"What are you after?" she said, and her voice turned shrill. "What is worth murder?"

Not even an echoing hiss rose around her in response.

Where was il'Sänke? He had to see it. It was standing right there in the open.

The night's chill deepened around Wynn, biting at her exposed face and hands.

The wraith slid forward across the cobblestones, its speed increasing. Wynn turned and ran.

Chane tensed to keep from charging out, his left hand with the ring still resting on Shade's back.

Wynn raced down the street, toward his hiding place.

There was no sign of il'Sänke, and Chane forced himself to wait. But the wraith was closing too fast. He held back until Wynn blurred past him—and still no sign of il'Sänke.

"Now!" he rasped, and lifted his hand from Shade's back.

The dog cut loose a wail as she lunged into the street, and the sound made Chane quiver. He pulled his longsword, counted off two forced breaths, and bolted out after Wynn.

The blade would not affect the wraith, but his task was to do anything to divert it once it faltered amid too many adversaries appearing. He had to focus on that one purpose alone.

But it did not falter—not even as Shade charged after it, snapping and snarling. It reached out with its cloth-wrapped hand, until its fingers stretched to within a hand's length of Wynn's back.

And Chane was still too far off. But Shade closed the distance.

She leaped, arcing straight at the black figure—and it vanished. Shade landed with a frustrated growl and whirled about.

Chane did the same, quickly searching the street. Like some mockery of light, a black flash caught in the left side of his vision, and he saw Wynn stumble to a halt.

The wraith stood ahead of her, down the street.

Chane veered as Wynn backpedaled and began digging into her robe's outer pocket.

One thing was clear: This creature didn't want the majay-hì to touch it. That gave Chane an advantage. As he rushed at it, he shouted, "Shade!"

The wraith slid sharply to the right, trying to get out of his way as Shade's howl erupted again.

Chane thrust out with his empty hand, driving it toward the black figure. Part of him suddenly hoped the wraith would vanish to escape.

For an instant he thought he saw a darkened shop wall through its form. Momentum speared his hand through the black robe's chest.

A shock of cold stiffened his fingers. It shot up his arm as a brief screech surrounded him. Both the sound and the black figure vanished—but not the pain in his arm. Chane slammed into the shop wall beyond.

His numbed fingers rammed wood planking. He thought he heard one finger crack as his shoulder hit the planks. He rolled along the wall, looking frantically about as a thousand icy needles seemed to slide through his hand, arm, and shoulder.

Shade raced by, snarling like a rabid dog.

He never had a chance to look for Wynn. Coiling wisps like soot-laced smoke gathered into a column in the majay-hì's path.

But it was slower this time, not like the last. For an instant, the thin transparency Chane had glimpsed remained. Then it grew solid black as a screeching hiss exploded, filling the street along with its returning form.

The wraith's ability to vanish and reappear wasn't as quick as Chane had thought, and now it seemed to struggle even more to become real. And he had hurt it as well. But his fingers barely moved and his arm was nearly limp at his side. He would have to throw aside his sword to try again with his other hand.

Before Shade could leap, the wraith rushed forward and swiped down with its hand.

Shade ducked away, but one forepaw slipped. She fell sideways, quickly rolled over, and her rump hit a shop porch before she could scramble up. Chane lurched off the shop wall as the wraith circled wide around Shade.

Then it jerked to a dead stop.

The hiss grew again in the street, like water pattering upon a hot stove. It whipped about, facing toward Chane.

"Throw it… now!"

Chane glanced back.

There was Wynn, fumbling to pull the arms of the spectacles over her ears.

The instant the wraith appeared, Ghassan dropped to the street with the staff in hand—but not from where he had whistled to the others.

While waiting, he had wondered how this thing had learned so much about the folios. If it had skills as a mage of any kind, he did not want it locating him. And when it appeared, he would not have time to obscure his presence from its awareness. If it learned of Chane and Shade's location, that simply served as a further distraction.

In the last instant Ghassan slowed his descent and settled silently behind the robed undead. It seemed utterly unaware of him, remaining still and silent, watching Wynn.

Ghassan fixed upon its exposed back.

Before he even wiped away the spell's remains to call another, the wraith rushed forward down the street, and Wynn took off running.

Ghassan did not know how long Chane and Shade could keep this thing distracted, and Wynn was defenseless. He could not allow it to touch her, or this would all end too quickly with nothing gained.

As Shade charged out, Ghassan lifted to the rooftops again. Half hopping and half floating over the shakes, he raced along above the street. Before he could halt and focus upon the figure, Chane emerged and the dog leaped at the wraith.

It vanished.

In one blink, it materialized beyond Wynn. She skidded to a halt as Chane rushed by her. And Wynn's pale companion rammed his hand through the black robe. The wraith vanished again as Chane collided into a shop.

Black wisps swirled in the street ten paces beyond as Shade charged past Chane.

Ghassan rushed across another two rooftops and dropped to the street behind those swirls.

He needed only to mask the wraith's sense of place and bind it in confusion. As it struggled to reappear, he banished the spell that let his will lift him and began building walls in his own thoughts.

The wraith swung down at the majay-hì as Ghassan closed his eyes.

The pattern of a new spell appeared behind his eyelids. He began to chant, murmuring audibly, so the sound of his own voice in his ears reinforced his intent. He opened his eyes and reached for the thing's thoughts—if it had any.

The wraith swiveled around.

Ghassan stared into the pitch-black hollow of its cowl—and choked for air.

Something twisted about in his mind.

Like worms trying to bore their way out of his head, they ate at his thoughts as they writhed and turned. Pieces of his spell's shapes and sigils rotted before his sight. The glimmering lines lost all color and decayed to dust.

Worms of rage and hate ate at him from within.

He had connected to this thing, found his target with his own thoughts—but he sensed nothing there, only the worms and their bitter hunger.

The street's lantern light began to darken before Ghassan's eyes.

Somewhere distant from his awareness, he felt the air turn cold. Chill seeped inward until it sank into his mind. Nothing he had ever touched by will or his arts could do this.

Ghassan retreated deep inside himself, behind the walls made of his own thoughts.

He let go of any reach for this undead. He used all that was left of his will and shored up the walls in his mind, until the worms' gnawing grew faint—like scales upon those worms scraping upon stone.

A voice cried out, "Throw it… now!"

Ghassan's sight cleared a little, as if called back, and the wraith slid toward him. Wynn trotted up behind Chane, trying to pull on the spectacles.

The staff—all he had to do was ignite the crystal. That thought made his will slip.

The night nearly swallowed him as the scaled worms cracked through stone inside his mind. He found himself staring into the dark space within the black figure's hood.