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Which meant he opened his mouth and began to inhale slowly.

But he wasn’t taking in air. He was taking in the slayer. Absorbing him. Consuming him. It was as before in the alley, but now no one stopped the process. Butch just kept sucking in an endless draw, a streaming black shadow passing from the lesser’s eyes and nose and mouth and going into Butch.

Who felt like a balloon filling up with smog. Who felt like he was assuming the mantle of the enemy.

When it was over, the slayer’s body just disintegrated into ash, the fine mist of gray particles falling onto Butch’s face, chest, and legs.

“Holy shit.”

In utter despair, Butch shifted his eyes around. V was leaning in through the front door, holding on to the frame as if the house was the only thing keeping him standing.

“Oh, God.” Butch rolled over onto his side, the ugly carpet scratchy on his cheek. He was wretchedly sick to his stomach, and his throat burned like he’d been hammering Scotch for hours. But worst, the evil was back in him, running through his veins.

As he breathed through his nose, he smelled baby powder. And he knew it was him, not remnants of the lesser.

“V…” he said with desperation, “what did I just do?”

“I don’t know, cop. I have no idea.”

Twenty minutes later, Vishous shut himself and his roommate in the Escalade and hit all the locks. As he dialed his cell phone and put it up to his ear, he eyed Butch. The cop was looking multifactorial ill in the passenger seat, like he was seasick and jet-lagged and coming down with the flu all at the same time. And he reeked of baby powder, as if he were sweating out the scent through every one of his pores.

While the phone rang, Vishous started the SUV, threw it into drive, and thought back to Butch working some kind of mojo shit on that lesser. To steal a phrase from the cop, Holy Mary, Mother of God.

Man…that suck job was a hell of a weapon. But the complications were legion.

V glanced over again. And realized it was to reassure him self that Butch wasn’t eyeing him as a lesser would.

Fuck.

“Wrath?” V said as his call was answered. “Listen, I—shit…our boy here just consumed a lesser. No…not Rhage. Butch. Yes, Butch. What? No, I saw him…consume the thing. I don’t know how, but the lesser disappeared into dust. No, no knife involved. He inhaled the damn thing. Look, just to be conservative, I’m going to take him to my place and let him sleep it off. Then I’m coming home, true? Right…No, I have no clue how he did it, but I’ll give you the blow-by-blow when I get to the compound. Yup. Right. Uh-huh. Oh, for God’s—yes, I’m fine and quit asking me that. Later.”

As he hung up and tossed the phone onto the dash, Butch’s voice drifted over, all weak and hoarse. “I’m glad you’re not taking me home.”

“Wish I could, though.” V took out a hand-rolled and lit it, drawing hard on the thing. As he blew smoke, he cracked one of the windows. “Jesus Christ, cop, how did you know you could do that?”

“I didn’t.” Butch coughed a little, like his throat was bothering him. “Lemme have one of your daggers.”

V frowned and looked at his roommate. “Why?”

“Just give it to me.” As V hesitated, Butch shook his head with sadness. “I’m not going to come after you with it. I swear on my mother.”

They hit a red light and V shifted his seat belt out of the way so he could unsheathe one of his blades from his chest holster. He gave the weapon to Butch handle first, then checked the road ahead. When he glanced back over, Butch had shoved up his sleeve and was slicing himself on the inside of his forearm. They both stared at what came out.

“I’m bleeding black again.”

“Well…not a surprise.”

“I smell like one, too.”

“Yeah.” Man, V did not like the way the cop was fixated on that dagger. “How ’bout you give my blade back, buddy?”

Butch handed the thing over and V wiped the black steel on his leathers before resheathing the weapon.

Butch wrapped his arms around his middle. “I don’t want to be anywhere around Marissa when I’m like this, okay?”

“No problem. I’ll take care