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to any shred of her, I had to believe in this—even if it made no sense.
    “We’ll make it work,” Giovanni promised. “We’ll e-mail, we’ll call, we’ll write. I’ll see you at Christmas. I’ll come here for spring break.”
    “And what will I do?” I asked. The rain poured down around us, but his skin was hot against mine as we flowed into each other’s arms.
    “You,” he said softly into my damp hair, “will make me a promise. Survive.”
    A week after Giovanni’s departure, we were repairing our weaponry in the shade of the Cloisters courtyard and trying to avoid the worst heat of the day. Bonegrinder, chained to the wall, lay panting on her side with her little pink tongue thrust between her fangs and watched us with sleepy blue eyes.
    After discovering last month that arrowheads and knives made with unicorn horn worked better against the creatures than alloy blades, we’d turned away from our more modern equipment to the weapons from the walls of the chapter house. But, unicorn magic or no, they were still a century and a half old.
    In our last big battle with the kirin, we’d broken four standard bows, a sword, two crossbows, and countless arrows. We’d lost even more in the month since, and Grace, who possessed a natural affinity for weaponry, had taken it upon herself to learn to make new weapons and repair the slim store that remained. Though Cory had offered to lend her the records we had of the ancient hunters’ weapon-making techniques, Grace had brushed her off and turned to the Internet. Though so far she’d had little success at creating new arrowheads, the repaired ancient tips on new fiberglass shafts were both sturdier and more accurate than our old warped arrows.
    I was polishing the claymore that had once belonged to Clothilde Llewelyn. Like the alicorn knife I believed was made from her first kill trophy, I preferred to use this weapon at close range. As I ran a soft cloth over the blade, I wondered why we had Clothilde’s knife and sword but not her bow. Had it, perhaps, been broken or lost in the fight that had supposedly claimed her life?
    Rosamund sat a few feet away, repairing an arrow tip and singing snatches of what she called “weaving songs”: short, repetitive songs designed to help groups work in unison. Ursula and Ilesha leaned against a double alicorn-spiral column, their heads bent close together as they giggled. Zelda and Dorcas had long since abandoned their weapons to pore over fashion magazines, and Valerija sat in a corner, earbuds in place, and concentrated on sharpening one of her many knives. Melissende and Grace were working on a new method of knapping arrowheads off a smooth kirin horn, and Cory was making her way across the bright courtyard, her arms filled with ancient books.
    Bonegrinder lifted her head and growled. All the hunters, including Cory, stopped and stared at the little zhi, who was baring her teeth in Cory’s direction.
    “Hey!” I swatted Bonegrinder on the nose. “No growl. Bad girl.”
    Cory shook her head and continued over to our side. “What’s going on?” She knelt and set down the books, and Bonegrinder sniffed at her and thwapped her tail against the paving stones. “What is happening to me?”
    “Do you have something to tell us?” Melissende asked, wagging her eyebrows at Cory. “Hiding a little boyfriend somewhere?”
    Cory blushed as most of the other girls tittered.
    “Of course not!” she snapped. “I know the rules—” She cast me a guilty glance. “I am not dating anyone, no.”
    This only made them laugh harder. Valerija looked up from her knives, shook her head in disdain, and returned to her work.
    “The rules?” I asked Cory wryly.
    “You know I don’t approve of you dating Giovanni,” she said. “We’re hunters. We’re supposed to be celibate.”
    “I am celibate.” My hands tightened on the hilt of my sword. “You can date someone without having sex with him.”
    “Yes.” Melissende