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“That’s precisely why he’s never shared it with you. He only told me just recently, when we were talking one night after you and Simon had dozed off. We were discussing the Jordy Hawkes incident and mermen and such. Then we got on the subject of Branded Mongrels. I believe Fan’s guard was down because of the wine he’d been drinking. And because I’m an outcast, too.”

Clancy’s reasoning didn’t provide much consolation, and Will’s earlier fears resurfaced. “But he knows how much I love him. I don’t understand why he wouldn’t confide in me!” As he silently upbraided himself for sounding like a petulant child, Marrowbone’s impatience became obvious.

“Weren’t you listening? He didn’t tell you
because
the two of you are so close. For gods’ sake, William, have you never felt unworthy of someone’s love and regard? Have you never feared losing a blessing?”

Will’s attitude immediately softened. Could Marrowbone be speaking the truth? He found it hard to believe Fan valued him that highly after what Fan had said earlier.

The feeling in Marrowbone’s voice had also touched Will. A vampire was more human being than monster, after all. Or at least
this
vampire was. “You’re speaking of yourself as much as Fan,” he said, moved by Clancy’s vulnerability.

Marrowbone blushed. That unlikely flash of pink through his ivory cheeks was still an amazing sight. “Actually”—he rose from the table—“I’m through speaking. I’ve already said too much.”

Will grasped the side of Clancy’s black cutaway coat, an exquisitely tailored garment of fine wool. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But have you any idea how terrified Simon is of losing
you
? And I don’t mean losing you to the vagabond life you used to lead. He was ripping apart at the seams this morning. I’ve never seen him like that. He was convinced some misfortune had befallen you. He still doesn’t trust the EA, you know. Especially the Special Threats Unit.”

After staring at Will a moment, Marrowbone groaned, “Damn it all.” His shoulders sagged. “No wonder he told me… what he told me.”

“And what was that?”

“If I ever again stay out all night without contacting him, he’ll be done with me.” Marrowbone put a hand to his forehead. “How could I be so blind? I should’ve known he only said that because he was worried half to death, not because he was being possessive.”

“He’s too proud to be possessive, Clancy, and certainly sees the futility of it. Simon was scared senseless. If he’s threatening to push you out of his life, it’s only because he can’t bear feeling that way. Simon’s always been carefree. Worrying in a dry-eyed and stoical way, as most men do, isn’t a skill he’s ever had to master.”

Clancy smiled with fondness. “I know. He’s ridiculously protective. I think he even frets about me when I’m sleeping because he can’t watch over me.” He put a hand on Will’s shoulder. “We’re still learning how to accommodate each other’s fears. Pledging one’s troth to a vampire is a risky proposition. All I know is, I truly love the man.” He walked toward the back door, where he stopped and turned. “Please tell Simon I’ll be waiting for him at home. And Fan that I’m willing to talk with him at any time. Except during the day, of course.” After a quick smile, he dissolved into the darkness like ash.

“Thank you,” Will called out as the door swung shut.

A
FTER
W
ILL
delivered Clancy’s message to Simon, he hazarded slipping into bed. Would Fan boot him out or embrace him? And if Fan did embrace him, would he take Will so forcefully that their coupling would feel more like rape than lovemaking?

Neither extreme had ever happened before. Then again, these circumstances had never pertained before: the reappearance of a despised person from Fan’s past coupled with his negligence in taking his tonic.

Could he be tricked into drinking it? Or eating it, if Will mixed the herbal powder into bread dough or pudding?

He tossed from side to side after hearing Simon’s OMT sputter away. Minutes passed, many minutes, and still Fan didn’t come to bed. Will heard intermittent scratching and muttering on the other side of the bedroom’s far wall. Frowning, listening, he boosted himself up on his elbows.

The erratic noises continued. Will had a sudden image of some hellish creature with soft paws, sharp claws, and a humanoid face trying to breach the lath-and-plaster barrier between parlor and bedroom. But of course that wasn’t the case. What was happening was even worse.

Anxiety tickled Will’s stomach.

“Oh no,” he said deep in his throat, his lips unmoving, only his tongue forming the words.

Fan must be writing on the wall, the parlor wall that had been scrubbed so many times, a large faded patch had formed. Crazed scribbling of chaotic thoughts was one result of Fan’s flight into mania. Erasure of the scrawls was one sign that he’d become earthbound again, the scattered bits of his mind finally regathered.

