But . . . Jesus, someone at my window and someone at my door, too? I could tell whoever was at the door meant me no good. The warding said as much, sparking and fizzing as it drew together, blue lines running uneasily under the surface of the visible.

Another scent cut through clotted waxen citrus, filling my nose so my eyes prickled and burned with the overflow.

Warm perfume and spice. A red smell, like silk and high-heeled boots with tiny finicky buttons up their sides. Long hair and a vicious little laugh.

What the hell would she be doing here?

Graves muttered shapelessly, as if he was having a bad dream. The listening silence grew even more intense, and the doorknob jiggled slightly.

Oh, you think I’m too stupid to lock my door? Whatever. But I was shaking badly. She could have a perfectly valid reason for coming here and knocking. She really could.

Christ. I was even doubting the touch now, something I’d never done before. Gran would have fetched me one upside the head—figuratively, I mean; she never hit me. Just one glare would’ve been enough.

Stop dithering about Gran and figure out what you’re going to do!

But that was just it. The door was locked and barred, and I didn’t want to do anything. I just wanted to hunker down and hide. As a long-term strategy it really sucked. But for the short term—like the next few minutes, as the last honeyglow of sunset filled the window and turned the garden into a haze below—it was looking pretty good.

The wards quieted. The thin blue lines went back to their normal patterns, weird circuit-shapes like that old movie about the guy trapped in the computer game, with complex Celtic-looking knots Gran taught me to make holding the doors and windows fast. I stepped sideways in my sock feet, testing the floor for creaks, and was glad about the thick carpet for once.

A few uneasy fizzes. The ward lines dimmed a little but came back, strongly blue. The closer I got to the door, using the weird gliding step Dad taught me to spread my weight out as much as possible over the floorboards, the brighter blue they got. Impatience scraped at the ward, tasting like burnt insulation. I made a face, sticking my tongue out, before I could help it.

The door jumped a little, the warding sparked, and before I knew it there was a high hard SNAP! just like a mousetrap going off. I actually saw a mousetrap inside my head, leaping up as the spring’s energy was released and the mouse skittered away, alive but without its cheese.

Fast light-tapping footsteps in the hall outside. Graves muttered and thrashed uneasily. I found out sweat had sprung up on the curve of my lower back, in my armpits, and along my forehead. A headache threatened, steel bands around my temples.

I blew out a long, soft breath. Lowered the switchblade. As my only weapon, it sucked. As a comfort, it kind of sucked as well.

More footsteps. Heavier, but just as quick. Djamphir even sound graceful while they’re running. I wondered how they did that and watched the wards.

Not a spark. They just kept humming blue.

“Dru!” It was Benjamin, and he just kept going right on down the hall. “Milady! Dru!”

I stuffed the switchblade in my pocket and got the bar unstuck with shaking, sweaty hands. Threw the locks as Graves woke up and cussed again behind me, the window going blind-dark as the sun slipped fully below the edge of the horizon. I tore the door open and jumped out into the hall, narrowly missing a collision with Leon, who stopped on a dime and glared at me through his mousy, tangled hair. He looked like he’d just woke up, but his combat boots were laced up and tied tight, and that takes awhile.

“What the fuck’s going on?” he snarled.

“I don’t know!” I snarled right back. “Benjamin went that way—” I pointed, but the mousy djamphir boy was already gone, running with the eerie stuttering speed that verges on disappearing because the eyes can’t track it.

“She’s here!” Leon yelled. “Benjamin! Dammit, she’s here!”

The two blonds appeared. They weren’t quite twins, but since both of them were wearing black T-shirts and jeans, it was harder to tell them apart. One of them was in sock feet, and the other one carried a Walther PPK, pointing it at the floor as his eyes roved. I grabbed the doorjamb and kept my eyes on him while the one in socks walked past me, turned military-sharp, and leaned against the hall wall on the right side of the door.

Guarding me. It was a nice thought, and I was more comforted than I should have been.

“Are you all right?” the blond with the gun asked me. Thomas, I remembered his name with the sort of gut-wrenching mental effort I usually associate only with higher-level math classes. I mean, I can balance a checkbook, calculate a tip from sales tax in sixteen states, and do ammo checks. Calculus? Forget it.

I nodded. Leon appeared at the end of the hall, shaking his head. Right behind him, Benjamin stalked. He looked up, saw me, and stopped dead for a few seconds.

The next thing I knew, he was right in front of the door. “You were here? You’ve been here?”

I hate it when they blink in and out of sight like that. I almost flinched. “Uh, yeah.” I couldn’t even say it like he was an idiot or anything. I was too badly rattled. “Had my door barred and everything. But I . . . heard something.”

“Is some sleep too much to ask?” Graves moaned from the bed. “Jesus Christ, what’s happening now?”

“This is bad,” Leon murmured, finally arriving and casting a mild, raised-eyebrow look down at Blond No.1’s sock feet.

Dammit, why couldn’t I remember their names? Thomas and something. Something with a G, maybe?

“What did you hear?” Benjamin planted his sneakered feet and leaned forward, like a terrier straining at the leash. “Dru?”

George. I remembered the name and felt immediately, oddly better. Like I’d accomplished something. “Someone knocked. But it didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel like opening the door.” Great. Now he was going to think I was a stubborn brat or something.

So let him. What was Anna doing anyway? Why would the warding react to her and not to the boys?

Because she was up to no good, Dru. Duh. And if you weren’t so busy trying to explain it away, you could probably figure out why.

Amazingly, Benjamin looked over his shoulder at Leon. They shared the kind of Significant Glance I was used to seeing between adults. Then the dark-haired djamphir shook his emo-boy fringe down and turned his attention to me. “That’s good.” As if praising me for a test answer. “Don’t open your door if you’re not sure. You should trust your instincts on this. And we’ll post a guard instead of—”

“What did you see?” Screw the rest of it. I wanted to know that, first.

“I thought . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought you were running down the hall to visit the Broken again. I’ve heard a svetocha can do that—make a game out of slipping away sometimes. It must be . . . hard, to have someone with you everywhere you go.”

Boy, you don’t know the half of it. I shrugged. I’d still prefer it to being killed by a sucker.

Always assuming, of course, that I could trust whoever was guarding me. That was the whole problem, wasn’t it?

“What the hell’s going on?” Graves wanted to know.

“I don’t have a problem with it,” I told Benjamin. “I know better.” Unless one of you is a traitor and looking to kill me. I didn’t say it, but I also didn’t stop watching the kid with the Walther. He was staring off down the hall the other way, his back to the wall, but it’s Rule Numero Uno when there’s a gun out—you make sure you know where it’s pointed at all times.