The line went dead. He’d done what he’d promised and no more. I stared down at my cell phone, trying to figure out how to get rid of Barrons.

“Why was Jayne calling you at this hour?” he said softly. “Have you been inducted as an honorary member of the Garda since they last arrested you?”

I glanced over my shoulder with disbelief. He was standing at the opposite end of the room, and the volume on my phone was set to low. Maybe he’d picked up on the tones of the inspector’s voice from that distance, but there was no way he’d heard any of the details. “Funny,” I said.

“What aren’t you telling me, Ms. Lane?”

“He said he thinks he might have a lead on my sister’s case.” It was a weak lie, but the first that came to mind. “I have to go.” I reached behind the counter, grabbed my backpack, tossed in my MacHalo, strapped on my shoulder holster, transferred my spear from my boot to beneath my arm, then slid into a jacket and headed for the back door. I would get the Viper and drive to Fourth and Langley as fast as I could. If the shooter was still at the scene, the Sinsar Dubh would be, too. If the shooter was already dead by the time I got there, I’d drive up and down the streets and alleys in the immediate vicinity, ranging outward in a tight pattern, waiting for a tingle.

“The fuck he did. He said Fourth and Langley. Seven dead. Why do you care?”

What kind of monster had ears like that? Couldn’t I have gotten a half-deaf one? Scowling, I continued toward the door.

“You will stop right there, and tell me where you’re going.”

My feet stopped, independent of my will. The bastard had used Voice. “Don’t do this to me,” I gritted, sweat breaking out on my forehead. I was fighting him with all I had, and weakening quickly. I wanted to tell him where I was going nearly as badly as I wanted to kill the Lord Master.

“Don’t make me,” he said in a normal voice. “I thought we were working together, Ms. Lane. I thought we were allied in a common cause. Did that phone call from the inspector have something to do with the Sinsar Dubh? You aren’t keeping something from me, are you?”

“No.”

“Final warning. If you don’t answer me, I’ll rip it from your throat. And while I’m at it, I’ll ask anything else I feel like asking, too.”

“That’s not fair! I can’t use Voice on you,” I cried. “You’re only teaching me to resist it.”

“You’ll never be able to use it on me. Not if I teach you. Teacher and student develop immunity to each other. There’s quite an incentive for you, eh, Ms. Lane? Now talk. Or I’ll take the information I want, and if you fight me, it’ll hurt.”

He was a shark who’d scented blood and he wasn’t going to stop circling until he’d devoured me. I had no doubt he would do as he was threatening, and if he got started forcing answers from me, I was afraid of what he might ask. He’d heard the address. With or without me, he was going there. It would be better if I went, too. I’d think of a plan along the way. “Get in the car. I’ll tell you while we’re driving.”

“My bike’s out front. If traffic’s bad, it’s faster. If you’ve been holding out on me, you’re in deep trouble, Ms. Lane.”

Of that, I had no doubt. But I wasn’t sure who was going to be more pissed at me before the night was through: Barrons because I hadn’t told him sooner, or V’lane because I’d broken my promise to him and told Barrons at all. The alien thing piercing my tongue felt intrusive and dangerous in my mouth.

Dublin was a dark, bizarre circus that I was walking through on a high wire, and if there was a safety net somewhere below me, I sure couldn’t see it.

SEVEN

Like jacked-up pickup trucks in the Deep South, Harleys are an ode to testosterone: the bigger and louder the better. Down south, trucks and bikes roar Look at me! Hot damn, I’m big and noisy and wild and, yeehaw, wouldn’t you like a piece of me?

Barrons’ Harley didn’t roar. It didn’t even purr. A chrome and ebony predator, it glided soundlessly into the night, whispering, I’m big and silent and deadly, and you’d better hope I don’t get a piece of you.

I could feel fury in the set of his shoulders beneath my hands as we careened through narrow alleys, around corners, laying the bike so low I had to tuck up my feet and keep my legs crushed to the sides for fear of scraping off a few layers of skin, but as with everything else Barrons undertook, he was a master of precision. The bike did things for him I wasn’t sure a bike could do. Several times I almost wrapped my arms and legs around him and clambered onto his back, for fear of falling off.