Or sent spiraling downward.

Will lowered his head to the pillow. Sleep had begun to creep up on him. He held the duvet close to his body as if he were clutching at hope itself.
Maybe this will be enough to make Fan start taking his medicine again. Please, let it be so.

W
HEN
W
ILL
arose the next morning, Fan was already gone. Was he down or up or on an even keel today? Had he gone to the Pinshinses’ to resume his work, or was he tearing through Taintwell, looking for his father? Will hoped Fan had at least gotten some sleep and eaten some breakfast. As hard as he worked, he needed adequate rest and food to keep going.

As Will went to the kitchen to wash up before getting dressed, he glanced nervously at the parlor wall. Chalk dust whitened the rug beneath it. Although Fan had made an attempt to clean the wall, the attempt had been hasty and lackadaisical. Blurred phrases and drawings ghosted up from the large oval of worn paint.

Timorously, Will walked over to study the remnants.

The more you promise the more you get
, read the central scrawl. Beneath it Fan had drawn… a figure riding a horse? Will couldn’t tell if the person was male or female. Or both. Or neither. He wasn’t even sure the animal was a horse, for the outline of its head had been smudged.

Portions of other scattered words were faintly visible:
NAG
or
HAG
, printed in block letters;
drape
,
roam,
and
root
.

Frowning, Will studied the wall a final time. Nothing made any sense.

Perhaps it was a good sign that Fan had tried to wipe away his chalked ravings. He might be more lucid today, but really, it was too soon to know. His mood often shifted abruptly, like scales with ever-changing weights. A low could follow a high with little or no transition, without any period of balance in between.

Fan’s low spells were much harder on him, and more frightening to Will, than his highs.

“I have to do something. I have to,” Will murmured as sorrow and concern chewed at him.

First, though, he must either reassure himself that Zofen Perfidor had left Taintwell or beg him to leave if he hadn’t. No telling what further havoc the old man’s presence could wreak with his son’s stability.

Will finished scrubbing the wall. Seeing these fragments could set Fan back. He’d obviously wanted to erase his scrambled thoughts, like a man who wishes to forget his drunken revelries of the previous night.

Once again Will was able to avail himself of the OMT, for Fan had ridden Cloudburst. He decided to accomplish two tasks as he steamed around Taintwell. Not only would he search for the self-styled Spiritmaster, he would inquire about winter employment at various businesses. Will was an excellent salesman and, as such, was also quite adept at bookkeeping. The fact he “boarded” with the Eminence of Taintwell could also work in his favor.

As Will turned a corner, a young man with unkempt ginger hair stumbled into the road directly in front of the OMT. Will skidded to a halt, barely managing to avoid crashing into a lamppost. Infuriated, he shot out of his still-running vehicle, prepared to give the inebriant (for surely this pedestrian was in a drunken stupor) a piece of his mind.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled, striding up to the young man. “Can’t you pay attention? I almost wrecked my transport because of you!”

Will’s voice surprised him. He never sounded like that, rarely lost his temper at all. If he hadn’t been so on edge, he would’ve been more concerned about this boy—for he looked to be no older than sixteen—than a transportation machine.

The young man’s heavy-lidded gaze faltered in Will’s direction. He said nothing, merely stood motionless in the middle of the road. His head drooped forward. His eyes, lackluster, looked empty.

Empty, Will realized, because the blue had all but drained out of his irises, leaving them a pale tint away from being white.

Will’s anger seeped away as he approached the boy and lightly grasped his shoulders. “Are you all right? Do you need help?” He didn’t smell of alcohol. Had he spent the night in some opium den in Purinton?

Rumor had it there were quite a few such places—dim, smoky holes tucked into dismal little corners of City Center and the alleys that veined through Hell’s Gullet and the Needles district.

Then again, one needn’t venture into Purinton to find oblivion. Druggists everywhere sold it in syrups and cordials and powders that bore fancy labels with product names.

Insidious stuff, all of it. That was another reason Will no longer sold patent medicines.

The boy’s vacant stare didn’t alter. Will gave him a gentle shake. “Have you been dipping into your parents’ tonics?”

