“Branson! I know he hates Aidan, for no good reason I could ever see, but I never thought he’d go this far!”

“Well, he’s going to regret it,” said Corinne. “He was caught red-handed attempting murder. At the very least he’s going to permanently lose his clerical standing, I can tell you that.”

“Good,” said Flame. “He deserves that and worse. We can turn him over to the watch in the morning, I think. In the mean time, I want to clean Aidan up. I just can’t stand looking at him like that.” Getting all of the blood off of the unconscious aerian proved impossible, but they did the best they could. Corinne helped Flame, but she was continually frustrated by the fact that she was unable to touch her patient. She ended up mostly keeping Littlespark busy.

The child was surprisingly calm about all the commotion. “Daddy is going to be all right isn’t he?” she asked again, and when Corinne answered in the affirmative she nodded solemnly and said, “Then everything is all right. Don’t worry.” The reversal of roles had Corinne smiling. Usually the healer was the one who had to comfort the worried families of her patients.

After cleaning off Aidan, Corinne sent Flame upstairs to clean off herself. She came back down wearing a pair of Corinne’s old trousers, loose enough in the waist to fit her expanded stomach, and rolled up because they were too long. Her shirt had somehow escaped getting blood on it, but Corinne hadn’t been so lucky. She was spattered in blood from head to toe. As soon as Flame Song came down, she went up and got changed out of her bloodstained clothes herself, and then the pair settled in to wait.

Some time before dawn Branson woke up. He opened his eyes, groaned, and put his hands to his head. Then he slowly looked around the room, his eyes bleary and unfocused. Corinne and Flame Song had both noticed his awakening, and they moved as one to block him into the corner he lay in. He jerked to full consciousness and his eyes widened in shock. He tried to scramble backward but couldn’t go anywhere.

“Branson,” it was Corinne who spoke first. Flame Song found she was so blindingly angry at the sight of Branson’s face that she couldn’t even speak. He’d tried to kill her husband, and he’d come far too close to succeeding. “You are in a lot of trouble. Why in the world did you attack Mr. Rhiannon? You know that attempted murder is cause for being defrocked as a cleric, at the very least.”

Branson’s eyes were wild with hatred and he spat his response. “That wasn’t murder. That hell-spawn was undead, a blot on the face of the world.” He rambled on along the same lines for a while, before a soft voice interrupted from behind the two women.

From where Branson sat on the ground he’d been unable to see Aidan lying on the table. But now Aidan had swung his legs over the side of the table and was sitting up. “I’m afraid the past tense isn’t appropriate, Branson. Your aim was a little bit off.” His voice was clear, but weak, and he looked deathly pale.

“Aidan!” Flame Song spun around, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her husband. Branson’s reaction was equally dramatic. He clutched at the symbol around his neck and pressed back against the wall as if he could push his way through it. His eyes were wide in terror and he held up his talisman as if he expected Aidan to jump off the table and attack him.

Aidan and Flame both ignored him, though Corinne continued to keep an eye on him. She wasn’t too worried about him escaping, the watch could always catch him again, but she was worried about a second attack on the weakened vampire.

Aidan for his part gingerly got down off of the table. He sucked in a pained breath as the motion jarred his injury. Flame rested her hand on his shoulder. She wanted to hug him, but was afraid of reopening his wound. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I think I will be.” He carefully touched the area around the hole the stake had left in him. It was still red and somewhat raw looking, but already it was noticeably healing. “I’m absolutely starving though.”

Flame Song suddenly grinned evilly, looking at Branson. “Maybe our friend there could donate some blood for you. He really ought to, since he’s the one responsible for your injury.” Branson pressed against the wall even harder, sheer terror showing openly on his face.

Aidan chuckled, then winced. “His blood would probably give me a stomachache, or something. I think I’d rather have him buy me a new shirt. Do you know how hard it is to find aerian-cut shirts around here?” His shirt was indeed a total mess, a huge hole in the front, a smaller one in back, and blood all over the whole thing. “I am going to need some kind of food soon though,” he added. That was something of an understatement. He felt weak and dizzy and his hunger was clawing at his stomach like a trapped animal. He could hear the heartbeats of everyone in the room, from the quick but even sound of Littlespark’s, to the terrified racing of Branson’s, and the scent of his own blood still hung tantalizingly in the air.

“If it will do, my horse is in the pasture behind the yard, though if more human blood would help I wouldn’t mind donating some,” said Corinne.

“You’re a brave woman,” said Aidan with a smile, “and a good friend. But that won’t be necessary. The horse will do just fine. I think I need more tonight than you can comfortably spare. Thank you for the offer though.” He bowed slightly and went out the back door without a further word.