Which I probably should have thought of, dammit. This building was home to constant, regular acts of lust and desire. Those kinds of activities left a sort of psychic imprint around them, a vibe Thomas must have picked up on.

Vampires like my brother take not blood, but life-energy from their victims. Showing off his supernatural strength might have simplified things for us, but it also cost Thomas some of that energy, the same way an afternoon of hiking might leave you and me particularly hungry.

Usually vampires of the White Court fed during the act of sex. They could induce desire in others, overwhelm their victims with undiluted, primal lust. If he wanted to Thomas could have paralyzed the girl where she stood, stalked over to her, and done whatever he pleased to her. There wouldn’t have been anything she could do to stop him. Hell, she would have begged him to do more, and to hurry up about it.

He wouldn’t do it. Not anymore, anyway. He’d fought that part of himself for years, and he’d finally found a way to keep it under control—by feeding in the equivalent of tiny, harmless nibbles from the customers in the upper-tier beauty salon he owned and operated. I gathered that while it did enable him to remain active and in control of himself, it was nowhere near as satisfying as acquiring energy the old-fashioned way—in a stalking seduction culminating in a burst of lust and ecstasy.

I knew that his Hunger, that inhuman portion of his soul that was driven by naked need, was screaming at him to do exactly that. If he did, though, it could do the girl serious harm, even kill her. My brother wasn’t like that—but denying his Hunger wasn’t something that came naturally. It was a fight. And I knew what drove him to it.

“That girl looks a little like Justine,” I commented.

He froze at the name, his expression hardening. By gradual degrees his eyes darkened to their usual color again. Thomas shook his head and gave me a wry smile. “Does she?”

“Enough,” I said. “You okay?”

“As I ever am,” he said. He didn’t actually thank me, but it was in his voice. I pretended that I hadn’t heard it there, which was what he expected me to do.

It’s a guy thing.

Billie came fibrillating back over to us. “This way, please, sir,” she said, her smile once again firmly in place. She led us rather nervously through the gym, passing the hallway that led to the showers and private “therapy” rooms in back. The door she led us through went to a very plain, practical, businesslike hallway, one you’d find in any office building. She nodded to the last door in the hall, the corner office, and then retreated quietly.

I ambled up to the door, knocked once, and then opened it to find Ms. Demeter sitting in her large but practical office behind her large but practical desk. She was a fit-looking woman in early middle age, lean, well dressed, and reserved. Her real name wasn’t Demeter, but she preferred the professional sobriquet, and now wasn’t the time to needle her.