EVEN before the day had fully released him, Henry could feel the cold tracing frosted patterns on his skin in a macabre parody of a lover's caress. Opening his eyes, he almost thought he could see the icy currents drifting in the air like winter fog.

It knew he was awake. He could feel it waiting.

Brows drawn down in annoyance, he turned on the lamp, and sat up.

It wasn't waiting. They were.

The second ghost was a little younger; late teens rather than early twenties. A metal ring glinted in one nostril. The ivory skull printed on the sleeveless black T-shirt grinned at Henry as though it appreciated the irony of a death's head worn by the dead. As far as Henry could tell, he was anatomically correct-this second specter had retained his hands.

"Blessed Jesu... " At the last instant, he realized he shouldn't have spoken aloud, but by then it was too late.

No audible sound emerged from either mouth stretched open far beyond the boundaries skin and bone would have allowed. As they howled, the soul heard the torment the ears could not.

Henry's heart began to race until it beat at nearly mortal speed, but a sudden anger provided a barrier against the waves of despair. How dared they make him responsible for the lives around him! How dared they buy his help with blackmail! How dared they...

A strangled moan from outside his sanctuary broke through where the spirits couldn't. It dragged him off the bed and across the room. Tony...  Henry fumbled with the bolts, amazed to find his hands shaking, more affected by the shrieking dead than he was willing to admit. He spun around to face them, but they were gone; only the effect of their cry remained.

Ripping the last lock right out of the wood, he yanked open the door.

"Tony!"

Curled into a fetal position in the center of the hall, Tony slammed his forehead over and over into his knees and whimpered, the shrill noise pulsing to the rhythm of the action. Dropping down beside him, Henry wrapped both hands around the younger man's head and forced him to be still. "Tony, it's over. Listen to me, it's over." Gently, but inarguably, he turned Tony's head until he could look down into the wildly staring eyes. He didn't realize how frightened he'd been of what he might see until relief turned his mus?cles to jelly and he sagged back on bare heels. Insanity would have been no surprise, had, in fact, been almost expected. "You're all right. I have you."

"H...  Henry?"

"Yes. It's me." Sliding an arm under shaking shoul?ders, Henry pulled him up against his chest.

"It was darker... "

He laid a cheek against sweat-damp hair. "I know."

Tony sighed and pushed against Henry's body-as though to test its strength as a shield-then he wet his lips and leaned back just far enough to meet the worried gaze. "Henry?"

"Yes?"

"What the hell did you ask it?"

"I was wondering that myself."

Henry managed to stop the snarl but only because he felt Tony's reaction when he tensed. "Not it," he said, lifting his head, his expression warning Vicki to come no closer. "Them."

"Your Greek chorus of backup screamers?" When he shook his head and the implications sank in, she smashed her fist through the drywall. "Fucking, god?damned shit!"

Tony winced at the impact.

Henry tightened his grip. "That's not helping," he growled.

"I know. I'm sorry." She drew in a deep breath and visibly fought for calm. "You okay, Tony?"

He swallowed and shrugged, still within the circle of Henry's arms. "I've been better."

The wail of distant sirens drawing closer cut off Vicki's reply. Tony closed his eyes and added, "Could be worse."

When the sirens stopped and the sounds of the emergency teams were lost in the building's sound?proofing, Henry cradled Tony against one shoulder and met Vicki's gaze. "Was Celluci affected?"

"No. Fortunately, he's not back yet."

"Back from where?"

"How the hell should I know? You can ask him yourself when he shows."

"With him or without him, we have to talk."

She nodded and turned away.

"Vicki!"

A step forward became a pivot.

"Where are you going?"

"To get dressed." One hand held closed a ruffled pink robe, at least two sizes too small and obviously borrowed from the wardrobe Mrs. Munro had left be?hind. The other, knuckles white with plaster dust, she waved in his general direction. "An idea you might also consider."

Which was when he remembered he was naked. "We'll join you in about half an hour."

"I thought it was safer if we only used your place."

"We're not the only people involved." He watched her expression soften as she worked through his rea?soning. Glancing down at Tony, who'd need to put some distance between himself and the terror, she nodded, and left.

Tony waited until he heard the door close before he began to free himself from Henry's embrace. "Henry, I can't... "

It took a moment for understanding. "I didn't ex?pect you to," he said gently, wondering if he'd ever given Tony cause to assume his needs could be so inconsiderate.

"But you said...  you told Victory half an hour."

"I know." He stood and all but lifted the other man to his feet. "I thought you might want to shower."

Tony glanced down at the darker stain on the front of his bicycle shorts, suddenly aware of what it meant. His cheeks flushed. "Oh, man...  You think Victory noticed?"

It would serve no purpose to remind him that Vicki had a predator's sense of smell, so Henry lied.

"He's still not back?"

Vicki snorted as she led the way into the apartment. "You know he isn't. And the sun's well and truly down; he has to know I'm awake."

"He's probably following a lead."

"I know that, Henry."

Henry stopped at one end of the couch, allowing her to put the length of the living room between them. The events of the previous night aside, distance was still their best defense. "Are you concerned?"

"No. I'm annoyed. The bastard didn't even leave a fucking note." Behind her back, Henry and Tony exchanged a speaking glance. Vicki turned in time to catch the end of it. "What?"

"Your use of profanity always increases when you're worried," Henry reminded her.

Vicki flipped him the finger. "Increase this."

"Vicki..."

"I'm sorry." She turned and rested her forehead against the window, her right hand crushing a fistful of antique satin drapes. "Your ghosts have got me jumpy, that's all. There's no reason he has to be here at sunset. He's almost forty years old, for chrisakes; it's not like he can't take care of himself."

"I should imagine that he's very good at taking care of himself."

"I wasn't asking for reassurance," she snarled.

Tony opened his mouth, but Henry raised a caution?ary hand, and he closed it again.

