Theron made a small sound. We both looked at him. His mouth was twitching. Another snorting half laugh escaped him, and one corner of Anya's mouth twisted up.

She sobered almost immediately. She eyed the trickle of hot blood easing down from my scalp. Head wounds are messy; this one had been caused by a bit of shrapnel, and it was still weeping a little. I'd probably have lost most of the pints I was carrying if not for the healing.

Superhuman healing. As if I was still hellbreed-tainted. But the gem didn't feel like Perry's mark on me-the scarred lip-print, a hard little nugget of corruption working in toward the bone.

This was something different. And I didn't like the idea that she might be checking me for...what?

Which just brought up the question of what the hell had happened, what had ended up with me in a shallow grave and a hole in my memory the size of the breathing city itself.

Her free hand came up, and she smeared a little of the blood on my forehead. Rubbed it between her fingers, considering, and actually sniffed it. Examined her fingers in the warm electric glow from the bodega's porch light. Racks of novenas in the window behind her rippled, and I blinked, swaying.

"Devi?" Theron, carefully.

"She's clear. I don't know how or why, but she's clean." Anya blew out between her lips, her bindi winking at me. This close, I could see that it was, indeed, a subdermal piercing. You'd think the prospect of getting hit in the face would've made her refrain, but I so wasn't one to throw sartorial stones. "I suppose if you knew what'd happened to you, Kismet, you'd let me in on it?"

"I have some memories," I repeated. My eyebrows drew together as the hornet buzz returned, threading under the surface of my brain. "Fragments. I remember...I was on my way to the Monde to question Perry. Because...Saul. They had Saul." And now I had a question of my own. "What are you checking me for, Devi?"

"Great." She said it like a curse, and let go of my wrist, wiping her bloody fingers on her leather pants.

I seriously wanted a pair myself. My jeans were torn and flapping. Some of the pints I'd lost were a result of roadrash-you get to going faster than the average human, and you can erase a metric fuckton of skin.

"Devi?" Very carefully, each word calm and neutral. "What are you checking me for?"

She shook her head, silver beads chiming. "Later. All right, Theron. You're right. Let's go. But then I'm taking her to Galina's."

He nodded. "Come on, Jill. Someone wants to see you."

I took hold of my fraying temper. If Devi wanted to clue me in later, fine. I could trust her that far. "Great." I didn't have to work to sound sarcastic. "Is it someone else who wants to kill me?"

"Oh, no." He paused. "At least, I'm almost sure he doesn't." He seemed to find this hilarious, and snickered at his own joke as he drew me away from the bodega and out into the street. Anya drifted behind us, rearguarding. Dust rose on the faint night breeze, Santa Luz taking a deep breath in the long dark shoal before dawn.

"Wonderful." I let out a short, choppy, frustrated sigh. "But I would like to know what the fuck happened to me." Boy, would I ever. And I want weapons. And some more silver.

And while I'm dreaming, I'd like a pony, too.

"Later, Jill." My fellow hunter didn't sound happy. "When we get to Sanctuary, I'll tell you everything I know. We've pieced together some of it. But the only person who knows everything is you." She paused. "Was you."

Fantastic. That's just great. This is getting better and better.

Still, things were looking up.

13.

The house looked like a ruin, its porch sagging and groaning under our weight. But when Theron opened the unlocked door, a heavenly smell of bacon and eggs came drifting out, and the entry hall was brightly lit and tile-floored. Stairs went up to the second level, a wrought-iron banister rising in a sweet curve, and it was obvious someone had spent serious time making the inside as beautiful as the outside was decrepit.

I stood there, my sock foot smearing blood and dirt on the tiles, and blinked. Down the hall was even more bright light, and someone was humming tunelessly as a hiss of something cooking in a pan reached us. Devi crowded in behind me, sweeping the door shut and locking it. "Jesus." She blew out between her teeth, and you could hear her eyes roll as if she was a teenager. "I mean, really."

"Who would try to break in or steal from us here?" Theron swept his hair back. He was perking up big time. "Hello the house! Break out the cervezas and bring me a burrito! Look what I've got!"

The arch off to our left was suddenly full of motion. Two women, their long, tawny hair hanging loose except for twin braids holding it back from their faces, appeared. Weres, I realized, seeing their fluid economy of motion, their wide, high-cheekboned faces. Their arms were bare and rippling with clean muscle, both of them in flannel button-downs with the sleeves ripped off. Barefoot and dark-eyed, they were both utterly beautiful.

Something hot rose in my throat. I blinked.

"Jesus fucking Christ," the one on the right said, staring at me. "It's...is it? It is!"

I realized I knew her face just as Theron laughed again.

"Amalia." I studied her. And the other female. Lioness, both of them. From the Norte Luz pride. The sensation of puzzle pieces sliding together, dropping with a click, was beginning to be disconcertingly constant. "Rahel."

