Christophe reached over the Broken wulf and grabbed my bruised shoulders, his fingers sinking in. His face contorted, and he yelled something at me. I just stared. Besides, he was speaking in some weird foreign tongue, the same one that tinted his English when he was sleepy or upset.

And they say I have an accent just because I grew up with Gran and below the Mason-Dixon. Let me tell you something: People up North bite off every syllable like they want to chew it to death instead of tasting it proper.

Christophe inhaled sharply, throat working as he swallowed. Tried again, and this time the words were recognizable English. “Are you hurt?”

I took stock. I ached all over. My teeth felt like lightning was running through them. The warm-oil feeling of the aspect bathed the hurt and the bruises, but it couldn’t erase them completely.

He shook me. My head bobbled. He kept yelling. “Goddamn you, Dru, are you hurt?”

I finally shook my head. Found my voice. “Ash. Ash.” My hands were full of the Broken’s pelt, and I didn’t like the way he was just lying there against me. You can tell when someone’s hurt bad by the way they slump, not even unconsciously holding themselves together.

“Thank God,” Christophe whispered and pulled me away from the wall. He got his arms around me, and I smelled spiced-apple pies. The smell filled my nose. He pressed his lips against my aching temple and was saying something in a ragged, broken tone, but I didn’t care. Ash was caught between us, bleeding and unconscious.

I wanted to cry. But my eyes were full of hot graininess, and all I could see, my head tilted at a weird awkward angle, was a high curving arc of vampire blood, splashed smoking against the gray stone wall.

It took three glowing-eyed djamphir, all of them torn-up and bloody, to pick up Ash and start carrying him away. I pulled against Christophe’s hands. “No, please—no, I’ve got to go with him, no—”

“Stay still.” Christophe dabbed at a scratch on my forehead, one I couldn’t remember getting. “No broken bones, no bleeding. Dziękuję Bogu, moj maly ptaszku . . .” Blue eyes sharp, he glanced at my face. The blond highlights had slid back through his hair as his aspect retreated. The fox had vanished, but I wasn’t worried about that. “Be still.”

“I want to go with him.” I glared at Christophe, my throat full of dry rocks. “Where were you?”

“Keeping watch on your window. I told you I wouldn’t leave you unprotected. I also told the wulfen to take care of you. When I get my hands—”

Which brought up another question. I tried to slide away again. “Shanks. Did you see him? Is he—”

Christophe grabbed my shoulder. “Robert? He’s wounded but otherwise hale. Where is the loup-garou? I would have thought he’d be with you. Now please, Dru. Be still, calm down, let me work.”

“Work? Jesus Christ, those were vampires! Ash—is he—”

“He may live. I would never have believed a werwulf could do this. But he’s Broken, and . . . well. In any case, you’re safe. Everything else is immaterial.”

“Reynard!” A familiar voice. Benjamin rocketed around the corner, his sneakered feet slipping in greasy crud and rotting vampire blood. He took in the scene, dark eyes passing over everything in a brief, contained arc. “What the hell are you doing here?” He looked like hell. He was beat up and battered, bruises puffing up along one side of his face, his hair wildly disarranged. His clothes were torn, too, and I saw with no real surprise that he was holding a single malaika in a white-knuckle grip. He saw me, too, and almost choked. His eyes blazed.

“There you are!” He took a single step forward. “Where were you? What were you doing? How did you escape? We were about to—”

“Leave her be,” Christophe said mildly, and Benjamin turned white and almost swallowed his tongue. “Your cadre?”

“Still efficient. Some slight wounding.” But the djamphir’s shoulders straightened, and he actually looked proud.

“My faith in you is restored.” But Christophe didn’t look away from my face. His eyebrows drew together. I swallowed hard and slumped against the wall. “Assess the damage to Milady’s chambers, if you please, and send me Leontus. Thank you.”

I think it was the first time I ever heard a djamphir actually dismissed, though not in so many words. Benjamin made a curious little salute with his free hand, glanced at me. “Milady.” And he vanished back down the hall, running flat out.

“Have you been sparring hard?” Christophe’s hand came up. I flinched, but he rested his fingertips against my cheek. I’d almost forgotten the shadows of bruising on my face, thought that maybe the confusion would cover it up. I should have known better; he didn’t miss much.

“Anna.” The single word blurted out, and I instantly regretted it. Christophe’s face hardened, and he let go of me.

A swarm of djamphir filled the hall now, mostly older students. They were making certain the vampires were out of commission, and the cracking and tearing sounds made my gorge rise. The hall was full of nose-scorching smoke, too, from vampire blood eating into fabric. Christophe started barking orders, and every single one of the djhampir hopped to obey like he was a teacher or something. They even looked relieved that someone was there to tell them what to do.

I know that feeling. I always felt better when Dad was around to tell me what the hell was going on and what my part in it was. I tried not to look at the mess on the floor. Every bruise and muscle I owned began to shake. My hair hung in my face, blonde streaking through the curls and retreating as the aspect boiled through me and receded.

A lean blond djamphir arrived at a dead run with, of all things, a can of Coke. Christophe plucked it from his fingers with a nod and turned to me. “Here. You need the sugar.”

“Reynard.” Leon appeared out of thin air. “The Council’s got wind of this. They’re en route.”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s safe.” Christophe pressed my hand around the cold aluminum, the can already sweating condensation. “And I can afford to be caught now that I’ve run my course.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Leon gave me a dark look. “She’s all but helpless. I can’t be everywhere at once. Neither can Calstead. Especially since they didn’t give him or the others class waivers.”

“They didn’t . . .” Christophe took this in, shrugged. “Where’s the loup-garou?” He said it mildly, like he didn’t care.

Leon stiffened. “He’s not with her?”

“No. Just the Broken. And why, in the name of everything that is holy, was she left alone with Anna?”

“What?” Leon gave me a good hard look, his gaze passing over the shadows of bruising as well. He cursed, slowly and softly. There was a commotion around the corner, drawing nearer. Shouts, information passed along. “Go,” the mousy-haired djamphir said in an urgent whisper. “If they catch you—”

Christophe’s smile was a marvel of edged sweetness. When he grinned like that he looked handsomer than ever, the hint of danger just about threatening to stop a girl’s heart. “Why, Leontus. I didn’t know you cared.” He looked back at me. “I said drink, little bird. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

I cracked the tab and took a long cold fizzing mouthful. Carbonation stung my throat. Everything wavered in front of me, the hall seen through a haze.

Where’s Graves? He should be here. The reality of what had just happened hit me. I turned my head, rusty iron cords in my neck creaking. “God,” I whispered. There was a huge black stain in front of the door, still steaming.