A heartbeat later, Vicki sighed. "All right. Yes, I was." Releasing the drapes, she glanced around for her notes, found them on the end table by Henry's knees, stepped forward, and stopped.

Henry's gaze dropped to the spiral-bound notebook, then rose to lock with Vicki's.

She shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet, ready for whatever he chose to do but unwilling to make the first move. The unexpected conclusion to last night's carnage had reminded her of what she'd arrived in Vancouver believing. If they were willing to try, they could get along. All right, if we're willing to kill a dozen people we can get along, she amended silently at memory's prod.

Without looking down again, Henry bent, picked up the notebook, and held it out.

The hair lifted off the back of Tony's neck and con?tinued lifting until it felt as though every hair on his head stood on end. Jeez, you could play "Dueling Banjos" on the tension between them. He fought the completely irrational urge to reach out and pluck at the air as he waited and wondered what, if anything, he should do. He knew what he wanted to do; he wanted to turn on another lamp. They never considered that the people around them found shadows frightening.

Slowly, each step stiff-legged and graceless, Vicki crossed the room. Her fingers closed around the book.

Cue the ominous music. Too emotionally abraded to cope, Tony closed his eyes.

"Tony? Are you okay."

He opened his eyes. Vicki was sitting in an over?stuffed chair by the window, notebook on her knee. Henry'd propped one thigh on the arm of the couch. He looked from one to the other and back again. More than ever, they reminded him of cats; smug, self-righteous, and wearing identical, guarded expressions.

"We both fed heavily last night," Henry said when Tony turned a questioning glance toward him. "It seems to be helping."

"Feeding makes you less territorial?" That didn't sound right. They'd both fed the first night; it hadn't helped.

"Heavy feeding," Vicki reiterated, without looking up.

Tony had the uncomfortable feeling that, had she been able, she would have been blushing. While curi?ous about what could possibly embarrass Victory Nel?son, Tony decided not to press the point. The eleven bodies found in the Richmond warehouse had been front-page news, the press dwelling lovingly on the gory details, and if either Vicki or Henry were respon?sible, he didn't want to know. Some days, he could barely contain the knowledge that vampires existed- the fewer details he had to lock away with that knowl?edge, the better.

"I don't even know why I'm here," he sighed, rub?bing his hand over his hair and dropping onto a stool.

"You're a part of this, Tony."

"Am I?" He wiped his hands on his jeans and stared down at the damp imprints of his palms. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Henry stood and took a step forward. Tony'd show?ered and changed and insisted he was fine, that the ghosts' shriek had done no actual damage, but obvi?ously he wasn't and it had.

"So what's the story on the new spook?" Vicki de?manded before he could speak.

Amazed that she could be so insensitive to what Tony was going through, Henry turned to glare at her. She met his gaze and shook her head. His brows dipped down over the bridge of his nose. How dared she. Stay out of this. Tony is mine, not yours. The words were in his mouth, ready to be spoken aloud when he looked in Tony's direction and realized it was no longer true.

Worst of all, it came as no great surprise.

Four-hundred-and-fifty-odd years of living masked among mortals allowed him to hide his reaction. "The second specter," he said slowly, answering her ques?tion because there wasn't really anything else he could say, not there, not then, "is a younger man, with hands. He looks like a street kid, pierced nose, lace-up boots... "

"A grinning skull on a sleeveless black T-shirt." A reprise of the scream threaded through the cadences of Tony's voice.

"You know him?" Eyes gleaming, Vicki leaned for?ward. Henry growled low in his throat and she whirled around, her own teeth bared. "What is your problem? If Tony knows him, it'll break the case."

"If Tony knows him, he's just lost a friend."

"And we're in a position to make sure he doesn't lose any more friends!"

"I didn't know him, and he wasn't a friend! All right?" Elbows on his knees, Tony buried his face in his hands. "I just saw him on the street. That's all. I didn't know him."

"It's not exactly a unique look." Keeping part of his attention on Vicki, Henry crossed the room and dropped to one knee by Tony's side. So things were changing-had changed-between them; they hadn't changed enough to keep him from offering comfort. "Maybe it wasn't him."

"It was."

"You're sure?"

He was as sure of it as he'd ever been of anything in his life. He wouldn't have been at all surprised had Henry said the skull joined in the screaming. "Yeah, I'm sure. He was saying good-bye to one of his bud?dies across from the store. They shook hands-that's why I remember. There's not a lot of hands get shook when you're living on the street." He found himself strangely reluctant to tell them about the way the skull had grinned at him. They'd seen stranger things-Hell, they were stranger things-and the odds were good they'd believe him, but it'd been just too weird and he'd had enough weird for one night.

"Do you think you could find his buddy?" Vicki asked before Henry could speak again.

"I don't know." He lifted his head. "I guess I'd recognize him if I saw him. You think he knows where it ... where the dead guy went?"

"I think it's worth a shot."

"If it causes you pain," Henry began, gripping Tony's shoulder, "you don't... "

"I do." Shifting position on the stool, he looked into Henry's eyes. "I have to do something. I can't just sit around and wait for it to go away."

Vicki felt the fabric of the couch begin to tear under her fingers and hurriedly forced her hand to relax. Henry on his knees had always affected her strongly. Maybe this is why we Hunt alone, she thought, as he stood and lightly touched Tony's cheek. Together there's a constant reminder that the intoxicating inti?macy shared before the change is forever after denied you. Every other vampire becomes your ex. "I hate to interrupt," she snarled, looked a little surprised at her tone, and attempted to modulate it, "but the night is short, and we've got a lot to do."

"Do we?" Henry let his hand fall back to his side.

"There're almost three million people in this city, Henry. And Tony doesn't have your advantages."

"I'm going with him."

"Is that smart?"

"He shouldn't be alone."

