Moonshine did look to be your typical wolf hangout. I hadn't been to but the one; still, the pups seemed to have a theme going. Seedy, smelly, and probably wall-to-wall fleas. Absently I scratched my arm in anticipation. A split second later a can of flea and tick spray was slapped in my hand. Always prepared—it wasn't a personal mantra for my brother; it was programmed into his genetic code. Slipping the small canister into the pocket of my jeans, I reined in my usual sarcasm. "Thanks, Cyrano. Last time I was scratching for days." Before Goodfellow could open his mouth, I aimed a warning glare at him. "No smart-ass cracks."

His mouth, already open, snapped shut and he returned the glare with an added helping of wounded hurt that I wasn't buying for a second. Ignoring him, I turned my attention to the shirt. Normally I would've left it hanging loose. I wasn't a tucked-in kind of guy, but for extra security for the microphone, I shoved the silk under the waistband. The shirt wasn't skintight or gigolo tight, but it was snug enough that you couldn't have fitted a weapon beneath it, and I didn't even try. Instead I wore my holster outside the shirt. One side held my Glock, and the other side was modified for my knife. The leather was black, but that hardly had the whole setup blending in with my shirt. It didn't matter. The bouncer would've been more suspicious if I hadn't been carrying. There wasn't a creature alive who would walk into that place unarmed.

Holding out my arm, I said formally, "Is milady ready?"

Amused, Promise tucked a hand into the crook of my elbow. "How gallant you are, sir."

"When you're dressed like you charge five dollars an hour, you have to be," Robin observed caustically, the moratorium on sarcastic comments apparently having passed almost instantaneously.

Never mind, it was his shirt. I gifted him with the finger, then stepped down to the street after Niko slid back the cargo door. Promise followed. Her hair floated loose to her hips, a stained-glass banner in the red and green of the neon lights. Looking over my shoulder at Niko, I taunted lightly, "If we come back engaged, you have no one to blame but yourself."

Pale brows pulling together in an annoyed V, he shut the door firmly and silently in my face. "Cranky, cranky," I murmured, and started walking.

"He's worried," Promise said after a long moment of contemplation. She rarely said anything without considering it from all angles, and this was no exception.

"He's the only grandma I have." I grinned. "Now the same goes for you."

Surprisingly, the bouncer at the door was female and petite. That only meant she was more dangerous, a buck five of ass-kicking fury. Inky black hair pulled back in a long tail was paired with arresting yellow green eyes. To your casual human eye the split upper lip could've easily been mistaken for a cleft lip and not the beginnings of a muzzle. It kept her from being classically beautiful, but that didn't mean she still wasn't gorgeous. Exotic and strange, but gorgeous nonetheless. As we approached the door, she looked us up and down, sniffed, and then wrinkled that bifurcated upper lip in disgust. It was the same reaction I'd gotten from the albino wolf at Cerberus's office. The wolves I'd come into contact with last year, when I was possessed by Darkling, had been fascinated with my scent. The combination of human, Auphe, and Darkling had been a canine potpourri, a feast for the senses. Apparently plain old half-human, half-Auphe wasn't nearly as pleasing.

Tainted or not, we were allowed to pass. And lucky us, there was no cover charge. The club was smaller than I would've guessed from the outside. That indicated either a helluva lot of walk-in closets or a few back rooms set aside for more interesting activities. Taking a look around, I didn't see too many fashion plates in the immediate area. All right, then… back room it was. No doubt that was where the poker game went on. The rest of the place was typical for what it was. Roulette and blackjack tables, occasional slot machine, tables and chairs, suspiciously wet floor, empty makeshift stage, poor lighting. Except for the regulars, it looked like every bar I'd ever slung a brew in. "Drink?" I asked Promise.

Raising her eyebrows, she declined. "That adventurous I am not. But, please, help yourself."

At the bar I ordered a beer, less for drinking and more for blending in. Not having had my rabies shot, I made sure it came in a bottle. The bartender was a surprise. A big one. Bored green eyes, wavy brown hair, and a foxlike face that was all too familiar. I couldn't help but stare. It didn't go unnoticed.

"You seem to have a problem, freak." It was Goodfellow's voice, only arctic and empty. Goodfellow's face, although set with a supercilious sneer. His eyes, lacking even a sliver of a soul. "Shall I cure you of it?" The blade he laid on the counter beside the beer was a Spanish poniard, more ice pick than dagger.

"No problem," I said evenly. Now was not the time or place for a fight. Not if we hoped to get in a game with Boaz. Pissing off the bartender—and, if I knew pucks, the owner of the club—wasn't the way to go about that. "It's just been a while since I've seen a puck," I continued on, lying smoothly. "Hard to believe this city is worthy of your presence." Complete sincerity over unadulterated bullshit.

The toxic ennui in his eyes was eddied momentarily by conceit and self-satisfaction. "None is worthy. What can one do?" He tossed a towel over his shoulder and said dismissively, "Take your drink and go, freak. That shirt is an assault to my eyes." Freak. He was even quicker to pick up on the Auphe in me than Robin had been. Maybe like called to like. I'd never thought of Goodfellow as a monster. Annoying, vain, arrogant, glib, unscrupulous… and, yeah, an out-and-out crook, but never a monster. This guy was. It came off of him in waves. A rapacious predator, an utterly amoral sociopath… this particular Pan would gut you in a heartbeat for a penny. He did have better taste in shirts than Goodfellow, though. I had to give him that.

Picking up my beer, I left as ordered. I, better known as the freak, would've preferred to take the poniard and pin his hand to the bar or at the least plant a fist in his face. But neither was an option, not right now. Undercover work, let me count the ways in which it sucked. Promise tilted her head as I approached. "Peculiar, is it not?" she said as her eyes rested on the puck across the room. "How identical they all are… what few that are left."

"Trust me," I responded soberly. "They're not identical."

We chose a table close to the back of the room. We sat side by side, both of our backs to the wall. Niko would've been proud. The place was half-empty; it was still fairly early. Within the next hour that began to change. Moonshine might've been a predominantly wolf hangout, but it attracted all kinds. Sprinkled among the lupines were an afreet, a few ghouls, succubi plying their dangerous trade, and three lamias on what looked like a girls' night out. There were others, creatures I didn't recognize. Promise probably did, but quite frankly my curiosity just wasn't high enough to ask her. I was more concerned with Boaz. When Niko had called Caleb to accept the assignment, he'd gotten a description of our mark, but so far I hadn't spotted him. Around us the wolves, some in human form and some not, drank, laughed, howled, cursed, and fought. It brought back memories, not particularly good ones. The last time I'd been in a bar like this had been to hire a pair of assassins. And although I hadn't been behind the wheel of my own body at the time, it was hard to forget that except for Niko and Robin, George would be dead now.

"Niko is a fabulous lover."

It was a good thing the beer was only for decoration. Otherwise I would've choked on it, or at the very least spewed it a few feet. As it was, I felt my face take on a hunted expression. As subjects go, this was not one any brother wanted to discuss. "Jesus, Promise," I said with not a little desperation, "that's the kind of information that could scar a man for life."