"Rache! Hurry up!" Jenks shrilled.

Heart pounding, I found it, yanking it out. It slipped, and I cried out in frustration as it rolled under the table. I dove for it, but Quen got there first, and both our hands landed on it.

"The demon isn't dead," the elf said, and I nodded. "I need this," he said, jerking the chalk from my fingers.

"Damn it, Quen!" I shouted, then screamed when a set of fingers fastened about my ankle and dragged me out from under the table. I twisted and, flat on my back, stared up at Piscary. He bared his fangs, and my heart gave a thud. From my neck came a pulse of feeling, but I was too scared for it to feel good. Piscary's eyes closed in twisted bliss, soaking it in like sunshine. Behind him a sheet of ever-after swirled and condensed into a vision of the Egyptian god of the underworld, his smooth chest bare and bells jingling from his scarlet-and-gold loincloth.

I never thought I'd be so glad to see Algaliarept. Too bad he was likely going kill me after he finished staking Piscary.

"Piscary," I said breathlessly as the demon's goat-slitted eyes glinted red and a long canine tongue slipped out to catch a drop of hanging saliva, "You might want to turn around."

"Pathetic," the undead vampire mocked, and I stifled a gasp as he yanked me up.

"You only killed Lee, you stupid ass," Jenks said from above me. "Not Al."

The vampire took a deep breath, scenting the air. I shrieked when he shoved me away. I flew backward, hitting the cupboards. Struggling to breathe, I put a hand to my back.

"Rachel!" Jenks shrilled. "Are you okay? Can you move?"

"Yeah," I rasped, almost cross-eyed as I looked at him inches away from me. I scanned the room for Ivy, not seeing her. Someone screamed. It wasn't me this time, and I staggered up.

"Oh, my God," I whispered as Jenks hovered beside me. Al had Piscary. It was a vision from the depths of history as a jackal-headed god grappled with an Egyptian prince in royal robes who had set himself even with the underworld. The demon had his hands around Piscary's neck, his fingers pressing into the vampire's flesh as if it were dough, and he was trying to pinch his head right off. Piscary was fighting him, but now that Al was in demon form and pissed to the ends of the Turn, the undead vampire hadn't a chance.

Piscary couldn't die. It would ruin everything.

"Quen! Give me the chalk!" I wheezed, hand over my bruised throat. I had to save Piscary. Damn it, I had to save his worthless, stinking, perverted life.

From his corner, Quen hesitated.

"Who do you think Al will go after when he's done with Piscary!" I exclaimed, frustrated, and the elf threw it at me.

My heart leapt. Crap, why did people always throw stuff at me? I was a lousy catch. But I put my hand up, and the chalk hit it with a satisfying thump. Keeping one eye on the jackal-headed god and the dying vampire, I hunched over, tripping on my dress as I drew a circle around them, making it as big as I could to stay out of their way. Jenks went before me, and I followed the path he was dusting to get it circular.

"Ivy," I gasped when I found her, standing blank-faced before the mirror, watching her faint reflection, oblivious to everything. "Go to Quen. Get over by Quen. I can't help you."

She didn't move, and when Jenks shrilled at me to hurry, I lurched past her, praying she would be okay and cursing my helplessness.

I had to crawl under the table to finish the circle, and as I came out, the end of my silver line met the beginning. "Rhombus," I breathed, tapping a line. The gold of my aura flowed upward, the black of demon smut following to coat it a breath behind.

"No!" Al howled, his eyes red with fury as he dropped Piscary an instant too late.

The vampire hit the floor. Still conscious, Piscary grabbed the demon about the calves and pulled him down. Piscary was on him in an instant, fangs tearing ribbons of flesh like a wolf's. I scrambled up, shocked as he gulped them down to make room for more, trying to savage the demon into nonexistence. The sound was absolutely… horrifying.

"Let them kill themselves," Trent said from beside the door, pale and shaking.

"Demon!" I shouted, unable to risk calling Al by his summoning name. "I have bound you. You are mine. Leave here and go directly to the ever-after!"

The Egyptian god howled, saliva dripping red from his muzzle and his neck reduced to ribbons of exposed flesh. He had returned to his demon form, and he was vulnerable.

"Leave now!" I demanded, and with his anger ringing within the room, Al vanished.

Piscary fell through the space where Al had been, his arm hitting the floor to catch himself. Hand against his crushed neck, he found his feet. The room was silent but for Skimmer's gasping breaths, sounding almost like sobs. The Weres were in one corner and the elves in another. Edden was passed out on the floor beside the door. Just as well. He would have tried to shoot someone, and that would only have given him more paperwork.

I turned to Quen, the chalk still in my grip. "Thanks," I whispered, and he nodded.

Slowly Piscary collected himself, turning from a savage monster to a ruthless businessman, albeit one covered in blood. His eyes were utterly black, and a shudder rippled over me. Taking a step forward, he stopped at the edge of my bubble. He tugged down the sleeves of his elegant traditional dress robes and wiped the last of the demon flesh from his mouth, clearly waiting. My pulse slowed, and, praying I was safe, I slid a foot forward and broke the circle.

Hell, I had saved his undead life. Surely that meant something to him.

"You could have let him kill me," Piscary said, scanning the room until he found Ivy, her back to him as she touched her reflection.

"Uh-huh," I panted, scooping up my bag and tucking the chalk away. "But you're my ticket to normalcy, right? And the only way to get Kisten's blood gift reversed."

Piscary raised one eyebrow. "I can't rescind my gift of Kisten's last blood. I wouldn't even if I could. Kisten needed to be reminded of his reason for existence. And besides, that would have been rude."

Would have been? I thought, going cold. As in past tense?

"Kisten…" I stammered, suddenly feeling trapped. My hand clutched at my sore arm, and I felt sick. Jenks's wings rose to a pitch that made my eyes ache. Kisten. "What did you do?" I took a frantic breath. "What did you do to him!"

The vampire dabbed at the black blood leaking from him. It smelled like incense, potent and heady. "Kisten is dead," he said flat out, and I reached for the table, dizzy. "Not only dead but truly dead. Twice. He didn't have it in him to stay the course." Piscary pressed his lips and cocked his head in a mockery of interest. "I'm not surprised."

"You're lying," I said, hearing my voice tremble. My chest clenched, and couldn't get enough air. Kisten couldn't be dead. I would know. I would have felt it. Something would have been different, everything, and nothing was. Jenks had said he'd called. He couldn't be dead!

"He went underground!" I exclaimed, frantically looking at everyone— wanting someone, anyone, to tell me I was right. But no one met my eyes.

Piscary smiled to show a glint of fang. He was getting too much joy from my despair for it not to be true. "You don't think I know when one of my own passes into undead existence?" he said. "I felt him die, and then I felt him die again." Face showing a twisted pleasure, he leaned toward me and whispered loudly. "It was a shock to him. He didn't expect it. And I licked up his despair and failure, reveling in it. His entire life was worth just that one… exquisite moment of failed perfection. Pity his living bloodline ended with him, but he was always so careful. It was as if he didn't want anyone to follow him…"