"Hey! I'm not alone now." Exhaling forcefully, Tony got to his feet and glared at both of them. "And I really hate that arrogant I-know-best-because-I'm-an-undying-creature-of-the-night crap. You can both just fucking chill! I'm going back to my room to change into a look that's more street smart. If you," he jabbed a finger toward Henry, "want to come with me to find the ghost's bud, fine. I can use your help. If not... "

"We were just concerned about you, Tony."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Thank you. Did I say you weren't?" Shoulders hunched, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, and still muttering, he left the condo.

An awkward silence followed the closing of the door.

"Well," Vicki murmured after a long moment, "as one of my old sociology professors used to say, change is constant."

"Except for us. We don't change."

"That's bullshit, Henry, and melodramatic bullshit at that. You change, you adapt, or you die."

Or you die. Territorial imperatives broke through the surface civility they'd managed to maintain. Hen?ry's eyes darkened and his voice grew cold. "Are you threatening me?"

Vicki could feel herself responding to his challenge. She didn't want to, she wanted to hold onto the tenu?ous truce that slaughter and sex had evoked; not only because it meant she'd been right all along and vampires could coexist, but because this was Henry, and she wanted him-them-back. I don't give up easily, she warned the world at large. We are going to get along if I have to kill him! Holding his gaze, she slammed an instinctive reaction back under conscious control. "No," she said when she thought she could trust her voice. "I'm not threatening you."

The phone rang.

"That'll be Celluci checking in. If you'll excuse me." The pencil she still held in her right hand snapped, but she managed to break eye contact and turn to answer the phone. It'd been a close thing, and if Henry pushed, he could go right through the flimsy barriers that barely restrained her desire to attack, but this time, at least, she wasn't giving in to biology. She'd never surrendered to it during the day and she'd be damned if she let it rule now the sun had set. It was, as they said, time to take back the night. The receiver creaked in her grip but the plastic held. "What!"

Henry forced himself to turn and walk away, re?minding himself with every step that he was not leav?ing to another the territory he'd claimed as his. To his surprise, it was easier than it had been other nights. Like most things in life, even in an immortal life, it seemed practice made a difference. By the time his heels rang against the Mexican slate in the entrance hall, reason had gained the upper hand. This is Vicki, he pointed out to his reflection in the gilt-edged mir?ror. She doesn't want your territory.

His reflection answered with a wry smile. This is Vicki, pretty much covered the situation. She'd been unique as a mortal-nothing she did now should sur?prise him. During the short time they'd had together, he'd done things he'd never have considered doing on his own. Perhaps there's no need to throw the baby out with the bathwater. It wasn't St. Paul on the road to Damascus, but it was an epiphany nevertheless. Per?haps, he repeated thoughtfully to himself.

"That wasn't Celluci. It was someone who didn't know Ms. Evans had died."

Henry walked back to the archway that separated the living room from the entrance hall. In the interest of mutual nonaggression, he went no farther. "You're worried about him."

"No shit, Sherlock." Both hands splayed against the glass, she stood staring down at the city, not for that moment a predator looking down on prey.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just... " She shrugged self?consciously.

"Have a hunch?" Henry offered, wishing he could cross the room and stand by her side.

"Yeah. A hunch. Doesn't seem very vampiric, does it?"

"It is if you have one."

Vicki turned to glare at him, one hand rising toward the glasses she no longer wore in a not-quite-forgotten gesture. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No. I'm not." Although he could see how it might sound as if he was. "Vicki, no one ever told you how to be human, you were human just by being. Don't let anyone tell you how to be what you are now."

"Not even you?"

"Not even me, not anymore. I taught you what you needed to know in the year after the change. The rest is ..." It was his turn to shrug.

"Ego?"

His eyes narrowed, and his chin rose. "Tradition. But just because we've always responded in such a way, doesn't mean we have to."

Had the window not been right behind her, she'd have stepped back in simulated shock. As it was, she raised both hands to shoulder height and exclaimed, "Good lord, Henry, you're evolving!"

"Don't push it."

The words came shaded with a dark warning that would've brought an answering snarl had Vicki's sense of fair play not acknowledged it was no more than she deserved. Ah, hell, that was worth one snarl.

Leaning back against the glass, she hooked her thumbs in her belt loops, the most nonaggressive pos?ture she could manage. They still had the length of the living room between them, would probably always need a physical distance between them-except on those rare, intoxicating occasions of mass slaughter and mindless, blood-soaked sex-but now it looked as if other distances might not be insurmountable. "You'd better get going, Tony'll be waiting."

Tony. Mutual awareness of a dissolving relationship hung in the air. Henry brushed it aside. "What about Michael?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll wait here for him to call; or something."

"That's not the way it was supposed to be, is it? You waiting here, me out investigating."

"Well, I can't do everything myself."

Red-gold brows lifted. "Seems like I'm not the only one evolving." The small fringed cushion very nearly smacked him square in the face. "You have my cell phone number? Remember conversations can be picked up on short wave," he cautioned when she pulled his card from her pocket and waved it at him.

Vicki snorted, shoving the card away. "Do I look like a member of the royal family?"

The bastard son of Henry VIII threw the cushion at her head and was out of the condo by the time she caught it.

Although Vicki would have denied it had anyone brought it up, she was glad that he was gone. Within a certain proximity, the complicated stresses linking them dominated her thoughts, and right now that made her feel disloyal to Celluci.

You know how you wanted Henry and me to stop ripping at each other? Well, we went on a completely unpremeditated rampage together, killed I don't know how many people, and ended up screwing almost on top of a corpse. It seems to have helped. She snorted. I don't think so.

His absence chewed at her, and she couldn't remain still. She had no reason to believe he might be in trouble but, equally, no reason to disbelieve. Finding herself in the master bedroom, she sank down onto the edge of the bed and gathered up his sleeping bag, wrapping herself in his scent.

Would I be as concerned, she wondered, without the guilt? Never mind. Stupid question.

Returning to the living room, she sank back into the chair by the window and picked up her notebook. It had always helped to write things down-that hadn't changed, although she missed the balance of a coffee cup in her left hand. Scanning her scribbled description of the second ghost, she turned to a fresh page and glanced around for her pencil. Both pieces were over by the window.

