seen, but there was a nice shot of the number plate.

"Where first?" Ivan asked in the car. "Address or number plate searching?"

"Hey, we've had some luck, let's try the address first. Where is it?"

Ivan looked and groaned. "All the way over in Ipswich. Man, we'll never get lunch."

"We'll get drive-thru. Chin up, young person. This is what detecting is all about. Just think, if you ever get to be an actor, you could play a private dick."

Ivan did not once run out of 'private dick' jokes on the way to Ipswich.

# Chapter 13

I woke up around noon. There were some niggles in my back, but that was probably just from sleeping sitting up. Otherwise, pain free, baby. Mercy had done it.

Speaking of the Mercinator...

She wasn't in her room. I had a mild panic, then went back to my room and looked under the bed. There was a Mercy sized ball pressed up against the wall at the head of the bed, as far from any edges where light might squeeze in as she could get. I got a blanket all the same and covered her completely. She was zonked. The healing had taken it out of her. Crazy kid had obviously stayed to the very last minute and was trapped in my room.

There was a message on the phone from Roberts, asking if I was okay. The guy talked tough, but he was a softy. I called him back.

"Oh, you're alive. Well, okay. Thanks. Bye."

"Hang on, man. I want to thank you again. I really did appreciate it. I owe you one."

"You owe me two suits and some dignity. Gale was not impressed. She really thinks I need better taste in friends."

I wandered out onto the deck and threw myself onto a banana lounge. "How long you been seeing her? You haven't mentioned her."

My neighbour Charles was out on his deck, in similar position, reading. I waved and he sort of returned it and then concentrated on his book. My neighbours think I'm strange. That's probably mostly my fault because, well, I am strange. Living a very nocturnal life, no discernible job, rooming with a hot girl who looked much younger than me and seemed a bit special needs (which she was, Charles just didn't know what sort of special needs). But, part of it is Charles' fault as well. He's the sort of nosey neighbour who can justify any level of snooping with the words 'community service'. What also doesn't help is their proximity. It makes them unintentional targets when I'm practicing my psychic skills. I know things about my neighbours no one outside of their bedroom should know (Charles claims there is no problem, but his wife, Sue, keeps hinting about that nasal delivery technology) and in some back-brain, primitive instinctual way, Charles suspects that I know. It makes for a weird combination of offence and defence whenever we have the misfortune of meeting.

"For good reason, obviously." Roberts sighed. "Been seeing her for a couple of weeks. She reps for some of the competition."

"Way to get inside information. She seemed nice. Not your usual sort."

There was a contemplative silence. "What do you mean by that?"

I shrugged. "Nothing."

"Are you still drugged up?"

"Nope. Mercy did her witch doctory thing on me. I'm all good."

"Then you're in full mental capacity?"

"Heh, as much as usual."

"Then you meant something by that. Not my usual sort? Because she's nice?"

Crap. Roberts had got out of bed not only on the wrong side, but in the wrong post code, apparently. Then I remembered who had got him out of bed.

"Sorry, man. I didn't really mean anything by it. We didn't freak her out too much, did we?"

"Well, I don't know about freak out, but you didn't make a favourable impression. She wanted to know how such a pair of mental deficients as you and Mercy could afford the house, the car and the bike. And not have any milk in the fridge."

I laughed so hard Charles looked up. He caught me catching him and ducked under his book again.

"She's a keeper, Rob."

"Look, man, about this morning. I'm sorry you came off as bad as you did, and I'm really glad you're okay now..."

Every last shred of good humour fled at the tone of his voice. "But..."

"Jeez. Matt, this is getting intense. Those vampires at the Coast, then last night. Maybe you need to back down a bit. I mean, you're only up now because Mercy put some sort of whammy on you. Remember what happened last time she did that?"

Sort of. When the compulsion wore off, I was so fucked from pain I spent the better part of two days passed out. Roberts didn't really need me to answer that.

"Why are you doing this? Cool it for a while. Take a long break. Recover properly before you go hurling yourself head long at any more mobs. And while I think of it, why were you at the hospital last night?"

What did I tell him? That some smarmy British guy scared the living shit out of me by insinuating I was some sort of vampire leader? That I'd made myself and Mercy into a rival clan? That we were now supposedly at war with a gazillion vampires and their more-powerful-than-you-can-imagine great great great Grandpas?

Well, I probably could and he would understand and at least listen to me panic if he couldn't add anything constructive.

Then I'd have to tell him about the deal the Reds wanted, as well. And he would come out personally, pack my bags and drive me somewhere a long way away. He might even take Mercy as well.

"Matt?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Anything wrong?"

"Nah. You're right. I should back away, get lost."

He was quiet for a while. "But you're not going to."

"If I ran now, I'd never stop. I tried that once. Not doing it again. Not good for the soul."

"Neither is getting all your blood sucked out. Look—"

"Hey, don't say it. This is my fight. I won't ask you along."

"I wasn't going to say that."

But he had been. The night at Surf Wars had been scary. And that had been a bunch of babies.

"Whatever. I'll keep in touch. Let you know we're all right."

"Like I care," he muttered.

"Screw you, too." I hung up.

The sun was hot, for all that it was May and winter was knocking at the door. I liked it and lay back to soak it up. Maybe I could absorb some and use it against the coming horde of vampires. Because, make no mistake, they would come. I'd pretty much stuck my boot up the Reds collective arse last night, and they wouldn't take that lightly. If Aurum was right about the psychic link, the other Reds would know what had happened.

There was no doubt as to what they wanted. I had nothing of value to them but Mercy. It hadn't been hard to work out she wasn't your average vampire. She took down eight babies Tuesday night and she would have made short order of the bunch last night. She's very rarely come off second best, and she even took down a troll under the old Hornibrook Bridge last Christmas. I helped, of course. Someone had to keep a look out and make sure passing traffic didn't see too much. When it came down to the dirty fighting, Mercy was the champ. It just surprised me it had taken the local vampires so long to figure it out.

As for what they wanted from me? I guessed my command over Mercy.

I went inside and found Aurum's card, then dithered about for a while not calling him. Finally, I gave in.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Matt Hawkins."

"Mr Hawkins. It's good to hear from you. I had wondered if I would."

I grimaced. "Yeah, well, I've done some thinking since we spoke."

"And some damage to the local Reds, I understand."

I fell into a chair at the kitchen table. "You know about that?"

"Enough to be surprised you're calling now. I would have thought you not yet recovered sufficiently to be thinking about your next move."

I glared at the phone. "How do you know?"

He laughed softly. "I have my ways. You impressed me. Four Reds. I am doubly intrigued about you now."

"Are you spying on me? Can you see what I'm doing now?" I made a rude gesture.

"No, I'm not spying on you and I can't see what you're doing now, though I guess it to be rather rude."

"You said four Reds. There were six."

"Yes, but two fled during the fighting."

How did he know all that? "All right. You have my attention. What's going on?"

"I would prefer to talk about this in person, if we can. Can I meet you at your house?"

This guy was either very naïve or he thought I was. "We'll meet somewhere neutral. Somewhere public. I pick."

"Fine."

"The gazebo in the Botanical Gardens in the city, in one hour."

"I'll see you there." And he hung up.

Crap. I hope this got me some answers.

I showered, re-dressed my wounds and then strapped on a knee brace. The blasted thing might not be hurting, but there was still damage there. If I could minimise the strain on it, I probably should.

It had been a busy couple of days and the wardrobe hadn't been restocked yet by the washing faeries. I went with a pair of dark blue, heavy blend pants with nearly as many pockets as the cargos. They were police issue and I'd nicked them off my brother the last time I went to visit him. It was too hot to wear any sort of jacket so I went with a very dark grey shirt, all the better to hide any bulges.

Surveying my array of weapons I took a moment to mourn the loss of a life where getting ready to go out didn't involve considering what sort of nasty I'd have to arm myself for. It was day time so no vampires, but they weren't the only nasties in town. Some of your other garden varieties worked very well in the sunlight. On the other hand, I was meeting Aurum. I packed for human.

The SAS knife, nightstick and sexy Baretta Cougar. My brother Joe, when teaching me everything about guns, tried to force a Glock on me. They're cool and all, but that whole no safety thing freaks me out. I have a criminal record, I can't get a gun licence full stop, let alone one to carry concealed. Those restrictions mean I can't really carry a gun in a proper holster that covers the trigger, like you're supposed to with a Glock. So, if I'm stuffing something capable of blowing a hole through a wall down my pants, I want to know nothing's going to accidentally set it off. Still, I always put the Cougar down the back of my waistband. I'd rather do without half an arse than, well, you know. Besides, the Cougar just felt like a real gun, all metal and hard, not like a plastic toy.

I let the shirt hang out over it, did a little twirl before the mirror to make sure nothing was showing and whacko, I was ready to go.

I checked on Mercy. She was dead to the world and immobile. I would have to make sure I was back before sunset. While I trusted Mercy out and about when she was fed and happy and in my presence, I wasn't yet ready to let her out alone. On any other day, if I wasn't going to make it home, I would have asked Roberts to check in on her. On any other day...

I made it into the city with fifteen minutes to spare, grudgingly paid eight bucks into the parking dohicky and then went to see Jacob. Wasn't even halfway to the counter when he called out.

"Still not here."

"Yeah, I know, you'll call. But that's not why I'm here."

He closed the paperback he was reading and straightened up. Jacob spent so much time hunched over the desk it's a wonder he wasn't off in Paris ringing bells.

"Another social call? I'm flattered."

"You should be. No one else is getting my attention these days. Except for a mob of Reds last night."

"Holy ventilated vampires, Batman. Another lot? What are you doing? Declaring war on them all of a sudden?"

"Yeah, funny you should say that." I gave him a quick rundown on all Aurum had already told me.

The black ledger came out and he began writing furiously. "This is gold, man. Where did you learn this?"

"You know the old guy that came in here looking for me? He found me."

Jacob snapped a worried look at me. "You don't think I told him, do you?"

"Hell, no. The guy probably just came asking here out of politeness or something. British, you know. I think he can find me whenever he wants."

"Freaky. So who is he?"

"Not exactly sure. His name is Theodore Aurum. See what you can find out. He claimed to be part of a 'loose circle' of supernatural enthusiasts from all around the world."

"Right. We always theorised they were out there. Did he give you any contact details?"

"Nope. I'll see what I can get from him now." I checked my watch. "I'm supposed to meet him in five. Let you know how it goes."

He waved me away, concentrating on writing. Outside, I flipped on my sunglasses and went to meet the old fart.

The gazebo was full to bursting with professional types having a networking lunch or something, so I ambled into the shade of a big tree and leaned on the trunk, giving my leg a rest. Aurum wandered in right on the hour and came straight over. He'd given up the tweed for straight grey pinstripe; but still, a suit.

"Good afternoon, Mr Hawkins." He looked me over from behind his own sunnies. "A bit worse for wear, but upright at least. I hope you will tell me how you took down the Reds. I understand their leader was an elder of some strength, possibly a colonel in their ranks."

"They have ranks now?"

"Always have, my dear boy. Shall we walk?"

I hadn't wanted to but he wasn't going to know that. We trundled off down a walkway, heading into the lush greenery.

"So, how did you win against the Reds?"

"Careful application of planning, logic and judo."

A grey eyebrow rose above the dark plane of his glasses.

I sighed. Why did he make me feel about twelve years old and in trouble? "Holy water paint from a paintball gun, a nightstick blessed by a priest and judo."

The other eyebrow rose to join the first one.

"Okay, and I got mad. I don't remember the details but the result was me on top and them goop. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Oh my. A berserker. I haven't encountered a true warrior of that class in, well, a very long time."

I shoved my hands into my pockets, hunched my shoulders. "It's not something to be proud of. It's made me do some pretty rotten things."

"I can well understand. A berserker capability in today's world is a dangerous thing. Are you able to control the impulse?"

"Does seeing a therapist for anger management issues count?"

He smiled tightly. "Probably not. Did you always have this ability? Or only since you became acquainted with the world of vampires through Mercy?"

"I had it before Mercy came along."

And that night at Kirby's rammed through my brain like a pole axe. I nearly fell over with the force of the memory. God. I'd been such a maniac. But I could still feel it, taste it. The red hot rush of anger through my body at the sight of Jessica Harrington. So young and innocent and yet capable of such horrific, monumental damage. Little Eloisa, tiny under my hands, her chest horribly still, but I worked and worked until she coughed and choked on her own. Only to die seconds later.

# Chapter 14

"Mr Hawkins? Are you all right?"

I shook off the memory, grateful that my glasses hid the tears from Aurum. "Yeah, fine." But he gave me another couple of minutes to get my cool back. A real gentleman.

"Was there anything strange about the vampires who attacked you last night?"

"Technically, I attacked them. They came in peace, apparently. It was a whacked out version of Deal or No Deal."

Aurum stared at me through is dark shades. "You broke a peace?"

I scoffed. "Like it really meant anything to them. They had a recorded message to give me, nothing more. They don't really understand what they're saying."

"What makes you think that?"

"The fact that vampires are little better than savage animals. I know them. They don't fully comprehend humanity anymore, they don't understand honour or trust or the difference between truth and lies. Coming to me with talk of a deal just doesn't ring true. I saw it in Mercy when she first turned. She was wild, violent. Didn't care about the damage she caused herself in an effort to feed or just destroy." I repressed the memory of her latest tantrum. "But I managed to train her out of that state. I domesticated her."

The old fella was quiet for a while. We strolled around a fountain, clean, clear water splashing cool drops across my face.

"You broke her, in other words." His tone was quiet, contemplative, not at all accusatory.

"I guess." I didn't like remembering those days, weeks... months. I hated myself for what I put her through, what I intentionally did to hurt her, to punish her. The previous morning had been an action replay of that time, for both of us. She would throw herself against the bars of her cage and I would throw myself against the knives of my own morality.

"Mercy's—" I air quoted, "—'humanity' is nothing more than a series of trained responses. She doesn't understand why when someone introduces themselves to her she should respond in kind, but she does it."

"But isn't everyone's 'humanity' just a series of trained responses? A child isn't born knowing how to interact with other children. He must watch and learn as he grows up, is guided in what is appropriate and what is not by his parents."

"Yes, but eventually he comes to understand why this is appropriate and that isn't. Mercy doesn't."

"And you're basing your opinions on vampires in general on Mercy, an admittedly freakish anomaly?"

Bugger. I hated it when my working parameters where shown to be faulty. "It's kinda hard to study other vampires. They don't exactly sit around in social groups just so I can nut out their ecology."

"But you do admit that your theorems are skewed because of your study group's bias?"

I didn't want to agree out loud, so I did a little, vague shrug that could go either way.

"You have much to learn about vampires, my young friend," Aurum said. "Last night you faced a colonel of the Reds. An elder. He's at least 300 years old. That's 150 times Mercy's age, in terms of the years she's been turned. Do you think you killed him?"

I gritted my teeth. "He was one of the ones that got away?"

"I don't know. I only know two survived, not which two. Do you think he survived?"

The sight of Big Red's face sizzling under the paint came back to me. Part of one cheek had been burned away, flesh hung in strips from his jaw, but he'd been upright when I took out his balls. In less time than that, my Holy water paint had melted the face and brain of a baby vampire the previous night.

"He probably did." It cost me to say it.

"I can't be certain, but I would say he was the only opponent of substance you faced last night. The rest were probably less than half a century old. Very fragile in comparison."

"Way to make a guy feel butch."

Aurum patted my shoulder. "Four Reds, even young ones, is no small matter. Don't let me make you feel bad. But this is something you need to know if you're to survive. Things will only get tougher for you and Mercy from here on in."

I shoved my hands through my hair. "Why will it get tough now? We've been at this for a year and nothing much has changed."

"Mr Hawkins, there are many warriors around the world who work as you do, battling vampires and other supernatural beasts in their territory. Some few who have managed to be as successful as you, comparatively. And in every case, there has come a saturation point where the vampires are suddenly forced to take active notice of this warrior. The number of their dead rises above what they believe to be acceptable levels."

Boy oh boy. Wishing I'd worn the brown pants instead. "And me and Mercy have hit that point?"

"If not, then you are very close to it. The vampire eyes of this city have now turned toward you. Their pounce is not that far away."

"And this is why you're here? To warn me?"

He nodded. "Among other things."

"Oh that's right. You wanted to study me and Mercy."

"Have you changed your mind regarding that, knowing what you now know?"

I considered it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He might be able to help me smooth out some of the rough edges. But it didn't taste right, thinking about someone else watching us, interacting with us on that sort of intimate level. Me and Mercy, well, we were me and Mercy. Roberts got to play occasionally. He'd found his own little sidecar on the rollercoaster ride that was the Mercy Express, but that was different. He wasn't poking his nose into our business. He didn't give me his opinions on how to handle her. And I never did develop that knack for taking advice with any sort of grace, even well intentioned advice.

"I don't think so," I said. "I'll listen to what you can tell me about the vampires, but I wouldn't be comfortable with you too close to Mercy. She's a bit unpredictable with strangers."

"I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can. I just wouldn't want you to take such good care of yourself you jabbed a stake through her heart."

He gave me that indulgent smile again. My inner school boy glowed.

"I understand." Aurum grew serious again. "You said before that the Reds came to you in peace last night. What did they want?"

"Your mysterious intelligence gathering system didn't whisper that goodie in your ear? I'm disappointed."

With a little sigh, he said, "My means are not foolproof."

Ah ha! A chink in his superiority complex. Crap. Who was I kidding? It wasn't a complex, it was a reality.

"They never came right out and said it. Too busy letting fly with the same old same old tough talking routine. That alone should lend credence to my theory about them not really understanding what they were doing."

Aurum chuckled. "If you've been around as long as I suspect that colonel has, everything becomes the 'same old same old'. But you know what they wanted, don't you."

Hands shoved in my pockets, I hunched my shoulders. "Not too hard to figure out."

"Mercy."

"She's strong and a lot more mentally stable than most of them. She'd be a great addition to any team." I frowned. "But if what you told me yesterday is at all true, she needs me to operate on that level, doesn't she? So if she was to be any sort of benefit to them, they need me as well. They turn me so I answer to their higher ranks, and therefore Mercy becomes their G.I. Jane."

"And you would become nigh unto immortal."

Now that right there stopped me dead in my tracks. I glared at him. He almost sounded wistful. What the...? I gathered up my wits and forced a half-hearted bark of laughter.

"Until some idiot comes along, thinking he's all that, and slaps my arse down in a paddling pool of Holy water. Besides, becoming a soul sucking fiend of the night, especially of the Red flavour?" I shuddered. "I can't do winter wear in summer."

"But you wouldn't know the difference would you. Does Mercy remember her life before the turn?"

Talk about a sucker punch. I resumed walking, leaving him to catch up. "She used to, at the beginning. It tore her up, remembering what it was like to be normal, trying to reconcile that with the new and interesting hungers. At first, she was disgusted with herself for wanting the blood. Then she became disgusted with her memories of thinking blood as a food source was disgusting. Then she just forgot it all and now there's no hesitation, no questioning. She is what she is."

Aurum nodded and we walked in silence for a while. The sun was starting to dip down toward the tops of the high rises in the middle of the city. All the plants around us created a cool, shadowy haven. I let my mind wander a bit, going over everything he'd told me, shying away from that moment where he seemed almost eager about the idea of becoming a vampire. I mean, ick.

"This colonel guy, Big Red," I said, still furiously thinking through this scary new prospect. "You really think he's blowing out 301 candles on his cake next year?"

"Thereabouts. Only a creature of substantial age has enough, as you call them, trained responses to act with a modicum of normalcy. I would posit Big Red did all of the talking." He smiled as he used the name I'd given the giant.

"He did. I don't usually get into situations with vampires that involve a lot of talking."

"It's not often a creature of that potency involves itself in affairs dealing with humans. I'm not surprised you haven't encountered one quite like him. His rank is usually confined to matters of war."

"The war between the clans?"

"There are skirmishes with other supernatural elements, as well." Aurum slanted me a sideways glance. I could almost see his eyes in the dark behind his glasses. "There is a whole world out there you know nothing about, my boy."

I grimaced. "Yeah, about that. Can you get me any contacts in your loose circle? I have some acquaintances who would really love the chance to find out more."

"It doesn't work that way. I'll pass your name and location on and it will be up to them to contact you. For reasons I'm sure you understand, they don't exactly advertise their lifestyle choices. Whom they have contact with is always their choice."

I grudgingly ceded the point.

"So, what is your next move against Big Red?"

"I don't know. He's not going to stop coming after us, is he?"

Aurum smiled this grim little number that sent shivers down my spine. "No. You bloodied his nose last night."

"Not to mention other parts of his anatomy," I muttered. "My best bet is to take him out ASAP. Hit him while he's hurting."

"Smart idea. You will, of course, need to know where his base of operations is."

"HQ, eh? Can your spies help me out on that score?"

We'd circled all the way back to the entrance. The gazebo was now empty but the open greens were starting to attract kids of all ages in all types of school uniforms.

"I'm afraid I cannot help you with that."

"Some Kenobi you're turning out to be."

A grey eyebrow arched up. "I hardly think Kenobi would have spoon fed his apprentice when the alternatives would lead to growth and developing strength and understanding."

"No fair. You aren't allowed to turn my own amusing allegory back on me like that."

"Then think of a better allegory."

I was scuffing my foot along the path before I even realised. Scowling at my subconscious need for approval from this guy, I grumbled, "You weren't out here about sixteen years ago, teaching in a high school up north, were you?"

"No. Why?"

"You just remind me of someone I used to know."

Well blow me down if his smile didn't turn smug.

"I have that effect on people. Now, do you have a means of finding out Big Red's location?"

We stopped by the gates of the garden. I squinted into the dropping sun through my shades. I still had a couple of hours to get back to Mercy. Time enough to swing by Kermit's place.

"Yeah, I have an ear I can put to the ground, and nail it there until its owner hears something worthwhile."

"Quaint." Aurum glanced at a wrist watch that was undoubtedly more expensive than my own, and I'd paid a small, unimportant, very distantly removed member of the royal family's ransom for mine. "I have other business I must attend to, Mr Hawkins. Do let me know how you go with tracking down Big Red."

He was walking away before I'd even opened my mouth. I just saluted, in that Third Reich, oh look, here's the big man with the little moustache, manner. If he noticed, he didn't show it.

I leaned against the gatepost for a moment. Somewhere deep inside there was a little voice suggesting very heartily that I pack Mercy up in the boot of the car and skedaddle right this very minute. A 300 year old vampire was apparently now gunning for me. He'd caught a paintball balloon of Holy water with his face and took it like a man. Of course, he'd then scarpered. Coward. Or it was a very strategic retreat.

More parts of me started chiming in on the get-out-of-town option. I wanted to listen to them, honestly. I'd listened once and run for my life. Didn't work. The past just kept right in there, hanging on my tail like a huge carbuncle full of puss-filled grief.

I straightened and walked to my car. I wasn't going to run. I'd see this through to the end. Who's ever end it might be.

# Chapter 15

Matthew Hawkins' address was a duplex in east Ipswich, situated halfway up a quiet, very nearly vertical street overcrowded with eucalypts. Kids played in front yards, birds squawked in the trees and from somewhere close by, a game show was being played at high volume. Every time the audience applauded an equally loud voice cheered on the contestant.

"Nice neighbourhood," Ivan said as they got out of the car. "I wonder if they know Hawkins' history."

"Everyone's got to live somewhere, even ex-cons." Erin studied the duplex. It was a low set brick place with a shared driveway between the two units and neat yard bare of garden beds. Hawkins had Unit 2, and the curtains were drawn and the front door closed. "Doesn't look like anyone's home."

"Or like he's pretending he's not home. You do kinda look like a JW."

Smoothing down her grey suit skirt, Erin glared at him. "Like he's going to mistake me for a JW with you by my side."

Ivan's T-shirt proclaimed 'I'm Prettier Than Your Girlfriend. And You Know It'. He just grinned at her.

"Let's go knock."

Erin had her hand raised to knock when the door to Unit 1 opened. A sweet faced, grey haired lady stepped out.

"You looking for young Matthew?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yes we are. Is he home?"

"What business is it of yours?" She looked them both over, her lips pursing as she read Ivan's T-shirt. "Matthew doesn't have friends like you." This was directed at Ivan.

Hands on hips, Ivan asked, "But he does have friends like her?" He jerked his head in Erin's direction.

"Of course. Proper professional folk. Well, at least one. Young man always in a suit. Very decent. He's very respectful too." She sniffed. "Wouldn't be impertinent to a stranger at all."

Erin put a hand on Ivan's arm before he could respond. "Let it go," she whispered to him. Turning to the woman, she smiled gently. "Please excuse my associate, it's his laundry day. Ma'am, my name's Erin McRea and I'm with Sol Investigations." Producing a card from her pocket she held it out to the woman. "Please feel free to check up on my credentials at any time. I used to be a police officer in Brisbane CBD for nine years."

The old lady examined the card every which way as if it might have a secret compartment. She squinted at the printing. "I'll have to get my glasses. Stay there."

The door banged shut behind her. Ivan huffed out an irritated sigh.

"Don't start," Erin warned him.

He grumbled and crossed his arms. "What was all that stuff about checking credentials and telling her you used to be a cop? You don't always do that."

"It helps some people feel more confident in talking to me. They like to know that I'm responsible and that they have a means of making sure I'm legit."

Nose wrinkled, he mumbled, "Suspicious old biddy. Bet she doesn't know about Hawkins. Wouldn't think so highly of him then, I reckon."

About to caution him again, Erin clamped her mouth shut as the door opened. The old woman had a pair of half-moon glasses perched on the very end of her nose, head tilted back as she peered at the card.

"Well, it looks official, I suppose. Why are you looking for Matthew?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential, ma'am," Erin said. "Do you know when he'll be home?"

She looked the card over again, adjusting her glasses. "He's out of state on business. Young man works very hard. Hardly ever home these days. I take care of his mail."

Erin took a deep breath. Away on business? But being beaten half to death in Redcliffe at the same time? She let the breath out in a long, even flow.

"When did he leave?" she asked, years of practice keeping her tone neutral.

"I last saw him four weeks ago. He was gone again two days later."

"Do you know what sort of business he's in?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something to do with computers or calculators, I think. All that sort of talk goes right over my head. But he's very professional. Perfect gentleman." She cut a pointed look at Ivan.

Ivan rolled his eyes and stalked back to the car.

"Mrs...?" Erin began.

"Browne, and it's Miss."

Erin smiled. "Miss Browne, you like Mr Hawkins. He's a good neighbour when he's home?"

"Oh yes. Used to have two girls living in there." She pursed her lips. "Loud music every weekend. Well, I suppose they call it music. And the boys. My, those girls were..." Miss Browne screwed up her face, thinking.

"Popular?" Erin suggested.

"Sluts. But Matthew is such a sweet boy. Always brings me flowers or butterscotch fudge when he comes home, to thank me for the mail."

"He's very considerate. Do you know when he'll be back from interstate?"

"He's rarely gone for more than a month, so it shouldn't be long now. They work him very hard, you know."

"So I understand. You mentioned a friend of his, in the suit."

Miss Browne beamed. "Even more polite than Matthew. Very gallant fellow."

"Do you know his name?"

She tilted her head slightly. "You know, I don't think I do. He'll usually come by one night while Matthew is at home. If I'm out, he always says hello and helps me with my bags or holds the door for me. Very charming."

Erin considered not asking, but she had to. "Do you think this man and Mr Hawkins are involved?"

"In business? Yes, I do."

Oh dear. Erin pulled in another soothing breath. "No, I mean romantically."

Miss Browne's eyes popped open wide and her jaw dropped. "No! No, of course not. They're both respectable young men." She glanced toward Ivan. "Matthew has a girlfriend."

"Do you know her name?"

"Well, no. I've only seen her a few times. Matthew always brings her in late at night. Pretty little thing. Dark hair, pale skin." She frowned. "She dresses like the girls who used to live there, though. I've told Matthew that he should encourage her to wear more or she'll catch a cold. He agrees with me but says she's very strong willed. Now, is that all you wanted to know? My stories are about to start."

"Please, Miss Browne, I only have a couple more questions."

"Come on then, make them snappy."

"How long has Mr Hawkins' rented this property?"

Miss Browne spent a moment thinking and counting silently on her fingers. "Two years, next October."

"Okay." Erin steeled herself. "Did you know he has a past conviction and that he spent time in prison?"

Obviously not, by the tone of her firm, "Surely not. He's such a nice young man."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's true."

Miss Browne's face crumpled. "But..."

Erin took her hand and rubbed it gently. "It's okay. It was a long time ago and not for anything major." What was a little white lie to sooth the old duck? "I do think he is repentant and shouldn't be persecuted for his crime anymore. Please don't think any worse of him for it. He's always been kind to you, hasn't he."

She nodded, though her eyes seemed unfocused. Erin just hoped she hadn't upset Miss Browne too much. But knowing Hawkins hadn't come clean about his past was important. As was the fact that he kept a decoy house. He wasn't away on business. He didn't really 'live' here. He was hiding something, and going to great lengths to do so.

"Thank you, Miss Browne, you've been very helpful. You have my card. Don't hesitate to call me for any reason. I'll let you get back to your stories."

Miss Browne nodded and wandered back inside. Erin bit her lip, wondering if she should talk to one of the other neighbours and ask them to keep an eye on her. Decided to do that, she headed toward the highblocked house next door. A dirty white van chugged up the steep incline of the street, passed her car, and Ivan who slouched sulkily on the boot, turned around at the cul de sac and belched its way back toward them.

Erin glanced at the driver, then looked again. He stared out the window at her, not looking where he was going. His face was deathly pale, long and narrow, almost too long, with a sharply pointed chin. The nose looked like it had been flattened with a mallet, flaring wide, and expanding as the driver took in a deep sniff of air. His ears were huge, lobe-less and upswept so they ended in points just over the top of his bald head. He grinned and his mouth was full of fine, pointed teeth.

What...?

"Ivan," she called, not daring to take her eyes off the strange person.

The driver lifted a very real and very deadly submachine gun and pointed it through the window.

"Down!" Erin threw herself to the ground.

The machine gun exploded into action, a deafening, rattling roar. Erin scrambled on her belly toward the cover of the garden bed in the neighbouring yard. Clods of dirt flung themselves out of the ground around her. A bullet, fast and scorchingly hot, whizzed over her back. Another scored her left shoulder. The hibiscus she pulled in behind shook as if suffering a fit. Leaves were torn from the plant, a whirlwind of green localised right around her.

Screams pierced the din of the machine gun. Erin lifted her head, but pulled it back down as the top half of the bush collapsed under the damage and crashed down over her. Sharp branches dug into her back.

And then, in a squeal of tyres and smoke, the van raced away down the hill.

Erin stayed where she was for several moments more. Someone was still screaming, a high-pitched wail of terror.

That was when Erin remembered the kids playing in the yards.

# Chapter 16

I cruised across the river and negotiated my way through the mad, afternoon traffic to get to the Dutton Park Cemetery. It's the second oldest cemetery in Queensland and believed to be haunted. But then, what cemetery isn't, eh? I've not seen a ghost at all... yet. I'm not sure I believed in them but if they were going to be anywhere, it would be in a cemetery, right? And if there were going to be malevolent ghosts anywhere, it would be in Dutton Park. Talk about your dark histories. And Kermit lived in the darkest of them all.

What can I say about Dutton Park Cemetery? I could say, you seen one cemetery, you kinda seen the vast majority of them. Rows of headstones, some far more gratuitously ornate than others, shade trees in wild abundance, caretaker's hut in the middle. But that doesn't account for the atmosphere of the place.

Dutton Park Cemetery was old, in terms of Australian history. It cascaded down the side of a hill overlooking the Brisbane River, ranks of crumbling graves separated by cracked and sunken paths. Trees grew crooked and slender from the bare dirt of some graves, the time eroded and broken headstones lying by their roots. Most days, a cool breeze drifted in off the water and the sounds of traffic were muted by the plant life.

When you walk through the gates, you first notice the quiet, then you get a little tickle down your spine. The old someone-stepped-on-your-grave sensation. As you move further into the burial grounds, it grows up onto your neck, bristling all the little hairs there. By the time you reach the little, secluded grove marked by a single headstone, the sense of dread and unnaturalness is in your limbs and throat, making the former shiver and the later close up.

Or maybe it's just me.

I stopped by the headstone and crouched down, left leg stretched out to the side. It was a simple stone cross, marking the grave of Patrick Kenniff, the last of the bushrangers, and by proxy, the unmarked graves of forty other criminals who died by hanging at the Boggo Road Gaol. Patrick Kenniff's fellow gallows alumni included Ellen Thompson, the only woman hanged in Queensland for murdering her abusive husband (her lover and conspirator in the crime was also hanged. Nothing like spending quality time together) and Ernest Austin, the last man hanged in the state in 1913. He was a child killer. She had been eleven years old. They say that as the noose was placed around his neck, he said, 'Send a wire to my mother and tell her I died happy.'

Oh yeah, I was quite ready to see a ghost. I just didn't want to see any here.

Letting out a long breath, I placed my hand on the stone and concentrated. I gathered up all the creepiness I was feeling and forced it out through my mouth in a ritual summoning, steeped in tradition and arcane lore.

"Yo, Kermit!"

A low moan vibrated through the grove. Just in front of me the ground began to shift. The grass rippled outward from a centre point, small clods broke off and rolled away. A depression formed in the middle, widened until it was about a foot wide. Another moan sounded, louder and more irritable. Four long, slender greyish-green protuberances emerged from the hole. They scrambled at the air and clawed out further, followed by a narrow hand, arm, shoulder and so forth until Kermit hauled his scrawny arse out of the earth.

"What time is it?" Kermit demanded as he sat on the disturbed ground, knocking dirt out of his big ears.

Kermit was a ghoul. He was all long, gangly limbs, thin, cadaverous face, flat nose, wide mouth and ears Dumbo woulda been proud of. None too worried about propriety, he usually wore scraps of clothes stolen from the graves. Today, he had on an old morning coat of 1920s vintage, the tattered remains of a ruffled cravat and nothing else. Ugh. His frank and peas were out there for all to see. To top it off, he came complete with a handy reek of putrescence and stale rot. I shifted up wind.

To listen to him talk, he was thousands of years old and had fled the deserts of the Middle East to escape the social revolution that was Christianity. His real name was Afzal, but I'd first met him on the banks of the Brisbane River, crouched on a rock, gulping down rotting fish. He'd looked so much like a frog—albeit a frog with a set of knives for teeth that would put any self-respecting shark to shame—that I'd dubbed him Kermit. And you know, there was the whole green tinge to his leathery skin as well. Kermit didn't appreciate the comparison, but I wasn't out to humour him.

"It's about four in the afternoon," I told him. "Time for all good little ghouls to be waking up so they can get ready for graveyard stalking."

Kermit moaned. "Ah, man, I had a rough time last night. I was just out minding my own business, you know, as I always do."

"Scavenging from the dead, yeah. What happened?"

He picked up a twig and began picking yellow-grey... well, I didn't want to think too hard on what it was, but it came out from between his teeth in stringy little clumps that he then sucked off the end of the stick with a happy little smile. Ghouls. Yeesh.

"That freakin' ghost tour came through. Here half the night they were. All pretending to be jumpy and scared and squealing and stuff. Gave me the worst headache. I've hardly slept all day." He narrowed his gungy, vertically slit eyes at me. "And then you come along. What's your issue, Night Caller? Can't you let a fella get some peace and quiet, huh?"

"The modern world is tough on Old World creatures, isn't it," I said without a trace of sympathy. "Maybe you should move to a less popular cemetery."

"And leave all this good eating?" He patted the ground next to him fondly. "The older it is, the more tender it is. The eviler it is, the more flavour."

I smiled, though I'm sure it was a pale, sick one. "Then learn to deal, Kermit. Or go see a therapist."

"Heh. How's that workin' out for you? Got that temper under control yet?"

I had to stand and relieve the strain on my strapped knee. "I'm not here to talk about me." Pausing, I reconsidered. "Well, actually, I am. I got jumped by six Reds last night."

Kermit's bones rattled as he stood as well. He was a foot taller than me, when he was all unfolded, but about half the mass. I guess you don't actually get many carbs off rotting corpses.

"Six, hey? The little vampire take them out?"

"She wasn't with me. I did for four and the others scarpered. One of them was apparently a big wig in their circles. Possibly a colonel. Know anything about it?"

The ghoul tilted his head back and looked at me down the plane of his wide nose. "You've come into some knowledge."

"Yeah. Though it would have been nice, considerate like, to get it from my friends, instead of a stranger."

Kermit slouched across the grove and hunkered down in the heavy shade of a scrubby wattle. "We aren't friends, little man."

"You got me there, but damn it, Kermy, you've been snitching for me for the better part of a year. Some heads up about this would have been appreciated."

"I might pass on the odd bit of information, when it suits my needs," Kermit snarled. "But don't mistake it for anything like social courtesy. You've made your position on those of the Old World very clear. You and your tame vampire slicing and dicing wherever you go. No regard for who you cut down, or why. If they ain't _human_ ," he spat the word, "then they're only worthy of dying. Isn't that right? It's a wonder I'm still alive. With an attitude like that, you expect us to take you in, serve you tea and reveal all our ins and outs? You're mad, if you think that. Mad."

I gaped at him. "Wow. I mean, that's brutal, man. You've really opened my eyes. I've been so wrong. Put in my place by a sod-sucking freak who sells information to the highest bidder. I don't know what to say, except maybe, bullshit."

Kermit lurched out of the shadows, on his feet in an instant. I stood my ground, hand ready to whip out the Cougar if my instincts proved wrong. They didn't.

The ghoul staggered to a stop a couple of meters back from me, bending over, hands on knees, wheezing. He was laughing.

"You're a freak, Kermit."

"Ah, gotta try." He straightened and cracked his spine with a series of teeth-aching snaps. "But still, your rep isn't too popular among the crowd. You took out Hayfa a couple months back. She wasn't doing no harm."

I shuddered at the memory. Ghouleh (the feminine of ghoul) were, if possible, uglier than their male counterparts. Think Kermit but with two rows of sagging breasts that oozed vile, brownish milk, and more teeth. I'd chased Hayfa down the Queen Street Mall and in the ensuing scuffle, she'd developed the impression I was after something more than an old fashion fisticuffs. I'd lost my pants and she'd lost her head. Three in the morning, mind you, and still someone managed to see me and call the cops.

"She was raiding veterinaries, Kermit. Taking the animals."

He scoffed. "You bring me dead animals all the time. Hey, got any more Pomeranians? That sure was tasty. And tender, after three weeks buried in the bank of the river. Nothing like pampered pooch to—"

"They weren't dead when she took them. She was taking the ones from the cages. People's pets, Kermit, that were alive and about to go home to little kids who missed their cat or dog. And now they don't have their pets anymore. All those sad little kids, Kermit. Hayfa crossed a line. She paid for it."

Kermit shrugged. "Whatever. Still, you've drawn a hard line. Don't expect those of us on this side of it to like it. Why should we make your job easier for you? Any one of us could be next."

"Don't do anything to piss me off, then. It's that simple."

"For you maybe." He returned to his place in the shade. Pale skin and all. He didn't want to catch a bad case of melanoma. It was hard to get a doctor to do a house call to a cemetery. "This isn't our world anymore. We've passed from the collective memory into myth and nightmare. It's hard to adjust, you know."

I crossed my arms. "The vampires seem to have done better than I'd thought. Military ranks, Primals, wars."

"Lots of information come your way, huh? I guess it was all a matter of time. You were bound to find out at some stage. Just a little shocked you lived long enough to get here. I'm still in the pool, though. I've got you pegged for a three year and seven month career. So, keep it up for a bit longer, eh? I get a week in an abattoir if I win."

Kermit and all his grubby little Old World friends were taking bets on how long I'd survive? Have to admit, it didn't really inspire much confidence. I mean, it meant they all pretty much thought I was done for one way or another. But still, I didn't, and never would, look for validation amongst the freaks. Kermit was still alive because he kept mostly to himself and, upon occasion, was a useful source of information. And he hadn't seriously pissed me off. Yet.

"Good luck. Now, can we get down to business. I don't have all day. What have you heard about this Red colonel? When did he hit town? Why is he here? Where's he holing up during the day?"

"Whoa. Business you said. That implies supply and demand. You're demanding some pretty hefty stuff there. What are you going to supply in return?"

"My best to survive another two and a half years."

Kermit waved it aside. "Not good enough. I want guarantees, little man. You could die in a drive-by shooting tomorrow."

"Well, I'm fresh out of Pomeranians. I don't exactly carry dead animals around with me. Anything else you want? Some pants, maybe."

"Why?"

And the sad thing? He was totally innocent as to why.

The ghoul scratched his bald head between the tops of his ears. "Well, there is something I would like."

"Being?"

He eyed me carefully. "A pint of her blood."

That took some wind from my sails. "Mercy's blood?"

A black tongue darted out to lick the rim of his mouth. Did I mention earlier that ghouls don't have lips? "Mmm, vampire blood. It's like mulled wine. Great for a chilly winter's night."

I resisted the urge to grab the gun. Ghouls could swallow bullets like we could pop multivitamins. Took a lot of them to do any damage, more than I had in the clip. And it wasn't like he actually asked for her whole body. A pint of blood. She could lose that with no issues, and I could top her up no worries. Still, it was a big ask. Mercy would do whatever I told her to do, but I had a responsibility to her.

"No. Pick something else."

Kermit didn't protest my refusal, which made me wonder if he'd asked just to see how I'd react. Lucky I'd kept my cool. Instead, he stalked toward me again, at a slow, deliberate pace, not meant to intimidate or scare. He circled me, flat nostrils flaring as he sucked in my scent. All the creepiness from my walk through the cemetery came right back. Not to mention his eau de Ghoul.

"Your watch," he finally hissed.

My watch. Did he not know how long I spent in Myer trying to choose which watch I was going to spend my hard earned cash on? How I had battled the hordes of shop assistants? The very difficult decision between classic and new whiz bang? I nearly offered him Mercy's blood.

"Are you sure about the pants? Real police issue. I've already given one pair up to the good cause that is human-ghoul relations. No problem with offering another pair. They're yours. Think of all the little snacks you can fit in the pockets, eh? Very handy."

Kermit looked them over, but shook his head. "I don't need pants."

"But you need a watch?"

"Got to keep track of the time, especially with those pesky ghost tours coming through here all the time. Nearly got caught with my mouth full last night."

I groaned. "Anything else at all?"

"The watch, little man."

Grumbling all the while, I unfastened it and... I couldn't witness this. Eyes tightly closed, I let the Rolex drop into his waiting hand.

"Thank you." Kermit crouched down and slipped it around his bony wrist. "Now, what was it you wanted to know?"

"The Red colonel. Who, when, why, where."

"Narsico Martínez Pérez. He was some head honcho of the Spanish Inquisition in the early 1700s. Pretty vicious by all accounts, though I reckon he called it a strong work ethic. Now this is just a rumour, so don't go thinking it's gospel. But word is that he was terrorising this little village in the who-knows-where wilds of Spain when he decided to take his leisure with a girl of the village. Thing was, she was very recently deceased."

I swallowed. "But she wasn't, was she."

"Nope. He thought so though. Bit of a shock for him."

"Ugh. That's wrong on so many levels."

Even Kermit shuddered. "Tell me about it. That's like boning your breakfast."

Another image I didn't particularly need. I could do with a mental scouring. "And now he's a mega-strong vampire soldier. When did he hit town?"

"'Bout a week ago. Rallied up the local troops and has been sniffing around ever since. Sent them all out looking for something, don't know what."

Grimacing, I muttered, "I think I know what he's been sniffing around for. So, where's he hanging his fangs while he's in town?"

"Um, well, I don't know. Somewhere."

"Gosh, we hit the bottom of that well pretty quick. I don't believe you don't know. Or if you don't, that you can't find out."

Kermit held up his hands, my watch glinting on his wrist. "Honest, man, I don't know. Don't know anyone who does either."

I circled the outer edge of the grove, keeping one eye on Kermit while scanning the surrounding plant life.

"Now, see, Kermy, I don't believe you. You've been trying to play me the entire time I've been here."

He shook his head, but I didn't let him speak.

"You're keeping me here, aren't you. Distracting me with small talk. You probably didn't realise you did it, but when I first arrived, you called me 'Night Caller'. As far as I knew, that was a new name given to me by Martínez. None other than Big Red himself. Who's coming up behind me, Afzal?" I spat the name and he knew I was serious then.

The ghoul hissed and lunged at me. I pulled the Cougar and put a couple of rounds into his chest. He jerked with every impact, squealed with pain, but he didn't go down. Kermit staggered for me, long arms outstretched. I jumped out of his way and retreated.

Right into the trap.

Two hands wrapped around my ankles. I looked down. The arms grew out of the ground, fresh dirt clinging to the pasty grey skin. Uh oh. Kermit had a friend. I hoped it wasn't Miss Piggy.

Wiry muscles like steel cord tensed. I fired into the ground, but the hands tightened and jerked me down into the graveyard.

# Chapter 17

Erin sat in the back of an ambulance, wearing nothing on top other than her bra. She was grateful she'd gone with a nice, cream lace full-cup. Not too much showed, not that anyone cared. Even the camera guy from the local news kept his camera pointed elsewhere.

There had been no injuries, thank God. Just panicked, angry civilians and frustrated police. Miss Browne had an 'attack', asthma only, though to hear her go on you would think she'd had a heart attack and stroke all in one. Erin had been doing her best to console the witnesses to the drive-by until Ivan had directed a paramedic to her.

