He clasped the edge of his eyeglasses. He hesitated at removing them. I knew he regretted not taking them and his contacts off sooner, leaving me with the advantage of reading his aura while he couldn't see mine. He'd done so out of arrogance, and to remove them now would be an admission that I threatened him.

Cragnow lowered his hand and smiled. The skin around his eyes wrinkled. "That's a question only a vampire from the Araneum would ask."

"If you're implying that I'm here on behalf of the Araneum, I'm not," I lied. "My question was one any vampire would ask. Aren't you the head of the local nidus?"

"That's no family secret."

"Then it's your job to enforce the protocol that protects us."

Cragnow's aura softened into an even, inscrutable facade. He paused and drank from his vodka blood frappe.

I asked again, "What about Rachel?"

Cragnow tightened his expression. "Let me worry about her." He stood and walked toward the bar. He held his glass up. "Care for a refill?"

"I'm fine."

Cragnow kept his back to me as he refreshed his drink. "I've changed my mind, Felix. Since you're not going to drop the case, I'll tell you what you can do for me." He turned about. "Go ahead and find out who killed Roxy Bronze."

Lucky for me that Cragnow wore contacts, otherwise my aura blazing in surprise could've blinded him. I paused to regroup my thoughts.

"Okay, Cragnow, let me be honest. You were my number one suspect."

"Why? Because I was Roxy's former boss?"

"You and she had disagreements."

"Many. But that doesn't mean I killed her."

"She bought out her contract with you and was going to start her own video and distribution line." I gestured to the walls. "She made Gomorrah Video. How much did her loss affect you?"

"Let's set the record straight." Cragnow's aura bristled with a fuzz of annoyance, "I made Roxy. She didn't make me. There are many more where she came from. I've got beauty queens, suburban moms, eighteen-year-old cheerleaders fresh off the bus from Kansas, eager to pump spoog for Gomorrah. Roxy was past thirty, a goddamn hag in this business."

"So her leaving didn't bother you."

"Hell yes. But you're talking as if that never happened anywhere else. In Hollywood, the legit movie business, mind you, backstabbing is more common than a handshake." Cragnow picked a newspaper from the magazine crib beside the bar. He tossed the newspaper on the coffee table. "Here's the Wall Street Journal. I dare you to open that and not find one article about business partners screwing each other's balls deep."

"I don't understand your problems with Roxy," I said, wanting to bait Cragnow into revealing more. "Should've zapped her with hypnosis to keep her in line."

Cragnow replied, "You surprise me, Felix. I thought you'd have more experience with humans than that. Posthypnotic control is not reliable outside of the trance, especially for someone with a strong personality."

"Like Roxy?" I asked.

"Especially her."

"Did Roxy know you are a vampire?"

Cragnow's aura tightened.

"It's a simple question. Answer yes or no."

Cragnow's eyes narrowed. "No."

"Was she aware of vampires?"

"I'm positive she wasn't," Cragnow said.

"To be clear about this, you didn't murder Roxy?"

"No." Cragnow closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And to answer the next question, I don't know who killed her either."

These denials meant little. I lied about being here for the Araneum, and Cragnow could lie about his involvement in Roxy's murder.

"A minute ago you offered me two hundred thousand to drop the case," I said. "Now you want to know who killed her. Why?"

"Not out of sympathy, that's for sure. Roxy got what she deserved. But talking to you made me realize there's a lot more to this." Cragnow rested an elbow on the edge of the bar. "When Roxy died, I thought that was the end of that headache. Now Katz Meow is missing." He looked at me. His aura churned with swirls that betrayed worry. "Maybe I'm next."

"Meaning whoever killed Roxy could be after you?"

"I have to consider that." Cragnow poured more vodka into his frappe. He jammed in a swizzle stick and swirled it. Pink froth spilled out. He ran a finger around the rim of the glass to wipe the foam and then licked his finger clean.

"Don't get me wrong, Felix, I'm not on your side." He returned to his chair, a drunken wobble disturbing his gait. He eased into the leather seat. "It's that your visit has turned on a little lamp in my head. Maybe I've been too complacent about my plans…"

"What plans?"

Cragnow's aura tightened to the smoothness of glass. An equally tight grin curved his lips. "My plans for Gomorrah Video, what else?"

That's what I needed to find out.

"Since you're being straight with me"-his grin widened and the fangs showed-"at least as straight as I'm being with you, do this. Find out who killed Roxy Bronze. It'll be a favor."

"A favor to the leader of the L.A. nidus? What an honor. What do I get in return? A merit badge?"

The grin faded. "Don't push it. You're working for Katz Meow, not me."

Cragnow was feeding me rope, and it wasn't a lifeline.

I asked, "Would you know someone named Coyote?"

Cragnow answered with a nod and said, "Haven't seen him since I fumigated my house."

"What's that mean?"

"I'm sure you'll find out." Cragnow fumbled for the corner of his desk and pressed a button. Staring at me, he sipped from his drink.

The room grew quiet until the loudest sound was the gurgling of the aquarium. The door swung open. The black vampire bodyguard motioned me out. His vest was folded back to expose the big pistol holstered against his chest.

I replaced my sunglasses, gave Cragnow a salute, and followed the bodyguard down the hall and to the reception area. Rachel wasn't there. The bodyguard held the front door open and watched until I got into my car and drove off.

Traffic on the Ventura Freeway crawled along like a sleepy river. A great mass of inhabitants swelled within the San Fernando Valley, and I was but one speck among the millions. I felt the pressure of countless anonymous eyes smothering me. I wished I was back in Denver, safe and in control.

I whipped off my sunglasses and scanned cars and buildings, looking for the telltale blossom of an orange vampire glow against the sea of red auras. I realized my mistake in assuming that the danger came only from vampires. With the threat of vampire-human collusion, any one of these humans could be after me.

Again I raked my gaze across the confusion of auras, searching for a glow-orange or red-luminescent with malice against me. Icy fear pumped through my limbs. I was like a swimmer convinced that a shark lurked unseen in the surrounding waters.

A stream of self-absorbed humans swirled past. There was nothing around me except hurried indifference.

Thirst parched my throat. I took the exit into Sherman Oaks and stopped in the parking lot of a strip mall lined with boutiques. I pawed through the box my pistol had been shipped in. Under a layer of bubble wrap rested a large Ziploc bag with six 450-milliliter bags of human blood. I removed one, chiding myself for not storing the blood properly. But the plastic bladderlike bag felt cool, so the blood inside should still be safe.

I fanged one end of the bag and sucked the delicious meaty fluid. An invigorating energy flowed through me, quenching the ache of dread like salve on a burn. I relaxed against the driver's seat, rolling up the bag of blood as if it were a tube of toothpaste, and squeezed the last liquid morsels over my tongue. Satisfied, I stuffed the empty bag into the well of the center console.

Guilt crept into me. Guilt for showing weakness because I had lapsed into paranoia.