As quietly as she could, Brigit made her way up through the air-conditioning ducts of the hospital. According to Utana, the Chosen were being housed on the fourth floor. Nash's headquarters seemed to be located on the first. There were "nurses" staffing the fourth level, but Utana had observed that they were deceptive, dressed in clothing that indicated they were something they were not. He had not entirely understood this, but Brigit did. Whatever else they were, they were first and foremost DPI operatives. Guards. And yes, some of them were probably nurses, too, just as that bitch Lillian was both an M.D. and DPI. But their job was to keep the Chosen from escaping. They might be going out of their way to make their captives feel more like guests, to keep them complacent and compliant. To make them want to stay where they were until they were no longer of any use. But Brigit knew the DPI, knew how they operated. And she didn't doubt that if anyone tried to leave this place, those Florence Nightingale pretenders would show their true colors. Figuratively speaking, they had claws and fangs that made vampires look like pussycats.

And once they had no more use for the Chosen-well, she didn't even want to speculate on what Nash Gravenham-Bail and his ilk had planned for them then.

Utana had given Brigit a thorough briefing on the layout of the place, and she also remembered it pretty well from what she'd seen on the blueprints she'd studied with her family. There was, as they'd observed when they drove past, a fire escape at the back of the building, its lowest level still some ten feet above the ground, like a catwalk just above those sloping skylights that provided the ceiling over Utana's current prison.

The catwalk extended the length of the hospital, and there was a retractable ladder attached to one end of it-the end nearest the parking lot.

The fire escape, she had decided, would be the means of exit for the Chosen. The only access point from the fourth floor would be through the windows at the back of the cafeteria, Utana told her.

He added, too, that there was a nurses' desk only a few yards from the elevators, situated in the center of a wide hallway that extended to both right and left behind it. Patient rooms lined that hallway in both directions. There was one room at the very end of the right-hand extension that he had disliked, though he hadn't known why. He'd felt, he said, "bad energy" that seemed to come from it.

Brigit had no doubt that the staff on the fourth floor had a quick and easy means of alerting Scar-face if something seemed suspicious. She was going to be extremely careful. And she was going to have one hell of a time making her way up four stories by way of the ductwork. Much less doing so in relative silence.

And yet she did it.

It took a long time, crab-walking up the vertical sections. At each floor she encountered a four-way junction, where horizontal pipes shot off, while the main shaft kept going up, higher and higher. At the fourth such junction she was, she reckoned, at the fourth floor, and she took the left-hand turn, crawling on hands and knees, wincing every time the large ducts bent noisily under her weight.

She lay on her belly, hoping to eliminate or at least minimize the sound, and slid onward. It worked pretty well. Eventually she came to a register grate that looked down on the floor below.

A corridor. Not much to see there. A few people walking this way and that. Nurses. Even patients. No one looked sinister or particularly frightened. Silently, she slid over the grate, imagining herself as a giant python, and kept going, following the hallways. She took the first Y that veered off to the side, hoping to get a look into the rooms themselves. And the next time she paused over a grate she was indeed looking down into one of the patient rooms. She sighed in relief. She'd found her way. And apparently she'd done so undetected. So far, so good.

The room below her seemed empty.

She jiggled the grate loose and, moments later, lowered herself through the opening, dangled from her hands and then dropped to the floor, landing in a low crouch. Silence. No one near. She rose slowly, taking her first eye-level look around-and seeing a little girl with blond hair and blue, blue eyes staring right at her.

The girl didn't look surprised to see a stranger come dropping out of her ceiling. She didn't look alarmed, either. She looked...knowing.

And then she looked pointedly up toward the corner where ceiling met wall, to the right of the door.

Brigit followed her gaze and spotted the camera there, then quickly moved farther out of range and met the little girl's eyes.

"Can they hear us, too?" she asked in a whisper.

The child moved to the small round table, reaching for a remote control among all the coloring books, crayons, plastic teacups. She aimed the device, and the television came on, the volume loud. Then she set the remote down.

"Now they can't," she said. "Did you come to get us out of here?"

"Yes, I did. But you need to be very quiet and not tell anyone until I say. All right?"

The girl nodded. "I knew you would come. That big man who came before-you know him, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. How do you know that?"

