From his place on the white sofa, the dreadlocked vampire snorted with disgust. Charity tilted her head, and one oily ringlet tumbled loose across her cheek. “You won’t tell me where he is?”

“Last winter you wanted him to leave you alone. Why not now?”

“I never realized how far gone he was,” she said, which coming from a loony like Charity was almost unbelievably ironic.

“Or what a hypocrite he’s become. He used to admit he was a killer at heart. He used to remember that he killed me. So tell me where he is, Bianca. I want to remind him.”

Could I run away before she caught me? I didn’t think so. At least Raquel was outside; when I didn’t show up after a while, she’d call for help. The best thing to do right now was stall. “I’m sorry, Charity. I won’t.”

“You’re a vampire hunter now?” She pointed at my belt, where I wore a stake; my hand had come to rest near it, evidence of my subconscious desire to defend myself. “Black Cross, like your darling Lucas? Balthazar’s not the only one who’s lost.”

Charity took another step forward as I shuffled back. One of her long, rail-thin arms pushed the apartment door shut, and I heard an automatic lock click. Because of her sweet, youthful face and her seemingly fragile form, it always surprised me to realize how tall she was—only a couple inches shorter than her brother. Her size was not the source of her power, but it served as a compelling reminder.

I need to distract her, I thought. That will buy time. “Mrs. Bethany’s very angry.”

“I just bet.” She giggled girlishly. “You know how her nose gets so pinched when she gets mad? It always makes me laugh.” Charity contorted her face into such a dead-on impression of Mrs. Bethany in a fury that I almost smiled despite my fear. But I didn’t forget that this was how Charity worked—endearing herself to you to get you off your guard.

“Mrs. Bethany’s got a lot of vampires behind her. Dozens, maybe hundreds.”

That had a more powerful effect than I’d anticipated. “That must not happen,” she whispered, the humor leaving her dark eyes. “The tribes must not unite behind Mrs. Bethany. It’s important.”

“Are you going to tell me why?”

“Yes,” Charity said, surprising me. Then she smiled, too sweetly. “After you tell me where my brother is. And you will tell me.”

Shepherd sprang toward me with blinding speed. I was able to dodge out of the way, but only barely, and I stumbled against the wall. As he came back toward me, I remembered sparring with Lucas in Black Cross training, and the moves came to me—dodge left, grab his arm, spin him around, and push. Shepherd hit the door so hard it vibrated.

I felt like a major badass—at least, for the second it took Charity to grab me from behind.

“Let me go!” I cried. “There are others coming!”

“Not in time to save you.” Charity dragged me backward hard enough that I lost my footing, then she threw me onto the shag rug.

Panic seized me, threatening to rob me of the power to think or even move—until the window shattered with a crash. Glass flew everywhere, and I cried out just as Shepherd screamed in pain. He fell forward, half on top of me. Desperately I pushed him aside and glimpsed the stake protruding from his back.

A crossbow! Somebody fired through the window!

Charity swore, lunged forward, and pulled the stake out of Shepherd. I was frantically wriggling out from under him, but she seemed to have other priorities. “We’ll get back to this,” she said, pulling a sputtering, woozy Shepherd to his feet. “Move.”

They ran out the door, and for a moment I was alone, breathing hard, almost too stunned to think. Then, outside, I heard Dana yell, “Where the hell is Bianca?”

“Dana!” I pushed myself upright. My knees felt like they were made of jelly. “Dana, I’m okay!”

But already I could hear the sounds of fighting—the dull wet thuds of body blows and shouts of pain, echoing within the hall.

I went to the doorway and looked outside. Charity had vanished. Shepherd and Dana struggled alone at the far end of the hall, near an exit door where the stairs apparently were. It was hard to tell who was winning, but I glimpsed Shepherd’s face and saw that his fangs were extended, ready for the bite. “Look out!” I shouted.

Dana twisted, punched Shepherd hard with her left hand, and then pushed. He tumbled through the door, over the railing, and down the stairwell, echoing off the metal banister as he repeatedly struck it on the way down.

“Come on!” she shouted. “No time for the elevator!” I followed her, running as fast as my shaking legs would take me. But by the time we got down to the street level, Shepherd was gone. The doorman slumped over his booth, unconscious; either Dana had knocked him out, or Shepherd and Charity had.

We left the building, staggering out into the rain. I didn’t care about getting wet; all I needed was never to be in that place again. Raquel lit up when we emerged. “Thank God you’re both okay.”

“Did you see him?” Dana said. “Wannabe Rasta boy?”

“No, nobody came out this way. Maybe Milos saw.” Raquel pointed up at a rooftop across the street, where I could just make out a figure with a crossbow. Milos—one of the cruelest of the vampire hunters—was the only reason I was still alive.

“You look shaken up.” Dana put her hands on my shoulders.

“You okay, Bianca?”