Disclaimer: All concepts and characters belong to L.J. Smith and her publishers, except for those which do not appear in her books. They are borrowed here for non-profit entertainment, and will be put into therapy immediately afterward, for which I take full responsibility.

Rating: R (Language, violence, sex, mature content)

Spoilers: All my previous fan fiction, the Night World books before Strange Fate.

The Chosen Battle

Part Two: Mira

Miranda Cassavitis gently guided the werewolf's hands out from under her blouse. "What's wrong?" he asked, digging his fingers into her hip hard enough to leave bruises.

"Nothing," she said, and looked away as the color rose to her cheeks.

"Come on then," Hopper urged. "It's not like I'm some guy you just picked up in a bar or anything."

Mira looked up at him, into the flat brown eyes with their telltale yellow edges. He was good looking--weren't they all?--with silver-streaked brown hair and thick, kissable lips. She knew, she'd been kissing him all night.

But she wasn't going to sleep with him.

"I'm really tired right now," she said. He rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, so she quickly added, "Could we get together tomorrow?"

"What's going on?" he asked, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn't carry all down the quiet hall. "You were all over me at the theater, I couldn't keep you off-"

"I know," she whispered. "It's just....now's not a good time." She averted her eyes daintily.

"You mean...."

"Girl stuff," she said. She wasn't sure how a literal translation of "I'm on the rag," would sound in Czech.

"That's what you said two weeks ago," he hissed.

"Well, it happened twice this month," she told him. "Okay? God, do you have to throw it back at me like that? I messed up with my pills and it came twice."

"Oh." He was disappointed but understanding. "Yeah, I get it. You should have said something sooner, I could have rubbed your back."

Mira smiled shyly and forgivingly and kissed him again. He really did have great lips, if you ignored the flavor of internal organs that clung to them. "Give me a call in the morning," she said.

"I will."

She watched him turn around and start down the hall, and then ducked into her room. It was dark except for the moonlight that petered in through the lace window curtains, all cool and blue. Mira yawned and stepped out of her heels--whoever designed them should have been shot--then wandered into the connecting bathroom to wash her face. The make-up was sticky and smelled like oatmeal; she didn't like wearing it. The dress, either, although it was less of a bother since it had an incredible affect on her figure.

She struggled with the zipper a moment, then gave up and pulled the satin and gauze over her head. She left the dress on the bathroom floor, along with the various undergarments that matched it, and patted into the bedroom.

There is no reasonable underwear in this house, she thought, shuffling through the drawers. Don't these people know that you're supposed to wear cotton so your parts can breathe? This whole nylon thing makes my skin crawl.

But any of her own clothes--the blue jeans and plaid flannel she was so fond of at home--would have been distinctly inappropriate in this crowd. She ended up in a long silk thing straight out of the Victoria's Secret catalogue, and then pulled a satin robe around herself before stepping back into the hallway.

The sun was rising beyond the windows that made up the wall at the end of the hall. Mira dug her toes into the thick Turkey carpet and kept her eyes open in case anyone was around, but her unnatural sense of presence told her they had all gone to bed.

In the kitchen, she stopped to grab a handful of fresh eucalyptus leaves, just as a pretext for being up, and then made her way slowly to the far piano room, weaving between low couches and elegant coffee tables. The house was beautiful, even if one removed the beautiful furnishings it was obviously an expensive and thoughtful design. Artifacts from all around the world, ancient Greek and Egyptian relics, littered tables and bookcases, and the curtain pulls were all adorned with Roman coins at the ends.

Yeah, if it weren't for the clothes, Mira wouldn't have minded this job at all.

Passing a grandfather clock, she saw that she was already fifteen minutes late. She was surprised when she stepped out onto the balcony that her contact wasn't already there.

She wondered if the clock was wrong, pulling her robe tighter around herself. Her feet were freezing already in the pre-dawn chill.

She began humming, hoping that whoever it was Thierry had sent was just hiding behind a bush waiting to make sure it was her. She didn't hum just anything; in her careful, off-pitch voice she ground out the tune of the second movement from Caller's Orizant Luguna.

Still, no one showed up.

Mira and Thierry had a careful system. On the third of every month, she went out onto the porch at 7:15 a.m., alone, and hummed. One his people, never the same one twice, and never giving her more than a cold, quick glance, would pop out of the bushes and hand her four credit cards. She'd take them and go back to her room.

The cards were labeled as, "First Bank of Nice," "The Second Hand Music Emporium," "Julie's 3rd Street Department Store," and "The Last Drop: Fine Imported Perfumes." They were all stores back in France, none of which offered cards of the sort Mira carried. Each one included a string of digits from which she could pick out a phone number. Those were the numbers where she called Thierry, in the event that she needed to tell him something or let him know there was an emergency. Each line was active for only one week, then it shut down and Mira moved on to the next card.

But this morning her contact wasn't showing up.

She was about to duck inside to see what time it was when the door opened and Teth stepped out. "Mira?" he asked, closing the door.

Teth's full name was Etienne-Irenee les Courtez D'Alessandro. How he came to be called Teth was still a mystery, one of the many things about him Mira had yet to discover. He stood five feet, eight inches, had unremarkable brown hair and hands that were pleasant if not particularly engaging. His mouth--the first thing Mira noticed about a person was the mouth, always the mouth--was very soft and well-sculpted.

She was here to watch him, keep track of his movements, and let Thierry know if there were any plans to attack Circle Daybreak. It was a good assignment, just receiving it was a complement, but then, Mira didn't need a kiss from Thierry to know she was good.

Her secret in undercover work was to be herself, always herself. She'd discovered playing Make-Believe years ago that a phoney background is hard to remember, let alone a phoney personality. So when she became suspicious that the family down the block was anti-Daybreak, she made friends with the little boy who lived there and juiced him for information. They played together, sat together at lunch, and one night, in a moment of sentimental closeness, they even shifted in front of each other. It was the first time anyone besides Mira's parents and her brothers had watched, and remained a passage of growth in her mind.

Yeah, it had been kind of hard turning him in to the authorities. She'd been upset when she found out they lobotomized his parents.

Her loyalty had drawn attention, and before she knew it, a nice looking guy with white-blond hair was asking her if she wouldn't mind moving a couple of towns away and hanging out with some kinds. "Just see what you can find out."

So she'd moved, and she'd gotten close to Georgia and Heather and Iris, and when the time came, she turned their parents in as Daybreak traitors plotting to assassinate the white-haired guy. Who turned out to be a major Lord of the Night World and was very grateful to Mira.

He was also fascinated by her. Shortly after the arrests were made--the Wrylocks, Cresses and Bluegrasses weren't allowed to be living in the area if they weren't with Circle Daybreak--Thierry called Mira to his office. She had just seen Heather, who had been her best friend for the last few months, and they had both been crying.

"How do you bare it?" Thierry had asked, his voice gentle but amazed.

"They're my friends. I never pretended I liked them, I really do care."

"Yet you turned their parents in."

Mira could only shrug. "They were wrong. They're my friends' parents, but they're still wrong."

She'd cried for a couple of weeks, guilt like a fur coat still dripping blood down her shoulders, and returned home. Her parents were upset and sent her to a therapist, who could see into her with crystal clarity. A month later, when she was feeling better, he told her parents simply, "She has to keep doing this."

Maybe he exaggerated her inner need to continue working. Maybe he never really understood that knowing every day that she was reaching toward a greater good filled some hollow inside Mira. Maybe all he noticed were the bruises that kept appearing on her cheeks and her wrists, and the funny chronic limp that she didn't really have an explanation for.

Whatever it was, Thierry took her under his wing and sent her to California to be trained.

There were some undercover people Mira knew who created elaborate guises for themselves. They changed their names, their hairstyles, how they spoke. Even what foods they liked. Mira always got the feeling they were the ones running from something.

She'd been in the Czech Republic for almost five months. It had been necessary to rewrite part of her history, and she had Teth believing that she was the daughter of a well-looked upon shape-shifter house. Supposedly, she was here looking for a husband, and Hopper was first on the list.

"Bonjour," she said to Teth, then remembered herself and switched to Czech. "Hello."

Teth smiled fondly at her and answered in French. "What are you doing up so late? I would have thought you in bed by now."

"Hopper and I just got in an hour ago, but I can't seem to sleep."

He nodded, eyes wandering over the garden laid out a story below them. Mira still had so many questions about Teth, so many things she didn't understand. He was not an extraordinarily handsome man, although there was an intelligence in his expression that often made her nervous. He had none of the insane hatred of humans that so many Night World leaders cultivated, he was not unstable. He rarely ordered deaths, and never irrationally.

The most dangerous enemy, Mira reminded herself, is the thoughtful one.

And Teth was thoughtful. Refined. Polite. Aware.

And cautious. Cautious in the way he always wore calf-skin gloves on his hands, as if worried about finger prints.

"Are you enjoying your stay?" he asked.

"This is a beautiful country."

"It was, once," he agreed. "Communism has had its effects. It is not as lovely as it was when I first came here, but there is something on the air that still draws me."

