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Original art by Rob Pegler.

Chapter 1

It was a quiet morning at Downwright & Pope, but it did not stay that way.

Gabriel Pope, being a professional hunter of the undead, had always led a semi-nocturnal existence. On most days when night work was needed he would rise at noon, spend much of the afternoon warming up or checking equipment or doing research, then head out just before sunset. Depending on the job in question he might be out through late evening, or until the small hours, or even return in daylight the next day. He was not a man with a vibrant social life, though his evenings were usually quite eventful.

On this particular morning, he was strangely restless. He'd arrived back at the office just after eight, having pulled an all-nighter tracking down a gang of rogue ghouls near the dockyards. The city was having some trouble with them raiding boats up and down the river—ghouls were excellent swimmers and, lacking the need to breathe, they could track a boat for miles undetected. The evidence suggested that the ghouls in question were remnants from the Okhotniki vampire clan, overthrown and scattered some months before. Since Gabe had played a major role in punching that particular ticket, the mayor was of the opinion that he should be involved in the mopping up process. Off the record, of course.

The outing had been a semi-successful one—he'd found the nest, but had also encountered a number of complications. He had a meeting scheduled with one of the mayor's people later that morning and, being dead tired, had retired to the upstairs apartment for a shower and a couple of hours' sleep.

Except he couldn't sleep. He'd dozed off a few times, but only for minutes at a stretch. The bed was as comfortable as it ever got and it was a mild, quiet morning . . . yet for some reason he couldn't settle. There was something on his mind.

There was always something on Gabe's mind, of course; usually half a dozen things at once, though that had never stopped him sleeping before. But today . . . he couldn't put his finger on it. Was it work? That was as pressing and haphazardly dangerous as ever, but no more than usual. Was it Meliad? Gabe's erstwhile dryad assistant had been acting a little strangely of late, ever since that incident at the high school a few weeks earlier. She seemed strangely preoccupied with something, though she hadn't talked about it and had waved him aside when Gabe had asked her if she was alright. That probably wasn't it, either.

No, he just had an uneasy feeling. Not even a bad feeling as such, just . . . unsettled. As if things weren't quite as they should be.

After almost two hours of turning, tossing and muttering, he decided he was too hungry to sleep anyway. With a sound that was half-sigh and half-grunt, he rolled awkwardly out of bed, ran a hand through his short, disheveled hair, and slumped over to open the bedroom door.

Wilton Grey was standing out in the living room.

Gabe's reaction was reflexive, instantaneous and, under the circumstances, probably understandable. For one thing, he'd never been a big fan of uninvited guests. Even when he tolerated them, the courtesy was only extended to people he liked and trusted. That was a very short list, and Wilton Grey—whose previous encounter with Gabe had almost killed them both, not to mention coming dangerously close to ending the world—was definitely not on it. Added to this was the fact that Gabe habitually slept in whatever he was wearing when he reached the bed, and since he'd come straight out of the shower beforehand, that was presently his birthday suit. He was sufficiently startled to push him over the edge.

Gabe's hand moved in a blur, snatching a steel throwing axe from the small weapon rack behind the bedroom door. His father had found it useful to always keep a couple of weapons within easy reach, and it was a habit Gabe had inherited. The weapon was drawn halfway back before Wilton responded, moving into a defensive crouch.

Another point worth noting was that Wilton Grey, despite his youth and inexperience, was a keen practitioner in the magic arts and had learned a number of defensive charms and wards, many of them with counter-offensive properties. Since he'd previously only used them against teenage bullies—and then only sparingly—they were all of the non-lethal variety, but he was still capable, with a single word, of causing temporary blindness, muscle paralysis or momentary loss of bladder control. By the time the axe was poised to throw, a hasty and particularly embarrassing trigger word was already forming on Wilton's lips.

All in all, things would have gotten extremely messy had a lithe, green-clad figure not slid into view between the two, arms outflung, shouting "Whoah-whoah-WHOAH! STOP!"

Gabe froze, axe drawn back over his shoulder, as Wilton bit back on the half-formed spell.

Meliad relaxed a little, lowering her arms and tucking back a loose strand of green-brown hair. "Gabe," she said breathlessly. "Put the axe down."

"What's he doing here?" Gabe demanded.

"Put the axe down."

"I thought this kid was—"

Mel's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Put. The axe. Down."

Gabe hesitated. Then, very slowly, and with an air which suggested he was perfectly capable of picking it up again if need be, he placed the axe on the dresser beside him.

"Will," said Mel over her shoulder, "you were supposed to wait downstairs."

Wilton pointed. "It wasn't my fault. He had a—"

"Will, go downstairs."

"That guy's fucking nuts—"

"Go on."

With a suspicious glare in Gabe's direction, Wilton pulled his hoodie up over his sandy hair and stomped out the door of the apartment.

"And don't touch anything," Mel called after him, as his footsteps thundered angrily downstairs. She turned her attention back to Gabe, who opened his mouth.

Mel raised a warning finger. "Stop. I'm going to go downstairs and settle him down a bit. I'll be back in a few minutes, and I'll explain things. You put the axe back on the wall and calm the hell down before I come back." Lowering the finger, she turned and followed Will. "And put some pants on. Jesus." The door closed behind her.

Nine minutes later Gabe was sitting on the sofa in a pair of jeans, a black shirt and mismatched socks. His favourite revolver—a Webley MkVI, handed down from his grandfather—was sitting on the coffee table in front of him. His mood had not improved.

The door opened and Mel stepped back in, looking rather tired. Closing the door, she walked silently over to the armchair opposite the sofa, sat down and crossed her legs. Only then did she make eye contact. "Gabe—"

"What's he doing here?"

Mel sighed. "I invited him. Just lis—"

"You invited him."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because he's got nowhere else to go."

Gabe frowned. "What?"

"They closed down his high school, remember? No other school will take him."

"Not surprised. Most of the kids are still in counselling. What's that got to do with us?"

"And his mother's in over her head," Mel went on, "so he's pretty much a ward of the state, unless . . ." She hesitated.

Gabe stared at her. "No."

"We've got room."

"No."

"He'll be my responsibility."

"No. That kid's dangerous."

"Exactly," Mel leaned foward, cutting Gabe off before he could respond. "Look, the judge ruled that he needs to be put into some kind of foster care and monitored by professionals. And there aren't any professionals, Gabe. Not for this kid. He's a . . . he's got power. A lot of it. I can feel it pouring off him from up here. He couldn't have caused that mess at the school without it. He doesn't have the experience or the focus to tap into it yet, but trust me—when this kid learns how to fire on all eight cylinders, he'll be able to move mountains. Literally." She sat back in the chair, calming herself. "Think of him as a rogue WMD, Gabe. They put him in some foster home, he gets kicked out on the street, no telling where he'll end up. Or who could get their hooks into him."

Gabe drummed his fingers on the coffee table. "So what are you planning to do?"

"I've pulled some strings with the judge," Mel explained. "I can get guardianship until he's eighteen. That gives me sixteen months."

"To do what?"

Mel shook her head. "I don't know . . . train him, I guess. I'm not an active magic-user, but I can teach him about focus and control. How to avoid the usual pitfalls, how to keep his power contained. With any luck I can get his head screwed on right, try to steer him in the right direction before he starts learning the real stuff."

"Turn him away from the Dark Side?"

She shrugged. "Well, I can try."

Gabe smiled.

Mel gave him a warning look. "Oh, you say it and I'll punch you."

Wilton was sitting at Mel's desk when they came downstairs to the office. He wasn't touching anything, but had the vaguely guilty look of a boy who'd been rummaging a moment ago. Gabe approached cautiously, hands visibly fidgeting. Mel had made him leave the gun upstairs.

"So," said Gabe, "Wilton. I'm—"

"Will," the boy interrupted.

"Sorry?"

"He prefers Will."

"Yeah. Only my grandmother calls me Wilton."

Gabe scratched his head. "Whatever. Look, kid . . . I'm not too thrilled about you being here."

Will smiled. He was a good-looking kid, and the smile lit his face up. "The axe was kind of a giveaway."

"Yeah. But Mel tells me you need somewhere to live and someone to . . . look after you. If she's willing to put herself out, then . . . yeah."

Will gave him a look. "Um. Thanks." His eyes moved towards the ceiling. "Would I be staying upstairs?"

Gabe didn't reply, but his face said it all.

"No," Mel smiled, hastily moving forward. "This building's mostly empty. There's an empty apartment next door, we can fix you up there."

"Like my own place?"

"No. Like our place. But you get a bedroom and a kitchen. Bathroom's in okay shape. We'll work out some kind of arrangement for food and bills and all that."

"Cool."

"And there'll be people coming to check on you, so you need to make an effort."

"I will." Will nodded earnestly.