Ivan sat beside her, his hands bandaged. He'd dropped as soon as she'd shouted and hauled himself under the car. His palms were a little torn up but otherwise, he was okay. Except that he couldn't stop shaking.

"It'll be okay, Ivan," she said gently. "The kids will be fine. I'll be fine. You'll be fine. Okay?"

He nodded but it was small and pathetic.

"Ma'am?" The paramedic working on her shoulder lifted her arm up. "Does this hurt?"

"No. It's all right. Just a scratch."

He looked pointedly at the gash on her shoulder. "It will need stitches. The bullet tore through some outer muscle as well."

"Can you do that here?"

"No. You need a doctor. We'll get you to the hospital shortly."

A plain clothes policeman swaggered over. "Not before she answers some questions. Can you slap a bandage on that so she doesn't bleed out while we're talking?" He was heading toward retirement age but had retained a full head of thick hair more salt than pepper, the face beneath it lined and tanned with sharp eyes and a mouth suited to the dour seriousness of his profession. He'd kept himself in fighting condition, his T-shirt and jeans wouldn't have looked out of place on a guy half his age. "I'm Detective Sergeant Miles Courey."

The paramedic grumbled but bound up Erin's shoulder and then helped her back into her torn and bloodied blouse.

"Erin McRea, and this is Ivan Vorel, my assistant."

Courey peered at Ivan's blank face. "He okay?"

"First timer."

"Get him to a pub ASAP and he'll come good. Now, I assume this isn't your first, then."

"I was a cop in the city for nine years. Seen a few things."

The detective grunted. "I bet you did. A few transfers have been offered to me over the years. Wouldn't touch any of them with a ten foot barge pole. So, any ideas who did this here?"

Erin hesitated. She'd seen the driver, but she didn't believe her eyes, let alone give this guy a snowflake's chance in hell of believing her. She decided to go with the partial truth.

"No idea. But the driver was pretty distinctive looking. Narrow face, flat nose, big ears."

Courey noted that down. "Recognise him in a line up?"

"Shit yeah." Though she doubted they'd ever get him in one. If he was caught, he would probably be sent straight to some institution for study.

"And what were you doing here today?"

Erin found a crumpled card in a pocket and handed it over. "I'm on a missing person's case. Though I don't think he's missing so much as just doesn't want to be found. This is the address he gave to hospital staff last night. I was here trying to find out what I could about him."

"Who's the bloke?"

She told him and sketched out the bones of what she already had. Courey dutifully wrote it all down.

"And you think the drive-by had something to do with your investigation?"

"Possibly. It was me he was aiming at and I was in front of Hawkins' last known address. If it had nothing to do with my investigation then it definitely had something to do with him."

Courey eyed her speculatively. "You were a target of opportunity?"

"Maybe."

"Who's your client?"

"That's confidential."

"If this yahoo with an automatic finds your man, then this becomes a murder investigation. You'll have to spill the beans then. May as well get some practice."

Erin snorted. "Oh come on. You know I can't do that. It's a breach of the trust the client has placed in me as a discreet investigator. Sure, you'd get your information but you wouldn't respect me afterward. Not to mention my boss. I'm not giving you my client's name."

Courey sighed. "All right. Just know that if anything I find so much as smells like you or your investigation, I will be getting a court order to get your files."

"I would expect no less," Erin said sweetly. "But I don't think this had anything to do with my client. It's unlikely they'd pay for a hit on an investigator they'd hired."

"Maybe they'd thought you'd found this Hawkins character and decided to take him out, and you at the same time. Two birds, one stone."

Ivan shuddered. "Why would they take us out?"

"Do you do the accounts, young man? How much does your boss charge per day?"

"But Mrs—"

Erin nudged him hard. "That's enough, Ivan. Don't worry. The hit wasn't on us." She glared Courey. "Is that all, Detective?"

He grunted. "For now. You'll both be down the station to give your full statements within a half hour." It was not a question.

The paramedic, who'd been tidying up the back of the ambulance, said, "Make that two hours. She's going to get her shoulder stitched first. And he needs his hands properly cleaned."

Courey scowled. "Whatever. Don't be late."

He wandered back over to the main gaggle of police. Erin sighed. It was going to be a long evening.

She and Ivan were cycled through the hospital's emergency department fairly quickly, a stern faced senior constable encouraging the nursing staff and doctors along with nothing but his steely presence. Then they were chauffeured to the Ipswich station to make their statements. Erin repeated her toned down description of the driver several times and then went through it all again with the composite artist. At the end they had a picture of a thin-faced, broad-nosed bald guy with jug-handle ears. Weird, but human. By that time, Erin was almost willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that the picture was exactly what she'd seen. She didn't want it to be anything else.

As she was collecting a weary Ivan from the visitors lounge, more than ready to head home and crawl into her bed, Detective Courey found her.

"McRea, I was wondering if I could discuss a few things with you."

Ivan sighed and slumped back into his chair. He pulled out his mobile phone and looked at Erin, eyebrows raised in question. She nodded and he dialled her home number to make sure Gavin's wife Kate was still able to stay with William.

"This way," Courey said and led her to his office. It was tiny and cramped and Erin had to clamber over an archive box of files to get to the seat Courey indicated. "I checked out your credentials, McRea. You're legit."

"Well, thanks for telling me. I appreciate knowing. Was that all?"

He very pointedly didn't respond, instead opening a folder and glancing over the contents. "I pulled the file on Matthew Hawkins. He's got a history."

"I know. The assault and a stint in prison."

"Few other things besides. He's on his second lot of court ordered anger management therapy. The first lot was because of the assault, the second stemmed from an indecent exposure incident."

Erin leaned forward. "How did that come about?"

"Report says he was seen chasing a woman through the Queen Street Mall early in the a.m. He caught her and in the tussle, he somehow lost his pants."

"Rape?"

"No. Witness says that it was the woman who tore the pants off him while he tried to fend her off."

"Not just a case of victim gets the upper hand for once?"

"Could be, but I doubt it. He claimed she had been taking injured animals from vets around the city and killing them."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. She got away and never came forward. In the end, all they could get him on was the exposure. His history was enough for the judge to send him off to a shrink."

"How long ago was this?"

"About three months. Establishing a time line?"

Erin sighed. "Trying to. The man doesn't stick in one place for long."

"The hospital last night?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, I read that report. Guy's got some issues, that's for sure. Chasing down alleged animal killers, getting beat up by unknown thugs. He's got several speeding fines, as well as a couple of charges for destruction of public property."

"And now he's got someone who seriously wants him dead."

"Or just very scared."

Erin asked, "Why are you sharing this with me?"

Courey sucked his teeth for a moment, clearly not liking what he was about to say. "My captain read up about you, as well. He thinks you're some bit of hot shit. Figures you might actually find this guy before we do, or the folks gunning for him. You're private. He might not actually smell you coming."

"Well, that's a nice thing to say." She didn't even think before asking, otherwise she probably wouldn't have. "Can you run down a car rego for me?"

He studied her for a long moment, not quite meeting her eyes, but not bothering to look anywhere else, either. "I suppose. Is it part of the case?"

"Could be." She dug through her bag and pulled out the picture from the hospital security camera. "That's our guy right there, the tall one with his arse hanging out of the hospital gown. The other two helped him escape the ED very early this morning."

Courey turned to his computer and began plugging in details. Erin waited as patiently as she could but it was a hard thing watching him type with two fingers. Finally, he sat back and read off the screen.

"Silver Toyota Prado registered to Robert Robertson. Apart from being pretty sad in itself, that name mean anything to you?"

"Not right now, but it might soon. Got an address there?"

He wrote it on a scrap of paper and handed it over.

"Does Hawkins have a car registered in his name?" she asked while Courey was feeling generous.

Courey pulled in a deep breath and began tapping away again. Erin resisted the urge to throw herself over the desk and do it for him.

"He does. A black Holden Monaro, address of residence the same one that just got hit. Oh, and the boy's got personalised number plates. Nit sill."

"Nit sill?" Erin got up and leaned over the desk to look for herself. The screen displayed NYT CLL. She muttered it a few times, eventually settling on, "Night cell. At least, that's about the only thing that might make sense."

"In someone's crazy world, sure." He yawned. "I've got your number if I need to call you."

Erin got the hint and said goodbye. No one interrupted her escape this time and Ivan collapsed into the passenger seat of her car, which some nice officer had brought to the station for her, and promptly fell asleep. She took him home, walked him up to his apartment and handed him over to his boyfriend. Brad put him to bed and then Erin told him the basics of what had happened, just so he knew what he might be dealing with if Ivan had nightmares. She said Ivan wasn't expected at work the next day and then left.

She reached her own home around three a.m. and found Kate asleep on the couch. Rather than disturb her, Erin put a light blanket over her and went to check on William. He too was sleeping. She stood in the door to his room for a long time, just watching him, trying to reconcile this wasted shadow with the vital, energetic man she'd married five years ago.

Had it only been five years? Sometimes it felt like a lifetime since she hadn't had to worry about safe guarding against infections and slogging through sessions of chemotherapy and radiotherapy and God knows what else the doctors had tried over the years. Decades since she'd made the painful decision to leave the police force and take the job with Sol Investigations just to earn enough money to get William the care he needed and everything the doctors said might, just might, possibly, help him survive for a few months more.

And then there were the times she wondered if she should. He was in pain more often than he wasn't, though he faced it with an incredibly strong and brave face. But there were nights—and it always seemed to be in the night—when he broke down with the agony of the cancer tunnelling through his bones. She would hold him and tell him it would pass and that it would get better and she would hate herself for lying to him when he really needed her honesty.

Still, he was sleeping peacefully tonight, face smooth, eyes closed gently, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. She wanted to go to him, lay her head on his chest and feel him living, reassure herself he was still with her. But she had a fresh wound and despite the thorough washing it had undergone, she didn't dare risk getting close to William until she was certain it was not infected.

Erin pulled herself away from William's room and wrote a note for Kate, asking her to stay until the Blue Care nurse arrived in the morning. She quickly and quietly packed a small overnight bag and left again. There were showering facilities at the office building and a fairly comfortable couch in her office. That would do her until she was certain she wasn't a danger to her husband.

# Chapter 18

There was dirt in my mouth when I came to. I coughed to get it out and my chest ached. My throat was sore and I'd bitten my tongue and inner cheek. Lovely. Apart from a bit of pressure in my temples, my head didn't hurt. However I'd gone unconscious it hadn't been from a blow to the head, which all things considered, was fabulous news.

Opening gummy eyes netted me zero more intelligence. Well, no. It gave me two options. Number one, I was blind. Bit of a bummer if it was correct. Number two, I was somewhere that was completely dark. For the sake of my sanity I decided to go with option two. A moment later, I realised that the rhythmic whooshing sound was me breathing. Wherever I was it was very dark, and confined, and stinky.

Oh dear Lord.

I was in a coffin.

Fumbling around revealed only torn and slimy satin over a hard surface that sat very close to my body. The sides of the coffin were right there, bare inches from my shoulders and arms, the lid not much further away from my face. The rhythmic whooshing lost its beat, became erratic. My heart pounded so loud and fast I could hear it echoing through the cramped space.

Let's take a moment here. I'm not claustrophobic. Not at all. But put anyone in a used coffin and see if they don't freak out.

I was buried alive. Not only did I have the hard wood of the coffin to deal with, but also crap knew how many meters of dirt on top. Ghouls are the natural excavators of the supernatural world. They burrow through cemeteries scavenging for food and make themselves lairs under the ground. With no idea how long I'd been out, there was no way to judge how deep they could have buried me. I could very well be closer to freaking Alaska than Australia.

Okay, calm down. Don't use up all your air hyperventilating. You need to think. You're in a bit of trouble and you don't know the entirety of it. Must find out just how deep in the shit heap you are before doing much else. For that, you need to get out of the box and look around.

Easier said than done, but I had a couple of ways of getting things done.

I laid still, trying not to think of the hard shell around me. Moving from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, I relaxed muscles. It helped even out my breathing and settled my mind into a calm state. Since I'd developed psychic abilities, I'd taken up a bit of general meditation. Dr Campbell was pleased with it, said it would help me curb my 'impulsive behaviour'. I don't know about that, but it certainly helped me do other things.

There's a moment between being awake and being asleep. Your body is loose, leaking out the strains of the day. Your mind is discarding all the issues you've had to deal with throughout the day and prepping for sorting through all the issues you didn't get to. This instant of time is a blank canvas. Not a skerrick of paint, not a sketch, not even an idea of what it's going to become. You aren't thinking, you aren't dreaming. A moment that is empty, but one that can become anything. In that space between one beat and the next, all you are is potential.

And that is where all the cool kids go to get their psychic powers.

Awareness rushed into me through the spot just above the middle point between my eyebrows. This was different to the link with Mercy. That was more internal, a private hot line to the emergency services. What I did now was sort of empty all that out and create, if you will, a vacuum inside that let all the external things rush in to fill up the imbalance.

Everything became sharper, brighter, far more intense. I could sense the coffin, the rotting satin, feel the life that lingered still in the wood and material. I could taste the old death and the new life the decaying corpse had birthed. There was a low level, background hum, pleasant when you weren't trying to figure it out or where it came from; not so pleasant and a lot scary when you turned your full attention to it. I could almost feel the molecules of air against my skin and knew that I could touch and manipulate them to do some pretty funky things.

I reached out and gathered together those molecules, moulded them into a me outside of me. He formed up just over my physical body, face toward my face, a replica made from air and the energy I poured into it. Behold, Invisible Matt! I suppose I could have used any shape I wanted—sphere, cube, Jessica Alba—but I've been in this body for a while now and I think it suits me, so I went with that.

Transferring my mind to Invisible Matt was a little trickier. I found the big whack of energy sitting in my solar plexus and began spooling it out like a fire hose. The cord wavered around for a moment, then hit Invisible Matt in his corresponding solar plexus and plugged in. It was a rollercoaster ride, funnelling down into my chest and then up into the umbilical, tumbling and turning and finally crashing down in my new, temporary home. It was scary like a rollercoaster ride, and fun like one too.

You don't really 'see' when you're outside of your body. No eyes. But you do sense the shape of the energies around you. It's a bit like infrared, except in tones of black through grey to white, with spots of silver for the really intense things. You also don't just 'see' out the front, either. Nothing is being filtered to you through two relatively stationary organs. Everything comes in from all angles. That can get very disorientating, so the trick is to find something and concentrate on it, train your mind to pretend it's still looking out at the world through the eyeballs. Because I always formed up Invisible Matt as if I was looking in a mirror, when I settled into his driving seat, my first order of business was to fix my attention on my own face.

My real body was a dim, androgynous shape to Invisible Matt. It was slightly brighter than the dead wood and material around it, but not a lot. That's only natural. Part of me was AWOL after all. There were patches of brightness though, around the wounds I'd acquired the night before. I hoped it was just a concentration of my body's immune system and not hot spots of bacterial hoe-downs. Nolan hadn't seen fit to give me a prescription for antibiotics before I dropped him like a bad date and escaped.

I rolled Invisible Matt over and forced him out through the tiny cracks and imperfections of the coffin lid. We came out into an empty place. By that, I mean, we didn't emerge into soil. There was a faint enclosure of light, about ten meters square, the edges lined with the hazy, shifting glow of concentrated, but small, life. I guessed we were in an underground hole. Great. Kermit's lair. The coffin I'd risen from was a vague patch of pale light and I saw several others about the place, some of them still partly buried in the floor or protruding from the walls. They were probably some of the forty-one criminals from Boggo Road. I didn't want to think about who's coffin I was now leasing.

Ghouls, I suppose, lead a rather Spartan life. No need for many material goods when your whole existence centres around eating rotting dead things. There was little in the lair apart from the coffins and two burning points of silver that each flickered around central points, candles or lamps. Of course, there was the two ghouls.

Somewhat disturbingly, they'd stacked three of the coffins into a rough couch construction and both of them lounged on it. One was holding a long, very dim object, much the same proportions as an average femur. The ghoul waved it about like a mad conductor, leaning toward the other one as if in impassioned discussion. Whatever clothes he'd scavenged to wear had a waistband, because a piercingly bright L shape of silver sat over his groin. My Cougar, tucked in the front of his pants. Oh for a Glock that might go off and pulverise his balls.

Hearing while lurking about in Invisible Matt was no issue. Sound was just resonating molecules, and that's pretty much all Invisible Matt was.

"I still can't believe it," the ghoul waving the leg bone about was saying. "He was here all along. What sort of luck is that?" He cackled. "Oh well, I still had fun at least. Should have seen the human cow's face when she saw me—"

"Someone saw you?" Kermit demanded. "You weren't supposed to be seen. It was supposed to be a quick job. See if he was at that address and take him out if he was."

"Well, he wasn't there, obviously, but there were these two others sniffing about the place. I decided to leave a message for Hawkins with them." He snickered. "She's not going to say anything. No one will believe her. Even if she does talk, they'll send her off to be anal probed."

"Gah. Analysed, you twat. Martínez won't be happy you were seen, Saif. You'll be lucky if he doesn't tear your arms and legs off."

"Whatever." Saif gnawed at the bone.

So it was Big Red he'd sold me out to. It hurt. Not a lot, but a bit. Kermit had been a good snitch, as far as snitches go, I guess. But by his very nature as a snitch, he was fairly mercenary in his dealings. I wondered what Big Red had offered him. Heh. Probably much the same he'd offered me—continued life. Mental note, get watch back from Kermit. The backstabbing bastard didn't deserve it.

There'd been a hit on my house, as well. For a moment, I worried about Mercy, then rationalised it away. No one knew about the house at the 'Cliffe. It wasn't under my name. I kept a small flat in Ipswich as a decoy, with my name all over the lease, insurance details and bank accounts. That was where the hit would have been.

Shit!

It was a good little neighbourhood. Quiet and full of young families. Miss Browne next door was a bit of a busy body, but she was sweet (a little fond of Roberts, too) and collected mail for me. What sort of 'hit' had Saif laid down on the place? Damn him. If any of the neighbours were hurt, he wouldn't have to worry about Big Red tearing him apart. I wouldn't leave enough behind for the vampire to find let alone pick up.

Then there were the pair Saif had seen there. Cops? If so, they'd have to be plainclothes because I'm sure Saif would know a police uniform if he saw one. That meant more than a simple matter if the detectives were out looking for me. Crap. What had I done now? Unless it wasn't the police. But who else would come looking for me? Duh. Saif had, at the behest of a big vampire colonel. A daytime hit when I wouldn't be expecting it. I guess I had pissed Big Red off so much he was past the negotiation stage. Could then these other pair be snooping around for a similar reason? Who else had I bothered lately? No one, if you ignored Barry of Surf Wars, who might resent me charging him for the pleasure of messing up his business.

This wasn't fair. Two parties after me and I only knew half the reason. Or maybe it was the whole reason. If Big Red wanted Mercy for his very own, maybe the other clans were after her as well. It was an answer, but not a very encouraging one. Brilliant.

And here I was, trapped underground in a coffin. Chances were it wasn't daylight outside anymore. Which meant Mercy was free to move around. While she didn't have to eat every night like most other vampires, she was just recovering from a serious beating and meal of incompatible blood. She would probably be hungry. As if I didn't have enough problems.

Still, she was out of the cage and mobile. I could reach her through the link and get her to come break me out. Oh, look at that very grey cloud, but is that a silver lining I see peeking through? Whacko.

The good thing about psychic powers is that they go wherever your psyche is. I reached out through the link to Mercy from Invisible Matt. If she was still at home, she was a good forty odd kilometres away. I hadn't tried to contact her over such a distance before. Of course, I hadn't needed to in the past. This was about the deepest shit I'd been in on my own. Usually events conspired to get me and Mercy in the one shit pile at the same time. First time for everything.

Mercy was not forty kilometres away. She was a lot closer. At least that's what I thought when I smacked into her within moments of starting along the link. Excitement didn't last long however.

Her mind was a solid barrier, a hard mass of seething hunger and anger. She was completely gone into a frenzy, more so than the other night at Surf Wars. There, she'd been hunting. Here, she wasn't even that focused. Her empty stomach bellowed at her, whipped her into an insane fury. She was operating on the most basic instincts, the ones that required no higher consciousness. This red hot, raging cyclone of purely physical needs and wants was what Mercy could have been all the time if I hadn't taken her in. This was what she'd been yesterday morning, a vicious, violent creature intent on only one thing. Thing was, she was free tonight.

I felt sick. Even in Invisible Matt's nebulous form. What sort of carnage was she creating out there? How many people had got in her way? Damn it. I should have put her down when I had the chance. I should never have messed with the natural order of the supernatural world. It was my fault. She was out there and she was a pinnacle predator. Dear God.

The funny thing about getting angry is that you don't always start off mad. Sometimes, okay, most times, anger comes from fear. You don't understand something and get the notion that it might harm you, so you get angry. It's a defensive reaction. See, I did listen to Dr Campbell.

I was plenty scared right about now.

Invisible Matt was a loose concentration of molecules. With a bit of effort, I could turn that looseness into something with more substance. Right then, it was hardly any sort of effort. I channelled my growing fear and anger into it and everything became much denser. Moving now had a weight to it, a drag of resistance. Great.

Invisible Matt—a little less invisible now—spun around and crashed into my coffin. He kicked and punched and tore at the old wood. It broke apart and my body tumbled out of the wreckage. Behind us, Kermit and Saif were on their feet, staring bug-eyed at the shadowy figure breaking their captive from the box they'd stuffed him in. I didn't wait to see what they'd do. I dissolved Invisible Matt and rode the umbilical back into my physical body. I slammed home and was moving before I'd even fully settled in.

Idiot ghouls had left my pockets alone and I reached for the two handiest weapons.

Still focusing my eyes, I rolled and came to my feet, unsheathed SAS knife in one hand, the other flicking out the telescoping nightstick. The freaks didn't even see it coming.

I hit Afzal first. He still oozed from the bullet wounds. Ghouls didn't really care about wounds. He would let the bullets work their own way out or leave them in, whatever. Bacteria meant nothing to something that lived off putrefying flesh. If I was a bacteria, I wouldn't want to go squirming about inside Afzal if I had a choice, either.

We met in the middle of the room. He came in low, hunched up, arms out wide. I jumped and rolled over his back, landing behind him. A sweep from the nightstick took out one of his knees. He roared and went down.

Then Saif was there. He took a wide swing at me with the femur. I ducked and darted inside his reach. I slashed across his gut with the knife and grey blood spilled. He staggered and tried to take me down with him. Slipping his hold, I twisted around and planted my boot on his neck, forcing him down the rest of the way. Bones crunched, but he managed to grab a hold of my foot. He jerked it to the side and turned it sharply. I rolled with the turn but it put me on the floor beside him.

Saif did this freaky little thing where he seemed to just lift straight up off the ground and land on top of me. His lipless mouth peeled back from his sharp teeth. Oh Lord. His breath stank. That alone was nearly the end of me. His long fingers wrapped around my throat, holding tight but not choking off my air. Ghouls liked their food one of two ways. Rotting or screaming. No real in betweens for them. Saif's mouth opened wide and then, ugh, hyper-extended. I got a good view of his black tongue curling back in his mouth, which was now wide enough to eat my whole face in one very foul swoop.

Gross.

# Chapter 19

I whipped my head to the side as he lunged in for the bite. At the same time, I shoved the knife into his back as hard as I could. He was scrawny, compared to other humanoid things. The blade on the knife was seven inches, more than enough to get his heart from behind.

I guess I missed.

Saif howled. Eating me alive not an option anymore, he settled for the second one. His hands tightened around my neck. He'd strangle me, bury me properly this time and dig me up when I was fermenting away nicely. Over my dead body.

I twisted the knife. He growled and rolled his shoulders, trying to dislodge it. Whatever he did wouldn't move the knife. I tried to pull it out for another stab, but it was stuck good between two ribs. Air was starting to be an issue. Tightening my hold on the nightstick, I began belting him about the head with it. Had about as much luck with that as I had with the gun against Afzal.

The gun.

Abandoning the knife, I fumbled around his waist. I kept up the beating on his noggin with the stick so he wouldn't have time to think or try to bite my face off again. My hand found something hard in his groin. Ack! Not the gun. There it was, cool and metallic. I jerked it free, spun the handle into the palm of my hand, flicked off the safety and shoved the barrel into his mouth.

The explosion of the gun was deafening. Saif jerked a little bit. His eyes went wide, mouth quivering, the hard thing against my thigh went soft. The hands around my throat tightened, but only for an instant, then the ghoul dropped onto me, heavy and smelly and with only the front half of his head still attached.

I stayed there for a moment, breathing hard, and thankful for it. Then I pushed him off and rolled onto my stomach, forcing my aching body to its knees. They protested so I slumped over onto my arse and just sat there for a moment longer.

There was a rustle in the gloom. I scrambled to my feet, spinning around, Cougar at the ready. On the far side of the room, Kermit hauled himself to his feet.

"You killed Saif," he wheezed.

"Give me one reason not to kill you too."

Standing on one leg, he held up both hands. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"That's what you said before. And see where it got us."

"I knew Saif was there, listening." He titled his narrow head to the side. "Come on, little man. We've had a good relationship in the past. Let's forget this one tiny—"

The roof of the lair caved in on his head. He went down in a bone cracking heap. A dark shape landed on top of him, flung aside great clods of dirt and pulled him up. The attacker wasn't tall enough to lift him off the ground. In fact, it was barely large enough to get him to his knees, but it was strong. Kermit was flung against a wall and held there by a little white hand at the end of a little white arm attached to the little, black clad body of Mercy.

"Mercy!"

She whipped her head around to look at me. Her eyes flashed like headlights in the dark. Lips peeled back from her fangs showed streaks of red on her teeth.

"Matt, I found you." Her voice was husky, straining around the gnawing hunger swamping her mind.

She'd eaten, but not a lot. Enough to get her head working straight, but not so much that she'd actually killed someone. At least, I hoped.

Leaving the post-game analysis for, well, post-game, I said, "You did real good, Merce. Thank you."

Mercy grinned, a scary sight. Against the wall, Kermit squirmed, more to let us know he was still there than to try to escape. Ghouls were disgusting but they weren't dumb. He knew he couldn't escape a vampire.

"Let Kermit down."

The grin vanished. Her eyes sparked silver. "But he was going to hurt you."

"Not anymore. Drop him."

Really, it was more of a contemptuous throw. Kermit hit the coffin-couch with a crash and disappeared in a cloud of broken wood, dust and bones long since picked clean. He clambered out of the destruction and huddled on the dirt floor, arms wrapped around his knees. There was bone sticking through the skin of the knee I'd whacked, little cuts in his neck where Mercy's nails had dug in and black patches about his shoulders, bruises forming where Mercy had slammed down on him from above.

Mercy stalked to where he sat. She wore black leather pants and a tight black sleeveless shirt with glittering printing on it. 'Live Fast, Die Pretty.' She crouched on the remains of a coffin, perched over him like some vengeful bird of prey. Her fingers flickered toward Kermit and he cringed. She just smiled.

"Right, Kermit. You were about to tell me everything. Start with when Martínez asked you to sell me to him."

Wary of Mercy, Kermit leaned away from her. "It wasn't me. It was Saif. He's the one Martínez caught and made him promise to find you. Saif found your address and when he went to Martínez with it, the vampire told him to get there and take you out. He was done with trying to reason with you."

"He calls surrounding me with a mob of vampires reasoning? He's lost his marbles."

Kermit tried to shrug, and winced. "That one never had many marbles to start with. Even before he was turned he was a psychopath."

"So you really don't know where he's set up?"

"Saif knew."

I looked at the corpse of the ghoul. "What luck."

"Hey, if it helps, it was somewhere on the river, maybe to the east of here."

"Yeah, that might help. Very generous of you, Kermy. Mercy, get my watch off him."

She moved faster than I could see. Kermit's arm was bent backwards almost immediately and she carefully removed the Rolex. The ghoul's eyes rolled in pain, mouth gaping. When Mercy released him, he tipped over to the side, arm hanging limp.

"We're leaving," I said to her and she stepped down from her perch to come to my side.

I gathered up my weapons, tucked them away and then stopped by Kermit.

"You ever, _ever_ , try to backstab me again, Afzal, and I will rip your lungs out and make you eat them. Got that?"

He nodded pathetically.

Mercy stood beneath the hole she'd made into the lair and jumped straight up. She vanished over the edge, then reappeared, leaning over, hand held out. I jumped as high as I could, she caught my arm and hauled me out. I took a moment to brush as much of the grave dirt off my clothes as possible, then we headed out of the cemetery.

"Who's Martínez?" Mercy asked.

"A Red vampire. Pretty old, very strong. A colonel or something, apparently."

"And he's after you?" There was a hard, protective edge to her voice. Made me feel safe, and a little awed.

"In actuality, he's after both of us, but I think that if he can't get me alive, then he'll settle for just you. And me dead." I kept watch on the night around us even though it was pointless. Mercy would know if anyone or anything approached long before I would see it, but still. Old habits and stuff.

She tilted her head. "Why me?"

"Because you're special."

"Why?"

I shrugged, not really wanting to answer. "Well, I guess because you're different to other vampires. You're not typical."

"I know that," she muttered. "I'm stronger than most of them, aren't I. I mean, sometimes, it's hardly fair on them. Like the other night." She made a dismissive sound. "Eight of them? They were nothing. Even you managed four mature ones last night."

Did I say awed before? Change that to feeling like I was being condescended to. Roberts was right. Mercy was developing something a smart mouth. I guess that was bound to happen though. Roberts isn't exactly lacking in the sarcasm department.

"No, I think it's more than that," I said, hands shoved in my pockets. "I think it's got something to do with how I treat you. Giving you the blood I do."

At the word 'blood', Mercy flinched and licked her lips nervously.

"Mercy?" I used my best reasonable-but-deadly-serious voice.

"When you didn't come home, I got really hungry. I wanted to eat so much but I couldn't get into the fridge. I knew you would get it for me when you came home, but you didn't come home." She said it in a fast babble, a touch of accusation in the last couple of words.

"So you came looking for me?"

"So you could feed me." Her tone turned a little bit desperate, repeating herself like a child trying to lie to a parent.

I stopped walking and put my hands on my hips. "Mercy, have you eaten anyone?"

She closed her mouth very fast and shook her head.

"Don't lie to me, young miss."

Mercy resisted, but I forced the link open between us and all the thoughts she was trying to keep from me rushed through.

Gut clenching, painful hunger. A need that burned through her like a swarm of wasps sizzling in her blood vessels. It couldn't, _wouldn't_ , be ignored. Thoughts warped by hunger, spiralling down toward the abyss of primitive compulsion—eat eat eat—she had managed to latch on to the memory of me handing her bags of blood, food that satisfied one hunger but not the other. Hunt, catch, caress, feed. She would hunt me, she would find me, then she would feed.

The terrible, driving need swamped her. I fed her. I would feed her tonight.

Dear God. My legs grew weak.

Then the reason why I wasn't dead at her feet right now slapped me across the brain.

Flashing lights behind her; a loud, whirring, grinding noise battering at her, somehow drowning out the screaming demands of her stomach. Vague memories of being in the car with me when I'd been pulled over made her slow down, stop on the side of the road. My scent still burning in her nose, she swung off the Moto Guzzi, let it drop to the ground and met the cop halfway.

He tried to tell her to go back to the bike, to wait for him there, but she stalked him, circling, prowling. His mouth moved, talking to her, tone hardening, hand reaching to his waist for something. She couldn't hear him, didn't want to hear him. I was her desire but he was right there. The blood in his body was hot and divine and _right there_.

The cop didn't even see her when she attacked. Her psychic whammy hit him a moment before she did. He crashed to the bitumen, eyes glazed, body slack as Mercy straddled him, mouth fastened to his neck.

It was like the blood was pouring down my own throat. Rich, coppery, thick as chocolate sauce and just as delicious. It pumped from his torn jugular, hit the roof of my mouth, slid over my tongue and I couldn't swallow fast enough. My mouth filled to overflowing, warm tendrils leaking from the corners of my lips. The flow slowed but I wasn't satisfied yet. I locked my mouth over the wound and sucked, desperate for every little drop.

Then a high-pitched squeal. Bright, white light speared into my eyes. I jerked back as car doors slammed and people began to yell. The world blurred and I was racing away on the bike, the powerful engine roaring, the last of the blood still tingling on my tongue, seeping into my empty veins.

No!

Not my veins, not my tongue. I tore away from Mercy's mind with an effort that left my head spinning. My legs finally gave way and I hit the ground hard. Pain flared in my knee but it was quickly lost in the confusion of disgust, horror and warm, tasty pleasure.

"Matt."

I don't know what I said or did, but it sent her jumping away from me. She landed in a defensive crouch on a headstone a dozen meters away, her eyes silver, fangs bared. Her hunger was still there, appeased but not completely sated. She'd been interrupted before she could get more than a litre and change from him. Enough to kick start the higher functions of her brain, to let her remember I was a source of food, but not _that_ sort of source.

Still, the memory of the sensation was there. The desire to hunt, to track me down and consume me the way she was meant to. The way she had tried once before...

Yet, even as I reached for the needle of tranquilizer that wasn't where it usually was, the memory began to dissolve. The stolen blood was still working its way through her body. It eased the desire for the hunt, it curled through her veins, reassuring her she wasn't starving. Following it was a vague feeling of lethargy, the weariness that came after a big meal, where all energy is turned inward to digest the food. But in this case, it was the beginning of a transfusion reaction. The cop's blood type was incompatible to Mercy's. The red cells would slowly be destroyed and she would sleep—excuse the poor quality of pun—like the dead.

She titled her head, eyes dimming from predator bright. "Matt? Are you okay?"

I scrambled back to my feet, not yet ready to talk. The tang of blood still seemed to linger in my mouth. I hawked up a load of phlegm and spat, purely a psychological response. There was no blood in my mouth.

Mercy slinked off the tombstone and took a couple of cautious steps toward me. I held up a hand, keeping her at a distance.

While she stood statue still in the moonlight, I pulled out my mobile phone. "Where did the cop stop you?"

"Near Southbank."

I called Roberts. He was at work. That is, he was at a nightclub so I had to wait while he went outside.

"Yeah, what's your problem?" he asked when the noise had dropped several hundred decibels.

"Mercy had a little indiscretion with a cop near Southbank," I said as calmly as I could, which wasn't very. "Can you find out if he's alive?"

"Shit," Roberts said. "How did she get away from you?"

"Don't worry about that. Can you find out?"

"Sure. Give me an hour or two."

I hung up before he could ask any more questions.

Mercy eyed me warily.

"You know what you've done," I said softly. "You can feel it, can't you?"

She nodded.

"Soon you're going to be like the wild vampires, feeling the effects of the wrong blood type. It'll make you tired and weaker. You'll want to find somewhere to go to sleep. But you're not a wild vampire, Mercy. You don't know how to find somewhere secure outside of the house. And you won't just sleep through the day this time. You'll be truly knocked out. Utterly defenceless."

Her slender shoulders shivered as she looked around, worried frown pinching her brows together.

"You know I always protect you from the sunlight, don't you." I didn't make it a question and didn't wait for an answer. "Now, can I trust you to ride the bike home?"

"Yes."

"You won't take off on your own?"

"No."

I believed her. She'd never lied to me before, didn't know how to. And right now, she looked like nothing more than a severely chastised and repentant child, scared into behaving.

This was what I'd learned to do in the early months of our strange relationship. Beat her down, make her scared and then remind her I was her only protection. I made her believe that without me, she wasn't able to survive. Then I'd told her that if she ever disobeyed me, I'd kill her myself.

Only one other act would result in a death penalty for her—if she killed a human.

Quiet and meek, she walked ahead of me to where I'd left the car. The bike lay on its side behind it.

"Stay in front of me the whole way," I said, tone firm.

She nodded, righted the bike and waited for me to get into the car. When I had the engine turned over, she kicked the bike into gear and pulled out, very sedate. Usually, she would have been popping wheelies and skidding tyres.

It was an uneventful trip home. Didn't mean I relaxed for one moment. I couldn't let myself breathe easy until she was in her cage and locked up securely. Retreating to the lounge, I waited for Roberts to call back. Meanwhile, I turned on the TV and scanned channels for any word about dead or injured cops.

The next thing I knew, the phone was ringing and glorious sunlight streamed in through the front windows. TV still babbling on with some morning news show, I grabbed the phone and rolled off the couch, back protesting the entire way.

"What did you find out?" I asked, limping into the kitchen.

"Got good news and bad news," Roberts said without preamble.

I stopped at the fridge, frozen to the spot. "What's the good news?" My voice was barely audible. I would need the good to buffer the bad. If the bad was what I feared it might be, I didn't want to face it just yet.

The thought of killing Mercy twisted my guts into a knot. I wasn't sure I could do it. She was... innocent. Ruled by instincts that had no place in civilised society. It wasn't her fault her base compulsion was to hunt humans. But I couldn't leave her alive if she killed someone. They put dogs down for much less.

"The cop's alive."

I grabbed onto the fridge to keep on my feet. Relief sapped all the tension fear had given me.

"Lost a lot of blood," Roberts continued, "but he'll be fine. As of half an hour ago, they're not looking for anyone matching Mercy's description. They think it must have been a man, someone big enough to knock the cop down and keep him down."

"Do you know if they got the bike rego?"

"No, but I'd keep it tucked away for a while though."

Pulling out a chair, I sat at the table, head resting in my free hand. "Thanks, mate. That's the best news you could have given me."

He snorted and it wasn't a happy snort. "Ready for the bad news?"

"Not particularly."

"Tough. When I tapped my source about Mercy's dinner, I found out something else. What was the name of the doc who patched you up the other night?"

"Nolan. Why?"

"He was killed last night."

# Chapter 20

"From what I head," Roberts continued, "it was vampires. Massive blood loss through relatively minor puncture wounds. They must have beat him up first, though. Arms and legs were broken, ribs cracked, teeth knocked out."

"Enough," I ground out. "I get the picture."

There was a short silence.

"Sorry," Roberts said, but there was something in his voice that made me question the sincerity of it.

"I get it, okay," I snapped. "I fucking get it. I got him killed. I know that. Do you think I don't understand what I am? What sort of person would let a vampire live, Roberts? What sort of person would let that vampire out of his sight so she could go attack humans? The same sort of person who would leave another man defenceless against a threat I could have helped him prepare for. I know what I am, Roberts. I don't need you reminding me that I'm a monst–"

"Shut the fuck up, you fucking idiot," Roberts yelled. "You're not a monster. I didn't mean anything by it. Can't I be a bit upset as well? They came after me, too, Matt."

Somewhere in my tirade, I'd stood up. I sat again, hard.

"Jesus," I breathed, all my self-indulgent guilt flying away in an instant. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. They hit my apartment. Luckily I was out chasing down information about your cop. Got home about an hour ago. The place is trashed."

"Excuse me," I muttered and put the phone down.

I went out the back and down to the dock. I stood in the early morning sun, soaking it up for a moment, then I picked up the folding chair and smashed it into the banana lounge. I tore that bastard apart. I swung metal piping at the pilings of the dock. I punched the wooden planking. I snapped slates from the lounge over my knee. I growled at the world and gave it the finger.

When I could breathe steadily again, I turned and headed back inside. Charles was at his back door, cup of coffee in one hand, jaw dropped wide. I smiled nastily and waved. He just stared.

"You okay?" Roberts asked when I picked up the phone again.

"Yeah. Just a bit of therapeutic venting. I'm sorry, Roberts. I should never have dragged you into this."

He was quiet for a moment, then scoffed. "If I remember correctly, I was the one who involved myself. You warned me off Mercy that first night, but I just had to chase her around. I didn't even care if you were her boyfriend or not. It's my own damned fault. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"Wasn't myself I beat up. I'm going to need new deck furniture."

"Dude. That's some temper. And you're not allowed to feel too guilty about Nolan, either."

"Why not? It's all because of me. They hit my place in Ipswich yesterday with a hired ghoul. They hit your place last night and they took out Nolan. Everything associated with me, even a little bit."

It hit us both at the same time.

"Jacob."

I hung up and called the store. He would be in by now. No question. There was no answer.

I don't even know if I hung up that time. All I know is that I took off as fast as I could. The traffic was at the tail end of the morning rush, so I forced my way through it. It's easy to be intimidating on the road when you have a car with a powerful engine and no compulsion not to use it. I'd taken a couple of advanced driving classes, but that had been mainly in ambulances. Still, same principles, smaller, faster car. I swung onto Edward Street in the city in what was probably record time, if not sound-barrier breaking.

Every park was already taken, so I slammed to a stop in the lane outside of Vogon Books and ignored the horns and shouts as I piled out, slid over the bonnet and raced into the bookstore.

I skidded to a stop just inside, heart stopping dead in my chest.

The place was a mess. Books and comics were scattered across the floor. One set of shelves was on a serious angle, propped up against a wall. The area before the counter had been cleared out and chairs were flung haphazardly across it. A pair of boots stuck out from behind the counter.

I flung myself over the counter and dropped down beside Jacob. He was sprawled across the floor, arms and legs thrown wide, head turned to one side. There were bite marks on his neck.

"Jacob," I shouted and shook him. "Hey, Jake. Come on, mate. Don't be dead."

He twitched.

Oh, thank God. "Jacob, come on. Wake up. Talk to me."

Jacob groaned and opened his eyes. "What you doin', man? Leave a guy to die in peace."

I straightened out his limbs and felt his neck for injuries. "You're not going to die, Jacob. I won't let you. And more importantly, I won't let them win."

"But I want to die. And who's not going to win?"

Fingers on his pulse, I stopped long enough to smell his breath. "Jacob. Are you drunk?"

He clumsily slapped my hand away. "No, I'm hung over. I just got to sleep. Go away."

I glanced at my fingers. They had red on them. I rubbed it between my fingers and it smeared and glittered just a little bit.

"Lip stick?"

Jacob grinned sloppily. "Yeah."

I sat back on my heels. "You didn't get attacked by vampires last night?"

"Sort of. Not a real one. Sally Burkenhoff. Man, she's hot."

My head was filling up with images I really didn't want. I didn't know Sally Burkenhoff, but the mere thought of _anyone_ getting so busy they created the carnage in the shop was bad enough. At least he'd put his pants back on before passing out.

Jacob decided he wasn't going to die and struggled up to lean against the counter. I sank down the wall and just stared at him. He still had that funny little smile on his face.

"Great party. You should have come. I left you a message. We had a Blade party. One, two and trinity. Fantastic stuff."

"I didn't get the message," I said flatly.

"Pity. There was this girl here, all leggy and dark haired and big eyes. You would have liked her. Very Mercy-esk, but taller, and you know, human. I told her all about you. She's interested. And cool. I mean, she really likes Blade."

"Great," I muttered. "Maybe we can go out on a date, fall in love, get married, have us a whole bunch of kids and die fucking horrible deaths because some mad vampire has marked my friends and acquaintances for death!"

As my voice rose, Jacob leaned further and further away from me, eyes widening until I could have tapped him on the back of his head and popped them out.

"Jesus, man. Do you know how much you scared me?" I demanded. "I thought you were dead. I thought you'd had all your blood sucked out. Don't you ever do that to me again."

"Sorry?" he hazarded.

"You should be." I got to my feet and paced around the counter, lacing my hands together at the back of my head so I wouldn't punch anything. "It's getting bad, Jacob. I think you should shut up shop for a while, get out of town."

Jacob pulled himself up the counter, leaned on it in his usual hunch. "What happened?"

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"I could help."

I kicked a chair. "No, you couldn't. You could just get dead, that's all. Go away, Jake. Get Sally Whatshername and go screw yourselves silly in Sydney or Byron or Darwin. Just get out of town. Today. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred bucks. Do not wait for the dark."

The phone rang. Jacob jumped about three feet in the air, came down gasping for breath and answered.

"Hey, Roberts. Yeah, he's here. Acting strange, though."

I glared at him. He just nodded and listened and then said, "He wants me to get out of town." More listening and nodding. "Really?" His eyes bugged again. "That's terrible." After a moment, he nodded. "Sure, no worries. Right. I'll put him on."

He held the phone out to me. I snatched it up and he skittered away.

"What?"

Roberts sighed. "Calm down, Matt. It's not Jacob's fault he survived."

"He scared me, man. I don't need this aggravation."

"What you need is a sleep. You're getting cranky. Listen, I've convinced him to go visit his sister in Cairns for a while. Just leave him to it, okay? He'll be gone before sunset, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that. What about you? What time you leaving?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

The plastic of the phone creaked in my hand. "Why not?"

"Dude, you can't deal with this on your own."

"You were willing to leave me to it yesterday. What's changed?"

There was silence. I couldn't make out anything on the other end so I figured he was just thinking.

"I guess I felt a bit stupid for panicking yesterday."

I grinned tightly. "I think you just found your balls. But seriously, this isn't your fight. Get out while you still can."

"Screw that. They made it my fight when they knocked my letter box over."

"You live in an apartment. You don't have a letter box to knock over."

"Poetic licence. Listen, the cops are here to investigate the break in. I'll call you when they're gone, okay? Go home, get some sleep."

"Whatever." I hung up.

Jacob was standing in the middle of the shop, staring at the wreckage, shaking his head. "Great party," he mumbled.

"Jacob."

He flinched. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have got angry."

Jacob shrugged and waved it aside, but I could tell something had changed. He knew all about vampires and Mercy and the other Old World creatures populating the shadows and alleys, but he'd never been out there mixed up in it all. He'd never been in a fight with a ghoul or vampire or troll. To him, it was academic and distant. I came in, told him where, when and how, he wrote it down and that was it.

But just now, I'd shown him the darker side of it. And I wasn't even the worst thing out there.

