Bob started walking away, leaving the ominous drone behind him, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The smell of death followed him across the sand, and he wondered where Cammy’s next move would be. Los Angeles was too easy, too predictable - Cammy would expect him to go there. So where would he go ..?

He shook his head. He couldn’t worry about it. The Silencias was more important, and surely Camaxtli was trying to distract him from that. He couldn’t be sidetracked. Cammy, the bastard that he was, could wait. He couldn’t let Itchy come back, no matter what Cammy tried to do to stop him.

And he would try and stop him; he knew that now. The only question was, how far was he willing to go? Could Bob force him to show himself?

Considering good reverse psychology traps, Bob teleported himself back to Sydney, and wondered what the best way was to lure the Silencias into making a big mistake.

10

The Sisters led them to a cemetery so overgrown it could have been a park.

Huge old trees slowly strangling with ivy, gnarled hawthorns and willows, great old oaks and sprawling pines, nearly hid the wrought iron fence that was starting to crumble, eroding in the face of neglect and time. Even the headstones looked as if they had been eaten away by something with an appetite for stone.

The cemetery gate was locked … for approximately three seconds, as a single kick from the Weirds sent the lock clattering to the cracked stone walkway, and the gates swung back so violently he was shocked the hinges didn’t snap. They led the way - of course - and he followed, with Yasha taking up the rear. The vampire ladies hadn’t really said anything to each other, and Logan had no idea if that was good or bad.

They walked past weedy and neglected plots, heading deeper into the abandoned cemetery, and as the smell of decomposition and mold started to get to him, he asked, “What the fuck are we doin’ here? Pickin’ up one of your friends?”

“Patience-”

“-Logan-”

“-we’re almost-”

“-there. And-”

“-you haven’t introduced-”

“-us to your-”

“-new friend.”

“I think she can introduce herself.”

“Besides, I think you girls know a lot about me, don’t you?” Yasha said. “You’re some kind of telepaths, aren’t you?”

“Not-”

“-exactly-”

“-but how-”

“-perceptive of-”

“-you to notice.”

The Sisters stopped, a small, crumbling stele between them. “Here-”

“-we-”

“-are.”

In the darkness, it was hard to see anything, but it looked like something was etched into the stone monument. But who the hell knew what the fuck was on it? “This is Vantha?” He asked impatiently.

“Don’t-”

“-you-”

“-read Etruscan?” They asked sarcastically, their smiles almost glowing in the gloom.

“It’s a -”

“-symbolic plinth, a-”

“-marker left by-”

“-her loyal followers. She’s-”

“-the Etruscan demon of-”

“-death. She sees all, because-”

“-she’s mostly eyes, and is-”

“-omnipresent, although we don’t know how-”

“-but death heralds usually are. Trick of-”

“-the trade.”

“Vantha is a demon?” He asked, not completely sure he was following this.

“No-”

“-Vanth-”

“-is the-”

“-demon’s name.”

“So the Vantha are what, their followers?” Yasha asked, a little quicker on the uptake.

The grins of the Sisters grew so wide, it looked like their faces might crack. “Yes-”

“-you’re-”

“-good.”

Logan turned to her, as she was easier to talk to than the Weirds. “So what does that mean exactly?”

Yasha grimaced, looking suddenly quite grim. “It means they’re not just a demon mob - they’re a cult.”

“A-”

“-death-”

“-cult,” the Sisters added gleefully.

Logan hated to do it, but he shrugged. “So? What does that change?”

“Well, a cult - especially one dedicated to demon goddess worship - can call on more resources than a simple demon mob. And what’s worse than a guy who earns his paycheck killing you?”

Although it was a rhetorical question, Logan realized what she was going after, and groaned. “A fanatic doing it for his god.”

Yasha nodded somberly, and the Sisters, still inordinately cheerful, said, “She’s-”

“-actually-”

“-a merciful-”

“-death god.”

“Her followers have-”

“-lost the plot.”

“So why doesn’t she intervene?” He wondered. If Bob had followers (did he?) and they did shitty stuff in his name, he’d not only stop them, but make them all join the Peace Corps or become compulsive toilet cleaners or something.

“I-”

“-doubt-”

“-she’s aware-”

“-of them.”

“She’s one of-”

“-those gods that’s-”

“-somehow omnipresent, and yet-”

“-never picks up her-”

“-phone.”

That could have been a joke. There was almost no way to tell with the Weirds. “So does this Vanth cult have a home base?”