"Oh, damn."

She could see the end of a pencil sticking out of the Yellow Pages on the phone table. About to pull it free, she paused and opened the book instead. It wasn't her bookmark, so it had to be Mike's.

Her finger traced up and down the columns of pri?vate clinics. Vancouver either had one of the healthi?est populations in the country or a thriving colony of hypochondriacs. Apparently Celluci'd done as she'd suggested and gone looking for the facility where the kidney had been removed. The East Hastings Clinic at East Hastings and Main had been circled and "start here" had been scribbled beside it in the margin.

Figuring he hauled ass out of bed by ten or eleven at the absolute latest, if he went there first thing, there's no way he's still there. She glanced down at her watch.

It was past nine P.M. Michael Celluci has been a cop for fourteen years, he can take care of himself. He probably met someone at one of these places and joined them for dinner.

"Oh, shit." Tossing the pieces of the pencil aside, she called herself several kinds of an idiot. He has to eat, Vicki. Just because you and Henry...  well, it doesn't mean he has.

But he hadn't been there when she woke and he hadn't called in and he knew she'd want to know what, if anything, he'd found.

The East Hastings Clinic at East Hastings and Main.

She'd told Henry she'd wait until Mike called. Or something.

It looked like something had come up.

If nothing else, she had a place to start.

"Where to now?" Henry slowed the BMW to give a cyclist room to maneuver around a line of parked cars. They'd started their search for the ghost's com?panion at the video store and had searched a widening circle without any luck. None of the locals had seen anyone matching his description.

"The Eastside Youth Center. If he's not there, someone'll probably know him."

"That's east of Gastown, isn't it?"

Tony's gaze remained aimed out the window of the car. "Yeah. So?"

"It's just that it's a bit of a distance away. If you saw him here, in this neighborhood ..."

"The Center's a safe place, Henry. A guy'll go far?ther than that to find one."

"Tony."

Although he wasn't using his Prince of Darkness voice, something in the way Henry said his name, drew Tony's head around.

"You're still safe with me."

"I know." For a change, looking away would've been the easier course-the hazel eyes held no touch of darkness, nothing that compelled him to continue. Tony swallowed and found the strength to say, "Maybe too safe." For a heartbeat, he thought he was being mocked, then he realized Henry's answering smile held as much sadness as humor.

"I assume you're speaking of life in general and not our immediate circumstances?"

"What circumstances? You mean you driving with?out watching the road!" His voice rose on the last word as he grabbed the dashboard and watched the world narrow to a corridor of moving metal. "Christ, Henry, that was a truck! That was two trucks!"

Henry deftly inserted the car back into the curb lane. "I know."

"Look, man, if you didn't want to talk about it, you shouldn't have brought it up."

Had he done it on purpose? Henry didn't think so; he'd seen a break in traffic and used it. Hadn't he? Whether he'd intended the result or not, the moment for shared confidences had passed.

Like any other city of its size, Vancouver had its share of rundown neighborhoods. The area east of Gastown, an area widely quoted in reports on crime and poverty, was one of the darkest. Theoretically, social assistance paid most of the bills, but the reality was considerably less benign.

The dividing line between the haves and have-nots was astonishingly abrupt. Leaving the lights and tour?ist attractions of Gastown on one side of the intersec?tion, Henry began to drive past boarded-up and abandoned stone buildings-once the main Vancouver branches of the seven chartered banks-standing shoulder to shoulder with shabby hotels and rooming houses. Back in the forties and the fifties, this was the bustling center of town, but the core had moved west and left only the architecture behind.

As they drove down Cordova, where the hotels and equally shabby bars seemed to be the only thriving businesses, Tony glanced over at Henry and frowned at the vampire's expression. "Why are you looking worried? There's nothing here you can't handle."

"Actually," Henry admitted dryly, "I'm a little con?cerned about parking the car."

Tony snorted. "It's a BMW. I'd be a lot concerned."

An unshaven man in a pajama top, dress pants, and rubber flip-flops stepped off the curb, ignored the squeal of tires, and wandered aimlessly across the street.

Watching the pedestrians a little more closely, Henry put his foot back on the gas. "Another six inches and I'd have hit him."

"He probably wouldn't have noticed."

As they approached the Youth Center, the side?walks became more crowded. A group of First Nation teens, backs against the wire-covered window of a con?venience store under siege, watched them pull to the curb, heads turning in unison.

"Don't lock it," Henry advised as Tony reached in to depress the mechanism.

"Are you crazy?"

"No, I'd just prefer not to have the windows shat?tered. If anyone opens the door, I'll be back here be?fore they take the car anywhere."

The Youth Center was next to the Cordova Arms.

"People are actually living here?" Henry muttered as he glanced over the front of the building.

"Hey, this is an expensive city," Tony replied, fight?ing to keep his shoulders from hunching forward in the old wary posture. "Where else can a person on welfare afford to live?"

Over the centuries, Henry had certainly seen worse. From a historical perspective, the area was neither particularly violent nor destitute. Problem was, this wasn't the fifteenth century. He'd never hunted this neighborhood and never would-unlike most four-legged predators, he preferred not to feed on the in?jured or the sick.

Stepping over the legs of a sleeping drunk, they picked up the pace as the pungent smell of old urine and fresh vomit wafted by on a warm breeze.

Compared to the streets, the Center itself was pain?fully clean. The plywood-and-plastic decor might indi?cate a lack of funds but not a lack of commitment.

Tony froze just inside the door.

"Are you all right?" Henry asked softly, moving up close behind him and laying a hand on each shoulder.

"Yeah. No. It's just, well, memories... " He jerked forward, out of Henry's grip, trying not to resent the knowledge that he couldn't have broken free had Henry not allowed it. "Come on. Let's find whoever's in charge."

"Him." Henry nodded toward a tall man with gray?ing hair tied back off a pocked face.

