"You yanked me out of there deliberately," Kris said. "You didn't want me talking to Frank and Joe without you there."

She was still in the Blade's office, though now collapsed on the couch and holding a cold can of Coke against her aching head. Harold Downs had just left, after a long, exhaustive detailing of what he'd discovered at the People's Gate commune; there hadn't been much she could tell him, though she'd agreed to run down the research at the SFSU library. Maybe she could talk Frank into helping. It'd give her an excuse to show him the university library — Frank was a bigger book-hound than Mar — and the brothers could spend the day exploring campus, maybe even the Fort Funston beach.

What Downs had found: a sound-proofed room furnished only with a low altar, and in a chest beneath it, antique lancets and a blood-stained goblet, all engraved with odd sigils that he'd meticulously copied — none from The Necronomicon and a few that she recognized from the Grimorium Verum. That meant there was a worrying possibility that the owners actually knew what they were doing.

More worrying: not everyone of the Gate was accounted for, including its leader.

On top of that, Frank's vampire question. Maybe there'd been something in the paper about the commune's suicides; there'd been leaks all over the place to the press.

But there was no such thing as coincidence. The Blades ran on that. And with Frank and Joe, that was doubly, triply, as-many-plys-as-she-could-pile-on true.

"I did," Joshua said, without a trace of apology. He'd sprawled in the chair opposite, his legs propped up on the oversize coffee table. "I didn't want you blabbing to your big brothers until we had a chance to chat, darlin'."

"You lied. You know something tried the wards. And you said—"

"He asked if his attacker from yesterday had, and I quote, 'sent something in', unquote, and I told him the truth. The wards would have had giant holes if that had happened."

"He saw the SOB, Josh!"

"And both you and I checked, chè. Nothing made it through."

"But you told Joe it wasn't Thatcher —"

"I did not. Your everything-has-to-make-sense big brother Frank did that, and Joe now has an explanation from a source he'll believe, along with the proof of his own senses." Joshua fixed her with a look. "There's no reason to panic them, chè. It was a flashback, that's all."

Not looking at him, Kris said nothing. Death could change one's signature — how, it wasn't fully known, though in the few cases Kris had run across, it wasn't a complete change. Maybe it was just decay, like death changed a body. But something had tried the wards, something subtle, a stiletto pin-pricking the net to attempt to loosen the threads. Too small, too quick to get the signature, but…

Then again, subtle and small hadn't been Thatcher's M.O.

"Look," Joshua sighed, "we've been over and over this. We'll train them. That'll get them ready to face whatever is out there, without giving it more power."

"You add Joe to the Blades' training and Downs'll haul you up in front of Council."

"Darlin', grant me some intelligence, please. Has it occurred to that blonde head of yours that I don't want your big brothers to go through standard training? Look at where that's gotten us." Joshua leaned forward now, serious and intent. "Look at what happened with us and Karma. Vão and Rafe taught us that lesson, and no one's heeded it. And it would've cost us bad…if it hadn't been for you thinking outside-the-box the way Frank and Joe taught you."

"And your Special Ops."

Joshua nodded. "My point."

There was a lot of the "standard" training that she ignored, methods that were too slow, too rigid, too material. Frank and Joe had taught her, in all her tagging along, in all the trouble they'd gotten into and out of: whatever works, use it.

Mar had always encouraged her to ask questions, to never accept anything as a given — but that attitude wasn't common, and even Mar accepted too much of what the Association taught. Instead, Kris used techniques adapted from the Neo-Pagan movement that many of the Association old-timers disparaged as "Newage" ("rhymes with sewage"). But they worked…and worked well.

When she'd moved back out here, she and Joshua had meshed right in as working partners. Joshua's training was born of fighting in the jungles of Vietnam, and he'd had the experience and calm-under-fire that she'd lacked.

"Think on it, darlin'," Joshua pressed. "There's a reason Nanaine made NOLA call us in. Then we added in Frank and Joe. That is what brought Thatcher down."

Kris looked away. "I don't want Thatcher coming at them again."

"I don't either, chè. If it's the tail, well, they're already on the alert. And Thatcher…it's a judgement call. Let Frank at your books, and we'll teach them our way."

