A slender man got up from a leather executive chair set against a desk, also in Danish modern. An abstract mural covered the wall behind him.

He stood at an impressive height-at least six foot two. "I'm Cragnow Vissoom." Trendy wire-rim glasses sat on an aquiline nose. His eyes lacked a wolfish sheen, meaning contacts dulled his tapetum lucidum. "Felix Gomez?"

"I am." I took off my sunglasses.

Cragnow's aura surrounded him like the corona of a glowing chunk of coal. The aura shone steadily, revealing either a calm disposition or that he was very good at hiding his emotions.

My vampire escorts motioned me forward.

Cragnow smiled as I crossed the room. Wrinkles furrowed his cheeks and around his eyes. Graying temples offset a mane of thick hair. In human years, he looked to be in his midfifties.

When I drew close, Cragnow pointed to a red suede love seat. He gestured past me. "Give us a few minutes." The escorts withdrew and closed the door.

I remained standing until Cragnow sat. Coasters, napkins, and a basket of bagels rested on the kidney-shaped coffee table between us.

In his pressed plaid shirt and khaki chinos, Cragnow looked like an accountant on casual Fridays instead of a porn mogul. "Felix, what brings you to my corner of sunny California?"

I wondered if the previous agents from the Araneum had been so warmly received. And then as warmly exterminated.

"Katz Meow," I said.

Cragnow's aura brightened. He straightened, then stood. "You know where she is?"

I hadn't expected this reaction. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"You a boyfriend?"

"No. An interested party."

"Interested party," Cragnow mumbled to himself. He walked to the bar. "She missed the morning photo shoot for the cover of her latest video, Seven Brides for Seven Gangbangs. Certain to be a classic."

"A must for the connoisseur, I'm sure," I replied.

"It's not like her to be absentminded." Cragnow opened a small refrigerator tucked inside the bar. He pulled out a chilled 450-milliliter bag of human blood. "Care for a pick-me-up? Type A-positive?"

The offer caused my thirst to rise. I had long been «cured» of my aversion to human blood and would enjoy a taste of flesh nectar. Yet I wasn't convinced of the sincerity of his hospitality. So I didn't answer.

Cragnow snipped one corner of the bag with scissors and squeezed the thick, red contents into a blender. He added ice and a can of espresso drink. After mixing the brew into a frothy blend, Cragnow filled two highball glasses with the frappe. He touched the cap on a bottle of Finlandia vodka. "A little extra zing?"

"No thanks."

"Take the starch out of your jockstrap, Felix. You're among family." He measured two shots into one glass and stirred it with a swizzle stick.

Cragnow wrapped napkins around each glass and handed the virgin drink to me. "Salud."

I brought the frappe close to my lips and hesitated. The aroma of coffee enhanced the meaty notes of the chilled blood, but I couldn't bring myself to taste it.

Cragnow sighed. "Oh come on. I invite you to my office, and you act like I'm trying to kill you." He offered his glass. "Let's trade. Careful, mine's got booze, so it might crinkle your shorts."

I waved him off and sipped from my glass. At the first indication of distress, I'd draw my pistol and blast him. The icy blood rolled over my tongue, and the delicious rush refreshed me to my bones.

Cragnow nudged the basket of bagels toward me. "Try one. You won't find any as good west of the Hudson River."

I chose a whole wheat bagel and paused. Why the eagerness to have me eat?

"You are a suspicious bastard." Cragnow snatched the bagel from me and bit. He held the bagel, showing the ragged crescent of his teeth marks. "Satisfied?"

"It's my nature. My apologies." I sorted through the bagels. A business card from the Blue Star Bakery and Delicatessen rested on the bottom of the basket. A scrawl along the margin of the card read:

To Crag. Thanks for everything.

Morty

There were no Mortys on my list of suspects. There was now. I focused my attention back to Cragnow and studied his aura. "So where's Katz?"

Cragnow sipped his drink and licked the froth from his lips. "I don't know."

Not a ripple of emotion disturbed his aura. His reaction remained too steady, the supernatural version of a liar's straight face.

"Enlighten me, Felix. What's your interest in Katz?"

"I'm a private detective. She hired me."

"Hired you for what? To play hide-and-seek in Los Angeles?"

"She wants me to find who killed Roxy Bronze."

Cragnow cupped the glass in both hands. "Roxy Bronze." He leaned back into his chair. "Even dead she torments me."

"I didn't know she tormented you at all."

"We had our differences." Cragnow took a sip. "What's the reason you've come to see me?"

"Katz provided a list of people… and vampires who may want to share what they know about Roxy's death."

"Ask the police. It was their investigation."

"I'll get to them."

"What's in it for you?" Cragnow asked.

I placed my drink on the coffee table. "It's my job."

"How much did Katz pay you?"

"That's privileged information."

Cragnow put his glass on the edge of his desk. He stared at the ceiling. "Let's wave a magic wand and pretend that Katz Meow gave you, say a ballpark figure, somewhere around"-he rocked forward and glared-"a hundred thousand dollars."

Exactly the retainer she had offered me. "Okay, so Katz can't tinkle, much less make a bank withdrawal, without you knowing about it. What are you getting at?"

"Let me wave that magic wand again, and suppose I give you two hundred thousand to drop the case and go home."

"And Katz?"

"Should you run into her, refund the money. You'll still be ahead two hundred thou. And if you never run into her, you'll have three hundred." Cragnow's aura sparkled with self-assured confidence. "Pretty sweet deal."

I picked up a napkin and wiped my lips. "Let me tell you something about myself, Cragnow. I have a habit of finishing what I start."

He nodded and smiled. "You're a vampire who confuses ego with principle. And you think I should admire you for it." The tips of his fangs protruded past his upper lip.

Cragnow's smile deepened into a leer. The smooth sheath of his aura formed into points like the claws of a poisonous centipede.

Cragnow's aura bristled with malevolence. It was a good show, and I should've been impressed. But I could overpower Cragnow, dig my talons into his throat, and squeeze until he told me what I wanted to know. How far would I get before his goons rescued him? Certainly the other vampire agents had tried to muscle information… and failed. To get answers I'd need guile, not brute force.

Cragnow headed the Los Angeles nidus, one of the largest in the world, his own barony of the undead. However, that power had demands I would use against him. Chief among his obligations as nidus leader was keeping the community hidden from the blunt-toothed humans.

"Tell me about your chalice," I said.

The points of Cragnow's aura recoiled in suspicion.

Good, I'd knocked him off balance.

His smile vanished. "Who do you mean?"

I motioned in the direction of the front desk. "Rachel. The receptionist."

"She's not a chalice."

"Oh?" I arched my eyebrows. "Then explain her reaction when I mentioned that I was family. How could a human, other than a chalice, know about that?"

The points of Cragnow's aura withdrew into the glowing sheath surrounding him. His fangs receded behind his upper lip. He pushed back into his chair. The surface of his aura became prickly.