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contemplated the notion all of five seconds before opening a can of Kittylicious and dumping it into Killer’s bowl. Then I spent the next hour doing hair and makeup and trying not to think about Esther.
    Ash was right. She was probably off with Mr. Visa having hot, wild sex and sucking each other dry. When she finally came up for air, she would call and explain the couch incident. He’d spilled a drink. She’d spilled a drink. They’d both been having an emo moment.
    Something.
    I had absolutely nothing to worry about.
    My head knew that. Unfortunately, my gut wasn’t buying it. It kept nagging at me, insisting that something was wrong.
    A feeling that grew stronger as I left Killer parked near his scratching post with strict instructions not to pee or barf on anything, locked up my apartment and headed for the office.

A sh was waiting for me when I walked into Dead End Dating. He wore a gray button-down, faded jeans and scuffed brown biker boots. While there was nothing designer about his clothes, his buff bod was the stuff Calvin ads were made of.
    Not that I noticed that sort of thing since I’m officially “involved” with Ty.
    All right, already. So I noticed. I’m involved, not dead.
    Okay, so I’m technically dead, too, but you get the point.
    I ix-nayed the lustful thoughts that rolled through my brain, dropped my purse on the corner of my desk and sank down into my chair to brace myself for what I knew had to be bad news.
    Ash paced the floor in front of my desk, his mouth stretched into a thin line, his brow furrowed.
    “Something’s wrong,” he said.
    What’d I tell ya?
    My stomach hollowed out despite the three Rock-stars and extra-large glass of O+ I’d chugged before leaving my apartment. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
    “I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”
    “What could be worse than dead?”
    “Torture. Then death.”
    Yep, that would be worse.
    “We did a background check on your guy,” he went on, “and it turns out that his name isn’t Justin. It’s Mordred Lucius.”
    “Why does that sound familiar?”
    “Mordred was the evil knight who fatally wounded King Arthur. This isn’t any relation. At least, none that I can put my finger on. He isn’t a demon either. He’s a very powerful warlock.”
    “A male version of Glenda the Good Witch?”
    “Only if Glenda traded in her Lollipop Guild membership and joined a satanic cult.” Ash shook his head. “This guy is into black magic. I did some checking once I found out his name and it seems he can be traced back at least eight hundred years.”
    “He didn’t look a day over twenty-five.”
    “That’s the point. It turns out he was ousted from his coven for performing illegal rituals. I talked to the vice-president of the local AWW, who told me—”
    “AWW?”
    “Association of Witches and Warlocks. This Mordred was convicted of plotting to perform a human sacrifice to preserve his own youth. The AWW outlawed the ancient Mayan ritual over one hundred and fifty years ago when they decided to mainstream with the rest of society. They didn’t want any of their members causing bad PR and so they banished him. Obviously mutilating and killing humans is much too high profile for their tastes.”
    “But Esther isn’t human.”
    “Technically, no. But she’s still a vital entity. One with enormous power and energy. If he kills her, he not only absorbs her youth, he soaks up her immortality, as well.”
    “Meaning?”
    “She’ll be the ultimate sacrifice”—his words were low and serious and my stomach flipped—“because she’ll be his last.”
    “If he wants eternal youth, why not just find a born vampire to turn him?”
    “Vampires have limitations.”
    Tell me about it.
    “No sunlight,” Ash went on. “No pigging out at Shoney’s.” Ash shook his head. “This guy is greedy. He wants the best of both worlds.”
    “And Esther is his ticket.”
    Ash nodded. “We went by his place. He punched in his