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“The Omega?”

He looked down at the tip of his hand-rolled. “Guess the Christian equivalent is the devil. Anyway, the Omega gets his hands on them…as well as other things…and presto, change-o, they wake up dead and moving. They are strong, virtually indestructible, and can be killed only by a stab wound to the chest with something steel.”

“Why are they your enemies?”

He inhaled, again his brows going down low. “I suspect it might have something to do with my mother.”

“Your mother?”

The hard smile that stretched his lips was more a curve than anything else. “I’m the son of what you’d probably consider a god.” He lifted his gloved hand. “This is from her. Personally, as baby gifts go, I’d have preferred one of those silver rattles, or maybe some paste to eat. But you don’t get to pick what your parents give you.”

Jane looked at the black leather that stretched over his palm. “Jesus…”

“Not according to our lexicon or my nature. I’m not the savior type.” He put the cigarette between his lips and pulled off the glove. In the dimness of the backseat, his hand glowed with the soft beauty of moonlight reflecting off of fresh snow.

He inhaled one last time, then took the cigarette and pressed the lit tip down right to the center of his palm.

“No,” she hissed. “Wait—”

The butt was ashed in a flare of light, and he blew off the residue, a fine powder that dispersed in the air. “I would give anything to get rid of this piece of shit. Although I will say, it’s damn handy when I don’t have an ashtray.”

Jane felt woozy for a whole host of reasons, especially as she thought about his future. “Is your mother forcing you to get married?”

“Yup. I sure as fuck wouldn’t volunteer for it.” V’s eyes shifted to her and for a split second she could have sworn he was going to say that she’d be the exception to that rule. But then he glanced away.

God, the idea of him with someone else, even if she wouldn’t remember him, was like being kicked in the gut.

“How many?” Jane asked hoarsely.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Tell me.”

“Don’t think about it. I sure as hell try not to.” He looked over at her. “They’re going to mean nothing to me. I want you to know that. Even though you and I can’t…Yeah, well, anyway, they won’t mean jack.”

It was horrible of her to be glad of that.

He put the glove back on, and they were silent as the sedan ghosted through the night. Eventually they stopped. Started up again. Stopped. Started up again.

“We must be downtown, huh?” she said. “Because this feels like a lot of traffic lights.”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward, hit a button, and the partition went down so she could see out the windshield.

Yup, downtown Caldie. She was back.

As tears speared into her eyes, she blinked them away and stared down at her hands.

A little later the driver stopped the Mercedes in front of what looked like the service entrance to a brick building: There was a sturdy metal door marked PRIVATE in white paint, and a concrete ramp that went up to a loading dock. The place was clean in the way well-kept urban places were. Which was to say it was grungy, but without any loose trash around.

V opened his door. “Do not get out yet.”

She put her hand on the duffel bag with her clothes in it. Maybe he’d decided to just take her back to the hospital? Except this was no entry she knew of at St. Francis.

Moments later he opened the door and reached in with his bare hand. “Leave your things. Fritz, we’ll be back in a while.”

“It is my pleasure to wait,” the old man said with a smile.

Jane got out of the car and followed V over to a set of concrete stairs next to the ramp. The whole time he was on her like a slipcover, tight against her back, guarding her. Somehow he opened the sturdy metal door without keys; he simply put his hand on the push bar and stared at the thing.

Oddly, once they were inside he didn’t relax at all. He led her quickly down a corridor to a freight elevator, checking left and right as they went along. She had no idea they