“Stop it! Both of you!” Jan snapped. Quentin stopped mid-word, while Gordan snorted and looked away. Glaring, Jan shook her head. “You should be ashamed. Did you stop to think for a second that you weren’t helping her recover by fighting? Huh?” Neither answered. Jan sighed and knelt in front of me, lifting my chin with one hand. I didn’t fight. Connor tightened his hands on my shoulder, and waited.

Jan tilted my head to one side, then the other, studying my eyes. Whatever she saw there didn’t please her, because she frowned as she let go and stood. “The next person who yells is going to regret it. I don’t know whether whatever she did worked, but it’s left her with a pretty vicious case of magic-burn.”

Gordan turned to glare at her. “She’s the idiot that pushed her limits. Why do we have to be nice?”

“She was trying to help you!” Quentin snapped.

Jan sighed. “I know, Quentin. Gordan, can you please take a look at her wounds without being snotty about it?”

“I’ll try,” she muttered, and sat down in front of me, ignoring the dirty water covering the floor. “Give me your hand.” I did as she asked; it was easier than fighting her.

Gordan grabbed my wrist, twisting my palm toward the ceiling. The cut looked even worse in direct light. Jan gasped, while Quentin made a small gagging noise. Gordan just frowned, asking, “What did you do, argue with a lawnmower?”

I swallowed, vowing not to faint until she was done hurting me. “Silver knife. Summoning ritual. I didn’t mean to cut so deep.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said, sounding almost impressed. “You’ll be lucky if you missed the major muscles. What were you summoning again? Godzilla?”

Hands tightening on my shoulders, Connor said, “She was summoning the night-haunts.”

“Oh, right, she’s a fucking moron,” said Gordan, sounding entirely too cheerful about it.

“Gordan . . .” said Jan warningly. Gordan subsided, grumbling under her breath as she resumed her inspection of my hand. Jan waited for me to relax before asking, “Did it work?” Elliot turned toward me and Gordan glanced up, both waiting for my answer.

“Yes,” I said. “They came. Sorry about the floor.”

“No big deal,” Jan said, waving it away. “Did they . . . did they tell you anything?”

“Some, yes. We were wrong when we thought they weren’t coming. It’s just that the bodies aren’t any good to them, so they’ve been leaving them behind.”

“Why aren’t they any good?”

“For the same reason Quentin and I can’t get anything out of the blood. Whatever’s been killing your friends has been somehow stealing the . . . vitality that should be left in their bodies.”

“It’s stealing their souls?” Elliot asked, sharply.