I had pegged them both at about two or three hundred years old, by inference and rumor. Rick had controlled those rumors, evidently. With age came strength and power. He'd kept his hidden.

Rick—Ricardo, I suddenly saw the difference—studied his rival, as if he could peel back the skin, yank out the secrets he wanted simply by looking. When Arturo took a step back, his hand touching his cheek, rubbing it almost like it hurt, I missed what had happened, if anything had actually happened. Then I smelled it: blood in the air. Arturo looked at his hand, which was covered by a sheen of red. A film also covered his cheek, his jaw—all his exposed skin. He was sweating blood.

Teeth bared, fangs showing, Arturo stared at Rick in a panic. Was Rick doing this? Making Arturo sweat blood? Drawing the substance out of his body?

When Arturo glared back at Rick, attempting to stun him, or hypnotize him, or knock him unconscious like those vampires in the hallway, or draw blood through his pores—he couldn't. It didn't work. He didn't have the years, the power.

"I followed Coronado into this country, Arturo. I have age," Rick said.

Five hundred years old. He was over five hundred fucking years old. Arturo gaped at him. Arturo, who was only two or three hundred years old. Only.

Rick carried his five centuries well. He didn't let on that the weight of those years pressed on him. The old ones tended to get smug, becoming bored and arrogant as they grew powerful and isolated. Not him. He acted like he still had discoveries to make. Like the world was still fresh to him. He'd misled us all.

"You don't," Arturo said in a breathless tone that betrayed his belief—and his fear. He wiped his cheeks, rubbed his hands, smearing red over his skin, but he couldn't wipe it off.

When Rick stood and stepped toward the younger vampire, Arturo stumbled back, losing all his grace, almost falling. Rick pressed forward, grabbing hold of Arturo's collar, hoisting him upright, trapping him. He locked gazes with the other vampire, and Arturo froze. Like he was only mortal, a vulnerable human trapped in a vampire's stare.

Rick had intimidated him into submission. Holy cow.

"Ricardo. Step away from him, please."

A curve of color that had seemed just another part of a tapestry moved forward. Mercedes Cook, emerging from the shadows. Wearing a tailored jacket, long skirt, and heeled boots, she walked with confidence, head high, eyes half-lidded, like she was onstage, on show. And she left no doubt as to who was really in control here.

Of course she hadn't left Denver, not with the situation still unresolved.

"Mercedes," Rick said, grimacing. He didn't turn away from his quarry. "What's her price? How much are you paying for her to keep you in power?"

"Price? I'm not paying anything! She has no power here!" But he glanced at her, uncertain.

"Mercedes?" Rick said again, this time questioning the woman.

Her poise was deeply practiced, unflappable. The end of the world would not shake her. Humanity would destroy itself with nuclear bombs or rampant plagues, and vampires like her would stand among the ashes, imperious.

"Arturo and I haven't made a deal. Yet. Arturo? It's not too late."

Still dangling in Rick's grip, Arturo stared, his eyes widening. "It was you. All along, it was you."

And I saw it then myself: the nightclub attacks, the bodies left in the warehouse for the police to find, all of it giving the impression that Arturo was losing control. Indirectly, she'd inspired Rick to rebel. She'd made Arturo seem—and maybe even feel—weak. All so she could stroll in here and offer to rescue him.

"Kitty, what's going on?" Hardin whispered.

I shook my head. I'd have to explain it later.

Rick stared, like the same realization had just dawned on him as well. He said, "Why? Why back him?"

"The known quantity is always to be preferred," she said. "Always maintain status quo, when the status quo in question is sufficiently under control."

"Under control!" Arturo said. He kept looking around for followers who were all unconscious or dead. "Whose control? No one controls me!"

"The Long Game put you here, Arturo, and the Long Game will keep you here because you are weak."

Arturo's expression turned cold. Frozen and disbelieving.

For my part, I wished I could hit pause and rewind to play that bit over. The Long Game?

"What interest do they have in Denver?" Arturo said, his voice fallen to almost a whisper. "Denver is nothing to them."

"Even a pawn may threaten the king."

She glanced at me, then, and I almost squeaked. I had nothing to do with any of this, I was an innocent bystander, an accidental witness who wanted nothing more than to flee.

Her attention on me lasted less than a second, less than the blink of an eye. How had she put so much meaning in that short a space of time? Then she was regarding Arturo again.

"You've reveled in your power here for quite some time by local standards. As long as Denver's been a city, you've been here. You've grown comfortable, complacent. You've lost sight. You've forgotten that this isn't about you." She approached them step by step, like a lion. No, a jackal waiting to clean up the pieces.

"You—" he spoke to Rick, "you're fighting them. You've always been fighting them, haven't you? You'll keep this city out of their hands."

"I will."

Arturo's smile changed, thinned, turned sly. It became the familiar smug expression he usually wore. "Then I concede. Denver is yours. I'll leave here forever."

Rick said, "Mercedes, you're here as a witness. Is that enough? Do you accept that I am now Master of Denver?"

Mercedes's voice chimed with hidden laughter. "Where will you go, Arturo?"

"Back to Philadelphia. I have friends there."

"Friends like me?" she said. "Friends who are also playing the game? Will they want you back?" Arturo's expression turned stricken.

She was two strides away from Rick. She'd never said her age. I'd guessed that it was young, less than a hundred years. But she was an actress, and she had disguised herself. She carried herself with a confidence that exceeded even Rick's. Having seen what Rick could do to Arturo, I could almost imagine what she could do to Rick.

I was way out of my league here. I knew that, I accepted that. But I also knew that I absolutely did not want this woman poking her sticky undead fingers into my city.

I sprang forward, spray bottle in one hand, cross in the other, both stuck out in front of me, braced in my grip like they were Ben's gun. "Stop."

Mercedes arched a perfect, questioning brow at me. She almost seemed amused.

"It's holy water," I said.

"Oh my." She smiled, but she didn't move.

What the hell good was a spray bottle of holy water going to do? She could bat it out of my hand in a second.

Hardin stepped up beside me. "Stop! All of you, put your hands up!"

Mercedes smiled at Rick. "You have minions. That's so sweet."

Rick said, "Mercedes, yes or no: Do you accept that I am now Master of Denver?"

"What does it matter if she accepts it or not?" I said, losing patience. "She's not even from here!"

"Do not ignore me! I said hands up!" Hardin sounded flustered.

Something happened. Rick moved, then a shadow fell over Hardin, and her crossbow disappeared. He broke the weapon over his knee and tossed the pieces aside like they were nothing.

"Hey!" she said.

"Both of you stay out of this," Rick said roughly. "You have no idea what's happening here."

"Explain this to me, Kitty," Hardin said.

"Rick wants to be the new Master of Denver. Mercedes wants to stop him."

"I'm here to arrest that guy." She nodded at Arturo. "That's all I want."

Rick never took his eyes off the other vampires. "If anyone but me removes Arturo, my authority here will be suspect. Your answer, Mercedes."