“Good. I’m glad they’re so willing to help. That’s a nice change. You get to itr and let me know what happens. Marcus, get that warrant in place and let’s see what Mr. Vampire has in his closet. Don’t get stuck by anything.”

Ariadne was where Taylor had left her, sitting in the chair just inside Taylor’s office. Taylor suggested they go into the conference room so they could have more space.

Lincoln, staring at Ariadne with openly frank curiosity, excused himself, but shook the girl’s hand first, lingering for a moment. Ariadne smiled back at him, and Taylor could swear he blushed.

McKenzie shook her hand with interest as well, but his was most definitely cool and appraising, pure professional detachment. Marcus was the one who held back, and Taylor found that interesting. He mumbled something about the warrant and scooted out of the room.

Taylor and McKenzie settled across the table from Ariadne, and Taylor gestured for her to begin. “Tell us what you know. But first, would you please answer something else for me? Why do you want to help us?”

“Well, that’s easy enough. All of us are threatened by the actions of this warlock. Have you ever heard of the Wiccan Rede?” Ariadne asked.

“No,” Taylor answered.

“It’s our code of ethics, what all good little witches and warlocks believe in. It’s our version of the Hippocratic oath. The Rede itself is long and involved-gives us a guide to the intricacies of spell work on the feast days, these types of things. But it’s the last two lines that are the most important. ‘These eight words the Rede fulfill-an ye harm none, do what ye will.’ We believe that any magick you cast is brought back to you threefold. The law of return, that’s what we call it. Which means if you cast a negative spell, that negativity will come back and bite you on the ass.”

“So why would a witch ever cast a negative spell?” Taylor asked.

“Some feel they can control it, some don’t care. Sometimes it’s vital and necessary, like binding. That’s what I’ve been doing, trying to bind the killer, to forbid him from killing any more innocents. But the vast majority of good witches don’t go anywhere near negative casting. It’s just too unpredictable.”

“So according to you, the killings yesterday were the work of a witch?”

“Of a warlock. A young, powerful warlock. Actually, I believe a whole coven was involved, I saw them last night, at Subversion.”

“What’s that?”

“A coven? It’s a group of like-minded witches who want to work together, to draw power from one another.”

“I meant Subversion. I’ve not heard of it.”

“Oh, sorry. Lieutenant. It’s a club, on Second Avenue. They only operate once a month or so, and on special occasions, like Samhain-sorry, Halloween. When I heard about the murders, I immediately began looking for them. They led me to the club. There were two, a boy and a girl. By the way, not to confuse you, but they’re practicing vampirism too, the little bats. A second girl joined them. They had an awful spat, then she took off running. The two older ones followed her. I lost them after that. It was a rough night, actually. So many of these Goth kids think they’re psychic vamps, and they go to the clubs to feed. The energy is overwhelming, you see, especially on a feast day. It drains your energy-heck, it even affects me, and I’ve got a rock-solid shield. Feeding on others without express permission is a nasty, dark habit. We don’t approve.”

“You called them bats.”

“It’s a nickname for the Goths. Baby bats. In Wicca we call them Fluff Bunnies. But Fluffs are a bit different- they’re more poseurs, wannabes. These bats are for real, they’re just too young to be accepted into a traditional coven. Legally, you must be eighteen.”

“Bats,” Taylor said. “What did they look like?”

“The girl was tall, as tall as you, black hair, pale, of course, with green eyes. They were very green-they might have been colored contacts. She was in traditional garb, her makeup designated her as a RomantiGoth.”

“RomantiGoth? What’s that?” Taylor asked.

McKenzie finally spoke up. “There are a ton of subsects within the Goth community-fairies and industrials and neopunk, skimpy, gravers. I could go on and on. New ones pop up every day.”

Ariadne eyed him with interest. “So you are one of us?” she asked.

“Not anymore,” McKenzie answered impassively.

“Hmm,” Ariadne said, head cocked to one side. She turned back to Taylor. “It’s much more an American phenomenon. Darklings in the European sects don’t distinguish themselves so rigidly. We’re still so married to our labels.”

“Ah. Continue, please,” Taylor said.

“The boy was dressed similarly, but in black pants instead of a skirt. They both had corsets on, platform boots that laced high up on their calves, cloaks. His hair is short, cropped, dyed black. They were both made-up, but I’d recognize them if I saw them again. They stood out, made an imprint on me. The youngest was in makeup, but not as elaborately dressed.”

“If we showed you pictures?”

“Certainly.”

“What’s the difference between Goths and Wicca?”

“Oh, lots. Wicca is an earth-based religion. Goths are. ..well, let’s put it this way. Most people don’t like to be sad. The world says you have to be happy, to go, go, go. Goths embrace that darkness. They explore their sadness, and the sadness of others.”

She glanced at McKenzie, who nodded despite his obvious embarrassment. Poor guy was being laid bare in front of her. She felt for him.

“And the makeup?” she asked, “A variety of self-expression. They like to disappear, to draw attention away from their corporeal being and to their spiritual side. The real ones are accomplished witches and warlocks-they understand paganism and all its iterations thoroughly. When you find this boy, you’ll find his spell book, what we normally call our Book of Shadows. It’s our most intimate accessory, full of hopes and dreams, spell work and notes, what worked, what didn’t. It’s a vital piece of our lives, and his will be full of clues for you. So will his altar.”

“It seems like they’re drawing attention to themselves by being different, instead of away from themselves.” Taylor said.

“Well, that’s the outsider’s way of seeing them. Most are searching, seeking, looking for their place in the world. They find the Gothic lifestyle and it fits them, like pulling on your favorite pair of jeans and knowing you look fantastic. It’s an emotional journey as well as physical.”

“But the black dress, the hanging out in graveyards. What’s all that about?”

Ariadne smiled. “Because they’re sad. But unlike most, they embrace that emotion. If you could stop, look inside, admit to yourself what is really making you unhappy, then try to alter yourself for the right reasons, for your own personal empowerment, you’d be much better off. It’s okay to be sad. You don’t have to be happy all the time. It’s healthy to let some depressive thoughts into your psyche, to think about the bad things that can happen without the judgment of society. Look at the Buddhists. They are a guiding force behind most disciplined Goths. Buddhist teachings tell you not to get attached to your emotions while you experience them. That emotions are simply a reaction to stimuli, that a sensation doesn’t define vou. That level of self-awareness is the key to the gothic lifestyle. They mourn for mankind, basically.”

“They’re teenagers. How self-aware can they possibly be?”

“Very. You’re looking for an incredibly intelligent person, Lieutenant, one who is well-read, well versed in everything from mythology to naturalism to botany. Someone who has skills, who can be a natural leader. Someone who has learned that darkness carries a current, who thinks that they can feed off the energies of the night, and can scare the hell out of all of us who strive to work for good. And you may want to check his athame for blood. I assume that’s what he used to cut them.”