"How can you tell?"

"Power recognizes power."

"Oh, that's fucking profound," Tony complained, following Henry through the crowd. He could feel the hair lifting off the back of his neck, and he had to fight the feeling that the last couple of years had been a lie, that this was where he belonged, that he couldn't break free.

Henry turned and caught Tony's gaze before he could look away. "You're out," he said. "You've gone too far to go back."

"What're you talking about?"

"I could smell your fear."

"What?" Tony jerked his head to either side. "In this lot?" When Henry nodded, Tony sighed. "Jeez, I guess I'm changing my shirt when I get home." They held their positions for a heartbeat, then Tony shrugged. "Look, thanks, okay?"

He didn't say what for. Henry didn't ask.

Except that he was cleaner than most of the people in the room, both physically and chemically, Joe Tait, the director of the Center, could've been one of the many drinking free coffee and hoping for an hour or two without fear. He had an edge that could only have been acquired on the street, a look that said, I'm not one of them where they were the people who talked about how something had to be done and did nothing.

"Yeah, I might know them." Tait had listened qui?etly to the description of the two young men Tony'd seen talking across from the video store, and now he studied first Tony then Henry through narrowed eyes. "Why're you looking for them? Are they in trouble?"

"One of them. We think the other can help."

"Do what?"

"We're hoping he can tell us where his companion went."

Tait folded muscular arms over a broad chest. "What kind of trouble's he in?"

"Deadly trouble," Henry said, allowing the Hunger to rise. They didn't have time to stand around all night playing twenty questions with a man whose suspicions, however justified under other circumstances, kept throwing up barricades. "I need their names and where I can find them."

"Kenny and Doug." He gave them up grudgingly. "And I don't know."

"Which one's which?"

"Which one's missing?"

"The white kid."

"Doug. But I still don't know where you can find Kenny." His lip curled as he indicated the room at large. "Feel free to ask around, but don't expect much. These guys have no reason to trust anyone."

Henry nodded and replaced the masks, releasing the other man. "Thank you."

As he moved out into the room, Tait closed thick fingers-not noticeably weighed down by heavy silver rings-around Tony's arm. "Just a minute, kid."

The words brought Henry back, eyes narrowed under lowered brows, but Tony waved him away. Whatever was going on, he wasn't in any danger.

Tait released his hold and propped one thigh on a plywood table. Together they waited until Henry began speaking to a table of teenaged girls. "You okay?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. You. That guy you're with, I know his type. We call them predators down here." He raised a cal?loused hand as Tony opened his mouth to protest. "I'm not saying that he's not good to you, but he's obviously the one with the power."

"It's okay." Tony fought a near hysterical desire to laugh. It had been a long night, and it wasn't even half over. "Really. He's not that kind of a predator."

"You're sure?"

His right thumb rubbed the tiny scar on his left wrist. "I'm sure."

No one in the Center knew any more than Tait had told them although Henry was certain three of the people they spoke to were lying.

"Half of them might know them to see them," Tony explained as they left, "but not know names or any?thing else. You stick with your own crowd when you're on the street, and you don't even open up to them. It's safer that way. Now what do we do?"

"I could wait for the liars to leave, ask them a few private questions."

"Yeah. Or you could ask those guys standing by the car... "

There were three of them. Tony heard Joe Tait's voice say, "We call them predators down here." Had he not seen the real thing, he would have been afraid. As it was, they were merely cheap copies, dangerous but by no means as terrifying as they thought they were-at least not in comparison. "I've got a vampire by my side," he murmured, "and I'm not afraid to use him."

Henry smiled and lifted a speculative brow. "Shall we see what they want?"

"I should think that's obvious," Tony sighed, falling into step.

The largest of the three heaved his butt off the BMW's hood and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans, rippling the complex pattern of blue tat?toos that covered both bare arms. "We hear you bin askin' some questions."

"Did you?"

Oh, that's bright, Tony sighed silently, recognizing Henry's dealing-with-idiots voice. Provoke them. Like they need the encouragement.

The three exchanged triumphant glances, then the largest spoke again. "We might have some answers."

"Really?"

"The two you're lookin' for. Names are Kenny and Doug. They work for me. You want them, you go through me."

"Work for you?"

"Yeah. For me." The leer made his meaning plain.

Hands clenched, Tony conquered the urge to step behind Henry, to use him as a shield. I am not that kid anymore.

Henry's voice picked up an edge. He could smell the resurgence of Tony's fear and knew the source. It made it difficult to maintain any kind of civility-even the distant, arrogant civility he'd been using. "Do you know where they are?"

"Sure. We can take you to them. For a price."

"We pay when we see them."

Tattoos rippled again as he shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Tony's attempt to match Henry's nonchalance as the five of them walked toward an alley, was hindered by his certain knowledge of what was about to happen.

A dumpster, just barely narrower than the alley, made it effectively a dead end.

Mouth dry, Tony tucked himself into a corner.

Henry touched him lightly on the shoulder and turned around. "Unless they're in the dumpst ..." He caught the fist driving toward his face and tightened his grip. Bones crushed.

The tattooed man stared in astonishment at the screaming body rolling in the filth at his feet. "You fucking shit!" He flicked free a knife and flung him?self forward.

His remaining companion did the same.

Henry dropped the masks. After the slaughter in the warehouse, he had no need to feed, but he loosed the Hunger anyway, driving it forward with rage fu?eled by Tony's fear. These men fed off the youth of the children they exploited. They were the filthiest kind of parasite, and they were about to get off far too lightly for what they did. They were only going to die.

A moment later, he squatted by the first man, the man whose fist he'd crushed, and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. The screaming faded to a whimper. "Your friends are dead," Henry told him softly. "And so are you."

The rank stench in the alley grew ranker as the injured man's bowels let go.

"Where is Kenny?"

"Samson's got a room he uses, down the street. Doug...  Doug's gone."

"Gone where?"

