"I am authorized to make you a discretionary payment on behalf of the mayoral office as a reward for your public-spirited actions," the suit said as he produced a credstick with the imprint of City Hall. As the man handed it over to Serrin, he gave the elf one of his oiliest smiles.

Serrin was slightly mollified. Just how much more mollified he was prepared to get depended on the size of the reward. And, well, ten thousand nuyen ought to buy a fair to middling degree of mollification.

"We do not believe there's any risk to you of reprisal," the suit continued after Serrin had examined the stick. "The department is confident that we're dealing with a lone assassin."

Serrin almost laughed. With all the powerful magic that had obviously been masking the gunman, he'd been acting alone about as much as had William Springer, the man who'd assassinated President Garrety and never been caught. But that was apparently what the mayor's office and Knight Errant wanted him to believe, so he pretended to buy it.

"I'm just glad to have been of help," Serrin said blandly. Pocketing the credstick, he turned to leave the blindingly lit, windowless interrogation room. Flanking him now on either side were two Knight Errant trolls, each one holding one of his arms as they marched him to the limo parked in front of the security installation. Beside it, a dark-haired girl was arguing with a few more Knight Errants who were about to manhandle her off the premises. It was the same girl he'd met the day before, sun gleaming off the silver jacks in her temples even at this hour of the morning. Jerking his arms free of his burly escorts, the elf rushed forward to intervene.

"Hey, it's chill!" he said as one of the Errants poked her in the ribs with a nasty-looking Predator. "I mean, we were just leaving anyway."

"Let's go," she said simply and opened the door of her Jackrabbit. Something told him just to get in and let himself be driven away. Her smaller car simply looked more human, more inviting, than the corporate limo. It was only later that Serrin realized how little a night without sleep had done for his instincts.

"The vidcasts didn't get your face," she said when they were settled into her apartment somewhere in suburban New Jersey. "I think you got lucky, Serrin Shamandar. I doubt the Damascus League got enough of an ID to come after you even if they wanted to, which isn't my guess they don't."

"Damascus League?" What in slot did they have to do with this?

"That's the word on the street. Maybe Small's been getting too chummy with the Jewish vote lately. Standard hazard for a mayor of New York."

Serrin tried to remember what had happened in those split seconds in front of the beribboned dais. Through the blur of images, he realized he'd forgotten something else.

"Look, I'm really sorry," he said sheepishly. "I can't even remember your name. They didn't let me sleep and I guess my brain's temporarily on hold," he apologized.

"Julia. Julia Richards," she smiled, seeming not at all offended.

"Uh, why did you come to pick me up? I mean, what's it to you?"

"You're very welcome," she said tartly, then turned and flounced away into the little cubbyhole of a kitchen, from which the pungent aroma of coffee soon announced that it wasn't soy, but the real thing. Still feeling churlish, Serrin got up to follow, grimacing at the familiar pain stabbing all the way down his damaged leg. Turning, she saw the look and her irritation changed immediately to concern.

"Forgive me," he said. "My manners seem to have gotten as rusty as my brain. I appreciate your turning up. But you can't blame me for wondering why."

She filled two cups and set them a tray, which he gallantly took from her. Accompanying the coffee were bagels, and Serrin thought the smoked salmon and cream cheese slathered over them might be as real as the coffee.

"Well, it's not that often that I get to meet the man who saves the mayor of New York from being assassinated," she said teasingly. "If that didn't make me interested in you, I don't know what would. I also wondered what kind of person could see something Knight Errant couldn't. I figured you must be a real wiz mage. Someone special." Her tongue flicked across her perfect lips. "That good enough for you?"

Serrin couldn't reply for a large mouthful of chewy bagel. Swallowing it with a hefty gulp he managed to mumble something about not being special at all.

"Maybe amp; maybe not," she said lightly. "Where are you staying?"

"The Grand Hudson," he told her. Julia's eyes widened a little at the mention of such an expensive hotel.

"Why not lay low here for a few days? Just in case. Going back to Columbia might not be a good idea just now. I could get what you need from the library. I've got all the necessary passes and I know some of the librarians."

Sensation ran down his spine, part-thrill, part-fearful distrust. Everything had been happening so fast, so out of the blue. He was too exhausted to stop and think. Julia Richards was young and pretty and he was probably safer here in the wilds of suburbia than back in Manhattan. Anyway, what did he have to lose? Not much, he knew. Doing things because there wasn't much to lose had been Serrin's modus vivendi for some time now. It made decisions so much easier. True, he was a shadowrunner, with the same well-honed instincts for danger and survival as any other of his kind. But even a veteran runner and elven mage could make mistakes when suffering the effects of extreme fatigue.

"Uh, you sure?" She nodded; no pressure. "Well, uh, that would be great," Serrin said. Then quickly added,

"I've only got a few more days in New York." He was trying to let her know he wouldn't become a burden, but also wanted to make sure she understood he didn't stay anywhere too long. He tried his best to stifle a yawn, and failed wretchedly.

"What you need now is some rest," Julia said, giving him another of those smiles. "The spare room's that way and to your left," she told him.

Serrin bid her good night, even though it was only ten o'clock in the morning, then made his way toward the back bedroom, limping even more than usual. The little room was dark and deliciously cool, furnished simply with a bed, a bedstand, and a chair. Not even bothering to remove his clothes or his boots, Serrin sank gratefully onto the bed, punching the pillow up under his head just the way he liked it. He fell asleep almost instantly, and didn't wake until five that afternoon and only then because Julia shook him gently awake to the sight of more freshly brewed coffee on the bedside table. He was halfway through his first cup when she slipped into the bed beside him. Real coffee or not, the other half-cup was instantly forgotten.

Serrin stayed for three days. By day Julia was away from the apartment, returning later with the books he wanted, having somehow won permission to take them out overnight. At night they drove back into town, wandering mostly around the East Riverside neighborhood, where she took him to the Metropolitan Opera and to restaurants where they dined well and expensively. She always paid her half of the tab, a fact that should have made Serrin wonder, but didn't.

Meanwhile they talked as endlessly as on that" first day in the morning sun outside the library. In the course of their conversations Julia confided that she dabbled in writing and was an aspiring actress. From what she described, he made her as one of those eternal hopefuls hanging round the fringes of the arts, doomed to disappointment like most of the rest.

The only thing that seemed other than wholly harmless about Julia Richards was her collection of books on the

occult. Possessions, hauntings, apparitions, all the standard themes plus a good few more. She'd taken some courses in parapsych, and showed him the working version of a ghost tale she was writing. Surprised to find it so readable and well done, Serrin thought the girl had an old-fashioned knack for creating scenes with the disturbing hint of unseen, unknown, unknowable presences lurking just on the edge of the reader's perception.