When they returned to Bahorel's apartment, Courfeyrac was dancing in circles about the room, holding hands with little Cosette.

Combeferre laughed out loud at the sight, but Courfeyrac showed no trace of shyness. "Welcome," he said. "We've been having fun."

Valjean stepped forward, and Cosette ran into his arms. Her face was bright with trust and hope, and Valjean's soft with a powerful tenderness. Combeferre could only marvel at the sight of a vampire looking like that.

"You and the child should sleep in the bedroom," said Bahorel. "I insist—the sofa here will do very nicely for me, after I evict Courfeyrac from it."

Courfeyrac, now sprawled out on the sofa, simply made a rude gesture at Bahorel. "Perhaps now you'd all care to explain this business of vampire slaying to me. Enjolras has special powers of some sort, I take it?"

"Yes," said Feuilly, sitting in a chair across from the sofa. "I was wondering about that myself. At first I thought you were simply very athletic, but watching you help break Valjean out—that looked like something more."

Combeferre and Enjolras looked at each other. It was Bahorel who finally spoke. "The Slayer—usually a girl, by the way—has extraordinary strength, which gives her an advantage in fighting vampires. Enjolras is the Slayer now. Unusual, for his sex, but there it is. The Watchers' Council says the burden of protecting the entire human race from vampires falls on the Slayer." Bahorel made a face. "They claim to guide her, but when it comes to physical combat and risk, the Slayer traditionally stands alone."

Courfeyrac frowned. "Why doesn't this Watchers' Council organize and train teams to attack vampires? We've done it ourselves, and we don't even have the resources for proper training. The task needn't fall on the Slayer alone—indeed, if she's a girl, it shouldn't fall on her at all."

Enjolras, who had been silent, now spoke. "She may willingly embrace the task."

"Oh, come now," said Courfeyrac, with a snort. "Willingly! Only the worst sort of man would use a woman as his shield, even if she's willing! And what sort of choice it could be? You tell me the Watchers find a young girl, and they tell her it's her duty to accept a brutal, harsh, and short life, for the sake of everyone else?" Courfeyrac's voice rose, and Combeferre flinched. "That it's for her, and her alone, to embrace this life of—of—of total martyrdom, for the protection of all men, to take on this burden for everyone, with no one to share it, as Christ took on our sins by his suffering upon the cross?" Courfeyrac was sitting up straight now, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "And that if she doesn't, everyone else will suffer? Presenting this to a young girl as a 'choice'…it's taking advantage of her soft-heartedness, to conscript her into the life of a solitary scapegoat."

There was a moment of heavy silence. Combeferre looked at his hands.

Finally, Enjolras spoke again. "I think it would be unjust not to allow her to help, should she wish to."

"And regardless," Bahorel broke in, "Enjolras isn't a girl, so—"

"It's not much better if the Slayer is a man," Courfeyrac said. "It's a little better. It means the Watchers aren't adding a despicable, caddish cruelty to their list of sins. At least they're not shoving a girl out in front of them, while they cower behind her. But shoving a man—that's still injustice, and cowardice."

Feuilly, a deep frown creasing his face, said, "Yes—they're still forcibly burdening one man with a responsibility rightly shared by all society. Abandoning him to bear it alone. Courfeyrac's right."

Combeferre's shame and guilt must have been writ plain all over his face, for Courfeyrac took one glance at him, and added, "I don't mean you. You fight alongside Enjolras, sharing his risks, and I'm sure you didn't tell him he must slay vampires, or else be derelict—"

"No!" Enjolras interrupted. "Not at all, he was very scrupulous in explaining that I needn't take up the Slayer's life unless I choose—he was never anything but just and kind. And he's always been by my side since. He's never left me to shoulder the burden alone."

She moved from where she was standing, to sit beside him, and Combeferre just looked at her, hoping his gratitude was visible.

"I didn't mean to accuse," Courfeyrac said, his voice much gentler. "Well—not to accuse you, Combeferre. But the Watchers' Council—"

"I know," Combeferre said. "I know. That's why we've gone rogue, the two of us. I don't know how much Bahorel's told you—"

"Very little." Feuilly threw Bahorel a sharp glance. "It's amazing how little he can say, using so many words." Bahorel just grinned at him.

"Yes, well. Just now, when we were bringing back M. Valjean—" Combeferre gestured at Valjean, who was sitting quietly in a large red chair, Cosette playing with her figurine beside him.

"They took me from a Watchers' Council prison," said Valjean, nearly inaudible. "They defied the Council, and risked their lives doing so."

