“You have friends,” she said. “That counts for a lot. I miss having someone I could work with. Davis was a good man.”

It took me a second to remember that Michael Davis was the partner that Legba had killed, but Karen hadn’t noticed my momentary confusion. She kept talking, her voice taking on a distance.

“I sure as hell never meant to get here. I started out trying to stop bad guys. Drug smugglers, kidnappers, terrorists. And honest to God, I think I did some good. After Mfume, I figured out there was a whole class of bad guys I couldn’t even touch. And because I wouldn’t let it go, I lost the bureau. Except Davis. And then I lost him too.

“We do what we have to,” she went on. “It’s not about whether we like it or not. Whether we’re particularly suited to it. We are what we are.”

“What doesn’t kill you, defines you,” I said and sank another ball. Pool was easier than it looked if I didn’t overthink it. Karen laughed.

“I hadn’t heard that version.”

“It’s from my ex-boyfriend’s favorite movie,” I said. “But I never bought that whole makes you stronger thing. Doesn’t leave room for cripples and maims you horribly.”

“Does it define you, Jayné?” Karen asked.

“What?”

“Fighting riders. Doing the things we do,” Karen said. “I wonder sometimes if this is really all that we are.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m not doing anything else these days. And before this, I was a college dropout with no family left who’d speak to me. By comparison, this is a pretty good gig.”

“It’s lonely, though,” Karen said. I looked up at her. Her pale blue eyes were locked on the distance. Her hair caught the neon of the signs and the flicker of the television. There were no lines on her face. She looked as young as me. Younger.

I thought of the last six months. Of being with Ex and Chogyi Jake and Aubrey. Of traveling the world with my best and only friends. Of the power I had now to pluck out a credit card and buy a car or a house or an airplane. And I thought about how my life had been before. I took another shot, then stood up with only a vague satisfaction. I’d almost run the table.

“It really is,” I said.

The inner doors of the club swung open, and the sound of the televisions was suddenly competing with old-school Nine Inch Nails remixed- brilliantly, hilariously-with Pat Benatar’s “Hell Is for Children.” I started laughing. Karen’s eyes lit, her mischievous smile returned, and she dropped her cue stick on the table.

“Come on,” she said, taking my hand. “At least let’s show the bastards we can go down dancing.”

TEN

The house had been transformed. Where once it had seemed empty and maybe a little sad, our best efforts had made it downright creepy. Chogyi and Ex had gone through the place, carving sigils and symbols around every doorway, every window. Even the electrical outlets bore arcane markings in black ink and knife scratch. We hadn’t gotten beds, but futon mattresses lay on the floors of the bedrooms. A black leather couch squatted in the living room. We didn’t have a television or DVD player yet, so it was facing a bare wall.

Out back, the shed had been converted into a prison cell. Security bars had been installed on the outside of the door, and an extra layer of two-by-fours encircled the structure, making it impossible to kick out a wall. On the inside, manacles were set in a deep hole of still-curing cement. Egg cartons and old rugs lined the walls and ceiling, swallowing sound.

On the upside, we had a refrigerator.

“Once we have Sabine here, it will be important not to go between the shed and the main house too often,” Ex said. His voice was thick and phlegmy. He sat on the couch with his hands between his knees and nodded to the back door. “The pathway itself isn’t warded. But, as long as Jayné is the one going to her, the risk is minimal.”

“Why’s that?” Karen said.

“She’s very difficult to see,” Chogyi Jake said. “Part of Eric’s protection of her.”

Karen nodded. Perhaps alone among us, the morning found her looking rested and ready for action. God knew I still felt pounded. We’d been out until sometime after four AM. That alone didn’t bother me; my circadian rhythms had resigned in disgust days before. But I’d had a little too much to drink, gotten a little dehydrated, and danced to Goth and industrial music more or less nonstop when I wasn’t drinking. Three men and two women had hit on me that I noticed. I’d had to give one guy a fake phone number to make him go away. The whole thing left me feeling wrung out.

Everyone looked pretty wasted, except Karen who could apparently live on alcohol and loud music. Ex and Chogyi Jake had spent almost the whole night in occult work, preparing the house and shed. Aubrey had done the lion’s share of the carpentry and appliance installation. He sat on the floor now, early afternoon light slanting in the window and catching the beginning of stubble on his cheek. I wondered what he’d look like with a beard. Tired, I thought, but not because of the facial hair.

“The wards on the house aren’t elegant,” Chogyi Jake was saying. I pulled my attention back to our little security briefing. “But they are effective. If we’d had another week, we could have done them in a less obtrusive way.”

“Effective beats pretty every time,” Karen said. “You did the right thing.”

“What haven’t we done?” I asked.

“The cargo van’s still just a cargo van,” Aubrey said. “And we don’t know where the girl is.”

“And we don’t have a plan for what to do once we have Sabine safe,” I said. “The part where we actually kill the rider is going to be important.”

Karen smiled at me.

“I’ve been planning that for years,” she said. “I’ve got it under control.”

“More to the point,” Chogyi Jake said. “We’re exhausted. Ex and Aubrey especially, but all of us.”

“All right,” Karen said. “It’s Friday. Why don’t we take the night off. All of us?”

Ex shook his head. No. His skin looked thin as parchment, and the severe ponytail was off center. The stubborn expression was one I recognized. If I’d slept more I’d have been more patient with him.

“Ex,” I said. “We aren’t any good to anyone if we pass out. You spent all last night getting the house ready. The night before that was casting Marinette out of Aubrey. How long have you been awake?”

“I’m fine,” he said, anger buzzing in his voice.

“Jayné,” Chogyi Jake said. He shook his head gently. I was pushing Ex, and he wasn’t in a mood to be pushed. Karen came to my rescue.

“Sorrow can be alleviated by good sleep, a bath, and a glass of wine,” she said. To my surprise, Ex barked out a laugh. Karen grinned and held out her hand. “Come on, Preacher-man. I’ll drive you home.”

I mouthed thank you to her as Ex grunted and rose to his feet.

“I’ve got some cleanup still to do,” Aubrey said. “Just nails and saws, but…”

“I can come back,” Karen said.

“Don’t,” I said. “We’ll take the rental. We’re fine.”

“You’re staying?” Ex said.

“I want to spend a little time in the place,” I said. “Get to know it.”

It wasn’t entirely true, and Ex seemed to know that. There was a flash of something-disapproval, I thought-but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Come on,” Karen said, taking Ex by the arm and leading him to the door. I watched them through the picture window as they got into Karen’s car and headed out along the long, winding driveway.

“Okay,” Aubrey said. “What exactly is his fucking problem?”

“Guilt,” I said. “He has once again failed to protect us. From ourselves, from the world. He feels responsible, and so he self-flagellates. And he lets us know he’s doing it because… I don’t know. Because it’s more fun that way? He’s pretty much always been like this, if you’ll recall.”