John Farris - High Bloods

Mr. Jimmy Webb of the clothing emporium Trash and Vaudeville in New York City for the line Im bewildered by life (quoted in The New Yorker, March 26, 2007), which Ive given to Beatrice on page 97. And also for Mr. Webbs observation about rock n roll, which is on page 95 (ibid).

The actress Kirsten Dunst for her comment on her strict requirements in matters romantic, which was quoted in Us Weekly magazine, I forgot which issue. Ive given Miss Dunsts self-appraisal in slightly altered form to Chiclyn Hickey on p. 68.

Eric Hansen for information about Borneo that I found in his excellent memoir Stranger in the Forest (Houghton Mifflin, 1988).

And Peter John for tirelessly committing all of my manuscripts to hard disc for the convenience of everyone else in the book and magic-lantern business.

J. F.

here were at least four upscale Lycan hangouts within a quarter mile of one another on Santa Monica Boulevard east of the Doheny gateway to Beverly Hills. We left the department Hummer on the center divider with the light bar winking and the no-touch repel charge on high. My partner Sunny Chagrin took the south side of Santa Monica. I took the other side, making my way around the usual debris, human and otherwise.

De Sades always had a crowd waiting outside behind a velvet rope, advertising how popular and hard to get into the place was. Twin doorkeeps dressed in this years big fashion statement, the Kansas farm-boy look, glanced at the gold shield on my belt and said nothing as I walked past them and opened the brass-bound leather door.

Inside the music came at me like turbocharged thunder. I winced and reached for my noise-canceling whisper tits. At one-fifteen on a Monday morning, Observance minus five, de Sades was packed with their typical crowd: hot young media stars or the merely hopeful. Diamondbacker royalty and retro Hip-Hoppers in air-conditioned greatcoats, surrounded by street muscle and sweet sweet chocolate. Raptors of both sexes trying to act twenty years younger than they were. Yesteryears big celebs who were back numbers now, all of them with the Malibu gloss that gave them an unreal digitally enhanced look. Maybe half the crowd were High Bloods, mingling with, hitting on Lycans, hoping for the sexual Nirvana such risky liasons promised. Or so the legends had it.

I was there looking for a postdeb named Mal Scarlett. The family was old rich, impeccable bloodlines except for Mal. She had been out of reach for nearly forty-eight hours, according to WEIR. Either Mals Snitch had malfunctioned (a rare occurrence) and she didnt know it, or some illegal surgery had been performed. It was getting to be quite a thing with members of her set: rich kids with tenuous family ties, wanderlust, and no social consciences. If it was a fad it was a dangerous one.

Most people who go missing have patterns. Nine out of ten missing persons turn up within four miles of their homes, dead or alive. The tough cases involve those individuals who are instinctively distrustful, secretive lonerswanderers by habit or by nature. A good description of the rogue population of werewolves, which was already too big to manage effectively.

I was installing the second of my earbuds when a tall girl bumped into me, turned for a look. She gave me a bold, sparkly smile. She was blond, with a narrow, pretty face, an uppity nose. Her glam was Jazz Age: the beaded flapper dress, marcelled hair. She also was wearing one of the gold crosses combined with a wolfs headan emblem of Lycan spirituality we were seeing a lot of lately.

She leaned on me, still smiling, and winked hello.

Im Chiclyn, she said in a broad Aussie accent. Chickie Hickey.

Im Ducky Daddles, I said. Is the sky falling?

She brushed damp hair off her forehead and peered at me, an insolent glint of eyetooth in her crooked smile, mischief in her violet eyes. Shed been doing Frenzies or Black Dahls, but not for a while.

I think Im falling for you, Ducks.

I had to get a grip on Chickie, or she wouldve been at my feet. It was verging on heat wave in de Sades and she was slippery as goldfish.

A couple of de Sades scuffs may have decided I was cutting her out of the flock. They moved in on either side of us, smiling politely. That popular farm-boy look again: yellow coveralls, clodhoppers, neckerchiefs knotted at the side of the throat.

Shes maybe a tad young for you, Dads, one of the scuffs said.

Id been silver-haired since my mid-thirties. He took a light grip on my upper-right bicep, and looked surprised. Power lifting is just one way I stay in shape.

None of them seemed to have noticed my ILC shield.

Blow ahf! Chickie sneered at them. She had locked both hands on my left forearm. Her fingers contained a Levantines collection of baroque rings. I choose my own company!

So do I, I said, with an inoffensive smile.

The scuff thought this over, then dropped his hand.

Looking good for your age, he said. Where do you train?

Home gym. Is Artie around tonight?

Whos asking?

Rawson. Lycan control.