HuntinginBrugesByE.J.Stevens

HuntinginBrugesE.J.Stevens

PublishedbySacredOaksPress

Copyright2014E.J.StevensAllrightsreserved

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TableofContentsChapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11

Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21Chapter22Chapter23Chapter24Chapter25

Chapter26Chapter27Chapter28Chapter29Chapter30Chapter31Chapter32Chapter33Chapter34Chapter35Chapter36Chapter37Chapter38Chapter39

Chapter40Chapter41Chapter42Chapter43Chapter44Chapter45Chapter46Chapter47Chapter48Chapter49Chapter50Chapter51Chapter52Chapter53

Chapter54Chapter55ComingSoonAlsobyE.J.StevensBurningBrightAbouttheAuthor

Chapter1

“This was Bruges-la-Morte, the dead city,entombed in its stone quays,the arteries of its canalschilled to death at thecessation of the greatheartbeatofthesea.”

-Georges Rodenbach,

Bruges-la-Morte

I’ve been seeingghosts for as long as I canremember. Most ghosts aresimplyannoying;justcluelessdeadpeoplewhodon’trealizethat they’ve died. Theweakest of these manifest asflimsy apparitions, withoutthe ability for speech orhigher thought. They’re likearecordingofsomeone’slifeprojected not onto a screen,

butontotheplacewheretheydied. Most people canwalkthrough one of these ghostswithout so much as agoosebump.

Poltergeists are morepowerful, but just as single-minded. These pesky spiritsarelikeangrytoddlers.Theystomp around, shaking theirproverbial chains, moaningand wailing about howsomething(theaccident,theirmurder, or the murder they

committed) was someoneelse’s fault, and howeveryone must pay for theirmisfortune.Poltergeistsareanuisance; they’re noisy andcan throw around objects forshortperiodsof time,but it’sonly the strong ones that aredangerous.

Thankfully, therearen’t many ghosts out therestrong enough to do morethan knock a pen off yourdesk or cause a cold spot.

From what I’ve discoveredwhile training with theHunters’ Guild, ghosts gettheir power from two things—how long they’ve beenhaunting and strength ofpurpose. If someone asobsessedwith killing as Jackthe Ripper manifests besideyou on a London street, Irecommend you run. Ifsomeoneasoldandunhingedas Vlad the Impaler appearsbeside you in Targoviste

Romania,youbetterhopeyouhaveaHunteratyourside,oraguardianangel.

The dead get a badrap,and forgood reason,butsome ghosts can be helpful.There was a woman with akindfacewhousedtoappearwhen I was in foster care.Linda wasn’t just a loop ofpsychic recording stuck onrepeat; this ghost had freewill and independent thought—and thankfully, she wasn’t

a sociopath consumed withbloodshed.Lindamanifestedin faded jeans and darkturtleneck and smelled likehome, which was the otherthing that was unusual abouther. Most ghosts are tied toone spot, the place wherethey lived or died. ButLinda’s familiar facefollowedme from one fosterhometoanother. Anditwasa good thing that she did.Lindatheghostsavedmylife

morethanonce.Foster care was an

excellent training ground forself defense, which isprobably why the Hunters’Guild uses it as a place forrecruitment.Beingcastadriftin the child welfare systemgave me plenty ofopportunities to hone mysurvival instincts. By thetimetheHunterscamealong,Iwas a force to be reckonedwith,orsoIthought.

The Hunters’ Guildprovides exceptional trainingand I soon learned that myattempts at both offense anddefense were child’s playwhencompared toourseniormembers. I didn’t beratemyself over that fact; I wasonly thirteen when theHunters swooped in andwelcomedmeintotheirfold.But learning my limitationsdidmakemepainfullyawareofonething.Ifithadn’tbeen

for Linda the ghost, Iprobably wouldn’t havesurvivedmychildhood.

The worst case ofhoningmysurvivalskillshadbeen atmy last foster home,justbeforetheHunters’Guildintervened.Idon’trememberthehousemother.Shewasn’taroundmuch.Shewasjustasmall figure in a cheap,polyester fast food uniformwith a stooped posture anddowncast eyes. But I

rememberherhusbandFrank.Frank was a bully

whoworewhite,ketchupandmustard stained, wife-beatert-shirts. He had perpetualFrenchfrybreathandanastygrin.Ittookmeafewweeksto realize that Frank’s grinwas more of a leer. I’dcaught his gaze in thebathroommirror when I waschangingandhis eyes said itall;Frankwasaperv.

Linda slammed the

door in his face, but thatdidn’t stop Frank. Frankwouldbrushupagainstmeinthe kitchen and Linda wouldset thefaucetsprayingacrossthe tiles…and slide a knifeinto my hand. My time inthathouseendedwhenFrankendedupinthehospital.

I’d been creepingbacktothebedroomIsharedwith threeotherkids,when Isaw Frankwaiting forme inthe shadows. I pulled the

steak knife I kept hidden inthe pocket ofmy robe, but Inevergot a chance touse it.Now that I know a thing ortwo about fighting with ablade, I’m aware that Frankprobably would have wonthatfight.

I tried to run towardthe stairs, but Frank met meat the top landing. Frankreachedformewhilehisbulkeffectively blocked myescape.ThatwaswhenLinda

the ghost pushed him downthe stairs. I remember himtumbling in slowmotion, hiseyes going wide and theleering grin sliding from hisface.

Linda the ghost hadonce again saved me, but itseemedthatthisvisitwasherlast.Idon’tknowifsheusedup her quota of psychicpower, or if she just felt likeher job here was finallydone. It wasn’t until years

later that I realized she wasmymother.

I guess I should haverealized sooner that I wasrelated to the ghost whofollowed me around. Webothhavehairthesameshadeof shocking red. But wheremine is straight and croppedintoashortbob,Linda’swaswavy and curled downaround her shoulders. Wealsoshareadimpleinourleftcheek and a propensity for

protecting the weak andinnocentfromevil.

Linda the ghostdisappeared, a wailingambulancedroveFranktothehospital,policearrivedatmyfosterhouse,and theHuntersswooped in and cleaned upthe aftermath. It was frommy first Guild master that Ilearned of my parents’ fateandputtwoandtwotogetheraboutmyghostlyprotector.

As a kid I often

wondered why Linda theghost always wore a darkturtleneck; now I knew.Young,roguevampshadtornoutherneckandproceededtorip my father to pieces likemeat confetti. My parentswere on vacation in Belize,celebrating their weddinganniversary when ithappened. I’d been stayingwithafriendofmymother’s,otherwiseI’dbedeadtoo.

I don’t remember my

parents, I’d only been threewhenIwasputintothefostercare system, but I do findsome peace in knowing thatdoing my duty as a Huntergivesme thepower topoliceanddestroyroguevampslikethe ones who killed mymother and father. When Ibecome exhausted by mywork, I think of Linda’s sadfaceandpushmyself to trainharder. And when I findcreeps who are abusive to

women and children, I thinkofFrank.

That’showIendeduphere, standing in a Brusselsairport, tryingtodeciphertheDutch and French signswitheyesthatweregrittyfromthetwelve hour flight. It allstarted when my friend Ivycalled to inform me that afellow Hunter had hit ourmutualfriendJinx.Ivydidn’tknow how that informationwould push all my buttons,

she didn’t know about Frankor my time in the fostersystem, but we both agreedthat striking a girl wasunacceptable.Shewaslettingme, and the Hunters’ Guild,dealwithit,fornow.

I went to masterJanus, the head of theHarborsmouth Hunters’Guild, and reported Hans’transgressions. Itdidn’thelphis case that he had areputation as a berserker in

battle.Thefactthathe’dhitahuman, the very people weweresworntodefendagainstthemonsters,was the nail inthecoffinofHans’career.

I was assured thatHanswouldbeshippedofftotheequivalentofadeskjobinSiberia. I shouldhave left itat that, and let my superiorstakecareoftheproblem.ButJinx was my friend. Ivy’srockabilly business partnermay have had bad luck and

evenworse taste inmen, butthatdidn’tmeanshedeservedto spend her life fending offthe attacks of the Franks intheworld.

Hans continued hisGuilddutieswhile thehigherups shuffled papers andprepared to send him away.Hansshouldhaveskippedourtraining sessions, but thenagain, he didn’t know whohad ratted him out—and theguyhadalotofragetovent.

I stormed onto the practicemat and saluted Hans withmy sword. It wasn’t longbefore the man started tobleed.

Wewere supposed tobeusingpractice swords,butI’d accidentally grabbed thesharpbladeIusedonhuntingruns. I didn’t leave anylasting injuries, but theshallow cutsmade amess ofhis precious tattoos. I justhoped the scars were a

constant reminder of whathappenswhen you attack theinnocent.

One week later, Ireceived a plane ticket andorders to meet with one ofour contacts in Belgium. Iwasn’tsureifthisassignmentwasintendedasapunishmentor a promotion, but I waseager to prove myself to theGuild leadership. MasterJanus’ parting wordswhispered in my head,

distractingmefromthevoiceon the overhead intercomechoing throughout thecavernousairport.

“Do your duty,Jenna,”hesaid.MasterJanusplaced a large, sword-calloused hand on myshoulderandlookedmeintheeye. I swallowedhard,but Imanaged to keep my handsfrom shaking. “Make usproud.”

“Iwill,sir,”Isaid.

“Goodhunting.”

Chapter2

“Itneverhurtstohaveanexitstrategy.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I turned to follow abluepaintedarrowandnearlyran into a scrawny guy withbad hygiene. For a split

second, I wondered if thiswas my Belgian contact, buttherewas noway aHunter’sbodywouldshakeandtwitchlike a cat toy on a string.This guy was either onsomething,orjonesingforhisnextfix.

Definitely not aHunter.

“Youwantkiss,yes?”he asked. “You give Euros,wemakeout,yes?”

I tookone lookat his

jaundiced eyes and acnecovered skin and shuddered.Evenifthethoughtofkissinga total stranger wasn’tcompletely repulsive, andpotentiallyagainstGuildrulessince I was technically hereon business, there was noway I’d touch this guy. Hehad disease vector stampedalloverhistwitchyface.

Not that I even hadany Euros. I hadn’t locatedthe currency exchange office

yet. I’d only just exitedbaggageclaimandIwasstilltryingtodecipherthesignstothetrainstation.

My orders to leaveHarborsmouth for a missionin Belgium had beenunexpected. I hadn’t hadtime to learnanew languagebefore being assigned to thispost. I’d spent the long,trans-Atlantic flightcramming French and Dutchwords from a Lonely Planet

phrasebookintomyhead,butI was pretty sure the wordshadn’tstuck.Thankfully,thisguy seemed to knowabit ofEnglish.

“No kissing,” I said,shifting the long, hard shellski bag strapped to my backand folding my arms acrossmy chest. I tried to lookdownmynoseattheguy,butthatwasn’teasywithmyfivefoot two frame. Evenhunched in on himself, the

kidhadagood six inchesonme.Myfingersitchedforthesword sheathed inbubblewrap inside the highdensity polyethylene plasticskibag.“Butifyoushowmewhere the money exchangeandrailwayticketofficesare,I’ll buy you something toeat.”

“Euros? Cigarettes?”heasked.

I sighed. “If you’refast, I’ll throw in some

Euros,” I said. “But I’mnottipping for standing aroundhereallday.”

The guy’s headtwitchedupanddowninwhatIassumedwasanodandtookoff. I followed my sketchytour guide, keeping a waryeyeonhishandsashewent.Itwouldn’tdotobeseenasapickpocket’s accomplice,especially in a foreigncountry,buthekepthishandsstuffedinsidehishoodie.

I’d probably regretencouraging the kid, but Iknew what it was like to gohungry. Most of the fosterfamilies I stayed withpocketed the state checksintended for groceries andserved substandard food,whentheybotheredtofeedusat all. I recognized thepinched skin and look ofdesperationinhiseyes.

If it hadn’t been fortheGuild,thiskidcouldhave

beenme. Mycheeksburnedandafamiliarthicknessfilledmythroat. Irememberedtheagonizing taunts from otherschool kids as I walked thehalls in hand-me-downclothes that didn’t fit, thepityingglancesfromteachers,and the apathetic routinechecks by tired socialworkers.Hadthisguygrownup in the system? Did hehave to face someone likeFrank each time he crept to

thebathroom?“So, is the train

station far from here?” Iasked.

Myorderswere togoto the train stationwheremycontact would give me myassignment and traveldocuments. I assumed thatthe operative would instructme tohead into thecity, andsince Brussels Airport waslocated on the outskirts, thetrain made sense. Knowing

the rendezvous location, andnotmuchmore, I’d searchedthe airport website fordirections to the trainstation,but after two hours ofshufflingthroughthelinesforcustoms and border patrol, Ididn’t have any patience leftfor the labyrinthinebuilding.All I knew was the trainstationwassomewhereinthebowelsoftheairport,andthesoonerIgotthere,thesoonerI could get my assignment

andfindaplacetocrashforafewhours.

Thekidnodded.“Food first?” he

asked.“ATM?”“Okay, fine,” I said

withasigh.“Leadtheway.”Iusedmycreditcard,

courtesy of the Guild, towithdraw five hundredEuros.Itwasalotofmoney,but it never hurt to have anexit strategy. Cash wouldhelp,shoulditcometothat.

I was, of course,careful to shield the ATM’stouchscreen from view,though I needn’t haveworried. My guide seemedengrossed inhis cannibalisticeffortstoremoveahangnail.

I secreted away mostofthecashintotwoinnerzippockets inside my leatherjacket and shoved somesmaller bills into the backpocket of my skinny jeans.Turning from the ATM, I

flashed the kid a smile andnoddedtowardthefoodcourt.

“Hungry?”Iasked.He wiped blood from

his mangled cuticle ontofilthy jeans and noddedeagerly. The realization thatsome of that filth was oldblood smears made mystomach churn unpleasantly,butItriedtolookpleasedasIfollowed the kid as he madehiswaytoafamiliarfastfoodchain.

I grit my teeth, thesmell of grease making mygorge rise, but I bought ustwo combo meals—coffeeand grilled chicken salad forme and a soda, burger, fries,andanapplepieforthekid.Imechanically ate my salad,trying to ignore the kid andhis trans fats. Thoughmaintaining optimal healthwasn’t the only reason Iavoidedgreasyfastfood.

I shook my head.

Five years, and burgers andfries still made me think ofFrank. I loaded up onnapkins, but I was aware ofthehard,painfultruth.Somethings can’t be fully washedaway,nomatterhowhardwetry.

I may be plagued byghosts,butthedeadaren’ttheonly ones who haunt mywakinghours,ormydreams.

Chapter3

“Immortals arenothingifnotpatient.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I stifled a yawn andhanded the kid a handful ofEuros. Itwas time togetonwithmymission. Ishoveda

napkin with a sketch of thetrain station into my pocketand headed for the nearestelevator.

I followed the signs,struggling with the Dutchwords, and for thehundredthtimewonderedwhy I’d beenpicked for this assignment.There were plenty of Dutchspeakers inourorganization.The Hunters’ Guild had itsroots inEuropeandourmostnotorious member, Van

Helsing,hadbeenDutchafterall.Sowhywasthegirlwhopreferred weapons to wordssent here? Was this apunishmentforwhatI’ddoneto Hans, or part of mytraining?

The Guild wassecretive, but I’d heardrumors that specialassignments were used asways to weed out the weakand advance those with themost potential. Old fears

crepttothesurface.Failure.Burden. Waste of space.During my years bouncingfrom one foster home to thenext, I’d been greeted bythosewordsmoretimesthanIcan count. Since joining theHunters’ Guild, I workedhard and trained hard, but ashaky, childlike voicehuddled in a corner of mybrain and whispered that itwouldneverbeenough.

I grit my teeth and

pasted on my best smile. Ineeded to work on mydiplomacy skills; might aswell start now. I wasdetermined tosucceed in thisassignment,whateveritwas.

Iwouldnotfail.The area around the

bank of elevators was thickwith harried travelers.Ignoringtheacheinmyback,Ileanedforwardandpunchedthe down button for goodmeasure. The sooner I

completed my mission andprovedmyself to theGuild’shierarchy, the sooner myreturntoHarborsmouth.

Imay not have roots,theGuilditselfwasmyhome,but I had friends inHarborsmouth who wouldneed me soon enough. Formonths now tensions hadbeen rising between humansand the paranormalcommunity, but it wasn’tuntil the night before my

transfer that I learned thetruth.

Warwascoming.Lost in thought, I’d

approached Master Janus’office to receive mypunishment for Hans’injuries. Butevendistracted,I’dhesitatedbeforeknockingon his door. Hushed voices,tight with restrained anger,argued and so I’d donewhatany good Hunter would—Ipressed my ear to the door

andlistened.Master Janus and an

unknown man were alreadyin a heated discussion overwhatcourseofaction to takebased on new intel. I’dmissed the beginning of theconversation, but one thingwas clear. The Hunters’Guild suspected that bothvampireandfaeleaderswereamassing strength andmobilizing their supernaturalarmies in a deadly game of

chess. Hunters were theknights and humans thepawns—and Harborsmouthwassuspectedtobethecenterofthegameboard.

When the voicesceased talking, I’d silentlyretraced my steps andreentered the corridor thatlead to Janus’ office withheavy footsteps, and a heavyheart.Ididn’tknowwhenthegame would commence.Immortals are nothing if not

patient. But accepting myorderstoleaveHarborsmouthhad been the hardest thingI’vedoneasaHunter.

Warwasbrewingand,though the battle may notbegin for months, years, oreven decades, I swore that IwouldfindawaytoreturntoHarborsmouthsothatIcoulduse my sword to defend myallies, my Guild, and theinnocent citizens of the city.Yearsago,Ipromisedmyself

that I would never let theFranks of the world win.Soon after that promise, Itook an oath to become aHunter and defend humansfromrogueparanormals.

Ivowedtoprotecttheinnocent from the monsters,be they human, fae, orundead, and I took mypromises seriously.Sometimes that goal was allthatkeptmegoing.LifeasaHunterwasn’teasy.I’dtaken

Guildmastersforparents,myfellow Hunters for brothersand sisters, and I’d marriedthemission—body and soul.Therewasnoroominmylifefor deep friendships orromance, which is why myactions after learning of thecoming battle still managedtosurpriseme.

I was loyal to theGuild. They rescued me,gaveme a lifewith purpose,andtheopportunitytoavenge

my parents’ brutal deaths atthehandsofroguevampires.But when I’d heard of thecoming battle, there wassomeone I had towarn. IvyGrangerhadprovenherselftobe a natural defender of thecityofHarborsmouth.

Too bad she wasn’thuman.

Although the Guildsometimes bent the rules forexceptional paranormals, likeinJonathan’scaseallowinga

shifter to enter our ranks,mostHunterswereprejudicedagainst the paranormals wefought.Itwaseasiertokillifyou saw the world in blackandwhite. But Ivywas oneofthosegrayareas. Shewashalf human and half fae, andshe didn’t follow anyone’srules.

I knew that theGuildwouldn’t sanction officiallybringing Ivy onboard, butsomeone had to warn her of

thecomingbattle.Myphonehad been confiscated and itwas too risky to useJonathan’s—I couldn’t riskthe Guild tracing the call.Good thing I had a trick ortwoupmysleeve.

Counting on Ivy’spsychometry, the ability toread the psychic imprint lefton objects, I’d stabbed myleft hand and created enoughpain for a strong impressionand left Ivy a message.

Leaving that message wentagainstprotocol,butthatwasonly the first reckless thingI’d done. Iwas still kickingmyselfforthesecond.

I’d gone to JonathanBaldwin, a friend regardlessofhowmanytimesI’dturnedhim down or how much wegot on each other’s nerves,knowing that hewas the onepersonIcouldtrusttodelivermy message to Ivy. Butwhen he’d seen the gash on

myhand, theone I’dused toinvoke enough pain to createmy message, somethingbewildering happened.Jonathan had stroked mypalm, asking if I’d receivedthe injurywhile training, andwith his other hand he’dpulled me close and kissedme.

I don’t think he hadbeen thinking straight soclose to the full moon. Perhaps,hejustmeantitasa

simplegoodbyekiss.ButI’dpressed him against the wallof our tiny dorm room andkissed him with the passionof all the pain, excitement,andworrythatragedinsideofme.

Ithadbeenamistake,something I’d repeated overandoveruntil I’d steppedonthat plane to Belgium. Inever should have kissedJonathan. Not because hewasawerewolf,butbecauseI

didn’t care for him in thatway. It hadn’t been right orfairofme—I’dcrossedalinethat never should have beencrossed, and fled the countrylike a coward. It didn’tmatter that I was leavingbecauseofmyorders.Itstillseemedlikeabetrayal.

The time apart wouldprobablybegoodforusboth,but I would return toHarborsmouthforthecomingbattle. I needed to complete

my mission here in Belgiumand get back to the States,beforeitwastoolate.

My stomach twisted,makingme regret eating thatsalad. The red, downwardpointing triangle above thesteel doors couldn’t light upfastenough.

Themetaldoorstomyrightrattledopen,revealingalargeglassbox.Imeltedintothecrowdandslipped inside,surveying my fellow riders

andthepassingfloorsbeyondthe glass. At the basementlevel,Iexitedwithagroupofstudents my age. With mybackpack, skinny jeans, andbikerjacketIfitrightin.

I quickly noted thelocation of potential exits aswemadeourwaytotheticketoffices.Therewerestairsandescalators leading down tothe basement sublevel fromeachofthefourcornersofthecavernoustrainstation.Each

setofstairswasmarkedwithaplatformnumberandvoicesand the rumble of trainsechoedup thestairs fromtheplatforms below, but thestation was currently emptyof people except those of usdisembarkingtheelevators.

As we approached aglass wall, a glass panel slidopenwithaswooshofairandwe joined the linesofpeopleat the ticket counter. Istepped to the side, giving

myself amoment to scan thecrowd. Pretending to tiemyboot laces, I letmy gaze flitthrough the room and to thecorridor beyond the glasswalls.

Except foraman inabusiness suit waiting for theelevator,everyonewasinlinetobuytheirtickets.SowherewasmyGuildcontact?

I stood and stretched,shifting thebackpackandskibag strapped to my back. I

turned to leave—maybe theywere waiting on one of thetrain platforms?—when ayoung couple brushed pastme in a hurry to catch theirtrain.

“Pardon,” the mansaid,jostlingmyshoulder.

He kept walking, buthis girlfriend offered anapologeticsmile.

“Sorry,” she said,bending down to grab amagazine that hadn’t been

thereamomentbefore.“Youdroppedthis.”

“Thanks,” I said,turning themagazine over inmyhands.ThemagazinewasHunting and Fishing, ofcourse. These had to bemyGuildcontacts.

“Good hunting,” shesaid.

I nodded and turnedmy attention to the trainschedulesontheboardabovethe ticket counter. I waited

three minutes, giving theHunters plenty of time toleave, and then I exited theticket office. I found thenearestbenchandopenedthemagazine, as if Ihad time tokillbeforemytrain. InsideIfoundanenvelopecontaininga train ticket, a Bruges citymap, two knives, a length ofwirewithbothendswrappedinleather,acellphone,andadossieronthemostnotoriousparanormals in West

Flanders.ItlookedlikeIwasn’t

being assigned to Brusselsafter all. I was heading toBruges—and my train wasleavingintwentyminutes.

I wound the wirearound my wrist, careful tokeep the leather against myskinas Imadeabraceletoutof the garrote. One knifewent insidemy boot and theother into a jacket pocket,along with the dossier.

Pullingmybackpackontomyshoulder,Igrabbedmyticketand headed for the stairs tomyplatform.

ThelightsflickeredasI descended and I kept myarms loose atmy sides, gladthat I’d taken the stairsinstead of the stutteringescalator. A cool breezechilledtheairandIfrowned.Waiting passengers pulledtheir jackets close andhuddled on the platform

below, probably thinking thecold airwas the result of thefastmovingtrains.

ButIknewbetter.A pale woman

approached the edge of theconcrete platform. Shepaused towipeher facewiththe sleeve of her jacket, thencrouched down, grabbed theplatformwithbothhandsandclimbed down to the tracksbelow.

No one tried to stop

the woman. No one gaspedor called out for help. Theycouldn’t see the womanstumbling along the tracks,becauseshewasaghost.Theother passengers’ lack ofreactionwasonehintthatthewoman was already dead.The other clue was the factthatIcouldseethegraffitionthe oppositewall of concretethroughherbody. The spirithad enough energy tomanifest the illusion of a

body, but ghosts aren’tperfect.

Her body wastransparent,even tomyeyes,and when a phantom traincameamoment laterandcuther in two, she disappeared.Hermangledbodywaslayingonthetracks,andthenitwasgone. At themoment of her“death”thelightsflickered.Ilooked back at the benchwhere I’d first seen thewoman and sure enough,

there she was, alreadysteeling herself to approachthetracks.

I sighed and lookedaway. Suicides are theworst.They’realmostalwayscaught in a loop, cursed torelive the moment of theirdeath,overandoveragain.

Thankfully, I didn’thave to wait long for mytrain. With a swirl of gritand hot diesel fumes, mytrain arrived. I quickly

climbed the ladder-like stepsandtookaseatawayfromthefew other passengers. Itossedmy backpack onto theseat facing me, to deteranyoneelse fromsittingwithme, settled the ski bagholdingmy sword acrossmylap, and pulled the dossierfrommy jacket. I smoothedthe pages on the small tableandfrowned.

My train would bearriving in Bruges before

noon, butmy orders were toarrive at the local Guild hallat six thirty. That gave meover seven hours to kill.Ratherthancoolingmyheelswaiting for the meeting withmy liaison with the localGuild, I turned the page fordetailsonmyassignment.

Itwasn’tpretty.Over twenty human

bodies had been foundfloating in the canals ofBruges over the past two

weeks. According to thesedocuments, a culling of thelarge tourist population wasnotunheardof,butnotonthisscale. The average missingperson rate was one or twoper month, but things hadescalated to nearly a dozenper week—and then therewerethebodies.

Ifyou’reaparanormalwho’s smart enough to preyon tourists for years, maybecenturies, without getting

caught, why suddenly startleaving evidence? Thebodiesdidn’tmakeanysenseunless, perhaps, there was anew monster in town. NotthatBrugesneededanymoreviolentparanormalstakingupresidence.

I rubbed a hand overmy face and scowled at thelist of known enemies in thevicinity. There was noshortageofsuspects—justmyluck.

Chapter4

“Startling a sleepingHunterwasagoodwaytogetdead.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

“Wake up beautiful,”an accented male voicewhisperedinmyear.“Thisis

yourstop,isitnot?”My body reacted

before the words had achance to sink in. Having astranger in such closeproximity while dreamingaboutvampires,ghouls,waterhags, grindylow, and rusalkiwas a recipe for a brokennose, or manslaughter.Luckily for the goodSamaritan, he was alreadystepping away or he wouldhave received a knuckle

sandwich for his troubles—andaknifeinthespleen.

Startling a sleepingHunterwasagoodwaytogetdead.

I narrowed my eyes,assessing whether the manwas an enemy. I let out abreath as I realized the factthathewashereduringbroaddaylight,which ruled out theundead. He also didn’t havethe storm-on-the-horizon feelofthefae.Theguyappeared

to be human, though a biteccentric. His garish, pukegreen scarf and ridiculousfeathered hat made him lookthe fool, but he had broadshoulders, a slender waist,and strong, capable lookinghands.

Hewasalsogapingatme like a merman out ofwater.

I blinked at hisstartled expression,adrenaline rapidly washing

away the last vestiges ofsleep. Oh, right, I still hadmy fist in his face. I justhoped he was too distractedbymyfist tonoticetheknifeinmy other hand. I relaxedmy fist and ran a handthrough my hair as I hastilyslidtheknifeintomyjacket.

I looked aroundmethodically, taking indetails as cold sweat trickleddown my back. The trainwasn’t moving, the digital

time display at the front ofthe carriage claimed it wasnearing eleven o’clock, andthere was a woodenBRUGGE sign outside thewindow.IwasinBruges,butnotforlong.

I was about to missmystop.

The guy who I’d justtried to stab was now in theaisle waving me toward theexit. Igrabbedmybagfromthe seat, fingers fumbling

with the straps as I slung itover my shoulder. Theadrenaline was alreadywearing off, leaving mymovements slow and stiff.He punched a button besidethe door to the nextcompartment anddisappeared.

I hurried down theaisle,strugglingwiththelongski bag that heldmy sword.An announcement in Dutchcontinued to loopas a chime

soundedawarning. I lungedforthedoorasthetrainbeganto move forward, but mymuscles were tight and mybodywasheavywithfatigue.I wasn’t used to sitting forhours on end and the longplanerideandcatnapon thetrain were catching up withme.

In the adjoiningcarriage, holding the dooropen and begging me tohurry, was the guy with the

hideousscarf.Helookedlikehe wanted to help, trying toencourage me forward withanearnestlookonhisface.Imade a decision and reachedforhishand.

“Getmeoutofhere,”Isaid.

He froze for amoment, brown eyes goingwide,thensqueezedmyhandand pulled me forward. Weraceddown the aisle, duckedinto one of those dark,

connecting sections of trainthat seemed to sway witheach pounding step and thenwewereburstingoutontotheconcreteplatform.

I dropped mybackpack to the ground andsighed. I wasn’t winded—Iwas used to a regiment ofdailyendurancetraining—butI felt my cheeks warm as ifI’d been running all day. Iclearedmythroatandrubbedthebackofmyneck.

“Well, that sucked,” Isaid. “But thanks, um…sorry. I didn’t catch yourname.”

“AlistairAshborn,”hesaid,winkingandflashingmea conspiratorial smile. “Butsince you’ve given me themost exciting morning I’vehadinyears,youcancallmeAsh.”

“Jenna,” Isaid,agrintuggingatmylips.

Damn, Ash’s smile

wascontagious.“Welcome to Bruges,

Jenna,” he said, waving hishat ina flourish. “Idohopeyou stay awhile. I have afeeling there’s never a dullmomentwithyouaround.”

He could say thatagain.

Chapter5

”In my experience,evasion was second only toliesasanadmissionofguilt.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

ThemomentIcrossedthebusyroadoutsidethetrainstation, entering the

tranquility of MinnewaterPark and passing thethreshold into the old citycenter,bellsbegantoring.

“The city is rejoicingat your arrival,” Ash saidwithawink.“LookslikeI’mnottheonlyblokehappythatyou’rehere.”

I rolled my eyes,ignoring the way his wordsmademyskinflush.Itwasawarmday.Thatwasall.

“I’msureyousaythat

to all the girls who try topunchyouintheface,”Isaid.

“You’d be surprised,love,”hesaid.

I licked my lips andlookedaway.

“So,”Isaid,wavingahandattheapproachingbodyofwater.“IsthatMinnewaterLake?”

Ash was playful andfoolish and frivolous, but hedid seem to know his wayaroundsofar,andIcoulduse

aguide.Ihadhourstosparebefore my appointment withthe local Guild liaison.Maybe Ash could helpprovide thenecessaryon-the-ground intel that Ineeded. Icould successfully completemy mission faster and moreefficientlyifIlearnedthelayoftheland.

“Ah, yes,MinnewaterLake,”hesaid. “It translatesroughly to, the Lake ofLove.”

Okay, maybe thatwasn’t sohelpful, though thenamemightexplain the largenumber of ghosts in thevicinity.Thetreelinedbanksof the lake shimmered withspectral activity. I shiveredand focused on the footpath,ignoring the flickering imageof a man jumping off anearbybridge.

The gravel path wassplit into two sections,marked clearly for bicycle

and foot traffic. As wewalked, a group of men andwomenrodetowardus,fillingthebikepathtoourleft.Theperson in front of the tourgroup was talking so loudlythatInearlymissedthesoundofabikeapproachingusfrombehind.

I spun as the bikeclipped Ash, not evenslowingdownasitdidso.

“Watch it!” I yelled,shakingmyfistatthecyclist.

IturnedtoAsh,whowasbentover, a scowl on his face.“Are you alright? God, thatasshole practically drovestraight through you. Howcouldhenotseeus?”

“Bad luck is all,love,”hesaid.

Yes, if it hadn’t beenfor the tour group taking upthebikepath,thecyclistmaynever have veered onto thefootpath.Speakingofwhich,every damn tourist was now

ogling us likewewere somekindofsideshowattraction.

“What are you alllooking at?” I asked, handsonmyhips.

“Are…areyoualright,lady?” an overweight manasked.

“Me?”Isnorted.“I’mfine, but my friend is prettybangedupnothankstoyou.”

The man’s chubbyface paled. He stammeredsomething under his breath,

shookhishead,andthewide-eyedtourgrouppedaledawaylike I was a crazy bitch.Whatever, maybe they’dthink twice before hoggingthebiketrailagain.

“Bloodytourgroups,”Ashmuttered.

He retrieved his hat,brushing off dirt and pinespills. The fabric held thedistinctive imprint of a biketread. Maybe now he’d losethe fedora. That ridiculous

hathadseenbetterdays.“Looks like it’s time

foranewhat,”Isaid.“A new hat?” he

asked. With a flick of hiswrist, he knocked out theworstofthedents,fluffedthepurple and lime greenfeathers,andsetthedustyhatonhisheadatajauntyangle.“What’s wrong with thisone?”

“The feathers forstarters,” I said. “Are there

even birds with feathers thatcolor?”

“A bird, no,” he saidcryptically.

Igritmyteeth.Inmyexperience, evasion wassecond only to lies as anadmission of guilt. Somegirls might find mysteryseductive,butI justsawitasa puzzle to crack, possiblywithmyfists.

Of course, even if itturnedouthewaswearingan

endangered species on hishead, I’d get in trouble if Ikilledtheguyoverwhatkindof feathers he had stuffed inhis hat. And there’d bepaperwork. I hatedpaperwork.

“So what’s the storybehind that hat anyway?” Iasked.

“I’mmakingafashionstatement,” he said with ashrugandacockysmile.

If that statement was,

‘I’mcolorblind’hewasdoingabangup job. Notonlydidthe lime green and brightpurple of the feathers clash,but it actually hurt my eyeswhencombinedwiththepukegreen scarf he wore aroundhisneck.

“Andwhydoesitlooklike someone went after itwith scissors?” I asked,gesturingataseriesofjaggedcutsalongthebrimandaholebig enough to putmy thumb

through.When it was clear he

wasn’t going to elaborate, orget rid of that hat, I sighedand startedwalking again. Iwas beginning to regret mydecisiontoletAshtagalong,but I had to consider mymission. There was amonster taking the lives ofinnocent men and women inthis city. If Ash could helpme get my bearings, and fillin some of the local history,

putting upwith his annoyingpersonality was a sacrifice Iwaswillingtomake.

“Comeon,”Isaid.“Ihave to be at theSchuttersgilde Sint-Sebastiaan by seven. If wehurry, you can show mearoundthecity.”

Ash tilted his headandpaused,leaningforward.Heeyedmefromheadtotoe,lingering on the ski bagstrappedtomyback.

“You’re an archerthen?”heasked.

“Why do you askthat?” I asked,narrowingmyeyesathim. Hedressed likea fool, but looks can bedeceiving.

“Because theSchuttersgilde Sint-Sebastiaan is Dutch for theArchers’ Guild of SaintSebastian,” he said. “Peopleeithergo there forarcheryorfor tours of the building. I

assumed since you’recarryingsomethingthelengthof a bow, and you’re goingthere so late in the evening,thatyoumustbe theformer.Unlessthey’rethrowingsomekind of party. If that’s thecase,Iwantaninvite.”

Leave it to the Guildnottotranslatethatimportanttidbit, but once I mulled itover, itmade sense. I couldsee the benefits of using anarchers’ guild for our local

headquarters. Hunters couldwalk around the property inplainsight,armedwithbows,and no one would suspect athing.

Italsogavemeagreatcoverstory.

“There’s no party,” Isaid. “I’m there for atournament.”

“Soyouareanarcherthen,” he said, a smiletwitchinghislips.

“I’m not bad with a

bow,”Isaid.“Ithoughtso,”hesaid

with a nod. “You look likethe competitive type. I betyouwineverytournament.”

“Somethinglikethat,”Isaid,noncommittally.

Ash wasn’t the onlyonewithsecrets. Hehadtheoriginsofhismysterioushat,and I belonged to a secretsociety that hunted andterminated rogueparanormals. Okay, my

secretwasmuchbigger,butIwas telling the truth aboutbeing good with a bow.There were plenty ofmonsters back home whocould have vouched for thatfact, if they’d lived to tellaboutit.

“Comeonthen,love,”he said. “We better hurry ifI’m to show you Bruges inone day, though Iwager thiswon’t be our only timetogetherwhileyou’rehere.”

“I doubt that, Ash,” Isaid,shakingmyhead.“Thisisn’tapleasuretrip.I’mhereon business. I don’t havetimeforhangingout.”

I was a Hunter. Ididn’t have time for a sociallife, and this sure as hellwasn’tavacation,butIhadanagging suspicion that Ashwasright.Iwasn’tgettingridofhimthateasy.

Chapter6

“Vampires may turnto dust when killed, but onething remains behind—theirfangs.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I ignored the clop,clop of horse hooves on

cobblestonesandtherattleofcarriages. It wasn’t the firsttime I’dheardor seen thingsfromanotherera,butIhadtoadmitthat theghostlysoundsfitthismedievalcity.

Bruges was a cityfrozen in time. From thecobblestone streets to thebuilding façades and stonebridges that arched across anetworkofcanals,walkinginBrugeswaslikesteppingintothe past. No wonder the

monsterslikedithere.Immortals dislike

change. Human touristsmaycomehereforthenovelty,butIwouldn’tbesurprisedifthisplace was a hot spot forancient fae and centuries oldvampires.Forthelong-lived,Brugeswould feel like home—if home included someverylargewaterfowl.

“What’s with all theswans?”Iasked.

Therewere dozens of

swansswimminginthecanaland lounging on the grassverge to our left. I imaginethe scene probably seemedidyllic to most of the city’svisitors,but I letoutaheavysigh. Thefeathersofat leasthalfoftheswansshimmered.

Brugeswashometoaflockofswanmaidens.

Swan maidens, bothmale and female, wereshapeshifting fae. Like theselkie,theirsaltwatercousins,

the swan maidens’ ability tochange shape is tied to theirskins.Iscannedthebanksofthe canal, spying a cluster offeathersatthebaseofatree.

At least one swanmaidenwalkedamongstus.

I chided myself fornot reapplying faerieointment once I’d landed inBelgium. The ointment I’dput on in Harborsmouth hadwornoff,leavingmeblindtofaerieglamour,butTSArules

restrictedliquidsonboardtheplane. I’d packed myointmentwithmy sword, notthinkingI’dneeditsosoon.

Iwaswrong.My fingers itched to

tear into the skibagstrappedacross my back, but I left itfor now. Therewas no easyway to get into the containerwithout risking someoneseeingmy sword. I’d gatherwhat information I couldfromAshuntil Icouldfinda

private place to retrieve thefaerieointment.

Atleastswanmaidensarerelativelyharmless.Theygive off pheromones that fillhumanswith feelingsof loveandcontentment,butasfarasmind control goes, that’snothing. Some Huntersspeculatethatit’sadefensivemechanism and I’d have toagree.Thelovenotwarvibethey were pumping out wasprettydamnstrong.

I blinked and focusedonAsh’swords.

“In a revolt againstMaximilian of Austria, thepeople of Bruges capturedMaximilian and his advisor,Pieter Lanchals,” he said.The feathers in Ash’s hatflutteredwith his broad handgestures. “The townspeoplemade Maximilian watch asthey tortured Lanchals fortwodays.”

Ash was animated,

but he didn’t seem affectedby the swan maidens’pheromones. At least hewasn’tstaringatmewithgoogoo eyes. Probably becausethe pheromones justamplifiedthefactthathewasin love with himself. Hecertainly liked the sound ofhisownvoice.

“Doesthisreallyhaveanythingtodowithswans?”Iasked.

“I’m getting to that,”

he said. “Right, soLanchalswas tortured for days untilfinally,hewasbeheaded.”

He pulled a fingeracrosshis throat,eyes rollingbackashefloppedhisheadtothe side, but sadly his hatdefiedgravity, stayingonhishead.

Ifrowned,wishingtheman could just convey thefacts without flamboyanttheatrics. I rolled my handforhimtogetonwithit.

“Lanchals’ head wasput on a pike out on theGentpoort, one of the citygates,foralltosee,”hesaid.“Itwouldhavebeenabloodymess and when Maximiliangot free and regained power,he didn’t arse about. Hethreatenedtheentirecitywithacurse.”

I leaned forward.Nowthatsoundedinteresting,even if Ash had seemed toforget we were supposed to

bediscussingwaterfowl.“Acurse?”Iasked.Ashnoddedexcitedly.“The name Lanchals

means long neck and theman’s family crest was aswan,” he said. “SoMaximilian threatened thatthe city must keep swans inthe canals of Bruges for alleternity, or face theconsequencesofthecurse.”

“Whatconsequences?”Iasked.

Ashshrugged.“Don’t think anyone

ever wanted to find out,” hesaid, gesturing to the gaggleofswans.

Sounded like PieterLanchalswasaswanmaiden,andMaximilian had found away to protect Lanchals’flock from the superstitioustownsfolk. I cast the birds awary eye, not liking thenumbers, but at least theswansweren’tallfae.

Not all of the birdsshimmered or moved withunearthlygrace.Aswanwithplain,white featherswaddledacross the grass and hoppedinelegantly into the canal.Ripples spread out from theswan, bringing my attentiontothedarkwaters.

The canal was widehere where it connected toMinnewater Lake, separatedonly by the lock gate. Istared at the murky water,

imagining bloated humanbodies choking the surface.How many more innocentswould have to die before thekillerwascaught?

I grimaced, turningaway from the canal, andstarting to walk down thecobblestone street. If thekiller was undead, we mightsee more bodies tonight.Now that was a cheerythought.

My hand went to the

necklace I wore beneath mydress. Chicago, Milwaukee,Harborsmouth,Harborsmouth… I mentallylisted off the locations ofsanctioned vamp kills, eachonecorrespondingtoapairoffangsonmynecklace.

Vampiresmay turn todust when killed, but onething remains behind—theirfangs.Ashestoashes,dusttodust,allexceptforthefangs.Notonlydovampsleavetheir

fangs behind, but as theirbodies deteriorate to dust thefangsretractandshrink.

No one knows why,but Ihad to thankFate. Thenecklace I’d strung gave mesomething to hold onto, aconstantreminderofwhatI’dlostandwhatIwaswillingtodo in return. I had nopatience for rogue vampires.IfIdiscoveredthattheywerebehindtherecentkillings,I’dshowthemnomercy.

I could always use anewadditiontomynecklace.

I rubbed each fang,like a macabre parody of arosary.Click,click,click. Agrimsmiletuggedatmylips.The vampires of Brugesbettersaytheirprayers.

“Jenna, look out!”Ashyelled.

I jerked my head up,mouth falling open even asmy body responded to thethreat. I spun and

somersaulted onto the grassverge to my left, narrowlymissingbeingrundownbyahorsedrawncarriage.

“You have got to bekidding me,” I muttered,spittingoutapieceofgrass.

I’d been so mired inmy thoughts of revenge thatI’d mistaken the horses andtheir carriages for ghosts.But there was nothingspectral about the twothousand pounds of muscle,

bone, wood, and metal thathadcomebarrelingdownthenarrowstreet.

“Sodding hell, youalright?” Ash asked. “Youlookarightmess.”

I clenched my fists,knowingone“longneck”I’dlike to strangle. Of course Iwas amess. I’d nearly beenrunover.

“I’m fine,” I said,tryingnottobaremyteethattheman.“Guessit’sjustnot

ourluckyday.”“Think I’d rather take

mychanceswiththeblokeonthebicycle,”hesaid,shakinghishead.

Hehadapoint.“For once, I agree

withyou,”Isaid.“Well,whileyou’rein

anagreeablemood,let’sgrabyouapint,”hesaid.“There’sapubthereonthecorner.”

“Idon’tdrink,”Isaid.Alcohol was a quick

way to lose your edge inbattle. Plus, I didn’t needanother impairment. Seeingghosts was proving to beplentydangerous.

“Not worried aboutyourageareyou?”heasked.“You’re not in the Statesanymore, love. Legaldrinking age is sixteen inBelgium. You look young,but I daresay you’re olderthanthat.”

“I’m twenty,” I said,

meeting his eyes and daringhim to argue. “I just don’tliketodrink.”

I did look younger,whichwas something I oftenused to my advantage whilehunting. It was oftenbeneficial to beunderestimated by youropponent. Plus, there wereplenty of monsters thatpreferred their prey young.That came in handy when Ineeded to play the role of

bait.But with Ash’s eyes

on me now, I suddenlywishedfor thecurves thatnoamountoftrainingwouldaddtomybody.Ishookmyheadandfrowned.WhydidIcarewhatAshthought?

Damnswanmaidens.“Lunchthen,”hesaid.Mytraitorousstomach

growled,butthatdidn’tmeanI’dgowhereverAshwanted.I wasn’t being led to some

denofiniquitythathappenedtoserveupfood.

“Fine,butnotapub,”Isaid,crossingmyarmsovermychest.

“I know just theplace,”hesaid.

Chapter7

“Fighting and killingweren’t the only skills theHunters’ Guild taught itsinitiates.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

“You can’t visitBelgium without trying the

frites,”Ashsaidwithawink.“There’salaw.”

We were standing inthe market square, aptlynamed Markt on my map,whichwaslocatedintheverycenter of the city. Ash hadled me to one of two foodtrucks parked in the shadowof a stone behemoth, but Ididn’t have a chance toponder thebeautyof thebelltower. I was too busywishing I’d settled for eating

atapub. “Frites are fries?” I

asked, nose wrinkling at thesmellofhotoil.

“Not going to start inon how your body is atemple,areyou?”heasked.

“I’m in training,” Isaid, narrowing my eyes athim.

It wasn’t a lie. If hethought I meant training foranarcherytournament,ratherthan keeping fit to chase

down monsters, that was hismistake.

“No reason not toindulge now and again,” hesaidwithawink.

“Letmeguess,you’reone of those peoplewho caneat anything you want andnevergainweight,”Isaid.

“Naturally,”hesaid.“Well,I’mnot,”Isaid

throughclenchedteeth.“You could stand to

gain a stone, love,” he said.

“There isn’tagramof fatonyou.”

“That’s the idea,” Isaid, shooting him a nastyglare. The bastard thought Iwas too skinny? He waslucky I hadn’t gone for mysword.

“Come on, live alittle,”hesaid.

I never wanted tostakeahumansobadlyinmylife, but Ash had a point. Icouldn’t let my past rulemy

life, and being more casualwith my eating habits wouldhelp me blend in whileworkingundercover.

I swallowed hard,stomach twisting, but Irefused to let thememory ofFrankmakeweweak.Iliftedmy chin, meeting the manbehindthecounter’ssmile.

“Okay, I’ll have anorderoffrites,”Isaid.

“With mayonnaise,”Ash said. “Trust me, it’s

good.”“And there’s that

law,”Isaid,rollingmyeyes.“Exactly,”hesaid.The guy behind the

counter raised an eyebrow,butIjustshookmyhead.

“Fine, frites withmayo,” I said, giving myorder.

At least Frank neverate his fries withmayonnaise.Animageofhisketchup stained t-shirt filled

myheadandIshivered.“You cold?” Ash

asked.“Comeon.TheBurgwillbelesswindy.”

I handed over a fewEuros,grabbedmyfrites,andfollowed Ash across thestreet. This time I lookedbothways, careful not to getrundownbyoneofthemanyhorse drawn carriages. Irubbed my neck as I waitedfor my turn to cross. I stillcouldn’t believe how stupid

I’dbeen.Wind howling at our

backs, we left the marketsquare. Ash turned up anarrowsidestreet,filledwithpedestrians and lined withchocolate shops. I mighthavecavedinandvisitedoneof the heavenly shops,adopting Ash’s live a littleoutlook, if I wasn’timmediately hit by a wall ofstench.

“Oh, god, what is

that?”Iaskedwithagroan.“What?” Ash asked,

slowing his steps. “Are youalright?”

Hemovedcloser,eyesdarting to shadoweddoorways.

“Are you kidding?” Iasked. “You can’t smellthat?”

“Oh, you mean thesewers,” he said, visiblyrelaxing.

“How can you stand

it?”Iasked.The street smelled

worsethanrottingghoulguts.“Sorry,” he said with

ashrug.Hewavedahandathis face and grinned. “Nosenseofsmell.”

I grimaced. Someguyshavealltheluck.

“Well, I guess thatcomes in handy in a canalcity,” I said, realizing thehigh water table must becontributing to the sewage

overflow.“I guess,” he said, a

wistful smile flitting acrosshis face. “But I domiss thesmellofchocolate.”

We passed thechocolate shops and found abench facing into anothercobbled square. The Burgwas smaller than Markt andringed on three sides by tallbuildings that blocked thewind. The buildings hadelaborately carved façades,

but I was too intrigued byAsh’s comment to pay themmuchattention.

“So,youweren’tbornwithout a sense of smell?” Iasked.

He fidgeted with hisscarf and I dipped a fry inmayonnaise, wondering if Ishouldn’t have pressed himfor answers. This wasn’t aninterrogation.

“No, I lost it…in anaccident,” he said, looking

away.I wanted to press

further, but he shoved hishandsinhispockets,focusingon a small dog that wasbarking across the square.There were three carriageslinedup,waiting for tourists,and the dog was jumpingbackandforth,teasingoneofthe horses. We watched thedoginsilencewhileIatemyfrites.

“So, why are you in

Bruges?” I asked, finallybreaking the silence. “I takeityou’renotalocal.”

“Why do you saythat?”heasked.

“Because,” I said,pointing a fry at him. “Yousound more like SherlockHolmesthanVanDamme.”

Ash laughed. Thattypical carefree, devil-may-care look was back on hisface.

“Yes, but I’m not as

stuffy,”hesaid.I raised an eyebrow.

No, he wasn’t stuffy at all,buthewasjustaseccentricasthefictionaldetective.

He may sound likeSherlockHolmes,butIhadtowonder if Ash had Romaniblood. Dark,shoulderlengthhair and thick brows framedeven darker eyes and fulllips. Compared to the close-cropped, utilitarian, militarystyle haircuts of most of my

guildbrothers,Ash’shairwaspracticallysinful.

Sitting askew atopthose glossy locks was histattered hat. His neck waswrapped in that garish scarf,andheworeashort, tailored,pinstripevestoveracharcoalgray dress shirt. The shirtwas tucked into a pair ofblack pants thatwere in turntucked into a pair of suppleleatherboots.Sproutingfromhis vest pocket was a hairy

thing that may have been afurhanky,oradeadrat,andachain thatwas quite possiblyattached to an honest to godmonocle.

“Stuffy is oneadjective I wouldn’t use todescribe you, though I canthinkofafew,”Isaid.

“Dashing, handsome,adventurous….,”hesaid.

Ishookmyhead.Notevenclose,buddy.

“So if you’re not a

local, why are you here?” Iasked.

“I was going toUniversityhere,”hesaid.

“Was?”Iasked.I wasn’t all that

surprisedthatAshwasadropout. He didn’t really seemlike the kind of guywho satthrough long, boringlectures. Plus, theyprobablywouldn’t allow him to wearhishat.

“Yes, things…didn’t

work out,” he said, a frownflittering across his face sofast,Icouldhaveimaginedit.

Iunderstoodall aboutlife throwing curveballs, butmostpeoplehadahometogoback to,a family to fallbackon when things didn’t workout. The fact that Ash washere in Belgium made mecurious.

“Are your parentsmadaboutit?”Iasked.

He looked so sad, I

wassorrythatI’dasked.“I don’t know,” he

said. He swallowed hard,eyes downcast. “I haven’thad a chance to see them. Iwas trying to go home—that’swhy Iwason the train—but I found that I couldn’tleavethecity.IhadtoreturntoBruges. Itwas as if therewas something I still neededtodoherebeforemovingon.”

“Well,” I said. “I’mgladformysakeyouwereon

that return train. I wouldhave missed my stop, forsure.”

“I’m glad too,” hesaid, lifting his head. Hiseyes traced my lips, and Icursed inwardly. Did I havemayonnaise on my face? Iblushed, feeling the fool, buthe smiled. “If I hadn’t beenon that train, I never wouldhavemetyou.”

I fidgeted with mynapkin, finally crumpling it

intoaball and tossing it intotheemptyfritebag.Iwasn’tgoodwithcompliments,andIwasevenworsewhenitcametorelationshipswithguysmyage.MyfriendJonathanwastheexception,andwe’dgonethrough hell before finallysettling into a comfortablepattern that didn’t trigger hiswerewolf hormones or sendme flying at him with fistsandblades.

