He heard movement within, then nothing.

He knocked again.

This time, the movement came closer and the lights in her front windows winkedout.

"Ischade," he called out gruffly, a dagger in hand to pick the lock or slice itsthong or pound upon the wooden door with all his might, "open up. It's-"

The door seemed to disappear before him; off balance, for he'd been about tothump on it hard with his dagger's hilt, he took a stumbling step forward.

"I know," said a velvet voice coming from a wraithlike face cowled in inkyshadows, "who you are. I remember you. Have you tired of giving death? Or haveyou brought me another gift?" Her eyes lifted up to his, her hood fell back, andyet, somehow, backlit in her doorway, her face was still in shadow.

Her eyes, however, were not.

Straton found himself forgetful of his purpose. He wasn't a womanizer; he wasn'tan impressionable boy; yet Ischade's gaze was like some drug which made theworld recede and all he wanted to do was look at her, touch her, brave thedanger of her, and do to her what he was nearly certain none of the sheep she'dfed upon had ever managed to do.

He said, "Invite me in."

She said, "I have a visitor, within."

He replied, "Get rid of him."

She smiled: "My thought exactly. You will wait here?"

He agreed: "Don't be long."

When her door closed, it was as if a bond had broken, a leash been snapped, adrug worn off.

He found that he was shivering, and it wasn't anywhere near as cold in autumnalSanctuary as it had been on Wi-zardwall; despite his shaking hands, there wassweat beading on his upper lip. He wiped it and regretted shaving for this courtenterprise.

Either he was lucky, and she'd be sated by whatever meat she had in there, so