Mel looked slightly dubious. She glanced sideways at Gabe, who treated her to a smile. "I just work here," he said.

With a sigh, she extended an arm. "Come on, I'll show you the room."

Gabe watched them walk out the office door, Mel's hand on Will's shoulder, talking about tidiness and house rules and shopping for a new bed. Will glanced back at Gabe with an anxious smile as the door closed behind them.

As Gabe turned and moved across the room to his desk, he realised that his hands were shaking.

Chapter 2

Harvey Brown "worked for the Mayor." That was how he usually put it when he was asked what he did for a living. If questioned further about his official title and responsibilities, he tended to mumble words like "liaison" and "public relations," and then change the subject . He didn't hold a seat on the Roseburg City Council, he wasn't officially a secretary or an aide. His name was on the payroll, but the job description was left blank.

Quite simply, Harvey's job was to deal, on the Mayor's behalf, with people with whom the Mayor did not officially deal. This included various private citizens or organizations vaguely referred to as "special interest groups." Sometimes it included cults or Satanic covens. It often included vampires. Every now and then it included organized crime. The Mayor of Roseburg wasn't actually corrupt, but he was well aware that he technically governed only about forty per cent of the city on a good week, and compromises were needed to keep things running. This meant that most of Harvey's working hours were spent talking to people he didn't like.

Today, Harvey was talking to Gabriel Pope. He hadn't yet decided whether he liked him or not.

Shifting his rotund torso in the cushioned wooden chair in front of Gabe's desk, Harvey scratched an itch on his thinning scalp and said, "Define 'complications'."

Gabe leaned back in his chair, trying to be nonchalant. He didn't like talking to people across desks. It made him nervous. The fact that it was his own desk made little difference. "Have you ever heard of Ranier Swift?"

Harvey's face didn't even twitch. "Officially?"

Gabe sighed. "He's pretty high up in the Uvyadayasvet Clan, but lately he's been trying to strike out on his own. When I located the nest last night, he was there with two of his offsiders. We think he's hired these ghouls to help finance his plans for a breakaway clan."

"So?"

Gabe looked sideways at Mel, standing beside the desk. Harvey did like Mel, for several reasons. He liked her in the professional sense because she had her finger on the pulse of Roseburg, knew people who knew people, and was always a valuable source of information and contacts. He liked her personally because she reminded him of a girl he'd had a crush on in high school.

"Let's not beat around any bushes, Harvey," Mel smiled. "You've got an understanding with the Uvyadayasvet because they help keep street gangs out of South Bank. Swift's going behind their backs, but if we get in his business then it'll stir things up in their territory and make things . . . awkward for the Mayor. Gabe decided not to go ahead until we'd had a chance to consult with you on the matter."

Harvey's heart was beating a little faster, though he didn't show it. Perhaps Mel was too good a source of information. He hadn't thought she'd known about any of this.

Presently he replied, "I'll have to look into the matter. Meanwhile, the Mayor would appreciate it if you continue to keep an eye on—"

A loud crash from behind the west wall of the office cut into the conversation, followed by a muffled curse. Harvey turned towards the sound, then looked up at Mel. She gave him a prim little smile. "Excuse me."

Harvey watched her calmly make her way across the office and slip though the door into the hallway. He turned to Gabe with a questioning look on his face.

Gabe shrugged. "Tenant issues."

One door down from the office, Mel came to a chipped wooden door with "3B" picked out in tarnished bronze letters. Opening the door without knocking, she stepped inside and walked down the front hallway. "Will? The grownups are talking next door. What's with all the—?"

Coming out into the living room at the rear of the apartment, she came to an abrupt halt. Will Grey was standing in the center of the room, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of paint-speckled overalls tied at the waist. He was also wearing a fresh layer of wallpaper paste, splashed down the right side of his face and chest. A bucket of paste was lying on its side, contents splattered across the drop-cloth on the floor. Two tangled rolls of wallpaper lay across the floor as well, while a third hung crookedly from the wall. A paste brush, Mel was interested to note, was stuck to the ceiling above Will's head, slowly peeling itself loose.

She smiled. "Making progress?"

Will scowled, scooping paste out of his right ear. "I lost my concentration."

Mel raised an eyebrow. "You weren't . . .?"

Will started scraping the paste off his arm. "I thought it'd be quicker. I've done it before. I mean . . . with dishes. It's just a simple—"

"What did the judge say, Will?"

Will's shoulders slumped.

Mel crossed her arms. "I'm waiting."

Will drew in all the oxygen he could, gathering ammunition for a long and exasperated sigh. "I'm not allowed to perform any incantations."

"Or . . .?" Mel prompted.

"Or have access to arcane paraphernalia," Will added, in a sarcastic sing-song voice.

"Until . . .?"

"Until I'm eighteen. But you said you were going to teach me more about—"

Mel raised a finger. "Stop. I said I was going to teach you about focus and control. Part of which is knowing when to do things the old-fashioned way. For example, using your own two hands to clean up the mess you just made."

"Whatever."

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing."

Mel nodded. "Good. Now when I finish up next door, I'll come back and give you a hand. You can get started without me."

Will watched her make her way back up the hallway. He waited until she was safely down the hall before muttering several obscene words under his breath.

The paste brush finally came loose from the ceiling and dropped towards him. It stopped a few inches above his head, spun wildly in midair for a second, and hurtled away to bounce off the wall.

It was two days later.

In order to make things easier during her tutoring sessions with Will, Mel had set up a "study area" for him in the main office. This had basically involved buying him some notebooks and stationery, and clearing most of the junk off Gabe's desk. Gabe had been somewhat reluctant about this but, as Mel pointed out, he never actually used the desk except when he needed something to put his coffee cup on.

Noon found Will seated at the desk in a t-shirt and grubby jeans, poring over several books from the shelves beside Mel's desk. They ranged from theoretical textbooks on the paranormal to unpublished theses on occult practices. Mel sat across from him in a green floral dress, pointing out several interesting passages in an unauthorised copy of the Third Notebook of Edward da Maestro.

Gabe emerged from the staircase, dressed in his work clothes—dark cargo pants, steel-capped workboots and a grey t-shirt with a black cross emblazoned on the front. Mel looked up as he made his way around the desk. "You sure you don't need me to come along?" she asked.

Word had finally come back from Harvey that morning. The Mayor was reluctant to stir up trouble in Uvyadayasvet territory, but felt that Ranier Swift's attempts to found a new clan needed to be nipped in the bud. Harvey had requested further information on Swift's operation, which necessitated a daylight reconnisance on his residence in South Bank.

Gabe shook his head, drawing out a key to unlock the weapon cabinet behind them. "Shouldn't be any trouble. Anyway," he added, sparing Will a brief glance, "you're busy." The cabinet doors opened to reveal an impressive collection of weaponry both edged and ballistic. Gabe picked up his silver baseball bat, leaning it on the wall beside him.

Mel turned her attention back to Will. "Okay. So da Maestro figured out that certain symbols act as conduits for certain types of energy. He discovered a whole alphabet of arcane symbols which . . ."

Reaching into the cabinet, Gabe dragged out a leather harness hung with straps and hooks, pulling it around his torso. As he fastened the buckles, his eyes moved towards Will. The boy was sitting with pen in hand, nodding and uh-huh-ing while Mel talked. But his attention wasn't on the book.

"In fact," Mel pushed her chair out and got up. "We've got a copy of Klugermann On da Maestro here somewhere . . ." She crossed the room to the bookshelves, stooping to rummage on one of the lower shelves. Will's eyes remained fixed on one spot the entire time. Gabe hid a smirk.

"Here it is." Mel returned to the desk, flourishing a tattered hardback book with a sickly green cover. Will's eyes strayed towards her neckline as she leaned over the desk to hand it to him. Only when she straightened up did his attention turn to the book in his hand. The yellowing pages inside were lined with tiny printed text and various baffling diagrams. He groaned inwardly.

Mel turned to Gabe. "You all set?"

He shrugged in the affirmative, sheathing the bat on his back.

"Okay. Will, check out Chapter Six. I'm going to get us some lunch. See you in a bit."

As Mel walked to the door, Will's gaze left the page and moved to hover around her lower extremities. It remained fixed there until the door closed behind her. Gabe watched with a faint smirk.

"See something you like?" he asked, turning back to the cabinet.

Will started, and his eyes returned to the page. "Uh, no . . ." His eyes scanned a line and half of text before sliding sideways towards Gabe. "I mean . . ." He gave a little shrug, as if unsure how to continue the sentence.

Gabe paused in his work. "What?"

"Well, I mean . . ." Will glanced towards the door. "You and Mel . . . you're, um . . ." He waved his hand. "You're not . . .?"