Flirtingputmeonthe

defensive. I’d grown upbelievingthatIwasn’tworthyoflove.Itwaseasiertowallmyheart away from the hurtand loss that came fromcaring about anyone otherthanmyself.I’dbeendoingitfor so long that whenJonathan—dear, sweet,handsome Jonathan—hadprofessed his love, Ithreatened him withdecapitation if he spoke of itagain. Then, when he was

finally treating me like afriend, I’d kissed him for noreason.

By Athena, I wasbroken.

But there wassomething about Ash in thatmoment that made me wishthere was superglue fordamaged souls and brokenhearts.

I pulled one leg upontothebenchandrestedmyhead on my knee, the fabric

of my jeans cool against mycheek. I snuck a glance atAsh, wondering what it wasthat made him so special.None of the other womenwalking by gave him asecondglance.

I shook my head.There had to be a logicalexplanation for a stone coldHunter acting like such afool. Maybe it was thelingeringeffectsofbeinginacity swarming with swan

maidens. Like I neededanother reason to hurry upandcompletemymissionandget transferred out of thiscity.

IpulledmyeyesfromAshandscanned the square.Tourists loitered takingpictures of the buildings thatrose from the dark graycobblestones like elaboratelyfrostedweddingcakes.

“So, what are thesebuildings?”Iasked,wavinga

hand. “Are they famous, orsomething?”

“Aye, those buildingsto the left are the BrugseVrije, the Liberty of Bruges,and the Civil Registry,” hesaid. He pointed to anarchway that was part of asquat, white, renaissancebuilding bedecked withgolden statues and red andgilt trim. “That archwayleads into Blinde Ezelstraat,orBlindDonkeyAlley.They

say that back in the dayswhen a mill stood there, thetownspeople put a blindfoldonthedonkeytosaveitfromthe tedium of walking incirclesdayafterday.”

I frowned, thinkingthatI’dratherbeawareofmysurroundings, no matter howtedious, thanbeblindedfromthetruth.Poordonkey.

“And the tallerbuilding?”Iasked.

The adjacent building

hadapointedroofandturretsthat reached to the heavens.The pale gray stone of thefaçade was broken by tall,arched, Gothic windows anddozensofsomberstatues.

“That’s the Stadhuis,oneoftheoldesttownhallsinEurope,” he said. “It’s stillusedasacityhall,thoughit’sopentothepublicmostdays.The building doubles as amuseumforthetourists.”

“What’s inside?” I

asked.If it contained an old

armory,thatmightbeuseful.Fighting and killing weren’tthe only skills the Hunters’Guild taught its initiates. Iknew a thing or two aboutrequisitioning weapons in apinch.

“Someolddocumentsandthehallitself,”hesaid.Iwrinkled my nose. Maybenot so useful. “Hey, don’tknock it. The hall is bloody

gorgeous.”Ishrugged.“I’ll take your word

for it,” I said, alreadyscanning the Burg forsomethingthatmightaidinahunt.

My breath hitched,body going still. Crouchinginadarkcornerofthesquarewas a buildingmade of darkstonethatseemedtoswallowthe light and embrace theshadows. Now that seemed

interesting. Two towers roseabove the building and as Istood to tossmy trash in thebin, and brush away fritecrumbsfrommylap,thebellscradledinthosetowersbegantotoll.

“And the darkbuilding in the corner?” Iasked, my boots alreadycarrying me across thecobblestonesquare.

“That is Basiliek vanhetHeiligBloed,theBasilica

oftheHolyBlood,”hesaidinasoft,almostreverentvoice.

I grinned, my righthandreachinguptostrokethenecklaceoffangsbeneathmydress. Finally, somethinguseful.

Chapter8

“The living impairedwere rarely sentient, oftenjustanimprintofemotionleftbehind like an unsightlybloodsmear.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

“So tell me more

about this blood,” Iwhispered.

Wehadn’tyetenteredthe basilica, but there wassomething about standingwithin its shadow thatdemandedrespect.Wespokeinhushedvoices,ignoringthetourists who cast us peculiarlooks. I could only assumethat the furtive looks weredue toAsh’sunusual fashionsense.

“The basilica has in

its safekeeping a phialcontainingaclothwithdropsof blood from ChristHimself,”hesaid.

Ishookmyhead.“How could Christ’s

blood end up here inBelgium?” I asked. “Thatdoesn’tmakesense.”

“There are holy relicsthroughout Europe, manywithfascinatinghistories,andthe story of the blood is noexception,” he said. “Some

say that JosephofArimatheacollected the blood fromChrist’s body on the cross.Later the Sangreal, HolyBlood, was placed in a rockcrystal phial and sealed withwax.”

“Okay, but that stilldoesn’texplainhowthisphialofbloodendedupinBruges,”Isaid.

“I’dexplainthat,love,if someone would stopinterrupting,” he said, eyes

squintinginamusement.I foldedmyarms and

sighed.“Fine, I won’t

interrupt,” I said, rolling myhandforAshtogetonwithit.

“During the 4thcrusade, Constantinople wassacked and the phial andother holy relics were takenbyBaldwinI,”hesaid.

“Wait,” I said.“Who’s Baldwin I?

European history isn’t mystrongsuit.”

The only details Irecalled from EuropeanhistorywerethoseI’dlearnedduringHunters’training.Butwe’d been schooled on theeventsthatwerepivotaltothesupernaturalworld,notmuchelse. Mundanehistoryneverinterestedmeallthatmuch.

“Baldwin I was thefirst emperor ofConstantinople,”hesaid. He

smirked like I should haveknown that, and I bit theinsideofmycheek.“Priortobecoming emperor, Baldwinhad been Count of Flandersand sowhen theHolyBloodcame into his possession, heenlisted theKnights Templartocarry thephialback tohishomeinBruges.Thebasilicahere became the repositoryfor theHoly Blood. To thisday the relic is venerateddaily, with many people

making long pilgrimages totouch the blood. There’seven an annual procession inwhich the phial is paradedthroughout the city andeventsfromthecity’shistoryarereenacted.”

“People touch theHolyBlood?”Iasked.

I wasn’t squeamish.I’d spilled plenty of bloodsince becoming a Hunter.But I had a hard timebelieving that the church

would allow tourists tohandleapreciousrelic.

“The touching ismostly symbolic,” he said.“It’s more like touching theaura of the blood by placingyourhandontheothersideofaglassbarrier,butit’snolesspowerful.”

Ihadmydoubtsaboutthe authenticity of thissupposedlyholyrelic,butI’dseen enough magic to knowbetter than to discount it

completely. Whether bydesignorbelief,someobjectsheldgreatpower.

“When do they allowtouriststotouchtheblood?”Iasked.

“You’re in luck,” hesaid.“That’swhatthosebellswere for, calling the faithfulfor the veneration of theblood.Shallwegoin?”

“Since I’m here, Imightaswell,”Isaid.

I shrugged and fixed

my face into a blandexpression to hide myinterest, and followed himintothechurch.Onceinside,I slowly climbed a spiralingstone staircase, allowing myeyes to adjust to the dimlight. If there was magic atwork here, I’d need to be onmyguard.

At the top of thestairs,westeppedintoalarge,open chamber with highceilings that echoed every

wail and moan of thetormented ghosts thatfluttered through the rafters.I stiffened, body going still.Places of religious worshipwere often peaceful, asanctuary from the spiritswhowalkedtheearth.

Nothere.Icouldn’tbesureifit

was a geographical anomaly,or a situation unique to thebasilica. Either way, it wasclear that something was

terriblywrongwiththespiritsof this place. I took a deep,steadying breath and forcedmyself away from the stairs,andtheexit.

I tried to discreetlycatch theattentionofpassingspecters,buttheydriftedpastwithout a word. Theyseemed only capable ofunearthlywailing, their facesfrozeninperpetualtorment.

I shookmyhead, andproceededtoignoretheroom

full of ghosts. If theywouldn’t, or couldn’t, talk tome,itwasbesttoignoretheirtortured cries. They wereprobablycompletelyunawareofmypresenceanyway.Theliving impaired were rarelysentient,oftenjustanimprintofemotionleftbehindlikeanunsightlybloodsmear.

Having tried tocommunicatewiththeghosts,I turned my attention to thebasilicaitself. Alarge,stone

basinstoodtomyright,filledwithwater.

I went to the stoup,dippedmy hands in the holywater, and made the sign ofthecross. Ihadn’tgrownupwith much exposure toreligion, but the Hunters’Guild was an offshoot of amilitant religious order and,though the Templars hadn’texisted for centuries, ourGuild traditions wereintertwinedwithritual.

Iwondered idly if theGuild’s illustrious forebearsreally had carried Christ’sbloodfromtheHolyLand.Ifso, why had they broughtsuch a powerful relic toBelgium?Wasitdueonlytothe emperor’s influence, orwas theremore to the story?I could think of more thanonemonster that might wantto control, or destroy, thephialanditscontents.

Holy Blood—I didn’t

even want to consider whatvampireswoulddowithsuchatreasure.Thankfully,unlikethedeadflickeringaroundtheroom, the undead cannotenterholyground.

They also have asevereallergytoholywater.

I reached inside myjacketandtwistedthecapoffa metal flask. With therestrictions against bringingfluids onboard aircraft, I’dhad to leave Harborsmouth

without my usual supply ofholy water. Never one tomiss an opportunity, Iproceededtofillmyflaskandan empty sports bottle frommybackpack.

“Got somethingagainst vampires?” Ashasked.

Damn,hewasquiet—whenhewasn’t talking. Myhand shook, spilling some ofthewater.

“Why do you say

that?”Iasked.“Is there some other

reason for stealing holywater?”heasked.

“I’mnotstealingit,”Igroundoutbetweenclenchedteeth.

“My mistake,” hesaid. “So why then are youborrowingholywater?”

“Because it’s holy,” Isaid. Asshole, I mentallyadded. I would have said itout loud, but I didn’t fancy

being struck by lightning, orstabbed with a knittingneedle. Igave theold ladieson a nearby pew a waryglance, slipped the bottle ofholy water into my bag, andtook a step away from thefont.

“Right, then,” hesaid.“Andvampires?”

“Whatabout them?”Igrowled.

“Are you a fan?” heasked.

Candlelight flickered,making the shadows dancearoundus, anda chill ranupmyspine. SomethingglintedinAsh’s eyes, butwhether itwas mirth, curiosity, ordeadlyseriousness,Icouldn’ttell.

“No,”Isaid.“Not.A.Fan.”

“Funny,” he said,leaning back to admire theceiling. “I thought allAmerican girls liked

vampires. Think they’reglitteryandallthatrot.”

Rot, was right.Beneath all that glittery,swoon-inducingglamour laysthe decaying body of ahungry,long-deadpredator.

“I’m not your typicalAmericantourist,”Isaid.

“No, love, you’recertainlynotthat,”hesaid.

I shook my head andstrode down the center aisleof the church, putting

distance between me andAsh’s teasing voice. Ihurriedly took a seat in anempty chair, the caningsqueaking in protest. Ineededamomenttothink,toprocess what I now knew ofthe situation here in Bruges,away from Ash’s incessant,inanechatter.

Damn, I missed themeditative quiet of mytraining sessions. Back inHarborsmouth, I slew

monsters, but that didn’tmean my life was chaos. Ihad a routine; run, spar,weight train, practice mykata, clean and check myweapons,andgohunting.

So long as I didn’tdeviate from the routine,things ran smoothly. Buthere I was in Belgium,floundering like the wailingghosts overhead, unable tofindpeace,eveninachurch.

Ash came and took

the seat beside me, handsfoldedinhislap.

“So, love, are yougoingtotouchit?”heasked.

A smile twitched hislips,and Inarrowedmyeyesathim.

“Youbetterbetalkingabout the blood, or I’ll bespilling some of yours,churchornot,”Isaid.

He lowered his voiceand leaned forward, “I’d liketoseeyoutry.”

I wasn’t sure if hemeanttrytotouchhim,ortryto attack him. Not that itmattered.Ashlickedhislipsand smiled, but I just rolledmy eyes. Damn him forbeingsuchapainintheass.

If I wasn’t going togetanypeace,Imightaswellgo touch theHolyBloodandgetitoverwith. Iwentbackup the row,passed thegroupof old ladies who were allscowling at me as if I were

here to tangle their knitting,andwent intothesidechapeltomyleft.Therewasashortwait and I fidgeted with thestrap of my ski bag, readingthe Latin inscription on thewall.

Sanguis Christi,inebrianos. BloodofChrist,inebriateme.

I swallowed hard,wishing I could draw mysword.Thiscitygavemethecreeps.

There was onecreature that becameintoxicated from drinkingblood, and I didn’t want tothink about what wouldhappen if a vampire drankfrom this particular relic.Would a vampire becomemore powerful? Would theytransformintoanewbreedofmonster? Or would avampire spontaneouslycombust from imbibing suchaholydraught?

I held onto that lastscenario.Onecouldhope.

When the red velvetrope was lowered, I climbedthe steps and bowed myhead. I dropped a few Eurocoins into the collection boxand placed my hand againstthe thick, bulletproof glassthatencasedtheHolyBlood.The glass was cool againstmy palm, but warmth filledmychest.

Images flashed

throughmyheadat lightningspeed, taking my breathaway.Frank’sleer,thesmileof my mother’s ghost, thevictims of rogue vampireattacks their bodies drainedandbrokenallplayedthroughmymindatbreakneckspeed.

Igasped,takingastepback.Thiswasnofake.TheHolyBloodwasreal.

But even with such apowerful relic in itspossession, the humans of

thiscityweredying.It’shardto fight what you don’tunderstand. The localauthorities were woefullyunequippedtofightmonsters,but someone needed to put astoptothekilling.

Themonsterscouldn’tbeallowedtowin.

Iwipedhottearsfrommy cheeks, and renewed mypromise tomyself and tomyGuild. I was here for onepurpose.

Protecttheinnocent.

Chapter9

“Hunters don’t breaktheirpromises.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I lit a candle andsurreptitiously wiped mytears.

“What did you wish

for?”Ashasked.“It’s a prayer, not a

wish,” I said, blinking awaythelastofthetears.

“Same thing,”he saidwith a shrug. “Did you losesomeone?Isthatwhyyou’recrying?”

“I’m not crying,” Isaid,pushingpasthim.“Igotsmokeinmyeye.”

“Ah, right,” he said.“Bloodycheapcandles.”

“They’renotcheap,”I

said.“Just…justleaveitbe.”“Shhh!” someone

hissed.I looked up to see a

row of old ladies giving methe stink eye. I guess that’swhat I get for defending thechurch’scandles.Ijustcan’twin.

Ash strolled past as Irummaged in my jacketpockets for a tissue. Themischievous lookonhis facetoldmeitwastimeto leave.

Ididn’tfeellikebeingthrownoutofthebasilica.

I sighed and startedforward,butIwastoolate.

“You have got to bekiddingme,”Imuttered.

Ash stopped in frontoftheoldladiesandstartedtodothechickendance.

“What are youDOING?”Iasked,runningupandgrabbinghisarm.

“Shhh!” the ladieshissed.

Son of a boggle, hewas going to get us kickedout.

“I’m dancing,” Ashsaid with an impish grin.“Alwayswantedtodothatina church. What should I trynext?TheMacarena?”

“AreyouCRAZY?”Iasked.

One of the ladies letout a strangled growl,grabbedhercane,andstartedto stand. Herhissing friends

weren’tfarbehind.“Sorry,” I said, eyes

wide.Nowaywas I getting

into a pissing contest with abunch of church ladies. Ipulled Ash toward the door,struggling not to laugh…orcommit murder inside achurch. We took the stairstwo at a time and burst outontotheBurgsquare.

“Bloodyhell,thatwasfun,”Ashsaid.

“Fun?” I asked.“Fun?Areyouinsane?”

“You should haveseenyourface,”hesaid.

I pictured me, bugeyed and gaping as Ashdanced like an epilepticchicken. A smile tugged atmylips,andIletoutasnort.

“They must thinkwe’reevil,”Isaid.

Ashshrugged.“Sowhatnow, fellow

hooligan?”heasked.

Iwaswoundup fromourbrief flight to safety, andour close call with geriatricfisticuffs. I needed to burnoff the excess adrenaline. Plus, it would be smart toleave the Burg in case thosewomen called the police. Ididn’t feel like explaining toforeign authorities why we’ddisturbed the peace. I waspretty sure that “alwayswanted to do that” wouldn’tholdupincourt.

Iscannedtheareaandspied the bell tower loomingoverthebuildingstoourleft.I started walking downBreidelstraat toward themarket square. I needed toburn off some unspentadrenaline, and I knew justtheplace.

Ash lit up a cigaretteas we walked through thesewer stench and dodgedpedestrians, making our waybackontothemarketsquare.

I frowned and narrowed myeyes at Ash. I wasn’t surewhat was more vile, theputrescence of rotting fecesortheacridsmoke.

“Come on,” I said,waving Ash toward the belltower.

The food trucks weredeadahead.

“Hungryagain,love?”heasked.

“No,” I said. “Iwanttoclimbthetower.”

I’dfeltoffbalanceallday,andpartofthereasonforthat was the break in myroutine. I was used torigorous training. I may nothave access to the guildtraining grounds yet, but arunupthetowerwasastart.

“It’s three hundredandsixtysixstepstothetop,love,” he said, grinding outhiscigarette.

I grimaced, giving anearby ashtray a significant

glance.Hesighedandpickedup the stub, tossing it in theashtray.

“Happy?”heasked.“I will be,” I said, a

slow grin sliding onto myface. I was about to makehimregret thatsmokebreak.“Raceyoutothetop.”

“Right,then,”hesaid,tuggingonhishat. “Fancyawager?Say,loserbuyslunchtomorrow?”

“You’reon,”Isaid.

I turned and ran forthebuilding,Ashcloseonmyheels. It wasn’t until wereachedthetopthatIrealizedwhat he’d done. I hadn’tplanned on seeingAsh againafter today, but I’d acceptedhiswager.

NowIhad toseehimagain tomorrow. It was amatter of honor. Huntersdon’t break their promises.Ash looked over at me andwinked.

Sneakybastard.

Chapter10

“Hunters train daily.When the option is train ordie,thechoiceissimple.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I scowled at the doorandpressedthebell,again.Itwas unlike the Guild to be

late, but I’d tried the bellthree times since my arrival,and no one had come toanswer the door. I wasconsidering calling theemergencycontactnumberinmy file, when I heard thedistinctsoundsofboottreadsandtheclinkofweapons.

Whoever it was, theyweretakingtheirsweettime.

“We’re closed,” aman said, opening the door,and then rudely shutting it in

myface.From the brief

glimpse I’d had of the man,he wasn’t much older thanme,earlytwenties,butunlikeme he was tall and blond.Judging from the way his t-shirtstretchedtightacrosshischest and biceps, he wasphysicallyfit.Healsoworeasword over his cargo pants,beltedathiship.IhadabadfeelingthatthiswasmyGuildliaison—justmyluck.

I clenched my teethand rapped my knuckles onthedoor.

“What?” he barked,whippingthedooropen.

“I have anappointment,” Isaid,keepingmy voice low and steady.Yelling wouldn’t do me anygood. Ididn’tneed toget introuble for insubordination.“MynameisJennaLehane.”

“You have got to bekiddingme,”hesaid.Hislip

curled in disgust as his eyestraveled along my body.“Theysentalittlegirl?”

“Hey buddy, sizedoesn’t always matter,” Isaid.

“If you believe that,thenyouhaven’tbeenwitharealman,”hesneered.

I held myself rigid,calming myself with amethodical analysis of hisweaknesses, andhowIcouldexploit them with my

weapons. He leaned acrossthe doorway, armoutstretched to block myway. Heprobably thought itmade him look cool. Thinkagain. Foot sweep, elbow tothe throat, a dagger to thekidneys…there that wasbetter.

My breathing slowedandI liftedmychin,meetinghisgaze.

“If Imeetone, I’ll letyouknow,”Isaid.

He jerked his headback, nostrils flaring, and Iducked under his arm andpushedmywaypasthisbulk.Being tiny did have itsadvantages, regardless ofwhat this narrow-mindedprickthought.

“We don’t need anymore women in this Guild,”he said, slamming the doorshut behind us. “Bitchesshouldbeathomewhereyoubelong.”

My hands closed intofistsandIbittheinsideofmycheektokeepfromgivingthechauvinistic creep a piece ofmy mind. I was used tomacho bullshit, but thisasshole was out of line. I’dflown halfway around theworld to run amissionhere.A little common courtesyfrom a Guild brothershouldn’tbe toomuch toaskfor.

“Since you don’t

make Guild recruitmentpolicies, how about we skipthechitchatandyoushowmeto Master Peeters’ office,” Isaid.

“Master Peeters is inBrussels,” he said, eyesglinting. “Soaremostoftheseniorstaff.”

“And my handler?” Iasked. “There must be aseniorHunterformetoreportto.”

“That, sweetheart,

wouldbeme,”hesaid.Ohshit.

*****

As I’d expected fromour initial meeting, Simon“Chad” Chadwick was anasty piece of work. Hisbehaviordidn’timproveashegave me a brief tour of theGuild’s parade grounds andtraining facilities. I keptmyweapons close at hand, fullyaware that we hadn’t met a

single soul—which wasunusual for a guildhall.Hunters train daily. Whenthe option is train or die, thechoice is simple. That justmadetheemptysparringmatsandunoccupiedweightroomsseemallthemorealientome.

Chad hadn’texaggeratedaboutmostoftheHunters being called away.The Bruges Guild wasrunning on a skeleton staff.Master Peeterswas attending

thesupernaturalcommunity’sversion of a UN summit inBrussels, and the Guildmaster had taken his bestHunters with him. With thepossibility of war on thehorizon, something theEuropean branches of theHunters’ Guild seemed wellaware of, Peeters had gonepreparedforthepossibilityofbattle.

Unfortunately, thatmeant that he’d left his least

valuable Hunters behind tokeep things running here.From Chad’s account, thatleft him in charge of therejects. I’m not sure whatthat was supposed to makeme, and I didn’t want toknow.Beingsentawayfromthe Harborsmouth Guild hadbeen tough enough. I didn’tneed to take another blow tomy self esteem, though I’msure that’s what Chadintended.

That guy had adefinite hard on for his idealof amen’sonly, humanonlyGuild. His hatred ofwomenwas matched only by hisloathing for supernaturals. Isuppose that made him agoodHunter in thefield. Hecould use that anger and selfrighteousbelieftofuelhiminthefightagainstthemonsters,but there was a flaw in thatlineofthinking.

Not all supernaturals

aremonsters.That was a lesson I

was continuing to learn.Before being assigned awerewolf roommate, I toohad reservations abouttrusting supes. Jonathan hadbeen awake up call forme.Our friendship helped openmyeyestothepossibilitythatsupernaturals were not allvillains waiting to sink intheir fangs. Ivy Granger, ahalf human faerie princess,

and Kaye O’Shaye, apowerful witch, had furtherhelped to banish myprejudices when they riskedtheirownlivesforthehumaninhabitantsofHarborsmouth.

I might have pitiedChad’sblind ignorance, ifhehadn’tbeensuchadictatorialprick. Master Peeters hadgiven Chad power over thefewHunters left in residencehere, and he didn’t miss achance to abuse his superior

position.When I didn’t cow

from his ongoing demeaningmonologue, Chad upped theante by showing me thedormitories and introducingme to Celeste Dubois. If IthoughtChadtreatedmebad,it was nothing compared tohow he behaved aroundCeleste.

Celeste was female,and a witch. Thatmade herless than garbage in Chad’s

eyes,andhemadeapointoflettingherknowhowhe felt,repeatedly.

“I’mdonewastingmytime with you, Lehane,” hesaid. Chad smirked on hisway out of Celeste’s room,thetwistofhismouthasuglyas his soul—if he had one.“She’s yours, witch. I’llleave you two to gossip, orwhatever it is your kind isgoodat.”

Heswattedabasketof

herbsfromashelfonhiswayout,knocking them to scatterontheground.

“Clumsy, witch,” hesaid.“Cleanupyourmess.”

Celestedroppedtoherhands and knees, hastilysweeping the herbs into thefallenbasket.

“Sorry,”shemuttered.“On your knees, eh,”

he said. “Good, that’s aboutallyourgoodfor.”

With that repulsive

comment, he walked out thedoorofherroom,hislaughtertrailing hismovements downthe hall. I reached down tohelp the woman up and shestaggeredtoherfeet.

“Is he always likethat?”Iasked.

“Chad?” she asked.Sheshruggedandwent to siton the edge of her bed, eyesglazed. “I guess so.” Shescrunched up her face as iftrying to concentrate. “He’s

beenworsesincePeetersleft,Ithink.”

“Why would MasterPeeters leave someone likeSimonChadwickinchargeinthefirstplace?”Iasked.

Even if the suddenusurping of power was whathadmadeChadwicka tyrant,he obviously had some deepseatedissues.Ataguess,I’dsay hewas probably a bully,withorwithouthisnewfoundposition as interim leader. I

frowned. Placing Chadwickin charge had been afoolhardy decision. MostGuildmasterswouldn’tmakethatkindofmistake.

“Simon’s fatherhunted with Peeters until anogre ripped out his spine,”she said. She turned vacanteyesonme,andwhisperedasif forgetting I was there,“How long must we remainindebtedtoourfallen?”

“So,” I coughed,

giving Celeste a moment topull herself together. Wewere all haunted by thememoriesofthosewe’velost—some more than others. Ididn’twant to intrudeonhergrief, but understanding thelocal politics was important.“Chadwickisinchargewhilethe others are away inBrussels, because MasterPeeters feels he owes a debttotheChadwickfamily?”

Celeste attempted to

shrug, but lost her balanceandfellbackagainstapileofcushions.

“Are you okay?” Iasked.

Hadshehitherhead?She’d dropped to the groundpretty fast when Chadwickhad knocked her herbs allover thefloor. I leanedin toseeifshewasalright.

“Oh, I’m fine,” shesaid,smilingwide.

It was creepy. She

shouldn’t have been smilinglike that. Therewas nothingto be that happy about, ever,andChadhadjusttreatedherlike a discarded toy heenjoyed stomping on fromtimetotime.

As far as appearanceswent, Celeste and I wereopposites.WhereIwaspale,shehadanolivecomplexion.Unlikemydarkblueeyes,hereyeswerealightgoldenhue,like honey, and almond

shaped. She was also tall,curvaceous and looked sexyashellinhertightfittingminidress—notlikemeatall.

There was one morething that set us apart and itwasn’t her witch powers. Itwas thesicklysweetscentofMandragora smoke on herbreath. Mandrake root, andthe drug made from it, ishighlypoisonous tohumans.Witches, though otherwisehuman, have an extra set of

chromosomes from whichtheir magic was thought tocome. That geneticdifferencewasalsonotableintheir reaction to mandrake.Not only did they not diefromingestingit,butwitcheshad also found a recreationalusefortheplant—adrugtheycalledMandragora.

The drug causedhallucinations, euphoria, andwas highly addictive. Whentakenregularly,itcouldcause

attention deficit disorder andmemory dysfunction. Thatmade Mandragora a highlydangerous drug. The lastthing you wanted in a witchwasADDandmemory loss.Mental focus and the abilityto recall incantations wereintegraltospellcasting.

If Celeste continuedsmoking Mandragora, she’dlose the ability to usemagic,and in the meantime she’dbecome a menace to other

Hunters.Iwasn’tgoingtositbackandletthathappen.

Celeste lay backagainst a pile of pillows,humming happily to herself,andItookaslow,methodicaltourofherroom.Theshelvesof herbs and other spellcomponents weren’t unusual,but the long stemmed pipeand bag of resin coatedmandrakerootcertainlywas.

Ireachedforthepipe,but jerked to a halt at

Celeste’sscreech.“Don’t touch that!”

sheyelled.She held a pointed

fingerouttowardme,herhairfloatingaroundherhead.Herlipswerepulledback, baringher teeth, and the whites ofher eyes showed aroundlarge,dilatedpupils.

Sheprobablycouldn’treliably cast a spell whileunder the influence ofMandragora, but I couldn’t

take that chance. Iwouldn’tbe able to save too manyhumans from themonsters ifCelesteturnedmeintoafrog.

I backed away, handsraisedpalmsout.

“Easy,” I said. “It’salright,Celeste.”

Once my steps tookmetothedoor,herfacebrokeinto that hideous smile. Herhair fell limply to hershoulders, and she lay backon the cushions of the bed,

singing softly to herself.Celestethoughtthatthethreatto her stash of drugs wasover.

Shewaswrong.

Chapter11

“It’s never a goodidea to startle a man with ascalpel.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I slipped out ofCeleste’s room and hurrieddown the hall, winding

through the dormitory, andtaking the stairs down to thelower levels. If thisbuildingwas designed anything likethe guildhalls back home, aninfirmary should be locateddowninthebasement.

There it was, rightnexttothemorgue—justlikebackhome.

I always thought thathaving the morgue at suchclose proximity to theinfirmarywasdepressing,but

the Hunters’ Guild wasnothing if not pragmatic.Patientsdon’t always survivetheir injuries. Having themorgueandinfirmarysidebyside kept things efficient. Icould get behind that idea, ifitwasn’tfortheghosts.

The ghosts of deadHunterswandered in and outofthemorgue.Atsomepointthe location of the doorwaymust have been moved,becausemorethanhalfofthe

ghosts passed through thewallafewyardstotheleftofthe actual opening. Thatwouldn’t have been unusualin your garden variety ghost,butHunterstendtofollowtherules, even after they’vereachedtheirexpirationdate.

I pushed up mysleeves and strode to theinfirmary, pointedly ignoringthe hungry looks from themenandwomenstaringatmefrom themorgue. I’venever

understood why, but someghosts get trapped in a placewhere theirbodyspent time.Morgues, hospitals,battlefields, and graveyardswere the worst. Theyattracted the dead likeblowfliestoacorpse.

“Hello?” I called out,steppingintotheinfirmary.

It isn’t smart to walkinto a Hunter’s territoryunannounced,andourdoctorswere no different. Most got

their training as combatmedics, which meant theyspent time on the front lineslike the rest of us. Plus, it’sneveragood idea tostartleamanwithascalpel.

“In here,” aman saidfromthebackroom.

I pushed past a whitecurtain, senses heightened asI took in theunfamiliar rowsof cots. There were privacycurtainsbetweeneachcotandI checked the area behind

eachbeforecontinuingon.“Inthesupplycloset,”

themansaid.My eyes cut to

movement in a dark room atthe farbackof the infirmary,in the same direction as themuffled voice. A white,medicalcoatflutteredpasttheopen doorway so quickly heresembledaghost.

“Sorryabout that,”hesaid, carrying out an armfulofsupplies.

I followed him pastthe empty beds to a desk atthe frontof the infirmary. Itgave me a chance to studyhim. The man was older,maybe late twenties or earlythirties. He wore a brightwhite lab coat over scrubs,but that’s where the goodhygiene ended. He hadn’tshaved, he smelled like I’dinterruptedhisdinner,andhewascoveredindust.

He slapped at his

clothes, ran fingers throughgreasy hair, and held out hishand.

“Youmustbethenewgirl,” he said. “Sorry aboutthe mess. I was doinginventory while things wereslow.”

I shook his handquickly,andresistedtheurgeto wipe my hand down thefrontofmyjeans.Hemaybeabitraggedaroundtheedges,but he seemed nice and I

appreciated having at leastone of the Hunters greet mewithasmilethatwasn’tdruginduced.

“Jenna Lehane,” Isaid. “I’m looking for thedoctor.”

“That would be me,Benjamin Martens” he said.“Here,haveaseat.”

He moved a pile ofgauze pads from a chair andnodded.Ratherthantaketheofferedseat, Iblinkedathim

owlishly.“You’re Doc

Martens?”Iasked.“LiketheBritishTVshow?”

“Like the steel-toeboots,” he said, casting asignificantlookathisfeet.

He was wearingcombatbootswiththetelltaleyellow stitching around thesole.

“Isn’t that kind oflame to be wearing yournamesake?”Iasked.

“You want a boot intheass,girl?”heasked.

I snorted and shookmy head, taking the offeredseatacrossfromhisdesk.

“Nothanks,”Isaid.“What can I help you

with?” he asked. “Feelingsick from traveling? Peeterssaid you’d be flying in fromtheStates.”

“I’m fine,” I said. Isatdownandleanedforward,putting my hands on the

desk. “I’m here aboutCeleste.”

“Dubois?” he asked.“What’swrongwithher?”

I raised an eyebrow,wondering just how a doctorcould miss the signs of heraddiction.

“She’s usingMandragora,”Isaid.

He waved his handand leaned back in an old,wheeledofficechair thatwaspractically upholstered in

ducttape.“Madrake isn’t

poisonous to witches,” hesaid. “Ifshewants tosmokethe witch drug on her owntime, I don’t see theproblem.”

My lip curled, baringmy teeth. It was anexpressionI’dpickedupfromJonathan.Spendenoughtimeliving with a werewolf andsome things were bound toruboff.

“It’s a problem,” Isaid,bitingoffthewords.

Celeste needed helpwithheraddictionbeforeshelost her powers, or gotsomeone killed. Letting heruse recreational drugs wasbeyond irresponsible. If wedidn’t do anything to stopher, we might as well handheraswordandtellhertokillherself,andtakeoutafewofourbrotherswhileshewasatit.

“What do you wantme todoabout it?”heaskedwithasigh.

“Call her down here,drug her if you have to, andkeep her here until everytraceofMandragoraisoutofhersystem,”Isaid.

“And how am Isupposed to get her downhere?”heasked.“Incaseyouhaven’t noticed, we’re a bitshort staffed. I’m just onedoctor, and she’s a powerful

witch.”“She’s a young

woman who’s stoned out ofher mind, and you’re agoddamn combat traineddoctor with the resources oftheGuildatyourdisposal,”Isaid. “You’ll think ofsomething.”

I would have offeredtohelp,but Iwaspretty surethattossingastrangerintothemix would only make thesituation worse. Plus,

regardlessofthefactthispostwas working on a skeletonstaff, there were otherHuntersavailabletohelpout.Hunters that Celeste mightfeelmoreateasewith.

“And what am Isupposedtodowithheronceshe’sdownhere?”heasked.

“Youhave everythingyou need right here to keepher calm and comfortable,” Isaid, noddingmyheadat therowofbeds.

Hethrewhishandsinthe air in an “I give up”gesture and I sat back inmychair.

“Fine,” he said. “I’llseewhatIcando.”

“Good,” I said. Ilickedmylipsandglancedatametaldooralongonewall.“Now that’s settled, howabout you show me themorgue.”

“Why?” he said.“There’s nothing in there,

nothing but empty metaldrawers.”

“Isn’t that where youkeep the bodies?” I said.“I’m working the serialmurder case. Examining thebodiescouldgoalongwayindetermining what kind ofthreatwe’refacing.”

“The bodies aren’tthere,” he said, shaking hishead. “They’ve all beenincinerated.”

Inarrowedmyeyesat

him,buthejustshrugged.“I was following

policy,”he said. “Youdon’tlike it? Take it up withMaster Peeters when he getsbackfromBrussels.”

Igroundmyteeth,butnodded curtly. Nothing Icould do about it now.Railing at Martens wouldn’tbringthebodiesback,andI’dalready pushedmy luckwiththegooddoctor. If Iwantedhis cooperation, I had to

knowwhentobackdown.Therewasnoquestion

that I’d need his continuedcooperation. He’d be incharge of autopsying thebody of every victim wefishedoutofthecanals.Andmake no mistake, there’d bemore bodies. No onewouldbesafeuntilthismonsterwascaught.

I just wished I had aleadonwhatkindofcreaturewewereupagainst.Isighed

andreachedoutmyhand.“Without bodies, I’ll

need to look over yourautopsyreports,”Isaid.

Heshookhishead.“Everything was in

thecasefilewesentyou,”hesaid.

“That’s it?” I said.“Thatfilewasprettyslim.”

“You know as muchasIdo,”hesaid.“Ifanotherbodycomesin,I’llgiveyouacall.”

“Youdo that,” I said,letting my hand drop to myside. Igavehimahard lookand headed for the door.“Later,Doc.”

I knew that bustinghisballswouldn’t furthermymission, so I forced mybreathing to remain steadyand strode out the door. NosensewearingmyselfoutinapissingbattlewithMartens.

I’d save my energyforthemonsters.

Chapter12

“Knowing youradversary can mean thedifferencebetweenlivinganddying.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

There was one moreplace where I might find

answers.TheHunters’Guildgroomed its members to beskilled fighters, but it alsovalued knowledge. TheGuild had archives thatrivaled the Vatican, filledwith secret histories andencyclopedic catalogues ofthesupernatural.

While there werelarge central archives for themost delicate documents,each guildhall had its ownsmall library. After a few

wrongturns,IfoundthedoorIwas looking for. The doorwasengravedwith the imageof a Hunter fighting a hordeof monsters, a scroll in onehand and a book-shapedshield in the other. Itsymbolized how knowledgecould be used as a weaponagainstourenemies,andhowit could also shield us fromdanger.

Ipreferredweaponstodusty old books, but even I

had to admit the importanceofgoodintel. Knowingyouradversary can mean thedifferencebetweenlivinganddying, hence my visit to thearchives.

Iraisedafisttoknockon the heavy, ironclad door,but it swung open, nearlyknockingmeoffmyfeet.

“Celeste, girl, thatyou?”

Abehemothofamanstoodfillingthedoorway.He

stood over six feet andworecamouflage pants and a tighttank top that showed off hischocolate brown skin andrippling muscles. In othercircumstances I might havefound his size intimidating,but he was smiling wide,showing perfect white teeth.Itwasanicesmile.

I raised an eyebrowand crossed my arms acrossmy chest, a wry grin on mylips.

“Do I look likeCeleste?”Iasked.

“Iwouldn’tknow,”hesaid, waving a hand in frontofhisface.“Youmightbeasuglyasayeti,forallIknow.Though,fromwhatIcantell,you’re not nearly tall orsmellyenough.”

Iwinced,takinginthepink scar tissue on his faceandhisdamagedeyes.

Hewasblind.“Sorry,” I said, glad

he couldn’t see my burningcheeks. “Ididn’tknow. I’mJennaLehane.”

Out of habit, I startedto reach out to offer himmyhand, but thought better of itand, after a moment’sawkwardness, shoved it backinmyjacketpocket.

“Ah,right,thevisitingHunter,”hesaid.“I’mDarrylLambert, archive librarian.WhatcanIdoforyou?”

A blind librarian? I

tiltedmyhead,examiningtheman. Hewouldhavebeenaformidable Hunter beforewhateveraccidentrobbedhimofhis sight. But Iwasn’t sosure about his skills in thearchive.

“I was hoping forsome information on localsupes,” I said. “The nastierthe better. I’m working aserial murder case, but thecase file I received isn’t allthat helpful. Neither is

SimonChadwick,my liaisonwhileI’mhere.”

“Chadwick’s a GradeA asshole—if you’ll pardonmy French,” Darryl said.“Comeonin.Let’stalk.”

Darryl led me, withslow, measured steps, insidethe archives, a labyrinth ofbookshelves andwooden filecabinets. His lips moved ashewalked, as if counting offourposition.Isupposeitwasa bit like pacing off the

distance to a target while inthefield.

“So, is this anewgigfor you?” I asked. I lookedaroundthearchives, tryingtothinkofsomethingpositivetosay.“Lookslikeaniceplacetowork.”

Darryl stoppedwalking. He turned to faceme,browfurrowed.

“You’re not feelingsorry for me, are you girl?”heasked. Hisvoicedropped

low. “’Cause I don’t needyourpity.”

“Um, no,” I said,swallowing hard. “Justcurious,Iguess.”

“Can’t fault you forthat, I suppose,” he said.“Girl after my own heart.”Hestarted forwardagainandwaved a hand toward therisingstacks.“Archivesareagood a place as any for thecurious.”

“Isn’tithardthough,”

I asked, frowning. “I mean,librarians have to be able toread and locate information.Itmustbetough.Seemskindofshittyof theGuildtostickyoudownhere.”

“Whereelseyouthinkthey gonna stick me?” heasked. “You want meoperatingonyou? Providingcover fire? No, I asked forthis post. Always liked thearchives, and everything Ineedtodomyjobisuphere.”

Hetappedhishead.“Good, then let’s get

towork,”Isaid.

Chapter13

“Hunting after atransatlantic flight probablywasn’tthewisestofchoices.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

It was late when Ifinally called it a night andleftthearchives.I’ddoubted

Darryl when he said thateverything he needed was inhis head, but theman hadn’tbeenbragging.The librarianmay have beenblind, but he’d spent a lot oftime down in the archivesbefore his accident and hehadaphotographicmemory.

Notonlydidheknowwhere every document waslocated in thosearchives,buthe could also recite passagesfrom every book he’d ever

read. Add to that the hightech gadgets he’d acquiredfor accessing the Guild’scentral database and he didjustfine.

Darryl was damnedhandy.

ToobadIstillhadnoideawho,orwhat,waskillinghumans and dumping theirbodies in the picturesquecanalsofBruges. Toomanymonsters roamed Europe,with more than a dozen

predatorsclaimingterritoryinWestFlanders.IfIwasgoingto narrow the scope of myinvestigation, and find thekiller, I’d need to go out inthefield.

Not thatsearching thecity streets and waterwayswould be a problem.Thankfully,that’swhereIdidmybestwork.

I stifled a yawn andwentupstairstogearupforanight on the town, Hunter

style.WithsomanyHuntersattending the peace talks,there was no shortage ofavailable rooms. I took oneonthesamefloorasCeleste.I considered stopping by herroom to see if Martens hadmanaged to get the witch tothe infirmary, but shook myheadandcontinueddownthehall. Celeste wasn’t myproblem.Forsomeonewho’dbeen here less than twenty-four hours, I’d already

meddledenough.Once in my dorm

room, I changed into a blackbody suit and strapped on askirt made from strips ofblack cloth and reinforcedleather that would protectsome of my arteries withouthinderingmovement.Iaddedthe garrote cuff bracelet,leather boots, and a blackunderbust corset. Thecorset’sboningwascoatediniron and silver, but most

importantly it providedsupport and protection tomylower back and internalorgans.

It also had the addedbenefit of selling theimpression that I was just ayoung, petite, Goth girl outforanightonthetown.Withthatdisguiseinplace,Icouldadd the final element to mycostume—my very sharp,very real katana. I wore thesword at my hip, in plain

sight.Inacitythatpromotedits connection to the past, Iwas willing to bet thatwalking around like I was atourist ready for aRenaissance fair wouldn’tattracttoomuchattention.

Islidknivesintoeachboot and strapped anassortmentof stakes, crosses,iron nails and otherweaponsinto the liningofmyskirt. Ismeared a thick layer offaerie ointment onto my

eyelids, blinking until thestinging subsided. Once myvision cleared, I went to theonedarkwindowintheroomandmetmy reflectionwithaferalsmileofmyown.

It was time to gohunting.

*****

At this time of nightthe city streets outside thecentral market square weremostly empty. I was alone

exceptformyshadowtrailingalong behind me, and thespecters that haunted thestreets and buildings thatpressedinfrombothsides.

The dead stared outfrom nearly every window,theireyeslikegapingholesintheir pale faces. I kept myeyes on the street, ignoringthe human-shaped spectersand the tendrils of mist-likeectoplasmtwiningaroundmyboots, climbingmy legs, and

whispering in my ear. Thesibilanthissandmoan, likearadiochanneloutof tune,setmyteethonedge.

The walk from theguildhall to the canal tookless than fiveminutes, but itfeltlikeI’dbeenrunningthatgauntletofthedeadfordays.Islidfromshadowtoshadowas I made my way downCarmersstraat, Blekersstraat,andfinallySt-Annarei.

I sagged against the

wallof a lace shopwhen thebuildingsonmyleftandrightrecededtorevealawidecanalrunning north and south.Two narrower canals joinedhere,headingtothewestandsouthwest.

Sincetakingthiscase,it was obvious that someonehad been slacking on theirpaperwork. There wassurprisingly little informationaboutthevictim’sbodiesandthe dump sites. I needed

details, and thatmeant goingbacktothesource.Itwastooearly to tell where the actualmurders took place, but thelocations where the bodieshad been foundwere a goodstartingpoint.

More than one bodyhad been fished out of thewaterhere.Whetherthatwasa result of the geography ofthe canals or indicated thehunting grounds of asupernatural predator

remainedtobeseen.I inhaled deeply,

ignoringthestenchofmildewand decay. I needed to stayfocused,keepingmyattentionon potential threats, but thepresence of so many ghostswas taking its toll. Imistakenly thought that I’dbuilt up a tolerance to thedead during my time inHarborsmouth, but my oldhomehadnothingonBruges.This medieval city was

swarming with angry spirits,and it was giving me aheadache.

I rubbed my temples,tookanotherdeepbreath,andfelt the pressure in my skullease enough to regain myfocus. Fatigue wasn’thelping. Hunting after atransatlantic flight probablywasn’t thewisest of choices,but every night that thismonster, or monsters,remainedontheloose,meant

the potential for more deadbodies.

Those dead bodieswouldbeonmyhead.

I lifted my chin andpushed away from the wall.No, Iwasn’t going to let thepeople of this city, or theGuild, down. I had a job todo and, by Athena, I wasgoingtodoitright.

I swung over a metalrailingand landedsilentlyona steep embankment.

Keeping to the shadows, Icrept down to the murkywaterofthecanal.

The bodies had beenfoundwherethey’dcaughtonthepylonsbeneaththenearbystonebridge thatspanned thecanal.Ineededabetterlook,but I didn’t have access to aboat. Having to find analternative route along thecanal complicated things,butI had a feeling that askingChadwick’s help in

requisitioning a boat throughthe normal channels wouldcause even greatercomplications. I’msurehe’dlike nothing better than todangleacarrotinfrontofmyface.

I’d just do things thehardway.

This looked like thebest access point, but itwouldn’t be easy. Thefooting was precarious atbest. If Iwasn’t careful, I’d

endupinthecanal—thesamecanal that was home to allsorts of potentially deadlypredators. I needed tomakemy way along the canal andinto the inky blacknessbeneath the nearby bridge,but there was only a slimy,narrowstonesillthatranherealong the water’s edge, thefoundations of buildingsformingamosscoveredwallthat rose several feet abovemyheadtothestreetlevel.

Imaneuveredontothesill, standing on tiptoe anddigging my fingers into tinycrevices where mortar haderodedovertheyears.Usingthe handholds for balance, Iinched my way along thecanal. Something droppedontomyheadand I flinched,my foot slipping off theledge.

I held my breath, myboot dangling an inch abovethe water, as a large, hairy

spider scuttled across myface.Ididn’tdareblinkuntilthe eight legged critter madeits way down my neck andontomy left shirtsleeve. Nosense pissing it off onexposedskin.

Ihadnoideaifitwaspoisonous, and I didn’t wanttofindout.

Now that the spiderwas crawling down mysleeve,IletoutthebreathI’dbeen holding. Using the

fingers of my right hand, Ishifted my handhold andregained my balance. Assoon as I had both feet backon the ledge, I shifted myweight to the left, holdingmyself steady with my lefthand. I inhaled deeply, andas I exhaled I grabbed thespider with my right hand,and smashed it against thewall.

I wrinkled my noseandcontinuedalongtheledge

until I neared a low, stonebridgethatcrossedthecanal.The bridge reared up highover my head and I blinkedinto its dark, gaping maw,trying to make out the dimshapesahead.

Usingmy feet to feelmy way, I tiptoed over to apartially submerged stoneplatform. Water lappedagainstmybootsandIclosedmy eyes, listening forpotential threats. Thearched

cave-like space beneath thebridgeseemedtowarpsound,twistingtheslapslapofwaterand skitter of tiny feet intostrangesighsandechoes.

Muscles tightening inreadiness, I drew a Maglitefromathighholster,aimeditinto the darkness, and set iton a shelf-like projection ofstone at shoulder level. Inone quick movement, Iswitched on the flashlight,strafedtomyright,anddrew

mysword.All I managed to do

wasstartleanestofriverrats.I sighed, slid the

sword back into its sheath,andretrievedtheflashlight.Iscanned the arched ceiling,aimed the light at the dampfloor, and began walkingslowly,searchingforcluesinagridpattern.

Maybe I’d be luckyand find something the otherHuntershadmissed.Fromall

accounts, thelocalGuildwasstretched so thin, they didn’thave the manpower to do aproper search of each dumpsite.

But after a thoroughsearch all I’d found were afew small bones that mayhave been from rats for all Iknew, and a large grate that,judging from the smell,covered a discharge pipefrom the sewers. I wrinkledmynoseandtriedtoopenthe

grate,butitwaslockedwithamassive, iron padlock. Iwasn’t getting inside thatsewertunnel,nottonight,notwithout heavy duty boltcutters.

I wiped my hands onmypantsandfrowned.Theyweren’tcomingclean.Iheldmy fingers beneath theflashlight and gasped. Thegrate wasn’t wet with waterandalgae.

It was covered in

blood.The dark red liquid

hadn’tbeennoticeableontheblack iron of the grate, butagainst the contrastingpaleness of my skin thetelltale color of blood wasobvious.Ilickedmylipsandsmiled. Someone, orsomething, had been usingthe sewer tunnels to accessthe canals where they’ddumped the bodies of theirvictims.

Eyesonthepadlock,Ilet the tension in my bodyease and I rolled myshoulders in a satisfied,catlikestretch. Itwouldtakemore than a locked grate tokeepme fromputtinganendtothiskiller.I’dbeback.

I turned off theflashlight and returned to theledge oncemy eyes adjustedtothedimlightofthemoon.Ipassedthesplatteredspider,its legs and mandibles still

twitching. Doing a gridsearch beneath the bridgehadn’t takenme long. I stillhad time to check out onemore dump site, if I wasquickaboutit.

I climbed theembankmentquickly,ablackshadow breaking away fromthemurkycanalandrisingtothe street, determined to findthemonstersinthiscity—andmakethempay.

Chapter14

“The dead wereannoying,butsometimestheyremembered just enough tohelp find the creature thatmurderedthem.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I leanedagainstatree

and scanned the small parkthatranalongRozenhoedkaaiand the southern bank of anarrow canal. I stifled ayawn, fatigue making mewishI’dgonestraightbacktotheGuildandmybed.Iwastempted to rush my search,but there was somethingaboutthisplacethatmademecautious.

Ididn’tlikeit,notonebit.

I took my time,

examining the spacesbetween the trees, the parkbenches, and the surface ofthe canal. The onlymovement was a pale formsittingononeof thebenchesfacingthewater.Alittleboysat there, tiny legs swingingback and forth, staringvacantlyatthecanal.

Yeah, that wasn’tcreepyoranything.

Ipushedmyself awayfrom the tree, and walked

over to the bench. The boydidn’t look up—he didn’teven blink—but that wasn’tsurprising.

Hewasdead.The front of his shirt

wasmissing,alongwithmostof his internal organs. Mychesttightenedatthesightofall thatdamage. I lookedupfromhiswoundsandforcedasmileonmyface.

“MindifIsithere?”Iasked.

I normally make apolicy of avoiding the dead.Acknowledging lost spiritswas often all theencouragement they neededtofollowyouaroundwailingand moaning until they gotbored or found some otherpoor sap. But I madeexceptions while working acase. The dead wereannoying,butsometimestheyremembered just enough tohelp find the creature that

murderedthem.Thischildthoughwas

a mere static image, a shardoftrauma,nothingmore. Hedidn’t respond, his onlymovement the swinging ofhis legsandtheflickerofhistransparent body as hewaveredinandoutoffocus.

I took a seat on thebenchanyway,examiningthesmallchild.Hehadbeenfiveorsixwhenhedied—whenamonster had scooped out his

guts like his internal organswere candy. I frowned,shaking my head. That parthad been left out of theautopsyreport.

The reason I’d beencurious about this dump sitewas the difference in age ofthevictim. Theotherbodiesthat the Guild had draggedfrom the canals in the pastfew weeks had belonged toadults.Thefactthatachild’sbody had been found dead

either meant the killer waschanging hisMO or that wewere dealing withmore thanonemonster.

I was glad the kid’sghostwasn’texperiencingthepain and horror of hisinjuries, but it was too badthat he wasn’t sentientenough to give me answers.Theunfortunatefactwasthatthere were way too manymonsters out there with theability to do that kind of

damagetoachild’sbody.Murder,especiallythe

murder of a child, wentagainstourlaws,butIwasalltoo aware that superaturalsdidn’t always follow therules. It’s why I became aHunter, to put down rogueparanormals who broke ourtruce and murdered innocenthumans.

