“I greatly look forward to discussing that with you,” Caedmon said, “but”—his gaze swept my battered form—“perhaps when you have recovered?”

“Tell me now.” I put a hand on his arm, and found it almost cool to the touch, or maybe that was the liquid feel of the silk. If any fashion designers saw how he wore his plain gray tunic and leggings, the medieval look would be on every runway come fall. I tried to sit up, but still didn’t have the strength. Even the pain from the wound Louis-Cesare was currently picking at hardly registered. I couldn’t remember a single twenty-four-hour period in which I’d lost consciousness this often, but it felt like I was slipping away again.

“Here, allow me.” Caedmon laid a hand on my forehead. His power surrounded me, like sunlight on my skin. Despite the fact that we were underground, it threw a pattern of gently waving branches across my body and gilded the dusty air until everything glittered. The sounds of the cleanup became a distant background noise, overwritten by musical laughter and voices singing unknown songs. I breathed in a rich forest smell, and vague shadows swirled up around me in a storm of green and gold, like leaves caught in a high wind. For an instant I thought the cave would disappear altogether; then a phantom leaf brushed my cheek and I jerked away, scrambling to reinforce my shields. The sensations hadn’t been threatening, but neither is the sun until it burns you.

I didn’t know whether the images were deliberate sendings—an unobtrusive attempt to calm my nerves—or simply part of what he was. Either way, they passed quickly, and with them went much of my lethargy. Unfortunately, their passing also broke Louis-Cesare’s suggestion, and that meant a return of some serious pain.

I let out a string of Romanian curses I thought I’d forgotten and pushed the vamp away. Stinky hissed at him. “What are you trying to do, an amputation?”

I looked down at my legs, which a moment before had been peppered with seeping wounds, only to find that all but one had closed over—the one he’d been digging in. As I watched, a lump appeared under the skin and, instead of staying put, began roaming around in a very unpleasant way. Then out of the wound popped a squashed metal object that I distantly realized was the bullet Louis-Cesare had been trying to locate. A second after that, the wound closed.

I stared at it in amazement. No one healed like that except a first-level master. Or, it seemed, the Fey. My mind immediately began wondering how you’d go about killing someone who could repair major injuries that quickly, while Caedmon helped me to my feet.

“You’re a healer.”

He smiled, and it was breathtaking. “A minor talent.” “So tell me about Claire.”

His smile widened. “You’re a single-minded little thing, aren’t you?” Since he topped me by at least a foot and a half, I decided to ignore the “little” remark. From his perspective, it was accurate.

“Yeah. Besides, if we pool our information—”

“My thought exactly,” he agreed, perching on the overturned cage like he was posing.

Louis-Cesare stood with folded arms, his mouth a straight, hard line. Something about the Fey seemed to annoy him, or maybe he didn’t care for the turn of conversation. Finding Claire wasn’t his mission, but I was glad to see that he was smart enough to realize that there was no way to prize me out of there until I’d learned all I could. Radu was safe enough for the moment; Claire wasn’t.

“It is a long tale, suitable for a bard’s song,” Caedmon said, his voice taking on a lilt that was almost singing itself. He had no real accent that I could place, but I’d have known blindfolded that English wasn’t his mother tongue. “But perhaps it would simplify things if you could tell us what this says?” He pulled a piece of paper out from under the cloak he wore, and looked at it with vague irritation. “Humans are such restless creatures. Every time I visit this world, they have new tongues among them; I no longer attempt to keep up.” He handed over the folded scrap, which I saw with surprise had my name on the outside. “It appears that someone knew you were coming.”

I sat abruptly on the edge of the cage and opened the letter. It was in Romanian and came straight to the point; Uncle never had been much for small talk. Drac didn’t trust me to betray Mircea without an added incentive, so he’d provided one. He’d found out about the auction from his Dark Circle allies and recognized Claire’s name. It seemed he had bothered to get my recent résumé, and thought there was a chance I might want my roomie back. If I preferred that to be in something other than a hundred pieces, he suggested I get to work on delivering his brother. Claire was “something to sweeten the deal.”

I stared at the words, written with a quill pen in blood. I smelled it, just to be sure, and it was Claire’s. Most of the magical community had moved on to using ballpoints like everyone else, but Uncle had always been a traditionalist. Since the letter was basically a contract for Claire’s life, I suppose he’d thought it appropriate.

