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4 Youll never have a chance, girl. Youve drawn his eye now. He wants you and he shall have you. Youll scream for eternity as our Master devours your soul and makes you his willing whore. Youve done well, Eve, he says, at last. Going to be a DI, I hear. But you do believe in him, yes? asked Derrick, his tick more pronounced than ever, his chin jerking as if pulled by a string. You do believe hes real … Ijus wanted, she told the dark. Ijus wanted them to see. You can always find me, Jeren. Its like you call to me all by yourself. He reached out his arms but she didnt move, not right away. We arent safe here. I came to warn you, to warn Indarin. Those assassins weren’t after you. They were after me, and I suspect Indarin is their nexttarget. Jeren kept her face flat, reining in her anger. They didnt know any better, did they? Theres that bed-and-breakfast Mrs. Sanchez runs on the edge of town. Shes usually empty this time of year and could probably use the money. Want me to try there? Shed missed something, some small piece of the puzzle that had blocked the message of the painting, a tiny detail that stopped the realisation. It was a nightmare, or a hallucination. It had to be. Jeren tried to will herself to waken, tried to call on her own magic in hopes it would tear her free but all she could see was Gilliad and the Enchassa, all she could feel was another body wrapped around her consciousness, a body too weak, too hurt to struggle anymore. Eve, shouts Derrick, and the tone of voice makes her stop and spin back, facing into a wind that carries the smells of sweat and rain and the old, newly stirred earth. Pickle gives him his attention: pupils swelling and diminishing in rapid bursts, as if controlled with a hand-pump.All right, heres what I know. Way I heard it, three went into the woods, and only two came back. But thats just between you and me, of course. He glances at the phone. “And for the benefit of the tape, I have smoked a great deal of marijuana…. Evelyn wakes in the kitchen, face down on crossed arms. Theres an empty bottle of Famous Grouse on the table and two Mars bar wrappers scrumpled up on her paperwork. A mugshot of Rowan Blakes face is staring up at her from the inside flap of the red book. She fell asleep while reading. Dreamed of tall, angular figures moving towards her through fire-blackened trees; the shadows and the objects that cast them indistinguishable; bindings about her elbows and ankles; soft earth in her throat. She launched herself upright, turning on him, the sword already in her hand, the steel ringing with her anger. Fethan stepped back, startled and suddenly unsure. A fierce satisfaction raced through her, dark rage centring on him as prey, as an enemy. Nothing compared to that. In the hall of the True Blood, the remains of her ancestors lay entombed. She placed the flowers beside the effigy of her mother, on the tomb nearest the door. Beside her mother another figure had been hewn out of the stone. Jeren brushed away marble dust from her fathers figure, trying to discern his face, but it was formless, empty. The sculptor had not yet completed his features, although Lord Jarens body was fully realized, armoured but at rest. She had never seen him so still in life. Dont be too happy. I dont think theyll find anything to tie this to Salyer. Im not like this, mumbles Rowan, pushing open the door and feeling the cold air slap his hot face. He glances back at the other drinkers. Im not like this, he says, again..