"When you get to Cairns, call me or Roberts," I said on my way out. "One of us will let you know when it's over."

He nodded and began straightening chairs. I was at the door when he spoke.

"Matt, I forgot, but I have something I want to show you."

I turned back around. "Yeah?"

He trotted behind the counter and fiddled with something. "I taped this yesterday. Thought you might like to see it."

There was a TV fastened to the wall behind the counter, a wide screen LCD of the tiny variety, but apparently good enough to watch a Blade trilogy on and get wasted. Jacob turned the TV on and found the recording.

It was a breaking news report. The footage showed the front of my flat in Ipswich. There were police and ambulances everywhere, crime scene tape dissecting the view. Neighbours milled about at the edges of the picture, straining to get into the shot. A female reporter stood to one side of the image, to give the audience a good view of the results of the attack.

"This is the scene at a small, quiet neighbourhood in Ipswich this afternoon," the reporter said gravely. "The residents of this peaceful street had their lives shattered by a violent drive-by shooting barely an hour ago. The perpetrator used a submachine gun and fired on the duplex behind me. It's believed the target of the shooting was not at home at the time."

The reporter turned and the shot followed her. Miss Browne lay on a trolley from an ambulance, oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. She looked so old and frail. Guilt gutted me.

"Miss Browne lives in the flat next door and was home during the shooting. Miss Browne, can you tell us about the incident?"

Estelle Browne took the mask off and spoke in a strong voice. "Well, I'd just sat down to watch my stories. I'd missed the start because of the woman who came asking about my neighbour. She was a pushy broad, too."

The reporter pulled the microphone back. "If you could just tell us about the shooting, ma'am."

Estelle pursed her lips. "I guess it was just like on those TV shows. A person in a van drove past and shot at the house. Over and over. I don't know why anyone would want to hurt my neighbour. He's the sweetest boy. I don't care that he's been in prison."

The microphone was pulled again. "Thank you, Miss Browne."

I groaned. Someone had let it slip. Probably the pushy broad asking questions. Was she the one who'd been outside my place when Saif attacked?

The reporter droned on for a while longer, talking to a detective and other witnesses. I blocked most of it and watched the background, hoping I could see every face I knew from the street, to make sure they were all right. There was one face I didn't recognise, though. It belonged to a slender woman in a straight, knee length, grey skirt and cream blouse. Her auburn hair was a tangled fright, her clothes dirty and torn. Blood smeared her left arm, coming from a rent in her top on her shoulder. Still, she worked the crowd, guiding shaking witnesses to the gutter to sit down, holding a sobbing a woman.

She acted self-assured, calm, efficient. I pegged her for a cop, but she didn't have a badge showing, wore no gun. The pushy broad? Private investigator? If so, I wasn't so sure I didn't mind her chasing after me. Nice legs. If only I could work out why she was looking for me.

The report ended and Jacob turned it off, not looking at me. I patted his shoulder.

"Thanks. I appreciate you showing me."

"That was part of it, wasn't it? Part of what you want me out of?"

I nodded.

He paled. "I'm going," he assured me.

"That's great. I'll see you when you get back."

I escaped before he could say anything. My car was where I'd left it, but someone had scraped along the right side. The black paint was torn back to the silver undercoat, and my right front indicator was smashed. I hadn't even heard the impact. There was no note with a phone number on the windscreen, but there was one that simply said 'arsehole'.

The phone rang just as I was pulling into the driveway. I didn't look at the displayed number. Instead I decided to make a dick out myself and presume it was Roberts, checking up on me.

"Forget it, I won't take you to the prom," I said as I answered.

There was a stunned pause. "Mr Hawkins?"

Ah. The freaking kid and his werewolf dog. "Hey, Tony. Thought you were someone else."

"I hope so. Um, have you found out anything about my dog's problem yet?"

Crap, bugger and damn. "Not yet, tiger. I said I'd call when I had. There's a lot of research material to cover."

"I can appreciate that, but the full moon is tomorrow night."

"It is?" It was out before I could stop myself. "Wow, that came around fast. Been a busy few days. How's the dog been behaving?"

"Just the usual. If he smells another dog, he goes a bit crazy. Otherwise, okay."

"Good, good. Listen, I'll get back in touch with you this arvie, or tomorrow morning at the latest. I'll really hit the books now and find the proof to put your mind at ease. Don't worry, champ. It'll be all good."

"All right." He didn't sound particularly reassured. "Talk to you then."

He hung up and I stared at the phone for a moment. "Kids."

I hauled my tired carcass into the house and checked on Mercy. She was in bed, rolled up tight in her sheet, a tuft of hair poking out to assure me she actually was in there. I had to wait a long time to see any sign of life, and when it came, it was a very small movement in her shoulders as she took a rare breath. Her illicit meal had taken its toll; she was in the deep coma caused by incompatible blood. Usually, she just slept, very deeply, but if you poked her, she would move and grumble, if not fully wake up. Now, I could have dragged her out into the daylight and watched her go up in pretty flames.

If the cop had died, I would have.

At least, I liked to think I would have.

Well, not 'liked' so much. She was a violent, instinct driven predator, and yet she was my little girl too. I'd saved her, in as much as she could have been. I'd invested so much in her, done things for her I would never have thought myself capable of. Turned myself into something I never wanted to be just so she could continue to live.

I was supposed to save lives, not take them. As much as I shied from admitting it, there was something of the truth in what Kermit had said to me. I killed indiscriminately. If you were a vampire, ghoul, troll, whatever, I killed you. Or I commanded Mercy to kill you. And what about Nolan? God damnit! I'd liked him. He was what I'd wanted to be once, a person dedicated to saving lives. And now, because of me, he was dead.

Red tinged the edges of my vision. I backed out of Mercy's room and stalked to the back door. If I stayed in there with her, I was liable to do something stupid.

Still, when I reached the patio and saw the remains of my earlier tantrum, the creeping rage dried up.

This was what I'd become.

No, some sarcastic prick of a conscience whispered inside my head. This is what you always were. You only tried to deny it. Remember Jessica Harrington.

"Fuck off," I said aloud and went back inside.

I was tired. Maybe four hours of sleep and the after affects of too much adrenaline dropped into my blood drew energy right out of me. I went to bed and while my body felt like it would never move ever again, my brain just would not stop. It keep going and going, turning around in circles between Nolan, Mercy and a cop lying on the side of the road. Then it spun off in a totally different direction and showed me the face of the woman I'd seen on Jacob's telly.

Who was she? What was she doing at my place? She had to be the one Saif mentioned.

Knowing I wouldn't be able to sleep, I hauled myself out of bed, went to the library and turned on the computer. It took approximately a geological age to boot up, then I plugged 'private investigator brisbane' into Google and got a list of several direct hits.

Bingo. Halfway down the page I got to Sol Investigations. It was a single page only, enough to give a little blurb about the company and how it was an international organisation. There was also a little story about its Brisbane office investigator. One Erin McRea, ex-cop, who'd resigned with all sorts of honours so she could take up the PI business. There was a photo of her as well. A neater version of the auburn haired, serious woman I'd seen on the news report. Her full lipped mouth was turned up in a little Mona Lisa smile that dared me to wonder at what she was thinking.

Okay, one mystery solved. I knew who she was, but not why she was after me.

I closed the window and resolved to deal with the one issue I could handle at the moment. Pulling out my books on weres, I began reading.

# Chapter 21

The phone rang and Erin answered. "Sol Investigations, Erin McRea speaking."

"Hello, Erin McRea speaking," a deep, hollow voice said softly.

Erin smiled and sank back into her chair. "Hello, William. What are you doing up?"

"Well, some strange woman I don't know has been with me all day, getting me naked and wet and hot. Just thought you should know."

"Yeah? She any good? Should I come home and join in?"

He laughed and it turned into a weak, wracking cough. Erin winced and berated herself for making him laugh.

"Just come home," William eventually whispered.

"Kate showed you the note?"

"It won't get infected, Erin. You're too healthy, too careful. I want to see you."

She sighed and spun around to look out the window. "I won't risk that. You know it. It's better this way."

William grumbled. "At least tell me what happened? How did you get hurt?"

"It wasn't anything big. Just a scratch."

There was a long pause. Erin's stomach sank. She knew what this meant.

"I saw the news yesterday," he said, not accusingly, but deliberately. "I saw you at the drive-by scene. Jesus, Erin, there was blood all over you. Are you really okay?"

Oh God, she wanted to be with him. Touch him. Let him hold her and stroke away all the pains and troubles and just be in his arms and happy.

"I'm fine," she said firmly.

"And what about this case? It's getting dangerous. Drop it."

"I can't do that. Sol—"

"Doesn't give a shit about your wellbeing, Erin. You know that. You were shot at. _Shot at_. Don't you understand what that means? Your life is in danger. I won't have that. Drop the case. Please."

"And what about your life, William? If I dropped this case, Sol would fire me and then how would we afford your treatment and care?"

"Forget about that. Erin, this is your _life_."

She gritted her teeth. "What about _your_ life?"

"My life is not the issue here. I'm not the one out there being—" He cut off the sharp words with low grunt. After a moment, he continued in a calmer tone. "Erin, I love you and I know you love me, but you are going to get over me, eventually. I want you to. We've spoken about this."

Erin couldn't talk. She just pressed the phone to her ear and listened to him pinpoint the exact heart of her emotions. No one else had ever seen her the way William did. It was warm and frightening all at once.

"Erin? You there?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, William."

"Me too." His voice broke. "Will you come home tonight?"

She sighed. "No. I called Gavin. He and Kate will be there for you."

There was another silence. She took several deep breaths while she waited. His breathing still came over the line, so she knew he was there and okay.

"I'm starting to feel like the worst host in the world," he muttered. "I just lie in bed while they do the dishes."

"Just don't let Kate give you any Vietnamese food."

"I'll try to fend off her cold rolls."

"Good boy. Get some rest."

He laughed, short and shallowly. "Love you."

"Love you," she whispered and hung up.

"You okay?" Ivan stood in the door to her office.

"What are you doing here? I told Brad to keep you at home."

He smiled, a little less than usual. "You're not so crash hot without your wonder assistant. 'Sides, I couldn't stop thinking about it at home. I need to do something."

Ivan wore a pair of old jeans and loose blue shirt. His hair, usually spiked up with product, hung limp over his eyes like an emo.

"Okay. But I'm buying you lunch."

He came into the office and sat opposite her. "So, what are we doing today?"

"Looking up anything that might shed some light on this." She passed him a paper with NYT CLL written on it. "It's Hawkins' personalised number plate. I'm thinking it means something to him."

Ivan began muttering it over as she had been doing all morning. Erin was still stuck on 'night cell' and after a moment, that was Ivan's conclusion as well. Google returned no direct hits but Ivan sat at his desk and his fingers flew over the keyboard as he tried other avenues.

The fax machine beeped and spat out a couple of pages. Erin got to it before Ivan. It was from Detective Courey. The cover page said his captain wanted him to pass it on. The second page was Matthew Hawkins' work history.

She sat on the corner of Ivan's desk and read it out to him. "First noted job when he was twenty-one and fresh out of university with a medical science degree. It was at a private pathology lab up the coast. Stayed there for three years, then moved into the ambulance service and transferred down here. We know how that ended up. When he got out of prison, he vanished for a while, then returned and got back into pathology. Oh, look at this. His last job was out at Redcliffe. He was there for two years before being fired."

Ivan snorted. "Wonder why they fired him."

"I'm going to go out there and find someone to talk to."

"Am I coming?" Ivan asked it casually, but she noted the slight waver in his voice.

"No. You have to stay here and keep working on 'night cell'. I want it cracked before I get back."

He smiled, relieved. "Will do. What about lunch?"

Erin grabbed her purse from the office and slapped a twenty on the desk. Then before she could think twice, she kissed the top of his head. "You'll be all right."

He shrugged and nodded, taking the money and putting it in a drawer.

After a moment's hesitation, Erin went back into her office, opened the safe and took out her Glock. She checked it over quickly, slapped in a magazine and slung on her shoulder rig. Putting a jacket on over the top already made her feel warm, but she wanted the security today. Ivan wasn't the only one holding his coffee mug in both hands.

The drive out to Redcliffe was quick and pleasant. Erin took the time to look around. It was a sweet place, surrounded by the ocean on three sides, bright and colourful. The houses were predominately older, some looking worn down by all their years, some freshly renovated and cheerful. There was a scattering of newer houses and signs that property was in demand, with several battleaxe lots about the place. The waterfront parade was crowded with cars and people at the cafes and walking out along the pier. A big whale-watching catamaran was docked in the small harbour.

Erin decided she liked the place. It was moving forward with the world, but still retained an old fashioned feel. A good place to come to relax, or to live and ease the stress of life.

She was pretty relaxed herself when she reached the hospital, though that evaporated fast. There were police in the foyer when she walked in. They were talking to members of the staff, and a few of the nurses were huddled in a corner, crying and holding each other.

"What's happened?" Erin asked at the front counter.

"Didn't you hear?" the woman said, aghast. "One of our doctors was murdered last night. In the car park."

"My God. Why?"

"No one knows. But it was very strange. He was beaten up and killed, and only the night before, he'd treated a similar case. I think it's a gang."

Erin's knuckles went white as she gripped the edge of the desk. "Not Dr Nolan?"

"Yes. Did you know him?"

"I met him yesterday."

The receptionist shook her head. "Such a shame. So young and single. A lot of the girls here quite liked him. Now, can I help you with anything else?"

Shaking aside the nagging suspicion that Nolan's death had something to do with Hawkins, Erin said, "I'd like to talk to someone in charge of pathology. I'm investigating a missing person's case and I think someone here might know him."

The receptionist called up to the lab and after a brief discussion, announced the lab manager would come to talk to her. It wasn't long before an older gentleman appeared. He had white hair and a close cropped beard.

"Hi. James Douglass. I manage the lab."

She shook his hand and introduced herself and explained why she was here. "I understand Hawkins used to work here. Were you here then?"

Douglass nodded. "He was a good lad. Very capable scientist. No one much worried about his past, so that wasn't a problem with us. You say he's missing?"

"Well, only in the sense no one seems to have any solid evidence of him being around. I suspect he's voluntarily dropped off the radar. It occasionally happens when someone's been through a traumatic event. You haven't seen him since he finished up here?"

"Not personally. Couple of the others have mentioned seeing him about though." Douglass shifted a bit uncomfortably. "He didn't leave us on the best of terms. It got a little ugly toward the end. It was strongly recommended he not show his face in the lab here again."

"Did you know he was here in ED night before last?"

"Yeah. We did some blood work on him. Got beaten up pretty good, I hear. Poor kid. I went to see him when I saw he was admitted, but apparently he never made it up to the bed. Scarpered before they could lock him down." He smiled. "Should have expected it of him. If he didn't want to be somewhere, it took some work to get him there."

"He could be uncooperative?"

Douglass shook his head. "Not at first. Then it was more like he just had this need to argue everything out."

"Like what?"

"Well, like night call. He hated doing it. Said it hurt his knee to disrupt his sleep. I felt for him, sure, but it's something we've all got to do. I couldn't excuse him from it."

Bells went off in Erin's head. "Night call? What's that?"

"We don't run the lab twenty-four seven. It shuts down between eleven p.m. and six a.m. For those seven hours, someone has to be available to do any urgent work. I think it's a nice touch of irony that Matt hated night call with a passion, and then was a reason for someone to be called in the other night. When you find him, tell him I said that."

Erin noted it down. The list of things they had to tell his guy was growing. "So, night call was a big deal in his life?"

"He's a good bloke, no second thoughts about it, but he got that bee in his bonnet and wouldn't stop shaking it about."

"You said he became uncooperative after a while. What happened?"

Douglass shoved his hands in his pockets. "He began missing shifts, not coming in on calls. I had to cover for him and we argued over it a lot. When he did show up for work, he was overly tired and listless. Useless to us really. We're a busy lab. Then one day, he lost it. Blew a gasket or two. Trashed a lot of glassware and broke a computer. I knew he was having issues. Something was happening in his personal life that he wouldn't talk about. But when he did that, he had to go. I wanted him to get some help, but he wouldn't listen to me." He sighed. "I haven't seen or heard from him since that day."

So Hawkins still had his temper. "Do you have any idea what provoked his anger that day?"

"One of the analysers broke down. Backed the work up and we were having big trouble getting the blasted thing fixed. It happens. You take it in stride and get on with the work. That day, Matt just couldn't deal with it."

"Any thoughts about what caused the initial change in his behaviour?"

Douglass looked around, spied some seats and led her over to them. They sat and he took a moment to order his thoughts.

"I'm guessing with some of this. I kind of put it together after he was let go. He was on call one night and had to come in. It was for a Jane Doe, found beaten in a park. She had low haemoglobin and red cell count. The doctor ordered a transfusion. Matt did the group, but it came out wrong."

"Wrong?"

"When a person has a transfusion, ninety percent of the time, they're given their own blood group. When they aren't, and there's two different types of red cells running around the system, it shows up in the blood group as a mixed result. You see the patient's true group and the introduced one."

Erin shook her head. "Wait. I thought if you got the wrong group, you were in trouble."

"No. You've heard that the O group is a universal donor?"

She nodded. "So anyone can get an O group?"

Douglass nodded. "Within a few limits, yes. People with AB group can receive all types, again with some limits. Some groups are rarer than others, so if you have a rare group that the blood bank doesn't have much stock of, you're generally given one of the more readily available, and compatible, groups. This was what Matt had thought had happened with this patient."

"Was it?"

"We never found out. She wasn't identified. No one came forward to claim her. There was no way we could check her medical history. But that night, faced with this, Matt had to do extra testing. I hesitate to say that he got angry with the nursing staff over it, but he did. In the end, he went down to collect more blood himself, to ensure there hadn't been a mistake with the initial collection."

Douglass paused and stared at the wall behind Erin for a moment.

"This is where I really had to start piecing bits and pieces together. Matt wouldn't talk about it afterward. Even though he didn't say anything, the attending doctor thought Matt recognised the girl when he saw her. Either way, Matt did the required testing and issued her blood. She was admitted. Matt then spent a lot of time in her room. He wouldn't talk to anyone, he just sat with her whenever he wasn't in the lab, and sometimes when he should have been. She was in a coma for three days."

"He spent all that time with her and no one could get him to talk about whether or not he knew her? I hardly believe that. What about the police?"

"They asked him, he said he didn't know her. When they asked why he sat with her, he said someone had to."

That struck a chord deep inside Erin. She hated leaving William alone, even when he was sleeping. She felt no one should ever have to be alone, even if they didn't know someone was with them.

"He was a good lad," Douglass said softly.

"But a complicated one. What happened when she woke up?"

"She was violent, uncontrollable. They suspected neural damage and organised a transfer to a specialist unit in the city. She was kept sedated while they waited for her to be transferred."

"And Hawkins? What did he do?"

"He stopped sitting with her. Didn't tell anyone why. She was transferred out a couple of days later. It was about a week later that Matt really began to deteriorate. I know it had something to do with that girl."

"Do you know where she was transferred to?"

"The Mentis Institute."

Only the most specialised psychiatric hospital in the state.

"Thank you, Mr Douglass. You've helped me a great deal."

"I hope you find Matt. He shouldn't be alone. No one should."

# Chapter 22

Erin decided to take another drive around the peninsular before heading back. She needed a moment to clear her thoughts. This case was messing with her head. Hawkins was a troubling character. He had experienced some things no one should ever have to, but that plenty of people did. He seemed to deal with them with violence, but somehow, he managed to leave behind people who still cared for him. Even if they didn't forgive him for his outbursts, they at least understood them.

She couldn't get the image out of her head of him sitting beside the bed of a comatose girl, staying there because he thought she needed someone, anyone, to be with her in the dark. Over it, she saw herself beside William's bed. She tried to blot it out, but couldn't.

Following the tourist drive signs brought her to a pub on the waterfront. Her stomach grumbled and she impulsively pulled into a park. The pub was busy and every table inside was taken. There was a vacant one on the deck, so she took her chips and steak out there and sat facing the water, sipping her beer and watching the waves break on the rocky shore.

"Calming, isn't it?"

She looked up, squinted into the sun. A man stood by her table, his hands full of lunch plate and beer as well.

"It's crowded today. Do you mind if I share your table?"

Erin glanced about. There were no other free seats anywhere. She sighed. "Sit down."

He sat opposite her, but to the side so she still had her view. "Thanks. I won't be long. I'm just catching a quick meal."

"Me too, so no worries." She picked at her chips.

Her unwanted lunch partner opened a magazine and began reading while he ate. He had dark blond hair, worn a bit too long so it fell thick and heavy to his shoulders. It didn't seem to have any product in it but it swept back off his forehead and only fell forward slightly as he leaned over his magazine. He absently ran a hand back through it, revealing how it had been trained backwards. His fingers were long, his hands broad. Under his long-sleeved work shirt he looked toned and fit, if a touch on the thin side.

"See anything you like?" He spoke without looking up. There was humour in his voice.

"Sorry. I wasn't staring."

He did look at her then, mouth stretched into a wide, unabashed grin that positively lit up his entire face. Hazel eyes sparkled with mischievousness. "Yes, you were. Didn't mind, though."

He was flirting with her. It had been so long since anyone had she didn't know what to do. But that was okay, he seemed to know. He held out his hand.

"Dave. And you are?"

"Erin." Her voice shook a bit, but she gripped his hand firmly.

"Pleased to meet you, Erin. I haven't seen you around here before. Are you local?"

"No, just out here on some business. You live in Redcliffe?"

"Yeah. Have for a while now. I was here some years back but had to leave. Couldn't stay away though. Love the life out here."

Erin found herself nodding. "Yes, it's very relaxed."

"Do you like seafood?"

Erin checked her watch. He'd been sitting there for ten minutes and he'd already worked his way up to asking about food? That usually preceded talk of dinners and dates. Wow. He worked fast.

"I'm not going to ask you on a date."

She stared at him. "What?"

There was that smile again. "You were wondering why I was asking if you liked seafood. You thought maybe I was working up a dinner proposal."

"Do you read minds, Dave?"

"Not so much. I read faces."

"And I have a face you can read like a book?"

He sat back, eyeing her pensively. "Like a braille book, maybe."

She wanted to toss her beer in his face, but all she could do was blush. Dave winced.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. Sometimes I say things without thinking."

Except that he had thought about it. Erin shrugged. "It's okay. I'm not used to the flirting game anymore."

"Married?"

"So, what sort of work are you in, Dave?" She leaned over the table to look at his magazine. "Werewolves?"

His grin was a little bashful this time. "Just some research."

Erin took the magazine and flicked through it. "Research in a magazine that also features articles on alien abductions, something called a chupacabra and declares that Elvis isn't dead, but living in Alaska training vampires into an army?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. Fun stuff."

"You believe in this?"

"Some people do."

"And you're researching it?"

He took back the magazine, folded it in half and put in his back pocket. "Maybe I'm writing a book."

"Fiction or non-fiction?"

"Wouldn't it be fiction either way?"

Erin couldn't stop the smile. "You have an amazing ability to not answer any questions."

"You're no slouch yourself. So, Erin. What do you do?"

"Real estate."

"Really? Interesting. Private or commercial."

"Commercial."

"Interested in Redcliffe are you?"

"I have a client who is, yes."

"See anything interesting?"

"Just one thing."

Erin leaned forward, looked him directly in the eyes. One thing she'd learned in the police force was that staring someone in the eyes was a sure fire way to intimidate them. No one liked it much. It was too intimate a thing to be shared between strangers. She'd trained herself to do it and laid it on this man without hesitation.

And he returned it. He didn't blink, didn't look away. He just stared right back.

His eyes weren't just hazel. They were clear cut green around his pupils, darkening to light brown at the edges, with flecks of each colour scattered throughout. They were bloodshot but bright and it felt as if he reached out through them and touched her.

Erin pulled back with a gasp. A shiver went down her spine, but it wasn't an unpleasant one.

"Sorry," Dave said softly.

She focused on the water behind him, not quite sure what had happened, or what he was apologising for. She'd started it, after all. Her experience told her he shouldn't have met the challenge, he should have looked away first.

Before she could recover, he was standing up.

"I should go."

She wanted to tell him to stay, but something kept her mouth shut.

"It was good to meet you, Erin. I hope I didn't disturb your lunch too much."

He left and she couldn't watch him walk away.

"You okay, miss?"

Erin jerked at the touch on her shoulder. The bar tender stood beside her.

"I saw the way he was staring at you," he said, frowning. "Did he say anything to upset you?"

"No, he didn't. It's okay."

"I just wanted to make sure. He's a bit of a hot spark sometimes." Reassured of her wellbeing, he walked away.

"I bet he is," Erin whispered. Then she was out of her chair and racing after Matthew Hawkins.

She caught sight of him just as he slipped into a black Monaro. He was too far away for her to catch, parked in the opposite direction from her own car. If she went back for it, he would well and truly be gone. He pulled out and headed away from the water. The number plate, NYT CLL, flashed in the sunlight.

"Damn it." She slowed to a stop and caught her breath.

What did it mean to him that he would take something he hated and put it on his car like that? She pulled out her phone and called the office.

"Night call," she snapped at Ivan before he could say anything. "Not cell. Call. Look it up now."

There was a staccato of typing. "Ah, let's see. There was an episode of The Twilight Zone called Night Call. And an agency that specialises in night call nurses. Other than that, no direct hits. How did you find out?"

"Ivan, I just met him."

"What?"

Erin held the phone away from her head while he screamed some more. "Shut up! I can't believe I sat there with him for all that time and didn't realise. He knows I'm after him. He knows me. He came to me deliberately."

"Erin, what did he say? What did he do?"

Walking back to her car, she decided she would follow the street he took and see where it got her. "He flirted with me. He knew who I was and he tried to charm me."

There was a speculative pause. "Did it work?"

"Of course not. I'm married."

Ivan snorted. "Like that matters. I think it did work. You sound really shaky."

"If I'm shaky it's because I'm an idiot for letting him slip through my hands."

"Yeah. You could have jumped him then and there, kept him pinned down."

There was entirely too much innuendo in Ivan's voice for Erin to ignore, but all she could do was blush.

"What are you doing now?" he asked as more typing sounds came through.

"I'm going to follow his getaway path. Just in case."

"In case he's waiting for you at the next corner? Think he might want you to follow him?"

"It's a possibility. He did present himself to me."

"Keep in touch. If he starts leading you onto a back road or anywhere dark, don't follow!"

"Yes, Ivan. Thank you. Call if you discover anything."

She got into her car and followed his vanishing trail. The street led straight into a suburb full of modern homes backed onto canals. There were docks and boats everywhere but no sign of a black Monaro. She drove down random side streets and peered up driveways and found nothing. There had been no true expectation she would find him waiting for her, or that she would be lucky enough to catch sight of him if he didn't want her to. Still, it cut to lose him after so briefly having him.

Erin believed him when he said he lived in Redcliffe. He hadn't actually lied to her at all, she felt. And maybe he'd told her something else as well. She called Ivan back.

"I haven't got anything yet," he announced immediately.

"That's okay. Don't give me any shit over this, but I want you to check out things like werewolves or vampires or aliens in connection to the 'night call'."

She waited for the outburst of laughing. It didn't come.

"No problem. Anything else? Was he waiting for you?"

Erin stared at the phone to make sure she was talking to the right Ivan. "You accept the supernatural angle just like that?"

"Yeah. I mean, why not?"

"Because it's not real?"

"Can you prove that?"

She sighed. "Whatever. Just look it up. I'll be back soon."

"So he wasn't waiting to lead you into a darkened room?"

Erin hung up.

Ivan had some good news when she got back to the office.

"Found a mention of Night Call," he announced proudly. There was an empty Chinese box on the desk beside his computer and he seemed brighter.

"Where?"

"On a message board. Weirdoteens dot com. Seems like a place for emos and Goths and they talk about suicide and death and stuff."

Erin winced. "Really? That's just sad. Where did our guy come into it?"

"A message posted a couple of weeks back asking if anyone knew about Night Call. The poster said that his dog was acting strange and he suspected it to be a werewolf. Apparently, he'd heard somewhere about this Night Call guy who helped people solve supernatural problems. He wanted to know if anyone knew if it was legit."

"A dog turning into a werewolf? That kind of makes sense, really."

Ivan stared at her. "Really?"

"Yeah, why not? I mean, wolves and dogs are closely related. Why wouldn't they get together, and you know, do stuff?"

"Do stuff?"

"I don't know. Make little werewolves or something."

"You don't know anything about werewolves, do you."

Erin scowled. "I saw that Hugh Jackman movie."

"Oh, that is like the worst werewolf depiction ever. You need to see something classic. _An American Werewolf in London_. Or _The Howling_. Then you wouldn't say dogs and werewolves went off to make little werewolves."

She belted him lightly on the head. "Go mousse your hair or something."

"The guy didn't get a lot of helpful replies. No one seemed to know anything about Night Call but they seemed to find his theory about his dog pretty funny. A bit later on, after a lot of 'you're dreaming' replies, the kid comes back and tells them how he heard about Night Call."

"How?"

"In the Fringe Bar."

"Hawkins works out of bars?"

"No. At least I don't think so. This kid says he was at the bar, talking to someone about his dog when this 'old guy' overhears and gives him a card."

Erin sat on the desk. "He doesn't give out any of the details on the card?"

"Just that it said 'Night Call, for things that go bump in the dark', and a guy's name and number."

"Presumably Matthew Hawkins." She couldn't believe it. How complicated could this guy make his life? "Are you familiar with the Fringe?"

"Am I gay?"

"Right. Go home and get your game face on. You're taking me out tonight."

# Chapter 23

I wandered out to the dock and sat at the edge, dangling my feet in the water. Wow. Now that was a head rush. I hadn't actually stared right into someone's eyes like that in a long, long time. When they said the eyes were the windows to the soul, they were right. You could look right inside a person and see so much. Done with the right person and it could almost get orgasmic.

Without thought, I slid off the dock and into the cold water.

The canals were saltwater and really shouldn't be swum in. There were all sorts of nasties coming in from the open ocean: jelly fish, sharks, the occasional saltwater crocodile. But when you're desperate...

I hauled myself out before anything could look at me and think 'food'. The sun felt good, so I lay down and closed my eyes, letting it burn red on the inside of my eyelids. Still saw Erin there, though. She was... how could I say it? Electric. Dynamic. Open. Alive. But hidden. There was this great big part of her she locked away. And it was an important part. I didn't know what it was, but I wanted to find out.

And her flavour. I mean, wow. The sugary crispness of ripe honeydew melon, the touch of a Moscato's harsher sweetness, the double bitter bite of coffee beans covered in silky, rich, decadent dark chocolate. It was complex and intoxicating, a deeper, richer flavour than any vampire. They were all monotonal blandness next to this.

Somehow, I didn't think I was going to forget Erin any time soon.

Man. What a thing to happen. Now of all times.

I hadn't meant to go over when I recognised her. My head was like let's get out of here, but my legs were all, no way man, she's after you, find out what you can. And there I was, sitting at her table, grinning like some simple minded fool, flirting like there was no tomorrow. And she hadn't recognised me. Not until the end there. I could have walked away right at the start and stayed safely anonymous. Instead I blundered right in and messed everything up.

Still damp, I went inside and back to the books. I hadn't managed to eat much and my stomach grumbled. My head ached, whether from the lack of food or Erin's intense eyes, I didn't know. They were this fantastic array of blue and grey and silver and I had liked the way she looked at me when she didn't know me. There had been this almost coy sultriness in them, tinged with a little wildness, as if she wasn't in complete control. My imagination went off in all directions thinking about her out of control.

Argh. This wasn't getting any work done.

Just in case she was hanging about the 'Cliffe, I took the motorbike out. Bypassing the pub I went to a little Italian place on the waterfront up the road a bit. I got a pizza and ate it out on the pier. There were a couple of old guys fishing and a woman with two toddlers. I kept looking back toward shore, didn't know why, but guessed it had something to do with maybe wondering if Erin had tracked me down again.

Sated, I went home and kept reading. The books I had on weres were all thick, big things with lots of pictures, some of them pretty graphic. It seemed that no one felt so so about were-creatures. They either loved and romanticised them—the tragically cursed man or woman who fought valiantly against their alternate natures only to fail and be killed by their lover, brother, mother, you name it. Or there were those who could only proclaim their utter evilness—men so violent in their souls it took them over, turned them into vicious, rampaging animals that slaughtered without discrimination.

Yeah, that one touched a little too close to home.

The were phenomenon wasn't confined to wolves, though they seem to be the most popular. Given the variety of ways a person could be turned into an animal, partially or fully, it was not surprising to learn the variety of animals you could turn into was as broad as the ecology. There were records of werewolves, weretigers, werelions, werebears and were-just-about-any-predator-you-could-think-of. It seemed big, powerful animals with lots of teeth and claws were the were-creatures of choice. But there was also mention of wereswans, wereowls, werehorses, wereantelope and so forth and so on.

But nowhere did it mention animals turning into were-animals.

I gave it up for a pointless effort, thought about calling Tony back and telling him it was a bust. Didn't though. Couldn't face the thought of hearing him be disappointed in me. I had another day to do something more productive on it, so I didn't burn my bridges yet.

On to the other problem.

Kermit had said he thought Saif had come from the east, on the river. East was the mouth of the Brisbane River. I pulled out my street directory and checked it out. A lot of industrial area. Good place to find an empty warehouse or building to hole up with a big mess of vampires. I mightn't have the whole of Brisbane to look in any more, but Kermit hadn't exactly pinpointed it to an actual street or suburb. Still, I had a vampire detection kit.

Issue was, did I feel comfortable letting it back out of the cage?

Maybe I would be able to think clearer after a rest. Didn't really think I would sleep, but lying down seemed like a good idea.

I did sleep. I dreamed even. Of Erin. Depending on your point of view, they were either fantastic dreams or really, really bad ones. Either way, I woke up with a smile and... ah ha, something else. I grabbed a quick hot and cold shower, hot for the knee, cold for the... yeah.

My head was clearer. On certain things, that was. I grabbed a bag of blood from the hidden fridge, went to Mercy's room and unlocked the door. She was still asleep and would be for a while longer, but I had this niggling little desire to show her I did still trust her. Falling off the bag-of-blood-wagon last night hadn't been her fault. She hadn't killed the guy (yes, I was ignoring the whole interrupted-before-she-could deal) and she had done very well in getting my arse out of a tight spot. For that at least, she needed some reward.

I put the bag on the arm of the chair by the bed and let my fingers trail over the dark hair. It was silky soft and warm. Not what you would expect from an instinctual killer. She was fanatical about her shampoo and that was one of the many reasons I hadn't put her down.

Roberts showed up not long later.

"What's the plan for tonight?" he asked as if the phone conversation that morning had been a totally different one.

I was more than willing to buy into the delusion. We sat down at the kitchen table with a map of the Port of Brisbane, red pens and rulers. I got him up to speed on things while we laid down a search grid on the areas I wanted to check out. Roberts was pretty quiet throughout, only speaking once I'd been done for a couple of minutes.

"You like her."

"Sorry. What?"

"This investigator chick. You like her."

I put down my ruler and stared at him, hoping he didn't hear the uncertainty in my voice. "I spent maybe fifteen minutes with her, and she thought I was someone else. Hardly time to decide if I like her."

"Pah. If you got out more, with humans, not Mercy or ghouls or whatever, you would realise that fifteen minutes is more than enough time. Five minutes after saying hello to Gale and I was ready to lay down my life for her."

I snorted. "You were not. More like just lay down."

"Well, okay. But I sure knew I wanted to get to know her better. I'm betting that you, a misguided, tragically romantic fool, would throw yourself in front of a bus for this woman."

"That's nothing. I'd throw myself in front of a bus for you. And you're not my type."

"Yeah, but you'd think about it first. And you asked her if she liked seafood."

"So? I was making conversation."

"No, you weren't. You were gearing up to the old 'I know this little restaurant' line."

"No, I was going to tell her about how Redcliffe has some great seafood on offer. If she liked it. You know, being nice and welcoming to the out of towners. It's called being polite, Roberts, look it up." Snatching up my ruler, I slapped it down on the map, mere millimetres from Roberts' fingers. He jerked back and scowled at me.

"Me, Erin and buses have nothing to do with what's happening tonight. Can we concentrate on that, please?"

"Who's Erin?" Mercy wandered into the kitchen. Her hair was sleep tousled and she yawned so wide her fangs looked particularly huge. She wore one of my old Divinyls T-shirts.

I pointed to the corner of my mouth. She got the hint and licked the smear of blood off her lips.

I glanced at the window. The sun was barely down. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep anymore." She was listless, falling into a chair at the table and slouching back.

"Erin's Matt's new girlfriend," Roberts said.

Mercy's dark eyes flashed. "Girlfriend?"

I glared at Roberts. "No, she's not. She's just a woman who's looking for us, Mercy. I don't know why and if we have any luck, we'll never see her again."

She looked between us, suspicious. "Is she with the Reds?"

"No." I told Mercy about the hit on the Ipswich house and how Erin was caught in the middle of it. "I believe she's separate."

"Why didn't you ask her why she's looking for us?"

"My question exactly." Roberts' eyes glimmered with the urge to tease but he kept his trap shut, thankfully. I didn't think I could handle a jealous vampire at the moment.

"There wasn't time and I didn't want her to recognise me."

"But she did," Mercy said.

I pushed away from the table. "She did. Merce, you hungry?"

It wasn't a change of topic. It _was_ a guilty question inspired by my worry Mercy would want to chow down on any neck she saw.

She shook her head and patted her belly. "Watching my waist line. If I eat any more I'll get a blood belly."

Roberts choked on his Coke.

"Go get ready. We're going hunting, Mercy."

She bounced out of her chair. "Hunting at clubs?"

"No, in the industrial parks around the port."

"That doesn't sound like fun. Why can't we go dancing?"

Dancing. Mercy loved it. I didn't think it was a vampire thing. I'd certainly never seen another blood sucking fiend on the floor at any club I'd been to. It was probably a left over from her previous life, which both disturbed me, because there was so little she actually remembered, and encouraged me. Maybe I was doing the right thing with her if she could remember even that much.

"No dancing," I said.

She deflated.

"Probably. Dress appropriate for both activities."

Which was like giving her the keys to the blood fridge. Open licence, man. She clapped her hands, gave me a hug (tricky business that, she'd broken ribs in the past) and dashed off to her room. The shower was going before I'd even sat down again.

"You sure about that?" Roberts asked.

"Last night wasn't her fault."

"So you're not worried at all?" The question was so loaded it would have been confiscated at a rifle appreciation club meeting.

"One little mishap. I won't let it happen again. Besides, it was due to circumstances out of my control."

I knew Roberts knew it was all just so much bullshit. Thankfully, he didn't mention that he knew, knowing that I already knew that he knew and that because we both knew, there was nothing to talk about.

"What about the Reds?" he asked instead.

"They're not going to attack in a club."

Roberts shrugged. "You only say that because they never have in the past. But they've never tried to bargain with you before, either. This is different, man. All the old rules are out the window and run over by an eighteen wheeler."

"What did the cops say about your apartment?" Now that was a conversation change.

"The usual. They'll do everything they can, but without much to go on, don't get your hopes up. Spent the afternoon putting in insurance claims. Now that right there is pure evil. Forget your vampires and trolls. Insurance paperwork is the Devil's toilet paper."

We finished our search grid and then girded our loins for war. Roberts had picked me up a new paintball gun. Or should I say paintball semi-automatic assault rifle. Wowsers. The thing was like something out of a cop movie, you know, in the great big blow out at the end, when all bets are off and the two hardened, bloodied cops pull out the serious toys and just go to freakin' town? Every boy needed one of these things.

Mercy came out just when the heavy lifting was done. She might be a vampire, but she's still a woman, too. We'd packed our gear in the back of Roberts' Prado and both of us leaned against the car and watched the vampire approach.

I think she was wearing shorts. Could have been denim undies, though, for all that they barely covered her butt. There were fishnet stockings and knee-high boots with heels thick enough to crush necks. On top, she had on a t-shirt with the slogan 'You're just jealous because the little voices are speaking to me'. That wouldn't have been so bad on its own, but it was approximately two sizes too small. And Mercy wasn't wearing a bra.

Roberts swallowed hard.

"Is that what you're wearing out?" I demanded.

Mercy perused herself. "Yes."

"I said something appropriate to both hunting and maybe, possibly, very slim chance of dancing." I waved at her outfit. "That's... it's... Jesus, Merce, it's hardly there at all."

She put a fist on one hip and stuck said hip out at me like a challenge. "I've seen you watching those music film clips. You like this kind of outfit."

Roberts snickered.

"Sure, in film clips. But I can't have you out there looking like that. Every Y chromosome in the place is going to go crazy."

"Um, actually," Roberts murmured. "Probably not. You haven't been out in a while. That is pretty much what a lot of girls are wearing these days."

"Way to help, mate." I turned back to Mercy. "What if we find a mob of vampires? Hmm?"

She displayed her boot. "Got my vamp stamping boots on."

Roberts snorted, then damn near collapsed in absolute gales of laughter. I ran a hand through my hair.

"I've lost this argument, haven't I?" I asked the world in general.

"Never had a chance," Roberts gasped. "Come on, let's get going."

# Chapter 24

It had been years since Erin had walked into a club in civilian clothes. She had spent some time in them while in her police uniform, but this was an entirely different thing. No one shifted nervously or displayed open hostility. No one got out of her way, either. She had to shoulder her way through the crowds, wait while others shoved in front of her and stand trapped between three guys working out where they would meet up later. They didn't seem to notice her wedged in the middle of their conclave. Ivan and Brad on the other hand...

Brad had insisted on coming out with her and Ivan. He'd actually insisted Ivan stay home while he took Erin out, but Ivan wouldn't be left out of it. And the pair of them had a magical ability to just ease on through the claustrophobic room, slipping this way and that as if they had some preternatural sense of where a space would open up and allow them through.

Erin eventually battled her way to the bar and Ivan and Brad shifted so she could squeeze in between them.

"My God, is it always like this?" Erin asked, voice raised over the music and shouting.

"It's Friday, so yeah," Brad replied. He leaned over the bar and caught the eye of a girl furiously serving drinks and held up three fingers. She may have shouted something that was his name and a greeting, but Erin couldn't hear it. When the bartender had finished with her customer, she pulled three water bottles from a fridge and handed them over to Brad, taking his money without checking.

Grabbing her water and taking a long drink, Erin surveyed the Fringe Bar. It was a good looking place, portioned off into different areas, some with couches and seats, others with tables and chairs. There was a crowded dance floor and a couple of equally busy bars.

"What's the game plan?" Ivan asked, leaning in to talk directly into her ear.

"I guess we just start talking about weird stuff. Hope the right person overhears."

Brad ran a careful hand over his spiked, bleached blond hair and frowned. "Werewolves and vampires and stuff? My reputation is going to get shot in one night."

"You didn't have to come," Ivan said to him.

"Whatever. We sticking together or splitting up?"

"Stick together I guess," Erin said. "We can talk amongst ourselves. Better that than starting up a conversation with a stranger about this stuff."

"Righto. Let's go somewhere more talk friendly."

Brad and Ivan slithered their way to the Indigo Lounge. Erin followed in their wake, trying to work out how they did it. By the time they reached the alcove she still had no idea.

The Indigo Lounge was furnished sparsely with low, purplish brown couches and stools and lit by long blue lights. The three of them squeezed onto one end of a long, curved couch. There were about a dozen people lounging about in groups of three or four, talking and laughing and sipping drinks. Erin felt severely underdressed, but when she'd temporarily moved out of home she hadn't expected to go clubbing. The best she could do was a new pair of jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt. It wasn't too bad, according to Ivan, but it certainly wasn't what the cool people were wearing. Ivan and Brad had gussied themselves up into their grungy best, which meant jeans and T-shirts, but somehow they made it look completely different to Erin's outfit.

"So, here we are," Ivan said blandly.

"Yeah. We're here," Brad replied.

Erin groaned. Looked like it was up to her to start the potentially embarrassing discussion. Well, they'd pay for it. She turned to Ivan.

"Ivan, how's your aunt? You said she got bitten by a dog a couple of weeks back."

Ivan glared at her. Brad hid a smile behind his water bottle.

"She's great," Ivan said, his voice intentionally loud. "Of course, she's been acting awfully strange lately. Very irrational."

"Jeez," Brad whispered. "For a guy who wants to be an actor, you're doing a really crap job."

Erin jabbed Brad in the ribs and gave him a pointed look. He looked contrite, then said, "Irrational, huh? In what way?"

"Oh, you know, foaming at the mouth, being violent. That sort of stuff."

"That's rabies," Erin muttered.

"I panicked! I can't do this without a script or rehearsal time."

They'd garnered some curious and mildly perplexed looks, so Erin herded the boys out of there and they tried the Velvet Lounge. It went better, though it didn't net them a card with Night Call's details, so they moved back to the main bar. Here, they repeated their little act each time the faces around them switched out for new ones. After about an hour, the bartender who'd given Brad the drinks came over.

"Couldn't help but overhear what you've been talking about," she said, tone flat, gaze pointed. "If you're after Roberts, he isn't in tonight."

"Roberts? Would that be Robert Robertson?" Erin asked the bar tender.

"Dunno. He just calls himself Roberts. He's a rep for a couple of companies. Comes in with freebies and competitions and stuff. He also takes an interest in strange conversations, like the one you guys have been having over and over." She added the last in a dry voice.

"You don't know if he'll be in tonight?"

She shrugged. "He keeps his own schedule. Sometimes he's here, sometimes he's not. If you're going to wait, I'll send him over if he comes in."

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that."

