"Keep trying to break through them, you'll slit your wrists."

"Better than having to talk to you."

"Ouch," Priest replied. "That was a bit of a low blow there, Theresa."

The girl grinned, still struggling with her bonds; Priest was sure he was annoying her half to death by now, given the tenacity with which she attacked them.

Well . . . in his opinion, she'd asked for it.

"Remind me why we're here?"

"You tried to kill me," Priest said calmly. "With a baseball bat, no less, and in broad daylight. I daresay if it hadn't been for me you might have been arrested by now."

"You really expect me to thank you?"

"To say nothing of unrealistic, that would be moronic."

He tried the switch again; the bulb finally decided to be agreeable and turn on. In the stronger light, he could see much more clearly how Theresa kept trying to fight her bonds.

"I'd free you," Priest finally said, "but no doubt you'd try and kill me again."

"Nice try."

He smiled when he heard that.

"You'd expect exactly that out of a Black Rose, wouldn't you?" she said. "You dragged me in here blindfolded. If I killed you, I'd have to find my way out."

"That shouldn't be a problem for a smart girl like you."

"I'd thank you," she replied, "but I'm sure you didn't mean that as a compliment."

"Oh, come on."

She looked up; he saw the glint of hope in her eyes. This girl was horribly starved for affection, wasn't she?

"Of course I meant it as a compliment."

"No, you didn't."

"I can assure you I did," Priest answered. "I'm the one who said it, after all."

"Whatever."

"Yes, of course. That universal expression of modern youth."

Theresa scoffed; Priest turned and took the glass of water on the table, drinking at least half of it and giving himself the luxury of smacking his lips.

"Stop trying to make me feel uncomfortable."

"See, you're already getting smarter." Priest smiled. "I told you it'd be better here."

"Shut up."

"But you're such a scintillating conversationalist."

"I'm also capable of killing you – "

"Didn't we already established that you'd be screwed if you did that?"

"You said I was smart enough to figure it out."

"True." He grinned. "Are you sure I meant it?"

"You said you did."

"As a compliment."

Theresa let out a low growl and shook against her bonds. When she found them as stoic as before, she screamed to high hell – Priest covered his ears as best he could.

"Don't do that again. I don't feel like gagging you."

"You'd do that?"

"I don't think you understand the situation at all, my dear," Priest said.

"Don't call me 'dear.'"

"You seem to be forgetting who's tied to a chair here. My dear, we are currently in a nook near a manhole somewhere in New York, probably built while Samuel Tilden was still Governor. As you have acknowledged, you were cruelly dragged in here blindfolded, so you don't know how you got here. As you haven't acknowledged, and aren't likely to do so, you're stuck with me for a long time."

"That is, unless I kill you first."

"Of course," he replied, smiling, "but that's a rather unpalatable possibility. Besides, if you're nimble and smart enough, you may actually find out how to get out of that rope."

"I don't believe you."

"Good," he answered, "because I forgot to mention that you'd also need to dislocate your shoulder. Why don't you just give up?"

"I'm – not – letting – you – win."

Aha!

He turned again so she couldn't see his smile, but he knew she would sense it. Hell, those above ground would have. It was taking him time – it would take him a lot more – but he was going to manage it.

"Because it represents us winning over you, doesn't it?"

"You said it, I didn't."

"Fair enough," Priest said after a moment. "Let's say, hypothetically, I release you at this moment. What would be the first thing you would do?"

"Kick you in the balls, probably."

"Not a bad idea to cause pain," Priest replied, "albeit a smidgen too violent for the hour. In fact, how is it that you're still awake?"

"Strength of character."

"Right."

Shaking his head, Priest whirled and turned off the light. Aside from the old lantern a few feet down he'd lit on his way here, there was nothing except for cold, black darkness. He found the edge of a chair with his hands and sat down hurriedly. God, he felt old.

"Like it?"

"The darkness?" Theresa scoffed. "Why would I?"

"Because you can hide in it, as your Order loves to do." Priest gestured, though he knew neither of them could see it. "This is the realm in which you and the rest of the Black Rose operate, isn't it? The shifting darkness?"

"The realm where the mind takes precedence over the heart."

"Logic – reason – over emotion and sentiment. Always a hallmark of the Black Rose, isn't it?" Priest laughed. "I wish we would have met under dissimilar circumstances, Theresa. I suspect you would have been an excellent student of philosophy."

"I am," she said, a slight note of surprise in her tone.

"You won't be anymore," he replied. "Not after this. Have you stopped, ever, to consider the possible consequences of what you're doing right now?"

"What consequences?"

"Theresa, as John Donne would tell you, no man, woman or child happens to be an island, as much as we may wish we were." He didn't let the smile lapse. "If you haven't yet realized it, you've placed your life and future in grave danger simply by attacking me. How many people saw?"

"Not enough."

"Good point," he replied. "Nonetheless, there were witnesses."

"They're nothing."

"Wrong."

He prided himself on having watched several of Casey's courtroom performances: he knew now, even if he hadn't before, what went into a case.

"You know, Theresa, every time we've beaten your order, it's been through second-hand information. You just never learned to trust the first person on the scene."

"The first person on the scene can be bought, threatened, persuaded . . ."

"Ah, yes, I forgot. The legendary methods of hiding the truth . . . once again, you're operating in darkness." He gestured to the black all around them; in the old lantern's fading light, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a small smile on her face.

"You're smiling, Theresa."

"You're delusional, Priest."

"Old age tends to do that to people," he agreed. "But I'm forty-six. I'm a philosophy professor in another state, and you're a philosophy student here."

"Your point?"

"Consider this . . . an innovative method of teaching."