Their stereo smiles faded, but their eyes remained bright. “We’re-”

“-not-”

“-sure yet-”

“-we have-”

“-our contacts looking-”

“-into it.”

“Where are these contacts?” He wondered.

They smiled again, and he took that as bad news. “The-”

“-Way-”

“-Station.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging. He should have guessed. “Fine. Let’s go get a drink.”

“You’re-”

“-buying,” they said cheerfully.

He supposed he was. He imagined he was going to pay for this one way or another.

11

The redhead reeked of humanity, and something else. Perfume, leather, and … a demon he couldn’t name.

On sight, she was un-fucking-believable. She wore an achingly tight black leather sheath dress, with a skirt that ended the top of her thighs, and a plunging neckline where her extremely ample cleavage spilled over the fabric, straining it to the point of bursting. She also wore a gold choker around her slender throat, and knee high black leather boots with fuck me heels - she was on patrol for something, that was for sure. Hannibal wished he was able to go inside tonight, but no, it was his turn to police the fucking doors.

Her long red hair spilled artfully over her shoulders, and a diamond stud glittered in her right eyebrow. She had beestung red lips that matched the red of her eyes (no help - a lot of demons had red eyes), and he didn’t really notice if she was pretty or not, because she had the greatest tits he had ever seen - the rest was irrelevant. “Hey there, tiger,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of an accent. British? Upper class American? “Any chance I can get in?”

“I don’t know,” he said, unable to keep from leering at her. Did she realize what torture it was to keep most of his eyes on her face? “You do realize this bar’s kind of rough, don’t ya? ‘Specially for you half-breeds.”

She grinned slyly. “I like it rough.”

He was glad he wasn’t sitting down, or he’d have fallen off his stool. It took him a moment to regain the ability to speak coherently, and then he said, “Hrn mhaye.” He tried again. “Sure, go in. But if you need any help, give me a shout.”

Her smile made her eyes light up. “I definitely will, big guy.” As she sashayed past him, into the club, she ran a finger along his chin, and he almost passed out. He also felt a tingle of real, raw power - whatever kind of demon she was, she wasn’t a wimpy kind.

Why didn’t the knockouts ever show up when he was on indoor bouncer duty? Life was so fucking unfair.

***

He noticed her right away.

In a sea of beings - some attractive, many not - she stood out like a beacon of sex. Crowding up to the bar, her hair glowing like flames, Gyges found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her. Even the sweep of her graceful neck and back was enough to give him a hard on.

He supposed, in retrospect, opening up a demon club in the heart of Romania was a bad idea. At the time, though, it seemed like a no brainer - heart of the vampire myth, tourist draw for goth freak Humans who‘d be inclined to be demon fuckers anyways … but so far, he’d been struggling to pay for the booze every month. It was a misfire of epic proportions, and worst of all, there were hardly any hot chicks coming in.

Until tonight. And she looked half-breed - he preferred half-breed. Well, sometimes you just got lucky.

Shifting from his velvet recliner, he put his glass of Scotch aside, and toggled the private comm switch. “Hern,” he said, waiting for the bouncer on the floor to respond.

It was a moment before he responded, the noise of the crowd nearly swallowing his voice. “Yeah chief?”

“Redhead at the bar. See her?”

There was a pause, a brief burst of disco white noise. “Yeah?”

“Give her a pass. I want her.”

“Gotcha. She is a choice piece of ass, ain’t she?”

“Yes. And don’t you dare move in on her - is that understood?”

He may have grumbled - it was hard to tell with the music - but he acquiesced with a well considered, “Yes boss.” After a pause, he wondered, “Think they’re real?”

It was easy to tell what he was referring to; she was so top heavy, he was surprised she was able to stand upright. “Probably not, but who cares?”

Gyges sat back, closing the connection, and watched her on the security monitor. He had cameras covering the entire club, giving him a good view of everything - from the dance floor to the restrooms - always searching for adequate candidates. Most of the time he had to make do with ones that were homely, and sometimes ones that weren’t even half-breeds. He preferred the half-breeds; he felt a kinship with them … even if he was inherently their better. Well, that couldn’t be helped, could it? He was the better of everyone on this fucking plane - he just wished he could use it more to his advantage. But why bother? These beings were smelly, stupid, weak, and annoying. The fact that he was half of them bothered him no end.

Hern approached her, got her attention, allowing him to see her profile. It was impressive - delicate jaw, patrician nose, high cheekbones, eyes as red as rubies. He wondered if he could make this one last for a while - beauty like hers was so rare, it was a shame to use it all up in one go.

