he just put it gently in the outstretched hand. Mr. Patrise's fingers closed on it, tightly.
'Was Cloudhunter taken through the gateway?' Patrise said.
'Yeah. After it didn't matter.'
'It matters a great deal, Hallow.'
'To who? Them?'
'Yes. This is a matter of what they believe, not what we want. I told you about that, about iron and faith. There is more to come of this, you may trust. Now, I believe Ginevra is waiting in your rooms.' He turned, took a step toward the inner apartments.
Doc said, 'About the bullets-'
'Another time, Hallow. I am selfish with my grief, and will not share it.'
Doc lowered his head, turned toward the door. He stopped. 'Did you get Whisper?'
Mr. Patrise paused. 'No. As I say, there is more to come of this.'
Doc went down to his apartment. Ginny was in the living room, asleep in a chair. She still wore her red satin dress; her shoes and stockings were placed neatly on the floor, her feet tucked up beneath her as she always sat. A book was open in her lap.
She had uncurled her hair, and it spilled down one cheek. He reached to touch it, then realized what he looked like, bloody and ragged, a nightmare for her to wake to. Moving as softly as he could, he hid the coat in the closet, went into the bathroom to strip and shower.
When he came out, wrapped in a bathrobe, Ginny was sitting on his bed, leaning against one of the bedposts. 'Hi,' she said.
'Hi.'
'Boris let me in. You don't mind?'
'No, I don't mind.'
'I like your place.' She giggled. 'It's big.'
'I should have brought you here before.'
She rubbed one foot against the other. 'My legs went to sleep out there.' She tilted her head. 'Think I need treatment?'
He stepped behind her, found the zipper on her dress. She raised her hands to let him take it off. He touched the velvet band, close around her neck, and she purred.
'My God, it's dawn,' she said, looking at the windows. 'You were gone a long time.'
'Yeah,' he said, and then his throat closed up. He reached into his piled clothes, took out the blue Nancy scarf, wound it between his hands.
'That's Cloudhunter's,' Ginny said. 'He gave it to-' She pulled in a breath. 'Oh, God, Doc, not Cloudhunter.'
'We all fought it. Katie and-that's what I'm supposed to do.' He was crying. It didn't matter. The toughest guys on the fire squad cried for this. You got handed somebody's life, and you held on to it with everything you had, and sometimes it still got away from you. If you didn't feel something then-'I'm not very good company right now. If you want to go…' he said, and let it trail off, not at all sure what answer he wanted.
'Where would I go?' she said plainly. 'I love you. I've known it for… well, I know, okay? I've been scared to say it, because I didn't know what you'd do.' She shuffled a foot. 'Do you still want me to go?'
'I didn't. I just-'
'Then come here,' she said, and held out her hands. He looked at her wrists, and the silk taut between his white-knuckled hands, and thought that it was good he was already crying. He unwound the scarf, folded it, put it carefully aside.
He needed to hold her so badly it hurt. And he needed to be in control. But if he said what was coiling up in his mind, and she pulled away-there weren't words for how bad that would be. There weren't even thoughts for it. And you fought the bad thing, right? Until you had nothing left to fight with. Like with any other life you were given.
So he just sat down heavily on the bed, and let her hold him, until the room blurred and faded into sleep.
When he woke, there was a note on the bedroom mirror: 'I didn't want to wake you. If you want, I won't wake you New Year's Day either.' meeting a Highborn. The one that concerns you most is this: don't speak unless I tell you that you may. Do not answer even if you are addressed directly. I'm sure that sounds arrogant, and I assure you it is.'
'Is there anything else I shouldn't do?'
'Countless things,' Mr. Patrise said dryly. 'I would advise you not to look into the Urthas's eyes. You may find that difficult, and there isn't likely to be any real danger, but… If in doubt, look at the floor somewhere in front of our host.'
They parked at a colonnaded building right on the lakefront, near the natural history museum.
'Are you fond of the Field, Hallow?' Mr. Patrise said.
Doc realized he had been staring at the museum. 'I only went there once. With Cloud.'
'Yes. I should have remembered that. This way, Hallow. Please.'
Carved letters above the building entrance read JOHN G. SHEDD AQUARIUM. A pair of Ellyllon in green armor flanked the door.
'Do they own this place now?' Doc said quietly.
'The Aquarium is closed for New Year's Day. The Highborn has been courteously extended its use.' Mr. Patrise pointed to the right of the aquarium building: a narrow finger of land extended out into the lake. A street down its centerline ended in yellow-striped barricades. 'The breakwater was twice as long before the Shadow fell, and the Planetarium was on the end of it. Apparently our stargazing offended someone.' He paused, looked into the distance. 'The dome was bronze, on a marble base. It sank like a little Atlantis. The fire paused then-nobody remembers just how long; it might have been as long as five minutes. Then, suddenly, there were Ellyllon at the Art Institute, helping to save its contents. Draw what conclusions you choose.
'Now, we have an appointment. Remember your instructions.'
One of the armored elves opened the doors for them. They entered a large, high-ceilinged space lined with aquarium tanks; in the center was an enormous cylindrical tank, clear all around. Inside were corals, and darting, brilliantly colored fish. There were halt a dozen Ellyllon in green Standing at attention around the room. They did not move. A weirdly Ugly, flat-faced elf-a Mam, Doe supposed-appeared from around the coral tank; he wore a metallic green robe that trailed on the floor twice his height behind him. He approached Mr. Patrise, bowed, then bowed again to Doc.
They followed the Mani down stairs and around a curving corridor to a wide, domed space, an open auditorium flanked by green plants, stepping down to an expanse of open water. The Mani bowed again and left them there.
Mr. Patrise stood quite still before the blue pond, looking straight out. Doc did the same.
The water rippled. Small waves broke on the pavement before them, making thin puddles around their shoes. A figure in green and white, blue and silver, rose into view.
The Highborn woman wore a long, floating cloak of deep green stuff, which spread out on the surface of the water for two yards in all directions; it was fantastically puffed at her shoulders and fanned high behind her head. Beneath it was a tight-fitting garment that seemed to be made of fish scales. Her white legs were uncovered, and her very small feet were in silver boots. Her hair, which was elven silver with streaks of green, was circled by silver hoops that trailed blue-green ribbons.
Her face was angular and beautiful-though among Truebloods it seemed only the Mani might not be-and her silver-coin eyes were tilted, shadowed with deep green.
'You are good to answer my request,' she said. There was a rushing whisper under the music of her voice. Doc had never been to an ocean, but he had held a seashell to his ear: that was the sound. He started to make some polite reply, then remembered not to.
Mr. Patrise said, 'My lady Glassisle, I present to you Doc Hal-lownight, my household's healer.'
'Was it then the Healer's oath?' Glassisle said. 'It was our understanding that death breaks such vows.' She looked directly at Doc, and-carefully-he looked back. When he caught her eyes, the echoing whisper beneath her voice grew louder, and he looked down. 'Or was it the patron's charge, which we know well is not broken?'
