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good on my hands, but I didn't splash any on my neck or face. It would have been cool, but the
bathroom was dirty. I couldn't use the water, not if I didn't have to. I looked up as I squeezed the rag
out. The mirror was shattered, a spiderweb of cracks. It gave me my face back in broken pieces.
I didn't look in the mirror again. I walked back past the coffin and hesitated. I had an urge to knock on
the smooth wood. Anybody home? I didn't do it. For all I knew, someone might have knocked back.
Phillip had the woman on the couch. She was leaning against him, boneless, panting, but the crying had
almost stopped. She flinched when she saw me. I tried not to look menacing, something I'm good at, and
handed the rag to Phillip. "Wipe her face and put it against the back of her neck; it'll help."
He did what I asked, and she sat there with the damp rag against her neck, staring at me. Her eyes were
wide, a lot of white showing. She shivered.
I found the light switch, and harsh light flooded the room. One look at the room and I wanted to turn the
light off again, but I didn't. I thought Rebecca might attack me again if I sat beside her, or maybe she'd
have a complete breakdown. Wouldn't that be pretty? The only chair was lopsided and had yellowed
stuffing bulging out one side. I decided to stand.
Phillip looked up at me. His sunglasses were hooked over the front of his tank top. His eyes were wide
and careful, as if he didn't want me to know what he was thinking. One tanned arm was wrapped around
her shoulders, protective. I felt like a bully.
"I told her why we are here. I told her you wouldn't hurt Jack."
"The coffin?" I smiled. I couldn't help it. He was a "jack in the box."
"Yes," Phillip said. He stared at me as if grinning were not appropriate.
It wasn't, so I stopped, but it was something of an effort.
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I nodded. If Rebecca wanted to shack up with vampires, that was her business. It certainly wasn't police
business.
"Go on, Rebecca. She's trying to help us," Phillip said.
"Why?" she asked.
It was a good question. I had scared her and made her cry. I answered her question. "The master of the
city made me an offer I couldn't refuse."
She stared at me, studying my face, like she was committing me to memory. "I don't believe you," she
said.
I shrugged. That's what you get for telling the truth. Someone calls you a liar. Most people will accept a
likely lie to an unlikely truth. In fact, they prefer it.
"How could any vampire threaten The Executioner?" she asked.
I sighed. "I'm not the bogeyman, Rebecca. Have you ever met the master of the city?"
"No."
"Then you'll have to trust me. I am scared shitless of the master. Anybody in their right mind would be."
She still looked unconvinced, but she started talking. Her small, light voice told the same story she'd told
the police. Bland and useless as a new-minted penny.
"Rebecca, I am trying to catch the person, or thing, that killed lour boyfriend. Please help me."
Phillip hugged her. "Tell her what you told me."
She glanced at him, then back at me. She sucked her lower hp in and scraped it with her upper teeth,
thoughtful. She took a deep, shaky breath. "We were at a freak party that night."
I blinked, then tried to sound reasonably intelligent. "I know a freak is someone who likes vampires. Is a
freak party what I think it is?"
Phillip was the one who nodded. "I go to them a lot." He wouldn't look at me while he said it. "You can
have a vampire most any way you want it. And they can have you." He darted a glance at my face, then
down again. Maybe he didn't like what he saw.
I tried to keep my face blank, but I wasn't having much luck. A freak party, dear God. But it was
somewhere to start. "Did anything special happen at the party?" I asked.
She blinked at me, face blank, as if she didn't understand. I tried again. "Did anything out of the ordinary
happen at the freak party?" When in doubt, change your vocabulary.
She stared down into her lap and shook her head. Long, dark hair trailed over her face like a thin
curtain.
"Did Maurice have any enemies that you know of?"
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Rebecca shook her head without even looking up. I glimpsed her eyes through her hair like a frightened
rabbit staring out from behind a bush. Did she have more information, or had I used her up? If I pushed
she'd break, shatter, and maybe a clue would come spilling out, then again, maybe not. Her hands were
tangled in her lap, white-knuckled. They trembled ever so slightly. How badly did I want to know? Not
that badly. I let it go. Anita Blake, humanitarian.
Phillip tucked Rebecca in bed, while I waited in the living room. I half-expected to hear giggling or some
sound that said he was working his charm. There was nothing but the quiet murmur of voices and the
cool rustle of sheets. When he came out of the bedroom, his face was serious, solemn. He slipped his
glasses back on and hit the light switch. The room was a thick, hot darkness. I heard him move in the
ovenlike blackness. A rustle of jeans, a scrape of boot. I fumbled for the doorknob, found it, flung it
open.
Pale light spilled in. Phillip was standing, staring at me, eyes hidden. His body was relaxed, easy, but
somehow I could feel his hostility. We were no longer playing friends. I wasn't sure if he was angry with
me for some reason, or himself, or fate. When you end up with a life like Rebecca's, there should be
someone to blame.
"That could have been me," he said.
I looked at him. "But it wasn't."
He spread his arms wide, flexing. "But it could be."
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