IVAN HUNG BACK, STAYING away from the front line of the phalanx of vampires, who were all grim as if heading to battle. Or execution. He stared at the back of Night's head. He maintained a distance where he was out of sword's reach but close enough to watch her. Just to be sure he was right. Lin flanked on the left, returned from whatever errand she and Jack had gone on; her golem was on the right. Every now and then Night glanced at the creature, and her fingernails tapped her thigh. As he inhaled, Ivan suspected she sensed what he did: the woman was rotting. Neither alive nor undead, whatever magic Night had wrought had gone wrong. Her grey pallor was pasty even in the dim light, her red curls limp and plastered to her head, like Katya after she was killed. An ache settled above his stom
