“My lady!” A tall vampire with a supercilious face protested. “The spectacle isn’t ready yet!”

I knew that face. Geoffrey Chancellor, the insufferable prat who was blood-bonded to Jen’s sister.

“Oh, my lady! It’s so important to get the lighting just right!” added a young mortal woman from above, tears in her voice.

And that would be Bethany Cassopolis, whom I did not expect to find up on a scaffold, arranging lighting. From what I could tell, they were in the midst of staging a scene from a play. On a low dais there were three, maybe four, people dressed in Renaissance-looking robes and frozen in poses around a platter with what appeared to be a bearded man’s severed head on it. Hence my confusion regarding the actual number of people on the dais.

Cody took a step forward. “What the fuck?”

“It’s a tableau vivant,” Lady Eris said irritably. “Caravaggio’s Salome with the Head of John the Baptist, tonight’s surprise spectacle, which you’ve now ruined. Well?”

I studied the tableau. Unlike the members of the string quartet in the corner, sitting bloodless and motionless with their instruments at the ready, the participants were mortal. Now that I looked closely, I could see that the severed-head effect was accomplished using a black curtain affixed to the rim of the platter. Phew.

All of them held their poses resolutely, but the young woman playing Salome, draped in a red robe and ostensibly holding the platter, was trembling.

“Heather Simkus?” I said to her. She didn’t respond, keeping her face averted. “Heather?”

“Goddammit!” Bethany Cassopolis came storming down from the scaffold, a lighting canister in one hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ignoring her, I eased the folds of Salome’s robes off her nearest arm, revealing dozens of lines of cutting marks, some of them old scars fading to pink, others still red and angry. Aside from trembling, she didn’t budge.

“Leave her be!” Bethany grabbed my shoulder and yanked me away with surprising strength. “She’s mine!”

“Excuse me?” I said, steadying my faltering shield.

“Not like that, duh!” she retorted.

Geoffrey the insufferable prat glided over, stopping a few feet away when Cody angled toward him. “With her ladyship’s blessing, I gave Bethany permission to recruit an acolyte,” he said, looking down his nose at me. “I assure you, she came most willingly.”

On the dais, Salome—or Heather, I should say—gave the tiniest of nods. She had a pretty face in that sort of soft, unformed way some teenaged girls do. At the moment, there were silent tears trickling down it.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “She’s a minor. She’s sixteen.”

“Do you think I didn’t ask?” Bethany glared at me. I had to say, she actually looked better than she had in years; less strung out, more pissed off. Maybe recruiting acolytes agreed with her. “She’s eighteen.”

I glanced at Heather. Her trembling had turned to shaking. “She didn’t show you ID, did she?”

“Miss Simkus, you can’t stay here,” Cody said in a gentle voice. “We’ve come to take you home.”

At that, she abandoned her pose with a gulping sob, turning to Bethany. “You promised! Don’t let them take me! I don’t want to go!”

Bethany looked uncertainly at Geoffrey.

Geoffrey looked uncertainly at Lady Eris.

Lady Eris smiled. “I don’t suppose you happen to have proof of the girl’s age with you, Officer?” she asked Cody. “A birth certificate, perhaps?”

He stared at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Not at all,” she said in a complacent tone. “The mantle of my protection has been extended to the young lady. I take these matters very seriously.”

I was pretty sure she was just yanking our chain because we’d ruined the evening’s entertainment, but the musicians in the corner laid down their instruments and rose to add their pale and silently menacing numbers to the assembled vampires. On the dais, the remaining members of the tableau broke character, straightening to watch the events unfold with glazed, haunted eyes, and in the case of John the Baptist, a curtain-draped platter around his neck like a collar.

“Hel takes her rule of order very seriously, too, my lady,” I murmured to Lady Eris. “She has banished others for defying it.”

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, tapping one mule-shod foot. “If you return with a valid birth certificate, I will relinquish the girl in accordance with Hel’s rule and mundane authority,” she said eventually. “But since the issue is in question, if you desire immediate satisfaction . . .” The living and the dead hung on her words, awaiting her decree. She smiled again, this time showing a hint of fang, her dark eyes sparkling with glee. “I declare myself neutral in the matter and proclaim this an individual dispute.”

A murmur ran around the ballroom, where the number of vampires appeared to have multiplied as they emerged from their chambers to observe the confrontation. Someone did a polite golf clap.

“What does that mean?” Cody asked.