I sighed and turnedmy attention away from theghost child, watching the

canal where he continued tostare unblinking. The waterrippled and I reached formysword,jumpingtomyfeet.Ahead resembling a large frogbroke the surface of thewater,itsfacebreakingintoaCheshirecatgrin.

Thegrindylow’ssmileshowed off a wide mouthfilled with sharp, needle-liketeeth that glinted in themoonlight. Of course, mostpeople wouldn’t see those

teeth—not until they wereburied in their vital organs.Thankfully, I’d applied agenerous amount of faerieointment to my eyes beforeheading out on this huntingexcursion.

“Come, child,” hesaid.“Fancyaswim?”

My lips drew back ina silent snarl. He wasn’ttalking to the child on thebench. The grindylow wastalking to me. That was a

mistake,andifIfoundouthewasthemonsterwho’dkilledthis little boy, itwouldn’t behisfirst.

I held my sword infrontofmeandglared.

“Nothanks,Grindy”Isaid.“I’dratherswimwithabarracuda.”

Hetiltedhishead, thesmilenever leavinghis slick,mottledgreenface.

“Come now, let’s bereasonable,” he said,

spreading his hands wide.“There’s no need for thatshiny toy here. We havemuch better things to playwith down below—treasureand playthings beyond yourwildestdreams.”

He had long, spindly,webbed fingers, thin arms,and a frail body that didn’tlook large enough or strongenough to support theconsiderable bulk of hishead. But I wasn’t fooled.

Grindylowmovedawkwardlywhenonland,butIknewthatsolongasheremainedinthewater this guy was fast as asharkandjustasbloodthirsty.

“Treasure?” I asked,takingastepforward.

Thegrindylow’slong,gray tongue snaked out andproceeded to prod at hiseyeball, slathering it withmucous. I swallowed hard,momentarily regrettingapplying faerie ointment to

myeyes. Without themagicinfused ointment, I’d beseeingthecreature’sglamour,the illusion of a young,handsome prince. The storyof a frog being turned into aprince came from thisillusion, thoughknowing thatdidn’t make the grindylowanymorecharming.

His body trembledwithanticipationashestaredatmy booted foot. I shiftedmy weight, the slight

movement crunching gravelbeneath my feet and holdinghis attention. Just a fewinches closer and he couldsnatchmeintothewater.

“Yes, youngling,” hesaid, flexing his hands.“ComecloserandIwillshowyoutreasureandtoys,andwecan play such fun gamestogether.”

“Games?” I asked. Islapped my best “oh goody”look on my face, tossed my

sword on the grass behindme, and dropped into a lowcrouch.“Let’splay.”

Before the grindycouldsnatchmyleganddragme into a watery grave, Idroveadaggerdownthroughhis hand, nailing him to theground. I rolled to the side,kicking out as I spun,smashinghiminthefacewithonebootasIusedtheothertopropelmyselftomyfeet,justoutofhisreach.

The grindylowshrieked in pain, a ring ofspiked cartilage flaring outfrom his neck. A second,larger fin sprung from hisbackwhilespinesliftedalonghis arms. I shook my headandlaughedathisattemptstolookmorethreatening.

“I’m not interested inyourgames,”Isaid.“Iknowallaboutyourfalsetreasure.And in case you hadn’talreadynoticed,I’mnokid.”

Iraisedaneyebrowatthe grindylow, hands on myhips, sword back in itssheath. Not only had thecreature underestimated me,butI’dtakenadvantageofitsweakness for children.Grindylow preferred youngflesh, and considered humanchildren a delicacy. Theycould survive by eating fish,river rats,maybe even a fewswans, if the swan maidenslet down their guard, but he

wouldn’t be the firstgrindylow to go native andstart hunting innocentchildren. And what betterlocation than a secluded spotin a public park for luringlittlekidsintothewater?

The grindylow’s eyesbulged, making him appeareven more froglike. Hejerked his head back andstruggledtopullhishandfreeoftheembankment.

“Let me go!” he

yelled.“Imightsetyoufree,”

I said, giving him a hardlook.“Solongasyouanswermyquestionshonestly.”

Henoddedrapidly.“Yes,yes,I’lltellyou

what youwant to know,” hesaid.“Setmefree!”

Idrewaknife fromathighsheathandheblanched,hisslickskinturningasicklygray.

“You know about the

humanbodies thathavebeenturning up in the canalslately,right?”Iasked.

I started to cleanunder my fingernails, usingthe tip of my knife. Henoddedhishead.

“Yes, I’veheard,b-b-but it wasn’t me,” he said,voiceshrill.“Itwasn’tme!”

I raised an eyebrowandshookmyhead.

“I know how muchyou like toeathuman flesh,”

I said. “Why shouldn’t Isuspectyou?”

“B-b-because wegrindylow don’t eat tough,old flesh,” he said.“Everyoneknowsthat!”

“So what you’resaying is, you only killchildren,” I said, eyesnarrowing.

“No!”heyelled.“No,that’snottrue.Ieatfish,lotsoffish.”

Igavethegrindylowa

hard look, rolling my knifealongmyknuckles.

“Well then, if youwant to convinceme of that,thenmaybeyoucanpointmeinthedirectionofthekiller,”Isaid.

I wasn’t convincedthat this grindylow hadn’tmurderedthechild,butIhadnoproofthathewasahumankiller other than his attemptstogetmetogoforaswim.IfIcouldgethimtoworkasan

informant, I might let himlive—fornow.

ButI’dsureashellbekeepinganeyeonhim.

The grindylow lickedhis lips, and his gaze dartedback and forth. He knewhewasupshit’scanalandIwaseither going to carve him topieces,orbackoff.Thecruxof that decision was whetheror not he made himselfuseful.

Hebetterhopehegot

apaddleandnotasword.“TalktotheRusalka,”

hesaid.Hesquirmed,mouthpulling into a frown. “Thatbitch Natasha knowseverything that goes on inthesecanals.”

I stared at thegrindylow a few minuteslonger, and then drew asyringe from the foldsofmyskirt.Ipoppedthecap,knelt,and pressed the plunger as Ijammed the needle into the

grindylow’sarm.“What was that for?”

heasked,baringhisteeth.“Igaveyoutheinformationyouwanted.”

“It’s a trackingdevice,” I said. “I’m lettingyougo,thatwasthedeal,butthatdoesn’tmean Iwon’tbechecking up on you. And ifyou’ve lied to me, I’ll skinyoualiveandmakebootsoutofyourhide.”

“Fine, then set me

free!”heyelled.I set my jaw and

staredhimintheeye.“Fine,”Isaid,shifting

myweight. I could grab theknife and spin backwardbefore the grindy had achance toattempt revenge. Iwasn’t stupid. I didn’t trustthelittletoad.

I bared my teeth,leaving the grindylowwith afewpartingwords.

"I’llremovetheknife,

but you even think abouteatinganychildrenwhile I'mhere and I'll take you apartpiecebypiece.”

If he valued his life,he’d take those words toheart. Itwas that or a slow,painful death. The choicewasuptohim.

Chapter15

“It’s funny how wellyou can sleep after stabbingsomeone.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I slept late, finallycatching up onmuch neededsleep. It’s funny how well

you can sleep after stabbingsomeone, especially whenthat person might be ahomicidalkiller.Ipulledoutmy phone and checked thegrindylow’s location.Hewasstill near Rozenhoedkaai. Agrin touched my lips, but itdidn’treachmyeyes.

Iwould have liked tohavedonemorethanstabthegrindylow,butIhadnoproofthat he was our killer. Thefaecan’ttelloutrightlies,but

they were damned good attwistingthetruthtotheirownpurposes.Mygutwastellingme that he was guilty ofsomething, and I swore thatbeforeIlefttownI’ddiscoverwhatmischief thegrindyhadbeenup to. But rightnow, Ineeded to do some morediggingintotheserialmurdercase.

Istrodetothewindowand looked out onto thetraining grounds below.

There were archery targetsalong one of the stone wallsthat encircled the courtyardand Simon Chadwick wasthere practicing with acrossbow. I smiled andhurried as I rummagedthroughmythings,tossingonjeans, a lightweight sweater,boots,andmyleatherjacket.I added the necessaryaccessories—knives, stakes,garrote bracelet, silver crossnecklace—andheadedforthe

door.I looked back once

andsighed.Itwasbrightandsunny outside and I didn’twant to attract attentioncarrying the ski bag thatcontainedmysword,soIwasleaving it behind. I cast onelast longing glance at myfavorite blade and closed thedoor.

There was just onemorethingIneededfromthearmory.Itookthestairstwo

at a time, the sound of myboots echoing throughout theempty stairwell. Theguildhall was like a ghosttown except for the fact thatthere weren’t any actualghostshere. TheGuildmusthavespecialwardsinplacetokeep the dead out. If I evergot on Celeste’s good side,I’d have to ask her about it.That would be a handy spelltoknow.

I hurried into the

armory,makingabeeline forthetoolcounter.Thefocusofthe room was weapons andarmor, but the Guild alsostockedotherhandy items. Ireached for a pair of boltcutters,butIwentrigidatthescuffofshoeleatheronstone.

Chadwick wasoutside, and Celeste shouldbedownintheinfirmarywithMartens, so who was in theroomwithme?Ispunaroundto see a muscular man

grinning from the other sideoftheroomandjugglingtwogrenades. He was wearingcargo pants and a tank topwhichmade the fact he onlyhad one arm all the morenoticeable. The other armendedinametalhookshapedprosthetic.

The Guild had plentyofcrazy, thrill seeking types,but there was somethingabout this guy’s smile thatwas contagious. I returned

thesmile,raisinganeyebrow.“You do realize those

aren’t toys,” I said,gesturingto the grenades he continuedtojuggle.

Henodded.“And you realize

breaking and entering is acrime in Belgium, yes?” heasked, in a thick Russian orEasternEuropeanaccent.

“Don’tworry,I’mnotgoing on a crime spree,” Isaid, holding up the bolt

cutters. “Just crashing aparty.”

“You need to blowyour way in?” he asked.“Don’t let the arm fool you,I’m the best demolitions guyinthecity.”

“I’m guessing you’realso the only demolition’sguyinthecity,”Isaid.

“Shhh, don’t let mysecret out,” he said, holdinghis hook to his lips. “Don’ttell the others. You’ll ruin

myreputation.”“You’re secret is safe

withme,”Isaid.“Well now, since

we’re keeping each other’ssecrets, don’t you think it’stime you told me yourname?”heasked.

“Jenna, JennaLehane,”Isaid.

“Aleksey Zharkov,”hesaid.

Heliftedhishookandittookmeaminutetorealize

hewantedtobumpknuckles.I laughed and stuck out myfist. He now held thegrenades in his good handandinthecrookofhisarm.

“So, we blowing shitup or what?” he asked, eyessparkling.

Ishookmyhead.“Not this time,” I

said. “This is justascoutingrun. I want to know what’sbehinddoor numberone, butifdoornumbertwohasmore

than a padlock, you’ll be thefirsttoknow.”

“You know where tofind me,” he said. “Goodhunting.”

I grunted my thanksandleftthearmory,managingto make my way out of theguildhallwithoutrunningintoanyone else. There’d been aclose call when Chadwickhad come in off the trainingfield,butIduckedinbehindasuitofarmoruntilInolonger

heard the stomping of hisbootsonthestairs.ChadwickmightbemyassignedcontacthereatthelocalGuild,buthewas also a prick. I’d getmore done and save morelives if I just avoided hisinflatedegoandsenseofselfentitlement.

Once on the street, Istrode toward the canal.Thispart of the city lookeddifferent during the day, butone thing hadn’t changed.

The buildings on either sideof the street were filled withghosts. I avoided theirstaring eyes and walkedfaster.

Imade it to the canalin less than five minutes.Once there, I looked up anddown the street. SatisfiedthatIhadnolivingwitnesses,I jumped over the safetyrailing and hurried down theembankment, keeping mybodylowtotheground.

I came out of mycrouch where theembankment ended at thenarrow stone ledge. It wasstill covered in slimy algaeandmoss, but the slick stonewas easier to navigate indaylight. Humming a songI’d heard in the airportyesterday, I shimmied acrossthe ledge without incident,dropping into the darknessbeneaththebridgeinseconds.

I was making good

time.IfIwasquickaboutit,I could explore the tunnelsbeyond the locked gate I’ddiscovered last night and beback in time for a quickshowerandlunchwithAsh.

I clicked on myflashlight and pulled the boltcuttersfromwhereI’dtuckedthem into the back of myjeans, hidden beneath myjacket. Someone hadshortened the handles,making them easier to carry,

likea sawedoff shotgun,butit also made them moredifficulttouse.

It tookmea few triesbefore cutting completelythrough the padlock, but itfinally dropped to the stoneplatform with a thud. Thesound echoed down thetunnel,andIflashedmylightintothedarkness.

I cocked my head tothe side and listened for thetelltalesoundoffootsteps,but

the only sounds were thesqueak of rats and thedripping of water. Satisfiedthat I was alone, I wrenchedthemetalgridawayfromtheopening, revealing a tunnelthatwaslargeenoughfortwoadulthumanstowalkuprightside-by-side.

I left the bolt cuttersunder the bridge and drewone of my knives. Leadingwith the flashlight inmy lefthand, I held my knife in a

hammer grip, elbows at mysides.Sidesteppingapooloffoul smelling liquid, I strodeintothetunnel.

Igasped,nearlylosingmy footing as my boot hit aslick surface as slippery asice.Damn,thatwasclose.Ididnotwanttoenduponmyass in a sewer pipe. Igrimaced,shining the lightatmy feetandalong thewalls.The tunnel was coated inthickslime.

I frowned andcontinued forward, gingerlysteppingthroughthefilth.Insome places it looked likesomething had been draggedthrough the sludge. If it hadbeenoneofourvictims,Ijusthopedtheywerealreadydeadat the time. That liquidsmelledliketheassendofanogre.

I grit my teeth andtriedtoholdmybreathuntilIstarted to see stars.

Grimacing, I inhaledshallowly, but the sparks oflightdidn’tgoaway.

“What the hell?” Imuttered.

I’d come to a metaldoorset into thetunnel. Thebottom of the door hadnarrowopeningsforallowingthe flow of sewage, but therest of the door was solidmetal.Icouldn’tseeintothetunnel beyond, but I had afeeling that the monster

behind the killings had spenttimehere. Therewerebonesstrewnallaroundthedoor.

Iliftedwhatmayhavebeen a femur from the floorand probed at the sparklingair in front of thedoor. Thebone kicked out of my handand I was flung down thetunnel, my boots sliding inthemuck. I shookmy headand glared at the shiftinglight.

Sonofabitch.

The door was sealedby magic, warded againstbeingopened from this side.Istraightenedandreturnedtoexamine the area around thedoor more closely. There,engraved into the stone oneithersideofthedoorwereaseriesofstrangesymbols.

Isighedandtracedthedesignwithmyeyes.MaybeI could convince Celeste tocome down here and take alook at it—if she was still

talking tome. Thatwasonebridge I probably shouldn’thave burned. Funny how Imanaged to alienate myselffromthelocalGuildmembersin less time than it takes tomakeapotofcoffee.

I shook my head andscowled at the magicallysealed door. For now, therewasnothingelseIcoulddo.Iwasn’tmakingitthroughthatdoor without the help of awitch.

A skull leered at mefrom thepile of bones atmyfeetandIfrowned.I’dhopedthisleadwouldpanout,butIwasn’t getting any answersfromthesetunnelstoday.

Itwasadeadend.

Chapter16

“Dead bodies carry auniquesmellofrotanddecaythat’shardtoforget.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

A few of therestaurant patrons gave mefunny looks, and I felt heat

rising tomyface. Did I stillsmelllikethesewers?Ihadafeeling thatmy hasty showerhadn’tbeenaseffectiveasI’dhoped. It was a good thingthat Ash had no sense ofsmell.

Then again, maybetheywerejustappalledatthewayhisscarfclashedwithhishat and vest. Today he waswearing a lime greenpatterned scarf that lookedpaisley, but on closer

inspectionwasariotofwhiteandredzombieunicorns.Healsohadonhistatteredfedorawith the purple and greenfeathers, and an orange andblack pinstriped vest thatmade him look like somekindofHalloweenmobboss.

The overall effectadded to the headache, that Isuspectedwasfrommycloseproximity to a group ofgiggling ghosts who weretittering at us from behind

lacehankies.Imassagedmytemples and ordered a blackcoffeeandtheFlemishstew.

“Willthatbeall?”thewaiterasked.

Ishruggedandwaveda hand at Ash sitting acrossthecafétable.

“I don’t know, askhim,”Isaid.

The waiter lookedover atAsh,whowavedhimoff. The waiter fumbled hisorder pad and hastily backed

away, muttering somethingabout crazy Americans. Heseemedalltoohappytomakehis escape. Maybe I lookedasgrumpyasIfelt.

I leaned back in mychairandletoutagroan.

“Long night?” Ashasked.

“Youhavenoidea,”Isaid.

“I find that oddlyreassuring,”hesaid.

“How’s that?” I

asked.A kid in an apron

broughtmemy coffee, and Itookasip. Itwasstrongandblack and came with asprinklingofchocolate. I letoutadeep,gratifiedsigh.ByAthena,thatwasgood.

“It means, love, I’mglad you’re not as stodgy asyou look,” he said with awink.

“Stodgy?”Iasked.“Aye, priggish,” he

said.Irolledmyeyes.“If you’re going to

insult me, at least speakEnglish,” Imuttered intomycoffeecup.

Ashsmiledandleanedforward.

“So, tell me all thegorydetails,”hesaid.

“About what?” Iasked.

“Your night on thetown,” he said. “What do

youthinkofBruges?”I tilted my head,

considering my night. I’dbeen attacked by a canalspider, rummaged throughsome old bones, hung outwith a disemboweled child,andstabbedagrindylow.ButI was pretty sure thoseweren’t the kind of gorydetailsAshwasafter.

“I almost fell in thecanal,” I said, a grin tuggingatmylips.

Hiseyesgleamed,andone of his eyebrows becamelost beneath the brim of hishat.

“And?”heasked.“And now I have a

headache,”Isaid.He let out a pleased

laugh.“You’llhavetoletme

showyouanightonthetownbeforeyouscamper,”hesaid.

Ishookmyhead.“I don’t think you

could handle a night withme,”Isaid.

“Isthataninvitation?”heasked.

I let out a strangledngh.

“Youare themost…”Istarted,atalossforwords.

“Handsome,charming,witty,”hesaid.

“I was thinking morelikearrogantandirritating,”Isaid,stabbingatmyfood.

Thedishhadappeared

seconds before, delivered bya wide-eyed bus boy whoobviously didn’t want to getcaught in our argument. Iscowled and chewed thechunks of meat andvegetables. Why did everyconversation with Ash havetoturnintoanargument?

More importantly,whatwasIdoingstillhangingoutwiththeguy?

“Hey,” I said,narrowingmyeyesatAsh.“I

thought the whole point ofthis lunchwasmepayingoffmydebt.Aren’tyougoingtoeat something? It’s on mydime.”

Yes, he’d won ourrace to the top of the belltower.Ihadnoideahowthatwas possible. The way theguy smoked, he should havebeen winded after the firsthundredstepsorso.

“No, love,” he said.“Youcanpaymebackwitha

walk along MinnewaterLake.”

The Lake of Love?He had to be kidding. Butthathadbeenwhere I’d seena gathering of swanmaidensyesterday. Now that I waswearingfaerieointment,therewasagoodchanceI’dbeableto see what the fae were upto. With Ash at my side,we’d look like just anotheryoung couple hell-bent on aromanticwalk.

“Fine,” I said, lettingout a sigh. “But that’s it. Itold you before. I’m not onvacation.”

“I know, I know,” hesaid, waving his handdismissively. “But all workand no play make Jenna astodgygirl.”

I scraped my bowlcleanandeyedmycoffeecuplongingly, but I didn’t haveall day to sit around on myass. I needed to figure out

what was going on in thiscity’s supernaturalcommunity before anotherbodyturnedupinthecanals.

At least I wouldn’thave to listen to thosetittering ghosts anymore. IstoodanddroppedafewEuronotes on the table, andmuttered, “so what’s sogoddamned funny?” as Ipassed their table. That justmade the ghosts laughharder. Acouple at thenext

table over looked apoplectic,but they kept their eyesstudiouslyaverted.

I shook my head.Damn ghosts. They had ahabitofmakingme look likeacrazyperson.

I hurried away fromthecafé,followingAshdowna familiar street. We wereheadingback in thedirectionwe’d come yesterday on ourwalkfromthetrainstation.Ismiled, noting a few

recognizable landmarks. Iwasfinallystartingtoget thehangofthisplace.

But when we turnedthe corner, near a fountainwith carved horse heads, thestretch of green along thecanalwasempty.Ihurriedtoa nearby railing, leaning asfarasIcouldtogetalookatthe water below. There wasnothingherebutahandfulofducksandamundanepairofswans.

The swan maidensweregone.

“What’s the matter,love?” Ash asked, leaningagainsttherailing.

Helookedlikehewasposing for a fashionmagazine, though I doubtedeven runway models wouldbe caught dead wearing thatoutfit.

“Where are theswans?” I asked, hurryingalong the railing for a better

look.Ash sighed, but

followed.“They’re right there,”

he said, pointing at the twowhitebirdsswimmingbelow.

It was my turn tosigh.Igritmyteethandtriednot tosnapathim. Itwasn’tcompletelyhis fault. It’snotlike I could tell him that thebirds I was looking for werereallyshapeshiftingfaeries.

“But, therewere a lot

more of them yesterday,” Isaid.

Something had theswanmaidensspooked.

“You have a point,”he said, scanning the shoreforsignsof theelusivewaterfowl. The skin around hiseyes tightened and hefrowned, butwhen he turnedaround again the look wasgone.

“Ohwell,”Isaidwitha shrug. “I guess I should

have taken a better look atthemyesterday.”

“Bit difficult toadmire the beauty of thecity’s heraldic bird whenyou’re throwing yourself infront of a moving carriage,”hesaidwithasmirk.

“Damn it, Ash,” Isaid,shakingmyhead.“Thatwasanaccident.”

“Wellthen,we’llhavetobecarefulonourwalk,”hesaid, holding out his arm.

“We don’t want any moreaccidents.”

I pushed past,ignoringhisarm,andwalkeddowntowardthelake.Butaswe stepped onto the bridgethat sat just above the lockgate, where the canal metMinnewater Lake, I was hitwith a vile stench and thistimeithadnothingtodowiththesewers.

The smell of deathwas unmistakable. Dead

bodiescarryauniquesmellofrot and decay that’s hard toforget. Unfortunately, I’dbeenaroundmy fair shareofdeadpeople.

There had beenanothermurder.Iwassureofit.

Chapter17

“Younevercanbetoocareful with a supernaturalpredatorontheloose.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I had to wait untillater that evening toinvestigate the lock gate.

During the daytimeMinnewater Park was filledwith tourists. But now theplacewasstillasthegrave.

I shivered, pulling uptheneckofmyleatherjacket.Nighthad fallenand lanternscast themouths of doorwaysand alleys into ink blackshadow.

Standinginasecludedspot beside the back wall oftheBeguinage, Iwatched forany sign ofmovement. You

nevercanbetoocarefulwithasupernaturalpredatorontheloose—I wasn’t the onlyhunterwhostalkedthecityatnight.

Mist rolled in off thelake, swallowing thelandscape. It took patience,but I studied the shifting foguntil I was certain of mysurroundings.

The swan maidensweregone. Wherever they’dflownoffto,theyweren’tyet

ready tocomeoutofhiding.If what I’d smelled earlierwasanyindication,Icouldn’tblame them. Swan maidensthrive on the happy energythat humans give off whenthey’re in love or lust, butsomeonehadleftanastylittlegiftintheirlovenest.

There’snothing likeadeadbodytoruinthemood.

Satisfied that therewere no obvious threats, Islipped through the shadows

towardthelockgate.Insteadofwalkingoutontothestonebridge, Islunga legover themetalrailingdesignedtokeeptourists from disturbing theswans. Once I was past therailing,Icrouchedandmoveddowntothewater’sedge.

LookingbackthewayI’dcome,Icheckedthestreetonemoretimebeforeturningon my flashlight. I directedthe beam of light under thebridgetothelockgateitself.

There was an assortment offloating detritus; grassclippings,leaves,aStyrofoamcup—andadeadbody.

I shook my head andswore. I’d hoped that itwouldbe thebodyof a riverrat, or maybe even a deadswan, but the victim washuman. Ourkiller had takenanotherlife.

I turned off theflashlight and dialed the oneperson who could help me

retrieve a body and transportitbacktotheGuild’smorgue.

“Hello?” BenjaminMartens’ sleepy voiceanswered.

“What’s up,Doc?” Iasked.

“Abootupyourassiswhat’sup,”hesaid.“Doyouhave any idea what time itis?”

I heard the sound offabric against vinyl as he satup.Martensmusthavefallen

asleepon the cheapcouch intheinfirmary’swaitingroom.

“Yes,it’stimeyougotyourgrouchyoldassdowntothe lock gate at MinnewaterLake,”Isaid.

“And why the hellwouldIdothat?”heasked.

“Because we haveourselves another deadbody,”Isaid.

Martens swore andhung up. I guess the guywasn’tamorningperson.Or,

maybehe just didn’t likemeverymuch. I’d given him ahard time about the lack ofinformation in his autopsyreports and then tossed himthe responsibility of gettingCeleste sober. I probablywasn’t his favorite personrightnow.

WhileIwaitedforthedoctor,Isnappedoffpicturesof the crime scene with mycell phone and poked aroundthe embankment. When

Martens pulled up with theGuild’s hearse, I’d alreadypulledabranchdown fromanearby tree and used it tosteerthebodytoshore.

“You better not bewasting my time withsomeone’sdeadcat,”Martenssaid, stumbling down theembankment.

“I know what a deadbodylookslike,Doc,”Isaid.I tapped my foot, fidgetingwith thebranch inmyhand.

“Can I bring the body onshore?”

I’d waited for thedoctor out of respect for hispositionwithintheGuild,butnow I wondered why I evenbothered. His shirt buttonswere done upwrong, and hesmelled like cheap beer. Henodded an affirmative andswayedonhisfeet.

I shook my head andgrabbed hold of the corpse,dragging it onto shore. At

another nod from Martens, Iflipped the body over.Martensletoutaheavysigh.

“Come on,” he said.“Help me get this up to thehearse. Weneed better lightthan this if I’m going todeterminecauseofdeath.”

From the look of thebody, I’d say we needed agardenhose. Thedeadman,or woman, was covered inmud, matted leaves, anddarker stains that were

probablyblood.I’dhopedtolearnmoreaboutourkillerassoon aswe pulled the victimfrom the canal, but Martenswas right. Weneeded togetthebodybacktothemorgue.

I nodded and weproceededtodothegrislyjobof hoisting the waterloggedcorpseintoabodybag,ontoaportable stretcher, andcarrying it up theembankment.Oncewehaditsafely stored inside the

hearse, with none of thecitizensofBrugesthewiser,Ismiled.

“Good thing you hadahearse,”Isaid.“I’dhatetotry getting a body into mostofthecompactcarsyouguysdrivehere.”

“It’s the Guild’s,” hesaid. “Comes in handy forsituationslikethese.”

I started to walktoward the passenger door,butMartensshookhishead.

“You’regoingtohaveto ride in the far back,” hesaid.

“With the corpse?” Iasked,incredulous.

“Sorry, no room uphere,”hesaid.

It was then that Inoticed the sleeping bag inthe back seat along with abasket of clothes and emptyfoodwrappers.

“You living in here,Doc?”Iasked.

Therewere also kid’sthings in the front seat, adiscarded doll and somebooks. Was he living herewith his kid? I shook myhead andwalked to the backof the hearse. With afrustratedgrowl,Iclimbedin,pulledthedoorshut,andslidinnexttothebody.

I tried breathing inthrough my mouth, ignoringthe swampy, fishy smell ofthe canal and the putrid

stenchofdeath.“Things have been

tough since my wife died,”Martens said, pulling awayfromthecurb.

His words were awelcome distraction and Itriedtoignoremyseatmate.

“Sorry,”Isaid.“Don’t be,” he said.

“ShewasaHunter,sheknewtherisks.”

Silence descended onthe hearse, but I had no idea

what to say to lighten themood. I wasmuch better atkillingmonsters than dealingwithpeople.

At theGuild,Martenspulled the hearse into anunderground garage with abaydoorthatleddirectlyintothemorgue.Whenheturnedthe motor off, I hopped outand helped him with thebody. I was anxious to findout if this victim could giveussomeanswers,butMartens

paused before going furtherintothebuilding.

“Look, you seem likeagoodkid,”hesaid.“Iknowyouwanttomakeanameforyourself while you’re here.It’sasaplainasdaythatyouhavesomethingtoprove.Butkeep in mind that you’re along way from home, andMaster Peeters isn’t here torollout thewelcomewagon.Soletmegiveyouawordofadvice; stay off Chad’s

radar.”“Are you telling me

not to do my job?” I asked,folding my arms across mychest.

“I’m telling you tokeep your head down,” hesaid. “Chad’s a zealot whohates women in the guildalmost as much as he hatessupernaturals.”

“Likewitches,”Isaid.What he said about

Chadwick tracked. I’d seen

how theguy treatedCeleste.Iwouldn’t be surprised if hewaspartlyresponsibleforherMandragoraaddiction.

“Precisely,” he said,nodding. “He says thatwomen and supernaturalsdilutethepurityoftheGuild.Hewon’tstandbyandwatchas some girl steals hislimelight.”

I grimaced and shookmyhead.

“This isn’t a game I

can throw,” I said. “Theseare people’s lives at stake.I’m not backing downbecause some prick has aproblemwithwomen.”

“Well,doyourbesttostay away from him whileyou’re here,” he said. “He’stroubleandIdon’ttrusthim.”

“I’mabiggirl,”Isaidwith more confidence than Iwasfeeling. “I’vedealtwithmacho assholes before, butthanksfortheheads-up.”

Henoddedandwegotback towork. Oncewe hadthe corpse on the autopsytable, Martens unzipped thebodybag.Itookastepback,wrinkling my nose at thestench.

Martens pulled downahoseandstartedrinsingoffthebody,makingnotesintoarecording device as heworked. When he came tothevictim’sneck,hepaused.

“What?” I asked,

leaning forward. “Did youfindsomething?”

“Holdon,letmegetabetter look,” he said. Heexamined the neck with ahandheld magnifier andsighed.“Here,takealook.”

Martens stepped outofthewayandofferedmethemagnifier, but I didn’t needit. I’d seen plenty of bitemarks that matched thepuncture wounds on thevictim’sneck. It looked like

our serial murders were theworkofvampires.

Vampires,ofcourseitwasvampires.

Chapter18

“Faeries love tobargain, and that desire canbecometheirdownfall.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Now that I knewvamps were to blame, theirinvolvement seemed

obvious. I should havefigured it out sooner. Theclues were dotted here andtherelikebloodsplatters.

I wanted to grab theGuild’switchandrunoutandbust throughthatmagicwardin the sewers, but MartensremindedmethatCelestewasstill recovering from thewithdrawal symptoms, thatwere a result of mymeddling. He insisted Igivethe young woman one more

night to recover. I’dgrumbled, but the doctordidn’tbackdown.

That’s what I got fortrying to be helpful. With aheavy sigh, I geared up andheaded out to have a littlechat with the localsupernatural gossip. If Icouldn’t stake some vamps,then at least I could armmyselfwithknowledgeaboutthe local supernaturalhierarchy.

AquickcalltoDarrylLambert, the Guild archivist,confirmed that the rusalkaNatasha could usually befound down near the boatdocks. So now here I was,overlooking the docks,crouching in the shadow oftheBlinde-Ezelstraatbridge.

At the bottom of aflightofwoodensteps,bathedin the glow of a streetlight,sat a beautiful woman withpale skin and emerald green

hair.Shedippedherfeetintothe canal and her skinsprouted iridescentgreenandblue fish scaleswherever thewatertouched.Therhythmicshifting of color as shesplashed her feet washypnotic, and I shook myhead.

Rusalki were notoverly powerful faeries, butthat didn’t mean the waternymph wasn’t deadly. Likemermaids, rusalki use their

beautyandthemagicoftheirvoices to lure their victimsintoawaterygrave.

Natasha was sittingcombing her hair, and sheappeared to be alone. Iwasn’t afraid of one rusalka,but I wasn’t so confident ofmyoddsifhersistersshoweduptotheparty.Ibetterkeepthisbrief.

I pasted on a smile,checked thedrawofmy irondagger, and strode out of the

shadows ontoHuidenvettersplein. At thetop of the stairs, I paused,waiting for the rusalka toacknowledgemypresence.

“Hail, Natasha,” Isaid. “I’ve come to bargainforinformation.”

The comb inNatasha’s hand froze mid-stroke,andsheturnedtofaceme. She licked her lips andbeckoned me forward.Faeries love to bargain, and

that desire can become theirdownfall. I could tell that Ialready had this water fae’sattention—hook, line, andsinker.

The woman wasbeautiful, but there was nowarmth in her smile. Hereyes were glowing chips ofice, and her lips were thecoloroffrozenblood.

“WhatanswersdoyouseekHunter?”sheasked.

Her voice was like

beautifulmusicburblingfromher lips and I had to digmyfingernails into the palm ofmyhandtostayfocused.ByAthena, she wasn’t evensinging.

“Iwanttoknowaboutthe bodies in the canals,” Isaid.

“And what will yougive me in return?” sheasked.

She wet her lips andlanguidly stretched and

crossedher legs,showingoffher body to perfection.Luckily forme, Iwasn’t intowomen, or trading sex forsecrets. That was adownward spiral that, in thiscase, would lead me to thebottomofthecanal.

“HowaboutIpromisenottokillyou,”Isaid.

Her eyes blazed withgreenlight,andshehissed.

“Youdarethreatenmeon the threshold of my

home?”sheasked.“Thinkofitasbuying

aninsurancepolicy,”Isaid.Of course, if I found

out that Natasha was killinginnocent humans, I’d makesure she ended up dead. Bythe terms of the bargain, herdeath couldn’t be by myhand. That didn’t mean Icouldn’tenlistanotherHuntertodothejob.

She tilted her head,considering the offer.

Finally, she laughed andnodded.

“Verywell,”shesaid.“You promise not to harmme, ormy sisters, and Iwillgive you information aboutthekillings.”

Crap,Ihadn’tplannedon giving her sisters a freepass,butthereitwas.Itwasnearly impossible to outbargainafaerie.

“Done,”Isaid.“The undead are

draining humans anddumping the bodies in thecanals,”shesaid.

“Vampires,” I said,spittingouttheword.

“Yes,”shesaid.“Some vampires are

dumping bodies while someof the ghoul servants arebeingmorecareful,”shesaid.

“More careful?” Iasked.

“Yes,” she said, thecadenceofhervoicewaslike

the hypnotic rise and fall ofwaves. “The ghouls dumponly the bones they’vestrippedbareofflesh.”

So, the ghouls werebetteratcleaningupthetablescraps? Good for them. Ghouls were just thevampire’sservants. Iwantedtheonesdoingthekillings.

I paced the dock,keeping a wary eye on therusalka.

“Where can I find

these vampires?” I asked.“Are they down in thesewers?”

“There are vampiresinthesewers,yes,”shesaid.“The undead prefer thelightless tunnels to the citystreets.”

I knew it! I poundedmy fist into my other hand.Damned leeches. Thebastards must be using thatmagicallysealedsewertunnelfor dumping the bodies into

the canals. I needed to getCelestetohelpmetakedownthat ward tomorrow. Wecouldn’t allow another nightofkillings.

I blinked, realizingthat I still had no idea whythe local vamps had changedtheirfeedinghabits.

“Any idea why thevampires are on a killingspree?”Iasked.

Natasha leanedforward, a slow smile

buildingonherlips.“Perhaps a better

question is,why one of yourHuntersishelpingthem?”shesaid.

Therewas a traitor inourmidst.

“No,”Igasped.She threw her head

back and laughed. I turnedaway, hurrying back to theGuild, the rusalka’s laughterhoundingmyfootsteps.

Chapter19

“Faeriescannottellanoutright lie, but they sure asshit know how tomanipulate.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I took a deep breathandbentdown,handsonmy

knees.Comeon,Jenna,calmthe hell down. Runningblindly through the streetswasn’t going to do anyoneany good. Neither wasbursting into the Guild andpointingfingers.

I couldn’t letNatasha’s words make mesloppy.Faeriescannottellanoutright lie, but they sure asshitknowhowtomanipulate.

“I am nobody’spawn,”Imuttered.

But my mind wasalready racing, analyzingevery member of the localGuild. Who was doing thevampire’s dirty work?Benjamin Martens’ autopsyreports had lacked crucialdetails,andhewaslivingoutof thecompanyhearse,soheobviously could use themoney. That made him asuspect,thoughhewasn’ttheonlyone.

Was Celeste’s

Mandragora addiction ameans of stifling the pain ofguilt? Or, perhaps she owedher drug supplier moremoneythanshemadehuntingmonsters.Itwashardtosay.

It was even harder tosee how Darryl Lambertcouldbeourtraitor,thoughinhis service to the Guild he’dlost something irreplaceable.Perhaps behind that friendlysmilelayanangrymanwithavendetta.

ThentherewasChad.Simon Chadwick was anasshole, and Martens didn’ttrust him. For that matter,neither did I. But wouldsomeone like Chadwick sethis ideals, twisted as theymay be, aside to betray theGuild?

Maybe thedemolitions expert was amore logical choice fortraitor.AlekseyZharkovwasobviouslyathrillseeker,and,

fromwhatI’dseen,theGuildhadn’tprovidedhimwith thebest prosthetic money couldbuy.Itwasn’ttoomuchofastretch to see Zharkovplayingthedoubleagent.

Ishookmyhead. I’dheard about paying an armand a leg, but these theorieswere getting outrageous. Irubbedmyface.I’msurethiswould all make more senseafteragoodnight’ssleep.

“Help!”

A woman’s screampierced the night and allthoughts of sleep fled asadrenaline pumped throughmybody.Isprinteddownthestreet in the direction of thewoman’s cry, scanning thesidewalksandalleyways,andlistening for any sign oftrouble.

“Please, somebodyhelpme!”

Thevoicewasweakernow,but Inodded tomyself,

suddenly sure of where theattackwastakingplace.Iputonmorespeed,vaultedoverametalrailing,andraceddownthe embankment toward thecanal. The woman’s screamhad come from beneath thebridge—the same bridge thathid the mouth of the sewertunnel with the bloody grateandmagicallywardeddoor.

I palmed a silvercombat knife and a woodenstake as I ran, a fierce snarl

curling my lips. I was notgoing to allow anothervampire kill. Not on mywatch.

Heart pounding, Ieyedthenarrowledgeleadinginto the dancing shadowsbeneath the bridge. TherewasnowayIcouldmakemyway across that expanse ofmoss slick stone withoutdiscardingmyweapons.

“Damn,”Imuttered.I shoved the wooden

stakeintoaloopinmybattleskirt and bit down on thesilver knife, holding itbetween my teeth. I’d needboth hands free to make theclimb to thebridge. If Iwasdealingwithvamps,I’dratherleadwith the stake, but therewas a chance that thiswas amugging or rape. Vampiresweren’t the only monstersthatpreyedontheweak.

Itwouldbe foolish tobringastaketoaknifefight.

Everyoneknowsthat.Shoulders tight, I

shimmiedacrosstheledge.Iwas exposed, vulnerable, butthe whimpering sound aheadofmekeptmegoing.Asmyfoothitthewetplatformwitha splash, a clawed handgrabbed my leg in an irongrip.

My attacker wasn’thuman.

I slashedoutwith thesilver knife and the hand

retreated, leaving behind asearingpaininmycalfwherethe creature’s talons hadpunctured flesh. Workingfast, I retrieved the woodenstakeand,with a flickof thewrist,turnedonmyflashlightand tossed it into theshadows. The flashlightspun,illuminatingacrumpledheap near the iron grate andthree vampires: one to myleft,onetomyright,andonescuttling along the ceiling

likeacockroach.It was a goddamned

ambush.I didn’t know if the

woman crumpled on thegroundwasstillaliveornot.Her cries had ceased, buttherewas nothing I could doforheratthemoment.Iwastoobusytryingtostayalive.

I spun to the left,slashing upward with thesilverknife.Thevampontheceiling hissed and scuttled to

the right, giving me somebreathing room. I shivered,my subconscious mindreeling in horror. Thesevamps weren’t evenbothering to maintain aglamour. Instead of beingdrop dead gorgeous, theseguys were just dead—as inmummified.

Skin the color andtexture of dried parchmentwas stretched tightly overskeletal bodies that moved

withan insectile,aliengrace,but their grinning facesweretheworst. I’ve seen a lot ofmonstersduringmytimeasaHunter,butthere’ssomethingabout the fanged, rictus grinofavampire thatgivesagirlchills—and not the romantickind.

As soon as a vampirediesitsfirstdeath,theirbodybeginstodehydrate.It’spartof what makes them appearso monstrous in their true

form.There’sjustsomethingnauseating about seeing sucha grotesque caricature of ahuman moving aroundanimatedwithlife.

These vamps withtheir empty eye sockets andgaping sinus cavities were aprime example. As avampire’s body deteriorates,the soft tissue is the first togo, which makes for somebuttuglyvampires.Drinkingblood helps, but nothing can

fully restore life, not evennecromancy. Vamps arenothing more than dried up,walkingcorpses.

Too bad theirdesiccated bodies don’t slowthemdown.

If I was going tosurvive this, I’d have to outthink my opponents. Ifeignedaminorstumble,andthe vamp on my left didn’thesitate.Themonsterlungedin, fangs bared, the hollow

pits of his eyes intent onmyjugular.One,two,three…

HeclosedthedistanceandIthrustthewoodenstakeup beneath his ribcage andinto his chest cavity. Thevamp froze, completelyparalyzed, and I knew I’dstakedhimthroughtheheart.It wouldn’t kill him, but itwould keep him out of thefight until I had the time tofinish him off—and add hisfangstomynecklace.

Igrinned,showingmyownsmall,whiteteeth.

“Okay, boys,” I said.“Who’snext?”

Idrewmysword,nowglad I’d worn my huntinggear to my visit with therusalka. I’d had a feeling Imight need my favoriteblade.IguessIwasright.

Lightning fast, thevampstruck. Onesecondhewas circling to my righttrying to flank me, and the

next he was tearing away achunkofmy flesh. The ironandsilvercoatedsteelboningof my corset deflected theworstoftheattack,butoneofhis talons managed to slashthroughthespacebetween.

I heard the sizzle ofhisclaws,knowing the silverwaseatingawayatthetipsofthe talons that scored acrossmyabdomenandflank. I letout a satisfied grunt, but thezing of pleasure was

premature.Hotbloodleakedfrom

mysideandthetwovampiresshriekedinhunger.Shit.Thebloodwasstirringthemintoafeeding frenzy. I had to endthis now, or I’d be the bodythey’d find in the canaltomorrow.

I drove my swordthroughtheair,separatingthevampire’s head from hisbody.Thecreaturecontinuedto cling to the ceiling for a

moment, but when the headhit the cement with a meatythud,bothpiecesofthebeastburstintoash.

The sound of thevamp’s falling head stillechoed throughout thechamber beneath the bridgeas ash fell like grisly snow.The remaining vamp and Iwarily circled each other,searching for a weakness.Vampires like to play withtheir food, but I didn’t kid

myself. Saliva was drippingfromhiselongated fangsanda leathery tongue darted outtolickdry,paperylips.

If I gave this one theopportunity, he’d go straightforthekill.

Istruggledtokeepmysword up and shifted myweight to allow for thewoundsinmylegandside.Iswallowed hard and grit myteeth. Everymove tuggedatthe edges of the gash in my

side, making it burn andbleed.

My knuckleswhitened as I increased thegrip on my sword, readyingforthekill.

“Jenna!” a familiarvoice cried out. “Behindyou!”

I dropped to theground and rolled, neverhesitating. As I came tomyfeet, I faced not one vamp,but two. A female, judging

fromthesaggingbreasts,hadjoinedtheparty.Iflickedmyeyes to thegroundwhere the“victim” had been curled upjustmomentsbefore.

Thewomanwasgone.“You smell delicious,

ma chérie,” said the femalevampire.

Oh yeah, this hadbeen a trap from the verybeginning. I let out a lowgrowl,butitwascutshortbymovement over the vamp’s

shoulder. Ash was runningdown the embankment,reaching into his guitar caseasherushedtowardus.

No! The fool, whatwas he going to do, bashthem over the head with hisguitar? But I lost sight ofAshasthemalevamplungedfrom the side, barreling intome like a freight train. Myheadhitthestonewallwithasickening crack and thechamberfelloutoffocus.

“Jenna!”Ashcried.I blinked rapidly,

clearing my vision. Thevamp was tearing at myleatherjacket,tryingtogettomy neck, but he was slowedby the silver mesh I’d sewninto the collar’s lining. Ipulled a stake frommy belt,turned it in my fist, andshoved it up through his gutforallIwasworth.

Once the vamp wasparalyzed,Iusedmyswordto

takehishead.Aranciddeathrattlepassedhislipsbeforeheexploded in a cloud of ash.Duh, duh, duh, another onebites the dust. The old rocksong ran in the background,my addled brain giving themoment a ridiculoussoundtrack. I snorted andshookmyhead.

Bigmistake.I dropped my sword

with a gasp. The bridgeabove my head started

spinning, and I bit the insideofmycheektomakeitstop.Either I’d suffered a minorconcussion, or I’d lost moreblood than I thought. Eitherwayitwastimetogetupandsave Ash’s ass before theidiot became the femalevamp’sdinnerdate.

Knees wobbly, Igrabbed hold of the damp,stonewall and pulledmyselfupright. I blinked, staringopen mouthed at the scene

beforeme.Thefemalevampwas immobile, staked to theground, and Ash faced offagainst three more vampswhowere pouring out of thetunnellikesewerrats.

I grabbed my swordand rushed forward as thefirst vamp went downbeneath Ash’s blade. Hehadn’t been carrying amusical instrument in hisguitar case. He’d beencarryingasword.Wefought

alongsideeachother,slippinginto the easy rhythm ofpracticedmovements.

It was a good thing Iwent throughmy kata daily.Afterthatblowtothehead,Iwas letting muscle memorylead my sword through eachblockandstab.

As the last vampexploded in a cloud of ashanddust,Iturnedtostudytheman at my side. He wipedhisswordonthepantsofone

of the two staked vampires,whowerestillstaringblindlyfrom the groundwhere we’dleft them, and he flashed arueful grin from beneath hisridiculous hat. We wereclose in age,withAsh beingjustafewyearsolder,andhemoved with a strength andgrace I hadn’t noticed untilnow.

I shook my head.Therewasnomistakingit.

AshwasaHunter.

“Sonofabitch.”

Chapter20

“Interrogations don’tgo so well when the personasking the questions ishunchedoverinpain.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

“You and I are goingtotalk,”Isaid,narrowingmy

eyesatAsh.He sighed andmoved

away from where I stood,keeping his eyes on thevampireswe’d left staked onthe ground. There wasnothing left of the othervampires, nothing but dustandash.

“Right, then,” Ashsaid, nudging the femalevamp with the toe of hisboot. “What should we dowiththesetwo?”

I crouched downbeside the vamps and shonethe flashlight along theirbodies. Now that the onlything they had left to pleadwith was their eyes, they’dgrabbed hold of theirglamour, making them looklikeyoungfashionmodels.Iguess trying to plead withempty eye sockets was lesseffective.

But even with thevamps staked into

immobility, Iwascarefulnotto hold their gaze. The lastthing we needed was tobecome mesmerized intosettingthemfree.Thatwouldnotendwell.

I slipped on a pair ofgloves and, wrinkling mynose in disgust, proceeded torun my hands through theirhair, down their bodies, andinside the pockets of theirclothes. All I found was astrangeridgeofscartissueon

thesmalloftheirbacks.“Help me roll them

over,”Isaid.I flipped the female

vampfacedownanddraggedone of my arms across myforehead to wipe sweat frommyeyes.

“What theblueblazesis that?”Ash asked, pointingat the male vampire’s lowerback.

There, like a trampstamp, on the back of both

vampires, was a strangesymbollikeafleur-de-lis.

“They’ve beenmarked,” I said. Ash raisedan eyebrow, and I continuedon. “Some vampire mastersmarktheirpeople.”

“Like brandingcattle,”hesaid.

“Yes, except a cattlebrand would set a fangheadonfire,”Isaid.“Notasmartthingtodotoone’sproperty.Soinstead,theyusesilver.”

“Bloody hell, theycarve their mark into thevamp’s flesh and pack silverundertheskin?”heasked.

“Yes,” I said,snapping off a picture of themarkings with my phone.The pictures might help usidentify which vampiremasterweweredealingwith.

Ash dragged over thelastvamp,oneof theones topour out of the tunnel. I’dnearly forgotten about the

vamp, since he was nearlyrealdead. Hisheaddangledoddly,partlyseveredfromhisbody.Igrimaced,butatleastthere wasn’t much blood.This vampire hadn’t fedrecently.

Ash unceremoniouslyrolledhimover,facefirstintoa puddle, and pulled up theman’s shirt. My eyeswidenedasIleaneddownforacloserlook.

“That’s interesting,” I

said,shiningtheflashlightonthevampire’sback.

“Is that a lion?” Ashasked, tilting his head to theside.

That was a goodquestion.Betteryet,whywasthis marking different fromtheothers?

“I wonder what thedifferent markings mean,” Isaid, taking a picture of thelionshapedsymbol.

“Maybe different

ranks within the nest?” heasked.

I brought my sworddownacrossthevamp’sneck,finishing him off, and wentover to do the same to theothertwo.

“Maybe,”Isaidwithashrug.

I sheathed my swordandbegansiftingthroughtheash.

“What are youlooking for now?” he asked.

“I thought you alreadysearchedthebodies.”

“Fangs,” I said, voicetight.

“What bloody for?”heasked.

I looked up and heldhisgaze.Hisbrowwrinkled,but my emotions were tooraw, too confused by thenight’seventsforthatkindofsharing.Somethingsarebestleftunsaid.

Eyes never leaving

his, I lifted the necklace offangs from inside my shirtandlet ithangoutforhimtosee plainly. I shruggedwithone shoulder and lookedaway.

“We all have oursecrets,”Isaid.

Hewinced.“Aye, that we do,

love,”hesaid,wearily.“Thatwedo.”

*****

After retrieving thefangs,andkickingthepilesofash into the canal, we beganthe slow trek up theembankment. I was movingstiffly, thewounds inmy legand side bothering me morethanI’dliketoadmit.

“Those vamps knewwhoandwhatyouwere, andthey knew your weakness,”Ashsaid.

“My weakness?” Iasked,frowning.

“Aye, love, that idiotdrive you have that has yourushing headlong into dangerat the slightest hint aninnocent human might be inharm’sway,”hesaid.

I grunted, cheekswarming.Oh,thatweakness.

“If I had a weakness,which I’m not admitting Ido,” Isaid,scowlingatAsh.“Howcouldtheyknowthat?Ionlyjustarrivedinthecity.Even I didn't know I was

cominghereuntila fewdaysago. It’s not like my beinghere is public knowledge.And someone would havehadtomeetme,orhaveeyeson me, to know whether ornot that ruse of theirs wouldwork.”

Thatleftaninformant.“Well someone told

themaboutyou,”hesaid.Ithadtobeoneofmy

fellow Guild brethren or theone supernatural gossip who

knew that a newHunterwasintown.

"Damn, Natasha," Iswore, shaking my head.“Looks like I need to have achatwithacertainrusalka.”

“That can wait,” hesaid. “Let’s go get youcleanedup.”

I snarled and hebackedaway,handsintheair.

“Fine, your bloodyfuneral,”hesaid.

I stomped down

toward the docks, forcingmyselftostandupstraightasI walked. Interrogationsdon’t go so well when thepersonaskingthequestionsishunchedoverinpain.Iliftedmy chin, palming one ofmyknives.Iwantedanswersandtherusalkawasgoingtogivethemtome.

Chapter21

“Last I checkeddecapitating vampires wasn’tpartofcollegecurriculum.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

The talk with therusalkadidn’t turnupmuch.Shewasdead.Somethingwas

going on here, but I didn’thave enough pieces of thepuzzle.Notyet.

Iwasbonetired,andthe gash in my side wasstartingtothrob. Ineededtosterilizeitbeforeinfectionsetin. It’s not like I’d beencrawling around the cleanestplacesthisevening.

