"I've never forgiven myself for that. Your death could have been prevented if I had only come out to meet you."

"Annnd what about the other womannnn?"

"What? There is no other woman. There never has been and never will be."

"I ssssaw you, Nigel! I ssssaw you with herrr!" Furniture shifted around, scraping against the tile. I was going to be bombarded with flying desks soon. Before that became too much to bear, I had to convince her that she hadn't seen her Nigel with another woman-for she truly hadn't. He'd been faithful to her, as far as I could discover from my historical research.

My plan relied on the idea that ghosts have one thing in common with hounds-they're not too clear on the passage of time. As far as Gwendolyn was concerned, Nigel was not only still alive, he was still attending his Baptist seminary in the nineteenth century. Things like cars driving on paved roads outside and electricity inside-those simply didn't penetrate whatever consciousness she had. The only thing that mattered to her was her relationship with Nigel, which was probably why she ignored or simply did not see minor differences in our appearance and voice. If she was ever to have a chance of moving on, she needed to repair that relationship with Nigel and get a sense of closure.

So now I had to be the man himself.

"I don't know what you saw, Gwendolyn, but whoever it was, it wasn't me! I would never do that to you. There is a lad here at the college who looks a lot like me, though. Maybe you mistook him for me."

"Nnno! It was you! You were wearing that suit! Sssshe kept saying your naaame. Sssshe called you Nigel!"

Desks levitated off the floor, twitching and spinning, and one of them rocketed at my head as I shouted a desperate response and ducked. It still clipped me painfully on the forearm I had raised to protect my head. "Gray suits are common as corn, Gwendolyn! And whoever the woman was that you saw called him Nigel, not me. Did he say his name was Nigel?"

That made her pause and she forgot about the desks, allowing gravity to pull them down to the floor again with a crash. "Nnnooo."

"What did he say his name was?"

"Hhhee didn't. Just that it wasn't Nigel."

"Well, there you have it."

"Then whyyyy did sssshe call him that?"

"I haven't the slightest notion. People do strange things, Gwen. I have heard-I wouldn't know, of course-that some people enjoy role-playing. Perhaps that was what you stumbled across."

"Rrrole-playing?"

That was a rabbit hole I didn't want to explore, especially since I was playing a role at that very moment, so I hurried past it. "Yes. I am so very sorry that you have been plagued with doubts, but it gives me so much joy to see you again."

"Joy ssssseeing me like thisss? Do you nnnot think me damned?" she said.

"Not at all," I replied, which I knew had to be the right answer-one hardly tells one's fiancee that she's damned-but then I had to think of why that would be so. Traditionally a ghost would be at minimum cursed if not damned in the eyes of a Protestant minister, provided that a minister believed his eyes. But then I recalled that Spiritualism was quite popular in the Victorian era and was bound to have some influence on the Nigel of the past-the idea that spirits not only could communicate with the living but were predisposed to do so. Nigel hadn't been a black-clad Puritan and he wasn't some modern Fundamentalist. He'd been a product of his time. "You're just waiting before you move on. You still have something to do here-something to teach me, or to teach us all. And I want to help you, Gwendolyn."

"Hhhow?"

"The man who ran you down-I know where to find him. He needs to be stopped before he hurts anyone else with his carelessness."

"I don't want revennnge."

"No, no, me neither. This is simple justice. And peace of mind. I worry about who else he might hurt. You can leave this place, right?"

"Yess, but I don't want to leave. I want to talk to you."

"And I want to talk to you. But I think it's important to stop this man first, and then we can talk all you want." She nodded her agreement, and then I held up a finger. "Just one moment while I make arrangements? Wait here for me for a small while?"

"I willlll wait. I have been waiting allllready."

"I'll be right outside the door and return for you as soon as possible."

I grinned at her as I climbed to my feet and scooted for the door. Once in the hallway I turned on my cell phone and immediately got pinged with missed calls. One of them was from Hal Hauk, my attorney, with whom I wished to speak anyway, so I thumbed the callback button.

"Atticus, where are you?" he said.

"Toronto. Look, Hal, I need you to get ahold of Leif and ask him for Werner Drasche's number."

"What?"

"You can still get in touch with Leif, can't you?"

"Yes, but who's this Werner Drasche?"

"Long story. I just need his number right away, okay?"

"Okay, but we've been trying to get hold of you regarding something else. Your archdruid wants to start a grove up near Flagstaff, take on six apprentices."

"Apprentices? Where'd he find them?"

"I found them. They're the children of pack members, born before their parents were turned."

"Sounds perfect! Except that things are going to be warming up on the vampire front. You all should look out, take precautions."

"Were you responsible for this morning's headlines?"

"Yeah, that was me. Or sort of me. Remember that guy in my shop with the beard who tried to throw a silver knife at you that one time?"

"Oh, yes, that odd rabbi."

"He's much more calm now. It was his organization that did all that last night, using information I gave them. I'm moving fast and ambushing them as much as possible, but they're going to catch up with me eventually. There could be blowback, especially after today, so you guys should watch out."

"Thanks for the warning."

A familiar growly voice shouted in the background of the call. Hal said, "Your archdruid says to meet him in Tr na ng at the Fae Court. He has something for you."

