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Whiskey’s shot glass.
    The alcohol ripped through the curtain of weakness. Whiskey gasped, and held out her glass for a refill. “Well, it did something,” she insisted. “My knuckles aren’t wracked up anymore, and I think my bruises have gone away.” She looked at the fine lines on her arm. “Tattoos sting for days, but this barely hurts now.” Come to think of it, my nipples don’t hurt that much, either.
    “Which proves my theory,” Fiona stated. “You are Sanguire, or you couldn’t enjoy the benefits of Daniel’s medical cocktail.”
    Whiskey stuttered, the alcohol in her system blurring her thoughts. Jesus, this stuff’s strong. Fiona watched in amusement as she gathered her thoughts. “I can’t be...Sanguire. I don’t drink or need blood to live.”
    “Yet,” Cora whispered.
    Whiskey gave her a sharp look, seeing a beautiful smile on her face.
    “It is the nature of our people to age slowly.” Fiona stroked her cheek with one finger, lost in thought. “We have always hidden among Humans, and have evolved a bit of camouflage.”
    “In order for our offspring to survive childhood, they age like Humans until they reach physical maturity,” Daniel said. “Once they attain adulthood they begin the Ñíri Kurám , to walk the Strange Path. It’s a gradual phenomenon that takes many years to complete. Most of us utilize a Baruñal and the Book to accelerate the process.”
    Whiskey peered at Daniel as his light Germanic accent flowed over her. His words were nothing but noise to her. Baruñal? Ñíri Kurám? Gibberish.
    Cora blocked her vision, gray eyes staring into hers. “Whiskey?”
    “Three shots in under half an hour. She’s had too much to drink.” Fiona suddenly appeared beside Whiskey. She took the shot glass and set it on the table. “Odd that you should carry the name, yet have difficulty holding the liquor.”
    Whiskey flushed, feeling overly warm. “It’s jus’ a nickname.” She felt a moment of dismay at the sound of her slurred voice. Attempting to control herself, she enunciated her next words carefully. “I’ve never had whiskey before. Only beer or wine.”
    Fiona brushed her fingers through Whiskey’s hair, an insincere parody of tenderness. “Not anymore, dear little lamma. From now on you’ll eat and drink the finest the world has to offer. You’re home now.”
    “It may also be a result of the healing and hunger,” Daniel said. “She’s using a lot of her energy to repair the damage.” He appeared within Whiskey’s groggy vision, leaning over her, lifting an eyelid to peek at her pupil, ignoring her sluggish attempt to slap him away. “It’s been hours since she last ate, and her metabolism has accelerated as she’s mended. She needs more food and sleep.”
    “Let’s get her to the bench for a quick nap, and I’ll order dinner.”
    The world swooped and rolled as the three got Whiskey to her feet. It was only three drinks, damn it! “I’m fine. Jus’ lemme alone a minnit.” They ignored her, manhandling her to the bench seat. She closed her eyes for a moment, opening them with a start at the deep sound of metal scraping metal.
    The heavy metal table now two feet away, Fiona smiled at Whiskey. Dusting her hands, she headed for the curtain.
    “Damn, she’s strong.”
    Cora knelt on the floor beside her. “As will you be when you complete the Ñíri Kurám, Ninsumgal .”
    Whiskey wanted to ask what the words meant, but couldn’t make her mouth form the question. Her eyes drifted closed.
    She didn’t feel it when it happened.
     
    ***
     
    An overpowering copper aroma choked her nostrils. Hot liquid splashed down her inner thigh. These sensations told the tale of injury long before her flesh screamed, splitting beneath the thrust of a blade. With each pulse of her heart, she hemorrhaged, soaking her skirts with stickiness. The pain reverberated down through the arch of her foot, and up to her hip, spreading with each beat of her heart. She