He walked to the front desk, and Nita nudged Kovit. He nodded, and the two of them separated, shifting into position. They knew where Zebra-stripes was going.

Nita went over to the elevator banks. All of them were at the lobby, and she pressed the top floor in each one except one, sending them shooting up and away. Then Nita got in the final one, just as Zebra-stripes turned the corner.

She smiled at him, her face a mass of wrinkles from her disguise, her hair tucked up under a wig she’d bought on the way there. She’d swapped disguises, afraid that Zebra-stripes might recognize her from the market if she looked young. But now, to all intents and purposes, she looked like a seventy-year-old woman.

“Going up?” she asked, holding the door open.

“Yes.” His voice was low, a little on the deep side, a little too deep for his face, which seemed young, mid-twenties. It was a lie, of course. Vampires didn’t age the same as humans. Their faces froze at some point in their lives and then after that, you could only tell their age by their hair.

The more white in their hair, the older they were—though it wasn’t really white, it was an ethereal, almost translucent, sparkling color that resembled white. They could live as long as seven hundred years, but they grew older and frailer as they aged. When they were young, they were preternaturally strong and practically unstoppable. The old ones were weak as kittens.

His hair was covered, but Nita remembered how much white Zebra-stripes had. She’d placed him between one and three hundred years. A dangerous age to be. Wise from their years and still strong with youth.

That wasn’t going to stop Nita from taking him down. Nita was strong too. And she had a lot more riding on this.

The elevator doors clicked closed, and he pressed the sixth floor, as she’d known he would. Soft music began to play, and Nita leaned forward and pressed the button for the eighth floor, dropping her bag as she did so.

“Oh, goodness,” she croaked, making her voice raspy and old to go with her wrinkly skin. “Dear, could you get that for me? My knees aren’t what they used to be.”

Zebra-stripes didn’t say anything, just knelt to pick up the bag.

And Nita used the opportunity to drive a knife into his spine.

She’d been very careful with her planning—she didn’t want to kill Zebra-stripes, not yet, but she couldn’t take on a vampire. She was realistic.

But she’d dissected many a vampire. She knew their biology well.

The knife slid in just below the base of his skull between the C1 and C2 vertebrae, immediately paralyzing him. Blood slipped out, coating the knife handle and painting Nita’s fingers red.