“We do what we can,” I said.

“They all have military backgrounds, special forces. They’re all big, physically imposing men.”

“Ted is only five-eight, not that imposing,” I said.

Raborn smiled. “Marshal Forrester seems taller.”

I smiled, too. “That he does.”

“Sometimes, so do you.”

I just looked at him. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Do the vampires really call you ‘the Executioner’?”

I shrugged. “Nicknames.”

“Just answer the question,” he said.

“Fine, I’ve killed more of them than any other vampire hunter. When you kill enough people, it tends to impress the survivors.”

“You can’t be as good at killing as your reputation.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because if you were, you couldn’t be human.” He gave me that flat, searching gaze.

“My blood work is on record.”

“You carry, at last count, five different types of lycanthropy, which isn’t possible. The whole idea of lycanthropy is that once you get it, you can’t catch anything else.”

“Yeah, I’m a medical miracle.”

“How can you carry active lycanthropy and not shapeshift?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” Actually, I didn’t know for sure, but we’d begun to suspect it was the vampire marks that I carried as Jean-Claude’s human servant. It was as if his control and inability to change shape were shared with me. I didn’t care what kept me from shifting; I was just happy for it. If I ever shifted for real, I’d lose my badge. I’d be considered unfit for duty due to disability.

“It makes you more than human-strong, though, doesn’t it?”

“You’ll turn a girl’s head complimenting me like that,” I said.