The next morning, Petrel was sluggish, which was understandable. "I don't know why I feel so bad," he complained during breakfast. "It is as if I was seriously wounded, but I was not. This wound is nothing."

Lisa glanced at the healing scab on his shoulder and ladled a second portion of oatmeal, laced with honey and cranberries, into his bowl. "Don't fret, Petrel. Eat. It might be a reaction to the change in climate," she lied smoothly. She had heard that elves didn't lie and could see when others were lying, but Petrel didn't seem to perceive her duplicity. Anyway, it was for a good cause. Her sister might survive because Lisa was lying now to this particular elf.

"Or it might be the change in the time zone," she temporized as she poured him a huge mug of green tea. He needed liquid after his blood donation. "Rest today. I'll retrieve your bag from the theatre. I have to visit my sister today, they are expecting me. Mom has a dental appointment. I'll be back later, but tomorrow, I might be able to help you with your mission."

He tensed. "You don't know my mission."

"Doesn't take a genius to guess. You're cut off from Elfhome. You're probably looking for a way home."

He nodded, clearly unhappy.

"I read somewhere," Lisa said, "that in the past, elves traveled to Earth through caves in Europe and Asia. For some reason, those caves collapsed. There are caves in British Columbia too, and I doubt elves ever visited this area. Until the middle of the 19th century, there was a virgin forest here and only a few native settlements. You want to find those caves, don't you?"

He nodded again.

"Well, then. I have a spelunking friend. He can take you to the caves."

"I can't trust just anyone. Your friend might be one of our enemies."

Lisa shook her head. "I doubt it. Your enemies, if there are any here, are probably rich and powerful. My spelunking friend works at a community center for native youths. He is a Native American, a Salish. His parents are both school teachers in the interior BC. How probable is it they are your enemies?"

His immaculate eyebrows lifted.

"Do you trust me?" Her question was so loaded with hypocrisy, she wanted to squirm, but she didn't. Her treacherous actions had one clear cause: Marina.

"Yes," he said.

"Then you can trust my friends. Take it easy today, Petrel. Watch TV. Sleep. I have soup in the fridge; warm up some for lunch. I'll be back soon." She grabbed her tote with Marina's prescription drugs and her precious blood pouches and whisked out the door.

Her next stop—Bard on the Beach—didn't take long.

"Nobody from that tent came for their bags yesterday." The girl in the bag room handed Lisa Petrel's duffel bag.

"Do you know if... the actors survived?"

The girl looked down. "Two were dead, when the paramedics arrived, and one from the public. The rest are still at the hospital. If not for that Indian guy... Did you see him?"

"It was horrible," Lisa managed. "I didn't see him. I was too busy screaming."

"Yes," the girl said. "Most people were."

Lisa tossed the duffel in the back seat and climbed into her car. She had lied to Petrel. She had lied to the bag woman. She would lie again to her mother and her sister. For someone basically honest, like herself, that was too many lies in one day, all of them for Marina.

Marina met her with a squeal of happiness. The girl seemed almost insubstantial, tiny in her large bed, her skin almost translucent, her hairless scalp—the result of the latest, useless course of chemo—making her look like a child manikin. She had lost weight again. Only skin and bones remained, and pain, hidden deep in Marina's eyes. She didn't complain anymore, didn't even cry. However many people Lisa had to deceive for Marina, she would do it again in a heartbeat. With long practice, she concealed her dismay, kissed her sister's sunken cheek, and turned to her mother.

"We'll be fine, mom. Go see your dentist."

"Just checkup and cleaning. I won't be long. You know where everything is, the medicines..."

"I know, mom." Lisa followed her mother to the front door. "Don't worry. Go do something fun after the dentist. Go shopping for an hour or whatever. Sit in a coffee shop. You need a break."

"I don't want a break," her mother said bleakly. "I want..."

"I know. Just go. You look tired."

"Maybe." Her mother sighed and closed the door.

Lisa returned to Marina's room. They played board games for a while and watched TV, but as soon as Marina fell asleep after her scheduled dose of painkiller, Lisa sprang into action. She couldn't risk her mother returning before she was done.

A needle was still in her sister's thin hand, secured by a medical tape. It had become a permanent feature lately, and Lisa always hated it. She was glad for it now. The IV stand was in the closet, as always. It took no time for Lisa to connect all the tubes and start the drip. Petrel's blood trickled slowly into Marina, while the girl slept.

Lisa didn't pray—her family had never been into religion. She just sat beside her sister, watched the blood level slowly drop in the pouch, and wished with all her heart that it would help.

Visiting Marina always drained her. By the time her mother came back, all traces of the blood transfusion were gone, and Lisa was fighting tears. She couldn't wait to go home, to her small apartment and her elven guest. She only stopped at a supermarket for groceries and opened the door to her apartment with breathless anticipation.

"Hey. I'm home."

A knife to her neck met her just inside the door. "What have you done to me?" Petrel dragged her into the apartment and slammed the door with his foot. His fingers bit into the back of her neck. "Did you poison me? Who paid you?"

Afraid to breathe, Lisa dropped her grocery bags and his duffel to the floor. "Nobody paid me," she whispered. "I didn't do anything bad, no permanent damage."

"What did you do?" His voice was infused with a deadly promise.

"I took your blood," Lisa said.

"For what?"

"For my sister. You're immortal." She swallowed convulsively, felt the knife move against her skin, but there was no pain. He hadn't cut her yet. "I thought your immortal blood might destroy her cancer, cure her. I made a blood transfusion."

He stood still for a moment longer and then he stepped back, releasing her. The knife mysteriously disappeared, and his eyes didn't drill into her anymore. He was looking instead at Marina's photographs on the bookshelf.