But first, Ash and Iwere going to have a littletalk. As we passed throughtheBurg,Iledustothebench

whereI’deatenfritesmyfirstdayinBruges.Ashsat,butIstayedonmyfeet.

“Talk,” I said,narrowing my eyes andslidingintoafightingstance.

Therusalkawasdead,but that didn’t mean therewouldn’t be anyinterrogations tonight. Ashwasn’t leaving that benchuntilIgotsomeanswers.

“So, you’ve caughtmeout,eh?”heasked.

He sat fidgeting withhishatandInodded.

“You’re a Hunter,” Isaid.

“Good, it’sbetteryouknow,” he said. “I’m adreadfulliar,especiallywhenaprettygirlisinvolved.”

I ignored thecompliment, recognizing itfor the distraction heintended. Ashwasn’tgettingoffthateasy.

“Yousaidyouwerea

university student,” I said.“But last I checkeddecapitating vampires wasn’tpartofcollegecurriculum.”

“You noticed thatthen?” he said, wry grin onhislips.

“Yes, I also couldn’thelpbutnotice thebladeyouused to do it with,” I said.“And I’m pretty sure moststudentsdon’tcarryswordsintheirguitarcase.”

Ash sighed and ran a

handthroughhishair.“Look, I used to be a

Hunter,” he said. He lookeddown at the dew dampcobbles and sighed. “That’swhere I learned to use asword…and how I knowaboutsupes.”

“You left theGuild?”Iasked,eyeswide.

Hewincedandrubbedthebackofhisneck.

“IknowIoweyouanexplanation, but can we do

thistomorrow?”heasked. “Fine, but you have

some explaining to do,buster,” I said. “I wantanswers,notfiction.”

“Understood,” hesaid.Hepulledhimselftohisfeet and put the rumpledfedorabackonhishead.Oneof the featherswas bent at afunnyangleasaresultofourbattlewith thevampires, andsuddenly all of the cuts,holes, and tears on that silly

hat made sense. “But let’sget you back to the Guildbefore someone noticesyou’rebleeding.”

I was wearing black,and we hadn’t met anyhumans walking around onthe streets this late at night,butAshwas right. It wouldbe foolish to stay out herewith a wound I couldn’texplain. If the localauthorities got involved,they’d probably also notice

that my sword wasn’t somecheap replica, and that Ashand I were both packingdeadly weapons. The Guildhad the kind of clout thatcould get us free eventually,but Ididn’t fancy the ideaofanightinjail.

I grunted and hurriedtoward Genthof whicheventually becameCarmersstraat, the street theguildhallwason.Wewalkedinsilence,bothofusdeep in

ourownthoughts. WhenwereachedtheGuild,IturnedtoAshandclearedmythroat.

“Areyoucomingin?”Iasked.

“No,”hesaid,shovinghishandsintohispockets.

“Noyouwon’t, or noyoucan’t?”Iasked.

I wanted to knowmoreabouthisbreakwiththeGuild. The Guild was myfamily, my life. I couldn’timagine just up and leaving

it.“I’m no longer an

active member of the Guild,Jenna,”he said. “I…I’mnotwelcomehere.AndtheGuildisgoodatkeepingoutthoseitdoesn’twantinsideitshalls.”

I sighed. That wastrue. TheGuildwasbuiltonrules.IfAshwasnolongeramember, he wouldn’t beallowedbeyondthethreshold. I could just imaginewhat apricksomeonelikeChadwick

would be if we just strolledinside.

“Okay,” I said. Ishrugged, but winced, themotion tugging the raggedgash on my side. “See youaround.”

“Good hunting,Jenna,”hesaid.

“Good hunting,Ash,”Isaid.

I walked into theguildhall, for once feelingmore alone inside its walls

than the first day the Guildhadshownupandrescuedmefromanotherfiveyearsinthechild welfare system.Somewhere in this buildingwas a traitor, perhaps thesame person who’d sold meout and given the vampiresthe information they neededtosetupthatambush.

The door snappedclosed, cutting off the lightfrom the street and the lastglimpse of Ash, the man

who’d just saved my life—aman who had once been aHunter.Ishookmyheadandlimped toward the infirmary.Iwastoodamnedwornouttofigureoutwhatitallmeant.

Chapter22

“It’samazinghowfastyou can run with enoughadrenaline coursing throughyourveins.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Simon Chadwick, mylocal Guild liaison and

downright pain in the ass,stepped out from behind amarblecolumnandhaltedmyshuffling walk across thelobby. I tried to straighten,but hissed at the pain in myside.

“Where have youbeen?” he asked. “Do youhave any idea what time itis?”

“It’s late, Chad,” Isaid.“Giveitarest.”

Iwobbledonmyfeet,

theroombeginningtospin.Ilimped over to the stairs.ThatwayI’dhavesomethingtograbontoifIpassedout.

“What’s that?” heasked.“Areyouinjured?”

He scowled andpointedat theblooddrippingfrom the gash inmy side. Imay have survived theambush, and won the fight,but the vampires had leftmeapartinggift.

“It’snothing,”Ilied.

“Foolish woman,you’re bleeding all over thefloor,” he said. “Don’t yourealize you’re wounded?Comeon. Webettergetyoucleanedup.”

I sighed, but I didn’thave the energy to argue. Iwaspretty sure that I neededstitches and the ones I’d getin the infirmary would bebetter than what I couldaccomplishwithafirstaidkitupinmyroom.

“Fine,”Isaid.I grit my teeth as

Chad led me down to theinfirmary. He lectured methe entire way, and by thetimewemadeitinside,Iwasreadytostrangletheprick.

“Take a seat overthere,” he said, indicating abed draped with a whitesheet.

“I’m sure Martensdoesn’twantblood…”Isaid.

“Shut up and sit

down,” he said, cutting meoff.

I frowned, butmanaged to limp over to theinfirmary bed. Chadwickdisappeared into the backroom, and I waited for DocMartens.

A chill breeze shiftedthe white curtains that hungbetween the bed, makingthem wave and dance. Ishivered, seeing a dead manwalkpasttheinfirmarydoor.

Itwasstrange,butuntilnowIhadn’t noticed that the onlyghosts in this building weredowninthelowerlevel.Themorgue always attracted thedead, but it seemed odd thatI’d never seen any ghosts inthedormitories.

Iwasjoltedoutofmythoughts by the clatter ofmetal instruments as a metalpanwastossedontoarollingtray beside the bed.Chadwick stood over me,

rolling up his sleeves, astrangeglintinhiseyes.

“Come on,” he said.“Let’shavealook.”

I frowned, trying tomakesenseofhiswords.Heshook his head and gave aquick,disgustedsnort.

“Why, Lord, do youtest me like this?” he asked,turning his gaze to theceiling. “Womenare so…sostupid.” He turned hisattention back to me and

sneered. “I need to take alook at your wounds. Lift.Your.Shirt.”

“Wait…where’sMartens?”Iasked.

“He’s down in thegarage, passed out drunk inthe hearse, the freak,” hesaid. He shook his head, ahard smile on his lips. “Idon’tknowhowhecansleepin that thing. Theman’snotrightinthehead.”

If Chadwick thought

he was going to get to playdoctor,hewasn’t right in theheadeither.Iwincedandputahandonmyside,feigningatwinge of pain. It wasn’thard. Myentire sidewasonfire.

Chadwick’s lipsparted and I swearhe startedpantingashiseyessliddownfrom my face. I was prettysuremypain turnedhimon.While Chadwick’s eyesstrayedtomychest,Ipalmed

a knife in one hand andmanaged to grip a woodenstakeintheother.

I shifted my weight,ready to bolt, and bit theinside of my cheek,determinednottopassout.IhadafeelingChadwouldjustlove having a vulnerablewoman fall into his lap. Ishudderedandliftedmychin.

“Getfanged,Chad,”Isaid. “IfMartens isn’t here,I’mheadingtomyroom.He

can take care of the cuts inthemorning.”

“You’re not goinganywhere,” he said, nostrilsflaring.

“Get out of my way,Chad,orI’llscream,”Isaid.

“Go ahead andscream,” he said, a smirk onhismottled face. “We’re allthe way down in thebasement. No one will hearyou.”

He leaned in

aggressively and I couldsmell garlic on his breath.Maybe if he brushed histeeth, he might have moreluck with women. Hereached for my boob and Igrowled.No,probablynot.

I slashed at hisreaching hand and drove thebluntendofthestakeintohismanly bits. He dropped,collapsing into a ball on thefloor. I knocked the rollingtray of medical instruments

over onto his head and ran,my boots squeaking on therecentlypolishedfloors.

I ran, gripping myknife and stake in whiteknuckled fists, the pain frommy wounds forgotten. It’samazinghowfastyoucanrunwith enough adrenalinecoursingthroughyourveins.

I could hear Chad’sguttural roar of rage comingfrom the infirmaryas Imademy way across the lobby.

Hands shaking, I reached forthe door to the outside. Iblinked, only now realizingthatIhadtoputawayoneofmyweapons in order to turntheknob.

Shaking my head, Ihastily shoved the stake intomy belt, twisted thedoorknob, and burst out oftheguildhall—andintoAsh’swaitingarms.

Chapter23

“Never mess with aHunter, not unless you sleepwith one eye open and bothhandsonyourweapons.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I pushed away fromAsh’s chest and raised my

knife, holding the blade outbetweenus.

“What are you doinghere?”Iasked.

“Jenna, are youokay?”heasked.

“What are you doinghere, Ash?” I asked, voicegoingshrill.

“Ineverleft,”hesaid,hands wide. “I just…had alottothinkabout.”

It was still dark outand I realized that less than

thirty minutes had passedsince saying goodnight toAsh.I’daskedhimabouthisrelationship with the Guild,and he’d said it wascomplicated, a story to shareat a later time when weweren’t exhausted and Iwasn’t bleeding on the frontsteps. He’d been out herebattling his own demons,unaware of what washappeningtomeinside.

I faltered, theknife in

myhandwavering.“I…” I said, choking

onthewords.“Jenna,didsomething

happen?” he asked, his toneuncertain.

I looked away,blinking away traitoroustears. I swore I wouldn’tshed another tear for theFranksoftheworld,andhereI was blubbering. I took adeepbreathandtriedagain.

“Chadwickhe…he,”I

said. I bit my lip, cheeksburning.

“Bloody hell,” Ashsaid.

Hepulledme intohisarms,mindlessofthebladeinmyhand.Itensed,butwhenall he did was hold me, Iclosedmyeyes. HeheldmelikethatuntilIliftedmyheadandpushedslowlyaway.

“Weneedtogetoutofhere,” I said. “He’ll lookoutsideeventually.”

Chadwick wasprobably tearing through myroomrightnow.Ishudderedand turned away, headingdowntheemptystreet.

“That’s a bunch ofbollocks,” Ash said. “He’sthe dodgy bastard. He’s theonewhoshouldbeoutonhisear. You don’t have toleave.”

Themuscles inAsh’sneck were corded, and heheld his guitar case in both

hands. The message wasclear;hewaswilling todrawhisswordtodefendmyhonorandmy right to stay. Itwaskind of sweet, especiallycomingfromAsh,butIshookmyhead.

“Please,Ash,” I said.“Idon’thavetheenergyforafight. Just help me findsomeplace safe where I cancrash for a few nights,preferably something cheapwithoutacurfew.”

“I know just theplace,”hesaid.“ButJenna?Chadwill getwhat’s comingto him. You have my wordonit.”

Never mess with aHunter, not unless you sleepwith one eye open and bothhandsonyourweapons.

“Yes,”Isaid.“Yeshewill.”

Chapter24

“You never knowwhenthemonsterswillcome,and when they do a goodHunterisalwaysprepared.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

At Ash’srecommendation, I got a

room at the VandenbergheInn. It was a small bed andbreakfast run by a marriedcouple in their forties. TheirEnglish was good and theprice of the room was evenbetter.

When I was done, Iwent outside where Ash stillwaited. I needed to thankhimforwalkingmehereandsuggesting this place. Ismiled, pocketing my newroom key. Sofia and her

husband Nicolas were goodpeople. Their rateswere fairand they didn’t complainwhenIcameintryingtogetaroom in the middle of thenight.

Isteppedoutonto thesidewalk, eyes going to thelightening sky. Hell, it waspracticallymorning.

“The Vandenberghe’sgetyousettled?”heasked.

“Yes,” I said. “Theyonly just returned from

holiday, so I’m their onlyguestatthemoment.”

“Sofia will haveplenty of opportunities tospoilyouthen,”hesaid.

I frowned. I didn’tneedspoiling.Iwasn’tsomekid.

“Look, thanks forhelping me find this place,butit’slate,”Isaid.

“Saying goodnightalready?” he asked. “Aren’tyougoingtoinvitemeup?I

canhelpyouwiththosecuts.Wounds from vampire clawsareabugger.”

“I know,” I said.“I’vegotitcovered.”

“You’ll need stitches,love,”hesaid.

“Icantakecareofit,”Isaid.

“Yousure?”heasked.“Yeah, you go on,” I

said,wavinghimaway.He looked like he

wantedtosaymore,butafter

amomenthetookastepbackandshrugged.

“Alright, but let mecome with you tomorrownight,”hesaid.

Iletoutaheavysigh.Ipreferredtoworkalone,butmy injuries would slow medown, and Ash had provenhimselfusefulwitha sword.If I encountered morevampires, he’d be a valuableasset.

I nodded and made

mywaybackintotheinnandupthestairstomyroom.Theroomwassmall,butithaditsownbathroom.Aftertonight,Ididn’tthinkIcouldstomachwalkingdownadarkhallwaytoasharedbathroom.

I shrugged out of myleather jacket,wincingas themotion sent a jolt of pureagony through my side. Itossedthejacketovertheonechair in the room and addedmy sword and battle skirt to

the pile. I kicked off mybootsandaddedmyknivestothegrowingpileonthechair.I’d have to wipe down mygearbeforecrawlingintobed,but first I needed to treatmywounds.

I went into the tinybathroom and clicked on thelight.Untyingthecorsetwasabitch,butIfinallyundidtheknots and tossed it in thesink. I ran cold water andadded some of the

complimentary shampoo andleft it to soak. I sighed,fatigue making mymovementsslow.I’dneedtosewthetornclothpanel—justanother job to completebeforebed.

AHunterneversleepsuntil her gear is in goodworkingorder. Itwasa rulethat I was starting to resent.But rules are there for areason. You never knowwhenthemonsterswillcome,

and when they do, a goodHunterisalwaysprepared.

Though at the rate Iwas going, I wouldn’t get tosleep until next week. Irubbed a hand overmy face,wishing I’d takenAsh up onhis offer after all. I chidedmyself.

Chin up, Jenna, youhaven’t even gotten to thetoughstuff.

I grit my teeth as Ipeeled off my body suit,

tossingitwithawetsplatintothe bathtub. I had to sit onthetoilettoremovemysocksand leggings. It was that orfall over and crackmy head,and I didn’t need to do thatmore than once in one night. My skull wasn’t that thick,no matter what some of myfosterparentsusedtothink.

Standing under theshower, I lathered up withhotelsoap.Iwasgettingusedto the burning pain of the

water against my side andleg, but the tears cameanyway. There just wasn’tenough soap in the world towash away Chad and Frankand all the ugliness in thisworld.

Whenthetearsfinallystopped,Igrabbedmybloodybody suit. I scrubbed at ituntil the water ran clear. Iwrung the garment out,hanging it on the towel bar,and stared at the pink water

circlingthedrainatmyfeet.Blood in the

bathtub?Ishrugged.Nobigdeal. That was just anothernightforaHunter.

I padded out toretrieve my first aid kit, andbegan the unpleasant job ofstitching myself backtogether. It was surprisinghow bad I was at it,considering all the practice Ihad. Standing therenaked, Isurveyed my work. The

ragged gash at my side wasnowamessofpuckeredskinand black thread. It wouldleaveanother scar to join thedozens of others onmy legs,arms,andtorso.Iflickedoffthe light and squeezed myeyesshut.

It could have beenworse.

The corset had keptconstant pressure on thewound, minimizing thebleeding and keeping it from

tearingopenwiderasIfoughtthevampires,andlaterChad.I openedmyeyes andpulledontheterryclothrobethatlayfolded beside a box oftissues. I’dhavetowashtheblood out of the robe later,butitwasbetterthanstandinghereshiveringinthedark.

Whydidtherehavetobe so many monsters in theworld?

Feeling the threat ofnew tears, I grabbed the

needle and thread I’d beenusing to stitch myself backtogether and returned to thebedroom.Breathquickening,I went to my jacket andretrieved a small, clothwrapped bundle. The clothheld fourteen fangs thatsparkledinthelamplightasIperched on the edge of thechair andbegansorting theminto pairs. I pulled mynecklace over my head andbegan stringing and knotting

thefangsintoplace.Agrim smile touched

my lips as I worked, bits ofash and dust sifting throughmy fingers. Tomorrow Iwould rid this city of roguevampires, and after that I’dtake care of SimonChadwick. I’d made a vownot to let the monstersvictimize me or anyone elseeveragain.

Ikeptmypromises.

Chapter25

“No sense leavingyour weapons behind whenyou can find a way to hidetheminplainsight.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I looked out thewindow at the gathering

clouds and smiled. The skywas threatening rain, whichgave me an idea. I hurrieddown the stairs to the inn’sreceptiondesk, carefulnot topullmystitchesinmyhaste.Nicolas Vandenberghe wasbehind the counter, a readysmileonhisface.

“Hi, um, I waswondering…do you have anumbrella I can borrow?” Iasked. “I don’tmind payingforit.”

“Ja, een minuut,” hesaid. He left the room andcame back a moment laterwithalong,blackumbrella.

“Thankyou,um,danku!”Isaid.

Itookthestairstwoata time, settingmy puncturedcalf on fire. Back in myroom, Iwent to thedeskandopened the umbrella.Holding it upside down, Iunscrewed the handle fromthetopoftheumbrella.Next,

I lifted my sheathed swordand pointed it into the spaceleft by the missing handle.With a fewquick alterations,including using my blackthread to stitch the fabric tomy sword’s sheath, I hadwhat would pass on thestreets for an umbrella. Nosense leaving your weaponsbehind when you can find away to hide them in plainsight.

Ever see one of those

umbrella’s with a swordhandle? Well, that’s exactlywhat this looked like.Exceptinstead of an umbrella tryingtolooklikeasword,itwasasword that looked like anumbrella.Igrinned,admiringmy handiwork. I’d purchasea new umbrella for theVandenberghes while I wasout today and no one wouldbethewiser.

Armed and ready toface the day, I raced back

downstairs. Sofia was justcoming through the door tothe Vandenberghe’sapartment in the rear of thebuilding, and she carriedsomething that smelledheavenly. My mouthwatered, and my stomachgrowledoutloud.

Sofia giggled andhanded me a small loaf ofbread,freshfromtheoven.

“You need to eatmore,” she saidwith awarm

smile.“Nowgo.Havefun!”Once on the street, I

tore into the fragrant bread,cramming pieces the size ofmy fist into my mouth. Icouldn’t remember the lasttime I ate. If I could find atrough of coffee, this daywouldbeofftoaperfectstart.

I turned a corner andnearly choked as I ranheadlong intoaman’schest.I backed up, eyes wide as Irecognized the outrageous

scarf and tattered hat. Ashraised an eyebrow at mypuffed up chipmunk cheeks,and I felt my face warm. Iswallowed the mouthful ofbreadandfrowned.

“What are you doinghere?”Iasked.

“Walkingtothecafé,”he said. “I had a late nightrescuing a damsel in distressand now I’m gasping for acupoftea.”

I frownedandputmy

fists on my hips, whichwasn’t easy with a chunk ofbread in one hand and aswordumbrellaintheother.

“I am not a damsel,and I was not in distress,” Isaid.

Ashsighed.“If we are going to

argue, can we at least do sowith copious amount ofcaffeine at our disposal?” heasked.

“Fine,”Isaid.“Iwas

heading out for coffeeanyway.”

I hastily finished thelast of Sofia’s bread andfollowed Ash as he led theway to a bakery with a fewbooths and tables. Once wesettled into a booth by thefront window, I fixed Ashwithaglare.

“Come on, spill,” Isaid. “You owe me details,andnowisasgoodatimeasany.”

Ash grimaced, butnodded. He turned hisattention to the sugardispenser, flipping the littlemetal flap at the top up anddown. The noise was likenails on a chalkboard, and Isighed with relief when thewaitress brought over thecoffee and tea I’d ordered.She gave me a funny look,and I wondered if I wassupposed to tiphernow, likeabartender.

IdugoutafewEurosand handed them to herwitha polite, “keep the change.”She nodded and backed off,hurrying to help her othercustomers. When she turnedaway, Ash took a sip of histeaandclearedhisthroat.

“Asyou’veguessed,Iwasn’t here in Bruges foruniversity,”Ashsaid.“Iwashere for a different kind oftraining.”

“You carry a sword

aroundinyourguitarcase,”Isaid,noddingtowardthecasepropped on the booth besidehim.“You’reaHunter.”

I knew it had to betrue. Ash hadn’t run in fearwhen faced with thesupernatural. He hadn’thesitated when the vampiresattacked. Even so, if he’ddrawn a gun or fought handto hand, I could have kidmyself that he was someonewith police or military

training. But he had deftlyused a sword with the graceand skill reserved for few inthisworld.

AshwasaHunter.“Yes,” he said. “As

fortheguitarcase,it’sapropI use and a handy way tocarry my weapons.Sometimes I even carry aguitar. Busking is a jollygood way to hide in plainsight.”

It was true. People

didn’t question why beggarsand street performerslingered.Theywereapartofthe city and therefore theperfect cover forsurveillance. Buthishuntingmethods weren’t what Iwantedtotalkabout.

“Why didn’t you tellmesooner?”Iasked.

People were sneakingglances at us as they passedand whispering behind theguide maps they held

between us like flimsyshields. Hadn’t they everseen two people talkingbefore? Maybe itwasAsh’sscarf. Today it was a putridshadeofyellowthatmademyeyeballshurt.

“Well, the thing is,love,” he said, rubbing theback of his neck. “I wasn’tkidding when I said thingsdidn’tworkoutformehere.”

“Youlefttheguild?”Iasked,mouthgapingopen.

Last night I’dmanaged to convince myselfthat I’d misheard him ormisunderstood what he wastrying to tellme. There hadbeenalotgoingon,afterall.Because what he was sayingwas unheard of. He took anoath.Howcouldheleavehisguild brothers and sisters?How could he abandon themission?

“It’s not what youthink,” he said. “I am not

dishonorable.Ibelieveinthemission.”

“If you believe inprotecting humans from theevilthatlurksintheshadows,then why…oh,” I said,leaningawayfromthetable.

I took inhisoffkiltersmile and strange taste infashion. I’d brushed hiseccentricitiesoffasthequirksof a music student, but nowthat I knew hewas a formerHunter,Ihadtowonder.We

seea lot inour lineofwork,most of it not easy for thehumanbraintoprocess.WasAsh crazy? Just yesterdayhe’dwornapukegreenscarfcovered in frolicking zombieunicorns,afterall.

I’d seen a lot ofbizarrethingsasaHunter,butzombie unicorns? That wasjust plain nuts. There’s nosuch thing as a creature thateats brains and fartsrainbows.Ishouldknow.

“Bloody hell, youthinkI’maravingnutter,”hesaid.

“Well, are you?” Iasked.

That probably wasn’ta wise thing to ask a crazyperson, but aside fromdealing with a werewolf’smoodsduringthefullmoon,Ihad no experience with thissort of thing. It’s not like Ihadalotoffriends.

Iwaited forhis reply,

but he just stared cross-eyedat a patch of sun dappledtabletop.

“Um,is thatayes?”Iasked.

“Sorry,love,”hesaid,pullingaface.“Iwaswaitingtohearwhatthevoicesinmyhead had to say on thesubject.”

I snorted and shookmyhead.

“God you’reimmature,”Isaid.

“You should haveseen your face,” he said.“Youwererightreadytotakearunner.”

“Wasnot,”Isaid.“Wastoo,”hesaid.“I was not afraid of

you,” I said. “I fought eachuisge last summer. You,AlistairAshborn,donotscareme.”

“Good,” he said witha wink. “Then let me walkyou around the city. I know

allthebesthuntingspots.”Iwasfollowingbefore

I realized that he’d done itagain.Isighedandshookmyhead. Ash never did tellmewhy he left the Hunters’Guild.

Chapter26

“Drug usersmake theperfectvictimsforvamps.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

OneoftheplacesAshshowedmeearlieronourtourof Bruges hunting spots wasVanHaecke’sMaleficium.It

hadn’t looked like much inthelightofday,butnowtherewas something sinister in thewaytheshadowscaressedthenarrowentry.

There was alsosomething unnatural in theway the building seemed tostand untouched by time.TheMaleficium backed ontoa canal, but where theconstant damp had taken itstoll on the nightclub’sneighbors, this building

remained intact. Vinesaggressively dug in theirroots, pullingdown theotherbuildings stone by stone,gradually reclaiming the landalongthecanal.

What was so specialabout the Maleficium? Wasthe building protected bymagic?

I fidgeted with mysword,gladatleasttohaveitbackonmyhip insteadof inits false umbrella sheath.

That was one benefit ofhunting in a place like thiswhere the average clientelewore everything fromVictorianmourningcostumesto full suits of armor. Thedress code seemed to dictatethat so long as you werewearing black, anythinggoes. My sword and blackhunting clothes didn’t evengarner an eye blink from theclub’s patrons as theysaunteredpast.

Ash and I had agreedto meet here after nightfall,and so I paced the streetoutside the club waiting forhim. I’dgivehim fivemoreminutes,andthenIwasgoinginside on my own. I mayhave a few injuries, but thatnever stopped me fromhuntingaloneinthepast.

Then again, most ofmy favorite hunting groundsdidn’tmakemyskincrawlasif I was pacing in front of a

tank of cockroaches. Thatprobablyhadsomethingtodowith the place’s disturbinghistory.

Van Haecke'sMaleficium was a club forrich vamp wannabes,romanticGoths, and—ifAshwas to be believed—Satanists. According toAsh,the club was originallyfounded by the infamousSatanist Louis Van Haecke.Van Haecke was rumored to

bethemanwhoauthorJoris-Karl Huysmans based hisdespicable character thecanon Docre from the novelLa-Bas, The Damned.Whether thatwas true or notwas a matter of historicaldebate,butIhadtoadmitthattherewasalotofevidenceofVan Haecke’s nefarioushobbies.

It all seemed tobeginwith the arrival of a Frenchwoman, Berthe Courrière.

Someclaimthatshewassentto Bruges to corrupt VanHaecke,whowaschaplainofthe Basilica of the HolyBloodhereinBruges.Ifthatwas her goal, it seemed tohaveworked.Aftertheirfirstmeeting, Van Haecke madeseveraltripstoPariswherehewas accused of celebratingblackmasses.

Although theaccusations of Van Haecke’sevildeedswereneverproven

during his lifetime, I stillcould not fathom how theman remained in such aposition of power within thelocal church. As chaplainofthe Basilica of the HolyBlood, hewould have had atleast limited access to theholy relic. It was a goodthing that theBrotherhoodofthe Holy Blood kept suchtightsecurity,orthisvilemanmight have done somethingtrulyevil.

Ahand landedonmyshoulder and I spun,blade attheready.

“Whoa, it’s just me,love,” Ash said, holding uphis hands. “I called yourname,butyouseemedlostinthought.”

MycheeksflushedhotandIputmyknifeaway.

“You’re just lucky Ididn’tgutyou,”Isaid.“Thisplacegivesmethecreeps.”

I expected a witty

comeback, but instead Ashstared at Van Haecke’sMaleficium with anuncharacteristic serious lookonhisface.

“That’s because youhavegoodinstincts,”hesaid.“This place is owned byvampires.”

I gasped and shookmyhead.

“And you want to gointhere?”Iasked.

“It’s as good a place

as any to hunt vampires,” hesaid. “They hide in plainsight,sowhycan’twedothesamething.”

It was true that withtheir glamour, vampires hadthe perfect pale beauty to fitin with this crowd. Theywould be right at home in aclub that encouraged itsfashionable patrons to weartop hats and bustle skirts. Iwasn’t so confident of a pairof Hunters strolling through

thedoorunnoticed.“Are you sure they’re

going to let Hunters strollright through their frontdoor?”Iasked.

“I happen to knowthat one of the localHuntersspends a good deal of timehere,” he saidwith a frown.“Everyonehasvices.”

And the Maleficiumcateredtovices,ofthatIhadnodoubt.

“Okay,” I said. I

sighedandranahandthroughmy hair, for once glad of itsshockingredcolor.Itseemedto be a popular color formany of thewomen enteringthe building, though minewasprobablytheonlynaturalhair in the lot. “This isyouroldturf.Howdoyouwanttodothis?”

I twirled one of myblades, rolling it over myknuckles as I watched thebuilding.

“Whoa, we’re notgoing in there with bladesflashing, that’s for bloodysure,”he said. “We’llwatchforvampsstalkingtheirprey,andfollowanywholeadtheirvictimsoutofthebuilding.”

I nodded and slippedmy knife away, still withineasy reach. We crossed thestreet and waited our turn inline. Ash walked past thebouncerwithoutsomuchasahead nod, but as I tried to

follow,thelargebeardedmanheld an arm across theentrance.

“ID,” he said. Istiffened,butshowedhimmypassport. He squinted atmypicture as if not believing Iwas old enough to enter, butfinally passed it back andheld out his hand. “TenEuros.”

“It’snotlikeheaskedAsh formoney, or an ID,” Imuttered, stepping into the

smokyclub.“It pays to be a

trendsetter like myself,” Ashsaid,awidesmileonhisface.

Iraisedaneyebrowathis ridiculous hat and scarfandshookmyhead.

“Come on,” I said,walkingdeeperintothelion’sden. “Let’s find us somefangheadstostake.”

*****

Isteppedintoasmoky

back room and grimaced.The smell of hashish andMandragora was strong,permeating the fabric of thevelvet couches and the wallsdraped in dark red cloth.Drug users make the perfectvictims for vamps. If wewere going to catch abloodsucker in the act, itwouldbehere.

Istartedtoslideintoalowboothwhenmygazefellon a familiar, scantily clad

witch.“Shit,” I muttered.

“Can’t Martens do anythingright?”

I changed directions,grabbedAshby thearm,andstomped over to whereCeleste Dubois reclinedlanguidlyonavelvetfaintingcouch.

“Ah, Jen, come joinme,” she said. “You’re inluck. I was just about toorder something special off

the menu. Maybe you canhelp me make up my mind.They’rebothsobeautiful,it’shardtodecide.”

She let out a sultrylaugh that probably madeother people’s toes curl. Itjustmademequeasy.CelestewasaHunterandyetshewasherebuyingsexanddrugs inavampownednightclub.

“The name is Jenna,”I muttered. I gave the half-naked waiter and waitress a

hardlookandnoddedtowardthe door. “Beat it. Celesteand I have business todiscuss.”

They both moved onto the customerswaiting at anearby booth. I swallowedhard,mystomachtwisting.Iguess I knew now why theboothshadcurtains.

Celestepouted.“Ifyou’regoingtobe

such a spoil sport, then atleast introduce me to…” she

said. Her eyeswidened, andher dilated pupils shrank tonormal size as she stared atAsh.Sheblinkedatmyhandonhisarmthenfocusedagainon his face. “You! What…how…?”

“It’sa longstory,”hesaidwithashrug.

“B-b-but…” shestuttered.

“You two know eachother?”Iasked, lookingbackandforthbetweenthem.

“Yes,weusedtohunttogether, back before I leftthe Guild,” Ash said, givingCeleste a significant look.Therewasobviouslymore tothestory,andImadeamentalnote to ask him more abouttheirrelationshiplater.

“Sorry,you’llhave toforgivemyrudeness,”Celestesaid,eyesstillabitwide. “Ididn't think I’d see Alistairagain,notinthislifetime.”

I grit my teeth,

annoyed at myself for aglimmerofangerthatsparkedwhen Celeste used Ash’sgivenname.Ididn’tthinkhelet anyone call him that, andthe fact that the voluptuouswitchdiditsocasuallymademewant to strangle herwiththenearesthookah.Ashalsolooked uncomfortable. He’dtakenaseatonachairacrossfrom Celeste and his kneebounced up and down like agrasshopperinafryingpan.

“So, you two used todate?”Iasked.

“Yes,”Celeste saidatthe same moment that Ashsaid,“No.”

“Whatever,” Imuttered.

“I suppose we neveractually dated,” Celestepurred.“It’snotlikeweeverleftmyroom.”

She licked her lipsand I started scanning theroom for vampires. I’d give

anything for a bunch ofmonsterstostakeaboutnow.

“Knock it off,Celeste,” Ash said with asigh. “It was one time andthenextdayyouwerealreadythrowing yourself atChadwick.”

IgaspedandturnedtoseeCeleste’soliveskinturnasicklyshadeofgray.

“Yes, we all makemistakes,” she said, voicesoft.

“YouchoseChadwickoverAsh?”Iasked.

“Not for long, if Iremember correctly,” Ashsaid. “Didn’t you go afterSheila, our supply truckdriver,theverynextday?”

Celeste gave a “whatcanyoudo”shrugandtookasipofherdrink.Shefrownedandsettheglassdownwithaclatteroficecubes.

“Jen…Jenna, becareful of Chadwick,” she

said.Bileroseinmythroat,

and Celeste’s drink suddenlylookedawfullytempting.

“Bit late for that,love,” Ash said, frowning atCeleste.

“Oh, by theGoddess!” she said. “Ishouldhaveknownfromyouraura. I am so, so sorry. Ishould have warned youaboutChadwicksooner.”

“It’snotyourfault,”I

said,thoughitdidchafeabitthatifshehadn’tbeensohighon drugs when we met, shemight have thought to warnme. Which reminded me,why wasn’t she back at theinfirmary? “But I have toask, how did you escapeMartens?Didn’thehaveyouin the infirmary, um, dryingout?”

“Benjamin doing anintervention?” she asked.“Nowthat’salaugh.”

I frowned, obviouslymissing something, and for amoment Iwished IwasbackinHarborsmouth.OurGuild,likeanyfamily,hadafewofour own dysfunctionalmembers, but nothing likethis,andatleastthereIknewwhat people were talkingabout. HereinBruges,Ihadno frame of reference to goon. These people had ahistorytogether,ahistorythatIwasn’tapartof.

“Why is that sofunny?”Iasked.“Martensisyour doctor, and he said hewas going to help you kickyouraddiction.”

I frowned at thehookah at her elbow andturnedbacktothewitch,butIdidn’thaveachance to learnmoreaboutMartens.

“Jenna,” Ashwhispered. “At your threeo’clock.”

Iturnedtotherightto

see a gorgeous man, withdark hair and pale skin,helping an inebriatedwomantowardadoorwayatthebackof the room. He nodded toanother pale skinned manwithlongblondehair,andtheblonde slipped in behindthemastheypassedoutoftheroom.Shit.Thevampswereonthemove.

Chapter27

“Vampmagic isoftennullified by crossing movingwater.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Following the twovampires and theirintoxicated victim wasn’t

easy. It’shard tobestealthywithawitch,whowon’tstopogling your hunting partner,taggingalong. Notonlywasshe running her eyes up anddownAshlikehewasadamnice creamcone, shewas alsomuttering incantations underherbreath.Ifshehexedusinthemiddleofourhunt,Iwasgoingtobepissed.

“Cutitout,Celeste,”Igrowled, keeping my voicelow. We were keeping our

distance from our target, butvamp hearing was muchbetterthanhuman.“Iwillnotallow you to sabotage ourmissionbecauseofsomethingthat happened between youtwo in the past. Whateverbullshit is going on betweenyouandAsh,it’stimetoburyit.”

“Ithoughtwedidthatalready,” she said with awink.“Right,Ash?”

For the love of

Athena, did everything withthewitch have to comebackto sex? Ash sighed andrubbedthebackofhisneck.

“Giveitabloodyrest,Celeste,” he said. “Jenna isright. Itwouldn’tkillyou toat least try to beprofessional.”

She pouted, but shutup. About time, I thought,shaking my head. I wouldhaveinsistedthatCelestestaybehind, but I didn’t like the

idea of leaving her alone atthe Van Haecke Maleficiumand if these vampires tooktheir prey where I wasthinking, her magic may benecessaryinordertofollow.

I frowned, keepingpace with our target. Asmuch as I hated to admit it,weneededthewitch.

Thevampiresturnedacorner and I smiled. Thesebloodsuckers werepredictable.Thevampswere

heading toward the placewhereI’dbeenambushedlastnight, but as they began towalk across the stonebridge,the woman in their armsstartedtostruggle.

“Their control overthe woman is slipping,” Ashsaid.

I nodded. Vampmagic is often nullified bycrossing moving water. It’sone of the reasons I was sosurprised to find such an

infestation of fangheads herein Bruges. A canal cityseemedlikeanunlikelyplaceforthemtocongregate.

“Let’sdothis,”Isaid.“On my mark. Three…two…”

We wouldn’t get abetterchancethanthis.Withthe vamp’s magic diluted bythecanalbelowtheirfeet,thewoman they’d selected fortheir dinner had a betterchance of survival. I drew

two stakes and shifted myweight onto the balls of myfeet, a slow smile spreadingacrossmyface.Whenyou’refighting for your unlife, it’shard to keep your food fromrunningaway.

“One.”Withagrunt, Ibolted

after the vampires. In myperipheral vision, I could seeAsh keeping pace with me,his sword raised over hishead.Hewouldhavelooked

like an avenging angel if itweren’tforthatfoolishhatonhishead.

I’d lost sight ofCeleste, but I could hear herchanting at our backs. Myexperience working withusersoftheCraftwaslimited,but I knew enough to realizethat shewas only nowdoingtheritual,DrawingDowntheMoon.

If she was calling onthe moon for power, that

meantshe’dleft theguildhallwithout even charging hermagic batteries. TheMandragorahadmuddledthatwoman’s brain. She’d goneto a vamp owned clubwithoutpreparingforafight.

Good thing we didn’tneedherhelp.

I lunged forward,crashing into the vampire ontheleft,effectivelytearingthestruggling woman from hisgrasp. The vampire went

down hard, but he wasalready recovering from theshock of being attacked.Nowthattheyknewwewerehere,we’dlosttheelementofsurprise,butthatwasokay.Ihadmoretricksupmysleeve.

I rippedaglassbottleof holy water from my skirtand threw it at the vampire.It hit his head and shattered,splashing holywater all overhis face. The vampire’shandsome glamour dropped

and he shrieked, wipingfrantically at his crumblingflesh.

Iducked,asheblindlyslashed out with his claws,and rammed a stake throughhis heart. The vampirestopped moving, all exceptfor theplaceswhere theholywaterwas eating awayathismummifiedhead.

I turned my back onthe incapacitated vamp andscanned the opposite side of

thebridge. Ashwas circlingthe other vampire, but thebloodsucker was using thewoman as a shield. I glaredat the vampire as Ash and Idarted in and out, testing hisdefenses.

Wehad to findawayto take out the vampirewithout harming the sobbingwomaninhisvice-likegrip.Idrew another bottle of holywater from my battle skirt,but as it turned out, I didn’t

needit.With a satisfied

whoop, Celeste got off aspell, and the humanwomandropped to the ground like asack of rocks. If the desiredeffectwas for thevampire tolosehisgrip,ithadworked.Ijust hoped the woman wasstillalive.

The vampire spunaway from Ash’s sword, thestrikemissingbylessthananinch. As Ash brought his

sword back up, the vampireflunghimself towardthesideof the bridge. If he jumpedover,we’dlosehim.Asmirktwisted his lips and I knewhe’dfiguredthatoutaswell.

Inablurofmotion,hesprintedtowardthestonewallthat lined the sides of thebridge. I lunged, trying tohead him off. I wouldn’thave succeeded if it hadn’tbeen for Ash, cutting thevampoffattheknees.

The vamp shriekedand I bared my teeth in afiercesmile.Gotcha.

But before I couldstake the vamp, or draw myswordandtakehishead,Ashgrabbed my arm making mejump.

“Sorry,love,”hesaid,wincing at the way Iflinched. Damn,Iwasstillabit twitchy after my run-inwith Chad last night. Ashnodded toward Celeste and

gestured at the other side ofthe bridge. “You may wanttotakeastepback.”

I frowned, but joinedAsh halfway across thebridge. There I dug in myheels, refusing to go anyfurther. Vamps are fasthealers,andtherewasnowayin hell I was letting thisbastardgetaway.

“Aesh deamhan folaanimus mundi,” Celestechanted.“Loisg!”

The vampire burstinto flame. Within secondshis body was nothing butgrimy ash and dust. Myfingers itched to sift throughthe ash for my trophies, butthefangswouldhavetowait.I ran over to check on thefallen woman, my skin stillhotfromtheblaze.

Idroppedthebottleofholy water and felt for apulse.Itwashardtotelloverthe beating ofmy own rapid

heartbeat, but after a fewseconds I breathed a sigh ofrelief.

“She’s alive,” I said,rocking back on my heels.“ButIdon’tknowwhatwe’regoing to tell her when shewakesup.”

“Her?”Celesteasked.“Shewon’trememberathing,not after that spell I droppedherwith.”

“Not bad, Dubois,”Ash said looking over the

fallenwomanandthedriftingpileofashacrossthebridge.

I had to agree. I stilldidn’t likeCeleste, but she’dprovenherselfuseful.

“Next time give mesome warning,” I said,flashing a smile and noddingtowardthesootysmearwherethevampirehadburned.“I’llbringmarshmallows.”

“Mmmm, that wouldbe fun,” she said, lickingherlips.

I turned my attentiontothevampI’dstaked.Therewasn’tmuch left of his face,but I was never one to takechances. I drew my sword,but before I brought it downon the vamp’s neck, I rolledhim over with my bootedfoot. There, on the small ofhisback,wasafamiliarmark.

“He’s from one ofthose sodding vampirefactionswe faced off againstlastnight,”Ashsaid, coming

upbesideme.I rubbed my temples,

pushing away a headache.Ghosts were starting to flowoutofthebuildingsthatlinedboth sides of the canal,edging closer as they weredrawn by the vampires’ finaldeaths.

“What I don’t get iswhy there are so manypredators in Bruges,” I said.“It’snotlikeit’salargecity.I expect this sort of thing in

London, New York City,L.A., or back inHarborsmouth, but not here.Are we sitting on a nexuspoint?”

That was the reasonwhy Harborsmouth was soinfested with supernaturals.They were attracted to thepower generated at the pointwhere the lay linesintersected, creating amagical crossroads in thecenterofHarborsmouth.

“No, but I agree thatthere’s an evil inBruges justbelow the surface,” Celestesaid.“Mycovenhasatheorythat the good of the HolyBlood must be balanced bythe evil of themonsterswhodwellhere.”

It was an interestingtheory,butitdidn’tgetusanycloser to ridding the city ofpredators.

“Well, let’s go shiftthe balance,” I said. “We’re

practically standing on thevamp’s doorstep. Might aswellpaythemavisit.”

Aftercallingacabforthe woman who was stilldazed from Celeste’s spell,we climbed down theembankmentontheothersideof the canal and entered thetunnel beneath the bridge.Unfortunately, our visit wascutshort.

“Ican’tbreakthroughthat ward,” Celeste said,

shaking her silky hair fromside to side. “Not withoutpreparing some seriousspells.”

“Howmuch timewillthattake?”Iasked,eyeingtheexit. More vampires couldshowupanyminute,andwiththat door closed we’d beboxed in with no means ofescape.

“I need more thantime,” she said. “I needmygrimoire and spell

components.”I sighed. I guess it

wouldn’t hurt for us all tostock up on weapons andinformation.

“Comeon,”Ash said,sheathing his sword. “Let’sget you two back to theguildhall.”

After climbing up theembankment, I paused,holdingupmyphone.

“I’llberightthere,”Isaid.“Ineedtomakeacall.”

Chapter28

“Never suffer a vamporhisgreedycroniestolive.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Darrylwaswaitingforme in the archives. Ashwanted togathermoreofhisweapons, so we agreed to

split up for now. I had anagging suspicion that he’dasked Celeste to stick withme like glue while he wasgone.Thewitchhadinsistedon walking me down to thearchives door, but when shestarted to enter the archivesitselfIraisedmyarmtoblocktheway.

“I’mingoodhands,”Isaid. “Go get your spellcomponents.I’llbefine.”

“You sure?” she

asked.“I’m sure,” I said.

“AndCeleste? IfChadwickshowshisface,callme.”

She waggled herfingersandwinked.

“Don’t worry aboutme,” she said. “I still haveenoughmoon energy to giveChad a zap or two where ithurts.”

We shared aconspiratorial smile and sheleft.MystepswerelightasI

moved farther into thearchives. It was niceknowing that where SimonChadwick was concerned,CelesteandIhadeachother’sbacks.

“Was that our girlCeleste?” Darryl asked,tiltinghisheadtotheside.“Ihaven’t seen her around thepastfewdays.Wasstartin’tothinkshehadanewboyfriendor girlfriend takin’ up hertime.It’snotyou,isit?”

“Godno,” I saidwithasnort.“Celesteisokay,butshe’s also a basket full ofcrazy. Plus, I’m not intogirls.”

“Good to know,” hesaidwithawink.

Darrylmightbeblind,but he could still flirt up astorm. I blushed and took aseat by his work station,letting the chair scrape thefloor so he’d know rightwhere I was and that it was

time to put on our thinkingcaps. I put my boots up onhis desk and took a deepbreath.

“I have a puzzle foryou,”Isaid.

Darryl’slipscurvedinaslygrin.

“YouknowIlovesmea puzzle, darlin’,” he said.“Goon,shoot.”

“Okay, first I’vebeennoticing that some of thevampires I’ve staked are

markedwith a symbol like alion while others aremarkedwith a fleur-de-lis,” I said.“And all of these kills havebeenwithinthecitywalls,soprobably within the sameterritory.”

“Interesting,” he said,rubbinghischin.

“So, knowing that,here’s my question,” I said,letting my boots drop andleaning forward. “If you’vegot some vamps dumping

bodies and making sloppykills and ghouls carefullydumping bones in the samecity,whatdoesthattellyou?”

“I’dsayyouhavetwogroupsofvamps,whichthoselionandfleur-de-lismarkingsseem to support,” he said.“One nest of careful vampswith ghouls who do theircleanup for them, and asecond group of vamps whodon’t care, or don’t fear, theconsequences.”

“My thoughtsexactly,” I said, pounding afist intomyotherhand. “Sotell me, based on the historyof Bruges, what two vampfactionscometomind.

Darryl’s scarred eyeswidened and his chairsqueaked as he jerked awayfromthedesk. Heshookhisheadandgottohisfeet.

“Ohshit,youhavegotto be kidding me,” hemuttered.

“What?” I asked.“What is it? You’ve figuredsomethingout.”

I bounced tomy feet,ready to badger Darryl untilhe told me everything heknew.

“Sitbackdown,girl,”hesaid.“Letmethink.”

Imanagedtowaitfivegrueling minutes beforeaskinganotherquestion.

“So, who are thevamp big wigs in town?” I

asked. “YougotaMasterofthe City here, or is thisunclaimedterritory?”

Darryl frowned, theexpression tugging on thepink scar tissue around hiseyes. I sat across from thearchivist on an old,threadbare velvet chair thathad seen better days. I triedto ignore the wire springpoking me in the ass andfocused on Darryl. If Ifidgeted,he’dhear thecouch

start squeaking, and I didn’twanttodistracthim.

Darrylmayhavemostof this library memorized inthat head of his, but thatdidn’tmean retrieving itwaseasy. I needed thatinformation, and I wasn’tabout to do anything else tojeopardize getting it. I’dalreadypesteredhimwithtoomany questions. I heldmyselfasstillasagargoyle.

“Bruges has aMaster

oftheCity,alright,”hesaid.“Same bastard has been thiscity’s vampire master sincehe was Count of Flandersback in the 13th and 14thcenturies.”

He frowned, but hestarted walking further intothe archives and waved formetofollow.

“Come on,” he said.“There’s something you’vegottosee.”

I followed Darryl

through a maze ofbookshelves and into a dark,dusty room in the back.When a blind man tells youthere’ssomethingyouneedtoseewith your own eyes, youlisten.

I jumped, but it wasonly Darryl snapping on aseries of sconce lightsthroughout the room. Thegaslights had been convertedto electric, the threat of firetoo great in a library filled

with dry parchment. Dustmotes shimmered in the airgiving each bulb its ownpersonal halo. I hesitatedbefore entering the room,fightingagainstinstinct.

The room was old,obviouslypartof theoriginalstructure, built into the veryfoundation of the guildhall.My heart raced as I scentedthe hint of mildew in themusty carpets and traces ofdust along the shelves lined

with books. There wereunderlying signs of neglectherethatmadetherestofthearchives feel homey bycomparison.

It was that sameneglect that set offmyalarmbells.Mosthumanscan’tseeghosts,but thatdoesn’tmeanthat deep down they aren’tawareof their existence. Onthe surface we may not careabout cold spots, or placesthat seem to shroud

themselves in shiftingshadows, but our animalbrains can feel thewrongness. It’s that animalpart of our brains that makeus sidestep places that arehaunted, shutting off roomsor abandoning entirebuildings.

This roomhad all thesignsofbeingavoided,but acursory search turned up nosignofghosts.Theremustbesome other reason Hunters

abstainedfromusingthispartof the archives. I hurried tocatch up with Darryl, mybootskickingup littlecloudsofdustfromthecarpet.

Darryl stopped infront of a painting that hungover an empty, soot stainedfireplaceandfoldedmusculararmsoverhischest.

“Should I know whatwe’relookingat?”Iasked.

The painting wascreepy, like the man in the

portrait was laughing at me.Itwasalsoolderthandirt.

“That is GuyDampierre, the vampireMasteroftheCity,”hesaid.

Even if I hadn’tknown that the supernaturalexisted,Imighthaveguessedafter examining this ghoulishpainting. Dampierre satastride his horse amidst abattlefield strewn with deadbodies. Hundreds of humancorpses lay tangled with the

lifelesshusksoftheirmounts.Forcingmyself not to

turn away, I realized thatevery man and beast sportedthe same disturbingwounds.Their throats had beenviciouslymauled.Evenmoresinister was the fact that theonly blood depicted in thisbattle was on the hands andfaces of the victors—GuyDampierreandhismen.

Surrounded by all ofthis,GuyDampierrefacedthe

painter with a look of coldsatisfaction on his bloodstainedlips.

“Seems like a niceguy,” I said, voice drippingwith sarcasm. “We shouldinvitehimoverfortea.”

Darryl snorted andshookhishead.

“Evenduringhisreignas the Count of Flanders, hewould have opted for bloodover tea,” he said. “TheHunters’ Guild kept close

tabs on the House ofDampierre, and there isevidence that Guy may havebeen turned as early as 1251AD.”

“Howdid it happen?”Iasked.“Washeattacked?”

“No,” Darryl said,shaking his head. “The foolchosetobecomeundead.Inaplottomurderhisbrotherandgain control of the seat ofpower here in Flanders, Guyunearthed the secret of his

father’s bloodline. When hediscovered that the House ofDampierrehadalonghistoryof undeath, he chose tobecomeavampireinordertogainthepowerhewanted.”

“He chose to be awalking corpse just so hecould rule over Bruges andthe surrounding area?” Iasked. “That’s…that’s…insane.”

Most vampires areturned against their will,

chosen as a power play in adeadly game betweenmonsters. They were pieceson a gameboard, pawns thatmay someday becomemasters, but pawns just thesame.

“True that,” he said.“I won’t argue that thebastard’selevatordon’tgoallthe way to the top, but hisactions make more sense incontext. You see, it allstartedwhen theHolyBlood

wasbroughttoBruges.”Darrylgot thatglazed

overlookhegotwhenhewasretrievingdatafrommemory,andIknewhemusthavereadaboutDampierre in theyearsbeforehisinjury.

“Constantinople wassacked during the 4thcrusade, led by Baldwin I in1204,” he said. “Holy relicswere secreted away to safetyinWesternEurope.TheHolyBlood was no exception. It

was brought to Bruges withthehelpofBaldwinIandtheKnights Templar. Baldwinwaskilledbeforeeverleavingthe Holy Land, but hisdaughter, Margaret II,Countess of Flanders,oversawtheinstallmentoftheHoly Blood in the basilicahereinBruges.”

I nodded, not that hecouldseeme.

“I visited theBasilicaof the Holy Blood my first

day in Bruges,” I said. “Iheard a little of the historybehindit,”Isaid.

