"After I'm done with you, you won't have enough molecules joined together to form an earlobe," she snapped back. The Egyptian dagger Niko had given her was in her hand and ready to taste blood.

"We never should've had two kids," I said to Niko. "One would've been plenty."

He had doffed his duster and was hefting a backpack over his long-sleeve gray shirt, the steel bands around his wrists barely showing. There was no room on his back for the sheath of his katana and he was carrying it in one hand. "Do not put this on me. I've raised one already."

Identical looks of contempt hit us both. "Okay," I said hurriedly. "I'm ready. Nik, you ready?" How much worse could Sawney be than a pissed-off vampire and puck joining forces against us? Then, all joking aside, I asked, "Robin, seriously, you up for this?" He'd insisted that he was. The poison had passed from his system days ago, the rib was cracked and ached, but it wouldn't hold him back in a fight.

"Up for it? Kid, I was on the beach at Troy. By the way, Achilles? Everything they say he was." He lifted his chin, gaze unwavering. "Believe me, I can handle this."

Poisoned, shot, nearly an extra in Hitchcock's The Birds, why would he want to handle it after all that? I didn't want to admit it, had been struggling with it for a long time, but I knew the reason. He was our friend. My friend. Jesus, I was such a girl. When the hell had I gotten so damn soft?

"Just don't get your ass killed, okay?" I ordered gruffly. I didn't wait for an answer. We'd scouted out the upper building and it was clear. Now it was time to head downward, and I did. I moved down the hall to the basement-access door and hit the stairs.

There was nothing there. Not if you didn't count the stench of Sawney and the revenants. It was enough to have me breathing through my mouth. "Where's the tunnel entrance?"

Niko had obtained a map of the tunnel system from Nushi, memorized it, gone over it with me several times, and then drawn it in permanent ink on the back of my hands and on my forearms. Following that, he'd stuffed the map in my pocket, saying, "In case we're separated. It's not enough, I fear, but it's the best I can do." Brothers believe in you, but they also know you. I know east from west, but that was the most I could hope for.

"In the southeast corner, beside the furnace."

Which would be one reason the smell was so strong. It was literally cooking against the surface of the furnace. I followed Niko and then helped him pry up the metal trapdoor in the floor. It wasn't locked, but it had been. The remnants of a padlock lay off to one side. The metal was heavy as hell in our hands and we eased it down soundlessly to stare into the depths. More stairs, but these were much older. Splintered wood framed with iron, they disappeared into the darkness. One whiff was all I needed and I nodded. "Home sweet home."

Robin stared over my shoulder and sighed plaintively, "At least the beach at Troy was warm. There was sun and sand."

"Bloodstained sand," Niko pointed out as he started down.

"It was still sand." Robin followed him. "In my life I've learned you take the small pleasures where you find them."

We weren't going to find any of those below, I knew. No small pleasures—only the very large satisfaction of putting Sawney down, this time for good. I waved Promise on. Having her at Robin's back might keep him more on his toes. Danger from all sides, that would keep the adrenaline pumping and the senses sharp and ready. And if I enjoyed the hunted look he threw over his shoulder before he melted into the murk, hey, that was just gravy.

When Promise vanished below, I turned on the flashlight I carried in my left hand and went down after them. Gun in one hand, torch in the other, I walked down the steps with care. As creaky as they looked, they were sturdy beneath my feet.

"All clear." Niko's low murmur came drifting up past stone and plaster walls. They once would've been completely covered with plaster and painted. Over the years that plaster had been soaked time and time again and had rotted. Handfuls were gone in some spots and in other areas nothing but stone remained.

There were splatters on the steps, the stone and the filthy plaster. Brown and dried. Blood. One helluva lot of blood. Sawney had picked his cave all right and it was a good one, up until a few revenants had gotten sloppy and poached from the campus. Then they'd actually killed and fed aboveground right at their front door. Sawney was insane, but he was smart. He wouldn't have ordered that or allowed it if he knew. You don't shit in your own backyard; every good two-legged predator knows that. That meant the discipline wasn't as all-encompassing as it seemed, at least not with all of them. It was a good sign. If we could take Sawney, the revenants might scatter. They would definitely be less of a threat if they reverted to typical revenant fighting skills. Every ghoul for himself.

At the bottom of the stairs the brown stains covered the entire floor, from wall to wall. I could picture it. The body, maybe only half dead, of the victim being tossed down the stairs like garbage. If they weren't dead at the top, I hoped like hell they were when they hit the bottom. What kind of world was it when that could be credited as an actual hope?

Sawney's world.

The tunnel wasn't as cramped as I thought it might be, but it made me claustrophobic nonetheless. There were no rooms, no alcoves, nothing—just one long range of tunnel. You could go forward or back, but that was it. There was no spreading out if someone caught you from the front and behind. It wasn't a good tactical position to be in. We were moving at a pace slow enough that I could walk backward with gun ready for any revenant that might be bringing home a doggy bag. It was a very real possibility. We'd chosen night for the assault as we hoped most of the revenants would be out hunting. Sawney might be as well, but if he was, once he caught dinner he'd come home with it. That's all we cared about—nailing him when he did.

If we'd come during the day, they all would've been down here. Not a good prospect for success. Revenants could and did pass during the daylight if they covered up with hooded jackets to hide slick flesh and wore sunglasses to conceal a milky flash of eye. If they kept their head down, they could slide through the crowds, but mixing with the populace was different than killing and dragging a body across campus. Nighttime was best for that sort of work.

This way we'd double our chances of coming across Sawney with considerably fewer revenants at his side. That didn't make the odds in our favor, but it did make them better. I'd take it.

"We're at the first split."

I stopped and turned to see the tunnel break off to the left and right. Both tunnels reeked, but the one to the left did just a little more. I jerked my head in that direction. "That way."

We moved and this time faster as I settled for snatching a glance over my shoulder every few seconds at the tunnel behind us. We had more space between us and the entrance now, as well as two tunnels for the revenants to choose from. They did use both from the smell of it, even if this was their main path of travel.

"He'll know we're coming," Robin said as his fine leather shoes trod silently on the brown, crusted path.

"How do you know that?"

He looked back at me, the stolen earring glittering in the beam of my flashlight, but it was Promise who beat him to the punch with the mildest of sarcasm. "Only because he has every time so far?"

"Good point," I admitted.

"He'll know, but he won't run," Niko said. "This is his true cave. He will not give it up, and in his mind it is not as if he has anything to fear from us."

That was the sad truth. Dead wolves, a skinned boggle, and the fact that he'd eaten a chunk of my chest were all proof of that. He had no reason to run. We were better than cable, the most entertainment he'd had in a long, long time. Several hundred years to be exact. The son of a bitch would probably be glad to see us—cackle insanely in glee. And why not? Where better to do anything insanely than in the subterranean leftovers of an asylum?