Jane felt woozy for a whole host of reasons, especially as she thought about his future. "Is your mother forcing you to get married?"

"Yup. I sure as fuck wouldn't volunteer for it." V's eyes shifted to her and for a split second she could have sworn he was going to say that she'd be the exception to that rule. But then he glanced away.

God, the idea of him with someone else, even if she wouldn't remember him, was like being kicked in the gut.

"How many?" Jane asked hoarsely.

"You don't want to know."

"Tell me."

"Don't think about it. I sure as hell try not to." He looked over at her. "They're going to mean nothing to me. I want you to know that. Even though you and I can't… Yeah, well, anyway, they won't mean jack."

It was horrible of her to be glad of that.

He put the glove back on, and they were silent as the sedan ghosted through the night. Eventually they stopped. Started up again. Stopped. Started up again.

"We must be downtown, huh?" she said. "Because this feels like a lot of traffic lights."

"Yeah." He leaned forward, hit a button, and the partition went down so she could see out the windshield.

Yup, downtown Caldie. She was back.

As tears speared into her eyes, she blinked them away and stared down at her hands.

A little later the driver stopped the Mercedes in front of what looked like the service entrance to a brick building: There was a sturdy metal door marked private in white paint, and a concrete ramp that went up to a loading dock. The place was clean in the way well-kept urban places were. Which was to say it was grungy, but without any loose trash around.

V opened his door. "Do not get out yet."

She put her hand on the duffel bag with her clothes in it. Maybe he'd decided to just take her back to the hospital? Except this was no entry she knew of at St. Francis.

Moments later he opened the door and reached in with his bare hand. "Leave your things. Fritz, we'll be back in a while."

"It is my pleasure to wait," the old man said with a smile.

Jane got out of the car and followed V over to a set of concrete stairs next to the ramp. The whole time he was on her like a slipcover, tight against her back, guarding her. Somehow he opened the sturdy metal door without keys; he simply put his hand on the push bar and stared at the thing.

Oddly, once they were inside he didn't relax at all. He led her quickly down a corridor to a freight elevator, checking left and right as they went along. She had no idea they were in the luxurious Commodore Building until she read a notice from the property managers that was posted on the concrete wall.

"You have a place here?" she asked, even though it was self-evident.

"Top floor's mine. Well, half of it." They got in a service elevator and stood on worn linoleum under caged lights. "I wish I could take you in the front way, but that's too public."

There was a lurch as the lift engaged, and she reached out for the elevator wall. V caught her upper arm first, holding her steady, and he didn't let go. She didn't want him to.

V remained tense when they came to a jerking halt and the elevator opened. The plain hallway was nothing special, with just two doors and a stairway exit to give it purpose. The ceiling was high but not ornate, and the carpeting was the kind of low-napped, multicolored variety she recognized from the hospital's waiting rooms.

"I'm down here."

She followed him to the end of the corridor and was surprised to see him take out a gold key to unlock the door.

Whatever was on the other side was pitch-black, but she went inside with him without fear. Hell, she felt like she could walk into a firing squad with him by her side and come out all right. Plus, the place smelled nice, like lemon, as if it had recently been cleaned.

He didn't turn on any lights. Just took her hand and urged her forward with a tug.

"I can't see anything."

"Don't worry. Nothing will hurt you, and I know the way."

She hung onto his palm and wrist and shuffled along behind him until he stopped. With the way their footsteps echoed, she had a sense of great space, but no idea of the contours of the penthouse.

He turned her to face to the right and then stepped away.

"Where are you going?" She swallowed hard.

A candle flared over in the far corner, some forty feet away from her. It didn't illuminate much, however. The walls… the walls and the ceiling and… the floor… it was black. All black. As was the candle.

V stepped into the lee of the light, nothing but a looming shadow.

Jane's heart pounded.

"You asked about the scars between my legs," he said. "How they happened."

"Yes…" she whispered. So that was why he wanted everything dark as night. He wasn't going to want her to see his face.

Another candle came on, this one on the opposite side of what she realized was a vast room.

"My father had it done to me. Right after I almost killed him."

Jane inhaled sharply. "Oh… God."

Vishous stared at Jane but saw only the past and what had come after him taking his father down to the ground.

"Bring me my blade," the Bloodletter said.

V fought against the soldier who was holding his arms and got nowhere. As he struggled two more males appeared. Then another pair. Now three others.

The Bloodletter spat on the ground as someone put a black dagger into his hand, and V braced himself for the stabbing that was coming… except the Bloodletter just streaked the blade across his palm, then sheathed the knife in his belt. Bringing both hands together, he rubbed them one against the other, then slammed his right one into the center of V's chest.

V looked down at the print on his skin. Expulsion. Not death. But why?

The Bloodletter's voice was hard. "You shall be ever unknown to those who dwell herein. And death shall come to any who aid you."

The soldiers started to let Vishous go.

"Not yet. Bring him into the camp." The Bloodletter turned away. "And get the blacksmith. It is incumbent upon us to warn others of this male's evil nature."

V bucked wildly as another soldier swept up his legs and he was carried like a carcass into the cave.

"Behind the screen," the Bloodletter told the blacksmith. "We shall do this afore the painted wall."

The male blanched, but took his rough wooden tray of tools around the partition. Meanwhile, V was laid out on his back with a soldier at the end of each of his limbs and one holding his hips down.

The Bloodletter stood over V, his hands dripping bright red. "Mark him."

The blacksmith looked up. "In what manner, great one?"

The Bloodletter spelled out the warnings in the Old Language, and the soldiers held V down as his temple and his groin and his thighs were tattooed. He fought the whole of it, but the ink sank into his skin, the characters permanent. When it was finished he was utterly drained, weaker than when he'd come out of his transition.

"His hand. Do it upon his hand as well." The blacksmith started to shake his head. "You will do it or I will get another blacksmith for the camp, as you will be dead."

The blacksmith shook all over, but was of care not to touch V's skin so the marking was completed without incident.

When it was done, the Bloodletter stared down at V. "There is one more necessary task, methinks. Spread wide his legs. I shall do the race a favor and ensure he never procreates."

V felt his eyes pop as his ankles and his thighs were yanked apart. His father once more unsheathed the black dagger from his belt, but then paused. "No, something else is needed."

He ordered the blacksmith do the deed with a pair of pliers.