I had to check the locked door. Rattle it, poke at the lock, as if I knew how to pick locks. See if any bars were loose, though I could never have squeezed through the small window anyway.

I checked the door because I could not resist it. It was the same urge that made you rattle your trunk after you locked your keys inside.

I have been on the wrong side of a lot of locked doors. Not a one of them had just opened for me, but there was always a first time. Yeah, I should live so long. Scratch that; bad phrase.

A sound brought me back to the cell and its seeping, damp walls. A rat scurried against the far wall. Another peered around the edge of the steps, whiskers twitching. I guess you can't have a dungeon without rats, but I would have been willing to give it a try.

Something else pattered around the edge of the steps; in the torchlight I thought it was a dog. It wasn't. A rat the size of a German shepherd sat up on its sleek black haunches. It stared at me, huge paws tucked close to its furry chest. It cocked one large, black button eye at me. Lips drew back from yellowed teeth. The incisors were five inches long, blunt-edged daggers.

I yelled, “Jean-Claude!”

The air filled with high-pitched squeals, echoing, as if they were running up a tunnel. I stepped to the far edge of the stairs. And I saw it. A tunnel cut into the wall, almost man-high. Rats poured out of the tunnel in a thick, furry wave, squealing and biting. They flowed out and began to cover the floor.

“Jean-Claude!” I beat on the door, jerked at the bars, everything I had done before. It was useless. I wasn't getting out. I kicked the door and screamed, “Dammit!” The sound echoed against the stone walls and almost drowned out the sound of thousands of scrambling claws.

“They will not come for you until we are finished.”

I froze, hands still on the door. I turned, slowly. The voice had come from inside the cell. The floor writhed and twisted with furry little bodies. High-pitched squeals, the thick brush of fur, the clatter of thousands of tiny claws filled the room. Thousands of them, thousands.

Four giant rats sat like mountains in the writhing furry tide. One of them stared at me with black button eyes. There was nothing ratlike in the stare. I had never seen wererats before, but I was betting that I was seeing them now.

One figure stood, legs half-bent. It was man-size, with a narrow, ratlike face. A huge naked tail curved around its bent legs like thick fleshy rope. It-no, he, definitely he-extended a clawed hand. “Come down and join us, human.” The voice sounded thick, almost furry, with an edge of whine to it. Each word precise and a little wrong. Rats' lips are not made for talking.

I was not coming down the steps. No way. I could taste my heart in my throat. I knew a man who survived a werewolf attack, nearly died, and didn't become a werewolf. I know another man who was barely scratched and became a weretiger. Odds were, if I was so much as scratched, in a month's time I would be playing fur-face, complete with black button eyes and yellowish fangs. Dear God.

“Come down, human. Come down and play.”

I swallowed hard. It felt like I was trying to swallow my heart. “I don't think so.”

It gave a hissing laugh. “We could come up and fetch you.” He strode through the lesser rats, and they parted for him frantically, leaping on top of each other to avoid his touch. He stood at the edge of the steps, looking up at me. His fur was almost a honey-brown color, streaked with blond. “If we force you off the steps, you won't like it much.”

I swallowed hard. I believed him. I went for my knife and found the sheath empty. Of course, the vampires had taken it. Dammit.

“Come down, human, come down and play.”

“If you want me, you're going to have to come get me.”

He curled his tail through his hands, stroking it. One clawed hand ran through the fur of his belly, and stroked lower. I stared very hard at his face, and he laughed at me.

“Fetch her.”

Two of the dog-size rats moved towards the stairs. A small rat squealed and rolled under their feet. It gave a high, piteous shriek, then nothing. It twitched until the other rats covered it. Tiny bones snapped. Nothing would go to waste.

I pressed against the door, as if I could sink through it. The two rats crept up the steps, sleek well-fed animals. But there was no animal in the eyes. Whatever was there was human, intelligent.

“Wait, wait.”

The rats hesitated.

The ratman said, “Yes?”

I swallowed audibly. “What do you want?”

“Nikolaos asked that we entertain you while you wait.”

“That doesn't answer my question. What do you want me to do? What do you want?”

Lips curled back from yellowed teeth. It looked like a snarl, but I think it was a smile. “Come down to us, human. Touch us, let us touch you. Let us teach you the joys of fur and teeth.” He rubbed claws through the fur of his thighs. It drew my attention to him, between his legs. I looked away, and heat rushed up my skin. I was blushing. Dammit!

My voice came out almost steady. “Is that supposed to be impressive?” I asked.

He froze for an instant, then snarled, “Get her down here!”

Great, Anita, antagonize him. Imply that his equipment is a little undersized.

His hissing laugh ran up my skin in cold waves. “We are going to have fun tonight. I can tell.”

