“What about the family who are Friends of the Witches?”

“Even them. I can call Kirsten to be sure, but my guess is they don’t know Molly’s a vampire. They probably don’t know about vampires, period.”

He glanced over at me, surprised. “How is that possible? I thought the Friends of the Witches wear those special charms. What do they think they’re being protected from?”

“Magic,” I said simply. “Bad magic. Families who are active Friends of the Witches know that magic is out there, some of it is dangerous, and the witch bags can help protect them. All of which is true.”

“But it doesn’t really help us.” Jesse sighed. After a few moments of thought, he said, “I think we missed something.”

“Where?”

“Our theory is that the two suspects grabbed those four bodies after the fire started yesterday and took them somewhere to hide for a couple of days, before coming after you.”

“Right . . .”

“I see why they would want to stop you, especially before you could have a longer talk with Dashiell. But hiding those girls was a two-person job. So how did they know to find you outside my apartment?” he asked.

“Oh.” It was a damned good question, and I felt like an idiot for having missed it. After a moment of thought, I said, “Two possibilities. One, the bad guys tracked my van, either with their own tracker or through the GPS system at Dashiell’s.” I paused for a second, then shook my head. “But Abigail Hayne is in charge of the GPS system. She would die before she betrayed Dashiell, and I mean that literally.”

“Okay, what’s the other possibility?”

“We’ve been assuming these guys are from outside LA, and I still think that’s true—Kirsten would know if we had a boundary witch in town. But they might be working with someone here. Someone who knew where to find Molly.”

“Hmm. Any suspects?”

I shifted uncomfortably in the seat. I could only think of one. “Frederic. When Molly and I got to the storage facility, he seemed a little jumpy. I thought it was just me being a null, but he acted a little bit . . . guilty.” I told him about Frederic disappearing and locking the door so I couldn’t come back in. “He can’t be the vampire bad guy, because he was at the storage facility well before Molly and I got there. But he could be working for them.” Another thought occurred to me. “With or without his knowledge, since the boundary witch can press vampires.”

“But how would Frederic know where you were going next?” Jesse asked.

I shrugged. “Every vampire in LA knows that you and I have worked together in the past. And it took me well over an hour to drive back into the city from the storage place. More than enough time for them to figure out where you live.”

“We should talk to Frederic,” Jesse decided. “He’s the most likely candidate for vampire mole.” A bemused smile crept across his face. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

“Abigail will know his daytime location,” I said. “But you should probably be the one to ask her.”

He cut his eyes over to me. “Let me guess: she’s the vice president of your fan club?”

“Something like that.”

Dashiell owned a Spanish Revival mansion in Old Pasadena, although since his vampire wife, Beatrice, was actually born in Spain, maybe it wasn’t a revival? Anyway, it was a stunning place, with long, regal columns, a huge open-air atrium in the center, and a library that came straight out of Beauty and the Beast, although Dashiell got really annoyed if you said that out loud. Trust me on this.

Dashiell’s property was also well fenced, and private enough that Shadow can roam around the yard off-leash. She’s usually happy to do this while I meet with Dashiell, and I think it makes everyone in the house more comfortable too, even the humans. Or maybe especially the humans. A one hundred-eighty-pound dog might be pretty unremarkable to some people, but Shadow’s size is only the first intimidating thing about her.

“Don’t forget to poop on the tiles,” I stage-whispered as she trotted off. I love Beatrice dearly, but anyone who imports tiles from Spain just for the driveway is kind of asking for it. Shadow’s furry ear flicked backward as if in acknowledgment.

Jesse was watching her go, her giant paws soundless as she loped. “Do you ever just feel really, really grateful that she’s on our side?” he said quietly.

“All the time.”

Theo Hayne met us at the front door, one hand already extended for a quick greeting. Hayne was an enormous black man with scars on his wrists and probing eyes that were well-trained to spot threats. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him in anything but a black polo shirt and black pants. He always reminded me of the actor Idris Elba, or maybe Elba reminded me of Hayne.

“We have forty-five minutes before the next shift will start to arrive,” he said, walking quickly into the mansion. Jesse and I hurried after him. “Dashiell said you need to be gone by then.”

I nodded, and we followed him down a long hallway to the east wing of the mansion, until we reached a large but windowless chamber that didn’t seem to match the rest of the building. Most of the mansion was beautifully decorated to match Beatrice’s tastes, but this room was as modern and functional as the rest of place was classic and refined. It was packed—with great efficiency—nearly full with computers, monitors, and a bunch of sleek, new-looking equipment that I didn’t even recognize. Then again, I’d only been in this part of the building a few times, for meetings with Abigail.

Speak of the devil. As soon as Theo Hayne ushered us through the doorway, Abigail looked up from her massive desk at the back of the room to scowl at me, as though we were tearing her away from crucial, life-threatening work to do our laundry. I should have let Jesse enter the room first, I thought. At least he was easy on the eyes.

A muscular woman of about thirty-five, Abigail looked more like a professional softball player than a computer genius, at least from the waist up. Her thin legs leaned to one side of a wheelchair that was as sleek and modern as the rest of the room. Abigail could stand up and walk for short distances using elbow crutches, but at work she was most comfortable in the chair, and her domain was arranged for it. Hers was the only chair in this part of the room.

Wheeling forward to meet us, Abigail grunted at me and eyed Jesse appraisingly. “Hi, Abigail. This is—” I began, trying to use my manners.

“Abigail Hayne,” she said to Jesse, ignoring me. She thrust out her hand, which he stepped forward and shook.

“Jesse Cruz. Good to meet you.” He glanced around the room. “Never been in this part of the building.”

“This is the nerve center for all our security,” she said brusquely. “We try to keep tourists out of here.” Her gaze strayed toward me a little pointedly. Hayne was still standing near the door behind us, but I was sure I could hear him smiling.

“It’s very impressive,” Jesse said, his voice full of sincerity. “Really.” He gave her a thousand-watt smile.

Abigail regarded him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Uh, thanks. We can run the whole city from this room. We even keep some vampire bunks in the back in case of emergency.” She jerked her head to the back corner, where there were several long platforms set into the wall. Turning the wheelchair, she pointed to two doors at the back corner opposite the bunks. “The door on the left goes to the west-wing basement, which is where Beatrice and Dashiell have their daytime quarters. You don’t want to go down there—lots of alarms. And things.” Booby traps? I wondered, picturing a Raiders of the Lost Ark–type situation. Now I kind of wanted to go look. “The door on the right leads to the east-wing basement; that’s where we have the cells and some storage.” She turned back toward the wall monitors near us and pointed to the four on the bottom left. Three showed small, empty rooms with only a bed and a sink. The fourth chamber was occupied by a tiny figure, curled into a ball on the bed. I recognized the hair, black streaked with blue. Molly. “She’s our only guest at the moment.”