A carriage pulled to the curb, and I heard Halbert’s low voice say something, and Evis answered, and the carriage pulled away.

I relaxed, crossed to the door, met him.

“Good evening,” I said. “Come on in.”

He smiled at me.

“Why, Mister Markhat, one would think you’re glad to see me.”

I stepped back. It’s been a bad day when vampires drop by and you’re pleased with the distraction.

“I’ve been consorting with priests. It’s good to speak to persons who aren’t likely to consign me to Hell, for a change.”

“I’ve heard about your conversation with the good Father Foon,” said Evis. He motioned to my chair. “May I sit?”

“Please do.” I found my chair, and Evis pulled out his dark glasses. “So you know I dropped by Wherthmore.”

“One of my men remained,” he said. I lifted an eyebrow. I hadn’t seen him. Perhaps Ronnie Sacks wasn’t the cream of the Avalante crop after all. “He conveyed your exchange to me. Most interesting. May I inquire as to the source of this sudden interest in Wherthmore?”

I took in a breath. I trusted Evis, to a point. I realized that I even liked him, fussy black receipt books and fangs and all. But I was not going to mention Darla’s name. Not to him, not to anyone.

“I met a man in the Park.” I sketched out Young Varney’s tale, omitting his name and occupation and Darla’s discovery of his keen eye for well-dressed young ladies. “So I figured I’d go to Wherthmore, see what I could shake up.” I shrugged. Let them think my outburst was part of some carefully planned stratagem. I didn’t know how else to explain it anyway.

“Fascinating,” said Evis. He forgot where he was, bared his lips and rested a long black fingernail on the middle of his chin. “Brilliant, even. If the comb-cleanser is indeed of Wherthmore, he will hear. He will know.”

“If he’s there.”

Evis shrugged. “I think it likely he is. The staff at Wherthmore is larger than the other four churches combined. Too, the artifacts necessary for the Cleansing are currently housed at Wherthmore, and have been for the last two years.”

I frowned. “I hadn’t known that. Wish I had.”

“We found this out only today,” he replied. He looked up at me and remembered to close his mouth. “Statistically, your outburst was well chosen. The number of staff and proximity to the required artifacts suggest Wherthmore is indeed the base for the Cleansing of the combs. Especially since, if you say, the Cleansing itself is incomplete-even an apprentice based at Wherthmore would find it much easier to slip in and use the artifacts than anyone based at another Church.” He cocked his head. “Still, Mr. Markhat. Abusing priests in that manner-why, you’re likely to find yourself right beside me, in the Pit, one day.”

I sighed. “Maybe. But I am more concerned right now that our rogue priest is making plans to pay us a visit.”

Evis shook his head. “No, I doubt that the man you have described and the Cleanser are the same man. Indeed, my men have spent the better part of two days observing the staff of the various Arms of Inquisition, and I can tell you that priests and apprentices alike tend to be balding, corpulent men of an age far removed from our man in the Park.”

I shook my head. “You’re sure of that?”

“The artifacts I mentioned are potent ones indeed. Hair loss is common among the Hands. Our amorous Park fancier has hair.”

I frowned. Evis bit back a smile.

“Do not despair,” he said. “This Thin Man, as you call him, undoubtedly takes his orders from a priest, or from halfdead, or both. If we assume it is the Thin Man’s job to choose and entice the women, then he is the man we most want to meet, is he not?”

“How do you know he’s the low man in the outfit?”

“He does the out and about tasks. He is most exposed to scrutiny. And whether he knows it or not, he is the man his superiors will sacrifice, should attention be drawn to their activities.” Evis shrugged. “Call it a guess, if you will. But even though we may have brought terror to the priest and the halfdead, it is this Thin Man who will be sent to meet you. Because he is expendable. And, I suspect, because he is a fool.”

I leaned back. I wasn’t comforted. “How many persons do you figure are involved in this group?”

Evis shrugged. “Logistics suggest ten to twenty. Mostly halfdead.”

“Is that all?”

Evis laughed. “I certainly hope so. Because, once we find them out, it shall fall to Avalante to kill them. Priest and halfdead and all.”

“The Church won’t appreciate that.”

“They’d appreciate being implicated in a vampire blood-cult even less,” said Evis. He shrugged, sighed and regarded me with a woeful expression. “I wish we had more time. I fear we rely far too heavily on surmise and assumption.”

“It’s hare-brained, at best. But I haven’t got anything better. Have you?”

He hadn’t. So we made our plans. He said he’d have people out of sight, but nearby. I agreed they’d need to be well out of sight-halfdead might accompany our friend, as well, and it wouldn’t do to frighten off any nervous callers.

And then, for the second time that night, I sinned. Not blasphemy again-twice a night is a bit much, even for devils such as I-but deception.

I didn’t mention Mama’s hex. I didn’t mention Ethel’s army. I didn’t mention my plan to go and get Martha Hoobin as soon as we knew the meeting place, with half the New People neighborhood in tow. I didn’t mention any of that despite the fact that I trusted Evis, or found his fanged schoolmarm manner disarming. But I couldn’t let myself forget that someone with a bigger desk than his might decide the whole matter was best solved by slaughtering the renegade vampires and then dispatching Martha Hoobin, sole survivor and living witness to a blood-cult whose very existence could topple all the dark Houses, one by one.

Evis nodded, jotted notes and listened carefully to everything I said. And when he left, for the first time, he held out his hand, and I shook it.

“We shall keep a man on the street,” he said, as he left. “In case you have rude visitors.”

“Thanks.” I meant it. The name Encorla Hisvin would keep all but fools from bringing me mischief, but the world is filled with fools. A vampire on the stoop has stopping power few bulldogs can match. “Tell him to knock if he feels like playing cards. And ask him not to bite the neighbors-they deserve it, the ingrates, but half of them owe me money.”

Evis laughed, and he was gone.

That night, I sat up, keeping halfdead hours while I waited for visitors. I whetted my Army knife until the blade was sharper than the Dark Angel’s scythe, and I knew all the while if a pair of angry vampires marched through my door a dozen sharp knives wouldn’t do me a damned bit of good.

I toyed with the idea of begging a crossbow and a brace of silver-tipped halfdead bolts from Evis. I pondered the wisdom of relying so heavily on his counsel and cooperation.

But mostly, I whetted my knife and poked huge gaping holes in our plot to snare Martha Hoobin’s tall, thin abductor.

Poking the holes wasn’t difficult. What if the man who showed up really didn’t know where Martha was? What if she were already dead, already buried in a shallow grave, half-awake, perhaps, gnawed by a terrible hunger that would soon drive her toward the light?

What if Martha really had just left town, a small fortune in paper crowns tucked close to her breast?

I put the knife down. Three-leg Cat drifted in, licked his good front paw and drifted out again just as the Big Bell pealed eleven times.

Hours past my bedtime, and I wasn’t even yawning. Maybe I’ve been listening to Mama too much, I thought, because I began to jump and start at every pop of the walls, every creak and groan of the ceiling. Vampires on the roof. Halfdead ’neath the floor.