“It means Geoffrey and I have the right to stop you from taking her!” Bethany said defiantly, positioning herself in front of the dais. “Right, honey?”

Although he didn’t look quite as committed to the battle, he joined her. “Right.”

Cody and I exchanged a glance. Obviously, the smart thing to do would be to go get a copy of Heather Simkus’s birth certificate and return. If we were lucky, her parents had it in a handy file at home and we’d be back within half an hour. If we were less lucky, they kept it in a safety-deposit box and we’d have to wait until the banks opened tomorrow. And if we were downright unlucky, it might be lost or in storage someplace where it would take days to retrieve it or to request and obtain a new copy, during which time God knows what might happen to Heather at the House of Shadows. She’d probably end up blood-bonded.

And then there was the ever-present matter of face. If we accepted Lady Eris’s ultimatum and backed down from a fight, we’d lose face.

“What does Hel’s liaison say about her ladyship’s ruling, Daisy?” Cody asked me, his eyes glinting green. There were streaks of blood drying on his cheek and despite his police uniform he was looking distinctly . . . wolfish. “Is it fair?”

“Yeah,” I said reluctantly. “I mean, she’s splitting hairs, but it’s fair. And, Cody, if you accept her—”

What I was going to say was that if he accepted Lady Eris’s terms, according to Hel’s rule of order he would be acting under eldritch auspices and not mundane law, which meant there would be no charging anyone with assault, but I never got the chance. Cody strode up to the dais, pushing his way between Bethany and Geoffrey the prat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, extending his hand to Heather. “But it’s time to go home, sweetheart. Your parents are worried sick.”

Everything that happened after that was sort of a blur. It started to take place in slow motion, watching Bethany raise her canister in preparation to bash Cody across the back of his head with it. And then it was like the tape sped up, and I found myself struggling with Bethany for control of the canister with no recollection of how I’d gotten there while Cody and the prat rolled on the ground, grappling in a chaotic mess of fangs, unnaturally pallid skin, and police uniform.

“Fuck you, devil girl!” Bethany spat at me. “Why can’t you just let me be for once in my life?”

“You know what?” I hooked her leg with mine, unbalancing her. “This really, really isn’t about you.”

Utilizing the skills I’d learned in Mr. Rodriguez’s Li’l Dragonz Tae Kwon Do classes years ago, I took Bethany down hard, the back of her skull thudding loudly against the ballroom’s polished hardwood floor. She didn’t exactly go limp, but she looked dazed. I scrambled to my feet.

On the plus side, Cody had managed to keep himself from shifting, which was good, since a wide-eyed young Heather Simkus was watching the whole thing unfold. On the downside, it meant Geoffrey the prat had the upper hand. Two large white hands, in fact, wrapped around Cody’s throat. I wouldn’t say Cody’s face was purple, but it was definitely headed in that direction. Knowing Cody, I was afraid he’d rather be strangled to death than concede.

The weight of dauda-dagr was solid and reassuring on my hip. In that moment, I could have drawn it and knifed Geoffrey Chancellor in the back, putting an end to his undead existence; and if I understood Lady Eris’s decree correctly, I’d actually be within my rights. I suspected that possibility had slipped her mind in her delight at the idea of pitting us against each other.

I have to admit, I considered it, not least because it would free Bethany whether she wanted it or not. But in the end, I wasn’t a stone-cold killer, and no matter how much I disliked Geoffrey the prat, he hadn’t sent Bethany out to recruit a minor. It wasn’t his fault the girl had lied, and it wasn’t his fault Lady Eris had decided to amuse herself. What he’d done wasn’t a killing offense.

Not today, anyway.

Meanwhile, Cody was looking purpler by the second, and Bethany was on her hands and knees, trying to shake off her dizziness. Taking a page from her playbook, I hoisted the canister and whacked Geoffrey across the back of the head as hard as I could.

He made a weird, breathless, huffing sound, his hands loosening long enough for Cody to draw in a ragged gasp of air, get his legs underneath him, and thrust Geoffrey away with inhuman strength. A werewolf in human shape might not be vampire-strong, but he was strong.

This time I didn’t hesitate. I dropped the canister, drew dauda-dagr, and pounced on the prat, straddling his chest and shoving the dagger’s tip under his chin, pressing almost hard enough to draw blood. His body twitched reflexively, his neck stretching in an effort to avoid contact with the dagger. Vampires don’t fear cold iron in general, but dauda-dagr is another matter.