It still didn't set right. Kris got to her feet; she'd heard enough.

"You going to hit up the Cabal?" Joshua said.

She nodded. "Frank had some reason for asking about vampires. I don't buy Shimá's explanation."

"I don't, either," Joshua said. "Funny, I haven't known them that long, and already I know them."

"Want to come along?" The last time they'd gone, one of the Cabal had claimed that Joshua was the reincarnation of Kunta Kinte, and that Kris was his reincarnated soul-mate from the plantation. Joshua had played right along, speaking in Louisiana creole…which the Cabalist had called Joshua's "original tribal tongue", and the rest of the meeting group had watched in awe-struck amazement at the "proof".

With the help of her 'path, Kris had understood just enough: Joshua had described what the man's mother must have mated with to produce such idiocy…in tons of obscene detail.

"I'll leave that pleasure all to you, darlin'," Joshua said. "Go ahead and take Frank and Joe, though. And a camera."

"You're still angry at Joe," Kris said, unable to hold it back. "That's why you're lying about the wards."

Joshua only looked at her.

Uh-oh. Kris shifted from foot to foot. She should've kept her mouth shut.

"No, I won't take that from you, Hawk," Joshua said firmly. "Joe's your big brother, but that doesn't give him a pass to shoot his mouth off whenever he feels like it. If he hasn't learned that control yet, then Eli may be in the right." Joshua fixed her with a glare. "And you know damn good and well I'm not lying."

Kris's head sunk down. "Sorry," she whispered, and turned to go, but Joshua was right there, holding the door shut.

"Partner, give me the benefit of a doubt, too," Joshua said, more gently. "You're caught in the middle, I see that. They're your big brothers, and they're angry and hurting over everything that's happened, so you think you have to stand with them, no matter what. Helping them is fine, but stand on your own two feet, chè."

Joshua let go of the door. Still not looking at him, Kris slipped out. She had to be honest: she couldn't fault Joshua. It wasn't lying…but not saying anything was somehow worse. Keeping quiet just wasn't an option, not to her big brothers.

Not wanting anyone to see her upset, Kris slowed as she hit the commons. Still, Joshua's points couldn't be denied. Given how Joe had reacted this morning — in magic, strong emotions were power, and lack of control made one too easy to manipulate. Add in Joe being an amp, and they'd be handing Thatcher a magic nuke.

If it was Thatcher, anyway. There'd been no traces of any signature — but when he'd been alive, Thatcher had been adept at erasing signature. Dead, it shouldn't have been possible. It couldn't be.

Then again, whatever had attacked Joe outside hadn't left a signature or traces either.

"You," said a voice behind her, "are one hard chick to run down." Before she could react, Rafe had pulled her into an embrace.

Caught off-guard, Kris resisted for a moment, then relaxed. Stocky, muscled, a half-Black, half-chicano former street rat, Rafe was in his motorcycle jacket; he smelled of leather, the wind, and the Bay.

"C'mon and ride, cielito," Rafe murmured in her ear. "Let's head to Tam for the day." A grin slid into his voice. "Vão can meet us up there."

Mount Tam was one of her favorite spots, especially the crest of the Plankwalk trail — an outcrop of rock right below the fire-watch station overlooked the Bay from 2500 feet up. Sitting on that rock, surrounded by sun and wind with the ocean and Bay below, was enough to make her buzzing and happy for the entire day. But she doubted that Rafe'd be satisfied with just that.

Still, it was tempting…but Kris shook her head. "Can't. There's business."

"There's always business. Un poquito de veneno no mata, chica."

"We're starting Frank and Joe's training today." Kris pulled away and headed up the stairs. One of the ubiquitous girl-gaggles in the commons was already whispering and giggling, their gazes following Rafe.

Rafe followed her up. "Let Josh deal with it. Jesus, girl, you're gonna end up in the nuthouse if you don't cut loose." Plaintive, "I'd like to get the most in before we hit the road, y'know?"

What part of this wasn't he getting? "I said I'm busy. There's a situation. What part of that don't you understand?"

