head off. I never had one regenerate a head on me."
"True." Rene nodded in agreement.
Saiman picked up a coffee mug, stared at it, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces. We looked at him.
"Your date appears to be hysterical," Rene told me.
"You think I should slap some man into him?"
Saiman stared at me, speechless. I had to give it to Rene - she didn't laugh. But she really wanted to.
A squad of Red Guards came through, carrying the snake man on a stretcher. Two guards and an older man followed. The man handed Rene a large book bound in leather and spoke softly.
She gave him a crisp nod.
"We take the safety of our guests and especially of our House members very seriously.
However." She raised her hand and counted off on her fingers. "First, this incident took place outside of our jurisdiction. Our responsibility for you ends at the white line. Second, this creature isn't registered as a part of the Reaper team or their crew. Nobody recognizes him.
The fact that a member of the Reaper team watched the incident doesn't indicate the team's complicity in the assault. He's under no obligation to assist you and he may have simply enjoyed the spectacle. Third, the entire Reaper crew and team, with the exception of Mart and two crew members, left the premises as soon as the first bout began, nearly three hours ago . . ."
A shot of cold pulsed through me. "Is that normal?"
Rene started at the interruption.
"Is that normal?" I insisted.
"No," she said slowly. "Typically they stay to watch."
Derek never did anything without preparation. He would arrive at the rendezvous point hours in advance. The Reapers would have had a three-hour window to interact with him, while I was busy playing scorekeeper for Saiman's amusement. I spun to him. "I need that horse now ."
Saiman hesitated.
"A horse, Saiman! Or I swear I'll finish what he started."
THE RED ROOF INN LOOMED ON THE EDGE OF A ruined plaza, flanked on both sides by heaps of rubble that had been buildings in their previous life. Two stories tall, its top floor sagging to the side under a crooked roof painted a garish crimson, the inn resembled a stooped old man in a red ball cap huddling under a blanket of kudzu.
I stopped on the edge of the plaza. Under me a pale gelding snorted, breathing hard after the fifteen-minute canter through the dark streets.
Blood smears stained the crumbling asphalt. In the silver gauze of moonlight, they looked thick, black, and glossy, like molten tar.
I dismounted and walked into the plaza. The magic had fallen while I rode. Technology once again gained an upper hand and I sensed nothing. No residual magic, no trace of a spell, no enchanted observer. Just dusty asphalt and blood. So much blood. It was everywhere, spread in long, feathered smudges and cast about in a fine spray of splatter.
I crouched by one of the puddles and dipped my fingers into it. Cooled. Whatever happened here had finished a while ago.
A fist clamped my heart and squeezed it tight into a painful ball. Dread choked me. Suddenly there wasn't enough air. I should have read the note sooner.
I took the ball of guilt and fear that threatened to engulf me and stuffed it away, deep into the recesses of my mind. The task at hand required only my brain. I would deal with the pain later, but now I had to concentrate on the scene and think.
Violence had occurred here, but the plaza didn't look as though combat with a werewolf had taken place. All shapeshifters had two forms: human and animal. Gifted shapeshifters could maintain a warrior form, an in-between beast man, huge, humanoid, and armed with a monster's claws and nightmarish fangs. Most had trouble maintaining it, and few could speak in it, but despite these drawbacks, the warrior form was the most effective weapon in a werewolf's arsenal. Derek's was one of the best. He would have assumed it the moment the fight began.
If Derek had fought in this plaza, there would be scratches on the asphalt. A few clumps of wolf fur here and there. Shredded flesh - he tended to rip into his targets. I saw none. Maybe he didn't fight here after all. Maybe he came upon it and took off . . . I stuffed the hope into the same place I had packed the guilt. Later.