Don't fight," he panted into her face. "It'll be easier if you just relax."
Hannah was frightened-and furious. "In your dreams!" she gasped and slammed a knee into his groin.
She hadn't survived Maya and come thousands of miles to be killed by some weasel of a vampire.
She could feel him trying to do something to her mind-it reminded her of the way Maya had captured
Ha-nahkt's eyes. Some kind of hypnosis, she supposed. But she'd had enough of hypnosis in the last
week. She fought it.
And she fought with her body, unskillfully maybe, but with utter conviction. She head-butted him on the
nose when he tried to get close to her neck.
"Ow!" The Artful Dodger jerked back. Then he got a better grip on her arm. He pulled the wrist toward
him and Hannah suddenly realized what he was
doing. There were nice accessible veins there. He was going to draw blood from her wrist.
"No, you don't," she gasped. She had no idea what would happen if she lost any more blood to a
vampire. Thierry had said she wasn't in danger as long as she kept away from them for the next week, so
she presumed that if she didn't stay away, she was in danger. And she was already noticing little changes
in herself: her ability to see better in the dark, for instance.
She tried to wrench her arm out of the boy's grip- and then she heard a gasp. Suddenly she realized that
he wasn't holding her as tightly, and he wasn't trying to pull her wrist to him. Instead he was just staring at
her hand.
At her ring.
The expression on his face might have been funny if Hannah hadn't been shaking with adrenaline. He
looked shocked, dismayed, scared, disbelieving, and embarrassed all at once.
"Who-who-who are you?" he spluttered.
Hannah looked at the ring, and then at him. Of course. How could she have been so stupid? She should
have mentioned Thierry right away. If he was a Lord of the Night World, maybe everybody knew him.
Maybe she could skip the witches altogether.
"I told you I was looking for somebody. His name is Thierry Descouedres. He gave me this ring."
The Artful Dodger gave a kind of moan. Then he looked up at her from under his spiky bangs. "I didn't
hurt you, did I?" he said. It wasn't a question, it was a demand for agreement. "I didn't do anything to
you."
"You didn't get the chance," Hannah said. But she was afraid the boy might just take off running, so she
added, "I don't want to get you in trouble. I just want to find Thierry. Can you help me?"
"I ... help you. Yeah, yeah. I can be a big help.-" He hesitated, then said, "It's kind of a long walk."
A walk? Thierry was here? Hannah's heart leaped so high that her whole body felt light.
"I'm not tired," she said, and it was true. "I can walk anywhere."
The house was enormous.
Magnificent. Palatial, even. Awe-inspiring.
The Artful Dodger abandoned Hannah at the beginning of the long palm-tree-lined drive, blurting, "That's
it," and then scampering off into the darkness. Hannah looked after him for a moment, then grimly started
up the drive, sincerely hoping that it was it. She was so tired that she was weaving and her feet felt as if
they'd been pounded with stones.
As she walked up to the front door, though, her doubts disappeared. There were black roses
everywhere.
There was an arch-shaped stained-glass window above the double doors, showing a black rose that had
the same intricately knotted stem as the one on Hannah's ring. The same design had been worked into the
crowns over the windows. It was used like a family crest or seal.
Just seeing all those roses made Hannah's heart beat faster.
Okay, then. Ring the doorbell, she told herself. And stop feeling like some Cinderella who's come to see
what's keeping the prince.
She pushed the doorbell button, then held her breath as chimes echoed distantly.
Please. Please answer....
She heard footsteps approaching and her heart really started to pound.
I can't believe it's all been this easy....
But when the door opened, it wasn't Thierry. It was a college-age guy with a suit, brown hair pulled
back into a short ponytail, and dark glasses. He looked vaguely like a young CIA agent, Hannah thought
wildly.
He and Hannah stared at each other.
"Uh, I'm here to ... I'm looking for Thierry Des-couedres," Hannah said finally, trying to sound confident.
The CIA guy didn't change expression. When he spoke, it wasn't unkindly, but Hannah's heart
plummeted.
"He's not here. Try again in a few days. And it's better to call one of his secretaries before showing up."
He started to shut the door.
A wave of desperation broke over Hannah. "Wait!" she said, and she actually stuck her foot in the
doorway. She was amazed at herself.
The CIA guy looked down at her foot, then up at her face. "Yes?"
Oh, God, he thinks I'm a nuisance visitor. Hannah suddenly had a vision of swarms of petitioners lined
up at Thierry's house, all wanting him to do something for them. Like supplicants waiting for an audience
with the king.
