'Her name is Eimear,' Daniel says to Lestat, not long after he lands like a volleyball being spiked from fucking outer space, paradoxically calm-sounding despite his expression and posture from the vantage point of the careening sedan. 'Three hundred and eightyish. List of fledglings is half a mile long.'

Other details are in there, like an expulsion from the British Isles region for beefing with the established coven there and a blip-on-the-radar appearance in Toronto, but Daniel can't focus on them. Feeling panic strangle him about Louis, and the way he feels so muffled. This seems like the most vital information. Potential power range, experience, how diluted her attention and her presence might be. Is that the right shit to convey?

Has to be.

Fuck.

A block ahead, a young woman plows a limousine in past an intersection and begins a tire-squealing three point turn to block as many lanes as possible, before throwing the parking brake and diving out of the vehicle. A mortal, all she can do is book it as fast as possible in the other direction, and pray. Her handlers are arguing blisteringly furious in her earpiece, and she's pretty sure one of them is Raglan, who is actually laughing.

Unless somebody slams on the brakes in the van—