They had improvised an enormous hydroponics garden. White water pipes fed row upon row of plants in clear plastic reservoirs, and people were busily moving from row to row, checking corn, tomatoes, and other crops, including an impressive collection of mushrooms.

“Nice setup,” said Lena, squeezing past me to take a look. “I didn’t think vampires needed food.”

“A few species do,” I said. “I’m guessing this is mostly for the human population, though.”

Lena turned to me, her unspoken question clear.

“There are more than fifteen thousand people living homeless in Detroit,” said Kyle. “Some of them are brought here. We give them food and shelter, and in return . . .”

“In return you feed on them?” Lena demanded.

“Humans commonly sell blood or other fluids for money,” the guard said mildly. “Some, especially those who have been left to die alone and forgotten on the streets, even sell their own bodies. We offer them a much better deal.”

“Nobody is brought here against their will,” Kyle added. “There are laws. Agreements. Every human is given a choice, with no mental coercion.”

“What do your laws say about attacking unarmed humans in their homes?” Lena asked.

Both vampires looked troubled. “You’ll want to talk to Miss Granach about that,” said the guard.

“It’s not a bad life down here.” Clearly eager to change the subject, Kyle pointed to a low-ceilinged room which rang out with a familiar chorus of electronic sound effects. Colored lights flickered inside.

“You have an arcade,” I said.

“It keeps the younger vampires happy. About half of the machines are overclocked for vampiric reflexes. You wouldn’t last ten seconds.”

Lena moved closer, brushing my arm with hers. Her body was tense, and she was constantly looking about, assessing every vampire and human we passed. Nidhi Shah might be dead, but what of the vampires who had taken her? If they were here, I hoped they’d have the good sense to stay hidden.

Smudge was getting anxious, too, judging by the uncomfortable warmth at my hip. The tunnels were cleaner here, making me feel like I was strolling through a bizarre cross between a cave and a shopping mall. PA speakers were mounted along the ceiling, and I spied several more cameras. I had no doubt there were others, better concealed, but the visible cameras reminded everyone they were being watched, enforcing control.

“You should have been here in the seventies,” Kyle commented. “The first time I came down here, they were piping Bee Gees music through the sound system. No disco balls, though. Mirrors, you know?”

“Of course,” I said, but I was having a harder time maintaining my false cheer. I glanced over my shoulder, trying to remember the various turns we had taken. I thought I could find my way back to the elevator, but I wasn’t certain anymore.