WE WERE ALL set to go hunt the bad guys our way, with muscle from home to back us, and then we both got phone calls. We were called into the office to explain ourselves. I'd never been called by any marshal brass to explain myself before. When I asked Edward if it was a first for him, too, he just nodded. We were actually going to ignore the calls, but some police officers in marked cars showed up with orders to escort us to the "meeting."

"Who'd you piss off while I was unconscious?" I asked Edward.

"To my knowledge, I haven't done anything to anyone."

"I was unconscious, so it couldn't have been me."

He'd shrugged, and we'd gotten in his SUV to follow the nice officers to talk to our superior officer. Technically, we could have refused, but it would have put the uniformed officers in a really awkward spot. We tried to leave my homeboys out of it. Edward and I would go down to talk to the other marshals, and my guys could settle into their hotel rooms. But the uniforms had orders to bring in Marshals Forrester and Blake and the illegal backup. The moment they said it that way, we got a clue as to why we were being called to explain ourselves.

It was Marshal Raborn who had tattled on us to Teacher. It wasn't his warrant, so it wasn't his business. But just because it wasn't Raborn's warrant didn't mean he wasn't being a pain in our ass. He'd made enough fuss that we were back at the local marshal offices discussing things, rather than trying to track down the killers. My "illegal" backup was out in the hallway like high school kids waiting for their turn to get yelled at by the principal. It was a colossal waste of time and resources. Night would fall, the vampires would rise, and we were stuck playing departmental politics. Perfect.

"You can't just let her bring in a bunch of hired muscle and say they represent the Marshals Service," Raborn said. He was talking to his immediate supervisor, Marshal Rita Clark. She was tall for a woman, but not as tall as Raborn's six feet. She was in better shape, though; there was no extra weight on her lean frame. Her brown hair was cut just above the shoulders in a careless mass of curls that was less a hairstyle and more just the way the curl worked that morning. Sun had tanned her brown and given her lines around the eyes and mouth, but they suited her, as if every smile or laugh she'd ever had was there on her face, so you just knew that she would rather laugh than frown. But the look in her gray eyes let us all know that though she preferred to laugh, she didn't have to. The fact that she was Raborn's boss was nice. One of the things I liked about the Marshals Service was that the normal branch had more women than any other law enforcement unit in the country. They had also been one of the first to allow women to join them. I liked that a lot.

She said, "Marshal Forrester ran their names by us before Marshal Blake's backup landed. We've done background checks on all of them. They don't have criminal records, and technically under the new law it wouldn't matter anyway."

"It should matter," Raborn said, and he was standing again, pacing to the side of her office, which was enough bigger than his that he had room to pace, if he was careful.

"Perhaps," she said, watching him pace, "but the way the law is written, it doesn't." She looked from his nervous, angry pacing to Edward and me in the chairs in front of her desk. Edward gave her the good-ol'-boy Ted smile. I gave her calm, patient face. If I were a boss, who would I like better, the angry man pacing in the corner like a problem about to happen, or the two calm, smiling people who seemed reasonable? I knew what my vote would be, and looking into Marshal Clark's serious gray eyes I was betting she would agree with me.

Raborn came to lean his hands on her desk and sort of loom over her. I watched her eyes narrow so the smile lines deepened. If I'd had that look aimed at me by someone who could fuck up my day, I might have backed off. "Look at them out there; they are thugs, or worse. Just because they've never been convicted of a crime doesn't make them innocent."

I fought the urge to look out in the hallway where my backup was lingering. I knew what they looked like, and innocent wasn't a word that anyone would have used to describe them.

"First, Raborn, that is exactly what innocence means under the law, you should know that." Her voice was going quieter with each word, but the heat in each syllable was notching up. Again, I would have seen the warning signs and acted accordingly, but Raborn seemed past that. He'd let his anger take him to a place that his ass might have trouble getting out of, or maybe I just didn't understand the normal branch of the service whose badge I carried.

She put her elbows on the arms of her chair, her hands like a double fist in front of her lips. "Second, get the fuck off my desk." Oh, I did understand the normal branch of the service. It worked just like all the others.

He startled, visibly, back straightening, as if he'd just realized he had touched her desk. He didn't know me well enough to hate me this much personally, but he had enough of a problem with me that he was hurting his career. What the hell was going on?

