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She’d lead them to Colwyn if they gave her amnesty in the murder case. They agreed, making house arrest a condition. There were other charges pending against her, including escaping from Goon Squad custody. If Colwyn could answer questions about the zombie plague and the justice’s murder, the cops would drop all charges against her.
    The truth was that the cops needed Juliet. The Old Ones communicated telepathically, and Juliet could listen in on their thoughts, making her a valuable asset. But that didn’t mean the police trusted her. Until they had a clearer picture of what the Old Ones were and how she fit in, they weren’t letting her beyond the walls of our two-bedroom apartment.
    She was bored out of her mind. Lately, that boredom had led to an obsession with infomercials.
    Juliet sat up straight and inspected me. “You look terrible,” she announced. “So what did happen to you in that adolescent chamber of horrors? I’m betting zombie mean-girl bullying. With Tina as the ringleader. Am I right?”
    “Nothing like that. I got attacked by a Harpy.”
    Juliet’s eyes widened. She covered her mouth with both hands.She was the picture of shocked sympathy—until the laughter she was holding back erupted full force. She collapsed in a fit of very unvampirelike giggles. I waited, fingers tapping the arm of my chair, for her to catch her breath.
    “So let me get this straight.” She gasped as she struggled to sit up again. “You’re there to tell a bunch of zombie brats how to kill demons, and a demon shows up to kill
you
.” When I nodded, she hiccupped with laughter. “When do I get to see the video?”
    “No video.” Thank goodness. Everyone in the room had been paralyzed before they had a chance to get out their cell-phone cameras.
    “No film at eleven? Pity. That’s the most amusing thing I’ve heard all week. What did Tina do?”
    “She ran to the front of the classroom and started lecturing everyone on the behavior and habits of Harpies.”
    “Are you sure no one recorded it? Your chance to be an Internet sensation, and you missed it.”
    “Not my ambition. So sorry to disappoint you.”
    An ad for a steakhouse came on the TV, showing a thick slab of bloody meat sizzling on a grill. Juliet’s mouth fell open, her fangs extended to their full length. A moan escaped from her before she closed her mouth and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. “By all that’s unholy, where
are
they?” she muttered.
    One of the conditions of Juliet’s cooperation with the police was that, since she couldn’t go out hunting, they’d bring her dinner each night. And none of that refrigerated, watered-down blood in a bottle. To keep up her strength, she’d argued, she needed fresh blood still hot with the donor’s life force. So each night, two Goons arrived, escorting a human volunteer, so Juliet could feed. That is, when they remembered to show up.
    When a gleaming steak knife sliced into a filet mignon on the TV, she’d had enough food porn. She picked up the remote, hit the Mute button, and flipped through some channels.
    A familiar face flashed across the screen. “Wait!” I said. “Go back.”
    A couple of clicks and there he was: Kane, in all his silver-haired glory, flashing the smile that had won many a court case. I felt a little cross-eyed; it’s disconcerting to see your boyfriend’s face expanded to movie-screen size. Then the camera pulledback and showed him sitting next to Simone Landry, the werewolf member of Deadtown’s Council of Three. I remembered now—he’d told me he was going to be on Channel 10’s
Paranormal Perspectives
.
    “Do you want me to turn it up?” Juliet held the remote poised.
    “No, I know what this interview is about. Kane taped it a couple of days ago. He’s helping Simone Landry launch her reelection bid.”
    The Council of Three was the bone that the government threw us monsters so we could pretend Deadtown had some kind of self-regulation. Made up