"Cancel it," Lethe said firmly, lying so easily, with such conviction, she felt as though another part of her was suddenly a stranger, yet again. "Really. I should have snacked earlier."

The young woman hesitated. "Are you certain? This happened last time, ma'am."

Cold rushed down Lethe's spine. "Last time? I was here before?"

The woman frowned, confusion-or unease-filling her eyes. "A week ago, I think. You weren't a guest here. Just...pa.s.sing through. I remember your face, because of what happened. You collapsed."

"Did she leave a name?" Lannes asked.

"No," replied the woman, glancing from him to Rictor and Koni. A faint flush rose in her cheeks. "You woke up and walked out before anyone could get a good look at you."

Koni flashed the hotel employee a surprisingly roguish grin. "Don't worry," he said with a conspiratorial shrug of his shoulder, "she's fine. Practically has to keep a candy bar in her mouth all the time, but hey. Not enough to call an ambulance on."

The woman smiled hesitantly, though she was polite enough to sober up when she looked again at Lethe. "If you're really fine..."

"I am," Lethe said.

The hotel employee nodded, concern still in her eyes. "If you need anything, let us know. And...um...thank you for coming back to visit."

Lethe forced herself to smile. Koni slid in front of her and guided the slender young woman away, walking with her across the atrium. She never looked back. He had her entire attention.

"Well," Lannes said. Rictor grunted. Lethe wanted to put her head between her knees and practice breathing.

"I was here," she told the two men. "Oh, my G.o.d."

This is where it began, she heard inside her head, but it was only an echo. She grabbed Lannes' hand. "Did you feel her inside me? Is she still awake?"

Lannes' expression turned profoundly solemn. "I felt her. But she's quiet now."

Quiet now. No way to know how long that would last. Lethe felt as though she were living on borrowed time. Or that everything she was-what little had been left to her- would be swallowed by the creature living in the cave of her mind; like a dragon, jaws straining over her heart.

"She showed me something," Lethe told the two men. "It was night. I heard children laughing, and there was this...thing...behind me. Breathing down my neck. It was terrifying."

Rictor folded his arms over his chest. "Do you trust what you saw? Could it have been manipulated?"

"It felt real. But I'm no expert."

"Expert enough," he said, with a dark humor in his voice that again made her uneasy. Lannes gave the green-eyed man a hard frown, and for a moment Lethe's vision blurred again and his body wavered. She thought she saw wings folded against his back, hanging from him like a cloak.

Then, nothing. She rubbed her eyes and looked at him again. His features seemed craggier than before. Less perfect, but no less handsome.

Rictor said, "Are we staying here?"

"At least one night," Lannes said, and the other man walked away without a word, following Koni, who had only just reached the other side of the atrium, the hotel employee still at his side.

"This is where it began," Lethe whispered, terrified. "That's what she said."

"You weren't a guest," Lannes said thoughtfully. "I wonder why you were here?"

"Because I'm crazy," muttered Lethe, needing to hear those words, though saying them felt more like a force of habit than actual belief. She wondered if part of her would be more content as an insane person. At least that would be a reason for what was going on. A real reason. More real than mind control or men with wings. More real than murder and visions that terrified the heck out of her.

Lannes gave her a long steady look. "You're not crazy. You've been hurt. In impossible ways." He began to lean in, then stopped, jaw tight, something terrible moving through his eyes. "You scared me. I was afraid you weren't going to wake up."

She stopped breathing for a moment then centered herself, holding his gaze-allowing herself to sink deep into the roar of her aching heart. So deep, so hungry. Her heart was hungry. And there were so many reasons not to trust that, no matter how much she wanted to. Words slipped from her mouth; they were nonsensical, humiliating.

"I don't trust myself," she whispered, and knew instantly he understood what she meant, because she could see it in his eyes, which grew haunted and tense and echoed the loneliness driving a knife through her.

"We're both vulnerable," he said quietly. "And here we are, forced together. I don't trust myself, either."

Lethe reached for his large sinewy hand, which felt strong and hard but curled ever so carefully around her own. "I like this," she told him, staring at their joined hands. "I don't know what you are underneath your mask, but I like this. And I like you. That, I trust."