The girl shrugged. "I saw you in his head. He told me he was going to help us-you know, with his quiet voice." She whispered the final four words.

"Did he, now?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'm going to need some help. Can you help me?"

"Yes, and my mommy can, too. Do you want me to go get her?"

"Where is she?" Brigit asked.

"She just went down to the cafeteria to get us some lunch. She'll be right back."

"Then why don't we wait for her, okay?"

"Okay." The little girl sat down at the table and tapped her foot expectantly. She was surrounded by coloring books and crayons, most of which were worn down to the halfway point. She must be terribly sick of coloring.

"Oh, I am," she said softly. "If I have to color one more picture, I think I'll go nutso!"

Brigit frowned. "You just heard what I was thinking, didn't you?"

"You mean your quiet voice? Yes, I heard it. I hear lots of people's quiet voices. Mommy says not to tell people about that, but I trust you."

The door opened and a woman came in, then paused to stare at Brigit. Her eyes registered both surprise and alarm, which was much more the reaction Brigit would have expected from her child. Putting a finger to her lips seemed to do the trick. The woman hesitated in the doorway, then stepped the rest of the way inside, closing the door behind her.

"I'm here to get you out," Brigit told her, keeping her voice very low.

"Thank God," the woman said. "They're planning something-something bad."

"How do you know? Have you heard something?" Brigit was eager to get any information this woman might have gleaned.

"Mommy doesn't know. But I do. They're going to make us cry," the little girl filled in. "I heard their quiet voices talking about it. Some of them don't want to, but they have to. To get the vampires, they said."

"Well, no one's going to make you cry now, I guarantee you that." She turned to the mother. "Do you know a woman by the name of Roxy?"

The fear and trepidation in the mother's eyes evaporated beneath a quick smile. "Everyone knows Roxy. She's a nurse here."

The woman knew Roxy was on her side; Brigit read it in her face. No words were needed, and that was good, because the more they said aloud, the more chance they would be overheard.

The little girl was tugging on Brigit's blouse. "What, honey?"

"Roxy's not really a nurse," she whispered.

Brigit lifted her brows and shot the mother a look. "This is one gifted little girl you've got here."

"She's special. In a great many ways, although that's something we've been keeping to ourselves around here. Anyone different seems to attract a lot of...attention. I just want to get her the hell out of here. Now."

"Don't I know it." Brigit thinned her lips. "And I understand, believe me. I'm pretty different myself. You're doing right to keep her abilities to yourself."

"That's what Roxy said."

Brigit nodded. "Can you get her for me? Get her in here without raising any suspicion? If you do, I promise, you'll be the first two out of here."

"When?" the woman asked.

"Tonight. It has to be tonight."

The woman nodded, stretching out a hand for the little girl.

"Uh-uh," Brigit told her. "She stays with me."

It earned her a furious glare from the protective and obviously devoted mother, but she couldn't give in on this. "I'm sorry. But I don't know you, and I can't afford to risk that you might blow my cover. Too many lives depend on us succeeding. I promise, I'll keep her safe. You go get Roxy."

Sighing, the woman looked at her daughter. "You'll be okay for a few minutes, Melinda?"

She was asking more than the words said; Brigit knew it by the intensity in the woman's eyes.

The little girl seemed to understand that, too. "It's okay, Mommy. She's not one of the bad ones. She only thinks she is."

Her mother frowned, shooting Brigit a concerned look.

"I used to think I was bad. But someone very wise has made me think maybe I'm good after all."

"Oh, you are!" Melinda said. And then, to her still worried mother, "She's friends with the big guy."

"Oh." And briefly, a look of sadness came over her face. She nodded, searching Brigit's eyes and extending a hand. "I'm Jane, by the way."

"Brigit," she replied, accepting the woman's hand.

Nodding again, Jane hurried away. Brigit didn't like the little chill that rushed up her spine, though, at the look the woman had worn at the mention of Utana. What the hell was that about?

Five minutes later a flaming redhead whose personality matched her hair accompanied Jane back into the room.

The oldest living member of the Chosen caste was not what Brigit had expected. Guessing her age would have been impossible, but she was, by appearances, far from old. And far from ordinary, even among the Chosen. She wore white scrubs, like the rest of the DPI drones staffing this place. But she also had on rainbow-patterned Crocs over a pair of hot-pink socks. Her orange-red locks were fighting their way out of the bun that tried to hold them up in back, a few tendrils springing free, as lively as if they belonged to Medusa. She even wore an old-fashioned nurse's cap perched on top of that wild hair. Her eyes, heavily lined and smoky, were full of hell. She couldn't hide it and didn't try.