"All right, I will, but I have things to do here first. Werner Drasche's number."

"Call you back soon."

It was only five minutes of agonizing waiting in the old chapel before Hal called back with Drasche's number and gave me Leif's as well for future reference.

"Leif was only too glad to cooperate," he said. "Said to tell you to carry on, you're doing well."

"Gods below, he's a smug bastard."

"What's he talking about?"

"I'll have to tell you later. Clock's ticking."

We rang off and I dialed the number for the arcane lifeleech. He picked up immediately and answered in German. I replied in English.

"Hello, Werner. It's your favorite Druid."

"O'Sullivan! Where are you?"

"Probably not that far from you if you're in Toronto."

"I am. Your little stunt will not do you any more good. I've sent notice that everyone should move."

"You must be very popular among the vampires right now, what with compromising their security and making them lug their coffins around. And all those staked vampires on the West Coast. Your people will be scrambling around to keep the reports on all those autopsies secret."

He cursed in German. "That witch in Africa said you'd never return to Toronto!"

Mekera was a tyromancer, not a witch, but Drasche probably would not care about the distinction. "She told you the truth as best she could see it. I'm just unpredictable. We have that in common, Werner. When you killed my friend Kodiak Black, you left a note that said you wanted to talk, yet all you did in Ethiopia was spray bullets at me. That's uncommon rudeness, Werner, especially when I spared your life the first time we met."

"You want to talk? We're talking now."

"It's not good enough somehow. Let's do it in person. I have something to say to your face, and I bet you're wearing a fabulous ascot today. Meet me in Massey Hall on the corner of Victoria and Shuter in a half hour. I'll be inside."

I disconnected before he could reply. Whether he came alone or with a bunch of hired muscle, the people of Toronto would be safe. He couldn't leech anything from an empty theatre. I ducked my head back into the classroom and saw Gwendolyn still hovering there, a vision in red.

"Everything's settled. Shall we go?" I extended a hand to her and she floated toward me, something approaching a smile curving the slash of a mouth on her face. We descended the grand staircase together, and the single person we saw on the way froze for a second and then hurried up past us without saying a word. When we stepped outside into the sunlight on the steps where she died, I paused to look at her.

"Ready?"

"I'm ready, Nigel," she said, though her voice was a faint whisper in the daylight and she looked like someone had gotten too enthusiastic with the transparency slider.

"Excellent. Please don't trouble yourself about these roads and the strange carriages and clothing people wear. There have been a few changes since you passed. Progress."

She made no answer, and it was just as well. I had to worry instead about other people troubling themselves about the red apparition floating next to me. Perhaps I would get lucky, I thought, and I'd be the only one who could see her.

That didn't happen. I was hailed twice on the brisk walk to Massey Hall, once by a pedestrian and once by someone in a car, and asked what was that red smudge next to me.

"What?" I asked. "I don't see anything." That got rid of them. They would no doubt make optometrist appointments soon.

Massey Hall was a dirty brick lump of a building on the outside, covered in soot and grime reminiscent of buildings from the Industrial Revolution. Fire-escape stairwells on the front of the building, intended to give people on the balcony a fleeting chance in case of disaster, sloped down to the left and right, bracketing the front doors in an iron triangle. Three double doors with small windows above them were painted candy-apple red to reassure everyone that the building wasn't derelict and promised all kinds of fun inside. The inside was a beautiful theatre with excellent acoustics, which was why everyone put up with the ugly outside. And like most theatres, it's spectacularly empty during the day, making it an excellent place for a tte--tte in the middle of a huge city. Drasche would appreciate that I'd be cut off from the earth. It would be a fair fight-or appear so to him as he walked into an ambush. And it was fine if he suspected an ambush: Short of demolishing the building with me inside, there would be nothing he could do, and I hoped the half-hour window to act would prevent him from orchestrating something like that.

"The man who ran you down," I said to Gwendolyn, "is bald and has strange tattoos all over his head. I want to talk to him alone inside this building. If anyone else tries to enter the building-from any door on any side-please keep them out as best you can. Close and lock the doors. Toss them across the street. Whatever it takes. Just get the bald tattooed man in and keep everyone else out."

"Vvvvery well."

"Can you lock and unlock these doors?" I asked, pointing to the first pair. Best to make sure.

"Yess."

"Would you please unlock one for me?" She could do it faster than I could by flipping the tumblers, and I didn't want to use any of my stored energy if I didn't have to. Once they clacked, I pulled open the door.

"Thanks, Gwendolyn. You can leave this one open until the bald man comes inside. He shouldn't be long."

If he was the punctual sort, anyway. It had taken most of a half hour to walk from the conservatory to the concert hall, and that was a nervous speed-walk.

"Beeee careful, Nigel," she said.

"Thank you, I will."

I had to cast night vision once inside and find the light board. It took me a couple of minutes to figure out how to bring up the house lights, but once I did I returned to the main seating area and shuffled sideways down the twelfth row of seats. In the middle of it I crouched down on the floor, which was a bit cramped but kept my head out of sight. I took off my confining shoes with a sigh of relief.