"Well, well," Brad said. "Bit of luck there. You know, I could have just asked Jodie in the first place and we wouldn't have had to make fools of ourselves."

Erin ignored him. "It's about time we caught some luck on this case," she said to Ivan.

"What are you talking about? You got lucky at lunch. He fell right into your lap. But you let him get away because his flirting embarrassed you."

Maybe she'd do better to ignore them both. She slid off her stool. "I'm going to the toilet."

The line for the ladies was pretty long, but Erin waited it out and finally got in. She was coming out when a giant of a man bumped into her. It sent her into the wall with enough force to knock some of the air out of her. A big hand snapped out and caught her elbow, holding her steady.

"I am so sorry," the man rumbled in a deep voice. "Are you all right?"

Erin nodded. "I'm fine, thanks. Maybe you could just look where you're going from now on."

"Allow me to buy you a drink to make up for it."

She looked him over properly. He was tall and wide, but in a solid, muscular manner. His hand wrapped around her arm and his fingers overlapped. He wore a long, black coat over a pair of dark pants that looked like the bottom half of a karate gi and a dark silk shirt. He was perhaps pushing the upper end of his thirties, with pale, smooth skin and thick masses of dark, curling hair. Nice, but...

"No thanks. I'm with some friends." She began to walk away.

"I know."

That stopped her. "Sorry?"

"I saw you at the bar with your friends" He put a slight emphasis on the last word, made it sound dubious. "They did not strike me as suitable companions for yourself." His gaze deliberately and languidly dropped down over her body and back up. "You need someone more capable of protecting you from the world."

Erin tried not to laugh in his... pectorals. She was nowhere near tall enough to laugh in his face. "And you're the man for the job? Please. The last guy who flirted with me at least offered me a seafood dinner."

The big guy planted a hand on the wall behind her and leaned over. Erin reached for her gun, which she'd left in the office.

"But could he protect you from werewolves?"

Goosebumps rose on her skin and a little chill went down her spine. "Werewolves?"

"Isn't that what you and your... friends were talking about at the bar?"

Erin swallowed, trying to disperse the sudden tension in her neck. "We were. You know about them?"

"I do." He smiled, slow and deliberate. "I also know about Night Call."

Heart thumping, Erin asked, "Can you tell me about him?"

He nodded. "Not here though. Somewhere quiet."

"I'll meet you outside in ten minutes." Erin ducked under his arm. "What's your name?"

"You can call me Martin." His hand snaked out and caught her arm again. "I will escort you out now."

"I have to get my friends." She tried to break his hold but while it wasn't tight, it was firm. "Let me go."

He pulled her back and shoved her against the wall. There was nothing she could do. He probably weighed nearly twice as much as she did and he was all muscle. His body pushed against her, pinning her in place, his head bowed close to her neck. To anyone around them, they looked like any other intimate couple catching a quiet moment away from the noise.

"Get off me." Fear made her voice grate. She tried to push him off but she may as well have been pushing against a brick wall. "I'll scream if you don't fucking move right now."

"Now, Erin, is that anyway to talk to me?"

His voice dropped even lower, rumbling through his chest. It rolled over her, making her shiver from shoulders to toes. Her body loosened against her will, relaxed into his.

"Much better. We are going to walk out of here now. You are not going to talk to your friends, you are not going to talk to anyone else. Do you understand?"

Did he even need to ask? She nodded.

Martin leaned down and pressed his mouth to her neck. "Good. Let us leave."

They cut straight through the crowd with no problems. People just melted out of Martin's way and Erin trotted along in his wake, one hand held firmly in his. It felt so good, so secure. He would protect her from werewolves. He would keep her safe from everything.

Outside, the night air was chilly. She shivered and Martin tucked her into the side of his big coat, close to the heat of his body, guiding her down the street. People were everywhere, walking from one club to the next, hailing taxis, calling to each other across the street. As in the bar, they automatically moved out the way, giving Martin a wide berth. Erin smiled. She was the one with him, not them. Poor souls.

They turned up a side road. It was dark and narrow but Martin was there, he would keep her safe. In the deepest shadows, he stopped and pushed her against the wall. She pulled him to her, reaching up to put her arms around his thick neck. He put a big hand on the small of her back, holding her still with frightful ease. She moaned. He was so strong.

"Tell me about the Night Caller," he whispered.

"I don't know any Night Caller."

"Yes you do. You've been trying to find him. Who are you working for?"

"Mm... I work for Sol Investigations. I'm tracking down a missing person." And she'd met him, today, at lunch. He'd smiled at her. A beautiful, wide smile that transformed his face into something bright and fun and sexy.

Erin gasped. Hawkins. She was supposed to be asking this guy about him, not the other way around. Then she realised where she was, how she was standing.

"Oh my God." She shoved against Martin. "How did I get here? What are you doing?"

Martin hissed and held her tighter. He grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at him. Holy crap. His eyes were silver, reflective.

"You have a strong mind," he muttered, searching her face. "Or something else broke the compulsion."

"Compulsion?" Erin tried to look away, but he wouldn't budge. He was so strong. Her stomach dropped in fear.

Those bright, glittering eyes narrowed. Something cold washed over her. It tingled over her skin, sapped all the strength from her body. Her eyes unfocused and it suddenly became very hard to think.

"Tell me about Night Call."

She didn't want to, she shouldn't. There was the matter of client confidentiality. Mrs Veilchen wouldn't like it if she told this guy about Matthew Hawkins. Poor Hawkins. What horrible things he'd been through. But he was a violent man, too. So much anger inside of him. It was sad.

"Who is Mrs Veilchen?"

How did he know about her client? Strange woman. Remote, very cold. Great shoes though. Erin wished she could afford such shoes. She wouldn't be stuck wearing her thick heeled, practical work shoes to nightclubs if she could afford something as nice as those strappy little things Mrs Veilchen had on. She pictured the shoes, then the long legs, the thin body, elegantly narrow face and don't forget those ridiculously large sunglasses.

Martin sucked in a sharp breath. She jerked against him, his hand pulling her hair, exposing her neck. He grazed his teeth over the skin of her throat.

"Where can I find Hawkins?"

Where? She had no bloody idea. The man was too good at covering his trail. Too good at disappearing without a trace. And then he had the nerve to just drop out of the blue and flirt with her. It had been so beautiful at that pub on the beach. Redcliffe was so peaceful. Maybe she should go back there and sit at the pub and wait for him. He would come back, surely. That smile. She wanted to see that smile again.

"Thank you, Erin," Martin whispered against her neck. Her whole body shook. "You've been very helpful."

He licked the pulse under her left ear and made a thick, rumbling sound deep in his throat. Then his mouth opened and she pressed herself into his bite.

# Chapter 25

"You know, I don't think this is working," Roberts muttered. He turned the car down another street. "If they're here, wouldn't Mercy have sensed them by now? We've been all over this place. I'm running low on petrol."

I shone the torch at the map. "You should have filled up when I said."

He grumbled something I couldn't be bothered listening too. Four hours of Roberts bitching was more than enough for me. I was starting to think I shouldn't have called him and just come out in the Monaro. But there was no way in hell I would ever put roof racks on the Monaro, and Mercy did like to have something to hold on to.

I thumped the base of the torch into the roof of the car. Roberts scowled at me.

Mercy's face appeared in my window, upside down, curling hair tossing in the wind created by the moving car.

"Get anything?" I asked her.

"Nope."

"Not even a cold?"

Mercy was good at acting human, but some things still slipped past her. Sarcasm was one of them.

"Don't get sick, remember," she told me firmly. "Can we go dancing now?"

"Hey, that's a good idea," Roberts muttered. "Let's do that."

"But we haven't found anything yet." I glared at the map, daring it to keep hiding Big Red from me.

"Did it ever occur to you that the ghoul lied? I mean, he had just helped in your capture and imprisonment. And he'd almost let his friend eat your face off. That he would tell a big fat fib is within the grounds of possibility."

Mercy nodded along, her hair flickering in the window to tickle my face. I shoved it out of my way.

"I suppose, but he sounded sincere. The second time at least. And this would be a good place to hole up."

"Yeah, but it's not exactly an easy amount of ground to cover in one night. They could be on the north side of the river too."

I waved at the clock on the dash. "It's only eleven o'clock. We've got hours of darkness left."

"But no petrol. Come on, man. We've gone down every street, parked in every driveway, been chased out of most places and nearly had the cops called out on our arses. Give it up for tonight, plan for the north side and we'll do it tomorrow night. Besides, I really should show my face somewhere, to at least pretend I'm doing my job."

Mercy looked at me hopefully. I looked between them, trying to glare. It was hard, especially with Mercy's little upside down face staring at me so hopefully. Roberts was right. We'd found nothing. There wasn't a lot on the north side of the river at the mouth. Kermit had most likely lied to me. Stupid ghoul. Stupider Matt for even considering he might have been telling the truth.

"You really got nothing?" I asked Mercy.

She swung down off the roof and right through the rear window. "Nothing."

"Seems I'm destined to not win anything tonight." I sighed. "Okay, let's go."

Somehow Roberts had enough petrol left to warrant a gratuitous rev of the engine as he headed back toward the city like Big Red himself was hanging off the towbar. I studied the map during the trip, still wanting Kermit to be right. If he'd lied, I was right back at the beginning, with no idea where Big Red was. He'd found me the other night, which would indicate he could do it again. If I couldn't find him and do some pre-emptive arse toasting, I suppose I would just have to go huge on the defensive.

I needed more paint.

Roberts stopped for petrol and got me a king sized Snickers. I forgave him his surliness, then went back to studying the map. By the time I gave up and folded the map away, we were cruising along Vulture Street.

"West End?" I asked Roberts.

"Yeah, haven't shown my face here for a while."

In the back seat, Mercy was humming. She had the window rolled down and was very nearly hanging out of it like dog. I turned to look out the window, but really wanted to keep an eye on her from the corner of my eye. While I was pretty certain she wouldn't get hungry too soon, I had been wrong before. Not often, mind. She watched the people on the footpaths, frowning or smiling at the various activities she observed. A guy waved at her and she just stared back. The next person to wave, she returned it. A new learned response? Or just my vampire growing up? It was hard to know which was more desirable.

All this time I'd been set in my thinking Mercy was just a better trained animal than the wild vampires. Now I had Aurum's perspective to consider as well, that age adds breadth to the wild vampire's abilities to blend in, to act more human. Perhaps all my discipline with Mercy was just bypassing the natural path, accelerating her progress. Was that what the Reds wanted us for? If they could speed up the rate at which their young vampires became more autonomously successful then their army would grow and become stronger quicker than that of the other clans.

Argh. It was all too much to take in so fast. I just had to find a way to get Big Red off my arse. And really, about the only way I could think to do that was toast the mother. Thing was, had to find him first. Or sit around looking pretty and vulnerable until he came running. I'll take option number one, thanks, Larry.

"Where are we going?" I asked Roberts.

"I thought I'd hit the –"

Mercy hissed in a sharp breath.

I spun around to look at her. "What is it?"

She crouched on the back seat, hands on the door, ready to throw herself through the open window and pounce. Her eyes were silver, flashing with the reflections of street lights and neon signs.

"Something big," she growled. "Old. Strong."

Roberts glanced at me, worried.

Yeah, I had a sinking feeling too. "Vampire?"

A desperate, vicious snarl was Mercy's response. I took it as a yes. Nothing quite grabbed her goat like another vampire. I figured it as part of the whole clan deal. Reds liked Reds, but didn't like Yellows, Oranges or Blues. Mercy, being until recently clanless, didn't like any of them. Guess we were clan Hawkins now. Maybe we could be the ultra-marines, or cyan, or puce.

"Is it still here?" I asked, looking around furiously for Big Red.

Mercy shook her head. "Stale. Gone now."

"Can you track him?"

"Aw man," Roberts moaned. "Now I'll never get any work done."

Mercy began climbing out of the window. I nearly broke my back and did strain several important things reaching around to hold her back.

"What are you doing?"

"Chase," she snapped at me, her fangs coming awfully close to my hand. "Track, fight. Kill."

"Whoa, she's in a mood." Roberts quickly turned us down a less busy side street. People had started to stare.

"She's got a point though. If she can track him tonight, this could all be over before dawn. We packed for vamp-ageddon anyway. May as well get some use from that sweet new gun you got me."

Meanwhile, Mercy was quivering in my hands. She was like a dog that could see its favourite toy in your hand, waiting, just waiting, anticipating, salivating over the moment you were going to throw it. There was no freaking way I was actually holding her back by mere strength alone. She could have broken my arms as soon as look at me, but she contained herself, just barely, because I still held the toy.

Roberts gave me the it's-your-choice look.

She was hot for the hunt, but it was different to last night. Then, she'd been charging out of hunger. Tonight, it was territorial, or something very much like it. She would latch onto this potential threat and ignore everything else. Probably.

No. Definitely. She was well fed, she was focused on the trail. It would be all good. Except for whatever we found at the end of the trail.

"Fly, my pretty," I screeched and let Mercy go.

She was gone in a heartbeat, moving so fast she was a blur in the corner of my eye before the touch of her faded from my hands. I sat back and pulled out my phone.

Way back when Mercy was just a little tucker of a vampire, she'd run away several times. Twice I'd spent the whole night chasing her down the old fashioned way. You know, running madly through the streets asking strangers if they'd seen a petite blood sucking fiend with curly black hair whiz by. That, or just look for the trail of stunned and scared people left in her wake. Twice more still, she'd made her own way home, bloody from fights she hadn't been strong enough to win, weak from overindulging in the wrong blood groups. When we'd hooked up with Roberts, he'd tuned me in to the easy way of tracking a speed freak of a vampire.

He'd low-jacked her.

Evolving technology was one of those things that moved too fast for otherwise preoccupied people like me to keep up with. I'm sure its open-the-box-before-it's-outdated nature was the result of demonic forces. It was too diabolical for humans to manufacture. Still, it was nice to know it could help. Nice to know someone who could understand it all and then show me what button to push.

The GPS program on my phone had been tuned into her signal. A map popped up on the screen, a little square telling me where we were, a flashing dot telling me where we wanted to be. Real time satellite downloads had nothing on a vampire at speed, so the tiny Mercy-marker jerked across the screen in a wide zigzag pattern. I watched until three consecutive flashes of the dot went in the same direction.

"That way." I pointed back up the street we'd turned down.

Roberts got the car turned around and we began following Mercy as she hunted.

It was a frustrating half hour. Mercy didn't use roads. Know that saying, as the crow flies? Crows, vampires, same difference. We ended up the wrong way up one-way streets, in dead-end alleys and doing more than one illegal u-turn. At one point, swearing like the proverbial, Roberts simply took the centre island between lanes like it was a speed bump, earning us an impressive symphony of horn honks, and it wasn't because the other drivers were horny. Quite the opposite I would hazard. Needless to say, I had one hand holding the phone, the other had a death grip on a panic handle and I wished for a third to cover my eyes.

"That," Roberts shouted at me, "is why you need a four-wheel drive in the city. Not that pussy little low rider thing you got to compensate for whatever it is you think you lack."

"Yeah, but in my car I'm more likely to get what I lack than in a freaking great big tank. Watch the light pole!"

Roberts swerved. "Where is she heading now? I have four turning lane options coming up."

I peered at the phone. "Go left."

"Fan-bloody-tastic. Into the city."

It was a nightmare. But a short one. We ended up in Fortitude Valley. The Mercy-marker slowed down and began a more detailed search. She was closing in. Roberts parked near the China Town Mall, we geared up and then hot-footed it down Ann Street. When we were on top of the dot showing Mercy's location, we stood outside the Fringe Bar.

Panting, Roberts said, "Well, she did want to go dancing."

"She's not here to dance. Big Red's in there."

"Are you certain? I mean, what if this was just a scam to get here?"

"She's not that intuitive. There's no way she could conceive of doing such a thing, let alone carrying it out so convincingly. When something gets in her head, that's all she can think about. If she'd pretended to scent Big Red just to get away to go dancing, she would have headed straight to a particular place, not taken us back and forth across the CBD. He's here."

"Whatever." Roberts trooped inside.

I scowled at his back and followed.

There is a reason I let Roberts do my advertising for me. Well, two actually. One, he is correct when he claims to be a better people person than me. I'm great one on one (refer to earlier flirtatious Matt with Ms Erin of the auburn hair and misty eyes) but in groups, not so hot. Too much time spent alone, maybe. Dunno. Dr Campbell thinks he can work me through it. I don't see it as a real issue. It's not like the freaks are inviting me over to BBQs or Tupperware parties.

Number two is that I have this dislike in particular for clubs. There's a reason. It's called 'ending up in a correctional facility for eleven months'. Again, Dr Campbell thinks they're one and the same thing. I don't see it. Clubs. People. Different things. No, okay, I do get it. Yeah, club equals big mobs of people, but I'm sure one day I could stand in a corner at a cocktail party and tell everyone about how I was an awesome slayer of the vampires and not have issues. But I don't think I'd be doing it in a club, ever.

It's the close, tight atmosphere. The cloying mix of artificial scents and the all too real human ones. Noise that doesn't just register in your ears, but in your chest, competing with the beat of your own heart. But worst of all, it's the fragile balance between 'yippee, we're having such a fun time' and 'you spilled your drink on me, jerk'. I'm a man standing in the middle of that seesaw in the vast majority of my life. I try not to go looking for reasons that might tip me over to the 'jerk' end of the scales. There is one big obvious exception, of course, but in my own defence, I don't go out looking for vampires just so I can get all berserk on their supernatural selves. It just happens that way... a lot.

So, me walking into the Fringe was akin to a reformed alcoholic winning a free pass to a drink all you can tour of the XXXX brewery. Each ignorant brush of some guy's shoulder against me, each person that stepped back into me without knowing I was there, each hint that someone might smack into my injured knee screamed a challenge to the primitive part of my brain.

Dr Campbell had given me several methods of dealing with my issues. 'Controlled breathing techniques' was one of them. Yeah, just a fancy way of saying hyperventilate till you pass out and cease to be a threat.

"What the hell are you doing?" Roberts demanded. "Lamaze breathing?"

"It's called 'controlled breathing'. Supposed to help me, you know, leash the beast."

"I can't take you anywhere."

I found a relatively clear spot by the bar and tried to ignore the crush of overexcited, mostly drunk and unsteady clubbers. Trying to calm my nerves was like trying to catch the soap in the shower. I managed it, eventually, and reached out to Mercy.

She wasn't dancing. Take that, Roberts. She was still hunting, her mind a focused arrow, but one I could ride along on, not like the hunger-frenzy blocked mass it had been the night before. Now, I got a sense of where she was, what she was feeling.

He was close, he'd been here bare minutes ahead of us. His scent was thick, that old rush of cab sav, but souring, like a badly aged bottle. It was almost tangible in the air, a ribbon winding through the room, following a condensed pattern much like the one Mercy had created getting here. He'd been hunting, too. In the hall by the toilets it spiked into a heady rush of cold electricity. A mean mental whammy had been laid down on some poor sucker. Or should that be suckee?

I snapped back to myself just as Mercy shot past us on her way out. We tucked ourselves into her slip stream and followed. She wasn't moving at the speed of vampire this time, but it was still fast. She left flapping coats and whipped up hair in her wake. Roberts and I just left gasps for air and perplexed looks in ours. I lost sight of her as she rounded a corner into a narrow, dark side street.

Roberts and I skidded around the corner and saw... sweet bugger all. No Mercy, no Big Red, no slumped body of his victim.

"Well, that was a bit anti-climactic," Roberts said.

I drew the grand new paintball rifle. "Don't talk too soon."

Cold electricity rippled down my spine. I raised the gun. A figure stepped out of a recessed doorway. It raised its hands and took two steps toward us. Long legs in not too tight jeans, a form fitting tee and waves of long hair. Not Big Red.

"Help me," Erin said and slithered bonelessly to the ground.

I started forward but Roberts grabbed my arm.

"It's a trap," he said.

"I know. He's gone to all the trouble of setting it up, may as well spring the stupid thing."

He let me go, held his hands up in defeat. "Fine, go ahead. Rush in foolishly. Be the golden hero. I'll send lilies to your funeral."

Gun in hand, I stalked forward. "I like roses better."

"Roses are for pretty things like love and weddings and babies. Lilies are for dumb fools who go out batting for top position in the Darwin Awards. You get lilies."

Tracking across the width of the street with the gun, I kept an eye out for Big Red. The traces of the last compulsion he'd put on Erin lingered in the air, but I got no sense of his aura. If he was still close by, then he was doing something to hide his flavour that I'd never encountered before. Last week, I would have said with all sorts of confidence that he was long gone. But it was this week and I'd already had my quota of earth-shaking surprises.

I reached her without being side-tackled. Crouching, I checked her pulse with my free hand. Strong if a little erratic. Her neck had no puncture wounds. We'd either interrupted Big Red before he could chow down, or it had never been his intention in the first place.

"Erin? Can you hear me?"

She murmured something and shifted under my hand.

"It's okay. I'm going to get you out of here."

"Gah," Roberts hissed. "Famous last words much?"

"Got to do something to drag him out of hiding. I'm getting tired of waiting." I shifted around on my toes, my left knee starting to ache.

"Hawkins?" Erin's voice was soft, tentative.

I brushed the hair out of her face. "Yeah. You okay?"

"You lied to me. Said your name was Dave."

"Middle name David. You got to do you some better research."

"Not if you just keep on dropping beans," Roberts said, coming up behind me.

I handed him the gun. "Cover us. Come on," I said to Erin. "Let's get you off the filthy ground."

Between me and Erin we got her to her feet. She was as wobbly as a bobblehead with a loose spring. Arms draped over my shoulders, she slumped against me, head lolling listlessly.

"That must have been some whammy." Roberts kept scanning the street while I rearranged Erin.

"More than a feeding compulsion, yeah. I think he must have been trying to get information out of her."

"Feeding compulsion?"

"That's what Aurum called it. Hey, here's a whacky idea. How about we get out of here and then discuss nomenclature?"

"Not as whacky as some of your ideas. I'm all for it."

I staggered to a stop, nearly dropping Erin as I coughed sharply. Cab sav drenched me.

"Night Caller."

And Big Red flowed out the empty recess Erin had come from.

# Chapter 26

The voice swept through Erin with the force of a concussion grenade. She shuddered so hard she felt her bones grate against each other.

Martin. She had to go to him. He would protect her from werewolves and strange men. Her feet took the first steps toward him, but something caught around her waist, held her in place.

"Erin, no." The voice was gentle, soft. Not rough and abrasive like Martin's. It was a good voice, wasn't it? "Erin, look at me."

She was turned around and drowned in hazel eyes.

"Hawkins?"

"Yeah. Don't listen to him. He's dangerous."

Her knees about to collapse, she held on to him for dear life. "And you're not?"

"Not by half. Let's go."

She did, before she even thought about it. Hawkins swung her around behind him, his hands still on her, keeping her upright. Beside them, the other man held a strange rifle with a thick, cylindrical cartridge on top of its wide barrel. Oddest looking weapon she'd ever seen. Between Hawkins and his friend, she could barely see Martin approaching from the far side of the street. The two men just stepped backwards, forcing her along behind them.

"Martínez," Hawkins said, tone dry. "We must stop meeting like this."

"Didn't know you two had a thing going," the other man said, gun trained firmly on Martin. "Want me and the girl to leave you two alone?"

"We're not exclusive." Hawkins took one hand off Erin and reached into a pocket on his cargo pants. He withdrew a telescoping nightstick. It snapped out to its full length with a quick flick of his wrist. "Remember this, Big Red? Care to go another round or two?"

Martin continued his advance and Hawkins and friend continued their retreat. Erin stumbled along with them, clutching at both of their backs in a desperate effort to keep on her feet. She didn't know exactly what was going on, but she felt that ending up on her arse wouldn't be the best place to be. Her feet found the gutter and she hopped up it. The men took it with more grace.

Hawkins whistled the theme from 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly'.

"Man, I hope I'm the good," his friend muttered.

"We already know I'm the bad." Hawkins flexed his wrist, spinning the nightstick in a complete circle. "That just leaves you, Martínez."

There was a tense silence filled with more shuffling backwards.

Hawkins grunted. "Guess he's not a Leone fan, huh?"

"Probably missed that one."

Erin's back hit the wall of the building behind them. Hawkins and Co pressed back against her, shielding her. Firmly sandwiched, she was released from Hawkins' hold and he drew another weapon. This one was a long knife that gleamed in the faint light from the city around them.

"Roberts," he said, voice laden with meaning the other man understood if Erin didn't.

Roberts nodded tersely.

Hawkins stepped forward and Roberts slipped directly in front of Erin. She peered around his shoulder to watch Hawkins retake the ground he'd just given up. He moved in a slow, predatory stalk, keeping wide of Martin, knife and stick held low and lethally ready. Martin, however, stood in the middle of the street, cloaked in darkness, eyes burning silver.

"I begin to wonder," Martin said and the words tugged at Erin as if they'd been a command. She pushed against Roberts' back and he just leaned harder on her.

"Twice now I have caught you," the big man continued and Erin battled the urge to crawl to him, "and twice you fail to bring along the crippled one. Does she exist? Or have my children lied to me to cover their weakness at letting a mere human cut into their ranks so severely?"

"Well, hey, I wouldn't put it past the little tykes to slip you few white lies. I mean, you're not the most accessible of parental figures. All this time and I never knew you existed. How must they feel without daddy dearest around to beat some respect into them?"

Martin turned to watch Hawkins circle him. "You talk much."

"Compared to most of your kind that I've met, you're something of a blabbermouth, too." Hawkins lifted his weapons in a careless seeming shrug. "Takes one to know one."

Wide shoulders rolling, Martin shifted his weight. It was a small movement, but telling. He was about to attack.

A dark shape dropped out of the sky. It landed feet first on Martin's shoulders. The big man crashed to the ground. The figure rolled off him and came to its feet in a single action that was quicksilver fluid, moving so fast it was a blur to Erin. It spun before completely straightening and planted a bone cracking kick in Martin's face. Head snapping back, Martin was tossed over onto his back.

"Time to leave," Roberts announced and grabbed Erin's arm. He hauled her along the wall away from the fight.

Erin kept watching regardless, fascinated, curious and horrified all at once.

Martin was upright so fast she didn't see him move. Hawkins slashed in from one side, the new comer from the other. The big man met them both with precise, whip crack fast arms. He swept a flat-bladed hand at neck height on Hawkins, who had to drop and roll away from it or have his throat crushed. The new comer took a fist in the face that set them flying backwards so far they hit the ground right beside Erin and Roberts.

Erin stopped and stared.

It was a girl. A scantily clad girl in her early twenties at the most. She was a tiny thing, all pale skin, masses of black hair and big heavy boots. She flipped to her feet and tore back into the melee, but not before Erin saw her bright, glittering eyes.

"Come on," Roberts snapped.

"But she's a child!" Erin tried to get free. They couldn't let a girl go up against such a big man like that. It was murder.

"A child who's a damn sight tougher than you, me and Matt put together. Now move."

Erin complied as far as the end of the street. Roberts took a position at one corner, leaning against the wall, gun to his shoulder. Erin crouched by him, not ready to trust her legs to keep her standing for much longer. Her knees shook and every muscle ached like she'd just run five kilometres without warming up. A small, very distant part of her brain was having its own private freak out. She was certain it wouldn't be long before it overtook the functioning areas as well, but until then, she was determined to get as much information as she could, just to make the eventual breakdown worth it.

She still didn't know how she'd ended up outside with Martin, or Martínez, whoever. She remembered him bumping into her, trying a cheesy line and then, bang, here she was, clinging to Matthew Hawkins while the Twilight Zone started up production around her. All she knew now was that a ridiculously fast fight was taking place not that far away, and that somehow, even though she was in the middle of it, she wasn't the cause of it. The catalyst maybe, but not the reason.

The fight changed. Where Hawkins and the girl had started out harassing Martin from different sides, it seemed to have moved to a stage where it was focused between girl and giant. Hawkins remained on the side lines, weapons at the ready, watching as the others battled. Though Erin wondered how he managed it. She could barely make the combatants out. They blurred through twists and jumps, vanished from one side of the street only to reappear instantly on the other. At one point, she thought they crawled part way up one wall, leapt to the other building across the street and tumbled back to the ground. Occasionally, Hawkins would dart in with knife or stick. There would be a solid thunk of the stick hitting or a wet tearing of the knife biting and then Martin would rematerialise for a moment, taking a swing or kick at the smaller man, then spinning into near invisibility again.

"How?" she asked, numb with shock.

"Best not to ask," was Roberts' droll reply.

Then things got bad.

The blur that was Martin and the girl refocused into the horribly mismatched duo. They fought still at speeds Erin didn't think possible, even in the movies. For all his size, Martin was a graceful, elastic fighter. Similarly, for her lack of size, the girl matched him move for move. Her smaller stature gave her the ability to slip away from his wide arms or roll between his splayed feet. But it didn't always help her. She was stronger than she had any right to be, but it didn't mean she had the leverage Martin did.

She back flipped away from a vicious kick, bounced up, and caught the next huge boot aimed at her head. Twisting the foot, she tried to dislodge his balance. Martin simply set his centre of gravity and turned the other way. The girl was flung headlong down the street, away from where Erin and Roberts waited. She disappeared into the shadows.

With a violent snarl, Hawkins leaped at Martin. He laid in with both stick and knife, scoring several times, before he mistimed a dodge and collected a meaty fist in his side. He slammed back into a wall and slid down it.

"Shit," Roberts muttered.

Erin was on her feet before she realised it. She hadn't taken more than a step or two before Martin was rocked off his feet. Spitting like cat with a bur in its tail, the girl ripped into him. All pretences at honest combat were gone. This was an irrational, furious attack. She latched onto his back, little arms and legs locked around his big torso. Fingernails clawed at his face and she lunged at his neck with her mouth. He roared as she sank her teeth into his flesh. Martin crashed to his knees, frantically reaching over his shoulders, trying to pry the girl loose. She wasn't budging, no matter the big paws that groped at her hair and arms. Staggering to his feet, his balance wavering, Martin rammed his passenger into a wall once, twice, three times before he dislodged her mouth from his neck and smacked her head into the bricks. She let go reflexively and he shook her off with a savage twist of his shoulders.

The girl tumbled to the ground, limp and trying hard to get up. Martin kicked her in the stomach, legs or chest whenever she got close to standing.

Erin could barely breathe for the severe pounding of her heart. She'd never witnessed anything so ruthlessly violent. Flashes of being in Martin's arms, of surrendering her body to this man, made Erin's stomach churn.

Hawkins reached for his dropped weapons blindly, but the moment his hands hit them, his fingers closed around them and he was on his feet. Lips peeling back from his teeth, he vented a wild, blood chilling growl and launched himself at Martin's back. He wasn't as fast as either Martin or the girl, but he was a whirlwind of action, tearing into the larger man with bloody single mindedness.

"Damn," Roberts snapped and pelted toward the fight.

Erin hesitated, then followed. She had no clear idea why, but she did it all the same. Roberts stopped a dozen yards back and dropped to one knee, gun lifted as he sighted down its barrel. Erin reached him just as he pulled the trigger. It made a faint pop and pffft sound and a moment later, paint splattered over the wall behind Martin and Hawkins. Roberts fired again, missed again. Erin looked from the gun to the obviously one sided fight. Hawkins wasn't going to last much longer. His left leg was nearly giving out on him with each lunge even if he didn't seem to realise it.

"Give it here," she snapped and jerked the gun from Roberts.

Before he could protest, she lifted the gun, aimed and put a paint splot on Martin's chest. He howled and steam began to rise from his sizzling clothes. Erin's chest burst into fire. She gasped and doubled over, dropping the gun to clutch at her breasts. It felt like acid eating into her skin. White hot pain lanced through her head, blinded her. She hit the ground hard.

Breathing was torture. Better that she stop, but her body was ruthless. It demanded more air and be damned the pain. Her lungs were shrivelled lumps of coal, her heart seared beyond use. She was going to die in agony. She didn't want to die like this.

"Erin! Erin, listen to me. You're not dying. You're not in pain. Come on, hear me."

Hands touched her. She felt them as vague, faint sensations. They stroked her cheeks, down her neck and over her shoulders. Then they shamelessly explored her chest, the curve of her breasts, the valley between, down her ribs to her abdomen.

"You're fine, Erin. It's an illusion only. Your mind is still linked to his. It's his pain you're feeling. You don't need to feel it. Look at me, Erin. Open your eyes, sweetheart. Look at me."

She did. Hawkins' face swirled into uneasy focus. He smiled at her.

"That's it. You're okay."

But his lips didn't move. She heard him, but he didn't speak. His hands cradled her face, fingertips moving slowly, soothingly over her temples. Eyes narrowing, he stared into her again and as had happened earlier, it seemed as if he reached out and touched her.

The pain vanished as if it had never been. She jerked with the sudden release, gasping for air. Hawkins caught her before she could roll away from him. He lifted her into a sitting position, leaning against his chest.

"Long, deep breaths," he said and this time his voice came into her head through her ears. "Don't hyperventilate. You've had a shock, that's all. You'll be fine."

"How is she?" Roberts knelt beside them.

"She'll be fine. Martínez had laid a serious whammy on her. I broke it."

Roberts whistled, low and impressed. "That's new. When did you discover you could do that?"

"Just now."

With a frustrated groan, Roberts stood again. "The kid's fine. A bit woozy, but I think she's just drunk on Martínez. She got a stomach full. Any idea what that's going to do to her?"

Erin, pulling in long, deep breaths, looked between them. Got a stomach full of what? Drunk on Martínez?

"Ixnay on the shop talk," Hawkins muttered to Roberts, slanting a sidelong glance at Erin that she caught in the corner of her eye.

"Right. Sorry. I'll get the kid and head back to the car."

Hawkins sighed as Roberts walked away. He shifted behind Erin and stretched his left leg out. "How you feeling now?" he asked softly.

Erin swallowed several times, trying to find her voice. "Really confused."

"I bet. It'll all look better in the morning, trust me. The night can do weird things to your perception. I think Martínez dropped something in your drink."

"I didn't drink anything he gave me."

"More than one way to drug a person. You got someone to take you home?"

She slumped back. "I left home. I'm sleeping at the office."

"Well then, got someone to take you back to the office?"

Roberts and the girl walked past. Roberts had one hand on her arm, but the girl slowed down and watched Erin from narrowed eyes. The girl's clothes were very much the worse for wear, she limped severely, there were cuts and abrasions all over her bared skin and blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth. It was a bad sight, but considering the pounding she'd taken, not nearly as bad as it should have been. She had enough energy to snarl at Erin.

"Go to the car," Hawkins snapped.

The girl flinched and went with Roberts silently, but looking over her shoulder the entire way until they vanished around the corner.

"Who is she?" Erin asked.

"Do you think you can stand now?"

"Still avoiding answering questions."

"It's a talent. Come on. We should move before Martínez comes back."

There seemed little choice. Erin and Hawkins helped each other to stand and then staggered toward the brighter lights of Ann Street together.

"I want you to stop your investigation," Hawkins said as they turned onto the busy street.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Erin stopped and leaned against a light pole. "Professional integrity. I promised my client I'd find you. And look, here you are."

"Who's your client?"

Gone was the flirty, happy man of lunch time. Here was a bruised and cut man, deadly serious.

"That's confidential."

A faint shadow of that smile she'd fallen for before flashed across his face, but it was cold, bitter. "Of all people, I should be allowed to know that."

"Her name's Heather Veilchen. She says you stole something from her."

Hawkins frowned. "Don't know the name. What does she look like?"

Erin described her. He shook his head. "No bells ringing. Drop the case. It's too much for you."

His words sparked heat in her aching chest. "Too much for me? I found you."

"By dangling yourself as bait in a trap laid for me by someone who makes Jack the Ripper look like a freaking saint. You nearly died tonight. You nearly died yesterday. You're in too deep, Erin. Let it go."

He began to turn away. She grabbed his arm and pulled on it as hard as she could. He was tired and hurt and it nearly toppled him over.

"Let it go. Let me go." He caught the light pole over her head and steadied himself. "I'm too dangerous for you. Quit the case."

"Fuck you," she snapped. If he was going to be an arsehole, then she could be a bitch. "The case is over. I've found you. Just come to my office and meet Veilchen. It's all I ask. Then I'll walk out of your life forever."

That gave him pause. He studied her face, thankfully not meeting her eyes for more than a second at any one time. After a long moment, he nodded.

"Okay. I'll meet with her. If it'll get you out of my hair."

Something eased inside of her. She was happy to see this case coming to an end. It had been different from her usual load of following cheating spouses or hunting lost relatives named in wills, but different didn't mean good. Wearily, she pulled a battered card from a pocket and held it out.

"I'll set it up for tomorrow. Any particular time?"

His lips twitched into that bitter reflection of his great smile as he took the card. "High noon. I like the sunlight."

"Can you give me a number to contact you on in case I can't get Veilchen there?"

He patted down his many pockets in pants and camouflage jacket. "Sorry, all outa business cards. Guess you'll just have to trust me." Then he did give her that smile again, wide and sparkling. She almost slapped it off his face.

Hawkins spun and walked away.

"Erin!"

Ivan barrelled right into her. They both would have gone sprawling if she hadn't still had hold of the light pole. Brad appeared a moment behind Ivan, smiling in relief.

"What happened to you?" Ivan demanded. "Where did you go? Was that him? He showed up? My God, and he's just walking away? What's going on?"

Erin put a hand over Ivan's mouth. "It was him, and yes, he's walking away. We have a meeting tomorrow at twelve. He's agreed to meet Veilchen."

"You look like you've just come out of the wrong end of a train tunnel," Brad said, looking her over. "What happened?"

Sighing, Erin slipped in between them, using them for support. "I'll tell you on the way home." And she would, but it would be severely edited. She didn't think they'd believe half of what she'd seen. Or thought she'd seen. Even now, the details were slipping from her mind.

"Oh, guess what?" Ivan didn't wait for her reply. "We saw Mercy Belique. She walked right past us. No one's seen her around in so long, we almost didn't think it was her."

More to distract her reeling thoughts than out of any real interest, Erin asked, "Who's this Mercy person?"

"She used to be really famous around the local clubs and pubs. Lead singer of this all girl band called Nasty Kitten. They did mostly covers. She had this voice that could bring down brick walls it was that powerful."

"Maybe she's planning a comeback," Brad mused. "She had a bodyguard with her, so maybe she thinks she might need one soon."

Things began shifting in Erin's tired mind. "Bodyguard?"

"Yeah, guy in a dark suit with a rifle shaped bulge under his jacket. Kept a hand on her arm and made sure no one got too close to her. Hightailed it up Ann Street like he didn't want anyone recognising them."

Because he probably didn't. Erin had to ask. "What was she wearing?"

Ivan snorted. "Not a lot. Little shorts, torn stockings, great big boots."

"Shit," Erin muttered. Somehow, she knew this case wasn't as close to done as she'd thought it was.

# Chapter 27

Mercy sulked on the way home. Either that or she really was spaced out on a Martínez high. I left her to it and tallied up the new wounds. The total was starting to get depressing.

"So, that was her, huh?" Roberts said as we hurtled north on the Gateway.

"Her who?" Of course I knew who he meant. But a little bit of intentional cluelessness was always good at steering nosey friends away from thinking that you liked someone. At least it had been when I went to school.

"Idiot. She's got guts. Tore the gun right out of my hands and hit him first try."

"Ex-cop and you're a useless shot. You need to get to the range if you want to keep coming along on these excursions."

Roberts almost choked. "Can you pronounce senility? Cause, you're getting it. Check my phone logs. You're the one who called me, remember?"

"You're the one who offered to stick around in town and help out."

"I meant I would hold your coat while you did manly battle. Not save your cranky arse from a well-deserved whooping. Which brings me to my next point of contention. What was with all the strutting at the start there? Why did he let us get your girl out of the way before going all Jackie Chan on you?"

I eased down in the seat, trying to adjust my legs so my knee wouldn't cramp. "If you remember correctly, it was Mercy who made the first move. He doesn't actually want me or Mercy dead. Terrified and liable to make mistakes, yes, but dead, not so much. I think he wants us so he can study why Mercy is the way she is. If he can make more vampires as strong as she is as quickly, then he's got an advantage over the rest of them. That's my working hypothesis, anyway. Aurum seemed to think we'd reached saturation point with the damage we could incur on the local clans before they took serious note of us, but I'm not sure. If that were the case, Big Red woulda painted that street with us, not just played around." Cutting him a glare, I added, "And she's not my girl."

Roberts snorted, but he shut up for a while. I twisted around to look at Mercy. My nasty kitten slouched against the door and stared out into the night. She looked sad and a little lost. What was she thinking? Was she thinking? Or had she just shut down because I hadn't given her command? Damn Aurum and his meddling. I thought I had her all sorted out before he showed up.

"How you doing, Merce?" I asked gently.

Mercy ignored me, just kept staring out the window.

The look she'd given Erin hadn't cheered me up at all. It was a look previously reserved for the nastier things in life; ghouls, enemy vampires, clotted blood. I can't say it was a welcome revelation. Having a relationship outside of work, something personal and separate, hadn't really occurred to me before. Guess I'd just relegated it into the pile of things I would never do again since Mercy crashed head long into my life. Like go to the Caribbean for a sunny summer holiday. Not that I had done that previously, but the chance had always been there. Now, it would probably be cold showers all the way.

So, no matter what I thought of Erin, or her legs, after tomorrow, that would be it. She would be a footnote in my memoirs, probably a dry side comment on the chapter about Big Red. No one would have to get jealous. And no one would get hurt because of that jealousy.

Mercy had the starts of some impressive bruising showing on her face, neck, arms and legs. There was an indent in her ribs that would be mended by tomorrow night. Her little outfit wouldn't make it to the washing basket though. We'd say a final prayer over the poor scraps of material and consign them to the bin. There wasn't anything even big enough to turn into cleaning rags, and that would still have been true had they not been torn to smaller pieces by the fight.

"Hey, just remembered," I said to Roberts. "When we were in the Fringe, there wasn't anyone wearing anything like what Mercy was. Jeans and tights all the way. You lied to me."

"No, I didn't. It's nearly winter, man. Fashion is seasonable. Mercy's just a summer girl at heart, that's all."

I scowled at him.

When we got home, Mercy dashed out of the car and inside as soon as I'd unlocked the door. Even from outside, unloading the unused heavy assault gear we'd believed we would desperately need at the start of the night, I heard her slam the outer door to her room and then crash shut the cage door.

"Wow. The terrible twos, huh?" Roberts carefully set down a crate of garlic bombs. Think stink bombs but with garlic. Yeah, I guess they still were stink bombs.

"Been a while since she hasn't won against another vampire," I said. Didn't bother to add I was sure that wasn't the whole reason.

"So what's happening with Private Dick Erin?"

Just grateful that Roberts had waited to ask after Mercy wasn't around, I let him have his little bit of fun.

"I'm going to her office tomorrow for a meeting with the woman who hired Erin to find me."

"Who is it? Long lost lover pining for you? Nah, even I don't believe that. Um... an old uncle died and sent his sexy yet repressed lawyer to find you so she could give you what the old fart left you?"

"I wish. Don't know this woman at all, but apparently she thinks I stole something from her."

We trudged into the garage and put the gear away.

Roberts brushed off his hands. "Hey, you've done some bad shit, but I didn't think you were ever a thief."

"I'm not. I'm sure it's just a mistake. I'll sort it out and then it's back to the peace and quiet." I began to head inside. Roberts didn't follow. "You coming in?"

"Nah. I'm staying at Gale's till this whole thing blows over. Call me if you find anything out."

I waved goodbye, watched him pull out and take off. He was right. I'd never stolen anything in my entire life. What could this Veilchen woman want from me?

Inside, I grabbed a bag of O pos, noted that we were almost out and went to see Mercy. She was just putting Bad Boys into the DVD player. I picked up the remote and turned it and the TV off. She spun around and glared at me with silver flashing eyes.

"We're going to a have a talk," I said firmly. "De-vamp, now."

She resisted. Bless her little heart, she tried. I glared her down and after several blinks, her eyes went dark and her shoulders slumped. If I was a contortionist, I would have kicked myself in the stomach. I hated pulling that crap on her. The last thing I'd set out to do when trying to help her after the change was go all Stockholm on her. Sometimes, I think that's all I was to her, a captor who'd psychologically tortured her into thinking she loved me. And who knows, maybe that's all it was. Two years in and I was still out of my depth with her, only I was doing nothing but sinking.

"Get undressed, please. I'll look at your wounds."

Naked Mercy meant little else than a physical check these days. Not so many years ago, it would have been anything other than clinical. I did my best not to think about that anymore.

She lay on the bed and let me catalogue the injuries Martínez had caused. Two broken ribs, thankfully neither had punctured a lung, several long rents in her skin that were already starting to close and nearly two dozen bruises that would be gone in a couple of hours.

"You're very lucky, young lady," I said as she crawled into some flannelette PJs with pink and blue unicorns on them. "Big Red could have broken you in two."

Her whole response was to pull the sheets up over her head. I sighed and pulled them down.

"Mercy, what is your problem?"

She touched her belly and pulled a face. We were going with mute sulkiness. Great. Give me an honest to God toddler any day. They at least had a real excuse.

"Eat something that didn't agree with you, huh? Why did you chow down on him? You don't like vampire blood."

I caught her arms in mid shrug. "Mercy, talk to me. Please."

"I don't like her."

"Erin? This about her and not Big Red?"

She was wrapped around me before I could blink. "Don't leave me," she whispered, her voice shaking with honest fear.