How she hadn't been found out by now was beyond Brigit's comprehension. But she liked the woman on sight.

The scent of the Belladonna Antigen, the zinging energy of it, snapped and crackled from her in a way that Brigit could not mistake, and in a far stronger, more vivacious way than from anyone else in this place. Indeed, it was different from the essence of any other member of the Chosen Brigit had ever met in her life, and she'd met many of them.

Roxy met Brigit's eyes and lifted her brows, alarmed at seeing a stranger. "And you are...?" she asked.

"Brigit Poe." She extended a hand.

Roxy gasped, a hand flying to her mouth to cover her surprise, even as she shot a look behind her toward the closed door. Turning back to Brigit again, she whispered, "You're one of the twins."

"Yes."

The other woman clasped her hand at once but didn't shake it. Instead she closed both her hands around Brigit's and just held them there. "Hot damn and hallelujah. You don't even know how glad I am to see you here. I'm Roxy."

"I know. But I'm curious. Why are you staff here, rather than a patient?"

"I couldn't show up as one of the Chosen. At my comparatively advanced age, they'd have singled me out for special study. Removed me from the general population and stuck me in a lab somewhere to play guinea pig to their mad scientist. You know, much like they'll try to do to you if they catch on to who you really are. One of a kind. The DPI loves studying gems like us. And what good would I have been to the cause locked away in some lab?" She rolled her eyes expressively. "So just tell me what to do and let's get shut of this place. I've had chills chasing each other up and down my spine every second I've spent here. I think the bastards even followed me home last night."

"I need to know how many nurses are on duty at a time, and how often anyone checks in from other floors. When the shifts change, and how that goes down. Anything else you can think of that will help."

Smiling slowly, Roxy nodded. "You need to know the best time to start moving the so-called patients out of here."

"Yes."

"When are you doing it?"

"Tonight," Brigit said.

Roxy nodded. "It's about freakin' time. All right, here's the gist. Every two hours, they send up some of their goons to do a sweep of the floor. They check everywhere, believe you me. Under beds, in the closets and restrooms. On the hour in between those sweeps, the head nurse has to phone downstairs to report in. If it's not her voice on the phone, or if she fails to give them the correct password, they know something's wrong. And the password changes every day."

"We're going to need that password."

"I already know it. I listen in to that old crone every day, just in case. Today's is 'Run, Rabbit, Run.' But if it's not her voice on the phone, it won't matter. The routine is taking a dramatic change this evening, though."

"That doesn't bode well," Brigit said. "Tell me as much as you know, Roxy."

"First," Roxy said, "the guards will do their usual sweep of the floor. Then the routine changes. The entire fourth floor staff are all supposed to do a head count, ensure that every patient is in his or her own room, lock their doors and then head below to meet on the first floor. The doors to this floor will be sealed."

"And then what?" Brigit asked, breathless with fear.

"They won't tell us. All I know is that all patients are to be locked in their rooms by sundown and the nursing staff has to be off the floor."

"All right. All right." Brigit paced and thought. "If I wait until the staff is clear, then rush through here, unlocking all the rooms-"

"You can unlock them all with a switch at the nurses' desk. Though that might tip them off downstairs." Roxy glanced at her watch. "But you don't have time to worry about that right now, sweetie. The next sweep of the floor is about to begin. How in all hell did you manage get in here?"

Tipping her head, Brigit looked up. Roxy followed her eyes and saw the vent in the ceiling. "Now there's an idea," she said softly.

"Everyone clanging around up there would draw notice. It was almost impossible for me to be quiet. More than a hundred people-there's no way. Besides, we're four floors up, with nothing but vertical ductwork in between. I'm thinking the fire escape is a better option," Brigit said.

"Then you'd best think of a way to deal with the fence. Sucker's electrified."

"I was afraid of that."

"You'll figure something out." Roxy bent low, interlacing the fingers of both hands and nodding at Brigit to step up. "Go on, get back where you came from until sundown. I'll meet you right here then."