Gabe was somewhat startled by the question. He'd known Mel since he was a child, and throughout his troubled early adolescence she'd been the closest thing he'd had to a mother. "Oh . . . god no."

"Oh." Will nodded, returning his attention to the book. "Cool."

Gabe began slotting wooden stakes into the leather loops on his right side, regarding the boy out of the corner of his eye. "Little old for you."

Will shrugged again, feigning disinterest. "What is she, twenty-one?"

"Actually," Gabe replied with a smirk, "she's closer to two hundred and twenty-one."

Will's eyes paused on the page. "Really?"

"Yeah. You probably don't have a lot in common," Gabe explained. An assortment of minibar bottles were being affixed to the left side of the harness, each containing a potentially lethal dose of holy water.

"Guess not."

"I mean," Gabe went on, pulling out a silver kukhri and holding it up to test the edge, "technically speaking, she's not even a woman."

Will looked up sharply. "What?"

Gabe read the look of horror on the kid's face. "Not like that," he sighed. "I mean she's a dryad."

"Oh." Will relaxed. "Well, yeah. I know that."

Gabe gave him a look. "I . . . don't think you do. Listen . . ." He slid the knife into a sheath, seating himself on the edge of the desk. "Mel is . . . well, she's not human. She looks human, because her people evolved that way as a survival trait. But it's all window dressing. Underneath . . . well, things work differently."

Will's forehead screwed up. "Like how?"

"Well . . ." Gabe gestured vaguely. "She's not a mammal. She's four parts elemental and three parts vegetable. She breathes CO2 and gives off oxygen. She doesn't even have a belly button."

"She doesn't?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because she wasn't born. She grew inside a tree. So . . . well, y'know."

Will, by his face, didn't.

Gabe sighed. "Dryads are—"

The door opened, and Mel walked back in. "Forgot my wallet," she said, an awkward grin on her face. "Got all the way downstairs and halfway around the corner." She glanced at Will as she leaned over her desk to fetch the wallet from a drawer. "Still reading?"

Will looked a little startled, fumbling with the book. "Uh . . . yeah."

Mel nodded, looking towards Gabe. He'd leaped up off the desk as she'd entered, and was now busying himself with locking up the weapons cabinet. Holstering his Webley revolver, he grabbed his coat from the desk and made for the door. Mel noticed that he avoided eye contact as he passed. "Alright?" she asked.

"Yep. See ya." The door closed behind him.

Mel turned to Will, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What were you boys talking about?"

Will's eyes were glued to the page in front of him. "Nothin'."

Chapter 3

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Mel covered basic runes and energy transmutation, demonstrated a simple meditation exercise—which Will completely failed to get the hang of—and earmarked two chapters for him to read that night. Then she packed up the books and ordered pizza. Mel wasn't normally one for junk food, but they'd been working pretty hard. She'd noticed that Will was a little distracted throughout the afternoon, and not with trying to look down her top, as he'd done all morning. She kept catching him staring at her—not the way most human males did, which she hardly bothered to notice any more, but with a sort of bemused fascination. It was as if she were a special effect and he was trying to figure out where the wires were. She wondered what Gabe had said to him while she was out.

As they ate, she remembered the box. Wiping her fingers on a napkin, she reached under her desk and produced a cardboard banana box filled with small household items, odds, ends and oddities. "Thought you could use some of this stuff next door," she explained. "It's all just gathering dust upstairs."

Will leaned over to rummage through the box. There was a clock radio, three coffee cups, a steam iron, a wall clock and a few other items, most of it ten years older than he was. "Might be able to get you a TV as well," Mel went on, picking up another slice of pizza.

Will wasn't listening. His attention was on the small stack of LPs leaning at one end of the box. "Wow," he said, pulling them out for a closer look. "Vinyl."

"Shuddup," Mel warned, in mid-bite. "It'sh baking a gumback."

"Uh-huh." Will nodded as he flipped through the sleeves. "Oh, sweet." He turned one around to display the cover. HISTORY REPEATING—The Best of Blue Tattoo.

Mel looked up, visibly surprised. "You like Blue Tattoo?" she asked, through a mouthful of hot cheese.

Will was sliding the record out to take a closer look. "Hey, who doesn't like Blue Tattoo?"

Mel nodded. "Haven't listened to them for a while. I saw them live a couple of times. Back in the eighties." She picked a slice of sausage off her pizza and popped it into her mouth. "I hear they're playing a gig next weekend at the Valkyrie. Second reunion tour. Sold out, though."

"Really?" Will looked around the room. "So . . . do you have a record player, or am I going to plug these into my—?"

The door swung open, quite violently. Mel instinctively sat upright, hand moving towards her desk drawer, but paused when she saw Gabe in the doorway. He was leaning on the door handle, using it for support. "Hey, kids," he announced, through gritted teeth. "I'm home."

Mel looked him over as he limped into the room. He was somewhat more disheveled than usual, and dried mud was smeared up his left side. His right trouser leg was torn open at the ankle, the skin underneath punctured and bloodied.

Mel sighed, dropping her half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box. "Tough day, sweetie?"

Gabe shrugged, hobbling towards his desk. "Not too bad. Couple of undead hounds on guard duty." He winced, reaching forward to lean his weight on the desk. "I think one of them was a labrador."

"Mm-hmm." Mel leaned over to fetch her first aid kit from another drawer.

Will was staring at Gabe's well-chewed ankle. "Shit man, are you okay?"

"Don't worry," Mel assured him, carrying the kit over to where Gabe was painfully lowering himself into his chair. "This is just Monday afternoon. Finish your pizza."

The next three days were quiet ones. Gabe rested up and gave his ankle a chance to heal. The bites weren't serious, and Mel was better at dressing wounds than any field medic on the planet. It also gave Harvey Brown a chance to go over the photographs and information Gabe had obtained from Ranier Swift's private residence and prepare a report for the Mayor. Mel did some digging during Gabe's brief sabbatical, and turned up an informant who knew bits and pieces about Swift's movements. It appeared that he already had two other prominent members of the Uvyadayasvet Clan on his side, and was grooming another. He'd also been in negotiation with a couple of the city's many sub-clans, as well as the human leaders of at least two street gangs who had run afoul of the Uvyadayasvet in the past. He still lacked the manpower or resources for an actual coup against the clan bosses, but was well on the way to setting himself up with a rival clan and hunting ground.

Mel continued to tutor Will, but her time was increasingly taken up with phone calls and meetings. On Thursday afternoon, she and Gabe were summoned to Harvey's office for an unofficial meeting with the Mayor herself. Mel set Will some reading to do, put a sandwich in the fridge, and told him to hang around the apartment and leave the weapons cabinet alone. He assured her he'd be fine, waved to her at the door and watched as she headed for the stairs to join Gabe, who was fidgeting with his father's old blazer. Unofficial meeting or no, Mel had insisted that you don't go to see the Mayor in a t-shirt and grubby old pea coat.

Will went inside the apartment, crossed to the window, and waited until he saw the old grey van that served as the company vehicle roll down the street and turn the corner. Then he went to the bedroom, retrieved a small roll of cash from his bottom drawer, pulled on his trainers and hoodie, and headed for the door. He grabbed the sandwich from the fridge on the way out.

The Valkyrie was one of the few older buildings in Roseburg that had sidestepped "derelict" and made it to "vintage." The city's most famous music venue of the seventies and eighties, it had played host to such acts as The Pits, Sally Stretch, the Dirty Half Dozen and the Dizzy Bitches. There'd been a slump in the late nineties when the venue ran into financial difficulties, but had undergone something of a renaissance in the new millenium. It was whispered that certain vampire clans had put money into the place, and that Johnny Fantôme himself was an investor. Nobody cared much who was running the Valkyrie, as long as the bands kept coming.

The ticket office was a grubby rectangular window off the lobby, where a bored-looking girl with too much eyeliner and pink streaks in her hair was lounging in a rickety office chair. Her name, according to the tag pinned to her tank top, was "Libby". She looked up through the half-pane at her customer and tried to inject a little enthusiasm into her voice. "What show was it?"

Will Grey consulted the brochure in his hand. It contained a wealth of promotional information, along with a calender for the current month and a programme of the acts that would be playing the Valkyrie in that time. "The Barndoors?"

Libby gave him a look. "Um . . . okay. Which night?"

"Uh, Wednesday."

The girl shrugged, reaching over to half-heartedly work the mouse on the outdated computer beside her. "They're probably not gonna play," she said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. They've booked two shows and we've only sold like fifty tickets. You'll be back for a refund by Monday."

"Oh, well." Will's hand slid along the top of the counter, creeping behind the computer out of Libby's line of sight. As she clicked the mouse and tapped a few keys, he made a number of small but complicated motions with his fingers, whispering under his breath. Libby frowned as the monitor flickered, but it soon righted itself. With one final mouse click, the little black box beside the computer reeled out two rectangular strips of pink and white cardboard, printed with black ink. "Seventy dollars," Libby sighed.

