The shadows made everything look larger and smell worse. Styrofoam platters and massive rolls of wax paper were stacked on the counters. Hooks from empty meat racks hung from the ceiling, their crooked silhouettes looking even more ominous in the moonlight. Tacked on the brick walls were charts mapping animal bodies, depicting the various primal cuts. Shoulder. Shank. Loin. Near the entrance were two large glass counters full of steaks and chops wrapped in cellophane.

Bliss took a deep breath and held it for as long as she could, willing her tense muscles calm. She had found the right butcher shop, had driven right up to it, and had seen from the corner of her eye the silver wolf in the shadows, had watched its arched, furry body slink through the back door, and had followed it inside.

She crept as quietly as she could across the wet stone floor. It was lurking somewhere within the darkness, waiting. Her eyes caught a flicker of light in the distance. In the back she noticed the door to the meat locker was open, revealing a carcass swaying like an inverted pendulum. So that was why the room smelled of blood.

She closed her eyes so she could hear. Concentrate. She pinched her nose. The smell was distracting. When Lucifer had taken over her body and had been her only contact to the outside, she’d found she could listen better if she closed her eyes and withdrew from her other senses. So even if she was only human, she was used to the dark. Lucifer had taught her that. She heard a clock tick, the sound of a hook grinding against a chain, the soft click of claws against the concrete—the beast, stirring…and then there, barely perceptible, was the sound of someone else breathing. There was someone else in the room. Someone other than the creature. But where? And who?

The horrible clicking grew louder, and Bliss heard a snarl, deep and primeval and vicious, and then the sound of breathing became louder, more desperate—then, suddenly, a scream from beyond the doorway. Bliss leapt from her hiding place and ran toward it.

Clang!

A knife made a loud noise as it hit the concrete to her right. She swiveled in its direction, then stopped. The knife was a ruse, a distraction. The hound was behind her now; it was trying to steer her away from the door. She could see it watching her from the shadows, its yellow eyes burning. Did it think she was that stupid? She might not have her vampire abilities anymore—but it didn’t mean she was completely useless. She was still fast. She was still coordinated. She still had the speed and skill of a trained killer.

The beast snorted and raked its claws across the concrete. It was angry and getting ready to jump. Bliss figured it was now or never. She pushed her way toward the open door, clambering onto a table and spraying a dozen knives across the room. The wolf leapt but she was faster, and when she reached the oversized steel door, she grabbed the handle and, using its weight as a pivot, swung around so that she pulled it closed behind her. The freezer slammed shut with a thick, wet sucking sound that made her wonder if this was a good idea. How much air was in here? No time to worry about that now. She picked up a couple of knives that had fallen to the floor, and jammed one into the lock to keep it closed while slipping the other into her back pocket.

She could hear the creature throwing its weight against the bolted door, making the archway shake. It was larger and more dangerous than she had thought. Tame the hounds? She would be lucky if she got out of there alive.

She looked around. There were a dozen or so carcasses hanging from the ceiling. The air was rancid, metallic. She pushed her way through the animal corpses to the back of the room, toward the sound of ragged breathing.

On the floor of the meat locker lay a boy, no older than she was, chained to the back wall of the freezer. Next to him were a cutting board and a band saw. A meat hook, crusted with blood and rust, swung above his head. The tiled walls were splattered a deep shade of scarlet. The boy’s skin was blue, his hair caked with filth…there were ugly red marks around his wrists and neck, where he was bound with heavy iron shackles. Dear god, what was going on here? Bliss wondered, her stomach churning.…If this was what they did to their victims…she didn’t want to think about what Jane was going through, and hoped that Jane was still alive.…

Bliss shivered, goose bumps appearing on her skin. Now that she wasn’t a vampire, her body did not control its temperature as well as it used to. But was it the fright or the cold that had caused the rows of tiny bumps?

She bent down to touch the boy’s face. It was still warm, at least. She placed a tender hand on his bony shoulder. “You’re going to be okay,” she told him, and wondered if she was also telling herself the same thing.

“Yes, but you’re not.” His eyes came alive then, and before Bliss could blink, the boy had wrapped his fist around her neck and pinned her to the floor, his knees locking against her waist and keeping her arms away from her body. His shackles, Bliss could see now, had not been locked.

“Who are you?” she asked, spitting out the words with difficulty, recoiling from the boy’s viselike grip. Bliss turned to her assailant, surprised to find she had seen his face before. He was the boy she’d seen in the glom. The boy with the same flat yellow eyes as those of the hound she had been tracking.

“I think the correct question is, who are you?” His voice was low and tinged with malice. “You are from the underworld, do not deny it, why else would you carry this?” he said, tugging the thin leather rope that held the Heart of Stone. “You are one of Romulus’s spies!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you think I’m going down like Jane, you’re wrong,” she said, stretching her arm and reaching into her back pocket for her hidden blade. Her fingers shaking as she struggled to get a handle on it, she wriggled it out without him seeing, her heart beating too fast.

Quick as a flash, she stabbed him in the thigh with the knife.

He yelled in pain and she was able to push him off her and scramble away, but her freedom was short-lived, as she felt his hand wrap around her ankle and pull her back to him.

She screamed and kicked, thrashing wildly to get away, but he was too strong. Before she knew what was happening, he had his hands wrapped around her throat again.

He began to squeeze the breath out of her and she panicked, struggling and fighting to breathe; it was useless—he was so much stronger—but as she looked into the boy’s curiously yellow eyes, an image flashed in her mind.

She saw Lucifer—her father—standing inside an elaborate palace, surrounded by magnificent columns of gold. A cast of thousands was gathered, and Lucifer stood at the top of a marble staircase, looking down at a creature of exquisite beauty. It was a man, but it was taller than a human male, with a certain otherworldly magnificence, wild-eyed and ferocious, with the same dazzling golden eyes.

The image did not come from her memory but from Lucifer’s. When she had been captive to his spirit, when he had taken over her soul, fragments of his memories had drifted into her consciousness. Triggered by random events, memories she’d never had would suddenly pop into her mind. She closed her eyes to recall the scene once more. She could hear Lucifer speak. The language was unfamiliar, its words harsh and convoluted, but she knew she could speak them as if they were her own.

“Release me!” she cried in that strange and foreign tongue. The room froze as the boy stared at her in surprise. He eased his grip and fell away, gaping at her in amazement and confusion, as if he could not quite understand why he had let her go.

But it was too late—she’d lost too much oxygen; everything went black—and Bliss felt the life seep out of her.