Black Sun Rising by C.S. Friedman Page A

statement about the cost of real estate in this district. Senzei led them to a corner house, and Damien took in details: neatly whitewashed brickwork, small porch, hanging plants. Sigil over the door—a quake-ward—and smaller symbols etched into each window, in the lower comers. Curtains in the downstairs window that seemed surprisingly feminine for Senzei’s taste ... and then Damien remembered that he lived with a woman. Roommate? Girlfriend? It embarrassed him that he couldn’t remember the exact relationship.
    The door opened as they approached. In the shadow of the doorway Damien made out the form and features of a woman. In many regards she resembled Senzei—pale, dark-haired, a little too thin for her height. And afraid. Very afraid. The same kind of fear that was in him.
    “You found him,” she breathed.
    “At the shop.” They passed quickly inside; she bolted the door behind them, two locks and a burglar-ward. Despite the afternoon’s relative warmth, Damien noticed that all the windows were shut tight.
    “Were there insurance people—”
    “No.” He shook his head emphatically. “No one.”
    “Thank the gods for that, anyway.”
    Senzei introduced them: Allesha Huyding, his fiancée, and Reverend Sir Damien Vryce. It might have been Damien’s imagination, but he seemed to stress the titles.
    “I’ll get you something to drink,” she said, and before Damien could respond that it wasn’t necessary she was gone.
    “The fae makes her nervous,” Senzei explained. “And this situation ...” he sighed, raggedly. “I think more than anything she’s afraid our adjustors will find out what really happened.”
    It took all of Damien’s self-control to keep his voice level as he demanded, “What about Ciani?”
    The fear in Senzei’s eyes seemed to give way to something else. Sadness. Exhaustion. Desolation.
    “She’s alive,” he whispered. But there was no joy in his voice. “Alive ... but little more than that.”
    “Where?”
    Senzei hesitated, but his eyes flicked toward a door that led from the living room, and that was enough. Damien stepped toward it—
    And Senzei caught his arm with surprising strength. And held on to him, tightly.
    “She’s hurt. Badly. You need to understand, before you go see her—”
    “I’m a Healer, man, I—”
    “It isn’t that kind of pain.”
    His hand, on Damien’s arm, was trembling. Something in his tone—or perhaps in his expression—kept Damien from pulling free.
    “What is it?” he asked sharply.
    “She was hurt,” Senzei repeated. “She’s ...” He hesitated, searching for the right words. Or perhaps the courage to speak. “... not what she was.”
    “You mean the explosion—”
    “It wasn’t the explosion. I caused the explosion.” He released Damien’s arm, began to twist one hand nervously in the other, as if trying to cleanse himself. “To cover up what happened. To make whatever had hurt her think she had died ... so it would leave her alone.”
    Damien heard the door open behind him, the padding of footsteps, the tinkle of ice in glasses. And then the door closed, and they were alone again.
    “Tell me,” he said quietly.
    Senzei took a deep breath; Damien could see him tremble. “We had an appointment at three a.m. She wanted to try something in the true darkness, needed me to help. I came ...” He shut his eyes, remembering. “I found her ... that is ... she had been attacked....”
    “Physically?” Damien pressed.
    Senzei shook his head. “No. There were no marks of any kind. No sign of any physical confrontation. But they had gotten to her—somehow—and she was lying curled up on the floor. Whimpering, like a wounded animal. I ... tried to help her. Got her wrapped up in something, to keep her warm. I couldn’t tell if she was in physical shock or not, but it seemed practical. I didn’t know what else to do. She cried out a few words, then, and I tried to make sense out of what she was saying, but they