Will pulled a twenty dollar note from his pocket, rubbed it with his thumb, and murmured something before handing it over. Libby looked at it, opened her cash drawer and gave him thirty dollars in change, along with the tickets. "Enjoy," she said, a faint note of amusement in her voice.

Will thanked her, pocketed the money and made his way to the entrance. Only when he was out on the pavement, under the huge fibreglass wings that decorated the front of the building, did he look at the tickets in his hand.

BLUE TATTOO
SECOND REUNION TOUR
SAT 25th JULY

With a grin that was half satisfaction and half disbelief, he carefully slipped the tickets into a pocket and headed back towards the train station.

Mel sat back in her chair, drumming her fingers on the top of her desk. Her luminous blue-green eyes were cold and hard, fixed on the boy sitting opposite her. Will stared back, projecting an air of innocent calm.

"You bought them," said Mel, a hard edge to her voice.

"Yeah."

Mel's fingers drummed a little harder. "I mention a gig that's been sold out for three weeks, and a couple of days later you've got two tickets?"

Will nodded. "I know a guy."

Mel's eyebrow twitched. "You know a guy."

"Well, yeah." Will almost smiled, but seemed to reconsider at the last moment. "A guy I know. A friend. A contact." He gave a little shrug. "I know a guy."

Mel stopped drumming, and quietly picked up the tickets from the desk between them. She had no doubt they were real. Not only was she sensitive to magical resonances and could spot a glamour a mile off, but they were made from cardboard and cardboard was, for all intents and purposes, wood. And wood couldn't lie to her. They might still be conventional forgeries, but given her nagging concerns about Will, that would be a small relief.

"Where'd you get the money?" she asked.

"I said I'd pay him back. He gave me mate's rates anyway. Seventy bucks for the pair." He scratched his ear. "I mean, you said you were a fan. And you're taking me in and helping me and stuff, so . . . I wanted to, y'know, thank you and everything." He finally tried on the smile.

Mel tried not to smile back. Holding up the tickets, she said, "So they're a gift."

"Well . . . yeah."

"So I can take whoever I want, right?"

Will's face fell. "Um . . . actually, I thought . . . well, I was hoping, um, you and I could . . ."

"Oh," Mel replied, in mock surprise. "So this is a date."

"Nonono," Will blurted out, waving his hands. "It's a friend thing. Or, like, you'd be my, uh . . ." He snapped his fingers a couple of times. "My chaperone. Yeah. Like that."

Mel allowed herself a smirk. "It's kind of a busy time, Will. But it's a nice gesture." She opened a drawer and put the tickets away.

Will watched them vanish with a worried look on her face. "So you don't want to—?"

"We'll see." Mel closed the drawer. "Anyway, I've got something else fun for you to do. The vacuum cleaner's out in the hall and the carpet next door looks like an animal exploded on it. Off you go."

Will rose to his feet. "Yes, ma'am."

Mel watched him go, then looked towards the other desk, where Gabe was stripping and cleaning his favourite shotgun. "He's lying," he said.

"Maybe." Mel glanced at the drawer. "But cut him some slack. He's just trying to impress me. You were sixteen once."

Gabe didn't look up from his work. "No I wasn't."

Mel sighed. "No," she said, a little sadly. "I guess you weren't."

Chapter 4

Things came to a head on Thursday night.

It would never be known exactly how word about Ranier Swift's activities got back to the Uvyadayasvet leaders—whether one of Mel's informants was behind it, or whether Gabe's snooping had attracted the attention of others to Swift's operation. At least one of his co-conspirators within the clan was known to have vanished, and had possibly given up information under torture. However they found out, their response was quick and merciless. Shortly after sunset on Thursday evening, a death squad of vampires and ghouls descended on Swift's private residence, killing over a dozen of his followers and burning the building to the ground. Another attack all but wiped out one of the street gangs affiliated to them. At the same time, clan enforcers swept through the ranks of the Uvyadayasvet, rooting out those who may have planned to break away with the defectors. When the smoke cleared on Friday morning, the word was out—Ranier Swift had gone underground, and was now a hunted vampire.

Not that this solved much. On the contrary, it stirred up a hornet's nest in the vampire underworld. One of the sub-clans with whom Swift had negotiated were affiliated to the Chernysvet Clan, which raised all sorts of questions about whether they were behind the whole thing. By Friday night a rumour was circulating that Swift was in hiding at the mansion of Damian Argyros, the Chernysvet boss. Threats, demands and ultimatums were issued, and sporadic fighting broke out between members of the two clans. Gabe and Mel were out most of Friday night trying to track down information about where Swift had really got to. Will offered to go with them, but was told in no uncertain terms to stay home and keep out of mischief. Mel called him on the landline every couple of hours until midnight to make sure he was staying put. When she and Gabe returned at four in the morning, it was to find Will asleep on the sofa. Mel threw a blanket over him and left him there.

Gabe slept until eleven, then left at noon to meet up with Harvey Brown and discuss their next move. He was gone for most of the afternoon.

When he returned just before six, Mel was seated at her desk, talking on the telephone in muted tones. Gabe nodded to her as he entered, and she smiled. He gave her a second look as he crossed to his desk—there was something different about her, though he couldn't immediately put his finger on it. He took off his coat and draped it over the edge of his desk before crossing over to the coffee machine. By the time he'd mixed in his customary three sugars, Mel was hanging up the phone. "So?" she asked, before the receiver hit the cradle.

"Nothing new," Gabe replied. "Harvey's keeping his ear to the ground and the Mayor's feigning ignorance. How about at your end?"

She shook her head. "Nada. None of the usual snitches know anything. Our man Swift could be anywhere in town by now. Or anywhere out of it. Only place I'm sure he isn't is Damian Argyros' place."

Gabe sipped his coffee. "How d'you figure?"

"Because that's where everyone thinks he is," said Mel. "So what do we do now?"

Gabe shrugged. "Sit tight and see if he pops his head up. Sooner somebody takes him out, the sooner things go back to whatever passes for normal around here."

Mel nodded, looking a little distracted. "Think that'll be tonight?"

"Doubtful."

Mel brightened a little. "Good." Pushing her chair out, she got to her feet and began tidying the items on her desk. Gabe glanced at her outfit, though it was a glance that quickly turned into a stare, the coffee cup still tilted to his mouth. Mel was wearing a green halter top and brown leather pants. She had an extensive wardrobe hidden away somewhere—in fact he rarely recalled having seen her in the same outfit twice—but not once in their long relationship had he ever imagined that she even owned leather pants. She was also wearing a few uncharacteristic items of jewelery and, he noted, lipstick and mascara. And nail polish, by all that was holy.

After a few seconds, Gabe realised that coffee was dribbling out of the corner of his mouth and onto his chest. He lowered the cup and brushed away the droplets from his shirt. "Uh . . . Mel?"

Mel looked up, and saw the look on his face. She glanced down at herself with a smile. "What? Are the pants too much?"

"Hard to say," Gabe admitted. "Too much for what?"

Mel opened her desk drawer and fished out the tickets. "Blue Tattoo."

Gabe frowned. "You're actually going to that?"

"Well, yeah. It's one night only."

The frown didn't fade.

Mel gave a shrug. "No point wasting the tickets. Anyway, Will's got his little heart set on it. I don't want to keep him locked up here like Johnny No-Life, but I don't want him going alone."

Gabe nodded slowly. "So it's just for his benefit."

"Well, not entirely. I haven't had a night out like a normal person in ages."

Gabe opened his mouth.

"I said like a normal person," Mel snapped. "And like you said, we've got nothing to do but wait for Swifty to stick his neck out. So I figure, why not?"

"Things are pretty crazy out there right now," Gabe protested.

"It's Roseburg," Mel reminded him. "Things are always crazy out there. Look, I've got my cellphone. If anything happens with Swift, I can put Will in a cab and be there to bac˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙ll grinned, dragging the helmet onto his head. Not human, indeed.

"By the way," Mel asked, slipping on her sunglasses as Will awkwardly mounted the bike behind her, "what's the guy's name?"

Will was trying to figure out where to put his hands. "What? Who?"

"The guy. The one you got the tickets from."

Will froze. "Uh . . . why?"

"Because I'm going to pay for them. You can't afford it."

Will was glad he was sitting behind her, where she couldn't see his face. "Oh . . . no, that's okay. I can manage."

"I'm supposed to be the provider in this little drama, Will. I'm not going to make a habit of shelling out for concert tickets, but since we're going anyway . . . so what's his name?"

Will's mind raced. "It's, um . . . Libby."

Mel frowned. "His name's Libby?"

"Her name. It's a she. I mean, she's a girl."

