“What a paragon of virtue the woman was.” Vitoria pointed forward. “Slow down here.”

Streeter hit the brakes as they came up to an intersecting road marked by a large wooden sign that read IROQUOIS MOUNTAIN RESERVE.

“This way,” she ordered.

He hit the gas like the good little delegatee he was, but soon enough, forward motion was impossible. No more plowed passage. Whoever was responsible for snow removal stopped at the foot of the ascent.

“It’s impassable,” Streeter said. “We can’t go no more. This ain’t gonna work—”

“We proceed on foot.”

He turned to her. “What?”

By way of answer, she leaned across, put the engine in park, and extracted the keys from the ignition.

“We walk.”

“Are you crazy?”

“I have gear for us both.”

As she got out of the car, the cold was downright daunting, but that would be cured readily enough. The mountain, on the other hand? Craning her neck to look up to its snow-covered peak, she was far less confident of tackling its elevation.

A half a mile, she told herself. They had to go only half a mile up.

Walking around to the trunk, she opened things up and took out the two pairs of snowshoes she had found in her brother’s vast garage—which hadn’t been half of the treasure trove she’d discovered therein. So many useful things. And there had also been a Bentley Flying Spur and a Rolls-Royce Ghost, both appearing to have been as meticulously maintained as the mansion.

She was looking forward to the transportation upgrade starting tomorrow. But those cars were not what one used to go out into the night, looking for bodies. No, this was her rental’s last duty.

“Put these on.” She threw a set of the snowshoes at Streeter as he joined her. “The harnesses are adjustable.”

“I ain’t walking nowhere on those.”

“We will make good time.”

“I’m a smoker.”

“Of course you are. Now stop making excuses and let’s get properly clothed. I have ski gloves and down jackets and snow pants, and other gear to aid us.”

After some further grumbling on his part, they prepared themselves properly and started off, her in front, him trailing behind. The shoes proved to be a brilliant last-minute supply grab on her part, allowing them to travel across the surface of the snow as they began an ascent on the broad flat clearing that was the road. With the landscape draped in white, the moonlight that showed through the sporadic cloud cover made headlamps unnecessary, but they each had one just in case.

Progressing along, it felt good to be outside, her breath leaving her mouth and rising over one shoulder, smoke from the chimney of her body.

Behind her, Streeter was wheezing. But the exercise would do him good—and if he died, she would just leave him where he was and let him be found in the spring.

“Tell me, Streeter,” she said. “Why?”

“Huh?” he gasped.

She stopped and twisted around. He was about ten feet back, and as he came up to her, his face was bright red.

“Did you honestly think I killed her?”

It took a while before he had enough air to answer her. “J-J-J-Jimmy was who called me. His brother…CPD….”

“Jimmy’s the one who’s a gallery security guard?”

“Yeah.” More with the breathing. “He said he was pickin’ up…his paycheck…and you was in Eduardo’s office…he saw Margot go…in there. When she came out…she looked pissed.”

Vitoria smiled, even though she was most displeased. The guard had a cop for a brother? Damn it. “I can assure you, if something happened to that woman, I had nothing to do with it. Come, let us continue.”

* * *

—

Up in the Sanctuary’s Treasury building, Vishous was standing strong in his shitkickers, one arm up against the marble wall and the other around his female to hold her in place at his hips. He felt like he had gotten over an illness, kicked off a rare case of human flu that had jumped the lines of the species and come knock-knock-knockin’ at his immune system’s door. With the symptoms gone, he felt renewed, some kind of shooting star–Disney shit going on all around and inside of him with the rainbow and unicorn brigade not far behind.

“I don’t want to let go,” he said.

“You must be getting tired of holding me up.”

“Nah.” And even if he was, he didn’t care. “But you’ve got to be uncomfortable.”

He gently set Jane back on the floor and then they just looked into each other’s eyes.

“So I guess I got the answer to the question I didn’t want to ask,” he murmured.

“What was that?”

V searched her face. “I’d worried about whether you’d still be around after my mother left. You know, whether the magic or whatever it is would still work. And it does.”

“Yup.” Her smile was radiant. “I’m still here.”

As his eyes watered from all the fucking feels, he wanted to cut them out of his skull with spoons. “I am so glad no one else can see me like this, true?”

“Your brothers love you.”

“I love them. But when it comes to shit like this, I prefer my sandbox with only you in it.”

She leaned in. “Does this mean I don’t have to fight with anyone to play with your toys?”

He got serious. “That’s exactly what it means. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I do.” She stroked his face. “I honestly do.”

V cocked a smile. “And along those lines, can you just dub in, in your head, all kinds of Tonka, I-got-a-big-bucket, you-can-pull-my-stick commentary right now?”

“You got it.”

After they laughed, they spoke quietly for a while, and it felt so incredible to just be normal—which, hell yeah, could happen between a ghost and a vampire.

On that theory, who else could the two of them be “normal” with?

“So should we go back down?” Jane asked as she pulled the loose leg of her scrubs back on. “Everyone’s got to be worried.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Except after he buttoned up his fly, and she put her other boot on, neither of them made any move to leave.

To kill some time, V glanced around at all the bins of gemstones. “You know, I’ve never been in here before.”

“I couldn’t believe all these jewels.”

“It’s the wealth of the race.”

She shook her head. “How did it get up here?”

“Who the fuck knows.”

“And did you see the revolvers?” She pointed over her shoulder toward a set of antique guns. “And what do you suppose was here?”

With a frown, he shuffled over to a marble case that was empty. Something had been set within its velvet-lined interior, however. There was a rectangular singed spot in the middle of it.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

“V, you’re limping. I think we need to check out your ankle.”

He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his lids. “Can we do an internal exam?”

“On you or me?”

“Both.”

Jane laughed as she joined him in front of the vacant case. “Weird, right?”

“It was a book. I’ll bet it was a book. Even though there’s no identification on the exterior.”

Then again, it wasn’t like this was a museum with little brass plaques explaining what everything was and where it came from.

But whatever. Not his problem. For all he knew, his mahmen had found a misplaced comma on one of the pages and fried the tome in a fit of fury.

“Come on, my female,” he said as he took Jane into his arms. “Back to the land of the living. My brothers are no doubt marshaling a search party for me at this very moment.”

Jane was smiling at him as he up-and-outed them to the other side, materializing them to the mansion’s dour entrance. And as he let them into the vestibule and shoved his mug into the security camera, he kept his arm around Jane.

Fritz started to open the way in, but Vishous finished the job, shoving the heavy weight wide to help the old doggen out—