"It's okay," I repeated.

"You could have been killed." I was a little surprised by the distress in his voice. Maybe I shouldn't have been. I took his hand in mine and drew his eyes up to meet my own.

"What would have happened to her if we hadn't come?" I asked. Aubrey nodded as if accepting my point, but when he tried to look away, I squeezed his hand. "Really. What?"

"I don't know," he said. "In the short term, I don't know. It would have tried to protect itself while it grew to maturity. Then probably it would have taken her over too."

"The rider," I said.

"Or its daughter organism, yeah," Aubrey said. "This is how they breed. Or...well. I think it is. This is all coming from the parasitology filter. Ex would probably couch it in terms of souls and salvation."

"I'll take your filter, thanks. This is what Eric wanted you for," I said. "To understand how parasites breed. And to stop them. And we did, right? So go us. Nice job."

"I think this is going to need st.i.tches," he said.

I looked down at the ruined flesh where the rider's claws had cut me. When I got dizzy, I looked away.

"Yeah," I said. "I think you're right."

The dog yipped once and rose to its feet. I heard the front door swing open then closed, and Ex came in, his pale eyes wide. Aubrey raised a hand in greeting, and Ex mirrored the gesture with an autonomic air.

"Turned out it was a little hairier than we thought," I said. "Who knew?"

"The guy out front has a rider," Aubrey said. "Probably jaette or haugtrold. The original soul's in the dog. The house belongs to Candace Dorn. The horse is her fiance, Aaron. He's a cop. Since there isn't a SWAT team outside right now, I'm guessing the rider did something to keep the law away while he killed us."

"And I need to go to a hospital, get st.i.tched up," I said. I thought I sounded very calm.

"Right," Ex said, then a moment later, "Okay. I'm on it."

And that, more or less, was that. Aubrey got me a loose blouse from Candace's closet to preserve my modesty on the drive. I pressed a towel to my side and tried not to bleed on his minivan. On the way to the emergency room, we concocted a story that we'd been out on a date and got jumped by three muggers. Since it was Boulder, I suggested making them a band of roving neocons, and Aubrey laughed. By the time we staggered into the ER and plopped down to tell our story to the intake nurse, I almost felt human again. Parts of my body ached that I hadn't known existed, the doctor who looked me over called for about eight different X-rays to see how many of my bones were broken, and the blouse we took from Candace wound up balled into the biohazard can.

When they asked about my health insurance, I took the money out of my pocket. Nine thousand nine hundred and change after pizza and beer. It was enough to cover treatment and a night's observation. Barely. Even though he was falling down exhausted, Aubrey took point talking to the cops while I drifted in and out of consciousness. The hard, narrow hospital bed was the most comfortable place I'd ever been. Monitors strapped to my chest and arm let out low pongs and chimes.

When I let my eyes close, my watch said it was one in the morning. When I opened them a minute later, the morning sun was pouring in the windows, heating up the walls. Chogyi Jake was curled in the chair at the foot of my bed, a paper coffee cup forgotten in his dozing hand. My body ached badly, just lying there. But I was all right. I'd lived through it.

The sun tracked its slow way up the sky, and I let my mind wander. It was Sunday. Somewhere out there, far to the east, my mother and father were going to church in their starched clothes, ready to watch their preacher sweat and exclaim and witness to the power of a G.o.d I didn't believe in. West, in Arizona, a new semester would have started at ASU. The dorms and apartments would be filled with men and women sleeping off Sat.u.r.day night, just the way I had done this time last year.

Closer by, Randolph Coin-or the thing inside him-had already started leading its seven-year swarm into a dance that would take more bodies away from people like Aaron the German shepherd and Candace Dorn and give them over to these unclean spirits. At Eric's house, Midian was probably frying up steak and eggs, with Aubrey and Ex either at his side drinking coffee or sleeping off the night's exhaustion. Chogyi Jake murmured something and shifted his weight without spilling his coffee. I smiled at the man's sleep-peaceful face and let myself sink back down into my amazingly expensive, thin, uncomfortable pillow. I had expected to greet this particular morning with a sense of despair and isolation, and instead I felt at home in my life for the first time I could remember.

It was Sunday, the fifth of August, and it was my birthday. I was twenty-three.

