“What’s it doing now?” the Kid asked his brother.

“It’s looking to see if there’s a third trigger beneath the box. So far, so good.”

This looked like a long, drawn-out procedure, so I opened my phone when it buzzed, saw the name, and tapped the Kid’s shoulder. “Trace this.” I showed him the Darth Vader happy face on the screen. It was Reach’s icon, and Reach—the best-known research guy in the paranormal hunting business—had proven to be an inconstant ally, and a sometime enemy.

The Kid nodded, shushed the girl’s conversation, removed one screen from among the pile, and started tracing the call. He nodded for me to go. I hit the call button and said, “Hey, frenemy. You gonna tell me something good today or stab me in the back?”

“Just a word of warning.”

I wasn’t sure the croak was Reach’s voice and trepidation cascaded through me. I put him on speaker and asked, “Reach?”

His breathy laugh sounded like something broken. “Yeah. What’s left of me. They found me. And they took me out.”

Eli stepped to the side where he could watch the screens and me too. One hand had already found his weapon.

“Who took you out?” I asked.

“A human. Might have been a woman. Tall. Spoke English like a foreigner, talking with whispery, sliding sounds. Accompanied by two vamps, male and female. The male never spoke. The female vamp had a Middle Eastern accent. The human and the vamps were tattooed with wristbands of falcons. Or hawks. Raptors, anyway. Don’t know.”

Vamps did not tattoo themselves very often, which made these vamps unusual, and therefore interesting. The Reach I knew would have found out any unknown info before his attacker got out the door good. Now, not only did he not know the gender of an attacker (which seemed impossible), he also didn’t know what kind of bird was in a tattoo. This was not the Reach I knew. The sense of dread deepened, making my palms ache. “How bad are you hurt?” I asked, my throat tight.

He gave that broken, breathy laugh again. “Well, I won’t type two-handed ever again.”

“Reach,” I whispered.

“Don’t,” he said. “Save it for yourself. They were here for information about Leo, but they also were looking for you. Not just where you lived. They had that.” I turned and looked at the video screens. Reach’s torturers knew where I lived? “They wanted everything,” he said. “And I gave them everything I had. Not that it did me any good. They left me in pieces anyway. This was a week ago. I couldn’t call until now. The lead vamp made sure of that. He’s coming for you, for the icons you have. The something Leo has, or might have. But more important, he wants someone he called . . . I don’t know. It sounded something like E-sen-do Lucy. I don’t know who it is, but they want her—or him—bad. Be careful, Jane. Make sure your family is safe.” The call disconnected.

The Kid said, “Got him. He’s moving west. Right here.” The Kid showed us a map, and Reach was at the bottom of one of the Great Lakes, the one that looks like Florida, or a body part—and not a mitten. “GPS puts him coming into Chicago, could be a train.”

A moment later, Alex said, “There are train tracks at his location . . .” His voice trailed away, his fingers flying over the tablet.

Moments passed, and I studied the tablet screens with the robot on them. Nothing was happening. A lot of hurry up and wait as the night shadows lengthened.

“Yeah. He’s on a train,” the Kid said, “or his cell is. Train route originated in Boston, but made multiple stops on the way. No Amtrak ticket in the name of Reach, first or last. Chicago is the biggest passenger train hub in the country, and if he stays on an Amtrak route, he can go in one of nine general directions. If he gets a car, he can go anywhere.” Moments later Alex said, “GPS stopped. Cell has been turned off.”

“Assume he dumped the phone,” Eli said.

“He can’t type two-handed,” I said, my voice numb. “And they left him in pieces.” It sounded selfish to speak of myself in the midst of someone else’s pain, but I added, “And someone’s had my info for a week. Bomb. Tail cars. Someone’s after me.”

Eli set a hand on my shoulder, took the cell phone away, and guided me back to my stool. Deon put a mug of hot tea in front of me. I took it up, holding the cup in icy fingers. Reach had been with me for years. Never in person, but always there with info when I needed it. Yeah, he’d turned on me a time or two, but Reach had never been reticent about admitting that he sold his services to the highest bidder. This time the price had come from him.

“Drink up, Tartlet,” Deon said gently. “I put a little tequila in yo’ cup.” He placed a blanket around my shoulders, and when I didn’t drink, he cupped his hands around mine and lifted the mug to my mouth. I drank—it was that or drown in tea.

It burned all the way down and I coughed, pushing him away. “Holy moly. A little tequila?” I spluttered and the burning continued all the way down to my toes.

“Drink or I be making sure you regret it.”

I sipped and withstood the pain as the alcohol scorched through my gut.

“I’m changing all the passwords into the security system here, at home, and at vamp HQ, and looking for any sign they’ve been compromised,” Alex said. “But you’d better call Molly and Evan and tell them about the threat. And anyone else you know.” He looked up under his too-long, spiraled-kinky hair. “Maybe that Christian school you grew up in. The security firm you interned in. And”—his mouth twisted in distaste at what he was about to say—“Rick needs to know too.”

The dread spread through me like a virus, eating away at my viscera. “We need to know who we’re fighting and why and what resources he has. Find out who that person is, the Lucy person, or what the words mean if it isn’t a name.” To Eli, I said, “I’ll be calling Adelaide to initiate the next security protocol upgrade.” Eli reacted with a slight tightening of his eyelids as he remembered the one I was talking about. “Work with her to tighten HQ security. I want it so tight no one can take a breath without being on camera somewhere. Privacy issues are currently of no importance whatsoever,” I said. Eli nodded.

I dialed Evan Trueblood, Molly’s husband, and got him on the first try. I explained about Reach and the danger. Evan was silent through the whole thing, then said, “I’ve got a place. Don’t call us; we’ll call you.” The call ended. I dialed Aggie One Feather, the Cherokee elder who was guiding me into healing and recovery of my lost past. When I told her about the situation, her reply was short and stiff, as if my problems were nothing to worry over. I hoped she was right. Rather than call the children’s home where I was raised, I dialed the number on the card of the ATF OIC—the Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms officer in charge—outside.