"Get that damn bird of yours," Toret commanded, "and find her."

Chane closed his eyes and stood still as a statue poised upon the street corner.

"Hurry up!" Toret urged.

"Be quiet," Chane said, only his mouth moving. His eyes snapped open, and he drew his sword.

"Did you find her?"

"Perhaps," he said, and he headed down the nearest side street at a trot.

Toret followed, so angry now that he wanted blood. He wanted to find the half-elf or the dhampir, or even the dog trying to get his Sapphire-something to take the brunt of his panicked rage. As they passed an open alleyway, he heard sobbing and shuffling footsteps.

"This way!" he shouted, not caring who might hear.

As he bolted down the alley, Chane turned back to catch up. The narrow way was cluttered with refuse, crates, and other odds and ends left behind the shops that the alley served. Toret darted around obstacles or kicked them out of his way.

A shadow wavered to his right. What he saw wrenched a moan from him.

Sapphire struggled along a side alley wall, supporting herself with her hands. One hand was coated in red blood. The right sleeve of her gown was sheared away below the cuff. Her own fluids trickled from a circle around her wrist, and also leaked from her mouth, down her chin and throat, to blacken her bodice and chest.

But the worst of it made him hesitate as she lifted her eyes to him.

A long, splintered timber protruded from the center of her chest. Her expression twisted up in fear and confusion.

Toret rushed forward to grab her as she collapsed. He lowered her to the alley floor, supporting her shoulders.

"Sapphire! Stay with me!" he ordered, his tone vicious with demand. "Chane!"

Chane already knelt beside him, studying the timber through Sapphire's chest with cold composure. Sapphire mouthed something, but all that came out was a gargled choking.

"Again," Toret urged. "Say it again, slowly." He watched her mouth this time to read the words from her lips.

Can't get it out.

Toret grabbed the timber.

"No," Chane said, catching his wrist and pulling his hand away. "She's weak and half-drained." He paused. "It's in her heart."

Renewed panic gripped Toret. "I won't lose her!"

"She still moves," Chane whispered in puzzlement. "A wooden stake through the heart should destroy one of our kind."

Help me, Sapphire mouthed.

"What do I do?" Toret pleaded.

Toret's dread mounted as Chane remained passively contemplative.

"Tear your wrist open-down to veins," Chane instructed. "As I pull the strut out, you must feed her. There is no life in our fluids, but perhaps it will keep her body whole long enough to take her back to the house. Then we must find her blood as quickly as possible."

Toret hesitated. "I haven't fed for days. I can't… you feed her. I'll pull the timber."

Chane jerked upright with an expression close to revulsion. Just as quickly, his features smoothed back to calm indifference. He put the edge of his sword to his wrist and sliced deeply, and his own fluids began dripping to the ground. Dropping the sword, he forced the base of his hand into Sapphire's mouth.

"Bite down," he ordered, and then to Toret, "Now."

Toret wrenched the timber out, wincing as it ground against the bones of Sapphire's rib cage. Her eyes and mouth opened wide as she tried to scream. Chane held fast, forcing his wrist between her teeth, smothering any outcry.

"Quiet, and drink," Chane ordered.

His words cut through to Sapphire, and she bit down, swallowing mouthfuls. Chane's upper lip trembled once in a snarl, but he neither recoiled nor cried out. Toret felt a strange rush of gratitude and was ashamed of the emotion.

The seepage in Sapphire's chest slowed and stopped. Finally, Chane put his free hand on her forehead and jerked his wrist away with effort.

"More!" she wailed at him.

"No," Toret said. "We must get you home. I'll bring you life to feed on."

Sapphire grabbed Toret's shoulders and snapped at his throat, but he held her down until she calmed and simply lay in his arms, twitching.

Chane tore a strip of silk from the hem of Sapphire's dress and bound up his wrist. He shredded more fabric to wrap her torso.

"I will find us a coach," he said. "Once back on the open street, we must get her out of sight quickly."

Without further comment, he headed down the narrow side alley.

Toret rocked Sapphire gently, understanding for the first time exactly how Rashed had felt and why he refused to run from Miiska.

"It's all right," he crooned. "I'll have you home soon."

He wouldn't wait for the hunter and her minions to find one of them alone again. He would find her first.

"I pierced its heart," Magiere whispered.

Leesil watched her pace in his room at the Burdock, her falchion leaning in the corner. He'd waited in the coach with Chap while she'd gone back into the Rowan wood to retrieve it. Sooner or later, they were going to catch hell for what had happened there tonight, but he couldn't imagine it would be any worse than dealing with Magiere at the moment.

"That timber went right through her," she insisted, clenching her hands as if she still felt the wood in her grip.

"I know," Leesil said. "I saw it."

Chap rested on the bed as Leesil's mind worked over what had happened-and what hadn't happened, it seemed. At the very least, his idiocy at the Rowanwood was put aside. He carefully ran his fingers through Chap's fur, feeling for injuries. His fingertips passed across a swelling on the side of the dog's head. There was no blood, but Chap had been struck down too hard for him to track tonight, so they'd returned to their rooms. On the small table near Magiere's sword rested two burning candles and a tin basin of water they'd procured from the innkeeper.

Leesil pointed to the basin. "Hand me that."

Startled from her thoughts, Magiere passed him the basin as she sat down on the bed's far side. Leesil dipped a folded rag in the water to make a cool compress and placed it gently against Chap's head.

"How could that thing have gotten away?" she asked.

Uncertain, Leesil shook his head. "There are only two possibilities. One, you missed the heart."

"I didn't."

"Then… it's not the first thing we've tried.that turned out to be nothing but superstition."

"Fine," Magiere grumbled at him. "That means we're back to taking heads."

"Or ashes," he added.

"Don't get any ideas," she warned.

An edgy silence passed that left Leesil wondering if it was now time for her to turn on him. She sat quietly, watching him refresh the compress for Chap's head.

"Besides," she continued, "ashes won't prove anything to the council. We've nothing to show for tonight. There's no way to track this thing, unless Chap heals fast enough to pick up a trail. I didn't get anything from her for him to smell."

Leesil hesitated. "I did."

Maigere's eyes narrowed as her lips pressed into a flat line, but she didn't look up at him.

"Well, you had more opportunity, didn't you?" Her voice held a cold bite. "Perhaps this is how we should hunt now. Turn you loose in the nearest brothel with a card table and a goblet of wine, and just wait for the first undead slut to drop into your lap."

Leesil tried not to flinch and failed. He actually bit his tongue, knowing anything he said now was just fuel for her fire. For that matter, he'd no idea what to say.

He felt as if he'd been unfaithful-but unfaithful to what? Everything he'd done, every gentle ploy he'd tried to get close to her, had failed. She pushed him away again and again. So why feel ashamed? Well, there was the drinking and gambling. But he wasn't drunk, and he hadn't lost, and that left one thing to be ashamed about, and that he hadn't even wanted. He hadn't even thought of such things since settling in Miiska.