I sat back down on the cot and wrapped my arms around me to keep from shivering in the chill night air. Bathing and checking out escape possibilities had given my brain something to do, but now it kept trying to go back to the horror in the forest. The more I tried not to think about Mac, the more the other images crowded my mind. I could smell the awful breath in my face, see the hunger in their expressions and feel that decayed mass squirming between my legs, seeking, thrusting, invading.

Despite my efforts, I was shivering anyway, so much that my teeth started to chatter. I used anger to push away the panic, to let me draw a deep breath, to let me think. I was alone and defenseless, and I hated it. Fear was an old companion, familiar in its way, but this wasn't fear. What I was feeling went beyond words, a bone-deep chill and a certainty that, even if I survived, I would never feel secure again.

I drew the blanket further around me, but it did little good. The cold that permeated me didn't come from the outside. I walked up and down the confines of the cell anyway, trying to force circulation into my icy center. It didn't warm me, but it did clear my head. I could examine my mistakes later. I could grieve later. Right now, I had to get out of here. And, somehow, I had to make sure that I was never, ever this helpless again.

I was about to try to access my power one more time when I heard a familiar, off-key voice from somewhere nearby. "I'll take you home again, Kathleen, across the ocean wild and wide," it warbled mournfully. It was faint and slurred, but unmistakable.

"Billy!" I almost cried in relief.

The singing stopped abruptly. "Cassie, me darlin'. I've got one for ya. I thought it up at the pub.”

There once was a ghost name of Billy,

Who got in a jam rather silly,

He found a beautiful lass

And quick made a pass

Forgetting he only had mist for a willy.

"Where are we?" I yelled. "What's going on?" The only answer I got was a rousing chorus of "The Belle of Belfast City." Trust Billy to make me want to strangle him when he wasn't even in the same room. "You're drunk!”

"That I am," he agreed, "but I'm conscious, which is more than I can say for my orange friend, here. Can't hold his liquor, poor sod.”

"Billy!”

"All right, Cass. Hold your horses and good old Billy will tell the tale. We've been taken by the Dark Fey. They snatched me out of a lovely pub and threw me in this dank hole, with only himself for company, to wait on the king's pleasure.”

I sagged in relief. At least we weren't going to be beheaded in the morning or something equally medieval. That bought the others some time to find us, assuming they were still free. "Where is everyone?" I hoped they were doing better than me, or we were in a lot of trouble.

"Pritkin and Marlowe are trying to convince the captain of the guard—a nasty pixie—to let us go, but I don't know how well they're doing." He paused, then asked in a different tone. "Hey, Cass. What do you think would happen to me if I got killed here? They don't have any ghosts, have you noticed?”

I thought of Mac, his face sagging in death, his eyes dull. If there had been a sign of a ghost, a flare or spark anywhere around him, I hadn't noticed. A new wash of chills spread over me. My God, what had we done?

"What if I didn't come back?" Billy was saying, "What if that was it—I died and there was no loophole this time? What if—”

"Billy!" I tried to keep the hysterical note out of my voice, but I wasn't entirely successful. I swallowed and tried again. "You aren't going to die, Billy. We'll get out of this." I said it as much to reassure myself as to quiet him, but I don't think it worked for either of us.

I heard a jangle of keys outside my cell, and the huge door swung open on ancient hinges. I was almost blinded by the lantern light that flooded the room, but blinking through my fingers, I made out who the guard was carrying. "Tomas!”

The guard, who was only about five feet tall, carried the six-foot-something vampire as if he was weightless. He dropped his burden on me bunk and turned to me, and for the first time I noticed the boar's tusks protruding from his wide mouth. Ogre, some part of my brain piped up as he thrust a stubby finger in my chest and grunted. His voice sounded like gravel being rolled over by a tank, and if it was supposed to contain words, I couldn't understand them.

"He want that you heal him," came a voice from the doorway. Behind the bulk of the jailer stood a slim brunette wearing an elaborate green dress covered in red embroidery. It took me a second to place her.

"Françoíse?" It was bizarre. Every time I turned around, there she was. The first time we met had been in seventeenth century France, when Tomas and I had saved her from the Inquisition. Then she'd turned up again at Dante's with the pixie, where she was about to be sold to the Fey. I'd released her, but it looked like Destiny snapped at her heels as closely as it did at mine, because here she was anyway. "What are you doing here?" I asked, bewildered.