He jerked back. "Wow. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Kris snapped, "except you not listening. As usual." With that, she stormed back, shoving past others in the hallways without seeing them, and made it to her room, slamming the door behind her. She was not going to break down, not over this. She just was not.

Her wards flared, then there was a quiet knock on her door. "Kris?"

She didn't answer. She just didn't want to deal with Rafe, not at all. She was tired of always being on the defensive, of being the one expected to change her life around to suit, of…

"I'm not Vão." Tense, patient. "I don't got his 'path. I can't tell what's up 'less you talk." Quieter, "Please?"

Memory: New Orleans, Rafe lying in the center of that circle, certain of what was going to happen, stretching one finger across the juncture to just touch hers. Offering to die, to let everyone else escape.

Abruptly Kris went over to the door, jerked it open.

"If there's anything you could've said that's one-hundred-percent guaranteed to scare me white," Rafe said, "'there's a situation' is it."

"Then go after someone who's not a Blade," Kris snapped, but Rafe stopped the door before she could slam it shut again.

"I don't want someone who's not a Blade, I want you. ¿Comprende?" Rafe's voice was plainly running-out-of-patience. "There's a spot up on Tam I wanted to show you, up on the Plankwalk. Bit of rock looks over the whole Bay. The high up there is amazing."

That caught her. Kris stared at him in stunned silence, torn between anger, frustration, and shock. She hadn't expected that. She just hadn't.

"How bad is it?" Rafe was back to quiet.

"I don't know."

Silence for a moment. "Tomorrow, maybe?"

"I don't know."

"One of those. Great." More silence. "How long?"

Kris shrugged. "Couple hours, maybe. After they get back from Drake."

"Drake's stompin' 'em already? Girl, you people are evil."

Kris didn't move from her stance in the door, not ready to let him in, not yet. "It gets better. Jamie's doing one of her projects, and she's called dibs on Joe."

That got a short shock of laughter. "That went straight to Satanic."

It finally called up an answering smile from Kris. "She's offered to sell me your pictures."

Rafe cocked his head. "It gets you smiling like that, it's worth it." A wide, cocky grin. "Grapes and all."

Now Kris blushed. Even in the ongoing freak-show that was San Francisco, that particular art exhibit had outraged a lot of people, and there were gleeful rumors throughout the Center that Jamie's next project was round two.

"How was much she askin'?" Still grinning, cock-sure.

That had the sound of an innuendo in the making. "I told her to donate them to Salvation Army." Kris turned away from the door.

Silence behind her. "Ouch," Rafe said finally.

She stopped, head bowed. He hadn't deserved that. "Sorry."

Rafe came up behind her, laid his hands on her shoulders. She didn't react, but didn't pull away either, and he stepped in close, wrapped his arms around her. "Couple hours, hmmm?" Rafe breathed. "Plenty time to make the bed squeak."

Kris only stood there. Again. Somehow the topic always turned to that, no matter how it started. Though she was probably to blame this time, by bringing up the drawings. But all she wanted was to just sit and talk, to hang out and do nothing but enjoy his and Vão's company. To be friends.

A small part of her wanted to just break down and let matters go where they would, but the other, louder, terrified part of her couldn't. Not yet.

For once, though, Rafe didn't move beyond the hug, just held her, his chin on her head.

Her wards flared again; Vão poked his head into the doorway. "Hey. Everything okay?"

"Everythin' 'cept her workin' herself to death," Rafe said. "The usual."

Vão sighed. "Yeah. Not at all like a couple rockers we know, right?" He eased himself in to the embrace. "You shoved by me in the hall, girl. It didn't look like anything was okay."

She was about to say "It's fine" and blow it off, but this was Vão. The truth came out instead, in a long, drawn-out sigh as she let the last of her anger go. "It's not." Bit by bit, the story made it out, everything: the attack outside, Downs, Joe being barred from the Blades, the attempt on the wards.

By the time she finished, they'd coaxed her to the couch, herself stretched between them: leaning against Rafe's chest with his arms around her and Vão settled against the other couch-arm with her legs stretched over his lap. Warm, comfortable, casual…on the surface, anyway. Rafe's arms kept tightening around her; Vão wasn't looking at her, his hands clenched.

