“Where in the barrio did you go?”

“Couple of places,” he said over his shoulder on his way to the closet. “But I found what I needed in a little bar off Santa Croce. A real dive. You’d love it.”

I peeled the sheet away. I’d bled on it, nosebleed and from the wounds that were now pink scars, rapidly fading. It had marked me a couple of times. Left side up my ribs, shoulder, leg. I was lucky to be alive. “I suppose it was a smelly place full of nasty characters.”

“Just like usual, baby. You’ve broadened my social horizons, that’s for sure.” He opened the closet door, and I spent a few moments in artistic appreciation of his boxer-clad ass before hauling myself up out of the bed.

There was work to be done.

I called Hutch from the cordless in the bedroom, but he had still not had any luck digging up whatever chutsharak meant. I was beginning to think it was a dead end.

Just like Saint Anthony’s spear. Gui and I were going to have a little talk about lying to hunters, just as soon as I had some time.

Hutch did have other news, though. “Hey, it’s the end of the Sorrows’ three-year cycle this year.” His voice whistled slightly with excitement.

“Three-point-seven,” I corrected, shoving my feet into my second-best boots. My coat was still torn up, but better than nothing. I wriggled my toes, rocked up to my feet, and accepted a cup of coffee from Saul. It was thick black mud, and I could drink about half a cup before I needed food in me to balance out the caffeine. I nodded my thanks to Saul, bracing the phone against my shoulder. “So they’re in the Dark Time now.”

“Looks like it. Though if you ask me, those motherfuckers are always at thirteen o’clock. So, the Dark Time. Cleansing within Houses, hunting down apostates—and evocations of the Elder Gods.”

That rang a teensy bell. “Wait a second. Evocations?”

Saul’s eyebrows rose.

“Miguel de Ferrar says it’s SOP for a House to evoke their patron Elder at this time. Lots of demonic activity, that sort of thing. It’s when they believe the veil between this world and the world of the demons gets real thin, like Samhain for witches.”

I leaned back in the chair, taking a sip of coffee. “So. What’s necessary for an evocation of this magnitude? Say, if a Sorrow was doing it alone?”

“They can’t do it alone. That’s why houses are collective, it takes a full House to hold a door in the world open for an Elder to reach through even briefly. We’re talking granite floors carved with the Nine Seals, perfect-tallow candles, velvet robes, ambergris and amber incense, the whole nine. The whole nine, including gold laid in the circle for the Elder, the sacrifice, and the psychic energy needed to rip a hole in the ether.” Hutch was sounding more cheerful by the moment. He did indeed love his research.

She is attempting an evocation, hunter. She is fueling it with death and acquiring funding from the sale of bodily—

“So it’s a massive financial as well as sorcerous effort,” I said slowly. “Hutch, what’s the market like in Santa Luz for black-market organs?”

“Organs? What kind of—”

“Human organs. Kidneys, livers, that sort of thing. Stem cells, too.”

“Hell, I don’t know. But I can find out. Five minutes on the Internet and—”

“Never mind. Listen. Which patron Elder rules the end of this cycle? I know each House has their special dedication, but which one of the Ninety-Nine rules this particular cycle in general?”

Saul’s eyes met mine. I took a scalding mouthful of coffee.

I heard paper rustling and his breath whistling as he dug around for it. “I just had it, I just had a copy of Luvrienne’s Chaldeans open… ah-ha. Here we are.” More paper rustling. “Let’s see… if we calculate from the Chaldean calendar… carry the one… leap years… the Gregorian… okay. This year’s winner is… oh, shit.”

“What?” Hutch, I hate it when you say oh shit.

“It’s the Nameless.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And the cycle ends in four days.”

It felt like all the hair on my body was trying to stand straight up. It probably was. The charms tied in my hair tinkled. I set the coffee cup down on the nightstand. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I whispered. “The Nameless?”

“Destroyer of babies. Eater of worlds. He-Who-Rewards—”

“Shut up, Hutch.” I know the titles. I swallowed dryly. “Listen to me. Leave the bookstore right now. Go over to Galina’s. Stay there until I come get you. Take the Luvrienne and de Ferrar with you, I might call there. Okay?”

“Oh, God,” he moaned. “What have you gotten me into now?”

“I haven’t gotten you into anything, stupid. I just want you safe. Better safe than eviscerated. Get my drift?”

“Oh, shit, Jill. I hate you.”

“Galina will be glad to see you.”

“You bitch.” But I heard more paper rustle, and knew he was getting ready to do as I asked. “Okay. I’m on my way. I’ll leave everything locked. If you come in, try not to burn the place down, okay?”

“Hutch!” For once, I sounded scandalized. “I wouldn’t ever burn down a bookstore. Jeez, what kind of hunter do you think I am?”

“One who’s made it her personal mission to get me into trouble. Bye, Jilly.”

“Don’t call me that.” I hung up and stared at my bedroom phone, feeling my forehead pucker. Holy fuck. The Nameless. Why would a Sorrow break away from her House and do an evocation? It makes no sense.

Well, there was one person who could explain it. The catch, of course, was if I could trust her explanation.

Saul was silent. He stood by the window, sunlight touching his hair, making the silver sparkle and bringing out the richness of his skin. He had his hands in his jeans pockets, the black Cazotte Lives T-shirt strained at his shoulders. The tiny bottle of holy water on its silver chain at his chest glittered, throwing darts of hard light from the glass.

All right, Jill. I looked at the fall of sunlight against his hair. Think. What pattern do we have here? Having a pattern is the first step.

If what I was suspecting was really going down, why hadn’t there been bodies showing up earlier? Or if there were bodies, where were they now?

That isn’t a very comfortable line of thought.

I didn’t have enough pieces of the puzzle to make a pattern I was happy with logic-wise. Once Saul told me what the arrowhead was, I would have a little more. Hopefully.

And the thing, the clawed and furred thing that I couldn’t quite get a mental picture of no matter how hard I concentrated… what did that have to do with it? Was it a piece of Chaldean sorcery I hadn’t seen before? It wasn’t exactly likely, given the study of the Sorrows I’d done. But was the furry thing the chutsharak? If it was, and Belisa and the younger Sorrow were fleeing it—

No, that didn’t make any sense. Was the furry stinky thing unrelated to the murders? But no, its smell was gagging-strong over the scenes. That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re related. Does it?

I coiled the bullwhip at my side, checked my guns, my knives, and shrugged into my coat. I caught a fading whiff of iron, pre-Atlantean bloodlust, and furry stink on the tattered leather. “Saul?”

“Yeah?” He looked away from the window.

“It’s time. You can tell me what that thing is.”

“Come on out into the kitchen first.”

“Why?”

“You need breakfast, and Perry’s here.”

Jesus Christ. “What? He’s still here?”

His dark eyes were fathomless. “Of course he’s still here. He’s patched up the windows and everything, he thinks he should shadow you until this is over. I happen to agree.”

“What?” My jaw threatened to drop completely. The charms tinkled in my hair, and my palms itched with the memory of a slender piece of steel, reverberating with bloodlust. “He left the Monde Nuit and he’s in our kitchen and you want him to stay there?”