dose when he’d twisted toward her. He lay next to her with his eyes closed, a smile on his lips, one of his arms still caught beneath her.
She leaned her head against his and laughed softly. “I’m sorry.”
It was late, and she’d been awake for a very long time. After tucking the journal and athame away, one in her jacket and the other at her waist, she pulled herself closer to him and let her own eyes drift closed.
John was there, in Quin’s dream. He was so clear, standing across from her—it couldn’t really be a dream, could it? She could see every detail of his face and body, outlined in moonlight.
It was cold. They were outside. His breath was clouding the air. And she felt the deep chill herself, sinking into every muscle. Yet somehow she was able to ignore the discomfort, keep the sensation of cold distant, as though it were of so little importance, she could pretend it weren’t there. John was disregarding the frigid air as well; he wore only a thin undershirt and shorts, and he wasn’t shivering.
He stood a good distance away, yet Quin could discern a small wound near his shoulder, as if her eyes could see much farther in this dream than they did in normal life. Briac shot him on the airship, she remembered. And that’s where the bullet went in. She had a very similar wound of her own—one that John himself had given her, back when he’d attacked the Scottish estate and everyone on it.
She wondered why she felt no hatred as she looked across at John. He’d attacked her, hurt her and those she loved so many times in order to get what he wanted. But in this dream—if it were a dream—she felt neither hatred nor love, merely tolerance.
John began to run, and she was throwing objects at him, her arms moving with a speed almost too fast for her mind to follow. She felt her muscles respond to her own mental commands like lightning, throwing and throwing with a swiftness and force she’d never had in waking life—
—
“He lied to us,” a child’s voice said from somewhere nearby. “Our master’s not here.”
“His athame’s here!” a different voice hissed close to Quin’s face. “Look! How can that be?”
“Are you going to get it?”
A smell like dead rodents filled Quin’s nose.
Her eyes flew open. She was lying on the hospital bed next to Shinobu, and someone was there, leaning over her. Dirty hands were sliding toward the waistband of her trousers.
Quin’s arms came up the moment she understood what was happening, and she knocked the intruder away. He staggered back, but quickly lunged for her again. Quin grabbed his shoulders and held him off as his hands ripped at her waist.
“Give it back!” the attacker hissed, his closeness bringing the overpowering smell of dead animals to her nose again.
He was after the athame. She’d tucked it out of view down her waistband as she fell asleep next to Shinobu, but the handle was visible, and the intruder was about to get hold of it.
She pushed harder against his shoulders, keeping him at bay.
“Stop!” he spat.
He was strong. He changed tactics and reached for her throat instead.
He was younger than she’d thought at first, maybe fifteen, with bright, cruel eyes, the color of coal, and matted hair that might have been dark brown but was so dirty it appeared gray. His fingers scrabbled around her neck as she struggled to thrust him off.
Quin scanned the room to take in the full setting of the attack. Someone else was there. A boy—younger than the first, maybe twelve years old—was dancing from foot to foot in the dim nighttime lights, waiting for his chance to help. He looked fair and freckled but just as dirty as his companion.
The older boy leaned his weight against Quin’s arms, and his hands slid fully around her throat. He looked down at her with anger and elation, as though choking people were one of his favorite pastimes and he couldn’t wait to get started. His lips drew back, revealing filthy, black teeth.
Quin slid sideways, trying not to knock into Shinobu, who was still drugged or asleep. Her feet came off the bed, twisted up, and made contact with the teenaged boy’s chest. She kicked him away so violently that he hit the IV stand and crashed with it to the floor. She sprang to her feet.
“Shinobu!” Quin hissed. In one swift motion, she pulled her