She turned back to her computer, continuing down the list.

"So Karl Marsten is giving you break-and-enter tips?"

"Against his will. He doesn't like me doing stuff like that. But we have an agreement. He teaches me B and E and I cook for him. You know werewolves." She grinned. "Feed them well and feed them often, and you can win any argument."

I wished it was that easy with Jeremy. For him, food was just fuel. Which was okay with me, because cooking-like most domestic skills-wasn't one of my strong points.

"So I guess you and Karl are together?"

"Nah. Just friends." She printed off a page. "That's strange enough. I'm a half-demon with delusions of crime fighting. He's a werewolf jewel thief. Logically, we shouldn't be able to stand one another. But as a friendship, it works." She hit print again, then pushed back her chair. "Okay, let's see what we've got."

WE WERE eying the clock when Hope's cell phone rang. As she glanced at the display, she cursed under her breath, hesitated, then seemed to think better of it and answered. A string of "uh-huhs" followed, her shoulders slumping with each one.

After listening to the caller for at least thirty seconds, she said, "Could this wait until morning? I'm hot on a trail tonight-"

Pause.

"It's still in the early stages, but it's about ritual magic-"

Pause.

"I know we covered that new Voodoo club opening last month, but this is different-"

Pause. She closed her eyes, sighing softly.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure a 'Bigfoot in L.A. ' story doesn't come along all that often but-"

Pause. A deeper sigh.

"Okay, I'm on it."

When she hung up, I said, "Bigfoot?"

"Apparently he's been spotted cutting through an alley near a nightclub."

I paused. "I hate to break it to you, but it's probably-"

"A guy promoting a new movie? Or 'Monster Pizza'? I know. So does my editor. It doesn't matter. The point is that multiple witnesses claimed to have seen Bigfoot. That's indisputable. So I go out, interview some stoned clubbers, collect grainy cell-phone pic-tures of the monster and write it up under the headline 'Bigfoot Spotted in L. A.?'"

"I see."

"It's the question mark that makes the difference. We're not saying he was in L.A. just that the claim was made."

"Uh-huh."

"Tabloid journalism: where the truth comes with many loopholes, and we know how to exploit every one of them."

She turned off her computer. "The club is on the way to Botnick's place. We can share a cab. I'm going to whip through this monster story, then fly back to help you guys."

I HAD the taxi driver drop me off a block from the shop, just in case Botnick reported the break-in later. As I scanned the road, lined with pawn shops and massage parlors, I realized I was beingovercautious. Break-ins in this neighborhood wouldn't warrant more than a police drop-in. Even if someone did canvas the taxi companies' drop-offs, I looked suspicious only in that I didn't seem like someone seeking a late-night body rub. Giving them maybe.

My clicking heels echoed like a siren's call to would-be muggers. I walked slower, trying to muffle the sound. Rather than fret over being dropped off too close to the scene, I should have been considering the wisdom of wearing high heels to a break-and-enter.

Behind me, a car rounded the corner, engine revving. I walked faster. The entrance to the shop parking lot was less than a store length away. Better to get there before the oncoming car reached me or I might suffer the humiliation of being mistaken for a hooker within earshot of Jeremy. I did up a button and walked faster.

"Jaime?"

I jumped. Jeremy stepped from an alcove, hand going to my arm to steady me. I rapped him with my knuckles.

"We're belling you. I swear it."

He smiled, then scanned the street. "Is Hope coming?"

"Bigfoot took her away." I explained. "But she'll phone if she finishes in the next hour or so."

I let him guide me down the sidewalk. "Did you get inside already?"

He nodded. "Botnick seems the type who relies more on steel doors and bars than alarms. Probably wise in a neighborhood like this."

"But not so smart if your break-in artist has superhuman strength."

"Hmm. Still not easy, but I found a way."

He steered me into a gravel parking lot boxed in by buildings, each wall peppered with more No Parking signs than there were spots to park. It looked barely big enough to fit a couple of cars and a delivery truck-a small one.

The full moon shone from a multitude of rut puddles. A bright yellow orb with not so much as a wisp of cloud over it. I looked at Jeremy, but knew the full moon meant little to him. Real werewolves need to change form more than once a month, and they do so on demand, not with the phases of the moon. He'd said once that they often did take advantage of full moons for hunts, but only because it was easier to see.

I caught a movement in the shadows. Jeremy's head swung toward it, hand gripping my arm tighter, pulling me back as if shielding me. A cat slunk between trash bins. Seeing us, it froze. Its orange fur puffed up as it spit and hissed, a feline fireball, bright against the gloom. Jeremy made a noise deep in his throat. The cat tore off, its paws scrabbling against the gravel, a fiery streak racing for cover.

I twisted to say something, but Jeremy was scanning the lot, eyes narrowed, making sure that the cat was the only intruder. His hand still gripped my arm and he kept me so close I could feel the thump of his heart against my shoulder. His face was taut and wary, mouth a thin line, the pulse in his neck throbbing. When I shifted, he loosened his grip and rubbed my arm, as if reflexively reassuring me, his gaze and mind still busy checking for danger.