Courfeyrac looked sharply at Combeferre, then at Enjolras. "I know little of the Watchers' Council, but—it seems defying them is not a safe game to play."

"It's not." Enjolras's voice was level. "If you keep on associating with us, it will put you in greater danger than you might have imagined. And," she said, glancing at Combeferre, "perhaps not just you, but others dear to you. You should know that now."

Combeferre, thinking of his uncle and aunt and their servants, looked down again, and felt Enjolras's tentative hand on his shoulder.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. "Yes, I knew there might be."

"I did too," said Feuilly. He sounded as though he didn't much mind this, but he still looked very grave.

"That doesn't trouble you?" Bahorel looked at Courfeyrac as he asked the question.

"Fighting vampires is a dangerous game, even without getting into quarrels with these Watchers. As is being—well. Having political opinions," Courfeyrac said, with a sidelong look at Valjean. "I have no intention of avoiding any of those dangers."

"Well," said Combeferre, still seeing the words the letter telling him of the deaths he'd wrought, "you don't need to decide anything like that now, not with respect to us—and even after you do, you're always free to change your mind."

Courfeyrac opened his mouth to argue, but Bahorel broke in. "It's been a very long day. We all need a rest."

"Especially me, if I'm to get any work done later," Feuilly said, with a yawn.

"Take a nap here," Bahorel advised. With surprising efficiency, he managed to cajole Valjean into his bedroom for some rest, Feuilly onto the couch, and Combeferre, Enjolras, and Courfeyrac onto various mattresses, pillows and blankets spread out on the floor.

Combeferre drowsily wondered where Bahorel was going to sleep, if at all—perhaps hanging from the ceiling upside down, like a bat? It would suit him. But Combeferre barely had time to be amused by that thought before he fell fast asleep.

Combeferre woke less than an hour later to the sound of an argument. The fierce rise and fall of Bahorel's voice was, though hushed, clearly recognizable; the muted but persistent sounds of the other, feminine voice was not.

Pushing off his blanket, Combeferre struggled to his feet, blinking blearily. He made his way to the corner where he saw two shadowy forms: Bahorel, gesticulating wildly, and a strange woman. A nun. "What's going on?" Combeferre kept his voice at a whisper. "Sister, pardon me, but who are you?"

"I am Sister Simplice," said the nun. She gave him a long, scrutinizing look. "I've seen you before, in my visions. I'm a seeress, for the Watchers' Council."

Combeferre flinched back as if she'd brandished a weapon in his face, then regretted his reaction, and tried to remain calm. "Why are you here?"

"To make trouble," Bahorel said, scowling, "and not the kind of trouble I like."

"I came to warn you—to warn the vampire Valjean most of all, but you too, and the rogue Slayer. I don't know her name, or yours, but—"

Combeferre interrupted her. "Do the Watchers? Know our names, I mean." If so, their peril was much greater than he'd thought.

"No," said Sister Simplice. "They know nothing about you, save what I've told them, what Javert has seen, and what they gleaned in Mouret-sur-Loire. They know more about Valjean, and he must leave the city at once. You should as well, if you take my advice."

"But why should we?" Bahorel was still scowling. "You say you work for the Watchers. Why are you suddenly so helpful to us, hmmm?"

Combeferre felt a sudden movement behind him, and turned around to see Enjolras standing there, arms folded. Behind her, Feuilly was stirring on the couch, and Courfeyrac was flailing his way out of a pile of pillows.

Turning back to face Bahorel and Sister Simplice, Combeferre said, "Yes. Why are you—a Watchers' Council seeress, a nun—helping a vampire and a rogue Slayer?"

Sister Simplice sighed. "Because I saw Valjean. I had a vision. It was a strong one. I could sense his true nature, and I knew he truly loved and cared for that little girl." She sounded awed. "I've never seen or heard of anything like it. It's unnatural, impossible, and yet—there it was."

"Hmm," said Bahorel, looking at Combeferre. Combeferre didn't know what to make of this either. He'd read of seers sensing the feelings of those they saw. But how could they believe this woman?

Sister Simplice made an impatient noise. "If you care for the vampire, or for that young lady," she said, gesturing at Enjolras, "then you'll take me seriously."

Combeferre froze. He felt Enjolras step forward behind him, so her shoulder pressed against his. Beside him, Bahorel was absolutely still.

"Young lady?" Courfeyrac repeated, confused, and then light apparently dawned: "Enjolras?"

Combeferre half-turned, ready to step in with an explanation or even a lie, but Enjolras raised her chin and looked straight at Courfeyrac.

