“Do you keep in touch with the others?” Chris asked as she negotiated traffic.

“No.”

“At all?”

Angel shrugged. “Most of them got out of the life years ago. That or they’re dead. The only thing still the same at the Rascals is the name.”

“TC still leads it.”

“I know.”

“You don’t talk? You used to be tight.”

“Yeah well, shit happens.”

She frowned. She knew what had happened but didn’t want to bring up Danny’s death again. “This vamp, how well do you know him?”

“Well enough to know that if you cross him you won’t live long enough to do it again.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“It’s supposed to warn you, but take it however you want. Mister Gavin and the Angels have a working relationship—”

She snorted her derision of that notion. “Don’t pretty it up for me. He’s one of the monsters, and it disgusts me that you work for him.”

“Think what you want, but we don’t work for him. We work with him and the others in Monster Central. We do better than most. Don’t believe me? Ask around. Fighting the vamps and furries is a waste of time and effort. There’s no way to win.”

“You’ve got that right,” Flex said from the back seat. “You annoy them and they either make you into one of them or they make you disappear.”

Angel nodded. “We have Lochlain protection because we’re useful. Staying useful is my current goal in life.”

Flex chuckled.

“Lochlain?”

“House Lochlain,” Angel said. “You’ll meet the master of the House soon enough. I suggest you think of something polite to say before we get there.”

“Fuck polite, I want answers.”

“You won’t get them with that attitude, I can tell you that. He’s over six hundred years old, de-tec-tive. If you want him to even notice you’re in the room, you better have something to say worth listening to.”

She fumed, but she did want answers. She was still inclined to go in demanding them, but her earlier idea might work better. A six hundred year old vamp was probably old school. The old tended to cling to tradition and look back at the past wearing rose tinted glasses. She bet someone as old as this vamp would be even more likely to follow outdated concepts. Did he look back and not see poverty and disease but chivalry? Did he remember open sewers and not smell it, but remember with fondness riding the streets on horseback? She bet he did, she just bet he did. If she went in there and made him acknowledge his debt to her, she might gain the answers she sought. It was a plan. A good one? That remained to be seen, but it did have merits—the main one being she didn’t have another.

Angel indicated a place to park and Chris pulled up. They climbed out and the girl crossed the road toward an apartment building, her leather trench coat billowing behind her as the wind gusted along the empty street. Chris and Flex flanked the girl as they pushed through the doors into the lobby. It was a well-lit and clean space. She couldn’t remember ever being called out to a murder scene here. There were still places in the city that she hadn’t seen the inside of for work, but not many this size. She could tell it had been converted from a hotel to apartments; it still had the front desk, and it was manned.

Angel approached the man holding down the desk and nodded to him. “Frank.”

“Miss,” Frank acknowledged, looking hard at Chris. “Mister Lochlin is expecting you. “You want me to come up?”

“Nah, I’ve got her.”

Chris scowled.

“You be careful. He’s got visitors and they weren’t happy.”

“Yeah? Anyone I know?”

“Stephen and a new wolf he picked up somewhere. Rachelle was with them. She brought that witch of hers along. It’s her you should be careful of.”

“Rachelle?”

“The witch. She’s dark, Spence says.”

“Is he here too?”

Frank nodded. “He really doesn’t like her; told me she reeks of the black.”

“Yeah, I know. We’ve met.”

Frank’s eyebrows climbed.

Angel turned away and headed for the elevators.

“Did I hear that right? He’s got a black witch up there?”

“A necromance, yeah. You heard right.”

“Is she the one...?”

Angel nodded.

She felt better knowing that. She was finally getting somewhere. The witch was probably here to report on what she’d learned from O’Neal, and she wanted to know that real bad. She was determined to take down O’Neal’s maker through fair means or foul. And she guessed it would be foul. The case was closed. Cappy would try to reopen it if she went to him and was persuasive enough, but he would come up against resistance from the Chief and the Mayor above him. Those two were in each other’s pockets. Politics was the enemy of good police work. She sneered at the thought of trying to reopen the case when the Mayor wanted it to go away. It would never happen. No, this had to be handled on the down low, and Angel’s vamp was already on the case. She didn’t have to handle it alone.

The elevator let them out on the top floor, and Angel led the way. A door to the left opened as they walked by, but the girl took no notice. Chris noted the old lady standing there, glaring at her. What was her problem? Another door opened further along, and a man and boy stepped out to watch them in silence. What in the nine hells was this? Another door opened and another. She stopped to look back. All the apartment doors were open now and the occupants had come out into the hall to stare at them. They weren’t friendly.

Angel stopped to look back. “You coming?”

Chris waved a hand at the crowd.

“Don’t worry about them, they belong to House Lochlain.”

“Belong?” she said rejoining the girl. “What does that mean?”