"The guy's a girl."

"Well, yeah. She's a girl, but she's, like . . . my guy."

There was a thoughtful pause.

"What?"

"Look," Will desperately waved it aside. "Libby's just this chick I know, works at the Valkyrie. That's how she got the tickets so cheap."

"Fair enough. Is she going to be at the show?"

"Maybe. I dunno. Probably not." Will chewed his lower lip. "I can give her the money for you. When I see her."

"We'll see." Mel shrugged, starting the engine. "Hold on."

"Okay."

"Tighter, Will. They're just hips."

"Uh, right."

Will breathed a tiny sigh of relief as they putted out into the street.

The layout of the Valkyrie was pretty basic—a large square room with a stage, surrounded by a mezzanine level that ran around three sides. There were several side entrances and stairwells, and a bar area at the back. It had a capacity of around nine hundred people on the floor, and they could pack up to three hundred upstairs. By the time Mel and Will got inside, they'd probably far exceeded this already.

They found their way up a narrow crowded stairwell to the mezzanine, and jostled up to the metal railing overlooking the crowd below. Coloured lights washed over a swelling ocean of people, jammed in as tight as they could fit. Most were fairly young, late teens to late twenties, though at least a quarter of the crowd were in their thirties, forties, or even older. Will looked down to see a knot of well-dressed varsity students weaving their way around a trio of grey-haired men in heavy metal t-shirts. Up by the stage, a guy in his early thirties already had his girlfriend perched precariously on his shoulders. Somewhere in the throng, people were slurring their way through an impromptu chorus of "Euphoria." The general atmosphere was one of good-natured anticipation. Blue Tattoo were one of those bands that had never had to make a comeback, though they didn't often find their way back to Roseburg.

Mel went downstairs to buy drinks (bottled water for herself and cola for Will) and got back just as the support act hit the stage. They were a student band from Harbour City with a name that was too clever for people to remember, but they had a good sound and the crowd soon warmed up to them. By the end of their first song most of the crowd on the floor were dancing, the room was heating up, and Mel was wondering why she didn't go to gigs more often. By the third song she dancing, as best she could against the railing with the crowd pushing from behind. Will, not quite so confident in his moves, just drummed on the railing while pretending not to watch her. Those who'd seen Mel fight (and lived) had been known to comment on how remarkably graceful she was, even when putting a screaming ghoul into a reverse chokehold. Though she didn't dance nearly as often—much to her regret—the effect was much the same. Even at the frenetic tempo the band were pumping out, she moved like a tree in the wind. There wasn't any other way to describe it.

The support group finished their set and left the stage to thunderous applause. People took advantage of the short break to hit the bar, grab some air and join the queue at the restrooms. Will stripped off his hoodie and tied it around his waist as he leaned over to Mel. "I'm going to the boy's room. You want another drink?"

Mel smiled and pushed a twenty-dollar note into his hand. "Bring me change."

Will weaved his way to the stairwell and squeezed down it, finding his way to the floor. A moment's searching located the nearest toilet, and he passed the long line at the ladies' room to join the little mob around the urinals in the gents'. The bar was packed when he got there—the guitarist from the support band was there, soaking up some good-natured backslapping—and after a few minutes Will decided it would take too long to get drinks. Turning back towards the stage, he bumped into someone. Pink-streaked hair bounced into his face as she stumbled against him. "Sorry," he managed.

After a moment's pause he heard the reply, "Hey, Barndoor."

Will studied the face amid the pink streaks, and broke into an awkward grin. "Oh, hi. Libby, right?"

The girl from the ticket booth smiled through lips the colour of dark chocolate. "Good memory."

Up on the mezzanine, Mel was checking her cellphone for any message from Gabe—there were none—when the lights went down again. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN . . ."

The crowd started to rev up again, pushing towards the front. Mel looked around for Will.

". . . GIGS IN HARBOUR CITY AND SUNDRY, ON THEIR SECOND REUNION TOUR . . ."

Putting her phone away, Mel leaned over the railing. The crowd below her were moving like a blanket, cheers and whistles cutting through the air.

". . . SOME NOISE FOR BLUUUUEEE TATTOOOO!!!"

The lights came up, flooding the stage in red and gold as the band broke into the opening chords of "Honey I'm Home." Dave "Lucky" Finn bounced his way out to the mike, looking surprisingly good for his forty-seven years, still doing the same ridiculous swaying dance he'd been doing since 1978. The crowd erupted, catching Mel up in a wave of sound and movement and cheering voices, and she raised her arms and cheered along with them, idly hoping that Will wasn't still waiting in the toilets.

Downstairs, Will was being pulled through a sea of dancing bodies. People jostled against him from all sides, and it was all he could do to hold onto Libby's hand as she weaved through the crowd ahead of him. The words of a simple repulsion charm came to mind, but it was a little too powerful and he didn't want to give himself away. Besides, if Mel saw him . . . he glanced back over the bouncing heads behind him, and caught a glimpse of swaying green-brown hair up on the mezzanine, before he was dragged on through the crowd.

Finally he came to a halt, stumbling against Libby as she dragged him into a midst of a little circle of people. He found himself surrounded by three other girls, all of them a year or so older than him, dressed in a similar style to Libby. There were two boys there as well, wearing tight sweaters and the long, disheveled hairstyles currently fashionable amongst the teenage boys of Roseburg. One of them, a tall skinny guy with a swirling tattoo around his neck, looked down at Will with a grin that might have been welcoming or mocking, it was difficult to tell. Libby was shouting into the ear of one of the other girls, who was looking at Will with a smile. Will straightened up and made a concerted effort to seem cooler, wondering if he should smile back.

"You wanna dance?"

Mel half-turned, looking into the craggy face of a fortysomething man with thinning curly hair as he pushed in behind her.

"What?" she shouted above the noise. Jordan Judd was in the middle of a fast and unnecessarily long guitar solo, and the audience was lapping it up.

"I said, DO YOU WANNA DANCE?!"

Mel thought this over. "I'm already dancing!" she called back, and turned her attention back to the stage. The band finished off "Red Rage" with a noisy flourish of guitars and drums, drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Even as Mel joined in the applause, she was already looking around. That was the second song. Will should have been back by now. Damn it, she shouldn't have let him go downstairs by himself. As Lucky Finn started to tell the audience that they were the best crowd the band had ever had, Mel pushed past her curly-haired suitor to make her way back to the stairs.

"Hey, listen . . ." Libby leaned over to talk into Will's ear. "Me and my friends are going to get out of here. You wanna come?"

Will looked surprised. "Where?"

"To Caleb's," she replied. Will waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. Perhaps Caleb's was a club he was supposed to know about.

"Well . . ." He glanced back up towards the mezzanine. "I don't know if I can . . ."

"You looking for that girl?"

Will looked around. "What?"

Libby grinned. "That girl. With the green hair. You were with her upstairs. Who is she, your girlfriend?"

"No, she's my . . ." Will grasped about for a moment, trying to find an appropriate word to end the sentence with. Friend sounded corny, tutor probably wouldn't work. For a moment he considered aunt, but hastily dismissed it. Finally he settled on ". . . sister. I should probably go tell her if I'm going to, um, Caleb's."

"Nah," Libby smiled, slipping her hand into his. "Call her later."

Will smiled back, but it turned to a frown as the tall guy with the tattoo appeared beside him, taking his other hand. Looking around, he saw the rest of Libby's friends moving to join hands as well, forming themselves into a circle in the middle of the crowd. As the circle connected, Will felt a faint tingle down his spine.

Mel squeezed between two screaming girls, fighting the press of bodies around her. She didn't bother searching for Will with her eyes, it would be impossible in here. But Mel was a dryad and, as such, had an innate sensitivity to certain kinds of energy. She knew Will was still nearby—she could feel him, the dormant power he carried inside him, somewhere towards the near side of the room. She headed that way as best she could, sliding through the gaps, smiling apologetically at people as she navigated past them.

As she drew closer, she realised that it wasn't just Will she could feel. There was something else—a faint surge, a joining of energies. It was close—very close—and growing stronger by the second.

Dropping the smile, she began to shove her way through the crowd.

"Uh, hey . . ." Will tried to pull his hand away from the tall guy on his left, but the grip was too strong. He looked across at Libby, standing with her eyes closed, mouthing words he couldn't hear. She was drowned out by the buzz of the crowd, by Lucky Finn's booming voice over the speakers as he announced the next song. Will's head was beginning to spin, the way it had the first time he'd succeeded at using a spell. That had been tiny, a simple little floating light, but this was much stronger. His feet felt like they were nailed to the floor, yet at the same time he seemed to be floating. He desperately looked around, and the crowd parted a little, and he saw Mel. She was about twenty feet away, jostling through the people between them, the swirling lights forming a golden halo around her head. He tried to call out as she looked straight at him, and then the floor fell away . . .