I reviewed my options, and they were universally horrible. I could ignore Drac’s command and lose Claire to what was certain to be a particularly gruesome death, or I could betray Mircea and Radu. It had never really occurred to me until that moment to hand over the family. I didn’t feel like a part of it—I never had—but it was somehow difficult to think about it simply not being there anymore. I had assumed I would find a way to turn the tables on Drac; now I realized that the easiest way to get what I wanted, maybe the only way, was to go along with his plans.

For some reason, that thought made me almost nauseous. I killed vampires, but my targets were usually revenants, the masterless psychos who were little more than animals. Vamps who stayed, however marginally, within the law had little to fear from me, although I didn’t let that get around. And now I was expected to kill those who not only were within the rules but helped to make them?

“Dory.” It took me a moment to realize that Louis-Cesare had been talking. Caedmon was regarding me with compassion. I’d probably been leaking my inner turmoil all over the place.

I looked at Louis-Cesare and drew a complete blank. I am usually a fairly glib liar—nothing like dear old Dad, of course, but good enough for most circumstances. Yet I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Neither alternative was acceptable, but as least I had options. But if Louis-Cesare discovered what Drac had planned for Radu, I’d never get a chance to figure a way out of this. He’d move him back to MAGIC even if he had to cart him off bodily, and that would seal Claire’s fate as surely as if I’d killed her myself.

“Drac has Claire,” I finally said, hoping my pause would be mistaken for shock. “He says not to come after him, or he’ll kill her.”

Louis-Cesare nodded, but Caedmon appeared confused. “Who is this? Another vampire?”

“Dracula,” I said, realizing that I’d used the diminutive. Radu was right; it was a bad habit. To my surprise, Caedmon didn’t look like the full name meant any more to him than the short version. So much for Uncle’s notoriety. “I want to find Claire because I prefer not leaving my friends to face hideous deaths,” I explained shortly. “What’s your excuse?”

A puzzled frown creased his brow. “I am looking for my king, of course.”

“And you think they’re together?”

He looked at me as if I might be a little slow. “One would presume,” he said drily.

I had a feeling I was missing something, but I hurt too much to care. “What’s this king’s name?”

Caedmon shrugged beautifully, causing his velvet cloak to shimmer around him before falling once again into perfect folds. “I do not know.”

“You don’t know your own king’s name?”

“I am not certain the noble lady has yet gifted him with one,” he said slowly. He looked at me curiously. “Can it be you do not know?”

“No!” I hopped up and was immediately sorry. The room tilted sideways and I sank to one knee before strong arms caught me. I looked up into a pair of concerned emerald eyes, and discovered that they were even more breathtaking at close range. “I don’t know. After a month of searching, I don’t know a damn thing. You think you could enlighten me?”

“But, if you are her friend, surely she told you?”

“Told me what?” I was still feeling grateful to him for the revved-up healing, but my nerves had taken a beating. If I felt better, I’d probably have been bitch slapping that pretty face by now.

He seemed to realize that and spread his hands apologetically. “That she is with child. Your friend is carrying the next ruler of Faerie.”

I stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. Claire? In a dalliance, not just with a Fey, but with their king? When did she fit it in, between growing my weed and doing the grocery shopping? I got this crazy image of her taping a note on the fridge in her fine, precise hand: “Out screwing Fey king, be back around eight. Don’t forget to feed the cats.” It was absurd.

“Is she well?” Caedmon asked Louis-Cesare in an undertone. “I haven’t lent energy to a human in some time; perhaps I overdid it—”

“She isn’t human,” Louis-Cesare corrected him. “She is dhampir.”

“Truly?” The Fey’s eyes brightened above a surprised smile. “I have heard of such beings, but never before had the pleasure of meeting one.” He unfastened his cloak and draped it around my shoulders. It was soft and clingy, and smelled slightly of some kind of subtle cologne, or maybe that was just him. I couldn’t seem to get a scent catalog on the Fey. It was like he was a breath of wind that blew scents to me from every direction except his own. It was confusing, but also intriguing.

He peered into my face, eyes literally glowing with curiosity. “My people can never resist any new experience,” he said. “We find one so rarely.”

“Uh-huh.” The idea of seeing just how many new experiences I could show him flitted across my mind. “And how did Claire end up dating a Fey?” I asked.