I said.
"Yes," Sachiko said. "If the stories can be believed, it's a very effective weapon against vampires—even one as powerful as the Hunter."
I remembered what Anton had said about the sword. "How does it work?"
"How does it work?" Sachiko said. "It's a sword."
"I know," I said. "But I'd heard that the Star of Morning wasn't meant to be used as a regular sword. I heard there was a special way it was meant to be used."
Sachiko gave me a rueful look. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you about that just yet. You're right—the sword itself is no more powerful than any other sword. It's actually part of a larger weapon. But to be honest with you, I don't know how it's supposed to be used exactly. If you happen to have heard anything about that, now would be the time to tell me."
"I haven't heard a thing," I said.
"That's a shame," Sachiko replied. "Because it's pretty much our only hope. We don't have a prayer of stopping the Hunter otherwise. And time is running out."
"Why do you say that?" I asked. "Does the Werdulac have the Hunter on some kind of schedule?"
"No," Sachiko said. "First of all, the Werdulac didn't send the Hunter. And second, it's almost the thirtieth of April."
"What do you mean the Werdulac didn't send him?" I asked.
Sachiko threw a pile of soft clothes to the floor. "I think I've found everything in here we can use. It's not really practical for us to change into any of these clothes. We're better off in our jeans."
"Sachiko."
"I know that's not an answer." Sachiko held up a hand for silence and then tiptoed over to the door and unlocked it. She eased the door open and looked out into the hall. Then she relocked the door and moved noiselessly back to me.
Sachiko dropped her voice to a whisper. "I said Anton lied to you about William and about the Hunter. And they were both big lies."
She reached out suddenly and gripped my wrist. I could feel the strength in her small fingers.
"You've gotten used to the idea of the Werdulac," she said. "You've gotten used to a certain level of danger. But for you it's still far off. The Werdulac is entombed somewhere in an icy prison, and he wants to catch you. But you know he doesn't want to kill you—yet. Your death won't benefit him until he's free. There's no point in sparking a war with the Sìdh if he can't participate in it. The prospect of death isn't real to you."
"Are you saying that the Hunter wants to kill me?"
Sachiko's grip tightened on my wrist. "No. It's worse—there are far worse things than death. There's such a thing as living death."
"You mean he wants to turn me into a vampire?" I asked.
"No," Sachiko said. "In order to become a vampire, you would have to die. That's exactly what the Hunter doesn't want. The Hunter isn't working for the Werdulac. He's working against him."
"And that's bad?" I said.
"It's very bad. It's not your life that's in danger. It's your soul."
"You're really starting to worry me now," I said.
"You should be worried," Sachiko replied. "In fact, you should be more than worried—you should be terrified. Do you know who the Hunter is?"
"He's the Werdulac's servant," I said. "He worked for him centuries ago."
Sachiko shook her head. "The Hunter did work for the Werdulac in the capacity of huntsman. But he wasn't the Werdulac's servant—he was his brother. After the Werdulac became a vampire, he converted his entire family—his wife, his daughter, his son, his brother. According to the stories, his brother didn't want the conversion, but he tolerated it and accepted his new life. There wasn't really anything he could do about it, I suppose."
"So he accepted his fate?" I said.
"Yes—at first. The Hunter continued to work for his brother, as he had when he was a mortal man. Only instead of hunting game, he now tracked his brother's enemies. And he never failed to get his quarry."
"Hence the name," I said.
"Unfortunately that's only too true," Sachiko said. "He became the hunter all vampires feared. And the only thing the Hunter asked of his brother was that he spare the Hunter's young wife—he didn't want her to become a vampire, too. He wanted her to live out her natural life—and then go on to a quiet grave."
"Oh," I said.
"Exactly," Sachiko replied. "The Werdulac grew suspicious of his brother's young bride. He didn't trust her to