“Swallow the insult. We’re at war, and the Silver Circle is the Senate’s ally, in case you’ve forgotten. They reminded me of that fact at length when I very politely requested reparations. ‘We’ll address that after the war,’ ” he mimicked bitterly.

“They couldn’t have taken everything!”

“If you’d like to search the place yourself, be my guest. If you find anything, I’ll be happy to split it with you.”

“What’s the world coming to?” I raged. “When even the bad guys run out of weapons?”

“I’m not the bad guy—at least, not in comparison.”

George had reached us, and he wasn’t looking happy. “Get this thing moving! You’re holding up the entire—” He caught sight of me and shied back for some reason.

“I’m having a few personnel issues,” Casanova said, with an attempt at dignity. Apparently, he’d decided that the man could be useful, because he trotted out charming smile #48: for suckers who are about to give me something for nothing. “You wouldn’t happen to have anyone who can drive one of these things?”

George nodded, his eyes never leaving my face as he backed quickly away. “So what am I supposed to do?” I demanded.

A vamp landed hard on the street beside us, and Casanova kicked him viciously in the ribs. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, I suggest you do it soon. Everyone who can get out of here is heading for the hills. Except for me,” he added, picking the vamp up and slamming him against the ship’s hull. “I’m not going anywhere. Everyone may as well understand that right now!”

I sighed and gave up. A quick glance showed that Louis-Cesare had cleared the deck and was tying the only human dumb enough to stick around to a barrel with the remains of the rigging. Time to make my exit.

“You don’t know why I was here—I never had a chance to tell you,” I instructed Casanova, as a peri-wigged young man hurried up, only to stop dead at the sight of us.

“Theatrical makeup,” Casanova told him, apropos of nothing. “There’s a trapdoor in the deck.” The guy nodded and scrambled on board, looking a little freaked-out.

I eyed Casanova up and down. He didn’t look that bad to me. “Who are you supposed to be, anyway?”

“Jean Lafitte.”

“And that would be patriotic how?”

“He fought in the Revolutionary War, and in the War of 1812. On the American side.”

“I thought he was a pirate.”

“He was.” Casanova smoothed his brilliant maroon coat. “I told you. Sometimes the bad guys can be good guys. It all depends on the circumstances.”

“Thanks for that nugget of wisdom. I’ll cherish it.”

Casanova ignored me. “Who is he, anyway?” He hiked a thumb at Louis-Cesare, who was standing on the deck, searching the crowd with a scowl on his face.

“Radu’s get.”

“Did you say Radu?”

“Don’t ask. Point is, I doubt he’d make a good impression on my suppliers.” Assuming I could find any. Not to mention that it wouldn’t do my reputation any good to be seen hanging around with a Senate member.

“I never saw you.” Casanova agreed, vaulting back onto the ship, which was slowly starting to move again. He poked his head back over the edge, black curls swinging. “Oh, and chica, we’re having a special on facials this week at the spa. Think about it.”

I scowled, but didn’t have time to respond appropriately. Louis-Cesare had spotted me and he looked a little tense. I dove into the crowd and got gone.

My mood wasn’t improved when I found, after dragging my bloodstained self through a large section of Vegas’ demon bars, that most of my old contacts either had left town or were currently doing a Benny impression. It wasn’t until the sky had turned a pale, cloudless blue, announcing the official end of the year’s rain, that I managed to dig up an old acquaintance.

I don’t get out West much—the proximity of MAGIC is a big deterrent—but once in a while a job results in a jaunt to the area. I found one of the guys I occasionally use for backup when that happens in the middle of packing for his patented rat-on-a-sinking-ship routine. Another hour and I’d have missed him.

“Jay, good to see you!” I slammed the door to his cheap hotel room—rentable by anything from the hour to the month—and smiled. It made the sort of impression I was hoping for, mainly because of the dried blood matting my hair and the grimace my split lip made of my grin. I hadn’t seen myself in a mirror yet, but the reactions of the crowds in the bars had been enough to tell me that intimidation probably wouldn’t be a problem.

“Dory!” The Nsquital demon’s face, which was able to pass for human if you squinted, turned violet and sprouted little bumps that looked like acne. They weren’t.

“You spray me and I’ll kill you before I melt.” I flashed a little fang, but held out weaponless hands. “I came to talk, Jay. Relax, would you?”

“I… I wouldn’t poison you, Dory. You know that.”

“Sure. That’s why I came by.” I sat down on the lumpy mattress and thumped his plastic suitcase. “Lucky I caught you, huh?”

“You know how it is.” Jay was back to ugly-human mode, his oversize teeth, jug ears and carrot top making him look like a grown-up version of the MAD magazine guy. The baggy corduroy trousers—necessary because jeans tended to show the tail—and ratty, oatmeal-colored tee didn’t help with the cool, but they did give him a pathetic edge that sort of relaxed me. “I don’t like the neighborhood so much now that it’s a war zone.”

That was probably the truth. Nsquital don’t like violence. Their position as the twice damned—the literal translation of the name—ensured as much. They were a motley crew of many demonic races, mostly of the minor-functionary level, who had obtained a measure of freedom because each one had killed its master and fled from punishment. They could be found and dragged back by whatever had replaced their dead owner, but most weren’t worth the trouble of hunting. Jay had slaughtered a minor servant at Mammon’s court whom nobody had liked much anyway. Its replacement would stir-fry him as a matter of policy if it ever stumbled across him—like in a war zone, for instance—but otherwise he was probably okay.

Unless somebody ratted him out, of course.

“This visit was well-timed, then. If you’re leaving, you won’t want to drag all that heavy weaponry with you, right?”

He sighed, blinking faded blue eyes that had always reminded me of an accountant’s. Of course, that was what he’d once been, sort of. “Aw, come on, Dory. You have any idea how many times I’ve been held up this week? A guy’s gotta make a living.”

“Exactly. So why are you turning down a customer?”

Jay look shocked. “You’re planning to pay me?”

I smiled. He paled again, but never got more than a violet blush this time. “Well, not exactly.”

“Dory, you know I don’t do credit. This is a strictly cash-and-carry business.” It would have been a better line except for the wobble in his voice.

“Fine. Then get me something to carry out of here, and I won’t cash in the bounty on your head.”

Jay’s shoulders slumped in defeat, which didn’t bother me much, as it was a standard bargaining tactic with him. But then he started to cry and I got shifty. I hate it when anything cries. I wanted to slap him to make him stop, but there was a chance that would only intensify the water-works. And I couldn’t tell him I’d been kidding about the bounty, since it was the only thing he was afraid enough of to give me what I needed.

“Um, hey. Look, Jay, don’t—”

“I knew something like this would ha-happen,” he wailed, collapsing into a heap. “I was trying to get out, but I wanted to sell off the rest of my stock first, for traveling m-money. Greed!” he screamed. “I should have known it would get me in the end!”

“This isn’t the end, dumb ass,” I said, dragging him off the floor. “Would you shut up and listen? I am not having a good day. Make it better and nothing bad is going to happen to you.”