Drasche burst through the doors in the back of the theatre moments later, shouting my name. "Where are you? Let's have that talk!"

Casting camouflage and beginning the drain of my bear charm, I peeked above the chair backs to locate him. His suit was a somber slim-cut black for a change, but he'd come through on the ascot, with a glowing shade of teal that qualified as optic assault. Hands clasped behind his back, he scanned the theatre for me, and his eyes flicked up to the low ceiling directly above him, which was the floor of the balcony. He probably wondered if I was up there, and he hesitated before stepping out from under it, not wishing to give me a free shot at him if I was waiting above.

"Talk to me, Druid. What is it you wish to say?"

I whispered a simple binding to see if he'd learned anything from our first meeting on the beach in France and discovered that he had; all his clothing was synthetic fiber now. Nothing natural for me to bind.

"You're an abomination and a threat to all life," I called, and his head swiveled in the direction of my voice, trying in vain to spy me. "And since you did nothing positive with your life once I spared it, I need to rethink my mercy."

I put the sole of my foot on a metal seat back, which was bolted to the floor and under which I knew Ferris, the iron elemental, lurked. I didn't feel the buzz of him immediately underneath me, but he had to be nearby. He was still waiting for his treat after yesterday's heist.

//Man with magic in his skin / I sent to him through the metal / It is yours now// "Here's my mercy," Drasche said, and he brought his hands forward with automatic weapons in each hand, little machine guns with huge clips curving down from the handle. He pointed them in my general direction, and his fingers held down the triggers.

Steel-jacketed bullets zinged and popped off the theatre seats and I ducked down, lying flat in the aisle and maintaining my camouflage. Lots of bullets was Drasche's answer to Druidry, and it was why I hadn't bothered bringing Fragarach: You don't bring a sword to a gunfight.

Unfortunately, Drasche didn't need to see me to hit me. With all the ordnance he was throwing around, it was only a matter of time-seconds, in fact-until one of them ricocheted off the metal seats and nailed me. I felt it plunge into my back and perforate my liver. I grunted involuntarily, dropped my camouflage, and triggered the healing charm instead, hoping a single bullet would be all I had to deal with. But I heard him run out, reload, and start up again, and he must have heard me grunt, because this time he zeroed in on my row and the next one down. One burst got me four times when it hit the chairs behind me. Two in the same area of my back, one ripping low through my guts, another that missed my spleen and got my pancreas instead, and two more that tore through the hamstrings of my right leg. When he ran out of ammunition for the second time and I heard him reload once more, I dug into my pocket for my phone. I was rapidly running out of juice dealing with my wounds and wouldn't make it without help. It was all I could do to stop the internal bleeding and knit my stomach back up before the acids leaked out and dissolved my intestines. If I died here, cut off from Gaia, there'd be no save from my soulcatcher.

Drasche got off perhaps ten rounds from his fresh clips before Ferris finally emerged from the floor, much later than I would have wished but very hungry. "Was ist das?" he said in German. "Nein!" I had to see this, so I risked levering myself up on my left arm and poking my head out in plain sight, gasping in pain as I did so. Drasche didn't put a bullet in my head, because he wasn't looking in my direction anymore. He was staring at his pointy-toed boots and dancing around as a furry black collection of iron shavings crawled up his legs and torso, traveling up to his head. "O'Sullivan!" he shouted, dropping his guns and frantically brushing at the flowing iron, which ignored his efforts and continued upward. "What is this?"

"That's Ferris," I said. "Never bring a gun to an elemental fight, Drasche."

Ferris reached the alchemical tattoos on Drasche's scalp and cheeks-arcane sigils that gave him the power to leech energy directly from living things as long as he had line of sight-and then the iron elemental began to feed on the raw magic imbued in the symbols.

Judging by the sounds Drasche made, it was not a painless process. His attempts to repel Ferris were fruitless-the furry iron flowed like water around and under his fingers. I smiled faintly as I sank back to the floor and dialed 911. The screaming in the background would provide some urgency, I hoped, to the ambulance and the police. The operator tried to ask questions about what she was hearing, but I thumbed off the connection once she knew the location and that I'd been shot.

A dull thud suggested that the lifeleech had collapsed to the ground, but I didn't worry about his health. Ferris woudn't kill him-he couldn't, because that would be breaking the rules Gaia set down for elementals. He'd merely turn Werner Drasche from a monster to a human with monstrous proclivities.

I was far more worried about myself. The energy in my bear charm ran dry-overtaxed by the demands of healing and further evidence that I should really make another ten or so-leaving me with five gunshot wounds, a wave of pain, and a fine start on a case of shock. When my vision turned red, I thought I was on the verge of blacking out, but it turned out to be Gwendolyn floating above me.

"NNNNigel? You're hurt?" her whispery voice breathed.

"Yes. The blackguard shot me. But paramedics-I mean, a doctor is on the way." She wouldn't know what a paramedic was. "Though I'm not sure he'll be in time."

Her pale smudged face turned to where Drasche writhed and screamed in the aisle.

"What is happening to himmm?" she asked.

I didn't know how to explain Ferris to her, so I said, "Justice. Are there any more men outside?"