“I don’t understand why this is so difficult. I’m being totally straightforward.”

“You are a very badly trained vampire, Ricardo.”

He had not been trained at all. “Yes, I’ve been told that often. I can’t say I mind too much. The well-trained ones haven’t impressed me very much.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“May I continue? I was just getting to the good part.”

“Please.”

“Do you even know what’s involved in declaring yourself Master of a city?” Elinor said, disbelieving. Her minions had put hands on weapons, arranging themselves in a defensive pose in what they thought was a subtle manner.

“Not really,” Ricardo said. “And I don’t really care. Santa Fe is under my protection now.”

“You can’t just walk into a city and say that it’s yours—”

“Isn’t that what you planned on doing? What this Dux Bellorum plans? I was here first! This city is mine!”

“Only for as long as you can hold it,” she said. “You can’t stay out of the fight, Ricardo. You’re too strong.”

He tilted his head. “I am?” She flushed, pursed her lips, as if she hadn’t meant to say that and wished she could take it back. He gave her half a grin, wry and wicked. “Strong enough to hold Santa Fe, you think?”

“It would be better if we worked together.”

“Yes, it would. But then you will be like your Mistress Catalina and demand obedience, and then you and I will fight, and it will all be very messy, and I’d rather not play those games.”

She angrily sliced a hand at him. “Those games are what being a vampire is all about.”

“I have a confession, Doña Elinor. I think I hate vampires.”

She laughed. “There is no arguing with you. Not two hundred years ago, and you haven’t changed a bit. Farewell then, Ricardo. If you change your mind, I will always welcome you.” Tipping her chin at her minions, she turned to go.

He said, “Elinor. One question: What kills wolf men? These werewolves?”

Her expression when she looked at him made her seem as baffled as she’d yet been. “You don’t know? In all this time you’ve never had to deal with werewolves?”

“I have not.”

“And why should I tell you?”

“Because if I manage to drive them off, you will not have to deal with them,” he said, and she nodded.

“Silver. Silver blades, silver bullets. Cut the skin with it.”

It was a testament to the strangeness of his life that this sounded not just possible but reasonable. “Good. Thank you.”

She started to leave again, and one of the other vampires pleaded with her. “But Mistress, if he joins with Dux Bellorum—”

“There is no danger of that, I think. Don Ricardo is his own man.”

Then they were gone, and he heaved a sigh. How much he would have liked to sit down with one of these old vampires, hear their stories, learn the histories of how any of them had come to be . . . but they were all so conniving.

When he came back to the courtyard, his would-be allies were lined up before him, looking somber but determined. They must have been watching over the low wall, which meant they had some idea of what was about to happen. He ought to lock them all in the house and flee. They would be safer. Most mortals in the city would have no idea what was going on tonight. That would be better. But these people were here, they knew too much, and he had put them in danger.

Then he noticed that Imelda Constance held a small cup filled with blood, and that they all had bandages tied to their forearms.

“What?” Ricardo asked warily.

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