She slipped out and back the way they had come.

When Magiere was certain the sage was gone, she whispered, "Vatz?"

The boy only grumbled and shifted, seemingly lost in slumber, and Magiere turned to Leesil.

"It was him, the one in my vision. He was the one in my room tonight."

For a moment, Leesil appeared uncertain what she meant. But then, instead of eagerness over finding their prey, he closed his eyes and slumped on the edge of the bunk across from Chap.

It was Magiere's turn to wonder in confusion.

"Are you certain about this?" Leesil asked.

"Dressed like a noble in a well-tailored black cloak," she answered. "He wasn't in the council chambers that first day we arrived." Her voice grew firm. "But he wore black gloves, well fitted. How many other undeads do you think we can find like that?"

"Oh, this is more twisted than even I can deal with," Leesil muttered.

"What?" Magiere asked. "I've seen him now. This is what we're here for."

"No, it isn't," he whispered.

She crouched down with some effort, the side of her chest aching even more. When she looked into Leesil's narrowed eyes, he stared back at her, unblinking.

"It was Ratboy… in my room," he said.

His words washed all else from Magiere's thoughts. "Ratboy?"

"He was different… dressed like a wealthy elite," Leesil went on. "And wielding a sword this time, like some half-pint warrior. But it was him."

This was far beyond anything Magiere had anticipated. She shook her head slowly. "Please don't tell me he was wearing black gloves as well."

Leesil shook his head as well. "I don't recall."

Confusion and fatigue snuffed the last of Magiere's fury at seeing the nobleman's black-gloved hands. Sly and cunning, Ratboy, Rashed, and Teesha had concealed themselves among townsfolk-but in an out-of-the-way place, not the king's city. So why would Ratboy now keep company with a demented dead nobleman murdering the city's elite citizens… and not even for their blood? She tried to stand again but doubled over halfway, pain slicing through her side.

Leesil snatched the side of her shirt and lifted it. In reflex, she swatted his hand aside.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, stop playing the prude," he growled. "You didn't get out as unscathed as you look. Now sit down."

Magiere was too tired to argue. It wasn't the first time they'd tended each other's wounds. She settled on the bunk's edge, and he lifted the side of her shirt again.

"Ah, I see you're finally getting some color," Leesil said with a frown.

Magiere pulled the shirt up enough to see for herself. A large patch of her pale torso was mottled and yellowed. There was still a hint of black and blue beneath the skin, but the bruise looked days old instead of a quarter night.

"You and that dog." Leesil sighed, and reached behind her on the bed to gather the folded blanket against the wall. "Still, the salve should take away some pain. Lean back."

Magiere reclined, and if she had any reluctance at being tended like an invalid, she lost it in another aching stab.

Leesil unbuttoned her shirt to the base of her breastbone. She suppressed another urge to push him away and do it herself. He lifted the shirt side to expose her ribs and then dipped his fingers into the salve sitting on the chest. She winced hard as he gently worked the salve into her side, but her thoughts were still on the puzzle that had grown more baffling this night.

"What is Ratboy doing here?" she asked. "He's more savage than Rashed or Teesha were, but that's not the same as butchering bodies without feeding. It's not his way."

"I told you when we left Au'shiyn's home, someone's on the game here." There was a hint of exasperation in Leesil's voice. "I just didn't know it was that little wretch until now."

His fingers worked along the edge of her rib cage around her white stomach. It was possible she'd cracked a few ribs, but the pain began to dull. She felt numb beneath the salve, which made the occasional brush of Leesil's hand against her stomach more acute.

"Make some sense, please," she said tiredly.

"Put it together," he answered. "The killer left Chesna dead on Lanjov's doorstep but never contacted Lanjov or the council. So why? Intimidation? Fair enough, but for what reason? And what did Lanjov and the council do?"

"They sent for us," she answered.

"All the missing people, a few bodies, and then Chesna… as if someone felt he wasn't getting enough attention and needed to be a little more obvious."

Magiere hesitated, not even wanting to believe where he was leading her.

"Bait," she whispered.

Leesil nodded.

"Yes, and we walked right into the snare, no better than the peasants we fooled all those years on the road. Tonight was Ratboy's worn-out way of throwing a welcoming party, complete with his new family."

"But why Au'shiyn?" she asked. "That doesn't fit, if murdering nobles was just to get us here. He died after we arrived."

"I don't know." Leesil shook his head. "It's a large city, and perhaps they couldn't find us either and needed us to show ourselves. Even in daylight when we went to Au'shiyn's, Ratboy could have found a way to track us."

As Leesil finished a stroke of salve down her side, his wrist brushed the crest of her hipbone. Magiere flinched more from pain than the flurry of nerves she felt inside. Leesil pulled away and frowned again.

"Looks like he grazed the hip as well."

"No, it's fine," she said, and began to sit up.

"Stop being a child," he snapped. With one quick hand to her shoulder, he shoved her back. "We hunt tomorrow, and even your rapid healing needs all the help it can get."

Resentment got the better of Magiere's nervous discomfort. She leaned back on her elbows, as he uncinched her belt and carefully peeled the side of her breeches down enough to expose her hipbone. Discolored like her side, the skin was also scraped raw from the nobleman's boot.

As Leesil worked the salve in, she refused to flinch and give him an excuse for another remark. But when the numbness settled in, it was followed by the same mix of uneasiness and contentment that spread from Leesil's fingertips.

Magiere watched him, still naked to the waist, and their conversation slipped from her mind.

"We need to find you a shirt," she said quietly.

"You don't look so neat and tidy yourself," he replied. "Unless those black stains are some new badge of honor for dhampirs. Guess you finally got me out of my old rags."

Every nerve in Magiere's body tightened in a rush of panic, and she stood up, buckling her belt with some difficulty.

"Thanks… it's better now," she said.

Leesil sat tight-lipped, as if she'd just insulted him.

"You'd better take the bottom bunk, in case you need to get up in the night," he said.

With that, he hauled himself into the top bed and flopped back to stare at the ceiling.

Magiere settled on the lower bunk. It didn't matter how much she might want Leesil closer, because the closer he came, the more danger he would be in. She was still a dhampir, and nothing would change that.

"Leesil?" she asked, wondering if he were still awake.

"What?" he said from above.

"If it's a trap, why are we playing into it?" She didn't really expect an answer, and just wanted to hear his voice. "Shouldn't we wait?"

"No, not on my life," he said harshly.

The pause that followed was so long, Magiere was about to speak when Leesil abruptly continued.

"He's mine. That filthy little whelp is mine. I'm going to finish what I should have… what I couldn't that night outside of Miiska."

This was no time for vengeance, and Magiere felt an angry rebuke rising in her throat. Then she remembered her rage upon seeing the nobleman in his black gloves.