He would return to the cabin and brew some tea, one of the few liquids he could stomach. That was why he had prepared it on the plane for Liling, so that if she expected him to join her…

Valentin recalled looking into the refrigerated unit in the galley for food for Liling. There had been bagged blood stored discreetly in one of the bottom bins for his use. He walked down to the edge of the lake. The plane, fully submerged, was still intact. There was a very good chance the blood was as well.

Quickly he stripped out of his clothes and waded in to dive down.

He swam to the cockpit emergency exit and entered the plane through the open hatch. The pilot's and copilot's bodies floated faceup against the ceiling of the aircraft: he swam under them and around a tangle of debris to the galley section.

The refrigerated unit's door hung open, but Valentin found the bin and the bags of blood in it still intact. The cold lake water had flooded the bin and kept them cool; they would still be usable.

Relief eased the gnawing hunger in his belly. There were enough bags to keep him alive and Liling safe for a long time.

He found a floating carry-on bag and opened it, placing the bagged blood inside before swimming out of the plane and up to the lakeshore. He tossed the bag up onto the bank and waded out.

After he dressed, Valentin took one of the bags from the carry-on and drank from it. Feeding on stored blood was not the same as taking it from a human, but since losing the use of his arm he had disdained using humans and had become accustomed to it. As he drank, he saw that some of the original contents of the bag had fallen out onto the grass: a sodden pile of red hair, a large, soggy roll of currency, and some cards bound with a rubber band.

Valentin carefully set aside the blood and inspected the belongings. The pile of hair turned out to be a wig, the roll contained thousands of dollars in small bills, and the cards were three driver's licenses. The latter pictured Liling Harper's face surrounded by different shades and lengths of hair. All of the names on the licenses were different.

Whatever trouble in Chicago Liling had been trying to escape, it was serious enough to have her prepare three different false identities. Now he was more convinced than ever that she had been trying to evade the Brethren. But why? She wasn't Kyn. She couldn't harm other humans with her ability to heal. Why would the zealots pursue a woman as gentle as Liling, whose power allowed her to do the same as Christ himself had done with the sick and lame and dying?

He touched his arm, which gave him one possible answer. Because she can heal more than humans.

"I dinnae want you stepping one foot into anything with wings." Byrne warned as they walked across the runway to the small plane hangar. "Not one."

"I wouldn't be of any use to the CAP anyway," Jayr said, and smiled at the human approaching them. "Hello, Major Stevens."

"It's a pleasure to meet you at last, my lady." The human held out his hand, on which he wore a black cameo ring. "We appreciate the support the Kyn have given to the CAP over the years."

"CAP?" Byrne asked, looking puzzled.

"Civil Air Patrol," Jayr explained. "One of the ways we have helped the local human community is by donating funds to purchase aircraft for them. They are an auxiliary of the American air force."

"We are strictly nonmilitary volunteer pilots, my lord." Stevens assured Byrne. "CAP flies primarily search-and-rescue and disaster-relief missions. We sometimes provide reconnaissance for authorities at their request, usually to track drug smugglers, and in times of disaster we help out by transporting medical personnel and relief supplies. Here in Florida, our primary mission is to search for downed planes. The men involved in this operation are all CAP-trained, but in order to avoid exposure, we are conducting this search privately, with our personal aircraft." He gestured toward the hangar. "If you'll come this way. I can give you a more comprehensive update on the search."

As they walked past a row of single-engine planes painted red, white, and blue. Stevens explained some of the odds Jaus was facing.

"The survival rate for an airliner is actually very good," the pilot told them. "Every year, only about one in twenty passengers don't make it. The problem is that once the plane is down, those who survive the impact succumb to the subsequent lethal environment. There is a window of opportunity—usually about a minute and a half after the crash—before the fuselage burns, explodes, floods or sinks. The passengers who exit the aircraft during that time have the best chance to make it out alive."

"Jaus's plane cannot not flood or sink," Byrne said, "unless he flew over the ocean."

"I have to disagree with you on that point, my lord." Stevens said. "There are over a thousand lakes in Lake County alone, along with the St. Johns River, and other significant bodies of water in surrounding counties. Many of the lakes are deep enough to sink ten planes."