Dear Lord. A vampire with separation anxiety. I hugged her, rubbed her back. "Mercy, you know I'll never leave you. Erin's just someone doing her job, and it crossed ours for a small way, that's all. Why do you think she'll make me leave you?"

Mercy held on tight enough to make breathing a trifle hard. "You like her. I felt your like for her today. You had dreams about her."

Ah shit. A symptom of the link I'd never considered before, probably because I'd not had any such dreams since... sheesh, in a long, long time.

Another aspect of Mercy's nature I'd not really wanted to think about. Little vampires didn't come from a mummy and daddy vampire who loved each other very much. They had no need for sex for procreation, but it wasn't entirely absent from their ecology. Luring folks with sex was a common and lucrative feeding means. I suppose I was like any average father with a teenage daughter. If you don't think about her and sex at the same time, then it obviously isn't happening and never will, just so long as you don't think about it.

Mercy could ooze the sex appeal without even trying. She usually just had to walk into the room. On a dance floor, even straight women and gay men had to stop and stare. It's what snagged Roberts' attention, way back when my control of her wasn't so fantastic. She'd nearly eaten him from the waist up before I found them. But since I'd refocused her appetite on juicy plastic bags of blood instead of juicy fleshy ones, she hadn't shown any interest.

Or maybe I had just not thought about it very well indeed.

Until my subconscious and naughty little interlude with Erin.

I tugged at Mercy's arms and she let go reluctantly. "Is that why you dressed the way you did tonight?"

She rolled her eyes and let out a short, sharp sigh. "No. I dressed for dancing."

"Then you don't want to... make me dream about you?"

"Eww!"

I swear, I'd never understand her.

"Then what's got your fangs in a knot?" I demanded.

Her pout was one of the best in the world. It could make little puppies with big, soulful brown eyes and floppy ears feel ashamed. "You went to her and didn't come to me."

I had. When Erin's paintball had hit him, Martínez had yodelled his lungs out, then buzzed off so fast he'd spun me around on the spot. It had also cleared my head and the first thing I'd seen was Erin, crumpled up, clutching her chest as if in the throes of a heart attack. The paramedic part of me had roared to the fore and taken control. I knew Mercy would be all right. I didn't know that Erin would be if she wasn't seen to immediately.

"Knuckle head," I muttered and ruffled Mercy's hair. She swiped my hand away and fixed her curls. "She's only human. You're the Mercinator. You'll always be back."

Mercy stared at me, her tongue in one cheek. She wasn't buying it, but at least she wasn't shaking with dread anymore. Anything, even weary condescension, was better than that.

"Can I watch my movie now?"

"Sure, just keep the sound down. I want to catch a snooze while its dark out. Pretend to be a normal guy for a bit." I dangled the now warmed blood in front of her. "Want a midnight snack?"

She just grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

"Fine." I began to get up. Before my arse had even stopped touching the bed, the bag was out of my hand and under the sheets with Mercy. "Just don't spill any this time. Goodnight."

There may have been a muffled reply, or it could have been slurping.

I locked the cage on my way out. Not before hesitating though. Tonight had done much to appease my fears, and I had never meant to keep her locked up forever. But old habits die really, really hard.

I grabbed a quick shower before flopping onto my bed. My knee was swollen but I didn't feel it. Mercy's compulsion was something else this time. Trying not to think about what would happen when it wore off, I drifted off to sleep.

I didn't dream about Erin. I had nightmares about Big Red instead.

# Chapter 28

"Why are we doing this?" Ivan asked as Erin turned on her computer.

Ivan and Brad had taken her back to their place the night before. She'd collapsed on their spare bed and been comatose for eight hours. Waking up, her head had been filled with the unshakable notion she didn't know enough about Matt Hawkins and Night Call. He had got to her. There was still so much she didn't know about him, so much that could explain him, and what had happened outside the Fringe Bar. She'd told the boys the bare bones of what had happened; Martin approached her, claimed to know about Night Call and she'd gone outside with him. He'd grabbed her and used her as a hostage to lure Hawkins down the side street, they'd fought, Martin had run away and Hawkins had agreed to come in to the office.

She had dragged Ivan in on the pretence he had to help her get ready for the meeting. His presence had never been required before, so he knew something was up.

"Because I don't like Mrs Veilchen's attitude. And Hawkins claims he doesn't know her. Something's not quite meshing here. I want to find out anything I can before the meeting."

"Which is in two hours," he pointed out needlessly. "What can we find out in that time?"

"Tell me about this Mercy Belique person. She was with him last night."

Ivan groaned. "I told you everything last night. She was a singer for this band. The band broke up, she wasn't seen around for a long time. What more is there to know?"

"Why she's with Hawkins for a start."

"Because he's a really lucky guy? I don't know why!"

Erin waved at his computer in the outer office. "That's why they call it investigating. Go, investigate."

Grumbling all the way, Ivan trudged out to his desk and slumped down. He tapped listlessly at the keyboard, sneaking looks over his shoulder at her.

She'd scared him last night. Brad had told her that morning while Ivan showered. He'd been frantic when Erin hadn't returned from the toilets. Erin was genuinely flattered. She and Ivan had been working together for six months, long enough for them to be comfortable with each other but she hadn't really thought their relationship had progressed that far beyond the office. Erin truly liked him.

Leaving Ivan to his own devices, Erin called the Mentis Institute. It felt like years since she'd been talking to James Douglass at Redcliffe. So much had happened that it felt like a backwards step to dig into this now. But the nagging feeling of not knowing something important was too annoying. She couldn't just let this case go. It would officially be over at noon, but that wasn't good enough. He would come in, meet with Veilchen—who'd agreed to the meeting with chilly eagerness—sort out whatever it was all about and walk out. That would be it. Over. Finished.

Except it wasn't. She had most of his history but none of it told her why he was so determined to hide, why he roamed about with a petite singer who could move like the wind, why he could hold his own against a man nearly twice his size, a man who could also move with lightning reflexes and inhuman speed.

Inhuman.

The image of the drive-by shooter's face came back to her. Now that had been inhuman.

Werewolves...

"Hello?"

Erin jumped. She'd forgotten about the phone pressed to her ear. "I'm sorry," she said, hauling in a deep breath to ease her racing heart. "I was miles away." She introduced herself and explained her case. "I understand the patient was transferred to your unit. Are you able to help me find out some more information about her?"

The woman on the other end of the phone barked a harsh laugh. "That's confidential information. No, I can't help you out."

"I understand that, but I was just hoping you could—"

"Break the law for you? I don't think so. Thank you for calling." The line went dead.

"Bitch." Erin slammed the phone down. Then she did something she didn't want to do. She dialled the number and when it was answered, asked for Detective Courey.

"Courey," he growled when he picked up.

"Detective," Erin said as brightly as she could. "Erin McRea here. How are you?"

"As clueless as I was the other day. Haven't got anything more to tell you about the Hawkins drive-by. Thanks for calling."

"Wait!" She held her breath, hoping he hadn't hung up.

He grunted.

Uncooperative prick. "I was wondering if you could help me out with a lead. I tracked down a woman Hawkins had dealings with. Her last known place of residence was the Mentis Institute, but they won't come to the party about her stay there."

"No, because that would be breaking the confidentiality agreement they have with their patients and even if they told you, you wouldn't respect them afterward."

Erin pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is why I really didn't want to call you, Courey. I knew you had the look of an arse-biter about you. Come on, be a pal and help me out here. Otherwise, let me talk to your captain."

"Nasty," he muttered. "Right, what's this woman's name."

"Jane Doe."

"Oh, that's going to be an easy one."

She glared at the phone. "I can give you an admission date, moron."

"Fire away." If the insult had upset him, he didn't show it.

Erin told him everything she knew about Jane Doe, he mumbled something about getting back to her and hung up. She thought bad thoughts about him for a minute but was eventually distracted by music coming from the outer office. She didn't mind Ivan playing music, but this didn't sound like his usual choice.

His computer screen was visible from her office. It showed the YouTube web site and a clip was playing. Frowning, Erin wandered out to see what it was about.

The song was something she didn't recognise, a fast paced, guitar heavy piece with a classic rock rhythm. The title of the clip named the song as Franz Ferdinand's 'Take Me Out' as covered by Nasty Kitten.

Ivan pushed back from the computer to give Erin more room. She perched on the arm of his chair and studied the clip. It was grainy and shaky, but there was no denying the tiny figure in front of the band. She wore a plaid skirt, tight white blouse and knee high socks. Her hair was black and straight, falling to her waist, when she wasn't flinging it back over her shoulder. She moved with the music, a languid strut across the front of the stage that turned into an extremely sensual challenge to the audience as she belted out the lyrics. Her voice was, as Erin had been told, very powerful, but exquisitely controlled. She didn't scream, didn't whine, didn't waver. When she turned on the audience and pointed to some lucky person who was going to 'take me out', Erin's back gave a little, involuntary shiver.

"See?" Ivan said as the clip ended.

"She's got a big stage presence, that's for sure."

Erin looked down the list of other clips. There were several more of Nasty Kitten. They watched them all. It seemed the band preferred covering rock, but a few softer songs had leaked in. The slower songs were as imbued with sex as the harder ones. It was just more seductive than aggressive or possessive, but no less effective.

"I almost need a cigarette after that," Erin said when the last song finished.

"Me too." Ivan clicked on another window and pulled up an article about the band. "It says here that Nasty Kitten broke up because Mercy got messed up with a crowd the other band members didn't like. A couple of months before our Mr Hawkins reportedly went off his rocker in the lab." He raised speculative eyebrows. "You think he was the bad crowd?"

Erin scanned the article for herself. "I'm not sure. And that's what bothers me the most about this case. So much of it just doesn't seem to add up. Yes, he's got a violent past but for some reason I don't think he's an essentially violent person."

Ivan didn't comment, but his expression showed his scepticism well enough.

"See if you can track down one of the other band members," she told him.

"Now?"

"Got anything else to do?"

"Do you want me looking into that when he's due here in five minutes? He might get the wrong idea about the case being closed."

Erin glanced at her watch. Ivan was right. "Shit. Okay, after the meeting then, unless something happens that reveals all."

The next few minutes were spent getting ready. Erin tidied her office and Ivan made fresh coffee. On the dot of noon, Mrs Veilchen swept in, elegant and cool, nothing showing her eagerness to finally meet Matthew Hawkins. Erin led her into her office and left her there. The client, at this stage, usually demanded a full run down on how the missing person was found. Mrs Veilchen, however, wasn't usual. She just sat down and waited silently. Didn't even thank Erin for her hard work.

"She's freaky," Ivan whispered as they waited in the outer office.

"She's the client. Be respectful." But Erin couldn't stop feeling very nervous.

It didn't get any better the further around the dial the minute hand got and Hawkins didn't appear.

"You gave him a card, right? He knows the address?"

"Of course."

She didn't believe it. The bastard had said he would show. She'd trusted him. God damn it.

In her office, Mrs Veilchen remained unmoving, still as a statue. That was unnerving. Hawkins' no-show was rage inducing. Erin wanted to strangle something. Either Veilchen or Hawkins would do nicely.

"What do we do?" Ivan asked after five more minutes had gone by.

"Kill Hawkins," she muttered and pushed away from the desk. She knocked on the door to her office then went in. "Mrs Veilchen, I'm so sorry. Something must have held him up."

The woman lifted her head enough to point her sunglasses at Erin. "You don't believe that. He's not coming."

Erin swallowed the lump of nerves trying to escape through her mouth. "When I met with him last night I believed he would honour this meeting. Anything could have happened between then and now that made him incapable of reaching the office."

"You have no means of contacting him to find out?"

"No. As you may have guessed, he's a very secretive person. He has all my details so he can get in touch with me whenever he's able. The best I can offer you is to wait until he does so, and then try to set up another meeting."

Mrs Veilchen rose and stood before Erin, thin and tall, given colour only by her red blouse and cream slacks. "Please close the blinds on the windows," she said softly. "I have very sensitive eyes, but I would like to look at you without my glasses."

Erin's stomach quivered. Strange, but she did as asked. It was the least she could do since Hawkins had made her look so bad. When the office was darkened considerably, Mrs Veilchen took off her glasses with slow deliberation. She blinked several times then faced Erin.

Breath caught in her chest, Erin couldn't help but stare. The woman's eyes were pure white but for the black pupil.

"It's a rare condition," Mrs Veilchen said. She lifted a slender, long fingered hand, showing her milky skin. "Loss of pigmentation." Her lips curled into something that resembled a smile but wasn't one really.

"I'm sorry," was all Erin could manage.

"You don't need to be. I've lived with it for a very long time."

"I don't understand. Does this have something to do with the case?"

Mrs Veilchen shook her head, once and very precisely. "I only tell you because you've been wondering about me. Perhaps if I share this with you, you will share with me the name of the man I seek."

Erin still hadn't revealed Hawkins' name to the woman. There was the strong possibility of Mrs Veilchen rushing off and doing something rash. No matter what Erin thought of Hawkins, she wasn't about to be a party to anything illegal. Trusting her instincts had got her through her years in the police force and she wasn't about to abandon them.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Veilchen, but I won't do that. We've already discussed his desire to remain under the radar. In a missing persons case such as this, I also have a responsibility to that person, to protect them from wrong doing. You haven't given me any definite reason to think he's done anything wrong toward you. Until you do, he has my protection."

Mrs Veilchen pulled in a deep breath, her narrow shoulders lifting with the action. When she let it out, her shoulders didn't drop. Her white eyes bored into Erin's. Cold air rolled over her, like a sudden blast from an air-conditioner.

"Tell me his name," Mrs Veilchen whispered.

Erin shivered. "I've already said I—"

"Tell me his name."

The words coiled around Erin, slinked across her skin and burrowed in at her mouth and nose and eyes and ears—a hundred spiders crawling all over her. Erin shook so hard her teeth clattered together. Her stomach churned.

Losing the battle, Erin spun around and threw up into the waste bin.

Mrs Veilchen swore. It wasn't English, but Erin knew the tone of it regardless.

Wiping her mouth with a tissue, Erin steadied herself and turned to face her client again. Except Mrs Veilchen wasn't there. She was already at the outer door, stalking out of the office. Ivan huddled behind his desk, looking between the open door to Erin's office and the quickly closing outer door. When it was shut, he shot to his feet and rushed to Erin.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

Erin staggered to her chair and sat down heavily. "I don't know what happened. She demanded I tell her Hawkins' name, but I wouldn't. She got angry and left."

Ivan wrinkled his nose. "Maybe it was the puke that did it. Are you feeling sick? Maybe you got slipped something last night."

"No one slipped me anything," she snapped. At least she tried to snap. It came out a bit weaker than that. Actually, a lot weaker. It sounded doubtful to even her own ears.

Maybe someone had dropped something into her water when she'd been distracted, but she couldn't imagine why. And then there had been Hawkins looking right into her eyes and she'd felt... something. Had it been him? Whatever Martin had done to her, Hawkins had stopped it. Had he also stopped Veilchen from doing something to her?

Either way, nothing had been resolved. The case was as active as ever.

"Come on," she said to Ivan. "Let's keep looking. I know we're going to find something much more interesting if we just keep going."

Ivan didn't look convinced but he settled down again.

Erin went to the toilet to rinse her mouth out and wash her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, she was horrified to see how pale she was. Like Mrs Veilchen, except that thought put two spots of pink into her cheeks. Loss of pigmentation? It sounded credible.

Then she remembered Mercy Belique, not as she'd been in the internet clips, but as she'd been last night. Pale as moonlight.

"Dear God."

# Chapter 29

Erin went back to the office feeling a little lightheaded. She'd wondered right at the start if it had been a daughter or son Hawkins had 'stolen' from Veilchen, but she hadn't really believed it. Maybe it was time to contemplate even the scary prospects. They said Ted Bundy was charming, too.

"Scored," Ivan announced when she walked in. "Got the drummer from Nasty Kitten. She's agreed to meet us for a late lunch."

The mere suggestion of food turned Erin's stomach. She didn't know whether it was the lingering effects of Veilchen or the thought Hawkins might be a kidnapper. Didn't really know which was better.

"Okay, let's go."

Ivan stood. "You all right?"

Erin nodded. "Just a bit nauseous."

"You're not pregnant, are you?"

"You've got to have sex for that." She snatched up her shoulder rig, gun and coat. "Come on."

They met Kelly Unwin at a café in Toowong where she worked as a chef. She sat them at a private table in a courtyard behind the café and helped Ivan decide what he wanted off the gourmet menu. Erin had a mineral water and Panadol for her growing headache. Kelly brought out Ivan's spinach and ricotta ravioli herself and sat down with them.

"You're looking for Mercy, are you?" Kelly tugged her long brown hair out of its braid and shook it out. "I haven't seen or heard from her in, wow, must be over two years now."

"We're not actually looking for Mercy, but a man she was sighted with last night."

Kelly sat forward. "She was seen last night? I thought she'd left town ages ago. No one at all has seen her, and she used to be very popular. Not someone you could just forget in a couple of years."

Erin could believe that. She could still see the footage of Mercy on stage, entrancing her audience. "Can you tell me about her? How you met, what she was like, why you parted ways?"

"It will help you find this man she was with?"

"It will. Please, anything you think might be important."

Kelly played with a glass of chilled water. "Me and three other girls had decided to form a band, just for fun. I could drum, Mel could play rhythm and Delia could learn anything like that." She snapped her fingers. "So she took up base. Mel's cousin, Katrina, or Kat as she wanted to be known, claimed she could sing. Didn't take us long to work out she couldn't. She could hold a tune, sure, but there wasn't anything special about her voice, you know. But she was all we had. And we got a few gigs playing school dances and fetes. Then somehow we ended up in this little shit hole... sorry, dive, playing to a room of people who looked like they'd rather shove knives in our instruments than listen to us play."

Ivan waved his fork knowingly, almost losing a piece of ravioli. "Been to a place like that. Lovely atmosphere. Never run so fast in my entire life as I did getting out of there."

Kelly grinned. "Yeah. Anyway, part way through the first set, Kat decides she can't sing for this mob of homicidal drunks anymore and storms off stage. Leaves us behind looking like idiots. I was all for running, too. Forget the expensive equipment. Then this girl appears out of the crowd. I thought she was a school kid at first. Short, skinny, dressed in this preppy little outfit with all these black curls just bouncing around her face. Not at all what you'd expect from this place, trust me. Leather jackets, torn jeans, studded collars were the dress code. So, she clambers up on the stage, grabs the mike and asks if we know Pleasure and Pain by the Divinyls."

Erin nodded. "We saw a clip of it on YouTube."

"That was taken about a year later, when Mercy had really found her groove. This first night, in that pub, she was awesome, don't get me wrong, but she only got better and better. About halfway through that first song, Mel and Delia are looking at me and we all just knew. This girl was our singer."

"And history was made," Ivan said.

"What about Mercy's past?" Erin asked. "Where did she come from? Did she have family?"

"Her family was back in Western Australia. She'd come out here to get away from a pretty dominating father. Very Catholic family. Mercy isn't a conformist soul. She didn't really fit in. Things got bad when, after paying for her singing lessons, he decided she needed to go into classical or opera, something he liked. Mercy didn't want that, so she ran away. Spent years travelling around with various bands and finally wound up in Brisbane, walking past that shit hole when we were playing."

"Did you try to reach her family after you lost contact with her? To see if she'd gone home?"

Kelly snorted. "By that time, I didn't really care where she was. At the start, we were all just fascinated with ourselves, unable to believe that we'd got that good that fast. We were in hot demand and had our pick of gigs around here and down the coast. Played a blues and roots festival at Byron, a Big Day Out, did a few turns about Sydney. It was really heady stuff. There were rumours of agents prowling around us, producers putting out the feelers. But before any of them could actually contact us, things started going downhill." She sighed. "I guess it happens to a lot of bands like that. The moment you get a sniff of success, real success, you start to learn a few truths about the people you thought you knew really well.

"Delia started it. She began making comments about how Mercy was taking all the glory for herself. I mean, lead singers always end up the face of the band. And with a face like Mercy's, and that voice, it was really hard for any of us three to be noticed. I understood it and I thought Delia and Mel understood it too. Maybe it has something to do with sitting behind a big drum set all the time. You don't expect to get noticed, so when you aren't, you don't miss it." Kelly shrugged off the memory. "And that was the beginning of the end of Nasty Kitten. Mercy had always been a wild child. She took it to new extremes when Delia began in on her. I think Mercy had issues, you know, about being controlled. She didn't want Delia telling her what to do. So she set out to make Delia as angry as possible. Began hanging out with people we didn't really want to be associated with. Getting drunk just about every night. I was never sure, but she may have got into the heavy drugs. Whether or not she had, Mel and I knew that without Mercy, Nasty Kitten was nothing. We tried to talk Mercy around, to get over Delia's attitude and come back, but she wouldn't listen. I think she was on the verge of running away again. Couldn't deal, so she would run. And that was it."

"This bad crowd Mercy ended up with," Erin said. "Was there any one person in particular she was with? Someone who might have drawn her into the crowd and away from the rest of the band?"

Kelly considered it. "No, I don't think so. She threw herself in voluntarily."

"What about when the band was playing? Was there anyone who had an abnormal interest in her?"

"Just about every audience member had an abnormal interest in her." Then Kelly frowned. "But there was this one guy, toward the end. He was at every gig, always at the back of the room. I wouldn't have noticed him if Mercy hadn't pointed him out. She joked that she had her own personal stalker. I think she said it to get under Delia's skin. We all knew that if anyone was to get stalked, it would be Mercy."

Erin pushed aside her mineral water. Her stomach still wasn't feeling great, and getting worse as she listened to Kelly. "Can you describe him?"

"Average, I guess. I never saw him that much." She gestured a few drum moves. "Behind the cymbals, remember. But apparently he walked with a cane."

Ivan slanted Erin a meaningful look. Erin had been expecting it, though.

"He didn't make any threatening moves toward Mercy?" she asked Kelly.

"Not at all. I think he was just a fan, maybe a little in love, or lust, with Mercy. But there were a lot of people in that situation. It was probably only his walking stick that made him stand out. Is this the guy you're looking for?"

"I think he is. Thank you for talking to us, Kelly. You've helped."

Erin and Ivan were almost at the door when Kelly caught them.

"Not sure if it makes a difference, but Mercy Belique isn't her real name," she said. "She took it as a stage name when we started getting regular work."

"What's her real name?" Erin flipped open her notebook.

"Susan Grayson."

Ivan rolled his eyes. "I can see why she'd want to have something flashier for the stage."

Erin thanked Kelly again and they left.

"That was all really interesting but what did it gain us in terms of finding, and keeping a hold of, Matthew Hawkins?" Ivan asked on the drive back to the office.

"Just more questions, I'm afraid. It looks like Hawkins had an obsession with Nasty Kitten, probably focused on Susan Grayson, aka Mercy Belique. She was with him last night, so something happened to turn that obsession into something more personal." She swallowed and admitted, "And I think Mercy is what Hawkins stole from Veilchen."

"What? Why?"

She told him her suspicions about Mercy being related to Veilchen, by way of their shared very pale complexions. "If Veilchen is Mercy's mother, or some sort of relative, then that would explain why she's intent on finding Hawkins. If there's been trouble in the family, it's possible they don't want the police involved so Mercy, or Susan, can't tell them why she ran away."

Ivan accepted that. "So our next step?"

"Contact the Graysons in WA."

"Gee, I wonder how many Graysons there are over there," Ivan mumbled.

"That's why I pay you the big bucks, boy."

While Ivan trawled through the listings for Graysons in Western Australia, Erin called home and checked on William. He was sleeping and Gavin and Kate were watching a movie. Erin promised them a weekend at any resort they wanted for their trouble, fended off their well-meaning invitations to more social outings and was saved by a second call coming through.

"It's that detective," Ivan announced dryly. "You know, the really charming one."

"Thank you. Put him through." The line clicked over. "Hello, Courey. What did you get me?"

"Fine thanks, though the sciatica is playing up a bit. Must be the nasty bitch stuck in my back by my boss."

"Hey, how are you, Detective Courey? I hear Chinese massage is really good for back pain, and that relieving yourself of all that information you found helps dislodge those nasty bitches."

"Keep this up and you might just make it to Mrs Courey number three, girl. So, Jane Doe at the Mentis Institute. She was some real piece of work, apparently. Took out several of their more robust orderlies, dispensed a black eye or five, broke two noses and one of them was her own. Some sort of violent psychosis, apparently."

Erin sighed. "You didn't get the correct name for it?"

"Darl, this is off the books. No, I didn't get the technobabble name for it. All it boils down to is she was a pint sized cyclone of trouble for the good folk at the mental ward. They had to keep her sedated, but that wasn't enough to keep her down, though. Each morning, doped to the eyeballs or not, she went spastic and hid in a closet. Wouldn't come out all day."

Erin stopped writing. "She wouldn't come out during the day?"

"That's what I just said. You might yet be dumb enough to get that marriage proposal."

"But not dumb enough to accept, I'm afraid. So, is she still there?"

"Nope. A family member came and discharged her about three weeks after she was admitted." There was a triumphant pause. "And here's the rub. Family member was described as a tall, skinny guy walking with a limp and a cane."

Letting out a long sigh, Erin said, "Of course he was. What name did he give?"

"Let's see here. It was John Grayson, of Freemantle, WA. Her brother, apparently."

"And he IDed her as Susan Grayson, right?"

"On the mark. You might be too smart."

"No, no. I think I'm pretty dumb. I took this case, after all. Listen, Courey, thank you for this. I do appreciate it."

He gave a small grunt. "If it finds this guy before he becomes another lump in a body bag, then I guess it's worth putting up with you." He hung up.

Erin put her head down on the desk, covered it with her arms. So, she had an enigmatic man running around with a girl who, after being beaten very badly, shuns sunlight and was a mere pale shade of her old, all too alive, vibrant self. A fight of fantastical proportions that she had witnessed herself. A disturbingly strange face peering out of a van during a drive-by shooting. A kid talking about her man and werewolves in the one sentence.

Something about that last bit caught her whirling thoughts and anchored them. She sat up and checked the calendar on her computer. It was full moon tonight.

No. She was crazy for giving the mad thought credence. It was ridiculous. There were no such things as werewolves, or vampires, or narrow, sick faces with sharp pointed teeth. It just wasn't real.

Yet, her hand strayed to the intercom.

"Did you know there are about a million Graysons in—" Ivan began.

"We don't care about the Graysons in WA anymore," she said. "That's not important now."

"We don't? It isn't? What did the detective have to say?"

"That the kid you found online is the one we need to find now. The one talking about Night Call and werewolves. Can you track him down?"

"I can leave a message but that's about it. Why?"

"We can't wait for a message. I think Hawkins is going to be wherever that kid is tonight. Get me the address for the message he left. I'll see if Courey can trace him through that."

"Right," Ivan said. "And then you'll tell me what's going on?"

"Just do it, Ivan." She cut off his reply and spun around to look at the city cast in shadow. The sun was sinking behind her building, throwing long grey fingers over her view.

It was utterly crazy. She should be carted off to the mental ward just for thinking it. But that didn't discount it as an honest lead. Like Hawkins had said, some people believed, and that was good enough for her.

# Chapter 30

Something woke me just before dawn. Not a clue about what it was, but a moment later, bam! Mercy's whammy wore off just like that. It wasn't the mind wiping pain of when Big Red fell on it, or even the piercing stabbing of when it had first been smashed. Still, it was a big ol' ball of throbbing, bone aching pain that had me clenching my teeth so hard they were in danger of grinding away.

"Mercy!"

"Matt!" After a second, there was a frantic rattling of her cage door.

Goddamnitall!

I pulled a pillowcase off one of the pillows, wadded it up and bit down hard. Standing was an exercise in self torture, so I settled for sitting on the floor and hauling myself backwards with my arms, pushing with one leg. Not that that was much better. Tears were streaming down my face by the time I reached the kitchen, halfway to Mercy's room. And there, spilling across the floor like a golden swathe of expensive silk, was the morning sun.

Even if I made it to Mercy's room, managed to open the door, reach up somehow to get the cage key and then unlock it, she would be about as much use as a surfboard with handlebars. Damn dozy vampires.

I leaned against the kitchen wall for a while, panting, trying not to think about the pain. Maybe it would just go away. Mind over body and all that malarky. Screw it. Who was I kidding?

Hauling arse, literarily, back to my bedroom, I crawled into the en suite. A small monumental effort later, and a strangled scream when I lost balance and landed on my bad leg, I had my little emergency kit on the tiled floor beside me. It was only little, because it held only a few small items. Syringes, needles and ampoules of morphine.

Last time Mercy had taken the pain away and it had ended like this, I'd just slept it out. Okay, and bitched and moaned it out, too. This time, I didn't think I would have the luxury of letting nature run its course. Two clashes with Big Red and he didn't seem to be understanding that no meant no. And he'd brought Erin into it. Whammied her harder than I'd ever seen before. That wasn't going to go unanswered.

So I broke the ampoule, drew up the morphine and like any helpless addict, shot up on the floor of a bathroom.

I totally zoned out for I don't know how long. Came back to reality with a busting bladder and dry, dry, dry mouth. Managed to take care of the first with only a little mess, but the second was a bit more of a challenge. I weaved my way back into the bedroom, strapped on a knee support and managed to stand.

Okay, this wasn't going to work too good. I rummaged in the closet and pulled out Old Faithful. Stick all but glued to my leg, I hobbled out to the kitchen, collapsed into a chair and drank water straight from the bottle.

It was about then I saw the time.

Fantastic. What a brilliant end to a completely blasted day. Erin was going to be pissed. Didn't think she'd appreciate me showing up three hours late. I suppose I should really find her card and give her a call. Try to find an excuse for why a man could walk away from such a fight as she'd witnessed with no issues, but be floored by pain the next day. Somehow 'my vampire's anti-pain compulsion wore off and she was catching a snooze so couldn't fix it' didn't feel like it would go down too well.

I made it to the bed, found my pants from the night before and Erin's card. It was half soaked in vampire blood. Couldn't read the number.

With a terribly manly effort, I lugged myself into the library to get the number from the website. All my books on weres caught my eye.

Damnshitbugger.

I plonked down in my office chair and rolled back to the bedroom, found my phone and called Tony. It rang out and went to message bank. I left a message. Then promptly rang again. I mean, you never know. Hoping he was at the movies or at the vet having the mutt put down, or just low on battery, I scooted back to the library, turned on the laptop and got the number for Sol Investigations from the website. Erin stared at me from the screen, daring me to not call. I turned my back on her and called her office.

Another no answer. I considered leaving a message but decided against it. Might put a dint in my mysterious air. I'd try on Monday. They probably wouldn't be at the office this late on a Saturday anyway, especially if the day's work hadn't come off well. Settled for trying the kid again. Still no go.

All these people I needed to talk to and no one was talking back. Well, my stomach was. Apparently word in the lower torso area was that the throat had been cut. I ordered a pizza over the net and spent the wait calling the kid over and over. By the time I whizzed on out to the front door to get the pizza, I still had no answers.

I went through all my books again while eating. No more enlightening than the last time I'd looked. I know my collection was far from complete where any supernatural beastie was concerned but my guts still told me there was nothing freaky about this kid's dog. On the other hand, I had a little nagging sensation I hadn't exhausted every avenue of research.

The sun was touching off the west horizon when the morphine dropped to levels conducive to real thinking and I remembered Aurum.

"Mr Hawkins," he answered before I'd even announced myself. "I was wondering when I'd hear from you again."

"Don't like to be too predictable," I said.

"Did you discover anything more about Big Red?"

I had a nasty little surge of superiority. "Spies not catch last night's episode?"

There was a speculative pause. "No, they didn't. Did you locate him?"

"Not even close." I gave him a quick rundown on what Kermit had told me and my spectacular and daring escape from their trap. Aurum didn't seem that impressed.

"Ghouls." His tone was akin to that used to comment on the dog shit on the bottom of your shoe. "You should know better than to trust them."

"Yeah, that's the popular consensus. Kermit isn't so bad, been around the block a time or two and he knows the score. If he wants to survive in this world, he's got to work at blending in some."

"He tried to kill you, Mr Hawkins."

"Gosh, so does _Staphylococcus aureus_ , but I don't hold that against it personally. It and Kermit are just opportunistic diseases."

Aurum sighed. "Hardly comparable, I should think. Still, it is your city. You may deal with its infections as you see fit."

I nearly choked on my gratitude. "Thank you so much. I really needed to hear that."

He ignored my sarcasm. Or maybe like Mercy he didn't get it. "You encountered Martínez last night?"

I told him about searching the industrial areas on the southern side of the river mouth. He made appropriate noises in appropriate places. Got really keen when I told him about Mercy sniffing out Big Red and tracking him down. I glossed over a lot of the details of the fight, but one thing jumped around for Aurum like a wounded antelope to a lazy lion.

"This woman, who is she to you?"

I'd very carefully avoided mentioning Erin in any terms other than 'the woman'. Aurum didn't have to know about this other issue.

"What makes you think she's anything at all to me?"

I could almost hear the smug bastard smiling that don't-shit-me-boy-I-knew-that-game-before-your-grandfather-ever-wondered-what-your-grandmother's-knees-looked-like smile he did so well.

"The fact that you took such care to make me aware of how unrelated she was to you, and the fact that Martínez went to the trouble of hunting down someone who would catch your attention."

"Now, see, I don't think that was his whole intention. I think he was looking for someone who knew me so he could, ah hem, pump them for information. He put a major weight compulsion on her. She felt it when he was hit with Holy water."

That gave Aurum something to think about. "In that case, I think you're correct. A feeding compulsion is not that binding. You've heard the term thrall?"

The pizza made little uneasy movements in my guts. "Yeah, heard it, know it. I thought that was just fiction."

"Oh, really, Mr Hawkins. You have a scientific mind. Use it for once. Take what you know and extrapolate. I should have thought after our first meeting all this would be clear to you."

I knew what he was getting at. Psychic links between vampires, a link between me and Mercy. Psychic links between vampires and their food to keep the humans docile. Yeah, yeah. Obvious and all.

"Scientific minds can also suffer deniability," I said. "It's not like I've had a relaxing three days to ponder all this crap. Next time you want to rock into town to give me a lecture and exam, do it when the freaks are on holiday or something."

"Send me a memo," he shot right back.

"Don't worry, I will." And for a change, I was the one to pull us out of the school playground. "So, why I was calling. Do you know anything about werewolves?"

If Aurum minded the topic change, he didn't say so. Did nothing phase this geezer?

"A bit. What is your question?"

"This is going to sound a bit stupid, but can an animal become a were-creature?"

Aurum's snort was delicate and utterly refined. "What do you think humans are if not animals?"

"Yeah, okay, got me. But I mean something like, oh I don't know, some kid's floppy eared, totally domesticated dog?"

"If the dog was bitten by an infected creature, then yes."

I swallowed hard. "How? Infectious agents rarely cross species."

"What are considered to be 'normal' infectious agents, yes. But the were virus is not normal. It was unleashed on our world by demonic forces. Dogs becoming werewolves is rather common, actually. It's just not that well known because people are more prone to killing animals that act strangely than they are their friends or family."

My stomach ended up somewhere in my toes. And I'd told Tony there was nothing to worry about.

"Thanks," I mumbled and hung up.

I rang the kid's phone again. Still no answer. Fuck.

It was about half an hour off nearly complete dark. Mercy would be getting up soon. She could track weres as well as she could track vampires. I guess we'd just have to do our best and hope a whole lot. I rolled into my bedroom to get dressed and was in the en suite before I'd thought about it. This time, I measured the dose and aimed just to stave off the pain and not get high. And felt sick the entire time.

# Chapter 31

Erin pulled up beside the gate to the Rollins residence. It was a low set brick house sitting back from the road on several acres in Logan Reserve. A thick screen of tall trees separated the house from the road. There were two houses across the road, but otherwise, the area was still bush land. The clock on the dash read 21:13. Courey had taken several hours to get back to her with the street address for the IP address Ivan had found. Then it had taken her another hour to reach the place. The full moon had swayed through the eastern quarter of the sky while she drove, drifting behind a fringe of clouds.

Behind the screening trees, the property was circled with a standard height chain link fence, but it had been extended up with hastily applied chicken wire. There were rows of barbed wire along the front. Someone didn't want uninvited visitors, or escapees.

Erin checked the magazine on her Glock and then slipped it into her shoulder rig, not bothering to secure it in place. Getting out of the car, she studied the house. Lights shone through several of the windows and the flickering blue light of a TV highlighted one end of the house. There was an old hatchback in the driveway, something a kid with a fresh licence might drive. The car sat in deep shadows, all the lights on at the other end of the house.

It was too quiet. A breeze rustled the trees and the faint murmuring of a TV came from across the road. There was no traffic. It was chilly and she was thankful for the jacket she wore to conceal her weapon, though she resisted the urge to wrap it tight. There was no point in carrying the gun if she couldn't get to it as quickly as possible.

Thanks to the extensions to the fence, the gate was hard to open. A hole just big enough for a fist to pass through had been cut into the wire. Erin gingerly put her hand through and unlatched the gate. Once released, the whole structure leaned precariously outward and Erin stepped back to keep the barbed wire from snagging in her hair. She had to grip the inside edge of the fence and lift it a couple of inches off the ground to swing it open enough for her to squeeze through.

Erin walked up the driveway at a slow, deliberate pace. All noise from the houses across the road was muffled by the trees, leaving her in even deeper quiet. Halfway to the house, she drew her gun. It hadn't been a conscious choice, but once the moulded grip settled into her hand, she knew it had been right.

She watched the bright windows as she approached. There was no movement inside. While she hadn't vocally announced her presence, the gate scraping open should have done a sufficient job in the strange quiet. Someone should have come to the front door, or to a window. There was nothing.

It wasn't right. Something was very wrong. Stomach quivering, Erin turned side on, gun raised in both hands as she side stepped toward the house. It was time to get active.

"Hello?" she called. "Mr Rollins? Mrs Rollins?"

Nothing changed. If anything, the air dropped several degrees. Erin's shoulders wanted to shiver but she suppressed the urge.

"My name's Erin McRea," she continued. "I'm with a private investigation firm. I have some questions for your son."

More silence.

Then a noise.

Heart slamming against her ribs, Erin pointed the gun toward the hatchback. It had been a little noise. A soft click. Possibly a large insect landing on the metal. Possibly someone trying to be quiet as they hid behind the car.

"Hello?" Erin took her left hand off the butt of the gun and reached into a pocket for her torch. She lifted it, rested her right hand on her left wrist and pointed gun and torch in the same direction. "Who's there?" She clicked on the torch.

It rose up from the shadows behind the car. Almost as big as the car itself. The thin, pathetic beam of Erin's torch highlighted a circle of dark fur that rippled as the muscles concealed beneath it bunched and tensed. She had enough time to think 'What the fuck?' and then it leaped.

The wave of almost physical cold hit her a split second before the animal. The cold swept through her, peeling away layers of strength and certainty and conviction. Erin dropped under the assault and the creature sailed over her head. A rasping, bone cracking snarl trailed it, digging into the empty spaces created by the initial freezing wave.

It landed behind her with quiet ease, the sound of four paws touching down the only noise. On her belly, Erin tensed, getting ready to gather her arms and legs under her so she could jump up and run. Before she could, the creature moved. She knew it turned around to face her by the sudden sensation of ice trickling down her back. Then its breath, hot and metallic, rich with fresh blood, parted the hair around her neck. It snuffled at her prickled skin. She could feel its weight hanging over her. Although she looked straight ahead, trying desperately to judge the distance to the car so she could crawl under it, she knew it stood over her, paws to either side of her head and feet.

The beast was massive. It pushed its giant muzzle into the back of her neck and its mouth was large enough to swallow her whole head in one bite.

The gun was still in her hand. The torch was trapped under her body, cancelling out its light. She didn't mind that it jabbed up into her stomach. There was not one inch of her that wanted to see this thing any more clearly.

A violent roar cracked the still night, followed an instant later by a loud smash.

The beast lifted its head, turned toward the sound. Erin rolled over, discarded the torch and pushed her Glock two handed into its chest. Her finger spasmed on the trigger of the gun, unloading round after round into the animal. It jerked and jumped, hissing a sharp edged snarl at her. As it sprang backwards, she saw its eyes. They glimmered red in the night.

Bright light flooded Erin and the beast. She squeezed her eyes shut but kept firing. A second gun began firing and the creature let out a howling bellow. The scent of burning fur and flesh hit her through the clouds of singed gunpowder. Her gun emptied and locked open. She opened her eyes to reload. The world was washed in white light immediately around her. Beyond that, the night was opaque, but she saw the creature several yards away and retreating. Smoke rose from patches of its body. Its mouth gaped wide as it snapped at the air, fangs as long as daggers slashing the night.

A tall figure stalked toward it, gun raised in one hand, calmly firing. Each hit resulted in a flash of flame and a new smoking wound. But then his weapon also locked open. He swore and ejected the spent magazine, a second already in his other hand. In the three seconds it took him to reload, the beast stopped its retreat, growled and advanced again.

Erin, her hands operating separate from her non-functioning brain, had already reloaded. She fired again, covering the man while he finishing slapping home the new magazine. He backed toward Erin, holding the gun two handed this time, taking his time to aim carefully. Flames burst out on the creature's face and it howled.

A dark shape flew out of the night and barrelled into the giant beast. Both went sprawling and crashed into the hatchback. The little car rocked up on two wheels, teetered for a moment, then crashed down on its side. With a negligent flip, the beast was on its feet again. It shook its great head once, looked back at Erin and Hawkins, growled and then launched itself into a leap that took it right over their heads. It landed clumsily, falling into the black car idling inside the broken gates. Then it was up and vanishing into the night beyond the yard.

"Fuck it," Hawkins shouted.

Mercy materialised out of the dark beside him. The small woman was panting hard, eyes blazing silver. "Chase," she said, her voice a mirror of the hiss the beast had sounded.

"No, it's too strong." Hawkins spun and glared at Erin. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Fear and confusion coalesced into a burning anger at those words. Erin clambered to her feet, highly aware of the gun still in her hand, her finger poised over the trigger guard.

"I could ask the same of you?" she ground out.

He shoved his free hand back through his messy hair. "My job." And the rage subsided in him. His shoulders slumped a touch. "And not very well. God damn it."

"What was that thing?" Erin asked. Her own anger hadn't dissipated but she kept it leashed. Screaming mindlessly at him wouldn't get her anywhere.

The headlights of his car picked out his teeth in bright white when he grinned, but it was a far from happy expression. "A werewolf-dog, if you can believe that."

Her head was shaking before she realised it. "No, I can't really believe that."

"Then what do you think it was?" he asked carelessly.

He was getting ready to make another move; looking around, studying the damage caused by the strange creature. Mercy moved as his shadow, a silent, dark clad form watching his back, her bright eyes darting this way and that constantly. Her cute little nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air.

"Blood," she announced, her voice soft and sultry. "Fresh. Hot."

Hawkins swore again. "Show me."

Mercy trotted away and this time Hawkins was her shadow. Erin, not about to be left behind, caught up to him.

"Get back to your car and stay there," he said without looking at her.

"Bite me," she replied.

"That could be arranged." There was a touch of teasing in his tone, as well as irony.

Mercy, dressed in black leather pants and a tight fitting black top, led them around the side of the house and into the backyard. Moonlight stained red spilled across the body.

It lay halfway between house and dog kennel. The kennel was made of brick, as solid as it could get. Yet part of the front wall was torn out, broken bricks lying in a jagged trail to the body. A thick chain lay amongst the scattered ruins, one end attached to a shattered brick, the other to a big, studded and torn collar.

Erin didn't want to look at the body, but she couldn't help it. Hawkins stood by it, seemingly unable to look away. Mercy circled him and it, a predator stalking prey.

It was a boy, a young man, maybe. Just out of high school at most. His face was still rounded with a touch of youthfulness, freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. Wide eyes stared up at the full moon, mouth agape. Below his chin, his neck and chest were reduced to so much raw meat. The ribs were cracked and spread, shoved outward by the broad muzzle of the creature that had torn his lungs and heart out. They weren't visible anywhere. Erin didn't want to think about the animal eating them. His stomach was shredded, skin and muscle tossed aside to reveal ruptured and steaming guts.

Erin spun and staggered away. For the second time that day, she threw up. But this time, there was nothing to come up, just bitter bile and regret. She took a moment, bent over, hands on her knees, to calm her breathing. A warm hand touched her back.

"You okay?"

She shook her head.

"Yeah, me neither."

With a shrug of her shoulders, she dislodged his hand and straightened. "I don't see you puking up your guts." But when she looked at him, he was pale and trembling a little bit.

"Delayed reaction," he said softly. "I'll break later. You really should get back to your car. The creature is still out there. They're territorial. It could very well come back."

Erin vented a short, caustic laugh. "Like my car is going to protect me from that. What was it?"

"I told you. A werewolf-dog."

"That's not possible. Werewolves aren't real."

"You say that after seeing that thing eat two clips from your gun? After taking silver bullets and just getting angry? Your powers of denial are superhuman."

"And this is your job?" she demanded, waving with the Glock at the destruction in the back yard. "Following these things around and what? Killing them?"

He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Matt."

They both turned to Mercy. She stood by the body, head back, tilted to one side. Her silver eyes glittered.

Hawkins tensed. "Is it coming back?"

"No. Sirens."

"The neighbours must have called the police when the shooting began," Erin said.

"Great," Hawkins hissed. "A big, bright, loud challenge to the werewolf. Mercy, looks like we're going hunting again. Can you track it?"

The small woman snapped a glare at him, daring him to doubt her.

"Okay, okay," he said. "Be about your thing. But don't tackle it without me. I think it's too strong, even for you."