"Don't know. Somebody gave him money. Lots of money. Thousands." The words spilled out in a pan?icked rush, as though they could buy redemption. "Kenny says that's all Doug told him. This ain't the first time. Talk says there's a guy who'll buy you off the street. Give you another chance. Talk says you gotta be special."

"Do the police know this?"

"Who the fuck talks to the police?"

Henry had to acknowledge that, considering the source, it was a valid point. "Is that all you know?"

"Yeah. That's all." He couldn't move his head, so he rocked his body back and forth, tears spilling down both filthy cheeks. "I don't want ... I don't want to die!"

Henry's hand moved from jaw to throat.

"Henry." Tony stumbled over a sprawled body, grateful for the lack of light, and gently touched the rigid line of Henry's shoulder, adapting the comfort Henry had offered him a long moment before. "Don't. Please."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Leaning forward until the darkness swallowed the other man's will, Henry said softly, "Do not remember us, but remember what happened here tonight. Re?member why it happened. Find another line of work." He straightened his legs, fitting the masks back in place. "Are you all right?"

"Me? I wasn't in the fight." Brushing past, Tony hurried for the gray rectangle of light at the end of the alley, unable to be anything but glad the pimp was dead and not liking himself very much for that feeling. "Come on, before they strip the car."

Careful not to touch the pitted metal, Henry heaved both bodies into the dumpster. Aware of the dichot?omy in Tony's voice, Henry kept his own carefully neutral. "Hopefully, the scavengers are waiting to see if these three return to claim the prize. I got the im?pression they weren't nice people."

"No shit."

The immediate neighborhood seemed eerily de?serted as they emerged onto the street. "What they don't see they don't have to lie to the cops about," Tony explained as they ran for the car.

The BMW was fine, although a stray cat had sprayed both curbside tires.

"Do you think anyone's made a note of the license plate?" Henry asked, starting the engine and all but popping the clutch as he pulled out of the parking space.

"Yeah. Sure. They all carry around pocketbook computers to jot their observations down in. Get real, Henry, most of these people can't focus on the car let alone the license plate." He mimed breaking an egg. "You know, 'this is your brain on drugs'?" When Henry didn't answer, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes. "Looking at the bright side, Doug's not just the second guy to disappear, but you've only got two of the ghosts."

"Why would anyone sell themselves to a stranger without knowing what they're selling themselves for?"

"They'll do a stranger for twenty bucks. For a thou?sand, who's going to ask questions?" Wiping his palms on his jeans, Tony opened his eyes. "Where to now?"

Pulling up at an intersection, Henry shrugged. "I don't. . ." His head swiveled toward the open window.

"What?"

"That scent ..."

"You mean stink."

"No. I mean Vicki."

The clinic was closed, the waiting room dark and empty, but Vicki could sense a life in the building. A line of light, barely visible around the perimeter of an inner door, suggested someone was working late in the back. A fairly sophisticated alarm system con-vinced her not to attempt a frontal assault.

"There's got to be another entrance," she muttered, "if only to keep the fire marshal happy."

Keeping to the shadows, she turned down Columbia and then into the alley that bisected the block. Two people were sleeping in the first dumpster she passed.

An old woman was fishing a meal out of the second. She dropped down off her perch as Vicki approached, clutching a greasy box of beef fried rice in one hand and length of pipe in the other.

"Damn kids! Leave me alone!"

She wasn't drunk or on drugs-Vicki could've smelled either, even over the combined stink of the alley and its occupants-so she was probably one of the thousands of psychiatric patients cutbacks had put on the street.

"I'm tellin' ya, get away!"

Vicki caught the pipe, a little surprised by the force of the blow, and stuffed two tens under the old wom?an's fingers. White-middle-class guilt money, Celluci'd call it. Maybe. It did nothing to solve the problem, but it beat doing nothing. Marginally.

The old woman sniffed at the money, then thrust it back toward Vicki. "I ain't goin' with ya," she said. "Not even if you bring the big guy."

"The big guy?"

"The one what usually offers the money. Big guy. Real big. Got cow eyes like shit wouldn't melt in his mouth, makes ya wanna trust him, but he's mean un?derneath. I know." Her brain made a right turn, and the money disappeared under at least three layers of clothing. "Watch out for that big guy, you." All of a sudden, she squatted at the base of the wall, tucked the pipe under one arm, and began to eat. "Damn kids," she added.

Vicki moved on.

The clinic had a parking space, a tight squeeze even for the tiny import that filled it, and a back door made of industrial steel. Blinking back tears in the glare from the security light, Vicki noted the pattern of dents. Boot marks mostly although someone had un?successfully taken a crowbar to the area by the lock. A small sign read, When the light is on, ring the bell.

Vicki assumed that the Chinese characters below it said much the same thing.

Why not. She heard the bell ringing inside the build?ing, sensed the life drawing closer.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

It was a woman's voice and not a very old woman at that. Vicki directed a neutral stare at the intercom grille. "My name is Vicki Nelson. I'm a private investi?gator and I'm looking for Michael Celluci."

"Michael Celluci?" The surprise in her voice didn't seem directed at the name itself but rather at hearing it again.

"Yes. I have reason to believe he came to see you today. He's my partner, and I have a feeling he's in trouble."

"Just a minute, please."

Okay, Vicki, if this woman's a part of the kidney scam, you've just leaped into the frying pan. That was bright.

The door creaked open.

But at least I've gotten inside.

Bolts slammed back into place behind her and a figure in a loose smock appeared silhouetted in the light at the end of the short hall.

"I'm Dr. Seto. I run this clinic. Please, come into the office."

By the time Vicki rounded the corner, her eyes had adjusted to the light. "Oh, my God... "

Dr. Seto frowned, lifted her hand off the back of an old wooden desk chair and pushed a silken strand of ebony hair back behind one ear. "I beg your pardon?"