Eight.

The doctors in Boulder released me that afternoon with precautions about not doing anything to pop my st.i.tches or aggravate my knee. Chogyi Jake took me home in his van, but I was already fading. I fell asleep almost as soon as I got back home, and when I woke up Monday morning, the house was silent.

I slipped out of bed, careful of my various wounds, pulled on a thick wool robe that was a little too large for me, and padded out into the hallway. The door of the guest bedroom was ajar, and Aubrey was in the bed, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open. I watched him sleep, watched his chest rise and fall and rise again. Part of me wanted to step in, slip into the bed, and curl up beside him. Before I could act on the impulse, I heard the front door open and familiar voices fill the s.p.a.ce. Ex and Chogyi Jake. And then Midian, welcoming them.

"The one thing we know for absolute certain is that it didn't work," Ex said.

Midian coughed once and shrugged his shoulders. He nodded to me as I walked through the doorway.

"Hey. The resident skeptic rises," he said, and I shuddered at the sound of his voice. Every morning, it seemed a little worse than I'd remembered it. "I figured you for sleeping in through noon."

"Got hungry," I said.

"Can we stay on point here?" Ex snapped. "We can't hold to Eric's plan. It already failed."

"It was discovered," Chogyi Jake said. "But the core of it was never tried, so we can't really say it wouldn't have worked."

"Coin's a smug little c.o.c.ksucker," Midian said. "Even after we took out his little ninja squad, I don't know that he'd be on high alert. He knows we got away, but he has to a.s.sume that he broke the plan's back. Plus which, little old herself here does have some superpowers. You want a donut? The guys brought back a dozen, and the coffee'll be ready in a minute."

"I'd take a jelly. And I don't have any superpowers," I said, but it didn't have the force of conviction anymore.

"Your priest buddy, Ex, has been doing some research," Midian said, ignoring my protest. "Looks like there's protective mojo on you that makes you hard to see, magically speaking, which might be why you got in past the alarms. Could also have something to do with how you kicked all the a.s.s back at the apartment and then with that nasty up in Boulder. Did Eric ever give you anything that had writing on it you couldn't actually read? Like a ring or something? Or take you to a hot spring? Natural hot springs are good too."

Before I could say no, he hadn't, Ex broke in.

"But we don't know the details yet, and the point still stands that Eric got killed."

"I'm not saying it isn't a risk," Midian replied calmly as he handed me a jelly donut. The powdered sugar was white as snow, a splash of red at the side. "I'm just saying it's a calculated one."

Ex's face went pale, his jaw hard. For an instant, I was sure he was going to hit Midian. Instead, he muttered something obscene, turned, and stormed out the front door, slamming it behind him. Chogyi Jake sighed and picked a cake donut out of the box on the counter.

"No offense, Jake," Midian said, sitting at the table. "Your friend there? He's a p.r.i.c.k."

"He's angry with himself," Chogyi Jake said. "He deals with it poorly. Give him time to work it through. He'll be back."

"What's he p.i.s.sed off about?" I asked around a mouthful of sugar.

"He failed to protect Aubrey and you from the haugtrold," Chogyi Jake said. "You could have been killed. Both of you. He didn't insulate you from that danger."

"It wasn't his job," I said.

"He feels otherwise," Chogyi Jake said.

"Since we're talking about stupid, though," Midian croaked as he poured three cups of coffee, "walking in on an unknown situation like that haugtrold when this whole thing with Coin is still hanging fire? That was dumb."

"We didn't know it was going to blow up on us," I said, accepting one of the cups. The coffee smelled rich and tasted just bitter enough to forgive the donut. "Aubrey knew I wouldn't be able to kill Coin unless I was sure that all this talk about riders and magic was true. He didn't think this thing with the dog was going to be dangerous."

"Well, he's paying the price of that little f.u.c.kup," Midian said.

Something in the way the dead man spoke made my gut clench, suspicion suddenly burning through me like a cold fire. I put down the coffee cup and wiped the sugar off my lips with the back of one hand. Midian raised his ruined eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "What price?"

The pair were silent for a moment, some unspoken calculation pa.s.sing between them. Chogyi spoke first.