Add poetic to the list, Mira thought. Was it terrible that she admired him so much? Was it sick that she had a huge crush on him? He was supposed to be an enemy, after all.

"Will you be attending this party Austina is throwing on Saturday?" he asked.

Austina was his live-in lover. Actually, he usually referred to her as his "consort," but it meant the same thing. She was a flittery idiot who had only been a vampire for three years and still made hopelessly adolescent fang jokes.

Teth didn't sound particularly happy about the party, Mira noticed.

"Hopper has asked me to go with him. Will you be there?"

He leaned forward against the wooden railing on his elbows. "I sort of have to be."

"I think anyone with your kind of power can skip a party if he likes," Mira said.

Teth didn't appear offended. In fact, he sounded amused. "Yes, but this is my house. People will talk."

"People always talk," Mira replied. "Ignore them."

"Is that what you do?"

She glanced at him and saw that he was lifting one eyebrow. "I didn't realize people were talking about me," she said.

"People always talk, as you pointed out. And when a pretty French koala bear comes to town and says she wants to marry a nice werewolf, and then bars the door to her room, night after night, yes, of course people talk."

Mira felt her face go slack. "You've been watching me," she said accusingly, reminding herself not to panic. Even if she weren't undercover, she'd have a right to be angry.

"No." Teth was still undisturbed, his eyes as soft and accepting as ever. "Hopper came to talk to me about it tonight. He's concerned."

"Oh."

He blinked thoughtfully a few times, studying her. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said. "Too many people take these things so lightly, it's refreshing to find someone who understands the sanctity of marriage."

She nodded. Fine, let him think that. She sure as hell couldn't tell him the truth. "Thanks. All my friends in high school kept telling me that I was being stupid and old fashioned."

"I'm not one to mock being old fashioned," Teth told her, smiling again. "Don't worry about it, I'll speak to Hopper and explain how you feel. He'll understand."

"Thank you. I think it's easier to hear coming from another man."

"And an older one."

Her feet were starting to sting with numbness, and it was pretty apparent that if Thierry's helper showed up now, he wouldn't be stupid enough to approach her. "I'm getting cold," she said. "I think I'll go inside."

"Sleep well," he said.

"Good night, and thank you again."

She slipped back into the house and found it blessedly warm. After washing her feet with luke-warm water that burned like lava, she dried herself off and climbed into the heated water-bed. The down pillows nestled her head as she pulled the satin sheets around her shoulder.

Teth was so mild, so moderate. How he could attract so many devout followers without ever giving impassioned speeches or making grand promises was unexplained. He lived his life like a reasonable man, and yet he hated humans...

Mira rubbed her eyes, which were aching from a long night on the town, and decided to worry about Teth and Thierry and what to do next in the morning. But as she drifted off, a voice in the back of her mind mentioned, "He's not moderate. He's patient."

Grahme woke up in the padded chair behind his desk. "Sir," Gen was whispering, gently shaking his shoulder.

He smiled and shook his head to clear it. "I must have dozed off. What is it?"

"You weren't answering the intercom, sir. There's a call on line two from Karina O'Bach."

"Do I know her?" he asked, sitting up.

"I don't think so, sir."

He answered the call and spoke for several minutes with the young woman, who was concerned about a possible vampire attack in a nearby town. After he hung up, he glanced around the office at all the folders and memos and forms that required his attention. The work was so much different than it had been when he arrived, now that there were other offices and divisions where problems could be taken care of. Circle Daybreak was currently run by twenty people, instead of one. He smiled; he really was enjoying this job, and it was giving Terry time to tour the world. He would be back in a week, two days before his annual Solstice party, and Hannah would be arriving soon, too.

Abebi wandered over and put her head in Grahme's lap. He knuckled the thick fur on the bridge of her nose, something she wouldn't allow anyone else to do, and she put a massive paw on his chest.

"No," Grahme said firmly. "No wrestling right now. Go lay down."

She placed her other paw on his chest and shoved forward. The chair tipped back and Grahme found himself on his ass with Abebi playfully smacking his face back and forth.

He laughed and grabbed the thick tuffets of fur on either side of her head, and a moment later they were rolling around on the floor together. Abebi clamped her jaws around his shoulder with restraint, and she tore a hole in the knee of his pants but knew better than to dig at his skin. For a wild tiger, she was very well behaved.

When he had taken the edge off her energy, he shooed her out into the hallway and returned to his desk. As he sat down, he noticed a small glass bubble on his phone that would light up red every few seconds.

"Gen," he said, finger on the intercom. "What's this flashing light on the phone?"

"I don't think I know what you're referring to, sir."

"Come in here a moment."

Gen didn't know what the flashing light meant, either. "Thierry used to know, but he always took care of it himself. He never mentioned it to me." She summoned the rest of the office staff, and none of them had any idea.

Grahme agreed not to worry about it for the moment, but he had a sinking feeling that something was wrong.

Mira woke up foggy, clouded by a haze of dreams and stunted with recollection. Her hands found the shower faucet and she climbed into the stream of cold water barely awake enough to know where she was, but when the shampoo bottle fell out of her grasp and crashed to the tile floor with an incredible crack, something inside her snapped to alert.

Something's going to happen, she thought.

She'd always been somewhat prophetic, at least about high drama. Even if the day started out beautiful, she might wake up and know that tonight her father would smack her around.

This morning it felt like simple excitement. She climbed out of the shower and went to the phone, where her wallet sat. She needed to let Thierry know that her contact hadn't showed up the night before, and this phone number would only be active for a few more hours.

She left a carefully coded message and hung up. Thierry would find some way to get to her, he always took care of his undercover people. Especially ones he valued as much as Mira.

She pulled on her robe and went back into the bathroom to dry her hair. It was cut short, black at the roots but fading smoothly into gray and then to silver at the tips. Koala hair, so wretchedly thick that she had to comb it with a pet brush and couldn't recall every having needed a hat in her life. Her eyes were liquid brown, like Hershey's syrup caught under glass, and she had unusually dark fingernails that could cut through cardboard like a knife through water.

She pulled on a skirt patterned with brown flowers and added a tan sweater. It didn't look great. Frankly, it's hard to find clothes that go well with gray hair unless you're a senior citizen and nobody cares anymore.

She was rummaging through the closet for shoes when someone knocked on the door. "Come in!" she called, still on her knees.

Genet Travleir was another of Thierry's people. He was four years older than Mira, twenty-two, and a fellow shifter. His parents had been so happy to have a child who didn't shift into a pig like their first three sons that they'd named him after his animal to show off. Genets were smaller mammals, a combination of a cat and a weasel that always made Mira kind of nervous. They had cat bodies and were colored like leopards, but they also had weasel heads, as if the two species had been mixed together.

Mira didn't mind Genet as long as he was in his human form. He was pretty quiet, but not in a brooding or thoughtful way. Just like he didn't have anything so say. His hair was tan but streaked with black, and he walked the way his animal-form did, loose-jointed.

"Good morning," he said, sitting down on her bed in one smooth motion.

"Hi," she muttered. "What's going on?"

As a general rule, they stayed away from each other. If they were seen around together and then one was caught, the other would be immediately under suspicion.

"What are you looking for?" He knelt down beside her on the floor and pretended to search as well.

"Shoes. I can't find my brown ones."

Their faces pressed together and he whispered very softly, "I lost contact two weeks ago. Can you let him know?"

Mira grabbed the shoes and sat up. "Here, I've got them. Hey, are you going into town today?"

"Maybe."

"Could you pick up a couple of things for me?"

"Sure."

She grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and a pen. "Missing contact this morning, messages sent out."

She handed him the page and he read it. "Oh, wait," she said. "I forgot something."

Taking the paper back, she scratched out what she had written and wrote, "Anti-perspiriant, toothpaste, spring water, floss."

"Thanks," she said, watching him fold the page into his pocket. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, bye."

Lei Diatom couldn't believe she was doing this. She sat at a table in the corner of Serena's Cafe, staring blankly into a cup of coffee she had no intention of drinking. Her hands were cold but her feet felt hot and restrained in her shoes.

Most of all, she felt disgusted with herself.

Think of Annie, she thought. Think of Kim and Charlie and Richard. Think of Matilda.

Think of all the humans.

The problem was, she was thinking of them. And taking care of them. And the only way she could take care of them was to sign their death warrant.

Lei's hand tightened around the handle of the coffee cup until it broke. She demurely let the pieces fall to the table, hoping no one had noticed.

Across from herself, a vampire slid into a chair. His tawny brown hair was slicked back with a half-cup of gel and he oozed charm. "Hello, beautiful," he said, picking up her hand to kiss it. "It's been a while."

"It has, Sam." She gently tugged her hand away and returned it to her lap.

"You're pale," he noted, scooting up to the table.

"I'm all right."

He shrugged. "So, what can I do for you?"

