I crept back across the loft to the desk on the other side of Adan's bed. In the last drawer I checked, at the very back, I found the Vampire Fred's personal card. It proclaimed him Manfred von Hauptman, Proprietor, The Cannibal Club.

I used my witch sight to look at the card and found it dripping with the vampire's black juice. The scent should be strong enough for Moon Dog.

When I turned around, Adan was standing behind me wearing black boxer-briefs. His eyes were black and he was holding an expensive, titanium kitchen knife at his side.

I jumped back, banging into the desk, and fumbled the forty-five out of its holster. Adan just stood there, a flat smile doing ugly things to his face.

"Have you come to give me your skin, lover?" he asked in the same graveyard voice I'd heard the day before.

I brought the heavy gun up and sighted between those empty black, shark eyes. I willed juice and resolve into my arm to hold it steady. The eyes fixed on the stainless-steel barrel, and the motherfucker took a step back.

"Get the fuck out, or your host gets a lobotomy." I was bluffing, of course. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to pull the trigger on Adan, but I was sure the hollow-points wouldn't make it past his father's wards. I was just hoping the spirit wouldn't know that.

The eyes bore into me. I thumbed the hammer on the forty-five and stared back.

The eyes dropped to the gun again, and the creature took another step back. "Come to me in the spirit world, lover," he said. "I'll be waiting for you." Then the eyes cleared and the knife dropped to the floor point-first. It thunked into the hardwood and wobbled.

I stood perfectly still, holding my breath. Adan looked right through me, then turned and looked around. He saw the knife and jumped back. He backed into a corner near the bed, panic draining the color from his face, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, his terrified eyes darting around the room. "Is somebody there? What's going on?" He moved forward, bent down and tore the knife out of the floor. Gripping it tightly in one hand, he checked the bathroom and the closet. I didn't move.

Finally, he crept downstairs. I heard him moving around the apartment, turning on every light in the place. He walked over to the front door, and I cursed myself for leaving it unlocked. I heard him lock the door and draw the chain, and then I heard him breathing heavily again.

Adan didn't come back upstairs. After a few minutes, he stopped searching the loft, and I heard him settle onto the sofa. I waited another fifteen minutes or so, and then crept to the edge of the loft and looked down. He was sitting on the couch, holding the knife at his side. I watched him like that for more than an hour before he finally fell asleep.

Moving as slowly and quietly as I could, every nerve on edge, I reached out with the juice and covered the nick left by the knife in the hardwood. My housecleaning spell wouldn't fix it, and I just had to hope the cosmetic job would hold up to scrutiny. I went downstairs and got the hell out of there, reversing the B amp;E spell to lock up behind me.

I was shaking as I drove out to Santa Monica. I could have used a little juice to make it all go away, but I just tightened my jaw and choked it down. Nine I found Moon Dog on the pier and we retreated to a low cinderblock building on the carnival side that was presently serving as his home. The building might have once been a concession stand or souvenir shop, but now it was just an unused storeroom. The security guys let Moonie crash there and even threw him a few bucks to watch the place. I guess he was cheaper than keeping a Doberman.

I handed Moon Dog the vampire's personal card. He sniffed at it, rubbed it against his nose, dabbed it against his tongue. Finally he nodded and handed the card back to me.

"Yeah, I think this will work. When I track, it's mostly the smell of the juice I'm following, and this has plenty on it. Probably gets his dinner all hot and bothered. I'll have to shift to track him, though."

"How's this going to work? You need me to drive you around, or can you track him on your own?"

Moonie shrugged. "I can probably pick up the scent anywhere in L.A. But if he's a ways off and you want me to find him before dawn, I'll need a lift. I move faster doggie-style than I do in the chair, but it'll still take a while if I have to hump it across town."

"How will I know?"

"Well, if I run off you know I don't need a ride."

"Okay, and how will I know where to go if I have to drive you?"

"Just drive, babe. One bark means next right, two means next left, three means turn around. If I lick my balls, that means stop."

"Jesus, Moonie."

"I'm just fucking with you, Domino. If I growl, that means stop."

I nodded.

"I can, though, lick my balls."

"Too much information, Moonie."

"Okay, babe, time to unleash the beast within."

I nodded and went outside for a smoke. I'd seen Moon Dog shift before, and it didn't bother me, much, but he would have to ditch his clothes. It turns out a naked sixty-year-old double-amputee bum is a far more horrific sight than the shapeshifting process.

Inside the building, clothes were discarded, the wheelchair creaked, skin stretched, bones popped and hair sprouted faster than Honey's cannabis plants. It took a couple minutes.

Moon Dog nosed open the steel door of the building and padded outside. In the movies, werewolves are always pony-size monsters with six-inch fangs and hell in their eyes. Moonie looked like a wolf. He was large for a wolf-probably a buck-twenty, buck-thirty-but he was still a wolf. He'd have been a popular attraction at the zoo, but he wouldn't have sent people away screaming. He was black, with a silver ruff and muzzle, and his eyes were a shining lupine-yellow.

He looked up at me and his tongue lolled out one side of his mouth. I crouched and offered him the card, and he sniffed at it. Then he raised his head and sniffed at the air. He turned in circles a couple times and then sank down on his belly, looking at me, and whined.

"Okay, you need a ride I guess," I said.

Moonie chuffed.

I got my car and brought it around. Moon Dog loped over and vaulted into the car. Just a girl and her wolf out for an early-morning drive.

I headed east on Santa Monica Boulevard. Moon Dog sat in the passenger seat, head out facing into the wind, tongue flapping like a wet flag. There wasn't much traffic at this time of the night, and we made good time. After about fifteen minutes, Moonie barked twice and I pulled into the left lane and stopped at the light. A young woman on a crotch-rocket wearing bright blue leathers pulled up beside us. She raised the visor on her full-face helmet.

"Nice dog," she said.

"Thanks," I said. Moon Dog chuffed at her.

"What's his name?"

"Moon Dog."

"That's cute," she said and smiled. Moonie whined. "What kind of dog is he?"

"Mutt."

Moon Dog swiveled his head around and looked at me. He growled.

The woman laughed. "He doesn't like that."

"He thinks he's a wolf."

"Aw, is she mean to you, puppy?" the woman crooned. Moon Dog whined and lowered his head.

"Don't feel sorry for him," I said. "He can lick his own balls."

The woman glared at me. "Bitch," she said. She smiled at Moonie, the light changed and she sped off, riding a wheelie down to the next light.

Moon Dog glowered at me and bared his teeth.

I shrugged. "See? Women just aren't that impressed with the ball-licking."

We got on the Harbor Freeway and drove into Watts. We exited at East Century and took a right on Compton and a left on East 108th. We drove past the graffiti-clad security doors of storefronts locked down for the night. We drove past rusted-out cars on blocks and brothers drinking forties around trashcan bonfires. I wasn't surprised we were heading deep into Papa Danwe's territory. It was late, and while the Haitian's juice was still raising hell in the streets, most of the civilians had retreated to their homes and barred the doors to wait for morning.