"Oh," said Courfeyrac.

"Ah," said Feuilly.

"Um, well," said Courfeyrac.

"If everyone is finished with their meaningless monosyllables," said Combeferre, "we have an immediate problem on our hands. Did you find us by seeing us in a vision, Sister?"

"Yes. I couldn't see the vampire—I never could. I've tried so many times, but could never manage it." The confusion was evident in Sister Simplice's voice. "But then—Javert found me, and told me you'd helped Valjean escape, so I tried to see you, and then I saw Valjean with you, and learned you were hiding him. But…the child…his face…" She turned her face away, but Combeferre could see the flash of tears in her eyes. "I lied." Her voice had gone low, a barely distinguishable mumble. "I lied. God help me, but I lied. I told Javert I couldn't see the vampire. Or you, either of you. And now I'm here to warn him. Javert has plans for him."

"What will he do to me?"

Valjean had crept up silently, unheard by anyone. Sister Simplice jumped when he spoke. "The Watchers have sold you to someone," she finally said, her voice shaking. "A rich man, and highly placed in the government here in Paris. That's all I know of him. But he's powerful and well informed."

"Let's sit," Bahorel interjected. "I will make tea, and then we can talk about this calmly. In a civilized, respectable manner."

"I should go—" Sister Simplice began to say.

"Oh, no, Sister," Bahorel said. "You're staying with us until we get this all sorted out." There was nothing particularly threatening in his voice. Still, Combeferre threw him a sharp glance, and noted Simplice had turned rather paler than she'd been a moment before.

They sat in an awkward silence broken only by Bahorel cheerfully singing "Ça Ira" as he puttered with cups and kettle. Combeferre perched between Courfeyrac and Enjolras on the couch; despite the tension, he couldn't help notice, and be amused by, the awkward glances Courfeyrac kept throwing at Enjolras, who disregarded them utterly and stared straight ahead. Feuilly, in a chair across the room, pulled out a piece of a fan and a pencil, and began to sketch a design by the light of a half-spent candle. Valjean sat stiffly in the chair next to Feuilly. Across from him, Sister Simplice, her hands in her lap, was upright and straight-backed, her lips silently moving in prayer.

Bahorel jaunted up and around the room with the tea tray. Combeferre took a cup absently. When everyone had taken some, Bahorel dropped the tray onto a table, hopped onto the arm of the couch, and said, "All right. So Sister Simplice says M. Valjean is in danger from this unnamed powerful man. Assuming she's telling the truth—"

"I am," Sister Simplice said tightly, her eyes narrowing.

"—your need to hide from the Watchers is greater than ever. Do you have anyone you can go to, any family…" Bahorel trailed off, perhaps realizing vampires didn't have family.

Valjean looked at his hands. "No family. Just Cosette."

"Where did you come from, before Paris?" Combeferre did his best to keep his voice even and gentle, rather than sounding like an interrogator. "You told us you'd only been here a short while."

"I needn't go anywhere," Valjean said, blatantly dodging the question, "if this woman is lying."

Combeferre looked at Enjolras, then at Bahorel, and finally at Sister Simplice herself, stern and faintly indignant. "What would she gain by lying?"

"If she's truly loyal to the Watchers, and in league with them, then she would have just told them where we were." Enjolras turned her severe gaze on Simplice, who returned the stare. "There would be no need for her to tell us this whole tale. Or come here at all. Javert could have simply come with a large company of armed men."

Bahorel made a noise of disgruntled agreement. "Yes. I think the most rational assumption is the nun's being truthful. Which means you need to hide, M. Valjean."

"My people in Aix," Courfeyrac said, speaking for the first time since the revelation of Enjolras's sex. "I can get them to help."

Bahorel regarded him indulgently. "Isn't your father the nephew of a vicomte, or something like that?"

"Great-nephew," said Courfeyrac. "What of it?"

"Will he welcome a stray vampire into his bosom, do you think?"

Courfeyrac scowled. "We needn't tell him M. Valjean's a vampire—" He broke off, no doubt thinking of the same problem Combeferre had been mulling over. Outside of Paris, in any village or town where people rose and slept with the sun, and knew all their neighbors—how long would a newcomer like Valjean go unremarked, and unreported?

"He can return with me, to my town," Simplice offered.

"The very first place the Watchers will search for you, once they realize their seeress has gone missing," Feuilly pointed out, adding a petal to his flowery sketch on the fan.

Enjolras rose to pace in a circle around the room. An awkward feat, given how crowded it was, but somehow she managed it gracefully. "Why should he leave Paris? Sister, you tell us you could never see M. Valjean. You only found him by finding us. Do the Watchers have other seers who can see him?"

