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it’s being lumped with the undead. Vampires, zombies,
and whatnot are all predators. He insists that he isn’t.
    “Not a sign,” Dean said. “Looks like he’s down for a while this
time.”
    That wasn’t good news. I could use some advice. Like maybe the top
ten ways of surviving Chodo’s shindig, barring the obvious: Don’t show
up.
    When you have no choice about hiking the valley of the shadow, you
need to brainstorm ways to cover your ass. I got busy.
    I had options. I had connections. Some might even be useful.
    Singe’s brother, for example.
    I recalled a conversation with Morley about the truth of what I mean
to Belinda Contague. Not the business meaning. Not the former-lover
meaning, nor the outright-fear meaning. The symbolic or fetishist
meaning to the secret, frightened little girl hidden way down deep
inside Miss Belinda. The little girl who, Morley believed, wanted me
for the daddy she hadn’t had when she was coming up because her real
daddy was Chodo Contague, hardly a paragon as a parent.
    I’ve rescued the woman, one way or another, from the deepest shit
several times. Morley says she’s chosen me as the bellwether of her
personal fortunes because of that. That she’ll never let me be hurt
because the little girl needs Daddy Garrett out there in case another
terror closes in.
    “Singe. I’ve got an idea. Maybe a dumb one. Come in the office and
help me brainstorm.”
    “What’s up?” she asked, hissing like a sack of rattlers as she
forced the contraction.
    “You think your brother might help us with something? If we offer
him an appropriate fee? I know! I know! But you had the same mother.
Humans figure that makes him your brother.”
    John Stretch—real name, Pound Humility—is the boss of the ratpeople
in my part of TunFaire. He’s top rat partly thanks to me. He’s Singe’s
half brother from an earlier litter. They have a stronger relationship
than most related ratfolk. He tried to rescue her from my clutches one
time. She spanked him verbally and told him to go the hell away—she was
happy right where she was.
    “I do not know. He suspects that you took advantage of him last
time.”
    “I understand a pride problem. You know better than me if we can do
business.”
    “What do you want him to do?”
    “This party tonight. He could help me with it. If he really talks to
regular rats.”
    Singe considered. We both knew John Stretch could get inside the
minds of regular rats and use them as spies. He had admitted it in
front of us.
    “You want him to go over to the place where Chodo Contague’s
birthday party is going to happen.”
    “Yes.” But now my idea was growing up. “If we could hide him close
by, he could stay on the job right through the party and warn me so
there wouldn’t be any ugly surprises.”
    “You might not be able to meet his price.”
    “I’m not hurting for cash.”
    “He will not ask for cash.” I groaned. “A favor for a favor.”
    “What use can you be to a ratman gangster?” A human agent could be
very useful to a rat king who knew what he wanted.
    “You want me to find him? You do not have a lot of time.”
    In fact, it was too late. Almost certainly. Nevertheless, “See what
you can do.”
    Singe was ready to go in minutes. I told her, “Leave the kitten. It
won’t be welcome where you’re headed.”
    She returned the critter to the bucket. “They grow on you.”
    “So do lice. Don’t get too attached. They aren’t staying.”
    I let Singe out right into a major pixie squabble. Those bugs are
worse than sparrows. But they’re so constant about it that I don’t much
notice anymore.
    I told them, “I want to talk to Shakespear and Melondie Kadare,
please.” Polite helps a little. Sometimes. Unpredictably. About as
often as it does with big people.
    If I couldn’t get ratpeople help, I might enlist some pixies. Which
would be cheaper, anyway, since helping me is how they’re supposed to
pay their rent.
    Melondie Kadare came