“I d-didn’t do nothin’,” he stuttered out, the words coming as thick and slow as tar. “D-don’t want to do nothin’.”

Will studied him. “What’s your name?” He’d never seen a Taintwellian youth look so limp and sallow. Mongrels might be strange by human standards, but they were generally hardier, too—vigorous and clear-eyed and quick.

The boy didn’t answer. Will wasn’t even certain he’d heard the question, much less comprehended it.

“Ulney!”

Will turned toward the female voice, pitched close to frantic. Mrs. Rumpiton hurried toward them, her thick arms outstretched as if something she needed to catch were falling from the sky.

She huffed to a stop. Heedless of Will’s presence, she took the boy’s face in her hands. “Ulney, what’ve you been up to? You should be in school. Remember the talk we had yesterday? About you going back to school until you’ve secured an apprenticeship?” She began fussing with his clothes, which hung all askew on his short, plumpish frame. “You’re not dressed properly for this weather. And why are your braces so loose? Are those your father’s trousers? No wonder they’re dragging on the ground!” She snapped a glance at Will and asked in a lowered but still harried voice, “Did
you
see what he was up to?”

“Uh… no, ma’am. But I doubt he was up to anything. He can barely walk. I almost ran into him because he wasn’t watching where he was going.”

Mrs. Rumpiton’s hands kept up their nervous flutter, absently patting and pulling at Ulney’s shirt and braces. “Well… well… there was bound to be some disorientation at first. It’s an adjustment period, you see. I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on him while the bad drains out. But then, when goodness fills those spaces, he’ll be quite lovely. Quite, quite lovely, the best boy in the village.” She turned to her son and smoothed his hair. “Won’t you, dear? Won’t you be the finest boy in the village?”

Ulney neither agreed nor disagreed. Befogged and nearly lifeless, he let himself be led away like the most docile patient in Cindermound Asylum.

Utterly bewildered, Will watched the mother and son. From the moment Mrs. Rumpiton had called out Ulney’s name, Will had been trying to recall the details of his encounter with her the day before. Hadn’t she implied Ulney was intractable? Wasn’t that why she’d engaged the services of Zofen Perfidor?

A cold wind blew through Will, tightening his skin and lifting the hair on his arms. Clamping a hand to his hat, he ran after Mrs. Rumpiton.

“Excuse me,” he said, pulling up alongside her. “Has that man who calls himself the Spiritmaster performed his service for you yet?”

The question seemed to distress the goodwife. She balked at answering. A haphazard flurry of tics and contractions beset her face. Will was about to apologize for poking his nose into Mrs. Rumpiton’s business when she said, “Yes. The Spiritorium was at our house in the dead of night. All that’s left is to await the results.” Keeping an arm around Ulney’s shoulders, she steered the shambling boy toward one of Taintwell’s twisting side streets beneath a lowering sky.

A
FTER
VISITING
seven businesses and speaking with their owners about temporary employment, Will headed home. The results of his search had been mixed. Two men suggested he look for a job in Purinton. “Ye’s a Pure,” one had pointed out, “an’ have more chances to work in more places than Mongrels have. Jobs in Taintwell should go to Taintwellians.” Will could not dispute his logic. Another man expressed mild surprise that Will was even looking for work, since he was “being kept by the Eminence.” Will could dispute
that
assumption, and he did so with cool hauteur: “It’s true Fanule Perfidor is allowing me to stay at his home, but I’m hardly being ‘kept’ by him.” Of the last three business owners, one was too suspicious of Pures to consider “having one of you under my roof.” Another wanted to know if Will had a strong back and was good with his hands. Although Will was devilishly tempted to answer
that depends on what I’m doing
, he admitted he did not excel at manual labor, either skilled or unskilled. Finally, the woman who ran her late father’s pond-ice company told Will to check back “closer to harvest season.”

On all the streets Will traversed, there was no sign of the Spiritorium. Not so much as a glimmer. Not on the Green or in Starling Park or on any stretch of meadowland. Nor did anyone Will spoke with mention the return of Zofen Perfidor. Many residents were old enough to remember him, but perhaps he was making every effort not to be recognized. Even if he and Fan’s mother hadn’t been legally wed (as many Taintwellian couples weren’t), she was likely considered his wife. Walking out on one’s wife and baby was not a choice likely to generate respect among the townsfolk.