Avid, but in control. Still, it made my skin stop tingling, giving way to the creepy-crawlies.

“I spoke to Jerry.” Stefan withdrew a folded piece of paper from a pocket inside his leather vest. “After some questioning, he admitted to having given the boys Ray D’s phone number.”

My pulse quickened. “Did he say why?”

All three ghouls’ pupils dilated further. Uh-oh. Best not to get too excited around these guys. Stefan’s contracted pretty quickly. “He claimed the boys were looking to score.”

The word score sounded oddly anachronistic coming from him. “Meth?”

His jaw hardened. “Yes. He claimed he merely gave them the number to get rid of them, knowing that I disapproved of such matters being discussed on the premises and that Ray D hadn’t been seen for months.”

“Did you believe him?” I asked.

“No. But I cannot disprove it.” The words were clipped; I think the admission cost him. “Not without resorting to means outside the law, which I am loath to do under the current level of scrutiny. And as a human, he is under the jurisdiction of your mundane authorities, not mine.”

“Ray D’s one of yours,” I observed.

“Theoretically, yes.” Stefan inclined his head in acknowledgment. “And I will continue to search for him. But I cannot even confirm that he remains in Pemkowet.” He handed me the folded paper. “The telephone number Jerry provided me goes unanswered. Assuming it is valid, I trust your people can trace it.”

Not my area of expertise, but I certainly hoped so. Unfolding the paper, I saw a phone number written in a precise, blocky hand with the sort of penmanship you just didn’t see in this century. Beneath it, the bartender Jerry Dunham’s name and home address were written in the same hand.

I glanced up inquiringly.

“I dismissed him from his position,” Stefan said in answer to my unspoken question. A look of distaste flitted across his face. “But I thought you might wish to know where to find him.”

“Thanks.”

His expression eased, and he smiled. “You’re welcome . . . Daisy.” His smile widened a little. Gah! Ghouls weren’t supposed to have dimples. “If I learn anything further, I will contact you.”

“Thanks,” I said again. “I appreciate it.”

“Have you given thought to my offer?” he asked me.

“Your offer?” Belatedly, I remembered Stefan telling me at the Wheelhouse that I could benefit from the assistance of a skilled and compassionate ghoul, that I could experience my emotions safely. It was appallingly tempting. A hot flush ran over me. “Jesus!” I lowered my voice. “Do you know what I am?”

Stefan’s face was grave. “Yes. At first I was not sure. But I made inquiries. Your story is known.”

I waved one impatient hand at the ceiling, at the invisible presence of the Inviolate Wall far, far above it. “Then you know what’s at stake?”