Gathered self tight, looked to top of fence with metal flower. Leaped, pushed off flower with front paws, then back paws, over metal gate, and landed on smooth not-stone path, what Jane called sidewalk or concrete.

Uptown, Jane thought. Ed came from uptown. Bleeding all the way.

I/we began to trot, avoiding round places of streetlights. Rain fell, slowing. Water gurgled through downspouts. Tinkled off roofs. Plinked onto cars. Splashed as Beast trotted, covering much ground. Jane thought Jane thoughts. Sulking. Good word for juvenile kit. Sulk.

• • •

Beast was insulting me so I ignored her. It continued to rain, though the water didn’t penetrate Beast’s double-layered pelt. We had worked in Beast form in the rain before—rain being the normal for New Orleans at any season—but not in such cold weather. Her breath blew twin plumes of vapor into the night. Her paws splashed through puddles and runnels of water. Rain made the city smell fresh, releasing ozone and ions on the air. The scent of blood and vamp faded and I thought we had lost it, but we found it around the next corner, a puddle of blood and rainwater that had no outlet except across the concrete. The scent faded again, to reappear further on. Beast trotted around corners, doubling back, searching, nose to ground, keeping to the shadows. Melting into the dark when a car came past. She was smarter than any mountain lion. Adaptable. Reactive. Going on two hundred years of life would give any animal excellent survival instincts.

Even with dog genes incorporated into her brain and nose, Beast wasn’t the best tracker. I’d have better luck with a bloodhound nose, but I’d had problems lately changing back from canine to human. Without a handler and a leash, I could lose myself and stay dog forever; noses and the scent part of dog brains were that strong. Alex had known all that. He had understood what I was doing and why, possibly even before I raced outside.

The rain stopped. Started again. We passed restaurants almost empty of tourists. Bars full of drunk tourists. We passed churches next to Creole cottages, and we chased off a small pack of junkyard dogs with a single growl. Which made Beast chuff with laughter and victory. We passed cemeteries, the smell of old, old death and limestone and fresh white paint. We trotted beneath the I-10 interstate and were halfway to Highway 90 in what felt like a long way from home, though Beast wasn’t tired, just wet and grouchy. Mountain lions aren’t long-distance cats like jaguars or cheetahs, but in the cold, with the air decreasing the effect of heat buildup, we could travel a long way. A female Puma concolor’s hunting territory might cover a hundred fifty square miles.

Beast stopped. Looked both ways. Shoulders hunched. What? I thought at her, flooding back into her forebrain. I/we slunk close to a parked car and waited for two motorcycles to pass.

Like Bitsa, she thought, but not like Bitsa. Does not have Harley growl like Bitsa.

Okay, I thought. I loved the bike too, though not so much in a downpour. But why are we stopping here?

Beast trotted out from the protection of the car and down a narrow alley between two houses. The ground and walls stank of feral male cats, territory spray, strong musky stinks.

Stupid cats, think they are lions. But smell Edmund. He was here. With cats.

Where? Inside the house? I looked around, through Beast’s eyes, seeing the world in silvers and greens and blacks and grays of Beast’s night vision. I/we sniffed the air. Edmund’s scent was everywhere and nowhere.

Smell of Edmund on top of house. Smell of vampires and blood-servants inside house.

He was spying on the house. They came out and found Edmund. They fought here? What is this place?

Smell of Edmund blood and silver. Smell of vampire blood and strange blood-servant blood. Smell of white-man guns and steel. Edmund fought.

They fought here, I thought. Then Edmund got away. They chased him.

Human died here. Vampires drank female inside.

That made sense. The vamps—what vamps?—had found a victim and charmed and mesmerized her. She had brought them back to her house. She was dead inside, the smell of death coming through the cracks in the walls. Beast pushed me down, out of the forefront of her brain, taking control again.

Beast is alpha. Beast has hunted. Nose to ground. Want cow.

You did what I asked, Jane thought. Thank you.

Jane is po-lite. Po-lite does not feed Beast. Sat down in dark place beneath plant with big leaves. Feed Beast.