The Civil Air Patrol's offices were small and cramped. Three men were marking points on a wall map showing central Florida with a grid drawn in red ink.

"We're borrowing some of CAP's equipment to use in the search. They've recently developed hyperspectral Imaging sensors, or HIS, and a visual computing network, or VCN. HIS allows sensors on our search aircraft to pick up light reflected by objects on the ground. Through VCN, we can identify the spectral signatures for natural and man-made objects, which makes it pretty easy to spot something that isn't supposed to be there, like a plane."

"How accurate is this sensor system?" Jayr asked.

"Our aircraft can use it from as high as a half mile up to locate an object on the ground that's as small as three feet in size." Stevens told her. "Even if it's hidden by brush or trees. Makes it ideal to pinpoint crash sites in a hurry."

He brought them over to the wall maps to show them the search-and-rescue grid.

"So far we've covered this portion of the Ocala National Forest," he said, circling with his linger a large green area on the map. "We found no signs of the aircraft, and it's unlikely that he would have had enough fuel to make it farther south, so we're moving east."

He told them about the flights he had scheduled, and how they were coordinating their efforts with the Kyn search teams on the ground. "Your trackers have covered a lot of area, which has been helpful, but I won't lie to you. This part of Florida has hundreds of miles of uninhabited forests, lakes, and wetlands. To keep local law enforcement out of our hair, there are only a certain number of pilots we can use for the mission." He grimaced. "It could take weeks, even months."

"If you or your men need anything to assist in the search, Major Stevens." Jayr said, handing him a card with only a series of numbers on it. "call this number and we will see to it immediately."

"We will call you the moment we find any evidence, my lady." Stevens bowed.

As they walked back to the car. Byrne pulled Jayr to a halt. "What other local human community projects have we been supporting?"

Jayr thought for a moment. "Well, there are the scholarship programs, financial assistance for single mothers, the youth center, the free medical clinic, meals for elderly shut-ins—"

He held up a hand. "And why dinnae you mention these projects; when I was suzerain of the Realm?"

"Initially I brought them all to your attention as worthy causes," she said, giving him a smug smile. "Usually when you were busy training the men, or working the horses, or gossiping with Locksley. You always told me to deal with them myself, and so I did."

"How generous of me." He bent down until the end of his nose touched hers. "I never in my life gossiped."

Jayr shrugged. "Like it or not, we are part of the human world. Aedan. We can no more ignore their troubles than we can our own. They remember what we do for them. Those men in there." She nodded toward the hangar. "They have been flying reconnaissance missions ever since Jaus disappeared. They will keep searching until they find him, or we do."

Byrne looked out at the runway and the Cessna taking off into the night. To his eyes it seemed such a small, flimsy craft, little more than a toy. "I hope it is soon."

As soon as Wilhelm delivered the medicines and supplies, Alexandra set up and started IV antibiotics for her brother, and administered a dose of chloroquine. John's fever decreased over the next several hours, and his vitals improved to the point where she cautiously decided he was stable.

Cyprien checked on them regularly, but stayed only a few minutes each time before returning to coordinate the search-and-rescue effort.

Alex was scanning through an online article on tropical diseases of the blood when John regained consciousness.

"Alex?"

She got up and walked over to the bed. "Right here." She checked his temperature and pulse. "Next time you feel like losing consciousness, big brother, a heads-up would be nice. You weigh a ton."

"You have superpowers."

"I don't have supernerves," she said, "so don't get on them."

"You always look upset when you're being a doctor." John observed idly. "Why is that?"

"Oh, no, this is my happy face. See?" She pointed to her scowl. "This is me, overjoyed."

"You're the happiest person I know, then." He looked around him. "Why are there tubes stuck in me? What happened?"

"Other than the fact that you're malnourished, feverish, and evidently in need of a good beating?" She adjusted the drip on the IV. "You tell me."

He gave her a long-suffering look. "Just tell me what's wrong with me, Alex."

"You'll have to answer some questions first," she said. "For starters, how long have you had malaria?"

"Is that what it is?" He seemed bemused. "Fifteen years, I guess."

"Fifteen years. You guess. Wonderful." Her shoulders stiffened. "Since you didn't know what it was, I assume that you never got treatment for it." She watched him shake his head. "You never once mentioned it to me, either. Any particular reason why?"