The hammer rose back as I squeezed the trigger, delicately, gently. It clicked into the up position. "I am not going to tell you again." My voice was deadly soft. My ribs ached—having a couple 'breed pummel you will do that. It had taken a ridiculous amount of ammo, but I'd wanted the first one messy enough to make a statement. Enough of them had escaped to spread the word that I was on the warpath.

It had certainly been messy enough to satisfy. A chaos of blood and screaming, the music pounding through it all until a stray shot had thankfully knocked out a vital connection in the DJ's booth. Then just screams and shouting, and hellbreed cries.

And death.

The bartender scrambled away and fled toward the shattered front door. I hadn't been particularly subtle.

Red and purple light flickered, random reflections cast by the blastball hovering over the dance floor. The rest of the place was wreckage.

It had taken me only fourteen and a half minutes. Give or take. There's something about working overtime and double semiautomatics that makes a girl capable of kicking serious ass.

I filled my lungs. My fingers prickled, the heat becoming uncomfortable. The scar pulsed wetly, thrumming with the force I'd pulled through it. Hey, I could afford it; I was paid up through the month.

Don't think about that, Jill. I flicked my fingers.

Vodka on the bar ignited with a wump!

A thin pale-blue flame smeared like oil. Banefire. It would spread to brackish flammable hellbreed blood and more spilled liquor, and this place was a firetrap anyway. I spent a few moments examining the shell of etheric energy on the concrete walls—the concrete would keep the fire from spreading, but this flame would consume every trace of hellbreed, cleansing the entire interior and leaving a thin coating of inimical-to-hellspawn blessing behind.

Thank you, God. I did not want to burn down more than I needed to.

I turned on my heel, the ragged strips of my coat fluttering. Under its protection, I was mostly whole. I hadn't lost much blood tonight.

Yet. This is only your first stop. Don't get cocky.

The place began to smoke and flame in earnest. I strode up out of the fire, up the steps past the subterranean iron door hanging by one hinge, stepping over the pool of ick that used to be a burly hellbreed grunt bouncer, finally out into the night's cool sweetness. The bartender had fled, and I faintly caught the echo of his running feet, heading north and veering to the west.

Probably heading for the Monde. Happy birthday, Perry. I sighed, rolling my shoulders in their sockets, as something detonated behind me and the flames started to lick and sizzle in earnest. Banefire doesn't sound like real flame. It sounds like whispery, papery voices screaming behind you, like a cold sweat in the middle of the night. It is a flame of cleansing, not like the black twisting fire a hunter can call upon to fashion levinbolts.

The scar throbbed aching tension against my wrist. Mikhail's ruby warmed the hollow of my throat. I crossed the street, heels clicking since I didn't have to be quiet at all tonight.

Dustcircle leaned against the hood, smoking one of his cherry cigarettes. He smelled of tension, musk, and sleek electric fur on end. Seeing the bartender blunder up out of the hole and into the night must have been worrisome.

His eyes flicked past me to the doorway. My back prickled. If any 'breed came out now they'd be angry but wounded, and not much of a threat.

That's pride talking, Jill. Even a half-dead 'breed is dangerous. Do not get cocky.

"How many were down there?" He asked it so calmly I almost didn't believe the tense thrumming coming out of him, the Were version of a fidget. Not quite a growl, but certainly more than a purr.

"I stopped counting at twenty." I fished my pager out and checked it. No calls, and it was early still. "I've got lots to do tonight, Dustcircle. You want to get in the car?"

He remained where he was, staring across the street. I restrained the urge to look back over my shoulder.

He took his sweet time examining the twisting blue shadows of banefire. Finally, he spoke. "Were you kind to them?"

I almost went slackjawed in amazement. Kind to them? They were hellbreed. Spoilers and corruptors, sorcerous maggots, predators.

After a moment, I understood. When Weres kill, they do it swiftly. They don't play with their prey.

Unless they're rogue, gone berserk and violating the oldest of Were taboos.

Thou shalt not eat people.

It irked me that he'd even asked. What did he think I was? "I've killed more 'breed than you can possibly imagine," I told him, flatly. "Not a single one of them was ever what I'd call happy, and I put them down as quick and clean as I can. You can call that kindness if you want. I like to think I'm being kind to the innocents they prey on. Get in the car."

He did.

Two holes and a short streetside gunfight to mop up later, I was tired more than physically. I pulled to a stop down the street from the Random, a step above the norm.

Most 'breed like their holes underground, with one entrance. It just shows the burrowing instinct in them. The holes are womblike and thump with music during the night, and any human dumb enough to wander or be lured inside is lucky to escape with only psychic damage.

The Random, however, was a Trader club. If hellbreed came here, they were actively looking to make a deal. Any humans that showed up were the same.

It was a ramshackle building, its windows painted black and its door guarded by two beefy Traders with glittering dusted eyes. I watched through the windshield and let out a soft breath, the scar throbbing. It was time to open up the trunk.

Unfortunately, Dustcircle picked that moment to open his mouth.

"What exactly is this supposed to accomplish?" He sounded uneasy.

You idiot. What do you think I'm doing, having Captain Kangaroo sing-alongs and eating caramel corn? I had to work for an even, nonsarcastic tone, and suspected I failed. "The 'breed community functions on profit and loss. If it becomes too expensive for them to hide this Cenci, they'll police themselves and turn in any information they have. Besides, I'm a new hunter, kind of, I've only been knocking around on my own for half a year. If Mikhail was alive we wouldn't have to do this; he'd visit a few of his sources and we'd track her down that way. They'd know not to mess with him. Me, I'm still teaching the bitches who's boss."

"Proving you're alpha?" He sounded dubious. "Do we have time for this?"

"It's the quickest way to get what I want, which is no more bodies in the street." I felt the shiver even as I said it. It wasn't the whole reason I was clearing out these places. Every 'breed I killed tonight was a slap directly to Perry's bland blond face.

Fuck around with my head, will you? Just see how easy it would be for me to fuck right back. I pushed the flare of murderous rage down. Save it for the Random, Jill. Do it just like you were trained to.

Make Mikhail proud.

"All right." He sniffed, inhaling deeply and tasting the air. "This smells different."

Sure it does. "It's a Trader club. General rule, above ground it's Traders, below it's pure 'breed." Though there are exceptions. Like Perry's place, which switches back and forth according to some weird rule I haven't figured out yet I eased my hands off the wheel. "This one might take me a while."

"I can come with you." He didn't ask, he just said it, and tossed the remains of his most recent cigarette out the half-open window. "I'll leave the 'breed to you and stay out of your way. Watch your back."