She turned her dark, determined eyes back upon the council and walked slowly around the long, oval table.

"One of your members lost a child in a way that frightened the lot of you enough to send for me. If she died with her throat torn open, then you either have an inhuman predator or a sick madman on your hands. I'll assume your guards can handle a madman, so it's obvious why I'm here." At that, her gaze passed over Au'shiyn but didn't pause. "If it's an undead, then you need me—and them." She pointed at Leesil and Chap. "The only reason we're here is because you offered us enough money to save Miiska from ruin. The offer has been made and accepted. Now, all you need to do is answer our requests and stay out of our way."

When Magiere finally stopped at Lanjov's side, even Au'shiyn remained silent. Leesil suppressed a grin. None of these men were accustomed to such blunt words.

"We've our own rooms," she informed Lanjov. "It won't do to have guards parade us into some upscale inn. We don't need that kind of attention."

Lanjov's shock at having lost control increased. "The arrangements are already made."

"Then get your money back," she said. "And tomorrow morning is too late. The trail is already cold as is. We'll visit your home tonight."

"My home?"

Lanjov faltered. Clearly, he never considered the idea, but then he nodded as he realized the oversight. Mystery still surrounded Magiere, and he probably thought she had some supernatural method for tracking.

"This evening," Magiere said firmly. "We'll need the location. We don't want an escort."

The chairman sat down and resumed his calm but dominating demeanor.

"Of course," he said. "My aide will provide directions."

At that, Magiere turned on her heel and headed for the doors, past the openmouthed Doviak, with Leesil and Chap stepping in beside her. She stopped briefly before the guard at the door.

"My sword," she said.

The man handed it to her, and she continued, not even pausing until they were outside on the council hall's terrace. Only then did she close her eyes, lean on the stone rail, and let out a deep breath.

"Just like village leaders." She didn't sound confident in the comparison. "No matter how angry, on the inside, they're frightened. They want someone else to fight their battle."

"Do you think it really is an undead?" Leesil asked.

"I don't know. You know as much as I do about that. But for Miiska's sake, we'd better hope so."

"Sad thought," he added, and then straightened in dramatic determination. "Well, you dealt with the wolves once today, so wait here. I'll get directions to Lanjov's house."

"Yes," she said. "Then we're on the hunt."

He looked over her pale features, her hair, mouth, and her eyes staring blankly out into the courtyard, lost in thoughts he couldn't touch. At least she'd finally committed herself. He would see to it she reached the end and made it home again, no matter what else might pass between them.

"On the hunt," Leesil agreed.

Welstiel Massing waited in the side corner of Councilman Lanjov's office. He knew the meeting taking place would soon end, and Lanjov always returned directly to his private chamber. Finally, the door opened.

Lanjov appeared drained and tense. Moving to his desk, he sank into the chair and pulled a velvet cord hanging against the wall.

Doviak poked his head in the door. "Yes, sir?"

"I wish to dismiss the hunter and have a note immediately delivered wherever she is staying."

Doviak nodded in approval with a quick breath of relief. "I'll get a parchment and be in directly."

Lanjov buried his face in his hands as the door closed.

"You would be wrong to dismiss the dhampir," Welstiel said as he stepped out.

Lanjov started slightly and turned in his chair.

"Welstiel?" he said, regaining his composure. "How did you… ? What are you doing in here?"

"Your aide showed me in a short while ago. I've been in the cellar archives all day doing research. I heard the dhampir had arrived and came up to wait for you."

"I did not notice you," Lanjov answered. He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eyes. "You should have announced your presence."

"The audience did not go well?"

Welstiel stepped to the front of the desk, fingers laced with his hands hanging down to rest on his belt. Lanjov's attention fell briefly on the partially missing little finger. Welstiel often wore gloves to hide the slight disfigurement, but now his hands were bare.

"A disaster," Lanjov answered. "You told me she was