“It means what it means. They’re under Lochlain protection, and in return, they protect the House. They’re Mister Gavin’s people. Everyone in the building belongs to him.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. What, they were his servants, slaves... food? Her lip curled in disgust at the thought, and Angel laughed.

“They aren’t prisoners, de-tec-tive. You really don’t know anything, do you? How can you do your thing in Monster Central and not know this stuff? No wonder the newsies think the cops can’t find their butts with both hands. They’re right!”

“I do my thing just fine thanks,” she said, stung. “Ask the vamps and shifters I’ve dealt with if they liked it.”

“Any of them still breathing? I remember how quick on the trigger you are.”

Chris lowered her voice. “When will you let it go? I’m sorry he’s dead. How many times can I say it before you’ll believe me? Nothing can bring Danny back. I would if I could.”

Angel turned away as her answer and Chris sighed.

Flex smirked.

Angel knocked on one of the apartment doors. It was the only one still closed. Chris shuffled her feet uncomfortable with all the staring tenants. It was creepy as hell the way they silently watched her. And it was her they were interested in, not Angel or Flex. They were very obviously focused upon her, even the kids. She shivered, wondering what they would do if she did something they didn’t like. She wasn’t willing to find out.

The door opened to reveal a woman in red satin shirt and blue jeans. “Oh hey, Angel.”

“Hey, Sandy. He’s expecting me.”

The woman nodded jingling the keys she was holding as she stepped out into the hall. “I was just leaving. Go on through.”

Angel exchanged places with her. “Thanks.”

Sandy smiled and walked along the hall to unlock her door. She stopped to look back and wave. Angel raised a hand in answer and entered the apartment.

“Girlfriend?” she asked and Flex coughed trying to cover a smirk.

Angel shook her head and locked the door before moving deeper into the apartment. “Breakfast.”

Her stomach flip-flopped. “You mean she...?”

“She’s food.”

Goddess, what a mad house.

“She’s doing well for herself,” Flex added. “She’s looking good these days.”

Angel nodded. “Hmmm.”

“How can you say that? It’s... it’s disgusting!”

“Grow up!” Angel said crossly. “You eat burgers. Do you care where the meat comes from? I don’t think so. We all need to eat, but Mister Gavin does care where his food comes from. Sandy was a runaway and whore a month ago. Now she has her own apartment, money for clothes and anything else she wants, and she’s back in school learning to be something other than a hole for some dick cruising 104^th Street. She hasn’t turned a trick in weeks. Get off your high horse for a minute and look around at the real world! You think it’s sick to willingly feed a vamp, but you don’t have a problem with her selling herself to men who could kill her as easily as screw her and probably would have one day! You’re the one who is sick, not her!”

Chris just stood there, stunned at the tirade. Angel looked at her with absolute loathing, and she felt it deep in her chest. She had lost her; the knowledge stabbed her in the heart. She had known it, sort of, but had always held out hope that one day she might fix things with Angel. It would never happen; she knew that now. Angel was lost. There was no fixing the loathing and hatred she saw in the girl’s eyes. It was over.

Flex edged by and followed Angel deeper into the apartment. Chris took a deep breath and followed.

The first thing she noticed was the size of the apartment. It was much bigger than she would have guessed from out in the hall, created by knocking two of the original hotel suites into one. The second and more important thing was that the room Angel entered was occupied by way too many monsters for her piece of mind. Angel and Flex were the only other real humans present. She didn’t count the necromance of course, whom she picked out of the crowd easily. The woman’s aura was black. Chris had never wanted anything to do with magic and had never cast a spell despite her dad urging her to learn his art, but magic was in her family and blood. She didn’t like it, but she was sensitive to it. The witch practiced the black; no question about it.

There were three vamps present, and two other men that she recognised as shifters; they had the tell-tale glowing eyes. She had dealt with all kinds in her time on the streets, and judged them with a glance. They were muscle. It was an easy label to apply. What else were shifters good for? The eyes pegged them as wolves rather than some kind of cat shifter. The three undead were the centre of attention and the most dangerous. All monsters could kill you, or make you one of them, but only the undead could endanger your soul. She believed in the goddess and the god, but she wasn’t one to pray or visit the temple except on special occasions. Despite her lack of piety, she did believe that vampires had no souls. The thought of being turned into one was horrifying. Still, she had a job to do and she’d always fought her fears. She would deal.

The meeting paused when Angel entered the room and went to speak to one of the vampires. He listened attentively and nodded before turning his attention to Chris. That was when she realised that she had stopped just outside the room as if about to flee. Not a good start. She forced herself to advance, and she did have to force herself. That made her mad, and she was glad of it. Anger overwhelmed the fear, and it was like that she made the acquaintance of three out of four of the most powerful vamps in LA for the first time.

“You owe me,” she said before anyone could say anything to fob her off. “You screwed up and nine women are dead. I nearly died through your inaction. You owe me!”

