Dahlia hadn’t been able to kill Cyrus, but she’d wanted him dead. She’d definitely felt some twisted variation on love for him. But she was as unpredictable as the wind.

“Probably not,” I had to admit, answering my own question.

“Well, let’s concentrate on ‘the land of the dead.’ I know the Fangs like it around Barstow down in California, because I’ve been sent out there a couple of times on assignment. It’s pretty dead out there.” He made finger quotes around the word dead.

I nodded slowly. “Are you suggesting we go and check it out?”

“I can’t go on a road trip. I think out of the two of us, I’m the best one to find out what happened to Nathan. You, on the other hand…”

I shook my head. “Not by myself.”

“Nathan taught you how to take care of yourself,” Max reminded me. “He taught you how to fight. You’ll run into less trouble looking for Cyrus in the middle of nowhere than you will hanging around your apartment with assassins casing the place.”

I was about to point out that Nathan had only taught me self-defense, not imbued me with nonklutziness, but Max was right. It would be no skin off my back to drive out to Barstow. It would definitely be a hell of a lot easier than waiting around for someone to hunt down Nathan and kill him, and I’d never been a good damsel in distress. I was a “hands-on” damsel.

“I just wonder who they’re going to send after Nathan.”

Max sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”

For a second I wondered if the flight attendant had quietly burned to death in the galley, but then I caught the scent in question. It wasn’t the burning hot dog smell of vampire flesh on fire, but a smell rather like exotic perfume.

Still, it wasn’t so distracting we couldn’t ignore it. “No, I don’t, Scooby.”

“Are you sure you don’t smell that?” Max got to his feet. “Get up, take a look around.”

“What about the seat belt sign?” I asked, hesitant to unbuckle.

“Chance it.” There was no humor in his voice. He strode to the door of the galley. I stayed right on his heels. The flight attendant, who was applying a Band-Aid to the back of her burned hand, jumped.

“Is anyone on this plane except for us?” he barked.

She shrugged, her mouth gaping. “Well, the pilots. But other than that—”

Max didn’t question her further. We split up to search the other parts of the plane—I don’t know what for, but Max was so agitated I didn’t bother asking. He took the cockpit and galley, while I searched the bedroom. Though our departure from the Movement was hasty, someone had thought to leave a cellophane-wrapped fruit basket for us.