“It’s so quiet.” I tried to pull my arm away, but he wasn’t having any of it. “If you’re on Trial, why

are they letting you run around like this? Nobody’s watching.”

“You only think nobody’s watching, skowroneczko moja. This is the Schola Prima; there are always

eyes. Besides, I gave my word.” He cocked his head, listening.

“You gave your word.” I didn’t mean it to sound flat and unhelpful, but it did.

“When I say I will do something, Dru, I do it. Where would you like to start looking for the loupgarou?”

I shrugged. I didn’t have a clue. So much for Graves’s faith in me.

“Very well. Come along, we’ll start with Robert.”

“You’re going to have to let go of me.” This time I was successful in pulling my arm away. We

stood there facing each other, and this time I looked away first. If there were eyes watching, I

wasn’t so sure what I should be doing.

“As you like.” The businesslike mockery was back. “You’ve had a busy day or two. What happened

between you and the loup-garou, Dru?”

“None of your business.” And I meant it. “What’s going on between you and Anna?”

“Touché.” He grimaced, half-turned, and set off down the hall. I had to follow.

What else was there to do?

Jealousy

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Jesus.” My mouth hung open; I closed it with a snap. When they’d said the blue room was torn to

shreds, they weren’t kidding.

Shanks folded his arms. He had an ugly shiner that was healing even as I looked at it, yellow-green

instead of red-blue and fresh. He moved a little stiffly, but seemed okay. “I been looking for anything to save, but there’s not much. The clothes are all torn up; even the carpet’s gonna have to be

yanked up and redone. Broke everything in the bathroom. The washer and dryer—I mean, you

know. Suckers.”

I didn’t, but this was . . . God. The bed was reduced to splinters and matchsticks, the mattresses slit

and springs dragged out. The carpet was shredded, bits of my and Graves’s clothing scattered

around and splashed with vampire blood. The shutters were wrenched off the windows, the closet

door smashed; the dresser looked like it had been hacked to pieces by an overenthusiastic lumberjack. And it stank of rotting vampire blood. Great splashes and gouts of it painted the walls, drying

to black crusts. “How long were they in here?”

“I dunno. They can do a lot of damage in a short amount of time, and if you’d been hiding in here . .

.” Bobby shrugged. He kept giving Christophe peculiar looks, darting little glances from under his

emo fringe. He also kept shrugging off my asking him if he was hurt. “Lucky Graves wasn’t in here,

too.”

“Are we sure he wasn’t?” Christophe asked mildly enough.