“What you probablydon’tknow is theconnectionbetween the blood and thevampireMaster of theCity,”he said. Darryl frowned andscratched his neck, clearinghis throat. I flickedmyeyesback to the gruesomepainting. A connectionbetween Guy Dampierre andthe Holy Blood? That

couldn’t begood. “You see,the Holy Blood was broughthere in secrecy and wasbelieved to be safe untilMargaret married her secondhusband, William II ofDampierre. According toarchivists of that time, therewas a darkness that hauntedtheHouseofDampierre, andalthough the city thrived, theHolyBlood remained hiddenuntilhisdeathin1231.”

“You think Margaret

didn’t trust her newhusband?”Iasked.

“That’s my bestguess,” he said.“Unfortunately, she was alittletootrustingofhersons.”

“Guy Dampierre,” Isaid.

“Bingo,” he said.“Believingthecitytobesafe,Margaret allowed the HolyBlood to finallybeveneratedin the basilica soon after herhusband’s death. It looked

like the danger from theHouseofDampierrehadbeenaverted, but in 1251 her firstsonWilliamIIIwasmurderedbyhiredassassins.ThedeathofMargaret’sfirstsonshiftedpowertothesecondson,GuyDampierre.”

“Three guesses whoordered the hit on Guy’sbrother,” I said, rolling myeyes.

“Yep, Templars whowere here at the time traced

themoney trail back toGuy,but there wasn’t much theycoulddo,”hesaid.

“Whynot?”Iasked.I knew that the

Hunters’ Guild traced itsrootstotheKnightsTemplar.So it was no surprise thatmost of our original archiveswere scribed by Templararchivists. What surprisedmewasthattheyhadn’tdoneanything to take out avampire who so obviously

wasplanningtotakeoverthecity.

“The Templars werehere to watch over the HolyBlood,notinterferewithlocalpolitics,”hesaid.

“But…”Istarted.“No, listen,” he said,

holding up one of his largehands. Damn, if Darrylwantedto,hecouldpalmmyskulllikeabasketball.Ishutup. “Dampierre was smart.He didn’t go around killing

humans and dropping themon the Templar’s doorstep.Even when he wanted hisbrotherdead,hehadsomeoneelse do his dirty work forhim.”

“He wasn’t a rogue,so the Templars didn’t stepin,”Isaid.

My hand went to mynecklace and caressed thefangs that hung beneath myshirt. AsHunters,we didn’tkill indiscriminately, but if I

hadmysay,we’dchangeourcharter. “Never suffer avamptolive,”hadaniceringtoit.

“Guy became Countof Flanders,” he said,nodding. “Bruges entered aGolden Age of internationaltrade, but Guy’s relationshipwith the commoners wasstrainedduetohispreferencefornocturnalmeetings,andarumor that he’d made a dealwiththedevil. Thepowerful

merchants of Bruges,however, didn’t seem to carewhereGuy’sluckcamefrom,so long as it continued tomakethemwealthy.”

Bileroseinmythroatand I swallowed hard.Maybe that rule should be,“Never suffer a vamp or hisgreedy cronies to live.” Itdidn’trolloffthetongue,butitsureashellwasasmartruletoliveby.Ihadnosympathyformen like thosemerchants

who supported monsters likeDampierre. The onlydifference between themerchants and the vampireswas that one group grew faton profits, while the otherbecame engorged like ticksonthebloodoftheinnocent.Either way, they bled thecommonersdry.

“So Dampierre andhis posse of vampires andgreedy merchants ruled thecity, which was the

goddamned envy of theoutsideworld,”Isaid.

I’dseenenoughintheguidebooks and souvenirshops to know that duringBruges’ Golden Age it wasone of the most prosperoustradeports in theworld. Butbehind the lace markets,towering cathedrals, and theVan Eykes lurked somethingsinister.Infact,ifyoulookatthe later work of HansMemling and Hieronymus

Bosch, it isclear thatallwasnotwellhere.

“Yes, but he didn’trule unchecked,” he said.“Dampierre may have hadmost of Flanders in hispocket, but he still hadenemies.”

Darryl took twomeasuredpacestotheleftandturned to face thewallatourbacks.Ispunonmyheelandsighed. Just as I suspected,another creepy painting hung

on the wall. This onedepicted two men, onewearing a crown while theotherstoodjustbehindhimathis shoulder. There wasobviouslyadifferenceinrankbetween the two men, buttheyalsosharedsomethingincommon.

They both had deadeyesandtwistedsmiles.

“Let me guess,vampires,”Isaid.

“Yes, Dampierre’s

territory continued to grow,encompassing most ofmedievalBelgium,buthehada rival enemy in France,” hesaid.

“Who are they?” Iasked, moving closer to theportrait.

“Philip IV, King ofFrance, and ruler of HouseCapet, sometimes known as‘Philip theFair’ andhismanJacquesdeChatillon,”hesaidwithafrown.

The freaking King ofFrance?

“Pleasetellmeyou’rekidding,”Isaid.

I recognized thepattern on Philip’s cape. Itwas the same fleur-de-lispattern that he’d branded hisvampireswith.

“I wish I were, girl,”he said, shaking his head.“On my momma’s grave, Iswear I wish it were anyoneelse.”

“I take it that Philipthe Fair wasn’t given thatname for his winningpersonality,”Isaid.

“No, he wasnicknamed the Fair becauseofhishandsomeappearance,”he said. “One of hiscontemporaries, BernardSaisset said, ‘He is neithermannorbeast.Heisastatue,’to describehim,which aboutsums it up. The man was acoldheartedbloodsuckerwith

athrone.”His “handsome

appearance” would mostlikelyhavebeenduetovampglamour. My stomachtwisted. A vampire on thethrone?Whatanightmare.

“You said this guywas Dampierre’s nemesis,” Isaid.

“Yes, in 1284 Philiptried to gain control ofFlanders, and the battle overthe city of Bruges between

Guy and Philip officiallybegan,” he said. “Ten yearsintotheirpowerstruggle,Guyarranged the marriage of hisdaughterPhilippa toEdward,PrinceofWales.Thisshouldhave granted Dampierre thesupportoftheEnglishcrown,but Philip thwarted thoseplans.HehadhismenkidnapPhilippa and bring her toParis where she was thrownintoprison.”

“WasPhilippahuman

orvampire?”Iasked.“The Templars

believed her to be aninnocent,”hesaid.

“So she was justanother pawn in this gamebetween Guy and Philip,” Isaid.

“Looks like that wasthe case,” he said, nodding.“But that’s not the worst ofit. Philip wanted Guy’sterritory, so he sent his manJacques de Chatillon to rule

overBruges.”“The other guy in the

painting,”Isaid.Darrylnodded.“With Philip’s

backing, Jacques becamegovernorofBruges,andGuywent into temporary hiding,”he said. “But themerchantsrebelled and Jacques had torequest more troops tocement his position asPhilip’s puppet governor.Unfortunately for Jacques,

Philipsentahumanarmy,anarmy that never had thechance of a fair fight againstGuy’svampiremilitia.”

“What happened totheFrencharmy?”Iasked.

“The Bruges Matinshappened, one of Belgium’sbloodiest massacres,” hesaid. “On May 8, 1302,Dampierre’s men snuck intothe homes where the Frenchtroops were garrisoned anddrained every Frenchman

while he slept. Over twothousand men died thatnight. The only FrenchsurvivoroftheBrugesMatinsnocturnal massacre wasJacquesdeChatillon.”

“Because he wasn’thuman,”Isaid.

Darrylnodded.“Jacques escaped and

returned to Paris,” he said.“In retaliation, Philip sent anarmy of elite cavalry, butagain, Guy used his vampire

militia to defeat the hugeinvadingarmy.Philip’sarmyfar outnumbered Guy’smilitia, but it was mostlyhuman. The long ride toBrugescouldn’tbelimitedtonightfall, which madesending large numbers ofvampires difficult. On July11, 1302Dampierre’smilitiadefeated Philip’s army ofover eight thousand men inthe Battle of the GoldenSpurs.”

“Golden spurs?” Iasked.

“There were somanyFrench cavalry dead that thebattlefield was covered inthousands of golden spurs,”hesaid.

“Thepainting,”Isaid,turningbacktotheportraitofGuyDampierre. “Dampierrewastherethatday.”

“Yes,” he said. “Thehistory books sometimes saydifferently—Philip was King

of France and used hisposition of power to spreadrumors that Guy was aprisonerofthethrone—butinfact, the only DampierreprisonerwasGuy’sdaughter,Philippa.”

“What happened toher?”Iasked.

“In1306thepoorgirldied in a French prison,” hesaid with a frown. “AfterPhilippa’s death, GuyDampierre, Count of

Flanders, disappeared frompubliclife.Hewassaidtobedead, and some believed therumor that Philip had finallyimprisoned him, but Guy’ssons, the later Counts ofFlanders,wereallsaidtobeara striking resemblance totheir father and Philip’stroops were repeatedlyrepelledfromthecity.”

“So to keep thehumans from asking toomany questions, like how he

continuedtolooksoyouthful,Guy switched identitiestakingontheroleofhissonsand grandsons,” I said. Itwasn’tanunusualpracticeforvampires as deeplyentrenched in one city asDampierrehadbecome.“Butwhat happened to KingPhilip?”

“After his men wereslaughteredduringtheBrugesMatins, and his armiesdefeated at the Battle of the

Golden Spurs, Philip turnedhis attentions away fromBruges and the House ofDampierre, and focused hishatred on the KnightsTemplar,”hesaid.

So, Philip went fromhaving a hard-on for controlof the city that housed theHoly Blood to obsessivelydestroying the Templars, theorder of knights who weresworn to protect it. Acoincidence?Ithinknot.

“What reason did hegive for attacking theTemplars?” I asked. “AndamItheonlyonewhothinksit’s weird that Philip wentafter themilitaristic religiousorder that eventually becametheHunters’Guild?”

“Philip didn’t just goafter the Knights Templar,”hesaid,nostrils flaring. “Hedestroyedthem.”

“But how?” I asked.“The Templars were trained

in battle and knew how tofightvampires.”

“By deceit andtreachery,” he said. “OnOctober 13, 1307,Philip hadhundreds of Templarsarrested, accusing them ofheresy. These men weretortured, and forced to makefalse confessions ofwitchcraft and demonworship. He had Jacques deMolay,thelastGrandMasterof the Temple, burned at the

stake.”“My god, he started

theBurningTimes,”Isaid.Darryl nodded, hands

clenchingintofists.“Eight months after

the death of Jacques deMolay, Philip convenientlydied in a hunting accident,”hesaid.

Heused fingerquotesfor“died”,andIgotthehint.Like Guy Dampierre beforehim, Philip faked his death

but continued his despicableunlife.

Iswallowedhard.“So there really are

twofactionshere inBruges,”Isaid.“Thosemarks,thelionand fleur-de-lis—it’s GuyDampierreandPhilipIV.”

Onehadkilledtensofthousandsofmentomaintaincontrol of Bruges, while theother had annihilated theKnightsTemplarandsparkedthe Burning Times. They

were here, in Bruges, andtheywerefightingagain.

“Yep, we’ve got twomaster vampires in a turfwar,”hesaid.

Ohshit.

Chapter29

“A good Hunterknowsexactlywhatresourcesshehasathand.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Ash paced nervouslyupanddown the sidewalk infrontoftheguildhall.

“Youokay?”heaskedas I came down the stonesteps.

I hurried over towherehewaited,eagertogetonwiththehunt.

“I’mfine,”Isaid.“NosignofChadwick. I justgotoff the phone with Celesteand she should be rightdown. I told her tomeet usouthere.”

The door opened andCeleste sashayed across the

streettomeetus.Eveninherhuntinggear,shelookedsexyashell.Herlong,silky,blackhair was tied up into atopknot that accentuated heralmond shaped eyes, and theleather body armor she woreoverablackbodysuit fitherlike a second skin, showingoffhercurvestoperfection.

I avoided looking atAsh, not wanting to seewhere his attention was. Ididn’t feel like peeling his

chin up off the pavement. Icouldn’timagineanymannotwatching the show Celestewasputtingon.Troublewas,I was pretty sure it was thewitch’s default setting. AsfarasIcouldsee,Celestehadmadeanartoutofbeingsexy.

Igritmyteethanddida mental inventory of myweapons.Ididn’treallycareif Ash ogled Celeste, but ifshe became a distractionduring battle, we could all

end up dead. That was nothow this was going to playout.

“Sorry I’m late,”Celestesaid,comingtoastopjust insidemycomfortzone.The woman had no respectfor personal space. “Icouldn’tfindmygrimoire.”

“Maybe if youstopped smokingMandragora, you wouldn’thave that problem,” Ashmuttered.

Celeste was standingclose enough that I’d havebeenabletosmellthedrugonher breath, but there was nosickly sweet scent ofMandragora. Even so, herpupilswereabnormallylarge.

“So,didyoucompleteyourrituals?”Iasked.

If her pupils weredilated from holding toomuchmagic,Iwouldn’thaveto start knocking headstogether. Not that keeping

Celeste in line should bemyjob. Iwasn’therdoctor,herfriend, or her boss. WhenMaster Peeters returns fromBrussels he was getting anearful. What kind ofMasterallows their Hunters tobecomeaddicts?

“Oh yes,” she said,arching her back as shestretched. “Hecate has beenmostgenerous.”

“And your spellcomponents?”Iasked. “You

brought everything you needforraidingavampnest?”

Celeste tugged on herear,pokingher tongue inhercheek.

“I think so?” sheaskedwithashrug.

I frowned, narrowingmy eyes at her and trying tokeep my hands off myblades. A good Hunter isalways ready for a fight. Agood Hunter knows exactlywhat resources she has at

hand. A good Hunter doesnot guess and shrug thequestionoffwhengoing intobattle.

“Check,” I said myvoice hard. “After my talkwithDarryl,Icanassureyouthat you want every damnspellinyourarsenal.”

Celeste sighed androlled her eyes, but startedchecking her pockets. Ashleaned toward me, eyebrowraised.

“Learnanythingnew,love?”heasked.

“Yes,”Isaid,stomachchurning. “Two badassancientvampiresareinaturfwar and we need to put thefangbangersdownbeforeanymore innocent humans getcaught in the crossfire, orbecome rations for theirtroops.”

Who needs an energybar when you had grab-and-go tourists? Freaking

vampires.“Bloody hell,” Ash

said.Celeste’s eyes

widened and her handsstarted to shake as shecheckedhergear.

“A bloody Hell isexactly what this city willbecome if we don’t dosomething to stop them,” Isaid. “Weneedto takethemallout.”

“So what’s the plan,

love?”heasked.“We’ll target

Dampierre’s nest first,entering through that wardeddoor we found, and thenscour the city for theremaining rogue vamps thatbelong to Philip,” I said. Irubbed the fangs on mynecklace,aslowgrintuggingat my lips. “I’ll go to theendsoftheearthifIhaveto.Someof thesevampsare thesame bastards who

annihilated our brothers, theKnights Templar. Let’sreturnthefavor.”

Fangsclickedtogetherand I went through the oldmantra, saying the wordsunder my breath. Chicago,Milwaukee, Harborsmouth,Harborsmouth,Harborsmouth, Bruges,Bruges… Hmmm, I wascollecting so many trophies,pretty soon I’d have to startstringingfangsintobracelets.

Heck, after we wipe out theDampierre and Capetianclans, I can make myself abeadedcurtainortwo.

“And it’s just us?”Ash asked, pulling me frommy thoughts. He rubbed theback of his neck, eyesshifting to the front door ofthe Guild. “You didn’t asktheothersforhelp?”

“No, it’s just us,” Isaid. “Darryl said thatMartensisdowninGentwith

his daughter, and Zharkov isalso out of town securinglarge amounts ofC-4 for thearmory.”

There was no pointdiscussing Lambert andChadwick. Darryl’sblindnessmadehimaliabilityin the field. There was nowayhecouldcomewithustoraid a vampire nest. Andthere was no way that I’dtrust Chad with my back.No.Freaking.Way.

“It’s true,” Celestesaid. “I stopped by theirquarters on my way out.Their rooms are empty andthe hearse is gone. It’s ashame about Aleksey. Hereally loves making peoplescream.”

She licked her lipsand I swear her eyes dilatedeven further. I clenchedmyjawandturnedtoAsh.Ifwewere going into the lion’sden, there was one more pit

stopIhadtomake.“Okay, we just need

to stop bymy hotel so I cangrabtherestofmyweapons,”Isaid.“Comeon,I’llfillyouin on the rest of my planwhilewewalk.”

“We’rereallygoingtogo after the vampire Masterof the City and all of hisunderlings?”Celesteasked.

“Yes,andwhenwe’vepurged the House ofDampierre we’re going after

HouseCapet,”Isaid.“Two vampire

masters?” she asked. Shetilted her head as if givingthat some thought. “Soundslikemykindoffun.”

“You always did liketakingontwoatatime,”Ashsaid.

By Athena, if thevamps didn’t kill me, thesetwo were going to drive mebat shit crazy. I sighed andstarted walking toward the

Vandenberghe Inn. At leastI’d get a moment’s peace inmy hotel room while Iweaponedup.

Chapter30

“Puncturewounds areabitch.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Ghosts peered out atus fromeverywindowaswemade our way to the innwhereI’dstashedmygear.I

ignored their stares andwhispers. Somethinghadsetthem off, but it didn’t takemuchtoagitatesomespirits.Ididn’tthinkmuchofituntilI turned onto my street andmy eyes caught sight of onecrucial detail that made myheartstarttorace.

The door to the innwas open, hanging askew,rippedpartlyoffitshinges.

“No,”Igasped.Within seconds my

swordwas inmy hand and Iwas running down the streetand up the inn’s front steps.Sofia andNicolaswere goodpeople. Iwouldnot let themdie because I’d beenfoolhardy enough to lead themonsterstotheirdoorstep.

“Jenna, wait!” Ashyelled,butIneverslowed.

I dove through thehalf open door, kicking ithard, andbringingmy swordup in a defensive move to

block the fangs launched atmy jugular. I shoved thevamp off and shifted myweight as he staggered intothe shadows cast by the oneflickering bulb over thereceptiondesk.

There was a trail ofblood smeared across thefloor, but I didn’t have timetoinvestigate.Iwastoobusyfightingformylife.

Clawslashedoutfromwhere another vampire had

beenhidingbehindthedoor.Judging from the way thebitch was shrieking, I’dpissed her off with that kickto the door. I hoped she’dcaught a few woodensplinters in the chest, but ifnot, I could remedy thatsituation. I had a splinterwithhernameonit.

Ismiledandpalmedawoodenstake,neverloweringmysword.

“Come on you

bloodsuckinghag,”Isaid.The female vamp

hurled herself at me andinstead of pushing her awaylikeIhadherpartner,Iletherinsidemyguard,anddroppedmy sword. She smiled,flashingher fangs,convincedthat she had me. With thevampire gloating anddistractedbytheswordatherfeet, I sidestepped, grabbedher shoulder, and pulledmyselfontoherback.Shelet

out a frustrated wail andthrew herself onto the floor,back first. We went downhardwithmegrapplinglikeapsychoticspidermonkey.

Before she couldthrow me off, or smack myhead into the floor again, Ireversedmygriponthestakein my hand and yanked ittoward me, jamming itthroughherchestandintoherheart.Thewoman’scriescutoff mid-wail, paralyzed by

thestakeinherheart.Irolledherover,retrievedmysword,andsprangontomyfeet.

As I burst up out ofmy crouch, I gripped mysword with both hands andbroughtitupbetweenthelegsofa thirdvamp. If I thoughtthe chick’s screams wereloud, this guy had gonesupersonic. Glass panesstarted shattering and Icontinued to bringmy swordup,kickingthevampireinthe

back.Hewentdownontohisknees, facing the opendoorway,stillscreaming.

I’m pretty sure I justtore him a new asshole,literally.

I snickered and spunto check on the first vamp,butAshwasalreadyonhim.As Iwatched,he severed thevamp’s head from his body.Turningawayfromthecloudof ash and dust nowsurrounding Ash, I tore my

sword through the air, but ithitonlymoreashasaballofflameswinkedout.

The absence ofscreams made my ears feellike they’d been stuffedwithwool. I scanned the lobby,but there didn’t appear to beany more vampires in theroom with us. Celestewalkedinandsmileddownatthe circle of smolderingcarpet. Apparently, that lastkill was the witch’s

handiwork.I shook my head and

stomped out the flames. Ididn’tthinkSofiaandNicolaswould appreciate us burningdowntheirinn.

I was assuming thatthey were alive because Iwasn’t ready to face thealternative. If the innkeepersweredead,itwasmyfault.

“Trynottouseflamesinside,” I said. “We’re notheretoburntheplacedown.”

“He wouldn’t stopscreaming,”Celestesaidwithapout.

I shook my head. IcouldtrytoexplaintoCelestethatitwouldbeinconsiderateofustodoanymoredamagetotheVandenberghefamily’sinn, but I suspected that thewoman didn’t much careabout anything that didn’tgive her pleasure. I sighed.Some people weren’t worthreasoningwith.

“Just try not to burntheplacedown,”Isaid.

I turnedtowhereAshwascollectingfangsfromthefloor. For a moment, myhands clenched. Mine, mybrain screamed as he pickedup the fangs from my kills.But they weren’t my kills.Ash and Celeste haddelivered the killing blows,and the one I’d stakedthrough the heart was stillalive,undead,whatever.

By Athena, workingwith other Huntersmademyheadhurt.Ormaybethatwasfrom getting my headslammed against the floorwhile still suffering a minorconcussion.

“Here,” he said,handing over both pairs offangs. “I…I thought youmightwantthese.”

“Um, thanks,” I said,fixing my face into a boredexpression. I shoved the

fangs into my pocket, eyesfalling to the blood smearsthat traveled behind thereception desk. “Let’s clearthis place and check forsurvivors. Celeste? Stayherewith thisone andwatchthe door. Keep our exitclear.”

“CanIplaywithher?”sheasked,nudgingthefemalevamp with the pointy toe ofherboot.

“Notyet,”Isaid.

Celeste sighed, but Iignored her. Wemight needthevampchick’shelpfindingSofia and Nicolas. I wasn’tready to give up on them.They were still alive, theyjusthadtobe.

“I’ll take thedownstairs,” Ash said. Herounded the reception deskandIheldmybreath.

“Clear.” He caughtmy eye and shook his head.“They’re not here.” He

pulled a tagged key from ahook behind the counter andtossed it to me. “I’ll checktheirapartment.”

“I’ll take theupstairs,” I said, catching thekey.“Goodhunting.”

Calfandsideaching,Ihurriedupthestairs. MylegwaswetandIwasprettysureI’d pulled a few stitches.Puncturewoundsareabitch.

At the first landing, Iusedthemasterkeytounlock

the door tomy right. I heldmybreathastheclickechoedup and down the hall. TheplacefeltemptyandI foughtthe traitorous tears thatblurredmyvision.

Iwipedangrilyatmyeyesandgritmyteeth.IwasaHunter.Deathhappenedinour world. If theVandenberghes were dead,I’dmourntheirlosswhenthemission was over. Not asecondsooner.

With a steadyingbreath,Iswungthedooropenand strode into the room,sword held high. Therewasno one lurking behind thecurtains,nomonstersbeneaththe bed. I checked thebathroom, stabbing beforepulling the shower curtainback, but there was no onehere.Theroomwasempty.

I continued to searchtheother four roomsoneachfloor. When I came to my

own,Ihesitated.Clawmarksscoredthedoor’ssurfaceandthe lock was broken. Thevampires had followed myscent all the way up to myroom.

The monsters hadsniffedmeout.

Thebigquestionwas,were themonstersstillhere?Iheldmybreathandlistened,but there were no soundscoming from behind thedoor. I shiftedmyweight to

the balls of my feet and onthe exhale, I kicked the dooropen.

Sword held high, Istormedintotheroom.Iwasreadyforafight,buttheonlymonster in the roomwasme—the creep who’d broughtdestruction down on thisroom and possibly itsowners. I did a thoroughcheck of the bathroom aswell, but the vampires hadgone, leaving the room in

ruin.It was a good thing I

hadn’t been asleep when thevampsmadetheirattack. Tosay the bed was in tatterswould be a grossunderstatement. The sheetsand mattress were shredded,pinkmattressstuffingpouringoutofdeepgasheslikefrothyentrails.Theheadboardstoodlike a gravestone, the clawmarks thatmarred its surfacean epitaph written in a dead

language.“Clear,” I whispered

intothedarkness.Stepping over a

brokenchair,Ipawedthroughthepileofemptydrawersandtorndrapes.Ishookmyheadandletoutafrustratedgroan.I’d hoped to retrieve mybackupstakesandthefirstaidkit I’d left open on the desk,buttherewasnothingleft.

Thankfully, I hadn’tpacked before coming here

the other night in my flightfrom Simon Chadwick, andsince that night I hadn’t hadtime to move my stuff overfrom the Guild’s dorms. Isighed and headed out to thelanding, pulling the claweddoor shut behindme. I wasgoing to pay to cover thedamagesjustassoonasIsawSofiaandNicolas.

With any luck, thehappy couple would bedownstairs having tea with

Ash,laughingaboutthebreakin, and consideringthemselves lucky. Please letthem be okay, I prayed.Please,please,please.

“Clear,”Iyelleddownthe stairs. “The upstairs isclear.I’mcomingdown.”

I held onto thatpleasant fantasy, but as Istepped into the bloodstainedlobby, Iknew itwasn’t true.There was no laughter here,only dust, ashes, and blood.

Ash raised an eyebrow,but Ishookmyhead.

“No sign of theVandenberghes,”Isaid.

“Looks like thebloodsuckers took them outtheback,”hesaid.“Butfromthe looks of it, Sofia andNicolas put up one hell of afight.”

I slumped against thereception desk and let myheaddropintomyhands.

“This is my fault,” I

said.“It’snobody’sflippin’

fault,”Ashsaid.I dropped my hands

andlookedhimintheeye.“The vampires

followedmehere,”Isaid.“Inevershouldhavecome.”

Ash reached up totuck a piece of hair behindmyear.

“Chadwick didn’tgive youmuch of a choice,”hesaid.

I pulled away andheaded for the door. Iappreciated that Ash wastryingtomakemefeelbetter,but he was wrong. Wealwayshaveachoice.

Imadethewrongone.

Chapter31

“A Hunter can neverhavetoomanyweapons.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

“Let’s kill us somevamps,” I said, stalkingtowardthecanal.

I’d hoped to grab a

few more weapons from myroom, but what gear I hadwould justhave todo. Withpossible hostages in themix,we were now on an eventightertimetablethanbefore.Iwasgoing todo everythingpossible to find Sofia andNicolas and kill everyvampireinmypathalongtheway.Thefactthatweneededto take out the vamps beforethe war between HouseDampierre and House Capet

turned the streets of Brugesinto a charnel house was abonus.

I reached into myleather jacket, pulled out abroken chair leg, and startedwhittling it down to a pointwith my jackknife as Iwalked. Ash raised aneyebrow and pulled out oneofhisown.

“Great minds thinkalike,”hesaidwithawink.

I nodded. A Hunter

can never have too manyweapons.

“If some crappy oldchair legs make you a greatmind, then I must be afreaking genius,” Celestesaid.

Shepulledaminiaturecrossbowfromher satchelofspell components, and IalmostclappedmyhandslikeakidonChristmasmorning.At least, I think that’s whatnormalkidsdoonChristmas.

Iwouldn’treallyknow.Her fingertips

lingered on mine as shehanded theweaponover,andsheleanedinclose.

“You’re thinking thatyoucouldkissmeaboutnow,amIright?”shesaid,partingherlipsinanticipation.

“Bloody hell,Celeste,” Ash said with afrown.“That’smyline.”

I sighed and latchedthe crossbow into a quick

release thigh holster betweenthepanelsofmybattleskirt.Leave it to these two to ruinthe moment. I swear theycould suck all the joy out ofthe city with one petulantlook.

“Thanks for thecrossbow,” I said. “I didn’teven realize my stuff hadarrived.”

I’d asked MasterJanusifIcouldhaveafewofmy custom weapons shipped

over. Apparently, he’dsucceeded in pulling thenecessary strings to get themintothecountry.

“Itwasinyourroom,”shesaidwithashrug.

InarrowedmyeyesatCelesteandfrowned.

“When were you inmyroom?”Iasked.

The pistol sizedcrossbow was mine, a giftfrom Jonathan after one ofour nastier fights. He’d

carved awolf howling at thefull moon and a stick figuregirl with her hands over herearsintothebuttofthestockas a joke. Rooming with awerewolf definitely had itsdownsides, especially on thefull moon. It’s amazing Inevershothimwithhisgift.

“I stopped by when Iwent looking for Benjaminand Aleksey,” she said.“Don’tworry. It’snot like Iwent throughyourpanties. I

just thought you’d like yourweapons.”

For all I knew, she’dsnuckintomyroomandstolethe crossbow for herself, butright now I didn’t care. Myfingers traced the carvedwoodstrapped tomylegandfor the first time tonight, themuscles in my shouldersrelaxed. Handling a familiarweapon can be like cominghome.

“Youthinktograbmy

quiverofbolts?”Iasked.“Oh, I think so,” she

said, biting her lip andrummaging through her bag.She was one of the mostdisorganizedwitches I’devermet,atraitthatdidnotinspireconfidence. I just hoped shecouldfindwhatsheneededtoblastthevampiresintodust—and not her allies—when itcountedmost.“Here,Ifoundit!”

Igrinnedasshepulled

out the compactquiver. Thequiverwasfilledwithcustomiron-filled, silver-tippedwoodenbolts. Eachbolthada cross carved into the shaftand had been dipped in holywater. Those bolts wouldslow both faeries and theundead, but they wereparticularly useful againstvampires.

I snapped the quiverinto place, finished whittlingthe tip of the chair leg, and

strapped my new stake ontotheoppositethigh.

“Arewe going to killus somevamps?”Ashasked,looking from me to Celesteand back again. “Or are wejust going to stand here allnight, fondling ourweapons?”

“Ivoteforkillingandfondling,” Celeste purred.“Not necessarily in thatorder.”

“Stay sharp,” I said.

“Thisisn’tagame.Thethreeof us are all that standbetween the people of thiscityandthebloodsuckers.”

Celestepushedoutherbottom lip, but she kept hermouthshut.Smartgirl.

Wemade it down theembankment and through theiron gratewithout trouble—afact that made me twitchierthanusual.Celestesentaballof witch light to float aboveour heads, and my eyes

darted to every waveringshadow. Even with themagically warded door infrontofus,thisfelttooeasy.After our previous clasheswiththelocalvampires,thereshould have been guardsposted at every entrance totheirnest.

Had Philip’s vampsalready taken outDampierre’smen?Normally,I’d have cheered the Frenchvampires on, but not now.

Before putting the lastvampirebackattheinnoutofhermisery,I’drolledheroverandcheckedher lowerback.ThelionbrandmarkedherasHouse Dampierre. When Iwithdrew the stake enoughfor her to answer myquestions,she’donlylaughedin my face, but that wasalright.

I already had myanswer. Sofia and Nicolashad been taken by

Dampierre’s men. If therewas any chance that theinnkeepers lived, then I’dlikely find them down in thesewers. So long as Philip’smen hadn’t come andexterminated every lastvampireandhumanfeederinHouseDampierre’snest.

The only hearteningfact was that the door wardwasstillfunctioning.

Celeste drew a circleand placed candles at each

cardinalpoint. Afterlightingthecandleswithatouchfromher fingertip, she closed hereyesandbeganchanting.Myskin tingled and the marksbeside the door began toglow.

“Oscail!” Celesteshouted.

Myearspoppedandagustofairputout theflamesof the red, green, and blackcandlesatherfeet.Ibouncedon tiptoe, trying to get a

betterlook.“Did it work?” I

asked,keepingmyvoice lowas I raisedmy crossbow andaimeditatthedoor.

In answer, the doorswung open, belching therottingstenchofthegrave.

Chapter32

“A Hunter’s work isneverdone.”

-Celeste Dubois,Hunter

Ever leaveahamandmayo sandwich in your gymlocker?Everopenthatlocker

at the same moment a toiletbacked up and overflowedsteaming shit all over yourgym socks? Well, the smellpouring out of the sewertunnelswasworse than that.Magnify that putrescence bya thousand and add in thestink of a charnel house andyouhavesomeideaofwhatitwas like where I wasstanding. My eyes burned,andIstrugglednottogag.

But that wasn’t the

worstofit.Along with the foul

stinkcamea swarmofangryvampires. They were on uslike pixies to salt.Fortunately for us, I’dbrought my favorite flyswatter.

Igotoffoneshotwithmy bow before the vampsclosed the distance and Iswitchedtomysword.Itookthe first vampire’s head offcleanlyandkickedthesecond

in the knee, sending himsprawling into Celeste’sfiring range. A flashofheatwarmedmyback,andafiercegrintuggedatmylips.Ashestoashes,dusttodust,baby.

Vamp number threewasn’t so easy. These frontline troops were made upmostly of young vampires,but even the ill trained canget lucky. Bones,somewithbitsofcartilageintact,litteredthefloorsurroundingthedoor

andas I lunged to the side, Isteppedontoa rib cage. Myboot caught, slowing mymovementsbyameresecond.

But when youropponenthas thespeedofanimmortal predator, a secondisalltheadvantageheneeds.The vampire surged forward,and my blade missed hisneck, instead becominglodged in his shoulder. Ikickedoutatthevamp,tryingtowithdrawmysword,but it

heldfast.Shit,shit,shit.Thevampgnashed its

fangssoclosetomyfacethatI could smell its carrionbreath over the stink ofsewage. I swallowed hardand reversed my grip on thesword, struggling touse it asa lever to push thevampoutofbitingdistance,buthewasstrongandmoreofhisfriendswere clawing their waythrough the doorway, tryingtojointheparty.

Somuch for swattingflies. If I couldn’t fend offthis vamp one handed,allowingme to draw anotherweapon, I was going tobecomethiscreep’sSlurpee.

Luckily for me, Ashhadaflyswatteraswell,andhewasn’thalfbadatusingit.Witharoaringbattlecry,Ashtooktheheadoffavampiretomy right. The vampire infrontofmeturnedhisheadafraction at the sudden cloud

of ash and dust, and I usedthe distraction to myadvantage.

The usual hand-to-hand combat tactics don’tapply when fightingvampires. Unlike humans,vampires don’t have a lot offunctioning pain receptors.That’s the problem withfighting the undead. Youstomp on top of a human’sfoot, and theycrumple to theground. Do the same to a

vampire, and they just try toeatyourface.Buttherewereways to level the playingfield.

My hand dipped intomy jacket and before thevampire knew what hit him,I’d staked him through theheart. When it comes tofightingvampires,Iprefertheclassics.Inthiscase,itwasasharpened chair leg throughtheheart.

“A little piece of

justice from theVandenberghe Inn,” Iquipped.

The vampire didn’tlaugh, didn’t even blink, butthat was okay. He wasparalyzedafterall.

I pushed the vampireto his knees and gripped thehilt of my sword with bothhands, yanking it free fromhisshoulderwiththegrindingsound of metal against boneand the snap of mummified

cartilage. I grinned. Thisguy’s tendons might be likeoldshoe leather,but thathadto hurt—even with a lack ofpainreceptors.

More vamps werepouringthroughthedoorway,andwithouthesitationIputaboot on the vampire’sshoulderandlaunchedmyselfover his body and onto theparty crashers. The youngvamps were standingshoulder to shoulder, and I

took two heads with oneswipe of my sword.Amateurs,nowtheywerejustmakingiteasy.

Within seconds, I’devaluated and targeted theirweaknesses. But before Icouldfinishthemoff, I feltacool touch and Ash’s breathinmyear.

“Want some help,love?”heasked.

Ishookmyheadwithagrin.

“Not really,” I said.“But you’re welcome towatchandlearn.”

I rushed forward andtook the head cleanly from avamp’sshoulders.Beforehisfriends could react, I spunand took two more heads.The remaining vamps hissedandrushedtowardme,butI’danticipated that. I jinked leftand dove into a low crouch,bringing my sword parallelwithmyshoulderandcutting

two of the vamps off at theknees. They’d heal,eventually, but maimingslowedthemdown.

Using the forwardmomentum of my strike, Iduckedmyheadandtumbled,catching a vamp on the chinwith theheelofmybootandsnappinghisheadbackat anunnatural angle. A brokenneckwouldn’t kill a vampireeither,butthat’sokay.NowIwasjusthavingfun.

A smug smile on mylips, I came to my feet and,without even looking behindme, swung my sword in anarc. With a pirouette, Iturned to watch three moreheads fall. The vampiresturnedtoashbeforetheheadseverhittheground.

I started wiping mysword on one of the vampsI’d staked earlier, and Ashclappedhishands.Iblushed,heat rising to my face. I

wasn’t usually so cocky, butthenagain,Ididn’toftenhaveanaudience.Still,Iprobablyshouldn’t have shown offwhenliveswereatstake.

“Not a damsel indistress,” Ash said, lookingme over. “I’ll rememberthat.”

I shruggedand turnedtosurveythedeadanddying.At least now I knew wherethe missing guards were.Dampierre was smart—not

surprising since he was overseven hundred years old—andhadpulledhismeninsideto defend the nest frominvaders while keeping theirflank protected. But thathadn’t worked out as heplanned. Not unless he’dwanted a pile of ash on hisdoorstep.

Ash liftedhis scarf tohis face, covering the smileon his lips, and I held mybreath aswe finished off the

last of the downed vamps.I’d have to come back andsift through theash for fangslater. Sofia and Nicolasmight still be alive. Mytrophies would just have towait.

“Celeste,” I said,grimacing at the grit thatcoated my teeth as I spoke.Pieces of dead vampireschoked the air. “Any luckfindingtheVandenberghes?”

She’dcraftedapoppet

of mandrake root using hairthat Ash had collected fromthe couple’s apartment. I’dgrowledwhen she first liftedthe mandrake root from hersatchel,wonderingifshewasgoing to light up and smokeit, but instead she’d carvedthe root into a humanoidshapeandusedcandlewaxtoattach Sofia’s and Nicolas’hair to itsheadandpressedapurple gemstone tied with abluethreadintoitscenter.

According to thewitch, the poppet would letherknowwhenwewerecloseto the Vandenberghes—solongastheywerestillalive.

“Nothing yet,” shesaid,shakingherhead.

Her silky black hairand olive skin wereuntouched, a magical fieldkeeping her pristine. Igrimaced and turned to Ash,whoalso looked suspiciouslycleanforsomeonewho’djust

battled over a dozenvampires. Celeste wasprobablykeepingthedirtandgrime from touching him aswell. I guess Iwas the onlyonenotworththeeffort.

Istrodeintothesewertunnelandwinced.

“I sure wish I hadyour affliction right now,” Isaid, turning to Ash as hecame up beside me. Thetunnelwaswideenoughherefor three people to walk

abreast, four if they didn’tmind touching the curvedstone walls. I, for one, wassteering clear of the dampsurface caked with centuriesofbloodandexcrement.

“What afflictionwould that be?” he asked.His eyes flicked to Celeste,andsheshrugged.

“Having no sense ofsmell,” I said, wrinkling mynose. “This place stinksworsethantrollfarts.”

“Ah,” he said, a slowsmile on his lips. “Noteveryonecanbeasperfectasme.”

Isnortedandgestureddownthetunnel.

“Come on,” I said.“Stench or no stench, we’vegotworktodo.”

“A Hunter’s work isnever done,” Celestemuttered.

Ash gave her asidewaysglanceandwinked.

“Youhavenosoddingidea,”hesaid.

Celeste let out athroaty laugh, and I grippedmyswordhardas I turned totrudge down the tunnel. Ifrowned as I dodgedpuddlesof reeking effluent. ByAthena, I couldn’t wait untilthisjobwasover.AssoonastheVandenbergheswere safetopside and the city wascleansed of both warringvampire clans, I was asking

foratransfer.Anything would be

better than this assignment.Hell, even being stationed ina desolate Siberian outpostwouldbebetterthanworkingin this city. At least there Ihad a better chance ofworking solo—and if therewas blood, piss, and shit, atleastitwouldbefrozensolid.

Chapter33

“A true Hunterdoesn’t balk when asked towade through a moat ofrotting corpses and liquefiedfeces.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

The tunnels twisted

and turned, branching offrepeatedly in multipledirections. If it hadn’t beenfor my request that Celesteleave a magical beacon ateach crossroads, a bit likeHansel and Gretel’sbreadcrumbs,we’dneverfindourwaybackout.Asitwas,thegrowingheatof theplacewasmakingmychesttighten.

If we ended upcooked in some hag’s ovenaftersloshingthroughall this

filth,Iwasgoingtobepissed.My foul mood was

madeworsebytheincreasingstenchbroughtonbytheheat,and the fact that every vampwe’dkilledinthepasttwentyminuteshadturnedtomudastheir ashes mixed with theslop that randownthecenterof the tunnel. Thatwasa lotof fangs down the toilet. Iwas willing to do a lot toretrieve my trophies, butscooping up puddles of

excrement like some feverishminer panning for gold wasnotoneofthem.

“Celeste?” Igrumbled. “You gettinganything?”

Her poppet hadwiggled its arms and chirpedabout five minutes ago, andsince then I’d badgered herwith questions. Apparently,the crude effigy had made aconnection to theVandenberghes’ spiritus

mundi orvital life force. Asof five minutes ago, at leastone of the innkeepers wasstill alive. There was achance we might be able torescueSofiaandNicolas.

Butalotcouldhappeninfiveminutes.

“By Hecate, it’s onlybeena fewminutes,”Celestesaidwithasigh.Ifrownedatan approaching crossroadsandthewitchrolledhereyes.“Fine,Iwilltrytospeakwith

thepoppet.”She pulled a flask

fromhersatcheland,holdingthe root in the palm of herhand, she poured red wineinto its mouth. At least, Ihopeditwaswine.Iwassicktodeathofblood.

I fidgeted, shiftingfromfoottofoot.Weneededto keep moving, but if wetookthewrongturn,wecouldloseallchanceof finding theVandenberghes alive. Ash

came alongside me, eyesflickering up and down thetunnelandbacktothepoppetinCeleste’shand.

The magical roottwitched as the wine soakedinto its skin. Celestewalkedover to the intersection andslowlywavedherhandtotheleft,butnothinghappened. Igrit my teeth and watchedintentlyasherhandcontinuedto move. When her handshifted to indicate the tunnel

to the right, the poppet did alotmorethantwitch.

It screamed bloodymurder.

“Bloody hell,Celeste,”Ashmuttered.

He brought his swordup,andIraisedmycrossbowtolaydowncoverfire.Iwasgetting low on woodenstakes, but the wooden boltsfilled with iron and tippedwith silver would paralyze avampire just as effectively.

Intheevernarrowingtunnels,there was barely room toswing a cat sidhe let alonetwoswords,hencemycurrentpreferenceforthecrossbow.

I held my breath,waiting for the rush oflightning fast feet as theyspedtowardus,butallIcouldhear was the scurrying ofrats. Then again, myeardrums were stillrecovering from the poppet’sonslaught.

“You could havewarned me that thing wouldstartcryinglikeabanshee,”Imuttered.

Celeste shrugged andwrappedthepoppetinapieceof cloth. It looked like arudimentarydollinablanket.

“I forgot,” she saidwithashrug.

I bit the inside ofmycheektokeepfromyellingather and turned down thetunnel to the right. At least

nowweknewwhichtunneltotake. We also had anotherpiece of vital information.One or both of theVandenberghes remainedalive,fornow.

The tunnelstraightened, givingme clearline of sight for a change.Confident that there were novampireslurkingaheadofus,at least not in the nexthundred yards or so, I tookoff at a run. Celeste

grumbled, but she and Ashsoon followed on my heels.We made good time racingdownthosetunnels.

Rightupuntilthepathwas cut off by a bubblingriver of steaming crap. I’ddeny it to the death, but awhimper may have escapedmylipsasIcametoanabrupthalt.

The dungeons wherethe vampires took theirprisonersmustbesomewhere

up ahead. The poppet hadscreamed that this was theright path. As much as Ididn’tlikeit,Ihadnochoice.I had to keep movingforward. Come on, Jenna,suck it up, I beratedmyself.But my feet had turned toleadweights.

Hunters are stoic.Hunters put the needs ofothers above their own. Atrue Hunter doesn’t balkwhen asked to wade through

amoatofrottingcorpsesandliquefiedfeces.

I’ve never regrettedmydecisiontotakemyvowsand join the ranks of theHunters’ Guild. But rightthenasIstoodthere, lookingfor another way across thatsteamy river of filth, I wasquestioningmycareerpath—because I sure as hell wasbalking.

“That’snevergoingtocomeout,”Igroaned.

Bubbles rose to thesurface of the slow movingriver and popped, releasingmore noxious gases into theair. If I evermade it out ofhere alive, I was going tohave to burn every piece ofgear I had with me. Iswallowed hard and squaredmy shoulders, but CelestetappedmeonthebackbeforeI took another step. Thewitchflashedmeaslysmile,and I halted, toes an inch

fromtakingtheplunge.“I might be able to

help with that,” she said,wigglingherfingers.

“I knew you wereusingaspelltostaysoclean,”Ihissed.

I would have yelled,but sound echoed this fardown in the tunnels. We’dalready pressed our luckearlier with the screamingpoppet. The sewage wascovering our scent from

roaming vampire patrols, butif we wanted to retain theelementofsurprise,wehadtocommunicate with whispersandhandsignals.

Not that I wanted totake a deep breath downhere. The gases wouldprobably make me pass out,and I’d rather be dead thanface down in a river ofsewageandvampleftovers.

“It’s just a little airmagic,” she said, preening

likeacat.“Soyoucankeepthat

stuff out of my gear?” Iasked,pointingatthesludge.

“That will be moredifficult, but yes,” she said.“Just be sure to keep yourheadabovethesurface. Youtoo,Ash.”

She turned to Ash,and he raised his hands andbackedaway.

“Just because I haveno sense of smell doesn’t

meanIwanttogoswimminginthatshite,”hesaid.

“Don’t worry, you’llmake it across without aspeck of that stuff on you,”she said. “Get to the otherside quickly and I can shieldall three of us with an airspell. Jenna, just rememberwhat I said about keepingyourheadabovethesurface.The air flowing over yourskin creates a seal, but that’sa problem if it has to cover

yourface.It’sairmagic,notanoxygenmask.”

“Gotit,”Isaidwithanod.“Justletmeknowwhenyourspellisready.”

She drew a circle inthe filth at our feet with thetoeofherbootandpulledtwocandles from her satchel.Anotherbubbleburbledtothesurface, belching more gasesinto the air. My eyeswidened as realizationdawned, and not a moment

toosoon.IgrabbedCeleste’shandsandshookmyhead.

“No fire,” I said,flicking my eyes to theburbling sewage. “I don’tthinkyouwant to light thosecandles.”

She frowned androlledhereyes.

“Why not?” sheasked.

“Because you’ll sendustokingdombloodycome,”Ashsaid.

Inodded.“If there’s enough

methane built up in theselowertunnels,anyopenflamecould cause an explosion,” Isaid. “I don’t know aboutyou, but I’d rather not learnwhat it’s like to be a bulletshot down the barrel of agun.”

“Not the analogy I’duse, considering our presentsituation,”Ashquipped.

Celeste gaze clouded

andsheblinked.“Oh,”shesaid.“Can you still do the

spell?”Iasked.“Ithinkso,”shesaid.

“But…it might not be aseffective.”

Some protection wasbetter than none. I noddedand gave her an encouragingsmile.

“Aer bhac gaoith,”shewhispered.

Celeste brought her

thumb and middle fingerstogether, pointing towardmeand Ash with her pinkies.Next,sheshookoutherhandsand waved her fingers as ifindicating wind or sidewaysrain.Myskinbegantotingleand a warm breeze caressedmyskin.

“It’sworking,”Isaid.Celeste dropped her

hands to her sides, and Ashflashedmeanimpishgrin.

“Ladiesfirst,”hesaid,

gesturinginfrontofus.“Whatagentleman,”I

grumbled.I wrinkled my nose

and gingerly stepped downinto the sludge, keeping myarms out for balance. Theliquid came up tomywaste,butmylegsandfeetremaineddry. Celeste’s spell wasfunctioningasplanned.

I’d made it halfwayacrosswhenAshandCelestejoinedme. Onmynextstep,

I stumbled as my foot camedown on something the sizeofadeadcat.Iwobbled,butmanagedtostayupright.Mycrossbow didn’t even take afatalnosedive.

Wading throughsewage gave a whole newmeaning to being up shit’screek.

Once I was on theotherside,Ipulledmyselfupand onto the tunnel floor.Thesmellwasbadenoughto

makemyeyesburn,butwhenI stood and brushed at myskirt with my free hand, itcame back dry. I started tosmile, but before I couldthank Celeste for the spell, Iheard footsteps runningtowardus.

“You have got to beshitting me,” I muttered.“Hurry up, you two. We’vegotcompany.”

“I’ve heard of shithitting the fan,” Ash said.

“But this is bloodyridiculous.”

He struggled to pullhimself up out of the moat.Once he was out, he turnedaround to give Celeste ahand,butshejustgavehimascathinglook.

“Remember,Celeste,”I whispered. “No firemagic.”

“Why not?” sheasked.“Ilikefiremagic.”

Athena give me

strength. Mandragora usehad seriously damaged thatwoman’sbrain.

“Trust me,” I said.“No flames. No sparks. Nogoddamned fire balls. Gotit?”

“Fine, fine,” she said,giving a one armed shrug asshe came up beside me.“Whatever.”

I cut off my retort asthe vampires rounded thecorner. If Celeste didn’t

listen to me, then at leastwe’d take out a bunch ofvampsassheblewusallup.I let off three shots insuccession,reloadingfastandfurious.

After the thirddownedvamp,Islammedthebowintoitsthighholsteranddrew my sword. Therewasn’t much room here, butif I could flank these vamps,it should give Ash and mebothenoughroomtofight.If

not,Iwouldbedowntousinghandheld stakes and mytrusty combat knife. I’d stillbeabletotakeoutvamps,butitwouldgetmessy.

Severing a vampire’shead from its body with acombat knife is slow,gruelingwork. It takes timeand determination to sawthrough the thick layers ofleathery sinew, not tomention the spine. That’swhy I ducked and ran down

the tunnel, dodging vampsand bumping into the tunnelwall,likeapsychoticgameofpinball.

At the back of theposse, I spun and launchedmyself at the rear guard. Itook off his head with alaugh. Ash let out a whoopof pleasure, and weproceeded to cut through thevampire patrol like weeds.We met in the middle withme covered in dust and ash,

and him flashing me a widesmile.

“Well, that was fun,”he said, tipping his hat backonhisheadatajauntyangle.

“Whatever,” Celestemuttered.

Sheswipedathishat,attemptingtoknockitoffhishead, but miraculouslymissed. Maybe his hat wasspelled. There was no otherrational reason for it toremainonhishead.

I smiled at Ash, butmy lips soon pulled into afrown as I took note of thenumberofvampireswe’djustfaced.

“They’re traveling inlarger numbers,” I said.“Come on. We must begettingclose.”

I hoped that we’d bein time to save theVandenberghes. Being alivedidn’t mean that they wereunharmed. My throat

constricted as my mindconjured all of the atrocitiesthatcouldhavebefallenSofiaand Nicolas since theirabduction.

There were muchworsethingsthandeath.

Chapter34

“Hunters protect theinnocent from monsters, nomatterthepersonalcost.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

We hurried down thetunnel, careful to keep oursteps as silent as possible on

the damp floors. Afterdispatching two morevampire patrols, wedescended to a rockyoutcropping overlooking acavern filled with the moansoflivingprisoners.

WelcometoHell.We’dsteppedinsidea

goddamned HieronymusBosch painting. In fact,Bosch had spent time inBruges. Perhaps the localvamps had invited the artist

down here as an honoredguest. Since he’d lived torecreate this place in hispaintings, he obviouslyhadn’t been a prisoner. Itdidn’tlooklikethevampires’human feeders had muchhopeofescape.

Iron cages hung fromthe ceiling, and prison cells,with ironbars thatwerebuiltinto the stone walls of thecavern, held the dead anddying. A larger pen seemed

to be used as an exercisespace, or perhaps for whentherewasaglutofprisoners.Eitherwayitwasmoresuitedfor cattle than humans,though PETA would havehad a field day if that werethecase.

A low growl rumbleddeep in my throat. Nocreature deserved to betreatedthisway.

Thankfully, HouseDampierre appeared to be

lowonrations.Thedungeonwas obviously equipped tohandle more human feeders,butfightingwithPhilip’smenhadprobablycurbedtripsintothe city to stock the nest’slarder.ThoughIknewthatitcouldhavebeenmuchworse,the whimpers and groanscomingfrombelowwerestillhardtostomach.

