"Tell me what the created Androgyne said to you, Dante." Did he sound pleading? It couldn't be. Japhrimel had never begged me for anything. "What did she tell you? What did you believe of what she told you?"

I believed enough. My arm ached, his fingers tense and hard, digging into my flesh. I looked down, the tiles on the floor melting together as my eyes unfocused. It was an old trick, learned back in primary school-if I unfocused my eyes and let the roaring fill my ears, whatever happened to the rest of me wouldn't matter. It didn't work if the physical pain reached a certain level, but short of that….

Japhrimel's fingers loosened. I still felt his hand-if I was still human I might have been bruised. It was so unlike him. He was normally so exquisitely careful not to hurt me. What does it matter what she told me, Japh?

"Dante." His tone was quiet, dark with something too angry to be hurt. "You will speak of it, sooner or later. You cannot hide from me."

I took a sharp shuddering breath. The cafe was utterly still. I wondered if the waitress was staring at us or if she had decided to retreat to the kitchen. "I need a transport out of here as soon as possible." It took work to keep my voice level, not weak but quiet. I'm not backing down on this one, Japh. Do your worst.

"As you like." He stepped away, dismissing me. "Leave it to me. I suggest you rest."

The scar in the hollow of my left shoulder throbbed. I don't care. He can do whatever he likes, what happened between me and Eve is private. It's none of his business.

What I did next surprised me. I caught his arm, the sleeve of his long dark coat-I knew what it was made of, and it hadn't bothered me for a long time. I tensed my fingers, clawtips sliding free to prick the lacquered material. I squeezed as hard as I could, in turn. It probably didn't matter, I wasn't able to hurt him. "You hurt me. Again." Gods, I sound like a whining little girl. But it's true. "You promised you wouldn't."

I was looking at his boots, so I missed whatever expression that produced.

"Do you truly think I would harm you?" He tore his arm out of my fingers, the material of his coat slick against my fingers. It was wings masquerading as clothing; he was literally of the Greater Flight of demons. He could have killed me without even trying.

How do we define "harm," Japhrimel? I'm not bleeding or dead, so I'm fine? Is that it? "Fine." I turned on my heel, headed for the stairs up to the rooms Leander had rented.

I barely saw the stairs through the welling water in my eyes. But I blinked it away. Crying wouldn't do any good.

"You're what?" The emerald on Leander Beaudry's cheek sparked, the thorny yin-yang accreditation tat on his left cheek twisting under the skin. My own cheek burned, my gem answering his in greeting.

"I've got some business in Saint City." I dropped down in a lyre-backed, overstuffed maroon chair and stared at the room. Japhrimel was downstairs with Vann, making arrangements for us to blow this town. "Getting on the next transport. I'm putting the hunt on hold for a while." For as long as I possibly can. Thank you, Gabe.

Lying cheek-by-jowl with the throbbing ache in my scarred shoulder was a new, unsteady panic. Gabe wouldn't call me like this unless it was dire. She wouldn't have sent that particular message unless it was a personal matter instead of another job for the Saint City PD. That added up to only a few possible scenarios: revenge, a bloody personal bounty, or bad trouble.

Add yet another layer of welling mistrust about Japhrimel's motives, and I was bound to be a nervous wreck before long. He'd given in too easily. Far too easily. I'd expected a full-out fight instead of just an aching shoulder and verbal fencing over whether or not I was "hurt."

"What's the business in Saint City?" Leander pushed his hand back through his dark hair.

I squashed a flare of irritation. It wasn't an unreasonable question-after all, he'd signed on to the hunt after spending a lot of Power after that hover incident in Freetown New Prague. Then he'd come to Giza and started making arrangements for further hunting. He was a good Necromance if what I'd read about him was true, and he seemed honorable. Plus he was a bounty hunter, which meant he could probably handle himself in any normal situation.

Too bad nothing about this was normal.

And he's human. I squashed that thought too, sent it packing.

It refused to go quietly.

I sank into the chair. Gravity suddenly weighed down every inch of my skin. "A debt to an old friend. She's called for my help."

He studied me for a few moments, leaning back in his chair with his long legs stretched out, his katana laid across his lap. For a moment he reminded me of someone, though I couldn't think of quite who.

The room was large and airy, containment fields humming over tall windows. Red tile decorated the plaster walls, heavy low furniture sat obediently in prearranged places; through a half-open door I saw the edge of a bed swathed in mosquito netting. Another bedroom door was closed-Lucas, getting some shut-eye. McKinley was nowhere in sight, and I was grateful for that. The black-clad Hellesvront agent with his oddly metallic left hand made me uneasy.

"And?" Leander's eyebrows raised.

I've got to go. Not only that, but I've got to figure out a way to keep Japhrimel occupied so Eve can… what? What is she doing? I hope she has some kind of plan. "I don't know the specifics." I strangled another hot welling of irritation. "She's called, she'll tell me what she needs when I get there. It's that simple."

He absorbed this. "Your friends are lucky. Not many people would fly halfway around the world just on the strength of a phone call."

"It was a datpilot message." I leaned my head back into the chair's embrace, closing my eyes. "I made a promise. That's a magickal law, isn't it? Thy word is thy bond."

I could tell by his faint exhaled laugh he recognized the quotation-attributed to Saint Crowley the Magi, no less, though it didn't sound much like the treatises I'd read. I wish someone would tell my bounties that. The wryness of the comment matched the dry humor in his tone. "Well, it's Saint City then. All right."

And that, apparently, was that. I let one eye drift open just a crack. "You're not required to come along."

He shrugged. A human shrug-it didn't irritate me the way it did when Japhrimel gave one of his evocative noncommittal movements. "Call it my curiosity. I've got some time."

"Might not be too healthy to hang around. People have a distressing habit of dying around me." You're human. Fragile. Or at least, more fragile than I am, and I'm not doing too well when it comes to facing down demons and the like. When did my life get so freaking dangerous?

I'd never considered forgoing combat training and hunting bounties. Freelance law enforcement had always seemed the only possible route for me; Jace had taught me about mercenary work and corporate espionage when I'd been desperate for cash after my Academy training and a fewyears in the field. It had only been a small step-I was, after all, familiar with the idea of fighting.

What you cannot escape, you must fight; what you cannot fight, you must endure. Life was dangerous in and of itself, I was privileged to know the fact from a young age.

It meant I wasn't as nastily surprised as I got older. "I'm a Necromance." His tone managed to convey disdain and excessive neutrality in one pretty package. In other words, Death's my trade too, kid.

Yeah, but I'm tougher than you and I'm having trouble keeping myself together here. Do I really want to be looking out for you? "Me too." An unfamiliar smile spread over my face. It's rare to find a Necromance I enjoy talking to; we're such a bunch of neurotics. Using Power and psionic talent means most of us have distinctly odd personalities as well as a fair helping of Schadenfreude, and dealing with Death like we're trained to will make even the most courageous human paranoid on one hand and adrenaline-addicted on the other.