“It is more than a trinket,” Janx conceded, but then his expression hardened again. Kate’s shoulders dropped in dismay, and Ursula hugged her harder, the two making miscolored shadows of one another. “More than a trinket, but not enough. I set a third task to you weeks ago, Margrit Knight. I would see it done. Then, and only then, are we even and is the slate between us cleared. Heed my wish and I’ll heed yours.” He finally smiled, sharp-toothed and angry. “Do we have an accord?”

“We do.” Margrit whispered the words even as she shied away from the thought. Janx had set her a task, and she’d thrown it in his face in much the same way he’d just tried to do with her. Had warned him that it was his last favor, and he should be well aware of how he spent it.

She had acted to spare a life. Janx was acting to end one.

Eliseo Daisani would be destroyed. Not the vampire himself, but his persona, the business mogul who’d reigned over New York for the past thirty years. If Janx was to lose his empire, then Daisani would, too, and they would move elsewhere, begin their game anew. It would be hard enough for Janx, but nearly impossible for Daisani, whose face was known all over the world. A century earlier slipping from one life to another must have been easy, but Margrit had no idea how a well-known person would even begin to do so in the modern world.

“We do,” she said again, more clearly. “You’re a son of a bitch, Janx, but we have a deal.”

“Why, Margrit.” Janx made himself the picture of injured feelings. “I thought that was what you liked about me.”

“I don’t think I like any of you very much right now.” The adrenaline high was beginning to burn off, leaving Margrit weaker than she wanted to be. “Get out of here, Janx. Go pack your things and leave Grace’s tunnels and her children. Go somewhere with Kate. Get to know your daughter. Try to be a good guy for a while. It’d help me sleep easier.”

“Your wish, my dear, is my command. Katherine?” Janx, with consummate showmanship, offered Kate an elbow, then cocked the other and said, “Ursula?” in equally inviting tones.

The twins exchanged glances, first with each other, then with Margrit, who nodded and lifted her hand, fingers spread to represent a phone, toward her ear. She mouthed, “Call me,” and both the women smiled brightly, Kate nodding agreement before they each took one of Janx’s elbows and allowed him to escort them away from the loading dock.

“Are you certain it’s wise to encourage Daisani’s daughter to walk with Janx?” Alban murmured.

Margrit turned toward him, the movement making her dizzy, and put a hand on his arm to steady herself. “I’ll tell Eliseo, don’t worry. I thought you didn’t know who their fathers were.”

“I didn’t,” Alban said dryly, “until I saw them in action. It became obvious, Margrit.”

“Oh.” Light-headedness replaced what she would normally have thought of as the sensation of a blush. Nausea followed it and she clutched Alban’s sleeve, teeth set together against illness.

“Margrit?”

Her name came from two directions, Tony and Alban both voicing concern. She managed a weak smile at them, amused by the way they scowled, uncertain which of them should take precedence. After a few seconds Tony stepped back. Grace, looking surprisingly satisfied, tucked her arm through the detective’s as Alban asked, “Are you well, Margrit?”

“Honestly? At the very least I need about a gallon of water, and a blood transfusion probably wouldn’t hurt. But I don’t think I have time for that.” Margrit shrugged and straightened away from Alban. “There’s too much else to do.”

She managed three steps before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed to the concrete in a faint.

Despite what happened in films, it was rare indeed that anyone was quick enough to catch someone as she fainted. Daisani might have done it; Alban could not. He and Tony lurched simultaneously, and Grace’s face wrinkled in horrified sympathy as Margrit crashed to the floor.

Alban scooped her up cautiously, concerned she might have injured herself further, then wondered how much more badly she could be hurt than having her throat cut. “She needs fluids.”

“She needs a hospital,” Tony said at the same time, then glowered at Alban.

“Hospitals will only ask complicated questions such as how she survived so much blood loss, and will want to do blood work. I don’t know what they’ll find.”

“The same thing they found in January!”

“Perhaps. But it’s been months now, and her ability to heal has adapted and increased remarkably. A doctor might discover she is no longer fully human.”

“Then what the hell is she?”

Alban looked up from Margrit, who breathed shallowly but steadily, and felt sympathy draw his features long. “Unique.”

Tony’s expression went bitter. “She was always that.”

“Yes.” Alban’s voice softened and he glanced at the woman he held. “For what little it’s worth, I had not meant to take her from you.”

“Margrit doesn’t get taken anywhere. She goes where she wants.” The same bitterness colored his tone. “She didn’t want me anymore.”

“You’re taking this very well, detective. All of it.”

“All of it…You mean, all of you? I told you, it almost makes sense. Margrit doesn’t hide things without a good reason, and I guess you people are as good a reason to keep secrets as I’ve ever seen. Besides,” Tony added flatly, “she needs me to.”

“She needs to not wake up to you two fighting over her.” Grace dipped a hand into her pocket and came out with a plastic vial that she unstoppered as she knelt beside Margrit. The scent of ammonia rose up and Margrit hacked, then sat up, her hand knotted in Alban’s bloody coat again.

“What the hell was—Smelling salts? You’ve got smelling salts? That’s the worst stuff I’ve ever smelled.”

Grace stood again, vial safely closed as she tucked it back in her pocket. “I’ve smelled plenty worse, some of it right here. You’re in dire straits, love. How’re you planning to get home, looking like that?”

“Alban can…” Margrit faltered, turning her face against Alban’s chest. “Alban can take me home, both of us covered in blood, to the housemate who hates him. Or not.”

“Wait.” Tony crouched, clearly stopping himself from catching Margrit’s upper arm. “Cole and Cam know about this? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Cole saw Alban bringing me home the night of Daisani’s masquerade ball.” Margrit kept her face against Alban’s chest, sounding exhausted. “I didn’t tell him. He just found out.” She lifted her head, though it looked as if it took effort, and found Cara Delaney with her gaze. “Which is not carte blanche for you to hare off and flay him, okay? He’ll keep your secret. God, some secret. It’s starting to seem like everybody knows.”

“Five humans out of a million and a half on this island,” Alban murmured. “It’s not quite everyone yet, Margrit.”

“It’s enough.” Margrit pulled herself to sitting, then, grimacing, wiped her sleeve over her face. Blood smeared and she stared at it grimly. “This is disgusting. Cara.”

“Yes.”

Margrit’s voice went cool and steady. “You let him kill me.”

Guilt flashed in Cara’s dark eyes and she glanced away only to find other censuring gazes surrounding her. “It was one life for many. One life, to avert war. You saw what happened in just a few minutes of fighting.”

“Actually, I missed a lot of it,” Margrit said icily. “What with being dead and all.”

Color stained the selkie woman’s cheeks, but she lifted her chin defiantly and gestured around them, indicating the selkie bodies that lay burned and torn on the floor. “We are not well suited to battle on land. Though we might best be able to afford it in numbers, we would be decimated if it came to war.”

“She didn’t used to sound like this,” Margrit said to Alban. “She used to sound like a normal person. I think the whole debutante-selkie thing has gone to her head.”