By the time she was out of the shower and halfway through breakfast, pouring herself more coffee and humming to herself as she checked her demon-hunting bag, he was in a fine stew of controlled impatience. She had several powders and different items sealed in Ziploc bags, an idea so practical and simple it approached genius. Her Fang lay set-aside on the table as she buttered more toast and poured some apple juice, cheerful and unconcerned. Her hair, drawn back in a sleek braid, was even darker with water, and he smelled her shampoo. She'd changed into a long-sleeved gray T-shirt and another pair of well-worn jeans. He wondered when she wore the slacks and conservative skirts he saw in her closet.

Christ, I've gone poking through her closet like some weirdo. But her clothes smell like her. I smell like her, now. The thought sent a bolt of something hot and gold through him, the demon turning over uneasily at the bottom of his mind. Night was coming, and with it, his full strength. All he had to do was wait.

She muttered to herself as she pulled a small plastic tub out of the bag and shook it. “Salt,” she said. “Blessed salt. Very useful. You have no idea how many little jars I have of this stuff, some with wormwood, some with angelica, some with charcoal—"

"With charcoal?” He raised an eyebrow, folding his hands around his coffee cup. The warmth sank into his hands and added to the funny light sensation in his chest. He could imagine sitting here across this table with her, as night pressed against the windows; could imagine her cooking dinner and singing along with the music while he watched. He could imagine watching television with her, watching the light play over her face as she laughed.

I'm turning into a fucking Leave It To Beaver rerun. Control yourself, Ryan. For God's sake control yourself.

"For consecrating a fire,” she replied, in her don't you know that? tone. “Repels mnyar and skornac, but those tentacled fuckers like to stay underground in damp places, the books say. Hard to light a fire down there."

"A Drakul could,” he heard himself say. “There's a simple spell; flame's easy for a part-demon. Wonder if it'd work."

Her eyes grew round. He saw that the gold flecks were becoming more pronounced, giving her gaze an eerie bright quality. “You think? Where can we test that?” She sounded, actually, excited at the prospect. He even heard her pulse speed up, could smell the lightening of her scent. And damned if he didn't feel a blurring pleasant glow at the thought of making her happy.

Easy, Ryan. Steady down. Don't get her all upset. “Not anyplace around here. Maybe later. Right now we've got other problems."

"Right.” The excitement left her face, and he cursed himself for reminding her. “All right. What's this golden thingie you keep talking about?"

Dammit, where do I start? “They're special.” He looked down at his coffee cup, wishing there was an answer in the thick black brew. She seemed to like his coffee, at least. “We call them the Golden because that's what they are, gold. The stonekin call them vakr, which is their word for sunlight. In the old days, before Christianity, they were usually sacred to the sun gods because of the way they worked their sorcery: they deal with light and they're pretty damn inimical to the Inkani. I've heard that it makes sense, the demons would naturally call out a counterbalancing response in the human race, like any prey taking on aspects to defend itself from a predator. Anyway, the Golden, they're Phoenicis.” He took a deep breath, smelling her. She kept fiddling with her bag between bites of toast. “Certain people are born with a… potential to become Phoenicis, a kind of avatar, I guess. The potentials are triggered by self-defense during a demon attack, by being around other Golden, or by working sorcery. You're powerful, and when you reach your full potential there will probably be a fair number of demons you can get rid of just by taking on your mantle. But before then, you're vulnerable, and you need training. I'll teach you what I can, and the Order will send a full division if necessary—"

He knew it was going too smoothly, but her interruption still surprised him. “Wait a second. I don't want anything to do with your Order. I told you that.” She pushed the Fang into the bag and closed the flap. It was a relief. Even the thing's presence made him uneasy, the demon in him recognizing something hostile to it. “They'll try to take my books."

He heard the possessiveness in her tone and winced slightly. Phoenicis did get territorial over their Nests, and she probably unconsciously felt the library—built by another Golden and used as a home of knowledge ever since—to be hers. He didn't blame her. “They'll just guard your library, and probably help you with funding and things like that. You don't understand, with a Phoenicis to wake up other Golden, we can begin fighting back instead of just defending the cities we've taken. We can begin to push back the Inkani, we can—"

"No.” Her chin jutted out stubbornly. “I don't care, I don't want anything to do with this Order. I have to deal with enough supercilious assholes at work.” Her eyes swung up, met his as her fork paused in midair. “But… they'll try to hurt you if I don't play along with them, right?"

Christ, she's too quick. Dammit. “I'm a danger to them,” he said slowly. “If they let me go without punishing me, it will set a bad example for the other Drakulein."

Her eyes glittered. “That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.” She jabbed at her eggs with her fork. “Those bastards."

"They're not all bad. They're fighting the Inkani. It's serious business, Chess.” Holy Christ, I'm sticking up for the Malik. Damn. Who ever would have thought? “All things considered, they're the lesser of two evils."

"So was Hitler, in the beginning,” she mumbled. He pretended not to hear. Her profile was beautiful, severe and classic like an old statue; her eyelashes swept down, veiling that disquieting gold-flecked gaze. “So you think I'm one of these Goldie thingies."

"The stonekin told me you were. Last night, in the Shelaugh."

"The sheloff.. oh, yeah. The bar.” She nodded sagely, took another bite of toast. “Any chance he could be wrong?"

Not bloody fucking likely, since he took you underground. They don't take humans underground; even the Malik are there only sometimes as allies on sufferance. “No chance, sweetheart."

She didn't protest the nickname, for once, staring at her plate. That managed to disturb him. She was taking the news a little too calmly, after all. He didn't trust this sudden docility, just like he didn't trust an Inkani treaty.

"I think he was wrong,” she said, and pushed herself up from the table. “We'd better get going. It's already afternoon."

"He wasn't wrong,” Ryan said to her bent head as she scooped up her plate and silverware. She was, at heart, a neat little soul. He watched her wrist, bent at just the right angle to display maximum vulnerability. If the Inkani got their claws on her… “I can smell it on you. I could when I met you, but I didn't know what it was. You're a Golden, Chess. And I'm going to protect you."

"Would you still ‘protect’ me if I wasn't useful to this Order of yours? Or if your own ass wasn't on the line?” Her dark head shook once, sharply, side to side. “No, of course not. We're business partners, Ryan. And as soon as we pick up this guy of yours, I guess we'll see which side your bread's buttered on."

Wait a second. What the hell? “Chess—"

"No.” She turned away, stalking into her kitchen. “Give me a couple of minutes, and I'll be ready to go."

What the hell? What did I do now?

He didn't have the faintest clue.

He couldn't drive, and she didn't have a car, so it was an agonizingly slow bus ride and then down to the subways, managing to make him uncomfortable. If he'd been on his own he could have used rooftops and alleyways, the secret back routes of the city, but she was in no condition—or mood—to be clambering up the sides of buildings and leaping from roof to roof, even if she could have kept up with him. He could have carried her, but what would be the point, other than enjoying the feel of her?