"You and le monsieur 'elped me once," she answered quickly. "I 'ave come, 'ow do you say? To return the favor.”

"What about the others?" I asked quickly, "I came with a group—”

"Oui, je sais. The mage, 'ee make a deal with Radella. She is captain of the night guard, une grande baroudeuse, a warrior of skill.”

"What kind of deal?”

"The mage 'ave a rune of power. Radella has long searched for such. Above all, she want a child, but is inféconde, barren. The mage say, 'ee cast it for her, if she aid us.”

"Jera." Damn it if it hadn't come in handy after all.

"C'est ça." She glanced at the ogre, who was looking between the two of us suspiciously. I got the impression that he didn't speak English, at least not well enough to follow the conversation. "They do not know why le vampire will not wake. I tell them you are a great healer—that you can save 'eem.”

"He's in a healing trance. He'll save himself, hopefully.”

"Eet does not matter," she said, smiling and nodding at the ogre. "I want only to 'ave the two of you together, near the portal. I return soon, after the guards change.”

"The portal? But—”

"I weel do what I can," she said as the ogre lumbered past her, apparently deciding the conversation had lasted long enough. "But you must promise to take me with you. Please, I 'ave been here so long ...”

"You've been here a week," I said, confused. I wanted to explain that I didn't need the portal. I needed to find Myra, not go right back where I'd started from, especially not with the geis in place and the Senate and Circle both hunting me. Worst of all, if we turned back now, Mac had died for nothing. But the ogre, who had paused to place the lantern on the floor, was now pulling the door shut. Françoise stared at me over his shoulder, looking panicked. "Okay, I promise!" I said. Even a week would feel like an eternity here, and I'd never leave anyone to face what had almost happened to me.

I stood in the middle of the room, hearing the ogre's footsteps echo down the corridor as he walked away. I wanted to check on Tomas but was afraid. What if he was no better? What if he'd never been in a healing trance at all, and we'd been lugging around a corpse?

After a minute, I screwed up my courage and walked across to the cot. Tomas was lying on his back, highlighted by the lantern light, but I couldn't see his chest and abdomen for all the bandages that had been wrapped around him. Someone had done a better job than my hasty efforts—he was practically a mummy from just below his nipples to the tops of his hard-muscled thighs. The bandages were all he was wearing, but I barely noticed because I caught a glimmer of dark eyes behind the slitted lids.

“Tomas!" I bent over him and felt the chill of his skin. That wasn't good. I don't know where the rumor started that vampires are cold. Unless they're starving, they run as hot as a human—after all, it's human blood that feeds them. I stripped off the blanket and tucked it around him, trying to cover as much bare skin as possible.

He smiled and tugged weakly at my hand, pulling me down beside him. There was barely room for the two of us on the narrow cot, but he insisted. "I finally have you naked and in bed, and I'm too tired to do anything about it," he joked. I could have cried with relief.

I stroked the side of his face with my wrist, but he pulled away. He knew what I was offering, and he desperately needed it. I put my wrist back against his cheek and looked at him seriously. "Feed. You won't heal without it.”

"You need your strength.”

"Then don't take much, but heal. I don't know how much time we have." The door to the cell was heavy, but if he'd been at his usual strength, Tomas could have ripped it from its hinges. Under the circumstances, I'd settle for him being able to run or at least walk once Françoise came back. Unlike the ogre, I couldn't carry him.

Tomas looked stubborn, but he must have reached the same conclusion I had, because the next minute I felt a brief pull at my power. It settled into a steady drain as his overtaxed system started to revive, and I sighed slightly in pleasure. The feeding process can be sensual, but this one wasn't. It was warm and comforting, like wrapping up in an old, cuddly blanket on a cold night. It felt familiar, too, and I suddenly remembered another reason I had to be angry with Tomas.

He'd been feeding from me surreptitiously while we roomed together, taking blood through the skin without leaving any telltale marks and with enough of a suggestion to cloud my mind. He'd said it was because he needed to keep track of me—part of his job had been to guarantee my safety and the feedings created a bond—but I still viewed it as a violation. Technically, I could have brought charges against him with the Senate, although that seemed kind of redundant at the moment. They'd happily kill him if they got their hands on him, no additional allegations needed.