Strat wished Crit was here, then slid off his horse before Ischade's oddlyshadowed house and, crossbow at the ready, tethered his big bay horse outside.Crit would be along, one of these days. The whole unit was drifting in, a manhere, a pair there; along with Sync's 3rd Commando, they had a good chance ofputting things to rights-if they could just figure out what "rights" were. Syncthought they should put every Beysib in town on one big funerary pyre and give'em to the gods, for starters.

Straton wasn't taking orders from Sync: with Crit still upcountry and Niko intransit with Tempus, Straton was in charge of the Stepsons, who wanted only tokill every idiot who'd made the unit designation "Stepson" a slur and a cursehere while they'd been gone.

But Kama had prevailed on Strat to try enlisting the vampire woman's aid. Kamawas Tempus's daughter; Strat still respected her for that-not for anything she'ddone or earned, just for being his commander's progeny.

So he'd come back here, despite the fact that Ischade the vampire woman was moredangerous than a bedroom full of Harka Bey, to "invite" Ischade to the littleparty Sync and he were throwing at Marc's.

He'd probably have come anyway, he told himself: Ischade was dangerous enough tobe interesting, the sort of woman you never forget once you look into her eyes.And he'd looked into them: deep, hellhole eyes that made him wonder what kind ofdeath she offered her victims....

Nothing for it but to knock on the damn door and get it over with, then.

He pulled on his leather tunic and assayed the walk up to her threshold; as hedid, the interior lights flickered and dimmed weirdly. The last time he'd beenhere, his eyesight had been bothering him. It wasn't, anymore, thanks to abenign spell cast during his northern sortie.

So he'd really see her, this time.

On her doorstep, he hesitated; then he muttered a prayer that consigned his soul