I needed to know more about Joan Talbott. Why had she inspired such hatred from a single Prodigal girl? Where had she gone, and how was she tied to Peter Roffcale's murder? I needed to find out what she had actually done in Good Commons.

All of these questions churned through my thoughts, but I couldn't concentrate on any one of them. They aroused flickers of my curiosity. But I was tired and too disconnected from them. They seemed like they should fit together, like they did, but I was missing just the right angle to slip them into place.

I toyed with possibilities, not because I thought I could solve anything, but to distract myself from another thought. I took in a long breath. The flavor of burning wood and the heat of full, rich flames rolled up through my thoughts. The smoking remains of Edward Talbott's house lay far behind me. The scent and sensation arose from my own memories of Sariel. Everything about fire reminded me of him. Now the scent of burning clung to me like a ghost, and I could not stop thinking of him.

I had kept memories of him buried for so long and so well that I had imagined that I had forgotten about him altogether. It had been a lie I wanted desperately to believe, and so I had.

But now, the very air seemed saturated with his presence. There was some detail in every object that I touched or passed that recalled a memory of Sariel.

The hiss and gurgle of the gas lamps reminded me of the way he had whispered curses constantly behind the backs of his least favorite teachers. He had also whispered, in that same quiet way, after he had fallen asleep in my arms. The low moaning of cats made me remember suddenly the first night we had made love. It had been in an alley, and neither of us had known very well what we were doing.

The smell of him seemed to rise through the wind. I closed my eyes and took in another deep breath. Above the reek of the horse shit in the street, there was that deeply familiar scent. I opened my eyes. It wasn't simply my haunted imagination; Sariel's presence twisted through the wind. He was nearby.

Unconsciously, I had been wandering toward him. I had followed his scent, all the while attempting to think about something else. I supposed it was in keeping with my deceptive nature that I should have lied even to myself.

The thin wisps of cigarette smoke drifted up against the dark sky. I followed them easily. Even among my own kind, my sense of smell was powerful. I found Sariel long before he caught sight of me. He strolled up Butcher Street as if it were his. A cigarette hung between his fingers. He exhaled, whispering softly as the smoke blew past his lips. His long green coat flapped slightly in the breeze, and the dark scarf he wore waved back behind him. The smoke rolled ahead of him, and he followed it.

He was beautiful. I had taken that for granted when I had known him before. His languid motions and bright eyes had been so familiar to me that I had not really known how rare he was. I had never understood why the headmaster at St. Augustine's insisted that Sariel keep his tempting glances to himself. He had simply been Sariel, and I had loved him. Now I realized how handsome he truly was. At the same time, I did not overlook Sariel's wickedly sharp black nails or his fixed expression of superiority.

He took a long drag off his cigarette. The fire in it burned bright red. After a moment of gazing up at the sky, Sariel released the white smoke in a long whisper. I felt him say my name; the pulse of his breath washed over me.

The exhaled smoke rushed up from Sariel's lips. It shifted and twisted as the wind moved through it, but it always wound its way back to the rooftop where I sat. Sariel watched it move, and at last he saw me. He came forward slowly, his outward calm betrayed only by the words he had burned into the air with such intense force.

The tongues of Sariel's smoke curled over me. They were warm and smooth, like delicate fingers. Wisps rolled over my bare stomach and shoulders. Sariel smiled at me and then soared up to the rooftop.

"Hello, Belimai," he said, and he flicked his dying cigarette back down to the muddy street. "Mind if I join you?"

"Do as you please," I replied.

Sariel sat down on the roof tiles and leaned back against the brick column of the chimney. We watched each other in silence for a few moments. He lit another cigarette.

"How's your back?" he asked.

"It's all right, so long as I don't think about it."

"You always were tougher than you looked." He frowned, then took another drag off his cigarette.

I watched the smoke he exhaled rise and twist up into the night sky.

"Were you looking for me?" I asked at last.

"Was it obvious?" he asked, and then he went on. "I wanted to say something to you."

"Oh?" I cocked my head slightly. "What?"

"Something. Anything. I just wanted to see you again, to say something more than goodbye," Sariel said.

I couldn't think of a response that didn't sound clever or cruel, so I kept quiet. Sariel smoked and at last crushed out the butt of his cigarette against the roof.

"You aren't going to make this easy, are you?" Sariel asked.

"What do you mean?" I watched the last thin streaks of Sariel's smoke turn on the night air.

"Don't do this, Belimai," Sariel said. "If you're angry at me, then say so. Scream at me if you want, but don't treat me like a stranger. Don't pretend that I'm some stray off the street who you've never seen before."

"I thought it would be better for both of us this way," I said at last.

"Better?" Sariel shook his head. "I'd rather have you beat my head in. At least then I'd know that you still felt something for me."

"I'm not going to beat your head in. I'm not even angry at you."

"How could you not be?" Sariel looked at me as if I were lying.

"I'm just not," I snapped. "What happened was my fault. How could I be angry with you?"

"It never occurred to you that I got you dragged into the Inquisition in the first place?" Sariel pulled a cigarette case out of his coat pocket, took one of the cigarettes, and lit it with a snap of his black nails. "If I had gone straight right after school, like you did, it never would have happened. We could have set up house, and maybe you would have gotten into that school..." He paused to exhale a long swirl of smoke. "What was it called?"

"I don't remember," I replied.

"Like hell you don't remember." Sariel stretched out onto his side and looked out at the sky. "It was the Downing Academy, wasn't it?"

"It's old history, Sariel. It doesn't matter what school. There's no point in trying to get me mad at you about something that's long past."

"You've avoided me for six fucking years, Belimai." Sariel jabbed his burning cigarette in my direction. "You're barely speaking to me now. It's not over. It's still going on right now between us. You think that I'm furious because you turned me in. And I think you hate me because...well, you're acting like it."

"I don't hate you, and I don't think you're furious at me." I shook my head.

"Then why did you stay away so long? Why did you leave Hells Below?" Sariel demanded.

"I changed." I knew that didn't make much sense, but there was no way that I could describe what had happened to me in the Inquisition. It hadn't just been the matter of a few scars and twenty pounds. I had been brought in as a proud youth, and I came out a pathetic addict. I might as well have been killed and my name given to a mongrel who resembled me around the eyes and jaw.