Mel stopped short, reeling from the sudden rush of energy passing through the room. Nobody else felt it, none of the surging throng around her even noticed it, but it hit her like a wave breaking, almost taking her feet out from under her. And then it passed, rushing through her and out through the building, dissipating like smoke. And Will was gone.

Not gone from her sight. Gone from the room. She'd felt him go. A second ago he'd been there, standing next to some girl with pink hair, and now there was just a gap in the crowd.

Then Jordan Judd broke into the opening riff to "Don't Know Why," and the crowd jumped and cheered and filled in the gap like air rushing into a vacuum as Finn sang the first line, accompanied by a thousand tuneless voices.

None of them paid any attention to the woman with the green-brown hair, fighting her way toward the exit.

Chapter 5

For the longest instant of his life, Will was floating. He knew he was still holding hands with Libby and the tall guy because he could feel them. But his eyes felt like they were glued shut, and even if he could have opened them he knew he wouldn't be able to see anything. He could feel the nothingness around him.

And then wind rushed into his ears and gravity came back and a cement floor leaped up to hit the soles of his feet. His knees buckled and he started to fall, only to be dragged back up by the guy on his left. He heard Libby laugh as he half-fell against her. "Ha! You okay?"

Will was gasping for breath. "Wh . . . w-what was . . .?" He managed to raise his head and look around. They were in a large empty room, cement floor and dusty brick walls painted white. Rows of narrow windows circled the room high above the floor. It looked like a disused warehouse.

Libby held him by the shoulders, steadying him on his feet. "That was awesome! Did you feel that?"

"You got some juice, kid." The tall guy patted him on the back.

"It's like, normally it's so hard it hurts, even with all of us together. But with you . . ." Libby was staring at him, eyes shining with unfeigned admiration. "It was just . . . just . . ."

"Swish!"

"Yeah!" Libby giggled, jumping with excitement as she wrapped her arms around Will's neck. "Swish! We hardly had to push at all, we just went, y'know?" She grabbed Will by the face, and any reply he might have attempted was suddenly muffled by her lips. His eyes widened as he briefly felt her tongue. Disconnecting, she gave him a breathless grin. "Caleb's definitely going to want to meet you."

Will looked around at the group of grinning youths, clustering around him to pat him on the back and tousle his hair. "Who the fuck are you people?"

The little knot of smokers around the entrance to the Valkyrie briefly broke apart as Mel hurried through them, dragging her coat back on. She came to a stop on the pavement, lowering her head and closing her eyes. The smokers, still puffing away, watched her with interest as she slowly turned one way and then the other, as if listening for something.

There.

She could still feel it—not the source, but the trail. They'd travelled in an instant, but they'd left a residue behind. It was like seeing an afterimage when the lights go out, but it was still there, and it was pulling her . . .

North.

Cursing under her breath, she turned and dashed towards the parking lot.

They left the warehouse by a side entrance, going down a short flight of cracked cement steps and through a small yard filled with rubbish and old steel drums, surrounded by a chainlink fence. The warehouse loomed behind them in the dark, an empty shell of weatherworn brick. Will kept asking where they were going, and nobody was bothering to answer. They weren't forcing him anywhere, he walked under his own power, but he felt as though he were being swept along with the tide. Libby was talking the whole way, explaining how they always used the old warehouse as a destination point because it was close to Caleb's, and it was a big empty space where they could materialize safely. Will tried to interject, several times, but Libby just kept prattling, hugging his arm as she propelled him along with the others.

They pushed through a gap in the chainlink fence beneath a guttering lamp post. Beyond the fence was a wide empty lot a couple of hundred metres across, all dirt and windblown scrub surrounded by low industrial buildings. Will could see skyscrapers beyond them. There was the Renfield building, probably two or three kilometres distant, and Rose Tower beyond it, and other structures he recognised. He was still in Roseburg then, somewhere near the central city. One of the old industrial lots near the river.

The tall guy with the tattoo on his neck—Libby had introduced him as Stefan—was walking ahead, leading them across the little wasteland towards the squat black shape of a building on the far side. Will saw dim lights in the windows, and vaguely made out the shape of a door.

"That's Caleb's place," said Libby. "You're gonna love it."

Will glanced back at the skyscrapers, desperately wondering where Mel was. "I'll bet."

"Stupid stupid stupid stupid . . ."

The whine of a 50cc engine all but drowned out Mel's mantra as she cranked as much speed as she could out of the moped, heading more or less north.

". . . stupid stupid STUPID!" She leaned over the handlebars, resisting a strong urge to bang her forehead against them. "Take the kid to a concert, have a night out . . . what could possibly happen, you silly cow?"

She slid to a halt as the lights ahead turned red, even though she was on one of the quieter back streets. She needed to get her bearings. The bustle of the central city had given way to tenements and factories. There wasn't much noise here, aural or otherwise. If there was still a trail to follow, she should be able to pick it up.

Shutting off the engine, she straightened up and closed her eyes. And listened.

It was gone.

She sat still for a minute, concentrating as hard as she could, just to be sure. No, nothing there. She'd felt a brief flicker, just for an instant, but the trail had gone cold. She'd lost them.

Sagging forward, she slumped over the handlebars and spat out a very unladylike curse.

The door opened with grinding creak of rusted hinges, spilling dull yellow light into the darkness. The little entourage swept inside the building, pulling Will along with them. Stefan led them down a dirty corridor lined with garbage and rubble, illuminated every ten metres or so with hanging lightbulbs. Someone had painted the bulbs different colours to make little pools of light—yellow, green, red, blue, purple. As they neared the end of the corridor, Will realised he could hear music—some obscure alternative rock band from about ten years ago.

Coming to the end, they turned right through another door and entered the room beyond. It was big, probably half the size of the building. It had probably been a factory once—there were broken bolts and stumps of old pipes in the floor where machinery had been removed. The room had been redecorated since, though probably not by anyone who knew what they were doing. Dark red curtains hung here and there around the walls between dozens of posters, photographs and other miscellany. Mismatched furniture was arranged around the room—sofas, low coffee tables and armchairs and even beanbags—some of them on the edge but several clustered in the middle. An old refrigerator stood between two larger tables, covered with sheets and laden with alcohol bottles, takeaway food and the detritus of same. There was a similar mess on the two coffee tables in the center of the room, between the little cluster of chairs and sofas. A large Persian rug was spread on the floor beneath them, marred with food stains and cigarette burns. The music came from several speakers mounted in the rafters, connected to a stereo system beside one of the sofas by a complicated and hazardous network of wiring. The ceiling was covered with thousands of white fairy lights bathing the room in a soft glow. A haze of smoke, tobacco and otherwise, hung over the room.

There were at least two dozen people in the room, most probably under twenty. Several were sitting around the edges or rummaging through the bottles at the booze table, but at least fifteen of them were clustered on the sofas in the middle, or sitting on the rug. A girl in a red dress and long black dreadlocks was dancing in their midst, bouncing around and apparently oblivious to anyone, but she wasn't the focus of their attention. As Libby propelled him closer, Will realised they were all gathered around the tall, skinny man sitting on a torn leather sofa amongst them. He looked older than the rest of the group, probably in his late twenties. Shoulder-length hair, tousled and greasy, hung around a lean and somewhat angular face marked with several piercings. He wore tight black pants and a rumpled white shirt with the sleeves ripped off, hanging open to reveal his sunken chest. His arms and chest were covered with tattoos, black swirling designs that branched off into weird, almost runic symbols. He had a lot of jewelery in the form of necklaces and rings. He sat amongst the assembled teens like a king holding court, a bottle of bourbon clutched in one skinny hand. A scantily-clad girl ten years his junior was leaning against him, playing with his hair. Another one lay across the sofa with her head in his lap.

As they approached, his deepset grey eyes flicked upwards to focus on Will. Will felt his mouth go dry.

Stefan waved aside a group of grubby teens from the sofa opposite the man, and Libby pulled Will over to sit down. Two of her entourage dropped onto the cushions on either side, and Stefan perched on the arm of the sofa beside them. Libby flounced over to push one of the other girls away, sitting next to the tattooed man to whisper into his ear.

Smiling, the tattooed man raised a hand. The music volume lowered, without anyone touching the stereo. The girl in a red dress kept dancing, not even noticing. Libby snuggled up beside him. "Will, this is Caleb."

"Yeah," said Will, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. "I figured."

"Hey, Will," said Caleb, with a faint smile. "Libby's told me a lot about you."

Will frowned. "She did? When?"

Caleb grinned through perfect teeth. "She tells me you know a bit about fixing ticket machines."

A little murmur of laughter went through the room. Will glanced at Libby, who gave him a wink.

