I huffed. "This isn't even advanced. I'm in the dumb-kid physics class."

"You're not dumb."

"I'm dumb at physics."

He blinked. "I don't know this stuff and I'm not dumb."

"Okay, wel , we're both uneducated in physics," I said.

"Happy?"

"But you're learning."

"Yeah, that's because I'm uneducated."

"That doesn't mean you're dumb."

I felt a powerful urge to smack him. The genuine look of confusion on his face prevented me from doing so, although I was stil sorely tempted. Maybe if I just flicked him between the eyes or something . . .

"I'm sorry," he said, and stood. "I'm crowding you. I'l just wait outside."

"You don't have to go."

"No, I should. I won't be far." He left the office room and me in silence.

As soon as he'd gone, I wanted him to come back. I found myself staring at his empty seat and feeling his absence. I had solved--or so I hoped--a handful more homework problems when I thought I heard music. It was very soft, but loud enough to make me wonder. Where was it coming from?

I got up and fol owed the sound through the dilapidated hal ways, but as I crept through the failing light, the world faded away again and I could only say to myself, Not again. I leaned against the wal , pressing myself into the peeling paint, feeling it scratch my skin--anything to keep my mind from fal ing away into a darker time. But as the world changed around me, my face tightened, squeezed until I couldn't move; but I didn't feel fear, only anger. Something flashed in front of me, so blindingly bright I had to look away. The last reaper had gone up in flames. My skin and clothes were splattered with blood, but at least I wore men's trousers instead of the obnoxious thick skirts I was supposed to wear as a young woman among the humans. With no other enemies to face, I descended deeper into the castle, moving within the Grim, through winding stone halls lit only by my angelfire. My shining swords made excellent substitutes for torches. I paused, questing out with my mind, and located a power nearby. It swelled and died and swelled again. But there was only one signature flaring, not many, so there couldn't be a fight. I followed the signature up a flight of stairs and through a doorway that was taller than most of the others I'd gone through in that place.

Stepping carefully into a large room, I held my swords ready. For a moment I thought I'd been wrong. There were three vir in the room, who all turned around to look at me and all recognized me instantly. They charged at me, wings, talons, and teeth gnashing and striking. I twisted and spun, ducking through the smoky flashes of power and the dizzying smell of brimstone. I dispatched them in seconds, my arms aching from swinging my swords. I looked around the room again to be sure I'd defeated them all. Instead of meeting another battle, I found a fourth vir reaper in chains. His arms were held out and up, his wrists shackled to the wall. His power swelled and he yanked against the chains, but even from this distance, I could tell that the chains were made of silver and they weakened him. After he made another attempt at freedom, his strength waned and he went slack against his bindings. I strolled up to him, my chest heaving from the fight as I tried to catch my breath. The imprisoned reaper would be no threat to me--as long as he remained bound. As I neared him, he looked down at me, and I got a good look at his face for the first time. He was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. His hair was dark, rich like polished walnut wood, and his features were handsome, sharp, and predatory. His lips were sculpted like those of the marble statues in old Rome, and his eyes were bright crystalline green--the unmistakable inhuman eyes of a reaper. But was he demonic? Or angelic?

He stared down at my flaming swords and then into my face, gaping at me in shock and awe. This reaper was one I'd never come across before, and the surprise on his face proved it. He'd never seen me either, but he knew exactly who I was. He lifted his head in a valiant attempt to appear as if he weren't defeated and weak.

"I know what you are," he said in English. His voice was weak and strained, broken, but I recognized the Scottish accent. "If they'd taken my eyes, I'd still know what you are. Don't kill me."

"But I don't know what you are," I said, tilting my head up at him.

His fine white shirt was torn and bloodied, and his breeches had fared no better. He was dressed like a noble, and with his handsome face and clean hair tied back with a ribbon, it would have come as no surprise to me if he were an aristocrat. There were many reapers of hideous wealth taking up positions of power all over Europe. His expression hardened. "I'm not what you think I am."

"No?" I asked, and sized him up. "You're a reaper and you've had the Hell beaten out of you. What did you do to deserve it?"

A smile curved in his lips. "The demonic don't like me much since I kill every one of them I find. They've finally caught up to me, as you can see."

I didn't find his remark amusing. "You're only what? A century old? You don't have that kind of strength."

"Call it a gift."

I studied him for a moment. His eyes went bright as he attempted again to break his chains. "You've been caught, so you can't be that strong."

"I was ambushed," he said through a violent cough. "And you're one to talk. You are as well known for your own deaths as you are for your conquests."