She snarled at him and vanished in a blur of silver. Erin stared at the spot Mercy had just been standing in. The image of long fangs behind those red lips wouldn't leave her mind's eye.

"She's a... a..."

"Vampire, yes." Hawkins ejected the magazine from his weapon, checked the remaining rounds and replaced it with a fresh one dug from a pocket in his cargo pants. "They're as real as werewolves." Taking her arm, he steered her back around the house. "Get in your car, stay there until the cops come. Tell them you found the body and that the dog that did it is on the loose. Tell them it has rabies or something."

"Rabies doesn't exist in Australia," she muttered.

"Neither did equine influenza but I'm sure the horse racing industry would love to argue semantics with you. Just do it. Then go home and forget everything you've seen in the last couple of nights."

He had her car door open and her halfway shoved in when she came back to her senses. She shoved him away and slammed the car door before he could protest.

"You're not pushing me around like that. I went to a lot of trouble to get here tonight, I'm going to see this through." She jabbed a finger in his chest. "And then I'm taking you back to my office and tying you down so you don't miss another appointment. Understand?"

He stared at her, lips twitching. She wasn't sure if it was in anger or amusement.

"Fine," he said. "But you do exactly what I say, when I say, and nothing else. And afterward, we'll have a nice long talk about who gets to tie who up."

And so she piled into the passenger seat of his low slung car, heart racing so fast it was likely to beat its way out of her chest and flop about on the floor. What was she doing? Getting into a car with a dangerous man she knew all too little and far too much about? Racing into the night with him after a creature from nightmare when she could have done as he said and stayed safe.

If only she'd quit instead of taking this case.

# Chapter 32

Argh! What the hell was I doing letting her come along? I was mad. This was the morphine talking. Or it was Major Matt of the Pants Brigade taking control at the worst, worst possible moment. There was no excuse for it. None what's so ever.

"Here," I snapped, harsher than I meant it to be. I thrust my phone at her. "There's a GPS program. Get it up and track the dot on the screen."

She took it and with deft skill had the program up and running. "That way." Erin pointed to the left. "What is this?"

I swung the car onto the dark side street. "It's tracking Mercy. And she's tracking the werewolf. It'll lead us right to them."

"Right." There was a quiver to her voice. "God, this is like some movie, or a really bad dream."

"You had the chance to wait back there," I said heartlessly.

"I don't back down from a fight."

I smiled before I realised it. "So I've noticed."

"Can you go right? It looks like she's veering that way."

Trees crowded the road on both sides. "Um, not really. We might have to back track. Watch her, see if she keeps going in that direction."

"You do this a lot?"

"More often than your average PI, I would wager. Hey, I'm sorry I missed the meeting today. I really did mean to get there."

Erin snorted. "But vampire and werewolf business got in the way?"

"Heh. Yeah, sort of."

"She's coming back this way. So the other day in the pub, you were really researching werewolves?"

"Still thinking about writing that book though. Should a be quick, easy wad of cash."

I slowed the car, sensing Mercy draw close. Sure enough, she flowed out of the trees and stopped in the middle of the road. She looked into the car, saw Erin and her lips peeled away from her fangs. Her anger washed down the link and bit into my head. I snarled and sent it right back at her, with a twist of my own in the mix. She took it with a hiss but lifted her head and sniffed.

" _That way,"_ she announced over the private line, her touch sharp edged. She pointed back toward the more built up areas of the suburb. _"It's hungry."_

Her own hunger was spiking as well. There'd been no time for her to eat before leaving, and she'd claimed she wasn't hungry. Stupid me for not packing a picnic I guess.

" _Then move your scrawny arse,"_ I replied.

Mercy glared at me, but shimmered into action once more. I came fully back to myself to find Erin staring at me.

"Hi." I turned the car around and headed back the way we'd come.

"What was that?"

"Werewolves, vampires and now psychics. Been something of a busy night for you," I said, concentrating on the road.

She was quiet for a while, computing the new information.

"Psychic," she said, softly. "It shouldn't surprise me."

"Don't feel bad if it does. Hell, I still have issues with it all sometimes. On the back seat there's a box of ammunition. What calibre does your Glock take?"

"Nine mil. Why?"

"Good. The rounds in the box are nines. Swap out your ammo for them. They're silver tipped. Your best bet against were-creatures."

Erin slanted me a sceptical frown, but did as I said. She even held a silent hand out for my spent mags and filled them with quick, economical motions. When she was done, she took up the phone again.

"Left," she commanded, then sighed. "When this is done, we are really going to have that talk. No bones about it."

"When this is done, you might _not_ want to have that talk."

The next several minutes were filled with nothing but directional instructions. We ended up back in the true suburbs, houses on both sides of the streets, a few cars on the road. My fingers curled around the steering wheel so tight they turned white. If this had stayed in the Reserve, it would have gone down easier. But we were amongst the smorgasbord now. An all you can eat buffet for something as large as this creature, which could probably tear down the front wall of your average house and pick out the residents like sardines. Not the best place for a big ol' showdown.

Erin echoed my thoughts. "This is not good."

"It could be better. What's she doing?"

She studied the phone screen. "Circling. At least I think so. Over there." She pointed and I turned down the closest street.

It took us to a little cul-de-sac at the end of a street of older houses. The very end of the street was a park with a playground surrounded by tall trees and trimmed hedges. Erin looked out over the park, then back at the phone, nodding.

"This is it. She's just circling fairly wide. What would that mean?"

I sucked air in between my teeth. "Don't know. She's never done that before. Stay here. I'm going to check this out."

Should have known better than to waste the breath. Erin just got out and joined me at the front of the car. Still, I wasn't going to leave it at that.

"Really, Erin, this is going to get pretty hairy. You should stay in the car."

"Really, Hawkins, you should stop being a chauvinistic pig. I might just clock you if you don't."

I swallowed a laugh. "Touché." Cougar in both hands, I eased along the path to the playground at the middle of the park. And then, just because I'm that sort of thick-headed guy, I added, "Stay behind me."

She stepped up to my side, mirrored my slow stalk. "Sure. Whatever you say."

The trees closed in on us as we advanced. The moonlight filtered through, limning shapes in pale grey, sliding across the wind-touched foliage like quicksilver.

Cold electricity rippled over me, stopped me dead in my tracks. It hit Erin at the same time, her breath lodging in her throat. I could safely say that, because that's where mine was as well. There was no accompanying flood of flavour in my mouth, so I could assume it wasn't Big Red, even though the weight of the presence was equivalent to his.

The were-creature was here.

Erin quivered close beside me, jumped a little when nails tapped on cement behind us. A snarl born of pure hunger and malevolence washed over our backs, prickling the hairs on my neck.

A rush of hot, fetid air hit my neck. The night resonated with the snap of teeth so close to my head it rang in my ears. Beside me, Erin whimpered, eliciting another snarl from the beast. It shifted, nails clicking. This time, Erin lost it. She made a little noise as if trying to breathe both in and out at the same time. Then she ran.

Running equals prey. I'm sure Erin knew this, in the part of her brain currently taking refuge behind the big, screaming primitive part. I had a split second to decide my own action. No choice really.

I matched Erin pace for pace. So did the werewolf. What was a flat out run for us was a casual lope for the beast. It didn't let us run far. Just as we emerged from the trees, I felt it tense, a tightening of the air around us. I grabbed Erin's arm and dropped a split second before the beast pounced. We hit the ground, which was a sandy base for the playground. I got a mouthful of sand and a woman on my back. The sand exploded out of my mouth on a tidal wave of all the air in my body.

Erin rolled off me with a strangled grunt. Side by side, we clambered to our feet, guns at the ready. I looked around. Found the beast on the far side of the playground, a seesaw away from ripping our throats out.

At the house, I'd been too concerned with forcing the creature off Erin to take in too much of its particulars. I couldn't help but take it all in now.

Tony Rollins had said the dog was a ridgeback, wolfhound cross. Both breeds were visibly apparent in this beast. It was tall and lean, shaggy with a great ridge of stiff hair standing up along its shoulders and down its spine. But it was also part wolf. The long, pointed muzzle of the wolfhound was shortened and broadened, stained with the blood of its one time master. The shoulders were wide with bulky muscle, the hind quarters narrow. Oh, and the eyes shone a baleful shade of blood red. Before the full change, the dog must have been scary enough, but it was pure monster now.

The werewolf lowered its head and growled at us, top lip peeling back from its teeth. My heart positively clawed at my throat, trying to get out of my chest, at the sight of those red streaked, yellowed daggers it had instead of fangs.

Where the hell was Mercy?

A gust of wind rocked the swings to our right. The wolf glanced at them. I took the chance to raise my gun. Erin did the same. But before we could do any more than that, the creature's attention was back on us. It took a slow, menacing step forward, sweeping us with its blood red gaze. Another step and Erin and I opened fire.

We both had silver tipped slugs this time. Each and every shot that hit it did real damage. Flames erupted about its head and shoulders, smoking in the clear night. It yelped and jumped, but kept coming forward. It sailed over the seesaw as if it didn't believe in gravity. Great plumes of sand arced up in its wake as its giant paws dug through the soft ground to hurl its big body forward. It was, in a word, sublime.

It was like watching those nature documentaries where a lion springs out of the long grass and just simply flows over the terrain after its prey. If it touched the ground, you barely registered it with your feeble human eyeballs and brain. Muscles bunched and released with exquisite precision, creating a motion that was both fluid and solid, a real weight bearing down on some helpless animal.

Except that this time, we were the helpless animals.

Erin dove to the left. I took the right. The werewolf flashed through the space we'd just occupied faster than eyes could comprehend. Thankfully, the soft, mobile ground wasn't its friend. It hit the sand and skidded, coming right to the edge of the playground and tumbling onto the hard packed soil and grass before the trees. I used the time to scramble up onto the monkey-bars. Erin, I noticed from the corner of my eye, dived head first up the enclosed slide coming off the climbing castle. She scrambled frantically and her head emerged from the top like a meerkat checking for trouble.

Balanced on the top of the monkey-bars, I tracked the wolf. It sprang to its feet and spun to face us again. For a moment, it looked between us, then decided. It came for me.

Hooking a foot around a rung, I let loose a wild yell and emptied the rest of my magazine into the charging beast. It howled and simply rammed the end of the structure with a massive shoulder. The whole frame shook and I wobbled dangerously. The empty mag I'd just ejected flew from my hand and disappeared into the night. Grabbing another one from a pocket, I nearly lost it too as the wolf backed up and charged again. This time, there was a tortured, metallic scream and the monkey-bars tipped alarmingly to one side. My foot came free of its desperate perch and I rolled over the side.

The wolf bounded almost playfully to the spot where I would have landed, had I not caught hold of the bars and swung myself in under them.

Of course, it was a _child's_ playground. The monkey-bars weren't made to suspend a fully grown man of the tall persuasion, especially when they were already broken and listing terribly. My feet hit the ground but I hauled them up ASAP and the wolf's teeth grazed my arse.

Erin shot at it and a brief fire blazed on its back. It ducked and turned away from me, facing her. She crouched at the top of the climbing castle, resting her gun against a crenellation to keep it steady.

The monkey-bars were steel piping. The climbing castle was not. It was a stacked together structure of hard plastic pieces. Withstanding the beating an eight year old could deal out was about as tough as the climbing castle manufacturers had in mind. About eighty kilos of enraged, supernaturally strong dog pulverised the thing.

Thankfully, the logical thinking part of Erin's brain had struggled part way back into control and she dived for the enclosed slide a moment before the whole structure came crashing down. The slide rolled away from the carnage, taking her with it. She clattered about inside it, swearing and cursing.

The wolf followed it, shoving its head in one end. Erin nearly flew out the other, but she stayed just inside, for the wolf was too big to get more than its head and neck in. Those powerful shoulders were just too wide. Its snapping and snarling echoed, as did the shots Erin fed into it down the tunnel. The wolf backed out and into a barrage from my gun.

One of my shots took out a hamstring and the leg just collapsed under it. Growling, it hauled itself up on three legs and spun, clumsily, to face me.

I'd lost track of the number of hits it had taken, here and back at the house. It had only three working legs. Large patches of its skin sizzled under the touch of silver. And still the fucker kept on coming.

I clambered back on top of the seriously tilting monkey-bars, lined up the shot and muttered, "Come on, you sonuvabitch," in my best Sheriff Brody.

The wolf launched itself right at me. I put a bullet down its gullet and, I guess because it didn't have a pressurised gas tank in its mouth, nothing much happened beyond it driving right into the monkey-bars and sending us both flying A over T.

It had to happen eventually. The amount of times this thing had sent me tumbling, I was bound to lose my gun. I heard a distant crack as it hit a tree or something and then I was on the ground, breathless once more and wishing I hadn't been so careful on the morphine dose this time. White flashed before my eyes and I waited for it to turn red, but it didn't and I knew I had to move. No berserk rage was going to get me out of this one.

I rolled and whipped around, looking for the beast. It was back on the grass beyond the edge of the playground. It stood on its three working legs, shaking its head groggily. Something long protruded from its side, one of the cross beams from the monkey-bars. Yes. It had taken a serious blow. Nice.

But even as I congratulated the laws of physics and chance, the beast reached around with its head and bit down on the metal piping. With a vicious shake, it pulled the bar free and tossed it aside.

Holy crap. They built these werewolf-dogs tough.

Then it turned toward me once more, red eyes blazing.

Desperate, I scrambled through my pockets and came up with the nightstick and SAS knife. Shit. I loved them when going hand to hand with a vampire, but I hadn't intended on getting that close with this monster. Still, it was the best I had left.

I climbed to my feet, knife and stick at the ready.

"Bring it," I snarled.

And the wolf brought it.

# Chapter 33

All thoughts of the sublime fled as the beast barrelled toward me. About all that consumed my thoughts was how hard I was going to die. Very faintly I could hear Erin yelling at me to get down, but I felt shooting it had been proven inadequate. If I dropped so she had a clean line of sight, I would be on the ground and the wolf would just keep coming. Standing, I had some chance.

Minuscule, but a chance all the same.

And standing, I presented myself as a better distraction.

The wolf's front feet touched down a scant meter from me. One more bound would bring it to me. In the second between its rear feet hitting the ground and its front paws reaching out for me, the beast was swept to the side by a vampire at full speed.

I didn't wait around to see what happened next. There were absolutely no qualms about turning tail and running. This fight had the potential to cause some major damage, and I really didn't want to get caught out in the open. I raced for the slide. At the last moment, I felt the great big ball of furious supernatural barny coming at me. Erin screamed and I threw myself down into a skid. Scrambling backwards down the slide, Erin made room for me, and I slid right in. Just in time too.

The plastic tunnel jerked. Erin nearly tumbled out the far end. I grabbed her hand, hauled her back in. We rolled over and over, finally coming to a stop on the edge of the playground. The battle between vampire and werewolf tore off in another direction.

We lay there for a moment, our combined panting drowning out all other sound. Almost. The high speed whirring of the fight was like an angle grinder going crazy on a saw edge.

"You okay?" I asked Erin.

She lifted her head to stare at me as if I'd just asked her to a ménage trios.

"Yeah, stupid question." I squirmed up beside her and peered out the end of the slide.

On the far side of the playground, under the ruined monkey-bars, the wolf crouched. A blur of moonlight coalesced into Mercy. She grabbed its ridge of fur, dragged it around and slammed it into the remaining unbroken support of the monkey-bars. While the beast floundered, Mercy strolled almost languidly to the broken bar that had impaled the beast. She picked it up, hefted it a few times, then whirled back to the wolf and laid into it with the steel bar.

"Oh my God." Erin was one long breath of stunned disbelief. "This isn't real. It can't be real."

I didn't bother contradicting her. She knew it was real. Her brain just had to catch up to her heart. Sometimes, that took a while. I hoped Erin had that time.

The wolf managed to pull itself away from Mercy's attack. Its injured leg hampered it, but still the bastard thing moved like a race horse on 'roids. It sprinted for the trees and disappeared into their deep, deep shadows. Mercy got a firmer grip on her steel bar, rolled her shoulders, and then took off after it.

"My God," Erin repeated.

I scrambled out, nearly took a dive into the sand as my knee gave out, and then went back around to her end.

"Should you be out there?" she asked. Her voice had solidified up into something resembling anger.

"I'll know if they're coming back." I held out a hand to her.

Erin glared at it and hauled herself out without assistance.

"So, see any real estate that interests you?" I asked as she stood up.

"You weren't exactly Mr Forthcoming yourself. Why did she wait so long before attacking? She was circling this area, knew it was here, knew we were here."

Lovely. Just the question I didn't particularly want to answer. "If you remember, I told Mercy not to close with it without me as back up."

"But she wasn't here when we first showed up," Erin snapped.

"She was watching and waiting." Before Erin could demand clarification, I said, "Mercy's not strong enough to take it down on her own. We had to soften it up for her."

There was a tense, contemplative silence. I could all but hear the cogs turning rapidly in Erin's head.

"I think she used us as bait."

It was said quietly, firmly. And I couldn't deny it.

"As a distraction, definitely." I turned a complete circle, reaching for Mercy, trying to pinpoint her general location. There was a hint toward the south, away from the houses of the street and in the deeper realms of the park.

Erin ejected her mag, checked it and refilled from her pockets. "You did something to me last night." Her tone was soft, almost accusatory, but with something underneath that didn't sound so argumentative.

"Big Red had laid a serious compulsion on you. Deeper than anything else I've encountered, which these days, isn't saying much. If I hadn't broken it, once he got his ducks back in a row, he could have just jerked your chain and you would have gone running." I glanced at her. She was studying the trees with a cold intensity. "You haven't had an urge to go looking for him?" And in that moment, I almost regretted breaking the hold he'd had on her. If I'd left it alone and he'd sent out the call, I could have followed her right to him. In the next moment, I hated myself for the thought. What sort of person would even think that, let alone consider it seriously?

Let's not answer that.

Erin shook her head. "Big Red?"

"Narsico Martínez Pérez."

The look she flashed me was all sceptical questioning.

"Big guy in the Spanish Inquisition," I explained. "Reportedly having a great big bash for his 301st birthday this year."

"Spanish..." She trailed off and closed her eyes for a moment. Heaving out a long breath, she asked, "He's a vampire?"

"Give the girl a Kewpie doll."

The wolf howled. It sounded closer than Mercy felt. And I could have kicked myself for not using the respite to look for my gun. Erin raised her gun in the direction of the howl. Both of us backed toward the slide again.

"And vampires don't like sunlight?"

Kudos to McRea for keeping on topic under the oncoming threat.

"Or garlic, or Holy anything." I grabbed the knife again. About the only use the nightstick would do me was if I decided to bludgeon myself to death before the wolf could eat me to death. I should probably look into a second gun.

"And they can't walk around during the day?"

"I shouldn't think so. They tend to get rather dopey during the sunlight hours. Not the classical dead sleep of your Rice vampires and whatnot. You could have a conversation with them, if you wanted nonsensical answers. You could even drag their arses out in the sunlight and let them fry. Why twenty questions now, of all times?"

Erin snorted. "I think you're the sort of person that if I don't ask when I can, I'll not get a chance again for a long time."

"I promise, after this is over, we'll have that talk."

"Like you promised to come to the meeting today."

"Wow. A guy doesn't get many chances with you, does he? You never did give me an answer about the seafood. I know this little restaurant out at—"

The wolf barrelled out of the trees. For all that Mercy had had it on the run, it didn't look any worse for wear. If anything, it looked a trifle fitter. I had a moment to panic about Mercy and then Erin was pulling me down.

We scrambled back into the slide. Both of us trying to get into the one end would have been amusing to any All Knowing Being looking down from above. And I'm glad we could provide the entertainment, but all I cared about was not being mauled beyond recognition. Mother had always cautioned Joe and I, when we were in the midst of a rough and loud display of brotherly affection, that she would like to have open casket funerals, so please, be careful of your faces, boys. I'd die, literally, before disappointing her like that.

I managed to squeeze in with my face somewhere Erin probably didn't really want it and the world's biggest and wettest nose in roughly the same place on my own anatomy. I damn near shoved Erin right out the far end. The slobbering jaws vanished from my arse, leaving a vacuum that was almost as scary as the wolf.

Erin screamed and pushed back as the slavering mouth snapped inches from her face. I pushed my back into the top of the slide, letting her slither in below me. However, it was clear that the climbing castle manufacturers, while not accounting for werewolf-dogs, had also not considered the fact two adults might like to spend time together in the slide. Or perhaps they had, and just reasoned that any adults who might like to do that, barring the presence of a big bad wolf, would only do so because they wished to be intimate. In short, if the wolf didn't pick us out at its leisure, we'd probably need the Jaws of Life to make our escape.

If there'd been any doubt that the werewolf had begun life as a fun-loving, joyful puppy of the floppy ears and big, round eyes persuasion, we were disabused of that notion.

With a powerful slap, the wolf sent the slide rolling over and over. Between us, there wasn't enough room for anyone to clatter about this time. Claws scraped over the hard plastic, teeth gnashed and the throaty growls vibrated through the slide and right into my chest. We ended up on our sides, spooning, if you're into the exact imagery. Everything went quiet. No snuffling, no grunting, no pitter-patter of paws around our cocoon.

"Do you think it's gone?" Erin whispered.

"Not unless you're the luckiest person alive. Are you?"

"No way. I'm here with you, aren't I?"

We listened hard for a while longer. Still nothing.

"Do you know where she is?"

I was this close to telling her Mercy had a name, but decided now wasn't the time. Getting to know your neighbourhood vampire was probably best left to calmer situations.

Concentrating, I reached down the link and found Mercy. She was lurking about, waiting for a prime opportunity. And she was hurt. Whatever had happened in the park hadn't gone so well for her. I couldn't pinpoint any exact wounds, but they were bad enough to slow her down.

" _Mercy, how bad are you hurt?"_

She growled at me.

Fantastic. It was bad. Shit.

I began squirming about, trying to judge which was the best direction to go in.

"Hawkins? What is it?"

"Mercy's hurt." It came out harsher than I intended, but I wasn't about to apologise.

"You can't go out there. It's probably right there, waiting for one of us do exactly what you're doing." And she twisted about so she could clamp her arms around me.

I stopped. "I'm not leaving her out there alone and hurt. Can I borrow your gun?"

She glared at me, then sighed and began wriggling forward. I went backwards and we managed to get apart without too much damage. Erin, Glock close by her head, took a quick peek.

"Can't see it," she reported.

We waited a breathless second to make sure it wasn't about to appear and try for Erin's head. Then she snuck another look. Clear again. I tried as best I could to look over my shoulder. It too seemed monster free. I dangled a foot out but quickly. No takers on the bait, so we squirted out together.

Rolling the moment my head was clear, I came up on my good knee, left leg stretched out to the side. Erin came out in a combat roll, bringing her into a similar position. Between us, was the slide. And perched on top of it?

Oh boy, you guessed it.

I froze to the spot. Pretty sure Erin did too. The wolf looked between us. Out smarted by a dog-freak. Man, I hoped I didn't survive only to have to try to live it down.

It went for Erin this time. It shifted slightly toward her. Erin fell backwards, gun coming to bear on it. I threw myself at the slide just as the wolf began to move. Hitting the slide at an angle, I caused enough of a rock it threw the wolf off balance. It tumbled to the side and Erin's shot went wide.

While it was down, I reached for its tail, got a handful and half hauled, half launched myself onto its back. The SAS knife was buried in its side before it shook me off. Like the cross bar before it, the knife had no great effect, except that it was small enough the wolf deemed it an acceptable nuisance and simply flew at me.

A board swung over my head and collected the wolf in the face. Mercy finished the swing, lifting the creature off the ground and tossing it backwards. She leaped after it, bringing the half a seesaw down on its back. It twisted with depressing speed and flexibility and swiped a paw at Mercy. It caught her across the stomach and she fell back, the grass around her staining black as her blood hit it.

The wolf lunged at her. She caught its ruff of fur and held its jaws back from her face. It clawed at her again, raking her arms, leaving long, deep furrows in her pale skin.

I scrambled for Erin. She lay where she'd fallen, Glock pointed at the fight but wavering, unwilling to shoot while Mercy was so close to the wolf. I had no such hesitation. I grabbed the gun and stood, walking toward the fight. The wolf was the bigger target by far, but still I got as close as the waving paws would let me and unloaded the remains of the clip into the beast. It yowled and jerked with the blazing impacts and tried to get away. Mercy, however, held it tight and suffered the accidental wounds of its flailing claws.

Finally, it sagged in Mercy's hold, head drooping toward her, jaws slack. It was still alive though, sides heaving with laboured breaths. Mercy tossed it aside with obvious effort. It didn't go far, but it stayed down.

I knelt beside Mercy, but she shook off my hands and rolled to her hands and knees. The blood simply poured out of her. Her belly was lacerated, her arms stripped to ribbons. There was a gash on her neck and a great hunk of hair hung at a completely wrong angle, falling from a flap of skin torn loose from her skull.

My guts lurched in panic. She'd never been this beat up before. The smaller scrapes and scratches on her legs, showing through big tears in her leather pants, should have been healing up as I watched, but they just oozed pale vampire blood.

"Jesus, Merce," I whispered and reached for her again.

She snapped at my hands, a low, rumbling snarl starting deep in her throat. Her eyes were opaque silver, so far gone into pain and hunger she wouldn't come back until someone was drained dry.

With effort, Mercy got to her feet. I rose with her, slow and cautious. In this state of mindlessness, she could very well come at me. Or worse, Erin. And it was on the still prone woman the predator gaze landed. I stepped between them.

Mercy growled, but before she could do anything more, the wolf responded to it.

Fuck! Didn't that thing know when it was beaten?

Not about to let the challenge go unanswered, Mercy spun and staggered over to it. She swayed horribly but managed to get around behind the fallen beast. It lifted its head to snarl at her. Lips peeled back in a silent response, Mercy just put a foot in the middle of its back and grabbed neck and tail in each hand. With a violent, sharp jerk, she broke the animal's back. But she wasn't done yet. Even wonkier on her feet, she trundled over to where the broken cross bar had fallen. She came back with it, grim determination on her face. Straddling the wolf's broken body, she put that steel pipe through its eye and brain and pinned its head to the ground. It gave a final, futile lurch and died.

Then Mercy collapsed on top of it.

# Chapter 34

I rolled Mercy off the dead animal and cradled her in my arms. Her blood had stopped flowing, so I wasn't in danger, but I would have preferred it if I were. I didn't know if the lack of leaking meant her feeble clotting powers had kicked in or if she'd simply bled dry. Pressing a hand between her torn breasts didn't get me a heartbeat. A desperate search on the side of her neck not hanging wide open came up skint for a pulse.

Fuck. Shit. Damn. Fuck.

"Come on, Mercy," I prayed. "This pansy little dog is not going to beat you. Come on."

Her eyelids fluttered and I almost screamed for joy.

"Mercy, it's Matt. Time to wake up." It was silly and desperate, but it worked.

One eyelid rolled back and her dark, glazed eye stared up at me.

There was time. Right then, I didn't care what the wrong blood group would do to her, so long as she got something. I tore at the sleeve of my shirt with my teeth, trying to expose my tender, inner wrist.

"Hawkins? What're you doing?" Erin sank down beside us, wary of the dead beast, but curious and concerned. She'd picked up her gun, held ready.

"She needs blood. She'll die without it." And because I could feel the world around me rushing back to zero and my starting post roaring toward me, I began babbling about blood. "Mercy's group is O positive. Ideally, she should get some of that, but we're fresh out. I'm A pos, not so good for her. Won't really help her heal too fast, but it will keep her alive until I can find some O group. I would kill for some O group blood. Positive or negative. Either one would be fucking brilliant." All the while I was working at my sleeve, pushing it up to reveal the bandage around the last vampire bite.

"I'm O positive."

I don't think Erin meant to say it out loud. But she did. It clamped onto my brain like a vice grip. I went through a very quick and dirty internal battle. It was entirely fair to say some nasty guerrilla tactics were launched by the dark side of my personality against the nicer side. A sneak attack from whatever it was that inspired and fuelled that berserk rage I tried not to acknowledge but found myself relying on too much. Sad to say, the bastard won.

Abandoning my sleeve, I grabbed for Erin's arm.

It took her a moment to realise what was happening. Most of that time was probably spent regretting whatever impulse had made her open her mouth. The rest of it was consumed with pulling away from me. I caught her hand, though, and jerked her back. She vented a wordless, furious denial and twisted her arm in my hold. It broke my grip and she rolled away.

Sliding Mercy to the ground, I gave chase. She scrambled backward on her arse, kicking at me with her feet. I half crawled, half loped after her. Remembering the gun in her hand, she raised it, pointed it right in my face.

"Back off," she screamed.

I ignored the weapon. Whether I didn't think she'd fire or just didn't register the threat was beyond my capability to decipher. All I knew was she had something I needed. I would get it.

She didn't fire and when I took a swipe at it, the gun flew out of her hand far too easily. I got her wrist and dragged her back toward me. Fighting and screaming, she came very reluctantly, but come she did. I dragged her back to Mercy's side and shoved the sleeve of her jacket up her arm. Her efforts to get away redoubled then. I punched her in the face.

Dazed, she slumped to the ground. When I shoved her inner wrist onto Mercy's fangs, she jumped and tried to pull away, but I held on hard and milked the blood from the wound into Mercy's mouth.

I don't know when my thoughts began turning in voluntary circles again. It might have been when Mercy's lips closed over the wound and worked to pull out the blood. It could have been when Erin's last protests died and she went completely limp, narcotized by Mercy's saliva. Whatever happened first, I just suddenly realised what I had done and had to work hard to keep from puking. I fell away from what I'd caused to happen, staring in horror as the vampire fed off the human.

It was a gut deep, visceral repulsion, like watching a cat crunch down on a still struggling mouse. This wasn't the awe-inspiring chase, the wonder of watching a creature perfectly crafted for the hunt and pursuit. It was the savage result, the bloody aftermath that was the whole reason, the point, the sum total of life. This was an apex predator doing what came natural to it, a primitive experience humankind had deluded itself into thinking it had escaped. Watching it made us cringe and despair over the lost life and wonder what we could do to stop it.

I knew what I could do to stop this. It was the side of Mercy I hated, that I had refused so hard to believe I'd twisted her into something unnatural, for a vampire. She was weak, close to mortally wounded. It would be easy. Erin's gun was just there. I could pick it up, bang, right in the brain, dead. No one would ever be in danger from her again. But I would effectively be killing Night Call along with her. She was Night Call. It wasn't me, it wasn't the car. And without Night Call, I'd be nothing.

Throwing myself forward, I pulled Mercy off Erin. The vampire struggled, reaching for her victim again, but she was still fragile. I knocked her back easily.

"Enough." I snapped it down the link as well, getting a satisfying flinch from Mercy.

Without putting my back to Mercy, I checked Erin. Her pulse was still strong, but her skin was frightfully pale, her breathing shallow. I worked fast, tearing a strip off her shirt and binding the ragged wound in her wrist. Mercy prowled around us, on all fours, watching me like a challenger to her territory. In a very real way, I was, but I was the dominant and I let her know it with hard glares and the occasional slap through the link. I was exhausted though and knew I couldn't keep it up for long.

"Get my knife," I told her. "It's in the wolf."

She hissed at me, but slunk off to get it. The greater wounds bled sluggishly now, fuelled by Erin's donation. Mercy was still in need of blood to heal properly. Even with an unlimited supply of the right group, she'd probably need days to close the wounds, weeks to regain all of her strength.

While the vampire was occupied, I made sure Erin was going to be okay. She had no broken bones, only a small trail of blood from one nostril to her chin. She'd probably get a black-eye, but nothing worse. Still, it was bad enough, made even more horrible by the fact that I'd been the cause of it.

"I'm sorry, Erin," I whispered as I laid her on the ground and straightened her limbs. "I told you I was too dangerous for you."

Searching my pockets turned up a battered business card. I slipped it into her jeans pocket. After this, she deserved the chance to call me up and abuse the living daylights out of me. And if she didn't, I'd call her and make sure she did.

Erin stirred, eyes half opening to stare at me blankly.

In the distance, sirens began to wail. I was surprised, but only because it seemed a lifetime had passed since we'd got here and began disturbing the peace.

"You'll be fine," I told Erin, brushing the hair out of her face. "The cops will be here in a minute or two. They'll take care of you better than I can. Tell them about Tony Rollins and the dog. Tell them you took it down yourself. You'll be a hero, get on the news and everything. Tell them that and I promise to never bother you again."

And for some strange, totally whacked out reason I still don't understand, I kissed her. A feather light touch on her forehead. When I lifted my head, I nearly toppled over from wooziness. Great. I'd probably just laid down a compulsion of my own.

It was done and the sirens were only getting louder. I stood, fended off another bout of light headedness, collected Mercy and we stumbled back to the car. Mercy was all but falling over when we reached it. I had to drag her the last dozen yards. The morphine was really gone and my leg sent a memo that it was going to its union if conditions didn't improve soon.

The one good thing about this mess going down in the suburbs was that there were plenty of little side streets to lose myself in. I got us thoroughly lost and didn't care because no flashing lights followed. The down side was that by the time we got home, I was all but asleep at the wheel and Mercy was delirious with spiking hunger again. I had to carry her inside to her room and while wishing I could just crawl into bed, I fetched the last bag of O pos from the fridge. Putting the bag through a rapid warm up, under my arm, basically, I made sure she was eating before locking the cage door.

I hoped that between Erin's fresher than fresh blood and the bag of packed cells, she would have what she needed to heal, but right then, my hope was a fragile thing.

For myself, I bypassed the kit with the last two ampoules of morphine and stood under a scalding hot shower until I was about ready to faint. Then I scrounged around and found every heat pack I owned and strapped them around my knee.

I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to sleep. The action was over, the vampire was mending, the poor bystander was hopefully in hospital by now, babbling about how she took down a psychotic, giant dog. And me? What was I in all this mess? A sarcastic prick who got a kid killed.

I shouldn't have brushed Rollins off when he first called. I should have taken the time to listen, to think, to apply a cool, logical process to what he told me. It was all so apparent now. Aurum had only put a spotlight on something I should have stumbled over in the dark. Instead I'd acted like everyone else when faced with something they didn't understand. They rationalised it away, they ignored it, they said it wasn't real and went on about their lives. I should never have done that. I knew better.

Yet when I tried to not think about Tony Rollins, tried not to see his mutilated body wherever I looked, all I could see was Mercy feeding on Erin. Another situation that would never have happened but for me. It would be easy to blame that dark instinct lurking in the deeper parts of my brain chemistry that made me go berserk. Easy and at least partially correct. The fact remained, I had known exactly what I was doing.

Saving Mercy.

The thought was there, though, that it hadn't been necessary. Mercy had been wounded in the past and she'd been fine. Perhaps she could have survived until we got home. Or perhaps she would have died halfway. Mere days ago I had been contemplating her death, conducting it myself. Put her out of her misery was how I would rationalise it away. If there was any hint of the old Mercy, the real Mercy, even a trace of Susan Grayson left, would she like what she was now? Could she tolerate the hunger, the instincts to hunt and fight? What would Susan want if she could see Mercy?

I walked a fine line in my own life, between being a calm, rational person, and slipping into the abyss of frustration and fear that became all-consuming anger. Knowing this before I'd ever laid eyes on Nasty Kitten and falling head long into an unhealthy obsession with Mercy Belique, I'd still thrown myself into yet another balancing act when I decided to do anything and everything I could to save Mercy from her vampiric transformation. I tempered my dark side by nurturing Mercy's. At least, I tried to. And it was sort of working. With semi-regular releases of my savage half while executing jobs for Night Call, I wasn't beating up on helpless girls, or turning into a homicidal maniac in traffic. I even had a friend.

So why had I brutalised Erin? When all was said and done, she was just an innocent bystander, there only because she was good at her job. She hadn't deserved to be dragged into the situation with Rollins' dog, and she certainly hadn't deserved to become dinner for a vampire at my insistence. So why had I done it? Had I wanted to save Mercy? Or myself?

I couldn't answer the question and that scared me.

Pain relief was too good for someone that stupid. I pried the heat packs off my knee and tossed them across the room. Abandoning the bed and walking heartlessly on my bad leg, I went into the living room, slumped on the couch and turned the TV on.

A big, black dog jumped at the screen, snapping and growling. I flicked channels without realising it, heart slamming against my ribs in totally unwarranted but hopefully understandable panic. The next channel was a guy desperate to sell me a vacuum cleaner. The next, cartoons not good enough to make it into a time slot after dawn. Then an evangelist imploring me and other nutcases unable to sleep to acknowledge the sin in our souls and repent. What the heck. Maybe he had a point. I let his impassioned oration numb my thoughts.

While I sat mindlessly before the TV, my knee wasn't so lucky. It was swollen from the night's efforts and throbbing with a dull, penetrating pain I felt in my teeth. I should have strapped it up, even if I was going to continue with the stupidity of denying myself pain relief. But I didn't think I could get up now to go hunt down a support.

I was on the verge of dragging myself to the en suite and the waiting ampoules of liquid oblivion when a few words from the TV caught my attention. Somewhere along the way, the sun had risen and the evangelist had been replaced by a morning news broadcast. What had snagged at my ragged thoughts was the blurb of an upcoming story. A woman grievously injured while saving a quiet suburb from a rampaging dog.

The commercial break was about an hour long. Plenty of time for my brain to slog past the fogging pain and chuck a few conclusions at me. Erin was fine. Alive and well enough to speak to the media, or some intermediary who then spilled the beans. The authorities believed her. No word of Tony Rollins though. If they'd found the body, that would have been a major head line, not just an 'after the break' teaser. The last titbit that slotted into place was this—damn, the media don't waste any time.

Finally, ads for toothpaste and toilet cleaner out of the way, we returned to the news. The story was, of course, suitably sensational with confident recitation of the animal's size and violent tendencies. Erin wasn't named, but I doubted there were a great many private investigators who used to be in the police force working in Brisbane. She was being lauded as a hero who'd struck a pre-emptive strike against a potential threat to citizens. As the news reader then launched into the commerce report, I wondered how the story would change when word of the death got out. I wondered what was the real speculation behind the scene in the park. No matter what I'd done to Erin's mind, there was little chance the police would believe she'd shot it God knows how many times, then broken its back before impaling it with a bit of pipe.

Just like earlier, thinking wasn't making me feel much better about myself. And come on, neither was the pathetic denial of pain relief. If I sent myself insane with pain, I would have no chance of making up for last night's complete failure to anyone.

I was propped against the toilet, needle against the skin over a vein when the phone rang. Thankfully, the mobile was still in the pocket of the pants I'd discarded before climbing into the shower. I rescued it and answered with a wordless grunt.

# Chapter 35

"Hawkins?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Erin checked the card again, making sure she'd called the right number.

"Hello?" she tried again.

"Yeah, I'm here."

Now it was her turn to go quiet. She didn't know what she wanted to say to him. Didn't know why, when the card had been handed over by a curious nurse, she'd asked for a phone. She held the phone awkwardly. Her left arm was bandaged from elbow to wrist, her right invaded by a huge cannula feeding her a second bag of packed red cells. The doctor had told her there was a third one waiting to be hung as well. Three bags of blood to replace what had been lost through a relatively minor wound in her arm. He was baffled and had ordered a ream of blood work to test her clotting factors. And when the blood was all finished, they'd start with the antibiotics.

"Erin?"

He sounded concerned. Or strained. Or maybe disinterested. She didn't know him well enough to even guess. She'd begun to believe he was a decent guy. Not just anyone would throw themselves into the path of that much danger. That had to mean something, didn't it? Perhaps it only meant that he was some sort of adrenaline junky, and instead of base jumping he hunted extreme prey. Maybe he got off on the danger, on the violence—on the pain.

"Jesus, Erin, I'm really sorry. It was wrong. I should never have done it. But..."

"Is she okay?" Erin didn't know where the question came from. It could have been concern for another living creature, but were vampires alive? Or it could have been a morbid desire to know if it had been worth it.

"She's... healing." His voice cracked on the two words. "It's going to be tough for her to recover."

What did that mean to Erin? This girl, this creature, had saved her life several times. Only because it had been endangered by Hawkins in the first place. Though, in his defence, it was mostly because of Veilchen and the mysterious stolen property. Was it Mercy? She wasn't so sure now. Mercy was definitely no longer part of the known and understood world. She was something else, something vastly outside of Erin's realm of perception. Did Veilchen know what Mercy was? Or was she just looking for Susan Grayson? The link of pale skin seemed so tenuous now. Hawkins had slapped down her mad thoughts of Veilchen also being a vampire. Veilchen was very active throughout the day and apparently vampires weren't.

"I think," Hawkins continued, tone soft and strained, "she would have died without you, Erin. It doesn't excuse what I did though. I was not in my right mind. I'm very sorry."

Erin moved her arm to look at the bandages around the wound. The medical experts assured her that, for a dog bite, it was very clean and neat. She was certain that at least one of the nurses in the emergency department believed it wasn't a dog bite. Two holes, precise and deep, a curving arc between them of other impressions in her skin where something had pressed down but not broken the skin, bruising only. It looked nothing like a dog bite. It looked like a human bite with extras.

"They don't believe me," she said into the silence.

"About?"

"The dog. I told them what you said to say, and they pretended to accept it, but they don't. And I don't blame them."

He breathed out a soft, resigned laugh that was more bitter than anything else. "I figured that. I don't blame them either. But if there's one thing I've discovered, it's that human beings have an amazing skill for self-delusion. They won't believe you at first, but when they start looking into the situation, when they start to gather the facts and find that they don't slot happily into a preconceived idea of what should have happened, they'll start to wonder. What's before their eyes doesn't follow the rules, but maybe this is the exception that proves it. Sometimes, Occam cuts himself with a blunt razor and that's just the way the shit falls. It'll become so strange to them that it simply reinforces their belief in all things good and normal and this incident will just become a puzzling memory."

Not so long ago, two days to be precise, Erin would have been one of those people, and happy to be so. This knowledge, these things she'd seen and felt, were a weight she didn't want. There was too much shit in her life already, too many 'why me?' questions, too many 'it isn't fair' wails. She wouldn't let this invade her life as well.

"What sort of gun did you have last night?" she asked.

There was a speculative pause, then he said, "Barretta Cougar, nine mil."

"I'll tell the police I lost it. They're bound to find it at the park. I'll get some slack for having an unregistered weapon but I know how to get around the rest. There'll be a fine and I'll pass it and the gun along to you when I get it back. Until then, and after then, I don't want to see or speak to you again. The case is dropped."

"What about your client?"

"I won't tell her about you. I won't give her your number. She can do whatever the fuck she pleases, otherwise. If she finds you on her own, good luck."

"Erin," he said quickly, desperate in case she hung up.

"What?"

Another long silence. She could hear him breathing on the far end of the line. It sounded harsh, fast.

"Matthew? Are you okay?"

"Heh. Ah, sort of." He pulled in a long gulp of air and eased his rapid breathing. "Got a little damaged last night. I'll be fine, though."

"Your knee?"

There was a touch of something lighter in his tone when he answered, something closer to how he'd been when they first met. "You know too much about me, ma'am. Yeah, the knee. I'll get over it."

Erin clamped her mouth shut on the questions she wanted to ask. It would sound too much like concern, and she didn't want to feel that for him. She just wanted him out of her life.

"Was there something else?" Her voice was terse, not how she'd intended it.

"I... I just wanted to let you know, in case you were worried, that nothing more will happen with the... bite. You won't, you know, change. It was just a bite, nothing else."

Her stomach clenched for a moment. She hadn't even considered it. "Thank you," she whispered. "Goodbye."

She hung up before he could say anything more.

It was a relief. The case was over. She hadn't wanted it in the first place and now it was done. Veilchen could swear and curse all she wanted, she could go running to Sol with a sob story and Sol could fire her. Right now, she didn't care. Though she knew that when she got past this scared numbness, she would panic about losing her job. How would she support William then?

She was dialling home before she thought about it.

"Hello?"

"Kate?"

"Erin! Oh my God, we saw the news this morning. That was you, wasn't it? Oh dear, are you okay? They said you'd been taken to hospital."

Erin didn't want this. She didn't want them to know. The less who did would make it easier for her to forget.

"Did William see it?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"No. He had some trouble this morning, very early."

Heart stuttering in fear, Erin demanded, "What happened? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, Erin. It's all right. He's fine now. It was just a little fall on the way to the bathroom. He took some of his painkillers and he's asleep now. It's all good."

She nearly dropped the phone in relief. "Oh, God. Thank you, Kate, for being there."

"Honey, it's okay. We don't mind. You know we'd do anything we could for you and Bill. Now, how are you? Are you okay?"

Sniffing back a few tears, Erin said, "Yeah, I'm fine. I will be. I don't know how long the doctors will want to keep me in here. Hopefully not overnight. But either way, you and Gavin won't have to stay with William for much longer. The case I was on that was keeping me away is over now. I'll be coming home."

Kate's voice hitched. "That's great. Bill's missed you so much."

Erin bit her lips to keep from blurting out something completely embarrassing. "Thank you," was all she managed.

There was a knock at the door. A huge bunch of native flowers stood in the doorway on a pair of legs that looked familiar. A little laugh escaped Erin.

"Kate, someone's here. I have to go. Tell William I'll be home soon."

"I will. Gavin will come pick you up if you need."

"I should be fine. I'll let you know. Bye." She hung up. "Come in, Ivan."

He came in cautiously, peering around the flowers, face creased by a worried frown. "How you feeling?"

"Better now."

