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can’t remember the couple’s name.” Will’s head felt stuffed with cotton batting.
    A pair of trousers flew at him, then a shirt. “Put these on. Don’t worry about all the other nonsense.” Simon resumed pacing. “Oh, gods, where could he be?”
    Will slithered into the trousers. At least they were his, not Fan’s. Finally Bentcross snuck an interested glance at him, which, oddly enough, brought Will a small measure of relief. At least the man wasn’t on the verge of losing his mind.
    “Now explain to me why you barged into my bedroom,” Will said as he plucked his shirt off the bed.
    “I told you, Clancy’s disappeared.”
    Will sighed. “Simon, Clancy has a habit of disappearing. You knew this was going to happen sooner or later. And happen repeatedly.”
    Bentcross vigorously shook his head. “No. No, he’d never leave without telling me, without saying good-bye… and saying it all night long. Things are different now. Between us, I mean.” His gleaming gaze abruptly jumped to Will’s face, as if he were pleading for confirmation. “You know I’m right.”
    Will left the room and headed for the kitchen with Bentcross on his heels. “Yes, I know. Clancy has changed, but I don’t think it’s prudent to believe he’s changed entirely. His habits have been awfully long in the making, Simon.”
    Although Will couldn’t quite fathom their relationship, it certainly appeared to be grounded in mutual devotion. They were truly in love. From all indications, Marrowbone’s feelings for Bentcross had made him less restive, less inclined to depart on a whim and roam about for years. Even Fan had said Clancy wasn’t the creature of impulse he used to be.
    Who would’ve thought Simon Bentcross could be a stabilizer in anyone’s life, much less a vampire’s?
    After he got the stove lit, Will waited for it to heat the coffee Fan had made. Simon’s nerves seemed to have settled a bit. He sat at the kitchen table, head in hands.
    “Coffee?” Will asked.
    Simon nodded. “Please.” He looked a wreck.
    Will poured two mugs of coffee, set them on the table, then fetched the sugar bowl and a bottle of cream. As he took a seat, he made a mental note that the coldbox would soon need another block of ice.
    “What makes you so convinced Clancy’s gone?”
    Simon lifted his eyes but not his head. “When I got home last night, at nine or so, he wasn’t there.” He lowered his hands to the table, poured a good amount of cream and sugar into his coffee, and drank. “I figured he might’ve had trouble finding a… you know… a place to dine. So I went to bed. When my bladder woke me up around three, he still wasn’t there.” He pressed a hand to his forehead as his face rumpled.
    Good gods, Simon Bentcross actually seemed on the verge of breaking down!
    Will was more alarmed by that than by the mystery of Clancy’s whereabouts. Simon had once told him that weeping was “womanish,” and he’d rather cut off his cobs than let his eyes “leak tears like an open spigot wrapped in a corset.”
    Simon swallowed the rest of his coffee and abruptly pushed up from the table. “We have to find him, or inquire about him. We have to do something .”
    “We?” Will drained his mug and got up, too. “What can I do?”
    “I thought Perfidor could at least give me some idea where Clancy sleeps during the day. If I could just be assured that he’s safe….”
    Will was beginning to understand the source of Simon’s concern: the Special Threats Unit of Purinton’s Enforcement Agency. Although Marrowbone had been granted “Immunity from Pursuit,” a new agent might not know that, and a zealous agent might not care. Clancy could be killed before he even had a chance to wipe his mouth following a feed.
    “All right, listen,” Will said. “I’ll try to find Fan. Maybe his customer’s name will come to me. If not, I’ll ask around. Someone’s bound to know. Why don’t you stay here and vox some of your old