"Riders are very powerful. Magic-violating the rules of the world-it comes easily to them. For humans, using your will or qi or whichever name you put to it...is more difficult," Chogyi Jake said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "Even of the people who learn about magic, few ever do more than small cantrips. Changing how you perceive things, for example. Making yourself charismatic or more difficult to remember. They're things that are very much like what we all do anyway, every day. We focus our will to it, and it becomes more effective. When you start to do things that affect objects or violate the customs of nature-the sorts of things that riders manage by nature-those are more difficult."

"The alarms at the apartment, for instance," Midian said. "Those were a sweet sonofab.i.t.c.h to set up. If it wasn't me and Eric doing it together, wouldn't have been possible."

"Okay," I said.

"Eric knew more than any man I've ever met, and he taught things to some of us that are...advanced. Possibly optimistic. Aubrey bound the haugtrold with a very powerful magic. It is called the Voice of the Abyss. Or Calling Da'ath. There are other names for it. It...it isn't something that is invoked lightly."

"I don't understand," I said.

"Jesus wept," Midian said. "He used a tool that was stronger than he was, and it smacked him one. It's no worse than smoking a few thousand cigarettes. That's as much as you need to worry about, okay?"

"How badly did it hurt him?" I asked, my eyes on Chogyi. He didn't look away.

"Every time he makes that invocation, it becomes easier for his soul to come free of his flesh," he said. "Easier for him to die. Illness will be harder to recover from. Wounds slower to heal. There is no simple way to measure it, but at a guess, stunning the haugtrold cost him a year of his life."

I closed my eyes and pressed my hand to my mouth. I felt like I was going to be ill. The coffee I'd drunk haunted the back of my tongue.

"I've got to...I'm going to be right..." I said as I walked away. Neither of them tried to follow me. I found my way back to my bedroom-Eric's bedroom-and then the little bathroom. I turned up the shower until the steam was billowing out, then took off the robe and stood under the near-scalding water.

I had thought the adventure was only that: a sc.r.a.pe with danger that had netted us a few cuts and bruises and restored an innocent victim of these parasites to his own body again. We'd saved Candace Dorn from whatever violence and misery the rider had intended. Go us.

Go me.

Now it turned out Aubrey had done himself permanent damage saving me, and I was furious with myself because of it. Furious and guilty and a little frightened. I'd brought him into the situation. My need to understand, my need for proof that had seemed so important before seemed petty now. If I'd just had faith, he wouldn't have been hurt...

I soaped up as best I could with a still-swollen knee and a shoulder that didn't bend as well as I was used to. The hot water made my st.i.tches ache, and when I finally got out, the towel came away slightly red when I patted the wound dry. It hurt, but I figured I deserved a little pain.

I dressed slowly, in my own clothes this time. Somehow putting on another of Eric's shirts seemed wrong at the moment. Old blue jeans. Pink Martini T-shirt. Just me. Just Jayne. No demon hunting, no magic, nothing that would put anyone in danger on my account.

The bedroom door was still ajar. The sound of conversation had moved from the kitchen to the couch, but I didn't go out to join them. Instead, I slipped into the guest room and closed the door behind me.

Aubrey was still asleep. Now that I knew to look for it, I noticed his skin had a gray tinge I didn't remember. His breathing was deep and slow. I sat on the edge of the mattress, my weight pulling Aubrey toward me. He looked younger when he was asleep. None of the small lines that time was starting to etch in the corners of his eyes or mouth showed. I could see what he'd looked like when he was a child. I drew a lock of hair back from his face with my finger. The swelling around his left eye had gone down, but there was still the darkness of a deep bruise like a shadow inside his skin. A scab ran from his collarbone to hide under the sheet.

His eyes opened a fraction, hazel eyes looking up at me through sand-colored lashes. He didn't seem at all surprised to see me.

"Hey," I said softly.

"Hey," he said. He drew an arm free of the sheet and I took his hand in mine. I could feel my heartbeat ramping up, the adrenaline flushing into my blood as I leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were rougher than I expected, stronger. I sat back up and his smile had a soft humor in it, like he was amused by something that was also a little sad.

"I'm still dreaming, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "You totally are."

