"Maybe nothing will happen," Stefan said, getting in the driver's seat and starting the van. "But sometimes they don't react well to being Kissed. Signora Marsilia used to prefer wolves to more mundane prey-that's why she lost her place in Italy and was sent here."

"Feeding off of werewolves is taboo?" I asked.

"No." He turned the van around and started back up the drive. "Feeding off the werewolf mistress of the Lord of Night is taboo."

He said Lord of Night as if I should know who that was, so I asked, "Who is the Lord of Night?"

"The Master of Milan-or he was last we heard."

"When was that?"

"Two hundred years, more or less. He exiled Signora Marsilia here with those who owed her life or vassalage."

"There wasn't anything here two hundred years ago," I said.

"I was told he stuck a pin in a map. You are right; there was nothing here. Nothing but desert, dust, and Indians." He'd adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see me, and his eyes met mine as he continued. "Indians and something we'd never encountered before, Mercy. Shapeshifters who were not moon called. Men and women who could take on the coyote's form as they chose. They were immune to most of the magics that allow us to live among humans undetected."

I stared at him. "I'm not immune to magic."

"I didn't say you were," he answered. "But some of our magics pass you by. Why do you think you stood against Marsilia's rage when the rest of us fell?"

"It was the sheep."

"It wasn't the sheep. Once upon a time, Mercedes, what you are would have been your death sentence. We killed your kind wherever we found them, and they returned the favor." He smiled at me, and my blood ran chill at the expression in those cool, cool eyes. "There are vampires everywhere, Mercedes, and you are the only walker here."

I'd always thought of Stefan as my friend. Even in the heart of the vampires' seethe I hadn't questioned his friendship, not really. Stupid me.

"I can drive myself home," I told him.

He returned his gaze to the street in front of him and laughed softly as he pulled the van over. He got out and left it running. I loosened my grip on Samuel's shoulder and forced myself away from the safety of the back bench seat.

I didn't see Stefan or smell him when I got out of the van and moved to the driver's seat, but I could feel his eyes on my back. I started to drive off, then pulled my foot off the gas and stomped on the brakes.

I rolled down the window and spoke to the darkness. "I know you don't live there-you smell of woodsmoke and popcorn. Do you need a ride home?"

He laughed. I jumped, then jumped again when he leaned in the window and patted my shoulder.

"Go home, Mercy," he said, and was gone-for real this time.

I chugged along behind semis and Suburbans and thought about what I'd just learned.

I knew that vampires, like the fae, and werewolves and their kindred were all Old World preternatural creatures. They'd come over for the same reasons most humans did: to gain wealth, power, or land, and to escape persecution.

During the Renaissance, vampires had been an open secret; being thought one added power and prestige. The cities of Italy and France became havens for them. Even so, their numbers were not great. Like werewolves, humans who would become vampires died more often than they accomplished their goal. Most of the princes and nobles believed to be vampires were just clever men who saw the claim as a way to discourage rivals.

The Church saw it differently. When the Spanish invasion of the New World filled the coffers of the Church so they no longer had to depend upon the favor of the nobles, they went after the vampires as well as any other preternatural creature they could find.

Hundreds of people died, if not thousands, accused of vampirism, witchcraft, or lycanthropy. Only a small percentage of those who died actually were vampires, but those losses were still severe-humans (lucky for them) breed much faster than the undead.

So vampires came to the New World, victims of religious persecution like the Quakers and the Puritans-only different. Werewolves and their moon-called kindred came to find new territory to hunt. The fae came to escape the cold iron of the Industrial Revolution, which followed them anyway. Together these immigrants destroyed most of the preternatural creatures who had lived in the Americas, until at last, even the bare stories of their existence were mostly gone.

My people, apparently, among them.

As I took the on-ramp onto the highway to Richland, I remembered something my mother once told me. She hadn't known my father very well. In my mostly empty jewelry box was a silver belt buckle he'd won in a rodeo and given her. She told me his eyes were the color of sunlit root beer, and that he snored if he slept on his back. The only other thing I knew about him was that if someone had found his wrecked truck sooner, he might have lived. The wreck hadn't killed him outright. Something sharp had sliced open a big vein, and he bled to death.

There was a noise from the back of the van. I jerked the rearview mirror around until I could see the backseat. Samuel's eyes were open, and he was shaking violently.

Stefan hadn't told me what the bad reaction to the Kiss might be, but I was pretty sure I was about to find out. I was already passing the exit for Columbia Park, but I managed to take it without getting rear-ended.

I drove until I came to a small parking lot next to a maintenance shed. I parked, killed the lights, then slipped between the seats of the van and approached Samuel cautiously.

"Sam?" I said, and for a heartbeat his struggles slowed down.

His eyes gleamed in the shadows of the van's depths. I smelled adrenaline, terror, sweat, and blood.

I had to fight not to flee. Part of me knew that so much fear must have a cause. The rest of me figured out why some werewolves had a bad reaction to the vampire's Kiss-waking up unable to move, his last memory being something sucking his blood was bound to hit every panic button in a werewolf's arsenal.

"Shhh," I said, crouching in the space between the second seat and the sliding door. "The vampires are gone. What you are feeling is something they can do with their bite. It makes their victims passive so they can feed without drawing attention. It's wearing off now-Stefan said it will leave no ill effects."

He was beginning to listen to me. I could see it in the softening of his shoulders-then my cell phone rang.

I answered it, but the sudden noise had been too much. The van bumped and bobbed as Samuel scrambled over the backseat and into the luggage space behind the seat.

"Hey," I said, keeping my voice soft.

"Mercy." It was Warren, his voice urgent. "You need to come here as soon as you can-and bring Samuel."

Samuel was making harsh noises behind the seat. Changing was painful for the wolves at the best of times-when they are comfortable and eager to hunt. Changing when the air is thick with fear and blood would not be good. Not good at all.

"Samuel is indisposed," I said, as he screamed, a roar of agony and despair. He was fighting the change.

Warren swore. "Tell me this then. Is Adam afraid someone in the pack betrayed him?"

"That's my fault," I said. "Warren, is the pack coming to your house?"

He grunted. I assumed it was a yes.

"Tell Adam."

"I made steaks and fed him about an hour ago, and he's sleeping it off. I tried to wake him up before I called, but he's shut down hard in a healing sleep. I don't know what it would take to wake him up."

"Dr. Cornick would," I muttered, wincing at the noises Sam was making in the back of the van. "But he's not available to come to the phone right now."

"It's all right, Mercy." He sounded suddenly calm. "I'll take care of it. If that's Samuel in the middle of an involuntary change, you need to get away from there and give him time to calm down."