I crouched down too, and touched her throat, just to be certain. "How bad is she hurt?"

He shook his head. "No real way to tell."

"We have to get her to a hospital, then," I said, rising.

Thomas caught my arm. "You don't want her waking up, injured and dazed, in a place packed to the roof with weakened prey."

"Then what the hell do we do?"

"Look, if she's not dead, odds are she'll recover." Thomas held up his hand and fished out a ballpoint pen from his pocket. He twisted it and said, "Clear." Then he twisted it again and put it back.

A moment later, Martin came rapidly down the aisle. He somehow made even that look boring, as if he were simply a man wanting to take his seat again before the opening pitch. It was especially impressive since he carried a huge rifle, a military sniper weapon with a telescopic sight and a laser attachment. He set the rifle aside and went over Susan for a moment, feeling here and there, before he said, "She'll be sore."

"You?" I asked. "You were the gunman?"

"Obviously," Martin said. "Why do you think we were in Chicago to begin with?"

"Susan said she was getting her things."

He looked up at me skeptically. "You believed that? I would have thought you knew Susan well enough to know that material things don't hold a lot of interest for her."

"I knew that," I said. "But she said …" I trailed off and shook my head.

Martin looked up and said, "We knew Ortega was coming to kill you. We knew that if he succeeded, he might be able to bring the war to a peaceful conclusion, only to begin it again twenty years from now, from a much stronger position. I was sent to make sure Ortega did not kill you, and to eliminate him if I could."

"Did you?"

Martin shook his head. "He had planned for the contingency. Two of his vassals got to him during the fight. They pulled him out. I don't know how badly he was hurt, but it's likely he'll make it back to Casaverde."

"You want the war to keep going. You're hoping the White Council will destroy the Red Court for you."

Martin nodded.

"How did you find out about the duel?"

Martin didn't answer.

I narrowed my eyes and looked at Thomas.

Thomas put on an innocent expression. "Don't look at me. I'm a drunken, chemical-besotted playboy who does nothing but cavort, sleep, and feed. And even if I had the mind to take a bit of vengeance on the Red Court, I wouldn't have the backbone to actually stand up to anyone." He flashed me a radiant smile. "I'm totally harmless."

"I see," I said. I took a deep breath, and regarded Susan's face quietly for a moment. Then I bent down, got into her pockets, and got the keys to the rental car. "Are you leaving now, Martin?"