“It’s the only way to make a sure connection between an elf and a demon,” I said. “And since no demon will help me . . .”

Al’s head turned from the fire. His black eyes bore into me, and I stifled another shudder. “Top shelf,” he said flatly. “Behind the books.”

I followed his gaze to one of the few open bookcases. Silently I stood and shoved the rings in my front pocket. Feeling his eyes on me, I crossed the room, counting my steps. It was smaller by about a foot. My hands were steady as I stood on tiptoe, one hand on the shelf for balance as I moved three books out of the way, my hand searching blindly in the small space behind them. A jolt went through me as I found the cool, smooth shape of a ring.

“Don’t put it on,” Al cautioned as my heels came down and I turned with a ring in my hand. It was tiny, almost a pinkie ring. I wondered whose it was, since it wouldn’t fit on Al’s hand. Unless . . . he was in the shape of that gaunt black bat.

“What is it?” I asked, cold but too wary to come back to the fire.

“Half of a set,” he grudgingly said, his eyes down as he snatched it from me, cradling the ring to him as if it were alive. My eyes widened as I realized it was his shackle, his tie to a miserable past. “I want you to see this,” he said. “To know what you risk.”

“I’m sorry,” I said softly as I came forward to sit cross-legged before him again. He was flushed, embarrassed and ashamed to be clearly still tied to it. “Where’s the other half?”

Al smiled a savage, ugly smile. “Gone, along with its owner.”

My eyes fell. I couldn’t look at him. Al had been a slave? “Al—”

“I trusted once.”

I couldn’t say anything, huddled cold before his fire in his shrinking room, failing world.

“You’re willing to risk your life,” he said, “but what of your soul? What if the master ring falls to someone else? What then? It’s only the slave ring that can’t be removed by its wearer.”

My eyes fell to Al’s hands, just visible among the folds of the blanket. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and they looked hard and worn. But I had no choice. Miserable and unsure I looked up. “I have to do this.”

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His eyes catching the red glow of the low flames seemed almost normal. “Then why have you failed?”

Oh God. I knew why I’d failed, and I dropped my gaze. “I’m afraid,” I whispered, and he smiled. “Damn it, it’s not funny!” I shouted. “I’m afraid!”