People streamed from the local houses, approaching cautiously, their faces slack with horror and disbelief. They pointed at me, muttering to one another, "Who is that? Did he kill the viejo in the house? Why did he do it?"

The fire ate Coyote's house and the timbers cracked as if the flames had teeth. The roof settled into the burning hole of the basement, the furnacelike heat incinerating everything.

Police sirens blared in the distance.

I didn't need any cops. One of them might have planted the bomb. I had to leave. Now.

I shouldered my overnight bag and retreated into the weeds of the ravine. I hustled through the ravine and into the shade under the overpass.

A column of smoke fouled the air to the west. Fire trucks and more police cars zoomed past.

I rested against the concrete pillar of the overpass, dismayed and shocked. I couldn't believe it.

Coyote was dead.

I replayed the horrific ordeal. The sparks shooting from the front. The blast tearing the truck apart. The terrible fire consuming the cab.

Who ordered the hit? Cragnow, I'm sure. With Petale Venin's blessing.

Shock gave way to anger, and my kundalini noir tightened.

Who had planted the bomb? The police, some of Paxton's? Or Cragnow's vampire guards?

And why? To kill Coyote and me? Or just me?

The blackest of my thoughts returned. Coyote. Gone. Roasted into ash. The hopelessness of the situation crushed me. My legs folded and I sank against the pillar.

A crow sat on a chain-link fence close to the overpass. The crow squawked and flew into the shadow of the overpass to land on the dirt. The crow stared at me with its glossy marble-like eyes. It squawked again. A shiny metallic capsule clung to its right leg. A message from the Araneum.

A wave of resentment tore at my insides. New orders from my anonymous bosses? What good was their grand omniscience if they let Coyote die?

I snatched a pebble from the ground. "I've had enough of this, you stupid bird." I flung the pebble at the crow.

The pebble bounced off its skull. The bird staggered and fell on its butt. The crow shook its head, extended one wing to lever itself up, and stood. The crow advanced and squawked angrily.

It stopped by my feet and raised the leg with the capsule. I reached for the leg, and the crow hopped back.

"I'm not in the mood for games," I said.

The crow strutted into the darker shadows under the overpass. I pushed myself up and followed.

The crow stopped and raised its legs again.

I knelt to unfasten the capsule.

The crow's beak snapped on my finger.

I pulled away, clasping the injured digit. "You little shit, what was that about?"

The crow tilted its head and squawked. It raised the leg with the capsule.

"Okay, so we're even. But watch yourself. Bite me again and I'll introduce you to a knife and fork."

The crow shrugged its wings, unimpressed by my threat.

I undipped the capsule. It looked identical to the one I'd seen back in Denver, a pinky-size tube of filigreed platinum and yellow gold. Rubies rimmed the cap.

Opening the capsule, I let the odor of rancid meat escape, a reminder of the source, a swatch of vampire skin.

I tapped the capsule and a thin curled leaf of vampire parchment slid free. I flattened the parchment into a buff-colored translucent square, curious about the instructions sent by the Araneum.

The parchment was bare. I held it up and studied the surface for evidence of writing. Did the ink fade? Had they used an invisible formula? What was the secret?

The crow squawked to get my attention. It picked a short stick from the ground and dragged one end through the dirt, making squiggles. The crow stopped and gazed at me.

"What are you getting at?"

The bird rolled its head, the gesture saying, "Figure it out, stupid," and dragged the stick through the dirt again.

"You're writing something?"

The crow kept working the stick.

"You want me to write something?"

The crow spat the stick.

"What?"

The crow walked back and forth in front of me, leaving claw tracks in the dust.

"A report?"

The crow didn't answer.

The parchment was too flimsy to write on without support. I slipped a notepad out of my overnight back. I placed the parchment on the notepad, clicked my ballpoint, and wondered what to write. Couldn't be much; the parchment was smaller than the palm of my hand and too thin to write on both sides.

What could I say?

I started with the most important.

Coyote dead. Assassinated. The Araneum surely knew who he was.

Cragnow Vissoom betrayed great secret. Takes orders from Councilwoman Petale Venin, human immune to hypnosis. Cragnow and Venin plan coalition of undead and humans, start of new empire.

Far-fetched? Not really, since it was true.

What was I to do?

I finished my message. Will continue with direct action. Vissoom and Venin to die with undead accomplices.

Your servant, Felix Gomez.

My writing started with neat block letters and deteriorated into a scrawl bunched up along the bottom of the parchment. I rolled the parchment into the capsule and screwed the cap tight.

The crow hopped close. I fit the capsule to one leg. The crow stepped away. Rather than fly off, it stared at me. Its gaze was pensive, melancholy. What did it know? Was this note to be the last testament from me?

The crow turned about and sprang into the air, its black wings a blurry rush of feathers. The crow sailed into the bright sunlight and disappeared.

A new emotion rose inside me and crowded aside the dark shock of Coyote's death. Something more than anger.

Revenge.

I had my own orders. Direct action. Kill Cragnow and Venin.

How?

I had lost my partner. Roxy's files and most of my possessions were burned up. I gazed at the urban sprawl beyond the sanctuary of the overpass. Which was the way forward?

I had the clothes I wore and what was inside my overnight bag: a few toiletries, a notepad, two loaded magazines of silver bullets, plus the stash of eight thousand dollars.

So I had money, a gun, and ammunition. That was a start.

My cell phone hummed in my pocket. I withdrew the phone and flipped it open. I didn't recognize the number, a local area code.

"Hello? Hello?" The man's voice sounded familiar.

"Yes," I replied.

"Felix? It's Lucky Rosario."

I could've turned into ice. Rosario calling now?

"I want out, Felix."

"Out from what?"

"Everything. My business with Cragnow. That whole mess."

"Gimme a second." I had to reorient my thoughts from losing Coyote and back to the investigation. "You seemed happy with the arrangement. The money. The girls."

"The hell with that. We're talking about murder."

Damn right, this was about murder. "What do you mean? Whose murder?" I wanted him to say Roxy's.

"Rebecca Dwelling and Fred Daniels."

Big surprise.

"You're saying Cragnow was behind the murder of Rebecca and Fred?" I wanted Rosario to spell it out in bold capital letters.

"Yes."

"Cragnow admitted it?" I asked.

"Admit? Hell, he bragged about ordering the killings. And there's another murder. Katz Meow."

I had expected that news but still, hearing it stung. "What makes you sure Katz was murdered? Last I checked, she was still missing."

"Not anymore. She's in the morgue. With a bullet hole."

A bullet hole. Same as Roxy. "Who killed her?" I asked.

"Don't know."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Give me cover."

"If you mean protection, go to the police. Cut a deal with them."

Rosario's voice lowered to a desperate whisper. "You know I can't. Julius Paxton is in Cragnow's back pocket. I squeal to the cops, and you'll find me on a table next to Katz."