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old and had fallen off a skateboard. She recognized the effects of a high-speed skid on gravel.
    Ethan took in a sharp breath as she laid the towel on his leg. "Bicycle," he corrected her.
    She was about to tell him that he was crazy to be riding a bicycle in December, vampire hunters notwithstanding, even if it hadn't snowed yet. But then she took into account the fact that he was wearing only a sweatshirt while the rest of them all had jackets. A bicycle was probably all the transportation a college freshman could afford. No telling how he'd make do once winter set in seriously.
    Sidowski finally got bored enough to back away. He hoisted himself up to sit on the counter a whole seven, maybe eight feet distant. Still, he watched every move they made. Roth continued to look out into the street from his position by the front door.
    "You staying at the college?" she asked Ethan, simply to say something, to keep his mind—and hers—off of what she was doing. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shake his head, he was biting his lip, concentrating on not shouting or smacking her clumsy hands away from him. Then she remembered he couldn't smack her hands away, no matter how much she hurt him. "Sorry," she whispered.
    He nodded.
    She went to get some fresh towels. So he was older than she had assumed, she thought. Only juniors and seniors were allowed off-campus housing.
Stop it,
she told herself. They were in too much trouble for her to be concerned because he was too old for her.
    She was uncomfortably hot in her jacket but didn't dare unzip it. For one thing, she wasn't wearing a bra. For another, Sidowski would probably take the message on her nightshirt, I F I T'S M ORNING , D ON'T T ALK, TO M E , as a clear confession that she was a vampire.
    When she got back to Ethan, he was leaning his head against his upraised good knee.
    "Do you want me to stop?" she asked.
    He shook his head, but it seemed more an I-don't-care gesture than an acknowledgment that her first aid was helping.
    She knelt beside him, hesitating, unsure whether she was making things worse rather than better.
    He turned his face to her without lifting his head, making it harder, should Sidowski be listening, to be overheard. "I'm not what they say I am," he whispered. "I'm not a vampire."
    Kerry bent over his leg and whispered also. "I know that." She was chagrined that he felt he had to tell her.
    "I never saw any fourth man," Ethan said. "I didn't kill anybody."
    "
Shh,
" she warned, lest their whispering attract attention. Obviously Sidowski could see that they were talking; but if he knew it was more than
I hope this doesn't hurt,
he was likely to interfere again.
    But Ethan wasn't finished. "They're going to kill me," he whispered.
    Kerry shook her head. "Once they see that the sunlight doesn't affect you—"
    "They're going to find some excuse," Ethan insisted. "The sky is going to be too overcast, or it needs to be the noonday sun, or ... I don't know, but they're going to find some excuse and they're going to kill me."
    Kerry had been so intent on surviving till dawn, she didn't know what to say now that he told her dawn wouldn't be the end of it. Ethan flinched as she pressed too heavily. "Sorry," she said automatically.
    "Besides," he whispered, "I think they have some sort of idea that I can tell them where other vampires are. I think they figure that the closer it is to dawn, the more frantic I'll become, and they might be able to ... get me to give them some names and addresses."
    Kerry bit at her lip, suspecting he was right, suspecting that
getting
him to cooperate would probably involve a good deal more than just the threat of sunlight. "No," she said. "They've sent for a video camera. They won't kill you. They want recorded proof that the sun will do that." But even as she said it, she knew they didn't think they
could
kill him. Just rough him up. Cause him some pain. They'd keep on beating him, thinking that the sun would destroy his body