"Oui."

"Then let's use the law against them."

"What do you propose, ma petite?"

"This is a direct challenge to our authority. The council has forbidden any Master of the City to fight in the United States until the law decides whether you guys are staying legal or not."

"You're not suggesting that we fight them?" Byron said.

"I'm saying that we act in accordance with the law," I said.

"Don't you understand, Anita," Byron said, "the Harlequin are who we turn to when the bad things happen, sort of. They are the police for us."

"When the police go bad, they aren't police anymore," I said.

"What are they?" he asked.

"Criminals."

"You cannot seriously suggest that we are to fight the Harlequin?" Requiem said.

"Not exactly," I said.

"What exactly then?"

I looked up at Jean-Claude. "What would you do if someone powerful moved in on us like this?"

"I would contact the council in hopes of avoiding open war."

"Then contact them," I said.

"I thought not everyone on the council liked us," Nathaniel said.

"They do not, but if the Harlequin are breaking the law, then that would take precedence over more petty concerns," Jean-Claude said.

"Have you forgotten how petty the council can be?" Requiem said.

"Non, but not all on the council have forgotten what it means to live in the real world."

"Which council member will you contact first?" Byron asked.

There was a knock on the door. All of us with heartbeats jumped. Nathaniel gave that nervous laugh, and I said, "Shit."

Lisandro's voice: "There's a delivery for you, Jean-Claude."

"It can wait," he said, his voice showing some of the strain.

"The letter with it says you're expecting it."

"Enter," Jean-Claude said.

Lisandro opened the door, but it was Clay who walked in with a white box in his hands. A box just like the one I'd found in the rest-room. I think I stopped breathing, because when I remembered to breathe, it came in a gasp.

Clay looked at me. "What's wrong?"

"Who delivered this?" Jean-Claude asked.

"It was just sitting by the holy-item check desk."

"And you just brought it in here," I said, my voice rising.

"No, give me some credit. We checked it out. The note says Jean-Claude is expecting it."

"What is it?" I asked, but was afraid I knew.

"A mask," Clay said. He was looking at all of us now, trying to see why we were so upset.

"What color is it?" Jean-Claude's voice was as empty as I'd ever heard it.

"White."

The tension level dropped a point or two.

"With little gold musical notes all over it. Didn't you order it?"

"In a way, I suppose I did," Jean-Claude said.

I stared up at him and moved away enough so I could see his face clearly. "What do you mean, you suppose you did?"

"I said I wanted to meet with them, did I not?"

"Yeah, but so what?"

"That's what this mask means, ma petite. It means they wish to meet, not to kill us, or torment, but to talk."

"But how did they know what you'd said?" Nathaniel asked.

Jean-Claude looked at me, and there was something in that look that made me say, "They're listening to us."

"I fear so."

"When was the mask delivered?" Requiem asked.

Clay was still looking at us, as if waiting for us to throw him a clue. "We're not sure. I went on break about thirty minutes ago. It must have come while I was off the door."

"How long have you been back on the door?" Jean-Claude asked.

"Maybe five minutes."

"They were listening," Requiem said.

"They knew what Jean-Claude was going to say," Byron said, and his voice held more panic than most vampires would have shown. He just couldn't quite keep all the emotion out of his face and voice.

"What is going on?" Clay asked.

"Something big and bad has come to town," Lisandro said. "They won't tell us about it, but they'll expect us to fight it, and die because of it." His voice sounded bitter.

"What are the rules about telling our soldiers about… them?" I asked.

Jean-Claude took in a deep, deep breath, and shook, almost like a bird settling its feathers. "Mutable."

"Mutable—oh, it depends."

He nodded.

Then I had a smart idea. "I believe we'd know if someone was listening in on us metaphysically, especially another vampire."

"They are very powerful, ma petite."

"Lisandro," I said.

He came to his version of attention; he gave me all his concentration. There was a demand to his dark eyes. If I widowed his wife, he wanted to know why. I thought he deserved to know why, but first things first. "I need this room swept for bugs."

"What kind of bugs?"

"Anything that would let someone listen to us."

"You think they are relying on technology, ma petite?"

"I don't believe that any vampire could spy on us like this without our sensing it."

"They are very powerful, ma petite."

"They are fucking ghosts, lover," Byron said.

"Fine, they're ghosts, but it doesn't do any harm to look for technology. If the room is clean, then we can blame it on spooky stuff, but let's look for tech first."

Jean-Claude looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "It would be interesting if they used listening devices."

"Did you look for bugs in London?" Nathaniel asked.

Byron and Requiem exchanged a look, then both shook their heads. "It never occurred to us, duckies. I mean this is the bloody…" Byron licked his lips and stopped himself before saying their name, just in case. "They are ghosts, bogeys, walking nightmares. You don't expect the bogeyman to need technology."

"Exactly," I said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It means that most vampires don't use technology much. If these guys use it a lot, then it would seem like magic, if you didn't know what it was."

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," Requiem said.

I nodded.

He stared at me. "My evening star, you are full of surprises."

"I just don't think like a vampire."

"Does Rafael have someone he trusts to clean a room of such things?" Jean-Claude asked.

"Yes," Lisandro said.

"Then do it."

"How soon do you need it?"

"We said we wanted to meet with them a minute or two ago, and the mask arrives with the invitation," I said.

"So, like yesterday," Lisandro said.

"Or sooner," I said.

He nodded. "I'll make the call." He hesitated at the door. "I'll put someone on the door, and I'll use a phone outside the club."

"Good thinking," I said.

"It's what I do." Then he was gone.

"Where do you want this?" Clay asked, motioning with the box.

"Put it on the desk with the other one, I guess."

He put it beside the first one. Jean-Claude didn't seem to want to touch it. I was the one who opened it and found the white mask staring sightless up at me. But this one looked more finished, with gilt musical notes decorating the face. I touched a note and found it was raised above the rest of the mask. The note with it said only, "As you requested."

"Is there writing inside the mask?" Jean-Claude asked.

I lifted it out of the tissue paper. Inside the smooth bow of the mask was writing. "Do not read it out loud, ma petite."

I didn't, I just handed it to him. Inside the mask was written "Circus of the Damned," and a date that was two days away. The date was written backward with the day first, then the month, then the year like they wrote it in Europe. They'd chosen one of Jean-Claude's own businesses for the meeting. Was that good, bad, or neither? Did it mean we had home-court advantage, or that they were planning to torch the place? I wanted to ask, but didn't want our enemies to hear the question. If we did find bugs in this office, we'd have to look everywhere. All the offices, all the businesses, my house, all of it.