But just looking at her as Hern told her she was invited to a VIP party upstairs, he got a sense of real power from her … almost frightening power. She might just last a while regardless of what he did.

Maybe this really was his lucky night.

She smiled at the invite, and … did she glance towards the camera? No, couldn’t be; she just glanced in its direction. It was coincidental.

She walked with Hern towards the hidden elevator, her hips swinging more than was necessary, showing off a fabulous ass. She was a born cocktease. He wondered if anyone would miss her.

He glanced at the front room of his upstairs hideaway, which appeared to him as through a semi-opaque veil. It was, in fact, a wall separating his nest from the trap of the rest of the room. That was one of his powers, the ability to expand the spaces of molecules, so he could see through supposedly solid things, and walk through equally seemingly solid things. But they weren’t technically; he walked through nothing. He simply made them part, and since natured abhorred a vacuum, as soon as his influence was gone, they put themselves back together again. For about a century, it was entertaining, but then it started to get old. And, because he was only a half breed, it was also exhausting. Seeing through was nothing, but passing through or reaching through … sometimes it wasn’t worth the effort.

Life was tiring. This plane was tiresome. It was all some awful conspiracy to keep him bound here, to this stark nothingness, this waste of life forms and time. And for what? What could merit this level of punishment?

Oh, yeah, conspiring to overthrow some gods. But hell, conspiring?! That was like convicting someone of almost pulling the pin on a hand grenade - it didn’t bloody well count, did it?! Shit; they might as well have damned him for having a hangnail. Who didn’t conspire to overthrow those pompous blowhards?

He heard the hum of the elevator as it came up to the floor, as the doors slid open, and sat in perfect stillness behind his wall as the girl stepped out cautiously, looking around. “Hello?” She asked, taking in the room. Done up in velvet and brocades, red and gold hues cut with a smidgen of purple, it looked very much like the lobby of an upper class brothel. It was really a posh feeding chamber, but no need to bother the silly little thing with that. “A private party, huh?” She said to herself, as she finally spotted the open bar. As she approached it, the elevator doors didn’t just close behind her, but the lift instantly descended - she wouldn’t be leaving here without his say so. And he wasn’t saying so.

As she poured herself a drink, oblivious to the nature of her death trap, she started singing to herself. “And not to pull your halo down, around your neck and tug you off your cloud, but I’m more than just a little curious, how you’re planning to go about making your amends to the dead.”

What a curious song. Was she just singing with the music thudding through the floor? He didn’t know; he didn’t speak French. But it didn’t seem to be following the right rhythm …

No matter. He gulped down the last of his scotch and levered himself out of his chair, making the molecules pull themselves apart so the wall opened for him, and he stepped through the sudden gap, into the main chamber.

Even though he came through when her back was turned, she was suddenly facing him now, drink in one hand, other hand on her hip. She didn’t look surprised, even as the wall healed up behind him. “Wow, so you’re the benefactor, huh? I thought you’d be younger.”

He stared at her, taking her measure. Conceited; she knew how pretty she was, and expected people to worship her for it. Was she in the wrong place. “You have no idea how old I am, girl.”

She scoffed, and had a swig of her drink. “So what is it you think you’re gonna do to me? Oh, wait, I got it. Naughty naughty.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, starting to get a sense of power from her. A strong one - good. She’d be filling.

“Do you think pretending not to be scared is going to impress me?”

“Ain’t an act. So what are you calling yourself nowadays?”

He hated her more every second. He especially loathed her arrogance, and implied familiarity. “I am called Guy.”

She shook her head. “Naw, see, you don’t look like a Guy. But if I pronounce it the French way, Ghee, I think we can work it.”

He glared at her, hating her with a vengeance. Consuming her would be a mercy - it would spare the world from her. They almost didn‘t deserve it. “Do you really think you have grasped this situation?”

A slow, evil smile seemed to creep across her face, eyes glowing like fire. “I’ve grasped it fine, Ghee. What about you?” She then added, as a taunting lyrical refrain, “Your halo slipping down to choke you now.”

He started to feel the power then - intense, mind-numbing … not just a regular half breed. Oh shit. His intention to back through the wall and get Hern to toss her out was drastically cut short. “Freeze.” And he did, just like that; he couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t shift a molecule. Oh no - oh gods no! “See me as I am,” she said … and disappeared.

Suddenly in her place was a tall man, wearing jeans and leather biker books (without high heels), and a black t-shirt with an odd bald man drawn on it, alongside the logo, “Cheap, but not as cheap as your girlfriend.” His golden brown hair was artfully mussed, and he had the bluest eyes …

Oh shit. Oh shit oh fuck oh shit.