She sighed, knowing she wasn't going to back out now. "I'm having a problem with the local vampire pack. They absolutely refuse to give us our hunting space, and it's turned into an out and out war between the young. The vampires have actually taken to shooting all the deer they can with automatic weapons so that the 'wolves will have nothing to hunt. Three humans were killed last month, and it's not that big a town."

Sam nodded. "So you'd like me to send a little warning to the vampires, let them know to back off."

"Yes," Lei said gratefully.

He leaned forward and wet his lips. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you leave the Night World for Circle Daybreak?"

Lei's hands clamped around the coffee cup again. "Well," she said nervously, "yes. But it....hasn't worked out."

"Worked out in what way?"

"Thierry...."

God, she screamed at herself, don't tell him about Thierry's amnesia! There were less than twenty people in the country who knew, and so far, they had been able to keep the secret.

"....hasn't been able to control them."

Grahme hadn't been able to control them. He was as good a replacement as Circle Daybreak was likely to find, organized, thoughtful, fair. But nobody knew who the hell he was, so nobody listened, especially not a group of renegade vampires whose parents were older than he was.

"Thierry's loosing sway," Sam said thoughtfully. He tapped his chin with a long-nailed finger. "That kind of information could be useful, Lei, I'm glad you called." He nodded slowly. "Of course, there will be a price for your return. We'll need some proof of your loyalty."

"Proof?" Lei asked weakly.

"Nothing much. I would think, oh, two dozen dead humans would do it." He smiled as Lei felt the color slip from her face. "Yeah, just dump them in the parking lot in front of City Hall, and I'll take care of the vampires for you."

Then he rose from his chair and sauntered to the door. Lei stared after him for several seconds before she started sobbing.

Think of Andrew. Think of Kelly. Think of Lucas.

Casey was sitting at home when the phone rang. Home, at the moment, was Savannah, Georgia, a small angular house beside the ocean. The sun had just set and she was mercifully out of the light, reclining on a hammock chair on the back deck, watching the waves creep closer and closer as the tide came in.

She was trying to come up with a reason to call Grahme. She was sick of calling because she needed something, because she was in trouble, in jail, alone and starving to death without money or a passport in "one of those God forsaken countries you insist on scouraging!" She was tired of having him see her as weak.

She was weak, of course. She had always needed him.

And he had never needed her.

If she called just to say hello, it would say she still cared, and she didn't want him thinking that. She could be just as cold as he could even if he did it without being so obvious.

Things had a habit of falling into Casey's path, the right things at the right times. Funds, possibilities, advantages, even soulmates. At that particular moment, as she was wondering why she might call him without giving up any of her cards, the phone rang.

She answered on the deck extension. "Hello?" Her voice was soft and meaningless, she liked it that way.

"Case, hon, this is Sam."

"Hmm." She made certain to sound both unimpressed and uninterested. Although in reality, despite the fact that Sam was a disgusting weasel who would have been a wanna-be mobster if he hadn't been a vampire, he often had gossip to share.

"Try it again, beautiful, with a little enthusiasm."

"Lovely of you to call, Sam, I'm hanging up now."

"No, sweetheart, wait a sec. I've got some information you might find interesting."

Casey propped her long legs up on a glass-topped coffee table and leaned back in her chair. The evening breeze was just cool enough to feel pleasant on her damp skin. "You never have much I find interesting."

"This you'll love. You still pretending to be chummy with Thierry's little slut?"

"I assume you're referring to Grahme."

"How many whores does Thierry keep?"

She smiled faintly despite herself. "That was six hundred years ago, Sam, and I hear he goes through at least one a month."

Sam laughed, his heavy New York accent making the sound slightly deranged. "You're a gem, Case, you know that?"

"I've heard it a time or two. What about Grahme?"

"You could still pull some strings with him, right?"

"Depends which strings you want me to pull."

She was beginning to get bored, until he said, "Enough to get you into Thierry's mansion."

Casey straightened slowly, alert. "Why would I want to go there?"

"So that you can slip me the guest list for this year's Solstice party."

"And you want to know who's coming because...."

"Because then I can pick someone to abduct and pose as, allowing me to get inside the mansion and take a stake to the old bag's chest." Suddenly her throat was dry and scratchy.

"You yourself?"

"Nah, I'll send somebody to do it."

"You want my help in assassinating Thierry."

Sam laughed again, making Casey cringe. "Not just your help, babe. There's something in it for you, too. See, the I way I see things playing out, while we're plunging Thierry on the bad end of a rake, we may as well do Grahme, too. You're there, Thierry's mistress's window-girlfriend-whatever, and you take over. Then we can start taking Circle Daybreak apart from the inside out."

Now her hands were clenched around the wooden slat armrests, and her bare feet were flat on the plank deck.

"It's a pretty good plan, huh? And now is the perfect time, because everybody's on the verge of revolting anyway. Thierry can't keep anybody in line, not the vampires or the 'wolves or the 'shifters. Seems to me the witches are the only ones not causing a fuss, and they're only half-asses anyway." He paused. "You still there, Case?"

"I'm still here," she answered, forcing her voice to be strong. She had been posing as a happy Night World member for the last four years; no reason to blow it now.

"What do you think? Am I a genius or what?"

"Pulitzer material," she agreed, and suddenly knew what had to be done.

Mira spent the afternoon lounging around the house, talking about decoration with Austina and stealing kisses with Hopper. She had a ground eucalyptus milk shake for lunch, made from deliciously fresh leaves and topped with strawberries and whipped cream, and then changed into a long black dress and glittering jewelry for the opening of an art gallery Teth had invited her to attend with him and Austina.

They drove into Prague in a white limo, gliding between the tall-spired buildings with their ancient stained windows and moldings. Mira hated the pantyhose she was wearing, but she did genuinely love art, and that made up for it.

The gallery was on the second floor, and she spent an hour milling about with Austina and Teth, being introduced to all sorts of people. She sipped champagne and listened to a string quartet play. This was high society; in a few minutes several opera singers arrived and joined in. Mira listened raptly, leaning against a marble pillar in the center of the room. Something about the music, as oppressive and over-blown as it was, fascinated her.

"I didn't know you liked opera," Teth said, coming to stand beside her.

Mira felt herself blush. "I don't really. I mean, I'm not a fan and I never see performances."

"Do you know this?"

"The opera this is from?"

"Yes."

"I haven't the foggiest."

Teth smiled. "It's from Verdi's Aida. The story is about a young woman, Aida, who is a slave to the princess of Egypt. They both want to marry the same man, a war hero, but he has eyes only for Aida. He doesn't know that her father is the King of Ethiopia, and he leads a huge battle between Egypt and Ethiopia. Aida is torn between supporting her father and her lover."

"How does it end?" Mira asked.

Teth turned his eyes slowly toward her and said, "The warrior is announced a traitor. He and Aida are entombed alive."

She felt herself step back before she thought better of it. That was a warning or I'm not a marsupial in my spare time, she thought wildly, trying to keep the expression of fear off her face.

"But this is from the first act," Teth added, "when things are still going well for them both."

"Oh." Mira concentrated on not dropping her champagne flute. Teth was looking back toward the singers now, his eyes half closed, and she could hear him humming very faintly. How does he know? she wondered wildly. Maybe he doesn't. I mean, most operas end tragically, don't they? Like The Marriage of Figaro. It was a mess. Wasn't it? Dammit, I should have learned Italian.

The performance came to a close and Teth smiled at her. "There's an exhibit on the fourth floor I would like to take a look at while everyone else is engaged here. Would you care to join me?"

Before she could answer, he had taken her hand and was leading her toward the elevator. Still in gloves, Mira noted for the hundredth time. Does he ever take them off?

The elevator was antique, a ridiculous gilded cage built into a modern-day elevator shaft. A small seat covered in flaking velvet was tucked into the corner, leaving just enough room for someone else to stand. Mira sat down and Teth pressed the floor button.

He smiled at her again, and she smiled back, still nervous inside. She didn't feel any better when the cab came to a rough halt and the doors failed to open.

Teth sighed and slid gracefully down to the floor. "It could be a few hours," the rough voice coming through the intercom said. "Are you both all right?"

"We're fine. Please just hurry."

Mira opened her purse and snapped it shut again.

"I apologize," Teth said. "There appears to have been a wiring difficulty, but I assure you that we're safe."

He gave her the information as if she hadn't heard the technician in the intercom say it a moment before. Czech politeness, keeping alive the old customs.

They were silent for a few minutes, while Mira snapped her purse open and shut. "I spoke with Hopper this afternoon," Teth told her, switching suddenly to French. It was thoughtful of him; Mira sometimes had trouble with her Czech.

"Yes? Thank you."

"But I'm curious, about your relationship with Hopper. I am his ghid, you know."

Ghid was a shapeshifter word that meant godfather or guardian. "Oh? I didn't realize that was part of vampire tradition."

He smiled again, his expression soft but watching. "It's not, but I am very close to Hopper's mother. Tell me about your family, Mira."

His French was accentless, but he put a certain stress on her name that she was unaccustomed to. "My parents are in Nice," she told him. "I have a brother, Jean-Patrick, who is at university in Paris. He's studying medicine, he hopes to be a plastic surgeon."

