He was different. Lurine had said he was old. Maybe it was age that had slowly altered him, turning the dull and creepy carbon of a ghoul like Al the Walrus into something hard-edged and glittering, like a scary diamond.

Okay, a bit of a mixed metaphor, but you get the idea.

At any rate, the tourists continued to point and exclaim and take photos. Courtesy of the misapprehensions of popular culture, I heard the word vampire thrown around with delight. Vampires in daylight? Trust me, it does not happen.

Ignoring the tourists, Stefan halted in front of the station to greet me, inclining his head. “Miss Johanssen.”

I couldn’t help but notice that his chest rose and fell as he took a slow, patient breath. Unlike vampires, for example, Stefan lived and breathed. For a being whose entire existence was predicated on some kind of complicated spiritual loophole, he seemed very physically present. Very much there, very much alive. There was actual blood beating in his veins. And I could not help but be very, very aware of it. So aware it made my skin tingle.

I tried not to think of the Seven Deadlies, especially lust. Which was hard to do, what with the tingling and all.

“Um . . . hi. You can call me Daisy,” I said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course.” He nodded toward the station’s front door. “I have come to report. May we go inside?”

“You came in person?” I asked.

Stefan raised his brows. “You are Hel’s liaison. Proper protocol requires more than a phone call.”

The crowd was beginning to get bigger, so I ushered Stefan and his . . . his lieutenants, I guess, into the precinct. At the front desk, Patty stared, openmouthed. The chief poked his head out of his office, but he withdrew with a shrug when I waved him off.

I closed the front door. “So what’s up?”

“I wish to notify you that Al has been secured and is under guard,” Stefan said in a formal tone. “When the ravening has passed, you will be informed. As I said, it is best you avoid contact with him.”

“As I said, not a problem.”

One corner of his mouth lifted, a dimple forming in the crease. Oh, crap. “These are my lieutenants.” He indicated the two ghouls with him. Got the terminology right—yay for me. “Rafe and Johnny. If ever you do encounter a problem and I am unavailable, they can be trusted.”

“Hi,” I said to them.

They nodded in reply. Rafe looked like he might be part Native American, with black hair, a pale coppery hue to his skin, and dark eyes that should have partially hidden the wax-and-wane ghoul effect, but somehow didn’t. Johnny had long, sandy-blond hair caught back in a ponytail and an expression that might have been congenial if it weren’t for the dilated pupils glittering in his eyes.