Unaware she'd spoken aloud until the doctor had reacted, Vicki mumbled an apology, thankful she could no longer blush. If you're one of the bad guys, Celluci's in big trouble. The stupid ox is a pushover for short, beautiful women. "You, uh, weren't what I was expecting."

The doctor sighed, nostrils pinched together, used to and irritated by the reaction her looks evoked. "Detective-Sergeant Celluci didn't mention he was working with a private investigator. Perhaps you should show me some identification."

"You should've checked it before you let me in," Vicki pointed out, reaching into a side pocket on her shoulderbag.

"I would have if you'd been a ..."

"Man?" Vicki finished, handing over the folded plastic case.

"Yes." Obviously annoyed with herself, Dr. Seto glanced at the ID and passed it back. Now we're even, her expression said as clearly as if she'd said it out loud. Let's get on with it. "I assume the detective is missing?" When Vicki nodded, she leaned against the edge of the desk and folded her arms. "He was here this morning, about 11:30. He grabbed one of my street kids who was trying to walk off with a box of condoms. We had lunch together. I showed him around the clinic. I got busy and he left."

You had lunch together? "You don't know where he went?"

"No."

You had lunch together! "Are you sure?"

"I didn't actually see him leave. I had patients come in."

Okay, so they had lunch together. Big deal. The man has to eat. Vicki stared at a poster of an ulcerated stomach, knowing that if she looked at the doctor she'd rip the answers from her by force. "You don't happen to remember what you and the detective dis?cussed over lunch, do you?"

"Nothing much. Mostly we made small talk."

Small talk? Celluci had never managed to keep small talk from becoming an interogation in his life. Or for as long as she'd known him, which was all of his life that mattered.

"You know, comparing Toronto and Vancouver." The extended silence had made the doctor nervous. "He never said that he was working on a case; I as?sumed he was on vacation."

"Technically, he is. He's just helping me out."

"You've known him for a long time?"

Whatever else had gone on between them, the tone of that question made it clear that Dr. Seto was not responsible for Celluci's disappearance. If she was going to knock him out and toss him in the cellar, it wouldn't be because she wanted his kidneys. Vicki turned around-she couldn't help herself-caught and held the doctor's gaze. "Yes. A very long time."

Dr. Seto blinked, swayed, and put a hand on the desk to steady herself. For a moment, she'd felt as though she were falling into silvered darkness, buf?feted about by waves of raw energy barely under control. I've got to get more sleep. "I'm afraid I can't help you find him," she murmured, straightening. "I just don't know where he went after he left the clinic."

Logically, he'd have gone to the other clinics- but which ones in which order? The trail was hours cold. Vicki shoved aside a numbing sense of futility and rummaged in the depths of her purse for one of Henry's cards. "Thanks for your time. If you re?member anything else, could you call the cell phone number?"

"There really isn't anything else to remember, Ms. Nelson."

"If, Doctor."

"Very well. If."

"I thought Victory was waiting back at the condo for Celluci to call."

"Maybe he called."

Tony snorted. "Maybe she got tired of waiting."

"I wouldn't doubt it." Head cocked toward the window, Henry sifted through the lingering scents of the Eastside and the equally pungent although infinitely more pleasurable scents of Chinatown, trying not to react to the certain knowledge that another stalked his territory. "It's strongest here." Teeth clenched, he eased the car over the curb.

Tony stared past him at the dark windows of the East Hastings Clinic. "You think she went there?"

"I think that's her at the corner."

Even squinting, Tony could make out only a vague shape. "Hey, why're you getting out of the car?"

Henry smiled darkly. "Maneuvering room."

Although she'd known that the only way Celluci would still be at the East Hastings Clinic was as a prisoner, Vicki found herself infuriated by his absence. A prisoner she could've freed! "When I catch up to him, he'd better be in manacles, or I'm going to stuff the nearest pay phone up his ..."

She whirled to face the breeze, hands out from her sides, weight forward on the balls of her feet.

"Did he call?"

"No."

Henry nodded slowly. It was, after all, the answer he'd expected. "You got tired of waiting."

"I found notes he'd left that indicated he might be here, at this clinic."

"And was he?"

"No." She spat the word out onto the street be?tween them, her anger switching from Celluci to Henry, just because he was there. In another moment, she'd be diving for his throat; she could feel herself tensing, preparing for the attack.

He braced himself, control made easier because the one who maintained control would win. "That isn't helping, Vicki."

"You think I don't know that?" she snarled. "And you have no idea how much it pisses me off that I can't get angry with you without attempting to kill you." A raised hand cut off his reply. She stood mo?tionless, forcing the memory of how it had been after the slaughter to re-evoke calm. To her surprise, it worked. Mostly. "So," she stepped forward, heading for the car, "any luck finding Tony's witness?"

"In a manner of speaking." Henry fell into step beside her, a prudent arm's length away. "The ghost's name was Doug. We had a little chat with his pimp."

"Who you killed." It wasn't a question; she could hear death in his voice. The part of her that still re?membered the person she'd been wondered where such casual justice had been all the years she'd tried to get that kind of scum off the streets. He was sitting in his condo writing romance novels. Never mind. Sorry I asked. "Did he tell you anything?"

"Only that someone's paying lots of money for spe?cial people."

"Special as in the same blood type as the buyer of the kidney?"

"Perhaps. But how would they find out?"

Vicki waited until a truck roared past, then nodded toward the clinic. "Access records."

"What? Through Hackers for Hire?"

"If you can buy a kidney, Henry, you can certainly afford to buy someone with that kind of rudimentary hacking ability." She told him about her conversation with the old woman in the alley. "Sounds like they've bought some muscle with mean cow eyes."

"Bull."

"Bull?" Her tone advised a quick explanation.

"It was a joke, Vicki. A man would have bull eyes."

"I think I liked it better when we were trying to kill each other. What now?"

Henry stopped by the car, his hand on the driver's door. "We go back to the apartment and see if Celluci's returned."