"And cut up humans all his life? How will he resist the temptation to take a bite while he's working?"

Mira laughed with him and felt herself relax a little. Teth was just making conversation while they were stuck in the elevator.

"Is your family koala?"

"Only my brother. My father is ostrich and my mother is a spider monkey."

"Do you miss them?"

She didn't consider. "No."

Teth lifted his eyebrows. "You are not close?"

"My father is a temperamental man. It's something of a relief to be away from him."

"Hmm." He nodded as if he had already known. "So your decision to come here was not based entirely on your interest in Hopper?"

"No."

"Forgive me if I am prying, but do you have any interest in him at all?" Even sitting on the floor and looking up at her, his presence was imposing. "Because I have the feeling that you care little for him."

"I...." Mira snapped the purse shut and scrambled for thoughts.

"It's all right," Teth said simply. "I am not blind, I know that Hopper is a chauvinistic idiot. It's not his fault, he didn't have your good fortune to be raised in a contemporary country like France. I'm afraid El Salvador is a much less refined social circle." His eyes hardened ever so slightly. "But I have no wish to see him played with, Mira. Break things off and return to France, or else commit honestly to him."

She lowered her eyes on her hands and kept them there. "I thought I had made my reluctance clear to you-"

"Do not lie," he told her. "It is unattractive on you."

She looked at him, and he smiled slowly, forgivingly. "You are not as sly as you think," he said more gently. "Whoever you are running from will find you even here."

"I am not running."

"Just staying a safe distance away. I understand."

Yes, the truth always worked. Real people were so inevitably complex, it was easy to confuse one of their emotions with another. He thought she was using Hopper so that she could stay away from her father, hidden safely in the Czech Republic.

"He will kill me if I go home," she said. It wasn't a lie, there were always rages to contend with.

"Then don't go home. The world is large enough for the two of you. You speak English, don't you? You could go to England. I believe the First House of Shapeshifters is in the States at the moment, I'm sure they would take care of you."

She nodded and was quiet. This was why the assignment was so hard, she realized, because Teth was one of the most brilliantly perceptive people on the face of the planet. For all her acting, he had seen easily how she felt about Hopper.

Goddamn, I wish he was working for Circle Daybreak, she thought, and was caught by another surprise wave of admiration for him. He made it all look so easy...

He left her silence unmolested. His gaze drifted across the wall as if he was thinking of something else, and Mira watched him and wondered what he was dreaming of. Probably nothing as harmless as his expression would suggest.

She absolutely had to find a way to stay here.

"I request political asylum in your care," she said.

Teth's face registered mild surprise, but it was only skin deep. He knew exactly what she meant. "Asylum from what?"

"It has been kept quiet, but the First House has made a pact with the Witches. They are with Circle Daybreak now." She doubted seriously that he didn't already have this information, it was leaking slowly but surely around the globe.

"And your family?"

Mira nodded. "With them. That's what I came here to hide from, Teth, not just my father. You already knew of this, didn't you?"

"I knew." He considered. "You should have told me about your family from the start."

"I wasn't sure you were still loyal to the Night World. Circle Daybreak has so far been reluctant to execute traitors, but they have several nasty witch brews that I would rather avoid."

Another faint smile creased his lips. "Asylum granted. I would still ask that you make your true feelings known to Hopper."

"I will."

Mira found a package of breath mints in her purse and chewed one passionately to keep from grinning with relief.

"It has to mean something," Grahme said. "Phones don't just flash for no reason."

During the past day, the flashing had increased in tempo, and now the red light was blinking urgently. Bernard had tried unplugging and replugging the phone, but the light returned with the power. Obviously it meant something, or it wouldn't be flashing.

"I think it's going even faster than before," Izzy said, crouching beside the desk. The office was warmly lit around the desk with a number of 60-watt Tiffany lamps, and the balcony doors had been opened so that the desert wind could sweep through the room.

Grahme reached for the intercom. "Any luck reaching Terry, Gen?"

"Not yet, sir. I'm working on it, though. He was in Bucharest three days ago, he can't have gotten far."

But they both knew that was horseshit. A vampire as old as Terry could be anywhere by now.

"I wonder what he was doing in Romania," Izzy asked. "Circle Chimera is very strong in that area, we should call and ask if he visited while he was there. Gen, put in a call to Ecatelina Dascu."

Grahme opened the desk drawer and pulled out a roll of tape and several thick notecards. He carefully layered and taped them over the light. "I can't take the flashing any more," he said. "It's driving me crazy."

"Thierry never made a big deal out of whatever it is," Bernard said, perched on the corner of a couch Abebi was doing her best to tear to shreds. "So it can't be that important."

"The fact that he kept it secret makes me think it's even more important than I'm hoping it's not," Grahme told him. He seriously doubted that finding Terry would help; in the past four months his friend had failed to remember a single detail of his past, and appeared shocking unbothered by it.

Grahme stood up and walked to stand in front of the giant map now tacked to the office wall. The entire world was stretched out in front of him, carefully and beautifully colored--Bernard's work--according to Night World and Circle Daybreak regions. Push pins indicated field offices that reported back to Grahme, a new invention since Thierry had left. If there was a problem in South Africa, Nnamdi would call. If the Swedish werewolves decided to return to the Night World, Hedda would let Grahme know. When they finally got that damn blood factory in Brenkivt, Russia, shut down, Anzhela would send a telegram.

The American Night World, Grahme had noticed, was much younger than the European. That made its members easier to sway, but also more accident prone. New England was currently a mess. Nobody was sure what the hell was going on over there, but it had something to do with a big wig who got burned to death a few months back and hadn't left an heir. His business--Grahme loved these vampires who owned businesses like they were legitimate American citizens or something--was causing quite a storm in the stock market, too.

Because of the chaos, Grahme was keeping in close contact with his New England office, run by one Willow Cowan. She was young, sixty-five or something, and called constantly for advice on even the most trivial decisions. Grahme didn't mind; that's what he was there for.

He noticed something odd on the map and called for Bernard.

"Yes, sir?" The pert, mousy face scampered in.

"What's this purple area in southern Europe?" Grahme asked, pointing. The Night World was blue, Circle Daybreak was yellow, places they overlapped turned green.

"Those are places we've lost, sir."

"Lost?" Grahme asked sharply.

"Places Circle Daybreak has been losing members to the Night World."

"Exactly where is this?"

Bernard leaned close to the map. "The Czech and Slovak Republics, sir. There's a made there named Teth D'Alessandro with a lot of influence."

"When did this start happening?"

"Circle Daybreak was never very popular there to begin with, but the fall has come within the last month. We don't know much about D'Alessandro himself, except that he keeps a very low profile."

"Do we have someone undercover keeping an eye on him?"

"I don't think so, but I'll check, sir."

While Bernard dashed off, Gen came over the intercom. "I've spoken with Doamna Dascu, sir. She says she hasn't heard from Thierry in six months, but she's going to check around with the local Chimera and she'll call if anything turns up."

"Thanks, Gen." He had expected as much. Terry didn't want to be found.

"Sir?" Izzy said from the couch.

"Yes?"

"About the Solstice party Terry wants to throw."

"He's already sent out the invitations."

"I know. But how are we going to explain his...situation? He won't recognize anyone except from pictures, I'm sure it won't take long for someone to realize that he isn't himself. I spoke to Terry about it before he left, he didn't seem concerned."

"But you are."

She nodded, idly stroking Abebi's back. "So far, we've managed to keep this under wraps. But the Night World is just beginning to think of Circle Daybreak as a serious threat. If they think we're weak, they may decide that now is a perfect time to take us out, and forget the millennium. Emilita Lyhnn called this evening to say that Night World officials in Poland are already suspicious that's something's going on."

Grahme had suspected as much. "What do you suggest?"

"We have several options. We can try to pass Terry off as Thierry, and hope no one can tell the difference. Or we can admit to Circle Daybreak that you've taken over."

"Neither one works. Someone will realize Thierry's different, and no matter how big a secret we say it is, someone will leak to the Night World."

"Which brings me to our last option. Sir...." She took a deep breath and let it out, obviously trying to be delicate. "Sir, in the past few months, you've done an excellent job. You've reorganized everything so that we're doing less and accomplishing more, you handle problems beautifully, and on a personal note, you're thoughtful with everyone and a terrific boss."

"But," he prompted.

"But-" She pinched her lips together. "You weren't meant for a position like this."

He sighed. "I know."

"It's nothing bad about you," Izzy tried to tell him, but he cut her off gently.

"I'm not Thierry, Iz, I know that. He's been around so long, he understands the way the world works as if it's the changing of the seasons, and I don't. I'm too young to be doing this."

"You're a good man," she said. "And I respect you. But once this party is over, I think we need to make Thierry our number one priority before that whole map turns purple."

There was a knock on the door, and Orchid stuck her head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but there's a Miss Gable downstairs for you."

An unpleasant shock ran the length of Grahme's body. "Casey Gable?"

