"This won't take long," Leesil cut in. His politely disarming manner vanished. "We'll see him now."

Whenever Leesil's voice turned threatening, most people backed down. Rather odd, since he was neither large nor imposing. Doviak straightened his spine without even a flinch, either brave or merely stupid.

"No one," Doviak said coldly, "not even the king, would expect to see Councilman Lanjov without an appointment. His duties serve the city, and his schedule is set well in advance."

Leesil smiled and took one step toward Doviak.

"I'm not the king, you little dandy. I was hired to investigate a murder. And where were you the night Chesna was killed?"

Doviak sputtered, two dainty fingers over his mouth. He took his fingers away and shouted, "Guards!"

Magiere snatched Leesil by the shoulder, their roles suddenly reversed in who held who back. She raised her empty hand, open palm toward Doviak.

"We meant no offense. We simply need to-"

"What is going on out here?" a deep voice called out.

As gray-clad guards closed in from around the room, Lanjov stepped out from a side door.

"That's more like it," Leesil said with satisfaction.

Lanjov scanned the room over the partition's top. His gaze finally rested upon his secretary and the new arrivals, and his eyes widened as his mouth closed. Waving the guards back, he came to join them.

"Mistress Magiere," he greeted her with cold formality. "What are you doing in my place of business?"

"Our apologies," she said, as this wasn't at all what she'd had in mind. "We need to speak with you urgently… regarding the situation."

Before Lanjov could reply, a second figure appeared at his chamber door. Lord Au'shiyn, the Suman merchant who'd opposed her presence at the council meeting, exited Lanjov's office, striding through the room to stand behind the councilman, dressed in a floor-length russet robe open in the front. His head was wrapped in folds of beige cloth mounted in layers. His shimmering white shirt was of strange design, with clasps of satin cord stitched in curling, looped patterns.

"Ah, the dhampir," he said. "Come to make a deposit? Or perhaps a withdrawal?"

The last person Magiere wanted to mince words with was this arrogant outlander. She ignored Au'shiyn and spoke directly to Lanjov.

"This won't take long."

Chap growled low, and Leesil slowly crossed his arms. Magiere only hoped it had the proper effect, now that this visit had fallen to such displays. Lanjov's choices were either to see them in his office or to have them "escorted" out, and it was clear that at least two of the visitors would make a scene. One thing a man like Lanjov couldn't endure was a scene.

Forcing a welcoming expression, Lanjov motioned them toward his office. "Of course, come in."

Magiere put aside all self-doubts and strode past Lanjov and Au'shiyn and around the partition to the chamber door still ajar. Leesil and Chap followed.

Lanjov's office was austere compared to the sitting room at his home. A window facing the street was hung with opened plain burgundy curtains that exposed iron bars on the inside and heavy oak shutters on the outside. Narrow bookshelves lined the walls to either side of the door, and a stout desk sat on the room's opposite side.

To Magiere's surprise, Au'shiyn followed Lanjov in and closed the door.

"Our time here is actually the end of my scheduled appointment," the Suman said. "This is council business, and I am a member of the council."

Lanjov appeared about to protest and then thought better of it. He sat down tiredly behind his desk.

"What is it you need?" he asked Magiere.

"We're more convinced the killer is noble," she said, "or at least masquerading as an elite. And I believe your daughter knew him. We've since learned that Domin Tilswith is a regular visitor at your home. He doesn't fit the description, so Chesna may have met her killer elsewhere. You said she rarely went out, and I'd guess most people you know well are either on the council or connected to your business. Since the killer is also an undead, he can't go out during daylight hours. That narrows things down considerably. Who do you know who prefers night meetings and finds excuses to avoid mornings or afternoons?"

It was all blunt and unproven, as Magiere had little evidence beyond her vision, but Lanjov didn't need to know this.

"Have you been talking to Domin Tilswith?" Lanjov asked in surprise.

"How dare you?" Au'shiyn interrupted. "Chesna's murderer was not noble, and you will not harass council members and the patrons of this bank. The council has been patient with Chairman Lanjov out of respect for his grief, but you will cease this at once. Am I understood?"

Before Magiere could cut into Au'shiyn, Leesil grunted in disgust, crossing his arms again, and spoke directly to Lanjov.

"Is there any way she could have met someone who fits the description either at the council hall or through the bank?"

Lanjov dropped his head. Magiere almost felt sorry for him-almost.

"Some evenings," Lanjov answered, "she came with me to read aloud my dispatches for the following day. My eyes get tired and certain material is too delicate to leave the hall. But she was in my company at all times, and the few men she ever met were proper gentlemen."

"Who also happened to be in the courthouse at night," Magiere said, trying to make her meaning clear. "We need their names."

"You need no such thing!" Au'shiyn roared, apparently not caring who heard him in the outer chamber. "Cease this immediately. I will not have the council accosted by the likes of you. Leave now, or I will call the guards and have you thrown into the street."

Magiere appraised him in silence. Could he be that elitist, or was he hiding something? Perhaps both. His outburst leaned far beyond snobbery.

Chap whined and trotted toward the chamber door. Magiere found herself agreeing with the hound's sentiment. She turned again to Lanjov.

"If you want Chesna's true killer found, you'll assist us. If not, find someone else to waste their time. You know where we're staying."

Motioning to Leesil, she turned and left.

Chapter 11

That night, Chane climbed the stairs to Sapphire's room shortly after a message was delivered for Toret. Feeling some trepidation about entering her room, he knocked on the door.

"What is it?" Toret called from inside.

Chane cautiously opened the door but remained in the hallway. Toret sat on the satin-covered bed next to his beloved, along with a half dozen shimmering nightgowns of varied hue he'd ordered, so she would have choices of attire for her convalescence. Sapphire reclined against a mountain of pillows in a sea-foam-green dressing gown.

"I can't do my own hair like this," she complained. "You must hire me a girl."

"That's not safe, my sweet," Toret replied, as if to a child.

"But my curls are fading. Just look at my curls."

Indeed, Chane noted without sympathy that her sculpted ringlets hung half-coiled in a dark-blond mass down her shoulders.

"A message was delivered," Chane said. "Do you wish me to read it to you?"

Toret's neck craned around and then he reached out. "No, I'll take it."

Unfortunately, this required Chane to actually enter the room and hand it to him.

"Are you listening to me?" Sapphire demanded.

Toret opened the message, looked at it for several moments, and then folded it again.

"Chane, stay and entertain your lady awhile."

"In here?" Chane asked.

"Of course in here. You and I are going out later, and I don't want her alone all night. See to her wishes but stay out of the parlor. I need some time to myself."

Toret left, closing the door, and Chane fought down his revulsion as he looked at Sapphire. He had been reduced to a houseboy.