Bob.

“I make a kick ass babe, don’t I Ghee?” He said, with a bright, hard grin. “I think I just may fantasize about myself later.”

He wanted to ask “What do you want?”, but he couldn’t speak either. “What do I want?” Bob repeated, as if he said it aloud. “Why are you still drinking the energy of Humans? I thought you agreed not to do that anymore. And yeah, you can speak.”

“You fucking son of a bitch!” He roared. “Go fuck yourself, you fucking misfit! Get the fuck out of my club before I fucking kick your fucking ass!”

Bob just gave him that predatory, cheery grin that skirted the edge of arrogance and insanity. “You fucking done?”

“No I am not, you fucking bastard! Why did you bother with this show, you fucking nut job?!”

“Because I wanted to see if you were breaking your pact. ‘sides, it was worth it all just to see the look on your face when you realized you were the meal this time.”

“You fucking son of a bitch!”

“Technically, I wasn’t born. But if I had been, I’m sure she’d have been a bitch, yeah.”

He glared at him, loathing this creature. Did those poor son of a bitches downstairs realize what a dangerous being he was? “Eat me, you motherfucker.”

“Now now, I don’t do that; that’s your department,” Bob replied cheerily, and set his drink aside. “How many people have you killed, Gyges?”

He glared at him, refusing to answer. “Some of us need to survive, you know.”

Bob shook his head. “Not like that. Don’t even try it, I’m not going to buy it.”

“You’re a reject, Bob; the Powers wouldn’t even take you back if you spent the next century kissing their asses.”

“Actually, if I did repent for my rebellious ways, and follow their laws, they probably would take me back. But, as that great philosopher Groucho Marx said, I’d never be a member of a group that would have me. And frankly, they’re a buncha pricks. Kinda like you. So where’s your brother, Ghee?”

He scowled at him, surprised he never guessed his actual intention for being here. “Cottus hardly checks in with me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean you don’t know where he is.”

“Go away, Bob. Do you want me to say it? Fine - I won’t feed on Humans anymore. Now fuck off.”

Bob’s grin was an evil thing; it seemed charming, it seemed almost giddy. But his eyes glittered like razorblades buried inside the white flesh of a rosy red apple. “Nope. You don’t bullshit the king of the bullshitters, Ghee - you were trusted once. That was your final shot.”

“You are not taking me down,” he snarled, more of a prayer than a statement. It didn’t matter that no one would ever know it - Bob didn’t brag. Bob had no need to brag. Beings with real power had no need to parade it out for the great unwashed; they just were. They glowed like torches, like bonfires, and consumed anything that fell into their path. It was the way of the world - it was the way of the gods.

Bob gave him that cockeyed grin again, not even bothering to hide the malevolence simmering under the surface. The blue in his irises started to bleed into the white of his eyes. “I don’t care that the Silencias kicked you out. You will tell me now where they were the last time you saw them, or I will take it by force. I know you wouldn’t like that.”

“But you would like that, wouldn’t you?” He snapped, rage covering for the bowel chilling fear. It was over; of course it was over. He couldn’t fight Bob, and none of the hired demons downstairs could lift a finger against him, even if he could somehow unfreeze himself long enough to call for them.

“No. I’m not like you - I don’t feel any joy in using my power against beings unable to defend themselves against it.”

He was incensed to realize that Bob was speaking about using his power against him as if he was a mere Human. “I am not one of them,” Gyges said, before he realized this wouldn’t help him. But he wasn’t; he wasn’t some blind creature scrabbling around in the dark. He was a true god child, a spawn of power - so he was part weak flesh. That wasn’t his fault, and besides, he was as good as any fucking god. They were too blind to see it, and exiled him here for no reason at all.

“I agree,” Bob said, eavesdropping on his thoughts. “You are like them, but that’s why you were left here. The gods are big on “do as I say, not as I do”. I thought you’d have figured that out by now, Ghee. Tell you what - tell me where you last heard your brother or the Silencias was, and I’ll only take your powers away.”

“I’d rather you kill me,” he said, and meant it. If he had to be humiliated by Bob, he’d rather not be living proof of its occurrence. And he’d rather not live among the sheep as one of them.

Bob simply ducked his head, blue energy bleeding through his skin and limning his body like an afterimage. “Tell me where the Silencias have been, or you live among them, as them, for as long as you hang on to this mortal coil, Ghee.”

