I closed my eyes for a moment. Then I inhaled through my nose and let out a big chestful of air. “Okay,” I said, “I think I have almost all the players except one. Who or what is Arklight?”

“Arklight was formed as the militant arm of the Mothers,” said Violin, and her eyes were fierce with pride. “Most of the field agents are their children.”

“Dhampyri?” I asked, almost afraid to use the word.

Violin paused for a moment, then nodded. “We are dedicated to the destruction of the Holy Agreement, the Red Order, the Tariqa and the Upierczi. We are the children of monsters, and many of us are the mothers of monsters … but we are not monsters. In comic books and movies dhampyr have super powers. We don’t. Though, there are some useful qualities, I suppose. A few ‘gifts.’ Perhaps ‘side-effects’ is more medically correct. From the Upierczi blood in our veins we have some physical advantages.”

“Speed and strength?” I ventured.

“Some,” said Violin, though she smiled when she said it, allowing me to infer what I could from that.

“What about the age thing. Are you immortal, too? Or—what passes for immortal?”

Lilith shrugged. “Some of us are pretty well-preserved for our ages.”

And I saw a twinkle in her eye that made me wonder just how old she was. And … how old Violin was.

Church consulted his watch. “The president should be calling me any time now. We have to make some decisions, the first of which is whether we continue to work our separate and counter-productive agendas, or whether we combine our resources. The Red Order and the Upierczi are clearly tied to our hunt for the nukes. That makes it everyone’s fight.”

Lilith glanced around at the other Mothers. Some were stone-faced, a few still openly hostile, but most of them had predatory gleams in their eyes. Some of them even smiled. Kind of the way the big hunting cats smile. You don’t want to see that smile coming at you out of the dark.

The older women in the group nodded to Lilith, one by one, and she in turn nodded to Church. Some of the tension seemed to go out of his big shoulders.

“Then let’s go to work,” he said.

Chapter Ninety-one

Chapter Ninety-One

Private Villa Near Jamshidiyeh Park

Tehran, Iran

June 16, 2:39 a.m.

Hugo Vox punched the wall.

He punched it for two reasons. The simplest was that it was the handiest wall, right there next to his desk. The other reason was far less obvious, even to him. It was a reason rooted in fear and hope, and that reason had a name.

Upier 531.