They stared. Their jaws dropped, but Amalia pulled herself together first. "He's upstairs." The hall was suddenly crowded as she pushed past Theron, stepping close to me and brushing his hand away. "It's...brace yourself." A glance at the Werepanther. "Have you told her?"

He spread his hands helplessly. "Look at us. There hasn't been time. I was over by the Monde, just poking around-"

"Ah, yes," Anya Devi piped up. "This was the story I wanted to hear. Come on, I need food. And absinthe. Please tell me you have some."

Amalia's grip on my arm was just short of bruising. "He hasn't told you anything?" She pulled me up the staircase, each hardwood step sanded and glowing mellow gold. The good smell of healthy Were and cooking mixed together, and I began to feel like I might have survived the last few hours. "You look awful, by the way."

"Thanks." The word was turned into sandpaper by the rock in my throat. "There wasn't time to say anything. We've been on the run. Look-"

"He's fading. But you'll fix that right up." She virtually hauled me upstairs, and the balustrade turned out to run all the way along the open hall. Bedroom doors opened up off to the right, and at the end of the hall an antique iron mission cross hung on the bathroom door. I knew it was the bathroom because the door was half open, and I saw a slice of white tile and scrubbed-gleaming chrome, the edge of a claw-footed tub. "I'll bring you something to eat. Maybe you can persuade him to eat too, he needs it. He's going to be so..." She stopped dead, took a deep breath. "Listen to me babbling on. How are you? Are you all right?"

It was too much concern all at once. "Fine," I mumbled. My fingers dropped to the gun butt, smoothed the warm, comforting metal. A very nasty supposition was rising in my head, like bad gas in a mine shaft. Fading? I don't like the sound of that. "Um. Amalia-"

She didn't listen, just set off again. Paused for half a second by the second door on the right. "Brace yourself. Really. It's...my God. Come on." She twisted the balky old glass-crystal knob-everything in the house looked like it had been restored from one hell of an estate sale. "Saul?" Her voice dropped, became soft, questioning. "Saul, I've brought someone to see you."

My heart leapt into my throat. It hit the rock that had been sitting there for a good half hour, mixed with the bile coating my windpipe, and twisted so hard I almost choked.

Saul? The room was dark. Amalia drew me in, and the sudden gloom confused me. My one sneaker squeaked on the hardwood floor, and an overstressed tremor went through me, my skeleton deciding it could shiver itself to pieces now that the fun and games was over.

The room was very plain. White cotton drapes over a small window, a white iron bed, a long human shape on it. He was curled up, sparks of silver in his dark hair, and my skin tightened all over me.

Was I afraid? Yes. Or no, I wasn't afraid.

I was outright terrified.

"Saul?" It was a harsh croak. I tore my arm out of Amalia's grasp, and she let me. There was a cherrywood washstand by the door, my hip bumped it as I took two unsteady steps.

The shape on the bed didn't stir. A rattling sound rose from it-a long, shallow, tortured breath. The silver in his hair was charms, ones I knew.

Because I'd given him every one of them. Tied most of them in with red thread, too, while sunlight fell over us and a cat Were's purr made the air sleepy and golden. Sometimes he would drum his long coppery fingers on my bare knee, and I would laugh.

I was halfway to the bed before I stopped, remembering how filthy I was.

That never mattered to him. I inhaled sharply.

It smelled sick in here. Dry and terrible, a rasping against my sensitive nose. Like a hole an animal had crawled into to die. It was clean, certainly, every corner scrubbed and the bedcovers and drapes bleached and starched. Still, the reek of illness brushed the walls with shrunken centipede fingers.

Oh, God. "What's wrong with him?" I whispered. It was a useless question. I could guess.

"Matesickness." Amalia's own whisper made the air move uneasily around me, little bits of fur and feathers brushing my drying sweat. "The closer you can get to him, the better. Lie down next to him. He needs to know you're alive." She backed up, reaching for the doorknob. "We thought you were dead. Weres don't survive without their mates. You know that."

"I was-" I began, but she swept the door closed, leaving me alone in the dark. I swallowed, hard. I was dead. The sudden certainty shook me all the way down to my filthy, aching toes.

I was dead, and Perry had something to do with it. Maybe even a lot to do with it. And now...Saul. My pulse picked up, a thin high hard beat in my wrists and throat and ankles, behind my knees, my chest a hollow cave.

The shape on the bed stirred. Just a little. I saw a gleam of dark eyes under silver-starred hair. Only it wasn't just the silver. There were pale streaks, gray or white, and that was new.

I took a single step. "Saul?" High and breathy, like a little girl.

He twitched. The rattling in-breath intensified. The gem on my wrist gave out a thin sound, like crystal stroked by a wet fingertip.

When you're ready.

I was beginning to think I wasn't ready for anything about this. But it was too late. I'd already clawed my way up out of my own grave, hadn't I?

You can't do that and not accept the consequences.

14.