"He hasn't." Ducking her head, she nodded a greeting at Tony. "If he got back and none of us were around, he'd call on the cell phone."

Which rang.

"Speak of the devil," Henry murmured, reaching in through the open window.

Tony mouthed a silent warning as he handed over the shrilly chirping piece of plastic. If it's Celluci, be polite.

Brows raised in an exaggerated, Who me? Henry flipped open the mouthpiece. "Fitzroy."

"This is Dr. Eve Seto, from the East Hastings Clinic. I was speaking with a Ms. Nelson a few mo?ments ago; she gave me this number, and... "

"Just a minute, Doctor." Smiling, he offered the phone to Vicki. "It's for you." His smile faded when he discovered it was almost impossible to let go, to hand over to another a possession of his. Snarling, he shoved it back into the car. "Tony, give her the phone."

Resisting the urge to crush something scented so strongly by another predator under her heel, Vicki raised it to her face. "Hello?"

"Ms. Nelson?"

"I ran into Mr. Fitzroy by accident, Doctor," Vicki answered the unspoken question. "He was driving by as I came out onto East Hastings."

"Oh." Her tone suggested it was an accident she didn't quite believe in. "It's just that I remembered something that happened after lunch. It was a minor thing but I thought you might want to know."

"After lunch?"

The two men exchanged speculative glances.

"What's she got against lunch?" Tony whispered.

Henry shrugged. He could hear six separate heart?beats pounding up out of the basement apartment across from the clinic, but electronics interfered with eavesdropping.

"Yes. On our way back to the clinic, we saw Patricia Chou outside the Cultural Center and ..."

"The cable television reporter."

"That's right. The detective mentioned that he'd seen her interview with Ronald Swanson and ..."

"Ronald Swanson, the real estate guy?"

"He's more than just real estate, Ms. Nelson." Her tone was sharp, possibly in defense of Ronald Swanson, more probably in response to the interruptions. "He's donated money to a thousand causes all over the city. He donated our computer system here at the clinic and was pretty much one hundred percent re?sponsible for Project Hope."

"Which is?"

"It's a hospice on the edge of North Vancouver where transplant patients wait for kidneys to become available. It's sort of a shrine to his dead wife. A lovely place, quiet, tranquil."

"Dead wife?"

"Yes, she died of renal failure before they found a donor for her."

Vicki blinked, a little overwhelmed. "Did you tell this to Celluci?"

"No, but we did discuss kidney transplants although only in light of me actually performing them."

"Do you perform transplants, Doctor?"

"This is a street-front clinic, Ms. Nelson, what do you think?" She continued before Vicki could tell her. "Funny thing, though, the detective asked me that as well. I may be completely out of line here, but does your investigation have to do with the handless body they found in the harbor, the one missing the kidney?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

"Very well. But I'm telling you now, if you're in?vestigating Ronald Swanson, you're dead wrong. The man is continually giving his money away. Around this area, he's practically considered a saint."

"Not many saints make millions in real estate," Vicki noted dryly.

"I have no intention of arguing with you about this, Ms. Nelson. I only thought that if you were looking for Detective Celluci, you might want to speak with the people at Project Hope."

"If I recall correctly, Doctor, you said earlier that you didn't tell him about the clinic."

"He's a detective, Ms. Nelson." Her tone suggested he was the only detective involved. "In this city, Mr. Swanson and kidney transplants together will lead you right to Project Hope."

Teeth showing, Vicki thanked the doctor for calling, hung up, and filled the others in on the conversation. "So who's going with me to take a look at Project Hope."

Henry shook his head. "It's too much of a coinci?dence, all the pieces falling so neatly into place. I think you're jumping to conclusions."

"Really, I think I'm formulating a hypothesis." Her eyes silvered briefly. "Which I intend to test by going out to Project Hope and finding out just how long these people are actually waiting for those kidneys. And if I recognize anything in the fridge, I'm going to tear the place apart."

"Go out to Project Hope? All of us?" Tony's gaze flicked from Henry to Vicki and back to Henry again. "In one car? Is that safe?"

"Good question," Henry allowed. "Vicki?"

"We'll be fine, she snapped impatiently. "As long as we keep our minds on finding Mike, and there's the possibility of mayhem at the end of the trip."

"Oh." Tony closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Speaking as much to himself as to the night, he murmured, "I don't actually think I'm up to mayhem." Another deep breath, and he got out of the car, turning to stare across the roof at Henry. "I'll, uh, go back to the condo, and if he checks in, I'll call you."

They stayed that way for a long moment. "If you're sure," Henry said at last.

"Yeah. I'm sure." He swallowed heavily and shifted his weight back and forth, from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry, Victory. I just can't."

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When she spoke, her voice was as gentle as Henry'd heard it since the change. "I understand. And there's no reason you should risk your safety because we can't act like civilized people." Rounding the car between one heartbeat and the next, she cupped Tony's face in her hands. "Will you be okay if we leave you here? Should we take you home first?"

He lightly touched the backs of her wrists and her hands fell away. "You have to get to Detective Celluci."

"I won't trade you for him."

His eyes filled with tears as he realized she meant it. Acknowledging only that he was more tired than he thought, he scrubbed them away. "I'll be okay. I can get a cab by one of the restaurants in Chinatown."

"Do you have enough money?"

"Goddamn it, Henry!" Ears burning, he backed to the far edge of the sidewalk. "Would you guys just get going!"

They left the windows open and kept their faces in the breeze. It was enough. But only just.

"Do you think he's there?" Henry asked as they sped around an erratic, albeit fast-moving, old caddie and headed for the bridge.

"I know he went there. I know how he thinks. There aren't any coincidences in police work; once Ronald Swanson turned into a recurring character in this little drama, Mike'd check him out. He'd find out about Project Hope, and then he'd check it out."

"Do you think he's in trouble?"

When she considered the possibility, she felt as though someone were stroking her exposed skin with a wire brush.

"I'm certain of it."