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about my night’s work for about two heartbeats, until I realized that I wasn’t any closer to Ivanof, and only had a sniveling vamp to show for my effort. Gary was going to kick my ass.
    The Switchback Lounge had given me all it was going to. There wasn’t anything here except bottom feeders, and one unlucky son of a bitch who’d been easy pickings for a deadhead.
    Light flared all around me, harsh house lights rather than the dim stripper-­friendly glow. I thought the door guy had come back for another round, but then a body slammed into me and carried me into the far wall, where I left an Ava-­shaped dent before I hit the ground.
    The deadhead snarled and dove at me, and I felt like the world’s biggest moron as I rolled out of the way. I’d been so caught up in shit-­kicking a worthless vamp I’d let a zombie turn me into a hood ornament.
    Forget Gary. I was going to kick my own ass.
    The deadhead snapped but got only a mouthful of my jacket. I grabbed my blade out of my boot with my free hand while I flipped us over, getting the deadhead on his stomach and straddling his back, pulling his neck to one side and jamming the blade against his jugular. Deadheads don’t have enough soul energy for the knife’s borrowed power to kick in, but that was fine. I hadn’t met many critters that could stand up to being decapitated.
    It was a solid plan until he threw me off and I lost the blade as he knocked me aside. This time I didn’t bounce back. The wall was cinder block, and I’d cracked at least a ­couple of ribs. The deadhead didn’t show any signs of slowing down—­in fact, white foam flecked his chin as he skittered toward me like a scorpion.
    As he loomed over me, I finally got a look at the bloated face surrounding his wide, blood-­crusted mouth.
    It was then I realized I was fucked, that I wasn’t going to find the necromancer in Vegas, because the necromancer had already found me. The deadheads hadn’t taken Ivanof.
    The deadhead was Ivanof.
    I let my head clunk against the sticky carpet. “Shit.”

 
    CHAPTER 5
    I vanof snarled again. The skin of his gums had receded in death, and his teeth were stained with old blood. He held me on the ground, nostrils flaring and tongue flicking in and out like a snake. I debated whether it would be worse if he bit me or just drooled on me.
    Outside, the music had cut off. That wasn’t good. ­People had realized something was wrong, which meant somebody was calling the cops. I’d been picked up a few times when I hadn’t been a hound long, and was still stupid enough to think I was invincible. Fortunately, those were the days before computers, and if my files still existed anywhere, logic dictated that I’d be pushing ninety.
    Still, I didn’t need my picture and prints in the system. Gary would have a fit, and I’d fucked this assignment up enough as it stood.
    The deadhead who’d been Alex Ivanof still held me down. I’d never tangled with a deadhead juiced by a necromancer, and it was like trying to heave a compact car off your chest. If I was going to even this fight, I’d have to shift, and that wasn’t an option. Once you turn into a giant dog with red eyes and fangs, ­people tend to stop ignoring you.
    I shoved at Ivanof again, only managing to aggravate my ribs. I thought of Wilson, that bum leg, the way he stared at the hellhounds who could still fight like they’d stolen something from him.
    Gary wouldn’t keep me around out of pity. If I let Ivanof tear me up, that was it.
    â€œEnough.” All at once, Ivanof’s weight lessened, though he still sat atop me panting, no doubt imagining what my liver tasted like.
    A man crouched down in my line of sight. He narrowed dark eyes and didn’t blink. “Here for my soul?” he asked.
    I narrowed my eyes in return. “Are you offering?”
    He smiled. It wasn’t a