"You might not," he murmured. "You might change your mind if you saw me as I am."

She shoved at his shoulder gently, but only because she wanted to touch the warm skin she knew existed beneath the illusion of his shirt. She remembered the hard silk of his body against her hands, the shocking desire she had felt when he dragged her into his lap. Sitting on the ground in a Wal-Mart parking lot, and there had been things she wanted to do in that moment that still taunted her.

"If you don't let me see," she told him, "neither of us will ever know."

He pulled away. "It's not that easy."

No, she thought, considering her own situation. I suppose it isn't.

They walked across the atrium. Her feet still hurt, and she limped. Lannes took her hand, squeezing gently. Her soles tingled. She shouldn't have been startled, but she was, and had to stop walking as the skin of her feet began crawling, the muscles twitching. The pain eased, though, as did the other sensations of discomfort.

Lannes let out a slow breath, swaying slightly. Lethe touched his chest, but only briefly, afraid someone would notice how her fingertips faded into the illusion.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he said, but inside her mind she felt a pulse, slow and heavy, and she knew it was him.

"You're exhausted," she whispered, and even though he shook his head in disagreement, there was no hiding the shadows in his eyes. She had no idea how to help him, though. Other than a bed and quiet. Both of which had been in short supply since she had met him.

To her left, Lethe saw a crowd gathered. A tour group. An old man was giving them a lecture. They stood in front of a ma.s.sive fireplace that must have been at least twenty feet wide and was certainly tall enough to stand in.

She stopped walking, staring at it. Lannes said, "What?"

"I don't know." But after a brief hesitation, she began a slow approach, studying the fireplace-studying herself as well, trying to understand why it bothered her so.

Because you were here before, she told herself. Even if you don't remember.

The fireplace was rather odd looking compared to the rest of the building interior, decorated in stone with a colorful mural that was almost clumsy, even tacky, compared to the rest of the atrium. It was disturbing, too, in ways that Lethe could not explain.

The mural's design should have been innocent: a depiction of a river and a tree heavy with wisteria or grapes, a green meadow just behind its branches. But in the far-right corner, perched on a rock, a little man had been painted. He was dressed entirely in red, with a long beard and small pointed cap. The tips of his ears were sharp, and he had a crazed look in his eyes.

"That's...weird," Lannes said.

"Yeah," Lethe agreed, grateful for a distraction. "Jesus."

A strange look pa.s.sed over his face. "Looks like a... a..."

"d.a.m.n gnome," said a rough voice behind them. Ric-tor. Koni stood at his side, head tilted as he stared at the fireplace.

"A gnome," Lannes said heavily. "As in, from Argentina?"

"Argentina, my a.s.s," Rictor replied. "They'll live anywhere you find bat caves. Dirty little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

Lethe stared. "Um. Dare I ask?"

"No," Lannes and Koni said in unison, voices firm. They gave each other suspicious looks.

Which, of course, only piqued her curiosity more. But she did not ask. She happened to glance right-and found an old man staring at her.

He stood less than twenty feet away and was the seeming leader of the tour group. He wore a badge, thick black gla.s.ses and a yellow polo shirt tucked into khakis. His white hair was thin and had been combed over. He was all skin and bone.

His querulous lecture had been part of the background, but he was silent now, and the people in the tour were glancing at each other and Lethe. One of them, much to her embarra.s.sment, waved a hand over the old man's face. He blinked, but instead of looking at the owner of that hand, he lurched through the tour group and headed straight toward her.

Fear hit Lethe. Lannes grabbed her arm. Rictor and Koni slid in front of them, silent, graceful. Dangerous.

The old man hesitated when he saw the men, but he did not break into shouts or pull a gun or knife from under his shirt. Instead he stood, swaying, peering between the men at Lethe. His pale bleary eyes searched her face, and his wrinkled mouth trembled.

"My G.o.d," he whispered. "Runa."

Runa. Run? She felt her gut twist, and not in a good way.

"Do you know me?" Lethe asked, moving closer.

Maybe it was her voice that broke the spell. The old man suddenly blinked, leaning back. Disappointment filled his face, so bitter it seemed to snake through the air.

"No, of course not. You couldn't be her. I'm so sorry. I..." He stopped, disappointment becoming red-faced shame, even sorrow. "I got old-age disease."