Brigit accepted the boost and climbed into the duct, quickly righting the grate behind her.

The little girl moved to stand directly underneath, and she tipped her head up, blinking her eyes as if there were tears trying to get out. "Tell that big man to be very careful," she said.

Then her mother drew her away as the door opened and others entered the room. Brigit slid away from the vent, then lay there, motionless and silent, while men in military fatigues searched the room below her. Roxy was right. They didn't leave anything out. Except the vent where she hid.

But what the hell had Melinda meant about Utana being careful?

Had she foreseen something? Did she have the gift of prophecy on top of everything else?

Brigit's heart twisted into a knot of fear. She wasn't going to let anything happen to him. She refused. It wouldn't end that way.

When the search ended and the floor beneath her quieted once more, Brigit belly-slid her way to the main vertical shaft. Then she crab-walked down to the very bottom and reemerged into the basement where Utana was waiting, hanging there, suspended by his powerful arms, head hanging low, eyes closed. The skylights over his head were still opaque, and she realized they'd been blocked somehow, making it impossible to see outside, but she knew it was still daytime beyond the walls of this place.

Poor Utana. He was exhausted. And drugged to boot.

Brigit went to him and for a moment just looked at his beautiful face, his thick dark lashes, his heavy brows. She slid a hand over one cheek and kissed the other. "Utana?"

He stirred, lifting his head, opening his eyes. They softened when they touched hers, but only briefly. A frown quickly followed. "Why are you back here?"

"I can't move the Chosen until tonight. Just after sundown. But don't worry. I have help on the inside, and we're going to pull it off. But it's hours from now, and I thought...I thought I'd rather spend those hours here with you than curled up in a ventilation duct."

He nodded. "I am glad to hear it."

"I met the little girl. Melinda," she said, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder. "You made quite an impression on her."

"It is she who impressed me," he said. "She is special."

"Yes. And she seems to think you're in grave danger, Utana."

He lifted his brows, deliberately looking left and then right, at the chains on his wrists. "I am in chains," he said. "That may well seem grave."

"She's psychic, Utana. She knows things."

He lowered his head as she lifted hers and met her eyes. "My love, tonight we face battle, you and I. There is always risk involved, but we fight for the greater good. And we fight, more importantly, together."

"But, Utana, if anything happens to you, I-"

"I do not wish to spend these hours together talking about death." He lowered his head until his lips were nearly touching hers. "Come to me, woman. Make me forget the chains that hold me captive."

"I'm going to blast them and set you free."

"No. Your plan is in place. We must play it out, for good or bad. Trust me, my love, when my powers return to me, I will have no problem breaking these bonds."

She ran her hand over his, bumping over the iron that held him. "I love you, Utana. I don't care what my family says, or what you've done. I'll make them all understand somehow, but even if I can't-even if I have to choose between you and them-I'll choose you. I will always choose you, Utana."

He searched her eyes then, and she thought his dampened. "I deserve not such devotion from such a pure and mighty heart."

"I'm sorry I tried to kill you."

He smiled. "How many women, do you suppose, find themselves making that particular apology to their men?"

"Is that what you are?" she asked him. "Are you my man, Utana?"

"I am yours alone." Closing the distance between his lips and hers, he kissed her.

Brigit devoured his kiss, her arms twining around his neck, her legs rising to anchor themselves around his hips. She didn't care that someone might burst in-she didn't care that her life might end tonight if this went badly. She didn't care that her entire family had turned against her-that not even J.W. had yet come to his senses.

She didn't worry about anything. She only focused on the feeling of Utana sliding himself inside her; of his skin, smooth and strong beneath her hands; of his mouth, which never left hers for even a single moment; of his hips, moving against her in a delicious and slow-building rhythm that drove her to a simmering, burning madness. And of the delicious release when that simmer became a full boil.

When it was over, he sank to his knees, arms held upright by the cruel chains. She curled around him and snuggled close, her head finding the natural cradle between his neck and shoulder. Just for these few hours, she thought, she would pretend that everything was all right. That their mission was over, and that they'd been successful. That her people were safe, and had forgiven both her and Utana, and that they loved her again.

Oh, if only it could be true. If only.

Reluctantly, she allowed herself to sink into sleep with that blissful yet, she feared, impossible dream wrapped around her like the warmest, softest blanket there could be.