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Fucking wonderful.

When he got to the apartment, he parked right by the stairwell entrance and nearly ripped the door off the car getting out. With ice-cold gusts blowing his hair around, he took the stairs two at a time and shot into the place, ready to cap someone.

Grady was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter’s overhang, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, a whole lot of I’m-so-staying-out-of-this on his puss.

Mr. D was coming out of one of the bedrooms in the middle of a sentence. “…don’t get how they found this here—”

“Who were the fuckups?” Lash said, shutting out the howling wind. “That’s all I care about. Who was the dumb-ass who didn’t engage the alarm and compromised this address? And if someone doesn’t man up, I’m holding you”—he pointed to Mr. D—“responsible.”

“It weren’t me.” Mr. D stared hard at his men. “I weren’t back here since two day ago.”

The lesser on the left raised his arms, but typical to his breed, it wasn’t in subjugation, but because he was ready to fight. “I got my wallet and I ain’t talked to no one.”

All eyes went to the third slayer, who got annoyed. “What the fuck?” He made a show of going into his back pocket. “I got my…”

He shoved his hand in farther, like that might help. Then he did a Three Stooges, checking every pocket he had among his pants, his jacket, and his shirt. No doubt the fucker would have opened his own ass up for a look-see if he’d thought there was a chance his billfold had worked its way up into his colon.

“Where’s your wallet,” Lash asked smoothly.

Light dawned on Marblehead. “Mr. N…that fucker. We got into an argument ’cause he wanted some green from me. We fought and he must have nicked my billfold.”

Mr. D calmly walked up behind the slayer and nailed him in the side of the head with the butt of his Magnum. The force of impact sent the slayer spinning like a beer cap and slamming into the wall, a black smudge staining the linen-white paint as he slid down onto the cheap tan rug.

Grady let out a bark of surprise, like a terrier who’d gotten smacked with a newspaper.

And then the doorbell rang. Everyone looked to the sound, then at Lash.

He pointed to Grady. “You stay right where you are.” When the bell came again, he nodded at Mr. D. “Answer it.”

As the little Texan stepped over the downed slayer, he tucked his heat into his waistband at the small of his back. He opened the door only a crack.

“Domino’s,” a male voice said as a blast of wind blew in. “Oh—crap, watch it!”

It was a comedy of fucking errors, the kind of thing you’d see in a movie full of slapstick cock-ups. The stiff wind caught hold of the pizza box as the delivery guy took it out of his red insulated box-bag, and the pepperoni-and-something went flying toward Mr. D. Ever the good employee, flyboy with the Dom cap lunged forward to catch the thing—and ended up plowing over Mr. D and busting into the apartment.

Which Lash was willing to bet employees of Domino’s were specifically instructed never to do, and with good reason. You cracked into someone’s house, even if you were being a hero, and you could find all kinds of bad shit: Perverted porn on a TV. Fat hausfrau in her granny panties and no bra. A nasty-ass hovel with more cockroaches than people.

Or a member of the undead bleeding black blood from a head wound.

There was no way Pizza Guy wasn’t going to see what was doing across the way. And that meant he would have to be dealt with.

After having spent what was left of the night roaming around downtown Caldwell looking for a lesser to fight, John took form in the courtyard at the Brotherhood’s mansion, next to all the cars that were parked in an orderly row. Bitter wind shoved at his shoulders, a bully wanting to knock him down, but he stood tall against the onslaught.

A symphath. Xhex was a symphath.

As his mind churned over the revelation, Qhuinn and Blay materialized beside him. To their credit, neither had asked him what the hell had happened back at ZeroSum. Both, however, continued to look at him like he was a beaker in a