“Did you kill the little girl, cat? Is she lying on the floor someplace? Are you looking at her now, wondering if she would’ve been good to fuck? I can help you with that. She was sweet, clumsy and dumb, but sweet. A bit dry too, but she bled a lot, so that evened things out.”

Curran’s face was relaxed, almost tranquil.

“Is your girlfriend there with you?” Bono asked. He was babbling, excited, as if high on something. “The tall, dark-haired one with sharp eyes? I looked for her, but she was gone, so I took the human blonde you had before her. I’m going to have her for lunch tomorrow. The trick with fresh meat is to soften it someplace warm. But then you eat your meat raw, so educating you on subtleties of cooking is a waste of time. My children are getting your girl ready to fillet. Would you like to hear her scream?”

There was a sound of a door swinging open and a woman’s voice cut through. “Please no,” she begged in sheer panic. “Please, please, please . . .” Me. It should’ve been me. There was nothing I could do but listen.

Curran’s face was still calm. He picked up a chair and bent its metal legs into twisted curves.

Suddenly the woman choked, reaching a new intensity of terror, and broke into sobs, loud, heart-wrenching cries. Her desperation filled the room. She had no hope. She knew she was dying and she knew that there would be no escape. She screamed sharply once, twice, and fell silent.

Bono’s voice snarled, “Idiot!” and Arag’s unforgettable, inhuman whimper emanated from the phone.

“He punctured an artery,” Bono’s voice returned. “It’s so simple—cut the stomach and pull out the intestines, but no, he manages to get his claws into an artery. Now I’ll need to wash the innards. I’ll have to kill him after all.”

The whimpering receded, moving farther from the phone. “So tell me,” Bono said, “did she sound like that when you fucked her? She wouldn’t scream for me, she only sobbed. A real disappointment, that one. Are you there, half-breed?”

“I’m here. And I too have something for you to hear. Say hello, Kate.”

“Hello,” I said.

There was silence on the phone. “It’s not her,” Bono said. “She’s still in her house.”

“How’s the neck?” I asked. “Still spitting up glass?”

“She is here,” Curran said. “With me. Tonight, while you’re waiting for your corpse to get soft, think of me and her. Think of her begging me for it.”

“I’ll get her in the end.” Bono voice was taut with strain.

Curran made a loud sigh. “What is it about you and my sloppy seconds?”

Bono slammed the phone. I turned and left the room.