A profound swell of relief swelled through Chess's chest. God bless you, Charlie. I can always count on you. “You're going to think I'm crazy,” she rasped. She coughed, felt her stomach rise again, pushed it down. “You're going to think I'm fucking crazy."

Outside the office, the last shreds of day faded and rain tapped and fingered at the window. Charlie shrugged. “I know what you make a year. You're already crazy.” She lifted one manicured eyebrow. “And you dated Tommy Dalton. What kind of crazy are we talking?"

Oh, Lord. I can't believe I'm about to do this. “Charlie, do you believe in demons?” Chess's voice broke on the last word. I can't believe I'm doing this.

Her sister stared at her for twenty of the longest seconds of Chess's life. Then she unfolded her arms and stalked across the room to the antique teak sideboard that held a small tasteful collection of antique teacups. She opened the bottom right door and snagged a bottle of Scotch, two glasses, and poured them each a healthy dollop. She capped the Scotch deftly, set it back on the sideboard, then turned around with a drink in either hand. “You want one of these?” she asked. “Or do you want to go straight for the bottle? Sit down on the couch, and tell me everything."

Paul looked like hell and reeked of Inkani. He had a black eye, bruised ribs, a severely-bruised arm, and his leg wouldn't stop bleeding. He propped himself against the side of the phone booth and scanned the street. Ryan, his heartbeat finally beginning to come back to something like normal, glanced behind him. Rain came down thick and steady, cold and piercing; it had already started to slide down the back of his neck. Clear of Inkani, he thought, and a shiver touched his back. His shoulder hurt, he'd had to pop it back into the socket. The bullet wounds hurt too, and the claw-swipe along his ribs smarted as it began to heal. He was covered in blood. Again. He'd have to cover them both with a savagely-draining shell of illusion; they couldn't take a cab in this condition.

"She's a potential,” Paul said grimly, into the phone. “My Drakul's been keeping watch. Send everyone you've got, for Christ's sake, the Inkani know she's Golden and they're on her trail. We're going to pick her back up and keep her in a safe locale until we get some goddamn reinforcements.” A pause, while he listened. “I'm sure. She made a Fang, and Orion says she smells Other. She's a potential and damn close to a full Phoenicis. If they get their hands on her we're doomed. Just send everyone! And pour what you can into the account we're using for this run, we need emergency supplies.” Another long pause. “Orion's got it under control. He made initial contact, she trusts him. He deserves a goddamn gold medal. He just fought both of us free of a whole net of soldier-demons. Give us some help out here, we're dying, all right?"

Another pause, and Paul muttered a goodbye and hung up. “Reinforcements on the way.” He hunched his shoulders miserably. “I can't believe I fucking lost her on the subway platform. She was running like she wanted to take off into orbit."

Well, she never does anything halfway. “Thanks, Paul.” And he meant it. The Malik was decent, at least. He hadn't mentioned what any fool could see: that Ryan was in a knot over this woman and had gotten a little too close for comfort. “Really."

"I can't believe I didn't see it. A potential.” Paul winced as he eased himself out of the booth and into the stinging rain. The booth was in the corner of a grocery store parking lot, the main avenue one block away and buzzing with the sound of traffic. “I've been moving from bolthole to bolthole, one step ahead of Inkani with no time to call in. It's been pure fucking hell. Looks like you got yourself in trouble too."

You're lucky, if that's all you got from the Inkani. This is light damage, we both know it. Ryan grabbed the other man's shoulder. The faint tingle of healing sorcery spread over his palm, slid down into Paul's body; the Malik sighed and straightened when he was through. “Better? Can you breathe? That was a nasty shot to the ribs you took there."

Paul nodded. His pulse was a little too fast, and he was breathing in short shallow sips. He smelled of fear, too; that was normal. “I can breathe. I'm good. Where do you think she went?"

Who knows? The important thing is, she got away. You drew the Inkani fire to allow her to get away. I owe you my life. “Probably back home. I mean it, Paul. Thank you."

Amazingly, the Malik shrugged. His handsome face lit with a shadow of his old feckless grin, a shadow Ryan was suddenly glad to see. At least Paul understood Drakul and how to keep them in line. “You're a good Drakul, Ryan. The last thing you need is any static from me. So you like this girl? Is she nice?"

Nice? I can't figure out if I want to shake some sense into her or kiss her breathless. “I guess. Let's get you off the street, we'll catch a cab. Her apartment's warded, it shouldn't be too bad."

"Warded. You do that?” Paul hitched himself up straighter. He was indeed a sorry sight, from his torn clothing to his battered bag; he also looked, extremely happy to see Orion. Damn near bursting with glee, under the sour stink of fear. Well, he should be. I'm the Drakul, I'm here to take care of anything too big for him. Living without me for a while might have taught him a little serious appreciation.

But then he thought of the soldier-demons, each maggot one of them intent on getting past him, and the shudder almost managed to become visible. “No, she did it. It's what alerted me.” That and the Fang.

She'd been terrified, of course. Her eyes had been huge, and she'd resisted him; the Inkani spider was something any skin would have trouble with. And the corpses inside the room had been hosting baby brilnac; he was damn lucky they hadn't hatched where Chess could see. He hoped he hadn't frightened her, hoped she would go straight home from the subway. At least she'd gotten away safely. He couldn't do anything right now except get his Malik to safety and hope.

Paul hunched his shoulders miserably against the rain. “Let's get out of here and hope she has the sense to go home."

"It's not sense. Home is the one place she shouldn't be going.” But I told her to. “If anything happens, come back here and wait for me.” She's smart, she'll remember. He checked the street absently, all clear. If Chess hadn't run for the subway he might have been able to track her, even with a wounded Malik in tow. But now her trail was broken in the subway and the thing for him to do was go back to her house and wait for her to come trundling home. Combing the city at this point would just confuse the issue—especially with a wounded Malik in tow. “But she doesn't know that. Let's move."

They moved off, Ryan checking the street frequently and keeping himself to Paul's slower pace. She got away, he thought, his heart suddenly pounding with relief and fresh frustration. If this kept up he might well have a cardiac arrest right out in the open and save the Inkani a load of trouble. She got away. Paul held them long enough for her to get away. Thank you, God.

However much of a skirt-chasing idiot Paul was, he'd saved Chess. And indirectly, he'd saved Ryan too.

After all, if a Drakulein's mate died…?

Don't think about it, he told himself, hailing a cab with a swift motion and a thread of glamour, the thin illusion that made both him and Paul look like normal businessmen caught in the rain instead of battered, bloody Knights of the Order with demons to escape and a potential Golden to find. Just come home, Chess. Come home like a good girl, and we'll get this all straightened out.

"Nice place.” Paul snapped the towel, hung it up neatly. The bathroom door was mostly closed. They were both glad of a chance to clean up. “Interesting girl. Good books."