"No." Sister Simplice frowned. "I'm the best seeress they have. I'm the only one who could even see you, Mlle Enjolras. And I think—I think the reason I couldn't see M. Valjean was…I had a false idea of him. I was thinking of a demonic beast with no spark of conscience in him. That was a lie. And that's how all the other seers will be thinking of him. So no, I don't think anyone will be able to see him. Not directly."

Combeferre, catching on to what Enjolras was getting at, said, "So if M. Valjean stays away from Enjolras and me—and you—and anyone else the Watchers' Council may be aware of, and looking for—he won't be caught."

"And he can stay in Paris," Enjolras said, nodding, "where it's so much easier to hide, and have unusual habits, without anyone remarking on it."

Valjean stared into his teacup. "That would be easiest. Take Cosette, and go to an apartment somewhere else in the city. Lie low, for a time. I can do that—I have money. But M. Combeferre, and the young lady—what will you do? The Watchers, they might find you…"

"Leave that to us," said Enjolras. "We can hide here too. Sister Simplice has just told us she's the only one who could see us, anyway."

Combeferre, feeling much less confident about this, looked at Bahorel, who said, "Enjolras is right. You have enough problems without worrying yourself over that. I'll make sure they're all right, never fear." Combeferre raised his eyebrows at that, but said nothing.

Sister Simplice grimaced. "I suppose Paris is the best place for me, too, to hide from the Watchers." She sounded deeply unhappy about this. "Elsewhere—I'd have to lie, to disguise myself, or people would notice a nun of my order."

Feuilly frowned. "Why should you want to? The Watchers don't know you're here, you said. If you're telling us the truth, you can just go back to them like before. "

"I would have to lie to them. Again. They'd keep asking me to see you, so long as you remain rogue. So I'd have to keep lying." Sister Simplice shook her head firmly. "I won't do that."

Enjolras looked at Sister Simplice. "You'll go underground, give up your position—all to avoid lying to the Watchers?"

"Of course I will," said Sister Simplice, as if this was the only reasonable thing to do. She met Enjolras's eyes, and Combeferre almost fancied he heard the sound of steel clanging against steel. "There's a nun of my order here. I'll stay with her. I'll send you a warning at this apartment if I hear anything of the Watchers on your trail." She rose, and set down her cup. With a sweep of her skirts, she was out the door.

"I'll leave now, before it gets light," Valjean said, after a moment's pause. He went into the room where Cosette slept, and emerged from it carrying her, still fast asleep.

"Where will you go?" Combeferre said, looking up at them.

"I took the precaution of renting another apartment, on the rue de l'Ouest. It was too far for me to get there the other night, when I was fleeing Javert—but I can go there now." He stood there awkwardly for a moment, before adding, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask me. I—thank you, for all you've done. I don't expect I'll be troubling you any further." And with that he, too, was gone, out the door as swift and silent as a thief in the night.

"Poor man," Courfeyrac said, after a moment.

"A good man." Combeferre looked down at his cup. "I hope he stays safe."

Feuilly raised his eyebrows. "And what of your safety? From the vampires, from the Watchers…"

"We can manage," said Enjolras. "Combeferre has concealment spells—and we'll keep quiet, do our best not to attract undue notice—"

"You'll keep slaying with a group," Bahorel said firmly. "Best way to avoid attention, even with your Slayer strength. I'll help you."

Feuilly looked up again from his fan. "I'm willing to help, too, of course—in between work, and political activities, and studies…and, you know, the situation in Poland isn't getting any better, and an uprising is almost inevitable…"

"One might almost suspect you of wizardry, Feuilly," said Combeferre, shaking his head. "To do so much—but I'm grateful."

Feuilly shrugged. "There's no need for gratitude," he said, sounding amused. "It's not as though the vampires aren't a threat to me, too."

"And I'll help too." Courfeyrac rose from his spot on the couch, and walked over to stand beside Enjolras. "As we were saying. This isn't something a girl—or anyone—should have to do alone. You'll have us."

Enjolras smiled then, bright and quick. "I need no paladin to defend me," she said, "but—I welcome any help from a friend."

"Help, and hindrance, and most of all, amusement—I can provide them all," Courfeyrac said, grinning.

Enjolras's smile broadened. Her eyes met Combeferre's. He smiled in return and, despite the difficulties he know they faced, despite the losses they'd both already suffered, he felt his spirits soar, ready to meet whatever lay ahead.