I let him tell me how beautiful I was for a few minutes. It seemed to make him happy, and he finally agreed to go see whether Jimmy was available after I swore that the boss and I were only friends. I really hoped Billy had been wrong for once about Jimmy's predicament. Running around the lower levels of Tony's version of Hell didn't appeal.

I had thought of a plan on the way over that might get me the information I wanted, assuming Jimmy was still alive to give it to me. Since I'd seen him outside more than once in daylight, I was pretty sure he wasn't a vamp. Most magical creatures can't be turned—not to mention that I've had vamps tell me they taste really foul—but I wasn't so sure about Jimmy. I knew he wasn't a full satyr, since he had human legs and his horns were noticeable only if he got a really close haircut. There were many things that other half could be, but I'd never seen him demonstrate any impressive powers or start turning purple or something, so I was pretty sure he was half human. That would be in keeping with Tony's habit of keeping a few nonvamps around to manage business when his regular muscle was asleep. I wasn't completely certain that a human-satyr hybrid couldn't be turned, and some of the most powerful vamps can stand daylight in small doses if they're willing to expend a lot of energy for the privilege. But I really doubted that a first- or second-level master would be running errands for Tony. Besides, I'd never gotten that good old vampy feeling around Jimmy. So, unless Jimmy was warded nine ways to Sunday, Billy Joe ought to be able to manage a brief possession.

Billy hadn't liked the idea when I'd explained what I wanted in the car. This was the most powerful he'd felt in a long time, and if he was going to waste it on a possession, he stated plainly that Jimmy would not be his first choice. But, like I told him, all I needed was time enough for the loser to tell me what I wanted to know, and then confess his sins to the Vegas PD. Even if he denied it all later, if he had provided enough particulars on a bunch of unsolved cases, he would have trouble eluding justice. And, if plan A didn't work, I could always shoot him. I was already on the run from Tony, his allied families, the Silver Circle and the vampire Senate; after that, the cops didn't scare me much.

Billy Joe and I sat at the end of the bar. I hadn't seen him this juiced up in a while—those wards he ate really must have been something. He looked almost completely solid, to the point that I could tell he hadn't shaved for a day or two before his death. But no one else seemed to notice him, although no one tried to sit on his stool, either. If they had, and they were norms, they'd have felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over their heads. Which was why we took seats far away from everyone else.

"You going to tell me why we're here?"

I glanced about, but there was no one close enough to notice if I started talking to myself. Most of the bar, which seemed to have an exclusively female clientele, was busy ogling the waiters, who happily ogled right back. A handsome black-haired satyr nearby was encouraging one of the patrons to see whether she could figure out where his «costume» began. She had the glassy-eyed look of someone who'd been drinking for a while, but the hands she was running over his sleek black flanks were remarkably steady. I frowned; if I'd still been with Tony, I'd have reported him. He was practically asking for someone to figure things out and run screaming to the cops.

"You know why. He killed my parents. He must know something about them."

"You're risking us getting caught by the Senate, who are not going to underestimate you again, I might add, to ask a couple questions about people you don't even remember? You're not planning on blowing this guy away, are you? A little payback for messing with you? Not that I mind, but it might draw attention."

I ignored the question and ate some peanuts out of a little bloodred serving bowl. Wasting Jimmy wouldn't be as satisfying as taking out Tony, but at least it would be something. A sign to the universe that I'd had enough of people screwing up my life; I was perfectly capable of doing that all by myself. The only problem was the actual killing part of that scenario, which frankly made me nauseous to even think about. "You'll see what he did in a minute if the possession goes okay."

"That's a big if. Demons are the possession experts; I'm only a lowly ghost."

"You never have trouble with me." Billy Joe had been heavily into wine, women and song in life, with a strong emphasis on the first two. I can't help him much with the second need, and I hate his taste in music, which runs to Elvis and Hank Williams. But I occasionally reward him with a drink if he's been exceptionally good, and, of course, that means a little more than buying him a six-pack. Those instances aren't a real possession, though. Although I let him in to use my taste buds, I remain in full control. He plays nice during these infrequent events because he knows that if he doesn't, when his power runs out I'll bury his necklace in the middle of nowhere and leave it to rot. But as long as he keeps to the rules, I let him in on special occasions so he can eat, drink and be merry right along with me. Since I'm not in the habit of getting plastered and trashing bars, it's never quite wild enough for his tastes, but it's better than nothing.

"You're an unusual case. It's a lot harder with other people. Anyway, humor me and answer the question."

I toyed with a tiny death's-head swizzle stick and wondered why I hesitated. My parents' deaths weren't that hard to talk about. I had memories from my street years that I would never willingly revisit, but as Billy Joe had pointed out, I'd been only four when Tony ordered the hit. My memories before that are hazy: Mom is actually more a smell than anything else—the rose talcum powder she must have liked—and Dad is a sensation. I remember strong hands throwing me into the air and spinning me around when they caught me; I know his laugh, too, a deep, rich chuckle that warmed me down to my toes and made me feel protected. Safe isn't something I feel very often, so maybe that's why the memory is so sharp. Other than that, all I know about them came from the vision I had at age fourteen.

Along with puberty, my cosmic birthday present that year was to see my parents' car explode in an orange and black fireball that left nothing but twisted metal and burning leather seats behind. I'd watched it from Jimmy's car while he made a phone call to the boss. He lit a cigarette and calmly let him know that the hit had gone as planned and that he should pick up the kid from the babysitter before the cops started looking for me. Then it faded, and I was alone in my bedroom at Tony's country estate, shivering with reaction. Childhood pretty much ended for me that night. I'd run away an hour later, as soon as dawn came and all good little vampires were in their safe rooms. I'd been gone three years.

Not having bothered to plan out my escape in advance, I didn't have any of the perks the Feds had thoughtfully provided the second time around to cushion the experience.

There was no fake social security card or birth certificate, no guaranteed employment and no one to go to if things went wrong. I'd also had no real idea how the world worked outside Tony's court, where people might be tortured to death from time to time, but nobody ever dressed poorly or went hungry. If I hadn't had help from an unlikely source, I'd never have made it.

My best friend as a child was Laura, the spirit of the youngest girl in a family Tony had murdered around the turn of the last century. Her family home was an old German-built farmhouse that sat on sixty pretty acres outside Philadelphia. It had some enormous trees that were probably already old when Ben Franklin lived in the area and a stone bridge over a small stream, not that its beauty was the main attraction for Tony. He liked it for the privacy and the fact that it was only an hour's commute to the city, and he didn't take the family's refusal to sell very well. Of course, he could have simply bought another house in the area, but I doubt that even crossed his mind. I guess losing our families to Tony's ambition gave Laura and me a bond. Whatever the reason, she had refused to stay in her grave under the old barn out back and roamed the estate at will.