Unlike her friends, Taya found herself brooding over something much worse than Johnny Mundo's loss of the Lucha Underground Championship. Someone had recently died, and she was determined to find out who the victim was.

She might not be on active valkyrie duty at the moment-her association with the "immoral individuals" of the Worldwide Underground had gotten her in hot water back in the realm of Asgard-but she would never lose her harbinger powers. She still had her wings, too, although she kept them hidden until needed.

Right now, those supernatural senses were screaming at Taya to do something. She stood up, trying to ignore the headache she'd acquired after Johnny had accidentally struck her with a steel chair, and glanced at the rest of the Worldwide Underground. They had formed a circle in the locker room and were deep in conversation. Only PJ Black caught the Canadian's eye and wandered over to talk to her.

"I know what happened," he told her in his soft South African accent. His green-flecked, hazel eyes were compassionate yet haunted. "I heard the gunshots and I can smell the blood."

Gunshots. A murder. Taya sighed. Of course he already knew. The werewolf had probably detected the signs as they occurred, whereas she felt someone's death in her gut before it actually happened.

Taya anticipated PJ's next words: "Wanna investigate?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yeah-but, um, you don't have to come with me." PJ had lost his father to gun violence when he was only eighteen, and she didn't want him to relive the worst day of his life.

"I want to," he insisted, slipping into the protective older brother role he often took on away from the cameras and the Believers. He mumbled something to Jack Evans and Ricky Mundo-Taya still couldn't believe the latter had legally changed his last name-about taking Taya to get checked for a concussion. Since her boyfriend was indulging in one of his usual long showers, they would no doubt return before he finished.

"I'm sure it's nothing," she added valiantly, rolling her eyes when PJ wrapped an arm around her shoulder as if she was dizzy and needed help walking. In reality, valkyries were tough as nails. The chair shot was more of an annoyance than a threat to her health.

Neither man seemed to care or even notice that their teammates had left.

The two were hardly inconspicuous in the darkened corridors of the Temple-PJ was clad in a lime green tank with a white bandana wrapped around his forehead, while Taya wore a red-orange top and her blonde-and-red hair was fashioned in multiple buns-but, luckily for them, everyone else seemed to have gone home. Taya walked slightly ahead of her werewolf friend, allowing her intuition to guide her to the scene of the crime.

Nausea engulfed her when she realized she had stopped in front of Dario Cueto's office. She knew that her employer had committed murder in the past-he had even served time in prison for it-so she wouldn't put it past the twisted bastard to kill again. But what if someone had gotten to him? Dario was the type of man who could make an enemy out of almost everyone he met-including Taya herself.

PJ and Taya peered through the smudged window, but there was no body visible, nor any indication of a struggle. Taya didn't see any ghosts, either, although the victim was probably off haunting his-or her-murderer. The valkyrie shuddered as she placed a palm against the wooden door in order to force a death vision and learn more.

A bald, middle-aged man with deep brown skin sat across from a visibly nervous Dario. The former was dressed neatly in a suit and tie and projected an aura of confidence, giving the impression that he was someone important. Each man had a drink in hand, and Dario stammered when he spoke.

"Please...Tell your boss that I...I will get the gauntlet back."

The stranger smiled-a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't you worry. You get a pass." He sounded American.

"I do? Why?" Suspicion was written all over Dario's face and crept into his voice as well. Each man set his glass down on the desk.

His visitor rose from his chair, grinning. "Because you'll be dead." He reached for the gun he had concealed in a holster beneath his jacket and immediately fired twice at a terrified Dario's midsection.

Taya recoiled from the door and nearly bumped into PJ. Witnessing a murder was always shocking, yet this particular slaying felt like a scene from a movie as opposed to an authentic harbinger's vision. Dario had been mortal, yes, but he nonetheless seemed untouchable. Between his powerful brother, endless piles of money, and connections to people in high places, he always had someone in his corner to protect him or bail him out of trouble.

Not this time, apparently.

"What did you see?" PJ whispered, clearly alarmed by whatever expression Taya had plastered on her face.

"It's Dario. He's dead," she whispered back. She wouldn't waste any of her precious time grieving for the sleazy lowlife, but she was still floored by the man's untimely passing.

A grim-faced PJ wasted no time in taking her arm and steering the stunned valkyrie away from the crime scene. As they briskly walked away, Taya mulled over Dario's statement to the mystery man. She had spent most of the evening with her friends and boyfriend, oblivious to the other matches on the card, and had no idea the gauntlet had disappeared. There were rumors floating around the Temple that both Dario and the gauntlet were connected to some plot to bring about a major war.