At the moment, theplace was half empty, withonlyafewoccupiedcellsand

a bodydangling fromone ofthewallsatapainfulangle.Ihoped that the personshackled to the wall wasdead. If not, they’d be inexcruciating pain whenevertheyregainedconsciousness.

I was going to freethese people—the ones whostill lived—but first I neededa plan. If I ran down therewithout knowing what kindof numbers I faced, then Imightaswellfallonmyown

sword.Thevampireshadthehome advantage. It’d besmarttorememberthat.

I swallowed hard andscanned the dungeon forguards. Itwasn’t easy. Theundead have perfect nightvision and they obviouslydidn’t take the comforts oftheir prisoners intoconsideration. The cavernwas cloaked in darkness,broken only by an eerieluminescence coming from

patches of some type ofglowingsubterraneanfungus.

Identifying targets bythe light of bioluminescentfungi is not as easy as itsounds.Theglowradiuswasoften less than a meter. Itwas like trying tokeep scoreof a hockey game in a pitchblack arena, using only ahandful of glow sticks. Thebest way to determine guardactivity was to patientlywatchforasilhouette topass

in front of one of themushroomclusters.

I grit my teeth,keeping my breathing slowand even, and tracked themovements of the dead. Itwasn’t easy, not at all,becausethevampiresweren’ttheonlydeadinthecavern.

The entire place wasswarmingwithghosts.

Tormented souls,spiritsofthedeadwrithinginagony, choked the dungeon.

Their numbers were so greatthat Icouldn’t tellwhereoneghost began and anotherended. Vampires had beenfeeding on, torturing, andmurdering their prey in thisplaceforcenturies.

Thatkindofshitleftamark.

I squinted, ignoringthe spectral forms as Icountedvampires. One, two,three,four… Whatthehell?It was while I counted the

fourth vampire that I noticedapeculiarphenomenon. Theghosts, moving as oneectoplasmic mass, shifted inthepresenceofavampire.

After that, it wasn’tdifficult to track the guard’smovements.IjustwishIhadbetternewstoreport.

“Fifty-three,” Iwhispered. “And that corpseon the throne? Pretty surethat’sGuyDampierre.”

Guy Dampierre, the

ancient master vampire. Icouldn’t seeAsh,but I couldfeelhisbodygorigid.

“The Master of theCity, here?” Ash asked.“Bloodyhell.”

We might be in thebowels of the city, butapparently this was the heartof House Dampierre’s nest.Forsomereason,thatseemedfitting.

“Where?” Celesteasked, her voice a husky

whisper.“There’s a ledge,

similar to this one, butlarger,” I said. “It forms abalcony overlooking thedungeon…at your twoo’clock.”

The quick intake ofair let me know when she’dfound it. It wasn’t sodifficult,onceyouknewwhattolookfor.Morethanhalfofthe vampires were amassedthereattheirmaster’sfeet.

“So,what’stheplan?”Celesteasked.“Youdohaveaplan,don’tyou?”

“It’s a work inprogress,”Isaidwithashrug.

“Great,” she said.“We’regoingtodie.”

“Shut up, Celeste,”Ashmuttered.

“Hey,willthatpoppetstartscreamingagainifitgetsclose to theVandenberghes?” I asked,nudgingCeleste’sshoulderto

getherattention.“Um, yes, as long as

there’s a crossroads…aplacewhere there’s a choice to bemade on which direction totravel,”shesaid.

“Good,that’sgood,”Isaid, nodding eagerly.“When we reach the cavernfloor, Iwantyou two to turnleft toward that block ofcells. Celeste, when youreachthatspotwherethepathbranchesnearthelargestpen,

wave the poppet in eitherdirection. It should startscreaming its head off. Assoon as the poppet startsscreaming, drop it and runtowardthecells.”

Celesteletoutaheavysigh.

“We’reusingarootasa distraction, that’s yourplan?”sheasked.

“At least some of theguards should head towardthe noise,” I said. “When

they do, you flank them andtake them out. Justremember,nofiremagic.”

Itwouldn’t dous anygoodtoreachtheprisonersifCelesteblewusallupbeforewegotthemout.

“You’re no fun,” shemuttered.

“Wherewillyoube?”Ashasked.

This was the trickypart, convincing mycompanions that we’d be

better off splitting up. Itwasn’t a sensible plan, but itwouldensurethebestchanceof survival for Ash, Celeste,and the prisoners. That wasgoodenoughforme.

I was a Hunter.Hunters protect the innocentfrommonsters, nomatter thepersonal cost. I’d taken avow,andnowwasmychancetoputthatpromisetothetest.

“Someone needs toholdbacktheguardsandtake

outDampierre,”Isaid.I managed to say the

entire sentence without myvoice wavering. Go me. Iwas proposing a singleHunter battling more thantwodozenvamps.Thatalonewould be difficult. Add aseven-hundred-year-oldmaster vampire to the mixand this became a suicidemission,plainandsimple.

“No flippin’way,”hesaid. “I won’t let you kill

yourself.”“Justtrytostopme,”I

said.I lifted my crossbow

to shoulder height and tookoff down the tunnel, leavingCeleste’s gasp and Ash’scursing behind me. It wasbetter this way. I was nogood at sentimental touchyfeelycrap.

I never did likegoodbyes.

My boots hit the

cavern floor without makinga sound, a spongy mossabsorbing my footsteps. Igrinned, baring my teeth. Iwas going to take down asmanyvampiresaspossible.Iwouldn’t have chosen acavern stinking of sewageand death as the place I’dtake my last breath, but Ididn’t regret that this waswhatIwasabouttodo.

I always knew thatthiswas how I’d die. It had

justbeenamatteroftime.Using the sea of

ghosts to find my targets, Itook down three vampiresbefore anyone noticed anytrouble.Thatwasme,troublewithacapitalT.

A vampire rushedtowardme,knockingtheboltIshotathimanddeflectingitawayfromhischest. Shit. Istopped running, hoping toincrease the odds of a heartshot, when the poppet’s cry

rangout.To my left, all hell

broke loose. Still rushingtoward me, the vampiresnapped his head in thedirection of the screams, andI tookmy shot. Four vampsdown,onlyfiftymore togo.And that lastone, theMasteroftheCity?

Hewasmine.I took up position

behindawhippingpost,usingit as a partial blind, and

picked off vamps as theyrushed toward the prisoners’cells. That little poppet suremade one heck of adistraction, even better thanI’d hoped. The vampiresprobably didn’t have muchexperience with attacks thisfarinsidetheirdefenses.

It was like shootingfishinabarrel.

I’d downed overtwentyvampswhenIranoutofammo. All Ihad leftwas

my lucky bolt, the one thatJonathan had given me withthe crossbow for luck. Notbad.Notbadatall.

I switched to mykatana and, leaping overparalyzed vamps, I startedcutting a path to the throne.Vampires are selfish, butsooner or later one of thesecreepswouldprobablyrealizethat helping his brothers byremoving the wooden boltsfrom their hearts would be

mutually beneficial. Untilthen, I had a chance atDampierre.

I wasn’t going towasteit.

I raced forward,ignoring the burn in my legand the warm, wet trickle ofbloodthatoozedintomysockandpooled in theheelofmyboot.Unfortunately,Iwasn’tthe only one who’d noticedthat I’d popped my stitches.Threevamps in the throesof

blood frenzy launchedthemselves at me. Theymovedlightningfast, toofastformyhumaneyestofollow,but I was good at estimatingtrajectories.

I swung my swordbased on where I calculatedtheywouldbe. Iused speedand distance, and swung,taking off two of their headsand slashing the third acrossthe chest. See kids, youreally do use algebra outside

of high school. I laughed,andletmymomentumpropelme to the left and out of thevampire’sreach.

Ithissedandlungedatme, claws outstretched. Itook off both hands at thewrist and kicked him in thestomach. The vampirestaggered, and I brought mysword back up and took offhishead.

Myeyesflickedtothethrone,butthevampiresitting

there didn’t so much astwitch.Eitherhedidn’tdeemme worth his trouble or hewas having trouble decidingwhattodowiththeannoyinglittlegnatthathadinvadedhishome.

Some vampires arelikethat.Iguessthepassageoftimeisdifferentwhenyoulive millennia. But whetherhis seven hundred years hadmade him cocky, or slow tomake a decision, I didn’t

hesitate.I ran up the steps,

chestheaving,andswungmysword.Theclashofweaponsrang out, but the corpse stillsat rigidly in his throne.Good god, I was fighting astatue.

Withasighlikegasesescaping a bloated corpse,Dampierre came to his feet.He moved stiffly, but nomatterhowfastIslashedandstabbed, I couldn’t get inside

his defenses. Dampierremight look like he was halfasleep, but he knew hisswordplay.

IfIwasgoingtowin,I’dhavetofightdirty.

Dampierrepressedtheattack,takingtheoffense,andmy muscles burned. Losingground with every strike, Istaggered and shifted mysword to one hand. The tipwavered, my arm growingfatigued, but I maintained a

meagerdefense as I used theotherhandtodrawabottleofholywater.

Itossedtheholywaterat Dampierre expecting areprieve, but it didn’t come.He was either too ancient tofeelitseffects,orwastoofargonetonoticetheholywaterburning his face and chest.Instead of shrieking andclawing at his melting chin,Dampierre slammed into mewithsuch force that I lostall

feelinginmyrightarm.My sword dropped to

theground,thehandthathelditgoingnumb. Heart racing,I reached for my combatknife, butmy ankle rolled asthe sole of my boot camedownonadiscardedskull. Ilostmyfootingandstaggeredbackward, collapsing to oneknee.

Iwasgoingtodie.Instead of seeing my

lifeflashbeforemyeyes, the

world seemed to slow. Itonly prolonged the agony ofdefeat. Dampierre’s swordwas coming toward me, andtherewas nothing I could dotostopit.IwasaHunter,buthewasaseven-hundred-year-old master vampire. I justwasn’tfastenough.

Isentupaprayerthatif this was to be our deaths,that the vampires made itquick. The thoughtofSofia,Nicolas, Ash, and Celeste

rotting in this place broughttears tomyeyes. Butbeforea single tear could fall,Dampierre’s sword shottoward me…and into Ash’schest.

Ash, the fool, hadthrown himself in front ofDampierre’s blade. Myvision blurred, but I’d seenthe entire thing at closerange. There could be nomistake. It was a killingblow. That much was

obvious.Alistair Ashford was

dead.

Chapter35

“It’sthethingsoutsideourcontrol,theproblemsyoucan’t solve with a bow or asword, thatare thehardest toaccept.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

“No!”Iscreamed.

Iscreamedwitheveryfiberofmybeing.Iscreamedwithrage,andfear,andloss.And as anger bloomed hotwithin my chest, it burnedaway the fatigue and pain.My right arm might beuseless,but Iwasstill in thisfight.

I would makeDampierre pay for killingAsh, and then I’d wipe outevery last bloodsucking sonofabitchinthisgodforsaken

hellhole.Fumbling awkwardly

with the thigh holster, Imanaged to retrieve mycrossbow with my left hand,raise it to Guy’s chest, andfire a wooden bolt into hisheart. My aim with my lefthand wasn’t as good as mydominant hand, but at pointblank range it was an easyshot.

The bolt sunk intoDampierre’s heart and he

froze,becomingastatueonceagain. But that wasn’t goodenough. He’d killed Ash.Dead,dead,dead…

Ishookmyhead. Notime for gibbering. I couldfall apart later. For now, Iwould takeDampierre’sheadand rescue the survivors.Later,whenthiswasallover,IwouldmournAsh.

I holstered mycrossbow,wincing as feelingstarted to return to my right

side, sending pain down myright arm. I grit my teeth,shookmy hand, and grabbedmy sword. I lifted it toDampierre’sneckandglared,nostrilsflaring.

“If I hadmyway, I’ddisembowel you with mybarehandsandmakeballoonanimals out of yourintestines,” I said. I chokedon a laugh as it bubbled upoutofme. It soundedharsh,asifitflayedmythroatonthe

way to my mouth. “Luckyfor you, I don’t have thetime.”

I swung my swordand severed Dampierre’sheadfromhisbody. Hewasgoneinapuffofash.Itwastookindadeathforsomeonewho’dsathereoverseeingthemurder and torture ofcountless people—for themonster who’d killed thehonorablemanwho’d foughtbymyside.

I knelt down andsifted through the ashes forDampierre’s fangs. When Ifound them, I gripped themso tightly they cut into mypalm. It was the same handI’dsliced justaweekbefore,anditsentajoltofpaindownmyfingers,butIjustsmiled.Iwelcomedthepain.

Finally, I zipped thefangs into an inside pocketand stood, brushing thepowdery remains from my

hands. I shuffled over toAsh’s fallen body, breathhitching in my throat as Icrouchedbesidehis remains.I never did learn why he’dlefttheHunters’Guild,butitdidn’t really matter. He’dprovenhimselftobeamanofhonorandcourage.

I reached down totake his hat. It was a sillysentimental token, but theonly piece of him I couldcarryoutof thisplace. With

prisoners to rescue, his bodywouldhavetobeleftbehind.

“I always knew youfanciedmyhat,”Ashsaid.

Igaspedashereachedup and took my hand. Hisskin was cool against mine,buthewasalive.Ipulledmyhand away and stumbledbackward, awkwardlycrawling and falling on mybutt. I blinked rapidly andshookmyhead.

“Youwered-d-dead,”

Istuttered.Leather clad legs

movedintomyfieldofvisionandIflinched,butitwasonlyCeleste.

“Tellher,”shesaid.Her voice was hard,

and I looked up to see herfrowningatAsh.

“Tell me what?” Iasked.

My eyes flickedaround the cavern, but all ofthe vampires were gone,

either dead or escaped.Celeste had freed theprisoners and had left themhuddled around one of herwitchlights. The humanslookeddazed—abitlikehowIfelt.

I turned back to Ash,and he winced. Oh god,Celeste wanted Ash to saygoodbye. It’s the only thingthat made sense. He mightstill be hanging on to life,somehow, but he had Guy

Dampierre’s swordprotruding fromhischest. Ifwe moved him, he woulddie. If we left him here, hewould die. There wasnothingIcoulddotostophisdeath.Itwasjustamatteroftime.

It’s the things outsideourcontrol,theproblemsyoucan’t solve with a bow or asword, thatare thehardest toaccept.

I’dthoughtthatseeing

Ash die the first time waspainful,but this—sittinghereandwaitingforittohappen—this was worse. But I’d lethim have his deathbedconfessional.ItwastheleastI could do for someone whohadsavedmylife.

“Ididn’tmeantokeepitasecret,love,”hesaid.“Itjust kind of happened thatway.”

“Keepwhatasecret?”Iasked,blinkingawaytears.

Ash reached downand gripped the swordprotruding from his chestwith both hands, and Igasped.

“No!”Icried.But before I could

reachhim,he’dpulleditfreeand tossed it to the ground.There was no blood on theblade. His clothes weren’tbloodied or torn. Therewasnosignofawoundatall.

“I’ll give you two a

moment,” Celeste said,patting my shoulder as shesaunteredaway.

I blinked at Celesteand back to Ash. Ash, whowas alive. Ash, who justpulledaswordfromhisbodywithoutanyblood.Ash,whosatupandleanedtowardme,apleadinglookonhisface.

“Please, love, try tounderstand,”hesaid.

Suddenly, I didunderstand. Ash’s ability to

stay clean. His knack forstealth. The way womenwalked past without a singlelook.

That last bit shouldhavecluedmeinthefirstdaywe’d met. As much as I’dtried to ignore it, Ash wasgorgeous. In a city thatappreciatedbeauty,heshouldhave been drawing stares.Exceptthatwasn’tpossible.

People didn’t seeAsh. The only people I’d

ever known to interact withhim were me and Celeste—andshewasawitchwithtiestothespiritrealm.Icoveredmy mouth with my goodhand,afraidIwasgoingtobesick. Yes, I did understand.The truth had been there allalong.

Ashwasaghost.

Chapter36

“Ghosts are flimsyshadows, remnants of strongemotionsleftbehind.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

“You’re a ghost,” Isaid.

I stumbled over the

words. I triednot tomakeahabit of conversing with thedead, and yet here I was,discussing the fact that Ashwas a ghost, a spirit, aspecter.ByAthena,I’dspentthis past week hanging outwithadeadman.

“Yes, love, I am,” hesaid.

“How?” I asked,shaking my head. “How isanyofthispossible?”

“You can see ghosts,

love,” he said. “You try tohideit,butI’vewatchedyourreactionstotheirpresence.”

“Yes,but…theydon’tlook real!” I said. “Ghostsareflimsyshadows,remnantsof strong emotions leftbehind. Theydon’tmanifestwhole. They are not fleshand blood, and they can’t dothe things I’ve seen. Evenpoltergeists don’t haveenough power to swing aswordthewayyoudo.Isthis

somekindoftrick?”ButIknewthiswasn’t

a joke. Even Ash wasn’tfoolhardyenoughtoattemptapranklikethis in theheartofavampnest.

“I am not going toargue philosophy, but I canassureyouthatIamreal,”hesaid. “Though as you’vealready witnessed, I’m nolongerfleshandblood.”

He gestured at hisunmarredchest.

“If you aren’t fleshand blood, how did you stopDampierre’sblade?”Iasked.

“I don’t know,” hesaid,lettingoutaheavysigh.“I wish I had answers foryou.AllIknowforcertainisthat I wandered this city fortwoyearswithnooneexceptCeleste the wiser. Not thatshe reacted well to myappearances.”

Two years. He’dhaunted the witch for two

years.NowondersheturnedtoMandragora.

“HowcanCeleste seeyou?”Iasked.“Isitbecauseof her magic? Because I’veknown witches who don’tevenbelieveinghosts.”

“Celeste has alwayshad an affinity for moonspells and spirit magic,” hesaid. He grimaced andlookedaway. “But I think itwasour ties that allowedhertoseeme.”

“Oh,” I said, pickingatthelayersofsootandbloodonmyhands.“Ithoughtthatwasjustaonetimething.”

Hemetmy gaze, andcockedaneyebrow.

“Not those kinds ofties, love,”he said. “Celesteand I were partners, huntingpartners, until I was drainedby a rogue vampire. I thinkshe blames herself, though itwasn’therfault.Thebastardcame out of bloody

nowhere.”Ash had been drained

by a vampire? Suddenly hisaffinity for flamboyantscarvesmademoresense.Hemaynotsuffernewinjuriesasaghost,buthe’dstillhavethewounds inflicted at the timeofhisdeath.Wearingascarfwould keep those telltalewoundshidden.

“Wait, so youwere aHunter when you died?” Iasked.“Ithoughtyouleftthe

Hunters’Guild.”“I said that I was no

longer a member of theGuild, which was true,” hesaidwithashrug.

“And when you saidthat the Guild wouldn’twelcome someone like you,you meant they wouldn’twelcome a ghost, not aformerHunter,”Isaid.

Ash nodded and Iwinced. He really hadn’tbeen able to come inside the

guildhall, at least not by thefront door. The building,except for the basement andunderground parkingstructure, had been wardedagainstthedead.

“It must have beenlonely,”Isaid.

“It was bloodyboring,” he said. “I tried toleave the city, but I alwaysended up right back inBruges.”

“Like the day we

met,” I said. “That’s whyyou were on the train. Youweretryingtoleave.”

“I was, but I didn’tmind being in Bruges onceyou turned up,” he said.“Imagine my surprise whenyoucouldseeandhearme.”

“But you grabbedmyhand,”Isaid.

I thought back to thatday and shook my head. Idon’t know how Ashmanagedtomanifestsofully,

but he hadn’t appeared so toeveryone. That cyclist hadridden his bike clear throughhim.

“Ohgod,” I groaned.“The old ladies in thechurch.”

I’d yelled at Ashwhen he’d started doing thechickendance in theBasilicaoftheHolyBlood,butitmusthavelookedlikeIwasyellingat the elderly women whoweresittingbehindhim.

“Like I said, deathbecame much moreinteresting since yourarrival,”hesaid.

He pulled himself tohis feet and reacheddown tohelpme up. I hesitated, buttook his hand. What thehell?Itriednottoencourageghosts, but Ash wasn’t likethe others. That much wasclear.

“Come on,” I said.“SinceI’mnotridofyouyet,

you might as well makeyourself useful. We’ve gotprisoners to take topside,andthere could still be vampsdowninthesetunnels.”

“You wound me,” hesaid in mock horror. “I’mnothing more than an extrapairofhands.”

“Athena, give mestrength,”Imuttered.

ButIcouldn’thidethesmile. It was nice to haveAsh back, even if he wasn’t

aliveinthenormalsense.“You know, I heard

mostofwhatyousaidwhileIwasincapacitated,”hesaid.

I groaned and staredahead toward the huddle ofsobbinghumans.

“You were preparedto make balloon animals outof someone’s intestines forkilling me,” he said. “I’mflattered.”

“It didn’t meananything,”Isaid.

“Whatever you say,love,”hesaid.

“Then I say, get yourass over there, and startgetting these people on theirfeet,”Isaid.

Ash gave me a winkandamocksaluteandhurriedovertohelpCelestewhowastending injuries. We’ddefeated Guy Dampierre andhis nest of ruthless,murdering vampires, but Ididn’tkidmyself.

This mission was farfromover.

“We better getmoving,”Isaid,lookingoverour ragtag group ofsurvivors.“Iknowyou’veallbeenthroughalot,but…”

Ashadowbrokeawayfrom thewall on the far sideof the cavern. The prisonerswe’d just rescued couldn’tsee the vampire from wherethey sat huddled together.Heck, I could barely see it,

the vamp was moving sofast.Ireachedformysword,since my crossbow was nowcompletelyout of ammo, butCeleste stepped in front ofme,wavingherfingersintheair as if playing an invisiblegameofcat’scradle.

“Dóiteáin!” sheshouted.

Too late, I realizedwhat she intended. I threwmyself on top of the humanprisoners, knocking them to

the ground and using mybodyasa shield. Awaveofsuper-heatedairhitmelikeasteam train, knocking thewind out of my lungs andleavingmyskinburningasifsomeone had taken a flamethrowertomyback.

In a way, someonehad—and that someone wasonly now realizing hermistake.

“Oops,”Celestesaid.At least she had

enough smarts to soundembarrassed, though smartand Celeste were not twowordsI’dexpecttouseinonesentence—not after the stuntshe just pulled. I’d warnedheraboutusingfirewhenwewere so far down in thesetunnels. Wewere just luckythat we were in the large,high-ceilinged throne roomwhen the explosionhappened. If we’d been inthe narrow tunnels, we’d be

deadrightnow.Since those were

sewer tunnels, pieces of mydead corpse would probablyhave shot up into some poorfool’stoilet.Iletoutaheavysigh. Celeste was agoddamnedmenace.

“IcouldhaveswornIsaidnot touse firemagic,” Isaid, pulling myself to mykneesandshakingmyhead.

“Bloody hell,Celeste,”Ashsaid. “Layoff

thepipe. Thatshite iseatingyourbloodybrain.”

It was true. I’dnoticed Celeste’s memoryslips, but until now hermistakes had been relativelyminor.Todayshecouldhavekilled somebody—a lot ofpeople, in fact. Theknowledge that the humanswe’d just freed from thevampires could have endedup dead from the witch’smistake, sat heavy on my

chest.My hands balled into

fists at my sides and I tooktwo slow, calming breathsbefore turning to faceCeleste.WhatIsawatthefarendofthecavernstoletheairfrommylungsforthesecondtime tonight. As expected,the vampire had been turnedtoashalongwithanumberofpieces of old furniture. Butthat wasn’t what held mygaze.

I stared at the giantpileofrubbleandswore.

“Theregoesourexit,”Imuttered.

Chapter37

“Vampires don’talways take the best care oftheirundeadservants.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Never bring aforgetful,addle-brainedwitchwithapenchantforfirespells

into a warren of sewertunnels.

Celeste’s fire magichad ignited the buildup ofexplosivegassesinthetunnelnearesttheattackingvampire,thesametunnelwe’dalreadycleared of vampire patrols.The explosion had broughtdown part of the ceiling,blocking the mouth of thetunnel.

Shehadsealedofftheroutewe’d taken to enter the

cavern, removing our safestwayout.

“I guess we need tofindourselvesanotherwaytothe surface,” I said with aheavysigh.

I just hoped that thevampireshadabackdooroutof this place. Otherwise,wehadawhole lotofdigginginourfutures.

I straightened andchecked the humans forvisible signsof injury. They

appeared startled, butunharmedby the blast. Thatwas one blessing at least. Ifwehad to carry these peopleout of here, we wouldn’t beable to keep our weaponsdrawn. Since we’d beventuring into unknownterritory, I didn’t doubtwe’dneedtobereadyforafight.

There was no sayingwhatevilstilllurkeddowninthesetunnels.

I strode to the one

remainingexit, apitch-black,narrow hole in the oppositewall.Thefaintglowfromthenearest phosphorescentfungus wasn’t bright enoughto penetrate the inkydarkness. I swallowed hardandclickedonmyflashlight.Squinting and blinkingrapidly, Iwaved thebeamoflightinsidetheopening.

It took my eyes aminute to adjust, and what Isaw when the tunnel came

intofocuswasn’tmuchofanimprovement. The openingwaslargeenoughforusalltostand upright, but we’d havetowalksingle-file. Thiswasno public works project.Fromthescratchmarksinthedamp earth, it appeared as ifthe vampires dug this tunnelwith theirbarehands—likeanewlybornvampclawing itswayoutofthegrave.

Now that was acheerythought.

Ash and I took point,with Celeste bringing up therear. I’d rather have Ash atour backs, but the humanscouldn’t see him, and weneededsomeonetokeepthemmoving. Ash wouldn’t beabletohelpwiththehumans,becausehewasaghost.

I was still havingtrouble wrapping my headaroundthatfact. Thankfully,the nest of ghouls westumbled into kept my mind

off the fact thatAshwasoneofthelivingimpaired.

Ghouls may not havevampirespeed,buttheyweredamn persistent and difficulttokill. Thatdoggednesswaswhy their vampire masterscreatedtheminthefirstplace.

Vampires createghouls as slaves to do theirbidding. Unlike vampires,these revenants are spawnedwhen a vampire turns acorpse, rather than someone

withapulse.Thankfully, ghouls

canonlybesiredbyveryold,very powerful vampires.Unfortunately for us, GuyDampierre was about asancientastheycame.Hehadghoulsaplentyandtheywereall intent on one thing—eating the flesh from ourbones.

Whenaghoulrises, ithas very little mentalfunctioningbeyondtheinnate

needtofeedonhumanflesh.This suits the vampires justfine. They use theirputrescent slaves as servants,andifaservantpleasesthem,they feed them their blood-drained table scraps. Theservice of ghouls who areneglected by their mastersends when their bodies rotbeyondusefulness.

The ghouls coming atus were in various states ofdecomposition.IfI’dthought

the sewers were bad, thistunnelsmelledevenworse.

“Celeste, keep thosepeople back, and whateveryou do, don’t use any firemagic!” I yelled. “Ash, gofortheirheads.”

“Iknowhow tokill abloodyghoul,”hesaid.

More of the creaturesbegan crawling out fromalcoves that had been carvedinto the walls at shoulderheight, scuttling out of the

holes like cockroaches eagerforameal.

“Good, ‘cause we’vegotcompany,”Isaid.

A ghoul that hadprobably been a teenagerwhen he’d died limpedtowardme,baringhisteeth.Iraisedmyswordashelungedatmewithasnarl.Oncloserinspection, he didn’t havemuch of a choice when itcame to showing his teeth.He was missing anything

resembling lips and most ofthefleshfromhischeekswasbeingeatenawaybyblowflylarvae.

Iswungattheghoul’sneck,intendingtotakeoffhishead,butmyswordcaughtonhis tattered hoodie. I shiftedmy weight and slanted theblade up at an angle whichtook off the top of thecreature’s head. A chunk ofscalp,writhingwithmaggots,hit my boot and I gagged.

ButIdidn’thavetimetopukemygutsout.

The ghoul was stillcomingatme.

The only sure way tokill a ghoul with a blade isdecapitation. A head shotwith a large caliber gunloaded with silver shot willalsowork,butIwasfreshoutof both. The airlines frownon firearms in a girl’sluggage, and silver shot wasexpensive. I’dhave tomake

do with decapitating themonsterswithmysword.

That would be awhole lot easier if theshuffling corpses weren’ttryingtochewmyfaceoff.

Ghouls aren’t likemoviezombies,thoughapastencounter with humans isprobably where Hollywoodgot some of their ideas. Aghoul bite won’t turn ahuman—only a vampire cancreate a ghoul—but a bite

from a rotting corpse couldstillbedeadly. Sepsis, staphinfection, and necrotizingfasciitis are just a fewof thebonus prizes that may comealongwith a ghoul bite. I’drathertakemychanceswitharabidPitBull.

A ghoul latched ontomyankle,attemptingtognawthrough my boot and Ijumped.

“Damn it!” I shouted,shaking my foot, but the

female ghoul held on tight.At least, I think she wasfemale. She was sodecomposed, it was hard totell.

“Need a hand, love?”Ashasked.

He held up a severedhandandIsnorted.

“No thanks, I gotthis,”Isaid.

I swung my sword asecond time, taking off thefirst ghoul’s head. I threw

myself back against thenearest wall, kicked at thefemale ghoul with my otherbooted foot, sheathed mysword, and drewmy combatknife.Itwouldtakelongertocut through the ghoul’s neckwith my knife, but it wassafer than using my sword.With the ghoul latched ontomyankle,Iwaslikelytotakeoff my own foot if I used alongerblade.

I ducked, narrowly

missingthegraspinghandsofthe creature in the nearestalcove, and drove the knifeintothefemaleghoul’sneck.Shekeptongnawingawayatmyboot.

Peskyghoul.Grabbing her hair in

one hand, I tried to hold herhead still as her bodythrashed around. Her armsendedinstumpsattheelbow,soherattemptstoclawatmewere futile. She was also

missing both legs at the hip,hencetryingtognawthroughmyankleinsteadofmyskull.

I don’t know whathappened to her arms andlegs. Perhaps another ghoulate them. Vampires don’talways take the best care oftheir undead servants. Whocared if your petscannibalized themselveswhen you could just makemore?

Igritmyteeth,sawing

at the ghoul’s neck. Rottingfleshfellawayinchunks,butthe spine wasn’t so easy tosever—not with the womancontinuing tognashher teethandchompatmyleg.Ittookafewmorekickstocrackthebone, and a hell of a lot ofsawing, but the head finallycame free from the ghoul’sbody.

Foamy spittle flewfrom her mouth as I tossedthe head aside, and not a

momenttoosoon.Theghoulfrom the alcove had climbeditswayoutandwasdragginghis way toward me. I waspretty sure the creature waseyeing my boots like theywere a goddamn Slim-Jim.Whoknewleatherbootsweresotasty?

I drewmy sword andbrought it down in asweeping arc, chopping offtheghoul’shead.

“Incoming,” Ash said

withagrunt.I was still down on

one knee, so I rolled,narrowly avoiding a headcoming at me like acannonball. Theskullhitthewall with a sickening crackand tumbled over to rest onthe ground beside me. Aspider scuttled out of anempty eye socket and Isnorted.

I know just how youfeel,buddy.

I’d been uprootedfrom my home and tossedover to a foreign countrywhere, so far, nothing hadgone easy. But unlike thespider, I couldn’t just findanother skull to crawl insideand start filling it with mynewfamily. No, spidershadit easy. They didn’t have toprotect a dozen innocenthumans while trudgingthrough a rough hewn cryptfilled with the flesh-eating

undead.AndhaveImentioned

thesmell? NowIknewwhysomeof thecity’sstreetshadsuch a foul odor, and itwasn’tjustthesewers.

Wecontinuedtobattlethe ghouls, carving up therotting,animatedhumanfleshlike a Thanksgiving turkeyleft too long at roomtemperature. Like theholidays, I survived, but itwasn’t an experience that I

wanted to repeat anytimesoon.

After we cleaned outthe servant’s quarters, wemadeitthroughtherestofthetunnel without too muchtrouble.Celestewaspartiallyresponsiblefortheeaseofourescape, which was a goodthing for her since I hadn’tforgotten that she was thereasonwe couldn’t leave thevampires’ nest the samewaywe’dcomein.

Though her powerwaswaning,Celestemanagedto use hermagic to calm thehumans we’d saved andconvincethemthattheywerethe victims of a mugginggonewrong. Iwasglad thatwe didn’t have to deal withfrantic people, but the smilesonsomeoftheirtearstreakedfaceswerecreepy.

Thetunneldeadendedbeneathawooden trapdoor.The rungs of a ladder bolted

into the wall appeared to beouronlymeansofescape.

“Celeste,” I said,waving her forward. “Canyousenseanything?”

The front door to thevamp nest had beenmagically warded againstintruders. I didn’t know ifopening this door from theinside would trigger anytraps, but it was better to besafe than sorry, especiallywhen we had more than our

ownlivestoworryabout.“It feels…blocked

from the other side,” shesaid.“Justaminute.”

Sweat beaded onCeleste’s forehead, but shekept her eyes closed andhandsraisedpalmsup.Aftera few minutes, she noddedandopenedhereyes.

“Isitclear?”Iasked.“It should be,” she

said.That was as much

assurance as I was going toget. I shimmied up thericketyladderandshoulderedthetrapdoor.Iwaspreparedfor a fight, maybe even amundanetraportwo.

What I saw in thehidden, underground roomwas not at all what Iexpected.

Chapter38

“Hunters can’t afforddistractions.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Two ghosts, a manandawoman,wereinsidethesmall room, humping likebunnies.

“Is that a nun and aflippin’ priest?” Ash asked,comingupbehindme.

I jumped, heat risingtomyface.

“Apparently, thisroom wasn’t always part ofthe vampires’ undergroundrailroad,”Isaid.

Nope. At one time,thisroomhaddefinitelybeenthe place of a scandaloustryst.Notthatitmattered.

I shook my head and

hurried past the amorousghosts. Hunters can’t afforddistractions, no matter howbizarre or ridiculous, so Icontinued to look for a wayout. The tunnel had beensteadily climbing upward,and if thedraft Iwas feelingwas to be believed, wewereclosetothesurface.

I shone my flashlightalong the wall and stoppedwhen I caught sight of atapestry moving slightly. If

we were in luck, themovement would be fromthatsamedraftI’dfelt,ratherthan the movement ofrodents.I’dseenenoughratstolastalifetime.

“Help me move thisbench,” I said, waving Ashover.

“Looks like a churchpew,” he said. “Bloodystrange for a vampire bolt-hole.”

I just shook my head

and we dragged the heavywooden bench across thefloor.Ihadnoideawherewewere, or why the vampireshad clawed a tunnel to thisplace.

“Look,”Isaid,pullingthe tapestry back to reveal asmalldoor.

It was sized forhobbits,butIwasn’tabouttocomplain. I ran my fingersalong the seams of the door,lookingforawaytoopenit.

“Step back, love,”Ashsaid.

Isighedandmovedtotheside. Ash took twostepsback and ran at the door,slamming into the dry woodwith his shoulder. The doorshuddered, and after threemoretries,itburstopen.

Ash was surprisinglysolidforaghost.Heclaimedthat he onlymanifested fullywhenhewasclosetome,andIwasn’tsureifhewasflirting

ortellingthetruth.Dust motes filled the

air, but it was obvious thatwe’dfoundanothertunnel. Igroanedandshookmyhead.I was sick to death oftunnels. What I wouldn’tgiveforthesunonmyface.

“Go tell Celeste it’ssafe to start bringing peopleup,” I said. “I’ll search thetunnelforawayout.”

I rubbed the back ofmy neck and surveyed the

tunnel. Aside from the dust,itwasclean. Itwasmoreofan underground, stonepassagewaythanthekindsoftunnels we’d been trudgingthrough—the kind found inoldfortsandcastles.

At the end of thepassageway, I found anothertrapdoorsetintotheceiling.Iclimbed up a set ofhandholds, drew my combatknife,tookadeepbreath,andpushed upward. The shriek

oftheoldmetalhingessetmyteethonedge,butIsmiledasIpulledmyselfupintoanoldroomthatheldnothingbutanold bed frame and chamberpot.

The faded silhouetteofacrossstillhungabovethebed,butthat’snotwhatmademesmile.Therewasasmallwindowonthefarwall.Irantothewindowandlookedoutontooneofthecity’scanals.

Wemadeit.Wewere

free.

Chapter39

“Hunters are trainedto put the needs of othersaboveourown.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

AccordingtoAsh,thevampires’ tunnelhadbroughtus to the Spookhuis, an

infamoushauntedhouse.Theironywasn’tlostonme.TheSpookhuiswasactuallymadeup of two buildings that atone time had been joined byanundergroundpassage.Onebuilding had been amonastery, the other anunnery.Thepassagewayhadbeen intended to provide thenuns access to themonastery’s chapel, but onepriest and nun found anotheruseforit.

The popular story isthatthepriestfeltremorseforhis sinsof the flesh, andonenight murdered the youngnun.Ifthatwastrue,thetwohadmadeup in theafterlife.Eitherway,thebuildingshaddeveloped a reputation forbeing haunted and were soldoff, eventually becomingabandoned.

I didn’t really care—we’d found our way out ofthevampnestandourhuman

charges were alive. I wasdead tired, but my footstepswere light as we made ourwaytotheguildhall.

Once we reached theguildhall,weleftAshoutside—since ghosts couldn’t passthrough thedoorwards—andtook the men and womendowntotheGuildinfirmary.I’d called ahead, rousing agrumpy Doc Martens who’donly just returnedhomeafterreturning his daughter to her

boardingschool.IfIthoughthe’d sounded irritated on thephone, it was nothingcompared to his mood whenwe walked in with a dozenpatients, all of us stinking ofthesewers.

“And what am Isupposed to do with all ofthesepeople?”heasked.

“Let them use theshowerintheback,givethemclean clothes and a bed, andtend to their injuries,” I said,

narrowing my eyes at thedoctor.

“That’s my shower,”hecomplained,buthestartedassessing injuries andpullingout supplies. Hunters aretrained to put the needs ofothersaboveourown. It’sahard habit to break, evenwhen we’re not feeling sogenerous.“Whathappenedtothesepeopleanyway?”

“They were thevictims of a mugging,”

Celeste said. “There was astreetgangwearingmasks toscarepeopleintogivingthemtheir money. The gang wasusing the sewers as theirhideout and had forced thesepeople to follow them whilethey stole their valuables.Thankfully,wewereoutforawalkandheardascream.”

It was farfetched ashell,butthevampire’sformerprisoners seemed to acceptthe lie. I grimaced at the

glazed eyes and vacantlooks. Sofia and Nicolas,who we’d found alive andmostlyunharmed,didn’tevenseemtorecognizeme.Itwasas if they were allsleepwalking. I bit my lip,wondering what wouldhappen when they all wokeupfromthislivingnightmare.

I inchedmywayoverto Celeste and gave her asidelonglook.

“I thought memory

spells were illegal,” I said,keepingmyvoicelow.

She shrugged andwavedahandtowardthemenandwomenwaitingtheirturnwithDocMartens.

“The vampire venomand blood loss already madethem susceptible tosuggestion,”shesaid. “I justencouragedthemtobelieveaplausible lie, one that wouldexplain their injuries anddisorientation. Would you

rathertheyknowthetruth?”I shivered, a chill

running icy fingers up myspine.

“No,” I said. “Thankyou. You helped save thesepeople frommore than deathinthatdungeon.”

“I just wish it wasenough,”shesaid.

I cocked an eyebrowat Celeste, but she shruggedand shook her head. Iwonderedifithadanythingto

do with what Ash had saidearlier. Celestehadbeenhispartner, but she hadn’t beenable to prevent his death.She’d taken it hard, and Icouldn’t help but wonder ifshewasstillpunishingherselfforwhatsheperceivedasherultimatefailure.

“These people aren’ttheonlyoneswhooweyouadebt,” I said. “You helpedsave their lives and save thiscity from a clan of vicious

killers. Ifyou’rewilling, I’dbehonoredtohaveyouatmyside as I take out theremainingvampires.”

Hereyeswidenedanda smile flickered across herface.

“Help you take outPhilip’s men?” she asked.She nodded and pulled outherphone.“I’dlikethat.ButfirstIneedtorestandtohavea chat with my coven. I’mgoing to call a circle. They

don’t approve ofme being aHunter, but they’re still mysisters. They deserve toknow what happened here.I’llbebackbynightfall.”

I smiled. If Celestewas back by nightfall, wecould begin our hunt forPhilip’s remaining vamps assoon as they awakened andmade themistake ofwalkingthiscity’sstreets.

Watching Celesteleave,IsidleduptoMartens.

Hefrowned,butcontinuedtohand out bottles of water tohispatients.

“How are theydoing?” I asked, noddingtowardSofiaandNicolas.

“Not bad for thevictims of a mugging by agang of delinquents whoenjoy dragging their victimsthrough the sewers,” hesnapped.

I rubbedmy face andyawned. I didn’t have the

energy to argue withMartens.Hewasangry,Igotthat,butthiswashisjob.Ifhedidn’t like it, then heshouldn’t have signed up forit.

“I should get cleanedup, but...if there’s anything Icandoforthem,”Isaid.

“No,”hesaid,shakinghishead.“YoulooklikehellJenna. Go get some rest.That’sanorder.”

“Okay,thanksDoc,”I

said. “AndDoc? Callme ifthere’sanychange.”

“Fine, now go,Lehane,” he said. “You’restinkingupmyinfirmary.”

Wasn’t that gratitudeforyou? I raidavampnest,put down a rabid mastervampire, and help rescue adozen human prisoners, andwhen Imake it topside I gettold I stink. I snorted andshookmyhead.GoodthingIdidn’t do this job for the

gloryandrecognition.

Chapter40

“Being a Hunter isn’talways glamorous. Moreoften than not it involveswading through blood, shit,andtears.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Itrudgedupthesteps,

outof theguildhall,andontothe street where Ash waswaiting. Did he get tired?Didghostssleep?Evenwhenmy mother’s ghost hadwatched over me as a kid, Ihadn’tthoughttoask.

“Comeon,”Ashsaid.“Let’s get you somechocolatewaffles.”

Ishookmyhead.“I’m supposed to go

home and rest, doctor’sorders,”Isaid.

“He said you have torest, but he didn’t say youcouldn’t eat first,” he said.“If you don’t start gettingsome calories, you’re goingto fade away until you’re abloody spook like me.Hmmm…maybe you shouldcontinue your ridiculousfasting. Can you imagine?Wecouldbethedeadversionof Bonnie and Clyde. I canpicture the haunting spreenow.”

Great. Ghosthumor.I was never getting used tothis.

“Is thereevenaplacethat serves waffles at five inthe morning?” I asked. Thesky was still pitch black,since sunrise in Bruges thistime of year wasn’t untilseven. Most people wouldstill be in their beds. “Plus,no one in their rightmind isgoing to let me inside theirrestaurant looking and

smellinglikethis.”I looked like a

coblynau who’d climbedstraight up out of the mines,but Ash was right. As tiredas Iwas, Iwas tookeyeduptosleepyet,andmystomachwas growling. I couldn’trememberthelasttimeIate.

“I know a place,” hesaid.

Ofcoursehedid.Ashhad spent the past two yearsfloating around the city of

Brugeswithnothingbetter todo—until he’d met me andbecome a real boy, likefreaking Pinocchio. Exceptthere was a difference,because as real as Ashseemedtome,evennowthatI knewhewas a ghost,mostother people couldn’t seehim.Itwashardtowrapmymindaround.

Maybe a stack ofsugar and carbs would helpfuel my brain and clear out

someofthecobwebs.IgaveupandfollowedAsh.

The waffle placeturned out to be an all nightwaffle stand, and though theguy working behind thecounter gave me a disgustedlook,hedidserveme.Itookmy “celebratory waffles” asAsh called them over to abench and dug in with noregard for diets and optimalnutrition. Chocolate hadnevertastedsogood.

I was eyeing the cupthat themeltedchocolatehadcome in, considering lickingit clean, when someonetossedacoinintoit.

“Hey, what the hell!”Ishouted.

The man’s eyeswidened and he hurried toblend in with the growingcrowd. TheBurg andMarktsquares were often busy, butitwasbarelyfive-thirtyinthemorning and buses were

beginningtodropoff touristsin droves. I’d ignored itwhileeating,butthesoundofluggage being rolled acrosscobbleswas a constant. Theplace was so packed, I waslucky to have scored thebench I was sitting on—thebench most of the touristswereavoidingliketheplague.

“They think you’rehomeless, love,” Ash saidwith a smirk. “Think aboutit.Theycan’tseeme,butnot

one person has tried to sharethisbenchwithyou.”

I groaned and let myheaddropintomyhands.

“I really do stink,” Isaid.

“I wouldn’t know,”Ashsaidwitha shrug. “Thebenefits of being dead. Butyoudohavesomerathervilemuck on your boots, andaboutan inchofvampireashcoating your hair. Plus, youkeep talking to your

imaginaryfriend.”I shook my head—

kicking up an embarrassingcloud of dust—andstraightened, ignoring theburning in my cheeks. Ashjust smirked. Apparently,hethought being my imaginaryfriendwashilarious.

“Comeon,”Isaid.“Ineed a shower and aboutthreedaysofsleep.”

The sugar high that Iwas currently on wouldn’t

last.I’dbeluckyifImadeitto my bed without passingout.

Iwinced, thememoryofmyhotelbedcomingtothesurface unbidden. Crap. Asmuch as sleep beckoned, Ihada longmorningaheadofme. The vampires had tornmybedtoribbonsandtrashedmyroom.NottomentiontheVandenberghes’ blood leftsmeared across the lobbyfloor.

I groaned and Ashraised an eyebrow. I wasabout to tell him about thecleaning job that loomed inmyfuture,butIfeltaflashofrecognitionatoneofthefacesinthecrowd.

“What is it, love?”heasked.“Youlooklikeyou’veseenaghost.”

Thatmight have beenfunny a minute ago, but notnow. ThemanI’dseenoverAsh’s shoulder was no

innocenttourist.I’dseenthismonster recently in acenturiesoldpainting,andhehadn’tagedaday. I’dknowthatfaceanywhere.

It was Jacques deChatillon, the lone FrenchsurvivoroftheBrugesMatinsnocturnal massacre, Philip’srighthandman.

“This way,” I said,grabbing Ash’s arm anddragging him through thecrowd.

People looked at mestrangely, but I didn’t care ifitseemedlikeIwastalkingtomyself. Philip had sentJacques de Chatillon to ruleoverBrugesoncebefore,andIwasgoingtomakesurethatonceagainhewascastoutofthe city—preferably in a bagofstreetsweepings.

Ash and I pushedourway through the crowd.Well, I pushed and hesometimes floated through

thetourists,althoughfromtheway he twitched, I didn’tthink that was his favoriteoption.Hemayonlybesolidwhen touching me, andvampires, and someinanimateobjects,butpassingthroughhumanslookedlikeithurt. Apparently, beingincorporealhadadownside.

“How come you cantouchvampires?”Iasked.

Iturnedmyheadbackand forth struggling to keep

Jacques in sight. Thedistance was growingbetween us, but no matterhow fast we ran I couldn’toutpace the vampire. Myonlyhopewas that he’d stopsomewheresoonsowecouldclosethedistance.

“Because they’redead,”Ashsaid.

I suppose that madesense. My feet were sorefromrunningoncobbles,andmycalfwasscreamingatme

tostop,soIdistractedmyselfwith the puzzle that wasAlistairAshford.

“So, how can youtouchme?”Iasked.“I’mnotdead.”

“That I don’t know,”hesaid.

“Oh,”Isaidlamely.I’d hoped he’d have

moreanswers.“Areyougoingtotell

mewhywe’re running, or isthissomeevilplantoburnoff

those waffle calories?” heasked.

I stopped and spun ina circle, but thevampirewasnowhere in sight. I poundedmy fist against the nearestbuilding.I’dlosthim.

“JacquesdeChatillon,he was here,” I said. Igrowled in frustration. “Wasbeing the operative word,sinceIlosthim.”

“JacquesdeChatillon,Philip’s second in

command?”heasked.“Bingo, that’s the

one,”Isaid.“Damn.Look,Ihave to stop by the Guildlater to check on Sofia andNicolas.There’sapictureofJacques down in thearchives. I’ll borrow thepaintingandaskCelestetodoa tracking spell. Maybe wecanfigureoutwhatJacquesisuptoandputastoptoit.”

Philip’s right handvampwas inBruges. Itwas

time to take him out of theequationandwrapthisuplikea Christmas present. Thismission wouldn’t be overuntil I cleared out every lastbloodsucker from this city.Takingout the leaderswouldhastenthat.

“You were lucky tospothimatallinthiscrowd,”Ash said. “At least nowweknow he’s here leadingPhilip’s men. It’s a damnsight more than we knew

before.”An older couple

clipped my heels with theirsuitcase, and I clenched myfistssohardthatmynailsbitintomypalms.

“Whyis it sodamnedcrowded?”Iasked.“Isithalfpriced frites day orsomething? Where did allthesepeoplecomefrom?”

Iwas rambling, but itwas better than crackingheads when there are no

monsterswithineasyreach.“Day after tomorrow

is Ascension Day,” he said,still looking around for anysign of the vampire. “Orrather,tomorrowis.”

We’d spent a longtime down in those sewers.Another hour and the sunwouldberisingoverthecity.

“And?”Iasked.I was tired, I was

bleeding, and the sugar buzzhad worn off. I started

limping back toward the inn,where I faced at least twomore hours of bagging updebris and scrubbing floorsbefore I could grab anysleep. Iwas in nomood forriddles.

“Over fifty thousandpeople come to Bruges eachyear on Ascension Day fortheprocessionfestivities,”hesaidwithashrug.“It’llgetamite busier before the day isout.”

“Well the timingsucks,”Isaidwithascowl.

“I’ll be sure tocomplain to the touristboard,”Ashsaid.

Fifty thousandpeople? That had to bedouble the local population.Not the kind of complicationyou want when you’rehunting monsters. I’d try tokeep the violence fromspilling onto the busy citystreets, but there was never

any guarantee when dealingwithbloodsuckingvampires.

“Sowhatisthiswholeprocession thing?” I asked.“Some kind of streetcarnival?”

If thereweregoing tobeparties in thestreet, Iwaswearing ear plugs to bed. Itwould give the monsters anedge whilst sneaking up onme, but that was a chance Iwaswillingtotakeifthiswassome kind of Belgian Mardi

Gras.“It’s the Holy Blood

Procession,” he said. “It’sbasically a parade with meninmedieval costumes. Thenthere’s a bit of street theater—sometimes they do apassion play,which is not asfunasitsounds—followedbymuch rejoicing and everyonecrammingintothepubs.”

I shook my head. Iwas definitely wearing earplugs allweekend. Iwas so

tired that even my eyelidsached.ToobadIstillhadaninntoscrubclean.

Ash and I spent therest of the morning washingaway the evidence of theattack on Sofia andNicolas.Therewerenootherboardersstaying here at the inn, but Icouldn’t risk someoneshowing up and seeingsomethinginthelightofday.With fifty thousand revelersflooding into the city, most

hotelswouldbeatmaximumoccupancy. Tourists werebound tocomehere inhopesofrentingaroom.

Plus,theplaceneededto be spotless when thecouple returned home, and Iwas hoping that would besoon.Sowegrabbedgloves,bleach,andgarbagebagsandsettowork.

Being a Hunter isn’talways glamorous. Moreoften than not it involves

wading through blood, shit,and tears. Theupside is thatI’d become something of anexpert at cleaning up themesses the monsters leavebehind.

When we were done,there wasn’t a trace ofevidence to prove that anassaulthadeverhappened.IsupposeifIeverneededextracash,oranewjob,Icouldtrymy hand at crime scenecleanup. It’s alwaysgood to

haveabackupplan.“The place actually

sparkles,”Ashsaid.“If you make a

vampirejoke,Iwillstakeyouwiththismophandle,”Isaid,leaning against the back ofthe Vandenberghes’ couch.“Don’tthinkIwon't.”

We were standing inSofia and Nicolas’apartment. Whenwe startedthere’d been blood all overthe floor—lots of it—since

the vamps had dragged theVandenberghes’ bleedingbodies through the apartmenton their way out the backdoor.

“I wouldn’t dream ofit,”hesaid.

“Speakingofdreams,”I said, stifling a yawn. “It’stime I follow Doc’s ordersandgetsomesleep. Seeyouinthemorning?”

“It is morning,” hesaid. “But yes, I'll stop by

onceyou’reup.”I put away the mop

and bucket and shooed Ashtowardthedoor.