I have nothing to feed you.

Smell dog. Big dog on chain. Could eat dog, Beast suggested hopefully. Is on chain. Would not fight long. Could not get away.

I bet dogs taste bad. How about this. We shift back to human, call a cab, grab a bucket of chicken, and go home, where it’s nice and warm and dry. Then we can hunt alligator in the swamp on a full moon night.

Jane has been Beast two times this night. Chased vampire who killed revenant. Tracked Edmund. Am hungry. Want cow. Want to hunt cow in Edmund car on full moon night.

Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.

Want cow. Want to hunt cow in Edmund car.

That’s between you and Edmund. Jane sent image of Beast talking to vampire, making funny puma sounds. Was not funny but Jane laughed.

Jane bound Edmund like dog on chain. Edmund will let Beast hunt in Edmund car if Jane makes him.

Jane went silent. Beast groomed paws. Paws were wet with rain and tasted of gasoline and exhaust and rats. Was bad for Beast but would heal when Beast shifted again.

Alligator on full moon hunt, Jane thought. Jane was mad. She pulled up Gray Between and reached into snake that was Jane. Jane-snake was not quite right but was good enough. Like Beast with dog nose was good enough. Was maybe better. Bones began to twist.

CHAPTER 4

Put Down Your Pin Sticker

I woke lying in the dark beneath the dripping leaves of a banana plant, my too-long black hair wrapped all around me, but at least that was better than some places Beast had left me. I tied my hair in a knotted tail, opened the waterproof gobag, and dressed in thin layers and flops. My stomach was cramping like I had swallowed a nest of water moccasins. Shivering, I pulled my unofficial cell—one Leo couldn’t trace—and called Rinaldo.

“Who dis is?” he answered, instead of hello. I could hear kids screaming in the background, the TV on a sitcom. The cabbie was off duty with the nearly defunct Blue Bird Cab Company but he sounded mostly sober, and he offered to pick me up when I gave him an address two blocks away from the house where Ed had fought and bled. “Twenty minute,” he said, and disconnected.

I jogged through the rain, holding a dripping hand over the flip phone, while calling in a DB to vamp HQ, with the words, “Dead body. Looks like vamp attack.” I gave the address and disconnected. A good citizen would have called 911. I wasn’t a good citizen. Leo’s team would make sure the body was found and the death looked like an accident. One of his private labs would do a full forensic workup, an arrangement I had suggested to keep track of paranormal crimes that we didn’t want reported to the police, for some reason. Leo would also do what he could for the victim’s family, children, parents.

And then Leo would send me to find and kill the vamps who’d killed the girl in the small house. They were also the vamps who attacked Edmund. A life for a life. Yeah. He’d demand the vamps die.

The wait was short, but when Rinaldo arrived he wasn’t driving a Blue Bird cab but a black four-door sedan. He saw me, shoved open the front passenger door, and shook his head when I squelched inside. I was soaked and trembling and gratefully wrapped myself in the oversized towel he tossed at me. I took the cup of hot coffee and sipped while he idled at the curb. I’m not a coffee drinker, but there was plenty of sugar and cream in the travel cup too. “This is good.”

“Why some big-ass famous vampire killer and assistant to de devil out in de storm in you underwear?” Rinaldo asked in his Frenchy accent.

I wasn’t wearing any underwear and my clothes were sticking to me like a second skin, my real skin showing through, though Rinaldo turned his head away, politely, which was nice. I no longer had huge vampire-hunter/vampire-employee secrets from Rinaldo. But he didn’t know everything.

“I’ll answer that if you tell me why you’re not picking me up in a Blue Bird car.”

Rinaldo made a snorting sound, very Frenchy, a sound I’d heard in cafés and restaurants among the locals. “Traditional cabbies, we losing money against Uber cabs. Closed down. I now self-employed Uber driver too. I make more money. I pick my calls. Dat part I like. But I hafta pay my own taxes, I do, and I hate me some math.” He shrugged. “You turn.”