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I called Dolph’s home phone number. I don’t know why it couldn’t wait until morning, but I had almost died tonight. If I did die, I wanted someone to hunt Zachary down.

Dolph answered on the sixth ring. His voice sounded gruff with sleep. “Yes.”

“This is Anita Blake, Dolph.”

“What’s wrong?” His voice sounded almost alert.

“I know who the murderer is.”

“Tell me.”

I told him. He took notes and asked questions. The biggest question came at the end. “Can you prove any of this?”

“I can prove he wears a gris-gris. I can testify that he confessed to me. He tried to kill me; that I witnessed personally.”

“It’s going to be a tough sell to a jury or a judge.”

“I know.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

“We’ve almost got a solid case on him, Dolph.”

“True, but it all hinges on you being alive to testify.”

“Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

“You come down tomorrow and get all this information recorded officially.”

“I will.”

“Good work.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Good night, Anita.”

“Good night, Dolph.”

I eased back into the car. “We have a meeting with the wererats in forty-five minutes.”

“Why is it so important?” he asked.

“Because I think they can show us a back way into Nikolaos’s lair. If we come in the front door, we’ll never make it.” I started the car and pulled out into the road.

“Who else did you call?” he asked.

So he had been paying attention. “The police.”

“What?”

Edward never likes dealing with the police. Fancy that. “If Zachary manages to kill me, I want someone else to be looking into it.”

He was silent for a little while. Then he asked, “Tell me about Nikolaos.”

I shrugged. “She’s a sadistic monster, and she’s over a thousand years old.”

“I look forward to meeting her.”

“Don’t,” I said.

“We’ve killed master vampires before, Anita. She’s just one more.”

“No. Nikolaos is at least a thousand years old. I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened of anything in my life.”

He was silent, face unreadable.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“That I love a challenge.” Then he smiled, a beautiful, spreading smile. Shit. Death had seen his ultimate goal. The biggest catch of all. He wasn’t afraid of her, and he should have been.

THERE aren’t that many places open at one-thirty A.M., but Denny’s is. There was something wrong with meeting wererats in Denny’s over coffee and donuts. Shouldn’t we have been meeting in some dark alley? I wasn’t complaining, mind you. It just struck me as . . . funny.

Edward had gotten a spare shirt out of his bag o’ weapons, so he was legal for Denny’s. He went in first to make sure it wasn’t another setup. If he took a table, it was safe. If he came back out, it wasn’t safe. Simple. No one knew what he looked like yet. As long as he wasn’t with me, he could go anywhere and no one would try to kill him. Amazing. I was beginning to feel like Typhoid Mary.

Edward took a table. Safe. I walked into the bright lights and artificial comfort of the restaurant. The waitress had dark circles under her eyes, cleverly disguised by thick base, which made the circles look sort of pinkish. I looked past her. A man was motioning to me. Hand straight up, finger crooked like he was calling the waitress, or some other subservient.

“I see my party, now. Thanks anyway,” I said.

The restaurant was mostly empty in the wee hours of Monday, or rather Tuesday morning. Two men sat at a table in front of the first man. They looked normal enough, but there was a sense of contained energy that seemed to spark in the air around them. Lycanthropes. I would have bet my life on it, and maybe I was.

There was a couple, male and female, sitting catty-corner from the first two. I would have bet money they were lycanthropes, too.

Edward had taken a table near them, but not too near. He had hunted lycanthropes before; he knew what to look for as well.

As I passed the table, one of the men looked up. Pure brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, stared into mine. His face was square, body slender, small build, muscles worked in his arms as he folded his hands