Two days later Phury decided to go over to the Other Side. The Directrix had been hammering for a meeting, and he didn't want to put her off any longer. Besides, he had to get out of the house.

Jane's death had brought a pall to the compound, affecting all the bonded males. The loss of a shellan, which was what she'd been even though she and V hadn't been formally mated, was always the greatest fear. But to have her killed by the enemy was nearly unendurable. Worse, to have it happen less than a year after Wellsie was likewise murdered¡ªwas all a horrible reminder of what each of the males knew to be true: Mates of the Brotherhood faced a special threat from the lessers.

Tohrment had learned this firsthand. Now so had Vishous.

God, you had to wonder if V was going to stick around. Tohr had taken off right after Wellsie had been killed by a slayer, and no one had seen or heard from him since. Though Wrath maintained that he could feel that the brother was still alive, they had all pretty much given up on the idea of him reappearing in this decade or the next. Maybe in some future era he would come back. Or maybe he would die out in the world alone somewhere. But they wouldn't see him again anytime soon, and, hell, the next place might well be the Fade.

Shit... Poor Vishous.

Right now V was in his room at the Pit, lying next to the brass urn Phury had eventually put Jane's ashes in. The brother hadn't spoken or eaten anything, according to Butch, though the guy's eyes were apparently open.

It was clear he had no intention of explaining what had happened in the Tomb. To Jane. Or to his wrist.

With a curse Phury knelt by his bed and put the Primale's medallion around his neck. Closing his eyes he traveled directly to the Chosen's sanctuary, thinking of Cormia along the way. She too stayed in her room, eating little and saying less. He checked on her frequently, though he didn't know what to do for her¡ªother than bring her books, which she seemed to like. She was particularly into Jane Austen, although she didn't quite understand how something could be fiction or, as she put it, a constructed lie.

Phury took form at the amphitheater because he didn't know the layout very well yet and figured it was a good starting point. Man, it felt bizarre to be standing in the middle of all the white. Weirder still to walk around the back of the stage and get a gander at the various white temples. Goddamn, the place was an ad for Clorox. No color anywhere. And it was so quiet. Freaky quiet.

As he picked a direction and started walking, he worried about getting mobbed by a bunch of Chosen and was not exactly in a hurry to go head-to-head with the Directrix. To blow some time, he decided to take a look at what was inside one of the temples. Picking one randomly he went up its shallow marble steps, but found that the double doors were locked tight.

Frowning, he bent down and looked at the large, oddly shaped keyhole. On impulse, he took the Primale medallion off and stuck it into the door.

Well, what do you know. The thing was a key.

The double doors opened without a sound, and he was surprised at what was inside. Lining both sides of the building, and sitting six or eight deep, were bins and bins of precious stones. He walked around the riches, every once in a while stopping and putting his hands into the sparkling gems.

But that wasn't all that was inside. In the back, at the far end, were a series of glass cases such as you would find at a museum. He went over and checked them out. Naturally they were dust free, although not, he sensed, because they'd been cleaned. He just couldn't imagine there being any pollutants in the air around here, even those of the microscopic variety.

Inside the cases the objects were fascinating, and clearly from the real world. There was an old-fashioned pair of spectacles, a porcelain bowl of Oriental origin, a whiskey bottle with a label from the 1930s, an ebony cigarette holder, a lady's fan made from white feathers.

He wondered how they got over here. Some of the things were quite old, though they were in perfect condition and, of course, everything was sparkly-frickin' clean.

He paused over what looked like an ancient book. "Son... of a bitch."

Its leather cover was tattered, but the embossed title was still evident: Darius son of Marklon.

Phury leaned down, astounded. It was D's book... probably a diary.

He opened the case, then frowned at the smell inside. Gunpowder?

He looked at the assembled objects. In the far corner there was an old handgun, and he recognized the make and model from the firearms textbook he'd been teaching the trainees from. It was a 1890 Colt Navy .36-caliber, six-cylinder revolver. That had recently been used.

He took the thing out, cocked the chamber open, and palmed one of the bullets. They were spherical... and uneven, as if they were handmade.

He'd seen the shape before. When he'd been erasing V's medical results from the computer at St. Francis, he'd looked at a chest X-ray that had been taken... and seen a spherical, slightly irregular hunk of lead in his brother's lung.

"Were you here to see me?"

Phury looked over his shoulder at the Directrix. The female was standing in the double doors, dressed in that white robe they all wore. Around her neck, on a chain, was a medallion like his.

"Nice collection of artifacts you have here," he drawled, turning around.

The female's eyes narrowed. "I would think the gems would interest you more."

"Not really." He watched her carefully as he lifted the book in his hand. "This looks like my brother's diary."

As her shoulders eased up ever so slightly, he wanted to kill her. "Yes, that is Darius's diary."

Phury tapped the cover of the book, then waved his hand around at all the gems. "Tell me something¡ªis this place kept locked all the time?"

"Yes. Ever since the attack."

"You and I are the only ones with keys, right? I'd hate to have anything happen to what's in here."

"Yes. Only the two of us. No one may gain entry herein without my knowledge or presence."

"No one."

Her eyes flashed with annoyance. "Order is to be maintained. I have spent years training the Chosen unto their proper ministrations."

"Yeah... so a Primale showing up must be a real buzz kill for you. Because I'm in charge now, aren't I?"

Her voice dropped low. "It is right and proper for you to rule herein."

"I'm sorry, could you say that again? I didn't quite hear you."

Her eyes seethed with venom for a split second¡ªwhich confirmed to him her actions and her motive: The Directrix had shot Vishous. With the gun from the case. She wanted to continue to be in charge, and knew damn well that if a Primale came in at best she would be second in command under a male. At worst she could lose all her power just because the male didn't like the color of her eyes.

When she'd failed to kill V, she backed off... until she could try again. No doubt she was smart enough and nasty enough to defend her territory until either the Brothers ran out or the Primale role started to look cursed.

"You were about to say something, weren't you?" he prompted.

The Directrix smoothed the medallion hanging from her throat. "You are the Primale. You are the ruler herein."

"Good. Glad we're both straight on that." He tapped Darius's diary again. "I'm taking this back with me."

"Are we not meeting?"

He walked over to her, thinking that if she had been male he would have snapped her neck.

"Not right now, no. I have something I have to take care of with the Scribe Virgin." He leaned down, putting his mouth next to her ear. "But I'll be back for you."

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