— and Santino had probably known all the time, I realized. Had probably simply played cat-and-mouse with us, allowing us to spirit her away, drawing out the final coup, finally moving in for the kill—his "samples" — in that warehouse. Gabe had been called away on another case, Eddie had gone for supplies, and it was only me and Doreen, hiding in a shattered hulk of a pre-Hegemony building.

Slippery blood in my palm. I felt the Power take shape.

My cheek ignited, the emerald singing a faint thin crystal note. I reached into that place I had not touched since her death, the place inside me where her gentle presence had gone.

— Slight sound, scraping, a high thin giggle in the dark. Doreen whirled, her pale hair ruffling out. I leapt to my feet, sword ringing free of the sheath, spitting blue fire. I shoved her and she fell, scraping both palms and crying out thinly. Rumbling sound—the freight hovers, rushing past the warehouse; here in the shattered part of town they ran a lot closer to the ground.

Explosions. No—projectile fire. And the whine of plasbolts. I tracked the sounds—one gunman, firing at us both. No—Doreen was trying to get up, but he was firing at me, he wanted her alive. I pushed her toward the exit.

"Get down, Doreen. Get down!"

Crash of thunder. Moving, desperately, scrabbling… fingers scraping against the concrete, wiling to my feet, dodging the whine of bullets and plasbolts. Skidding to a stop just as he rose out of the dark, the razor and his claws glittering in one hand, his little black bag in the other.

"Game over," he giggled, and the awful tearing in my side turned to a burning numbness as he slashed; I threw myself backward, not fast enough, not fast enough.

"Danny!" Doreen's despairing scream.

"Get out!" I screamed, but she was coming back, hands glowing blue-white, still trying to heal.

Trying to reach me, to heal me, the link between us resonating with my pain and her burning hands—

Made it to my feet, screaming at her to get the fuck out, Santino's claws whooshing again as he tore into me, one claw sticking on a rib, my sword ringing as I slashed at him, too slow, I was too slow.

Falling again. Something rising in me—a cold agonizing chill. Doreen's hands clamped against my arm. Warm exploding wetness. So much blood. So much.

Her Power roared through me, and I felt (he spark of life in her dim. She held on, grimly, as Santino made little snuffling, chortling sounds of glee. The whine of a lasecutter as he took part of her femur, the slight pumping sound of the bloodvac. Blood dripped in my eyes, splattered against my cheek. Sirens—Doreen's death would register on her daiband, and aid hovers would be dispatched. Too late though. Too late for both of us.

I passed out, hearing the wet smacking sounds as Santino took what he wanted, giggling that high-pitched strange chortle of his. His face burned itself into my memory—black teardrops over the eyes, pointed ears, the sharp ivory fangs. Not human, I thought, he can't be human, Doreen, Doreen, get away, ran, ran—

Her soul, carried like a candle down a long dark hall, guttering. Guttering. Spark shrinking into infinity. I was a Necromance, but I couldn't stop her rushing into Death's arms…

I came back to myself with a jolt. Tears slicked my cheeks. Japhrimel knelt on the other side of the map, his fingers clamped around my wrist. My finger rested on the map, far south of Nuevo Rio, in the middle of a field of white and the paler non-Hegemony blue of ocean.

An island in the middle of a cold sea. Almost in Antarctica. The last place anyone would look for a demon.

"That's where he is," I said, husky, my voice making the map flutter against the floor, held down by my finger. "Right there."

Japhrimel nodded. "Then that is where we will go," he said. "Dante?"

"I'm fine," I said, wiping at my cheeks with my free hand. "Let go."

He did, one finger at a time. I looked over at the table.

Gabe's fork paused in midair. She watched me, her pretty face pale, her emerald flashing as the tat shifted against her cheek. Eddie stood, his chair flat on the floor as if he'd tipped it over. Jace had pushed his plate away and was staring at me, blue eyes wide, fever spots of color high in each pale cheek.

"Finish your dinner," I said. I sounded like Japhrimel, the same flat voice, loaded with a full-scale plasgun charge of Power. "Then get some rest. We've got work to do soon."

CHAPTER 45

The house slept.

Gabe and Eddie were asleep, and Jace had finally stumbled off to bed, rubbing his eyes. They would need their rest.

I didn't want to sleep. Instead, I walked slowly through the empty halls of Jace's mansion, my footsteps echoing. I didn't know where I was headed until the front door loomed up ahead of me, and I put my hand fiat against it. The Power contained in Jace's walls resonated, slightly uneasy, and I calmed it as I would a rattling slicboard.

"Where would you go?" Japhrimel asked in my ear, appearing out of the darkness with only a sigh.

I shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere, I just need some air."

"And?" His voice was calm, almost excessively calm.

I didn't answer. Twisted the doorknob, let myself out into the night.

Outside, the plaza in front of Jace's house stretched away, expanses of white marble. The edges dropped down, sheer rock, until the suburbs of Nuevo Rio splashed against the cliff. He'd chosen this place for security, I guessed, and metaphorical height.

Japhrimel closed the door behind me. I paced out onto the flat white expanse, glancing up at the sky. Clouds scudded in front of a quarter-moon, I had no trouble seeing. Demon sight was far better than human eyes. I could see every tiny crack in the marble, every pebble and dust mote, if I looked for it.

Japhrimel, silent, halted at the bottom of the steps leading to Jace's front door.

"So what am I?" I asked finally. The stink of human Nuevo Rio, the sharp tang of Power, vied with the night wind and the persistent smoky fragrance of demon. "What exactly am I?"

"Hedaira," he replied, his voice weaving into the night. "I am Fallen, Dante. And I have shared my Power with you."

"That tells me a lot," I said, my hand tightening on my swordhilt.

"Why don't you ask what you truly wish to ask me, Dante?" He still sounded tired. And forlorn.

"Can I kill you?" I asked, in a rush of breath.

"Perhaps."

"What happens to you if Santino kills me?"

"He will not." Stone rang softly underfoot as Japhrimel's voice stroked it. His voice was almost physical now, caressing my skin as nothing else ever had. It reminded me of the barbed-wire pleasure, so intense it was agony, of his body on mine.

I turned back, saw him with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes gleamed faintly green. The darkness of his winged coat blended with the darkness of night, a blot on the white stone. "That's not an answer, Tierce Japhrimel."

Saying his name made the air shiver between us. He tensed.

My thumb slid over the katana's guard. His dark eyes flicked down, then back up, a glitter showing on their surface from the moon. The pale crescent slid behind clouds again, and he went back to being a shadow. If I concentrated, I could see his face, decipher his expression. "You do not want to question me," he said. "You want to fight."

"It's what I'm good at," I said, wishing he hadn't guessed.

"Why must it always be a contest, with you?" I could see he was smiling, and that managed to infuriate me.

"Why don't you carry a sword?" I avoided the question.

"I have no need of one." He shrugged. "Would you like me to prove it?"