"She didn't give a first name. She's made, I think, red hair, very pretty. She's waiting in the sun room on first."

Suddenly there was blood pounding in his head. "I'm sorry, Izzy, we'll have to talk about this later." He took long steps to the door, calling Abebi after him.

She was sitting on a white brocade fainting sofa, leafing through an over-sized coffee table book. Her dress was deceptively casual, forest green lined with black velvet, and she'd gathered her voluminous red hair into a swirl of braids at the back of her head. She looked like a turn-of-the-century school teacher, all tidy and pressed, except that there was an elegance about her that no school-marm ever had. She didn't smile at Grahme, her expression was distant and chilly, and she stood up slowly as he entered.

"Casey," he said. His heart was beating laboriously in his chest.

Now she smiled, and her entire demeanor changed. Her chin dropped subtly, a strand of hair came tumbling from behind one ear, and suddenly she was obtainable, approachable, warm. Grahme came forward quickly, stopping with effort a few feet away. She didn't like for him to touch her, and if he pissed her off she would leave without a second thought. Looking at this incredibly beautiful girl--she appeared no older than eighteen--it was hard to believe that she'd been thrown in jail for assault with a deadly weapon no more than four months ago.

But that was Casey. Fiery, self-destructive, able to turn on a dime. He could never anticipate her, which was one of the reasons she still fascinated him after fifty years.

Abebi ground her forehead into Casey's leg, and purred loudly. Casey eased back onto the couch, her hands on Abebi's cheeks, her forehead, digging under her chin.

"I think she's missed me," Casey told Grahme. He sat down on the edge of a coffee table near her, struggling over what to say.

"You look great," he told her finally.

"Thanks. You look....comfortable."

He was wearing old jeans that had stretched in unnatural ways to accommodate his unnaturally muscular thighs and a college sweatshirt Hannah had brought for Thierry that he had never worn. The sleeves reached just past Grahme's elbows.

"How've you been?" he asked.

"I'm staying out of trouble."

Must be, he thought, I haven't heard from you since September.

"Where are you living?"

"In Savannah, with some friends."

"Friends?"

She lost her smile. "Don't start, Grahme."

"But you aren't here to stay?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Why would I stay?" she asked. There was a bitter edge of her voice.

Abebi's head rested on her lap, and one manicured hand was buried in fur. Grahme glared at his pet, feeling betrayed. "What do you want, Casey?" he asked. He kept his tone controlled but could feel his temper rising. Only Casey could do this to him, only Casey could make his lash out. "Money, passports, what? You could have just called Heidi, she'll set you up with whatever you want."

"I'm not here to see your secretary," Casey said evenly. She could stay infuriatingly stoic at times like these, only to blow up when it suited her. "I'm here to see you. And to warn you."

The anger cooled easily, as it always did. "Warn me of what?"

She slipped her shoes off and crossed her ankles. "There are Circle Daybreak fractions everywhere breaking up. Nobody's listening to you, Grahme, it's that simple. You've got to start doing some damage control."

The purple area on the map flashed in his mind. "I already knew that," he said, but inside he was startled. Casey hadn't actually spoken to him when it wasn't an emergency in three years, he hadn't seen her in eight, yet here she was, warning him. If she thought the situation was serious enough to warrant loosening her grasp on an incredible grudge, it must be more serious than he had realized.

Casey nodded. "Good. Then I'll get out of your way."

But she didn't get up. Grahme saw himself in his mind, holding her close and prying the pins out of her hair. Her beauty had always been her defense, a shield against people like Grahme who wanted to draw near.

"Why don't you stay a few days," he said.

Her eyes were a shade between blue and green, the sky as a storm rolled in. Now they clouded even more and she said again, more painfully this time, "Why would I stay?"

He shrugged. "Terry's throwing a Solstice party. You could stay for that, see some old friends, make some new ones."

She nodded. "Stay for the party. But not for you."

Grahme realized he'd said the wrong thing, but she was already standing up and slipping back into her shoes. "Sorry to have wasted your time," she added, stepping past him.

Oh, how he wanted to grab her arm and stop her. Instead, he blocked the front door and stalled. "Stop, Casey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

She folded her arms and let her weight rest on one foot. "Get out of the way, Grahme."

"No, please. Stay a few days. Not for the party, but because I'm asking you to. Because I want you here."

"To assuage your guilt?" she snapped. "I don't think so. I'm not a requirement, you can forget about me as soon as you want."

He sagged miserably against the door. "No, I can't," he said. "I can't seem to forget about you no matter what I do."

She turned away, wrestling behind her eyes, and took a few steps. Her heels clicked against the floor, then she stopped and swayed slightly. "Only until the Solstice party, Grahme. Then I'm gone."

He nodded, every pathetic nugget of hope he was still carrying around in his chest doubling in size. "You're a guest here, not a prisoner."

"No, I've never been your prisoner," she agreed, but her voice was laced with irony.

Aleksei Arshowsky slammed the phone back into its cradle. He had left nine messages. It had been nine days since he started crying for help. There had been no reply messages. There had been no help. He was tired, and he was cold, and he had been running all night.

"Damn you, Thierry," he murmured. Russia in December was very close to hell, he could practically see the words form in the air as he spoke.

He turned and ambled down the dark, freezing side street where he had come to make his call. His last call. Passport or no, he was getting out of this country tonight. The border was only a few miles away, but heavily guarded for reasons Aleksei still didn't understand. Some kind of trouble with export tariffs, he thought, but it meant that you didn't get in or out without a passport.

He had one, but it had his undercover name on it, Konstantin Peschkowsky. Half the Russian Night World wanted Konstantin's head, they were determined to see him dead and didn't mind using human authorities to help the process along.

He turned into the plaza and paused. He knew he shouldn't, that it was dangerous and would complicate things. But he was also aware that he had little hope of living through the night if he stayed in Brenkivt.

Disgusted with himself, he crept between patches of moonlight to the dirty stoop of a small house on the corner. The door was locked; he spent a moment jimmying it with a screwdriver. Then he eased the door back on its hinges and stuck his head inside.

Evgenij was asleep on a bed near the fire, snoring loudly enough that Aleksei could have broken the door down with a ram and no one would have heard. Aleksei smiled to himself and closed the door, letting himself bask a moment in the warm living room before making his way to a door in the far corner.

The bedroom was tiny, but he knew Yelizaveta had always been grateful for the simple privacy. Her narrow bed was crammed under the puny window, which had been shuttered to keep the winter drafts out, and Aleksei could barely see her thin form beneath the thick blankets that had been piled over her.

He closed the door and sat on the edge of her bed. "Yala," he called softly, kissing the curve of her cheekbone. "Wake up, sweeting."

She started and opened her eyes. "Aleks?!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. The sight of him was beautiful, even with the swollen bruise around his left eye.

"Shh," he whispered. "You'll wake your parents."

He wrapped her frail shoulders in blankets and clutched her close. "I thought you were dead," she told him, a shock of pure joy running through her. "Leonid said they caught you."

"They did, it was a mess. I really thought I wasn't going to get out of that place, luckily there was this guard working for Circle Daybreak who got me a key to the front gate. They had the dogs and the werewolves on me and everything." He closed his eyes in her hair. "It was a nightmare there, Yala. The things they did to those people...."

For a moment they just held onto each other. The lighter began to burn Aleksei's hand and he let it go out so that they were wrapped in blankets and darkness.

"I have to leave Russia," he said finally, pulling away. "They're looking for me everywhere."

"You'll go back to Circle Daybreak?"

He drew the blankets around her, aware of how much thinner she was than the last time he had seen her. "I can't get in touch with Thierry, no one is answering the messages I leave. I'll have to risk crossing the border."

"How?"

"I'll need Evgenij's passport. I think we look enough alike, once I put on my coat and hat. Do you know where it is?"

"Of course. But where will you go then? Is Circle Daybreak dead?"

"I don't think so." He kissed her forehead. "As long as there are humans, there will be Circle Daybreak. But something may have happened to Thierry. I'll try to get to England and reach the consult there. But Yala, there's something else. They caught Oleg."

He could hear her quick breathing in the darkness. "Does that mean..."

"They'll know about you soon enough. Come with me."

"I can't, Aleksei, my parents-"

"You can write to them from England. These people will kill you, I guarantee it."

"I'm sick." She felt as thought she were betraying him, letting him down, just saying the words.

"We can't wait. Once we're out of the country, we'll find a warm place where you can rest for a few days."

"No, I mean I'm dying."

Aleksei felt another wave of despair wash over him. His chances of leaving Russia weren't good to begin with, and if Yelizaveta's health was failing...

"What it is?" he asked weakly.

"There's a tumor in my stomach. The doctor said I'd have to go to Moscow to have it removed, but we don't have the money anyway. I can hardly eat anything without throwing up."

He wondered if this was Fate telling him to give up. He had done everything asked of him, risked his life entering the factory, endured the horrors within, destroyed the place. He had worked so hard, and now with Thierry out of contact and Yelizaveta's illness, he wasn't sure he had the strength to move one more mountain.

