He looked at me as if waiting for a response, but I didn’t want to get shot, especially now. So I turned to the woman, who was standing in the open doorway and raised my eyebrows.

She understood what I meant and said, “Yeah, you can talk now.” She looked at Wilson and said, “I told him downstairs that I’d shoot him in the balls if he opened his mouth without permission.”

He laughed with delight. “Sound idea. And you may get to do it yet.”

He looked at me and said, “What do you think of her, Markowski? Quite formidable, no? Meet Sheila Barnard, formerly of the US Secret Service.”

Turning to her, he said, “Sheila, this is Detective Sergeant Stanley Markowski, of the police department’s Occult Crimes Unit.”

“She beat me up downstairs,” I said. “I figured that was as good as an introduction.”

Karl was outside, somewhere. With his acute vampire senses, he might well hear me if I yelled for him to come in. Problem was, he’d get here just in time to see me dying on the floor with a bullet in my crotch.

“Would you care to tell me what happened to my guards?” Wilson asked me. “Not that it matters much – I’ll be leaving here tomorrow, since the police apparently know about this place. But I am curious how you did it, Markowski – been polishing up your commando skills, have you?”

As long as we were talking, he wouldn’t tell Sheila to kill me, so I’d talk all night and into the morning, given a chance.

“No, I’m not the commando type. I found a Siren.”

He frowned at me. “A police siren? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, a real Siren – like in The Odyssey.”

The frown got deeper. “Such creatures really exist?”

“They sure do. I found one singing in a rock band, and put her on the back of a flatbed truck, with the rest of the band and some amplifiers. Your guards were last seen chasing the truck down Scranton Road, and the singing won’t stop until the last one drops from exhaustion.”

“Thus giving me another reason why these so-called supernaturals need to be put down, like the dangerous dogs they are. And they will be, one day. Every last one of them.”

“Helter-skelter,” I said. “The great ‘race war’ between humans and supes.”

“Exactly.”

“You seem awful confident that humans are going to come out on top in that one.”

“Of course we will. It’s all part of God’s plan.”

Psychos. They all claim to know God’s plan. Trouble is, none of them can agree on what it is.

“Uh-huh,” I said. “And God told you to use the Delatassos – the same kind of creatures you say you despise so much?”

“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” Wilson quoted. “But that doesn’t restrict Him as to the tools he might use, does it?”

“And Slattery – he’s one of your tools?” I said. “And that vampire, Dimitri Kaspar?”

“Don’t be tiresome, Markowski. Of course they are. And very useful tools, too – for the time being.”

Wilson pushed his chair back and stood. “Now, then. The last time you were my unwilling guest, I kept you alive because I thought you might be useful to me. I won’t make that mistake again.”

He turned to the woman. “Sheila, take him downstairs, if you would. When you’re done, come back up here – I have another job for you.” He looked at me then, and the hatred in his eyes was like a living force. “It involves Sergeant Markowski’s daughter.”

That was the worst mistake he could have made, because it pushed me into “nothing left to lose” territory. If I was going to die anyway, it might as well be here. Karl could settle up the score for me, and at least Christine would be safe. I quietly drew in a big breath, to be sure that my last words – Come in, Karl! – would be loud enough for my partner to hear through the wall.

“Goodbye, Markowski,” Wilson said. “I wish I could say I’ve enjoyed our little talks, but frankly–”

That was as far as he got before the bam of a gunshot sounded from the hall – a shot that went into the back of Sheila Barnard’s head and exited through the front in a spray of blood and bone.

The former Secret Service agent toppled forward onto her face – what was left of it, that is. A good amount of the tissue was now decorating the wall opposite where she’d been standing. Some of the gore had even splattered Wilson himself, ruining what I’d figured to be a five-thousand-dollar suit.

A blonde guy in his mid-twenties came in then, stepping over Sheila’s corpse like it was an inconvenient mud puddle. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him, at first. I was more concerned about the big automatic he was carrying.

It looked like Wilson knew the guy, too, judging by his stare – a mix of rage and disbelief. “Jernegan! What the fuck are you doing here?”

Then it came back to me. I hadn’t known the guy’s name then, but this Jernegan had been one of Wilson’s fair-haired commando boys last year, when Wilson made his first attempt at starting a race war.

But then he had been possessed by the demon Acheron.

The possessed Jernegan had killed five people that night. I would have been number six, except Karl and Christine saved my ass at the last minute. Then the commando guy, and his demon host, had just walked away.

Was Jernegan still possessed, or had the demon moved on to somebody else?

“Me?” he said to Wilson. “I came in through the garage. One door was up – quite careless, really.” He waved the barrel of the automatic in Wilson’s direction. “Now shut up, you crazy old cunt.”

Well, there was the answer to that question. The real Jernegan would never in his life have talked to Wilson like that.

He looked at me then. “Markowski! We do seem to keep running into each other at these crime scenes, don’t we?”

I nodded. “Hello, Jernegen – or do you prefer Acheron?”

“Either will do, although the former name won’t be appropriate much longer. I’m tired of this host and moving on shortly.”

Did that mean me? Was he going to possess me?

“Keeping you alive all this time has been quite the chore, Markowski. I hope you appreciate my efforts on your behalf.”

Some things were starting to make sense now.

“That was you who took out the Delatasso soldier – the one who was about to kill me that night in the warehouse district.”

He gave a slight bow. “None other.”

“And those three guys behind Jerry’s Diner. That was you, too.”

“They were going to kill you and make it look like a mugging gone wrong. Ronnie Delatasso sent them – but without consulting with Mister Bigbucks here, who apparently wanted you kept alive almost as much as I did. But for different reasons, of course.”

“What are your reasons?” I asked him. “I mean, I’m grateful and all, but – why? Last time we met, you were going to cut my throat.”

“Yes, that was short-sighted of me. I should have realized then that I needed you alive. Just as well your two blood-sucking friends intervened.”

“But what did you need me alive for?”

“Isn’t it obvious? To locate Mister Bigbucks here for me. He and I have some unfinished business, and I was sure the two of you would cross paths again soon.”

“What unfinished business?” Wilson asked. Despite his tan, he looked white. Dead white.

Acheron went over to Wilson and slapped him hard across the face. “Did I not tell you to shut the fuck up? We’ll get to you.”

He turned back to me. “My, but I enjoyed that.”

“That makes two of us,” I said. “But if it won’t get me slapped, I’ve got the same question – what business have you got with Wilson?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It was on the orders of this septic excrescence that I was summoned from Hell.”

“I know Scranton’s got its problems, especially lately,” I said. “But I still would’ve thought it’s better than Hell.”