Lisa sagged against the wall. How had he guessed? It wasn't important. She inhaled several times, trying to slow down her galloping heart, and kicked his duffel towards him. "I brought your things," she said. Then she picked up the groceries and stomped past him into the kitchen. Her hands shook.

In the kitchen, dirty dishes and food crumbs littered the counters. "You ate my food like a pig and then you put a knife to my throat," she snarled as she started cleaning. "How positively... elvish. You might've at least cleaned up after yourself."

He whirled to face her. "Did it work?"

"What?"

"My blood."

Lisa stopped in mid-wipe. The familiar helplessness welled up, as it always did when she talked about Marina. "I don't know. She was asleep when I left. It might yet. It might take a few days. Or it might kill her. I don't know. It was a risk but... it might be her only chance." She blinked furiously to get rid of the tears.

Petrel stood in front of her, large, impossibly beautiful, and infinitely dangerous; his eyes unreadable. He stared at her for a moment longer before his gaze traveled to the mess on the kitchen counters.

"I don't know how," he said.

"Huh?"

"I never clean up after I eat."

Lisa burst into a nervous laughter. "Who does, your servants? You're rich, aren't you?"

"No. I'm a sekasha," he said.

"What is that?" Lisa turned her back on him. She needed clean counters to cook. Besides, cleaning always calmed her.

"We don't do kitchen. The sefada caste does it. We fight."

She tossed a glance at him over her shoulder. "You fight all day long? You're a soldier?"

He considered her question. "Yes. I practice."

She shook her head. From what she had read about their culture, some aspects of it were incomprehensible. Some things about the human culture might be equally baffling to him. He probably should be pitied, but she couldn't bring herself to pity him. She still felt the icy edge of his blade at her throat, although her mirror didn't show even a tiny scratch.

By the time the chicken stew was ready, her jitters subsided, and the kitchen was clean again.

"Thank you." Petrel dived into his stew and moaned in ecstasy. "It's divine, as good as peanut butter."

Lisa chuckled. She had heard about the elves' penchant for peanut butter. "I bought you a jar of peanut butter. I don't like it myself so I don't usually have it." She turned on the TV to the local news. The anchor droned about a new airport expansion and the bus system upgrades before the Bard on the Beach unmistakable white and red tents filled the screen.

"The police are still searching for an elven tourist who stopped the terrorist shooting yesterday at the performance of The Tempest. Our guest from New York saved countless lives last night, and the police has questions for him. We all do. We want to thank the hero from the bottoms of our Canadian hearts. At the last night show, he wore a gray turban. Anyone who has information about him, please call one of the following numbers."

The numbers ran on a ribbon in the bottom of the screen. Both Lisa and Petrel stared at it.

"Did you tell anyone about me?" Petrel asked quietly. "Your mother?"

"No. I didn't tell anyone. Maybe those enemies of yours tracked you down from New York? They obviously didn't track you to my place, or they would be knocking on my door." She frowned. "They know about your turban. If you don't want them to find you, you need another disguise."

He gazed at her in obvious gloom.

"Who are they, Petrel?"

"Oni," he said.

"Oni? That's real clear."

"There is a third parallel world to Earth and Elfhome—Onihida. The oni are evil, ruthless. They want to invade Elfhome. That's why the elves destroyed most gateways in the caves, to prevent the oni from overrunning Elfhome."

The TV anchor switched to the latest house fire. Lisa turned it off. "Are there oni on Earth?"

"Yes." Dejectedly, Petrel eyed the lifeless TV.

"Why don't the oni invade Earth?"

"I don't know. I guess there are even more humans here than oni there. Or maybe humans are on the way to destroy the Earth ecology. Elfhome is still pristine."

Lisa winced. "Maybe. But everyone knows about the caves in British Columbia. They are in the tourist guides. Why didn't those oni come here before you? Why did they follow you?"

"I'm from the Water Clan. My people are sailors. A couple centuries ago, my grandfather sailed to the west coast of this continent. He found a gateway in a cave, deep inside the woods. I know the location, but we kept it a secret. It is not in any tourist guide; I checked. No oni should be aware of it. I thought I could find this one."

"And go home?"

He nodded unhappily. "I can't lead the oni there. I'd rather die."

"With the right disguise, nobody should recognize you."

"I don't have a disguise anymore. If they're aware of my turban, they'll know me in any hat."

"You need a wig."

Interest stirred in his eyes. "Could I buy one?"

"Probably not a good idea. There are only a couple wig shops in Vancouver, and if the oni followed you from New York, they might watch the wig shops too. I can get you a wig. I work part-time for a movie production company, in the costume department, to pay for my schooling. Tomorrow, we'll drive there, and I'll get you an excellent wig."

"Thank you." His huge eyes regarded her with unsettling intensity. "You're smart and beautiful. Do you find me appealing?" He gazed at her breasts with naked longing.

Men had been gazing at her breasts since she turned thirteen. She was used to deflecting their lust with jokes, but she didn't feel like joking now. She did find him appealing, and he probably sensed it, but she couldn't, not yet.

"I don't believe it. The bounder is flirting with me," she sputtered. Her cheeks felt hot. "You have the nerve, mister. An hour ago, you put a knife to my neck, and now you—"

"Now," he interrupted, "I want to lick your neck. And kiss it. And bite it. And the rest of you."

I didn't harm you with my knife. You didn't harm me." His gaze flicked to Marina's photos before returning to Lisa's face. "I heard human women are delightful. I want to try."

"Forget it." She surged to her feet. "Go to bed. I don't have sex with guys who try to kill me first. Not the same day, anyway."

"Maybe tomorrow?"

She huffed. "Tomorrow, we'll get you a wig. And then I'll call James, the spelunking friend, so he could take you to your cave. Caveman!"

Petrel laughed.