My knees hit the side of the bed. I stared down at him. His back was to me, and even in the dimness I could see he was skeletal. The sharp boniness of a hip under his boxers, ribs standing out in stark relief, shoulder blades like fragile wings. His head was too big for his neck, and he tipped it back. The silver moved in his hair, chiming sweetly, and a gout of something hot boiled up inside me. There was nothing in my stomach to throw up, but the shaking all through me demanded I do something. Kill whatever was hurting him, hold it down and put a bullet or twenty through its head- "Jill?" A faint whisper. He inhaled, another long rasping rattle.

As if he could smell me, as filthy as I was. Shame boiled through me. God, couldn't I ever be clean?

No. You've never been clean, and he always was. Always.

The wetness on my cheeks was either tears or blood. "God," I whispered back. "God."

That managed to make him move. Slowly, painfully, hitching one hip up, rolling. My hands were fists. One of his scarecrow hands lifted, dropped back down on the white lace coverlet. He tried again, reaching up, and I grabbed that hand with both of mine.

He jerked in surprise. For a mad moment I was sure I'd hurt him, tried to ease up, but his fingers bore down with surprising hysterical strength. He pulled, and I went down onto the bed, trying not to land on him.

His stick-thin arms closed around me. The shudders came in waves, I wasn't sure if he was shaking, or me, or both of us, because he was saying my name. Over and over again, in that dry cricket-whisper that hurt my own throat, and I sobbed without restraint. He was kissing me, I realized, his thin lips landing on my bloody forehead, his leg snaking up and over me, body curled around mine as if he could hold us both down while a storm passed overhead.

Only the storm was inside my buzzing, aching head. Memory exploded, shrapnel tearing through my brain.

"I just want you to do one thing," he said into my filthy hair. I almost cringed.

Anything. Just stay with me. I stilled, waited.

"Just nod or shake your head. That's all. Now listen, Jill. Do you still need me? Do you want me around?"

"I-" How could he even ask me that? Didn't he know? Or was he saying that he felt obligated?

"Just nod or shake your head. I just want to know if you need me."

It took all I had to let my chin dip, come back up in the approximation of a nod.

"Do you still want me?" God help me, did Saul sound tentative?

It was too much. "Jesus Christ." The words exploded out of me. "Yes, Saul. Yes. Do you want me to beg? I will, if you-"

"Jill." He interrupted me, something he barely ever did. "I want you to shut up."

I shut up. For a few moments he just simply held me, and the clean male smell of him was enough to break down every last barrier. I tried to keep the sobs quiet, but they shook me too hard. The breeze off the desert rattled my garage door, and the last fading roll of thunder retreated.

He stroked my hair, held me, traced little patterns on my back. Cupped my nape, and purred his rumbling purr. When the sobs retreated a little, he tugged on me, and we made it to the door to the hall, moving in a weird double-stepping dance. He was so graceful, and I was too clumsy.

He lifted me up the step, got me into the hall, heeled the door closed. My coat flapped. My boots were heavy, clicking against concrete. I probably needed to be hosed off.

I had to know. I dug in, brought him to a halt, but couldn't raise my eyes from his chest. "A-are you s-s-still-" I couldn't get the words out. I was shaking too hard.

"You're a fucking idiot," he informed me. "I'm staying, Jill. As long as you'll have me. I can't believe you think I'd leave you."

I cried for a long time, there in the dark. He held me, stick arms strong for a Were who was wasting away, and he kept repeating my name.

How could I possibly have forgotten him? Even if I forgot myself, I would remember him. If I was blind I would know him. I hadn't even known what I was missing, but it had been him.

I should have been looking for him as soon as I clawed up into the night and screamed.

I was. I didn't know it, but I was. And I couldn't even tell if that was a lie I was telling myself or the bare honest truth, because the sobs were coming so hard and fast they shook both of us.

We curled around each other like morning glory vines, and for that short while everything else faded away. He didn't say anything else, and neither did I.

There was no need.

It was the first good sleep I'd had since I'd come up out of the grave, and it wasn't nearly long enough.

The gun was up, pressure on the trigger and my arm straight and braced. I blinked, and Anya Devi, her blue eyes narrowed, held both hands up, one of them freighted with a glowing-green glass bottle. "Easy there, killer." She even sounded amused, the tiny silver hoops in her ears glinting. Her coat brushed her ankles, and I realized she was tense and ready. I wouldn't put it past her to dodge a bullet.

But she wasn't my enemy.

I lowered the gun, pushed myself up on one elbow.

The room was empty. Westering sunlight poured past the sheer white drapes, and crusty, dried crap crackled on my skin. I hadn't even washed my face. I felt cotton-stuffed, the way you do if you've ever fallen asleep after a long wracking bout of sobbing. Like I'd been cleaned out and Novocained. My mouth tasted fucking awful, too. My foot had swollen inside the one sneaker I still had on, and I wanted a hot shower, a gallon of coffee, and some weapons.