"If some part of me didn't want it," I asked, "why didn't I pick up the kid instead of Lasciel's coin?"

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen.

"You've been friends to me. Stuck it out by me when times were rough," I said a moment later. "You've made me welcome in your home. In your life. You're good people. I'm sorry I haven't been more open with you."

"Is that what tonight was about?" Billy asked. "The demon?"

"No," I said. "Tonight was different. And I can't tell you about it."

"If you're trying to protect us…" Billy began.

"I'm not protecting you," I said. "I'm protecting someone else. If I'm seen with you, it could get them badly hurt. Maybe even killed."

"I don't understand. I want to help…" Billy said.

Georgia put her hand over Billy's. He glanced at her, flushed, and then closed his mouth.

I nodded and finished the beer. "I need you to trust me for a little while. I'm sorry. But the faster I'm out of here, the better."

"How can we help?" Georgia asked.

"Just knowing that you want to is a help," I told her. "But that's almost the only thing you can do. For now, at least."

"Almost the only thing?"

I nodded. "If I could get something to eat, and maybe a ride back to my car, I'd be obliged."

"We can do that," Billy said.

"Thank you,"I said.

Chapter Ten

I raided the refrigerator and divested it of a small plate of cold cuts while Billy made a call to his apartment. Moments later one of the other Alphas called back, confirming that the furor around Bock Ordered Books had begun to die down.

"Only one patrol car still there," Billy reported. "Plus the guys with the wrecker."

"We shouldn't wait any longer," I said. "With cops around, any neighborhood monsters will lie low for a while to be careful. I want to be back there and gone before they get moving again."

"Eat in the car," Georgia suggested, and we all piled back into her SUV.

Georgia parked on the curb behind the Beetle and let me out. I had my keys in my hand, ready to get in and get gone. But when I saw the car, I stopped.

Someone had smashed out the remaining windows in the car. Glass littered the street and the car's interior. Parts of the windshield were missing, and the rest clung together in a mass of fracture lines that made the whole mess opaque. The back window had already been broken when I used my force ring on that zombie earlier in the evening. The doors and the hood were dented in dozens of places, and the door handles had been entirely smashed off. The tires sagged limply, and I could see long, neat slashes in them without difficulty.

I approached the car slowly.