Odin would definitely be interested in anything having to do with war and the possibility of Ragnarok coming...If Taya managed to uncover concrete evidence of a conspiracy and relay the details to the Norse god, she just might earn back His respect and trust. She might even be able to restore her once-stellar reputation in Asgard, now tarnished by her actions in the Temple.

But was a little glory worth risking a death sentence should Dario's killer or anyone else involved in this alleged plan learn about her special abilities? After what had happened to Dario over the gauntlet, Taya was reluctant to take action-although she kept the idea in the back of her mind.

She bit her lip as she debated her options. Valkyries were supposed to be honorable and brave, but she felt like neither at the moment.


When he woke up, Dario initially dismissed the previous night's experiences as yet another one of the bizarre nightmares that had repeatedly disturbed his sleep.

Then he tasted blood and saw Catrina watching him from a chair opposite the sofa he was reclining on-and the grim reality sank in. Being shot by Agent Winter, dying, his brief but traumatic trip to the afterlife, resurrection via Catrina's magic stone, receiving the Lick of Death...Every single one of those things had actually happened.

Dario didn't mind reliving the Lick of Death, but he was anxious to forget the rest.

"Were you watching me all night?" He realized he had fallen asleep with the bull in his hands and immediately touched the key to confirm it was still around his neck. Having sentimental items around helped alleviate some of his homesickness.

She shrugged. "Not all night. I did pay Mil a visit...He is furious about the gauntlet."

"Understandably so." Dario didn't want to talk about Mil Muertes-nor did he want to dwell on how the Man of a Thousand Deaths might punish him if he learned of his current living arrangements. He eased himself into a sitting position, relieved when the movement failed to bring him any discomfort. Save for the lingering emotional wounds, it was almost as if he had never gotten shot in the first place...He wondered if the bullets had passed straight through him or if they were lodged somewhere deep inside. "I'd like to see my brother now"-His stomach suddenly growled, much to his embarrassment-"and maybe get something to eat." Morning sunlight streamed through the ruby red curtains, tinting the room with a faint glow, and allowing enough light in for Dario to squint at his watch. It was just after seven o'clock.

He could tell by Catrina's startled expression that she hadn't considered this aspect of sheltering a human. It must have been centuries since she had last eaten or had anything to drink.

"I...I can buy something for you."

The mental image of a bewildered Catrina wandering the grocery store aisles or entering a fast foot restaurant in a catsuit made him snicker.

"You should probably change clothes first..."

Catrina glanced downward at her outfit and pursed her lips thoughtfully. She teleported elsewhere, then caused Dario to jump slightly when she reappeared in the living room several minutes later. She had changed into one of the low-cut tank tops she used to wear during the first season of Lucha Underground, tight leather pants, and fairly low heels-all in black, of course. Her hair was artfully arranged so that it concealed her breasts, and a purse was slung over one shoulder.

"Better?"

He nodded, although he was tempted to suggest putting her hair up. Everything that Catrina wore managed to hug her curves in all the right places. She looked stunning, intimidating, and altogether human, and yet he knew she was something else. But what, exactly?

"Are you a ghost? Is that why you don't eat?" That would also explain the teleporting and why electricity reacted to her, but she was as solid as any human being-and stronger than most.

"I am neither ghost nor human." A trace of sorrow darted across her usually emotionless face. "I suppose you could consider me undead."

"Even the undead feed," he reminded her, warming to the subject. "Vampires, zombies...How do you sustain yourself?"

"Emotions, life energy." Catrina's tone and crossed arms implied that she was uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken. "I absorb whatever I can through the Lick of Death-among other methods." She dug through her purse and produced a slip of scrap paper and a pen. "Make a list, but keep it simple."

Make a list. Those words echoed in his head, reminding him of the list he had left in plain view on his desk and diverting his thoughts from Catrina's identity. Fear twisted his stomach into a painful knot. It was crucial that he find the list before anyone else from the Order did and scratch off Catrina so the "new management" would lose interest in her and move on.

The odds were incredibly slim, of course, but if something happened to her and he died again...His mouth went dry as he stared at the blank paper she had given him. All he had to do was get in, draw a line through her name, and get out-without making Catrina suspicious-

"Feeling indecisive?"

