To prove that point, his cousin slapped a passing Crow on the ass before pulling her into his lap and humming to her, which was when the Crow punched Vig’s ancestor in the throat before snapping his neck.

His body fell backward and the Crow stood. She raised her hands up. “Yes! Let’s all sing to the new Crow.”

“Don’t worry,” Vig told Kera about his cousin. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Oh . . . good.”

“You don’t really care, do you?”

“Not really.”

“Drink your ale,” Vig said. “It’ll help.”

Kera took a long swig of the ale just as the Crows began to sing the “Immigrant Song” from Led Zeppelin, causing Kera to spit out her ale.

“Yeah,” Vig said after taking a swig of his own. “They’re all big Zeppelin fans,” he told her just as his kin joined in, all of them knowing the words to the song by heart.

Kera wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Now that I’m thinking about it . . . that shouldn’t really shock me.”

Brianna continued to walk and wait and seethe. What was she doing? How had she let her life get like this?

She thought back on the promises that Simone Andrews had made to her. Promises she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

True, she had to make some kind of blood commitment under the next full moon, but who cared if it got her what she wanted? She knew an agent who joined a sex cult when she graduated from college because it had some of the top agents as its members . . . and because she was really hot. Now she ran her own division in Betty’s company.

Brianna wouldn’t even have to do that much. These people thought they could bring some god or something into the world. Of course, she didn’t believe any of that. Who would? What did matter was that all of Simone’s friends were either Hollywood players or the friends of Hollywood players. People who could get Brianna exactly what she wanted. Power. So if these idiots wanted to believe they could bring some ancient god into the world that was their business. In the end, all Brianna cared about was that she’d get the kind of contacts who could make her more powerful than Betty could ever dream.

And then Brianna would crush that bitch.

“Are you done?” Brianna asked the stupid Polish lowland sheepdog . . . which was basically a small sheepdog. Because Betty couldn’t just have a dog. She had to have a purebred mini-version of a normal dog.

Feeling the humiliation to her toes, Brianna used a baggy to pick up the animal’s disgusting shit and tossed it in the nearest trash. Then she took the dog back up to her office.

She took off its leash, and it ran right into Betty’s office, where the stupid animal was greeted with cooing and kissing sounds.

A dog. She treated the dogbetter than she treated Brianna.

Finally fed up, Brianna marched into Betty’s office.

“I think we need to talk,” Brianna announced.

Still petting her dog, his front paws on her leg, Betty replied, “Yeah, we do. I’ve been thinking about it and I think it’s time to prom—”

“Look,” Brianna cut in before Betty could finish and possibly give her something else stupid to do, “you either give me the goddamn promotion that I deserve, or . . . or I’m taking a better offer.”

Betty slowly lifted her eyes from her dog. Brianna readied herself to duck if Betty threw another water bottle at her.

Leaning back in her chair, Betty said, “You better take that better offer then. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“You’d let me go?”

“I don’t want to get in your way, Brianna. There’s a wide, wonderful world out there. Go to it. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Betty!” a woman called from out in the hall and a few seconds later several of Betty’s old friends from her rehab—the lesbians—strutted in. They were older women, about Betty’s age. But so loud. And rowdy for middle-aged females about to be old enough for AARP.

“Hey, bitches,” Betty called back. She stood up, her dog running to also greet her friends. “I got us reservations at that Korean barbeque in West L.A.”

“Yumm. Big hunks of perfectly seasoned meat! Let’s go, ladies!”

Betty walked to the door, her stupid mutt running along beside her. She stopped and patted Brianna’s arm.

“Good luck, sweetie.”

Then she was gone and all Brianna could think about was how she was going to destroy Betty Lieberman if it was the last thing she ever did.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Tessa walked up to the nurses’ desk and knocked on it. The nurse looked up and smiled.

“Tessa!”

“Hey, girl. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Fine.”

Tessa waved at a few of the other on-duty nurses before leaning over the desk and whispering, “Think I can get in to talk to that guy?”

Her friend nodded. “Sure. He’s awake now and talking.” She whispered something to the other nurse, then led Tessa to the private investigator’s room. Tessa was still determined to find out what he was doing spying for that bitch Simone Andrews. Even if she had to wring it out of his scrawny neck.

But as soon as Tessa walked into the ICU, she knew something was wrong. His heart rate abruptly increased and he began to seize. But the seizure . . . it was like something was lifting his chest off the bed¸ the rest of his body turning awkwardly. It was as if he was trying to throw someone off.