Chane stiffened. Surely she wouldn't use it while he was still in the room?

A shout rose in the passage beyond the door.

"All of you, back to your rooms and stay there!"

Chane's panic grew. Someone of authority had been alerted and was already outside. At any moment that person would reach the door.

The wraith spun away from the dog at Wynn's movement and fixed upon her.

Chane shifted quickly into its way, but there was only one thing he could do.

And it was going to hurt—more than the burns on his hands.

Shade regained her feet and darted in, snapping at the shadow creature, trying to drive it back through the wall.

"Chane, get out!" Wynn shouted.

The wraith's hood twisted sharply toward the dog, and Chane lunged.

He thrust out with his empty hand.

At the scriptorium, he and the wraith had had a moment of contact, which neither of them had cared for. Chane heard Wynn whispering as his hand passed straight through the figure's forearm.

A shock of cold raced through his arm.

His burned hand felt as if he had thrust it into fire. When the frigid cold reached his shoulder, he could not help crying out. He let anger bring hunger to eat that pain, but he could not smother the fresh searing in his hand.

Chane snatched his hand back, curling it against his chest as the hissing whispers in the room rose to a screech. The wraith whipped its arm away, sliding rapidly back through the bed toward the wall. And Wynn's crystal atop the staff leaned out into the side of Chane's view.

He hated any thought of abandoning Wynn, and even so, he would never make it out of here in time. Not with whoever was outside the door.

"Get down!" Wynn whispered. "Cover up!"

Chane wavered briefly. He crumpled and flattened upon the floor. But as he jerked his cloak's hood forward, pressing his face to the stone floor, the door burst open and bashed hard against the wall.

"Wynn, stop!" a deep voice ordered, and the door slammed shut.

But she didn't. She barely recognized il'Sänke's voice, and tried to keep her focus amid the sickening vertigo of mantic sight.

The wraith was inside the guild—inside the dormitory. There were too many apprentices and initiates close by. She held the crystal's triggering pattern in her mind but kept her eyes upon the wraith, hesitant and writhing before the window.

And for an instant she saw it—him—within the cloak and heavy robe.

Blue-white mists permeating the room began to shift, drifting slowly toward this thing. Wherever they touched the figure they were swallowed by it. The traces where they vanished formed outlines. Wynn saw shapes beneath the figure's black garments and the cloth strips wrapped about its body.

A skull faced her within the cowl.

Consumed mists marked its outline like glistening moisture upon bones as black as coal beneath the wraps of its skeleton form. Then a wisp of another image overlaid this as well.

She saw a face.

Not like Chane or any other undead she had seen, retaining their appearance from the moment they were killed. Aged, emaciated, and sunken features suddenly covered the skull in another layer. As if this thing—man—had died of old age before he rose again.

She couldn't be certain, with no complexion to gauge, but the prominent cheekbones, nose, and chin made him appear Suman, like il'Sänke. His eyebrows had grown long and unkempt, and the straggles of a remaining beard hung in wisps along his jawline.

His eyes weren't clear to her, as if the open sockets were only glaring wells of obsidian. She was nothing more than a small thing in his way.

A hand clamped over Wynn's eyes, blocking everything out.

Vertigo vanished, leaving only nausea in her gut. She lost the pattern in her mind as her head was jerked back against someone's chest.

The staff bucked in her hands under someone's grip.

"No, not yet!" she shouted, and then she heard il'Sänke murmuring near her ear.

Chane was still in the room, but was he fully covered?

A last raging howl from Shade hit Wynn's ears. Then a burning flash of light filtered suddenly through il'Sänke's hand, turned red-orange by his flesh.

"No!" she screamed.

Il'Sänke's voice faded as darkness winked in behind Wynn's closed eyes. When his hand lifted from her face, she thrashed free, searching for Chane. The wraith was gone, and the room was no longer filled by the blue-white of Spirit. Il'Sänke had taken away her mantic sight again. Chane was hunched on the floor, cloak hood pulled over his head.

For an instant she thought she saw thin trails like morning mist rising from his hunkered form, and then they were gone. He glanced up around the edge of his hood.

"Do not move!" il'Sänke hissed.

Wynn whipped around in fright.

Domin il'Sänke stood with one hand latched around the staff, just above her own grip. She knew only by the downward tilt of his head that he watched Chane—because she couldn't see his eyes.

He was wearing spectacles with a heavy pewter frame.

In place of clear lenses, these were so dark they hid his eyes. The lenses began to change, growing clearer, finally revealing his unblinking gaze locked on Chane.

Wynn rarely saw Domin il'Sänke truly angry. Even through lingering nausea, she winced at the cold expression on his face. Pounding ceased at the door, and Premin Sykion's voice rose from the other side.

"Quickly! We must break it down."

Wynn tensed with dread at the thought of anyone else entering her room. Then puzzlement followed. The door didn't have a lock, so why would they need to break in? Il'Sänke had entered easily enough, so…

Wynn looked at the tall domin.

Il'Sänke quickly gestured for Chane to move up against the wall behind the door. Chane glanced once at Wynn.

She had to trust in whatever the domin was up to, or be left to explain Chane's presence.

"Do it!" she whispered.

Chane spun onto his knees and stood up, flattening against the wall.

Il'Sänke released the staff and pulled the strange spectacles from his face. As he tucked them in his robe, he passed his other hand in an arc before the door, never actually touching it. Then he opened it partway, holding it in place so that no one could step in.

"It is nothing," il'Sänke said through the door's space, shaking his head with a half smile. "A large cat got into the courtyard and began to mewl. It set the majay-hì off. In our efforts to quiet her, Wynn and I made quite a racket. I do apologize."

Wynn couldn't see Premin Sykion outside, but she heard the head of the guild let out an impatient exhale.

"We shall speak further of this tomorrow." Her tone was both annoyed and relieved.

"I will make certain everything is quiet," il'Sänke assured her. "You can send everyone back to bed, or we will all be useless in the morning."

Il'Sänke closed the door. His false smile vanished as he turned toward Chane.

Always before, in any conflict involving Chane, Wynn feared for the safety of others. Watching il'Sänke, she suddenly felt the opposite.

"Do not hurt him. I… we need him," she whispered to the domin, still fearing that anyone outside might hear.

"I assumed this was not some lovers' tryst," il'Sänke answered disdainfully. "And do not think I have forgotten him from your previous outing! I waited to see what you both might do… though this hardly meets my better expectations."

Chane just stood tense and silent.

"Toying with the staff—and your sight, at the same time!" il'Sänke snapped. "The growth of your stupidity is astounding."

He shook his head slowly, and then snatched the staff from Wynn's hand.

"What drew that thing in here?" he demanded. "Did you sneak any translations back to your room?"

"No," Wynn answered. Just what was he implying? Before she could stop herself, she glanced down without thinking.