She stood, slowly, carefully, and at five-eight she was tall enough in her boots to back him up a little. She managed to loom and seem much taller just by her presence. I've been told I can do the same thing, but it was nifty watching it from the other end.

"Marshal Blake is within her rights as a U.S. Marshal of the preternatural branch to deputize people she believes will aid her in executing her warrant in the most efficient and lifesaving manner possible."

"The law was written for emergency situations in the field," Raborn said, "when a marshal doesn't have access to other marshals for backup. It was never intended to allow us to pick and choose whom we deputize for a given job when there are enough marshals to get the job done."

"There were three branches of the government last I checked, Raborn. We're the branch that carries out the law as written and given to us. If the legislative and judicial branches decide at a later date that the law as written needs to be changed, they'll change it, and then you can come bitch to me about Marshal Blake's choice in deputies, but until then, we will uphold the law as written and act within its confines. Is that clear, Marshal Raborn?"

A hint of red was creeping up his neck - not a blush, more an angry flush, I thought. Through tight lips he said, "Yes, ma'am."

She looked at us, "You two go do your job." She looked back at Raborn. "You get the fuck out of my office and stay the fuck out of their way."

Edward and I stood, and did as we were told. Raborn hesitated behind us. I heard him intake a breath and wondered if he was going to keep pushing, but it was no longer my problem. Clark had backed me, and that was good enough.

My backup was waiting in the hallway outside the office. The other people with badges watched them covertly and were probably just as unhappy as Raborn, but they were smart enough to let it go. You could pick out which of my backup was ex-military. They stood a little straighter, as if fighting not to come to attention as we stepped up. Bobby Lee had grown thinner and somewhere the sun had turned his blond hair paler and tanned him deep brown, darker than most blonds could get. His brown eyes watched me from behind gold-framed glasses. He was older than the rest of us, but it only showed in fine lines around his eyes, an extra line here and there on his face. He'd always been tall and fairly lean, but he'd been out of the country on some secret assignment for the wererats for a long time, and wherever he'd been, it had carved him down. There was a look in his eyes now, almost a flinching, as if whatever he'd seen, or done, had worn the inside down as much as the outside.

"Well, darlin', are we staying, or going?" His soft southern accent was deeper than it had been before. I didn't believe it was because he'd been somewhere the accent existed, more like it was a piece of home they couldn't take from him.

I didn't even tell him not to call me darlin'; it was nothing personal, and he seemed to need all his down-home charm like a shield against whatever had taken the shine from his eyes.

"Staying," I said.

He smiled, and gave a small nod. Lisandro, tall, dark, handsome, with his black hair in a ponytail trailing down his shoulders, stepped up beside him. He wasn't quite as pretty as Bernardo, but he was ballparking. He looked like the proverbial Hispanic leading man. He was married and had two kids. He coached their soccer teams. We'd had sex together once for a sort of emergency feed to keep Marmee Noir from doing bad things. To keep his wife from trying to kill us both, we'd agreed it would never happen again. Actually, we just pretended it hadn't. Worked for me. "Why is Raborn against you?"

"I honestly have no idea."

Lisandro gave me a look.

I smiled. "I'm not lying, I just met the man." I turned to Edward beside me. "Tell him."

"He took an instant dislike to Anita."

"Maybe it's just being a woman and being better at the job than he is," Socrates said. His skin was the color of coffee with a little cream added. Hair was short, clipped close to his head, just long enough on top that he could style it, but today he'd chosen not to, so that the hair formed tiny little curls. It looked . . . cuter than his usual, but he'd actually explained that this was natural, and cops didn't like you styling your hair on the job. He was an ex-cop, so he'd know. He wasn't as tall as the other two men, less than six feet by a few inches. He tended to round his shoulders, slumping a little, as if he'd gotten his height early in life and never lost the habit of trying to hide it, even though he wasn't the tallest kid in the room anymore.

"You think it's as simple as that? Raborn is a misogynist?"

He grinned at me, filling his dark brown eyes with that spark he could get. "That's a big word just to say he doesn't think much of women."

I grinned back, and shrugged. "Hey, I'm not just another pretty face. I have a vocabulary."

"You gotta watch the big words there, ma'am, we humble bodyguards don't know what you're talking about," Ares said.

