Esmé's shoulders heaved in helpless sobs and Vivian's anger shriveled. She put her arms around her mother, buried her face in Esmé's hair, and cried with her in dissonant duet. Esmé clung to her.

There was nothing they could do. He was gone and the world was an alien landscape.

"Let's go out," Esmé said abruptly, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. "Let's cheer ourselves up." She grabbed Vivian by the shoulders, then planted a quick kiss on her daughters nose. "We'll treat ourselves to dinner. We deserve it." She leaped to her feet.

Vivian, momentarily confused by her mothers change of mood, didn't answer.

"We'll go to Tooley's and see if any of the pack are there," Esmé said. "But I can only afford burgers."

"I can't do that," Vivian said. "I'm underage."

"Nonsense," Esmé insisted. "As long as you don't drink, no one's gonna throw you out. Especially since you will definitely improve the décor." Esmé smiled proudly at her daughter. "You look just like me."

Vivian couldn't help chuckling. Esmé was her usual arrogant self again. Maybe it would be fun at that.

Maybe she'd enjoy some roughhousing and teasing in the local bar. Maybe she'd like the feel of her palm across the cheeks of some fresh young fool who'd only laugh if off. "Sure, Mom. Let's kick ass."

"Its a deal," Esmé said. "Now I gotta go wash my face. I know I look like shit."

At the door, she paused and turned back to Vivian. There was a slight tremble back in her lower lip. "Thanks, my precious," she said.

There was a scattering of people among the tables and booths at Tooley's; some bikers were at the bar, and four men gathered around the large-screen television watching the Orioles lose. No pack, Vivian thought until they were greeted by an enthusiastic howl from a shadowed corner booth.

"Watch it, Bucky," Esmé warned, hand on hip, but Vivian knew she would have been disappointed if he hadn't noticed.

"You ain't workin' tonight," growled the owner, Terry O'Toole, from behind the bar. "What you doin' here?"

"Can't tear myself away from you, honey," Esmé said, and slid oh so sweet and slinky into a chair.

Vivian saw Tooley color slightly, and saw the twitch of satisfaction on his lips. "She ain't drinkin'," he snapped, pointing at Vivian with a dish towel.

Vivian shrugged. "Not me." She sat down with her mother and crossed her legs in a way she knew made them look a mile long.

"I know you're under twenty-one," Tooley added, as if someone had argued with him, and he began to polish the water stains vigorously off a glass no one would look at too closely anyway.

"Hi, Brenda," Esmé said to the waitress who appeared. "We'd like two orders of grease on a bun with all the trimmings. A draft for me and a Shirley Temple for my baby."

"Make that a Coke," Vivian said.

Brenda winked. "Want me to goose that?"

Vivian shook her head. "Nah. The old lady needs to keep her job."

"Old lady!" Esmé squealed, and Brenda left giggling.

It wasn't until they were wiping the crumbs from their mouths that more members of the pack came drifting in, some still yawning from after-work naps, others ready to raise the devil. Tooley's was the place to go, the place to find out where the party was.

Most of the wolf-kind came to Vivian and Esmé's table and greeted them. There was no new leader yet, and Esmé was the widowed queen. And a tasty morsel, too, Vivian thought. She could see it in the eyes of the males and the tight smiles of their mates. A female on the loose was a dangerous creature; she could challenge another bitch for a male she fancied. Some of those male eyes strayed to Vivian, too, and she preened at the thought of being a threat. She and Esmé exchanged knowing looks, their lips plump, curved, and smug.

The group around the TV was larger now, swelled by wolf-kind. Two were males who'd run with Astrid. A cheer went up. The game had turned.

Vivian noted a couple of bikers sauntering over to their table. It was the same two from the other night -  Skull and his sidekick. They never learn, she thought.

Before the bikers reached the table Bucky was there with two of his buddies  -  Esmé's age-mates still in their prime. They loomed, they tightened their fists to make their biceps bulge, and they grinned a toothy invitation. The bikers swerved and headed for the exit instead. It was no secret which males usually won any barroom brawl at Tooley's.

As the bikers reached the door it slammed open and they parted hastily to either side.

Lucien Dafoe came stumbling through. He was a mess. Blood covered half his face and still dripped from a gash on his forehead. He clutched his left arm, which dangled uselessly from his side. His shirt front was in tatters, and whatever had shredded it had also shredded his chest. Cotton stuck in the wounds like papier-mâché.

Esmé rose and Vivian with her, her claws unsheathing, heart pounding. Whoever attacked them, she'd be ready. Around the room the pack stood.

"What the fuck happened to you, man?" Skull asked. The other biker gawked through the door. He flinched when a howling devil stormed in - Astrid.

"You coward!" she shrieked at Lucien. "You piece of shit!"

The bikers looked at each other, shock giving way to sniggers.

"What's going on here?" Tooley stepped in front of the bar, a scarred old baseball bat in his hands. A couple of regulars moved to back him. "I don't want you bringing trouble into my place," Tooley said.

"Chill, man," said Bucky. "Family business." He pointed a finger at the bikers and they left in a hurry.

"I'll get you for laughing," Lucien called after them. It was more whine than threat.

The pack drew in from around the room and circled Astrid and Lucien.

"Come on," said Esmé, gripping Vivian's arm tight with excitement, and they joined the others.

Two human women slipped hurriedly out the door. A man trailed after them, casting curious glances back. Some of the others around the bar looked like they would be happy to follow.

"Who did this?" Esmé asked for all of them.

"Who do you think, you asshole?" Astrid spat, and Vivian wanted to smack her.

"Gabriel," Lucien said, almost blubbering. "That bastard, Gabriel."

A hum swept around the circle.

Am I responsible for the state he's in? Vivian wondered. She felt slightly sick.

