“What gave me away?” I said. “And it’s Edgeworlder, not ‘Edgeworld expert’-”

“Ah, she knows the lingo. Good, but it’s still a bad idea,” McGough said, frowning. He glanced down at Cinnamon, and his frown deepened. “And on the note of bad ideas, you really want to bring a minor along?” Rand and I just looked at him, and Cinnamon raised a clawed hand and mimed a swat. “Fine, fine,” he said. “When the Department of Family and Child Services comes calling, don’t come crying to me.” He waded back into the officers.

“All right, boys and girls,” McGough said, voice crackling with authority, making the officers jump. He was barely taller than Cinnamon, but his presence dominated the scene. “Move aside and let’s see if Rand’s pet witch can figure out how to handle this.”

Before I could even try to correct the ‘pet witch’ crack, the officers-all nervous, most worried, many scratched up like they’d been in a fight with a cat-parted so I could see the outer wall. My breath caught, and it took me a moment to realize what I was seeing.

The brick wall was sprayed with graffiti, a huge flock of exaggerated letters exploding out of a coiling nest of elaborately thorned vines. The graffiti “tag” was amazing work. Even I had to admire the roses woven into the vines-they’re a specialty of mine-but the artwork was just a backdrop. Dead in the center of the tag, a person was crucified in a web of twisted and rusted barbed wire, half-standing, half-sprawling in a splash of his own blood.

The man moaned and raised his head-and with a shock I recognized him as our friend Revenance, a guard at the werehouse, Cinnamon’s former home. Revenance was a vampire of the Oakdale Clan-so what was he doing out in the day? I looked for the sun, relaxed a little at the cloud cover-and then something clicked in my mind, and I looked back in horror.