"You think I come down here often enough for that? And yes, I found out something interesting, at least at the suckhead convention. The Prime and his Consort identified the circles as being marked with Feeder glyphs."

I felt cold just mentioning it. Feeders were nothing to mess with. It's every psion's worst nightmare, tangling with a Feeder.

Jace whistled tunelessly, taking both shovels from my unresisting hands, leaving me his sword. I was abruptly wanned by the implied trust. "That's… well." His sandy eyebrows drew together, his lips compressed.

I studied the perfect arc of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. He had always been so very attractive; and his air of self-assuredness was compelling too. I wondered if I'd fallen for him because he'd always seemed so damn sure I would, and my own well-camouflaged uncertainty made his confidence even more magnetic. I had always secretly wanted to be as sure as he seemed to be, instead of faking it as I usually did. His facade never cracked, his good humor rarely faded. "What did you find out?"

A shrug, a brief snort of frustration. "Exactly zip. Our Mr. Smith was registered as normal on his datband. He worked as a jeweler, but his birth certificate's vanished and his utility bills were paid by a trust."

I pushed past him, glad the ceiling wasn't lower. "What kind of trust?" I'd bought this house partly because of the crawl space being basement-sized; Doreen hadn't minded as long as it had a garden. It had been abandoned and rundown, but the foundations were sound; we'd celebrated the final round of remodeling by throwing a huge party for the Saint City parapsych community. I'd met Jace at that party, though I hadn't seen him again until after Doreen's murder.

Thinking of that made me shiver again. I quelled the shudder, rubbing my right hand against my ruined skirt. Dried black blood crusted the velvet, scraped against my black-lacquered nails.

"A blind sealed trust. No way of breaking in. The same trust that covered the names of his clients under corporate confidentiality. A full search of public records turned up a big fat nothing except for the name the guy's slicboard was registered to." Jace sounded disgusted.

I found the corner at the far end of the house, under a closet I never used. I stopped, my heart pounding. The left side of the dress's bodice crackled with dried blood as I took in a deep breath. My heart beat thinly. "A jeweler with a slicboard? What name?"

"Keller. Just the one word. No last name. Bought at a dealership out on Lorraine that's since gone out of business." His aura roiled with spikes—Jace didn't like being down here either. I felt the warmth of his body across the air separating us as I turned back to him. The smell of peppered musk and honey was soothing even if it carried the decaying tang of human.

"The plot thickens." My voice shook. I reached for one of the shovels.

"Goddamn thick enough already." Jace shouldered me aside. "Let me, I've been up to my elbows in paper and public records for hours. I could use a little sweat. Where do I dig?"

I pointed at the corner. "Just start going down."

He gave me an extraordinary blue-eyed glance. In this corner of the basement, the light was dim enough that I couldn't see the fine lines beginning at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

Unless I concentrated.

I chose not to. Instead, I watched him drive the shovel down and start to dig. The concrete foundations were very close here. The earth was dusty and pallid. Having nothing else to do, I lowered myself down and sat on the ground, shifting inside my rig until the sword rode comfortably, balancing his scabbarded blade across my knees.

"Jace?"

"Hm?" He tossed another shovelful of dirt with a clean, economical movement.

"Thank you." The words stuck in my throat. As if I could ever thank him for what he was doing right this second, digging so I didn't have to.

"Anytime, baby." Another shovelful of pale dirt and small stones. "What am I digging for?"

"Metal. I buried it deep. Really, I mean it. Thank you."

"You're going to ruin that dress." His muscles flexed under the black T-shirt.

I swallowed copper fear, wished there was more light. Shadows pressed thickly in the corners. "It's already ruined. And I'm never wearing a dress again. If jeans and a Trade Bargains shirt isn't good enough, people can go fuck themselves."

"I've always liked you in jeans. That cute little ass of yours." He was beginning to get serious about digging, breathing deep and loosening up. Starting to sweat, drenching the air with the smell of a clean human male having a good workout.

I shivered, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry." It came out as easy as an apology ever had. Which meant it tore and clawed its way out of my chest while I watched him excavating something I never wanted to see again.

His even rhythm didn't stop, but his shoulders tensed. "For what, baby?"

"I'm not very nice to you." That's the understatement of the year, isn't it. I'm a right raving bitch to you. You deserve someone who can at least be affectionate.

If I was telling the truth to myself, I might as well let him in on it.

He was silent for a full three shovelfuls. The hole was beginning to take shape. Chills crawled over my skin. My jaw clenched tight so my teeth wouldn't chatter. "No. You're not." He tossed another shovelful of dirt, didn't look at me.

"You're better than I deserve."

That made him laugh. Jace Monroe had an easy laugh, sometimes used as a shield, sometimes genuine. This one was genuine. "You worry too much, sweetheart. What am I digging for?"

"Metal."

"What's inside?" He was beginning to get a respectable-sized hole. My teeth chattered, since my jaw had unloosed enough to talk. I hugged myself, cupping my elbows in my palms, squeezing, feeling my fingernails poke at my arms. Wished I could go back up into my house and forget about the trapdoor again—bury the memory deeper than I'd buried the rest of everything that had to do with the Hall.

"Books. Other things." I couldn't even pretend to have a steady voice.

"Great. Other people bury bodies, Dante Valentine buries books." He warmed to the work, I could feel the heat coming from him. Human heat, animal heat. Familiar heat.

Why did I feel so guiltily grateful for that warmth? For his mere breathing presence?

"They're going to be useful, Jace." I dropped my head, staring at his sword in my lap. A dotanuki instead of the katana I usually carried; he'd had it since I'd met him. A bigger hilt for his bigger hands, more weight, I'd sparred with him before. I'd beaten him even before Japhrimel made me into what I was now. But Jace was dangerous, tricky; he was the type that would take a cheap shot. I used to think it was dishonorable of him.

Now I wasn't so sure.

I trailed my fingers over the hilt-wrapping, catching flashes of Jace as he handled the blade. There were memories locked in that steel. I tapped the scabbard, touched the hilt again.

"Danny, baby," Jace said, "you keep stroking him like that you're going to give me a hard-on."

I glanced up. He was watching me, leaning on the shovel. His eyes were dark and hot, I didn't need a dictionary to read the look on his face. Jace Monroe had never made any secret about wanting me, which had made his abandonment of me all those years ago so much more shocking. And then, Rio, and now this penance he was paying by staying with me, watching my back, and forcing me to live.

Of all the things I had to be grateful for, Jace was probably the biggest. Who else would have put up with me?

"Sorry." I laid his sword aside. That's it exactly, Jace. I don't know what would kill me, but I think losing Japhrimel was damn close to it. Did you think I'd hurt myself? Is that why you came back?