The door jumped a little, the warding sparked, and before I knew it there was a high hard SNAP!

just like a mousetrap going off. I actually saw a mousetrap inside my head, leaping up as the

spring’s energy was released and the mouse skittered away, alive but without its cheese.

Fast light-tapping footsteps in the hall outside. Graves muttered and thrashed uneasily. I found out

sweat had sprung up on the curve of my lower back, in my armpits, and along my forehead. A

headache threatened, steel bands around my temples.

I blew out a long, soft breath. Lowered the switchblade. As my only weapon, it sucked. As a comfort, it kind of sucked as well.

More footsteps. Heavier, but just as quick. Djamphir even sound graceful while they’re running. I

wondered how they did that and watched the wards.

Not a spark. They just kept humming blue.

“Dru!” It was Benjamin, and he just kept going right on down the hall. “Milady! Dru!”

I stuffed the switchblade in my pocket and got the bar unstuck with shaking, sweaty hands. Threw

the locks as Graves woke up and cussed again behind me, the window going blind-dark as the sun

slipped fully below the edge of the horizon. I tore the door open and jumped out into the hall, narrowly missing a collision with Leon, who stopped on a dime and glared at me through his mousy,

tangled hair. He looked like he’d just woke up, but his combat boots were laced up and tied tight,

and that takes awhile.

“What the fuck’s going on?” he snarled.

“I don’t know!” I snarled right back. “Benjamin went that way—” I pointed, but the mousy djamphir boy was already gone, running with the eerie stuttering speed that verges on disappearing because the eyes can’t track it.

“She’s here!” Leon yelled. “Benjamin! Dammit, she’s here!”

The two blonds appeared. They weren’t quite twins, but since both of them were wearing black Tshirts and jeans, it was harder to tell them apart. One of them was in sock feet, and the other one

carried a Walther PPK, pointing it at the floor as his eyes roved. I grabbed the doorjamb and kept

my eyes on him while the one in socks walked past me, turned military-sharp, and leaned against

the hall wall on the right side of the door.

Guarding me. It was a nice thought, and I was more comforted than I should have been.

“Are you all right?” the blond with the gun asked me. Thomas, I remembered his name with the sort

of gut-wrenching mental effort I usually associate only with higher-level math classes. I mean, I can

balance a checkbook, calculate a tip from sales tax in sixteen states, and do ammo checks. Calculus? Forget it.

I nodded. Leon appeared at the end of the hall, shaking his head. Right behind him, Benjamin