Should we wait for Knox to return? I telepathically inquired. I wanted this meeting to go as smoothly as possible and Knox would help greatly toward that end.

He’s gone with Amanda to meet with Abigail Bradford’s parents, Mira explained. He’s helping to deliver the bad news of the animal attack and hopefully quiet the press circus.

In other words, Mira’s trusted second-in-command had been sent with Amanda to tweak the memory of the senator and his wife, making both more pliable and agreeable. The investigation would continue on, but the dangerous human element would be removed for now. It had been a close call and we could only hope that the press would back off. I wasn’t banking on everyone believing the nonsense that Abigail Bradford had been attacked by a dog, but it was the only plausible answer that didn’t include vampires, lycanthropes, naturi, or the bori.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said under my breath, trying not to worry about how many nightwalkers actually heard me.

“Agreed,” Mira said, beginning to sound a little worried herself.

I followed Mira as she wove her way through the maze of tables to the back corner of the club. I could feel dozens of eyes watching my steady progress through the room. Nobody moved, the clubgoers becoming pale statues in the dim light.

The corner booth was larger than the rest, allowing six nightwalkers and humans to lounge in comfort, partially obscured by a dark red curtain that hung on the sides of the entrance to the booth. In the back corner sat a nightwalker in classical Victorian garb, with his ornately embroidered waistcoat over a pristine white shirt and neckcloth. His eyes briefly skimmed over Mira before settling on me with a wide grin.

“Mira,” he seemed to purr. “You’ve brought us a guest.”

“Everyone out,” Mira ordered, ignoring the nightwalker. “I need to speak with Gregor alone.”

The nightwalkers and two humans in the booth slowly pushed to their feet and slunk away, all of them careful to not walk past me. I slid into the booth next to Mira, while a low table separated us from the nightwalker called Gregor. I recalled seeing him at the First Communion with a conservatively dressed brunette.

“To what do I owe this unique honor?” Gregor asked, oozing a wicked kind of glee as his eyes failed to waver from my face.

“Abigail Bradford,” I said in a stark cold voice, finally causing the smile to fade from his mouth.

“Oh, that business,” Gregor mumbled. The nightwalker slouched in his seat, laying his hands limply in his lap. “It is a shame about her, but I can’t tell you who killed her. Heard it was quite messy, but again, I don’t know the ‘who’ behind the act.”

“I’d be shocked if you did know who killed her,” Mira said with a shake of her head. “I didn’t come here for that.”

“What else could you want to know with your new beau in tow, looking to scare us all into submission?”

I gritted my teeth, but otherwise kept my comments to myself. It wouldn’t help our cause and certainly wouldn’t make Gregor any more cooperative.

“I want to know if there could be a specific reason as to why she was chosen,” Mira said, easily brushing aside his comment.

“You mean it’s not enough that she was the only daughter of a United States senator?” Gregor inquired. One thick eyebrow arched as he turned his full attention to Mira.

“Speaking of which, who was the idiot that brought her in? It’s not like she could easily disappear if there was some kind of unfortunate accident,” Mira demanded caustically.

“I believe it was Everett who officially welcomed her into the fold,” Gregor said, then shrugged his narrow shoulders. “At least, that’s who I saw her with first.”

“That’s convenient,” Mira muttered. She flopped backward against the back of her seat and slouched slightly as well, nearly matching Gregor’s posture as she grumbled to herself about the ironic whim of the fates.

“I don’t understand,” I said, drawing Mira’s gaze back to my face, but it was Gregor who spoke up first.

“Mira is unable to punish our dear Everett for bringing in the wrong type of human because you already took the trouble of killing him this past summer.” Gregor’s smile darkened to something more twisted and evil.

In return, I sat back, crossing my arms over my chest as I frowned back at him. I wasn’t going to apologize if that was what either of them were looking for. I was a hunter. Killing nightwalkers was what I did. When I came looking for Mira in July, I had slaughtered several vampires in an effort to locate her. Everett was just one in a long list of deaths that had occurred at my hand.

“And after Everett disappeared, you welcomed Abigail into your little group?” Mira pressed, ignoring the staring contest that was building between Gregor and me.

Gregor blinked first, jerking his attention back to the Fire Starter. It was clear within her voice that she was growing more irritated with both of us. “She was a sweet girl,” Gregor commented. “Funny, charming, and adventurous. She already knew about us so I saw no problem in allowing her to continue her association with our kind through me and my friends.”

“You could have wiped her memory,” I snapped.

The nightwalker sat up a little straighter, his smile dimming into a slight frown as he looked at me. “Yes, I could have, but in truth it never occurred to me. I didn’t discover that she was the daughter of a senator until after she died. All I knew was that she kept an apartment on River Walk, was a sweet little curator at one of the local museums, and enjoyed club hopping. Abigail was just another one of the crowd.”

“And she knew Tristan?” Mira inquired.

Gregor’s smile returned as he looked over at Mira. “Yes, Abigail was with us the night that Tristan happened in the Dark Room. I invited him over to sit with us, to have a bite to eat. Abigail was more than willing. I thought it would please you that I made the effort to welcome your young one into the area.”

This time it was Mira’s turn to frown at Gregor. She leaned forward, her nails digging into the seat cushion beneath her. “Have a care with Tristan. I don’t always approve of your games with the fledglings, but I have been lenient and allowed you to have your fun. I will not be so forgiving when it comes to my family.”

“I have in no way threatened Tristan,” Gregor quickly argued, holding both of his hands up and open toward us in surrender.

“You never threaten,” Mira countered. “You offer up little games, escapades of chance and risk, and fledglings end up dead.”

“Your warning has been noted, but again, I must state that I have not threatened Tristan in any way,” Gregor amicably said. “I only offered him a hand of friendship, a sip from my cup.”

“A cup that happened to be Abigail,” I said.

The nightwalker shrugged, folding his hands in his lap. “She was willing and it certainly wasn’t the first time. She knew what she was doing. Again, as far as I know, none of us were aware of the young woman’s parentage. I like to think that we would have taken care of her memory should it been known.”

“Besides your little group, was there anyone else that she was known to associate with?” Mira inquired, dragging us back to the topic at hand. The reason we had come here was not to draw lines in the sand where Tristan was concerned, nor had we come here to discuss my disgust for their habits.

“Not anyone that I noticed,” Gregor replied.

“What about the lycans?” I asked.

Gregor frowned as he looked out toward the dance floor, seeming to be lost in thought for a moment. “Back before the naturi, back when there was peace with the shifters, she spoke with them here at the club,” Gregor said, his voice taking a somewhat wistful tone. “I never noted a particular preference for any one lycan. She was just friendly, striking up a conversation with someone who happened to be standing next to her at the bar as she waited for a drink. Abigail was a free spirit.”