She spit out web and dropped over black edges on a viscous thread, returning to nod and lead us forward again.

Of course, Quick's long curved nails made a constant rat-scratching sound, which echoed until our party sounded like an advancing army of rodents the size of Godzilla. Luckily, as we progressed, the clack and clatter and groan and sputter of so many mechanical systems functioning overpowered any sound one of us could make.

Our progress stopped when I ran into Phasia and Quick into me because Sylphia had frozen. With our silence, we heard a strident cacophony like eighteen million machines being tortured by ghosts.

Phasia's snaky tendrils twined around my neck and head and her sickeningly supple tongue tasted my ear. I heard hissing vibrations rather than speech. "The central chamber for all the operating systems. Your last stage of the journey will bypass this, but you must go on alone."

Red working lights illuminated the area and my eyes slowly adjusted enough to see the door to another hatch.

"You can take this route to the outside," Sylphia said.

"Is it safe?" I asked.

"Safe enough for your breeds."

And if we went tumbling down into the maw of a furnace, say, or a garbage compactor, who would ever know what had happened to us?

I eyed the round metal hatch uneasily. "How do I get it open?"

Phasia's Victorian doll's face registered contempt. Then her flowing curls became writhing serpents that fanned out around the round door, fastened on, and twisted.

There yawned another black hole to nothing, but I was growing pretty tired of our escort service.

I shrugged and eyed Quick. He looked like a dog that was more than ready for "walkies."

I put my legs through the hole and pushed off with my hands, Alice down the rabbit hole. There was no lost kitten ahead of me but a big, bruising dog was hard behind me. We whirled away, riders on a water-park slide that wasn’t wet or in a water park.

Curiouser and curiouser.

We landed together in a cloud, a cloud that smelled of powder, and detergent, and perfume, and sweat, and precious bodily fluids. If I smelled all this, I could imagine what a wall of pungent and confusing scents was hitting Quick's super-sensitive nose.

I actually stifled a squeal as we plummeted to a stop. It had been rather fun. Then I blinked at the artificial daylight that was pressing down on me like a migraine headache.

It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust and determine where we were.

We were in a giant Dumpster-sized bin at the back of the Gehenna, surrounded by towels and bed linens. We'd left the sinister hotel that had held us prisoner by…a laundry chute.

Actually, struggling out of all that smothering fabric and heaving ourselves over the giant bin's edge onto the inner service courtyard's asphalt surface was the hardest part of our journey out of the hotel.

Quicksilver and I finally stood on the Strip sidewalk, buffeted by packs of tourists pushing trails up and down the famous street.

Against the horizon of neon lights, the Gehenna's signage stood out. Live and in person! it trumpeted. Margie, as You've Only Glimpsed Her: Nude and Dead. Again.

And here I'd taken Nightwine for a necrophiliac creep. That was before I'd met Cesar Cicereau, mob boss and hotelier…and father of one of the dead bodies in Sunset Park.

So who was the guy whose grave sweet Jean from my cottage mirror had shared? Who was the man to whom she had given her girlish heart and body? I kinda wondered that about myself too.

Who had made her own father want her dead?

And who had made it possible for werewolves to live on like vampires, eternally?

Ric knew a lot about werewolves and maybe vampires, and maybe more about me than I felt comfortable with. That could be because I wanted someone to know it for the first time in my life. Even though there was a lot about Ric I didn't know, and might never know.

Oh, well. Hell! Yeah, literally.

Chapter Forty-Three

Quicksilver and I hoofed it back to our Sunset Road home, footsore but happy to be together and free. I patted his head as I punched in the code that would open the gates to our cottage.

"They didn't much like you at the Gehenna, but I sure was glad you were there."

He made excited whining sounds that meant: let me in and at my food bowl, Mama!

Inside I found the cottage rooms neat, cool, empty, and peaceful.

Only the blinking red light on the cottage's non-vintage answering machine intruded on the homecoming mood.

First I filled Quick's water and food bowls.

Then I gobbled some cherries and grapes from the refrigerator and poured myself a gleaming goblet of Merlot. I've never been a wine snob and Hannibal Lector can keep his "nice Chianti" for the liver-eating among us, which were unfortunately too populous lately, post Millennium Revelation.

Then, ever the reporter, I skimmed the Las Vegas papers that had piled up and found a second front-section story that made me raise my eyebrows and then some.

Last…I listened to my messages.

First.

"My God! Del! Where are you? I'm frantic. Your cell is on voice mail. All I get here is an answering machine…"

Ric's voice. I replayed the message. Would I like to be a spider-sylph with him in my web! Truthfully, the sound of his voice snapped me the last bit out of a very bad dream.

I redialed instantly and got his cell phone.

"Del! You're back. What the hell happened? I've been frantic-"

Hey, I liked somebody being frantic about me, especially twice.

"I'm okay. It's been…surreal. Can we meet? Talk about it? I've drummed up some good leads."

"Leads? Do you have any idea? I need to see you."

"Right. I have lots of new info."

"Screw the info. I need to see you. See that you're all right."

"Where? When?"

"Now. Um, I don't know. Where do you want to be seen?"

"With you."

There was a long pause. "I know you've been through something. I don't know what. What will make it better?"

"You."

An even longer pause.

"How?"

"Just get over here."

"Your dog on the premises?"

"Yes, but he'll be off for a run by the time you get here. He's ready for one."

Ric arrived only ten minutes after Quicksilver left.

I let him in, kissed him with fresh layer of Lip Venom on, and then settled him down with his own glass of Merlot. Between my tingling lip gloss and the wine, he was licking his chops like Quicksilver enjoying a steak.

"You're going to make me an addict of a girly beauty product," he said. "So where have you been?"

"And where have you been? But me first."

"Suits me, believe it."

I told him about my abduction and brief magical stage career at the Gehenna. I didn't mention my new mirror-melting facilities.

"I'm not surprised," Ric said after a couple steadying sips of wine. "You did the right thing. Undercover credo: don't struggle when you're outmanned, pretend to go along, and then get the hell out. Plus, you've identified one of the corpses in Sunset Park. Good job."

I loved it when Ric treated me as an investigative equal. I'd been kidnapped by a couple of incompetent wise guys. It had been more freaky than threatening, and I had gotten myself free, with more knowledge than we'd had before. Of course, I didn't mention the mirror or the "girl I'd left behind…"

"So I come home to a pile of newspapers," I went on.

"I subscribe too."

"Then you must have read this little article."

I knew the small-type headline by heart: City detective attacked in sinkhole. I watched his face as he saw it: total LE (law enforcement) non-reaction. That's when I knew.