The giant rats came up the steps, muscles working under fur, whiskers thick as wire, wriggling furiously. I pressed my back against the door and began to slide down the wood. “Please, please don't.” My voice sounded high and frightened, and I hated it.

“We've broken you so soon; how very sad,” the ratman said.

The two giant rats were almost on me. I braced my back against the door, knees tucked up, heels planted, the rest of the foot slightly raised. A claw touched my leg, I flinched, but I waited. It had to be right. Please, God, don't let them draw blood. Whiskers scraped along my face, the weight of fur on top of me.

I kicked out, both feet hitting solidly in the rat. It raised onto its hind legs and toppled backwards. It tittered, tail lashing. I threw myself forward and smashed it in the chest. The rat tumbled over the edge.

The second rat crouched, making a sound low in its throat. I watched its muscles bunch, and I went down to one knee and braced. If it leaped on me standing, I'd go over the edge. I was only inches from the drop.

It leaped. I dropped flat to the floor and rolled. I shoved feet and one hand into the warmth of its body and helped it along. The rat plummeted over me and out of sight. I heard the frightened shrieks as it fell. The sound was a thick “thumpth.” Satisfying. I doubted either of them were dead. But it was the best I could do.

I stood, putting my back to the door again. The ratman wasn't smiling anymore. I smiled at him sweetly, my best angelic smile. He didn't seem impressed.

He made a motion like parting air, smooth. The lesser rats flowed forward with his hand. A creeping brown tide of furry little bodies began to boil up the steps.

I might be able to get a few of them, but not all of them. If he wanted them to, they'd eat me alive, one tiny crimson bite at a time.

Rats flowed around my feet, scrambling and arguing. Tiny bodies bumped against my boots. One stretched itself thin, reaching up to grab the edge of my boot. I kicked it off. It fell squealing over the edge.

The giant rats had dragged one of their injured friends off to one side. The rat wasn't moving. The other I had thrown off was limping.

A rat leaped upward, claws hooked in my blouse. It hung there, claws trapped in the cloth. I could feel its weight over my breast. I grabbed it around its middle. Teeth sank into my hand until they met, grinding skin, missing bone. I screamed, jerking the rat away from me. It dangled from my hand like an obscene earring. Blood ran down its fur. Another rat leaped on my blouse.

The ratman was smiling.

A rat was climbing for my face. I grabbed it by the tail and pulled it away. I yelled, “Are you afraid to come yourself? Are you afraid of me?” My voice was thin with panic, but I said it. “Your friends are injured doing something you're afraid to do. Is that it? Is it?”

The giant rats were staring from me to the ratman. He glanced at them. “I am not afraid of a human.”

“Then come up, take me yourself, if you can.” The rat on my hand dropped away in a spout of blood. The skin between thumb and forefinger was ripped apart.

The lesser rats hesitated, staring wildly around. One was halfway up my jeans. It dropped to the floor.

“I am not afraid.”

“Prove it.” My voice sounded a little steadier, maybe about nine years old instead of five.

The giant rats were staring at him, intent, judging, waiting. He made that same cutting-air motion in reverse. The rats squeaked and stood on hind legs staring around, as if they couldn't believe it, but they began to pour down the stairs the way they had come.

I leaned into the door, knees weak, cradling the bitten hand against my chest. The ratman began to creep up the stairs. He moved easily on the balls of his elongated feet, strong clawed toes digging into the stone.

Lycanthropes are stronger and faster than humans. No mind tricks, no sleight of hand, they are just better. I would not be able to surprise the wererat, as I had the first. I doubted he would grow angry enough to be stupid, but one could always hope. I was hurt, unarmed, and outmatched. If I couldn't get him to make a mistake, I was in deep shit.

A long, pink tongue curved over his teeth. “Fresh blood,” he said. He drew in a loud breath of air. “You stink of fear, human. Blood and fear, smells like dinner to me.” The tongue flicked out and he laughed at me.

I slid my uninjured hand behind my back, as if reaching for something. “Come closer, ratman, and we'll see how you like silver.”

The ratman hesitated, frozen, half-crouched on the top step. “You have no silver.”

“Want to bet your life on it?”

His clawed hands clutched each other. One of the large rats squeaked something. He snarled down at it. “I am not afraid!”

If they egged him on, my bluff wasn't going to work. “You saw what I did to your friends. That was without a weapon.” My voice sounded low and sure of itself. Good for me.

He eyed me out of one large patent-leather eye. His fur glistened in the torchlight as if freshly washed. He gave a small jump and was on the landing, just out of reach.

“I've never seen a blond rat before,” I said. Anything to fill the silence, anything to keep him from taking that one last step. Surely Jean-Claude would come back for me soon. I laughed then, abrupt and half-choked.