"Thought so," he said, and closed his eyes again. I held his hand for a moment, then stood up and made my way back out to the living room.

"All I'm saying is that we can sound out how worried Coin is by his actions," Ex, returned, said from a perch on the couch's armrest. "If he's moved the ceremony someplace else, then we can say for sure that he's still on high alert."

"And if he hasn't?" Midian asked, gesturing with a lit cigarette, an arc of blue smoke trailing the movement.

"Then we know he's not worried enough to move it," Chogyi Jake said. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"A little reconnaissance," Ex said. "Once we have more information, we can make a better judgment on how to go forward."

"Could someone get me up to speed here?" I asked, sitting down carefully.

"Eric's notes," Midian said. "He knew where Coin's little party was supposed to be. A warehouse up north. The bare bones of the plan were pretty simple, but timing's an issue."

"After a certain point in the ceremony itself, riders under Coin's dominion are committed," Chogyi Jake said. "They can't break off until their invocation is complete. Even if Coin suddenly walks out, they won't be able to disengage quickly enough to follow him."

"They'd lose the whole crop," Midian said. "Thing is, I can pull Coin out. Well, I can't, but someone else can, using me as a focus."

"I'm lost," I said.

"There's a kind of connection that's made when you curse someone," Ex said, "so by cursing Midian, Coin also made a connection between them. Eric was planning to exploit that connection to pull Coin out beyond his protections, so that someone could kill him."

"I don't want to do something that's going to hurt anyone. I mean any of us," I said.

"I'll be badly tired," Chogyi Jake said, "but I'll recover. It doesn't require violating any laws of physics."

"I think that sounds good," I said. "But first I think I'd like to know a little more about how this spirit magic stuff works. You guys mind running me through the tutorial?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Ex said, his tone more angry than welcoming. I forgave him. I knew where it was coming from. I was more than a little p.i.s.sed off at me too.

"THAT'S HIM,"

Ex said.

I wanted to sink down into the car seat or else strain forward to see better. The binoculars pressed against my eyes shortened the s.p.a.ce and blurred the chain-link fencing. It was as if there was no barrier between us and the two men far away down the street who were getting out of a car just humble enough to not call itself a limousine. They weren't what I'd expected. The larger was broad as a linebacker and easily a head taller than his companion. His Hawaiian shirt blared red and blue and green, and his tree-trunk arms swirled with complex designs and patterns that made my eyes ache. Ex didn't have to tell me that he wasn't the one.

The smaller man-Randolph Coin-closed the pa.s.senger door and said something, nodding toward the warehouse and then to the train tracks beyond it. His face was wide and round, heavy at the jowls, and sparkling with a bright animation. When the big man answered, Coin laughed. He looked like a successful businessman, only without the soul-crushing grayness. Even with the pounding heat of the afternoon, he wore a dark jacket. The big one wiped an arm across his inscribed forehead, and I realized that Coin wasn't sweating.

"He isn't marked," I said. "I don't see any tattoos on him."

"It's a glamour," Ex said. "Changes how people perceive him."

"Rider magic?"

"Normal people can do it too, if you train them enough. Takes a few years. Right now, you should just focus your qi in your belly and bring it up to your eyes. Don't push past that, though. We don't want them to notice us."

It was Tuesday, and we were in the northern suburb called Commerce City. The train tracks angled southwest to northeast, just north of where we were parked. The warehouse was to the south, exactly where Uncle Eric's notes and plans said it would be, and Coin and his sheriff walked toward it now with unhurried calm. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what Ex and Chogyi Jake had taught me the day before. I pictured a warm ball of smoke just a few inches south of my navel and on an inward breath took energy into it from all around my body. Then I imagined the smoke glowing blue and white with flickers in it like lightning as it traveled up my spine, through the back of my head, and into my closed eyes.

There was a physical sensation that went with it that reminded me of watching a cat slink along under a bedspread. I opened my eyes again, and Randolph Coin was transformed. Swirls of ink eddied at the corners of his eyes. Black marks darkened his lips. At the warehouse door, he paused, turning back toward the car like he'd heard something. Startled, I let the smoke dissipate. My eyes became my eyes again, and his face was only flesh-colored. I put down the binoculars.

"All right," I said. "That's good. Let's get out of here."