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ignored.
      I stumbled around for a moment as if unsure what to do next before finally heading down the sidewalk toward the alley at the side of the building. I was tempted to look back across the street to see if Maera had done as I'd told her, but I didn't want to give her away in case I was still being observed. I shuffled into the alley, did my bump-into-the-wall bit again, and looked up. Leech-vine completely covered this side of the building, so thick that I couldn't tell if there were windows here or not. I decided to take a chance that if there were, the vines would block any view of the alley, and I hurried to the other end at my usual lessthan-breakneck-but-faster-than-a-shuffle speed. I knew the longer I took to reconnoiter the place, the more time whoever was inside would have to get suspicious.
      Behind the building was a cross alley that provided a lovely view of the backsides of another row of vine-covered hovels. Detritus filled the alley, along with rats, cats, dogs, vermen, and other less-identifiable scavengers, all sifting through the open landfill for whatever they could find to eat, including each other. But I hadn't come here to observe the local fauna in action. I'd come in search of a back door, and I'd found one. The problem was, it was wide open and someone was standing in the doorway grinning at me – someone who now possessed a fancy new ocular implant in place of the eye I'd poked out earlier.
      "Hello, Troilus. Whoever your cyber-doc is, he, she, or it did a decent job." In some ways, the technology in Nekropolis is more advanced than Earth's. The physiognomy of supernatural creatures – given their overall strength and healing capacity – lends itself far more easily to biomechanical and genetic enhancement than humans. Troilus' eye implant was a little crooked, it wept pus, and from the way the skin around it had blistered, I knew the machinery was running hot. The image resolution was probably substandard too, but all in all, not bad for what had surely been a rush job completed by a street surgeon.
      The cyclops was bald, though he had a curly black beard. He was heavily muscled, and wore a white tunic, black belt, and sandals. The front of the tunic was stained reddish brown, and it took me a moment to realize that Troilus hadn't changed it since this morning. He'd either been in one hell of a hurry for revenge, or he was a mega slob. Probably both, I decided.
      "I think I actually did you a favor," I said. "Your cyber-eye makes you look twice as intimidating as you did before. Of course, it also makes you look twice as ugly too, and I didn't think that was possible."
      Troilus' large hands curled into equally large fists. "If you got any more jokes, you better tell them fast," he growled. "Because when I get hold of you, the first thing I'm going to do is rip out your tongue so I don't have to listen to you yammer on anymore."
      I contemplated a witty rejoinder, trying to decide between I don't give tongue on the second date and Go to hell, asshole , when I heard trash rustle behind me. "Hello, Maera. I was wondering when you were going to show up."
      I turned around and, sure enough, there she was, looking beautiful as ever, kaleidoscope eyes glittering, lips stretched into a cold, cruel smile.
      "There's no Finn and no Dominari loan sharks," I said. "Just a pissed-off cyclops and his demon friend."
      "Business associate," Maera corrected. "You didn't think Troilus planned to go into the protection racket by himself, did you?"
      "I suppose he's the brawn and you're the brains."
      Her smile widened, pliable demon flesh stretching farther than a human's could without tearing. I'd seen similar effects before, but it was still disturbing to watch. "Actually, we're both brawn."
      Maera's attention-getting form blurred and shifted, and when she'd finished rearranging herself, instead of a beautiful naked woman with a black body-suit tattoo, standing