“Jenna,” he said.“Youdidgoodtoday.”

Ishookmyhead.“Iscrewedupinmore

ways than I can count,” Isaid."Butthanks.”

“You stakedDampierre, a notoriousseven-hundred-year-oldmaster vampire, led a raid to

clean out a huge nest ofbloodsucking vamps andflesh eating ghouls, rescuedhuman prisoners, and stuckaround to clean up asupernaturalcrimescene,”hesaid. “Bloody hell, woman.Learntotakeacompliment.”

He walked out thedoorwithoutlookingback.Ilocked up and climbed thestairs to my room, a smallsmileonmylips.

When he said it like

that,itsoundedlikeavictory.

Chapter41

“Ifyoucan’tfindyourbalance,youcankissyourassgoodbye.”

-Niall Janus, MasterHunter

Iexpected to tossandturn all morning, but

apparentlytheexertionofthehunt and the followinghoursof cleanup had pounded mynightmaresintosubmission.Isleptlikethedead.

Damngood thing too,since I had a busy eveningplanned.Ineededtovisittheinfirmary to check in onSofia’sandNicolas’progress,then convince Darryl to loanme documents from thearchives, and get Celeste tocastalocatorspelltohelpme

find a needle in a stack offreakingneedles.

OncewehadJacques’location, we could plan outtonight’s hunt. I wanted torid the city of the remainingvampires, and I had a hunchthatI’dfindtheHouseCapetclan vampires whereverJacqueswashidingout.

As much as I wantedto rush off for the wholesaleslaughter of House Capetvampires, I knew enough to

go throughmyusual trainingroutine,wakingup fully, andfinding my balance. AsMaster Janus was fond ofsaying to new recruits, “Ifyou can’t find your balance,you can kiss your assgoodbye.”

Istretchedandmovedthroughmykatas, testing thenewstitchesI’dgivenmyself,and working through thestiffness I’d acquired fromsleeping on the floor. I

hadn’t been able to replacemyroom’sfurnishings,notatthe ungodly hour we’dreturned to the inn, and themattress was beyond repair.I’d bagged up the shreddedfabric and mounds ofstuffing,andusedtheremainsof the curtains for a pillow.Assoonas Icould, I’dorderwhat I needed to make theroomnewagain.SolongasIkept renting the room andkepta“DoNotDisturb”sign

on the door, theVandenberghes should benonethewiser.

That didn’t make theguiltanyhardertoshake.

“I’m so sorry,” IwhisperedasIlefttheroom.

I’d never forgivemyself for leading themonsters to theVandenberghes’ doorstep,and I vowed never to makethesamemistakeagain.

I made it to the

infirmary by eight o’clock,just in time to interruptBenjaminMartens’dinner.

“For the loveofPete,let me eat in peace,” hegrowledaroundamouthfulofbaconcheeseburger.

I wrinkled my noseandnoddedoverhisshouldertowardthecurtainedoffrowsofbeds.

“How are they?” Iasked.

I tapped my foot as

Martenspointedlyignoredthequestion. After about fiveminutes, the room began tospin and I realized I washoldingmybreath.Icrossedmy arms, made an effort tobreathe, and focused on theblotch of mustard onMartens’noseasIwaitedforhis response. It was betterthan watching the ketchupand grease dripping from hisburger likebloodandplasmaontohisdeskblotter.

“Better than can beexpected,” he said, as hechewed the last bite of hisburger.

He gave a one armedshrugandwipedhisfacewithapapernapkin.Thesoundashedraggedthenapkinagainstthebristlesofhisfiveo’clockshadowgratedonmynerves,but Ikeptastraight faceas Iasked, “And Sofia andNicolasVandenberghe?”

“The Vandenberghes

are doing fine,” he said.“They’re a little shaken up,buttheyshouldbeabletogohomelatertonight.I’vebeensendingfolkshomeoncetheywake up, but those twowerestillasleeplastIchecked.”

Sofia and Nicolasweregoingtobeokay, thankGod.

“Letme know if theyneed anything, and if there’sany extra costs involved incaringforthesepeople,billit

tome,”Isaid.The Hunters’ Guild

wassworn toprotecthumansfrom the monsters, but Ihadn’t asked Chadwick’spermission before bringingHouse Dampierre’s prisonersto the infirmary. I hadn’tfollowed protocol, andMartens knew it. If anyonewas going to have to faceMaster Peeters about anyincurred costs, it would beme. Imight aswell offer to

cough up the money now,before Martens sent the billupthefoodchain.

TherewentthemoneyI’d been saving forreplacement rounds for mySIG semi-automatic pistoland a custom KA-BARtacticalknife.It’snotlikethehuman military or outdoorsurvivalists need their bladestippedwithsilverandiron,ortheir firearms loaded withsilver, iron, or wooden

bullets. Well, not that theyknowof.Itsurewouldmakemyjobeasieriftheydid.

My point being, youcan’t buy the necessaryweapons for hunting the faeand the undead in your localWalmart.Goodweapons,thekind that kept my ass frombecoming grass, weren’tcheap, and from the look onhis face, Martens was abouttodrainmybankaccountdry.

Isighedandshookmy

head.“I’ll be down in the

archives if you need me,” Isaid.

“Got a new lead onthe House Capet vampires?”heasked.

“Let’s just say I havean interest in artappreciation,” I said with awink.

Hegruntedandturnedback to his desk and itsscatteredpilesofpaperwork.

I had to go up to the groundlevel before crossing thelobby and descending downthe stairs to the archives. Itgave me time to formulate aplanforconvincingDarryl tobreak the rulesandallowmetoremoveanancientpaintingfromtheGuild’scollection.Irubbedmyneckandsighed.

It wasn’t going to beeasy.

Chapter42

“Note to self; don’ttry to sneak up on a blindHunter.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

By the time Imade ittothearchives,I’ddecidedtoborrow the painting without

asking. It’s often easier toask forgiveness than askpermission. I opened thedoorslowly,withoutsomuchasacreak,and tiptoed insidethe archives. Darryl wasn’tbehind his desk and I let outthe breath I’d been holding.Goodsofar.

Walking carefully, Icrossed through the mainchamber and into the mustyroomintheback.ButwhenIlifted the painting of Philip

and Jacques from the wall, Ifeltthecoldedgeofabladeatmythroat.

Note toself;don’t trytosneakuponablindHunter.

“Did you really thinkyou could come in herewithoutmeknowing?”Darrylasked.

He shifted into myperipheral vision, allowingme to see that, though hisvoice was hard, his lipstwitchedinamusement.

“Look, Darryl, I canexplain,”Isaid.

“Girl, I don’twant toknow why you’re trying tostealGuildproperty,”hesaid.

“Earlier thismorning…”Isaid.

“No,”hesaid,holdingup one large hand andlowering the sword in theother.“Ireallydon’twanttoknow.I’mgoingtogotomydeskandsharpenpencilsrealnoisylike,andifyouandthat

there painting aren’t herewhen I’m done, then there’sno way a blind man couldhave known what you wereupto.Nowisthere?”

“I’ll bring it back,” Isaid.

“Don’t want toknow,”hesaid.

Darryl padded off tothefrontofthearchives,andIwaitedforhimtostartupthepencil sharpener before somuch as blinking. When I

tiptoed out past his desk,Darryl was pushing pencilsinto the electric sharpener, asmileplayingalonghislips.Ishook my head and tiptoedoutofthearchives.

For once, somethinghad gone easier thanexpected. I should haveknowntheproverbialshitwaspositioningitselftohitthefanwith the greatest possibleimpact.

Chapter43

“You keep throwingyourself in front of themonsters, andyou’ll findoutsoon enough that life isshort.”

-Alistair Ashford,Hunter

Imade itoutonto thestreet to where Ash waswaitingwithout encounteringanotherHunter.Itookthatasagoodomen.

“You made it outwithout a sword in the gut,”Ash said with a nod. “Wellcolormeimpressed.”

“Actually, Darrylmade it pretty easy,” I said,gingerly setting the bottomedge of the painting’s frameon the sidewalk and

balancing it against the sideofastonebuilding.“Atleast,he did once he establishedthatIwasn’tpullingthewooloverhiseyes.Ataguess,I’dsay he’s a bit touchy aboutbeingunderestimated.”

“Lambert let youwaltzoutofthearchiveswitha priceless painting?” Ashasked,eyeswidening.

Ishrugged.“HeknowsI’lldomy

besttobringitback,”Isaid.

“Iwouldn’ttakeitifitwasn’timportant.”

“No, love, you don’tdoanythingselfish,”hesaid.“Thatmuchisobvious.”

“Youmakethatsoundlike a bad thing,” I saidnarrowingmyeyesathim.

NowitwasAsh’sturntoshrug.

“You keep throwingyourself in front of themonsters, andyou’ll findoutsoon enough that life is

short,”hesaid.“Takeitfromme. Live a little while youstillcan.”

Isnorted.“Because that’s

working out so well forCeleste,”Isaid.“Speakingofwhich, I need to give her acall about working a locatorspell. I tried calling earlier,but it went straight tovoicemail.”

Ipulledoutmyphoneand dialedCeleste. I wasn’t

sureifshewasbackyetfromher meeting with her coven,but hopefully she’d have herringeron. Onceagain,Iwasinluck.

Celeste picked up onthe third ring, her voicegroggy.Ijusthopedthatshewascatchinguponhersleep,not hitting the Mandragora.Ifshekeptsmokingthatstuff,she was going to burn awaythe last wedge of her Swisscheesememory.

“Wake up,sleepyhead,”Isaid.

“Is it time for ourhunting date, already?” sheasked. “By Hecate, I’mtired.”

“You here at theguildhall?” I asked, tippingmyheadbackandhopingshewas upstairs in her room. Ihadno ideawhereher covenheld its circle, and I didn’tfeelmuchlikewaiting.

“Yes,”shesaidwitha

yawn. “Youherealready? IcanbedownassoonasIgetdressed. Unless youwant tojoinmeinmyroom…”

Celeste’s voice wentlowandsultry,andIcringed.Istartedpacing thesidewalk,makingsurenottobumpintothe painting I’d borrowedfrom the archives. The lastthing I needed was gettingDarrylonmybadside.

“I’m outside withAsh,”Isaid.“There’sbeena

changeofplan.Imighthavea lead on the House Capetvamps.”

“What do you needmetodo?”sheasked.

From the rustle offabric,itsoundedlikeCelestewas finally getting out ofbed. Good. The sooner welocated Jacques, the soonerwe killed ourselves somevampires.Thecitywouldbesafe again, and I’d probablyhave enough fangs to string

myselfanothernecklace. Allinall,itwouldbeawin-win.

“I need you to do atracking spell on a vamp,” Isaid.

“That’s going to bedifficult,”shesaid.

“Why?” I asked,shakingmyhead.“Ihavehisname and a picture of himfrom an old painting. Isn’tthatallyouneed?”

I’d seen trackingspellsdoneonvampsbefore,

and though the results couldbeunreliable, Iknewwehadenough to give it a try. Wecouldn’t just sit around andwait forJacquesdeChatillontofallintoourlaps.I’dbeenlucky to spot him in thecrowd before, and I knewbetter than most that goodluck always runs outeventually.

“It’s not that,” shesaidwithasigh. “Mymagicis tied to celestial

movements. And as mysisters reminded me duringmyvisitthismorning,there’saneclipsetomorrow.”

Myearsprickedatthemention of an eclipse, andsomething niggled in mybrain. Wasn’t theresomething else happeningtomorrow?

“Ash, that processionthat’scausingallthecrowds,”Isaid.“Isn’tthattomorrow?”

I wasn’t sure how

much of our conversationhe’doverheard,buthisbrowsdrewtogetherashenodded.

“Aye, love,” he said.“The procession istomorrow.”

I’d been pacing thesidewalk, but I stopped deadinmytracks.

“When does thisparadehappen?”Iasked.“Isit before sunrise, or aftersunset?”

Ashshookhishead.

“No, love, theProcessionoftheHolyBloodis held every year at two-thirty in the afternoon,” hesaid. “They’vebeenholdingthe festivities at the sametime for centuries. Why,whatareyouthinking?”

“Celeste,what time isthiseclipse?”Iasked.

“Two-forty,”shesaid.Shit. My gut was

telling me that it was nocoincidence that a group of

vampires had tried to invadeHouse Dampierre’s turf soclose to an eclipse. Aneclipse that took place at thesametimeasapartythathadsomething to do with theHolyBlood.

“Ash, what’s thesignificance of theprocession?” I asked. “Whathappensexactly?”

“It’s the one timeeachyearthattheHolyBloodis removed from the lockbox

in the basilica and paradedthrough the city streets,” hesaid.“LikeIsaidbefore,it’sa big deal. Pilgrims andtourists come from all overtheworld to be a part of thecelebration.”

“TheyremovetherealHolyBloodfromthesafetyofconsecrated ground, andparade it around the city?” Iasked.“Aretheynuts?”

“It will be underarmed guard,” Celeste said,

makingme jump. I’d nearlyforgottenshewas stillon theline.

“Well, I hope it’slocked inside a PopeMobilefilledwithHolyWater,orwehaveaproblem,”Isaid.

“Bloody hell,” Ashmuttered.

Bloody Hell wasright. Pieces of the puzzlecame together, and I didn’tlike the growing picture, notonebit.

The Holy Blood wasthe relic that started the feudbetween House Dampierreand House Capet, the sameitemthattheKnightsTemplarbrought from the Holy Landand put into the safekeepingof the Basilica of the HolyBlood. Philip obviously hadhis greedy eye on it seven-hundred years ago, and he’dwaited until the onemomentwhen the Holy Blood wouldbe outside of consecrated

ground under the cover ofdarkness—when vampirescanwalkthestreets.

Itwouldhave takenalotofplanningandevenmorepatience, but I didn’t doubtthat this was all part of themastervampire’splan.Whatare a few centuries whenyou’reimmortal?

Not that Philip hadn’tmade other attempts to gainaccess to the Holy Blood inthe past few centuries. A

chill ran up my spine as Iremembered the stories ofVanHaecke,whohadbeenachaplainintheBasilicaoftheHoly Blood back in thenineteenthcentury. ThemanwasrumoredtohavebecomeaSatanistafterhisencounterswith awomanwho’d arrivedin Bruges from Paris. Iseriously would not besurprisedifPhilipsentBertheCourriere in an effort tocorruptVanHaeckeandgoad

him into desecrating thechurch that housed the HolyBlood.

Philip hadn’tsucceeded, at least not fully.VanHaeckehadfallentothedark side, but theBasilica ofthe Holy Blood remained aplace where vampires couldnot tread. But that hadn’tstoppedthevampiremaster—andnowhismenwereheretofinish the job they’d startedcenturiesago.

The vampires wereclever, but they hadn’tcounted on us uncoveringtheirevilplot. That,at least,gave us the element ofsurprise.Ifweweregoingtotake advantage of that, weneededall handsondeck forthis.Itwastimetocallinthetroops.

“Celeste,canyoutakedownthewardkeepingspiritsfrom entering the guildhall?”Iasked.

“Sure,”shesaid.“Good,do it,” I said.

Taking down the wardswould allowAsh to join us.He might be a ghost, but hewasalsoaHunter. Iwantedhim with us. “When you’redone, call Zarkhov and askhim to meet us in thearchives.AshandIwillmeetyouthere.”

“What about MartensandChadwick?”sheasked.

“Martensisbusywith

the patients we brought himlast night,” I said. “I’ll fillhiminlater.”

“AndChadwick?”sheasked.

“Screw Chad, we dothiswithout him,” I said. “IwantpeopleIcantrustatmyback.”

“Okay,givemeafewminutes to get the warddown,” she said. “Alistairshould be able to tell whenI’mdone.”

We hung up and Istared at the ghosts thatfloated up and down thestreet. I wouldn’t need Ashto tell me when the wardswere down. I had my veryown detector right here. Myghostpossehad followedmeout of Dampierre’s dungeon,and I’d been ignoring themever since. But they surewould indicate when thewardsweredown.

I just hoped they

didn’t rattle toomany chainswhilewewereinside.

Chapter44

“Hunters protect theinnocentfrommonsters.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

“You’retellingmethevampires are going to try tosteal the Holy Blood, theSangreal, the Holy Grail?”

Darrylasked.We’d gathered in the

archives, me, Ash, Darryl,Aleksey, and Celeste. As Isuspected,thehordeofghostshad followed me inside, butso far they seemed to bebehavingthemselves.Ghostswith restraint, who knew?Celeste rubbed her arms, butotherwise no one seemed togivetheghostsmuchnotice.

They were all toobusy listening to Darryl’s

tirade.“Yes,” I said. “But

you’re just kidding about itbeing the Holy Grail, right?Isn’t that supposed to be acuporsomething?”

“No one knows forsure, but there’s plenty ofscholarly debate,” he said.“SangrealmeansHolyBloodand san greal means HolyGrail, so you can see wherethingsgetcomplicated.”

Thearchivessuddenly

felt way too small for fiveHuntersandacouplehundredghosts. My chest was tight,and someone had replacedmykneeswithJell-O.

“You’re saying thatPhilip is after the HolyGrail,”Isaid.“That’shisendgame.”

“What I’m saying,girl, is that it’sapossibility,”hesaid.

Athenasaveusall.“Looks like we’re on

aGrailquest,love,”Ashsaid.Zarkhov blew out a

whistleandsmiled.“That mean I get to

blow shit up?” Alekseyasked.

I hated to encouragethateagergleaminZarkhov’seyes, but the truthwas that Ineeded his help. Vampiresare highly flammable, andCeleste’s magic would belimited due to the eclipse.We’d need our pyromaniacal

demolition expert’s skillsbeforethedaywasthrough.

But I didn’t have tolikeit.

We had a city filledwith innocent humans.Collateral damage was amajor concern, even withoutexplosives.AddAlekseyintothemix and things could getmessy.Butifitwastheonlyway to keep the Holy Bloodsafe, and prevent the deathsof millions, I’d do what

needed to be done. I’dknown that when I’d calledthis meeting. I just hadn’tconsidered all theramificationsuntilnow.

Ileanedmyheadbackandgroaned.

“Aleksey, darling, Ibelieve that’s a yes,”Celestesaid.

I loweredmy head totake in our ragtag group ofHuntersandnodded. Celestewas pressed up against

Aleksey, trailing her nailsalong his chiseled jaw andeyeing him like he was thelast goddamned ice creamconeinthedesert.TheGuilddidn’tdiscouragefraternizingamongst Hunters, but Isuddenlywished theydid, soI could throw the book atthem.

We were in thearchives, and there were ahell of a lot of books lyingabout. My fingers twitched,

but I looked away fromCeleste. If groping ZarkhovkeptherheadinthegameandaMandragorapipeoutofherhands,thensobeit.

“We all need to takepart in this hunt,” I said.“Darryl, you’re up first. Ineed toknoweverythingyouhave on Jacques, Philip, andtheHolyBlood.Andmakeitfast.”

Unfortunately, therewere no Cliff’s Notes for

centuries of historical facts,hearsay, and scholarlyconjecture. Darryl did hisbesttosummarizewhatGuildarchivists knew,butmuchofthe information, especiallywhat we pulled from Graillegends,wascontradictory.

Itwasalongnight.Westayeduppouring

over thearchives, raiding thearmory, and sketching outplans for the following day.Whentempersbegantoflare,

I suggested we take a breakand reconvene at dawn. Itwould give everyone a fewhourstorestup,sincewehadan even longer day ahead ofustomorrow.

ThoughwithCeleste’stongue in Zarkhov’s ear, Ihighly doubted those twowouldbegettingmuchsleep.I shook my head and wentbackovermynotes.Iwasn’tplanning on getting any resteither. There was still too

damnmuchtodo.We needed a solid

plan.There was no way to

stoptheprocession.Itwasn’tthe kind of event thatscheduledaraindate,notthatwe could change theweather.Celesteclaimedthatmakingitrainwasimpossibletoday, even if her entirecoven lent theirmagic to thespell. Zarkhov’s suggestionto call in a bomb threat was

metwithmoreenthusiasm,atleast until Darryl recalled asimilar threat making thepapers a decade ago. Thepeople of Bruges hadn’tcancelledtheprocessionthen,so there was no reason tobelievethey’ddosonow.

Zarkhov’s offer tofollow the threat up with areal bombing wasunanimouslyvetoed.Huntersprotect the innocent frommonsters. We don’t bomb

parade routes filled withtourists, not when there areotheralternatives. Ifwedid,we’d be no better than therogue paranormals wehunted.

So we were left withthedutyofguardingtheHolyBlood along the paraderoute.Iwantedtorailagainstthelongstandingtraditionthatmight place the Holy Blood,possibly the Holy Grail ifDarryl was to be believed,

into the hands of vampires.But there was no point inraging about it. Plus, doingso would make me ahypocrite.

The Hunters’ Guildwas steeped in old lore andweheld toourowncenturiesoldtraditions.Wehadplentyof ancient ceremonies andrituals thatwouldmakemostmodern outsiders roll theireyes, butwe continued to dothings in the old ways.

Adhering to those traditionswas part of what bound ustogether,madeusstrong.

“You alright, love?”Ashasked.

He’d stuck aroundwhen the others had gone totheir beds and, since Idoubted that ghosts neededsleep,I’dlethim.Sometimeswe need more than traditionto stay strong aswe stand inthepathofthecomingstorm.

“I’ll be alright when

this is over,” I said. “Howaboutyou?Itmusthavebeenweird being back here again,around your former Guildbrothers.”

With Celeste’s help,I’d convinced the others thattheghostofAlistairAshford,their fallen comrade in arms,wasindeedherewithus.Fora group of Hunters who goaround policingsupernaturals, they weresurprisingly reluctant to

believeme. Faerie ointmentdoesn’tmakethedead,ortheundead, visible to mortaleyes, and the ability to seeghostswas rare. If it hadn’tbeen for Celeste backing meup, and more than a fewfloating objects that theycouldn’texplain,I’dprobablystill be trying to make mycase.

“I’m sure they wouldhave been a mite happier ifthey could have seen me in

theflesh,”hesaid.“Butthenagain,whowouldn’t?”

Ash winked and Isnorted. He always did seethepositive sideof things. Ismiledandturnedbacktomynotes, determined to try hisapproach.MaybeifIfocusedonthepositiveaspectsofourmission, I’dbeable to figureouthowtomakethisright.

There was still somuchwedidn’t know,but atleast we had a good idea of

when the vampires wouldstrike.Theeclipseonlygavethe bloodsuckers a sevenminute window of darknesstomake theirmove. If theystuckaroundafterthat,they’denduphowIatemysteak—burnedtoacrisp.

From the vampires’limited timetable, I couldestimate the point at whichthe attack would take placeon the parade route. Therewere variables—length of

speeches, speed atwhich theprocessionmoved—butIwasconfidentthattheHolyBloodwould not leaveBurg squarebefore the eclipse began.Thatwasourpointofcontact.

I pulled out amap ofthecitycenterandoverlaidapublic works blueprintshowing all sewer drains,manhole covers, and firehydrants. With the nearbycanals, multitude of seweraccess points, and numerous

buildings, therewere just toomany places where thevampires could enter thesquare. We couldn’t guardthemall.

That was when thefire hydrants caughtmy eye,givingmeanidea. Igrinnedas my fingers tracedtrajectories.

“We’ll be waiting foryou, bloodsuckers,” Iwhispered, staring at themap.“Preparetogethosed.”

Chapter45

“A Hunter’s work isneverdone.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Martenscalledaroundten in themorning to letmeknowthatthelastpatienthadbeen released from the

infirmary. He obviouslyintendedtocloseupshopandsleepforthenextweek.Toobadthatwasn’tapossibility.Martensmaybeadoctor,buthewasalsoaHunter, andasweallknew,aHunter’sworkis never done. He might aswellgetusedtoit.

“I’mgladyoucalled,”I said. “We’ve got asituation.”

“Give me a break,Lehane,”hesaid. “I’vebeen

pulling double shifts eversince you stepped foot inBruges.Whatisitnow?”

“The vampires aregoingtomakeamoveontheHoly Blood during theprocession today,” I said.“We’llneedyourhelptokeeptherelicsafe.”

The line went sosilent, Iwondered ifMartenshadfallenasleep.

“Doc,youstillthere?”Iasked.

“Y-y-yes, shit, yeah,I’m here,” he said. “What’stheplan?”

Itoldhimsomeofthebasics. I didn’t want tooverwhelm him with all thedetails, but he needed toknow our intent to stop thetheftoftheHolyBlood,whileprotectingasmanyhumansaspossible.

“They’re going tomake a grab for the relictoday between fourteen and

fifteen hundred hours,” Isaid. “I’mguessing thatwillplace the procession insideBurg square when thevampires make their move.It’s going to be wall to wallpeople, so collateral damageisaconcern.”

“You want me therefortriage?”heasked.

“Yes,”Isaid.He sounded relieved

and I had towonder the lasttime thisguyhadseenactual

fieldwork. Martens was aHunter, but as the Guild’sdoctorhemayhavemanagedto avoid facing conflict inrecentyears.Afterthelossofhis wife, I guess I couldn’tblamehim.

His reactionmademeconfident that I was givinghim the right role in all ofthis.

“Minimizingcasualties will be yourpriority, but you can also be

our eyes and ears inside thecrowd,”Isaid. “Ifyouseeavamp, radio it in. We’ll bewearing ear pieces for thisrun.”

“Okay,”hesaidwithasigh. “I’ll be leaving soonthen. I need time to gatherthe necessary medicalsupplies and get them inplace.”

“I can send Alekseyoverwith your ear piece andradio transmitter,” I said.

“But Doc, before you go, Ineedonemorefavor.”

“Why am I notfuckingsurprised?”heasked.“Whatisitthistime?”

“I might need yourhelp restraining SimonChadwick,”Isaid.

The line went silentagain, but this time I waitedfor Martens to process myrequest. EvenIhadtoadmititwasalottotakein.

“That’s

insubordination,”hesaid.Master Peeters, for

some unfathomable reason,had put Chadwick in chargeduringhisabsence.KnowingChad, he’d volunteered forthe job. It was the kind ofmove he’d make. SimonChadwick might be ajudgmental, chauvinistic ass,buthewasalsodriven.

Problem was, withChadwick as our interimboss,goingagainsthimwasa

seriousoffense.Ibelievedindoing what would save themost innocent lives—itseemed the truest way touphold my vows—but noteveryone would feel thatway. Chadwick wasn’t theonly Hunter with a strictadherence to rules and redtape. I just hoped thatMartens could be swayed toseethingsmyway.

“Iknow,”Isaid.“Buthe’saliability.”

Chad wasn’t a teamplayer. He was a controlfreak who got off ondominating thosehebelievedwere inferior. If hediscovered what we were upto, he’d shut down ouroperation and ask questionslater. That was a risk wecouldn’ttake.

He was also mymeansofgetting close to theHolyBlood.

Once I’d established

my plan for intercepting thevampires,itbecameclearthatweneededaHunteratgroundzero. Itwas theonlyway toensure theHolyBlooddidn’tget snatched in the ensuingchaos. But getting close totherelicwouldn’tbeeasy.

That’s where Chadcamein.

Each year a groupcalling themselves theBrotherhood of the HolyBloodwasgiventhehonorof

carrying the relic during theprocession.Chadwasoneofthese thirty-one men. TheHunters’ Guild maintained apresence within theBrotherhood and, due to hisnoble blood, Chadwick wasourcurrentinsideman.

“What makes youthink I can help you restrainChadwick?”Martensasked.

“Call it a hunch,” Isaid.

“Fine, Lehane,” he

said. “Meetme in the lobbyinfive.Wemightaswellgetthisoverwith.”

Martens hung up andAsh quirked an eyebrow atme.

“What are you up to,love?”heasked.

“Chad’s going to letmemarchinhisplacetoday,”Isaid.

“I highly doubt that,”hesaid,shakinghishead.

“I can be very

persuasive,” I said, rollingone of my knives over myknuckles.

“Still,itwon’tbeeasyto get Chadwick to give uphisspotintheprocession,”hesaidwithafrown.

It was true thatChadwick would probablytoss his ownmother under abus for an opportunity toshow off his role within theeliteBrotherhoodoftheHolyBlood, but my trip to House

Dampierre’s dungeon hadgivenmeanidea.

When I killed GuyDampierre, I’d helped to setthousandsofghostsfreefromthat room of death andtorture. But hundreds morehad remained. I’d felt theirlingering presence thisevening as I walked thestreets from the inn to theguildhall,swirlingaroundmeincuriosityandconfusion.

I’dstolenthefocusof

theirrage,andnowIintendedto give them a new target.One Simon Chadwick,chauvinist and attemptedrapist,woulddonicely.

“Oh, I don’t knowabout that,” I said, an evilgrin tugging at my lips. “IthinkChadisabouttohaveavery,verybadday.”

Chapter46

“A Guild dividedagainstitselfwillperish.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Facing Chad was nothow I wanted to spend mymorning. I didn’t trust him,and part of my brain still

gibbered in a dark corner atthe thought of what he triedtodotome,butIwasrunninglowonoptions.TheBloodofChrist in the hands ofvampirescouldnotbegood.If the vampires got an upperhandinthecomingwar,moreinnocents would die. Icouldn’tletthathappen.

“Any idea whereChadwickisnow?”Iasked.

Martens was pacingthe lobby, a medical satchel

slung over his shoulder. IconvincedAshtostaybehindwith Celeste in the archives,but I hadn’t come emptyhanded. I’d brought myweaponsandabagcontaininga coil of rope, just in case.But my real weapons werethe vengeful ghosts I’d justencouraged to go hauntChad’sass.

The horde of spiritsracedup theornate staircase,so I was guessing that Chad

waseitherinthedormitoryorthemesshall.

“Probablygetting intohis costume,” Martens said.“Thatreplicaarmorisabitchto put on, and he broke hisfinger in a training accidentthisweek. It’sgoing to takehimawhiletogetready.”

Convenient that. Igrinned, flashing my teeth.I’mprettysure Iwas theonewhobrokeChad’sfinger,andthat sure as hell was no

training accident, but Irefrained from taking thecredit. Martens alreadythoughtIwasbadnews.

Whenwe reached thehallway outside Chadwick’sdoor, I could hear acommotion coming frominside. Martens raised aneyebrow, and I shrugged. Ihadn’texplainedmyabilitytointeract with ghosts, therehadn’tbeentime.Plus,Ihadno idea if my plan would

work.I’dhopedtoputChad

offbalancebysendingapackofangryghostshisway,butIhad no guarantees that thespirits would do as I asked.With a few exceptions, I’dmade a habit of ignoring thedead. To say that I was innew territory here was anunderstatement.

I rapped on the doorandheldmybreath.

“W-w-who’s there?”

Chad asked from inside theroom.

“It’s me, Lehane,” Isaid. Myvoicedidn’tquiverhalf as much as Chad’s didand I raised my chin andreached for the doorknob.“Openup.”

“Bossy little bitch,”Chad muttered. “Go away.I’mnotfeelingwell.”

“Then I guess it’s agood thing I brought thedoctorwithme,”Isaidinmy

mostcheeryvoice.I felt the lock click

beneath my hand, and Iopenedthedoor.WhatIsawaswe stepped inside broughtasmirktomylips,andIhadtocoughtostiflealaugh.

Chad was flailingaround as if surroundedby aswarm of pixies, but I knewbetter.Itwasn’ttheannoyinginsects of the fae worldflitting around his head.Nope, Chad was plagued by

ghosts.Karma’s a bitch that

way.When he noticed me

staring, Chad lowered hishands and forced his armsdown at his sides. Hescowleddownhisnoseatme,but at themoment hewasn’tall that imposing. Chad’sface twitched, and as wemoved further into the room,he shivered and rubbed hisarmsashecrossedthemover

hischest.“Sorry to hear you’ve

comedownwithsomething,”Isaid,notmeaningawordofwhatIsaid.“Fluisit?”

Chad shook his headand reached for the costumethatlayspreadoutonhisbed.

“P-p-probably j-j-justsomething I ate,” he said ashefiddledwiththecatchesontheshiningbreastplate.

Martens caught myeyeandtiltedhisheadtoward

abookonChad’snightstand.It looked an awful lot like aSatanistbible.

Istiffened.WasChadour traitor? Had he beencontinuing Van Haecke’swork to try to desecrate thechurch for the vampires? Itdidn’tseemtojivewithwhatI knew of Chad, but thenagain,maybehisholier-than-thou attitude was a cover.Maybehewasjustplainevil.

I could get on board

withthattheory.The rusalka, Natasha,

hadsaidweharboredatraitorinourmidst,butIwashopingthat her comment had beentypical fae manipulation, awaytogetusHunterschasingourowntails.Thenagain,asmuch as faeries enjoyedtwisting the truth, they areincapable of telling bald-faced lies. Out of everyHunterI’dmet,Chadwasthemostlikelysuspect.

I narrowed my eyesand turned back to Chad,moving forward to get hisattention. Now more thanever, I needed to take hisplace in today’s procession.IfChadwasworkingwiththevampires, there was no waywecouldallowhimtobethatclosetotheHolyBlood.

Plus, a Guild dividedagainstitselfwillperish.Wehad to have solidarityamongstourteamifwewere

towinthisfight.“You’reobviouslynot

feeling like yourself today,Chad,” I said. My wordswerekind,butmyvoicewasiron. “How about we sendanother Hunter in yourplace?”

Chad’s head jerkedup, and he glared at me,righteousfuryinhisgaze.

“No, this is mysolemn duty,” he said. “Iearnedtheright.Iwillnotlet

a…anillnessgetintheway.”Duty?Doinghisduty

meant watching the backs ofhis Guild brothers andsisters. It wasn’t a dress uppartywhere grownmen viedfor status. It sure as helldidn’t mean attempted rape,ortreasonagainsttheGuild.

“Simon Chadwick, Iam ordering you to theinfirmary,”DocMartenssaid,movingforward.“Andifyoudon’thandoverthatcostume,

I will knock you out andcarryyouthere.”

Martens held up asyringe, a wicked gleam inhis eye. Damn, the doctorwasascaryguywhenhewasgrumpy. I made a mentalnote to send him a fruitbasketwhenthiswasallover.

“It’s alright,” I said,raising a hand to Martens.“I’vegotthis.”

I turned back toChad. Asmuchas I’denjoy

knocking Chad out with asolid punch to that pompousfaceofhis,Iwasgoingtotrytodothiswithoutafight.

“You’re right, Chad,”I said. “Protecting the HolyBlood is serious, which iswhy you need to standdown.”

“Idon’t…Ijust…”hestuttered. With hisdisheveled hair and wideeyes, he resembled a lostchild,butIdidn’tbackoff.

“It is your duty,” Isaid.“Standdown.”

His shoulders saggedand he let the replica armordrop to the floor with aclang. Martens took his armandledhimoutoftheroom.Atthedoor,Chadturned.

“But who will youfind worthy enough to takemyplace?”heasked.

Oh, I already had areplacement, but ol’ Chadwasn’t going to like it. Not

onebit.“That’seasy,Chad,”I

said.HetiltedhisheadandIfelt a slow grin slide acrossmy face. “You’re lookingather.”

Chad let out astrangledcry,buthisattemptto lunge at me was short-lived. His eyes glazed overand he slumped againstMartens.

Thedoctorsighedandshook his head as he

withdrew the hypodermicneedle.

“I’ll get this onesituated in the infirmarybeforeIheadout,”hesaid.

“Thanks, Doc,” Isaid. “How long you thinkhe’llbeout?”

“Until tonight, I’dwager,” he said. “Not longenough.”

“Why do you saythat?”Iasked.

WeonlyneededChad

out of the way until wedefeated the vamps. If hewas unconscious all day, weweregolden.

“Chadwick’s going tobepissedwhenhewakesup,thankstoyou,”hesaid.“Youbetter watch out when hecomesto.”Ishruggedandheshook his head. “Was thatreallynecessary,tellinghimawomanwasgoingtotakehisplace?”

“Yes,” I said, holding

hisgaze.“Nevereasywithyou,

Lehane,isit?”heasked.Isnorted.“No,” I said,

beaming.“Itneveris.”

Chapter47

“Hunters keep mosthumansinthedarkinordertopreventfearandchaos.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I stood in the heat ofmidday, sweat rolling downmy back beneath the shining

armor and white tabardemblazonedwithabright,redcross. Although I blendedwiththeothermembersoftheBrotherhood of the HolyBlood, I’d made somemodifications to mycostume. I’d replaced thereplica armor with the realstuff, which meant thegleamingmetalwoulddeflectweaponsandfangs.

It also made it heavyashell.

I rolledmyshoulders,wincing at the many achesandpains I’ddevelopedoverthe course of the pastweek.Whenallthiswasover,Iwasgoingsleepforanentireday.Eitherthat,orI’dbesleepingforeternity.Iwashopingfortheformer.

I checked in on theradio I was wearing,confirming, once again, thatmy team was in position.We’donlyhaveonechanceat

this, hence the double-checking. The eclipse wasscheduled to begin in eightminutes and, make nomistake, when day turned tonight, the vampires wouldcome. I could feel it in mybones.

“Position check,” Isaid,keepingmyvoicelow.

The head of theprocessionwasjustbeginningto exit the Basilica of theHoly Blood, but I, and the

other costumed members oftheBrotherhood, had not yetpassed through the thresholdofthechurchandoutintothenoiseof theawaitingcrowd.I didn’t want to risk thecuriosity of the other guardsbytalkingloudlytomyself.

Not that I was tooworried about theBrotherhood of the HolyBlood.

At one time, theBrotherhood had been

comprised of skilled knightswhovowed tokeep theHolyBlood safe. It was theirannualdutytoguardtherelicasitwasparadedthroughthestreets of Bruges. But fromthelookofthepudgymenintheir fancy dress shoes,trained knights had beenreplaced by other pillars ofthe community such aslawyers, bankers, andpoliticians.

I was willing to bet

that the last time someonewith the necessary skills hadassumed a role as guardian,thisarmorandtabardwasstillin fashion. I shifted myweight from foot to foot as Iwaited formy team to checkin.

“Lambert, check,”Darrylsaid.

“Dubois, check,”Celestesaid.

“Zarkhov, check,”Alekseysaid.

“Martens, check,”Benjaminsaid.

“Lehane, check,” Isaid.

Five Hunters and oneghost against an unknownnumber of vampires whowere being led by Philip’slieutenant, Jacques deChatillon, a vamp so old, hedied his first death centuriesbeforetheBurningTimes.Itwasn’tthebestodds.

Not with a crowd of

humanstoprotect.I fidgeted with my

fang necklace as the door tothe square grew closer. Iwalked beside the ornatepalanquin on which the relicwas displayed. Twomembers of the BrotherhoodoftheHolyBloodhoistedthepoles of the palanquin ontotheir shoulders, solemnlycarrying the relic likepallbearers. I’d offered towork crowd control, which

put me close to the relic,while keepingmy hands freeformyweapons.

My armor wasn’t theonly thing I’d replaced withthe real thing. The sword,daggers, and crossbow Icarriedwerereal,sowerethewooden stakes tuckedbeneath my tabard. If avampiregotwithinmyreach,I’dtakehimout.

We Hunters don’tnormally expose the secrets

ofthesupernaturalworld,butnot for the same reasons asthe fae and the undead. Thesupeswant their existence toremainasecretforthesakeofself preservation. Hunterskeepmosthumansinthedarkin order to prevent fear andchaos. No one wantedanother Burning Times, noonesaneanyway.

Thatwaswhy I’dusethe pageantry of today’sevent in our favor. If the

crowd witnessed a costumedknight decapitate or stake avampire, they’d think it partof the street theater they’dcome to expect from thisevent. See a vampire burstinto a cloud of ash? They’dexplain it away as sleight ofhand and amazing specialeffects.

Most humans can’thandlethefactthattheysharetheir world with monsterswho have been here long

beforemancrawledoutofthemud, created his first crudeweapons, and startedmakinghimself a nuisance. Humansfearwhat theycan’texplain.So the brain has developedcopingmechanisms that helpkeepmaninthedark.

That’s why childrenand thementally ill seemorethan the restofus. Childrenhaven’tfullydevelopedthosecoping mechanisms yet, andthecopingmechanismsofthe

mentally ill have becomedamaged.

It also helped thatfaeries and the undead hidetheir trueappearancebeneathamagicglamour. If humansmanaged to see vampiresduring the darkness of theeclipse,thevampswerelikelyto look like uber attractivetwenty-somethings—notwalking corpses. For theundead, that glamour helpedtocamouflagethevisageofa

killer from their unwittingprey.

Today it might alsohelptopreventariot.

Iblinkedrapidly,eyesdarting through the crowd aswe stepped out onto theBurg. The noise was evenlouderthanI’dexpected.Thecheers of the crowdreverberated off the cobbledsquare and the stonebuildings that enclosed theBurg, creating an almost

deafeningdin.OnceagainIwasglad

of the high tech ear piecesthat Zarkhov had providedfrom the armory. If we’drelied on cell phones orstandard issue walkie-talkies,we’d have total radio silenceright now. Instead, I couldcontinuetohearstatusreportsabove the cheers of thecrowd.

Everyoneonmyteamhad a job to do, no matter

what suspicious thoughtsmade my chest tight. Therusalka’s words still rang inmy head, but I shook it off.Chad wouldn’t wake for afew more hours, and I hadZharkov working away fromthe action. They were theonly two I thought might becapable of that kind oftreachery,notthatIwantedtobelieve the faerie’saccusationsatall.

But the memory of

Martens nodding toward theSatanist bible on Chad’snightstand was still fresh. Igritmyteethandtriedtostemthe growing paranoia. Icouldn’t afford thedistraction, and there wasn’tmuch else I could do tocontrolthesituation.Iftherewas a traitor in our midst,we’dfindoutsoonenough.

I scanned the crowd,hand heading toward mysword. It was onmy hip in

plain sight, one of the manybenefits of being part of theprocession.Iwasfullyarmedandreadyforbattle.

A children’s dancegroup was performing aheadof us, their costumesbedeckedwithcolorful fabricstreamersthattwirledthroughtheairas thedancersspunincircles. A choirwas singingaheadofthem,but theywerealready passing out of theBurg square, taking their

musicwiththem.I eyed the sky

nervously.Theeclipsewouldbegin any minute now. I’ddoneeverythingIcouldthinkof to put into play a plan tokeep the relic out of thevampires’ clawed hands andprotect as many innocentspossible. I swallowed hard,my mouth going painfullydry. I just hope I wasn’tforgettingsomething.

The square darkened,

and there was no more timefor worrying. The eclipsehad begun, rapidlyswallowing the sun. It wastimeforaction.

Amidstoohs and ahs,thecrowdpointedtothesky,but I kept my eyes on thesquare. I scanned rooftops,doorways, and the spotswhere the archive’s mapsindicatedmanholecoversandsewer grates. I didn’t knowwhere the vampires would

make their grand entrance,butIwassureofonething.

Theywouldcome.

Chapter48

“Hunters working asecurity detail learn early onthat you keep one eye onwhatyou’reguardingandtheothereyeonthecrowd.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

The eclipse began,

and the attention of everyguardwasonthesky.AsI’dfeared,therewerenotenougheyes on the phial. It was arookie mistake, anotherindicationthat thesemenhadnever been trained asguardians.

Hunters working asecurity detail learn early onthat you keep one eye onwhatyou’reguardingandtheother eye on the crowd. Iftodaywasanyindication,you

shouldn’t stare directly up atan eclipse. It gave themonsters an edge, and thesehumans were already at adisadvantage.

I inched closer to therelic, jostling my wayforwardthroughthecrowd.Icameabreastwiththerelicasdarkness fullydescendedandtemporary night fell on thecity. I drew down the nightvision goggles that I’dretrofittedintomyhelmet,the

world switching to shades ofgreen.

“Now!”Ishouted.Darryl, Celeste, and

Benjamin were posing asmaintenanceworkers, andonmy order they let loose withfire hoses, pointing themabovethecrowd.

They worked in twoteams. It took both Celesteand Benjamin to handle thehose on the Eastern side ofthesquare.TotheWest,Ash

and Darryl were workingtogether.

Ash turned the wateronandhelpedguideDarryl’sbrawn, telling him where toaim the hose. If you’d toldme a ghost and a blind manwould make a great team, Iwouldhave laughed. Now itjustmadeperfectsense.

I’d been surprisedwhenDarryl asked about theother person in the archivesearlier today, but when I

realized he could hear Ash,albeit faintly, the revelationhad given me an idea. Weneeded more Hunters in thefield on this mission, andwith Ash’s help, Darryl wasthestrongestmanwehadoutthere.

Also, Ash’s ability tomanifest grew weaker thefarther he moved from myposition. Ididn’tknowwhy,anotherquestionforlater,butit meant pairing him with

Darryl gave him a chance toaidinourmission,evenifhewasn’tdirectlyatmyside.

Of course, he couldmove fast if I neededhimasbackup. The fact that hecould literally move throughthe crowd gave him anadvantage the other Huntersdidn’t have. It was likehaving two pieces on thegameboardinsteadofone.

My team let loosewith the fire hoses, aiming

them high above the crowd.We didn’t want to knockpeople over, just get themwet. The water would onlybe an annoyance to thegathered humans. In fact, inthe darkness, they may evenmistake it for a passingshower.Heck,someofthemprobably think this is allpartoftheshow.Butthosehosesweren’t spraying regular oldH2O.

They were spraying

holywater.Inhuman shrieks rose

up frommy twoo’clock andseven o’clock. The holywater helped to pick thevamps out in the crowd and,judging from their positions,they were descending on therelicinapincermove.

I kept my swordraised,scanningthecrowdforthevamps.Toolate,Icaughtmovement on the oppositeside of the palanquin. In a

blur of movement, a glovedhand reached out andsnatched the phial from itsrestingplaceinsidethelarger,ornate reliquary and replacedit with a replica. It was sodark,andithappenedsofast,theguardsbearingtheweightof the palanquin didn’t evennotice.

With a growl, Iducked under the palanquinandbetween the twoguards.I nearly did a header, having

to adapt to theweight ofmyarmor, but managed to keepmyfeetundermeasIran.

“Thewinehasleftthecup,” I said. “I repeat, thewinehasleftthecup,movingeast. Dubois and Martens,we’reheadingyourway.”

Ifeltthedisplacementof air, just before the clawsgrazed my chin. A vampirehadcomeupfrombehindandwas trying to tear out mythroat. I’d been expecting

company.Ijinkedleft,awayfrom the clawed hand, andspun. In one smoothmovement,Iseveredtheheadfrom the vampire’s body,turning her to dust and ash.A few people coughed, butthat was it. No one noticedthe vamp’s second death.They were still too busylookingatthesky.

But that distractionwouldn’t last. A countdownin my goggles let me know

that the vampires wererunning out of time—and sowerewe.

If we didn’t retrievethe Holy Blood in the nextthree minutes, the vampireswould go to ground, and therelic would be on its way toFrance. I couldn’t let thathappen.

I heard someone cryout as they fell to thepavement and I ran. I’d lostsightof thevampire I’dbeen

chasing, but that had to behimupahead.Mylegburnedand the ache inmy side sentwaves of nausea to grip mystomach,butIpushedmyselftorunfaster.

“Martens, Dubois, doyouseeanything?”Iasked.

I had to be right ontop of their position, but thewitch and the doctor werenowhereinsight.

“Yes,vampiretoyourthree o’clock,” Martens

shouted. “Don’t let thatbloodsuckergetaway!”

Celeste didn’t checkin, and I just hoped she wasalright. I still wasn’t surehowmanyvampshadenteredthe square, but I’d given ourHunters orders to protect theinnocent bystanders. If thewitch wasn’t chasing downthevampwhostole the relic,then maybe she was helpingtoprotectthehumans.

“Copy that,Martens,”

Isaid.“Iseehim.”I caught sight of the

vampire, recognizing himfromhisportrait. Iwouldn’tforgetthosecoldeyes.ItwasJacques de Chatillon. I puton a final burst of speed,following him into a narrowside street that angled awayfromtheBurg.

“I’m heading downHoogstraat,” I whispered,aware that the vampire hadsupernatural hearing andwas

probablylisteningforpursuit.“Da, copy that,”

Zharkov said, his voice faintover the pounding of myheart.

The vampire passed afamiliar bric-a-brac shop anda hotel and turned ontoMallebergplaats. It was ashort,narrowstreetwithonlyafeweateriesononesideandthebricksidesoflargehotelson theother. In theblinkofan eye, he was already

nearing the end of the streetwhere it would merge withPhilipstockstraat to the west,Twijnstraat to the east andWapenmakersstraat to thenorth.Ifthevampiremadeitpast that corner, he’d haveaccess to the rest of the city,andI’dlikelylosehiminthewarrenofmedievalstreets.

I yanked the nightvisiongoggles frommyeyesandducked.

“Zharkov, now!” I

shouted.Theendofthenarrow

street exploded in a riot oflight and color. Twirlingsparklers spun above a cakeof crackling fireworks.Jacques wasn’t making itdown that street, not unlesshelikedhisbodyextracrispy.

TheRussianhadcomethrough. He’d remotelydetonated the fireworks, hispyrotechnic display workingexactly as we’d planned.

He’d had to rig every egressoutoftheBurg,sincewehadnoideawhichwaythevampswould run, but the man haddoneit.Ismiled.ThatmeantZharkovwasprobablyoneofthegoodguysafterall.

IknewthetraitorwasChad,butitwasgoodtohavethat theory confirmed. Butthiswasnotimetocelebrate.

The vamp spunaroundwithahiss. Hiseyeshad turned to dark pits and

his fangs elongated, but Ididn’thesitate. Igrippedmysword and charged forward,keeping my eyes low. Ididn’t need to get snared inhisgaze,notnow,notever.

Iraisedmysword,butinstead of taking his head Iaimed for the chest. Heslashed at my arms, clawedhands scrabbling forpurchase, but I ignored hisattempts to tearmeapartandfocusedondrivingmysword

up under his rib cage andthroughhisheart.

He stopped moving,freezinginplace.

I’d filled the grooveof my sword with a woodpasteearliertoday,butIdrewawoodenstakefrommybeltand drove it through thevampire’s heart for goodmeasure. With a smile, Ipatted down the pockets ofthe Frenchman’s stylish, forthesixteenthcentury,suit,but

soon my lips turneddownward.

“Where is it?” Idemanded.

The vampire couldn’tmove, but I could see thelaughter in his eyes. Hedidn’t have the relic. I’dchased the wrongbloodsucker.

The Holy Blood, theBlood of Christ, the HolyGrailwasgone.

Chapter49

“Therearemanywaystosubdueamanontherun.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

“Shit,”Imuttered.“Can you repeat

that?”Zharkovasked.“You okay, girl?”

Lambertasked.I lifted a small,

portable incendiary deviceZharkov had whipped up forme and placed it againstJacques’chest.Withaspark,thevampwentup in flames.Itwas a better death than hedeserved.

Too bad killingvampires didn’t solveeverything. Jacques wasdead,buttheHolyBloodwasgone.

“I’m okay, but wehave a problem,” I said.“Jacques didn’t have therelic.”

I sifted through thepile of ash with my sword,grabbingtheshiningfangsasI checked in with my team,andranbackdownthestreet.Ithadalltakenmereseconds,butmyheartwaspounding.

Wherewasthephial?I raced back into the

Burg, eyes scanning the

crowd. What the hell? Thevampswere all dead and thesunwas coming out, sowhohadthephial?

I shook my head. Itdidn’tmakeanysense.

That’s when I sawDoc pushing through thecrowd, running in theopposite direction, trying toleavetheBurg.

“It’sMartens,”Isaid.“He’sour traitor. Keepeyesonhim,I’mgoingin.”

I knew that he couldhear every word, but wedidn’t have time forestablishing new channelfrequencies. He was thetraitor. He had to haveknownthatIwouldcomeforhim,soonerorlater.

Astheskybrightened,theprocessionbegantomoveagain,and thecrowdcheeredthem on in earnest. Thedarknesswaschasedawaybythe sun, but there were still

monsters among us—andsomeofthemwerehuman.

How could Martenshave sided with thevampires? By giving theHolyBlood toPhilip andhismen, he was selling outhumankind. He wasdelivering a weapon into thehands of our enemies. Iwould not—could not—letthathappen.

Breathing hard, Ipushed through the surging

crowd. Bodies pressed infromall sides and I usedmyarmored elbows to fulleffect.Ididn’tenjoyinjuringcivilians, but a few bruiseswere better than thealternative.

I drew my combatknife as I closed in onMartens.Therewasnoroomto safely swing a sword, andprojectile weapons were outofthequestioninthiscrowd.Iwasskilledwithabow,but

nobody is that good of ashot. Itwas just toodamnedrisky.

