We're in the hotel, in Sophie's room. She's sitting on the edge of the bed. I'm pacing, trying to quell the rising storm of anger brewing in my gut. Finally, I stop in front of her. It takes a great deal of effort to force myself to speak calmly and still, my voice sounds strained.

"Where's Jonathan?"

Sophie touches a hand to the center of her chest. "Here."

"Why isn't he communicating with me?"

"He's asleep."

"Asleep?"

She looks up at me then, a smile as brittle and transient as frost touching the corners of her mouth. "I learned how to make him go away. Not permanently yet. But maybe soon."

There's such emptiness in her eyes, so much hopelessness in the slump of her shoulders that my own senses ache with her desperation. But that empathy passes quickly.

"Sophie, what have you done?"

"Nothing." She twists a strand of hair around her fingers. "I've been studying. Learning."

I sink down on the bed beside her. "About what?"

"Possession. Exorcisms."

Once more, a chill touches the nape of my neck. "Exorcisms? Jonathan isn't a demon."

"He's a vampire."

Her tone implies, "same thing."

I can't believe I'm hearing this from a woman who took three damaged vampires into her home to help them only a few months ago. A terrible thought strikes me. "How are the young women you took with you to Denver? Are they doing well?"

"I don't know. Justin Turnbull took them. He thought it best they be with they're own kind."

Relief washes over me. Turnbull is a very old, very powerful vampire who lives in Denver, too. I'm glad they're with him. Something is going on with Sophie and obviously Turnbull saw it. I wish he'd warned me.

"Why did you tell Prendergast Jonathan's story was mine?"

She fires her answer at me like a bullet. "You can take care of yourself."

"But you knew it was a lie. He'll know it, too, when he starts asking questions I can't answer."

"Jonathan will help. He'll be with us soon."

Her tone implies she is sick at the thought. The lines of her face droop with weariness. I'm suddenly afraid to leave her alone. When Jonathan comes back, he'll be angry. I need to talk to him before she banishes him again.

"I'm going to sleep in your room tonight," I tell her. "We'll need to decide what to do about Prendergast. He can't be allowed to go on thinking I'm the vampire he's been seeking. Only Jonathan will be able to help with that."

"But I don't want Jonathan to come back. I want to be myself again. I can't stand what he's doing to me. I can't stand what I'm becoming."

"Jonathan didn't do this to you, Sophie," I remind her quietly. "You did this to him."

Her face is a blank slate, devoid of emotion, of comprehension, as if a switch had been thrown and her personality extinguished.

Jonathan returns with a roar.

What the fuck did she do to me?

Jonathan's anger is like a laser flare burning so hot even I feel scorched by it.

Sophie is more desperate than you realized, I tell him. She wants to rid herself of you for good.

Impossible. If she gets rid of me, she goes, too. Doesn't she realize that?

I press the palms of my hands against my eyes. How do I describe Sophie's anguish? I don't think she cares. She's suffering.

Suffering? The anger flares again. How the hell is she suffering? I've brought adventure into her life. I've opened doors for her. I've given her a home and a fortune. I've given her everything she wished for when she was an old, used up witch. What more does she want from me?

She wants her freedom.

The simple truth spoken in a whisper is met with silence. Jonathan's rage dissipates. I feel the hollowness it leaves in his mind the same way I felt the heat of his rage moments before.

I'm not sure which is more disturbing.