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And being around Butch was definitely the break he needed.

John walked quickly toward the main house, and he paused when he got to the stairs that led up to the foyer. Tohr had said it was another hundred and fifty yards farther down to the Pit . . . so he kept going. When he found another set of stairs, he was relieved. The tunnel was dry and dimly lit, but he didn’t like being in it alone.

Sticking his face into the registry field of a video cam, he hit the summons button and resisted the urge to wave like an idiot.

“Hey, man.” Butch’s voice was clear as a bell as it came through the intercom. “Glad you made it.”

The lock was sprung and John took the stairs fast. Butch was standing in the doorway at the top in a black-and-gold smoking jacket.

The guy had the best clothes John had ever seen. He’d taught class in a pin-striped suit that looked like something out of a magazine.

“You can use my bathroom to shower in, because my roommate, who’s off rotation tonight, is micromanaging that goatee of his.”

“Whatever, cop,” a deep male voice called out.

“You know it’s true. You so suffer from OBD—” Butch glanced over. “That would be Obsessive Beard Disorder. Hey, listen, J-man, I was going to head into town, you cool with that?”

John so loved it when Butch called him J-man. And he really loved to be asked to go anywhere with a guy like him.

As he nodded, Butch smiled. “Good deal. I’m getting another tat. You have any?”

John shook his head.

“Maybe you’ll get one.”

A tattoo. With Butch? Man, this night was looking up.

While John nodded, Butch smiled and glanced around. “You ever been in our place, John?”

When John shook his head, the cop gave him a quick tour, and it was clear the Pit was Guy Central. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, but there were plenty of gym bags, and a legion of Scotch and vodka bottles. The foosball table was righteous sweet. So was the massive high-def TV and the incredible bank of computers in the living room. The place also smelled great, all smoke and leather and aftershave.

Butch led the way down a hall. “V’s in that bedroom.”

John glanced through the doorway and saw a huge bed with black sheets and no headboard. Weapons and thick books were all over the place, kind of like a library had been taken over by a squadron of Marines.

“And I’m in here.”

John walked into a smaller bedroom . . . that was choked with men’s clothes. Suits and shirts were hanging from racks with rollers on them. Ties and shoes were everywhere, and there were easily fifty pairs of cuff links on top of the bureau. It was like the inside of a department store. A very, very expensive department store.

“Bathroom’s all yours. Clean towel’s on the back of the toilet.” Butch took a squat crystal glass of Scotch off the bedside table and put it to his lips. “And you should also think about that tat. Place where I go’s top-notch. They’ll ink you right.”

“You trying to corrupt a youth there, cop?”

John looked to the doorway. A huge man with a goatee and tattoos on his face stood in the threshold. He had on a set of leathers and a black T-shirt and a glove on one hand, and his eyes were the diamond white of a husky’s, the rims around the irises superblue.

Staring at him, one word came to John’s mind: Einstein. The guy just oozed IQ—it was the eyes, those penetrating, icy eyes.

“This is my roommate, Vishous. V, meet John.”

“What’s doing? I’ve heard a lot about you.” The guy offered his palm and John shook it.

“And as for the tat,” Butch said, “he’s of age. Right? Twenty-something.”

“He should wait.” V turned to John and started signing. Perfectly. If you get one done before your transition by a human, it’s going to distort when you go through the change. Then it’s going to fade in a month or two. If you wait, though, I’ll ink whatever you want into you, and I’ll do it so it stays.

John could only blink. Then he dropped his duffel and signed, Wow. Are you deaf?

Nope. Heard from my man Tohr this is how you communicate, so I taught it to myself the other night. Figured