Briefly, Camellia woke from her bump on the head and then fell into a deeper sleep. Dhampirs healed by sleeping, and she found she had no choice. She could not stay awake.

Adalhard and Eva assured the rest of the group that, once injured, it was normal for Camellia to turn into a sack of potatoes. En-route to their new hideout, Camellia dreamed.

“That’s not structurally sound,” Adalhard reminded her from the porch.

He waved at the ruined awning above her head. Then, he hammered another nail into a floorboard on the steps of their new house. The nail squealed to the tune of Ul’thetos’ thralls.

Camellia stepped back from the doorway and shot a wary glance above. “Why are you working near it?”

“I’m not under it.” Adalhard added another nail.

The nail wriggled, but Adalhard beat it into place.

On the horizon, Camellia saw a playground rising into the sky. Repair bots erected it, positioning the slides above pillows of flesh.

“I can’t help feeling we’d be better off in Groaza.” Her dress snagged on the doorframe, and she carefully extracted the flowing fabric. Once free, she rearranged the high skirt. “You’ll need to sand this.”

“I’ll get to it.”

“What about your house in Groaza? What about your horse?” Camellia asked.

“Camellia, if we go back to Groaza, you might have competition from other women. And, I might realize that I’d be better off. Do you want that?” Adalhard still focused on his steps.

“No. The last thing I need is some chipper thing next door.”

A chill breeze blew.

Camellia hugged herself. “But, I think sometimes, it might be okay. You’re very loyal.”

“I am, but living here will be better for your anxiety. Go unpack,” Adalhard said.

Camellia headed inside and realized that she needed to unpack the most important thing. She walked through the kitchen and found the central stair column. She ignored the nearby elevators and traveled up the column of stairs. Then, she headed down the dark hall. Stained glass windows let in only colored light, hues of red, orange, yellow, and blue.

Camellia found her bedroom, with its familiar drawing on the walls. She knelt and pulled a small box out of the corner. Camellia tore it open, tossed paper aside, and worked her way to the bottom. She grabbed it: the Obsidian Mirror.

Camellia sought a place to hide the naked mirror, hoping to keep its unscratched surface pristine. But first, she would take a quick peek. After all, Adalhard was busy.

She held the Obsidian Mirror and looked deep into its center. Nothing happened. Camellia looked at the edges, and the symbols were blurry. Slowly, she realized, just as she had many times before, that she only dreamed of the mirror and thus could not enter the mirror’s dream.

The house faded around her, and Camellia’s eyes fluttered open.

It was dark. Yet, Camellia’s limbs felt weak. She searched for telltale daylight, and a sliver of sun peered through the fabric of a tent. Camellia tried to sit up and realized that the weakness was not all due to sunlight.

“I’m thankful for dhampir healing abilities. Sten worried you had a concussion.” Adalhard leaned over her. He gently pushed her onto her back.

“Oh, I have a concussion.” She closed her eyes and put a shaking hand on her head. “I shouldn’t have stood below that awning. That was my mistake. Not at all structurally sound.”

Dream Adalhard’s words echoed through her head.

“You were too distracted by the battle to notice the architecture. Only the best warrior archaeologists can accomplish such a feat,” Adalhard joked, in a stern tone. “If you’d stayed closer to the group, you wouldn’t be laying here.”

“The last time I was here, there weren’t any buildings around to bother me.” Camellia’s eyes drifted open. “Where are we?”

“We’re across the river in the best building, which is to say – the biggest building where we can be farthest from the unstable walls. We erected this tent, so we could keep sunburn off your list of injuries.” Adalhard gestured to the fabric around them.

Camellia marveled at the light blocking ability of the dark green cloth. “What kind of a building?”

“Eva isn’t sure. This building has been under the flesh as long as she can remember. What we do know is that the structure appears to have an extensive and intact basement.” Adalhard paused. He cocked his head and listened. “Benham might have just left to scout. Eva too.”

“You heard them go?” Camellia had heard nothing.

“Yes.”

“What do you think this place is?”

Adalhard smiled, and Camellia focused her eyes just enough to catch it.

Adalhard leaned close. “I think it’s a train station. The entire floor is the same kind of plain tile you’d expect to find in a high traffic place, and I think we saw a metal bench broken in two. That’s all we have to work with. You can feel the tile for yourself. Give me your hand.”

“I don’t have to move?” Camellia gave him a hand.

His fingers felt warm around hers. He took her hand and guided it over the tiles, just at the edge of her bedroll. The tiles were small and slick, peppered with cracks.

Camellia sighed. “Feels like public slime.”

“Public slime?”

Camellia closed her eyes. “That’s my word for that smooth, waxy feeling, like a thousand shoes have left behind a sheen of their polish.”

“I’m glad you keep language like this out of your papers.” Adalhard stroked her hand.

The tent flap pulled aside, and light streamed through. Camellia threw her arm over her eyes and murmured an objection.

“Sorry,” Sten said. “Glad you’re up. You heal uncommonly fast.” Sten shifted his weight. His clothes rustled. “Once she feels a bit better, bring her to see the basement. You were right that it’s a train station. An underground train station. We may have found an easier path to the creature. The tunnels lead in all directions, and most of them are clear of flesh.”

“That’s good news,” Adalhard said.

“Yes.” Sten left and mercifully closed the tent, sealing even the small crack of light.

“He’s likely to be gone a while,” Adalhard whispered.

Camellia opened her eyes, surprised to find Adalhard close. He kissed her.

Camellia forgot the reasons why she shouldn’t enjoy it. “Adalhard.”

“I wish you’d call me Florian.”

“Florian. Yes, I call you Florian now.” Camellia sighed. “Florian, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” He drew back.

The lie. The mirror, she silently told herself, but even in her compromised state, she came up with another answer. One she deemed more acceptable to say aloud. “The love triangle that we find ourselves in.” Camellia kept her eyes closed, not to hide from Adalhard, just to rest. “You, me...Ah’nee’thit.”

“Excuse me?” Adalhard shifted. “Who pursues who in this triangle?”

Camellia opened her eyes a crack and looked at him. “I pursue you. Ah’nee’thit pursues me, and you pursue…”

“You. For your triangle to work, one of use has to pursue Ah’nee’thit, and I assure you, it’s not me.” Adalhard shook his head. “You hit your head harder than I thought.”

“Well, if it’s not a triangle. What shape is it?”

“It’s a line. I’m on one end. You’re in the middle. Ah’nee’thit is on the other end. We can cut that off, and I plan to.”