"A little," he lied, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. He ended up writing down the first foods and beverages that popped into his mind. As he handed the paper to Catrina, he wondered how he could persuade her to stop by his office without revealing too much information. It was a dilemma he would ponder while she was away.

"Wait. I insist on paying." The last thing Dario wanted was to add to the debt he already owed the woman. He reached into his pocket for his wallet and shoved a handful of bills at her without counting them. Catrina assessed the amount of money for herself and smiled as she stuffed the cash in her purse. "Oh, and can you get me another black shirt? I don't want Matanza to see the bullet holes." The renewed desire to avenge his own death threatened to consume him. He couldn't wait to find Agent Winter and bash his skull in with the bull...

Catrina nodded. "I'll be back soon. Don't even think of leaving, Dario-I can find you anywhere simply by picturing you, and you will not like the consequences." She blinked out of the apartment, leaving Dario dumbfounded and slightly envious of her ghost-like skill set. He took a minute or two to collect himself before gently setting the bull on the coffee table and getting up to use the bathroom.

Afterward, he embarked on a tour of the apartment, only to find himself disappointed with the lack of what he considered basic amenities. There was, however, a comprehensive home library right in the living room. Dario ran his fingers along a row of worn book spines, pleased with the various macabre subjects he came across. Unsurprisingly, Catrina's reading material included an abundance of books on Aztec culture and mythology. Her collection also included writing on ghosts, the afterlife, general mythology, and true crime.

Dario smiled as he turned away and wandered into the kitchen. At least he had found a meaningful way to pass the time.

In the kitchen, Catrina had a landline telephone-he guessed that someone with her powers didn't have much use for a cellphone-sitting on the table and in need of dusting. Inspiration struck Dario and he lifted the receiver-the phone was indeed functional-then began punching in a familiar number. A wave of uneasiness swept over him after he had entered the first three digits and he slammed the phone down with a groan. He covered his face, feeling like he could never trust anyone again.

Dying made him want to reach out to his family-friends didn't exist in his volatile world-and with Matanza waiting in his cell and their bitch of a mother long dead, Papá Cueto was the only one he could call. But something-some gut instinct-had caused Dario to question his father's priorities at the last second. The Order's mission always seemed to come first with him, and Dario couldn't help but wonder if Agent Winter hadn't acted independently when he shot him. Maybe his own father had-

No! Papá loves me. He would never have me killed-even if I did let the Order down...Then again, he did sacrifice his other son...

Sickened by the dark turn his thoughts had taken, Dario jumped up and shoved the chair aside. He needed a diversion-like exploring the other half of Catrina's apartment.

Given the overall size of Catrina's place, he wasn't surprised to learn there was only one bedroom. The bed looked as if it had never been slept in, and he wondered if she ever used it for other, more interesting activities. He decided to check out Catrina's clothing since there wasn't much else in the room. Like his, her clothes were almost entirely black-but she did have some red lacy bras and underwear stashed away in the dresser. Not that he would ever get to see her in lingerie...

It made him wonder what other secrets she was keeping.

There was a jewelry box on the nightstand that held various earrings, rings, and necklaces. Oddly, none of the pieces looked especially ancient or valuable. He would expect that someone over two hundred years old would have acquired some family heirlooms...She probably just had them stashed away somewhere no one else would ever think to look.

Dario shut the lid to the jewelry box and turned off the bedside lamp he had clicked on earlier. Catrina could come back at any moment, and she would raise hell if she realized he'd been snooping through her possessions.

It was imperative that he stay on her good side.

He frowned when he thought about the woman who had saved him. She was as dangerous as she was alluring, and he vividly recalled the numerous acts of violence she had committed against him in the past. He was grateful to Catrina for rescuing him from the "Other Side" and giving him sanctuary, yet he resented her for taking advantage of his dire situation.

Dario sighed heavily. He simply didn't know how to handle a woman he couldn't bend to his will through flattery, force, or a combination of both-but he needed to learn in a hurry.

As he stepped into the hallway, he remembered his current dilemma. He decided the simplest option was to ask Catrina nicely to take him to his office so he could look for something. If she pressed him for further details, he would promise to explain the specifics later-which would buy him a little more time to decide what he should and should not tell her.

A woman materialized in front of him without warning, causing Dario to cry out in shock. Her head, hair, and the upper half of her dress were all drenched in blood, and, although it had been decades since he had last seen her, Dario instantly recognized his late mother. He staggered backward, heart slamming against his chest.

