The back of my head throbbed. Nausea flooded me as I touched a spot of agony, but I found no blood. The black spots before me cleared as I got to my feet. Dazed, I looked for my bag of charms through the haze of wall-dust.

A masculine cry of agony jerked my attention to Quen. My heart seemed to stop.

Piscary had caught him. Holding him like a lover, Piscary was fastened to his neck, supporting both their weights. Quen went slack and the wooden sword fell to the floor. His shriek of pain swelled into a moan of ecstasy.

Using the wall for support, I got to my feet. "Piscary!" I shouted, and he turned, his mouth red with Quen's blood.

"Wait your turn," he snarled, showing me his red-smeared teeth.

"I was here first," I said.

Angry, he dropped Quen. If he had been hungry, nothing would have moved him from downed prey. Quen's arm lifted weakly. He didn't get up. I knew why. It felt too good.

"You don't know when to leave well enough alone," Piscary said, coming at me.

Latin fell from me, burned into my mind from Quen's attack. My hands moved, etching black magic. My tongue swelled at the taste of tinfoil. I stretched for a ley line, not finding it.

Piscary slammed into me. I gasped, unable to breathe. He was on me again, reaching.

In the fear, something broke. A flood of ever-after flowed into me. I heard my scream at the shock of the unexpected influx of power. Gold laced with black and red burst from my hands. Piscary lifted from me. He crashed into a wall, shaking the lights.

I pulled myself up as he slumped on the floor, realizing where the energy had come from. "Nick!" I cried in fear. "Oh God. Nick! I'm sorry!"

I had pulled on a line through him. I had pulled the energy through him as if he had been a familiar. It had raced through him as it had me. I had pulled more than he could handle. What had I done?

Piscary was slumped where the wall met the floor. His foot shifted and he swung his head up. His eyes weren't focused, but they were black with hatred. I couldn't let him get up.

Racked in pain, I grabbed the leg of the chair Piscary had torn free and staggered across the room.

He lurched to his feet, supporting himself with a hand against the wall. His robe was almost undone. His eyes suddenly focused.

I gripped the metal rod in one hand like a bat, pulling it back even as I ran. "This is for trying to kill me," I said, swinging.

The bar of metal hit him behind the ear with a sodden smack. Piscary staggered, but didn't go down.

My breath came in an angry sound. "This is for raping Ivy!" I shouted, my anger at him for hurting something so strong and vulnerable giving me strength. I swung, grunting in effort.

The metal rod met the back of his skull with the sound of a melon.

I stumbled, catching my balance. Piscary fell to his knees. Blood seeped from his scalp.

"And this," I said, feeling my eyes grow hot and my vision blur from tears, "is for killing my dad," I whispered.

With a cry of anguish, I swung a third time. It smacked into Piscary's head. Spinning from the momentum, I fell to my knees. My hands stung and the rod slipped from my senseless grip. Piscary's eyes rolled up and he dropped.

Breath sounding like sobs, I looked at him and wiped the back of my hand across my cheek. He wasn't moving. I looked past my hair at the fake window. The sun was up, shining on the buildings. He would probably stay down until nightfall. Probably.

"Kill him," Quen croaked.

I pulled my head up, I'd forgotten he was there.

Quen had risen, a hand against his neck. The blood seeping through his fingers made an ugly pattern on the white carpet. He threw a second wooden sword at me. "Kill him now."

I caught it as if I had been catching swords my entire life. Trembling, I turned its point into the carpet and used it to get up. Shouts and calls were coming from the hole in the wall. The FIB had arrived. Late as usual. "I'm a runner," I said, my throat sore and my words rough. "I don't kill my marks. I bring them in alive."

"Then you're a fool."

I lurched to an overstuffed chair before I fell down. Dropping the sword, I put my head between my knees and stared at the carpet. "You kill him, then," I whispered, knowing he could hear me.

Quen moved unsteadily to his satchel by the ragged hole in the wall. "I can't. I'm not here."

The puff of air that escaped me hurt. I looked up as he crossed the room to me, his steps slow and careful. He took the sword from the floor, jamming it into in his duffle bag with a bloody hand. I thought I saw a gray square of explosive in there, too, telling me how he had blown a hole in the wall.

He looked tired, his lanky stature hunched in pain. His neck didn't look bad, but I'd rather be in traction for six months than have one saliva-laced bite from Piscary. Quen was an Inderlander and so couldn't be turned vampire, but by the look of fear edging his veneer of confidence, he knew he might be tied to Piscary. With a vampire that old, the bond might last a lifetime. Time would tell how much binding saliva, if any, Piscary had laced the bite with.

"Sa'han is wrong about you," he said wearily. "If you can't survive a vampire without help, your value is questionable. And your unpredictability makes you unreliable and therefore unsafe." Quen gave me a nod before he turned and headed for the stairway. I watched him go, my mouth hanging open.

Sa'han is wrong about me, I thought sarcastically. Well goodie for Trent.

My hands hurt, the palms red with what looked like first-degree burns. Edden's voice in the stairway was loud. The FIB could take care of Piscary. I could go home….

Home to Ivy, I thought, closing my eyes briefly. How did my life get this ugly?

Tired beyond belief, I got to my feet as Edden and a string of FIB officers exploded out of the hole Quen had made.

"It's me!" I croaked, putting my good hand in the air since there was a frightening clatter of safeties going off. "Don't shoot me!"

"Morgan!" Edden peered through the sifting dust and lowered his weapon. Only half the FIB officers did the same. It was a better than average number. "You're alive?"

He sounded surprised. Bent in pain, I looked down at myself, my broken arm clutched close. "Yeah. I think so." I started shivering, cold.

Someone snickered, and the remaining weapons were lowered. Edden made a motion, and the officers fanned out. "Piscary is over there," I said, looking that way. "He's down until sunset. I think."

Coming closer, Edden eyed Piscary, his robe fallen open to show a good portion of muscular thigh. "What was he trying to do, seduce you?"

"No," I whispered, so my throat wouldn't hurt so much. "He was trying to kill me." I met his eyes and added, "There is a living vamp named Kisten around somewhere. He's blond and angry. Please don't shoot him. Other than him and Quen, I haven't seen anyone but the eight living vamps upstairs. You can shoot them if you want."

"Mr. Kalamack's security officer?" Edden's gaze roved over me, cataloging my hurts. "He came with you?" He put a hand on my shoulder to steady me. "It looks like your arm is broken."

"It is," I said, jerking back as he reached for it. Why do people do that? "And yeah, he came out here. Why didn't you?" Suddenly angry, I poked him in the chest. "You ever refuse to take my call again, and I swear I'll have Jenks pix you every night for a month."

Arrogance crossed Edden's face and he flicked a glance at the FIB officers warily circling Piscary. Someone called for an I.S. ambulance. "I didn't refuse your call. I was asleep. Being woken up by a frantic pixy and a panicking boyfriend telling me you went out to stake one of Cincinnati's master vampires is not my favorite way to wake up. And who gave you my unlisted number?"