There was nothing out there I needed.

I saw relief on the familiar features above me, but I could conjure little for myself. In my mind’s eye, I could see those tiny, silver filaments crawling across my flesh, burning it, consuming it. Not from without, but from within.

It reminded me of Ares, and that awful attack on the drag. It wasn’t an exact parallel, but the helplessness, the naked terror—they were the same. And, after everything, it was that thought that finally broke me, sending me into a full-on panic. I couldn’t die like this, not like this, not eaten alive—

I started to scream, as a new wave of agony swept over me, but my companion distracted me. He grabbed my shoulders, slid a hand under my sweaty hair, and cupped the good side of my face. “See me. See only me.”

And then he kissed me.

I didn’t know how he could bear it in my current state, or how he could think that he could do anything for a half-burned corpse—one that was still on fire. I was going to set the bed alight, I thought wildly. Possibly even burn the whole house down as I self-immolated. I was going to save everyone the trouble and cremate myself—

Pritkin pulled back, his face furious. “See me!” he roared. And the next moment, I did. My eyes flew open as incubus energy flowed around me, through me, a roaring tide of it that gave me the first real shot of strength I’d had since I woke up, and that ripped my thoughts away from everything else—

Until someone else ripped them back.

It was a rainy afternoon, with gray skies churning overhead and rain plunk, plunk, plunking down everywhere. Not surprisingly, Gertie’s back garden was deserted, with no acolytes whispering to each other in the corners, over a love note sent from an admirer, which they weren’t supposed to have. Or maids beating out rugs flung over the walls, while billows of dust scattered everywhere. Or little initiates running about, their ringlets bouncing and their white dresses—much more poufy than the acolyte’s version—bearing sashes made out of brightly colored ribbon.

There was always some activity in the big, walled garden, except for today. Today, the only other inhabitants were a couple of little wrens. One of them, who I assumed was the female, was bathing in a puddle, while the other was staunchly standing guard.

They reminded me of me and Pritkin for some reason, maybe the grumpy look on the male’s face, which made me smile. I wiped off the little wrought iron table with my hand, wrapped the paisley shawl that I’d grabbed from a hook beside the back door closer around me, sat down and pulled my feet up. I’d forgotten shoes, and the flagstones of the courtyard were cold and unwelcoming on my bare toes.