Will half-smiled. "Well . . . yeah."

Caleb raised his bottle. "That's a good trick. Never thought of that one." He took a swig from the bottle. "There's easier ways to sneak into a concert, though." Holding the bottle at arm's length, he let it slip from his fingers. Will watched it drop towards the floor, and it was gone.

A second later it appeared on his right, dropping into Stefan's waiting hand. Stefan grinned and took a shot.

"Can you do that?" Caleb asked.

Will shrugged. "No," he admitted. He raised a hand, and the bottle was yanked away from Stefan and pulled into Will's grasp like a magnet. "I can move things, though." He raised the bottle and swallowed a mouthful.

Caleb laughed, and the others joined in. A smattering of applause went around the group. Will hoped none of them noticed his eyes watering from the alcohol.

"I like you, kid," Caleb went on. "Libby was right about you." One bony hand moved to squeeze Libby's thigh, and Will felt a pang of jealousy. "You've got some power, I can feel it. Just need to know how to use it."

Will's eyes moved from the intruding hand to meet the man's eyes. "You going to teach me?"

"Depends what you want to learn."

The dreadlocked girl in the red dress twirled her way around the coffee table, dropping into Will's lap. Throwing one leg over him, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Hi," she breathed into his ear.

"Um . . ." Will swallowed. "Hi."

"Oh," Caleb smiled. "That's Gemma. She could probably teach you some stuff too."

More laughter. Will shifted uncomfortably as Gemma grabbed the bottle and took a drink.

Leaning back on the sofa, Caleb lifted one skinny tattooed arm. The stereo fired up again, and Gemma leaped up and pulled Will to his feet to dance with her. He glanced at Libby, who seemed to be nibbling on Caleb's ear. Caleb was gently swirling his hand above his head, and Will felt a shift in the air. The shadows around him moved, and he looked up as the fairy lights above them seemed to detach from the ceiling and drift downwards, whirling around them like fireflies. A tingle went up and down Will's spine. He felt as though his blood were on fire. Gemma wrapped her arms around him and the floor seemed to drop away, leaving the two of them drifting in midair as the lights spun and swirled about their heads.

Yanking back on the brake, Mel slid the moped to a halt in the middle of an intersection. The rusty hatchback behind her blared its horn as it swerved around her. She paid no attention, looking around wildly at the run-down neighbourhood around her. What was that?

There was a sudden flare-up of power nearby, like the one she'd felt when Will had vanished from the concert. Someone was channelling a lot of energy, somewhere close. Less than half a kilometre.

Grabbing the throttle, she turned the moped around and rode back the way she'd come.

When Will's head cleared, he was on the sofa beside Caleb. Libby was sitting on the other side of him, legs drawn up beneath her, holding his hand. Gemma was dancing around the room nearby, and the rest of them seemed to have moved off into little groups of their own. Stefan was still on the arm of the other sofa, a bottle of rum and cola in his hand.

"What was that?" he managed to ask.

Caleb smiled, handing him a bottle of beer. "Just gave you a little buzz."

Will straightened up in the seat, trying to focus on the bottle. Libby was stroking his hair. "What?"

"You're alright, Will," said Caleb. "You and me could really work some shit together."

Will took a sip from the bottle, wincing as the bubbles fizzed on his tongue. Everything was sharper, as if his senses were heightened. "Yeah, great."

"You look a little blasted." Caleb motioned towards a door at the far end of the room. "We've got some beds back there if you want to crash for a while. We'll talk tomorrow." Glancing towards the others, he added, "Gemma can show you the way if you like."

Will's face paled a little. "Uh . . ."

Libby smiled and took Will's hand. "I'll show him." Will rose to his feet, stumbling against her as the room lurched. She steadied him with a hand on his chest, and his whole body tingled. He was suddenly aware of the fragrance of her hair.

Caleb leaned back on the sofa with a smirk. "Okay. Have fun, kids."

"Not tonight, they won't."

Will's eyes snapped open as he recognised the voice. Uh-oh.

The youths around the room stopped and stared as Mel strode through their midst, approaching the group in the middle with a sharp look in her eye. Caleb gave her a slightly bemused smile as she sat in an armchair to his right, crossing her legs and gently drumming her fingers on the armrest.

"And you are?" Caleb wanted to know.

"Meliad."

"Oh." Caleb's looked over over. "I like your hair."

"Thanks."

Caleb looked over the bottles on the table. "Want a drink?"

"Nah." Mel pointed at Will. "I'm just here to take Wilton home."

They both looked at Will, standing nearby with a nervous-looking Libby on his arm. It was difficult to tell whether he was nervous, embarrassed or relieved at Mel's appearance.

"Well, there's no rush," Caleb said with a smile. "Wilton was just going to take a little nap." He moved a hand. A full bottle of vodka lifted off from the far table, drifted across the room and settled down on the coffee table in front of Mel. "So we can hang out for a while."

Mel watched the bottle cap slowly unscrewing itself. "Wow. You must really kill at birthday parties."

"Depends what kind of parties they are." Caleb opened his other hand, and a rolling blue fireball ignited in the air above his palm. "You feel a little . . . eldritch yourself," he said, playing with the fireball as if it were a bauble. "Do you dabble?"

She shrugged. "More theory than practice. I do have a pretty strong sensitivity, though."

"Well, lucky you. You must be all a-tingle right now."

Mel nodded. "Oh, I am. Lot of energy in this room. Most of it focused around you."

Caleb's lips parted in a gleaming grin.

"It's not coming from you, though."

Caleb's grin faltered. The fireball in his hand sputtered slightly.

"How are you doing it?" Mel asked, looking him over. "I know it's not the necklaces. Or the rings. You got those from a street vendor, by the look of 'em . . ."

Caleb's face fell. "Shut up."

Will was staring at them both. "What?"

Mel's gaze moved along the length of Caleb's arm, and she smiled. "Ooohhh . . . it's the tattoos, right? Very clever. Where'd you get them done?"

"Shut up." The fireball flared a little, changing colour to orange.

Will took a step forward, pulling away from Libby. "How's he doing what?"

Mel's eyes were still on Caleb. "He's leeching. I could feel it when I walked in." She looked across at Stefan, who avoided her eyes. "You knew, didn't you? What about the rest of you?" Gemma and the others were staring at her. "No? You can feel it though, right? That little tingle whenever he works a spell?"

"Shut up."

"A lot of kids with a little bit of juice each," said Mel, staring him down. "And you with your tricky little tattoos, soaking it all up like a sponge. Do you have any power of your own? Or do you just sit around in your little clubhouse siphoning it all out of your groupies?"

The fireball burst in a sudden flare-up, briefly lighting up the room before vanishing as Caleb leaped to his feet. "Shut up, bitch!"

Mel treated him to a winning smile. "I'll be taking my charge home now." She rose to her feet, looking around the room. "The rest of you should probably get going, too. I'm sure at least some of you have parents to go back to."

Caleb's eyes flashed. "He's not going anywhere."

"Oh, piss off, you little wanna-be."

Caleb thrust out a hand, palm turned towards Mel. A rush of air blew her hair and coat back, and her feet left the floor as she was flung backwards like a rag doll. She hit the armchair and tumbled over it, knocking it onto its back as she sprawled onto the floor. Stefan scrambled out of the way, Libby tripped over her feet and fell onto her backside. Some of the other kids screamed.

"Hey!" Will darted towards Caleb, grabbing hold of his shirt and pushing him back away from Mel. A snarling Caleb grabbed his shoulders, and for a moment they struggled back and forth across the rug. Caleb shoved Will back towards the coffee table, and he stumbled as his knees hit the edge. Starting to go over backwards, Will let go of Caleb's shirt and grabbed his arm. His right hand closed over the tattoos.

A light flashed around them, accompanied by a sharp tingle, like static electricity, going through everyone in the room. Caleb's tattoos seemed to ripple on his skin. His mouth dropped open in a terrified gasp.

Will stared at his hand, still locked around Caleb's skinny wrist. He tried to let go, but his fingers wouldn't budge. His blood was burning again, like before, but this time it was much, much stronger. The room began to tip sideways as he desperately tried to pull away. "Aww, fuck . . ."

The air around them glowed, little flashes of energy going off like fireflies exploding. The sofas and chairs around the rug began to slide across the floor, pushed outwards by some unseen force. The rug beneath their feet began to smoulder.

Mel rose to her knees, sweeping the hair out of her eyes. Will and Caleb had become the center of a swirling ball of energy, rippling like a heat haze. Their feet were lifting off the floor as the coffee tables collapsed, bottles of booze shattering even before they hit the ground. Above the roar of a wind she couldn't feel, Mel thought she could hear Caleb screaming.