"No," he whimpered. Hadn't she tormented him enough? In addition to his childhood abuse, Dario had spent decades being harassed by his mother in his nightmares and the memories that fought their way to the surface on occasion...Hers had also been the first face he saw after he died. Now the wicked woman was determined to haunt his waking hours, too.

Part of Dario wanted to yell for Catrina to come rescue him, but his pride would not allow her to intervene. Besides, the horrid apparition would only reappear as soon as Catrina departed.

"You don't belong here," she hissed in Spanish. The malice in her tone, the way her lips curled in contempt...Those familiar mannerisms made her come alive, but she still resembled a watercolor painting as opposed to an actual person. "There is no escaping death."

"I already did." Dario's voice trembled as he reverted to his native tongue, and he despised himself for showing weakness in front of her. Their dynamic had changed radically since the last time he had seen her alive, but the terror her violent temper had instilled in him would last forever.

"You belong to the Other Side now, and you will come home." The certainty in her tone was frightening. Her long fingers reached out for him, complete with nails sharp as daggers, and he stumbled in his haste to get out of range. "No one can save you now, Dario. Not your brother, not your father, not even the undead woman."

"I don't need anyone to save me from a ghost," he snarled. "There's nothing you can do to me anymore-"

A taunting smile crossed the phantom's battered and bloody face and she cackled with cruel, maniacal laughter as she advanced. Dario backed away, feeling as if the blood in his veins had turned to ice.

He desperately hoped he was right about ghosts being unable to harm the living. Because, if he was wrong, he was about to die another gruesome death...


Catrina teleported into the living room with two plastic bags in each hand and her purse hanging off her shoulder. She hoped she had gotten enough food to last a few days, because she wasn't sure how long Dario was going to be staying with her-and grocery shopping was a dreadful chore. There were too many options, too many people, and it took an absurdly long time to get one's purchases scanned and paid for.

Dario wasn't on the sofa when she had returned and his red bull was waiting on the coffee table. She thought he was probably in the bathroom, so she went into the kitchen to set everything down while she waited for him to come out.

His voice suddenly rang out from down the hall, and Catrina was confused to hear him angrily speaking Spanish until he referenced his mother.

"I meant what I said before, Mama. No more! You will never, ever hurt me again, you sadistic bitch!"

Curiosity propelled Catrina into the hallway. She found herself standing behind a translucent, black-haired woman clad in a dress that appeared a dull gray from age and use. Those long, matted locks only partially covered the back of her caved-in skull, and she shook her head like she found her son's outburst amusing.

Dario was facing the evil spirit, and the terror written all over his face contrasted starkly with the venom spewing from his lips. His fists were clenched but he was quivering like the terrorized little boy he had once been, subjected to endless beatings and drunken rants. Catrina actually pitied him and wanted to do something to get rid of the horrid bitch, but Dario needed to learn to fend for himself. She wasn't his bodyguard.

"Oh, son..." his mother replied mockingly and in the same language. "You don't know just how wrong you are..."

Dario shifted into attack mode and lunged, but he fell through the ghost of his mother since she vanished just before he could strangle her. He instinctively transferred his rage to Catrina and wrapped his hands around her throat instead. Catrina was impervious to pain-she felt only increasing pressure-so she responded by calmly prying his hands off her neck and holding his wrists until he came to his senses.

"Your mother is gone, Dario," she murmured in English.

He stopped thrashing and stared at her, breathing hard and looking like a trapped animal torn between fight and flight. It occurred to Catrina that her olive complexion and similar hairstyle gave her a vague resemblance to Dario's abusive mother. In his panicked state, he hadn't been able to discern the differences between the two women.

"Catrina?" he asked uncertainty, and the tension seemed to drain out of him when she nodded. Dario went back to speaking English. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to attack you." He kept glancing around as if to make sure that the spirit hadn't returned to enact revenge.

"I know." Dario was too clever to deliberately provoke Catrina's wrath after she had both resurrected and threatened him. She regarded him with just a touch of empathy. "You'll get used to them-the spirits-eventually. I did." She would never forget just how terrified she had been those first few weeks after dying. The voices, the visions...Everyone who died and every harbinger of death went through the same thing. The difference was, Dario had someone around who understood what he was going through. Catrina had been utterly alone save for the damned ghosts who followed her around like lost puppies.

"I'll never get used to that," he mumbled.

