“Quiet!” Christophe snapped, and wonder of wonders, the deep thrumming cut itself short. My heart hammered, and I began to wake up. Copper filled my mouth.
“What—” I began to whisper.
The phone, all the way across the room on a business table with a modem jack and a pile of stationery, not to mention a vase of silk irises, shrilled. I let out a shriek, Ash whirled—he was crouched in the corner, his irises glowing orange in the dim predawn gray—and leapt. He landed on the bed, the mattress groaning sharply, and hunched his thin shoulders. He’d wormed his way out of his T-shirt again, and his pallid narrow chest gleamed.
Christophe was suddenly there, right next to the phone, resolving out of thin air with a chittering sound. He scooped up the receiver before it could shrill again. Lifted it to his ear and waited, silently, a statue.
Graves was at the window, peering out through a slit in the heavy curtains. Both the shades and the curtains were mostly drawn, and now I knew why someone had left those two inches of space there. It meant you could look out without twitching the curtains and giving yourself away.
“Where?” Just the one word, clipped and short. Christophe held the shotgun loosely, pointed at the floor, and not a hair was out of place. Did he ever sleep?
Two knocks on the door. Crisp, authoritative, precisely placed. I actually gasped.
Christophe laid the phone down in its cradle. “All’s well,” he said over his shoulder. “Lights.”
I suppose he meant it to be a warning, but I still wasn’t ready when he flicked the switch by the door and undid the locks. I blinked, tasted morning in my mouth, and hoped I hadn’t been snoring.
The door opened. I tensed, and Ash growled again.
“Chain the dog, Dru-girl,” a familiar voice said. He sounded like Bugs Bunny—half Bronx, half Brooklyn, all New Yawk. “We come in peace.”
What the hell? “August?” I sounded squeaky. “Augustine?”
“In the weary flesh. We have to get her out of here, Reynard.”
Christophe didn’t stand aside, blocking the door. He still had the shotgun, and his shoulders were tense. “Who’s with you?”
“Hiro and some of the wulfen. We’re all that could be spared. We’re being hit on all fronts, and this entire area is crawling. Somehow they’re everywhere.”
“Augie?” I took two steps forward. How did they find us?
“Thank God,” Graves said, softly.
I glanced at him. He’d turned away from the window, and his entire face had relaxed. Why? Jesus, it was someone from the Order who’d turned him over to Sergej in the first place—
“Ah.” Christophe stepped back, opening the door. Ash was still growling, and everything in the room rattled. “Dru, calm the Broken down. Enter, Dobrowski. I presume the loup-garou was calling you, then?”
Golden-haired Augustine looked just the same as always—white wifebeater, red flannel overshirt, jeans and heavy engineer boots, and not a day over twenty-two. He’d hit the drift late and looked old for a djamphir. There were bruised-looking circles under his dark eyes, though, and that was new. “Calling us? We got wind of her through the wires. A cop and a grocery store manager—hey, Dru.” It would’ve been impossible for him to look any more relieved. He pushed past Christophe, who shook his head and swung the door closed. “You’ve bloomed. Thank God. Sweetie, can you get him to stop that? I don’t want to have to hurt him.”
I gathered myself. I couldn’t even feel gratified that Augie noticed I was different now. “Ash.” Just the one word, but it cut off the growl like flicking a switch. Then Christophe’s meaning caught up with me. “Wait, hang on. Graves?”
“I couldn’t think of anything else to do.” His shoulders sagged, and his eyes were so dark. “So I was going to call them.”
My brain froze. “Wait. When was this?”
“When you went to town. With Ash. I went down the road looking for a cell signal. Then, while you were at dinner, I called an Order drop-line.” Graves hunched his shoulders. He was shaking, actually, and I wondered why. “I’m sorry, Dru. I just . . . it’s best. They can protect—”
I stared at him. “You called them? Well, great. What the hell. Maybe that’s how the vampires found—”
“Dru.” Christophe’s voice cut across mine. “He did the right thing.”
“They found you?” August pushed past Christophe into the room, sweeping the door shut behind him. “When?”
Christophe had things he wanted to know, first. He locked the door, then slid past August and stalked into the room. “An incident with the police? Dru?”
I stopped dead. Stared at Graves.
You shouldn’t trust me.
No. I couldn’t think it. I just couldn’t. “Where did you get the cell phone? If you were looking for a signal, Graves, where did you get the phone from?”
His irises were black now, no trace of green. His hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped. “Stole it out of some lady’s purse. That WalMart in Pennsylvania.”
“Oh, so that’s where Ash learned to shoplift, I bet?” My hands curled into fists. “God damn it, Graves—”
“Dru.” Christophe was suddenly next to me, his hand curling around my shoulder. “Leave it. If he had not called the Order, I would have sooner or later. You must be protected.”