At the snap of the bowstring, Magiere charged, leaning to snatch up her falchion. Chap closed in on their prey.

The quarrel stuck. The vampire's tattered shawl ignited. For an instant Magiere's sight blurred painfully in the increased light.

She saw only the barest details. He was dressed like a poor city worker, and the stench of urine accosted her heightened senses. She bore down upon him, taking hold of the falchion with both hands.

The undead barely paused. He jerked the quarrel from his body and ripped away the burning shawl in the same movement. He flung them at Chap and ducked into another alley.

"Damn it!" Leesil shouted, as Chap dodged aside from the flames.

Magiere was first into the alley and didn't wait for her companions to catch up. Chap's wail came behind her as she ran; then he passed her by. She followed at the tip of his tail, hearing Leesil's angry breaths behind her.

Everything became instinct as Magiere's hunger focused on the un-dead fleeing through the dark ahead of her.

Chane saw the quarrel an instant before it hit him and braced for the flames. He did not have time to think or react. He was afraid… and this made him angry.

He dreamed so often of ripping Magiere's throat out, but he could not face her and Chap and Leesil all at once. And not on the run and unarmed.

The quarrel struck him with a sickening thud, and the air around his head ignited into flames. He jerked out the quarrel, stripping away the burning shawl as well. He flung these at the dog, and ducked into the nearest path to run.

He had to reach the Ivy Vine without being seen.

Chane fled down the alley. Even if he eluded his pursuers' sight, hiding would do him no good. That bitch dhampir or the dog would sense him, or the half-blood's glowing stone would reveal that he was nearby. He simply ran, twisting and turning into other paths wherever he could.

But he needed that instant out of their sight, and it came at the right moment.

Chane spotted the Ivy Vine inn ahead. One block away he cut inward to find the alley that ran behind it. He reached the back of the inn. The wailing grew louder as his pursuers approached. Chane clawed his way up the wall, digging hardened fingernails into crevices and cracks between wood planks. He hoped he would not have to make noise by breaking the window.

As he reached the second floor, the window swung open. A hand reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt. Welstiel heaved, and Chane toppled over the sill into the room. He heard the window close sharply as he spun around.

Welstiel crouched beside Chane, gripping his shoulder. They both froze and listened. Welstiel held up his hand with the ring of nothing on his first finger. It would hide them from the senses of the dog and dhampir, and even Leesil's amulet.

The dog's wailing stopped. Chane heard frustrated snarls outside in the alley. Welstiel put a finger to his tight lips.

Chane wrinkled his brow. He did not need to be told to keep silent.

Indeed, he was surprised at his own relief at being so well protected. Such a thought brought distaste and a thin edge of self-loathing. He longed for the rapture he had once known in the hunt and the kill.

But tonight, while Chane watched the nobleman sob in the alley, his mind finally conjured images to replace his missing memory…

Of Wynn weeping over his corpse.

Chap nearly burst with rage when the undead's presence vanished from his awareness. He could smell which way it had passed, and he ranged back and forth along the alley. The trail ended midway near the back of an inn, but it made no sense. If the creature were inside, he would feel it this close, like an aching wound in the Spirit of the world.

Frustration was one more annoyance of living in flesh, and he found it harder to face with each passing year. He snarled through bared teeth, trying to let it out, spitting it from between his teeth, but it would not pass from him as he turned in agitated circles.

Perhaps his kin, the Fay, were not wrong in their accusation. Taking on flesh had changed him.

"You lost it?" Leesil asked between pants.

He barked twice for "no," then three more, low and rumbling, for his uncertainty. He looked up to Magiere, wondering if she could still feel the undead's whereabouts. Frustration drained and tension grew in its place.

Her irises were pure black. Tear tracks stained her pale cheeks. Each breath she took hissed in and out through her teeth, and Chap clearly saw her elongated canines. She shuddered under her own strain to retain self-control.

Chap cautiously approached Magiere from an angle that would allow him to stop her if she suddenly turned on Leesil.

"Do you sense anything?" Leesil asked.

Chap looked briefly toward Leesil. But Leesil was not looking to him. The half-elf's face was clenched with concern, and he did not return

Chap's gaze. Chap looked quickly back to Magiere and couldn't stop the growl that escaped him.

She glared at Leesil, breath deep and sharp. This was not exhaustion but the heat of something else within her. Chap heard Leesil behind him take a step toward Magiere. Chap tensed on all fours, ready to take Magiere down.

"Magiere?" Leesil said softly. "Can you sense anything?"

A startling change washed over her features. Her black eyes focused on Leesil.

The wrinkle of her brow faded. Her breaths became even and smooth, though her teeth remained unchanged. It was like seeing a feral animal suddenly look with longing at what stood before it.

Magiere dropped her gaze, reflexively covering her mouth with the back of her free hand.

"No… nothing," she said, though the words came out like a loud whisper.

Leesil stepped around Chap, grasping Magiere's raised hand. He gently pulled it down.

"I've seen it before," he said. "You don't need to hide from me."

Magiere clutched Leesil's fingers, blinking slowly. She looked tired now, as if the fading of her dhampir nature fatigued her more than the chase.

"I sense nothing," she answered more clearly, and looked down to Chap. "Where was the last place you smelled it?"

Magiere's teeth appeared to have receded, though her eyes remained unchanged. Chap whined again, and shook himself.

He relied on scent in some ways when tracking, but with an undead it was more that he felt its presence. He trotted back to the alley's center behind the building where the scent had ended. One second he had a strong sense of the creature, and the next, it was gone.

Chap saw that Magiere was as frustrated as he, gripping her sword tightly. It was hard to get this close and not make the kill… and more innocents might die as a result. His kin called this the way of things. Chap had long had his doubts that one small life of any kind in this world should mean so little, even in the balance of eternity.

Leesil crouched next to him. "My fault. I should've hit him with an oil flask, but he pulled the quarrel out too fast."

Magiere tried to catch her breath. "How did you get ahead of us?"

"Shortcut. I grew up here, remember. Did you get a look at him?"

"No, but his clothes were stolen."

"How do you know?"

"Because they smelled of the living… urine and sweat."

Chap continued to growl and fret, barely listening to his companions. He had been on the undead's tail, but the battle had been stolen from him. He began to tremble.

"He's gone," Magiere said. "The amulet lost its glow, and neither Chap nor I can pick up anything. How is this possible?"

Chap snorted and pawed at the alley's dirt.

"Now what?" Leesil asked. "Try again tomorrow night?"

Magiere frowned. "I wanted that thing's head tonight, so I could take it back to the keep. Then maybe Darmouth might find me a more trustworthy servant."