I turned to him. He was just under six feet, blond and brown-eyed. He'd lost the desert tan he'd come to us with. He'd been out of military on medical discharge for a while, but he still couldn't quite lose the ma'am and sir, or the shoulders-back, spine-straight stance. He'd tried letting his hair grow out, but finally he'd cut it short again, keeping the top long, but his hair was as straight as Socrates' was curly, so the longish top spilled a little over and to one side of his face. He had a habit of pushing it away from his face, as if it bugged him. I was betting next trip to the barbershop he'd be evenly short. Socrates had tried to help him style it when the top was longer so it was in sort of anime spikes, but that just wasn't Ares. If he hadn't caught lycanthropy, he'd have probably been lifetime Army.

But the real anime hair was Nicky's. He was white-bread enough to have yellow-blond hair, shaved short on the sides, but long on top so it spilled out over one half of his face, in a long triangle of straight blond hair. With Ares right beside him it was more apparent that there was some body or wave to Nicky's hair. Ares's was straight as the proverbial board. Nicky's overly long fall of hair had a sort of curve to it. It made the two of them look like they were going out to a club, or to an anime festival, but Ares dyed his hair so he could remind himself he wasn't in the military anymore, and Nicky grew his out to hide that he was missing an eye.

The woman who raised him, who was technically his mother, had taken his eye when he was fourteen because he tried to say no to her sexual abuse. Women are less likely to be active abusers, but when they are, it's usually more violent. Nicky's childhood had been bad. He had one lovely blue eye, but the other was just a smooth empty socket of scar tissue. The hair hid it completely, and managed to look like a fashion statement at the same time. The hair might have made people take him less than seriously, but he was six feet even, and the body that went with the rest of him made certain that anyone who knew what they were looking at wouldn't underestimate Nicky. All the guards lifted weights as part of their training, but either Nicky hit them harder or genetics made him bulk up, because even in jeans, T-shirt, and a light jacket, the swelling of his shoulders and biceps showed. He wasn't the tallest guy waiting for me in the hallway, but he was the biggest.

"Hey," he said, softly.

I smiled at him. "Hey." That was it, not the most romantic, but there was more emotion in those little words than in anything I'd said to anyone else. Nicky was my lover, and my Bride, in that Dracula, Prince of Darkness way. It made us closer than just dating ever would have. Thanks to my having to have private time with Olaf, and then uniformed cops arriving on the scene, I hadn't gotten to really greet him. It had been a wave, and a hi, and oh, cops.

Domino stepped away from the wall so I had to look at him. I think I'd left Nicky and Domino for last because they distracted me. Domino's hair was black and white curls, mostly black today, with just a few white, which meant that the last couple of times he'd shapeshifted he'd done black tiger. His hair tended to reflect whether he'd last shifted into his white tiger or black tiger form. I wondered if Ethan's hair would change color with his shift. Domino had sunglasses that hid his eyes, because his eyes were always tiger eyes. They were deep reddish orange with spirals of gold through them, which was actually more black tiger than white genetically. He was only about an inch shorter than Nicky, but he tended to like boots with heels, so that added a couple of inches. Nicky was more a jogging-shoe kind of guy, but then he wasn't insecure about his height, not in the least. Domino wasn't insecure either, he just liked boots. He was one of my tigers to call. It was a different bond than with Nicky; Domino had free will. He could argue with me, fight, and tell me I was wrong. Nicky could do those things to a point, but if I gave him a direct order he'd do it. Domino followed my orders, but he had a choice.

With the jacket on, Domino looked much less muscled than I knew he was, but then clothes can hide a lot of good things, and I knew that what lay under his clothes was very good.

I was in the midst of giving Domino the smile he deserved when Ares said, "I feel ignored."

I glanced at him. "Sorry."

He grinned at me and took a breath to say something, but his eyes went behind me. Everyone looked behind me and it wasn't entirely friendly. I turned to find Raborn coming up behind us. He'd closed the door to Clark's office and she was on the phone.

"What do you want, Raborn?" I asked.

"Who's in charge of the muscle?" he asked, and he made sure his tone was offensive.

Nicky shoved a thumb in my direction. "Anita is."

Raborn gave him a look that said clearly, I don't believe you.

"It disappoints me, too," Ares said with a grin, "but she's it."

"What does 'it' mean?" Raborn asked.

"The boss, the big cheese, the head honcho, or honchette," Ares said. "She's it."

"Why would you listen to her?"