"Why would Gabriel do that?" Bucky demanded.

" 'Cus he's power mad," Astrid said. "He wants to beat us into following him. Do you want a leader who'd treat us that way?"

Vivian would have agreed with her any other time, but it was Astrid who had risked exposing the whole pack. That was worse than being a bully. She couldn't lead a run that size in the suburbs and expect no one to notice, and if humans noticed. . . Vivian looked around at the humans anxiously. This was too public.

Esmé echoed her thoughts. "This isn't the place, Astrid."

"Who cares what you think, bitch?" Astrid answered.

"I do," said Bucky. His eyes were narrow and dangerous, his clean-shaven face now slightly shadowed. More than half the circle muttered agreement.

Lucien grabbed his side, moaned, and collapsed to the floor. He sat there looking vaguely surprised, a bubble of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Ain't one of you gonna get him to a hospital?" Tooley called over.

"Yeah, come on," Vivian agreed. They should get out of there before someone phoned the police. They wouldn't be going to the hospital, though; they would take him to Aunt Persia.

One of Bucky's friends put his hands under Lucien's armpits and hauled him up. Bucky grabbed Lucien's legs. They carried him to the door.

The door where Gabriel stood.

Bucky stopped dead. "Hey, man," he said quietly.

Gabriel only nodded. He stood there a moment longer, silent and dark against the glare of a streetlight outside. His fathomless eyes took in the people around the room, daring anyone to challenge him.

"It's not healthy to party with Astrid right now," he finally said in his subterranean growl. "I'd advise against it."

Vivian checked out the others who'd run with Astrid. Their faces were pale and grim. She almost felt sorry for them.

What now? she thought, but when she looked back at the door, Gabriel was gone.

Chapter 13

13

"Where are you going, looking so pretty?" Esmé asked.

"I'm meeting Aiden," Vivian told her.

The smile left Esmé's face. "Baby, I know you're lonely for kids your own age, but I wish you'd be careful. If you gotta wag your tail, wag it for one of the Five."

"The Five are jerks."

"But they're our jerks. You know what to expect from them."

"I know what to expect from Aiden." She thought of his gentle caresses and his dreams of magic.

"But he'll never know you, not really."

Vivian opened her mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.

Esmé must have read the argument in her eyes. "Don't even think about telling him about yourself," she said. "That would be the stupidest thing you ever did in your life. If the pack found out, you'd be cast out in case you brought danger back  to the den. How would you like to lose everyone you care about and be alone in the world? And if what you did led to death ..."

Vivian started toward the door. "I don't want a lecture."

"Honey, I'm just worried," Esmé said. "I get the creeps each time I see that silver around your neck."

Vivian's fingers flew to the pentagram. She had worn it for every date since Aiden had given it to her.

"Listen," Esmé said. "We'll be moving soon. Life will get normal again." She followed Vivian to the door. "You'll have your choice of men. You're beautiful. Don't throw yourself away on someone who can't appreciate you."

"What makes you think he can't appreciate me?" Vivian left the house and slammed the door.

It was one of those steaming days when air clogged the throat like wet cotton wool. Bloody Moon, Vivian thought. She wished she hadn't insisted that Aiden not pick her up, but she wanted to keep him away from her house. The smell of the dusty hot sidewalk burned her nose; the sun scorched the top of her head.

Up by Dobb's Corner Store she ran into Rafe with two six-packs of beer in his arms. He wore a clean Nine Inch Nails T-shirt and part of his hair was pulled up in a topknot so he looked like some pagan chief.

"Going to a formal event, then?" Vivian asked him.

"Got me a honey," Rafe said.

She rolled her eyes. "And who's she when she's conscious?"

"You'll see," he said, and sauntered off chuckling.

It wasn't worth puzzling over. She walked on, pleased he was distracted from his insistent pursuit of her.

By the time she reached Aiden's her T-shirt clung to her back and the hair at the nape of her neck was wet. She pushed her leopard-splotched sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose for the millionth time. As she walked up the front path Aiden came rushing out. Before the door closed she heard his father yelling.

"Don't think you can run away from it, my lad."

Aiden grabbed her arm. "Come on," he urged, and tugged her toward his car.

Excited by his firm grip, Vivian yanked the door open and swung herself in. Aiden ran around and climbed into the driver's seat.

The front door opened again. Aiden's father filled the entrance, his face almost purple. "Get back here, young man."

Aiden ground the gears, and they peeled out despite the clanking protests of the old car.

Aiden hit the dashboard with a fist. "Damn!"

Vivian jumped. She'd never seen him this way. She gritted her teeth against the jouncing ride and clung to the sides of her seat. She was sure the car would rattle itself to bits, but she let Aiden work out his rage.

He took a sharp corner into a strip mall entrance, slamming her toward the parking brake, then against the door. Finally he pulled into a space in front of a tawdry row of shops dominated by a dollar bargain store with lurid Day-Glo posters plastered across its windows.

"That was some ride," Vivian said.

Aiden glanced over, embarrassment in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"So what's the story?" Vivian asked, trying to sound casual, giving him permission to lie if that made him feel safe.

"My parents want me to see a shrink."

Vivian's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"They think I'm weird."

"My dear," she said, reaching over to squeeze his knee. "They haven't seen weird."

He smiled and covered her hand with his. "Thanks."

Vivian hadn't realized how tense his anger had made her until she'd unclenched at the sight of his smile.

"So, how weird do they think you are?" she asked, wiping a drop of sweat from her nose.

"They think I'm a Satanist."

"A what?" Vivian was amused.

"A Satanist. Just because I'm interested in the unknown. I mean, how would anyone learn anything if they weren't curious? How would scientists make discoveries? They're so narrow-minded. They're pissed off because I'm different from them. We all have the right to be different, don't we?"