I grind some sleep from my eyes.

--How'd she go for you getting cut loose?

--Terry Bird to the rescue. After you took off to deal with Tom, Terry did some additional interrogation. He convinced Lydia, in a way where she was kind of thinking it was her own idea, that keeping me around was best. Double agent they could use to send false information back to the Coalition. She went for it. Plus, you know, the money. The Society is always hurting for money. Long as I'm here, I can help with that. So she agreed. House arrest. Gonna put a watch on me until I prove my loyalty. But that'll come soon enough. And, hey!

He shows off his apartment and his girls again.

--Not like it's a hard life up in here.

I look around.

--No, I can see that. Amongst all the other luxury, you got a phone?

--Sure, sure, landline's right here.

He grabs a cordless handset from the coffee table and tosses it to me.

I point at Poncho's room.

--OK if I use it in there?

--Sure, man.

I get up. So does The Count.

--Hey, Joe. We are cool, right? I mean, I am. I'm totally cool. I think you handled this shit straight up. Not easy getting played like that. You got nothing but respect from me.

I shrug.

--Yeah, we're cool. All in the way of business. And hey.

I reach in my jacket and pull out the anathema.

--Got something for you.

I toss it to him.

--From the old lady's. Fresh this morning. Terry sent it over.

He catches it.

--Oh yeah! Knew he'd come through.

He gives me a grin.

--Thought I smelled a little somethin' somethin' on you.

He gives it a sniff.

--It's a little tired, but it's good.

He turns to the girls.

--See, ladies, told you Joe is our man. Told you he knows business from personal.

Pigtails is on all fours, arching her back cat-style.

--When we gonna get personal, Joe Pitt?

She winks and hops up to help PJs get their works together.

The Count hands the bag to Poncho.

--Sure you don't want to hang, Joe? I know you don't indulge, but the fridge is stocked with regular, man. Have yourself a pint. Drink some booze. Get an old school buzz going.

He comes closer, puts an arm over my shoulder, points at Pigtails, kneeling on the floor with the other girls, getting the anathema ready.

--She really has taken a shine to you. And trust me, it's freaky good. Especially after she has a skinful. She's in another world, man.

I look at her. She catches me, blows a kiss, goes back to work.

--Maybe after my call.

He slaps my shoulder.

--That's my man!

He joins the girls. I walk into the room made of doors.

Most of it's taken up by a big mattress on the floor. Funky designer clothes from Lower East Side boutiques spill out of a chest of drawers. Three mobiles made of tin and colored glass dangle from the ceiling. I duck to go under one and graze it with my shoulder. It tinkles. One of the doors is paned with frosted glass. Through it I can see the ghosts of The Count and his ladies, in a circle on the floor.

I dial the phone.

He answers.

--Hello?

--It's me.

--Hey, Joe. What's up?

--I'll take the job.

--Wow. Well. Good for you, man. About time you stopped being just a piece of the mosaic and started to help make it. Help make, I know how this is going to sound, but help make the world a better place.

I think about the world. I think about all the room there is for making it better than what it is. I think about the likelihood that I'm a guy who can do that.

--Yeah, let's do that, Terry. Let's clean it up.

--That's the spirit. You come by tomorrow night. We'll start talking. In earnest, I mean.

--Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow. I gotta go now. Got something to take care of.

I hang up.

I walk out through the space between two of the doors, hitting the mobile again. Hearing it chime.

Poncho and PJs are already out. Wrapped in their little coma of dreams. Seeing whatever visions it is they see. Pigtails is waiting for hers.

The Count points at the fridge.

--Sure you don't?

I touch the blisters on my hands.

--A pint wouldn't hurt. Or a drink.

He gets up.

--That's the shit.

He grabs me a pint, brings it back along with a half-full bottle of Jack.

I retake my seat, open the pint, hit it.

The Count looks at me as he sets Pigtails up. He holds up the syringe.

--Want to do the honors?

Pigtails writhes on the floor.

--C'mon, Joe. Do it for me.

I finish the blood. Set the empty bag aside.

--Sure.

The Count hands me the syringe. I look at the careful measure of anathema inside. Pigtails is watching me, panting.

--C'mon, Joe.

I slip the needle into her arm. Push the plunger. She sighs, shivers, goes under. I go back to my seat, open the Jack, pour a shot down my throat. It mixes sweet with the blood.

The Count starts to fill the last syringe.

--You won't regret staying, Joe. She is wicked crazy. Start in on her when she's still half on the nod, she'll do things no girl would ever think of doing.

I take another drink.

--Where'd you get them, anyway?

He looks up.

--The girls?

--Yeah.

He looks back down, focused on filling the syringe with the proper measure.

--Hell, man, I infected them. Wasn't easy. Had to take a couple shots at it. But I followed the old lady's plan. Made a profile. You know, looked for chicks like me. Couple of them couldn't take the Vyrus at all, rejected it outright. Couple others just freaked out. But I had to have me the three brides. You were right about that, man. Totally clichŽ, but I had to have it. Like the ultimate Vampyre status symbol and all. I know it's weak, but, like I said, spoiled rotten. That's me.