Ares looked at me. "Do we have to explain ourselves to him?"

"No," I said, "we don't."

Ares gave Raborn a big grin that filled his olive-green eyes with glee. "You heard her."

"You all fucking her?" Raborn asked.

I felt Edward tense beside me. "That was over the line, pardner." His Ted voice was a little strained around the edges. But it was the other men who were scary in that moment. They went quiet, but it was the quiet that a predator will use when it hunkers down in the long grass beside the trail. It was a tense, waiting quiet, and the energy coming off all of them raised the hair on my arms and tickled down my spine.

"Easy, guys," I said.

"He doesn't get to talk to you like that," Domino said in a low voice.

"No, he doesn't," I said. I sighed and looked up at Raborn. "Do you want me to bring you up on sexual harassment charges?"

"Since when is the truth grounds for harassment?" he asked. His eyes were angry, defiant. I thought in that moment that Socrates was right; it was the fact that I was a woman. Cops usually thought policewomen were only two things: bitches or sluts. I had a reputation for both.

I stood there and thought of several replies, none of them helpful. Raborn said, "So it's true then?"

I let out a breath, and smiled at him. "Actually, I'm fucking" - I pointed to Nicky and he stepped forward - "and" - I pointed at Domino, who moved up to join Nicky. "I forget anyone?" I asked gazing down the line.

Most of them shook their heads, faces very serious. Bobby Lee just stared at Raborn; it was not a good look, or rather it was a very good look if your sense of self-preservation was low.

"See, Raborn, I'm only fucking two of them. Does that make you feel any better?"

He blushed, except the color spread past his hairline and didn't stay red. He was turning a sort of purple. Either it was the darkest blush I'd ever seen, or he was just that angry. Either way, the reaction was sweet and insulting.

"Any other questions?" I asked him.

He glared at me, and then Clark's voice came from behind us. I guess she'd finished her phone call and opened the door quietly enough that Raborn and I didn't hear her. "Marshal Raborn, I need you to drive to Oregon for me, right now."

He glanced back at her, and then moved so he could keep an eye on both her and us, which meant he wasn't as stupid as he seemed. "We have a serial killer in Seattle and you're sending me on some trumped-up errand?"

"As your superior I'm telling you that you are driving to the far side of Oregon today; if you question my orders again, I'll find something for you to do on the far side of Alaska, is that clear?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm tired of your attitude and because I can. One more word and I promise you that you will be seeing so much real estate that by the time you drive back this case will be over."

He closed his mouth tight, lips thinned with anger. The flush that had been fading began to darken again. If it was blood pressure, eventually he was going to stroke out if he didn't learn to control himself. He just nodded.

She handed him a piece of paper. "This is where I want you to drive and what I want you to pick up for me."

His eyes barely flickered over it before he turned on his heel and marched off. I think he didn't trust himself to keep quiet if he stayed near us all.

Clark looked at me and Edward, but finally settled on me. "Bringing in lovers as deputies won't help your reputation, Blake."

I sighed. "I know, Marshal Clark, but neither of them is just a pretty package. They'll be an asset to the case, or we wouldn't have flown them in."

"They better be more than a booty call, Blake. No offense, gentlemen."

"None taken," Nicky said.

Domino just looked at her.

It was her turn to sigh. "Prove to me that they're more than just pretty, or muscle. Prove to me that they can help us catch these things."

"Things?" I made it a question.

"Whatever is killing the weretigers isn't human. Whatever injured Marshal Karlton wasn't human either. What my marshals chased in the woods with you was sure as hell not human. We have a body in the morgue that is charred halfway between human and animal form. Nothing on this case is human, so until I have another word for them, they're things, perps, monsters. Now get out there and do something useful." She went back into her office, and we started moving down the hallway like we had a purpose.

"Raborn is going to be trouble," Lisandro said.

"He'll try," I said.

"How do we stop him?" Domino asked.

Edward said, "Execute the warrant; be so good at the job that he can't come back at Anita."

"The job is to kill . . ." Ares hesitated, trying not to say the Harlequin. "The killers, right?"

"Yep," I said.

Ares smiled, a flash of teeth in his delicate face. "We'll be good at the job."

The rest of them just nodded. I realized in that moment we were a pack, a pride, we were a unit. We were - us. And for the first time since I understood that it was the Harlequin killing the weretigers, I felt . . . hopeful.