Angel groaned, but Flex grinned. The two shifters laughed, but then regarded each other strangely, as if just then realising they might become friends. The witch didn’t laugh, and neither did the vamps. The vampires had turned into statues giving nothing away of what they thought of her claim. Two of them were men, one was a woman, but all were staring at her as if wondering what she would taste like. Chris shivered when she realised they really could be wondering that, though Angel’s vamp had just eaten breakfast apparently. She kept her eyes on Angel’s vampire, but she was careful not to let him catch her gaze. That was something everyone knew about the undead. She’d had all the courses the department mandated its officers had to pass before dealing with non-humans, but that rule was universal, not just for police officers.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Angel’s vamp finally said. “Angelina, if you would please?”

The girl nodded. “Mister Gavin master of House Lochlain, Stephen master of House Edmonton, and Rachelle master of House De Santis, this is Detective Chris Humber of Robbery Homicide based at Central. De-tec-tive, meet the masters of the city of LA.”

She sneered. “Masters of LA, right. Grandiose much?”

The shifters laughed again and received an annoyed look from Stephen this time. They shrugged their apologies and the laughter did stop, but their expressions continued to convey their amusement. She was glad someone was having a good time.

“You feel that you have been dealt with unfairly?” Gavin said. “You make claims against my House?”

She heard the emphasis he placed upon his house and assumed it meant something important to him, but it was only a guess. She hoped it meant he would deal fairly with her. She hoped it meant he would be willing to deal at all.

“I do. If you take your masters of the city thing seriously, then you must believe in taking responsibility for what happens within it. Do you?”

“What I believe, or do not, is not your concern.”

“I say it is.”

Gavin shrugged, making it plain how little he cared.

She scowled, but then an idea came to her. Shifters claimed territory just like the gangs, and from Angel’s lecture earlier, she knew that vampires did similar things with her talk of borders. She wondered whose territory each of O’Neal’s victims had been lured from. She wished she’d thought to bring her map, but she had it memorised. She had tried to force it to cough up answers so many times during her investigation, that it was burned into her memory.

“Which of you,” she made air quotes, “rules, 104^th street and the clubs nearby?”

“Why?” Stephen asked suspiciously.

“I do,” Gavin said. “It is Lochlain territory.”

“As I thought. That’s why it’s your fault.”

“Clever,” Rachelle said, and smiled approval. “She has you, Gavin.”

“She has nothing if I say she has nothing.”

“Don’t try to weasel out,” Chris warned. “I might not know much about you vamps, but I know a few things about the gangs. If you don’t control what goes on in your territory, it’s not really yours. Which is it? Are you master of Lochlain or not?”

“Lochlain is mine,” Gavin growled making her neck hairs stand up. “Any who doubt it may try to take it from me.” He aimed that last declaration at Rachelle, but she dismissed the implied threat with a shrug.

“Then you agree that any vamp in your territory comes under your authority, whether turned by you or not?”

“I agree,” Gavin said warily.

“Then O’Neal was your responsibility the moment he started hunting people in your territory. With me so far?”

“I saved your life and put an end to him, what more do you want?”

“I want his goddess cursed maker in two pieces at my feet! I want his damned head!”

Gavin’s eyes flashed silver. “Do you indeed? And are you asking me to murder this person for you as a representative of the police?”

She looked away, and then at her feet. “No.”

“What was that?”

He’d heard her well enough. All monsters had heightened senses, but he wanted to humiliate her. She scowled but saw nothing to be gained by denying her intention to kill the one responsible for creating O’Neal.

“I said no. This is for me and the women O’Neal killed. The case is closed. I don’t agree it should have been, but getting it reopened against the Mayor’s wishes is impossible. The entire thing is surrounded by political bullshit now. Those women will only receive justice if you people do the right thing. I don’t know your opinion of justice, whether it’s a concept you recognise or believe in, but I do.”

Stephen hissed at the implied rebuke. “Justice is a fine thing. It’s a shame that in this country it’s never applied even-handedly. When have my people ever received justice?” He waved a hand toward the shifters. “Ask David if he believes in your justice when applied to his people. Ask anyone not lucky enough to be human!”

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” she said. “I have no control of policy. I don’t make the laws, I enforce them, but I do have control over what I do or don’t do. So do you. What’s it to be?”

Gavin frowned and glanced toward Stephen and Rachelle. Neither gave any indication of what they thought. “Stephen and Rachelle are visiting to discuss the one you seek. The newborn... O’Neal did you say?”

Chris nodded.

“O’Neal has been questioned and his maker revealed. I was about to learn the name when you interrupted. If I’m now to do your bidding and remove this nuisance from life, I must have assurances.”

Stephen didn’t like that. “Are you sure this is wise? We can’t have the police mixed into this. OSI are still sniffing about.”

