A nondescript man leaned against the wall behind her. He was unshaven, and although he was wearing a suit—standard for a courier—his tie was loose. He looked tired, but also content. “It’s about time,” he said.

His gun, Miriam realized. It was pointed at her stomach. She couldn’t identify it. Bizarrely complex, it sprouted handles and magazines and telescopic sights seemingly at random. It looked like a movie prop, but something in his manner said he had complete confidence in it. The sights glowed red, a dot tracking across her chest.

“It’s about time,” she echoed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The gunman grinned humorlessly. “The boss told me a lot about you. You’re the new countess, aren’t you? He’s got tapes, you know. And a disk.”

She moved toward him, froze as the gun came up to point at her head. “You were responsible for what’s in the cellar—”

“No, actually.” He shook his head. “Not me. He’s…Matthias likes to hunt. He stalks wild animals. Stalks his enemies, too, looking for a weak point to bring them down.” He looked worried for a moment, then he grinned. “He showed me the tapes he took of you. Looking for a weak spot.”

Her vision hazed over for a moment, turning black with a mixture of rage and the worst headache she’d ever experienced. “What do you fucking want?” she demanded.

“Simple. I’m the rear guard. Your arrival means the Clan rescue party is on its way, doesn’t it?” She didn’t say anything, but his grin widened just the same. “Knew it. You’re my ride out of here, y’know? Little pony. We’ll just be leaving by the back steps, then blow the house down. And I’ll ride out on you. There’s a meeting spot, ready and surveyed and waiting for me. Nice pony.”

“Listen,” she said, trying to focus through her blinding headache, “have you actually done anything for Matthias? Killed anyone? Planted any bombs?”

The gunman stopped smiling. “Shut the fuck up. Now,” he snarled. “Kneel! Move!”

Miriam knelt slowly. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Her head pounded and her stomach, even though it was empty, seemed about to make a bid for freedom through her mouth. “Whatever he paid you—” she began.

“‘S’ not money. Fucking Clan bitch. It’s who we are. Got it, yet?”

“You and Matthias?”

“That’s right.” He kicked the gun away. “Keep your hands on the floor. Lean forward. Slowly put your wrists together in front. I’ll kill you if you fuck up.” He carefully kept the gun on her as he pulled a looped cable tie out of a back pocket. “Nice pony, we’re going to go riding together. Over to Boston, and then maybe out west to the ranch to see some of my friends. You won’t like it there, though.”