Gabriel reached out to the minds of the Many, but none inhabited the deck where Korvel was being held. When he tried to compel a swarm of fruit flies to abandon a crate of rotting lemons in the galley and fly down to the second level, they would go only as far as the stairwell. While he could force them to carry out his commands, Gabriel instead released them. The only time insects resisted his control was when their survival instincts were aroused. The fruit flies, the least discriminating of all winged insects, knew something on the deck would kill them.

When he and Nicola reached the bottom of the stairs, Gabriel breathed in. Along with the scents of the three mortals guarding the corridor came a sickly-sweet smell of a very specific decay: blood rot. The three men shared the same disease.

And all three men were dying of it.

At the turn of the passage Gabriel held Nicola back. “Walk ahead of me to the compartment. Do not engage the men. Leave them to me.”

“Don’t worry; I can smell it, too.” She took a quick glance around the corner and then stepped out into plain view. When he reached for her, she shook her head and walked into the corridor.

The three mortals Gabriel had sensed sat unconscious in slumped positions against the walls, their weapons where they had dropped them, their clothes soiled with vomit and blood. Nicola eyed the nearest man, breathing in his scent before she pressed two fingers against his wrist.

“He barely has a pulse.” She scanned the corridor. “What the hell did this?”

Gabriel pressed the side of his finger to his lips, and went to the door of the compartment in the center of the corridor. On the other side he could hear a mortal speaking.

Nicola came and put her hand against the door, and then held up three fingers before she took the gun out of her belt and chambered a round.

Gabriel put his hand on the latch, nodding to her just before he wrenched the door open. They stepped in together, guns ready.

Korvel, whose hair was oddly short and copper-colored, stood by a table, a notepad and a golden scroll in his hands. On the other side of the room a man dressed as a priest held a pale-faced woman in front of him. He had lodged the tip of a stiletto in her ribs, and held it at the correct angle to thrust it into her heart. In his left hand he held a pistol trained on Korvel.

Nicola focused on the weapon. “Copper rounds,” she murmured to Gabriel, before she said in a louder voice, “Nice haircut, Captain. Can’t say I love the color, though.”

“Put down the guns,” the priest said, “or I will kill him.”

“No.” The woman’s green eyes fixed on Gabriel. “Shoot me.”

“No one is going to shoot anyone.” Korvel kept his eyes on Pájaro. “Your men are dead, and you can’t escape. Give her to me, and I will let you live.”

“You’re not a fool. You will do no such thing.” The priest sniffed several times before he suddenly changed his aim and fired, striking Nicola in the upper arm.

She dropped her gun and reeled back into the wall, almost falling before Gabriel caught her in his arms. She clapped a hand over the bloody hole in her jacket. “You son of a bitch.”

Gabriel eased her to the floor. When he straightened his eyes began to glow with an eerie coldness. To Pájaro, he said, “Now you die.”

The priest fired again as Gabriel came at him, grazing his head. It took two more rounds, one in each leg, to bring him to his knees.

“Enough.” Korvel stepped in front of Gabriel to shield him, and flung the notepad at the priest’s feet. “Take it and go.”

Instead of grabbing the translation, he lifted Simone. “Where is he? I left a trail even an idiot like you could follow.”

“He’s not coming for you,” she said, her head recoiling as he backhanded her. “He’s never coming. He’s dead.”

“Lying bitch.” He raised his fist.

“She speaks the truth,” Korvel told him. “Her father has been dead for ten years.”

Simone reached into the collar of her shirt and pulled out the cross. “Do you recognize this?”

Pájaro jerked the chain from her neck. “The old man’s cross. He never took it off.” He tightened his fist around it and laughed with delight. “I don’t even have to fight him.” He shoved Simone down on her knees. “Pick up the translation.”

When Simone had Korvel’s notes in her hands, Pájaro dragged her back to her feet and hauled her around the two wounded Kyn to the door. He took the notepad out of her hands before he raised the pistol over the back of her head and clubbed her.

Korvel picked up Nicola’s gun and shot the priest four times in the chest.

Pájaro staggered back, then looked down at the holes in his cassock. Flattened slugs began dropping to the deck as he patted a bulky vest under his garment. “You can’t kill me, vampire. I am Helada now, and the scroll will make me Helada forever.” He stepped out into the corridor, slamming the door and barricading it from the outside.