She dragged herself to her feet. Libby was desperately crawling away to her left. She was vaguely aware of the others running for the door. She tried to move forward, but the rippling globe around the pair bulged and flared, throwing everything back. The windows above them shattered, raining shards of glass over everything. Stumbling back against the nearest wall, Mel felt it move. The building was beginning to shift on its foundations.

She couldn't even see the pair now, they were lost somewhere in a blazing bubble of energy. Leaning forward as far as she could reach, Mel screamed into the light. "Will! It's all coming from you! Shut it off!" She ducked as a broken whiskey bottle hurtled past, shattering across the wall to her right. "Will!"

Stefan and Gemma burst out of the factory door and set off across the empty lot, followed by a screaming entourage of teenagers. They didn't look back, fanning out as they sprinted towards safety. Behind them, the building was beginning to fall in on itself.

Will was in the middle of a fireball. He was the fireball. There was no floor beneath his feet, no air in his lungs. Even Caleb was a mere shadow, a stupid little strip of meat in his hands. A silly little bug who'd tried to take his power. He'd bitten off more than he could chew, tapped into a reservoir he couldn't hope to siphon. Woken up the animal.

I could burn you to a cinder, you stupid little shit. I could turn you into smoke.

He could feel it, for the first time in his life. He'd always known it was there, somewhere down inside him, waiting to be used.

I could flatten this building with a thought. I could fry this whole city.

He'd never known how much there was. He'd never known how to access it. And now there it was, all around him, waking up for the first time.

I could set the ocean on fire. I could pull down the sky.

Caleb had taught him something, alright. He'd opened up the well and tossed a match.

I could turn the world inside out.

Will smiled, watching the air around him burn.

But not today.

Reluctantly, he let go of Caleb's wrist.

Mel ducked as the bubble burst, filling the air with light and smoke and bits of wood that used to be tables. And just as suddenly, the light was gone. Will fell backwards, tumbling over the nearest sofa and onto the floor. Caleb staggered away in the other direction, flailing and screaming. His arms and chest were covered with a network of blistering burns where tattoos had once been.

"Fuuuck!" he shrieked, clawing at his mottled skin. "What the fuck was—"

The sentence was abruptly cut short as Mel's fist caught him on the jaw, spinning him around one hundred and eighty degrees to leave him sprawling on the mutilated rug.

Shaking out her hand, she looked around. The building was still standing, but only just. A large section of the roof had fallen in on the far side of the room, and the floor was split by a jagged crack in the cement. Mel quickly moved around the overturned sofa, crouching beside Will. He was lying on his back, clothes scorched, staring dully at the twisted ceiling. Mel gingerly lay a hand on his forehead.

He tried to focus his eyes on her, and his mouth moved silently for a moment. "Did you feel it?" he managed to croak.

Mel nodded. "Yeah," she said, gently smoothing his hair back. "I think it felt you, too."

Will's face split into a goofy grin. "Gotta run before you can walk," he giggled, and his eyes closed.

They opened again more than eighteen hours later, and found themselves looking at his bedroom ceiling.

Will slowly lifted his head, taking in the blurry details of his bedroom. He was laying on his bed with a blanket thrown over him. His shoes and hoodie had been removed, but he was still wearing his clothes from the night before. They smelled burnt.

Will sat up, already beginning to regret it. He'd only had a proper hangover once in his life, but he suspected this was going to be worse. His head was pounding like a bass drum, and every muscle in his body ached. On the other hand, he was starving. A glance out the window showed Romero Street bathed in a warm orange light, throwing sharp shadows across the buildings. It must have been early evening.

Will started to climb out of bed, and stopped. Sitting on the edge, he rubbed his eyes and held up a hand, palm upwards. A tiny light flickered, sputtered and caught, igniting a little blue fireball in his hand. He grinned and held it up to his face, watching the rolling flames.

"Cool," he whispered, and waved his hand. The fireball immediately died.

Gabe was on the phone when Will walked into the office. He glanced up at the kid in the doorway, barefoot in his singed clothes and tousled hair, and raised an eyebrow as he went on talking. "Yeah, we've got it. We'll be over there in twenty minutes. Should catch 'em right at sunset. Yeah. We'll keep you posted."

"Hey," said Will, as Gabe put the phone down. He noticed the man was dressed for work, harness strapped on and loaded with weapons.

"Evening," Gabe replied. "How was the concert?"

Will's answer died as Mel walked in from upstairs, wearing dark brown slacks and a green sweater. She was carrying a shotgun in one hand and a bundle of stakes in the other. She spared Will a glance as she laid them on Gabe's desk. "We good?"

"We'll do," Gabe shrugged, loading his revolver.

Mel motioned towards the stairs. "There's some more ammo for that shotgun in the cupboard upstairs."

Gabe nodded. "Cool."

A moment later, he noticed Mel's pointed stare.

"Oh," he said, holstering the revolver. "That cupboard." With a glance at Will, he quietly vanished upstairs.

"So . . ." Will said, and cleared his throat. "Uh, what's going on?"

Mel looked up. "Oh, we got a call this afternoon. One of our informants has a lead on where to find Ranier Swift."

Will nodded. "Right." He scratched the side of his head. "So, um . . . last night—"

"Don't worry about it," said Mel.

"Yeah, but . . . I mean, I fucked up—"

"Don't worry about it."

"I shouldn't have even talked to that Libby chick, she just—"

"Will?" Mel sighed. "Don't worry about it. It's taken care of. Okay?"

"Um . . . okay."

Mel turned and sat on the edge of the desk, giving him a look that could only be described as "motherly." She raised a hand and waved him over. "Come here a minute."

"What for?"

"Just come here."

Will crossed the room to stand in front of her.

"Hold out your hand," said Mel.

Will frowned.

"Hold out your hand," she insisted. "I got you something."

With a puzzled smile, Will extended his right arm. Taking him by the hand, Mel reached behind her and picked up an object from the desk. It was a thin band of metal about four inches across. The edge was carved with an irregular pattern of little silvery lines. Looking up at Will, Mel slipped the bracelet over his hand. It hung loosely around his wrist.

He gave her a look. "Um, thanks. But I don't think it—"

With a faint shimmer, the bracelet tightened around his wrist. A tingle went through him from heels to head and back again. He felt dizzy and sick, and felt his legs buckling. Mel sat back and watched impassively as Will stumbled backwards and fell to the floor.

"What is that?" Will gasped, his eyes glazed. "What did you do . . .?"

"I told you," Mel replied softly. "It's taken care of."

Will rolled over, forcing himself to sit up. His eyes focused on the bracelet, now fitting snugly around his wrist. The tiny lines around the edge were glistening, ever so slightly. He stared up at Mel.

"It's an esoteric binder," Mel explained. "Very hard to find. An . . . associate dug one up for me. It disrupts certain signals in the body. Specifically, it prevents any conscious connection between your mind and your internal energy. Think of it as an arcane circuit breaker."

"What?" Will lifted his hand, trying to ignite the fireball again, trying to do anything. It wouldn't happen. The old familiar tingle in his blood wasn't there.

He clambered to his feet, holding out his arm. "Take it off."

"No."

He grabbed at the bracelet, clawed at it, but it wouldn't shift. "Take it off!"

"No," Mel repeated. "And don't try to take it off yourself."

"Or what?"

"Or they'll be calling you Lefty for the rest of your life."

"Aw, fuck you!" Will paced back and forth, desperately fiddling with the band. "Why would do that?"

"Because you're right. You fucked up. And so did I."

"What?"

"I thought I could teach you to harness your power, and trust you to use it safely. Maybe you can someday, but not yet. You're still too young. And there's people a lot more serious than Caleb out there who'd love to get their hands on what you've got. I can't risk it."

"But I did it!" Will insisted. He almost had tears in his eyes. "I had it in my fucking hands last night! I harnessed it!"

"I know." Mel nodded gently. "That's what scares me."

"Fuck!" Will turned and kicked at the chair beside him. It bounced across the floor to bounce off the corner of Mel's desk, and she flinched. "I hate you!" Will shouted, striding to the door. "You fucking bitch!" He threw the door open, causing it to rebound off the wall with a crash. Mel listened to him stamp and curse all the way down the hall, and slam the door to the apartment.

Mel let out a soft sigh, and turned to the door on her right. Gabe was leaning on the doorframe.

"Well," she smiled. "That went better than I expected." She glanced at the wall as something struck it from the other side.

"He'll get over it," Gabe assured her. "I always did."

"Not before wrecking some furniture," Mel recalled.

Gabe listened to the sound of muffled cursing from next door. "You want to stay here and keep an eye on him?"

"Nah," said Mel standing up. "He can crash around in there until he calms down. Probably best we leave him to it."

"Right then," Gabe smiled. "Let's go kill Mr Swift."

"Yes." Mel smiled brightly, picking up the shotgun. "Let's."

END