Chris frowned, who or what was OSI? “I’m on sick leave,” she said touching the bandage wrapping her throat. “Think of me as a civilian observer.”

Gavin snorted. “I can smell the gun you are carrying.”

She shrugged. Vamps could do that? She hadn’t known something like that was even possible. Maybe he smelled the oil she used or something. Live and learn.

“Okay, a well-armed civilian observer then.”

“If I allow this, I need to know that whatever happens will remain between us.”

“You have my word.”

Gavin nodded, apparently satisfied with that, but this time Rachelle objected. “This is ridiculous! We can’t take her word on this! I won’t be bound by your foolish faith in this woman. You’ve only just met her, and she’s police!” She appealed to Stephen. “Make him see sense, or I’m leaving.”

“Rachelle is right,” Stephen said. “We can’t risk everything on her word.”

“My word is good,” she growled angrily.

“Is that so?” Stephen said focusing his attention upon her. “And I should believe you, why? A police officer who says she upholds the law, but is willing to contract vampires to kill for her? That sounds more like revenge to me than justice. What about this scenario should encourage me to trust you? Am I to base my trust upon speeches and your apparent belief in justice when we’ve barely met?”

She scowled, but she did—reluctantly—see his point. “What can I say that will reassure you?”

“Nothing,” Rachelle said. “Leave this for us to deal with. You have my word that O’Neal’s maker will be dealt with as he deserves.”

Stephen nodded.

“No! I want to know what the hell is going on in my city. I want to look this vamp in the eyes as you take him out, and not hear later how he mysteriously got away. You don’t trust me; I understand that, so don’t expect me to trust you. We do this together.”

“I’m walking,” Rachelle said and started to leave.

“Do not,” Gavin said, and Rachelle froze in surprise at his order. The necromance eyed Gavin warily from her patron’s side. “You do not have my leave to go.”

Rachelle looked shocked, and turned to appeal to Stephen, but he was no help. He looked as stunned as she did.

“We will explore this matter of trust and overcome the difficulties,” Gavin said, pretending not to notice his guest’s shock at his highhandedness. “We do not trust you, Detective, and you do not trust us, but I believe I have the solution, or rather, Rachelle does.”

“I do?” Rachelle said.

“Your companion does,” Gavin said and addressed himself to the necromance. “Don’t you?”

The necromance hesitated.

“You do know how to lay a binding? A geas I think it’s called now.”

“I know how,” the necromance agreed. “She doesn’t have to be willing, but it would be better if she were.”

“Like hell!” Chris said backing away and reaching for the weapon at the small of her back. “No one is using magic on me, especially not a black witch.”

“If that gun comes out of your pants,” Gavin said in a bored voice. “I will take it amiss and you won’t live to regret it. I do this to accommodate you. You wanted to be involved, insisted upon it in fact. This is the only way you’ll be allowed to join us. Choose.”

She lowered her empty hand. “What exactly would I be agreeing to?”

“Simply give your word not to betray us and allow the witch to bind you with a geas preventing it.”

She really really didn’t want to do this, but it was obvious she would get no further if she didn’t. She eyed the witch’s aura, feeling sick. She was a black witch, but then necromancy was dark enough to blacken a saint’s soul. It didn’t mean the woman would harm her, or did it?

“Your word that the geas will do nothing more than keep me to my promise.”

“You have it,” Gavin said and turned his attention to the witch. “You will do nothing more than that. Do not make a liar of me, or I swear I’ll make a corpse of you.”

The witch scowled. “No need for threats.”

“It saves time. Do it now, we’re wasting the night.”

“What do I have to do?” Chris said.

The witch approached. “Nothing really. I hold your head between my hands and bind you as you promise. You have to say the words clearly, and use simple wording—nothing ambiguous.”

“Like what?”

“Like... don’t say you promise not to tell the police. That would let you tell someone else, and they could tell the cops for you.”

Rachelle stepped forward. “Say that you will not reveal anything you see or hear while accompanying us, or discuss anything at all that you learn in connection with O’Neal or his maker from this moment on, with anyone not currently present.”

“That’s a mouthful,” she said sourly, but it covered all bases. More to the point, it didn’t actually bind her to anything she objected to, because frankly, although she wanted O’Neal’s maker dead, she had no intention of going down by incriminating herself as an accomplice by talking about it. “Okay, let’s do it.”

The witch took her face in her hands, holding her head so that her palms had good skin contact with her cheeks and began muttering to herself under her breath. Chris shivered, though the woman’s hands were warm. It was the feel of her magic, not her touch that repulsed. She held still and endured. The witch nodded and she set herself to do as she’d promised. Angel smiled at her, but it wasn’t a friendly gesture. It was mocking. The girl knew her aversion to any kind of magic.

“I swear that I will not reveal anything I see or hear...”