The fucking bastard meant it too. What the fuck had Cott and his stuck up, tight ass friends done now? Were they not smart enough to avoid the wrath of Bob? “What have they done?” He asked, stalling for time he knew he would never have. But he did want to know - he wanted to know what sin was so grave it led to his execution. Killing a few dozen - okay, maybe a few hundred - people just didn’t seem to warrant such a punishment.

“They’re going to raise a beast,” Bob said simply. He was almost too bright to look at now, a living pillar of blue flame, his eyes like supernovas. “I’m not going to let them.”

“At any cost?” As much as he hated Bob, he knew he wasn’t really cruel, he wasn’t as petty as certain god parents. Whatever could push him to this must have been bad … or personal. Possibly both.

Bob paused for so long that he thought he wasn’t going to answer him. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “Whatever the cost.”

God help the Silencias. If they could find any god willing to front for them.

They were so fucked, he almost felt more sorry for his shithead brother than he did for himself.

12

It turned out to be a total waste of their time.

Shortly after they arrived, and Logan bought a round of beers for the Sisters, Yasha, and himself from a very sour Lia, a couple of the Sisters contacts turned up. One turned out to be that annoying red headed Aussie vampire who was hired to find demons for that ultimate fighting contest on Dis. As soon as he saw Logan, he obviously recognized him, as he paled so much he went transulent, and turned to leave, but the Sisters beckoned him back. The poor vamp was even more afraid of the Weirds than of him, confirming Yasha’s previous statement that vamps were afraid of the Weirds. That made them oddly sensible for a parasitic race.

Red reported nothing odd in the warehouse district or West Hollywood or East L.A. - apparently potential hot spots for bad mojo - and gratefully took his leave after the Sisters complimented him on his work, and suggested he check out Oakland. Logan never said anything, but he stared at him, so much that he was certain he was going to find out if vampires could actually piss themselves.

The second “contact” was a Frenik demon (like a Ressik, but somehow not - he didn’t really understand the distinction, except Freniks apparently smelled more pencil shavings) who wore sunglasses, and startled the hell out of him by having a female voice. It looked male ..! Did demons have transsexuals too, or was the gender line obliterated with some species? She (?) reported no unusually activity in Beverly Hills (!), another “hot spot”. The Sisters sent her to Salinas.

They spent the rest of the evening waiting for the third contact, the intriguingly named Urp. During which time, Logan found his boredom countered by watching the show.

Rags was sitting in his corner stool, annoying Lia, and while he had no idea why he was glad to see he still had his head, Logan figured maybe irritating Lia was his one saving grace. They were at a testy silence when Thrakazog squelched into the bar. And he did squelch - he didn’t walk, or slither - he seemed to ooze very quickly, and Logan checked to see if he left a slime trail (no).

Logan was willing to bet that Lia had forcibly removed all the Elton John songs from the jukebox, so Thrack could not play them, but once he squelched to his corner with his drink (it was unclear how he managed to hold it - he really did look like nothing but a tall pile of slime), they had five minutes peace before he started to screech along with Beck.

Logan expected Lia to whip a mug at his head, but surprisingly, all she did was give him a caustic look. She then went over to Rags, and started having an intense conversation with him. After several agonizing seconds, Rags got up and walked over to Thrack. He threw that glitter stuff on him, said a few lines of gibberish, and Thrack - and his awful, cat on a cheese grater voice - vanished with a whoomp. Rags then went back to his stool, accompanied by a small round of applause, and from what Logan could tell, Lia paid Rags in Long Island ice teas.

Logan only briefly wondered where Rags sent him - he was gone, so who cared? But after an hour or so, Thrack squelched in the door, his poor excuse for a head looking even more melted and amorphic than usual. That meant he was upset, he gathered.

After ranting about “never being so offended in all his life”, Thrack ordered a ‘sex on the beach’ and squelched back to his usual spot, but this time he didn’t dare sing.

After watching all of this was cool detachment, Yasha asked, “Are all the demons in Los Angeles crazy?”

All Logan could do was shrug. It seemed like it, but he hadn’t met them all.

Finally he asked the Weirds where the hell Urp was, as dawn was slowly creeping on, and he knew he had to get Yasha out of here before them. Maybe not if Bob had shown up, but even Lia didn’t know where the hell he was. The Weirds admitted it was odd for him to be so late since he was only checking out Napa Valley (!) (wine was evil?), but they admitted he could be destracted by a “really good goat”.

He so didn’t want to know why that was. They almost told him, but he said he’d pay Thrack to start singing again if they did.

At least he knew the Weirds had a weakness.