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loose, he tied the medallion around the injured boy’s wrist. Pressing his fingers to the symbols inscribed on the metal surface of the disk, Fennrys felt it pulse gently, with a cool, cleansing energy. Satisfied that he’d done what he could, he stood and looked down.
    The kid stirred in his sleep, and then settled with a sigh. He would probably carry the scars for the rest of his life, but at least Fennrys had seen to it that his life didn’t end there on the floor of the storage cellar. He felt a twinge of regret as he stared down at the ruin of the young man’s handsome face.
    Big deal. What are a few scars?
    What indeed? When he’d dressed in the borrowed sweats that the girl had given him, Fennrys had noticed that he himself carried more than a few—a lot more than a few—on his limbs and torso. Where did he get that kind of collection? Why had he been naked? In the midst of his confusion, he half smiled to himself when he remembered the vibrant pink flush of the girl’s pretty face when she’d glanced at him in his altogether state. Not the other one—the gorgeous blonde was used to the contours of the male body. Or at least she made a really good show of pretending she was.
    But the dark-haired girl had been sweet. Kind of shy, but brave enough to approach him when the others had hung back. Strong and swift enough to handle herself in a fight. She reminded him of … of what? Who? No one he could remember.
    His mind was a total blank.
    Well, maybe not a total blank. He could remember darkness … the feeling of cold stone against his bare, shivering flesh. Damp. And a stench like wet earth and rot. A voice. And then light—so bright that he flinched and closed his eyes even at the mere memory of that brilliance. It hurt his mind to think of it.
    After a moment, the fragmented memory faded and Fennrys opened his eyes again. He looked down at the dark-haired girl where she lay on her side, one arm flung out. The sleeve of her fencing jacket was pushed up and the skin of her arm shone pale in the gloom. As pale as Fennrys’s own flesh—which bore an unhealthy pallor, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in a very long time—only hers glowed like an alabaster sculpture lit from within. Fenn traced the path of a blue vein on the inside of her wrist, like following the course of a river on a map. Then he ran his fingertips over the roughness of his own wrists. Toby was right. Fennrys had been chained. Recently and for a long time.
    What the hell was he?
    The question framed itself in his mind that way … not “who” but “what.” Maybe he didn’t want to know. Maybe he’d be better off if he never found out.... He could just disappear into the world and … what? Start a brand-new life for himself? He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the old one had been like.
    Swords. Monsters. Danger …
    The dark-haired girl stirred in her sleep and made a small sound, almost like a whimper. Her hands floated up in front of her face, as if she fought against something in her dream. Gently Fennrys took her hands and lowered them to rest at her sides. He lightly stroked her forehead until she settled back into stillness and the shadow of a frown on her brow smoothed.
    In the silence and the darkness, he turned and listened for a long moment. No rain. No thunder … even the wind seemed to have died to nothing. And there were no sounds of the draugr now, either. Had he killed them all in those few frantic moments, hours earlier? He wasn’t sure. Maybe there were others still out there, lying in wait. Waiting for him … or for these kids and their teacher? Fennrys considered that an unlikely possibility. They were nothing. Nobodies. A bunch of absolutely normal teenagers.
    While he seemed to be … something else. Something dangerous. He didn’t want the dark-haired girl in danger because of him. He stood and turned away from her. A small, single action that made him feel unutterably alone.
    Once outside,