“We’re two thousand miles from the Midgard. I don’t think there were any Telomeri temples here to sink.”

“Do you remember anything else about the cult?” he asked.

“If we’re playing Questions, I think your turn’s over.”

“Humor me.”

Chalk screeched blackboard in memory; the back of her hand stung with a ruler’s impact. She’d drifted off, forehead on crossed arms, pigtails against her ears (didn’t cut her hair short ’til tenth grade, and she dropped out soon after), tired from fighting with Mom the night before. Mrs. Askel wore heavy powder on her face. Miss Elle, recite the next section of the text. “Usual sort of accusations people level against folk they don’t like. Eating flesh. Drinking blood. Raising the dead.” She blinked. “No.”

“The sucker’s deal,” Raz said, “shows up on its own every few centuries. Elayne says it’s baked into our species, though that sounds like what Crafty folk say when they don’t want to admit they don’t know the answer. The point is, you don’t see as many, ah, people like me around, not anywhere near as many as you’d expect given how easily kid leeches lose control.”

“We kill them when they slip up.” Them, not you. She wasn’t sure how she felt about making that distinction.

“You don’t kill everyone,” he replied. “And the Iskari and Schwarzwaldens and the angels of Alikand didn’t kill the Imperials—not all of them. What’s good for the temple’s good for the cultist. You remember back in your apartment, when I mentioned walking into the ocean?”

The night grew brighter as her eyes widened.

“It’s a good life down there, if you don’t need this one. Dark and cool, with like-minded company. And there’s plenty in the sea that bleeds. I stay clear; to them I’m the one that got away. I should have been a fresh father for a new line. The way they tell it, I should join their congregation, settle down, start a colony of my own. Stop rambling. A life for which, as you can imagine, I have little taste.” He unbuttoned his shirt. Age-paled scars hatched skin the color of rosewood. “But you need help, Seril needs allies, and desperation makes strange bedfellows. They want me. If I can use that to help you, I will.”

“I was joking,” she said, “about vampire gods.”

“I wasn’t.” He pointed down into the depths. “Good thing you sink in the Suit. We’d have had to bring weights otherwise.”

*   *   *

“We can run,” Dr. Hasim said when they were safe behind a locked door. “Or we can stay and help these people fight. We must choose.”