He peered through the palms that screened the smaller house from the main one. The blinds were up, offering a good view into the living room. Two comarré, real comarré, not Dominic’s fakes, sat in plain sight. The female paced back and forth while the male watched her from the couch, frowning. “I’m sure Chrysabelle knows they’re there. If she doesn’t, she’s got bigger problems than we can help her with.”

He grabbed Fi’s hand and gave it a playful tug. “Let’s go, busybody.”

As they approached the front door, Chrysabelle opened it. Doc hadn’t seen her since she’d been injured. Which was right around the same time he’d regained his ability to shift into his leopard form. “Hey, you look good.” It wasn’t a total lie. She looked tired, but considering that she’d almost died, like, nine days ago, she looked great.

Her smile was thin. “Thanks. You too.” Her smile grew a little bigger. “And Fi. Nice to see you both under better circumstances.”

Fi gave a little wave. He nodded. “That’s for damn straight.” He frowned as the scent of blood reached his nose. “Everything okay? I smell blood.”

“Velimai just poured Mal a glass. Come in.” She led them through the foyer and into the living room. Mal and Creek were already there. Mal sat sipping a glass of dark red liquid, wearing the same clothes he’d had on when they’d dropped him off the day before and looking like he could use a few hours of daysleep. Fi elbowed Doc in an I-told-you-so kind of way. Subtlety was not her strong suit.

“What’s up?” He nodded at Mal and gave the Kubai Mata a look. He still didn’t trust the man. Not the way he sniffed around Chrysabelle like she was a T-bone and he was a hungry stray.

Mal nodded back. “All kinds of things. What brings you here?”

“He’s got big news.” Fi strolled through the room and climbed into the chair near the back wall of sliding glass doors.

“Fi.” Doc raised his brows. He could do without the help.

She shrugged and picked up a fashion magazine from the nearby table, tapping the cover to animate the model on the front. Fi and clothes. They were her drug.

Mal swallowed and rested his glass on his leg. “What is it? I don’t know how much more news we can deal with right now.”

Chrysabelle took a seat on the couch near Mal. “He’s right. If this isn’t important, it’s going to have to wait.”

Exhaling hard, Doc shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s pretty big. Unless you don’t consider a vampire child news.”

Silence deafened the room. Mal broke it first. “There’s no such thing.”

“Yeah, there is. Saw it with my own eyes.” He glanced at Fi. She lowered the magazine to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s Preacher’s kid. His and one of Dominic’s comarré. I think her name’s Julia. She might be—”

“Dead,” Creek finished. “She is.”

Doc squinted at the man. “How you know that?”

“I found her. She died in my arms. Badly attacked.”

The man had a way of getting involved in all kinds of things he didn’t belong involved in. “When?”

“Last night. Are you sure she’s the mother of this child?”

Doc shrugged. “Pretty sure. Preacher asked me if I was the one who killed his Julia. I saw him with a comarré earlier, so I have to assume that’s her.”

“You were at Preacher’s?” Mal’s index finger tapped the glass of blood.

Doc sat on the far arm of Creek’s sofa and nodded.

“When?” Mal’s tone was less question, more demand.

“Last night.”

“That’s when you first saw this vampire child?”

“No. Before then.” Might as well come clean. “The night Fi and I used the spell Aliza gave me.”

“Wait.” Chrysabelle tipped her head. “What do you mean you and Fi used it? That was for Fi alone, to get her out of that death loop.”

Doc sighed a curse and closed his eyes. Any second now the lectures would start.

“It was my idea,” Fi said. “I made him go through the smoke.”

Doc opened his eyes, wondering if the gratitude he felt showed on his face. Still, he wasn’t going to let Fi take the fall for his actions. “It was my decision.”

Mal growled. “It was a stupid decision. You have no idea what kind of dark magic that old witch could have worked on you.”

Doc shrugged like he didn’t care. Like he wasn’t already thinking Aliza had gotten ahold of him through his dreams. “What’s done is done. Can’t change it now.”

“So… your curse?” Chrysabelle looked from him to Fi and back again. “Are you better? Can you shift?”

“Sure can.” He rubbed a hand over his scalp, dreading the next part. “Been having nightmares, though. That’s how I ended up at Preacher’s last night. Had to see for myself that what I dreamed wasn’t real. But now I know it was.” He moved off the sofa arm onto the cushion, then raised his head to stare directly at Creek. “You said she was badly attacked, but it was more than that, wasn’t it? She was torn up, wasn’t she? Shredded.”

“The comarré?” Creek nodded. “Yes. Like someone tried to strip the gold from her skin. Almost did it, too.”

“Exactly the way I saw it.” Doc dropped his head into his hands. The nightmare replayed itself like news footage.