"You killed her, Dom! You killed that woman. What are we going to do?"

"We're going to get the hell out of here. Can you walk?"

"We can't just leave her. There's a bullet from your gun in her back."

"No, come here and look. It went straight through her."

"Then it's still here somewhere. You know the routine. They'll find it."

"Come on, Wade. She looks like just another hooker. Nobody's gonna search this alley."

I'd never seen a dead vampire before. I mean… we're undead, but Maggie was dead now. Edward once told me that our bodies would begin cracking within moments, and then start turning to ash. This would eradicate any evidence of her existence. I had a sick feeling Dominick knew that or he wouldn't have been so flippant about the missing bullet.

Their argument grew muffled, and I could pick out only bits and pieces. Then they started moving. I kept the black hole in my mind in case Wade tried to search again, but I was beginning to realize that he didn't know much more about focusing his psyche than I did.

I followed them as closely as possible. It would have been a lot easier if I simply could have gone inside Wade's head and viewed his physical surroundings through his eyes, but that would have given my position away.

They eventually ended up on Fourth Avenue and got into a silver Mustang. I panicked for a second. Having to follow them in a car never occurred to me. The dark streets were nearly empty. Then I spotted an overweight teenager unlocking a dented Ford Escort.

The Mustang pulled out from the curb.

I ran to the pudgy kid. "Hey," I said, smiling. "Do me a big favor? Quick. For twenty bucks?"

His face melted in a simultaneous mask of suspicion and interest. "What kind of favor?"

"Follow them," I said, pointing to the disappearing Mustang.

He stared at me. "You're kidding."

"Just do it, okay?"

"Old boyfriend?"

"Something like that."

"Okay, get in."

"You're a prince."

He was actually pretty good behind the wheel and caught up to the silver moving target within a few seconds.

"Not bad," I said. "You practice this?"

He lit a cigarette and held it between thick lips. "My girlfriend dumped me for a hockey player. I used to follow 'em around sometimes."

"What happened then?"

"I got over it."

"Good for you. I heard hockey players make lousy lays, anyway. Too many bruises."

"Yeah." He smiled. "That's what my dad said."

Dominick drove all the way out to old Highway 99 and parked by a single-story motel called the Rosewood. But daylight was only a few hours away, so whatever I was going to do had to be fast.

"Here's my stop," I said. "Everyone please depart in a calm and orderly fashion."

The kid laughed softly, and I handed him thirty dollars.

"Thanks a lot," I said. "I gotta go."

"Hey, wait." He wrote something quickly on a book of matches and gave it to me. "That's my number. If you get over this guy, give me a call."

Sometimes I forget that I look seventeen. "Just might have to do that. Always did like a man who can drive."

As he pulled back onto the street, I fell out of charming mode and crouched down behind a Chevy pickup. Dominick slipped into room 6. Wade went into room 10. Instinct told me to ignore Wade and cut his partner's heart out, but common sense pushed that vision away. Dominick might know more than he should, but he was useless and blind without Wade.

For a moment, I considered knocking on Wade's door and taking him by surprise when he opened it. But the scene of Maggie's death flashed by me, and I decided he'd have to be caught while sleeping. For that I'd need a key.

The lobby of the Rosewood Motel was dead at three o'clock in the morning. A middle-aged clerk sat reading a tattered issue of Playboy behind the front desk. After peering through a set of glass front doors, I used my teeth to tear my own left wrist open and then smeared blood all over my arm and face before staggering into the lobby, bleeding on the cheap, indoor-outdoor carpet.

"Please, help me."

The clerk's stunned expression would have been comical at another time. Dropping the magazine, he hurried toward me, muttering, "Oh, dear. Oh, dear."

I hadn't heard that in years.

"Did someone cut you?" he asked, grabbing my arm.

For an answer, I started crying, and his face contorted in distress.

"This way, dear. Come back here and we'll tie up your arm and call someone to help."

His manner was so sweet and reassuring that I didn't like the idea of hurting him. With one hand on my shoulder and one holding my injured arm, he led me around to a TV room behind the front desk.

"Just a minute now and we'll have the bleeding stopped," he said. "Put your fingers here behind the wound, and I'll get you a bandage."

He trotted off and came back quickly with a first-aid kit. "Now, let me see."

When he leaned over to take a closer look, I brought my right elbow down on the back of his head hard enough to drop him. He fell like a sack of grain and lay unconscious.

He'd been nice. It bothered me to give any kind deed such a shoddy return, so I made sure he was breathing and then pushed two hundred dollars into his jacket.

The keys were hanging in shiny rows on nails behind the front desk. Wade must be asleep by now. I quickly found the key to room 10 and bolted out the door.

Room 10 was close. Putting my ear to the door, I listened for him. Nothing. Tentatively, I cast about with my mind, trying to pick up conscious thought patterns. Nothing. The key fit smoothly into the lock.

Click.

We have several advantages that I rarely, if ever, think about: like night vision. Many of my concepts of vampire lore were picked up from American culture. Film portraits of some handsome romantic undead hero bemoaning the fact that he'll never again see the sunrise have always made me gag. Edward and I used to go to the theater when we were bored and giggle during those silly scenes. We probably annoyed a lot of people. But after the first few adjustment years, I never missed the sun. My world is dark, and if I want light, I just stay home and run up the power bill. Why should anyone living an unnatural existence long for natural light? Ridiculous.

From the doorway I watched Wade breathing softly on his bed. The curtains by his head moved slightly in a night breeze. Moving in, I let the door close behind me. His clothes lay neatly across the back of a chair with his shoulder holster positioned on top. A streetlight outside the window reflected glittering points off the handle of his gun. This would be too easy.

I quietly unsnapped the little leather thong over the trigger guard and found myself pulling out a 9mm Beretta. It felt heavy and alien in my hand. For some reason, I had a feeling it had never been fired outside a target range.

Wade's breathing changed slightly, but he just rolled over in his sleep. How had Dominick known to cut Maggie's head off? I just couldn't get that out of my mind. How much did Wade know? Who else had they told about all this? Who else believed them?

Without really thinking, I walked over and pointed the gun at his head, but not close enough for him to grab.

"Wake up."

He stirred.

"Wake up, or I'll just kill you now."

Two very light brown eyes looked up at me from a narrow face.

"You stay out of my head," I whispered.

He gasped and sat up.

"Don't," I said. "Is this thing loaded?"

He nodded slowly, realization dawning. "What are you doing here?"

"Murdering you."

"No! I didn't know Dominick would kill your friend. We never talked about that. He's just gone off the deep end trying to figure this thing out."

"What thing?"

"You know."