"Then I'll stay," he said.

"No, Aleksei, don't. You have a chance to escape, you have to take it."

"You could come with me, I'd help you."

"Even if we made it, I would still be sick."

"Circle Daybreak will find you a doctor."

"How would I pay them?"

"You've done enough. I destroyed the factory, they owe me a big one. I'll make sure they take care of you."

"I'll just drag you down."

"Yala, please." He pressed his lips to her neck. "I won't go without you."

She made a little sound halfway between laughing and crying, desperate. "You aren't being fair."

He kissed her neck again. "I know."

"You're guilt tripping me."

Her chin. "I know."

"You really won't go unless I come?"

Her cheek. "I won't."

She turned her face so her lips met his and sank into a kiss that was both exhausted and passionate. "I love you," Aleksei breathed. "You've kept me alive these past months."

Yelizaveta felt herself melt against him. He was the most honorable man she had ever met, the first one to change things instead of sitting around complaining. Somehow that she, little, sick Yala, had been his inspiration for everything he'd done was too much to contemplate.

"I'll come," she said softly in the darkness.

Mira was stark naked when the knock on the door came. Scrambling for her robe, she called, "Just a minute," and clenched the silk tie tightly around her waist before going to the doorway.

She and Teth had been trapped in the elevator for almost two hours, then rejoined the party until well after five a.m. Afterward, she'd had to dump Hopper, which hadn't been pleasant for either of them since he made a horrible fuss and called her a tease, ect. She'd come home and tumbled into her room, anxious to get the make-up and panty-hose off, only to be interrupted just as she was stepping out of the shower.

Opening the door, she found Jokubas standing in the hall. She had a strong desire to use the American expression, "Yeah?" It had a particular vein of annoyance she wanted to open up for him. "Yes?"

"Teth wants to speak with you."

"Now?"

Jokubas nodded. "In his office."

"Can I put some clothes on first?"

"Yes, but don't take long. Don't do any of that....girl stuff."

"Girl stuff," Mira muttered, closing the door. She found a clean pair of irrationally silky underwear, a matching lavendar bra, and black jeans with a sable blouse. Her hair was still wet, but she got the feeling that Jokubas's mention of "girl stuff" was a direct order not to blow dry it. Instead she gave it a rough toweling and went into the hall looking slightly scraggly.

Jokubas was waiting for her, and as they walked together through the long halls and sumptuous room, Mira got the distinct feeling that he was watching to see if she'd bolt.

She kept her walk casual and unhurried, smiled a little but didn't try to make small talk. Inside, she was on red alert, monitoring everything, trying to put together a puzzle where she had very few pieces. Somewhere along the way, she must had done something wrong, something to slip up....

Jokubas opened the door to Teth's office and ushered her inside, then shut the door and stood beside it as a sentry. Mira had been in the office twice before, a curious, octagon shaped room with a low ceiling and plants along the walls that seemed to imply some sort of camouflage. Now there were seven people crowded between the plants, not including Jokubas and Mira. She recognized a few of them as being from a prominent 'shifter family and understood that this was a meeting of the heads of state in the area.

Teth was behind his desk, calm and poised, very aware of everything going on around him. He nodded to Mira as she came inside, but waited until the door was shut before speaking.

"I'm sorry to have to wake you after such a tiring night," he said, appearing not just polite but genuine in his sympathy, "but we have something of a situation here."

He gestured, and Mira realized there was a vampire bound and gagged with cord on the floor. No, not just any vampire, Austina.

She looked back at Teth, trying to scry his face for any glint of information, but he revealed nothing. "Pick up the gun, please," he suggested, and pointed to a small, compact weapon resting on the edge of the desk.

She took it, feeling the surprising weight in her hand. She was good with guns, had terrific aim and an instinct about when to fire and when to wait. This gun was heavier than she was used to, weighted in the butt and light in the barrel, as if it was used for sharp-shooting.

"Please shoot Austina," Teth instructed.

Mira gazed at him hard for a few seconds. There was a trick here, for giving the right answer. If he really wanted her to shoot Austina, he wouldn't have had her do it in his office, and all the spiffy werewolves were standing close enough that their suits would get all dirty. The catch was which question to ask. "Why?"

He lifted is eyebrows, but without real surprise. "I'm ordering you to shoot Austina. Isn't that all you need to know?"

"I want to know why she should be shot," Mira told him firmly. "She has offended me. I'd like her killed, please."

She turned the gun upside down and held it out. "If you're the one she has offended, you're the one who should be shooting her."

One of the werewolves leaned forward, interested. "You aren't going to carry out my orders?" Teth asked. "You aren't loyal to me?"

"I'm loyal to the Night World," Mira said. "If you're acting on their behalf that's one thing, but I'm not here to settle your person problems."

She laid the gun on the desk, carefully pointing it away from both Teth and herself. His lips curled in a smile and he said simply, "Good answer."

Austina began moving, tearing easily through her bonds, which proved to be package twine. "I think we're done here," Teth said, addressing the powerfully dressed people lining the walls. "I'll speak with each of you tomorrow." Then, "Mira, stay a moment."

Austina leaned across the desk to plant a kiss on Teth's cheek. "Good night, honey," she said, before following the others out of the office.

Mira stayed where she was, waiting until Jokubas had retreated outside and closed the door. Nervous, she said with a little laugh, "What would you have done if I'd shot her?"

He replied in French. "The gun wasn't loaded." Teth folded his hands neatly, and she wondered how he was able to appear so old in the body of a seventeen year old. "There's been some question concerning your loyalty." He smiled again. "Hopper has accused you of having a crush on me."

He waited, somehow making his silence a question. Mira felt herself blush. "Well," she stammered, "maybe a little."

God, she thought, I feel like an idiot. Not because she was playing the stupid love-struck school girl, but because she had just realized that she was a stupid love-struck school girl. She heard herself going on and cringed.

"I respect you," she said, "more than I've ever respected anyone. You're rational, you're thoughtful. You understand the laws of force and violence, and you're able to use both without abusing them. You aren't one of those power hungry, human-hater vampires who just says, Let's kill them all and sets their friends loose on the streets. You've taken the time to think it all through and arrange your pieces." She paused. This was sick, really sick that she was telling him all this, but it was the truth, and more importantly, she wanted him to know. "Everyone admires you, they listen to you because they know you'll make the right decision, not because they're afraid you'll eat their kids if they disobey. That's the sort of leadership we're going to need during the millennium and afterward, people who can honestly gain the respect and admiration of the Night World and keep things organized without-"

"Mira."

She looked up from her hands, which she was waving in emphasis. Again, he'd placed the slight emphasis on the second syllable of her name.

He was smiling at her, with fondness and affection. A nervous tingle ran through her and she stammered, "Sorry."

His smile deepened. "Why are you apologizing? Because you're in love with me?"

"I didn't say-" she began, trying to repair a little of her dignity.

"You didn't have to." He stood gracefully and stepped out from behind the desk. Mira turned her back to him, utterly humiliated, and wished she were alone in her room in Nice. This was why she hated undercover work, because even though Teth was on the wrong side of this war, he was still a person, and she was still in a position to get close to him. And how could she betray him then?

She crossed her arms over her chest and jammed one thumbnail into her mouth, biting it recklessly. She was only a few feet from the wall, standing between two potted trees, and it seemed almost as if she had wandered into an alcove where the light was softer and the air more comforting.

The back of Teth's hand brushed gently between her shoulder blades, smoothing out the silk against her skin. Mira bit down hard enough on her finger to draw blood as his hand opened up and his palm glided down her spin, warm and solid. It slid down to the small of her back and moved around, coming to rest low on her stomach, his other arm wrapping around her waist.

Don't, she wanted to say. I can't, you don't know why I'm really here.

His lay his head on her shoulder, face turned so that his words grazed her throat. "I feel like you're someone I could talk to," he said. His voice was different, less formal, more human. "Sometimes the nights are so long and tiring, and come dawn I'd just like you to listen to me, let me ramble or work it out in words. You have the sensitivity to know when to speak and when to remain silent. And it is refreshing to find someone who respects me with revering me."

Mira closed her eyes as she listened, leaning back into his embrace. He added very softly, "I adore you."

She reached up and slid her hand around his, tilting her head, wordlessly exposing her neck. She thought of Thierry as she did it, of how his contact had never showed up, how he had abandoned her and Genet in the house of an enemy. She thought of her unreturned phone message, and she worried a little for his safety. But mostly she thought of Teth, and how much she loved him, and how brilliant he was, and thoughtful, and careful, and the embodiment of a perfect leader.

And she offered him her throat.

I love you, Casey thought, watching him move around the office. His large body seemed slightly out of place there, everything was fitted for Thierry, but he made it his own in his simple presence. His hair--oh, that hair--never ceased to amaze her with its length and purity, how it fell like poured creme past his waist in sausage curls. He was still pastels, even at work, even thinking hard, his seafoam eyes refused to cloud.