Ivan cleared a spot on the table and set the flowers down. Erin was surprised the table supported the weight. There had to be just about every known native flower in the bunch. Bright petals and mellow scent exploded out of it in a stunning array of colour.

"How many first born kids did you ransom to afford that?" she asked Ivan.

He stood back, looking at the flowers with a bit of embarrassment. His foot actually scuffed the floor. "Yeah, it is a bit OTT, isn't it?"

"But lovely. Thank you."

After a moment of shrugging and nodding, he gave in and hugged her tightly. Erin couldn't return it without upsetting cannulas and bandages, so she rested her head against his shoulder, simply grateful for the kind, human touch.

"You keep doing this to me lately," Ivan muttered when he let her go. "Scaring the life out of me."

Erin smiled, sadly. "How long were you at the door?"

"Long enough. The case is over?"

"Dropped, but not complete."

Ivan pulled up a chair and sat down. "I'm glad to hear that, but what will Sol say?"

"Probably 'you're fired'. To me, not you," she added when his face collapsed. It didn't help, though.

"But I don't want you to get fired. I don't want to work with anyone else."

"Maybe he won't. There's a million to one chance he might understand the circumstances and let this one slide."

"Heh, yeah. Maybe." Ivan looked over her wrapped up arm. "So, you took down a big, bad dog, huh? That's what all that werewolves stuff was about?"

"Yeah." When his eyes widened, Erin decided he didn't need to know the truth. "Well, the kid thought 'werewolf' but it wasn't that. They don't exist, of course. Just a... bad dog. Or sick. Who knows."

Ivan chewed that over, nodding slowly. "And our mysterious Hawkins didn't show up?"

This was a little trickier. Erin considered denying it, but that would present more problems later, and Ivan was good at keeping things confidential.

"He was there," she said softly. "But we don't want the authorities to know, okay."

"Why not? Did he do something illegal?" Unspoken was the further question 'Did you?'

"No, but it will be easier for him if he's not dragged into this. It will be a sensational story and he and Mercy don't need the exposure."

Ivan cocked an eyebrow. "Sensational? A dog going crazy?"

"Ivan, don't tell anyone this yet. The police are keeping it quiet until the family are informed. But the dog killed its owner last night."

"Oh. Oh shit."

"Yeah, so it's going to get bigger."

"And you're protecting Hawkins and Mercy. So they are working together?"

She nodded. "They're not doing anything wrong, really. But they want to stay hidden, so we're not going to reveal them."

"Not even to Mrs Veilchen?"

"Not even to Mrs Veilchen."

Ivan sat back, contemplating that. "We're so getting fired."

"Maybe we could start our own agency."

He smiled. "That would be fun."

They chatted for a while longer. Ivan tried to pry more information about what had happened from her, but she wasn't ready to say much more than she already had. Trying to figure out what she could safely reveal and not let him suspect there had been anything supernatural going on would be difficult. Dealing with the police had been bad enough and she'd had the excuse of being tired and bleeding. She didn't look forward to the follow up interview the detective had threatened her with.

At last, her bag of blood dripped dry and the nurse came in to change it with a fresh one. Ivan went a little pale, kissed Erin's cheek and left. She called out to him to go to the office and shut down the files on the case. He said he would then fled.

Her next visitor was the police, again, and she went through the events as best she could while omitting the presence of anyone else. She told them about the second gun, admitted it was her backup piece she hadn't yet registered, suffered through the recriminations of 'should have known better' and accepted the fine.

Thankfully, her doctor came in and ordered them out. Then he insisted she rest while the last of the blood ran through. Not able to hold up a book with any sort of comfort, even if she'd had a book, Erin settled for watching TV. There was very little on of interest, being Sunday morning. They wouldn't let her sleep while the blood was being transfused, something about adverse reactions they wouldn't be able to detect if she wasn't aware of them.

Which made her think about Matt and Mercy. His hurried, panicked talk of blood groups and what was best for the vampire. Her own, foolishly blurted admission. If she'd kept her mouth shut she wouldn't be here now. She would be fine and able to answer all the questions the police could throw at her without an excuse to fend them off for another day or so. She would be able to go home and see William again, see him bound by restraints of illness, see him as a pale shadow of his former self and maybe she would get angry at the world for doing that to him and be unable to look at him anymore.

And maybe Mercy would be dead.

Vampires. Werewolves. And that meant the thing she'd seen driving the van during the drive-by shooting was probably not a deformed human. This was Matt Hawkins' world and she could understand him wanting to keep it quiet. She picked up the business card he'd left her.

His mobile number was on the back, hand written. Another mystery as to why it wasn't printed along with the rest of the details. A mystery Erin would let sit idle until she forgot all about him.

She put the card on the table beside the flowers and vowed that as soon as she'd passed his gun and fine back to him, she would destroy the card.

Not long later, the last bag of blood finished emptying into her body and the nurse came to take it down. A few not too minor changes later, and they hung a bag of intravenous antibiotics. This time Erin was allowed to sleep and she settled down.

She didn't know what woke her, but the light in the room had changed, brightened with the afternoon sun coming in the window. Despite this unfettered wash of warmth, the room felt colder.

"You're awake."

Erin jumped, as much as she could with tubes trapping her in the bed.

Mrs Veilchen moved to the bedside. Two wardsmen stood in the doorway, their expressions glazed, shoulders slack, hands loose. The slender woman put a pale hand on Erin's bandaged arm. Her touch was cool against the raw heat of the wound.

"What are you doing here?" Erin asked her.

"I went to your office," she said, tone flat, sunglasses huge and round this close to Erin's face. "Your... assistant was there."

Erin jerked away from her hand. "If you touched him, I will—"

"He will be fine, eventually. I am not in the habit of leaving behind bodies where they can easily be found." A small, chilly smile curved her white lips. "Forensics is coming along in leaps and bounds. It pays to be cautious. The boy-child told me you had closed my file. He was quite brave, actually. At first."

The nurse-call buzzer was by Erin's right hand. She reached for it, closed her hand around it. Veilchen was quick. Her long fingers wound around Erin's hand and squeezed. Bones grinding together, Erin's hand jerked open and dropped the buzzer. Veilchen moved her hold to it, and squeezed again. Broken plastic clattered to the floor.

"That's enough of a token resistance," Veilchen murmured. She leaned down over Erin, took in a deep breath. "You have a stranger's blood in you. How delicious."

Heart racing away with her thoughts, Erin stared dumbly at the woman. As she spoke, her teeth were shown. Nice, normal, perhaps a bit whiter than white, but not at all pointy.

"What do you want?" Erin asked, her voice painfully soft and nervous.

"I want you to tell me where Matthew Hawkins is. The boy-child did not know."

"I don't know where he is."

Veilchen stroked the side of Erin's face. Her fingers left trails of cold along Erin's skin, her nails scratching like a razor blade.

"I think you do. But he's done something to you. I can't get into your head. So we're going to have to do it the other way."

"The other way?"

Veilchen smiled again, but this time, she had two very long, very pointy teeth. "The hard way."

# Chapter 36

I medicated myself very carefully after speaking with Erin. She was alive and well enough to know that I was bad business. She hadn't forgiven me, not unexpectedly, but at least she hadn't been screaming mad at me. Gotta look at the bright side. So I measured out just enough morphine to cut the edge off the pain but not enough to knock me out.

Got some sleep though. On the back patio, in the sunlight. With the sun burning the inside of my eyelids to red and the warmth baking deep into my bones. It was a deep, exhausted sleep, and dreamless, thankfully. Or not.

At some point, I began to hear my neighbours, Charles and Sue. And in my sleep befuddled way, I realised very slowly that their voices weren't raised. They were speaking calmly together, their words little more than mumbles. How I knew it was them I wasn't sure and decided it was just the vagaries of dreaming. Rarely did anything make logical sense in dreams and yet we grooved along well enough. Hence I wasn't all that concerned with this strange turn in my subconscious. Frankly, all things considered, Charles and Sue muttering in my inner ear was about the best I could've hoped for in the dream department.

So when the words began to take on substance, there was no sense of trouble.

"—had you only just listened to me earlier." Sue sounded triumphant.

"Oh come on. I don't think it was that bad. This..." Charles' tone was a peculiar mix of frustration and strangled relief. "It was just, I don't know, temporary. Sure of it. This wasn't necessary."

"Not necessary? Did I mistake that look on your face this morning when you woke up?"

Charles grunted. "No, but—"

"No buts about it, mister. Last night was fantastic. It hasn't been like that in years."

"Not years!"

"Yes, poodle, years. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a thumping good—"

"What about that time at the coast? You disturbed the people in the next unit."

"Oh, poodle." Sue sighed. "That was fake."

I had to share Charles' shocked silence. Fake? God, women could be so... so... Even if they were as sexy as hell in that tousled teddy and tangled silk sheet.

"And that time in the casino?" Man, I shared Charles' dread.

Sue made a noise that was undecided as to whether it was a confirmation or denial. "Well, I was nearly there, but you didn't quite deliver... enough. It was good, but open ended."

"Jesus, Sue."

"But last night..." This noise was very definitely a confirmation, in the most satisfied, deliciously sensual manner. "I thought my teeth would rattle out of my head."

Charles' surprised laugh was cut off when Sue kissed him. It was sweet and soft, her lips still swollen from the previous night's escapades, banishing thoughts of the burgeoning argument. Then even that thought raced away as she crawled on top, pressed herself against his skin, the thin film of satin moving between them.

Oh. God. Her tongue brushed his lips. He opened his mouth to her and the kiss deepened, became something hungry and desperate. His hands slid over her body, crushing the satin into bunches and rubbing them against her sensitive breasts. Moaning into his mouth, she wriggled her hips. Mind whiting out with need, he reached for her thighs, clamped them to his and rolled her over. Beneath him, she gasped with surprise and pleasure, wrapped her legs around him and pushed up into him.

It was about then that I began to question the dream. Surely I wasn't that screwed up I was having a pornographic dream about my neighbours. And even sadder, the dream I'd had about Erin had been nowhere near this definite, this solid.

Ah shit. It wasn't a dream.

Realisation gave me some control and I pulled away from my neighbours just as things got to a point that was past voyeurism and well into the realms of seriously unhealthy perversion. Porn was one thing. This was a ménage à trois where one of the combatants wasn't invited.

Whether it was the morphine playing havoc with my control, or simple exhaustion, I couldn't wake up, or rise from this trance, whatever it was. Somehow I was reaching beyond my physical body without the benefit of meditation or desperation. That was a bit scary.

Floating in a place I tended to call 'null space', where I was merely perception with no physicality at all, I took stock. I wasn't in Invisible Matt, meaning I hadn't progressed to the point of being able to manifest a real effect on the world on a whim. That, at least, was a bit reassuring.

The link to my body in this form did not come from the same place as the link to Invisible Matt. That one came from my solar plexus. This one came from the crown of my head and wasn't so much a cord as it was more like pushing out with my aura. It was a hard start to attain, at least for me. Crafting up a body of air molecules and plugging it into the body-battery was far simpler. This was like peeling your skin off and stretching it in new and interesting ways. The cons of this compared to Invisible Matt was that I couldn't 'see' anything, I could only sense minds. I hadn't actually heard Sue and Charles through my ears. I'd just been in the vicinity while they'd been throwing thoughts at each other. All those fascinating sensations of touch and heat and soft, warm... Ah hem. All that, just me riding their mental waves. Bit more intimate than watching a home movie.

So. Here I was, all astral-planed up and nowhere to go. I decided to see just how far this unconscious utilisation of my growing and totally sweet psychic powers would go.

I dropped in on Mercy first. Her mind was locked away, suffocated under layers of tiredness and pain and that inscrutable blanket of emptiness that sapped energy from vampires with the rising of the sun. It was a deep, murky pool, the bottom of which was where the vampire mind fled to when dawn came. I could have swum down and down and found Mercy, just as she could, with sufficient prodding, reach back up with limited ability. Even though I knew reaching her in this state was possible, I hadn't yet tried it. I mean, all those warnings you grow up with about not diving into water you don't know the depth of are hard to forget. Even when you know that these waters are concealing a violent instinct attached to a mind with psychic abilities. With that down there, you kind of have to wonder what else might be lurking in the sewers.

As I touched her, I concentrated on tasting her aura. Aurum had made his point very well and it stuck in my gullet like a barbed fish hook. I could pinpoint Red vampires with little effort. They were the most prolific around the place. Yellows and Blues were about the same for numbers, with Oranges a distant fourth. Greens I had no personal experience with but Jacob suspected they were out there. My work didn't usually call for touching human auras, but from my limited experience—being the sum total of Erin—human auras were a messy, troubled mix of flavours. Her sweet and bitter taste was not as easily quantifiable as a vampire's. And despite Jacob's faint ability to sense vampire flavours, he had never been able to touch mine.

Just like it's a physical impossibility to lick your own elbow, you can't touch your own aura. So I had no idea about mine. As vampires take on the flavour of the clan that turns them, I would presume, if Aurum was, you know, possibly, right about me and Mercy, then I wouldn't get a flavour from her.

Perhaps that was something Aurum could clear up for us, if I let him near Mercy, that is. But, in truth, it was an academic question. Mercy and I did just fine without him trying to add complications. We were more than capable of making our own trouble.

Giving up the attempt, I left Mercy behind and travelled.

In the past, I've pretty much been able to cover the block. For an up market suburb, and apart from Chuck and Sue, my fellow canal lifers were a boring bunch. They weren't all the carelessly rich folk their houses and boats would have you believe. Some struggled for the lifestyle, concerned more with image than quality. It was a sad place to contemplate on this level, so I suppose I was keen to reach beyond it.

And for once, my rubber band-esk aura didn't snap me right back once I got past the end of my street. It grew tighter and strained, but there was still give in it. What the heck. I floored it.

Holy guacamole!

By the time I could slow down and regain some control, I had no idea how far I'd come. See earlier dialogue about what one can and can't sense while riding the astral express. The only touchstone I had was the sparks of individual minds in the pulsing, seething mass of urban living. Drifting toward a mind that shone brighter than those around it, I dipped in to get a location.

"– here today to witness the joining of these two souls in Holy Matrimony."

A priest. Rightio. Where was he? But he was fixated on the ceremony at hand, determined not to stumble over any of the words, especially the self-scribed vows of the couple before him. Silly notion, writing your own vows. Weren't the Lord's good enough?

I shook off the priest and touched off the happy couple—she was smug, he was scared shitless—and floated amongst the not-so-innocent bystanders to this merciless torture. The front rows were just one great mass of joy and/or sympathy. Those in the middle tried to be good and concentrate on the ceremony, but restless kids and groaning grannies pulled at their attention. Pay dirt was in the last rows. The folk there mainly so they could get a free meal at the reception afterward and maybe pick up. Score.

A quick scan got me one bored woman dreading the long drive back to Logan late at night. Maybe she would leave after the main course, unless dessert turned out to be something more than a slice of wedding cake and a sugared almond. Prodding a bit further let me know we were in Boondall.

Boondall? Really? That was just across the way from the 'Cliffe. Man, it had felt like so much further. Had it turned out to be the Gold Coast, I would have been satisfied, but Boondall?

Lifting back up to the airy heights above human thought, I sped on. This time, with some idea of distance, I let myself ride for a bit longer and touched down in the city centre. Wow. Talk about loud. A couple thousand minds yelling at me about lunch choices, mammograms, the fifty dollars they took from the till, that one line of that song you just can't get out of your head, the best way to beat the traffic to get to the footy game on time and about a million other minutiae of life. It was overwhelming and chaotic, thousands of ethereal faces turned to me all at once, demanding attention.

Retreating from that mess ASAP, I hovered, thinking that while this was a cool experience, it wasn't really gaining me much. Wondered if I could actively search for someone. It would be a handy skill base. This was a lot faster, and cheaper, than driving around.

There was no choice, really. Being the most recent aura I'd touched, I concentrated on Erin. I remembered her flavour. The heady mix flooded through me, wrapped around me and pulled.

And bang, there I was, lying against her sleeping mind. She was dreaming, a disturbing mix of fear and longing, wickedly sharp blades of happiness cutting deep to leave wounds of painful ecstasy. I didn't think it was a result of the events of the night before. This was something older, a mature fear living deep within her like a tumour the body slowly adjusts to even while it eats away at the healthy tissue and slowly spreads its poisons. Something she fled from with all her strength when awake, but couldn't escape in sleep. Yet in sleep, she could embrace this dread, make it her own and gain sustenance from it. It lifted her above the drudgery of life, gave her a purpose to fight, to drive forward. She hated it, but was scared of what would happen when it finally went away. It was the basis of her life, the foundation she worked on. Without it, and it would one day be gone, she would fall and fall and maybe she wouldn't crash, but just keep falling. And that was a true terror.

Shaking, I pulled away from her, drifted on the very edges of her mind. With a little work, I was certain I could find out what was the source of this exquisitely balanced madness. Maybe I could help her with it, be a support, possibly find her a layer below this rocky level she currently stood on so that when it was ripped away, she wouldn't fall far. But she didn't want me in her life anymore. I was a danger to be around. There was a definite hint I could make it worse for her. After all, I was the one in therapy. That didn't qualify me to go around offering aid to others.

So I pulled away completely. I would honour her decision. When she recovered and made contact to return my gun, that would be it.

Once again high above casual contact, I took a moment to gather up some calm. I had proven I could home in on someone's aura. Good to know. How else could I apply this?

Big Red.

I'd been saturated in his aura more than any other, ever. Should be an easy thing to find. I concentrated on that musty, dry cab sav touch.

And nearly tore myself apart.

# Chapter 37

Flailing madly, I managed to struggle free of all the grasping, clutching strands of Red auras. I fled straight up as fast as I could, shedding the vestiges of the taste of old red wine as I went.

Fucking hell. If I'd been able to feel my heart, I'm sure it would be close to heart attack level palpitations. As it was, I felt as if I'd been put through a wheat thrasher. Only when I was absolutely free of the touch of Red auras did I allow myself to contemplate what had happened. Unlike Erin's aura that had come to me in a single, warm embrace, this had been cold, clawed hands coming from all directions. They hadn't slid around me with inviting intimacy. This had been a predator pouncing. No, several, dozens, even hundreds of predators pouncing.

Of course. Idiot. Aurum had spelled it out for me and still I was blundering around like a fool with his eyes closed. The Reds were all psychically linked. They shared the same aura. Reach for one, and get them all.

But at least it seemed they weren't alerted to my esoteric arse. Good thing, right? Yeah, but here's a question for inquisitive minds. How had they reached back in the middle of the day? Weren't they all sleeping with the psychic fishes like Mercy? Maybe it had been an unconscious reaction. I'd called to their aura, and it had answered, just as mine had lifted free of my body during sleep. So, we had a working hypothesis. Time to test it.

I dropped down toward the ocean of minds bonded closely to the earth. A gentle hum of thoughts wafted around me, the sum of all the sentience in the city and surrounds. Could I just send out a little enquiry on the wavelength of the Reds, but not actively call to them? One way to find out.

This time, I just thought about the flavour. I didn't push it out beyond myself. It was kind of like turning on your wireless internet connection and hoping your silly neighbour didn't have his service protected; you just picked up on what was already there without having to spend your own money.

A faint, flittering touch of Red drifted up to me. Neat. I drifted over the little map it made, sensing where the touches came from. Wow. I'd known the Reds were the most populous of the clans in Brisbane, but I'd not really had an idea of how many there were. They were freaking everywhere. Yet, there was a strong concentration of them in one place. The army Kermit said Big Red had been gathering? Betcha it was, ten to one.

I hadn't shifted from my position directly above Erin, so I dropped right back down but skirted her still sleeping mind and found a nurse. Ah ha. We were in the Logan Public Hospital. I had a starting point for reference. Shooting back up, I felt along the threads leading toward the high density Reds. Pretty much directly north. Skimming along, I got to a point slightly to the side of my target. Wary of accidentally drawing out the Reds again, I moved down carefully and brushed a fingertip over the surrounds.

Kermit hadn't lied. Big Red and his recruits were holed up by the river mouth, just not south of it where there was a majority of industrial estates with handy warehouses. They were just to the north of it, right beside the airport.

Booyah! Big Red, you are going down.

I relaxed and let my aura snap right back to my body. Whoa. Mistake. I slammed home with the force of falling from several stories up. Woke me up, very thoroughly. I lurched up, spluttering and coughing and nearly fell off the old couch I was lying on. The sudden motion jarred my knee, alerting me to the ebbing tide of morphine. Which was a bitch in more than one way, because my head was about to explode with a sudden and intense headache.

No idea how long it took me to get some semblance of humanity back, but when I pried my eyelids apart, late afternoon sunlight speared into them. Ack! I rolled off the couch, floundered around for my cane and managed to hobble inside where the light was dimmer and wouldn't burn the eyeballs out of my head.

Once again exhibiting the lengths of evolution man has undergone by drinking from the kitchen tap, I hauled together a shred of dignity and hobbled into the office. Plonking myself down at the desk, I reached for the phone. Roberts might like to hear of my success, and hopefully be excited enough to offer up his car for another hunt.

There were several missed calls on the phone, no messages left. The number was the same for all of them and not one I knew. Telemarketers with unusual persistence? It wasn't someone after Night Call. Those calls only came to the mobile.

I wheeled myself into my bedroom and then limped into the bathroom. The mobile was on the sink, where I'd left it after disembowelling myself on Erin's call. It too registered numerous unanswered calls, from the same number. Again, no messages.

To ring back or not to ring back. That is the question.

I rang back.

"Hello?"

A familiar female voice. A moment's introspection gave me the identity.

"Gale, it's Matt Hawkins."

"Oh." Not the joyous sound of someone hearing back from the person they'd been trying to reach all day. "I've been trying to call you."

"Yeah, I figured. Sorry, I was out all day. Forgot to take my mobile." Wasn't a real lie, was it. "What's up?"

"Rob's in jail."

I plonked down on the toilet. "What? Why?"

She sighed. "He was at work last night, at the Fringe Bar. I don't know why he was there. He told me he would be covering the south side for a while, but he went to the Valley anyway." Her tone tightened. "He said he was following up on something for you. Something from the night before."

"Shit," I hissed. He'd been snooping about Big Red. Stupid bastard. "I didn't ask him to, Gale."

"I know you didn't. He said you didn't. But he did it anyway."

And clearly that was still my fault. She really had a dislike going for me.

"What happened?" I asked wearily. Hey, I was seeing jail as a plus. It was better than hospital, or a morgue.

Gale ground her teeth so hard I heard it down the line. "He didn't tell me the specifics, but apparently two guys took exception to the questions he was asking. There was a fight. One of the other men got away."

I swallowed the lump of dread in my throat. "And the other one?"

"Witnesses say Rob killed him."

Oh God. "What does Roberts say?"

"He won't say anything to me about it." Gale's voice cracked around rage or fear. I couldn't tell. "He just asked me to call you and tell you to call him."

"Gale, it'll be okay. He didn't kill anyone." Human, at least. Or so I desperately hoped.

She snapped. "How do you know? What the fuck is your deal, Hawkins? Rob talks about you like you're some kind of secret agent or something. And then he goes off and gets himself in trouble because of you. I don't care what or who you are, you're fucking with his life and I won't let you do that."

Through the headache, my anger spiked. What was my deal? What was her fucking deal, more like. How long had she known Roberts? A couple of weeks? A month? And that gave her rights over his life that I, who had been his friend for much longer, didn't get? At least I wasn't telling him to give Gale up because I didn't like her.

Clenching my teeth against voicing those demands out loud, I considered just hanging up. Then I'd be tasked with finding which lock up Roberts was in. So, I counted to ten, then twenty. All the while, Gale ground her teeth down the line at me.

"Do you have a number I can get him on?" I asked steadily.

There was silence while she got herself under some control. When she spoke, she spat a phone number in rapid fire and then hung up. I carefully put my mobile down, then picked up a can of shaving cream and smashed it into the mirror. As far as therapeutic ventings went, it was an aesthetically pleasing one. There's nothing like a broken mirror to display the many fractures in a man's inner darkness. Way symbolic. But in terms of relief...? Not enough.

When I was done, the shower stall glass was scattered across the floor. There were four fist sized dints in the wall and the door wasn't going to close properly ever again. Trembling, I made it to my bed and sat down, head cradled in my grossly shaking hands, blood from my torn knuckles trickling down my arms. I tried controlled breathing, but I was still too wound up, jittering in the afterglow of a good hit of anger.

Eventually, the adrenaline eased off and I could think again. Before anything else swamped me, I grabbed the phone and dialled what I hoped was the number Gale had given me. There was still an awful lot of blood rushing through my ears, so I missed the opening lines of the policeman that answered. When he paused for breath, I told him who I wanted to speak to, and a few diverts later, Roberts came to the phone.

"Matt, took your sweet time."

He sounded okay. I let out a long held breath. "Sorry. I was catching up on some sleep."

"You sound shaky, man."

"That should be expected. I mean, I just heard my best mate's in jail for murder." I wasn't about to tell him Gale had ripped me a new one, as well. That was for them to sort out. Right there, Gale, was my fucking deal.

"Alleged," Roberts grunted with stoic good cheer. "And when they can't find a body, even alleged is not going to stick for long. I'm not worried."

Except that he was.

"Vampire?" I asked needlessly.

"Yeah. Still got that wretched stench in my sinuses."

"What happened?"

"I was stupid," he said baldly. "Hadn't heard from you all day, and I've been neglecting the civic duties for a while, so I thought I should go earn my keep. Still don't know why I did it, but I ended up at the Fringe, thinking I could see if someone there had a lead on Big Red."

"Not stupid," I reassured him. "Fucking grade A retarded. I should come down there and beat you senseless myself."

"Don't know about that, but I sure would appreciate a lesson on the ways of retrieving the soap in the shower without bending over."

A very reluctant, very hard snort escaped. "You don't deserve it."

"Probably not. So, I go about, just dropping a few questions here and there, and sure enough I get a nibble on the line. Two Reds. At least, I assume they were Reds. Two guys, all duded up in their long coats and mother-effing boots. Before I know it, we're in the back, on the way to the toilets. Not a lot of people around, so I didn't mind pulling the knife early on. Didn't want to be brain-raped by any of them."

Roberts had no defence against a psychic compulsion. He'd only been wrapped up once, by Mercy, but he had no wish to repeat it. I had no wish for him to repeat it either.

"One tried for my throat, but I dodged and self-defenced the bloke to goo. Right in the heart. The other one took off faster than the wind. Sadly, two girls had come out of the toilets just as I was pulling the knife from the guy. They screamed and ran back into the toilets, so they didn't see the messy end. Several people slipped over in it though. The cops didn't know what to make of it. They took the clothes as evidence."

"Shit. And it was the girls from the toilet that shouted murder?"

"Yeah. Though they were both pretty hysterical. Without a body and no blood at the scene, and my innocenter than innocent testimony, I should get off with maybe a charge of carrying a concealed weapon."

"Is that what your lawyer says?"

He laughed. "What lawyer? I learn all my legal jargon off Law and Order."

"Get a lawyer. I'll fund him. I don't want you paying my debts."

There was a lot of noncommittal muttering and mumblings, but he didn't exactly object.

I was somewhat relieved. Roberts was in pretty good spirits, considering. And I was pretty sure he would get out without too much damage to his good name. The last of the fright eased out of my aching muscles.

"So, all that for nothing," I said.

"Not nothing. They mentioned a few things before it got real ugly."

My heart skipped a beat. "Such as?"

"Tonight's the night, Matt. Big Red is going to gear up and take you out. I don't think he cares about keeping you alive for Mercy's sake anymore. He wants her like a guy with a foot fetish wants the women's basketball team."

"Good." A nasty edge entered my voice. "Cause he's gonna get me in both barrels. I found him."

"How?"

I looked at the time on the phone. 4:30. Sunset would be rocking around in the next hour. Barely enough time to get ready.

"I'll tell you about it over a beer at the Scarborough tomorrow arvie," I said with potentially dreadful irony. Roberts would have to be let loose first, and I would have to survive the coming night. "Get that lawyer, get out and go to Gale. Stay there until I call."

I hung up to let him know I was very serious.

Before I could do much more than start a mental inventory of what I would need, the phone rang again. Another number I didn't know. I answered.

"Hawkins?"

"Erin." Surely she wasn't ready to have our final meeting. "What's up?"

"Don't listen to her. Just get—"

There was a savage snarl and the phone bonked around. Then a cool, monotonal voice said, "Matthew Hawkins."

Cold fingers trickled down my spine. "Who is this?"

"You may call me Heather Veilchen."

# Chapter 38

Erin's mysterious client. And from Erin's voice, this wasn't a willing part of their agreement, on Erin's behalf at least. She hadn't lied to me when she'd said she wouldn't give my details to Veilchen. That left only one answer as to how she'd got my number... and Erin.

"Who are you?" I asked, feeling the beast stir in the depths again.

The woman laughed, though it was a brittle, sharp edged thing that cut the air between us. "You are very good at hiding, Mr Hawkins, but it works both ways. You hide from the world, and it hides from you. I am the thing you know nothing about."

But maybe I did. I'd been running behind the rest of the pack in the vampire race for a long time, but I was slowly gaining. Thanks to Aurum and his pesky Kenobi-complex.

"Oh, I think I know what you are, Heather," I said.

"Do you? Then you understand how unwise it would be to deny me what I want."

Big Red and now this thing—one of Aurum's Primals. Perhaps I had reached that saturation point he spoke of. That would explain why they were converging all at once.

Why oh why hadn't I listened to common sense two years ago? Why hadn't I just left Mercy at the Mentis Institute where she would either have remained their problem or died sooner rather than later? In those early days, when the doubts had been a full force flood, it would have been easy to end her altered life. Later, when she'd started to emerge from the savage cocoon, it would have been harder, but still doable. Now?

"Fuck you, bitch. I didn't steal her from you. You abandoned her. You're a bad mother."

A wordless cry damn near shattered my ear drum. I dropped the phone and could still hear it crystal clear from several feet away. An answering scream welled up through my chest and I hurled it right back at her. I snatched up the phone and yelled right into the mouthpiece, a senseless string of denial and threats that matched her utter fury. Somewhere along the way, I hit the end button. At the same time, I cut off my own voice with a choke almost as final.

I was on my hands and knees on the floor, nearly crushing the phone under my hand. Sitting back sent a spear of pain through my leg, and I involuntarily threw myself onto my arse, legs stretching out. The phone rang again. I cut it off. It rang again. I cut it off. Two more times it happened before I felt able to answer it. When I did, my voice was deceptively calm.

"Where?" I asked simply.

"Mount Coot-tha." Veilchen purred the words. "She dies at dawn." The line went dead.

Total white out for an indeterminate amount of time. When I came back to myself, the clock read just after five. Two appointments with death in one night and I had no idea how to handle either of them.

Fuck me.

I dialled Aurum's number. He would probably want to know that one of his grandma vampires was in town. And maybe he would know how to handle her. Hah. Who was I kidding? He would probably advise running away in the strongest terms. Maybe he would even suggest driving by Mount Coot-tha and tossing Mercy out the window on the way. I had a sneaking suspicion he would chalk Erin up to collateral damage and move on with documenting the event. He wasn't a warrior, he was a scholar. Fine in their place, and fucking useless out of it.

I hung up before he could answer.

The first thing I did was put in a call to my supplier, talked down his protests and set up a meeting. Then I dressed. It was vampire slaying de rigueur; black cargo pants and dark, long-sleeved, heavy duty work shirt to keep all but the most persistent teeth out. Oh, and the heftiest knee brace I had. The bastard wasn't too bad after a day of rest, but I wasn't going to take any chances.

Then I loaded up my pockets with stink bombs and filled the rifle with ammunition. Unable to delay anymore, I returned to the en suite and took down the drug kit. One and a half ampoules. I sucked up the last of the broken vial and injected it. Wrapping up the last ampoule and a needle and syringe, I put them in a pocket on my camo jacket.

Niggling the back of my mind was the fact the morphine had stopped me going berserk last night. Things might go better if I could ride the pain into a mind-numbing rage. Or they might not. That was fine against half a dozen vampires, even including one of Big Red's power. Going against an army and then a Primal with the Devil knew how many of her own brood around? That probably required more wits than brute force. So the morphine it was.

By the time that was done, it was almost full dark. With the blurring effect of the drug in my veins, I walked into Mercy's room. She was a dark, unmoving lump in the bed. The complete stillness of the room unnerved me. She wasn't done healing, wouldn't be for a good while. And here I was, about to prod the sleeping tiger and force her to her feet. All so she could go against the biggest, baddest threat yet.

Unlocking the cage, I went in and rummaged through her wardrobe first, picking out the most protective clothes I could. Her leather pants were torn to shreds, so I grabbed black jeans instead. A smaller version of the same heavy material, work shirt that I wore.

It was hard, going to the bed to wake her up. She was sick. She should rest and recover. Drawing down the sheets showed me just how far away from fighting fit she was. The wounds on her arms had closed but they were nowhere near healed, marking her pale skin with thick, red welts and crusted scabs. The slashes across her belly were worse, still gaping here and there. That great slab of scalp had stuck closed but even a light brush over her hair revealed that it could fall free with a careless tug. Her pulse flickered weakly, her breathing shallow and painfully slow between breaths.

God. I couldn't do this to her. She would never survive it. I should leave her here and go it alone. Do the best I could and most likely die and then she would be left here to go insane with hunger and commit involuntary suicide throwing herself against the inside of the cage.

The best chance either of us had was to get up and start moving.

While she slept on, I bound her middle in tight bandages and then put a bandana around her head. She stirred throughout the ministrations, her voice weak and pleading for peace. I hushed her, guts twisting with disgust for myself as I did so. But I went on and dressed her. She woke up more fully as I was tugging up the jeans.

"Matt?"

"Shh. It's okay. We just have to go somewhere."

She protested, which was about as effective as a day old kitten going up against a lion. Her utter weakness scared the hell out of me.

"Do I have to go?"

Fuck. I was such a bastard. "Yes, baby, you do. Don't worry, I'll be with you the entire time."

Mercy let me finish in silence, then she gamely tried to stand for me. That nearly did me in. I was ready to chuck it in right then. I had no right to do this to her. Human or vampire, this was cruelty in the worst measure. But I slipped an arm around her shoulders and led her out to the car.

I got behind the wheel before I could lose my nerve and roared out into the new night.

First port of call was the dark corner of the hospital car park. Not so many good memories, but a necessary stop. My guy from the lab was there, jumpy and ready to run out on me. I handed over the cash and took the esky without a word and got back into the car. Pulling out one of the four bags, I handed it to Mercy. It wasn't that cold so Mercy chowed down immediately. I left the esky on the seat beside her. No rationing tonight.

There was an accident on the Gateway and we sat in a used car yard on the motorway for half an hour before I could get us off and onto the smaller roads heading south. The entire time I kept a feeler out for a rampaging horde of Reds. Not a flicker, which made my guts twitch between relief and frustration. Come on, Big Red. You're supposed to be coming for me. Where are you?

Taking a circuitous route, it was close to eight p.m. when we turned onto Airport Drive. Like the Gateway, this was choked with traffic and our progress slowed. Mercy had chugged down three of the bags and had perked up. Nowhere near fight ready, but she could sit up on her own steam and look out the window. She didn't ask any more questions. My bleak thoughts were pouring down the link and she knew what we were facing. Her only reaction was a terse agreement that my half-arsed plan was about as good as we would have.

Which also meant my roaring fears of her ability to survive the night were battering her mind as they battered at mine. I wanted desperately to block that from her, but it was impossible. What she felt about that I had no idea. All that came back to me through the link was an echo of my grim determination. It tore at my already shredded conscience.

Halfway along the drive, I wound the windows down. Chilly, late autumn night air rushed into the car. Mercy leaned into it, eyes closed, drinking in the flavours of the world. We went with the flow right up to the domestic terminal at the very end of the drive. Mercy made no indication she'd sensed anything, so I swung us around the parking area and back onto the road. We made it back to the Gateway overpass without a hint of the Reds I'd felt here earlier.

Had they already moved out? But Big Red would concentrate on the places he'd encountered me before; the 'Cliffe and the Fringe. If he was determined to take me out and grab Mercy, he'd come in force and unless they moved in small groups, Mercy should have picked them up as we went south and they came north. Presumably, they were also on the alert for us and should have sensed us on the road.

I slung the car around the roundabout and headed back to the airport. If this pass revealed nothing, we'd head into the Valley and swing by the Fringe.

Nothing on the way in, and on the way out, I took a chance and turned off the main road just after the international terminal. We cruised into the international export park, filled with logistics and small airfreight companies. Trawling the side streets got us nothing, so we headed past the park and followed a long, winding road around to the back of the airport. A landing jet blew by overhead.

The road continued on, past a giant maintenance hangar and around toward the river. Murky water dappled with moonlight flashed at us through a screen of trees and warehouses. We were passing a large 'to let' sign outside a warehouse when Mercy tensed. Her lips peeled back and air hissed between her teeth.

"Mercy?" My voice was tight with expectation.

"They're here," she whispered. Her breathing quickened. "So many."

"The mother lode," I muttered. "You know what to do."

I felt it as a pressure against the inside of my head. I hoped the vampires in hiding around us felt it as a wash of our flavour through their bodies. I hoped it enraged them as their stale cab sav angered me. It must have worked because as I turned the car around to pass back by the building, that hot, peppery taste hit me like a sledgehammer. The car swerved as I lost my grip on the wheel for a moment. Mercy growled and heaved against the restraint of the seatbelt.

Getting the car back on a straight run, I reached into the back seat and hauled out the paintball rifle. Mercy took it, checked the cartridge was full and levelled it out of the window. Seeing the closed down, narrowed expression on her little face did me some good. And she handled the rifle like a pro. That's my girl. The thought hit her and she flashed me a tight, slightly manic smile.

Then the Reds were there.

They spilled from the doors and windows of the empty warehouse like a flock of big, ugly crows. Big Red must have had some great PR, I'll grant him that. I'd never seen so many neo-gothic wannabes in matching long coats and dark clothing in one place ever. Fair enough, Mercy and I weren't exactly summer bright, but come on.

"Show time, Mercy."

She didn't take her gaze off the stalking predators closing in on our slowly moving car. "Shut up and drive."

"As the lady desires."

I tramped down on the accelerator and spun the wheel, taking us off the bitumen and onto the gravelled side, right toward a big cluster of Reds. Gravel hit the car in a rapid fire staccato. Most of the Reds scattered, but some weren't quick enough and we bowled on through them. Mercy fired into the tightly packed hordes and the stench of burning flesh and garlic rose through the night. To the chorus of angry screams, I put the car back on the road and lined up another group.

This time, they met us head on.

Reds threw themselves at the car, high speed battering rams of flesh that, while more resilient than that of humans, was still flesh. Bodies broke and blood splattered over the car. The bastards dinted the bonnet, scratched the paint and cracked the windshield and windows. One latched onto Mercy's arm as she hung out of the window. She just calmly shoved the rifle barrel down its throat and pulled the trigger. Gore and paint exploded from the back of its neck and it tumbled away. Mercy ignored its death throes and kept firing.

Something big landed on the roof of the car. It slewed the Monaro to one side as it lunged down to my window. I'd put it up at the first sign of the vampires, but a meaty fist smashed through it as if it were tissue paper. Leaning into the middle of the car, I took the nightstick from the seat beside my leg and cracked the hand across the knuckles. The skin singed where the blessed metal hit. Howling, the vampire withdrew the hand and then thrust the other one in. I repeated the move, but he was expecting it this time. His big hand twisted, caught the stick and wrenched it out of my grip. Shit! He tossed it away and it smacked into another vampire charging up. She took it in the face and went down screaming. Hah.

Then the guy on the roof lunged head first through the window. Instinctively I pushed at his face with my hand. Two fingers slipped into his mouth and he clamped down. A fang stabbed through the very end of one finger. Holy crap! That hurt. He shook his head, ripping my hand from side to side, tearing the hole in my finger wider. I slammed on the breaks. The car skidded into a spin, but Monkey Boy held on like death, to the car and my hand. The fucker. Letting the car slide, I grabbed the next nearest weapon. Popping the lid on the bottle I tossed about half the contents into his face.

Garlic salt bit into his skin and eyes. He screamed in panic and pain and released both my hand and his hold on the roof. Wrenching the steering wheel around, I floored the accelerator again and he tumbled off the back of the car, smoking and yowling. Some of the salt flew back through the car and hit Mercy, but she was mostly covered and had her face turned away from it.

"Think we got their attention?" I asked Mercy as I rammed into another knot of freaks.

Her answer was a level snarl in the affirmative.

"Right." I flicked on the iPod in its dock on the dashboard. The pre-programmed song, set to repeat, blared out through the speakers. "Let's dance."

Spilling Grinspoon's 'Hard Act to Follow' all the way, we roared on out of the back roads behind the airport. Vampires, faces twisted with fury and insane hunger, followed like rats after the Piped Piper.

Phase one complete. And so far, we weren't dead.

Booyah.

# Chapter 39

I should have known better than to have doubts about this part of my hasty plan. When Mercy hunted and I followed in the car, I could barely keep up. Looking at the situation from the other side, being the prey, that is, was an altogether new experience and I wondered at the Reds' ability to keep up. But that taste of cabernet sauvignon stayed with me the entire way.

And in truth, I didn't drive all that fast. I stuck to the East-West Arterial road until it dead ended in Sandgate Road, where the traffic increased and the speed limit dropped. Working my way through to Lutwyche Road I was careful of my speed and road rules. Wouldn't do me a shit load of good to get a cop on my arse right about now. Especially considering the state of the poor car. Some patches of the body still dripped vampire blood, and the front right indicator was smashed from the illegal park outside Vogon Books. Not to mention the shattered window and cracked windscreen. It was police bait on wheels.

I took a wrong turn and nearly ended up back where we started. At least it would serve to confuse Big Red and Co. In the end, we came at Mount Coot-tha from the south side and about an hour later than I'd expected. An hour longer Erin spent with Veilchen, but an hour longer for Mercy to rest.

I'd long since turned the music off and the silence of Mount Coot-tha crept in through the windows and stole any urge I had to talk. We eased by the turn off to the Planetarium and up onto the mountain. The cab sav faded into a dry mustiness in the back of my throat, but I had no qualms the Reds would lose us.

I kept expecting another flavour to come into my senses. Veilchen was a Primal and I guessed the chance of her being the uber-Red was pretty slim. Aurum said the clans were like armies and it seemed stupid for two parts of the same army to use two different methods of finding me. Big Red had spread his boys and girls around town waiting for a taste of me and Mercy. Veilchen had gone the professional route and hired a PI. That would mean Veilchen didn't know the territory and that she was probably working with a limited supply of minions. I wondered what clan she was.

Big Red had managed to keep his flavour to himself outside of the Fringe, though. I suppose it was a skill that came with age, which would mean Veilchen could hide hers as well. Fantastic. Hide and seek with the most powerful creature I'd ever encountered in a forest covering 540 acres, a good deal of it vertical, mind, and I didn't even get a heads up. Not fair. The image of me and Mercy flailing around blindly amongst the big timers came back.

Mount Coot-tha's forest closed in on either side of the car. The air was chilly and still. A single car passed us on its way down. I hoped the picnic areas and look-outs at the top were empty. Sadly, they weren't. The look-out with its restaurant was as busy as usual, the car park packed and lit up like a freaking Christmas Tree. Not exactly the perfect spot for an un-Holy war.

We cruised past the look-out and toward the picnic areas. Thankfully, there were only three cars parked between the look-out and the first of the television station buildings on the top of the mountain. Two of the cars were rocking seriously. Mercy nearly fell out the window, staring at them as we eased by.

After making sure it was just the three cars, I selected one of the very few thrash metal songs I had on the iPod, turned up the volume and played the hoon along the top stretch of road. Didn't take long. The two rocking cars ceased and one brave fellow even had the nerve to get out and shout something at us as we roared by. Feeling more than a little feral, I slammed on the brakes, threw the car into reverse and rocketed back to where he was parked. He was on Mercy's side of the car and she half crawled out of the window, hissing and snarling. The guy got the message rather quickly, dived back into his car and within moments, we were following him part way down the hill, just to make sure he left. The remaining two cars left soon after and we had the crown of the world to ourselves.

I pulled into the top most picnic area and got out of the car. Jeez, it looked worse from the outside. Mercy probably could have saved herself the effort of scaring interrupted lover boy. The battered and dinted car was enough to scare me, or perhaps that was more because I paid the insurance.

Mercy eased out and leaned against the car. She was alert but not terribly strong. Pockets filled with stink bombs, I nevertheless felt a little naked without my nightstick, but I had the SAS knife still and the paintball rifle hung from Mercy's shoulder. I sank down on the gutter and pulled out the package from my jacket pocket.

"Getting anything?" I asked Mercy as I assembled needle and syringe.

"Reds at the base of the mount," she said softly. "Coming slowly. They suspect a trap."

"Guess they're not so dumb after all."

"They feel us, but nothing else. Still, they're cautious. Nothing else is here with us."

I shook my head, absolutely certain we were far from alone. "Keep watch." And I pushed the whole of the last ampoule of morphine into my arm.

Whoa. The rush hit like a tidal wave. Riding on the last of the small dose earlier, it flooded through my veins bringing sweet numbness along with it. God, I hated this. It was a bitter surrender of control, a cop-out. A hard reminder of the days in hospital when I would do just about anything for another dose, the relapse in prison when it offered a form of freedom.

Working through the numbness, I reached through the link to actively touch Mercy. Ah, shit, the pain she was in. If I wasn't already sitting, I would have fallen over. It wasn't just the wounds the wolf had inflicted. There was a deep seated ache inside as her body struggled to heal with very little resources.

