The girls fell to the floor along with the net, and Rip realized it really was made from silver. He stood straight, holding his arms out and keeping as much of the fine threads off them as he could.

They snarled, and crawled to his feet, lying there in the fetal position.

A young man with shoulder-length blond hair stepped out of the shadows, slowly clapping his hands.

Rip noticed his suit coat looked relatively clean, and he was shaved. With his age and appearance, he did not fit the mold of other Septic Rats Rip had seen so far.

“Congratulations,” the young man said. “I am so glad you brought the vampires back. I knew you Venture Society scum would return. You always do. Everyone back at the Commons has to have their reports, so they always send another team in to go look around after the first mucks around a bit.”

He paused for a moment. He gripped the lapels of his coat and smiled.

Rip squinted at the man through the netting.

“Are you . . . preening?”

The smile fell off his lips. He cleared his throat and continued.

“So like I said, I knew you’d come back, and the second time we were ready for you. Oh, we thought we ready for anything before you lot came the first time. My father, the King Rat, was so sure his big electromagnet and hidden portcullises would prevent anyone from getting very far down here. Ah, hubris. I’m sure you understand. Pride goeth before a fall and all that.”

“If you’re not preening, you’re definitely monologuing. Who are you, anyway?”

His supremely confident smile faltered again.

“I’m Prince Rat, the King Rat’s son.”

Rip stared at him silently for a moment, then said, “You people aren’t very creative with your pseudonyms, are you? And shouldn’t you be the King Rat now, if your father has died? I thought that’s the way succession worked in patriarchal dynasties.”

Inspiration struck, and Rip raised his eyebrows.

“Unless . . . you haven’t officially taken over, yet. Are you still playing second fiddle to your pa, even after he’s dead?”

Prince Rat blinked and his smile quickly transitioned to a frown.

“I knew you’d be back! I set this trap! I knew you’d bring the vampires who killed so many of our men! I did! That was me!”

Rip stared at him for another long moment through the netting.

“Wow. You really hated your dad, didn’t you?”

Prince Rat threw himself at the net with a snarl of rage. Rip pulled his hands down, forming fists, and shifted his feet to a boxer’s stance.

Rip stepped to one side as the man rushed into the net and slugged him in the stomach. When he doubled over, Rip popped him in the back of the neck.

It was an awkward blow because of the netting, but it connected, knocking him down.

The girls howled as the silver threads shifted closer, touching their feet and legs. They pulled in tighter to the center, closer to Rip. He shifted his stance again, making it wider, trying to give them more room.

Prince Rat regained his feet and shook his head, as if clearing cobwebs left over from the blow. He turned and faced Rip again, hatred plastered on his face.

Rip held his fists up under the netting and crouched, ready for another charge.

Prince Rat raced for him as the door blew in from a stick of dynamite.

The blast knocked both men off their feet, stunning them. The silver netting fell on the Verez sisters, and they screeched in pain.

Rip felt stunned as he struggled to his knees, trying to lift the net off the girls.

In a distant corner of his mind, he felt something trickling down his neck. Slowly, his head full of fuzz, he decided that must be blood coming out of his ears. He could barely hear the girls screaming, and they were on either side of him under the net.

Blair raced in, pulling out a large dagger. She grabbed the netting and poked the pointed end through, then tugged hard on the knife, cutting open a slice. The sharp blade reluctantly cut through the thin metal strands.

She kept cutting until she made a large flap. Then she pulled it back, reached in and grabbed Hilda, yanking her from under the net and tossing her to safety with a surprising burst of strength.

She repeated the maneuver with Liza, clearing her from the silver, too.

“Come on, both of you. Into the other room.”

They followed her, black streaks covering their faces and hands where silver had touched their skin.

Twig and Sharp were closest to Rip. They pulled him up by the arms and led him to the large flap, pulling the netting aside so he could step through.

“Oh, dear,” Sharp said, looking at the blood flowing down Rip’s neck. “Blown ear drums. You know, I’m lucky to have kept mine in our first little encounter with dynamite, just a while ago. Be a good fellow and give him a potion, Mr. Twig.”

Twig pulled one out of his wallet and handed it to Rip.

“Here you go, mate.”

Rip held the flask, staring at it.

“He’s in shock,” Sharp said. “Drink up, Sergeant.”

Slowly, Rip put the flask to his lips and took a long sip.

“Right. Drink all of it. There’s a good man.”

About this time, Prince Rat staggered to his feet. He opened the door leading to the train depot and shuffled away.

“I imagine your girls could probably use some fresh blood right about now,” Bixby said, watching him go.

“I think the sergeant and the girls should probably rest a bit. We’ll catch up to him soon, and they can top off then.”

“Very good. If he takes the train, though . . . well, that’s a long walk to the vault.”