More like for pain and suffering, I thought, shifting in my seat while drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. It felt like it had only been a couple of hours since I’d made the drive home from Hank’s the night before, yet here I was, once again fighting against traffic on my way into Denver. Yakov’s words had plagued me for most of the night, and I had to agree with him: if I could figure out why someone was attacking vamps, I might be able to find out who it was. After waking up much earlier than I would have liked, I’d called the Day Servant of one of the other victims to ask if she would meet with me. I’d expected the same level of hesitance I’d first received from Whitlow, and was surprised when she seemed almost eager to meet. In a rare stroke of luck, she’d revealed that she knew the Day Servant of the other vamp who’d been attacked and was sure she could convince him to join us. Which was why, two hours later, I was stuck in morning traffic heading down the mountain with all the other schmucks who were up far too early.
