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He gave me a tight smile, and I didn’t like the look on his face. “If I let this much anger out in public with the moon overhead, I might shift. Don’t worry, Anita. I know how to deal with my rage.” He seemed very self-contained, as if he’d pulled back into himself, behind walls of careful construction. But behind those walls was a vibrating, menacing thing. If Niley’s sorcerer were inside, he or she would recognize something was wrong. Of course, they knew what Richard was, so it was all right, I guess.

Shang-Da handed Richard a pair of black wraparound shades. He took them and slipped them on, running his hands through his hair, fluffing it around his shoulders. Another nervous gesture.

“I’ve never seen you wear sunglasses,” I said.

“It’s in case my eyes change,” Richard said.

I glanced at Shang-Da and his naked eyes. “What about you?”

“I didn’t date the girl. I didn’t even like her.”

Ah. “Great, let’s go.”

The men walked at my back like bodyguards. Their energy swirled behind me like some kind of psychic wall. It made the skin along my back tight and itchy. I pushed through the glass doors of the diner and stood there for a moment, searching for Niley.

The diner was a 1950s throwback, long and narrow in front, with a wider area to one side that looked like a later addition. There was a long counter with little, round stools. The place was full of locals and families that matched the out-of-state license plates in the parking lot.

The waitresses wore pink uniforms and small, useless aprons. A blond waitress came up to us, smiling. “Richard, Shang-Da, haven’t seen you in here all week. Knew you couldn’t stay away from Albert’s hash browns.”

Richard flashed her that smile of his that has been known to melt women into little quivering puddles. The fact that he’s unaware of the effect makes it all the more devastating.

Shang-Da nodded at her, which for him was a rousing hello.

“Hi, Aggie,” Richard said. “We’re meeting someone. Frank Niley.”

She frowned, then nodded. “They’re over there at the big table around the corner. You know the way. I’ll bring water and menus in just a sec.”

Richard led the way through the crowded tables. We went around the L-shape, and at the end of it, against a bank of windows that overlooked a very pretty mountian view, was our party.

The African American bodyguard, Milo, was one of three men at the table. He stood when he saw us. He was still tall, leanly muscled, with square-cut hair, handsome in a cold sort of way. He had a long coat on, and it was too hot for long coats.

I grabbed Richard’s arm, slowed him. “Please,” I said.

Richard stared down at me from behind black lenses, his eyes lost. I’d never realized how much of his expression was in his eyes. I couldn’t read what he was thinking. With some effort, I might have found out, but the last thing I wanted to do was activate the marks in front of Niley’s people.

Richard let me walk a little ahead of him. Shang-Da had put a sport jacket on over the white shirt and black slacks. He’d surprised me by having a snub-nosed thirty-eight, chrome-plated. It had a paddle holster and fit at the small of his back without breaking the line of his jacket. When I’d questioned the gun, he’d said, “These are not policemen.”

The logic was sound, and he’d checked the gun automatically to see it was loaded. He handled the gun like it was habit. He was the first lycanthrope I’d ever met who carried and seemed comfy with it.

It was actually nice to not be the only person on our side with a gun.

There were two men still sitting. One was under twenty-five, with curly brown hair cut short and a wide, almost surprised face. Not Niley. The other one was well over six feet and must have weighed close to three hundred pounds. He gave the impression of size without being exactly fat. His hair was black and receeding sharply in front. He’d done nothing to hide this fact. Rather, the rest of his hair had been buzzed very close to his head, making it all the more obvious. The lack of hair made his face seem too small for his broad shoulders.

The dark