She sat on the couch in the office and watched him, idly stroking Abebi. He and Izzy were deep in conversation concerning the Solstice party, how to explain to everyone that Thierry was gone, how to avoid a panic.

"Why don't you stage a panic instead?" she suggested lazily. Izzy and Grahme both went silent and looked at her. "You explain that you're in charge now, then you bribe a bunch of werewolves and humans to stage some wild fight, and step in and stop it. Everyone in Circle Daybreak will be assured that you can keep order."

"Would that work?" Izzy asked, amazed.

Casey shrugged. "I know Hunter used to do it all the time. The people are frightened because they don't know you and they don't trust you. You have to earn that trust, and since there isn't a current emergency for you to show off your leadership skills on, we'll just have to create one. A show of strength."

"Before the party?" Grahme asked. "That's cutting the timing awfully close."

"You can use the party to cement your image as caretaker in their minds. It's a perfect opportunity."

Actually, she needed Sam to call this whole thing off. His plan was already in action, since she'd faxxed him the guest list for the Solstice party the previous evening. Casey saw the whole situation laid out cleanly in her mind, all her options, all the risks. There were a lot of people in the Night World who would be happy to kill her if they found out she sided with Circle Daybreak, Sam being at the top of that list. She could run of course, but that required asking Grahme to take care of her, since she lived off him and had little of her own. Not to mention that Grahme would be furious once he learned that she had been posing as a happy Night Person, and their relationship was tenuous at best. If she could just help convince everyone that Circle Daybreak was stronger than it looked, that having Grahme in charge was a strong point and not a weak one, it might be possible for her to keep up both deceptions.

Without pissing Grahme off, either.

"What about a council?" Izzy was saying. "We need everyone to feel safe, feel like they have a say in this. We grab a prominent figure from each group, Mother Cybele, one of the Draches, and a vampire everybody knows. Maybe Quinn."

"Quinn?" Casey couldn't help laughing. "I don't think so."

"All right, not Quinn. What about Thistle Hennen?"

"Thistle's very respected," Bernard said, rushing in with a stack of papers. "Sir, I checked our undercover placements and we do not have anyone observing Teth D'Alessandro in the Czech Republic."

"Maybe we should send someone."

"I'll get your reconnaissance people on the phone."

Grahme nodded and reached out to pick with his fingernail at the tape holding the notecards over his phone. There was a red light underneath, blinking furiously. "I think it's gotten faster again," he said.

"Um hum," Izzy agreed, not really paying attention.

"When Terry arrives, the first thing I want to ask him is if he has any idea why this light beeps. Last night I dreamt that it was ticking of a bomb, and when it goes completely red, then everyone in Circle Daybreak will turn to cheese."

Casey chuckled. "That might be the one thing you don't need to worry about, Grahme."

He smiled at her and said, "It's good to have you around again."

She was about to reply when Gen came in over the intercom, as the moment of relative quiet passed. "Sir, Mona Mastry's on the line, and she's determined to talk to Thierry...."

Abebi rose and shook herself, sending up a flurry of black and golden hairs, then strode out into the hallway. Casey sat up and stretched a little. There was a familiar ache in her stomach, and in her jaw as well. As she started toward the door, Grahme said, "Where are you going?"

She paused and glanced at him languorously. "Out. Like you said, I'm not a prisoner here."

"But you'll be back?"

The touch of worry in his tone pleased her. "Probably."

The touch of smugness in her tone bothered him, but he was afraid to press. He was walking on egg shells with her, and she was happy to keep him there.

He picked up the phone and spoke to Mona for several minutes, explaining that Thierry was away and couldn't be reached, which was miserably true. Terry had been spotted in St. Christopher-Nevis, but Grahme wasn't honestly sure where that was, and he'd left two weeks ago anyway.

Grahme was just hanging up when Gita and Heidi flew through the office door. "Sir, there's an emergency," Gita said, her words rushing out as Heidi opened a wall cupboard to reveal a television. "There's been a mass murder in Savannah."

Heidi footsed with the clicker until she reached MSNBC. "-appear to be vampire cult related," a news anchor was saying, her mouth moving unnaturally as she tried to control a southern accent. Behind her, Grahme's eyes focused on a the slightly blurred image of a stately building with a bronze statue out front that was partially blocked by EMS trucks. "So far, the victims have all been found with their throats slashed and their bodies drained of blood. The police do believe that this was the work of several individuals."

The camera jolted about as it swung to show black body bags being loaded into an ambulance. "Oh, christ," Izzy breathed.

"Once again, for those of you just joining us, twenty four people have fallen victim to what appears to be some sort of vampire cult. Their bodies were discovered not more than an hour ago, arranged on the steps of Savannah, Georgia's, City Hall...."

"Who did this?" Grahme asked, his voice hollow and numb.

"I'm working on it, sir," Gita told him as she dashed out of the office.

"So far," the reporter went on, "only four of the bodies have been identified, but all the victims were residents of a nursing home just seventeen miles outside Savannah called Cross Cotter Care Center. Cross Cotter has a population of only forty-two hundred."

"Who would do this? Who would murder two dozen senior citizens and leave their bodies on the steps of City Hall?" Grahme slammed his fist down on the desk top. "And why did Casey coincidentally leave town just before it happened?"

"I'll send someone to find her," Izzy said quickly, touching the intercom. Under her breath, she added, "I guess we won't have to be staging that panic after all."

Yelizaveta stopped them when they were only a block from the border crossing. "I don't think I can do this," she said, grabbing Aleksei's arm.

He glanced around suspiciously before tugging her into an alley. The sun was beginning to rise, but its rays didn't reach the darkness that crouched between the two buildings. "We don't have any choice," Aleksei said gently. "Come on, we'll be fine."

"We don't have the papers."

"We don't need them."

"But it will look strange, they'll want to question us."

"And we'll answer their questions and pass through. Yala, there's no time to be afraid."

She clung to him, wishing that their clothes weren't bundled so thickly that she couldn't make out the familiar lines of his shoulders as she held him. A sudden pain sliced through her abdomen and she cried out, her knees going weak. Aleksei caught her as she crumpled to the ground, lifting her frail body out of the snow.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, carrying her back out onto the street. "Thierry will send you to the hospital when we reach England."

The border crossing consisted of a high wire fence iced with barbed wire, and a long gate where three armed guards stood. Two of them just wandered back and forth looking imposing, the other checked papers. Aleksei pulled his hat down a little lower on his head and brought the scarf up to cover more of his face. Yelizaveta was right, their chances of crossing weren't perfect; they had the papers necessary to leave but not the visas required to enter. Hopefully they wouldn't ask about that, or peer too closely at the photograph on Aleksei's passport.

Yelizaveta moaned, and her knees jerked up toward her stomach. "Shh, shh," he crooned, rocking her as they walked. She had been so strong once, so willing to take on any battle and fight the good fight. To see her reduced by pain and exhaustion stung deeply.

They had to stand in line for almost half an hour; there was some hubbub at the gate about an escaped convict trying to cross. Aleksei held Yelizaveta carefully, cringing every time she twisted in pain or shook with small seizures.

His eyes landed on a familiar figure standing in the plaza nearby. It wasn't...

Aleksei turned back to face the gate, carefully shielding his face. He only needed a few more minutes before he'd be across the border and Artur would have no one to find.

He set Yelizaveta down when they reached the front of the line. "Passports," the guard said, and Aleksei handed him two before crouching down beside Yelizaveta, the better to hide his face.

"Easy," he whispered, and her breathing began to even out.

"It's not so bad now," she told him, rising unsteadily.

The guard wanted to know what was wrong with her. He handed Aleksei back the passports.

"She has cancer," Aleksei said. "We're going to England for an operation."

"God be with you both," the guard told him, touching a hand to Aleksei's shoulder.

"Thank you."

He let out a long sigh as they passed through the gates, wrapping an arm around Yelizaveta. She was shivering, even under two coats and her father's heaviest pair of pants. "Just a little further," Aleksei coached.

The entrance checkpoint was only a few dozen yards away, but when he secreted a glance over his shoulder, he saw Artur forcing his way to the front of the line and pulling a bright green folder from his coat. Aleksei had seen the folder before, it contained a government pass that would allow Artur to do almost anything he wanted.

There were only a few people in front of them at the checkpoint, but one couple had an unpassported baby. Yelizaveta straightened up a little, the color returning slowly to her face, and forced a wan smile for Aleksei. "A few more minutes," he said, inwardly cursing himself for not realizing sooner that Artur could go where ever he wanted. They should have left the night before, as soon as Aleksei had made it out of the factory.

"What's wrong?" Yelizaveta whispered.

"Nothing."

"No, I can see it on your face." She peered over her shoulder and let out a little gasp. "He's coming," she said. "He's already through the gate."

"I know, just stay calm."

He squeezed her hand as reassuringly as he could through her thick gloves. The couple with the baby finally gave up and turned back toward the Russian border, and an older woman stepped forward. She was the only one left in front of them.

"Konstantin!" Artur's voice was harsh and loud, and the thud of his heavy boots on the wet street began to fall more quickly.