He started to pull away. Lethe pushed between Rictor and Koni. Hands caught at her, but not before she grabbed the old man's arm. "Wait. Why couldn't I be the person you think I am?"

"Oh," he said, his voice heavy with grief. "She's dead."

Chapter Fourteen.

The old man called himself Ed. He had to finish his tour, so they waited for him outside on the promenade, which was deep and elegant and felt like an island among the evergreens.

Lannes leaned against one of the wide pillars, his hip neatly balanced on the wide banister. His wings draped over the side, invisible but caught in a breeze. It felt good, as did the sun on his back.

The other two men ranged around him. Koni also perched on the banister, with a light-boned grace that was effortless and dangerous. Shape-shifter, Lannes thought again. He did not know what animal called to this man's blood, but it hardly mattered. His brother had told him that Dirk & Steele had the "golden eyes" among its agents, but seeing was different than believing. And it had been thirty years since he had crossed paths with a true shape-shifter.

Rictor stood behind Lethe, who was the only one sitting, her body curled up tight in a wicker chair covered in thick cushions decorated with embroidered flowers. The entire veranda was filled with an a.s.sortment of outdoor seating. Lethe's eyes were closed, her long pale throat exposed. Merely looking at her was enough to make him feel aroused, but fortunately, it was an easier reaction to control with some distance between them. Lannes wished he could have been more cerebral about the matter.

He found Rictor glancing at him, though the man's eyes-and mind-gave away nothing of what he thought. He was closed up tight. The only thing Lannes could sense was that he was not human. Just how far past human? That was another matter entirely.

There are mysteries I have not dreamed, Frederick had once written, and it was true. Mysteries walking a world that had no room or heart for them.

You are one of those mysteries, Lannes thought at Lethe, wishing he knew what she was thinking. All he felt from her presence in his mind was quiet determination.

"So," Koni said, "that was awkward."

"Just a bit," replied Lethe, opening her eyes to glance up and down the empty porch. "Obviously, I'm not dead."

"Obviously," Lannes said. "But even Orwell seemed to recognize your face. Which means you resemble someone."

"I must be a G.o.dd.a.m.n twin," she muttered, rubbing her arms. "Did you see the way that man looked at me? Like I was a ghost."

A ghost Ed missed very much, if his initial reaction and subsequent disappointment were any indication. But the whole situation made Lannes uneasy, and he stretched his wings, gazing down at the garden beneath him.

"Run," he said quietly. "Runa."

Lethe's face paled. "Could it have been a play on her name? Not telling me to run, but a fragment, a clue to the ident.i.ty of the thing inside my head?"

"Maybe all of this is a coincidence. Might have nothing to do with you," Koni postulated. "Maybe you only look like someone."

"Someone who could be used to scare men and women like Orwell and Etta," Lannes added thoughtfully. "Because they committed a crime."

Lethe stared at her hands. "Murder."

Rictor stirred, arms folded over his chest, staring at the back of Lethe's head. His gaze was thoughtful, almost disturbingly so, but Lannes did not call him on it. He was afraid of what the green-eyed man would say.

Footsteps echoed. It was Ed. He walked quickly, with a slight stoop to his shoulders. He was still red-faced, his lips compressed in a hard line.

"I'm so sorry," he said when he was close enough to speak without shouting. "Truly, I didn't mean to embarra.s.s you like that. But I saw you, and I just..."

"It's okay." Lethe patted the chair beside her. "I don't suppose you happened to see me around last week, did you?"

Ed looked startled. "I was on vacation. But if I had seen you, I suppose my reaction would have been much the same." He gave the other men an uneasy once-over. "All of you friends?"

"Family," Koni said. "Adopted."

"Coerced," Rictor muttered.

Lannes smiled to himself. Lethe shook her head, the corner of her mouth hooking wryly. "Ignore them, Ed. Tell us about Runa."

"You look like her," he said immediately. "My G.o.d, but you're a spitting image."

"Maybe I'm related."

Ed hesitated. "Would be hard to believe it. She had a daughter, Milly, but the little girl pa.s.sed away around the same time as her mother. If there was other family, none of us in town ever knew it."