Moth couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. She blew him a kiss and pocketed his cell phone and her shades on her way past the armchair. She left the room and quickly checked all the other doors before finding the kitchen at the far end of the labyrinthine apartment.

The kitchen was surprisingly large, square and filled with chrome and modern appliances that didn’t look like they saw much use. The small sink and disposal unit shone under the bright lights, and beneath those nestled the sort of cupboard where you’d expect to find cleaning products.

Except inside this cupboard were at least a dozen funeral urns. Why would a vampire hunter store trophies of his kills under the kitchen sink, of all places? Maybe it was simply because nobody would ever think to look there for his prize stash.

Or maybe Thomas Murdoch was a crazy bastard. What the hell did it matter, anyway? As long as she grabbed the right one, she was out of here.

Moth shuddered as she touched the urns at the front. Ugh, creepy. How was she supposed to know which one Theo wanted? She nibbled her lower lip, her mind straying to the kiss with Jace. He may be the son of a killer, with a serious attitude problem to boot, but he was still pretty damn hot. She should really give his phone back when she left—that knee was going to need a lot of medical attention.

She pushed away thoughts of teen vampire hunters, and instead tried to remember what Theo had told her about the master vampire that’d been dusted. She carefully removed each urn, searching for clues, and breathed a sigh of relief when she thought to look underneath. Each one was inscribed with a date—presumably the date of death. Moth knew when Maxim had been killed, so it was only a matter of minutes before she found the right container. At least, she hoped it was the right container.

Tucking the ceramic urn under her arm, she prayed she wasn’t going to have one of her clumsy nights. She would have to take the stairs, much as she was tempted to climb out of the window and just shimmy down the wall, but carrying ashes that were over five hundred years old while sticking to the wall Spider-Man style probably wasn’t a good plan. Especially as the contents of this funeral urn—no matter how gross—were her ticket back out of Ironbridge for the next two months.