of what Wynn concluded was true, then why of all people did this creature choose to keep company with a couple of peasant-cheating rogues?

Magiere shivered at the sudden recollection of the night she'd chased Chap into the street from the Burdock. There had been an urge to find Leesil, built upon her memory of their first meeting. Why was she recalling these two events now?

Leesil's eyes widened at her, and a sickening knot formed in her stomach.

"What… ?" she asked hesitantly. "What're you thinking?"

"The first night…" he said, uncertainly. "I remember the first night we met."

Leesil's face turned hard and cold as he looked upon Chap.

"You…" Leesil whispered.

Magiere's muscles clenched at the thought of what had happened that first night she looked into Leesil's eyes—and neither of them had known until now.

"You son of a bitch!" Leesil snarled, and he lunged at the hound.

Chap skittered away as Wynn fell backward, caught between the two of them.

Magiere grabbed Leesil by the waist and, crouched as she was, threw herself backward, toppling them both across the floor. Wynn spread her arms out like a barrier, with Chap nervously peering around her side.

Clinging tightly to Leesil, Magiere pulled him along as she backed across the floor up against the legs of a table.

"You did that to me!" Leesil shouted at the hound. "Stealing from a wandering woman with a sword—it was lunacy—but I couldn't leave well enough alone."

"Stop it," Wynn shouted back. "From all you have told me, he has never harmed you… never done anything to hurt you."

"Leesil, calm down," Magiere whispered.

He wrestled out of her grip and rolled to his feet. Backing toward the hallway entrance, he wouldn't even look at Chap.

"I can't be here."

He left without another word.

Gathering her gray robes and pushing her braid back, Wynn clambered to her feet. The young sage was obviously at her wits' end.

"I do not understand," she said, looking to Magiere for an answer. "Why is Leesil acting this way?"

Magiere had no answer for her. There was too much behind all of it, too little time, and so much more they were now facing. All these years, Chap had been hiding from them, following them silently. And telling Wynn anything meant revealing her and Leesil's past livelihood to someone who wouldn't understand it.

"Stay," Magiere finally managed to get out. "Stay with Chap and try to find out why he was digging through those parchments."

Betrayal and revelations aside, their immediate needs hadn't changed. She couldn't allow Leesil to turn away now. As she backed toward the hallway, Chap peered again around Wynn's long gray robe.

Canine crystal blue eyes looked at Magiere, watching her carefully.

* * *

The moment the sun set, Chane slipped from the house to find Toret sustenance. He felt the hunger himself, and his wounded shoulder troubled him. It burned.

He traveled the alleys and side ways into a lower district until coming upon a derelict woman resting behind a stack of crates, half-conscious, an empty brown glass bottle in her hand, the air around her smelling of cheap liquor.

Her flesh reeked of sweat and filth and urine, but Chane gorged himself on her blood, soaking in her life. He was careful not to shed a single drop on his clothing. Eyes closed, he settled back and focused inward, awareness sifting through his flesh, driving the woman's stolen life into his shoulder.

Pain decreased, but the wound did not fully heal.

He let the woman's body lie where he had found it. As he walked away, it occurred to him that Toret had abandoned all rules concerning prey. Before this hunter's arrival, they killed infrequently and always disposed of the bodies with discretion—or rather, Chane made certain that was what Toret believed. Now, no questions were asked.

The hunter.

She was the key to fit the locks and chains upon him. All he need do was to bring Toret and this dhampir together. All previous schemes tossed aside, he stepped onto the main street of the inner ring wall, heading for the sages' old barracks. Toret waited to be fed, and time was limited.

Upon reaching the barracks, Chane stepped inside, not bothering to knock. It was still early evening, and likely Wynn would be about. He headed straight for the large study area, relieved to find her inside poring over a stack of parchments.

He paused upon entering.

Across the floor were scattered scribblings. Chalked words were everywhere, and only a "yes" and "no" were in Belaskian, the rest scrawled in what appeared to be Elvish script in odd