A small, totally heartless part of me was thankful I hadn't done this at home. There, feeling this, I would never have let her leave her bed.

But there was something I could do to help her. I pushed at the link, forced it deeper and wider. More of Mercy's agony flooded into me, but at the same time, I fed her my own pain—and the pain relief. The effects of the morphine rushed down the line and soaked into her.

My head cleared and the night came back into dim focus. By the car, Mercy pulled in a deep breath, lifting away from the support of the vehicle. She stood quietly for a moment, head tipped back, mouth open, eyes closed. Then she looked at me and her eyes flashed silver.

A vampire on a morphine high. I swallowed hard.

"I feel... better," she said, voice low, husky.

"Don't take any chances. It's a fake sensation. You're still hurt and weak. Remember that."

Her lips peeled back in a silent snarl.

"Go," I said and she spun into moonlight and vanished.

It was about five minutes before I felt capable of getting to my feet. When I did, I checked my pockets again and then walked into the dark of the forest. I took a walking track at random and strode along as if I was just out for a bit of exercise in the middle of the night, in the middle of a forest, all alone, in the bitingly cold air of a near-winter night.

I took two side tracks and ended up in a decent sized clearing with a creek running through it. In a milky wash of moonlight, Erin lay on the ground.

May as well have hung a fluorescent sign over the limp body, flashing 'TRAP' for all the subtly of it. But then, I couldn't really point fingers, could I? I was the one who'd roared on up with an army of vampires at my heels.

I went to Erin and crouched down. She stirred under my hand.

"Erin, it's Matt."

"I know." Her voice was alert but quiet. "I tried to tell you not to come."

"Why wouldn't you want saving?"

She rolled over and revealed her bound hands and feet. Veilchen had been considerate enough to clothe her warmly in track pants and a wool lined coat. There was a trickle of dried blood down her right hand, where the IV needle had been ripped out, I guessed. Dirty bandage peeked out from under the cuff of the other sleeve. The black eye I'd prophesized darkened one cheek, but there was a hollow shadow around the other as well. Her face was slack with weariness.

"Better just one death than three," she whispered.

That fatal dichotomy I'd felt earlier slapped me in the face, even through the numbing effects of the drug. I couldn't find anything to say.

"I want to go."

It was falling away. That precarious, fragile foundation crumbled beneath her. I sat down hard. "Erin, no."

She struggled to sit up and I helped her. Her bound hands lifted and her fingers grazed over my stubbled jaw, then dropped down between us.

"You're needed, Matthew. You protect people with what you and Mercy do. I have no purpose anymore. If someone must not survive this, let it be me."

Veilchen. It must be. She'd laid some sort of compulsion on Erin. I touched her temple lightly, reached out and sank myself in her aura. Unlike the night she'd been used by Martínez, there was no invading flavour.

"How beautiful."

I looked up. The darkness amongst the trees parted and a tall, thin woman stepped into the soft fall of moon and stars. The bleaching effect of the moonlight left her eerily white, almost glowing. Her starkly blond hair fell to her waist, her white eyes lost in her face, framed by pale lashes that failed to stand out against her skin. She wore cream slacks and a pale purple blouse. The sense I got of her was null, a void. If I closed my eyes, she would not be there.

"I have not touched her," Veilchen said as she circled us. "Her will to die is entirely her own."

"Why should I believe you?"

"You have the evidence in your arms."

I gently set Erin down and stood to watch this creature prowl. Erin curled up at my feet. "I have not encountered your type before. You could have abilities beyond mine to detect."

A sly smile touched those pale lips. "Indeed. But in this case, you have beaten me to this one. Your touch is heavy and clumsy, yet sadly effective. Perhaps if you had not set your compulsion on her, I would have been able to take this morbid desire from her. There were moments today when I worried she would not survive until this meeting."

I knew exactly what she meant, but that didn't stop my mouth from shooting off on its own accord.

"Feeling peckish, were you?"

She smiled again, broadly this time, revealing a row of even teeth. No fangs. Aurum had said Primals were not exactly vampires.

"My sisters and brothers and I do not require the sustenance of blood, as our children do. But we do like the taste."

Something brushed my mind. A strange flavour welled over my tongue. I couldn't place it, but it was strong enough to flood into my nose as well. It was a musty, flat scent and flavour. It took a moment to register, drawing on my memories of childhood and hugging my grandmother. She always had that same scent. Lavender.

I nodded slowly. "The fabled Violet clan."

She returned my nod with a noble tilt of her head. "And how shall we classify you, young one? Your colours are a frightful mess. I fear it would take some time, and pain, to sort them out and find what lies deep in your true heart."

"Time we don't have, as I'm sure you're aware. So let's just go with Team Hawkins."

She mouthed the words 'Team Hawkins' and blinked slowly. "Far too clumsy, but it suits you. And yes, I'm more than aware of your pursuers. If you thought to overwhelm me with them, then you were sadly mistaken. And you have set my stolen daughter against them."

"I had to try. And it gives the kiddies something to do while we adults talk."

"You amuse me. Somehow you have taken my child and made her your own and you think that makes us equals." Veilchen gazed at me fondly. At least I think it was fondly. It might have been her hungry face. "You have much to learn, young one."

"Young one? Ugh. Talk about clumsy. Call me Night Caller instead."

She actually laughed. "I will give you a name when you have earned it. Now call my child to you. I wish to see her."

"Sorry, but she's out playing with her friends at the moment. Maybe can you come back some other day and we'll set up a play date."

It was pretty much close to the truth. Coasting along on the morphine high, Mercy was having a grand old time baiting the Reds. I needed to make sure that they found me and Veilchen. Still, I could feel Mercy's strength fading as she flittered through the trees, firing upon the advancing Reds with the paintball rifle. She was perhaps halfway up the slope, moving slower than usual, but still faster than a human. And the Reds surged up after her.

"Which brings us to a point of law," I said, moving so I could keep myself between Erin and Veilchen. "Namely, the law of finders keepers. You lost Mercy of your own accord. I did not take her from you. No judge in the land would favour you in a custody battle."

The mindless roar my earlier denunciation of her parenting skills threatened to return. Her lips parted and this time, there were fangs in there. Big ones. Bigger in comparison to Mercy's. Maybe Mercy's were just baby teeth.

"She was stolen," Veilchen hissed. "I had crafted her especially and someone took her from me. If not you, then someone else. But I did not lose her." She bit off each word with a finality that rattled in my guts.

"Well, it wasn't me, lady. Your gripe is with someone else."

"But you have her now. Currently, that is all that matters."

"Exactly. I have her. Which means that you can't control her. You can't get her back."

Veilchen stopped pacing. She stood still and her presence condensed back down to nothing. The taste of lavender left me. Man, that was so nifty. I wondered how it was done.

"But I can. As I said, you have much to learn."

"Fantastic. I am simply surrounded by Kenobis. Oh please, teach me."

The reference obviously went rushing right over her head. She tilted it quizzically, but didn't question me. Instead, she nodded once.

"My kind are eternal. We cannot be killed." Veilchen ran a long fingered hand down the length of her torso. If it was meant to be seductive, let's just say I wasn't the only one with a lot to learn. "These bodies, however. They are not eternal. They are..." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "Poorly designed for long use."

"Ah, I get it. You have to trade up every, what? Eighty, ninety years?"

"Every three hundred, if one does not take particular care of the vessel. This –" Again she indicated her body. "– is nearing its final years. I must soon... trade up."

Cold claws sunk into my stomach. "And that's why you turned Mercy. You wanted her body."

"We have found, over the years, that taking a freshly turned vampire increases the longevity of the body. You can understand then that we choose carefully."

"Sure, just like buying a house. You're going to spend thirty years paying it off, may as well get something you can, well, I guess, live with."

Another comment that rushed past her comprehension with all the subtly of a freight train. This woman needed to get out more.

"But," I continued, holding up a hand. "I think Mercy's expiry date might be long gone. She's not freshly turned anymore."

Veilchen curled her lips into another not-a-smile. "We have differing opinions on time, young one. She is so fresh I can still sense the taint of humanity in her." She began walking again, drawing closer. "But if she falls before the Red horde, as she most likely will in her current state, I might be encouraged to look elsewhere for a body."

Her cold gaze dropped down over me and back up. My knees threatened to knock together at the look on her narrow face when I met her eyes again. Yup. It had been fond before. Now it was hungry, and not for dinner.

Lavender swamped me again. I tried to spit it out, but my mouth refused to respond to commands. Unlike my legs, which responded very well. Just not to me.

I lurched toward Veilchen. Inside, I was screaming all sorts of denials and curses. Couldn't utter a sound though. She had complete control of my body. I was going to suffocate in her musty odour. It swarmed all over me, an almost tangible thing, crawling on my skin and through my hair, and like the cold electricity created by lesser supernatural beings, this strange force invaded my body. It coiled through my muscles and bones and my movements eased out until I was striding toward her with a smooth, steady gait.

When I reached her, she slipped into my arms. Her body was as chilly as her manner had promised, not like a real vampire at all. They were all heat and raging blood. She was an empty void, as cold as outer space. I would freeze in her embrace, but I had to hold her, had to caress her.

Veilchen pressed against me. Her hands roamed over my body, leaving trails of chill burn in their wake. My jacket was pushed from my shoulders, my shirt pulled from the waist band of my pants. When she touched my bare skin, the shudder that ran through me was entirely involuntary and totally at odds with the violent, raging scream in my head. Dear God, my body got an erection so fast it actually hurt. She delighted in it, rubbing me though my pants and I thought my balls would turn to ice and break off.

And when she kissed me, my body kissed her back. Open mouthed, greedy, demanding. I was going to get frostbite of the tongue. Then she broke the kiss and my head dropped to the side, oh so conveniently exposing my juicy jugular.

Crap.

Veilchen's lips drew back from her fangs. She opened wide and bit down.

# Chapter 40

Back in the early days, when Mercy and I were still learning our way around each other, she'd fed on me twice. The first time, I think I had wanted it. All those months I'd spent watching her from a distance, falling in love, or lust, or simple obsessive infatuation. Whatever. Then in the hospital, watching her sleep and being torn apart and remade. And finally, there she was with me; strange and dangerous, absolutely, but the body was the same, the voice was the same, even if the eyes were silver glazed and impenetrable. She'd come at me, lust for my blood in her eyes and coursing down the burgeoning link between us. I'd let her.

And it had been the single most mind blowing, orgasmic feeling ever.

It hurt. How could it not? A vampire bite is of necessity a small thing. Two holes over which they must fit their mouth, otherwise there is too much wastage to make the kill profitable. Drawing litre upon litre of blood through wounds of that size is going to cause pain. You can feel it being pulled up against your heart's will. Like someone has wound a needle and thread through every organ and muscle of your body, starting at your feet and ending at your neck, then they start tugging on that thread. It feels like your guts, stomach, lungs, heart, everything inside you, is about to be drawn out through your mouth.

At least, that's how it was without the feeding compulsion that numbs the victim to all sensations.

Mercy had still been too young to have worked out her mental whammies. When she fed on me, it was with no nice, considerate thought for the food's comfort. It had hurt, and I'd got off on it. If I hadn't been totally consumed in mistaking pain for pleasure, I think I would have tried to fuck her while she killed me.

That first time, the only reason she didn't kill me was because she was too weak to drain me. I spent two days in a delirium and she had her first reaction to a wrong blood group.

The second time, my memories of the first encounter had scared me sufficiently I performed the first reverse whammy on her. She'd got away with only a couple hundred mils of blood that time. No vampire had fed off me since.

Until now.

Veilchen might have been able to control my body, but she was unable to touch my mind. No feeding compulsion for me. Not only did I get the full force of all the inherent pain, but that savage lust rose in me again. I enjoyed the way she hurt me. I wanted it to go deeper, to sink right into my body and twist and tear. She felt it. Against my neck, her mouth shivered, a mixture of amusement and responding passion. Her control over my limbs eased but I didn't take the chance to fight. I simply grabbed on tighter, hauled her hips closer to mine, let her know how much I liked what she was doing.

I clawed at the fastening on her slacks. Her hand made the same motions at my own.

Suddenly, Veilchen pulled away from me. She threw herself backwards so harshly I fell back onto my arse, jarring my back and knee.

Howling, Veilchen spun around and swept her arm out. Erin went spinning away, falling to the ground by the creek. My eyes focused on the Primal's back. There was a sizzling hole in her blouse in the centre of her shoulder blades. Jutting from the middle of the burn was the hilt of my SAS knife. Veilchen furiously tried to pull the weapon free, but it had been placed well. She couldn't reach it. Her finger tips brushed it but could gain no purchase. She flew into a rage and blurred out of my perceptions.

For a moment only, the lust for her coursed through me. Then I felt the blood trailing down my neck and into my shirt. That woke me up.

"Matt?"

Erin struggled to sit up by the water. I crawled over to her. Her lips were split from Veilchen's blow and there was a deep red patch over the entire right side of her face that would bruise nicely. I couldn't look her in the eyes. My head was clear of whatever mania Veilchen had inspired, yet there was still a slight and distressing tent in my pants. I set about untying her hands.

"I'm glad you decided not to die long enough to lend a hand." It came out harsh, fuelled by an inward directed anger but I don't think that clarification came through.

Erin stiffened but let me finish freeing her. "Well, you seemed all too willing to let her kill you. And more."

My teeth ground, but Erin continued before I could explain.

"Besides, I already said you needed to survive this. I fully expected her to kill me when I stabbed her."

The bitter, defeated edge in her voice cut my anger away with a single sweep. I meet her gaze. Her eyes were dull, empty of life.

"Erin," I began but couldn't finish. Whatever it was that pulled her over this slope was too big to deal with now. "We have to get moving. That knife won't stop Veilchen. She'll be back."

"First," Erin murmured, pulling up the sleeve of her jumper. Quickly she unwound the bandage, revealing Mercy's teeth marks. They were closed with a couple of stitches each.

"What—" I began but Erin silenced me with a look.

She wrapped the bandage around my throat, reminding me I was bleeding. When she was done, I muttered thanks and stood. I was a bit shaky, but stable enough to help Erin up and half support her as well.

"Good work, taking the knife from me," I said. "Of course, you left me pretty much defenceless."

"You didn't seem to mind too much."

My erection had, thankfully, subsided and feeling was rushing back into all the parts of my body Veilchen had numbed with her chilly touch. Things were starting to ache, and not pleasantly.

"What did you put on the blade?" I asked, scanning the dark trees around us.

"Holy water, from your other pocket."

"Gotta love the cargo pants."

I started us back toward the path I'd come in by. But even as we took our first steps, lavender swirled around me and Veilchen appeared, the knife still protruding from between her shoulder blades. The whole of the back of her blouse was burned away and hung in tatters, exposing the charred flesh around the steel blade.

Veilchen was no longer angry. Back was that cucumber cool calm. She looked at us with a little smile and as we watched, the knife shifted. She used no hands to move it, but move it did. It twitched, shivered and then drew out of the wound and floated in place. Veilchen turned and plucked it out of mid-air.

"Telekinesis," I hissed. Aurum had said the Violets were the most powerful psychics of the clans.

"How perceptive." Veilchen spun the knife like an expert. "And now I have your only weapon."

I shrugged. "Maybe."

And Mercy slammed into Veilchen from behind.

However Mercy had been able to sneak up on the Primal, I had no clue, but I didn't waste time wondering. I grabbed Erin and turned to run in the other direction. I staggered to a stop, Erin's momentum almost pulling me off balance. Then she too saw what had stopped me.

Long coats settling about their legs, the line of Reds faced us. Some sported smoking craters from where Mercy had hit them with the paintballs, but most were unscarred and all were very angry. My senses were overloaded with Veilchen's flavour. The cab sav of the Reds couldn't battle through.

I swallowed hard. This was what I'd wanted all along. I should have been pleased. But somehow being a bit angry and a lot scared took precedent. Scared, for obvious reasons. Angry because where the fuck was Big Red?

As one, the Reds took a step forward.

"Get behind me," I whispered to Erin. For a wonder, she did. I grabbed stink bombs from my pockets. After a moment, I felt her hands dipping in as well.

Then the Reds charged. I tossed stink bombs. They detonated against the advancing vampire bodies and garlic paste went everywhere. Between Erin and me, we didn't precisely halt the charge, but we scattered it and they parted around us, keeping wide and sweeping in behind. I moved to put my back to Erin's, and saw they weren't closing in on us.

Rather, they converged on the seething riot that was Mercy and Veilchen.

They got a hold on her and Mercy, pulled them out of their faster than fast fight and dropped them back into visibility. It was like one of those all-in-pile-ups, with more Reds throwing themselves mindlessly at Veilchen. Mercy battled the few that held her. I did my best to target the vampires around her, without hitting her. It was hard and I didn't have much success. Erin, too, continued to empty my pockets, concentrating on the far side of the melee.

Reds closed around Mercy and ruined my chances of helping from the outside. I could sense Mercy's waning strength. She'd used most of it in racing up the hill to attack Veilchen in an effort to protect me. Then her strength gave out and she went down.

Even bereft of stick and knife, I was about to wade into the fray to rescue Mercy when the knot around Veilchen exploded outward. Vampires flew up and out and the Primal sprang clear of the mess in an elegant twist through the air. She landed behind me and Erin. We spun to face her, the last of the stink bombs ready.

What had remained of her clothes were all but gone now. The blouse was completely destroyed, showing off her white, pert breasts to the night, and her slacks clung to her waist with nothing but grim tenacity, turning to flowing tatters around her thighs. There were rents in her marble skin, but these closed even as we watched. No blood spilled from her at all. Not even mine.

Erin threw a stink bomb. It hit her chest and blew open. A slurry of garlic splattered her upper body. And that was it. No burning, no screaming in pain. Her mouth curved upwards. Veilchen dragged a finger through the stinking mess and lifted it to her lips. She licked the garlic paste off and made a satisfied noise.

Shit.

But Holy water worked. Sadly, Erin had my only store.

Howling, the Reds faced Veilchen, preparing for another charge.

She just laughed and suddenly, the black of the night around her split down the middle. Layers of darkness peeled back and tore away on a sudden wind. What was left was Veilchen, and a new mob of vampires.

I'd thought the stench of lavender couldn't get any worse. I'd thought wrong.

It suffocated me. My stomach churned with the overpowering sensation. I wanted to puke, to scour my mouth and nose free of the smell.

But then it changed. The mustiness soured and deepened, gaining a peppery hint.

Narsico Martínez Pérez stepped from the ranks of Reds. He ignored me in favour of sizing up Veilchen.

"My Lord bids you greetings," he said formerly to the Primal.

She sneered at him. "I am sure he does. What business does the Red Lord have with my affairs?"

Martínez bowed his head in submission. "My Lord recognises that he has overstepped his boundaries by pursuing your stolen daughter. But he wishes you to know it was done as gesture of good will."

She eyed him with weary contempt. "The Lord of the Red is weak. What need have I of his good will?"

If her insult about his lord bothered Martínez, he didn't show it. "My Lord is aware of his position amongst his brothers and sisters. He knows that of all the castes, his children are the least. Not as strong, not as empowered. But they are numerous, more so than any other, even your own."

The wall of Reds that had gathered just behind Erin and me parted. Mercy, bloodied and limp, was carried out between two vampires. They stopped beside Martínez and dropped Mercy. She hit the ground hard and lay still.

My knees gave out and I sank down. Erin came with me, simply because I think she didn't know what else to do. I could only stare at my nasty kitten, my broken doll. Her touch through the link was barely there, ebbing even as I desperately reached for it.

"We sought your stolen daughter," Martínez said, waving a dismissive hand at Mercy, "so that we might present her to you as an offering."

Veilchen gazed at Mercy as well. Her thoughts were hidden by her blank eyes. How she felt about seeing her chosen vessel battered and torn was a mystery. Probably it was just mild annoyance. Not like the gut wrenching ache in my stomach, the dreadful anguish roaring through my veins.

"Your Lord wishes an alliance," Veilchen said.

"He does. He believes that between the Violets and the Reds, a dominance will be created and the other castes will fall before us."

"And you think to begin this alliance with the gift of a broken body? A body I had in my possession not moments before your pathetic creatures attacked me?"

Martínez conceded the point. "For that, I am eternally sorry and should you wish it, you may have my life in payment. The crippled one had incensed my children to the point at which they did not understand what they were doing. But alongside this one, we have more to offer."

He pointed at me.

Again, Veilchen was summarily unimpressed. "Another I had in my possession until you interrupted."

"Yet you would have taken him and turned him without knowing what he possesses."

Veilchen looked between Martínez and me, her expression cool. "Apart from a pleasing body and intoxicating blood, there is little special about him. Whatever might set him apart from other humans he has only gained through the bond with my stolen daughter."

Martínez dared to shake his head at her. "You forget one other thing. Knowledge. This human has the knowledge to increase a vampire's strength and cognition without having to wait centuries. At its full strength, this one," he indicated Mercy, "is the equal of any of our kind more than a hundred years old."

That caught Veilchen's attention. She came forward and crouched by Mercy. She pushed Mercy onto her back and laid her hand between my vampire's breasts. I could feel the tug of Veilchen's questing probe down the link. She was seeking to find if what Martínez said was true. It didn't take her long.

Slowly, Veilchen turned to me. Her lips curled in that fond smile again.

"Tell your Lord," she said to Martínez, "that we may discuss the terms of the alliance."

You know, I was new to all this vampire politics stuff, but that didn't sound very good to me. Not at all.

# Chapter 41

"Hey, hey, hey."

I was on my feet before my ears registered the words as my own. Martínez and Veilchen regarded me as if I was an unruly child jumping around for attention. And now that I was the centre of attention, I had no idea what to do next. So I let my mouth loose.

"Look, I'm all for the freedom of information act. But somehow I don't think you guys are totally clued in on the fine points regarding the concept of freedom. I'm not about to go quietly as a bargaining piece in this little deal you have going here."

I wasn't feeling too steady, between blood loss and aching, defrosting delicate parts of my anatomy. Still, I attempted to walk between the two head honchos of the vampire armies facing each other. They watched me with non-existent wariness. Let's face it, I was less than a threat to either of them.

"If either of you try to force me to talk, I'm going to resist," I told them patiently. "And resist rather insistently. Now, I'm only human. I have this flimsy little mortal body, very easy to break. I could very well resist myself into an assisted suicide. Capiche?"

So far, the only impression I had seemed to make was one of mild amusement, in Veilchen at least. Martínez just looked at me as if he'd never seen a talking ape before. Nothing new there.

"Now, don't jump to any hasty conclusions, my friends. I am well inclined to cooperate."

I stood between them, waving them together like I had some secret to tell. Martínez made a tiny movement, as if he might actually come closer. He didn't though, when Veilchen remained as she was. Beyond them, their vampires waited in mindless stasis. Both of them had complete control of their armies. Made me think the Reds attacking Veilchen had been a deliberate move on Martínez's part. When they failed, he'd fallen back on plan B. Which meant that if I suspected that, so did Veilchen.

My stomach dropped out. If she knew that and still came to the bargaining table over a pithy thing like me, then perhaps she saw a great advantage in siding with the Reds. Scary, scary thought.

"My cooperation, however," I continued, "comes at a price. Now, Big Red here, who I know isn't the Biggest Red, but he seems to have permission from Great-granddad to bargain for him, has already given me a starting price. He offered me my life." I looked at Veilchen. "Top that."

Veilchen's smile came close to being a snarl. "You would play us against each other?"

"Hey, seems like the best way of me coming out of this with my life and sanity and maybe something a little extra. I'm a greedy bastard, I admit that, but it's a vice and vice can be exploited. Now, what else you gonna give me?"

She blinked slowly. "Your life and... when I claim the body stolen from me –" Veilchen pressed against me in a deliberately sensual manner. "– I'll give you myself. I know you want that body."

No form of control this time, no hint of brutality. I managed to hold onto my dignity and added some scorn.

"Lady, after what you did to me before, I'll be lucky if I want _any_ body ever again. I think something might have frozen and dropped off." I stepped back. "Think of something else."

She had some awesome self-esteem, I'll grant her that. Probably came from a millennia of being rejected and just having to deal, cause I don't think she could have topped herself.

Those white eyes narrowed and regarded me with deceptive mellowness.

"Money," Martínez offered.

I turned to him. "How much?"

"As much as you wish."

"Ooh. Tempting. I could hire me a whole bunch of hardy, blooded ex-marines to go vampire hunting and get my revenge. Come on, Big Red. Be creative. Everyone offers money, but maybe I'm after something else. Don't be afraid to explore the possibilities, champ." I gestured casually over my shoulder at Veilchen. "Miss Purple is at least trying."

"I'll let you keep my daughter." Veilchen's offer was quiet, but it snapped through me like a live wire.

I hid my surge of hope and said to Martínez, "See, that's how you do it." I faced Veilchen. "You won't take her body?"

"No. I'll find another I like. You may keep her as your personal pet. As your bodyguard. As your lover. Whatever." Then she smiled and added, "And I'll give you however much money you want."

I sucked in a long breath. "That's very, very close to everything I want. Big Red, you got one more chance."

He didn't get it.

Mercy launched herself from the ground and latched onto his back. She tore into his neck while tossing me what she held in one hand. Catching the knife and, with the world blurring around me, I spun, shedding an arc of water droplets off the blade as I went. It slashed through Veilchen's throat, the Holy water smoking as it came into contact with her flesh. The return swing cut deeper and her head snapped backwards so far the remaining skin and tissue tore, dropping her head to the ground.

I didn't wait around to see what happened next. I just threw myself to the ground and covered my head. There was no explosion of goop from Veilchen's dead body, but the two armies, released from control, roared at each other and charged.

The noise was deafening. Think cat fight, dog barny and angry chimps at the zoo, combine it all and amplify. Holy hell. They could probably hear it all the way back in Redcliffe. Thankfully, there was little chance of being stood on. Vampires fight so fast the amount of time they actually spend on the ground is minimal. Still, blood was bound to fly very soon.

I lifted my head enough to check the surrounds. It was a hazy mix of flashing limbs and disintegrating bodies. I couldn't see Big Red or Mercy. Not good. Mercy had enough for the initial attack, but nothing left to actually fight with. If she was gone, she was either a puddle on the ground, or carried off by Big Red.

Reaching through the link got me nothing. There was no block, no pain maddened vampire at the other end, no anything.

A hand grabbed my arm. I screamed and then focused on Erin. She hauled herself closer, pale and very tired. There were fresh wounds on her right wrist. I gathered her to my side and did my best to protect her with my body.

When a great splash of blood hit the grass beside us, I knew it was time to get going. Thankfully, we were back to being the little fish in this argument. Getting out was merely a chore of avoiding everyone else. The fight had expanded out of the clearing and into the forest proper. As we stumbled up the path back to the car, the trees around us shook and leaves rained down in great torrents. A huge crack came a moment before a slow, gradual crash, ending in a slight tremor in the ground and minor mushroom cloud of leaves and vegetation.

Erin collapsed before we got back to the car. Working purely on adrenaline, I half dragged, half carried her the last distance. At the car, I had to bodily shove her into the passenger seat. It was all I could do to get in myself. When I made it behind the wheel, I locked the doors, despite the fact that my side had no window. But it made me feel better.

We stayed there for some amount of time. Long enough for the last of the morphine to wear off and for Erin to regain some sense.

I looked at Erin's wrist. Mercy's bite had been clumsy. Probably Erin had done as I had, and impaled her own flesh on Mercy's fangs. From the glove compartment, I took the first aid kit and bound Erin's wrist. She watched me do it with no interest. If I'd had any energy I would have started that talk about her current opinion on continual life, but I figured it could wait.

Then the battle reached us.

Vampires roiled out of the trees and charged. They were all Reds, coats, torn and ragged, flaring behind them, cab sav hitting me hard. Had Big Red's superior numbers beaten Veilchen's admittedly stronger troops? Fuck it. Who cared? I tore us backwards out of the park just ahead of the horde. Swinging the car around lost us precious ground and the bastards piled up on the car like footballers in a scrum.

I roared wordlessly, flung the car into gear and slammed it forward. Some tumbled off, some didn't. I did my best to lose them on the way down the mountain. It mostly worked and the rest fell off when we hit level ground and I threw the car around a sharp bend.

"Go back," Erin gasped.

"What?"

"Back the other way." She pointed unsteadily to the street I hadn't taken. "That way."

She sounded like she had a plan, so we performed a highly illegal u-turn and rocketed back the way she indicated. The Reds followed gamely, their presence sitting in the back of my mouth like a pill I couldn't swallow.

It wasn't far and when I saw where Erin had directed us, I laughed.

The car skidded to a shuddering stop in the gravel car park and Erin and I piled out. I grabbed her arm and we raced up the stairs as quick as we could. Vampires began dropping around us, howling in anger and victory. We made it to the top of the stairs and rammed the doors. And came to a nasty and sharp stop.

"Fuck! They locked the doors. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Erin sagged against the doors. "We tried."

I glanced back at the encroaching vampires. They were wary, approaching slowly. But any moment now, they were going to realise no cavalry was about to come charging out of the building and they would come in force.

"We tried and nearly won," I said. "And that's not good enough."

Something inside me shifted. It was almost like the sensation I got when creating Invisible Matt, and it came from the same place as the umbilical that linked his body to mine. But this was different. It was like a pressure building up, coiling tightly, a spring of potential. It all happened in the space of perhaps a heartbeat.

"Matt," Erin said.

I could feel the vampires coming. They were about to attack again. Their wariness had worn off.

It was now or never.

I pushed the potential energy out of my chest and into the doors. The thick wood cracked, the lock dissolved and with a heavy crash, the doors swung inward. Erin and I tumbled in just as the vampires lunged.

The first few that landed inside the church simply combusted. The next few, perhaps protected by the gas released from their dead fellows lasted maybe a second or two longer. After that, the others managed to fall backwards.

Erin and I scrambled further inside and rolled over to look at the vampires outside. They stood at the bottom of the stairs, hissing at us.

I chuckled and gave them the finger.

I was all for just sitting and watching the freaks gnash their fangs in frustration, but Erin wanted to close the doors, so we did. Then we staggered into the sanctuary.

It was a small church, made from stone blocks and polished wood. The ceiling was arched and exposed beams were draped with hanging lights and fans. An older building retro fitted to offer more than spiritual comfort to its parishioners. There was a small, carpeted area at the back of the room with a play pen and box of toys. We lay down there and stared at the pointed ceiling.

"Good call," I said eventually.

Erin just grunted.

"How did you know it was here?"

"It's where I got married."

"Oh."

And we left it at that.

#

My phone rang and woke me up.

I hadn't even realised I'd been asleep. Beside me, Erin mumbled something and sank back into a deep slumber. I fumbled in my pockets and eventually found the phone just as it stopped ringing. Before I could look at the number, it rang again and I answered.

"What?"

"Mr Hawkins," Aurum said. "I'm glad you survived."

"You know what happened?"

"I was watching from a safe distance."

I moved away from Erin so I wouldn't disturb her sleep. "You were watching?"

"It would hardly have counted as a test of your skills had I not watched."

My growing fury obliterated all responses I had bar a rumbling growl.

"Now, before you fly into a rage, Mr Hawkins, let me assure you that you passed. You stopped the alliance between Red and Violet and not many humans could have done that. Congratulations."

The phone creaked as my grip tightened. "Fuck you," I managed.

"Language, Mr Hawkins. I believe you have a lady with you."

A day ago, his tone would have had me ducking my head in shame. All it did now was set my blood dial to 'boil'.

"You used me."

"I did. The potential alliance had to be diverted. If the Reds and Violets joined forces, they would be a threat large enough to wipe out the other castes. At the moment, the castes are evenly matched overall. Should one, or two, gain an upper hand, the balance will be lost. Had the Reds and Violets joined, the end result would have been the destruction of all castes but the Violets. Yes, even the Reds wouldn't have survived. Without a threat equal to her own, Veilchen would have been free to concentrate on the human population of the world."

He paused and if he expected me to fill in the convenient blank, I wasn't going to satisfy him. I'd done enough dancing to his tune.

"Ah, I see," he murmured eventually. "And I understand. However you may feel about me, Mr Hawkins, just remember what you accomplished here tonight. You defeated a great threat to your kind, and earned my respect. That is no small thing."

I swallowed the shout of rage I wanted to vent. "Who are you?"

Aurum just said, "Think about it. Apply your scientific mind."

About to hang up on him, I stopped and asked, "Veilchen? Did she survive?"

He chuckled. "Of course she did. She is truly eternal. But you wounded her grievously. She won't be a threat to you for some time yet. As you count time, at least. Martínez, however, was not so endurable. And Mr Hawkins, I believe there is someone waiting for you outside."

The line went dead. I stared at the phone. Then before I could throw it across the room, I put in back in a pocket. See, Dr Campbell, I do have restraint.

Angry beyond reason with Aurum, I was nevertheless curious. I staggered to the front door and eased it open enough to peek out. A dark bundle lay on the front steps.

Flinging open the door, I almost fell down beside Mercy and gathered her up. She stirred and opened her eyes. Maybe it was a reflection of the street light or just my imagination, but for a second, they flashed gold. Then they were just normal brown.

I checked her over, found her wounds mostly healed, including the ones from the night before.

"Aurum," I breathed, suddenly understanding.

Faint light touched the eastern horizon. Time to move. I carried Mercy to the car and laid her as gently as I could in the boot. It would protect her from the sunlight until we got home. Then I went back inside.

Erin was awake and sitting up. She nursed her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. I sat beside her, close but not touching, though I ached to.

"Mercy's back," I whispered.

"I'm glad."

"I think she'll be okay."

Erin nodded.

"Will you be okay?"

She thought about it for a while. Then nodded.

"Erin—"

"I'll call you and set up a meeting to get your things to you," she said firmly. "After that, no more."

My fingers itched to touch her, to brush the hair from her face, to catch the tears that fell.

"We got married here," she said suddenly. "And I'll bury him here. And then I'll move on."

Her speech tore my heart in two, but reassured me as well. I touched her then, a soft squeeze on her arm.

"Do want me to take you to a hospital?" I asked.

"No. Just go."

I hesitated.

"Thank you for your concern, but I'll be fine. Go."

I left her there, got in the car and drove home.

As for Aurum? It wasn't too hard to put the pieces together, once I really thought about it. Just as veilchen was German for violet, aurum was Latin for gold.

# Chapter 42

Erin sat in her car and waited. The gun, secured in a locked carry case, sat on the seat beside her. She didn't understand why he wanted to meet here, of all places. And he was late. Only to be expected, she supposed.

She rolled her arms over on the steering wheel and looked at her wrists. All that remained of Mercy's bites were four pink dints. At least, that was the only physical remains. There were still nights when Erin woke up, terrified, ghosts of the horrible drawing sensation winding through her body. And there had been a month straight where she hadn't gone out at night. William had relished the constant company for about two weeks, then began nagging her about it. Her first outing after dark had been dinner at Gavin and Kate's. She'd even enjoyed it, a bit. Then Ivan and Brad had taken her to the movies, which she'd enjoyed more.

Ivan had spent a week in hospital, recovering from Veilchen's interrogation. He'd had few physical wounds, but doctors had kept him in for observation, worried there might have been deep, psychological trauma. Occasionally, he told Erin about his nightmares, but they had grown less and less frequent until he claimed he no longer had them. Sometimes, though, when he thought no one was watching, his eyes would get haunted and his shoulders would shake a little.

Erin had refused to go back into hospital. She'd medicated herself for the blood loss the second time. Steak and orange juice. She'd felt like shit for weeks, but preferred that to another transfusion. Suddenly, the thought of someone else's blood in her veins wasn't comforting. It was vampirism on a whole new level.

She had kept her job. Sol had rung her up and fired her. A minute later, he'd called back and rehired her. It had been hard to not toss it back in his face, but there was William's care and treatment to think of, so she'd accepted.

And it had taken her two months to set up the meeting. His gun had been sitting in her office safe all that time. For the sake of expediency, she'd paid the fine when she realised she couldn't see him before it was due. He hadn't called.

Ivan had set up the meeting. Erin had tried several times to dial his number, but couldn't go through with a conversation. So Ivan had, and he'd spoken to him for a while. When he'd hung up, he seemed calmer somehow. Erin almost resented that.

Now here she was, waiting, and he was late.

About to call Ivan and get him to find out where Hawkins was, the black Monaro eased up beside her and pulled over to the side of the road. The damage had been repaired and the car was slick and gleaming once more. Erin read the number plate, NYT CLL, and wondered that she'd ever thought Night Cell.

Matt got out, tall and lanky. He had a walking stick with him but otherwise looked fit and well. He didn't look back at her, instead walking around the car and into the cemetery. Erin waited a minute, then got out and followed him, case in hand.

He led her through the rows of graves on a direct path to where he eventually stopped. It was obviously a grave he visited often. Erin held back while he crouched by the headstone, left leg stretched out. From his jacket, he pulled a single peace lily and laid it on the gravestone. His hand lingered on the engraved words, and then he stood and came back toward Erin.

She met him halfway.

"Hi," he said.

"Your gun." Erin held out the case.

Matt took it with a little smile on his lips. "Thank you."

"The key," she added, digging it from her pocket and handing it over. His fingers brushed hers as he took it.

"The fine?" he asked.

"Paid. Consider it a fee for keeping the gun so long."

He nodded. "How are you?"

"Fine. Ivan's fine as well."

"Yeah, we had a chat. He's a good kid."

"The best." She tried to hold it back, but it burst out without control. "And if he gets hurt again, I'll kill whoever's responsible."

"I believe you would."

Erin pulled in several deep breaths, calming herself. "How's Mercy?"

"Good. Back to her old self again. She'll be pleased you asked after her."

"No she won't."

He chuckled. "You're right."

"I saw Robert Robertson was released without being charged."

Matt's chuckle turned into a full bore laugh. His wide grin was that same wholly unabashed one that had caught her at their first meeting.

"All this time he just called himself Roberts. Robert Robertson. I love it. He'll never live it down."

Rather than make her smile in return, his grin just made her sad.

"Why do you do it?" she asked.

Hooking his walking stick over one arm, he shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders. "Someone's got to."

"Not good enough. There's always going to be dangerous jobs that someone has to do, but they do it because they choose to. Why did you choose this?"

Matt moved so he could look at the grave he'd visited. "I suppose I could give you an easy answer, that I didn't choose this. It chose me when Mercy came into my hospital on my shift. I could tell you that watching her transform made me vow to protect others from going through that horror, stop families losing their loved ones to these monsters. And it would be true."

"But?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in an ironic smile. "But nothing's ever that simple outside of Disney movies. I had a choice." He indicated the grave. "Her name is Eloisa Juliana Morrow, and she was nine when she died. She had congenital heart failure. Her friends at school used to call her Weeza, because sometimes she couldn't breathe properly. She was the first person I ever saved."

Erin stared at the gravestone so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. "The child in the ambulance."

"Sometimes I dream about her, about that night. I wake up still feeling her in my hands, feeling her little heart start beating again. I can feel the way she coughed and opened her eyes and looked at me. The dream never goes further than that. I always wake up just as she lives again. Then I remember the rest of it."

He was quiet for a while, then sighed. "She's the reason I do this. I made the choice to help Mercy because of her. And I made the choice to turn Mercy against her own kind because of me. I need to make Mercy's curse mean something other than death for more people like Eloisa. I guess I need to know that I can still help people. Not just hurt them."

"That's a good reason," Erin whispered. "So Night Call will continue?"

"There's still need for it." After a moment, he added, "A big need, if what we witnessed was anything to go by. I'll have my work cut out for me."

Erin knew what he was gearing up to ask, just as his question about seafood had been a precursor to dinner and a movie talk. She shook her head in pre-emptive refusal. Matt considered her intensely and she looked away.

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't do what you do."

"But you—"

"I can't. It scares me."

"It scares me too."

"It's not just that." She tried hard to suppress a shiver, but it reached her hands and made them tremble. Crossing her arms, she said, "You scare me."

"I don't mean to," he said quickly, as if he'd known what she was going to say all along. "I know I lose control sometimes. I'm working on it. Therapy."

"Yeah, I know. But that doesn't bother me. I can understand that."

Eyebrows arched, he asked, "Then what? The temper thing is usually enough for most people."

"But most people didn't see what I did that night. What I saw you do. You decapitated Veilchen."

Matt grimaced. "You can't say she didn't deserve it."

Erin let out a slightly maniacal laugh. "She certainly did. I don't blame you for it. But how you did it. That wasn't normal. You moved so fast I couldn't see what you did until it was over and her head was rolling on the ground. You moved as fast as Mercy does."

"No, I didn't. I can't move that fast. You must have been confused. Concussed, even."

"I know what I saw. What you did, no human could have done." And she clamped her mouth shut. She hadn't come with the intention of telling him he was inhuman. In fact, she couldn't remember making the decision to tell him what she'd seen at all.

They were both quiet for a while. Erin couldn't look at him, afraid she would see how her careless comment had made him feel.

"How's your husband?" he eventually asked, voice quiet, concerned.

The question didn't gut her as much as it could have, perhaps because she was so relieved he wasn't angry. "Doing okay." She dug in a pocket and retrieved her note book. Flipping it open, she said, "Some people left messages with me for you."

A curious smile curling his lips, he said, "Interesting."

"Dr Nolan said to thank you for the shopping list."

That drew a soft grunt from him.

"And James Douglass said to tell you that getting injured enough to get someone out on a night call, a job you hated, was the very definition of irony."

Matt snorted good humouredly. "He would. Any other messages to pass on?"

Erin meet his eyes. "Douglass also said that you shouldn't be alone. I agree with him."

He looked away first. "Is it advice you're going to take yourself?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

Matt smiled. "Good."

Then he walked away.

#

So, I've been doing some thinking about the nature of monsters and stuff. What makes something a monster? Fangs? Claws? A physiology that directs you to eat rotting flesh and suck the marrow from old bones? I used to think these were pretty solid quantifying points, but now, not so much.

It wasn't Kermit's little speech about the hard line I'd drawn. It wasn't Erin telling me I had moved like a vampire. It wasn't Aurum's little test.

It was Dr Nolan and Tony Rollins.

You see, being a monster isn't a matter of physicality. It's a state of mind. It's the result of the choices we make. Mercy didn't choose to become a vampire. Neither did Martínez. Tony Rollins' dog didn't ask to become a werewolf.

Yet, I'd made the decision to laugh off Tony's claims about his dog. I'd chosen to abandon Nolan without giving him the tools and skills he needed to deal with the reality of his suspicions. They both died because of the choices I made.

Tell me I'm not the monster in this equation.

But, I think I can live with it.

What's that quote by Nietzche? He who fights monsters should watch his own arse lest it become monstrous? Good advice, but a touch too late for me. So, I'm going to do the best I can and try to make better decisions.

And if the better choice is to be the monster, then so be it.

# Afterword

In the end of this story, Erin decides against a blood transfusion. She had her reasons, but for a lot of people, it's not an option.

Transfusions are an integral part of medicine and is a very safe procedure. They're not only used in traumatic circumstances. All lot of transfusions are given to patients with blood cell disorders. For these people, receiving a blood transfusion is absolutely vital to their life.

A single donation of blood can be used in three different ways. It's divided into red cells, platelets and plasma, all of which are used in a variety of circumstances and all are very important. One donation can save three different lives.

Sadly, blood and blood product stocks are more often than not very low. Something that can be easily remedied.

I encourage everyone who is capable to donate blood. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't take long and, generally, you get a biscuit and cuppa at the end. Not to mention the feeling of having helped someone else in desperate need. Trust me, everyone involved in the process from collection, through processing, to administering and finally, receiving, will be eternally grateful.

Cheers, L.J. Hayward

### About the Author

L.J. Hayward has been telling stories for most of her life. Granted, a good deal of them have been of the tall variety, but who's counting? Parents and teachers notwithstanding, of course. These days, the vast majority of her story telling has been in an honest attempt to create fun and exciting ways of entertaining others (and making money).

As such, she is still a mad (always provoked!) scientist in a dungeon laboratory (it has no windows. Seriously, the zombie apocalypse could be going on outside and she'd have nary a clue) who, on the rare occasions she emerges into the light, does so under extreme protest and with the potential hazard of bursting into flames under the southeast Queensland sun.

You can find L.J on her website and Goodreads, or cringe at her tweets @lj_hayward

# Other Books in the Night Call Series

_Demon Dei_ \- It's been six months since the harrowing conclusion of Blood Work and Matt's waiting for the fiery repercussions. And waiting. And waiting. Even if no Big Bad wants revenge, shouldn't he be in hot demand? Like the lawyer who wins the unwinnable case. Or the mechanic who works out what that clunking noise is in your car. Instead, Matt finds himself struggling to maintain his career as the Night Caller. But things are about to get nasty in a big, big way.

_Here Be Dragons_ (short story) – Sunday. Day of Rest. To anyone _not_ Matt Hawkins, vampire-slayer extraordinaire, that is. A short story set in the world of Night Call, between the novels _Demon Dei_ and _Rock Paper Sorcery._

_Rock Paper Sorcery_ \- Vanquishing vampire Primals and defeating Demon Lords is one thing. They're dangerous in an obvious, tooth and claw way. But when a sorcerer comes to town chasing a murderous rogue, Matt Hawkins is faced with something he doesn't know how to deal with—competition as the city's resident badarse supernatural warrior.

##

## Death and the Devil

_Where Death Meets the Devil_ \- Jack Reardon, former SAS soldier and current Australian Meta-State asset, has seen some messy battles. But "messy" takes on a whole new meaning when he finds himself tied to a chair in a torture shack, his cover blown wide open, all thanks to notorious killer-for-hire Ethan Blade.

