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“I came in just after you left,” Simon said.

“Simon?” Edward made the name a question, and the big man seemed to understand what was being asked.

“As in whatever the fuck Simon says, you damn well better do.”

How colorful, I thought, but didn’t say out loud.

“Can I get up now?” Edward asked.

“If you can stand, then help yourself.”

Edward got to his feet. If it hurt, it didn’t show. His face was empty, eyes like bits of pale blue ice. I’d seen him kill with that face.

Simon’s smile faltered around the edges. “You’re supposed to be one mean son of a bitch.”

“Van Cleef never said I was mean.” He sounded very sure of that.

Simon’s smile disappeared altogether. “No, he didn’t. He said you were dangerous.”

“What would Van Cleef say about you?” Edward asked.

“Same thing,” Simon said.

“I doubt that,” Edward said.

They looked at each other, and there was a weight and a testing like something nearly visible in the air between them. Muscle Man’s nerve broke first. “Where the hell is Deuce with the wand?”

Simon blinked, and switched very cold brown eyes to the man behind me. “Shut up, Mickey.”

Mickey? It didn’t have quite the ring to it that the other nicknames did. Of course, Simon hadn’t sounded too tough until it was explained.

“Van Cleef didn’t recognize her picture.”

“No reason he should,” Edward said.

“The newspapers call her the Executioner.”

“That’s what the vampires call her.”

“Why do they call her that?”

“Why do you think?”

Simon looked at me. “How many vampire kills you got, bitch?”

If I had a chance tonight, I was going to teach Simon some manners, but not right now. “I don’t know exactly.”

“Guess.”

I thought about it. “I stopped keeping track around thirty.”

Simon laughed. “Hell, every man on this porch has more kills than that.”

More kills than thirty? Who the hell were these guys? I shrugged. “I didn’t know it was a competition.”

“Did you count the human kills?” Edward asked.

I shook my head. “He asked about vampire kills, not human.”

“Add those in,” he said.

That was harder. “Eleven, twelve maybe.”

“Forty-three,” Simon said, “you got Mickey beat, but not Rooster.” Apparently, Rooster was Glasses.

“Add in the shapeshifters,” Edward said.

It had turned into a competition. I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to seem as dangerous as I really was, but I trusted Edward’s judgment. “Oh, hell, Edward, I don’t know.” I started counting in my head. Finally, I said, “Seven.”

“So fifty,” he said.

Just hearing it out loud made me want to cringe. It sounded so Psychos ’R Us.

“I’ve still got you beat, bitch,” Simon said.

He was beginning to get on my nerves. “The fifty only counts the people I did personally with a weapon.”

“You mean it doesn’t count the ones you killed barehanded?” He smiled when he said it, like he didn’t believe it.

“No, I counted those.”

The smile got positively condescending. “Then what didn’t you count, little bitch.”

“Witches, necromancers, things like that.”

“Why not count them?” This from Mickey.

I shrugged.

“Because using magic to kill is an automatic death sentence,” Edward said.

I frowned at him. “I never said anything about magic.”

“We aren’t friends,” Simon said, “but you can be honest tonight, bitch. We won’t tell the cops. Will we, boys?” He laughed and they laughed with him, with that same sort of nervous mirth that Itzpapalotl’s vampires had had, like they were afraid not to laugh.

I shrugged. “Most of the fifty are sanctioned kills. The cops already know about them.”

“You ever been on trial?” This from the until now silent Rooster.

“No.”

“Fifty legal kills,” Simon said.

“Give or take,” I said.

Simon looked at Edward. They had another one of those weighted staring contests.

“Would Van Cleef like her?”

“Yes, but she wouldn’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“She’s not big on orders and listening to people just because they’ve got an extra stripe on their shoulder.”

“Not disciplined,” Simon said.

“She’s disciplined. You just got to have more than rank to get her to listen to you.”