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V cut in, “’Scuse me, I’ll be right back.”

As Rhage shot him a don’t-you-dare-leave-me-with-this-hot-potato glare, V stepped inside and shut the door on his brother’s face. If Rhage couldn’t handle the biddy, he could just swipe her memories, although that would be a last resort. Older humans sometimes didn’t deal well with the erasing, their brains no longer resilient enough to withstand the invasion.

So yeah, Hollywood and Dottie’s neighbor were going to get tight while V cased the place.

With a sneer, he glanced around. Man, everything smelled of lesser. Sickly sweet. Like Butch.

Shit. Do not think about that.

He forced himself to focus on the apartment. Unlike most lesser pads, this one was furnished, though obviously by its former occupant. And Dottie’s taste had run toward flower prints, doilies, and cat figurines. She fit right in with this building.

Chances were good the lessers had read about her passing in the paper and had copped her identity. Hell, maybe it even was her grandson camping out here after he’d been inducted into the Society.

V walked through the kitchen and out again, not surprised there was no food in the cabinets or the refrigerator. As he headed for the other half of the apartment, he thought it was so curious that the slayers didn’t hide where they crashed. Hell, most died with ID on them that was accurate. Then again, they wanted to encourage conflicts—

Hello.

V went over to a pink and white desk where a Dell Inspiron 8600 was cracked open and running. He swiped his finger across the mouse and did a quick poke around. Encrypted files. Everything password protected up the wazoo. Blah, blah, blah…

Although lessers were all welcome mat about their cribs, they were very tight about their hardware. Most slayers had a compy at home, and the Lessening Society pulled a lot of the same protections and coding maneuvers that V did at the compound. So basically their shit was impenetrable.

Good thing he didn’t know the meaning of impenetrable.

He clapped the Dell shut and unplugged the power line from the unit and the wall. He stuffed the electrical cord in his pocket, zipped up his jacket, and tucked the laptop in close to his chest. Then he went deeper into the apartment. Bedroom looked like a chintz bomb had gone off with flower and frill shrapnel covering the mattress and the windows and the walls.

And then there it was. On a little table beside the bed, sitting next to a phone, a four-month-old issue of Reader’s Digest and a colony of orange pill bottles: a ceramic jar about the size of a quart of milk.

He flipped open his phone and dialed Rhage. When the brother picked up, V said, “I’m outtie. I’ve got a laptop and the jar.”

He hung up, palmed the ceramic container and held it tightly against the hard body of the laptop. Then he dematerialized to the Pit, thinking how handy it was that humans didn’t line their walls with steel.

Chapter Fifteen

As Mr. X watched Van drive off, he knew the ask had come too soon. He should have waited until the guy was a little more hooked on the power trip he went on when he trained the slayers.

Except time was passing.

It wasn’t that he was worried about the loophole closing. The prophecy hadn’t said anything about that kind of thing. But the Omega had been righteous pissed when Mr. X had left him last. Hadn’t taken at all well the news that the contaminated human had been offed by the Brothers in that clearing in the woods. So the stakes were mounting, and not in X’s favor.

From out of nowhere, the center of his chest began to warm, and then he felt a beating where his heart once had been. The rhythmic pulse made him curse. Speak of the devil, the master was calling him.

Mr. X got into the minivan, started the thing up, and drove seven minutes across town to a shitty ranch house on a ratty lot in a bad neighborhood. Place still reeked like the meth lab it had been up until its former owner had been shot by a professional associate. Thanks to the lingering toxicity, the Society had gotten the