Korvel knelt down to check Simone, who was unconscious. Once he carried her back to the pallet, he charged the door, ramming against it with his full weight. Steel buckled, and a large dent appeared in the surface, but the door held.

“Captain.” Nicola hobbled over to Gabriel, who was trying and failing to get to his feet. “Give me that stiletto, will you?”

He picked up the blade and brought it to her. “What are you doing here, Nick?”

“Oh, rescuing your ass. Aren’t we doing a bang-up job?” She glanced at Gabriel’s face. “No. You are not going after him.”

His dents acérées glittered as he snarled, “He shot you.”

“He shot you more. We’ve got Korvel; we’ve got the scroll; we’re done.” She pushed him onto his back. “Fucking priests, I swear to God, I should just shoot them on sight.”

“He’s not a priest.” Korvel tore the bullet holes in Gabriel’s trousers wider before he looked at the Kyn lord. “This will be painful.”

“I spent several years being tortured daily, Captain. I believe I can endure a few minutes of discomfort.” Gabriel closed his eyes.

Korvel gently inserted the tip of the stiletto into the bullet wound, pressing in until he felt the slug. With a quick twist he forced it up and out of the wound.

Nicola bit her wrist and held the wound so that her blood dripped onto the bullet hole. “So how have you been, Captain? Get a chance to see the sights while you were here, or have you been too busy doing the nasty with Little Miss I Might Not Actually Be a Nun?”

“Simone isn’t a nun. She is tresori. A sentinel. We have been working together.” Korvel went to work on the other leg. “Did Richard send you after me?”

“Uh-huh. Vampire king really wants that scroll. You, maybe not so much.” As Gabriel grimaced, Nicola took his hand in hers. “Hang on, baby. He’s almost got it out.” She touched the graze the first bullet had left on the side of his head. “What were you thinking? That asshole could have put one in your heart.”

“I was not thinking at all,” Gabriel admitted.

A low moan made Nicola turn her head toward the pallet. “Not much of a tresora, is she? What’s the sentinel thing? Is that like one that still has training wheels?”

“Simone serves the tresoran council.” Korvel gave Gabriel’s sygkenis a direct look. “She was trying to protect us.”

“She asked Gabriel to shoot her,” she reminded him. “How, exactly, was her dead body going to protect us?”

Korvel’s jaw tightened. “She did not wish to be used as a hostage.”

“I believe I know what she intended,” Gabriel said, his voice weary now. “At that range, the bullet I fired would have passed through her flesh and into the priest’s body.” When Nicola made a scoffing sound, he said, “I saw it in her eyes, ma belle amie. She did not care what the priest did to her.” He regarded Korvel. “She was afraid he would kill you, Captain.”

Once he had the other slug out, Korvel used his blood to seal Gabriel’s second wound. “Let me see your arm, Nicola.”

“It’s a through-and-through. I’m fine.” She stood and helped Gabriel to his feet, putting her good arm around his waist. The sound of metal scraping over the deck from outside the compartment made her scowl. “He’s coming back. Give me one of those guns.”

Korvel glanced past her. “Why would he return?”

“I don’t know. He forgot to let me kill him?” she suggested.

Warped as it was, the hatch opened only partway, and Benetta frowned as he edged inside. “My lords. My lady.” The smell of strong cologne filled the air in the compartment as he set down the heavy metal case he was carrying. “Are you in need of assistance?”

“Duh,” Nicola said.

“Forgive me, my lady. It is a matter of form to ask.” He inspected the room until he spotted the scroll. “You have found it.”

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Nicola said as the tresora went over to pick it up. “There are three nearly dead guys out in the corridor who probably wish they hadn’t.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for the warning.” Benetta retrieved his case, opening it and placing it on the desk. “My lord Korvel, if you would be so kind.”

Korvel grabbed the scroll and tossed it into the case before he moved over to the pallet. “How did you know we were here, Benetta?”

“Last night the sentinel informed the council that she was meeting with Lechance, my lord. When she did not report back, my men and I were sent to interrogate the guild master.” The tresora closed the case and after a brief hesitation offered it to Korvel. “Are you in need of transportation?”

“No,” Nicola said before Korvel could answer. “I think we’re good.”

“You are in no condition to drive, my lady,” Benetta said. “My men and I were sent to Marseilles to provide—”