I clenched my jaw,wishing I could use mycrossbow. Martens wasnearlyoutofthesquare.

I put on a burst ofspeed, my heart poundingfasterthanmybootedfeetonthe cobbles, and reached forMartenswithmyfreehand.Ispunhimaroundbythecollarof the municipal uniform he

still wore and slammed himagainstthewallofthenearestbuilding.

With a snarl, herammedabladeintomyside.He was aiming for mykidneys,butthechainarmorIworebeneaththelargerchestplatedeflectedthebladefrommyside. IfI’dbeenwearingcostume armor, I’d begaspingmyfinalbreaths.

Notthatitdidn’thurt.Martensknewofmyinjuries,

and he’d aimed his knife atthe same side that thevampires had torn open withtheir claws. Unfortunately, Ididn’t have time to registerthepain.

Martens was alreadyswinging another short bladeat me. Without hesitation, Istabbed him in the gut,keeping my combat knifebetween us. The crowdwasfocused on the procession,but there was no need to be

sloppy. This was somethingnooneneededtosee.

“Why?”Iasked,voiceraw.

Therewassomuchinthat one question. Why hadhebetrayed theGuild? Whyrun when he knew I wascomingforhim? Whytry tostabme?

I never would haveuseddeadlyforceifhehadn’tpushed me to it. There aremanyways to subdue aman

on the run. My stomachtwisted as warm liquidsoaked the fingers wrappedaroundmyblade.

“You w-w-wouldn’tunderstand,”hewheezed.

“Try me, Doc,” Isaid.“Yousworeanoath,asa doctor, and as a Hunter.How could you betray theGuild?”

He sneered, spittledrippingfromhislips.

“The Guild?” he

asked. “What did they everdoforme?MywifegaveherlifefortheGuild,andwhatisher legacy? I can barelyafford my daughter’s tuition,but the Guild doesn’t care—allitdoesistake.”

“So this was what,revenge?” I asked. “I’msorry your wife died, butthat’s a risk every Huntertakes. It’s not a reason tohand over the power to thevampires. Do you think

they’d make any bettermasters?”

Igritmyteeth.Wealllose people. We all fall onhardtimes.Itwasnoexcuse.

“No,”hesaid,spittingbloodatourfeet.“No,butatleast the vampires are honestabout being monsters. Theythreaten you to your faceinstead of stab you in theback.”

I didn’t agree withhim, but Martens was

swayingonhisfeet.Ineededto keep him talking. Darryl,Ash, Celeste, and Alekseywould be on their way. Infact, Celeste should havebeen here by now. She’dbeen with Martens when theprocessionbegan.

A chill ran up myspine.

“What did theythreaten you with, Doc?” Iasked. “And where’sCeleste?”

“Philip will come formydaughter,”hesaid.“Youmustgivehimthephial…”

“I’lltakecareofit,”Isaid.

Philip had kidnappedand killed Guy Dampierre’sdaughter back in the 14thcentury. He’d done thisbefore. Unless someonestoppedhim,he’dlikelydoitagain.

Ash and Darryl cameto my side, Ash leading the

way. Darryl was out ofbreath, but Ash just lookedworried.Iguesswhenyou’reaghost,younolongerhavetobreathe.

“He’s in bad shape,love,”Ashsaid. “We’vegotto get him back to theinfirmary.”

Ishookmyhead.“There’s no time, not

with this crowd,” I said.“Help me get him on theground, and hand me his

medicalbag.”With Ash and

Darryl’s help, I managed tomove Martens into theadjoining courtyard and ontothe ground. I pulled off mytunic and wadded it aroundtheknifeprotruding fromhisstomach. I knew I had tostaunch the bleeding, but Ihad no idea if I shouldremove the blade or leave itwhereitwas.Hopefully,Doccould giveme some pointers

once I got his pain undercontrol.

“Here,” Ash said,handingmeMartens’medicalbag.

I unzipped the bagwith shaking hands. At thetop of the bag was the HolyBlood,confirmingonceagainthatMartens was our traitor,not thatweneededanymoreproof. His confession andattempts to kill me weredamningenough.

I lifted out the phial,slipping it carefully into apocket beneath my armor,and continued to dig throughthe bag. I tossed items ontothe cobbles, fingers scouringevery pocket andcompartment, but there wereno life saving medicalsupplies inside. The blackleatherbagwaspackedwithachange of clothes, cash, twoplane tickets, and BenjaminMartens’ passport. He had

plannedtorun,probablywithhisdaughter,andhadn’tevencome to the square with themedicalsuppliesnecessarytoheal anyof ourwounds. Henever intended to help uswhenthevampiresattacked.

Ironically, we werenowlackingthetools tosavehis life. Poetic justice?Perhaps, but I couldn’t helpthinking about that little girlwaiting for her dad to pickher up for the vacation he’d

promised.“SomeonecallClara’s

boarding school,” I said.“Make sure the kid is okay.When Philip doesn’t receivethe phial, he might makegood on his threats to hurtMartens’daughter.”

“I’m on it,” Darrylsaid.

“Clara?” Martensasked. His breath rattled inhis chest, and blood coatedhislips.

“Don’tworry,Doc,”Isaid. “We’ll keep yourdaughtersafe.”

“Promise,”herasped.“Ipromise,”Isaid.Martensletoutasigh,

and I watched the life leavehis eyes. I held my breathand waited for his ghost toappear and give me hell fortakinghislife,forrobbinghisdaughter of a father, but henever came. BenjaminMartenswasgone.

I let out the shakybreath I’d been holding, andblinked away hot tears thatblurredmyvision.Icouldn’twipethetearsaway,sincemyhands and my tunic werecoveredinMartens’blood.

“This was not yourfault,love,”Ashsaid.

“Ishouldhavefigureditout,”Isaid.“Isawhowhewas livingoutof theGuild’shearse, and I didn’t sayanything. Maybe if I’d told

somebody,ortriedtogethimsomehelp…”

“Don’t do this toyourself,” he said. “He dughisownbloodygrave,Jenna.He sold us out to themonsters.It’snotyourfault.”

Then why was it sohardtobreathe?

Chapter50

“Hunters don’t hidefrom ugly truths any morethan we hide from ourenemies.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Zarkhov foundCeleste beside a dumpster

down a nearby alley.Amazingly enough she wasalive.

Martens had talkedCeleste intotakingafewhitsofMandragorajustbeforetheeclipse began, “to calm hernerves.” The witch hadn’tneeded much convincing.Once she was high on thedrug, it also hadn’t beendifficult to keep her usinguntilshepassedout.Martensthen dragged Celeste into an

alley where she wouldn’t beseen. He’d tossed her awaylike trash, but at least hehadn’ttakenherlife—thoughsomemayarguethatpoint.

OnceCelesteregainedconsciousness, I found outthat the doctor had been theone supplying herMandragora addiction rightalong, using her grief andguiltoverAsh’sdeathtokeepherdocileanddistracted.Hecouldn’t risk Celeste using

hermagictodetecthisroleinPhilip’s scheme, so heskillfullyeliminatedthethreatsheposed.

Martens’ hand inCeleste’s addiction helped toallay some of my own guilt,butnotall. I’dkilledaman,aHunter, and nomatter howhard I scrubbed, I could stillfeel the warmth of his bloodonmyhands.Iwantedtogohide in the shower, where Icould kid myself that my

tearswereonlydropsofbathwater, and then I wanted tosleepforamonth.

But that wasn’t anoption. Hunters don’t hidefrom ugly truths any morethan we hide from ourenemies. We face ourproblems head on, nomattertheodds.

That doesn’t mean itwaseasy.

The one thing thatkept me going was the

knowledge that Martens’daughter Clara was alive.Darryl, through a series ofphone calls to Clara’sboarding school, hadascertained that the girl wassafe. Except foronepitstoptoswap the realphial for theforgerybefore theprocessionreentered thebasilica, Ispentthe rest of the day calling infavors and breaking rules bysending every availableHuntertoguardthatboarding

school. I had promised tokeepMartens’ daughter safe,and I never break mypromises.

After a few hours ofphonetag,Ievenmanagedtoreach Master Peeters, themasteroftheBrugesHunters’Guild. He wasn’t happywhen he learned ofMartens’death or Chadwick’stemporary incapacitation, butonceIexplainedtheeventsofthe past week, he stopped

threatening to have mestrippedofmyrank.

Unfortunately,demotion wasn’t the onlything Peeters could do tomake my life miserable.Now it was just a matter oftime until theGuildmaster’sweightybootdropped.Iwasprettysurehisbootwasgoingtolandsquarelyinmyass.

Itwouldn’tbethefirsttime I’d ended up on thereceiving end of a Guild

master’s punishment.Somehow thatdidn’tmake itany easier to accept. You’dthink I’d learn,butnomatterhowloyalIwastotheGuild,I could never stand by andfollow the rules when doingsocostthelivesofinnocents.

I let out a heavy sighandwonderedifthiswashowAchilles felt when Paris shotthat poisoned arrow into hisheel. Itsuckshavingaweakspot.

I closed my eyes andtilted my head back againstthe couch thatDarryl had letmesprawloutandbleedoninthearchives. I’dhave togetDarrylathankyoucard.Didthey make Braille thank youcards?I’dhavetofindout.

Myheadspunandmyside burned, so I remainedstill except for the rise andfallofmychest. Rightnow,even that hurt. Some ofmystitches had opened, and I

wasdehydratedfromrunningaround in fifty pounds ofarmor, but I hadn’t let thembringme to the infirmary. Iwasn’t ready to face thedoctor’s empty desk chair,notyet.

Plus,ifChadwokeupright now, I was likely tobashhis face in. Iwas tiredand cranky and in no moodfor insults and lectures.Getting dressed-down byMaster Peeters was bad

enough.“Youshouldgetsome

sleep,love,”Ashsaid.The couch shifted as

he sat next to me. I wasn’tsure how that worked.Sometimes Ash could floatthrough walls, and othertimes he was as solid as thebooksinthisarchive.

I’d lived with ghostsmywhole life. I thought I’dknown the rules thatgoverned them, but Ash

changedallthat,andmyheadhurttoomuchtofigureitout.

What I didknowwasthat Ash hadn’t left my sideall day and long into thenight.

“I can’t,” I said,forcing a grin and openingmy eyes. “I have one morecalltomake.”

“Justone?”heasked.“Somehow I doubt that,love.”

I’d beenmaking calls

allday,sohehadeveryrightto be suspicious. But thistimeImeantit. Iwasnearlydoneforthenight.Sleepwascalling like amermaid readyto pull me under the waves,andIwasreadytoletit.

“Just the one, Ipromise,” I said, stifling ayawn.

Ashwinked.“I’llholdyoutothat,”

hesaid.

Chapter51

“It’s just us Huntersagainst the monsters, as italwayshasbeen,asitalwayswillbe.”

-Niall Janus, MasterHunter

Itwasonlyonephone

call, but it was over an hourbefore I was free to get anysleep. Master Janus was inanother timezone,not that itwould have mattered if hewas as exhausted as I was.Wehadalottodiscuss,allofitimportant.

Master Janus was apowerful Guild master, butmore importantly, I trustedhim. I also respected hisopinion. If he believed thatmy actions warranted

punishment, then I wouldbow before Master Peetersandrequestaninquirybythecouncilofelders.

I’m sure Chadwickwouldlovetoseethat. He’dprobablysellticketsandsaveafrontrowseatforhimself.Iswallowed hard and pushedon,keepingmyvoicesteady.

“Martens died of thewound I knowingly inflictedwith my own blade,” I said,finishingmyreport.

“And the wee bairn,ClaraMartens?”heasked.

“I sent men to guardher, not that I had theauthority,” I said. “MasterPeeters wasn’t too happyaboutthat.He’sprettyangryabout a lot of things I’vedone.Butthegirlissafe,fornow.”

“Andwhydidyounotgo through the properchannels to assign guards tothegirl?”heasked.

I stifled a yawn. Iprobably should come upwith some flowery excuse,but I was too tired to makesomethingup,andI’veneverbeen good at lying. Plus,MasterJanushadaknackforseeingthetruthofathing.Itwas part of what made himsuch an effective Guildmaster.

“Therewasnotimetofilepaperworkandwaitforahearing,” I said. “I believed

that thegirlwas in imminentdanger.TheHuntersIsenttoguard her can confirm that astrike team of vampiresbearing the mark of HouseCapet tried to enter theboarding school at nineteenhundred hours local time.But that doesn’t excusewhatIdid.Ibroketherules,andIdid so knowingly and of myownvolition.”

Itwas true. A dozenvamps with fleur-de-lis

tattoos had made their moveon Clara’s school just afterdusk. The Hunters hadstakedandkilledeveryoneofPhilip’s vampires, preventinginjury to thechildrenand theschool’sstaff. Ididn’tregretmy decision to send thoseHunters to Clara’s boardingschool, but I’d broken therules to do so. I would livewiththerepercussions.

“You did a riskassessment and made a

decision,” he said. “In theheat of battle and with theblood of a fallen Hunter onyourhands,Imightadd.”

I stared at my freehand, wondering if I’d everfeelclean.

“Yes, his blood is onmyhands,” I said. “I acceptwhatever punishment you,Master Peeters, and thecouncilseefit.”

“Don’t be daft,Lehane,”hesaid,voicegruff.

I sat up, his voicepullingmeupstraight.

“Sir?”Iasked.“There will be no

punishment, so stop yourhavering,”he said,hiswordsbecoming thick with hisnative Scottish brogue. Hewas definitely annoyed withme. “You’ve provenyourself, lass. What you’vedone wasn’t easy, but younevershirkedyourduty.Yousaved the life of a child you

felt was in your charge, andyou saved countlessmorebytaking down Dampierre andpreventing Philip fromstealing a relic of greatpower.I’mproudofyou.”

Sobs burst from mewithagaspingbreathandbig,ugly tears ran down mycheeks in waves. I’d beenholdingsomuchinsidewhileI made phone calls and metwith Darryl, Ash, andZarkhov. I’d stayed busy

issuing orders and checkingstatusreports.Butthosefourwords from Master Janusbroke through my defenses,shattering the last shreds ofmycontrol.

I’mproudofyou.Icouldn’tseehowmy

mentor could possibly beproud of me, but the wordsheld value all the same.Master Janus was a skilledHunter and a venerableleader, but he rarely gave

praise. I hoarded his words,greedily drawing them insidemyself for days like todaywhen Ineededa reminderofhow winning can feel likefailure.

I had a naggingsuspicion that this was onelesson that would bearrepeating. As Jonathan usedto remind me, I have anincrediblythickskullforsuchatinyhuman.

“Thank you, sir,” I

said, when the sobbingsubsided. I kept my voicelow, not trusting that mycryingjagwasover.

“Don’t thank me yet,lass,” he said, sighingheavily.“YoumightwishI’dstrippedyouofyourrankandknockedyoudown tonovicebythetimethisisover.”

I scraped a handthroughmyhairandletoutashakybreath.Ididn’tlikethesoundofthat.

“What do you needmetodo?”Iasked.

I would do whateverMaster Janus asked of me,andheknew it. For the firsttime, I wondered if heregretted thatkindofpower.It couldn’t be easy, sendingyoung Hunters to theirdeaths. Did he stare at hishands wondering if theywouldever feelcleanagain?Ifso,wenowhadsomethingincommon.

“This is inconfidence,” he said, voicegoinghard.Achillranalongmy spine at his tone.“There’s a time and a placeforbendingrules,Lehane,butthisisn’toneofthem.WhatIam about to tell you cannotpassthewallsoftheGuild.”

“For Hunter earsonly,”Isaid.“Gotit.”

“Thereisawaronthehorizon,lass,”hesaid.

I swallowed hard.

That wasn’t exactly news tome. Some of the Huntershere inBelgiumknewof thecoming war, and I’doverheard Master Janus andanother man saying as muchbeforeI’dleftHarborsmouth.WoulditcountthatI’dpassedthat information along tomyfriend Ivy Granger beforeMaster Janus told me nottoo?Ididn’tthinkI’dbethatlucky. Hopefully, Ivy wascareful with what I’d shared

withher.Of course, I hadn’t

hadmuch choice but tell herabout thecomingwar. Fromwhat I’d overheard, theopening battle would likelytake place in Harborsmouth.With the Guild sending meoff to Europe, there was noguaranteeI’dbetherefor thecoming fight. That meantsomeone needed to startpreparations for thewar, andthe psychic detective had

provenherselfahero.Ivy Granger had

defended Harborsmouthagainst an each uisgeinvasion. She would dowhatever was necessary toprotecthercityinthecomingwar. Ivy might be half-fae,but I trusted her with thisimplicitly. ButIdidn’t thinkMasterJanuswouldsharemyopinion of thewisp princess,so Ikeptmy transgression tomyself.

“Yes,sir,”Isaid.“The supernaturals,

the fae and the undead, areamassing their troops,” hesaid. He paused, and I heldmybreath.“Militarymightisnot the only thing to fearfromthesupernaturals.Theirmagicisalsoformidable,andtheyhavefoundanewwaytoamplifythatstrength.”

“How?”Iasked.I knew that a handful

of witches would stand with

the fae and theundead,but Ididn’t think that was whatJanuswasgettingat.

“They are gatheringobjectsofpower,”hesaid.

Mybloodrantoiceinmyveins.

“Like the HolyBlood,”Isaid.

“Aye,”hesaid.“How many magic

items have gone missing?” Iasked.

“More than a dozen,

so far,” he said. “Probablymore that we don’t knowabout.”

“Athenasaveusall,”Isaid.

“We can’t leave thisto the gods, lass,” he said.“It’s just us Hunters againstthemonsters,asitalwayshasbeen,asitalwayswillbe.”

I didn’t completelyagreewithJanus.Therehavealwaysbeen those, humanorsupernatural, who would

stand with us. But I didn’tcorrecthim.Nowwasnotthetimefordebate.

“What do you needmetodo?”Iasked.

“Assemble yourteam,”hesaid.“Choosefromthe Hunters you’ve workedwith inBruges, the ones youtrust.”

“What about MasterPeeters?” I asked. “TheseHunters are under hisleadership.”

“Leave Peeters tome,” he said. “You worryabout your team, and yourmission.”

“And what is themission?”Iasked.

“Chase down thoserelics,” he said. “Get themback, and keep more fromgoing missing. We can’thavethoserelicsinthehandsof the enemy. And don’tforget, lass, that this is war.You’re authorized to use all

necessaryforce.”I bit my lip,

considering what MasterJanus proposed. The Guildwasgivingmeawholelotoflatitude for thismission, andone hell of a lot ofresponsibility. I was prettysure that I’d just received apromotion.

Janus was right, I’drather they dish out apunishment.

“So you want me to

lead a team to protect andretrieveobjectsofpowerthatthe rogue supes havetargeted,”Isaid.

“Aye,” he said. “I’lltextyouacurrentlist.Sofar,theyarefocusingtheireffortson Europe, but it won’t belongbeforewehaveasimilarcrisis over here, and inAsia,Africa,andSouthAmerica.”

“They’re startingwhere there’s the highestconcentration of magical

objects,aren’tthey?”Iasked.“It would appear so,”

he said. “Though ourrelations with the AsianbranchoftheGuildhavebeenstrainedover recentdecades.Theymay not be jumping atthe chance to admit to whatthey’d see as a sign ofweakness.Theymayalreadybe missing such relics aswell.”

“Youwantmetostayin Europe, and focus on the

locations on your list?” Iasked.

“Aye,”hesaid.“Asiaand Africa will likelyassemble their own teams.YourjobistosticktoEurope,fornow.Thoughwemayseeyou back on American soil,beforethisisover.”

The Hunters’ Guildneeded me in Europe. Mylips lifted in a grin. Philipand I had unfinishedbusiness. If I could take the

vampire master down whilecompleting my mission forthe Guild, I’d be one happyHunter.

“HaveanyrelicsgonemissinginoraroundParis?”Iasked.

I crossed my fingersandheldmybreath.

“Aye, as a matter offact, one went missing fromtheLouvre thismorning,” hesaid.“Ijustgotthereport.”

I nodded. Master

Janus may not have faith inthegods,butthatdidn’tmeanthey didn’t award favorseveryonceinawhile.

“Good,” I said. “I’mgoing after Philip, thevampire master of HouseCapet. While I’m in Paris,I’ll look into your missingrelic.”

“Philip is not yourprimarymission,Lehane,notunlesshe’stheonebehindtheheist,” he said. “You’d do

welltorememberthat.”“Yes,sir,”Isaid.I smiled. He didn’t

say I couldn’t go after thebloodsucking bastard, justthat Ihad to find themissingrelic. Iwas aHunter,whichmeant that I was good atmultitasking. I would takecareofboth.

“Have your teamready to take the bullet trainfrom Brussels to Paris dayafter tomorrow,” he said.

“That’ll give you time tomake preparations and readthrough what intel we’veassembled.”

It also meant I’d beable to attend Martens’funeral. A day and a halfwasn’t a lot of time, but itwasgoodenough.

“We’ll be there,” Isaid.

“Good,”hesaid.“I’msending Jonathan Baldwin.He’ll rendezvouswithyou in

Brussels.”“You’re sending

Jonathan?”Isqueaked.I hadn’t expected

Master Janus to sendJonathan, not that anythingshould surprise me at thispoint. I was being put incharge of a team of Huntersto protect and retrievemagicrelicsthathadthepotentialtobecome weapons—weaponsthat our enemies would useagainstusinthecomingwar.

But sending my werewolfroommate, the one who stillhadacrushonmethesizeofTexas,wasacomplication.Iwasn’t sure how I felt abouthavinghimatmyback.

“Don’t worry, lass,”he said. “Jonathan’s comingas a member of your team,not tousurpcontrol. You’vedemonstrated an ability tolead.Ihavefaithinyou.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.“Thankyou,sir.”

“Good hunting,” hesaid.“Goodluck.”

Janus ended the call,and I took a deep, steadyingbreath.Iwasgoingtoleadablind archivist, a forgetful,drug addicted witch, a thrillseeking, one-armeddemolitionsexpert,alovesickwerewolf, and a flirtatiousghost into the city of anancient vampire, a formerFrench king, whose plot I’dthwarted.

IwasgoingtoneedalltheluckIcouldget.

Chapter52

“ThosewholeadotherHunters must have aconfidence and strength ofpurpose to rival their Guildbrothersandsisters.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I dropped my phone

onto the low tablebeside thecouchandturnedtoAshwhowaslookingatme,headtiltedtothesidelikeacat.

“We have MasterJanus’ approval to go afterPhilip,solongasweretrieveanother relic the supes havesnatched from the Louvre inParis,” I said. I fidgeted,focusing on Ash’s scarf. Itwas suddenly easier thanmeeting his eyes. “He’ssendingJonathan.He’llmeet

usinBrussels.”While talking to

Master Janus, I’d started tofoolmyselfthatIhadwhatittakes tobea leader,butnowthat the connection to mymentor was severed, myconfidencehadgonetodancein the back room with thepaintings of old vampires.ThosewholeadotherHuntersmust have a confidence andstrength of purpose to rivaltheir Guild brothers and

sisters. I was sorely lackingintheformer.

Fatigueand insecuritycame flooding in to join thedarkness that killingMartenshadleftbehind.Iwantedtheoblivion of sleep and yet, Ifeared being alone with myown thoughts and all that Ihaddone.

Ashlookedatmeasifhe could read my mind, andperhapshecould.Asaghost,he’d walked this city unseen

fortwoyears.Heknewwhatitmeanttobealone.

“So, this Jonathan, ishe your boyfriend?” Ashasked.

Forthefirsttimesincewemet,Ash tookoffhishatandsetitonthetable,placingitontopofmyphone.Iliftedan eyebrow and shook myhead.

“No,” I said. “He’sjustafriend.”

“Good,”hesaid.

Ash leaned in closeand tucked a lock of hairbehindmyear. Ishiveredashis cool fingers traced theedge of my ear and trailedalongmy jaw. He liftedmychin, forcing me to meet hissteadygaze.

“I’m glad,” he said.The rawdesire inhishungrygaze made my breathquicken. “If he was yourboyfriend, Iwouldn’tbeabletodothis.”

His hand moved tocup my face as he leaned inand brushed his lips acrossmine. Ash’s touchwas soft,tentative, driving me wildwith his restraint. I returnedhis kiss, gently at first, andthenwithincreasingurgency.

When I parted mylips, he let out a sound thatwaspartgrowlandpartmoanthat rumbled deep in hischest.Hetastedofcinnamonand elderberry wine, an

intoxicating mix that I couldnot get enough of. As ourtongues met, I may have letoutasmallgrowlofmyown.

His fingers trailedalong my spine to move inslow circles at the small ofmyback.Iletmyhandsslidefromhishair,downhisneck,and along his arms. I couldlose myself in the way hismuscles rippled and bunchedas he stroked my back anddrovemewildwithneed.

I reveled in thecoolness of his touch, as hisprobing fingers calmed mymind and awakened myscorching skin. A smallpartof my brain warned that thereasonhisarmsandchestfeltso cool beneath my handswas that he was dead, but Ididn’t care. I didn’t worryabout thefact thatAshwasaghost,orthatmostofthetimeI found him more annoyingthan charming. For just a

moment, the darkness of thepastweekwas pushed away,andeverythingfeltright.

I wanted to stay thisway forever, but eventuallyAsh pulled away with agroan. I reached up to closethe distance between us, butheheld steady,his facemereinchesfrommine.

“You’re really here,”hesaid.

His eyes traced everyline of my face, as if

committing each detail tomemory.

“Yes,” I said, runningmyhandsthroughhishair.

“When we met, Ithought you were an angelcometotakemetoHeaven,”hesaid.“IwouldhavegladlyfollowedyoutoHeaven,ortoHell.”

His lipsquirkedandIwanted to feel them on meagain, but instead I focusedon his eyes. If Ash could

showrestraint,socouldI.“Are you

disappointed, that I didn’ttakeyoutoHeaven?”Iasked.

“Who says youhaven’t?” he asked. “Itdoesn’t get much better thanthis,love.”

I had to disagree. Icouldthinkofsomethingthatwouldmakethisbetter.

“No more talking,” Isaid.

Ash’s eyelids grew

heavy, and a smile tugged athis lips. With a growl thatwould make a werewolfproud, I dugmy fingers intohis hair and pulled himcloser.

Chapter53

“Hunters makeenemies. It is the nature ofourjob.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

I awoke the nextmorning with my head onAsh’schest.Hischestdidn’t

rise and fall since he nolongerbreathed,unlessitwasout of habit. He also didn’tsleep.

“Good morning,love,”hesaid.

“You stayed,” I said,liftingmy head to search hisfaceforclues.

I’m not surewhat I’dexpected,but after lastnight,I’d started to wonder if thiswas all a dream. But Ashwas here, solid beneath me,

more solid than any ghostshouldbe.

“You don’t have tosoundsosurprised,”hesaid.

He leaned down andbrushed his lips across minein the hint of a kiss. Ishivered in anticipation, butsoonmyteethwerechatteringwhichmadekissingdifficult.I sat up, pulling the blanketsover my shoulders, andrubbedmyarms.

After I’d fallenasleep

on the archive couch, Ashhad wrapped me in threeblankets, but I was stillfreezing.

“It’s d-d-drafty inhere,” I said, wracked withanother shiver from head totoe. “How can Darryl workdownhere?”

Ash curled his handsinhislapandswore.Iraisedan eyebrow at him, but hewincedandshookhishead.

“Sorry, love,” he

said. “I don’t think thebuilding’stheproblem.”

“Then wha…?” Istartedtoask.“Oh.”

Ash was a ghost.Ghosts create cold spots andicydrafts.I’dalwaysthoughtit was something they didintentionally to haunt aparticular person or place.Apparently, that assumption,like somany I’dmade aboutthedead,waswrong.

IreachedforAsh,but

my movements were stillslow from sleep, and hemanaged to stand and turnaway.

“I’llseeifIcanrouseDarrylorCelesteand fetchapot of tea,” he said. “Youhaveabusydayahead.”

I intended to go afterAsh to clear the suddenawkwardnessbetweenus,buthis last statement rooted meto the spot. Waking up inAsh’s arms, I’d nearly

forgotten what today was.Thelastvestigesofsleepfledmy body, and I stared atmyhandsasmyvisionblurred.

Today was Martens’funeral.

We’d pulled somestrings to have the ceremonyso soon, but I’dworried thattheGuildmightshipmeawayto a Siberian desk job, andthis was something I neededto be here for. As it was,we’dbeleavingtomorrowfor

Paris.Ash was right—we

hadabusydayahead.A medical examiner

from the Hunters’ Guild inBrussels came to assist withthehastyburialpreparations.As per Guild rules, Martenswasstakedanddecapitated—like thevampireshe’d joinedforceswith.IlefttheM.E.tohisjob.

I spent the morningexplaining our upcoming

mission to my team andmaking preparations. Wewere traveling light, butMasterPeetershadsentafaxgiving permission for us totakewhatweneededfromtheGuild’sarsenal.Zarkhovwasgrinningfromeartoearlikeakidinacandystore,soIgaveDarryl the task of keepinginventory.He’dalsokeeptheRussianincheck.

We were onlycrossingoneborder, and that

waswithintheEU,butIstilldidn’t want unnecessarycomplications. We’d travelwithweapons,butwe’dneedto be smart about what wecarried with us and how wetransported it. That alsoapplied to Celeste’s magiccomponents. Even if shedidn’t try to smuggleMandragora in her luggage,whichwasprobablytoomuchtohopefor,manyoftheherbsshe used for casting spells

were controlled substances.Packing kept me busy rightupuntilthefuneral.

*****

I stood in my newlyrepaired hunting gear. Myskirt and bodysuit werefunctional, not fancy, but itwasa respectableblack. Mygear also ensured ease ofmovement,andtheskirtgaveme a place to stash myweapons in case we had any

unwantedguests.Hunters make

enemies. It is the nature ofour job. But ifanymonstersplanned on crashing thisparty, they’d have to gothroughme. So far, itwasamodest crowd, and all of theguests—except for Ash—werehuman.

Martens’ funeral wassmall. He had no survivingfamily besides his daughter.For most of Martens’ life,

likesomanyofus,theGuildhad been his only family.Benjamin Martens had beenpart of our family, and he’dbetrayed us, and then I’dkilledhim.

I kept to myselfduring the gravesideceremony, glad thatAshwaskeeping his distance. ThiswassomethingIhadtodoonmyown. Afterwhat seemedlikedays,thepriestwasdoneand mourners started to

disperse.My eyes followed

Clara as the teacher who’daccompanied her from herboarding school led hertowardacarthatsatidlingonthe street nearby. A socialworker—I could identify oneanywhere, no matter whatcountry we were in—waitedwith a pinched expression,holdingthecardooropenandbrisklywaving thegirl togetinside.

I moved quickly,dodging headstones as Iclosed the space betweenmeandClara. I hadn’t intendedonsayinganythingtothegirl,but now that the ceremonywas over there were stillwordsthatneededtobesaid.Apparently, I was the onlyonewhowouldsaythem.

“Excuse me,” I said,pasting a smile on my faceand nodding to the socialworker. “May I have a

moment with Clara beforesheleaves?Iwasafriendofherfather’s.”

The woman let out asigh and checked her watchwith an exaggeratedmovement of her wrist, butwhen I didn’t disappear, shenodded.

“I suppose we canspareamoment,Miss…”shesaid.

“Lehane,” I said.“JennaLehane.”

I turned to Clara andtook a deep breath, blinkingaway unshed tears. Shewassmall and pale, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, but shelifted her chin with handsfistedathersides.Exceptforthe dark, unruly hair, sheremindedmeofmyselfatherage.

“D-d-daddy nevermentionedaJenna,”shesaid.

Her lip quivered, butshe didn’t cry when she

mentioned her dad. Clarawasonetoughlittlecookie.Ismiled,thistimewithgenuinewarmthandnodded.

“We haven’t workedtogetherlong,butitwaslongenough to know somethingimportant about your dad,” Isaid.

The official GuildcoverforMartenswasthathewasanEMT. Hisdeathwasruled a vehicular homicide,anaccidentwhiletransporting

time sensitive organs to adonor hospital. It explainedtheclosedcasket funeral,butitwasn’tmuchofastoryforayoungchild.

“Hewasagoodman,”I said. I reached out andplacedahandonClara’stinyshoulder.“Yourfatherdiedahero.”

I turned and walkedaway. I’d said what neededto be said. The car’s enginefaded away, followed soon

after by the handful ofmourners from the Guild. Iwanderedthroughtherowsofgraves, waiting for everyoneto leave. Icouldcatchacabback into the city, but fornow,Iwantedtobealone.

I foundmyway backtowhereMartenswasburiedunder a simple headstone inthebackofthecitycemetery.The Guild refused to buryhim next to our loyalbrothers, but Imade sure his

daughter would havesomewheretovisithimwhenshewasoldenough.

Ihopedthatthisplacewould someday give hersomecomfort,but Iknewalltoo well the folly in thatlogic. Lifewasn’t thateasy.Clara would face a lot ofchallengesinthefuture,morethanmost.

I lingered at the freshgrave, intently watchingevery shadow as a breeze

stirredtheleavesonthetrees,but Martens’ ghost nevermadecontact.Isqueezedmyeyes shut and pinched thebridge of my nose. I don’tknowwhatIwashopingfor.Martens had died at myhand. His shade probablywouldn’thavebeeninterestedinforgiveness.

I letmy hands fall tomy side and walked away,ignoringtheotherghostswhogathered here. I made my

way between the mosscovered headstones andelaborate tombs, the eyes ofmarble angels seeming tofolloweverystep.

I turned back onceand nodded, acknowledgingtheirweightygaze.

“If you really arewatchingLord,we coulduseyourhelpinthisfight,”Isaid.

My words wereansweredonlybythesquawkof birds and the buzz of

insects, but I heard themessage loud and clear. Imay be on an honorablemissionwith thenoble intenttostopthemonstersandsavethe innocent,but therewouldbenodivinehelpinthisfight.

Iwasonmyown.

Chapter54

“When it comes tofighting the fae, cold irondoesthetrickeverytime.”

-JennaLehane,Hunter

Martens’ bodywas inthegroundandmy teamwaspacked and armed for bear.

That left onemore loose endto tie up before catching ourtraintomorrowmorning.

I smiled, baring myteeth as I entered the fogshroudedpark.Iwasdressedin a school uniform, andmyshort,redhairwaspulledintotwo ridiculous pig tails.Celeste had been more thanhappy to let me borrow thecostume, probably thinking Iintended a bit of naughtyschoolgirl role playing with

Ash.I frowned, the

memory of this morningruiningthethrillof thehunt.Ever since waking up inAsh’s arms with my teethchattering out of my skull,things had been awkwardbetweenus.Itriedtoexplainthat I didn’t blame him forwracking my body with theshakes, or turning my lipsblue, but it was a busy dayand he’d made himself

scarce.It gave a whole new

meaning to giving someonethecoldshoulder.

I turned my attentionto the approaching canal,pushing away thoughts ofAsh.Iskippedtothewater’sedge, nodding to the ghostboy sitting on the nearbybench.

“This is for you,kiddo,”Iwhispered.

The ghost didn’t look

up,butIhadn’texpectedhimto.Somethingsplashedinthemurkywaterofthecanal,andI palmed my silver and ironKABAR knife. Unlike mybattle skirt, the short plaidskirt I was wearing wasn’tgoodathidingweapons.Butthatwasokay. I didn’tneedmywoodenstakestonight.

When it comes tofighting the fae, cold irondoesthetrickeverytime.

“Come, child,” the

grindylow crooned. “Comeandplay.Thewateriswarmtonight, perfect forswimming.”

I dug the fingernailsof my free hand into thecrusted scab on my palm,carefulnot tosuccumbtothefaerie’s voice. Thegrindylow’svoicemaynotbeas musical as the rusalka’s,but therewasmagicinit justthe same. It wouldn’t do tobecome ensnared by this

creature’senchantment,notifIvaluedmyinternalorgans.

“Ooh, I love toswim!”Isquealedinmybestgirlyvoice.

“Then come closer,”he said, waving a spindlyarm.

His froglike headcrestedthewaterandIcaughta glimpse of his needle-liketeeth as he flashed apredatorygrin.Istumbledtothe water’s edge, moving

stiffly.“Yes,Ishould…come

closer,”Isaid.Faking a trance-like

statewas part of the job, butit was all I could do not tolaugh. I’d promised thegrindylow that if he touchedonechildwhileIwashere inhis city, I’d take him apartpiece by piece. But seeingthe ghost of the little boy onthe bench had given me anevenbetteridea.

“Come, youngling,”hesaid.“Almostthere…”

The grindylow lashedout, grabbing atmy legs andpreparingtodragmeintothecanal. Too bad I had otherplans.

I spun, landingakickto his throat and stifling hiscries as soon as they’dbegun.Hishandsflewtohisneck, a predictable movegiventhecircumstances. Mybladewaswaiting,cuttinghis

webbed hands off at thewrist. Grindylow arms areskinny, which made my jobeasy.

Hewailed, a gurglingscreamtryingtopushitswaythroughhisbrokenwindpipe,andIshookmyhead.

“I warned you,Grindy,” I said. “No eatingchildren,notonmywatch.”

I grabbed him by thethroat and lifted his bloatedbody out of the water. He

tried to angle his head tochomp at me with hisimpressive teeth, but I’dneutralized that threat bygrabbing his neck. Hecouldn’t bite me, and hisattempts to push me awaywith bloody stumps onlymade me shake him harder.Celeste was going to bepissed.

Blood stains are abitchtogetout.

“Youshouldknowby

now not to judge a book byitscover,”Isaid,gesturingatmyschoolgirlcostume.

With one last look atthe ghost of the little boy onthebench, theone this faeriehad disemboweled, I stabbedmyknifeintothegrindylow’sabdomen and dragged thebladeinalong,jaggedline.

The creature’sbulbouseyescloudedoverasbluishgray,ropeyentrailsfellfrom his abdominal cavity

and onto the grassyembankment.

“It’s what’s on theinside that matters,” Iquipped.

I dropped the deadgrindylow and kicked hisbody and his intestines intothe murky waters of thecanal. I rinsedoffmyhandsandmyblade, before turningback to face the park. Inodded,knowingthatmyjobherewasfinallydone.

“Safe travels, kiddo,”I said as I made my waythrough the fog shroudedtrees.

Forthefirsttimesincearriving in Bruges, the parkbenchwasempty.

Chapter55

“Hugues repeatedincessantly, ‘Morte…morte… Bruges-la-Morte,’with amechanical look, in aslack voice, trying to match‘Morte…morte…Bruges-la-Morte’ to the cadence of thelast bells: slow, small,

exhausted old women whoseemed languishingly—is itover the city, is it over atomb?—tobesheddingpetalsofflowersofiron!”

-Georges Rodenbach,Bruges-la-Morte

I’dentered thecityofBrugestothefanfareofbells,so it seemedonly fitting thatthe bell tower chimed at mydeparture. But it’s strangehow one week can change

one’s perceptions. The bellsthat rang out over thismedieval city once seemedquaint,butnowtheysoundedominoustomyears.

“Dead, dead, city ofthedead,”thecityseemedtocry, the words whisperingthroughdarkalleysandalongthe canals. Everywhere Ilooked, ghosts flickered inandoutoffocus.

I’dhelpedhundredsofthe restless dead find peace,

but staking Guy Dampierrecouldn’t heal centuries ofterror.ThehistoryofBrugeswas so steeped in violentdeath it was surprising thatthe entire city didn’t run redwithblood.

TheCountofFlanderswas responsible for many ofthese deaths, but not everyman and woman died by hishand, or his fangs. I shookmyhead, trying to dispel theimageofbloodrunningdown

the streets, red rivuletswindingbetweenthecobbles,into the canals, andeventually finding its way tothesea.

IthoughtofBenjamin“Doc” Martens. His brokenbodymaybeentombedinthecitycemetery,butitwashardto imagine that his spiritcould find rest. Not so longashisdaughterlived.

I’dcometoBrugestoprotect the innocent, but I

wasleavingthecitywithonemoreorphan.

I swallowed hard andvowed to make sure thatClarafoundagoodhome. Itwouldmeancallinginfavors,but I knew that the Guildcouldpull thekindof stringsnecessary to make thathappen. Thatwas the least Icoulddo.

“You okay, love?”Ash asked, as if reading mythoughts.

“I’mfine,”Isaid.If I thought too hard

about those we left behind,I’d never be able to moveforward. So I ignored theheaviness of my limbs,fighting the paralysis thatthreatened with everyweightybreath.

Ikeptmyeyeson thestreet ahead, never oncelooking back. The bellscontinued to ring, matchingthe measured cadence of my

stride as my boots hit thecobbles. Each tone of thebellszingedalongmynervesand set my teeth on edge—like a mortician hammeringthenailsofacoffin.

Bruges had been anightmare, but every fiber ofmy being knew that thehorrors of the past few dayswerejustthebeginning.Warwasbrewing.Holyrelicsandmagical items were goingmissing around the globe,

falling into the hands ofmonsters.

Iwasinaraceagainsttimeandtherewasnowaytoknowwhichsidewouldwin.I managed to keep one relicfrom the monsters, but evenwith the Holy Blood in ourpossession there was noguarantee thathumanswouldsurvivethisfight. Therewasonly one thing that wascertain.

I would protect the

innocent,ordietrying.

DidyouenjoyHuntinginBruges?

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BurningBright

Ever play whack-a-mole with a jincan? No?Well, then aren’t you thefortunate one. Not only dojincan look like overgrowncaterpillarswithpointy teeth,but they also breed likebunniesandhaveaknackforundermining integral weight-bearing structures, leaving

pilesofrubbleintheirwake.Oh,andtheysmelllikerotteneggswhensquished—justmyluck.

I scanned thecrateredparking lotandsighed. Eversince Jenna was shipped offtoEuropeonsometop-secretHunters’ Guild mission,Harborsmouth’s supernaturalpest problem had grown outofcontrol. Jennawasoneofthe youngestmembers in theHarborsmouth Guild office

and,assuch,wasresponsiblefor the less desirable huntingjobs—like taking care of anestof jincan. Now that shewasgone, that job fell to theprivatesector.

Itightenedmygriponthe iron hammer andscowled. With Jenna gone,and theGuild in no hurry tofind a replacement, jobs hadcome rolling in. I guess Ishould have been happy forthe work, but no amount of

money would make this feellike a real case. These jobswere just trumped up pestcontrol. I’d much rather beworking a case that requiredmore than whacking somecreatureoverthehead.Betteryet, I wanted more time tofocus on the search for myfather.

I’d recently learnedthat I was half-fae and thatmy deadbeat dad was Will-o’-the-Wisp,orWillemasmy

humanmomknewhim,KingoftheWisps.MostofmylifeI’d spent feeling abandonedby the guy,which pissedmeoff.Mypsychicabilitieshadlabeledme as a freak and anoutcast, relegating me to thesidelines where I watchedother people live their safe,happy, normal lives. Evenmy mother and step-fatherhad distanced themselvesfromtheirfreakdaughter.TosayIhadabandonmentissues

wasanunderstatement.Imagine my surprise

when I discovered, in asearch for answers aboutmyawakeningwispabilities,thatmy dad had been a victimtoo. He’d been tricked by ademon, possibly Luciferhimself, to carry a cursedlantern that brought disasterswherever he walked theearth. In an attempt to keepme andmymom safe,Will-o’-the-Wisp had left

Harborsmouth. Now I notonly needed to find myfather, I desperately wantedto.

But timewas runningout. As if my psychic giftandsecondsightweren’tbadenough,Iwasgrowingintoawhole new set of wispabilities that I had no ideahowtocontrol.Andfaewhocan’t keep their supernaturalside hidden from humansdon’t have a long lifespan—

evenforimmortals.IfIdon’tfind my father soon, I’ll befacing a fae firing squad. Infact, I could already feel thechill of fae assassinsbreathingdownmyneck.

Yeah, sorting out myfamily issues and finding away to control my wisppowers shouldhavebeenmyone and only task, butinformation doesn’t comecheap. It takes money togrease those kinds of gears,

hence my jumping at thechance to fill the void thatJenna had left in her wake.Jobs like these paid in cashand favors, both of whichwere in short supply sincebeginning my search foranswers.

As it was, I wasaccruingdebtwiththewrongpeople. Take, for example,my debt to the vampiremasterofHarborsmouth. I’dpromisedtoworkonecaseof

that pompous, old dust bag’schoosing. Yeah, that wasbound togowell. As if thatwasn’tbadenough, I’dmadenot one, but two faeriebargains with The GreenLady.Ijustknewtheglaistigwouldbecallinginherfavorssoon. I’d caught her guardswatchingmemorethanonce.I knew shewas keeping tabson her investment and thatscared me worse than thethreatoffaerieassassins.

Unfortunately, thevampandtheglaistigweren’tthe only ones I’d madebargains with over the pastfew months. Their bargainswere just the most likely toresultindeathorinsanity.Bycomparison,myalliancewithSir Torn and the local catsidhewasawalkinthepark.And thatwas sayingawholelotaboutjusthowpotentiallydeadlymybargainswithTheGreen Lady and the vampire

master of the city reallywere. Torn was a shadowy,feline, pain in my ass whoobviously thought myroommate and businesspartner was catnip—like Ididn’t have enough to worryabout.

One of the caterpillarcreatures burst up through apileof rubble tomyleftand,withablurofwrithinggoldenfur,duckedinsidetheruinsofa video store. Damn, these

thingswerefast.Irantowardthe alley at the back of thestore, hoping to corner thejincanbefore it escapedbackinto the ground or into themulti-level parking garage.Chasing the jincan around inthat warren of concrete andsteel was something I’d liketoavoid.Therewerefaewholiked to inhabit thoseshadows and I’d rather notcome toe to toe with any ofthem.

IgulpedairasIcamearound the back of thebuilding, scanning the areaaround the dumpster andmetal exit door for signs ofthe jincan. No eight footcaterpillar here. Maybe I’dbeenwrong to think itwouldcome this way. Heck, itcould be tunneling throughthe shop floor this verymoment.Infact,Icouldheararhythmicthudcomingfrominside. Crap, I wouldn’t

collect my fee if I let thiscritterslipaway.

I spun on my heel,readytosprintbackdownthealleywhenafurrysteam-traincame barreling through thecinderblockwall. Theownerofthestrip-mallwasn’tgoingto be happy. There washardly anything left of theplace.ToobadIhadmoretoworry about than pissing offmyclients.

Ineededtostayalive.

A chunk of concretewhizzed past my head and Iducked into a crouch. Iblinked away the dust anddebris that filled the air andhoned in on the creature’slocation. There, it washalfway through thewall, itsheadalreadydipping into theparkinggarage.

“Ohno, youdon’t,” Isaid. “Hey, Goldy, overhere!”

The jincan raised its

head and gnashed its large,brownteeth. Ohyeah, that’sattractive. These critterscouldusesomeseriousdentalcare.

With a bellowing cryitlungedtowardme.Ijinkedto the right, avoiding thosenastyteethwithafewfeet tospare. As the creature’smomentumcarrieditforward,I lifted thehammer, bringingit down at the base of itsskull. Do caterpillars even

have skulls? Whatever, theblow stopped the deafeningchompofitsteeth—toobaditalsosquishedthething’sheadlikeawaterballoon.

Smelly jincan goo hitmesquareintheface,onbareskin.Ifroze,hammerlockedin unmoving gloved fingers,asavisionheldmerigidinitsicy grip. I tried to calmmybreathing and ride it out. Itwouldn’t dome any good tofight it, and I needed to get

this over with. If anotherjincan came along while Iwas imprisoned by the goo-inducedvision,I’dbegettinganupcloseandpersonallookatthoserotting,pointyteeth.

I’dbecaterpillar foodforsure.

In fact, it looked likeI’dbefedtothisguy’squeenif he had any say in thematter.Oh,goody.

Psychometry is afunny thing. If a strong

psychicimprintismadeonanobject,thensomeonewithmyrare gift can read theinformation that’s leftbehind. In this case, thecaterpillargoowasgivingmea vision whammy that mademy stomach churn. Thisjincan had three imagesplayingonacompulsiveloopand the message of whatdrovethebeastwasclear.Hewanted to kill, eat, andmate—not necessarily in that

order.And, oh boy, the gal

he wanted to impress was agolden-skinned, furless grubthe size of a semi truck.Protect the Queen, feed theQueen, and mate with theQueen. Oberon’s eyes, Ineededbrainbleach.

Oh yeah, this visionwas no joyride—they neverwere—but visions of jincanmaleslininguptohumptheirgelatinous queen? That was

sure to give me nightmares.Damnthatshitwasnasty.

I gagged and shookoff the last of the vision.Psychometry is a bitch of apsychic gift, but the thing is,sometimes it comes inhandy. Now I knew how tostop these creatures fromdestroyinganothercityblock,even if itwasouthere in thesuburbs. I just needed tosquashtheirhiveleader,andIknewrightwheretofindher.

Aware of thegathering gloom, I sprintedinto the parking garage. Forthe second time today, Iwished that Jenna hadn’tpissed off the Guild and gotherself shipped off toEurope. This was one jobwhere I could use somebackup. The obese hiveleaderdidn’t seem likemuchofathreat—heck,shelookedlikeapulsatingmarshmallow—but I was pretty sure the

massesofhornyjincanmalesI’dseeninmyvisionweren’tabout to welcome me withopen arms, even if they didhave about twenty extra setsofthedamnthings.

I sighed and duckedintotheparkinggarageasthefirst stars appeared in thedarkening sky above thealley. It was going to be alongnight.

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ClubNexus

Ademon,anUnseeliefaerie,andavampirewalkintoa

bar...

"IabsolutelylovedClub

Nexus."-BookBiteReviews

BurningBright

Burningdownthehouse...

"AnotheramazinginstallmentintheIvyGrangerseries!"

-TwilightSleep

TheSpiritGuideSeries

SheSmellstheDead

Yukihasasecret…shesmellsthedead.

"ThisseriesislikeNancyDrewmeetstheWinchesterBrothersfromSupernatural."-I'dSoRatherBeReading

SpiritStorm

SpiritsoftheDeadarecoming...

"Partmystery,partadventure,partromanceandallthethingsareaderwants."-ReadForYourFuture

LegendofWitchtrotRoad

Survivingagitatedghosts,irritatedwitches,angry

werewolves,andthehorrorsofhighschoolhasneverbeen

sohard.

"Ididn'tthinkitpossibletofallevenmoreinlovewith

thisseries(andthecharacters,ohtheamazinglyswoon-worthymalecharactersandthesupersnarkyfemale

characters),butafterhavingreadthisbook,thethirdinstallmentofthisseries,Ifoundthatitisindeed

possible."-Avery'sBookNook

BrushwithDeath

Samhainwasscary,butgraduationisdownright

terrifying.

"Stevenshasmanagedtoonceagaincreateawonderfulmysteryfilledwithcharactersthatarenotonlyloveablebutcompletelyrealisticand

unforgettable."-MyGuiltyObsession

ThePirateCurse

WhenYukistartssmellingsaltbrineandseaweed,shefindshersummervacationhijackedbypirates...the

DEADkind.WilltheghostofBlackSamBellamy,PrinceofPirates,leadYukiandherfriendsto

treasureorterror?

"Whatanexcellentbook!There'saction,adventure,werewolves,witchesand

pirateghosts."-EatSleepRead

AbouttheAuthor

E.J.Stevens is the author ofthe Spirit Guide young adultseries and the bestselling IvyGrangerurbanfantasyseries.WhenE.J. isn'tatherwritingdesk she enjoys dancingalong seaside cliffs, singingingraveyards,andsleepinginfaerie circles. E.J. currentlyresidesinamagicalforestonthecoastofMainewhereshefindsdailyinspirationforherwriting.

YoucanlearnmoreaboutE.J.byvisiting

http://about.me/EJStevens.

ConnectwithE.J.onherBlog,Pinterest,andTwitter.

DiscovertheworldofIvyGrangerat

http://ivygrangerpsychicdetective.blogspot.com

Don’tmissexcitingnewsandspecialoffers.Signupfor

E.J.Stevens’mailinglist.

TableofContents

Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10

Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21Chapter22Chapter23Chapter24

Chapter25Chapter26Chapter27Chapter28Chapter29Chapter30Chapter31Chapter32Chapter33Chapter34Chapter35Chapter36Chapter37Chapter38

Chapter39Chapter40Chapter41Chapter42Chapter43Chapter44Chapter45Chapter46Chapter47Chapter48Chapter49Chapter50Chapter51Chapter52

Chapter53Chapter54Chapter55ComingSoonAlsobyE.J.StevensBurningBrightAbouttheAuthor