Catrina turned abruptly and walked away. "There is food in the kitchen," she called over her shoulder, knowing a change of subject would do them both some good. Dario's footsteps echoed behind hers after a brief delay. "I also brought you a shirt like you requested."

"Uh, thank you." Catrina smirked at how uncomfortable Dario sounded expressing gratitude while she was busy unloading the groceries. He reached for the bag of white bread as soon as she set it down on the table and removed the plastic clip holding it shut.

"You'll have to use the oven if you want toast." She wasn't about to waste her money on an appliance she would never use, but Dario was free to use his own cash to buy a toaster or anything else he wanted.

"I can't wait that long." He grabbed a slice of bread from the bag, spread butter on it, and took a bite. The plastic utensils and cups and paper plates had been last minute purchases when Catrina realized she owned nothing of the sort.

She stood around and waited in contemplative silence while Dario sat and wolfed down the buttered bread. He had probably had better food while in prison, but he was too hungry to complain.

He leaped to his feet immediately after swallowing the last bit of crust and washing it down with half a paper cup of orange juice. "Let's go."

"Not until you clean yourself up and change shirts." Catrina had draped the black, button-down, long-sleeved shirt over a chair after taking it out of the bag, and now she tossed it to her houseguest.

He caught the shirt, shook it out, and studied it. "A little loose, but I can tuck it in."

"I can get you another one if you want. My neighbor has several shirts that are nearly identical, and he will be at work the entire day."

Dario blinked a few times before chuckling. "I may take you up on that offer." He retreated to the bathroom, and, when he came back, he looked more than presentable. "All right. I'm ready."

Catrina took his hand, which earned her a funny look. "I have to be touching you in order for this to work." She was tempted to ask if there was something else he'd rather she grab instead, then thought better of it.

"Fine-but take me to my office first." Catrina arched a brow at him expectantly and he added hastily, "Please. I need to look for something in there."

"As you wish." Catrina closed her eyes and visualized Dario's former office. When she opened her eyes again a second later, they had arrived at their intended destination. The light came on in response to her presence. She immediately dropped Dario's hand and he turned to her, looking impressed.

"Well, that's...convenient," he remarked before heading over to his desk. He paused for a moment beside his chair to stare at the bullet holes and bloodstains now decorating said chair. Some of his blood had spilled onto the floor below as well. Next, his gaze landed on the two glasses on the desk-one empty, one containing some leftover bourbon. Catrina knew it was bourbon because the glasses were labeled as such. Dario's lips contorted into a grimace, but he otherwise appeared to be frozen in place.

"You were looking for something," Catrina prompted impatiently. She went over to the door and glanced out the dirty window, half expecting Jeremiah Crane to be skulking around the halls, but they were alone in this part of the Temple. Jeremiah was wasting his time stalking her, although it seemed there was nothing Catrina could say or do to diminish his obsession.

"Yes. Of course." Dario's hands shook as he rifled through the various papers scattered across his desk, and he became increasingly agitated with each passing second. "It was right here..."

Catrina suspected that whatever Dario was searching for so urgently must be connected to the Order and their sinister plans. Another trinket infused with power from the gods, perhaps?

"I will help you search if you tell me what-"

"No!" Dario's protest was entirely too loud for the small room and both of them cringed. Catrina involuntarily glanced out the window again to ensure no one was around to overhear. Dario, meanwhile, lowered his voice. "It's no use. I can't find it anywhere." Defeat changed to horror and then rage. Watching the emotions play out across his face was fascinating. "Winter!" he declared in a snarl, and his open palm smacked the desk. "That bastard must have stolen it after he"-He paused to swallow-"shot me."

Winter. Likely a last name. Catrina made a mental note to interrogate Dario about the man who took his life after they returned home.

"Whatever it is, it must be important." Important to the Order. She was interested to know if Dario's feelings towards the organization and the people involved had changed after being executed in cold blood by one of his own peers. Was he hunting for something to use against them-or still doing their dirty work?

Dario nodded. "Very much so." He sighed, looking so distraught that Catrina became gravely concerned about the missing item's significance. That was another topic she intended to broach with him later. "But it's not here, so we might as well go see my brother." Dario returned to his desk drawers and stuffed his pockets with handfuls of cash, then approached Catrina and reluctantly extended his right hand to her. A second later, the two of them were standing in front of the cell that was Matanza's home.

