I frowned and sniffed. "I don't smell that bad."

"You smell of sex, and sweat, which in itself is usually a lovely aroma, but I prefer to work with a clean subject. Besides, you need to erase your base scent, just in case anyone there is a werewolf that recognizes you. I put the soap in the shower holder."

I started stripping as I walked across the room. "Where's Rhoan?"

"Gone back undercover. I don't expect him to surface for a couple of days."

I stopped and looked at him. "So you'll be here alone?"

"I can cope with being alone," he said dryly. "I did it for many, many years before I moved in here."

"But-"

"I'm fine, Riley. Really."

"So no more baby-sitting?"

"No. Although you can still pamper me any old time you please."

"Ha," I said. "If you're better, you become just a regular old member of the family. No pampering, and no one running after you."

"Excellent. Now go shower."

I did, taking longer than I should thanks to the fact that half a mountain of dirt seemed to be lodged under my toenails after last night's run.

"So, what sort of look are we going for this time?" I said when I finally sat down. One of the packets on the table was a voice modulator, and my cheek began to throb in pain at the mere thought of having it inserted.

"Brown with red and gold highlights," he said, lifting my hair and running it through his fingers. Which I knew from experience meant he was going to cut it, too. "So we'll be able to keep some of your natural color-both up top and down below."

Thank goodness for that. I mean, dyeing that hair was above and beyond the call of duty. "And it will wash out, won't it?"

I asked this question every single time he did this, and even though the answer was always the same, I still asked it. I liked my hair color, and I hated risking the dyes. Because one of these days, I just knew fate was going to stick me with something goddamn awful.

Liander gave a much-put-upon sort of sigh. "Of course it will, if only because you would be unbearable if it didn't, and I now have to share an apartment with you."

I grinned. "Too right, makeup man. So, are we staying with gray eyes?"

"Nope. They'll be green. And your voice will be modulated down to raspy."

"Raspy? Why that?"

"Because it sounds sexy in a semidark environment. Which the club is, apparently. Now shut up and let the master work."

I snorted softly, but let him get to it, watching him work through the mirror he'd propped in front of me.

The result was surprisingly sexy. The chocolaty brown played against my own natural color, setting it off rather than clashing, and it contrasted nicely against the warm gold of my skin. The green eyes looked startling, and although I'd feared my hair being cut, all he did was give it some shape.

It was me, and yet not.

"Okay, modulator time," he said, picking up the little plastic bag.

"Damn, I was hoping you'd forgotten about those."

"Jack would have my hide if I did. Open wide, darling."

I did, and winced as he inserted the extremely thin plastic chips in either side of my mouth. The surface of the modulators were supposedly covered with an analgesic that deadened the skin as they went in, but it always felt like he was ripping out teeth rather than shoving in plastic. Although at least once they were positioned inside my cheeks, I couldn't actually feel them. I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies.

"Why do those stupid things always hurt going in?" I asked, only to be a little startled by the sound of my new voice. It was more husky than raspy, and had a deepness that suggested it was coming from the depths of my toes. Calling it sexy was something of an understatement.

"Why do you always complain about the same damn things when you already know the answer?" He handed me a folder, and the twinkle in his silvery eyes grew. "Meet your new identity."

I opened the folder with some trepidation. The Directorate had come up with some pretty stupid cover names in the past. And, as it turned out, this was no different, "CC Buttons?" I looked up at him. "They are kidding, aren't they?"

He smiled. "CC is your stage name. Your actual cover name is Cecily Berg."

"Well, at least that's a little better," I grumbled, scanning my history quickly and memorizing it. Luckily, I had a pretty good recall for this sort of stuff. "These are actual clubs, I gather?"

"Yeah, but all but one have folded. And the owner of Lulu's is a good friend of Jack's, and owes him a favor. She'll rave appropriately about your performances."

"It's a wonder they let me leave," I said, reading through the more personal history. CC was an orphan and former street kid. How surprising. "You know, just once I'd love to have a nice family history for one of these jobs. I mean, it's not like there aren't strippers with happy lives and supporting families behind them."

"Yeah, but it's easier to keep the background contained with an orphan." He slapped my shoulder lightly. "Go get changed. Your interview clothes are on your bed."

I grinned as I dropped the folder onto the table. "Am I going to like them?"

"Oh, I think you're going to love them," he said, looking smug. "So scoot."

I did. My outfit turned out to be a wickedly small black skirt, a hot red singlet top with the words "Werewolf Babe" emblazoned on the front, and matching red stilettos with a heel that reminded me of a glitter ball. There was no bra, but I guess the whole point of the outfit was to let it all hang out.

I dressed and strolled back out to the living room. "So, do you think I'll get the job?"

Liander looked me up and down, then nodded. "I think the word here is 'hot.' And I can safely say that if I were a hetero, I'd certainly want you doing a private dance for me."

"I'm sure you can convince Rhoan to give you one."

"Yeah, but his legs are too hairy to wear that skirt." He glanced at his watch. "You'd better get going. The train leaves in ten minutes."

"What, the Directorate isn't even spotting me a car?"

"Nope." He picked up a large red purse from the table and handed it to me. "I've shoved some costumes, G-strings, and toiletries in there, as you'll probably be asked to try out tonight. Now get."

I got. Catching the train again after having a Directorate car for so long really sucked. Luckily, it wasn't rush hour, but the carriages were far from empty and they reeked of humanity, perfume, and sweat. As ever, it left me wishing my olfactory senses weren't quite as keen.

I got off at the Southern Cross station and caught a tram up to the Lonsdale Street stop, then walked up toward King Street. A surprisingly discreet sign pointed me in the right direction.

The outside of the club was nondescript-just a plain, brown brick building with demure lighting and signage. A red-and-gold-clad doorman was the only indication of the opulence that awaited inside.

The foyer was large and warm, thanks mainly to the richness of the red carpet and the dark gold walls. A redwood paneled counter dominated the far end of the foyer, and the woman standing behind it gave me a warm smile of welcome as I entered. I returned it, but continued to look around as I walked toward her. There were several couches lining the other walls, and a couple of potted plants adding greenery. The biggest indicator of what this club was about were the two nude statues dominating the far corners, and the erotic paintings hanging on the walls.

"Can I help you?" the woman at the counter said. She was tall and auburn haired, and wearing a green dress that made the most of her figure without revealing a whole lot. She also had what looked to be a nanowire around her neck.

Which was interesting. The wires were a nanotechnology development that guarded against psychic intrusion. The only things I knew about them was that they only worked when the two ends were connected, and that it was somehow powered by the heat of the body. They stopped most of the vampire population, but I knew they didn't stop Jack, and they could no longer stop me-although it took me a little more concentration and effort to get past them than it did Jack.