She couldn't relax, either, not like this; it put her in an awkward position if things went further than she wanted. But…it was what boyfriend-girlfriends did, right? Cuddled on couches and stuff?

"Want me to bump their wards?" Rafe said, just a hint of a snarl. "Puto won't dare mess with 'em after that."

"They don't need a city-wide blackout again," Vão said dryly. "Kris, caro, you're just guessing it was Thatcher. I think Josh's right, it's the asshole that tailed Joe. Maybe even Downs messing with 'em."

Kris couldn't meet his gaze. She'd been clenching the fear down since this morning.

"Think about it." Vão massaged her foot, slow, calming. "Frank's right. Thatcher wouldn't be subtle. Caro…" Vão shook her foot until she looked at him, "I know what he's like. I didn't have a choice. I got him full in my head." Vão's voice shook.

"Maybe you should get a look at the wards, Carvalo," Rafe said. "Puto can't hide from a 'path."

"No," Kris said; maybe she'd misread them. Maybe all they wanted was to talk, too. "I don't want Thatcher connecting us to you as anything other than bodyguards."

"Too late," Vão said. "Joe said it straight out. And I don't care. Let the SOB try. My money's on you and Josh."

"Her and Josh, hell, my money's on those big brothers of hers." Rafe's voice burred through his chest. "If that stupid puto's gonna try them again, I'm sellin' tickets."

This was what Kris missed, just talking things over, hanging out. She had to admit, Rafe was warm and Vão had moved the massage up to her calf, hitting knots she hadn't realized were there. She let herself relax, just a little. "Thanks," Kris whispered.

"Rafe's right," Vão said. "You're running yourself ragged. Be still and rest your horses, caro."

"Y'know…" Rafe said, "…I could jump in. On Joe, I mean, with his Gift training. Josh's good and all, but I got him beat. Run 'em around the Point a few times, they'll lose the shiny quick."

"But Josh —"

" — knows his stuff, yeah," Rafe overrode her. "But he got raised in all this, day one. Even you got in young, cielito. I didn't."

Kris thought that over. It made sense. Rafe hadn't found out about his Gift until he'd been about Joe's age; he'd been taught outside of the Association in a harder school than anything the Blades did. The experience had nearly been fatal.

"And if you need me to lean on Downs," Rafe bared teeth in a feral grin, "I'm game."

"He won't listen to you," Kris said.

"I didn't say I'd be talkin'."

Vão shook his head. "Don't, Rafe. They won't thank you for it. It's gang-dogging and you know it. They've got to do it themselves."

Rafe sighed. "Just once, once, I wanna fix somethin' by bustin' heads." Another grin slid into his voice. "Or maybe…" His arm tightened around her; he nuzzled at her neck, kissing her just behind the ear.

Kris froze. She hadn't wanted…she'd only wanted to talk…she didn't mean…

Head tilted, Vão watched, his expression shadowed, expectant.

As if daring her.

"You're all nice and warm, cielito," Rafe breathed in her ear. "Sweet comfy couch you got…"

Suddenly tense again, Kris closed her eyes, fighting to still the trembling. This was what boyfriend-girlfriends did. It was just making out. It wasn't any big deal. She shouldn't be freaking over this. But then Rafe's hand slid down further as Vão's hand slid up her leg…

"Ow!" Vão yelped, as Kris twisted and jammed her elbow back. That combined with Rafe's own yelp and jerk ended with her dumped on the floor, but she scrambled to her feet before either of them recovered.

Trembling, vision blurring, she stood there, voice shaking. "Ask! Next time, ask before you do stuff like that!"

"Kris…!"

Kris fled, barely aware of Vão calling out behind her and Rafe's muffled cursing. Mar should be back by now; if Kris stayed in the kitchen, just Mar's presence should —

Kris shoved through the door to the living room…and pulled up short, just as Vão and Rafe stumbled out and ran full into her.

Great. Just great. Not just Mar, but Frank and Joe were there, too, and Frank scowled as his gaze moved from Kris to the two musicians. Kris knew that look: big brother had better not be seeing what he thinks he's seeing.

No, this definitely was not one of her better days…