Chane was surprised to find the front door bolted.

He knocked, and Tibor cracked it and looked out. At the sight of Chane, he opened it fully and stepped back.

Chane motioned his companion in and said to Tibor, "Tell the master I'm home."

The sound of Sapphire screeching and glass objects shattering floated down from upstairs. The woman looked up and glanced warily at Chane.

"You got a master? I thought you was the master?"

Chane didn't answer, and she began backing toward the door.

"I changed my mind," she said. "I'll just walk back. You don't owe me nothin‘."

Chane grabbed her upper arm.

She didn't scream but quickly lifted one leg to jerk a fish knife from her boot. Slashing across the back of his hand, she surprised Chane into releasing her. But when she turned toward the door, it was already closed. Tibor stood silently in front of it.

Chane snatched the back of her neck with one hand. Though he'd fed earlier, the slash on his hand drove him to salivate. She swung back blindly at him with the blade, and he grabbed her thin wrist as well. Sheer will kept him from setting his teeth to her throat.

"Is that for me?" came Toret's voice from behind.

Pulling his captive toward the stairs, Chane saw his pale little master descend the last steps, his one good eye fixed on the woman.

"Yes… of course," he answered.

He was loath to offer such a delight to Toret. This woman, as tiny as she was, brimmed with life and survival instinct. It was like serving a vintage wine to a drunkard gone too long without ale.

Chane held her out like a gift as she struggled. He closed his hand on her wrist until the muffled crack of bone was heard. She dropped the knife in a whimper of pain.

Toret enveloped the woman in his thin arms and bit into her throat so rapidly that Chane lost his grip on her neck. He let her arm drop, as he suppressed a sneer of disgust.

Such a waste.

Above in the house, a door banged open or closed, followed by hammering footfalls on the upper stairs. Sapphire shortly appeared at the top of the stairs to the foyer. Her normally perfect curls were disheveled, and she appeared beyond one of her usual tantrums.

"Don't you walk away from me, you little rodent!" she shouted. "I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me? Anywhere!"

Toret dropped the dead girl and opened his tunic. The gaping rent in his chest was closing. The sunken eye socket was now full, and when he opened it, a clouded orb filled it. He turned toward the staircase.

"Close your mouth," he ordered Sapphire. "Go and pack, now."

Sapphire's mouth snapped shut as she twitched, one hand coming to her head as if a sudden pain struck her behind the eyes. She turned around to shuffle back up to her room.

"Pack?" Chane asked.

"We're leaving."

"The house?"

"The city. We're going home, to my home. We'll bribe smugglers to get us off the docks tomorrow evening and sail south to the Suman Empire. It's been too long since I've been home." He paused. "If we stay, the dhampir will find us. We survive only if we leave. You'll like the desert—it's clean."

Toret climbed the stairs, leaving the prostitute's body on foyer floor.

"If a man with dark hair and white temples comes," he added, "don't let him in."

Then he stopped and turned.

"It's a slim chance in a city this size that the dhampir will find this place before we leave, but we should take no chances. There's one more day to get through. Set up a ward or a trap, or something, in case anyone breaks in. Anything simple that will slow her down and warn us."

Holding his composure, Chane nodded obediently. "Leaving Tihko and your wolf loose on the main floor should provide warning, and I will arrange another suitable deterrent."

"Nothing with a tripwire," Toret said. "Use your craft. I think that half-blood can spot a trigger from a league away."

"Very well," Chane replied. So much for simplicity.

This turn of events was disturbing. If Toret's new plan came to fruition, they would all be bound for the Suman Empire by the following night, living among camels, nomads, and who knew what else. It could take years or decades before he found or arranged another opportunity such as this dhampir offered.

Something had to be done. But what?

Although Welstiel had never visited the sages, he had met several through Lanjov at the council hall. The aging Domin Tilswith