It's a little before two when we land in San Diego. Disconcerting since we left France at nine this morning and have been en route for thirteen hours. If what's happening isn't bad enough, the time difference will make this day hellishly long.

The pilot taxis from the runway to Jimsair, the private terminal. I wonder first how he would know to do that and then I realize how stupid that question is.

Of course he would know. It's where he picked me up, unconscious and with Lance as my companion.

When I deplane, a Jimsair employee is waiting. He and the pilot have a brief conversation before he turns to me.

"The same arrangements as always, Ms. Strong?"

Since I have no idea what that means, I just nod. Williams took care of the details before. When I went to France to visit my folks, I simply called the pilot I'd used before and told him when I wanted to leave. He took care of the rest. I suppose now I'd better take more interest.

That will be first thing on my to-do list after getting David back safely and killing Lance.

But right now . . . "I need to call a taxi. Can I do that inside?"

The guy nods and gestures toward the lounge. "Georgia at the desk will help you."

I thank him. I'll go straight home. Change out of this ridiculous outfit and go to Beso de la Muerte. There are questions I have for Culebra and, I imagine, questions he has for me.

* * * *

I push through the old-fashioned double swinging doors.

Culebra looks up, frowns and his greeting is a curt, "I've been wondering when you'd show up."

He's standing behind the bar, polishing glasses with a towel. He could be a Hispanic Clint Eastwood stand-in. Weather-beaten, tanned-leather face, slightly stoop-shouldered skinny frame, jeans and long-sleeved shirt faded from too much exposure to sun and soap.

Usually, you'd peg him as one of the good guys.

Today, however, his mood is black and dangerous. Today his shape-shifter name fits him. Rattlesnake.

I look around.

The bar is deserted.

Unusual for a Saturday afternoon.

He's in my head. What did you expect? I lost two hosts. That crazy bitch killed one outright and took off with the other. His body was found yesterday in the desert. I thought Williams was a menace. His wife is worse.

I'm sorry. I had no idea. I thought having her brought here was better than the alternative-sending her out to hunt on her own. The Revengers have left us alone for a while. She was frantic to feed and I didn't want to take the chance she'd do something to attract them.

The Revengers are a powerful human group sworn to exterminate the vampire race. They have been around since the time of the Crusades when vampires and heretics were hunted with the same fervor. There has been no activity lately to attract their unwanted and dangerous attention. My intention was to keep it that way.

Culebra throws the towel down, snarls, Vampire hunters are the least of your worries. Once word gets around, how many hosts do you think will come back here? Or vampires looking to safely feed? Sanctuary has been violated. I'm not sure I can fix this. I'm not sure I want to.

His words trigger a spasm of alarm. Why not? This is your home. Your livelihood. What would you do?

Retire. Sit on a beach. Think of myself for a change. Drink tequila all day and fuck all night. Sounds like a pretty good plan right now.

This is so unlike Culebra, I don't know how to react. Is he simply venting? He can't be serious. He's run this place for decades. It's where I come to feed. It's where I've come when I've needed help. It's where he saved David's life and where I saved Culebra's.

He must be kidding.

Do I look like I'm kidding?

He blames me for what happened. There is so much malice in his tone, the realization hits me like a physical blow. I wish it were physical. I wish he would hit me. Yell. Scream. Get it out of his system. No physical injury could be more painful than Culebra's hostility.

Don't be too sure, vampire. He leans toward me. His tone is dry, vibrates in the back of his throat like the warning sound of a rattler before it strikes.

The animal in me responds to the threat. I tense, take a wary step forward, two predators sniffing each other out.

No. This isn't the way it should be between us. I step back, shaking my head. Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends.

His laugh is merciless. We are friends when you need something from me. I owe you for saving me from the witch Belinda Burke, but even that was not done without ulterior motives. You had your own score to settle. The drug lord Martinez wanted you dead. She sold you out to him. You lost Max because of what happened in Mexico. Admit it, Anna. You went after Burke as much for yourself as for me.

And what if I did? He's beginning to seriously piss me off. All the shit I've been through in the last few days comes to a boil in my own caldron of rage. What if everything you're saying is true? We had a pact, you and I, that we'd go after the witch together. Instead, you lie to me, take off on your own, serve me up to Williams and end up near death. Frey and I saved your miserable life, and I don't personally give a crap why you think we did it.

His eyes narrow as he watches and listens. I don't care. I had a reason for coming here today and I fucking well plan to get what I came for.

"Williams is dead." My voice is shrill, my hands windmill around. The story erupts like a geyser. "I just get back from France where that maniac Lance and his crazy sire Julian Underwood attempted to use me in some stupid plan because they think I'm the reincarnation of a Basque goddess, and now I find out that Mrs. Williams has more than likely kidnapped David so she can use me to carry out a stupid plan of her own. I'm tired, scared, in need of counsel. It's why I came here. To see the wisest man I've ever known. I know he's here somewhere, Culebra. Under all that self-pitying, tortured, indulgent load of crap you've been spewing, I know he's still here. You can beat me up later, when we're all safe. Right now, I need my friend."

I run out of words and invective at the same time. Part of me feels relieved to have gotten the story out, part of me wonders if I've driven Culebra out of my life forever. Either way, I'm too weary to care.

Culebra is still staring, his body rigid as he peers at me with cold eyes. I don't try to get into his head. I can't take any more abuse.

The seconds tick by. I break the stalemate first. This is useless. I may as well go straight to Frey for a strategy session. I can't even remember now why I came here. I turn to go.

Culebra's words reach me at the door.

"Someone really thought you were a reincarnated Basque goddess? Now that's crazy."