Demon Moon

weapons then?”
    He grinned. “You’ve such a wonderfully filthy mouth,” he said, and kissed it. He called in another sword and a pair of pistols, and headed out into the night with her flavor on his lips.

    A trail of fluorescent paint would have been less obvious than the scent of the female vampire’s blood. Colin easily followed its odor south across Market. Foolish of the bastard. Unlikely that it had been Dalkiel—the demon would have been better served escaping by air, and the blood held the physical tinge of a male vampire beneath it.
    Another of the demon’s lackeys? How many had he persuaded—or forced—into his service?
    The scent disappeared in the middle of Folsom Street.
    Clenching his teeth in frustration, he cast around for another thread, but only smelled rain and oil and metal. The fading odors of humans who’d passed through. Litter and sewage. The pavement glistened wetly beneath the streetlights; aside from the sparse traffic and the background noise from within the surrounding flats, all was quiet.
    A car drove slowly by, then stopped. Colin tensed, but allowed himself to relax when it began backing into the single free space along the curb. The woman who emerged looked at him; her gaze didn’t rise above the pistol rig and his swords. She fled into the nearest building without glancing at his face.
    Amused, he thumbed a button on the radio. “Savi, I need a direction. He must have had a vehicle waiting here; I’ve lost the scent.”
    “Where are you?” She repeated the address he gave her, then added, “Okay, the woman was Guinevere, a.k.a. Jennifer Branning. Arwen says she and Fishnet Shirt live together. I’ve got an apartment listed under her name in Daly City.”
    Eight miles south. An easy distance for Colin in the time they’d been gone, but not for a normal vampire. “Paul and Varney are on foot.”
    “Yeah. Hold on; the guys have the video from the parking lot up. I’m going to check it out.”
    Colin bit back his immediate protest. She’d been sickened by the violence, but had recovered quickly. Had it only been the shock of it that had affected her so?
    No matter. If she thought herself capable of seeing it again, he wouldn’t coddle her.
    “It was Mullet Boy,” Savi said. “I’ve got a name: Peter Osterberg. According to Gina, he moved into the community three months ago. He had a partner—a woman. A redhead, but they don’t know her name.”
    And Colin hadn’t bothered to ask it before he’d slain her. Bloody, bloody hell. “Moved to where?”
    “Just a sec, I’m pulling it up.”
    A police cruiser turned in at the end of the street; a searchlight penetrated the darkness as the car rolled slowly toward Colin. He slid into the shadows between the buildings, leapt soundlessly onto a fire escape platform.
    A fat white cat hissed though the windowpane near his elbow, its claws digging into the sill, fur bristling. Even with its back arched, its belly skimmed the wood at its feet. Plenty of blood in that pampered thing. Colin contemplated taking a sip to tide him over, then decided it was too much effort when a push at the sash proved it locked.
    The searchlight illuminated the alley beneath him; the cruiser continued on.
    Another minute passed before Savi said, “He just leased a condo on Nob Hill. Swanky little place. And probably with your money—he had a huge influx of cash three weeks ago.”
    Colin smiled grimly. “Then he’ll not mind if I call on him.”
    “Are you at the same location? Darkwolf and Gina are offering to provide backup.”
    The suddenly cheerful note in her voice alerted him to her unease; he knew its cause, but could see no way to deny them without damaging the nascent trust he’d built with the vampires. “Have them meet with me at Osterberg’s building; I’ve attracted a bit of attention here.”
    “The swords?”
    “Yes.” He jumped from the fire escape, landed quietly on the pavement thanks to the finest leather Italian bootmakers could produce. Unfortunately, a journey across downtown would do little for their shine.
    “People should really be more accepting of vampires running through the streets armed like ninjas. I’ve given Darkwolf and Gina a few guns with venom-laced bullets. They’re going now.”
    Guns, not swords. Clever Savitri. Colin would much rather be shot in the back than stabbed or decapitated from behind. He could recover from a bullet wound, even one to the brain; he didn’t want to test