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I didn’t feel guilty about Byron. I only felt guilty about not feeling guilty about it. And even now, I wanted to turn the car around and go back to Jean-Claude. I wanted him to hold me, to kiss me, to feed from me. I wanted the whole ride, now that I’d had a taste. I wanted it the way junkies want their fix. That’s not love. That’s control. I wouldn’t let anyone control me like that. I couldn’t, not and still be me.

I didn’t explain any of this to Graham or Requiem. They weren’t close enough to me for a heart-to-heart. I just said, “Whoever feels better to drive, drive.”

“I do not know how to drive,” Requiem said.

“I’ll drive,” Graham said, “just don’t touch me while I’m behind the wheel.”

“I’ll do my best to resist,” I said, and made it plain by my tone that it wouldn’t be hard.

He laughed and got out his door to walk around. In the moments it took him to walk around the car, Requiem said, “You feel very serious tonight, Anita.”

“I’m always serious,” I said.

“Perhaps,” he said, and he might have said more, but Graham opened the door and I got out. I walked around the car and got into the passenger seat, as Graham started the engine. “Where to?”

“Sunset Cemetery. It’s less than five minutes from here.”

“Do you feel well enough to raise the dead tonight?” Requiem asked.

“Just get me there, and don’t let me touch any of the clients. I’ll do the rest. Just don’t let me fuck anybody or tear anybody’s throat out.”

“What if you order us to allow you to fuck someone?” Requiem asked.

“Or kill someone?” Graham said.

“I’m not planning on it tonight, okay?”

“You weren’t planning on it earlier,” Requiem said quietly.

Graham pulled carefully into the traffic on Gravois, as if he were trying to make up for my bad driving earlier. “What do we do if some new vampire power kicks in?” he asked, as he eased us to the first stoplight.

“Just keep me from hurting anybody,” I said.

“And if the need arises for you to feed again, what then?” Requiem asked.

I turned in my seat as far as the seat belt would allow, so I could see his face in the streetlights. He was revealed in startling white light for an instant. It made his eyes glow, then shadow swept over the backseat, and his eyes faded to a dim blue glow. “What are you getting at?” I asked.

“Did you wonder why Jean-Claude chose us, and only us, to guard you tonight?”

“I had some ideas, but enlighten me.”

“He wanted people with you that were strong enough and dominant enough that if they had to, they could override you. That they would use their best judgment and not blindly follow.”

“Bully for you both,” I said.

“But it wasn’t that alone.”

“Just spill it, Requiem, the foreplay is getting tiresome.”

“I heard that about you,” Graham said.

I turned and looked at him. “What?”

“That you don’t like a lot of foreplay.”

I gave him a very cold look. “One, no one that would actually know would tell you shit, and two, don’t let a little metaphysical sex go to your head. Remember, I watched you writhe all over the seat, and it didn’t appeal to me. It wasn’t foreplay, or a preview, it was just an accident.”

“Sorry.”

I turned back to Requiem. “Now, you, just tell me what you need to tell me. No preface, no long explanation, just say it.”

“You won’t like it,” he said.

“I already don’t like it. Just tell me, Requiem, just tell me.” I was getting a headache. I didn’t know if it was loss of blood, or tension, but whatever, it was beginning to pound right behind my eye.

“He thought that if things went as badly as they could go . . .”

“Games, word games, just say it.”

He sighed, and the sigh seemed to fill the Jeep with echoes. “If you had to feed the ardeur, or if your beast rose, we were the two most likely to survive an attack without having to resort to hurting you.”

“You left something out,” I said.

“I’ve said enough,” he said.

“All of it, Requiem, I want to hear all of it.”

“No,” Graham said, “you don’t. That tone in your voice, no you don’t.”

“Just drive,” I said, and turned back to the vampire. “Tell me the