Matanza had been pacing the length of the cell, but he immediately came to the front of his cell when he saw his older brother. Dario hurried over to him.

"I didn't forget about you, baby brother," he assured him. "I'm sorry I couldn't check on you after dinner last night"-There was an empty plate shoved to one corner of the cell-"but something...came up."

Catrina heard movement from behind her, and she turned around to see who was residing across from Matanza in the second cell.

"Catrina? What are you doing here-and why are you with him?" A bewildered Rey Mysterio gestured to Dario before focusing on Catrina again.

"Rey Mysterio. I was wondering what happened to you," she replied coolly, but she had no intention of answering his questions. Aside from Dario, she didn't owe anyone an explanation for her choices.

"I thought my brother would like some entertainment." Dario grinned at the imprisoned luchador and added cheerfully, "So I got him a pet." His demented explanation brought a smirk to Catrina's face. It seemed that Dario had emerged from the Other Side with his sense of humor intact.

Matanza had locked eyes with Catrina from the moment Dario turned away from him, and what she read in his dark eyes would have sent any other woman running. They reflected equal amounts of hatred and lust combined with a healthy dose of suspicion. He grunted several times and rattled the bars, but Catrina stood her ground without flinching or even blinking.

As she had told her mother, the gods did not scare her.

"It's okay, Matanza." Dario talked in a soft tone intended to soothe, but his "baby brother" seemed even more distressed than before. He regarded the older man strangely, tilting his head first to the right, then the left-like he had noticed something that hadn't been there before and was disturbed by his discovery. "Catrina helped me when I was in trouble. We're...friends now." Dario glanced over his shoulder as if to see if she approved of him using the term to describe their connection. She nodded indifferently. He could say whatever he wanted if his words convinced that monster to tolerate-and possibly even protect-her. After all, she wasn't yet immortal, and someone with as many enemies as she had could never have enough powerful allies.

But Dario and Catrina were far from being friends, although they were getting along better than she had expected-probably because Dario was going out of his way not to antagonize her. Of course, it helped that he had been unconscious for hours on end following his resurrection...

"Wait...You two formed some kind of unholy alliance?" Rey shook his head. "Man, just when I thought this place couldn't get any weirder..."

"I would suggest keeping your thoughts to yourself, Rey," Dario snapped. "Unless, of course, you wish to join Matanza in his cell." Matanza made a noise that likely indicated approval, excitement, or both.

"No, thanks," Rey muttered.

Mariana's gaze had remained on Dario during the brief exchange with Mysterio. He hesitantly slid a thick finger between the bars and laid it against his brother's face in a tender manner that Catrina hadn't thought him capable of. His brown eyes closed momentarily and he grunted again, quieter this time. Then he retracted his hand and clutched the top of his head with a loud groan as though stricken with a headache.

"What? What is it?" demanded Dario.

"Dead," he growled, taking a step back and looking straight at the elder Cueto. Rey gasped but said nothing, and Dario vigorously shook his head in response.

He knows. Catrina suspected the god within the man had sensed the change in Dario as soon as he had entered the room, but Matanza needed to confirm it via contact. That was why he had been so restless earlier. Technically, Dario was alive-far more alive than Catrina-but the dead would stalk him for the rest of his days.

"No, no...I am alive, Matanza," Dario insisted. "Alive!" He lightly slapped his chest just over his heart for emphasis.

"Dead," his brother repeated in a voice that implied speech was rare for him and a struggle to pull off.

Dario leaned in close to him and said something Catrina couldn't hear. Matanza seemed slightly calmer afterward, and the woman struggled with an unexpected pang of envy. The Cueto family was infinitely more dysfunctional than hers, yet the brothers were closer than she had ever been with her mother, her sole living relation.

Catrina repressed a shiver as she watched the siblings interact-and not just because Matanza kept staring intently at her whenever he wasn't focused on Dario. She had witnessed-not to mention participated in-many terrible things over the years, but Matanza's transformation from human being to host body was creepy even by her standards.

She might be undead and bitter about it, but at least she still had all her memories and the ability to think for herself and form her own opinions. And, although she held a grudge against her mother for trapping her between worlds, at least she hadn't caused her own child's death like Matanza's father.

How much of his old self had Matanza retained beyond his flesh? Anything? At best, there probably wasn't much left behind except for shadowy impressions from his human past...

It seemed to Catrina that nothing was more tragic than losing one's soul to murder so that his or her body could be occupied by someone else's spirit.