"But here I am, chattering away," Kathy said, just when Dahlia was thinking she might lean across the table and break Kathy's arm. The witch beamed at Dahlia. "You asked me here because you thought I might be able to do something for you. Can I ask in what way? The original Circe, the founder of the line, never got to meet a vampire, though I'm assuming there were vampires back then. I'm so excited to meet you, and I hope I can help you. And of course I can always use extra money!"

Dahlia was relieved to be getting to the point. It had been a long time since she'd dealt with a breather (however different a human a witch might be) with herself cast in the role of supplicant, and it wasn't easy. "I am a widow."

"Really?" Kathy looked startled.

Dahlia began to suspect Kathy was a better actress than she appeared. "Can you not see I am wearing black? Total, unrelieved black?"

"Yes, but… don't vampires like to wear black anyway? And it's very low-cut," Kathy said.

Dahlia's eyes flashed red for a second. "Do you expect me to look like a frump because my husband died?" Her voice was so cold, there were icicles hanging from every word.

"No," Kathy said hastily. "Oh, no, of course not. Black is always appropriate." She appeared to fumble around for a change of topic. "Excuse me for asking, but what happened to Mr. Swiftfoot?"

"He was murdered," Dahlia said with no expression at all.

"Oh, my Gods! I'm so sorry! Did you want to contact his spirit? Because I don't do that kind of work, but I do know a very good medium. She's the real deal. If she can't connect with him, no one can." Kathy's eyes blinked earnestly behind the lenses of her glasses.

Dahlia worked hard to suppress her instant reaction, which was to spit on Kathy. Or spit her. Either one would relieve her anger. Since Todd's death, she'd had a hard time keeping control of her emotions. Temper control had never been her best thing, anyway. But now was not the time to break discipline. She had a goal, a plan.

"No, I don't want to contact Todd," Dahlia said, her voice very hushed and smooth. "What would be the point of that? He can't come back. I went to the trouble of finding you because I want to punish those who killed him."

"Ah." Kathy sat back in her chair and smiled. And though nothing obvious about her had changed, she looked quite different from the messy, bumbling schoolteacher who'd followed the headwaiter to the table. Suddenly, Dahlia was convinced she was on the right track. Cedric and Clifford had been right. This Circe was the right witch. "Now, that's much more doable," Kathy continued. "What did you have in mind?"

"I want them all dead. That's what I have in mind."

"Oh, dear."

Clifford popped out of nowhere to take Kathy's order and to bring Dahlia another wineglass full of TrueBlood. Dahlia stared at it resentfully. It looked real, it tasted real—but there was no substitute for blood straight from the source. Nights like this, she just wanted to grab someone and chomp. Her fangs ran out at the thought.

"Would you tell me how his death came about?" Kathy asked very respectfully.

Dahlia had to wait for a moment to get her fangs under control. She looked at the witch with great attention, but now Kathy didn't seem to be uneasy at all. "Here in Rhodes," Dahlia said, "there are two main werewolf packs, as you may know. The Swiftfoot pack is fairly large, thirty or forty strong, and its members live mostly in the humbler neighborhoods of the older part of the city. Swiftfoot pack members tend to be manual laborers or low-level professionals: motorcyclists, cops, city workers of all kinds. My husband Todd was a Swiftfoot, of course. We have… had been married a year."

Though the legislation was being debated in the House, it was not yet legal for vampires to marry humans, and since werewolves had not yet revealed themselves to the populace at large the way the vamps had, they were counted as human. Dahlia and Todd's marriage hadn't been legal any more than Don's and Taffy's, but Dahlia didn't care for human law.

"I understand," Kathy murmured.

Dahlia was skeptical about that, but she continued, "The other pack is the Ripper pack from the western suburbs. The Ripper pack is growing in numbers. It's composed mostly of professionals—dentists, nurses, architects. Psychologists. Schoolteachers," Dahlia added, her upper lip curling in a snarl that would have done credit to any Were.

"I understand," Kathy said again. "Different social strata, but they're all the same animal under the skin, right?" She spread her hands in an all-inclusive gesture.

Dahlia could see the telltale signs of someone who'd taken counseling courses: the wise nod, the intent eye focus, the effort to draw the talk out more. Dahlia shuddered, very delicately. But she needed this woman, and she laced her fingers together so her little fists wouldn't bury themselves in the witch's abdomen. Dahlia waited while Clifford placed Kathy's salad in front of her. Behind the witch's back, he gave her a questioning look, and she nodded. After making sure Kathy had everything she needed, he wheeled off to the kitchen to make a phone call.

"The Rippers opposed two of the Swiftfoot pack marrying vampires," Dahlia said. "They feared such marriages would pull them into the spotlight before they were ready to be seen." Her mouth folded in a tight line. "Quite disregarding the fact that the wolves have been considering that very course of action. They'd been talking it to death, months before I'd even met Todd."

"So you feel partially responsible for what happened to your husband," Kathy said, stabbing into her salad with her fork, her voice as full of sympathy as a beehive is of honey. Yep, counseling courses.

"On the contrary," Dahlia said in a truly chilling voice. "I blame the Rippers entirely and completely, and I want their heads on a platter."

Kathy jumped, but then she concentrated on her plate for a few minutes to give Dahlia some composure time. Kathy was exhibiting a bit more intelligence than Dahlia had given her credit for possessing. "How many Rippers do you estimate there are?" Kathy asked when a glance informed her that Dahlia was no longer rigid with fury.

"That would be over fifty. My friend Taffy has counted them when the Ripper and Swiftfoot packs hold their rare joint pack meetings. She's a vampire, like me. She's very good at evading attention. Taffy's married to Don Swiftfoot, the packleader."

"What is the attitude of the Swiftfoot pack to Todd's death?"

"According to their standards, it was a legal death."

"Legal?"

"Yes, so they decided. Werewolves," Dahlia said in a tone of deepest disgust. She'd lost her self-control, but closed her eyes, took a moment, regained her hold on herself. She'd known this would be a delicate interview; she hadn't realized quite how difficult she'd find it. "My husband was the best of them, and they will not avenge his death. But I will. Will you help me?" Her glowing eyes skewered the witch across the table—this witch who taught little children, this Circe whose ancestor had turned visitors to her island home into pigs because she'd damn well felt like it.

"The figure we discussed over the phone…"

"Stands," Dahlia said, nodding solemnly, sure now she'd been talking to the right person.

"I'll consider it. It sounds risky," Kathy said. "My many-times great-grandmother was all about vengeance, especially against men. I'm partial to men when they're only as tall as my waist and have trouble tying their shoes." She laughed, and took off her glasses to polish them on her napkin. "Then, I figure I have a chance to set them straight. By the time they're grown up, it's too late."

That was the Circe's party line, Dahlia could tell by the ease with which Kathy spouted the words. Dahlia had been a very successful predator for more years than she could count, and a successful predator knows her prey. She thought Kathy wasn't exactly being honest. She thought Kathy liked men very much. "So it's true about the pigs?" Dahlia asked.