Barb Hendee - Dhampir

"Then you should take me. I could do better for you than Ratboy."

"I know you would, but"-he walked over to the couch-"just stay here."

"A noble gesture," Edwan said from the center of the room, "but I agree. Do be careful, Rashed. It's been a long time since you fought anything stronger than an accounting error. Something unfortunate might happen."

Rashed did not respond, but he could feel Edwan's attention upon him like the first glimmer of dawn burning at his skin. He wondered what he had ever done to earn the ghost's venom. It had been Corische who'd falsely accused and beheaded him.

"Yes, you must be cautious," Teesha agreed, either missing or dismissing the ghost's sarcasm.

Rashed nodded and left to get his sword.

Several patrons-mainly young sailors-remained talking and drinking at The Sea Lion until well past midnight. Magiere felt some relief when they finally downed the last of their ale and bid her goodnight. She had set no official closing time, preferring to wait until customers left of their own accord. But tonight had been longer than usual, with less than a handful of hours left until dawn. She was tired, and Leesil had been strangely quiet and distant all night. She overheard one of the fisherwives gossiping about how the half-elf had bailed the blacksmith out of jail. It surprised her and made her ashamed for her assumption that he'd been gambling on his own time and needed the money for a debt.

Beth-rae sighed deeply. "I thought those boys would never tire."

Leesil sat at the end of the bar nearest the door, drinking a cup of red wine. "Perhaps we ought to start asking people to leave at a reasonable time," he added.

"You could have gone up to bed," Magiere said flatly. The last of the faro players had departed hours ago, and, with such peaceful late-night patrons as the young sailors, she wasn't sure why he'd lazed about the bar the rest of the night.

He blinked, then frowned, looking hurt. "I always help close up."

Yes, he did, and that wasn't what bothered Magiere. For all her speculation, she couldn't figure out why he'd spent a month's wage bailing out that headstrong blacksmith and that annoyed her. In fact, it annoyed her enough that she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking him.

Chap slept contentedly by the fire, curled in a huge silver ball. With half the lamps and candles in the room snuffed out, the hearth threw its dim red light across the room, reflecting off Leesil's yellow-white hair and smooth skin. It suddenly occurred to Magiere that she really had no idea how old her partner was. With mixed blood, he'd likely live longer than a human, but then she had no idea how long full-blooded elves lived.

"Well, let's clean up then and go to bed," she said.

"You go on up, Miss," Caleb said in his perpetually calm voice. "You've been working harder than anyone. We'll get things closed down."

She glanced at Leesil, who nodded and stood up.

"Yes, go on, and I'll lend them a hand," he said. "I've been sitting long enough."

The pink tinge of his eyes and almost indiscernible slur in his voice suggested he'd already had more than a cup or two, but she felt too tired to argue and headed for the stairs. Chap awoke and stretched as Leesil went to break up the fire. Caleb and Beth-rae went into the kitchen. All in all, it was a typical late night at the tavern, at least for as long as Magiere had been there.

Inside the darker night of the alley across from The Sea Lion, Ratboy crouched beside Rashed and watched the last glimmers of light in the windows fade out. Rashed stared down hard at him.

"No feeding at all, and no bodies if possible," Rashed said for the third time. "Do you understand? Just watch the common room and be ready to assist me if needed. I will enter through an upstairs window and break her neck while she's sleeping. If you have to kill, then so be it-but no noise, no disturbance. We take her body out to sea, and she simply becomes another 'disappearance. "

Ratboy's resentment was difficult to hide, as was his discomfort at possibly having to fight the hunter or the dog yet again. At the moment, he couldn't fathom why he hadn't just refused. Even skulking in the night shadows, Rashed looked as resplendent as usual in his dark blue tunic, polished sword gripped in his hand just under the fold of his hooded cloak. His translucent irises seemed to glow softly.

Ratboy liked to pretend that his own shabby, filthy appearance was a conscious choice for hunting. In reality, he knew that no amount of bathing, grooming, or fine clothes would ever bring him close to Rashed's noble appearance. Indeed, if he ever tried, the contrast would be embarrassingly comical, so he hid beneath layers of dirt in an effort to create his own identity. He was never more aware of their unfortunate differences than when the two of them stood so close and alone.

"What about the dog," he demanded, "and the half-elf, for that matter? We don't know where anyone is. I could walk into all three of them having late night tea in the kitchen while you're nosing around upstairs. Then what do I do?"

"Don't allow yourself to be seen for one," Rashed hissed back. "That's your skill, isn't it-blending into shadows?"

Yes, but Ratboy feared the hunter. He remembered the pain of her blade and the panic as he felt his strength dripping away through gaping wounds until he'd gorged himself. But Rashed didn't care about his feelings. All that mattered to him was that Ratboy do as he was told.

"What if the hunter kills you?" Ratboy whispered. "You have all the answers. Then what do I do?"

"Don't play the idiot with me." His companion glared down at him icily. "No mortal hunter is going to kill me. Now get inside. We have little time, and I won't be caught at sea when the sun rises."

Ratboy swallowed down the urge to hiss back as he inched to the alley's edge. This was the best time to attack. If all went well, they would catch the household asleep, complete their task, sink the hunter's body in the bay, go back home, and the cursed sun would be halfway to noon before anyone knew something was amiss. Rashed's intelligence was not in question, only his manner. He treated everyone like a servant-except Teesha.

Without another word, the urchin slipped across the street to the corner nearest a front window. Rashed had already tricked Magiere into saying that all the nobleman's friends, as patrons, were welcome. Although her meaning could be ambiguous, the invitation was legitimate. Peering through the shutters, he saw no hint of a light in the dark common room. The fire in the hearth was scattered but still smoldering, embers glowing softly.

Ratboy drew out a shining, thin-bladed dagger and slipped the point between the shutters' edges. He quickly jimmied the inside window latch and silently swung it open. Too easy. He thought a hunter would have had better locks. Ratboy clenched the blade between his teeth as he slid up onto the sill. He didn't plan to lose a second fight if the dog attacked him. He'd cut the beast's throat immediately. Rashed had said "no noise," but as for "no blood," well, let Rashed try to fight that damn hound. The pompous long-shanks would quickly change his mind.

Testing the air for any scent of the living, Ratboy found the common room was still too rank with the odor of sweat-stained sailors, ale, and burnt meat. No one was at the tables, no one was by the fire. Rashed had probably crossed the roof and slipped inside by now. Perhaps all would go according to Rashed's plan.

Ratboy dropped quietly down on the wooden floor, crouching low and peering over the tabletops across the room. A light shimmer caught in the corner of his vision, and he turned his head, craning his neck.

The silverish hair was light enough to spot in the dark. At the near end of the bar sat the half-elf facing toward the stairs and drinking from a tarnished tin cup. He was about to sip again, then seemed to think better of it and lowered the cup. His hand dropped off the bar.