And I must look like riffraff, she thought. She was wearing Levis and a shirt that was sweaty and
wrinkled after tramping around the Strip all day. Her boots were dusty. Her hair was limp and
disheveled, straggling over her face.
"Yes?" the CIA guy said again, politely urgent. .
"I ... nothing." Hannah felt tears spring to her eyes and was furious with herself. She hid them by bending
down to pick up her duffel bag, which by now felt as if it were loaded with rocks.
She had never been so tired. Her mouth was dry and cottony and her muscles were starting to cramp.
She had no idea where to find a safe place to sleep.
But it wasn't the CIA guy's problem.
"Thank you," Hannah said. She took a deep breath and started to turn away.
It was the deep breath that did it. Someone was crossing the grand entrance hall behind the CIA guy
and the breath delayed Hannah long enough that they saw each other.
"Nilsson, wait!" the someone yelled and came bounding over to the door.
It was a girl, thin and tanned, with odd silvery-brown hair and dark amber eyes. She had several
yellowing bruises on her face.
But it was her expression that startled Hannah. Her amber eyes were wide and sparkling in what looked
like recognition, her mouth was open in astonishment and excitement. She was waving her arms.
"That's her!" she yelled at the CIA guy, pointing to Hannah. "It's her! It's her." When he stared at her,
she hit him in the shoulder. "Her!"
They both turned to stare at Hannah. The CIA guy had an expression now. He looked stunned.
Hannah stared back at them, bewildered.
Then, seeming dazed, the CIA guy very slowly
opened the door. "My name is Nilsson, miss," he said. "Please come inside."
Stupid me, Hannah thought. Almost as an afterthought, she pushed straggling hair off her left cheek,
away from her birthmark. I should have told them who I was. But how could I know they would
understand?
Nilsson was talking again as he gently took her bag. "I'm very sorry, miss-I didn't realize ... I hope you
won't hold this-"
"Nobody knew you were coming," the girl broke in with refreshing bluntness. "And the worst thing is that
Thierry's gone off somewhere. I don't think anybody knows where or when he'll be back. But meanwhile
you'd better stay put. I don't want to think about what he'd do to us if we lost you." She smiled at
Hannah and added, "I'm Lupe Acevedo."
"Hannah Snow."
"I know." The girl winked. "We met before, but I couldn't exactly introduce myself. Don't you
remember?"
Hannah started to shake her head-and then she blinked. Blinked again. That silvery-brown coloring...
those amber eyes...
"Yeah," Lupe said, looking hugely delighted. "That was me. That's how I got these bruises. The other
wolf got it worse, though. I ripped him a new-"
"Would you like something to drink?" Nilsson interrupted hastily. "Or to eat? Why don't you come in
and sit down?"
Hannah's mind was reeling. That girl is a werewolf, she thought. A werewolf. The last time I saw her she
had big ears and a bushy tail. Werewolves are real.
And this one protected me.
She said dizzily, "I ... thank you. I mean, you saved my life, didn't you?"
Lupe shrugged. "Part of the job. Want a Coke?"
Hannah blinked, then laughed. "I'd kill for one."
"I'll take care of it," Nilsson said. "I'll take care of everything. Lupe, why don't you show her upstairs?"
He hurried off and opened a cellular phone. A moment later several other guys dressed like him came
running. The strange thing was that they were all very young-all in their late teens. Hannah caught
snatches of frantic-sounding conversation.
"Well, try that number-"
"What about leaving a message with-"
"Come on," Lupe said, interrupting Hannah's eavesdropping. With that same cheerful bluntness she
added, "You look like you could use a bath."
She led Hannah past a giant white sculpture toward a wide curving staircase. Hannah glimpsed other
rooms opening off the hallway. A living room that looked as big as a football field, decorated with white
couches, geometric furniture, and abstract paintings. A dining room with a mile-long table. An alcove with
a grand piano.
Hannah felt more like Cinderella than ever. Nobody in Medicine Rock had a grand piano.
I didn't know he was so rich. I don't know if I can deal with this.
But when she was installed in a sort of Moorish fantasy bathroom, surrounded by jungly green plants
and exotic tiles and brass globe lights with cut-out star shapes, she decided that she could probably
adjust to living this way. If forced.
It was heaven just to relax in the Jacuzzi tub, drinking a Coke and breathing in the delicious scent
of bath salts. And it was even better to sit up in bed afterward, eating finger sandwiches sent up by