"Don't look," Aleksei hissed as the old woman passed and he handed the guard their passports. "We have no visas, sir."

The man pointed to a small shed a hundred yards away. "You'll have to go in there to apply. Here." He handed back the passports and Aleksei ducked through the gate, dragged Yelizaveta behind him. He walked fast but didn't run, hoping Artur would think he had the wrong man.

"Konstantin Peschkowsky!" Artur hollered, now running toward the checkpoint.

"He knows you," Yelizaveta said frantically, stumbling through the snow as Aleksei tugged her arm.

Aleksei stole another glance over his shoulder and saw Artur fighting with the guard. "They won't let him past, his papers are nothing here. Come on."

"I..." She made a faint choking sound and collapsed into the snow, her face webbed with shadows. Aleksei tried to help her sit up and brush the snow off her face, but she had passed out and was dead weight.

"Wake up, Yala. Come on." There was no time to be gentle, Artur and the guard were coming to blows, and Artur, with his unnatural strength, would doubtless win. He slapped her once, then again, a little harder, and touched a handful of snow to her face. She made a soft whimpering sound and Aleksei felt his eyes burn with desperate tears. Bracing his feet in the snow, he lifted her up again and kept plowing forward.

"Konstantin Peschkowsky!" Artur shouted from the checkpoint. "Stop where you are!"

Aleksei looked back at him long enough to see that the guard was in a pile on the ground and Artur was running forward with a gun in his hand. A shot cracked the frozen morning air and hit Aleksei like a whip, throwing him down on his face, crushing Yelizaveta underneath him. Pain flooded his back and shoulders, he inhaled but there was no relief, his lungs began to ache as the snow stung his face. Yala opened her mouth beneath him and let out a throat-scraping scream as his lips dripped frothing blood onto her cheeks. Shoes scuffed in the snow as they reached him, and with another long crack he felt the pressure in his chest released and he died.

Teth held onto Mira tightly as they slid to the floor, cradled her in his lap as he brushed the hair away from her throat. Mira shut her eyes and let herself rest again him, promised herself a few moments here, in this warmth. Tomorrow she'd leave, while he was sleeping in the daylight hours, although without Thierry's help she wasn't sure where she'd go.

Teth's left arm was still tight around her waist, his other hand running its gloved fingers behind her ear and under the line of her jaw. "What are you waiting for?" Mira asked hoarsely.

He blew warm air over her skin and replied with strange sadness, "You remind me of Aida. Torn between your father's beliefs and your lover's. Such a beautiful, lonely figure. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could sweep you away to a place where politics didn't matter? In the middle of act three Aida says to Radames, 'Let us flee from the scorching sun of this desert land. A new fatherland reveals itself to our love. There, in the virgin forest, fragrant with sweet flowers, we shall forget the world in blessed joy.'"

"Do they go?" Mira asked, rolling her head to look at him.

"No. He says, 'You asked me to flee with you to a foreign land? To abandon my fatherland and the alters of our gods? This land where I first plucked the flowers of glory, this land where first we loved--how can we forget it?' Then he tells her the plan for attacking Ethiopia's troops, not realizing that Aida's father is hiding in the bushes. Shortly after Radames and Aida are entombed."

She smiled faintly. "Are you always attracted to such sad stories?"

She'd meant it as a joke, but he nodded with a seriousness that was unsettling. Her stomach began to twist and she fought the urge to shift, her natural inclination when she sensed danger. "We're all in our own tombs, Mira, every one of us. Trapped, closed up, unable to escape. Committed to our imprisonments."

One velvety calf-skin glove lifted to touch her cheek, and his eyes--they were gray, she realized, with brown edges--were suddenly wet. His voice was barely above a whisper. "And I'm sorry I can't help you out of yours."

Mira's body went cold and she felt fur tickling under her skin. Teth blinked once, the tears vanishing, and called toward the door, "Jokubas!"

She tried to scramble away from him, but his grip around her waist was no longer tender. The door flew open and Jokubas barreled in, followed by a half dozen guards carrying all manner of weapon, from guns to long, Turkish swords.

There was a large window behind the desk, the only means of escape besides the door, which was heavily blocked by guards. But even if she managed to break through, there were four feet of snow outside, and she wasn't even wearing shoes. She'd freeze to death within hours.

She suddenly realized that she was going to die. That it was really going to happen.

Teth rose carefully to his feet, still holding her tightly. "How did you know?" Mira asked, fighting the urge to bite him.

"A week before you arrived here, Austina saw you enter a public restroom with Ivory Losch. That's part of the reason you were invited to stay here. We've known for some time that Ivory is leading an underground group of Daybreakers." He released her carefully, and she stepped far enough away that she could face him without having to touch him.

"Why this?" she demanded. "Why bring me in here and tell me this bullshit if you're just going to shoot me?"

The expression he'd worn a few minutes before, that fondness mixed with relief, that honesty, was gone. Now he looked only as if he was determined to be strong in front of his men.

For a moment his eyes changed, were subtle and piercing and hurt. "Because none of it was bullshit," he told her simply. "I didn't want it to be this way, Mira-"

"Don't say my name!" There was an old French legend that if a person knew your name, they could cast a spell over you. She had never believed it, but she hated the intimacy of hearing him call her.

He ignored her protests. "If I could change things, don't you think I would? If one of us could bend, give in, admit we're wrong, we could walk out of here together right now! But it's not going to happen, and you know that. We're both too stubborn and idealistic to change."

She nodded slowly, hurting inside. The irony, she thought miserably. Even in this, I respect his judgement, his logic. He's my enemy.

Words flashed in her mind, from some source deeper than her consciousness.

He's your soulmate.

"Impossible," she whispered, without even realizing she'd said it. He can't be my soulmate, I would have known the moment I touched him-

She stopped.

"It is," Teth was saying, misunderstanding her words. "And I regret that with all my heart, but..."

But when have you ever touched him? she asked herself. He's always wearing the gloves, his shirts are long sleeved, and he never wears shorts. When would you ever have actually touched him?

Even a few moments before, he had held her but never kissed her.

"Do I get a last request?" she asked, interrupting.

Teth broke off, then nodded.

"I want you to be the one to kill me," she said. "You yourself, with your bare hands."

A shadow passed behind his gray eyes and she saw guilt in his expression. Memory flashed, of the day she'd arrived at his house, the startled look he'd worn when she was introduced, how he avoided shaking her hand. And....and he hadn't been wearing his gloves.

Another revelation hit her in the space of five minutes.

"You knew," she breathed. "You knew what I was to you all along, ever since we met."

"What you are," he corrected. His face changed again, revealing that he was not just guilty but torn somewhere deep inside. "What you will always be to me."

"What, a weakness? An inconvenience? Something to make sure you kill?"

He shook his head, his face falling, seemingly unaware of the guards crowded around them. "The rest of my heart, Mira. The key that unlocks the tomb door. And my enemy." He inhaled slowly, shuddering as he released his breath. "I can only grant part of your request," he said, and wrapped one hand around her throat.

She didn't have time to scream before he was squeezing. Her throat was pinched off almost instantly, her lungs bloated with air in her chest. The calfskin was soft against her skin until his fingers dug in and she felt the unbearable pressure. His grip increased, tightened, she couldn't help clawing at him as the nerves were crushed against a spinal column rapidly being ground to dust. Something pierced pure agony at the back of her neck and she began to seizure, shaking uncontrollably as Teth's hand closed even more tightly. His face was turned away, eyes cast to the ground.

There was no relief, but a sudden lack of pain starting in her shoulders and running all the way to her toes. Mira opened her mouth, still trying to speak through her blocked vocal chords, and her arms flapped dully back to her sides.

My spinal column, she thought. He broke it.

When she had stopped moving entirely, he lifted her up. Mira barely felt anything as he heaved her over his head and sent her soaring across the desk and through the window. Glass shattered against her face, blood leaked into the back of her mouth. She dreaded hitting the ground but found her landing almost soft, face pressed against white snow. Spears of pain still jolted up under her chin and the blood leaking across her scalp stung her eyes. Her vision was weak and disconnected, she felt as though she had her koala sight in her human body and was unable to reconcile looking in two difference directions at once.

Snow fluttered onto her face and she blinked frantically, unable to brush it away with her hands. Teth knelt down beside her and ran his gloved hand over her temple. His fingers came away smeared with her blood.

"I am sorry," he swore. "But we're all alone in our tombs."

Mira tried to speak and found that only the slightest opening existed where her lungs used to be. Her jaw opened and closed mutely as Teth twisted and began scooping snow on top of her. She couldn't feel it until he swung his arm out and sent a huge drift down on her head.

She heard footsteps crunching away. The snow ceiling above her was painfully bright, as if the surface was only a few inches away. Tears came to her eyes and turned to ice as they rolled down her cheeks. Her lungs had opened a tiny bit more, but still not enough to get her the oxygen she needed, and she had to fight the urge to panic.

Thierry, she prayed silently, I need you now.

Her lungs collapsed.

To Be Continued…..